Bleeding Steel

Chapter Twelve: Out of the Frying Pan

Nora held Nate's ring in the palm of her hand, the chain entwined within her fingers. She could only just see it in the dark of the room, the fading glow of the oil lamps glinting dully on the gold. Aside from Burke's quiet breathing and Deacon's faint snores, the world was silent. 

What would you think of me now, Nate? Would you be proud of me? Or would you be disappointed?

Nate had been in the military. He had been quick, strategic, athletic and resourceful. Had he been in her place, if she had been the one to take the bullet, would Shaun be safer? Would he already be saved? Nate would not have required the months of training she had. 

He would have made the perfect Brotherhood soldier or Minutemen General. 

What choices would you have made? Would you even be where I am now?

She let her eyes drift shut, trying to recall the warmth of his embrace, his soft husky voice as he murmured to her and whispered her name. She felt her throat constrict and her hand balled into a fist around the ring. 

I'm on my own and even if I find Shaun, he won't know me. What future can I provide? I can't even protect Burke...

The image of Burke lying injured upon the vertibird floor flashed across the back of her eyelids.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up, turning to look at the couch. Burke still lay upon it, sound asleep with Deacon's jacket blanketing him. Deacon himself was seated on a plastic chair nearby, his hands tucked into his armpits and chin resting on his chest. She couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but from the slow, deep rhythm of his breathing, she thought he was asleep.

She inhaled deeply, raising her hand to her forehead where she felt the gauze Danse had secured over the minor head wound. 

Maybe I'm not entirely on my own...

Her thoughts drifted to the kisses she had shared with the Paladin, the way he had consoled her at County Crossing, the warmth in his eyes and smile when he let his guard down. She recalled the sight of him at the river, completely at ease in her company. In his armour, he was an awesome sight, powerful and infallible, a symbol of the Brotherhood's might and honour. Outside of his armour, Danse was strong but gentle, honest and brave. He was also endearingly awkward and bashful at times, filled with wonder at the old world and hope for a better future.

Yet he too was haunted by loss. He had been careful to maintain a professional distance between himself and his soldiers, fearing the pain of losing them following the death of Cutler. But he had opened up to her, let his guard down. And I'm starting to do the same with him... She cared for her other companions and trusted them with her life, but she had never been able to speak of her old life, or her terror at living her new one.

She sighed, easing herself up slowly from the warped wooden floor and stretching, wincing at the ache in her muscles. She slipped the chain back around her throat and zipped the collar of her flight suit closed.

Ever since she had awoken from her two century slumber, she had done her utmost to maintain a strong, yet positive façade, desperate to hide her weakness and swallow her fears. She had never let anyone know just how vulnerable she felt, how lost. But she had opened up to him and rather than feeling foolish or helpless for doing so, she had felt stronger for it, finding the first real comfort and consolation she had known since witnessing Nate's death and Shaun's kidnapping.

But was it right that she find such comfort in him? Did she even deserve to? She smiled bitterly to herself as she crept towards the stairwell. What would you think of me now, Nate? Would you be angry at me? Or happy for me?