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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

The Mettle Of A Man

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome everyone, to another random fandom Thirst Party Saturday! Spoilers for the Brotherhood of Steel quests Fire Support and Call To Arms. Tagging @toxiicpop as is my custom. Enjoy!

Paladin Danse, focused on not being overwhelmed by the feral ghouls clawing at his power armor, barely even registered when a blast from a shotgun sounded off on his left. The next shot was closer, and he chanced a look to the side.

An individual in battered combat armor slid their arm into the flaming barrel across the way and tugged out a fiery branch, then bolted in front of the paladin. Danse understood the plan even without words, firing on the panicked ghouls as the person slammed the makeshift torch left and right into the ferals. The fight was over in minutes, the individual laughing breathlessly as the last ghoul collapsed into ash at their feet.

They turned around and flat-out stared up at Paladin Danse, who fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her pale blue gaze. It was a woman, maybe in her late twenties, with glasses thick enough to make Proctor Quinlan jealous. Faded white scars patchworked her forehead and chin on the left side of her face. It looked like she’d been burned, or possibly frozen, though cryo mines and grenades were rare in the Commonwealth. She rapidly undid the straps on her helmet and popped it off her head, tucking it beneath her arm. Cradling her gun in the crook of the same arm, she extended her free hand to Danse.

“You are the tallest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen,” she announced by way of greeting.

Danse bit back a smile, schooling his face into its usual stern expression as he carefully shook the small hand with his massive power armor gauntlet. “Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel.”

“Backhand. Pleased to meet you, sir. Looks like your girlfriend is safe but your buddy is in a world of hurt.” The woman said frankly, sidestepping Danse and heading for Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen. “Ho there kids, what happened?”

“Stand down civilian. We appreciate the help, but what is your business here?” Danse asked warily, shifting to get between the woman and his team.

Backhand tapped the hunk of metal strapped to her arm. “Picked up your beacon from Graygarden, across the river. Figured I’d come see whether any of you were still kicking. Lo and behold, here you are!” She dropped her pack next to Rhys and began digging through it, ignoring the man’s groan that seemed more irritation than pain.

“Graygarden? I have a few reports on that…some kind of hydroponics facility run by robots?” Haylen’s tone was uncertain, cutting her eyes over at Danse as Backhand tipped four Stimpacks into the Scribe’s still-shaking hands. Danse nodded in a ‘go-ahead’ gesture. They could use the Stims no matter what, and Backhand (while somewhat brazen ) seemed like a decent individual. He would reserve judgment for the time being.

“I’ve got a fair amount of salvage and supplies back at my base of operations.” Backhand continued, hooking a thumb over her shoulder to gesture toward the river. “Whatever you guys need, I’ve probably got. Aside from human companionship, of course. Remember: robots.” She knelt beside Haylen, digging deeper in her pack. “I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, I brought food and some other stuff.”

“Hold it, civilian. While we appreciate your generosity, the Brotherhood is not in the habit of compensating-”

“Tin Man, don’t make me laugh. I’m talking with the lady.” Backhand narrowed her eyes up at the paladin, her expression fierce. “I’m answering a distress call, yeah? Obviously I am here to help . If I was here for personal gain I feel like you would already be eaten by ferals. Don’t insult me.”

Paladin Danse couldn’t recall the last time he’d been rendered speechless. Haylen looked a little awestruck, finally stammering, “M-Ma’am, the paladin is…I mean, we’re used to people helping the Brotherhood in exchange for something. A-Are you sure you don’t need these supplies?”

“Positive. You’re welcome to them.” Backhand looked sad for a second. “I tend to scavenge a lot and use a little, so I try to help out where I can.”

“Where do you come from originally? I assume Graygarden wasn’t always your base of operations?” Haylen questioned. Danse was proud of his scribe, always doing her best to collect information. Even while he was busy remembering how to talk.

“I’m from Sanctuary Hills. Close to Concord.” Backhand replied, a couple cans of Cram tumbling out of her pack to clatter noisily down the stairs. “Whoops, hang on, get back here!” She shooed Haylen towards her pack. “Just look around and take what you need, I gotta’…grab these stupid cans.”

Danse scooped up two of the wayward rectangular cans before they could go any further. Backhand raised an eyebrow at him and he braced himself for whatever would come out of her mouth next.

“Friends of yours?” She asked, nodding towards the cans.

Danse heard Haylen snort once, trying to stifle her giggle. In spite of himself, he felt a smile tugging on the side of his mouth. He assumed it was more from relief than actually finding the joke funny. If the scribe could appreciate humor that meant that Knight Rhys probably wasn’t as bad off as he’d feared. He would be damned if he lost another member of their squadron. “Try to keep track of them next time. If you can .” Danse attempted at a joke of his own as he passed the cans back, but all Backhand did was roll her eyes and groan.

…

“So this is ArcJet Systems, huh?” Backhand tipped her helmet out of her eyes. “It’s weird, the shit I don’t remember being here.”

“Civilian, we’re not here for a trip down memory lane.” Danse was still having a difficult time wrapping his head around the fact that this woman had been frozen for two hundred years. He wasn’t really sure if he believed her, honestly. But he’d heard about Vault-Tec’s unscrupulous operations before. Haylen occasionally read them information akin to ghost stories, about Vaults filled with clones or sentient plants.

“Understood, sir.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he thanked God for his helmet. She was in the field now, he supposed, all business. She had mentioned a military background. “I’ll take point. Try not to lag behind.”

“Yes sir!” Her salute was rigid, pre-war. Like her helmet, scraped and covered in faded sigils. He wondered briefly if she’d fought in the legendary Anchorage battle. “Permission to speak freely before we enter, sir?”

“Granted Initi-uh, civilian.” Danse corrected himself, swearing inwardly at his slip-up.

“What am I supposed to call you while we’re on maneuvers, sir?”

“Paladin is fine. Or sir, like you have been. It’s irrelevant, civilian. You’re being respectful and I’m not exactly going to get loud with you for not referring to me by rank, seeing as how you’re not Brotherhood.” Danse was pleasantly surprised when she saluted again to acknowledge his words.

“Yes sir, Paladin sir!”

She followed him without another word, her shotgun slung around her back in favor of a small revolver-style pipe pistol. Danse could understand that, shotgun shells were probably much more scarce when it came to scavenging for ammo. Better to sweep with a lighter weapon and have the heavier one to fall back on if the jitters proved accurate.

Danse was not particularly quiet when it came to his sweeps, though that may be more a fault of the power armor than his own lack of grace. He trundled along through room after room, his headlamp swinging back and forth while he cleared the area. He had to look back more than once to make sure Backhand was still there, her own footsteps nearly silent. “Maybe you ought to take point, civilian. At least then I’d be able to keep track of you.” He finally suggested, and she put a finger to her lips.

Can’t you hear them? She mouthed.

Danse instantly came to a full stop, tilting his head. Audio receptors in his helmet were coming up clear. He settled for muting his helmet mic and giving her a shrug, confused but wary. She tipped her Pip Boy over towards him, pointing at the compass on the top. She dragged her finger across the projected display and Danse’s eyes widened as the area practically lit up with red ticks while she circled the compass. So they were surrounded, then. Very surrounded. How had that happened? Why was nothing showing up on his own compass?

Well, it didn’t really matter. Danse straightened back up, squaring his shoulders with a clatter of steel. He pointed towards Backhand, then the doorway, indicating that she should creep forward. She did, crouching by the doorframe and suddenly vanishing. Danse wanted to jump at the abrupt disappearance but he reined himself in. She had probably just used a Stealth Boy or something to that effect.

He stood there silently for what felt like years, running through a mental checklist of his armor and laser rifle readiness. Finally, there was a soft clank against his leg and he looked down to see a coffee mug floating in midair. He felt her scramble up his side to grip his arm, the pistons of his power armor easily accepting her weight. Something pushed against his helmet.

“There’s maybe ten of them.” She whispered, her voice barely audible to his helmet’s receptors. “Might be more in stealth. Not sure.”

Danse nodded to indicate that he’d heard her and her weight slipped back off. Her stealth field shimmered for a second before stabilizing again. Danse took a deep breath, thinking hard. He really only had one option, but if he was swarmed and they knocked him over he was screwed. So he would need to be careful. Obviously .

He pointed at himself, pointed to the door, and then pointed at her and made a gesture like he was throwing something over his shoulder. Stay behind me . Hopefully with her in stealth she would be able to cover his back safely until they had whittled down the ranks a bit. He felt a twinge of remorse at the fact that he was putting a civilian in danger, but he quickly pushed it aside. She had offered to help, he hadn’t exactly twisted her arm.

The coffee cup tapped against his arm once, he assumed that was her agreeing. He still watched the small object until it was out of his peripheral.

…

Paladin Danse seemed very much the stereotypical, gung-ho kind of soldier. Though he had reached a lofty-sounding rank (Backhand had no clue what the heck Paladin equaled out to in layman’s terms, but she guessed it was a pretty senior position). Maybe he was a brilliant tactician, or someone who always got his men out safe and sound. Or-

Danse clicked off the safety on his rifle, and there was the static-y noise of helmet speakers cuing up. “For the Brotherhood!” The paladin roared, his volume deafening.

Or maybe he’s a lucky fucking idiot . Backhand groaned under her breath, crouching behind Danse and using his large form as cover so she could line up her V.A.T.S. shots properly. The air was alight with blue lasers, ozone-reek thick in her mouth and nose. Her stealth mods held up under the stress and she patted herself on the back, more than a little proud. Not bad for a two hundred year old relic .

Danse’s laser rifle cracked imposingly overhead, the noise drowning out the Institute’s sleek, clicking ordinance. His curt “ Tango down! ” announcements began to blur together to Backhand as the synths just kept coming. There were way more than she’d originally thought, it seemed. It was like they were materializing on site. But the paladin stood firm, essentially blocking the doorway they had come in through as he mowed down the hordes methodically.

It was becoming more and more difficult to get shots off, the accumulation of debris at Danse’s feet starting to obstruct Backhand’s V.A.T.S. targeting. So she stood up, her stealth mods deactivating as she thrust her shotgun through the triangular hole made by Danse’s elbow and pumped a round into the chest of a cloaked synth that had been attempting to flank them. The Paladin started at the loud report, taking a step to one side and yanking the gun out of her hands accidentally.

Another synth lunged forward, already missing one arm and carrying a baton that zapped and sparked in the haze of the room. The paladin, upon stepping aside, offered the machine the perfect swing at Backhand. In the face of the almost certain jolt she was about to get, Backhand grimaced.

Danse’s large arm was suddenly knocking into her and she instinctively ducked, tripping up the synth and snapping one of its brittle legs off. It still landed on top of her, the baton impacting the floor beside her head with an explosion of sparks as she struggled. Backhand wound up for a swing, the sheet metal plating on her gloves making a satisfying crunch when she caught the synth in the jaw and punched straight through its head. “Nice try, you son of a bitch,” she growled.

Time slid oddly sideways for her as Danse yelled, “ on your feet, soldier! ”, a huge hand on her arm, all too reminiscent of-

-the hail of gunfire, the rattle and stench of poorly-greased power armor. Sergeant Cathan pulled her upright again, ‘on your feet, soldier!’, his helmet was gone, Jesus Christ, they had been out here for weeks with no sign of relief. Her minigun felt so heavy in her arms, her eyes threatening to close every time she stopped moving. But she had to go, there were still wounded trapped in the collapsed bunker. Her power armor shrieked when she moved, announcing her presence with the rough grind of worn bearings-

“Civilian!” Danse’s gauntlet was firmly gripping the straps on the front of her armor, the light attached to his helmet blinding her.

“Sir!” Backhand fumbled to salute on reflex and he quickly released her.

“You left for a minute there, civilian.” His voice held quiet disapproval.

“Apologies, sir. Battlefields blend, and it’s been a while since anyone’s called me soldier. Won’t happen again.” She promised.

…

“I apologize for my slip as well, civilian. Old habits die hard.” A blue streak hissed over Danse’s arm and he grunted in irritation. “ Still? Your mistake, you abomination .” He stormed towards the lone synth’s hiding place, swatted the rifle out of its hands and crushed its torso with one massive metal sabaton. It was still wriggling, like a spider that had lost a leg, so Danse decided to be merciful and blew its head off.

The square barrel of his laser rifle was red-hot from the firefight, steaming in the chillier air of the room. Danse took a second to collect himself, sweeping the room for ammunition and listening intently to make sure nothing else was forthcoming. Everything seemed quiet and he heaved a slow breath. “Were you injured, civilian?”

“No sir. And you?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you.” Danse hadn’t even seen that synth on his left until it was too late, but her quick shotgun work had bought him a second to recover. “Well done, civilian.”

“Thank you, sir.” She practically glowed at the praise and he caught himself wondering what rank she had been in the army, what she’d had to do. She cleared her throat after a second, looking down to examine her pistol. “Where to now, sir?”

“We continue forward. I’ll stay on point, maintain the front defenses. Keep close and watch our six.” Danse ordered, flexing his fingers experimentally in their gauntlets and feeling pleased when all the joints moved smoothly. He’d had problems of late with the right index sticking from overuse. “We know they’re in here now. If anything, they’ve lost their element of surprise. It… complicates our mission, but this definitely isn’t a hopeless situation by any stretch. And if we need to fall back, then we fall back.”

“Yes sir.” She obviously wanted to ask something else, but hesitated. Danse couldn’t really spare the time to wait, every second they wasted here was another second they were without Brotherhood support. So he turned and headed across the room, safety remaining off on his weapon now.

They know we’re here too .

The stairs to go up were too destroyed to continue, and so the paladin headed further down. There was an elevator. On the slim chance that they might be able to get power running to it again, that was their best option to reach the deep range transmitter. “Civilian, scout the maintenance area off to the side. I’ll remain here and watch our backs.”

Once she had left he circled the area he was in. Above his head was what appeared to be a huge rocket, dusty with disuse. The floor beneath him was blackened, indicating that Haylen’s research had been correct. ArcJet Systems had been making another project, the Mars Shot, along with the deep range transmitter. No doubt just one more case of mankind overreaching their capabilities.

His brow furrowed. Why were pre-war men so greedy? Danse had decided ages ago that if he had to read one more two hundred year old terminal entry about how “ we tried ” or some other documentation of a large company exploiting people’s suffering and pocketing the resulting profits, he would eat his damn hood.

There was an odd blue flash to his right and Danse turned, swearing at himself for his inattention as he watched synths drop from the stairs overhead. A horde of plastic rifles aimed for the giant target that was the paladin, unblinking yellow eyes focused on him. It was like something out of a nightmare. For every one he shot down there were two more to take its place, the swarm he’d been so worried about happening now an almost-certain reality.

The large metal blast doors the civilian had gone through abruptly closed with a loud bang. The paladin jerked at the noise, glancing over at the window of the maintenance area. There was the civilian, standing next to a control panel and looking decidedly panicky. Danse had no idea what the facility was capable of, but he knew a button existed somewhere to fire the rocket that hung over his head. So he did what he had to do.

“Don’t just stand there, soldier, push a button! Push everything!” He shouted, clubbing a synth in the head with the butt of his rifle.

…

She stood frozen beside the control panel, staring at the giant red button while a robotic voice overhead informed her that the rocket was ‘ primed and standing by for your command .’ She had no idea what power armor Danse was wearing, no way of knowing whether it could withstand the doubtless intense heat of the literal rocket over his head.

He yelled at her through the window as he was forced back to the wall, his laser rifle slicing through synths as fast as he could pull the trigger, “ Don’t just stand there, soldier, push a button! Push everything! ” He sounded desperate and his voice urged her forward, spurring her to action.

She hammered her fist down on the blinking red button and was horrified to hear the robotic voice announce that there was a five second countdown. “Paladin!” She hollered, banging her hands on the window to attract his attention. “Five seconds!” She mouthed the words as clearly as possible, unsure of how thick the window was.

“Affirmative, civilian! Maintain your position!” Danse said firmly. “If this doesn’t work, the deep range transmitter is a secondary concern! You’ll need to fall back and return to the scribe and knight, understood? You’re their only hope if this fails!”

“Yes sir! ” She replied loudly, her stomach twisting at the thought of being the sole survivor for yet another time in her life.

“Ad Victoriam, civilian!”

The Latin was unfamiliar to her, but she could gather it was something about victory so she responded in kind. “Gloria Fortis Miles, Paladin!”

- Sergeant Cathan’s easy smile warmed her stiff limbs into cooperating, the grizzled old man easily crushing the cement that separated them. “Listen Handy, we can’t keep meeting like this! My superiors are gonna’ talk!” 'Backhand’ Vega, given her distinctive nickname ages ago after a brawl in boot camp, moved to the side, displaying the survivors she’d curled her body around protectively when another section of the bunker had given way. The sergeant whistled, seeming impressed. “Shit, alright then. I’ll cover you, kid!” She had no idea how many of the bodies she carried out were still breathing -

The rocket roared to life and she closed her eyes, unable to watch.

…

Danse was thankful he’d had the presence of mind to turn off his audio receptors because the rocket was deafening , even through his thick helmet. The temperature in his armor shot up rapidly, danger indicators blaring as he dropped to one knee under the pressure. It was no good, he was already against the wall. He got a grim sense of satisfaction from watching the synths melt and turn to ash around him under the intense heat. He wasn’t sure whether his power armor would hold up for much longer, he’d never really attempted to incinerate himself via booster fire before.

Hopefully the civilian can get to Haylen and Rhys, let them know what happened to me .

He realized he was probably going to die, and he gritted his teeth tightly against the trembling of his jaw. His ears were ringing and his muscles started to twitch, the heat almost unbearable. But just as suddenly as it had risen, the temperature plummeted back to a reasonable level. His power armor began hissing, venting the molten air through the armpits and back gasket of the gear.

He hadn’t noticed the civilian standing in front of him until his helmet was jerked over his head and chucked aside. He sucked in a gasp, coughing hard. Her mouth was moving but he could barely hear what she was saying. His name and rank, maybe. He settled for shaking his head and she unclipped the canteen at her waist, soaking a bandanna from her pocket and proceeding to pat over his aching dry eyes with the lukewarm water. Danse just sat silently, popping his jaw and willing his ears to cooperate.

She carefully dribbled a little water into his mouth and Danse obediently swished it with his tongue before swallowing. The ringing slowly petered out while she briskly shone a small flashlight into his eyes, one after the other just like Cade. “Can you hear me, Paladin Danse?” She asked loudly, holding up two fingers. “How many fingers?”

“Two.” Danse rasped.

Her shoulders drooped with what seemed to be relief. “Thank fuck . Let’s never do that again, deal?” Backhand said bluntly, brushing her hands off.

“Deal.” Danse grunted, grabbing a handful of crumbling wall as he tried to stand. “Too much excitement for me. I’ve dealt with some wild things, but this might have just taken the cake.”

“Are you blistered in there at all?” She asked worriedly. He noticed her eyes examining the exposed area of his neck. “I thought you were boiled like a frickin’ lobstah.”

Her accent thickening seemed to break the tension and Danse chuckled with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so, civilian. Won’t be taking this off for a while if I am, I guess.” He finally managed to get fully to his feet, dusting off his gauntlets. “I’ll really be a Tin Man then, won’t I?” Her eyes went wide and her mouth rounded into an ‘o’ as she realized he had made a joke. Before she could regain her footing Danse quickly said, “We should keep moving. You were able to reroute the power?”

“Y-Yeah, there was a terminal. Elevator should be functional…uh, sir.” She tacked on at the end. Danse, as was his overly-fidgety custom, flipped his helmet before donning it yet again.

True to her word, the elevator did appear operational. The call button now flickered weakly in the gloom of the room and Danse carefully pushed it, summoning the elevator from the upper level. “Remain vigilant.” He said quietly as there was the whine of rusted cables from within the shaft. “I’m unsure of what they might throw at us next. The Institute probably has use for the deep range transmitter as well, which explains their presence here.”

“Understood, sir.” Backhand saluted. “They won’t catch us off guard again. Is uh…is the elevator going to be able to support you?” She asked haltingly as the doors slid open. “I mean, with your power armor and all?”

“I imagine we’ll find out in a minute.” Danse cautiously put one foot into the elevator, then the other. The box creaked but held firm and he exhaled, surprised when Backhand squeezed in beside him. “Civilian, it may not-”

“All due respect sir, I’m not taking the chance of getting stuck down in the pit,” she grumbled. “I’m with you. Death via elevator collapse ain’t the worst thing I’ve come across.”

“…outstanding.” It came out much more wry than he’d intended and Backhand snickered, fingers deftly moving over her own equipment. She seemed ready, a little more at ease.

Her Pip Boy lit up and she went silent, scrolling the compass around again. A few red dots peppered the display and she grimaced, looking up at Danse with a worried expression.

He simply nodded, doing his best to keep still so he wouldn’t unsettle the elevator. The place had been crawling with synths so far, a couple more wasn’t surprising. He mused on why his own scanner wasn’t picking them up. He sincerely doubted that soup can she had strapped to her wrist outmatched Brotherhood technology. Danse resolved to ask her once this business was taken care of.

The elevator ‘ ding ’ed, doors slowly grinding open. Danse swept the scaffolding-like staircase, and then carefully stepped out of the elevator. There was a loud ‘ snap! ’ behind him and he whirled, dropping his rifle and only just catching the top edge of the elevator before it careened back to the ground floor. “Civilian!” The elevator cables had torn under the stress, he could see the loose ends swinging back and forth over the top of the box.

His shoulders screamed in protest, gears in the joints of his armor clicking wildly, but he maintained his grip on the lip of the elevator. Backhand silently pulled herself up through the hatch in the roof of the box, holding her shotgun to her chest. Danse ducked his head and she managed to slide out over him, hitting the scaffolding with a rattle of combat armor.

The paladin’s gauntlets suddenly tore through the roof of the box, ripping two healthy chunks free while the elevator plummeted to the floor below. Danse panted for breath, resting his hands on his knees for a second. The muffled crash and puff of dust from the impact made him flinch. His heart was slamming a mile a minute in his chest, the surge of adrenaline making his fingertips tingle wildly.

“Holy shit.” Her weak voice snapped him upright again and Danse turned to find her crumpled against the railing. Her shotgun was cradled in her lap and her eyes were shut tightly.

“Civilian?” He asked cautiously.

“Your armor is gonna’ need a hell of a greasing after this, sir.” She got to her feet slowly, passing him his laser rifle with shaky hands. “And yes, that is me volunteering to do it for you.” She kissed her fingertips and then pressed them to his helmet.

Danse stared at her, bewildered.

“You saved my ass , so I’ll grease your power armor . Understand, Paladin?” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you guys not do a favor system in the Brotherhood? That method was the only thing that kept my squadron under control.”

“No no, we do. It’s just that…well, a soldier is responsible for their own gear, civilian. Favors in the Brotherhood are normally repaid in the exchange of material goods. Like whiskey or extra dessert rations from the mess, that kind of thing.” Danse hadn’t meant to be so free with the information, essentially admitting his vices. Truthfully, he was still more than a bit discombobulated about her indirectly kissing his helmet. “I don’t know how well Elder Maxson would take to knights shining each others boots or maintaining someone else’s power armor.”

“How much whiskey d’ya’ think is enough for my life, sir?”

Danse huffed, a little perturbed. “I hardly think that right now is the appropriate time to be meting out your worth in fluid ounces, civilian. We need to focus on our mission.”

“Understood, sir. Later.” She settled her helmet a little more firmly on her head. “There looks like five of them up ahead. But hell, we know that can change.”

…

She was nervous when she peered into the next room, her pistol at the ready. One synth was clattering away at a terminal, the rest of the group were going through all the filing cabinets and old boxes scattered around the room. Metal limbs half-covered in dingy yellowed plastic, spindly fingers digging and clawing at the junk in search of the deep range transmitter.

Backhand drew a steadying breath. She wished more than anything that synths weren’t so unnerving with their almost-human appearance. Behind her, she heard the sound of a safety clicking off. The noise made the synth at the terminal look up, wide yellow eyes aimed in her direction. “Hello?” The machine called in a curious tone, raising its rifle.

The paladin stormed the room with a shout of “ Synth scum! ”, and between the two of them it was hardly a fight. They both paused after the last body fell, Danse facing one way and Backhand the other. Her eyes were glued to her Pip Boy compass, waiting for another ambush.

Thirty seconds passed. A minute.

Danse finally shifted his weight back, his severe posture easing into a less ready stance. “I think we’re safe.” He whispered, grunting as he fumbled to get his helmet off. “We need to find that transmitter, civilian.”

Backhand nodded, turning one of the synths over and popping open its chest cavity. Danse followed her lead, albeit a bit more clumsy due to his large gauntlets. The first and second synths came up empty, but when Backhand cracked open the third she grinned. “Bingo!” She exclaimed, dragging the loose object out of the synth’s body.

“ Outstanding , civilian." The paladin praised with a genuine smile. "Now, according to Scribe Haylen’s intel, that door is a service elevator to the surface.” Danse pointed across the room and Backhand swallowed hard.

“Uh…another elevator?” She asked warily.

The paladin, to his credit, looked a little green himself. “I’ll send you up first, civilian.” He offered, pressing the button.

Backhand steeled her nerves, although once the elevator did arrive she quickly opened the emergency hatch on the top of it. Danse obviously chose not to comment and she was grateful for that, unsure if she could handle another mishap like earlier.

This ride, however, was much less exciting than her last one. Backhand turned the transmitter over in her hands as she waited for Paladin Danse to come up, marveling at the buttons on the thing. She knew better than to press any of them, of course, but she still looked.

Once Paladin Danse emerged from the elevator (a little faster than he had before), he led the way outside via battering the door until it gave out with a shriek of abused metal. Backhand was startled to find that it was night now, and raining gently.

Danse at least seemed to be in decent spirits, accepting the deep range transmitter from her when she quickly handed it over. The Commonwealth was full of suspicious people and Backhand had no desire to be facing the business end of that deadly laser rifle, Brotherhood or no. “Well that could have gone smoother. Mission accomplished, regardless.” The paladin said gruffly.

“'Smoother’?” Backhand tilted her head up at him. “I hope I didn’t cause any problems for you, Paladin?”

“It’s got nothing to do with you, civilian. This was a last-gasp op and unfortunately it was planned as such. We were caught off-guard one too many times. But we’re both alive and we have the transmitter, so I would say this is a success.” The return of Danse’s smile took her by surprise once again. “On the contrary, your extra manpower gave us the advantage in a few locations. You have my thanks.” He shifted, seeming almost nervous. “I don’t…have much in the way of caps, but I’d like to compensate you for your services. I…I’ve modified this rifle myself, I hope it serves you well.”

The next thing Backhand knew, that deadly laser rifle she’d been so concerned about was being carefully pressed into her hands. “Oh!” Her breath caught in her throat at the heft of it, it was a beautiful gun. But… “Paladin, I can’t possibly accept this.” She protested. “I can’t take your rifle, how will you defend yourself? Or Scribe Haylen and…um.” For some reason, the sour man’s rank escaped her.

“Knight Rhys.” Danse filled in gently. She nodded, feeling dumb for forgetting. “A Brotherhood soldier is always prepared, civilian. I have a spare weapon. Please, I insist you keep it.”

“Are you sure?” Backhand asked, even as her fingers smoothed longingly over the square body of the gun.

Danse nodded. “If anything you should be able to sell it for a decent amount of caps, due to the modifications I’ve made.”

“I’m not selling this, are you crazy? Look at it, s’beautiful!” Backhand sputtered indignantly, shocked when the paladin began laughing .

…

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. His whole recon tour had been an absolute cluster from the start, there hadn’t been much time for levity. But the civilian looked so irate with him for suggesting that she part with his rifle…Danse couldn’t have helped it if he’d wanted to.

“Sell it or use it, it’s yours to do with as you see fit, civilian.” He said finally once he’d gotten himself back under control.

“I’ve got some cells in my pack, I can’t wait to give this thing a shot!” She sounded incredibly excited and the paladin’s stomach felt strange while he watched her hug the rifle to her chest.

“Let’s get back to the police station, you can dismiss those Handy bots back to Graygarden and I’ll work on integrating the transmitter to boost my team’s distress signal. With a little luck I’ll get a response.” Danse put his helmet back on and set out into the rain, hearing her feet sloshing loudly through the puddles behind him.

“Hey, you know I wasn’t joking about greasing your power armor, right?” Backhand called, making Danse pause.

“Civilian, I-”

“You can’t say no! I refuse to believe that two hundred years have changed the design of power armor to the point where it makes greasing it less of a damn chore. I remember.” She squinted up at him from beneath her helmet, rain speckling her thick glasses. “I got real good at it, sir.”

Danse chewed his lower lip. If Maxson caught wind of this there would be absolute hell to pay, but… “You don’t have to, civilian.” He mumbled as a last resort.

“I know that, sir.”

And that was how Paladin Danse, pride of the Brotherhood of Steel, ended up sitting in an old police station with a pile of wires in his lap, clad in a slightly too-snug Vault suit while an ex-military civilian gave his power armor a once over. His uniform had melted to the inside of his power armor frame in a few places, forcing him to essentially work himself free if he wanted to exit his gear. Backhand had dug through her pack and tossed him a crisp Vault suit still in its original plastic wrap, labeled XL .

“I wear a large, but I figured I could keep a bigger one on hand just in case.” She shrugged, unzipping her own suit to her midriff and tying the sleeves around her waist. “Pop out your core before you go, I don’t want you worrying about me taking your stuff.”

Danse was grateful that she wasn’t insulted by his suspicion, a little too eager to work on the transmitter to be worried about that. He locked the fusion core in a toolbox behind the counter and then got down to business. Admittedly, Haylen was miles better at this sort of thing but he was far from helpless. Besides, after everything that had transpired on this tour…

Well, his scribe could use a break. If she got to take it with Rhys, all the better. Danse didn’t fancy himself a matchmaker by any stretch of the imagination, but he was observant when it came to his team. He had noticed Haylen’s care for Rhys early on, and while he knew he technically shouldn’t be encouraging them, he had faith that if push came to shove they could keep their relationship professional while on-duty. They were both model soldiers, despite Rhys’ occasional moody bouts.

Backhand singing something quietly drew him out of his staring contest with the transmitter and he looked up, observing her work for a minute. She had locked the joints in the shoulders and chest area of the frame, humming intermittently as she hung sideways from the arm and greased the right elbow.

“My old P.A. set wasn’t nearly as shiny as yours. Was the T-51B set.” She glanced over and caught Danse watching, much to his chagrin. “It was a hand-me-down and God did it move like one. The left knee actually caved in at one point, gave me a badass scar.” She rolled up the leg of her Vault suit, proudly tapping the old mark. “I didn’t stop kneeing tanks, even after that. I’m a stubborn shit.” She paused. “I miss it. The untouchable feeling that only power armor seems to give. I mean, that and a Fat Man launcher or a minigun. Either of those? I was unstoppable .” She smiled wistfully, patting the freshly-greased elbow.

The gears in Danse’s mind started turning. She had power armor training, albeit outdated. She could follow orders. She kept herself together under the pressure of being mobbed. She was a decent shot. Maybe… “I’d like to make you a proposal, civilian.” He said slowly, waiting until she made eye contact again before continuing. “Our op could have ended in disaster, but you kept your cool and handled it like a soldier. The way I see it, you’ve got a choice in front of you.”

“What?” She stared at him blankly, wiping her hands off on a rag. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that you should seriously think about joining the Brotherhood of Steel. You’re already combat-ready, I have no doubt you’re on an Aspirant level as-is. With enough training and discipline, there’s no telling what you could accomplish. If you’ll consider it, I’d like to offer you the rank of initiate in Recon Squad Gladius.” Danse pitched the notion, wondering if she would accept.

She chuckled dryly. “Paladin, you want to know why I joined the Army in the first place?”

This didn’t sound promising, but Danse nodded all the same.

“College was expensive and the military paid for it. That, and pretty much everyone I knew was signing up as well.” She shrugged. “It was the thing to do at the time. I was honorably discharged, hell, I’m a veteran . At twenty-eight years old, I had done three combat tours and a bunch of other bullshit. It was surreal.”

“There’s no pressure, you understand.” Danse murmured, understanding what she was getting at. “This isn’t a coercion or anything of that nature. I’ve read about the incentives the military used to dangle to get young people to enlist. The Brotherhood…what we offer is your own suit of power armor, weaponry and a multitude of individuals ready to impart knowledge.” He continued, “You would be under my command, at least in the beginning, and I’d expect you to follow orders. But you’ve displayed more than enough respect for my rank today alone, civilian. I don’t doubt that you’ve got what it takes.”

She worried her lip, the motion catching and holding Danse’s attention. He wanted to brush her lower lip with his thumb, make her stop chewing, put his mouth on hers . He caught himself leaning forward just in time, quickly looking back down at the transmitter. His stomach felt odd again, twisting itself into knots. “Paladin Danse?” She asked softly.

“Yes, Backhand?” He answered, doing his damnedest to be polite and ignore the strange sensation.

“It’s alright if you want to kiss me, you know.” Her smile was gentle. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Civilian that’s hardly rel-” Danse’s words were halted when she tilted his chin up and kissed him. “-evant.” He finished breathlessly, gripping the edge of the counter. “I--um.”

“It’s alright.” She repeated, still just as soft. Whatever it was that held the paladin back frayed. It had been ages since he’d so much as kissed someone, even longer for… other things. He groaned in his throat, hands hovering over her shoulders for a minute before he dropped them to his sides.

“I…civilian, I can’t just-” he started to explain, started to put some distance between them before he did something idiotic like babbling or, God forbid, kissing her back. But she walked around the counter and stood toe-to-toe with him, almost tall enough to look him in the eye when he was out of his power armor.

“I know how it is.” Was all she said, her fingers mapping his shoulders lightly. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding. Just letting him know that she understood, soldier to soldier. That was what tested his self-control, he told himself later. That was why he had let her kiss him at all, that was why he had kissed her back. Not the feeling of another body against his own after there had been nothing for years . Not the notion that she might be just as lonely as he was.

It was simple camaraderie, soldiers blowing off steam after a life-threatening event.

Except I would never do this with Haylen or Rhys.

His head was full of nonsensical thoughts for the rest of the night, absolutely running wild once he bedded down. The feeling of her mouth on his, her hands on his shoulders...Danse's shudder had nothing to do with the Commonwealth chill in the air.

He would pick her up around the waist and set her on the counter, untying the sleeves of her Vault suit and sliding the zipper down further. “Do you want this?” He would finally ask, his voice sounding hoarse in his ears. She would nod rapidly, raising her hips so he could peel the suit off her body and leave her in her underclothes. “Are you absolutely certain? I won’t be offended if you decide otherwise.” Even in his silly fantasies he wanted to still give her an out. He’d heard more than enough of his fellow soldiers cry when they thought no one was listening, he refused to fall into that category of military abuse.

She would cup his face and kiss him again, all eagerness and soft touches to pretend she knew what he was thinking. Maybe she did. Maybe it would have been the same way in her United States army. “You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do, Danse.”

“God, I hope you're right.” He kissed her back fiercely, enjoying how slowly she slid the zipper down on his borrowed Vault suit. Like they had all the time in the world. He supposed they did, in a way.

“Will this get you in trouble if someone finds out? Civilian fraternization?” She would worry about getting him into trouble, a soldier through and through. But at the shake of his head she would relax, maybe kiss his throat . “What do you want, Danse?”

“ It’s been forever since I’ve gotten to do this, I’m a bit overwhelmed. ” Even in his fantasies he was far from dashing, Danse admitted to himself. Maybe she would find it charming instead of something to pity. “ Would you permit me to touch you? ” He found himself flushing for some strange reason at the thought of saying that , settling for rolling onto his side. His fingers twitched.

He would cup her pubic mound with his hand if she said 'yes', feel the heat of her through her underwear, and when she whimpered it would send a shiver over his body. “Christ.” He muttered, tugging the fabric to the side.

He had been told before that him not rambling was far more attractive than his awkward words ruining a moment, so he tended to bite back whatever nonsense he might say.

Backhand would arch up off the counter when Danse breached her with one finger, the feeling of her making him groan and push his forehead against her shoulder for a minute. It really had been forever, hadn’t it? There were scars that spanned the expanse of her torso of course, she was a soldier, and he would take a second to kiss them before slipping her underwear off.

He imagined she would croon softly to him and Danse wasn’t sure what the hell to call the noise that came out of him at that , shifting his weight and biting down on his fist to keep quiet. In her bedroll across the room, Backhand stirred and he froze. His cock throbbed painfully hard in the tight Vault suit, the feeling flooding Danse with a nauseating combination of arousal and guilt. This was wrong , he berated himself, entertaining these thoughts while the subject of said thoughts was sleeping across the room. He wished she hadn't set two of those Mister Handy robots to patrol the police station perimeter, at least then he would have an excuse to walk this off. But his brain carried on over his conscience, seeming to actually work overtime instead.

“Last chance.” He would say roughly, “If you don’t want me to engage with you, tell me now.”

“I do, I do.” She would twiddle her fingers, fidgeting with her breast-wraps and not meeting his eyes. “I’m nervous, though.” She confessed all in a rush, finally looking back up at him. “Could you maybe just go gentle?”

“I can do that.” The paladin said slowly, smiling reassuringly. He had been told his smile was kind, one of his few redeeming qualities. “You’re sure you still…?”

“Yes, positive. Please.” She sounded firmer this time around and Danse nodded, reaching up to stroke her breasts. She seemed to enjoy that well enough, moaning while he gently woke her peaks with his thumbs. He pulled the wrap down, letting her breasts spill over it in a tantalizing display for him. She pushed her breasts together, smiling up at him in a manner that was entirely foreign. “Do you like them?” She would ask him, teasing, no doubt already knowing the answer.

“I do.” He liked to think she would light up like earlier when he had praised her, her fingers reaching to unzip his suit the rest of the way. His cock had swelled to the point of discomfort in his briefs, Danse just rubbing his fingers back and forth over the shaft through the snug fabric of the suit. She mewled needily as she struggled with his waistband. The paladin finally slid a hand into his underwear, hissing out a breath at his own touch.

…

Backhand had known she was in trouble the second she had seen him fighting for his team. She just hadn’t realized how much trouble.

She rolled over in her sleeping bag, trying her hardest to get comfortable. Her whole body felt alive again for the first time since she’d left the Vault. She was in a warm haze, luxuriating in the arousal that flooded her core at the way he looked at her. He had kissed her back once, fiercely enough to make her lips tingle, then apologized for his lack of restraint and continued to work on the deep range transmitter. A soldier through and through. She could respect his dedication to his team, so she bid him goodnight and tucked herself into bed instead of badgering him to satisfy her curiosity. It was one thing for them to not be on field maneuvers, but he was on recon duty and until backup arrived he was by no means relieved of that duty.

It had been so long since she had wanted anyone to touch her, though. She didn't even bother counting the two hundred years spent frozen. Before that her ex-husband, a lawyer, had made her life hell when she demanded a divorce after getting pregnant. She remembered with a pang of sorrow the tense delivery room conversation, the way Nate declined to hold his newborn son while she laid there, exhausted. He was here for one thing and one thing only.

“ Just sign these papers and we'll get it over with, Beth .” The man had said sharply. She hadn't even had the strength to lift her arm. One of the Mister Handy bots had assisted her with the motion of scrawling her signature. It might have been a Miss Nanny bot, now that she thought about it.

She rubbed her eyes, the pit of her stomach starting to ache as she slipped into a doze. Danse somehow found his way into the hospital room, the man’s brown eyes kind as he took her into his arms. He hushed her, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face and murmuring, “You’re alright, I’m here.”

He would kiss the scar on her belly instead of flinching away from it. He would move over her like it wasn’t a chore at all, like he wanted to do this. His fingers plunged into her, letting her grind her clit up against the heel of his hand to soothe and frenzy the ache inside of her. It wasn’t enough but she didn’t want it to be over, didn’t want it to end so soon.

Danse seemed to understand, permitting her to ride his hand until she could feel him moving with her, his own hips rolling at every shudder of her pelvis. He had his mouth pressed to her neck, teeth and tongue moving across the skin lazily while he rutted his cock against her thigh. When they had both lost their clothes was a detail she had missed . “Please,” she begged, cradling the back of his neck to raise his head. “Please, Danse-”

He nodded, giving a low growl of, “understood,” when she started licking his fingers clean. He would spread her open, a hand on each thigh to keep her steady. “Do you want this?” he would ask, that deep voice gone gravelly.

Backhand got the feeling that he would ask as many times as he felt was necessary. Typical soldier he might be, but his smile earlier was so heartfelt she had a hard time believing he would use his superior size against someone who wasn't the enemy. “Paladin-” Backhand's eyes shot open and she quickly put a hand over her mouth, horrified that she'd said his rank out loud. She cringed down lower in her sleeping bag, watching from across the room as the man turned over onto his side with a mumble.

Despite the distraction, her other hand found its way into her underwear. She was soaked through her suit and she mentally groaned, biting her lip. Her fingers would have to suffice, as they had so many times before.

“I’ll just…” He would stroke his cock before lining himself up and plunging deep . Her breath caught in her throat, no sound escaping her as her fingers echoed her longing. He would drag his hands down her body, greedy at her breasts and hips, tracing her scar and chuckling low in his throat when she would shiver and whine .

Backhand couldn’t keep quiet a second longer, biting down on the sleeve of her Vault suit. “ Oh .” She gasped.

Danse would start slowly rubbing around her clit with his index finger and she would plead for him not to stop. “Not unless you tell me to.” He would grunt, gripping her hip with his other hand. “You want it faster? More?”

She would beg for more, hungry, throwing herself against him in a way that would normally make her embarrassed. But he would take everything she had, he was strong enough to take it.

She also liked to think he would tease a little. “This is what you get for greasing my armor, civilian .” Danse would rumble out the statement with a smirk, pinning her hips down to the counter and mercilessly fucking into her. “This is what you goddamn get .”

Backhand nodded furiously, whimpering yes over and over softly into the fabric in her mouth.

“That’s right, tell me how much you want it.” Danse instructed softly, fingers back on her clit. He would work her over methodically, mouthing at her sensitive breasts until they were covered with small pink marks from his explorations.

Her whole body was shaking, she was ready , so ready, she had needed this for so long and she came apart with a stifled cry of delight. She twitched her fingers inside her and made herself tremble, moaning softly at the aftershocks that rolled through her. Across the room, she heard Danse grunt and she held her breath, fearing that she'd woken him up.

…

Danse threw an arm over his eyes, breathing hard. She carded her fingers through his hair tenderly, cradling him to her chest. The paladin felt his throat tighten and he sighed, content to ignore the world for another minute and drag out his fantasy even after he'd come. Maybe he would finally get to enjoy some of that post-coitus banter he'd heard so much about...

Danse woke up at some point of the early morning to movement in the room, the weak dawn light making him close his eyes again and groan. Lips pressed to his cheek and he felt someone pull his bedroll up around his shoulders. Normally that would alarm him, Haylen and Rhys knew better than to touch him while he was half-asleep. But he understood he was safe, for some odd reason.

“ Sleep well, Paladin Danse .”

He knew he should probably feel stupid or hell, even a little guilty about being woken up well past sunrise by Knight Rhys. But the hickeys on Rhys’ neck made him give the other man a sleepy, knowing smirk. Rhys huffed after a second or two, straightening up when a disheveled Haylen barged through the front doors of the police station.

“Paladin Danse! Are you…” She trailed off, taking in Danse’s smirk and the look on Rhys’ face. “Oh…oh no, they’re really obvious.” Haylen said weakly, flushing.

“Told you.” Rhys grunted, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Looks like the paladin has a love letter, though. And a cold bed. Rough night, sir?” Rhys was teasing and that in and of itself convinced Danse he'd done the right thing by sending them off to spend time together.

“I wouldn’t say that .” The paladin fumbled upright in his sleeping bag, picking up the folded piece of paper left on the floor beside his head.

Paladin Danse,

Duty calls. Sent another Mister Handy over to patrol while you snoozed in case something happened. Return them back to Graygarden once you guys don’t need them any longer [please!]. Didn’t want to wake you, seemed like you could use the sleep. I’m going to think a while about enlisting. If you’re ever in Concord, look me up.

Sincerely, 'Backhand’ Vega .

Danse felt like a damn idiot for not realizing that Backhand was a nickname .

Part Two

#paladin danse #BOS #paladin danse smut #fallout Four #Fallout #Fallout 4 #scribe haylen #knight rhys #I've failed to resist the charms of the scruffy Buzz Lightyear man #join me in hell everyone #video games #thirst party saturday #enjoy!#paladin danse/f!sole #paladin danse/sole survivor

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

The Kindness; Part Six

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Halfway done!

“Keep back smoothsk--!” Charon's yell was cut short as the super mutant slammed the butt of its rifle into his jaw, knocking him back on his ass. Charon spat off to the side, thoroughly pissed off with his luck. He'd had no idea the supermutant was in here. He was running to circle around and help Spoon and he had come careening right into the mutant's lair. The fucking thing had batted his shotgun right out of his hands and off into the darkness. It had been either release the gun or have his wrists busted in two.

Charon growled in frustration, his knife itchy in his hands as he got to his feet. A tiny flare of light got his attention, and in the moment that he turned to look the super mutant howled and swung the rifle like a club into the side of his head. Pain exploded in a red haze across Charon's field of vision and he dropped to one knee.

With the look of horror on Spoon's face that he had seen in the brief flicker of the match burned into his brain, Charon snarled, attempting to stand again. The rifle swung into his ribs, tossing him a few feet like a kicked dog. He laid there in the dust, the orders screaming get up get up contract holder danger Spoon danger get up! Charon groaned, feeling his ribs slide across one another in his side as he rolled over and struggled to rise.

Where is his gun? Where is his gun?! Spoon thought frantically, feeling around in the layer of dirt and sand on the floor. The mutant must have knocked it out of his hands. I would have heard it fire--thing kicks like a mule , she reasoned, stifling a triumphant holler as her fingers brushed against the familiar barrel of the shotgun.

She quickly picked it up. But how to get back to Charon? If he's even still alive. She hated the thought as soon as it came to her.

The super mutant was still in the room, evidenced by the heavy breathing that goaded her to panic. Spoon squinted in the darkness. It was pitch...wait. No. There was the doorway! It was barely noticeable in the black, and she couldn't be sure if her brain was just playing tricks on her, making her see what she wanted to see in the dark, but it was something!

“I'm gonna eat your arms when you're dead, human!” The super mutant yelled angrily. Spoon could hear it flailing around, and guessed that it was probably across the room. She ran for the door, only just managing to avoid tripping over the larger chunks of debris on the floor. Then her foot caught on something soft and she sprawled over it, the wind knocked out of her.

“Dammit, smoothskin--” Charon grunted, flooding her with a delicious shock of relief.

He's alive! “Charon!” She gasped, “gun!”

Feeling that glorious, genius smoothskin partner of his press the shotgun into his limp hands was almost enough to get Charon ready to go toe-to-toe with the mutant again.

Almost. His body protested violently when he attempted to stand, though. He groaned, fingers scrabbling in the grit on the floor. Spoon seemed to realize that something was wrong. “Charon?” Her voice shook. Barely, just a hint on the end of his name, but enough to let Charon know that she was scared.

The ghoul coughed, spitting up something he hoped wasn't blood as he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. “This thing did a number on me smoothskin. I'm sorry.”

Small hands covered his on the shotgun. “Then let me help. What do I need to do?”

“Just--” Charon gritted his teeth. “--try to keep me from fallin' on my ass when I fire, alright?”

Spoon was behind him in a second, her chest pressed to his back. She tucked her hands into the pockets of his pants, then scrunched them into fists to hold him steady while Charon tried to stand. With Spoon's help, the giant ghoul finally managed to get to his feet. The broken bones in his side clacked and jammed against one another, making his breath catch in his throat.

He raised his gun, trying to listen for where the mutant was scuffling around over the roaring of blood in his ears. A head shot would be positively marvelous right now, but he would take what he could get.

Charon felt Spoon exhale hard when the super mutant let out an infuriated roar, very close and confused at where its prey had gotten to. Charon grinned and squeezed the trigger of his gun rapidly, feeling Spoon's fists tighten in his pockets in response to the kicks from the shotgun. The mutant screamed once more over the thunder of the shots, then there was a heavy thud.

The silence was a welcome change, and Charon relaxed when he realized the mutant's heavy, erratic breathing was gone. “Well. Now that that's over with.”

“What happened to you?” Spoon finally asked, once she thought her voice was strong enough to keep from shaking. She felt Charon's leg muscles shift under her fists as he went to move, and she quickly pulled her hands out of his pockets.

Spoon hesitantly replaced her hands on his hips when Charon stopped, and the ghoul grunted, “Thank you. Makes it easier to move if I don't have to wonder about how I'm getting back up. Did you have matches or something?” He asked.

“Oh!” Spoon had forgotten all about her matchbook in the chaos. She quickly handed it over to Charon.

The ghoul struck a clump of four or five matches, cradling his shotgun in the crook of his elbow as he surveyed the room. “Alright, it's not looking like he's going to get back up anytime soon.” Charon said finally.

Spoon sighed. “Let's just scav the rooms and get the fuck out of here before something stupider happens.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth, smoothskin.”

“Can I set you down by the door and I'll just go through this guy real quick?” Spoon asked, waiting for the ghoul's nod before easing him down. Charon hissed out a breath and Spoon was instantly worried. “What is it?”

“It's nothing. I'll be fine.” Charon brushed her off.

Spoon wasn't buying it, however, and after a quick sweep of the room and a few things jammed into her pockets she returned and helped Charon stand again. “Come on, I need light if I'm going to patch you up.”

“I'm fine--”

“No, you're not. Remember what I said? If you're hurt, just tell me so I can fix you. Don't shuffle on pretending you're okay.” Spoon grunted, shifting more of the ghoul's weight to rest on her shoulders.

Charon grumbled something under his breath, grudgingly putting one foot in front of the other and letting her help him back down the hall. By the time they reached the main room though, the ghoul was breathing hard and holding his side in a death grip, presumably to keep the bones from jamming against each other anymore.

“Alright, sit down here. We should be safe.” Spoon said, helping Charon sit and then beginning to dig through her pack for Stims.

“Just irradiated water. I'll be alright with that. Don't waste the Stims.” Charon breathed.

Spoon was having none of it however, hands busy undoing the straps of his combat armor. “How about you just shut up and let me help. I'm not wasting Stims, I'm using them on my partner.”

“Spoon, I--”

“Shut. Up. Let me work.” She snapped, peeling the armor off and tossing it over her shoulder. Charon instantly fell silent and moved his arm to the side, allowing Spoon to tug his shirt up and see the damage. Spoon swallowed hard, now not only worried about the injury as it dawned on her that she had issued an order.

Charon was unnaturally still, eyes focused on the wall behind her.

“Sorry, I didn't mean that...um. That order. Disregard it.” She apologized, watching his body shudder oddly. The look he gave her was strange, but she chalked it up to the probably incredible amount of pain he was in and dropped her eyes to pay attention to her work. She wasn't sure if the Stims she had would be enough. She still cracked the seal on the first one and weaseled the needle into his tough skin; Stims be fucked, mutants be fucked, she wasn't losing him. Not here, not like this, not ever, hopefully. She paused. Not ever? Pretty strong words for the kid who almost got choked out by super mutants. Spoon flushed a dull red, turning to rummage in her pack for irradiated water.

Charon groaned behind her, shifting his legs restlessly.

“Sorry. I'm looking for rad water. I know it'll probably do you more good anyhow.” Spoon said quietly. Her hand finally caught the jug, and she hoisted it out of her bag with a triumphant grin. “Got it!”

“Holy shit smoothskin, why the fuck do you tote that fucking much rad water?” Charon wheezed incredulously, gladly taking the proffered jug from her.

“In case I get something shot off that I want to keep.” Spoon replied. Charon gave her a quizzical look between gulps of water. Spoon sighed. “I did some work for Moira once. Left me a little...weird. If I'm heavily irradiated, stuff regrows. Important stuff, like limbs.”

“So this shit,” Charon paused to slosh the jug, “Is your failsafe?”

“I suppose so, yeah.”

Charon was silent for a minute. “You're a smart one, you know that?”

Spoon blushed furiously. “I'm just doing what I need to survive. How do you feel?”

Charon gave her a thumbs up while chugging down the rest of the water. “Million bucks.” He replied wryly.

Spoon got to her feet, stretching. “Let's spend the night here. If there were any other super mutants inside, we'd definitely know by now. And I'm kind of exhausted. That mutant earlier almost did me in.” She yawned.

A prickle of worry ran down Charon's spine. “Why, what happened?” He asked.

Spoon waved it off. “It had me around the neck for a minute. It got kinda' tense, but I sorted it out.”

“Are you sure? You could be injured. Let me see.” Charon gestured for her to come closer, disliking the swimming feeling in his head from the irradiated water. Spoon unbuttoned her duster, pulling the collar down to show Charon the angry purple marks from the super mutant's hand.

“I'm gonna' have one fucker of a bruise, but I'll be okay.” Spoon said cheerily.

Charon shook his head. “That thing could have snapped your neck. You're damn lucky it wasn't hungry.”

“What about your mutant, Charon? ” She asked, continuing to unbutton her coat.

The ghoul coughed, a little embarrassed with himself. “It uh, essentially slapped the gun right out of my hands. It was either let go of the gun, or not have functioning wrists. I still had my knife so I thought I would be alright.”

Spoon was quiet for a minute. “Did you know that it was there? The...mutant?” Her voice seemed unusually serious.

“I...I apologize, Mistress. I did not. I was coming around to help you, as we had planned.” Charon looked away. I didn't want it to hurt you. I thought you were dead after the first one stopped making noise. I thought it was eating you, I thought-- “I'm sorry. I've failed you again.”

“No! No, it's alright. You didn't do anything wrong. Thank you for protecting me.” The smile she gave him felt like a punch to the stomach.

“Mis--Spoon. You know someday you will have to punish me. I was human at one point, and I still have all the faults and failures. I'm going to let you down Spoon, and it will be your job to discipline me just as it is my job to follow you.” Charon stated bleakly. A gentle hand touched his chin, and Charon found himself staring into a pair of serious brown eyes. He swallowed hard, feeling his stomach knot at what he saw in those eyes. She is...feeling some sort of affection for me?

“Charon, what do I have to do to get you to understand that I'm not like any of your other partners?” Spoon asked, exasperation bleeding through her tone.

“You are also not the first one of my employers to tell me that. There have been others that started out like you, Spoon. Who knows? Maybe you've just kept the act up a bit longer and better than the rest.” Charon shrugged, shaking free of her hand. “It is more beneficial to my mental and physical health if I do not concern myself with hoping for things I know won't happen to someone like me. I'll go take the first watch.”

“Don't bother.” Spoon said quietly, getting to her feet and straightening out her duster with a loud, angry snap of stiff cloth. “You're hurt, and I wouldn't be much of a master if I didn't give my prize buy time to heal, now would I?”

“Spoon that's not--”

“Save it!” She snapped, jamming her hat on and taking up an angry stance by the door. After a minute or two, Charon heard a stifled sniffle.

“Spoon...” Charon pulled himself to his feet, but slumped against the wall a second later as his head spun wildly. He huffed out a quick breath before sliding back down to sit on his ass. “Damn it all.” He snarled, feeling helpless yet again. The sniffling continued, making him grumble in irritation. “Crying isn't going to make me more likely to believe you, smoothskin.”

“Well what the hell else can I do?” The young woman retorted loudly, balling her fists. “What do you want me to say?! 'Oh Charon, I'm all shook up on account of you almost getting made into a bag of remains'?” She continued, pitching her voice up into a shrieking falsetto. “Or how about, 'I could have lost you to a giant green fucking monster, who wouldn't have hesitated to pop your head off had it been hungrier!'”

“Hey!” Charon roared, “Don't you think for one fucking second that you were the only one scared! I didn't know whether you were--I thought-I thought the first one might have fucking killed you and that I was too late again!” His legs seemed to gather strength from his outrage, propelling him up and across the room to tower over Spoon in the doorway. “It wouldn't have mattered then whether you were a decent human being or not because I would have had to rifle through your mangled corpse for my goddamn contract and shove it into the hands of the next bastard I came across! I would have had t--!” He stopped, hand raised in the beginning of an irritated motion.

Spoon's fingers were white-knuckled around the hilt of her knife, brown eyes fixed on his hand and a slight hunch in her shoulders. Realization hit Charon like a bolt of lightning, and he let his hand fall. The anger began to ebb out of him as Spoon didn't loosen her grip on her knife, her gaze following his hand.

“The contract forbids me from striking you, Spoon.” He said finally, his voice sounding too loud in the surrounding silence.

“I don't know that, now do I, Charon?” She responded through clenched teeth.

“And even if it didn't, I tend to avoid hitting people who might be decent human beings.” Charon continued, taking a step back as an incredulous look skittered across Spoon's face. Her death-grip on the knife began to relax and a flush started to stain her cheeks.

“I'm--I'm sorry, I didn't actually think you were going to hit me or anything Charon, I just-”

“It's alright. I've taken enough beatings to know.” Charon made a sweeping gesture with his hand, his fierce expression gone. “Come sit, Spoon. We should be safe here anyhow, now that the mutants are dead.”

“But-!” Spoon began.

“Please.” Charon's tone brooked no argument. Spoon bit her lip, watching worriedly as the ghoul lowered himself to the ground with a grimace. Spoon sat down beside him with a graceless thud. She folded her arms, resting her elbows on her knees as she looked sideways at Charon. The ghoul had his eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall as he breathed a little harder than Spoon was used to.

“I'm sorry about all that. Are you gonna' be alright?” She asked softly. Charon nodded, eyes still shut. Spoon watched his chest rise and fall, surprising even herself with the desire to touch him; to offer some sort of comfort, regardless of how feeble. What comfort could she give him, though? She was just a scavenger, a wasteland rat. Couldn't even take care of her own gun, let alone the ghoul sworn to her service 'for good or ill'. Spoon shifted downward into herself, feeling altogether like a very sorry sort of human being.

A murmured curse from the ghoul snapped her out of her self-loathing, and lit up the practical scavenger's mind with worries and fears anew for her...friend? Could she even call him that? Hell, did she have the right to call him that? Doesn't really matter right now, she concluded inwardly, daring to put her hand timidly on his bare arm.

He flinched and his eyes shot to hers, questioning. “Just...just making sure you're okay.” She said hesitantly.

The smile he offered her, quick as it was, almost made her gasp in shock. “I'll be fine, smoothskin. Just let the rad-water and Stims do their job.” He said, apparently not noticing the effect his smile had on her.

Spoon took a chance and left her fingers curled around his arm. He didn't seem to mind at all, but a low sound that might have been a sigh rumbled through his chest when she gave his arm an appreciative stroke. “Sorry,” Spoon whispered, and then, “You have really nice arms.”

She felt like kicking herself when Charon snorted derisively, “Oh yeah, best in the business,” then pointedly curled his arm to tense his muscles under her palm. She was silent for a moment, beet red as Charon seemed to play mental catch-up. “...that was a serious compliment, wasn't it.”

“...maybe?”

“Well, then I guess my 'not bad yourself' is also a maybe?”

Charon had no idea what he was doing. Spoon was...confusing. The rad-water was patching him up along with the Stims, but it was making him loopy. Lightheaded even. He wasn't sure whether he liked the feeling. He was almost flirting with his employer, rewarding her boldness with a languid ripple of muscle and practically purring when she touched him. It was empowering to hear her breathing quicken, feel the chill in her barely shaking hand. She was fully aware of how powerful he was. She of all people was fully aware, and yet...

She didn't seem afraid. No more than she would be touching any other man. The tremble of her fingers on his fever-hot skin just seemed to be regular in a woman that was dealing with a previous blast of adrenaline. That in and of itself was a heady thing to Charon. Spoon wanted to touch him, and not out of fear or pity. She was...she might be attracted to him. Him!

Few and far between were his female employers, and none of them had been sound mentally. It was strange to be around a woman who was...in a relative aspect, normal. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to speak his mind, to tell her when he was distressed or at a disadvantage so she could help him. Like she cared, and not only because he was her fuck-shit-up machine.

She cares. The thought made Charon stiffen. It was almost frightening, in a way. He might mean something to someone now. Someone might worry about him if he got hurt. More importantly, he might care more than the contract dictated he had to if a certain someone else got hurt.

Fuck. What if he cried? What if he did that whole, “I can't live without you” business as he buried his face in her hair and wept poetically for what he had lost? Charon almost snorted at that. Her caring about me isn't gonna' turn me soft.

...I hope.

A hand gently squeezed his arm again, interrupting his train of thought. Charon kept his face bland as he carelessly flexed his bicep against her grip. He grinned inwardly at the expression on her face. She clearly hadn't expected him to be this agreeable with her. She had probably thought he would tell her to fuck off.

Her fingers danced across his arm, down to his wrist which she then pulled closer to her face, presumably to examine the intricate patchwork that was his flesh and muscle. He wiggled his fingers bemusedly, watching her face light up as she traced the individual muscles working through the inside of his forearm to his elbow.

She is something else .

For all he cared, Spoon could study his miraculous musculature until the sun came up.

Part Seven

#fallout three #fallout 3 #charon the ghoul #Female!Lone Wanderer #rewrite #hurt/comfort #canon-typical violence #video games #slow burn #charon/F!LW #charon/female lone wanderer

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