1. The Debt Repaid

The howling wind and whirr of rotors were loud in Paladin Danse’s ears as he stood at the vertibird’s open door, soaking in the landscape below with an almost childlike wonder. He adored flying. There was something so peaceful, so comforting about being in the sky. The world looked so much smaller from the air, so much easier to manage. Even the dangers of the Commonwealth seemed minuscule from above, the gore and conflict lost in a sea of patchwork landscapes that spread like a quilt below the aircraft.

“How much further?” he asked the Lancer-Captain who was piloting the craft.

“We should be approaching the drop zone in a few minutes, sir,” the pilot replied.

“Outstanding!” Danse exclaimed, pulling on his helmet to protect his face. “I’ll send a radio transmission to Scabbard with our coordinates when Larimer and I are ready to return.”

“Yes, sir!” The pilot replied. “We’ll be standing by. Good luck, sir.”

Because of their tenuous relationship with the Minutemen, Maxson had ordered that no vertibird could land in the militia’s territory unless the General agreed to it. Unfortunately, with the General missing, there was no one to negotiate Danse’s arrival, so Maxson had explicitly told him that he wasn’t allowed to land at Sanctuary. However, the young Elder hadn’t said anything about bailing out just beyond the walls of the settlement.

“Thank you, Lancer-Captain,” Danse said, his voice mechanical and muffled through the helmet’s voice box. “Ad victoriam!”

Paladin Danse dropped from the vertibird onto the soft ground outside Sanctuary, frowning slightly as his boots sunk slightly into the soft loam of the riverbank. He sighed, removing his helmet before glancing around.

Danse took in the settlement’s imposing walls with wide eyes. The island was extremely well-fortified, even by his high standards. To think that a small group of settlers had been able to produce such finely constructed palisades was both impressive and a little concerning. If this was what the Minutemen were really capable of, they were a more powerful force than Brotherhood Intelligence had assumed.

The Paladin approached the gate slowly so as not to startle the middle-aged man on guard duty. As he drew closer, the man rang a bell next to his station twice before eyeing the Paladin with suspicion.

“What’s ya business here, fella?” the man asked menacingly, glowering down at the armored stranger.

“I’m here for General Larimer,” Danse replied curtly. He wasn’t overly fond of the man’s tone. All the same, these were Myra’s men. He should try to be polite. He gritted his teeth, flashing the man an unconvincing smile.

The man snorted, his sharp eyes bright with mirth. “Ya here to see the General? Well, of course ya are. That’s the only reason anyone comes out here. Well, that an’ trade, but ya don’t look that much like a brahmin. Too bad for ya, but the General ain’t here. Last time I saw her, she was headin’ out with that MacCready fella.”

Danse sighed. Of course he was too late. Damn Arthur and his bourbon for delaying the Paladin’s departure. “Do you know where she went?” he asked.

“Hah!” the man retorted. “Ya think anyone tells me anything? No, sir, I’m just the gatekeeper. Nobody ever things that maybe I should be kept informed. Ya want to speak to Colonel Garvey. If he’ll see ya, that is.”

“Fine. May I please speak to Colonel Garvey?” the Paladin asked. If he wasn’t so worried about Myra, he wouldn’t put up with this sort of run-around. But at this moment, locating the missing Knight was more important to him.

“Who is it, Frank?” asked a gentle but firm voice from the other side of the wall.

The gatekeeper turned, glancing at a spot just behind the gate. “Fella hasn’t told me his name, sir,” the man replied. “Ya want me to ask him?”

Danse rolled his eyes. “I’m Senior Paladin Danse,” he said, raising his voice so the newcomer could hear, “from the Brotherhood of Steel. I’m looking for Myra Larimer, General of the Minutemen. Please, let me in. It’s rather...exposed out here.”

The large gate creaked open, and Danse stepped carefully through. He gasped in astonishment as he glanced around the settlement, his eyes greedily taking in the sights.

Myra’s town of Sanctuary was far grander than he’d expected. To hear her speak of it, the settlement was a few run-down old houses. This was far more than what he’d imagined. What had once been a bombed-out cul-du-sac had grown into a flourishing community. To his left, a bright neon sign advertised a local eatery, The Last Minuteman . To his right, he could see an open-air market full of shops, people of all ages browsing their wares. Farther down the road, he could just make out the edge of a basketball court, where a handful of children played. It was idyllic.

He was brought back to his present situation when someone loudly cleared their throat next to him. Danse glanced over to see a tall young man in a tan duster, a laser musket slung casually over one shoulder.

“So you’re Myra’s Paladin,” the man said, his eyes sweeping over Danse dismissively. As he spoke, Danse recognized the voice he’d heard earlier. “Hmm. Well, you’re about what I expected, honestly. Welcome to Sanctuary.”

Danse frowned, unsure what the man’s assessment meant. He also wasn’t thrilled about being known as “Myra’s Paladin.” What had she been telling people? “Where’s Larimer?” he said sternly. “If you know where she went, I need you to tell me.”

The man sighed heavily. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Paladin. You’re on Minuteman soil, which means you aren’t in charge here.”

Danse scoffed. “And you are, I take it?”

The man nodded. “That’s right. I’m Colonel Preston Garvey, second-in-command of the Commonwealth Minutemen…which I believe means that I technically outrank you. Imagine that.”

Danse ignored the barb. As if their ranks were even comparable. He’d trained for years to attain the rank of Senior Paladin. This Garvey fellow looked like he’d just been handed the job because no one else wanted it. “So you’re Preston,” he replied. “Larimer’s told me about you.”

Preston smiled cryptically. “Trust me, I’ve heard all about you as well. And I’m pleased to meet you, as long as you respect our rules while you’re here.”

The Paladin sighed. “Very well,” he muttered. It was in his best interest not to antagonize Myra’s allies, even if he resented the way they behaved around him. It was times like this he really missed the Capital Wasteland. The Brotherhood hadn’t always been liked there either, but at least people had treated them with respect.

Preston’s smile grew. “Excellent! Now, you were asking about the General. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you where she was headed.”

“Not as surprised as I was,” Danse replied bitterly. “I thought I was finally getting her to open up, and then she vanished. All she told me was that she was coming here and then going to find answers.”

“Our General’s never been great at communication, has she?” muttered Preston.

Danse shook his head. “How difficult is it to check in once in a while?”

The minuteman chuckled, “Well, it’s good to know she’s just as bad with you. I thought it was just me.”

“I don’t know if I’d classify that as ‘good,’” the Paladin replied. “If she doesn’t confide in you either, how are we supposed to locate her?”

“Did ya ever think that maybe she didn’t tell ya where she was goin’ ‘cause she didn’t want ya to follow her?” muttered Frank from his perch in the guard tower. Both Danse and Preston looked at the man with mild annoyance, eyes narrowed at the gatekeeper. “Jus sayin’,” the man continued. “But, hey, ain’t any of ol’ Frank’s business.” He shrugged, turning back towards the gate entrance, and continued his watch.

Preston sighed. “Well, at least I can tell you what I know, Paladin. The General and MacCready left a couple of weeks ago. Last I heard, they were heading to Diamond City to talk to some detective. I’m not sure what their plans were from there, but I’ll bet the detective knows.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Danse replied. “That’s actually quite helpful.” He turned towards the gate, preparing to make his departure. It was a long walk to Diamond City, after all.

“Hey, Paladin?”  asked Preston.

Danse looked back at the other man who watched the Paladin with pleading eyes. “Yes?” Danse replied.

“When you find her…” Preston thought for a moment before clearing his throat. “Ah, just tell her to be careful, will you?”

Danse nodded. “Affirmative.” The  Paladin nodded his thanks to the minuteman before proceeding back through the gate. As he stepped on the rickety wooden bridge that connected the island to the mainland, he was nearly bowled over by two young men in Minuteman uniforms who rushed across the structure, breathless.

“Colonel!” one of the men yelled, “the Foxes are headed for Tenpines, not Starlight! We saw their camp in the woods nearby.”

“Are you certain?” Preston asked with a frown.

“Absolutely, sir,” he continued. “If we hurry, we should be able to intercept them.”

Preston nodded to Frank, who rang the gate bell furiously in alarm. “Gather everyone you can and send them to meet us at the Red Rocket. Quickly!” He turned to Danse. “I don’t suppose you can wait a few days and help us out with these raiders, can you?”

Danse shook his head. “I’m not permitted to interfere in Minuteman affairs. Elder Maxson’s orders. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Preston replied. “Just make sure Myra knows when you find her that she’s missing all the fun.”

With that, the Colonel ran past him, making his way towards Concord with the two messengers in tow. Danse watched them charge off before carefully crossing the bridge himself. Something was off about those two minutemen. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something in their bearing worried him.

“Relax, Danse,” he muttered to himself. “You’re just not used to these militiamen.”

With one last look up the road towards Preston’s retreating figure, Danse began to hike cross-country, heading south.

::::

Danse wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he approached the door to Valentine’s Detective Agency. In spite of the frigid temperatures winter had brought to the Commonwealth, the physical exertion of his fast-paced trek to Diamond City had left him quite warm.

He’d made excellent time, all things considered, especially compared to his last trip to the bustling town. It probably helped that he hadn’t stopped to help every person along the way as he had with Myra.

Danse eased the door open, stepping inside. The synth detective and its human secretary looked up in surprise as he approached the desk.

“Well, now,” crooned the shabby synth that called itself Nick, “Never expected you’d be coming through that door all on your own. Last time we talked, you weren’t exactly civil. What brings you in, pal?”

The Paladin turned to the secretary. The last thing he wanted was to discuss the current situation with a machine instead of a real person. “I’m looking for Knight Larimer. I have information that says she passed through this way.”

The young woman smiled warmly at him, though the smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “You’ll have to ask Nick about that. He saw her more recently than I did.”

Danse frowned. He was upset enough that they’d needed the synth’s help to find Kellogg. He didn’t want to owe the damned machine any more favors. “Where is she?” he asked, just the barest hint of menace at the edge of his question.

“Last time I saw Miss Larimer was about a week ago,” mused the synth, its inhuman yellow eyes narrow and calculating. “She was in Goodneighbor, planning her next move. If you want to catch her there, you’d best get a move on. I got the impression she wasn’t planning on staying long.”

“Outstanding,” muttered Danse. If there was one place in the entire Commonwealth he wanted to avoid returning to more than Nick’s office, it was that trash fire of a town. He’d rather run unarmed into a deathclaw breeding ground than go willingly to Goodneighbor. At least deathclaws were honest about their intent to harm. What could Myra possibly be doing there?

He stormed out of the office in annoyance. It was like Myra was deliberately trying to make things difficult for him.

“You’re welcome!” Nick called sarcastically at Danse’s back as the door swung shut.

:::

The sun had nearly dipped below the horizon by the time Danse made his way to Goodneighbor. Fortunately, many of the local raiders had decided to leave him alone. He wished the same could be said for the Super Mutants. He frowned, examining the dents in his leg armor left by Mutant Hound fangs, drool still bright on the battered metal. That was going to take forever to buff out. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered.

The Paladin glanced around, his face contorted in disgust. Goodneighbor. Somehow, the town was even worse than Danse remembered it. The smell of piss and drunken vomit filled his nose as he stepped through the gates, making his eyes water. He tried to ignore the hostile stares the town’s populace gave him as he stormed towards the Old State House. If there was one person who probably knew where Myra was, it was that lecherous ghoul who fancied himself the mayor of this hellhole.

“If it isn’t the most uptight man in the Commonwealth,” Hancock said with a grin as Danse stormed into his living room. “If you’re looking for your lady friend, I’m afraid she’s not here.”

Danse glared at the ghoul. “What do you mean, she’s not here, freak?”

That thing that called itself Hancock smirked at him, brushing the dust from the front of his coat idly. “I mean what I said. And here’s a friendly word of advice, crew cut. Maybe if you want someone to do you a favor, you should start by not calling them a freak.”

Danse sighed. He couldn’t believe he was really doing this. If it was for anyone else... “Do you know where she went, Hancock?” he asked, as politely as he could muster.

The ghoul smiled, black eyes glinting in amusement. “See? Common courtesy. Was that so hard?”

“Don’t push me, Hancock,” Danse groaned. “It’s been a long day.”

“So it appears,” the mayor mused. “You’re even less pleasant than usual. Fine, I’ll tell you what I know. As of last week, your gal was heading out towards the harbor with MacCready and Deacon. One of my friends saw her and MacCready sneaking out of one of those abandoned buildings down by the mouth of the Charles River a few hours after they left here. Seems they were heading towards Lexington.”

The Paladin’s eyes narrowed. MacCready, he’d expected. The other name was new to him, however. “Who is this Deacon?” Danse asked.

Hancock thought for a moment. “He’s… well, he’s not exactly a friend. Deacon’s…a bit of an interesting case. You can never quite be sure what he’s up to. But if Myra’s with the two of them, she’ll be fine. They’re both capable snipers.”

“So she’s out in the wasteland with two cowards, then,” Danse scoffed. He had no respect for men who hid during battle.

“Says the guy who wears power armor all the time,” Hancock replied. “I suppose you’d better get moving before the trail goes cold. I’d offer to come with you, but wouldn’t you know, I really don’t like you very much.”

“The feeling’s completely mutual,” Danse retorted. “Hopefully this is the last time I’ll have to come to this den of iniquity.”

Hancock laughed. “Great! Then you won’t spoil it for the rest of us! Don’t let Fahrenheit hit you on the way out, ok? Lord knows she wants to.”

Danse glanced over at Hancock’s bodyguard, who cracked her knuckles ominously, a wicked smile on her face. He sighed. One last courtesy. For Myra. “Thank you, Hancock,” he muttered.

The ghoul grinned. “Yeah. Whatever. Now get out of here before you scare all the fun people away.”

::::

It took Danse nearly two more days to find Myra. He lost her trail in Lexington, where the only trace of her was a pile of destroyed synths torn apart by laser fire outside an old donut shop of all places. Other than that, there was nothing to indicate where she’d gone. He searched the nearby Super Duper Mart, in case she’d stopped for supplies, but all he found there was a nest of particularly angry ghouls.

By the third day of his search, Danse finally caught a break. It was only through pure luck that he happened upon a caravanner who’d seen her heading west along the highway a few hours before.

“I’d stay away from that area if I were you,” the man muttered, his grimy face solemn. “There’s a whole mess of Gunners up there, you know. Even with that fancy armor, I doubt you could take them on alone.”

“I’ve been victorious against worse odds, civilian” Danse had replied, tossing the man a few caps for his trouble. “But I appreciate the help.”

“Your funeral…” the man muttered, continuing east as Danse headed west towards a large overpass that loomed in the distance, a broken bridge to nowhere.

When the Paladin arrived at the base of the overpass, he could see the remains of a pretty spectacular battle. Several Gunners lay sprawled about in various unnatural poses, as though they had been pushed off the bridge. Still more had been reduced to ash, the signature tang of ozone still clinging in the air from laser fire. These remains were fresh. Whatever had transpired here had only recently concluded.

He pressed the button for the lift, frowning as he spotted a familiar newsboy cap lying upside-down in the carriage, charred and bloodied. Well, at least Myra would finally have to throw the damn thing out, if she was still alive. That was something.

Danse gripped his new laser rifle tightly, ready to face whatever was lurking atop the lift. But even all the preparation in the world couldn’t ready him for the sight that greeted his eyes when he reached the top.

The first thing he saw was Myra. She was lying still, curled up on the filthy concrete in a large pool of blood. All around her were Gunner corpses, red rivulets slicking the pavement and turning those who had been disintegrated into small mounds of rust-colored mud. The Knight was conscious, just barely, gripping her ruined left shoulder weakly as tears of agony streamed down her unnaturally pale face. Her arm had been badly burned, the flesh stripped nearly to the bone in places. All things considered, it was amazing that she was still conscious. The leather pauldron that normally protected her shoulder had been torn off and lay a few feet away, blackened by a powerful laser blast.

It wasn’t difficult to find the one responsible for the damage. The smoking remains of an assaultron lay at Larimer’s right side, its left hand blade piercing her torso, holding back the flow of blood from what Danse hoped weren’t any vital organs.

Further down the overpass, his back leaning against a burnt-out old bus, was MacCready. The scrawny man was wounded as well, though perhaps not as severely as Myra was. A cursory glance suggested a superficial head wound and possibly a few cracked ribs, from the way the mercenary was wheezing. In other words, he’d live, and that was all the attention Danse cared to waste on the man.

Relief and rage filled Danse in equal measure, and he stormed over to Myra’s prone form. He took a knee beside her and eased her body into a seated position against his armored leg as gently as he could, his worried eyes scanning her for additional injuries.

“Well, hey, Danse,” Myra moaned, flashing him a weak smile. “Sorry you missed the party.”

“Soldier, what were you thinking?” he growled, holding her steady as he continued to check her over. “Did you seriously think attacking a heavily fortified position like this with just this insubordinate civilian as your backup was an acceptable risk?”

“I was...thinking that we could handle ourselves,” she muttered. “I wasn’t counting on...an assaultron.”

“And you!” Danse bellowed, turning his furious gaze to bear down on the ex-Gunner, “How dare you put my Knight at risk over such a fool’s errand?”

“Oh, is she yours?” hissed MacCready, his deep blue eyes ablaze. “I’m sorry. I must have missed the dog collar around her fuc… I mean, her freaking neck!”

Myra groaned in pain. “Danse, Mac, stop it! Enough!”

They both turned to look at her as she slowly pulled the assaultron arm from her side with a cry of agony. She struggled against Danse’s grip, trying and failing to stand as dark blood oozed from the wound like syrup.

Without hesitation, Danse ripped his uniform hood from his head, pressing it tightly against her bleeding side, trying to slow the flowing mess. His hood wasn’t the cleanest thing in the world, but it was what he had. Laundered cloth was in short supply in the wasteland, and Myra still hadn’t returned his handkerchief.

Myra whimpered against him so pitifully that he could barely stop himself from throwing his other arm around her and holding her close, comforting her. The pain in her eyes was almost too much to bear. As Myra regained control of herself, she nodded a weak thank you to Danse before turning her head towards her mercenary friend. “Mac, I understand how it sounds, but Paladin Danse was just worried about me, in his way.”

The mercenary scoffed, wincing in pain as he tried to move, but for once mercifully remained silent.

“Danse,” she continued, gasping, “I’m here because MacCready needed my help, and I’m never going to leave someone I care about hanging, no matter how dangerous it is to help them. Now, I admit, I was underprepared for this mission, but it wasn’t Mac’s fault that we ran out of stimpacks. I should have been more careful. I’m sorry. Now are you going to patch us up, or are you just going to yell at at me until I bleed out?”

Danse sighed. “Very well. Here.”

He tossed a stimpack to MacCready, pointedly ignoring the sardonic smirk the mercenary directed at him. Then, he turned back to Myra, and carefully administered stimpacks to her right shoulder and left abdomen.

“Damn, I hate needles,” she hissed.

“Your displeasure is irrelevant, Knight,” Danse mumbled. “You’ll live, and that’s the important thing. Now, are you going to come back with me willingly, or do I need to carry you over my back? I can’t promise it will be comfortable, but it will get you back to the Prydwen . Damage like this is too severe for us to patch up in the field. We need Knight-Captain Cade.”

Myra rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m coming. Just let me make sure Mac’s ok, and then we can go.”

“Affirmative,” Danse replied. He helped Myra to her feet, checking to make sure she could walk. She hissed as she took a few limping steps, her body not giving her the strength she needed.

Danse offered her his arm, but she shook her head. “Just go wait by the lift,” Myra commanded through gritted teeth. “I can make it...fuck!...I can make it that far, I think.”

The Paladin nodded, returning to the lift to wait for her. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he knew better than to point out how frail she was. Better for her to come to that conclusion on her own.

MacCready rushed past him towards Myra, worry clouding his deep blue eyes. Danse stood at a distance, watching the two of them as they talked. He couldn’t understand what she saw in the man, why she’d intentionally put herself at risk to help him get revenge on his old colleagues. MacCready certainly wasn’t much to look at, as far as Danse was concerned, all scrawny limbs and snark. Hell, the man couldn’t even handle his own business. He had to drag a woman, albeit a very capable woman, in to fight for him.

MacCready’s eyes bored through the pavement as he unclasped a pouch from his belt, handing it to Myra. Danse couldn’t hear what was said, but the gesture spoke for itself. Well, at least the mercenary had enough dignity to refuse payment when his client was injured for his sake. That was something.

Myra gave the small man a quick hug before slowly limping to Danse’s side, a satisfied smile cutting through the agony on her face. The Paladin ran over to meet her, offering her his arm again. This time, she accepted it, wincing in pain as she struggled to walk. “Well, this is embarrassing,” she muttered.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, Larimer,” Danse chided, “a lesson you clearly have yet to learn.”

“Get in line,” she muttered.

Danse eyed her, confused, but decided to let it go. “So, I assume your business with that man is concluded, then?” the Paladin asked coolly.

“Well, our business relationship is over, I’m pretty sure,” Myra replied, moaning in pain. “But who knows? I kind of like traveling with him.”

Danse frowned. “More than you like traveling with me?”

She laughed, a strangled chuckle. “Wow, Danse? Jealous much?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “But you’ve been off galavanting through the Commonwealth alone for almost two months now. Did you forget that we had a mission of our own to complete?”

“Not at all,” Myra shot back. “In fact, I spent a lot of that time actually working on a way to get to Shaun, to the Institute.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me for help?” Danse asked with a heavy sigh. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye, Knight, but I’m your sponsor. It is my duty to fight by your side, particularly when it comes to your mission to infiltrate the Institute. I was… perturbed that you wouldn’t ask me to come with you.”

Myra’s grip on his arm tightened as her legs threatened to give way, and she whimpered as she corrected herself, eyes bright with tears. “Danse, I was going to talk to Nick,” she said softly. “I know you dislike him. And I really did mean to come back sooner, just…”

The Paladin sighed heavily, wiping the tension from his eyes with his free hand. “I understand. Someone needed your help.”

Myra was silent as they entered the lift, her lower lip trembling slightly. “Hey,” she finally said, turning to look at him.

“What is it, Larimer?” Danse asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Thanks for rescuing us,” she replied with a slight smile.

Danse nodded. “I’ll always do my best to look after you, soldier. Your weaselly friend, less so. But all the same, try not to make a habit of nearly getting yourself killed. It would make my reports much more time-consuming.”

Myra stared at him in confusion. “Reports? Are you…was that a joke? I honestly can’t tell.”

“I never joke about paperwork, soldier,” he said with the faintest of smiles. “Now let’s get moving. I’ve stopped most of the bleeding, but Cade should still give you a thorough examination. Can you make it to the extraction point? The ground’s too uneven here, so we have to head down to that bend in the road,” he added, gesturing to a flat, open area just within eyesight.

“Well, if it’s walking or being thrown over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” Myra said with a swallowed cry of anguish, “I think I can manage.” Danse looked her over. She was pale, shaking with effort as though even standing was nearly more than she could bear. She was in no shape to walk even a short distance further, that much was clear.

“There’s… a third option,” Danse managed, his cheeks burning.

“Yeah?” Myra asked. “What’s that?”

Danse sighed. “I’m only offering because of how hard it is for you to stand. The most tactically advantageous solution would be...uh...would you...like me to carry you? In my arms, I mean. Not over my back.”

Myra’s eyes widened, a faint blush spreading across her high cheekbones. “Are you serious, Danse?”

He nodded. “Do you have any objections?”

She shook her head. “I mean...if you want to…”

Danse bent down, scooping her up as gently as he was able. Myra winced as her wounded torso came in contact with the cold steel of his armor, but she quickly settled into his arms. Myra’s legs draped softly over one arm as Danse wrapped the other carefully around her lower back, avoiding her injuries as best as he could. Myra tried to wrap her good arm around his neck, but found it impossible with his pauldrons, so she grabbed one of the handles on the front of the power armor to stabilize herself instead.

Danse cleared his throat awkwardly, trying not to think about the position they were in. This was simply the least jarring way to transport her back to the Prydwen . That was all. “Are you...are you comfortable enough?” he asked quietly.

Myra looked up at him, something soft and fragile in her green eyes. She bit her lower lip slightly, nodding as her blush deepened. Danse felt his stomach tighten as he looked at her, simultaneously trying to calm his mind and doing his best to remember every detail of her face. His worst fears had almost been realized. Myra had almost died. Again. She had almost died, and he hadn’t been there to protect her. He’d almost arrived too late. The thought overwhelmed him, retroactive terror sweeping through his body like ice in his veins.

He’d lost men before, and it always pained him deeply. But this feeling, this creeping dread that paralyzed him...he had only felt this twice before. The first had been when Arthur had nearly been torn in half by a deathclaw. The second was when Danse had found Cutler, had been forced to kill the monster he’d become.

“So, are we going back to the Prydwen , Danse, or are you just going to hold me for a while?” Myra asked after a while, the softness in her eyes turning to amusement.

Danse grimaced, regaining control of himself as best as he could. “Affirmative. Hold on, I’ll try not to jostle you too much, but I can’t promise that this will be a smooth trip.”

::::

Their return to the Prydwen had been mostly a quiet one, both Danse and Myra lost in their own thoughts. It was just as well. Danse wasn't entirely sure how to ask her about her trip to Nahant, or any of the other things that had happened since she'd left the airship. He supposed that she would tell him when she was ready. For now, it was enough that she was safe. It was enough that she was home.

Much to Myra’s dismay, Cade ordered her to take three weeks of bed rest so her wounds would heal properly. Her vertibird privileges were suspended, an extra precaution to prevent her from leaving without permission. All in all, it was a slap on the wrist considering how long she'd been out of contact, and under Danse’s watchful glare, she had complied. At least for the first few days.

Her wounds were even more severe than Danse had assumed. Three surgeries had been required to seal the gash on her side. The blades had nicked her kidney, but only slightly. Had the wound been any deeper, she would have been dead long before Danse had arrived on the scene. Her burned shoulder, too, proved difficult to heal, even with the best medicine the Brotherhood had to offer. She’d been quite fortunate that it hadn’t been her dominant arm. Even so, Cade couldn’t guarantee that she’d be able to regain a full range of motion in the affected limb.

Danse visited her every day while she recovered, usually with his chessboard in tow to keep her sharp. Even with all the practice she was getting in, Myra continued to lose every single match. Still, she was improving, little by little. Danse was beginning to find it harder to corner her.

The Paladin was not the only frequent visitor to the medical bay. More than once, he caught Maxson leaving the room, his face more relaxed than it normally was. Danse wondered what the two of them could possibly be talking about, but he never had the heart to ask either of them. Part of him was worried that he wouldn’t like the answer.

Scribe Haylen also came by a few times, claiming that she had reports to deliver on the situation in Cambridge. But Danse observed that she spent far less time briefing the Paladin and far more time laughing and chatting with Myra. He didn’t particularly mind. It was good to see the two of them getting along so well, and he knew that Myra must have been getting bored just stuck in bed all the time. She was too much like Danse to be comfortable sitting around too long. The two of them were people of action, not leisure. And as the days dragged on, it became more and more obvious that Myra was eager to leave. Eventually, he realized, there would be no keeping her still. All the attention and visitors were just delaying the inevitable.

About two weeks after they had returned to the airship, Danse was looking forward to a night of peace and quiet in his quarters. He had just finished cleaning and reassembling his laser rifle when he heard a knock on his door. He opened it, only to be greeted by Myra’s haggard face. She shot him an apologetic smile.

“May I come in, Paladin?” she asked. “I need your help.”

Danse sighed, holding the door open for her. “What are you doing out of the infirmary? You’re supposed to be resting, Knight.”

“I know, Danse. I know. But I just received urgent news from Preston. He’s asking for my help to recapture the Castle.”

Danse frowned. “The Castle?”

“It’s some old fort the Minutemen used to be based out of,” she explained. “Apparently they had to abandon it a while back because of a sea monster or something. So sea monsters are a thing now, I guess. That was a delightful revelation.”

“Get to the point, Larimer,” Danse replied. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Preston wants me to lead the charge and help take the fort back. I was hoping you could help me get a vertibird, since I’m still not allowed to use one without permission.”

The Paladin shook his head. “Larimer, there’s no way you’re well enough to lead an assault like that. Look at you. You can barely stand.”

“I have to, Danse,” she retorted. “The Minutemen need me, whether you like it or not. I promised Preston I would help if he ever contacted me again, so I have to do it. What kind of General would I be if I refused to lead my men?”

“But you’re injured!” Danse replied. “Surely Colonel Garvey would understand that. Cade still hasn’t cleared you for field duty, and frankly, I agree. You’re extremely lucky that assaultron didn’t kill you.”

Myra sighed. “Well, good thing I’m not asking Cade for permission. I’m fine, Danse. Just a little tender. Nothing an extra stim or two can’t take care of.  Now are you going to help me get off this damned airship, or do I have to jump off the flight deck and swim to the Castle? You know I will if I have to.”

Danse knew it wasn’t an idle threat. If anyone was crazy enough to attempt that sort of reckless stunt, it was Myra. “Very well,” he muttered, “but I have a few conditions.”

“Yeah?” Myra asked, her eyes lighting up eagerly.

“First,” the Paladin replied, “you have to take me with you so I can protect you.”

Myra smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. It wouldn’t be the same without you, Danse.”

“Second, you have to promise me that you won’t take any unnecessary risks. If you open that wound again, we might not be able to patch you up as well in the field.”

“That’s fair,” Myra acknowledged. “I’ll do my best to stay safe. Anything else?”

Danse eyed her carefully. He knew this would be the hardest thing to get her to agree to. “You need to wear your power armor. If the Castle is as dangerous as you seem to think it is, you need to be well-protected.”

Myra shook her head adamantly. “That’s where I draw the line, Danse. I’m sorry, but power armor and I have a history. I don’t like my movements being restricted.”

He sighed. “Is that your concern? If it’s fitted to you properly, soldier, power armor doesn’t restrict your movements at all.”

“All the same, I’d prefer not to wear it. The damned claustrophobia from the cryo chamber…” She shuddered. “I’m still not over it.”

Danse hadn’t considered that. Was her past really the reason she was so adamant about not wearing her armor? He had to admit that it made sense. Trauma was a strange beast. “Then will you at least wear these?” he asked, gesturing to a metal crate next to his bed.

Myra opened the crate curiously to find a full set of Brotherhood heavy combat armor. She looked at him in confusion. “Why do you have this?”

“It’s my set,” Danse replied, pulling the pieces carefully from the box, “from back when I first joined the Brotherhood, a gift from my sponsor. I never wear it, since I prefer my power armor, but I held on to it for sentimental reasons. It might be a bit loose on you, but we can adjust the straps. And you can still wear your flannel underneath, if you’d like.”

Myra stared at him in shock. “Danse, I can’t accept this.”

He frowned. “Why not? It’s just some armor.”

“No, it isn’t,” she replied softly. “It means something to you. What if it gets destroyed?”

“Then it will have served its purpose and protected you,” he replied. “It isn’t serving any real purpose just collecting dust. I...I’d like you to have it. Please.”

“No. It’s too much, Danse.”

The Paladin sighed heavily. “Then I’m afraid I can’t allow you to leave the Prydwen . Either wear your power armor, or take the combat armor. Otherwise, I’ll throw you in the brig, if that’s what it will take to keep you safe. You’re my responsibility, Larimer. If anything happened to you...” Danse’s voice trailed off as he realized that he wasn’t sure what he’d do if Myra got herself killed. He wished he could say that he’d mourn her and learn to move forward, like he did with everyone he’d lost before. So why did it feel like that wouldn’t be possible this time?

“Fine, you stubborn…” Myra, mumbled rolling her eyes. She pulled on the pieces of combat armor slowly, starting with the legs. She hissed in pain as she tried to pull on the chest piece, the hard material rubbing up against her wound.

“Here,” said Danse quietly. “Let me help you.” He gently eased the chest piece into position around her torso, pulling the straps slowly and carefully until the armor fit snugly against her upper body. Due to the differences in their body shapes, it didn’t fit her perfectly, and there were a few small gaps around her hips and chest. However, it was certainly more protection than Myra usually wore. Danse breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t as durable as power armor, but if it kept her alive, it would be more than enough.

“It’s not bad. Thank you, Paladin,” Myra murmured softly, gazing up at him. Her eyes were warm, a lush green no longer found in the world. Danse found himself caught up in them, unable to break her gaze.

As they stood, eyes locked, Danse found himself acutely aware of how close they were. He could almost feel her breath on his skin as she stood facing him, his hands still resting on the armor which covered her hips. It would take so little effort to close the miniscule gap between them, to hold her in his arms, to press his lips to hers again. The compulsion to be close to her almost overwhelmed his reason.

Almost. Danse cleared his throat, turning away from Myra. He couldn’t let these lapses in his self-control compromise the trust that he’d been working so hard to build between them. He picked the combat armor helmet off of his bed, handing it to her.

Myra held the helmet in her hands, turning it over with a look of dismay. “Do I have to wear this part? It’s so dorky.”

“Worse than the hats your Minutemen wear?” Danse asked.

“Much. Do I have to?”

He frowned. “Knight-Sergeant Dawes, the soldier I lost at Fort Strong...he died because he wasn’t wearing his helmet. He took a strike from a super sledge directly to the skull. I’d rather not see that happen to you.”

Myra rolled her eyes. “So I’ll avoid blows to the head. Seriously, Danse, if you cover me up any more, my troops won’t recognize me.”

He sighed, taking the helmet back from her and setting it down on his bed. “To tell you the truth, I always disliked that helmet too. It made my head look too big.”

Myra snorted. “Well, you do have a big head.”

“Or maybe I should make you wear it,” Danse replied with a faint smile, “to remind you who’s in charge.”

“Ooh!” teased Myra with a cheeky grin. “Someone’s feeling dominant. I like it.”

Danse frowned, his ears burning. “Knight, just...no. Go pack.”

She chuckled as Danse opened the door of his quarters, pushing her gently outside. “Fine. But I’ll be back soon. We leave at dawn.”

Danse shook his head as he closed the door, filling his pack with all the essentials he could think of. Whatever Myra was dragging him into this time, he wanted to be prepared.