16. The Unspoken Words

Senior Paladin Danse, for all his love of routine and order, was not the world’s most patient man when there was a mission on the line. He stood on the Prydwen ’s foredeck, tapping his fingers anxiously against the safety railing as he looked out over the remains of Boston Airport. The Brotherhood of Steel had worked tirelessly since their arrival in the Commonwealth to transform the remaining terminal and outbuildings into a secure base worthy of their technological might. While the hollowed carcasses of several large passenger jets remained, much of the debris surrounding the terminal had been cleared away, re-purposed into the construction of concrete and steel fortifications. The main terminal had only two entrances through the solidly-built walls, and both were heavily guarded by Knights in power armor, miniguns at the ready. It was as secure as anything could be in the Commonwealth.

Sometimes, Danse wondered what it was like to fly in one of the large passenger jets before the War.  From the promotional images he’d seen in various magazines over the years, it seemed like a luxurious adventure. Spacious and enclosed cabins, pretty girls in flattering uniforms...they even served meals on flights before the War, according to the ads. When Myra came back, he’d have to ask her if she’d ever flown, if that was what it was really like.

Danse loved flying almost as much as he’d loved power armor. When he’d joined the Brotherhood, he’d honestly had a hard time choosing what career path to take. Ultimately, he was too tall to be a Lancer, and once he’d become a Knight, he’d never looked back. But any chance he had to be up in the clear blue sky, to feel the wind on his face, he relished. Being a Paladin in a way, he supposed, had allowed him to have the best of both scenarios. He was able to use a vertibird any time he needed to deploy somewhere, and he got to wear power armor. No Lancer was ever issued a set of the precious armor.

The Paladin frowned as his mind drifted to Myra once more. She had been out of contact for more than a week, which as far as he was concerned was more than enough time to head into to the Glowing Sea and return to the Airport. Even if she was taking her time coming back, Myra should have at least reported in when she returned to the Commonwealth. Had something happened? What if she was injured, or worse, dead?

Danse gripped the safety railing in his armored hands tightly enough to dent the metal. Proctor Ingram would be furious, of course, but right now, he wasn’t particularly concerned with the engineer’s reaction to the damage. His mind churned, filled with scenarios of what might have befallen Myra. He should have gone with her. How many times had this happened now, where they were parted only to have something terrible befall her? Danse could kick himself for deciding to return to base without her.

Still, Myra hadn’t seemed all that interested in having him along. When she’d asked if he was ready for the next phase of her plan, her tone was guarded, almost dismissive. Danse couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, he’d messed up, that he’d driven her away. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, exactly, but he felt guilty nonetheless. He should have tried to find out, tried to make things right. Instead, he’d returned to the Airport, and she was out there somewhere, possibly alone, but likely with Deacon.

The Paladin grimaced as he thought about Myra’s shady friend. There was something deeply off-putting about Deacon. Danse had felt it the minute he set eyes on the man. Deacon wasn’t just hiding something. He seemed to be hiding everything. It was a massive understatement to say that Danse didn’t trust him. And he’d left Myra in the man’s care. How could Danse have been so stupid? What if Deacon hurt her?

Danse shook his head. No, he had a hard time believing that Deacon would intentionally cause Myra harm. He’d seen the way the man looked at her when he thought no one else was watching. There was a bittersweet admiration in Deacon’s eyes when he looked at Myra, and though that look triggered alarm bells in Danse’s head for other reasons, it wasn’t the face of a man who would wish her ill. The Paladin had to believe that Deacon would do everything he could to keep Myra safe.

Perhaps most importantly, Danse had to remember that Myra was more than capable of protecting herself. She was a good soldier. Her instincts were right on target, even if she was still a little too trusting. Danse had taught her everything he knew, and he had to trust that she would use the lessons he’d taught her, no matter the circumstances.

The radio in his armor crackled to life, and Danse sighed in relief as Myra’s voice garbled through the static.

“We...the plans...I’ll...a few hours,” she said.

“Please repeat, Larimer,” Danse replied. “There’s some sort of interference with your signal.”

“...strange...you soon,” Myra continued. There was a low whine as the signal cut out, and Danse frowned. He couldn’t be certain, but it did seem like her radio was being almost purposefully jammed. Still, he tried not to worry about the implications. Myra was alive, and if he understood her message, she was going to be home soon. That was good enough news for the time being.

Danse returned to the Prydwen ’s interior, heading for Maxson’s quarters. The Elder would want to know Myra’s status. After all, the next stage of the Brotherhood’s mission hinged on her being able to get inside the Institute. He stopped just outside Arthur’s door, rapping as gently as he could on the metal hatch.

“Come in,” Maxson’s voice responded, low and muffled by the bulkhead.

The Paladin eased the door open, stepping inside. Arthur Maxson sat next to his desk, typing away furiously on his computer. “This had better be important,” he warned in a low growl.

“I’ve just received a radio transmission from Knight Larimer, sir,” Danse responded professionally. “The signal was weak, but from what I could understand, she’s on her way to the Airport.”

Maxson turned in his chair to face Danse, his face relaxing slightly. “That is excellent news, Danse. Hopefully she’s bringing us something useful.”

The Paladin nodded. “From what I heard, it seems she did manage to acquire some schematics from Dr. Virgil. If we’re fortunate, she may have just found us our path into the Institute.”

Maxson frowned. “That is if we can trust this Virgil. You said that it was a Super Mutant? I’m surprised you didn’t shoot it on sight, Danse.”

“Believe me, Arthur, I wanted to,” Danse replied. “But as Knight Larimer pointed out, there was a greater tactical advantage to keeping it alive for now. I will be more than willing to go back and finish the job if it becomes necessary.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask,” Maxson replied. “But, Danse, is something else bothering you? I’m not critiquing your performance,” he added hastily, “but you’ve seemed...off since you returned to the Prydwen .”

Danse sighed. “My headaches have returned,” he muttered. “They aren’t as debilitating as they have been. The medicine Cade gave me has helped substantially. However, in the last week, I have noticed a resurgence in the number of attacks I’ve suffered.”

Maxson’s eyes narrowed. “Danse, you should have informed me of your condition immediately! Have you been to see Cade?”

The Paladin nodded. “He’s unsure of the cause, or why the medication isn’t as effective as it had been. Medically, he says that I’m the peak of health, and I have been getting adequate levels of sleep due to the sleeping pills. Unless Cade discovers something new about my condition, he has no real solutions except to continue my routine and try not to overtax myself, whatever that means.”

“If I have to pull you from active duty, Danse, I will,” the Elder replied. “I would prefer it if you were able to continue your mission, but your health has to come first.”

“That is the other reason I hesitated to bring the headaches to your attention, sir,” Danse muttered. “The pain is...significant, but not enough to affect my performance.”

“For your sake, Danse,” Maxson continued, “I hope that you’re telling me the truth. I would hate for any of my soldiers to suffer unduly simply because they were too stubborn to rest.”

“Have you ever known me to be dishonest, Arthur?” Danse asked, trying not to be offended by the implication.

“No,” Maxson replied. “You’re pretty much the worst liar I’ve ever met. All the same, please try not to get into the habit. I can always tell when you’re hiding something from me, Danse. You get that shifty look in your eyes. So are you going to tell me what is really bothering you, or do I have to interrogate you more formally?”

Danse sighed. They really had known each other for far too long. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “Something else is worrying me. But I don’t know exactly what to do about it, yet. If you don’t mind giving me more time, Arthur, I promise I’ll come to you when I’m ready.”

The Elder nodded, his steely eyes fixed on Danse’s. The Paladin froze under Maxson’s analytical gaze as the younger man studied him carefully. Finally, Maxson sighed, shaking his head as he broke eye contact. “You think too much sometimes,” he muttered. “Go get some rest, Danse. Once Larimer returns, I have a feeling that you’re going to be too busy for anything else.”

“Thank you, sir,” Danse replied, feeling a little like he’d just been vivisected. Maxson’s gaze often had that effect on people. It was one of the reasons why the young Elder was such a powerful force to be reckoned with. He’d been the same way when he was a child, intelligent and calculating, able to understand most people he met with a glance. In the decade they’d known each other, Danse had yet to adjust to being in Arthur’s sights. It

was eerily disconcerting.

While he waited for Myra’s arrival, Danse decided to head to the mess hall and grab a quick bite to eat. The food served on the Prydwen wasn’t the most appetizing, but it did fulfill all the daily requirements that Cade had put in place for a healthy diet. Danse missed Myra’s cooking. While the mess offered bland but filling meals, Myra prepared robust, flavorful fare. There was a warm, comforting quality to her cooking that the Paladin found quite soothing. If he’d have known how hard it would be to adjust back to Steward Gardener’s specialty -- grey meat over sprouted razorgrain -- Danse would never have tried Myra’s food.

The Paladin carried his plate to the Officer’s Mess. It had been an adjustment, dining in the small, well-decorated lounge. As a junior officer, he’d been given the option to eat where he wished, and Danse was the sort of officer who preferred to eat with his squad. Now that he was officially a Senior Paladin, he no longer had such a luxury. As the most senior of the Brotherhood’s ground officers, he had the mandatory privilege of dining in the lounge, which typically meant that he ended up eating alone.

Danse picked idly at his food as his mind wandered. The room was as silent as any place on the airship ever truly was, and that made it tough for him to rein his thoughts in. He found himself thinking about his old squad. How were Rhys and Haylen holding up, now that they were effectively in command of the Cambridge Police Station? It was strange. When Danse had first left them behind to follow Myra on her quest, he’d been so worried for the remnant of Recon Squad Gladius. Now that he’d been assigned officially as Myra’s sponsor, he’d barely had a chance to visit them. Scribe Haylen, at least, checked in with him fairly regularly, typically to ask how the Paladin’s health was. Rhys was often too busy to contribute to Haylen’s radio calls, but he seemed to be taking to command like a bloatfly to a swamp, even if his post had yet to garner him the promotion he longed for.

There was a slight miasma of guilt that clung to the corners of Danse’s mind when he thought of Rhys and Haylen. Had he abandoned them, when he and Myra had been reassigned to the Prydwen ? Intellectually, he knew that he was merely following orders. But if Danse hadn’t been so eager to bring Myra into the fold, he might have still been at the Police Station, working alongside the squad he held an almost paternal affection for. Did they begrudge him his new assignment? Did they blame Myra for it?

Rhys had never been fond of Myra. Danse knew that. But Haylen had warmed to the former vault-dweller almost immediately. The Paladin had a hard time seeing Haylen holding much of a grudge against anyone. She was an incredibly sweet person, almost too gentle for the Brotherhood. Perhaps that was why Haylen was the subordinate Danse worried about the most.

Danse sighed, shoveling his lukewarm, congealing lunch into his mouth. Once Myra had found her son and his promise to her was fulfilled, he’d go back to the Police Station for a visit. It had been too long since he’d had a chance to check in. But it did him little good to think about that now.

“Senior Paladin Danse,” Captain Kells’ voice commanded over the ship’s intercom, “report to the Command Deck immediately.”

Danse groaned, tipping his plate into a nearby bussing bin. Flavorless though it was, he would have at least liked to have finished his meal. Though perhaps if he’d spent more time eating and less time thinking, he wouldn’t have found himself in this predicament. He made his way downstairs to the deck as quickly as he could.

There, sitting on one of the couches, was Myra. She had her back to him, chatting animatedly with Maxson, but he’d recognize her snowy hair anywhere. “...so, that’s when I realized that I was almost out of RadAway,” she explained, gesticulating.

“You realize that you would not have needed so much medication if you’d worn your power armor,” Maxson replied.

“I know,” Myra shot back, “but I’m really not comfortable wearing power armor all the time. I’m not Danse. Honestly, I think he’d sleep in his armor if no one stopped him.”

Maxson’s eyes shone with amusement. “I’m fairly certain he’s attempted it at least once, actually.”

“I’m well aware that my bed was not designed to handle that much weight,” Danse said sternly.

Myra’s shoulders tensed in shock at the sound of his voice. She turned to look at him with an embarrassed smile. “There you are, Danse! I was just telling Elder Maxson about my trip.”

The Paladin sighed. “And having a laugh at my expense. Typical.”

Myra grinned. “I missed you too.”

Maxson cleared his throat. “Once Paladin Danse arrived, Knight, you were going to tell us what you learned.”

“Oh, yeah,” Myra replied, pulling a few sheets of crayon-covered paper from her pack. “So, according to Dr. Virgil, we just need to build this machine, called a Signal Interceptor, and tune the receiver or something to the classical music station. That’s what the Institute uses to conceal their relay transmissions, though I don’t really get how. Virgil explained it, but that didn’t help me understand it any better.”

Maxson looked over the drawings, frowning. “This looks complicated, even for us. But if anyone can help you, Larimer, it’ll be Proctor Ingram. I’ll ask her to put her other projects on hold for now. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Myra said, smiling. “I really hope this works.”

“As do I,” Maxson responded. “If this machine can do what you say it can, we may have finally found a chink in the Institute’s armor. Together, we will rescue your son, and ultimately free the Commonwealth of this great evil. I couldn’t be prouder of you, Knight.” He turned to Danse. “Paladin, please escort Knight Larimer to the Airport. I’ll ask Ingram to meet you both there.”

“Affirmative!” Danse replied, saluting the Elder. Myra followed suit, and Maxson returned the gesture before leaving the room. Once he was gone, Danse sighed, frowning down at Myra. “Larimer, did you determine what was affecting your radio?”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand it, Danse. I could hear you just fine. Is that why you didn’t respond before?”

The Paladin’s frown deepened. “Before?”

Myra nodded. “A few days ago, when I left the Glowing Sea, I tried calling you, but you didn’t respond. I thought maybe my radio was damaged by all the radiation, but Deacon checked it for me and said it was fine.”

So she had taken Deacon with her. Danse felt a sick weight in his stomach. “May I take a look at it?” he asked.

“Be my guest,” Myra replied, unbuckling her Pip-Boy and handing it to him.

Danse turned the divide over in his hands, looking for any sign that the radio had been tampered with. Everything seemed to be in working condition. The only damage was a bit of wear-and-tear, nothing abnormal as far as the Paladin could see. Perhaps it was just a fluke, some sort of atmospheric influence. Danse wasn’t quite convinced. All the same, he handed the Pip-Boy back to Myra. “Seems to be in perfectly serviceable condition,” he offered. “All the same, perhaps you should have Ingram take a look at it while we’re with her.

Myra nodded distractedly as she re-buckled the device around her wrist. “I’ll do that. The last thing I want to do is to be unable to contact you.”

“Then don’t go anywhere without me!” Danse exclaimed before his mind had a chance to catch up to his mouth.

Myra stared at him incredulously. “You’re the one who wanted to stay behind this time, Danse.”

“Yes, but only because you seemed like you wanted me to leave,” he muttered.

“What?” Myra replied. “That’s not what happened at all! Of course I wanted you to stay with me! You’re my friend!”

Danse scowled. “Then why do I get the impression that you’re keeping secrets from me?” he bellowed. “What are you hiding?”

Myra’s eyes widened in shock, and he could see the hurt and anger boiling beneath the emerald surface. She stared at him for a long moment, barely blinking, just completely silent.

Danse paled. “Larimer, I...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

“I’m going to go see Proctor Ingram,” Myra finally said, her voice cracking slightly. “I...I need to think. Don’t follow me. I don’t care what Maxson said.” She fled from the Command Deck, from him, leaving the Paladin alone with the pain she left behind.

Danse stood, stunned, his eyes fixed on her passing long after she’d disappeared. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling, but it was unpleasant. The Paladin hadn’t meant to raise his voice. He hadn’t meant to hurt Myra. But somehow, he’d still managed to screw things up, and this time, he wasn’t certain how to make it better.

::::

Danse didn’t see Myra again until the next evening, when he was called down to the Airport to watch Ingram power up the Signal Interceptor. The risk of Institute discovery prevented the Brotherhood from testing the device, and there was only enough power to send one person anyway. Myra would be going in alone, using a device no one had ever built before. Danse would be lying if he said that he wasn’t terrified for her.

The Interceptor itself was huge, a tower of steel and wires surrounding a large platform. Attached to the device was a control panel, which Ingram already stood at, her eyes scanning the screen. Myra stood next to one of the tower’s pillars, carefully adjusting a bolt with an adjustable wrench.

When the Paladin approached her, Myra looked up at him with a sad smile. “Hey, Danse. I wasn’t actually sure if you were going to see me off or not.” She sighed heavily, her eyes bright with tears. “Look, I’m sorry for yesterday. I shouldn't have stormed off like that. It was incredibly disrespectful.”

“On the contrary,” Danse replied, “I was out of line, Larimer. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’ve just been...concerned by some of your recent behavior. I’m worried about you.”

Myra flashed him a sad, nervous smile. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m pretty tough.”

The Paladin nodded. “All the same, I do.”

Myra’s eyes met his, warm and tender as they searched his face for more information. Danse found himself unable to look away, his breath catching in his throat as she smiled at him. They looked at each other for a long time, neither saying a word. For once, Danse felt that words weren’t needed. For the first time in his life, the Paladin felt completely seen, completely understood. It was overwhelming.

“Stand clear!” Proctor Ingram called, interrupting the moment. “Let’s fire this up and see what happens!”

“Well, I guess it’s time,” Myra said nervously as she backed away from the Signal Interceptor. The massive machine came to life like a raging beast. It hissed and surged with power, great showers of sparks and streams of steam emanating from the vibrating framework.

“Proctor Ingram,” Danse said, concerned, “are you certain that this machine is safe?”

The Proctor sighed. “Well, I can’t guarantee anything, Paladin. There’s a huge difference between keeping that hunk of junk we call home in the air and adapting Institute technology. The best I can say is that no one else could have built a safer version of this machine.”

Danse frowned as he eyed the rickety framework, his gut twisting with anxiety. He hated the feeling. Anxiety wasn’t exactly something he’d struggled with before. He wasn’t afraid for his own life, and though he worried about those under his command, he was able to comfort himself by knowing that they all knew the risks, that they were soldiers dedicated to their mission and the ideals that the Brotherhood had taught them. There was no reason to fear death if one died with honor.

But this was different. He hated the idea of Myra using the Signal Interceptor. The machine reeked of Institute technology, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a horrible trap. Were they sending Myra to her death? Or to something somehow even worse?

Arthur strode up to them, his steel blue eyes bright with determination and awe. “A fantastic job as always, Ingram,” the Elder said.

“Thank you sir,” the engineer replied with a slight smile. “Tell me that again when the damn thing works.”

Maxson turned his attention to Myra. “Knight Larimer, are you prepared for your mission?”

Myra nodded. “I think so, sir,” she replied, “as ready as anyone could be, stepping into the unknown.”

“Your bravery is admirable, Knight,” Maxson continued. “There’s one more thing, before you go.”

“Of course, Elder,” she replied. “What do you need?”

“Once you reach the Institute, we’ll likely lose contact with you, so please do your best to remember what I’m about to tell you,” the Elder commanded. “About ten years ago, the Brotherhood gained the services of a few prominent civilian scientists to assist us in...various projects. One of these scientists, Dr. Madison Li, had a falling out with us a few years ago, and left the Capital Wasteland. We have reason to believe that she’s now working for the Institute.”

Myra frowned. “Do you want me to eliminate her?”

Arthur’s eyes widened in shock. “Of course not, Knight! We aren’t monsters. No, I would like you to persuade her to return to the Brotherhood. We have a project that requires her expertise. Dr. Li is an incredibly gifted individual, and a valuable asset.”

“So why did you let her leave?” Myra asked.

Maxson sighed. “If I’d been in charge, I wouldn’t have. Unfortunately, my predecessors weren’t particularly known for their forethought, and had no intention of keeping anyone within the Brotherhood’s ranks who wanted to leave.” His eyes darkened. “Perhaps if they’d been a little more tactically-minded, a lot of things would have been different. But it is my task to make sure that such...oversights do not occur again.”

Myra nodded. “I understand. So I’ll make contact with Dr. Li and convince her to come back with me. Is there anything else?”

“Now that you mention it,” Proctor Ingram chipped in, “here.” She tossed Myra a holotape. “This program will scan the Institute’s computer network and automatically download information from it. I’m not sure what we’ll be able to get before the system locks you out, but whatever you bring back could be very useful in understanding our enemy and their technology. Just plug it in to any terminal, and give it a few minutes. Bring it back when you come home.”

“I’ll do my best,” Myra replied. “I’m still not certain how much time I’ll have inside. But if they don’t shoot me on sight, you’ve got a deal.”

Ingram smiled. “That’s all I can ask, Larimer. So, are you ready to try something no one’s ever done before?”

Myra laughed. “When you put it like that, how can I say no?” She saluted Elder Maxson, their eyes meeting for a few significant moments before Maxson looked away with a troubled expression. Then, she turned to the Paladin. “Hey, Danse?” she asked softly.

“What is it, Larimer?” he replied gently as she looked up at him.

“If anything...If I don’t make it back…” Myra trailed off with a sigh. “Aw, screw it. Take care of yourself, sir,” she finished with a grin that almost disguised the uncertainty in her eyes.

Danse felt sick as he watched her climb up onto the platform. He desperately thought of something to tell her, to give her the courage to see this mission through. What could he say? Should he beg her to be careful, or not to go at all?

It killed him that she was going into one of the most dangerous places in the Commonwealth without backup. He should be going with her, fighting by her side as he always did, protecting her from the unsettling unknowns that waited beyond the relay. But they could only send one person, and it had to be her.

The Paladin glanced over at Maxson, trying his best to suppress his irritation at the younger man’s orders. Why had Arthur condoned this mission, knowing how important Myra was to Danse? How could the Elder send her where Danse could not follow? It was one of the cruelest things his friend had ever done to him, and though he knew it served the greater good, part of him was furious with the Elder for his part in this ridiculous operation.

What would happen if the Institute knew she was coming? Even if the Interceptor worked and didn’t vaporize her immediately, Institute synths might gun her down before she could even blink. The whole operation was suicide.

Danse stared into Myra’s eyes, searching for that haunted desire for the void that he’d seen in Fort Hagen. But all that greeted him was the fierce determination of a soldier ready to do her duty, of a mother willing to risk everything for her child. Myra wasn’t marching to her death, not this time. She was fighting for the most sacred thing left in the world. And perhaps that would be enough to save her life.

“Don’t get killed, soldier,” he finally managed, hoping that she understood the true weight of that command.

“I know,” Myra replied with a determined smile that almost masked the sadness behind it. “I know. The paperwork. I’ll try my best.”

“I’ve got the signal!” Ingram shouted from the command console as the device came to life, shaking so hard that Danse was certain that the thing would fall apart around Myra. “If you’re going to go, it’s got to be now.”

“I’m ready!” Myra replied. She looked back at Danse, smiling grimly at him. “Danse, when I get back, I need to tell you--”

With that, there was a bright, blinding flash of blue light, followed by a violent and ear-splitting explosion that sent the three Brotherhood soldiers staggering. Danse blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots from his vision.

“Proctor!” Maxson shouted, clutching his ears, “Was that supposed to happen?”

“I don’t know!” Ingram yelled. “The Interceptor’s fried! I guess we just have to hope she made it.”

Danse muffled a cry of alarm as he looked back at the platform where Myra had been standing just moments before. The framework was blackened and twisted, barely recognizable as the device Ingram had created. The platform itself had been mostly reduced to ash, still flickering with residual electricity. Of Myra, there was no sign. Either the Signal Interceptor had worked and she was already inside the Institute, or what remained of her was lost among the ashes.

“We should return to the Prydwen ,” Arthur said to him gently but firmly. “There’s nothing we can do now but wait.”

Danse nodded, his vision blurring once more as he fought to hold back tears. That was a response he hadn’t anticipated. In spite of everything he’d been through, Danse wasn’t prone to crying very often. But faced with the possibility of Myra’s death, there was little else he could do. Fear trembled within him, a delicate, flighty thing. More than anything, however, he just felt...lost.

The Paladin glanced up at the fiery sunset, at the magnificent bow of the Prydwen silhouetted against the sky. Was it just him, or did everything seem muted somehow, like the colors of the world had lost their lustre? Perhaps the explosion had damaged his eyes. He’d have to check in with Cade about that.

As he and Arthur stood inside the vertibird back to the airship, Danse slipped his hand inside the torso of his power armor, extracting a small, worn card. Our Lady of Victory . The card Myra had given him. Danse stared at the gentle face of the woman depicted on the timeworn paper. Her eyes were downcast, focused on the infant she held in her arms. There was a serene and mysterious expression on her face, like the woman knew a comforting secret. The Paladin sighed as he studied her. There was something...Myra-like about the woman, though they could not have looked more different. He felt the same peace when looking at her. Was it because Myra had given him the card in the first place, or was it something deeper?

Danse sighed, tucking the card back into his armor. If nothing else, it was a comforting reminder of the esteem Myra had for him, a consideration that, deep in his soul, he hoped was something more. Perhaps now, he would never get the chance to know. But one thing was certain. If Myra was alive, if she returned to him...he wasn’t about to waste the chance to find out.

::::

The next morning, Danse knocked nervously on Elder Maxson’s door, a sheet of paper clenched in his hand. B64-14: Request for Subordinate Transfer was written across the top in bold letters. He’d stayed up all night trying to decide if he’d fill the form out or not. Now that he was here, ready to hand the paperwork over, he really hoped he was doing the right thing.

“Come in,” Maxson called from inside. Danse sighed, easing the door open and crossing into the room.

Arthur sat in his desk chair, back to his monitor as he watched the Paladin enter with interest in his steely eyes. “Ah! Danse. I was wondering when you’d be by. I think I’ll have to move my bed to the other side of the room if you make a habit of pacing all night.”

“I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep too much, Arthur,” the Paladin replied.

“It wasn’t just you, Danse. I was awake for most of the night myself, thinking about our next move. I hate just waiting around for something to happen. The second Knight Larimer is back from her mission, we need to be ready to move on whatever information she manages to acquire.”

Danse nodded. “Actually, Elder, I was hoping to talk to you about Larimer. I’ve been thinking, and perhaps you’re right. Maybe she would be better suited to another sponsor. I took the liberty of beginning the paperwork.” He handed the completed form to his old friend.

Maxson took one look at the form before tossing it aside.“Request denied,” he replied coolly.

Danse felt his skin crawl. How could this be? The last time a transfer had been mentioned, Arthur had been all for it, had practically pushed Danse into it. What had changed? “May I ask why, sir? Just a few months ago, you said that--”

“I know what I said, Danse,” Maxson interrupted brusquely. “But circumstances have changed. If Knight Larimer has indeed been successful in her infiltration of the Institute, her role in our plans just became critically important. We don’t have time to reassign her and have her build up that level of trust with someone else. And I don’t intend to compromise our primary mission just because you’ve decided to finally show some initiative.”

“So what do you expect me to do, Arthur?” Danse said a bit more forcefully than he intended.

“I expect you to do your damn job, Paladin,” Maxson growled impatiently. “You will work with Knight Larimer. You will get us inside the Institute. And you will help us secure our victory. That is an order.”

Danse sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Danse?” Arthur asked, his eyes meeting the Paladin’s.

“Yes, sir?” Danse replied, a nervous tingle in his stomach.

“Be careful,” Maxson continued, his eyes softer than they usually were. “I’d hate to see you lose your focus, after so long. We may not be as strict as the military in the Old World, but you know as well as I do how dangerous it is to be too close to your soldiers. If it comes down to Larimer’s life or your mission, I have to know you’ll make the right call.”

“How can you say that?” Danse replied angrily. “Damn it, Arthur, you’ve known me for more than a decade. When in that time have I ever hesitated from doing my duty, no matter the personal cost?”

Maxson sighed. “Never. But Danse, in all that time, I’ve also never seen you put your reputation on the line for someone like this. I’ve never seen you question my orders. I know Larimer is special to you. I hope you realize that she is to me as well, if not in quite the same way. If anything happened to either of you…” The Elder’s brow furrowed. “That’s why you have to be careful. I can’t protect you forever, Danse. Not even if I agree with you. I don’t have the luxury of bending the rules. You know the position I’m in. And if there was another method we could use to accomplish our mission with even remotely the same odds of success, I would employ it in a heartbeat. But there isn’t. I’m sorry, but we all have to make sacrifices, Danse.”

“I’m aware of that, sir,” the Paladin replied solemnly. “I just wasn’t aware that Larimer was meant to be one of those sacrifices.”

“That’s quite enough, Danse,” Arthur warned. “Knight Larimer knew the risks before she accepted this assignment, and she freely chose to use the Signal Interceptor. I didn’t order her to, nor would I have. I would have thought that you knew me better than that, old friend.”

Danse sighed. “I apologize for speaking out of turn. I’m just...I suppose I’m anxious, that’s all.”

The corners of Maxson’s lips upturned slightly in amusement. “I would be too, I suppose, given the circumstances. But you know how pigheaded Larimer is. She might even be as stubborn as you. I believe she’ll return to us, Danse, if that’s her intention. And for your sake in particular, I certainly hope it is.”

Danse nodded. “As long as Larimer’s alive, Arthur, I believe you’re right. I can't imagine anything that would cause her to shirk her duty. Even though she has an unpleasant habit of going off on her own, Knight Larimer is a dedicated soldier. I trust her with my life.”

“Which is exactly why I intend to keep you together as a team,” Arthur continued. “As long as you do your part, Danse, and help her to accept her responsibilities to the Brotherhood, I will do everything in my power to keep her by your side.”

“Thank you,” Danse murmured. “I’ll leave you be, sir. I apologize again for my outburst.”

Maxson nodded. “It’s quite alright, Danse. Just…” The Elder sighed. “If you need to talk, or if she doesn’t return...I’m still your friend. You can always come to me. I hope you don’t forget that.”

“How could I?” Danse replied with a gentle smile. “You remind me often enough.” He picked the discarded transfer form off of the Elder’s desk before leaving the room. His heart was unexpectedly heavy, his thoughts filled with images of Myra in various states of death and distress. The Paladin shook his head, plodding to the armor bay. He’d drop off his armor and then head to the gym for a few hours. Anything to take his mind off of the possibility that he’d never see Myra again.

::::

Days became weeks, and still, there was no word from Myra or any of the Brotherhood’s intelligence network. She was either still in the Institute, or…

Danse shook his head, banishing the thought for the upteenth time as he furiously scrubbed at his power armor’s elbow joints. Myra was alive. She had to be alive. The Paladin refused to accept any other possibility. Instead, he tried to think about what she had been trying to say to him before the explosion. Myra needed to tell him something. But what? What was so difficult for her to say that it had to wait until she returned from the Institute?

The Paladin’s head swam with possibilities, both pleasant and unpleasant. Myra, in many ways, was still a mystery to him. Every time he’d begun to understand her, he’d learned something new about her. Not that he minded. He would happily spend the rest of his life unraveling Myra Larimer if he was able to. She fascinated Danse in a way that no one really had before. There was something so magnetic about her that he’d been drawn to her from the start, even before he’d seen her better qualities. Danse still couldn’t quite explain why he was so invested in Myra. So many things about her should have irritated him. But her impulsiveness, her stubbornness, her blatant disregard for order...those pet peeves of his were somehow almost endearing when they manifested in her.

So what was so important that she’d wanted to have a dedicated conversation about it? Was she wanting to share another story about her past? Danse wasn’t convinced. She’d always been forthcoming about that information before, and somehow, a story about the Old World didn’t seem urgent enough to merit special consideration. It had to be something else, something important. Either she wanted to talk to him about how close they’d become, for better or worse, or…

Danse had suspected for a few months now that Myra had been keeping something from him, something big. He wasn’t the best when it came to reading other people, not usually. But he knew Myra better than he knew almost anyone. Danse could tell when something was off with her. And over the last few months, something had definitely changed in her.

He thought back to his conversation with Arthur in Sanctuary, about Myra’s association with Deacon. Danse freely admitted that there was something about the other man that got under his skin. It wasn’t just that he took too many liberties with Myra. All of her friends did that, unfortunately, and while their playful flirting got the Paladin’s hackles up, he recognized that his response was a little ridiculous. After all, there was no reason why Myra shouldn’t receive affection from others. She wasn’t in a committed relationship with anyone at the moment, and it wasn't entirely his business what she did, even though an ever-growing part of him wanted it to be. No, there was something else, something deeper than that. He didn’t trust Deacon, and the more time Myra spent with the man, the more Danse worried that he’d stop trusting her as well.

Danse sighed heavily, wiping his greasy hands on the Brotherhood fatigues he wore. He needed more information, and even though he wasn’t overly fond of the man, he knew exactly who could help him.

Proctor Quinlan looked up with keen interest as Danse walked into his office. “Well, now,” the man crooned in his soft accent, “Senior Paladin Danse. This is a rare occasion. What brings you to my little corner of the world?”

“I was wondering if I could see your file on a certain individual in the Commonwealth,” Danse replied.

Quinlan nodded. “For a member of the senior staff, almost nothing is off-limits. Whom, may I ask, are you inquiring about?”

“His name’s Deacon,” the Paladin said. “Elder Maxson mentioned that you knew of him.”

Quinlan’s pale eyes shone with curiosity as he rummaged in one of his filing cabinets. “And what makes you so interested in a man like him, I wonder?” the Proctor murmured.

“He’s...something of an acquaintance of mine,” Danse replied.

“Of yours, or of that pretty little Knight you’re sponsoring?” Quinlan crooned. “From what I’ve observed, Larimer’s associated with all sorts of shady individuals. Did you know that she regularly visits a certain mayor of Goodneighbor, for instance?”

Danse frowned. “You’re spying on her,” he growled.

Quinlan chuckled, “Oh, Danse, don’t take it personally. I spy on everyone. You should see your file. It’s quite fascinating, really.” The older man continued searching through his files, long, spindly fingers gently pushing folders aside like a spider wrapping up a particularly tasty fly.

Danse shuddered. Quinlan always disconcerted him. The man was too calculating, too cunning. There was nothing but guile in him, and no one was safe from the man’s machinations, not even Elder Maxson. If the Proctor wasn’t so well-loved by the Elder Council, Danse suspected that Arthur would have found a way to dispose of him by now.

“Ah! Here it is!” Quinlan exclaimed, extracting a fat dossier from his cabinet and offering it to Paladin Danse. “Your acquaintance is quite a nuisance, it seems,” he continued. “Our records of him date back more than a decade, though in some cases, he seems to be almost a different man entirely. To this day, we’re not sure if he’s one man who’s had a lot of facial surgery, or a series of men with the same codename.”

“Deacon is a codename?” Danse asked, flipping the dossier open. There, at the very top, was a charcoal drawing of a man in sunglasses, his familiar, cheeky smile almost coming to life on the page. Underneath, Quinlan had listed quite a few dates, each one with a number next to it referring to a particular incident file.

“Yes,” the Proctor replied. “It seems the Railroad, those damned thorns in our side, are quite fond of their codenames.”

“The Railroad?” Danse’s eyes widened in shock. “What is Larimer doing with a Railroad agent?”

“There are several possibilities,” Quinan said coolly. “Perhaps she is unaware of his identity. Or, more likely, your Knight is also a member of their organization. She wouldn’t be the first Brotherhood recruit to have found her way into their circle, nor is she likely to be the last.” The Proctor sighed. “Imbeciles, the lot of them. Can you believe that they actually think that synths are people? The Commonwealth will be better off once we crush the lot of them, I think.”

Danse frowned. He’d had several run-ins with the Railroad back in the Capital Wasteland, and none of them had ended well for the secretive organization. “The Railroad’s hardly a threat to us, are they?” he asked. “From my experience, they’re little more than a nuisance.”

“Even a nuisance can get lucky,” Quinlan replied. “As you know, Paladin, the Railroad and the Brotherhood are quite ideologically opposed. That alone makes them far more dangerous than any aggressors. Bullets, you can protect yourself from. Ideas?” the older man smiled cryptically, tapping the side of his nose. “Ideas are the real threat, aren’t they? Impossible to kill, difficult to defend against...Give a man something to believe in with his whole being, and not even death will hold him back.”

Danse pondered this as he continued to look over Deacon’s file. He noticed several known associates, along with known information about each of them.

Desdemona. Female. Leader.

Drummer Boy. Male. Courier.

Carrington. Male. Doctor.

The Paladin froze as he read the third line. Dr. Carrington. He was the man that Myra had brought to the Castle, the one who had treated Danse’s injuries. If he was also a member of the Railroad...Danse’s heart sank as the implication set in. One Railroad associate could be written off as a coincidence. But Myra was familiar with two Railroad agents, at least. It was becoming more and more likely that she was, in fact, a spy. He choked back the bile that rose in his throat, continuing to read down the list.

Glory. Synth. Agent.

Tommy Whispers. Male. Agent

Trailblazer. Female. Intelligence.

High Rise. Male. Safehouse Operator.

Whisper. Unknown. Unknown.

“Who’s Whisper?” Danse asked curiously. “They’re listed under known associates, but there’s no additional information about them.”

Quinlan nodded. “That’s because we have no information on them, I’m afraid. Our intelligence operatives have overheard the name a few times, but other than that, Whisper is a mystery. We have no idea what they do for the Railroad or who they are.”

Danse frowned. Whisper. That name seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it…wait. Whisp. Deacon had called Myra Whisp, before they’d left to rescue MacCready. He paled. Danse's skin felt suddenly itchy, his throat dry as old bones. “I’m sorry, Quinlan," he rasped, "but I just remembered that Elder Maxson asked me to report to him this afternoon. Thank you for lending me this dossier,” he added, handing the file back to the amused Proctor.

“It’s unlike you to be so absent-minded, Danse,” Quinlan noted with a glint in his eye.

“It has been a trying few weeks,” Danse replied, leaving the room quickly and heading for his quarters.

When the Paladin’s door closed behind him, he dropped to his knees, shallow, shuddering breaths aching out of him as he tried to process what he’d learned. Suddenly, so much of Myra’s behavior made sense. The way she dodged his questions, how she simply vanished sometimes without a trace...How long had she been working for the Railroad? Had she been an agent before they’d even met? Was her dramatic entrance into his life just a ploy to win him over?

Danse didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to trust Myra, to have faith in their friendship, the bond they’d built between them. To learn that she was betraying the Brotherhood, was betraying him, for the sake of abominations like synths? That was a crippling blow. He punched the edge of his bed, gasping in pain as his bare fists connected with the rusty metal. Damn it! What was he going to do?

The right course of action, of course, would be to report Myra’s crime immediately to Elder Maxson. Arthur would either banish her or order her executed for treason, an example of the cost of betrayal. And that would be no less than what she deserved under the Codex, the laws every Brotherhood soldier was sworn to uphold.

But Danse, for all his devotion to the law, to everything the Brotherhood stood for, couldn’t bear to think of turning Myra in. Not without giving her a chance to explain herself. She’d earned that much latitude, as far as he was concerned. He owed her that.

It wasn’t the betrayal of the Brotherhood that hurt the most, he realized. It was the personal betrayal. Danse had given everything he had to Myra, had taken her under his wing. Hell, he even was beginning to think that he might love her. To be repaid with such outright deceit angered and devastated him beyond words. If Myra had played him from the start, she was a damn good liar, and there was nothing he hated more than being lied to.

“I’ll hear you out,” Danse whispered to himself as he laid on the cool floor, staring up at the ceiling. “If you truly are the enemy…” he sighed heavily, trying to calm the nausea that welled inside him at the thought of Myra lying cold and dead at Maxson’s feet, of her body being unceremoniously thrown from the foredeck, a traitor’s end. It was unbearable even to contemplate.

“I don’t know if I could endure that,” he murmured, closing his eyes against the harsh lights. “So please, Myra, I’m begging you. Have a good explanation when you return.”