The Commonwealth sky was a soft violet as the sun rose over the horizon. The air was humid and chilly; the sun hadn’t had time yet to warm up the Wasteland.
There was only an intermittent disturbance to the silence of the morning. Distant gunfight, or something crumbling after centuries of decay, or some freakish mutated animal screaming out, whether for pain or love.
Emil was walking along one of the old streets of Medford, long shattered and overgrown in the years after the Great War. As much despair as there was to be seen from the state of the world, the destruction it had gone through, he still appreciated every morning that he got to see. Life found its way.
It was a lull like this where Emil could forget the task at hand. And for the time being, he had. The Paladin was walking along a long un-intersected segment of road, so he didn’t need to check his map or remind himself where he was going. He was spending his time looking at the way the sky changed colors as the sun rose higher, listening to the Wasteland, and feeling the cold, damp morning air against his face.
A little voice was nagging at the corner of his mind, along the lines of, you shouldn’t be letting your thoughts wander, you should be paying attention to your surroundings, but he was willfully ignoring it. Half of it was, honestly, that he was appreciating the morning - it was pleasant and mostly-quiet and he couldn’t see or hear any immediate threats. The other half was avoiding the variety of scenarios that wanted to play out in his head about the task ahead of him.
Emil went along like this for a while, silently traversing the overgrown road and avoiding his thoughts.
Inevitably, he came across an intersecting road, and had to pull up his map to double-check his destination. With reproach, he realized he needed to turn down this road and then head down a side-path to get to his destination: Listening Post Bravo.
With his attention refocused, Emil started running back through the list of events that brought him here. They kept looping in his head, inescapably baffling.
The Brotherhood launched an attack on the Institute… and Danse had uncovered a list of synths that he was on. After turning in the information, Danse vanished from Boston Airport. Elder Maxson called Emil in to a private meeting and ordered him to execute Danse for the revelation that he was a synth.
Emil had a hatred festering for Maxson as a consequence - Maxson was younger than Emil, and Emil had been loyal to the Brotherhood much longer, and there was no denying Emil’s love for Danse. It was downright cruel for Maxson to order him to kill Danse. Was he testing Emil’s loyalty? If so, Emil had decided long ago that the people he cared about would be worth more than the values of the Brotherhood.
Alongside these thoughts was the awareness of Danse’s loyalty to the Brotherhood. As much as Emil didn’t want to acknowledge it, there was a massive possibility that Danse had already killed himself for being a synth. The black-haired man could only hope that wasn’t the case.
Emil was, internally, only getting more agitated now that his thoughts were back to the conflict at hand. Not too long ago he was simply walking along and enjoying the day and the life he was living. Now he was wrestling with his disobedience to the Brotherhood, the fear of Danse’s death, and the worry about what was yet to happen.
Soon enough, Emil approached the dirt side-road that Listening Post Bravo was posted at the end of. Anxiety and fear were bubbling up inside of him ever more aggressively, beginning to interfere with and break apart the cohesion of his thoughts. He felt like his mind was the boiling surface of a pot, and every thought that tried to take stage was one of the hundreds of bubbles coming up and popping. He couldn’t even get a full, cohesive sentence through his brain.
Emil's eyebrows furrowed with upset as he tried to focus on the world around him and block out the agitated, babbling thoughts in his mind. The dirt road was rougher, and more difficult to trod. It had rained only a couple of days prior, and there were dips in the dirt that still held water and kept the area muddy. It didn't help that the path was cut down through a hill; the runoff from the storm had also accumulated down here.
Eventually, the Brotherhood soldier could see the front of Listening Post Bravo. The building faced south-east, so the rising sun was shining directly onto it - and onto Danse, who was sitting on the roof, legs dangling over the side. The synthetic man was facing towards Emil - probably also looking at the sunrise - and seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact.
Danse sat on top of the short building of Listening Post Bravo, staring into the sky as he got lost in his thoughts. His stomach kept turning, cycling between anger, anxiety, fear, and confusion. Each emotion was competing to take over the most, but none were able to.
He was angry to know that his life was a lie. He was angry that he now had to question how much of his life was actually lived. He was anxious about what the future held. He was afraid of living, he was afraid of himself, he was afraid of the consequences if something like the Broken Mask happened with him. He was confused by why and how he was feeling such human emotions when everything he knew and believed was that synths were fundamentally not human, and incapable of those feelings.
Everything Danse thought he knew, and everything that he believed in, was suddenly being thrown into question and put at risk. No, not risk - it was gone. He was a synth, and the Brotherhood would never openly welcome a synth. It was a miracle - or maybe a curse - that his synthetic nature had gone undetected for so long. If Knight-Captain Cade had discovered he was a synth sooner, maybe he would have gotten the mercy of dying then.
The scorned ex-Paladin sat atop Listening Post Bravo for a long time. Danse was half-unaware of his surroundings, entrenched in his thoughts, and did not notice Emil approaching up the dirt path. By all means, there should have been no way for Danse to miss him - his black hair and uniform were a stark contrast to the discolored, irradiated grass, and was approaching from the same direction that Danse was facing.
Only when Emil got closer did Danse finally snap out of his thoughts and become aware of his presence. Maybe it was the fact that he was in focus now, maybe one of his footsteps was louder than the others, maybe Danse had simply reached the end of his thoughts. He wasn't sure what, but he was suddenly acutely aware of Emil standing just a couple of yards in front of him, staring up at him.
When Danse finally looked down, at Emil, he was hit with a variety of feelings - depression, regret, remorse. The expression on Emil's face felt worse than death, for Danse. The younger Paladin had his eyebrows just barely furrowed, lips curling down just so, and the sadness emanating from him was unmistakable. The potency of it hurt Danse's heart - he loved Emil, and Danse hated to see him so torn apart.
Somewhat unintentionally, Danse reflected the perturbed expression back to Emil. As much as he didn't want to, Danse could feel tears stinging his eyes, fighting to come forth. Had Maxson really chosen Emil out of his entire selection of soldiers to hunt down Danse? Was Emil actually going to follow through on it? Danse wouldn't be surprised if he did - in his mind, the most important thing was loyalty to his faction, and Danse expected Emil to display such loyalty.
The black-haired soldier spoke first.
"Danse."
His voice sounded tight - like he himself was just barely holding back tears. Maybe he was.
Danse took a long, shaky breath.
"...Emil."
His voice cracked. He winced, not wanting to clue in on how he was feeling.
"Will you come down?"
Danse looked at him, uncertain what would happen, but ultimately obliged. He got up from the ledge and walked along the roof and down the hillside that Listening Post Bravo was built into. He somewhat awkwardly picked his way down the hill, stepping over fragments of wood and dips in the earth.
Now on ground level, Danse approached Emil. He could feel Emil's eyes burning into him, tracking his every move. Once face-to-face with the shorter soldier, a moment lapsed before Emil let his rifle fall from his shoulder and pulled Danse in for a rough hug.
It caught Danse off-guard. He was already anxious from the past 24 hours, and the suddenness of Emil's embrace didn't help. He locked up, confused for a moment, before he realized that Emil was only hugging him. Even so, he didn't understand. He was a synth - why had Emil not just gunned him down already?
Despite his doubts, Danse took a breath and relaxed. Up until now, he hadn't realized exactly how worked up he had been the entire time - all of the muscles that were tensed were relaxing, now. The taller man finally reciprocated the hug, wrapping his arms around Emil, pulling him just that little bit closer. Even though Danse was afraid of his reality as a synth, he couldn't deny the love he felt for Emil, nor the comfort that Emil gave him simply by being around. To Danse's chagrin, that same love also lent to his ultimate fear: that something in his synth programming would break, that he would become hostile, invariably aggressive, like the hundreds of feral ghouls he'd killed in his life, and attack the people who he cared about.
The idea of it made Danse feel sick.
It felt like Emil's heart was trying to climb out of his chest. He felt equal parts apprehension and relief from seeing that Danse was still alive. Danse was making his way down from the roof of Bravo to be face-to-face with Emil, and Emil kept his eyes locked on the dejected soldier. Even if he was alive now, Emil was worried that he might make a move at any time to kill himself.
After a few short moments, Danse was finally in front of him. The other soldier was just a couple of inches taller than him, so Emil tilted his head up ever so slightly to look at Danse, before dropping his rifle from his shoulder and pulling him into a hug.
Finally, the dam broke, and Emil started crying. He hugged Danse tightly, tucking his head into his shoulder, trembling as he prevented himself from sobbing grossly. He had been so worried, and so afraid, and now here he was, with Danse still alive. He didn't want to let go, and he never wanted to face the fear of losing him again.
Danse didn't reciprocate for a moment - maybe he was caught off guard - but eventually, he did return the gesture, wrapping his arms around Emil and sighing. Emil could feel Danse relax just the smallest bit - he stopped straightening out his back, his shoulders slackened.
Emil didn't want to let go. He was used to Danse coming and going from the Prydwen - that was expected; they were Brotherhood soldiers. They had to go out on their own assignments. When Emil initially noticed Danse's absence, he thought little of it, but once Maxson pulled him in to speak and caught him up on current events, it felt like a rock had settled in Emil's stomach. With new awareness of the circumstances, he was worried, and only now was that feeling dissipating as Danse was alive in front of him.
Danse moved from hugging Emil to gently rubbing a spot on his back, tightening his grip as Emil cried. It helped him calm down - some people were wary from Danse from his initial stoicness, but Emil was comforted by Danse's quiet, sometimes inept support. He didn't care that Danse sometimes fumbled his intended meaning - what mattered was that Danse cared enough to try.
The two of them stayed like that for a while - neither one was particularly counting the time. Emil eventually managed to regain his composure, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his uniform. He stepped back from Danse, breaking the embrace, looking directly at him again. Danse was looking down and away, his eyebrows bunching together, seeming concerned.
Just as before, Emil was the first one to break the silence.
"Can we go inside?" He asked, his voice scratchy from crying.
"Of course." Danse responded.
As Danse approached the door of Listening Post Bravo, Emil took a moment to pick his rifle up out of the dirt. He didn't bother dusting it off - it was the post-apocalyptic wasteland; everything was dirty, and even if he dusted it off now, it would simply get dirty again. Better to keep the cleaning to actual maintenance.
Once back in possession of his weapon, he turned to follow Danse. The older man - synth...? - had opened the door, and was waiting for Emil. He took a cursory glance around the area - a force of habit - to check if there was anyone else around. Same as the past few hours, there was nobody in the vicinity of Listening Post Bravo. Paranoia alleviated, Emil proceeded in to the derelict building.
The inside was objectively worse than the outside - there was a surprising amount of rusted barrels stacked to the side, the moth-eaten scraps of an American flag, as well as a dusty pre-War desk with a gutted computer on it. Emil also took note of the legs of a skeleton, decayed for decades (or maybe even centuries), poking out from behind the door that Danse had open. His partner had likely moved it out of view while he was hunkering down.
Finished with his observation of the room, Emil elected to sit on one of the barrels that was sitting upright. Danse let the door swing shut behind him, a dull thunk resounding as it closed, the air disturbance kicking up a small cloud of dust on impact.
As the door shut, Danse stepped aside and leaned against the wall, folding his arms. He watched Emil cross the room, brush some minute debris off of a barrel, and take a seat. It was a habit that Danse found endearing that went largely unnoticed by everyone else.
“What are you doing here?”
“Elder Maxson ordered me to execute you.”
“Yet you haven’t.”
“I don’t want to.”
Danse was caught off-guard by this response. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but came up short, and closed it again. He suddenly felt that, somehow, over the past thirteen years, he had not learned a thing about the man in front of him.
Emil turned his head away as he admitted it, mildly ashamed that he felt so deeply for a synth, because the Brotherhood had drilled it so deeply into him that synths were lesser than human, and undeserving of existence. He felt like his heart was contorting with anxiety from admitting that he didn’t want to kill Danse. His feelings of contradiction were once again rearing their head.
Eventually, Danse found his words again. Well - a word.
"Why?"
Emil took a moment to deliberate on Danse’s question, figuring out how best to answer it. There were a few reasons for why he didn’t want to follow through on his orders - because he cared about Danse; because Danse tried his best for other people; because his perspective was changing; because it would hurt him.
Danse’s gaze was burning into him. The synthetic man was ready to hang on to his every word - he looked up to Emil, he trusted him, and he was deeply curious as to Emil’s reasoning.
Emil turned his gaze back towards Danse, but held his gaze on the wall next to the man. He made a quiet tsk before responding.
“Because I’ve only ever seen you try your best. The past decade that we’ve been together, you’ve shown unwavering loyalty to the Brotherhood, you did your best to support Recon Team Gladius, you are selfless. Being a synth doesn’t change the good you’ve done for the world, and for everyone around you.”
Danse opened his mouth to speak, but Emil continued.
“I don’t know if there’s some piece of programming inclining you to act the way that you do. And to be honest, at this point, it doesn’t matter to me. And it doesn’t matter to Haylen."
Danse was surprised by the mention of Haylen, and cut in to Emil’s speech.
“What does Haylen have to do with this?”
“She’s the one who told me that you might be here, and pointed it out on my map. If she didn’t care about you, I probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to even be here.”
There was a lapse of silence before Emil kept speaking.
“...And I’m grateful that she told me. I don’t want to lose you, Danse. Both of us have already lost enough of our friends.”
“...Please don’t make me lose you, too,” Emil finished, quieter than the rest of his statements.
Danse was once again at a loss for words; a variety of emotions were beginning to churn inside of him.
Foremost, he felt selfish. He had not taken a single moment to imagine that other people would care about him, especially that they would care about him with disregard for the fact that he was a synth. He felt selfish for instantly spiraling into suicidal ideation over his discovery. Immediately after selfishness, he felt regret. He felt like it was his fault, somehow, that he had made people care about him, and that in turn, they would now be hurt for it. Maybe they would be hurt by his death; maybe they would be hurt by him ; maybe they would be hurt by the perceived betrayal of having befriended a synth without knowing. Beyond regret, he still felt fear . He was afraid of Emil’s dedication; he was afraid of his now-uncertain future; he was still afraid of the concept of breaking and hurting the people around him - especially Emil .
Danse stood back up and walked across the room, to Emil. The shorter man looked up, attention grabbed by the movement. He was mildly surprised when Danse hugged him - Danse was not one to engage physical affection very often. The surprise gave way to sadness when he heard Danse whisper hoarsely.
“ I’m sorry, Emil .”
It was the only thing he could think to say to Emil.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Emil responded, reciprocating the hug.
Danse pulled away and sat on the corner of the dilapidated desk. He crossed his arms, and felt his lips turn down involuntarily.
“I made you worry. I made you care about me. If I hadn’t - If I hadn’t… I don’t know,” Danse said, fumbling his words, distressed and uncertain how to proceed. “If I hadn’t gone to the Capital Wasteland, if I hadn’t joined the Brotherhood, if I hadn’t-”
“Danse.”
Emil’s voice cut through Danse’s babbling speech and thoughts. Danse looked down to the ground, shamefully.
"You didn't make me - or anyone else - do anything. None of this is your fault. Just because you were created and not born doesn't mean you lack independent thought or action. People care about you because of who you are."
Danse's upset expression deepened, eyebrows furrowing and his nose barely scrunching.
"It's still - I'm -" Danse huffed, becoming frustrated with his failure to cohere his words. "I'm still a synth. You know about the Broken Mask as much as I do. You know that something could go wrong at any moment."
Danse's voice was cracking as he got more agitated and emotional. He could feel the tears brewing, threatening to fall.
"I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to live a life where that could happen at any moment."
Danse hung his head, defeated, crying. The tears were falling silently - no gasping, no hyperventilating, not even a sniffle. He felt wrong for crying; he felt like he shouldn't even be able to. He was sick of these cyclical feelings - the sadness, the fear, the love soaked in regret, the confusion.
Now it was Emil's turn to get up and go to Danse's side. The human took his place next to his synthetic partner, and put an arm around his shoulders. He gently kissed Danse's temple, his heart hurting from seeing - and hearing - how shaken Danse was. He used his thumb to gently massage a muscle at the back of Danse's neck as he spoke, quietly.
"It's okay, Danse. I know that you don't want to hurt anyone. But don't you think it's worth it to enjoy the life that you have, while you have it? Even if things go wrong in the end, isn't it still better to spend time with the people you love?"
Danse leaned heavily into Emil's embrace. He realized that the other man - the real human - would have some rebuttal to any argument he made. The realization snuffed his will to keep debating, to keep going back and forth.
On top of that, Danse was struck with the mental image of Emil, alone, grieving, hurting from Danse’s death. The thought of it cut deep, striking him hard in his artificial heart. The pain he felt from it was tangible - cold dread washing over his body, his chest constricting with distress.
Utterly overwhelmed, the man finally folded over, putting his face in his hands. Emil would never understand his position in the world; he would never understand the pain and paranoia that was weighing on Danse. Additionally, he realized that he could never admit to Emil how much he hated this life of fearing himself.
In Danse’s silence, Emil was left to his own thoughts. He was neurotically worried - he had never heard Danse speak so pessimistically before, and it scared him. One of the bravest and most confident men that he knew was in shambles before him, and it felt unreal. Danse, who strove to be a role model for Brotherhood squires. Danse, who fearlessly stayed by his side in battle. Danse, who was willing to go to any length to protect the people he cared about. Danse, who was now falling apart.
Emil didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t sure there was anything else for him to do. He wished that he could erase the uncovered knowledge that Danse was a synth, that he could turn back time and inhibit the Institute raid from happening. He wished that things could go back to normal, and didn’t want to accept the reality that they never could.
After a long silence, both men drowning in their sorrows, Danse finally found the strength to speak again.
“You’re right, Emil. Even if my time with the Brotherhood is at its end, I still have more time with you, and everyone else out here in the Wasteland. We still have work to do. I can’t just leave that behind.”
He was lying through his teeth, wanting the conversation to be over. Somewhere, deep inside him, there was some convoluted justification to denying his own feelings; there was a budding belief that he was obligated to listen and obey, that he shouldn’t be allowed to make any choices. That was a privilege restricted to humans - natural humans, not synthetic ones.
Emil sighed, relaxing. He was relieved that Danse was finally understanding where he was coming from. He used his other hand to touch Danse’s face, gently pulling the synth to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, pale lines struck down his face where tears had ran. Emil leaned forward to kiss his forehead before pulling him in to another embrace, where it was now Danse’s turn to continue crying.
Danse felt horrible. First his life had been upturned, and now he was lying to the person who had supported him and encouraged him indiscriminately ever since they had met. He felt as if every single part of him - his life, his thoughts, even his words and beliefs - were all just a gigantic con that he was pulling on everyone on Earth.
Emil's voice broke Danse's train of thought.
"I'm glad that you understand. ... I don't know what I would do without you."
"I know. I'm sorry that I made you worry. I'll be okay."
Emil stood up.
"I should return to Elder Maxson. He won't be happy about this, but I don't care any more. If he refuses you from the Brotherhood, then I refuse to be a part of it."
He reached into his uniform and pulled his holotags out, then over his head. He held out his hand to Danse, expecting the same. The synth obliged, taking off his own holotags, and dropping them into Emil's hand with a quiet clink .
Emil stepped forward and gave Danse another tight hug.
"I'm going to be back. Please take care of yourself," Emil mumbled.
"I will." Danse responded, reciprocating the hug.
Despite how much he wanted to stay, to not go back to the Prydwen, to not face Elder Maxson, Emil pulled away. He looked at Danse one more time - he looked incredibly tired, incredibly defeated - before finally leaving Listening Post Bravo. Emil opened and closed the
It had taken him half a day just to get to Listening Post Bravo. Emil looked at the sky - there was still plenty of daylight; the sun had not yet reached its apex. If he was lucky, he would be able to reach the Prydwen before night fell. He didn't want to spend another night out in the Wasteland - he wanted this agonizing business to be over with.
With a sigh, Emil began his long trek back to Boston Airport.
Emil paced anxiously in front of the door to the Prydwen’s bridge. Elder Maxson was on the other side of the door, and it was time for the Paladin to face his superior. Emil was dreading the interaction - no doubt that Maxson would be furious for Emil’s disobedience and defection.
The soldier closed his eyes tight and rubbed his face roughly. Putting off the exchange would only make both parties more anxious and agitated. With a huff, he turned to the heavy door of the bridge and pushed it open.
The leader of the chapter, Elder Maxson, was facing away from him. He was staring out the front window of the Prydwen, taking in the view of the Commonwealth far below. His head turned ever so slightly at the sound of the door opening.
“Paladin Emil.” He said curtly.
“Elder Maxson,” Emil responded, giving his superior the Brotherhood salute.
“I assume the synth has been dealt with?” Elder Maxson questioned, now turning to face Emil. Maxson never looked happy, but the current situation made Emil feel as though Maxson's persistent demeanor was exacerbated. Anxiously, Emil answered his question.
“No.”
Maxson’s eyes went narrow, clearly angered by this response.
“Care to explain why, Paladin?”
Emil felt cold run through his body, discomposed by Maxson’s intimidating presence.
“I do not believe Danse is a threat, sir. He has been loyal to the Brotherhood and only ever done his best to act in favor of the faction and of the people. I do not believe that his synthetic nature negates the actions that he chooses to take. I will not kill someone who has not crossed me, or anyone else.”
Maxson stood silently, his gaze burning into Emil.
The black-haired man was unsettled by the Elder’s prolonged silence - and more thoroughly daunted by his stare. On his walk back, he had imagined this exchange going much differently - that he would be filled with more righteous anger, that he would speak more passionately against Elder Maxson’s ideology. Instead, he was pinned with apprehension by Maxson’s stifling presence, struggling to maintain his composure.
Nonplussed, Emil continued his speech.
“Both of us have shown unwavering loyalty to the Brotherhood - and you - up until now. I cannot continue my service to the Brotherhood in good conscience knowing that you disregard the actions of someone in favor of damning them for a trait outside of their control.
I will gather our belongings as quickly as I can and depart from Boston Airport. This is my official resignation.”
Emil reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a pair of holotags - his and Danse's. He held them out to the Elder, waiting for him to take them. Maxson put out his hand, and Emil dropped both of them in his open palm. This was finality; this was closure. There was no turning back.
Elder Maxson crossed his arms and turned back to the front-facing window of the bridge before speaking. Only seven words.
“You have two hours. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” was all that Emil could say before taking his leave from the room, letting the door swing shut with a loud, reverberating thunk.
Equal parts urgency and relief washed over the now-defected soldier as he walked away from the bridge. He was free from the Brotherhood, free from their standards - but those were all that he knew for, quite literally, his entire life. It would be strange and alien for him to find a new place in the world, but that was a job he realized and accepted on his trek back to the Prydwen.
As Emil made his way towards the back of the Prydwen, to the soldiers’ sleeping quarters, he crossed by Haylen in the mess hall. An agitated expression crossed her face when they made eye contact. In response, Emil gestured for her to follow him. The scribe gave a brief goodbye to the group she was eating with before pursuing the now ex-Paladin.
“Emil…” She started, clearly assuming the worst.
“Shh. Danse is alive,” Emil mumbled to her under his breath as they proceeded down the industrial hallways of the Prydwen. Her expression changed quickly from one of perturbation to relief.
“Haylen. I have a tall request of you.” He continued. Haylen stared at him intently, hanging onto every word.
“I am going to retrieve Danse’s and my belongings. I will also be taking Danse’s previously assigned power armor when I leave - would you be able to follow up and bring my power armor to Listening Post Bravo within a few days?”
The scribe responded with a somber nod. “Absolutely. Thank you, Emil. When I heard the news, I was afraid of who Maxson might assign for the mission. Danse has always treated me with kindness - I couldn’t bear the thought of his death.”
Emil gave her a rough pat on the back. “I appreciate it, Haylen. I need to go now - Elder Maxson has given me only two hours to gather our belongings and vacate Boston Airport. I would rather not put my life at risk by hanging around here too long. I’ll see you again.”
With that, Emil pulled away from Haylen and picked up the pace, quickly walking ahead of her. He didn’t want to think about what might happen to her if she was seen excessively fraternizing with a perceived traitor to the Brotherhood.
Emil had to work quickly. If he wanted to retrieve Danse’s power armor as well as all of their possessions, he had to get it done before Maxson had the chance to disseminate the information that Emil had defected, and should be prohibited from Brotherhood equipment.
So he did exactly that - he went first to Danse’s assigned bed and footlocker, and made short work of packing up his partner’s belongings. As soldiers, neither of them had an excess of possessions, which made Emil’s job that much easier. Once the footlocker was emptied, he crossed the sleeping quarters and to gather his own paraphernalia.
With his bag newly weighed, and the two footlockers cleared out, Emil now made his way to the power armor bay of the Prydwen. Proctor Ingram made eye contact with him, giving him a brief shot of anxiety, before Ingram simply raised her hand in greeting before returning to her tinkering. She hadn’t heard yet . With a sharp inhale, Emil made his way to the armor previously assigned to Danse and climbed in to it.
He relished in the mechanical strength of the power armor as it whirred to life around him. The back panel clicked shut and he heard the various bits and bobs inside it hiss and click before the in-visor display lit up with information. The state of the armor pieces, his vitals, his location, and the compass. It was all a familiar sight to him, but never failed to give him a rush of adrenaline. He could take on the world in here.
Without saying a word, Emil left the power armor bay, the mechanical armor making reverberating thumps with its weight. Hopefully, nobody would stop him or question him - he had the helmet on, anyways, so nobody should be able to identify him.
Thankfully, things played out exactly as he had hoped - he was not stopped or questioned by a single soul as he made his way to the vertibird bay on the lowest level of the Prydwen.
Down here, in the open air, Emil could see the entirety of the Boston Airport below him, Brotherhood soldiers in uniform and power armor going to and fro for their various duties. He watched them from high above, feeling an inkling of remorse that he would no longer be able to speak to them. If anything, they would only ever meet at the ends of each others’ guns - and he dreaded the prospect.
Emil shook his head briefly, dismissing his thoughts. He needed to leave , not sit here reflecting on the faction who had turned its back on the man most important to him. He boarded the nearest vertibird, its pilot not even bothering to ask him what he was doing. Their duty was only to transport soldiers from the Airport to the Prydwen and back.
As the vertibird disembarked from its dock, Emil found himself mildly mourning the fact that he was no longer part of something bigger than himself.
The Commonwealth was dark and cold. Emil had long since removed the helmet from his power armor, so he felt the wind lashing against his face. It was whipping hard, from the south - there was most likely going to be a radiation storm.
Emil stopped momentarily, power armor going silent as he stopped moving, to turn around and look back at the ruined city of Boston, and the silhouette of the Prydwen in the distance. As dark as the city was, the Prydwen was lit up - both internally and by the Brotherhood lights set up around the airport. Conflicting emotions roiled inside him - on one hand, he still felt awe from the grandeur of the Prydwen. On the other hand, he felt anger and betrayal for the loss he had just endured.
Never again would he be able to step foot on the mechanical marvel of the Prydwen.
I need to stop dwelling on this and get back to Danse, Emil thought to himself. Even if the Brotherhood will not take us, he’s still relying on me.
With this thought, the ex-soldier turned back north and resumed his long journey. The first time he went, it had been significantly more exhausting - he had only his two legs to bring him there and back. It was a bit easier this time, encased in mechanical power armor, his movements being facilitated by the machinery that surrounded him.
Danse, on the other hand, had returned to his position on top of Listening Post Bravo. It was a decently secure building, which he appreciated, but it was so much more claustrophobic compared to the space he was used to on the Prydwen. At least, being out here, he could actually observe the environment around him, and not four dirty, old walls.
The sun had long since set, and Emil hadn’t yet returned. Part of him was anxious - he had no idea how things might have gone between Emil and Elder Maxson. For all Danse knew, Maxson may have had Emil executed for his synth sympathies and his direct disobedience, and even sent a new Knight or Paladin out to follow through on the orders that Emil refused.
Another part of him was not as anxious. Danse knew how long the trip was between Listening Post Bravo and the Prydwen - he had made it himself a few times before, when he was still in service to the Brotherhood. If everything went over safely between Maxson and Emil, then it would be a while before Emil returned.
Danse was largely trying to avoid thinking about it, but his choices were to dwell on the knowledge that he was not human - he had never been human - or to obsess over whether or not Emil was safe and alive.
Danse rubbed his face. Synthetic hands against a synthetic face … no, shut up, Danse thought to himself. He hated thinking about it, he hated reminding himself of what he was. Maybe, if he could just ignore it, then he could forget. Then he could act like it “wasn’t there.”
The synth sighed and laid back. After a moment, he turned his body, so that he could lay down parallel to the edge of the roof.
With his back to the concrete, he fixated on what his body was feeling, experiencing.
The sun had set long enough ago that the concrete of Boston and the surrounding areas were rapidly losing heat. The concrete of Listening Post Bravo had long since lost its heat, and Danse could feel the material pulling the heat from his body, now. The cold bit into him, through the Brahmin leather of his Brotherhood uniform. More directly, he could feel the heat draining from his hands, especially his fingers - bare against the air and the ground.
Danse stared up at the sky. Full of stars. He started tearing up, staring at the beauty above him, feeling like he never deserved to witness it. Out of everything in the universe, all of the beauty and all of the ugly, he had been made into existence, and he sold himself completely to the idea that he never should have been. The synthetic man turned his head, searching the sky for its brightest star. Centuries ago, it had been proclaimed the North Star, and even to this day people still pointed it out to their children, their friends, their apprentices.
It didn’t take him long. There were hundreds - thousands - of stars in the sky, but just as the past, the North Star was still the brightest. He fixated on it, the rest of the world around him fading out into dull background noise - visually and auditorily. He reached an arm up and used his hand to block out the North Star, and the ones around it, before putting his arm back down.
So many things managed to stay the same throughout human history. People were mostly still the same - selfish, greedy, disjointed. So many things about the world were still the same, too - the same stars, the same ideas. Even now, people were still trying to attain some kind of immortality, and Danse was the disgusting product of humanity’s greed. Because someone else had the idea of making humans live forever through technology, now he was the one who had to suffer through the consequences of his own ideology.
Finally, one of the tears that was welling up in his eyes rolled down the side of his face, cutting a cold, wet line down from the corner of his eye across his temple and down the crease of his ear. He wanted, so desperately, to not live through this. He wished that Emil had followed his orders and killed him. He wished that he had the confidence to commit to it and kill himself.
But he couldn’t.
He told Emil that he would be okay.
So, he needed to be okay, until Emil came back.
Danse sat back up. He was feeling antsy. He hated sitting here, alone at Bravo, with nothing to do. He needed to do something.
After a moment of thought, the synth stood up and climbed down the hillside yet again. If he and Emil were going to be staying here - he assumed that they would - then they would need something more comfortable than dirty concrete to sleep on.
He stepped in to the building and picked up the lone, brittle pencil that was sitting on the desk. He planned on leaving, to gather materials, but he wanted to leave a note in case Emil was closer than further, and arrived before Danse returned.
He scribbled on the folder next to the utensil cup, careful not to snap the rotting pencil.
Went out for materials. Don’t worry, I won’t die.
Danse couldn’t think of anything more concise or more reassuring to write down, so he put the pencil back down, this time next to the folder instead of in the cup. With one final glance around the room, he left again, this time setting off to the nearest known settlement, Greentop Nursery.
The moon was high and bright in the sky by the time Emil found his way back to Listening Post Bravo. His return trip was less peaceful than when he first arrived - a group of Raiders had ambushed him, but fallen easily, given the strength and protection of his power armor.
The lights inside the building were on, the station having its own generator, powered by one of the ever-sought fusion cores left in the Wasteland.
Emil opened the door to find that it was much cleaner than before - and could almost be described as livable. Danse was sat at the far end of the room, in the old wooden chair, having dozed off. Emil couldn’t prevent the smile that crossed his face. For the first time since their defection, Danse looked at peace.
The desk that was once in the center of the room had been dragged away to the side, to sit underneath the window. Somehow, Danse had managed to procure two sleeping bags - and two pillows. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping on bare concrete. He had also, apparently, undertaken the task of hauling out at least a few of the barrels, and disposed of the skeleton that was previously shoved behind the door.
Encased in the massive mechanical armor, Emil’s entry was destined to be loud - there was no way around it. Even so, he couldn’t afford to exit it and leave it sitting outside. With a hint of annoyance, Emil trudged into the room, and just as expected, the resounding footsteps woke Danse.
The synthetic man sat up straight, clearly startled by the noise. After a split second, he winced, the muscles in his body having locked up in the strange position he fell asleep in - and cramped in response to the sudden movement. His eyes were blearly from his impromptu nap, and a shot of fear ran through him when he saw the blurry image of power armor in front of him. Is this really it? All because I fell asleep? The thought went through his head like lightning, before he came to and recalled all the surrounding events - and Emil removed his helmet.
His curly, black hair ever-so-slightly sprung up, no longer flattened by the helmet, though most of it stayed stuck to his forehead from the accumulated sweat. If only the beloved power armor had air conditioning…
“Emil,” Danse said, voice gruff from sleep. He cleared his throat.
“I see you’ve been busy.” Emil replied with a grin. He was happy that Danse was doing well enough to go about and get materials to make the place more tolerable.
“I got tired of sitting in here, doing nothing,” Danse said. “I went over to Greentop Nursery and managed to barter out some things to sleep with.”
“What did you sleep with last night? I haven’t actually thought about it until now. These weren’t here earlier.” Emil asked. He figured he knew the answer, but shot it anyways.
Danse looked away, mildly discomforted. “...Nothing. Just on the concrete.”
A saddened look crossed Emil’s face momentarily. Just as he thought.
“But, hey, at least it’s not another night,” he continued, not wanting to dwell on the negatives. There was already enough going on to upset either of them - he didn’t want to pile on to it.
“That’s true. Thank you for getting them,” Emil responded. He turned away from Danse, facing the wall nearest the door, before disengaging his power armor to exit it. It beeped, signifying its shut-down, and the back panel once again clicked open for him to step out.
Now free of the gigantic metal shell, Emil took a moment to run his fingers through his hair, breaking apart the strands that were stuck together from sweat. As much as he loved the exhilaration and might of power armor, he couldn’t stand the feeling of sweat accumulating on his head and body and hair. Once he was satisfied with the release of his hair, he wiped his sleeved arm across his forehead, wiping away the remaining sweat.
Now it was Danse’s turn to softly smile, watching his partner fix himself up. A moment elapsed before Danse realized - Emil had a suit of power armor. That he didn’t have earlier.
“Wait, how did you get that?” Danse said, cutting in to the quiet moment.
Emil pursed his lips for a second, hesitant to respond, but obliged. “I just… did. I got in, in the power armor bay, and kept my helmet on, and just… left.”
Danse’s eyebrows raised. “And they just let you?”
“I didn’t tell anyone what has happened, and I got it done before Maxson had the chance to notify the rest of the Brotherhood that I - we - had defected.”
Danse’s lips turned down while his eyebrows stayed up. He was half impressed with Emil, and half surprised by the Brotherhood. They were very protective of their equipment - but it made sense that Emil was still clocked as a Brotherhood soldier when he retrieved it.
“Well, I’m certainly not complaining. Power armor - especially straight from the Brotherhood - is always a good thing to have around.” Danse said with a shrug.
“...Haylen will be by in a few days to bring us a second suit, as well,” Emil added, somewhat sheepishly.
Danse perked up at the mention of Haylen. “Is she okay? Is she doing well?” He almost immediately inquired.
“I think so. She was eating with some other scribes before she got up to talk to me. She was worried about you,” Emil answered. “I let her know that you’re okay. I’m sure you can catch up better when she brings the power armor.”
Emil crossed the room, approaching Danse. The other man finally stood up from the decaying chair he had been sitting in for so long, the old wood creaking quietly as it stopped holding his weight.
Emil smiled up at him before pulling him in for a hug.
“I’m glad you’re alive, Danse.”
“I’m glad that you’re here.” Danse responded, reciprocating the hug.
He felt anxious, and in turn it made him feel like there was something stuck in his throat. He was glad that Emil was there, but he still felt the same agitation as earlier. Emil had now lost the one thing that was consistent in his entire life - and Danse still felt horrible guilt for it. He pushed down the feeling, not wanting it to taint what he wanted to be a happy moment in comparison to everything else the two of them had gone through that day.
Emil pulled away first, yawning in the process. Danse responded with his own yawn - ever infectious.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m downright exhausted. I’ve been back and forth across the Commonwealth twice today,” Emil said with a sigh.
Danse nodded in agreement. “My nap was not rejuvenating. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I’m definitely still tired.”
Emil smiled. “Then how about we go to bed - and hope tomorrow is better?”
Danse certainly couldn’t argue with that.