Chapter Text
They've been traveling together long enough for Danse to realize that Gabriel hasn't been adjusting well.
At first, he assumes it's just part of the shorter man's appeal. The redhead seems dazed when he first stumbles into the police station, drawn to the firefight like a moth to a flame. He seems unsettled by the gun in his own hand, and even the small 10mm's recoil seems to be too strong. The waves of ghouls, which aren't nearly as bad as the ones previous, are enough to turn the stranger's stomach, leaving him retching past the barricades when it's all said and done. Danse doesn't miss the wide-eyed look Gabriel gets when he gets a good look at the power armor (once all the ghouls are dead), and it's different from the looks Danse usually gets from civilians. They usually aren't used to see the armor, all shiny and fixed up, with the Brotherhood sigil emblazoned on the chest.
But Gabriel just looks confused and mutters a quiet "What did you do to the helmet?"
And that is the point Danse realizes this small, unassuming vault dweller might be more than he seemed.
----
And as it turns out, it was a pretty good deduction.
Danse isn't sure just how long Gabriel's been out in the wasteland (while the redhead is usually forthcoming with information, any questions about that part of his life are usually awkwardly waved away), but it can't have been long. It's been two months, maybe three, since they've been traveling together - crawling across the Commonwealth as soldiers under the same banner. Joining the Brotherhood had seemed an easy decision for the redhead to make, despite originally balking at the idea of being a solider - again. It was comments like that that piqued the paladin's interest, made him arch a brow - it was comments like that that reminded Danse that Gabriel was far more than just a vault dweller.
Despite whatever skeletons grew dust in his closet, Gabriel did good work. He was careful, always careful, going to great lengths to help Danse gather technical documents and other information to take back to the scribes. He helped others, too - settlements plaged by raiders or ghouls, anyone who asked for help.
Despite their companionship, Danse couldn't help noticing things.
Like how Gabriel's hands shake to the point that Danse is surprised he can shoot as well as he does, like how Gabriel doesn't (can't?) sleep through the night, even when it's been days since he last rested. Like how there's always a waver in his voice when the attention shifts to him. Like how he clearly had combat training, though the red-haired man never seemed comfortable with a gun in his hand. And while no one liked firefights or violence, it was a fact of life in the 'wealth - a fact that he seemed to struggle with. It didn't seem like Gabriel ever developed a thick skin; every failure and each shortcoming seem like they weigh heavily on him, too heavy. It's not a healthy attitude to have in the wastes.
Danse has seen it happen to his brothers and sisters - good people who didn't deserve their fates. Gabriel seems stronger than them, in certain lights, and yet...
And yet.
Danse tries not to notice the way he cries out in his sleep (whenever he does sleep - which is far too infrequent), the way his eyes gloss over with pain whenever someone tells them a story about a missing spouse or child. He is a general and Danse is a paladin, and it's not his place to worry, but Danse doesn't want to see the Commonwealth ruin Gabriel like it's ruined so many others.
(It's not his place to worry, and yet, he does.
For purely professional reasons.)
----
The fire crackles quietly and Gabriel sighs, leaning against the log he's propped up against. The heat feels nice and he toes off his boots (a size too big and nearly worn through), sticking his socked feet closer to the fire. Their camp is meager but suitable, and he's long since stopped feeling bad for staying in what used to be someone's house. The gap between the war and now seems just as impossible as it does short, but slowly he's realizing that this isn't just a dream.
A nightmare, two hundred years in the making.
He's done his best to cope, to keep going, but putting one foot in front of the other is impossible some days, and even harder the next. Today was much the same but for once, Danse didn't complain too much when Gabe suggested staying put. Instead they spent the day reorganizing the meager (and empty) settlement and fixing up weapons, cleaning and re-cleaning until they nearly sparkled. Busy work, mostly spent in silence (besides their drifting conversations and the quiet crooning of the radio), and yet he was still tired, exhausted, once night came.
Behind him, he hears the tell-tale hiss of power armor, metal creaking as Danse finally exits. Gabe isn't sure how Danse manages to wear that armor all day, every day - after an hour or so, it leaves his muscles screaming in pain. That's why Danse is a paladin and he isn't, he figures, and offers the brunette a plate of luke-warm radstag meat and a tired smile as he joins him at the fire.
He smiles a little wider when Danse sits next to him, instead of across from him. He had been... worried about the fallout, the repercussions, of their last lengthy conversation - which had ended with Gabriel asking Danse to hold him, should the need arise. Danse had seemed surprised, flustered, but in the days that followed, it seemed he was slowly warming to the idea.
At the very least, Danse's weighted gazes seemed less pointed, less judgmental. And it's a start.
The radio crackles, a little, the song ends and Travis's voice fills the space between them, stuttering and stammering about yet another problem plaguing the Commonwealth. Gabriel shifts where he sits, sitting up a little straighter as he frowns. Another thing to do, he thinks, adds it to the list. Finding the Institute seemed to be a harder task than he originally thought, and these days the task seemed dauntingly impossible. But little things, like a lost locket or a missing cat, those he could manage in the meantime.
"I figure tomorrow we can head to Diamond City," he says suddenly, voice a little rough from lack of use. Danse looks up from his dinner, but stays silent, and Gabriel keeps going. "We can sell off our supplies, get stocked back up before heading down to the airport. You know. If you need to go back?" He finishes, lamely, fingers digging into the leather of his armor. Going back to the airport always meant there was a chance that Danse would want to stay there, with the Brotherhood; surely he wouldn't be allowed to wander the wastes forever.
Danse is quiet for a moment longer, before nodding. "I think it would be wise. We've accumulated quite a few documents that the scribes would like to read." But there's a question in there, evident in the nervous energy Gabriel exudes, and he puts down his now-empty plate with an easy movement. "However I don't think the Brotherhood will need my services for awhile. I'm gathering more intel out in the field with you than on the Prydwen."
Gabriel lets out a short breath, a huff, shifting where he sits. A little at ease, a little flustered - with him, it's always hard to tell the difference. With you. "Yeah?" Well, that answered that. His shoulders sag but he offers the brunette a smile. "Better get some sleep then. I'll take first watch, if you want."
Gabriel does this thing where he frames his statements like questions, as if he's nervous about taking the lead. But Danse knows better than to question it, and so he nods. He takes a moment to stand, stretching muscles as he goes, and Gabriel does his absolute best not to watch. It's hard not to, though, given their proximity - and he's always surprised at just how big and broad the Paladin's shoulders are, even outside of the power armor.
He gets caught staring (because of course he does), and Danse merely offers him a nod of the head. There's a moment where it looks like he wants to say something, but then he clears his throat. "Good night, solider."
Gabriel busies himself with tearing his gun apart and piecing it back together, just like Danse showed him. It makes the time go by quicker, and it's easier than being left alone with his thoughts. The radio croons on, and Gabriel sighs, already weary from the thought of tomorrow.