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The scent of something delicious wafted through the air and Danse immediately ceased working on his power suit to inhale deeply. He'd never smelled anything quite like it and, intrigued, he stood up to track the scent to its source, distractedly wiping his greasy hands on the front of his trousers as he walked.
It didn't take him long to locate the source within the small home he shared with his wife, Amal. He paused for a moment in the doorway to their kitchen, simply admiring her as she bustled about. She'd once told him that she never felt up to the task of being a housewife and yet she enjoyed it immensely. Once things had calmed down, she'd taken back to the role like a duck to water, however she now balanced cooking and cleaning against her leadership duties within their close-knit neighborhood and the Minutemen organization. She also enjoyed working on her own power suit, practicing sharpshooting with him, and crafting...interesting new weapons. At that thought, Danse chuckled quietly to himself. She was certainly inventive, but the practicality of her creations had yet to be demonstrated. As his gaze traveled over her, clad in a freshly pressed blue dress, he noticed she seemed to be fussing over something on the counter. He called out to her. "What is that?"
Amal's head snapped up. "Well, I thought you'd never show up," she greeted, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled at him. "It's something I made for us and I have my fingers crossed that it turned out right. Have a seat at the table and I'll serve it up."
He moved to obey but before he'd gone two steps a warm damp towel was flung in his direction. Snatching it from the air, he used it to wipe the last of the grease from his hands before tossing it into a bin to be laundered later. Danse seated himself at the table, a rickety thing he'd built himself from scraps around the settlement, and watched her cut into and spoon portions onto plates from the dish on the counter. The delicious aroma from before intensified, something he didn't think was possible. His eyes tracked the plates as she turned and brought them to the table and, in violation of all decorum, his stomach rumbled loudly. He couldn't help his slightly embarrassed flush.
"Sounds like you've worked up an appetite," Amal teased as she placed one of the plates on the table in front of him before taking her seat next to him. "Well, hopefully this will do."
"It smells delicious," Danse began enthusiastically, then paused. "What is it?"
Amal's eyes shone with enthusiasm as she spoke. "It's something from pre-war, an old favorite of mine. I had to get creative with some of the ingredients, but I think it'll be close enough. Go on and try it!" she encouraged, lacing her fingers under her chin to watch his every expression.
Now Danse felt the pressure. It smelled delicious, as he'd previously noted, and it looked...well, like a pile of pale gravy-vegetable-meat-and...pastry? Was that what those things in the old food dispensers were called?-mush. What if it tasted less like it smelled and more like it looked? He'd hate to disappoint his wife but he also knew he wasn't up to the task of faking a positive reaction or even properly hiding a negative one. Well...Ad victoriam, he thought as he picked up his fork and dug in.
The moment his lips closed around the food he knew he must've gone to heaven. He was greeted with a smooth, savory, melting of pure deliciousness over his tongue. It was a combination of flavors unlike anything he'd experienced before. The meat and vegetables were tender, the pastry was saturated with the savory gravy yet still crisp inside, and it brought to mind all the family dinners he'd never gotten to have but he couldn't even regret that lack for he had everything he wanted right here. His wife, his home, and this...
"What is this called?" he said as he enthusiastically scooped up another forkful and placed it into his mouth. "It's amazing."
Amal grinned. "I'm going to call it Sanctuary Pot Pie. Maybe I'll make it for our next neighborhood pot luck," she continued, finally digging into her own slice. "Mmmm. I don't think anything will ever quite equal the real-deal, but this comes pretty close, I think."
"You mean it was better in the past?"
"Yeah, like I said I had to improvise on the ingredients." She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe someday we'll have chickens again and I can make it properly for you."
Danse reached over to put his hand over hers where it rested next to her plate. "I love this just as it is."
As she met his eyes, warm and full of love, she knew he wasn't referring exclusively to the pie. She blushed and smiled in return.
Sanctuary Pot Pie became Danse's new favorite meal, to the point where he learned to make it just so he could cook it as often as he wanted. Which, unfortunately for everyone else, turned out to be quite often. Not everyone can willingly eat the exact same meal more than three times per week.
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