Beyond the Sea

“Is this what I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for? Just to see a pile of irradiated sand?”

“Sorry it’s not up to your imaginary standards, Cutler,” the paladin smiled, knocking him on the shoulder, “I believe pre-War Boston was much cleaner all those two hundred years ago.”

“Still… look at this. The goddamn sea! Come on. Let’s check out the shop.” He darted off immediately, holding his satchel close to his side. Its contents jangled, the tell-tale sign of a bag full of junk, and the tip of a laser rifle started to peek out. A habit that never really went away, even a decade later.

The door creaked open, breaking the silence hanging over the sands. The shop was strangely well-kept; each tacky souvenir was still in perfect place, though worn by time. A pleasant respite to the empty shelves of every outlet back in the Capital Wasteland. Food, fridge magnets, even a Nuka-Cola Quantum. He could’ve listed everything on those shelves. The memory, the last time Danse saw him smile was ingrained in his memory, burnt into his psyche.

Cutler flicked a radio’s dial, and hummed as it flickered to life. Bobby Darin’s voice filled the small, rattily room with a pleasant ambience.

“My favourite.” He smiled gently.

“I know. Shame I have to hear it for the tenth time this week.” The knight scoffed from across the shop, turning to his companion with an eyebrow raised.

“As soon as we’re done here, I’ll make sure to torment you further. You’ll know every word by the time I’m done with you.” Cutler grinned contentedly to himself, breaking their eye contact to peruse the shop.

By God, I will.

Straightening out his jacket, Cutler knelt to inspect the lower shelves- magnets, colourful shot glasses, postcards. From a little wicker basket beside them, his fingers grabbed a couple vibrant bracelets, adorned with wooden charms and plastic turtles. Almost instinctively, the knight shoved them into his bag, making a fine addition to his collection of utter crap.

He was so much freer outside of the Prydwen, outside his power armour, out of that suffocating uniform. Cutler moved through the shelves with a certain grace many seemed to lack- his energy, his personality was suppressed around other soldiers. Alone with Danse, it was infectious.

“Heads up.” The paladin called, tossing him a beer from across the room. Cutler caught it, and rising from the floor, presented him with a box of snack cakes. In good condition, not squashed like he usually found the boxes in. A rare, true smile spread across Danse’s face. The two wandered outside, onto the grey sand strewn with rubbish and stones. Only steps in, Cutler set himself down a good few metres from the lapping waves and took a small butter-knife from his satchel. Almost instinctively, he popped the bottle cap off his drink, passing the makeshift opener over to the paladin.

“Cheers, Cutler.”

They grinned to the skies above them, and Cutler muttered back, “Cheers.”

The drink itself was as lukewarm as possible in Boston’s climate, but it was enough. The company was all that mattered in the moment, the bliss of utter silence save for the crackling radio still chiming a familiar melody. He smiled. Such a bright, innocent smile, somehow, after everything they had been through. He never lost the light behind his eyes. Slowly, the knight gently leant his head against Danse’s shoulder, resting wearily. The walk to the airport was long, and while lugging the inventory needed for their stay- he didn’t blame Cutler in the slightest. The gentle light of the sunset was barely keeping Danse awake, as he considered it himself. Soon, they’d have to retire back to camp. The last night they’d ever check over their power armour, whisper about stories in total darkness, the last night that shit was ever normal.

He should’ve stayed forever there, on that beach, in that memory. Never should have let him go the next morning. What a fool…

Danse wrapped one of his arms around Cutler and pressed him tight. His fist clenched along with the gesture, secure.

“Thanks for being here. Really.” He murmured, half hoping the Knight-Commander wouldn’t hear. Never did like getting soppy, and by god, Cutler loved to pick at him for being heartfelt. It wasn’t exactly in character for an officer of the Brotherhood, and Danse had often found himself suppressing every pang of emotion. Often became second nature at times… but not when he was there.