Chapter Text
The last of the raiders finally fell and Danse twirled around to where he had seen Nora standing only a moment ago. The whole camp was a burning mess, those raiders had been really too keen on the Molotovs for his tastes. There were flames everywhere, roaring and hungry and for a split second he felt panic stab through him before he heard the woman call out.
"Danse! Over here!"
He turned towards the voice and spotted a half burning shack and the former Paladin had no idea how she got there so fast.
He made his way over quickly, "Everything alright?"
"No! No, nothings alright! Help me!" Nora sounded panicked and as he stepped inside the burning shack he could see why. Valentine was lying there, trapped under a heavy wooden beam, squirming and writhing. The synth was heaving, metal fingers buried in the wood and face scrunched up in pain. Nora was yanking at the beam, but it was way too heavy for her.
"Stop gawking, help me get this off!" Nora barked at him and Danse hurried forward. He bend down and, with the extra strength provided from his Power Armor - or rather one of Nora's spare Power Armors he was wearing these days -, managed to lift the beam with a grunt. In an amazing display of stubbornes, Nora pulled Valentine free and he let the beam fall to the ground with a dull thud. The ceiling gave a dangerous creak, flames crackling through the woodwork above.
"Out!" he ordered alarmed, grabbing the woman and the synth by their arms and pulling them outside, a mere second before the structure caved in.
He looked at the pillar of fire that burned into the sky, right where they had been only seconds ago. Nora and Valentine lay on the ground before him, the woman panting heavily.
"That. Way too close," Nora gasped and looked at him from the upside down. Then she propelled herself upwards and knelt next to the synth.
"Nick! You okay?"
Valentine didn't answer for a moment, yellow eyes blinking owlishly up at them. He answered slowly, "I... don't know, doll."
He lifted his arms from his stomach and tried to push himself up.
And cursed.
Nora swore like a sailor and Danse cringed internally when he spotted the synth's crushed waist.
****
"It's alright, doll," Nick smiled up at the vault-dweller encouragingly, "I wouldn't be as old as I am if I wasn't made of sterner stuff."
Nora was fussing over him, almost endearingly so. She was ellbows deep in Nick's abdominal cavity, wearing a helmet nearly two sizes too big for her with a lamp attached to it's side to lighten Nick's internals, repairing the destroyed components. The synth lay on a spare matress, unable to move from his waist down. Hancock had joined them this morning, sitting in the corner of the small repair shop Nora had build in her garage three months prior and Danse stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, for once not wearing the Power Armor, but his old jumpsuit instead.
They had made it to Sanctuary safely yesterday evening, almost twenty-four hours ago. Fortunately the raider camp hadn't been that far away. Danse had to carry the synth since Valentines' legs refused to work properly, while Nora had provided the cover, the lean woman unable to carry the weight. As far as Danse knew, Nora had been in here since they arrived. And made a good progress for now.
The crushed framework inside of Valentine's hip had already been replaced. Wires and cables hung free, bundled on one side and clipped for now so that Nora could reach the damage underneath. Said woman however looked like she was ready to collapse by now.
"You shut up, Sir!" Nora huffed and deepened her voice to mimick Valentines', "Oh, I'm Nick Valentine, I can take down four raiders in a burning building on my own because I am a goddamn hero."
Nick chuckled at her antics, "What? I managed, didn't I?"
"And now I'm bragging about it," Nora continued in that deep voice, grimacing comically, "Because I'll do it again in the blink of an eye, you just watch me, I'm invincible."
Hancock snorted with laughter in the corner, "Getting really good with his voice. Did you practice?"
"A little bit. Can do yours, too." Nora winked at the ghoul who held his hand up in defence, "No, please! Nobody wants to hear that!"
She laughed and leaned down to peer into Nick's opened abdominal cavity, "There's something loose there and I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be. Let me just... ah! There!"
Nick winced when she pulled something free, a demolished piece of metal about the size of her fist, covered in oil.
Nora stared at it, "And what the hell is that?"
Then she stared at Nick. The synth just shrugged.
"How can you not know?" The woman groused, "It was inside of you!"
"Would you recognize a bloody kidney if I'd show you?"
"Ugh, gross... okay, point taken. Dammit, I'll never get to patch you up at this rate..." Nora rubbed her tired eyes, looking frustrated.
Valentine sighed, "Nora. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow."
"And leave you here, half patched up?" The woman asked and shock her head, "No. I'll finish this now. As soon as I figure out what this thing is supposed to be."
"That is a gyro stabilizer," Danse cut in, the first thing he had said after joining them in the shop, "Was a gyro stabilizer. It's supposed to measure the balance input from both legs and synchronizes movement input with the rest of the body."
Nora lifted an eyebrow at him, "And you know that because...?"
Danse hesitated with the answer, glancing at Valentine, "I... watched the Scribes ... disassemble gen-1 and gen-2 synths before. We have had various specimen on board the Prydwen for study."
He noticed the way Nick averted his gaze at the mention of disassembling, a flicker of his eyes only, and felt regret for phrasing it like that. Nora simply nodded.
"I could... I mean... you're obviously tired and I know enough about synth engineering to continue..." Danse started, gesturing towards Valentine, and then bit on his own tongue. Hell, he was really eloquent these days, wasn't he?
Three pair of eyes watched him with with different emotions. Nora looked hopeful and Danse knew that it was because she desperately wanted for them all to get along better. Wanted for them to trust each other. After his banishment from the Brotherhood and Nora persuading him to come live in Sanctuary, there had been a lot of tension between him and the other residents. Especially Valentine and Hancock. With the way he had behaved towards them in the past, when he still believed he was human, he couldn't say he blamed them.
Both the synth and the ghoul looked at him with thinly veiled suspicion. Valentine's yellow eyes narrowed down to small slits and Danse felt uncomfortably assessed by that gaze.
Nora noticed, of course. She huffed at the animosity and whiped at her eyes again.
"Alright," the woman spoke calmly, as if talking to small children, "You don't like him. Everyone get's it. Can we now please stop this and start acting like adults?"
Valentine huffed, "I'm not-"
"Nick. Please. He won't kill you," Nora interjected gently and turned to Danse, "You sure you can do this?"
Danse nodded and she smiled at him.
Nick looked like he wanted to protest for a moment. His gaze shifted from Danse to her. The tension in the air was almost palpable. Danse suddenly wished he'd just kept his mouth shut. Nora looked at Nick pleadingly and the synth seemed to fight with himself.
Then Valentine sighed in defeat,"Alright, doll."
"Great," Nora breathed and waved Danse over to show him how far she'd come and what still needed repairs. It was a lot but Danse was sure he'd manage. Between what he had seen when watching the Scribes to repairing his Power Armor and modding weapons he knew a good deal about mechanics. He could do this.
"Okay," Nora stood up from the ground, stretching her back. Her spine gave a creak. "I'll be back after hibernation. If there's a problem, you call me, right?"
"Sure," Danse nodded, arranging the various tools on the ground to his liking. He was nervous and determined not to let it show.
Hancock stood when she turned to leave and snuffed his cigarette out under his booth. He grinned at them, "Have fun, you two." With a little wave and a wink he followed Nora through the door and Danse really didn't want to know. Anything.
He looked back at the task before him. And had to swallow hard.
Because said task was Valentine, lying on his side and watching him, propped up on one ellbow, shirt opened and his pants low on his hips to allow access to the abdominal plating and the other synth's eyes were half lidden in what still looked like suspicion.
Danse felt his fingers tingle.
"So," Valentine spoke with that deep voice of his and Danse looked up at him, startled. The older synth had grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lit himself one, holding the pack out to the former Paladin. He shock his head, declining the offer.
Valentine shrugged and when he took a drag and inhaled, the smoke wavered out of the ragged hole in his neck. How he could do that without lungs or any mechanical equivalent for it was anybody's guess.
"Just you and me then. I don't think I've ever been alone in a room with you before."
Danse shock his head slowly. No. No, they hadn't. He knew.
Silent, because he didn't know what to say, he started where Nora had left off, the oil covered gyro stabilizer. He took a rag and cleaned it as well as he could. The component was damaged, but not beyond repair.
Danse picked up the soldering iron and set to work.
Valentine looked at him for a moment. When he realized he would get no answer, the older synth leaned back onto the matress, one hand behind his head, occupying himself with the cigarette. White puffs of smoke trailed lazy circles over his head and yellow eyes traced the intricating patterns.
"I... didn't get to thank you before. You know, for saving my life. I don't understand why you did it, pulled me out, too, but thank you, whatever that may be worth to you."
Danse's eyes were fixed on the glowing tip of the soldering iron. In the back of his mind he replayed all the nasty and mean things he had said to Valentine before ... well, before everything.
"You're welcome," he finally said and Valentine lifted his non-existent eyebrow and chuckled deeply, "Oh, so you can speak. And here I thought a cat got your tongue."
"I...." Danse started, and shock his head. Why was this so hard?
"It is worth to me." he finally muttered without looking up.
"Excuse me?"
"Your gratidue," he explained to the soldering iron and his voice sounded small, "As is your life."
Now Valentine was silent and Danse could feel the older synth staring at him. He shuffled uncomfortably and finally looked up. Yellow circles gleamed in the dim light. There were small crinkles around Valentines' eyes and around his mouth in the synthetic skin. Laugh lines, edged into the silicone over decades. Valentine smiled at him. For the first time, as far as Danse could remember.
"You are a good man, Danse," the older synth said, sounding sincere, and Danse scoffed, chrestfallen, "A man... I am a machine."
Valentine chuckled softly, "Right, I forgot. It's so obvious. Please ignore my metal and plastic parts."
Danse felt his lips quirk up in a smile at that. A small smile.
"This is not the same..." he murmured nontheless, but felt the ire was missing from his voice. He had no energy left for that. He was a synth and as bitter as that truth was, it was just that. The truth. He was far from accepting it. But it got better. Every day.
"It isn't?" Valentine's voice was gentle, "Because, from were I am standing, we aren't that different, you and I. I just had more time to come to terms with being a machine than you."
Danse looked up at that, confused, "What do you mean?"
Valentine sighed. His eyes flickered to the side, as if he regretted what he had said. Then he looked back up at him, "I remember being human. I was... well, at least some part was... Nick Valentine, he was real. Twohundred years ago. A cop who got his brain scanned, before the bombs. And then I wake up in a trashheap in this body that needs a screwdriver and wonderglue to keep it from breaking apart."
Danse stared at the other synth, "I... I didn't know that..."
"Well... it's not something I go and tell everyone. Especially not Brotherhood Paladins," Valentine chuckled and then the gentle smile was back, "Only my friends know about this."
Danse felt a blush creep up his neck. Suddenly he was glad for the dim light in the workshop. He hoped the other wouldn't notice.
"Thank you," he mumbled, "For confiding in me."
"You earned it," Valentine simply answered and stubbed the cigarette out on the concrete floor and Danse smiled at that and continued with the repairs.
The hours ticked by after that and Danse made good progress on the stabilizier. They also talked a lot to kill the time, Danse recapitulating missions from his time in the Brotherhood and Valentine explaining cases he had worked on in the past. Danse hadn't thought that he would find a detectives work so interesting. But maybe that had also something to do with the fact that the older synth was a great story-teller. Or perhaps because Danse liked the sound of his voice, accompanied by the soft hum of his inner workings.
And where had that thought come from?
He resolutely stomped on it, until he hoped it was gone, along with the warm, confusing feeling in his chest he just now realized he'd had when watching Valentine talk.
"Hey, you alright?" The older synth suddenly asked and Danse noticed he had been staring for about a good minute. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Yes... It, errr, it should be ready. I just have to reintegrate it to your system now."
Valentine lifted a non-existent eyebrow, sounding vaguely suspicious, "Well, alright then..."
It was easier said then done. Danse's gaze was once again inexorably pulled to the older synth's opened shirt, the naked chest underneath, the stretch of his neck and the well-defined collarbone. The gapping hole in his abdomen or the way his synthetic skin did indeed look old and worn didn't distract from the fact that Valentine had an unmistakable esthetic appeal. And Danse just now realized that he would have to touch him.
He almost swallowed his own tongue at that thought and distracted himself with putting on Nora's helm with the lamp and adjusting it. Or he simply wanted to buy himself time.
His ears were burning when he lifted his hand and laid it down on Valentine's side. The silicone was warm under his hand. He hadn't expected that, but then again, the other synth's inner workings were bound to create heat like every working machine.
Danse carefully peeked inside. He could see gears and pistons, bundles of wires and cables and coolant lines along steel framework. There were also some components he couldn't name, hadn't seen in the gen-2's the Scribes had dismantled on the Prydwen. He frowned at them. They looked somehow... organic. Unsettling.
"I'm a prototype," Valentine clarified and Danse looked up at him, "Well, at least I think so. Somewhere between gen-2 and 3."
"That could explain these strange parts," Danse said, "I have never seen a synth like you."
Valentine scoffed, eyes shimmering teasingly, "Was that a compliment? I'm not sure..."
Danse froze at the almost flirting tone. He opened his mouth and closed it again audibly. He was imagining things. There was no way Valentine meant what he said or the way he said it.
"I...," he cleared his throat, "I should resume now."
He bent over the other synth, the lamp on his helmet illuminating his insides. He could see were the stabilizer was supposed to be, a large slot located at the lower part of Valentine's spine. He had to fit it in and reconnect the cables to reintegrate it to the synth's system. Valentine should be able to move his legs again, then.
He took a deep breath and reached in. It was warm, that was his first thought, even warmer than the synthetic skin. Careful, so not to accidentally rip off wires he started to twist them to the side, clearing the slot for the stabilizer.
He easily identified the cables for the component, four of them, with oval shaped plugs at the end, lying in a bundle against the heavy metal framework that made up Valentine's spine. He touched them and held them fast to not let them slip away when fitting the stabilizer inside with care. On the first try to gently slide the part into it's place, it stuck.
Danse frowned. It wouldn't fit. He pulled it free again and put it away to feel along the slot. There. The thin metal rails were deformed, probably from the weight of the wooden beam that had knocked Valentine down. He rummaged around in the tool kit with his free hand.
"What's wrong?" Valentine asked, sounding rough, and Danse couldn't blame him. He wouldn't exactly like someone fumbling around in his abdomen, too.
"I have to straighten the slot for the stabilizer. It's crooked," Danse explained and found what he was looking for, a small pair of tongs.
Yellow eyes seemed to zoom in on the tool, widening, "Careful with that, will ya..."
Danse nodded in concentration and reached inside with the tool. He had to lean over Valentine to get a good look and clip the rails to bend them into place.
"Damn...," Valentine growled, almost painful.
"Sorry," Danse murmured and didn't dare to glance up, too focussed on the task before him. He straightened the rails to the best of his ability, removing the tool and feeling along the thin metal again with his fingertips. Seemed as good as it would get. He took the stabilizer again and tried once more. This time it slid into place easily, fitting snuggly inside the slot. Now he just had to plug in the cables again.
"There we go...," Danse nodded to himself and felt along the wires between his fingers. The angle was awkward, his sight blocked by his own hands. He had to rely on his tactile sense for this.
Valentine suddenly squirmed under his weight, a small, abortive motion.
"Hold still. This is delicate. I can't remove my hands now," Danse said irritated, frowning, and Valentine relaxed again.
He found the first plug, holding it fast and searched for the connector, slid it into place on the underside of the stabilizer.
Valentine shivered. A full body shiver accompanied with what sounded like a small groan. He looked up, startled.
"Did I hurt you?" Danse asked alarmed and didn't dare to move his hand.
Valentine looked up at the ceiling, yellow eyes glowing brightly. The older synth's lips quivered.
"No," he croaked, voice rough. Danse noticed how his hands were balled into fists.
"Really?" He asked sceptically and Valentine nodded minutely, still refusing eye contact, sounding almost frustrated, "It's... okay. Just... just get it done."
Danse's frown deepened. It was obvious the other synth was lying through his teeth. He resumed his careful work, forcing himself to be even more gentle with the cables. When he felt along the second one to find the plug, Valentine clenched his teeth on a growl and turned his head to the side, deliberately avoiding eye contact. The steady, low hum of his inner working had increased in volume. Danse found the other plug and slid it into the connector.
"Two more to go," he murmured in concentration and felt sorry for the pain he caused, felt the need to reassure Valentine, "It's almost over."
He got no answer. The other synth was quiet, too quiet, except for the hum of his machinery, a faint shiver rocking the upper body under him. The third plug was difficult, he had to twist his hand awkwardly to bend it into the right angle. It felt too short and he pulled gently and Valentine cried out at that, arching up into his grip.
Danse startled and looked up.
This was no pain. This was...
Danse had to violently suppress the instinct to pull back as if burned when he realized exactly what this was. He couldn't stop gasping helplessly, though.
"I... I'm sorry..." Valentine's voice was small and the older synth had his eyes closed, looking mortified, "I didn't... I didn't think it would... feel like this..."
How could this even... Danse didn't know. He decided resolutly he never even wanted to know and knew it was a lie immediately. A thrill shot down his spine to pool warmly in his neither regions.
He knew he shouldn't. He knew the only reasonable thing to do would be to let go and find another way to finish the repairs. Maybe Nora could do this tomorrow. Valentine trusted her and when he reacted ... like this to someone touching his insides, it should rather be an old friend instead of him.
Apparently, his fingers were of completely different opinion, though.
Carefully they repeated the movement and Valentine choked on a moan, biting his lower lip. His good hand shot up and encircled his forearm.
"What are you doing?" The older synth gasped, voice raw.
"You want me to stop?" Danse heard himself whisper, cheeks burning and two yellow orbs looked up at him, scandalized, shocked. Pleading.
"No..." Valentine murmured and the death grip around his forearm loosened.
Without breaking eye-contact, Danse resumed his ministrations, sliding the third and fourth plug into their respectable connectors. Valentine's legs started to quiver when he could move again, the stabilizer safely inside and embedded in his system.
Danse bit his lip.
And gripped a heavy coolant line without thinking about what he was doing. He stroked along the line, along the steelframe behind it and Valentine all but mewled. He could feel the coolant rushing through the plastic under his fingers. Valentine's hips bucked slowly in an easily recognizable motion and his good hand shot up to stiffle a cry.
It was a dream. There was no other explanation. There was no way this was real, no way he had his hand buried deep in the other synth's body, stroking along metal framework, carefully over pistons working in overdrive, pinching cables and coolant lines and reducing Valentine to a moaning, squirming mess under him.
He grabbed a particular thick bundle of cables that lead from the synth's torso to his legs, coiling around the synth's spine and twisted it, wiggling his fingers between the wires.
"Don't... don't stop," Valentine gasped and then moaned low in his throat when he pinched the cables between his fingers, rolling them into a bundle gently.
"God... Danse..."
Hearing his name whispered with so much desire, spilling from the lips of none other than Nick Valentine, had Danse feeling like he was burning alive. The jumpsuit he wore was too hot, too tight and he reached down to rearrange himself, moaning quietly at the touch of his own hand.
He twisted his fingers buried in the wires one more time.
The body under him seized up in sensory overload and Valentine cried out, unable to keep quiet. Danse watched, transfixed, when the other synth threw his head back, hips bucking up and frame arching into him, tiny sparks sizzling along his inner network of cables.
He looked so beautiful. It didn't matter what he was. It didn't matter that he had a machine in his hands. The rapture on the synthetic face under him was real.
The sparks died down again and Valentine was gasping for unneeded air. When he looked up at him, his yellow eyes were ablaze, glowing brightly.
Slowly, Danse untangled his hand from the bundle of cables and let go of the steel framework. With his left hand he stroked over Valentine's side, over his hipbone, feeling shivers run through the metal body under him.
Valentine looked like he wanted to say something. Then he simply smiled that gentle smile again with a slight shake of his head and pulled at his forearm and Danse followed, unable to stop himself.
The other synth's lips were dry on his own, the silicone soft and yielding and he tasted plastic and nicotine. Fingers tangled in his hair, gently, and when he opened his eyes again, inches above the others face, he looked down into yellow circles, watching him with tender amazement.
"That was ... unexpected," Valentine whispered, deep voice wondrous and Danse shivered when the other synth stroked along his temple with his fingertips, careful and gentle, as if afraid he would spook him.
"Yes...," Danse could only agree, right now. Because he knew that it hadn't been. Not for him.
"Why didn't you stop?" Valentine's gaze was searching, was so deep and soft, and Danse didn't know what to say so he simply leaned down again and kissed the other synth once more. Valentine moaned quietly into his mouth and Danse felt arms encircling his shoulders, a hand stroking his neck.
It felt so good.
There was a reason. A confusing reason. A whole big mess of emotions Danse wasn't sure where even real or simply programmed zeroes and ones in his artifical brain.
But in the end... did it really matter?