[ On the opposite side of the camp, Danse wakes in that same instant, as the dreamworld pops like a bubble without Arcade's consciousness to sustain it. His heart is still racing, and for a long moment he feels like there might still be nightstalkers out there in the darkness, even though he's not entirely sure what a nightstalker is.
Hands unsteady, he pushes his own blanket aside and sits up in his truck bed. The darkness still feels oppressive. He slides into the driver's seat instead and turns on the light, enough that he can think. It was real, nearly all of that was real enough, and he's been terribly wrong.
He's apologized once already for being an asshole about the truck, but that apology had only then served as extra fuel for his anger and mistrust once he'd come to feel like he'd been played for a fool--the more fool him now, for letting that make him so stubbornly insistent on condemning an innocent man. It's not as if the truth wasn't there, had he been willing to listen. Though it's not as if Arcade had explained anything, either; Len's attempted mediation had done more heavy lifting there than Danse had wanted to let either of them know.
What's done is done, anyway. But Danse can't just let Arcade keep thinking he's liable to get shot if he puts a foot wrong. It would be more sensible to just try to find him at breakfast like before, but there's no guarantee he'd be there, and anyway, the last time Danse felt this queasily unable to think about eating anything, he'd needed Arcade to medicate him for it. He sits at his steering wheel, lost in thought, until the camp finally begins to stir again and he can see movement around the Enclave truck, and gets out of his own to approach with some hesitance. ]
Can we talk?
[ It's earnest, finally devoid of suspicion or hostility. ]
no subject
Hands unsteady, he pushes his own blanket aside and sits up in his truck bed. The darkness still feels oppressive. He slides into the driver's seat instead and turns on the light, enough that he can think. It was real, nearly all of that was real enough, and he's been terribly wrong.
He's apologized once already for being an asshole about the truck, but that apology had only then served as extra fuel for his anger and mistrust once he'd come to feel like he'd been played for a fool--the more fool him now, for letting that make him so stubbornly insistent on condemning an innocent man. It's not as if the truth wasn't there, had he been willing to listen. Though it's not as if Arcade had explained anything, either; Len's attempted mediation had done more heavy lifting there than Danse had wanted to let either of them know.
What's done is done, anyway. But Danse can't just let Arcade keep thinking he's liable to get shot if he puts a foot wrong. It would be more sensible to just try to find him at breakfast like before, but there's no guarantee he'd be there, and anyway, the last time Danse felt this queasily unable to think about eating anything, he'd needed Arcade to medicate him for it. He sits at his steering wheel, lost in thought, until the camp finally begins to stir again and he can see movement around the Enclave truck, and gets out of his own to approach with some hesitance. ]
Can we talk?
[ It's earnest, finally devoid of suspicion or hostility. ]