If you'd explained the situation before giving me a reason to doubt everything else out of your mouth, maybe--

[ He cuts himself off, and sighs. The "maybe" is operative here. He'd been furious enough, at the first sight of the truck, that it wouldn't have made sense either to expect Arcade to stake his life on a "maybe." Danse wants to think he'd have been reasonable, weighted a little further toward the benefit of the doubt by the budding camaraderie of the conversation that had come before, but even he isn't completely sure.

But this much, he understands--in a piecemeal sort of way. Neither the Institute nor the Brotherhood is any more forgiving to would-be defectors, though he'd relish the thought of watching the former go up in flames. But he's never stopped to consider the mundane individual reality of all those generations born to the Enclave without a choice in the matter. It's not the sort of thing the Brotherhood ever wanted its enforcers thinking about too hard. ]

...no. It really wouldn't have been, would it.

[ He thinks of the cannons on the battlements of the Castle, all of them pointed toward the looming shadow of the Prydwen. ]

Even if you haven't struck me as someone with much allegiance to what it's about, either.