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Some 20 feet below ground, in the burnt-out remains of a subway station, a sultry and smooth song fills the gaps between the concrete walls. The singer is stood atop a small wooden stage, wearing that tauntingly low-cut dress of hers, purring out her lyrics in a way so remarkably identical to those pre-war jazz clubs you had found yourself in a few times. You've had perhaps a few too many glasses of wine tonight - it's not like you're driving anywhere, after all - and your slipshod surroundings have all melted into one hazy, warm blur. There are only two things that exist anymore: the music, and the woman in front of you. She's reclining on one of the sofas, more sober than you, or maybe just more able to hold her drink. You're standing over her with a lazy smile across your face, focused on her hazel eyes as she looks back up with something between amusement and expectance. You should probably say something.
"May I have this dance?"
The words trail off into a slur towards the end, but they're clear enough. You can see the indecision flicker in her eyes - hesitant to be the only ones dancing here, unsure if she even really knows how to dance - but her mind settles on something along the lines of 'Ah, what the hell?' and she takes your outstretched hand in hers. Her fingers are lightly calloused and stained with years of ink, and her palms are warm beneath the worn-out leather of her gloves. You guide her other hand to your shoulder, letting your own come to rest against the small of her back. A part of you wants to pull her in tighter, to close the distance and feel her body pressed against yours, but you don't. Not here, not now. Instead you settle for the few inches between you, feeling the curve of her waist beneath your fingertips, as you start to sway to the music.
To be honest, you don't really know how to dance either, at least, not how to lead. You're far too into the rhythm and the alcohol to care, though, and you always figured you wouldn't need more than a tune and a partner to do it. All you have to do is move, and you do. It's a little sloppy, but you manage not to trip each other and that's enough. As the song comes to a peak, you move your other hand to her back, pulling her just a little closer as you twist your body, dipping her the way you'd always seen on T.V. You crack a goofy grin, the suavest you can manage in your state, as you hover over her for that moment, hair falling across your face, and neither of you can help but to laugh.
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You excuse yourselves from the Third Rail before the security could do it for you. You had gotten a bit too noisy, and the irritated looks on the faces of the patrons (and somehow on the Mr. Handy manning the bar) made it clear you had just about overstayed your welcome. An icy breeze greets you now as you step outside. Goodneighbor at night was oddly charming with the scent of cigarette smoke, the distant chatter of its nocturnal residents, and the blinking neon signs on the storefronts. It's not all that different from the city square that occupied the area in your own time, and you drink it in. Your fingers are still interlaced with hers, and you lean on each other a bit as you make your way towards the Rexford. Fortunately, you'd had the foresight to rent a room earlier that day, predicting the drunken state you now found yourself in, so you merely wave to the older woman behind the desk, and Piper tips her hat.
The room wasn't much, but it was cozy, boarded windows and all. There's a radio on the dresser singing a tinny and sweet rendition of Dion's Tonight, Tonight and it's the perfect song to continue your dance. You turn up the volume just a bit and grasp her hands again as she sheds her carmine coat, whisking her around to face you. Mostly, you repeat the same steps from before, though more confident and freer in the privacy of the hotel. The two of you start to get it down, picking up the pace and slipping in new moves as you go.
This time, she's the one dipping you, and time freezes for a moment as you hang a few inches above the bed, her eyes turned down to meet yours, gleaming and her chest heaving softly. You allow yourself that standstill second to marvel at everything that makes her, from the mottled freckles across her face to the traces of vivid green behind the intense hazel of her eyes, and then, in an instant, your arms are around her pulling her down, the two of you toppling onto the mattress together.
What a feeling it is, her weight atop yours. It's safe, and familiar, and thrilling all at once. She smells like Goodneighbor, like Diamond City, like fresh print, like cabernet, and daffodils, and cinnamon. You know, more than you've ever known anything, that you would go through it all again - all of the pain, all of the loss, all of the fighting - if that was what it took to be with her. For all the hardships of this world, she made living in it worthwhile. If only you could never leave this embrace.
Well, tonight, tonight may never reach an end.
I'll miss you so 'til you're in my arms again.
With all of my heart, I declare with all my might,
I'll love you forever, as I love you tonight.