He can sense it, and might even be angry about it if it weren't exactly what he would expect Deacon to think. And if half of their mutual acquaintances hadn't already said as much to his face, making him comparatively appreciative of Deacon's tact. And if he weren't coming to realize, gradually and hesitantly and reluctantly, that it might actually be true.
This is not a thought process of his that he wants Deacon exposed to, for the sake of his pride, but it certainly doesn't seem like Deacon is bothering to pry into his thoughts right now. What little snippets he catches of those long-dead echoes are useless without context--just a name, and a tangible effort not to think about whoever this person was, and Danse has the sense just now that he could try to push through that if he wanted to. There's no guarantee that it would work, but he could try to break that careful concentration of Deacon's and gather more intel from a vanishingly rare truthful source. Were he still one of those Brotherhood assholes, it would be no less than his professional duty.
He lets it go. He owes Deacon that much now, for letting what happened in that bunker stay there in silence. He moves a few feet away, even, to dampen the echoes and get them out of each other's heads just a little more. It doesn't stop that steady stream of unrecognizable literature, but it does give him space to wonder, as he always does, where the hell Deacon even read it.
"I can tell," he deadpans, but there's the slightest twist of amusement underneath it. "Far be it from me to distract you, but I doubt any of those presumably-dead Russians are going to help get your truck on the road, so you might want to consider getting something more immediately useful on your mind instead. I found a chain over here."
no subject
This is not a thought process of his that he wants Deacon exposed to, for the sake of his pride, but it certainly doesn't seem like Deacon is bothering to pry into his thoughts right now. What little snippets he catches of those long-dead echoes are useless without context--just a name, and a tangible effort not to think about whoever this person was, and Danse has the sense just now that he could try to push through that if he wanted to. There's no guarantee that it would work, but he could try to break that careful concentration of Deacon's and gather more intel from a vanishingly rare truthful source. Were he still one of those Brotherhood assholes, it would be no less than his professional duty.
He lets it go. He owes Deacon that much now, for letting what happened in that bunker stay there in silence. He moves a few feet away, even, to dampen the echoes and get them out of each other's heads just a little more. It doesn't stop that steady stream of unrecognizable literature, but it does give him space to wonder, as he always does, where the hell Deacon even read it.
"I can tell," he deadpans, but there's the slightest twist of amusement underneath it. "Far be it from me to distract you, but I doubt any of those presumably-dead Russians are going to help get your truck on the road, so you might want to consider getting something more immediately useful on your mind instead. I found a chain over here."