Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"If you have a moment.. I have something personal I'd like to discuss."

I frowned as I looked down from the roof, hearing the calm yet distressed voice of my former mentor.

A moment, he’d said. We had plenty of moments now—alone in the deep wastes of the leafless woods outside his bunker. I had helped him cover it with old branches to keep it hidden. Lifeless, ignoring the two-headed, naked elk roaming the desolate plains just a few leagues away.

"Something wrong?"

His eyes shot up, surprised by my tone, which I only then realized sounded overly worried. I quickly averted my gaze, feeling the awkwardness settle in.

Of course something was wrong.

He had just turned out to be the very thing he once exterminated. After a short pause, I found myself in the embarrassing position of having him stare up at me from below, as if waiting for me to clarify or give him permission to continue. With one quick jump, I landed beside him at the door.

"I mean… Sure. Go ahead."

"I'm sorry." He sighed and stepped closer, moving between two stubborn branches.

Seeing him outside his power armor was rare, and I couldn’t help but like the view—especially seeing his hair free in the wind.

Thick—incredibly thick—and black as coal.

Danse was, after all, a very handsome man, with just the right amount of mystery. It all came together with a pair of auburn eyes that could drown you whenever the light caught them just right.

And once again, a familiar tingling numbed my senses.

Shame.

It had barely been a year since he died.

Well, not in real terms—but for me, he had just passed away. In reality, he had been dead for sixty years. At the time, before waking up, I had thought Nate to be my one true love. With only eighteen spins of the Earth behind us.

We’d gotten married out of the blue—mostly to our parents’ protests. Because we failed to realize how young we were.

How rash, how naive.

Nate and I had never been seeing other people, never traveled outside of Boston. I had been curious, while Nate never explored for himself. Now, so many years—and centuries later—I could finally understand what my father had warned me against.

I finally understand what I didn’t back then. I could understand my father’s fears.

The fear that if one of us vanished, the other would break.

I almost did. Had it not been for the need to find Shaun, I probably would have.

Nate was my best friend, my brother-in-arms and partner in crime. We ran from place to place on the farm where I grew up. Sometimes, I still hear my grandfather’s rough growl as we fled with bottles of cider in Nate’s arms and rhubarb and sugar in mine. There was one place we always ended up—our secret hideout in the loft of my dad’s barn. It was where we laughed and cried. Where we shared all our secrets.

Where we expressed our love for the very first time.

That barn was our headquarters, where we played soldiers and waged imaginary wars against other kids. And I was always the General, wearing my great-great-grandfather’s old helmet like a crown.

He—meaning my old grandpa Fisher—would probably not have approved of the war games And my father in turn never really stopped me from practicing with guns. And to my own smug satisfaction I turned out to be a natural.

Dad didn’t buy me dolls, dresses or makeup. I trained like him and his gradfather before him.

As the only child, I became the son who never lived past six.

Like Mom, he had been sick.

Looking back, I now understand it was one of the reasons my parents’ marriage collapsed before her death—why they argued about me, my future, and how I was being raised. Mom didn’t want to stop me from becoming a protector, but she didn’t want to see me fight either—her Swedish perspective, I guess. And in some ways, I carried that thought with me as I grew older.

Her patience, Dad used to say.

It wasn’t about music or books. Even she, the artist and songbird, hated the still life of a housewife. Too weak to continue her dream as a singer, she still pushed forward, independent until the end. Even as she coughed up blood, she kept going. We spent hours in the music room, teaching me to sing, dance, and play instruments whenever Nate was away in Boston. Mom favored the piano, and I loved the guitar. We were a great combo—even if she mostly pretended I was as good as Elvis. When she passed, I stayed by my father’s side. Music became a horrid lie. Instead, I rode horses and took on the responsibilities of a farmhand.

My great-great Grandfather Karl Fisher had served during the second world-war. And the blacks-Negros, as most would have called them back then- he served with had been some of the best men he knew during his life. No matter what people said outside the farm, they were brothers. That was one of the most beautiful things about this new world: race didn’t seem to matter anymore. White, Asian, German, Black—those labels belonged to an incoherent, idiotic society with broken rules.

And that is one of the things I find the most beautiful about this new world: how race, skin colors don’t matter. The world right here, right now—it doesn't care about that.

.. At least. That was what I initially had thought at first.

Because now, a new kind live among us. And just as Cortez had with the Aztecs, they sought to kill.

To eradicate.

The “Nazism” of this age had grown into something else entirely. Which, not all too long ago, brought me to the akward question to myself:

Why did I join?

Because I was frightened? Or because it seemed intriguing?

I know now—I had only said yes on a whim.

I still remember the distress of waking up in a world I didn’t understand. The pain of not knowing why my son had been taken from me. And after seeing their hatred, it was too late to back out. After a while I told myself they had to be the best chance of getting him back. That they—somehow—had to be the better option.

That I had acted right. Which is totally fucked up.

Yes, Synths and ghoul's constantly attacked me as I walked the streets. It would have anyone confused and thinking of them all as dangerous entities that had to be put down. I suppose it was that which made it easier to look past it, and that was what made me convince myself that I had done the right thing. That I had done right, even though I had been so very wrong. After meeting and getting to know Hancock, Strong and after getting to learn through Valentine, I knew I was the one being false to myself. They are people and they have emotions. Even though Nick is some copy of a police officer from my time. Because in there, in those memories, a person lurks. He had gone through the exact same things as the original Nick. He had grown up with his family.

He had lost his girl.

Just because he’s not the original doesn’t make his pain any less important. He—even if he considers himself a copy—is real. Because he feels.

Danse… He is not quite the same sort of Synth. He is, in all aspects, a human being. Not a machine. Even if he isn’t, as Elder Maxon so very colorfully told me just two days ago, given life through the womb of a loving mother.

I do not consider him any different than any other child or grown man.

Shaun even admitted that they pick out those who turned out to be different. That they, the scientists, appoint their creations different tasks most suited for them. Does that not mean that they’re people too? Because it sure does look like they are individuals when even they, their creators, can agree to the fact that they hold the possibility to grow and adapt.

.. But, oh, no… No, they “can’t.”

With shuddering breath, I felt my fist tense up. Because I had become everything my father—and what his father—and so many fathers before them-had thought was wrong.

And my own child had become as well.

This time, I had joined the Nazis and become a opressor. And that made me realize how I dread to see him gone, seeing as Danse is a Jew of this time.

Just as I had been afraid to see Nate gone.

The years passed, and former ideals of becoming a soldier at his side were bitterly replaced with the desire for knowledge and understanding. I am a woman, after all, and according to the recruiters that reality had to kick in sooner or later.

Because according to them, a woman could—no, should—not fight.

So I went to university instead, battling with molecules and studied robotics instead of communists.

While Nate took his military graduation, fulfilling our dream for the both of us.

We wanted to change, wanted to see the world and help.

I wanted to stop cancer from taking someone else important away from me.

Nate loved our new home. He even said that he loved having me all to himself.

But…

While his fantasy of me carrying out my wifely duties bloomed in his mind, my reality died out—as if he unintentionally tried to hold me back. I could never bring myself to tell him that I despised the life we had built up. For while he was out, talking and working with people who shared hobbies, I was stuck with other women who would never understand me. I had nothing to relate to with them. They found me barbaric, and I found them idiotic.

The only contact with my only friend was through letters and an occasional holotape that always ended way too quickly. I dreaded the life of a housewife—wearing dresses and putting on makeup. I missed my studying days, where I got to think and could feel challenged. I missed the earthly smells of the stables, of newly cut wood and mud, of the motor oil and petrol in the engines. I missed the sound of my father’s booming voice and the neighing from the pens.

But.. then he went to war.

And the life I had found boring became frightening.

Because unlike earlier, like the time when my mother had been deathly ill, I couldn’t occupy myself with the next chores like before. It wasn’t like I didn’t try—it was just that Codsworth did all the housework before I even had the chance. Even the plants. Instead, I was sitting inside, cooped up with the rest of the women from the same street. Worrying.

Agonized.

The slow days filled with constant worry became weeks that transformed into months. And then, a whole year had passed. I could hardly believe my own pair of eyes as I saw him standing there by our threshold. Thin, broken and worn in his all-too-large military garb.

He even cried as he saw Shaun, wrapped in a blanket in my arms.

But once he was back, once things started to settle, I noticed how different he was. The pure glee, the light in him, had been extinguished. He had left as the teenage boy I had loved but returned as a deeply troubled man.

Cold. Angry. Wrong.

He never really felt the same. And neither could I expect him to feel the same ever again.

As I now so bitterly can relate..

War..

War never changes.

But they change you.

It is an old game, with different courses and players. But the rules are just the same.

Once again my mind was brought back as I heard Danse pull up his old dusty jacket closer around himself with a stuttering breath.

It was getting colder. I had to admit my curiosity, for I did not know if snow even existed anymore.

"I really thought this would be easier to talk about. There’s so much I wanted to say, but I don’t know where to start."

I looked at him and felt the smile I tried to give only fall down. "Take it easy, Danse. Whatever it is, I’ll try and help you work through it."

His eyes instantly darkened at that. Not through anger, but true and desperate anguish. "I don’t know if anything will help me work through it. I’ve spent my entire life… or at least what I perceive as my life… following a plan to shape my own future. But since my…" Here he stopped and turned, staring at me. "Since… our banishment, I feel lost."

My eyes sank to the ground as I still felt the sour mood Elder Maxon had left.

"I'm never going back to the Brotherhood."

His eyes.. They were nearly as white as flashes from thunder when his hand grabbed hard around my wrist.

Younger, and yet, with the title of Elder he remained stubborn and unwilling to open up to new ideas. The irony never failes to fall on me. While others had praises him, I fet disgust whenever I stood in his presence. I know that the mutants are cannibals and undoubtedly would eat me should they be offered a chance, but they were still living creatures. There had to be some who were

His eyes… they were nearly as white as flashes of thunder when his hand grabbed hard around my wrist.

Younger, and yet with the title of Elder, he remained stubborn and unwilling to open up to new ideas. The irony never failed to fall on me. While others praised him, I felt disgust whenever I stood in his presence. I knew that the mutants were cannibals and undoubtedly would eat me should they be offered a chance, but they were still living creatures. There had to be some who were willing to talk. And when I expressed that concern, he spat at my feet.

It was as if I could not be open about my doubts. And as soon as I tried to confide in him about it, he rejected me. I rarely spoke to him outside of missions after that. I would never understand him, and he never me in turn.

Now, after the revelation about Danse, I know I don’t want to go back.

Ever.

Frankly, after seeing the change they want to impose and the lengths they are about to use, I felt like I was right back—as if nothing had changed and as if the warnings the organization I had worked for only repeated the cycle they always told us to prevent.

All caused through hubris.

Again I was standing underneath with a shaking clipboard, wondering what hell I was about to unleash.

They were bound to fall. And when they did, they would crash, taking the rest with them.

Just as ol’ Adolf had coated his words with sweet promises of revenge against those who had betrayed Germany, the Elder kept promising a new hope for a new Synth-, Ghoul-, and mutant-free world. To me, Maxon is just another Hitler, trying to convince everyone that everything he does is for the sake of humanity when all he really does is dictate who has the right to live or not.

But Danse… it had been his life. It had been his truth.

And without that truth, he is lost.

"For the first time since that moment I signed up with the Brotherhood, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have a plan." Here, his voice broke as his head fell with a deep nod. "And it scares the hell out of me."

I looked at him and grew new courage as I, for the first time ever, took the chance to actually touch him, giving a friendly pat on his shoulder.

He is the sort of person that does not like it, I imagine. I was, at the same level. But back in my day, women were supposed to use their eyelashes for everything. Women were accessories, like a belt or a bag. We were expected to look beautiful and sit quiet in the corner.

Everything that was so opposite me.

The fellow housewives on my street had laughed behind my back as I painted the walls, patched our roof, or even washed the car. Growing up as I did, I learned to take care of myself. A still life had never been for me.

It was just as Danse had told me—I was born to be a soldier.

I knew that. I just didn’t tell him I knew that.

Because my grandfather’s sons, through their anxiety, had somewhat always known and through paranoia taught me how to hold a gun—taught me that those who claim to have good intentions with war at their backs never really do.

"You don’t need a plan to live, Danse. It’s impossible." I tried to smile again but felt it fall as I remembered the realization of being thrown into the abyss all too clearly. "I certainly didn’t expect to wake up two hundred years into the future."

"Yet you’ve been able to roll with every punch that’s been thrown at you."

As I looked up, I saw him stare at me.

"I had to." I simply shrugged. It felt… uncomfortable, to speak of myself. To feel his eyes drown me with admiration.

With Mom sick and Dad in uproar, I felt it best if I stayed happy and blissful. With Nate gone to war, he did not need me sending him worrying letters. I had to appear strong, in case they needed me. Just as Danse now needed me. I had only spit out the information about Nate and Shaun because it had been required when I joined.

Again, I tried to smile. "But for what it’s worth, we’re here now and with that we can move on."

"Don’t you understand?"

He stared at me all of a sudden with low brows and a curled mouth in disgust. "Everything I had, everything I knew is gone. In the span of a few hours, my identity was ripped from me and my world turned upside-down!" He stopped himself and stepped back, taking a shuddering breath. "At least what you had was something tangible… something real."

Then, I saw it.

That rage.

And once again I felt like that helpless girl, in my new house with Nate’s hands around my wrists, pushing me against the wall.

That time when I had tried to understand, but received bruises in the end.

I had allowed it—because he needed me.

He never touched me again after that. As if he did not dare to. Even Shaun… he rarely held him. No matter how much I begged for him to just… kiss him goodnight. Read him stories. Feed him. Nate saw himself as a monster. And no matter what I did, I could never change that.

I knew that he had been through so… so much. And I was an irritating fly, buzzing out annoying words of comfort too simple to mend the year of torture he had been led through.

Maybe it was therefore I insisted for him to take Shaun in his arms when we ran towards the vault. For him to carry out his fatherly duty. Or was it because I knew that he was so much stronger than I? That if I fell, he would do the right thing—to keep running.

And now, I saw Danse walk through it.

It became clearer as his voice grew louder when he turned away from me, walking away from the bunker where we stood.

"Your husband, your son… they were living, breathing humans who loved you and cared for you. Those sons of bitches who created me couldn’t even be bothered to implant memories of having siblings or parents!"

I didn’t want to run away this time either.

Even if I dreaded the outcome.

But then again, Danse was not Nate.

Mustering my courage, I let my hands tighten as I walked to him, realizing that his yelling could draw unwanted attention while he kept staring up into the sky as his anger took flight.

"I don’t even know how much of my own past is artificial and how much is real. Can you even imagine that? I started out as nothing, and I’ve ended up as nothing. And I don’t know what the hell to do—"

And then, as he turned, we stood a heck of a lot closer than ever before. Me just underneath him with my hands just in front of his chest and his arms still flexed, high in the air with tightened fists only inches from my face that now looked incredibly surprised.

"..About it.." He finished, staring back with wide eyes.

My gaze dove away from his as I brought my hands toward my own chest, a bit embarrassed by feeling him so close. "I’m truly sorry, Danse." I murmured with a head bobbing to the side. "I never realized how deeply this affected you."

"I appreciate that." He breathed in deeply, but let it all out quickly again. "I suppose you are right. Maybe I’m just missing the point. My life’s starting over, and I need to come to terms with everything I’ve lost and everything I’ve gained." I felt my throat turn a whole lot thicker at that, and a stream of hope filling me up. He could see it on me, I think, for he smiled all of a sudden. "Which includes something important you’ve made me realize."

Instead his eyes sought out his hand, observing it with a puzzled look. "I don’t know if it’s friendship… or an anomaly in my programming. After all… I’m not really human." Here his smile became wider as his hand found mine.

"But whatever it is, I can’t deny I’m feeling closer to you than anyone else I’ve ever met."

My eyes shot up.

'I think I feel the same way,' bounced around in my mind like a rubber ball, throwing itself back and forth across the inner walls of my skull. And I wanted to smile. I wanted to say it.

But could I, in good conscience, tell him that?

And as I saw Shaun before me I felt my eyes squeeze shut. Even if he was older, I kept seeing his father in him, to a breaking point.

They had the same pair of green eyes.

How can I throw away my whole childhood for another man that I barely knew?

The simple answer is: I couldn't.

My hand left Danse’s grip and I turned toward the door of the bunker. It was too soon after my husband’s death, and I couldn't help but to feel utter disgust for my own thoughts. As I walked away and inside the first room, I heard him call after me.

"I think I'm falling for you, Sol.."

I spun around faster than I meant to, my heart racing, and my cheeks were burning with a heat that spread all the way down to my neck. He was looking at me, his face a mirror of mine, red and flushed, as though the very act of speaking his feelings had stripped away all pretense. The blush on his face deepened, spilling across his chest and up to his ears, making him appear almost vulnerable. When he noticed the sudden heat on his own face, it seemed to magnify the discomfort in the room, and I could feel my pulse quicken. We both stood there, silent for a moment, as if the air had thickened with the weight of his words.

At first, I had found him frustrating—uptight, rigid in his beliefs. He was my CO, my mentor, and at times, that had been all he was to me. But the more I worked alongside him, the more I saw beyond his strict exterior. When he finally let his guard down, when he confided in me, something shifted inside me. Respect for him turned into something more. How could it not? He was brave, honorable, and, in the most unexpected way, gentle. That respect bloomed into loyalty, and then... fascination. And over time, it became harder to deny.

I had convinced myself that I hadn’t joined Maxon on the Prydwen because of loyalty to the Brotherhood, but deep down, I knew the truth. I stayed because of him. I stayed because, even in the silence between us, his presence had started to mean more to me than I was willing to admit.

",,That doesn’t make any sense.. Does it?" His voice was barely a whisper, thick with disbelief as his eyes looked away. "I'm a machine, so why do I..?"

His words hung in the air, trembling with uncertainty, but there was something else there—a flicker of vulnerability.

Of hope?

It was hard to tell, but it made my chest tighten. Did he want me to say it aloud? Was he waiting for me to confess what we both had been dancing around?

And then, the realization hit me like a sudden wave crashing over me.

I want him.

It had always been there, hadn’t it? Every look, every quiet moment between us, every action I took had somehow been measured by what he might think, how he might feel. He had burned brighter than anyone else in my life, not just because of his position or his strength, but because I had placed him on a pedestal. I had let him become more than just a mentor. Somewhere along the way, he became someone I couldn’t imagine being without.

"If you were just a machine, would we be having this conversation?"

He blinked and shyly let his head fall to the side. I had not intended to sound so harsh, and instantly sighed as I felt the guilt burn into me. He did not deserve that sneer. I had been the one putting us in this situation, by admitting to my crime.

"I don't know. I'm not certain what the institute embedded into my brain to handle things like this." Here he finally looked back at me. And again, his eyes were filled with pain. "If I was human, wouldn't this be a hell of a lot easier?"

I knew what he didn’t.

That they aren’t just hardware, metal, and wires. But flesh, with hearts, blood and brain.

When I had walked the labs of the Institute, I had seen more than I ever could have hoped for from my university days as I studied science, robotics and biology. It was so much more intense and more advanced than that of an old college laboratory. But that also left me with a deeper insight. Shaun played with forces beyond our wildest imagination. I had never believed in God. Ever. But that was clearly outside the frames of what we were supposed to do. They had proved that they could create life.

Mankind redefined.

But is it right?

If they are created, was it not for them to live? They bled, do they not? They feel. They are supposed to live. Yet they are contained. And that was why he had run away at some point. That was why Danse didn’t remember the Institute. He wanted a normal life.

He wanted.

And so I walked up to him, took his hand in mine, and placed it against his own chest. He stared, doubtful, as I sighed with a determined look and squeezed my fingers around his. "You feel that? That’s life you feel. Your own beating heart. You’re not a machine, Danse. In fact, you’re more human than most people ever could hope to be."

"You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that."

His usual stoic and matter-of-fact tone was all blown away. In it, I hinted eagerness, awe…

And tenderness.

And then, his other hand joined mine, in a tight grip; he felt so much closer than before. Even without his power armor, he is tall, and I relatively short. Surprised, I saw him lean closer and closer, going back and forth as if uncertain of what I wanted. As if he were asking for permission.

My legs felt like paste. It felt like something out of a soap opera, or an incredibly bad, overly sweet romance novel. And impatient, I decided to take my fear of my past and toss it out through an imaginary window. I didn’t care if I looked desperate or like a tramp.

I could feel the shocked “oh” turn into a smirk when his barrier of teeth clashed against mine.

For a moment we just stood there, with our mouths pressed. And as cliché as it sounds, it was exhilarating—completely incompatible with anything I ever had experienced. I felt like a little girl again, exploring the forbidden depths. But unlike Nate, this was a whole new cave, a whole new forest for me to uncover. It felt refreshing, and not the least as shameful as I first had pictured it to be.

But as I turned to end it and let my mouth break contact, I felt him turn my face up again.

…And I felt his knee carefully go in between mine, spreading my legs a bit further apart.

Danse wasn’t trying to make this sweet or cute. The sudden shyness that swept over me caught me off guard, and I dared to peek open my eyes, only to meet his gaze. There it was—intense, dark, and filled with a determination that left no room for doubt.

I didn’t need to be told what that look meant.

His hand slipped lower on my back, and the next thing I knew, his fingers were gripping my behind. The surprise of the gesture left me breathless, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I allowed it, unable to separate from him. Something inside me had ignited, a fire that burned hotter with every teasing stroke of his strong hands.

His stubble brushed against my chin, sending a shiver up my spine, and when I exhaled in a soft huff, his tongue seized the opportunity, pushing into my mouth with an eager hunger. It was a battle for dominance, and in that moment, I felt the same burning desire flare up inside me. My hands, as if on their own, moved lower, pressing against the firm muscles of his rear.

Just as I thought the intensity couldn’t grow any further, he surprised me again. With a rough push, I was sent stumbling backward, landing with a thud against the desk. Danse towered over me, pinning me in place, and I could feel the undeniable pressure of him pressing against me through the tight fabric of his jeans.

Without thinking, my legs instinctively hooked around his waist, and with a smooth roll of my hips, I pulled him closer, urging him to close the distance. Our lips parted as he dropped lower, his mouth now trailing fire against the sensitive skin of my neck. I heard him growl with anticipation, and the sound only drove me further into a haze of desire. My head was a swirl of instinct, and I couldn’t help but pant, my body aching for him. His arms left my sides, and I heard the rustle of his jacket being discarded somewhere far behind him.

This wasn’t like before. There was a raw eagerness in him now, a hunger that mirrored my own. As I moaned into his kiss, I felt his hands roam, squeezing my breasts with a force that matched the intensity building between us.

Then, in a quick movement, he pulled back, yanking his white t-shirt over his head. I was on him immediately, rising up to meet his chest, my hands clawing across his back as I explored the hard muscles and faded scars beneath my fingertips. His body trembled beneath my touch, a guttural sound escaping him as I traced every inch of him with my tongue. He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, a groan of pleasure escaping him as he felt the heat of my body press against his.

I could feel his hardness through the thick fabric of his trousers, and it made my head spin. My lips trailed up to his jaw, his hands fumbling with the collar of my jumpsuit, then my throat as he pushed me back down onto the desk. His fingers dug into my waist, pulling me closer, like a predator hungry for his prey.

I couldn’t suppress the involuntary roll of my eyes back as his fingers ventured under my top, brushing against the sensitive skin of my breasts. The sudden heat of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, and I could feel my body reacting to his every movement, every touch.

My fingers moved without thinking, finding the buckle of his belt and pulling it free, ready to feel his bare skin beneath my fingertips. But just as I reached for him, the warmth of his body against mine vanished. Coldness swept in where his heat had been, and I opened my eyes to find him standing back, his hair a mess, hanging loosely in front of his face. His clothes were scattered across the floor, and my shirt was pulled up, exposing the curve of my waist.

He looked down at me, his expression a mixture of frustration and something else I couldn’t quite place.

“We shouldn’t.”

I froze, my gaze locked on the ceiling, as I heard the sound of his belt buckle snap into place. My heart twisted painfully in my chest, the weight of his words settling on me like a cold stone.

“You could still return to the Brotherhood. Arthur respects you. He...” He trailed off, his voice faltering for a moment as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t. With a heavy sigh, he reached for his shirt, his back turned to me, his face unreadable. “He adores you. You remind him of…”

The rest of his sentence faded as the words hung in the air, unfinished and bitter. I couldn’t listen anymore. In silence, I stepped away from the desk, gathered my bag, and walked toward the door at the far end of the room.

He was asking me to go back—to turn my back on everything I’d fought for, everything I had become.

He wanted me to return to those who had betrayed him. He actually expected me to do it.

I couldn’t bear the thought.

"...Wait."

I heard the sound of him moving toward me, his voice thick with frustration. I felt his arms around me, trying to pull me back. The moment his grip tightened, I shoved my elbow into his abdomen, forcing him away. I didn’t turn around to check if I’d hurt him. Instead, I kept walking, determined not to let him see what I was feeling. I couldn’t let him see the cracks forming inside me, not after everything. Not after I had let myself open up to him for the second time in my life, only for him to reward me with this shit.

I refused to let him see me weak. I couldn’t bear the shame of it. I had trusted him, and he had shattered that trust in the worst possible way.

“Listen to me!”

Before I could get any further, he spun me around, slamming me back against the wall, his hands gripping my wrists tightly. The coldness of the wall pressed into my back, the hardness of his body against mine. His voice was rough with desperation as he spoke, but I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t.

“I’m just thinking ahead for you,” he said, his tone thick with an emotion I couldn’t name. “You could still be with them. I can’t! There’s no future with me.”

I looked up at him, my heart heavy with a sense of betrayal I couldn’t shake. There he was—the man I thought I had come to adore, the one who had touched my heart in a way I never thought possible—and now, I realized, I was starting to despise him. How could I love a man who insisted on destroying himself, who kept pushing me away when I needed him to fight for us?

I had already seen that before. Once was enough.

Shaun had been my anchor, the only thing that kept me going. And after the revelations of his disappearance, the discovery of his project, the bond I had found with everyone in the Commonwealth had given me something to fight for. But now... Now I felt hollow, empty. It was like everything I had been working toward had crumbled.

I stared into Danse’s eyes, and I could see the panic, the uncertainty in them. He never lost control of himself, and I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride. I had made him lose his composure. That wasn’t who I was, though. I never wanted to push him to this point. But in my heart, I knew this was something I had to do, something I couldn’t avoid any longer.

I had become cold, indifferent, and I regretted it. But I couldn’t stop myself now.

“The Brotherhood wants to decide who has the right to live and who doesn’t,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “No one asks to be born. If someone has the capacity to feel and change, they deserve a chance. A real chance.”

I swallowed the emotion threatening to rise in my chest, keeping my eyes locked on his as my throat tightened. “I want you, Danse. Not because you’re a synth, not because you’re human. But because you are you.”

His gaze never left mine, and I could see the hard grip on my wrists loosen. He had expected me to stay, I could tell. As I adjusted the collar of my jumpsuit around my neck, picking up my duffle bag from the floor, I could feel his hand reaching for mine as I passed him. But I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Not when I felt this way.

His voice was barely a whisper, almost drowned out by the sound of the door closing behind me.

I didn’t turn back.

I walked down the hill, the weight of everything pressing down on me. My fingers fumbled for my gas mask, and I pulled it on, the cold metal of it grounding me as I took slow, deliberate steps away from him. I had acted too quickly, too rashly.

We weren’t ready.

It had been way too soon.

Chapter Text

Scribe Haylen had to admit she was very pleased with the outcome.

The Elder might have claimed to have had him killed, but Haylen knew the truth deep in her bones. She knew what he had done—what he had risked.

Every time she read the small message on her private terminal, her heart would betray her, pounding loudly against the confines of her chest, no matter how many layers of worn leather she hid behind. The message was simple, just a few words, but they stirred something in her.

Thank you, Haylen.

-D

It would be smarter to have it erased, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She hardly ever spoke to him, and this sign of gratitude was the last thing she had—if you ignored the few things in his old quarters. She had even snuck in before the Elder had come back and repossessed some of his belongings. Which weren’t many. Just clothes and a few handwritten, unfinished reports. The only thing really personal was his handwriting, and even that seemed as if it had been printed from a computer.

Strict and incredibly linear, with perfect shape and no grammatical mistakes. She sighed as she brought one of the notes to her chest, feeling a little woozy.

He really was the perfect man.

Most would have scoffed and thought his message a joke. But she knew what a hardass he could be, and therefore soaked up every little compliment thrown her way. Danse was a hardass. But her hardass.

Well, her secret hardass.

Now, while on shore leave, she kept herself busy by shifting through a few of the unfinished copies. Most were about missions and, truth be told, rather boring. Well, until a new name came up. Many of the sentences had been crossed out and changed. It seemed as if he felt uncertain about the way he evaluated their newest knight. At the end of the parchment, she could see that he had been furious, for he had drawn his pen across it so many times that the paper had gotten holes in it.

Paper was a valuable and expensive resource. For him to waste it like this was highly unusual and uncharacteristic.

But then again, the whole situation about her was unusual.

She could instantly tell how he changed the day when that Vault Dweller had helped them fend off the ghouls.

Overrun, they had fallen back, desperate. Rhys was wounded, herself so tired that the gun almost dropped from her hand. And then, of course, Paladin Danse, doing what he did best: protect. But even he had been drained and was on the verge of collapse.

And then, out of the blue, one after one, they fell.

Haylen had felt her mouth dry up when she saw the small light of a red dot, going up and down as it scanned the area. The stranger had been hiding from atop a building, half a league away, lurking. Even Danse had been unable to see her lifesigns beep on his radar.

The moment she and that mutt stepped inside their reinforced gate, everyone had almost fallen back as they felt the impact of her aura. Even Danse, who was the toughest man she had ever encountered, felt the effect.

Unfortunately for the scribe, she was just as much of a hardass as her superior and even Maxon himself, but she must have had her heart in the right place. Because when Haylen made the effort to pull a joke, she played along, even if her tone had been somewhat distant. It only became harder to trace since she carried that old mask with goggles.

It seemed to frustrate the Paladin, because he always asked Haylen for more information about her. The scribe did what she could and told him of their talks and what she thought of her. From what Haylen had understood, she seemed to like the spirit of anonymity, even if she still wore the bright blue jumpsuit. It had become some sort of icon. And when Haylen said that it made her valuable for their cause because of her ability to walk through Diamond City without anyone recognizing her, both Danse and Maxon agreed.

She could be invisible.

Haylen always thought she looked so unusual from the rest, and not only because of her brightly blue jumpsuit with the numbers on her back, along with that old gasmask fencing her from the world. Despite having her face covered, you could see in her the willingness to listen without judging.

And the scribe did not feel the least bit surprised when she heard of her banishment. Danse had been the reason for joining, and he would be the reason for quitting. It somewhat made Haylen glad not to know her real face. It would help them both stay away from the Brotherhood.

Surprised, she turned when she heard the clanking of metal. She got up from her bed and opened the door to the hallway, where she spotted troops with knights in their power armor walking through.

"What's happening?" she asked Rhys, who she saw walking with a helmet under his arm.

"Haven't you heard?" He barked with his usual and stoic voice. "The Elder has the whole ship summoned on deck."

Haylen felt her heart stop. She went inside, put on her boots and a jacket, then ran out into the hallway and followed Rhys. Loads of people had already placed themselves under the small supervision station, where Elder Maxon stood with Proctor Quinlan at his side, puffing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

And as the Elder began his speech, she felt the hair on her neck rise.

That was one of the worst smiles she'd ever seen in her whole life.

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

I wish I hadn't said it. 

Three days had passed. And she still hadn't come back to the bunker.

Alone, I had maintained it. I had cleaned it. Built a bed, set up a weapon station. The soil outside had been enough for me to grow something—anything. Astonished, I had stood there, stirring a pot of Sugar Bombs and Dandy Boy Apples, watching the contents swirl as I had tried to make sense of it all.

If I had been a machine, why had I needed to consume real things? Things like food?

Because I had thought I had to?

Had I thought I had to drink? I had sweated. I had felt pain—every gunshot, every scar a reminder of all I had endured in the Brotherhood.

And I had felt..

The thought had lingered, but reality had hit when I had heard the contents of the pot begin to burn. I had cursed, spun around to grab some water, and poured it over the mess. I had saved what I could, but the smell... it had been horrible. I couldn't afford to waste food like that. Instead, I had sat in the only chair, plate in my lap, trying to shove the bite into my mouth.

But as soon as I had gone to take the first spoon, my hand had faltered. I had remembered who had cooked for me, all this time.

It hadn’t been the best food, but it had been her food.

And suddenly, the sting of my own words had come rushing back.

I wished I hadn’t said it.

She had rushed out, not crying. Not screaming. Just... blank.

I couldn't stop myself from thinking of her. How someone so small could cast such a long shadow over me.

How blind I had been.

I had just thrown away the only good thing given to me in this world.

Earlier, I had had a plan. A weak excuse, I knew, but it had been all I had. A broken past, empty and cold. No family, no connections, no one to return to.

Just ..Sol.

And now, I was exactly where I had been before...

Alone.

I can still remember how lonely the years I spent scraping by in the desert had felt. How sore I had been as I sifted through the small holes, searching for treasures. How empty it all became once I realized the truth.

How ignorant I had been.

I can still feel the glee when the caps had landed in my palm, when I could finally return to my hideout and sleep with a full belly. I still remember the awe I had felt the first time I laid eyes on Rivet City.

"Hey, you! Yeaaah, you. The one with a chip on his shoulder."

A snort slipped from me as I recalled the first encounter with Cutler. The unease gnawed at my gut like a warning I had ignored.

"Iiii got an oppertunity you'll never be able to refuse!"

He’d been shady, and I—only eighteen at the time—had been uncertain about sharing my hard-earned wealth with a total stranger. The way he leaned against my stand, cigarette dangling from his lips, and his flat cap crooked on his bony scalp—he took up space like he owned it. But despite my reservations, I had fallen for that unforgettable grin, crooked mouth, and those awful teeth.

"Sticking by that Cutler, compadre? I get it. But be careful. Your casa will be his casa."

The beggar I used to give water to was probably the reason I had agreed to his proposal. Because I understood what it was like to live on the streets, always wondering when the next meal would come. I could just as easily end up like him, begging for scraps.

Cutler could talk—he had a way of weaving his words, and with him around, I was selling more than double the usual amount. Twice the income. Though, to be fair, I had to share it all with him. No matter. We felt rich.

We both liked to celebrate on deck, stuffing our mouths with more Dandy Boy Apples than I could chew at once.

"So, what's ya name?"

I had looked up, forcing my focus from the food. 

"I don't know. I don't think I have one."

"Whaat, come on! Don't give me that crap."

Astonished I had looked forward.

I didn't have a name.

People didn’t care to ask. They just bought my stuff and moved on, faces blurred and forgotten in the crowd.

Looking back, now afterwards.. It should have been a give-a-way. On me being a synth I mean. But I figured I didn't have one because I had grown up alone.

Cutler had grown a smug smile, but then reached far over the surface of the table, almost rushing down everything. While I had panicked and launched forward, grabbing the plates he had patted me lightly on my shoulder and spoken with an ridiculous accent that I still to this day cannot pinpoint.

"Then Iii, lord Cutler, shall grant thee a name."

I had stared in pure wonder as I felt my cheeks squashed together by his dirty palms.

"From this day forth, I dub thee 'ser Danse', of the square table!"

I recoiled, clutching the food to my chest like it was the last thing I had. "What kind of name is 'Danse'?"

And here.. I smiled, as I remembered the way he slapped his thigh, nearly bursting with laughter

"Because of the way you dance whenever you see Dandy boy apples of course! ..Or what? would you rather be named Dandy?"

My frown had returned into a stare and then, for the first time in my entire life..

I laughed.

I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

My first friend. He proved himself by me, even if he dragged me into trouble half the time. But just as easily as he’d get us into tight situations, he always managed to get us out. We’d celebrate our small victories on the bridge, sharing beers and other splendors we could only dream about.

Cutler, though… He’d spend all his caps on women.

He even introduced some of them to me. Only one stuck around.

Victoria.

Dark, mysterious, and the kind of woman who knew exactly how to make a young man like me feel wanted. I was in my early twenties—still awkward and unsure of myself. Not the most handsome, but I wasn’t bad either. What amazed me the most was that she wanted to spend time with me at all. It didn’t take long before I realized it was never about love—it was always about sex.

Cutler kept trying to introduce me to other women, but he grew frustrated with my failures. I was too stubborn, too cynical. I saw women as nothing more than fools.

Six years later, when our faces had become familiar and our names known, the Brotherhood marched through town.

I still remember how completely awestruck I was when I saw those metal men for the first time, lined up in perfect formation. Their march was impeccable, elegant, like a dance. Cutler and I agreed, without much discussion, that this could be our ticket to something better. I sold my deed, packed what little I had, and made my way to the walls.

I had never read a book before, never heard tales of warriors or heroes. The experience of being lined up, being inspected... it was frightening, entirely new to me. My instructor didn’t think I had much potential. My aim was atrocious, and my understanding of tactics was lacking.

I couldn't help but to laugh to myself as I remembered the shorter man poking me in the gut.

"Hmm. Tall, but bony."

After a few failed attempts, he gave up and shifted me to physical combat. I had the length for it. Cutler, on the other hand, was a natural sharpshooter, and soon enough, he was assigned to the sniper division. Our skills diverged too much, and we were assigned to different teams. I became a foot soldier, and Cutler joined the secret police. But we’d still meet at HQ to laugh, drink, and forget about the grim realities we faced. Poor Cutler, though, couldn’t indulge his usual ways. The Brotherhood has strict rules regarding.. Fraternization.

I didn’t mind. I was too shy to indulge in such things anyway.

Cutler’s death hit me harder than I ever expected.

How could he—of all people—fall so far? Did he say yes? I don't really know.. Instead of .. Trying to understand the truth I gave him, he sneered, like an animal. He had come to like what he had become, or maybe he had simply lost himself to it. To nature.

Pulling the trigger went quick.

I stopped smiling.

I threw myself into my work, my studies, trying to numb the pain. My old instructor had never looked more surprised than when I bested him in one-armed combat, pinning him to the floor with my arm around his throat. But when his hand landed on my shoulder, I didn’t get the praise I expected. Instead, he frowned deeply.

"Never be afraid to take a break."

Now, as I sit here alone-stirring burned old prewar cereals-I realize how cold I have grown while back then realized how naive I'd been. 

All that I had, all that I was, had been with the Brotherhood.

Now, as my true identity has come to light, I have nothing.

All I had left was the friendship I had built with her. She even defied Maxon’s order to return. She had told him, simply, no.

That felt completely wrong to me. I knew it might seem trivial or even foolish to dwell on it, but I couldn’t help myself. It kept gnawing at my mind, a thought that refused to fade, no matter how hard I tried to push it away. There was something about it that just didn’t sit right with me, and I found myself turning it over again and again, trying to make sense of it.

And.. The Institute? Do they know about me? If they do and they find me… I’ll lose her again.

Hell, I might have already lost her.

Because now, I know she’s mine to lose.

I felt my chest tighten when I confronted her three days ago. The weight of my feelings was almost overwhelming, as though I could feel the pulse in my ears, drowning everything else.

She had kissed me.

And like the bumbling fool I am, I completely lost control. It was something I had ached for, for months. Every time we kept watch, I would watch her sleep for hours, completely entranced by the way she looked so peaceful, so vulnerable. I remembered how annoyed I had been at her insistence on keeping that mask on, how stubborn she was about it.

But in that moment, none of that mattered. It felt so real, so right, to simply touch her. To breathe her in. I wanted to make her mine, right then and there.

The discomfort of our age difference faded away. In reality, we might have been the same age if I hadn’t lost my childhood. I might even be younger than her.

I can still feel the ache in my chest when I remember the warmth of her hands on my back, the way she breathed, the taste of her skin. The thoughts, the truth rushed through my mind.

She wants me back! She wants.. Me!

This was nothing compared to what I had felt with Victoria. With her, I felt more open, stronger. But she is—was my subordinate, and I didn’t want to take advantage of that. The Brotherhood had strict rules about fraternization. I had only felt tempted to break them once, but I couldn’t figure out why.

She’s irritating, a bit reserved, and difficult to understand. Despite knowing her for so long, I still had trouble figuring her out. Honestly, I didn’t know much about her until she told Maxon the real reason she had joined. I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about that. Back then, she didn’t seem to care about our rules, our standards. It all seemed part of a selfish reason for vengeance. Before I could say anything, she had seen the disapproval in my eyes.

"I'm not sorry."

I didn't expect her to be I just..

She had been married, and for a brief moment, a wave of jealousy stirred inside me—jealousy for the man she had once loved. But I quickly dismissed it.

After all...

He was gone.

That thought hit me all at once, and in that moment, I froze. It was like something cold and intangible had passed over me, casting a shadow I couldn’t shake.

I barely knew her. I had come to realize that then, in that quiet, heavy moment.

Hell, I hadn’t even seen her true face—only the emotionless glass of her mask.

I sighed, running my hand through my hair, and laughed bitterly.

She’s so infuriatingly stubborn. She always makes me feel like I’m completely out of control. On missions, there’s no room for my leadership. She knows exactly how to handle everything and everyone in our path. Why she even bothered with me still confuses me.

But in time, that irritation grew into admiration, especially after she saved me from a supermutant’s board.

"Heads down, Paladin!"

She flew at least two meters, and with her frame, she shouldn’t have survived such a fall. But she managed to flip in midair, roll on her back, get to her knees, and fire her rifle with deadly precision, taking the mutant’s head off. The moment its head exploded was one of the most astounding things I’ve ever witnessed in the field. While I stood in stunned silence, she gave me a thumbs up and moved to higher ground.

I’ve seen many people come and go, smart, stupid, even heroic. But none like her. I can’t categorize her.

She’s saved me more times than I can count. It wasn’t that strange looking back. I became sloppy, watching her. Her specialty was sniping, but in close combat, she was completely useless. Which happened to be my area of expertise. It became a silent agreement: I would stay at the front, and I could trust her to have my back.

Until I lost sight of her.

Slammed against the wall, tossed around like a ragdoll.

I heard her voice in my head.

"I'd never do that to you, Danse. You're important to me." 

I’d never felt rage like that before. It was like reliving the whole ordeal with Cutler. It felt like fear was cutting me in half. Roaring, I assaulted them both on my own, with only a gun and my fists. She fell from the mutant’s hand, lifeless and bleeding.

I didn’t want to lose anyone else because I was too late. Because I was too weak.

Because of those mutants.

She managed to take a few steps before collapsing to her knees. Despite her protests, I hoisted her up, and she cracked a forced laugh beneath her helmet.

"Heads down, Paladin."

The fear of being left alone in this world is very similar to how I feel now.

But this time, it was self-inflicted. Now I curse the fact that Haylen had warned me in that message she sent to me as I watched the bombs in the glowing sea.

"Danse, you need to get out of there. They think you're a synth."

As Haylen told me everything, I saw the truth of her words. I could go days without eating, never needed to be patched up, never got sick.

And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep.

The control I thought I had was taken from me. Everything I thought was mine was a lie. The cruelty of it all was cemented when the Elder sent my friend—the woman I loved—to finish me.

It was a test. I could see that now. A test to see if she truly valued our ways.

I was ready to kneel, to accept my fate. But she threw her rifle down—an old relic, clearly pre-war, not Brotherhood issue. I’d always scolded her about sentimental attachments to weapons, but then again, she carried my old laser rifle.

But the truth was, I didn’t want to be the reason for her execution. If I had to, I would’ve blown my own head off to keep her safe.

"Don't make me loose you, too."

If I hadn’t come to the Commonwealth, if I hadn’t met her... Would I still be with the Brotherhood? Would I still go on in my distant, cold existence?

She’s always patient. Outside, on the battlefield, calm. Nothing seems to rattle her. And she listens. After our first real conversation, I felt lighter. The simple pleasure of being with her made me painfully aware of the silence in my life before.

I love her.

And I pushed her away. Because of what Arthur Maxon had said before we went to the Glowing Sea the second time.

"She's impressive. I can see why you like her."

I hadn't been able but to stare at that. 

Maxon.. Admires her? 

"I'm sure she will live up to your expectations." I had said, a bit dreary as I looked after her walk up the stairs.

He had smiled. "She already has."

I couldn’t even respond.

"Are you interested in her?"

I had stared. I was, but I didn't know if she felt the same.

I couldn't. We were mentor and apprentice. He had seen my flush and nodded.

"Ah, well. It's not really up to you in the end."

Before I even realized what I was doing, the plate slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor, the sound echoing in the empty room. My hands fell to my head, and I let out a silent scream of frustration, the pressure of my thoughts overwhelming me.

This isn’t who I am. I don’t regret the choices I’ve made.

But I miss her. I miss her so much it hurts.

I wish I hadn't said it.

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

"Now baby, listen baby, don't you treat me this way--'cause I'll be back on my feet some day"

The song played on, its rhythm easing into my thoughts, the backup singers teasing Ray Charles, who remained quiet in the background. I had stumbled across this mixtape in an old ruin, half-forgotten, and I’d played it to death. There were all kinds of classics—Elvis, Peggy Lee, some blues, some jazz. It made me chuckle, despite myself.

My mother would have adored this music, even if it wasn't her usual genre. Mom had been a fanatic about jazz. Me? I found it too slow, too... patient. I craved blues. The real, raw, heart-wrenching blues that made the hairs on your arms stand at attention. The aching guitar, the bass that rattled your chest, the sound that could crack open your soul and leave you exposed. The lyrics? They weren’t just words. They crawled into your bones, tugging at something deeper, making you feel the sorrow and the joy all at once.

I couldn’t shake the lyrics from my mind, and whenever I was on the open road with nothing but miles of empty wasteland ahead, I found myself whispering them, trying to match the melody in the silence.

Because I was bored.

So. Very. Bored.

I miss cars. Trains. Airplanes.

I paused for a moment and sniffed under my arm.

And... Ugh. Of course, real showers.

But as much as I hated to admit it, I miss the ease of a conversation. How I had been able to stand beside Danse for so long without a word between us... it had surprised even me. And I loved to talk, to fill the silence with noise. But with him, it had been different. That silence? It had felt safe, comforting even.

Here, on the road, alone again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had made a terrible mistake.

Danse, through his good intentions, had hurt me, and from that pain, I had acted foolishly. I might tell myself I’m capable of handling things on my own, but with the Brotherhood and the Institute becoming more aggressive, pulling civilians into their wars, I see now how wrong I was to think I could survive this alone.

The realization hit me like a wave when I finally spotted the large sign for Sanctuary in the distance. I let out a tired grunt and dropped my duffel bag to the ground. My fingers ached from the cold and the strain, but I shook them out, trying to regain some feeling.

Sanctuary had been home once. Now it was the base of the Minutemen. I usually avoided going back there, not only because of the obvious reason.

First, it had been home. It had meant something once—something I had taken for granted. Now, it was just a hollow shell of a time I had tried to escape. And yet, now, all I could do was long for it.

Second, Preston never let up on his constant nagging, pushing me to take the mantle as their leader. I didn’t want that responsibility. I couldn’t handle more lives on my shoulders. Preston had been upset, but I hadn’t heard him push it as much lately.

I probably should count myself lucky that I still had a place back there. It was probably thanks to Codsworth’s endless chatter. Preston knew everything about me, and I knew nearly nothing about him. And that... that irritated me more than I cared to admit.

Fucking Codsworth.

I smacked myself in the head the moment the words eccoed in my head.

I do adore that part about him. He was just looking out for me.

"You could still return to the brotherhood."

My eyes went around, analyzing the area before I pulled my mask off with one hand, and reached down with the other. 

Men. They think they knew everything.

My hand went up from the bag strapped on my leg with the desired prize. I picked one up, after careful consideration lit it. A long trail of smoke vent out of my nose as I fell back into thought.

The words echoed in my mind, and my eyes scanned the area, analyzing everything before I pulled my mask off with one hand and reached down with the other.

Men. They think they know everything.

My hand reached for the bag strapped to my leg, pulling out a cigarette. After a moment of hesitation, I lit it. A long, heavy trail of smoke curled out of my nose as I leaned back, letting the burn of the cigarette match the ache in my chest. Danse had been disgusted by my habit. But the truth was, I’d only recently started smoking. I suppose it was my way of holding onto something familiar. Maybe it was my way of feeling something—anything—again. I don't really know. I could still remember the sick feeling in my stomach the first time I tried one of Grandpa’s cigars when Nate and I had snuck inside his old study.

Grandpa had caught us just as we were about to light it. But instead of yelling, like Dad or Mom would have, he just leaned on the counter, arms folded across his chest, watching us with a knowing look.

"Well? Go on."

A bit hesitant Nate and I exchanged expressions. We had been caught. My friend merely shook his head in fear while I let the match meet the end and took a long breath with the heavy smoke. I had almost dropped it when I felt my head spin and my gut protest.

I could by this point tell that the cigar, and not his stern look would be the actual punishment. Grandpa had gasped for air with his classical old wheezy laugh as he went up from the old counter, shaking his head, only to then grab the thing and give me a pat on my bum-not hard enough to make me cry, but hard enough to remind me I was in trouble.

"I won’t tell your mother. But promise me you’ll never do something so reckless again ."

I smiled softly, remembering how warm my cheeks had felt in that moment. Grandpa had always been a kid at heart. He had done his share of stupid things in his youth, and listening to his stories always made me feel wiser. I could still see his face when he told me about his time during Operation Torch. It was different from the stories I’d read—about battle and honor—but it shaped me. I could still remember the way his thick, swollen fingers would gently trace through my curls.

"The wars you read about in your novels, and the real wars are two separate things I'm afraid."

I could still remember the way his thick and swollen fingers would glide along my curls.

"You should be happy to be a girl. You’ll never see the battlefield."

I didn’t say anything, but his words had stung. Grandpa, the man who had always inspired me, made me feel... lesser. He didn’t mean it that way, of course. At home, we were equals. But in that moment, I felt like he saw me as weak, incapable.

But, not too long after, when Nate once returned home.. When I felt his hands around my throat in our own bed, I finally understood what Grandpa had meant.

When his eyes were bloodshot, and he could still hear the bombs falling, even though the only sound in the room was my lungs, desperately gasping for air.

"Quiet! You have to be quiet!"

This was what war turned people into. The man who once held my heart was no longer the loving, gentle boy I had sworn to love forever. He had been broken, molded into something unrecognizable. And slowly, the love we once shared had slipped away, quietly sipping away until it was gone.

And then, I remembered another promise I had broken.

"Having a bond with someone then losing them.. It changes you."

"I don't want to go through that again."

The cigarette slipped from my hand as I caught my head in my hands, feeling the guilt wash over me in waves. I saw his smile, heard his words from the moment I promised him that I would never leave him, never let him feel alone again.

Because I care too much. Hell, I’ll admit it.

I love him.

I left him. I was angry, impulsive. Like a child, I rushed out without listening to him.

Selfish.

I looked up at the sign of Sanctuary, pulling my mask back on and stamping out the cigarette with a determined stomp.

Just as I turned and walked a few steps I stopped when I heard the familiar noise of a laser gun, powering up. A slow suction-like sound.

And as I felt the burn in my back I couldn't do anything but suck up my breath in surprise.

I can’t leave you now. I made a promise.

Just as I turned to take a few more steps, I froze when I heard the familiar hum of a laser gun powering up. That suction-like sound as it charged.

And as I felt the burn in my back, I sucked in a breath, stunned by the sudden pain.

 
Danse.

I still need to apologize!

I’ll be damned if I get snuffed out before that!

Chapter Text

"--A few key personnel left? Or been forced out of the organization? I'm usually not one to speculate. But.. If this is true, could it signal changes in the Brotherhoods course of action?

All you can do is stay tuned--"

"General?"

Preston jolted upright in his seat as the hesitant voice echoed faintly from somewhere down the hall. His eyes darted up, irritated, before he quickly set aside his headphones and microphone, rubbing his tired face.

The constant harassment from the Brotherhood of Steel and the Institute had left him feeling dizzy, on edge. War was on the horizon, and he could feel the pressure mounting, especially now that they were so close to the tipping point.

He had been forced to deploy large numbers of foot soldiers to many of the settlements. Recruitment had become easier, thanks to his friend’s involvement, but she wasn’t their General—he was. It hadn’t been easy taking up the mantle, especially when there was hardly any time to sleep. The Brotherhood was practically camped outside Sanctuary’s gates, keeping him on high alert.

And so, he had returned from the Castle—leaving the relative safety of her walls—to see for himself what was happening.

"There’s a... Synth waiting for you outside."

It took Preston a moment to fully process the words, then the realization hit. "Ah, yes." He stood from his desk. "Let him in."

The detective nodded solemnly as he entered with a woman in her early thirties by his side. She wore a simple green dress, her dark brown hair elegantly tied in a fashionable bun. Preston, who had just put on his hat, raised it in a polite greeting.

"Good to see you."

"Likewise, General," Nick said with a wink, taking Preston’s hand in his. "And might I introduce my secretary and business partner, Ellie Perkins."

The woman extended her hand, and Preston chivalrously bowed, placing a knightly kiss on her knuckles. "A pleasure, madam."

Ellie blushed, nodding awkwardly as her gaze shifted to the side. "Thank you."

After exchanging the usual pleasantries—health, weather, the typical small talk—Preston’s expression turned grim. He gestured for them to sit on the three-seater sofa in the corner of the room.

"Now, onto business. I assume you know why I called you here?"

Nick gave a serious nod. "And you’re absolutely sure?"

"Positive," Preston replied, turning toward the other room where the paperwork was kept. Write everything down. It might come in handy one day. a friend had once told him.

A friend who now needed him.

There was a reason the Brotherhood was outside Sanctuary.

"Did they trouble you?" Preston asked as he returned, holding a linen-wrapped item in his hands.

"They were about to," Nick shrugged, already knowing who Preston meant. "Had it not been for Ellie here, they probably would’ve blown my head off."

"What did you do?" Preston asked, glancing at Ellie, who reddened even further.

"I... I pretended he was my droid."

"And they bought it?"

"I sure hope so!"

"Don’t be so modest, Ellie. You’re a natural," Nick winked, nudging her playfully with his elbow.

"Still quite an achievement," Preston countered, walking across the room. "The Brotherhood isn’t easily fooled. They keep tabs on everyone they see out there now."

"Don’t worry, I’m a master of disguise," the synth laughed, while Preston raised an eyebrow. "You’d be surprised how many people I’ve convinced I’m just a really sick Ghoul."

Preston smirked, but Ellie let out an exasperated sigh and smacked Nick lightly on the back of the head. "Really! Sir!"

Nick apologized, but his expression quickly darkened again. "But… why are they outside Sanctuary?"

Preston’s gaze shifted to the side, staring through one of the glass-less windows.

Why indeed.

Preston could think of only one reason.

But she hadn’t been back to Sanctuary for months.

Too busy to look into her son’s fate, he figured.

He had convincing proof as to why they would be here, of all places. One of them was resting in his hands.

He carefully unclasped the handle, tilting it sideways as he observed its worn shape. Old oak, with a message deeply carved into the base—freshly etched, he assumed. One he had read over and over again.

NEVER FORGET.

Never forget. That was a promise of vengeance. And the one who had made that vow was now in trouble. The one who had constantly sacrificed her own quest, time and again, for him and for everyone around her.

She was a woman with nerves of steel. Cold. Calculating.

Always waiting.

Selfish at first glance.

But judging by the admiration others spoke of her, he had been right all along.

She was exactly what the Commonwealth needed.

...What he needed.

"Don't give me that destiny bullcrap."

He had snapped at her that one time, furious, nearly striking her for speaking to Mama Murphy that way. She’d just taken down a Deathclaw with her own hands.

Sure, she’d been in power armor.

But when her minigun ran dry, she didn’t hesitate for a second. She threw herself into the fray, right in its path, without a thought for her own safety. She hadn’t hesitated when he called for help.

To him, she was everything. The reason he was still standing. The reason the Minutemen were reborn. She was the reason he dared to believe in humanity again.

But now, with Codsworth’s revelation, he realized it might have been too soon for her. Hearing that the loss of her son was part of her journey—that it was part of some great adventure—had struck her deeply.

It had wounded her heart. And unknowingly, Mama Murphy’s good intentions had twisted the knife even further. To his friend, this wasn’t a grand event with riches or glory at the end. It was cold. It was unjust.

And he realized it might have been selfish to ask her for more.

But in the last year, they had managed to establish more settlements than when he had been under his former command. People were starting to believe again, and recruitment had become easier. He was able to station a squad in every settlement, providing protection from raiders and thieves. That boosted morale.

New villages were springing up across Boston, and they had even started producing more than just food—leather, paper, cloth—all valuable for trade, which brought in money for the Castle, their new headquarters and base of operations. Every settlement gave a tenth of what they earned, and in return, they received protection and materials. A fair deal. If they couldn’t afford it, payment was postponed until they could.

A simple idea, really. But it worked.

With Nick by his side, Preston felt he could repay what he owed. He would save his friend.

The two guests grew quiet as they watched the broken rifle, split in two, land heavily on the old coffee table in front of them.

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

I have never considered myself a patient man.

And, regrettably, as painful as it is to admit, this trait stems directly from my upbringing. As you might understand, growing up without the teachings of limits, I was taught to believe that I could do anything I desired. And I do mean anything.

There was nothing we couldn't achieve. That unshakable belief in our boundless potential led us to assume that no obstacle, no matter how daunting, could withstand our will. Some may call this arrogance—hubris even—but isn’t that the very thing that has driven us forward? Isn’t it precisely this mentality that has propelled us to heights others could never reach?

Yes, I have never handled failure with grace. That is a flaw, certainly. But I refuse to allow myself space for regret or the "what ifs." The only thing that matters is results. And from this mindset, we’ve survived in the deep, dark asylum that is our world now. Perhaps that is why I loathe nostalgia. Perhaps that’s why I despise talk of feelings, of infatuation.

Feelings? They only drag us down, keep us from evolving.

Yet, even now, I find myself grappling with it. Look at what I’m creating at this very moment. If anything, this is the product of sentimentality. Perhaps you’ll ask: why would I make this? Out of sentimentality, as I mentioned earlier? Or perhaps, on some subconscious level, to claim what was denied to me in my past?

No. None of those reasons. It's far simpler than that. The truth is, I will not live to see the culmination of my project. The very thing I was born to achieve.

My destiny, if you will.

Let’s begin at the beginning. Once, very long ago when I was seven years old, my caretakers taught me one thing—and one thing only: I was special. And our organization? We were important.

"Everything you see here is part of you. We all exist because of you."

While the other children went home to the comfort of their families, I returned to my sterile apartment. No mother, no father. It didn’t matter. I was untouched by the suffocating warmth of familial love, and I was fine with that. After all, while the others were soft, weak, I was special.

Always special.

And how could I not see it that way? The bubble we lived in affirmed my superiority. But even so, my thoughts did wander.

"Do I have a family like all the others?"

I remember my predecessor gently placing his hand on my head, offering a smile that was distant, almost detached. He gestured over the fields of contained grass and streams of water, and then said, "We are all family." 

That didn’t truly satisfy my curiosity, but I eventually let it go, accepting the idea. Encouraged, I threw myself deeper into my studies.

As I’ve mentioned before, I was proud—immensely proud—of the attention I received. There was nothing I couldn’t accomplish. Nothing our organization couldn’t overcome.

Now I see it: this mentality has shaped me into what I call... impatient. A trait that now frustrates me, as it brings me closer to what I hate most.

My inherited traits.

Paranoia. Anxiety. The kind of dangerous instability that leads men to madness. That my father ever made it home was nothing short of miraculous. Then again, the people of his time were toying with forces they could hardly understand. I’m still unsure whether it was war’s toll or a broken past, but my father was exactly what I despised about humanity.

A maniac with a gun. He was kicked out of service because of his behavior. But there was someone else—the one who gave birth to me.

Vengeance is a powerful thing. I know that intimately, for even though we never met, we shared a bond that transcends all else.

The bond of blood.

Even though I wasn’t raised by her, she was with me every step of the way. The anger was in me, too. I knew it, after reading the reports on my father’s military evaluation.

At some point, the desire to understand it all dissipated. The reports contained nothing of importance—just raw anger. And that was enough to make me hate him.

And my mother? What of her?

Truthfully, I didn’t care much. Historically, women held little power in this world. They were overshadowed by men. I assumed she was like every other woman of her time—just another housewife, obsessed with cooking and cleaning.

Then came the day she surprised me, the day she entered my world. She stepped into my threshold, and the woman who walked through the door was nothing like I had imagined.

Not just because of the rumors that swirled around the Commonwealth, but because of what she said when she spotted me beside my younger copy.

"..Father?"

At first, I felt amusement. She had uncovered so much already, and learning my title would hardly be a revelation.

But as I spun my tale, her eyes softened. She didn’t refuse to believe me, didn’t try to point a gun at my face. Instead, she smiled. And to my horror, she reached up and cupped my cheek with her grimy hand.

"My little boy."

I still feel... conflicted about it.

I had hoped for acceptance. It was refreshing, in a way. But this? This went beyond my expectations. It would’ve been easier if she had disregarded me entirely. If she had refused to acknowledge me.

The way she repeated my name—again, and again, and again.

After our brief, yet very revealing meeting, one question has echoed in my mind: How do I feel about it all? About her asking me about my father's death? About why I was taken from them?

Pain? Anger? Sorrow?

Would it surprise you if I feel nothing?

Had I crossed paths with my father or mother on the street, I wouldn’t have recognized them. I wouldn’t know them. And now, they wouldn’t recognize me either. There’s one thought that remains in my head when I think of them:

I cannot miss someone I’ve never known.

Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t particularly shocked when I discovered what my caretaker had done when he acquired me. From the reports, my father had been out of control, a danger to me. In that moment, my caretaker had no choice but to pull the trigger.

But when she showed pity for the man who killed her beloved, something inside me shifted.

Not anger. Not remorse.

Curiosity.

Who was that woman with the dark, unwavering gaze? Who was the woman who screamed for his blood as he approached her freezer? And who was the woman who now pitied the man who murdered her husband?

I should have read her university records sooner.

As soon as she left for the surface, I began my search.

I discovered so much about my mother that I never knew. Her brilliance, her thirst for knowledge—it was staggering. For the first time, I felt a connection I had never experienced in my life. A connection I never sought, but now couldn’t live without.

When I met her, I knew she was right. I knew I had been right to release her from her cage.

Not all fossils are worth discarding. Some deserve to be preserved. She could help reshape the world we live in.

'Mankind redefined'.

Yes. I, too, would create something new.

But, as always, humanity is flawed. We always need something original.

Namely, me.

A base substance. Even God couldn’t create the world from nothing. While He took His time, I will create life with my blood.

And in a way, they are all reflections of me. Just as Adam was formed by God in his image.

"They are your children!"

Children?

How utterly absurd.

The synthetic lifeforms we’ve created are not human. Just because they look like us doesn’t make them any less wrong. The synths are machines, even if they are biological. And because they’re so new, we know far too little about them to set them free. But now, seeing her, knowing her as I do, I see the similarities—not just the obvious ones like the shape of our noses, our cheeks, the impossible curls of our hair.

But our intellects.

Though we differ on the morality of human life, souls, religion, and what truly makes us human, we share a passion. The fire of ideology and politics. Yet where I see the necessity of restriction, she sees the right to choose.

Right does not make it easier. If anything, the right to choose binds us.

The truth is, people are corrupt. They will always be corrupt. But as the true and self-righteous patriot she is, she sees the short straw. Democracies will always fall. Just as dictatorships. That has been proven throughout time.

But a king...

There will always be one true king. The special king.

He will grow up knowing his destiny, trained for his role from childhood. And now, with my reversed monarchy, I have the chance to ensure everything goes right. Now all I need is my heir to understand the truth.

The real truth, not the naive idealism she has been fed her entire, fleeting life.

"Father, the specimen is awake. Should I engage the memory transfer?"

"Ah, good. Let’s do it right now."

Unlike God, I won’t allow Adam to populate the earth with his own.

I will not allow Eve to take the bite.

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

Nick's expression as he saw me coming wasn’t one of surprise.

But Preston’s and MacCready’s were. As the two men raised their guns, the synth lowered them with his skeletal hand.

"Time for you to show up," the mercenary growled, while Nick shot him a harsh look.

With great effort, I tried to keep my cool. It failed. Everyone could see the irritation I had carried with me from the bunker.

Before I even realized it, the bucket of blue paint was all over the floor, and the brush lay bathing in the steadily growing pool, the moment I had rushed to enter my new power armor.

The moment I heard the guy on the radio send out the news, I knew she would be in danger.

They were expanding their territory, and Lexington was close to Sanctuary, where she used to live. Why go there? There was hardly anything of note up north. Only...

Vault 111.

The technology there might still be intact, but from the description she gave me, it didn’t seem that interesting. And judging from the growing gathering of people, I had been right to worry. Why else would the gun-for-hire, the detective, and the General all be heading to her old hometown?

"Where is she?"

The synth and the two other young men exchanged uncomfortable glances as Nick stared at me, trying to figure something out.

"Well?" I persisted, growling more than asking as I took off my helmet.

"Not here."

I knew it.

I knew I shouldn’t have let her go alone. I knew the Brotherhood soldiers outside Sanctuary were after her. But while she was on her own, likely afraid... where had I been? I was supposed to keep her safe. It was my one damn job. Instead, I wallowed in my own self-pity.

Just as I was about to turn, I felt a strong hand grab my arm.

"They’re likely after her. But they haven’t gotten hold of her. Otherwise, they wouldn’t demand an audience with us."

"Then..."

"It’s too late to go now, but we’ll head out at dawn."

"Why should he come? The dude's a synth!"

I stared up as I heard MacCready from the side. He glared back at me, gritting his teeth, while Preston held his arm back.

"Joseph..."

"What? You all must be thinking it! Is it even safe to bring him with us?" He yanked his arm away and raised his gun, pointing it directly at me. The red laser hovered between my eyes. "The thing is a fu— He’s a coward! Had it not been for him, she’d still be here!"

Nick stepped between us, grabbing the rifle by its barrel. "From where I'm standing, Danse isn't the bad guy. I'm a synth too, but you wouldn't shoot me."

"It’s different."

"How's it any different?"

It wasn’t really. Meaning, we weren’t any different—not in the least.

It wasn’t until now that I began to consider how Nick had felt about the Institute the entire time.

"No machine should have free will."

"Why? You jealous you had to turn yours in?"

Now I’m protected by the very thing I used to hunt. Time and again, I had insulted his existence, threatened to have him killed. And now, he stood before me, a reminder of my ignorance.

I had been working blindly.

And I couldn’t help but feel awkward around the whole situation. The people whose lives I had once spat upon were now helping me. They pitied me when I had hated them. I had been wrong. It really was as she had said:

'No one asks to be born'.

"So far as I'm concerned, he’s worth nothing. The guy’s got as much emotion as a bag of hammers."

I get it. I had hurt people in the past. All out of anger.

"I know," I whispered, looking down at the ground. "But right now, this is all about finding her."

"Don’t change the subject!"

"I’m not what's important right now! She is! And she’s gone."

Finally, his rifle lowered again. "Oh, I know she’s gone!" He glared at Preston as he holstered his gun. "If you guys are wrong and he flips, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m still going to sleep with one eye open."

He walked in a big circle around me, muttering curses as he disappeared behind the buildings. I couldn’t blame him. Had I been in his shoes, I would’ve been the same. I had to keep reminding myself of that.

Because I know I wouldn’t have changed my opinion on the other races out here, had it not been for my position. If it had been her and not me, I wouldn’t have hesitated.

I would’ve taken the shot.

"When do we start looking?"

"As I said, it’s too late now. You’re a synth, but you still need to eat and sleep. There’s a spare bed inside." Nick pointed back with his thumb at the building behind him. "But I’ve got something I want to show you first. It’s in her old house right across the street."

Unable to hide my anger, I snarled and stepped up to his side. "Whoever gave you the right—"

"I did. Sanctuary is not under your protection, Synth." Preston answered coldly. "This is my town."

His gun was now aimed at me, but Nick stepped between us again, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "General. The man’s trying to help. She didn’t give up her whole career and risk her life so you could take his."

Preston’s eyes seemed much darker after that, but after another tense moment, he lowered his rifle.

"Fine," he muttered, turning to walk beside me, his face facing forward. "You’re her friend, and I’ll allow you the right to look through her things. But if you make a single move on my boys, I swear you’ll never see my shot coming. You can start by getting out of that power armor."

Preston nodded at the house ahead, where they had set up shop, and pointed to a workstation where another old model of power armor stood.

It was an uncommon older model—a T-45 with blue and yellow paint. I swiftly hopped out, but instead of a gun in my back, I felt a strong hand give a firm pat.

"Good." Surprised, I swallowed the compliment from Nick and walked toward her home. "Apparently, there’s more than meets the eye with our little wanderer," the synth hummed as we entered.

Inside, I wandered the entrance with more eagerness than I intended to display.

Because at one point, this had been her home. In another life, she had been here, living with a child and a husband. In another life, she had loved someone else. I wondered what this place used to look like. Where had the furniture been? What was all this stuff even used for?

It was hard to picture her, out of everyone, as a housewife. From how long we had been together, it seemed she had been born to wield a gun.

She had probably never been back, judging by the dust that settled over everything. Leaves and old furniture lay in piles across the floor, and the hole in the roof seemed bigger since the last time I had been here.

She’s avoiding Sanctuary.

I don’t blame her.

Whenever I could, I avoided Rivet City, especially the docks where my junk stand would’ve been located.

It only brought headaches.

I turned when I heard a click, and saw the synth approaching me from the end of a small corridor. Nick held two old books—one much larger than the other.

Nick held up the smaller one. "A diary."

"You went through her things?"

My tone had been sharp, but Nick only gave me a smug expression as he handed it over. To him, this was simple. Getting to know them was the first part of discovering how or where they might have gone. Valentine was a detective—a copy, but still a detective. Since my discovery... I detested him even more than before. I detested the Institute even more.

I frowned as I opened the pages. It was her handwriting, but it was written in some sort of gibberish, characters I had never seen. "What kind of language is this?"

"If I recall correctly.." The synth hummed, "This is one of 'them scandinavian languages. Can't translate it though. Maybe if I had a lexicon or.."

"Can’t translate it, though. Maybe if I had a lexicon or..."

"Never mind, then." I raised my hand and glanced at the other book, much thicker. "And this?"

"A photo album." Nick replied with a hint of reverence. "Figured you’d like to see it."

I knew I shouldn’t have opened the diary. Even though it was unreadable, I had already committed an intrusion. The album was another violation—another betrayal of her privacy.

There was something unnerving about this—something I had no right to uncover. But I was desperate. Desperate for answers, desperate for any sign of her. What if there was something inside this album that would help us find her? What if there was something in it that we needed to know?

I couldn’t help but wonder.

With a deep exhale, I opened the first page, half-expecting some divine punishment for my trespass. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead, an anxious bead of guilt building with each passing second. I almost regretted it. But as I saw the image of an old barn, a sense of relief washed over me, but only briefly.

Creatures of those days filled the scene—horses, black-and-white one-headed brahmins, and birds of all sorts flocking around a pen. Children were everywhere, running, laughing, tumbling around each other in a timeless dance of innocence.

I was struck by the sheer simplicity of it. The world, before it all came crashing down, was this. A life of calm, of laughter, of innocence.

"How has this stayed intact after all these years?" I asked, genuinely awestruck.

Nick shrugged. "It was locked in an old safe. Plenty of other things too that I took care of, so they wouldn’t get ruined."

"What kind of things?"

The synth pulled a few items from his pocket, showing me a collection of old treasures. "Hmm, let’s see... an old watch, some money I didn’t bother with, and a few medals from the First and Second World War... Vietnam... Prewar." He held up the last one, its ribbon and edges still sharp and pristine, despite its age.

"This must have belonged to her husband," Nick said as he observed the medal. "Quite the achievement, I’ll say."

Her husband. Gone.

Nate. Gone.

I had nothing to be jealous of. Nothing left to hold that bitterness to.

I flipped the next page of the album with more force than I meant to, the burn inside me intensifying.

Her husband was dead. Nate was gone. And yet, here I was, alive. Still breathing, still searching.

Still failing.

A boy with dark brown hair and striking green eyes stared back at me from the photo. Beside him, a girl in a yellow puff-armed dress with white knee-high socks and ribbons in her blonde hair led the children from earlier.

She wore a worn helmet, proudly, as she pointed toward the field where they played.

For a moment, I could almost hear the laughter, see the joy that was once here. But as I turned the pages, the world began to shift, to change. The children became fewer. The camera focused more on the brown-haired boy and the blonde girl as they rode together, played cards, and ate some kind of fruit.

And when I saw the little girl holding a rifle, I knew instantly who it was.

Those intense, dead-serious eyes could belong to no one else.

The girl I thought I knew.

The girl who had always been so much more than what I had let myself see.

I felt Nick’s amusement from the corner of my eye, but I frowned, trying to ignore it. I looked back at the photo of the boy beside her, trying to understand this past I had never been part of.

'We-Nate and I-knew each other early on.'

The boy.

That boy.

"That’s Nate."

Nick nodded in agreement. "I’d wager that too."

They grew older. Her once bright and thick blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her dresses were replaced by sacky, worn pants and high rubber boots. The children became fewer, until only Nate remained.

And as we flipped to the next page, I felt my heart split in two.

Nate’s hand was around her waist, and her lips were lightly pressed against his.

They couldn’t have been more than perhaps fourteen, fifteen?

And.. I just realized something.

They had been together their whole lives.

They had always been together. They had fallen asleep beside each other every night since childhood.

And then they went into the vault together.

But only one woke up.

And only one emerged.

Our pains were different, but very much real. And I had rubbed it even further.

"Can you even imagine that?"

I started up as nothing. But I never ended up as nothing.

The words slipped out before I could stop them, nothing more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of a lifetime of regret. I had no right to compare.

I had never lost someone like that. Never known what it felt to watch everything slip away and realize that you were left behind, alone.

Unlike before, I had someone. Now, I had her.

And I had shrugged her off.

I had been the one who pushed away. I had been the one telling to stop.

I know I had complained about not having a good background, about not even having a fake one. But now, reflecting on it, I was glad I didn’t have false parents or a manufactured childhood. The truth had been far harsher, but at least it's mine.

My first friend. My first girl. My first home. It was all mine, and I had seen them—not just received them.

Because she had lost everything.

Her childhood home. Her friends. Her parents...

Her husband.

..Her child.

I grunted as I forced the pages forward, seeing her grow taller, more feminine. Eventually, she wore a white dress with cloth covering her face.

"What's..."

Nick hummed casually. "They’re getting married."

I could feel the squeeze around my throat again, inside my chest, a knot tightening that I couldn’t release.

I pressed forward, flipping through the pages. More photos of the two of them—at the farm, people greeting them. I must have rushed faster than I intended, because soon we were in a new environment. She stood inside a lab, surrounded by others. She wore a white lab coat and protective glasses.

And suddenly, everything clicked. I understood why she had been so calm about it all. Why she had seemed unphased when new life forms appeared—when things got out of control.

I finally understood why she had been so fascinated by the world that had evolved in her absence.

Why she could spend hours observing and analyzing.

"Seeing everyone surviving out here? Rebuilding the world?

It gives me hope."

Those few words, from someone so completely out of her own element, had given them hope. And it gave me hope.

Eventually, a single photo of Nate appeared, wearing soldier’s attire, proudly saluting as he smiled at the camera.

Then, she stood alone. Right where I was now, with a baby in her arms.

"Shaun..."

Nick and I both stared, stunned, when we saw the few blonde strands on his head. He looked like her. He had her nose, her smile. His eyes weren’t blue like hers, though.

They were green.

It might be my unyielding infatuation with her, but seeing his little smile alongside hers, I couldn’t help but love him too. His toothless grin silently laughed as she kissed his little cheek in that captured moment, forever lasting on that thin, piece of paper between my hands.

He and she—both as beautiful as life itself.

A question surfaced in my mind now, as I watched the wrinkled shape of his tiny hand gripping her finger.

Can I have children?

I shouldn’t be surprised if I can’t. Making us synths infertile would be a precaution they couldn’t afford to ignore. I know I wouldn't have risker it, had I been one of the Institute Scientist.

It would be a lie if I said I didn’t feel somewhat sad about that.

The thought had never crossed my mind before, not even as Victoria played her role, and the Brotherhood had restricted us from sex. They even had charts on who should breed and who shouldn’t.

But, when I met her.. And when she came along...

It was only then that I began to consider the idea of family, of partnership.

Because of Maxon’s words.

He hadn’t become Elder for nothing. He could tell the differences in us as soon as they began to grow. And like the patient farmer, he would reap what she had sown. "Everything is a battle," he had told me once. To him, everything was a game.

A hunt.

And now, he is after her.

Now I only regret one thing. Never seeing her again.

I flipped to the next page, but it was empty. Nick sighed and gave my shoulder a firm pat. "This must have been close to when the war started."

I weighed the album in my hands, then flipped back to the page with her holding her child. I felt Nick's eyes burning into me as I picked it up, then slid it into my back pocket. I handed the album over to him to hold.

"How will we even find her?" I asked, my eyes pinned to the other.

"Preston mentioned tracks. We’ll take Dogmeat and see if we can find her scent."

Once again, I felt the anger brew. "There are tracks? Why didn’t we go straight away?"

The synth’s eyes grew harsh as I clenched my fist. "It’s too dark to go now."

No.

That wasn’t it.

He is looking for something.

"Why did you show me this?"

Nick’s cold expression shifted to amusement as he leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "I see you didn’t become Paladin for nothing. I wanted to make sure... of something. And now I’ve found it."

"Why do you even care?"

Nick’s eyes turned distant, and he looked to the side. "I’ll admit, at first, I wanted to check your reaction. See if you still wanted to return to the Brotherhood."

I was about to snap when he raised his hand. "But then you showed something else. I lost someone I loved once—well, the original Nick did. But regret always follows me, every day."

There was nothing to hide the surprise when his hand found my shoulder and remained there.

"Believe it or not, I don’t want you to go through the same thing."

I gawked, unable to speak.

Valentine might be a synth, but it was clear he knew more about human emotions than he had let on.

"Don't be so harsh on Nick. He's a great guy once you get to know him."

There had always been jealousy from my side. I can admit that. Why she would even want to travel around with that machine was beyond me. But now, as he had given me a chance, I couldn’t help but feel some respect grow.

Out of principle, I had hated him—just because he lacked the things that make us human. She had called me human once, but Nick, if anyone, was more human than the rest of us combined. And even if he wasn’t human, he was one of the kindest souls out there. Despite everything, he would risk his own hide for people. Even those who might not thank him afterward.

"Don’t worry about McCready," Nick said as he removed his hand from my shoulder. "He’ll come around. He cares about her as much as you. Oh, and don’t worry about the photo! I won’t tell a single soul!" He whispered behind his hand and laughed again.

I felt the cold sting against my neck.

I looked after him, long after he had walked over the street and entered the house where Preston was holding up. I stayed a bit longer, pulling out the photo of her. I must have been standing there, looking, for a long time, because I never noticed the woman who now stood right in front of me.

"Danse?"

She looked different now.

White hair, shaved on the right side of her head. The rags she usually wore had been replaced with a thicker leather coat with a collar hiding her chin. But her aura—her presence—was the same, as were her dark, dark eyes.

The eyes that now stared at me as if I had been a ghost.

And.. I couldn't help but to feel equally stunned.

"..Victoria."

Chapter Text

 "Where's Cutler?"

It rained.

Or, well. It started to rain first now.

Because the setting wasn't bad enough as it is. Slowly and steadily it increased and soon the symphony of the drops hammered hard without yield against the roof and down in the hole where the long and lone counter was placed. Where the barstools has been thrown away from their original post.

She sounded incredibly angry. Her face instantly confirmed it as she stepped inside and away from the waves. I merly stood there by the entrance with its door wide open, unable to speak. Just as the day we had met. And the closer she came, the more frightened I became.

Yes, frightened.

I couldn't help but feel anything but awkward to stand in my new love's house with a former one. But the fear rushing through me wasn't caused from that. It was created from the knowledge that she probably already knew where our mutual friend was.

That he was no more but a pile of abnormally big bones, decorating the halls where a gang of new supermutants ruled.

In the next moment I was on the floor with a sore cheek. And she was on me, pinning down my arms with the strength her legs. Her punches weren't really that hard--They only sounded harsh thanks to the wet from the rain.

"Where. Is. Cutler?!"

I didn't really need to tell her.

She knew.

Or it might be that she became aware the moment I dove down my gaze. The moment where I avoided her in shame.

Her eyes became darker while her brown complexion became paler. A thing rare to be seen, especially from her. But the fists and the power behind her punches--They weren't new. 

But even I who had tasted the iron several times before couldn't help but let go of my breath as I felt the incredible strenght in her arms when they found my gut.

"Hey--Hey! Calm down! Glory!"

She threw off the guy behind us with ease, made him lose his black wig to the pools of water outside the threshold.

"You weren't supposed to fight!" She growled as her hands found the collar of my white T-shirt. "You weren't supposed to kill!"

"Stop that! This ain't why we're here!"

I looked at the guy who once again had taken hold of Victoria's arms, holding her close to his chest. He had looked familiar. When her elbow hit him in the face and brought down his eyeglasses it finally hit me. 

That bloke had called her 'A big deal'.

But despite all their ill-adviced attempts to flattery she refused.

Back then she thought that they had been keeping watch over her. That the dude who now splattered around on the floor had been after her. She thought she was turning crazy from seeing him everywhere.

One of many reasons why she had refused to show off her face in public. Why she always hid, always wore a mask. I now knew what it had been all along. They hadn't been watching her.

They had been watching me. 

"Did you help me escape from the Institute?"

The two of them stared at me and then I was pinned against the ground with her hovering over me. Her eyes had grown thinner and her lip curled up in disgust. "You asshole! You knew you were a synth and still--"

"I didn't know anything!" 

I yelled.  

I couldn't refrain myself from that. And now I was holding her against the wall, with my hands around her collar. "I didn't know a single fuck! All this time, you kept me in the dark! All this time you knew who I was!" She was fast, and once again I was about to fall, had I not taken her fist to my abdomen, tilting me up instead of down.

This was a new side I had never seen from her. Or well, not to this extent. It wasn't really new. Only the strength in her. Fists like iron, demolishing the already broken home further.

"Stop it! The both of you!"

Her friends voice was but an annoying plea in the debris falling across the room. And as she moved graciously, avoiding my kicks and punches her silver hair danced in front of her dark eyes that held me dead-locked.

I could count the number the days when I wanted nothing more than have those pair eyes on me. The days when I wanted nothing more than to have her mouth whisper my name between our heated breaths. 

Now my name sounded sickening as she launched her hand on my cheek.

"I didn't kill you so that you could join those fucking maniacs, Danse!"

Kill me.

I assumed she meant my previous self. The guy who had fled.

So my memory has been wiped away. I hadn't been like Nick--Tossed away as junk. The Railroad made them forget. So that they could stay hidden. I had been like that. I had been scared and willing to lose myself for a better life. 

What a joke.

Walking sore on the street, looking for scraps and breadcrumbs Isn't a better life. 

Having nothing isn't a better life.

Alone, cold, constantly hungry. Ignorant of the dangers of the world. At one point I had blamed the Institute for giving birth to me. For not giving me happy memories. 

If anything, the Railroad made me an clueless idiot.

The man I was before was a coward.

In an instant I was up and she fell to the floor. She was quickly on her feet again and had made it to the other side of the broken kitchen, throwing all kinds of things at me. First when a toaster hit me in the head I hid behind a chair.

"You killed innocents! Innocent synths who had done nothing but fled to get something better in life! And you took that away from them!"

"You should have told me!"

A growl escaped my throat as I hoisted up the chair and threw it on her. No fear that I might hurt her even went through me at that moment. Because somehow I knew she could avoid it. That she--Somehow--Would be able to split the chair apart with her bare hand.

Because I now knew that Victoria was a Synth herself.

It takes a Synth to know a Synth, I suppose. I had always been strong. Incredibly strong. My CEO had mentioned this at several occations. Exercising had come easy for me and I could run for longer than most. I could do things other had trouble with in an instant. Now I knew that strength to be abnormal.

I now knew that my benefits had been hers as well.

Now I could understand why we both would get irritated from headaches. Haunted from the constant nagging pain in our necks. Why we both almost every night would toss on and about in our way to small bed thrown together by two mattresses in the cramped quarters back in Rivet City, on the second level.

She had always been quick on her feet and she had always been a good brawler. I had learned that the hard way. Cutler would always joke on how silly I was and how I needed to show who's the boss. Laughing, I had dismissed it, figured she'd stop one day. Because back then I had found that part of her endearing.

In time it grew into irritation.

She would suddenly disappear in the middle of the night. She could be gone for days at a time. Eventually I grew tired from worrying. From wondering where she was and where the bruises and cuts on her body originated from. Then we argued about it. We had sex, we became angry again and so it went on, in a long never ending cycle. Until the day when I grew tired and broke up. Back then I had felt relieved as she stormed out through the door.

Maybe that's why I thought my second break up, even if a short romance, would be just as easy.

But it wasn't. 

This thime I didn't want to let go.

"Told you what?" She smiled as she launched another hit to my nose. "That we're fucked up and not really alive?"

I stopped and stared.

Not really alive.

"That's life you feel." 

No. I am. I am alive.

My hand went up to my face where I had been hit last. It fell back, red and wet. 

I bleed.

I'm real!

"Who decided that?"

She laughed. For a long time and soon I could taste my own blood again as it splattered around. "You're not a machine, Danse. In fact, you're more human than most people ever could hope to be--Blah blah BLAH! What a loud of BULL!"

I stared in anger as she mimicked what has been said between four eyes. As she with a high and mighty tone mocked her poem and our memory. 

Even then she had seen us.

Perverted. 

"Don't believe that shit! We're put together. Like small toys we're constructed, part by part. We're nothing like them!" She stopped all of a sudden and rose her finger just in front of my face.

"And your missus knows that!"

The colour must have left my face, for she laughed again with that confident and smug expression I once found exotic and hot. An expression I now loathed and that only become more disgusting the longer she ranted on. Because to me she appeared as the jealous psychopath who couldn't comprehend--Who couldn't allow others to live peacefully. One who constantly hunted what others had. And could she not have that she wouldn't allow others the joy either.

"I know of your fling! I know what she said. And I know something else about her. Something she didn't tell you.

She smiled as she pulled my hair and looked into my eyes.

"You know what she is? A double-crosser! A liar! She's a fucking whore!"

"SHUT UP!"

Soon I stumbled around the room, with her arms around my throat, trying to choke me.

Fact was I did know she had hidden something. A great deal of things ever since we met. But hearing it felt even worse. 

"Do all these questions really matter?"

Ever since we met at Cambridge police station she had been quiet and hard to get to know. She refused to speak of herself. Even as I required her help at the powerplant. But at night, I could hear her, as she crept close to Dogmeat in her tiny sleeping bag. How she'd humm on the lullaby, over and over again. 

I couldn't understand the words or even the meaning. But after a while, I begun to enjoy the softness of her tune, albeit hidden underneath the mask. Her song always sounded so sad. It made the stoic and selfish woman in the corner a bit more human to me. Sometimes even I could drift away as I heard it. The pain pulsating inside my head was not as present when she was there.

She made me feel safe.

She made me feel big, strong. She made me want to feel again.

And I suppose that's why I feel so frightened in the company with Victoria. She made me unstable, nervous--And not in the good way.

Because while my new woman made me feel alive, my former made me feel dead.

"You know I'm right!" She yelled above me as I struggled to get air. 

We bounced from wall to wall as I in an angry snarl tried to get her off me. I was just about to loose her when she took a hard grip in my hair, in which I fell back with a grunt. It hurt when I felt the rusty ends of the plate metal in my back. My hand fell back, trying to throw her to the side. It ended with me falling instead, right at the door that broke and fell right down in the water.

It was first when I saw the album fall from it's place in the shelf by the entrence that I stopped fighting back. The moment when I saw the millions of images of children, the farm with the white painted veranda and the animals who ate the green and fresh grass right outside spurt out in one, quick cough.

When she stepped outside the church, throwing her bouquet for the other girls to catch.

And just like the white and yellow flowers, they all flew for the wind. Away from me and towards the outside. Away for the rest of the world to see. 

In a desperate attempt to save the broken pages I finally managed to throw her off and launched myself forward, landing just in front of it. My head went back as I felt her hands clawing a tight hold around my foot, pulling me back. I could only stare as even more of the thin and yellowed papers rained when she kicked it outside, over the street where Preston and MacCready came running. I didn't even bother to look at the woman who held my throat from above when I crawled forward, trying to save the last bit of her past that melted down in the acid drops.

And I shook, silently as the soggy mass that used to be photographs slowly slipped through my fingers.

Because in a way, I had lost her.

For a second time. 

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

"Yes, Squire? What can I help you with?"

I had barely hidden the drawing before the child walked inside. The young boy blew up his cheeks as he stepped forward and handed over a newly printed report for me to read directly. As I took it he banged his free tiny fist to his chest so hard that he nearly lost breath. I usually didn't show any emotion to things but this right here? The patriotism he showed for our order? 

That made me eager to smile.

It is that kind of devotion and prowess that makes me care about them. About anyone. It is when they show their value and their will to spill their own blood for any of our brothers and sister that I care. Because I've been spilling my blood for them. I expect nothing less in return. Man, woman or child.

Everyone counts as long as they put their heart into our work.

"Good work. You are dismissed."

"Sir! Thank you, sir!"

He saluted and I humored him by gesturing one of my own. I did not doubt for one second that he wanted to give in and smile, judging by the way his little freckled face lit up. I wouldn't have minded, but I know the likes of my former superiors would have. One of many things I wanted to change.

A child is still a child in my meaning.

I remember a time when I had been so small and eager to please everyone around me. When I had been anxious to salute my elder. And even if I sounded weak for saying so, I didn't blame the nativite from them. Francly it is they that made the way of life we're protecting so much more worth it. But while the others seek to preserve, I seek to change.

I want a world where we can afford to be children again. A world where we can risk exposing our true selves.

As soon as the boy was gone I opened the folder and brough the paper outside from it's hold. And in an instant I could tell why they had sent in a boy with the report.

Because had it been any other I would have thrown the  nearest thing I had on them.

The paper was only a tightly squeezed ball when it tapped the wall lightly in its fall.

Failure. Weak.

A frustrated breath escaped my throat as I fell back in my chair, looking over the larger room as I chewed the walls inside of my mouth. So hard that it nipped hole and made my gum taste like iron.

"Don't make me regret ever having petionied you for the position as Elder. I, as well as the others back in the Citadel expects results from you. 

Expose of her, immediately." 

Infuriating and cunning with a brain like that of an old rat.

A rat who had learned every little trick on how to evade. And it's knowledge would be passed down to their young.

The Synth isn't where I have left it.

She always managed to mess everything up. First the paladin and now the morale aboard our airship. How could she alone take down a patrol of seven people? And not just any, but knights! It made no sense. Like it wasn't difficult enough to make them see her as a the enemy already.

One of the breeds of Synths called "Coursers" were known to be able to handle more than a Vertibird on their own. And she had killed a Courser in the past..

Had she had been aided? Or did she really kill this courser to begin with?

The desk nearly fell as I went up and banged my hands into it's surface.

How I want to bring her to her bare knees.

And in the same time, I feel a certain amount of respect towards her. But I'm alone sharing this admiration.

"Forgive my bold statement, Sir. She's a single woman and a dweller--Not a saint.

 .. She's an outsider."

True, she is a single woman and a Vault-Dweller at that. But the Knight she had served under at the police station was wrong to overlook her like he did. If there's anything I've learned as a strategist it's to never look down on your opponent. Even the sweetest smile from a child could be the one tipping the weight of a blade down you throat.

Especially a smile from her.

The woman who now has slipped through my hands for a second time was strong and dangerous. Magnificent, even.

Her deceit was unexpected, but after a bit of consideration, not that surprising. After all, her unyielding loyalty to the thing who had recruited her was an admirable trait, if missguided. All her qualities makes her a fine woman and a good soldier.

But a traitor. 

Maybe I should have seen it coming. Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to offer her the position amongst us, even if well adjusted within the role of a soldier. Because just as I stated by the bunker, the people from the world before created the world we live and protect now.

People like her destroyed us by its own hypocrisy and hybris.

I suppose it was the desire to see her pleased that made me blind. Me, out of everyone.

Why did I even listen? Because of my foolish and misplaced admiration I might have doomed our order.

Proctor Quinlan's eyes had never been darker than the moment he handed me to clipboard with his diagnostics.

The proof that one of our best soldiers had been an imposter as well.

Had she come clean and told me of her connection with the Institute's leader I might have looked passed it. Because she still fought with us. She still carried out her orders to precise demand and followed every given detail to the letter. But I suppose it's often those who wants to appear the most loyal that aren't.

Her view on human life truly must be shrewd.

Machines are our creations. They were never meant to be our equals. And we most certainly do not create humans outside the natural course.

Because why else do we go through the stages of childhood, if not to learn and adapt? We become, grow and develop different skills. Our experiences are what shapes us and they are born from our wits, our smarts and intellect.

A Synth never do that.

It simply rises from its table like a finished product. It acts out from an already decided programming. With an already constructed personality and soul. They never learn on their own. Their thoughts are decided for them and can be changed in the blink of an eye.

That is why they cannot be allowed. The character in question can be a saint for all it's worth. But the technology behind its creation, it is what I want stopped. Given the chance,  will they not form an army?

For who's not to say they, if given the chance, will replace us all when we're the impure ones?

After the studies the scribes have done, I can tell that the body indeed is the like of a human. It had always amazed me with its strong physical health, length and stamina. We've served many years side by side, it and I. But never did I think it to be a machine.

Danse is flesh and bone and they play with the very ethics of creation and God. And just as God the mind behind its birth presumes to wipe out us jealous children so that his second creation can take place on the planes of Earth.

Am I Gabriel in the eyes of the Institute?

Fact was that I thought the same of them. Like Vampires they seek to shelter themselves among us. Yet another proof that I'm right about my thesis ;

'

Flesh is flesh. Machine is machine--Never meant to intertwine.

It irritates me. More than I'd like to admit. 

Because in some way, she is a whole lot like me.

Unlike so many others around me she was a refreshing sight and a much better person for conversation. Because unlike so many others she doesn't view me like a living deity. She sees the man beneath the armor. We were both dedicated and put our souls into our work.

But while I was experienced, she made up in charisma. That extra little thing of being able to convince.

You can work, year after year to harness your skills. And some, some are just born with it. She had that. Few dared to question my leadership or even remotely ask for another path. She constantly did this. Always made sure that there was at least two possible options for every mission.

"You always have a choise."

Unlike the many other dogs on this airship she spoke her mind. She wasn't afraid of the punishments I was ready to throw at her.

"Bring it on, Elder."

I could not help but to smile as I remembered her close in front of me. How I for one moment thought myself see a smile in her eyes behind the glass. No matter how many times I threatened to give her a punishment for the insubordinate behaviour she still backtalked. She didn't hesitate from speaking her mind. Now I imagine it sounds like pure admiration, which it is. But what I'm thinking is how.. Open she felt in my company.

Only two other people had ever treated me for who I was. Only two other people before her had ever just treated me like a normal boy and not seen the name behind me.

He was always a real hero to me. I can still remember how the young guy had chuckled and patted my shoulder.

"Don't rush to grow up, kid."

"I wish I could be a boy again. I wish I could be unaware of all the world's problems."

I guess he got what he wanted, even if a bit different from what he first had imagined.

He is totally oblivious of what happens around him now--Stuck as he is inside that barrier of glass. So far as I know he growls together with others of his brainless state around that control room. But at least he's not alone. His father is with him.

I never had one. Only a name. One I constantly was force to live up to.

"I'm just really a normal boy." 

I was one, at least. Until I became Elder.

Unlike the other's they didn't see the family name first. Just as that wanderer, she saw me, the younger boy who ventured about the halls of our forefathers.

There was always something different about those leaving the vaults.

Countless of times they have been known to change the course in history for a better path. Nudged others to act. Perhaps that only added to my belief that she could change our battle towards victory. Not that it was even remotely needed, but still. It was what her bright jumpsuit spoke off everytime she entered the prydwen. What all thought whenever we saw her success in her reports. Whenever she took me in the arm and demanded for an answer.

"Virgil has returned to his human state. Don't ask me to kill him--Because I won't. He helped me."

They look on life differently.

The dwellers values life. And most of all; they value honesty. Even when it could be unbeneficial. People who are open are hard to come by. People treating you accordingly are easy to miss. And I suppose that is why I liked her. I liked the fire she showed.

But it was all false, wasn't it?

"After everything I've done, you got some nerve accusing me of lying!"

I know she didn't lie at that moment, but that she would afterwards.

Because her voice, even though muffled sound horrified when I given her the order

Execute Danse.

And I knew she wouldn't.

I hoped, but she wouldn't.

Because even though she despised the Institute, she admired Danse. Even if she herself was in denial. But it adored her back, or at least it pretended to. Even to the point where it wanted to continue it's charade with marriage.

The question for the permission had me at a crosspoint as we stood in the hallway, me and Danse.

Yes, or no? 

It never outright spoke of this wish. Only that it has begun thinking about having a spouse of its own. It clicked rather early.

"What do you think of our newest knight?"

I had hummed at the time, then looked to the side. It had looked flustered, a bit out of sorts. But I had been to swallowed up by the question to even notice. Because what did I think of our newest knight? Truth was I admired the spirit she had and the courage and patriotism she enhanced in the others omboard.

It was when I heard the words in my head that I saw the hope in it's eyes.

"Are you interested  in her?"

It had turned disgustingly red in it's face as I asked the the paladin in the hallway. And it had been even harder to control my own emotions as I felt the jealousy trigger in me. Because after many arguments I had realized something. Something I only noticed as I saw Danse stumble on its words and fidget with its hands.

"I.. Yes. I think I am."

That moment. Right at that moment I had understood something on my own.

I'm interested in her.

As a woman.

"And I'm considering.. I don't have a wife.."

I ended up telling it that it was her decision. That if she wanted it, I would allow it. That it was all up to her in the end. Even if the jealousy would nag in my gut.

Maybe that was what made her so much more desirable.

The fact that every other woman would stutter in my company while she didn't. While every other woman glanced after me and she didn't. I usually didn't think much more about things like that. I'm not some teenager ready to bang everything that looks at me with doe eyes.

But..

The respect and admiration for the woman I now had under my command woke aches I had not felt for years. Not since the death of Sarah.

But unlike Sarah she wasn't in the way. She needn't be gone.

Quite the opposite--Her presence is now obligatory for our missions success.

By God, I really didn't want to do it.

Quinlan knows this as well. I can tell by the way I feel his eyes burn in my back every time I walk the deck towards my station. I can feel them shoot daggers ready to have me crippled. Ready to send the report back to have me and my work erased from the records.

I really didn't want to harm her. It might not have been my hand shooting that rifle, but since when is it the weapon's fault. It is the hand behind it.

My hand.

But I need to. Because if I don't my role and position as Elder will be questioned. I can not afford that to happen. Because I know how they replace those they in the council see as i fit to lead. I can not afford to not let her go. Because she has harmed me. Me, and my pride. By letting her go the others might see my ability to lead as ill fit.

And that's why I wont rest a single second before finding her. She is a traitor and like any deserter she needs to pay the price accordingly.

Dead or alive,

I will have her. 

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

Frightening.

The fall must have been at least kilometer deep. At first I thought it would be unwise to go down with my power armor, but it's been years since I last fought without one. If I wanted to come at my best I would need it.

Even down here.

It smells horrible and it is a whole lot harder to breathe. The air feels pocketed and as if that it hasn't been recycled for decades.

Besides the elevator, everything looked incredibly well preserved. I'm not that suprised--This particular Vault is located rather far nortwest and highly located, making it easy to miss because of the elvator that went right down. Mountaincimbing wasn't a desiarable activity nowdays and so it had been easily protected. 

And just like others of its like it had an enormous door.

A sealed door.

"I thought this place was deserted." MacCready grunted as he observed the massive steelgate. "How the he--How are we supposed to breach that?"

"We can't." Nick said, a bit sultry by the sounds of it, as he observed the size of it. Dogmeat would whine loudly and irritatingly high pitched as he danced around the door. Finally the dog barked with low ears. "Suppose we're heading forward." The Synth smiled. "But we'll need a pip-boy to get in."

"And where could we even get one?" Preston asked, a bit hesitant by the sounds of it.

It should have been obvious that she would go here, with only one way in and able to stand explosion she could last for very long before she needed to get outside. It had been a somewhat wise decision to seek shelter where hardly anyone would be able to get in. But I knew that the Brotherhood had years and years of collected technology just piling up. They would bound to have pip-boys.

It had given her time. But during that brief moment she could be bleeding out.

Because we had already encountered five puddles with goo--The sort of goo that used to be humans.

She had been fighting. And she had been injured.

"I don't have the faintest of clues." The detective synth answered, seemingly as grim as I as he locked with my eyes. "I've never even heard of anyone breaching a vault without it."

"Is that really true?" Preston asked while I observed them from the side. "Didn't that friend of yours lock you inside a Vault back in Diamond city?"

Nick eyes suddenly lit up in what seemed surprise, but then a smile tugged in the corner of his mouth. ".. But there's always a main terminal connected to it!" He added and hurried to the side, under the metal bridge. "The door uses a network access to initiate recycling and other maintenance crap. Perhaps we could play a little with it's circuitry!"

A single operation table was located right next to where the thin steel bridge began, rusted from all the moist. While the rest lit up in eager, Preston sighed as his musket fell to his side with the handle against the floor."This doesn't look good.. How are we even sure that this will work?"

"The Brotherhood has a way of dealing with prewar-tech like this." I said as I let my hands hover over the keyboard. "It should go rather swiftly."

"You know you could just ask. Nicely." Nick winked at the side. I couldn't help but to smile at that.

It was an easy override by running the safe mode, then force a logout. When it's screen became black MacCready caught his head between his hands and yelled with an angry and alarmed scowl.

"What are you doing?! Aren't we supposed to--"

He didn't manage to finish before the whole cave lit up in orange lights and a beeping trumpet. All of us jumped high because of the sudden sound. Slowly, a suction sound joined that of the warning alarms.

"Vault door cycling sequence initiated. Please stand back."

MacCready only shuddered as he brought the collar around his neck higher. "Uhh, this place gives me the creeps."

I agreed.

Normally a few skeletons wouldn't have bothered me, but they did now. Because when she woke up, she would have been forced to see all kinds of horrific wonders. The skeletons of her former neighbours being one of them. They had all been crowding around the old, rusted fence just in front of the hill where the elivator was located.

She came from a time when death was as foreign as clean water was today.

MacCready let his rifle out from its holster on his back and waved us to come closer as he saw something further up, right at the door. All of us shook as a limp corpse fell out from the door as it went to the side. A fresh one, ripped to shreds.

"Fuck.." McCrady whispered with his hand above his mouth as we went closer.

That was the exact word I was about to say.

Because there, right there in the pool of his own, brown blood one of my former comrades bathed.

The small pond had already run stale and the smell was incredibly bad. That sweet sort of reek.

"She fought here.." RJ said as he scoured the ground, letting his fingers follow along the line of stale drops. "They followed. About two, maybe? The traces has been run over by something else."

He didn't really need to say it. Everyone could make it out from the obvious bloodstains coloring the concrete floor. The real question was : Whom did it belong to? A part of me had already decided. But I didn't want to give in. I need to believe she still lives.

I could feel Nick's sympathetic eyes in my back. That disgusting burn of sympathy wavering from his yellow plate eyes. I didn't want it.

My woman isn't dead.

I refuse to think her dead before I saw her lifeless before my eyes. I just couldn't stand the world to turn black and white again. The world where I thought the brotherhood had been everything.

"Face it, soldier. There is no possibility for Cutler to be alive."

No One said it this time. But everyone thought it. Even I. But I constantly fought with the evidence presented before me. 

There could be no possibility. Worse, something as cruel as fate would have turned her further from herself. Just as last time.

After yet another attempt my squad leader had given in. He sighed and allowed me the leave for my desperate hunt after my friend. Back then I had taken Paladin Krieg for a heartless bastard. Truth was he tried to keep me from seeing it, I think.

And now I was once more in the hunt. But this time I wasn't just looking for someone I cared about.

I wanted to tell her this time. 

"He was motivating you, sir."

Sir.

I absolutely hated it when she called me sir while she refused to call Arthur by his title. A dislike of respect that I continually reminded her of. She merely shrugged and tilted her head to the side, making her big and lose bun of hair bob.

"What are you going to do about it, sir Paladin?"

My ears would go red and I felt thankful that I had kept my cap on. That woman had a close grip around my throat early on. It was thanks to that I wished she never had walked without her mask for the first time. That moment, when I had realized that the blonde I had showed off in the Third Rail had been none other than my own companion.

"Paladin Danse? More like Paladin Dense!"

She had laughed and made quirky remarks in which she would keep hounding me while on the road. Back then I only snorted with a sneer, while now I merely laughed.

I had been attracted to her long before I knew what she looked like.

But when I realized the irritating fly to be her, she became an angel.

My fallen angel, who was doomed to walk the plains of hell.

This time I would ask. Because last time, I never had the chance to ask Krieg why.

Why he kept pushing me like he did.

"She crawled." McCready said as he bent to his knee and looked over some of the more visible tracks. "Why didn't she seek shelter in Sanctuary? It's much closer."

"Because the Brotherhood of Steel's been hanging about." Preston answered. And just as he did I could see him from the corner of my eye, piercing me through me with his gaze.

"That doesn't make any sense." MacCready continued, seemingly clueless as he looked up again. "She's with the brotherhood.." He looked back at me. "Ain't she?"

I remained silent as I followed  the trail with my eyes.

Arthur had promised to spare my life, out of service. But he had never said anything about her desertion. Because that was her crime. She left during a time of war. She would be a traitor. And there would be a need to state an example.

A hand landed on my arm, and as I looked to the side I suddenly saw someone else.

Victoria's eyes shined with regret. 

I stared at first.

None of us had heard the two strangers as they entered and neither of us had seen them after yesterday. We haven't talked since the night before, when the album had fallen into the water. When I like a dog had been sitting in the rain.

Motionless.

At that moment I had felt lost again.

I grunted as I pulled back my arm with more force than I had intended. I knew I made a bigger deal out of it than I should. Just because we were fucking years ago didn't mean we would now. But I still couldn't get over the feeling that she was holding closer to me than I would have liked. 

It was awkward enough trying to resolve the situation with my new identity. I didn't need my former lover's concern. Especially since she was the one who put me in this spot to begin with.

I didn't like having her here.

She stumbled back a step and regained that angry expression, looked to the side, at the guy in the back.

"We'll need to split up. Danse, you and I--"

I had already passed Victoria and the rest of the group. Past the yellow-blue gate, avoiding her suggestion. If anything I didn't want to be left alone with her. We had to walk through narrow passage with radiation sensors. The longer we ventured, the cleaner it became, if you ignore the dry bodies of the radroaches resting on the ground. We ended stumbling inside a large room with a still functional terminal that Valentines hurried to look through.

"I'm going to check for the blueprint on the Vault. You go on ahead."

"It's eeh.. I'm gonna be honest with you all. I usually feel safest with a ton of rock above my head but this.. I'd prefer to travel in a group. If you don't mind." MacCready added as he looked over his shoulder.

The guy in the sunglasses looked a bit amused as he let his arms fold above his chest. "What's the matter, princess? Never been in a vault before?"

MacCready grunted as he weighted his rifle in his hands. "Ever been neighbour to a super mutant?" When the guy didn't manage to answer MacCready grew a smirk. "Imagine living right next to ship-Louds of them, constantly haunting you and about 20 other kids that you're a Mayor for. And if that's not hard enough, imagine telling them stories why not to walk outside. It wasn't before when I resigned and left that they realized how close we'd been to be chopped up and stewed all that time."

"Wait, what?" Preston asked from the side of the room. "You..Wait. How old did you say you were?"

"22."

"Not now! Then!"

"Oh, uh.. About 13, I think. Wait, 10. I turned 10 when--"

I shook when I saw Nick catch his jaw with a frown. "What is it?"

He looked up. At first it looked as if he didn't want to talk, but after rising my brow he sighed. "I've found the Overseer's personal log in the same file folder as the blueprints. Thing is.. "Here he looked down on the terminal. "It's not a pleasant read."

I walked closer, around the table and took a look for myself, while Nick begun reading out loud for the rest of us to hear.

"I've long dreamed of making cryogenic freezing available in portable, on demand from. The cryolator is my last attempt. Thankfully we're in no short supply of the chemicals and components I need to tinker with the prototype. It's a nice way to occupy the time as we wait for the all-clear signal.

The final staff orientation is complete, all but a few of the residents down in Sanctuary hills have been enrolled, and several from Concord as well. Vault-Tec supervisors came this week to do technical review with me. This vault is ready to open. I can only imagine what wonders our residents will get to witness. The notion of leaping forward in time – I almost wish I could join them and see the promise of our future realized."

"I don't see the problem here. It doesn't seem any different from any other Vaults.." Preston added as he joined me and Nick on the other side of the desk. "Vault-Tec's known to have used human subjects."

"It gets worse."

"It's happened. Were lucky that most of the staff was nearby when the early warning came through. We had less notice than expected, but only Nordhagen was missing when we sealed the entrance. Resident Admittance went rather smoothly. Everyone made it, even the family that waited until the last minute. It was the part afterwards that became a bit more inconvenient.

The wife of the crazed soldier seemed to recognise Otto and was about to make a scene, even her husband made restraints just as we was about to close the door to his pod. I hope he hasn't taken too much damage as we force him back inside his seat. Her scream as he froze was horrible.

Thankfully Otto was quick and had a syringe with sedative ready. But even then she was hard to handle as she struggled and had to receive a second dose. She even cursed as she fell and was put inside her pod.

I'll never forget that expression as she rose her fist and promised to have my hide." 

The rest of stood stunned, silent and Preston swallowed a big lump in horror. In the beginning I had counted her as lucky. Many Vaults without any survivors dotted the landscape, all over the Us. At least she had come out alive. From the stories, few as they are, I thought her to be lucky.

But something had alarmed her. She knew something was off the moments she stepped inside the Vault.

"Come on already! Let's hurry up and explore this damn Vault and be done with it."

"You're right." Nick sighed as he looked at MacCready stomp around the place in anger. "Sorry. The Blueprints are right here. The Vault ain't too large and only have one floor. Let's spread out, see if we can find something further in."

"Danse." I heard from the side. "We need to talk." 

I merely ignored her and continued forward. I could even hear a smack from behind. As I turned I saw the guy with the glasses wave around his hand and blow on it, while Victoria gazed in the other direction.

We took the tunnel to the right, continuing further in. An electric field was in the way. We would have ignored it if it hadn't been for the tracks. Another body rested in the middle of the field. It still twitched around on the floor, stuck between two large beams sending it back and forth.

"Poor sod." Valentine whispered as he shook his head. "He didn't look that old."

Fact is he wasn't. Because I recognised him, even in his swollen, pale state. He had been a young recruit from maybe five years ago from New Vegas. Back then he had nothing and was stuck in the street, pumped with drugs. Now he was ready to get married. What the hell was Arthur up to, sending my old recruits hunting after my newer ones? Was this a revenge? Towards me?

"..There. Danse."

The blood the synth referred to was fresher in this part. I felt my heart thrash inside, ready to explode.

What if she hadn't made it? The soldiers had already come this far. From the looks of it the tracks looked more as is she had been pulled now. 

And then, we saw it.

One of the halls, where Victoria, Preston, Macready and the guy in glasses stood, ready by giant and cold pods. It smelled horrible.

That sweet stench of corpse.

And it was quiet.

Incredibly quiet. The only sound made was that from the water sipping, dripping out from the tanks. Where the rotten bodies already had begun to fall apart from moisture and insects alike. From the look everyone had on their faces we probably all agreed.

This place is a tomb.

"One after one died through asphyxiation--They suffocated in their almost frozen state."

"Wait, look."

Nick was at the end of the hall, where one of the freezes had been opened. It must have been for quite some time, for the leather inside was dry. Next to the side we could see a name hastily written on a little sign.

"Sol.. Wah? "

"Something, something Freeman."

"Call me Blue. Everyone else does."

"No wonder she kept the nickname Piper gave her." Nick shook his head with a snort, then a smile. "Solveig."

"How come you know about it?" Preston asked as he rose one of his brows. The synth shrugged his shoulders as he observed the little note at the tank.

"I knew of her mother.. Sort off. The original Nick did."

I stood next to him, letting my hand follow along the seat of the pod, ignoring him for the moment. This had been her cage. Not long ago she had fallen asleep in a different world from the one we were living in now. I had always tried to pronounce her name, but failed miserably.

It made me somewhat wondrous that she would have told me of her name, while the rest only knew her by Blue.

It made me happy that she valued our friendship that much that she would risk exposing her name to me.

"Hey, there's blood here!"

All of us looked down and on the little platform in front of the cage on the other side. Just as the rest of the pods it was closed.

But unlike the rest, it was empty.

I, as well as the rest suddenly froze.

Had someone else awoken and strutted about the Commonwealth?

Preston squinted his eyes as he made it closer, then, with a bit of surprise gasped.

"Nathan Freeman."

Nate.

He had been dead.

She told me he was dead.

But where was he?

"The seat's still wet. Someone's been here recently. Oh.. There's blood inside.."

I fell to the back of the group, feeling the anger swirl in me.

It didn't take me too much time to come up with the answer. Had the Brotherhood taken his corpse as payback? It was still fresh, in a sense. And he came from a time where people were insanely healthy in comparison to today. He could prove to be invaluable for research. Sickening. Absolutely disgusting. It was a thing I knew to be important to our scribes but I didn't want to think they would play with the dead like that. How would we be different from those before if we took to such measurements?

"Now what?" MacCready sighed as he let his weapon fall back on it's place. "We got no leads. The trail ends here."

"You know how she got out, don't you?"

Victoria was at my side, I didn't brush her off this time as she tapped her hand tenderly against the breastplate of my power armor.

"There's only one way in, and it was locked."

I stared at first, but then nodded, with a dry throat as the other possible explenation slowly appeared inside my skull. 

"I know." 

But I hoped, and I nearly felt like praying that it wasn't the case. Because if they already had taken her already deceased better half..

What in gods name would they even want to do with her?

Chapter Text

Slow, drifting. 

The melody from the piano was a slur in the end in my mind.

Calling, bringing.

They were sounds I haven't heard for two decades now. Two centiuries. And as they filled my ears, they thrilled me to follow the notes that still remains inside my brain. They had ever since I first heard them from when I was a child. I may not have played in years, but I can still follow the small, black dots on my leg with my fingers, imagining which key to press next.

Dull.. But even in their demise, awakening.

Passionate.

Andante.

I felt like a child again, drifting between wake and sleep in the small musicroom with the many and overstuffed bookshelves. With mom, as she slowly pinned down the tangents on the Ebenholtz--Ebony--winged piano. The wedding gift from my father.

Trapped like a little bird, but happy just the same. And just as gracefully, I could feel her incredibly smooth and gentle hand dance over my head, giving one stroke after another as she clinked away on the songs she worked on. Her next melody, that would be her message to the world.

Stop.

Stop fighting.

It took me embarrassingly enough more than a few blinks before I finally could make out the shapes around me. But even then everything seemed a whole lot different than I expected.

Gone was the rusty ceiling. Gone were the smell of old, musty water. Gone were the irritating, blinking of the dying lights. Gone were the distinct humm of the crushed pair of lamps hanging from the roof. And gone were the forced grunts from the air conditioner that failed to deliver the fresh from the outside world.

Instead I was met by a light. The harsh, unforgiving kind that would stick your eyes out from their places in their sockets.

Everything sounded so different, so alien. And yet familiar at the same time.

A dream, then.

A dream where I had been transported away. I could even feel the softness of a hand next to mine.

I smiled.

"Nate.. Släck.." I murmured as my eyes in surrender for the bright light sealed shut.

The air felt fresh and easy to breathe. And it smelled.

Not old, rotten wood. Not murky and dirty water. Not the rusty, sweat-like, spicy metal.

But clear and fresh, like a cold frosty breeze. Easy and kind as it ventured through my lunges.

What a horrible dream.

Aroused from the freshness I fell back in the incredible softness against my back even deeper. And I breathed, breathed for the first time in what seemed like ages. I felt incredibly tired. But it was more of a pleasantly tired along with that numbness in my fingers and toes.

I cannot remember the last time I gulped down air like that--Truly swallowed something as simple as fresh oxygen before going down the vault. It was a thing I missed from living on the countryside, even if Sanctuary was placed rather far from the lively light and noise from a city.

It was then I realized that it was no dream.

That everything, in fact, did happen. 

That the world around me I just one moment ago thought to have been a wicked fantasy was real. And how different it was from how it used to be.

Shaken by this fact I took a new but all to sudden breath. The payment of this act appeared harsher than the revelation of the so-called dream.

As I drowned in the oxygen I felt the sting of the burn.

It hurt. More than anything I've ever felt.

Especially my back and legs. Tired. Like my whole body was aching all over. It took me by surprise and once again my eyes went up, unable to hide the agony I felt. The colors were so much more vibrant and annoying and the sounds all blurred out.

Drugged.

I didn't think more off it as I heard another irritating sound echoing inside my head. Desperation. Confusion. Hurt. It especially hurt when the sound of the chair's feet screamed as it was brought aside entered my ears. My hand went up to my head, trying to take away the sounds.

How the pulse in my skull screamed. How my breaths boomed inside my brain. But most of all : The false promise of my lost life that the piano delivered.

It was first when I for one moment thought I could make out the shape of someone above me my hands dropped.

It wasn't a dream. But it had to be one.

Why else would he be here?

Desperate my hands caught the fabric of the shadows collar as I launched myself up.

"Danse?!"

Once again I was brought back to the reality that my wishful thinking had deceived me by. When I felt his hands squeeze tightly around mine I knew of my mistake. That the dark, green, almost honey-colored eyes that became more clear as I felt the thin, smooth palms around my rough fingers actually didn't belong to my Paladin.

But of another rejected love.

I really shouldn't feel surprised to see him. But I did. Surprise swallowed me as I instead of Danse, or even Nate, gazed on my own flesh and blood. And while I did I felt the same stab as I had felt the very same day I laid my eyes on him for the first time as a grown man.

Besides his eyes he was an exact copy of my own father. They had the same nose, the same cheeks. His voice and face all belonged to him. And ironically, he was my own child.

My boy. All grown up.

"Shaun.."

His pupils shrinked somewhat when my hand made contact with his cheek. As I, with a mixture of both surprise and awe, whispered his name.

For I truly did feel awe.

Had he rescued me? Despite me leaving?

Despite telling him no?

It was a complexed situation, but I didn't think that bad of it. The only thing I dreaded was the day when he would join the earth before me.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something but then closed it shut, moving from my grasp. I saw his hand twitch almost immediately when I unintentionally dropped my mouth along with my gaze. Instead my eyes focused on my hands. Away from his face. I think he still looked at me. It was hard to tell.

Everything was a blur. My head, my legs. And from this numbness, while my body decayed, I only felt the ache inside my chest even more.

He clearly did not feel the same as I, judging from the way he thought the inside of my palm to be disgusting.

I would tell myself, repeatedly, that It didn't matter that much.

Or..

Well.

It did. It did hurt.

But I did not blame him for his situation. I had never been there for him. I could never ask him to love me back.

Then my thoughts was brought back to the reality as I took notice to my new surroundings. 

I was inside the Institute. Who else but them had those clinically white walls along with the blue-like polished concrete floor? He clearly saw the irritation in my eyes, for once again, through his own initiative, his hand was placed on mine.

"You were badly injured. We were the best chance of getting you into better health."

I could not help but to frown.

How could he know about the chase? And how did he know I would seek shelter in the Vault? It didn't really take me long to figure out how. So instead of asking my eyes simply ventured to my left arm, where my missing pip-boy usually would have left a heavier hand for me to carry.

The chip.

The one allowing me access to their transportation device. It should have been clear that Doctor Li would implement something more then just the ability to transport myself.

Why not record what I had been doing in the meantime? 

He clearly saw the irritation in my expression. Sighing his hand left. "What else could I have done?"

"I'm not entirely surprised." When he was about to speak I lifted my right hand. "I know I would have done the same." My answer somewhat seemed to shock him, for once again his mouth opened a little. It was the later part that made it close. "But what I fail to understand is why you even would save me."

"Because you are--"

"We're enemies, Shaun."

His frown instantly deepened. "True. But you haven't killed any synths ever since your discovery.." Here he leaned closer with an expression I yet had to receive from him during our short relationship. it infuriated me. Because I could not read what he felt.

"..And you left the Brotherhood."

Right then I felt a shiver follow my spine.

Shaun knew I had been a member of the Brotherhood of steel?

My hand went to my chest or throat more precise. When I couldn't find it I felt the shock and stress walse in. After a moment of fussing around I finally felt the stress built settle down. It settled when I finally found it. When I finally could feel the thin and warm metal plate against my fingers.

My holotags still remained.

Or rather, Danse's.

"I figured it was personal to you."

The goofy smile vanished as I felt the strike of fear again. He had been keeping his eyes on me this whole time. I shouldn't have been so ignorant. And Danse had been a synth belonging to them. That was years ago, both he and Shaun had aged and changed.

But what if he could recognise him? Sometime in the future.

Danse would always be hunted in my company. And it was my fault he was thrown away from the Brotherhood.

It was clear that I had messed with the wrong people. That I had underestimated the skills of the Institute.

A part of me had felt relieved that I only had uploaded minimal information about the Institute. He would not be able to trace this act back to me.

When Elder Maxon demanded the tape I had on me I felt fear. The Brotherhood was too strong already. More power could tip the balance far too much.

I didn't dare to give him everything.

Clearly I had done wrong. Because he still had the information from the Bioscience division. The small amount that I uploaded, should Virgil ever want to come up with a cure or antibodies against the FEV. But there still was something on there, wasn't there?

It had been clear when I looked it through.

All the DNA from the Institute, all the bloodties.

Mine, Shaun's.

And Danse.

If I never had given Maxson that tape, Danse would have been free. He would have been safe.

But then again, for how long?

Danse cannot be the only synth within the Brotherhood. But while Danse appeared oblivious of his true nature, others within the organization might not be.

Surely they in the Institute, somehow, infiltrated more than just the Commonwealth.

Hell, the NCR's president might as well be one.

I need to get out of here. I need to tell him to go away. Anywehere, somewhere safe. 

Away from me.

"Why did you follow?"

"You were chased." Shaun countered with a scoff. "What else should I have done? Alone, running through the Vault you wouldn't have been able to make it far, resourceful as you are--Don't worry! Your assaulters are dead and the brotherhood would not know by whom."

I could not help but to stare as I saw the pleased grin my boy held as he looked to the side. 

Dead?

He killed them?

He turned back, seeing me flustered seemed to suprise him, because he frowned as the door opened.

"X6-88 did what was necessary to see to your protection."

I looked to the side, where a new man entered. Tall, dark and and very hollow. Empty. Like there was no soul behind the toned glass of his shades. As I stared at the dark-skinned man in the sunglasses who came closer he didn't even nod, didn't smile. He simply looked down on me.

"Good day, ma'am."

I had never felt as frightened as I did then.

I even failed to nod in greeting. Because even if he, or.. 'It', might have uttered the words I don't doubt for one second that he actually didn't have the capacity to meant it. It made me feel even more uncomfortable as I recognised the robe he wore.

"A.. Courser."

"They are our best choice of arsenal." Shaun added in what I reflected as pride. "Extremely dangerous--Of course you know this already."

Another memory entered my head as I and Dogmeat had assaulted the black haired man--Synth--Who had skills and powers beyond any normal man. That had been one of the worst fights in my life. It was a wonder that I even could make it through it. Danse had been shocked to see me crawl back to the Prydwen. Angry for not asking for him. I figured I would need every advantage of stealth that day.

A miscalculation.

A few shots at its head hadn't been enough to see it fall. Obviously the knights following me didn't know of this, for they had walked right inside the jaw of the lion.

They were dead as soon as they pointed their guns at me.

"Your lucky he was there to save you. Had it not been for X6 you might have ended up a puddle of sand just like any other of their enemies." Shaun said and I couldn't help but twitch at that.

I know how close it had been. I just don't remember the last part.

"I don't beleive in luck." I added, surly as I stared forward. Shaun was about to protest when the synth went closer to him, saying something that forever would surprise me.

"You do your mother a disservice, sir." Here he looked back on me, but I couldn't read the expression in his eyes because of the dark shades of his glasses. Although I doubt that there was anything there to begin with. "She handled herself well in battle. I only had three targets left when I reached her."

The corner of Shaun's mouth seemed to curl up just slightly, before he looked back on me with that strange look again. Now I understood what it was.

He was calculating the situation.

"I don't have any sort of doubts about that."

Feeling a bit uncomfortable by this certain kind of false praise I ignored the men. Instead I thought of something else.

Was I their prisoner?

"What now?"

Shaun hummed as he went to the side. "That is entirely up to you."

From the tone of suspicion I felt trapped. He was my son, true. But we had never known one another. Not really. I had once, a long time ago, beleived that a mother always would love her child unconditionally.

But..

The way my son smiled as the Synth told him about my former comrades death scared me.

I'd like to believe that we're all different and that our backgrounds shapes us. But our genetics play a big part in that as well. Given enough time, given enough mental torture..

.. Would he appear the same as Nate had done when he returned from the war?

Now, when I had been away from Nathan I could easily determine how unstable he had been. Nate had always been a bit of a coward. Something I had found adoreble as a teengager. His looks only added to the charisma. I now realize that it not might have been love, but a desire to protect from my side. Or perhaps I only had taken what has been thrown my way. I should have seen it coming. I mean--His mother was treated like an object by several men during his upbringing.

Maybe that's why Dad was so against our marriage to begin with.

Maybe he saw where it could lead. Where Nate's needing characteristics could end up.

And maybe that's why I had let him so close.

Why I never told him no.

Maybe that's why I never fought him off when he forced my legs apart.

It was now painfully clear to me. 

Nathan shouldn't have been the one thrown into war.

It should have been me.

I looked at my grown boy, wondering over who he was, behind that cold surface. Had he ever been loved? Happy? Wife? Or even weirder, a husband? I won't lie and say I didn't have my issues about it. In my days they would have been thrown into prison for displaying love for the same gender.

But then again, we didn't live in my age. Old norms weren't what they used to be. This was a new world. Maybe not my home.

But it was his. And I would know of it, if I could.

"Tell me of your childhood." I asked, and he turned, looking somewhat puzzled. "Were you happy?"

After a moment of silence he folded his hands behind his back, venturing forth and back the the side by my bed. "As happy as you could expect." He answered. It was not cold, but mostly matter-of-fact. "I didn't know of my parents and I didn't really care to. I had everything a child could want from the Institute."

"I gathered as much." I said. When he rose his brows I let my eyes down on my hands above the blanket, realizing how bitter I had sounded. "I didn't wish to impose anything. I'm just.. I want to know you better."

"..Why?"

Here I finally snapped. "Because you're my son!" I saw his eyes turn cold, and I once again removed my gaze, chewing my lip for a long time. "Forgive me, Shaun. I don't expect you to love me or even want to get to love me. I just.. I looked for so long, and when you turned out--"

"To be an old man?" 

I stared up, feeling my heart cleave in two.

He had said that with such distaste.

"--To be alive." I finished. "You're.. You're my son." 

He stared as I leaned closer with my hand in the air. I wanted to embrace him, so badly, but when I saw the disgust in his eyes I moved the hand away, quickly. I felt like and idiot. As if ice had frozen the blood in my veins.

He sighed.

Ahh..

I was just a convenience. But instead of giving into my anger I swallowed it and looked away.

Why did I have to try all the time? He knew that I looked for him. He must have.

Did he even want a relationship with me? That certain thought was a ghost, haunting me all the time.

Was there even room for love in him?

Bitter I brought the sheet to the side and let one of my legs roll over the edge when I felt his hand, pushing me back.

"You're not well. You should rest."

It frightened me how weak he felt the strength in his arm. He was old, yes. But not that old. And his breaths seemed more hurried and exhausted like if he had been running.

Not to mention how pale his complexion was, even for someone living under the surface.

"Don't be silly." I murmured as I ducked away from his gaze. "I'm perfectly well."

It was when he spotted the burn on the outside of my thigh that he snatched back his hand. The surface of the wound had wrinkled up. To me it looked incredible well, because I knew it healed.

"That's a perfect example of how glad I am to be spared from a life in the Wasteland."

But to shaun it was different. Because he saw it as something disgusting.

My eyes instantly lit up in anger and he hurried to reach out his hand. "I know to you I was kidnapped. But don't you see?" Here he smiled so bright that a bit of his gum was glowing through the thick, white beard. "The institute rescued me." Here he fell back a little as his eyes went down as he roamed the room in thought. I ended up staring at him back.

Nate used to do that when he was deep in thought. His mouth would open just slightly and his eyes dance around.

Back then I had constantly kept him busy--Busy so he wouldn't have the time to think. It always caught him into darker places. When it caught him he would be impossible to reach.

It nearly drove me to an exhaustion point. I can see that now. Totally absorbed by his every need, by dad's every need. Because when he had the time to think he had the time to relive.

He was forced back to the regret.

Maybe that what's made me so attracted to Danse. With him I could feel safe and sound. I could think on my own. I didn't need to check his every need.

"Blue.."

I miss him. So terribly much.

But I had been the one to hurt him! Once this was over. Once I was done..

"Both of us, really."

"At least we have the back-up" 

I stilled as I reentered the room and the harsh reality of his words. Because right then--Right at that moment I felt like taking my hands around his throat and squeeze so hard that his eyes could pop out.

And I don't mean Kellogg.

But the one Kellogg took.

"I was the perfect candidate." Shaun continued, not noticing how my fists slowly and ever so slowly tightened together in my lap. "Every synth in here is based from my DNA. And if something should go wrong.. Well. You understand."

I did indeed. 

But while the thought marveles him, it sickens me.

If I had been reawakened and taken by them only to discover of my sons death I would have slaughtered every one of them.

I would have killed them all.

Because they had harmed my boy and used him as a guinea pig. They had treated us like property. Then they would have the nerve to use me as well? I'd rather die then to aid them in their sick and false fantasy of purification.

"I'll admit, when I had you released from Vault 111 I had no expectations that you would survive out here, in all this."

This was the moment I truly felt cold and hurt. As if he threw a dagger right at me.

Shaun had been the one to release me.

It was him!

But he hadn't sought me up.

He hadn't intended to seek me out. I knew how hard it could be to love someone you never met, truly I did. I never knew my grandmother from Sweden and every visit felt strained as she kissed my cheeks and caught my hair between her wrinkled hands. As she expected me to be just like her own daughter and carry myself as her, sing as her.

How her broken and funny accent would ask why I didn't love music just as her and mom had done.

When I failed to deliver she somewhat understood, but the love she had developed, the view of me was different from what she was seeing in front of her. The fantasy of what her only grandchild was like. 'Mormor' Agnes had been kind. There was no denying that. But after mom's death we became distant and our relationship became as vacant as Shaun's and mine were now.

This was the first time I actually understood how she felt. How shrewd our realities were.

But this.. This was not my fault this time. I didn't put barriers between us because grandmother expected me to be different.

Shaun had done that, all by himself.

Now, as he revealed one of the many truths about my isolation from him his every word sank the knife of his betrayal deeper and deeper towards my core and soul.

He was unknowingly splitting my heart apart.

"But not only to do so, but manage to find me. To infiltrate the Institute itself.." Here he looked up while my eyes were pinned on my hands. "Extraordinary."

"Your unconditional love is overwhelming."

I felt his eyes on me, while mine resided on my fists in front of me. The rage on the breaking point was worse than the burn of his shock.

It wasn't hard for me to believe him as older. What made me surprised was how he felt at peace with it. But now I knew. Now I knew why.

He didn't care.

He won't ever care.

His hand landed on my shoulder. "I can accept you're offended. But you need to understand that I had no love to feel. We've been strangers until now, you and I."

"Why not let me out?"

His tone became a bit strained as he heard my teeth gnaw together. "Until I became director, I had no idea you where there. And after.. There was no initially.. Logical reason to do so. Certainly there was no necessary reason to keep you suspended.. I.. Well. I suppose I wanted to see what would happen. An experiment, of sorts. I had no idea what kind of woman you where. Would the commonwealth corrupt you, as it has everything else? Would you even survive?"

His eyes widened in horror as I launched forward.

I never reached him though--The courser had his hand around my throat in the next moment.

"I'd advise against taking to violence."

Shaun's face stared in wonder and fear as I merely kept my eyes pinned on him.

"I know you must feel angry and confused. But believe me it was for the greater good."

Greater good?!

All this time he could have had me released!

All this time we could have been together as a mother and child!

I would probably not have minded the experiment with synths, had they explained it.

Because when it really comes to it ; all they ever needed was some blood.

I would gladly have given it to them--Had it not been for their shrewd agenda. What really got to me was the way they went around this problem. The schemes and thefts. The deaths on their conscience.

That couldn't be allowed!

A greater future my ass!

Their future was drenched in blood.

And if I had anything to say about it ;

Their own!

This time I bit down so hard in my lip that it started to taste like iron. The synth holding around my throat didn't look as calm when I aimed for his throat, right at his adam's apple with my fist. He fell back, grunting in what must be pain. Normally I would have felt wondrous about that.

Now all I heard was a pulse. A ringing in my ear.

The false and wronged tune of Beethoven in the radio next to the door.

Shaun fell back and I assaulted, but instantly fell to my knees as I was brought back by the Iv thread connected to the bag in my arm. I went around, pulling it out from my arm and looked around again.

And then I felt the sting.

It took instant effect and I could feel my feet giving away and even the grunt became slured as I breathed out a curse. Shaun was breathing hard as I collapsed back in his arms.  

"Please! Can't we have a civil conversation?!"

He barked a bit unsteadily and I fell back in his arms. I merely stared at him as I was cast adrift.

The words were right at the tip of my tongue. Ready to scream.

But when I saw the concern in his eyes I held it back.

Even after all he had done. After those who had taken him from me had done I didn't have the heart to tell him.

Not even now. Not even now I dare to tell him.

To tell him how disappointed I am.

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

Once again I heard the irritating clicking of the piano.

The tune was the same as when I first awoke. The same as when I had fallen asleep.

FALSE. 

I want away from here. Away from this blasted place.

Away from the people who had ruined my life.

"I think you look wrongly on the synths."

He had been sitting there, in his chair for a long time. How long I don't know. I had simply continued to let my eyes remain shut as I felt the effects of the drug slowly vanish.

"You made that pretty clear the first time we met." I heard him sigh and walk up up, stepping closer to the bed. 

..And I felt my wrist chained at the side of the bed.

"Don't give me that." He sneered as I now opened my eyes. "You attacked me first."

A snort left as I let my head venture to the side and the giant round window. I was inside another room. This one was smaller, more like a confinement rather than a guest wing. The third floor from the looks of it, rather high up and with a good view of the landscape around us.

Away from prying eyes.

I felt like Mr. Rochester wife, trapped and hidden away from the world where none could see his shame.

Shaun wore a different shirt underneath his lab coat--Meaning that another day had dawned. Or evening, judging from the lights setting.

"The synths are our creations. You need to understand this."

"They live and breathe, do they not?" I countered with my face towards the window. "They even adapt."

He hummed a little at that. "That, is true, in a sense I suppose."

"You never considered to at least try to help?"

My tone was harsh, as it should be. In truth I was the parent and should be the one questioning his choices in life. He only sighed again. I didn't really need to explain.

He knew exaktly whom I meant.

"We've tried once, and look what it gave us. You of all should know, judging from history, how unfateful missionaries quests have been in the past."

I sighed with a nod and finally gave in to the smile I felt brewing as my head turned back to him. "Just as your grandfather. History Nerd to the core."

He looked at me, a bit surprised by the looks of it. An uncertain chuckle suddenly left him, along with a tiny smile. "It is a rather intriguing subject, one who needs to be remembered."

"So far as I've seen you seek to eradicate history." I said as I observed his facial features. The ones looking so incredibly alike my own dad. "By erasing it you also erase the guilt."

He looked even more pale now.

But frankly, I cared little. 

He had taken me back to this blasted Institute without consent to begin with.

"The guilt of what?"

His eyes rose up as he took a spin around the room, before finally looking back with a disgusted expression as one of his fingers lazely gestured back at me. "As far as I can tell it was people like you who demolished us."

It wasn't the the people in the saloons, not the paperboys or the farmers. Not the people in the stores and stands. Not the mothers and their children who yet had to commit to their first white lie. 

But science.

Science killed us.

"You found another kind of battlefield after all."

Shaun's voice.. It was just as threatening and disappointed as that of my grandfather when I walked through the door to his room in the hospital where he was resting. The few days before he passed away. The day I told him of my stipendium and of the mentor I had received.

Everyone else was envious of me.

But Grandpa.. He had been disgusted.

I now knew it was wrong to name my son after him. Because Shaun was nothing like my grandfather.

I wanted to change things. For better or worse.

Too late I realized for the worse.

"I didn't realize the records of my work during my university years would have been shown to you."

"And never did I realize my own mother could have been one of the leading minds on one of the greatest constructions in history."

My gaze became dark as I could see the fruit of my labor before me again. But now, two hundred years later I felt sick, seeing as it was rebuilded for the soul purpose of having my own child blown into pieces right as we speak. What had started as an idea became a weapon of war. And the one I had given the proposal too would laugh as I expressed my worry.

It was not entirely my design. I was merely holding the clipboard.

As a young and eager student getting high from the compliments I eagerly demonstrate my knowledge around robotics. Project after project. And when she was finnished, my boss couldn't be more proud. It wasn't money calling for my inspiration.

It was the challenge.

He had been extremely charismatic and a famous technician. Everyone would gasp as we saw him enter the corridor of the old university. And as he stepped inside the classroom. As soon as the teacher announced the chance to be his apprentice--As soon as our eyes locked, I knew he would pick me.

We were a great team. I dare say that. Had it not been for my husband I would probably have thanked yes to his proposal and moved back to Las Vegas with him. Maybe I would have said yes. It was incredibly teasing. But judging from how others who denied him their time it would have been foolish to. His brother had not been so lucky.

I'm glad I didn't. Not after the revelation of what his project had ended as.

"My dear, dear girl. Nothing to impede progress. If you want to see the fate of democracies, look out the windows.

I produce robotics. What the army does is their business.

You should know better than to judge."

"Science.. And intelligence seems to be our best trait. The desire to know more. About.." Here Shaun gestured big as he walked the room. "Everything." 

"Vita."

He turned, staring at first. But then he slowly nodded with a wide grin."Life!"

While my grandfathers grandfather had been a man of death, his son had been one of life.

A doctor who saved more than a fair deal of lifes. His son, in turn, my grandfather, became a soldier. A thing he later regretted, but never told me to shy away from. He meerly told me to protect. I thought a warrior could do that. When I was denied military service out of my mother's ilness, and gender, I decided to study medecine.

Fisher wanted to prolong life.

Once I thought I wanted to stop cancer.

And Shaun..

Shaun wants to change life.

That much was obvious from seeing his children walking around outside the window on the lower levels.

He and those before him had created a world, unimaginable for me, had I not seen it with my own eyes. They had breached the gates of heaven and wielded the same weapon as God. But the creatures in his Garden weren't happy citizens.

They looked trapped.

"Am I your prisoner?"

I don't know if he felt hurt by that question. Possibly not, from the blank expression I received back.

"No. You are free to leave at any time. But I think you'd be happy to stay."

There was something eager in his voice and admittingly curious I tilted my head to the side.

"Why?"

He smiled then with an expression I only could describe as hungry. As in, hungry to know over my reaction. A man of science and curiosity was testing me. "You looked at the synth child with an open mind. I think.. I hope you will do this now. I figured you'd be lonely. Don't worry, far as he can tell he's the real deal. Just as young Shaun. You will have a family again."

Confused I continued to look at my grown son as he stepped towards the end of the room and opened the door.

But as soon as I saw it open, as soon as I saw it step in I felt like I could faint.

As soon as I saw the face of one I once had loved I felt sick.

Like I was about to puke right there. I looked at my boy, feeling the sickness grow.

I rarely cried as a child. The tears sort of dried up when mother died. I had to be strong, for father. When Nate came back I had to stay strong for him. Before this encounter, I thought I could cry out to Danse, and even Shaun.

A mistake I now came to realize. There was nothing stopping the shivering fear streaming down my neck as I heard the genuine tone of the copy. His hands were so, so disgusting. His voice wrong. And his eyes.. Both the one holding me tight to it's heaving chest, and the one observing me from the side of the room. The pair of eyes who I once had adored.

They were now just plain and evil.

Shaun's way of showing love was just crude and wicked.

Wrong.

For the first time in life I felt regret.

Regret over the life I had carried inside my womb.

What the hell have I given birth to?

Chapter Text

"Nick? Is that you?"

Ellie's surprised gaze instantly changed into somber when she saw the devastation that the synth couldn't hold back. Silently he looked away and closed the door behind him before wandering further inside the room, trying to ignoring the sympathetic look that his assistant would give him.

".. Nothing?"

"She's gone." He hummed back. "No clues, nothi--" 

Here he stopped mid-sentence as he went deep in thought while he fell down in his chair by the desk.

Truth was he got one theory. And despite the disappointment for her action he knew that she must have been desperate to even have that option coincided. Agonized even. For Nick, Nick he knew. Knew how she despised and absolutely loathed those who she now had sought shelter from. Maybe that's why this disturbed him more than he would have liked to admit. To actually go on ahead and willingly do so felt a bit odd, if not random. It seemed like the lesser outcome. But then again, why weren't she deep inside the Vault?

Nick fell deeper down in his chair with crossed brows.

Why hadn't he been there?

Ellie did what she always would do when Nick came back home. She took his coat and when she was about to reach for his hat the Synth-Detective had placed his skeleton hand on it.

"I'll keep it, thanks."

Ellie's hand dashed back quicker than she had intended. She stared before finally lastly nodding as she went about the office. "..Of course, sir." 

Nick let out a breathless sigh as he folded his arms above his chest and observed as his assistant took his coat over to the rack on the wall. His frown only deepened as he saw her stiff posture and how long it took her to do so. Which only brought him to sigh again. The synth knew she had already had seen it. But he'd keep his mouth shut none the less.  Because Nick didn't want to worry Ellie with his thoughts. Not right now.

It wasn't before he saw a pair of long, delicate fingers brace the table's surface that he returned to the focus at hand.

Ellie gave him an uncertain smile as the few, yellowed documents landed in his hands.

"It's been quiet on this end, Mr.Valentine."

"As it was meant to be.." Nick hummed, distantly.

"It's supposidly quiet, Nick."

Eyes, dim, filled with sorrow. Pain, crossing over her brows. Meant to be quiet, meant to be a fresh start.

Yes, Sanctuary was suposed to be quiet. It still where, but in a whole different perspective. It had become that fresh start that she so longed for, and in time, doom. But it was only to bloom up into a whole new haven for new settlers by. Preston, along with the ghost of the past had rebuilded the newly created.

But, oh. False.

"I do like the water here."

Nick only looked up, startled by the sudden notion. As much as Nick hated to admit it, he had kept staring at Ellie's hands and not the papers in front of him. Disencouraged, not to mention not overly convinced he let out a forced breath.

Because he did not really know how to answer otherwise. 

Because he could not really appreciate it in the way she did.

And neither did she really need to offer him one to take for himself. After all, he couldn't consume it. After a few days when she first started to work for him she had finally learned that he didn't drink or eat. That he didn't even have the need for sleep.

All that he did need was an open mind and a pair of ears from time to time.

His existence must be a lonely one, Ellie had thought the very first time they met.

She had only been a child back then, hardly a year over fifteen. But from the very first moment when he placed himself in between those raiders and her she had been smitten by that so very alien pair of eyes. The hum of his voice. The touch of his steel hand. She admired the will to constantly keep going, despite seeing everyone age and die from him. Yet he still surrounded himself with people. He still developed friendships. She had been tempted to ask him why, but thought it was best left unsaid. It might be that he never thought of it like that. And if she mentioned it, he would and dig himself deeper.

"And.. You haven't seen anything?"

By the irritated wave by the Synth's hand she instantly snapped her mouth shut.

He had taken her disappearance quite hard. He might try to reason, to appear oblivious, but she could tell. When it came to Nick she could always tell when something was amiss. But she thought the whole thing as rather strange ; Nick rarely let someone as close in as that Vault-Dweller. Not even Ellie. Maybe she reminded him of someone in the past. She didn't know and couldn't tell.

Which brought Ellie to a new way of thinking.

She did admire the Vault-dweller. She had saved Nick in the past and brought him back to her. But after all the time spent with her the Synth's assistant couldn't help but to feel a bit.. Jealous about it.

What was so good about her?

"I'll find her." Nick's voice boomed as he pulled the tip of his hat lower over his eyes.

Ellie instantly let out a breath through her nose, finished her cup with one swift go, turned, then took her own sweater that hung over the back of her chair. She had already pulled one arm through when she turned back to Nick, waking him up from his deep thoughts.

"I'm going to bed, if that's alright, Mr Valentine."

Nick snapped back to reality, looked up at the young girl, then at the repaired clock on the wall. He had not even noticed how late it was. It had been dark when they exited the Vault.

She had been waiting for him?

All those hours?

The detective slowly looked back towards Ellie, who stood ready by the door. Disencouraged he waved her to head back.

Ellie had insisted of tagging along this time, since she so colorfully had said that 'you always manage to be gone for long periods of times every time the Vault-Dweller calles for you'. That in turn had led into another heated argument but after some time he then allowed it. Having some companionship would do him good. And he did enjoy having her along for the ride, even if he felt worried about having to look after her while on the road.

"Of course, Ellie. Take all the rest you need."

She nodded, a bit distantly as she closed the door.

He looked after her a bit longer, hoping..

Here he turned back to the reports on the table and picked one up with a vibrating sigh as he leaned even deeper into the 'comfy' chair that he, in reality, couldn't distinguish from soft or hard.

All he knew is that it was soft, but he couldn't feel the difference, because he felt no ache.

Another hum escaped him as he noticed this.

He had worked to get his voice more human-like and as far away from the synths that the institute constructed. All in order to be recognized. Despite all the flawing skin and pieces of metal showing he is still synth and could, if not careful, be mistaken for someone else. The chip from the old Mr Handy was no longer in use so he didn't really feel ashamed about borrowing it from the dead robot.

Dead..

No. He shook his head as he caught his own chin.

He could not afford to think her dead. He needed to keep going.

His eyes went to the side and towards the other house where only a few candles lit up the small bedroom.

"Did Skinny do this to you?"

His eyes dove down equally as fast from the reflection from the window-glass as he saw the deep cracks in his silicon skin.

He had often wondered if he should change his appearance, not just his hat or coat. Maybe he should try to apply new skin, or a wig.

Maybe he should get one of them fancy treatments to change the construction of his mug all together.

But he had grown used to the face he now wore, even if badly damaged. Changing it meant maybe disturbing the others. Besides, he could hardly even remembered what the man he had been copied from even had looked like.

There was no image in his head, just words from what others had told him.

The one he had been born from had, according to others, been a rather good-looking chap with a well-shaved, cleft chin and brown, well-oiled hair. His fathers ties had been Italian, his mother's side Jewish and they mostly came from New York. His favorite grub had been pasta with tomato sauce. He liked whisky on rainy days. He loved Jazz. Still does. Sol had humored him and spun a few tales when they spent the night in Goodneighbor. As they both came from the same time, they remembered the same shops, some of the people before the war. The best theaters, the best movies.

And most of all, he remembered his friend.

It was when he had listened to an old tape in his office when she stopped by that he had understood. Understood why he had thought her familiar. And when she pulled off her mask, he truly understood.

It was when he saw her sky-blue eyes along with her wheat-blonde hair for the very first time that he understood why he cared so much.

"Uncle Nick!"

Flahses, images he had told her once.

In reality, a dream. 

Their voices were remarkably alike.

Their eyes the same.

And most of all, the way the both of them could smile.

The child of his best friend he had thought as a sparkling bolt of energy had now grown up. It wasn't long after the discovery that he had come to grow to know something else.

Nostalgia.

It felt so different to talk with someone from his own time.

A bit refreshing.

But then he would remember that those memories wasn't his to remember and he would sink deep into thought, in which she clasped around his shoulder.

"They're your memories as much as Nick's."

Nick the synth might consider himself a copy of Nick the human. But Sol had seen them as two different individuals. Or twins. Or the synthetic one might be a son of the biological. Either way, the later version liked himself a bit better after that. 'He' stopped blaming 'himself' for liking the same things, remembering 'his' parents with warmth.

He would remember the days by the recording studio, laughing as they smoked and talked for hours without end. He would remember the soft caress of Jenny's hand as her fingers traced his wrinkles around his eyes. Earlier he would have felt ashamed. Ashamed for the love he somewhat still felt for her. Ashamed how the memories of her gentle touch still made his heart, well, theoretically, leap away.

He didn't remember everything, just flashes. But that was enough. Enough to make him feel the anger and hurt.

It was so strange. He can hear, see..

But he can not taste.

And neither can he feel.

Warmth, cold. Not even the slightest shiver with pain.

Nothing. 

And that is too much to have.

That nothingness.

It didn't go a week before someone commented how nice it would be to have a body without a need for sleep or pain.

That hurt. 

Because Nick can't remember the taste of bread. He can't remember what feeling sore was like to experience. What warmth feels like. He need to think, all the time before doing something. Because pain is a warning. That's why he lackes a hand and parts of his face. Nothing warnes him now from taking care of himself.

Truth is he wants to feel human. 'Cause he doesn't feel like one. 

When he saw Curie for the first time he felt a certain sting and eager. It was enough to make him think that perhaps he could become human again, to some extent anyway.

Woul you be ready to kill someone for that?

The Detective quickly leaped up from his chair by the desk, looking back on his reflection in the glass, before turning his eyes away with shame.

That question, that one that kept bugging him still festered his mechanical mind. It would float up now and then. It had ever since he greeted Curie, not as a robot, but as a human being with his flawed hand.

And would he be willing?

No. Never.

Nick, if anyone, hates death.

And most of all he is afraid of it. And no matter how much he wants to be someone he doesn't want to kill someone else for it, bad, good--That doesn't matter. He doesn't want to be a synth who steal other's lives just to get one for himself. He doesn't want to loose his sanity for a goose chase.

That sort of jeopardy feels exaktly like Arthur and his knights as they sought the holy grail. But this was no holy mission sent out by god.

The Miss Nanny's feat had been possible through the death of a fellow synth. Sure, her brain had been reset to an endless sleep. But in Nick's eyes her action was the action of theft. 

If not murder.

None the less he still kept feeling that sting. That burn.

What he still keep feeling is jealousy.

And jealousy is a sin.

Many would undoubtedly think it as strange that a Synth would refer to biblical quotes, after all, he hadn't been given life the normal way. Perhaps the religious part of him had belonged to the old Nick. Or maybe it was something that had grown forth as he learned more and more about his current body. Maybe it was something brought forward from desperation.

A way to feel human again. To re-connect.

But despite how much he tries he'll never be one. No matter how much he reads through the bible he'll never get to feel peace or receive any answers.

And most of all he know there most certainly is no afterlife in Heaven waiting for him.

And he know there wont be an hell either. 

Because Nick, he is a programming. 

A bunch of wires along with plastic and metal. His soul is not real. Merely a copy from someone long since dead.

That made him frightened.

He does not have a single piece of flesh in, or on him. Yet he can see.

And worst of all he remembers.

Waking up in this new body had been a painful process.

Because then, he really thought he was Nick. He thought he had grown up with his parents on Boston Street. He thought his fiancee had been his. 

"Christ. Look at you.

You're not even alive."

Then, boom. It was all a sham.

It was moments like those that made Nick happy to have his friends close at his back.

It was not about him or even her. It was about doing what's right. And she brings that out in him.

And.. 

Nick let away a deep breath as he stepped to the hall and took a quick peek inside the bedroom on the other side.

For all her graces, Ellie isn't not a beautiful sleeper. She snored and sometimes even drooled. He never had the heart to tell her that. She already sacrificed so much of her time to perfect her looks. It was his secret.

A secret thing he adored about her.

Innocence.

This world lacks that now. It is all about death and sacrifice. About who is the leader, who is fit to rule. The world is sick, but with Ellie it slowly turned better. She was his cure.

His and his alone. He had seen her devastated, happy all together. And it was for him to know. Only him.

He quickly let the blanket swoon over her naked shoulders. He stiffened as he saw her turn in the bed. He nearly laughed when he saw some hair that had managed to fall over her forehead and slowly let it slide over her ear.

Funny.

At times Nick thought he need her compassion and warmth like others need air to breathe.

"Have you tried telling her?"

Just as quickly as his hand had taken hold of her hair it fell back.

And then he fell back, back and out in the hallway once more.

Ellie always insisted on keeping taps on him. She is young, rather cute too. And after a few years he had asked her why she didn't bother seeking after a soulmate. He thought she wasted her time in his company.

From the flush coloring her face he had been able to tell.

And he knew he thought the exakt same thoughts.

But he knew, already back then, that the feelings disturbing him is wrong.

Because Ellie.. She will die one day.

She will age and whiter while Nick will remain just the same. Just like before. He will forever continue without any purpose while the rest will vanish away. Away and to far better places than the ones he were forced to walk. He hate those times, those times that he needed to stay put. He will never be able to follow the whole way. Which in his thoughts meant..

That there would be no point behind it.

He will never feel her.

Nor will he be able to give.

He will just be.

And he will be alone.

"Glory, come on.."

Suddenly interrupted in his train of thoughts Nick looked to the side and at the empty, one leveled home across the street. The crushed home where he saw the two strangers from yesterday walk. The guy had grabbed hold of the woman's arm, pulling her back just as she had been about to throw open the door the the old, wrecked house.

"He's obviously not worth the hassle. She ain't either."

"You don't know him like I do, Deacon."

"Do you honestly think he'd ever care about you synths? Just because he is one doesn't make him good!"

"Do you think he'd ever care about people outside his cult?"'

Once again Nick fell back in his memories that remained as fresh as if it just had occurred. The moment where her eyes, for the first time in their history widened with disbelief. Because Nick.. Nick didn't trust Danse. In turn, she had been looking incredibly angered by the Detective's predicament.

"Sure, he's a synth now. But he'll always be reeking Brotherhood."

"Stop it, Nick. You're not my dad."

"Someone ought to be!"

Someone ought to be.

'Cause, if you stop and think about it, she's a kid off her own. Twenty-four years ain't nothing in a world like this when you only lived in it for for one.

And that was the last time time he'd seen her before her disappearence. The time when she asked for his help to find Danse. He had said no. Out of necessity and for her own safety he had told himself when she walked out on him. He saw it as his own duty to protect her from the harsh reality he had come to know. Especially since his predecessor had been a close friend of her mother.

Out of petty differences, he later came to realize.

"Decon. Trust me. There's more to Danse than you know."

"Danse is my mentor. He is my friend.

I won't let Maxon take him away."

Nick sighed yet again as he fell down in his chair.

Sol was not the only one who saw the good points in Danse. But what Glory wanted with the fellow synth bugged him. Far as he could tell, they were not in good terms. But Nick isn't an idiot either.

They knew one another from before.

She was likely an ol' flame. It made Nick's circuitry twitchy, but Danse was his own man. And his friend, her own woman. He would not put his nose where it didn't belong. He knew that much.

And he knew she would come back.

Because.. When it all came to it..

She always did.

`'..i._.'iIi'._.i..'´

"Danse!"

And once again I was being forced into glare down on Victoria.

No, excuse me.

Glory. 

"Leave me alone already."

The new woman standing in front of me weren't called Victoria anymore. But in reality they were exaktly one and the same. Besides her haircut and name she weren't any different from before. Duing all those years she hasn't eveloped a single trait. She's just as impulsive, crazy and egoistic as before.

What I need is to think, to come up with a solution. But she's in the way.

"Won't you get it into your thick skull already? I'm trying to help you out here!" 

I went up from the desk and walked towards the exit, somewhere I could be left alone and in peace. To think.

"He could've tried to show some concinderation."

Irritated my eyes fell on the bloke by the door. He hung against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Despite it being almost pitch black he refused to have his glasses removed, which only made his shady apprearence even more unnerving.

"Get out." I growled as I turned around towards the bedroom. "I want nothing to do with you."

"Hey, what a shocker." Here he laughed as he went up from the wall and over to me and were Victoria were standing. "Are you really sure we need this guy?"

Once again she stood in my path, holding my bottle of whisky in her right hand. "She's inside, but that doesn't mean you should take it to the end of the bottle!"

My eyes remained in front as I stared angerly forward.

She's inside.

"Back up."

Both Nick and I knew that the Institute wanted more than just her son now. And none besides her knew how the machine that she had built worked back at the castle. Besides, it's broken.

I have no way of getting her back.

I'm not like her, a genious with machines or tech. I build, I repair guns. Compleatly useless now. There is abslutely nothing I can do about it. Nothing. The only one I know with enough expertice is Sturges, and he seemes like a bafoon. And the only other is..

Ingram.

But she thinks I'm dead.

Besides, she'd never help me now.

Not now when I'm a synth.

"There got to be a way."

Victoria sighed as she looked to the side. "No. Not even our own mecanic could find a way inside. Only your friend could."

She shook when I threw my fist in the wall.

I should have been more careful. More insisstant to let her stay where she could be safe. Ingram and all the others agreed that she'd be better suited to act as a scribe rather than a knight. But she didn't want to act as such.

Not when she saw her.

After the revival, Sol did anything she could to avoid going back to our base. Always had exuses ready to dawdle our time. Ghouls, farms needing purchase agreements, settelers having their families threatened.. I still remember the shock in her voice when we first saw our new project back at the airport.

That time when she was allowed the privilege to see Liberty Prime in all her glory for the very first time.

But it wasn't really the first time, was it?

"Incredible isn't he?" I had bragged with a wide smile as I looked up on the giant robot, as I marveled for the engineering. "Prewar technology at it's best."

"She.. It's a she.."

But unlike so many others she hadn't gasped. She hadn't been shocked, surprised or even amazed. Unlike any other she had only looked, quiet and let her head nod from side to side.

Unlike all the others her gaze would point down instead of up.

"Not again.."

At the time I hadn't understood.

But I do now.

"I won't let House's pet get in my way again."

She had recognized 'Otto', the one who had her frozen all those years ago.

Because Otto had been a fellow student. From C.I.T.

Or rather.. From the Commonwealth Institute of Technology.

Not to mention, the original forfathers and creators of the Institute.

"Who were you? Before the war, I mean."

"Boring."

Who was she, before the war?

Clearly someone else other than I knew.

But her expertice around techonology, robotics and knowledge about former Boston had beed needed. So I didn't question her as much as Rhys.

Her precence made everyone's morale better. Our hope only heightened as she walked the floors of the airship. To us, the others and especially to me she was an icon of what a true soldier, what our ideals should be resorted to. I couldn't feel more proud as a mentor and as a friend to see her rise in rank. I took great pleassure in seeing one of my own recruits show off what the people from the wasteland was cabable off. What we're made off.

It was not like so many of the lesser grades thought ; through fucking.

It was because she bled and fought for us. Because she cared. Because she used her resolve. Because I believed in her. And I truly did believe that she believed in us.

In me.

Until I found her, kicking the door to one of the airports room bathroom stalls. Where she silently screamed, without her mask on.

Where she stared up, bloodshot.

She is human. A human that made faults like any other. But just as with Arthur people didn't see that. They saw the true ideal of where and how a soldier should strive to achieve.

When Arthur was but a boy he had been weeping next to my arm, seeking comfort. And just as the rest I had pushed him to think like a soldier. Walk like a soldier. Eat, drink. Sleep.

Act.

Because just as the rest I had motivated him to think that he was born in steel. That steel ran through his veins like that of his forefathers. With the Lyons in charge no one knew what our foundation had been. Who our creator had been.

What our purpose had been.

The other two nearly jumped two meters high when my fist found the wall.

I had been fuiling the anger and hatred for my kind in the Elder.

"Danse.."

"I get it, already. Just leave me, synth."

Her hand found my cheek again.

"Wow wow wow! Is that really--"

"Deacon, leave! I'll handle this!"

The guy in the glasses stared, looked at me, but then left while I looked up, feeling regret for causing her to frown like that.

"We're not human, Danse. But I still feel emotions. Just fucking calm down, 'aight?"

I know that we feel.

That we feel regret, sorrow. Pride..

"This campaign will be costly and many lives will be lost. But in the end, we will be saving humankind from its worst enemy.. Itself.

Ad Victoriam!"

We.. Feel hope.

"I really am sorry about your friend, Danse. I know it's hard, but for now we'd better focus, not drink."

It took me a while before I answered, becase I hate being wrong. My eyes slowly went to the bottle I had in my hand and as it went into hers. "I know. It's just.. I just.."

"I know, too."

 _'-II-'_

It became strangely quiet after that.

And for the most part, we just leaned against the wall, with her leaning towards my shoulder.

It felt as if we were ten years back, but this time we knew a heck of a lot more about one another. Or well, I knew more about me. VIctoria, she always knew.

"So, you knew, the whole time."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you.. I mean.. Did we flee together or.."

Here she caught her temples, frustrated by the looks of it. "Danse, now really ain't the time.."

"Oh? You're telling me there's better times revealing that you knew of my past? I guess I need to make an appoin--"

"Believe me, I had a long time figuring this out." She snarled. "I know this is hard for you. I shouldn't have come out as pushy. But when I.. When I found you here.. And when I found out what happened with Cutler I just lost it."

I frowned.

"Was Cutler a synth?"

"No." Here I suddenly heard how she snorted and I turned my head down, seeing her smile sadly. "He was a real, breathing scumbag." I couldn't help but to let out some air as I felt a smile grow on my own. She chuckled along with me. "And he was out friend. I sometimes really miss our little trio, back when."

"Oi, ser knight! Get over here."

As always, my mouht had been filled with food. But once I saw her smile almost everything left.

The moment when she had the small little soldier dancing in the air.

"Did you make this?

The first time I met Victoria I stood in the old, thrown-together stall, the one I sold metal and small things I tinkered together in. Sometimes father's would buy their kids the toys I made. Rocketships, little people. Had I told anyone on the Prydwen they would likely have laughed. Most wouldn't beleive I like art and to create things.

Especilly since I'm known for being a destroyer.

And as always my tounghe became thicker in my mouth. I had seen that girl before. She liked to talk with Cutler, alot. He'd always complain on how he never managed to charm her. That she seemed allergic to men.

"I.. Yes."

And she blinked, slowly as she picked up the little dog made from polished metal.

"Who would have thought you would continue.." 

"I don't understand.. You knew all along?"

"How intelligent of you, sir knight. "She huffed, only to later give me a smug, one-sided grin as she went up and further inside the kitchen. I remember once thinking that smile as the most beautiful thing in the world. She seemed to think it still.

Now, as I saw her strut before me I felt disgust.

She went around the area, seemingly trying to understand everything about the scenery and its story. "About fifteen years ago, you supposedly fled from the Institute."

"I've gathered that already. Tell me what you know.. About the man I was before?"

"What's the point?" She laughed. "The old you is dead, M7-97."

It chilled my spine to hear her say that with such ease.

"Don't call me that!"

"Oh, right." She huffed once again. "Danse. But, tell me.. Wouldn't you rather be named something else, since that man is gone as well?"

My eyes turned dark as I looked forward. "No--"

"Because you seem to flee from everything. Your old life, your betrayal to the Brotherhood.."

And here, fast as a flash her hand was around my throat.

"Cutler's death."

I stared. For a long time as her eyes remained in mine.

And then, the most curious laughter escaped her throat. "We had known one another back then, but you were.. Let's just say I was surprised to see you in Rivet City."

"Really?" I said as my brow furrowed even furhther.

"Can you blame me? You weren't exactly the fighting type back then. Skinny, hell.. You were afraid of violence!"

Red as a tomato I puched her to the side as I went forward. And I was glad to admit that Sol wasn't around to hear more of my.. Unpolished past. It was embarrassing enough to have it revisited inside my head, let alone recited for me. "Why would I remove my memory? Wouldn't it have been easier to stay away from them if I remained.. Well, had I remained 'me'?"

Her face became a bit tired by the looks of it. Slowly she slipped further inside the room, where the broken fridge stood. "I agree, but that's not the Railroad's way."

"Not their way?"

"Most synths live through hell, they tend to become.. Dangerous, even to themselves. Removing that peice of their past is like.. Removing a tumor. They get healthy, happy."

"You kill them!"

She sighed. "Some would say that. But please, enlighten me. Do you see anyone around to help them get over their personal issues? Any helthcentres like back before the war?"

I remained quiet.

It was true. Even if I hated to admit it. Because I know I'd rather stayed me than to be reborn like I have been. Better to stay me and remember, how to avoid, to know what I am. I know nothing now, and I feel stuiped for it.

"Thing is.." Her face became somber as she looked at me. "Truth is you've remained relatively the same person. Your personality hasn't been altered in any way."  She suddenly stiffened up. "Well, back when with Cutler."

"I didn't kill you so that you could join those fucking maniacs, Danse!"

No.

That was not the entirety of the truth.

That was just another sign that Victoria was lying, or rather, avoiding the question. Again. She'd always been good at it, one of the many reasons that I eventually tired from it and sent her through the exit.

"Fine, if that's how it's gonna be you can see yourself out."

Angered she went up from the floor, only to point me in the ribs.

"Don't you dare give me that! I bled for you! I killed--for you! You got no right to tell me--" And just as quickly, her mouth went shut as she snored out a curse throgh her clenched teeth. "I did what had to be done, damn the consequenses. Ambrosia wouldn't have liked to see what you've become."

I frowned. "Who the hell is Ambrosia?"

"Your mother."

My jaw dropped.

I had a mother?

"Not your real one, of course." She corrected quickly. "But, there was an old woman in the Institute. She always wanted a child. You used to clean her quarters and ended up spending a lot of time talking with her, playing board games, chess. You became the family she never had."

I instantly felt like spitting this old, probably dead, bat in the face. "Why? If they were so 'nice' to begin with, why did she even need my company?"

"She was sick. While the humans were busy following their projects you were willingly spending time with her. That's what you and I hated most about the Institute, how they ignored, even their own kind! It's all about projects and experiments, not the need of lives."

Then she looked back at me again.

"You wonder how you got out? Ambrosia is that reason, so hold some fucking respect."

"Why? I don't give a piss abou--"

Glorys fist found my face again.

"Don't you DARE!" Another hit. "Ambrosia was the best thing that happened to us! The only good thing!"

My fist went back.

And so it went on again. Me, trying to overcome Glory's hands, her, trying to reach my throat. We went from wall to wall, the floor, chairs broken.. And the old album, in the shelf, it looked just as damaged as before.

"What was so good about this woman anyway?! They're all the same!"

"Ambrosia wasn't! Most days you just stayed by her side, holding her hand so she wouldn't feel lonely!" She screamed as she threw another chair. I pushed it aside and let my hands find her shoulders. "She confided in you in a way like no other! About when they took Shaun and--"

Here she stopped and stared, as if she had said something she couldn't take back.

Which.. Was entierly true.

From the time they had taken Shaun, she had said.

And then I stared. I stared.

From below she stared, rosy red in her face.

And then the grip around Glory became strained.

She noticed and quickly tried to get away.

I really had been right in my earlier prediciment. 

I had been weak-- I had been disgusting! 

For I had consorted with the very woman who had taken the one we had spent almost a year looking for.

 I had befriended the one who ruined my lovers life!