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A radiation storm strikes when they enter Goodneighbor, and Nora nearly trips on her feet with Shaun walking so closely at her heels. When he murmurs a sheepish apology, she wordlessly drapes an arm around his shoulders in a comforting gesture, earning an unreadable glance from Valentine. Inside the Memory Den she's greeted with the image of Irma prettily draped on her chaise, and off to the side Kent is jetting in a memory lounge while he relives a world gone. She doesn't blame him, because she's intimately familiar with the temptation of never letting go -- but in the end, she thinks the only thing worse than reality is the illusion of something that's not even yours.
Even with the Institute destroyed and the Railroad all but disbanded, Doctor Amari continues to maintain her operations in the lower floors of the building. She's waiting for them when they arrive -- exactly on time -- but Shaun stops short in the doorway and gives his mother a look. He's curious and intelligent, and for a moment she thinks he knows more than he lets on, but then he pouts childishly and makes an exaggerated groan.
"Do I have to?" he drawls, pulling a face.
"It's just a check-up, Shaun. You went through a lot last week and we want to make sure you're okay," Nora patiently explains, pushing his hair away from his face.
"Don't worry, kid, I come here all the time," Valentine adds, patting his arm. "It'll be over before you know it."
Shaun relents with a long sigh and drags his feet as he crosses the room toward Amari. The doctor watches him with a hesitant expression, before looking to Nora, and then to Valentine. Her mouth twitches like she wants to say something, however she reconsiders and remains silent instead. After an awkward moment, Valentine clears his throat to break the tension, but it's Nora that speaks first.
"He's waiting, Amari," she says, and though the exhaustion is obvious in her voice, there is an edge of warning to her words. When Amari wavers again, Nora levels a look with her. "We've already talked about this."
Just as she expects Amari to argue, the doctor instead frowns deeply, before guiding Shaun to the lounger. Nora watches closely as he's seated and gently hooked into the chair, all the while ignoring Valentine's heavy gaze on the back of her head. Just as Amari goes to close the pod, Shaun sits up.
"Mom?"
Nora winces at the word, but steps forward all the same. She's had to listen to him call her that for a week, and each time it makes her stomach turn unpleasantly. "I'm here," she says softly.
"When we're finished, can we stop at the market?" he questions with a hopeful expression. On their way in she noticed him eyeing some junk on display -- apparently, like the real Shaun's father, he liked to tinker.
"Sure thing," she says, smiling. After a pause, she tilts her head and gives him a look. "Now stop stalling."
Shaun grins and rests his head back on the chair, before looking at Amari expectantly. Awkwardly, the doc smiles back, before slowly shutting the glass door on the pod. "Whenever you're ready," she says, not quite looking at Nora as she rests her finger on the console. She doesn't push the button yet, as if giving Nora the opportunity to reconsider.
"Go on," Nora firmly says, folding her arms.
In an instant the machine begins to hum, and Shaun's eyes slowly flutter closed as his breathing evens out. Valentine is standing more closely to her than she realized, and when she gives him a sidelong look, she observes his metal hand twitch as if he's considering whether or not to reach out and comfort her. She doesn't give him the chance to decide, and instead approaches Amari with a stern look.
"He won't remember?" she asks, just to be sure.
"He won't," Amari confirms, grim.
Nora pauses, her expression unreadable, before nodding. "Good," she says, and she means it.
She doesn't even glance at the child-synth as she leaves the room. Outside the building, she stands beneath the awning as she waits for the rain to relent, staring at the green sky as she lights up a cigarette. After a couple of minutes, Valentine eventually joins her, lights up as well, and they're silent for a long moment as the smoke curls between them. When she told him her plans for the child-synth, the detective was taken aback and more than a little uneasy -- but he didn't judge or challenge her decision. Instead, he did much worse: he pitied her, or maybe it was himself he was pitying.
"After they complete the memory wipe and facial reconstruction, I don't want to know his identity," Nora says, flicking cigarette ash to the pavement.
"You won't," Valentine reassures her. "Within a couple of days he'll have a new life far away from the Commonwealth."
Nora nods and says nothing. She thought this might be hard, that she might feel guilty, that she would have trouble letting go. But the truth is.... it feels a lot like she can finally breathe. Since leaving Vault 111 the grief for her husband and child has weighed heavy on her chest -- crushing and suffocating -- and although it was her loss keeping her alive, it was also the same thing killing her. Maybe now that she has nothing to hold onto, she can finally fall -- finally mourn her family, let go, and move on.
She stomps her cigarette beneath her boot, and begins to walk away. Hesitantly, however, she backtracks a couple of steps before picking the filter off the ground and dropping it into the bin. As they leave Goodneighbor, the rain ceases and the sky brightens considerably -- a warm afternoon sun. She'll never be able to go back to the way things were, and she'll never be able to escape it either, but she's been given a chance to move forward, and for the first time in awhile she feels something like hope.