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Just admit I’m right about this.
“It’s just a pack of ferals, Dez. I don’t need a goddamn escort.”
Don’t need. Doesn’t matter.
“Take Whisper with you, just in case.”
“No fucking way. You wanna risk blowing her cover? Whisper needs a break anyway.”
“Then take Shepard.”
“Shepard’s needed to clear the route by Tricon. I’ll be fine on my own Dez.”
Then stay here – That’s what she wanted to say, but the words became “It’s Desdemona when we’re on duty, Glory” as they left her.
Objective. Stay objective. Glory working solo means more agents in play, more people getting the rest they need. It’s the smart move. The mission – the cause – it matters more than any of them –
(but not Glory. Never more than her) –
and she pushes that thought deep, deep down as she focuses so hard on reports that all the words run together and she bites her nails
(always a sign of worry that Sam used to tease her about. What do we have to worry about out here? Aside from the raiders and the supermutants and the ferals and the rad storms? She pushes that down, too. Sam is the last thing she wants to think about when Glory is in the field.)
Just admit I’m right about this
The words are unsaid, hanging between them.
(“Take someone, anyone,” she doesn’t say because she needs these agents elsewhere. “You can’t keep mourning Tommy forever,” is another one unsaid, because Glory’s fire and anger and grief keeps her safe and, oh god (there’s irony in praying in a broken church, she thinks), she needs her to be safe)
“They’ll be trying to get through the church,” Glory yells, over the sound of fighting and dying. “I’ll hold them off!” And she’s gone, one woman and her minigun against the best that the Brotherhood can throw at them. They need everybody in the crypt. The bastards are everywhere and they’re outmatched –
“Hawkeye! Snowflake!” There’s no good reason why she picks them. They’re just the agents closest to her. “Go with Glory. Keep each other safe.”
Just admit I’m right about this. Please.
When the battle in the crypt is over, Deacon, Dez and Whisper find the three of them slumped against the wall near the tunnel entrance. Snowflake is injecting a cocktail of stimpacks and med-x into her injured arm, and her eyes are bright when she says she’s ready to take the fight to the bastards at the BOS this time, even as she winces in pain.
And there’s Glory, staggering to her feet, exhausted and crashing after the adrenaline rush of a fight to the death, but she’s grinning and so wonderfully alive and she picks up Dez and swings her around, the two of them laughing like they’re on a date.
“Hell yeah, we won!”
Not yet Dez thinks. But we will. Together.