Chapter Text
Nick will admit that his first impression of the Institute is genuine awe.
That flash of light and feeling the very bits of his being separated and then reformed whole and hale is what magic must feel like. He can’t fathom anything else as he stands in shock in the small room they’ve appeared in. It reminds him of something he might have seen on Captain Cosmos’ spaceship with its perfect glass tubes, wires neatly aligned, and copper coils glistening.
Then, there is a profound disappointment when the Courser leads him into a dingy, prewar room. It’s sparse, sad, and could belong to any old office building in Boston. The magic is gone in a second.
“Where are we goin’?” Nick asks as the Courser strides to the elevator at the room's far end. That at least doesn’t look like the death traps on the surface.
“First, we must report to Synth Retention. Then I will take you to Jack.” The Courser presses a button to call the elevator.
Nick looks at the Courser, surprised. “You will? Why?”
The Courser turns to him with a vague, questioning look. Well, Nick thinks that’s what it is. The sunglasses make it difficult to tell, but he’s gotten a lot of practice with that over the last few years.
“Do you not wish that?”
“Yeah. I’m just not sure why you want that.”
The Courser frowns and looks at the arriving elevator car. “Because Father does not wish it.”
Nick’s eyebrows raise. A month and Jack’s presence has sown the seeds of discord. Or at the least provided fertile ground. In a Courser, no less.
When the car arrives, they step onto it, and the elevator moves without input from the Courser. The elevator's walls are frosted glass lit with a bright, white light that shines in from the outside. It reminds him of the teleportation light that brought them here.
“What’s your name?” Nick asks, itching to light a cigarette to have something to occupy his hands but not wanting to risk digging in his pockets.
“My designation is X6-88.”
“Is that what people call you?”
“Most.”
“But not all.”
X6-88 hesitates momentarily, and Nick notes a slight tick in the man’s hand. “Kellogg often calls me Eighty-Eight.”
Kellogg, huh. Well, that’s one way to get a confirmation. The kid always figured Kellogg was Institute, but there was no concrete proof. It's hardly surprising that the best mercenary in the Wastes is raking in the caps with the Institute, but it’s nice to be sure.
“Do you mind if I call you that as well? I go by Nick to most people.”
More hesitation.
“If you would rather not get too friendly with an old beater like me for the sake of keepin’ a low profile, I get it,” Nick says when he doesn’t get a reply.
“I’ve never been asked my preference before,” X6-88 eventually says as the elevator starts to slow.
“Sorry, the first time had to be with me.”
The Courser looks at him like he’s reassessing his conclusions about many things and then clamps a hand around Nick’s arm again.
“They are watching,” is all he says, and the doors open. X6-88 drags Nick off the elevator into a large open concourse. It’s gleaming white with flecks of green and blue in the immaculately maintained grasses and water features. The view stirs vague memories in the back of his mind, the white feeling familiar but hostile. It would make him shiver if he had such a reflex these days.
X6-88 leads him through a hallway with a black stripe in the ground. They come to a set of doors with the same black stripe on them and three stark letters that read SRB. The Courser pushes a button to open them. Once inside, Nick notes the room is full of terminals and consoles but has little personnel.
They head into an office with an overlooking view of the floor. Inside, a pair of Coursers is standing in front of a blonde-haired woman listening intently while she gives them orders.
“Doctor Secord,” X6-88 says as they come into view. The woman turns to face them, a flash of relief on her face before it becomes serious.
She dismisses the Coursers with a few words and then motions for X6-88 to come over. “My office, X6.”
Doctor Secord leads them to an office that looks like it’s in the progress of being boxed up. Nick looks about and catches sight of a doctorate with the name Justin Ayo in one of the boxes.
“I’m glad you’ve returned in one piece, X6. And successful as always,” she says before giving Nick a once over with a critical eye. “Your time in the Wastes hasn’t been kind to you. I wonder if DiMa is in the same level of disrepair. Perhaps Robotics can offer some level of reconstruction for the damage suffered.”
“You offer repair services to every escaped synth?” Nick asks a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
“Yes. However, none have returned as badly damaged as you and still been functional, likely due to your synthetic makeup. The Gen 3s are much more fragile with their organic components,” Secord tells him in a brisk matter of fact manner. He doesn’t quite know what to make of her or this whole situation. It’s not at all what he imagined returning to the Institute would be like.
“Of course, there’s not anyone left alive from the time of your construction, and my father’s notes are cryptic at best when it came to yours and DiMa’s specific parameters. He always was a secretive old bastard.”
“Who’s this DiMa you keep mentionin’?” Nick asks, mind-swirling.
Secord peers at him like he’s an interesting experiment she’s running. Nick doesn’t like the look. “You don’t remember?”
“Not much. No. Not about this place.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Hard drive space used up?”
Nick frowns at her. “Can remember wakin’ up in the Wastes just fine, Doc.”
“Indeed? Well, perhaps a trauma response, then. It wouldn’t be impossible; even if you aren’t a real person, you do have the replicated mind of one. Even now, we don’t fully understand the brain.”
Nick bristles. “If your version of a real person is the eggheads in this place, I’m glad I ain’t one of you.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not,” Secord replies with a dismissive wave and turns to X6-88. “The Director wanted to see you straight away, but Madison and I agreed you should take Valentine to her first.”
“As you say, Doctor Secord,” X6 replies and nods briefly.
“Dismissed X6.”
The Courser takes Nick by the arm again and leads him to the door they came in. As it slides open, they’re met with an elderly man backed by another Courser. He gives Nick a smile that’s closer to a grimace than not.
“Efficient as always, X6. No need to bring him all the way to my office since I’m here.”
“Of course, Director,” X6-88 returns, and Nick can feel the Courser’s hand tighten slightly on his arm. He backs both of them up so that the Director can pass.
“Come with me, Mr. Valentine. We’ve something to complete before you can meet up with your Waster.”
Nick frowns at those words. “Yeah? What might that be? Doctor Secord said somethin’ about repairs.”
He doesn’t think they’ll bother, but that hostile feeling from before has picked up to a screech in the background of his consciousness. Especially considering the level of unease X6-88 is now silently displaying. If the Courser fears this guy, Nick is doubly scared.
He can hear a huff of amusement from the Director that makes every process stand on end. “Yes. Something like that.”
As they head back into the central area of SRB, the Coursers and Secord exit the office. The Coursers stay back as Secord moves forward, a frown prominently displayed on her face.
“You didn’t have to come down here, Director. X6 was on his way to see you,” she says, though her words a moment ago contradict that.
“While I appreciate the courtesy, Alana, the equipment I need is here.”
The words are innocuous, and the Director’s manner seems pleasant enough, but Nick can feel the tension in the room. No one wants the Director here, and he seems to be enjoying that discomfort.
At the far end of the room is a chair that looks straight out of a comic book villain’s lair, with cuffs, wires, plugs, and a terminal on the side. The Director stops before it, and the little entourage he picked up while crossing the room stops behind him. Four Coursers, Nick and Doctor Secord.
“Mr. Valentine, have a seat in the chair.”
X6-88’s grip tightens again.
Secord immediately balks. “That is not designed for a synth of Valentine’s make.”
“It wasn’t designed for Reclamation either, but we’ve always improvised down here.” The Director gives Secord a patronizing little smile and turns back to Nick. “If you please,” he says and gestures at the chair.
Nick isn’t sure how much of a fight he should put up here. Kick and scream only to get torn apart, or get in the chair and hope Henry has an ace up his virtual sleeve? Does he even trust Henry to save him for the sake of Jack, or would the AI see his death as a place to gain greater control?
The more pressing matter is simply surviving, and Reclamation sounds like the kind of brain tampering Nick wants to stay well away from, especially after Jolene’s tale about the Courser that nearly killed them all.
“To be frank, I’d rather not,” Nick says flatly, unwilling to sit in the chair of his free will. They’ll undoubtedly make him, but like hell, he will march under his own power to his demise.
The Director nods as if he expected that and turns to X6. “Put Mr. Valentine in that chair, X6-88.”
There’s a twitch in the hand that’s holding Nick like he’s trying to resist something before he pulls Nick forward and bodily maneuverers him into the chair. Nick resists as much as he dares, but the Courser is stronger and moves Nick around like a child’s toy. Once seated in the chair, X6 holds him in place while the Director punches a couple keys on the terminal to make the arm and leg clamps latch around Nick.
Real fear settles in his gut now, coolant pump kicking up a notch like the heartbeat of old.
“Is this really necessary?” Doctor Secord demands, looking furious. Though given her previous dismissiveness, Nick thinks it has more to do with the invasion the Director is performing here than any genuine sympathy for a synth.
The Director ignores her and focuses on inputting commands on the terminal. After a moment, a diagnostic connector attaches itself to the port in the back of his neck. It sends a strange sensation through his processes that makes him flinch. A few more keystrokes than a noise of confirmation from the terminal.
The sensation of a sucking darkness starts to pull Nick’s consciousness. Processors wink out one by one until there’s nothing but blackness remaining.
- - - - -
X6-88 can pinpoint the exact moment Valentine’s consciousness was pulled from his body.
Afterward, there’s silence from the group; the only noise is from the ticking of the air purifier and the clacking of keys from the terminal that Father is working on.
“What was the point of bringing Valentine down here if all you were going to do was erase him?” Doctor Secord asks hands clenched at her side and voice straining to a more neutral tone.
“I haven’t erased Valentine. That would be a pointless endeavour,” Father agrees, hands stilling long enough to answer but not turning around to look at Doctor Secord.
“Then what is the point of this?” She asks, hands gesturing at the slumped form of Valentine’s body. “What good is it like that?”
There’s another moment of drawn-out silence as Father works on the terminal, typing rapidly as he writes a code string. It isn’t until he’s finished and a box has confirmed successful integration, does he turn around and answer Doctor Secord.
“This is precisely why Zimmer and I disagreed on you being Director of Synth Retention. You are good at managing the Coursers but have always lacked vision. It should have been obvious why I wanted Valentine here, but you have never been able to see anything past your own nose. Zimmer would’ve known; Zimmer would’ve suggested it.
“You are a poor successor for him, Alana. Too stubborn to take direction to improve from someone you don’t like, and too strong-willed to be manipulated. Zimmer may have wanted you to succeed him, but only because he could count on you to follow his orders precisely, even to our detriment. He knew you’d never manage on your own.”
Father turns his attention from Doctor Secord then, dismissing her like he dismisses the Coursers. X6-88 has never heard such words of condemnation from Father towards any of the scientists, and all of the Courses look at Secord. They don’t know how to rectify Father’s evident disappointment in her with their preference for Secord’s treatment of them. Father’s word is law, yet he is speaking against someone they view as their own.
Doctor Secord is stricken silent. Something unusual for her. She is trembling ever so slightly, hands clenched again at her sides. A coiled tension materializes around her that every Courser in the room immediately pegs as a prelude to violence. The two at her side, X9-27 and Z4-21, grab her upper arms to keep her from making a move on Father. She thrashes momentarily before settling on an expression so dark with rage X6 truly wonders how she is still silent.
“X6-88, remove Valentine’s body from the chair and set it aside. We will deal with it later,” Father tells him, and he nods.
The compulsion to obey Father feels like any other order given by the scientists; he didn’t realize until recently that when it’s something that he doesn’t want to do, the compulsion takes over his autonomy and forces him to act. He is not used to fighting orders. This one is simple and feels like any other. The one to put Valentine in the chair was like the one Father gave outside the cell in Acclimation Therapy.
The more the illusion of free will is taken from him, the less he wants to obey.
Once that is done, Father turns to the Courser, who has been assigned to him since the beginning of their lockdown. “X4-18, take a seat in the chair.”
“As you say, Father,” X4 replies and moves to obey. X6 frowns slightly, not yet understanding what is going on. This is not the appropriate time for Readjustment.
“Have you lost your mind?!” Doctor Secord shrieks from where the Coursers are still holding her fast, finally finding her voice. “We’ve so few agents as it is! You’ve no idea if his programming is even compatible with a Gen 3. We’ve never tried it with the remnants of a real brain. You could destroy X4!”
“Ah, I see you’ve finally figured it out,” Father says as the chair clamps come down around X4-18. They’ve all sat in the chair for Readjustment many times; it’s not a new process or even a scary one that the recaptured synths believe it is. However, X6-88 has never gone through Reclamation before, and there’s a pit of something uncomfortable forming in his stomach at watching this unfold.
There is no indication that X4-18 feels the same apprehension.
Father types the last of the commands and stands back as the system begins to carry them out.
Doctor Secord’s wail of “No!” echoes uncomfortably through the room.
- - - - -
The door of the cell that’s become his bosom friend is closed when Butch wakes up the following day. He can smell the telltale scent of salt and fat cooking from the other room and knows at least someone is cooking breakfast. His stomach growls. Butch stands and tries the door, but it doesn’t budge.
So sometime in the night, the popsicle came by the shut him in again. He can’t say he’s surprised, but he is annoyed. Aside from the fact that it’s frustrating to be separated from the group, it’s a massive waste of resources to keep him locked up in here when he could be at least building barricades. Danse would’ve put him to work, but McCoy seems more bent keeping his dissenting voice away from the rest.
Also, he needs to take a leak.
Butch paces back and forth in the room for a little bit. Quiet voices are coming from the other room, but nothing loud enough for him to catch their conversations. When he gets tired of trying to eavesdrop, Butch sits on the bed again with a huff of annoyance. The Grognak magazine he had stuffed under the pillow last night slides down to the edge of his thigh. Butch picks it up and glances over the cover again.
Who Can Stop The Unstoppable Grog-Na-Rök?
He grabs the pillow, sets it against the bars along the backside of the cot, and settles in to read the comic. Whatever MacCready’s motivation was for giving it to him (Butch finds it ridiculous anything in it might be useful for his current predicament), at least it will let him kill some time. Usually, he’d play a game on his Pipboy to pass the time, but he’d rather not draw any unwanted attention from McCoy.
He’s about halfway through the story, completely engrossed in the drama of how the Unstoppables will stop Grognak from destroying everything and, how to do it without killing him when Rhys appears at the cell's door.
“Hey,” he says, pulling Butch’s attention from the story.
“Hey,” Butch replies, setting the comic down after noting the page number. He stands and heads to the door. (Something tells him MacCready would kill him for dogearing a page.)
Rhys has a ration tin in his hand and sets it on the shelf on the cell door.
“Thanks, but I really need to take a shit.”
Rhys sighs and then nods. He uses the terminal to unlock the cell door, and Butch grabs the ration tin and sets it down inside before Rhys leads him out. They head to the partially functional bathrooms, and he directs Butch inside. He’d really like the opportunity to take a shallow bath, but that’s likely pushing what little lenience Rhys has in dealing with Butch before he too, gets in trouble.
“How’s Haylen?” Butch asks as he washes his hands.
“Fine,” Rhys replies from where he’s leaning in the doorway.
Not that he could tell if she wasn’t.
“And Danse?”
A profound frown graces Rhys’ face, even worse than his normal dower expression. “The same.”
“Where’s McCoy?”
“Her and Paladin Danse are scouting.”
“And Haylen is working on the transmitter?”
Rhys nods.
Butch dries his hands then and follows Rhys back to the cell.
“Do I get to be useful here, or are we just treating me like a criminal?”
“The bitch hasn’t decided.”
Rhys gestures for Butch to get back in the cell.
“You know, if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t’ve come back.”
“That’s what Danse keeps saying. Just…get in so I don’t get in trouble. Don’t need the bitch breathing down my neck too.”
Butch steps back into the cell. “Don’t worry about that. I’m plenty big enough of a target.”
When Rhys has stalked out of the room, Butch grabs the ration and peels it open. It has a hint of warmth left in it, but it’s mostly cold. Honestly, part of him wishes he had gone with MacCready back to Diamond City, but fuck. Someone’s got to watch the Brotherhood’s bullshit, and soon they’ll all be in the thick of it when the Prydwen gets here.
With his ration consumed, Butch settles back on the cot to finish the rest of the comic.
So, the story goes like this:
Once Grognak is possessed, they are doomed to fail. They come to the end of the struggle and, one by one, fall. But the Inspector had foreseen their failure and, with her dying breath, cast a spell that created a time loop. It forced the group to keep relieving the days preceding Grognak’s possession and their inevitable deaths over and over until they could find some way of breaking Rag-na-rök’s hold on Grognak.
They each remembered the cycles, the deaths, and their continuing failures, trying to bring that knowledge forward to make the appropriate changes to figure out how to beat an unbeatable god. But they kept losing. Nothing was working. No matter what weapon, plan, or idea they took to that last battle, it never worked. They died in different orders, in different ways, with Grognak’s laughter echoing in their ears.
Eventually, they were so downtrodden and beaten that they no longer wanted to try. They didn’t care to live. They didn’t care if the world was destroyed. They just wanted the madness to stop. Whatever that ultimately meant. But the Inspector’s spell was so powerful, and it was drawing its strength from her death that the time loop would continue to get power as long as they continued to die.
They had to stop dying for the spell to break. But they couldn’t stop dying because Grognak kept killing them.
Eventually, Manta Man went to Rag-na-rök’s lair early without his companions. He stole into the very bowels of the place and into the throne room where Grognak was waiting to bring the world's end to fruition. He dropped to his knees and begged Grognak to fight against Rag-na-rök. To remember himself. To remember all the good things they had done as the Unstoppables, the people they saved, and the fun they had in the down times.
Remember they had a bet running for how long it would take for the Mistress to get back together with the Shroud? Grognak was convinced he would win that bet, but how could he if Grognak kept them here?
Remember Grognak promised the Inspector to take her to the mystics of his tribe so she could learn more about their magic? How could they do that if Grognak kept them here?
Remember Grognak promised to always have Manta’s back after Commie-Kazi nearly killed Manta Man? He didn’t have Manta’s back now.
The cycle could only end with Grognak overcoming Rag-na-rök because when faced with their combined power, the rest of the Unstoppables could not stop Grog-na-rök, nor could they move forward with Inspector’s magic binding them.
That marked the beginning of the end. Something Manta Man said reached Grognak, and he began fighting against Rag-na-rök.
And yada, yada, yada, they win, the world is none the wiser, and then they all eat takeout in a downtown restaurant.
Butch closes the comic and considers.
He can see where MacCready was coming from in giving him the comic after what Butch said about Danse and what Nick said about Danse being a synth. But the level of helpfulness that a comic about superheroes using magic to stop time has seems dubious at best. And it’s not like Butch and Danse are even friendly enough to pull the “remember the good times” card.
Frankly, all he’s got on that front is, “Remember that one time we didn’t argue about the ethics of the Brotherhood and instead argued about a corpse? Yeah, good times.”
At the very least, the comic was a distraction, and Butch can thank it for that.
There’s a heavy silence from the rest of the police station like there has been all afternoon, so he assumes that no one has returned yet. Rhys is likely outside for patrol, and Haylen is up working on the transmitter.
The small, cold ration from this morning was hardly enough to tide him over and now, without lunch, Butch is hungry again. Even worse, he’s bored. He bounces his leg on the ground from his position on the bed, an excess of energy not spent today on anything productive.
After sitting in silence for a bit, Butch decides to bite the bullet and do a few reps of push-ups. He hates maintaining routine, but the Brotherhood has strict fitness requirements. He wouldn’t say he was ever unfit before. Pitt life was hard and made most of the vault softness disappear from his frame, but fuck, basic training was a nightmare.
All the more reason to hate the fuckers. But even he can admit that exercise is good at keeping his natural propensity towards violence in check. Considering his temper is what got him in this cell, to begin with, he knows he would be better served to keep to a routine with more rigidity.
Not that he will or anything.
Butch finishes with a few dozen push-ups and is in the middle of a set of crunches when he hears the doors to the police station open and voices drift through the quiet space. He pauses briefly to listen and see if he catches anything specific, but the noise of movement overwhelms any words. He goes back to his count and waits.
Eventually, he loses count for trying to eavesdrop. So Butch stops and sits up. He takes a minute breather and listens. He’s hungry for real now and wishing for a shower. Butch stands from the ground and moves to lean against the cell door. The noises have died down somewhat, but he’s tired of waiting to be acknowledged. This is bullshit.
“Danse!” He shouts from the cell. “Danse, this shit is ridiculous. Are you really going to let me rot in this stupid fucking cell when I could at least be building barricades?”
The noise from the front doors stops.
“How are we good with wasting resources like this? You still gotta feed me, but you’re okay that I’m not contributing anything here? I’m bored, and I’m hungry, and I need to bathe!”
The quiet continues, but there is the noise of footsteps heading his way. Too light to be Danse’s, however.
McCoy appears at the door, hair plastered down from wearing her power armour helmet and looking sweaty from being out in the armour all day.
Butch squints at her. “You don’t look like Danse.”
“The Paladin is debriefing with Scribe Haylen.”
“Right. Well, could you let him know we need to talk about this situation ASAP?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You’ll stay there until the Brotherhood shows up.”
“No. I won’t. Despite your assertions, otherwise, you aren’t my boss. I’m not talking about this with you anymore,” Butch says and looks past her to the silver of the hall he can see from the door. “Danse! Could we stop pussy footing around this bullshit? Don’t you want the medical supplies? So many ferals died for that loot.”
McCoy scoffs. “We both know you didn’t follow that order. One can only wonder why you bothered to come back.”
Butch meant it when he said he was done talking with her. He used to be pretty good at pissing people off by ignoring them; time to pick that skill back up again.
“I won’t shut up. I’ll resort to singing if I have to. And we didn’t get radio stations in the vault. We only had one shitty jukebox that crapped out when I was like 13 that no one ever fucking fixed. We memorized songs to pass the time.”
McCoy folds her arms and frowns at him. Butch doesn’t spare her another look. No movement beyond her in the hallway. Well, they asked for it.
“ It’s my party, and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to you!
“Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone, but Judy left the same time. Why was he holding her hand when he’s supposed to be mine?
“Ugh, you know what I just realized? Her beau is called Johnny. That’s probably not the best pick. Straying a little close to kissing cousins with that one.” Butch shudders a little.
Finally, Danse appears at McCoy’s shoulder. Butch grins.
“Hey, big guy.”
“Knight-Sergeant, you’re currently lacking in decorum.”
“No shit, Paladin. I’m locked in this cell, hungry, dirty, and bored. Give a guy a reprieve and some fucking duties, would you?”
McCoy gives Danse a steely-eyed look, and Danse frowns slightly. “It was agreed you would stay put.”
Butch makes a confused face. “Uh, pal, you and I didn’t talk about it this. Not sure who else you could possibly talk to about discipline but your second,” Butch points at himself. “You want an apology for losin’ my temper? You got it. I lost my cool, and I am sorry. Won’t happen again. But also, I’ve paid my dues now.”
McCoy scoffs in disbelief, and Danse gives him a strange look.
“Captain McCoy and I discussed your incarceration.”
“Mc-who? Buddy, did you whack your head a little too hard while I was gone? Can we just accept the argument was growing pains of our relationship and kiss and make up?”
Now it’s Danse’s turn to look confused. “DeLoria, are you alright?”
“I mean, I will be just as soon as you let me out of this cell, feed me, let me bathe, and kill the boredom.” Butch gives Danse his best grin, hands wrapping around the bars of the cell. “Come on. One measly little keystroke opens the door.”
Danse stares at him for a long moment, several different expressions waring on his face. Then he starts moving further into the room.
“What are you doing?” McCoy asks sharply, and Danse visibly flinches.
Butch just keeps his eyes on Danse and doesn’t react. McCoy doesn’t exist.
“You must have a list as long as my arm for things that gotta get done around here,” Butch says, trying to keep Danse’s attention on him. “Rhys can’t be back to full health just yet, and Haylen is busy putting that big brain of hers to good use. You can’t build a barricade, scout, gather resources, and trade all by yourself.”
“We’ve had all that well in hand,” McCoy says, pointedly looking at Danse.
“I’ve not been doing it all alone.”
“Well, of course not; you’ve got me. And you’d have even more of me if you if open the door.”
“This is ridiculous. Paladin, you will leave this room right now.”
The fight between the compulsion to listen to McCoy and wanting to free Butch is clearly waring within Danse. He hasn’t immediately caved to her, which is a good sign, but Butch isn’t sure how far to push it. Despite their disagreements, he doesn’t want to cause severe harm to Danse. It’s not really his fault McCoy has this control over him, especially if he’s a friggin’ robot. Which the more that Butch thinks about it, explains the iron jaw and weird sleep schedule.
“DeLoria…”
“Danse, open the door.”
There’s a moment more of conflict before Danse nods slightly and moves to the terminal. McCoy tells him not to touch it, but now that Danse has overcome this particular instance of compulsion, her words mean nothing. The lock on the door slides back, and Butch wants to celebrate, but he keeps his cool and claps Danse on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Paladin. I’m going to bathe this feral stench off. I can handle rations tonight if you want to give Rhys a break. And we should talk about plans for tomorrow.”
Danse nods, sparing one quick glance at the dark look on McCoy’s face. “Yes. After supper.”
“Cool.”
Butch turns and heads to the door, all while McCoy observes him closely. She knows the dynamic here has changed and is reassessing the situation. The urge to gloat is killing him, but Butch reins himself in.
He’s got to try and be smart about this victory. A little less angry Pitt leader and a little more calculating Jack. So, he breezes by her like she doesn’t even exist.
The popsicle has melted.
- - - - -
Ellie catches Leslie in the morning and stops him from disturbing MacCready at the Agency. She doesn’t say precisely what happened to Nick, just that MacCready needed sleep and that she would explain in full tonight.
Leslie gives her a deeply skeptical look, but they’ve known each other for a long time now, and eventually, he nods in agreement.
“But Ellie, you better explain everything.”
“I will. I promise. Tonight. The Minutemen HQ, nine pm.”
So with that problem dealt with, she drops in very quickly and quietly to check on MacCready. He’s sleeping soundly, which eases her mind. The couch is not exactly the most comfortable, but at least he’s getting rest.
After that, Ellie grabs a coffee from Francine’s bakery. Caffeine isn’t what her nerves need right now, but she hardly slept last night and still has that meeting with Latimer in fifteen minutes. Ellie is tempted to beg off, but Mortimer will only question why, and Ellie isn’t sure she’ll stand up to the scrutiny with her current mental state.
At least, this way, the conversation is on her terms and gives Latimer less of an opportunity to go on the offensive. Ellie finds that dealing with Latimer is like dealing with a haughty half-feral cat. Showing interest or affection is considered a weakness; it’ll get you claws and shit in your flower beds. Feigning disinterest and leaving out the occasional treat lets you coax them in.
Ellie needs Mortimer to promote her to the Upperstanders to get anything of value done in Diamond City. And while she has shown she will go above their desires when needed, she also doesn’t want to be so bullheaded they dig in at every opportunity.
With that in mind, she returns to her office to prep her notes. She gives them one last go-over to ensure she has all the talking points down, then Geneva knocks on her door to announce Latimer’s arrival. Ellie stands as he enters, smiles and directs him to have a seat.
Their meeting lasts for just over two hours. Ellie will admit she was a little choppy in the beginning, given everything that’s happened in the last 12 hours, but soon enough, her nerves take a back seat and Latimer and her have an excellent discussion. She knows he values money and power, and she uses that to promote her plans by showcasing how they will help the Upperstanders bring in caps or prestige. All he has to do is decide if the trade-off of helping her do something in Diamond City is worth the trouble of said caps.
Ellie does her best to make the proposition as appealing as possible.
When Latimer leaves, Ellie lets out a sigh of relief. She’s wrung out for having to perform to her usual standards while feeling so askew, but she’s proud of how well she managed. For the briefest of moments, her brain automatically wants to go to Nick and tell him how well she did and how she succeeded, but the reality that Nick is gone crashes down on her again.
Her eyes well up with tears, and she hastily brushes them away. She isn’t going to cry again. Not here. Ellie gets up from her desk, goes to the washroom,, and checkss her face in the mirror. It’s a bit red from holding back her tears, so she splashes cool water on her face. Once the water is patted dry, she heads back out to grab her empty coffee mug and her purse headeads out to the entrance area.
She lets Geneva know she will be out of the office for the rest of the day and heads down to return Francine's mug. On her way by the clinic, Ellie stops to talk with Sun. She wants to solidify the plan to tell the Minutemen and Railroad what happened to Nick. When he sees her climbing the steps, his eyes dart to where Vera is skillfully stitching a knife wound closed on Polly.
“Got a little too eager with the butcher knife this morning,” Sun says blandly and then opens and closes a couple cupboard doors like he’s looking for something. “Are the RadAway’s all gone from up here?”
“I haven’t had a chance to bottle the brewed stuff,” Vera replies, never once looking away from her work.
Sun sighs and heads for the downstairs surgery door. “This way, Mayor.”
Ellie follows wordlessly, figuring this is Sun’s way of getting them alone to talk without raising any suspicion. He opens the door and gestures for her to head down first, and he follows, closing the door behind him. Ellie descends and moves to the gurney in the middle of the room. Off to the side is the chem station with a glass jug full of the RadAway that Sun was apparently looking for.
He moves to it and sets up an IV bag to decant the solution into.
“Piper needs another RadAway,” he tells her without any preamble. “I haven’t thought of a way to give her one and spare her pride about the matter. This seems as good of a way as any. Two birds, one stone.”
“I see. Well, I’ll be sure to foist her into your clinic as soon as I can.”
“Good. Now, on to real reason you’re here.”
Ellie nods. “If you and Carrington will round up the Railroad members, I’ll talk with Garvey and few prominent locals. I suggest we meet at the Minutemen house tonight around 9pm.”
Sun nods and sticks a rubber hose into the glass jug before sucking on the end of it to get the RadAway solution flowing. He spits out some in distaste and plugs the end into the port on the bag. Gravity does the rest.
“Are you going to have MacCready make an appearance?”
“If he’s feeling up to it. Yes. If not, I thought I might talk with him later in the day for more details.”
“Make sure to check his wound and reapply the salve. I’d go myself, but the less of us making an appearance at the Agency, the better.”
“Agreed.” Then she sighs. “Seems like we’re having to rely on Henry and Deacon making a hail mary out of all this.”
“It’s not ideal, but when is it ever?”
Ellie cannot disagree with that sentiment. When the RadAway bag is full, Sun hands it to her and Ellie fishes out the appropriate caps from her purse. They head back upstairs, and Sun once again tells her to get Piper to his clinic as soon as she can, no doubt for Vera’s benefit, and Ellie nods.
Then she heads across the street to the Public Occurrences because, she can’t very well head off across the market after all that.
She knocks on the door several times before Piper manages to answer it. She’s looking a little frazzled and tired, with a swipe of ink on her face, but she seems in a good mood because she smiles when she sees Ellie at her door.
“Hey! Long time no see, Mayor. Got tired of the bigwigs? Need to slum it with us Lowerfielders?”
“Something like that,” Ellie agrees. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Piper steps aside, holding the door as Ellie walks in. When the door closes, Piper says,
“To what do I owe the visit?”
“Well, its multileveled,” Ellie starts, knowing she can’t lie to Piper and get away with it. She’s no good at that sort of thing. “First off, I want to make sure you’re doing okay after Bunker Hill. It’s been a little bit since I was by that first night.”
“Things are going…okay,” Piper says and then nods like she had to consider for a moment if that was true. “Arturo helped me fix the press a few days ago, so I got my article printed, and I’m just trying to get it bound now. It’s taking a bit longer since this article is pretty long, and I want to make sure it makes to Bunker Hill in one piece. Anyways, just taking a break now to scarf some food.”
“That was nice of him. I hope it wasn’t too weird?” Ellie says as Piper leads her to her couches where the crusts of a finished sandwich sit.
“It was at first. Nat invited both Arturo and Nina over without telling me, so I wasn’t even properly dressed.”
Ellie winces at that. “Nat.”
“But…I ended up kissing the shit out of him, so…”
“What?! Oh my God, Piper!” Ellie grabs a grinning Piper and pulls her into a hug. “That’s amazing!” She pulls back. “That is amazing, right?”
“Yes! I mean I almost fucking blew it because I’m an idiot and he basically confessed to being in love with me since he walked into town, so yeah…”
Ellie hugs her again. “I swear I thought things had changed at the meeting the other night, but I couldn’t be sure. I’m so happy for you! You deserve to be happy.”
“Nat says the same thing.”
“That’s because it’s true.”
Ellie pulls back after a couple moments longer. It’s so nice to have some good news.
“So, what’s the other reason you’re here?” Piper asks, giving Ellie a shrew look.
“Well, part of it is to give you this,” Ellie pulls the RadAway out of her purse. “Sun tells me you need another dose and you haven’t gone and got it.”
Piper frowns. “I told him when I had the caps to go I would.”
“I know, but I think you’ve been suffering long enough. So, when the caps come rolling in, you can repay me, but things are happening now, and I need you to be fully you. Okay?” Ellie pulls the RadAway in Piper’s hands.
“What happened?” Piper demands.
Ellie takes a deep breath. “I’m calling a meeting tonight to officially tell the Minutemen and the Railroad, as well as few other important people around town. I need you to promise you’ll take your RadAway this morning, so you’ll be recovered enough for that.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Promise, Piper. And I will tell Sun. If you don’t go, I’ll have the Minutemen keep you out.”
Piper huffs. “Alright. I promise. I’ll march right over there as soon as you leave. Now, what is the matter?”
“Nick was taken by the Institute.”
There’s a moment of silent shock from Piper. “…What?”
Ellie nods. “MacCready came back to town last night alone. Badly injured. I had to take him to Sun.”
“MacCready?” Piper questions, looking away from Ellie’s face briefly while she runs a mental check to place the name. “Wait, that annoying little merc that Hancock was fucking?”
Ellie winces a little at Piper’s bluntness. “Yes.”
“Wasn’t he hanging around with Deacon? I remember they evacuated Quincy when the Gunners came down on it. I wrote a piece about it. What the hell was he doing with Nick?”
“Nick was helping him with something. Wouldn’t say what, just that they were going to the old Med-Tek building northwest of town.”
“And the Institute just showed up and grabbed him? After all this time?”
“I’d guess Deacon had something to do with it.”
“Yeah, that and it’s a pretty good way to demoralize this place. Fuck.” Piper makes a fist and pounds the couch with it. “Fuck! Can’t we just win one for once? Also, I am desperate for details right now, but you’ll probably tell me I have to wait until tonight.”
“I will, but only because I’d rather not have to keep saying Nick got taken by the Institute.”
Piper nods. “How badly injured in MacCready? Can I squeeze him for details?”
“Not today. Maybe tomorrow. But he doesn’t really strike me as a details guy.”
“I can squeeze anyone for details, don’t you worry about me.”
Ellie smiles. “Only when I have to. I mean to talk with Garvey this afternoon about how recruitment has been going since we released the holotape. Lord knows we could use some good news.”
“Yeah.” Piper frowns at the RadAway in her hands. “Well, I guess I’d better get this over with.”
“To be honest, I thought there’d be more of a fight.”
“Been a month since I got irradiated to high hell. I’m pretty tired of being tired. But don’t expect charity to be this easy in the future.”
“I never do.
Ellie walks with Piper to Sun’s clinic and leaves her in his capable hands. He gives her a little nod of thanks before whisking Piper downstairs for the treatment.
With that done, Ellie heads off across town to Francine’s Bakery to return that mug. She also wants to grab a simple brahmin sandwich for MacCready and decides to get one for herself too, since the only thing she’s had all morning is a hot cup of coffee. It’s getting close to lunch now, and she feels hungry. There are cans of purified water at the Agency, so Ellie only gets the two sandwiches and asks for them to be wrapped to go.
The cinderblocks the Agency is built out of always hold on to the cool of the nighttime air, so even though the July sun is hot, inside, it’s still temperate. Ellie sets the food down on Leslie’s desk and peers around the corner of the cinderblock wall into Nick’s quarters. MacCready isn’t on the couch. There are just the remnants of his blanket and pillow.
She has a brief moment of panic, thinking that he’s left, but then she hears the sound of the water in the bathroom, and she breathes a sigh of relief that he’s awake and still here. While she waits for MacCready to be done, Ellie runs her hands over the things Nick left on his desk, feeling a profound sadness. She wants to believe that Nick and Jack will be okay now that they’re together, but the Institute isn’t known as the Commonwealth boogeyman for nothing.
She’s deeply worried about them both.
The door to the bathroom opens, and Ellie looks up from the desk to see MacCready exiting, squinting a little at the bright lights of the Agency. The bandage wrapped around his head is slightly askew, and his hair is a mess of red poking out above it.
“Hey,” she says, setting down the old paperweight her hands had glided to. She remembers the day Nick brought the weird glass sphere home. He said it reminded him of the flowers of the Old World.
“Hey,” MacCready mutters. “That time already?”
“Well, its practically lunch time if that’s what you mean. Brought something to eat if you’d like.”
“Yeah. That sounds okay.”
She directs him to the chair on the opposite side of Leslie’s, where clients sit, hands him a sandwich, digs out a purified can of water from Deacon’s stash and sets it down in front of him. She takes one for herself and the second sandwich and sits in the chair that used to be hers.
They eat in silence for a bit. Until Ellie can’t stand the quiet of the Agency anymore.
“How are you feeling?”
“Terrible.”
She nods. It seems a real inconvenience to be unable to take a stimpak for the injury. “Doctor Sun asked me to change the dressing on your wound. We didn’t think it would be wise to have to many people coming to the Agency before the announcement was made.”
MacCready nods. “Suppose you want more details, then.”
“Yes. But only if you’re up to it.”
“Don’t really got much of a choice, do I? It’s either tell you now or the mob descends later.”
“We wouldn’t let that happen. Besides, very few people have keys to the Agency. And two of them are gone.”
“Yeah…” MacCready pulls the wax lid off the can of water and takes a couple large gulps. He picks up the other half of his sandwich when he sets it down. Contemplative.
Ellie stays quiet, wondering if he’ll say something further or if she should keep filling the silence.
“Ya know, I ran into Valentine at the Third Rail just after Jack was taken. He got that shitty news from me.” MacCready snorts.
“And then you had to tell me about Nick.” Ellie’s heart breaks a little at that confession, and it seems to hang heavy on MacCready.
“Yeah.” MacCready sighs and sits back in his chair. Then a very faint smile quirks the edges of his mouth. “At least Valentine didn’t swoon into my arms. Pretty sure that tin can woulda crushed me.”
Ellie can feel her face go red. “Again, I am so sorry about that! I don’t normally react that way to bad news.”
The last time was when Tom died.
MacCready waves her off. “It’s fine. And it’s not like my delivery was gentle. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“It was succinct. I think that’s all we can ask of bad news.” Ellie takes a breath. “Anyways, lets get off the topic of my weak knees and back to the one of Nick and the courser. Are you up to talking about it?”
“As long as I can lie back down. My head is killin’ me.”
“Of course.” Ellie stands. “Though perhaps we should change that bandage. That way when we’re done, I don’t have to disturb you again and you can just rest.”
“Yeah okay.”
Ellie heads to the bathroom to wash her hands as MacCready returns to the couch. Then she grabs the supplies Sun and Carrington left at the Agency last night. With them in hand, Ellie sits beside MacCready and begins unwrapping the bandage from around his head. The cloth is stained from the healing salve juices, but there is no blood. A good sign. The wound isn’t pretty, but she can see signs of rapid healing promoted by the salve. If MacCready could sleep for another 12 hours, Ellie figures he’d be nearly healed and probably feeling much better.
Delicately, she cleans off the old paste from around the wound site before applying another layer of the paste with her fingers. She is doing her best to be gentle, but MacCready still winces in pain with the pressure of her fingers. She presses a new piece of gauze in place and then goes about retying the cloth wrap around MacCready’s head, making a single loop of a knot to keep it flat and tucking the ends under the wrap.
“All done. It’s healing really nicely. You’ll be right as rain soon enough.” She pats his shoulder and stands from the couch so he can lie down.
“Thanks,” MacCready replies and settles himself back on the pillow. Ellie takes a seat on the coffee table.
“I can see that you’re fading, so give me the short version.”
- - - -
Braun already knows from spending time in the servers that the doors to the nuclear core are sealed with a password terminal and watched closely. They’re having problems with the power needs of the Institute outpacing the core’s output. It’s why synth production has basically ground to a halt.
He would’ve preferred to make a form to his specific liking, but there’s nothing particularly wrong with the body that Ayo procured for him. Perhaps when Eden is dealt with, he’ll have the opportunity to create a new form to his exact specifications.
In the meantime, Braun has been inspecting the new dig site that the Institute started some time ago. There are plans to build a new, larger reactor here, but since the Director’s impending mortality is rapidly catching up to him, he’s abandoned any genuine efforts to complete this area.
Which serves Braun’s purpose perfectly.
This new dig site shares a wall with the current nuclear core. Braun has been inspecting the area for signs of weakness from age, looking for a spot that he would be able to drive that forklift into and break into the core, bypassing the need for using the terminal and keeping out sight from Eden until it’s far too late.
The problem with this is that he’s watched by the other synths.
He knows they suspect something is wrong with this unit. The scientists consider the synths of this place little more than decoration, and passing among them is easy. They barely spare Braun a second look. Even Madison Li, the bane of his short existence in the Institute servers, doesn’t see past the demure attitude that Braun emulates from the synth that used to occupy this body.
The other synths knew this unit well and quickly saw past the façade that Braun puts on. He still has the memories of the unit stacked away in a corner of this brain; he knows what N6-98 was like previously. But even with his exceptional acting skills, he can’t seem to fool the synths. Annoying but not entirely surprising. They have much better observation skills than any human.
So, he must walk a delicate line, he cannot avoid them so much as to arouse suspicion, but he must also not be in their presence for too long and give himself entirely away. With Ayo tracking him down and questioning his plans now that he’s out, it probably looks to the other synths that this unit has been in Reclamation Therapy, and they likely suspect that Braun is a mole of some sort sent to hunt out their defection.
He couldn’t care less about all these little tin toys pretending to be real girls and boys.
He only cares about getting rid of Eden and getting Jack back under his thumb.
Braun runs his hand over a large crack that has recently appeared in the earthen wall since the last time he was at the dig site. He smiles.
It appears he’s found his way in.
- - - - -
In the Capital Wasteland, Moira sits at her desk in her shop in Megaton and stares at her terminal, tapping the eraser end of a pencil on the screen. She’s in the process of editing her latest issue of Wasteland Survivor’s Guide but is stuck. She reads the sentence over a few more times, trying to think of a better way to word “then you rip the guts out of the Protectron…” because that sounds a little too crude and not particularly informative.
She’s trying to be more instructive with her efforts so somebody could actually follow her guide and not just like she’s telling Jonas the story of how she made a Protectron into a water purifier.
Then inevitably, she gets a little sad. Editing always makes Moira think of Jack and how that first guide sounded so professional and helpful because Jack was there to help her get her thoughts in better order on the terminal screen.
Before she can get too deep into that molerat hole, the bell on her shop door chimes and Moira sighs quietly as she stands and heads out to the front counter. She hopes there isn’t a Brotherhood soldier in her shop; she doesn’t like selling scrap to those guys. They’re never nice, and they don’t want to pay her totally reasonable prices.
It’s like they think it isn’t dangerous to go out scaving in the Wasteland or something.
All the Brotherhood soldiers posted in town get a discount on services just for the virtue of being with the Brotherhood, and though no one in town likes it, they aren’t really in a position to protest. Seeing as how there are no Megaton guards left and no Megaton-elected mayor. Just the Brotherhood lackeys everywhere.
Lackeys. That’s a good word. She likes that one. Brotherhood Lackeys.
A real smile graces Moira’s face when she sees it isn’t a Brotherhood soldier but Lucas Simms instead.
“Lucas! Oh, it’s so nice to see you instead of one of those Brotherhood lackeys. How are you doing? How’s Harden? Oh, don’t tell me; he’s a better shot than you nowadays, ain’t he?”
“Hey Moira,” Lucas replies and tips his hat. “We’re doing fine and Harden’s always been the better shot. We got a new contract out by Rivet City, so we’re just passing through, but I think I might need a few of your grenade traps. Have you got any made?”
“Of course! I always have traps made. You never know when a new city-wide invasion might happen.” She laughs. “They are a bit pricey, unfortunately. The Brotherhood keeps making me sell them my good scrap at discount, so I am always short on the right kind of springs.”
Lucas nods. “I know. They got us all under their thumb.” He sighs. “Anyways, I got 100 caps to spare. Will that get me two?”
Moira makes a face. She would prefer to get 75 caps a piece for the traps, but she hates to be so stingy when she knows that Lucas and Harden are constantly scraping by on so little now that they have to merc to make ends meet.
“A little shy am I?” Lucas says with a tight laugh. “Well, I guess I’ll make do with one then.”
“I can trade too! Do you have any good pieces you scrounged up? I hate to send you away with just the one.”
Lucas shakes his head. “Already traded the most valuable pieces at Big Town. They needed some trade capital for a run to Rivet City. Poor bastards are really having a hard time out there.”
Moira sighs and nods her head in understanding. She wracks her brain for a moment for something else to trade so she doesn’t have to come up short, and so Lucas doesn’t have to go away with one trap when he needs two.
“Oh! Wait! I have something!” Moira darts out from behind the front counter and back to her office. She grabs a sheaf of papers and then returns to the counter. She shoves the whole lot at Lucas. “Do you have any idea what this might be?”
Lucas takes the bundle from her hands with a look of surprise and then shuffles through the papers, brow furrowing. “Where did you get this?”
“The antenna on the top of my shop keeps picking up this signal up every time the radiation dust clears up for bit. I wrote it down as best as I could, but it’s just this weird series of noises that I don’t understand. If you can help me with this, you have the second trap for free.”
Lucas peers at the weird collection of marks on the papers before finally looking up at Moira. “I think, its morse code. Can’t really be sure from what you’ve got here since its not what I’m used to seeing.”
“So, it’s not just noise? I really does mean something? Yes! Jonas thought I was wasting my time.”
“I mean you still could be. Probably just an old broadcast from before the war that you’re picking up.”
“I need to know what it says. I don’t care if it’s pre-war. That’d still be really neat!”
Lucas hands her back the stack of papers. “I can’t tell you from what you’ve written here. And it’s been a long time since I had to translate morse code. My old man taught me, and he’s been gone a long while now.”
“Oh.”
“Look, let me tell you what I remember, and if you can get the signal again and rewrite it out in a way that I can read, I may be able to coble enough memories together to tell you what it says when Harden and I are out this way again.”
“Perfect! I love learning new things.” Moira scrounges around for a pencil to write down whatever Lucas will tell her before he politely coughs and points to her ear. Moira laughs and pulls the pencil she used to bang against the terminal screen from behind her ear earlier.
“Now, morse code has two symbols. A dot and a dash. Dash being…uh 3 times as long as a dot. Yeah. 3 times. And the space between letters or numbers is a dot and the space between words is a dash worth of silence. Does that make sense?”
“Yep!” Moira writes down Lucas’ words and then looks again at the papers she wrote the initial noises down on. She can kind of see how Lucas managed to guess at that with her scribbles. She’s heard the broadcast half a dozen times now. Armed with this knowledge, it shouldn’t take her long to figure out how to write down in a way that’s actually legible.
“This is so great! Thanks Lucas.” Moira sets her pencil down and hurries back around the counter to fish her traps out from her grenade safe.
“Of course. Harden and I should be back through in a couple of weeks providing that nothing goes wrong.”
Moira pulls the traps out and sets them on the counter while Lucas pulls out his caps pouch. “How much?”
“75 caps.”
Lucas winces slightly. “Yeah, was pretty far from getting two on caps alone, wasn’t I?”
“Ah, don’t sweat it. And hey, I’ll throw in a stimpak at no extra charge. You’ve really helped me with this broadcast thingy. It’s been driving me crazy.”
“And we both know it ain’t far to go,” Lucas says with a smirk and counts the caps. “I do appreciate the stimpak, though.”
“I know. Gotta keep Harden safe, right?”
“Right.”