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Chapter Text

He noticed it for the first time when he informed her of Danse's betrayal.

Perhaps it was because she no longer stood here in the context of Danse (and never would again, he reminded himself).  She was alone.  And so he was forced to acknowledge her alone.

The lights were low in the command deck where he stood, windows to his back.  Dusk was falling outside, and the combined colors of the sky and interior lights gave everything a faintly red glow.  It was the red glow shining off her helmet that first told him she was there, lurking in his doorway.

Knight Nora Freeman.  Paladin Danse's recruit.  The woman from Vault 111.

He hadn't really thought of her outside of the Brotherhood capacity, not until that very moment when he realized she was standing there.  Up until then, he had merely thought of her as a new recruit, a knight-in-training.  Someone he would make a proper soldier out of, in time.  He hadn't seen her as anything else.

Yes, perhaps it was the lighting.  Because right then, when he saw her, he felt he was looking at a stranger.

Knight Freeman stood in the doorway of his command deck, no doubt waiting to hear why he had summoned her so urgently.  He let his eyes sweep her, without moving his head.  She wasn't wearing her power armor nor her Brotherhood uniform - rather, most peculiarly, she was wearing her blue Vault suit.  

He quickly noticed the blood staining her left arm and leg, though it looked black and muddy in the red light.  She must have been just returning from a mission upon being told to see him, and clearly she had foregone decorum in light of his orders.  He found himself appreciating that.

He had not seen her wearing her Vault suit since her induction into the Brotherhood.  Despite Danse- no, don't think of that name!- despite her former commanding officer's field reports about her and her seemingly plentiful obligations and connections outside of the Brotherhood, Knight Freeman had only ever presented herself as obedient, professional, and devoted to the Brotherhood in his presence.  It had become easy to see her as just another Knight.

It had been easy to forget the Vault Dweller within.  A person not in sync with this world, protected as she had been within her Vault.  She was more unknown than he had been acknowledging thus far.  And… and interestingly, she seemed to be studying him.

He felt his own chin tilt up as he studied her in turn.

How much of Danse's betrayal has she partaken in?  How much of the hatred she professes for the Institute is even true?

Usually she appeared before him in her power armor, less commonly in her orange Brotherhood uniform; now, clad as she was in her blue Vault suit, he was better allowed to see her natural posture.  

Despite her injuries, she had a very fluid way of walking, which surprised him.  Surrounded as he was by stiff soldiers with the weight of their duties burdening their shoulders, he hadn't seen anyone walk quite like her before.  Briefly, he wondered if it was her Vault lifestyle that had given her that sense of so thoroughly owning her space.

Underneath that fluidity there was something lurking, however.  She didn’t flaunt herself.  No... despite her self-possession, she did not seem to regard the rest of the world with arrogance.  She seemed alert, ready, as if she were always ready to grapple with the person in front of her.  And yet, this readiness was to remain hidden beneath a veneer of civility and diplomacy.  As if she were never safe and she knew it... but rather than act as a prey animal, she had become a subtle, fluid predator.

What animal does she remind me of...?

"Elder Maxson."

Her voice was cool.  Almost soothing.  Deceptive.

As she strode into the room, and he stepped forward to meet her, he realized what she reminded him of.

A radscorpion.

She halted before him.  "Ad victoriam, Elder.  I was told to report to you."

He ignored her salute.  "Is there anything you wish to tell me, Knight?"

She tilted her head, taking him in.  She hadn’t taken her eyes off him once, and her unblinking stare only made him more suspicious.  “Am I being accused of something?”

“That remains to be seen.  Proctor Quinlan completed the decryption of the data you retrieved from the Institute.  A portion of his findings included a list of synths that went missing or escaped from their underground facility…”  

With each accusatory word that fell next, he watched her for tells.  Some twitch, something to indicate that she was a traitor.  

“...After careful analysis of the information, we’ve discovered something… unprecedented... ”

But her façade was too good.  He felt his anger rising.

“Paladin Danse is a perfect match for one of the synths on that list!”

He saw her jaw loosen slightly, her eyes widen - finally, the first breaks in her composure in the time he had known her.  Astonishment - but was it due to the news, or was it because they found out?  “That’s impossible!”

“I’m afraid not,” he scowled.  “The evidence is quite damning.  The data you brought back included a record of each subject’s DNA.”  Though if she knew Danse was a synth, would she really have given them that information so willingly?  He had to wonder.  “We keep the same information on file for all of our soldiers.”  Unless she didn’t know about our DNA database before.  If she didn’t know, then she might have thought she could get away with dangling the information in front of us, in plain sight.   “Paladin Danse’s DNA is a perfect match for a synth they call ‘M7-97’.”

He could see her trying to control herself, to regain her composure.  It could have been shock - but there was something missing.  He did not sense any disgust coming from her.  Had she been in the dark about Danse’s true nature, wouldn’t she have been displaying disgust that she let a filthy imitation of humanity get so close to her?

He flung his accusation at her: “I’m finding it difficult to believe that he never confided in you and then swore you to secrecy.”

The synth and his- no, its Knight had been going out on missions together for months.   At times, the Elder had even wondered if there were something more going on between them.  He needed to account for the possibility that she had known all along - which meant he would have two traitors to dispose of tonight.

“You have to believe me, he- he never told me he was a synth!”

That pathetic, desperate tone of voice.  That little stutter.  Did she really think he didn’t notice how out-of-character it was for her to act so panicked?  She was clearly faking her emotion.

“I suspect you’re saying exactly what I want to hear, Knight,” he sneered.  “Do you wish to try again?”

Now Freeman looked incredulous.  “After everything I’ve achieved, why would I jeopardize my position here-?”

“Because you never expected this information to see the light of day!  Now tell me the truth, before I have you thrown over the side of the Prydwen!”

Shock, genuine shock, flew across her face.  For a long moment, she just stared at him, mouth part-way open, body vibrating with either suppressed fear or anger, he wasn’t sure.  Perhaps she was shocked he had made such a threat to her - particularly because she wasn’t wearing her power armor at the moment, and so he had as good as issued her a death sentence.  He hoped the shock of it would force her to tell him the truth, though he was fully prepared to follow through if she didn’t.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she folded herself away and spoke slowly and carefully: “Has it ever occurred to you that Danse might not be aware of his identity?” 

The thought was surprising to him.  No, it hadn’t occurred to him that Danse himself might not have known.  He told her such.  “However, even if that were true, Danse still represents a clear and present danger to us all.”  Now he felt a bit regretful at so adamantly assuming the worst about her, not to mention impressed with how well she had pulled herself together in the face of his threat.  

“Your sincerity in this matter has been rather surprising.”  He hoped she could hear the apology in his voice.  “Apparently I’ve misjudged you.  Which means I’ve decided to take you at your word.  But that doesn’t absolve you of your duty!”

He let his anger build again, let the betrayal fill his heart at the false-faced synth who had once pretended to be his friend, at the Institute for making such a brilliant move against them.  And finally, when the rage successfully blocked out the conflict within, silenced the sorrow and the doubts, he dropped the ax:

“I’m ordering you to hunt down Danse and execute him.”

And now he saw the thing he feared and expected in her expression.  Concern.  Pity.  For that synth!  “There must be some other way,” she pleaded softly.

“Absolutely not!  My decision is final.” 

A look of devastation morphed her features.  At that, he found himself attempting to soften the blow while simultaneously cursing his own weakness, perhaps projecting a little of his own feelings on the matter - or perhaps because it was the first time she had acted less than professionally, and despite his earlier judgments, he could see how rattled she was.  And why wouldn't she be?  Danse, who she trusted - who they all trusted! - now revealed to be working for the same people who had kidnapped her son?  It made sense that she would be in denial.

Finally he dismissed her.  As he turned away, he saw one final expression flash across her face.  A mix of sorrow and determination.  Goosebumps erupted across his skin, hidden safely beneath his coat.  She wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t kill Danse.  He knew it.  Which meant he would need to follow her and do her dirty work.

Arthur Maxson clenched his jaw.  As Elder of the Eastern Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, he couldn’t afford weakness.  Neither to abide by it nor to demonstrate it himself.  Tonight he would need to demonstrate - not just to Knight Freeman, but to the Brotherhood’s very integrity - what it meant to be strong.  He fingered the knife up his sleeve.

This was not a lesson he was looking forward to delivering.

—

Later, as he tracked her to Listening Post Bravo, he thought back to her usual stoic countenance, and how he had broken it.  Her retreating liquid walk had not been that of a wounded predator, however.  No, her emotional weakness might have been on display, but her stride had been the same as she left…  

Madison Li was on his workforce now, with 10 years of Institute intel, and shouldn’t that have been enough?  Shouldn’t it be easy to get rid of an agent so dubious?  But no… Nora Freeman was watching the Institute from the inside, gathering intelligence in real time.  Could he afford to lose her as an asset?  

Ever since their conversation, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to her, more knowledge and intentions buried beneath her surface than he had previously been accounting for.  Something that, once learned, he could take advantage of.

An ominous feeling filled him as his Vertibird descended.  Was Knight Freeman still an asset to the Brotherhood?  Or would she feign her loyalty and then, like the radscorpion, attack when he least expected it? 

I need to know…

—

Four hours later, Nora Freeman stood in front of him again on the command deck as he solemnly promoted her to Paladin.

Chapter Text

The morning after saw the Elder carefully poring over the newly minted Paladin’s file.  Their confrontation the night before had solidified for him that he needed to look closer at their newest recruit.  She was not a traitor, it seemed, but she was still very misguided.  And he still could not shake the feeling that she knew more than she had shared with him thus far.

He could have asked her, of course.  Could have called her before him and demanded answers.  But that wouldn’t be helpful if he didn’t know which questions to ask.

Folder spread out before him, he paused and tilted his head for a moment.  Not a sound.  That wasn’t terribly surprising, considering it was 0430.  

Paladin Freeman had stayed overnight in the Prydwen, in her new quarters.  He would have expected her to flee in the wake of her contentious mission, to go to ground as she often did, or maybe even – and here he shuddered with accompanying rage – bunk down with the synth overnight. 

That she stayed here was surprising.  That he was annoyed with how quiet she was – indeed, she was a far quieter neighbor than the synth had been – was even more surprising.   Her new chambers had been so silent throughout the night that he had thought she really had changed her mind and fled, perhaps back to M7-97’s bunker.  

But he was mistaken.  Earlier this morning, awake as he was at this ungodly hour, he heard her.  A drawn-out, sleep-filled groan had echoed quietly in the steel between their rooms.  There were a few muffled shuffling noises, a bang and a quiet curse, and finally the sound of her door opening.  Her footsteps were quieter than many of his other soldiers, and that set him on edge; he had to strain to hear where she was going.  It sounded like the repair bay.  Perhaps she was going to adjust her new armor.

That had been a half hour ago.  She had yet to return to her quarters.  He could interrogate her now.  There would be no witnesses…

No.  Patience.   He focused on the file before him:

Missions completed

12-10-2287   A civilian unexpectedly assisted Recon Squad Gladius as the latter were overrun by feral ghouls outside of their temporary headquarters, one Cambridge Police Station.  Civilian introduced herself as Nora Freeman and has offered her services.  She is granted the rank of Initiate.

/

12-11-2287 Initiate Freeman aided Paladin Danse, registration DN-407P, in securing a deep range transmitter.  Building was overrun with gen-1 and gen-2 synths; Initiate showed no hesitation in exterminating them.  Attempts made to use the deep range transmitter to boost Recon Squad Gladius’s communications signal to contact the Prydwen.

/

12-14-2287 Under orders from Knight Rhys, registration RS-104K, Initiate Freeman cleansed the Trinity Plaza location of Super Mutants.

/

Here, he paused.  Initiates were not meant to be sent out on solo cleanse missions, let alone ones involving Super Mutants.  At minimum, they should be accompanying a squad.  Knight Rhys had overstepped his authority.  Why hadn’t Dan- why hadn’t M7-97 called the Knight out on this?  Were they that desperate?

He continued reading, noting the gap of time in between entries.  If he remembered correctly, the Prydwen arrived in the Commonwealth on Wednesday 21 December 2287.

[12-26-2287; entry added 12-28-2287] Initiate Freeman reports locating the remains of Knight Varham of Recon Squad Artemis.  Remains found just south of Med-Tek Research.  Initiate Freeman retrieved a holotape and Knight Varham’s holotags; holotape provided clues of where to look next for the lost patrol.

/

*12-28-2287 Note of Promotion: Initiate Freeman has reported to the Prydwen and is officially inducted into the Brotherhood of Steel, DN-407P sponsoring.  Initiate Freeman is hereby promoted to the rank of Knight.

/

Why did it take her a week after their arrival to join them?  Had she gotten cold feet before eventually changing her mind for the better?

His mind went back to that first time she had stood before him, right after listening to his address.  She had been wearing her Vault suit that day, he recalled; he had thought her less than dedicated because of it.  More than that, she had been disheveled - there were slight smudges on her face, a section of her hair was burned on the ends, and she subtly smelled of blood.  A savage one, he had thought.  What kind of brawl has she come from that she boards my ship with such an obvious lack of decorum?

He never did find out what she had been doing before she arrived.

He did recall that she was soft-spoken.  Professional.  When he had talked with her alone, she had not said anything noteworthy.  Simply agreed with him, and that had been enough for him.  

After granting her the rank of Knight as well as a personal suit of Power Armor, he had not-so-subtly suggested she go to Proctor Teagan to procure a proper uniform and stressed the importance of looking the part of a professional soldier while in their ranks.  She hadn’t seemed to take offense at the time.  And from then on out, she had only appeared in her Power Armor or her Brotherhood uniform, her appearance and hygiene neat.  

Until last night.

The next several mission dates in her file were a mix of solo cleanse missions assigned by Knight Rhys, technology retrieval missions assigned by Scribe Haylen, and reports to her former C.O. as Knight Freeman tracked down the rest of the missing Recon Squad Artemis one by one.  Indeed, that mission concluded with Paladin Brandis joining the Brotherhood’s active roster, in no small part because of Knight Freeman’s persuasive abilities.

“Persuasion, hmm,” he found himself muttering aloud.  “If she hadn’t used those very abilities on me last night, I might have overlooked that about her…”  Such a trait should have been a boon to him – but now, he could only see the dangers of it.

Shortly after her retrieval of Paladin Brandis, he had sent her and her former C.O. to secure Fort Strong’s armory.  He remembered that day and how straightforwardly she had complied, with no mistakes.  It was then that she began to lend her assistance to Proctor Ingram in the acquisition of materials for Liberty Prime’s reconstruction, as well as to the ship’s other leaders for various errands.  She had made several successive major breakthroughs in intel on the Institute, leading to her hunting and killing a Courser (with M7-97's help, he grudgingly acknowledged), getting its chip decoded, and then later acquiring schematics for a signal interceptor.  Under Ingram's direction, she had built the signal interceptor herself.  And she had then succeeded in her quest to infiltrate the Institute and gain Dr. Madison Li’s cooperation.

“She is proactive,” he mused.  “Perhaps this is why I promoted her.  She takes initiative in a way that lends her well to solo missions… Perhaps Knight Rhys was onto something.”  Though deep down, he knew better.  Rhys had no doubt assigned her solo missions as a way of getting rid of her – ultimately unsuccessfully.

Much to his own chagrin, she had quickly become one of their most valuable soldiers in terms of getting results.  Due to the ties she had prior to joining the Brotherhood, she was in a unique position to gather information that other soldiers could not.  It wasn’t an ideal situation, because then she could possibly be swayed by influences outside of the Brotherhood.  And if the Brotherhood were to survive, they needed absolute loyalty in their members.

With great reluctance, he added her most recent mission to her roster:

4-12-2288 Knight Freeman successfully pursued and executed the synth M7-97, formerly known as Paladin Danse, registration DN-407P. [Note of Promotion: upon returning to the Prydwen, Knight Freeman was awarded the rank of Paladin. ]

/

Writing down lies burned at him.  Again, he cursed himself for giving in to Freeman’s persuasion…

“After all the sacrifices I’ve made and all the battles I’ve fought for the Brotherhood, you need to listen to me!  You owe me that much.”

“Very well, I’m listening.”

“Danse has given everything of himself to the Brotherhood.  Whether he’s human or not, he has saved the lives of countless Brotherhood soldiers!  Now, Elder… now it’s time you saved his.”

“You’re a stubborn woman!”

He could still hear her determination, the forcefulness and conviction in her voice.  For that – for her trying so hard to stick to her sense of right and wrong – he had to commend her.  Even if he did not agree with her solution, he could acknowledge her drive.

Nora Freeman was not a stupid woman.  Stubborn, yes, but not stupid.  What made her so convinced that the Institute couldn’t merely flip a switch and bring Danse home to them, laden with Brotherhood information?  What did she know that he didn’t?

Footsteps whispered across the steel deck outside of his room.  A lock clicked, a door opened and shut.  And then silence.

He stood up and stretched, listening to the bones crack satisfyingly.  He would learn more about Nora Freeman later.  For now, he needed to consider his next steps against the Institute menace.

–

“Speaking of mental health, if you see Knight Freeman, could you please send her here?  I want to check up on her.”

Cade’s mention of the troublesome soldier startled him out of his earlier train of thought.  He and the Knight-Captain had been in the middle of a debriefing about their soldiers’ healths.  Morale was building higher as their mission went on – until the reveal about Danse being a synth.  He knew that this would cause unrest, denial, paranoia, and possibly even great distress to those who had looked up to the Paladin.  He and Cade would need to watch their soldiers’ conduct very carefully in the next few weeks.

With their conversation around Danse, it should have been obvious to him that Freeman’s name would come up at some point.  But he had successfully kept her out of his mind all morning.

He felt himself scowling and tried to smooth his face over to look neutral – even though his neutral face was also a scowl.  “I will inform her, yes.  Also, so you know, she is a Paladin now.  I promoted her last night.”

Cade nodded.  “To fill Danse’s position.”

“Yes.  Please keep an eye out for any sympathies on her part for those synth abominations.  She had trouble executing her orders last night.”

A worried look furrowed Cade’s brow.  “At the beginning of her orientation, she had expressed that she had no issues with pulling the trigger on any enemies of the Brotherhood or herself.  So I am evaluating her to see if her mindset has changed?”

“Correct.”

“That would be a shame if it has.  Quinlan has mentioned wanting to interview her; he keeps going on about what a source of knowledge she would be.  Not to mention she’s a great patient.  Perhaps this is why she’s the healthiest person on our ship.”

It always unnerved him whenever Cade joked.

–

Sentiments among the crew were interesting, to say the least.  The majority seemed to express contempt for Danse overnight.  He even overheard one soldier claiming that he “always knew” there was something off about Danse.  That, the Elder very much doubted.  No one had known.  Not even himself.

There were a few who expressed sympathy and disbelief.  He would need to inform their COs to watch out for them.

Much to his relief, the paranoia he feared never came to materialize.  He did not hear even one person expressing suspicion about more synths being within their ranks.  In fact, the newly discovered vitriol for Danse seemed to be helping some of the soldiers bond even more.

Not Freeman, of course.  Never Freeman.  She remained as stoic, aloof, and mission-focused as she always was while aboard the Prydwen.  He could see her in the corner of the repair bay, talking to Ingram.  The proctor’s red hair was plastered to her face by grease and sweat, and her eyes shone with rare concern.  He wasn’t close enough to hear what they were talking about, but he could guess.

Behind them, he watched Teagan peer out of his cage, eyes on Ingram.  The usually surly man’s expression had softened, as it often did when he was looking at Ingram.

Maxson wondered, not for the first time, if part of why Teagan drank so much was to keep his longings at bay.

–

The list of escaped synths had been investigated thoroughly.  M7-97 had been the only one in their ranks.  There had been no other traitors.  This should have relieved the Elder, but instead he found himself brooding over it more.

How could this have happened?  Danse had begun serving under them many years ago, in the Capital Wasteland.  Not a single minute of his time had been unaccounted for, until his squad had arrived in the Commonwealth ahead of the Prydwen.  But Danse had not at any point been separated from the rest of his squad – he stuck to small group tactics well – aside from the mission he had undertaken with Freeman to Arcjet.  Could he have been grabbed and replaced then?  No.  Not without raising suspicions.  He doubted synth infiltrations would be so seamless – even those must have tells.

Danse’s personality had shown no signs of becoming different at any point in his career.  So no.  It seemed unlikely that M7-97 had come into the picture during Danse’s tenure with the Brotherhood.  So it must have happened before he joined.

He had been accompanied by his friend Cutler, Maxson recalled; both had been inducted into their ranks at the same time.  Cutler himself had had years to make memories with Danse, as the conversations between the two revealed.  So if there were a real Danse, he would have had to have been replaced with M7-97 before ever being inducted into the Brotherhood, without raising his friend’s suspicions (unless Cutler was a synth too, he thought with a grimace).  Why would the Institute do that?

For that matter, had there even been a real Danse to replace?  Or was the synth they knew the only Danse who had ever existed?

Maxson blinked as a particular word in the report suddenly popped out at him.  Escaped.   M7-97 was an escaped synth.

And didn’t that just raise more questions?

–

In theory, he had gone through the repair bay on his way to check in with Teagan about some modifications to the Final Judgment.  Since all of the modifications were in Teagan's armory, it was necessary that he go himself.  In theory.

The Elder refused to admit to himself that he was eavesdropping.  Elders do not eavesdrop.

It helped that he was standing behind a steel pillar that successfully hid him from the rest of the room.

"Thank you for having our backs, Paladin.  Ad victoriam."

Word must travel fast.  He had heard no fewer than five soldiers thank Paladin Freeman for what she had supposedly done, in the last ten minutes alone.  She was responding with a nod, her characteristic serious demeanor firmly in place.  It didn't seem to dissuade any of the praise.  It also delayed her from reaching her power armor in Bay 3, near where he was conveniently standing.

He had read more into her file during lunch.  All his staff sung her praises too. He had wanted to see if she was less than committed, but she wasn't. 

Proctor Ingram loved Freeman's work; Quinlan was extremely satisfied with all the technical documents she regularly collected; Neriah adored her (though this was damning with faint praise in his opinion); Cade called her a good patient and expressed curiosity for what health protocols were like 210 years ago (Maxson imagined this must be a typo); Kells had no cause to reprimand her, which was a shock because Kells could reprimand anyone if he set his mind to it; and Teagan appreciated her respectfulness and lack of complaint about having to pay for her own equipment... though out of all the staff, she had not done any missions for Teagan, and Maxson wondered about the oversight.

The only cause for concern was highlighted by Teagan, in fact.  In his notes, he described Freeman's extreme care in how she spent her caps, as if she were barely scraping by.  With all the missions she was undertaking, that seemed highly unusual.  Is it possible she has a spending problem - maybe a secret vice, like gambling?  He didn’t like to think of it.  It would lower her esteem in his eyes were he to find that out.

Fortunately, he had as of yet found no proof of gambling.

His eyes followed her as she crossed the room.

“Well done dealing with that filthy synth, sister.”

Freeman tensed momentarily as yet another soldier complimented her.  Trepidation filled him - would she break and reveal their secret?  Make a liar out of him to his crew?

But she kept walking, closer to him, though he doubted she could see him from her vantage point.  Once out of range of the congratulatory lancer, she stopped fully, running one hand up and down the steel wall's corner that so neatly hid him from her view.  Lowly, under her breath, he heard her mutter, “Your hair’s on fire, must have lost your wits.”   Her other hand clenched into a fist.

Before he could puzzle over the odd phrase, she stepped forward, almost immediately spotting him standing there.  To her credit, she did not startle.  Rather, she slowly turned until she was facing him squarely, giving him her full attention.

He pushed off the wall with his shoulder, straightening his posture deliberately – he would not be made to feel small on his own ship – and locked eyes with her.  Finally, he could see the tumult in her gaze, not visible unless you knew where to look (it secretly thrilled him that he did know).  The stress of what they had recently done would have broken a lesser soldier - in an unhealthy way, he was interested to see what it would do to her.

Her eyes narrowed.  There was so much darkness in there.  He wanted to dig his fingers in and examine it.

He tilted his head as he observed her.  She must have read something into the gesture, because she exhaled suddenly before standing up straight and saluting him.  “Ad victoriam, Elder.”

Her professionalism was back.  He found himself oddly disappointed.

“Ad victoriam, Paladin.  Is there anything troubling you?”  Answer me.  Let me see your darkness again.

His goading was unsuccessful.  Paladin Freeman shook her head.  “Everything is fine, Elder.”

Lies.  As if we both don’t know otherwise.

Before he could say more, he heard a voice ring out:  “Nora!  Do you have a moment?”

Freeman- Nora- looked as though she were having trouble dragging her eyes away from his.  He felt the same way.  Finally, she did, looking beyond his shoulder.  “I always have time for you, Haylen!”  A warm smile graced her face; seeing it appear as suddenly as it did unnerved him.  “I was thinking, I have some fancy lad snack cakes in my locker… Wanna share them with me while we talk?”

There was a long silence behind him – he did not bother to look at Haylen, as intent as he was on witnessing Nora Freeman’s reactions – and then the Scribe’s voice, sounding tender, said, “I would love that, Nora.”

Freeman nodded at the Scribe before turning her attention back to Maxson.  “Permission to be dismissed, Elder?”

He scowled,  “Granted,” and only autopilot had him returning her salute this time.

Chapter Text

“...And when I find the sorry person who tampered with Liberty Prime’s voice module, scrubbing sunshine off the Prydwen’s exterior will be too good for you!”

All the Brotherhood soldiers present shifted uncomfortably.  Maxson for his part did not shift his stern expression.  Though he did catch Madison Li’s slight smirk at Ingram’s outburst.

Proctor Ingram and Doctor Li had been presenting for the better part of a half-hour about their current updates on Liberty Prime and all that they would need in order to make it fully operational.  Scribes and a few knights hung off their every word, crowded as they were in the airport's best-concealed depot.  They couldn't have their enemies finding out about Liberty Prime too early, after all.

Curiously, he noticed that Paladin Freeman was there too, standing at the very back of the crowd, not far away from where he himself was standing.

He could have stood at the front on the small platform next to Ingram and Li.  But he knew his presence could be… distracting.  Aside from being regarded with fear or respect, he was all too aware of the covetous looks many of the female soldiers gave him, and even a few of the males as well.  He scoffed internally.  He had no patience for foolish admirers when there was a war to be won.

He idly noted that Freeman was wearing her orange Brotherhood uniform this time before he turned his attention back to the two engineers.

It was a few days after Paladin Freeman’s promotion, and his momentary fixation on her seemed to have abated.  He took this as a sign that she had proved her loyalty to their cause, as near as he could see. As long as Freeman kept their secrets and obeyed his orders, he didn’t need to spare her another thought.  Not when there were more important things that required his attention.

As long as they could bring Liberty Prime back online, nothing was going to stand in the way of their victory over the Institute.  

“We are still searching for enough fiber optics,” Proctor Ingram was saying, “not to mention military grade circuit boards, copper, and other rare and delicate materials to rebuild Prime’s CPU and power systems–”

“So be sure to remind your retrieval teams to transport the cargo carefully.  If we want to bring Prime back online within the next century or so.”

Ingram threw Doctor Li a sharp look.  The two experts had a rocky understanding, and it was beginning to show.  He could tell that many of the soldiers present were picking up on their tension.  

His eyes swept the audience.  It occurred to him then how young many members of his army were.  They would have been even younger, like he was, during the events with the Enclave.  And not being high on the chain of command, they might not know the full context for Doctor Li’s bitterness.

Either way, she needed to get over her hangups.  Her unprofessionalism could prove to be demoralizing.

“–Though I am pleased to report no issue so far with the materials retrieved,” the Proctor interjected, cutting across Doctor Li in turn.  “The real flaw seems to be in how the power system is designed.”

Ingram’s snark really was not helping.  At this rate, the two of them might very well kill each other right here in front of everyone plus Liberty Prime’s once-again lifeless helm.

He fought the urge to pinch the skin between his eyes.  Then again, the two might kill him faster than his latent alcoholism.  Neither of which would be a good way to die.

“Hence why we are upgrading it,” Doctor Li said coolly.

“I need at least one team of scribes to task-switch to resource acquisition while Doctor Li and I redesign Prime’s power system.”  Proctor Ingram pointed a finger at Freeman, a wry smile on her face.  “We can’t leave all the legwork to our newest Paladin, after all.”

Freeman blinked in surprise, straightening slightly.  She must not have expected Ingram’s acknowledgement in front of a room full of people.  A few heads turned to regard her, though he imagined some of it was lingering curiosity about the Vault-Dweller.  Word traveled fast, after all.  Some of the soldiers wanted to know if she came from a Vault of inhumane experiments.

Come to think of it, he knew next to nothing about Vault 111.  The scribes had been unable to find any records of it, aside from acknowledgement of its existence.  Perhaps Proctor Quinlan could assign a scribe to interview the Paladin about her Vault when they had more time.  He wondered if hers was similar to the Lone Wanderer’s.

Now was not the time for idle wonderings.  He refocused on the power shunts Ingram was now re-explaining.

A sound slithered into his ears.  It sounded like gurgling–

Several things happened at once.

A blur of orange rushed by him, ruffling his coat.  

Ingram had stopped speaking and now her eyes were wide with horror, staring over everyone’s heads.

“Ferals!  Stay back!” a voice yelled.  The gurgling grew into growls.

He turned.  The orange blur had drawn to a sudden stop; Paladin Freeman stood about ten feet away, between him and the huge mob of feral ghouls who had seemingly arrived from out of gracious nowhere, tottering towards him and his soldiers on their shaking necrotic limbs.  How on Earth did they manage to move so quietly?!  And how could they have gotten in here without anyone seeing them first?!

He hastily reached for his sidearm as Freeman raised her gun – a combat shotgun, he saw–

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

The ferals exploded.

The room erupted into chaos.  Soldiers grabbed their weapons and turned to engage, bumping into each other and struggling to get clear shots at their enemies.  They needn’t have bothered; Freeman swept her shotgun around again, firing another four rounds and disintegrating a large number of the intruders.

She stopped to reload, and a ghoul was upon her before she could finish.  She swiftly blocked the monster with the stock of her gun, then smacked the ghoul hard enough to send it stumbling.  Throwing down her shotgun, she drew out her pistol instead and finished the remaining intruders off, rounds clicking near-soundlessly and professionally, like the typings of a keyboard.

There had been about twenty-five ghouls in total.  Freeman had taken out sixteen of them.

The whole thing was over in under a minute.

Most unfortunately, nearly every inch of the depot’s southern area was covered in ghoul matter.

He saw several people retch; a couple of soldiers outright threw up.  He heard one miserable knight gasp out that the smell was worse than Senior Scribe Neriah’s molerats.  Freeman, for her part, still stood straight; he was close enough to see how her eyes darted around, looking for more attackers.

“Knights!” he yelled, bringing the room into a semblance of order.  “I want you to patrol the insides of this airport, effective immediately!  Find out where those ghouls entered from and why no one spotted them sooner, and exterminate any remaining ones you find!  How could we have let such a large number of abominations sneak up on us like this?!  Scribes!  Follow Proctor Ingram’s instructions.  See to it that none of the technology and parts of Prime have been polluted.  Paladin Freeman.”

She turned to him.  Her face and body were completely splattered with feral ghoul matter, yet there was a dissonant calmness in her expression.

He smiled at her before raising his voice again.  “Our newest Paladin has done an exemplary job in remaining alert and ready for all occasions.  She was the first to leap to our defense, a valuable lesson and reminder to you all that I expect you to follow!”  He raised a hand grandly to her.  “For that I commend her and hereby award her… with cleaning duty.”

Whatever jealous mutterings there had been among the other soldiers were instantly silenced.  He took a moment to enjoy everyone’s shock, particularly Ingram’s, before turning back to Nora Freeman, who had not moved.

“You were quite efficient in taking down those ferals for us, Paladin.  But you were messy about it.  If the mess were to have a negative effect on any of Prime’s electronics, that would set us back considerably.  This is why we prefer using laser weapons, or anything with cleaner shots that are less catastrophic than your shotgun.  Explosive rounds, I take it?”

The Paladin nodded once.  

He heard mutterings resume behind him.  No doubt the soldiers were gossipping about his seemingly ungrateful orders.  One whisper made it to his ears, something that sounded like ‘tougher than Kells’.  It pleased him to have renewed his reputation, though he could not let that show.  

Was he aware that laser weapons often disintegrated their enemies into ash, and that ash and dust would likely have a negative effect on every computer in the room?  Had he noticed that Prime’s pieces were on the side of the room away from the feral ghouls and thus were almost completely unaffected by the Paladin’s enthusiastic demonstration?  Yes, he was aware of both these things.  But he wasn’t about to acknowledge that.

His eyes never left Freeman.

“After you are finished cleaning every square inch of this room and the lobby outside it, you are to report for practice with a laser rifle.  Am I clear?”

The Paladin’s face had been bowed and neutral during his miniature speech.  Now she slowly raised her head and responded – by casually blowing out sideways a wad of feral viscera that had somehow made it into the corner of her mouth.

He fought to keep his disgust from showing.  There were outright vocal shudders of revulsion from the other soldiers.

Freeman’s impassive expression returned as she carefully saluted him.  “Yes, Elder.  I’ll do it right away.”

“Good.  Everyone is dismissed.”

Had she meant to be disrespectful with how she had spat out that feral gunk right at that moment?  Or was she simply clearing her mouth so she could respond?  He wasn’t sure.  The ambiguity had him choosing to overlook it, for now – what mattered was that she followed his orders.

Should she demonstrate disrespect in a way that could not be denied, he would not be so lenient.

A few scribes rushed by, still green from the ordeal, desperately seeking fresh air, or possibly a latrine.  Ingram was barking out orders while Doctor Li was checking to make sure their monitors were still functional.  Maxson turned to watch as Freeman retrieved her shotgun and then strode off to ask Knight Sergeant Gavil for a mop.

-

It was well past dark by the time Paladin Freeman returned to her quarters, but Prime’s depot positively sparkled the next day.

-

The patrol had not found any other ferals.  But that unsettled him all the more.  He could not deny a sense of foreboding.  To make matters worse, Kells had informed him that large amounts of food had been disappearing from the airport’s supply depot for a couple of weeks now.  He needed this investigated at once.

While he trusted Kells to handle the logistics, he could not help but go down to wander the grounds of the airport himself.  It seemed like too much mischief at once, and it made him suspicious.  He had not forgotten the tampering with Prime’s voice module, either.

On the grounds outside, the soldiers were going through drills.  Not far away stood Prime’s gantry.  The robot was, of course, disassembled once more to fix the once-again burned out power system.

Within the airport, he could no longer smell the feral filth.  Instead, he could smell antiseptic.  An improvement.

He paused.  Antiseptic.  Such a thing was uncommon.  Where did Paladin Freeman acquire antiseptic?  He hoped she had not taken any from Cade’s stores, though he was sure the good doctor would have told him if such had occurred.

He continued his walk through the winding hallways of the former terminal, searching for anything out of place.  

Presently, he became aware of a grunting noise.  He stiffened before realizing that it didn’t have the usual cadence of the ferals.  A human, then.  He moved to investigate.

The noises were coming from a large sideroom with broken windows.  Nora Freeman was inside – he took a moment to appreciate that she was no longer wearing ghoulish entrails – and she was… climbing the wall?

There was a table in the middle of the room; he saw her laser weapon upon it.  There were wooden figures set up around the room, each of which had still-smoking holes in them.  From the piles of ashes, it looked like some had been outright disintegrated.  He was pleased she had followed his instructions to practice with her laser rifle – but what was she doing now?

She had attached a thick rope to what looked like the most stable wall and was working her way up it.  Her teeth were gritted with exertion; sweat shone upon her forehead.  He watched as she pulled herself up to the ceiling.

Then, with a yell, she moved herself down the wall as fast as her arms could take her, dropping down to the floor once she was about 5 feet up.

But she did not land.  No - she rolled, in a way that smoothly brought her back to her feet.

He found himself admiring her form.  It would have been easy to break or sprain something even from a short height, as she was not wearing her power armor.  But she landed in a way that suggested experience and finesse.  What sort of training had she had to be able to do that?

Freeman was already striding back to the wall, teeth bared.

He quickly stole away before she could notice him.

-

They never did manage to learn who had tampered with Liberty Prime’s voice module.  But the mystery of the ferals was solved when, less than a week after the attack in the depot, Initiate Clarke was discovered to be stealing food, feeding the monsters in the ruins beneath their feet.

Chapter Text

Ex-Initiate Clarke disgusted the Elder on several levels.

There was the obvious - sympathizing with ferals.  What the hell was Clarke thinking?!  He might almost understand the Initiate deluding himself into thinking that those wretches had retained a bit of their former humanity… But stealing food from the mouths of his brothers and sisters to feed those monsters?  Putting his brothers and sisters at risk - causing Knight Rylan's death?  Outright lying to and betraying the Brotherhood?  And for what?! 

A wasted and insulting effort, letting Clarke into their ranks.

But what truly, truly needled the Elder was how Clarke was the second Brotherhood soldier to betray them so profoundly - in favor of abominations no less! - in less than a month.  

Angrily, he banished the ex-Paladin synth from his mind, though not before silently cursing Freeman for her softness.  Miraculously, the new Paladin had actually performed her duties this time – she had tracked down Initiate Clarke, convinced him to turn himself in for disciplinary measures, and then slaughtered the ferals the Initiate had been harboring.  Begrudgingly, Maxson admitted to himself that Freeman had regained some of his trust with her recent mission.  She had even written and turned in her first mission report.

Her writing was adequate, though she explained herself a bit too much.  He did not need to know what justification she had used to kill the abominations – he only needed to know that she had done so.

Pushing the frustrating Paladin out of his head once more, Maxson glared as the Vertibird rose from the flight deck, bearing Clarke away to his awaited confinement in the Cambridge Police Station.  He hoped that Knight Rhys would put his natural abrasiveness to good use.

–

An hour later, the Elder found himself sat at his desk, again going through reports and fighting the temptation to break something.  Sometimes leading the Eastern chapter of the Brotherhood was like moderating children.  Ill-behaved children, at that.

With so much food having been stolen and fed to the ferals, both Gavil and Teagan were in an uproar.  Fortunately, they were not taking out their aggravation on the Elder - rather, they were taking it out on each other.  Each would rather blame the other for their missteps than work together to ensure their soldiers had enough food.

Their complaints made the Elder wish for his whiskey.  But even alcohol was in short supply, what with the soldiers consuming more of it following the revelation that they were having a food shortage.  How was it that ex-Initiate Clarke’s insubordination could be causing more of a morale problem than the revelation about Danse’s true nature?  Perhaps it was the combination of the two.

Like a chain of dominos falling, each situation seemed to intensify the next:

The food shortages led to the soldiers overindulging, which led to both alcohol shortages and soldiers made less effective by their hangovers, which in turn led to Teagan’s worsened mood over Gavil’s earlier lack of concern when the food was first noticed to be missing.  How much faster could this problem have been solved if Gavil had investigated the matter himself promptly, instead of hindering Freeman when she inevitably did the dirty work?

Progress was stalling on Liberty Prime’s power system as the engineers butted heads.  At this point, he was convinced that it was more than just incompatible personalities.  Doctor Li was clearly having reservations.  He would need to meet with her to impress the seriousness of her responsibilities on her.

If that wasn't bad enough, Liberty Prime’s voice module was still out of commission.  Whoever had tampered with it had not been discovered yet.  Now, when Prime spoke during diagnostics, the once-patriotic robot instead cheerfully told everyone in the vicinity that “Deezer’s lemonade is made of pure goodness!” with an upbeat plummy accent resembling a Mr. Handy.  That the scribes would burst out laughing each time only added to Proctor Ingram’s sour mood.

And those were just some of the challenges within the Brotherhood.  Outside of themselves, there was still a world full of enemies to deal with.

The Institute continued to send their filth out into the Commonwealth, and while the Brotherhood now had a lead thanks to the Paladin, they had no way of getting their troops en masse within the Institute.  Their mission was too important to entrust to only one soldier operating through subterfuge – they needed a way to directly engage the enemy.

Speaking of subterfuge… While not as much a threat as the Institute, the Railroad continued to hamper their efforts to eradicate synths.  Maxson sneered; while he already hated the Institute for their monstrous creations, the thought of the Railroad actively submitting themselves to their new machine overlords, surrendering their free wills without a fight, sickened him.  As far as he was concerned, they were traitors to humanity, second only to the Institute, though they claimed to oppose them–

SNAP!

He cursed at the now-broken pen in his hand before standing to retrieve another.

Kells was assembling a list, he knew, compiling every bit of their intelligence together to identify the ringleaders of the Railroad.  Once they knew, the Brotherhood would eliminate them.  It couldn’t happen soon enough in Maxson’s opinion.

Returning to the subject of monstrosities loose in the Commonwealth: the super mutants had yet to mobilize, fortunately.  But he knew it was only a matter of time before it happened.  Sooner or later, another monster like Shepherd would rise from the cesspit and unify those aberrations of nature; when that happened, the Brotherhood would be more than prepared to put them all to the sword.

He considered the Gunners and the Raiders for a moment.  Both human forces, both a threat to the people of the Commonwealth – but nowhere near the priority level of the Institute and their resulting abominations.  The Gunners might be slightly more of a threat, having had military training, but the Raiders were a joke.  They were chaotically evil, and thus their internal structure would be easy to topple.  Best leave that to the Minutemen, if they ever managed to straighten themselves out.

The Minutemen made him think of Elder Owyn Lyons.  He felt a shadow in his heart that he quickly discarded.  As much as he had looked up to the man, now with time and experience, he realized that Lyons’ charity made him weak.  As the Minutemen’s charity made them weak.

Although… He was not blind.  The scribes had been reporting Minutemen-allied settlements raising artillery all across the Commonwealth.  At latest count, there were ten of these artillery pieces.  The Minutemen seemed to hold no open animosity for the Brotherhood (in reality the two tended not to acknowledge each other, like two men awkwardly stood side-by-side at a urinal, or so he had heard).  But that artillery… He didn’t like the look of them.  And he knew better than to underestimate 200-plus-years-old technology.

He had heard rumors of the Minutemen having a general.  The intel he had received before arriving into the Commonwealth had led him to believe that the Minutemen were all but wiped out, hardly worth mentioning – but that seemed to no longer be the case.  The scribes had no leads as of yet who this mysterious general was, only that he or she went by the name ‘General Valeska’.  If the Minutemen continued to gain in power and numbers, he would need to meet this General Valeska and impress upon them not to get in the Brotherhood’s way.  His soldiers would need to be more careful with their conduct, too.

The last thing they needed was a war on another front.

As he pondered over the millions of puzzle pieces that needed to align correctly, he felt his headache return.  So much to think about, that it sometimes felt as though everything were slipping through the Elder’s fingers, though he knew he was more than capable and successful.  But all the details were enough to drive any man mad…!

And then, of course, Nora Freeman just had to add to it.  Though he wouldn’t know that until three hours later.

–

Paladin Freeman’s ruthless slaughtering of the ferals in the airport – both times – had gained her some admiration amongst the other soldiers.  Once her feats had made the proper gossip rounds, his soldiers’ respect for her increased by the day – which was a relief, considering her rank.  Having her in a position of relative power could reflect poorly on him if his longer-tenured but lesser-ranked soldiers resented her.  As the youngest Elder in Brotherhood history, he knew that lesson intimately well.

Indeed, she fit in remarkably well for someone who, a few short months earlier, had been an initiate from the Wasteland, looked down upon by these very same soldiers.  There were some truly outlandish tales going around that no one was taking seriously – the favorite seemed to be that Freeman had killed the ferals in the airport and then promptly began gargling with their guts before spitting them dramatically on the wall.  Why anyone would find such a tale interesting rather than disgusting perplexed the Elder, but the result was an increase in Freeman’s acceptance, popularity, and admiration.

In the case of Engineering Scribe Osridge, however, it seemed a little more than simple admiration.

Maxson had stepped into the mess hall, reasoning with himself that he could at least remain hydrated while he lamented his lack of whiskey.  But it seemed the Paladin was growing on him more than he thought, because he immediately noticed her in the next room, working in the repair bay.  She did not notice him, however; her attention seemed to be focused on ignoring the brazen Scribe at her side.

Funnily enough, it reminded him of the way he himself used to be with Sentinel Sarah Lyons (only a slight pang accompanied thinking of her now) when he was but a mere squire.  The infatuation he used to feel for her, the way he would follow her around like a lost brahmin calf… Except Scribe Osridge wasn’t ten; he was twenty-five.  And his interest in Paladin Freeman was nowhere near as innocent as Arthur’s had once been, half a lifetime ago.

“Looking good, Nora.”

The Paladin in question glanced up, then quickly re-focused on her metal working.  “Scribe Osridge.”

“You should call me Daryl.  We are getting to know each other better, aren’t we?”

At this, the Paladin stiffened before slowly setting aside the armor she was repairing.  Something about her rigid posture set Maxson on alert.  “What do you mean?”

The Scribe started to put a hand on her hip; she flinched out of the way.  “You know you’re the most interesting person on this ship right now, don’t you?  Can you blame me for wanting to know you better?”  He gave what he obviously thought was a charming smile.

Freeman stared at the Scribe for a long moment.  Maxson wondered what was going on behind those wary eyes and that blank expression.  

“That conversation we had the other night was very illuminating for me,” she said carefully.  “I would say you know me well enough already.”  What did she mean by that?  “Now if you don’t mind, I need to–”

“Why don’t you come sit down with me, have a little something sweet from the canteen?” the Scribe persisted, reaching for her again.  Again, she dodged.

“Sorry, I can’t, I’m up to my eyeballs in projects.”  Abruptly, Freeman glanced over towards the mess hall.  Her eyebrows raised as she finally noticed him watching them.  “Elder.”

He nodded.  “Paladin.”  As Elder, I have the right to know whatever is necessary about my soldiers’ lives.  I will NOT be embarrassed for listening to their private conversation.  It was held in a public location, after all.

Now she held his gaze, mouth parting a bit as if she wanted to say something.  He waited attentively.

“–Everyone needs a break.”  Osridge took advantage of her distraction to grab her arm.  “C’mon with me.”

Freeman freed herself with sudden vehemence.  “You know, I really need to focus on what I’m doing.  I’ll see you later, Scribe.”  She swiftly put down her tools and strode briskly from the repair bay and through the doorway, nearly knocking into Maxson on her way out.  She stopped before him yet again, and then saluted.

He barely had time to salute back before she hightailed it back to her quarters.  Osridge looked disappointed.

“Next time,” he muttered to himself, though the Elder heard.

-

That incident alone made it clear to him that Osridge’s advances were unwelcome to Freeman.  But Osridge seemed either oblivious or unwilling to take no for an answer.  Maxson did not normally get involved in petty disputes among his soldiers (he had enough of a headache getting involved in petty disputes among senior officers), and he wasn’t about to start now – but he could not deny that he was very interested in what the outcome of this situation would be.

He found out two days later.

–

She was, again, attempting to work in the repair bay on modifying her armor before mess was called.  Osridge was once again accosting her.

He watched as Osridge hissed something at her again, only this time, her usually impassive face grimaced.  He found himself surprised by this – what had Osridge said to break her stoicism, when she regularly resisted openly reacting even to the Elder himself?

Freeman would need to make a report in order for him to justify getting involved.  If she would just submit a complaint, then he could subject Osridge to a disciplinary hearing on harassment.  But he didn’t imagine her doing that, no, she was the type to keep her issues to herself, wasn’t she?  Normally an admirable quality, but not now, not like this.  

He frowned at the thought of her stoically bearing Osridge’s advances – perhaps he should intervene after all?

But before he could decide whether to make a move, Paladin Freeman handled it herself.

She had been walking towards a doorway, weapon in hand, while Osridge trailed her, babbling and clearly unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer (and if Maxson wasn't mistaken, his lips briefly touched her ear).  The Paladin’s response was simple but effective.

WHAM!

Everyone in the mess hall looked up to where Osridge had unintentionally walked into the wall, while Freeman continued unmolested through the doorway.  No one but him had seen her lightly shove the Scribe to the side before he could squeeze through the doorway with her, both separating him from her person and giving him a jarring reminder that she did not appreciate his advances in the least.  Osridge stumbled backward a bit, to muffled snickers from the rest of the mess hall, clearly mistaking his mishap for being too starstruck to pay attention to where he was going.

The Elder turned away.  Normally, he would have to give the Paladin a disciplinary action about using force against another soldier.  In the circumstances, he was more than happy to overlook it.

–

There must have been some sort of Wasteland miracle, because practically overnight, the food problem was solved.  Morale was positively soaring among the soldiers.  Proctor Teagan must have given them some extremely compelling goods to trade with the farmers, because the supplies were practically overflowing now, and Gareth the mess officer seemed practically giddy with the recipes he was able to roll out.

Teagan was in particularly high spirits – or perhaps he was just high on spirits.  Their proctor was once again a happy drunk.  Whatever conflict he and Gavil were having seemed to have blown over with the food issue.  Teagan really could be very forgiving sometimes – a plus in these circumstances.

Maxson did overhear a few soldiers making snide comments about “sniveling Wastelanders”.  He frowned, hoping that they would refrain from saying that while on patrol.  Making such sentiments known was no way to win the hearts and minds of the Commonwealth, after all.  He would hate to see their progress reset.

–

Evening again, and the sunset was particularly red today.  It reminded him of that one bloody day when he had ordered Danse’s execution.  He adjusted the collar of his battlecoat and did his best to brush that thought aside.

His soldiers saluted him as he walked along the flight deck, the warm breeze ruffling his hair.  Fort Strong twinkled in the distance, the sunset’s glare catching on the pale brickwork.  A reminder that in spite of Doctor Li's obstinance, the Brotherhood was slowly but surely making progress in their Commonwealth campaign.

A familiar sparkle caught his eyes.  Paladin Freeman was outside of her power armor, and in process of taking off her combat helmet, which caught the setting sun’s light.  She stood on the farthest area of the flight deck, in a spot where one couldn’t see her unless they stood at the perfect angle.  No one at the Prydwen’s entrance would know she was there.

He smiled a little.  She was standing in the same place he occasionally stood when he did not wish to be bothered.  Though, as Elder, he himself did not need to respect her wishes.

As he approached her, he wondered again at her desire to seek out solitude.  Most likely she was hiding from Osridge right now, but... 

Aside from Danse and occasionally Haylen or Ingram, had he ever really seen Freeman interact with anyone?  

It was possible that she would warm up to more of the other soldiers over time.  But he thought she seemed even more standoffish than she had before... Before her CO was discovered to be a synth.  'Losing' her mentor like that might have her withdrawing from people; he had seen it often enough whenever any of his soldiers lost close comrades in battle.  If Freeman is in a state of mourning over her lost camaraderie with Danse, then might that be a reason she-?  

He pushed away the incomplete thought.

“Good evening, Paladin,” he greeted as he came to stand next to her by the railing.

She turned her head slightly, acknowledging him.  “Elder.”  She did not salute him.  But it did not seem to be with any intentional disrespect on her part – rather, she seemed lost in thought.  Her hands played idly with her helmet.

She never did make a report.  He had thought she mightn’t.  Perhaps he should push a bit.

“I see you are without the company of Scribe Osridge this evening.”

Her head turned so fast that he thought she might experience whiplash.  She hissed, “With all due respect, Elder, I have no desire to be in Scribe Osridge’s company!”

“Really?”  He knew this, of course, but he would prefer she confirm on her own what he believed.  This was becoming the second time he had seen her truly lose her composure, which alone was telling.  “What do you mean by that?”

Her nostrils flared.  “I believe you observed us before, Elder.”  Her voice was barely steady.  “He has been harassing me.”

“Harassing you?  That is a very serious accusation, Paladin.  Could you elaborate?”

For a moment, she looked as though she would explode with fury.

And then her anger glazed over, as if she had frozen it with a mere thought.  She stood up straighter, and her usual impassive expression slipped back on.  Seeing all emotions drain from her face so rapidly was equal parts impressive and frightening.  Such composure was not learned overnight.

“Yes, Elder.  He has been trying to put his hands on my person in ways I do not consent to-”

“In what ways?”  She blinked at his interruption, as if trying to remain emotionless.  It made him want to push all the more.

“Grabbing my arm.  Putting his hands on my waist.  Trying to touch my face.  He keeps seeking me out when I do not wish to associate with him in any way.  He told me something highly disturbing a few nights prior, and I find myself incredibly uncomfortable in his presence.”  She took a very deep breath, running a hand through her hair.  “Elder, what is the policy on social relations between Brotherhood soldiers if one does not wish to associate with another one?”

“Ordinarily, I leave it for soldiers to sort out for themselves, so long as there is no violence.”  He hoped his knowing expression translated well to her- I saw your brief moment of violence, Paladin.  How will you prevent that from being used against you?

Her jaw clenched slightly.  “And what about the potential for sexual assault?”

He cocked his head.  “Has he assaulted you?”

“No.  Not me.  Though I would daresay his harassment of me is one step away from becoming sexual assault.”

She spoke with entirely too much conviction.  He considered her.  “You aren’t telling me something, Paladin.  Out with it.”

“Yes, Elder.”  She was fully in control over her expressions now.  “You might or might not be aware of the rumors that Scribe Osridge has fraternized with ghouls.”  

He couldn’t quite hide the disgust he let slip into his face; he could feel his lip curling.  The Paladin seemed to ignore that.

“He saw fit to expand on this to me the other night.  It turns out, the doctor’s report wasn’t specific enough.  Osridge specifically was fraternizing with feral ghouls.”

He couldn’t stop himself.  “That is abhorrent!”

“Yes, it is, but not for the reason you’re thinking of, Elder.  You see, Osridge was bragging to me about how good he is with the syringer rifle.  You’d have to be, to sleep with a feral ghoul."  The calmness in her voice as she spoke of such gruesome things chilled him.  "Ferals aren’t known for their interest in sexual activity.  The majority would be busy trying to kill the person who was foolish enough to disturb them.”  She looked at him expectantly.  He did not understand why.

“Well, Paladin…?”

She took a deep breath.  “Elder… Feral ghouls were once like you and me, but they are no longer themselves and can no longer consent to sexual activities.  Do you understand the kind of person Osridge is now?”

At first he didn’t.  And then it hit him.

Freeman must have seen the sickened look on his face.  She nodded heavily, and then spoke in an oddly soft tone:

“If you were to argue that we shouldn’t care about what happens to ferals, then please consider that if a person would use a syringer to force a feral into certain activities, he might well do the same to someone else.  Especially if he is already the sort of person who doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“So that was the reason why you pushed him,” he blurted.

Freeman nodded again, solemnly.  “Yes, and I am sorry for violating your protocols.  I promise not to be violent again.  As long as he doesn’t touch me again.  If he does, I’ll throw him off the Prydwen myself.  Ad victoriam, Elder.”

She strode away before he could properly process her parting words.  Her fluid predatory walk was back.

-

As of the next morning, Scribe Osridge’s bunk had been cleared out, his syringer rifle had been confiscated, and he was henceforth expelled from the Brotherhood of Steel.

Maxson only wondered a little if Paladin Freeman was disappointed that she couldn't carry out her promise of seeing if the ex-Scribe could fly.

Chapter Text

To most people, the title of Elder must hold a great deal of glamour.  Maxson imagined people must think so, anyway.  Or perhaps it was about the perceived power that came with such a high position.  He was not blind to the effects of his own charisma, to how it enamored his soldiers to him, and he guessed that it helped to block the cruel reality from many fresh-faced initiates, and even some soldiers of higher rank.

Get high enough in the chain of command, and you realize: the deaths of those under your command weigh heavy on you.  And that weight only continues to grow.  He found himself mulling over that yet again during the morning briefing with Kells.

"Has Knight Sergeant Gavil sent the letter of condolence to Knight Rylan's family?"

"Yes, Elder," Lancer Captain Kells answered him with his usual gravitas.  The pair stood in Kells's command room beneath Maxson's own; lancers and scribes remained in motion behind them to maintain the Prydwen's systems.  "The letter has been sent to them, and the paperwork has been filed.  Knight Rylan's remains will be shipped home to them on the next available transport."

"Very good.  And what of our intel on the Commonwealth's other factions?  Any updates?"

The Elder wondered if perhaps it was his charisma, specifically, that made his work look easy to outsiders.  Kells's demeanor, on the other hand, spoke of nothing but hard work, and none under his command doubted that - though that might have been due to Kells's penchant for making anyone late to muster do a hundred pushups, and other such immediate disciplinary measures for minor infractions.  Necessary disciplining, in Maxson's mind - to ensure their soldiers would follow the bigger rules, they needed to make sure they could obey the small ones first.  Obedience, discipline, conformation to commonly shared practices - all necessary to make their greater vision successful.  

"Yes, Elder.  From what our recon teams have been able to learn, the Railroad has safehouses in different areas across the Commonwealth, though we have yet to identify any of them.  We might have a lead on one place though, and it might well be their main headquarters.  We need more time to make sure."

"Very well.  And what of the Institute?"

"We have no word as of yet of any plans to attack us.  It doesn't mean they aren't in the works, but our teams have not been targeted any more than usual, and we only are targeted if we interfere with their ops first."

"No doubt they're worried what might happen if we were to capture any of their machines.  We could tear them apart and examine their technology.  Which, of course, Scribe Neriah is already doing."

"It does help that we have that edge, sir.  We have rooted out no more of their spies since Danse, and we made an example of him to the Institute.  I would imagine they aren't so hasty to engage with us again."

"Indeed, Captain."  The weight of the lie settled on him momentarily, before he mentally brushed it off.  "And what of the Minutemen?"

Kells did work extremely hard, as did all his proctors.  But ultimately, the weight of the decisions their Brotherhood chapter made all rested on Maxson's head.  

"The Minutemen seem to be growing in numbers, as there are several settlements now allied to them.  Proctor Teagan says that this has hindered soldiers from procuring more resources from them.  They insist on a fairer price."

"We will need to discuss this further with Teagan."

"Indeed.  Our scribes have also reported more artillery being raised at the different settlements.  We received intel that the Minutemen who occupy Fort Independence are receiving specialized combat training, but we don't know how or from who.  Their General Valeska has been on the move and wiping out Raider strongholds, according to what their settlers and wandering militiamen say in passing, but we still have not had eyes on the general."

"We don't have even a passing description of them for identification?  Not even their gender?"

"Negative.  The only things we know so far about Valeska, are that they have been active for only a little while longer than when we arrived in the Commonwealth, that they led the battle to take back Fort Independence personally, and that if the rumors are to be believed, they are an absolutely unmerciful fighter.  It could be people telling tall tales, but they are said to leave a swath of bodies in their wake when they enter the battlefield."

Maxson scratched his chin, itching the skin beneath his beard.  They speak about this general as they speak about me sometimes. The comparison made him uneasy.  "Someone like that would stand out, and yet we haven't identified them in six months.  They must be moving incognito, then.  Perhaps they are a plainclothes fighter."

"Unusual, but not improbable.  It's expected a leader of a major faction would dress in a way to stand out, especially with the Minutemen's misplaced sense of symbolism.  By not following that trend, it allows their general to move more easily within the Commonwealth without detection."  Kells regarded him closely.  "Should we attempt to contact them?  Or question them about their artillery?"

And there was the life-or-death question Maxson had been waiting for.  Despite the Brotherhood's clear technological and military superiority, engaging with the Minutemen had a high chance of resulting in at least some deaths - ones that could be quite unnecessary, at that.  Too much was unknown to justify engaging with them now.

"No.  Not yet," he answered Kells.  "We don't wish to antagonize them prematurely.  But do keep an eye on their artillery and on any possible growing conflict.  As soon as we can identify their general by sight, I want to meet them.  If worse comes to worst, we will apprehend their second-in-command, Preston Garvey."

"Understood, Elder."

Being Elder meant making the hard decisions, the ones that nearly always involved deaths.  Lesser Elders had crumbled under the weight of that responsibility, knowing that each day you were very likely sending out fine soldiers to die.  The days where there were no casualties were a rare relief indeed.  The weight of that responsibility had only increased as they opened their ranks to Wastelanders.  Before, when their ranks were entirely populated by Brotherhood soldiers born and raised, everyone had a shared understanding of the sacrifices they must make.  While they still had many families that bled pure steel (as evidenced by the many child squires they still hosted aboard the Prydwen), their numbers were down.  Elder Lyons's campaign had been costly to their ranks.  For the Brotherhood to survive, they had to allow outsiders in, and many outsiders did not understand the necessity of accepting that their lives might be forfeit for their mission.  As Elder, the moral objections of those who dissented, and the anger of their surviving relatives, fell on his shoulders.

"What updates do we have on the restoration of Liberty Prime's energy systems?"

Kells exhaled in a slight puff.  "Proctor Ingram has been giving me updates.  Unfortunately, it's not better news..."

Many times being Elder also involved having unpleasant conversations with people and setting limits that others might find inhumane.  Despite his popularity, to Maxson’s understanding being the Elder meant more often than not being the bad guy.  And as he listened to Kells now, he was already preparing to don that role again.

"So according to Proctor Ingram, we could be further along in our progress, but..."

"Exactly, Elder.  According to the proctor, Doctor Li is deliberately hindering our progress.  She might be getting cold feet."

"Indeed.  Send her to my command deck so that I might have a word with her."

"Will do, Elder."

"Before you do so, Captain, is there any word back from that sweep team about the CIT ruins?  I don't doubt Paladin Freeman's information, but I wondered if that team's investigation yielded any more insights as to what we are dealing with here."

"The team did report back with their energy readings and synth sightings.  Alone their data doesn't tell us much, but compared with the other teams we've sent out within the Commonwealth, their location shows the highest reported incidence of those two stats.  That seems to independently confirm Freeman's assertions as to the Institute's location."

"Excellent.  Thank you, Kells.  Please send Doctor Li to me at the earlier opportunity."

"Yes, sir.  Ad victoriam!"

-

Doctor Madison Li's ten-year tenure at the Institute was a mistake Maxson laid squarely at the feet of Elder Lyons.  His predecessors should have never allowed her to leave the Brotherhood's service.  At minimum, had he been Elder and known what she had planned, he could have convinced her of the foolishness and hypocrisy of what she was doing.  Her moral objections to the Brotherhood of Steel paled in comparison to what the Institute was doing.

Maxson thought of this as he heard Doctor Li's plodding footsteps announce herself.  He didn't turn just yet; he didn't need to see the doctor's sneering expression to picture it.  He knew her well enough by now.

"Elder Maxson.  Summoning me up to your sky castle?"

“How good of you to join me, Doctor Li."  He turned slowly.  As expected, she was sneering at him, not even bothering to conceal her sentiments.  By contrast, he remained professional.  "I have been informed by Proctor Ingram that progress on reactivating Liberty Prime’s power systems has been stalled.  According to her, up until a week ago, you two were moving at a decent pace in solving the complications.  Then, nothing.  Explain.”

"I knew you'd be interrogating me again sooner or later, Maxson.  Your Proctor was kind enough to finally inform me of your ultimate plans for Liberty Prime.  Something your Knight was all too happy to deceive me about, no doubt as per your orders."

"Please elaborate, Doctor.  How did we deceive you?"  And what Knight is she talking about...?

“I said I’d come back to the Brotherhood, and I have.  But your little soldier neglected to mention I’d be working on Liberty Prime, let alone that you would be using Prime to utterly destroy the Institute and murder everyone inside-”  

"You would call putting a stop to the Institute's threats 'murder'?" he cut across her.  "You would make excuses for the monstrosities they have created and for their continuing crimes against humanity!?  For their own kidnap, murder, and replacement of innocent Commonwealth citizens?  I thought that stopping their threat was a cause you believed in, Doctor Li.”

“Of course I believe in stopping the Institute’s greed!  Especially if that greed contributes to the suffering of the Commonwealth."  Doctor Li threw up her hands.  "But that’s not the same thing as using Liberty Prime to kill hundreds of people!  Not everyone in the Institute is involved in synth creation!  I wasn’t."  She stabbed a finger at him.  "There are entire families down there that have never seen the light of above ground, generations born down there from the years since the war.  You would kill everyone else who lives there, including the children?  Knowing what they could do to help?”

"And how is perverting the boundaries between human and machine helping, Doctor?"

"There are crops underground that can grow better and more nutritious than anything we have up here!" the doctor explained with gusto.  "There is a whole division on medicine.  Entire areas with projects that have nothing to do with synths.  Why do you think I joined, Elder?  I wanted to do my research in peace and create things for the good of humanity.  The way I used to.  Before your organization got involved."  Her voice grew bitter.  "You would think I would have learned by now, but no.  You manipulated me to return to your group, and now you're going to use Liberty Prime for the same thing you did last time, only this time you'll destroy creations that might help the Commonwealth, in addition to murder."  She looked angry enough to spit.  "Your Brotherhood takes everything I create and turns it into a weapon of war!"

"You presume that you created Liberty Prime, Doctor?" he replied silkily.  "May I remind you that Liberty Prime was built by the U.S. Military, 200 years before both our times, meant to be used to liberate Anchorage?  You do not have the right to claim that full legacy, no matter how grateful we are to you for your work-"

"And you do, Maxson?!  You claim that legacy?  Maybe I didn't create Liberty Prime, but I made his legacy possible!  And your precious Brotherhood used that, as well as Project Purity, to-"

"What did you expect would happen, then?" he challenged her.

"With Prime?  I- I thought you would use him as leverage.  To get your demands met.  I never thought you would skip straight to bombing people.  And that's what you plan to do again, isn't it?"

"Does that surprise you?  Think about what the Institute is doing right now, Doctor!  Think about what the Enclave did back then!" Now he was the one to throw up his hands.  "Is peace even an option with these fanatics?!"

“You could have allowed Project Purity to benefit the whole Wasteland, which was the original premise of the project!  Mine and James's project!"  She glared at him, daring him to deny her ownership.  "Instead, you chose to control it, rather than give everyone free access-”

“And risk it being taken by an enemy force again?  Used against the Wasteland, the way the Enclave planned to?”

“There were other ways, and you know it!”

They glared at each other, huffing, both unwilling to back down.  Maxson fought to control his temper.  He could not afford to alienate Doctor Li, no matter how much he bridled at her hypocrisy.  They still needed her work to continue.  He would use force only as a last measure, though make no mistake, he would do what he needed to in order to make sure she got the job done.  Surely she must understand that by now?

Finally, exhaling, he changed the subject a little.

"...And as for the Knight - I assume you refer to Paladin Freeman?"

"Oh.  Was she promoted?" Doctor Li sneered.

"Yes.  Our resurrection of Liberty Prime was need-to-know.  She had no idea of what our project was when we sent her to recruit you."

"That's even worse.  She didn't know what she was fighting for, and she still dragged me into this mess.  Did you put her up to lying to me about Virgil?"

"Doctor Li, it might surprise you to know that I have no idea what Paladin Freeman did or did not say to compel you to return to us. The specifics were not my concern - she had orders to be successful, and she was."  An opportunity sparked before him.  "Though, if it would help ease your mind, I can call her before us now so that you might question her and clear up any... misconceptions.  Would you agree to that?"

If possible, the doctor's sneer grew more pronounced.  "With pleasure."

-

The wait did not take long.  The squire he sent out located the Paladin relatively quickly, because she appeared within five minutes, orange uniform smartly in place.  She saluted promptly upon entering his command deck.

"Elder Maxson."

The warmth in her tone alarmed him.  When he looked at her, startled, he saw she was smiling at him.  Why?  Why was she suddenly responding so positively to his presence, when she had been so coldly professional before?

"Doctor Li."

The doctor scoffed.  Freeman's smile almost immediately dropped.

"How may I help you both?" her attention turned back to Maxson.

He regarded her for a long moment, puzzling over how to proceed.  He guessed that his swift handling of the situation with ex-Scribe Osridge might have endeared him to her somewhat.  A shame his job left little room for compassion, or he might seek to prolong her new sentiment.  It cannot be helped.

"Nora Freeman," he said slowly.  "Doctor Li and I have been having a most interesting discussion, and we were hoping you might be able to clarify some points."

Something in her face had changed when he said her full name, though he wasn't sure exactly how it had affected her.  Nevertheless, she answered him dutifully.  "How may I help, Elder?"

"We were discussing an apparent contact of yours.  Doctor Brian Virgil.  Why don't you tell us from the beginning about how you came into contact with him?"

The Paladin cleared her throat.  "My acquaintance with Doctor Virgil was accidental and highly fortuitous on my part.  I had business with a mercenary by the name of Conrad Kellogg."  Her tone grew cold.  "He murdered my husband and kidnapped my son.  So I tracked him down."

Maxson had never heard of this mercenary before.  But he couldn't miss how Doctor Li's face paled dramatically when Freeman said the name.

"I learned that he had a target who was hiding in the Glowing Sea.  One Doctor Brian Virgil, and that the Institute wanted him dead.  So I found Virgil, and I asked for his help to get into the Institute.  He was the one who drew me the schematics for the signal interceptor."

"I remember that you presented those same schematics to Proctor Ingram, though you did not tell us who made them."  Freeman acknowledged what he said with a nod.  "And what happened to this mercenary - Conrad Kellogg, was it?"  Though he asked the question to the Paladin, his whole focus was on Doctor Li's face, searching for more tells.

"I eliminated him."

Total shock flooded the doctor's face.  "You- you did?"

"Yes, Doctor.  Kellogg," she spat the name, "will no longer be a threat to anyone."

The doctor was shocked into silence.  As much as the Elder would like to press her, he needed to continue this conversation in the vein of interrogating Nora Freeman.  And for that, he needed Doctor Li to feed him more information.  How best to procure it?

"Well done, Paladin."

"Thank you, Elder."

It was then that Doctor Li seemed to snap out of her horrified stupor.  As Maxson suspected, praising the Paladin she seemed determined to hate put her back on track.  "You say that Brian drew you schematics for a signal interceptor?  Not just gave, but specifically drew them for you?"

"Yes.  He designed them."

"Now see, I should believe you."  Doctor Li's disbelief and slight contempt was showing again, and with that Maxson knew that she would power this interview with those factors alone.  "You got into the Institute after all," the doctor acknowledged the Paladin.  "But there's one problem with that.  Brian worked in BioScience, not in Advanced Systems.  The designs you claim he created sound more like something someone from my former division would have done.  Not to mention, you said that he's in the Glowing Sea - but unless he joined the Children of Atom, there's no way he could survive out there, never mind for as many months as he's been missing from the Institute."

"An interesting thought, Doctor Li.  Paladin Freeman had declined to name her contact in the Glowing Sea previously, and now she claims it to be this Doctor Virgil.  That is indeed suspicious.  How would you prove yourself to us, Paladin?"

"I had previously given Doctor Li a holotape from Virgil's lab, where he told his reasons for leaving the Institute, as well as his plans for going into hiding."

"But he didn't say where he was going in his holotape."

"He couldn't!  Leaving that information behind could get him killed!  If I hadn't by pure coincidence managed to kill Kellogg myself, he would be dead by now."

"While that makes sense, I have also glimpsed the schematics you claim he created.  That does not look like his handwriting!"

Freeman looked to be at a loss for words.

"There's another question I have, Paladin," Maxson cut in.  "An ex-Institute scientist could be a huge boon to the Brotherhood, as you've no doubt gathered from how you were ordered to recruit Doctor Li."  He ignored the doctor-in-question's scoff.  "Why have you not tried to bring Doctor Virgil into our services?"

"You told me that Father lied to me and that Brian is actually still alive."  Doctor Li folded her arms, glaring at Freeman.  "But you don't have any concrete proof that you're not lying, do you?  Your evasiveness makes you out to be the liar instead.  Or maybe you're both liars."  Her lip curled.  "Maybe you just used my friendship with Brian to manipulate me."

"What aren't you telling us, Paladin?"

Nora took a very deep breath.  When she spoke, her voice was low, vibrating with something ominous.  "Are you aware of how Doctor Virgil escaped from the Institute?"

"Enlighten us."

"In order to escape the Institute as well as survive undetected within the Glowing Sea, Virgil took a strain of the FEV-"

"No!" Doctor Li gasped out.  Maxson was similarly horrified.

"-Doctor Virgil turned himself into a super mutant, as well as destroyed his former laboratory.  Now before you-"

“How could you have let that abomination live?!" he raged.  Any sort of delicacy the conversation had called for had been completely obliterated with her blatant disregard for protocol.

"Elder-"

“You need to rectify your oversight, Paladin!" he seethed.  "Return to the Glowing Sea at once and execute him!”

“Elder.  Brian Virgil might be human again.”

That stopped his bloodlust in its tracks- rather, paused might be a better word.  Freeman was regarding him with a calm, grave expression.  He was barely aware of Doctor Li's shaky pulls of air in the background.

"What nonsense is this?" he hissed at the Paladin.

“In exchange for the schematics, Doctor Virgil requested an experimental cure for the FEV."  She was in control again.  Damnit!  "It was the last project he was working on before he fled the Institute.  I found and delivered it to him after I successfully breached the Institute, and he took the cure as I watched.  That was weeks ago.  By this point, he might have already transformed back.”

"So you mean to say that of all things, this Virgil was creating super mutant abominations?"  This doctor, this predator...

"His task was the experiment with the FEV, yes.  It did involve experiments on human subjects.  It's also the reason why he quit, Elder.  He disagreed morally.  The cure, I believe, was to undo some of that damage he was responsible for.  I do not know if it was Institute-approved.  I'm guessing he was developing it in secret, but I do not have proof of that yet."

He glared at her openly.  To her credit, she did not flinch.  Though he no longer expected her to.

Doctor Li, on the other hand... He could see her still shuddering out of the corner of his eye.  But she was no longer his primary concern.

"If his cure is successful, it would be the first step to undoing some of the damage of the FEV."  Freeman's voice subtly became slower.  "Could you really afford to kill him if he offers that possibility?"

He could not contain the hatred he felt when he looked at her.  Why?  Why did her disloyalty anger him so much worse than Doctor Li's?  Perhaps it was because he had expected better from her, as surprising as it was to realize that.  He spoke to her through gritted teeth.

"I will be conferring with Lancer Captain Kells about this new development.  Once we are decided, you will be given orders, and I expect you to follow them to the letter."  He stalked up to her until they were face to face, a bare inch apart.  His voice came out soft and wrathful, deliberately ghosting her skin: "We do not tolerate exceptions to our mandate, Paladin."

I already spared M7-97 at your request, Freeman.  Do not expect me to be so merciful again.

She didn’t cower beneath his stare, nor did she crane her head back to look at him.  A strange thought crossed his mind then – that she was at the perfect height to sink her teeth into his neck and tear out his throat.  He bristled at the thought.

"Report to Captain Kells in 0200 hours for your orders.  Until then, get out of my sight."

Her voice was just as soft, just as venomous as his.  “Yes, Elder.”

Before she left, she turned to stare at Madison Li.  Whatever expression she was wearing must have been frightening, for the doctor sucked in a harsh breath. 

He saw the edge of her look remaining as she brushed past him once more and left the command deck.  Determination mixed with something else.  He recognized her look as the same one she had given him on the night he had ordered her to execute Danse.

She is going to disobey my orders again, damn her!

-

It was done.  Kells had given the Paladin her orders and sent her off to the Glowing Sea to eliminate Virgil as a loose end.

Doctor Li had returned to her work, for now.  Through her unfounded suspicions of the Paladin, she had unwittingly betrayed her friend and caused his death by forcing Freeman to reveal his secret.  The look of horror she'd worn after he had dismissed Freeman had spoken volumes.  For now, she seemed to be in shock, submissive.  He had no doubt that she would become difficult again once she learned news of Virgil's death.  When that happened, he would proceed directly to using force to deal with her.  Unfortunate, but he could not allow her to compromise their project.

It was unfortunate that their mandate left them unable to make an exception for Virgil.  If it had, Virgil would certainly make for some excellent motivation.  Doctor Li might cooperate better if Virgil's safety were held over her head.  A shame.

Ironic, that the doctor's own unfounded suspicions about the Paladin had revealed legitimate suspicions to Maxson.  He was once again going to need to be on guard with Freeman.

Acting on that thought, he stopped by Cade's sickbay as soon as he received confirmation that Freeman was off his ship.

"Ad victoriam, Elder."  Luckily Cade had no patients at the moment.  His office was empty save for the two of them.

"Ad victoriam.  I have a question for you.  Do you have a minute?"

"Of course, Elder.  Please make yourself at home."

Maxson remained standing.  "Have any of your medicinal supplies gone missing in the last two weeks?  Particularly any antiseptic?"

Cade frowned.  "Not that I am aware of.  If you'll allow me to check...?"

"Of course."

As the man looked through his stores, he kept his attention on the Elder.  "What's this about?  Are you checking if Clarke was stealing from me too?"

Maxson sighed through his teeth.  "Paladin Freeman cleaned up a possible infection risk in the airport about nine days ago with what appeared to be a large amount of antiseptic.  Given that it's an ingredient not easily come by, I worried that she might be taking from your stores without your permission."

"Ahh.  She did no such thing, Elder.  Allow me to explain."  At Maxson's nod, Cade continued.  "Our Paladin is quite the entrepreneur.  She creates her own batches of medicinal supplies.  She was in here a month or so ago asking for pointers on her home-brewed Stimpaks.  As it turns out, she is more than proficient at chemistry.  I would not be surprised if she created that antiseptic from scratch.  Which is no small feat, considering the Wasteland and its lack of easy access to ingredients and means to make such things."

"Interesting."

"When you see her next, could you please ask her to come see me, Elder?  You just reminded me that I have more tips for her about her Stimpak mixtures."

"I will let her know to join you once she returns from the Glowing Sea."

Cade winced.  "She's been dispatched to the Glowing Sea?"

"Yes," he tilted his head at the medic's reaction.  "What is it, Captain?"

"Are you sure it's wise to send her to the Glowing Sea again, especially in light of how it could affect her?  Her body is not as well-suited for radiation as someone who grew up in it."

'Not as well-suited'?  But everyone grows up with radiation.  He hoped Cade was not attempting to give her special treatment based on her Vault-dweller status.

"I'm afraid I don't understand.  Please elaborate, Cade."

"Well, because she has not been as exposed to radiation as everyone else, she will likely be more affected by the Glowing Sea.  And while I would never be one to try to challenge a person's freewill over his or her own body, her genetics are too unique to allow to just wander through radiation, if I may say so.  It would be a travesty to corrupt such unique DNA when we could avoid it."

"What is so unique about Freeman's DNA that we should preserve it with greater care than we do for any other soldier?"

"Well... what with her being prewar..."

Maxson had the oddest sensation suddenly.  As though the world was tilting on its axis.  Cade's words weren't making any sense.

"Excuse me.  I don't understand what you're telling me, Cade.  What do you mean when you say 'prewar'?"

-

Unbelievable.  He was going to kill her.  Or at least fantasize very hard about it.  Preferably while putting her in her place immediately upon her return.

Or perhaps he should kill Cade instead.

How could this information have slipped under the radar?!  Or more precisely, how could he have not known about it?  Cade had apparently known since she had first come aboard.

"Nora Freeman is over 200 years old..." he murmured to himself in disbelief.  How??  The most obvious answer was that it had something to do with her Vault, but still - how?

Who else knew about it?

Apparently, that answer was: several of his staff knew about Paladin Freeman's prewar status.  Cade, Proctors Ingram and Quinlan, and Neriah all knew.  Neriah was even naming her latest serum after Freeman's Vault, as Freeman had been collecting so many specimens for her.  

He felt slightly better that Teagan and Kells also did not know and were as surprised as he was.  But still.  He should have known, all this time.  He should have been first to know!  Why hadn't she told him?!

He was furious.  And that did not bode well for Freeman.

-

The sound of a Vertibird approaching was music to his ears.  He glared at the doorway leading out to the flight deck before nodding at Kells.

"Send her here to me as soon as you're done with her."

"Yes, sir."

-

"Elder."

The Paladin stepped into his command deck with an air of weariness.  He was struck by the similarity in the lighting - once again, he was staring at her filtered through red light, during the cusp between sunset and night.  He scowled openly.

"Exit your power armor at once and come and stand before me, Paladin!"

"Elder-"

"Are you incapable of following a direct order?!"

"No, Elder."  Freeman sounded so defeated, but she did as she was told, leaving her power armor near the doorway.  Her orange suit crinkled a bit as she stopped before him.

"You owe us an explanation, Paladin."  He was unwilling to give an inch this time.  "Why did you not eliminate your target?"

Freeman made a soft noise.  "As I thought, Brian Virgil is human once more.  I made a judgment call to leave him alive, in case we needed him to continue working on developing cures to the other FEV strains."

"Those weren't your calls to make!"

"I understand that my disobedience presents as a problem, and I will accept whatever punishment you have for me," Freeman acknowledged with a nod, followed by a wince.  "But Elder, before this, may I please request-"

"I should have you expelled from the Brotherhood with the way you break our tenets so regularly.  Do you understand?  We cannot afford to make exceptions every time it 'seems like a good idea' to let an abomination live!  If we were to do that, then what would we stand for?"

Freeman had paled.  Sweat dropped down her face, no doubt from her anxiety.  She practically stank of it, he could smell.  He found himself wondering how severely Kells had reprimanded her.  "But Elder-"

"And furthermore, I have discovered during your absence that you have been withholding secrets from me."

Now Freeman looked alarmed.  Maxson would have reveled in her display of emotion were he not so furious with her.

"Tell me, Freeman, when were you going to tell me that you're over 200 years old?"

Silence.  He waited, breath baited and lip curled for her response.

Freeman tilted her head to one side in a parody of confusion.

"You didn't already know that?"

"Why would I-?!"

"Elder, it's been common knowledge since- since- day-"

Unexpectedly, her eyes rolled back in her head.  She let out a soft groan, and only his quick reflexes allowed him to catch her before she collapsed to the floor of his deck.

Chapter Text

The Elder managed to move just in time to catch the Paladin as she collapsed.  Upon catching her, the smell of her sweat washed over him pungently.  She was practically drenched in it!

Rather than keep her on her feet, he carefully lowered her to the floor of the command deck.

"Paladin," he hissed as her head slumped forward.  "Paladin! Get ahold of yourself!"  He resisted the urge to shake her. Instead, he leaned her body back carefully, maneuvering so she could rest against him.  One hand came up to support the back of her head.  He felt something warm, wet, and tacky coat his hand, and his jaw clenched.

The Paladin's lapse in consciousness was brief, and she came to quickly with a pained groan, lurching sideways.

“Vase-" she gasped.  "I need-”

“What-?”

She abruptly vomited on the floor, luckily just managing to avoid her suit.  He saw a familiar coffee-ground-looking substance mixed in with her vomit - blood, most likely.  Not good.  That, combined with her paleness, shaking, and disorientation, pointed to possible radiation poisoning.

Her power armor stood in the corner of the room.  He finally noticed the huge conspicuous gash that ran through the backside of the helmet and torso.  He only knew of one creature who could tear through power armor like that.  The scar on his cheek itched; it was a miracle the deathclaw hadn't torn her head off entirely.

He needed to get her to Cade.  Calling and waiting for a medical scribe-in-training to arrive would take too long.  Hefting her over both shoulders and securing her with one arm, he hurried towards the ladder leading up to the main deck.  The movement jostled her a bit, though less than what could have been.

“Sorry about your deck.”  Her whisper was slightly slurred with agony and possibly the remains of her vomit.  “I hope you’re not going to make me clean it up.”

He twitched.  “Now is no time for jokes, Paladin.”

“I disagree.”  He was surprised to hear her chuckle weakly as he carefully hoisted them up the ladder.  “Having a sense of humor is a wonderful coping mechanism.”

Boots hit the deck.  "Why did you not seek medical help immediately?"  Cade's doorway was within view.  He sprinted now.

"Kells- insisted I-"

"Paladin!"  Cade's startled voice interrupted their conversation.  "Elder, thank you, please help me put her on the gurney."  The doctor had been sitting upright in a chair, snoozing - a position he often found Cade in.  If the good medic knew that a unit was presently returning from the field, especially if they had been in a dangerous location, he usually endeavored to remain in his office until they had been medically examined and cleared.  He greatly admired Cade's dedication and selflessness to their soldiers' well-beings.

As he and Cade carefully set Freeman down, Maxson finally saw that his right hand was completely coated in her blood.  Freeman groaned again.  Cade slipped out a syringe of Med-X and applied it directly to the side of her neck.

"Your wound looks bad, but not fatal," the medic said, examining her back and head.  "I'm going to need to cut off your suit though to work on it."  The medical shears came out.  "What happened to you?"

"Well, you know how the- urgh- the Glowing Sea can be," Freeman mumbled.  "I dealt with the molerats and radscorpions OK, but the deathclaw was a surprise!"  She winced.  "Legendary alpha fucker, nearly cut my suit open like a tin can before I could finish him.  Let the radiation in too, damn him.  From there, it was still a long walk to get outside the Sea and into Vertibird range.”  Her eyelids fluttered a little; between that and her uncharacteristic swearing, he could only assume the Med-X was taking quick effect.  "Only good thing was that it happened heading back out of the Glowing Sea, instead of on my way in."

Maxson gritted his teeth.  That's right - she went there and disobeyed her orders to eliminate Virgil.  He opened his mouth to continue his questioning, but was cut off when the Paladin erupted into a violent coughing fit.

"Elder."  Cade sent him a look.  "It might be best if you allow me to treat Paladin Freeman before you question her.  I will let you know as soon as she is comfortable and on the mend.  She'll be in more of a state to answer you then."

He realized suddenly that Cade had been peeling off her suit; he had been so focused on her facial expressions that he had neglected to notice.  Her orange Brotherhood uniform now hung to her waist in shreds.  Her upper body was exposed; her ruined bra was just barely hanging on, and Cade was clearly preparing to cut that off too.  The Paladin was too out of it to show any embarrassment; instead, Maxson vaguely felt it on her behalf.  

He clenched his jaw, standing abruptly and striding towards the exit.

"Let me know the minute she's ready."

-

It took a few hours before Cade had stabilized the Paladin enough for him to question her.  During that time period, he managed to catch a brief nap, clean the blood off his coat, check and approve all the prescheduled missions for the upcoming week, and think more deeply over the day's events.

He should have seen it coming when it came to the business with Doctor Li.  For the first time, he wondered if he should have asked someone else.  But who could he have asked to work on Prime's systems aside from her?  Ingram spoke of a scientist located in Diamond City, but he couldn't imagine anyone better suited to Prime than one of the original engineers on the robot's power system.

Begrudgingly, he realized that the Paladin's refusal to follow orders might have actually benefitted their mission this time, if in a roundabout way.  Doctor Li might actually keep herself in check if it would secure her former colleague's wellbeing.  And... and it might be of benefit to mankind's survival to keep the rogue scientist alive.

His ancestor Roger Maxson was the first to stand against the FEV threat.  Roger Maxson's systematic interrogation and subsequent execution of the immoral scientists behind its creation had gone down in history as the first act of defiance against the corrupt U.S. military.  That very act had led to the creation of the Brotherhood of Steel, the only truly good thing to have come out of the military's disgrace.  What kind of Maxson would Arthur have been if his first call wasn't to execute another immoral FEV scientist?

But, if the Paladin was to be believed, Brian Virgil was an atoner.  Not content to allow his legacy to be torture and perversion of science, he had defected from his presumed decadence within the Institute.  He had taken it upon himself to try to design a cure for the sins that were his, the Institute's, and those scientists that Roger Maxson had struck down.  And he had done it knowing that if the Institute realized what he was doing, then his life was forfeit.

Arthur didn't know what Roger would have done in this situation.  Had any of the scientists repented?  Had any of them tried to reverse the damage?  Or tried to resist their orders?  He didn't know.  But with the way the world was now, that FEV cure would be a necessary weapon to keep in their arsenal.  Anything that could help eliminate the abominations of the Wasteland...

And so, Maxson would lift the kill order on Virgil.  Since the majority of the Brotherhood had no idea about Virgil's existence, this wouldn't be a problem.  He only wondered what Kells would say about it.

-

Kells, it turned out, had already expressed approval for the Paladin's reasoning behind Virgil's stay of execution, further adding that since Virgil had successfully stranded himself in the Glowing Sea without a means of escape, then any threat he may or may not pose was neutralized.  The Lancer Captain had told the Paladin that she only needed to clear it with Maxson himself.  He also expressed surprise and alarm to find out that the Paladin had been badly injured while she was giving her report.

"She didn't say anything at all about her injuries?" Maxson questioned him.

"No, sir.  Though, now that I think about it, I didn't really give her room to say much.  Once I took her report, I sent her directly to you."

Maxson remembered with a modicum of guilt that she had been trying to get a word in edgewise, but he hadn't let her.  He would endeavor to listen to her more carefully this time.

-

When he returned to Cade's sickbay, the medic informed him that the Paladin was finally in the clear.  She was presently sleeping, no doubt exhausted from the medical procedures.  Cade had cleaned and stitched her wounds as well as flushed her system thoroughly with RadAway (Maxson knew from personal experience that the latter procedure was often accompanied by more vomiting, especially with poisoning that severe).  The deathclaw had slashed her rather than stabbed, and that was probably what had allowed her to survive.

He spared her a glance, passed out as she was on the gurney.  A sheet was pulled up to her neck.  He could see bandages on the back of her head, no doubt continuing down her shoulders and back, and he briefly wondered how much of her hair Cade had shaved to get at the wounds.  What hair she did have left was spread over the clean pillow.  He was pleased to see no bloodstains.

Even in sleep, she looked so serious.  The little nicks and scars in her face stood out, more than he would have guessed she had at first glance.  But she didn't look old.  Despite the lines near her eyes, possibly present from either stress or genetics, the skin in her cheeks and forehead looked quite elastic.

How could she still look so young for being over 200 years old?

His glance must have become a stare; Cade coughed.  He turned his attention back to the medic.

"When do you estimate she will be field-ready again?"

"I would give her at least five days for the head laceration.  The Stimpaks will speed up her recovery, or I would request you give her longer.  But we don't want her exerting herself too soon when she goes back in, so perhaps minor missions for at least a week or two after, until I can check her over and clear her for more rigorous missions."

"Very well."

"Is there something troubling you, Elder?"

He sighed.  He must not have hidden his feelings well enough.  But then, Cade always was good at reading people.

"Paladin Freeman has disobeyed my direct orders twice now.  Both times could have ended in disaster, but didn't.  I have my doubts about whether or not she is really cut out for Brotherhood service."

Cade opened his mouth to reply.

"I agree," a hoarse voice cut in.  "It really should have been Nate."

He turned.  The Paladin had raised her head just slightly to look at him better.  Her eyes were dark and brooding.

Immediately, Cade was fussing over her, adjusting her pillow - "Don't strain your head!" - and Maxson came to stand above her in her line of sight.  Even weakened and bed-ridden, she looked up at him without fear.

"Paladin," he intoned.

"Elder," she responded.  "I would salute, but, uh..."

"Understood.  I am glad to see you are still alive."

"Me too."  At that, she smiled slightly, though it dropped just as suddenly.  "Me too," she repeated more somberly.

Maxson cleared his throat.  "Who is Nate?"

At that, a terrible sadness washed over the Paladin.  "Nate was my late husband," she said quietly.  "He should be here.  Alive."  A flash of self-hatred glimmered in her eyes.  "Instead of me."

The raw pain in her words hit something inside of him.  He knew all too well how it felt to feel unworthy of his survival, especially if someone far worthier had died instead.  "You can't think that way, Paladin.  You have a mission to perform.  Your husband would no doubt agree."

She scoffed without any heat.  Rather, there seemed to be a tenderness in her words.  "I know.  He was a soldier."

"He was?"

"Yes.  108th Infantry."

It secretly relieved him to hear that.  Her soldier was not involved in the more immoral parts of the former U.S. military.  His hands were clean of that.

He was used to giving condolences to comrades and family members of soldiers killed in the line of duty.  But what did he say to her when her soldier was killed by a mercenary who had also kidnapped her son?  Under orders from the Institute, no less?  He didn't even know the circumstances behind the events - though intuition told him that he needed to find out.

"Before you passed out earlier, we were in the middle of a conversation."

She tried to school her expression, he could see.  But she couldn't, not like usual.  He realized suddenly that Cade must have given her another dose of Med-X.  Which meant her guard was down.  He needed to tread carefully and take advantage of this opportunity.

"I remember, Elder.  You were surprised by my age, if I recall."

"Yes.  How on Earth are you over 200 years old?”

He was surprised to see her grin.  “You know, back in my day, it was considered rude to comment on a lady’s age.”

“Here, you are not a lady, Paladin," he said sternly.  He would not let her avoid the question this time.  "You are a soldier.”

“Ouch!" she laughed.  "You're probably still single, aren't you?”

He was appalled.  “Paladin!”

As she erupted into full blown chortles (which quickly descended into coughing), Cade subtly took the Elder's arm and pulled him aside.  “Elder, please remember that the Med-X may have an adverse effect on her, including lowering her inhibitions.  Were she unmedicated, she in all likelihood would not be saying these things.  Show her some leniency.”

“I suppose you’re right.  I will be lenient just this once.”  He straightened up and moved back to the recovering Paladin.  "As I was saying - I want you to tell me the reason behind your longevity."

This seemed to sober her.  She nodded.  "You're asking about my Vault, aren't you?"

"Yes."  He thought for a moment.  "We should ask Proctor Quinlan to attend this meeting as well.  He will want to record it for the Scrolls."

Freeman groaned in response.

-

"Nora!" the Proctor practically sang as he entered the increasingly crowded sickbay.  "Did I hear correctly that you are finally ready to share with us the secrets of Vault 111?"

"Quinlan," The Paladin (or Nora, as Quinlan was apparently comfortable in calling her) greeted him flatly.  "You heard right.  Must be your lucky day, huh?"

"Indeed!"  The Proctor was so chipper that he seemed to have overlooked that the Paladin was injured.  "Let me ready my quill..." A few shuffles later, and Quinlan eagerly stood next to Nora, quill and scroll in hand.  The scroll was attached to a clipboard.

In the meantime, Cade adjusted the gurney so the Paladin could comfortably sit up and speak to the gathered men.

Nora cleared her throat.  "Alright, Elder.  What do you want to know first?"

"When and where were you born?"

"I was born 30th of October, 2053, at the Mass Bay Medical Center in Boston, Massachusetts."

Maxson, Cade, and Quinlan all blinked at her.  Maxson imagined their shock to come from concrete confirmation that she really was that old.  For his part, he had never heard anyone refer to the Commonwealth as its old name "Massachusetts" before.

"You said that Vault 111 is the reason behind your advanced age.  Could you elaborate?"

"I went into the Vault on October 23rd 2077."

Quinlan sucked in a breath.  "Isn't that-?"

"The day of the War?  Yes.  I was a week away from turning 24 when it happened.  My husband had been in military service before that, and that morning he was preparing to speak at the Veteran's Hall in Concord.  A Vault-Tec representative came to our door, told us we were pre-approved to reserve space in Vault 111, in the event of total atomic annihilation.  Nate and I knew how bad the war was getting, despite the propaganda.  We signed up for the Vault.  Not a moment too soon - less than half an hour later, the first bombs began to drop, and it was broadcast on the news."

The Elder barely breathed.  That horrible War of one day had devastated their world, left them dealing with the fallout two centuries later... And here was a direct witness to that fateful day...

Cade and Quinlan were similarly spellbound, and Quinlan seemed to forget the scroll in his hand more than once.

"We grabbed our baby boy, Shaun, and we went up the path to the Vault.  It was right outside of Sanctuary Hills."

Maxson heard Quinlan furiously scribbling.  Indeed - they would most definitely need to send scribes there to investigate the Vault.

"There wasn't space for everyone, though.  Soldiers kept the others out.  Many of my neighbors were left to face the end of the world."  Nora's words trembled.  "Nate was holding Shaun, and I was facing south when I saw it.  That first bomb, dropping down on Massachusetts.  The one that created the Glowing Sea."

Goosebumps erupted over his arms, thankfully hidden away by his coat.  The room felt cold, suddenly.

"The fallout rose up and swept towards us, and that's when we descended into the Vault.  Locked away.  I will never forget how abruptly the screaming from outside just... stopped.  We were led away by the scientists.  Made to change into blue jumpsuits and told to go into pods for decontamination-"

"Oh no."  Cade put his hand to his mouth in horror.

"Yep.  It was a lie and a trap.  The so-called decontamination pods were cryo-chambers.  They froze us."

The Paladin's teeth were bared in rage.  She was shivering violently from beneath the sheet.

"Vault-Tec, unbeknownst to any of us, had set up the Vaults as experiments.  Every Vault I have found since then was originally created to do terrible things to their inhabitants.  All for their sick amusement.  Or 'for science!' as they might claim."

"How long were you frozen?" Maxson asked softly.

"I don't know.  I mean, I know I woke up in 2287, but... before that, we were interrupted."

"What do you mean by 'interrupted'?" Quinlan questioned.

"At some point, we were unfrozen, but we were kept inside our pods.  We couldn't get out.  That's when I saw them.  There were scientists wearing some kind of hazmat suits.  Institute shitheads, I later discovered.  They had a man with them.  I learned later who he was, too.  Conrad Kellogg."  She spoke his name with ferocious hatred.  "A mercenary motherfucker working for the Institute.  I watched as the three of them opened up my husband's pod.  He had been holding Shaun before we went into the pods."  She stopped speaking suddenly.  Her voice choked.  There were tears in her eyes.  "My biggest regret," she managed to say.

Quinlan and Cade averted their eyes uncomfortably, but not Maxson.  He saw the rage alongside the sorrow.  There.  This is where her fire comes from.

"Nate wouldn't give up Shaun, of course," Freeman continued in a whisper.  "Kellogg shot him.  And then, those bastards took my son and refroze me.  But not the others."  Her expression turned bitter.  "They left the others - my remaining neighbors - to suffocate to death in their metal coffins.  They had sabotaged the life support systems in all but my pod.  When I woke up years later, just last year, in twenty-two-eighty-fucking-seven, I was the only one left.  I was in that Vault for 210 years!"

Her sudden shout made them jump.  She quickly lowered her head after her outburst, trying to breathe normally.

"So yeah," she finally said, "I am technically 234 years old.  But in terms of lived experiences, I'm only 24.  I'm just... temporally displaced."

An awkward silence fell, fraught with pain and compassion.  At last, Maxson cleared his throat.

"And you were able to visit justice on this mercenary, I recall.  You tracked him down and avenged your husband, yourself..."  He paused.  "And what of your son?"

Freeman- no, Nora, shook her head.  "I'd rather not talk about him."

An awful pang pierced Maxson's chest as he nodded at her.

"Nora, if I may ask..." Quinlan interjected cautiously, "how did you get out of your pod?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Nora's face twisted into a vicious smile that twitched at the edges.  "They let me out.  Apparently the Director of the Institute felt like it would be a fun experiment to see if I could survive in the Wasteland..." 

As Maxson regarded the unhinged expression on the Paladin's face, he felt this newest reason to destroy the Institute darken his heart to a depth he had not previously known was possible.  And had Vault-Tec still existed, he would have ensured they met the same fate.

"Well, considering everything you've been through, Paladin, it's no surprise that a mere deathclaw couldn't take you out," Cade tried to soothe her.

At that, Nora's closed-off expression returned.  "I've fought deathclaws before.  Killed several of them.  But this is the first time I've had to do it alone.  I've always had a companion to help me take them down, but not this time."  Her eyes lowered again.  "And that's what it's really all about, isn't it?  Not having to face this world alone."

The Elder was growing uncomfortable with how much his understanding of the Paladin had shifted in just a few short hours.  But, as with other new things he had learned about her, he could relate only too well to her loneliness, too.

"Besides," she said with sudden energy - though upon closer examination he could tell it was forced, "surviving a deathclaw attack isn't nearly as impressive as killing a deathclaw single-handedly with a knife at age 13."  She grinned at the Elder.  "I won’t even have a cool scar to show for my efforts.  Mine will be hidden behind my hair, assuming I don't die from sepsis.”

Despite her attempt at levity, he could not bring himself to return it.  Especially when she referenced that incident that resulted in his near deification from misguided Brotherhood members.  "Fighting for glory rather than the mission will lead you to an early grave, Paladin," he said sternly.

Her smile faded.  "I know."

"Also, Cade will not let you die from sepsis."

She nodded.  "I know.  You've always looked after me, Cade."

The medic nodded back gently.  "I am happy to be of service."  Off the Paladin's yawn, "And speaking of care, we should let you rest.  I imagine this interview took a lot out of you."  He nodded at the Elder and the Head Scribe.

Quinlan was quick to shuffle out of the room, rolling up his scroll.  Maxson had turned to follow suit when Freeman stopped him: "One more thing before you go, Elder."

He shifted to face her.  "Yes, Paladin?"

"I can only imagine that you will want to send Brotherhood soldiers and scribes to investigate Vault 111."  Her eyes narrowed.  "I must ask that you wait until I can accompany them."

Making demands now?  He wasn't sure he liked that.  "I will take it under consideration.  May I ask why?"

Nora nodded.  "To you, the Vault is a place with potential tech, or at least a subject of interest.  But to me, it's where my old life died.  The dead bodies of my neighbors are in there-" he noticed she did not mention her husband- "as well as the remains of my world.  I would like to be the one to handle those remains with the dignity they deserve."  There was steel in her tone.  "If nothing else, I can give your scribes context for what happened there, so that the atrocities can never be repeated."

It made him bristle to be told what to do by anyone lower than him.  But nevertheless, he found himself nodding.  She was right that what might be mere curiosity for his scribes would instead be something deeply personal for her.  There was nothing to be gained in investigating the bodies of her former neighbors, at least, so why not allow her to deal with them as she saw fit?  Dignity... Yes, he could afford her that.  So long as her dignity did not interfere with doing what was necessary in the face of the Institute threat.

Chapter Text

Creating false humans.  Unleashing atomic bombs that destroy most of the world's resources and populations.  Testing viruses on kidnapped people, turning them into monsters.  Freezing people in Vaults.  Where does man's folly end?!

The Elder tossed and turned as he attempted to settle in, but sleep eluded him.  He couldn't get the Paladin's chilling story out of his mind.  No pun intended - Elders do not have senses of humor.

Was it even possible to put an end to man's folly?  The thought came again to the Elder, the one he tried to push away every time: what if it never ends?  Despite his hatred for the Wasteland's abominations, ultimately each and every one of them were humanity's creations.  Even with the abominations gone, humans were still around, and with them, their greed and incredible capacity for destruction.  It didn't matter what century they were in - human folly never changed, it appeared.

When all the abominations were eliminated, who would the Brotherhood have to face next?  When the Institute joined the incinerated remains of the Enclave, what new terrible power would arise to take control?

And how could he stop them?

A strange idea came to the Elder as his thoughts slowly exhausted him.  Perhaps with Paladin Freeman in the Brotherhood, they could prevent that.  If someone with knowledge of the mistakes of the past could advise them, help them spot the signs before the end of the world happened again... maybe they could save the world this time.

With the Brotherhood empowering her, there would be no stopping Freeman from turning the Institute to ashes.  While it had long been Maxson's mission to stop them, he could think of no one with a more personal stake in it than the Paladin, at least not among his Brotherhood's number.  

He could see it - Nora Freeman, with steel in her eyes, unleashing a holy rain of gatling fire down upon the Institute's top echelons, then staring the Director in the eyes as she taunted him for ever letting her out of her Vault, just before she tore him down.  She would be a force of beauty, strength, and utter ruthlessness.  And then- then they would push the button together that would blow the Institute off the map.

As he drifted off to sleep, he found himself wondering – with a giddy little swell of anticipation that nearly woke him back up again – if the Institute knew just what the hell they had released on the Commonwealth.

-

Three days later, the sun shone off the Prydwen on an unexpectedly clear morning.  Perhaps this was a sign of good things to come.

The Elder watched with a keen eye as Nora Freeman descended the ladder to the command foredeck.  He stood in his observation deck with his back to the windows, allowing the reflected sunlight to warm his battlecoat.  He would be lying to himself if he claimed he wasn’t anticipating her.

It was the first time he had laid eyes on her since their conversation about Vault 111.  Being Elder meant he had been wrapped up in preparations for the past few days, unable to take time away from his duties to do anything frivolous.  And yet many of his spare moments were spent thinking about the Paladin before him now.  Oddly, he found he didn't mind; she made for good mental company, all things considered.

His gaze lingered on her legs, ensuring that they didn’t wobble.  When both boots finally hit the steel floor, only then did he call out for her: “Paladin!  Come here.  I need to ask you something.”

She startled momentarily.  He had imagined that she might be already getting back into the swing of things after her recovery, as she seemed the type to bounce back quickly.  It surprised him to see her so jumpy.

Cade had kept him updated on her progress with daily reports.  She had been recovering steadily and quickly and was on schedule for Cade’s predictions about when she would be field-ready.  The only concerning thing was that she had not been sleeping well.  Maxson wondered briefly if this might be the reason for her jumpiness – lack of sleep could make a person less aware of their surroundings.

Nora was quick to catch herself; she straightened, and her look of surprise melted away into her usual stoicity.  As she approached him, he noticed she was wearing sunglasses today.  Most likely to hide her bloodshot eyes, he imagined.

She stopped two paces away from him.  Slightly closer than she normally stood.  At this angle, whether she realized it or not, he could see her eyes through the gap her sunglasses left.  “Ad victoriam, Elder Maxson.”  Her salute was only a fraction less energetic than usual.

“At ease, Paladin.”  He studied her for a moment.  Finding emotional tells was important to his ability to command and convince people.  His mind flashed back to the way Freeman’s mask had slipped so dramatically when she was talking about Vault 111.  Now that he didn’t have any reason to use Med-X on her… how could he get her to crack again?

Emotional control was clearly very important to Nora Freeman.  He wondered if she was like that before, in her old life.  What had made her like that?

She fidgeted in his silence.  “Elder?”

“You seem to be healing well, Paladin,” he finally said.  “Any complaints?”

“Cade’s been wonderful.  I hardly feel any pain now.”  She motioned to the back of her head.  “He says with a few more days, the stitches will be ready to come out.  The nausea’s gone, too.”

He noticed how her gaze flitted to the floor, right to the spot where she had passed out before.  Amusement filled him.

“As you can see, I did not ask you to come here to clean up your mess.  A scribe already took care of it.  I hope that eases your worries.”

Her gaze snapped back to him, eyes widening slightly.  Did he catch her off-guard with his joke?  Good.

“Do you have a mission for me, Elder?”

“Not yet.  Cade has not cleared you for field duty.  I have… questions about some of the intel you have gained.”  Truthfully, he wanted to ask her about the prewar world.  But he had no strategic reason for asking her, yet anyway.  For now, he could train her to be more forthcoming with him.

“Ask away.”

He bowed his head.  “As you might recall, some months back, I advised you to keep traveling in the circles you were already involved in, in order to further your investigation into the Institute.”  He saw her nod.  “I didn’t see fit to question it at the time, but loyalty is of the utmost importance these days.  Do any of the circles you travel in pose a threat to Brotherhood interests?”

“If any of them do, I am not involved in those activities, nor will I be.”

Interesting.  She did not answer his question precisely, and yet the little she said did emphasize her loyalty to him.  While he appreciated that, he sensed that the answer to his question was ‘yes’, she did involve herself with organizations that were fundamentally against the Brotherhood.  He knew that since she had infiltrated the Institute, she might have to pretend to be loyal to them, and they were after all the enemy… But how far would she go to pretend?

“Very well.  Have you shared any information about the Brotherhood that could be beneficial to our enemies?”

“No, Elder.”

“Have you done any harm to innocents in your endeavors?”

“Not to my knowledge.  In my line of work, I have tried to minimize casualties whenever possible and seek out diplomatic solutions to situations.”

“Very good.”  That she went an extra step to actively minimize casualties… “Very good,” he repeated, impressed.  “Now, as you recently told me, you came out of a Vault and a whole other century less than a year ago… How are you adjusting?”

Her face remained impassive.  “It’s been challenging, but I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself.  I need to focus on staying alive and doing my work.”

He suspected she would say as much.  Whether he actually believed her was another question.

He remembered that fateful night when they had learned of Danse’s true nature.  His instincts had told him then that there was more to her, and he had been right.  And now?  He sensed that there was more to her still.  She was not being honest when she pretended to be so stoic.

But he was impressed that she tried, especially so believably.  Another person in her position might have been a lot worse off.

“I’ve misjudged you,” he murmured.

“Hmm?”  When she turned her face up to him, he realized he’d spoken his last thought aloud.

He cleared his throat.  “I realize I was not entirely fair to you previously in my assumptions.”

She tilted her head.  “Go on.”

“Previously, I had assumed you lived a charmed, sheltered life in your Vault.  We had very little information to go on about Vault 111, and I’m afraid I assumed you were… soft.”

It was subtle, but he could have sworn Nora flinched at the term.

“But that’s not really true, is it?”  He cocked his head before nodding to himself.  “You have grit to you.  Something I am guessing you had before the war.  You weren’t soft back then either, were you?”

Nora cleared her throat.  “I would never presume that any of my prewar life could compare to the horrors of the Wasteland today…”  She paused.  “But yeah.  My life wasn’t all peaches and cream back then, either.”

She could not have handed him a more golden opportunity to ask.

“Tell me more about it.”

“Well…”  She shifted.  “When I was young, my family lived in poverty.  We made it work, but it meant less time to be a kid, or at least what ‘being a kid’ meant back then.”  She tapped her lip for a moment.  “I was born a year into the Resource War, so there were times when certain amenities were scarce.  I was in my early teens when the Sino-American War began.  There was… a lot of racism during that time.  Towards the Chinese and Chinese-Americans.  We did horrible things to them.”  She lowered her gaze, frowning.  “Internment camps.  We repeated the past sins of over a century earlier.”

"You refer to the Japanese internment camps used by the United States during the World War II of the 1940s?"

“Yes.  Not every Chinese-American citizen was put in an internment camp, but so-called 'regular' society wasn't safe for them either.  There was a rash of school violence incidents.  Did you know that the Raiders came into being during the late 2050s?  Before the Great War?”

“No.  I was not aware of that.”

Nora nodded.  “The meaning and context behind the name 'Raider' seems to have changed between now and then, of course.  As the world has changed."  She shook her head.  "The Raiders started as a school gang, or rather several school gangs, all across the nation.  The ones around here would go around and bully the Chinese-American kids.  And then later, the other diverse kids, and then the biracial kids, like me.  There was a resurgence in racism for all minorities across the board.  And then one year they escalated.  There was a shooting at my school.  A mass homicide.”  She looked down, and he could see her hands tightening on her elbows.  “My sister was killed.  I almost was too.”  

Despite having been in danger all his life, including his own childhood, the Elder still felt himself stiffen when he imagined a child version of Nora Freeman in the line of fire, with no means to defend herself.  And when he imagined child Nora possibly witnessing her sister's murder, he couldn't help the image of Sarah that flashed to his mind.  He hadn't witnessed Sarah's death firsthand, and for the longest time he wished he had so that he could know he was there for her in her last moments.  But the thought of Nora facing that reality made him re-think it now.  Would he have really wanted his memories of Sarah, alive and strong, overshadowed by the memory of her death?  It was hard enough to see her in her casket, motionless, her beautiful spirit snuffed out.

Nora looked up at him with a carefully expressionless face, and he recognized now why she must have learned to do that.  Her hands remained clenched against her elbows.  “That might not seem scary to you, since this world is full of guns and killing, but… Back then, school was supposed to be somewhere safe.  When you’re told you’re safe, and then you’re not, and you’re being attacked in a place that’s supposed to be a sanctuary to you and others, well… it does something to you.  Our school wasn’t the only place to experience a school shooting, of course.  It was happening across the entire U.S.  Every other day.  School year 2067 to 2068: the bloodiest school year on record.”

“And yet, children continued to attend?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes, but in fewer numbers.  More and more families got interested in homeschooling.  The ones who could afford it, anyway.  Both my parents were blue-collar, and like I said, we were poor.  Neither of them could quit their job to homeschool me, so I kept attending.”  

He tried to imagine what that might have done to her.  Going back day after day to the very place where her sister had been murdered…

“Might have been good I did.  I was the type to get bored easily.  I took electives to help with that.”

He wondered what that meant, but before he could ask, she went on with a sigh.

“I studied law after high school.  Was beginning to make a name for myself in the courtroom when I found out we were expecting.  My career was paused.  And then, of course, annihilated, like everything else.”

He contemplated for a moment, weighing the question in his mind, before he asked:

“Of all that you have lost, what has been hardest for you to endure, Paladin?”

A strange, brooding look entered Nora’s eyes then.  He wondered if she had realized yet that he could see her eyes, that the emotions she tried to hide behind her sunglasses were on display for him.  

When she lifted her head to face him directly, her sunglasses hid them again.

“You would think it would be losing my son to the Institute,” she spoke quietly.  “There is nothing quite as painful as losing your child and feeling so desperate to get him back, and for him to be so out of your reach...  Or maybe my answer should be the Great War, seeing the bombs drop down, knowing almost everyone I love was dying.  Or the deaths of my sister and later my father.  But… but when you ask me that question, what comes to mind first is… losing Nate.  Becoming a widow.”

“Why is that?”

“Because with Nate’s death, it means that whatever I have to do in this world – whether for Shaun or for myself – I have to do it alone.  Nate isn’t here to carry this with me.  If he were alive, we could have taken on the world together as a team, because he would have always had my back.  But now… Now there is no one I can truly count on.  No one but myself.”

She stopped speaking then.  Maybe her throat had closed up.  He waited, but aside from wavering side to side just a bit, she seemed to be a million miles away, entranced by her grief.

Careful not to startle her, he laid a hand on her shoulder.  He gentled his voice.  “I know this world must be a nightmare beyond your reckoning, even considering all the horrors you witnessed beforehand, especially with the hand you were dealt as you were entering this new world,” he murmured.  “But now, as it hopefully was back then, there is strength in numbers.  When you signed on with the Brotherhood, it meant that you would never be left by yourself again.  That you would always have allies and brothers- and sisters-in-arms.  You do not have to face your burdens alone, Paladin.”

That startled her out of her trance, if the way she jolted was any indicator.  Her mouth fell open softly.

He squeezed her shoulder.  “If there is anything the Brotherhood can do to help, ask me.   I look after those under my command.”

And as he watched, her mask slipped away again.

Nora twitched her head, her hand half-raising, as if trying to dislodge a troublesome strand of hair.  He could feel her beginning to tremble under his grasp; her eyes were glassy behind her sunglasses.  “Thank you, Elder.”  Her whisper could not disguise the thickening of her voice.

He decided to have mercy on her.  Removing his hand from her shoulder, he saluted her: “Dismissed, Paladin.”

She nodded, saluting back, and then walked away with an unusual stiffness.

So… It is the prospects of loneliness and companionship that bring her emotions to the surface.

-

His success with getting her to open up pleased him enough that he neglected to think further on it for some time.  Which is why it surprised him when she sought him out the very next afternoon.

He had been standing on the flight deck, thinking about Proctor Ingram's latest missive demanding to be allowed back in the field, when a whisper of air touched his shoulders.  He spun toward the fore, suddenly on alert.

"Elder Maxson," Nora's voice came from his other side.  She must have slipped past him; the air he felt must have been the breeze from her movements.  "Do you have a moment?"

He collected himself before turning to face her.  "Of course, Paladin," his voice came out smoothly.  "What's on your mind?"

She wasn't wearing her sunglasses, and so he was able to see the hesitation in her eyes.  "I have some intel from the Institute I learned some time ago, and I thought I might share it with you."

He gestured.  "Of course.  The Brotherhood is thankful for whatever intel you pick up.  I want you to share any new information with me.  What is it?"  Though he was well within his rights to berate her for not telling him sooner, he felt she would be more forthcoming if he refrained from doing that this time.

She nodded, more confidently now, and went on.

“It occurs to me that we never did a full debrief when I returned.  I merely reported to you that Doctor Li would be returning to the Brotherhood.  But I never told you what else I learned while I was there.”  She stopped, seemingly waiting for his response.

“Well?  Don’t keep me in suspense.”

She nodded before continuing.  “There are four main departments, and a few smaller ones.  The main four are BioScience, Advanced Systems, Robotics, and the Synth Retention Bureau.  BioScience specializes in botany, medicine, and genetics.  It's where the former FEV laboratory was housed, before Doctor Virgil destroyed it.  Among other things, BioScience has been trying to develop new crops that can grow better in the Commonwealth.  It would be a good idea, if they weren't kidnapping people and replacing them with synths to make it possible.  Though why they don't just ask farmers for help is beyond me.” 

Maxson remembered Doctor Li telling him about the bio developments the Institute had been working on and how they might offer hope for humanity.  Now, with confirmation that they were kidnapping people and replacing them with synths to further their ends, the urge to destroy the Institute was stronger than ever.  

"If the Brotherhood were to confiscate their biotechnology, there's a good chance the Brotherhood could do something better with it.  Especially if it were in the hands of someone as dedicated as Senior Scribe Neriah.  Who has successfully made her X-111 compound and needs a new project so she can give up her molerats already."

God help him, why did what she had just said make sense?  The Brotherhood's main mission was to confiscate technology, not destroy it.  But was it ethical?  Could they morally allow themselves to take Institute technology when it was so clearly tainted by the blood of innocents?

No, it was best to destroy it entirely, lest any of it escape the Brotherhood's influence...

"Advanced Systems is tasked with developing specialized weaponry, teleportation, and energy systems.  I believe Doctor Li can explain it better than I can."  She took a deep breath.  “The Robotics department creates synths."  

He could feel his body turning to stone as he prepared to hear about the creation of the Brotherhood's worst enemies.

"The process is not like what I had believed before," Nora continued.  "I only witnessed the creation of Gen 3 synths.  They have a machine where they will literally assemble the skeleton, followed by building the organs and muscles, followed by injecting the blood and other fluids into the new body, followed by a dip in some sort of bath that covers the synth in skin, and an electrical jolt to bring the body to life... or 'online', as they phrase it.  

“All of these components are grown in the lab using organic, biological material - so, real bone, despite being lab-grown.  The only machine part of the synth is a small component in their head.  But synths are otherwise 98% identical to natural-born humans, down to the cellular level.”

Again, with her treatment of synths as humans?  He bristled at what he felt she was implying.  But despite it, he held his tongue.  Hadn’t he promised himself that he would try to hear her out without interrupting, four days ago in the sickbay?

“You might be wondering about the synth component.  I remember the first time I heard about synths, I assumed they must have a kill switch where they could be remotely ordered to kill people.  But I saw no evidence of that while I was in the Institute."  

Now that... that was useful information.  Though they must be careful that a lack of evidence did not lull them into a false sense of security.  And her assertion did not explain the Broken Mask incident.

"I saw evidence of only one kind of code, and that is the one the Coursers use when they are hunting down escaped synths, to incapacitate them.  You might find it interesting to know that escaped synths are common enough within the Institute that there is an entire department dedicated to retrieving them.  That’s the Synth Retention Bureau, and the Coursers are their elite field agents, trained in combat, given extra components to enhance their combat efficiency, and conditioned to be absolutely loyal to the Institute.”

Here she met his gaze seriously, and he could feel in his bones that he would not like what she had to say next:

“The Institute has no switch to command a synth to return to them.  The only way to retrieve a synth is to send a Courser to take them back by force.”  She looked down.  “I thought it would help your peace of mind to know that.  Shy of being found and taken by a Courser, there is no way to force a synth to return to the Institute.  And there are many synths who would rather… ‘self-terminate’, than ever be taken alive by the Institute once they’ve escaped.”

Danse.   She was telling him that Danse would, by his- its- own “will”, keep their secrets.

Some part of him felt relief at that, while the rest of him was infuriated that she dared bring it up.  'Alive.'  How dare she call those machines ‘alive’?!

Nora had not once broken her parade rest stance, and with the exception of her pauses, she had remained calmly professional.

“Also.  In cases of synths replacing humans… I saw no evidence of the Institute being able to steal a person’s memories to implant into a synth.  The evidence I saw pointed instead to capturing, interrogating, and torturing the person they wanted to replace, and then having the ‘replacement’ try to imitate those traits that the original person self-reports.  The replacements do not believe they are the person who they are replacing – they know full well that they are Institute agents.  

“The only time a synth won’t know they’re a synth is if they have their mind wiped completely, and the Institute would rather ‘dispose’ of a synth that requires that service, since that process often causes brain damage – at least as I observed in the Synth Retention Bureau.  It’s possible that the Institute can implant false memories, but I saw no evidence of that being practiced within the Institute.  

"I have observed one unique Institute case where the brainscan of a prewar detective was implanted into a prototype synth, but the Institute deemed the experiment a failure and discarded their prototype.  It is worth noting that the Institute itself did not create this brainscan, but rather it was taken prewar by the Institute's predecessor, the C.I.T.  It is unknown if the technology used to create the brainscans survived the Great War.  Aside from that one instance, in terms of memories, I have only ever seen the Institute take away memories, not add new ones.  

“I hope that helps give a better estimate of the Institute’s powers and capabilities.  I have explained what I learned to the best of my understanding and abilities in hopes it will give further clarity to your mission.”

Liar.  She is trying to appeal to my non-existent sympathy for synths like M7-97.  I don’t doubt she is telling me the truth about what she observed, but she certainly isn’t doing it solely to keep me informed.

“Is that all, Paladin?” he asked stiffly.  He couldn’t bring himself to say more.

She nodded, “Yes, Elder.  Thank you for your time.”  She started to depart.

"Paladin!" he blurted out.  For some reason, he bridled at the thought of her leaving, having gotten in what he felt was the last word.

She stopped.  "Yes, Elder?"

"I did not dismiss you yet."

She half-turned, and the insolence in the gesture angered him.  "Was there anything else, Elder?"

"Yes," he snapped.  "This protectiveness you seem to have over synths..."  He stopped, unsure of where he was going with this.

Nora had turned slightly more in his direction, now with an eyebrow raised.

"-Have you been fraternizing with ex-Paladin Danse, Freeman?"  The question was out before he even processed what he'd said.  But as she turned to face him completely, with shock in her face that she couldn't fully hide, he felt himself straighten with the question.  For hadn't he been wondering this, even before he had properly formed the thought?  Ever since he had first witnessed her demeanor around ex-Scribe Osridge, hadn't Maxson wondered if part of why she had turned the Scribe down hadn't been because of Danse?

Nora stared at him wordlessly.

He gave her a superior look.  "Well, Paladin?"

She stood up taller in response, squaring off with him.  "Before I answer that, why don't you clarify what you mean by fraternizing, Elder," she said in a low voice.  He could tell, from her tone and the way her eyes narrowed, that she was challenging him.

"I believe you already know, Paladin.  Have you been sexually intimate with ex-Paladin Danse?"  And now, he found he wanted to hear the answer.  His heart was pounding with it, and he wasn't sure why.  Surely any talk of the enemy would have merited this reaction - so why did it feel so different?

"Why do you ask, Elder?  Isn't that something in Knight Captain Cade's jurisdiction?"

Her disrespect was apparent.  But he did not react with anger or censure, as she surely was expecting.  If he reacted that way, he would lose whatever this confrontation was.

"Knight Captain Cade's only concern is if you have done anything to compromise your health or the health of anyone aboard the Prydwen," he answered calmly.  "To our knowledge, synths do not transmit sexual infections, and so it would not be in Cade's concern.  I am asking about your loyalties, Paladin.  Have you had sexual relations with that synth, and if so, is that why you sympathize with these Institute creations?"

Nora was bristling now.  No matter how she tried to hide it, he could see through her.

"Not that it's any of your business," she spoke through gritted teeth, "but no.  Paladin Danse and I never had any sexual contact between us.  Now if that's all, Elder-"

"Had you ever wanted to?"

"Why should that matter-?"

"Answer the question, Paladin!"

Nora looked down, then.  A shadow passed over her face.  "If you're asking if I was romantically interested in Danse, the answer is yes."  

Why did it feel like a punch in the gut to hear her admit to this?  He would have expected nausea, disgust at the idea of ever falling in love with a machine.  But this felt different than mere disgust.  This felt deeper.

No matter.  He pushed away his own response and analyzed hers instead.  Was she still interested in the synth even now?  Or had she only felt that way up until learning that Danse was a synth?  

Why did either thought fill him with such trepidation?

The Paladin looked up, meeting his gaze with contained anger and sadness.  "...But nothing ever happened.  And now, nothing ever will."

Upon hearing his "dismissed", she practically ran from the deck, leaving the Elder to stew in his thoughts.

-

The Elder was quick to push the latter part of their conversation out of his head.  He did not want to think about why it troubled him so deeply to hear about his Paladin's former interest in her synth ex-mentor.  Instead, he focused on the information she had given him.  Had she or hadn't she proved her loyalty to the Brotherhood?  That was the priority to analyze.

Surprisingly, he realized that her report did nothing to dampen his newfound appreciation for her, which had blossomed upon hearing about her ordeal in Vault 111.  Rather, her candor had deepened his appreciation somewhat.  To have the courage to tell him information that would no doubt make him angry, and to do so when their relationship was only beginning to be on better terms as of late... Well, he had to admire the Paladin's conviction and honesty.  And, in spite of his doubts to her emotional loyalty, she chose to argue primarily from evidence, which impressed him.

But the information itself, what it implied about the Institute and their synths... If the information was accurate, then it would appear that the Institute had less control over their creations than he thought.  That sort of technology running around unchecked was dangerous.

The existence of the Synth Retention Bureau set alarm bells off in his head.  Why on Earth would so many synths be defecting from the Institute?  What were they after?  And what were these rogue machines doing once they had escaped?

After these thoughts had circulated in his mind sufficiently, he hurried off the flight deck.  He needed Quinlan.  If this was really happening, they needed insights, and that meant more scribes on the ground.

-

By the next day, it appeared his dilemmas about the Institute would be put to rest.  He couldn't be happier about it.  There was no need to adjust the plan the Brotherhood already had, when everything was so closed to being in place.

Proctor Ingram and Doctor Li had discovered a solution to Liberty Prime's energy problem.  To fully power the robot, they needed a compact source of energy powerful enough to match Prime's energy needs - not unlike a fusion core, but on another level of power output.  Luckily, through the work of Ingram's and Quinlan's scribes, they had found references to a prewar project developed at Mass Fusion that just might fit the bill.  One beryllium agitator.

Ingram's latest missive had stressed the importance of acquiring the agitator as soon as possible, lest it fall into Institute hands.  As soon as Doctor Li had learned of the agitator's existence, she had warned the Proctor that the Institute would have a need and a desire for it to power their new main generator.

Maxson planned to assemble a strike team first thing in the morning.

Instead, Kells interrupted him the next morning during his beard maintenance routine, before he could even make it to their check-in.  Any residual drowsiness was dashed when the Lancer Captain gave him news he was not expecting:

"Sir, a strike team already left at 0600 hours!"

"They what?!"  The Elder was now alert in his shock and fury, straight razor and shears abandoned in the sink.  "Under whose authority?"

"Ingram's.  The team consisted of herself, Paladin Freeman, and Lancer Rico.  She relayed a message to Lancer Flores that she requests backup at 0700 hours, to give herself and Paladin Freeman time to retrieve the agitator through possible stealth, in order to avoid a gunfight that could damage our prize."

"What was she thinking?!" Maxson bellowed, snatching his battlecoat out of the Lancer Captain's waiting hand.  After the many times he had made clear to her and others that she was not to perform field operations, nor risk herself when the success of the Brotherhood's latest mission was riding on her-

"And Freeman?  Did Cade clear her for field duty?"

"Negative, Elder.  I only wish I had been on the flight deck when they left, so I could have apprehended them myself."

"At this rate, Ingram might well get both herself and Paladin Freeman killed," Maxson growled.  He kicked open his trunk and pulled out The Final Judgment.  "Assemble that backup team now, Kells.  I will be going personally to retrieve them."

Chapter Text

Approaching Mass Fusion on the vertibird gave the Elder time to regard the blasted city.  Scum and riffraff scuttled in the streets and lurked in the darkness of the buildings that were still standing.  A little due south he glimpsed a stronghold with a compelling mix of riffraff and drifters, all abiding a strange sense of law and order - Goodneighbor.  While he had never been there before, he had heard of it.

He wondered what the city might have looked like in its heyday.  Maybe Paladin Freeman would tell him sometime.  Assuming she was still in one piece after Ingram's reckless mission.

“Take us down to the front of Mass Fusion!” he ordered the lancer.  “If either Ingram or any enemies evacuate through the front doors, we will intercept them!”

Maxson grimly set his features as he regarded the damages to their target building.

The bodies of a dozen mechanical synths lay shattered across Mass Fusion’s rooftop.  Either they must have been guarding the building without realizing what it housed, or more likely they were there in pursuit of the beryllium agitator as well.

Ingram’s signal was coming from much lower.  The front of the building had a concerning number of bodies sprawled on the pavement - concerning not only in number, but also because several appeared to be human.

The recon team and backup were waiting for him outside of Mass Fusion.  What remained of them.  Luckily, Ingram was with them.

But Freeman wasn’t.

Maxson leaped down from the vertibird, Final Judgment in hand.

Ingram, to her credit, looked incredibly remorseful.  She was lying in the street, half of her power armor frame collapsed around her.  One soldier was steadying her as best he could.  Three other soldiers were nearby, one tending to the injuries of the other two.

The other half of Ingram’s frame lay in pieces a couple dozen paces away.  The blackened marks on both the armor and the street beneath it hinted at the frightening cause: someone had likely blown out Ingram’s power core.

It was a damn miracle she was still alive.

“Give me a status report on your mission, Proctor!” he barked at her.  The time for reprimands was later.

“We have six casualties, Elder,” she said in a subdued voice.  “Three killed, three wounded.  The beryllium agitator is on the move.  Two of ours are attempting to retrieve it.”

“Did synths take it?”

“No, Elder.  The Institute had come to retrieve the agitator as well, but we dealt with the synths.  We were ambushed afterward by Raiders.”

He motioned to her broken armor.  “Did they do this?”

“Yes, Elder.  They would have finished me off, but Paladin Freeman defended me, while Knight Wagner here got me free of my armor before it exploded.  They decided to flee with the agitator rather than stay and fight.  Freeman and Knight Bota pursued them.  Freeman was already wounded when she went after them.”

“Which direction did they go?”

“Due south.”

“Very well.  Paladin Hudson, Knight Womack, you’re with me.  Haste and stealth are essential.  We will attempt to retrieve both the beryllium agitator and our wayward soldiers, but our priority is that agitator.”  He looked over at the remaining healthy soldiers.  “You two.  Assist the wounded and wait with them while we get another two vertibirds and reinforcements out here.”  He nodded toward the vertibird that had brought him.  “Load Proctor Ingram and the other two wounded onto that one, if possible.  Cade will need to check her over immediately.  Tell reinforcements to wait for my signal, in case our foes are more formidable.”  He stared at them, at these soldiers who entrusted their lives to him, before saluting them.  “Ad victoriam.”

“Ad victoriam!” they saluted him back.

-

Following the direction where the Raiders had gone was easy; fresh blood marked their path.  The Elder and his men ran, with Maxson signaling them where to turn.

Down the twisting, ruined streets.  Down into the hellhole formerly known as Boston.

The bloody splatters got thicker as they followed.  Maxson remembered what Ingram had told him about Paladin Freeman being injured.  Is this the Raiders’ blood… or Nora’s?

The Elder mentally shook himself.  Since when do I refer to her as Nora and not Paladin?  We are not that familiar.  He pushed onward.

There were fresh bodies.  Raiders, recently killed, with laser rifle holes.  Sometimes, just a pile of ashes.  A few of the bodies were not Raiders - they were super mutants.

Just how many enemies had his soldiers come up against?

They followed the trail of destruction to a building that looked slightly fancier than the rest.  There, they got a nasty shock.

Two shattered suits of power armor lay just outside the doorway.  One still contained the body of Knight Bota.

The Elder heard Knight Womack suck in a breath.  He hoped that the sight of one of their brothers dead would fuel the fire in the Knight’s heart, would push him ever onward towards their goal of eradicating the Institute and all the other filth from the Commonwealth.

Paladin Freeman’s armor had some amount of blood on the inside, but that was it.  No sign of her body.  That must mean that the beryllium agitator was farther ahead too - had the Paladin procured it, she would have broken off her pursuit.

He signaled his men to follow him quietly inside the building.

Just inside the doorway were two more bodies, both Raiders.  Both had been shot with something other than a laser rifle - something that had left their faces and torsos a bloody mess.

Freeman’s explosive shotgun, he realized.

It was further confirmed when ten paces later, he found the remains of her shotgun lying in the center of the hallway.  Leading away from her shotgun were long scrapes of blood, as though someone had been dragged.

In all likelihood, they were now looking at a hostage situation.  Had the Raiders intended to kill Freeman straight away, her body would have been lying next to her shotgun.

There was a golden glow flickering at the end of the hallway.  Maxson inhaled softly: fire.  Perhaps a bonfire.  He did not understand what drugs the Raiders must be on to think lighting a fire indoors was a good idea…

The hallway opened into a vast atrium, walls curving, with a mezzanine overlooking a bonfire in the center of the room.  There was a platform above the bonfire, a broken floor.  He heard laughter coming from the platform.

“Yeah!  Hit her again!”

Smack!

“Do it again, boss!  Harder!”

SMACK!

A faint sound of pain.

Maxson motioned to his soldiers to fan out.  They did so, careful to keep out of sight, though Paladin Hudson stayed closer by the door so his power armor wouldn’t glint in the bonfire and give them away.

As he slipped through the flickering shadows, staying low, he could see Raiders lounging against the walls of the mezzanine.  Luckily there were none on the ground floor.  He crept beneath a staircase, peeking out to get a better view of the platform.

Paladin Freeman was trussed up, on her knees before a Raider in a suit of power armor.  A closer glance told him that it wasn’t power armor stolen from one of their brothers or sisters - this was Raider-made, and as such Maxson hoped that it would be weaker than their own.

Another Raider, also in a suit of power armor, stood to the Paladin’s left.  This one wasn’t wearing a helmet; he had facepaint on that made him look like a deranged clown.  With the way his hand was partly raised, he had clearly been the one doing the hitting.

Nora’s face was bruised and bloody, and her shoulders were further coated in blood.  She looked like she had been beaten to within an inch of her life.  Maxson was surprised and a little proud that she was still holding herself upright.  She had been stripped to her orange uniform, which blazed in the firelight, save for the ruined patches.

“Answer me, bitch!” the painted Raider spat.  “What's that thing we stole from ya?  It must be important if you tin can goons went through all that much trouble to get it!”

Maxson looked carefully but he could not see the beryllium agitator anywhere.  Was it in the room, or had it been transported elsewhere?

He was wary of making a move until he could ascertain the agitator's position.  From what he could make, there were ten Raiders in this room, and any amount of them within the building total.  There was no telling what could happen if this got out of control.  If he moved prematurely, it could mean the agitator would be destroyed, either by accident or on purpose, along with Nora.

He heard someone scoff.  “I’d tell you, but I don’t think you’d understand what I’m saying.  You don’t sound like you passed high school.”

Maxson blinked.  Was that Nora who had just spoken?  He almost didn’t recognize her voice with the derisive tone lacing it.

He refocused on her.  Even through her wounds, she was smirking.  Her voice had sounded strong, despite the pain she was undoubtedly in.

Her smirk didn’t go away even when the Raider struck her again.

Maxson winced internally.  Getting backhanded by someone wearing power armor was not easily brushed off.

“C’mon, boss, whatdya say we just kill her?” one of the other Raiders called.

The painted Raider – clearly their leader – spat.  “No way.  I ain’t done having fun yet!”  He whirled back on the Paladin.  “Tell me!”

“Alright, alright…” Nora sounded almost conciliatory.  “I’ll tell you.  Lean closer.”  She waited patiently.  Surprisingly, the Raider obliged her.  “It’s the key to F.Y. HQ.”

"F.Y. HQ?"

"Yes, that's right - 'Fuck You' Headquarters."

Maxson caught sight of Knight Womack doubling over; when he straightened up, the Elder saw he had clapped a hand over his mouth and was desperately trying not to laugh.  Maxson himself was in a bit of shock; in place of his normally stoic Paladin was an insult-slinging firecracker.  Had she been hiding this part of herself all along?

His mind flashed back for a moment to when Nora was drugged on Med-X and accused him of being single.  He had assumed that was an effect of the meds, but now…

Enraged, the leader struck Nora hard enough that she fell over to one side.  The new angle revealed what Maxson had suspected; there was blood dripping from the back of Nora’s head, where a ghastly wound oozed beneath matted hair.  Whether from Cade’s stitches opening up or from new injuries, he didn’t know, but it looked bad.  

They needed to plan quickly.  If they waited much longer, the Raiders would kill her.  His stomach clenched at the thought.

“You must really think you’re something special, mouthin’ off like that.”  The leader hauled Nora back upright.  “Well newsflash, lady, you’re not in your tin can no more.  You must really want to die, huh?”

They needed to get the two Raiders in power armor away from the platform and away from Nora.  It would be hard to do that.  If he could not confirm the position of the agitator, then their priority needed to be saving Nora, so she could tell them where it was–

“Better to die than be stuck here breathing in your halitosis– AHH!”  Nora's scream echoed off the walls of the atrium.

“How’s that feel, huh?  Just think, I got eight more fingers left to break!  And then I’ll start in on your toes…”

The Elder tried desperately to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach as he listened to his Paladin being tortured.

If Womack could take out two of the Raiders on the periphery with quick shots, it could distract the others.  Hudson could charge in, attracting the majority of the enemy fire with his power armor, and that would leave Maxson clear to get up on that platform–

“What’s a matter?  Can’t talk so tough now?”

Or on second thought, maybe they should take out the leader first–

“Why would I waste my breath on a bunch of Halloween rejects, when I could be thinking about the wallpaper?”

SMACK!

At his nod, Maxson saw Hudson move from the door.  Womack began to shuffle into position.

The leader bent down to get a better look at Nora.  He smiled, revealing rotten teeth.  “Heh.  I have to admit, it’s not everyday I hear someone talk to us that way, you little bitch.”

His admiration had no effect on the Paladin.  Her words were slightly slurred as she taunted him.  “Funny.  That’s what Slag said too.  Before I set him on fire.”

“Wait – she’s the one that killed Slag?!” one of the other Raiders cried.  The revelation sent the room into an angry uproar.  If they had been only amused before, they were clearly thirsting for her blood now.  Whoever this Slag was, he must have been important to the Raiders.  Or at least someone hard to kill.

Maxson motioned for Hudson to move further in the room; the yelling would cover the creak of his power armor.

The leader had stepped back, calculating.  “So if you killed Slag, wouldn’t that make you-”

“You know,” Nora interrupted, as best she could, “it’s rude to torture someone without introducing yourself.”  Even bleeding, on her knees, with her words getting less and less coherent through the severity of her injuries, she remained defiant.

“Oh, forgive me, where are my manners?” the leader sneered.  He spread his arms.  “The name’s Dust!”  The other Raiders whooped his name.

Nora snorted; blood sprayed from her nose in a fine mist.  “Really?  ‘Dust’?  Was that the best you could do?”

Rather than be offended, the Raider smiled again.  “I’m called Dust on account of what I do to my enemies.  After I kick you into this pyre here, there’ll be nothing but dust left of ya!”

Maxson gave the signal.

For all he lacked in emotional restraint, Womack was an excellent shot.  Two Raiders went down.

"Spread out!  Find 'em!"  Raiders jumped down from the mezzanine, immediately spotting and firing on Paladin Hudson as he charged to meet them.

"Your tin cans comin' to save you now, girlie?"  Dust reached down to bury his metal fingers in Nora's hair, wrenching her head back.  "We'll see about that."

Maxson was racing forward, dodging bullets, determined to board the platform.  He heard the dull patter of a bullet bouncing off his coat.

He saw Nora reach behind her, still in Dust's grasp, fumbling for something lying on the ground.  A syringe.  A Stimpak?  No, this one had extra canisters strapped to it-

Nora jabbed the syringe into her leg.

"Fuckinggg KILLLL!"

With a vicious jerk of her entire body, Nora threw the Raider's hand away from her head.  Maxson caught sight of her face; it was contorted in pure rage.

Nora pulled against her bonds, snapping them, screaming.  One wrist hung limply as she stood to her feet.

"Elder, watch out!"

Maxson barely managed to dodge as the second Raider in power armor nearly dropped directly onto his head.  The enemy made the ground crack when he landed.  A metal panel from the armor's right leg fell off.

"Nice coat!"  The Raider's voice could be clearly heard - seemed his helmet wasn't well made at all.  "I'll be sure to collect it from your corpse!"

Maxson didn't respond verbally.  The Final Judgment discharged into the Raider's leg.

"AHHHHHHH!"  The smell of burning flesh filled the air.  The Raider dropped his laser weapon (or was it Nora's, and had the Raider stolen it?) and Maxson aimed for his head.

By the time he had burned the Raider to ashes, Womack and Hudson had thinned the Raiders down to three.  Unfortunately, their leader Dust wasn't going down so easily.  Neither of Maxson's soldiers had tried to get a clear shot at him yet.  He was too close to Nora.

Dust swung at the wounded Paladin.  Nora dodged.  A manic grimace contorted her face.

"Freeman took a PED, Elder!" Womack shouted as he pinned a Raider against the wall, both straining.  "I think it was Psycho.  She's out of control!"

"Paladin Freeman!  Fall back!" Maxson yelled.  "Disengage!"

But Nora couldn't hear him.  She charged directly for the Raider, who faced her head-on.

"Paladin, stop!"

The Raider lunged for her.  She dodged again, this time ducking past his reach, and turned, quickly closing the gap to the Raider's back.  She grabbed one of the Raider's metal arms with her good hand, kicked the back of the Raider's leg ferociously, forced him to one knee.

And then.  Right then, she looked into Maxson's eyes.  Despite the Psycho sending her system into havoc, she met his gaze with a disquieting focus, a solemnity he did not expect to see.  Without breaking his gaze, she lifted one foot to the Raider's back, raising his arm higher.

Intuition flashed through him.  In a second, he knew what she was going to do.  "DON'T-"

Freeman jumped.

Or, it would be more accurate to say, she used the momentum of both feet to launch herself and Dust, who struggled too late, over the side of the platform.  Maxson's yell was aborted, drowned out by the tremendous CLANGG of Dust's armor-clad body hitting the bonfire face-first, and Dust's screams as Nora hyperextended his arm backward, using his own momentum to snap the bone even through his armor.  It was a fluid, beautiful, brutal move.  Nora, striking mercilessly, like the radscorpion he knew she was.

Nora stumbled from the burning Raider before falling to her knees.  She coughed; Psycho or not, no one is immune to the effects of the fire.  She wasn't far enough away.  She could get burned even before she suffocated-!

There was no longer a need for Maxson to board the platform.  Instead, he rushed to Nora-

-Whose head was suddenly wrenched back yet again.  Dust, still alive and in agony, had grabbed her with his one good arm and was steadily working to break her neck-

Maxson's sidearm was in his hands.  He fired two shots.

Blood poured from the Raider's head, all over Nora, as Dust slumped forward, finally dead.  Maxson scooped Nora up and away from the fire, freeing her from the weight of her enemy.

The bonfire was worse now.  Out of control.  "Retreat!" the Elder called, and he was thankful to hear both Womack and Hudson respond.

"Paladin!"  He turned his attention to the bloodied woman in his arms.  "Stay with me."  The arm of his coat was already drenched in blood, both from the dead Raider and from the back of Nora's head.  How much blood has she lost by now?  How much more does she have to lose?

"Maxson?"  The Psycho was leaving her system, leaving her drained and weakened.  Her voice was hoarse.

"Yes," he answered her.  "It's your Elder."

She coughed.  "We really have to stop meeting like this."

Briefly his mind flashed back to the last time he had carried her - just a few short days earlier when she had returned from the Glowing Sea.  "We have you, soldier," he assured her.  "You are safe now."

He hurried through the room as best he could, trying to put distance between them and the rapidly spreading fire.  Nora's breath rasped.

"Did we win?" she finally asked.

In spite of the dire situation, he couldn't stop his chuckle.  "Yes, Paladin.  We won.  You gave them an incredible fight."  If the carnage she and Bota had left in the streets was any indicator, as well as the synth bodies on and undoubtedly within Mass Fusion, she had been relentless in trying to protect their objective and keep their agitator from falling into enemy hands.

The agitator.

He knew he had to ask.  He paused just outside the threshold of the room, setting her down in the darkened hallway, and the Paladin leaned her good hand against the wall, trying to support her own weight.  Now, away from the fire, he could hear Nora's voice better, could hear what she muttered under her breath.

"Fucking Raiders," she scoffed.  "If my saliva were radioactive, I would spit on them."

“I am sorry to ask you this without allowing adequate time for you to recover, Paladin.  Where is the beryllium agitator?”  He placed both hands on her shoulders, held her half-lidded gaze hoping he could impress the importance of this on her, but not daring to push, not when she was suffering this way.  And didn't that make him soft, he realized.  Right now, in this moment, he was almost treating this mission as a lesser priority than the comfort of the woman within his grasp.  How weak.

He needn't have worried.  His question roused Nora's fire, as much as was left.  “Raider scumbag got away," she muttered.  "I heard their plans.  They wanna make caps off it.  Sell it at some underground market.”

“Where were they headed?”

“They were running north.  But they didn’t say where they were gonna sell it."  Her head lolled forward.  He was quick to steady her.  "I’m so sorry, Elder.  Ingram said at all costs–”

“Don’t apologize, Paladin.  You went above and beyond to try to keep the agitator out of enemy hands.  You defended the objective as well as your brothers and sisters with your life."  He paused.  She was fading quickly, he saw.  The multiple wounds, the fire, the blood loss...  We might not make it in time to Cade before she expires.  

The sudden chill that filled him was alarming.  The realization that this bright Paladin who he had only just begun to truly see might be dying, right here and now, was-

He tightened his jaw.  He couldn't let her know that.  I need to give her hope, so she will have something to hold onto, so that she makes it!  "The mission is not over yet.  I know that you and Proctor Ingram will do everything in your power to retrieve the agitator and correct this theft,” he said finally.

Her eyes were closed, but her usually stoic mouth still twitched into a smile.  “Yeah.  Yeah, we will.”

He gently brushed a bloodied lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind one ear.  "Let's get out of here.  Stay awake, Paladin!"  He lifted her up again, careful to support her head on the crook of his arm.

They were halfway through the hallway before her wounds finally caught up to her.  Though this time, when she went limp in his arms, she did not rouse again.

Chapter Text

Elder Maxson's prowess as a warrior and battle tactician were often remarked upon as some of his strongest qualities.  He knew this to be true of himself; the sheer number of enemies he had laid waste to over his career attested to this.

It was rare he found himself in the position of rescuer.  He had thought it would be much like any other battle... But that wasn't so.

Instead of his favorite Gatling weapon in his hands, he held a live soldier's body in his arms.  A soldier who was quickly bleeding out.

And to make matters worse, the soldier in question was one Paladin Nora Freeman, a possible lynchpin to more than a few goings-on of the Commonwealth.  The only soldier with possibly intel on the whereabouts of the key to the Brotherhood's victory over the Institute and its monstrous creations.

So one would think that Maxson might be more than a bit apprehensive to have her life dangling by a thread.

Were anyone to ask him later, he would reply that he remembered very little of the events that happened next.  Snatches of moments, at best.

He remembered footsteps over ruined concrete.  The sway of his Paladin’s body in his arms.  The reek of blood so thick he could taste it in the back of his throat, and the actual feeling of the warm life-giving substance slowly seeping from Freeman's head into his battlecoat.

Hudson, clanking ahead, both his and Maxson's weapons in his power armored hands.

Womack, at the rear, urgently speaking into their crackling comms, receiving intel back.  Final transport delayed en route due to Raider interference.  Rocket launchers.

A decision made, to go to Goodneighbor.

They barely made it past the guard at the front, he remembered that.  It was only Maxson's quick thinking and diplomatic skills that made it possible to be led to Doctor Amari- quick thinking, because were Freeman's life not literally in his arms, he might have reacted more strongly to the two ghouls in the patrol trio who "welcomed" them.  As it was, he had frozen, when Nora's words from mere days ago flitted through his memory, about the ferals, and while these ones weren't feral yet-

"If you were to argue that we shouldn’t care about what happens to ferals, then please consider that if a person would use a syringer to force a feral into certain activities, he might well do the same to someone else."

Why was he remembering this?

But if it hadn't been for Maxson's diplomacy, and one seemingly amiable ghoul he believed was named Dexter, then he might not have made it to the Memory Den with his precious cargo, might not have made it inside to Doctor Amari-

"Nora?!"

But that horror on Doctor Amari's face, when she first saw the wounded Paladin, he would never forget.

"What happened to her?" Doctor Amari demanded as she helped Maxson descend the stairs into her laboratory.  Together, they laid the Paladin out on a stainless steel table, the cleanest one Maxson had ever seen.

"She was tortured by Raiders," he replied quickly.  "Her injuries were severe and include a prolonged facial beating from a man in Power Armor.  Her ordeal might have reopened a wound in the back of her head, recently sustained in a Deathclaw attack."

"Oh my god."  The doctor looked at Freeman with new despair in her eyes.  "I am not a medical doctor, but I can try to keep her alive until help arrives."

"I have a medic onboard my ship.  I could send for him."  Only after he said it did he wonder if a transport with Cade would have any better luck than the bird currently occupied with the Raiders.

"Wait, who are you again?" Doctor Amari fixed him with a vaguely alarmed look, before rapidly shaking it away.  "Never mind.  Dexter?"

"Yes, ma'am?" the ghoul replied, making Maxson jump.  He hadn't realized that Dexter had followed them downstairs, and he almost cursed himself for not maintaining better awareness of his surroundings.

"Could you please follow whatever directions this gentleman gives you to get in touch with his medic, and have word sent that he is needed here immediately?"

"Of course."  He nodded to the doctor's newest patient.  "Anything for Nora."

Maxson gave Dexter instructions to relay to Hudson, who along with Womack was waiting at the front of Goodneighbor.  As the ghoul departed, Maxson noticed that the doctor had already applied a Stimpak to his Paladin and was working on stanching the bleeding on the back of her head.

"How do you know Nora?"

The doctor didn't look up.  "I will tell you, but your hands are idle.  Come over here and help me save her, and then I will tell you."

Maxson began to pass her bandages.  Suddenly, Freeman's arms and legs began to twitch, and a foul odor filled the air.  "What is happening to her?" he demanded.

"A seizure.  I hope your medic can hurry.  She might not make it!"

A pang hit him at the words.  And yet, instead of send him into despair as it might send a lesser man, Maxson straightened.  The mission, above all.

"You think there is a strong likelihood she will not make it?"

"I don't like to think on those terms.  We must try!"

He cleared his throat, perhaps to force away the second pang.  "Then, Doctor Amari, I am in grave need of your assistance."

The doctor spared him a confused glance.

"I must request that you help me access Nora Freeman's mind-"

"What are you asking me-?"

"-So that we might harvest her memories."

Now the doctor's full attention was on him.  "What?"

"We are in need of intel she possesses on the whereabouts of valuable technology."

"What do you mean, valuable-"  Then the doctor's gaze swept over him, catching on the emblem sewn into his right shoulder.  "Brotherhood!  I should have known!"  She looked at him now with barely veiled disgust.  "I had heard that Nora was doing business with you.  I worried about her, but I trusted that she knows what she's doing - and yet here you are, treating her like an expendable commodity.  Ready to throw her life away!"

"I don't have a choice, ma'am.  The technology that we're seeking could give us the edge we need to defeat the Institute once and for all and free the Commonwealth.  And the technology we seek was stolen.  Nora Freeman might be the only person with a clue as to its location."  He refrained from referring to her as 'Paladin' - the doctor was riled up enough as it was.  "We cannot afford for that knowledge to be lost."

"Yikhrib baytak!"  He didn't know what she had uttered, but by her tone he could tell it was an insult.  "What is the point in fighting the Institute as you do if you lose your humanity in the process?!"

"Don't you want the Commonwealth to be free from the Institute's menace?!"  Time was ticking; they couldn't afford to waste it arguing when every second, the intel was closer to trickling away with Freeman's life-force.  He knew it hurt that this was happening, but he had packed the hurt away, and he would until the mission was complete.

Doctor Amari slammed her palm on the table before furiously bending back over Freeman's prone body, which had stopped shaking.  She was dangerously pale now.  "If you rescue Nora, the Institute will fall.  She has a plan to deal with them."

"Paladin Freeman has a plan?" he asked, forgetting himself.  She never told me this.  What sort of plan could a lone Vault-Dweller, even one as accomplished as Freeman, have for taking on the entire Institute all by herself?

"Yes," Doctor Amari's voice was positively icy.  "So we had better rescue her if we want to know that plan.  Unless you would presume to take it from her memories too."

Maxson scowled at her.  Regardless of his logic being correct, Doctor Amari had the control here.  If she did not help him with the procedure, there was no way he would be able to access Paladin Freeman's memories regardless.  He quickly resumed helping her try to stabilize Freeman as they waited in trepidation for Cade to arrive.  If he even could.

-

By some miracle, the Vertibird transporting Cade succeeded where the other had failed.  Twenty minutes after Maxson had sent Dexter with instructions, Knight-Captain Cade stood in the basement of the Memory Den, led in by Doctor Amari’s blonde assistant.

Cade briefly acknowledged Maxson before getting immediately to work.  He agreed with their assessment that her head injury was the greatest threat to her life at present.

“She has a hematoma here,” he murmured to Doctor Amari, motioning to an area of Freeman’s skull on the top right.  “Subdural hematoma,” he added after another minute of examination.  “We need to drain the blood if she is to have any chance of survival.  You’re going to need to stabilize her while I operate.  She is fast approaching a comatose stage, which will greatly increase her likelihood of mortality.”

Doctor Amari blanched.  “Of course.  Whatever Nora needs.”

As the two doctors began to prepare, Maxson cleared his throat.  “What can I do to be of assistance?”

Cade began to reply, only to be hushed by a wave of Doctor Amari’s hand.  The doctor was staring at Maxson intently, and he caught a hint of anger in her gaze.

“If Nora’s life were not in the balance, I would not even think of suggesting what I am about to next,” she stated.  “It would help her chances considerably if you were to keep her mind active and engaged during our attempts to rescue her.”  Her lip curled in disgust.  “You wanted so badly to harvest her memories - well, here is your chance!  But I hope for her sake that you prioritize keeping her alive rather than taking advantage of her vulnerability.”

Maxson stared, stunned, at the doctor’s change of mind.  “But if you’re so against it, then–”

“We owe Nora so much here at Goodneighbor.  I will take any option I can to keep her alive until we can repay her our debt.  I’m going to strap you in and connect your brainwaves to hers.  Go lay down in that lounger, please.”

Maxson didn’t waste another second.

-

“You are positive this will work, Doctor?” Maxson asked a moment later from his supine position within the memory lounger.

“Not even remotely.  While I have successfully connected two minds with memories previously, I have never before attempted to use a neural connection to save a person’s life.  You’ll be the first.”

“Is there any danger to the Elder’s life, Doctor?”  Maxson silently cursed Cade for confirming his identity as the Elder.  Such a revelation left him vulnerable – or would have, were Freeman’s life not of supreme importance to Doctor Amari.

“He will be in no danger.  The danger is entirely on Nora’s side.  And time is not on her side.”

Doctor Amari’s face appeared above him, looking distorted through the glass of the memory lounger.  “You must be careful not to trigger her too much.  You are looking for a fine balance: if the memories are too soothing, she might simply go to sleep, never to wake up.  Yet if the memories are too traumatic, she might go into shock and die.  Do you understand?  Nora’s life must come before your mission.”  She looked away.  “If we are successful, you will have what you need for your mission anyway.”

“Understood, Doctor Amari.”  There is no way she would understand that the mission ALWAYS comes first.  And I cannot say anything if I want a chance to access those memories.  This is for the greater good… I am sorry, Paladin.

“Doctor?  We are ready.”

“Good.  I will attach the transmitters to her now.”

From the table behind the lounger, Freeman’s brain awoke.  But Maxson only knew it when the bright allure of memories suddenly filled his vision…

-

Weightless.  He couldn't feel his own body, nor the comforting weight of his battlecoat on his shoulders.  Everything was bright, too bright.  Nothing but white light everywhere he could see.  Yet there were flickers in the light.  Almost like glints of rainbow.

"Freeman?"

He couldn't even tell if his mouth had moved.  He thought he could hear his voice echo in the void.  But impossible to tell.

"Doctor Amari?"

No answer.  Maxson contemplated.  She was likely focusing on keeping Freeman alive.  What was it she had said?  Keep Freeman's mind active and engaged until they can stabilize her.

"Paladin Freeman?  This is Elder Arthur Maxson.  We are in your brain space.  Can you hear me, soldier?"

Nothing.

“Paladin?  Paladin, are you conscious?”

No response.  Though he could hear a slight humming sound.

“Paladin?”

...Who are you talking to?

The question came so suddenly, echoing as if from all around him.  The effect was rather eerie.  But he recognized the voice.

“I’m addressing you, Paladin Freeman.  Are you conscious?”

What did you call me?

He hesitated.  “Paladin?  Do you understand me?”

Silence.

The blank white space vanished suddenly.  The ensuing image felt as if it singed his sight.

An explosion in front of him, moving in slow motion.  Colossal, immense - unlike any enemy he had ever imagined, unlike even what Liberty Prime could produce.  No sound, no ability to escape.  He could see the wind moving everything around him, but he couldn’t feel it.  There was only the dreaded familiar mushroom cloud growing in size, and a world of green dissolving into fire-

NO, NO!  This isn’t happening!  This didn’t happen!

The image disappeared, and a million other images flickered by, too fast to see.  The voice inside his head- or rather, was he inside Nora’s head?- was yelling now, panicked.

Nate!  Nate, where are you?

“Paladin-”

NATE!

“Paladin!”

Stop calling me that!  Nate!  Nate, help me!

She didn’t like being called by her title?  He didn’t understand, but switched strategies anyway.  “Freeman-”

“-As gorgeous as the day I married you,” a deep voice cooed.

Maxson mentally blinked.  He- or was it they? - were suddenly stood in front of a mirror, presumably in a bathroom.  The reflection that stared back at him was Nora’s.   But a far different Nora than the one he knew.

This one still had lines beneath her eyes.  A few of the scars and pockmarks on her face were still there, but she looked younger here.  Happier.   She was smiling in a way that reached her eyes, lending light to them.

Behind Nora’s reflection was a man’s.  With the way Nora was smiling, this man could only be her husband.

Nate spun Nora around away from the mirror, and now Maxson could see Nora’s soldier closer.  More wrinkles in his face than Nora’s.  Messy black hair.  Stubble on his jaw, and deep dark brooding eyes with shadows underneath.  Even if Nora hadn’t told him beforehand, Maxson would have recognized Nate’s face as that of a soldier.

In a way, it was almost like looking in a mirror.  

And yet Nate’s brooding look only lasted for a moment, before his face lit up with deep affection.  “You seemed deep in thought for a minute there.  Thought I lost you.”

Nora chuckled - a sound Maxson rarely heard these days, and certainly not from the Nora he knew.  “You’d have to try harder than that to get rid of me, handsome,” she purred.

Nate grinned.  And then he hooked a finger under Nora’s chin and pulled her to him for a kiss.

Maxson couldn’t physically feel the kiss, but he could imagine the phantom sensation of Nate’s lips against his.  People normally did not get this close to him.  He had certainly never kissed anyone before.  The closeness startled him at first, but even as Nate withdrew, another thought rose up.

This… I don’t mind this.

Nora didn’t say anything for a moment.  From Nate’s pleased look, Maxson imagined Nora was swooning - not hard to imagine, since he had nearly done the same.  “You need me to move so you can get ready for the Veteran’s Hall?” she finally asked.

She must have been in there for a while, perhaps taking a shower.  Maxson noticed the room had some sort of white steam in it, almost thick enough to obscure the floor.  It was even billowing out into the hallway of what was clearly Nora’s prewar home.

“Nah, we’ve got time,” Nate’s voice drew his attention back.  “Listen, I was thinking - after breakfast, we could head to the park for a bit.  Weather should hold up.”

When Nora answered, Maxson heard the sarcasm he had so briefly encountered before.  “Oh, riiight.  The park, with you.  Because I want to get pregnant again.”  A cry sounded from the other room.  “Speaking of which…”

“I’ll take care of him,” Nate said.  “Mama needs her beauty time.”

“Hey, I’m always beautiful!” Nora called after him with a laugh.  A doorbell sounded.

“Hmm, wonder who that is…”  Nora ambled through the fading steam, through a hallway that opened into a pristine living room with a Mister Handy robot floating in front of a real TV, before turning to the orange front door-

The scene froze.

No.  I don’t want to remember what happens next.

-

Darkness, and then a new scene.  They were now in a church, though Maxson wasn't sure how he knew.  Again, he/Nora was standing before Nate, who was wearing what Maxson recognized as an era-appropriate mess dress uniform.  He looked sharp in his dress blues.  He was holding Nora’s hands in both of his.

Maxson couldn’t look down properly, not unless Nora in her memory looked all the way down, but he imagined Nora must have looked stunning.  For he knew, despite never having witnessed one before, that this must be their wedding.

What would make a happier memory for Nora, than this day?  If the last memory panicked her, of course she would flee to somewhere safer.

“...Through each day of your service,” Nora was speaking, staring into Nate’s eyes, “for each night you come home, I will hold you, solemnly stand by you, help shoulder your struggles, never to leave you to face the darkness alone…”

Interesting.  In all the archives I’ve read, I’ve never heard of wedding vows like this before.  Did she write these herself?

“...For better and worse, for richer and poorer," Nora's voice was soft, intimate, and her breath must have been ghosting her groom's lips, "through sickness and health, I will love, honor, and cherish you, Nate Freeman… until death do us part.”

But before they could kiss, another image flashed before him.  Nate, through a veil of glass and ice, head lolled to one side.  Wearing a blue Vault suit-

NO!  Please!  Don’t make me remember!

Darkness again.  He could hear Nora sobbing in her own head.

Don’t make me remember what happened.

He didn’t know what to do.  Doctor Amari had told him to keep Nora’s brain active.  He needed to keep her thinking, interacting.

“Why don’t you tell me about your family?” he said in his softest voice.

...My family?

The darkness faded.

-

Both of my parents were blue-collar workers.

They were in a town now, he could see.  One that looked respectable enough, but nowhere near high-tech.  There were buildings around, of wood and brick.  Big houses.  Too much space in between them to be in a city.  Indeed, the surroundings made him think this was somewhere more rural.  The air was hazy, the way he sometimes saw in agricultural towns.

Before Maxson stood a small, single-story home with a fence on the side.  Plants poked over the top of the fence.  A garden?

A man and a woman were standing in front of the house in a patch of sunlight.  A short black woman, a tall white man - both with warm smiles.  And a girl - one with curlier hair than Nora’s, and a face that could have been Nora’s if she were a happier person.  This must be Nora’s sister - the one who was killed when they were at school.

Maxson's body started forward, and he felt the spring of wobbly limbs, the same as when he was a kid.  He was Nora again.

The voice of the woman he knew now continued in her headspace:

My mother was an electrician.  But gardening was her hobby.  We would grow our own food, or as much as we could.  Any bit helped.

The scene shifted.  He could see Nora’s hands, now child-sized, working the soil in front of them as they knelt in their garden.  Nora was carefully tucking seeds into the soil.

“Now if we’re lucky, we’ll have a few more spring showers to help get these carrots on their way,” Nora’s mother was saying.  “When they start to come up, I’ll need you to keep an eye out for slugs every day.  You got that, baby girl?”

“Yes, Momma.  But why doesn’t Nikki gotta help?” Nora's voice rang out from Maxson's mouth, high and sweet.

“You know full well if it were up to Nikki, the slugs would eat every vegetable we got out here!  But maybe you could be a good influence on her and get her out here with you?”

“I’ll try.”

“I know you will.”  Nora’s mother reached towards his- Nora’s face with her thumb.  When she brought it back, he could see a smudge of dirt on it.  Then her mother leaned close and kissed her on the forehead.

Maxson couldn’t physically feel the kiss, but he felt breathless anyway.  How long had it been since he was kissed by his own mother?  He couldn’t remember.  She had grown cold with his father’s passing, and his childhood timidity had only given her an excuse to send him away.

He supposed in her own way, she had loved him.  She had wanted him to grow stronger so he could survive in this wretched world.  She had sent him away from the dangerous power struggles and internal conflicts within the western Brotherhood chapters, out east where he could be protected as he grew into his legacy, even if away from her.  

But right now, experiencing the easy affection between Nora and her mother even a little, he wondered what it would have been like to grow up like that.  Between Nate and Nora’s mother, he was vicariously receiving more affection than he had in years.  The blind adoration of his cults didn’t count.

Nora wasn’t soft.  The woman he knew now moved through this hellhole world with incredible tenacity.  She had survived everything thrown at her so far- he would be damned if he let her die now, he realized with sudden ferocity.  As a child, he had been told that gentleness bred weakness - and yet here was Nora proving that wrong.

It was getting harder to see his surroundings.  As Nora luxuriated in her mother’s embrace, a white film had filtered through the garden, despite it being a sunny day.  He felt queasy - a feeling that originated from outside of Nora’s memories.

My father was a quarry worker.  He died when I was 19, of lung cancer.

He could see him.  Her tall father, even paler now, laid to rest in his casket.  As he focused on the still face and fought back all the feelings that welled up in himself at the memory of his own father’s death, he noticed something.  The strange white film was retreating.  The image before him was becoming clearer, the pews and the casket and the dead man even more real.  He could hear Nora's mother, sobbing beside her.  But no curly-haired sister mourned along with them...

They loved me.  Do you think I can join them now?

At the thought, the image of her father’s body faded, and he saw her parents standing together again in the sunlight, smiling at her.  And the white fog began to return.

Alarm filled him.  He did not know what that fog was, precisely, but every one of his instincts was blaring at him to keep away from it.  As if the fog would smother him.

Could that fog mean death was approaching?

He thought frantically.  The fog had been steadily filling the space during her happier memories of her family and home… but when she remembered the painfulness of her father’s death, or even earlier when she had remembered Nate in what was clearly his cryopod, it had retreated.  Was pain the way, then? 

“But what about your sister?” he blurted out.

The fog paused.  Maxson felt like he was holding his breath as he waited for Nora to respond.

My sister… her voice whispered solemnly.  My Nikki.  I miss her.

“Tell me again what became of her.”

-

---HUGE TRIGGER WARNING HERE--- To avoid the following memory, scroll to the next double line after this one:

Green.  That was what Maxson first became aware of in this new memory.  He was staring up into the branches of a maple tree that was filled with green leaves, sunlight shining through them from behind, filling the air with a warm, sweet scent.  He had never seen a healthy maple tree before.  A carpet of grass spread out beneath the glorious tree, almost as rich a green as the leaves above.  It was beautiful.

Behind the maple tree was a huge brick building - a school, he could see.  D.B. Technical High School, it said on the front.  Though perhaps the dozens of students streaming towards the building and sitting outside upon the grass and low walls might have given it away.

A hand grabbed his.  “C’mon, slowpoke!”

He recognized the wild hair as belonging to Nora’s sister.  Long kinky strands of gold-brown hair haloed her face; combined with her dark hazel eyes and commanding air, it gave her the effect of a lioness.  There was a particular aura to her that he found himself intrigued by.  She darted across the crowded yard with vivacity and confidence, pulling him/Nora along behind her despite Nora’s half-hearted protests.  He caught snippets of Nikki’s name as her friends called to her, yet she continued to maneuver her sister toward the school doors with efficacy.

Nikki was the social butterfly, Nora answered his unvoiced question.  I was the bookworm in those days.  Nikki was the sunshine to my wallflower.  The entire school was wrapped around her finger, but she always made time for me.  I always felt so lucky to be her sister, and she always told me that she was the lucky one.  She would tell me that I would get anywhere I wanted to go in life, because of my brains.

“-I can’t believe you of all people are worried about passing chemistry,” Nikki was chiding.  “What is it about this particular class that has my genius little sister so worried?  I took Mrs. Reynolds’ class two years ago, and I don’t remember it being difficult.”

“Well that’s because Deonte was still the teacher’s assistant then–” Nora’s next words were drowned out by a wave of music.  Somewhere nearby, someone had turned on a radio:

🎵 Robert’s got a quick hand

He’ll look around the room 

But won’t tell you his plan 🎵

“Even geniuses need help sometime!” Nikki leaned closer to Nora to be heard over the music.  “Tell you what.  I’m going to take you to Mrs. Reynolds right now and put in a good word for you.  I’m sure if you talk with her about it–”

Nora groaned.

🎵 I don’t even know what

But he’s coming for you, yeah, he’s coming for you 🎵

“Now, now, none of that!  C’mon, Nonnie!”

As the sisters hurried through the front doors of the school amidst the throng of other students, the scene seemed to slow and pause.  Maxson could almost feel the heat of the bodies around him.

This was the last day of my childhood, Nora said solemnly into the sudden quiet.  Once you’ve experienced horrors like this, there’s no going back to ‘normal’.

Maxson never did get to find out if Nora had been able to ask Mrs. Reynolds for help.  In the next moment, they were in the classroom, seated at a desk and answering questions on a paper.  Or so he gathered.  The writing was strangely blurry, though he could see Nora’s signature clearly in the corner of the page, along with the date - “Nora V., 5/11/68”  Briefly he wondered what her maiden name was.

I don’t remember what was on the test.  But I do remember–

A sudden muffled popping noise.  A few students looked up, seemingly confused, but the class largely didn’t seem to register the sound.  Maxson did, and for a moment he could feel his muscles tensing in his real body outside of Nora’s head.

Gunfire.  Why are none of them moving?

In the next moment, the door to the classroom was thrown open.  But it wasn’t a teacher who entered.

Two men, seemingly in their teens and bearing weapons, strode in with gusto.  He heard the breath leave Nora’s lungs, heard the chair scrape backwards as she moved, a split-second faster than her classmates–

And then, the air was filled with fire.

Fire, and blood.

Maxson’s/Nora’s body fell to the floor with a jerk.  He heard Nora’s sharp scream out of his own mouth before she lay still.  A classmate’s body pinned her to the ground.  Cutting his eyes to the side, he could see blood coming from Nora’s arm - the reason she had jerked.

A low moan sounded from somewhere nearby, quickly silenced.  Nora shut her eyes.  Maxson couldn’t see anything, but he could hear it all.  The screams cut short.  The laughter of the killers.  The footsteps as they walked the aisles between the desks, pausing every so often to kill another of Nora’s classmates.  Nora was holding so still, yet with death so near…

I played dead.  If they saw anyone move, they killed them.  If James Miller, the boy who sat next to me, hadn’t fallen on top of me… they might have realized I wasn’t dead.  I was lucky.  James wasn’t.  Out of the twenty of us, only three survived.

The sounds seemed to go on forever, without stopping.

Did you notice the jackets they were wearing?  You probably didn’t.

She was right, he hadn’t.  He had been too busy processing the shock that a civilian enemy could be so barbaric to shoot unarmed children in this methodical way, and even more so that none of the students had tried to defend themselves.  He had been taught to be ready at any moment for an attack by the time he was five years of age.  What a different time it must have been then, to be so unprepared… The thought saddened him.  This is how peace died.

There was a logo on their jackets.  These were part of one of the earliest organized Raider groups.

'What was their goal back then?' he thought to her in their shared mind.

Anarchy.  To express their disillusionment with society.  But I didn’t know that until later.

The footsteps faded.  The only thing they could hear now was the drip of blood.  Nora was alone.

All I knew then was that people had come into a place that I felt was sacred, and they had tried to kill me, and they had killed my classmates for no reason at all.

Time must have passed.  An adult was helping Nora to her feet now.  The uniform spoke of an officer of some sort.

Nora and the other two survivors swept through the hallway after the officer.  The other two were crying.  Nora wasn’t.  They passed several bodies in the hallways, never stopping…

The two who attacked our classroom weren’t the only ones in the school.  There had been more attacks.  And–

Nora stopped.

One of the bodies near the center of the hallway looked familiar.

I- I don’t-

Nora fell to her knees, choking in horror, even as the officer tried to make her keep going.  The once-proud halo of hair was covered in blood, hazel eyes opened and staring sightlessly up at her little sister…

“NIKKI!”

I don’t want to-

Nora crawled to her sister over the slippery floor, cradling Nikki’s head in her lap.  Her tears fell faster over Nikki’s face, until blood seeped down her forehead and from the creases beneath her eyes, making it look like she was crying blood.  Nora pressed her hand down over Nikki’s eyes, holding them closed.

“Nikki, no-”

I don’t want to remember this!

-

This memory took longer to fade.  As they re-entered a mind-space that was separate from the memories, he could hear fragments of conversation fade:

“Princezna…”  a man’s voice.  “I’m here.  We’re here.  Oh thank god you’re alive…”

“Dad, Mom… there’s something you should know–”

“We already know, baby girl.”  Her mother’s voice choking back tears, an immeasurable sorrow drowning her words.  “We know about what happened to Nikki.”

Nora, sobbing, in her newly broken reality.  “...What are we gonna do?”

He understood that question well.  When Sarah had died, he had felt the same way…

“But you kept living, didn’t you, soldier?" He slipped into his 'inspirational' voice, the one he used when he gave his address to new recruits.  "You did what you had to do.”

Nora's mental voice shook with anger.  What does it matter if I kept fighting, when the people I love keep dying?  I 'do what I have to do' for THEM!  And I keep failing!

...And once again, he was transported to the colossal explosion.  It loomed all around him, without sound, and now he could recognize the green world being torn apart.  The greens of the grass, the manicured plants, and maple trees, losing the last of their summer greens... Many of the maple trees were already in the fiery colors of autumn, and yet the blast that was consuming them wasn't like any fire nature could make-

I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER THESE THINGS!

-And once again, they were in her blank space.  Though now a stain was spreading over that space.  Red.

"Listen to me, soldier.  You need to focus!  Your brain is dying!  I have been sent here to keep you alive."  Urgency outweighed caution now.  "I am Elder Arthur Maxson of the Brotherhood of Steel, and you are one of my Paladins.  We need you!  The living world is not done with you yet.  You have a duty to perform!"

For a long moment, he heard nothing, saw nothing, except the spreading red throughout Nora's brain space.  For long moments, he wondered if she had lost consciousness, succumbed to her injuries, and left him trapped inside her brain, alone.  He refused to quiver, determined to pay attention to his surroundings lest fear overwhelm him.

"We still have our mission," he said softly.  "You cannot die until we have reduced the Institute threat to ashes.  You have the only intel on how we can make this happen.  You cannot abandon your mission."  If he had been truly in his body, he would have clenched a fist, relished the creak of leather as he asserted himself as her Elder.  "I command it!  You must stay alive, soldier!"

At last, she answered him.

...You call me a soldier, she whispered. 

The next memory came quicker.  Now they were in a room with wooden floors and minimal furniture.  Everyone seemed to be wearing a uniform of some kind - white pants and some sort of thick, open white shirt with a cloth belt holding it closed.  This was clearly a classroom; there was an adult radiating authority standing at the front of the room, while everyone else dutifully faced him.  Yet again, Maxson was in Nora's body, which was in motion.

Yes, I took martial arts.  An elective when I was in college.

Nora was sparring with a young man a head taller than her.  He moved around her in a blur, dark hair hiding his face, clearly looking for an opening.  Nora/Maxson moved quickly in turn, never giving him her back, hands extended in front of herself.

'You still went to school in spite of what had happened?' Maxson's question was once again spoken mentally.

No choice.  It would have been worse to stay at home, and my parents couldn't afford homeschooling anyway.  

That's right.  He remembered her telling him that.

The young man had finally made a move, but Nora was ready.  As his hands closed around her shoulders, Nora rolled his left arm so that his elbow pointed upward.  His balance shifted, grip loosening on her shoulders as he tried to steady himself, and Nora took advantage.

I began spending more time learning about chemistry and electronics, engineering... Any elective or club where I could keep my mind and my hands working.  And when I went to college to study law, in hopes of becoming a criminal prosecutor, a retired Army soldier was teaching a martial arts class.  He had learned it abroad, he'd said.

Nora moved back a step, both hands firmly locked around her opponent's left arm.  As he lurched forward to correct his balance, Nora turned sharply, bringing the young man stumbling to the ground.

But as she moved to pin him, the young man abruptly turned to his side, grabbing her shoulder again with his unpinned arm.  He rolled to the side, pulling Nora down over him and freeing himself quickly enough to pin Nora's arms to her side.

Nora/Maxson found herself staring down into a laughing face with dark eyes.  A jolt of recognition shot through Maxson.

"Well, well, well.  Look who's fallen into my grasp?"

I was a good student.  But Nate was always faster.  Not that I ever let him win without a fight.  I would spar with him until I couldn't move anymore.  Of course he liked that about me.

Nora struggled extensively against her opponent's - Nate's - grasp.  But she was unable to free herself.  Nate's cocky smile softened until it carried an edge of fondness.

"My fighting Themis..."

"It's Nora to you, Freeman!  And I almost had you!"

I liked that he didn't go easy on me.  You could say it was our own form of courtship.  Sparring, flirting, egging each other on...

"Nora," Nate drawled.  A moment later, the world blurred as Nate made his move, faster than Maxson could follow.  Suddenly he/Nora was facing the wooden floor, close enough to see the fine grain patterns, as Nate ostensibly pinned them.  His voice came softly into the shell of their ear.  "You did almost have me.  What happened?  You lose your focus?  You falling for me, No-ra?"  He chuckled. "You know, Nora Freeman has a nice ring to it..."

"In your dreams!"

"I do dream about it, yes."

"When I get up, I'm gonna kick your ass!"

"Please do.  I enjoy it."

There was no fog in the room, Maxson realized.  If this were a truly happy memory, then wouldn't the fog have been here, lulling Nora into an eternal sleep filled with dreams of her husband?  He tensed; something was happening here.

I don't know why you call me 'soldier'.  Sadness filtered through Nora's mental voice. That was always Nate.

The memory faded.

The red stain was spreading faster.  Nora's voice softened, and yet it sent chills through him.

You want to know what happened to my soldier?  Very well.  I'll show you.

...And again, they were stood in her living room, with the TV and the Mister Handy speaking, as Nora stared at her orange front door.

Let me show you what happened the day the bombs fell.

Chapter Text

October 23rd, 2077.  The Day the Bombs Fell.

“Sir!  Mum!  You should come and see this!”

Nate and Nora in the living room, Shaun clutched between them, robot hovering nearby as the television solemnly announced the incoming tide of death-

“...Confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania… My god-”  A crackle as the screen failed.

“We need to get to the Vault!  Now!”  Nora - Maxson within her body - immediately sprang into action.

“I’ve got Shaun!” Nate responded.  “Let’s go!”

No sooner had they crossed the threshold of the front door did a horrifying alarm begin to blare.  Instructions were spoken over a loudspeaker.  A Vertibird flew overhead, and it felt surreal. 

There’s no time.

“C’mon!” Nate led their mad dash, despite bearing their son in his arms.  Every inch the military man, he assessed the situation, navigating their way amidst the chaos.

Not everyone was running to the Vaults.  To Maxson’s horror, he overheard a terrified woman’s voice: “Oh my god!  We don’t have anywhere to go!”  Out of the corner of his/Nora’s eye, he caught a glimpse of an elderly couple grabbing each other, vibrating with terror.

At least they have already lived a long life, he tried to comfort himself.

Another couple appeared to be frantically packing their car.  Maxson could have shook them.  There was no sense in trying to outrun or out-drive a nuclear blast.  

“We’ll drive to the coast!” the husband declared.  “That’s gotta be far enough!”

“But what if we can’t drive far enough in time?!” his wife bawled back.

Too many people were frozen in the street.  Why aren’t they at least trying to find cover?  But he knew why - civilians, unlike soldiers, hadn’t had the training not to freeze up during a crisis.

Nate and Nora followed the greater stream of people running to the hill - a neighborhood evacuating, the final run of humanity as they knew it.  Arthur Maxson couldn’t feel the physical fatigue that Nora must have felt, but he could feel the adrenaline as Nora’s feet pounded in time with her neighbors.  Passenger as he was in her body, he could see all she had seen and react to it second-by-second.

Up the hill, through a pathway of green and fiery orange trees changing seasons.  Some of the trees looked to be on fire, which must not be far off of what was coming.  Maxson wondered if the people around him could feel the ominous irony in the colors of the trees.

Soldiers guided their way.  Some neighbors stopped, knelt down to repack suitcases.  The Freeman family charged on.  Nate and the baby were ahead of him/Nora, though the husband was careful to remain within voice range of his wife.  Losing each other in this crowd would be–

Well.  He could imagine.  And if he didn’t already know how this man’s story would end, he would have felt that fear.  As it was now… Despite this ghost world that he ran through being dead and gone in the present day, he felt the nauseating anticipation of finally seeing how it happened.

“Vault participants!  Check in at the gate!”

A chain-link fence stopped people ahead.  Soldiers, some in power armor, had made a checkpoint.  Beyond lay salvation.

These people outside these gates were my neighbors, my friends, Nora spoke for the first time since stepping into the memory.  But they hadn’t gotten spots inside the Vault.  Her voice turned colder.  So they were left to die.

“Why are they keeping us out!?  Are they crazy!?”

“Oh god.  Oh god oh god oh god-”

“Why don’t they let us in?  Who cares if we’re on some list?”

Nate was already talking to the guards at the gate.  The lead guard wore old world military green and held a clipboard.  Flanking him were two other guards in full power armor, weapons trained on the gate’s entrance.

“Infant.  Adult male.  Adult female.  OK, go ahead.”  The guard waved them through.

“We’re not in the program!” Maxson heard a woman gasp from behind them.  “Oh god, they’re not going to let us in!”

Not even the Vault-Tec representative got in.  His own company left him out there.

Nora didn’t look back as they ran ahead, leaving their increasingly hysterical neighbors behind.  But her vision blurred for a minute.

Up the small hill.  Up to a round concrete platform, lined in blue tactile paving and a huge yellow gear icon.  Vault-Tec’s icon.

Maxson felt a cold shiver down his spine, as though someone had walked upon his ancestor’s grave.  To stand upon one of these evil places, looking so pristine and like salvation, with all these innocent people unknowingly about to descend into their fates… Would it have been worse to die in the world above?  He couldn’t rightly say that.  But knowing, or at least imagining, what lay ahead…

Nora and her family were safely on the platform now.  But not everyone had arrived yet - he could hear people still running up the hill–

Nora was looking at Nate and her son, and through her eyes, Maxson saw the treeline behind Nate’s left shoulder rapidly illuminate.

The sky turned white.  And then as color quickly returned, they saw a great and terrible light begin to rise in a plume from the horizon, over the treeline.

The Bomb, Nora acknowledged silently.  Goodbye, my world.

Haloes of clouds and radiation emitted from the rising light.  The light began to darken, concealed in the black cloud of the explosion.  And then the fallout rose up and swept towards them.

“HOLD ON!” Nora shouted to Nate.

The platform descended swiftly, even as the fallout approached.  Amidst panicking neighbors and the end of the world rushing towards them, Maxson realized he was witnessing a historic moment second-hand.  That Nora had experienced it first-hand.  And that stories could never emulate nor properly express the raw terror he felt right then.

How Nora managed to remain standing, facing oncoming death while her neighbors around her cowered, was nothing short of amazing to him.  She was brave, he realized - even back then.

The radioactive dust, debris, and smoke swept violently over the opening of the Vault.  Maxson caught one last glimpse of the sun through a veil of red cloud - the ashes of the old world - before the Vault closed behind them.

And then there was darkness.

It felt like being buried alive.  Because, in a sense, we were.

Eventually they descended fully into the Vault, where bright lights, Vault-Tec guards, and scientists greeted them.  But right then, all Maxson could do was replay that horrible moment again and again - the moment when the nuclear bomb had destroyed Massachusetts.  And he realized that in this very moment in memory, the bombs were still falling overhead.  This day wasn’t over yet.  The deadliest day in human history.

On auto-pilot, he walked through Nora’s memories within her body.  They were made to take a Vault Suit.  Escorted by doctors to their pods where they put on their suits.  Asked to step into the pods for decontamination-

The memory froze.  But not before Nora had already stepped into the pod.

This was my tomb for 210 years...

Nora’s harsh whisper brought him out of his preoccupation.

I don’t need to see this moment again!

Before Maxson could protest, they found themselves in yet another memory-

For a split-second, he experienced a moment of confusion: they were stood on the platform that had lowered them into the Vault yet again, though this time they were alone.  The neighbors, Nora's husband and son - all were gone.  Glancing down at his hands, he realized they were wearing the Vault suit.  Then he noticed: the platform was rising up.  This must have been after Nora woke up from her cryosleep.  His stomach clenched, despite knowing what she would see.

The hatch opened, and his world above came into view-

Maxson fell to his knees, Nora's gasps coming from his mouth.  She had been strong in the face of the blast, and yet here she crumpled in the wake of her destroyed world, 200 years later.

Emptiness.  The skyline she knew, the green trees - all gone.  Her town lay beneath the hill's small summit, the homes little more than skeletons-

A dog, licking his cheek- He could almost feel the fur-

Gunshots.  With a jolt, they were inside now, and there were people- Raiders- firing at them from an upper balcony.  The building they were in was dilapidated like all the rest, only this one had relics of the past within it, even further back than Nora's time.  He recognized the look of them from similar artifacts he had seen in the Capital Wasteland.  Civil War, was it?

His gun jumped in his hand - Nora had fired, killing one of the Raiders, then watched as he fell head-first over the balcony to land at her feet-

Outside!  Looming above them now, the most colossal of all beasts- a Deathclaw!  Nora's hands were encased in metal gauntlets.  Vaguely Maxson realized that they were in a suit of Power Armor, though from the shade of the metal, it had seen better days.  Nora managed to dodge one swipe of a hand with claws half as long as she was- only to be backhanded by the great beast.  She/Maxson flew back, just barely managing to hold onto her gun, but the Deathclaw was too fast, and Nora staggered to her feet, woozy and yet determined, still firing, still fighting.

Nora emptied half her clip into the Deathclaw's left knee, and the terror beast fell, bellowing, still swiping-

Blood rained across his view-

"Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen," a man wearing a duster and tricorn hat was saying.  "Listen.  We need your help-"

Garvey?  He had forgotten - did Nora Freeman have some sort of in with the Minutemen?  Were they one of the circles his Paladin traveled in?  

He needed to ask her.  But before he could, they were-

-Pulled away.  The bomb loomed in front of them again.  Again, they were with Nate, stood on the platform as the bomb fell.  Only this time, there was no sound.  No movement.  Just the explosion happening again.

A dark stain began to spread through the memory.

"Paladin?" he said in alarm.  That he suddenly found himself no longer within the boundaries of Nora's memory-body only deepened his concern.  "Paladin, what is happening?!"

They were in the white in-between space again, but with a red stain - so dark it was almost black - rapidly expanding to corrupt their shared mental space.  He could no longer hear Nora's thoughts.

This must have been the brain bleed Cade was seeing earlier, he realized.  That would mean Doctor Amari and Cade haven't been able to contain the damage yet.  The next thought hit him like a bucket of cold water: Her brain is dying.  At this rate, we might have minutes left at most...

He hesitated.  If he were a softer man, one who allowed his emotions to guide him rather than the Codex, he would try to whisper soothing things into his soldier's mind, to ease her into what could well be her final moments.  But he was not merely a man - he was the Elder, and it was upon him to uphold the Brotherhood's mission to the highest standard.

I'm sorry, soldier.

"Have you forgotten your mission already, Paladin?  You disappoint me."

Something in the space flickered.  The stain continued to spread, yet it looked faded somehow.  Less there.

Nora must be listening.  She can still hear me.

He adopted his most paternal tone, the one that always seemed the most effective on his soldiers.  "You were on a mission to retrieve something of grave importance to our noble cause.  Don't you remember?  You failed to secure it for me.  But you can still help us recover it.  Show me what happened when the Raiders stole my beryllium agitator, and you will regain your honor."

His words rang true.  But somewhere inside of his stomach, something slithered.  Was it Nora herself experiencing nausea as death slowly overtook her brain?  Or could it be...?

He forced away the feeling.  "Do it now, soldier.  Show me.  Show me what happened with the Raiders."

The space crackled.  For a moment, the black blood stain became uncomfortably vivid; he could see the distinctive sheen in it, and surrounding him as it was, he felt as if his skin were drenched in it.

(more soon)