My heartbeat was taking up all the space in my body. There was no room for air, no room for thoughts.

“I mean, you're right,” I continued. She glanced up at me and I blinked at her image. The brown eyes looked like a strangers’ now, not the same girl I had just walked around with for three hours. Her hands seemed fidgety and unstable, not the ones that fit perfectly in mine.

“Oh,” she said. “I see.” The way she said that made my heart lurch. Although my heart was beating faster than ever, it stopped for a second. And I went numb. My brain and my hands and thoughts and everything. Went numb. I offered a smile emotionlessly at her when she looked down. It all felt so surreal.

"Not that it's important now, but I thought you should know."

"I guess." She sounded unsure. "But you're over me. I'm sorta annoying and weird anyway. Right?"

"Well," I hesitated. How could I tell her I still loved her. And her "annoying" texts every hour about anything. Her quirky hoodies and dedication to soccer. Her ridiculously curly hair and sweetness. Her personality and every line on her hand. All our memories and how she made me feel like I was on fire, alive and truly here.

Her face said it all. I couldn't tell her.

"What do you think?" I asked her instead.

"Honestly, I liked you too." She shrugged. "But I got over it. I love you still, I mean, but you've already broken my heart so I can't pretend this relationship will ever be okay."

My heart leaped, cracked, repaired itself, and shattered all in the span of a few seconds.

"Would you ever-" I picked up all the courage I had.

"No." She interrupted. The pain in her eyes cut into mine. "No."

Looking back, she was right about one thing. Our relationship would never and will never be okay. It's healing, reforming and growing. But it isn't okay.

If she had said yes, maybe we would've been that couple. The one who has movie marathons on snow days and eats too much junk food together. The one that does all the cheesy things and holds hands just because we don't want to be apart. Yes could've led us down so many paths and opened so many possibilites. It could've changed us and opened the world. But sometimes, "No" can also change the world.

Deacon sat in a rusty metal patio chair in Whisper’s driveway, sipping casually on a glass of some god-awful cocktail the barkeep had called a “Sneezing Glowfish”. The spy wasn’t sure what was in it, just that it had the signature blue glow of a Nuka Quantum and tasted like licking the bottom shelf of a liquor cabinet. Someone needed to hire Marcy Long a proper bartender, and that was a fact.

The spy wasn’t usually one for sitting out in the open, but in this case, his current job demanded it. Besides, it wasn’t like Whisper was home. Last he’d heard, she was off killing Gunners with MacCready. Talk around Sanctuary also placed her at the Castle within the last week, but he hadn’t been able to confirm that. Either way, she wasn’t home to tell him to keep off the furniture. So he’d made himself at home, setting up a small tailor’s shop in the old carpark. Stupid cover stories. He’d need to think of one that was less work to maintain next time.

“Shall I fetch you another drink, sir?” asked Codsworth, hovering nearby.

Deacon shook his head. “That’s quite all right, Codsworth. This one’s...well, it’ll be enough.”

The Mr. Handy seemed to float a little lower towards the ground, as if defeated. “Mr. Stitches, the letter you brought me from my mistress expressly said that I should do everything I could to care for your needs. How exactly am I to do that when you refuse to allow me?”

The spy sighed. He should have phrased the forged note better. You’d think after spending so many years working with synths, he’d understand how robotic minds worked. “If you want to help, Codsworth,” he mused, “I suppose you could tilt my umbrella slightly to the left.”

“Very good, sir,” the robot piped. It was difficult to tell for certain, but Deacon was convinced that Codsworth was being sarcastic.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” he continued. “Just, if you’re bored.”

“I was programmed to keep myself perfectly occupied at all times, sir,” Codsworth muttered. “If you have no actual tasks for me to preform, I really should get back to cleaning. Miss Myra could be home at any time, and I want the place to look immaculate.”

Deacon sighed. “Well, you do you, pal. I’ll be here, waiting for customers.”

The clothing market in Sanctuary was terrible, it turned out. Due to the large number of wardrobes and suitcases that had remained in the subdivision after the bombs fell, it was fairly easy for the town’s residents to find nice clothes. The few customers Deacon had gotten all wanted difficult-to-find items like pre-war underwear. Or they were looking for things he didn’t sell, like armor and weapons.

Still, while the clothing business was terrible, the spy business was thriving, and not just for the Railroad. Deacon had discovered three other agents in his first week alone. He wasn’t entirely sure who they were working for, so he kept his distance and simply pretended to be “Billy Stitches, friend of the General.” He figured no one would peg him for a spy if he acted like an idiot, and so far, his plan had been working perfectly.

He frowned as his eyes met those of a squat, toad-like man who wobbled over to the car park, coughing phlegm into a filthy handkerchief as he approached. Deacon groaned inwardly as he flashed the man a charming smile.

“Welcome to Billy’s!” the spy chirped. “Is there anything special you’re looking for today?”

The man frowned at him, muddy green eyes narrowed. “No. I’ll tell you if I want anything.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be here,” Deacon replied, off-put by the man’s brusqueness. He’d never met the human embodiment of slime before, but today might just have been the day. Something about the guy just seemed wrong, unsettling in a way Deacon couldn’t quite place. Still, his instincts had saved his life on many occasions, and if they said this guy was trouble, Deacon wasn’t about to question them. He eased back into his chair, watching the man out of the corner of his eye.

As the man browsed, a thin young woman approached the clothing stand, her eyes hollow and dead. Her arms hung at her sides as she walked towards the man, her head inclined downwards. When she reached him, the man looked up at her with a snarl. “And where the fuck have you been?” he growled. “I told you, pay for our room and then come back. It’s been twenty fucking minutes!”

“I…” she murmured softly, “I couldn’t find you. You didn’t tell me where you were go--”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” he barked, grabbing her arm roughly. “I said five minutes. You’re supposed to be smart, right? No more fucking excuses.”

“Sorry!” she cried, bowing her head. “It’s my fault.”

“Damn right it is. Now, where’s my change?”

“There wasn’t any,” she replied softly, cringing.

“What?” the man screamed. “Don’t give me that shit! I gave you fifty caps!”

“I...no,” she murmured. “You just gave me ten. Remember? You counted them out to me.”

“Like hell I did! You filthy, stealing whore! I ought to…” He raised his arm to strike her, and the girl whimpered, cowering in terror.

Deacon sighed. “Leave her alone, asshole,” he interrupted.

The man turned to him, eyes wide with rage. “Oh, you want some of this, too?” he growled, his open hand tightening into a fist.

Deacon rolled his eyes. “Really? No, man. But you’re threatening this girl in my shop, and I have a right to complain about that. You hurt her, and I’ll call security. I’d love to see what the Minutemen have to say about this.”

The man’s eyes darted towards the frightened girl, then back to Deacon. He grabbed Deacon’s collar, dragging him up out of his chair. “Fine. We’re leaving. But don’t think we’re fucking done here. You’d better watch your back, shithead.”

“Like you’re the first person who’s ever told me that,” Deacon said softly, rubbing his neck after the man released him. He watched the man leave, broken girl in tow, and shook his head. It had to be the guy, right? The girl looked like she’d once matched the description Deacon had been given, the latest in a series of liberated synths that had gone missing over the last year. If he was right…

“I’ll get you out of this, Natalie,” he murmured, pulling a scrap of paper out of his pocket. The sketch showed a young, bright-eyed woman, smiling warmly at the artist. It had only been a few weeks since she’d vanished from her home near Jamaica Plain. How had she already changed this much?

Deacon’s thoughts were interrupted by the whir of vertibird engines as one of the Brotherhood’s flying death traps landed on a slab of concrete in a nearby vacant lot. He frowned. As far as he knew, the Brotherhood wasn’t supposed to enter Sanctuary. It was one of the reasons why he’d picked this spot for his stakeout. The spy ducked into Whisper’s house, keeping his eye on the craft. Two figures emerged, then the aircraft left. Deacon frowned, readying his sniper rifle and peering through the scope.

He recognized MacCready immediately. The slight sniper was, acting as a crutch for the other person, tucked under that man’s arm. The second figure was someone Deacon didn’t recognize. He was tall, handsome in that rugged sort of way with dark, messy hair and well-developed muscles. He seemed to be quite badly injured, his upper body wrapped in bandages that were covered somewhat by a black shirt that rested partially-unbuttoned, on his broad torso. As the pair drew closer to Whisper’s house, Deacon approached them, frowning in concern.

“MacCready? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What am I doing here?” the sniper asked, his eyes widening. “What are you doing here? This is Myra’s house!”

“I know,” Deacon replied. “I’m...borrowing it while she’s out of town. I’m here for…well, for work. Billy Stitches has to make a living, you know.”

MacCready rolled his eyes. “Oh man, another stupid cover?”

“Hey,” hissed the spy, “keep your voice down!”

The sniper nodded. “Sorry. Anyway, Myra sent us here. We’re supposed to be meeting up with a doctor...Nauseous, I think she said?”

Deacon snickered. “You mean Ignatius?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy! Is he here?”

The spy shook his head. “I haven’t seen him around in a while, honestly. Last I heard, he was up by Lynn Woods. But if Myra says he’s coming here, I’m sure he’s on his way.”

“Yeah, like that helps me now,” MacCready groaned. “Hey, can you help me get Danse into a bed while we wait for the doctor to show up? He’s been doing better, but the vertibird ride took a lot out of him.”

“Danse?” Deacon’s eyes widened at the sound of the Paladin’s name. He looked over the second man more carefully, recognition setting in. “So that’s what’s under all that armor! I always figured there was just a second, smaller suit of power armor under there.”

Danse groaned in pain, his deep brown eyes meeting Deacon’s sunglasses. “Do I know you?” he moaned.

Deacon shook his head. “No. I mean, we haven’t met. But you’re a friend of Myra’s, right?”

“Affirmative,” Danse replied weakly.

“Well, so am I. And I guess that makes us, like, friend-adjacent? Definitely close enough for me to help out.” Deacon came around to the Paladin’s other side, easing some of Danse’s weight onto his shoulders. “Let’s go get you comfortable,” he continued. “And then, I’ll expect you to tell me exactly what I missed, Mac.”

“You got it,” MacCready replied as they helped Danse into the house. “I mean, I wasn’t there for the whole thing either, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

Getting Danse onto Whisper’s bed was fairly easy. Gravity did most of the work. The hard part was getting him to lie still once he was down. “This is ridiculous,” Danse muttered. “If I’m well enough to travel, I’m well enough to take care of myself.”

MacCready shook his head. “Danse, we’ve been over this, remember? Right now, you’re feeling pretty good, but that’s because of all the chems. You’re basically held together by stitches and stubbornness at this point. Now rest, or I’ll give you more sedative and force you to rest.”

The Paladin grumbled, pulling an old blanket over himself. “Very well. But only until Larimer arrives. Then it’s her call.”

“That’s fine with me,” the mercenary replied, smirking. “You and I both know she’s way less likely to let you get away with anything.”

“Perhaps,” Danse muttered, “but I believe she owes me a favor, given the fact that I helped her leave the Prydwen when she was supposed to be on bed rest.”

Deacon sighed. “You’re both idiots,” he mused. “No wonder the two of you are thick as thieves.” He took his leave, heading out to the living room.

After MacCready had gotten Danse settled in Myra’s bedroom, he sat on the couch in her living room next to Deacon, a pair of mismatched glasses in his hands. He offered one to the spy, who looked at him questioningly. “What’s this, Mac?”

“Just a little something to take the edge off,” the mercenary replied. “You’ve been stiff as a Diamond City virgin ever since Danse and I got here. Something’s on your mind, right?”

Deacon nodded. “I can’t really talk about it. Just, the mission I’m on right now hits a little close to home, that’s all.”

“Sorry,” MacCready said simply. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m here.”

Deacon smiled fondly at the younger man as he sampled his drink. It was smooth and warming, with just a hint of sweetness on the back end. Now that was more like it. “You know, MacCready,” the spy said, “if you ever decide to quit the mercenary life, there’s --”

MacCready snorted. “I’m never joining the Railroad, Deacon. We’ve been over this.”

Deacon sighed. “For once, I wasn’t suggesting that. I just think you should consider bartending. Trust me, there’s no competition around here. You’d make a killing.”

The mercenary chuckled. “You’re full of it.”

“Of booze, yeah,” Deacon agreed. “But really. What’s your long term plan, pal? We’ve known each other quite a while now, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about one.”

“Well, the current plan is to not die,” MacCready replied with a smirk. “And I’ve got some personal stuff I need to take care of. After that, I guess I haven’t really given it much thought. Kinda seems stupid, you know? Why plan for something if you don’t know if you’re even gonna get to hold on to what you’ve got?”

Deacon nodded. “Guess that makes sense. We’re probably pretty similar in that way. Railroad agents don’t have a great survival rate. I should know.” He grinned. “You know, with all the facial surgery, I’m on probably...what is it now, my sixth life? Even the coolest cats only get the nine. Though, there was that time I was a cat for a few months. Crazy story, that one. So maybe I get the eight extra cat lives too.”

MacCready frowned. “There’s no way that’s true. How the heck would you even become a cat?”

The spy chuckled. “Yeah, you got me. But can you imagine?”

Mac thought for a moment. “I really can’t,” he said finally. “But why do you wanna know about my plans?”

“Can’t I ask my dear not-friend about his life?” Deacon scoffed, pretending to be offended. “It’s no big deal. I...I guess I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately. Like, what if we beat the odds and actually survive this stuff with the Institute? What then? I mean, I’ll probably be out of a job, at least until the next threat rears its head. So I’ve just been wondering, I guess.”

MacCready nodded. “I guess that makes sense. I never really thought about what happens if we win.”

Deacon laughed. “Well, that’s comforting!”

“Isn’t it just?” The mercenary grimaced. “Man, now you’ve got me all worried about it too. Thanks for that.”

“Any time, pal,” Deacon replied with a smirk. “Now, what’s this about Carrington and a sea monster?”

::::

Night fell over Sanctuary like a gentle blanket, and all was surprisingly peaceful in the old Larimer house. MacCready had passed out on the couch, his snores filling the living room. Deacon wandered into the bedroom to check on Danse, a couple syringes of Psycho in his hand. He could still finish his mission and snuff out the Paladin’s life, wipe the failure off of his record. The stimulants in the chems could easily overwhelm Danse’s weakened body, sending him into cardiac arrest. It probably wouldn’t even be that painful for the soldier, compared to what he’d already gone through.

Deacon stared down at Danse’s sleeping form, gritting his teeth. The man was resting peacefully, his bandaged chest rising and falling softly with each breath. There was a gentleness to his chiseled features that wasn’t apparent when he was awake, an almost boy-like quality that gave Deacon pause. For all the danger the Paladin posed to the Railroad, to Whisper, it was hard to see him as much of a threat now.

The spy shook his head. No. Even apex predators appeared harmless when they were asleep. And Danse was pretty damn high on the food chain. He was one of Maxson’s top men, with a record of synth deaths long enough to fill a notebook. This wasn’t just about striking a bow against the Brotherhood. It was about preserving lives. The greater good. All that crap Desdemona was always spouting that Deacon liked to pretend he believed in. With just a few quick jabs, how many lives could the spy save?

Danse moaned in his sleep, his brow furrowing. He muttered under his breath, eyes darting rapidly beneath closed eyelids as he dreamed. Deacon wondered what a Brotherhood Paladin could possibly fear that would cause such a sudden shift in his sleeping pattern. Did he somehow know the threat of death that loomed over him?

“No...Myra…” Danse murmured, his face contorting in worry. “Come back...not safe…”

Deacon froze at the sound of Whisper’s name, the mumbled warning. Of course, it made sense that the Paladin was worried about her. From the sound of things, he’d been doing nothing but worry about her since the last time Deacon had seen them.

He sighed, sneaking the chems into the bedside table. It wasn’t right, killing Danse like this. Even if it was the right thing to do, even if it meant keeping Whisper safe...would she see it that way? Somehow, Deacon doubted it. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was too late to make things right. At this point, Danse’s death would cause more harm than good.

Deacon turned and left the room, trying to understand why he felt so relieved at his decision. This was the third time he’d spared the Paladin’s life, the third time that he’d made the choice to keep Danse safe...not for his own merit, but for Whisper’s. Why? Why did one woman’s life and happiness mean so much to him? It wasn’t like he was responsible for her welfare, not since he’d brought her home the day she emerged from Vault 111. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. So why did Deacon constantly feel this need to keep her happy?

His mind tried to justify his actions. This wasn’t just about Whisper. It was about the fate of the Railroad. If Maxson retaliated, as Deacon knew he was likely to, the Minutemen would probably be his first target. Hell, Whisper would be his first target, since Danse would have died in her house. With the Minutemen destroyed, life would get even more difficult for the Railroad. As much as he hated to admit it, Deacon knew his organization would not survive long in a total power vacuum. It definitely wouldn’t survive under Brotherhood rule, not the way things were under Maxson. After all, the Elder had nearly broken the DC chapter of the Railroad, sending its few remaining members scrambling into the wastes. If that happened here...would anyone survive?

The spy shook his head, trying to dislodge the growing dread that was building in the back of his mind. He returned to the living room, easing himself into a padded chair next to the couch, where MacCready still slept, oblivious of the turmoil in Deacon’s mind.

Just as he was beginning to fall asleep, the familiar whir of engines caught his ear. Deacon groaned, dragging himself to his feet. There were only two real possibilities where that sound was concerned. Either the Brotherhood was invading Sanctuary, or…

Whisper walked slowly through the door, not even glancing towards the living room furniture as she trod wearily towards her bedroom, dropping her pack to the floor with a heavy whomp.

“Welcome home, Whisp!” Deacon called softly.

She shrieked, spinning on her heels, her laser rifle already at her shoulder.

“Hey!” the spy cried in response, “Hey, it’s me. It’s just Deacon.”

Whisper frowned, lowering her gun. “Deacon? You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m here on business. I’ve been using your house as a base for some undercover work. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I...I kind of do mind, actually,” she replied. “Look, Deacon, not that it’s not great to see you, but I’ve had a hell of a day, and I just want to go to bed. So if you don’t mind, I’m gonna…”

“Wait!” Deacon protested. “Sorry, just...Danse is in there.”

“Danse?” she muttered, yawning. “Right, yeah. Well, I guess the couch is --”

“And MacCready’s sleeping on the couch,” Deacon continued.

There was a groan from the couch as the mercenary sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Well, I was, until someone decided to scream in my fuc...um, my stupid ear.”

“Sorry, Mac,” Whisper replied, smiling wearily at him. “Blame Deacon.”

“I usually do,” MacCready replied with a yawn. “Took you long enough to get here. What time is it?”

“Like, two in the morning. I came as soon as I was done speaking to Maxson.”

“That bad, huh?” the mercenary murmured. “Ouch.”

Whisper sighed. “I wouldn’t say bad, necessarily. There was a lot of yelling, but I’m pretty sure that’s Maxson’s love language, so it probably wasn’t as terrible as it seemed. It was more just...exhausting.”

“Some people never change,” MacCready replied. He stood up, gesturing to the couch. “Here, you can take the couch. I can sleep on the floor.”

Whisper shook her head. “I’m going to go sleep at Preston’s house, since I know he’s still at the Castle. You guys get some rest. I’ll…” she yawned again, violently. “I’ll deal with all this in the morning.”

“You shouldn’t go alone, Whisp,” Deacon warned. “I’ll go with you.” He walked over to her pack, throwing it over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” Whisper replied with a faint smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s Sanctuary. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Besides were-deathclaw attacks?” Deacon offered. “Overzealous fans of the General hounding you to kiss their babies? Bad milk?”

Whisper chuckled. “Oh, so the usual dangers. I think I can handle myself. Thanks.”

Deacon scowled as he thought about his interaction with the hideous creep earlier in the day. Could he really trust that Myra would be safe if he let her go by herself? She wasn’t a synth, not as far as he was aware, but what if the man wasn’t just targeting synths? She certainly fit the profile of the sort of women the kidnapper was going after: young, tall, beautiful...alone. “Please, Whisp,” the spy begged softly. “Just humor me, ok?”

Her eyes widened slightly at his urgent tone. “You’re actually worried about something, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I don’t have enough information to tell you exactly what’s going on, not yet. But until I finish my investigation, please...just let me make sure you’re safe.”

Whisper rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’ve already got my stuff, so I’ll take you with me. Mac, please keep an eye on Danse. Ignatius radioed in a couple hours ago. He’s on his way back from Lynn Woods, but he needs to stop at Outpost Zimonja for a few things. He should be here in the morning.”

MacCready nodded. “I’ll make sure he’s got whatever he needs.”

“Thanks,” Whisper replied, smiling gently at him. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Be careful,” the mercenary called after them.

“You too,” Deacon replied. He and Whisper headed down the street towards Preston’s bachelor pad. As they walked, Deacon noticed his companion was slowly falling behind, so he shortened his stride length, trying to keep her in his sight. With an unknown number of enemies in the area, he couldn’t afford to take chances.

Whisper smiled sleepily at him. “It really is good to see you, you know.”

“Yeah?” he replied.

“It’s felt...kinda lonely, I guess, not having you constantly stalking me any more. I know that probably seems strange.”

“Not at all,” Deacon chuckled. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to have me around? I’m awesome.”

“It’s just…” Whisper thought for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s just that, in spite of how completely creepy it was, you were like, the one constant in my life for a couple months there. Whenever I was scared, or in trouble, it was kinda comforting, knowing you were nearby. That I wasn’t alone.”

“Well, shucks,” the spy retorted. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

Whisper snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head. It’s just good to know you’re around. When I see you, I know everything’s gonna work out.”

Deacon blushed, grateful for the darkness that hid the evidence from his companion. “Well. Yeah. Um, good talk, Whisp. You should get some sleep.”

“Ok,” she replied. “If it’s ok with you, I’d like to be alone for a while.”

The spy pouted at her. “Aww, no cuddle time? I was looking forward to it! We could have a pillow fight and talk about boys!”

“Maybe another time. But Deacon?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you...I mean, would you mind staying nearby?”

He smiled, ruffling her snowy hair. “Of course. I’m only a few hours away from earning my Stalker merit badge, you know. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

“Thanks,” she said softly, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

Deacon froze at the contact, his mouth hanging open slightly as the cool touch of her lips seemed to radiate across his cheek. He did his best to regain his composure, however, and shot Whisper a sardonic smile. “Does Danse know you’re kissing all the boys, Whisp? Or is this an elaborate plot to get me killed? He seems like the jealous type.”

“I...we…” Whisper stammered. “God damn it. Just shut up before I regret asking you to stay, ok, Deeks?”

“No can do, gorgeous,” he chuckled. “You know full well that I’m incapable of silence, unless I’m doing something really, really dangerous.”

Whisper sighed. “That’s it. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Deacon replied. “Sleep well, ok?”

Whisper nodded, disappearing down the hall. Deacon sighed, flopping down on Preston’s couch. His fingers ghosted over his cheek, where he could still feel the touch of her lips, and he smiled slightly. It felt good to be missed, he’d admit. More than that, it was nice to be close to someone again, even with the professional distance he had to keep between them. That someone really cared if he lived or died...he hadn’t felt that in a long time, not even when Trailblazer was still under his care.

The spy did his best to stay awake, but it didn’t take long for him to fall into a deep and restful sleep for the first time in a long time.

::::

“What a cool house!” a shrill voice rang out, rousing Deacon from his slumber.

“Shh!” Hissed another. “Renata, you can’t just barge into people’s homes without asking.”

“Oh! Whoops!” cried the first voice. Deacon opened one eye, staring across the room at the invaders. A small girl, probably only five or so, stood awkwardly in front of him, her large blue eyes bashful as they met his sunglasses. Behind her was a large man, scars criss-crossing his tanned arms. He smiled down at the girl, his warm hazel eyes watching her carefully. The man reached for the girl’s hand, pulling the her back towards him as Deacon sat up.

“Good morning, Ignatius,” Deacon mumbled as he recognized the doctor. “Who’s the kid?”

“This is Ren,” Ignatius replied. “Say hello, Ren.”

“Hi!” piped the girl, waving at Deacon with a wide smile that made his heart melt just a little. “Sorry I woke you up!”

“That’s ok, sweetie. I should be up anyway.” Deacon said, patting his coat pockets in search of some trinket to offer her. Finally, he found and extracted a box of gumdrops, which he handed to the gleeful child. “Here. For being such a good alarm clock.”

The girl looked to Ignatius with questioning eyes, and the tall man nodded once, giving her permission to take the gift. “Thanks!” she chirped, tearing into the packaging as the men smiled at her.

“Well, she’s a lively one,” Deacon commented. “She yours, or you find her somewhere?”

“She’s...well, she’s Kestrel’s daughter.” the doctor said, his eyes distant for a moment. “After I finish up here, we’re headed to the Castle. Kestrel says it’s safe there, now, and they’ve been missing each other.”

“So you’re on babysitting duty, huh?” Deacon asked. “What’s the going rate for that these days? Does Kestrel let you watch tv after Ren’s asleep?”

“I don’t understand you at all,” muttered Ignatius.“Do you know where the General is? I’m supposed to help her with something. Probably that wounded soldier in her house.”

Deacon frowned. “MacCready should have been at the General’s house to meet you.”

“There wasn’t anyone there besides the soldier,” Ignatius replied. “And he was sound asleep, so I decided to come looking for the General. Someone said they saw her come down here with you last night.”

“That’s right.” Deacon thought for a moment. “Myra’s probably still asleep. Odd that Mac wasn’t around. I wonder if he woke up early to go get breakfast.”

Deacon led Ignatius and Ren back to Whisper’s house, trying not to worry too much. It wasn’t unlike MacCready to take off without telling anyone. Chances were good that he’d show up in a couple hours.

“As you know, the patient’s in this back room,” Deacon said, gesturing down the hall. “I’ll come introduce you, then I’ll go wake Myra up. I’m sure she’d like to be here.”

“That’s very kind of you,” the doctor replied. He turned to Ren. “Now, little duck, will you promise to sit right over there in that chair until I come back?”

The child smirked. “What do I get if I’m good, Mr. ’Natius?”

Ignatius sighed, running a hand through his cropped ebony hair. “I swear, you’re too much like your parents. What will it take?”

“Snack cakes! A whole box!” the girl exclaimed with a giggle.

“Two cakes. That’s already more sugar than you should be eating,” the doctor added. “Your mother told me not to let you have too much, and Mr. Deacon’s already given you some.”

The girl shook her head. “Half a box, and I get a piggyback ride after.”

“I don’t think--”

“There’s so many dangerous things I can touch here! I’m gonna touch them!”

“Renata Cadia Davis, don’t even think about it,” growled Ignatius.

“Half a box, and I won’t,” Ren insisted, grinning ear to ear.

Deacon snorted, trying to hold in his laughter. There was something so hilarious about seeing such a burly man get manipulated by such a little girl.

Ignatius glared at her. “Four cakes, Ren, and a piggyback ride. But you’ll have to sit right in that chair and not move until I say so, ok?”

“Deal!” she shrieked, hopping up on the chair. She wormed around in the box of gumdrops with her tiny fingers, concentrating as she tried to extract the candy.

Ignatius smiled fondly at the child. “I won’t be too long. Deacon, please show me what we’re dealing with.”

“Sure,” the spy replied with a grin, “if I can get a piggyback ride too. I’ll bet I could see all the way to the coast from up there!”

“Don’t push your luck, spy,” muttered Ignatius. “You should be happy enough that I’m not asking what brings you into my territory.”

“Is there a single one of you Minutemen who knows how to take a joke?” Deacon replied, feigning offense. “Of course, you new bloods are even more uptight. Mad your new uniforms don’t involve skirts?”

Ignatius stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide. His look of surprise soon faded into an easy smile, however. “I’d heard your people were good, Deacon. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What can I say? It’s a talent.” Deacon laughed, leading Ignatius to Whisper’s bedroom.

Danse was sitting up in bed, staring out the window at the town beyond. As the men entered, he turned to look at them, rich brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you? Where is Larimer?”

Ignatius gave him an easy smile, setting his doctor’s bag on the bedside table. “My name’s Ignatius. I’m with the Minutemen. The General asked me to take a look at your injuries.”

The Paladin sighed. “I’m recovering well. The last doctor Larimer asked to tend to my wounds did a more than adequate job. My main concern is how long I’m meant to be bedridden.”

Ignatius nodded. “I understand. You’re a soldier. It must bother you to be trapped inside. Here, let me take a look under those bandages.”

Danse helped him unwrap the strips of cloth, revealing the twisted, angry flesh beneath. He hissed in pain as the doctor’s hands ghosted over some of the worst areas.

Deacon stared at the Paladin, his eyes wide. No wonder the man had almost died! His entire torso was splotched with bruises in various states of healing, a canvas of blue, purple, yellow, and sickly green. A series of long, deep slashes ran across his chest, stitched together carefully by Carrington’s even hand, the flesh puckering along the sutures in jagged ridges where the tissue hadn’t quite knitted back together right. And weeping patches of burned skin completed the picture, extra bandaging barely concealing the oozing lymph that tried to repair the damage. Deacon had a pretty strong stomach, but the sight was almost too much for him.

Ignatius smiled kindly at Danse. “The good news is that it’s a lot better than it looks, I think. Considering the damage, I think you’ll recover well.”

“Yes,” muttered Danse, “but how long will it take?”

“Hard to say. At this point, the best thing we can do for you is to get some of the swelling down.” Ignatius poked through his bag, pulling out a small sack and some fresh bandages. He turned to Deacon. “Hey, can you get me some hot water? Marcy should have some at the bar.”

Deacon nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He was grateful for the opportunity to flee the room, honestly. There was something about seeing Danse like that, raw and vulnerable, that unnerved him. MacCready had acted like the battle for the Castle had been no big deal, but...what if Whisper had been the one torn apart by the mirelurk queen’s claws? Or Mac? At least Danse’s power armor had protected him somewhat. If either of them had been in his place…

Deacon coughed as bile filled his mouth. He spat into one of the dead bushes in Whisper’s yard, berating himself. No, it wasn’t right to speculate. Danse had done the right thing and had protected Whisper. MacCready hadn’t even been there until the queen was dead. Everyone had survived. So why did the image of their broken corpses haunt his thoughts?

The spy rubbed his eyes, doing his best to shake off the dread that filled him. There wasn’t time for this nonsense. Still, almost involuntarily, his steps took him in the opposite direction of Marcy’s bar, towards Preston’s house. He just needed to see Whisper, to know that she was still safe. Then, he’d be able to shake this stupid gloom from his shoulders and get back to work.

Whisper moaned awake as he shook her gently, her brilliant emerald eyes still groggy with sleep. “Is it morning already?” she moaned.

Deacon nodded. “Yeah. Ignatius is here. I thought you might like to be there when he got his hands on Danse. He’s using some sort of weird herbal remedy on him, I think. Where did you find this guy?”

“Preston got him for us. Apparently he’s pretty good, even if his methods are kind of old-school.”

Deacon smirked. So Whisper didn’t know the truth about Kestrel’s little outfit. Well, that was probably for the best. It was bad enough that the Minutemen had their own spy division now. It was so much worse that they were as well-trained as the former legionaries were. If Whisper really knew the network she now had at her disposal, the Minutemen would definitely be a great deal more dangerous.

“Come on, then. Get dressed. I’ll be waiting in the living room. No peeking, I promise.”

“You’d better not, if you know what’s good for you,” Whisper muttered.

“Please,” Deacon said with a smirk. “I’ve seen you in a vault suit. There’s nothing left for me to be curious about.”

Whisper blushed heavily, pushing him roughly out of the bedroom. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yep,” he said, laughing. “But don’t blame me. Blame those sick bastards at Vault-Tec.”

“Trust me, I do,” she hissed from behind the door. “Why do you think the first thing I did when I woke up was find a change of clothes?”

“I was wondering, actually,” Deacon called back to her. “Don’t get me wrong, green’s a good color for you. But I think you looked pretty fetching in blue.”

“Do you wanna die?” she exclaimed. “Because it seems to me like you wanna die.”

“I’ll be good, I promise,” the spy replied. “I won’t mention it again, cross my heart.”

“Thank God,” Whisper muttered, emerging from the room at last. She wasn’t wearing her flannel, for once. Instead, she’d changed into a minuteman uniform, the khaki jacket rolled up at the sleeves. “Ugh, I hate this color. We should change it. I’m thinking blue. What do you think?”

Deacon held his tongue, but it was difficult. “Um...blue’s a good choice,” he offered finally. Was she messing with him?

“I’ll talk to Preston about it,” Whisper replied, ignoring his struggle. “Let’s go. I haven’t met Ignatius yet, but if he’s anything like Kes, I’d better make a good first impression.”

“I’m sure you will,” Deacon affirmed, following behind her.

::::

As Whisper and the doctor tended to Danse, Deacon decided to take a walk around Sanctuary. He was still unnerved that MacCready hadn’t shown up yet. Where could the sniper have gotten to?

He decided to check the most likely place first, the Last Minuteman . Since it was already mid-morning, Marcy’s breakfast rush had already slowed to a crawl. There were a couple caravan drivers at the bar, discussing the price and availability of various types of crops loudly. Deacon ignored them, instead turning his attention to the bar’s owner, who stood leaning against the wall with crossed arms, shrewd eyes surveying her domain.

“Hey, Marce,” Deacon crooned. “How’s business today?”

“It could be worse, Billy,” Marcy replied coldly. “Still, we need to get more traffic soon, or I might as well be running an abandoned shack.”

“I hear you. The tailor shop hasn’t been doing well either. Of course, I think location’s my big problem.”

“I still don’t know why the General gave you permission to run your shop out of her house,” the fierce woman retorted. “She’s never so much as spent a cap of her own money here.”

“Well, I did save her life and all,” Deacon said, smiling. “But you’ve got a point. She should really be doing more for you.”

“You’re right about that,” Marcy replied. “Now, are you here for food, booze, or something else?”

The spy chuckled. “Information, actually.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you want to know?”

“Two things. One, have you seen MacCready this morning?”

Marcy rolled her eyes. “No. Damn shame, too. He might be a filthy little bastard, but he always pays me well. I’ve never seen anyone eat the way he does. Does Preston starve him or something?”

Deacon shook his head. “No, he’s always been like that. Told me once it was because he’s been playing catch-up his whole life, but I think he’s just a pig.”

“Anyways,” Marcy continued, “I haven’t seen him. Why, he in some kind of trouble?”

“I hope not. I just wanted to talk to him. If he does come by, let me know, ok?”

“Hey! I’m not a messenger service!” Marcy barked. “But I’ll tell him you were looking for him if I see him, ok?”

“That’s good enough,” Deacon said. “Thanks, Marcy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Now, what else did you want to know? Make it quick, I’ve got to clean the tables before the lunch rush starts.”

“I was wondering about that couple who checked in yesterday. Short, ugly guy, cute, shy girl?”

“What do you want with those two?” Marcy growled. “They’d better not be friends of yours.”

“Don’t worry, they aren’t.”

“Good. Those two are trouble, Billy, and not in the fun way,” Marcy whispered, crooking her finger at Deacon. The spy came closer, and Marcy grimaced, her voice hushed. “They left in the middle of the night, in an awful hurry. I wasn’t sure why, but when I went to clean the room they were using…” she shook her head. “They trashed it to hell. Some people have no respect for other people’s property, you know?”

Deacon nodded. “I’m sorry to hear it. Did anyone see them leave?”

Marcy sighed. “You can check with ol’ Frank down at the gate. Course, he wasn’t on shift last night, or if he was, he’s a pretty shitty guard, since he was keeping company with that Parker fellow all night.”

“Good for Frank!” Deacon replied. “Who knew the old dog had it in him?”

“Right? Still, that’s all I know. Now if you aren’t ordering anything, get out of here, and if you get in trouble, I wasn’t involved, ok?”

“Of course,” Deacon replied, heading for the door.

“Oh, Billy, one more thing,” Marcy called.

“Yeah, Marce?”

“I hope you find MacCready.”

Deacon smiled worriedly at the woman. “Thanks. I hope so too.”

Frank wasn’t at the gate when Deacon checked, and the guard on duty hadn’t seen him all morning. Seemed like he’d had a good night after all.

“Yeah, I saw those two,” the young man said after Deacon gave him the description of his targets. “They went towards Concord, best I could tell. Not sure what they were selling, but their brahmin seemed pretty weighed down under all those boxes.”

Deacon frowned. “Boxes? How big were they? And how many of them were there?”

The man shrugged. “Like four or five? Couldn’t have been more than that. They were big, like, real big.”

“Like, person-sized?” the spy asked, dreading the answer.

“I mean, probably. Depends on the size of the person.”

Deacon gulped. Damn it, he’d been right! The toad-faced man was involved, he was sure of it. And now, there was every possibility that the man had taken Mac. He thanked the guard and ran back towards Whisper’s house, his mind racing.

“Whisp!” he yelled as he barreled through the door. “I think Mac’s been kidnapped!”

Danse looked up from his seat at the dining room table. He’d been propped up with pillows and blankets, an empty bowl and a half-full glass of milk in front of him. “Who’s Whisp?” he asked suspiciously.

Whisper stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of razorgrain gruel. “Oh, that’s what he calls me, Danse. I think it has something to do with how I flit around. Isn’t that right, Deacon?”

“That’s Deacon?” Danse replied, eyeing the spy. “Huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Deacon gasped. “Come on, we don’t have time for this. Something’s happened to MacCready.”

Whisper stared at him, her green eyes wide with confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, Deacon? Just because we haven’t seen him all morning…”

“That’s the thing,” Deacon replied. “No one has. Not one person. Isn’t that way too strange to be a coincidence?”

Whisper rolled her eyes as she ladled gruel into Danse’s bowl, handing the Paladin a spoon. “Come on, Deeks. I think you’re being a little paranoid. Calm down, and breathe. I’ll bet Mac just stepped out for a minute. You know how he is.”

Deacon nodded, trying his best to slow his breathing. “You’re...you’re right. I need to calm down. If I panic, I might miss something important. But I’m not just being paranoid, Whisp. The investigation I’m on...I think one of the guys involved might have hurt Mac to get to me.”

Whisper poured the spy a glass of water, handing it to him. “Easy... start from the beginning. Why are you here, and what makes you think these guys took Mac?”

Deacon gulped down the water, his heart still pounding painfully in his chest. “Ok,” he said softly. “But I really think we ought to talk somewhere more private, don’t you?”

She glanced over at Danse, who was watching the whole exchange with confused eyes. Whisper nodded. “Of course. Come on. I know the perfect place. Danse, will you be ok on your own for a bit?”

“Do I have a choice?” the Paladin asked with a sigh, frowning at the gruel.

Whisper smiled gently at him, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” she soothed.

Danse stared up at her, blushing. “I...be careful, won’t you Larimer?”

Whisper nodded, her cheeks burning as brightly as his. “Promise you’ll rest up after breakfast, ok? If I hear you were wandering around, I’ll be pissed.”

“Affirmative,” the Paladin muttered, turning his attention to the gruel.

Whisper sighed, turning her attention to Deacon. “Let’s go. I’m dying to hear this theory of yours.”

::::

Deacon whistled in appreciation as he glanced about the art studio hidden away in an abandoned gas station. Paintings in various states of completion hung about what had been the garage, landscapes of places that no longer existed, bowls of long-extinct fruit...it was beautiful.

“Quite the gallery you’ve got here,” he said appreciatively. “Can you do one of me? Something tasteful, please. I’m thinking lots of draped cloth. It’s Carrington’s birthday, soon, you see, and what can you get a guy who hates everything?”

Whisper chuckled at the mental image. “Maybe later. First, you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

Deacon sighed, plopping into a chair. “It’s a long story, Whisp. I’ve been working on this case for a long time, now. You see, the synths the Railroad frees...well, you know how they don’t remember being synths any more?”

She nodded. “Yeah, Doctor Amari mentioned that.”

“Well, a lot of them have gone missing in the last year. Not all the models, mind you. Whoever’s taking them, they seem to be focusing on pretty young females. We’re not sure exactly what’s going on, but we haven’t been able to find any of them. Not until very recently.”

Whisper’s eyes went wide as Deacon produced a sketch of a young woman from his pocket. “Who is she?” she asked.

“Meet Natalie. She was liberated a few months back from a group of synths assigned to an Institute supply mission. We’ve been keeping a close eye on her. Not close enough, apparently. A few weeks ago, she vanished. Yesterday, I saw her. Here. In Sanctuary.”

“Why would she be here?” Whisper said, frowning. “Sanctuary’s not exactly the kidnapping capital of the Commonwealth. We’ve got a pretty safe town, all things considered.”

“It didn’t sound like she was going to get to stay long. She and the man she was with were staying at Marcy’s place. At least, that’s what it sounded like from the way he was screaming at the poor girl. She looked broken, Whisp. Like she’d been beaten into submission.”

“Dear God,” she gasped, her green eyes wide. “And you think that man has MacCready? But why? He’s not a synth or a pretty girl.”

Deacon frowned. “He threatened me when I tried to get him to lay off of Natalie. That’s why I didn’t want you to be alone last night. I never expected he’d go after Mac instead.” He looked up at her. “I’m sorry. I was gonna run this one solo, like I have been. I didn’t want to drag either of you into this mess.”

Whisper took his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Deacon started at the touch, his eyes locked on hers in surprise. Her hand was cool against his skin, almost cold. It reminded him of the day he’d first seen her, irradiated and frozen, collapsed outside the vault. So much had changed since that day. He hadn’t really expected her to survive more than a few weeks. He certainly hadn’t expected her to thrive. But here she was, sitting beside him, her hand in his. Someone, comforting him? Deacon never thought he’d see the day.

“Deacon,” Whisper said softly. “It’s not your fault. Whatever happened to Mac, we’ll find him. I promise. He’s my friend too. I’m not going to let anyone hurt him if I can help it.”

Deacon smiled slightly. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, if you know so much, I’ll bet you already have an idea of where we should start looking.”

The spy nodded. “I have a couple ideas, actually.” He pulled a crumpled map out of his pack, handing it to Whisper. “The dots show the last known location of each of the victims. Notice anything?”

Whisper furrowed her brow. “Yeah. I do. These follow the major caravan routes, don’t they?”

Deacon frowned. “Yeah, but look closer. It’s more than that.”

She stared at the map, her fingers tracing possible connections between the sites. “Hang on. These aren’t all on trade routes, are they? Only the disappearances from major settlements, which are all connected by the trade network anyway. But what they do all have in common is...water.”

“Well done!” Deacon affirmed. “Yes, that’s what I saw too. I think they’re using the old drainage system to sneak around, only posing as a caravan when they’re too far from the pipes. That’s why they’re so damn hard to track.”

“So how will we find them, then?” she asked. “There’s hundreds of miles of pipes under the Commonwealth.”

“Yeah,” Deacon replied, “but only a few that the Railroad hasn’t mapped out. If we start here, near Forest Grove, I think we have a pretty good chance of flushing them out.” He laughed. “Get it? Because it’s a sewer!”

Whisper sighed. “You really have a knack for finding the most disgusting places to visit, don’t you? Well, I’ll go grab my waders and tell Danse what we’re up to so he doesn’t worry.”

“I’d tell you to take your time,” Deacon replied, “But honestly, I’m not sure how much MacCready has. So hurry back.”

Whisper nodded. “Will do.” And then, she was gone.

Lately, I feel as if I'm drowning.

I'm drowning in an ocean of my sorrows and regrets, the waves concealing my pleas for help, swallowing me whole and without pause — without so much as the coutousy to give me a fighting chance.

So deep is this ocean that I can't see the sky or light from the sun, as everything I hold dear fades and I sink deeper, my screams bubbling to the surface. I can only hope someone hears them, hears them explode one by one, each louder than the last, but even if they could no one will find me. No one ever looks below the surface, all they see is how beautiful the water meets the horizon. All they see is what is in front of them.

Flailing my arms, I fight to swim and sometimes I can just barely touch the light with my fingertips, feel the warmth I once was bathed in against my skin, but something grabs me. It pulls me out of reach and I'm left breathless, suffocating in this black abyss, my screams nothing more than airless whines. It enters my lungs, my head, chokes me with its hands till my heart might explode.

It numbs me till I can't feel, can't move.

I'm sinking.

Sometimes I can release it, able to breathe for a moment, able to feel again, but all I feel is pain. An intense pain that paints the world around me in red as I sink further into a cloud of my own blood. The red against the empty black somehow relieves me, reminding me that even though im suffocating, I'm still very much alive. I'm breathing. My heart is beating. But it's aching. It's aching so bad and sometimes I feel the pain comes from my chest instead of my arms. Like a knife has been shanked into my heart, but it's not from me. It's from someone who very much looks like me, a darker version of me.

Is that was I look like?

A hollow husk of a person stares at me with blank eyes and pretty lips, whispering words into my ear as they strangle, but also caress me.

“You're worthless.” They say.

“No one loves you.” They repeat, “If they did you wouldn't be drowning. You wouldn't be suffering.”

I fight it. I fight those words, saying they aren't true, and yet the reflection of myself hugs me, embraces me, soothes me until I resist fighting. Until I drift further into the darkness and away from the light.

“They won't save you, but I will. I will.” They say, “Trust me. You're alone. You want this.”

At these words I fall. I fall, hands covering my eyes, shielding me from the light, dragging me deeper, their hands the only comfort I know. Their presence is the only thing I know to be real, the only thing I can see or hear as my existence continues in this tunnel of false interactions and plastered feelings. I see nothing. I feel nothing. I am nothing. This life I live is nothing. And yet, behind these shielded eyes as I become colder until I feel the oceans cold floor against my back, I think of you. I think of the warmth you bring me even at the bottom of this ocean surrounded by nothing except thoughts of loneliness and useless existence. I can hear your voice, I can feel your presence, I feel more than the cold embrace of death's grip as I stand so close to the edge ready to jump.

“You're worth it.” You say.

“I love you.” You repeat, “If I didn't, you would have drowned, but I'm here. You're here. You're not alone. Not anymore.”

And I believe you. I believe you as I tear away the hands that hold me back, looking up at the surface, it's light long gone, but your hand I see reaching through, reaching for me, enduring the darkness and bearing the burdens of this cold with me, to save me. I can't see the surface, I can't see the light, I can't get rid the darkness of my mind — the abyss of this ocean, but I can see you and feel the warmth you bring, enough to give me the strength I need to keep swimming, to keep going, to keep trying to see the light — and maybe, just maybe, I see it. A small sparkle in the far distance where your hand reaches for me. The hand I reach for. The hand I take. The hand that pulls me forward. The hand I love.

Together. Together, we can get through this.

Once upon a time, there lived a strong and handsome knight; Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio. He roamed the land slaying dragons, rescuing damsels in distress, reaping of their ravishing beauty, and collecting their fathers’ grateful rewards. Over the years, he only grew finer, richer, and more daring. He had no intention of retiring any time soon. The idea of settling down to a quiet, ‘one-woman’ life, and spending his days doing peasant jobs mortified his twenty-nine-year-old heart. He decided in his mind to continue in his chosen line of work until the day he died. Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.

One fine day, Sir Rhodomonte happened upon the Kingdom of Chestwood. He heard word that the King was offering a humongous award, so he traveled to the castle himself. The moment King Landon laid his eyes upon the knight, he knew that he would be the one for the job. “I am providing an exceptional offer to any strong and handsome man who can accomplish the daunting task of taking my eighteen-year-old daughter’s hand in marriage,” the King smiled proudly, “You, my son, are the perfect fit. You’re everything I’d ever wished for in a blood child of my own, and your genes are surely strong enough to produce a grandson with at least half as much charm and stature as you.” I’m sorry, Your Highness, but, I mustn’t settle down at this moment,” Sir Rhodomonte protested, “While your offer is enticing, I feel that I would be-- rather-- tied down. My life is the thrill of adventure, facing terrible dangers and meeting different women of different lands. And, while your daughter is quite pretty, I must admit, I get-- bored-- very quickly.” “Living here at the castle with all the riches in the world wouldn’t be enough for you?” The King scoffed. “I’m afraid not, My Lord,” Sir Rhodomonte said firmly. “Well then, we’ll have it arranged that you may roam as you please,” King Landon sighed, “All I really need is a grandson. After you two marry and consummate, you may leave. But, if the child she bears is not a male, we will send out for you and you shall return for another try, alright?” The knight nodded. “Once a healthy baby boy is born, I’d like for him to survive unto a good stable age, and then we can pretend that you fell off the face of the earth,” The King laughed. The knight was shocked that he was still being provided most of the reward under these new conditions. His charm worked on women and men alike, he thought. Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.

Meanwhile, up in her quarters, Princess Polonolia was forlorn. Infuriated by what her father had advertised to the world, she prayed for a way out. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry. Oh, she DID ever so want to marry. The problem was WHO. She was appalled at her father’s audacity to offer riches and gifts alongside her hand. These men definitely didn’t love her. They wanted money, fame, and fortune. As she sulked upon her silken sheets, she dreamed of Marcos. He was a young boy around her age whom she met in the village one day. It was love at first sight for them both, but forbidden love at that. Never was a Princess to court a peasant. Still, they found ways to sneak around; to talk, hold hands, and gaze up at the sky together. Though just a common folk, Marcos had enchanted ways. His mother had taught him all about the Book of Miracles long ago, and he kept her words hidden deep within his heart. They sent notes and magic flowers back and forth with the help of his enchanted birds, and he even took her for a ride through the clouds once upon his enchanted dragon. One night, he used the magic to concoct a costume for himself so that he could dance with her in disguise at a masquerade ball. There, she remembered seeing another fellow who danced with all the women. He was haughty and rude, yet everyone somehow found him charming. She was disgusted, only dancing with him for a moment out of obligation. As soon as it was over, she immediately retreated into Marcos’ loving arms. “I could never imagine marrying someone like him,” she murmured. Marcos sighed, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.”

The next day, word spread that Sir Rhodomonte and the Princess were soon to be betrothed. Polonolia was the last to know. As she sat by her window, she pondered and prayed that her father would find no worthy man. Just then, an enchanted bird landed upon the sill. Within its talons was a magic red rose, and a note that called her to the distant pond where she and Marcos often met. She rushed to the meeting spot as fast as her feet could carry her. “Marcos?” she called by the pond’s edge. “Polonolia!” he gasped, emerging from the blue. The Princess helped the peasant boy up onto the land. Her smile beamed uncontrollably, but, searching the eyes of her love, she could tell something was wrong. “Marcos?” she whispered, “What is the matter?” “I’m going to miss you,” he exhaled. “Miss me?” she panted, still catching her breath from the run, “Whatever do you mean?” “You don’t know yet?” he asked, wiping water from his brow. The Princess shook her head. “You are to be married to Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio,” he stated. Polonolia nearly fainted. “Tell me it isn’t true!” she cried. Marcos placed his drenched arm around his friend’s shoulder as she wept. “I WOULD be happy for you,” he muttered, “He’s stronger and handsomer than me. He’s richer, and he’s rescued many a maiden-- but, I know that you detest him.” “I don’t care about riches. You’re handsome enough and strong enough for me, Marcos,” Polonolia wailed, “I love you so much.” “I love you too, Polonolia,” Marco exclaimed, “I wish that WE could marry.” Staring into each other’s eyes, they leaned into a passionate kiss. Suddenly, the couple heard more footsteps through the forest. They stopped abruptly, both managing to slip beneath the ripples just before a messenger appeared from the brush. “Hear ye! Hear Ye! Princess Polonolia ’s royal wedding to the land’s greatest knight is on the morrow!” he yelled in passing, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio!”

Forced to part, Marcos woefully returned to the village, and Polonolia frightfully returned to her castle. “There you are, my daughter!” King Landon exclaimed, “It is time for your dress fitting.” “Dress fitting?” she spat. “Haven’t you heard? You’re getting married, my dear!” the King smiled. “Shant I meet my bridegroom first?” she huffed. “Not until the wedding, darling,” he smirked, “But, I will tell you, he is a fine man of high esteem. He owns riches beyond measure, and all the lands are fond of him. He is strong and mighty, and he will bring me a handsome grandson who can take the throne after my demise.” “But, I don’t want him!” she snorted, “I would rather marry a peasant!” “You shall marry this man, and that is final,” the King scolded, “I’ve already told everyone, paid Rhodomonte, and made all the arrangements. Marrying a peasant is ridiculous! It would be more acceptable for me to lock you away in a dungeon for all eternity.” Shocked and dismayed, Polonolia stormed away to her quarters. Meanwhile, all the finest tailors used all the finest linens to dress Sir Rhodomonte up for the occasion. After their work, they all stood in awe and admiration. Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.

The next morning, the entire kingdom was abuzz in anticipation and excitement about the royal celebration of the Princess’ betrothal, except Polonolia herself. She stood on her high tower’s windowsill with a final wish. “I will never marry Sir Rhodomonte! I love you, Marcos!” she screamed as she let herself fall. All of a sudden, an enchanted dragon swept down from the clouds, catching the princess and heading off into the distance. In the castle, Sir Rhodomonte gleefully pranced through the halls, where he was met with unexpected news. “The Princess has been abducted! Witnesses saw her leap into the arms of an enchanted dragon and fly away!” a messenger informed him, “King Landon desires to see you immediately!” Rushing to the throne room, he found the Ruler distraught. “We must find her posthaste!” the King stammered, “I am sending out all of my finest horses and men. I’ve issued great rewards--” “Allow me to find her, Your Majesty,” Sir Rhodomonte smiled. (He was never one to turn down an opportunity to make more riches.) “I fear for your safety, my lad.” the King winced, “If the dragon were to harm you, I would never forgive myself.” “Worry not, O King. I have never failed a mission yet.” Sir Rhodomonte bragged. “Alright,” the King sighed, “When you find her, bring her back to me, and she is to be locked away in a dungeon to keep such foolery from happening again. I must keep her safe until my successor is born and past nursing age.” “Sounds like just what she deserves,” The knight nodded and turned away. “I pray he returns,” the king cried solemnly, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.”

The knight, in fine linen, mounted his horse and headed out into the forest, bringing only his sword and shield with him. As he traveled deeper into the wood, he could see the shadow of an enchanted dragon looming overhead. “Come down here, you dastardly beast, and unhand my princess!” he yelled. The dragon hovered in midair, flapping its wings in a slow descent. “Let’s go, now! Get down here!” he taunted, standing on the saddle of his steady horse. As the beast came lower, he drew his sword. “I’ve killed dragons before. Don’t waste my time,” he slurred. The dragon heaved back and breathed a terrible flame that engulfed the unsuspecting knight. Without his armor, his attire was instantly singed. With a loud cry, he fell to the ground, stripping himself of the burning clothes. Spooked by the fire, his horse ran away in a tizzy. Sir Rhodomonte struggled to crawl away in his underwear, but the dragon’s infernos persisted. Finally coming upon a small stream, Sir Rhodomonte went under until the dragon’s breathing could be heard no more. Meanwhile, on the dragon’s back, Polonolia held tightly onto Marcos. “I’m so glad you saved me!” she sighed, “We must fly far away from here and elope!” “I’m sorry, Polonolia, but, after using so much power, the enchanted dragon won’t last much longer,” Marco cried, just as the dragon began to shrink. Nearing the ground, the lovers leapt into a soft bed of grass. “He will surely recover and find us,” Polonolia feared, “What shall we do?” “Don’t worry. I have a plan,” Marcos smiled. Back near the stream, Sir Rhodomonte was crossed. “How dare that dragon think he got the best of me!” he scoffed, limping towards his sword and shield, ”I’ll fix him yet.” The knight was badly bruised, but he was determined to rescue the princess and claim his reward. “Hello, my peasant child,” he heard a gravelly voice call. “I am no peasant!” Sir Rhodomonte screamed, “I am THE Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio! And, who darest you be?” “THE Ophelswin; Wizard of the West,” a tall, dark figure bellowed, stepping out of the shadows. The Wizard was clothed from head to toe in sparkling apparel. His beard reached the forest floor and was white as the snow. “Young boy, you must be absurd. A knight with no armor-- let alone clothing-- is a sight to behold.” he laughed. “Twas my wedding day, and a vile beast made off with my bride,” Sir Rhodomonte retorted, “If it weren’t for my bridegroom dress, I would have been wearing my trusty, impenetrable armor.” “I see,” the Wizard sung, stroking his hairy chin, “I have just the potion for you, lad.” “A healing potion?” Sir Rhodomonte grunted in pain, “I’ve been severely burned, and my leg aches from the fall.” “Much better than only healing,” the Wizard grinned, “You’ll have a completely new body.” Sir Rhodomonte’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “You’ll have the body of someone who is faster, nimbler, quicker, and much smarter,” the Wizard boasted. “Yes,” Sir Rhodomonte smiled in deep thought. “Best of all, the body will be much MUCH younger.” “YES!” the knight exclaimed, “WHERE IS THE POTION?!” “Patience, peasant,” The Wizard smirked, retrieving a vial from his inner right coat pocket, “Drink it all, sleep tonight, become new in the morning light.” Sir Rhodomonte nodded and repeated the Wizard’s words over and over as his shaky hands brought the elixir to his mouth. “That’s it, my son,” the Wizard cheered as the knight fell to his knees in deep slumber, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio!”

When Sir Rhodomonte awakened, his body felt lighter. He was slimmer. He felt more limber and flexible. He jumped to his feet and spun around. He loved his new body…. at least he thought he did until he went near the pond where he had left his sword and shield. Standing by the water, he caught sight of a beautiful young girl. “Hello, milady,” He charmed, turning on his heels expecting to see the woman behind him. Instead, he found that he was all alone, and his charming voice came out more like a sweet song. “Who’s there?” he squeaked in a voice more feminine than he remembered. He peered into the water once more and realized that he himself had become his own bride. Marcos and Polonolia laughed quietly from behind the trees as many of the King’s knights rushed to his side. “There she is! The princess! Take her!” they shouted. Despite his feeble protests, he was dragged back to the castle to face the King. On the way, they happened upon Sir Rhodomontade’s spooked horse and singed clothing. They assumed the worst, leaving Marcos and Polonolia to live freely ever after. When the men had returned to King Landon, he went into a shock of mourning, then a fit of rage at his ‘daughter’. “If it weren’t for you, Polonolia, Sir Rhodomontade would still be alive, and he would bare my grandson!” he shouted in anger. “But, King!--” “You are unfit to be my successor! You will enter the dungeon never again to see the light of day.” “That is a bit harsh, My Lord, please hear me out--” “If another fair man comes along, he will be brought in to you so that you may bare my grandson. My future king. After that, I frankly don’t care what happens to you.” “But, sire! I AM SIR-” His pleas went unheard as the King’s men ushered him away to the dungeon without another word. “My, my, my stars,” the King wept, “Surely, there never was and never will be another man in the likes of Sir Rhodomonte of Braggadocio.”

There was a hush that hung thick in the air, as heavy as the fog that rolled across Castle Island from the harbor. Preston drummed his fingers on the barrel of his laser musket, his eyes distant as he looked beyond the shattered window of an old diner towards the ruins of the Minutemen’s most important stronghold.

He had never had the opportunity to visit the Castle while it was operational, had merely cut his teeth on tales about the fortress as he’d come up the ranks. He’d had no idea how huge the structure really was, or in how terrible a condition the great stone walls were really in. The Castle was the perfect symbol for the Minutemen, he thought as his eyes took in the breached walls that had once been considered so impenetrable. It was a powerful structure, brought low by neglect, hardship, and years of complacency. Yet the old fort, like the Minutemen, somehow had endured.

Yet now, enduring wasn’t enough, not with the threat of the Institute looming ever greater over the Commonwealth. The secretive organization, long content with small-scale experiments on the surface, was beginning to stir. Something big was going to happen, and soon. The Minutemen had to be ready, not just to survive, but to fight back.

A whir of vertibird engines caught Preston’s ear, and he rushed out of the ruined diner, gripping his laser musket tightly in case of attack. When he neared the landing vehicle, however, the Colonel relaxed somewhat. As he’d hoped, Myra was seated on the craft’s small bench, almost unrecognizable under a heavy suit of combat armor.

“General!” Preston exclaimed, slinging his musket over his shoulder. “So good to see you again. I’m glad you got my message.”

Myra beamed back at him from the small aircraft. “Like I’d miss it, Preston. Not every day I get to hunt an actual sea monster.”

The ground shook slightly as Paladin Danse jumped from the vertibird, his power armor striking the earth with a thud. The soldier held his arms out for Myra, who walked to the edge of the vehicle, muttering under her breath. Danse picked the General up, lifting her carefully and gently lowering her to the ground.

Preston rolled his eyes. There was no reason he could see why such an action was necessary. Myra was more than capable of using a ladder. The General walked over to Preston, pulling him into a tight hug. He returned it warmly.

“I missed you, Myra,” Preston said, his eyes connecting with Danse’s over the General’s shoulder. The Paladin’s deep brown eyes had a warning edge to them that made Preston nervous, and he gulped slightly as his arms loosened around Myra’s back.

“I missed you too,” Myra replied softly, pulling away to look at the Colonel. “You’re looking well. How are our settlements doing?”

“I think we finally managed to stop the raider problem we’ve been having,” Preston replied. “Tenpines is still cleaning up after the last scuffle, but it’s going well. Oberland and Starlight have both grown quite a bit, and we’ve been able to establish a few new trade routes. I think we’re close to convincing County Crossing and Greentop Nursery to join us as well. That’s why I realized that we needed to retake the Castle.”

“Sounds like you’ve accomplished quite a lot since the last time we saw each other, Preston,” she replied, smacking him gently on the back. Myra glanced over at the ruined fortress. “I’m happy to help, but, what’s so great about that heap of rubble, anyway?”

Danse cleared his throat. “Knight, that ‘heap of rubble’ is Fort Independence, an important piece of Commonwealth history. Show some respect.”

Preston nodded at the Paladin with a smile. “You know your stuff, Paladin! But it’s not just a piece of history. The Castle is also home to an enormous broadcasting station that we Minutemen once used to communicate with our settlements. It’s how we were able to send teams to anyone who needed our help. I’m hoping that we can get it up and running again so it’s easier for us to coordinate missions over long distances.”

“That would be useful,” Myra replied. “It’d also make it easier for me to come and go as I need to without having to worry you, Preston.”

Preston nodded. “That’s the other reason. I know I can’t ask you to abandon your search for your son, and I don’t want to. But I can’t run the Minutemen all on my own, General. When you agreed to help me, I thought...well, I figured you’d be a bit more available.”

“Don’t worry, Preston,” she said with a reassuring grin. “If we pull this off, I’ll only ever be a broadcast away. Now what’s the...”

Myra’s voice trailed off as a dark shape bounded towards her, barking excitedly. She beamed at the large dog as he collided with her, nearly knocking her off her feet. Danse placed an armored hand on her back, holding her steady.

“You brought Dogmeat to a war zone?” Myra asked Preston. “I thought I asked you to keep him safe.”

“More like I wasn’t able to convince him to stay behind,” Preston replied defensively. “He missed you, you know.”

“I missed you too, buddy!” she cried, scratching the german shepherd behind the ears as his tail thwacked against her leg happily. “Yes I did! Oh, yes I did!”

“Hello again, Dogmeat,” said Paladin Danse, reaching down with an open hand for the dog to sniff. Dogmeat barked once, then circled the Paladin, his tongue lolling in excitement at the sight of yet another friend.

Preston grinned at the armored man. “Looks like Dogmeat’s pretty fond of you, Paladin.”

“The feeling is definitely mutual,” Danse replied. “He’s a good little soldier, and his tracking abilities are second to none.” He pulled a small hunk of radstag meat out of his pack, offering it to Dogmeat. The german shepherd gobbled the treat down greedily, his amber eyes bright with joy as Danse patted him carefully and affectionately on the head. The dog bounded off, returning with a large stick which he offered to the Paladin with pleading eyes. Danse chuckled, throwing the stick for the large dog. “Go get it, boy!” he called as Dogmeat bounded after the projectile.

“So what’s the plan, Preston?” Myra asked as she watched Danse and Dogmeat play, a soft smile setting her face aglow. “I assume you have one.”

“Absolutely,” the Colonel replied. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, ever since you agreed to lead the Minutemen. I wish we had a little more time to prepare, but I think we’ll be able to pull this off.”

Myra frowned slightly. “Why don’t we have time, Preston?”

“There’s…” his voice trailed off as Myra’s eyes met his. He wasn’t ready to give her an answer, not yet. There were too many unknown variables, too many gaps in his information. “I just want to make sure we have a better line of communication set up in case we need to mobilize quickly,” he concluded.

Myra sighed. “You’re hiding something from me, Preston. Why?”

“I don’t want to worry you if I’m wrong, that’s all,” he said. “I promise, as soon as I’m sure, I’ll let you know. For now, please, just trust me.”

The General stared at him, her bright green eyes analyzing his face for any clues. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. There was something about the look she was giving him that made him feel ashamed. He asked for her trust, for her help. Was it really too much for him to trust her too?

Finally, the silence was too much for him. “Come inside and meet the others,” Preston said, gesturing to the small diner. “They’re all eager to finally get to know their General.”

“It would be good to know what we’re working with,” Myra said simply, her gaze finally leaving him. She whistled, drawing the attention of her other companions. “Danse! Dogmeat! Let’s go inside.”

Danse followed quickly behind her and Preston, Dogmeat at his heels. As they entered the bombed-out diner, Myra frowned, looking around the room with something bordering on disdain.

“What’s wrong, Myra?” asked Preston.

The General gestured around the room to the three minutemen who occupied it. “You said you wanted to take back the fort,” she replied. “Is this really enough people for us to do that with?”

The Colonel sighed. “I gathered who I could. You know how it is, General. We can’t just abandon our settlements and concentrate our full force on one spot. Besides, what we lack in numbers, we make up for in expertise.”

He gestured to a thin blonde man who was fiddling with a small radio much like the one Preston wore on his chest. “Take Jake Forrester, for example,” Preston continued. “Jake’s our resident electronics expert. Ever since he came to Sanctuary, he’s been helping Sturges with a few projects, and it was hard talking Brian into letting him come with us. You know how he can be.”

Myra chuckled. “Oh, man. Sturges is bad enough when it comes to lending out wrenches. I can’t imagine he was happy that you were borrowing his assistant.”

Preston nodded. “Not just borrowed. Jake will be staying here permanently. When we retake the Castle, Jake’s the one who will be running our radio broadcast. He’s also pretty handy with explosives, to hear him tell it.”

“It’s an honor,” the young man said softly, not making eye contact. He continued to fiddle with the radio, his face screwed up in concentration.

“Honor be damned,” cried a gravely female voice. “When do we start killing stuff?” Myra glanced over at a small woman who sat on one of the old tables, a militia hat pulled down at a jaunty angle over half of her forehead. The woman pulled a pearl-handled pistol from her holster, using it to gesture out at the fort. “From what I hear, there’s a hell of a fight waiting for us,” she continued, her pale grey eyes sparkling in amusement.

Preston shook his head with a soft sigh. “General, meet Kestrel Davis. She’s a quick shot, quicker with her tongue, so you two should be right at home with each other. Kes here rolled into Tenpines Bluff with a small gang of...um...raiders last month. I managed to convince her to join us instead. She might be rough around the edges, but she’s very handy in a firefight.”

Kes laughed. “Oh, that’s how we’re playing it, Colonel?” She turned to Myra. “Don’t listen to him. I volunteered for this. The Commonwealth’s got a lot of assholes in it, but you guys seemed to be the least terrible, so I signed up.”

Myra smiled at the other woman. “I’ve heard of worse reasons. Nice to meet you, Kestrel.”

“I bet,” the woman murmured.

“I’m just happy to be here,” another voice piped up from behind the diner’s counter. A young man hopped over the counter, dark curls framing his face like a cherub’s. He held out a hand to Myra, which she shook warmly. “Zev Stern, ma’am. And may I say, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Mr. MacCready speaks very...well, he speaks of you,” the boy added with a nervous smile.

“Zev is from our new settlement at Starlight,” Preston added. “He and his brother Dov moved there together, and have both been great assets to that community. It’s thanks to him we have so many supplies here at our disposal. He’s got a great eye for salvage, and he’s a quick learner.”

“Not bad, Preston,” Myra murmured to her second-in-command. “It seems like you put a good team together.” She turned to the minutemen, smiling kindly at them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. As I’m sure you already know, I’m General Myra Larimer.”

“Who’s the guy in the power armor?” Zev asked, his voice hushed with awe. “And would he mind if I touched it? I’ve never actually seen a set up close before.”

Danse cleared his throat. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t, civilian.”

Myra chuckled. “This is my good friend, Senior Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Kestrel’s eyes narrowed. “And here I thought the Minutemen were all about freedom. At least that’s the line Garvey sold me when I took this gig. Why are we working with the fucking Brotherhood of Steel?”

Danse opened his mouth to reply, but Myra stepped in front of him, her smile wavering slightly. “Miss Davis,” she said gently, a hint of warning to her voice, “a man I respect greatly once told me that you can never have too many friends in the Commonwealth. I know you’re used to a...certain way of life that probably doesn’t allow much for trust. But Paladin Danse has sure as hell earned my trust, and as long as you serve under me, you will respect my judgement on such matters. Is that clear?”

Kestrel mumbled something under her breath, but nodded. “Yes, boss.”

“That’s better,” Myra replied with a nod. “I know it will be difficult for most of you to get used to this, but if we’re going to survive out here, we’re going to need to learn from the other organizations in the Commonwealth. If the Institute is even half the threat everyone I’ve met believes they are, we have to be prepared to fight them by any means necessary. If you’re unwilling to do that, you should leave now, go back to your farms, and hope the boogeyman doesn’t find you. But if we fail in our mission, know that the monster in the Commonwealth’s closet will be coming for you next. And if the Minutemen are gone, there won’t be anyone left to protect you.”

Preston stared at her, slack-jawed. When had Myra Larimer, the brash survivor who didn’t depend on anyone, become so commanding? “Where’d that come from?” he whispered to her.

Myra’s eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, just something a friend of mine suggested,” she whispered back. “He said it’s always good to remind people why they follow you. Did it sound ok?”

The Colonel chuckled. “We’ll make a real general of you yet.” He spoke up so the others could hear his next words. “General, what do you think? Can we pull this off?”

Myra nodded. “I mean, I’m certainly willing to try. I assume you already gave them the ‘hey, you’re volunteers so you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to’ speech?”

“Why do you think there’s just the three of them?” Preston replied. “I left Sanctuary with over a dozen. The closer we got to the Castle...well, you know how it is.”

Myra sighed. “I’m sure you did your best. Hey, at least the people who stayed seem capable.”

“I would still rather have numbers,” muttered Danse, looking around. “No offense, but these minutemen are under-armored and under-trained. Do you really think that we can besiege a fort with just six people and a dog?”

Preston rolled his eyes. “I understand that, Paladin. But unlike the Brotherhood of Steel, my men have lives outside of battle. Many of them have families. I can’t force them to come and fight for us whenever we want them to. We only use volunteers, and these are the people who volunteered.”

Myra frowned. “What about MacCready?”

“I sent him a letter by courier,” Preston replied, “but I haven’t heard anything back. Hopefully he’ll join us soon, but we can’t wait around for him.”

“So at best, that’s seven people and a dog,” Danse replied with a frown. “Outstanding.”

“Danse, please,” replied Myra, placing a hand on his arm. “I know it’s a risk, but I think we might be able to win this thing. I mean, it’s just a bunch of mirelurks. How bad can it be?”

:::

Nearly three hours later, the Castle was as good as won. The mirelurks who had inhabited the fort had been killed, their bodies piled in a corner to be processed for food later. The foul sea creatures had turned the ruined structure into a nesting ground, which the Minutemen had found out the hard way when Zev ran screaming from one of the rooms, three hatchlings scuttling behind him menacingly. They’d put the baby mirelurks down with relative ease, but Myra had ordered Preston and the others to destroy the remaining eggs, just in case a larger swarm emerged all at once.

As the Minutemen and Danse continued destroying the mirelurk egg clutches, the ground shook violently.

“What the hell?” cried Kestrel, clinging to the metal railing on the stairs. “I didn’t know you got earthquakes this far east!”

“We don’t,” Preston replied as he glanced around in panic, searching for an explanation. It didn’t take long for him to get one. A geyser of water erupted from the nearby pond, accompanied by a furious, inhuman scream.

Preston watched in horror as a huge creature emerged from the lake. It stood taller than the intact walls of the fort, all legs and massive claws and armored shell. The beast slammed against the crumbling western wall, sending large chunks of stone flying into the courtyard.

Jake Forrester screamed in agony as a large, jagged slab of grey rock rolled over him, pinning his lower body under its weight. Myra ran to him, a stimpack already in her hand.

“Jake!” she cried. “Are you ok?”

“I...I think my leg’s shattered,” the young man gasped. “General, please, I…”

The creature’s eyestalks turned at the sound of Myra’s voice, and the hulking monstrocity barreled towards them, snapping its claws.

“What the hell is that thing?” shrieked Myra, taking aim at the hulking armored crustacean with her laser rifle.

“We’ve got a Mirelurk Queen incoming!” Danse shouted in reply. “Everyone, fall back into the keep! Don’t let her spit on you! We’ll take turns wounding her from cover! Move!”

The Minutemen scattered, rushing to find shelter as the Mirelurk Queen scuttled slowly over the ruined west wall of the Castle, her eyestalks focused directly on Myra and the trapped minuteman.

“General!” Preston screamed as the creature rounded on her. “Get out of there!”

“Like hell!” Myra shot back. “I can’t just leave Jake to die! We need him!”

“General…” rasped the man, “no. I’m...dead already. My leg’s...crushed. Save yourself.”

Before she had a chance to protest further, the Queen reared her head, claws snapping within inches of Myra’s face. Her eyes ablaze with fear and rage, the General ran backwards with a primal scream, firing her laser rifle as she retreated towards the Castle’s walls.

Preston did his best to cover her retreat, but the Queen’s massive limbs made the monster much faster than Myra. It was gaining on her, and quickly. Suddenly, Myra tripped over one of the destroyed mirelurk nests, falling backwards with a cry of horror and pain. A dark stain spread across the right side of her torso as she struggled to stand. The creature hadn’t touched her. When had she been injured?

“Myra!” cried Preston, leaping from cover and dashing towards her as laser musket fire screamed past him. But he was too far away. He’d never get to her in time.

Preston’s view of the terrifying scene in front of him was suddenly cut off by a bolt of steel as Paladin Danse tore past him. “I’ve got her, Colonel!” yelled the Paladin. “Get Forrester to safety.”

Danse scooped Myra up with one arm, depositing her safely behind him as the Mirelurk Queen swooped downward with her cruel claws. The Paladin caught the attack with his right arm as he fired several laser rounds into the beast with his left, crying out in pain as the claws sheared through the protective metal of his power armor.

“Larimer,” groaned Danse, dropping his gun in favor of bracing his wounded arm with his stronger, dominant one, protecting his face as best as he could. His voice was almost imperceptible under the scraping screech of chitin on steel as the Queen slashed down at him again. “Exterminate that damned thing! Just fire past me. I’ll hold her attacks back as long as I can.”

Preston couldn’t hear her reply, but he saw the Paladin nod as Myra readied her gun once more. Hot, red bursts of laser fire pierced the air as the General fired into the Queen’s torso and head repeatedly. Preston didn’t hesitate a moment longer, rushing for the crumbled wall and the trapped minuteman.

“Jake! I’ve got you, come on…” he muttered, pulling the debris from the man’s shattered leg. He wouldn’t be running for a while, but if they could make it back to the safety of the keep and get a splint on him, he’d live.

As Preston and Jake hobbled back to safety, Myra continued firing at the Mirelurk Queen. Her shots were echoed by laser and gunfire from the two minutemen who remained in the fight, though their shots were less powerful, less precise, and less frequent. Kes had damaged her dominant arm in the initial assault, so the savage young woman was shooting southpaw, screaming obscenities the entire time. Zev had never even held a laser musket before, but he was holding his own. They were doing their best, but Preston couldn’t shake the feeling that Danse had been right all along. They never should have attempted to retake the Castle with only six people.

Six people and a dog. Where the hell was Dogmeat? Preston scanned the battlefield for him, hoping that the large dog was ok. Finally, he spotted him, a flash of brown and black fur on top of one of the Castle’s remaining ramparts. With a howl of rage, Dogmeat leapt from the fort’s wall onto the back of the Mirelurk Queen, sinking his teeth into the creature’s neck. The monster screamed in agony, rearing back once more on its hind legs. It jerked from side to side, shaking the german shepherd loose. He smacked into the wall with a whine, struggling for a moment before lying still.

“God damn it, you stupid dog!” Myra screamed as he landed near her and Danse. “What the hell were you thinking?”

She didn’t even have time to move towards her furry companion before the Queen resumed her assault on Myra and the Paladin. The creature pulled its massive arm back before swinging its snapping claw at Danse’s torso, tearing large slashes across his chest as though his power armor were made of aluminum foil. The Paladin cried out in pain as blood coated the ground in front of them, faltering slightly as his body shuddered. Myra braced herself against his back, struggling to keep him stable.

“Danse, come on!” she screamed. “You have to retreat!”

“Absolutely not!” he bellowed. “I’m not leaving until you do!”

“Well, I can’t leave until we kill this thing, or it’ll wipe out my men,” Myra replied. “So hang in there.”

“Affirmative!”

No sooner had the two of them regained their footing when the Mirelurk Queen spewed green, viscous slime from her mouth, coating Danse and the ground around them.

The Paladin roared in agony, dropping to one knee with a shudder. “Knight!” he yelled, “Stay back! This creature’s saliva is highly corrosive! I can’t...please, get out of here!”

“Danse!” shrieked Myra, pulling at his arm, “No! You have to get up! I’m not leaving you!”

He shook his head. “Go while you...still can.” he gasped, collapsing to his hands and knees. “Ad...victoriam, Myra. It’s...been an...I wish...”

“Damn it, don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking die on me, ok?” she screamed in reply, pulling herself up with a grimace, her face pale with fear. “Hang in there, Danse!”

Myra quickly limped towards the ruined northern wall, waving her arms frantically. “Come here, you bitch!” she yelled at the Mirelurk Queen. “You want to finish me off like I finished off your babies?”

The Queen broke off its assault on Danse, skittering angrily towards the General. Myra whimpered in pain as she hobbled away on her twisted ankle, trying to get as far from the others as she could. Once the two reached the edge of the Castle’s walls, Myra stopped running. She loosened her backpack, holding it in her right hand.

“Well, I’m glad I keep picking up explosives,” Myra hissed, throwing the pack at the approaching monster. She gasped in pain as the movement caused even more blood to ooze from her wounded side. “I really hope I don’t have anything valuable in there.” She pulled the trigger of her laser rifle, aiming for her pack as it collided with the massive crustacean’s torso.

The bag exploded in an enormous firestorm, as did a good chunk of the Mirelurk Queen. The beast’s remaining limbs thrashed as it fell, still chasing after the woman who had finally downed it.

Myra stood over the creature’s head, watching as its jaws opened and shut in a last desperate attempt to wound the General. Her face screwed up with disgust, pain, and the last remnants of fear as she pressed the rifle against the creature’s neck. She whispered something to the creature before pulling the trigger, blowing the monstrous mirelurk’s head off in a burst of red light and green blood. She dropped her weapon, rocking back and forth on unsteady feet.

Preston ran to the General’s side as she collapsed, exhausted, catching her in his arms. “General, are you all right?” he asked, bracing her head against his arm. Large amounts of bright blood seeped from beneath her combat armor, staining her torso, but he saw no evidence of a recent injury to the area. Had she been wounded before the battle?

Myra nodded. “I’m fine. Just overwhelmed. Where...how’s Danse? Dogmeat…?”

“I don’t know,” Preston replied.

“Well, go check on them! What are you wasting time with me for? I just need a moment to rest.”

Preston thought about objecting, about pointing out the blood loss she’d sustained, but the terror in her eyes as she asked about her fallen companions told him that it would be better for him to listen to her. He eased her down by the massive mirelurk corpse before racing across the courtyard towards the broken wall. Kestrel knelt over Dogmeat, carefully administering a stimpack to the battered dog.

“How is he, Davis?” he asked softly.

The westerner looked up at him with tired eyes. “He’ll live, Colonel. Damn crazy dog. He’s a lucky fellow. If he’d hit the wall any harder, we’d all be eating dog instead of crab tonight. He won’t be chasing squirrels for a while, but he’ll live.”

“Not exactly what I wanted to hear, Kes, but I’ll take it,” Preston replied. He made his way carefully around the pooling acid to where the Paladin lay face-down in the dirt. Preston removed the fusion core from the suit and it eased open, the metal armor hissing angrily as it released the soldier’s body.

Danse was a fairly muscular man, so it took Preston quite a bit of effort and Zev’s help to extract him from his power armor. As they turned him over, Preston gasped at the sight of the Paladin’s torn, burned flesh and ravaged uniform. The armor had managed to protect Danse quite a bit, but the Queen’s assault had still wounded him grievously. They removed his flight suit down to the waist, hoping to better assess the damage.

Danse’s right arm bore a massive cut that ran bone-deep from wrist to elbow. That was worrying enough, but his torso had taken the brunt of the damage. The Paladin’s chest and abdomen marred by multiple thick lacerations and quite a few acid burns as well as what Preston suspected were several broken ribs. Mercifully, his face was mostly intact, save for a painful-looking acid burn across his left cheek and chin. Only time would tell if the damage would scar.

Preston and Zev carefully hauled the unconscious Paladin into the relative security of the keep, laying him out on a large bed in the main hall. Myra staggered in, wheezing as she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes, bloodshot and battleworn, were focused on Danse’s still, pale body.

“Is he going to be ok?” she asked softly.

Preston shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s hurt pretty bad, General. Frankly, he’s lucky that he’s not already dead. We’ll do what we can for him here, but we don’t have a doctor with us. There’s only so much that stimpacks can fix on their own.”

“Well, where’s the nearest doctor?” she replied. “Can’t we go and bring one back?”

Preston nodded. “That’s honestly our best option right now. I’ll go.”

“I’m coming too, Preston,” Myra replied.

He shook his head. “Have you seen yourself? You might not be as torn up as Paladin Danse, but you can barely stand up right now. How much blood have you lost?”

“Not enough to force me to stay behind when Danse’s life is in danger,” she growled. “Give me a fucking stim and some med-x, and let’s go. We don’t have time to argue. I’m not sending you out there alone. What if something happens and you don’t come back?”

Preston sighed. Of all the times for her to be stubborn...“Fine. Zev, can you keep an eye on Danse?”

The minuteman nodded as he did his best to bandage the Paladin’s arm. “Mr. MacCready taught me some basic first aid, sir. I’ll do what I can. But please hurry. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

Myra scowled. “Blood packs. Fuck. I knew I left something useful in my bag!”

“We can’t worry about that now, General,” soothed Preston. “You did what you had to do. Now, take your chems so we can get on the road.” There was a phrase he never thought he’d find himself uttering, but these were desperate times, he supposed. If Myra wouldn’t stay behind, he at least wanted her to be comfortable.

As they left the keep, Preston checked in with Davis and Forrester. The crippled man was doing his best to direct Kestrel as she fiddled with one of the generators, trying to get the radio up and running.

"Jake, do you think you two will be able to make this thing work?" Preston asked.

"We'll do our best, Colonel," Forrester replied, his splinted leg propped up on the broadcasting table. "I wish I could get my hands on the wiring myself, but it's better than nothing."

Preston looked over at Kes. "Davis, as soon as you two get things working, I want you to call Ignatius. We never should have let him head up that operation near Lynn Woods."

"Hey," the slight woman replied softly, "you couldn't have known that we needed a doctor on this mission, and we definitely needed him up there. The others listen to him."

"All the same, please get him here as soon as you can. The General and I are going to try and find another solution, but it would really help if we had a dedicated physician here."

Kestrel nodded. "I'll do what I can."

"That's all I ask," Preston replied with a nod. He turned back to Myra only to see her kneeling beside Danse’s obliterated power armor, extracting something from his bag.

“Thank God I asked you to carry these, Danse,” she muttered, grabbing a handful of small cylinders.

“What are they?” asked Preston curiously.

“Signal grenades to call a Brotherhood vertibird,” Myra replied. “A gift from Elder Maxson. Let’s see if these actually work. If they do, we can get Danse back to the Prydwen. The Brotherhood has an awesome medic, though he’s probably pretty pissed off with me right now,” she added sheepishly.

Preston frowned. “Does that have something to do with your injury, General?”

Myra grinned. “Yeah, maybe. I was kind of supposed to be on bed rest for another week, but I talked Danse into smuggling me off the ship.” Her smile faded. “Damn it, maybe I should have listened to Cade. Then Danse wouldn’t be…” The General sighed as she pulled a pin on the device, dropping the grenade on the ground. She stared at it for a long moment, but nothing happened. “Shit,” she hissed. “A dud.” She tried another, then another in quick succession. Nothing.

As he tried to figure out what was supposed to happen, Preston noticed that Myra’s gloves seemed to be corroding rapidly. “General, quick!” he cried, “Your hands!”

Myra swore under her breath, pulling the cloth from her hands as the Mirelurk Queen’s acid saliva ate through them. “Well, that explains why the grenades aren’t working,” she muttered. “Maxson warned me that they had a lot of delicate components, and acid probably isn’t good for any of them. So, back to Plan A. Any idea where there might be a doctor nearby?”

“I heard that Bunker Hill has one,” Preston remarked. “If not, there are plenty of traders who pass through there. Surely one of them has a doctor with them.”

“That’s so far, though!” Myra replied. “It could take days to get there and back. Do you think we’d make it in time?”

“We have to,” said Preston simply. “So we will.”

Myra thought for a moment, then shook her head with a sigh. “There’s a doctor closer to us. I’m not sure he’ll be willing to help, but it would save us a few hours.”

“Where?” asked Preston. “There’s no settlements large enough to have a doctor between here and Bunker Hill.”

“He’s… well, Preston, I’m not really supposed to…”

The minuteman sighed. “Look, Myra, I know you’re with the Railroad. Are we going to see their doctor?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide. “How could you possibly… I’ve been so careful!”

Preston chuckled. “Oh, General. Do you really think the Railroad’s the only group with informants in the Commonwealth? How do you think we’ve operated without a radio network for this long?”

“So you were spying on me?”

“I could have been, but to be honest, I didn’t have to. If you haven’t figured it out by now, you’re pretty famous. Everyone knows you walked the Freedom Trail. I just happen to know what that actually means. Protecting the people means keeping an eye on every other major player in the Commonwealth, and I’ve been curious about the Railroad for a long time.”

Myra sighed heavily. “Well, I guess there’s no point in denying it, then. Yes, we’re going to go see the Railroad. If we’re lucky, Dr. Carrington will be willing to help. If not, well, I guess we’ll just have to risk going all the way to Bunker Hill.”

Preston smiled gently at her. “Was that so hard?”

“It was. Agonizingly so.”

“Well, General, if you’re in agony, maybe you need another stimpack.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Preston.”

::::

“You want me to do what, exactly?” Dr. Carrington asked, staring daggers at Myra as she leaned on one of the columns in the catacombs, wincing in pain. He peeled back her flannel shirt, revealing a large gash down her left side. The wound had been stitched up, but the sutures had torn sometime during the battle, leaving it gaping open once more.

“Please, doctor,” Myra begged. “We don’t have any other options. If you don’t agree to help us, Danse will probably die.”

“So you expect me to waste our limited medical supplies on an enemy of the Railroad, just because he got himself hurt protecting you?” The man muttered, looking at her torn stitches with disdain as he prepared a suturing needle. “Are you insane? No, don’t answer that. No sane person would ask me to help the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“I’m not asking you to help the Brotherhood, doctor. I’m--ow! Fuck!,” she screamed as the needle pierced her raw flesh. “I’m asking you to help someone important to me. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Your foolish sentiment is touching, Whisper,” Carrington said, stitching her together meticulously, “but it doesn’t change the fact that…”

“Then what about the fucking Hippocratic Oath?” Myra bellowed in agony and rage. “Isn’t that still a thing? You’re a doctor. It’s your job to help people who need you, no matter who they are. Look, I know the Railroad and the Brotherhood are at odds. But please, look past that and think about what I’m asking you. I don’t care how you feel about the Brotherhood. A good, kind, brave man is dying, and you have the ability to save him.”

Carrington shook his head. “I’ve read Deacon’s reports on your friend. He’s killed so many synths...he’s not the good person you seem to think he is.”

“And I’m telling you he’s not the horrible person you think he is!” Myra hissed. “Listen to me, Carrington. If you don’t come with me and do everything in your power to help Danse, I’m leaving. I will walk right out that door, and I will never come back. If the Railroad is willing to let him die, then it sure as hell isn’t an organization I want to be a part of.”

Carrington snorted. “How naive can you really be? You know he’d turn on you in a heartbeat if he knew you worked for us.”

Myra shook her head. “No. I don’t believe he would. That’s why I have to save him.”

The doctor sighed, his eyes softening slightly. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Fine. I’ll come with you. But if this Paladin of yours ever tries to bring harm to our organization, I’m going to make you be the one to explain to Dez why I helped keep a member of the Brotherhood alive.”

“Thank you, Carrington.”

The doctor sighed, tying off the suture and helping her lower her shirt. “Please don’t. I’m not doing you any favors here, Whisper. Trust me, the merciful thing for me to do would be to let him die and save you the sting of betrayal later.”

Preston watched in surprise as the doctor packed up a small field kit. It shouldn’t have shocked him that Myra was able to convince Carrington to help her. After all, the General was extremely persuasive when she wanted to be. There was something about her that just inspired people’s confidence, whether she’d earned it or not. It had certainly been that way for Preston.

But there was something different this time. He’d seen her talk down raiders, watched her recruit settlers to follow her, witnessed her win the loyalties of a diverse group of people. But he had never seen her argue as passionately for anyone or anything before.

As Preston, Myra, and Carrington started the journey back to the Castle, Preston’s curiosity got the better of him. He matched pace with the General, offering her his arm. Myra accepted it graciously, smiling up at him as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

“Just like old times, huh?” she asked. “One of these days, you’ll get tired of helping me walk, Preston.”

“Only if you ever get tired of getting yourself hurt,” he replied. “Someone’s got to be there to keep you on your feet. Might as well be me.”

They walked on in silence for a moment as Preston tried to find the right words. Myra didn’t seem to mind, humming gently to herself as she leaned against his torso, his arm coiled around her like a brace. She was cool to the touch, though whether it was from all the blood loss or merely from exposure to the cold winter air Preston couldn’t be certain.

“Hey, General?” he asked finally.

“What is it, Preston?” she replied, her anxious eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“I know it’s none of my business, but I’m just curious. Is there something going on between you and Paladin Danse?”

Myra stopped walking for a second, pulling away from his protective embrace. Her piercing green eyes flashed with curiosity behind her glasses as she stared at him. “That definitely isn’t your business. Why do you want to know?”

“Like I said,” he replied, “I’m just curious. You’ve done a lot of good for a lot of people since I’ve known you, but I’ve never seen you act like this before. I suppose I just wanted to know why.”

The General sighed, continuing her hike. “Is it really that strange that I’d do everything I could to help one of my allies? You know I’d do the same for you if you’d been the one injured, right?”

Preston thought for a moment as he walked beside her, choosing his next words carefully. “I know you probably believe that. And please don’t take this the wrong way. But Myra, when I need you, you send Mac. When Danse needs you...well, you walk halfway across the Commonwealth and bully your friends.”

Myra snorted. “Geez, Preston. To be fair, you weren’t on death’s door when I sent Mac to help you.”

“I could have been, though. How would you have known?” The minuteman sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not the point. I guess what I’m trying to say is that things are different with you where Danse is concerned. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, just that you’re really important to me and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“That’s sweet, Preston. But seriously, there’s no reason to be worried. Danse is...well, he’s my friend, I suppose. He’s always been there for me, supporting me, keeping me sane. Hell, I owe him my life a few times over now.”

“I’m your friend too, Myra. So trust me when I say this. No matter what you’ve done to convince yourself, Danse is not just your friend.”

Myra scowled. “Why are you acting like this? I figured you’d be happy I cared about anyone after what I’ve been through.”

Preston nodded, trying to ignore the gnawing in his gut. Was it really possible that Myra didn’t know how he felt about her? He had to find out for sure, before they returned to the Castle. “General, I...there’s something you should probably know. I know the circumstances aren’t great, but I figured I should tell you. I’m...interested in you. You know, romantically. So, yeah, I’ll admit it bugs me a little to see you so worked up over another man, even if you insist you’re just friends.”

Myra stopped walking again, her eyes wide as she stared back at him. “Are you...are you serious, Preston?”

He nodded. “I honestly thought you knew.”

“So you’re not...you know...of the other persuasion?”

Preston stared at her. “Huh?”

“You know...a confirmed bachelor? A man’s man, so to speak?”

He froze. “You thought I was gay? No. Not at all! What gave you that impression?”

She blushed beet red. “I...oh, God, I’m sorry. I thought you and MacCready were --”

The Colonel sputtered. “What? You were trying to set us up? Is that why...oh, damn, Myra. No, no, we’re just friends. Really.”

“And...and you’re actually...interested in me?” she replied, her emerald eyes wide. “Holy shit. I really misread that.”

“I’ll say,” he muttered. “I guess it’s a good thing I told you how I felt, huh? I realize that given our working relationship --”

The General sighed, patting his shoulder affectionately. “Look, Preston. I’m incredibly flattered. You’re a really great guy, and I’m sure there’s someone out there in this crazy world who’s perfect for you. Not MacCready, I guess, since you like women and all. But I also don’t think that’s me, at least not right now.”

“Because there’s someone else,” Preston added.

“Yes,” Myra replied. “Well, no. I…” She thought for a moment, gently playing with the wedding ring she wore around her neck. “I know it happened a decade ago, but to me, my husband’s death is still fresh. I’m not…I’m not looking for a romantic relationship right now, not with anyone. I just want to get my son back, and then maybe figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

Preston nodded. “I had a feeling you’d say something like that. That’s why I didn’t bring it up before.”

“I’m really sorry, Preston,” Myra added.

“I know,” he sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Just, if you ever do find yourself ready to move on, I mean…”

“Preston,” Myra interjected. “No. Don’t you dare wait for me. I don’t want that for you, or anyone I care about. Look, I’m a mess. I’m going to be a mess for a long time. It would break my heart if I knew you were putting your life on hold for me to get my shit together. I want you to find happiness for yourself, ok? If you really care for me, that’s what will make me the happiest. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he replied sullenly. “I understand. Thanks for being honest with me, Myra.”

“Of course, Preston. Like I said, you really do deserve all the happiness in the world. I really hope you find it.”

Preston smiled sadly at his General. “You too, Myra. In the meantime, I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

Myra pulled him into a tight hug. “Thanks, Preston. You really are one hell of a friend.”

Preston hugged her back, doing his best to ignore the aching in his chest. Part of him had always known that this was how things would work out, but all the same, he had hoped...No. He wasn’t going to let this rejection change their relationship. They still needed each other. They were still friends. And if all he could give her was his friendship and his support, then that was exactly what he would do.

They walked on in silence, Myra’s eyes ever-trained on the horizon, worry drawing her mouth into a tight line as she rubbed her hand over the stock of her laser rifle, tracing the letters that were etched on it over and over with anxious fingers. Preston hiked beside her, keeping an eye out for danger or anything that might slow them down. He hoped with all his might that they’d make it back to the Castle in time.