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No one spoke after that. The command deck settled into the familiar rhythm of duty—data streams scrolling across monitors, boots clicking on metal, distant reports murmured through the comm lines. But beneath it all, a new kind of unease pulsed through the air.
The morning light crept across the windows of the Freemasons Headquarters, stretching pale gold lines over the polished surface of Sico's desk. The glass still held a faint haze of condensation from the cool dawn air outside. A low hum of generators drifted through the building's walls, steady and reassuring — the sound of civilization refusing to die.
Sico sat behind his desk, a pen in hand, but the ink hadn't touched the paper in several minutes. His gaze was distant, fixed on the faint plume of smoke rising from one of the far workshops beyond the courtyard. Another morning, another set of problems waiting to be solved. The Freemasons Republic, for all its promise, ran on endless lists — patrol rotations, supply manifests, reconstruction permits, and the delicate logistics of keeping thousands of people safe in a world that had forgotten what safety meant.
A knock at the door might have been expected. A sudden electric snap of energy, however, was not.
A flash of blue-white light filled the room, and the air itself seemed to twist for a moment — the hairs on Sico's arm stood on end as reality bent and reformed. When the light faded, three figures stood before him.
Two were unmistakably Coursers — tall, poised, draped in their matte-black tactical coats. Their visors glowed faintly beneath the office light, each movement crisp and economical, hands near the pistols holstered at their sides. Between them stood Nora.
Her presence, even in that sterile brilliance of teleportation light, carried warmth. She was dressed in her Institute field uniform — clean white fabric under a gray utility coat, the faint sheen of synthetic weave catching the light. But there was something softer about her face this morning, a kind of tired calm that came from too many nights spent between duty and memory.
Sico didn't stand immediately. He blinked once, letting his mind catch up with what his eyes already knew. "You could've used the door," he said evenly, voice gravel-soft.
Nora smiled faintly. "Old habits. You know how the Institute likes to make an entrance."
Sico set his pen down. "Yeah. Usually in the middle of someone's morning paperwork."
The Coursers didn't move — they flanked her silently, like shadows cut out of the air itself. Sico's eyes flicked toward them briefly. "They armed?"
"Always," Nora replied, a touch of humor in her tone. "But they're here on my word. They won't move unless I tell them to."
Sico gestured toward the chairs across his desk. "Then I guess it's safe to talk."
She nodded to her guards, who stepped back and positioned themselves near the window, facing outward. Nora moved forward, her boots clicking lightly against the wooden floor, and sat across from him.
The faint hum of the teleportation dissipator still lingered in the air — the smell of ionized metal and burnt ozone mingled faintly with the scent of paper and cold coffee. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They didn't have to. Silence had a way of saying what years of words couldn't.
Finally, Sico broke it. "You're early. I wasn't expecting to see you for another week."
"I wasn't expecting to come," Nora replied, folding her hands on the desk. "But things… changed."
Sico raised a brow. "Changed how?"
Nora exhaled slowly, her eyes briefly flicking toward the window before returning to him. "The Brotherhood."
He leaned back slightly, the chair creaking under his weight. "What about them?"
"They've stopped their advance," she said. "At least for now. Our scouts and surface agents report no new movement from their forward camps. The Prydwen is still airborne, but its flight path hasn't shifted in two days. No attacks. No recon teams in our sectors. It's quiet."
Sico frowned slightly. "And the Institute?"
"We've pulled our patrols back underground," Nora said. "After the last skirmish near the river outpost, we lost more synths than I'm comfortable admitting. We need time to replenish production. The Gen-3 fabrication labs are running double shifts, but they'll still need weeks to recover."
Her voice carried the steady tone of command, but beneath it was the exhaustion of someone who hadn't had proper sleep in days. Sico caught it, even if she tried to mask it.
"So it's a pause," he said quietly. "Not peace."
Nora gave a small, weary smile. "You know better than anyone — peace is just the name we give the breaks between wars."
Sico leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "How long do you think it'll last?"
She hesitated. "A month, maybe two. Depends on how fast both sides rebuild. The Brotherhood's still licking its wounds from our last offensive. They're repairing armor, refitting Power Suits, and gathering supplies. We're doing the same below ground. No one wants to admit it, but we both need the breathing room."
Sico nodded slowly, fingers drumming against the desk. "So the board's resetting."
"Yes," Nora said softly. "But that's not why I came."
Her eyes met his — steady, thoughtful, edged with something deeper than strategy. "I wanted you to know because this affects you too. The Freemasons Republic sits right between us and the Brotherhood. Whether either of us like it or not, your territory is the line both sides will watch."
Sico's jaw tightened slightly. "You're saying I'm sitting on the fault line."
"I'm saying you're sitting on the balance," she corrected. "And both sides know it."
He leaned back again, exhaling through his nose. "That's comforting."
Nora's lips curved faintly. "You've managed worse."
The silence that followed was gentler this time — less tension, more memory. The two of them had fought side by side more than once — against raiders, against rogue synths, even against their own doubts about what kind of world they were building. They had disagreed often, but beneath it all there was respect, and something more fragile than either of them ever said out loud.
Finally, Sico asked, "So what's your plan?"
Nora tilted her head slightly. "Survive. Rebuild. Prepare. You?"
"Same," he said simply. "Except I've got thousands people depending on it."
Nora nodded slowly. "I read about the Northern Operation. Piper's broadcast reached us too. Even some of our field agents stopped what they were doing to listen. You should know — it had an effect."
He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of effect?"
She hesitated. "Inspiration," she said finally. "Even down in the Institute. Not everyone says it out loud, but… it reminded people that humanity up here isn't just chaos and death. You're building something, Sico. Something real. Even we can see that."
He regarded her for a long moment. "And Elder Maxson?"
"Probably doesn't see it that way," Nora said dryly. "If anything, you've made yourself his new obsession. You've given the Commonwealth something to believe in — and for a man like him, belief is dangerous unless it's directed at him."
Sico's gaze drifted to the corner of his desk, where a folded map of the region lay under a half-empty mug. Red pins for Brotherhood patrol zones. Blue ones for Freemason territory. A single white one for the Institute's surface access points.
He sighed quietly. "So we're back to standing in the middle of giants again."
"You've always stood there," Nora said. "The difference now is that both sides are watching how you move."
He chuckled once — low, humorless. "I didn't sign up to be anyone's referee."
"No," she said softly. "But you became one anyway."
Nora's expression softened, though a faint edge of thought lingered behind her eyes — the kind that never really left a leader's mind. "You've carried more weight than most people ever could," she said. "But you still keep going. That's what makes the difference."
Sico didn't answer right away. He studied her face, that mixture of command and compassion she wore so easily, and for a brief moment, the room didn't feel like an office at all — it felt like a crossroads. Between what they had been and what they were still trying to become.
He exhaled quietly and said, "I just do what needs doing."
Nora smiled faintly, almost wistfully. "That's exactly why people follow you."
Then she pushed her chair back and stood. The light from the morning window fell over her, giving her uniform a soft glow. She turned slightly toward the two Coursers, who immediately stepped closer, their movements crisp and silent. The faint hum of their teleportation relays began to rise in the air again, static whispering across the walls like ghostly wind.
Nora looked back at Sico one last time. "Take care of yourself," she said. "The world needs what you're building here… even if it doesn't realize it yet."
Sico met her gaze. "You too. Don't let the Institute bury you in politics."
She smirked. "No promises."
The hum reached a sharp peak, a flash of blue-white light filling the room — bright enough to turn everything momentarily weightless. Papers fluttered on Sico's desk, his coffee cup rattled, and the faint smell of ozone lingered as the world straightened again. When the light faded, they were gone — Nora and her Coursers, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of displaced air.
For a moment, Sico stood there, staring at the empty spot where she'd been. The silence that followed wasn't cold; it was reflective, heavy with thought. Then he sighed softly, grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, and slid it on.
There was no time for reflection — not really. Outside his office, the day was already in motion.
The corridors of Freemasons HQ buzzed with life as Sico stepped through them. Soldiers passed by with rifles slung across their backs, engineers carried toolboxes, and a pair of settlers argued good-naturedly over the ration schedule. The air smelled faintly of metal, oil, and the sweetness of bread being baked somewhere downstairs. It wasn't perfect, but it was alive — and that counted for more than perfection ever had.
As he walked, heads turned. People nodded, some smiled, some simply straightened their posture as he passed. Respect, yes — but also trust. The kind that came not from rank or fear, but from earned leadership. He returned each nod quietly, eyes steady but warm.
He stepped outside.
The morning had settled into full brightness now. The sun climbed over the half-rebuilt rooftops of Sanctuary's main square, gilding the wooden beams and metal scaffolds with gold. The wind carried a mix of sounds — construction hammers, laughter, the hum of generators, and the occasional bark of a dog. Life, rebuilt from ash and ruin.
But not everything was whole yet.
At the far end of the square stood what had once been a small clinic. Now, it had expanded — walls reinforced with scavenged steel, solar panels glittering on the roof, and a new sign hand-painted above the door: Freemasons Medical Center. The old residents simply called it Curie's place.
Sico's boots crunched against the gravel path as he crossed the square, greeting a passing patrol and a group of mechanics pushing a cart of spare parts. A few citizens waved; he lifted a hand in return but didn't linger. The air grew quieter near the hospital — softer somehow, as though the world itself slowed its rhythm out of respect.
He stopped just before the entrance. A faint antiseptic scent met him — mixed with the sharper tang of disinfectant and the iron hint of blood. Inside, voices murmured low, tired but steady. There was no chaos here, only controlled exhaustion which the kind Curie ruled with precision.
As he entered, the air grew cooler. The lighting was soft, powered by a mix of salvaged Institute fixtures and solar batteries. Rows of beds lined the walls, separated by curtains and improvised partitions. The wounded from the Northern Operation lay there — some sleeping, some awake, some staring blankly at the ceiling as they drifted in that fog between pain and recovery.
Sico's pace slowed. The weight of it all settled into him — the sight of men and women who had fought, bled, and survived because he'd asked them to. His Republic had grown, but so had the number of lives it carried.
He spotted Curie near the back of the room, her coat sleeves rolled up, her dark hair tied messily out of her face. She was moving between beds, holding a clipboard in one hand and adjusting an IV drip with the other. Her voice was soft but precise, her French accent curling gently around her words.
"—oui, keep the compress cold, please. If swelling returns, I want to know immediately," she told a nurse before turning to check on the next patient.
When she noticed Sico, her expression lifted slightly, though fatigue lined the corners of her eyes. "Ah! Monsieur Sico," she said, setting down her clipboard. "You come to visit, oui?"
He gave a small nod, stepping closer. "Morning, Curie. Heard the wounded from the Northern front were brought back yesterday."
"Oui," she confirmed. "Fourty-seven total survivors from that engagement. Five still in critical condition, but stable." Her tone softened. "It was… brutal, non? Feral ghouls in numbers like that — c'est incroyable. But your soldiers, they held. They protected the settlement."
Sico's eyes swept across the rows of beds again. Bandaged limbs. Bruised faces. A few Power Armor users, now stripped of their suits, with burns and shrapnel marks across their skin. He exhaled slowly.
"They paid for it," he said quietly.
"Oui," Curie agreed gently. "But they also saved thousands. The feral horde — it would have reached the river settlements within hours. They stopped it there."
She turned toward one of the closer beds. "This one," she said softly, "was Sergeant Marlowe. Shrapnel to the abdomen. We had to operate immediately. He would have died before sunset if not for the blood packs you requisitioned from the trade stock."
Sico's gaze lingered on the man — pale, breathing shallowly but alive. Machines clicked softly beside him, the steady rhythm of artificial aid keeping pace with his pulse.
Sico nodded. "Good work."
Curie gave a small smile, though the weariness in it was obvious. "Merci. My team, they are extraordinary. We work without rest, but… it is worth it, non?"
He didn't need to answer. The gratitude in his eyes said enough.
They walked slowly through the ward together, Curie giving occasional updates as they passed each bed. There was Private Ellis — lost his arm to a ghoul bite but had survived the fever thanks to the antibiotics. Then Corporal Reyes — head trauma but lucid now, joking weakly with the nurses. Each story was a reminder: every survivor was a victory, every wound a cost.
When they reached the far end of the room, a large window overlooked the central courtyard outside. Sunlight spilled through, warming the floor tiles where a few patients sat in chairs, bandages fresh but smiles faintly returning. Sico paused there, his gaze on the light.
Curie watched him for a moment, then spoke softly. "You blame yourself, oui?"
He didn't answer immediately. His jaw flexed once, a tell more honest than words. "I sent them there," he said finally. "Every one of them. It was my order that stopped the horde."
"And saved the settlements," Curie reminded. "Do not forget that."
Sico's voice was low, rough-edged. "It's easy to remember what you save. Harder to forget what you lose."
Curie tilted her head slightly, compassion in her eyes. "You sound like Nora when she visits."
That made him chuckle — a small, dry sound. "Maybe that's why we get along."
"Or why you argue," Curie teased gently. "You both carry the world on your shoulders and then get angry when it is heavy."
Sico gave her a look — half smirk, half surrender. "You ever think about how you ended up the voice of reason here?"
"Every day," she said with a grin. "But someone must be, non?"
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You're doing good work, Curie. The Republic wouldn't be half of what it is without your hospital."
Her smile softened. "And I would not be here without you, mon ami. You gave me purpose when there was only wandering. You built something worth healing."
They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the patients resting under the morning sun. The hum of medical equipment filled the quiet spaces — a kind of music, the rhythm of survival.
Then a nurse approached timidly, holding a clipboard. "Doctor Curie, we have a request for blood match from the east wing — patient number twelve."
"Oui, go," Curie said, turning back to Sico. "Duty calls."
He nodded. "Go. I'll check on the rest."
Curie hesitated briefly, then placed a hand on his arm — gentle, grounding. "Do not carry it alone," she said softly. "These people follow you because they believe in you, not because you are perfect."
He looked at her for a moment, then gave a faint smile. "I'll try to remember that."
When she walked off, Sico lingered by the window. His reflection mixed with the world outside — sunlight, motion, hope stitched together with scars. The Freemasons Republic was growing, yes, but the weight of its cost was always near.
He turned and made his way slowly between the beds again, stopping now and then to speak to the soldiers who were awake. Some saluted weakly, some just nodded. He sat for a few minutes with a young recruit named Dalton — barely twenty, his arm in a sling, still pale from blood loss. The boy smiled shakily and said, "We did it, sir. The ghouls didn't get past us."
Sico's answer was simple but heavy with pride. "You did good, son. Rest up. The Commonwealth still needs you."
Dalton grinned faintly, eyes closing as exhaustion reclaimed him.
The murmur of the ward had settled into that quiet rhythm hospitals seemed to breathe in — the soft shuffle of nurses' boots, the whisper of curtains drawn back, the hum of machines keeping steady vigil beside the injured. Sico stood near one of the beds, speaking softly with a medic about the next supply delivery, when Curie's voice reached him again from across the room.
She was walking back toward him, wiping her hands with a cloth, a small smudge of something — maybe iodine, maybe coffee — marking the side of her sleeve. Despite the exhaustion in her posture, her eyes still held that spark of warmth that made people feel safe just by being near her.
"Forgive me," she said lightly, switching her clipboard from one hand to the other. "Blood testing takes longer when we must double check compatibility. But —" she tapped the board, "— the east wing patient will live."
Sico nodded. "Good. You've done well, Curie."
She gave a tired but proud smile. "It is a team effort, always."
They stood together again by the window, the sunlight now higher, the courtyard outside filling with the sound of hammers and conversation. For a moment, neither spoke. Sico watched the reflection of the room in the glass — the lines of cots, the steady rise and fall of bandaged chests, the faint silhouette of Curie beside him.
Then he turned to her. "Tell me something," he began quietly, "how's the food situation here? The patients — are they getting enough? And not just enough to fill them, I mean proper, healthy food?"
Curie blinked, as if surprised by the question. "Ah… bon," she said, glancing toward a nearby table where a nurse was setting down a tray of bowls. "We make do with what we have. There is soup — thick with potatoes, sometimes beans if we have them. Bread from the settlement bakery. A few fresh vegetables when Jenny sends her shipments."
Sico folded his arms. "When she sends them," he repeated softly.
Curie sighed, her voice softening. "Oui. Supplies are… how do you say? Stretching thin. But we ration carefully. No one goes hungry, I promise you that."
He studied her face — the faint lines of strain, the kind that came from long nights worrying about more than just wounds. "If you need more," he said firmly, "say so. I'll have Jenny send extra crates from the greenhouse. Fresh crops, anything high in vitamins like kale, tato, melons, whatever's ready to harvest. No one here should be eating from cans while we have gardens producing real food."
Curie's expression softened at his tone — not from the authority, but from the care behind it. "That would help," she admitted quietly. "Fresh crops will make recovery faster, and morale too. Patients heal better when the food reminds them of life, not survival."
Sico gave a faint nod. "Then I'll speak to Jenny when I get back. You'll have more by tomorrow."
Curie's smile grew — tired but sincere. "Merci, Sico. Jenny always brings such energy when she comes by. The patients adore her. It makes this place feel less… clinical, non?"
"Jenny's good at that," Sico said, a small chuckle escaping him. "She could talk a Deathclaw into smiling if she tried."
Curie laughed softly, shaking her head. "I do not doubt it. But yes, the fresh food, it will mean much. These people fought hard; they deserve meals that make them remember the world they saved."
Sico leaned against the window frame, crossing one ankle over the other, gaze thoughtful. "You ever think about how strange that is? That food, of all things, became our symbol of hope? Used to be something people barely noticed before the bombs."
Curie tilted her head. "When the world burns, the smallest comforts become the greatest luxuries. Bread that smells like wheat. Soup that tastes of real carrots. It tells the soul — we are still human."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're right about that."
For a moment, they both looked out toward the square again. Settlers moved about like tiny pieces of a living machine — some carrying lumber, others hauling crates, a few tending the small patch of crops growing near the fountain. The air shimmered faintly with heat now, and the faint thrum of distant machinery mixed with birdsong.
Inside, a nurse approached Curie with a list of medicine stocks, and she excused herself briefly to sign off on it. Sico waited, listening to the faint beeping of a heart monitor nearby, the rhythmic hiss of a ventilator. The sounds of life continuing — fragile, mechanical, but real.
When Curie returned, she tucked the clipboard under her arm and looked back at him. "You know, when I was first brought online again after my transformation, I never imagined I would one day worry about food rations or fertilizer," she said with a small laugh. "Now it feels like the most important science I have ever done."
"Because it is," Sico replied simply. "You're not just patching up bodies anymore. You're building the foundation for something that can last. The Freemasons aren't soldiers or settlers anymore — we're a society. That means we eat, heal, and grow together."
Her expression turned thoughtful, eyes warm. "You speak like a philosopher, not a commander."
He gave a small grin. "That's just age catching up with me."
"Ah, nonsense," Curie said, waving a hand. "You are in your prime! Besides, philosophers do not rebuild nations."
Sico chuckled quietly. "No, but maybe nations only survive when their leaders remember what it means to be human."
Curie's smile lingered for a beat longer, then she reached for one of the nearby carts. "Would you like to see something?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Depends what it is."
She gestured for him to follow. "Come, come. You will see."
They walked toward the back of the ward, through a small set of doors leading into what had once been an old storage room. Now, it had been repurposed — clean, bright, and humming with life. Rows of glass jars lined the shelves, filled with carefully labeled herbs and tinctures. In the center, beneath a skylight patched from salvaged glass, stood a makeshift hydroponic unit — a small miracle of science keeping leafy greens alive under artificial light.
Curie's pride was evident as she gestured toward it. "My little garden. When Jenny cannot send her crops, we grow some here. Medicinal herbs, mostly — mint, basil, sage. They help with nausea and pain management. And sometimes," she added with a mischievous smile, "I make tea."
Sico couldn't help but smile. "You're growing a garden inside a hospital."
"Why not?" she said brightly. "If the world outside still heals from the war, we can start small. A single leaf at a time."
He crouched slightly to inspect the plants, the scent of fresh greenery filling the air. "It's good work, Curie. Real good work."
She shrugged modestly, but her eyes glimmered with quiet satisfaction. "It keeps hope close. The patients like to look at it. Makes them remember the world still has color."
Sico stood again, hands in his coat pockets, looking over the little oasis. "Then let's make sure it keeps growing. I'll have the engineering team send you better lighting and maybe a small water recycler from the lower labs."
"Ah, vraiment?" she said, genuinely surprised. "That would be wonderful!"
"Consider it done," he said simply.
Curie gave a soft laugh. "You always bring solutions, Sico. Never just questions."
"That's because I've learned the world doesn't wait for either," he said. "It just keeps moving, whether we're ready or not."
She nodded slowly, understanding in her gaze. "Then it is good you are one of the ones moving it forward."
They stood there for a while — two people who had seen too much of death, standing amid the green defiance of life. The faint light from the skylight painted gentle shapes across the floor, and somewhere outside, a bell rang to mark midday.
Eventually, Sico broke the silence. "When the next convoy leaves for the southern farms, I'll make sure it brings back extra soil and nutrient mix. You'll be able to double this garden if you want."
Curie's face brightened. "That would be magnifique. I have many plans — small, but beautiful ones. Perhaps one day we can grow berries again."
Sico smiled faintly. "Berries, huh? You think the world's ready for that kind of sweetness again?"
Curie met his gaze with a gentle, determined look. "It must be. Otherwise, what are we fighting for?"
He nodded, the weight of her words settling in deep. "Yeah," he murmured. "You're right."
They walked back into the main ward together, the sounds of soft conversation and distant machinery greeting them again. Curie stopped briefly to adjust a bandage on a sleeping patient, her touch careful, almost maternal. Sico watched her work, the way she spoke softly even when no one could hear, the quiet strength behind every movement.
When she finally turned back to him, he said, "You keep this place running like clockwork."
Curie smiled modestly. "We do what we can with what we have."
Sico lingered for a moment, letting the quiet of the ward settle around him. The soft murmurs, the distant hum of the ventilation system, and the faint metallic scent of antiseptics combined to create a strangely comforting rhythm. He had walked these halls countless times since the Freemasons had taken over this stretch of the Commonwealth, but each time, the weight of responsibility pressed just a little harder against his chest. It was a good weight, one borne from duty, but it was heavy nonetheless.
He straightened, adjusting the collar of his coat, and looked at Curie with a seriousness that made her pause in the middle of tending to a fresh IV line. "Curie," he said, his voice low but firm, "listen to me carefully. You've built something remarkable here — more than a hospital. This place… it's the backbone of everything we're trying to create in Sanctuary. But a backbone is only strong if you have what you need to hold it up."
Curie tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing just a fraction. "You mean… supplies?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, stepping closer. "Supplies, yes. But more than that — anything that would make your work easier, more effective. Better equipment, more trained hands, improved sanitation, even extra beds if you need them. Anything that keeps these people alive and helps them heal faster, you send the word straight to my office at the Freemasons HQ. I will handle it. You do not need to worry about budget approvals, requisition forms, or running around for signatures. You tell me, and it gets done."
Curie's lips parted slightly in surprise. She blinked once, twice, then looked down at the floor, her hands clasped together nervously. "Sico… I… I do not know what to say. Normally, I would make do… stretch every ounce of what we have. But…" She looked up at him, and the faintest sheen of moisture caught the corner of her eyes. "To hear that… you would trust me like that… it means more than you realize."
He gave a small, rueful smile. "Trust? Maybe. But mostly, it's common sense. I can't build a Republic if the people keeping it alive are forced to compromise every day just to make ends meet. You have to have freedom to do your work. That's not a favor — that's necessity."
Curie's smile was small but genuine. "Then I will not take it lightly, Monsieur Sico. If we require anything to improve the care here — whether it is more medical supplies, equipment, or even something as simple as fresh linens — I will send the message. And I know it will be received."
"You can count on it," he said. He glanced toward one of the beds near the window, where a young recruit with a bruised jaw and a broken arm was slowly stirring. "Look at them," Sico said softly. "Every one of these people has a story. Every one of them has a family back in the settlements, a hope for the future. That's what this place is protecting. That's why it matters."
Curie nodded, taking in his words with the gravity they deserved. She reached over to adjust a blanket for another patient, a man recovering from severe burns across his chest. "Oui… it is true. They have fought and suffered, but we give them the chance to fight another day. And perhaps even to dream again."
Sico watched her, and in that moment he realized something he hadn't fully admitted to himself before: Curie wasn't just the hospital's caretaker, the Republic's healer, or the scientist who had rebuilt herself after transfer t the Institute's synth body. She was the anchor. The quiet presence that reminded everyone from soldiers, settlers, and leaders alike, why survival mattered beyond the immediate fight.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Curie… you've done more than I can ever thank you for. But I want to make sure you know you don't carry it alone. You have the Freemasons, the settlement, even me. We've got your back — no exceptions."
Her gaze softened, and she gave a small nod. "Merci, Sico. That… that is reassuring." She paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding quietly, "I will use this trust wisely. For the patients. For the Republic."
"And for yourself," he added softly, almost under his breath. "Don't forget yourself in all this. You deserve a chance to rest, to breathe, to live outside of these walls as well."
Curie looked down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of a bandage. "Rest… it is difficult to find. But I will try." She lifted her gaze again, eyes meeting his with a quiet determination that only deepened the respect he already held for her. "I have never been one to shy from responsibility, Sico. But your offer… it makes the weight lighter. And that… that is invaluable."
Sico's lips curved in a faint, approving smile. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear. You don't have to carry the world on your shoulders alone, Curie. You'll never be asked to."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Outside, the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long golden beams through the hospital windows and illuminating the rows of recovering soldiers. Sico let his gaze linger on the small victories all around him — a nurse successfully guiding a patient through a breathing exercise, a soldier smiling faintly as he tasted the broth placed before him, a child from one of the settlement families watching curiously from the doorway. Each moment, small though it was, represented hope restored.
Finally, Curie stepped closer, holding her clipboard tightly. "If we are to continue improving the care here," she said quietly, "I must make plans. Supplies, schedules, perhaps even expanding the hydroponic garden into a larger, more sustainable setup… and I will need funds for some of the equipment."
Sico nodded, giving her a reassuring glance. "Consider it done. Anything you need to improve the hospital — to make it more efficient, safer, or better for the patients — you send it to my office. I will personally see it is handled. No bureaucratic delays, no questions about cost. You tell me what's required, and I'll make it happen. That's a promise."
Curie's eyes softened, and a small smile broke through the exhaustion etched on her face. "A promise I will hold you to," she said lightly, though her tone carried more warmth than levity. "For the sake of these people, I will not ask for frivolities, only what is necessary."
"And that's exactly what I expect," Sico said. He straightened, adjusting his coat once more, his presence calm but commanding. "You focus on keeping this place running. I'll make sure the support is there when you need it. The Freemasons, Jenny, the engineers, the supply teams — they'll all fall in line to back you up. You are not alone in this, Curie. Never again."
Curie took a deep breath, letting the reassurance settle in, and nodded once firmly. "Merci, Sico. I will make sure every credit, every supply, every resource is used wisely. For the patients. For the Republic."
Sico gave a small, approving nod and glanced once more down the ward. "Good. Then let's keep it that way. You'll send me word if you need anything — food, medicine, beds, equipment. Anything at all."
"I will," she said softly, her eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and determination.
"Good," he said again. He paused, letting the weight of the moment hang in the air for just a heartbeat longer. Then he added with a faint smile, "And Curie? Don't forget to take care of yourself too. You're just as important as any patient in this ward."
Curie's lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. "I will… try. It is not always easy to do, but your words… they remind me that I must."
Sico inclined his head. "That's all I ask. Now, I'll leave you to your patients, but remember — my office at HQ is always open. Any request, any concern, any improvement for the hospital, you send it my way. I'll handle it. Consider it my priority."
She nodded once more, her smile holding steady despite the exhaustion that still lingered in her posture. "I will, Sico. Merci, truly."
He stepped back toward the doorway, glancing once more over the ward. The hum of life, the murmur of conversation, the faint rhythm of machines keeping watch over the wounded — it was all a reminder of why he fought, why he led, why he bore the weight he carried. It wasn't glory, it wasn't recognition. It was this: the slow, steady act of keeping life alive, of ensuring that hope persisted, of making sure the Commonwealth would continue not just to survive, but to rebuild.
With one last glance at Curie, still moving quietly among her patients, Sico turned and made his way toward the exit. The sunlight from the main hall spilled across his path, warming his coat and casting long shadows along the polished floor. Outside, the Freemasons HQ buzzed faintly in the distance, and he knew that the tasks awaiting him there were many, complex, and far from over.
But for a moment, he allowed himself the small satisfaction of knowing that at least one place — a hospital, a garden, a ward full of recovering soldiers and settlers — was running as it should, guided by a hand he trusted and a heart as steadfast as his own.
________________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-