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They drank in quiet solidarity, the last of the sun slipping behind the horizon. Outside, the first fires of lanterns and torches glimmered across the settlement, reflecting on the polished wood of the unfinished structures. The ridge smelled of earth, sweat, and wood of life in motion, of progress, of work done and work still to come.
Then the next day, Sico muscles still sore from the previous day's labor, but a soreness that felt earned rather than burdensome as he sat at his office desk inside the Freemasons HQ. The early morning sun filtered through the tall windows, painting long, soft strips of light across the wooden floor and illuminating the maps, reports, and documents scattered across his desk. Normally, this room felt like a fortress of responsibility, its shelves lined with thick binders, its desk a battleground of decisions waiting to be made.
But today, after yesterday's grounding work at Sanctuary, the room felt different. Not lighter as nothing at HQ was ever light, but quieter in his mind. Less suffocating. The memory of lifting beams beside settlers still clung to him, settling somewhere deep, reminding him that leadership could look like many things. Sometimes it was paperwork. Sometimes it was battle plans. And sometimes it was dirt under the fingernails and sweat on the brow.
He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled softly, pulling one more report toward him, scanning the updates on the Brotherhood front. Sarah had already scribbled annotations in the margins, her handwriting sharp and efficient. Patrol rotations needed adjustment. Supply lines needed reinforcement. Scouts reported increased Brotherhood troop movements following yesterday's raiders raids. Nothing surprising, but everything important.
He leaned back in his chair, rolling the tension from his shoulders. A mug of coffee sat cooling at his elbow, the faint steam drifting lazily upward.
He'd barely lifted the mug when a sharp hum filled the air as a distinctive vibration that didn't belong inside HQ. The lights flickered, the air pressure tightened, and before Sico could stand, a column of shimmering particles spiraled open in the middle of the office like a whirlpool of light and static.
Teleportation.
From the Institute.
His instinct made one hand drift toward the pistol holstered under the desk that not from distrust of Nora, but from habit. Institute teleportation was unpredictable, disruptive, and usually meant something important. Something urgent.
The spiral of blue-white particles condensed, folded inward, and with a soft thump of displaced air, a figure materialized on the office floor.
Nora.
Her hair was wind-tossed, her armor lightly dusted with ash and dirt, and her expression carried the unmistakable weight of someone who had spent the night in the shadow of war. She didn't look injured, but she looked tired. Tired in a way that spoke of more than sleeplessness; it spoke of decisions that clawed at the soul.
Sico stood from his chair immediately.
"Nora?" His voice sharpened with concern. "What happened?"
She held up a hand, catching her breath. "Sorry for dropping in without warning." Her voice was steady, but beneath it lay a tremor and it was not fear, but the aftershock of something heavy. "I didn't have time to send word. I had to come straight to you."
Sico stepped around the desk, the floorboards creaking lightly under his boots. He noticed the soot smudged across her gloves, the faint scorch marks on the fabric of her sleeve, the dust clinging to her boots. She'd come straight from the field. Not from home, not from Sanctuary, not even from the Institute's clean, metallic halls.
Straight from the war zone.
"It's alright," he said, softening. "You're always welcome here. What's going on?"
Nora drew in a long, slow breath.
"The war between the Institute and the Brotherhood…" she began, meeting his eyes firmly. "It's on a temporary truce now."
Sico blinked, stunned for only a second as it was not because a truce was impossible, but because it was unexpected. The last reports had painted nothing but chaos. Skirmishes, artillery fire, synth strikes, Brotherhood counterattacks… a grinding, merciless cycle of violence.
"A truce?" he echoed cautiously.
Nora nodded.
"I sent a representative to meet with the Brotherhood's negotiator right in the middle of the war zone. Neutral ground. No cover. No backup. Just… face to face in the ruins where yesterday both sides were trying to kill each other."
Sico absorbed this slowly, arms folding across his chest.
"That's risky," he murmured.
"Very risky," Nora agreed. "But necessary."
She moved toward the window, gazing out at the open courtyard of the Freemasons HQ. Workers and soldiers moved with purpose, unaware of the storm that Nora brought with her. The golden morning light spilled across her face, sharpening the lines of exhaustion and resolve etched there.
"The truth is," she continued quietly, "both sides took heavy casualties. A lot more than either expected this early into open conflict. The Brotherhood lost squads of knights. The Institute lost synths and scientists. The battlefield turned into a graveyard overnight."
Her jaw tightened.
"It wasn't sustainable. Not yet."
Sico stepped beside her, watching her reflection in the glass. "So the truce… was it their idea or yours?"
"Both," Nora said, her voice heavy. "My representative offered the olive branch first, but they accepted immediately. Mutually beneficial ceasefire. They need to regroup. So do we."
She sighed, shoulders lowering with fatigue.
"And of course," she added, meeting his gaze again with a grim, knowing look, "you can expect the war to continue again after a few months. Maybe sooner. This truce isn't peace. It's just… breathing room."
Sico felt the truth of that settle deep in his stomach.
A war paused was not a war ended.
He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. "Sit. You look like you've been through hell."
Nora didn't argue. She sank into the chair with a long exhale, like someone finally allowing themselves to rest for the first time in hours.
Sico poured her a cup of coffee, sliding it to her. "Here."
"Thanks," she murmured, wrapping her gloved hands around the warm ceramic. The rising steam softened the tension in her face just a little.
For a moment, they sat in a quiet thick with the weight of her news.
Then Sico broke the silence gently. "Tell me everything."
Nora nodded and began to speak as it was slowly at first, then with the momentum of someone finally releasing everything she'd been holding back.
She described how the battlefield had looked at dawn: bodies, machines, shattered armor plates, smoking craters where laser fire and explosives had collided. She talked about the Institute's internal pressure with scientists divided, some wanting to escalate, some wanting to withdraw, some blaming her for pushing too hard, others grateful for her decisive strategy.
She told him about the representative she'd chosen, a calm, level-headed synth who could negotiate without ego or bias. And she described the Brotherhood emissary: a grizzled paladin with a limp, armor dented and scorched, but still standing tall with that unmistakable Brotherhood pride.
"They stared at each other," Nora said, tracing the rim of her mug with her thumb. "Two soldiers from opposite worlds. Two enemies. And yet… neither wanted to keep throwing bodies into a grinder."
Sico nodded slowly. "War exhausts even the stubborn."
"Exactly." Nora leaned back, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "They agreed to a ceasefire. Limited communication allowed. No engagements unless provoked. Both sides pull back their front lines three miles. No artillery, no air support, no synth scouting, no knight patrols."
Sico raised a brow. "That's more strict than I expected."
Nora offered a humorless smile. "Strict is the only reason it'll work."
They fell quiet again, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. Sico watched the way Nora wrapped both hands around her coffee, grounding herself through the warmth. He recognized that look as he'd worn it himself after battles, after negotiations, after days when every decision felt like a choice between terrible options.
"You did the right thing," he said quietly.
She looked up, surprised.
"You gave them a chance to breathe," Sico continued. "Your people. Their people. Even if the war resumes later, today you saved lives."
Nora inhaled deeply, her expression softening. "I needed to hear that."
He sat across from her, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. "Nora, you carry too much alone. Let me shoulder some of it."
She gave him a tired smile that not romantic, not fragile, but grateful in a way that felt deeply human.
"You already do," she murmured. "More than you know."
Another long silence followed, filled only by the distant sounds of the HQ: footsteps in the hall, muffled voices, the occasional clang of metal from the workshop downstairs.
Finally, Nora straightened, setting her coffee down with a soft clink. "I'll brief my division later. Let them know the situation. But you needed to hear it first. You're my ally in this, Sico. And my friend."
The word lingered in the air with a bond forged through fire and war and trust.
Sico nodded. "Always."
Nora stood, stretching her stiff back, but then paused, her eyes drifting to a map pinned on the wall on the war front. Multiple red markers for Brotherhood positions. Blue markers for Institute activity. A dangerous, shifting line carved through the wasteland.
"A few months," she repeated quietly. "That's what the Brotherhood negotiator said. 'We'll hold the truce for a few months.' It wasn't a promise. It was a warning."
Sico's jaw tightened. "And you believe him."
She turned to him fully. "I do."
"And are you ready?" Sico asked.
Nora didn't hesitate.
"I will be," she said. "But I won't let the Institute stand alone. Not against the Brotherhood. Not against anyone."
Her meaning was clear.
She trusted him. Trusted the Freemasons. Trusted him.
And she was subtly asking if he would stand with her when the truce ended.
Sico stepped closer, the morning light catching the edges of his face, casting the two of them in a warm but serious glow. "Nora when that day comes, you call me. You call us. Sanctuary, the Freemasons, everything we're building. We won't abandon you."
Something softened in her eyes at those words that relief, yes, but also a deep, fierce respect.
She nodded once, firmly.
"Thank you."
Sico let Nora's quiet "Thank you" settle between them for a few seconds. It wasn't a dramatic moment, not loud or ceremonial, but something deeper as two leaders standing in the morning light, both of them tired, both of them bruised in their own ways, and both knowing that whatever came after this truce, they would not face it alone.
He breathed in slowly, steadying his thoughts before he spoke again.
"Nora," he asked gently, "how's the Institute handling things now? What's the situation down there?"
Nora blinked, as if the shift from battlefield politics to internal affairs required her mind to turn a corner. She took a slow breath, then lowered herself back into the chair, resting her arms on her knees. Her expression softened that not with ease, but with familiarity. These were the details she carried day and night.
"It's… complicated," she said, rubbing her palms together, warming them against the fading heat of her coffee cup. "But for the first time in weeks, I'm seeing people pull themselves together instead of falling apart."
Sico nodded encouragingly. "Tell me."
She lifted her gaze, gathering her thoughts before laying them out.
"Well, first Allie." A faint smile tugged at her tired face. "Allie Filmore has stepped up in ways I didn't expect. Facilities has been working around the clock, and she's been personally leading her team to improve the general quarters for all scientists."
Sico raised a brow, impressed. "Improve how?"
"Happiness," Nora said simply. "Morale. Comfort. All the things no one cared about before."
She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the armor plates shifting with a faint clink.
"You remember how the scientist quarters used to feel? Cold. Sterile. Barely anything but white walls and harsh lights. You live down there long enough, it starts eating at you. Makes you forget the world outside. Makes you forget you're human."
Sico knew exactly what she meant. The Institute was brilliant, powerful, technologically unmatched, but beneath all that gleaming elegance was something hollow. A constant, quiet pressure. Almost like living inside a machine that never stopped humming.
"But Allie…" Nora continued, her voice warming ever so slightly, "…she finally listened. I told her we can't ask people to work harder, think faster, innovate under pressure, if they don't even have a space where they can breathe."
"What did she do?"
"She had her team redo the residential floors," Nora said, and the pride in her voice surprised even her. "Improved lighting. More color. More personal storage. Lounges with proper comfort instead of plastic chairs and hollow tables. Even added quiet rooms for people who need time to decompress."
Sico smiled a little. "Didn't think Allie was the sentimental type."
"She's not," Nora agreed with a soft chuckle. "But she's practical. She figured out that stressed scientists don't produce good work. And right now, we need them more than ever. We need them building more synths. More infrastructure. More research. A motivated team is a productive team."
Sico nodded, absorbing the reasoning. It was smart. More importantly, it was humane and something the Institute had always lacked, until Nora began shaping it with her own touch.
"And the others?" Sico asked. "What about the rest of the Directorate?"
Nora's expression shifted again, this time toward something complicated. She hesitated before answering, not because she didn't know what to say, but because there were layers to unfold.
"Alan Binet," she said finally, exhaling softly, "he's stepped up too. More than I expected."
"Binet?" Sico's brows lifted. "Really?"
Nora nodded firmly. "Yes. He's taken over as the new Director of the Robotics Division."
Sico leaned back, genuinely surprised. "So Evan stepped aside?"
"No," Nora clarified gently. "I asked him to."
She let the weight of that statement settle, then elaborated.
"Evan Watson is brilliant, no one questions that. But he was trying to run two divisions at once, Advanced Systems and Robotics. And the strain was killing him. He wasn't sleeping. His work was suffering. His judgment was slipping."
Sico nodded slowly. "So you made the call."
"I had to," Nora said, her tone steady but edged with the difficulty of the memory. "I need Evan focused on Advanced Systems. That division alone can change the entire course of the war when it starts again. And Robotics… well, Binet understands synth design better than he understands people."
Sico smirked faintly. "Not hard for him."
"True," Nora admitted with a short breath of laughter. "But he's good at what he does. He's already organized his department, streamlined production, and reassigned some of the more… problematic researchers so they're not slowing the rest down."
"And he's handling the leadership well?"
"As well as he can," Nora answered honestly. "He's rigid, he's idealistic, he sees synthetics as something sacred. But in a strange way, that makes him committed. Reliable. And I need reliability right now."
Sico couldn't argue with that. In war or a temporary war, stability was worth its weight in gold.
"And Clayton?" Sico asked. "What's Holdren doing?"
At the mention of the BioScience director, Nora let out a long breath and rubbed her temple, though not in frustration and more like admiration mixed with fatigue.
"Clayton is…" she paused, searching for the right word. "…he's brilliant, Sico. And unpredictable. And reckless. But right now he's doing something that might actually change the entire Commonwealth."
Sico leaned forward, intrigued. "What is he working on?"
"Improving crop growth," Nora said. "Specifically on developing methods to help crops grow on radiation-soaked soil."
Sico's eyes widened. That wasn't just useful. That was revolutionary.
"How close is he?"
"Not close," Nora admitted, "but he's making progress. He's been genetically modifying seeds, adjusting nutrient profiles, testing soil samples from all over the Commonwealth. He's doing everything he can to create a variant that can survive in heavily irradiated environments."
"And if he succeeds," Sico murmured, thinking aloud, "the entire wasteland changes."
Nora nodded slowly. "Exactly. No more relying solely on purified dirt. No more dangerous scavenging missions for clean soil. No more starving settlements. If he cracks this, Sico… it won't just help the Institute. It'll help everyone."
Sico sat back, stunned for a moment. He had expected updates that tactical, logistical, maybe political but not this. Not sweeping changes that could reshape the world.
"And how's Clayton handling the… pressure?"
Nora sighed. "You know how he is. He treats research like his life depends on it. He barely sleeps. But he's hopeful. And for Clayton Holdren to feel hope? That's rare."
Silence settled again, deeper this time, as the full picture painted itself across Sico's mind with the Institute in motion, recovering, adapting. Not collapsing. Not breaking under the weight of war. But pivoting. Reorganizing. Surviving.
Nora watched him quietly, as though gauging his reaction.
"You asked how the Institute is doing," she said finally. "Well… they're standing. Barely. But standing."
Sico nodded slowly, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. "It sounds like you've got a lot on your shoulders."
Nora let out a dry laugh. "A lot is an understatement."
"And you're holding it all together," Sico said.
She shook her head gently. "No. We are holding it together. I'm just… nudging things where they need to be nudged."
Sico didn't argue. He knew better. Nora was the lynchpin p, the one holding the gears in place so the machine didn't tear itself apart.
He watched her for a moment longer, noticing details he hadn't before: the faint tremble in her fingers, the exhaustion hiding under her steady voice, the way her shoulders slumped slightly when she thought he wasn't looking.
"You need rest," Sico said.
Nora rolled her eyes with a tired smirk. "I'll sleep after I finish the next ten things on my list."
He chuckled softly. "You sound like Sarah."
"You sounded like a commander just now," she shot back with a tiny smirk.
They both quieted then, not in awkwardness, but in the kind of silence that only forms between two people who trust each other enough not to fill every moment with words.
another heartbeat, the morning sun spilling across the courtyard in a warm sheet of light. Nora leaned back slightly, rubbing her thumb along the edge of her empty coffee cup, her expression tired but steady, still every bit the survivor she had always been.
Sico watched her a moment longer, noticing the fading sharpness in her eyes, the way her stomach gave a small, involuntary twist beneath her armor. It wasn't loud, but it was enough.
He tilted his head, a small smile forming.
"Hey," he said gently, "you want to grab some food at the mess hall?"
Nora blinked once, as if the thought hadn't even existed in her mind until Sico spoke it aloud. Then her eyes widened just a fraction in delayed realization.
"Oh God," she murmured, a hand going to her stomach reflexively. "I haven't eaten since I woke up."
Sico laughed softly. "Yeah, I figured. You've been talking like someone running on fumes."
She exhaled, a tired but amused breath. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"Come on," Sico said as he stood, offering his hand out of habit, not because Nora needed help standing, but because it was Sico. Because that was who he was. "Let's get something real to eat. Before you pass out on my courtyard."
Nora rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway, letting him pull her gently to her feet.
They walked side by side, armor plates brushing faintly, boots pacing over cracked pavement and old Institute cobblestone reinforcements beneath. The settlement was alive in its usual morning rhythm as soldiers jogging across the training yard, engineers moving crates of supplies, Freemasons officers discussing patrol routes on the far side near the command building.
As Sico and Nora made their way down the path, a murmur began to ripple.
Heads lifted. Conversations paused. Soldiers straightened as they passed.
"Mr. President," a young recon scout saluted as she jogged by, face still flushed from drills.
"Ma'am," another soldier greeted Nora with a respectful nod, his eyes wide the way recruits always were around famous names.
Some bowed their heads. Some saluted. Others smiled, unsure whether to address Nora as "General," or simply "Nora." Ex-Minutemen who had followed her through hell and back knew who she was, what she had done, what she meant to them.
And Sico well, everyone recognized him instantly.
President of the Freemasons Republic.
The one who unified them.
The one who stood in front when it counted.
The one who turned the Minutemen's faltering legacy into something stronger, broader, and more dangerous to their enemies than anyone had expected.
A Republic built out of dust, hope, and sheer stubborn refusal to die.
Every group they passed snapped to attention with a kind of pride that pulsed through the yard like an invisible current.
Nora kept her expression neutral, but inside she felt a strange warmth around her chest. Respect was one thing. Trust was another. But loyalty as they didn't give that lightly. Not in the Commonwealth. Not after everything they'd survived.
Sico leaned slightly toward her, his voice low so only she could hear.
"You know," he said, "half of them still call you 'General' behind my back."
Nora snorted lightly. "Let them. Old habits die hard."
"They follow you," Sico continued, not teasing, but stating a truth. "Even after everything changed. Even after I reshaped the Minutemen into what we are now. A Republic instead of a militia."
Nora looked straight ahead, absorbing that with a quiet gravity. "You didn't reshape it," she said. "You saved it."
Sico shrugged with a modest tilt. "Maybe. But you gave it its spine."
Nora glanced at him, offering the smallest smile. "Well, now we're just making each other blush."
Sico laughed, loud enough to catch a few soldiers off guard. It wasn't often their president laughed so freely.
They turned the corner toward the mess hall, a long building refurbished from an old building, its metal siding dented but sturdy, patched with steel plates where years of storms and bullets had left their mark. The smell of food drifted from inside from eggs, brahmin steak, fresh bread from the settlement bakery receiving their early morning delivery.
Nora inhaled deeply and let her shoulders relax.
For the first time today, she felt her appetite wake fully.
Inside, the mess hall buzzed with noise from clattering trays, loud conversation, boots scraping against the old tile floor. The Freemasons Republic soldiers filled the space with a kind of chaotic discipline that organized enough to function, messy enough to remind everyone they were human.
When Sico and Nora stepped through the door, the atmosphere didn't go silent, but it shifted.
Faces turned.
Forks paused.
A few whispers fluttered across tables.
Nora didn't flinch. She'd lived through worse. But she felt the weight of it, this new life, this strange position where she was half-leader, half-outsider, half-legend, half-threat depending on who you asked.
Sico placed a hand lightly on her elbow. "Just follow me."
They walked toward the front of the line, not out of arrogance but because people stepped aside automatically, clearing a path. A few soldiers nodded respectfully as they approached.
A young cook behind the counter that a fresh-faced, couldn't have been older than twenty straightened so fast he nearly dropped the ladle in his hand.
"P-President Sico! Nora! Uh, welcome! What can I, what would you like today?"
Nora smiled gently, putting him at ease. "Relax. We don't bite."
The kid swallowed hard, ears turning pink. "Y-Yes, ma'am."
Sico grabbed a tray and slid it along the metal guides. "What's the special today?" he asked, already amused by the cook fumbling for composure.
"Uh, steak and eggs, sir. And… and mutfruit salad. And… uh… mirelurk cakes."
Nora made a face. "Who approved mirelurk cakes this early in the morning?"
Sico chuckled. "You haven't eaten in ten hours. Take what you can get."
She sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if I taste even one shell shard, I'm declaring war."
The poor cook almost fainted. "I, I swear it's clean! I removed every—"
Sico held up a hand, laughing. "She's joking."
"I'm half joking," Nora muttered.
They piled food onto their trays with steak, eggs, the questionable mirelurk cakes, and a generous handful of roasted tatos. Nora added an extra bread roll at the last second, telling herself she'd only eat half. She already knew she'd finish both.
They found an empty corner table by the window, one of the few spots with decent lighting and a view of the courtyard outside.
Nora sat heavily, her armor creaking before it settled around her. She inhaled the steam rising from her plate, feeling her stomach twist again with hunger.
Sico stabbed a piece of steak with his fork, took a bite, then nodded approvingly. "Cook's improving."
"He's terrified of us," Nora said, tearing a piece of bread with her fingers. "Fear does wonders for culinary motivation."
Sico grinned. "Maybe. But he's got heart. He's the one who volunteered to cook breakfast during the night shift. Says it calms him."
Nora raised a brow. "Cooking mirelurk? That calms him?"
"Hey," Sico said, shrugging, "we're all weird in our own way."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes as Nora wolfing down her first few bites like someone who genuinely hadn't tasted food since sunrise, Sico pacing himself with his usual discipline.
Nora paused mid-bite, swallowed, then leaned back in her chair.
"You know…" she murmured, wiping her mouth on a napkin, "…I forget what it's like to just sit somewhere like this. No alarms, no gunfire, no arguments, no emergencies."
Sico nodded. "We've been running nonstop for weeks. Everyone's stretched thin."
"You too," she said, giving him a pointed look.
He shrugged one shoulder, brushing off the implication the way he always did. "I'll rest when things settle down."
"That's what I said," Nora countered, "and you told me I'd pass out."
Sico paused, fork hovering mid-air.
His face twitched in a concessionary wince.
"…touché."
She smirked, satisfied.
He leaned back in his chair then, posture loosening the way it only did around a handful of people with Sarah, Preston, a few old allies, and now Nora. His eyes softened as he studied her.
"You're doing good work down there," he said.
Nora blinked. "At the Institute?"
"Everywhere," Sico clarified. "You're stabilizing an entire scientific civilization underground while coordinating with my command aboveground and planning for a war the Brotherhood is gearing up for. You think I don't see how much you're carrying?"
Nora looked down at her plate, expression tightening for a moment. Not out of pain or discomfort, but because the acknowledgment hit too close.
"Someone has to," she muttered.
"Doesn't have to be you alone," Sico said quietly.
She didn't answer right away. She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, feeling the slow warmth seep into her fingers, grounding her.
"Before all this," she said softly, "I used to think being strong meant doing everything myself. That if I didn't carry it, nobody would."
"And now?" Sico asked.
She looked up, meeting his eyes.
"Now," she said, "I think strength is knowing who you can trust not to drop what you hand them."
Sico didn't look away. "Then trust me."
Nora held his gaze for a long moment that long enough for the noise of the mess hall to fade into a distant hum, long enough for the early morning light through the window to warm her shoulders, long enough to feel the truth of what he was saying settle into her chest.
"I do," she said.
And she meant it.
Another bite of steak, and Nora finally let herself lean back in the chair fully, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction. The quiet hum of the mess hall, the distant clatter of trays and boots, and the warm sun spilling through the high windows made it feel, for a moment, like the world beyond could wait.
Sico reached across the table and, almost instinctively, rested a hand on hers, not in any overtly intimate way, but in the steady, grounding way of someone who knew the other carried too much weight. He kept his voice low, quiet enough so only she could hear.
"How's your son, Nora?" he asked gently, the question careful, probing, but not prying.
Nora froze for a heartbeat, the question piercing a quiet corner of her heart she rarely allowed anyone to touch. Her thumb traced the rim of her coffee cup, a small, unconscious attempt to find some comfort.
"S-Shaun?" she said softly, a shadow passing over her face. Then she tilted her head, a faint edge of humor threading through the tension. "Which one? The Synth little Shaun? Or… the real Shaun?"
Sico's brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before resolve took hold. "The real Shaun," he said quietly, "of course. How is he?"
Nora's lips pressed together, the usual commander's armor of stoicism tightening just a little. She let out a long breath, letting it carry the weight of her answer. "Still alive," she said finally. "In cryo, as you know… to stop his cancer from spreading." Her voice was steady, but there was an undertone of anguish and resignation. "Clayton… he's still trying. Still doing everything he can to find a cure."
Sico nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of that statement. He swallowed hard, the quiet ache in his chest echoing for a moment as he considered what she must feel, carrying the life of her son like a fragile flame in the midst of a storm.
"I can't imagine how hard that is," he murmured softly.
Nora's gaze dropped to her plate, picking at the bread absentmindedly. "It's… every day," she said. "Every day I wake up and wonder if the next will bring progress or disappointment. And yet… I can't stop fighting. I won't." Her voice strengthened as she spoke, the raw edge of a mother's determination cutting through the fatigue.
Sico leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable but full of understanding. "You've carried worlds on your shoulders before. A Republic. The Institute. Lives. Now… this too. And you've never let go. Not once."
Nora allowed herself a faint, tired smile. It wasn't cheerful. It wasn't light. But it was human. "Someone has to, right?" she whispered.
"Yes," Sico said quietly, almost to himself. Then, louder, he added, "And you're not alone in it. Not while I'm here. Not while the Freemasons are here. You've built networks, alliances, people who care… who fight. Shaun's not alone, Nora. You're not alone."
For a long moment, they sat in silence, letting the words hang between them. Steam rose lazily from their coffee cups, the mess hall buzzed with distant life, and yet in that corner, there was stillness, a fragile sanctuary carved out of the chaos.
Nora took another slow breath, letting herself rest in that small pocket of calm. Then, almost reluctantly, she straightened, the weight of duty tugging her back into motion.
"I… I have to go back to the Institute," she said softly, the words careful, as if each one carried the weight of an unspoken apology.
Sico nodded, his expression softening with understanding. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "Take care, Nora. And… keep me updated."
She gave him a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the trust and bond between them. "I will," she said.
They both rose from the table, Sico moving to stand beside her, his presence steady and grounding. The mess hall continued its rhythm around them, soldiers talking, trays clattering, the mundane hum of life moving forward. But for Nora, it was a reminder of what she had left behind in the world above ground—the people who depended on her, the lives that needed her guidance, and the fragile threads of peace she had begun to weave between the Institute and the Freemasons.
Together, they walked out of the mess hall, stepping into the narrow alley behind the building. The morning sun reflected off the metal siding of the buildings, warm light cutting through the shadows of the alley. Nora paused, her hand instinctively brushing over the edge of her armor, the hum of energy faintly rising around her fingertips.
Sico stepped close, watching her carefully. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.
Nora turned her gaze toward him, her eyes steady and resolute despite the exhaustion etched across her features. "Yes," she said. "I have to get back. The Institute won't manage itself."
Sico gave a small nod. "Good. And… remember—if anything changes, if you need anything, you call. You call me, you call the Freemasons. We won't hesitate. Not for Shaun, not for anyone else."
Her lips curved in a fleeting, grateful smile. "I know."
There was a brief pause, a quiet weight settling between them. Sico could see the determination harden in her posture, the same unwavering resolve that had led her through countless battles. He wanted to say more, to offer words of comfort or reassurance, but he knew better. Sometimes presence alone, a promise silently kept, was enough.
Nora took a small step back from him, her boots scraping lightly against the gravel of the alley. She raised her hand, fingers spreading, and activated the teleporter. The familiar shimmer of light and static began to coalesce around her, swirling upward in a column of pale blue and white.
Sico watched silently, not moving, his eyes tracking the rising particles, feeling the subtle tug in the air as the teleporter activated. The shimmer grew brighter, surrounding her form, twisting and folding the light in ways that made the world seem smaller, fragile, and beautiful all at once.
"You… take care, Sico," she said, her voice carrying across the column of light. "And… thank you—for everything."
Sico's jaw tightened just slightly, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. "You too, Nora," he replied. "See you soon."
The light around her intensified for a heartbeat, swirling with the soundless hum of energy. Then, with a soft, almost musical pop, the particles condensed, twisted, and she was gone.
The alley was quiet once again, the sunlightd falling in sharp lines across the walls. Sico stood there a moment longer, the faint warmth of her presence lingering, an invisible weight that reminded him of the battles ahead, the delicate truce, and the lives hanging in the balance.
________________________________________________
• 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:-