Contractions

by Vvheelthewriter

Nine months after mending their broken friendship and three months after he leaves for the Commonwealth, The Lone Wanderer finds out she's pregnant with the newest of the Maxson lineage. Depending on who you asked, her Luck score was either ten or zero.

She would have liked to say that she watched Maxson grow up, she watched him become the fearless leader he was, but that wasn't necessarily true. Though they considered each other friends since she stumbled upon him in the Citadel nine years ago, her status in the Brotherhood was shaky at best. Owyn Lyons passed peacefully in his sleep two years after she helped destroy Adams Air Force Base. Sarah's takeover of the faction was swift and clean, something she was born to do much like Maxson.

As much as Scout loved Sarah, her rise to Elder was the beginning of the end of Maxson's innocence. While keeping some of her father's policies, Sarah Lyons saw the weaknesses in them and fortified them by taking on a brutal ruling. That included intensive training for Maxson and placing him on missions.

Scout left soon after Owyn's funeral for a mission in Pittsburgh that she largely kept secret from the Brotherhood. She didn't end up returning until a year later and she'd heard that Maxson had killed a deathclaw and was in intensive care. Soldiers in the Citadel whispered in hushed tones about the incident, where most of his team had either been killed or hesitated long enough to put the boy in danger.

He wanted Sarah to comfort him, but she must have been enough, because the fourteen-year-old leaned on her shoulder with his half-bandaged face and tried not to cry as she distracted him with stories about The Pitt. Sarah came in to see Scout there, happy to see her friend for the first time in a while, but unhappy that Scout was still unwilling to take on a proper role in the Brotherhood.

Scout and Sarah had taken down a behemoth together, attacked the Enclave together, and nearly died together at the Purifier. They were sisters in combat and friends, but her loyalty to the Brotherhood and her status as Elder made them disagree on much. Scout ended up being the only member in the chapter's history to refuse a promotion, only heightening tensions.

She left again for Pittsburgh while Sarah was busy with her advisors on a plan for facing a super mutant named The Shepherd.

She never found out how Sarah died. She never asked. When she came back another year later, finally finished with her work in turning the Pitt into a proper stronghold, Maxson was an entirely different person. He was angry and surrounded by yes men who pressured him into avenging the former Elder. Still Sentinel at the time, he wasn't promoted until he nearly died taking the super mutant leader and his entire group down. The mission would go down in history as a victory for the Brotherhood and a high point for the Maxson dynasty, but Scout remembered the look in his eyes when he came back in bloody power armor.

He'd physically and emotionally resented any help she wanted to provide. She hated what the rigorous training, harrowing missions, and nagging advisors did to his mental wellbeing. She saw how he didn't recognize himself and she saw how he looked dead inside when they promoted him as the youngest Elder in Brotherhood history at sixteen. He was a paragon, and he was a stranger. He wasn't the sweet boy she would visit and chat with about books. The fight they'd had when she told him he'd changed kept them apart for nearly four years.

She didn't know what to expect when she returned to the Citadel. She'd mostly been flitting about the Capital Wasteland. Her time in Pittsburgh was long finished and she wanted to improve things in her homeland without military assistance. Additionally, she'd just reignited her relationship with her ex-husband Butch as he'd grown into a man himself. Her work with Moira and her relationship kept her going back and forth between Megaton and Rivet City.

Under Moira's insistence, she was back in the Citadel to ask for a history lesson. The thought annoyed her, but Moira really wanted the faction's backstory for her new book and Scout could barely remember the details Owyn had told her when she'd first joined nine years ago. Scout was shocked to see so many new and young faces in the ranks. News of her presence quickly spread through the Citadel and she was overwhelmed with questioning scribes and saluting initiates. So many were shocked when she informed them that she was in fact still a Knight and not a Paladin.

She was introduced to Knight-Captain Cade, a doctor from the west and a fan of her father's, who led her around the improved facilities towards where the scribes were situated. Proctor Quinlan turned his nose up at her request for historical documentation and insisted they ask the Elder personally before he would share anything to outsiders. She supposed she deserved that.

Shrugging, the kind doctor Cade chatted with her outside the Great Hall. He was apparently a childhood friend of Maxson's deceased mother and traveled to the east a few years ago to reconnect with his friend's son. Scout wondered what kind of impact he had on Maxson until the man himself had exited the meeting room.

He recognized her instantly, eyebrows raised in surprise. For her part, if it weren't for those piercing blue eyes and the scar gown up his cheek and across his eyebrow, she wouldn't have recognized him at all. She blinked owlishly as he approached, nodding to Cade in acknowledgement before crossing his arms. His gaze was not unkind, despite the fact that they parted on bad terms. His face gave away no emotion, "Knight Carver, what brings you to us?"

When she finally found her tongue, she managed a lame reply, "A friend of mine is writing a manual for the wasteland and wanted some Brotherhood history so more people would know."

He raised an eyebrow, "Proctor Quinlan didn't think you were privy to that information?"

Thinking of the stuffy man, she frowned, "I don't think he even considers me a member."

"I wouldn't blame him, considering your absence," he neutral face gave away to something grim now, but he motioned for them to follow him into the Great Hall. Cade quietly stood by until Maxson asked him to tell Proctor Quinlan that Scout had his full permission. He was gathering paperwork off the Great Hall's large table while she awkwardly stood by. She didn't know what to do with herself until he stopped, arms filled with paperwork, and asked if she would join him for a drink. She blinked stupidly again, nodding without word before following him down the hall.

He'd moved into a large office fit for the Elder, with an area off to the side that served as a place for meetings. They sat at the table together while she admired the view through the glass window, curtains pulled to the side. He placed a bottle of bourbon on the table, handing her a glass that she lightly sipped from while he began sorting the paperwork.

After a moment of silence, she spoke up, "We didn't part on a good note."

"Straight to the point," he put the paperwork to the side, focusing on her now, "No, we did not. I'd like to amend that."

She set down the glass, "There's nothing you need to-"

"I know, but it's been years and I don't have many friends. I'd like to make amends before I leave."

Her eyes widened, "You're leaving?"

"In a few months' time. There have been disturbing reports from the Commonwealth in the north of synths and Institute activity. We've had promising evidence that gives us a start on establishing a foothold and ending the Institute for good."

She was familiar with the Institute, though she didn't know what kind of threat they were. She knew they created synthetic beings, had even met one of their cronies, but her familiarity with them ended there. She watched as Maxson stood to put the paperwork on a shelf, pulling out a folded up blueprint, "What's that?"

He turned to her, blueprint in his gloved hands, "Can I trust you, Scout?"

Instead of immediately answering, she stood from her chair and approached him. His face was a blank slate, watching her questioningly. She took the time to appraise him. He looked far beyond his years, from stress and battle likely. He was taller and much, much broader than her. His jacket would be almost too flashy for him, but it made him stand out as a leader. She knew the fingerless gloves he wore were hiding the scars on his hands from defending against the deathclaw. The knowledge was sad, but it made her smile. And instead of pushing her away like he did years ago, he was being kind to her. He'd grown up and matured, but he was still Arthur. So instead of replying directly, she approached close and enveloped him in a hug.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck and the closeness was almost inappropriate for near-strangers, but she smiled into his shoulder. She felt him take an unsteady breath before his large arms wrapped around her back. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, "I don't have many friends either, Arthur."

He let out a sigh at that, nodding silently. When the long overdue reunion was over, they sat at the table again with their bourbon while he showed her the blueprints for the Prydwen, already begun by the Enclave at Adams and nearly finished by the Brotherhood after six years. She grinned at the name's reference to King Arthur and he rolled his eyes when she teased him.

Following the short meeting and a tense conversation with Proctor Quinlan, she left with a packet of information and arrived at Megaton to a very pleased Moira. Since then, over the next six months, she'd found every excuse possible to stop by the Citadel again, using it as another spot to trade or a place to sleep during her travels. Each time, if he wasn't busy, she'd end up drinking with Maxson.

When it wasn't just the two of them, he was a force to be reckoned with. She'd seen him reduce a Paladin to a quaking mess without even raising his voice. And when he did raise his voice, nobody moved a muscle until they were dismissed. He ran the Citadel like a tight battleship. Everyone and everything had a place and a schedule. It was a testament to the training given to him by Sarah that people both feared and loved him.

He only seemed to relax around her and Cade, when the doctor wasn't busy. He also considered Proctor Ingram a friend, but the woman was working on the Prydwen at Adams and didn't stop by very often. Tonight, a month after meeting up again, Scout and Maxson were sharing dinner in his office overlooking the courtyard while she watched initiates train under the setting sun. He had a document in hand as he ate, barely touching his food. She looked at him, eyebrows raised, "You're going to burn a hole in that with your glare."

He frowned, "I'm just focusing. I set aside certain evenings to catch up on paperwork."

She grinned sheepishly, finishing the last of her food, "Sorry, I was going to spend this week with Butch but...things aren't working out again." She felt him looking at her while she began to glare at the table.

After a quiet moment, he set the paperwork down and stood from the table, "Come with me."

She raised an eyebrow, but followed him as he led her down the hallway. Brotherhood soldiers still weren't used to seeing someone accompanying the Elder, or his grin when he spoke with her. His shoulders were relaxed, even though she looked confused at where they were going. They headed outside, to the now empty courtyard, and climbed another, newer set of stairs up to a ledge overlooking the place. From there, they sat, gazing out across the Citadel. He lit a gas lamp placed on the ledge, "I didn't know this was up here."

"I come up here sometimes when I want to see the view you get to see when you're out in the wastes."

She was stunned at his words, heart racing slightly for reasons she couldn't put to words. She wrapped her arms around her knees, still looking up while feeling his eyes on her, "I only ever get a view like this on the deck of Rivet City."

"That's where he is, isn't it?" Shiloh could tell from his tone that he wasn't a fan of Butch. Likely, because much of her misery was due to her rocky relationship with the greaser. The second he followed her out of Vault 101, their passionate hate for each other changed into a passionate need to get each other's clothes off. They relied on each other too much and fought constantly. Marriage, what semblance of it existed in the wasteland, was something that just happened one day until years later she finally grew tired of the fighting and called it off. Butch stopped traveling with her and settled in Rivet City soon after to start his gang and his barber shop. But the ill-tempered greaser never quite could get her out from under his skin and he constantly pursued her when he saw her. Since then, over the past few years, they'd spent time together and apart, not quite sure if the relationship was healthy for either of them. In truth, the idea of Butch made her miserable except for that one small part of her that craved for someone in the wastes to love her. Except for Butch, everyone who'd ever loved her was dead.

"Yes," she sighed, "I won't bore you with the gory details, don't worry."

She saw him shrug, "If it makes you feel better, you can tell me."

Suddenly grinning, she bumped his shoulder with hers, "I haven't let him touch me in three months. That'll teach him."

He cleared his throat and squirmed uncomfortably, the exact reaction she was going for, "Er, right."

She laughed, for the first time in a while, truly laughed. He was still glaring at the lamp when he leaned over and kissed his cheek, right near his scar, "You're too kind, Maxson."

He squirmed again, nodding but not looking at her. She stood up and brushed off her pants, waiting for him to follow before they descended. That evening, her mood was light as she drank wine and watched him grumpily sort through paperwork. She even helped him out with the non-secretive stuff. He'd grumble and complain during reports on less than dedicated soldiers and she'd calm him down before he worked himself up enough to go find said soldier personally.

She found herself wanting to grip his hand to calm him, see if it would work better than her words. She gripped her wine glass tighter instead. She was simply touch-starved and Maxson was a good friend. He was someone safe and reliable, despite his temper and despite that he was so young. She wished she could take him to the wastes with her. He didn't get to be Elder by name alone; he was a capable fighter and his talents were wasted behind the walls of the Citadel.

His mood seemed to sour the closer they got to his departure. She wasn't in the best of moods herself, having just called it off with Butch again. One of his Tunnel Snakes spotted her in Megaton and harassed her about breaking his boss's heart before he received a swift punch in the mouth. Moriarty laughed until he wheezed at the sight in his bar and Nova had to hold a rag to the poor gangster's bleeding lip.

She'd gone straight to the Citadel instead of her planned route to Big Town. Aside from the whole Butch problem, she was in a bad mood because she couldn't find MacCready. The sniper had settled in Big Town again after a few years, muttering something about working to earn money for his sick boy, but he was nowhere to be found. Recently she'd found out he'd left Duncan in Rivet City with Princess and her husband and took a caravan north, looking for something he was afraid to name. The loss of her friend and sometimes traveling companion only dampened her mood.

A few miles left to go and already catching sight of the ruined skyscrapers of the Capital, she jolted in surprise when she was jumped by a pack of raiders. Acting much like wild dogs, they circled her with hungry looks. She wasn't sure if they were after her possessions or her, maybe both. She shuddered in disgust. Raiders were normally easy to handle, but these guys were either recently moved-in mercenaries or raiders from the north. They wore unfamiliar clothing and everyone tough she'd encountered in the wastes had either come from the north or the Pitt.

One raider approached, a tire iron in hand, "Ain't gonna hurt ya, just hand over your weapons."

"Right," she glowered, not believing them for a second, "but I'm going to hurt you." A second before ducking into cover, she unholstered her pistol and shot him in the kneecap. His screams distracted the other two and gave her time to pull out her laser rifle. She cursed after downing two of them with laser shots, unable to see where the third one went.

Moving slowly out of her cover, she flinched back when the third one came out swinging, holding another tire iron. He caught her in the arm, bruising but not breaking anything because she was able to deflect most of the blow. Grabbing the iron from his hands, she swung as hard as she could, cracking him across the head. Since he wanted to get so personal and she was unwilling to waste anymore ammo, she quickly unsheathed her knife and plunged it into his neck. With how he struggled and clawed at her, the knife sliced a portion of his neck open and she was soaked in his blood.

She groaned in disgust when the man finally died and collapsed onto the road. Grimacing at her wet and sticky clothes, she continued her trek across the city. Since the day was overcast, the sun didn't dry the blood on her and she was still covered in bright red when she reached the gates of the Citadel. The sentry bot next to the guards rattled and jolted in defense at the her presence. The power armored soldiers readied their weapons and called out to her, "Identify yourself!"

"It's Scout," she scoffed, still holding up her hands in surrender.

Their eyes widened and they lowered their weapons, "You're hardly recognizable."

"That would be all the blood. Can I come in or not?" Despite her rudeness, the soldiers were familiar with her friendship with Maxson and did nothing to stop her as she entered the tunnel past the gates. She could hear a guard use his crackling radio behind her and wasn't surprised to see Cade running across the courtyard towards her. Before he could ask, she cut him off, "It's not mine."

The doctor relaxed his shoulders, "We should examine you anyways, just in case."

She shrugged, "If you're sure, but I'm fine, really."

"Even mentally? That looks to be a traumatic fight."

She shook her head, completely find despite the gruesome way she'd killed the raider, "Someday I'll tell you about Pittsburgh. Nothing beats the things I saw there."

Cade nodded quietly, though he looked concerned. She knew Cade was a psychiatrist as well as a doctor. He served as a mental crutch as well as physical and he was worried about her. But he couldn't ever understand what it was like to try to survive out in the wastes and the kind of battering the human mind could take to survive.

He examined her, giving her a thorough check up. She'd insisted on showering first, but Cade didn't seem to mind. He simply gave her a change of clothes and she wore a clean white shirt and pants that contrasted with her bloody hair, face, and hands.

The blood was dried brown and crusty by the time Cade was finished and he asked her to follow along for her report to Maxson. The sun was setting, but the Elder was apparently catching up on much-needed sleep. To her surprise, Maxson's bedroom wasn't far from his office. She'd assumed he'd take the Elder's Quarters that Sarah and Owyn had previously occupied. It seems that wasn't the case, as he'd opted for a smaller room with a private bathroom that was build for a higher officer instead of the traditional quarters. She supposed the Elder's Quarters remained untouched from the Sarah days.

Maxson answered Cade's knock in normal clothes, though without the jacket and looking ruffled from sleep. The sight warmed her, something that confused her and made her want to flee. She wasn't comfortable with the sort of affection she felt for Maxson, feeling wrong for liking a much younger man. The thought was hypocritical, considering she'd had relations with a man sixteen years older than her during a long separation from Butch.

He was handsome, though, and the sight of him blinking sleep away gave her intimate feelings. She tried to not let any of this cross her face, knowing Cade was very observant. He handed Maxson some paperwork with a grin, not bashful at all about waking the Elder, "Elder Maxson, I wanted to update you personally on the personnel incident that occured while you were sleeping."

Without a word, he motioned for them to come in. The room was more intimate than she'd expected. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with various texts and documents. The bed was disheveled from being slept in and a couch was placed by the curtained window. Next to the couch was a table and chairs, covered in paperwork, playing cards, and bourbon with accompanying glasses. She'd never been in here before, spending most of her time with him in his office. Unlike there, a slight smell of cigarettes filled the room. The setting was so personal it almost choked her.

Maxson turned on a lamp, brightening the room considerably, "What personnel incident?" He raised his brows when he got a good look at Scout, noticing the dried blood all over her. Despite his apparent alarm, he kept a calm tone.

Cade nodded towards Scout, "Our knight here was attacked by a group of northern raiders a few miles outside the Citadel. No injuries; I've already examined her. However since she arrived to the Citadel in a state that caused some alarm, I thought it would be proper to report to you."

Maxson sighed, still looking exhausted, "I appreciate the report, Knight-Captain."

"I also figured you might want to speak to the knight for yourself, considering our soon departure," something in Cade's tone was teasing, something barely there but just there enough to received a glare from Maxson. The glare did nothing to faze Cade, as he shrugged casually, "I'll make my leave, apologies for waking you, Elder Maxson." He nodded politely to Scout before exiting the room.

Maxson glared at the door as it closed behind Cade, but softened his look when he saw her, "You were attacked?"

She rolled her shoulders, brushing off the concern, "It was barely an attack. Wouldn't have even been a concern if the last one hadn't bled all over me."

"You don't seem very affected by the incident."

"I'm not," she answered honestly. She hadn't given him details of Pittsburgh, unsure how much she could trust the Elder of the Brotherhood with knowledge that there was a slave settlement out there with incredible resources and weak defences. Unfair to Maxson, maybe, cruel maybe, but she couldn't risk what she'd spent years building.

He approached her, seemingly unbothered by the metallic smell of the blood on her, "You don't need to be tough here."

She blinked in surprise, taken back by his words and how intimately he spoke them, "It's- I'm not-"

"Have a drink with me," he motioned for her to sit at the couch and she complied. Her clothes were clean and no part of her that was bloody touched the couch's red velvet. He handed her a glass of bourbon and she drank deeply from it. Her nerves were fried, but not from the attack. Drinking in his bedroom felt like being backed into a corner.

He didn't reach out to touch her, but she saw in his eyes that he wanted to. She could barely read him at times, only recognizing a mysterious softness he had for her and the dark thoughts he held towards Butch. She supposed Maxson was simply a loyal friend, though she tried not to think about how she never saw those looks from MacCready or Moira.

He continued drinking with her in silence, allowing herself to pour another until the bourbon began to affect her. She swayed, not drunk but certainly feeling the effects of chugging alcohol like it was water. He wasn't feeding her the drinks like some sloppy bar patron would have, but he didn't bother monitoring her intake. He knew she was capable of handling herself.

Unable to stand the silence, she broke into the story of how she punched the lights off of one of Butch's subordinates in Megaton. Maxson seemed amused by the concept, a sight to see as the solemn Elder was rarely ever amused. Truthfully, the man always looked tired and miserable. A pang of pity ached in her chest until his voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Are you considering going back to Rivet City?"

She knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if she was going back to Butch. Again. She shrugged her shoulders, unable to give him a straight answer, "I don't know. I suppose I should talk to him. He must be really broken up if one of his gangsters was bold enough to tell me about it."

One word to describe Maxson was blunt. And after months of friendship he didn't shy away from expressing his thoughts, "You seem to have a hard time letting go of each other."

She wasn't offended. She knew Maxson was young and inexperienced in relationships. He couldn't possibly understand, "It's hard to find someone who loves you in the wastes. When you find someone who invokes those feelings in you, letting go is impossible."

"Are you still in love with him?"

She was stunned to find that she didn't have a straight answer for that either, "I don't know."

"Then why go back?" He was clearly confused and frustrated, though he remained polite.

Scout played with a string coming off the arm of the couch, setting down her bourbon glass on a table, "Because he loves me. And…" she reddened slightly, "it's hard to keep going when everyone else who loved you is gone." He didn't miss the forlorn tone in her voice.

He was young when her father died and it happened before they'd met, but he didn't miss the haunted look she had whenever she spoke of him. That man loved her from the moment she was born and died to save her. He put the bourbon away, "You can use my shower if you want. That blood has to come off of you sometime, soldier."

She was grateful for the offer, knowing it was likely the time of night that the common showers were occupied primarily by men, "Thank you, Arthur." He quieted at her use of his name before she realized her gaff. Turning away in embarrassment, she entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Inside the shower, she had to quiet both a pleased groan at the warm water and an embarrassed groan at her calling him by his first name. Her arm was forming a slight bruise from the crowbar hit, but she came out of the fight mostly unscathed. The blood from her hair and skin ran brown and red down the shower drain. She tried not to think about how she was using his soap, the kind he would smell like if she were to bury his face in his neck.

She practically fled the shower from those thoughts. Wrapping a towel around her, she fidgeted with her clothing before gathering the courage to speak to Maxson through the door: "Maxson? Could you get a stimpak from my bag? It's on the floor."

She heard no reply and was busy wringing out her hair and judging her own solemn reflection in the mirror when she heard a light knock on the door. Tightening the towel around her, she opened it slightly. When she saw Maxson standing there, stimpak in hand, she opened it wider.

For a moment they just stared at each other, neither of them willing to so much as breathe to break the silence. Suddenly bold, she took a step back, allowing him to enter and place the stimpak on the sink next to her clothes.

Instead of immediately leaving, he stared down at the sink in silence. Heart hammering in her chest, she watched as he stood in thought. He looked up, piercing blue eyes watching her in the mirror's reflection.

Quietly, he turned and, instead of leaving like she expected, approached her. She didn't realize her step back until she nearly hit the wall. Her fingers were clinging to her towel so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Maxson had never looked at her like this before. Like a man starving. He was practically yearning and the idea had her clenching her thighs. Close enough now, he gently reached out and his fingers touched her hair until he reached her neck. With only light pressure, she took a step forward until they were close enough to breathe each others air. His words were low, but laced with some kind of emotion she couldn't identify, "I don't want you to go back to your ex husband."

He approached her personal space, mouth hovering near hers. He was asking for permission now. Thickly swallowing, she nodded slightly, eyes glancing from his eyes to his lips.

With a renewed vigor, he pressed his lips on her, deepening almost immediately and devouring her. She gasped at the roughness, not having expected it but not complaining. She didn't know if he was more experienced than she knew or if he was just a natural. She didn't take the time to ask as her mind was occupied by nothing but raw need.

Opening her mouth to allow him to explore, she stood on the balls of her feet and wrapped her arms around his neck. The action pulled him closer and he pressed her to the wall. She moaned at the cool feeling on her back and the feeling of his warm hands on her hips.

They were full on making out in his bathroom now, unable to break apart for barely more than a second to breathe. They were addicted to each other and she wanted to feel ashamed but couldn't find the need to bother. Her ex husband was far from her mind currently.

His hands ran down her hips to the sides of her thighs, exploring her legs until one began stroking at her stomach. She could have stopped him there, asked him to slow down, but she wasn't interested in slowing down. She wanted the Elder to touch her skin.

The towel began loosening around her body and she squeaked when he broke the kiss from her lips to begin kissing down her neck to her collarbone. His nipping and sucking would have her marked up for days and the primal thought made her wetter. She loosened her hold on his neck, running her hands on his strong arms instead. She gripped his bicep when the hand stroking her stomach moved lower to the pelvis.

He kissed up her neck again, hovering right by her ear, "Do you want me to touch you?" It was his voice but an octave deeper. She shuddered. He commanded an army with this voice.

"Yes," she managed to whimper out, feeling far from dominant in this exchange.

He played with the edge of her towel, trailing his fingers under the hem until finally his fingertips greeted her warmth. With a breath, he pressed them harder, feeling how wet she was for him.

He groaned into her ear, a sound that could have made her come alone. She inhaled sharply, nearly shaking with tension. It was unfair that he was fully dressed when she was already nearly naked.

After some prompting, he quickly pulled back to remove his shirt before continuing his work. It gave her the opportunity to admire his chest. Dark hair covered him and trailed down into his pants. His dog tags jingled when he moved. He was in incredible shape, toned and muscled with a few scars littering him from his battle days. It was hard to look at him and see him as young. He was as weathered as her.

His fingers stroked her as she admired him. She moaned, wiggling her hips for more friction and she realized he was keeping it from her. Frustrated, she pouted, "Arthur, please, don't tease me…" It was meant to be an order but came out as a whine.

He kissed her jaw, his beard rough and pleasant against her skin, "Only if you come screaming my name."

Before she could come up with a reply, he easily slipped two fingers into her. She bucked slightly, only stopped by his free hand on her hip. She dug her nails into his biceps again, whimpering as he worked. She nearly cried when he pulled them out, feeling her orgasm pull away like a tide.

He played with her towel, silently asking to remove it. She nodded again and he gently peeled the fabric away. The gesture felt incredibly intimate for a rendezvous against a bathroom wall. The towel dropped to the floor and she tried not to shy away from his hungry gaze. Leaning forward, he kissed her collarbone, heading south.

Each place he kissed caused her to blush there and she was positively glowing by the time he was on his knees. He'd spent only a short amount of time on her nipples, so she absently played with them while he focused on her mons.

His hands were on her hips, thumbs running against the bones, "I've wanted to do this from the moment I saw you again."

She reddened, surprised. He'd been wanting this since they reunited? Suddenly the looks were starting to make sense, but she hadn't dreamed that he would share the affection she had towards him.

Not waiting for an answer, he kissed her thighs and continued a slow trek until his breath was fanning her sex. She glanced up, by chance noticing that the mirror was across from her.

In her reflection, she felt bliss at the sight of a man on his knees in front of her. The thoughts would embarrass her later, but now they elated her. The looked down at him again, their gazes meeting. He seemed to notice the mirror as well, "You're beautiful, Knight. You deserve to have a man make you feel that way."

She was shocked to silence until he kissed her clit, tongue lapping at her nether lips. She squeaked in surprise at the immense pleasure already building up again.

The feeling coiled up and down her spine as Maxson licked her. His beard added a delicious friction and he gripped the muscles of her thighs like a vice. Propping one of her legs over his shoulder, he watched as licking her and fucking her with his tongue caused her to arch her back.

Once his fingers entered her again, she let out a wanton moan, gripping her own hair so she didn't risk pulling his. She bucked her hips slightly as his tongue and fingers brought her to an orgasm so hard she had to fight not to scream his name. Instead she moaned it over and over until the tightness waned and he stood again to wash his face. He licked her essence off his fingers as she flushed and wrapped the towel around her again.

She noticed the hardness in his pants as he drank from a bottle of purified water. Following her line of sight, he shrugged one shoulder, "No need, soldier."

For not entirely selfless reasons, she wasn't letting him get away that easily. She approached him with a purpose, sitting on the counter by the sink and pulling him towards her between her legs. He provided no resistance.

Tugging him by his dog tags, she kissed him again, tasting the wetness of the water with her own come faintly in the mix. She was still soaking from her previous orgasm and his saliva on her thighs. He leaned to kiss her at a better angle and didn't stop until her fingers messed with his zipper, "Really, you don't have to-"

"I've wanted this since we reunited," she breathed his own words back at him. He looked as surprised as she'd been.

"Your ex husband…"

"I didn't think this was an option."

"It's always been an option," his tone was strong and serious, like he was giving out an order. She tried to think that he was talking about sex and not...something else. Her head swam at the idea that this was deeper than physical. She was too scared to even pursue the thought.

He wove his fingers in her hair, kissing her deeply as she fully unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He hadn't been wearing the gloves since she and Cade had woken him. He was less insecure about his hand scars around them. He pulled her off the counter, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bed. She sat on it as he removed the towel again. He then slipped off his pants, dragging his lips across her breasts, "I want to taste you again."

"I want you inside me," if he was going to be bold, she could be too. Her words caused him to fist the sheets. He kissed her again as he removed his briefs and freed himself. She didn't get a good look, but hardly cared once he began rubbing the head of his cock against her lips. He coated himself in her wetness before slipping the tip in. She gripped his biceps, trying to stay relaxed so the process would be easier for them both.

Cutting off Butch for three months had an effect on her as well. She wasn't used to the sensation as he filled her, pushing in slowly and pulling out completely before plunging again. Once he was fully inside her, he stayed there. They were both sweating by this point, staring at each other.

She felt his hands shaking slightly and wove it in hers, kissing one of his scars in reassurance. He leaned down, hair disheveled slightly, and kissed her jaw. Taking a deep breath, he pulled back and thrust into her.

Her reply was an immediate groan of pleasure. It was so raw and primal that she saw stars. A few more thrusts and she was already coming again. But he didn't stop, reveling in how tight her orgasm made her. She arched her back as he sped up, gripping her hips.

Soon there were no sounds but the slapping on their bodies and her gasps. But she wanted even more, craving the strength she knew he had. She asked him to be rougher and his immediate response was to flip her over and thrust into her from behind. She let out a full shriek at the new angle, "Oh fuck, yes, yes, yes."

One of his hands played with her clit as the other gripped her ass. She pressed her face into the mattress, screaming from another orgasm. "You like that?" He happily complied with her begging and thrust harder until he was pounding her. Her legs were shaking and she could feel his thighs tightening. He was close.

A third and final orgasm shook her, causing tears to spring to her eyes as she bit her lip so tightly she nearly drew blood. With a few shallow thrusts, he was coming inside her with a groan. He pulled out when he was finished, leaving her a panting mess as he walked to the bathroom for a towel.

Using what strength he had left, he helped her flip back over and cleaned her up. She flinched slightly at how sensitive she was, but the cool towel made her purr in delight.

Tossing away the towel, Maxson sat on the bed beside her, still naked and a handsome sight. He looked wrecked and was still panting. She craved him again. Sitting up shakily, he lent a hand as she moved into a more comfortable position.

She flushed, playing with her hair in the silence. She wondered if she should say it, and decided to hell with it, "I'm not going back to Butch."

The words seemed to melt any tension in his shoulders. His whole body seemed to relax and she watched in curious amazement as he nearly smiled. Imagine that, Maxson actually smiling.

She couldn't help a grin of her own as she absently braided her hair.

He spoke again after another moment of silence, "I need a cigarette."

"I didn't know you smoked."

"Only after sex."

She thought of the faint smell of cigarettes in his room and thought better than to mention it, "I don't mind."

He took her agreement with grace and even offered her a drag as they sat against the headboard together smoking. They didn't redress, but the blankets were draped across their bodies lightly. Watching him smoke with nothing but a blanket covering his hips was a sight she would remember forever.

She tried not to think of the boy she knew. That was nearly a decade ago and she shouldn't feel ashamed. She had no part in raising him or training him. And he was an adult. He could make his own choices. She didn't need to worry about taking advantage of the Elder of the Brotherhood.

He seemed to notice her deep thoughts, offering her his cigarette. When she shook her head, he put it out.

She slept in bed with him that night, not quite touching but intimate nonetheless. She didn't know what it meant and was too afraid to ask.

—

She had two weeks with him before he left. Two weeks felt like two hours when you were on a time crunch. She sat miserably at the end of his bed as she watched him pack his most favored books. She was still frowning; the gray overcast outside matched her mood.

Finally he stopped, too distracted by her sadness. He knelt down in front of her as she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, "Come with me."

It was futile. They both knew it. And it wasn't the first time he'd asked. She tried not to look him in the eye, "I can't."

He sighed, "I know."

He didn't know. Not truly. She hadn't told him of everything she did during the days she was out in the wasteland. Most if not all of the people she associated with had few good things to say about the Brotherhood. A spike of guilt pained her chest.

Maxson placed a gloved hand on her knee, gently trying to relieve the tension but nothing truly could. He was leaving. Months of planning led to this and the information Danse and his recon team discovered in the Commonwealth made the trip a priority.

She swallowed, allowing him to touch her gently. She watched as his hand moved up her body to her neck and he pulled her close for a kiss. It was intimate and gentle, something neither had taken the step to put words to yet.

"Only a war could take me away from you," he played with her hair as he watched her expression.

She tried not to let him see her crumble. His words were aching her. He could be gone for months or even years. What did this mean? Would he want her to wait for him or did she have nothing to look forward to but more misery with her ex husband? Butch deserved better than that. She knew she didn't love him now.

She took a calming breath, though it did nothing to calm her. He stood to continue packing, placing a few precious books in his suitcase. When the soldiers came to retrieve his things, she was in the bathroom dressing back in her travel gear. Without Maxson here, she had little reason to visit the Citadel. All the soldiers she's gotten to know, including Cade, were going with him. The Citadel would be occupied by little more than a skeleton crew of guards and older scribes unwilling to travel.

Buckling her leather shoulder pad on, she gave herself a last look in the mirror before opening the door. Maxson stood in the empty room clearly waiting for her. They could hear the low rumble of the Prydwen outside as it hovered above the Citadel.

Maxson uncrossed his arms, comfortably approaching her after two weeks of being nearly inseparable, "Don't give me that look. As soon as business is done I'll be back."

She couldn't help the misery in her eyes, "Be careful, Arthur. We don't know anything about The Institute."

"We know they're creating synths, and that's enough that I have to do this."

She nodded, knowing the feeling well, "I know you do."

He pulled her close, kissing her neck as he wrapped her in his arms. The tension in his muscles told her how painful this was for him. The feeling of warmth and comfort nearly made her cry. She steadied herself as she clung to him just as tightly.

Taking a shaky breath, he kissed her deeply, rough in his movements enough that she began to crave him once more. But there was no time. She pulled away and helped him straighten the lapels of his battle coat. He ran his thumb down her cheek, "In two month's time, come to the Citadel. I'll radio you. I can't guarantee where I'll be before then."

She nodded, "I will." She knew she would think of him everyday. She knew she would cry. But she didn't voice her thoughts. No use in making him more miserable.

She kissed him once more, a final kiss. Gathering her bag, she walked by his side up to the point that he needed to board the vertibird. They weren't particularly secretive and soldiers and scribes alike watched as she stood in front of the crowd watching his vertibird lift into the sky.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She stayed in place up to the point that the Prydwen left. The Capital Wasteland would talk about the Elder's departure for weeks.

—

She began to realize something was wrong when her food poisoning wouldn't stop. The thought hadn't even been a blip in her mind until Moira mentioned something.

The happy saleswoman had expressed that she hadn't seen someone throw up as much as she did since her mother's third pregnancy. She even offered Scout a homemade recipe for a soup that helped.

While the thought of soup made her stomach squirm, the thought of being pregnant unleashed a whole array of different feelings. Mostly fear and horror.

Practically living off water, she was delirious as she scrambled around any local library and hospital she could find for information. Sure she could go to Rivet City and grab a midwife, but she couldn't risk the rumors.

In a dusty hospital library, she found what she was looking for. After spending longer than necessary going over the symptoms, she groaned in frustration and nearly threw the book. She needed to find a doctor.

It was approaching the week that she would be visiting the Citadel to call Maxson. She wondered if the line was private. She knew from the codex that Brotherhood doctors were sworn to confidentiality, so she figured the best option was to consult one of them.

Disguising it as a simple physical, she was sitting in front of a female scribe a few days later with complaints of food poisoning. Lowering her clipboard, the scribe raised an eyebrow at her, "Knight, has your clothing felt tighter recently?"

Scout squirmed on the gurney, "Yes but I wear leather armor. It gets tighter when the days are hotter from drying out."

Placing the clipboard on her desk, the scribe reached for a stethoscope to listen to Scout's heartbeat, "You've gained a bit of weight since your last physical with the Brotherhood."

Scout crossed her arms, glowering, "It's also been quite a few years."

"It is a firm weight, one that will be obvious in a month or so. I suggest you refrain from wearing leather armor," the scribe gathered her paperwork. "In fact I suggest you refrain from wearing armor at all. The wastes are quite dangerous for fetuses."

Scout paled, "How is that possible?"

The scribe, who didn't give Scout her name, gave her a look, "I believe you know, Knight." She blushed in reply, glaring. The scribe continued, "Though the radiation of the wasteland makes pregnancy not only rare but difficult to achieve, it is still possible with enough work. And enough luck. You seem to be either quite lucky or unlucky. Now," the woman pulled out a document, "Do you have a name for the father? I need it for my records."

"I, I uh-"

"I will remind you of my oath of confidentiality. This information is for our records only. If a child of a Brotherhood soldier is born, it is necessary to list the father if possible."

She considered lying, knowing it would be a strong crime against the codex to lie to a scribe. Tangling her fingers, she couldn't look the scribe in the eye as she replied, "Arthur Maxson."

The only sound in the room was the doctor dropping her pencil.

—

After being asked if she was sure a total of ten times, Scout found her way downstairs to the lab where the comm room was. She was fatigued from the stairs and had to wipe the sweat from her brow as she reached the room.

Expecting her under Maxson's order, the soldiers in the room left after telling her how to work the comm while she waited for Maxson to call. Tapping her foot as she sat in the office chair, she jumped when the radio filled with static.

His voice sent chills down her spine.

"Knight Carver."

"Arthur," she was already crying, a blubbering mess in the cold room. He could tell.

The commanding voice lessened, softening only for her, "What is it?"

She sniffed, "I just miss you." God, she sounded ridiculous. So unlike herself. She whimpered, trying to gather her thoughts as he remained silent, "I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes.

"Don't," his voice sounded strained, "don't apologize for that."

"God where do I begin?" She was speaking to herself, but Maxson picked it up.

"What happened?" He sounded concerned, like he was expecting bad news. Was he expecting her to say she was back with Butch?

Her raging hormones made her grip the fabric of her pants till her knuckles were white, "I'm not back with Butch, if you were going to ask."

"I wasn't going to ask," he sounded tired but she picked up the hint of relief. Clearly he trusted her, but she supposed two months of being apart could separate anyone. Not that they were necessarily together.

"I just found out today," she blurted, desperate for him to understand she wouldn't hide this from him. She was moving two steps ahead, though, because he was confused.

"Wait, found out what?" She remained silent, completely tongue tied. She opened and closed her mouth but couldn't find the words. His voice grew impatient, "Found out what, Knight?"

"Is this a private comm?"

"Yes, it's my office comm. Private and encrypted. The Brotherhood has improved frequency communications since the threat of the synths heightened and with the rise of the Institute -"

"I'm pregnant."

He cut himself off at her words. He was so silent she had to check that the comm didn't shut down. Even the machinery in the room seemed to silence at her revelation. Finally, he spoke, "You're sure?"

"The Brotherhood scribe is completely certain. Wouldn't even entertain alternative ideas." Her hormones were raging again and her tone came out more biting than she meant to, "And it's yours, not Butch's."

His voice gave nothing away but she knew he interpreted her anger wrong, "Are you unhappy with that?"

"God, no," she rubbed her eyes, running her fingers through her hair, "I'm just freaking out." His silence was deafening again. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about how to burn down the Institute as soon as possible so I can turn this goddamned airship around." It might have been a joke, but it didn't really feel like one.

She frowned miserably at the radio. She wanted someone to hold her. She wanted Maxson to hold her and brush his hands through her hair like he learned to do the little time they spent together in bed, "I'm terrified."

"You're the strongest woman I know."

"My mother was the strongest woman my father knew and this still killed her." She whispered, but he heard her. Her biggest fear was out in the open, crossing radio waves.

"Listen to me, we will get through this. You will get through this. And I'm going to end this war and come back to you." It sounded like a declaration. It sounded like a confession. His sureness calmed her raging fears.

"Both of us, apparently," the whole concept was still hitting her. She gently touched her stomach, where she couldn't feel a swell but knew it was there.

The conversation ended swiftly after that. He was busy, incredibly busy. Apparently the second he arrived in the Commonwealth he'd taken over the Boston airport like it was nothing. Nobody could argue Maxson wasn't a brilliant tactician. He informed her that he'd managed to find Danse, his best soldier and old friend, in one piece with a new recruit. Growing the Brotherhood put him in a good mood.

She wished him well and they scheduled another call in two weeks before she made her way out of the lab. Instead of heading into her usual temporary room, she snuck into the room she knew the keys were kept in and grabbed Maxson's bedroom key. He'd told her where it was in passing, casually telling her she could stay there instead of on a community mattress when she visited.

Unlocking the room, she nearly broke down when she saw how it looked without Maxson's personal effects. Grabbing a book to distract herself, she curled up in the blankets and tried not to cry as she could pick up his faint smell in the sheets.

—

She found out MacCready was safe and well in the Commonwealth from Maxson of all people. Apparently her old friend was currently tagging along with one of Maxson's bright new recruits, a vault dweller named Nate. He was proud of the Knight, pleased that the man had already completed several vital missions for the Brotherhood.

Maxson had held the mouthy sniper back privately, quickly but primly informing him that Scout was worried about him. MacCready had apparently looked shocked at the revelation, not looking Maxson in the eye as he mumbled that he would get word to her. Scout smiled when he told her. He really didn't have to do that, but the fact that he did was everything.

For her part, she was incredibly bored. Her mother was a scientist and pregnancy didn't hinder her work. But for Maxson's sake Scout traveled as little as possible while she was in her second trimester. Her stomach and breasts swelled as the child grew, and she tried not to be too sentimental, but the hormones were driving her up the wall.

She spent her time working from her home in Megaton initially. There she was essentially an assistant to Moira, a researcher like she'd been before just through book research and not adventures. Finally, the daily dawdling made her restless and she packed her stuff. The guards outside Megaton were more than shocked when she dropped a vertibird signal right outside the city.

Maxson was listening intently as she spoke. It was her turn to tell him about her month after hearing his side. He was doing his best not to drink too heavily, a coping mechanism she was bargaining him out of. Still his speech was slightly slurred when he told her about the upcoming strike on The Institute.

Hearing about what happened to the Railroad and the building of Liberty Prime initially filled her with horror, and she was upset with him enough to miss their next call, but she forgave him in time. She knew she couldn't imagine being in his shoes and what she would have done. The conversation wasn't over, but she would trust his judgement.

Now it was her turn to speak, and she was telling him about the child. They hadn't been particularly domestic about it so far, keeping a logical stance on the situation. But she was reaching her third trimester and she was feeling sentimental, "I want to name him James."

"Him?"

"I'm most certain it's a boy."

He sounded amused, "How could you know?"

She rubbed her swollen stomach, jumping at the slight response against her insides, "Oh my god, he kicked!"

"He...kicked?"

"Yes! I read that they begin to kick against you at some point. It feels so strange."

His voice sounded suddenly sad, "I would have liked to be there." Neither of them were sure he would be back before the birth.

"You're making the world safer for him, think of that." She replied softly, wishing she could comfort him more. With the child, she felt less lonely, but she knew it wasn't helping him, "And it's definitely a boy."

"James it is, then."

—

They'd discussed it. Now it was time for the execution. She spent the majority of her time at the Citadel now, sleeping in Maxson's room during the evenings and working in the lab during the days.

After several weeks, she began to answer questions directly. She finally told everyone that the child was Maxson's. That a Maxson heir would be born of the Lone Wanderer. She would hear speak of legends and and legacies and a sense of pride filled her.

The scribe who'd diagnosed her months ago, introduced finally to her as Scribe Patterson, called her into her office for a surprise. She presented to her a piece of technology uncommon for places outside of those with advanced labs. A piece of equipment used by her father when he delivered children.

It was an odd thing. A projector that predicted the look of your child. She didn't know how it worked, but it tended to be correct. It told her father that she would inherit his features and her mother's freckles. Though it worked better once the baby was born, she was far enough along that they could begin a scan.

Eagerly, she waited on the gurney while the machine did its work. When it gave her the results, she blubbered to Maxson over the radio until her eyes were red from crying, "He's going to look just like you."

She could hear him swallow thickly, "Black hair and blue eyes?"

She nodded, though he couldn't see her, "All the Maxson traits."

"Damn, I wish I could see you."

She laughed, "I look like a legendary bloatfly."

She heard the laughter in his voice, something incredibly rare, "I bet you look beautiful."

She tucked her hair behind her ears, blushing, "You'll see soon."

"Soon."

—

The next month she stood in the Citadel courtyard, heavily pregnant in a wasteland medic outfit that barely fit, with a laser rifle in her hand. The recruit she was teaching how to shoot looked at her with awe and slight fear.

"So you're the Elder's wife?"

She ignored him, focusing on the target, "Never close one eye. Ruins depth perception. Especially with a laser rifle. Their accuracy is a weakness but their damage is beyond effective."

She handed the weapon to the recruit, watching him fumble with it awkwardly. He was a good shot, just needed some more confidence. Being watched by the 'Elder's wife' probably wasn't helping.

She grimaced when her stomach cramped slightly. That was a bad sign. Taking the rifle back, she took a breath before popping off a shot. As she continued teaching, the discomfort grew. She lowered the weapon, suddenly feeling strange. She paled, calmly handing the rifle to the recruit before heading for the lab.

It was only destiny that she would go into labor with a gun in her hand. Scribe Patterson was holding her down as she lay on the hospital bed, panting. She gripped the doctor's hand, begging the woman to tell Maxson.

"We've got people in the comm room right now, honey you've got to calm down."

She panted in fear, gasping in pain as a contraction began to climb her muscles. The pain was like being shot, a feeling she knew well. She cried out in the end as the scribes around her helped her change out of her clothes into something more appropriate.

She winced from the pain, her muscles relaxing for now. She looked to Patterson, "If I don't make it-"

"Don't even start that. You're going to make it."

"My mother was surrounded by brilliant scientists and she didn't make it."

"And you're surrounded by brilliant scribes. You're going to make it." The woman's confidence calmed her slightly, though she ran over and over in her head what she wanted to say to Maxson. How she was sorry he couldn't be here, how she felt about him.

She gripped Patterson's hand again, "Let me have this. If I don't make it, tell him I loved him. It's ridiculous and sentimental but god I loved him."

Patterson patted her hand, eyes soft, "Stay with me. You're about to give him the greatest gift you can give a man. Just relax." She nodded, emboldened by the doctor's words.

In the end, she lived. She made it. She survived just like she'd survived everything else.

But it hurt. Worse than she could have ever imagined. From the pain and blood loss, she spent the next three weeks in bed. She got more sleep in those days than she'd gotten since she left the vault. Occasionally, the scribes would wake her to either shower, eat, or feed the baby. She was barely strong enough to hold him and it pained her, but she didn't want to harm him.

Having him in her arms was better than any high, better than any drink, better than a stimpak or a dose of radaway. He brightened her. He gave her a new purpose. She cried thinking of how this must have been how her own father felt.

By the end of the waiting period, she was strong enough to leave her bed. She was desperate to hear from Maxson and stood by the comm room all day as they tried to reach him. The sacking of the Institute was fully in place and they wouldn't know what happened until the group returned to the Prydwen.

She nearly cried in front of all the soldiers when Maxson finally answered. She knew he must have been as terrified waiting by the radio while she was in labor. He sounded exhausted and slightly wounded. After assuring her that the power armor kept him safe and it was a flesh wound, he informed them all how the mission went.

A rousing success, it seemed. Nate was an incredible soldier. He'd been promoted to Paladin after Danse's death (a subject the Elder would not elaborate on) and Maxson planned to appoint him as Sentinel. The Institute and all the pain it caused went down in nuclear fire.

Maxson announced plans to establish footholds at Cambridge Police Station, Diamond City, and the Boston airport before his departure. The Prydwen and Liberty Prime would head back to The Capital Wasteland as soon as affairs were in order. The timeframe, he could not say.

The room cleared for Scout so that she could have a private word with him. Once she told him they were alone, his voice changed from Elder to Arthur. He sighed in exhaustion, "It's almost over."

She smiled, "Soon you will get to see him. He has so much hair." She laughed.

"I would have given anything to be there with you."

"We don't always get a choice. But you will see him soon and that's what matters. You'll be a part of his life."

"Your life too."

She blushed. Another mysterious future. What were they to each other? "And my life too."

"That's what matters. I'm always thinking of you. I'll be home soon."

She played with her own hair, "Be safe."

"Hold him tight for me."

"I will," her voice came out as a whimper.

—

She was feeding James in Maxson's bedroom when there was a knock at the door. Gathering herself first, she opened the door with her free hand. A soldier saluted her, awkward considering he outranked her, and informed her that she had a letter.

She raised an eyebrow. Very, very rarely did she receive letters. Even when she did they were sent to her home in Megaton, not the Citadel. She set the letter down as she laid her son in his crib. The evening before, Maxson had told her the tragedy his Sentinel Nate faced with his own infant son. Kidnapped by the Institute for ten years. The boy was intelligent, but Nate lost so many precious years. The anger in Maxson's voice encouraged Scout to make a place for their son in Maxson's bedroom. She'd moved the table and chairs and gave his crib a place by a lighthouse painting she liked.

Playing with the soft tufts of James's hair, she opened the letter and grimaced when she read the words. Butch was reaching out to her. Considering it was only populated by a couple thousand at best, rumors ran far in the Capital Wasteland. He didn't indicate how he knew she was in the Citadel, but his words spelled urgency:

I know you don't want to talk to me. But please hear me out. I've been hearing some things and I need to know the truth. You never did like rumors about you. Please call me at Rivet City's frequency when you get this. Harkness will know to get me.

Butch

His handwriting was smooth and even. A vault dweller's handwriting. It made her chest ache a little. James began to whine, an indication that he wanted to be picked up. She gathered the boy in her arms and ran her thumb across his soft face. He had skin so different than hers or Maxson's. Soft and innocent. She wondered if he would ever be scarred like his parents. Hers weren't as visible as Maxson's, but they were certainly present after a decade of fighting.

She thought of Butch again, calling for a scribe to assist her with the baby while she went to the comm room. She could have ignored Burch's letter, but he knew her too well. She didn't like rumors.

She cleared out the comm room and followed Butch's instructions to call Rivet City. Harkness answered, which was a little awkward considering they never talked. She'd avoided him like the plague since he found out about her crush on him and wrote her off as a kid. Granted he was 16 years older than her and she was fresh out of the vault at the time. Still, she stumbled through her request for him to get Butch and after a few minutes the barber was on the line.

"Heard you got knocked up."

She clenched her jaw. Butch never beat around the bush, "Don't phrase it like that."

He paused for a moment, "Are you sure-I mean can you be sure it's not-"

"He's not yours," it was better to let him down swiftly. She had no doubt James was Maxson's. For one, there was at least a three month period between her last encounter with Butch and the first time with Maxson. Secondly, James was the spitting image of his father. Steel blue eyes and jet black hair.

Butch went quiet for a moment, "I didn't know you two were like that. He's just a kid."

She sighed, already so tired, "I'm not going to have this conversation with you if you're going to shame me. He's a consenting adult. And it's none of your business."

"I thought- I mean I thought you loved me."

She rubbed her forehead, "I did, Butch."

"But not anymore?"

"No, not anymore."

"We were so good together," he sounded broken. It hurt her to be doing this to him. She still cared about him, even if she wasn't in love with him.

"We were for a little bit. Then we were bad together. We fought nearly every day, it wasn't healthy."

"So getting you pregnant then going off to the Commonwealth to hunt down robot people is your idea of healthy?"

She scowled, "He didn't know when he left. Neither of us did."

"Ah sure, that makes it better. You think he loves you? That he's gonna be there for you?"

"I…" she stumbled on her words, "I'm not talking about this with you."

"Sounds real confident," he sounded bitter now.

She frowned again, "Is that what you want? For him to come back and say he doesn't love me or want me? That he doesn't want my son?" She was genuinely hurt that Butch would wish such suffering on her.

She could almost hear the fight deflate from him, "No. That ain't what I want. I want you happy, doll. Always did. Just never thought it wasn't gonna be with me."

She took a shaky breath, "I didn't think so either. But I don't regret my son. Not for a moment."

"I wouldn't ask that of you," his voice changed to the deep, viscious tone he used to lead the Tunnel Snakes, "If he ever hurts you or that kid…"

She almost laughed, "You'll be the first to know. But I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. So you name the kid after your pops?"

"Yeah, I named him James."

"Always knew you would if the world wanted to give you a son. Listen...I gotta go. My favor with Harkness only got my so much time. I gotta thank ya for calling. You didn't have to and maybe you didn't want to but I needed this. If you really loved the guy, I needed some kind of closure."

"Of course." She wanted to say more, but she didn't know what else to say.

The end of the call was slightly awkward. Butch had probably never used a comm before and she never did outside of speaking to Maxson. Speaking of, she dialed the familiar frequency to hone in on the Prydwen.

Lancer-Captain Kells answered the comm. He was a man she was unfamiliar with aside from a brief meeting before he piloted the Prydwen out of the Capital. After announcing who she was and that it wasn't an emergency, Kelly's informed her that Maxson was in Diamond City for the new mayoral elections. He was apparently playing peacekeeper in case things didn't go very smoothly. Also likely looking for synths or Institute spies, but Kells didn't need to add that part.

Knowing Kells was a brutally honest man, she asked if she could inquire about something with him. "Normally I would refuse a request from a Knight, but considering the circumstances I'm willing to divulge this once."

She rolled her eyes but continued anyways, "I would like an honest answer of the approximate time you'll be continuing in the Commonwealth."

He wasted no time, "The most recent estimate is six months. This is likely to increase. We have many loose connections that need to be handled personally by the Elder and we are still in the process of establishing permanent footholds."

She nodded and quickly bid him goodbye. She knew not to waste the Captain's time. The estimation hurt her, though she wasn't surprised. James would be almost six months old, maybe older by the time Maxson finally saw him. The idea was painful, but she knew it was best that the Brotherhood's work in the Commonwealth wasn't undone by poor preparation.

She had another few days before she could call him again, so she busied herself with caring for her son. She never did tell Maxson what Kells told her. He simply let her down with the news in his own time.

—

Nine months later, James was beginning to learn how to roll when Maxson arrived in the Capital again. He's been gone for almost two years by this point. She stayed inside, watching through the window with James in her arms when he arrived. She wanted to introduce him to his father personally and decided to do it away from the crowds and noise outside in the courtyard. The Prydwen loomed over the Citadel as vertibirds unloaded cargo and soldiers from it before it could depart back to Adams.

One of the last unloadings was the Elder and Kells. He looked much the same, though his hair had grown out a little. He regarded the welcoming scribes with interest, but was clearly searching for her. Scribe Patterson, usually never far from the baby she helped care for, shook his hand and informed him of Scout's location. He gave her a small grin, exceedingly rare, and nodded in thanks to the woman who delivered his child.

Scout had the baby wrapped and comfortable in his crib when Maxson opened the bedroom door. She turned from the window to see him standing in the door frame. She quieted, holding her breath in anticipation.

She didn't know what kind of welcome the Elder would give her, but she released a pleased sigh when he approached her and pulled her close. He wound half-gloved fingers through the hair on the back of her head and pulled her closer to kiss her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, aching for the familiar scent of leather that accompanied him. Kissing him breathed life into her veins and made her heart race in happiness.

He'd kissed her before she got a word in and she was only able to shakily breathe a "welcome back" before the baby began to whine from his crib. She grinned at Maxson's surprise when she pulled out of his arms to approach her son. Gently, she picked him up and turned to see Maxson looking apprehensive, "So clingy," she looked at the child, "do you want to meet your father?"

James didn't understand her, but he gave her an infant grin and gripped up for her hair anyways. She waited for Maxson to gather himself and approach them. The Elder held a hand under hers, where James's head was. With his free hand, he played with the soft fabric wrapped around his son.

Scout looked up to watch him, seeing an array of emotions pass his face before his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It was more than she could ask for from the usually wound up man. She knew from the uncomfortable gaze that he wasn't ready to hold him, but she found a pride in his steel blue eyes that told her he would absolutely play a vital role in the child's life. That's all she wanted.

Setting the baby down now that he got his needed attention, she leaned over to smooth his hair before approaching Maxson again. She rubbed his arm, comforting him though he showed no obvious signs of being emotionally overwhelmed. She just knew.

"Maxson?" She tried after a minute, waiting for him to gather his thoughts again, "is this alright?" She meant their son being here. She meant her being here.

Instead of answering her, he pulled her close again, a little roughly this time. She blinked in surprise when he gave her an open-mouthed kiss. He devoured her, tasting of bourbon and cigarettes. A mix that shouldn't comfort her but did. He pressed her body against his, groaning when she gasped. She could feel how hard he was through the lining of his fatigues.

Suddenly she couldn't get enough of him. She yanked at his lapels as he unbuckled the coat. The bulletproof clothing fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Maxson pushed up her shirt, running his hands across her back and down her spine. She purred in delight, but blushed heavily, "I've gained a bit of weight since-"

He stopped her with a kiss, "You've been taking care of yourself. You've been taking care of our son. Nothing pleases me more."

She gave him a watery smile, already emotionally wrecked by the introduction. He kissed her neck as she helped him unfasten his fatigues and pull his arms out of the sleeves. Under he wore a standard issue white shirt that highlighted the tan he'd gotten from being out in the wasteland for so long.

Even if the idea of him putting himself on the front lines like a giant target unnerved her, she knew he was beyond capable in the field. He pressed her back against the wall when she got her shirt off, revealing no bra underneath. It was easier with feeding James not to have to deal with clips and cups in between. He pressed to her, cupping her face as he kissed her deeply. She sighed in delight, closing her eyes briefly in bliss.

He reached down and gripped her thighs, pulling her up and using the wall to help him gather her completely. She wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to pick her up. He carried her to the bed, where he set her down. She pulled him down with her, kissing him again and cherishing his weight on top of her. Her nipples were incredibly sensitive and he promised to be careful when she told him so.

He kissed her neck again, moving down to her chest, in between her breasts, until he was kissing her hip bones. She moaned, feeling his beard brush her tender skin. She felt him grip the sheets next to her hips, "God above, I missed that sound."

She grinned, "How sacrilegious, Elder." He paused his ministrations at her hips and moved back to kiss her neck and ear. In one move, he had his hand in her pants. She jerked at the sudden feeling of his fingers on her nether lips. "Arthur, mmmh, ah, gloves-"

He pulled his hand out and pulled the glove off with his teeth before returning it to where it was. She moved her hands to her waist and began tugging her pants off, underwear with it. Then she focused on removing his clothing as well.

She scooted back to the headboard of the bed and pulled him with her. He was still careful not to mess with her nipples too much, a shame considering it was a favorite of both of theirs. Still, she didn't want breastfeeding to be a painful ordeal later. He ran a hand down her body, feeling her softer curves from motherhood and softer skin from not being on harrowing missions.

She raked her nails lightly down his chest, savoring the feeling of muscle and hair. Visible scars and a bruise or two remained, but he looked healthy for spending so long in a war. She reached up and grasped his dog tags, pressing them to her lips, "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't returned." It was vulnerable, more vulnerable since they were naked and pressed together.

His hands rubbed her sides and his thumbs pressed along her ribs, "Don't think of that. I'm here now."

"Stay here," she pulled lightly on the dog tags until he kissed her again. He knew what she meant.

He nodded, swallowing. Quickly, his eyes darted to the corner of the room where their son was sleeping. After a silent moment, he turned back to her and settled himself in between her legs, "marry me."

She blinked, "what, now?"

He shook his head, "No, now I'm going to fuck you. Marry me later."

She'd expected, thinking previously about this situation, that she would have been dumbfounded or surprised or scared. Yet she was none of those things. The entire time she'd been in labor, she'd thought of her blossomed love for the Elder. Not the friendly care she'd had for him a decade ago. It had changed drastically into the kind of connection two people who understood each other so much shared. She bit her lip, nodding, "oh, Arthur, yes."

It was the first time she'd ever seen him genuinely smile. It was shy and restrained, because he didn't smile often, but he couldn't find a better method to release the tension from his skin. She blushed when he used his arms to push her knees up against her chest. At this angle, he was able to penetrate her deeply and swiftly.

She gasped, gripping the pillow next to her head as he filled her. Once he was as deep as he could go, she arched her back. Leaning down, he kissed her neck and pressed his lips to the shell of her ear as he experimentally thrust into her.

She whimpered, begging him to go harder, faster, anything. He turned his head to whisper in her ear, "Shh, it's alright," he gave her one hard thrust, eliciting a gasp from her lips, "like that, beautiful?"

She nodded quickly, gripping his biceps desperately as she wriggled her hips. Celibacy and pregnancy made her so soft and sensitive in every part of her body. The bliss he could get from her just from one thrust made him want to keep her body post-natal forever. He knew his teasing was beginning to border on torture when her eyes became watery.

Taking pity despite the animal urge to keep teasing her, he used his hands on her hips as leverage as he thrust into her repeatedly. Not fast, but fast enough for her whimpers to turn into pleased whines. She clawed at his back, "Please, Arthur, please."

"I'll consider your request, soldier," he nipped at her collarbone before leaning back to begin thrusting inside her roughly. She immediately tightened on him and felt her wetness soaking him by the third thrust. Still he kept going. Each thrust felt like bliss over again. The feeling of entering a warm room after traveling in the cold. Or a dry room after a wet radstorm. Sweet relief and blossoming comfort.

Her gasps became louder as she came again. He placed a hand over her mouth just as she shrieked, mindful to try not to wake the baby, "Fuck, fuck me Arthur, please."

Growling, he pulled out and flipped her over, letting her scream into the pillow as he pounded into her roughly. She clawed at the sheets, squeezing her eyes shut. With a groan, she felt him come inside her. Another feeling of warmth and bliss.

He pulled out after gathering his strength and lay beside her on the bed. They were both sweating and her legs felt like gelatin. Groaning, she turned to her side and settled under the sheets. He placed a weary hand on her face, pushing her hair away from her eyes, "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, "No, it was perfect." She sighed happily, nuzzling her face into the pillow. She then nuzzled into his chest when he pulled her closer, "Did you mean it?"

"Absolutely. If I could keep you here forever I world. But seeing as you're likely to be heading off as soon as you're able, I'd like to keep you connected to me as much as possible." IHe didn't mean it insultingly. They both knew she had a great responsibility on her shoulders and that she couldn't dedicate her life solely to one place, even if that place housed her son.

She ran a thumb down the scar on his face, "You'll care for him when I'm gone?"

"Without question," he took her hand and watched her sigh happily before her attention was grabbed by their whining son.

She stood from the bed on shaky legs and went to tend to the baby while he watched. It was a strange sort of comfort to watch the mother of your child feeding him in your bedroom. When she was done, she set James down again and returned to the bed. "He loves his attention."

"He'll get sick of it eventually," he knew from experience.

She grinned, settling in the bed with Maxson, "we all do."

—

Scout found her son curled up in his bed with the book again. The boy had heard she would be coming in late and had opted to stay up for her despite multiple warnings against the idea. He's inherited every ounce of his mother's stubbornness and it wore on his caretakers quickly. Still, she couldn't help her smile when she saw him sitting on the mattress with a shameless happiness in his steel blue eyes.

She tilted her head, "Alright, kiddo, move over."

He quickly did, making room for her on the bed. She took the book from her eight year old and ruffled his ink black hair while he settled against her, "Will father be angry I stayed up for you?"

"No, sweetie. Though I expect you'll have a hard time waking up in the morning."

The boy smiled sheepishly, "He gets to stay up for you, I wanted to too. I sleep better when you read to me."

She ran her fingers through his hair as she opened the book, quietly beginning to read. James gripped the stuffed bear in his arms while she continued until he drifted to sleep. She hadn't told her son, and Arthur didn't find out until later, but the book he loved so much was written by his father as a child. She'd found the stories on a terminal and surprised him by using Moira's printing press to make a physical copy. Until battle and status quickly aged him, the young Arthur wrote stories to help expand his growing imagination. The motifs were friendship and loneliness and they helped James cope with the pressure of being the Elder's son, even at eight years old.

She closed the book, setting it on the nightstand before leaving her son's room. Down the hallway, she found a Star Paladin posted outside the Elder's room for the evening. She grinned, tossing the armored man a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. The guard caught them, grinning, "You're too kind, ma'am. My wife is going to throw a fit when she finds out, though."

She winked before unlocking the door, "Finds out what?"

He laughed, "Right."

She closed the door behind her, greeting her husband with a kiss to the side of his head as he went over stacks of paperwork, "Such a warm welcome."

Maxson gripped her hand without turning away from the paperwork, "Your son actually tried to create a slideshown to explain to me why he should get to stay up until you came home."

"Well, your scribes do make a lot of slideshows. Maybe he thought it was best to play ball."

"Suspiciously clever for an eight year old."

She laughed, shrugging off her coat and turning to kiss their daughter goodnight. The toddler was passed out asleep in her crib. Still too young to sleep on her own without being afraid, they were currently in the process of weaning her out of her crib. If James was a surprise, Cathy was a miracle. Not often did siblings exist in an irradiated wasteland anymore. The more...eccentric scribes considered it a testimony to the Maxson lineage. Scout was certain it was just plain luck.

The girl, who spent most of her days politely coloring next to her father while he sat in meetings, was slumbering so deeply than any conversation her parents had wouldn't wake her.

Changing into a more comfortable set of clothes, Scout tied up her hair before moving to kiss Maxson on the lips. "Come to bed," she whispered as she leaned over him.

He placed a heavy book on the paperwork and moved to stand, rolling his shoulders, "As you wish."

She grinned, happy to have her way as Maxson pulled her close under the covers. His body warmth always soothed her sore muscles after traveling. He wrapped his strong arms around her, "It's hard to explain when I first knew. In a way it was always there. Even the years we were apart something in me felt...twisted, wrong. Then you came back married to another man and it burned my insides but I couldn't shake you off. I found myself looking forward to you every day. Just as I continued looking forward to speaking with you after the day you let me kiss you."

She ran a hand across his chest, "It will never be easy to explain, but you don't need to. Call it vaultie luck or divine intervention like the scribes, whatever it is, it happened and I'm so happy it did. I'm happy James happened. And I'm happy you got to see Cathy happen, even if you were scared shitless."

He rolled his eyes, "That was more terrifying than any war."

She smiled, kissing him, "I know, but you did so well. I'm glad you got to see it with her."

He pressed her close to him, watching her mess with her Pip-Boy between them until he fell asleep. She watched his features soften, less harsh despite the Pip-Boy's green light.

Turning off the device, she set it away and turned to sleep with her husband, his soft breathing the only sound in the room.

Soon she would be gone again, never for long, but just long enough to stare longingly at the picture of her children Maxson gave her. When she was home, the picture sat on her dresser, complimenting the photo of her and her father that was taken so long ago.