Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Jesus, that last story was a behemoth! Trigger warning for mentions of death, fantastic racism and violence. Oh, and smut because yays! Also, a particular head-canon on why V.A.T.s was mentioned earlier in the series as an actual thing.

…

He was alive. Good fucking God he'd come out of this alive and whole and with Sparrow at his side.

Danse sat on the stairs that led up the wall to the right side of the Minutemen's Castle two days after Maxson had the stuffing beaten out of him, his gun hand shot off and his ass thrown out of the Commonwealth back to the Capital Wasteland. Sparrow, now formally recognised as Elder Finlay of the Commonwealth Brotherhood of Steel, was haggling with Ronnie Shaw, John Hancock and Nick Valentine over the interim document that might pave the way to a Commonwealth Republic or some such entity. He couldn't be prouder or more in awe of her.

"Paladin?"

He looked up at the sound of Senior Scribe Haylen's voice. Knight Rhys had returned to the Capital Wasteland with Maxson, hatred burning in his eyes whenever he looked at Danse, and the synth couldn't help but feel relieved to see him go. Once, he would have died for Maxson and for Rhys.

"So it's still Paladin?" he asked hopefully. The Proctors and Lancer-Captain Kells, who'd elected to stay with his beloved Prydwen, had convened to discuss his unique case. Kells had been almost apoplectic when he found out about the High Elder's actions and offered to stand down, alongside Knight-Captain Cade, when Sparrow was acclaimed Elder in the Commonwealth. Being the forgiving, understanding woman she was, Sparrow denied the offer and kept them in their positions.

"Well, technically no," Haylen admitted. "They'd already decided to strip you of your rank. But since Colonels in the Minutemen are now considered to hold Paladin rank in the Brotherhood depending on the situation, you're still Paladin Danse to me."

Trust Sparrow to find a way around the Proctors' decisions.

"You'd better not call me Paladin," Danse advised one of his most loyal friends. "Colonel Danse is better than M7-97, I guess."

"Indeed." Haylen smiled briefly. "Oh, there's some man in a black coat wanting to talk to you. He's over by the radio talking to Codsworth."

Danse looked up and saw a tall, lithely muscular figure in a too-familiar coat talking to the battered Mr Handy, who was positively ecstatic at how things turned out. "I'll go investigate; put the Sentinel on alert but discreetly," he commanded instinctively.

"Yes, Pal- sir." Haylen caught the urgency in his tone and saluted before going to alert Brandis, who held the rank of Sentinel now.

Danse rose to his feet and walked over, fully prepared to rip apart another Courser. This one was darker than Preston with patrolman sunglasses that hid his eyes.

"Master Danse!" Codsworth enthused. "We have a gentleman wanting a word with you here."

"So Haylen told me," Danse observed, eyeing the Courser with open distrust. "Could you please go and make sure the negotiators have plenty of drinks that aren't alcoholic?"

"Certainly!" Codsworth shot off, glad to be of service, and left Danse alone with the predator of his kind.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," the Courser said in his kind's monotonous voice. "Father would not be pleased."

Danse recalled that Sparrow's son was called 'Father' for his genetic contribution to Gen-3 synths like himself. Then he shied away from that thought, a little uneasy at particular connotations. "Then why are you here?"

"The Brotherhood isn't the only one to undergo a sundering," the Courser reported quietly. "The Institute has also decided to divide itself in a matter of speaking."

"Explain." Danse's voice was curt.

"We have always planned for every foreseeable circumstance, including the possibility of discovery and destruction," the Courser continued, unbothered by his fellow synth's tone. "To that end, we created two Projects – one called Exodus, in the event we chose to withdraw, and the other Ragnarok, in the event we chose to destroy the Commonwealth."

Before Danse could demand more answers, the Courser smiled in what might charitably be called a reassuring manner by someone like John Hancock. "We chose Exodus. Father decreed that the experiment in the Commonwealth was at an end and the Gen-3 synths who could acclimatise to the world above be permitted to settle, without interference beyond observation by a select group of Coursers, in particular locations."

"What does this mean for the Commonwealth?" Danse asked warily.

"It means that I hope Elder Sparrow was sincere in her desire to have the Institute present in the discussions, so long as we… what was the phrase… 'are willing to play nice'." The Courser clasped his hands behind his back as Maxson used to. "The synths and scientists who elected to remain held a vote and we decided to approach the Commonwealth instead of going into hiding or being destroyed."

"You've caused a lot of misery," Danse reminded him.

"I know." The Courser didn't sound remorseful, but then he likely didn't know what that emotion was. "But so has the Brotherhood in the Capital Wasteland."

"Why come to me, why not walk straight up to the negotiators and introduce yourself?" Danse demanded.

"Because you are a synth as I am who knows these people, M7-97. Because if I can convince you, I can surely convince the council or whatever they are calling themselves." The Courser smiled again. "Because if it comes to a fight, you might even be a challenge. Your model was a prototype – somewhere between an ordinary synth and a Courser – that was engineered to be stronger, faster and more loyal to an individual."

Danse felt his lips peel back in a snarl. "I am Colonel Danse of the Commonwealth Minutemen."

"So you are. My apologies." The Courser didn't sound very contrite but that might be the toneless voice. "Father told me to refer to you as Danse. I am designated X6-88, Father's personal bodyguard."

Danse throttled down his urge to choke the synthetic life out of the Courser. "I ripped the head off a colleague of yours."

"Z2-47? Yes. Impressive – your strength percentiles were off the charts to tear off a Courser's head."

"I was in power armour."

"Then allow me to thank Father you're not in power armour now," the Courser drawled with what could almost be called humour. "So, are we going to fight or am I permitted to address the others?"

Danse turned his back on the synth. "I'll let the commanders decide what to do with you. Come with me."

…

The first thing X6-88 did after delivering greetings from the Institute remnant was to hand Sparrow a piece of paper with a series of numbers and words written on it. "My recall code," the Courser said calmly. "In case you don't feel I am trustworthy enough."

"Well, I'll be damned," Ronnie drawled in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because the Director's mother achieved what the Institute had never believed possible after the Commonwealth Provisional Government went to hell because of factional disputes – unity," X6 answered serenely. "The synth representative was the last one standing and so we received the blame and chose to withdraw."

"I find that hard to believe," Hancock said bluntly. "You sent infiltrators into homes and families."

"Yes." X6 was unrepentant. "The Institute is a group of scientists and needed to run experiments."

"If this shit had happened pre-War, you'd be facing crimes against humanity charges," Sparrow said flatly as she leaned forward. "However, no one has really come out of the Wasteland with clean hands and I'm betting everyone involved in the synth programme has fucked off on Project Exodus."

"Everyone except for Father," X6 admitted. "He is… dying of cancer. He wishes to die at home."

The revelation that her son was terminally ill rocked Sparrow enough that she actually staggered.

"That's fine by me," Hancock said grimly. "If he comes near Goodneighbour, I'll blow his head off."

"I assure you, Mayor Hancock, your den of filth and iniquity is nowhere Father would wish to come," X6 drawled sarcastically.

Sparrow got her shit together. This was important. "These are the terms for the Institute's remnant to remain in the Commonwealth," she decreed, voice a little shaky from the Courser's revelations. "One: your teleportation technology is turned over to the Minutemen and the Brotherhood. You may maintain your own molecular relay as we know the signal but we intend to set up our own networks. Two: your little hidey-hole is going to be destroyed. You can join the rest of us in the muck and grime and radiation."

"Acceptable," the Courser agreed readily. "Between Madison Li and Brian Virgil, I imagine you would have plumbed the secrets of the molecular relay eventually regardless."

"You're not bothered by us destroying your home?" Preston asked in some disbelief.

"So long as we are given the chance to remove everything, the destruction of a hole in the ground is nothing," the Courser replied.

"You have two weeks," Sparrow told him.

"Three. Father would like to see you and the cancer has become aggressive, so moving him isn't an option." X6 paused, his expression actually concerned. "He was coughing blood when he came up here to watch the fight between Danse and Maxson."

"That's bad," Cait confirmed grimly. "Once you start coughing blood, you're dead meat walking."

"Then I'll come see Shaun immediately," Sparrow said, her heart in her throat. "If I'm not back in a day, the Institute will be blown sky-high."

X6's mouth curled into something that was definitely a smirk. "I'll keep an eye on the watch then, Elder."

"You do that, Courser," Danse ordered curtly. "Because if she dies and you somehow survive, I'll make what I did to your friend Z2 look like a child's tantrum."

"Model glitch," the Courser said, jerking his thumb at the dark-haired soldier. "When they perceive their charge to be in danger, they tend to go a bit… ah… berserk."

"We'd better put the Elder under protection then," Nick drawled. "Sparrow, want me to come? Got a few questions of my own to ask the Institute."

"You'd be welcome, Nick," she said, feeling better about having a friend go with her. She believed the Courser but… she still felt better.

"Then we might as well adjourn this meeting," Ronnie declared. "And if the Elder isn't back in a day, we blow the C.I.T. Ruins to hell and back."

"She and Nick Valentine will return, I promise."

"I don't like this," Danse told Sparrow.

"I know. But… whatever he's become, he's my son. And if he's sincere, this could save a lot of lives." Sparrow smiled at him reassuringly. "Have some faith, Danse."

"I have faith in you. The Courser is something else." He glared at X6, who returned the look calmly.

Then it was time to relay and she prayed she'd made the right choice.

…

After all that happened, Shaun had never expected to see his mother again. The radiation from the surface was enough to steal what little energy he had and so he lay in a medi-bed, waiting the end after his first and only visit.

X6-88 relayed directly into his room with a slender, chestnut-haired woman clad in the Brotherhood of Steel's uniform, only dark grey-black and silver-grey instead of orange and beige. There was a battered Gen-2 synth with them dressed up as a detective of all things.

"We have 23 hours and fifty-five seconds to return the Elder of the Commonwealth Brotherhood of Steel and synth detective Nick Valentine to the surface before we are 'blown to hell and back'," X6 reported dryly. "Otherwise, we have three weeks to evacuate before the Institute is 'blown sky-high'."

Shaun raised an eloquent eyebrow at his mother. "Distrust runs so deep?"

"Partly. But you need to join us in the muck and grime and radiation to truly comprehend what life is like up there," she responded in that warm, smoothly modulated voice.

"And you agreed to this?" he asked X6.

"Of course. I have noticed that our scientists dwell in the sphere of the intellectual and do not appreciate the full ramifications of their actions," the Courser answered.

"What's he doing here?" Shaun looked at the battered Gen-2.

"I'm curious as to what I am," the synth admitted. "Also, figured Sparrow could use an old friend."

"That's easy enough to answer," Shaun said, laying back in his comfortable bed. "You are the bridge between Gen-1s and Gen-3s with the personality of a 21st Century detective from the BADFTL. X6, forward all appropriate folders and holotapes to Mr Valentine."

"Of course, Father."

"Why the sudden burst of compassion and empathy for the Commonwealth?" Sparrow asked as she wheeled a chair over to sit next to him.

"I'm not sure," Shaun admitted with a sigh. "Perhaps it's your sincerity. Perhaps it was to irritate Arthur Maxson – I ordered X6 to kill him and blow up the Prydwen if Paladin Danse died, you know. Maybe it's simply because you're my mother and you've managed to achieve the impossible."

"Thank you," Sparrow said simply. She glanced to X6. "I don't want to be rude, but I'd like to be alone with my son for a while."

X6 glanced at Shaun and he nodded. The Courser took Nick Valentine off, no doubt to collect those files. Then Sparrow smiled and leaned closer.

"The unification gambit was a whole load of bluff and bullshit," she murmured. "But if Maxson comes back, there'll be artillery in every settlement waiting for him."

Shaun found the energy to laugh. The grand gesture that encouraged him to enact Project Exodus and grant the synths supervised autonomy had been smoke and mirrors, as the old proverb went.