It was finally happening. After months of fruitless searching, she finally had a chance to see her son again, alive and breathing. When she had last seen Shaun, he was an infant, only a few months old, held tightly in Nate's arms. Like she had done many times before, she delved into her memories to remember the day that Shaun was born, but it was so hazy and dark.

There were distant memories, and then there was her whole life before she was placed in cryostasis, which sometimes didn't even seem real. There were faces, mostly those of her late husband and her missing son, and of course the explosion, but the rest was a blur. How unlucky it was that the day she remembered the most, was the worst day of her life, the day the world had burst at its seams. The day the bombs fell. That must have been… two hundred and eleven years ago, now.

None of this made any sense from the beginning, anyway, and she didn't expect it to start making sense now.

She'd asked Doctor Carrington about it once, but he didn't seem to be too concerned about her broken mental state. "You've been through quite the ordeal," he had simply told her, not even looking up from his notes to dignify her concerns. "It's not uncommon for the mind to become… fragmented, after serious emotional trauma. With what you've been through, it doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Give your mind time to recover, and let me get on with my work, yes?"

From the evidence she'd gathered with the help of the Railroad, Nick Valentine, and several others, she had come to the eventual conclusion that her son was kidnapped from their underground Vault ten years ago, after she and her husband had already spent two hundred years in cryosleep. Ten years had passed, and she finally awoke from cryosleep to find her husband murdered, her son missing- stolen by a shadowy organization known as the Institute, for God knows what reason. Ten years of her son's life she had missed out on, nearly his entire childhood, but now was the time to make it all right. She was going to find him, and bring him back.

"Hello? Anyone in here? Did you hear what I just said, Wanderer?"

Wanderer blinked twice. Staring across the moonlit waters of Dorchester Bay, she had become so lost in thought that she didn't even notice that Deacon was speaking to her. That seemed to be happening a lot lately, much to Deacon's annoyance, and Wanderer's. It just gave him another reason to tease her.

He had just discovered blonde jokes, and now this.

"What were you saying?" she mumbled, finally pulling her eyes away from the Bay.

"Oh come on, Wanda. I know I'm handsome, but daydreaming about me is starting to become a very bad habit of yours," Deacon teased.

Wanda wasn't her real name, and neither was Wanderer, but he liked to call her that. Wanderer liked it a little bit too, though she would never admit it to anyone, least of all him. Both aliases were good as any, though; whenever she heard her name from before it summoned unwelcome memories. Who would have thought that names could hold so much power over someone?

She glared at him. "Shut up, D. Have you found the boat yet?"

"Sure I did. It's on the shore over there, see it?" he asked, pointing off into the darkness.

"Not really," Wanderer said, squinting her eyes to try and make out the boat. "It's too dark. Why couldn't we have done this when the sun was up, again?"

"It's called being stealthy. We're trying to avoid attention, remember? It's why we picked Spectacle Island in the first place."

Wanderer just sighed, strolling off in the general direction Deacon had pointed in search of the small wooden boat, muttering and wondering how he had spotted it before her even through his shades. Usually she would joke right alongside her travelling companion, but she wasn't exactly in the mood. She could be rowing off to her own death right now, and this would have all been for nothing.

"Hey! Wait up," he called, jogging after her. "Check out these waves," he said, staring across the shoreline through his sunglasses. "You got a surfboard with you?"

"Sorry pal, must have left it at home. We're just going to have to take the old rowboat," she said, finally finding it beached near the water. The nighttime ocean breeze whistled around her, bringing an unnatural calmness with it. Wanderer wasn't entirely sure that this was really happening.

"Bummer," muttered Deacon. He helped her push it back in the water; it took several heaves; the thing was heavier than it looked. Wanderer would have much preferred to take a better vehicle, probably something with a motor so they didn't have to row the whole way to the island, but drawing attention was too big of a risk. Such is the life of an undercover agent, Deacon would have told her if she had taken the time to voice her complaint.

They finally got the rowboat in the water as it slipped onto the shore with a splash that doused her legs completely. Her Geiger counter clicked urgently at her, so she dug for some Rad-X in her bag and a popped a pill, while Deacon did the same.

"Come on in, the water is… glowing," Deacon grumbled.

She stood back, admiring their handiwork before turning around and looking back at what was left of Boston. The city she'd grown up in, loved all her life, now a ruin. It was home to super mutants, raiders, ferals, and God knows what else. All her treasured memories, gone.

"You alright there?" Deacon asked, his voice showing a hint of concern. He was a liar and scarcely revealed to anyone what was going on inside that bald head of his, but she could tell when he was being genuine. Or at least, she thought she could.

"Yeah," she whispered. Wanderer took a deep breath in. "Yeah," she said again, more confidently this time. "I'm just… I might never see the city again. I'm just taking it in for a second."

Deacon said nothing at that.

After a minute, she turned back around, rubbing her arms anxiously. He was watching her.

"You ready to go, partner?"

She nodded. Deacon held the boat steady while she climbed in somewhat clumsily, and she reached out an arm to help him in after her. He took up the oars, handed one to her, and they began the trip across the Bay, to Spectacle Island.

"Watch out for 'Lurks in the water," Deacon warned, his tone grim. "They'll sneak up on us in an instant." Wanderer shivered, thinking of the great clawed beasts that snatched people up who stood too close to the water. Everything in this world was the stuff of nightmares.

Within several minutes, her arms ached from rowing, but she kept going. Months ago, the exertion would have been far more strenuous, but months in the wasteland had toned her muscles and hollowed out the spaces where there had been soft flesh before.

She was so close to her son, so close to the finish line, she could not rest now. The sound of waves crashing on the shore began to slowly subside as the two rowed further out to sea. It was difficult to locate the island in the darkness, but with the help of the map programmed onto her Pip-Boy and Deacon's inexplicably reliable night vision, they were able to make it there in just over an hour and a half.

"Dez and Tinker should be here by now. Let's go look for them," Deacon said, climbing eagerly out of the boat. He decided to himself that travel by boat was not his… favorite method of transportation. He could just barely make out the outline of the Brotherhood's airship in the sky back on the mainland, and supposed that he wouldn't much like flying, either. Nothing was as trustworthy as his own two legs, firmly planted on the ground.

Deacon offered Wanderer a hand when she climbed out after him, and she gratefully accepted.

It didn't take long for the pair to find Desdemona and Tinker Tom. The island was huge, but Tom had already set up an array of tech near the center, where it would not be susceptible to damage from the rising and falling of the tides. They found Tom typing away rapidly on a large control console. Several feet in front of him, a large metal platform was already built into place. Wanderer briefly wondered how he and Desdemona had been able to lug all of this scrap to the island.

"Good. You two are finally here," said Desdemona as they approached. Tom didn't look up at them, apparently too focused on the console. "Let's get this Teleporter built, and quickly," Desdemona barked. The woman seemed weary for once; back and HQ, their fearless leader was always so alert, ready for the worst at every moment.

Wanderer nodded, and Tom finally stepped away from the control console. "Wanderer!" he shouted excitedly. "Did y'all bring that tech I asked for?"

"We sure did," Deacon said, slinging the pack from his shoulders and removing the contents. "One military grade circuit board, and one biometric scanner, right here. Picked 'em up just for you, Tom." Tinker Tom took the scrap from Deacon, observing them and muttering to himself for a minute before setting them on top of the control console.

"What do you need us to do, Tom?" Wanderer asked, glancing at the plans he had laid out atop the control console, the plans she had retrieved from Virgil. Luckily enough, back in the day before the bombs fell, she had pursued engineering for a few years before getting her law degree. The plans looked fairly complex, but with her engineering experience and Tom's tech genius, she was sure they'd have this thing up and running in no time.

Whether it would actually teleport her to the inside of the Institute like it was supposed to was another matter entirely. Everyone else seemed to think it would vaporize her alive, but if there was a chance that these plans could build an actual teleporter, then it was worth it. Especially if she could get her son out of there.

"Well, the science of this monstrosity is wow, but lucky for us, the ingredients- pretty simple. First thing's first, we need to get the Molecular Beam Emitter up and running, right over that platform over there," he said, pointing. "Lots of vacuum tubing and high-grade metal should do the trick. On the top we need to build a big-ass Tesla coil. You know, for that high-voltage, low-current electric-ity! This baby is what's going to split you apart and put you pack together, molecule by molecule. Here, take a look at these plans."

Frowning at his grisly description, she took the plans and pored over them.

"We already have a primary capacitor and the inductor coils. I'll let you take it from here, Wanderer," he said, strolling back over to his console and continuing whatever he had been working on.

"Right…" she mumbled, a little unsure of how to begin. "Deacon, can you build a secondary capacitor while I set up the RF chokes?" she asked, handing off the plans to him.

"Sure boss," he said halfheartedly. "I'll just pretend I know what you're talking about and make this capasy- thingy. No problem."

Wanderer rolled her eyes and pointed to the pile of tubing by the platform. "See those tubes? Make a giant metal donut out of it. That's going to help us hold the charge when we power this thing up."

Deacon grinned. "Now that I can do." It seems all the time he'd spent living underneath a Slocum's Joe was about to pay off.

After several hours of grueling work, they had finally set up the Beam Emitter and the Relay Dish, as well as a couple of generators to act as a power source. It was unusually cold outside, the blowing wind doing nothing for Wanderer's growing nerves. By the time they finished, the sun was just beginning to peek out over the horizon, spilling an ominous shade of red across the sky.

All they needed to do was power up the generators and wire it all into the same network, and they were ready to go. Deacon had taken care of most of the simple construction while Wanderer and Tom built the more complicated parts, Desdemona overseeing the group's work.

"Alright, Wanderer. Looks like everything's connected into the grid. All that's left is switching on the generators and powering this baby up! How about you do the honors?"

She looked over at Deacon first, then Desdemona. Deacon was giving her a thumbs-up, while Desdemona just nodded. Wanderer sucked in her breath, and switched on the first generator, the second, and then the third. Time seemed to slow as the final generator rumbled loudly, her limbs becoming heavy. The first crack of electricity was all she heard, the Beam Emitter whirring to life. The bright bolts of electricity were almost blinding, shooting in every direction.

"Status report, Tom," shouted Desdemona over the loud, mechanical humming of the interceptor.

"Everything's online and ready to go, Dez! We are in business. We got activity, not sure how long before it peaks."

Wanderer swallowed back the fear, and looked to her leader. The only thing she could think about was her son. If there was even a chance, the tiniest fleeting chance that this would take her to her son, then she was going to do it. Even if it burnt her to ashes.

"I guess it's time, Desdemona."

Desdemona nodded solemnly. "Do you remember what I told you about Patriot?"

Wanderer nodded.

"Good. Remember, if you make contact with him inside the Institute, we might find a way to save more synths then we ever have before. Here, take this holotope, it contains an encrypted message that only Patriot will be able to read if you upload it to the Institute's mainframe. We don't know what's waiting for you in there… if you make it at all. Whatever happens, you need to get as much information as you can, anything that will help us fight them. You are the synths' only hope, Wanderer."

She took the holotope and stuffed it in the pocket of her leathers, only nodding.

Her son came first. Assuming she got Shaun out alive and well, then she would infiltrate the Institute to the best of her ability. But first, her son. She didn't think Desdemona would understand.

Deacon stood near the beam emitter, expressionless. Behind his sunglasses, there was no way for Wanderer to tell what he was thinking. She approached him tentatively, unsure of what to say. Should she thank him for helping her get this far? Should she say goodbye, in case the Emitter completely vaporized her? He had been one of her truest friends she'd known since waking up from cryosleep, though he'd probably tease if her she told him that. Still… she wouldn't be here if not for him, and they both knew it.

All the words never came.

"You don't have to do this, Wanda," he said, breaking the silence for her. It was unusual to see him so serious.

"Yes, I do," Wanderer said. Deacon just nodded, not bothering to argue.

Neither of them knew what to say. "Booting up the scan sequence!" shouted Tom from the console. "Wanderer, we need to get going! This frequency is only going to work once, and You-Know-Who doesn't make the same mistake twice."

She looked up at Deacon, trying to see his eyes through the sunglasses.

"Well, see you on the other side, pal," he said encouragingly.

"See you," she said back, the words getting choked up in her throat. Wanderer turned quickly before he could say anything else and stepped onto the platform, the cacophony of the machine drowning out any other sounds.

Standing under the emitter, Wanderer could just smell the sharp cracks of electricity flying all around her, threatening to fry her alive. God, this was so crazy. Tom was yelling something as he worked away at the console, but she couldn't hear him. Whether that was due to the blood pounding loudly in her ears or just the noise of the machine, she wasn't sure.

This wasn't going to work. Her heart raced. She looked down at Deacon, he stared back up at her, his posture rigid.

Tinker Tom yelled something about molecules. She heard a loud burst and saw one of the vacuum tubes they had placed along the beams broken off the side, flying wildly about through the air.

Oh God, oh God, she kept hearing in her mind. Oh God, this wasn't going to work. Desdemona was yelling something at her, but she didn't hear it.

"NOW!"

The space all around her split loudly, a hole torn into reality itself, and everything went white.

A split second after she disappeared into thin air, the machine caved in on itself with a loud crack of electricity. All three of them were silent as they watched the device they'd spent hours building fall apart right before their eyes.

"Do… do you think she made it?" Tom asked, eyes wide.

"We're just going to have to wait and find out," Desdemona said, her voice faltering. Deacon was quiet, just stared for what felt like hours at the pile of rubble. Eventually, he found himself on his knees, sifting through the rubble for some sign that she'd really been teleported.

They lingered on the Island for a day or two, waiting around for something to happen, though they weren't sure what it was they were even waiting for. Even if she were somehow able to teleport back to the island, would it even work after the signal interceptor had essentially imploded on itself?

For several hours, all Tom would do was come up with every single reason why the signal interceptor might have malfunctioned. Desdemona said little, which was normal for her, but Deacon was not usually so silent. Deacon usually loved to listen to Tom's crazy theories- it gave him a good laugh- but right now, he was on edge. If Tom opened his mouth one more-

"Oh- what if we locked on to the wrong signal? If she wasn't completely vaporized in that junk over there, what if we didn't send her to the Institute? What if we sent her to a cave that was filled with… with mutants! Or deathclaws-"

Deacon shuffled away. He couldn't listen to this anymore.

After two more days passed, and she still hadn't shown, Desdemona and Tom told Deacon that they were going to head back to the HQ and wait for any news there.

"I'm staying," he said simply. If- no, when, she reappeared back here, then he was going to be there when it happened.

"I know," Desdemona said softly. "If we hear anything, we'll send a runner out."

He waved his hand in acknowledgement, but said nothing. They left sometime after, but Deacon just sat on the sandy ground, staring still at the pile of metal and vacuum tubing where Wanderer had disappeared two days ago.

The next day, he alternated between sifting through the rubble and staring out at the ocean. The day after wasn't much different. For hours he waited, and waited for her to reappear.

On the fifth day, he could barely get out of his sleeping bag. It rained, and he desperately wished he had a bottle of bourbon.

On the seventh day, Deacon was at his wit's end. A full week since she'd gone into the damn teleporter, and nothing. Nothing. He was no stranger to loss, especially of those close to him. Hell, death may as well be his next door neighbor. In his early twenties, he'd seen his own wife murdered before him. Just a few months ago, when the Institute attacked their old headquarters, a good portion of his comrades were slaughtered by Coursers. None of that was even the half of it.

Around midday, he spotted a rowboat on the Bay, drifting toward the island. Deacon stayed out of sight, using the rolling sandy hills of the island to conceal his position. As he watched the boat come closer, he tried to see who it was coming to the island. A runner, with news of Wanderer's whereabouts? Had she finally returned from the Institute?

As the boat began to come into view, he saw that it wasn't Wanderer, but instead looked to be one of the runners for the Railroad, Deacon noted, but he was still cautious. The Institute had a nasty habit of kidnapping people and creating synth replicas of them to gain information. After a couple of minutes of watching the boat approach the island, the agent in question moored the small rowboat onto the island, and Deacon made his approach, careful not to startle the newcomer.

It was a kid, about fifteen or sixteen, lean with scraggly red hair, dressed in ragged jeans and an old flannel. "Hey there," he greeted as he neared the kid.

The runner looked up at him. "Hey! Deacon, right? Man, this place was a real pain to find," he complained, stretching his shoulders.

"You got a Geiger counter, pal?"

"Oh- mine is in the shop."

"Got any news for me?"

The runner nodded, handing Deacon a folded note. "Yeah, yeah I do. HQ asked me to bring you this, man."

He glanced at the note, and then back up at the runner. "You got a name?" he asked.

"Foxtail. Pleased to meet you," he said. "I'm one of the runners for Mercer, but I had some business back at HQ. They asked me to take this to you, sounded pretty important." Of course, Deacon knew who Foxtail was; he knew who everybody was. Intel was his job, after all. He unfolded the note, trying to keep his fingers from shaking.

'Our Bird watcher is silent. The wind has blown.'

Deacon read the note three times, looking for any indication that he'd just made a mistake, that his eyes had played a trick on him. He didn't want to believe the note's message, but his eyes were truthful.

Desdemona believed that Wanderer was dead.

He took the flip lighter from his pocket and burned the note, letting the ashes fall to the sandy beach beneath his feet. Deacon's hands trembled as he clumsily singed one of his fingers in the process, a blunder he hadn't made since he was a teenager reaching for a cigarette for the first time.

"Mind if I catch a ride back to the mainland with you, pal?" Deacon asked, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses.

It took Deacon about a day and a half to reach the Railroad HQ on foot, and by the time he reached the Church, there was still no sign of Wanderer. The Railroad knew better than to hope, than to have any belief that she was still alive, because this was no different than their other attempts. This was the closest they'd come to finally getting the drop on the Institute, and in doing so, they'd lost one of their own and met only failure. Again.

He knew he should be used to this feeling by now, but the truth was that it never stopped hurting. A dull ache ever present in his chest, but this blow felt more like a sharp stab. Still, he'd do what he always did. A new face, a new name, a new lie. He'd run forever if he had to.

Drummer Boy interrupted him from his thoughts. "Hey, Deacon. You owe me a hundred caps."

Deacon held back a sigh of exasperation. Drummer Boy had proposed that they bet a hundred caps on whether Wanderer would make it out of the Institute, and he'd been all too happy to bet on her. Why wouldn't he? From the moment she'd arrived in the Commonwealth he'd kept a close eye on her, believing that she was the key to the Railroad's success against the Institute. Even before he'd first laid eyes upon her, he'd discovered the records of the Vault project, had studied Vault 111 and read about the cryostasis subjects, still frozen, and her name had stood out. Even then, he'd had a good feeling about her, and he'd never miss the opportunity to bet on her.

Since the first day she'd woken up to the nuclear Commonwealth, Wanderer had been relentless.

Now, the bet just seemed foolish. He tossed the small pouch of coins without a word, resenting Drummer Boy's apathy for their fallen comrade. Deacon went out of his way to ensure he didn't speak to anyone else in HQ that day.

The next morning, exactly ten days since she'd stepped into that relay machine, everyone in Railroad HQ gathered around the old crypt that they'd transformed into their base of operations. An aura of solemnity hung in the musty air, as real as the thick layers of dust coating every last brick and tomb. It seemed to Deacon that no matter how long that the Railroad occupied the church, the dust would never go away. He hung towards the back of the crypt, listening closely but keeping away from the small crowd that had gathered to hear their leader's pensive words.

"We have lost another of our own," Desdemona announced. It was silent. "Although many of us hoped that our recent discoveries would aid us in finally infiltrating the Institute, the mission has been indeterminate. We cannot let down our fallen operatives, and we must carry on. See to it that their sacrifices are not in vain; our focus must remain on the Institute."

As usual, her speech was strong, but many in HQ had begun to lose faith a long time ago. This was just another failure, another setback, another fallen comrade. The secretive mission had been a long-shot, but promising. What had felt like their last sliver of hope had been taken from them as quickly as it had appeared. Even with the dwindling dream of saving and protecting the synths, many were unable to leave the Railroad. They'd cut connections with the little family they'd had, so they would not be in danger. Such dreams of saving the synths and destroying the Institute often seemed hopeless, but what else did they have to cling to?

Unable to listen to any more, Deacon left through the escape tunnel in the back.

When he returned later, under the list of agents on their old chalkboard, her code name had been striked out: Wanderer. Himself and Glory were the only agents remaining.