"Ahh, the smell of jet, piss, and old puke. Welcome to Goodneighbor!"

John smacks Mac upside the head for his declaration, though I note he doesn't bother disagreeing with him. I snicker and offer a lax salute to Mozzy, who's met us at the gate.

"General." He nods respectfully, attention sliding to John immediately after as we all funnel inside. "I see you brought our Mayor back in one piece again." He glances at Deacon as he trails in behind us. "Plus one?" He looks back to me. "He with your pack?"

I open my mouth, glimpsing Deacon myself for a rueful second before looking back to Mozzy, shaking my head. "Afraid not, Mozzy. But he is an ally."

Mozzy nods his understanding, pivoting to lead the way to the Old State House, when the gate watch sounds an alert. We all turn to see what the commotion is about; Mozzy, John and I head back to find out the issue and man the wall if need be. Charon follows me, while Mac and Deacon hang back. When I peek back toward them, Deacon's disappeared. Nothing unusual.

By the time we've reached the wall, it's already apparent that this isn't the usual alert. Guns are being aimed, but not fired; tensions are high and ready to snap, but still tethered and tied. We hurry to mount the ramparts and see what the fuss is about.

The sight that meets us when we reach the top is... confounding, really.

A lone super mutant is standing about twenty feet from the gate, hands lifted in surrender.

Now, I've seen a lot of sneaky tactics from super mutants, but this one? This one's new. What's he got to gain from coming here, alone? Or is he alone? A cursory scan of the area reveals no other tall green men, so if he's not alone, they're all using stealth boys. A possibility, but unlikely, unless it's a new tactic I've never heard of. What's this mutant's deal?

The ramp shudders gently with Charon's footfalls as he mounts the last step, coming to take his place at my side, his gaze cast outward and scanning already. The sharp intake of breath once he catches sight of the mutant is... curious. He's not one to react so strongly to an enemy. He speaks up, "I know this mutant. He is an ally."

I frown, gracing him with my most incredulous look. "A super mutant... an ally? I don't mean to say I doubt you, but even Strong's loyalty is dependent on line from a Shakespeare play, for crying out loud."

He fidgets for a moment, clearly uncomfortable, but nods. "He is not like Strong." He sighs, suddenly seeming reluctant, his movements sluggish as he digs into one of his armor's pouches, retrieving a slip of paper and handing it to me. "Here."

I carefully open what turns out to be a tattered, well-read letter... from his previous employer. I read through the faded writing to the end, pointing to the last sentence and showing him, curiosity in my features. "This?" When he confirms, I read the section over again and shake my head in disbelief, then gently fold the paper back up and hand it to him, while I consider the information I've gleaned. "Are you sure about this?"

He nods and repeats himself shortly. "Yes. Allow me to prove it?"

I arch a brow, then allow it with a tip of my head. "Your choice, but be my guest."

Without further ado, he disembarks the ramparts and heads out the gate. I watch with mounting concern as he approaches the mutant with quiet confidence and gun holstered on his back, hoping for his sake that he's not mistaken.

Most of the people on the wall lower their guns just enough to avoid hitting Charon with an accidental discharge. One kid persists in his slightly unsteady aim, obviously a touch green behind the ears. I nudge John and nod toward the jittery young man. He stakes his attention onto the person I indicate, then heads that way with a quiet sigh a moment later. I hear his throat clear gently as he reaches the green Watchman. Some hushed words are exchanged, before the kid sheepishly lowers his gun, falling in line with his compatriots. John pats him on the shoulder with a smile, giving an encouraging squeeze before heading back to me to watch Charon meet the mutant.

He's just come within a few feet of the green mutant by the time John returns to my side. I'm too far to hear what Charon says, but I have no issue hearing the mutant, who seems to have not just volume, but also pitch control issues with his voice.

"Charon, my friend!" Odd. He pronounces it with a 'sh' sound, like my name. Come to think of it, so does Butch. I frown, considering for once that I may have been the first one to use the 'kh' pronunciation of his name. I shake my head to clear it, snapping my attention back to the current situation as the green giant continues, "It is good to see you! You look well!"

There's a pause as Charon relays something to the malachite giant, during which I realize something, now that I'm paying proper attention: Charon is signing. I tilt my head, smiling proudly at my student and watching his hands as best I can from my position. '...contract holder. She has been far kinder than I deserve. I believe you might do well, here.'

The super mutant seems to be keenly watching this development as well, though whether he benefits from Charon's signing or not is unclear.

Regardless, he certainly takes Charon's words to heart. "Truly? How wonderful! I am pleased to hear you have found a place to belong. However, are you certain this," he carefully points to Goodneighbor, being sure to keep his hands up in the process, "place will be accepting of one such as I? Lynn seemed to think so, but she always had such..." he deflates slightly, weighed down by apparent sadness, his tone—previously jovial and upbeat, now somber and tired—reflecting it, "such high hopes, for everything."

Charon nods, hands lifting to sign, 'This is a F.E.V. refuge, as Underworld was, but it is better protected. One of my Mistress's companions is also as you are, only...'

The mutant picks up the slack, when Charon can't seem to find the word to continue. "Less intellectually gifted?"

Charon merely shrugs, his stance radiating tacit agreement. He starts to sign again after a moment. 'Regardless, they accept him, now. I would imagine, after a time, they will accept you, as well.'

The taller of the two nods reasonably. "That is quite encouraging to hear! Perhaps you would introduce me to your friends?"

Charon looks back up at me, then over at John.

John looks to me, an uncertain grimace tugging at his features. He subtly tilts his head toward the mutant, peering back at me as if asking for my opinion.

I take a breath, slowly sighing it out and nodding after a few seconds. "Charon trusts him and I trust Charon. I'll trust the mutant, until he proves himself untrustworthy." I shrug. "Your choice whether Goodneighbor trusts him or not."

He purses his lips thoughtfully, turning to the scene just outside his gate and eying the mutant appraisingly. After a tense twenty seconds or so, he nods. "Alright." He lifts his voice so those around us can easily hear his order, "Let 'im in, but watch 'im." He makes eye contact with our new green—potential—ally. "No funny business."

The viridian behemoth nods, his expression serious.

Charon leads him in through the gate—which the giant has to duck down to get through—and stands with his charge at the foot of the stairs, peering up at me. "General Shana Stewart, this is my friend, Fawkes." He indicates the mutant. "He was an ally and friend to Lynn DeLoria for many years; he is cut from good cloth."

I had thought Fawkes to be a nickname when I read it in the letter, but apparently it's legitimate. I narrow my eyes slightly, then come halfway down the stairs, where I stand on eye level with the... with Fawkes. A few seconds of looking him over later, I relax and offer him a smile, then my hand. "It's good to meet you, Fawkes."

He looks down at my hand, then ever, ever so gingerly, takes it in both of his and slowly, carefully shakes it. He gently holds it in his warm grasp for a few seconds after before releasing me. His broad smile stretches his lips almost grotesquely, but it still manages to be endearing. "It is wonderful to meet you, General. Charon speaks very highly of you, and his good opinion is quite the rarity, so you must be quite special, indeed!"

I note Charon shifting uncomfortably in my periphery and I smirk. "Well, the feeling's mutual, Fawkes. Charon's been a lifesaver in more ways than one, since he came into our lives. Anyway, I look forward to hearing more about you. Oh, and... call me Shana. Any real friend of Charon's is a friend of mine."

After the commotion at the gate finally calmed down to something close to reasonable, Fawkes had gone off to the Old State House with John, Charon following right on my tail with Mac.

It's time we all had a good meal.

"Cods!" I call from the middle of the last flight of stairs, the first familiar 'face' I see perking up at his nickname.

"My goodness mum, but it's wonderful to see you!" he returns my excitement, seeming as though he's barely managing to stay at his station, for his eagerness to come over and say hello.

The early lunch crowd turns to gawk at my group as we head through, most sending a nod my way, some a friendly wave; yet others are less enthused. Can't please them all.

By the time I reach the bar, Codsworth is beside himself. "Oh mum, it's been months!" he chides, "I've been utterly beside myself. Are you alright? Is everyone alive and well? Have you found young Shaun? Who is that man behind you?"

I swivel to see the guy he's indicating, which turns out to be Deacon. The tension I'd allowed into my shoulders at Codsworth's query releases, somewhat, as I look back to the old 'bot. "that's Deacon, Cods. Codsworth, Deacon; Deacon, Codsworth," I introduce the two, "Cods was my Mr. Handy before the war; he's the chef for The Third Rail, now. Speaking of which..." I sling my heavy backpack off and set it on the bar, Chuck complaining bitterly about it all the while. I wave him off and dig through mines, grenades, magazines, clothing and tools of various sorts, in search of my prizes.

"Ah-ha! Here we are." I pull out all the spices I've gathered and traded for along the way, a bunch of carrots, six mutfruit—one of which got squished, sadly. I'll have to clean up that mess later. Fun fun—one small melon and a big bag of brahmin jerky, setting it all out on the counter—minus the squished mutfruit, which I eat half of and hand the other half to Mac instead—and pushing it over to Codsworth.

As Cod's in raptures over the fresh supplies, I peek back at Deacon, waggling my eyebrows eagerly and bouncing a bit in anticipation of the good meal I know we're going to get for this. It's a small shipment, but it's enough to put smiles on a few faces, which is more than enough to make Cods happy.

"Hey, Miss General," pipes up a voice that was once sweet, but the wasteland has roughened with use and smoke. "Ya got someone wantin' to see ya."

I peer over at Nova, arching a brow and barely containing the smirk tugging one corner of my mouth up rather insistently. "Is that so? And who could that possibly be? Who in the big, wide wasteland would come over to see little old me, hm?"

She's huffing little breaths made of laughter as she tries to keep a straight face. "Dunno, some guy that won't leave me alone about when you're comin' back home... amongst other things." She winks, her smile finally freed to spread across her face as she subtly nods toward the topic of our conversation.

I spin and pin my eyes on one of my favorite people, automatically opening my arms as a broad smile splits my face in twain. "Gob!"

He shifts on his feet, more color rising to his cheeks the longer he stands there, until he finally gives in and smiles, treading softly over to me and accepting my embrace with his own, whole-heartedly. "We missed you somethin' fierce, Miss Shana. S'good to see ya home—real good."

I grin and give a pleased hum, squeezing him a bit tighter for a few seconds. "It's good to be home, sweetheart. I'm happy to see you." We finally release each other after a while, but I hold onto him as I get a good look at him. He looks healthy, not a scratch or a bruise on him. Looks like he's even gained some healthy weight, and about time, too. He was skinny as a post when he got here. "You're looking great, hun. How's the place treatin' ya?"

He flushes darkly at my observational compliment, though he still manages a bashful smile. "It's doin' great, Miss Shana. I'm.. I'm happy here. People are good, food's good, music's good... it's just... good." He grins at me and nods once, solidly.

I take his ragged cheeks in my hands and kiss his right one, adding one short hug of his neck before I release him. "I'm so glad to hear it, sweetheart. You deserve the world, never forget that."

He just grins and nods eagerly at me again, face quite aflame with his fluster. "I w-won't, Miss Shana."

After eating lunch and saying my goodbyes to Mac as he departs for his jobs—which, unsurprisingly, were backed up all to hell; my little brother's quite in-demand, especially now that he's known as the General's personal sniper—it's time to poke around and root Nick out of wherever he's holed himself up in.

This proves to be an effort in futility.

Nick is long gone.

According to O'Conolly, one of the Watchmen at the gate, Nick left nearly two weeks ago, with Diamond City as his destination. If that's the case, at least he's most likely safe. It's still worrisome, considering none of us have any idea if Kellogg could take over him at any point. Nick would never forgive himself if that bastard took over and hurt Ellie, or anyone in town.

For now, I can't just go straight back out, unless I go by myself. I'm not going to be the one to keep my boys from getting some shore leave, as it were. So, I have to trust that Nick has control of it; that he knows what he's doing.

God, I hope he does.

I lean against the elevator wall in lax repose as Charon turns the key and sends us upward, reminding me sharply of the day he'd forced my hand on the sleeping issue; the day it all began to change. Hell, we scarcely smell any better now than we did then. I look over at him with an arched brow, hoping to change at least one variable, to break up the deja vu. "Want the shower first?"

He shakes his head, expression troubled. He's been quiet ever since he he introduced Fawkes to us, responding non-verbally to every question thrown his way, using simple gestures and even occasionally signing. While I'm glad to see him practicing, it's starting to worry me that he won't speak.

The elevator dings as its rumbling ascent ends, the doors clattering open to spill us out into my small home. I sigh and head toward the shower first, but before I can open the curved glass door to let myself in, a rough, warm hand wraps its fingers around my bare upper arm with a firm grip, halting my progress. I turn my head, blinking in surprise at the hand's owner, whose expression has only become more troubled; a hint of desperation now toying at the edges. He shakes his head, then nods to the desk chair, tugging me gently but resolutely toward it.

I comply, more confused than ever now, but trusting Charon with... well... everything, if I'm honest. He's never once given me a reason to doubt that my trust was misplaced, after all.

He stands before me as I sit, the backs of his knees nearly meeting the edge of the bed and marking himself as being as far away form me as he can be, without flat going onto the balcony. He stands there and he scowls at the floor, which must've done him some grievous harm at some point, to be glared at that harshly.

Finally, he looks up to me, and the words he lifts his hands to sign break my world apart.

'Mistress... Shana. I wish for you to sell my contract.'