A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.
He barely bothered to look up when he heard the door open. Worshippers came at all times of the day, even when he wasn't even in the chapel. And it was the early hours of the morning. Some of the more devout members of the congregation that he was growing would come at this time. Pastor Clements wasn't really picky about when, just that they came all the same.
But even he had to note the General of the Minutemen walking into the chapel.
"You're up awfully early, sir." He said. He was sitting at his desk, poring over one of the few religious texts that had survived the bombings and the subsequent decades afterwards. Religion in the Wasteland didn't necessarily die in the aftermath of the great flash, but when the world seemed like it was literally out to kill you, the thought of what comes afterwards wasn't really on the forefront of anyone's mind. And there were plenty of people who took religious texts and twisted them into some sort of foolish doomsday cult. This was all the work of an angry and vengeful god, and the leader of each cult was conveniently the one that would lead the unwashed masses to the future, only if they didn everything that the cult leader said. Pastor Clements always felt the urge to roll his eyes when he heard stories of those groups.
God didn't kill the world. Man did.
"Sometimes I can't sleep, Pastor." The General said. "Thinking about that deal with the Brotherhood has a way of doing that."
"Then perhaps I should add prayers for a restful night in your case in addition to the prayers I already throw up." Pastor Clements said with a tired smile. At this, the General raised an eyebrow.
"You're praying about this?"
"Of course. I'm a pastor, you know. What more can I do but pray for cooler heads and the like?" Pastor Clements said. But then his smile faded a bit. "But you wouldn't be coming here in the early hours of the morning, long before Maxson and the Brotherhood woke up, unless there was something on your mind. Would you?"
"You read me pretty well, Pastor." The General said. He put his hands in the pockets of his coat. His eyes darted to the ground, and then back to the pastor. "Do you…do confessional here?"
Pastor Clements chuckled.
"Son, this is the All-Faiths Chapel. Of course I know 'bout confessional. Granted, I don't have one of them booths that they had back in the day…but my office would work. I'll lock the door so that no one else hears whatever it is that you gotta say."
…
"There she is."
Danse struggled not to roll his eyes as Doc Fellows pulled out the slug. The doctor was a strange fellow; hair that went down to his hips, and he didn't really seem interested in cutting it. He also dressed a little bit shabby for a doctor, in the Captain's opinion, and more often than not he lapsed into little phrases in a language that Danse didn't recognize. Nor did anyone else on base. Whenever you asked, he just winked and said "Cajun." No one knew what a "Cajun" was, or where "Cajuns" could be found, and Doc Fellows seemed more interested in irritating people than answering.
It was pretty early in the morning. Danse had been adamant that Shaun and Cait get treatment first, even if that meant he had to wait. Danse didn't need to sleep much, anyway. He spent some of the night doing paperwork (and trying not to bleed over the General's desk), and then continually administered Stimpak injections. He had gambled that eventually the body would push the slug out so that Doc Fellows could pull it. He was right, thankfully, though Curie had told him such a hope was rather foolish. A bullet is not like a sliver! She had chastised him.
"You're lucky that that Synth was carrying a pea-shooter." Doc Fellows said. "It was a clean shot. Just resting in front of your shoulder bone."
"You're telling me that was a pea-shooter?" Danse asked, wincing as he rotated his shoulder. It sure hurt worse than a pea.
"Yep." Doc Fellows said. "I treated a couple fellas that got pegged by Coursers. Usually the first slug is pellets in plastic, designed to hurt more than cripple. That's the one that gets you talking. Then they hit you with the next one in the chamber: hollow-point lead. That cuts through and messes everything up. Usually kills, because they're aiming for the head. But this?" He held up the bullet, glistening red in Danse's blood. "He must not have had time to grab official weaponry. It's just a well-maintained pipe pistol that he got ya with. You'll be sore and stiff, but keep steady treatments and it'll heal fine."
"Thank you, Doctor." Danse said. "What about the others?"
"Cait will be fine." Doc Fellows said. "Couple of broken ribs, and a swollen black eye. That heals with time. She'll be cranky, but when isn't she?"
"Good point." Danse said. But then his smile faded. "But what about Shaun?"
Doc Fellows said.
"He's not critically hurt, thankfully. And he didn't get blinded from taking a pistol to the temple. That's a strong kid…but he got a cut over his eye." He said. "It's gonna scar up, I'm afraid. Hope he doesn't mind."
"…His father has a scar over his eye." Danse said. "It's not on the same side as the one where Shaun was…hit…but he has a scar too."
Doc Fellows chuckled.
"Then he really is his father's son, isn't he?"
Danse smiled, but he wondered whether Doc Fellows really knew what he was saying when he said that.
…
He found Cait sitting out in the gardens, with an exhausted-looking Sheffield next to her. Danse cleared his throat to get their attention.
"Are you alright?" Danse asked. Cait frowned.
"What, do I look like I got hurt?" She asked. "Me head aches, but I'm fine ya fusspot!" She then smiled. "But thanks for askin'." She turned to Sheffield. "Think you can grow me some plant that stops the swelling?"
Her eye hadn't completely healed, so there was a definite puffiness that kept her from opening it completely. Danse had to admit, she looked pretty funny. Not nearly as pretty with that ugly shiner. Or perhaps prettier, depending on one's personal preferences.
"Sorry, Miss Cait." Sheffield said. "I just grow things. You want medicine, ask Ma'am Curie." He sighed. "She's a handful, but so much fun to work with!"
"Speaking of which, where is Curie?" Danse asked.
"Monsieur Shaun, you look terrible!"
"Aw, come on, aunt Curie, it looks so cool!"
They looked over to see that Shaun was busy showing Curie the scabbed cut over his eye.
"Shaun, I do not see the humor in the fact that you were seriously injured!" Curie fretted, her accent somehow getting thicker the more she worried. Shaun stopped smiling a little bit.
"But I'm okay, aunt Curie. Uncle Danse, Aunt Cait and Strong saved me. I'll be fine, don't worry."
The three quietly watched him digging through some of the equipment that Curie had brought out with her, and Sheffield spoke.
"Pretty tough kid." He said. He then turned to Danse. "So that Super Mutant helped you save Shaun?"
"He didn't just help…" Danse said. He sighed. "He…he was the reason that Shaun was saved. Cait lost the fight to X6-"
"Oy! I didn't lose, I just took a bad fall!"
"-and I couldn't move from that gunshot. But Strong saved Shaun. If not for him…" He shook his head. "I can't believe that my life is in the debt of a Super Mutant. My whole life has been spent eradicating them as abominations, and yet here was one that not only saved me, but saved Shaun because he didn't like seeing Shaun cry." He looked at Sheffield and Cait. "Sometimes I wonder what is even real anymore."
"That's why I drink!" Cait said cheerily. "Seein' as how I don't do drugs or that shit anymore."
"You're not…advocating going back to that, are you?" Danse asked. Cait feverishly shook her head.
"Hell no! Not a chance. I wouldn't go back to that shite for all the caps in the Commonwealth. But I gotta get my vices in elsewhere." She said. "That's what Gwinnett is for." She sighed. "I wish ol' Hancock. He was always the best drinker here in the Castle. 'Cept for me, of course."
"I imagine so." Danse said. He started to smile a bit. Cait looked at him.
"Oy, Danse. You like that shite I gave ya a few days ago?"
"What, the bottle?" Danse asked. He paused, and then thought it over. "Yeah. Yeah, I liked it."
"Good. 'Cuz I got more, and I think the big guy needs a drink in his honor for crushin' that Synth's head like a melon." Cait said. Then her smile got downright devious. "Oh shite, can you imagine Strong drunk? It'll be fuckin' hilarious!"
"I…don't know if that's a good idea for Strong to get drunk."
"What is drunk?"
They all turned to see Strong had sauntered over to them. Danse and Sheffield looked at each other. Sheffield just held up his hands, refusing to get involved in the conversation. Cait looked up at the Super Mutant.
"It's when you drink too much of this delicious drink, and you can't fuckin' walk and you can't see straight and shite!"
"That stupid. Why Strong get drunk? Strong not want to fall. Might get killed, not go killing."
Danse couldn't believe it, but the Super Mutant had more sense than the human next to him right now.
"You're no fun, Strong. You know that?"
"Strong not fun. Being fun not help find Milk of Human's Kindness."
"Perhaps it might help." Danse said, before he could stop himself. "Sometimes kindness is a byproduct of having fun."
Cait stared at the Captain with a thunderstruck expression.
"Did…did you just tell Strong he could fuckin' drink?" She asked. Danse looked stunned.
"No. No I did-"
"Strong get drunk to find Milk of Human's Kindness?"
"No." Danse said, panicking. "No."
"Strong get the most drunk! Strong get most drunk than redhead!"
At this, Cait started laughing hysterically, and Danse wished that he was six feet under.
…
They'd been moving at a breakneck pace for several hours now. The Synths had all stopped carrying weapons and were instead hanging back, helping the scientists and kids that weren't able to set the pace. MacCready risked looking back, but not for long. Somehow it was a miracle that they hadn't run into anything dangerous yet. He looked in the distance, and felt his heart leap into his chest. The Castle was there. Maybe about ten minutes away, but it was there. So damned close.
And that's when he heard it. That damned beeping.
"EVERYONE GET DOWN!" He howled. Everyone behind him hit the deck, while Bleach and Bucket started ushering them to the ground. MacCready whirled around, and saw the Suicider about fifty feet away from him. He only had time for one poorly-timed shot. He whipped out the rifle and fired.
The explosion lit up the morning gloam, and knocked him to his feet.
"KILL THEM ALL!"
A flurry of gunfire erupted from the ridge across the river. MacCready took cover behind a metal wall, and looked back. All of the Institute survivors were out of the line of fire, but if they climbed up to the road they were sitting ducks. MacCready looked across the river. There was a hunting party of Super Mutants on the other side, all of them out in the open and taking pot-shots at him in revenge for the way he'd killed their brother. But they were heavily armored. There was no way he was going to get anything more than a few cursory shots off on them. And he needed to be precise as hell to even knock them down.
He needed a miracle. He needed-
"YO!" He turned back towards the huddled masses of Institute scientists. "Anyone know how to work radios?"
There was silence. And then a young woman raised her hand.
"I do!"
"You! Get up here but stay down!" He said. "I'm gonna need one of the Gen-Is!"
The young lady crawled through the dirty mud and gunk to get up to the road with MacCready. The Super Mutants on the other end of the river were content to laugh and periodically fire shots, convinced that their prey was trapped. It was more fun to play with food than eat it right away.
"What do you need?" The lady asked.
"I need you to hotwire this." MacCready said, pulling out the little radio in his pocket. "Is it at all possible to jury-rig this thing so that I can send a message on it to a specific radio station?"
"Um…maybe?" The lady said. "But you'd need to…" She looked over at the Gen-I. "You'd need to get the radio send-receive transmitter out of one of the Synths…" She looked at MacCready. "You want me to kill this Synth for the equipment in its head?"
"Can you make me a distress signal out of the parts?" MacCready asked.
"…I think so." The lady said.
"Then do it." MacCready said. "Otherwise we're all gonna die here. Either in a few minutes when the Muties decide to cross the river, or in a few seconds when one of them remembers that they carry grenades."
The Institute woman paled, but then nodded. She turned to the Gen-I next to her, and the tears started to run down her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, R2…" She whispered.
She reached behind the back of the Synth's uncovered head, as it stared at her unblinking and expressionless, and she flipped the switch. The thing went limp. She was sniffling as she pulled out the send-receive transmitter, and in mere moments she started to tinker with the little radio that MacCready had given her. He watched as she siphoned wires from the deactivated Synth as well as the interior of the radio. Finally, she plugged in the remaining wires.
"That's it." She said. "Wire it to your station, and start speaking. I hope it's worth it."
"Lady, you are a genius." MacCready said. He reached for the little recorder.
…
Jonathan yawned. He was pretty tired, despite usually getting up this early whenever he needed to do the radio announcements for the Minutemen. He saw that the Captain was out and about, and that the General's kid was okay. So that made Jonathan happy. He wasn't that old himself, but the General always felt kind of fatherly towards him. For a man that had grown up by himself and was now one of the most trusted Minutemen in the Castle, Jonathan was pretty happy with his lot in life.
He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and then the message came in.
"MAYDAY, MAYDAY! I NEED IMMEDIATE AIR SUPPORT, DANGER CLOSE, COORDINATES ALPHA BRAVO, SECTOR TWO!"
Jonathan was knocked out of his chair, which caused Danse to run over.
"What's going on?" Danse asked. "And is that…MacCready? What is he doing broadcasting?"
"No idea, sir!" Jonathan said. "But he sounds serious." Danse nodded. He then turned towards one of the Minutemen that was standing up near the watchtowers to the north.
"Private! Get out a telescope, and see what's going on out in sector two!"
"Aye, sir!" The Minutemen shouted. He disappeared from sight, and then peered back over the battlements. "Sir! There's a whole hunting party of Muties out there, firing on an unknown party!"
"Jonathan, if you can, radio in so that MacCready hears you."
"On it, sir!" Jonathan said, his tiredness melted away.
…
MacCready was about to give up hope when he heard static coming from the radio.
"This is Radio Freedom. Can we confirm the identity and validity of this request?"
"GOD FUCKING DAMMIT JONATHAN YOU DAMN WELL KNOW IT'S ME!" MacCready roared, his exhaustion and panic hitting a breaking point. The longer they wasted, the higher the likelihood the Brotherhood would send out an investigative team…and everything would go to pot. "I NEED AN AIRSTRIKE, DANGER CLOSE ALPHA BRAVO, SECTOR TWO! NOW! NOW GODDAMN IT, NOW!"
There was a pause.
"Affirmative. Airstrike inbound. Get to cover, Mac!"
MacCready turned towards the crowd of civilians behind him.
"Everyone get down!" He shouted. He turned to the lady next to him. "You. Just duck and pray."
She nodded fearfully, and went fetal.
And then came the artillery.
…
"…I don't know, Pastor. Is it right for me to do something such as this?"
Pastor Clements was silent for a moment. That gave the General a chance to speak again.
"…I was raised to be a man that was always on the straight and up, as well as someone that always tried to do the best for everyone in the end." Blue said. "But…I'm at a crossroads where I must tell a lie in order to protect a greater truth. I have done everything in good faith, but here, at the crossroads of the largest and most important aspect…I must lie. But I lie for the greater good. Is that not acceptable in the end?"
"The truth is the greatest of all salves, you know." Pastor Clements said. "We don't get to pick and choose the moments when it applies to us."
"I know." Blue said. "But this…isn't it better in the end?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Pastor Clements said. Blue raised an eyebrow.
"Not very helpful, you know."
"Hey, I might run this place, but I am not the Almighty, nor am I omniscient like He is. So whatever His relationship with you is between you and Him. I'm just here for spiritual guidance. I know that you are a good man, General, which is why it is admittedly troubling to hear that you are considering something of this magnitude."
At that moment, there was a rumbling in the distance.
"Those…those are the guns." Blue said. Panic gripped him. "I…I have to go!" He stood up. "I'm so sorry, Psator, we'll continue this at another time but I have to-"
"Son."
As Blue was halfway out the door, Pastor Clements looked him in the eye.
"It doesn't matter what you've done at this point. Nor does it matter who's done what to who, or for what reason. Fact is, you're fighting for the future of civilization in the Commonwealth, I guess. Either it's going to go one way or the other. There's no going back. And if the good that you are trying to build is based on a lie, then…then I suppose that is the hand you are dealt." His stare cut Blue to his core. "But you had best be prepared to fight on that lie. If there's one thing that the Almighty doesn't look kindly upon, it's someone that has no conviction. So fight on that lie, if this all matters that much to you."
Blue nodded, and sprinted out the door.
…
There was a flurry of activity outside. Elder Maxson was in front of the Public Occurrences, and he was livid. There were several Brotherhood initiates that were flanking him, as well as Hancock, Preston and a few Minutemen there.
"Open up, reporter!" Maxson snarled. "I know that he's in there, the snake!"
"Go away!" Nat shouted from the inside of the house. The door opened a crack, and Piper peeked her head out.
"Well, he isn't, so you're going to have to wait for him to get back."
"I don't have time for games, reporter." Maxson said. "I want to know why there are explosions in the distance coming from the Castle, when your General explicitly promised that there would be no discharges from the guns! Now where is he?" Maxson thrust his foot forward, kicking the door in and sending Piper falling to the ground in a cry of shock and pain.
CLACK.
The sound was like a silencer of all other noise. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Everyone turned to face the source of the sound. Slowly, Maxson turned around to see what was going on.
Blue was standing in the center of the square, having come up behind everyone. He was roughly ten feet from the Elder, and his eyes were cold and resolute. But that wasn't the reason why everyone was staring and gawking. As Piper rubbed her nose and climbed back up to her feet, she got a good look and then flinched back in fear.
Blue had drawn his gun.
It was somehow even more monstrous in his hand than it was clipped to his chest. A powerful .44 Magnum that was capable of blowing someone's head clean off. Six shots, more than enough to kill anything that moved. It was pointed right between the eyes of the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.
There was silence, and then Maxson spoke.
"You have some nerve." He said. "To pull a weapon on me, in front of my own soldiers?"
"Step away from the door and Piper, and I promise I lower the gun." Blue said. "But you hurt her and I will not hesitate to pull the trigger."
There was a pause. And then Maxson slowly stepped back from the door. Blue, true to his word, holstered the pistol. It was like a collective exhale across the town square.
"What's going on?" Blue asked.
"I was going to ask you the same thing." Maxson said. "From my position in the Upper Boxes, I could see flashes of fire in the distance. The only thing that could make such a massive explosion is one of your artillery guns. So I want to know what on earth would make you order such a strike in the middle of a tense atmosphere such as the one we find ourselves in."
"…I don't know what you're talking about." Blue said.
"Bullshit!" Maxson snarled. "What kind of leader are you that doesn't know every little detail of everyone underneath you? That you aren't in control of your own men? How can I respect a man that isn't always in control?"
"Elder…"
"And now I am supposed to carry on these talks in good faith when you can't even keep your people in order?"
"Elder…"
"This was all a waste of my time. And what a shame: I seriously thought that we would have something written out."
"ELDER!"
"WHAT?" Maxson roared, turning towards Proctor Ingram. She was standing next to Preston, who was listening to his radio. He then nodded, and then Proctor Ingram spoke again.
"Colonel Garvey here says that he's getting an urgent message from the Minutemen radio station that the General needs to return to the Castle as soon as possible. Says that something major has occurred and that he needs to return. No time to lose."
Maxson was silent, and then turned towards Blue.
"And you have no idea what is going on?"
Blue took a deep breath.
"No. I have no idea what is going on."
There was another pause. And then Maxson nodded.
"Very well. Let's take my Vertibird."
"'Let's?'" Blue repeated. Maxson looked positively confused.
"You didn't expect me to sit this out while you figured out whatever was happening? I want to see what is going on in person. With my own two eyes. Good faith, after all." He said, his eyes narrowing pointedly.
Blue nodded, and gestured for Maxson to lead the way to the Vertibird.
"Everyone else is to stay in the city!" Elder Maxson barked. "Work out the finer details of the deal while the General and I see…whatever it is that has happened."
He hopped effortlessly into the hold of the Vertibird that was parked in front of the Wall, and then slapped the wall of the ship to signal to the pilot to begin preparations. Blue turned towards the crowd.
"Piper!" He shouted. "Get in here."
"I didn't authorize-"
"We need an impartial journalist, don't we?" Blue asked, daring to smirk. Elder Maxson took another deep breath, and then nodded.
"Fine. Fine. But she is not to touch anything on this ship. Understood?" He turned to Piper, who fearfully nodded.
With that, the Vertibird groaned as it lifted off of the ground, and began its trek through the air towards whatever it was that had happened at the Castle.
A/N: And another chapter in the books! Decided to add a little wrinkle in having the best-laid plans of Blue go a little askew. As for those that doubt the validity of using a radio and Synth tech to create a two-way radio, I did solely for entertainment purposes, not for any accurate purpose. Hope it was still good to read!
So off to the Castle, and in turn we start the endgame of the story! How is Maxson going to react to seeing the Institute remnant (if there's any of them left)? How might he react to seeing Danse? Can these peace talks still survive?
…We'll see…