A/N: I'm so relieved you all liked my last chapter! I was pretty nervous about releasing it, what with my headcanon conspiracy and trying to make an upset Maxson cry without seeming too out of character.

Chapter 14: Subterfuge

They used me.

Several hours of disturbing dreams had morphed Maxson's sadness into anger. And recognition.

Nora still remained by his side, seated once again in the infamous infirmary chair, but now equipped with a laser rifle she was meticulously inspecting and cleaning. Maxson supposed cynically that Nora's devoted bedside manner was not entirely altruistic. Any assassin would balk at starting a shootout in the Prydwyn infirmary, especially with Maxson once again present for the attack. Elder Arthur Maxson was the Brotherhood's prized stallion, after all. He was probably the absolute last person any Brotherhood assassin would want to risk shooting once, let alone twice.

"They used me,"Maxson repeated, this time aloud.

Nora popped her head up from her rifle maintenance, surprised both at Maxson's consciousness and at his words. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He kept his head askance as he continued, too incensed to face her. "I am the youngest Elder in the history of the Brotherhood of Steel. This was no accident."

Nora sensed his bitter frustration and gently placed her weapon to the ground as if it were a precious newborn. She leaned in supportively but Maxson kept his gaze stubbornly away. "You accomplished a great deal for the Brotherhood in a very short period of time," she said diplomatically. "It was only natural to promote you to Elder."

Maxson scoffed and turned away. "Lies," he growled. "I was no more impressive than many of my peers. I should be nothing more than a paladin by now." He heard the metal chair screech backwards as she knelt nearer. He continued to look away, unable to bear her reaction to his words. His lips snarled as he spoke. "Once Sarah was killed, the council immediately threw me into combat." He recalled his first battle, the screeching chaos and his own childish fear. "Every feat I accomplished was exaggerated. Every failure I caused was forgotten."

He clutched the side of his bed with a deathclaw-like grip. "I was paraded about in battle and negotiations as a glorified trophy."

She attempted to disarm his new-found anger with a delicate hand on his bare shoulder. Maxson stifled a quiver, suddenly very aware that naught but a blanket tucked under his arms hid his naked torso. "You aren't giving yourself enough credit," she muttered.

"You're right," he bayed. "I can credit myself with harboring Sarah's murderers all of these years. My actions probably even helped them."

She gave his muscled shoulder a small squeeze. "You were a child. How could you have known? What could you have done? If you resisted you might have been killed too." She smiled. "And I, for one, prefer a world with the revered Elder Maxson still in it."

She managed to diffuse his rage, and he visibly sunk into the bed. He finally turned his face towards her. "Nora…" he murmured, his stringent voice melting as his face flushed. "I may have failed Sarah, but I will do whatever is necessary to protect you."

Nora looked at him with an expression so sad he wondered if she might cry. She then snaked her hand from his shoulder, up his tensed neck, and across his bearded jawline. He found himself reciprocating, encircling her dainty wrist in his large, coarse hand. They both became still, their eyes fixated upon one another...

At that moment, Cade sauntered in.

Nora reflexively drew herself away from Arthur as if she'd been forcefully repelled back. She jolted to her feet just in time for Cade to glance up from his notes. The doctor took no notice of Nora's jerked reaction, instead grinning boyishly as he saw Maxson's open eyes. "Oh good, you are awake," Cade beamed. "I am not used to treating patients of your rank, sir. I've never felt so much pressure for treating a simple gunshot wound before."

At that moment, a heavily armed Proctor Teagan emerged and addressed Nora. "Ready to depart, knight?" he asked.

Nora further stiffened her posture and replied, "Yes sir." She turned to Maxson, bearing a voice of overstuffed formality. "I need to rendezvous with the Minutemen, Elder. I am overdue to report in. Teagan will escort me and pilot the vertibird for additional security. We will return at approximately 02300 tonight." She turned heel and marched out with Teagan.

Maxson weakly attempted to sit upright and protest her departure, but hissed in pain as he did so. Cade put a strong hand to his collarbone, forcing him back down. "You shouldn't try to move, sir. The stitches could tear." He gingerly lifted Maxson's infernally itchy blanket and inspected his shirtless torso. "The swelling and bleeding have gone down, which is a relief. The shot also didn't do any lasting damage to your vital organs. You were lucky, sir."

Lucky was about the last thing Maxson felt. His stomach seared as if being baked alive and he cursed whatever two-faced bastard had taken the shot. "Have we identified the attacker?" he grumbled.

Cade nodded grimly. "A scribe named Curtin was behind the attack, sir. Nothing particularly notable about him, except that I had diagnosed him with mild depression about two months back. He'd been passed over for a promotion several times and took it personally." The name Curtin was unfamiliar to the Elder, unhelpful. Cade continued. "He was killed by Nora in the struggle. I examined his body but found nothing of interest. Ingram and Haylen are sweeping his quarters now. Once they report to Kells, he will send a report to the counci-"

"No!" Maxson roared with such fervor Cade reactively stepped back. The last thing Maxson needed was some reckless report by Kells sent to the very people potentially responsible for the hit. "Tell Kells to delay that report. I will contact the council myself." Cade just stared wide-eyed at Arthur. This frustrated the incapacitated Elder immensely. "Tell him now, Cade. That is an order! And tell Ingram and Haylen to report to me and only me the moment they find anything!"

"Yes, sir..." the doctor mumbled, still struck by his superior officer's vehemence. He brusquely exited.

The situation was bleeding as profusely as the Elder's wounds. There was no way one inconsequential scribe was behind the attack. Someone or some faction within the Brotherhood with standing and power had incentivized Curtin to perpetrate the attack, likely with the promise of promotion and power if Cade's assessment of Curtin was accurate.

Maxson, for once, did not have a definitive plan. Subterfuge had never exactly been part of his training.

I need Nora.

He found it, for multiple reasons, difficult to suck in breaths.

A combination of threats, orders, and pleading for eight hours had finally worn Cade down, and he warily agreed to transfer Arthur out of the torturous infirmary cot and into his own bed. Before long, Arthur was clothed in awful linen pajama-like attire, wheeled aboard a gurney like a feeble old man, and promptly dumped into his own bed. Cade then unceremoniously shoved an IV in his arm, handed him a communicator for assistance, and chided him to rest.

Maxson just grunted. He had gone from daunting leader to pitied invalid within hours.

Over the course of twenty minutes he slowly managed to raise himself to a slouched position and stare longingly at his terminal. Rumor of the failed attack and injured Elder would rapidly seep past the confines of the Prydwyn and into the ears of the culprits. He needed to get ahead of the scuttlebutt and spin the story to his advantage, but how? What could he possibly say to make the culprits' identities known? How could he prevent them from fleeing or hiding behind legions of loyal soldiers once they realized their assassination attempt failed? How could Maxson possibly punish influential Brotherhood members without tearing the entire order apart once again?

He was but one crippled man, leagues away from the Citadel, with naught but a computer terminal at his disposal. The task was impossible.

His inner turmoil was interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. "Come!" he bellowed before scrambling to seat himself despite the ragged pull of his stitches and Cade's scolding orders. It was Nora, it had to be.

It wasn't.

Ingram and Haylen slowly entered, clearly alarmed by the Elder's condition as well as the scowl deepening on his face.

Ingram, the less intimidated of the pair, spoke first. "Elder, Haylen and I have completed our sweep of the attacker's quarters."

"And?" he blurted quickly, prickling to know more.

Haylen approached slowly, as if wary of a caged beast. "There were two items of interest, sir. One was a forged schedule on his terminal reassigning the vertibird pilots and guards who were originally posted to the flight deck at the time of the shooting. The second was a damaged holotape hidden at the bottom of a waste bin. It appears to have been deliberately smashed."

Maxson sensed the gravity of that tape as Haylen's words clung in the air. "Were you able to repair the tape?"

Ingram nodded gravely. "I was able to recover about half of the recording. It contains verbal instructions for carrying out the hit. The voice in the message was garbled, but we managed to filter it."

Haylen could not contain herself and blurted. "It's Quinlan, sir. Proctor Quinlan's voice is on the holotape."

A/N: The unofficial title of this chapter is 'Cade blocked' :p