When Maxson said he was bringing a security detail, Morgan didn't expect a whole damn Secret Service. Only after persistent badgering did he agree to leave some soldiers behind, after Morgan informed him that so much firepower would be viewed as an act of aggression. "We're here for peace," she said. "Not a dick-measuring contest."

Maxson bristled, and for a second she genuinely thought he was about to correct her on the size of his cock. But he let it go. Now they were here, with Brotherhood and Minutemen soldiers pacing alongside each other along the battlements, keeping watch for synths as the two biggest leaders in the Commonwealth shook hands. Des was still on her way.

"General Garvey," the Elder greeted, sticking out a hand. "It's good to finally meet you."

"Good to meet you too," Preston said, clearly less confident but making up for it in earnestness. He returned the handshake. Both men stood like military figures - feet spread shoulder width, shoulders back, heads held high and their hands resting on their weapons. "Gotta admit, I was surprised to hear what all you said on the radio."

"Your friend, Ms. Morgan, enlightened me on the situation." He pressed his lips together. "I presume you're aware of the Railroad's information on the Institute."

"I don't know all of it, but I saw it in action." Preston toyed with his hat, running his fingers along the brim. "Some kinda teleporter. Real fancy tech. I would have called it Brotherhood if it didn't look so patchwork. Between me and Morgan's Railroad people, we got that put together, and then Morgan disappeared. This summit is the first time I've seen her since." His eyes moved over Maxson's shoulder to the woman behind it. "You sure have been busy, huh."

Morgan shrugged.

Preston nodded, and spread a hand behind him, towards the open field of the Castle. "Brotherhood and the Minutemen might not agree on everything, but I'm not about to turn down an alliance. So long as you come in peace, you're welcome here. We've got a medical center, an armory, barracks, power armor, a bar. I know it's not as fancy as you're used to, but I hope you'll be comfortable." He gestured. "General's quarters is that way. We'll have our discussions in there. You're welcome to wait there or inspect the place 'til Morgan's people show up."

Maxson nodded. A half-dozen armored soldiers marched in at his heels, two accompanying him to the General's quarters and the rest going to pace around the fort. When Maxson rounded a corner, Preston exhaled, and gave Morgan a questioning look. "You have any explanation for this?"

Morgan shrugged. "He attacked the Railroad."

"So you partnered with him?"

"Not quite. That's what these negotiations are for. After the attack, the Railroad wanted me to kill the Brotherhood, but that didn't work out so well. I figured banding together would solve our common problem. Only, I don't think Des was expecting this. I might have to mitigate the conversation." She licked her lips, tilting her head aside. "How is leadership treating you?"

Preston chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "It's, uh. I gotta say, today might be the hardest day yet. And I've been putting the Commonwealth back together for over a year."

"Yeah." Morgan hesitated, glancing down at the ground. "It suits you, Preston."

One of the few times she'd addressed him by his first name. "You think so?"

"I do." She nodded. "Look, I'm - I'm sorry for how things have been, this past year. I'm sorry for not helping you as much as I could."

Preston shook his head. "And I'm sorry I tried to pressure you into handling our problems. You were dealing with a lot, and so was I. I wanted someone who would take command and make me feel less... at fault. You were trying to cope with the loss of your family. And, well." He glanced up at the sky. "Everything else, I guess."

"I did my best. So did you. You've accomplished a lot, Preston. You ought to be proud of it. I know you didn't think you were that great a soldier when all this started, but you've done these people proud. You've given people food and shelter, rebuilt the Minutemen from nothing. Without you representing the people, I might have nowhere for the Railroad and the Brotherhood to meet. 'Cause that's what this is all about, isn't it? Stopping the Institute from hurting the people?"

"I hope so." Preston smiled. "I'll go make small talk with the, uh, Elder. You keep a lookout for your people. I'm sure we'll have lots of time to talk after all this is over."

"Sounds good."

And they parted. Morgan chose to wander outside outside the Castle, feeling the guards' eyes on her as she walked down the path to a rusted car at the side of the road. The Castle sat on the edge of the coast, a good walk from the edge of the city, with a sprawling dry-grass field in between. Cold December winds sent chills down her back, making her shiver within her armor. With all the high-octane events happening recently, she hadn't noticed the weather change. She remembered it being cold at the Battle of Bunker Hill, but there had been too much going on for her to pay much attention. A thin layer of white frost covered the ground, clumps of ice crunching under her boots when she walked. Deacon said it'd snowed a few times already, but then a radstorm came in and melted everything again.

She heard Deacon walk out of the Castle and follow her trail to the car, hopping up and sitting on the hood beside her. "Hey there, stranger." He'd tossed the mercenary disguise, going back to his normal jeans and wig. He wore several thick sweaters, heavy mittens over his hands, and military boots he'd probably swiped from the Brotherhood.

"Hey." Morgan gave him a faint smile. "Sorry you've had to play second fiddle during all this."

"No, it's great." Deacon leaned back, wincing as the icy metal of the car seeped cold into his jeans. "Believe me. I live to fade into the background and watch things play out. When all this is over? I'll write a book. A history book. It'll be in libraries. It'll be taught in schools. I'll be a legend."

"Writing history textbooks generally implies telling the unaltered truth, Deacon. Are you sure you're capable of that?"

Deacon grinned. "Well, I mean... does it all have to be unaltered? You sure I can't just sneak in a sidebar about Maxson having a tiny-"

"I don't think that's allowed, no."

"Well, who's gonna stop me?" he asked, throwing his hands up.

"Me, for the sake of historical accuracy."

"Damn." He rested his hands on his stomach, laying his head on the frame of the busted windshield and staring up at the sky. The wind howled through the trees around them. "I'm glad you went with the peaceful option," he said, after a moment. "It's good. I think we might stand a chance of getting this right."

"If Des or Maxson don't say anything stupid and cause a war," Morgan added.

"Well, that's why we're here. With our pretty faces and bedazzling charms, we'll stop any conflict before he starts." He exhaled, watching his breath spiral up in a white plume. "I can't believe it's almost over," he murmured.

"The fight against the Institute?"

Deacon nodded. "I mean, I've... I've been doing this for twenty years. I knew people - before they died - who'd been doing it for longer than that. At the Switchboard, we actually stood a chance, but I guess that's what made the Institute try to get rid of us. After that, after what happened, I really thought we were on a clock, ticking down every second, any moment our last. And, I guess, if you hadn't been around, it was only a matter of time before the Brotherhood found us and our time was up. Now... Now we're so close. You've been to the Institute and back. We're negotiating an alliance between the three biggest factions. We've got a revolution at the ready. We could be just a few weeks - a few days - from ending it all. I don't know what I'm going to do after that."

Morgan swallowed, letting his words hang in the air for a moment before she broached the topic. "Look after Donny?" she offered. "He'll need someone to take care of him. With the Institute gone, we don't know what will become of the Railroad, or anyone else. We've gotta look after him." Her smile melted, the light in her eyes dimming. "Especially if one of us doesn't come back."

Deacon opened his mouth to contradict her, but no argument came, and he exhaled another cloud of white mist as his face fell. "If one of us doesn't come back," he repeated.

"Not everyone will," Morgan pointed out, softly. "There's no chance we'll get through this without casualties. It could be you, it could be me. Could neither of us, if we're lucky, but they might target me because I'm a traitor. They might target you if they think you're close to me. We don't know what they'll do. But it'll be big. If one of us dies, it falls to the other to look after Donny."

Deacon faltered. He sat, wordless, his lips parted like he had something on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed, his shoulders curling in, some kind of earnest emotion written in his brow. "Morgan, I-"

"Hush." Morgan's senses tingled, and she looked from him back out into the city. Her eyes traced the buildings for a moment before she caught sight of it again. Two figures. One, dressed in an over-sized woolen coat and shuffling around the debris towards the Castle. The other, much smaller and faster, racing over the debris and bouncing in circles around the first figure. Gradually they came into focus, and soon, a head of stringy red hair was barreling towards them.

"You made it!" And Donny hit Morgan full force, making her stumble back as he threw his arms around her. Morgan stopped, shocked, then smiled and returned the hug, running her hands over the boy's head and squeezing him tight.

"We told you," she murmured. Donny gave her a bright smile and switched to Deacon, who swooped him up with a big grin and hugged him.

"Hey there, Big Don," Deacon chirped, Donny's arms around his neck. "Did you behave while we were gone?"

"Nope!" Donny replied, with a pop of his lips on the P sound.

"That's my guy." For a moment, they were all smiles, laughing and communing and saying hello. But then, Desdemona's footsteps stopped with a final, icy crunch, and everyone's joy faded. She looked haggard, deep shadows under her eyes, normally smooth hair unbrushed. She held her lips in a tight, grim line, and didn't speak. Just stared.

"Des," Morgan greeted.

"Morgan." The alpha's eyes glimmered with intensity, borderline malice visible in her gaze.

Morgan took a breath. "It's the only way, Des. We can't do this alone, and I couldn't kill everyone. This is what it's going to take."

Des glared a few moments longer, then exhaled, pulling her scarf up over her nose. "I suppose it's too late, now."

"It has to be done."

"You betrayed us," the dark-eyed woman stated. "You betrayed us all."

"You don't own me, Desdemona." Morgan stepped forward. "I'm sorry I didn't discuss this with you before. Really, I am. But things have changed. I'm tired, Des. I'd rather we sacrifice our pride than more lives. You can turn around if you want, go right back to Mercer, never speak to me again. But I'm going to get this done, whatever it takes. You may have started me down this path, but it's my world. My choices. If you leave, I will give the Minutemen and the Brotherhood the plans to build the Molecular Relay, and we will end this war with or without you. Your choice."

A cold wind blew through the yard.

"For Glory," Des said simply. "She wanted them free. I have to do it. For her."

Morgan nodded. "They're waiting for you."

The four of them marched back up the cold road and into the Castle. In the General's quarters blazed a well-tended fireplace, warming the chill stone walls from a hearth at the back of the room. Both Minuteman and Brotherhood soldiers guarded the door, and inside the room, Garvey and Maxson shared small glasses of whiskey. Both men looked up at their arrival, and rose from their seats. "You're the Railroad, then," Maxson stated, expressionless.

"Their representative," Des said coldly.

"Is it a good idea to have him here?" Preston asked, gesturing to Donny. "I mean, no to be rude, but I don't know if this is really a meeting for kids."

Morgan and Deacon shared a look, then looked at Donny, who gave them both a pitiful pout. "You guys have been gone for two whole weeks, and then tell me I can't stay for the important stuff?"

"It's gonna be boring," Deacon warned.

"I'll just sit by the fire and not listen." He held one hand to his chest. "Promise."

"Uh-huh."

Morgan shrugged. "He's seen enough already. I don't see why I should baby him now."

"Well, it's your decision." Preston gestured to the table. "Let's sit down and talk."

When all were seated, Preston offered the newcomers alcohol. They politely refused. A brief, awkward silence descended. "I realize this is unorthodox," Morgan said. Everyone stared at her. "But we're all here, aren't we? We agree that the Institute is the real evil, and that it's worth uniting to stop them. I think you're all aware of the situation regarding the Molecular Relay, the Institute and so on. All that's left is to discuss how we want to attack the Institute, when and where, and what happens after."

A beat passed as Morgan stopped speaking, the other listeners waiting for their turn. Maxson piped up first. "I'll say what we're all thinking. Our biggest hurdle is our view on synths. If we want a chance at unity, we have to make a decision. We need to decide which side is right."

"The synths should be set free," Desdemona stated. "After the Institute is destroyed, and no more synths are being created, then we can talk about what to do about them."

"I disagree," Maxson rumbled. "I will not see these abominations roaming free, for your people to 'rehome' as if they're unwanted animals. We make a decision now. Sentient or not, they are weapons. Leaving them alive would be leaving alive the Institute. For all we know, destroying the Institute could trigger a failsafe inside them, and start the war we're trying to avoid."

"Then what would you want to do?" Des said, glaring. "Leave them inside the Institute? It's with their help that this revolution is happening at all."

"Why make it a revolution?" Maxson shot back. "If Morgan can get my people into the Institute, then let her. Let us fight the Institute without the help of the synths. If they are as weak as she says, then we don't need them to finish this."

"Betrayal, Maxson?" Morgan spoke up. "We promised the synths liberty. It was a fair bargain. Going against their wishes and abandoning them would be unethical."

"You can't promise anything to a machine. You can command a robot, you can wield technology, you can create artificial intelligence, but it does not have sentience."

"They are sentient," Des insisted. "Sentience is a mix of free will and subjective emotions. If they don't have either, why would so many of them want to escape in the first place? Why would they seek freedom from their supposed masters?"

Morgan shook her head. "There's no way to prove through debate if they are sentient or not," she interjected. "The only real way to decide that is with tests. Research. The Brotherhood is about collecting and preserving technology, right? Destroying the synths would be destroying one of the most critical pieces of technology ever designed, second only to the atomic bomb. Let us remove the synths from the Institute. Then we can put them to trial."

Reluctantly, Maxson exhaled, pressing his lips together. "Fine. But I don't want them rehomed, like you people do. I want them exactly as they are, for testing, for research, for examination. I will let them... live, but only if we agree to treat them as artifacts than as living, sentient creatures."

Des opened her mouth, but Morgan raised a hand. "I think that's the best we can do for now."

"What about the people inside?" Preston questioned meekly. "There can't just be synths."

Morgan took a breath. "No. There's not. Altogether, I'd guess that there's hundred living people in there. Maybe more or less, but they strictly control population. There are some children, though not many. Some are very old. I know that some of them are sympathetic to synths, though they don't quite see them as human. I think many of them just have no idea what the Commonwealth is really like. Even the... Director, the leader himself, hasn't left the Institute in sixty years."

"So... are we going to kill them?" Preston looked around the table, seeking an answer.

"Yes," Des said. "They created and enslaved a race of sentient beings. I refuse to show mercy."

"For once, I agree." Maxson pressed his hands to the table. "They replace human beings with artificial versions of themselves. They kill civilians, they steal technology and resources, and they are seeking to exterminate the human race. I say we show them no quarter."

"But that's slaughter," Preston said, spreading his hands in frustration. "That's execution. We can't just walk in and kill them. Even if they are evil, we have to be just."

"Then what do you suggest?" Des asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. "They've tried to kill my organization many times over, and threatened the Commonwealth as a whole for over sixty years. We can't just let them go."

"Or, we could," Deacon pointed out. Donny sat astride in his lap, head ducked under his chin and with their backs to the hearth. Deacon raised his eyebrows as all eyes turned to him, and held up his hands in surrender. "Geez, don't kill the messenger. All I'm saying is that maybe a life in the Commonwealth wouldn't be so bad. These guys are supposed to be geniuses, right? Killing them would be a waste. Not to mention unjust, like the good General said. If we blew up their home and said, 'well, good luck with that,' they'd have to learn how to play with others. If nothing else, we could put them on trial or something, like the synths, and give them an option to switch sides after they lost."

The table fell silent for a moment as the party considered. "It's not a bad idea," Maxson allowed. "I know for a fact that there is at least one scientist in the Institute who defected from the Brotherhood after learning about their technology. It would be good to get them back, along with anyone else we could convert to our cause."

"Forcing them to live as equals with the synths might open their eyes," Des admitted. "Besides, letting them walk free would leave them exposed to mob justice. The people of the Commonwealth would decide how they are treated. Perhaps their deaths would be longer and crueler than execution." She gave Deacon a thoughtful nod. "I suppose you do, occasionally, have good ideas."

"That's... not, exactly, the point I was making, but I'll take it."

"Hey Deacon? What's mob justice?"

"Uh, later, kiddo. Later."

Morgan bit back a wry smile. "Now, about the Institute's technology," she began. "I think it's important to destroy the Institute, itself. After all that's happened, we can't evacuate everyone inside it and then just leave it there. But destroying all the data and technology within would be a waste."

"The Brotherhood would be more than happy to take control of it," Maxson piped up. Then, a little grudgingly, he added: "Though I realize the others at this table may be less enthused about the idea."

"Well, ah... What kind of technology does the Institute have? Specifically?" Preston asked.

"Everything, I suppose," Morgan said. "They've got the agricultural technology to plant and cultivate all the food they could ever need, and underground at that. They have power - the electrical kind - that dominates even the Boston Airport. They have their own kind of laser weapons, medical technology that seems like miracles. And that's just what I encountered. I'm sure if you went into their logs and looked through all the experiments and research conducted, from two hundred years ago up until now, the knowledge would be worth its weight in gold."

Morgan swore Maxson was salivating. "That's exactly the kind of thing the Brotherhood exists to preserve," the Elder said, leaning farther over the table. "That could be revolutionary. Who knows what kind of technology they possess, beyond what we already know they're capable of. We could protect it, keep it from falling into the wrong hands, keep it from people who would use it like villains."

"What about the people who'd use it like heroes?" Preston interjected. "All that could vastly improve the quality of life for people in the Commonwealth. Medicine, food, weapons - it could keep us healthy and safe. We might even stand a chance at really making a difference, at rebuilding the world and making it green again. Maybe we could protect ourselves against radiation. Maybe we could save lives. I don't see how locking that stuff up in an oversized vault helps anyone."

"Technology - and, by proxy, power - is corrupting by nature," Maxson countered. "The Brotherhood uses its knowledge only to defend itself. Without our military strength, everything we've collected would be at risk of being stolen and misused by malicious forces. Handing out free food, medicine, and defense to unvetted settlements would be asking for trouble. People would become greedy and ambitious. It would set us on the same path as our forefathers, who destroying the world in their pursuit of resources. The knowledge must be preserved."

"But using the Institute's technology would make our life more sustainable," Preston insisted, frustrated. "If we could use their agricultural technology, if we could teach people their medical knowledge, we could bring people out of the gutter just enough to help them start sustaining themselves, without help. I'm not saying we take all of their technology and make ourselves the new Institute. But if we could use some of it to help people survive, then we could really start to rebuild."

"I say we split it," Morgan announced. "The Brotherhood gets the data, and the military technology. So that no one else can steal it and use it for nefarious purposes. The Minutemen get the benign technology, like medicine and agriculture. We can duke out the fine print after everything's looted and taken care of. I'm sure there'll be an adjustment period. But we agree, then? We take and preserve the technology, and destroy the Institute itself?"

The three faction leaders observed one another for a few moments. Then, at last: "Yes."

"Then it's settled. We evacuate the synths and the scientists from the Institute. The synths are tested to make sure they're not violent or otherwise dangerous, the scientists are put on trial and forced to live in the wasteland, and the technology we scavenge before destroying the Institute for good is divided equally. Is this fair? Can we hold to this agreement before the Institute is destroyed?"

Again, the trio cast wary glances at each other. But the answer was unchanged. "Yes."

"Good." Morgan took a breath, and leaned over the table. "Then it's time to plan for battle."