Content Warning: Angst is pretty heavy throughout this chapter. There's some mentions of suicidal ideation as Nora struggles through a depressive episode. Trigger Warning for attempted suicide.

Note: Some of this plot runs concurrent to the end events for Brothers in Arms ... which I have yet to finish. Oops.

Chapter 15

Nora, Deacon, and Tom arrived at Tenpines Bluff exhausted, frozen, and in poor spirits. The trio looked like a motley crew as they shuffled up the steep embankment.

"STOP!" A deep male guard snarled from atop a wooden barricade. "We don't accept Brotherhood soldiers here. We've already told you that we don't have food to spare so go scavenge elsewhere."

Deacon plastered a winning, non-threatening smile onto his face. "Would you believe that we aren't Brotherhood soldiers and that we hijacked a vertibird, crashed it into the lake, and walked here wearing their disguises?"

"No."

The barrel on the man's gun rose to point at the spy's head.

"Well it was worth a try." Deacon stage whispered to Tom and Nora.

Nora looked at the man atop the barricade. If he shot them where they stood at least she'd stop feeling the icy cold, the bone numbing exhaustion, and the bitterness that tore at her heart.

"He can't shoot us all." She mumbled and walked towards the barricade.

Dirt exploded by her left foot but she treated it like it was a mere buzzing fly. Then dirt exploded on her right. Deacon and Tom watched the woman walk between the two wooden barricades like she was walking into a Super Duper Mart after a long day at work. Even the sentry watched Nora with mild fascination before raising his rifle to fire a third time.

"STOP!" Tom yelled and he ran in front of Nora shielding his body with hers. But as he was eight inches shorter than Nora, it was more of the thought that counted.

"We ain't part of the Brotherhood, man!" He exclaimed. "D'you think the Brotherhood would send three people lookin' like us to hassle you. We just gotta see Lucas and then we'll be on our way. Just please don't shoot us!"

The sentry scrutinized the trio. Nora rolled her eyes at the guard and pushed past Tom. Deacon skipped past the sentry as well while flashing him another friendly but apologetic smile.

"She's my diabetic cousin." He told the guard in a low, conspiratory tone. "If she doesn't get some Sugar Bombs in her, she gets a little cranky. Here's a token to prove that we're legit."

He pulled out a waterlogged flyer from the small satchel. The paper was soggy and smelled faintly of seaweed. Still, the man opened it and then scrutinized Deacon.

"Do you have a geiger counter?" He asked as he narrowed his eyes.

"Mine's in the shop." He replied. "See. I told you we're legit. So I'd appreciate it if you didn't try and shoot holes in our girl. She's got the charisma of a Yao Guai but don't hold that against her. We've had a helluva day."

The large black man grunted in affirmative and handed the flyer back to Deacon. There's a couple of new settlers staying here who are part of the Minutemen militia. If you need extra manpower or fire support, they might be willing to escort you to the Starlight Drive In or maybe up to Sanctuary.

"Thanks." Deacon replied and he hustled to catch up to Nora.

"So do you have a death wish I don't know about?" He said tightly through his teeth.

Nora's face looked pained for a moment and then she schooled her expression to cool neutrality once again.

"I have to report back to the Institute immediately. I don't have time for obstacles, even minor ones, to get in my way."

Deacon placed both of his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Hey. I can appreciate your commitment to the job you never wanted and all, but take a moment to get some perspective. Get into some fresh, dry clothes. Eat some damn food. Drink some booze and go the fuck to sleep. You haven't slept in at least twenty-four hours. Then we can reconvene and get a plan together."

Nora's chest rose and fell in ragged, panting breaths. She wanted to hit Deacon again, or maybe she wanted to run in the opposite direction and just keep running until her legs gave out, but no matter what, she knew that slowing down now would leave her mind free to think about what happened back there. She couldn't do that again. She spent her first month in the wasteland rehashing the last twenty minutes that she spent with her husband like it was on a constant playback in her mind. Doing that again might just kill her.

"It's my fault Dee." She murmured.

"No it's not Wanderer. Believe me, it's not your fault."

She shook her head. Deacon didn't understand. He had never been in her shoes before. He couldn't understand.

"I should've never let him topside. I should've kept him at the Institute to help the scientists with the war effort. He would've been safe. He would still be alive." Nora's voice broke and she looked away as hot, fat tears slipped down her cheeks.

"You know he wouldn't have wanted that. He went down doing what he was good at. This Nate, just like your late husband, wouldn't have wanted to go any other way."

Deacon cupped Nora's face in his calloused hands and made her look at him. Without his sunglasses, Nora noticed that his blue eyes looked as deep and placid as the lake they just crawled out of.

"But I just sat by and watched him bleed out and I did nothing." Nora croaked. "He died in service to me. I should've saved him. But I was useless. I'm useless. I can't do this Dee. I can't do this."

The hug he gave her was crushing, and instead of barraging him with more punches she collapsed against him and he sank a little beneath her dead weight.

"Help me Tom." Deacon croaked.

They both grabbed ahold of Nora's arms and helped her over to the blasted out house and made her sit down on the dirty, broken bed that sat in the rubble. She hugged herself and rolled over onto her side and sobbed.

She cried for what she had lost: Synth Nate, her son, and her husband. She cried for Nick and prayed to any higher power that he had made it safely to wherever he was going and found the answers he was looking for.

Nora cried for herself. She let her mind fall into the cesspool of self-pity and self-doubt. Why did she think that she could do this? Why did she think she could play the part of Wasteland Hero when she could barely keep herself together? What was the point of caring about anything when her immediate future just offered more pain and more suffering?

But most importantly, she cried in fear of what was to come. Her brief introduction to the Brotherhood and to Elder Maxson solidified Nick's warning in her head. The Brotherhood was dangerous, and they had the superior numbers, the firepower, and the pure zealous insanity to carry them through. The upcoming battle was sure to be a bloodbath and Nora didn't want to think about the friends and allies, the innocent people, who would die to protect the once infamous "Commonwealth Boogyman."

Nora cried herself to sleep on that broken and dirty bed. Meanwhile Deacon and Tom had changed into a fresh set of clothes and were carrying a pile over to Nora when they saw her blotchy-red and tear-streaked face peaceful for the first time that night.

Deacon draped a heavy woolen blanket over her, took out Deliverer so he could clean it, and settled against the whitewashed wall that still stood defiant against the wasteland's brutality. Meanwhile Tom mumbled to himself as he tinkered with electronic scraps, no doubt building yet another pseudo-sexual feminine electronic device. Deacon didn't want to touch that issue with a ten foot pole so he just left the brilliant madman alone.

Instead he thought back to an earlier time. A time when he actually had hair. A time when he was just a simple farmer trying to eek out a simple life for him and his wife away from the gang he use to run with. He thought back to how Barbara's eyes looked — glassy and dark — when he came upon her body in their humble hovel that they called a house. He still remembered how their blood smelled when he murdered them all. He could still taste the bile in his throat from his own vomit after his dark deed was done.

Deacon reloaded Deliverer and casually held it across his knees and let his head rest against the wall. His mind came back to the advice he gave Nora back at the Hub. Don't trust the bullshit that people feed you. Instead, take a look at what they do. When he first met the clueless Vault Dweller, he didn't have high hopes that she'd amount to anything other than food for some wasteland critter, but then she showed him her true colors.

Nora was a determined, selfless, and self-possessed woman. Things in her life tried their damnedest to beat her down, and while she might've fallen to her knees once or twice, Nora never stopped fighting. He could admire that. Hell…he respected that.

"Hang in there Wanderer." He murmured. "You aren't alone."

It was midday when Haylen peaked out the window of a derelict and empty apartment building somewhere in the heart of the Boston ruins. She listened for the telltale hum of a vertibird's engine or the whooshing of hydraulic powered steps from Paladins on patrol. She didn't hear anything but that didn't mean the Brotherhood wasn't out there.

Once they ran out of the airport, Haylen cut northwest along the docks towards The Old North Church. They weaved through alleyways and beneath overpasses so any pursuing vertibirds couldn't spot them, but as most of the vertibird fleet was still out searching for the Vault Dweller, Haylen felt somewhat confident that they wouldn't be at risk for an aerial attack. The ground forces, however, were out in droves and around mid-morning she overheard Maxson's orders on a Scribe's radio while they were huddled near a boarded up window inside a small ground-floor apartment as a Brotherhood patrol group passed through.

"Search Team Echo report!" Maxson's artificially muffled voice echoed out over a radio that must've been stuffed in a Scribe's satchel.

There was a momentary pause before a deep basso voice replied, "Go ahead Elder."

"Scribe Haylen and Paladin Danse ran from the Brotherhood compound at 0430 this morning and are officially AWOL. Both should be considered armed and dangerous. Haylen has already assaulted a senior officer and Danse is a synth infiltrator. Bring Haylen back alive and kill the synth. That is an order."

"Yes sir!" The Scribe rumbled. "Ad Victoriam."

Haylen's eyes widened and she swallowed down the frightened groan that tore at her throat. They were now officially enemies of the Brotherhood. That idea alone seemed too surreal to be believed, but then again, Haylen knew that this was the likely consequence. They had to keep moving forward. They couldn't go back now.

Danse whispered. "This isn't good Haylen. We need to turn ourselves in."

"Are you crazy? They'll kill us both."

The Paladin spoke in a level and flat tone. "The Elder is right. I should be considered dangerous. If I am a synth then I could've broadcasted every single mission we've ever done back to the Institute. I could've sabotaged the Prydwen, or even Liberty Prime, and then deleted the memories from my brain. I could've killed you or Knight Rhys or any of our brothers and sisters without hesitation. I am a danger to everyone. I am an abomination."

"That's not true Danse." Haylen said as loudly as she dared. "If you were a danger, I'd be dead already. The Prydwen would been a pile of flaming rubble on the shoreline, and Liberty Prime would be fucking tap dancing to Danny Kaye's "Civilization." You might be a synth but you would never betray the Brotherhood."

"You're right." He said and he stood up from their hiding spot. "I wouldn't betray them. I should've never gone with you Haylen. I'm sorry. The Elder is right."

Haylen heard rustling in the darkness and something in her mind told her to act. She tackled Danse just as the electrical charging sound of his laser pistol started up and he put the barrel of the gun to his temple. Her small form crashed into his body knocking the pistol from his hand. His head snapped back and she felt wet blood on her hand and for one horrible, brief second she thought that Danse had managed to pull the trigger.

They struggled against each other in the darkness. Danse outweighed her by at least sixty pounds and towered over her by a foot. She was no match for him physically, but she didn't need to beat him, she just needed to distract him.

She saw him reaching for his gun so she gathered up a bunch of gravel and dirt and threw it into his eyes. He didn't make any noise but his grip around her tightened and she knew there would be bruising.

He brushed at the dirt with his thick bicep, coughed several times, and rolled her over onto her back as easily as rolling a duffle bag over. Then he straddled her body and pressed his forearm against her windpipe.

"Why did you stop me!" He snarled. Dirt that had collected on the bridge of his nose fell into Haylen's face mingling with the burgeoning tears.

"B — Be — Be — because I —" She gasped for breath and Danse ever so slightly let up on the pressure but didn't get off of her. "Because I care about you."

He sighed, "We've been over this Haylen. I'm not human. How could you care about me … a machine?"

"The same way that you can care about your squadron, your brothers and sisters, your home with the Brotherhood." She said and she wiggled her shoulder blades against the ground which unintentionally made the buckle on her fatigue pants rub against a sensitive area.

"Those are implanted memories! They are not mine! They were never mine!"

"Oh really?" Haylen's composure was starting to crack and her voice jumped a full octave in pitch. "You're my friend, Danse. My mentor. Do you think that was programed into you? Was your honor, your desire to be a leader, your intelligence, or your compassion programed into you?"

"I — I don't —"

"When you killed Cutler after he was mutated, did you do it because ones and zeros in your brain told you to?" She continued. "When you saved Rhys from that pack of feral ghouls at the police station, was that just a tactical strategy to lure us into a false sense of security? Or what about the time you caught a stray bullet in your shoulder and I had to extract the bullet and patch you up? Did your processors malfunction which made you make an error on the battlefield?"

"Haylen…"

"Dammit Danse! I don't care that you're a synth. Everything that makes you…YOU … isn't up here," she tapped his forehead with her forefinger, "it's in here."

The Paladin looked down at Haylen's gloved hand when she placed it over his heart. He bowed his head and sat back on his heels. The gun sat between them. He sighed and picked it up and holstered it without another word.

"Let's move out." He ordered wearily and offered her his hand.

Haylen took it and the Paladin helped her to her feet. She rubbed her neck, almost certain she'd have a bruise there tomorrow, and gave him an uncertain look.

"The closest civilization is Goodneighbor which is a mile or two due north."

Danse looked at her darkly, "You call that den full of chem fiends, whores, and ghouls a civilization?"

Haylen sighed, "I don't like it any more than you do but it's our only option. There's a rumor that that The Railroad has taken up residence there, and maybe they can —"

"— Absolutely not, Haylen." Danse snarled. "I would rather have Arthur slit my throat than work with that group of terrorists"

"We don't have a choice!" She countered. "The Brotherhood is hunting for us. We can't just live in the Boston ruins and we can't go back to any Brotherhood outposts or back to Cambridge because they're certainly starting their search there. We need temporary allies if we're going to survive the war that's coming."

Danse's eyes blazed with fury, frustration, and despair. His nostrils flared as he lightly panted from trying to hold back all of the pain that threatened to tear out of his chest. His life had always been one of structure and discipline. He knew his place among the Brotherhood. He knew his worth. He knew himself. But now, as Danse the Synth, he was lost.

"I'll go with you to make sure you are safe." He relented. "But don't expect them to welcome us with open arms. From their perspective, we are the enemy."

"Even enemies have a truce once in a while." Haylen replied. "Consider this parlay until we can come up with a better plan."

Danse scowled as he cautiously glanced around the open doorway and out into the alleyway. He didn't hear any Brotherhood soldiers or vertibirds so he motioned to Haylen to follow him.

The duo walked through burned out backyards and beneath rusted fire escapes. They kept to the shadows and only crossed into the open sunlight after listening for oncoming vertibirds. The mile and a half long journey took them until evening as they kept stopping to let patrols pass by or deal with nearby raider and Super Mutant threats.

The sky had turned a deep gold by the time they approached the neon sign pointing to Goodneighbor. Haylen took the lead but was stopped by a steely-eyed kid sitting atop the barricade.

"Oh no…" The kid sneered. "Uh sorry but we aren't accepting solicitations from Brotherhood of Steel soldiers today. We've already got plenty of sticks. No need to extract yours from your butts on our account."

"Please. We only came here to temporary asylum. We don't want to make any trouble for you or the other citizens." Haylen replied.

"Oh yeah?" He snarled. "Why don't you tell that to the countless dozen Mungos your group turned away when the shi — stuff hit the fan after the Enclave poisoned the water. You could've taken us in but you just holed up in your Citadel and at Fort Independence and told the rest of us to fuc — screw off."

"You're from Little Lamplight?" Danse asked.

He had only heard the term 'mungo' in association with the kids who lived in the vast caverns outside of Vault 87. Then again, he mused, was his memory of the term truly his own or did someone program it into his head?

The kid sat up straight, almost regally, and puffed out his chest. "I was Mayor of Little Lamplight until I became one of those Mungos that you turned away. So now I'm giving you a little payback. Go away and this won't have to get violent."

An indiscernible voice said something to the kid. Neither Haylen or Danse could make out what was being said but they both noticed that the voice sounded rough, like its owner needed a lozenge.

MacCready sighed, "Fine. You're the boss, boss."

He rose from his post, climbed down the wooden stairs, and unlocked the door with a jingle of keys. Then he opened the door and gestured for them to get inside with a jerk of his head.

"Welcome to Goodneighbor." He said sullenly, his salutation clearly coming from a place of duress.

Haylen and Danse hurried on inside and MacCready closed the door behind them. As soon as they entered, every single person stopped what they were doing and stared at them with hostile expressions.

"Are you sure about this?" Danse asked between his teeth.

"It was either this or face execution." Haylen shot back from behind a fake but affable smile.

"Oh…I think these people," he spat the word with clear disapproval, "will more than gladly do that job for the Brotherhood."

Haylen was about to respond with a sarcastic comment but the whitewashed double doors opened on the large brick building's second floor and a ghoul stepped out onto the balcony.

As soon as he emerged, all of the Goodneighbor denizens looked to him as though they were awaiting orders. His dark black eyes scrutinized them both with an expression that conveyed furious contempt. His thin lips curled back into a snarl.

The ghoul wore a tricorn hat and an odd red jacket complete with coattails along with an Old World flag wrapped around his waist that was knotted rakishly at his left hip. On his right hip, he had a pistol resting in a dark holster that was nearly hidden by his coat and slung over his back was a hulking combat shotgun.

He spoke in a low and calm voice but each word he said dripped rage.

"Where. Is. Nora?"

Danse and Haylen looked at each other in confusion.

"Sorry sir, I —"

"What the fuck did you do with the Vault Dweller you kidnapped in broad daylight by Postal Square?"

The ghoul's voice echoed off the buildings and a primal shiver crept down Haylen's back. She swallowed and stepped forward with her hands raised in surrender.

"She escaped with two of her companions. They hijacked a vertibird and flew away. The Brotherhood has been out searching for them since it happened."

"And so you both came to Goodneighbor to look for her too?" The ghoul said.

Danse stepped forward, "We came here looking for temporary aid and a place to rest before we move on. If you do not want us here, we will be on our way."

The ghoul chuckled, "Oh, you tin cans ain't goin anywhere, ya feel me?"

Four ghouls dressed in suits and fedoras had snuck behind them during the exchange and now had their tommy guns trained on them both. Other drifters and wastelanders watched the spectacle with cautious glee, yet none of them were far from weapons of their own.

"What you gonna do to them Mayor Hancock?" A voice yelled out from the crowd. Another couple of people laughed in raucous merriment and the Mayor gave them a small salute with two fingers flicking off the brim of his hat.

"They want a place to rest and relax? Well I say we show them to the best that Goodneighbor can offer." He grinned down at both of them. "Take them both to the cells in the basement. Remove them of their weapons and lock them up separately. We don't want them to get any funny ideas now."

Hancock watched the poetic justice with unabashed satisfaction as the two Brotherhood soldiers were forced to put their hands on their heads and were marched into the Old State House and down to the basement.

He struck a match on the whitewashed railing and lit a cigarette. The rush of nicotine did nothing for him but this was more of a ceremonial act anyway. He wasn't sure why two of the Brotherhood's best and brightest walked right into the one damn town that hates their guts, but he was going to enjoy finding out why.

Hancock removed his knife and placed it on his desk near the dozen or so empty beer bottles. He did it as a precaution for himself. Nora would be pissed if he let his temper get the best of him like it did with Virgil. Then again, his temper was supercharged on Psycho masquerading as Med-X but he knew better to tempt fate or to tempt himself.

The ghoul paused at the doorway and looked back at his empty desk where memories of Nora sometimes haunted his healing brain. Shit. As the memory came back to him, he felt the echoes of shame and frustration from those few days in Sanctuary leek back into his psyche. The emotions weren't powerful but he did remember them.

Hancock took a long, tobacco-free, breath and fixed Nora squarely in his mind. She expected more outta him. Ever since Nicky left, she needed someone to be the calm and rational mind that could put things into a different perspective. He needed to think like that synth did. He needed to think like a detective: rational and cool instead of emotional and impulsive.

"Be like Nicky…" He mumbled to himself. "Fuck me sideways."

Nora, Deacon, and Tom crept through the sparse forest under the cover of night. The Drive-In's large gray movie screen sat on the horizon like a ship's sail and it marked the next checkpoint where they could rest before cutting south through Lexington and on towards Boston.

Vertibirds swept over the tree tops in steady intervals. When they flew by, the trio took cover wherever they could. The clothes they purchased from Lucas were all Pre-War military in some capacity and the dusky grey and greens on their clothes camouflaged them against the stark grey landscape.

And so, a journey that should've taken the trio a couple hours took almost all night. They were exhausted, dirty, cold, hungry, and irritable when they dragged themselves into the small storeroom behind the Drive-In's movie screen.

"I'll take first watch." Deacon announced as soon as they crossed the threshold and collapsed onto whatever available bed, couch, and floor space was there.

"No Dee. I'll do it. You've been up all night anyway." Nora replied. "I need to try and contact the Institute again now that we're closer to the CIT."

"ANNA and I can do it!" Tom piped up. He cradled a bundle of wires that he soldered to a toaster-sized metal box. Small lights red, yellow, and green lights flickered at seemingly random intervals and the thing occasionally squealed feedback which made the mad technophile beam.

"What the hell is that?" Deacon deadpanned.

Tom held the box up to them both. "Guys I'd like you to meet ANNA, or Augmented Nuclear Nanobot Annihilator."

"That thing is nuclear? As in radioactive?" Nora asked and took an unconscious step away from the device.

"She runs on nuclear energy but she ain't radioactive. At least…not until I can find a fusion core to power her up. It's a shame we lost that suit of Power Armor in the lake. If we grabbed the fusion core from that, then I could really show you what this baby could do!"

Nora and Deacon stared blankly at the small black man. The spy shook his head, donned his sunglasses, and said, "Nope. I can't handle this right now. Nora you got second watch. Tom, you and your … Anna have third watch. Don't come outside unless it is an emergency. They're still looking for us and we don't exactly blend in as we are now."

"And so you're just going to sit outside and wait for The Brotherhood to find you?" Nora asked.

Deacon smirked, "I'm a spy, darling. I'll be outside playing the role of chemmed up Scavver #1. See?" He cleared his throat and said the next line in a thickly slurred voice, "Tha's my trash pile! Keep yer hans off of it!"

"Oscar worthy." Nora shot back unamused.

The spy's smirk grew, "Trust me Wanderer. Remember that I was the one who escorted you from the CIT to Goodneighbor while pretending to be a trader from Abernathy after faking my death. I'm good at this."

She sighed, "Just … be careful. Please."

Deacon's ire tempered when he heard the thinly-veiled pain and worry in her voice. God why did he have to be an ass sometimes, he thought.

He walked to her and grabbed her hands with his and gave them a reassuring squeeze, "I always am careful, Wanderer. I'm the paranoid one, remember?"

"And the one who's apparently afraid of heights." She grinned. "I didn't know that about you. I'm gonna file that one away in the file marked 'Absolute Truths About Deacon'"

"Yeah…well…" And then he hurried out the door and firmly closed it behind him.

"He doesn't like that he's afraid of heights. He thinks it makes him weak." Tom replied sagely.

He unrolled a sleeping bag that Nora had left from her last stay with Hancock, Nick, and Liam and placed it over the plush red couch. The he slipped into it while cradling ANNA in the crook of his arm like a teddy bear. His metal helmet sat askew and it looked rather uncomfortable as the pointy bits poked into Tom's head.

"You sleep with your helmet on?"

"Sleep is the best time for the nanobots to get ya." The spy yawned. "They sink their little metal fangs into your brain juice when your mind's at rest. And I ain't about taking chance now."

Nora pursed her lips and shrugged. Fair enough, she thought.

She spread out another sleeping bag onto the small cot tucked away in the corner of the room. Her fingertips skimmed along the rough mattress as she thought back to the night that she and Hancock had shared in this room. She recalled the crackling chemistry they shared as he healed the laser burn on her face and how the room smelled, earthy and richly spiced from his hand-rolled cigarettes, and how her life seemed so much simpler when her only concern was finding her son.

The metal bed frame squeaked in protest when she slipped beneath the sleeping bag with her clothes on. She didn't like laying down in a bed so she pulled the slippery canvas material up to her armpits and sat against the wall with it huddled around her body like a kangaroo's pouch.

Then she pulled out her small radio, flipped the dial on the front to one of the two frequencies that the Institute used, and spoke wearily into the device.

"This is Nora? Does anyone copy?"

More silence filled the room and Nora rested her head against the concrete wall. She sighed and tried once more and expected yet more silence but Dr. Filmore's sleep-filled voice was edged with panic.

"Nora? Nora can you hear me?"

"Yes Allie. I can hear you." She said hollowly.

"Jesus Christ. Where have you been? The Directorate…well…we all thought you were dead. We expected you to radio in nearly twenty hours ago."

She sighed. Tom's soft snoring was punctuated by Anna's idle squealing. Oh if the Institute could only see her now, she thought bitterly.

"After I contacted you, I was abducted by the Brotherhood and —" Nora's voice faltered, "and Dr. Li helped me escape. Two Railroad agents including N-Nate hijacked a vertibird and we flew it north with them hot on our tails. We were shot down over a lake and we've been trying to get within radio frequency so I could make contact with the Institute, but nothing I said was coming through."

"Is Dr. Li okay?" Allie asked.

"Yes. At least as far as I know." She replied. "She looked exhausted but she wasn't injured and there weren't signs that the Brotherhood hurt her. I did catch a glimpse of Liberty Prime when we left. It —"

"Not now. Not here." The scientist barked. "I can't be sure this frequency isn't being overheard. I'll immediately prepare a relay signal. It'll take about ten minutes for me to triangulate your location. I'll radio you back when it's ready, and I'll go wake up The Directorate so you can brief us on everything as soon as you get back."

Nora swallowed. Something like hot anger or even molten hate burned her throat. Dr. Filmore didn't ask about Nate. Was he really that expendable to the Institute just because he was a synth? If so, what did that mean in terms of Nora's safety? Were they looking for a 'fall guy' as Hancock had warned her or were they just so battle-focused that common decency fell to callous decisiveness as they eve of battle drew closer?

Her thoughts spiraled as she sat on the mattress hugging arms around her knees. God she missed Nick. She missed being able to bounce ideas off of him. She missed his quiet strength and his uncompromising morals. But what cut her to her core was that they had parted ways seeing different sides of the same coin. They both wanted to help people. Nick spent almost eight decades helping the people in Dimond City while they treated him with suspicion, disgust, and outright contempt. Similarly, Nora was bending over backwards helping a group of people who were to blame for inflicting pain and terror on the Commonwealth for more than a century. She and Nick followed the same moral compass. So then why did Nora feel like she had driven Nick away? That him leaving was her fault? Maybe that's what Mama Murphy's vision meant when she said that one of them would 'cease to exist.' A large rock settled in her empty stomach and it made her feel queasy.

"Nora, do you copy?" Dr. Filmore's voice asked which broke her from her dark thoughts.

"Yes."

"Are you ready?"

Nora didn't have much to take with her as whatever she had brought with her from the Institute was still stashed in Hancock's office in Goodneighbor. The rest of their gear and any useful supplies sat at the bottom of the lake. She literally had nothing but the clothes on her back.

"Go ahead."

"Alright." Dr. Filmore replied. "Readying relay in 3 … 2 … 1 …"

Nora saw the white-blue flash from behind her closed eyelids then felt a moment of pure weightlessness before smelling the faint acrid odor of abraxo cleaner and the neutralized scent of filtered air.

She was still clutching the sleeping bag around herself when the light dissipated and the spots in her eyes vanished. The atrium was unusually busy considering the late hour and Nora blinked several times at the figure standing near Dr. Alan Binet who looked fit to bursting from sheer excitement.

The figure was a Gen-2 synth, tall, maybe six feet tall or more, and its tattered body was bare save for a pair of black pants that had so many holes in them that it was a wonder the fabric even held together anymore. Assorted bulbs similar to the large halogen ones were attached along the construct's shoulders and back while thick black chords wrapped around the thing's waist and hips like a belt made of thick black worms.

Nora shirked the sleeping bag off herself and rose to her feet. Dutifully a Gen-2 synth came by and picked the sleeping bag up and placed it in a laundry cart. The item almost looked sacrilegious among pristine the white Institute towels and hospital scrubs.

When she approached Dr. Binet, he nodded towards her and then gestured in her direction which made the synth turn as well. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the synth's face. His face looked exactly like Nick's.

"Welcome back Nora." Dr. Binet replied affably. "I'd like you to meet someone."

The synth smiled politely at her and offered his skeletal hand out in a handshake. She accepted the handshake and tried to force herself to stop staring at him but she couldn't.

"My name is DiMA." He replied in a soft, tenor voice. "I've heard many things about you Nora."

She cleared her throat, "Uh…nice to meet you. I'm running on very little sleep so I apologize how this will sound, but uh … what are you?"

The synth chuckled. He didn't seem annoyed or hurt by the indelicate question. "I'm a synth. I'm the first prototype that was built here at the Institute along with NiMA who now goes by the name Nick Valentine. He and I were built around the same time and we share the same physical mold, but I was encouraged to develop my own self-awareness and personality whereas Nick's were implanted from the memories of a Pre-War cop."

Nora's eyes grew wide. "Nick did it? He found you?"

DiMA nodded sagely, "Indeed he did."

Then Nora looked around the Atrium. Her heart soared into her throat at the thought of seeing Nick's wry grin as he watched her from the sidelines, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Nick?" She asked throatily. "Uh…did he? Where is he?"

DiMA brushed off the hundreds of worst-case scenarios that popped into her head with a delicate wave, "Do not fear. He is quite well. He went back to that human settlement with the reporter. I am here on behalf of both of us. I am also here to negotiate with you Nora. Once you are ready to hear my case."

She blinked at the synth and then she looked to Dr. Binet who was beside himself with awe and child-like giddiness. His face fell a little when he took in Nora's dirty, disheveled, and exhausted appearance, and he deflated a little.

"Sorry Nora. We — uh can postpone the meeting until you've rested for a bit. In the meantime, I'll give you a tour of the Robotics lab and …"

Dr. Binet's voice died away as he led the odd-looking Gen-2 synth through the doors which led to the Robotics laboratories. She trudged up two flights of stairs and made her way to her room. She barely remembered taking a shower or shoveling two bags worth of Food Product into her stomach. Her sleep-deprived and mentally exhausted brain sat back while her body operated on fulfilling her basic survival needs.

By the time she pulled the blankets off her bed and collapsed onto the stiff couch cushions that she had placed in the corner as a makeshift bedroll, Nora was convinced that the weird looking synth had actually been a hallucination. A surreal, vivid hallucination.