- II -
Several hours crawled by in the aftermath of the altercation.
He leaned forward on his hands over the railing of the Prydwen's command deck, peering at his own reflection in the large glass windows. Against the night sky outside, his image glowed in translucent amber from the lights behind him. He noted the hard glint in his gaze, the early aging in his features. Ever since taking his place as the commander of this division of the Brotherhood of Steel, he had never second-guessed his leadership decisions. The Brotherhood's accomplishments under his rule spoke of his excellence as its leader. When he made a call, he did so with utmost confidence in the results. For the majority of his tenure, none questioned him because none needed to.
However…
He reached up and grasped the second set of holotags hanging from his neck underneath his uniform.
How different would everything have been if you had lived?
At that moment, the main door swung open. He recognized the cadence of her power armor's footsteps reverberating through the otherwise empty command deck. His earlier dismissal of the airship's night crew ensured a discussion free of interruptions. The distant set of the stars outside established the time as an hour before dawn. As she came to a stop several paces away, he rotated toward her and waited expectantly, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise at the sight of her in a set of T-60 power armor.
Danse's confiscated suit.
"I'd like to speak with you, Elder Maxson," she stated through the mouthpiece of the helmet, the practiced neutrality evident in her level voice.
He clasped his hands behind him and squared his shoulders. "Speak then, knight."
A rush of air sounded from the back of the T-60 as she released the rear hatch of the power armor and opened it to step out. Her hands came up to remove the helmet as she exited the suit, her long blonde hair tumbling out in loose curls over her simple white tank top. Long legs came into view when she rounded the suit, her tattered tan-colored shorts barely covering her assets. The urge to berate her for her unprofessional attire dissipated when she set down the helmet and came to stand directly in front of him. He struggled to maintain his bearing as he took in the most staggering instance of her physical resemblance to date. The way her tresses framed her jaw sent him back more than ten years. The athletic figure, the fair complexion, the facial lines, even some of the agitated mannerisms—all present.
Her eyes, on the other hand, lacked all signs of the warmth he still held onto in his memories.
"With all due respect, that last stipulation you gave to Danse seemed rather petty," she said, still carrying herself like a soldier despite her immodest appearance. "I already know his circumstances and what he really is, and you and I both know I would never divulge any inklings of his survival around the Brotherhood. What was the point of forbidding contact between him and myself?"
None questioned Arthur on his rulings as Elder.
None except for her.
"If you were to remain in contact with him, you would be a liability to the Brotherhood and to yourself," he declared. "I'm taking no chances. You're too valuable a soldier and asset to risk, paladin."
She froze. "Paladin?"
"Danse's departure left the position vacant. It is only fitting that you take his place," Arthur told her, motioning toward the T-60. "You've already helped yourself to his power armor. Treat it as more than a mere memento. Consider it a reward that comes with the rank."
Her brow creased as she frowned at him. "I'd like to decline the promotion if you would lift the ban on my association with him."
Arthur took one step toward her, using his larger frame to tower over hers. "No. Take the position or not. My orders are final."
She glared at him, seeming unfazed by the difference in their heights. "You're an impossible man to reason with, Arthur Maxson. I've done my duty to the Brotherhood, even set a lot of my own ethics aside to comply with yours. I feel that I've earned more than just one favor. I'm thankful that you spared him, but forbidding me from seeing him was unnecessary. You call that a military order? It was the decree of a spiteful child."
A boiling force surged through his veins at once. Leaning toward her, he lowered his voice to a dangerous timbre. "What did you say to me?"
"Your field and combat experience are eons above all others', but in reality, you're still a twenty-year-old young man barely out of his teen years. In matters like this, I can read you like a book," she remarked, lifting a bold hand to rest on the lapels of his battlecoat. "Why do you hate the thought of me being in contact with him? Why have you watched my every move ever since I joined your faction?"
His justified anger screeched to a halt when she brazenly ran her fingers over his torso. He seized her wrist, shoving it away as he felt an unfamiliar and unwelcome twinge of alarm. "That's enough, paladin. You're over the line."
She ignored his tone and pressed herself against him, her smile tantalizing, but her eyes stone cold. "I'm only wondering, Maxson. Is this what you want?"
It took every ounce of self-control to keep his poker face in check when she violated all protocols and reached down to cup him between his legs. "Paladin—"
"No one's here tonight. Curious."
"Enough," he ground out through clenched teeth, although his body disobeyed his brain when the heat flared in his core. "Have you completely forgotten whom you're speaking to and making advances on? You've not only broken every single regulation, you've obliterated them. Back off now, and I might overlook your largely inappropriate behavior."
Not right. Not like this. The coldness in her gaze…
She desisted at once, looking more perturbed than remorseful. "I… read it wrong? But all the signs—"
"I am the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel," he boomed, causing her to jump back. "What kind of thirsty lowlife cretin do you take me for? Your insubordination and disrespect are a disgrace to this organization. I will only tolerate so much, and you are severely testing my patience."
His righteous indignation rang through the space, but deep inside, his self-restraint had reached its limits. From her proximity, he had caught her scent. It enticed him, beckoned to him. A man of his stature could have any woman he wanted, provided that he even had the time to contemplate such things. But here, with her…
It was far too complicated to form into coherent thought.
She inclined her head, shame finally seeping across her visage. "My apologies, then, Elder. I misjudged the signals. Forgive the insult to your character. I was testing a suspicion, and I see I was incorrect."
He nodded, ignoring his racing pulse beneath his sternum. "Accepted. We will move on from this. Take your place as paladin and continue to serve the Brotherhood. I trust you won't disappoint me—or repeat this misconduct—again."
"That's fair. Just… one thing." She strode up to him again, taking his face in her hands. Before he could protest, she stood on her tiptoes and placed a whisper of a kiss on his cheek. "Don't ask me to explain," she murmured as she drew back. "It's just that time was never on our side."
He held still as she pulled away, his mind rapidly processing that last sentence. Time. From before. A waking dream. The meaning—I can detect it. She's referring to back then. Can't be. It's not feasible, but she…
His fingers curled around her wrist again, this time tugging her back toward him. Gripping her shoulder with his other hand, he forced her eye contact by holding her mere inches away. "Tell me one thing," he said. "For a woman in love with a synthetic man, your actions imply a different persuasion. Which is it?"
She peered at him, features set in an unreadable expression. "You've guessed it, then. But whatever this is between us, it predates Danse. Tell me you don't sense it. I'm willing to hear a good lie."
He searched her face, catching a glimpse of the woman behind the cool exterior. When the last of his resolve crumbled, he cast logic to the wind and yanked her to him. "I will not lie to you."
His lips fell upon her throat as he curled a fist into her long hair and pulled her head back. She issued a noise of surprise, but then wrapped her arms around his waist under his coat, feeling around for the buckles to undo his uniform bodysuit. Her skin felt hot to the touch, sweet against his mouth as his teeth grazed the flesh of her neck. The millions of thoughts normally running through his mind faded into the blackness as pure instinct took over his consciousness. He had dreamt of this for so long, so fervently.
Mesmerized as he was in the moment, he became more than willing to forsake reality.
As soon as she undid the lower half of his bodysuit and pulled it down, he sprung free, hard and ready. Although a sense of urgency surrounded them, he delayed the inevitable by pinning her against the rails in front of the windows, pressing himself against her and listening to her impatient huffs as his fingers memorized her curves. She grasped his waist, whispered oaths into his chest when he continued to stall and take his time familiarizing himself with her body. Perfection didn't exist, but physically, she was close to it. He allowed himself a second to close his eyes, pretend this was their second chance, their way of making up for lost time.
Her shorts and underwear dropped to her ankles when she ran out of patience, but when she grabbed his erection and tried to guide him into her, he moved her hand aside and brought his fingers to her heated entrance. She went rigid at once, drawing back a little to gaze up at him. He had no idea what expression his features reflected, but a fog had entered his head, and he operated on pure instinct from this point on.
One digit slid into her, and she issued a soft moan as he stilled it there, the warmth encompassing. He felt her swollen and wet with need, the sensation leaving him to wonder how long she had wanted this from him. He tested it, sliding a second finger into her, and then a third, watching her reaction all the while. Rapture overtook her countenance, and her grip on him tightened as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her. Four proved too much, as she gasped in discomfort when he tried. Although the sound only aroused him further, he heeded her sultry murmur to ease up.
As she used the rails to support herself, he pushed her legs farther apart and explored her depths. He tested the right angles, the right rhythm, using the euphoric look on her face to gauge what worked best, all while battling his own clambering lust. He had waited all this time—he wanted to savor the experience. He wanted to do it right. He wanted to—
"Arthur," she suddenly growled, clamping onto his hand to stop him when she appeared near the edge. "If you're going to be inside me, I had something else in mind."
Well. Even with that insubordinate tone, he could certainly oblige.
Communicating solely through touch, he withdrew his hand and spun her around, leaning her forward over the rail as he lined himself up from behind. She pushed her backside against him, insistent rather than willing. Then, in a moment of no return, he grabbed hold of her hips and thrusted into her.
His breath came out in a long hiss as she stifled a cry. She was searing around him, enveloping, maddening. He tried to hold himself back, moving in and out of her steadily to ward off his climax. But that golden blonde hair, that throaty voice, that toned figure, those fierce blue eyes, this dream that had phased into reality…
He didn't last long at all.
"Sarah," he called out in a strained voice as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. A dozen flashes of light filled his vision as he spilled into her, his grip bruising her skin while he rode out the waves of his climax.
When he regained his senses, he felt the stiffness in her frame, and he slid out of her abruptly, mixed emotions gathering in his chest.
She straightened and turned to stare at him from the corner of her eye, all passion gone, the iciness back tenfold. "My name isn't Sarah."
And with that sentence, the illusion shattered at once.
He fixed his attire so he was decent again, but nothing came to mind to say in response to the chill in her words.
"You don't even know my name, do you?"
Arthur managed a displeased scowl, but he still refrained from answering when a glimpse of pain darted across her features.
"It's all right. Roger never knew it, either. Didn't matter how long I was his best JAG officer before I went civilian," she muttered, donning her clothes and keeping her eyes averted. "You Maxsons haven't changed."
He froze. Roger… Maxson?
Combing her fingers through her tousled hair, she regained her composure and looked him dead in the eye. "You and I were both thinking of other people, I guess. Well, this just confirms it. Second chances are a farce."
He found his voice when she strode past him. "Paladin—"
"My name is Nora," she said without looking back. "You can keep that paladin rank, Elder. I prefer 'lieutenant' myself."
x-x-x-x-x
Arthur peered down at the picture frame in his hands, his thumb tracing over the eternally preserved image of Sarah Lyons's face. He had hoped to turn back time, reach for what was never there, delude himself into thinking it wasn't too late. It all came to nothing. Sarah had been the ideal in his mind for so long that he had gone so far as to believe she had returned in another form. He had seen only the similarities, the mirrored image, the false reincarnation. Through all of it, he had completely missed seeing Nora as her own person. The resemblance was uncanny, but the souls had never been the same. If he'd only realized this sooner, maybe Nora would have chosen another path.
Maybe it wouldn't have come to this.
"Elder Maxson, the Institute has invaded Boston Airport, and the synths are attempting to reprogram Liberty Prime," one of the knights called from the doorway of his open quarters.
Arthur gave a mere nod and replaced the picture frame in his drawer, remaining calm, grim, unwilling to give any hint to the thundering in his chest. "And the deserter?"
A brief pause. "She's leading the operation. The scribes report that she's at the top of the ramparts. She's… wearing some kind of armor made of quartz. Even with the back and forth incineration between both sides, nothing can touch her."
He nodded again, squaring his shoulders. He made a decision then; possibly his last. Striding to the trunk near the far wall, he seized the gatling laser and rotated to the exit. The enemy had come. Among them, a wasted chance served as their leader. She could have been so much more to the Brotherhood—to him. But he had a hand in this outcome, and now he must reap what he had sown. If he fell in this battle, a reunion with Sarah Lyons possibly awaited him in the afterlife. However…
Elder Arthur Maxson had no intention of tasting death tonight.
"Quartz or not, she's a traitor, and the fire will overwhelm her," he declared, marching forward as the last vestiges of his humanity drifted away. "She chose to go to war against steel. We are forged in flames."
x-x-x-x-x
A/N: Just a short piece I wrote exploring Maxson's lingering feelings for the late Sarah Lyons, and the maddening presence of a Sole Survivor who resembles her. This wraps up the story. Thanks for reading!