January 14, 2293

I think this is good for her, staying for a while at the Castle. I know it's good for the two dozen Minutemen she's training (along with Garvey, and unfortunately, Danse). There's an easiness to them now that wasn't there three days ago. The first night we got back, Sheila confided in me that she wasn't sure about this—that she was afraid she'd get bored. I knew what she meant, and it had nothing to do with boredom and everything to do with having time to think. She doesn't want to think right now, but if she spends a few minutes without shooting at something, convincing someone else to do something, hacking terminals, or breaking into locked rooms… well, she starts thinking, and then she's remembering Nate and worrying about Shaun all over again.

It's surprised her that there's enough here to easily keep her busy.

Since I woke up a synth in a dumpster, not sleeping has meant that I have more time than others—time to think about things. Things like… why does Danse sleep? Does he actually sleep when he lays down and closes his eyes? Do all third gen synths sleep? Sometimes I miss sleeping, but I'm glad Danse sleeps. For about a third of the day, he's not annoying me or anyone else.

If Danse thinks he's going to turn the Minutemen into some kind of branch of the Brotherhood, he's wrong. I've seen Preston watching him, rightfully suspicious. Every morning, first thing, Danse monopolizes Sheila, taking her on a hike around the Castle perimeter, trying to convince her that they need more fortifications. Then he does terrorize the recruits, even if Garvey is too polite to say so directly. Danse drills them hard. Most of them have barely heard of the military, much less been part of it. If it were helping, I'd ease off, but I think he just barks orders at them and expects them to follow. It's not teaching them anything. They need to be learning guerilla tactics—stealth in, hit key targets, blend in with the enemy—not going in guns blazing marching in single-file. Orders for the sake of orders—it's the problem with the Brotherhood, the problem with Danse, and the problem that we'd better not start having here.

I went up to Danse after everyone had lunch today. "Valentine," he said, folding his arms.

"It occurred to me," I told him, "that you came here after we'd already secured the Castle."

"Are you implying that I don't have the right to be here?"

"Not at all," I said, turning away from him and looking toward the recruits training with Shelia on the field. "It just occurred to me that you might not know about the tunnels that run underneath."

"Tunnels?"

"Tunnels. Pretty extensive. Still some gear down there, I believe. Several fortifications, some tech."

"If this is a trick…"

"You think it's a trick that I'm telling you there are tunnels under this place? They should still be safe. Sheila, Garvey, Shaw and I cleared them out completely. Just figured as you're one of those military types, you probably want to know the defenses of the place where you're… stationed."

"Do you expect me to thank you?"

"No, Danse, I don't expect anything resembling politeness out of you."

He walked off. And he found the tunnels, exploring them until well after dinner. And the good people of the Castle were Danse-free for an entire afternoon and evening. You're welcome, Minutemen. I'm here to help.

Tonight, I was watching the sun as it set over the Commonwealth, sitting on the edge of the westernmost parapets. As a kid, I always wanted to look directly at it but never could. Now I can. It's the little things…

She came and sat down beside me. I put my hand between us, and as I'd hoped, she moved hers to touch mine.

"I used to love sunrise," she said. "Now I love sunset more. Maybe it's just that we've made it through another day. It's much easier to be relieved by that than excited about a new day. A new day just means more work now."

I looked down at our hands. Sunsets I've seen plenty, but Sheila's hand in mine? That's worth seeing and remembering. "Every new day is the day you might be reunited with your son."

She was quiet, and I didn't talk over her silence. When the sun was a sliver of smoggy gold, she sighed. "I've seen him, Nick. I… I'm not ready to talk about it, really, but I'll say this. He's older than I am. The little boy Kellogg was ferrying around—he was a synth. My *son* has grey hair and wrinkles. And… he wasn't exactly reared with the values Nate and I wanted to teach him. Oh, and he's dying."

What can anyone say to that? "So you're grieving the loss of his childhood, and whatever he is, he's been reared by the Institute." She nodded once, not even looking at me. After a moment, I sighed. "When you're ready to talk, I'm here, Sheila. And until then, I'm still here."

"You don't know what you've meant to me, Nick." I could hear the passion in her voice, and it thrilled me. "Everything would be… much different without you. I'd have made… much different choices. But thanks to you, I know that a synth life is worth as much as a human life."

I'm not given to make wild declarations of my feelings, but I did move closer to her and pull her toward me, keeping what passes for an arm around her. And that's how we watched the sunset… her head against mine, one of the most perfect moments I can remember.