March 18, 2293

Yeah, it's been almost two months since I updated this journal. What to say? Sheila's plans for the Minutemen are coming to fruition. She's personally traveled to every allied settlement in the Commonwealth—19 of them at this point. I'm still not convinced taking me with her was the best move. Folks in the settlement aren't too trusting of synths, but again, like Diamond City, not looking human made them treat me a little better. Ironically, they trust me because there's no way I'm a synth masquerading as human. Maybe I'll offhandedly mention that the next time I'm around Danse. Eh, that would just be mean. He's been trying. (He's been very trying…) No, seriously, he's been trying to be polite to me, even friendly. It's eerie. I have to stop busting his chops. As far as I can tell, he hasn't flipped his wig in one month, two weeks, six days, and an hour—not even with the recruits. Garvey says he's been a real asset. I think I know why. Now that's Danse is a "Minuteman," he understands his place in the pecking order. He also understands that Garvey outranks him. I'm not sure why he's being polite to me, unless it's that I've been around a lot less.

That could be it. We've not spent too much time at the Castle. We've been on the move. Surprisingly, 19 out of 19 settlements have agreed to Sheila's vision, and they're actually excited about it. Each settlement has already signed up three volunteers, some more, and they've all pledged to host Minutemen on patrols. Sheila's made it clear that it's all got to be voluntary, including the hospitality. Nobody should be forced to host Minutemen. Apparently, the third amendment to the Constitution of the United States said that no soldiers would be quartered in private homes without the owners' consent. I may have made fun of her, just a little, for her strict adherence to the Constitution of a long gone country. She took that mostly well, but I did have to hear a lecture between Finch Farm and Croup Manor on why the rule of law is the most important feature of a functioning society. Without rule of law, the strong and powerful have nothing holding them back and the weak and powerless have nothing to protect them. Laws mean that everyone is—at least in theory—held to the same standards of conduct and action… and that's what makes us better than mongrel dogs, yao guai, and supermutants.

Now I'm realizing that she has me sounding like a lawyer, spouting off that legal gobbledygook.

Damn lawyers.

Sheila sent one-third of the volunteers to the Castle and told the others to be ready in four months. Ever the eager beaver, Danse is going to have his hands full with new recruits, and Preston is getting that taste of being in charge of a large organization that Sheila mentioned earlier. Shaw has taken a few others to do tours of the ruined state house and the monument to Bunker Hill, and they're compiling what they find. As pre-war survivors, Sheila and I have offered a few corrections to the narratives, but even better, Shaw's in cahoots with a pair of ghouls who were history teachers before the bombs fell. They've joined the cause and live at the Castle now. They're writing a textbook history, calling it The Commonwealth and What Came Before. Sheila loves this. Her new brainchild is creating a college, perhaps adjacent to the castle, perhaps back in Sanctuary, perhaps somewhere else. She says that education in the sciences, in history, in literature should be available to the Commonwealth, even if they're starting over, even if they've lost so much of what was known before the war. There's something about the way she says it, that "education needs to be available to anyone for the good of everyone," that told me the Institute doesn't see education this way, and that may be what's driving her. I asked her what she saw her eventual role, and she smiled, getting a distant look in her eyes. "That school is going to be what I leave the Commonwealth," she said. "I won't have more children, and the one I had has decided to terrify and violate the Commonwealth rather than help it. My legacy has to be something else, something that stands against everything the Institute has done—no, not just that, against everything it stands for." I didn't answer that.

We held this conversation about a month ago as Sheila and I cleared out a spot for a new settlement and stayed there a few days, putting up infrastructure. My past as a Diamond City handyman is coming in useful—who knew? I'm still not convinced that Hangman's Alley is the ideal spot for a settlement. I pointed out the drawbacks, mainly how vulnerable the place is, and Sheila set about trying to reduce the vulnerabilities. That night, tired from dragging bodies out of the new settlement area, she told me that we needed the location strategically. That's fair. It's central to a lot of areas we frequent. I won't deny that spending three days alone with Sheila was a pleasure, even if the work was hard and I'm dubious about the long-term prospects of Hangman's Alley. We had talked about the college she wants to found, and I thought about what she said.

"I heard you earlier, and I know I didn't answer. I wasn't brushing you off. I don't want to bust your chops, but you know that you're not too old to have more children," I said, sitting on the new bed next to hers. We'd made both of the beds that day, plus four more. "I'm not saying you should replace Shaun. God knows you can't replace a child. But you're one of the healthiest people in the Commonwealth, and you're young yet. You wouldn't have trouble finding a partner. In my book, you're a dreamboat… and I suspect there are a lot of other books with your page in 'em."

She half-smiled and moved across to sit next to me on the bed. "No," she said. "It's not just that motherhood didn't agree with me the first time around. It's that I wouldn't have a child unless I could bring him up with someone I loved and trusted as much as I loved and trusted Nate. And nobody who could father a child with me fits that bill." She looked at me, and the look was intense.

"You could raise a child on your own, but you know you wouldn't have to. Any child of yours would be loved by Danse, Garvey, Deacon, Des, and more. And me, of course," I added, including myself as an afterthought.

Putting her head on my shoulder, she sighed. "I know. Maybe someday, but there's too much to do now, and it's too important. I'm just glad to have so many people I can depend on—especially you." Then she laughed. She lifted her head, looked up at me and winked. "We'll make something out of the Commonwealth yet, Nick," she teased, trying—and failing—to do an impression of my voice.

I laughed anyway. "Okay, Sheila, you're getting punchy. Time for the human to sleep."

"Why do our conversations always seem to end with you telling me to sleep?"

"Because you like to have them late at night, I don't sleep at all, and you don't sleep as much as you should."

"Fair enough." She yawned, and I tucked her into bed, sitting beside her until her breaths turned even and regular.

How much love can the heart of a synth hold? Quite a bit, apparently. More than you'd think.

Author's note: Three chapters remain, and one shall be terribly short. I've known where this is going for a few weeks now and I'm excited to finally get to the denouement. Reviewers, thank you. I might not have kept it going after the first chapter or two without encouragement.