CHAPTER 5
Fears

Something collided with her leg and she jolted awake.

Before she could reach for her gun, a blur of white shot toward her and she threw her hands over her face. Something soft and damp collided with her palm, confusing her.

Grey turned it over in her hands, not having seen material so clean since the bombs fell. It smelled of ash and tallow. Little bubbles formed as she rubbed her fingers along the woven strands. Her touch left streaks of dirt and something darker, redder. Kellogg's blood. It had only been two days since she'd killed him, but it somehow felt like a lifetime ago. So what did that say about her?

"Top's looking for you."

Grey slid her gaze to Rhys. He stood at the base of her sleeping bag, shoulders pushed back and brow stern. He eyed the cloth she held.

"Best wash up before you head out."

"Can I trust it's not laced with chloroform?"

"Chloro…" She could see the wheels turn in his head, the bewilderment before his expression soured. He made a guttural sound of disgust before stomping out of the room.

A gentle laugh came from her left, and Grey turned to see Daniels sitting by the window. She leaned back in an old office chair, balancing the wooden frame on two legs, her feet resting on the windowsill. She cradled a tiny gourd in her hand, combat knife wedged into the fruit's wrinkled skin. She carved off another bite and slipped it into her mouth, juices running down the knife's edge.

"If it makes you feel any better, poison and subterfuge isn't Rhys' way. When he does come for you, it'll be head on and you'll both be armed."

If Daniels wanted a thank-you for her lacklustre warnings, she could look elsewhere. Grey instead pressed the washcloth to her face, relishing in the feel of lukewarm cotton and actual soap. It took everything in her to suppress a moan. She scrubbed until her skin went from tingling to burned. Face, neck, collarbones, hands. When she finished, the cloth looked as if it had been soaked in mud. She tossed it into a nearby bucket. There was still an ashy sheen to her skin, but Grey could finally see some of the pink in her hands.

Daniels watched in silence as Grey re-equipped her holsters and armour, restringing herself with knives and guns. She packed the remnants of her gear in her duffle bag and squirted some toothpaste into her mouth. She swished it around, the paste somehow still minty despite it having expired two centuries earlier. She heard another light laugh as she spit into the same bucket. When she looked up, Daniels was all but pressed against her, having moved across the room like a phantom.

Grey steadied herself, watching the Knight-Captain carefully as one would a feral dog. She still held the gourd and knife.

"You clean up rather nice," she said, voice like a purr.

Grey gave a smirk, loosening her stance and learning toward the woman. She took a single step, left breast grazing Daniels' shoulder, her hair teasing the skin along Grey's jaw.

"You have no idea," she whispered, lips grazing the top of Daniels' ear.

The Knight-Captain gave another laugh and gently brought the edge of the knife to Grey's mouth. She could smell the sweetness of the fruit and parted her lips, allowing the Knight-Captain to slide a slice over her teeth. Grey ran her tongue along the knife's false edge, the juices running down her tongue, mixing with the fibre-like slice of gourd. The Knight-Captain's lips quivered ever-so lightly, mocha skin lightly flushed. Grey toyed with the idea of touching her, brushing her knuckles along the edge of her neck, running her fingers along the inside of her thigh. But that would take things too far and force one of them to react poorly, potentially lose whatever game it was they were playing.

Grey took a step forward, toward the door, body pushing past the Knight-Captain's.

"Thanks for the bite."

The Captain smiled, the look anything but pleasant.

"Good luck, Initiate. You'll need it."

Grey found Danse back in the Police Chief's office. He was again clad in power armour. She watched him test his arm actuators, elbow bending and mechanical fingers tensing. He then slammed a fist into his suit's open palm, the sheer force whipping dust back into Grey's face. She forced a cough and he quickly turned, features slightly alarmed.

She gave a false smile to soothe his nerves. "You asked for me, sir?"

He gave a nod. "Transport's arrived, and our orders still stand to report to the Prydwen. So, Initiate, are you ready to head up to the ship?"

No. That was the gut reaction, the one that knew the ship contained too many unknowns. It was one thing for her to traipse around a compound she'd canvased weeks earlier, one in which she at least knew a fraction of the soldiers she'd be encountering. But the Prydwen would be a departure from all familiarly and control. New environment, new soldiers, new challenges. Yes, Danse knew who she was and had said he'd help her, but he was one person. One highly ranked person from what she could discern, but he still reported to higher-ups, and who was to say they'd be as easy to cajole or manipulate. Grey felt like she was walking into a courtroom blind, not even afforded the courtesy of case notes or an evidence list. But she'd make do. She had to.

"Why did the Brotherhood send it here in the first place?"

"I'm not sure," Danse said. "But I think it may have something to do with the data on the Commonwealth my team gathered before it arrived. We call our ship the Prydwen; she's loaded with enough troops and supplies to mount a major offensive. If she's here, Elder Maxson's here, and that means we're going to war."

War? That in and of itself sparked too many questions, but she had to compartmentalize. Focus.

"Who's Elder Maxson?"

"Maxson is the commander of this division of the Brotherhood of Steel. He's the model of what every Brotherhood soldier hopes to become. If we're going to war, I can promise you that he will be leading the charge."

So Maxson was her target then. The one with his finger on the metaphorical trigger. Or the literal one, noting how easily Danse was now throwing around the word "war". War against whom though? The raiders, the Gunners? They were no match for the forces she'd seen occupy the skies over Fort Hagen. No, if they were going to war, it was against the force they had yet to see: the Institute. Against the people that now had Shaun.

Fuck.

"That being said," the Paladin continued, "you're about to get to know the Prydwen up close and personal. I've received orders that we are both to report to her immediately. Follow me up to the roof of the police station; we're going for a little ride."

Grey followed the Paladin up the stairs she'd climbed just hours before in the near-dark. She could see a series of fresh footprints in decades' worth of dust. Some of those were hers, but which she couldn't say. She suddenly wondered how many more traces of her existed across the Commonwealth, traces both old and new. Her and Nate's reservation to the Halloween charity gala, library books with her initials scrawled on the catalog card, the dedication her mother wrote to her in her final publication.

Grey paused on the landing, willing herself to forget that last thought. She wasn't supposed to think of her. That was the deal she'd made. Think of Shaun, focus on him and avenging Nate, but no one else. No what-ifs, no hunting for two-hundred-year-old ghosts. She knew her mother was dead. She had been for years, long before the bombs fell, so her memories served Grey no purpose.

Except she knew why she was thinking of her mother. It was the lump in her throat, the twisting of her gut with every step climbed. She could hear the Vertibird on the roof, the rumble of the fusion-core drive, the slow grind of the rotor blades. She'd known what the Paladin had meant by "transport" several hours earlier but had elected to ignore it. If she'd really thought about it, she never would have drifted back to sleep.

She forced herself up the remaining steps and through the roof access door. Danse stood alongside the metal monstrosity, his voice lost to the mechanical noise. She watched as he climbed onboard with ease, positioning himself toward to rear and grabbing onto a belted support. Dogmeat bound past Grey and made a b-line for the Paladin, effortlessly leaping onto the aircraft and settling into the crook between the pilots' chairs. Grey steeled herself and threw her duffle bag onboard. She awkwardly tried to hoist herself up, willfully ignoring the loaded minigun perched by her head. A young man in a leather flight jacket and helmet reached for her, pulling her up.

"Welcome abroad, Initiate," he said with a smile before returning to his seat.

Grey looked around to see no available seating and her blood pressure spiked. She barely noticed as the pilot handed her a flight helmet, eyes scanning for anything she could latch onto for dear life.

A cold hand rested on her shoulder and she turned, knowing the Paladin could see the panic in her eyes. He made no show of it though, and lightly took the helmet from her hands and fit it over her head. Even wearing the suit, he was gentle, power-armoured fingers moving strands of hair from her face as he positioned the helmet around her cheekbones and jaw. He pressed a button on the exterior, flipping down her visor.

"Can you hear me?"

His voice crackled over the headset and she fought the urge to nod. "Yes—Roger, or—" She made a frustrated noise, drawing a chuckle from the pilot.

Danse again showed no sign of amusement or deterrence and instead advised her how to situate herself near the minigun. He told her how to plant her feet and position her body, and then how to grip the gun and what to do if she spotted any hostiles. Oh fuck, she'd forgotten about hostiles. Raiders with goddamn missile launchers and the impulsivity of a toddler.

Some dumbass wearing a potato sack for a mask once fired one at her and Piper in downtown Boston, near the Commons. Piper had jumped onto Grey's back, pushing her face into the asphalt just as a missile rocketed overhead, spinning into the Commons and taking out one of the State House's remaining columns. Grey didn't wait for the raider to recover and unloaded her clip into his chest as Piper struggled to pull her to her feet and down some side street. Neither of them had any desire to wait and see if they'd made enough of a commotion to disturb the Swan.

"Hold on!"

Grey didn't have time to think as the fusion-core came alive and the aircraft lifted off the roof. She did as the Paladin instructed, anchoring herself, keeping her core tight to control the gun's pivot and swing. Her heart leapt into her throat as they rose, pulse pounding against the inside of her helmet. Twenty-five feet above the station, fifty, one hundred. She watched with terror as the whole of Cambridge came into view, the Brotherhood patrols outside the compound little more than specks of metal on the ground.

The ruins of CIT lay outstretched below them, and the mere sight of it was a punch to the gut. She'd never attended CIT, but she'd always revered it. It, like Harvard, was one of the few respectable institutions that put Boston on the map. Historical sites and baseball diamonds were fine, but Grey was raised in a household where knowledge was the true crux of civilized society. Academics were, of course, their own beast whom Grey had had many opinions on, but she saw enough of the big picture to separate the worker drones from the hive. Nate had been a CIT grad, having completed his Bachelors of Engineering there before the Army recruited him. Some part of her had hoped CIT would be a good legacy for Shaun, something to aspire to. But that was for a different world, one in which the university's western wing was still intact and where radioactive waste didn't litter the front quad.

"The Commonwealth looks different from up here, doesn't it?"

She looked over her shoulder at the Paladin as he gazed upon the ruins below.

"It never ceases to amaze me how drastic your perceptive of the battlefield changes from the air. We're going to need that advantage when we take on the Institute."

He was right, of course, but the mere thought of having to board another Vertibird after this was enough to make Grey want to vomit.

"They've already proven that they're technologically superior, which means there's no telling what types of weapons they'll have in their arsenal. Hopefully our air superiority and tactical know-how will make the difference. Now all we have to do is find them, and I'm betting that Elder Maxson will already have a plan in place by the time we arrive."

Grey's gut again twisted, but she couldn't tell if it was from the flight or Danse's words. She couldn't afford for Maxson to have a plan, not yet. Or, if he did, she needed to be at the forefront of it. She needed to be the first one through the door, get her son, and get out. She couldn't risk someone else going in first, someone misfiring a single bullet. She wouldn't allow it, not after all she'd done. After how far she'd come.

"I wish everyone down there believed in our cause, but they've been blinded by rumours and misinformation. They don't realize that the Brotherhood of Steel is the Commonwealth's last hope for survival. Every man, woman, and child below is in mortal danger, and it's only a matter of time before the enemy overwhelms the population. Cleansing the Commonwealth is our duty and I will gladly spill my own blood if it ensures our victory."

A part of her wanted to ask what misinformation, but she'd gotten a taste of it at the Third Rail. The ghoul's disparaging comments, MacCready's weariness to discuss their tactics in the Capital Wasteland—signs that not everyone was aligned with or even understood the Brotherhood's tenants or mantra or whatever it was. Grey was honestly hard-pressed to identify it herself. She knew they collected pre-war tech, aspiring to keep it out of the hands of those who may use it to bring further harm to the remnants of the human race. Some saw that as hoarding, others as safeguarding. Grey honestly didn't have an opinion yet. The world was a little too fucked up for her to have a practical opinion on how to best save it after only two months of exposure.

"We're on final approach to the airport. The Prydwen should be coming into view just ahead. You'll be meeting Lancer-Captain Kells on the fight deck. Just stick close to me and answer all of his questions."

"Who's Ke—" The words died in her mouth as Boston Airport came into view. No longer an airport, but a graveyard. Silver Skylanes carcasses were strewn for miles, down the runways and through the terminals. Aircraft debris jutted from the shoreline and glinted beneath the waves. Nothing was intact. Everything was in ruin.

Suddenly she was fourteen again, called to the principal's office for the second time that week. The first time was to have Sabrina's mother curse her out and blame her daughter's grade on her, somehow. The truth had been that Grey knew Miss A+ was struggling with trig and had been copying off Grey all semester. So Grey threw the test, knowing it would fuck her average but equally destroy Sabrina's. If Sabrina wanted to contest it, she'd have to expose herself as the cheating fraud she was. Grey knew she could personally supplement her own mark by saying the right thing to the teacher, so the risk was minimal. Until Sabrina's mother got involved, clearly not deterred by the fact her daughter was exposed as a Grade-A fake. She'd threatened Grey, petitioned for her to be expelled, but the principal had some backbone and shut the woman down. Or so Grey had thought. Now she sat in the office again, expecting the worst, passively listening to the crackle of the poorly tuned Radiation King TV.

"Breaking news," the TV blared for the millionth time. Another resource shortage probably, or another corporate bribe exposed.

"This is Rodney Hartnett reporting live from the scene of the Skylanes 483 crash site outside Newark, New Jersey. The runway here is chaos, Jim—ambulances and emergency crews have been in and out all morning. So far we have 18 confirmed survivors with moderate to life threatening injuries. The passenger manifest shows 122 boarded in Toronto…"

Grey didn't remember leaping from her chair and gripping the television set. She watched as the picture flashed over black and white wreckage and emergency vehicles. She remembered the jagged bits of metal, the tattered wings, luggage strewn like feathers on the runway. And the rows of white tarps, dozens of unmoving rectangular bumps resting beneath.

By the time the principal summoned her, her face was streaked with tears. She knew what he was about to say before he opened his mouth. So she saved him the trouble. Danielle Grey was dead. Her mother was one of those corpses, burnt and shattered and covered in tarp.

Grey gripped the minigun as the Prydwen came into view. The majesty of the sight was lost on her, for in every silver panel all she could see were corpses strewn across forgotten runways. Each glint a body, a life lost in the pursuit of convenience and hubris and corporate greed.

"There she is," Danse said, voice swelling with pride. "It's been far too long since I've been abroad."

Grey shuddered. He wouldn't understand what she was experiencing. He couldn't.

"Alright, solider, this is the moment when everything changes. I hope you're ready."

She swallowed down the pain brimming in her chest.

She closed her eyes as they docked, not due to her nausea, but because she couldn't look at the graveyard any more. She knew her mother wasn't down there, not really. She knew she was buried in whatever remained of Toronto's York Cemetery. But her ghost was still there; it always had been when Grey flew. It was that tremble in her hand, the sweat breaking at the nape of her neck. It wasn't a fear of heights. That wouldn't be logical. Height wasn't what killed her mother.

What killed her was flying.

What killed her was defying nature in the pursuit of progress and human arrogance. What killed her was the ship Grey was docking into, and all the others like it. And that—that chilled Grey to her core.