Wrong Place, Right Time: A Hero's Story

by DLTA-BOT

The journey of a hero doesn't always start where they expect. It doesn't always happen to those who expect it. Damon was never interested in being what SPARTANs represent: an implacable force for good standing as humanity's shield. Like most other third-generation SPARTANs, the war took everything from him. All he wanted was to return the favor. Sometimes we don't get a choice.

64. Chapter 64: Arguments and Assassination

A/N: Blessed be the Marker and all those who believe! Sorry. Played the Dead Space Remake. Incredible game, truly. I hope it resparks enough interest in the franchise to… fix the problem that is Dead Space 3. But that isn't what we're here for. Hell, this isn't even the right fandom. It does make me think though… Damon in the Ishimura… Okay, so, this chapter. We're going a little low and slow. That's for a reason, and you'll figure that out here soon enough. I'm not spoiling anything. Anyway, leave a review if you're so inclined and, as always, enjoy!

Chapter 64: Arguments and Assassination.

Nate wasn't surprised when he woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom to find Damon sitting against the wall beside the door. The armored titan's ability to move without making a sound, while eerie, stopped catching him off guard a while ago. Nor was he shocked Damon had managed to make it from Goodneighbor, to reliable radio range, and back in just a few hours.

No, what surprised him was the fact the SPARTAN was asleep. Or so he assumed. It was hard to tell with the armor but he didn't react as Nate slipped out of the room. Either he was asleep or wanted the ex-soldier to think he was asleep.

That second possibility seemed excessive for the supersoldier.

His theory was confirmed when, as he walked back into their shared room, Damon had shifted to watch him.

A dozen different questions and quips came to mind as Nate sat back down on his bed, facing the SPARTAN. 'How'd it go?' 'Back already?' 'What did they say?' 'Shoot anyone tonight?' 'No army chasing you this time?' 'Have any thoughts about killing Maxson?'

Less than two months ago, he would have said any one of them without hesitation. Now, with Damon's golden-yellow visor fixed on him, his mouth wouldn't form the words. It wasn't that he was scared of the man- teenager. Damn that's still weird. Even with his… animosity toward him for killing Grant, and his continued ambivalence about it, the ex-soldier felt awkward trying to engage him like he used to. A conversation between the two of them, the way they happened before the ambush, just didn't seem possible.

Wait- why did he feel guilty about this? Yes, Ayo and Shaun used him to ambush Damon, but Damon was the one who killed someone. Damon was still alive. Sure, the guy had the social aptitude of a particularly obtuse boulder, but that doesn't excuse him. He's smart enough to know how people feel about what he does.

That question was a defense mechanism and the ex-soldier knew it. He knew the reason he felt guilty. It was hard to not.

… How the hell was it Damon, a supersoldier, someone who has and continues to kill people on a massive scale, made him feel so… wrong?

Despite who and what he was, the kid had an endearing naivety. Not to be denigrating, but it was like a, well, kid discovering empathy for the first time. His expressions of caring, for as stilted and awkward as the social ones could be, were so sincere you could almost forget the mountains of corpses he left behind.

Almost.

But there were two that stuck out in the ex-soldier's mind. It wasn't the torrent of violence he unleashed to get the kids back from the Brotherhood. It wasn't his quiet moment with Julian after he brought them back to the Prydwen.

They were after they got to the Institute. When Damon brought Nora-

Nate swallowed.

When he brought Nora's body back. He'd almost jumped at the idea. Because he knew it meant something to Nate. He said as much.

And Nate threw that back in his face. Yes, he'd been upset, damn near inconsolable, but that wasn't an excuse. Damon thought he was doing something good. For a friend. He was doing something for a friend. He was right; bringing Nora back for a proper goodbye was- Nate couldn't think of a word to describe what it meant. Any other time, in any other mindset, that would have won the SPARTAN an unending amount of goodwill. Hell, it did win him an unending amount. He was here trying to get back in his good graces, wasn't he?

Instead of showing gratitude, he'd attacked him. Thinking back on it now, Damon seemed lost when the ex-soldier did that. Like he couldn't understand what he'd done wrong. That made sense. He wouldn't know, he didn't have the emotional experience to understand.

Maybe that's why. For as physically formidable and incredibly intelligent as the supersoldier was, he wasn't anywhere near as developed emotionally. It gave him an odd sort of vulnerability. No, vulnerability wasn't the right word. Innocence?

Yeah. Innocence.

Was the ex-soldier trying to protect that?

It's possible.

The second moment came the next morning when Damon seemed like he was about ready to break Nate in half. Their argument after Nate tried to convince Shaun and Ayo to help him.

For all the good that did.

"I thought it was different, Nate. I thought I was doing things for a different reason. Nora wasn't just another body. I thought I did that because it meant something to you. Because she was important to you." The ex-soldier took a step back as Damon got to his feet. With how close he'd been standing, Nate had to crane his neck to meet the SPARTAN's gaze. "But at the end of the day, you're right: that was something I had to do to regain Shaun's trust, just like everything else I've done to get here. Maybe I thought I was doing it for some other purpose because I wanted to. Even if that is the case though, I'm leaving, and things are going to go back to the way they were. I used everyone to get here, including you."

Nate's eyes narrowed. "That isn't-"

"Don't pretend you're any different from me though." Damon leaned down until his visor was level with Nate's face. It made the ex-soldier feel like a child. "You used me too, someone you think is a monster. Someone who kills people because it's the easiest way to do something. You used the Brotherhood. You used Virgil. You used the Railroad. Everything you did, everyone you used, you did it to get here. The only difference is I'm doing it because I was trained to. You're doing it for a son that's already dead."

It hadn't been a pleasant conversation. Anything but. But, in its own way, it was Damon caring. Yes, they were both upset, but the SPARTAN was still trying to warn him.

If only he'd heeded it.

"What?"

It took a few seconds for the ex-soldier's mind to register Damon had asked that.

Nate shook his head to clear it of the thoughts careening through it almost too fast to track. "Huh?"

"You aren't going back to sleep. And you're staring. What do you want to say?"

That was a good question. There were plenty of things on his mind, but were any of them things he wanted to say? Were any of them things the SPARTAN wanted to hear?

He wasn't sure. What would any of them accomplish?

His conversation with the Diamond City leadership crossed his mind. How close he and Brenda came to becoming POWs. What they did to get out. The stories Nate told. Grant.

"Do you want to help Goodneighbor because you feel bad?" The words had left the ex-soldier's mouth before he knew they were forming.

Damon, as was custom, didn't respond immediately. Instead, his visor stayed fixed on Nate.

"Yeah, we did some damage ourselves, but the fight was just getting started. Then Damon killed everyone."

"He killed… everyone."

This isn't going anywhere good. That was true, it wasn't. It didn't matter. At least it felt like that didn't matter. That moment would be another scar burned into Nate's head. A mark on his memory made by Damon. Maybe it was some of the adrenaline from the 'negotiations' from earlier.

Nate could tell himself that.

"I'm doing it because it gives the Minutemen the best chance of winning."

The ex-soldier rolled his eyes. "You and me both know that's a load." He grunted. "You know, you don't always have to come across as the cold, emotionless one, right? You can do your job and not be a robot."

Damon shifted. "How I feel about something doesn't do anyone else any good."

I guess he feels like talking too. Nate cocked his head, mirroring the SPARTAN's habitual expression. "You don't think so, huh? Maybe you should talk to Hannah or Levi about that. Those two were the ones you left alive-"

"I know who they are", the armored titan hissed.

"Ah, so you do feel bad about it."

"I-" Damon cut himself off. Like when they'd first run into the two of them in the market, he sounded hesitant.

"Let me rephrase that. You're able to feel bad about killing people."

It was the SPARTAN's turn to cock his head. "You thought I wasn't?" The question wasn't as much of an accusation as Nate thought it would be.

"I didn't know."

There was another moment's pause before Damon straightened again and his voice returned to monotone. "Yes. Like I said, how I feel about something doesn't do anyone else any good."

"You don't think seeing remorse would help them come around?"

"Them seeing remorse won't bring the people I killed back."

"Ain't that the truth", the ex-soldier muttered under his breath. He hadn't meant for Damon to hear it but judging by the way his gauntleted hands balled into fists in his lap, the SPARTAN had.

"You aren't asking this about Goodneighbor. You already know how I feel about what I did here", Damon said. "Say what you're gonna say."

Like you have anything better to do right now.

Was saying it the right decision? They were already there.

It can always get worse.

It might be a good idea to ask with a little less… accusation than the ex-soldier was feeling.

"Why don't you feel the same way about the hospital?"

So much for that…

Damon grunted. "Feel bad about eliminating Brotherhood forces and Synths?"

"No", Nate shot back, struggling to keep his voice at a whisper. "For killing Grant."

"The one in the hallway."

Even after everything he'd seen and they'd done, it still struck Nate as deeply concerning how the armored titan could so casually refer to someone whose head he blew off.

Desensitization is a powerful thing.

Did that excuse his attitude?

No, but it explains it.

And how does that help here?

I already know the answer

…

Nate took a deep breath. Starting an argument wouldn't do any good. They were trying to fix things, not make them worse. Well, he was trying to fix things.

"Yes. His name was Grant. He was a good guy, always the first person to crack a joke. Didn't always work the hardest, but he cared and he tried." A small smile slipped across the ex-soldier's face. "Shoulda seen the first time he handled a gun. For someone as smart as he is- was, he was scary with a rifle. Not sure I've seen someone with worse muzzle discipline."

His eyes locked back on the SPARTAN. "Everyone liked him too. Even outside Li's group." Nate waved toward the door. "You've seen how other people react to killing someone", or someones, "they care about."

Damon shifted again. "Why do you want me to know about him?" he asked. Some of the fire Nate heard in his voice over the last week had returned. "That won't do anything."

"Why do I- because he was a person, Damon. He wasn't a paper target on the other end of your gun."

"Goddammit", the SPARTAN muttered as his head tilted back for an instant. "This again?"

"Wait." Nate held out a hand. They needed to backtrack. Damon had been receptive a minute ago. The supersoldier was right, this was starting to feel like, ironically, the first time they had one of these conversations. The Triggermen. That's the first time he'd been exposed to the kind of violence the SPARTAN could bring to bear. That was before everything else happened too.

"I'm not saying that. I just-" what was he saying? Was it really as simple as he felt wronged by Damon? That his friend was more sympathetic to the Goodneighbor guards than he was the ex-soldier?

"Grant would have been your ally. I think you would have liked him too. Jess, Jackson, Isaiah… the others from Li's group don't trust you."

"And you think being upset about what I did would change that?" Damon asked. While the question wasn't completely devoid of accusation, it wasn't as heated as it could have been.

Nate shook his head. "Not upset, understanding."

The SPARTAN shifted for the third time. "I didn't know him. I didn't know you were, according to you, 'on my side'."

"You don't have to know someone. I know you know how to be empathetic."

If the silence that followed was anything to go by, Damon didn't have a response. Instead, the supersoldier watched Nate, helmet tilted upward ever so slightly.

Whatever introspection was going on didn't last long though. 10 seconds into the quiet, Damon tipped his head the rest of the way back to lean against the wall. "I'm going back to sleep. It's going to be a long day."

While that was true, Nate couldn't dismiss what they were talking about as easily. This was his friend's life.

"You can't just brush off what happened."

"You said the others from Li's group", the SPARTAN replied, helmet still resting on the wall. "They don't trust me. They aren't here."

"That isn't-" Nate took a deep breath. Damon had to be thinking about this now. There's no other reason he'd be so calm while the infantryman pestered him. Not with how Damon had been treating him since he got back.

"I was using that to appeal to your pragmatism, Damon. Grant's life had value beyond what others thought about him. It meant more than whether your feelings about it affect the way people treat you."

The SPARTAN still didn't meet his gaze. "So you're saying you didn't think I could appreciate that." He grunted. "At the same time, you're saying you know I can be empathetic. Shouldn't that mean you think I can empathize with Grant?" Damon finally shifted his head to the side so that damn, unreadable yellow-gold visor was pointed at Nate. "Or do you think I'd only empathize with other people's emotions because I can't understand the value of someone's life? That my only way of valuing someone is by what they mean to other people." He resumed looking up at the ceiling. "Which means you either think I don't value my own life, or my life and opinion, is the only one I find value in. If that's the case, you don't think I can be empathetic. Which is it?"

…

…

…

Did- did he just get a lecture on logic and empathy from Damon? What the hell just happened? How had- where did this come from?

Nate's head was spinning so fast he thought he might pass out. Was that what he thought? Did he think Damon only valued his own life?

… No, the SPARTAN might be a borderline sociopath, but he isn't selfish. Anything but, really. That means it had to be the other option: he doesn't think Damon values his own life. And if he doesn't value his own life, how would he find value in the lives of others outside the people he likes.

Outside the people he likes…

Realization hit Nate between the eyes so hard it stopped his head spinning. It was an answer he should have come across ages ago. It was so obvious. How had he not realized?

Damon doesn't find any innate value in his own life.

His anger, borderline rage when the people he cares about are in danger- it's because that's the only way he knows how to value human life. It's why his response when Nate talked about Grant was 'I didn't know him'. The armored titan has shown a capacity to understand protecting some people and some things, whether he knows them or not, can be good. He's smart enough to get that. But as far as an emotional connection-

He can't make them because he doesn't think there's any inherent value in human life.

And he thinks that because he doesn't see any value in his own life.

Considering the SPARTAN's background… that's a completely understandable perspective.

But there has to be some concept of value, even subconsciously. Otherwise, Damon wouldn't be upset about what he did here. He sure as hell wouldn't have been upset about it back then. Is the problem he doesn't know how to process it?

"You've been thinking about this", Nate muttered.

Damon's lack of a response was all the confirmation he needed.

How was he supposed to ask what came next? Or should he ask what comes next? The supersoldier had been downright talkative. More than that, he'd been genial. Maybe it was because Nate and Brenda had gotten out of Diamond City with all parts attached. Maybe it was because this was something that had been bugging him for a while now.

Just ask it. What's the worst that can happen?

The ex-soldier could think of a lot of 'worst' things that could happen.

"Do you… value your life?"

His friend didn't respond, not right away. Nate knew the supersoldier wasn't asleep because he was tapping a finger on the thick armored plate over his thigh.

That spoke volumes: Damon was thinking about this hard.

Which is fine. This conversation seemed to be doing the SPARTAN some good. It wasn't the first time Nate had been part of them. He… wasn't usually the one on this side of it. Usually, he was the one doing the thinking. Whether it was Nora, Miranda, or even Cook, they all spent a lot of time talking with each other.

It hadn't taken Nate long to pin down his drunk-off-his-ass father as the source of his… problems. The same way, he suspected, Damon already knew where his stemmed from.

If anything-

The gentle tapping stopped and Damon's massive, armored shoulder shifted in a sharp shrug.

"I don't know."

Nate let out a long, deep exhale and laid back in his bed.

It was a sentiment he knew all too well. One the ex-soldier also knew couldn't be talked out of. Not in a situation like this, at least.

Damon was thinking about it. Nate knew these thoughts went a lot further back than the last few weeks. He almost smiled as he remembered their first 'heart to heart' in the bleachers of Diamond City.

How things change…

The conversation was over and both of them knew it. Nothing else would come of it and Damon was right: they needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow-

Nate held his arm up to check the time on his Pipboy

Today was going to be a long day. No use in attempting an assassination while half asleep.

Lifting his legs into the bed, the ex-soldier pulled the itchy, worn covers over himself and stared at the ceiling.

"I don't know."

I know what that's like. Memories of his first deployment rushed back through his head. Constant risk-taking. Constant reprimands and dressing downs. He didn't care. He was told his entire life he wasn't worth a damn. He was told through boot his life wasn't worth a damn. Why should that change when command wants to send his ass into the meat grinder? It was his job to die for country, right?

Took a long time to figure that one out.

It isn't something he's gonna talk Damon through tonight.

Nate's eyes drifted shut.

Unfortunately, that's something the SPARTAN will have to get through his own mind.

He could help though.

He could help…

X

As Nate followed along behind Damon, the ex-soldier struggled to keep his mind on the mission. Maybe it was because of the nature of their objective he was having trouble. Assassinations are something the SPARTAN had done in the past, Nate was sure. He hadn't thought the idea would bother him, but it felt odd. He'd almost always been deployed in direct action. Yes, there were the occasional 'quiet' operations but he was infantry, not special forces.

Taking a shot at someone from a mile away without their ever knowing about it…

It didn't feel fair.

The ex-soldier smiled. As if war is about what's fair. No, war is about what it takes to win. Knocking Maxson out of the fight before it really got started would be a good way to do that.

Other than that, Nate could still feel his mind dragging him back to their conversation. It shouldn't be but, well, it's fair to say he doesn't have the same tight focus he did back in his service days.

"I don't know."

He couldn't afford to make a mistake with them this close to the airport. They were careful to stay in visual cover as much as possible. Less than two miles from the end of the runways, they could see the Vertibirds flying patrols. They could see the Prydwen hanging over the airfield. Nate didn't need to blow it now by doing something stupid because he was distracted.

During the journey, Brenda followed behind the ex-soldier. She was on edge, movements sharp and hurried. It wasn't a surprise and he didn't blame her. Damon kept his pace slow, giving them both the time to stay quiet.

The SPARTAN stopped at a rusting car that had one of its doors missing. The thing was sitting in the middle of the street, tires long rotted away, wheels and suspension collapsed. It was resting on the pavement and looked like it had been for a century. Which was a possibility.

Winthrop. This would be where they turned south and began working their way onto the peninsula. It ran along the ocean, as far away from the airport as they could get. As with the houses surrounding them, the roadway was almost unrecognizable. Nate and Nora hadn't made a habit of spending too much time in the area. Houses were too expensive and the people were too… snobby for their tastes.

"I spend all damn day dealing with these people, I don't wanna do it when I'm off."

In reality, Nora didn't actually dislike the area. Much.

From what Nate could tell, the area had been largely shielded from the blast by downtown. The houses were decrepit, but it looked like that was just… time. 250 years will have that effect.

Damon waved the two of them forward. Nate crept up to the SPARTAN's side and glanced south around a small house. It looked like it had been blue at some point.

"This our turn?" he asked.

After taking a brief look around to double-check, Nate nodded. "Yep." Street signs would be helpful but those had rusted away a long time ago.

The roadway to the south was… passable. The only issue was the portion that ran along the coast had narrowed from what Nate remembered. Erosion? That was the only explanation. Winthrop had been… maybe a hundred feet from the water before the bombs fell? Now the ocean was lapping at the pockmarked concrete.

Still plenty of room to get by.

As the SPARTAN started south, Nate watched the massive supersoldier for a few seconds before following suit.

"Which means you either think I don't value my own life, or my life is the only life I find value in. If that's the case, you don't think I can be empathetic. Which is it?"

When Damon said 'I don't know' what he meant was 'no'. That wasn't something a 19-year-old should have to think about. It- it just isn't. The norm shouldn't be what Nate thought when he joined the army. Even now, in this hellhole his city had become, people still scratched and clawed and fought to survive. Every day.

His friend was calm and focused- or he thought the armored titan was. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Damon had been thinking about this while still operating with his usual composure. How long does that last? How long until he gets distracted? Misses something? Yes, Nate was experienced but his senses didn't cast a net around them like Damon's awareness and uncanny anticipation.

They'd just have to be ready for that.

Still, what did it say about Nate he hadn't thought this through when the armored titan was? He'd been upset with the SPARTAN for killing Grant after all. Shouldn't he have considered the situation from all possible angles? Isn't that what a good leader would do? Wouldn't that have helped his people adjust to working with Damon more easily?

Focus.

The three of them hugged the west side of the road, staying as far away from the water as possible.

And doesn't it say something that, even though Damon's struggling with that question, he's still fighting? When Nate wasn't sure why he was fighting or what he was fighting for?

I am fighting, aren't I?

But he'd been through this before, asked himself the same questions the SPARTAN was. His situation was different. He'd had something to fight for. Something to look forward to.

And it was gone.

FOCUS.

Nate shoved the thoughts away as far as he could. He couldn't get them far, but he carved out enough space to work. He needed to make sure he was ready to take that first shot. It didn't have to be perfect, it just had to hit glass.

His eyes drifted to the SPARTAN's hulking form.

Let the interdimensional supersoldier do the hard part.

The ex-soldier smiled.

Interdimensional supersoldier. Was it bad that was the least unbelievable part of his new life?

After discussing their options with Damon that morning, they decided on what he thought would have the best chance of success.

"I won't get more than two shots off before they realize what's happening", the supersoldier said as he studied the map. "At that range, this", he pointed over his shoulder at the McMillan, "will need help getting through ballistic glass."

The ex-soldier tried his best to not be disappointed. He'd have to take a shot after all.

"So you want an icebreaker", he said.

Damon glanced at him and Nate got the sense he wasn't sure what that saying meant.

"You want me to take the first shot to crack the glass."

The SPARTAN nodded. "Correct. That's a mile. Can you make that shot?"

"It's about twice as far as I've ever tried. I know the physics behind doing that but…" Nate shrugged. "Theory and reality are two different things."

"That isn't an answer."

"Damn, Damon", Brenda said, "bite his head off while you're at it."

"This is-"

"Our only chance to do this", the young woman finished for him. "We all got that. You're taking a freebie here, aren't you? If this doesn't work, we still have-"

"That isn't how I work." Apparently, it was the SPARTAN's turn to interrupt. "If I'm doing this, I intend to kill him. If we do that, the Brotherhood falls apart and we make this war a lot more winnable."

He was right, of course. You don't start a mission if you don't have every intention of seeing it through. That's how you fail. That's how you die and leave someone else to clean up your mess.

Cassandra nodded. "Right. We want this to work but you're the only person who's done this sort of thing before, right?" She looked at Nate.

"Yeah", he said.

"So is there anything we can do to make this easier for Nate?" The teenager looked at Brenda and smiled sheepishly. "Or Brenda."

The woman shook her head. "Like I said, I'm not the one you want taking a long-range shot."

"No", Damon said. "A mile shot is a mile shot. There's no way to make that easier."

And, again, the SPARTAN was right. There are no cheats to sniping. There are things you can do to give yourself a chance, but at the end of the day, whoever's pulling the trigger needs to know how to do it.

"Never start a mission you don't know you can accomplish." Who told him that? It didn't matter. He needed to hit a window three or four times the size of a person. His longest shot was a little over a thousand yards and he hit a torso-sized target. Granted, it took three shots, but he still did it.

He could do this. He had to do this because people's lives depended on it. If they killed Maxson, that wouldn't end this, but it would help.

"Yes", Nate said. "We'll need to do some work once we're in position, but I can land one on the glass."

Damon nodded. "We leave in 15."

They'd been on the move for five hours now and it was past noon. A little more than two miles to go. That meant they should be in position by one. If they were going to take the shot under the cover of darkness, they had four or five hours to do nothing.

Well… studying the target was the best use of that time, but it wasn't like their mark was a hard one. If the information Nate had from the Courser scouting teams that reconned the airport was still up to date, Maxson didn't leave the Prydwen. Their only option then would be to wait for the Brotherhood Elder to be in the airship's nose.

Damon slowed to a stop at another intersection, a few hundred yards after they turned south. He held up a fist as he knelt at the corner.

"Ferals", he whispered, pointing to a house southwest of them. It was one past the intersection, whatever color it had been was grayish brown now. Sure enough, there were a half dozen of the rotting former humans laying around the porch and yard. Who knows how many were inside or in other houses.

It was the fourth group of the things they'd come across.

Are they the reason no one lives out here? Or are they here because there's no one out here to kill them?

Nate had seen very little since by way of wildlife on their way out. There were the customary mutated bugs, a few groups of ferals, and that's about it.

These ones were out of the way and there was enough room to maneuver around them.

"Cross the street and sneak by?" the ex-soldier asked.

There was a moment's hesitation before Damon nodded.

He stood and slipped across the street. Nate followed suit, Brenda directly behind him. They were all careful to avoid any loose pavement, and they continued south.

They slowed as they drew abreast of the house, but none of the ghouls responded to their presence. It was odd they'd be sleeping this late. Then again, a regular sleep schedule probably wasn't part of a feral ghoul's concerns.

Revere street was their next turn a few minutes later. All of this- it had been a long time since Nate had been in this area, even before the bombs fell. The last time he'd been on the peninsula was… he and Nora had come out here to eat. One of Nora's clients treated the two of them to a dinner at some Italian joint nearby.

Maybe I can pick up a cannoli…

They were a little over a mile away. The pier they'd be taking the shot from wouldn't be intact, Nate was confident of that. The boat house might still be there. If neither of them was, they had their pick of houses in the area. He wouldn't be surprised if Damon decided to use one of those anyway. Notable landmarks, like a large pier, were usually good things to avoid if you didn't want to be found.

With this leg of the mission drawing to a close, the ex-soldier doubled down on scanning the area. The last thing he needed now was to lose focus and screw something up. A gunshot this close to the airport would draw the Brotherhood's attention. And that attention would be closely followed by Vertibirds.

The last percent is always the most dangerous. It's something he'd heard countless times during his days in the army. It's also something Damon said when they first got to Diamond City.

A lifetime ago.

Lucky for them, the rest of the journey was relatively quiet. Outside of skirting one group of ferals, and Damon dispatching two of the things that were on their own in a narrow street they'd turned down, they didn't run into anything.

Walking through the large suburb, it was eerie to see the rows upon rows of crumbling houses.

… Maybe 'foreboding' was a better word.

Winthrop used to be a massive, bustling community. Thousands of people lived in the area. It was probably childish of him to think it, but the idea a single event could devastate it like this was terrifying.

There were no families around, no kids playing in yards, no cookouts or barbeques.

It was… the wrong time of year for things like that, but the climate had been altered enough it felt like that should be happening.

As they rounded a long turn, their objective appeared at the end of the road. Nate had been right, the boathouse was still sitting on the water's edge. He couldn't see whether the pier was still there, but he could see the wrecked hulls of a dozen boats sitting in the shallows.

Damon stopped again, looking at the large, two-story building. Before the ex-soldier could get the idea he might be figuring out how the SPARTAN thinks, he began forward again, heading toward the pier.

"Once the inside's clear, find a good firing position. I'll secure the area", Damon said.

Even though the armored titan was looking away, Nate nodded. "Copy."

Sure enough, the floating dock had collapsed. From the looks of the rotting, weather-worn boards left clinging to the shore, that happened a long time ago. The beach was littered with wrecked craft. Most of them, their hulls made of fiberglass and epoxy, were in a thousand pieces. A handful of the larger ones were still recognizable, but they were few and far between.

The houses along the shore hadn't aged well either. Exposed to the stronger winds and salty ocean air, many of them had eroded into large piles of wood. The ones still left standing didn't look like they would be much longer.

In another stroke of good luck, the boathouse was intact. In a manner of speaking.

The eastern-facing side had collapsed into the ocean. The rest of the building was… usable.

Inside, the furniture was little more than mounds of debris. Brenda stayed in the front room while they headed toward the docks.

"I don't know about you", Nate said as the two of them gazed around the interior, "but I don't think you should try the stairs."

Damon grunted and turned to the southwest. The Prydwen loomed above the airport, over a mile distant. Even from there, the airship looked absolutely massive. Which it was, of course. The Prydwen had been their primary mode of transportation to bring a few thousand people, weapons, and supplies.

Even from that distance, they could see the large camps the Brotherhood had set up on the tarmac below.

"Sightlines are fine from here." The SPARTAN unclamped the McMillan and offered it to the ex-soldier. "I'll be back in 20."

"Got it", Nate replied and took the heavy sniper rifle.

He began searching for a spot for them to set up while Damon marched out of the building. After a few minutes, the ex-soldier had cleared debris that used to be several tables from a spot just in front of the boathouse's counter.

As he lay down behind the McMillan and peered through its powerful scope, Nate's uncooperative thoughts returned to the conversation he and Damon had. It was… surprising. Not so much the content of the conversation, but the SPARTAN's attitude. He'd been… cooperative might be too strong of a word, but he wasn't combative. More than that, Nate found himself feeling more charitable afterward. If only a little.

Vertibirds were buzzing around the Prydwen. He counted five of them. They were flying patterns around the airport, T-60 armored soldiers at the door-gunner positions.

Sometimes Nate found himself wishing he'd taken the opportunity to join the heavy support corps. That armor, even back during his time, had been devastating when deployed correctly. It wasn't in the same stratosphere as whatever the hell Damon wore, but it could be a terror on the battlefield.

Then he'd see how cumbersome and temperamental it could be and satisfy himself with infantry. Constant maintenance, heavy, cumbersome, and slow. Nate wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with the amount of gunfire they'd take in a fight.

Still, they were a great piece of kit if properly cared for. Now, in the post-apocalyptic hellscape that was earth, that kind of equipment might as well be nukes themselves.

Two Vertibirds approached from the west, heading toward the Prydwen. One looked like it had some form of damage to its canopy. Nate couldn't tell exactly what considering they were probably three miles away.

The last time he'd watched the VTOLs come in to dock with the Prydwen, it had been when Damon brought the kids back the first time. How different things were now. Was Julian down there somewhere?

Nate adjusted the rifle to look at the airfield. There were people milling around beneath the Prydwen, but the chances of picking the young boy out from the crowd were slim to none.

It was hard to not get drawn back into the memory of the Brotherhood ambush. Of Damon coming back without Julian. The SPARTAN's limp, his dejected silence. Cass… her fear, anger, and sadness. Tommy's confusion.

His own shock.

There had been no doubt in his mind the supersoldier would bring the three of them back.

And he hadn't.

The ex-soldier watched as the two Vertibird docked at the rear of the massive airship.

Cass had recovered though. She was resilient. Now she was out here with them, doing what she could to play her part. She and Brenda hit off well, not that it surprised Nate. The two of them were so alike: outgoing, generally positive, and more charismatic than the ex-soldier could ever hope to be.

How had she done that? How had she maintained her optimism through everything that happened to her? The girl's parents being killed when she was young. Her adoptive parents being killed and… eaten a few months ago.

He didn't know but he wished he could borrow some of that resilience. Maybe he wouldn't be stumbling his way through current events while trying to figure out his own motivations if he could.

Motion in the Prydwen's glass bow caught Nate's attention and he turned the McMillan back to his target.

At this range, it was hard to get a 100% ID on anyone, but he could see four people in the room. One was in power armor, no helmet, two others looked like they were wearing the Brotherhood's grayish uniform

The last was wearing a long brown overcoat.

The man himself.

Nate adjusted his hand on the pistol grip. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his finger away from the rifle's trigger. They were there to kill the bastard but taking a shot now would only waste their opportunity. Hell, he hadn't even worked out drop, let alone any of the other corrections he'd have to make.

Images of the attack on the Institute flashed through his mind. The dozens of dead scientists and residents. His ordered kidnapping of the kids, coercing settlements, his outright hatred of anything he considered inhuman. The 'cleansing' he'd put the DC area through.

Even with those things considered, the ex-soldier couldn't find the hatred to put behind it. Remembering most of those things felt more like an academic exercise than one of despising an enemy.

Was that odd?

Was it because he didn't feel like he had a real horse in the race?

The Brotherhood leadership was still standing around the Prydwen's bow, talking.

If I'm gonna do this, I can't be along for the ride. What's the point?

It occurred to Nate that, if this was before the bombs fell, their choice of command center would be abysmal. With the weapons available to most modern militaries back then, the airship would have been blown out of the sky. Now? The oversized blimp was a flying fortress.

Just like the T60, it existing in a post-apocalyptic world meant its role changed entirely.

The ex-soldier's gaze drifted from their targets. How would they mount an assault on that thing? They didn't have the firepower to take it down, and they didn't have air support to get them up to it. The only ones who would have a chance of getting to it are the Institute. Nate would be surprised if the Brotherhood hadn't figured out Damon's radio jamming trick.

Pulling his eye away from the scope, Nate glanced down at his Pipboy. Almost 1130. Damon had been gone about 15 minutes.

It might be a good idea to start figuring out how this shot will work. How long did .300 stay supersonic? That rifle had, what, a 22 or 24-inch barrel?

Nate looked back at their target. Two more figures had joined the small party. They'd worked it out that morning, the distance they'd be shooting was just under 2000 yards.

.308 stayed supersonic until about 1000 yards. .300 moves faster than .308. A lot faster. So… 1500 yards? 1700?

Dammit… I wish I knew more about long-range ballistics. Did Damon? The ex-soldier had plenty of experience with short to mid-range ballistics. Sniping was a different beast. You didn't have to worry about excessive bullet drop, subsonic performance, or a dozen other things you do when shooting 1000 yards plus.

As if reading the infantryman's mind, a gentle creak on the worn wooden floor caught Nate's attention.

"Hold fire", the SPARTAN's voice came from his right.

Nate took a deep breath and unclenched. The lack of radios was still frustrating. It would always be frustrating. Hopefully, at some point, they'd find some way to secure their comms traffic.

"How are we looking?" the ex-soldier asked as he pushed himself to his knees.

"Perimeter is clear."

He wanted to ask if that meant there was nothing when they arrived or there were things that are now dead. It didn't really matter.

Instead, the smaller man nodded. "You got a few minutes to give me a lesson on sniping?"

"A few minutes", the SPARTAN muttered and stalked forward. "Yeah. It's going to be more than that."

Nate cocked an eyebrow. Was that sarcasm? "Okay… let's start with drop." He motioned to the MK18c. "How fast will that be going at this range? If I know that, I know how to figure out drop, at least."

As Damon stopped beside him the armored titan looked from Nate, out the window, and back. "It isn't just bullet velocity. At this range, the Eötvös effect will affect drop too."

"The Eötvös effect? What the hell is that?"

The SPARTAN's armored shoulder moved up and down in the distinct pattern of someone taking a deep breath. "A few minutes", he muttered again.

I guess I'm in for a long lesson.

After a few seconds of silence, Damon unslung his rifle and shoved it into Nate's arms. He motioned for the ex-soldier to move over and, once he did, laid behind the McMillan.

"Windage, drop, drafts, Coriolis effect, and Eötvös effect. Those are the main forces we'll need to correct for", he recited, voice almost robotic.

So yes, he's sat through a few lessons on this stuff…

Damon spent a minute or two studying their target in silence. While he did, the ex-soldier gathered a few pieces of rubble. The MK18 didn't have a bipod like the McMillan. Several pieces of wood and a small chunk of concrete under the forend sufficed. By the time Damon was ready to begin the lesson, Nate was lying a few yards away, low-powered scope trained on the Prydwen.

As it turns out, the SPARTAN's incredulity was well-founded. A few minutes was a wildly optimistic estimate.

That wasn't entirely Nate's fault. Damon, unsurprisingly, wasn't the best teacher. His impatience probably had something to do with their ongoing personal issues.

The slow going wasn't really the supersoldier's fault either if Nate was being honest.

While they discussed the nuances of shooting long distances, Damon was also working out the shot. It started with identifying what markers he could for windage. Contrary to what the ex-soldier assumed, the SPARTAN wasn't going to take the shot if there was a crosswind.

"Too much can happen", he said. "The round will be in the air for about a second and a half. Wind will carry that too far to guess accurately."

It was one more variable they didn't need to deal with. That's the same reason he was waiting until night, when the air temperature was close to, if not matching the ocean's. It would minimize draft and coastal winds.

Apparently, the Eötvös effect was a target's tendency to change elevation relative to the bullet. It was caused by the same thing as the Coriolis effect: the Earth's rotation. Shooting west, it meant they had to correct for more effective drop.

Nate did a double take when the SPARTAN pulled an actual pen and paper out of his satchel and started writing.

"What the hell?"

"Do you not know how to write?" Damon asked, eyes still on his notepad.

If you're gonna play like that… "No, smartass, I just didn't expect the supersoldier from an advanced civilization to use such archaic technology."

After a few heartbeats of the sound of pen scribbling on paper, the SPARTAN turned his gaze to Nate and held up the notepad. The page he had showing was covered in numbers.

"Math is math." The giant bastard managed to sound both irritated and amused.

Nate rolled his eyes. "Sorry, dumb old me I went into the Army, not college."

Setting the notepad back down, Damon peered through his rifle's scope again. "I'm barely old enough for college, remember?"

"... Yes."

"You see the ribs on the left side of the Prydwen?" he asked.

"Yeah", Nate replied as he got back on his own scope. It was at 6X zoom which meant the windows that were their target were about the size of a penny for the ex-soldier.

"Aim at the top of the first one."

"That's… gotta be at least 40 feet away."

"More", the SPARTAN replied. "Practice a few dry shots. Get used to the trigger."

The ex-soldier nodded. "Probably a good idea."

By the time they were done, it was well into the afternoon. At least he'd gotten a pretty thorough crash course in sniping. He'd certainly be putting it to an extreme test soon enough.

And he realized something.

They'd been… friendly. Friendly for the two of them, anyway. It felt good.

Now the ex-soldier wasn't being taught how to shoot again, his mind wandered back to the question he'd been asking that morning. Why? Yes, Nate knew what the Brotherhood would do if they didn't fight. But he didn't feel the urgency to fight. When he was in the army, he felt like he had to fight every day to stay safe. Thinking back on it, that was probably how they wanted him to feel considering he never fired a rifle in combat with his boots on US soil. Was that just because he was following orders? Conditioning?

And it all went back to the same question: what did he have to fight for.

"You mind if I ask something?" the infantryman said after squeezing the trigger. It was high quality, with smooth uptake and a crisp break. The reticle still moved as he did it.

"About?"

"Why we're here. I know", he continued before the SPARTAN could say anything, "it's to kill Maxson. Killing Maxson weakens the Brotherhood and that's good because they're the 'bad guys'."

"So what's the issue?" Damon asked. His tone wasn't as irritated as the question might suggest.

Nate pulled the rifle's bolt back again and peered through the scope.

"I know what they want to do, and I agree it needs to be stopped, but…" he trailed off. How was he supposed to ask this? "Don't take this the wrong way, but I've been struggling."

Squeeze.

Click.

The reticle shifted down as the hammer came forward.

Rack the bolt.

"You were right about Shaun, I don't think you need to hear me say that. He was the last thing I had to fight for. Now… I can't stay in bed with that monster."

Squeeze.

Click.

Down again.

"I don't have anything left."

Nate took a deep breath and let the rifle's stock rest on the ground.

"I'm not a shrink", the SPARTAN said.

"I'm well aware." He looked over at the armored titan. His eye was still fixed on the scope. Or so Nate assumed considering he couldn't see past the visor. "You're fighting because you care about the people here, right?"

Damon's head shifted in the approximation of a nod.

"That's new for you though."

Another nod.

"So how did you do it before?"

There was a brief silence before the supersoldier pulled his eyes away from the target to meet Nate's gaze. "How did I fight before?"

"Yeah."

"It's what I was supposed to do. I had mission objectives and targets. That's all this is", Damon motioned his head toward the Prydwen in the distance. "'Just another body', remember?"

That last sentence had a sour note at the end. Like asking 'remember?' was a knife the SPARTAN was twisting in Nate's stomach.

And it worked.

"Yes, Damon, I remember." Despite the jab, Nate knew that wasn't true. This isn't just another mission for the SPARTAN, for either of them.

He nodded again before turning back to his scope. "I've spent most of my life fighting without a real reason. I'm not the right person to ask."

"... Right."

"Yes, I'm right. Look at what you've done since coming here. How many people would you say you've killed?"

The SPARTAN shrugged. "Never kept count."

Nate shook his head. "Of course you didn't. 'Just another body'."

That argument was going to haunt him for a long time. Nate hadn't been in a good place, but that was no excuse, especially after what he did when Damon brought Nora back. And the armored man had just stopped the Brotherhood intrusion.

Dammit.

It did bring him back to the conversation early that morning. He hadn't had a reason to fight before now. 'Mission objectives and targets.' If he had to kill people, so be it.

The implication, that Damon didn't consider human life valuable, should have been obvious. He'd never been shown anything else: his family was killed when he was a kid, then he was conscripted into a military that seemed more than ready to throw people at genocidal aliens. Add in his lack of self-preservation and you end up with someone who doesn't consider the lives he takes important or regrettable. They're just… well, they're obstacles.

Nate would be lying if he said he didn't know people like that when he served. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been there at points throughout his career. So… what was the difference?

If only that wasn't an easy answer. It wasn't just the magnitude, the sheer number of lives the supersoldier had taken. There were times, especially near the beginning, when, if someone told Nate Damon was an alien himself, the ex-soldier might have believed it. He was so detached, so…

Inhuman.

Even now, the nonchalance Damon killed with was uncomfortable. Taking a life wasn't something Nate took lightly, not anymore. The SPARTAN was just so casual about it. Yes, that may be because it's such a casual task for him but, well, being good at killing doesn't mean killing should be easy.

And then, just when Nate thought he was finally getting a handle on his unease with the armored titan's violence, last night happened. It wasn't as loud or contentious as some of their past arguments. No, Damon had been quiet. Contemplative. Whether he'd been thinking about it before or going back to Goodneighbor was his trigger, the SPARTAN had been considering his own attitude toward fighting.

How can one person be so infuriatingly difficult?

Nate smiled as he began studying their target, hovering over the airfield.

That was probably something Nora had said at some point.

More than once, in all likelihood.

Focus.

They had a job to do and the ex-soldier had already let his mind wander enough. Yes, he had the mark he was supposed to shoot at, but there were still preparations to be done.

Maybe I should prop the stock on something. He'd never shot with a supported stock, but he knew it was pretty common for ranged shooting. If he couldn't keep the reticle steady as he pulled the trigger, that might help.

He gathered another couple of planks small enough they could fit under his arms while prone and built a small platform underneath the rifle's stock. The infantryman discarded a few pieces, changing them out for others if they weren't stable. If he was going to take the time to prepare, he was going to make damn sure he had a steady shooting platform.

Once the rifle was well supported, reticle placed on his mark, Nate settled in behind it. The sun wouldn't be down for several more hours, maybe he could use that time to do something useful.

It only took a few seconds for the ex-soldier to realize that was wishful thinking. Without the McMillan's powerful scope, there was no making out any detail at that distance. The maximum magnification of the combat optic Damon had on the MK18 was barely enough to make the shot to begin with. And he was aiming at a massive window.

So instead, as minutes ticked by, Nate found himself beginning to fidget. He occupied himself with dry firing the rifle a few more times with the stock supported. It helped slow his trigger pull down and didn't let the reticle drop, but he was still getting a little movement. On the second one, he adjusted his grip so he was pulling straight back. That helped a little more. The issue was, at this range, any shift in the rifle's muzzle would lead to feet of change at impact.

Like he'd said the night before, if he was going to do this, he'd be doing it right. Damon gave him the target, the least he could do is hit it.

On the third trigger pull, the reticle stayed centered on its mark as the hammer clicked forward. Nate did one more before putting the magazine back in.

Still several hours to go.

"Go on watch with Brenda."

The ex-soldier almost jumped.

"What?" he asked, taking his eye off the scope to look at Damon.

The armored titan tilted his head to meet Nate's gaze. "You're impatient. I don't need you keyed up when we execute."

"I'm impatient?" The infantryman snorted.

"Yes. And your fidgeting is annoying."

"I'll be fine. I've taken long watches before."

Damon shook his head. "You're going to lay there and do nothing for the next five hours?"

That's all I'll be doing? "And what are you doing?"

"Looking", he replied, motioning at the large scope.

"I-" Am I just letting my pride get in the way here? I can't see anything from this range, what else am I gonna do? Dry fire the rifle until the hammer snaps?

Nate double-checked the MK18 to make sure there was a round in the chamber and it was safed. He already knew it was but it's never a bad time to practice proper gun safety. The ex-soldier let it rest on its makeshift brace and pushed himself to his knees.

"Let me know if you get lonely." He retrieved his own rifle and checked it as well.

"You'll be the last to know."

"I'll-" had the SPARTAN just told another joke? Nate grunted, amused. "There's only one other person here."

"Go bother that person." That one sounded a little more irritated.

The infantryman stood, hips and knees balking in protest. He'd been laying down for several hours. I'm not that old yet.

Am I?

Slinging his rifle as he walked, Nate found Brenda sitting in the boat house's front room. She'd arranged several pieces of ruined furniture so she had several different firing slots. Each of them had a good view of the street beyond. None of it would stop much, but it provided good visual cover.

"I'm surprised it took him that long to get tired of you", she said as he sat behind one of her makeshift firing ports.

"Yeah… me too." And that wasn't sarcasm.

"I need to ask him more about sniping."

Nate shrugged. "It's good to know things about it, but experience is how you get good."

"Duh", she said, shooting him a deadpan glance, "I didn't say I'd become an expert by listening to the guy."

"Yeah, right. Sorry."

Brenda paused for a few seconds, letting the afternoon's relative silence wrap itself around them before continuing.

"What's up with you? You sound distracted."

Was he distra-

Yes. I've been distracted all day.

"I guess… we're doing this", he motioned behind them toward the main room, "and- I get it, I know why I'm doing it, but it doesn't feel like-" Nate stopped. How was he supposed to say that?

"It's what you were talking about the other day, right?" his temporary watch partner asked. "When we were on our way to Diamond City? How you feel like you don't have a reason to fight?"

The ex-soldier nodded. "Yeah. I'm about to help take a person's life and, while I know why I'm doing it, I don't feel like I need to do it." He shrugged. "I'm not Damon, I can't mark it up to being part of 'my job'. Not anymore."

"That isn't very considerate", Brenda said. "You think Damon doesn't care about the people he kills?" She tried to sound irritated, but the ex-soldier could tell the question was more fishing than she wanted him to know. Did she have her own reservations?

Now probably isn't the time to have that conversation. He'd probably let some of his animosity into that sentence. Nate sighed. "I don't know. My point is I'm struggling with fighting for something I don't… I don't wanna say I don't believe in it, but this just doesn't feel like my fight." He shot the woman an apologetic glance. "Not saying it isn't impo-"

"No, it's fine", she interrupted. "I get what you mean." She pursed her lips. "I don't have an answer. All I know is Sanctuary is my home. Thanks to Damon, the Minutemen are back. Those are things I want to fight for. Plus…" her face turned a dim shade of red, "I care about some folks there."

Nate smiled. "... Corey."

"Well-" Brenda cleared her throat. "He's one."

The ex-soldier turned his eyes back to the street outside. The house directly north of them was still mostly intact down to the trim around its windows.

"I had that. I don't anymore. I think that's the problem."

Another brief silence. That hadn't been fair of him to say. Brenda was young, probably just a few years older than Damon. It wasn't fair of him to dump losing Nora and, for all intents, Shaun on her like that.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to make you part of my problems."

"Don't worry about it. You aren't the first person I know who's gone through that." She exhaled. "It isn't as uncommon as you'd think around here." Her voice grew sour. "There was this one woman in Rockport- that's where I grew up, it's to the north- who lost her wife and the two kids they adopted to a raider attack. She was good friends with my family. She and my pop grew up together. It… it took her a long time but she found something to do again."

It occurred to the ex-soldier Brenda didn't talk much about her past life. Rockport, if it was the area he was thinking of, was pretty far away without a car. Had she run away?

If she wants to share, she'll share.

"What was that?" Nate asked.

Brenda chuckled. "Funny enough, she ended up doing the same thing Anna does. Her big project was completely redesigning and rebuilding the town's irrigation system. Even figured out how to make a… what is it called when you take ocean water and remove the salt?"

"Desalinization."

"Yeah, that." She nodded. "We still had to deal with the radiation, but it made things a lot easier." The young woman shook her head. "Not the point. Point is I don't think there's anything wrong with you. And… even though I don't know what happened, I understand how you feel if you've lost… everything. I just hope you feel good about helping us. If everything turns out alright."

She hopes I feel good about helping them… That was easy for her to say. Making that comparison felt like she was trivializing what he'd been through. It was almost like she was saying 'people have been through this before and moved on.' Yeah, well, he hadn't been through it. Losing Nora and Shaun… ending up in this post-apocalyptic wasteland, it was all just a continuation of the long list of ways the world had screwed him.

This, of course, being the worst of all.

But it would be unfair of him to disregard what she said. The ex-soldier didn't know what her friend went through before the Raider attack, this was the Commonwealth after all. And he was letting himself drift back into that pit again. It wasn't doing favors for anyone, least of all him. Brenda was trying to help. Help isn't always going to be perfect.

"I think I will", Nate said as he turned to her again. The smile he offered was small but, unlike most of his smiles now, it was genuine. "I want ."

The young woman returned the grin. "What are friends for?"

Friends. His smile broadened ever so slightly and the ex-soldier nodded. After staring potential torture in the face with each other, it was probably fair to call her a friend.

As Nate turned his attention back to the street north of them, his mind calmed. Yeah, he was there to defend his new home. It just so happened to be the same as his old one…

The ex-soldier spent an hour or so in the boat house's front room with Brenda, watching for anyone who might come calling. They occasionally made small talk but, for the most part, stayed focused on their task at hand. She did decide to tell him a few things about her history, specifically Rockport. The town was built out of the performance center and museum on the coast. With close to a thousand people, it was nearly as large as Diamond City. There were a few dozen outlying settlements, just like in the Commonwealth. Unfortunately, they were just as disorganized as the settlements around Boston.

It's insane they've gone 200 years and still don't have anything resembling a governing body. Any sort of organized society.

Not for the first time, the infantryman wondered why that was.

When the sky began to orange as the sun started its descent toward the western horizon, Nate rejoined Damon. The SPARTAN was still in the exact same position. It was like the guy was a robot. Maybe he really was. Nate had never seen his face, maybe that suit of armor was just made to look human. Damn…

"You want to take a break?" the ex-soldier asked.

Damon shook his head, eyes still on the scope. "I never got breaks when I did this on my own."

"You aren't on your own now." Nate lay down behind the MK18. "You're the one who needs to hit a man-sized target at over a mile."

"I'll be fine", the armored titan answered. The words were clipped. It was like he was irritated Nate would question his decision-making.

The infantryman shrugged and pulled the smaller rifle to his shoulder. "Alright." Damon knew his limits better than Nate did. Maybe that was part of the whole 'supersoldier' thing.

"Find anything interesting?"

"Nothing I didn't already know."

"Right…" Nate grunted. The question had been more about starting a conversation than anything. The ex-soldier knew plenty about the Brotherhood, their resources, their logistics, and their numbers. Part of being in those briefs every morning for almost two months. As agonizingly boring as most of them were, staying up to date on their enemy was helpful. Even if there were times he wished he was being shot at instead.

Of course, it was stupid to think the SPARTAN would be interested in small talk.

This was Damon. And that's without considering the fact, despite mellowing out over the last few days, he still probably wanted to inflict bodily harm on the smaller man.

More bodily harm. The half dozen broken ribs were still fresh in his memory.

Thank you Institute medical tech.

He absently rubbed the spot under his left collarbone where whatever the SPARTAN shot him with hit.

Alright, no small talk then… There was one thing both of them had a vested interest in.

"Any signs of Julian?"

It was a long shot, especially considering they could only see part of the Brotherhood's operation. Still, any information would be worth it.

There was a few heartbeats' pause before Damon let out a frustrated breath. "Some cadets drilling on the north side of the airfield. Not enough detail to see anything."

That was as much as the ex-soldier expected. He wanted there to be more, but wanting something doesn't mean it's going to happen. Nate knew that all too well.

And even though he hated thinking it, he knew that wasn't why they were there. Even if Damon found Julian, they had no way of getting to him, much less getting him out.

No, they weren't there to save anyone. Just kill the Brotherhood's leader. With the hope it wouldn't backfire on Goodneighbor or the Minutemen.

"Alright", Nate said. "Let's do this." And I'm doing it for my home. The people he'd met in Sanctuary: Anna, Preston, Alex, Sturges, and Brenda flashed through his head. He was doing this for them. He was doing this for Cass. He was doing it because he wanted a place he could go. A place he could call home. It wouldn't be with Nora or Shaun and that would always hurt. It would hurt so deep he wasn't sure he'd find contentment and happiness again.

But like Brenda's friend back in Rockport, he could try. It's the least he owed Nora.

It's the least he owed himself.

X

"Wind's dying down", Damon said.

It was impossible to see in the dark without night vision optics. That was alright because the Brotherhood did them the courtesy of lighting up everything in and around the airfield.

Not that it was a bad idea, that would make it almost impossible for intruders to sneak in. The issue for them is there are always drawbacks to whatever defense you choose. No one had tried an assassination attempt to this point, so this type of defense was best suited for the types of threats they thought they'd face.

Besides, if that armored glass was thick enough to stop several high-power armor-piercing rounds, it didn't matter.

That was the thing still sticking in the ex-soldier's head. Yes, they intended to put at least three rounds on target. But at a mile, that wasn't that much energy. What if they don't make it through the glass?

Worry about that later. Right now, I still have to land the shot.

Right.

The sun had gone down an hour and a half ago. Maxson was still in the bow of the Prydwen. According to Damon he was, anyway. It was impossible to tell with the medium-power scope on top of the MK18. They hadn't executed yet. The air was still slightly warmer than the ocean. The wind and downdraft coming off the water would interfere with the bullets' trajectories.

According to Damon, they were almost ready.

Nate looked for the markers they'd identified earlier in the day. Tents on the ground, scraps on some of the buildings, a flag on the Prydwen.

It was about that time and the ex-soldier was waiting.

If he was being honest with himself, he was doing more than waiting. He was downright eager. They were about to try and assassinate Maxson. The leader of the Brotherhood. The man was tough, cunning, grizzled, and fanatical.

But at the end of the day, he wasn't a superhuman walking weapon from another universe. He was another mortal man, like Nate.

Yet what he represented was so much more. And so, potentially, dangerous.

Not potentially. He is dangerous. What happened yesterday?

It was funny, a few hours ago he was wondering what his motivations for doing this were. He still wasn't sure exactly why he was still fighting, that was a conversation for another day, but he knew if he wanted to figure it out, Maxson couldn't be there. The Brotherhood is molded in the image of its leader. It's fanatical. Left to do what they want, they'd destroy the ex-soldier's chance at figuring things out.

Maybe that was a selfish reason to take someone's life, but if it would help other people along the way? He wasn't going to complain about it.

"It's about that time", Nate said.

"Affirmative. What comes after the shot?"

Still staring at the Prydwen through his scope, the ex-soldier smirked. You don't trust me to remember the fallback plan?

"I move to help Brenda make sure the exit is clear and we move out and head directly north. You wait 15 seconds to confirm effect on target. You'll catch up and we hug the coast. Once we're off the peninsula, we head for your safehouse to the north."

Damon grunted. He must have satisfied the SPARTAN's doubts because that was all the response he got.

Nate felt his heart start pounding in his chest again. His hands weren't shaking. That was good. It would be hard enough to shoot at this range with steady hands.

They were about to get involved in a fight. With the Brotherhood. Again. This time it would be with their main base. And without the support of the Minutemen or the Institute. Just the three of them. Yes, one of the three was Damon but still…

This is the Brotherhood's base of operations.

Breathe in, four count.

Hold, four count.

Breathe out, four count.

Hold, four count.

"Count your heartbeats too. You'll need your heart rate to be slow and blood pressure to be low. Get to the break and squeeze a little bit harder every beat. You need to shoot between heartbeats."

The ex-soldier didn't remember when he was told that. It didn't matter. He couldn't afford to let another episode happen now.

All I need to do is hit the glass. Damon will take care of the rest. Just hit the glass. At over a mile.

Breathe in, four count.

Hold, four count.

Breathe out, four count.

Hold, four count.

"Relax", Damon's hoarse, monotonous voice drifted toward him. The word was almost… soft. Or soft for the armored titan, anyway.

"That's what I'm doing."

"It sounds like you're trying to force yourself to relax."

"No shit", Nate said, "is there another way to do it?"

The instant the words left his mouth, the ex-soldier knew what Damon meant. When he pulled his eye from the scope, the SPARTAN was looking at him.

"Relax", he repeated. "I don't need you screwing this up."

The two of them held each other's gaze for a few more seconds before Nate took a deep breath.

"Alright."

Turning back to his rifle, the supersoldier grunted.

As Nate followed suit, he asked, "you don't need me screwing this up? I have the easy job. You sure you're gonna put a round on a man-sized target at 2000 yards?"

"I've done it before."

"With that rifle?"

The ex-soldier watched Damon shift out of the corner of his eye. "No. The rifle I used was chambered in 14.5X114."

"Jesus", the ex-soldier muttered. That sounded like hell to shoot. "Still, I find it hard to believe that's a common occurrence. Were there any shots better than you?"

This time the SPARTAN hesitated. Either that meant he didn't want to tell Nate, or-

"Yes", he answered begrudgingly. "The designated marksman in my squad is a better shot."

Even though Damon couldn't see it, Nate smiled so broadly it felt like his cheeks were going to split.

-Or there were and he wasn't happy about it.

"Any others?" Now he was just being petty.

That didn't mean he wasn't enjoying it.

"I'll do my job." Apparently, the armored titan wasn't in the mood to entertain him.

"If you say so", the ex-soldier mused as he looked from his mark to the flag at the top of the airship. It was still shifting, but it wasn't billowing in the coastal breeze like it had been.

Temperatures were almost equalized.

Despite their banter taking the edge off, Nate was still wound up. It wasn't shooting at something, he'd done that most of his life. It wasn't necessarily helping Damon kill someone. It was doing it from twice as far as he'd ever fired before. It was doing it with a rifle he'd never fired before. It was that they were trying to assassinate Maxson.

Seconds ticked by and he watched as the flag fell slack for an instant before shifting again. It was about that time.

He would have tortured me if the Codmans had been smart enough to take our weapons. All is fair in love and war.

Maybe they'd decided to leave them with their guns to keep from raising the alarm. It was a really dumb decision. They probably thought the two of them wouldn't go down swinging.

Nate smiled. I guess we taught them a valuable lesson.

"Is he still there?" the ex-soldier asked.

"Affirmative."

His heart was pounding. They were about ready, the wind was low, their target was still in position.

Slow, deep breaths.

At least his hands weren't shaking and his palms were dry. Deep down, he was still a soldier. Not that he was sure that was a good thing…

"Conditions are about right", he mused, trying to keep his voice level and throat loose.

"Affirmative."

A pang of irritation flashed through Nate's head. Yes, Damon was all business but seriously…

"Tell me a joke, help keep me relaxed."

"I'm concentrating on making this shot", the SPARTAN said, irritated. "The same thing you should be doing."

Guess we aren't that far yet.

The ex-soldier settled for more deep breathing and cleared his head. The factors that would affect the bullet were drop, draft, wind (which should be minimal), the Coriolis effect, and the Eötvös effect. Damon had done the math. Unfortunately, Nate couldn't check the numbers since he didn't know how to do it. He'd have to trust the armored titan. Trust he knew how to kill things, even at a distance.

Trusting Damon to do that isn't hard.

It would be a lie to say that wasn't a bitter thought.

That meant all Nate had to do was put his reticle on the top of the first rib and pull the trigger. Well… there was more to it than that, but he knew what it took to make a good shot. He'd done that plenty.

"Wind's dying", Damon said. His voice was thick with concentration.

This was it. If they land this, the Brotherhood loses its head. If the Brotherhood loses its head, that means they become way easier to deal with. If they become easier to deal with, maybe, just maybe, the ex-soldier had the opportunity to build a new home.

Even if it was without the people who made that home worth building. Maybe he could find something else.

"Five seconds", the SPARTAN muttered.

Nate watched the flag acting as his marker shift.

Four.

The flag stilled.

Three.

The ex-soldier took a deep breath and held.

Two.

He let it out halfway and began counting his heartbeat.

One.

It was slow and steady. Calm. He could do this.

The flag was slack, the air was cool, his hands were steady, his arms were relaxed, the reticle was centered on his mark.

Beat.

He took up the trigger's slack.

Beat.

Leaned against the wall. He was familiar with it now. He knew when it would break.

Beat.

He spent 20 years behind a gun. This was home.

Beat.

…

…

…

This was home.

BOOM!

The MK18's report exploded into the night as it kicked the high-velocity bullet out of the barrel. Nate let his shoulder absorb the recoil. He stayed relaxed, but his hand was still firmly around the pistol grip. He let the trigger reset, let the rifle come back to rest on its perches, drew the rib back into sight and-

BOOM!

His borrowed rifle barked another round on its path, hopefully, to hit that armored glass.

It would, hopefully, carve a way for the large caliber rounds Damon was firing. It would, hopefully-

BOOOM!

Nate's world exploded as the McMillan went off. Its muzzle brake blew dust, dirt, and wood particles into the air. The hot gasses exploding from the rifle hit Nate in the face hard enough to make his eyes water.

BOOOM!

Before he had a chance to begin recovering from the first wave of overpressure, the second one hit him. Those trigger pulls were barely any further apart than the ex-soldier's. And Damon thought he could put both rounds on target? While manually chambering the second round? Nate wanted to stay on his scope and watch, but he couldn't.

That wasn't his job.

The second shot's report hadn't faded by the time he was on his feet, running for the front room.

It was time to go.

He snatched his rifle from the floor beside him and hustled from the room. The clock was ticking and, if they were going to prove Damon right, they needed to not get caught.

By the time he was in the front room, Brenda was already at the door, peering into the darkened street beyond. With the clear sky and full moon, visibility was good.

"Go", the ex-soldier said.

They burst into the street. The two of them ran directly north, heading for Main street. It was impossible to know how much time they had, but it wouldn't be long before the Brotherhood scrambled Vertibirds to search. Once they did that, the VTOLs would be over the peninsula in a few minutes. If they didn't make it to Winthrop before the sortie started searching that area, it would be almost impossible to get away without being caught.

That was a mile and a half.

Would whoever was organizing the sortie be smart enough to start at the bottlenecks? Winthrop and Main street were the only ways off the peninsula. Main ran too close to the airport to risk.

Don't worry about that yet. Keep moving.

They made it to the first cross street when the sounds of skittering footsteps came from the north. Feral ghouls? Dammit, they couldn't afford to shoot again. They couldn't afford to get in another fight either.

"This way", Brenda whispered and turned east. The ex-soldier followed behind her as the footsteps grew louder. It sounded like they were gaining.

Nate glanced behind him to see a pair of the ghouls round onto the street.

Yeah, they were definitely gaining.

"Shit", he muttered. Damon wouldn't catch up in time.

I don't feel like getting tackled and eaten by one of these things. The ex-soldier turned to meet the approaching ghouls, rifle held at the low-ready. Shooting was out of the question, but guns can kill people in more ways than one.

Both of their pursuers homed in on Nate tensing his legs. He heard Brenda swear behind him and her pounding footsteps came to a stop.

There was no time for her to help. The two ferals were almost on him, arms outstretched and eyes wide in the gleaming moonlight.

The ex-soldier was staring a potential death, literally, in the face. It wasn't the first time and he'd make damn sure it wasn't the last.

Just as the two attackers reached him, Nate dropped into a crouch and slid to the left. The first ghoul barreled past him. He lowered his shoulder and drove it into the hip and thigh of the second.

It tumbled over the infantryman's shoulder and down his back. The impact jarred him hard enough Nate had to spin to avoid going down. He came around just in time to see the one he'd avoided going for Brenda. Dammit. It was going to get there before-

Nate didn't have a chance to raise his rifle. Brenda was ready. She had her rifle unslung and held in front of her. The ghoul threw itself at the young woman. She sidestepped similar to the ex-soldier, but instead of using her shoulder, she drove the stock of her rifle straight down on the back of the ghoul's head. A loud crack accompanied the blow.

It was a beautiful maneuver that he didn't have time to admire. The ghoul he'd downed was scrambling on the ground, trying to regain its footing. Nate surged forward and drove the toe of his boot into the side of its head. His would-be attacker let out a pained yelp. It was the first time he'd heard one of them vocalize.

No time for pity, this thing attacked him and they needed to move. He brought the stock of his own rifle down on the back of its neck. The force of the blow reverberated up his arms and he felt something snap.

The ghoul was still writhing.

He pulled back and slammed it into the same spot again.

Then a third time.

On the fourth blow, the feral ghoul fell limp, a dull wheezing the only sound it made.

Nate was breathing hard. That had been a lot more difficult than pulling a trigger.

When he looked up, Brenda was standing over her own ghoul, the side of its head bloodied and its body limp-

Then the ex-soldier almost jumped out of his skin when he noticed Damon standing beside him. If Brenda's wide-eyed expression was anything to go by, she felt the same way.

"Remember when I said I'd shoot you the next time?" she asked between pants.

The SPARTAN nodded. "Corey did. Let's keep moving."

"HA!" Brenda let out a breathless laugh and motioned for Damon to lead the way. That's right, they were still on a clock. If they get caught… things get a whole lot worse.

A/N: Hey, in my defense, this isn't a cliffhanger. I didn't leave the events of the prior chapter in limbo! But like I said, we're taking things slow. That's on purpose. I'm hoping the payoff is worth it because this kind of writing is… a lot more taxing than I expected it to be. It's lay though, and I don't feel like rambling. I hope you all enjoyed and I'll see you next time!

Chapter 65: A Sudden, Painful, Realization