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And as the sun dipped past the afternoon peak, shining warm light across the yard of Sanctuary. over soldiers and settlers, over children and families, over fighters and food stalls and fluttering banners.
The cheers were still rolling across the yard like waves, crashing again and again, long after Jonas's final strike decided the match. The dust stirred by their movements hung in the warm afternoon sunlight, shimmering like flecks of gold suspended in the air. The banners stitched by settlers fluttered in the soft breeze. Someone at the edge of the crowd had started banging on an old metal drum like it was some kind of pre-war stadium instrument, keeping rhythm with the chanting of the champion's name.
"JONAS! JONAS! JONAS!"
He stood in the ring as if rooted there, his chest still heaving, sweat dripping from his temples, his hands trembling but not from pain, but from disbelief. The kind of disbelief that happens when a man who has never been celebrated suddenly finds himself at the center of hundreds of voices shouting for him.
Sico watched him with quiet pride, the kind that showed itself not through cheering but through a softened jaw, a slow nod, and a warmth in his eyes. He looked at Jonas not as a fighter, not even as a champion, but as a symbol of the Republic's beating heart.
Sarah leaned toward Sico and murmured, "Look at him. He's going to remember this day for the rest of his life."
Sico didn't look away from Jonas. "We all will."
The roar of celebration slowly began to shift with softly at first, then rising as Piper, wiping her eyes yet again, slammed the microphone switch.
"Alright, ALRIGHT SANCTUARY!" she shouted, her voice cracking but triumphant. "You think this day can't get any better? Think again! It's time for the FIRST EVER FREEMASONS REPUBLIC AWARD CEREMONY!"
The crowd erupted again.
Sico stepped forward toward the main platform erected earlier that morning from old scaffolding, sanded wood planks, and welded steel supports. It wasn't glamorous, but it was sturdy, proud, and unmistakably theirs. A long banner painted by children from Sanctuary and Abernathy Farm hung above it:
FREEMASONS REPUBLIC, STRENGTH IN UNITY
Robert and Preston walked behind Sico with Robert with his long, steady stride and commanding presence and Preston with his iconic hat tipped slightly forward and his hands resting calmly at his sides, though his eyes sparkled with excitement.
They took their place on the platform.
The crowd surged forward, gathering in a half-circle around the raised stage. Families picked up their children so they could see. Soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder with settlers. Even the fighters who had been patched up by medics found spots along the edge, leaning on friends or wrapping arms around each other's shoulders.
A hush fell with an expectant quiet, thick with emotion.
Piper, practically vibrating with energy, announced into the mic:
"Ladies and gentlemen, fighters and families, settlers and soldiers, today we witnessed something extraordinary! And now, it's time to honor the champions who made history!"
Jonas still looked overwhelmed as he was gently guided up to the stage by Morris, who gave him a pat on the back. The med-tech who had taken third place was already there waiting, standing nervously with her hands clasped behind her back.
Sico turned toward the crowd, the warm sunlight catching the slight metallic sheen of his rank insignia. When he spoke, his voice carried with a calm strength that made every head lift.
"Today," Sico began, "we saw something powerful. Not the strength of trained soldiers alone. Not the skill of professionals. But the strength of ordinary people."
He looked directly at Jonas, then at the med-tech, then at Morris.
"Today, the Republic saw what unity truly means. Settler and soldier. Young and old. Farmer, medic, grenadier. Every one of you who stepped into that ring showed not only courage, but heart. Heart that no raider gang, no Brotherhood army, no wasteland storm could ever break."
The crowd murmured with agreement.
Sico lifted a small metal box from the table beside him that carried the Freemasons Republic emblem etched onto its lid. He set it down gently and opened it, revealing neatly organized envelopes of caps, three small medals, and a folded parchment with the Commandos insignia.
He took a breath, then spoke:
"It is my honor to award the winners of our first-ever Freemasons Republic Sparring Competition."
The crowd roared again.
Preston stepped forward, standing tall and proud, smiling softly in that way he always did during moments that felt significant for the people. Robert's arms were folded behind his back, his posture stiff but noble, his expression serious as a man that fully present for the moment, understanding its weight.
Sico turned to the med-tech as her small, wiry hands still shaking with adrenaline. She swallowed, standing straighter as Sico approached.
"Third place," Sico declared, "goes to a fighter who proved that precision, intelligence, and timing are every bit as powerful as brute strength. A medic who defended the wounded many times, and today defended herself with grace."
He reached into the box and pulled out a wrapped envelope and a small bronze medal stamped with the Republic emblem.
"Your reward: 750 caps, and—"
He paused for emphasis.
"—an official invitation to join the Commandos."
The crowd burst into cheers.
The med-tech clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and wet. She whispered, "Me? Really?" barely audible.
Piper shouted, "YES YOU, PRECISION QUEEN! LET'S GO!"
The med-tech laughed in disbelief as Sico handed her the envelope and medal. Preston stepped in, gently helping her steady herself as she descended the stage, surrounded instantly by cheers and pats on the back from her fellow medics.
Then Sico turned to Morris.
Grenadier Morris with a broad-shouldered, sweaty, bruised, smiling like the sun itself was inside his chest. He stepped forward without hesitation, placing a fist over his heart in a formal salute.
"Second place," Sico said, voice firm, "goes to a fighter whose endurance, loyalty, and raw determination exemplify what it means to serve the Republic."
Sico opened the next envelope, handing it to Morris.
"Your reward: 1500 caps, and like our third-place champion, an invitation to join the Commandos."
The crowd roared again, almost as loud as when Jonas won.
Morris bowed his head just slightly, and said, "Thank you, sir. It'll be an honor to serve."
Robert clapped him once on the shoulder as he passed, hard enough that Morris actually winced and then laughed.
And then the moment came.
The yard seemed to hold its breath.
Jonas Hale who still stunned, still trembling as he stood on the stage looking like a man who had suddenly been asked to hold up the sky.
Sico stepped toward him.
"Jonas," he said quietly, so only he could hear for a moment, "breathe."
Jonas nodded rigidly, air shaking out of his chest.
Then Sico turned to the crowd and raised his voice.
"And now, first place."
The explosion of cheers was immediate.
Piper didn't even try to contain her enthusiasm. "YEAHHHH, SANCTUARY! OUR CHAMPION OF THE WASTELAND!"
Sico waited for the noise to fade—just a little—then continued, his voice weighted with meaning:
"First place goes to a man who reminded us of something vital today: that heroism does not belong only to soldiers or trained fighters. That greatness can rise from the soil of a farm, the scrap piles of a workshop, or the quiet resilience of a hardworking life."
He put a hand on Jonas's shoulder.
"Jonas Hale, you came here as a settler. Today, you stand as a champion of the Republic."
The crowd erupted into their loudest cheers yet.
Several children shouted his name. A group of settlers near the front hid their faces, touched beyond words. Soldiers clapped their hands against their armor. Vendors banged pots. Someone lit a flare, sending a colored streak of blue into the sky.
Sico reached into the box and retrieved the largest envelope that stuffed thick with caps and placed it into Jonas's shaking hands.
"Your reward: 2500 caps," Sico announced.
The crowd cheered again.
But Sico wasn't finished.
"And more than that as Jonas Hale, you have earned an invitation… to join the Commandos."
Jonas's head jolted up so fast Sico almost laughed. His eyes went wide—huge, almost frightened.
"M-me?" he stammered.
Sico nodded. "Yes. You. If you choose it."
Jonas stared at the envelope, then at Sico, then at the sea of cheering faces. His throat worked, but no words came out at first.
Preston stepped forward, smiling warmly. "You don't have to decide today. But you've earned the chance. That's something no one can ever take away."
Jonas swallowed hard and whispered, "Thank you… all of you… I don't… I don't know what to say."
Robert, with his deep voice that subtly commanded attention, said simply, "Just stand tall. You earned this more than you know."
Jonas lifted his head slowly—hesitantly—until his posture matched that of a man who, for the first time in his life, believed he was worthy of being seen.
The crowd began chanting his name again.
"JONAS! JONAS! JONAS!"
He exhaled shakily, but this time the trembling in his breath wasn't fear. It was pride.
Real, unfiltered pride.
Sico took the gold-colored medal from the box—a symbol crafted by the blacksmiths of Sanctuary, forged from scrap metal taken from the ruins of the old world and reshaped into something new. Something hopeful.
The crowd fell silent as Sico hung the medal around Jonas's neck.
It gleamed in the sunlight.
Jonas touched it once with his fingertips, as if afraid it would disappear.
Then Sico raised Jonas's arm into the air.
"Your champion!" he declared. "The first in Republic history!"
And the crowd once more became thunder.
Jonas stood there with sweaty, bruised, exhausted, overwhelmed and yet radiant with a kind of quiet, stunned joy that settled into his bones.
Piper yelled into the mic, "SANCTUARY, MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE GREATEST UNDERDOG STORY OF THE COMMONWEALTH!"
The people did not disappoint.
The cheers rolled so loud that several settlers joked the Brotherhood of Steel could probably hear them from miles away.
Jonas Hale had arrived in Sanctuary as a nobody.
He was leaving this stage as a legend.
But the ceremony wasn't over.
After the medals, after the caps, after the official invitations, Sico raised his hand for quiet. Slowly, slowly, the roar faded again into an excited hush.
He spoke to the crowd with warmth edging into each syllable:
"Today was more than a competition. It was a reminder that every person here from settler, soldier, medic, scavenger were matters. That every one of you has the power to stand tall. To defend your home. To be part of something larger than yourselves."
He gestured around the yard.
"Look at what we built together today. Look at the unity, the joy, the strength. Look at how ready we are to face whatever comes next."
Robert nodded sharply beside him. Preston tipped his hat forward solemnly.
Sico finished:
"This is the Freemasons Republic. This is who we are."
The applause that followed wasn't explosive like before.
It was deeper.
A unified, steady, heartfelt applause that moved through the crowd like a heartbeat.
As the ceremony wound down, settlers surged around Jonas, patting him on the shoulder, asking him to retell moments from the fight. Kids begged him to show them the palm strike he used. One child handed him a crude drawing, a stick figure with a big smile labeled "JONAS DA CHAMP."
The applause continued to ripple outward, steady and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of Sanctuary itself. Jonas breathed it in like it was air he'd been starved of his entire life. He looked around at the faces with were some familiar, many not all beaming at him with pride, admiration, maybe even a bit of awe. It felt unreal, as if the moment were too large for him, too big to fit inside the chest of a man who once thought survival alone was the height of hope.
But the warmth of the moment made it real. The faces, the cheers, the handshakes that they gave it life. They made it his.
And as the echo of applause slowly dissolved into the background hum of conversation and celebration, Sanctuary shifted, almost as if by instinct. The crowd that had once pressed toward the stage now fanned outward across the settlement's central yard, spilling toward the trader stalls like water seeking open ground.
Piper wiped her forehead dramatically, stepped back from the mic, and shouted, "Alright everyone, YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS, FEAST TIME!"
A roar of laughter rolled through the people. Someone whooped. Someone else yelled, "HELL YEAH, PIPER!" Someone banged on that improvised drum again, as if to underscore the sheer energy charging the air.
Sanctuary began its transformation, from battleground to celebration ground.
From competition arena to festival.
From sweat and bruises to food, music, and joy.
The traders who had set up their booths earlier in the morning now snapped into full activity as if they had been waiting for this exact moment. Many of them had deliberately held back certain items during the competition to save them for the feast. Now they unveiled their best stock with cooked foods steaming on makeshift metal trays, pots bubbling with stew, grilled meats sizzling on salvaged grates hammered into shape by Sanctuary's blacksmiths.
A warm, savory smell drifted into the air, wrapping itself around the crowd. It was a mixture of roasted brahmin ribs, freshly baked mole rat pies, fried mutfruit fritters, and even the rare delight of corn chowder simmering in a big dented pot courtesy of the Abernathy family.
Jonas stepped off the stage awkwardly, like a man unsure what to do with his hands now that they weren't clenched in fists. The medal around his neck kept glinting in the sun every time he moved, creating tiny flashes of gold that made the children nearby squeal with delight.
The moment he reached the dirt of the main yard, he was surrounded.
Morris, still sporting his bruised jaw and grin, grabbed Jonas by the shoulders with both hands and shook him with more enthusiasm than sensitivity. "Jonas Hale, you beautiful bastard! You did it! You actually did it!"
Jonas half-laughed, half-coughed. "Morris…. Morris, I need those lungs intact!"
"That's the spirit!" Morris let go of him, still grinning ear to ear. "But seriously godsdamn, man. That last strike? That was poetry."
Jonas shook his head with flushed cheeks. "I still don't know how I pulled half of that off."
"You did it because you had to," said Preston, appearing beside them with an easy smile. "Sometimes the best things we do are the ones we don't realize we have in us until the moment demands it."
Jonas swallowed. He wasn't used to hearing himself spoken of that way like someone remarkable, someone capable, someone seen. His throat tightened in a way he didn't expect. He forced a smile. "Thank you, Preston."
Robert, towering as always, approached more slowly. His presence alone made people instinctively shift out of the way. He regarded Jonas with a deep, contemplative expression.
"You fought with heart," Robert said, his voice low but carrying. "Not many do."
Jonas ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I… appreciate that, sir."
This seemed to satisfy Robert. He nodded once with a heavy, deliberate gesture then moved to join Sico, who was stepping down from the platform after helping secure the awards box.
Piper practically bounced up to Jonas next, thrusting a small notepad into his hands.
"You NEED to sign this," she declared. "I told you I was calling you a big deal! This is going in tomorrow's front page of Freemasons Newspaper."
Jonas stared at the paper like it was an alien artifact. "Sign? Like… with a pen?"
"Yes, Jonas. That's typically how writing works."
He blinked once. "Wow."
Piper let out a breathy laugh, smacked him lightly on the arm, and pushed a pencil into his hand. Jonas scribbled his name with uneven and little shaky, but Piper looked like she'd just secured the signature of a pre-war star athlete.
"There!" she said triumphantly. "I'm framing that."
"You're framing a piece of paper I just scratched on?"
"Yes!" She pointed at him with the pencil. "Because someday the whole Commonwealth is gonna know that signature."
Jonas had no idea what to say to that. He smiled instead with really smiled, the first completely unguarded grin he'd worn all day.
And then the smell of roasting brahmin hit him again, deeper, richer, seasoned with cracked pepper and firewood. His stomach growled loud enough that Morris actually laughed.
"Well that answers the question of where we're heading next," Morris said, clapping Jonas on the back. "Come on, champ. Let's get you fed before someone tries to interview you again."
The trader stalls were alive with color and movement.
It felt almost surreal as the stalls that had looked so humble and quiet in the morning had become a riot of activity. Cloth awnings fluttered overhead, some patched together with old t-shirts, some dyed with vegetable pigments, others made from sheets of tarp. Hanging lanterns made from glass bottles threw warm light in different colors across the dirt path.
A group of kids had already claimed a spot beside one booth, playing some kind of improvised marble game using bottlecaps painted with fighters' faces. Jonas noticed one with his face painted on it. He blinked at that, unsure whether he should laugh or faint.
Sico, Preston, and Robert walked at the head of the group, greeting people as they passed as Sico with quiet warmth, Preston with heartfelt sincerity, Robert with silent, respected gravity. Soldiers had removed their helmets, slinging them over their hips to enjoy the food and sunlight. Settlers moved among them freely, without fear or hesitation.
It was a rare sight in the wasteland community not surviving, but celebrating.
The first stall Jonas approached belonged to Carla, the caravan trader. Tonight, she had set out trays of brahmin ribs coated in a thick, glossy glaze made from some combination of mutfruit juice, honey, and spices she refused to reveal.
Carla smirked when she saw him. "Look who it is. Sanctuary's new poster boy."
Jonas flushed. "I'm not…. I mean….. it was just—"
"Relax, kid." Carla slid a large rib into a tin plate and shoved it into his hands. "First place gets first bite. That's tradition now."
"Is it?" Jonas asked.
"It is today," Carla said, then added with a wink, "And probably next year too. Assuming you defend your title."
The thought of another fight almost made Jonas choke, but the food smell was too good to resist. He took a bite and immediately his eyes widened. "Carla, this is incredible."
"I know," she said smugly. "Now go on. There's a line behind you."
Next booth over, Mrs. Dalton had brought a massive pot of mirelurk-and-corn chowder. Steam rose off the top in thick white plumes. People crowded around with bowls in hand, and she whacked anyone who tried to cut the line with her ladle.
Farther down, a group of Abernathy settlers handed out small plates of fried mutfruit fritters as crispy on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside. Jun Long stood beside them, surprisingly chipper, offering cups of tea brewed with razorgrain and mint.
"I added sugar this time," he said shyly. "For the festivity."
And then there were the drinks.
Dozens of bottles lined up on makeshift tables. Homemade spirit infused with silt beans, someone's attempt at recreating Nuka-Cola using glowing fungus, moonshine aged in old bullet casings for a "smoky flavor," and even a few bottles of real, pre-war alcohol that someone had held onto for decades.
Sico approached one such table and raised a brow. "Where did you get this?"
The trader grinned. "Let's just say it fell off a Brotherhood vertibird."
Robert coughed once. Hard. "We'll pretend I didn't hear that."
The trader winked. "Pretend all you like, General."
Jonas made his way from stall to stall, overwhelmed by both the attention and the generosity. People kept handing him things with food, drinks, small tokens, a carved wooden charm shaped like a brahmin, even a half-broken radio someone said "might still work when you kick it."
Everywhere he went, he heard people telling the story of his final strike like they were recounting a legendary battle.
"Did you SEE that hit? Guy went down like a sack of mole rat grain!"
"He moved like he knew exactly what was coming. Like he could see the future!"
"Jonas Hale, I'm telling you, he's got something in him."
"Bet the Brotherhood wanna recruit him now!" someone joked.
"No way," another replied. "He's ours."
Jonas felt a strange warmth at that. Ours. The word hit deeper than he expected.
For years, Jonas had bounced between settlements, rarely staying longer than a month. He had been a wandering pair of hands.
But here today, people saw him.
People celebrated him.
People wanted him to stay.
Meanwhile, Sico, Preston, and Robert had gathered at a wide stall draped in dark green cloth at the Commandos' unofficial refreshments booth. Several Commando members were there, out of uniform, laughing and drinking with settlers. A grill made from an old metal bedframe sizzled loudly with brahmin steaks.
One of the Commandos, a tall woman with a scar along her jaw, lifted her drink when Sico approached. "Hell of a match today, Commander."
Sico nodded respectfully. "You'd have enjoyed being in there."
"Oh, I did enjoy it, from the sidelines." She smirked. "Less bruising involved."
Preston accepted a cup of spiced razorgrain ale and inhaled the steam. "People needed today."
"More than they realize," Sico said quietly.
Robert grunted in agreement. "Morale like this? Hard to break. Even by the Brotherhood."
Sico glanced across the yard at Jonas, who was being pulled by two enthusiastic kids toward a table where someone had set up targets for throwing bottlecaps.
Jonas threw one. Missed entirely. The kids laughed and showed him how to do it properly.
Sico smiled softly. "This—" he gestured toward the laughter, the lantern lights, the steaming food, "—this is why we fight."
Robert looked at Sico, then toward Nora's old house at the edge of Sanctuary, where warm light spilled from the windows.
"You think this peace will last?" Robert asked.
Sico didn't answer right away. He watched people eat, dance, talk, argue, laugh.
"At least for tonight," Sico said finally. "And tonight is enough."
As night deepened, the lanterns glowed brighter, casting long warm colors over the ground. Someone dragged out an old pre-war speaker and connected it to a patched-together generator. Music crackled through the static with a scratchy but unmistakable melody of a pre-war jazz tune. Then another. Then a folk song someone from the Railroad had brought.
Before long, people were dancing.
Literally dancing with holding hands, spinning in circles, laughing wildly. Even the soldiers. Even the settlers who usually felt too tired to smile. Even Sturges, who had grease smudged on his cheek but still tried to lead a set of clumsy dance steps that made everyone around him fail spectacularly.
Jonas found himself on the edge of it all, holding a cup of some sweet-strong alcohol that made his face warm. He was watching people dance when someone tapped his shoulder.
He turned.
It was the med-tech who had won third place.
She looked different now with hair brushed, face cleaned of blood and dust, wearing a loose shirt instead of a combat brace.
"You were amazing," she said shyly. "I mean, we all were, but you… you were something else."
Jonas rubbed the back of his neck. "You're being too generous."
"No," she said. "I'm being honest."
He smiled awkwardly. "Thank you. Really."
She nodded and sipped her drink. "You gonna join the Commandos?"
"I…" Jonas exhaled. "I don't know."
"That's fair." She glanced toward the Commandos booth. "It's a big step."
"What about you?" Jonas asked gently.
She smiled faintly. "I think… I think I might." Then her eyes softened. "It feels like a chance to do more than patch wounds. A chance to prevent them."
Jonas nodded slowly. "That's… admirable."
They stood side by side for a moment, watching the crowd.
"Tonight feels like something we'll talk about years from now," she said.
Jonas looked at the lanterns, the laughter, the feeling in his chest.
"Yeah," he whispered. "It does."
Morris eventually barreled back into view, carrying an entire tray of food balanced precariously on one arm.
"OKAY!" he shouted. "I STOLE… I MEAN… BORROWED SNACKS FOR EVERYONE!"
Behind him, one of the food vendors yelled, "MORRIS IF YOU DON'T BRING THAT BACK I'M TELLING PIPER!"
Morris flinched. "ON LOAN! IT'S ON LOAN!"
Jonas burst out laughing so hard his stomach hurt.
Morris set the tray down on a table. "Sit. Eat. Celebrate. You're not allowed to brood tonight."
Jonas snorted. "I wasn't brooding."
"You were staring thoughtfully into the middle distance like some tragic hero," Morris insisted. "Now sit."
Jonas sat.
The table quickly filled with the med-tech, a couple of farmers, a pair of militiamen, even a couple of kids who just wanted to be near the "champion." Morris loaded everyone's plates like a man feeding an army.
For the first time in a long time, Jonas didn't eat alone.
And that simple reality struck him harder than any punch he'd taken earlier.
He looked around the table at Morris's booming laugh, at the med-tech's soft smile, at the kids enthusiastically explaining how they made bottlecap figurines — and something in him loosened.
Across the yard, Sico stood quietly beside Preston and Robert, arms folded as he watched the bustling feast unfold like a living painting. Lantern lights flickered across his face, revealing the quiet pride in his expression.
"This is good," Preston said softly. "They needed this."
"We all did," Sico replied.
Robert gave a rare small smile. "Even you?"
"Especially me," Sico admitted.
They watched the people dance. The children run. The fighters laugh. The traders boast. The soldiers loosen their armor straps and breathe easier.
Then Magnolia was going onto the stage, her silhouette cutting across the lantern glow like the rising moon itself. The crowd felt her presence before she even spoke. Conversations softened. Movements slowed. People turned their heads not out of obligation, but from that subconscious pull.
She stepped into the light wearing a shimmering dress stitched from silver-flecked fabric traded from a caravan that once passed through Goodneighbor. It caught the glow of the lanterns like it was woven from starlight. Her hair was curled, her lips touched with that deep wine-red she had somehow kept pristine through the wasteland years. She adjusted the mic, tapping it twice.
"Sanctuary…" she purred, her voice warm as velvet. "You've given me one hell of a night already."
A few men in the crowd hooted.
She winked. "Oh relax. I haven't even started."
The generator buzzed softly as someone turned up the dial, and the small pre-war speaker crackled. A soft instrumental swelled with old world jazz mixed with the slightly tinny quality of post-war tech. Then Magnolia leaned in, eyelids half-lowered, and began to sing.
Her voice was smoke wrapped in velvet. A sound that stretched across the yard and settled into people's ribs, into their pulse, into their memory. It transformed Sanctuary the way fog transforms a coastline.
Sico grabbed a cup of coffee from the Commandos' refreshment table with real coffee, Preston's prized stash, brewed in a dented metal pot. The aroma curled upward, warm and earthy. He raised the cup to his lips and let the moment settle.
He stood at the edge of everything: the food, the laughter, the wild dancing, Magnolia's voice gliding above it all. It felt like the night itself was exhaling.
People danced in twirling circles, pairs swaying, boots scuffing dirt, lantern light catching the gleam of smiles and sweat. Even the toughest Commandos, the ones who normally refused to show anything resembling joy, were tapping their feet or bobbing their heads awkwardly.
Sico sipped his coffee and watched, not like a commander keeping watch, but like a man soaking in something pure and rare. It struck him how strange it felt to have a moment with no alarms, no radio calls, no battle prep. Just… living.
The music rolled across the yard like a warm tide.
His gaze drifted and caught on two familiar figures.
Albert and Sarah.
They were dancing.
Not the stiff, awkward kind of dancing soldiers usually did — not the "move left, shuffle right" kind. No. They were actually dancing. Albert's massive hands rested carefully at Sarah's waist, as though he was afraid he might break her if he didn't handle her like glass. Sarah's arms were looped around his neck, her forehead nearly resting against his chest. Their steps were slow, steady, in rhythm with Magnolia's sultry tune.
Sarah was smiling.
Not the polite one she used for debriefs. Not the exhausted one she wore when reviewing patrol logs. But something soft, private, almost shy.
A smile that made her look younger.
A smile Sico had never quite seen from her before.
Before he could think further, he felt a touch on his shoulder.
Gentle. Familiar.
He turned.
Nora stood behind him, her blue eyes bright in the lantern light, her cheeks touched with warmth from the dancing and the music and maybe the leftover adrenaline of the day. She was wearing a soft brown jacket over her usual Vault-inspired blue shirt, her hair pulled back loosely, a few strands falling around her face.
She looked… peaceful.
Peaceful in a way Sico rarely saw her be.
"You're hiding out over here," Nora said with a crooked smile. "President Sico, lurking by the coffee table. Should I be worried?"
He chuckled. "I'm not hiding. I'm observing."
"Observing," she repeated teasingly. "Is that what we call it now? Standing in the corner pretending to blend in while everyone else has fun?"
He shrugged, raising his coffee. "I'm blending perfectly."
"You are absolutely not blending," she said, stepping closer. "You stand out like a deathclaw at a picnic."
He snorted into his cup.
Then her voice softened, the teasing fading into something gentler.
"Hey… do you want to dance?"
He froze.
Of all things he expected tonight with laughter, food, chaos, music but that question was not on the list.
He lowered the coffee slowly. "…Dance?"
Nora nodded.
She wasn't joking.
Her hand was extended, palm open, waiting. The lantern light flickered against her skin. Magnolia's voice curled through the background like smoke. The crowd swayed. The air smelled of firewood and spices and warm earth.
And Sico realized that in the middle of everything — the Brotherhood threat, the Freemasons Republic responsibility, the endless weight he carried every single day — Nora was giving him something rare.
A moment.
A small, fragile, human moment.
"Sico?" she asked softly. "Only if you want to."
Want?
He wanted many things he never said aloud.
Peace.
Rest.
Normalcy.
A chance to feel human for more than five minutes.
A chance to breathe beside someone who understood the cost of hope.
He set his coffee down.
And he took her hand.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'd like that."
Nora's smile grew warmer, softer, the kind that reached her eyes. She gently tugged him toward the crowd of dancers, weaving between pairs, stepping around laughing children and drunken settlers wobbling through their steps.
They found a small space near the edge, where the lantern light spilled over them in pale amber.
The music softened into a slow, silky melody.
Nora placed one hand on his shoulder. He placed his on her waist, hesitating only a second before settling into the natural rhythm of her movement.
They swayed.
Just swayed.
Like the world wasn't constantly on the brink. Like they had time. Like nothing could break this tiny, fragile slice of peace.
Nora's voice was low as she leaned a little closer. "You know… I've seen you face down raiders, super mutants, synths, gunners, and about five different political disasters."
Sico raised a brow. "Is that your romantic lead-in?"
She laughed with a soft, warm sound. "Maybe. My point is… I've seen you do everything. Except relax."
"I relax," Sico protested mildly.
"When?" Nora asked. "Name one time this month."
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
She arched a brow in triumph. "Exactly."
He looked down at her for a moment. Her eyes were steady, gentle, probing in that quiet way she always had.
"You're allowed to breathe," she said softly. "Even President need a moment."
"I'm breathing now," he murmured.
She smiled again and rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
His heartbeat stuttered.
Just a bit.
The music rolled through them. Magnolia's voice was velvet and moonlight, wrapping everything in a softness the wasteland never offered freely.
"You did good today," Nora murmured.
Sico exhaled. "It was the people who made today happen."
"You guided them." She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes. "This community… this feast… this peace… you shaped it."
"I just—"
"Sico." Her voice stopped him. Firm. But full of warmth. "You don't have to downplay yourself every time someone gives you credit."
He let out a slow breath. "Old habits."
"Well," she said softly, "maybe it's time to form new ones."
They swayed again, falling back into the rhythm.
Children ran past them, laughing. Lanterns swayed overhead. A couple nearby stumbled into each other and burst into giggles. The scent of brahmin ribs and sweet mutfruit drifted through the air.
It felt like a real world. A safe world. One Sico almost didn't recognize because it was the world he was trying to build and yet part of him still didn't believe he was allowed to be inside it.
But Nora's hand in his grounded him.
"You okay?" she whispered gently.
He nodded.
She squeezed his hand lightly. "Good. Because I'm stealing at least this one dance. Maybe two."
"Two?" he teased.
"Maybe three," she countered with a grin.
He shook his head. "Ambitious."
"I learned it from you."
He laughed with a soft, low, an honest sound he didn't let out often.
For a moment with a rare, precious moment that got the weight on his shoulders loosened.
Not gone. Never gone.
But lighter.
Nora rested her forehead briefly against his chest. The warmth of her breath seeped through his shirt. His hand gently tightened at her waist, steadying, grounding.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
Because for the first time since this fight for the Republic began, Sico felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't walking the path alone.
The music swelled softly.
Nora lifted her head again.
"Sico…" she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here."
The simplicity of it hit deeper than any speech.
He swallowed. "I'm glad you're here too."
She smiled with the kind of smile she used on Shaun when tucking him in, or on Codsworth when he said something accidentally sweet, or on the settlers when she handed them fresh crops. Warm. Human. True.
They fell back into silence.
Not uncomfortable. Not heavy.
Comfortable.
The kind of silence two people can share only when trust has settled into the spaces between their breaths.
Across the yard…
Robert glanced toward them once, noticed the way Sico held Nora, and gave a subtle nod with an expression somewhere between approval and relief.
Preston saw it too. "Good," he whispered to himself. "He deserves a night like this."
Albert and Sarah were still dancing with Sarah's head on Albert's shoulder, Albert moving with surprising grace for a man his size.
Morris stumbled by with a plate of fried mutfruit and shouted happily, "THEY'RE DANCING! EVERYONE, LOOK, President SICO IS DANCING!"
Piper shoved him. "Shut UP, Morris! Let them have their moment, you idiot!"
The med-tech who'd spoken with Jonas earlier sighed dreamily. "Aw… that's cute."
Jonas, who was sitting on a wooden crate eating a final piece of brahmin rib, followed everyone's gaze and blinked. "Wait, Sico dances?"
Morris nodded sagely. "Apparently."
Jonas swallowed his bite. "Good for him."
Back with Sico and Nora…
The song faded softly, the chords lingering like the last traces of warmth from a dying fire. Magnolia transitioned seamlessly into another slower melody, but this time Nora stepped back slightly.
"Break?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Sico nodded. "Break."
They stepped out from the dancing area and drifted toward a quieter corner of the yard, near a half-rebuilt fence overlooking the river that ran beyond Sanctuary. Lantern light flickered across the water in soft, broken reflections.
Nora leaned against the fence, her face turned toward the breeze. "It's beautiful tonight."
"It is," Sico said — but his eyes were on her.
She noticed.
Her cheeks warmed faintly. "You're staring."
"Observing," he corrected.
She laughed again, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"Occupational hazard."
They stood quietly. The music drifted over them, carried by the cool night wind.
Nora's voice softened. "I meant what I said earlier. You don't always have to be the strong one."
"And you don't always have to carry everything alone yourself," he replied gently.
Her lips parted in surprise, in understanding, in something deeper. She turned her body toward him fully.
"Maybe…" she whispered, "maybe we don't have to do any of this alone."
He stepped closer.
Not too close.
Just enough that the space between them was no longer a barrier, but an invitation.
"Nora," he murmured, voice low, careful, "you are… one of the strongest people I've ever met."
She looked down. "I don't feel that way."
"Strength doesn't always feel like strength," he said softly. "Most days it feels like survival."
She breathed out shakily.
He continued, "But you still stand. You still fight. You still care for Shaun, for Sanctuary, for everyone. And you still make room for joy, even when the world tries to take it away."
Her eyes glistened not with tears, but a shine of something painfully human.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Sico shook his head slightly. "Don't thank me. Just… stay."
Nora stepped closer until their shoulders brushed.
"I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly.
And Sico believed her.
Behind them, Magnolia's voice rose into another song with something honey-slow and warm, a tune that sounded like an old memory.
________________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-