Chapter Text
“I have run a few blood tests as you requested,” Curie said, handing Nora the folder with her own name on top of it. “I can confirm that you have been healthy these past few months after receiving your vaccines. You were not ill with any bugs or diseases two months ago, as your vomiting was not the result of any kind of seasonal flu.”
Nora glanced over the folder, her brow furrowing. “Well, that’s good to know. The last thing I want is to give Nila anything. But if I wasn’t ill, what was it? Food poisoning?”
Curie shook her head. “You are pregnant, madame.”
Shit.
Nora’s eyes widened at the synth, and she hurriedly flipped through the file. There it was, written in black ink on one of the pages that Curie had helpfully labelled hormone levels. Under hCG was a number, and then next to it, PREGNANT. 3 months along.
“As you have been sexually active, have you had any screenings for sexually transmitted diseases recently?” Curie asked.
“We used a condom,” Nora murmured, one hand on her stomach.
“It is most clear in this case that the condom was not sufficient protection,” Curie pointed out gently. “If you like, I can conduct a few tests for you right now.”
Nora exhaled heavily. “Sure,” she muttered. “Oh my god. Oh my god. I cannot- believe- it was once, Curie! Once!”
The synth gestured for her to begin removing her clothes. “Once is all it takes, madame. I assume you know the identity of the father?”
Yes, Nora went to say, and then stopped. She knew what he looked like - tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, with a thick beard and a scar cutting through his right cheek - but his name?
“No,” she admitted. “No, I would recognise him the moment I saw him, though.”
Of course, this changed everything.
Nora sat at her desk in the Castle, staring blankly at the alcohol she now couldn’t drink. She was pregnant. Again. Last time she hadn’t been able to go into the Glowing Sea. This time- who the fuck even knew? She was going to have to scale back what she did without another thought. No more going out alone, for one thing. It was either with squads or just… not at all. Just the thought of having to sit around for the next six months to a year had her feeling restless and uncomfortable. God, she had to stop doing this…
Doing what? Having sex with one random man? It had been a harmless night with a total stranger who hadn’t recognised her. She didn’t get many chances with people like that anymore, now that everyone knew who she was.
Of course, not very harmless, as it turned out. She reached down and cupped her belly. Now that she was looking, the bump was fairly obvious, wasn’t it. She rolled her eyes.
The Minutemen were going to need more guns if she was out of the picture. She couldn’t leave them without her. She needed more people. She needed more firepower.
Fuck.
She needed whoever was flying that big old blimp above the airport.
Reaching for her radio, Nora took a deep breath. “Preston,” she said. “I need you in here, as soon as you can.”
It took less than a minute for Garvey to be pushing open her door, and Nora could tell from his panting that he’d clearly run the whole way.
“Ma’am,” he began. “What’s the problem?”
Nora bit her lip. “Preston,” she said, “do you trust me?”
He nodded. “With my life. Nora, what’s wrong?”
She closed her eyes, took another deep breath, and looked at him. “I need you to set up a meeting with the Brotherhood of Steel.”
The Brotherhood had been in the Commonwealth for nearly six months, working toward finding a way into the Institute with no success. Instead, what they had found were hostile wastelanders, an underground organization willing to put synth lives above human ones, a rapidly-growing civilian militia that had yet to reach out to them, increasingly hungry soldiers with a depleting stockpile of food, and numerous dead ends.
It was… frustrating, to say the least.
And that frustration was only growing.
It’d been a while since Arthur last had a break from the hectic nature of his life—three months, to be exact—but he was beginning to feel like he already needed another one. Really, it wasn’t often he went out and played the role of a civilian rather than a Maxson, but sometimes, it was just… necessary. Besides, his last break had gone fairly well and gave him enough relief to last, even providing him with some material to think about when work nights ran late.
Still, no matter how good it felt to be normal, that was something he could never be, the occasional night out be damned.
Someone knocked on the door. “Elder Maxson? The Lancer-Captain needs to speak with you, sir. It’s urgent.”
He must have been too deep in his own head because even the slight knock had Arthur startling. Glancing up at the person peeking through the open bulkhead, he nodded, waving them off. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
A moment. After he stopped wishing for a break from something he was built and bred to do.
Soon, though, he was joining Kells on the command deck, greeting the older man. “Lancer-Captain Kells.”
“Sir,” the Lancer-Captain greeted. “We’ve just received a call from the Commonwealth Minutemen, as they’re calling themselves. They want to arrange a meeting between you and their General to discuss the terms of an alliance.”
“It’s about time,” Arthur murmured. “Very well. Set up a safe meeting place and we can work something out. I have no qualms with them.”
The Lancer-Captain nodded. “It’s not just about time,” he confessed quietly. “It’s almost in time. Our food stocks have been depleting quicker than we can scavenge or purchase food. If the General is an amenable character, hopefully we’ll secure a steady supply.”
“Yes, I am aware our food supply is low. It has weighed on me how to approach the issue, but I do not want to wreak havoc on the local farmers.” Pausing, Maxson ran his fingers through his beard in thought. “Do you have any intel on this ‘General’?”
“Thankfully, the Minutemen have something of a ridiculous hero-worshipping complex,” Kells said with a slight sneer. “But from everything we’ve picked up around the Commonwealth, their General is a woman, a Vault-dweller, favours a Gauss rifle and is quite the shot. Whilst I doubt some of the taller tales about her are true, all reports paint her as a decent fighter and a level-headed authority.”
“A female vault dweller?” the Elder repeated. “That is… interesting. How did someone who came from a vault end up leading a civilian militia? Do we know what vault she was in?”
“Vault 111,” Kells replied. “I’ve got Quinlan scouring through what we know of the Commonwealth Vaults, but he’ll likely take some time to get through it.”
“Very good. If there is any news, report to me immediately. For now, set up a secure meeting location that isn’t too far from the Prydwen.” Arthur stepped away, but stopped, turning back around. “Also, find out more about their base of operations. Any intel you can give me on the Minutemen or their General, no matter how small, is helpful.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll have everything available written up for you by tonight.”
Preston spent the time negotiating where the meeting would take place - Nora was too busy dealing with the fact that she had fallen into a hormonal mess. She cried when a crow took off from the walls of the Castle after she had been watching it for five minutes, and decided to head back to her quarters before she broke down in tears in the courtyard.
The meeting would take place along the waterfront, between the Prydwen and the Castle, at a location they would both clear out. The best thing they could find was the old Shamrock Taphouse, which, if Nora had to be honest, was probably both the best and worst place to have a meeting with another military leader.
Of course, she couldn’t drink, either.
She didn’t have much time to prep herself mentally. Thanks to the Minutemen’s little fleet of boats and the Brotherhood’s vertibirds, both forces got there around the same time, the ground troops going first to clear out the raiders and prepare the old Taphouse. It was apparently worse than it had looked - as with everywhere else in the Commonwealth, floors were broken, trash was strewn everywhere, and the raiders had decorated as they were apparently keen on doing.
But it had gone well, and Nora was pleased to hear that the combined firepower and manpower had cleaned out the building and then cleaned up the building, leaving it suitable as a meeting place, and hopefully at the end of it, as a bar once more. It would be nice to have a place to drink - or for others to have a place to drink, anyway.
Nora hopped onto her boat with Preston and Ronnie the next morning, pulling her coat around her. The combat armour would hide the visible pregnancy bump, but it wouldn’t be wise for her to let a complete unknown see that she was clearly vulnerable. If the Brotherhood were shits, they would exploit the fact that she was pregnant and clearly desperate for support.
And if that was the case, better to know that first before she started making plans.
Reports that the cleanup went well were unsurprising yet pleasing to hear, though Arthur was more appreciative to find out that his soldiers and the Minutemen worked fluidly alongside one another—that was always a good start. Perhaps it was a sign of positive things to come.
He’d spent a good portion of the night reading reports given to him regarding the Minutemen and their General, anything and everything known about the faction and its leader having been written up and set on his desk before he retired to his quarters for the evening. There wasn’t much about her, but there was enough to give him a good idea about the kind of person she was. The Minutemen, on the other hand, had a decently long file that tracked their progress for quite some time.
He hadn’t slept much, but that was fine considering he never slept much, anyway.
His vertibird arrived at the Taphouse first, Arthur having the habit of a soldier of arriving early rather than on time so he could scope out the area with his own eyes instead of rely on others. Not that he didn’t trust his own people, of course, but it was more a peace of mind.
Once he felt comfortable enough with everything being secure, he made his way inside and took a seat at one of the booths to await the arrival of his potential new ally.
Nora stepped into the Taphouse, glancing around. The place looked good- looked clean and ready to host. It even smelled good. No alcohol - even better - just a slightly musty smell of old wood. She couldn’t lie - she was impressed. She’d spent hours talking about the importance of brooms and cleaning up trash. Apparently, at least a few of her troops had listened.
There was a small group of Brotherhood soldiers sitting at a table, and, taking a deep breath, she strode over. Preston and Ronnie followed silently, waiting for her orders, as she looked the small group over, her eyes searching them, trying to find the-
Oh.
Oh my god.
“Elder… Maxson?” she began quietly, gazing down at a familiar face with a thick scar cutting through the right cheek.
“… And that’s when she said, ‘No more! I can’t take it!’” one of the soldiers yelled, her fist banging on the table while one of the others laughed.
“That is highly inappropriate,” another commented, his voice a booming baritone.
A small, lopsided smile was on Maxson’s face, though his name coming from his left caught his attention, eyes upturning to the woman who’d approached. He’d expected her—but not her.
He’d expected the General, not the woman from three months prior whose dark thighs he remembered wrapping around his head.
But… she couldn’t be… oh, fuck.
“General,” he breathed.
The group of soldiers that were sitting with him in the booth grew quiet, looking between one another, as well as Arthur and the General.
“Well, ain’t this sweet,” Ronnie drawled. “Ma’am?”
Nora almost jumped, glancing back at the older woman. Nodding hurriedly, she looked back at the Elder, and cleared her throat, holding out her hand for him to shake. “General Roshanara Pendleton, Commonwealth Minutemen. These two are Colonel Preston Garvey and Brigadier Ronnie Shaw.”
“Uh…” He glanced down at her hand, fumbling over his words to the point where even the others at the table noticed. “Elder Arthur Maxson, East Coast Brotherhood of Steel,” he greeted, taking her hand to shake it, then nodding to the others she introduced.
But he almost forgot to introduce his people until someone cleared their throat. “Ah, my apologies,” he murmured. “These are Proctors Ingram and Quinlan, and Paladin Danse.”
Her face flushing, Nora nodded. “If everyone’s ready, shall we begin?”