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There are less than two weeks to go till Christmas, one of the most magical days of the year, and all Taylor Keaten can think about is how much she wishes it would never come.
It is not like she could be accused of being a scrooge - far from it, actually. Taylor usually adores everything having to do with the winter holiday. Putting up all manner of decorations? Hell yes. Baking trays upon trays of Christmas cookies? Count her in. Waking up at an ungodly hour of the morning just to open up presents, sipping hot chocolate and eggnog by the fireplace, and playing festive music late into the night? Check, check, and check.
For most of the teen’s life, Christmas day could not arrive soon enough. So what made this year different?
Taylor sighs, wistfully staring at the photograph in her hands. Its edges are wrinkled and torn, the once vibrant colors now faded and dulled after spending over two hundred years locked away. One of the corners is missing, and she knows that the handwritten message on the back is all but gone. A dark stain almost wholly obscures the few remaining words; blood that had splattered on the photo after a raider got in a lucky shot with his machete a few months ago.
Truthfully, the small paper square was almost on the verge of being labeled as junk. Not only were the colors nearly nonexistent, but so were the photo’s contents in general. So much so that Taylor could barely make out the goofy smile on Nate’s face, the floppy sun hat perched on Nora’s head, and the tiny baby boy cradled in her own arms.
Yes, the photograph’s dilapidated condition objectively makes it a piece of trash, but out here, in the Commonwealth, it is her most prized possession. It is the last reminder of her family from before the Great War.
Of course, they were not her biological family. After her parents died in a car accident when she was just twelve, Taylor was admitted into the foster care system and eventually placed in a home where she was fed little and beaten often. To this day, Taylor has no clue how the Petersons managed to be approved to house her, but she is willing to bet that bribery had something to do with it. It would certainly explain why none of her complaints were ever taken seriously by her assigned social worker. It had required Taylor circumventing her caseworker and going to the agency in person to present evidence of the mistreatment and negligence for anything to happen.
Nate and Nora Akers took her in sometime before freshman year of high school, less than three weeks after Child Protective Services finally discovered that Taylor’s previous foster parents abused her. An honorably discharged US marine and an aspiring defense attorney, the couple made for the picturesque American family. As such, CPS determined them to be a perfect fit for the troubled girl.
At first, Taylor was wary of them, too traumatized from the past year to open up. It was not uncommon to find her hoarding food in her room or see her flinch whenever she heard a loud noise. But the Akers understood her hesitance, and while it was slow going, Taylor eventually started to let down her walls, starting with small things like joining in on the dinner table conversation or not shying away from Nate’s towering stature. Though still mostly reserved, the teen slowly grew closer to them over time, gradually coming out of her shell. A little under a year after they began fostering her, the Akers took the leap and officially adopted Taylor. When Shaun was born during her senior year, and they introduced her as his big sister, she knew she would do anything for her newfound family.
The Akers family filled the gap in her heart that her parents’ deaths had caused so many years before. They made her feel loved, like she belonged.
And now, they are no longer alive to celebrate with her, their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye by Vault-Tec and that bastard Kellog. This year, she would be spending Christmas alone.
Taylor shakes her head, chasing away her tears, and slips the photograph back into the pocket right above her heart. The bench across from Publick Occurrences is hardly the place for her to start bawling her eyes out, especially with how often people pass through this way. Brushing her ink-black, shoulder-length hair behind her ear, the former vault dweller sucks in a deep breath to steady herself, the crisp December air burning her lungs. Shivering as a brisk gust of wind seeps the cold into her bones, Taylor shoves her hands into the pockets of the leather jacket she wore over her Brotherhood-issued uniform in a desperate bid to keep warm.
This morning, she is in Diamond City to accompany its local news reporter to Bunker Hill, the trip having been arranged the week before. That said, the two of them had not necessarily set a time to meet up, something that Taylor now recognizes as a mistake after knocking on the door and having the journalist blearily answer in her pajamas, totally unprepared for the trek over. So now here she is, freezing her ass off as she waits for Piper to collect her belongings so that they can head out to get some things for Nat. As troubled as she is over the whole holiday situation, Taylor did not have the heart to deny Piper when the other woman asked if she wanted to go Christmas shopping. After all, Nat is like the younger sister she never had, and Taylor wants to get the young girl a gift as well.
Finally, after what had to have been at least another ten minutes of praying that Piper would hurry up, the woman in question slinks out the door of Publick Occurrences, quietly closing the door behind her. For someone supposed to get to scenes quickly to get the scoop, the brunette took a shockingly long time to get ready for their outing. Taylor tries not to be too annoyed about it.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Blue,” Piper apologizes as she approaches. Her skin is already a rosy shade of pink from the frigid temperature, and Taylor enviously glares at the pair of mittens covering the reporter’s hands. She had stupidly forgotten to bring her own pair of gloves when she departed from the Boston Airport yesterday. Now she is paying the price.
Shrugging, Taylor tilts her head in the direction of the city’s entrance and starts walking. “It’s okay, no big deal. Let’s just get a move on before I turn into a human popsicle.”
Rolling her eyes, Piper falls into step with the younger woman and admonishes, “Oh, stop being so dramatic, Tay. Forty-five degrees isn’t even that bad.”
Taylor shifts her glare from the mittens to her friend’s face. To her credit, Piper is not the least bit fazed, too used to her spunky attitude. “‘It’s not even that bad,’” she mockingly parrots, using the heel of her boot to kick a stray piece of trash down the stairs as they begin the climb. “Shut your hole. It is cold, and I’ll have you know that these uniforms don’t really do much in the way of insulation. I might as well just be wearing this jacket and nothing else.”
“Maybe this’ll teach you to finally ditch those bigots, just to get better clothing if nothing else. I mean, I’ve heard that the gear the Railroad provides for their heavies is really nice….”
The teen grimaces and turns away from the brunette’s expectant stare. Ah, yes, there’s Piper’s usual barbed comment about Taylor’s employer and attempt at swaying Taylor away to their rival. This particular line of conversation has become a common occurrence between the two, and every single time her answer remains the same. “Not happening, Pipes. I can’t betray the Brotherhood like that. How many times do I have to say this?”
“C’mon, Blue! It’s not really a secret that they’re not too liked around these parts, and from what I know, the folks in the Capital Wasteland don’t like them either. They’re bad news, and you know it.”
“Piper.” A hint of irritation creeps into Taylor’s voice. It is not often that Piper’s pushy attitude bothers her, but right now, she wishes that the reporter would just shut up. She does not want to have this discussion right now, not with the curious looks Danny Sullivan is giving them as they leave Diamond City’s premises. “I’m serious. Drop it.”
The defeated sigh that escapes Piper’s lips makes the ravenette feel somewhat guilty for upsetting her friend, but she quickly casts those feelings aside. It is not like Taylor is ignorant to the people’s misgivings about the Brotherhood. Whenever she is out and about in her uniform, Taylor usually receives more comments cursing her than positive ones thanking her for all she has done. Hell, even she has her own misgivings about the organization, and she is a knight in high standing with them.
But it is not as though Piper is not aware why Taylor is choosing to stick with them despite their faults. Given the resources they have at their disposal, the Brotherhood of Steel is the best chance she has at getting into the Institute and rescuing Shaun. She would be damned before she let that sort of opportunity slip through her fingers.
Even if they kind of are assholes.
That is not to say that the tech hoarders are incapable of doing any good. Quite a few of her assignments have been to clear out super mutants and all sorts of unsavory creatures that pose a threat to the civilian population. The settlements that have pledged allegiance are assigned permanent security details, and on the Prydwen, scribes work around the clock to develop more effective methods of farming in the Commonwealth’s nutrient-poor, irradiated soil. Senior Scribe Neriah’s mission to create a better form of anti-radiation medicine is also proving promising, and rumor has it Elder Maxson is considering setting some aside for a civilian stockpile once the project is completed.
The thought of the Brotherhood’s austere leader causes her cheeks to flare up with heat, and for the first time today, Taylor is grateful the biting cold has turned the exposed parts of her alabaster skin bright red, hiding her blush. Giving Piper a sidelong glance, she determines that the journalist has yet to notice anything amiss, too busy muttering under her breath. Paladin Danse’s words echo in the back of her mind, commanding her to focus, and Taylor turns her attention back to the road, scanning for threats.
Truth be told, she had not heard about the plans to distribute the X-111 compound from other soldiers; instead, it was the elder himself who informed the teen during one of their encounters on the Prydwen’s forecastle, late at night.
Ah, Elder Arthur Maxson, the youngest person in Brotherhood history to ever be elected to that position. At twenty years old, he is only two years Taylor’s senior, but the lines etched in his face and the dark bags under his eyes tell the tale of a man who has suffered lifetimes more than she. The two of them share a strange dynamic, one that has been present ever since they met around half a year ago, just a few days after she put a .44 round in Kellog’s head. Taylor was hesitant to say there was some sort of connection between them, but at the very least they understood each other. They both feel alone, out of place - she a Pre-War vaultie, displaced two hundred years into the future, and he the Brotherhood’s untouchable figurehead, condemned to a lonely existence.
Maybe that is why Taylor finds it so easy to talk with him whenever they cross paths, why the structural barriers between them are allowed to melt just the tiniest bit. He gets what it feels like to be the odd man out, to be the one that is there but never truly part of the fold. So when they find each other on those nights, the cool ocean breeze caressing their skin as they stand out on the forecastle, perhaps that is the cause for their hours-long conversations.
Of course, the fact that he is easy on the eyes does not hurt either. Tall, broad, and burly, Maxson paints the same image as the statues the ancient Greeks carved to depict their gods. A good portion of the men in the Brotherhood are prominent in both height and build - their rigorous training demands it - but at 6’3”, he still outsizes most of them. Naturally, that means Taylor looks like a midget compared to him. With her standing just under 5’3”, Maxson has an entire head and shoulders on her, not to mention about a solid one hundred pounds too, most of it (probably) muscle. His stature does not intimidate her - the years spent with Nate had conditioned that fear out of her - but the teen knows he could crush her like a bug without breaking a sweat, or easily manhandle her like a sack of potatoes. Something about that notion appeals to Taylor.
His face is also stupidly pretty, in a rugged, “I’m a man’s man” type of way. With strong, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, dark, slicked-back hair, and a square jaw hidden behind a thick beard, Maxson could pass as a model on the cover of a woodworking enthusiast’s magazine or an army recruitment poster. The jagged gorge in the side of his face, given to him by a deathclaw at the young age of thirteen, only adds to his allure.
And none of this even brings his personality into account. Despite the distance between him and the regular rank and file, Maxson is surprisingly compassionate, occasionally stopping by the medbay to visit the injured and offer words of encouragement. From what she had observed, he knows the names of everybody stationed aboard the Prydwen and the goings-on in their lives. While stern and demanding of respect, Maxson truly cares about his troops, and it clearly shows.
There is also an undeniable magnetism to the elder, a charismatic quality to everything he does that seeps into the bones of every person under his command. The loyalty of his soldiers knows no bounds; they all sing his praises - “He is the best elder this chapter has seen in a long time,” Danse told her once - and are more than willing to kick down Hell’s gates should he ask. When Maxson tells them to jump, they ask how high. No doubt, the way he simply seems to ooze authority helps in that regard. There is an assuredness in the way he carries himself, an unyielding confidence behind every word that leaves his mouth that inspires even the most despondent of souls to stand up and fight.
And God, his deep, gravelly voice is so fucking hot-
“So, any ideas on what you’re getting Nat?” Taylor suddenly says into the open air in an attempt to distract herself from those thoughts. It is not her first time daydreaming about the elder - sue her, Maxson is totally her type; so what if she has a crush on him? - but she would prefer to do that alone in the privacy of her room rather than while roaming the wastes with Piper. “A new jacket? Toys, maybe?”
“I was thinking a few books might be a good choice. Nat’s been talking about how boring the material they have to read in school is, and Myrna still refuses to sell to me, so that’s not an option.”
“Whoa, shocker. Never saw that coming. It’s not like you insulted her place of business in the newspaper you distributed all over Diamond City .”
The reporter shot the ravenette a dirty look. “Shut it, Tay. She’s the one who marks up her prices at an outrageous rate. I’m just upholding my responsibility as a resident to make others aware of it.” Sighing, Piper waves away her words and inquires, “Whatever, that’s not important. What about you, though? What’s on your shopping list?”
Taylor taps her bottom lip, pretending to think for a moment. “I don’t know,” the knight replies as she adopts a cheeky grin, “a little birdy told me that books would make for an amazing gift for a certain someone.”
“Wha- no, Blue! You can’t do that. That’s my idea!”
“Heh, we’ll see. Last one to Bunker Hill has to buy something else! See yaaaaa!”
“Grrr, no fair! Get back here, Tay!”
In the end, Taylor winds up letting Piper win the race to steps leading up to the settlement built around the dilapidated Bunker Hill Monument. As good of a present as she wants to gift Nat, she could never try and undermine the girl’s sister like that, especially since Piper came up with the idea in the first place. With the way the Brotherhood drills her, it would have taken almost no effort for Taylor to outpace her friend if she wanted to.
The dark-haired reporter seems to realize this too, as when Taylor strides up to her, she pouts and whines, “You slowed down on purpose back there.”
Feigning innocence, the teen walks past Piper and into the bustling settlement, dodging a pair of loudly arguing scavvers over a sheet of scrap metal in the process. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m actually much slower than most people believe.”
“Uh-huh. Sorry, honey, but we both know that’s a load of bull,” the brunette retorts, rolling her eyes in irritation before she follows behind Taylor.
The holiday spirit is in full swing in Bunker Hill as the two women scour the merchant stalls for an appropriate present. There are more vendors than usual, each of them trying to cash in on the Christmas season, and the whole settlement is packed. Festive lights hang from the ceiling and cling to the walls, showering the area in a red and green glow. A small, obviously malnourished evergreen tree sits in the corner, weighed down by the countless baubles and ornaments attached to its thin branches. A radio somewhere plays classic Christmas songs, courtesy of Travis Miles and the Diamond City Radio station. Taylor sways to the tunes as she browses the various wares being offered, nursing the cup of hot hubflower tea she and Piper picked up from the bar.
Despite how the memories of doing this same activity with the Akers drive a spike of melancholy into her heart, Taylor finds that she is thoroughly enjoying herself. Weaving through the crowd with Piper at her side, a drink in her hand, and the hustle and bustle of people surrounding her - it is all too reminiscent of the days she would spend wandering the mall with her friends without a care in the world. Admittedly, it is a nice change of pace from the chaotic and violent life being a soldier in the post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland demands of her.
After a long hour spent bartering and haggling for a lower price, the Pre-War teen has a brand new leather coat for Nat sitting snugly in her pack, right next to Taylor’s friends’ presents and the large flask of whiskey she bought for herself. Sure, she is technically underage, and Taylor does not often drink these days anyways, too afraid of being inebriated in a world where most would shoot her and not even blink twice, but it never hurts to have a stash on standby. Besides, she has a feeling she may need it soon to cope as Christmas day looms closer.
Meanwhile, Piper somehow managed to secure a set of three novels for her sister, each of them missing their dust covers but otherwise in excellent condition. Personally, Taylor thinks that George Orwell is a bit too complex of an author for Nat to fully grasp, and the choice is quite ironic considering Piper’s job as a journalist. Alas, the decision is ultimately out of her hands. Taylor’s friend is busy stuffing the books into her bag as she sidles up alongside her at the mouth of the marketplace.
“Is that everything?” the teen asks, strapping her backpack into place.
“Mhm, pretty much,” Piper answers, glancing up from her task. “Y’know, Blue, you never did say what your plans are for Christmas. There anybody special you’re spending the holidays with?” The suggestive remark is accompanied by an impish wiggling of her eyebrows that Taylor purposely ignores. Lord knows she would be mercilessly hounded for details if she gave off the tiniest inkling of the impression that someone had caught her eye.
It sucks having an investigative reporter as a friend sometimes.
“That’s ‘cause I don’t have any plans. I’m probably just gonna hang out on the Prydwen and work on my power armor. There’s a new mod that I’ve been waiting to install into my helmet, and Danse promised he would help me out with it.”
The ravenette is unsure if the Brotherhood recognizes Christmas as a holiday, much less celebrates its traditions, but her friend does not need to know that. All that would happen is her receiving an invitation to spend the last week of December with the Wrights. Piper’s mother-henning is an aspect Taylor has come to appreciate significantly since her departure from Vault 111. Still, the last thing she wants to do is intrude upon the older woman and Nat’s family time, even if she is aching for that familiar sense of cheer that comes with the season.
Sure enough, Piper pauses and frowns, her brow pinching together. “Well, you always have a place at our table, and I’m sure that Preston and the rest of the folks up in Sanctuary would be more than happy to have you.”
Touched by the gracious offer, Taylor flashes her friend a toothy smile, patting her on the arm as a sign of gratitude. Nevertheless, she knows that Christmas will probably be a lonely affair. “Thanks, Pipes, that’s really kind of you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Anytime, Blue. Now c’mon, let’s get outta here. Mayor McDonough and Geneva will be out for a bit to give a speech later today. It’s the prime opportunity to sneak into his office and snoop around.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very good idea. What if we get caught?” The last thing she needs is for her, a knight of the Brotherhood of Steel, to be caught breaking into the mayor’s office. If she did, Taylor would be sure to catch an earful from her superiors when she went back to the Prydwen.
As it is, Piper simply gives the teen an unimpressed look. “That’s what we got Nicky for, duh. Besides, it’s not like it hasn’t happened before, and guess what? I’m still a proud resident of Diamond City.”
She has a point….
“Oh, what the hell. I’m in, as long as we steal his pipe too.”
The forecastle’s door behind her opens then slams shut, the sound of heavy footsteps on steel pausing as he spots her. “Ah, Knight Keaten. I was unaware that you had returned.”
Taylor turns her head to glance at Elder Maxson over her shoulder before her focus returns to the night sky. It is cold out tonight, and she wishes that she wore the jacket currently sitting at the bottom of her bag. Her obsidian curtain of hair, let down from its ponytail in an attempt to provide her with some warmth, obscures part of his image from her field of view. Nevertheless, she can still see him standing there, tall, proud, and looking every bit the fearless leader everyone in the Brotherhood paints him to be. “Elder Maxson. I only got back about fifteen minutes ago.”
Humming, the elder strides up next to her and wraps his gloved hands around the guardrail, mindful of the pack sitting by her feet. “I see,” he says, his glacial blue eyes following her hazel gaze. “Seeing as you do not appear to be any worse for wear, I take it that your travels were quiet?”
“Yup.” Taylor pops the ‘p’ sound. A quick peek up and to the left tells her that the childish action amuses him, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards and consequently crinkling the scar on his cheek. His display of mirth is a rare sighting, and it leaves her feeling warm. “The only big thing that happened was a run-in with a few mercs that were chasing after a few slaves. Had to escort the slaves to Sanctuary before coming back here.”
“Sounds both exciting and incredibly kind of you. Well done, soldier.”
Taylor preens a little and straightens her stance at Maxson’s praise. Seeking validation has never been a priority of hers, even before she suffered abuse at the hands of Petersons. Their treatment of her only served to further exacerbate her habits of clinging to the edges of the crowd, out of sight and away from others. It is not like the teen is afraid of being at the center of attention or feels embarrassed whenever she is given a compliment; she just never really craves that sort of affirmation. Yet, with how seldom Elder Maxson hands out commendations to his men, it is hard not to feel even the slightest bit proud when it happens.
“Thank you, sir. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Indeed it was. You’ve done the Brotherhood and myself proud.”
She blushes, recalling how she and Piper were almost caught in Mayor McDonough’s office by Diamond City Security only a few days ago. Before Taylor can stop her big mouth from spilling the beans, she says, “Well, sir, something tells me you wouldn’t say that if you knew that my friend and I nearly managed to get thrown in Diamond City’s jail for sneaking into their sleaze bag, asshat, condom-fail of a mayor’s room to find incriminating evidence, and-”
The incredulous look on Maxson’s face stops the knight in her tracks. She quickly slaps her hand over her mouth, blanching as she realizes what she has revealed. Suddenly finding the stars quite captivating, Taylor meekly finishes, “Yeah, I, um… I’m gonna shut up now.”
It is silent for a few moments, and the ravenette desperately hopes that the man beside her is not too pissed off by that tidbit of information and blatant breach of decorum. She cannot imagine breaking and entering is on the list of acceptable behaviors outlined in the Codex (which she admittedly did not read despite being told to do so). God, could she be kicked out of the Brotherhood for this?
Then, to her utmost astonishment, Arthur Maxson, the stoic, ever-serious elder who seldom shows any emotion that shares even a fraction of a semblance to happiness, laughs . Not an amused little chuckle, not some quiet remark under his breath, but a full-on, belly-shaking laugh. Bewildered, Taylor can only stare as he doubles over, grabbing onto the handrail for support, wondering if her boss has finally lost his marbles.
Frankly, the whole situation is kind of freaking her out. There’s no way Maxson would ever act in this manner with a subordinate, right? This cannot be real. Did a synth replace him, and nobody noticed?
Realizing that his laughter is beginning to die down, Taylor takes the opportunity to hesitantly prompt, “Uh, Elder Maxson? Are you alright?”
The man takes another few seconds to collect himself, straightening out his battle coat and fixing his posture, before rotating his entire body to face her, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. The knight is struck by the intensity of his gaze, its weight nearly making her squirm in place as she turns to match his position. Thankfully, Maxson’s twin aquamarine pools are primarily devoid of anger, though one of his eyebrows is cocked upwards in curiosity and a ghost of a smile graces his lips. “Is there something wrong with me finding what you said funny, Knight?” he queries, a slightly affronted quality to his voice.
“Er, no, sir. I just thought you’d be mad about the whole thing.”
The elder’s severe expression returns at her words, and his eyes narrow into slits. The aura of disappointment surrounding him is palpable. “Make no mistake, Knight: by no means am I condoning your behavior. The unauthorized search of somebody’s residence is not part of our standard operating procedures, especially in a territory outside of our jurisdiction. Therefore, to that end, yes, I am upset.
“When you are out there traveling the Commonwealth,” Maxson continues, sweeping his hand across the land beyond the forecastle, “not only do you represent yourself, but you also represent the Brotherhood, and as such, your actions reflect upon us as well. Had you been caught and jailed, we would undoubtedly have had a political catastrophe on our hands. The locals are distrustful of us as is; the news that one of my soldiers was responsible for what many could interpret as espionage would only make them more so. Hopefully, the setbacks this would cause our campaign against the Institue goes without saying.”
Taylor hangs her head in shame. While obtaining the approval of others is not necessarily at the top of her list of goals, neither is getting chewed out, particularly when she knows she is in the wrong. Plus, not only could her actions have had consequences for the Brotherhood’s plans, but it could have also affected her personal mission to rescue Shaun from the clutches of the Institute. That in and of itself is almost enough to make Taylor regret her and Piper’s spontaneous excursion to the mayor’s room.
“I understand. Sorry, sir.”
“Just make sure it does not happen again, at least not without thinking of how it affects the rest of us. It cannot be overlooked that your position within the Brotherhood is a bit unorthodox, considering the amount of freedom you have to conduct yourself in the field. But at the end of the day, regardless of whatever you do out there, the Brotherhood must come first . Am I understood?”
She manages to hide her wince at the demand for complete obedience. Taylor is far from a devout member of the Brotherhood, but now is not the time to protest that sort of thing. “Crystal, sir.”
“Good. Make sure we don’t have a repeat of this conversation.” Heaving a dramatic sigh, Maxson’s hands return to gripping the guardrail, the movement causing Taylor to look up and catch a glimpse of his features actively smoothing out as his scowl lessens. When he next speaks, the harsh, dictatorial tone of his voice is gone, instead replaced by something softer, warmer, “Now, with that out of the way, I must applaud your choice of words regarding Mayor McDonough. I agree with your assessment of his character, though I admit that your description is certainly one of the more… creative ones I’ve heard.”
The drastic shift in tone throws her off balance, and Taylor blinks owlishly at the man staring back at her expectantly. It takes a few seconds for her to register his words, too caught up in the idea that Elder Maxson may actually possess a sense of humor. Not once in any of their previous encounters had he shown any sort of regard for her wisecracks. Today, not only had Maxson laughed at one of them, but he also complimented it. If that is not something remarkable, then Taylor does not know what is.
“Um, thanks?” the ravenette says in response. “I try my best.”
One side of his mouth ticks upward into a smirk. “Don’t be so surprised, Keaten. I can appreciate an excellent verbal beatdown when I hear one, regardless of whether the person in question is in attendance or not. And while it may seem hard to believe, I do possess somewhat of a rebellious streak as well.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Yes. Scribe Rothschild certainly had a hell of a time trying to locate me whenever I skipped out on my tutoring lessons as a squire. As it turns out, the archives in the Citadel house plenty of hiding spots for a child that does not want to be found.”
The image of a scowling, mini version of Maxson hiding under a table as a grumpy scribe calls for him brings a smile to Taylor’s lips. It is such a grand departure from the collected, disciplined man in front of her that she cannot help but laugh. The atmosphere is significantly lighter now, so Taylor decides to take a chance and casually adds, “Well, if that’s the case and you dislike McDonough just as much as I do, then I think you’ll be happy to hear that I switched out all his good whiskey for dirty pond water before we left.”
Maxson shoots her a crooked grin that has her stomach erupting into butterflies. Curse him for how boyishly handsome he looks when he does that, like he’s actually his age and not bogged down by the stress of navigating his people through life in the post-apocalyptic nuclear wasteland. “An ineffective leader such as he does not deserve to be in possession of fine alcohol. Pray tell though, what did you do with the drinks?”
Leaning down, Taylor proudly pats the top of her pack. “Why, I poured it into my own bottles, of course. Want some?”
“Perhaps another time. I simply came out here to get some fresh air. Were you looking for a drinking partner, though? That’s a feat generally better accomplished inside the Prydwen, not out of it.”
Taylor shrugs, hiding her face behind her hair as she turns her attention to the night sky. “I dunno. Maybe? Drinking away my problems wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve had.” The weight of the man’s gaze on her is heavy, and she can practically feel him frowning next to her. “Honestly, I just needed some time to myself, considering that Christmas is coming up next week.”
“Do you have bad memories associated with the holiday? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.” There is a layer of concern coloring his voice, as well as a bit of genuine curiosity. It is actually kind of sweet of him, and a pleasant, fluttery feeling begins to spread out from within her chest. Though he cannot see it, Taylor rewards the elder with a grateful little smile.
“No, not necessarily. They’re not bad, per se, it’s just….” The ravenette trails off, unsure if she should be taking up Maxson’s time to share these personal details. Not only are they, well, personal , but the elder is also a busy man, much of his day spent coordinating the different units in the field and going through reports. Regardless of how comfortable she feels around him, he undoubtedly has better, more productive things to do than to listen to some lowly knight ramble on about how the holiday season only brings on bouts of sadness instead of joy.
Surprisingly enough, when she tells him as much, Maxson waves her worry off by replying, “Nonsense. The forecastle is my spot of relaxation, away from work, and it is past lights out already so there should not be any new developments coming my way till morning. If this time could be used to alleviate some of your suffering, then I am more than happy to lend an ear and help.”
Taylor remains silent for a heartbeat, waffling over the decision to dump her sob story on him. In truth, it would be highly inappropriate if she did so. He is her boss, the East Coast Brotherhood’s head honcho supreme; as a knight, Taylor has no right to trouble him with this, even if Maxson says it is okay. When he first came out here, relaxation was his goal, not comforting one of his soldiers. Taylor would simply have to cope with her woes by herself.
And yet, the assuring, earnest, and almost tender expression he wears when she meets his gaze has Taylor’s reservations falling away in an instant. Nobody has looked at her like that since before she left the vault, and she cannot help but feel somewhat special for being the object of his attention. Heat creeping onto her cheeks, she gives in and recounts her parents’ untimely demise, the mistreatment she faced at the hands of the Petersons, and finally the love, care, and compassion the Akers showed her. It feels good getting all these bottled-up emotions off her chest after refusing to share this particular part of her past with anyone, including Piper, MacCready, and Danse.
For his part, Maxson is a good listener, nodding and asking questions in the right places, his focus fixed solely on her as she speaks. He does not pry too deep, allowing her to dictate what is said, and upon noticing her shivers halfway through her story, he drapes his massive battle coat over her shoulders. Dwarfing her, it is already cozy with the elder’s blazing body heat and has an intoxicating, masculine scent of leather and bourbon. She burrows contentedly into the heavy jacket before continuing, appreciative of both Maxson’s patience and his chivalrous gesture.
“And Nate always tried to sing along to whatever Christmas song came on over the radio, but I swear that man did not have a single musical bone in his body. For someone who had to do chants on the march when he was in the military, he sure gave the neighborhood cat a run for its money.” Taylor smiles, recalling how Bubbles the Cat had, in fact, fled from the former marine in one instance. “It actually became a tradition of sorts. Nate would do his best to impersonate the Christmas carolers that came around every year, and Nora and I would beat him with pillows until he stopped. We would make a bunch of cookies and eggnog too, and share them with the neighbors.”
“Seems like fun,” Maxson offers.
“Yeah, it was,” she agrees, pulling his coat tighter around her slender form. “It’s just a shame that I can’t do stuff like that anymore since they’re, y’know… gone .” The reminder of her adoptive parents’ passing dampens her mood significantly, and Taylor frowns down at her feet, fighting off the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. No more Christmas bake-offs, no more hanging up festively colored lights, no more nights spent by the fireplace with loved ones - all the teen has left now are the memories she and the Akers made together.
The scrape of a boot against metal puts a stop to her moping, and Taylor raises her head to find Maxson slinging her pack over his shoulder. His muscles ripple beneath his jet-black flight suit at the motion. “Come,” he says softly, tilting his head towards the bulkhead that leads inside, “I want to show you something.”
Her interest piqued, she follows the man to where he opens the door for her, patiently waiting as he seals it shut behind them. The blustery bite of the winter cold is gone, the Prydwen’s interior providing a haven from the wind. Rolling back her shoulders, Taylor becomes aware of the coat still wrapped around her when her cheek brushes against its collar’s fur lining. Although the cold has yet to leave her body, the ravenette begins to slip it off and thank Maxson for his generosity, “Um, this is yours, sir. Thanks for letting me borrow it-” Another shiver wracks her body against her will midsentence, cutting her off. Maxson shakes his head at the involuntary interruption.
“Keep it for now,” he refuses, reaching over to readjust the greatcoat so that it sits back on her shoulders. Taylor blushes at the intimacy of the gesture, all too aware of their less than professional proximity. The distance between them on the forecastle had been respectable, the perfect image of a superior officer and his subordinate; this, however, could be mistaken for something a pair of significant others might do for each other. “It looks like you could use it for a while longer.”
“I- thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Now, this way.”
They do not pass anybody on the way to whatever location aboard the vessel Maxson is taking them. The late hour guarantees that only the sentries working the night patrol and insomniacs are awake, and even those are surprisingly sparse tonight. Their footsteps are the only sounds in the corridors, and the dim, nighttime lights cast long shadows against the steel walls as they walk by. Not a word is shared between them, and while curious about what he has in mind, Taylor cannot help but feel a bit uneasy as Maxson leads her further and further into the heart of the Prydwen.
There isn’t some sort of super-secret torture chamber in the middle of this tub for people that get on the elder’s wrong side, right?
Finally, just as Taylor begins to wonder if blindly following this absolute tower of a man was a bad idea, he stops in the middle of the passageway. Discerning that they are at the empty mess hall of all places, the knight turns to Maxson and cocks out her hip. She feels silly for entertaining the notion that she was about to be slated for an interrogation - the existence of a torture chamber onboard has yet to be disproved - so perhaps that is what prompts the sassy attitude. “With all due respect, sir, what are we doing here?”
Maxson gently places her bag down on one of the tables. “It is to my understanding that your feelings are due to the fact that the customs you would typically do this time of year are no longer an option, especially since your adoptive family is no longer with us.”
The ravenette swallows the sudden lump in her throat, vowing not to cry. If she did, Taylor knows she would only feel worse. “Yeah, sounds about right. Christmas just isn’t the same without them or our traditions.”
That soft look on Maxson’s face is back as he approaches her. “Taylor,” he calls, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. The use of her first name sends a jolt through her system, and Taylor stares up at Maxson, wide-eyed. Never before had he addressed her that way, even when it was just the two of them. As far as Taylor knows, only those in Maxson’s inner circle are spoken to in that manner, and she definitely is not part of that. Well, last time she checked, anyway.
He is now gently tugging her towards something in the corner of the room, and the teen realizes Maxson’s been talking this whole time. “-people are what make these activities so memorable. Yes, some practices are meaningful all on their own, but doing them with friends and loved ones is special in its own right.” Whatever he is directing her to is mostly obscured by his bulky mass - How the hell is he so broad? - but Taylor manages to catch a quick glimpse of green around him. Maxson continues, “And while I can never hope to replace what you shared with the Akers, I want you to know that you are welcome to partake in the traditions we have here in the Brotherhood. This is one of them.”
Maxson steps aside, and Taylor’s vision is instantly bombarded with bright hues of green, red, white - just about every color under the sun greets her eyes. A potted evergreen tree about her height sits in front of her, a small basket of trinkets resting at its base. While the one she saw at Bunker Hill was somewhat sickly looking, this one stands tall and proud, its branches reaching up towards the ceiling. Tinsel and string lights rope their way through the leaves, and a bright, shining star serves as the tree’s capstone.
And oh, the ornaments. It is evident that most of them are homemade, none of them holding the polish Pre-War ones did, but they all look so good and are clearly made with love and care. They are everywhere, too; power armor helmets, mini nukes, and model Prydwens all hang from the tree’s branches. While the Brotherhood theme is a bit obnoxious, and even though no presents litter the floor around it, it is undoubtedly an excellently adorned Christmas tree.
“You mentioned that decorating the tree was one of the things you did together as a family,” Maxson explains as she runs a finger over a miniature vertibird, fascinated by the craftsmanship. “It’s a practice that has been carried down since our inception as well. Everybody gets together to furnish the tree, and those who are not skilled enough to make their own decorations are allowed to pick from the ones from years past.” Picking up a small T-60 helm, he offers it to her, his lips curved in a gentle smile. “Would you like to put this on?”
Somewhat overwhelmed, Taylor silently accepts the ornament from his hand and slowly turns to face the evergreen. Stepping forward, she locates a vacant spot and hooks it onto the branch before moving back and admiring her work. The motion is so easily familiar, so reminiscent of the times she would do this very thing with Nate and Nora, and she is struck with the sudden feeling of home. A surge of warmth and gratitude swells out from her heart, and Taylor turns to face Maxson, hazel eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” the ravenette whispers, beaming up at him. A tear trails down her cheek, and Taylor quickly scrubs it away using the palm of her hand. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
Maxson tucks his hands behind his back and dips his head in a sign of acknowledgment. “You don’t have to say anything, Taylor. You’re one of us now. The Brotherhood is a family, and we’re happy to have you here.” A pause. “ I’m happy to have you here.”
Taylor’s heart flutters in her chest, and a heavy blush settles on her cheeks. “Thank you, sir.”
“Arthur.”
She blinks. “Huh?”
“Arthur,” he repeats, his intense blue gaze filled with something fond. “When it’s just us, I would like you to call me Arthur.”
Taylor nearly chokes on her spit at the request. Scratch off the elder calling her by her first name as the highest privilege one can attain; being allowed to address him by his first name trumps that ten times over. Lancer-Captain Kells, Knight-Captain Cade, and the proctors are probably the only people on the ship with his permission to do so.
Until now, that is.
Bypassing her shock, Taylor manages to grin even wider. “Thank you, Arthur,” she says, testing out the feel of his name in her mouth. It sounds nice, she supposes, and the red creeping up his neck suggests that he feels the same. “I think I really needed that tonight.”
“You’re most welcome, Taylor. I’m glad that you’re feeling better about all of this now.” Glancing to the side at the clock mounted on the wall, Max- Arthur hums before announcing, “Unfortunately, the hour is getting late. There is still some work to be completed before I can go to bed. I should leave now if I want to do so at a reasonable time.”
A spike of disappointment lances through her at her words, and the teen refrains from asking him to stay a little longer. “I understand,” Taylor tells him, slipping out of his coat and immediately feeling chillier. She hands the article of clothing over to him, and Arthur easily slides it on. “Thank you for everything.”
“Again, you’re very welcome. I hope you have a good rest of your night, Taylor.”
“You as well, Arthur. Good night.”
Nodding once, the elder starts to stride towards the hallway leading to his quarters, the knight watching after him. He is almost entirely out of the room when Taylor is hit with a sudden, impulsive urge to act upon her crush on the man. He has been making her feel all stupid and giddy all night long by lending her his coat, taking her to the tree, and finally giving her permission to call him by his name. Surely that sort of thing needs to be rewarded, right?
So, throwing all caution to the wind, Taylor calls for Arthur to stop, to which he thankfully does with an inquisitive furrow in his brow. Sauntering up to him, she murmurs, “One last thing,” before standing up on the tips of her toes and dragging him down to plant a chaste kiss right on his cheek. Arthur freezes beneath her touch, and when Taylor pulls back, his face is a bright shade of red. She cannot suppress the giggle that bubbles out of her throat at the sight of the unflappable elder so flustered, and Taylor shoots him one last grin before grabbing her pack and exiting the mess hall in the other direction.
Taylor is not sure she can ever fully recover from Nate and Nora’s deaths. Their role in her life was far too important for her to simply sweep them under the rug. But if this is a taste of what is to come in the future, then maybe she will be alright.