10. The Steel Cage

A wave of nausea washed over MacCready as the vertibird took off. Flying was bad enough under normal circumstances, not that he was afraid of heights or anything. It just wasn’t exactly natural, clipping through the sky at ridiculous speed the way the Brotherhood’s aircraft did. The stupid things didn’t even look like they would fly, built like a fat bird with stubby wings. But fly they did, and on this particular occasion -- though liftoff made the mercenary’s head spin -- he was extremely grateful for the fact.

It was difficult to keep his eyes open, between the agony of his injuries and the aftereffects of whatever chem Lori had dosed him with, but MacCready did his best, fighting against his weariness desperately. In the back of his mind, he dreaded losing consciousness. What would he do if he fell asleep, only to wake back up in that awful shack with Lori leaning over him, tormenting him? He couldn’t go back there, not again.

In a way, he was strangely grateful for the nausea. It gave him something to focus on, true. But more importantly, it made the flight feel real. All the times he’d escaped in his mind, he’d felt relieved, pain-free. His churning gut rooted him in the moment, helped him believe that this time, he’d finally made it out. Myra and Deacon really had come through. He was safe.

He looked over at Myra, who was sitting next to him on the bench in the back of the vertibird. She had an arm around him, and the gentle warmth of her touch soothed the dark corners of his mind, sending stray thoughts of guilt and sorrow fleeing for deeper places. She was looking out the side of the craft, her eyes focused on the landmarks that drifted by below them. Her green eyes seemed distant, haunted somehow, but why he could not be certain.

It was rare that he had much of an opportunity to contemplate the woman who’d hired him all those months ago, who had somehow stopped being his boss and had become his friend. She was a curiosity to the mercenary. MacCready had never worked with someone like her before, someone who really seemed to care about the well-being of the people who worked for her. Sure, he’d had the occasional kindhearted boss who’d toss in a few extra caps at the end of a job. And he’d even worked for a few people he almost trusted. But the majority of the time, he’d worked for complete dirtbags, consoling himself with the knowledge that caps didn’t care where they came from. They fed his family all the same.

MacCready tried to remember the job he’d been on, the one where Lori’s brother had been killed. It could have been any number of operations he’d been part of, and that realization horrified him. It wasn’t like he was in the business of asking people for their life stories before he shot them. He was a hired gun. He followed orders, did his job, and got paid. It was a pretty simple arrangement, and he liked it that way. It made some of the guilt he’d otherwise feel diminish somewhat. He was a weapon. His bosses pulled the trigger.

But he’d never expected to meet someone like Lori, a survivor mad with grief. She didn’t care who had given the orders, or what the circumstances were. All she saw was the death of someone she loved, the hole in her life where her brother should have been. No amount of justification could protect him from her, or from the reality of the sins he carried. MacCready knew he had blood on his hands, knew what a massive debt he owed. And now, more than ever, he was ashamed of what he’d become after leaving Little Lamplight.

Myra shifted slightly, her eyes narrowing. “That’s not…”

“What’s up?” MacCready asked nervously.

“Hang on. I’ll find out. Hey!” she exclaimed. “Farfield! This isn’t the way to Sanctuary.”

“That’s correct, Knight,” the pilot replied. “I have orders to take you to the Prydwen. Elder Maxson himself insisted on it.”

“What?” she cried. “Why would he do that?”

“I didn’t ask. Perhaps you should ask him yourself, when you see him.”

Myra sighed. “Trust me, I will.” She turned to MacCready with an exasperated smile. “Well, looks like we’re taking a detour. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Cade takes care of you. Civilian or not, you’re one of my men, and unless Maxson wants a war with the Minutemen, he’ll have to let Cade treat you.”

MacCready groaned. “In case you forgot, I’m not actually a minuteman.”

She rolled her eyes. “So what are you then? Our mascot? Face it, Mac, you’ve been a minuteman since the second you gave me back those caps. Now, I won’t make you wear the oh-so-fashionable khakis Preston’s got everyone in, and you don’t have to take a rank unless you want to. But like it or not, you’re part of something bigger than yourself now, and I have a feeling that it’ll actually be good for you. Still, it’s your choice. You can still walk away at any time, if you decide you’d rather fly solo. I won’t resent you for it. For now, though, until we’re back on solid ground, you’re a minuteman.”

MacCready pulled away from her comforting touch, sputtering in protest. “If you really think you can just --”

Myra’s gaze was piercing, insistent. “Just play along. Please. It’s the best way I have to protect you.”

The mercenary stared at her through swollen, bleary eyes. It didn’t make any sense. Of all the bosses he’d ever had, she was the only one who’d never made demands, never forced him to follow her every whim. Myra had tasked him with a number of things, but she had never ordered him to kill or to even protect her. Every time he’d found himself fighting for her, it was of his own volition. It wasn’t for money. It hadn’t been for a long time. He wanted to work for her because she was someone he could respect...and even stranger, because she respected him. How long had it been since anyone had treated him with that kind of dignity?

“You’re really something else,” he said softly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spring from his eyes. Stupid chems.

“Don’t I know it?” Myra replied with a cheeky grin. “Now get some rest. I have a feeling that this isn’t going to be a pleasant visit.”

“With the Brotherhood of Steel?” MacCready retorted. “No, I’m sure Maxson will be waiting with tea and cookies. Maybe if we’re lucky, there’ll be little sandwiches.”

Myra snorted. “Oh my God. I would pay good caps to see that. I’ll bet he even holds his pinky out.”

Lancer-Captain Farfield cleared his throat. “Knight, I know you’re not disrespecting the Elder back there.”

She chuckled. “Only a little. Don’t worry, sir. I’ll behave.” Myra sighed, patting her shoulder. “I know you probably don’t want to, given what you’ve been through. But if you can, try to get some sleep. I’ll be here the whole time. No one’s going to hurt you, Mac. I promise.”

He nodded, carefully lowering his bruised head onto her shoulder. “Coming from you,” he murmured, “I almost actually believe it.”

::::

MacCready wasn’t sure when he’d drifted off, but the next thing he knew, he was lying in an unfamiliar bed, the hum of machinery echoing through the room. He cried out in alarm, struggling to sit up.

“Hey!” Myra exclaimed, her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m here.”

“What...where…” he muttered. His head was throbbing and heavy, something pulsating behind his eyes as he heaved violently into the metal bucket she held for him.

“You’re on the Prydwen , in the medical bay,” Myra continued. “Cade said you might get sick from all the stims we had to give you. Not to mention the withdrawal. We still have no idea what that chem really was. Deacon seemed to know, but…”

“How...how long was I out?” the mercenary managed, wiping bile from his mouth.

“A couple hours,” Myra replied. “We had to keep you under to fix your arm. Lori really did a number on you. I won’t go into details, mostly because I only understood about half of what Cade said. But the good news is that you’ll be able to go home in a few days. If there aren’t any complications, you should be back to normal in a couple weeks.”

MacCready shook his head. “I...Myra, I don’t think I’ll ever get back to normal. Not after this.”

She scooted her chair closer to his bed, taking his hand in hers. “I know it seems that way. And I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through. But I know you, Mac. You’re a fighter. What Lori did...that’s just another thing you’re not going to let stand in your way.”

“I hope you’re right,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “But what she said about me? It’s true. I’m a killer. I’ve taken so many lives...and not all of them deserved it. I don’t know if I can ever make up for that.”

Myra nodded. “I know how you feel. Ever since I woke up, it seems like I’ve been forced into doing so much killing. It’s scary how easy it’s been getting. Sometimes, I worry that I’ll forget how terrible it all is, that I’ll forget the value of the lives I’ve taken.”

“Myra,” the mercenary sighed, his eyes meeting hers, “that’s not going to happen. You’re...you’re not like me. I don’t think it’s possible for you not to care.”

She laughed bitterly. “Well, if that’s true, things are going to suck for me, aren’t they?”

He smiled weakly. “Probably. But hey, the world needs people like you. The rest of us...we need you. Someone has to remind us that we’re human. That being human means something. If we lose that, well, we might as well stop trying.”

Myra blushed. “Well, I think you’re giving me too much credit, Mac. And not enough to yourself. You do care about people. I’ve seen it. You’re not just a mercenary without a conscience, even if that would be easier. If that were the case, what Lori said about you wouldn’t bother you so much.”

“I guess,” MacCready replied. “Maybe we can just...talk about this later. I really feel like crap.”

Myra chuckled, taking his bucket. “Let me go get you a clean one,” she murmured. “Try and get some more sleep, if you can. Your body needs time to heal.”

“Don’t give me that,” he muttered. “You should be resting too.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve got stuff to do,” she replied. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Well, just don’t let that happen too soon, okay?” MacCready sighed.

“I’ll do my best,” she said softly, retreating from the room.

MacCready groaned, slowly lowering himself back down on the hospital bed. He hated being confined to bed like this, unable to move or even think clearly. Not that he particularly wanted to think, mind. All the same, there was nothing worse than being completely helpless, especially in a place like the Prydwen, the Brotherhood’s great big dick in the sky.

He remembered when construction had begin on the airship, all the resources the Brotherhood had “liberated” from the people of the Capital Wasteland. And for what? A big show of strength? It was disgusting. People were starving to death, and Maxson and his army were just flaunting their excess in front of everyone. The Prydwen represented everything he hated about the Brotherhood. It was all just so unnecessary.

After what felt like an eternity, an unfamiliar man walked into the clinic with Myra in tow, sighing heavily. “Knight, what did I say?”

Myra rolled her eyes. “You said I was allowed to leave, Cade.”

He shook his head. “I said you were allowed to leave if you took someone with you. Your equilibrium is still out of sorts. What were you thinking, wandering off alone like that? You’re lucky you didn’t fall off the flight deck! It’s a good thing Initiate Stevens was there to catch you.”

“I just wanted to get some fresh air,” she replied. “It’s so stuffy in here…”

The man frowned. “Sit down, Larimer. That’s not a request. You’re lucky I don’t strap you down after that stunt you pulled last month. But far be it from me to punish you when Elder Maxson won’t.”

Myra huffed. “It’s not my fault. The Minutemen needed me.”

“Yes, of course,” the man continued. “But you tore out your stitches, didn’t you? Don’t forget, that scar’s your own fault. Had you remained on bed rest like I’d told you to, it would have healed better.”

Myra snorted. “Yeah, but scars are hot.”

Her companion sighed. “You certainly do seem to believe that, given how many you’ve collected.” The man turned to MacCready. “Ah, good. You’re finally awake. I’m Knight-Captain Cade, chief medical officer.”

MacCready shook his hand. “MacCready. I work for Myra. You must be the one who patched me up.”

Cade nodded. “I’ll admit, I don’t usually get to deal with knife wounds. Bullet holes, certainly. Lots of crushing damage. But knives aren’t as common. You must have really pissed someone off.”

“You have no idea,” the mercenary replied.

The doctor took MacCready’s injured arm in his hands, looking it over critically. “You’re fortunate,” he said softly. “Another couple hours, and we might have had to take the arm. Whatever you were drugged with was pretty septic. Not to mention the damage to your muscles...it’s a small miracle that we were able to do as much as we did.”

MacCready frowned. “You’re making it sound like my arm’s permanently damaged.”

Cade sighed. “I’m afraid that very well might be the case, Mr. MacCready.”

“Are you serious?” Myra exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“It’s not exactly your business to know, Larimer,” Cade replied coolly.

“Like hell it’s not!” she retorted. “Mac’s one of my Minutemen, which means I have every right to know what his condition is! Don’t tell me you keep pertinent medical information from Elder Maxson, Cade, because I know better.”

The doctor nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry...It’s sometimes easy to forget that you’re in charge of anything,” he continued under his breath.

“What’s that?” Myra asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Cade replied. “Anyway, yes, there is a possibility that Mr. MacCready’s arm will never fully recover. I’ve done what I can, but even stimpacks won’t repair nerve damage. There are some tests we can try to see how bad the damage is, now that he’s awake. Can you feel this?” the doctor asked, squeezing MacCready’s arm.

“Oww!” MacCready cried as a surge of agony tore through his arm. “Yeah, I can fuc...um, I can feel it, all right.”

“Well, that’s a good sign,” the doctor said. “Now, can you bend your arm for me?”

The mercenary moved his arm carefully, wincing as a tingling sensation ran the length of the limb. He was able to bend it about three quarters of the way before the sensation became too much and he had to stop.

Cade frowned slightly. “That’s a good first try. It may take a while for your muscles to regain their strength. We can work on it later. Any discomfort?”

“Yeah. There was this tingling, burning feeling,” MacCready replied. “It was pretty unpleasant.”

“That’s to be expected.” Cade jotted a few things down on his clipboard. “With an injury like this, all we can do is give it time.”

MacCready grimaced. “What does that mean, doc? Am I going to be able to shoot a sniper rifle, or not? That’s kind of important.”

The medic sighed. “I’d give it a few days before you try,” he said. “And don’t be frustrated if it takes a while.”

“Don’t be frustrated?’ the mercenary exclaimed. “I need to be able to shoot. That’s how I make my living.”

Cade smiled sadly at him. “I promise, we’ll do everything we can. But even if you regain the full use of your arm, there may still be permanent tremors. You may have to deal with the possibility that your sniping days are over.”

MacCready’s mind reeled at the doctor’s words. He’d never considered what his life would look like if he wasn’t able to hold his rifle steady any more. The mercenary had always figured that he’d die with his rifle in his hand, one way or another. Who would he even be, without his trade? It was a future too bleak to contemplate. “That’s not going to happen,” he growled. “I’m not quitting that easily.”

“Good,” Cade replied. “That’s exactly the attitude you need to have. I won’t lie to you, Mr. MacCready. You’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of you. But if you work hard and take care of yourself...let’s just say I’ve seen more miraculous things in my life. Here,” the doctor continued, offering the mercenary a small white tablet, “for the nausea. I’ll be back to check on you once I’ve finished my rounds at the airport.” He turned to Myra. “Larimer, stay put until I get back, won’t you?”

Myra sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Thanks,” MacCready said, popping the tablet into his mouth and swallowing it dry. “Hey, is it okay if I smoke in here?” The doctor’s eyes widened in horror, and MacCready laughed weakly. “Sorry, doc. I couldn’t resist.”

“Next time you ask me to help one of your soldiers, Larimer,” Cade muttered, shaking his head, “I really should just say no.” He left the room, still muttering under his breath.

“Thanks!” she called after him before turning back to MacCready. “He’s full of shit. You’ll be fine, Mac. I promise.”

“I’m not so sure he is, Myra.” MacCready grimaced, trying to bend his arm again. It was frustrating how weak he was all of a sudden. What if Cade was right, and this was permanent? How would MacCready be able to provide for his family? How could he protect his friends? He yelled in frustration, throwing his head back on his pillow. “This can’t be happening!” he moaned.

“Mac, please,” Myra begged. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. But we’ll get through this. Even if the worst happens, you’re still a valuable member of my team, okay?”

“Don't,” he growled. “Don’t treat me like I’m a fuc...like I’m a child, Myra. I hate it when people talk down to me. No one needs a sniper who can’t hold his gun steady, and that’s the truth.”

“Maybe not,” she soothed, “but that doesn’t mean that I don’t need you. You’ve done so much for the Minutemen, haven’t you? And how much of that required you using a gun?”

MacCready thought for a moment. “Well, technically, all of it. I mean, there’s the cooking and the gardening, but like hell am I going to just sit on my butt and do stuff like that. Not when we’re trying to stop the Institute. Face it, Myra. You need a sniper, not a housekeeper.”

She chuckled. “Just for that, I’m telling Codsworth that you’ll be replacing him when we get back to Sanctuary.”

“You wouldn’t!” MacCready exclaimed. “He already hates my guts!”

“Well, then, stop thinking so damn negatively and just try your best to get better, okay? I hate seeing you like this. If you don’t tease me mercilessly, Mac, who the hell will?”

He grinned at her. “I mean, there’s always Deacon.”

Myra sighed. “Yeah, but you know how he is. It’s all fun and games until suddenly it’s not. You’re way more predictable.”

“Oh, really?” MacCready replied with a smirk. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me predictable before. You must have me confused with Danse.”

She laughed. “Like that would ever happen.”

“Why, because I’m not ridiculously tall and I have a sense of humor?” MacCready joked.

“I actually think he does have a sense of humor,” Myra mused. “It’s just...unusual.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself. I’m telling you, Myra, that guy’s as dry as Marcy’s cornbread. But hey, I guess that’s just your type.”

Myra blushed. “My type? Really? You’re going to start in on me too?”

MacCready sighed. “I mean, come on. It’s really obvious you’ve got feelings for the guy. I don’t see the appeal, but...”

Myra shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I already told Preston, I’m not looking to fall in love with anyone. I’m still grieving.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. But Myra, love doesn’t work that way. You don’t always get to pick the timing. Believe me, I know.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s easy enough to say. But how can you love someone when you’re still hung up on the past?”

MacCready frowned. “Look, I’m a terrible example, so take the advice I should be following, okay? You don’t have to forget Nate or what he means to you. If he was worth being in love with in the first place, he’d want you to be happy. Don’t waste the chance to be with someone you care about, Myra. Give me hope that it’s possible to move on.”

Myra sighed. “Or, you know, you could just move on by yourself, Mac.”

He chuckled. “Tell you what. You figure out how, and I’ll take notes.”

“Wait. You know how to write?”

“I…” he scowled. “Are you kidding me? Of course I know how to write!”

Myra laughed heartily. “Hey, I don’t know. I’ve never seen you do it. For all I know, you could be totally illiterate.”

“Yeah?” he retorted with a chuckle, “well, has anyone told you yet that your face bandage makes you look like a cross between a mummy and a pirate?”

Myra scowled, touching her hands to the bandage that covered her left cheek and eye. “It does not!”

“All you need now is a hook and a stupid crown,” he continued, smirking. “I’ll bet Deacon would be happy to get those for you. See? He has his uses.”

She threw up her hands. “Forget it! I hate this. Go back to being miserable. I’m going to go find Maxson.”

“Didn’t Cade say not to --”

“Aww, screw Cade. He’s not my boss,” she retorted. “I’ll be fine. You just rest, okay?”

MacCready sighed as she left. He wondered how long it would take before she was dragged back to the clinic again. Stubborn woman.

::::

Time passed so slowly in the infirmary that MacCready wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or hours before his doldrums were interrupted again. An imposing man in a long, brown leather coat wandered into the clinic, steely eyes sweeping the room until they fixed on the mercenary.

“You,” the man said gruffly. “Have you seen Knight Larimer?”

MacCready shook his head. “Not in a while, at least. Why? Is something wrong?”

The man frowned. “Not exactly. She was supposed to meet me on the command deck to go over her plan for…” his eyes narrowed. “Wait. You’re MacCready, aren’t you?”

“That’s what they call me,” the mercenary replied. “Unless I’ve been lied to all of my life. Who’s asking?”

“You haven’t changed at all, have you?” the man asked. “I’m Elder Maxson.”

MacCready grinned. “I thought so! I couldn’t be sure, with that squirrel that died on your face, but I thought I recognized that grimace!”

Maxson sighed. “I’d say it was good to see you, but I thought you’d have found a hole to die in by now.” His eyes swept over the mercenary’s beaten body. “From the looks of things, you nearly did.”

“Like I’d die before I got a chance to tell you off,” MacCready hissed. “You were such a nice little kid. What the heck happened?”

“You should ask your friend Gautier,” Maxson replied, his eyes icy. “It’s her fault that things turned out this way.”

MacCready chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds like Heather, all right. Look, I know you two have history, but that’s no justification for your actions over the last few years. Surely you can’t still blame her for leaving. She had her reasons, and as far as I’m concerned, they were pretty good ones, too.”

Maxson sighed. “I’ll believe it when I hear them from her.”

The mercenary shook his head. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s never going to happen. At least not after Rivet City. No matter how you try to justify your actions, Maxson, you pissed a lot of people off when you stole that power plant, Heather included. No matter how badly you’d like her to return to the Brotherhood, there’s no way she’d ever work for you now.”

The Elder’s eyes lit up. “So you have been in communication with Gautier. I knew she was still alive! Perhaps it’s a good thing that Knight Larimer seems to have taken you under her wing after all.”

“Leave Myra out of this,” MacCready growled. “She’s a good woman. You know she deserves better than to be just another pawn in your misguided crusade.”

“Calm yourself. She’s hardly a pawn, MacCready,” Maxson replied. “You and I both know she’s far more valuable than that. And no matter what you might think of me or of the Brotherhood, I can promise you that we mean Larimer no harm.”

MacCready scoffed. “Right. Your intentions are peaceful, and all that jazz. You’ll forgive me if I have a hard time believing that.”

Maxson sighed heavily. “I don’t expect to convince you with rhetoric. But answer me this: is the Commonwealth really better off without the Brotherhood? Who here has the strength to restore order and civilization, if not us? The Minutemen? No offense, but how long do you think it will take before infighting and petty squabbles make your citizen-soldiers turn on each other? Or do you place your hopes in the Railroad?” Maxson shook his head. “They’re a glorified terrorist organization that values the well-being of mechanical abominations over human lives. The Brotherhood is the Commonwealth’s best chance at stability, whether you like it or not.”

“Maybe, but what’s the cost?” MacCready retorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Maxson. You may claim to care about the fate of the Commonwealth. And maybe if Elder Lyons was still in charge, I’d believe you. But you’re not Owyn Lyons. From what I can tell, all you’re really after is power. Prove me wrong.”

“I--” Maxson’s reply was cut short as Myra stumbled into the infirmary, clutching at the wall. The Elder ran to her side, catching her before she fell. “Larimer! If you can’t even stand, what are you doing out of bed?”

She smiled up at him. “Thanks, sir. Sorry. I was looking for you, but I got all turned around. I’m still not used to this ship.”

The Elder sighed, helping her to her chair. “Maybe if you spent more time here and less time getting hurt, you’d have learned how to navigate the halls by now. If you’d told me that your condition was so poor, Knight, I would have agreed to meet you here.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Myra replied sheepishly.

“It’s quite all right, Knight,” the Elder said. “At least you’re safe.”

“So did you want to go over the mission again, or…”

Maxson shook his head. “That can wait until tomorrow, Larimer. But last time we spoke, you promised to tell me more about life in the Old World. Do you think you have time to discuss it now?”

Myra chuckled. “Until you let me go home, Elder, I have all the time in the world. What do you want to know?”

“I’ve read what I was able to find on the subject,” Maxson replied, “but what exactly was college like?”

Myra stared at him in confusion. “Really? I thought you’d want to know about how blenders worked or something.”

“Technology may be the heart of the Brotherhood’s mission,” Maxson replied, “But it’s not my only interest. From what I’ve been able to learn, college was an important rite of passage for many people before the Great War. And you’re the only person I’ve ever met who actually experienced it. Naturally, I’m curious.”

“Well,” Myra said as he pulled up a chair and sat next to her, “college was kind of a busy time for me, since I was pre-Law. I know a lot of people in other majors had way more free time.”

“Other majors?” Maxson asked, enraptured. “You mean, people were allowed to study whatever they wanted?”

“Well, sure,” Myra continued. “History, Biology, Theatre, Business...basically anything you could want to learn. Of course, not everyone got to choose what they went into. I had a friend whose parents forced her into pre-Med, even though she wanted to be a dancer.” She sighed. “I wonder what happened to her.”

Maxson nodded. “I understand what it’s like, you know. Being forced into a role because of your family.”

Myra smiled. “And what would you be, if you weren’t the leader of the Brotherhood? If it’s okay for me to ask.” Maxson leaned in close to her, whispering something in her ear. Myra’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “Are you serious?” she asked. “I...huh. I guess I could see that.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said gruffly. “That’s an order.”

“I promise I won’t,” she replied. “But only if you show me something sometime.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Maxson said. “But enough about me. I read that college students sometimes joined brotherhoods of their own. Is that true?”

Myra laughed. “Well, not exactly the way you’re thinking. Let’s see, how do I explain this…”

MacCready listened on as Myra explained what she remembered about life before the war. It was strange, seeing Maxson so relaxed. Even as a child, he’d had a strange intensity to him. But there was just something about Myra that seemed to have a calming effect on everyone she met.

He thought about the woman he’d met in the Third Rail , drunk and self-loathing, but somehow still charming in her way. She’d changed over the last few months, he thought. Or perhaps, she had simply become herself again. Maybe the woman he’d met wasn’t Myra at all, not really. She’d been a husk, an afterimage burned on the side of a building by radioactive fire. This person, the one talking to Elder Maxson like he was her equal, meeting his eyes without fear...she was almost whole again.

In a strange way, seeing Myra like this gave the mercenary hope for himself. Like her, he’d been hollow for a long time. Loss upon loss had compounded inside him, carving away the man that lived there. He’d been going through the motions for so long, fueling himself with booze and cigarettes, desperate to keep moving so he wouldn’t have to face the heartache of losing his wife, his fear of losing Duncan. Had he forgotten himself somewhere along the way?

All he knew for certain was that it was good to see her healing. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that she gave him hope for the future. They’d both seen the person they thought they’d spend the rest of their life with cut down in front of them. But whereas MacCready was weaker than he cared to admit, Myra was much stronger than she realized. It was no mistake that she was the leader of one of the most important groups in the Commonwealth. If she only realized that, there would be no limit to what she could accomplish.

No wonder Preston had fallen so hard for her, the poor bastard. Myra really was something special, exactly the kind of person who could change the world if she set her mind to it. All she needed was a push in the right direction, and the support of people who believed in her.

Unfortunately, he thought as he watched Maxson hanging on her every word, there were plenty of other powerful people who’d take advantage of her kind nature, her lack of self-awareness. He hated that the Brotherhood had its claws in her, even though he respected Danse and owed the man his life. Myra’s growing fondness for the Paladin was bad enough, but her friendliness with the Elder was truly worrying. If he managed to win her completely over, the Commonwealth was truly in for darker days ahead.

::::

Eventually, Cade returned, shooing Maxson out of the infirmary. “Sorry, sir, but it’s getting late. Our patients need their rest.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, Larimer,” the Elder said. “If you’re up for it, I’d like to go over your plans for this next mission. I want to make sure you and Danse are adequately prepared for travel to the Glowing Sea.”

“Of course, sir,” Myra replied. “Good night.”

The Elder turned to MacCready. “For what it’s worth, MacCready, I hope you recover well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the mercenary replied. “I’ll feel a lot better once I’m back on the ground where I belong.”

Maxson sighed, shaking his head as he left the room, his coat swishing behind him as he strode purposefully towards his quarters.

Myra turned to MacCready. “What happened between the two of you, anyway?” she asked.

MacCready grimaced. “It’s a long story. Just...I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t trust him, Myra. Maxson might talk a good game, but there’s only one person he cares about, and that’s himself.”

Myra frowned. “I think you’re wrong about him, Mac. He’s flawed, sure. But he’s a good man.”

“Maybe,” the mercenary replied. “But if that’s true, I certainly haven’t seen it.”

Cade sighed as he approached them, a tray full of bandages and antiseptic in his hands. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t speak ill of our Elder while under his care, Mr. MacCready. What you do off this ship is your business, but around here, things like that might get you hurt, and you’re injured enough. Now, we should change your bandages. Larimer, you first.”

MacCready watched as the doctor carefully peeled the cloth bandage from Myra’s face, slowly uncovering her wound. He felt a twinge of guilt as the weeping, irritated skin was exposed. The knife wound had been deep, slicing through her face diagonally from the bridge of her nose to the base of her jaw. Her eye, fortunately, had been spared, but the blade had come dangerously close to it. As it was, the wound was definitely going to scar. And it was all his fault.

It pained him that Myra had been put in danger for him again. It was bad enough the last time, when she’d jumped between him and the assaultron that Winlock and Barnes had turned loose. But now, only a short time later, she’d protected him again, adding another scar to her collection on his behalf. What sort of hired labor was he, that his boss had to save his life so often? It was embarrassing, if not completely shameful.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Myra, I...I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “What for?”

He gulped awkwardly, trying to find the right words. “You hired me to protect you, but all you’ve ever done is protect me. I’m sorry.”

She winced as Cade applied antiseptic to her cheek. “Mac, I’m not upset with you. We’re friends, remember? I’d take another dozen knives to the face if it meant you were okay. That’s what friends do.”

Cade sighed. “That’s admirable, Larimer. But as your physician, I’d recommend not taking any more knives to the face if you can help it.”

“You know what I mean,” she replied. “Anyway, you don’t owe me a thing, Mac.”

The mercenary shook his head. “I told you, I don’t take charity. I’ll think of a way to pay you back. Just wait.”

“Well, when you do,” she said with a smile, “try to make it something nice, like a card or dinner or something. I’ll be pissed if you get yourself hurt to even the score.”

MacCready blushed slightly. “Well, I mean, dinner I can do. But geez, Myra. It’ll have to be the best meal I’ve ever cooked to make up for everything you’ve done.”

Myra laughed. “Well, I can’t wait to eat it, if that’s the case. But just work on getting better first. You can make it up to me after you’re well.”

MacCready nodded as Cade finished with Myra and began to inspect the mercenary’s injuries. “Oh, you know I will. After I’m done, you’ll never be able to eat anyone else’s food, and that’s a fact.”

“I look forward to it,” she replied. “Now, Cade, if I’m allowed, I’d like to sleep in my own bunk tonight.”

The physician nodded. “Once I’ve finished with your friend here, Knight, I’ll escort you to Senior Paladin Danse’s quarters.”

Myra frowned. “Danse’s quarters?”

Cade sighed. “It’s on Elder Maxson’s orders, not mine. Since Danse isn’t here, he thought you might be more comfortable having a private place to recuperate. But if you’d rather sleep in the barracks, I can technically overrule him as your doctor.”

Myra shook her head. “No, that’s fine. I just hope Danse doesn’t mind.”

MacCready smirked. “Something tells me that’s not the part he’d have a problem with.”

“Oh, shut up, Mac!” Myra replied. “Just get some rest, okay? It’s only for a couple days, and then we’ll be back in Sanctuary.”

“Yeah, if Maxson lets you leave,” he grumbled under his breath.