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The Castle loomed ahead.
It looked-- different-- every time he approached it from the outside. He could still remember the first time, when he’d looked up at it with hatred, the bastion of the enemy, and with cold determination to breach its walls and reclaim the Institute’s rightful property. And the second time, when he’d approached with humility and hope, his tired, footsore humans limping around him, breathing hard. She’d come leaping from the wall, jarring herself in her eagerness, running with a limp towards him, beaming up at him--
"Ow," said Shaun, tugging at Michael's hand, and Michael said, "I'm sorry," and loosened the grip on Shaun's hand that he'd inadvertently tightened to the point of pain.
"It's OK," said Shaun, and yelled, "Mom!" as she came hurrying out the archway to meet them, smiling all over her face.
“Baby!”
She caught Shaun up in her arms, hugged him tight, looking up at Michael. He saw her quick eyes note the blood on his clothes, the tear in the shoulder of his shirt, but she didn't say anything, not right away.
"Did you have fun in the big city?" she asked Shaun instead, as she set him down. "Are you happy to be home again?"
“Mom, wait'll you hear--" Shaun was breathless. "Michael was a hero-- he saved me--”
She looked up at Michael. "Trouble on the way home?"
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice wasn’t steady enough. She was staring at him.
“It was my fault, mom,” said Shaun, suddenly contrite, reaching up to put a hand on his mother’s arm and making her turn towards him, away from Michael.
“What happened, baby?” she asked, more gravely.
“I ran off by myself,” said Shaun. “I know I’m supposed to stay with Michael, I shouldn’t’ve gone out the gates without you or Michael."
He'd been stupidly relaxed. Inside the gates of Diamond City. As if his responsibility for Shaun's safety could truly be shared with anyone else there. Just because his mother had allies there-- Ms. Wright, the synth Valentine, the human guards in their padded armor-- and because Shaun was permitted to be there without him-- he'd treated the city like home. Had completely failed to keep Shaun in his line of sight at all times.
"You shouldn’t have done that, baby," she agreed, with Shaun. "So what happened?"
"I was at the gates waiting for Michael," said Shaun. "He was taking so long, and I was ready to go home. And then there was a lady outside the gates. She was crying. She said her friend was hurt. So I went out to see if I could help her."
She stared up at Michael, who held still, and then looked back at Shaun, and said, "Baby, what should you have done?"
"I did say wait," said Shaun. "I said wait while I go get my brother. But she said she couldn't wait, and she started to walk away. So I ran after her. To get her to wait. And she grabbed me."
His mother looked up at Michael again, her eyes huge with dismay.
"The-- one of the guards-- raised the alarm right away," said Michael, trying to keep his voice steady. "And they were able to tell me which direction the woman had taken him. I found their-- hideout-- quickly. It was a familiar location. You and I have been there before, ma'am."
…………………………………………..
Yes, but before, they'd been on a mission for the Minutemen, rescuing someone he didn't know. Or care about, except that she was under his mother's protection, like the rest of the inhabitants of the Minutemen-aligned settlements. This had been entirely different.
He wasn't used to being afraid during combat. It was a horrifying combination. Fear and combat. That was why they'd taken such pains to eliminate visceral, instinctive fear during training, of course.
But there were some things they hadn't known, in the Institute. Or hadn't thought he would ever know.
The training had been effective in one sense, though; his skills functioned as usual. He took out most of the raiders without taking any significant amount of fire himself, until he got to the last raider, who was on the floor of a storeroom whose door Michael kicked in, clutching Shaun to her chest with one arm, the other holding a gun to his little temple.
Shaun was looking up at him, eyes wide. Not visibly injured.
The raider was sweating, pale, terrified.
“What do you want?” Michael asked her.
She didn’t even look capable of rational thought. She might be on some kind of chemical stimulant.
“I won’t harm you,” he said, slowly and clearly. “If you let him go. But if you pull that trigger, I will kill you for several days.” He smiled at her, baring his teeth. “I don’t sleep.”
She made a little sizzling noise in the back of her throat, and said, “You’ll kill me as soon as I let him go.”
He knelt down on the ground, slowly, and put down his gun, and slid it away from him, across the floor.
(He wasn’t worried. He’d hardly need a gun to kill her. And if he did, he’d use hers.)
(And then himself? No, it would still be his responsibility to report back home first. Let his mother decide what to do with him.)
“Hey, raider lady,” said Shaun, and smiled at Michael, a little. “You should do what my brother says.”
She lifted her gun and fired several shots at Michael.
It was all the opening he needed (one bullet clipped his shoulder, ripping shirt and skin and a shallow layer of muscle, nothing a stimpak wouldn’t fix later), the gun off Shaun; he got to her before she could recalculate, shoved Shaun aside hard at the same time that he broke her gun-arm's wrist and sent her gun clattering to the floor. He kicked it away, spun her and hauled her up, and--
“Shaun, close your eyes,” he said. The corpses of the other raiders-- he'd get Shaun out past them without his seeing too much. He'd know they were all dead, of course, but that was no reason to do this before Shaun's eyes.
"Michael--" Shaun was watching, wide-eyed, from where he was half-sprawled on the floor.
“Don’t kill me, mister,” the raider whimpered, as best she could with his hand gripping her jaw. Don kih me, mis’a.
“I told you I wouldn’t harm you if you let him go,” said Michael. “You chose to fire on me instead. But my brother’s unharmed, so you get to die quickly. Shaun, close your eyes.”
“You should make her promise not to do it again,” said Shaun, not closing his eyes. “And let her go if she does. That’s what mom does.”
Michael gave a short, sharp sigh.
The worst of it was that it was true.
Instead of snapping her neck, he broke her other arm, making her shriek-- a clean break, nothing a stimpak wouldn't fix, but it would mean he wouldn't have to worry about her making any sudden moves for a moment-- and dropped her to the floor. She groaned.
Michael retrieved his gun from where he’d slid it earlier, keeping an eye on the raider, and then sat down on the floor by Shaun, who immediately scrambled into his arms, put his own arms around Michael’s neck, and burst into tears.
"Shhh," said Michael, rubbing his back with the hand that wasn't keeping his gun trained on the raider, in case she decided to try anything stupid, even with two broken arms. "It's all right now."
He thought, oddly, of the other synths he'd retrieved, in his other life, for Father. From raiders, or Gunners, or super mutants, or Railroad safehouses, or abandoned buildings where they'd hidden or given up or been left to die. Some of them had been crying when he found them, or started crying when they saw him. It had never occurred to him, then, to comfort them, or to speak gently to them, before initiating the verbal override that rendered them docile and unquestioning for the relay process.
It's all right. You're safe now. We're going home.
He'd believed it, after all. Believed he was rescuing them, from their own folly, as well as the danger into which it had plunged them. Why hadn't he ever said it?
He'd changed. Of course, he knew that. But it was odd to realize just how much. So much that he felt like a stranger in his own memories, observing his own cool detachment with mild wonder, and a little sorrow, for the crying synths, and for the courser to whom their tears meant nothing.
"I'm sorry," Shaun sobbed, now. "I didn't know, I just wanted to help, she said she needed help, she wouldn’t wait, I’m sorry--"
“It’s all right,” said Michael, again. “Are you hurt?”
Shaun hiccupped against his shoulder. "N-no."
"Then no harm done," said Michael. "Well, except to these people." He eyed the raider, who was staring at them, probably in some degree of clinical shock, and moaning quietly to herself. "I suppose you're going to want me to render medical aid to this person who was just holding a gun to your head."
"Mom does," said Shaun. "She didn't even kill all the people that kidnapped Emily. Emily told me. Two of 'em live at Jamaica Plain now." He sat up, resting his weight on Michael's leg, and looked earnestly into Michael's face, his own face tearstained. "Danse didn't even let her kill those guys that cut up his face."
Michael sighed again.
"I know," he said. "Very well."
………………………………………………..
"Her name was Steph," Shaun told his mother, who'd collapsed to the ground and was sitting there, listening intently to Shaun, who had sat down beside her, and Michael, who was standing still, a few paces away. "We sent her to Egret Tours Marina."
…………………………………………….
"Mom's gonna be so mad at me," said Shaun miserably, as they headed towards the Castle, Shaun sticking close by Michael's side. "I'm sorry, Michael. I just wanted to help."
"I know, Shaun," said Michael. "She'll understand, too. You made a mistake in judgement, not in--" He hesitated; he'd been about to say loyalty, out of habit, Institute habit, and the right word didn't immediately come to mind. He had to search for it, rejecting a few alternatives that were less wrong than loyalty but still not right. Rectitude, probity, honor-- "Not in goodness. You did nothing-- bad."
That seemed to comfort Shaun, who clung to his hand, and was quiet for a bit.
Then he said, "I'm tired of being so little."
Michael looked down at him.
"I want to be big enough to fight," he said, looking up plaintively. "Big like you and Danse. Why don't I get bigger?"
"I am not sure," Michael said, truthfully.
"Will I ever get bigger?" Shaun asked.
"I am not equipped to answer that question," said Michael, and, after a moment's consideration, "But now that an alliance has been formed between the Institute remnant at Poseidon Energy and our mother's household-- Dr. Li was instrumental in your design and creation. She may have some insight into whether your body was designed with the capacity for growth. When we get home, we can discuss with our mother whether she would find it advisable to consult Dr. Li on the subject."
Shaun looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Really? Will you ask mom for me?"
"We can ask her together," said Michael.
After I explain to her that I let you get kidnapped.
She wouldn't punish him-- he knew her too well to be afraid of that, even if he were poorly trained enough to dread discipline in itself. But her praise, her pride and joy in him, had become a dearer necessity than the food and water he might once have feared going without. She would be disappointed in him. Would regret having trusted him to the degree she had.
"Michael? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," said Michael.
……………………………………..
"Of course we will," said his mother, hugging Shaun tightly, and then holding him at arm's length. "I should have thought of that before, baby. We'll talk to Dr. Li, and get some answers. Soon."
Shaun nodded.
"It's OK if I don't get bigger, though," he said, newly calm. "Emily's pretty little too. That's how Father built us, to be different sizes. And he built me to be your little boy. I can still be good. I just have to be smarter, and stick together."
His mother hugged him against her again, tears filling her eyes. "Oh, baby. You're so wonderful. I don't know what I'd do if something ever happened to you."
"You'd be sad and cry," said Shaun. "But nothing did, because Michael saved me."
She looked up at Michael, then pressed a kiss to Shaun's head and said, "Run find Emily, baby. Get her to get you a snack. Tell her all about your adventure."
"OK," said Shaun, scrambled up, and trotted off.
Michael stood still.
Of course she wouldn’t reprimand him in front of Shaun. It would upset Shaun, who’d been distressed even at the idea of Michael killing the raider who’d held him at gunpoint.
“I’m too weak to stand up,” said his mother to Michael, and patted the ground next to her. “Come sit with me a minute.”
His training and conditioning told him to hold still, to hold himself upright, but it also told him not to disobey a direct order, not when he had already disgraced himself. He stepped forward, and knelt carefully on the grass, in the spot she’d indicated.
She held out her hand, and he looked at it blankly, not knowing what she wanted. His gun?
“Oh, son,” she said, looking at his face. “Look at you. Michael, it’s OK. Nothing bad happened. You did good. You brought him home safe.”
I let him get kidnapped.
The expression on her face was so familiar that it was incomprehensible. She was looking at him as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed.
Moving stiffly, a little clumsily, she pulled herself up to her knees, and put her arms around him. Pressed her cheek against his, as he held still.
“Michael,” she said, as he began, shamefully, to tremble.
His own arms came up, without his permission, and wrapped around her. He’d never understood why people hugged as clearly as he did right now. How much could be encompassed in one person-sized body, and how much you could need to hold it all close, press it tight, not let it go.
“Please,” he said, involuntarily, without knowing what he was asking for.
“Please what, son?”
She tried to draw back, but he couldn’t bring himself to loosen his grip on her.
“OK,” she said, touching her cheek to his again. “OK, this is good. I’m good right here. You were pretty scared, huh? That something would happen to Shaun? But nothing did. He’s safe and sound. Thanks to you. Thanks to my superhero son. You did everything right. You found him, and kept him safe, and brought him home to me.”
He felt her lips press against his temple-- a kiss. She didn’t usually kiss his face-- when she did kiss him, rarely, it had always been on his hands-- but it was all she could reach right now, with him holding her so tightly.
“It’s OK, Michael,” she said. “It’s OK, sweetheart. Just breathe. Deep breaths for me.”
(She never called him that. Once-- only once before-- when she’d dug the bullet out from his leg, when he gasped with the pain.)
He obeyed her automatically, and was startled to realize he hadn’t been breathing, at least not much. Hence the dizziness, presumably. The oxygen felt good in his lungs, in his bloodstream. She rubbed his back with her hand, nuzzled her cheek against his.
“There you go,” she said. “That’s good. Just breathe through it. Everything’s fine. Shaun’s safe, and so are you. Everybody you love is safe.”
Everybody you love--
The number of faces that flashed on his sight was staggering.
Deep breaths for me. He inhaled, exhaled, letting the breaths, and the warmth of her body, calm his shivering a bit.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice coming out thicker and more hoarse than he expected; he swallowed. “I’m sorry I let him get kidnapped.”
“It’s OK,” she said. “Everything turned out OK. And even if it hadn’t--”
She pulled, again, against his arms, and this time he loosened his grip. He wanted to look at her, too.
She drew back, so that he could see her dear, scarred, human face. Looking at him with such love. Those eyes, so like Shaun’s-- and like Father’s. Except that Father’s had never really met his, not steadily, not like this. Father had inspected him, not looked at him.
"I would still love you," she said. "You know that, right?"
He looked at her. She nodded gravely, and reached out to take his hand.
"I would," she said. "I mean-- I'd cry myself to death if Shaun died, let's not even talk about it, but-- I love that I can trust you to take care of your brothers and sisters, but that's not why I love you. If you'd gotten killed trying to save Shaun, do you think I'd stop loving Shaun because of it?"
He shook his head.
"Do you think I don't love you as much as I love Shaun?"
He shook his head again.
“Say it,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “Ma’am?”
“Say, ‘Mother, I know you love me just as much as you love Shaun.’”
He couldn’t. Couldn’t even get the first word out.
She didn’t repeat the order, either sternly or cajolingly. She just waited, watching him. With those eyes.
“Mother,” he said, finally, and his own eyes prickled suddenly with heat. “Mother, I know you love me. As much-- just as much. As you love Shaun.”
“Good,” she said, smiling at him, and squeezed the hand she still held. “That’s good. I’m glad you know. I mean, if you didn’t know that, I’d have to think I was a pretty shitty mother.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re--”
“I’m what?” she asked, still smiling. “Am I the best mother you’ve ever had?”
He nodded, finally smiling back. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever feel like doing that again. It was so easy to forget, when he wasn't looking at her, hearing her voice. How it felt, when he was.
"Let's sit here another minute," she said. "Until my legs work again. Do you think Shaun realizes he's never allowed to leave the Castle again?"
"He may not want to, for some time," Michael answered, his voice steadying as he spoke. "He was fairly shaken."
"Not as shaken as you were, I bet," said his mother. "He knew you'd come rescue him. You were scared you might not be able to."
He nodded again; it was easier to admit when she'd said it first, and without disapproval.
"But you did." She pressed his hand, lifted it to her lips. "And in a minute we're gonna go inside and let everyone else hug you and tell you what a hero you are."
"I rectified my own mistake," said Michael. "That's hardly being a hero."
"Michael--" she began, and then stopped, and said, "OK, I'm not gonna argue with you about what constitutes heroism. Although if I could rectify all my own mistakes, I'd consider myself a pretty big goddamn hero. But I can't, and I never will, so I'm not exactly an expert on-- Look, whatever. You're my son, and I'm proud of you, and I love you. You wanna fight me on any of that?"
"No, ma'am," he said.
"Good." She smiled again. "I'm almost ready to go inside. If you'll help me up."
"I will," he said, but they both sat still for a little longer, in the shadow of the Castle's wall, close and high above them, holding each other's hands.