Archive of Our Own

The man who comes through the door to rescue Nick Valentine is not what he was expecting. In fact he wasn’t really expecting to be saved at all.

The man who bursts through the door after finding the key is tall, thin and pale. He is wearing a bright blue and yellow vault jumpsuit, sporting the number 111. He has a splotch of pale discolored skin over is right eye and cheek. His hair is white, and trimmed neatly. His beard, also white, is trimmed but does not hide the obvious scars of a Glasgow smile. He grins at Nick and when his savior's eyes meet the detective’s he is taken aback by the color. They are the blue of a frozen lake, almost white. Had Nick not seen the man expertly take down one of the mobsters keeping him hostage, he would have thought him blind.

The other man seems taken aback at Nick’s appearance.

“Yer a robot?” He looks puzzled for a moment then grins. “Wow!” He walks around Nick looking him up and down. “A real robot man,” He stops in front of Nick, putting his hands on his hips. “Course might be perfectly ordinary ta see robot men. I’m still a bit new to this whole wasteland thin',”

“You’re Irish.” It’s the only thing Nick can say.

“Oh aye, I am,” The white haired man grins and sticks out his hand. “Sheogorath, a pleasure,”

Nick takes Sheogorath's proffered hand. “Detective Nick Valentine, thanks for the rescue,”

“Oh, not a problem at all, your assistant was very worried and I thought I might ‘elp. And anyways I need your ‘elp too! But let’s take care of this missing girl then head back ta Fen- Diamond City, I’ll tell you the whole sordid affair on the way,”

* * *

After Sheogorath’s frankly brave rescue of Nick from Skinny Malone’s gang, Nick agrees to help Sheogorath find his missing son. The detective is quite moved by the whole story, and excited to be with someone who remembers the world before the bombs. They are headed to Sanctuary Hills to meet with Sheogroath’s friend Preston Garvey. Nick’s never had the pleasure of meeting the man but has heard of the Minutemen, they seemed like a good group of folks before their general had died. Maybe Garvey and Sheogorath will be able to rebuild them.

He’s only known Sheogroath for 3 days at this point but has realized his new ally is a quirky man. He talks endlessly about things he sees or likes. He laughs easily. He’s helpful, and kind. His taste in fashion is atrocious. When they reached Diamond City Sheogroath had taken the caps Ellie had given him, went out, bought a tuxedo and womens sunglasses. No matter how many odd looks this got him he refused to take the outfit off.

He is reckless to the point of suicidal. When they left Dimond City and heard gunshots to the north Sheogorath had sprinted toward the sound. When Nick caught up with him he arrived to a scene of Diamond City guards fighting super mutants. Sheogorath was in the middle of it lobbing frag grenades and expertly shooting at the mutants with a tommy gun he had taken from the mobsters. All the while sporting a grin that stretched his scarred mouth.

The other thing Nick learns is that Sheogorath almost never sleeps. In the 3 days they have been together, he has not seen the man take even a moment of rest. The white haired man is always moving, talking, picking things up and putting them down, he can’t seem to sit still. As they travel he notices the area around Sheogroath’s eyes blacken the whites of his eyes become bloodshot. With about half a days walk left to Sanctuary Hills they stop at a small farm. The couple that live there nice, though they seem a bit weary of Nick, he's used to it. They offer to let the two stay for the night and rest. Nick settles in an old rusted lawn chair for the night, he doesn’t need sleep. He’s surprised when instead of taking the offered extra bed inside the house Sheogorath instead sits next to him in another lawn chair.

Nick turns to look at the man but his pale eyes are pointed up at the stars, his sunglasses resting on top of his head.

“I never knew much ‘bout the stars, I seen ‘em from all over the world but the only constellation I know is the big dipper,” He waves vaguely up at where the spoon shaped group of stars is.

Nick sets his own glowing eyes up to the stars. “I know a bit, I’m no expert, but that one there is Polarris, the north star. And those three bright ones are the summer triangle, they aren't a constellation but more of a way to identify a section of the sky. When it’s all the way in the sky like this it means it’s summer,” Nick continues for a while pointing out the few constellations he knows. It’s the most quiet Sheogrorath has ever been.

After a while Nick turns to look at him and sees that he has slumped down in his chair, his head resting against his tuxedo clad shoulder. The pale man’s breathing has evened out. He looks so peaceful and still. Not wanting to wake him Nick just smiles at his companion. He was worried Sheogorath might collapse from exhaustion if he didn’t sleep soon.

For nearly seven hours Sheogorath sleeps in the lawn chair. Nick doesn’t think it looks particularly comfortable and when a slight breeze kicks up he pulls a piece of old cloth off of the nearby workbench and covers the sleeping man with it. It’s nice to take in the man's calm face, to really see him. In the moonlight his pale coloring makes him look like a ghost. In a way Nick supposed he is. They both are. Ghosts from a long gone era, trying to help the world.

Sheogroath’s eyelids flutter as he dreams. His white eyelashes fan across his cheeks. What does he dream of, his family, the bombs, or something unknowable and amorphous larger then the sky, more expansive than the whole universe?

As the beginning of sunlight filters over the Eastern horizon, distant gunshots break the peaceful silence of the wasteland.

With a grunt Sheogroath jumps up, his Tommy gun immediately in his hands, wide pale eyes zipping back and forth across the grey world.

“We should get goin’,”

The black bags under Sheograth’s eyes are still dark but Nick is sure he cannot convince the man to sleep a bit longer, already the wild energy is returning to his lanky limbs.

They leave without saying goodbye to the couple, but Nick sees Sheogorath leave a large sum of caps on their workbench.

* * *

After spending about two weeks with Sheogroath Nick feels they are becoming quite the team. They had helped the Minutemen set up more farms around the northern waste and rescued a Shakespeare quoting radio personality from the super mutants. But for all their good work together Nick doesn’t know much about who Sheogorath was before the bombs. He’s not even sure what the man’s real name was. When they had been in Sanctuary Hills he thinks he almost heard Sheogorath’s old Mr. Handy, Codsworth, say his real last name. “Mr. Ab-” before Sheogorath had cut the bot off. Nick decides it's not a good idea to ask, plenty of people in the commonwealth change their names.

* * *

Nick always liked the Silver Shroud. Noir detectives have always been one of his favorite tropes. Seems that Sheogorath likes the fictional hero too, as he easily agrees to fetch the costume for Kent Connolly.

It’s nice to be in Goodneighbor, nice to see Hancock and Irma again.

As they are leaving the Memory Den Nick catches Irma telling Sheogorath to take good care of him. The synth feels himself smile, her care for him is touching. He has no doubt that Sheogorath will take good care of him, despite his adrenaline seeking behavior.

After saying goodbye to Hancock, who picks Nick up with the force of his hug and forces him to agree to come visit Goodneighbor more often, Nick and Sheogorath are out on their new quest to Hubris Comics.

Sheogorath does seem to get sidetracked from finding his son a lot, but Nick chooses not to comment on it. Whenever anyone brings up Shawn Sheogorath gets moody, he ether screams at the smallest inconvenience, runs off to kill something, or retreats into himself refusing to speak. The worst time this happened was at Sanctuary Hills after Nick almost heard Sheogorath's old name. The white haired man had gone into his old house and sat on his bed for nine hours without moving or acknowledging anyone.

Making their way around the Boston Common Sheogorath is unusually quiet. His eyes drifting over the buildings around them. He stops suddenly in front of an old closed down theater along Boylston street.

The damaged rusted sign used to read Colonial.

“My wife went ta the college that ran this place,” He nods his head at the building. “She wanted ta be a screenwriter.” With a reminiscent look on his face Sheogorath begins pushing on the nailed boards that keep the entrance closed up.

Then he backs up runs at one of the spots and slams into it with his shoulder. The old plywood splinters and Sheogorath falls inside.

“Sheogorath!” Nick runs after his companion, inside is dark as pitch Sheogorath is sprawled out on the rotting red carpet. Quickly Nick helps him up and starts dusting off his tuxedo, also checking the man over for any injuries. Other than a small cut on his forehead and his sunglasses snapping in half, Sheogorath seems alright. “Why did you do that?”

Sheogorath brushes off Nick’s concerned hands and turns to take in the dark entrance of the theater. “I just wanted ta see the place again,”

With a click Sheogorath turns on the green light of his Pip-boy. The small bit of illumination throws the lobby into deep eerie shadows. Rotting walls and falling light fixtures appear like monsters out of a nightmare. Cautious of what could be in the pace after all these years Nick takes out his gun. Sheogorath seems unconcerned as he picks his way across the lobby and to the double theater doors. One is slightly ajar. He sticks his head in, there is no sound.

Nick watches his friends pale figure slip through the door and disappear from sight. “Sheo-” He hisses. Knowing the man isn’t just going to come out, he follows.

The theater itself is a cavernous space, full of the smell of rotting velvet and wet wood. Sheogorath's Pip-boy is a small glow at the front of the theater. On the stage, a hulking collapsed set lays like a sleeping beast.

Nick watches from the back of the house as Sheogorath makes his way onto the stage.

“Sheogorath be careful the stage could be rotten and you could fall into the orchestra pit.”

Sheogorath waves off he synths concern with a flip of his hand, “I’ll be alright,” coming to the front of the stage Sheogorath starts digging in his pockets. He pulls out a few flip lighters. “Come ‘ere Nick, I know ya got another lighter.”

Making his way around fallen rigging and rotting seats Nick clambers his way to the front of the house. He stands in front of Sheogroath who grins at him, the shadows twist his scars into a black gaping smile.

“Come on, I need lights,” Sheogorath reaches out his hand across the orchestra pit, gesturing for Nick to hand him his lighter.

With a roll of his eyes Nick reaches into one of his trench coat pockets. He pulls out a lighter and his pack of cigarettes. Exaggerating his movements just to take a long time and be annoying, Nick pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips. He flips the lighter and the bright flame lights his synthetic face. Nick keeps his eyes on Sheogorath’s watching the flame flicker in them as he takes a slow drag of his cigarette. Flipping the lighter shut throws them back into the green glow of the Pip-boy; Nick hands over the lighter.

“Was tha’ so hard?” Sheogorath busies himself with setting up the lighters making sure each one is lit and brightens the stage. With only six lighters the huge space is still mostly dark but Nick can now see the set used to be a house painted in bright colors with several rooms and filled with fancy furniture. He wonders what play was going to be put on.

Sheogorath stands in the middle of the stage surveying his handy work then looking out at the house and the dark seats. “I always wondered wha’ it’s like ta be on a stage,” He throws his arms open and does a little spin in his circle of lighters.

Nick takes another drag off his cigarette watching his friend.

“I think I would’a been good at it,”

“You probably would, you are very dramatic,” Nick chuckles.

Sheogorath grins at him. “Come on join me up ‘ere!”

Nick drops the end of his cigarette on the floor and crushes it under one shoe. Then with a swift movement he climbs over the wall to the orchestra pit and jumps across the gap onto the stage.

“Now who's bein’ dramatic,” Sheogorath laughs.

Nick smirks a bit then looks out at the view of the house. It’s a huge place. The old theater was probably beautiful before the bombs dropped. He can what's left of the bright red walls, golden banisters and columns. It’s so empty and quiet now. Next to him a sudden music emits from Sheogorath’s Pip-boy. It sounds like swing music but with a harder beat. Nick remembers that sort of music was becoming more popular right before the bombs fell.
Sheogorath laughs and starts dancing a bit. “I knew my ol' holotapes would come in ‘andy,” He reaches out his hands to Nick as the sound of a woman's voice comes through the speakers.

“Sassy sisters, Dressed in nothing but silk underwear. Silly swingers, Get your feeling under spell,”

Sheogorath grabs Nick’s hands placing one on his waist, he keeps Nicks other hand in his own while setting his other on Nick’s shoulder. Smiling Sheogorath shuffles the two of them around in the circle of lighters. Then he starts to sing along. “Sassy sisters, Come and taste as sweet as can be. Silly swingers.” Sheogorath’s singing voice isn’t the most pleasant, but it’s full of happiness. Genuine joy, a feeling sorely lacking in the wasteland.
Nick laughs at Sheogorath’s antics. “Do you know how to actually swing dance?”

“Course!”

Nick holds Sheogorath a little tighter and begins moving in old familiar patterns. Sheogorath trips a few times, used to the male position instead of the female. But his smile and singing never stops. The joyful tune echoes through the dark. For a moment Nick can imagine it’s two hundred years ago. The stage filled with lights, music, and laughter.

* * *

Finding the Silver Shroud costume is probably the easiest job Nick and Sheogorath have ever completed. The hardest part is actually getting Sheagorath to stop nerding out and obsessing over the few things left.

On the way back to Goodneighbor, the memorabilia safely packed away in a bag on Sheogorath's back, the man expounds on and on about the best parts of all the comics and radio show, especially the Grognack crossovers. Nick just nods along, even though he already knows most of what Sheagorath is fangirling over.

Back at the Memory Den Kent nerds out even more than Sheogorath. Nick just sits down in a nearby chair and let’s the two men bond. Holding up the coat for the costume Kent gives it a critical look. “You know the Commonwealth could use a symbol. Someone to know that good guys are out there. Everyone already knows who the Silver Shroud is.” Kent looks to Sheogorath. “I think this is about your size! You could be the symbol people need! Go out and make the Silver Shroud real! Ha!”

Sheogorath lights up. “That is a fantastic idea!” He takes the coat from Kent and begins undressing. Both Kent and Nick look away as Sheogorath strips and pulls on his new outfit.

“Look at this!” Nick looks up to see Sheogorath’s back dressed in a charcoal grey coat with a matching hat and shoes.
Kent grins. “Wow! You’re the spitting image!”

Sheogorath spins to face Nick he grabs the silver Tommy gun prop, sets it on his shoulder while grabbing the brim of the hat and tipping it to cover his face in shadow. “What da ya think?”

Nick laughs. “Pretty good, they should have hired you to play him!”

“We will be two noir detectives on the case!” Sheogorath breaks the pose to smile normally at Nick.

Nick can’t help but think the other man looks quite dashing in the outfit. The dark grey looks great with his pale face and mysterious eyes. The long coat accentuates his lanky tall build.

“Nick Valentine and the Silver Shroud,”

Nick loves the sound of that.

* * *

Two months into knowing each other Nick is sitting in Sanctuary Hills just outside Sheograth’s home. The man is sleeping in his bed inside. The growing settlement is quiet tonight. Dogmeat is laying across the synths feet, fast asleep. The only sounds are that of the turret systems, generators and, beyond that, the river.

Nick is contemplating running a full system diagnostic when a scream pierces the still night.

Dogmeat sits up immediately, his ears straining forward, ready to run.

Nick sits up, but doesn’t get up, he knows that scream.

One of the settlement guards begins to run toward the house but Nick waves them away. It takes a few minutes but eventually Sheogorath stumbles out the front door. He’s dressed only in an old grey undershirt and his underwear. He has a large blanket wrapped around him, it trails behind him like a cape. He cut his hair a few days ago. Instead of the neat pre-war style he used to have it in, the sides are now shaved leaving a top of long hair that hangs down to the tip of his ear.

When his eyes meet Nick’s he breathes out. Dogmeat trots over and rubs himself against his owners legs.

Nick is used to Sheogorath waking up screaming. He’s spent plenty of nights keeping watch while the man sleeps. More often than not Sheogorath will awaken screaming, fighting, or crying. Even more often, when they are somewhere unsafe, he just doesn’t sleep at all.

Silently Sheogorath sits down in the grass next to Nick. They remain like that until the sun rises and people begin to wake.

* * *

Sheogorath doesn’t really talk about himself before the war. Nick doesn’t ask. If he wanted Nick to know he would tell him.
It comes as a surprise one night, as the two of them are huddled inside an old abandoned cabin, a rad-storm raging outside, Sheogorath begins to talk.

“I was in the army,”

Nick looks up from cleaning his gun to raise an eyebrow. “I guessed as much,”

Sheogorath nods and pulls the Silver Shroud coat closer around him. “I saw a lot o shite out there… I thought when I got out ‘hat I’d be better,” Sheogorath's long fingers start to tap a nervous rhythm on his knee. “I think I was a bit fecked before the war, but it made it worse,”

Nick puts down his gun and gives his full attention to his friend.

“I moved ta the States when I was seventeen. Pa and Ma and I, we all moved ‘ere, ta Boston. The moment I turned eighteen, I signed up ta join the army. Ma and Pa where very proud. I barely passed the bloody psych eval. But war was on, so take what ya can get, I guess. I went all over ta world… The last place I was sent was Alaska.” Sheogorath’s eyes have gone glassy. His imagination taking him back two hundred years. “By then I was a sergeant. I ‘elped at the Battle of Anchorage... Cold as shit.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Higher ups liked me, liked my mad, all in, just fecking run at the enemy approach. Fecking intimidating, fun as hell, I’m damn lucky I didn’t die, my squad, by far, had the highest death count…” The white haired man pauses for a moment. “I lost my whole squad in one attack, we went for my usual idea of just fecking running at the enemy. Didn’t notice the line of mines buried in the snow. I saw them all blown to pieces,” Sheogorath demonstrates by making a boom sound and lifting his arms in an arch. “I saw a lot of fecked up shite, that was the final straw. I was always close to a breakdown ‘nyways. When the fight was over I went back ta my tent. I don’t remember anything. They said I ripped my arm open,” He pulls up the left arm of his trench coat revealing three long white scars that go halfway up his arm. “I’d covered my whole tent in blood, wrote ‘Kill the fockin commies’ all over the walls. When they found me I was completely naked laying on the ground and screaming in Galek. I was honourably discharged. Given awards and a hero's welcome ‘ome.” His eyes go hard the corners of his scarred mouth pulled in a frown. “The VA psychologist give me a shite load of pills. Said I had PTSD, bi-polar, not the kind that gives ya anger mood swings but the one that gives you mania and lethargy. He also said I ‘ave disassociative identity disorder. Sometimes I don’t know who I am… Sometimes I lose time, don’t remember how I got somewhere. The drugs ‘elped. But obviously I can’t ‘ave them anymore,” His eyes are trail down to the dusty wooden floor.

Nick isn’t sure what to say.

Sheogorath’s eyes rise up to meet the detectives. “Even if I’m fecking insane,” He gestures one thumb over his shoulder. “The whole world out there isn’t much better,” He lets out a puff of a laugh.

Nick gives his friend a small smile. “Sheogorath, you might not be the most mentally stable man around but you certainly are a good one. You and I, we’ve helped a lot of people out here, and no matter what happens, we are partners.”

Sheogorath’s eyes crinkle with his smile. Nick wants to make Sheogorath have that honest relaxed smile everyday.

* * *

They are walking through the wasteland just west of Quincy when Sheogorath starts to ask Nick questions. When did he set up the detective agency? A few years after starting to live in Diamond City How’d he get so good at hacking computers? He always has been. What’s his favorite color? Light blue. Mostly it’s meaningless, silly things.

“What did ya look like before ya got damaged?”

Nick feels a bit uncomfortable about answering, he knows he is falling apart, and he isn't one hundred percent sure what he looked like.
Sheogorath seems to take his silence as offence. “Not that ya look ugly or anything!” He turns around so he’s walking backwards, glancing back to make sure he doesn’t trip on anything. “Actually yu're quite handsome in my opinion!” His pale cheeks begin to have a pink dusting of a blush. “I! That is… I mean,” Sheogorath trips on a rock and almost falls backwards. Nick quickly reaches out and grabs him by his coat front pulling the man toward him.
Sheogorath’s cheeks are bright red. “Thanks…”

Nick gently lets go of Sheogorath. “To answer your question, I suspect I looked like the old Nick. Brown hair, brown eyes, about thirty-five years old. But I don't really remember. I was already pretty beat up when I woke up in that trash heap.”

“Oh!” Sheogorath nods. “Well at any rate your eyes are probably nicer now, I like how they glow, uh. Yeah they are, they are nice!” His cheeks are a nice dusty pink again. Nick wonders how such a sacred, odd, man can manage to look so charming.

“Thank you,” Nick smiles fondly at his friend.

“Yeah... right,” Sheogorath spins back around and starts walking again. “Tickety-boo and all tha’!”

Nick chuckles a bit and mumbles. “Tickety-boo?” He starts following again.

Sheogorath is silent for a few minutes.

Then.

“I wonder if the old Valentine and I ever crossed paths? That would be wild!”

Nick thinks through his memories from the long dead man. Someone like Sheogorath would certainly sick in anyone's memory. “I don’t think so, would be quite something though,”

“Can ya imagine? Meet someone, then two hundred years later, meet another man with their memories,” Sheogorath flashes a smile behind him. “Madness!”

Nick feels a thrill buzz through him when instead of calling him a robot Sheogorath calls him a man.

“Wish ya could have met Nora,”

Nick also wishes he could have met Sheogorath’s wife. “She must have been an amazing woman,”

“Oh, aye she was!” Nick can hear the genuine love in his voice. “She was too good for me! She put up with a lot of shite. Not to mention staying with me through all my deployments,”

“How did you meet her?”

“Oh, uh, I was on leave from the army. Only six months inta training.” Nick feels like there is more to this story but he decides not to pry. “My Ma and her Ma met at a book club. They introduced us. She stuck with me though all eight years I was in the army,”

Nick does some numbers in his head. “Wait, how old are you?”

Sheogorath starts obviously doing math counting by holding up his fingers. “Wha month is it?”
“It’s September,”

“Ah! Then I am twenty-nine! And I’ll be thirty in December,”

Sheogorath suddenly seems so young to the detective. Nick Valentine, the man, was thirty five but he, Nick, is technically somewhere in his early fifties.

“What are you doing hanging out with an old washed up detective like me,”

“I don’t know,” Sheogorath looks at him over his shoulder. “Ya must be good fur something!”

“Did you just wink at me?”

Sheograth’s bright laughter fills the air.

* * *

Brian Virgil was not what Nick was expecting. He feels bad for the guy, even if he did work for the institute. Sometimes Nick wonders if he’s too empathetic.

If Nick is honest, which he usually tries to be, he’s stressed about the task ahead. Killing a courser won’t be easy, then reverse engineering the chip and teleporting into the Institute won't be a walk in the park either. And once they are inside... Maybe they should discuss a better plan?

Sheogorath and he are granted permission from the mutated scientist to spend the night in his cave home. After four days without stopping and nearly another full day trekking across the glowing sea fighting deathclaws and ghouls Nick is glad for the break. He’s even more glad to see Sheogorath take a break. The mortal man certainly needs sleep. He can tell that one of the man’s lethargic depressive episodes may start soon. He just hopes Virgil will extend his hospitality to let them stay a day or too if Sheogorath isn’t up to making the trek back across the glowing sea. Nick doesn’t much fancy asking the weird Children of Atom to give them a place to stay. All the rads aren’t very good for his systems either.

Sheogorath is curled up in a sleeping bag on the dirt floor of the cave, his pillow is Nick’s coat.

“I’ve never seen ya without your coat,” Sheogorath’s sleepy comment pulls Nick’s attention from where he was observing the dirt ceiling with bored eyes.

Nick takes a drag off a forgotten cigarette in his hand.

“Makes ya look even more like a handsome noir detective,” One of Sheogorath's icy eyes peeks out of the sleeping bag at Nick.

“Think I’m handsome do you?” Nick smiles fondly at his friend.

“Yeah, why would anyone not?”

“You would be surprised,” Nick shrugs.

“Their loss then,” Sheogorath closes his eyes. Nick goes back to smoking and contemplating the ceiling.

“Nick Valentine,”

“Hum?” Nick turns his glowing eyes back to his companion but Sheogorath’s eyes are still closed.

“Just t’inking about ya name… Nick Valentine,”

He likes the way Sheogorath says his name. The way his accent forms the sounds it comes out more like Nick Vale-in-tine.

“It’s like ya where born ta be a detective, such a good name… Nick… Valentine...”

Sheogorath drifts to sleep. Nick prays his dreams are full of happy memories.

* * *

The detective team of Diamond City, as they have begun to be called, or “detective husbands” as Piper has nicknamed them, sit on the beat up stools of Power Noodles. After their tip through the Glowing Sea Sheogorath is stuffing his face with pasta, raving to Takahashi that the bot is “a life saver,” and the noodles are “the best shite in the 'ole commonwealth.''

Nick is watching the people of Diamond City go about life, many of them wave or smile at him. He’s glad that the citizens of the old baseball stadium have accepted him over the years. He likes to have a place to call home, though it seems that, thanks to Sheogorath, Sanctuary Hill’s is swiftly becoming another home. Thinking of the northern settlement and Sheogorath's old home, a question occurs to Nick.

“How did you come up with the name Sheogorath?”

Sheogorath turns to him hunched over his bowl, noodles hanging out of his mouth. Nick holds back a laugh as the man holds up his hand with his chopsticks in a wait gesture and makes quick work of the noodles in his mouth.

“How do ya know it’s not ma real name?”

Nick just gives him a look.

“Okay, okay ya’re right. It came from an ol' book of celtic folklore. There was a god called Sheogorath, he was the god of madness. There was one story, my favorite, where he makes a deal with a king that he can drive him mad in a week if he can’t the King can ask for wha’ever he wants. For a 'ole week the King was looking around every corner and inta every shadow. He din’t sleep and questioned everything. By the end of the week he was a wreck and when the god showed up the king demanded ta know what Sheogorath had done ta make him so paranoid. The god replied tha’ he di’n’t do anything!” Sheogorath laughs. “Nothin! I always really liked the name and found it fittin’. When I came out of the vault, ta this,” He gestures at the world in general, “I figured, I can be whoever I want. I think I wanted a bit of distance from my ol' life. Still kinda do,”

Amused Nick nods. “It is very fitting.” He doesn’t ask what Sheogorath’s real name is. He seems grateful.

* * *

Sheogorath was quiet. Nick was glad of it. For miles he had carried the man on his back as he drifted in and out of consciousness screaming and crying in pain. Their plan to infiltrate the Institute with the two of them had been a disaster. Instead of just fining one courser and taking them down Nick and Sheogorath had faced five.

Nick isn’t sure what happened but he heard Sheogorath screaming in pain on the ground as two of the coursers closed in on his form. Nick didn’t think; he ran, scooped up his friend and kept running. He can’t believe they made it out of Cambridge.

When Nick gets across the Charles River he stops and checks over Sheogorath. The man is groaning, his left leg is obviously twisted at an unnatural angle. A cut across his forehead is bleeding profusely and based off his harsh breathing Nick guesses his ribs are broken. Miraculously, he still has his Silver Shroud hat on.

Nick administers a stimpak but he knows that won’t be enough. With difficulty he manages to hoist Sheogorath up on his back and carry him piggyback all the way to Hangman's Alley.

The settlers recognize the pair and quickly rush to help. A private bed in a small hut is given to the injured man and the doctor rushes from her small infirmary, hands filled with supplies.

They, with the help of two other men, undress Sheogorath. The damage is extensive. The right side of his chest is red and purple, ribs obviously crushed. White bone pokes out of his leg, just above his knee. Below is a laser wound that has taken a good chunk off of the man’s leg there is another laser wound on his left shoulder. Thankfully the heat of the laser automatically cauterizes the wound so there is little bleeding.

“We need to set his leg and splint it.” The doctor, With rushed movements, sets two boards and a bunch of bandages on the bed. “You two hold him down!” She order the two men. “You,” She points to Nick, “put something in his mouth so he doesn’t bite himself!”

Nick, hands shaking, removes off his old leather pants belt, doubles it over, and sticks it into his friend’s mouth.

“Alright,” the doctor, her eyes steady and hard, grabs a hold of Sheogorath’s leg.

Nick sees Sheogorath’s icy eyes spring open, his pupils almost blot out all of his pale iris.

“On the count of three! One! Two! Three!”

Sheogorath screams, then clamps down hard on the leather, Nick worries he will bite through the belt. For the few seconds the bone takes to move back into place his eyes stare straight into Nick’s, but he knows his friend isn’t seeing him.

“Alright! It’s in place!” The two men holding Sheogorath let go of his limbs, Nick gently removes the belt from his mouth. Sheogorath’s eyes flutter, half open, at the ceiling; he begins to mutter.

“Messe ocus Pangur bán, cechtar nathar fria saindán; bíth a menma-sam fri seilgg, mu menma céin im saincheirdd Caraim-se fós, ferr cach clú, oc mu lebrán léir ingnu; ní foirmtech frimm Pangur bán, caraid cesin a maccdán.”

“What’s that gibberish?” One of the settlers asks as he wipes sweat off his brown.

“I think it’s Gealic,” replies Nick.

The doctor cleans the puncture wound from the bone. Nick’s eyes watch her for a movement, then he notices Sheogorath’s right hand begins to inch across his body. His dirty broken finger nails leave red lines across his white skin. It takes Nick awhile to understand what the man is trying to accomplish. Once his right hand reaches his left arm he starts to scratch down his old self inflicted scars. Nick realizes Sheogorath is trying to hurt himself again.

With a strong grip Nick grabs both of Sheogorath’s hands and holds them so he can’t harm himself. Sheogorath is still muttering in the long forgotten language. Nick has an idea. He crouches down next to his friend's ear.

“Sheogorath,” he whispers in the calmest voice he can manage. “You are okay. You are back in your home in Sanctuary Hill’s. It’s early morning, the sun is coming in through the back windows sending shafts of bright light across your dining room. Shawn is in his high chair giggling and making a mess of his breakfast.” Sheogorath is still muttering but his hands aren't straining to escape the synth’s grip, he decides to keep going as the doctor starts to bandage and splint the broken bone. “Nora is in the kitchen making pancakes, they smell like the best pancakes ever made. Nora turns to you and smiles. She loves you. Your favorite song filters through the radio on the counter. Dogmeat runs up to you from outside, he smells like fresh grass, mud and leaves.” Sheogorath’s muttering has drifted off. Nick decides to add one more detail to his perfect little fantasy. “I’m sitting at the bar counter, laughing at something Nora said.” He feels a little guilty adding himself to the calming dream. “I make fun of you for standing there in your pjs and gesture for you to come sit next to me. You are home. You are safe and happy, and so, so loved,”

Sheogorath’s breathing is calm his eyes closed.

The doctor is looking over Sheogorath’s chest. She makes eye contact with Nick when he looks up. “Thanks for calming him down.”

Nick nods in acknowledgment. He glances around the shack for the two other settlers. He is unsure of when they left.

“He has two broken ribs. Glad they didn’t punctured a lung.” She moves effectively around where Nick is crouched and begins to clean the head wound. “Even with Stimpaks it’s going to take at least five months for all this to heal fully, and even then I can’t guarantee that he will be able to walk normally. Knowing him, he will be trying to move around long before he should,” She shakes her head.

Nick decides he likes the doctor’s dry personality. “Thanks doc.”

“It’s my job,” She nods. “I noticed he was attempting to self harm.”

“Yes, he told me he has a history of it. I think it’s his response to extreme mental and physical pain,”

The doctor frowns. “I’d hate to do this to him but our pain killers and stimpaks can only do so much. He will likely wake up in a lot of pain. It might be best to secure him to the bed somehow.” She turns to Nick. “Do you think he is likely to have another psychotic break again?”

Nick gases at Sheogorath and sighs. “I think it is likely,”

She nods. “Very well. I’ll go get some more bandages and use them to tie him, you will watch over him,”

Nick nods.

The doctor leaves. Nick moves so he’s sitting on the floor, he keeps both of Sheogorath’s hands in his own. Quietly he whispers small stories about the two of them starting a neighborhood detective team, rescuing cats from trees, taking Dogmeat to the Common with a Frisbee on warm summer days and dancing across the brightly lit stage of the Colonial theater.

* * *

Within a few days Sheogorath’s mind seems to be back to normal, or normal for him, the rest of him is still in pretty bad shape. Despite this, he manages to convince a trading caravan to carry him in a wagon from Hangman's Alley to Sanctuary Hill’s. The trip costs a considerable amount caps and the leader takes Nick’s gun because he “doesn't trust fucken robots”. Along the road Sheogorath jabbers to anyone who will give him even the slightest amount of attention. Nick is just glad to see the man full of energy and not trapped in the clutches of his mental disorders. They get home to the settlement without instance.

Upon arrival Nick carries Sheogorath into his home and sets him down on his well worn bed. Nick turns to leave, he wants to tell Preston they are back home.

Sheogorath grabs the back of the synth’s coat.

“Don’t leave,”

Nick pauses for a moment “Okay,” he sits down on the edge of the mattress, takes his beat up trilby and sets it down on the little rickety end table next to the bed.

The friends sit in calm silence for a few minutes.

The relief is broken by stopping and shouting.

“WHERE ARE THOSE IDIOTS?” Nick didn’t know it was possible for Preston to sound so angry.

“Sir!” Codsworth’s British accent cuts above the stomping. “Mr. Garvey, they have only just returned! Mr. Sheogorath and Mr. Valentine need rest!”

Codsworth’s placation doesn’t seem to have any effect. A pair of brown boots step into Nick’s vision. He slowly raises his head. Preston glowers down at him, hands firmly on his hips.

“Which of you two hair-brained idiots decided it was a good idea to try to break into the institute alone?!”

Nick shrugs, sheepishly, and turns to look at Sheogorath.

The injured man isn't looking at the second in command of the Minutemen, instead his eyes are fixed on his blanket while he pulls at loose fibers with his fingernails.

“Ah… well, I think it was a joint decision,”

Nick looks back to Preston's fuming face. “He’s right,”

“What were going to do if you did break in? Kill everyone inside yourselves?” Unexpectedly Preston deflates. “You idiots, you easily both could have died.” Reaching out Preston pulls up an old stool and sits heavily on it. “We need you two out there,” Preston's kind, dark eyes, meet Nick’s. “You’re some of the only good people out there. We all look up to you… and… and I’ve had far too many friends die,”

“Preston,” Sheogorath’s voice croaks out his friend’s name. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, I just well, didn’t really want to bother anyone else,”

“Didn’t want to bother?” Preston's mouth hangs open. “You are the General of the Minutemen, if you need to fight a battle we will all come. Regardless of if you are bothering any of us.”

“But my son… the institute, it’s my problem,”

“And what about Nick?” Preston gestures to the old detective.

“I have more than my fair share of hatred for the institute. Unless you forgot,” Nick waves his right hand which is missing the synthetic skin that covers most of his body.

“No, no,” Preston pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two, just, just! Gah!” He points a finger at Sheogorath. “When you are healed, fully healed, we are coming with you to take down the institute, all of the Minutemen and whoever else wants to come along,”

Sheogorath smiles, hesitantly. “Okay, okay, fine…”

Preston slaps both of his hands on his thighs and stands up. “Right now, heal up, rest up, and actually get some sleep for once in your damn life,”

“Yes sir!” Sheogorath salutes Preston.

He laughs and leaves the room with one last “Idiots,”

* * *

Late in the night Nick is sitting on the stool in Sheogorath’s bedroom, reading old issues of Grognak the Barbarian, glad that his robotic eyes allow for night reading. Sheogorath lays still in his bed, his eyes are closed but he’s not sleeping.

“Ya’ve never asked me,”

Nick looks up from the page. “Never asked you what?”

With a groan Sheogorath begins to sit up. Nick quickly places the comic down and moves to help his friend sit up, he moves the bed’s one pillow so it can support the injured man’s back.

When no answer comes Nick asks again. “Never asked you what?”

Sheogorath’s pale eyes are looking down. “Never asked me about the scars,” He points with one finger to the Chelsea grin scars that mar both sides of his mouth.

“I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. It’s not really nice to snoop into other people’s pasts,”

Sheogorath lets out an agreeing hum. “I’d… I’d like to tell you.” His pale eyes rise up to meet Nick’s.

Nick wishes he could wrap Sheogorath up in a soft blanket and keep him safe from all the terror he’s faced. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and gives Sheogorath his full attention.

“Most would expect I got ‘em in the war, but I got ‘em before I was ever deployed. I was in training. Boot camp. I hated all their strict rules, especially about curfew. Me and ma buddy, Robby, decided ta sneak out and get wasted. Robby and I had know each other sense high school, transferring ta a different country my senior year was rough. Robby was a good friend, came right up ta me on my first day and told me all the best places ta buy beer while under aged,”

Nick can imagine a younger Sheogorath, unscarred and laughing with his friend while they climb under a fence and run though the dark away from the army.

“We went to the bad side of town, there was several bars there that didn’t care ‘bout drinkin’ under age and less chance ta see someone we knew and gettin’ caught. I got pretty sloshed fast. Probably six beers in, Robby said he was gonna go piss. He left and went outside. It took way too long for him to come back. I heard shouting outside so I stumbled out the door. Robby was…” Sheogorath presses his hands over his eyes. “He was surrounded by thugs, the town ‘ad a gang problem. They were shoutin’ somethin’. One of the guys ‘ad a gun to his ‘ead,” His voice cracks. “I… I think I tried to run at em. The whole world was spinnin’. In the fightin’ the gun went off,” Sheogorath’s breath shakes. “Robby, god, Robby. His whole fuckin, ‘ead exploded. There was so much shoutin’ one of the guys pushed me ta my knees. He told me it was my fault ‘e was dead.” Sheogorath drops his head, tears streaming down his face. “Said I needed a reminder, ‘e stuck the blade in my mouth…”

Nick stops him from continuing by wrapping his arms around him and gently pulling him close. “Shhh, Sheogorath, it’s long over now. You’re safe with me,” Nick pulls back and wiped some of the tear tracks away with his coat sleeve, then just holds Sheogorath’s face, meeting his eyes. “It’s not your fault, it’s the fault of horrible people who are long dead,”

Sheogorath lets out a sob and grabs Nick pulling him close again. “I… I know it was so long ago but, I still see it when I sleep, I still see it all. All them ‘orrible things”

Nick runs his hand through Sheogorath’s hair, hoping it will sooth him. He’s not sure how long he holds his suffering friend. It must be hours. Sheogorath does eventually stop sobbing and instead rests heavily against Nick’s chest, sniffling and shaking.

“That’s when I met Nora, while I was on leave ‘ealing. God I miss ‘er. Ya would’a loved ‘er. She would’a loved ya too.” Sheogorath sighs. “I feel like I’m cursed,”

“You aren’t. Life just happens, good and bad, sometimes more one than the other,”

Sheogorath sits up with a sniff. The moonlight filters across his face, his skin shines like sliver across his tear tracks. “They look pretty ‘orrid don’t they,” He turns so the light catches the jagged edges of the grinning scars.

Nick reaches up to run his hand across one of Sheogorath’s cheeks, but stops looking at him for permission. When the man’s eyes meet his he moves the last few centimeters to run his thumb across the scar. His sensors tell him the skin is smooth and cool, stands of Sheogorath’s short beard brush against his finger.

Sheogorath shudders under the touch, his lips parting softly.

Nick can’t tear his gaze away from his pale pink lips. He wants to know what it’s like to press his own against them. Feel Sheogorath gasp into his mouth. Would he be soft and docile or would he crash against Nick like a raging storm? Sheogorath’s eyes have closed, he looks like some fae creature in the dim blue moonlight. They are centimeters apart when the feeling of Sheogorath’s breath across his lips causes Nick to realize what he’s doing. He quickly pulls back and drops his hand that had moved from touching an old scar to cradling his friend’s face.

“You should, you should get some sleep,” Sheogorath’s eyes snap open and Nick tries to convince himself that his friend’s look look isn’t disappointment.

Nick helps Sheogorath drink some water and lay back down without a word. He then resumes his perch on the stool, copy of Grognak back in his hand. Except he isn’t reading it, just staring at the same speech bubble thinking about how fucked he is. Sheogorath is his best friend, not to mention injured, emotionally distraught and lost his wife just a few months ago. He’s an idiot.

“Solomon,”

Nick raises his head from the comic.

“Solomon Abernathy,”

Nick doesn’t have to ask who’s name it is.

* * *

The second attempt at killing a courser and infiltrating the Institute goes much easier. The first time Sheogorath uses the portal, Sterges explains its a one time deal, Nick can’t go with him. Nick waits anxiously for his return.

It’s a full day before Sheogorath comes back. He appears with a violent explosion of electricity in the middle of Sanctuary Hill’s. Nick runs to Sheogorath and grabs him as the man reaches out for him. They pull each other into a tight hug.

“God, Nick,”

“You’re back, I was so worried,” He loosens his grip but doesn’t let go. His eyes rove all over Sheogorath checking for any injuries. His relief at finding the man safe causes him to pull Sheogorath back into another tight hug. “What happened? Did you find your son?”

“I… I did find him.” Sheogorath releases himself from the embrace. “Get Preston, and Sterges meet my in my home, I need a bloody drink.”

Inside Sheogroath’s old ruined home he explains to the three others what happened. About the technology of the Institute, the people there, the plans to take back the synth’s that have escaped, and Shaun.

Nick can’t believe it. Instead of a ten year old boy, Shaun is a elderly man, and the director of the Institute. It’s insane, a twist of fate Nick never would have seen coming.

The four of them spend the night planning their attack on the Institute, Sheogorath handing over his Pip-boy with the new teleporter to Sterges, hoping he can make it capable of sending in the whole Minutemen army. The young man seems pretty confident in his abilities.

All that’s left to do is wait.

That night Nick goes to Sheogorath’s room. He convinces himself it’s because he's worried about the man, which he is, and not only for his own selfish reasons of just wanting to see him.

Sheogorath is cleaning his guns, he is efficient and concentrated. He doesn’t stop when Nick enters the room.

“How you holding up?” Dumb question.

“Oh, ya know just bloody fine, just dealin’ with the fact my son is a bloody grandpa and my whole life is shite.”

Nick cringes at the sarcasm. He should have expected it. “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to ask,”

Sheogorath sighs and puts down his gun, then turns around and faces Nick, leaning his hips back on the old army chest he’s using as a table behind him. “No, no I’m sorry. That was rude o’ me. This is just stressful.”

“I can imagine,” Nick sits down on the stool and lights a cigarette. The nicotine won't actually calm him, but he’s done the action so often it’s a well worn habit.

“I just…” Sheogorath crosses his arms and furrows his brow. “I’m honestly surprised I’m not ‘avin’ a full mental break down.” He scoffs. “I don’t even think I quite believe he’s really Shaun.”

Nick just listens taking another drag of his cigarette.

“But… I mean he looks just bloody like me, but older, much older. But it’s like a mirror, especially his eyes.” Sheogorath waves vaguely at his oddly colored eyes. “How many people in the world ‘ave these eyes? Two. Me and Shaun.” He crosses his arms. “And I can’t believe the things he said. He’s so mature, very “intellectual sentences.”” Sheogorath attempts a pompous american accent on the last two words. It makes Nick laugh. “You would’a hated how he talked about synths. Like they aren't alive. I mean bloody hell! Look at ya!” He throws his hands vaguely at Nick.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, that is what most people think,”

“I know, I know, but once people get ta know ya, I know they would see the truth! I mean you ‘ave ya’re own opinions and sayin’s and expressions. The way ya look at me when I do somethin’ good, how could ya not be alive? And my bloody son wants to take that away,” Sheogorath shakes his head. “He would ‘ave you turned inta scrap metal, or thrown away again.”

“Well you won’t let that happen will you?” Nick gives Sheogorath a smile hoping it will calm his fury.

“Aye, I’d kill anyone who tries ta come after ya.” He crosses his arms. “But in the meantime I’ll ‘ave to pretend to work with them. And ‘elp take back at least one synth. This all... It’s a lot to deal with,” Sheogorath looks down for a second then lifts his eyes back up so he’s looking at Nick through his white eyelashes. “I’m worried they will come after ya, ya’re my best friend, my partner and I don’t know what I’d do without ya,”

“Hey,” Nick stands up and gently takes a hold of both of Sheogorath’s hands, making him uncross them from in front of his body. “We can get this all figured out, we won’t let them win, or take me,” He gives Sheogorath’s hands a tight squeeze.

“Nick,” His name is a whisper. “I’m goin’ ta ‘ave to kill him.”

* * *

The real infiltration of the institute is a rough fight. Nick is distracted by the white walls and clean environment, not to mention the odd flashbacks to his time there. They are lucky that Sheogorath had done a lot of networking while pretending to work for the institute he managed to ally with many of the synths that want freedom, they help turn the tide against an army of coursers, humans, and synth guards.

In the middle of the fighting Nick loses track of Sheogorath. Among all the white, one would think his dark Silver Shroud coat would be easy to spot.

Not sure where he is going, Nick heads up a random set of circular stairs. The first doorway leads into a small room that has a bed behind glass, inside is a child synth.

“Excuse me sir, what’s going on out there?”

Nick gives the kid a serious look. “ Don’t worry kiddo, I’ll be back to help you out in a bit,” He then heads back out and up more stairs. The child yells after him.

Through the next door way he spots Sheogorath. He’s standing in the middle of the room, gun drawn on an elderly man in a lab coat kneeling on the floor.

Nick quietly enters the room. The elderly man turns to him. When Nick sees his white blue eyes he knows who it is.

Sheogorath doesn’t move at all. “Glad ya could join us Nick.”

Nick comes to stand next to Sheogorath. “Sheo, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doin’? I’m ‘avin’ a nice conversation with my piece of shite son.”

“You’re one of the specialized generation two synths,” The old man, Shaun, addresses Valentine. “I remember you from when I was a child,”

“Do you really want to do this?” Nick glances at Sheogorath.

“He’s dyin’ anyways, cancer,”

“Father,” Shaun’s gravelly voice pulls their attention back to him. “I have so much left to do before the end,”

“So many people left ta hurt, replace and enslave is what ya mean,” Sheogorath’s face is twisted in fury.

“We are the only hope for the world out there! You’ve seen it, you’ve lived there. The people are insane, sick, and murderous.” Shaun’s attempts to appeal to Sheogorath fall on deaf ears.

“At least they are free, and not bein’ experimented on and replaced! This place has taken hundreds of people over the years you have been incharge! Made them inta mutants and experiments,”

“Casualties are necessary, you know that very well, father. How many people have you killed?” A small rueful smile flits across the old man’s face.

“I’ll admit ya ‘ave some good ideas. But ya go about it all wrong. The thin’s gained ‘ere should be shared with everyone outside, and the synths should be free,”

“They would taint it! Just look what destruction your friends from the outside have already caused to this place!”

Sheogorath lowers his gun a bit. “I am aware, but this, this is better fur everyone. And I won’t ‘ave ta worry anymore about ya comin’ and killin’ people I care about. When this is done we will take the thin’s ‘ere and share them with the rest of the commonwealth and ‘opefully the rest of the wasteland too. What’s the point of keeping all this progress ta ya’re self.”

Nick looks between the two. “You don’t need to kill him,”

“Na, I ‘ave ta,” Sheogorath raises his gun again.

“Please, I can help your people understand our research, if you want to share it, then we will share it,” Shaun pleads. “Don’t kill me, you came all this way for me. I’m your son,”

“I didn’t really know ya yet when ya where a child, and I certainly don’t know ya now. Just because ya ‘ave my DNA doesn’t mean ya’re my son. Think of this as me puttin’ ya out of ya’re misery,” Sheogorath pulls the trigger.

Shaun falls backwards, red splattering behind him across the pristine white floor.

Sheogorath stands completely still for a moment then collapses to his knees and and lets out a heart wrenching scream.

* * *

After killing Shaun, Sheogorath is completely unresponsive. Preston comes to find them after the fighting has ended. He helps Nick carry Sheogorath to the room with the synth child. Preston promises to get Sturges and anyone else smart enough to start going through the institute records. He happily announces that after the destruction of most of the coursers many of the institute occupants surrendered and have agreed to help. Nick is so glad they are avoiding unnecessary bloodshed.

The two of them maneuver Sheogorath so he’s sitting on one of the white chairs in the room.

The child synth starts yelling when he sees them. “Who are you? What have you done to my Pa?! Pa? Pa?!”

Preston looks back and forth between the catatonic Sheogorath and the child.

Nick approaches the glass and takes a good look at the synth child. It’s hair is white blond, but it’s his eyes that give it away. “It’s Shaun.”

“I thought Shaun was the old man up there,” Preston points up.

“Are you Shaun?” Nick bends down and looks the child, in the eyes.

“Ye-yeah. How do you know my name?”

“And that’s your father,” He points to Sheogorath.

The child gives Nick a stern look. “Yes, my name is Shaun Abernathy and that’s my father Solomon Abernathy.”

“Don’t worry Shaun, you and your dad are alright, we are taking you both home. My name is Nick Valentine, your father is my best friend.” Nick quickly gets to work on the door.

* * *

Sheogorath does not speak for a long time. When Nick portals with him and the synth Shaun back to Sanctuary Hills, he tells Shaun to sit in the living room and wait. The child is obviously curious but obediently sits on the old couch.

A sputtering Codsworth comes through the front door. Thankfully the bot knows better than to start asking a million questions. “Oh my,” Is all it says.

“Is Pa going to be okay?”

Nick doesn’t know what to say to the child. “Probably, let me help him go to bed.” Despite Sheogorath’s skinny frame, he is anything but lightweight. Nick hefts him to his room and lays the man down on his worn bed, making sure to remove his hat and heavy Silver Shroud coat. “Sheogorath, you are safe. Home.” Nick gently runs a hand through Sheograth’s white hair, he just stares blankly at the ceiling. “Sheogorath, I am sending in Codsworth to look after your for a moment, I’m going to get you some food and water.” He thinks about sending Shaun in to look after the man, but decides it’s a bad idea. Nick sticks His head out of the bedroom door and shouts for Codsworth.

* * *

Shaun is a wonderfully well behaved boy. He tries to help out wherever he can around the settlement, helping build things, feed the animals and play with Dogmeat. His behavior makes everything about a thousand times easier. Since the attack on the Institute Sheogorath has remained in his room, under twenty-four hour surveillance. Everyone takes turns watching him. He wakes screaming most nights and attempts to harm himself multiple times, even going so far as to get out of bed when Preston fell asleep while on watch. It’s actually Shaun that catches him sneaking through the dark decrepit house and to a hidden stash of weapons. Sheogorath manages to get a large hunting knife but when he spots the boy sleeping on the couch screams bloody murder. When Nick bursts through the front door he finds Shaun crying over his father who’s out cold on the floor. After that Nick spends a whole day going through every part of the house and removing anything Sheogorath could use to harm himself. The amount of weapons the man has stalk piled is concerning to say the least.

Shaun is upset from the whole experience. Since being freed from the institute the boy has hardly seen his father. After the incident he asks Nick if, “Pa hates him?” Nick isn’t sure what to tell the boy, he never is. He doesn't have much experience with children and he’s afraid he might say the wrong thing. He tries his best to reassure Shaun that his dad loves him, he’s just sick.

When Nick isn’t watching over Sheogorath, Shaun is following him around, asking about the world, about his father and about Nick. Nick is happy to recount tales of his and Sheogorath’s wild adventures through the commonwealth. Shaun loves them, to the point that Nick hears him playing detectives with Dogmeat, proudly saying. “Alright Dogmeat you’re Detective Valentine and I’m the Silver Shroud! We are going to defeat Skinny Malone and save the mayor's daughter!”

It takes two weeks for Sheogorath to start speaking again. It’s Mamma Murphy who's watching him when Nick comes to take over. He stands in the hallway outside the room for a long while listening to the quiet conversation between the two. They are talking about mundane things, like the shipments of beer being sent from Goodneighbor as thanks for delivering the automatic beer brewing robot, and the new people who have arrived in the settlement.

Sheogograth’s thick accent is music to Nick’s ears. He missed the singsong sound.

He enters the room, Sheogorath is sitting up in bed, his eyes bright. “Nick!” He reaches out a hand for the synth and he immediately takes it. Mamma Murphy smiles at the two of them. “I’ll leave you boys alone.” She leaves with a wink at Sheogorath, the meaning of which is lost on Nick.

“Nick, I’m so sorry fur… well, me,” Sheogorath’s face falls.

Nick sits in the chair Mamma Murphy just unoccupied, keeping a hold of Sheogorath’s hand. “Don’t apologize, I am happy to help when you need it, we all are! You don’t control your mental well being. I disapprove of the actions you took that set it off, but I don’t blame you.”

Sheogorath takes in a deep breath. Nick squeezes his hand.

“I don’t hate you for it,” icy blue eyes glance up to Nick. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, and you can knock it off,” Nick smiles, at first with humor then it settles into something warmer, softer.

Sheororath lets out a puff of air, almost a laugh.

At that small sound Nick is overcome with his love for the man. Love, he can admit it now. If only to himself. He loves Sheogorath. He loves the man’s laugh, his smile, and most of all, his mind. He isn’t like anyone Nick has ever met. He is determined that even if Sheogorath won't return his feelings he will remain by his side.

* * *

With shudders and halts Sheogorath’s health begins to return to stable. The first time he leaves his room he makes it as far as the living room before flopping into a chair exhausted.

Nick nearly has a heart attack, or the synth equivalent, when Shaun comes barreling through the front door, muddy Dogmeat in tow. The dog goes straight up to Sheogorath and starts sniffing him and winning for pets, but Shaun stops dead in the doorway.

After giving Dogmeat lots of ear scritches and a few head kisses, Sheogorath looks up at the child. “Hey, lad.”

“H-hi Pa… are you feeling better?”

“Ya know… I am a bit,”

Nick looks between the two expecting something to go wrong at any moment.

“Come ‘ere,” Sheogorath gestures for Shaun to come closer.

Hesitantly the kid steps around the couch and to where his father is sitting.

With a tired smile Sheogorath looks the kid up and down. “I ‘ear ya’ve been mighty helpful while ya’r old Pa ‘as been outta commission,”

“Yes!” Sensing his Dad isn’t about to pass out again Shaun smiles a bit. “Sturges showed me how to refill the generators and it’s my job to watch them and fill them, and I feed the brahmin,”

“Good on ya laddy! Ya’re settling in just fine int ya?”

“Yeah, I like it a lot better than… you know… that place.” Shaun makes a face. “I’m so glad you and Nick came to save me.”

Sheogorath looks at Shaun with wide melancholy eyes for a moment then he sits up and pulls the boy into a tight hug.

“I love ya Shaun,”

“I-I love you too Pa!” Shaun hugs his father back with a laugh. After a long, happy, moment the two let go. Suddenly looking shy Shaun looks between his dad and Nick. “I was… I was wondering, sense you and Nick are always together and he helps take care of me.” Shaun glances to Nick. “And I like him a whole whole lot, can Nick be my dad too?”

Sheogorath blinks then lets out a deep laugh. “Course he can! If he wants!”

Shaun looks to Nick, who is stunned. “Well, yes, it would be an honor!” A happy grin, the first one in a while stretches Nick’s mouth.

“Great!” Shaun’s face is a bit pink but he’s smiling. “Then you,” he points to Sheogorath, “are Pa. And you,” he points at Nick, “are Dad.”

* * *

Several months pass and Sheogorath is completely back to his usual self, despite some new nightmares. It’s after a long boring meeting with the Railroad leader’s Desdemona and Deacon that Sheogorath approaches Nick with a serious look. Nick is sitting on one of the old rusty deck chairs that survived the years, in the backyard turned farm behind one of the houses. He’s been chain smoking since he left the meeting. Nick likes the Railroad but they aren't happy with the plans to use the institutes research or that Nick recommended they stop changing synths memories and faces unless they ask for it. Two non synths arguing with him about what’s best for synths was just frustrating.

Sheogorath sits in another chair next to him with a sigh. “Damn that woman is intense! Da ya think she knows what a smile is?” He laughs, “A right ol’ holy Joe she is,”

“A what?”

Sheogorath laughs. “Irish saying, she’s stuck up,”

“Oh,” Nick chuckles. “Yes she is. She’s trying to do good, I respect that but she is being a bit paranoid. I would love to get my memories from before back,”

“Speaking of memories,” Sheogorath goes back to serious. “I was thinkin’ about ya, or I guess about ol’ Valentine,”

Nick puts out his cigarette. “Is this about Eddie Winter?”

Sheogorath nods. “I was thinkin’ we should finish what he started. A tribute ta his memory, and maybe a release fur ya?”

Nick smiles. “I’ve been waiting to finish this case for a long time.

* * *

After the tunnels dark musty tunnels Nick and Sheogorath crawled through to get to Eddie’s hide out the fresh air is a relief. Nick is glad it’s night time. It’s fitting. The setting even more so. As he takes a deep breath the events of two hundred years ago replay over and over in his mind. The death of his, no the old Nick’s fiance, her blood spreading across the sidewalk as he held her hand. It’s so hard to separate the old Nick from the synth. He is the old Nick and yet he is not. He never met Jennifer Lands he was never a cop.

He crouches down and touches the spot. “In this spot, two hundred years ago, one of Eddie’s boys put a bullet in Jenny Land’s back. Now Eddie’s as dead as Jenny, and Nick. And… I’m at a loss.”

Sheogorath puts his hand on Nick’s shoulder as he stands. His pale eyes are so full of empathy. “It’s done now,”

“Winter was it, the only reminder left of the original Nick Valentine. The last proof, outside of some long lost institute archive I was ever just a mechanical copy of some cop from a bygone era.” Nick flicks his eyes to the dirty concrete below his feet. “I’m not sure how to feel.”

“Well, free,” Sheogorath’s hand that was on his shoulder moves to his chin and tilts his head up. “Ya’re free ta be ya self now,”

“But who is that?”

Sheogorath tints his head, the moonlight pays shadows with his hat, casting his face into an eerie glow. “Well, that’s a heavy question, not one I can answer. But I can tell ya that I know ya. Nick, my best friend, my partner, a kind, generous, sweet man.”

“But,” Nick huffs and pulls his chin out of Sheogorath’s fingers. “I was Nick Valentine. I had his memories. His fears. All that poor bastards hope. I remember getting the call to head to some lab in Cambridge to get that neurotrans-whatever. And the next thing I know, I’m in a trash heap, my family, my home, my entire life, gone. Then I discover, all those things, they weren't even mine. Everything I ever was belonged to Nick. I’d hoped with Winter gone, the last of that old world snuffed out, I could finally be free.”

“Ya are free, ya always ‘ave been. Ya ‘ave the man’s memories, but that doesn’t make you him, the moment you woke up ya where someone else.” Sheogorath’s eyes flash like crystal under his hat.

Nick looks back to his friend. “I’ve realized, being out here with you, what I finally realized after all this time, was that taking down Winter, it wasn’t about Nick or Jenny or even you or me.”

Sheogorath moves closer to Nick, silently, slowly.

“It was about justice, about doing what’s right. And that act of goodness, that’s ours. All the good we’ve done. That’s ours and ours alone.” He smiles. “And none of it would have happened if it weren’t for you. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to thank you for that.” Nick puts his hands in his pockets and looks away toward the Charles River, it’s waters lap quietly against the shore. Nick wonders if this is the end of the two of them. They took down the Institute, freed the synths and now got one final piece of justice. They’ve done what they meant to, so maybe it’s time for him to return to Diamond City, and Sheogorath to Sanctuary Hills.

Sheogorath reaches up with both hands and turns Nick to face him. “Why do ya look so sad?” There is no more than an inch of space between them.

“Well I figure this is the end isn’t it? We destroyed the Institute, you’re a hero, and finally finished a two hundred year old case. Wouldn’t we part ways? Wouldn’t blame you if you wanted some time on your own after this.”

Sheogorath’s brows furrow. “Nick." He gives the synth a bit of a shake. "Nick, ya idiot.” With a sudden almost violent movement he pulls Nick to him and his lips are on the synth’s.

Nick’s whole system goes into overdrive trying to figure out what is happening, before he can return the kiss Sheogorath steps away. His face is flushed.

“Ah, sorry I probably should’a made sure ya where alright with that before doin’ it! I just wasn’t sure ‘ow ta tell ya… how I feel,”

Nick laughs, he’s so happy he can’t even find words. So instead he pulls Sheogorath back toward him and kisses him again. Sheogorath grabs onto him and tries to pull them impossibly close, and he lets out a joyful laugh against Nick’s mouth.

Kissing is even better then Nick had imagined. Sheogorath’s lips are demanding, his hands clutch and pull against Nick’s old trench coat. At some point point Shogorath’s hat is knocked off his head. Nether notices. They cling against each other like drowning men grasping for air.

It could be years or it could be seconds before they pull apart, though not completely apart. Sheogorath loops his arms around Nick’s neck and he in turn places his own on Sheogorath’s hips. The mans scarred smile could light up the whole world.

A silly question pops into Nick’s mind. “Does this mean I’m actually Shaun's dad now?”

Sheogorath throws back his head and laughs, then he looks back at Nick, full of joy.

“I love ya, Nick Valentine. I love ya.”