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Chapter Text

She stretched her limbs as she awoke.  The sounds of her brothers and sisters going about their daily routines alerted her that she had overslept.  Again.  Damn it.  She curled herself into a fetal position under the scratchy blanket, savoring its warmth.  Her excursions in the Commonwealth over the previous two years had left her sleep deprived and now that she had a safe place to sleep, her body seemed to refuse to do anything else.  As she snuggled into her pillow, Maggie thought back on the events that brought her to her new home.

Maggie Murphy had come to Mount Desert Island three months ago in search of a young woman.  Kasumi’s parents feared the worse, but discovering that she was safe, albeit slightly confused, Maggie left her in the care of her new friends at Acadia.  She hadn’t found conclusive evidence regarding the girl’s identity.  If Kasumi was, in fact, a synth, Maggie wanted to give her the best chance at a happy life.  A life in which she was accepted, loved, and respected.  A life where she was surrounded by those like her. 

Her mind drifted to another synth, a synth she was unable to save.  Danse.  Her heart ached as she thought about her mentor and friend.  His warm brown eyes.  The way his expression would soften in those rare moments of vulnerability and then revert back to a stoic mask.  She never got to tell him how much she cared for him, how much she loved him.  Maggie bit her lower lip as tears began to sting her eyes.  No.  No, I can’t cry for him anymore.  He wouldn’t want that.  He’d say, “Be strong, Knight.  Be strong, Sister.”

“Sister?  Sister, are you awake?” a familiar deep, yet soft, voice called from her door, rousing Maggie from her memories.

“Um, yes!  I’ll be right there!” she replied as she threw off her blanket and scrambled to find her pants.  Hopping to the door as she pulled the faded fatigues on, she tripped on a pant leg and crashed in the shack wall. “Fuck,” she hissed.

“Sister?!”

“I’m okay.  I just tripped,” she said with embarrassment as she opened her door to see Grand Zealot Richter standing there with a concerned scowl and some scrambled eggs.  “Good morning, Grand Zealot,” she yawned.

“You’ve hurt yourself, Sister Margaret.  Let me attend to your wound.”  Sister Margaret.  Only him.  He’s so formal.

“No, no.  It’s fine.  Just a scratch.” She touched her forehead and pulled away bloody fingers.  Okay, so maybe not just a scratch.

“You need stitches,” the Grand Zealot replied, frowning.  “Sit on the bed and I’ll be right back.”  He headed for the door then turned around and roughly handed her the plate of eggs.  “Eat,” he commanded, then turned again and hurried out the door.

He’s really pissed off that I overslept.  You need to do better, Maggie.  You cannot fuck up anymore.

Her whole life had been a comedy of errors.  In all truth, there was nothing funny about it.  She had felt inadequate for as long as she could remember.  She was well intentioned, but everything seemed to go wrong.

All you do is fuck up.  Nate.  Shaun.  Danse.  The pain in her chest was overwhelming.  She inhaled.  One… two… three… four.  She exhaled.  One… two… three… four.

“I thought I told you to eat.”  Grand Zealot had returned with his frown and a med kit.  When did he come back?  He sat next to her on the bed and began to examine the gash on her head.  He mouth was set in a hard line and his shoulders were rigid.  Yep.  Definitely pissed.

She sat there quietly, observing him as prepared the needle and antiseptic.  He was ruggedly handsome and his presence, commanding.  She jumped slightly when she felt him cup her chin to turn her head, allowing him better access to care for her injury.  His hands were large, strong, and rough but he was remarkably gentle.  It felt so good to be touched.  To be cared for.  It had been so long.  She felt that familiar heat coil in her belly.  You are such a slut.  He’s just treating your wound.  Calm yourself.  Inhale. One… two… three… four.  But for Atom’s sake, those hands.  Those thick fingers.  Exhale.  One... two… three… four.  How would it feel if he…

“Ouch!” the antiseptic burned and Maggie flinched away from him.

“Sorry!  I’m sorry!” his expression was relaxed and apologetic.  “I have to clean it out first.  I don’t want you to get an infection.” He smiled slightly at her. That’s new. “I going to start the stitches now.  You only need about three.  Maybe four.”  Maggie nodded her acknowledgement and leaned back towards him.

As soon as she felt the needle touch her skin, her hands shot out to grab onto anything to steady herself.  She had always hated needles and although she had grown somewhat accustomed to their use, she remained very squeamish.  Grand Zealot Richter’s hands remained steady as he sutured her forehead.  When he finished, he took her face carefully in his hands and pulled her closer.  Is he going to kiss me?  Do I want him to kiss me?  Dear Atom, please let him kiss me.  He examined his work.  “Well, I think that should do it.”  He released her face and looked down at Maggie, his expression stern once again.  “Please be more careful, Sister Margaret.” 

“Yes, Grand Zealot.  I will.  Thank you.” She stood as he gathered his things and walked him to the door.

“It’s almost time for morning prayers.  Get yourself cleaned up and head down there as fast as you can.”

“Yes, sir.  Thanks again.” He just nodded, turned, and exited her room.  He’s disappointed in me.

Maggie did as he had requested and started to get ready for the day.  She walked over to the basin of water in the corner and almost jumped back when she saw her reflection in the mirror that hung above it.  Her short brown hair was sticking up in all directions and there were dark circles under her hazel eyes.  Blood was caked on her forehead and down the left side of her face.  Way to make an impression, Mags.

“Fucking fantastic.”

She washed her face and wet her hair in attempt to make herself more presentable.  Grabbing her robes off a nail on the wall, she hurried out to meet with the rest of the Children at the Vessel.  She, of course, was the last one to arrive.  Maggie caught a disapproving glance from the High Confessor and turned her gaze downward as she knelt.  As she began to whisper her prayers, her stomach growled ferociously.  I forgot to eat the stupid eggs.  She snorted quietly in amusement.

Chapter Text

Grand Zealot Richter watched her arrive, late as usual.  Sister Margaret was having an unusually difficult time adjusting to life here at the Nucleus.  Whereas others would have been disciplined by this point, she had been given a great deal of latitude by High Confessor Tektus.  After having a vision of the Mother of the Fog and bringing a sacred idol back with her, the High Confessor revealed that he believed Margaret could be the fulfillment of a prophecy.  The Grand Zealot remained skeptical, however, as he had closely observed his Sister in the past two months she had belonged to their order and he had seen nothing that would set her apart from any of the other Children of Atom.  Except being the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.

He struggled to focus on his prayers to the mighty Atom, but his thoughts drifted back to Margaret.  She was such an enigma; sometimes radiating self-confidence so strongly that it bordered on suffocating and other times becoming morose, withdrawn, and seemingly filled with self-doubt.  Richter could tell she had a past, but as yet, she hadn’t confided in him.  He could see the heaviness that weighed her down and hoped that one day, she would trust him enough to open up to him.  Richter had done everything to promote that trust the past month or so, or at least, he thought had.  He had never possessed very good interpersonal skills himself, especially with women.

This morning had been his greatest effort yet.  He had brought her breakfast only to have it result in a medical emergency.  He remember fighting his baser instincts when she had opened the door.  Her pants hung low on her hips and her nipples were erect against the thin fabric of her tank top.  Then he had noticed the gash on her head and immediately his concern for her well-being overshadowed his lust.

He had kept himself in check despite being in such close proximity as he tended to her.  Her skin was smooth and soft, although those were not the circumstances he had imagined touching her for the first time.  When he began to suture and she had grabbed his thigh, it had nearly been his undoing.  Richter knew she didn’t grab him intentionally, but her hand had been so precariously close to his cock.  It had taken every ounce of self-control not to act on impulse.  He had briefly imagined what he would look like in her hand.  Atom, forgive me.  He had left as quickly as possible.

He carefully looked over his right shoulder to where she was.  Now decently clothed in the robes of the devoted, her face was serene and her lips moved slightly as she murmured in devotion.  Those lips.  Focus, man.

He returned his gaze to his knees and concentrated on his prayers once again.  Atom, help me be worthy of your calling.  Vanquish the wicked unbelievers in Far Harbor.  Watch over Sister Margaret and fill her with your glow.  Help me to be a strong leader for the family. 

“Go with Atom, Children,” spoke High Confessor Tektus as he dismissed the believers to return to their vocations.

Richter approached Margaret, “Sister? A word?” He noted her nervousness as she glanced up at him before nodding slowly and casting her eyes downward again.  Strange.  Maybe I hurt her before?  I hope not.  The other disciples were milling around them making it a less-than-ideal place to talk.  He leaned down to whisper to her, “There’s too many people here.  Come with me.” She nodded again as he stood.  He surveyed the crowd and the usual places that would be private enough to talk.  Maybe outside would be more suitable.  He placed his hand on the small of her back and ushered her through the crowd.  As the Grand Zealot and a fairly imposing man, the people quickly cleared a path for while greeting him with enthusiasm.

“Good morning, Grand Zealot Richter!”

“Good morning, Brother.”

“May Atom keep you, Grand Zealot!”

“And you, Sister.”

Once through the crowd, Richter and Maggie made their way down the corridor, his hand still guiding her, although unnecessarily.  He only removed his hand once they reached the door so he could open it.  They stepped out into the crisp air of perfect autumn morning. The Grand Zealot observed as Maggie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply and smiled contentedly.  The sunlight filtered through the tops of the trees and cast a beautiful luminescence onto her fair skin.  By Atom, she is breathtaking.  Then the smile faded and the nervous expression returned and she faced him.  Her eyes focused on her hands which were clasped tightly in front of her.

“I’m sorry I have disappointed you, Grand Zealot.  You have been so kind and patient with me and I have let you down.”  What?  What is she talking about?

“I’m sorry, Sister Margaret.  I’m not sure what mean.”  When she didn’t respond, he carefully lifted her chin with a hooked finger.  Her eyes met his.  “Do you think I wished to speak with the intention to chastise you?”  Another long pause followed.  Maggie tried to lower her head again, but Richter didn’t allow it. “Sister?” 

“Yes,” Maggie whispered.  He waited for her to continue.  “It’s just,” she sighed with exasperation, “I’m always sleeping too much or arriving late.  I’m not pulling my weight, not contributing to the family.” He lowered his hand and allowed her to turn from him as she continued. “I’m trying to be faithful.  I’m trying to be worthy of the mercy I’ve received.” She paused, shoulders slumped. “But as always, I’m just not enough.”  You are more than enough, Margaret.

“That’s the thing about mercy,” he began as he stepped around her so they were facing each other again, “it’s not something we earn.  It’s freely given, a gift.  We can’t repay it, we can only pay it forward to others.”  He saw the tears welling up in her eyes and rested his hand on her shoulder.  “You are a valuable member of our congregation.  And you are worthy of all of Atom’s blessings.”  She broke at that point, collapsing onto his chest armor.  What do I do? Tell me, Atom, what do I do?  Richter tentatively wrapped his arms around Maggie’s shoulders as the woman shook with sobs.  He softly stroked her hair and she began to regain her composure.  His arms remained wrapped around her until she slowly pulled away.  Or you could just stay like that, Margaret.  I don’t mind.  He cleared his throat as she wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeve and straightened out her clothing.  He felt his mouth start to settle into its familiar sternness, but he willed it into a small smile as he looked down at her.  “Now.  Do you wish to know what I did want to speak to you about?” 

“I suppose I owe you that much since I got snot all over your armor,” she joked, grinning up at him.  Her smile is radiant.  Suddenly, he felt unsure of himself.  What if she says ‘no’?  Maggie looked at him expectantly.  Just say it.  Just ask her.

“I w-was wondering if you would like to eat dinner with me.  Tonight.  In my quarters.”  Her eyes grew wide.  Shit.  I overstepped a boundary.  I knew it.

“That sounds really nice.  I’d like that,” she beamed.  What?

“Yeah?  Okay.”  I’m so bad at this.  “How about after vespers?  I will grab something for us and I’ll meet you up there.  You can just let yourself in if you arrive before I do.”  He felt his smile growing bigger, venturing into uncharted territory.  Calm down, you idiot – it’s just dinner.

“Sounds like a plan.  I look forward to it, sir.”

“Yes.  Um, me too.”  They stood there awkwardly for a few moments, neither of them sure how to proceed.  It was Maggie who broke the silence.

“Well, I have to get back now.  I promised Sister Mai that I would help her with some things today.”

“Y-yeah, I need to, um, g-get to guard duty.  I’ll see you later, then.”

“Until later,” Maggie said as she turned and smiled brightly over her shoulder.  She opened the door to the Nucleus and disappeared down the hallway.  Richter waited until he heard the door latch click and then punched the air exuberantly.

“Lovely day, isn’t it, Grand Zealot?” Richter jumped around to see another one of the guards.

“Glorious,” he scowled and turned back around to glance at the door.  “Glorious day,” he whispered and smiled so big that his cheeks hurt.

Chapter Text

When Maggie heard the door shut behind her she squealed.  Is this… a date?  She knew that courting rituals were nearly non-existent in the post-apocalyptic world but this… this felt like a date.  Do I wear these rags?  What if I change clothes and it’s not a date?  What if he just wants me opinion on defense fortifications?  Before she could think about it anymore, she had reached Sister Mai’s.

“Atom’s blessings, Sister Mai!”

“Good morning, Sister Maggie.  Blessings on you as well.”

“What did you need my help with today?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you.”

Sister Mai was Maggie’s favorite person in the Nucleus.  She was warm, inviting, and slightly less rigid that the other Children of Atom.  She felt like a sister in relationship, rather than title.  Mai led her back to the Command Center.  Maggie had cleared it of traps and robots upon arriving on Nucleus, which had earned her a small amount of celebrity initially.  She had a feeling her novelty had since worn off and so had offered to do just about anything to prove to herself and her Brothers and Sisters that she could pull her weight.  After giving Maggie a list a tasks and instructions, Mai started back to the entrance, then paused.

“So… what did the Grand Zealot need to speak to you about?”  Mai turned around just as Maggie was able to control the guilty look on her face.

“Just… um… something about defense fortifications.  Boring stuff.” Maggie shrugged as she busied herself sorting through boxes.

“Maggie…,” Mai sighed, “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were, Sister.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Maggie pretended to be wholly focused on her work as she dug through centuries’ old refuse. Have I been that obvious? “And the way he looks at you,” Mai continued.  Maggie’s head shot up reflexively.  Busted.  Mai was looking down at her with a raised eyebrow and an I-knew-it smirk.  Damn.

“He just ask me to eat dinner with him tonight,” Maggie confessed.  “It’s no big deal.”

“And where are you having dinner with him?” the older woman inquired.  Her smirk was now a full on shit-eating grin.

“His quarters,” Maggie mumbled, her annoyance evident on her face.  Can she just go now?

“What’s that?  Please speak up.”  Mai was reveling in Maggie’s obvious embarrassment.

“His. Quarters,” Maggie enunciated.  “Grand. Zealot. Richter’s. quarters.  It’s not a big deal though.”

“Mmhmm!” she hummed triumphantly.   

“It’s not a big deal,” Maggie insisted as Mai reached the door.

“You keep telling yourself that, Sister Margaret.” Maggie could hear Mai laugh lightly before the door closed, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

It’s not a big deal.  It’s NOT.

Maggie returned to the boxes in front of her.  Her goal was to check off every item off her list.  The work proved beneficial in two ways: she was uplifted by making a contribution and preoccupied enough to not overthink her appointment with the Grand Zealot.  It’s an appointment.  It’s not a date.

She checked her Pip-Boy.  The day was mercifully flying by.  Maggie had thrown herself into her job of clearing out the old command center bunk rooms.  Tomorrow she and Brother Devin would put up shelves so the family could utilize this space as storage.  Once that was done, she couldn’t wait to get back out to the woods to hunt.  Never having been an outdoors girl before the bombs fell, she now found herself growing restless if too much time went by where she wasn’t slinking through the wastes with her trusty shotgun in hand.  Soon.

Staggering to her feet, Maggie brushed her dusty hands off on her raggedy clothes and stretched.  Atom-wear: functional style for the post-apocalyptic fashionista.  Maggie snorted at her own joke and didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.

“Nice work, Sister Margaret.  You have accomplished much.” His voice went right through her and she gasped as she spun around.  He can sense your blasphemy.

“You scared me, Grand Zealot!  Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?” She playfully slapped his forearm.  It was intended to be light-hearted, but something dark flashed in his eyes.  Oops.  “Thank you, though,” she redirected, trying to ease the tension.  “I am very pleased with what I was able to get done today.”  He just looked down at her, his expression unreadable.  “I… um… I found some interesting things buried in all the junk.  Would you like to see?”  He nodded but remained silent.  “Over here,” Maggie motioned and walked over to a metal box on the floor and knelt down in front of it.  She began to tell him about the various types of ammunition she found and was about to tell him about her other finds when she noticed he didn’t seem to be listening.  Alright then.  Maggie stood and looked at her Pip-Boy again.  “Oh goodness!  It’s almost time for vespers.  I should go get cleaned up.”

“Yes.  Good idea, Sister.”  Dinner conversation will be riveting.  “I shall see you afterwards.”  With that, he turned and left.

Maggie didn’t have time to analyze this situation.  She was determined to get to evening prayer on time if for no other reason than to garner a little bit of favor with the High Confessor.  How pious.  Leaving the Command Center, she briskly walked back to her room.  Once there, she stripped out of her filthy rags and tossed them in the corner.  She opened the trunk that sat at the foot of her bed and began to dig through the contents.  Gun, gun, big gun, knife, gun, handful of assorted ammo – Ah ha!  Folded not-so-neatly at the very bottom, was her prize.  She pulled it out – a light pink dress with a delicate floral pattern. 

Maggie quickly scrubbed the grime from her hands and face.  She washed her body as fast as she could while still being thorough.  Not much of her pre-war persona remained, but she was uncompromising when it came to personal hygiene.  My hair is probably gross too. Without a second thought, she dunked her head into the shallow basin and splashed water everywhere in the process.  Shit. She reached out, grasping for the soap she had placed on the dresser.  She quickly lathered her hair and was thankful for her new undercut style.  Her former long tresses were impossible to maintain in this new world, not to mention being a safety hazard.  A raider had grabbed her by the hair within her first week of leaving Vault 111.  After slitting his throat with her combat knife, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and cut it to her shoulders with the same instrument, still dripping with the raider’s blood.  Her current style was due to raiders too, but a whole different set of circumstances.  Maggie rinsed the soap out and started to towel off.  She checked the Pip-Boy yet again.  Five minutes.  Damn it.  I can do this.  She slipped on the dress, momentarily feeling self-conscious at the lack of undergarments, but those desperately needed washing and it didn’t seem to make sense to go through the trouble of bathing if she was going to put on a dirty bra and panties.  She found a clean pair of pants in the dresser and put them on, tucking the dress into the pants, and pulled a set of hooded rags over the top.  She jammed her feet into her boots and didn’t bother to tie them before throwing her towel on the puddles on the floor and leaving her room. 

She scurried down to where the other Children were.  They hadn’t started yet.  I made it! She found her place and glanced up at High Confessor Tektus as she knelt, smiling.  He had a pleasantly surprised look on his face as he tipped his head in approval.  Yes!