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Sico let the words sink in, feeling the weight of the coming work, the sense of hope crystallized in Curie's breakthrough, and the human determination that would carry the Rad-X from a laboratory formula into a practical, life-saving tool for the soldiers of the Commonwealth.
The next day arrived with a calmness that felt almost deceptive.
The early morning light spilled over Sanctuary's rooftops in long golden strokes, warming the cracked sidewalks and the garden plots where settlers had started planting mutfruit, corn, and melons. A soft breeze carried the smell of earth and wood sap with something honest, something grounding that far different from the metallic sterility of the hospital labs or the tension-heavy atmosphere of the training yard.
Sico stepped out of the hospital building with a measured breath, rolling his shoulders slightly, trying to ease the weight he carried. Curie had worked through the night. He knew it even without checking, because when Curie was close to a breakthrough, sleep and food were concepts she only remembered when Sico forced her to sit down and rest.
And she hadn't given him that chance last night.
He trusted her, but he also worried. There was a line between passion and obsession, and Curie danced on that line with the grace and recklessness of a tightrope walker halfway over a canyon. She wouldn't stop until she was satisfied the Rad-X formula acted the way she wanted it to. And Sico, well, he couldn't pull her away now. Not when they were this close.
But today… today his focus had to be elsewhere.
Sanctuary's southern ridge.
Where Sturges and his entire engineering team had been working for weeks on one of the most important expansions the settlement had attempted yet.
A second proper market district.
Shops, storage houses, crafting bays, trade stalls, a butcher's post, the new clothing and armor refit station, and the most ambitious part, an open plaza capable of holding dozens of merchants and caravans passing through.
It was a project that symbolized everything the Freemasons Republic was becoming: stability, growth, confidence, a meaning of thriving rather than just surviving.
And Sico needed to check their progress.
Not as a supervisor, not as a commander, not even as the Freemasons' leader, but as a builder himself. A man who cared deeply about every plank of wood, every bolt, every wall that shaped the community he had sworn to protect.
He descended the steps, boots crunching softly against gravel, and walked toward the southern ridge. The sun was still low enough that the shadows of houses stretched long and thin across the ground. Settlers passed him along the roads, offering nods and tired but genuine smiles.
"Morning, Sico!"
"Good day, sir!"
"Sturges is already yellin' up there, you might wanna prepare yourself!"
He smirked at that last one.
"Good," he muttered under his breath. "I'd be worried if he wasn't."
As he drew closer to the construction site, the sound of Sanctuary's new heartbeat reached him from clanking hammers, the whirr of power tools, wood planks being sawn through, metal supports scraping against concrete. Voices carried on the air: arguments, jokes, orders, curses, and bursts of laughter. It was loud, chaotic, imperfect…
And beautiful.
When Sico crested the final hill and the construction site came fully into view, he stopped for a moment, hands settling on his hips as he surveyed everything.
The southern ridge had transformed.
Where once there had been uneven ground, overgrowth, and the remnants of a collapsed pre-war playground, now rose structures that new, intentional, strong.
Scaffolding wrapped around half-built walls. Fresh lumber stacked in careful piles. Metal beams lined up like the ribs of a massive creature waiting to be brought to life. Tents held blueprints, worktables, crates of nails, coils of wiring, and boxes of tools.
And in the middle of it all, like a conductor orchestrating a frantic but magnificent symphony.
Sturges.
Hard hat, dusty gloves, suspenders hanging off one shoulder, pencil in his mouth, and a clipboard under his arm.
He spotted Sico instantly.
"WELL LOOK WHO DECIDED TO GRACE US WITH HIS PRESENCE!" Sturges bellowed without a hint of restraint, waving an arm dramatically. "Everybody! Look alive! The boss man's here!"
A couple of workers snorted or rolled their eyes. One pretended to faint. Another whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear:
"Aw hell, he's gonna make us fix the measurements again."
Sico chuckled as he stepped closer, raising his hands. "Relax. I'm only here to see the progress, not to tear apart your blueprint."
Sturges hopped down from a platform with surprising agility for a man carrying three tools clipped to his belt.
"That so?" he asked, squinting playfully. "Because last time you said that, I ended up rebuilding the entire wall for the food stall because you 'felt the alignment was spiritually crooked.'"
"It was crooked," Sico deadpanned.
Sturges pointed at him with the pencil. "It was crooked by ONE INCH."
"And that inch would've bothered me every time I walked past," Sico replied.
A few workers laughed. Someone slapped Sturges' back sympathetically.
"See what we're dealin' with?" Sturges said dramatically. "Perfectionist construction overlord."
Sico smirked. "You love it."
Sturges snorted and shoved the clipboard into Sico's hands. "Yeah, yeah. Might as well earn my misery. Come on, I'll show you what we've finished."
Sico followed him across the site, weaving between stacks of materials and groups of workers.
But as they walked, he couldn't ignore the energy here.
Alive. Optimistic. Hopeful.
People weren't just building structures, they were building their future. Their livelihoods. Their pride.
This was what he fought for. What Curie fought for. What Preston, Sarah, and every soldier trained for. Safety wasn't the end goal, it was the beginning. The foundation. And this? This was what came next.
A community that lived.
A community that thrived.
A community that dreamed.
Sturges stopped beside a large rectangular framework where workers were attaching support beams.
"This," Sturges announced, sweeping a hand out dramatically, "is gonna be the main market hall. Permanent installations. Metal roof, reinforced supports, good ventilation. We'll have eight main vendor stalls her from food, armor, weapons, clothing, scrap trade, general goods, medicine, and the custom order stall you wanted."
Sico studied the structure, eyes tracing the lines of the walls, the angles of the beams, the spacing of the supports.
He nodded slowly.
"It's looking solid," he said. "Very solid, actually."
Sturges puffed his chest. "Damn right it is. I double-checked the measurements myself because I know how picky you are."
Sico smirked. "And?"
"And I fixed two beams because yes, fine, they were a little crooked," Sturges admitted with a groan. "Don't get used to it."
They moved on.
Sturges pointed out the foundation for the butcher's stall—complete with drainage systems he had spent two days arguing about with the plumbers.
He showed the nearly finished clothing and armor refit station, complete with mannequins, reinforced storage lockers, and a sewing area big enough to house a full leatherworking setup.
They passed the open plaza, which was already beginning to take shape despite being little more than a hollowed-out stretch of ground surrounded by unfinished stone pathways.
"Still rough," Sturges said, scratching his head. "But once we get the flooring in, the concrete mix arrives next week and it'll be a beauty. Caravaners are gonna drool."
"And the defensive layout?" Sico asked.
Sturges grinned. "Ah, knew you'd ask. Take a look."
He dragged Sico toward the far western edge where workers were installing a series of thick posts in the ground with angled, reinforced, and spaced with mathematical precision.
"Barrier posts," Sturges explained. "Look like decorative supports, but they're actually defensive anchors. If we need to turn the market into a fortified chokepoint, we can attach metal shielding between each post in about ninety seconds."
Sico's brows rose. "Sturges… that's brilliant."
Sturges pretended to polish his nails against his shirt. "I have my moments."
"And the emergency evacuation routes?"
"Two main ones," Sturges replied, pointing. "South through the orchard for settlers, east through the gate for caravans. Both lead to defensible terrain."
Sico nodded again, impressed, and relieved.
The market wouldn't just be functional.
It would be safe.
They continued walking, and soon they reached the side of the ridge where scaffolding climbed nearly twenty feet high. Workers moved along it carefully, installing the framework for what looked like a large, two-story building.
Sico's eyes narrowed. "This wasn't on the original blueprint."
Sturges scratched the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. "Yeah, uh… this one was my idea."
Sico raised an eyebrow. "Explain."
Sturges motioned toward the structure. "Well… the market's gonna bring in caps. And caps attract problems. And you keep sayin' you want Sanctuary to be self-sufficient, efficient, and organized. So I figured…"
He took a deep breath.
"That ridge building is gonna be the Trade Administration Office. Storage for records, caps, manifests, trade logs. A place for caravan leaders to check in and out. A tax office. A space for meetings. A centralized hub for all market-related operations."
Sico blinked.
Then blinked again.
"…You built a city hall for the market district?"
Sturges braced himself. "Uh… basically."
Sico stared at the structure for a long moment.
Then he grinned.
"A good idea," he said quietly. "A very good idea."
Sturges' shoulders relaxed visibly. "Really? You're not mad I didn't wait for approval?"
"Sturges," Sico said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "you've worked beside me long enough to know what I want for this settlement. What I dream for it. That building is exactly the direction we need to grow."
Sturges broke into a grin of pure relief. "Well damn, that's good to hear."
They walked again, making their way to a table covered in blueprints and sketches. Sturges grabbed the ones showing the next phases of construction from lighting, roofing, internal supports, vendor layouts, plumbing, electrical systems and spread them out so Sico could see everything clearly.
Sico studied each sheet slowly, methodically, absorbing every detail.
Workers passed nearby, carrying lumber, dragging cables, mixing concrete, or shouting for help. The air was warm with the scent of freshly cut wood and sweat. It wasn't glamorous work, but it was honest, and Sanctuary thrived on honesty.
As Sico leaned over the blueprints, Sturges crossed his arms.
"Well?" he asked, bracing for impact. "What do you think?"
Sico didn't answer immediately.
He took a step back, letting his eyes roam across the entire construction zone with the scaffolding, the market hall, the trade office, the vendor lots, the plaza, the workers moving in perfect unintentional rhythm.
He let it sink in, all of it.
Then he spoke.
"It's beautiful," Sico said softly.
Sturges froze, expression shifting from confusion… to surprise… to pride.
"Really?" he asked.
Sico nodded. "This… all of this… it's the future. Not just buildings. Not just walls and roofs. This is community. This is growth. This is what the Commonwealth needs. What we need."
He turned to Sturges.
"You and your team are doing incredible work."
Sturges swallowed once, then forced his tone back into its usual playful bravado. "Well, boss, we try. Can't let you down, can we?"
"You never have," Sico said.
They shared a moment of quiet, rare and genuine.
But then Sturges clapped his hands loudly. "Alright! Heartfelt moment over! Let's get back to makin' this place prettier than Diamond City on bath day!"
Workers laughed. Someone yelled "We don't get paid enough for this emotional rollercoaster!"
Sico laughed too, shaking his head.
Sico didn't hesitate when Sturges and the crew moved back toward the half-finished market hall. He stepped into rhythm beside them, boots crunching through gravel and sawdust as if he'd been part of the construction team since sunrise. A few workers shot him amused looks, one even nudging another with a grin as if to say look who's joining the labor force today.
Sturges glanced back with a knowing smirk. "Decidin' to get your hands dirty today, boss?"
Sico rolled up his sleeves. "Thinking about it."
"Oh hell," one of the workers muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Sturges, hide the measuring tape before he redesigns the whole ridge."
Laughter skipped across the site, light and genuine with the kind that only came from people accustomed to long days and shared exhaustion. Sico shook his head, amused, as he stepped into the cluster of workers preparing support beams for the west wall of the market hall.
It felt good.
Really good.
Not the adrenaline of battle, not the sterile intensity of hospital corridors, not the heavy pressure of commanding troops or handling political decisions. This was different as it was grounding, solid, tactile. The weight of lumber in his hands, the grit beneath his fingernails, the thrum of effort humming through the air, as all of it connected him to Sanctuary in a way that leadership alone never could.
He picked up one end of a long beam, bracing it on his shoulder as Sturges motioned for him to help carry it to the scaffold.
"Careful now," Sturges warned with mock seriousness. "Wouldn't want our mighty Freemasons leader to sprain somethin' lifting a piece of wood."
Sico smirked. "I'll try not to embarrass myself."
"You already do by measuring everything to the millimeter," one worker shouted.
Sico barked a laugh. "Precision saves lives."
"Yeah?" another worker replied, hammer clamped between his teeth. "In a market?"
"In my market? Yes."
More laughter.
More warmth.
More life.
When they set the beam down beside the scaffolding, Sturges dusted off his gloves and studied Sico with a thoughtful expression that not judgmental, not scrutinizing, but something closer to appreciation.
"You know," Sturges said, shifting the pencil behind his ear, "you don't gotta do this. No one expects the man runnin' a whole Republic to be out here swinging hammers with us."
Sico shrugged lightly. "Maybe they don't. But I want to."
Sturges let out a satisfied grunt. "Then welcome to the crew for the day. Just don't boss us around too much."
"No promises."
They moved on to the next section as the structural supports for the trading stalls. Workers were leveling the foundation stones while others hammered metal brackets into place. Sico fell into step beside them seamlessly, helping hoist materials, stabilizing planks, and holding pieces steady while Sturges or Jun wired reinforcement rods.
Time passed differently in a place like this, slower in the best way. The sun rose higher, warming the ridge and casting deeper shadows beneath the scaffolding. Sweat gathered at Sico's temple, rolled down his neck, and soaked into the collar of his shirt. It didn't bother him. If anything, it made him feel more rooted.
More human.
More connected to the people whose lives depended on the work done here.
At one point, a younger settler named Matt that has freckles, wide eyes, full of restless energy are jogged up with a coil of wiring.
"Sturges! Got the spare copper you wanted!"
"Good man," Sturges said. "Bring it over here. Sico's helpin' today."
Matt blinked, staring at Sico like he'd just been told Deathclaws made good pets. "Uh… helping? Helping helping? Like real work?"
Sico nodded. "Real work."
Matt broke into a grin. "Damn, okay! Didn't think I'd live to see the day."
Sico smirked. "Don't get used to it."
"No sir, I won't! But… it's kinda cool."
The kid ran off with a bounce in his step.
Sturges snorted. "You made his month."
"He needs higher standards," Sico muttered.
They kept working.
And working.
And working.
And the ridge slowly transformed.
Support beams rose. Framework walls took shape. Floors were leveled. Storage crates were organized. And all the while, Sico moved among them not as the leader, not as the commander, but as one more pair of hands dedicated to building something that mattered.
Eventually, during a quiet lull where half the team fetched water and the other half reorganized materials, Sico found himself standing beside Sturges again as both of them looking over the construction from atop a short rise of land.
The view stretched wide and proud. A field of potential molded by sweat, wood, metal, and labor. The market hall's skeleton stood tall now, casting wide shadows over the ground. The vendor lots were outlined with freshly placed planks. The plaza foundation was marked out with stakes, string, and chalk. The trade office loomed over everything like a guardian, overseeing the sprawling district.
Sico let out a slow breath.
"Sturges," he said, breaking the quiet in a low calm voice, "once the market is finished… what next? What will you build after this is done?"
Sturges didn't answer immediately.
He took a moment, shading his eyes with one hand as he surveyed the ridge. His expression shifted from curiosity to thoughtfulness to something more grounded with a practicality mixed with vision.
"Well," Sturges said eventually, "figured you'd ask that sooner or later."
He nudged the dirt with the toe of his boot, then pointed toward the southern edge of the ridge, the drop-off that overlooked the forested stretch of land leading out toward the old highway.
"Truth is," Sturges continued, "after we finish the market, what I wanna build next is proper watchtowers along the whole southern ridge."
Sico turned his head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and quiet approval. "Watchtowers?"
Sturges nodded firmly. "Yup. Haven't built 'em yet. Our defenses on this side are basically just the wall. Got turrets and patrol routes, sure, but nothing high. Nothing that gets us a view over the treeline. We're blind from this angle."
He pointed again toward the horizon.
"See those ridges and that dip just before the highway? That's ambush territory. Raiders, wildlife, hell, even Brotherhood scouts as they could sneak right up if we're not careful. No elevation means no early warning."
Sico's eyes darkened slightly at the mention of Brotherhood scouts.
And Sturges noticed.
"We ain't in immediate danger," Sturges added, "but it's better to build defenses before they're needed. Especially now that we're turning this whole ridge into a place of business. More caps, more caravans, more people that means more attention."
Sico nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
"And how many towers did you have in mind?" he asked.
Sturges scratched the side of his face with his pencil. "Eight tall ones, spaced evenly. Maybe a smaller lookout post between 'em. Big enough for a guard to stand, rest, and keep a rifle steady. Reinforced with metal plating. Good sightlines over the valley. The type of towers that make a man think twice before tryin' anything stupid."
Sico's expression softened with the kind of approval he rarely allowed himself to show openly.
"That's smart," he murmured.
Sturges huffed. "I have a moment every now and then."
"You have more than moments. Your instincts are good, Sturges. Better than good."
Sturges gave him a sideways look with a mixture of pride, embarrassment, and that stubborn refusal to take a compliment too seriously.
"Well… someone's gotta think ahead," he muttered. "Figure if we're building a future out here, might as well make it one that doesn't get blown up the minute raiders decide they're bored."
They stood together for a while, quiet but comfortable while watching the workers hustle across the ridge, listening to the hammering echo through the valley, feeling the warm wind brush across their faces.
Sanctuary wasn't just expanding.
It was evolving.
Becoming something new, something stronger.
And Sico could feel it that not in his mind, not in logistics or planning charts, but deep in his chest.
A pulse.
A heartbeat.
A promise.
He drew in a slow breath before speaking again.
"Then we'll build the watchtowers," Sico said with quiet certainty. "All eight. As soon as the market is finished, the watchtowers are next."
Sturges eyed him. "You serious?"
"Completely."
A wide grin broke across Sturges' face. "Hell yeah. I was hopin' you'd say that."
Sico returned the grin with a small one of his own. "Start drawing up the blueprints tonight."
"Already halfway done," Sturges admitted shamelessly.
Sico chuckled. "Of course you are."
A worker called out for Sturges then about something about a misaligned joint on the north frame and Sturges gave Sico a quick pat on the arm.
"Come on, boss. Break time's over. You're part of the crew today whether you like it or not."
Sico rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and followed.
"Lead the way."
Then Sico spent his day helping Sturges and his team, and it wasn't long before he realized that he'd made a decision without ever consciously deciding it as today, he wasn't the leader behind a desk, he wasn't the commander issuing orders from a briefing room, he wasn't the strategist that plan ther next step on the map.
Today, he was on the ground.
Hands dirty.
Arms aching.
Sweat cooling on his skin as the sun drifted past its peak.
And for once, it felt like the world wasn't pulling him in five different directions. It felt like he'd stepped out of the constant hum of demands and burdens and politics and decision-making… and finally, finally exhaled.
It didn't mean the responsibility disappeared. It never did. The weight just shifted that redistributed, softened, settling somewhere deeper, somewhere steadier. Instead of crushing, it grounded him.
Every time he lifted a beam with another settler, every time he steadied a plank so Jun could drill, every time he double-checked a measurement with a worker who teased him for being "too damn precise," Sico felt the same subtle truth creeping in:
This is my duty too. This right here. Touching the work. Shaping the future with my own hands.
Not watching from above.
Not merely approving blueprints.
Not giving orders from afar.
Being here. Being part of it. Being one of them.
The day stretched long and wide, full of motion and sound as hammer strikes ringing through the air, saws rasping through metal, the murmur of workers coordinating, the occasional curse when someone dropped a tool or mismeasured a panel. Dust hung in sunbeams like drifting gold. Sweat stained shirts and gloves. Boots beat steady rhythms into the ground.
And Sico breathed in all of it.
He carried crates of supplies with two other workers, their arms shaking but refusing to admit it. He steadied ladders while Sturges climbed up to inspect joints. He helped Matt which is the bright-eyed freckled kid to haul wiring across the ridge, the young man talking nonstop about how the market would bring more travelers, more trade, maybe even a barber one day, "because damn, sir, we all need haircuts that don't make us look like we survived an explosion."
He helped Jun figure out how to anchor a corner frame after the soil shifted under it unexpectedly.
He fetched nails, held panels, wiped grime from his forehead, and kept pace with the men and women who built Sanctuary not with orders or ideals, but with sweat and stubborn determination.
And every single time someone looked at him as Sico could see the shift in their eyes.
Respect, yes.
But something warmer.
Something more… equal.
He wasn't towering over them as the Freemasons' leader.
He wasn't distant.
He wasn't unreachable.
He was here.
With them.
Working the same dirt, carrying the same strain, shaping the same future plank by plank.
By midday, the sun was blazing. The ridge shimmered with heat, tools too warm to touch for long. Sweat stuck shirts to spines, turned gloves slick, made hair cling to foreheads and temples. Sturges finally called for a break, shouting something about how "if y'all pass out, I ain't carryin' anyone to the clinic."
Workers laughed, dropped what they were doing, and made for the shade where water containers sat.
Sico followed, rolling his sore shoulders.
He hadn't realized until then just how many muscles he'd used that hadn't seen a proper workout since before the last major skirmish. His arms hummed, his lower back tugged, and every joint felt like it wanted to lie down and not get back up.
But God, it felt good.
Settlers slumped onto crates, leaned against walls, sat cross-legged on the ground as they passed cups of cold water around. Someone handed Sico one, and he murmured his thanks before taking a long drink.
Sturges joined him a moment later, wiping his forehead with a cloth.
"Not quittin' yet, are ya?" he asked, grinning.
Sico snorted. "Not unless you're about to quit too."
"Hah! Haven't quit a job yet, unless you count that one time a deathclaw chased me outta a repair site."
"Reasonable exception."
They both chuckled softly.
Around them the workers rested, chatted, teased, argued, or simply breathed. Sanctuary lived and moved in its own rhythm, and today, Sico found himself fully immersed in that rhythm in a way he hadn't in a long, long time.
As the break wound down, Matt jogged past with a handful of scrap, waving at Sico. "Ready to get back to it, sir?"
Sico stretched his sore arms. "Lead the way."
Matt beamed, practically glowing with excitement before darting off.
Sturges chuckled low under his breath. "Kid's still buzzin' that you picked up a damn hammer today."
Sico raised a brow. "Is that not allowed?"
"Oh, it's allowed," Sturges said with a shrug. "Just rare. People forget leaders are people. They think you folks eat paperwork for breakfast and sleep sittin' up in a chair."
"I've done that once."
Sturges wheezed with laughter. "You serious?"
"Unfortunately."
"Well," Sturges said, gesturing toward the market hall, "today you get to live like the rest of us schmucks. No desks allowed."
Sico couldn't help but smile. "Good."
They went back to work.
The afternoon dragged with a slow, steady intensity. The sun began its descent, painting the sky with deepening gold and softening shadows. The ridge buzzed with momentum with a good kind, the kind born from progress. Walls rose another foot. A section of roofing went up. Floor planks settled into place with satisfying weight. The shape of the market hall grew more pronounced.
Sico lost himself in the rhythm.
The steady thud of hammers.
The scrape of saws.
The clink of scrap metal.
The murmur of settling dust.
The quiet murmurs between workers coordinating tasks.
Every sound wove together into a single pulse, a single breath, a single heartbeat belonging not to one man but to Sanctuary itself.
What surprised Sico most wasn't the work as he expected the strain, the sweat, the soreness.
It was the conversations.
Simple, human conversations that had nothing to do with troop deployments or Brotherhood movements or Freemason policy. They were about lunch rations, crafting projects, who fixed which turret last week, the debate over whether Deathclaws could swim (Sturges confidently declared "yes they damn can and that's why I don't fish near the old river"). Someone even argued about which brand of pre-war snack cakes tasted best.
For hours, Sico wasn't the decision-maker, the strategist, the one carrying the weight of a Republic on his shoulders.
He was just another guy sharing the afternoon with people who trusted him enough to tease him about how he carried a plank too carefully.
It was grounding in a way he didn't realize he needed until he felt it.
Near sunset, as the day reached its final arc, Sturges clapped his hands together loudly.
"Alright, folks! Let's start closing up for the day! Tools in the crates, scrap sorted, and don't leave anything sharp where someone's gonna step on it!"
Grumbling, laughing, complaining, and exhausted voices sounded across the site as workers wound down. Sico helped gather tools, stacking them neatly into containers while Matt sorted wiring coils beside him.
"You did good today, sir," the kid said earnestly, glancing up at him. "Didn't expect to see you out here all day."
Sico shrugged lightly. "Desk work can wait."
"You sure? Sarah might hunt you down if she finds out you skipped your paperwork."
Sico snorted. "She probably will."
Matt laughed. "Worth it though, right?"
Sico paused.
Looked around.
Took in the golden ridge, the half-finished market glowing in the late light, the tired but satisfied faces of the workers, the hum of progress, the smell of wood, earth, and sweat.
"Yes," he said softly. "It was worth it."
Matt smiled wide. "Then you should do it more often."
Maybe he should.
Sico didn't reply out loud, but he tucked the thought away.
A very real thought.
One that felt like a possibility, not a passing sentiment.
He finished helping Matt coil the last of the wiring, then moved to help Sturges seal up the tool shed. The man leaned his weight onto the latch, satisfied once it clicked shut.
"Well," Sturges said, brushing off his gloves, "hell of a day."
"Productive," Sico agreed.
"More than productive," Sturges shot back with a grin. "You saw how much we got done? That new set of beams? That's half a day's work right there normally. And the alignment on the west wall? Best damn line we've had all month."
"Your team is efficient."
"Yeah, well… morale helps. And you bein' here boosted it."
Sico blinked, caught off guard. "Did it?"
"Hell yeah," Sturges said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Look the people trust you because you keep 'em safe. Because you plan, you lead, you face down threats. But when they see you on the dirt with 'em? Liftin' beams? Holdin' ladders? Sweatin' like the rest of us?"
He paused, meeting Sico's eyes.
"That's when they don't just trust you. They believe in you."
Sico breathed in slowly, the weight and truth of the words settling somewhere deep.
He didn't answer right away.
Didn't need to.
The moment sat between them, warm and grounded.
Finally, Sturges let out a long exhale. "Anyway, that's enough heartfelt crap for one day. Let's go drink somethin' cold before my legs fall off."
Sico actually laughed and nodded. "Agreed."
The workers gathered their things. Some headed toward the communal dinner hall, others toward their homes.
Sico and Sturges walked side by side down the path toward the mess hall, their boots crunching softly over the gravel as the last of the sun's golden light touched the wooden scaffolds and half-built walls. The smell of wood and sawdust lingered in the air, mixing with the faint tang of sweat and the evening breeze that carried whispers of the forest beyond Sanctuary. It was quiet now, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the day's relentless noise of hammers, saws, and shouted instructions.
Sturges let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hell… I don't think I've ever felt this beat up without being chased by Deathclaws."
Sico chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I don't think I have either." He flexed his fingers, still stiff from gripping beams and tools all day, then shook his arms lightly, feeling the lingering ache like a reminder that he had truly been a part of the work.
"You're serious about sticking with us on the field, huh?" Sturges asked, glancing at him with a grin that carried both surprise and a little admiration.
Sico nodded slowly. "Yeah. Desk work can wait. Papers and orders don't build walls. People do."
Sturges whistled softly. "Ain't heard it put that way before, but… yeah, you're right." He pushed open the mess hall door, the creak of worn hinges punctuating the quiet evening. Inside, the long wooden tables smelled faintly of stew and bread, a comforting, earthy aroma that wrapped around the room. The low hum of conversation drifted from a few early diners as the settlers grabbing the evening meal before heading home to bed or to their personal chores.
They moved to the serving line. A tray of stew, thick and hearty, was ladled out for each of them, along with a generous slice of bread. Someone behind the counter set a bottle of chilled beer between them, the condensation beading on the glass. Sturges clapped the bottle once, then looked at Sico. "Here's to surviving the day without killing anyone… well, mostly."
Sico smiled, reaching for the bottle. "Mostly."
They carried their trays to a long wooden table near the window, sunlight fading to soft dusk behind the forest line. The hall was warm, filled with the comforting clatter of utensils, laughter, and murmured conversations. Sico set his tray down, took a breath, and sank into the bench beside Sturges, letting himself relax into the moment.
For a while, they ate in companionable silence, spooning stew, tearing at the bread, the taste of the simple, filling meal almost a reward after the relentless labor of the day. Sico noticed the sweat still dried in streaks across Sturges' shirt, the dust in his hair, the tired grin that refused to fade. It was an honest, grounded kind of fatigue, the kind that carried satisfaction instead of regret.
Finally, Sturges leaned back, wiping his hands on a rag. "So tell me, Sico. How does it feel to get down in the dirt with us mere mortals?"
Sico laughed softly, chewing thoughtfully before answering. "Different." He paused, letting the word settle. "Grounded. Connected. I've spent so long planning, coordinating, managing and today, I just built. I lifted, I steadied, I measured, I hammered. I made something real, with my own hands. And it feels… better than I expected."
Sturges nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Yeah. I get that. There's something about getting your hands dirty… it changes the day, the work, maybe even you a little." He raised his beer in a mock toast. "Here's to a little change, then."
Sico lifted his bottle, clinking it against Sturges'. "To change."
They drank, the golden liquid crisp and cold, the sensation refreshing after hours in the heat. Sico leaned back, letting the bench support him, and studied the mess hall around them. Settlers laughed at jokes over plates of food. The cooks moved behind the counters, bustling efficiently, calling out when trays were ready. Outside, the ridge cast long shadows over the settlement, the first stars beginning to dot the evening sky.
"Y'know," Sturges said after a moment, leaning on his elbows, "I never figured you for the hands-on type. Thought you'd be all speeches and orders, paperwork, and that serious, everything on the line look."
Sico smiled faintly, stirring his stew. "I am all of that too. But sometimes, it's good to step away from the desk. See the work really looks like. Feel it. Touch it. And honestly, I like it. Being part of it, not just directing it."
Sturges chuckled. "Glad to hear it. Makes the rest of us look less lazy, too, when the big boss is sweating right along with us." He gestured at Sico's still-strong, though slightly stiff, arms. "Though I'll admit, didn't think I'd see the day when you'd haul beams without complaining."
Sico shrugged with a grin. "I complain quietly in my head. And sometimes, just a little out loud."
They shared a laugh, and the noise of the mess hall seemed to wrap around them like a warm blanket. It was a rare moment, one without tension, without orders or pressure, without the present weight of responsibility pressing against Sico's chest.
For a while, they talked about simpler things. The layout of the market, the details of the new watchtowers Sturges planned, the improvements that could be made to the irrigation system for the orchards nearby, even the debate over which pre-war snack cakes actually deserved the title of "best." Sturges spoke with his usual mix of humor and insight, Sico listening, occasionally adding his thoughts, occasionally just nodding and letting the conversation flow.
At one point, Sturges leaned back, eyes reflecting the dimming light. "You know, you bein' out there today… it does more than just get work done. It changes how people see themselves too. They see someone in charge who ain't afraid to sweat. Who ain't afraid to get his hands dirty. Gives 'em… hope, I guess."
Sico considered this, picking at a corner of his bread. "Hope is powerful," he said softly. "It's worth more than any blueprint, more than any fortified wall. You give people a chance to believe they're building something real, something they can protect… they'll work harder than anything else."
Sturges nodded, his grin softened into something more genuine. "Yeah. And you well, you just reminded me why I do what I do. Not just for caps, or orders, or walls but for people. For Sanctuary. For the future."
Sico looked out the window at the ridge, the half-finished market bathed in the soft glow of dusk, and felt the truth of Sturges' words deep in his chest. Every beam they'd lifted, every nail hammered, every sweat-streaked forehead and tired grin as it was all part of building something more than just a settlement.
It was a promise. A heartbeat. A home.
Sico lifted his beer again, and Sturges followed suit. "To the market," Sico said, voice low but firm.
"To the market," Sturges echoed.
They drank in quiet solidarity, the last of the sun slipping behind the horizon. Outside, the first fires of lanterns and torches glimmered across the settlement, reflecting on the polished wood of the unfinished structures. The ridge smelled of earth, sweat, and wood of life in motion, of progress, of work done and work still to come.
________________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-