The sun shone bright above the beach, the sky filled with puffy white clouds and sunbeams falling through them. The ocean lapped against the shore, turning the sand cool and squishy, perfect for sinking your toes into. Desdemona crept forward, stopping when the waves brushed against her toes and soaked her shoes. Her hair blew in the cool coastal winds, faint sea spray sprinkling her skin. Distantly, she heard the obnoxious Diamond City radio being played full blast. The sound grew louder, along with the squealing of peeling tires.

Her face softened. "They're here."

She watched as the sound grew louder and a black convertible came around the corner, pulling to a stop alongside the road, an Old World big band blasting from its speakers. As soon as the tires slowed, a lanky figure hopped over the side. Red curls framed a skinny face, and he wore overalls over faded t-shirt, his scandals leaving thin prints in the sand. "We're here!"

"Calm down," came a surly, familiar voice. "Donny, stay in the fuckin' car. Deacon, get your-"

A small child yelled happily. Two figures emerged from the front seat of the car. One of them had a small, red-headed child balanced on his shoulders. "I've got it, Morgan, it's fine."

"It's not fine, it-"

Their voices faded away. There was some bickering. The two figures stood close to each other, gesturing. The small child yelled again. The taller, lankier one ran over, taking the child from the tallest person's shoulders. Then they parted, the two redheads and the tall man going to the edge of the water, and the woman wandered over to Desdemona.

"Hello, Des."

"Hello, Morgan." Behind them, the lanky teen helped the small child into the water, the baby giggling as the ocean washed up over its toes. The tall figure sat down on the beach, stretching his legs.

"It's been a long time." Morgan's eyes flickered over her form. Des had gained some weight since they parted. No longer was she skeletal from years of poor eating and stress. Her eyes were less shadowy, but pain lurked behind them. Morgan's eyes rested on the apparatus jutting from Desdemona's left elbow. "How's that been working out for you?"

Des shrugged. "Tom got it working for me. I suppose the Institute is good for something." For emphasis, she tapped the fingers of her arm together, the metal clicking and grinding against itself.

Morgan's eyes drifted down to the sand, where a simple wooden cross stood above a grassy part of the beach. "This her?"

Des nodded. "She liked the beach," she said, quietly. "She liked the way it went on for miles and miles, never ending. Not like the confinement of the Institute. I thought it was fitting."

"It is." Morgan sighed, glancing back at the people behind her.

Desdemona followed her gaze. "Is she yours?"

The small child had red hair, though a lighter shade and less curly than Donny's. Bright blue eyes and a cherubic face, she toddled around in a simple dress, clinging to Donny or Deacon, chasing and fleeing the waves as they pushed and pulled against the sands. Morgan shrugged. "It's… what we wanted," she said. "While we still could. While I still could. We're not getting any younger." She ran a hand through her hair, grimacing. "I found a gray hair the other day."

Desdemona chuckled, gray streaks already visible in her thinning locks. "Welcome to approaching forty."

"Yeah." Morgan scratched her nose. "Donny's getting so big. I just wish he'd grow width-wise instead of length-wise. He eats like a goddamn yao guai and he's still all bone."

"Boys that age are like that. Has he started chasing after girls yet?"

"Not that I know of. He spends all his time in the garage with Deacon, fiddling with their cars or inventions or jet-powered sleds. Don't ask. Saoirse is a good girl, though. She takes after Deacon." She pursed her lips. "Though it's sometimes trying to be surrounded by gingers all the time."

"That's the Boston Irish for you." Desdemona glanced at the ground. "Virgil went off with the Brotherhood, you know. They sent a vertibird to deliver the serum to his cave. Last I heard, they're trying to weaponize that same serum against the mutants. Maybe even come up with a ghoul version."

"That's good. Well, at least the part about Virgil getting what he wanted."

"Mhm." Desdemona stared at the profile of the other woman's face for a moment. "Why?"

"Why what?" Morgan met her eyes.

"Why did you disappear?"

Morgan exhaled, her shoulders slumping. "I think we just needed time away for a while. We didn't mean to go off the grid, really. We wanted somewhere to recuperate. But then camping by a ruined house became living in the ruined house. Living in the ruined house became rebuilding the ruined house. Then we wanted a garden. Then a garden became Brahmin. Then we decided we wanted a baby. Then we wanted the baby to be a little older before we went anywhere. One month becomes a year, one year becomes two, and then…" She waved a hand. "Five years have gone by."

Des nodded. "Life sneaks up on you that way."
They stood and watched the others play in the water. Saoirse was making mud pies with Deacon. Donny had his overalls rolled up to his knees, and was rooting through the beach for seashells and crabs. Morgan spoke, still staring at her family. "I don't know if we'll live long enough to see them have children," she admitted. "I might live a while longer, but Deacon… Deacon's older than I am. We don't know how much time we have left. We're just trying to make the most of it."

"That's all we can do." Des swallowed, and extended a hand. "I'm sorry. For everything."

Morgan looked back at her. She exhaled, and returned the handshake. "I'm sorry, too."

Then the others wandered over. Deacon said hello, making blithe small talk about how Saorise had just started shooting lasers out of her eyes and was walking by three months. Donny gushed over the infant, and asked if Tinker Tom was going to be at the reunion. They all piled into the car and continued the journey, driving up the winding coastal paths to the Castle.

There had been some debate over when to hold the reunion. Some wanted it to be on Christmas, when the Institute had fallen. Others said they wanted to be with their families, but would be okay with having it in the winter months. Others said they wanted a summertime celebration, when it would be warm instead of freezing and everyone's crops would be planted. Eventually it was decided that the five-year reunion would occur on the summer solstice.

When they reached the Castle, they saw Minutemen and Brotherhood pacing along the battlements, walking side by side like old friends. The wide courtyard inside the Castle was full to the brim with people. Settlers, farmers, synths who'd been there during the Great Invasion. Z1 wasn't attending - he was at the Boston Airport, protesting against the ostracization of synths even after they'd been cleared by the Brotherhood.

Maxson wasn't at the Airport. He was in one of the corners, surrounded by his most top-ranking Paladins, nursing a glass of brandy and awkwardly flirting with a rather pretty Railroad agent. Preston and his wife were showing off their new baby to the younger recruits, while Preston regaled them with stories of what it had been like to take the Institute. Tinker Tom and Ingram were at a table in the corner, Tom eyeing her adoringly and offering to get her another drink. He'd modified her power armor in the years since the battle, so now she only wore it from the waist down, her thick torso exposed to the air.

Donny ran off to say hello to Tom, waving ecstatically. Morgan caught sight of one of the Diamond City reporters weaving through the crowd, brandishing a tape recorder and accosting anyone who'd talk to her. She had well-fitted pants and a loose white overshirt, and a mauve reporters cap balanced on a head of thick, dark hair. Morgan watched Des's eyes follow her through the crowd, and laughed. "Maybe there's someone you can talk to, after all," she said, giving Des a sly smile.

Desdemona cleared her throat and avoided the topic. "I'm going to go get a drink."

Morgan lingered near the door of the Castle, watching everyone file in and out. Carrington seemed to be flirting drunkenly with one of the Minuteman engineers, a burly man in overalls and a Southern drawl. People talked and laughed and shared stories. Some of the veterans were hunched over a bar in the corner, talking lowly amongst themselves. Morgan watched Donny follow Tom like a lost puppy, the two of them hunching over a strange bundle of tubes and fuses.

"You know," Morgan remarked, as Deacon padded up behind her. "I can't tell if Donny wants to be Tom, or has a crush on Tom."

Saorise squirmed, and Deacon handed her to Morgan, the infant curling her tiny fingers into Morgan's shirt. "Maybe he's a narcissist and it's both," Deacon suggested.

"Somehow I doubt it," she replied. Then the food was served, and Maxson gave a speech about how Institute technology had been repurposed to serve the people, and everyone cheered. "Pretty words from a man who wanted a start a war over some cabbage seeds," Morgan snorted.

"Well, you know. Assholes like taking credit for everyone else's achievements." Deacon pressed a kiss to Saoirse's chubby cheek.

As the celebrations went on and the sun approached the horizon, the creatures of the night emerged. Or, in other words, the residents of Goodneighbor showed up to party. John Hancock was there, giving Maxson a pleasant smile as he took a big bite of out a Brotherhood apple. Maxson's jaw tightened, and he stalked away, glowering over to the bar.

John had been trying to claim Goodneighbor as an independent settlement, even as Diamond City and Bunker Hill agreed to join Minutemen territory. Hancock stubbornly resisted the idea of letting anyone else have dominion over his city, and proceeded to expand his borders almost spitefully. Goodneighbor had become the Good Neighborhood, and housed many of the synths that escaped the Institute five years ago. Z1 wasn't a fan of this arrangement, however, and compared it to confining synths to ghettos rather than welcoming them into regular settlements.

This whole party was really a feeble attempt to maintain a precarious peace. The Brotherhood had been getting more uppity as the Minutemen took more and more territory. As the Minutemen became an actual political force, the Brotherhood couldn't shake down farms and towns for supplies without putting themselves at risk of war. Giving them the Institute military technology had created a bittersweet outcome, further empowering an increasingly agitated military power.

The Brotherhood wanted to take back the Commonwealth and accrue more resources. The Railroad and Minutemen had somewhat combined into a singular faction, being the more progressive of the two forces. Soon, a definitive treaty would have to be written up, and both powers forced to abide by it, or a new conflict would break out.

But tonight, Morgan tried not to worry about that.

By nightfall, the fairy lights strung up around the Castle lit up, and a group was playing music for everyone else to dance to. Morgan noticed, smirking, that Des had managed to coerce the cute young reporter into dancing with her. Ingram was clumsily dancing with her lanky, adoring Tinker. Donny was still fiddling with those tubes and fuses on the battlements, though he seemed to be sneaking glances at a few of the younger Minutemen.

"Why aren't you dancing, hero?" Preston prodded, coming up from behind the pair.

"I don't dance," Morgan stated, adjusting Saorise on her hip.

"My boss doesn't dance," Deacon explained.

"Here." Preston reached for the toddler. "Let me take this pretty girl off your hands, and you guys can have a nice night."

"My night would be nicer if I didn't-"

"Come on, Morgan," Deacon said. "Please? Just this once. Let the nice man take the baby."

Morgan shot Deacon a look, but acquiesced, handing Saorise to the General. "Careful, she doesn't like being held like anyone that she doesn't know, she might-"

Preston took the toddler and rested her on his hip with ease. Saorise settled into his grip, giving him a chipper "hi" and relaxing easily. The young man flashed Morgan a bright, toothy smile, one of his trademarked Prince Charming grins. "Don't you guys worry about a thing. We'll be right here."

Goddamn fairytale princes. Morgan sighed and gave in. "Fine. Come on, Deacon."

So Deacon whisked her into the courtyard, where they blended in with the other bodies rocking to the fast beat of the live music. Morgan gave it a half-hearted effort, spending most of her time hiding smiles as Deacon reenacted Pre-War dance moves. "That was out of style when I was a kid, Deacon," she said, as he bobbed his head obnoxiously.

"It's retro," he quipped, and she chuckled.

"Attention! Attention!" Donny's voice rang out over the music. The musicians quieted down and everyone looked up. Donny beamed. "We have a special surprise for you tonight! Would the children and the elderly put their hands over their ears?"

Morgan glanced over to make sure Preston had his hands over Saorise's ears. She looked back, and Deacon had his fingers in his ears. She pulled his hands away. "Which are you?" she asked. "Child or an elderly?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Ready!" Donny boomed. He pressed the end of a burning stick to the fuses of the lined up tubes. Then, one by one, they went off, spewing colored sparks into the air and exploding in a glittering firework, contrasted against the night sky. People cheered, gasping and clapping as various patterns were formed in the sparks.

Morgan leaned back against Deacon's chest as they watched the fireworks, his arm wrapped around her hip, her head resting against the curve of his neck. She could feel the thrum of his heart against her back as each firework whistled and popped in the sky, sparkling bits of ash falling into the ocean. The warm summer night circled her skin like a comforting blanket, leaving her cozy but not overheated. The stars twinkled, and the musicians started up again, playing along as the fireworks flew.

Five years. Six and a half, since she'd entered the Commonwealth. How much things had changed. There were very few times in her life where she had been truly happy, where her joy hadn't been tainted by fear or loneliness. Meeting Nate had been one of those times. Moving to Sanctuary had been another. And, now…

Now, Morgan thought, the fireworks reflected in her pale eyes, I think this is a happy ending.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened I got to raise Sean, instead of... what did.

I'm sorry I never got to live that life. I'm sorry my husband and my baby were taken from me. I'm sorry so many people died - Pre-War, Post-War, everything. I wish things could have been different. We all do. Anybody who says they're completely happy with their life is either on a lot of drugs or really dumb. I wish things could have been, but somehow, I don't wish they ended differently.

They say war never changes. And, I guess, they're right. I heard someone say once that a man could look in the mirror and start a fight with his reflection. But I think when people say "war never changes," they really mean… people never change. And that's a different statement.

People will always fight with each other. They'll always go to war for silly reasons, always act petty, always have their immature resentments. But, by proxy, people will always try to rebuild. They will always try to protect the innocent. They will always stand up for what they think is right. And, given time, they will always stand up and fight when given the chance. When given hope.

So, maybe war never changes. But neither does humanity. And as long as there are humans - or ghouls, or synths, or what have you - walking this earth, then by God, I think we stand a chance.

Rest in peace, Nate. I hope you're proud of me.