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And somewhere out there, beyond the trees and broken roads, people were watching the convoy and recalculating their odds.
The convoy was gone by the time the gates closed.
Sanctuary exhaled that not in relief, but in transition. The kind that followed decisive movement. The kind that told everyone, without needing words, that yesterday's tension had turned into today's momentum.
People went back to work.
Children were shepherded to lessons. Mechanics returned to half-disassembled generators. Traders reopened stalls that had been shuttered for the night. Guards rotated shifts, helmets exchanged for caps, rifles leaned against walls while fresh hands took watch.
Life resumed.
But it resumed sharper.
The next day did not begin with alarms.
It began with paperwork.
Sico sat alone in his office at Freemasons Headquarters, sleeves rolled up, jacket draped over the back of his chair. Sunlight filtered in through the reinforced window, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily above stacks of reports and open ledgers.
He had already signed off on three patrol redeployments, approved Magnolia's revised distribution schedule, and annotated Sarah's preliminary recon notes with quiet, deliberate comments: good, follow this, too exposed to adjust.
The world didn't pause just because one crisis had been contained.
It layered.
He was halfway through reviewing a logistics report with one that detailed fuel consumption for the added Humvees when the door to his office burst open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Jenny stood there, breathless.
Not nervous.
Urgent.
"Sico," she said, not bothering with rank or protocol, "you need to come. Now."
Sico looked up slowly.
Jenny didn't interrupt him lightly.
"What happened?" he asked.
She swallowed once. "It's Preston. And Albert. They're—" She hesitated, then blurted it out. "They're fighting. At the mess hall."
That got his attention.
Sico pushed his chair back and stood immediately, paperwork forgotten. He didn't ask why. Didn't ask who started it.
Those questions could wait.
"Lead," he said.
Jenny turned and moved quickly down the corridor, Sico falling into step beside her. Their boots echoed off the concrete floors as they passed clerks and officers who looked up, startled by the speed of their movement.
"What kind of fight?" Sico asked as they walked.
Jenny shook her head. "Not words."
Of course it wasn't.
The mess hall was already loud by the time they reached it.
Not with shouting though there was some of that but with the low, charged murmur of people packed together, the sound of a crowd that knew it was witnessing something it probably shouldn't be, but wasn't going to look away from.
Soldiers lined the outer edges of the space, not intervening, but ready. Freemasons office staff stood shoulder to shoulder behind them, faces tight with concern, curiosity, or something darker and more entertained.
Sico slowed as they approached the entrance.
He didn't push through immediately.
He listened.
The sound of furniture scraping.
A grunt.
A sharp crack as a fist connected with something solid.
Jenny winced.
"Yeah," she muttered. "That kind of fighting."
Sico stepped inside.
The mess hall had been rearranged into chaos.
Tables shoved aside. Chairs overturned. One long bench lay splintered near the center of the room, evidence of how far things had already gone.
Preston stood near the middle, coat discarded, knuckles bloodied, chest heaving. His expression wasn't wild, but it was tight, coiled, the kind of fury that came from restraint snapping rather than recklessness.
Opposite him was Albert.
Armor half-unbuckled, lip split, one eye already swelling. He looked just as angry but where Preston's rage was contained, Albert's burned outward, raw and unfiltered.
Robert stood between them, arms outstretched, trying desperately to keep distance where neither man seemed interested in giving any.
"Enough!" Robert barked. "Both of you, enough!"
MacCready was there too, circling to Preston's side, hands raised, voice sharp but measured.
"Preston," he said, "this isn't worth it, man. Whatever he said, whatever he did—"
Albert lunged again.
Preston met him halfway.
They collided with a force that sent both of them staggering, fists flying, boots scraping against the floor as the crowd collectively sucked in a breath.
"Come on!" MacCready shouted, grabbing Preston's arm. "That's an order!"
Across the room, Hancock leaned casually against a support pillar, arms crossed, grin wide and unapologetic.
"Oh, this is great," he said loudly. "I leave Sanctuary for one morning and come back to a bare-knuckle showdown? You people are finally loosening up."
No one laughed.
Sarah Lyons pushed through the crowd from the opposite side.
Her expression wasn't amused.
It was furious.
"Albert!" she snapped.
He didn't hear her.
Or didn't want to.
He swung again, wild, furious and that was when Sarah grabbed him.
Not gently.
She wrapped an arm around his chest from behind and hauled him backward with a strength that surprised even some of the soldiers watching.
"Stop it!" she shouted, planting her feet and dragging him away from Preston. "Enough!"
Albert struggled, breath ragged, but Sarah didn't loosen her grip.
"Let go!" he yelled. "He—"
"Shut up!" she cut in. "You're bleeding, you're embarrassing yourself, and you're not finishing this!"
Curie appeared near Preston's side, medkit already open, eyes darting between injuries like she was triaging a battlefield.
"Oh my," she said softly, concern laced with urgency. "You are both injured. This is very inefficient."
She reached for Preston's hand.
"Please," she said, "allow me to—"
"I'm fine," Preston snapped, pulling his hand back.
Curie blinked, then nodded quickly. "Later, then. But you are not fine."
The room vibrated with tension.
And then Sico stepped forward.
He didn't shout.
He didn't raise his voice at all.
"Enough."
The word cut through the mess hall like a blade.
Not loud.
Final.
Every head turned.
Preston froze mid-breath.
Albert stopped struggling.
Even Hancock straightened slightly, grin dimming just a fraction.
Sico stood at the edge of the circle, hands at his sides, expression unreadable.
He looked at Preston first.
Then Albert.
Then at the damage with the overturned tables, the blood on the floor, the soldiers standing uncertainly, the civilians watching with too much interest and not enough restraint.
"This ends now," Sico said calmly.
No one argued.
He stepped closer.
"Robert," he said, "MacCready, step back."
They did.
"Sarah," Sico continued, "you can let go."
Sarah hesitated, then slowly released Albert, though she stayed close, one hand still gripping his arm like she was ready to restrain him again if needed.
Sico faced Albert.
"Explain," he said.
That alone unsettled the room.
Albert stood there breathing hard, jaw tight, blood at the corner of his mouth drying into something darker. Sarah was beside him, one hand hovering near his arm, her face pale in a way few people had ever seen. Preston stood opposite, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on the floor for a heartbeat before lifting again.
"Explain," Sico repeated, voice still level. "Slowly."
Albert let out a harsh laugh that had no humor in it at all.
"Slow?" he said. "You want it slow?"
A few people shifted uneasily. Someone near the back whispered something that got shushed immediately.
Albert wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, then pointed that not wildly, but deliberately at Preston.
"He tried to take my wife," Albert said. "Or maybe he already did."
The words landed like a dropped plate.
For half a second, the mess hall forgot how to breathe.
Then the whispers started.
Low at first. Sharp. Disbelieving.
"No way."
"Did he just say—"
"Sarah Lyons?"
"That's… that's Preston Garvey—"
A scandal didn't need shouting to spread. It only needed enough oxygen.
Sarah froze.
Not stiffened. Not braced.
Froze.
Her eyes widened slightly, her mouth parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. She looked from Albert to Preston, then to the ring of faces surrounding them, and it was painfully clear that she had not been prepared for this moment. Not here. Not like this.
Sico felt the shift instantly. He could feel the settlement recalibrating around a single accusation.
"Careful," he said quietly, eyes never leaving Albert. "Words like that don't get taken back."
Albert laughed again, sharper this time.
"You think I don't know that?" he shot back. "You think I wanted to say it like this?"
He turned fully toward Sico now.
"I followed her," Albert said. "Because I knew something was wrong."
That got more murmurs. Louder ones.
Sarah finally found her voice.
"Albert," she said, strained, "stop. Please."
He didn't look at her.
"I followed her," he repeated. "One night. Told myself I was being paranoid. Told myself I was imagining things. But I watched her walk right up to his house."
Preston's jaw clenched.
Albert jabbed a finger toward him again.
"She went inside," Albert continued. "Didn't knock like a colleague. Didn't hesitate. Just walked in like she belonged there."
Preston took a step forward.
"That's not—"
"Five hours," Albert snapped, cutting him off. "Five hours later, she comes out."
The room was utterly silent now.
Albert's voice dropped, but it didn't soften.
"And before she left," he said, "she kissed him. Right here." He touched his own cheek with two fingers. "Not friendly. Not quick. Like someone who didn't think anyone was watching."
Sarah's knees nearly buckled.
She grabbed the edge of the nearest table to steady herself, knuckles white. Her face had gone completely bloodless.
"That's not what it was," Preston said immediately, finally raising his voice. "It wasn't like that."
Sico held up a hand, stopping him mid-step.
"You'll get your turn," Sico said.
Preston forced himself to stop, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked.
Sico looked back to Albert.
"You're saying you believe your wife is cheating on you," Sico said evenly, "with Preston."
"I don't believe it," Albert said bitterly. "I saw it."
The whispers surged again, impossible to contain now.
"This is bad."
"Inside the Republic?"
"Preston wouldn't—"
"Sarah wouldn't either—"
"Would they?"
Hancock let out a low whistle.
"Well," he muttered, "this just went from entertaining to catastrophic."
"Quiet," Sarah snapped suddenly, her voice breaking through the murmur like a whip crack.
Everyone looked at her.
She straightened slowly, letting go of the table. Her eyes were glassy, but there was steel underneath, buried deep and trembling.
"That's not what happened," she said, voice low, controlled with effort. "Any of it."
Albert finally turned to her.
"Oh?" he said. "Then explain it to me."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Looked at Preston.
He met her gaze, something like guilt and frustration tangled together in his eyes.
Sico watched them both carefully.
"Preston," Sico said, calm but unyielding, "you said it wasn't like that."
"It wasn't," Preston replied immediately. "Sarah and I, we're colleagues. Friends. That's it. Nothing more."
Albert scoffed.
"Five hours," he repeated. "You two were talking for five hours?"
"Yes," Preston shot back. "Because we were planning patrol rotations and counter-observation routes after the convoy. Because she needed a place that wasn't the command floor where every clerk and runner could overhear."
"That's convenient," Albert snapped.
"It's the truth," Preston said. "And the kiss—"
He hesitated.
The hesitation didn't go unnoticed.
Albert's eyes lit with something like vindication.
"There it is," he said harshly. "You hesitated."
Preston dragged a hand through his hair.
"She was exhausted," he said finally. "She'd been in the field for days. She thanked me. She kissed my cheek. That's all it was."
"A thank-you kiss," Albert repeated flatly.
"Yes," Preston said. "That's it."
Sarah nodded quickly.
"It's true," she said. "Albert, I swear—"
"You swear?" Albert barked. "You swore vows too!"
That hit harder than any punch.
Sarah flinched like she'd been struck.
Curie stepped closer to her instinctively, medkit forgotten in her hands.
"Emotionally elevated states can cause misinterpretation of—" Curie began gently.
"Not now," Sico said, without looking at her.
Curie fell silent.
Sico stepped fully into the center now, commanding the space without raising his voice.
"Everyone," he said, turning slightly so his gaze swept the room, "this ends here. Now."
No one moved.
"I will not have rumors metastasizing in my mess hall," Sico continued. "If you are not directly involved, you leave. Now."
There was hesitation. Then motion.
Soldiers began ushering staff and onlookers toward the exits. Some resisted, craning their necks for a last look, but Sico's presence alone was enough to push them along.
Hancock lingered.
Sico glanced at him.
Hancock shrugged. "Worth a shot."
He left.
Within minutes, the mess hall was quieter. Not empty, but controlled.
Only the principals remained.
Sico turned back to them.
"This," he said calmly, "is not being resolved with fists. Or accusations thrown in front of half the Republic."
Albert's shoulders sagged just slightly, the adrenaline bleeding off and leaving exhaustion behind.
"She lied to me," he said, voice rougher now. "Or she hid something. Either way—"
"She didn't," Preston said firmly.
Albert rounded on him.
"You don't get to say that," he snapped.
"Enough," Sico said again, sharper this time.
He looked at Sarah.
"Did you hide anything from your husband?" Sico asked.
Sarah swallowed hard.
"Yes," she said quietly.
Albert stiffened.
Preston turned to her, alarm flashing across his face.
"What?" he said.
Sarah looked at the floor.
"I didn't tell Albert I was meeting Preston that night," she admitted. "Because I knew how it would look."
Albert let out a humorless laugh.
"So you admit it," he said.
"I admit I avoided a conversation," Sarah shot back, finally looking up at him. "Because I was exhausted, because I didn't have the energy to explain security doctrine to someone who already feels like he's being sidelined."
That stung.
Albert's jaw worked.
"Sidelined," he repeated. "That's what you think this is?"
Sarah took a step toward him.
"I think you've been angry for months," she said softly. "Not at me. At the world. At not being where you thought you'd be."
"That's not fair," Albert snapped.
"No," she said. "But it's true."
Sico watched the exchange closely.
"Preston," he said, "did anything inappropriate occur?"
"No," Preston said without hesitation.
"Did you encourage anything that could reasonably be interpreted as such?" Sico pressed.
Preston paused.
"I didn't stop her," he said carefully. "When she kissed my cheek."
Albert scoffed again.
"There it is."
Preston met his gaze, unflinching.
"I didn't stop her because I didn't think it meant what you think it meant," he said. "And because I trust her."
That hurt more than any accusation.
Albert's shoulders slumped.
Sarah closed her eyes.
The room felt heavy now, saturated with things that hadn't been said for too long.
Sico broke the silence.
"This is not a trial," he said. "And it is not a verdict."
He turned to Albert.
"You acted out of pain," Sico said. "And you chose the worst possible way to express it."
Albert didn't argue.
"You," Sico continued, turning to Preston, "allowed a situation that lacked clarity to exist. Whether intentional or not."
Preston nodded once.
"And you," Sico said finally, facing Sarah, "failed to communicate with the person who deserved it most."
Sarah's eyes filled, but she didn't look away.
"Yes," she said. "I did."
Sico exhaled slowly.
"This Republic survives on trust," he said. "Not perfection. Trust."
He looked at Albert.
"Do you trust your wife?"
Albert hesitated.
The hesitation said everything.
"I don't know," he said finally.
Sico nodded.
"Then this ends here," he said. "For today. No more confrontations. No more speculation."
He looked at Preston.
"You will step back," Sico said. "From any private meetings with Sarah. Effective immediately."
Preston stiffened, but nodded. "Understood."
"And you," Sico said to Sarah, "will go home. And you will talk to your husband without an audience."
Sarah nodded shakily.
Albert said nothing.
Sico stepped back, signaling the end.
"Curie," he added, "tend to their injuries."
Curie moved immediately, relief flashing across her features at having something concrete to do.
For a moment, it felt like the world tipped sideways.
Albert's hand moved faster than anyone expected.
One second it was clenched at his side, shaking with leftover rage and humiliation, the next it was wrapped around the grip of his sidearm. The scrape of metal leaving its holster was sharp, unmistakable, the kind of sound that bypassed thought and went straight to instinct.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Sarah shouted his name.
Preston froze.
Albert raised the gun and aimed it directly at Preston's chest.
Everything happened at once.
Soldiers surged forward, hands snapping to weapons, boots skidding against the floor. Robert shouted. MacCready swore and moved to tackle Preston out of the line of fire. Curie cried out, dropping her medkit as she reached instinctively toward Albert like proximity alone might stop a bullet.
And Sico moved.
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't shout.
He stepped directly into the line between Albert and Preston.
"Albert," he said, voice low but iron-hard, one hand lifting slowly, palm out. "Don't."
The room felt like it might tear itself apart.
Albert's hands were shaking now, gun wavering just slightly. His eyes were wild, unfocused, like he was seeing something that wasn't there anymore.
"You don't get to decide this," Albert said hoarsely. "You don't get to tell me when it ends."
"Lower the weapon," Sico replied, unwavering. "Now."
Sarah was crying openly now.
"Please," she said, voice breaking completely. "Albert, please don't."
Preston didn't move.
He didn't raise his hands. He didn't flinch.
He just looked at Albert, eyes steady, jaw set, accepting in a way that made Sico's chest tighten.
And then.
🎶 Happy birthday to you… 🎶
The sound hit the room like a flashbang.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Loud. Off-key. Enthusiastic.
Albert blinked.
So did everyone else.
🎶 Happy birthday to you… 🎶
The mess hall doors swung open wide.
Jenny burst in first, grinning so hard it almost hurt to look at her, followed immediately by Magnolia, who was holding a large, carefully frosted cake with lit candles wobbling dangerously as she walked.
Behind them came Sturges and Nick Valentine, arms slung over each other's shoulders, singing at the top of their lungs with absolutely no regard for pitch, tempo, or the fact that half the room still had weapons half-raised.
🎶 Happy birthday dear Siiiicooo… 🎶
Piper Wright darted in alongside them, camera already up, snapping photos so fast the flash strobed across the room like lightning.
🎶 Happy birthday to youuuuu! 🎶
Silence followed.
Not the tense, coiled silence from seconds before.
This one was stunned.
Albert lowered the gun.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
His shoulders sagged, tension draining out of him like someone had pulled a plug.
"…Got you," he muttered.
Preston let out a breath so sharp it almost sounded like a laugh.
MacCready stared at Albert, then at the cake, then back at Albert.
"…You absolute bastard," he said.
Sarah wiped at her eyes, realization dawning so suddenly she almost laughed and cried at the same time.
Sico stood perfectly still in the center of the room.
For three full seconds, his mind refused to accept what his eyes were telling him.
Then he turned his head.
Very slowly.
He looked at Jenny.
She beamed.
"Happy birthday, Mr. President."
He looked at Magnolia, who gave a small, satisfied nod, like a general confirming a successful operation.
"At ease," she said lightly. "No actual Republic collapse today."
He looked at Sturges, who waved.
Nick tipped his hat.
Piper lowered her camera just long enough to grin at him.
"Got the whole thing," she said. "Your face is going to be legendary."
Sico exhaled.
Once.
Twice.
Then he closed his eyes and rubbed a hand down his face.
"You staged," he said slowly, "a marital scandal… a public fistfight… and a simulated armed escalation…"
Albert cleared his throat sheepishly.
"…Yes?"
"…In the mess hall," Sico continued, opening his eyes again, "…during operational hours."
Preston finally cracked, a short laugh escaping him before he could stop it.
"You should've seen your face," he said. "I thought you were going to execute us all on principle."
Sarah stepped closer to Sico, still visibly emotional but smiling now, a hand pressed to her chest.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I really am. I didn't think he'd pull the gun."
Albert winced. "Okay, that part might've been too much."
"You think?" MacCready snapped.
"But!" Albert added quickly, holding up both hands. "Unloaded. Safety on. I swear."
Sico stared at him.
Long.
Hard.
Albert shrank slightly.
"…Still sorry."
The soldiers slowly lowered their weapons, confusion giving way to reluctant amusement. A few chuckles rippled through the room as the reality finally settled in.
This wasn't a crisis.
It was a conspiracy.
Jenny stepped forward and gently took Sico by the arm, steering him toward the cake.
"Come on," she said. "You've been impossible to surprise since a long time. We had to escalate."
Magnolia set the cake down on the nearest intact table. The frosting was simple but elegant, the Freemasons emblem carefully piped in blue and silver on top. Candles flickered, casting warm light across Sico's face.
"You remembered," Sico said quietly, almost to himself.
"Of course we did," Magnolia replied. "You don't get to hold a republic together and skip your birthday."
Nick leaned in slightly.
"Also," he added dryly, "Preston's fake bruises took three hours of makeup."
Preston snorted. "Worth it."
Piper snapped another photo.
Sico looked around the room.
At the faces.
At the people who had coordinated this absurd, elaborate deception. Who had trusted each other enough to play their parts convincingly. Who had known him well enough to know that this chaos, this emotional gut-punch followed by absurdity was the only way to catch him off guard.
"You all," Sico said slowly, "…are unbelievable."
Jenny grinned wider. "That's not a no."
He shook his head, a reluctant smile finally breaking through.
"…Happy birthday to me," he muttered.
They sang again. Louder. Worse. Nick absolutely refused to stay on key. Sturges tried to harmonize and failed spectacularly. Piper filmed everything. Magnolia even smiled, just a little.
When the song ended, Sico leaned forward and blew out the candles in one steady breath.
Applause erupted.
Someone slapped him on the back.
Someone else shoved a fork into his hand.
As the cake was cut and plates passed around, the tension fully dissolved, leaving behind laughter, teasing, and the strange, warm aftershock of a danger that had never truly existed.
Sico stood there, plate in hand, watching Albert and Sarah argue quietly about who had almost ruined the surprise. Preston was laughing with MacCready. Curie was lecturing Nick about unnecessary emotional stressors. Hancock wandered back in halfway through his second slice like he'd known all along.
The mess hall did not calm down.
It melted.
The moment the cake was cut and passed around, the last traces of tension evaporated like steam off hot metal. Laughter filled the space where suspicion and near-violence had lived only minutes earlier. The tables that hadn't been overturned were dragged back into place, benches righted, plates scavenged from wherever people could find them. Someone turned the radio back on at low volume, some old pre-War tune crackling through battered speakers, and the mess hall slipped into something dangerously close to joy.
Sico stood near the center of it all, a plate balanced in one hand, a fork in the other, watching the Republic breathe.
It was strange how quickly it happened.
One moment he'd been braced for catastrophe, calculating consequences and damage control and the long, ugly work of stitching trust back together.
The next, he was holding a slice of cake while Nick Valentine argued with Curie about the ethical implications of pranks that induced acute stress responses.
"I am simply stating," Curie said firmly, finger raised, "that while the emotional payoff appears positive, the physiological impact could have been catastrophic."
Nick took another bite of cake. "Yeah, but it wasn't."
"That does not negate the risk," Curie insisted.
Hancock leaned over Nick's shoulder. "Doc, if stress killed him, this party would've done him a favor."
Curie gasped. "That is not funny."
Hancock grinned wider. "I know."
Nearby, Preston and MacCready were mid-story, already exaggerating the fight for the benefit of a small group of soldiers.
"So he swings at me," MacCready was saying, gesturing wildly with his fork, "and I'm like, 'Buddy, I have survived worse than your right hook,' and then—"
"You tripped over the bench," Preston cut in dryly.
"I strategically repositioned," MacCready corrected. "Very different."
Sarah sat at one of the long tables with Albert, both of them calmer now, voices low as they replayed the moment where everything had almost gone too far. Albert looked sheepish, Sarah still half-mortified, half-amused in the way only someone who had nearly caused a constitutional incident for a birthday prank could be.
"I told you the gun was too much," she muttered.
Albert winced. "In my defense, everyone believed it."
"That's not a defense," she replied flatly.
Piper bounced between groups like a spark, camera constantly in motion, capturing candid moments: Sico mid-laugh, Magnolia with a rare smile, Sturges trying to explain harmony theory to a completely uninterested Nick.
Sico took a bite of cake.
It was… good.
Not overly sweet. Dense enough to be filling. Carefully made.
Magnolia noticed.
"You look surprised," she said, stepping up beside him.
"I am," Sico admitted. "This is better than most rations."
She smirked. "I requisitioned actual sugar."
He raised an eyebrow. "You went all out."
"For the head of state?" Magnolia replied lightly. "Obviously."
He shook his head, chuckling, and took another bite.
Jenny appeared at his other side, arms folded, watching him with that familiar look that mixed fondness and exasperation.
"Don't get used to this," she said. "Tomorrow you go back to being impossible."
"Tomorrow," Sico agreed.
For now, though, he let himself be here.
He talked. He listened. He accepted a dozen awkward birthday wishes, some formal, some heartfelt, some deeply inappropriate. He let Hancock toast him with a speech that somehow included three insults, two compliments, and one reference to a pre-War rock band nobody else remembered.
He even let Sturges present him with a gift: a small, carefully machined desk ornament made from reclaimed steel, etched with the Freemasons insignia and the date.
"Figured you don't need more guns," Sturges said. "But this won't explode or betray you."
"High praise," Sico replied sincerely.
Time loosened its grip.
For a while, he wasn't the man who carried the weight of supply lines and political leverage and looming threats.
He was just… Sico.
And that was when it happened.
He didn't plan it.
It wasn't premeditated.
It was pure impulse.
Albert, laughing too loudly at something Preston had said, leaned back in his chair, relaxed now, guard completely down. There was a smear of frosting still clinging to the corner of his mouth.
Sico glanced at him.
Albert caught the look.
"What?" Albert asked, suspicious.
Sico's eyes flicked to the cake in his hand.
Albert's smile widened. "Don't you dare."
Sico didn't say a word.
He scooped a generous chunk of cake with his fork.
For half a second, the room seemed to sense what was coming.
Jenny's eyes widened.
"Don't," she warned.
Too late.
Sico flicked his wrist.
The cake sailed through the air in a messy, beautiful arc and splattered directly against Albert's chest, frosting exploding outward in a burst of blue and white.
For one stunned heartbeat, nobody spoke.
Albert looked down at himself.
Then up at Sico.
Silence.
Then Albert burst out laughing.
"Oh, that's how it is?" he said, already reaching for his own plate.
Chaos threatened.
Preston stood up so fast his chair tipped backward.
"Oh no," he said, grinning. "If we're doing this—"
"No," Jenny snapped sharply, stepping forward between them like a wall. "Absolutely not."
Albert froze mid-reach.
Preston blinked.
Sico, still laughing, raised his hands innocently. "What?"
Jenny turned on him slowly.
"Mr. President," she said, voice dangerously calm, "do you have any idea how much food that just wasted?"
"It was a small piece," Sico replied, still smiling.
She pointed at the frosting smeared across Albert's jacket. "That was sugar. Do you know how hard Magnolia had to work to get sugar?"
Magnolia folded her arms. "Extremely."
Jenny didn't let up.
"You stand in front of your subordinates," she continued, "and you throw food like we're pre-War aristocrats?"
The room went quiet again, but this time with poorly hidden amusement.
Sico wiped at his eyes, laughter finally subsiding.
"You're lecturing me," he said.
"Yes," Jenny replied firmly. "And you're going to listen."
Albert raised a hand. "For the record, I'm not mad."
"Not helping," Jenny shot back.
Sico sighed theatrically, straightening a little.
"You're right," he said. "It was wasteful."
Jenny nodded, satisfied.
"And?" she prompted.
"And," Sico continued, a smile tugging at his mouth, "it was worth it."
A few snorts escaped around the room.
Jenny pinched the bridge of her nose. "I swear—"
She broke, laughing despite herself.
"Next time," she warned, "I throw the cake at you."
Sico grinned. "Fair."
Albert wiped frosting off his jacket and flicked a bit onto Preston's sleeve.
"Oh come on!" Preston protested, laughing.
Jenny pointed at them both. "Don't."
They obeyed. Mostly.
The party continued, calmer now, the moment passed without turning into the food fight it so easily could have become. Plates were finished. The last crumbs were carefully scraped up. Nothing more was wasted.
Eventually, people began to drift away.
Duties called. Patrols rotated. The Republic did not stop just because its president had cake on his hands.
Sico felt it settle back onto his shoulders gradually, the weight returning not all at once, but piece by piece.
Magnolia left first, already discussing supply forecasts with an aide. Sarah and Albert departed together, quieter now, hands brushing as they walked. Preston lingered just long enough to clap Sico on the shoulder.
"Happy birthday," he said sincerely.
"Get some rest," Sico replied. "You look terrible."
Preston laughed. "Fair."
One by one, the mess hall emptied until only a few remained.
Jenny stood beside Sico near the doorway.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
He nodded. "Better than I expected."
She smiled softly. "Good."
He took one last look at the room.
The overturned table had been righted. The benches repaired. The mess cleaned up.
Nothing broken that couldn't be fixed.
Sico straightened his jacket.
"Alright," he said. "Back to work."
Jenny nodded. "I figured."
As he stepped back into the corridor, the hum of Sanctuary meeting him once more, Sico allowed himself one final thought before duty reclaimed him fully that is for today, he had been reminded of why he did this that is to get a moments like this.
______________________________________________
• 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:-