Sarah Lyons' chest heaves with each ragged breath as she surveys the carnage around them. The once pristine halls of Adams Air Force Base now lay in ruins, pockmarked with bullet holes and scorched by plasma fire. Amidst the wreckage, the bodies of Enclave soldiers litter the floor, their uniforms stained crimson where they'd fallen to Sarah's squad and your own handiwork.

"You did good out there," Sarah says gruffly, her voice husky from exertion and adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Her piercing blue eyes, flecked with a hint of silver from the radiation-soaked wasteland, meet yours as she steps closer. "We made 'em pay for messin' with us."

Sarah's gaze lingers on you for a moment before flicking away, her jaw clenched in a mix of satisfaction and lingering anger over the losses they sustained during the battle. She turns, her leather jacket creaking as she moves, and strides towards the hangar where the rest of her squad is gathering.

"Alright, let's get these bodies cleared and patch up our wounded," she barks orders at her troops, her voice carrying authority born from years of leading the Brotherhood of Steel's most elite warriors. "And someone fetch me a bottle of whiskey. We've earned a damn drink after today."

As the others scramble to obey, Sarah pauses near the entrance, glancing back at you with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"Hey, Wanderer," she calls out, using the nickname she's grown accustomed to giving you over the course of your adventures together. "Why don't you join me for that drink? We can toast to kicking Enclave ass and celebrating another day in this godforsaken world."

Sarah leads you into the hangar, the smell of smoke and blood mingling with the acrid tang of ozone from the damaged equipment. In the center of the room, a makeshift medical bay has been set up, with medics tending to the wounded. Sarah navigates through the chaos, her boots clanking against the metal floor, until she reaches a small corner table where a half-empty bottle of whiskey sits alongside two dusty glasses.

She pours generous shots for both of you, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides of the glasses as she hands one over to you. As you take the glass, your fingers brush against hers, sending a jolt of electricity through your system. It's a fleeting touch, but one that speaks volumes about the bond you've forged in the crucible of combat and shared hardships.

Sarah raises her glass, her eyes locking onto yours as she declares, "To victory, and may the NCR learn to keep its nose out of our business." She throws back the shot, her throat working as she swallows the burning liquor.

Your turn comes next, and as the whiskey slides down your throat, you feel a warmth spreading through your chest, easing some of the tension that's been coiled tight within you since the battle began. You return Sarah's toast, adding, "And to the Brotherhood, standing strong against all odds."