Unbeknownst to either of them, Nick wonders the very same thing: how much of that concern and compassion for Rey is from him, born from their experiences in the cave, and how much is what the gods have put into his head? Did he get it started, and then they built upon it? Or was his initial reason for reaching out to her influenced in some way, as well? He's already spent decades wondering where the original Nick ends and he, the synthetic one, begins; the question of just how much of it is real comes all too easily to him.

And he doesn't like that. He doesn't like questioning the validity of his feelings for Rey, nor the truth in the love for the family he's found in this place. He doesn't like falling into the same traps he's warned people against... and most of all, he doesn't like that he actually has some fondness for those traps. He liked having something of his own, something that was his. He liked the family he had in that fake world.

But to say such things aloud is out of the question. The hypocrisy would make his blood boil if he had any.

As busy as the city keeps him -- arrivals, events, the occasional city-wide fire caused by a sneeze -- he's almost grateful for the distractions some days. They keep him busy, much like his work back in Diamond City. The biggest distraction he has at home, aside from Rey, is waiting for them when they open the door. Nick stoops for a moment to pet Tripod, trying to focus on anything that isn't his false memories, the flashes of real ones that aren't his, and the frustration he feels from both. "It's well past dinner for you. Wouldn't want you to starve, now would we?"

Whether he is talking to Rey or the cat isn't entirely clear, but he does look marginally more at ease, a smile slipping onto his face. Some of what he remembers may be manufactured, but he trusts his gut -- and his gut tells him that the affection he feels for his family is genuine.