"You listened to it." It had been the only thing able to come out of Deacon's mouth once he caught sight of that holo, unsure if he was happy West finally knew, anxious because he'd have to explain himself now, or just plain sick from all the bullshit his body had gone through in the last handful of hours. "...Good." His voice cracked, but with the amount of pure emotion behind it, it was genuine. Not to mention the tears that welled up in his eyes, Deacon seeming to forget he didn't have his sunglasses. "Good." He could safely say that he was feeling happy, anxious and sick all at the same time. "I'll tell you everything, if it means you'll stay." Okay, maybe he was a little woozy on pain medication....wait, did they even give him anything to be woozy on?

Didn't matter, he'd blame all of this on 'all the Good Shit' they'd given him later on. West would know better, he always did.

Any further worry was set aside at the jest, Deacon able to give a joke in turn with the back of a hand coming up to rest on his forehead like a distressed damsel. "Oh noooo, anything but that! You'll doctor me to death!" Really it was the oppisite, but hush, it was for his joke. "Drink more water, take your medicine, 'no Deacon we are not eating the week old molerat Artoo dug up-'"

Wait a minute-

"Where's my buddy?! I'm bedridden, I need my little buddy!!"

There was a brief flash of anger when the words 'if it means you'll stay' rolled out of Deacon's mouth. But he was too damn tired for it. He shifted in his chair, heaving a short sigh and looked away from Deacon, swallowing that anger, taking a deep breath. Deacon could have just been sliced in half. And nearly was killed.

"He's not here. He's staying with a friend. With his teeth, you know, settlements tend to ...have certain prejudice against him..." West gave a shrug, then reassured Deacon that the half dopey dog half night stalker mutt was just fine, "He's safe. This friend of mine actually owns a litter mate of Artoo's so... Look, Deac, I don't care either way, but it's been chewing at me since I listened..." West's hand hovered over his Pipboy, "Are you...?" West trailed off, letting the implication lie. If so, West felt that leaving sooner was better than later. He knew, medically, the only real way to tell a Gen 3 synth from a human was the microchip component the Institute implanted in every synth. And to West synths were just human who were made in a lab instead of by the traditional means and used against their will, for the most part, by the Institute.

"It's commendable, what you do. I want you to know that. I just..." West sighed again. He wasn't mad about Deacon's disappearing. Not anymore. But there was something else. Almost worse.

"I wish you thought you could trust me enough to help."

It wouldn't be until the sickly sun began to peek over the horizon that Deacon would stir, first with a wheeze, then a strained cough as he aborted a shift to sit up halfway. He was bleary, eyes gazing around the room, only half able to take everything in. It wasn't until they landed on West that clarity seemed somewhat return to those bloodshot blues. "I was gonna celebrate not bein' dead and all, but if I'm lookin' at you, then I must be in Heaven."

He was cracking a smile before he even finished, another wheezy cough breaking it as he attempted to snuff it with a turn of his head into the pillow. "Sorry, that was bad. And untrue. Can you imagine me in Heaven?" There was something ironic about that, calling his own bluff, even as a joke.

His smile shattered once and for all as he tried to get up, movements stiff and staggered as he wheezed in pain. "Th' kid okay?" Worry about yourself, you idiot. "She was crying, she know I'm okay?"

"You saved that little girl," West said gently and then moved to place both hands on Deacon's shoulders, as careful as possible to stop him from getting up. And giving Deacon a full view of the holo loaded into his Pip-Boy. But West was hardly thinking about the tape. "She knows you're getting there. We don't have much in the way of supplies, Deac, so you have got to stay down and rest." West heaved a sigh, sitting back in the chair. He then removed his Pip-Boy all together. "I don't think here is the best place to talk about... the holo you gave me. But I want to know more. When we have more privacy." West kept his voice relatively quiet. People milled around or passed through the tent and West didn't want to cause any trouble about Synth when they had just been attacked horribly by robots. West knew they weren't the same. But he didn't want to stir up any trouble with Deacon in such a vulnerable position.

"I guess you're stuck with me for a while," West joked, but he didn't even smile. All his doubts came back. If Deacon had the choice, would he just stay for a day or two and then skip out again?

The slam of the offered items against the table had the same effect as a wrecking ball, Deacon's walls crumbling down to leave a pained look of panic across his face. He swallowed hard, quick to school his expression into that of a grin as he saluted West's way, but his eyes...they couldn't shake the sadness that threatened to bring about tears with how heavy it weighed.

Deacon did as he was told, making idle chatter with the other guards both to pass the time, and to gather information on what had happened here. One never knew what knowledge might come in handy out in the wastes, and Deacon took to collecting all he could get his hands on. He couldn't say how much time had passed, an hours, maybe two, just knowing that he had smoked through damn near his entire pack of cigarettes by the time a faint beep caught his attention.

Robots were his thing, the agent well tuned to every subtle noise one could make thanks to his trauma line of work. Turning towards the sound, the scene became frantic in but the blink of an eye, Deacon shouting a warning to a child that had strayed too close to the bots as one shifted and creaked to life once more. He didn't have time to think, his brain only catching up to the situation after he lay in the dirt slowly being soaked by his blood. "Fuck-" Every breath was agony, his eyes cloudy with pain as he tried to take stock of himself though the haze. But with how everything hurt, it was near impossible to tell what sort of damage had been done.

The kid was crying, hands over their ears after the loud bang of a shot from one of the other guards to put the robot back down. "Hey kid, it's okay. Wasn't your fault, alright? It was going to do that whether you got close to it or not." It was his response to stuttered apologies sobbed from the young thing, Deacon's smile once again failing to reach his eyes as those tears from before finally welled up. "Go get West, alright? He can help." He wasn't about to say how though, telling the kid that West could fix him a lie that felt far too vile on his tongue to speak aloud. West was good, but that could only get him so far.

Deacon only hoped he was able to say his peace before succumbing to the heavy pull behind his eyes...

West didn't even know about Deacon's injury until several hours later. He was just another doctor, wrist deep in a poor woman's stomach. Deacon was just another helping hand, another victim of these rusty monster robots, cobbled together by psychos. A Mr. Gusty saw blade attached to a protectron had sliced up Deacon's back, puncturing through, collapsing a lung.

Another doctor, the real brains of the whole operation, Amanda (not Amata, West had to remind himself, having called her that several times) had informed him of all this after the fact. She had sewn up Deacon and they only had one stimpak to spare, repairing the major damage to his lung. Hopefully it would be enough. Hopefully whatever nerve damage was also repaired, but only time would tell.

The robots were being dismantled, hidden away in trunks and lockers. Night fell. West had some moments to himself, as Deacon in the bed next to him was unconscious, likely to stay that way for the next few hours. West had been in a swimmy daze for the last half hour, since Amanda had spoken to him. Already too tired, drained emotionally and physically by the day's events and now this...

He couldn't cry if he wanted to. And god, did he ever. So what if Deacon just showed up? At least he showed. At least they had a good time and at least Deacon cared for him. And he cared for Deacon. Maybe even loved him. He wasn't sure, not just yet. They never spent enough time to... West's breath hitched in his throat. Would they get enough time?

He got up after a moment, remembering the things Deacon had given him. Those shiny aviator glasses... And West had just tossed them aside like they were nothing. He ignored Deacon's sincere gesture. The holotape... West sat down on the bed again, pulling his pack from under the bed and fishing out his Pip-Boy 3000 and popped in the holo.

West turned the volume down at the word 'synths' and kept his head low, listening to the woman's voice in the holotape. Deacon said this would explain things, help West find him... Was Deacon a synth? Amanda hadn't said anything about it, if she had discovered anything. Or was he a part of this Railroad? Or both? West had more questions. And a little of that anger was back. But he knew that he was just as guilty as hiding as Deacon. How many nights had they spent together and not one serious word passed between them? Not one mention of the past, their childhoods, things that 'the other might hate them for'. No confessions, not ever. If Deacon was willing, if Deacon woke up, West knew that would be changing for the both of them.

@courier2lw cont. from (X)

Yeah, this? Deacon deserved this, the cold, blunt anger that seemed to grow each time he reunited with West. All this time, Deacon had been telling himself he was just keeping West safe, that by disappearing and keeping tabs on him from a distance, it would keep the doctor away from the danger that followed Deacon like a shadow. The Institute, the Coursers, and every Tom, Dick, and Harry Deacon had managed to piss off between here and Diamond city; None of them could get to West so long as he was careful, covered his tracks, kept away until the loneliness became too much to bear until West really needed him. Sure, it would take longer and longer each time for him to get back on West's good side, but the anger always disappeared before long, and there really was no denying just how well Deacon and him meshed together. It almost reminded him of Barbara when they first met, and that's what scared him the most.

The point was, this, no matter how shitty it was and how awful it made Deacon feel, it was for the best, and it was working, so why would he stop?

Well...the answer was right in front of him, no matter how much the agent tried to deny it. West was...he was better off without Deacon, but every time he tried to cut himself off, to distance himself and let West move on to someone better, safer, he always found himself drawn right back in. The thing was, no matter if Deacon was there or not, West was always in danger, yet another meeting after the doc had fallen in trouble proved as much. Deacon could lie all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he wasn't keeping West safe, he was hurting him all the more.

All at once, lie after lie after lie flitted through Deacon's head as his eyes hit the floor like a scolded child, each one holding the opportunity of further burying his feelings of placating West enough so that Deacon could help like he came to do, like he always came to do, but to his surprise, the very thought of speaking any of them made Deacon's tongue burn, his stomach twisting into knots as his body physically rebelled against repeating this same mistake yet again.

As a side effect of literally biting his tongue, Deacon was quiet for a long, long moment, the agent having to swallow thickly around the lump in his throat as hidden eyes darted from the boy, to the blood, and then to West, all before squeezing shut in an effort to make it all stop. He couldn't lie, not this time, not to West, never again to West, but there was too much going on around him right bow. Deacon wanted nothing more than to shut it all out, and shut himself down, to help West like he came to do, and then disappear again until everything stopped hurting as he buried himself under a new pile of lies. Maybe this time for good. Maybe he would get a new face, a new name, he was overdue for those-

"You're right." In an act of much needed rebellion, the words were spoken before Deacon could stop himself, it pulling a shocked intake of breath into his lungs when he realized he had been the one to speak them. This...it was the truth, and as much as it hurt to speak, this is what they both deserved. West deserved answers, and Deacon...Deacon deserved every single bit of anger and distrust that was coming his way. There was no guarantee that he would be believed, but he needed to tell West the truth, even if the doctor couldn't see it as such. There had to be a way to fix all this, West wasn't Barbara, there...there was still time, a chance to fix this before it all blew up in his face once again.

"You're right, West." Said after a rough clearing of his throat, Deacon's whole body, the very air around him, seemed to cave in on itself, his shoulders slumping beneath his latest disguise --one of West's old shirts he had 'borrowed' the last time they traveled together -- as his rifle was propped up against the nearest table. "It is bullshit, and I...I don't know how to fix it." A truth, in a way, as telling the truth was the only thing that had any hope of fixing what they had, but...the truth and Deacon...even he didn't know what parts of himself were real anymore...

...No, that in of itself was a lie. He knew he loved West, cared for him, wanted to make things right between them, and if that was the only thing about him that was real, it was the best damn thing about him.

"You won't believe me, and I don't blame you, but...I'm...I'm going to tell you everything. All the things I know are real, and you're probably going to hate me, but-" 'I'm tired of this too, of the distance, of the loneliness, of hurting you...' all the things he wanted to say, but couldn't, not right now. Not unless West was ready for it. There was too much going on, too much on the doctor's mind, too much that needed to be done without Deacon adding to the mess. Maybe it was a way to further stall the inevitable, but it's the only card he had left to play, and by habit he was going to take the chance, no matter how self destructive it may be.

"Tell you what we're gonna do, Doc..." Despite this mask being used to pretend that everything was fine to keep Deacon from running away again under the guise of 'helping' West, it was donned by the removal of the agent's sunglasses, his shield, the one protection he had against someone being able to tell truth from fiction. Eyes were the gateway into the soul, or so they said, and there was no doubt about it that the only true way to tell if Deacon was lying or not was by watching his eyes. He always hated how expressive they were, that not one of his emotions could be hidden so long as they were seen, but now? Now he was damn glad he had this one giveaway.

Without it...he really would be nothing but a liar in the end...

"I'm gonna help you out here, whatever you need me to do, and then we're gonna get you some freaking rest. I mean, have you seen the bags under your eyes? Damn things could carry all the loot in the common wealth, no sweat." There was a grin, as there always was, but with the absence of the glasses, it was glaringly obvious it didn't reach his eyes, it begging the question of just how often that was the case with no one being the wiser. "Here, you hold on to these, don't need anyone here trying to swipe 'em while I'm not looking." A rather flimsy excuse as Deacon handed his prized sunglasses over to West with what almost looked to be fear in his baby blues. This was his last gambit, the final act, all West had to do was take the sunglasses, and Deacon knew he had an in. But if he didn't...

"I uh...I also got something for ya, consider it my business card." Pulled from Deacon's pocket at that was a holotape, one that looked to be brand new despite the usual wear and tear that covered the wastelands they were forced to live in, he had gotten it made, just for this. "If you ever need to find me, that's your map." Deacon knew damn well he couldn't always be by West's side, that even with wanting to tell the truth, he very well might disappear again -- be it as a way to hide, or out of necessity for the Railroad -- but at least with this West would be able to track him down no matter how hard Deacon tried to run. All he had to do was follow the freedom trail...

"What, uh...what do you need me to do?"

West fully expected Deacon to blow him off with some casual line, some joke… not admitting West was right. There was a little sigh of relief and as much as West was angry with Deacon and frustrated and tired… he was glad. But he knew he couldn't do everything all at once. It was starting to weigh on him and Deacon could see it.

West shot Deacon a glance, one that said 'Maybe I already hate you' as Deacon mentioned the things he knew were real, the confession Deacon would make that might bring West to hate him. Deacon trailed off for a moment and that was long enough. Someone behind them, outside of the tent called West's name, pulling his attention. They wanted to know where to put the remainders of the defeated robot atrocities and West instructed them. Behind the building, out of sight from the poor fucking patients they shredded through. He would deal with them later. Keep a guard on them in case any powered back up.

West dried his hands and turned his half attention back to Deacon. He shouldn't have yelled at him, not in the middle of all of this. They didn't have the time to deal with fucking relationship issues right now. He saw Deacon's sunglasses in the man's hands and looked up. Deacon hated not wearing them. West didn't push on it too much, he understood the need to keep up walls. But he loved Deacon's eyes. He loved how much emotion poured through, how much emotion they made West feel…

Deacon handed them over and West took them, but he wasn't sure why. No one was going to steal them and it was a joke West didn't like or could humor at all right now. He felt like his brain was slowing down, like Deacon and all this surrounding the two of them was a distraction.

'If you ever need to find me…' The words echoed in West's mind. So that was it. Deacon was going to come and help and then fuck off again. Whatever little talk that West wanted, Deacon was going to humor him and then that was it. West took it as well then after a moment of thought he haphazardly slammed both precious items of Deacon's on the table next to him into a pan that held a few bloody bullets. He picked up the scalpel and other medical tools next to it.

"I don't have time for all of this." West said, more tired than angry. He was running on fumes. Maybe it was better if Deacon just… wasn't here. But he was. And they needed all the help they could get.

"Help guard those robots. I got another surgery…" West jerked his head towards the back where the previous few guys had gone around the back of the building. He started walking towards the closed off tent across the pavilion before he stopped, turning back towards Deacon.

"I'll find you after." West promised, though it seemed to come after some hesitation. And then even more, as if he might say something else. He didn't and turned, disappearing into the old tent.

Open RP - Deacon

“I’m not stalking you,  I’m following you without your knowledge. It’s completely different”

“Yeah. It’s bullshit,” West spoke point blank, obviously not as happy to see Deacon as he normally would have been. He was up to his arms in blood in the new settlement’s make shift medical tent. Artoo laid next to a poor kid, no older than thirteen, who wasn’t likely to survive the night the damage had been so extensive. His mother was dead, his father and brother managed to survive the fire fight... And there were more besides, West treating the people who needed surgery when just a stim pak wouldn’t do. There were half a dozen people laying on the ground or in cots or mattresses in this tent.

How Deacon managed to show up after news of West being in trouble... This time it was Rust Devils.

“I’m tired of it.” West pushed past him, moving to wash his arms in a bucket of cold water than someone had provided for him. He was fucking tired and angry in general, not just at Deacon. But he knew his mood towards the other wasn’t completely unjustified.

“I’m tired of you showing up when you feel like it. I’m tired of fucking worrying about you all the fucking time and I don’t even have a real way of getting in contact with you. I’m tired of acting like I’m-- cheating on you when I find someone else attractive when we’re not even--- I don’t know, Deacon. Anything! Are we anything?” West spun around on him, the fact that he hadn’t slept in more than 24 hours telling. He wanted them to be something.

They had acted on their attraction towards each other, they always had an ease about them when they were together, but Deacon would inevitably disappear sometimes without notice or even telling West until he was already gone. He was tired of it. He wanted something he was terrified of, something he was sure that Deacon wouldn’t give him no matter how angry or desperate he got about an answer.

He wanted some kind of commitment from him. How much of one he didn’t know himself. But something better than the incorporeal thing between them West felt they had.