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Dust. It was the one—okay—one million of the tiny, microscopic reasons why Deacon hated the Wasteland. The shit was everywhere—on the floor of every building, caked onto the ceilings and if you were really lucky, the stuff would blow into your face and nostrils every time you opened a door. It hardly mattered how tidy he tried to keep the space within Railroad HQ, though it would defeat the purpose of having a secret underground bunker if everything was old-world spotless.
The Old North Church was particularly dusty. Hell, sometimes Deacon thought it was one rad storm away from toppling over. But it had been standing for over five-hundred years now, had withstood the atom bombs dropping in 2077 and a nasty ghoul infestation—at least until the survivors from the Switchboard cleared it out. Despite the filth, he liked to patrol the catacombs when the spread of jobs was low—so far, Drummer Boy had yet to bring him or Charmer news of a dead-drop.
Charmer—that peaked Deacon’s interest instantly, turning mid-step so he could walk through the church tunnels. He knew she wasn’t in the headquarters proper—too loud, or too quiet—at this time of night, she wouldn’t be outside the building either, especially alone. He hardly doubted she would’ve been able to slip away without him noticing. Not that he was stalking her or anything—but even before they had officially partnered up, he had a keen sense of her whereabouts at any given time. There was a little bit of comfort in knowing she was safe, though he wasn’t going to admit that to anybody, especially Charmer. Not yet anyways.
He saw the faint glow of her Pip-Boy about the same time he heard her shift from the upper pews. What she was doing up there, he couldn’t say, but she seemed to notice his appearance too, head peeking over the edge to look at him. “Oh hey Deacon.”
He flinched, over-dramatizing his movements as he stared up at her. “Jesus, you scared the shit outta me, Charmer!”
“Yeah right,” she called his bluff, bent over the low wall with a smirk. “And what did I tell you about using the Lord’s name in vein?”
He laughed as he crossed through the tattered first floor seats, headed towards the back staircase when he realized she had made no move to come down. When he arrived on the second story, the floorboards creaked beneath his feet and he moved swiftly away from the edge, sitting down in the pew next to her.
He glanced down at the time on her wrist. “Can’t sleep?”
“Can’t sleep,” she confirmed with a nod, leaning back into her spot. “I’m starting to think I got all the sleep I’ll ever get in that damn vault.”
Deacon frowned, though he hid that from her when she glanced at him. He knew her struggles—had seen them firsthand in their travels over the last several months—even though she wasn’t always so keen on divulging every little trauma she was suffering through since waking up. She was always cold, always tired, and despite his best efforts to make her laugh, there was a certain kind of sadness to her eyes. He knew Charmer missed her old life, missed her husband, her child—but he couldn’t, and would never blame her.
He wanted to be a good partner, a good friend—more than friend? Shit, it was complicated. He wasn’t going to think about that right now. Instead he offered a small grin, patting his shoulder. “I make an excellent pillow.”
“Is it because you’re full of yourself?” she teased, still moving to rest her head against him.
Deacon let out a quiet chuckle, slightly adjusting the two so she was situated more comfortably against him. The light on Charmer’s Pip-Boy dimmed and Deacon thought about the last time he had sat in such comfortable silence with anybody. He was used to being by himself, it was easier that way, alone in his sniper perch until he spotted that blue vault suit crawling its way through Concord. When she exhaled, he glanced down at the top of her head.
“You asleep?” he asked, just above a whisper.
She snuggled closer against his shoulder, a few strands of her strawberry blonde hair catching against his mouth. “Mmmyes.”
“Oh,” he pulled the hairs away, tucking them back into place. “So you’re just talking in your sleep now?”
“I’ve always talked in my sleep,” she responded groggily, not bothering to open her eyes. Though, she did ever so slightly tilt her chin into his touch.
He softly laughed. “You should confess your deepest desires to me, this could be the perfect opportunity to blame it on your loose lips.”
Charmer hummed in thought, taking a little bit longer to reply. She placed her hand against his chest and sighed. “I want…chocolate.”
Deacon made a mental note of that, wrapping his arm around her to tuck her closer as her breathing evened out, body going still against him. It was a more than welcome weight, and a much-needed comfort. He hesitated, not wanting to wake her as he tilted his head against hers, taking a selfish moment to inhale the sweet scent of her.
“Asleep now?”
Charmer didn’t respond. Good, he thought. There were worse places to fall asleep in the Wasteland—less dusty ones of course. But in that moment, Deacon couldn’t think of any better place to be but there.