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Deacon's soulmark was grey - hardly an uncommon occurrence in the Commonwealth, where death lurked around every corner. What was unusual about his soulmark, though, was that it had always been grey. In addition to that, it was covered in gruesome-looking scars, almost surgical in appearance.
Deacon had never gotten to look forward to meeting his soulmate. He had never gotten to speculate what they would be like. He found it fitting that someone like him wouldn't have a soulmate. Maybe the universe had just decided that he was a lost cause from birth.
When it began to tingle one day, he didn't think much of it. Maybe he had gotten a few too many rads during his last mission.
But when he woke up the next morning and pulled the rad-away IV out of his arm, the tingling hadn't gotten better - if anything, it had worsened.
When he pressed his finger against the area, it was cool to the touch. His brow furrowed. Had he been bitten by something?
He considered asking Carrington for help, but quickly decided against it. He almost never let anyone see his soulmark - for obvious reasons - and having Carrington, of all people, inspect it? No thank you, he would rather die.
"Hey, Des, I'm not feeling well," he informed.
Desdemona arched an eyebrow. "Hmm."
"Yeah, uh, I think I caught a few too many rads," Deacon shifted uncomfortably as Desdemona stared him down.
After a few long moments of intense eye contact, she relented. "Alright, take the day," she said with a sigh.
Deacon flashed her a smile. "Thanks, boss," he called over his shoulder as he returned to his bedroll.
Once everyone else had begun their work for the day, he rolled up his sleeve. His eyes widened.
What the fuck.
In the middle of the grey, scar-covered mass, there was a splotch of pale purple slowly bleeding into the mark, forming tiny, unrecognisable flowers that almost looked pre-war.
He blinked rapidly, staring at the mark, watching the colour spread. The flowers were intricately drawn, so detailed they almost looked real.
Once the flowers had covered the surface of the soulmark, completely replacing the grey, the tingling ceased. Deacon stared at the pattern in wonder. The only time he had ever heard of a soulmark being restored is during near-death experiences, when the individual was one stimpack away from going into the great beyond.
Why, then, was his soulmark appearing after so many years?
He took some pre-war medical tape out from his bag and carefully wrapped it around his forearm, making sure to cover all the flowers. No matter the case, he couldn't let his mark be seen. That would raise a whole host of questions that he really didn't feel like answering.
-
After leaving the vault, it took Nora almost a full week to notice that her soulmark had changed. In her defense, it had also been almost a full week since she had last changed her clothes. The vaultsuit wasn't exactly revealing.
When she finally got her hands on some leathers that weren't bloodstained, the first thing she noticed was the pale-purple flowers sprouting between the scars on her forearm.
Her mind blanched. She had never had a soulmate - something she had been teased relentlessly with in primary school. The only thing on her arm was a mass of white.
Usually that meant that someone's soulmate hadn't been born yet. That was fine for the first few years of her life, but when she turned ten and her soulmark still hadn't appeared, she began to feel dejected. She didn't want to be 10 years older than her soulmate.
10 years turned into 15 and 15 turned into 20. Nora had eventually decided that she would rather die alone than marry someone 20 years younger than her, so she settled down with Nate. His soulmate had died in his arms while he was deployed. Neither of them had a soulmate - for very different reasons, albeit, but it still gave them something to bond over.
By the time she had Shaun, she had resigned herself to never meeting her soulmate, or to serving as a mentor to them rather than a romantic partner.
Then the bombs fell.
When she scrambled out of the vault, bits of frost clinging to her dark brown hair, the last thing on her mind was her soulmate.
Now, though? It was all she could think about.
The reason her soulmark had never changed colour was because her soulmate was 200 years younger than her, not 20.
At least the age gap would be less noticeable, she thought wryly. After all, for a 221 year old woman, she was in pretty damn great shape.
-
After his soulmark changed colour, Deacon threw himself headfirst into spying for the Railroad. If he wasn't doing anything, then he was thinking, and if he was thinking, then he was hoping, and he knew from experience that hoping was dangerous for someone like him.
There was a new lead in particular that he was investigating. The Minutemen had a new general. They had taken up residence in an old, pre-war neighbourhood and were expanding at an unprecedented rate.
The Railroad knew nothing about the reformed Minutemen. As far as they knew, the organisation could have turned into the Brotherhood 2.0. It all depended on who was in charge.
Luckily for Deacon, the general was taking a trip to Diamond City. He really didn't want to D.I.Y. a Minuteman disguise.
As he geared up for the trip, donning a full Diamond City guard uniform that he had.. Ah.. Stumbled across, he wondered what the general would be like.
It took a certain kind of person to revive a near-extinct organisation, after all. His bet? She was either naive, neurotic, or power-hungry. He hoped to God it wasn't the third one. The last thing the Commonwealth needed was another dictator.
He took his place in the corner, leaning casually against the wall, and waited.
She came through the gate beside the writer of Diamond City's newspaper - otherwise known as Mayor Mcdonough's worst nightmare.
A grand entrance, huh? As a spy, he couldn't relate, but he respected it regardless.
He crept closer, trying to listen in to their conversation.
"..How about we ask the newcomer? You support the news? 'Cause the mayor's threatening to throw free speech in the dumpster," Piper said passionately.
The general raised an eyebrow. "What newspaper are you talking about?" Her voice was melodious and clear. It reminded Deacon of one of those pre-war instruments - flutes, he thought they were called. So she didn't do chems, or at least not inhalants, he noted briefly.
Deacon wondered how someone like her became general of the Minutemen. She didn't seem quite charismatic enough - or loud enough - to be a natural leader, and she looked too dainty to have fought her way to the top.
"I'm talking about Publick Occurrences," Piper announced proudly. "We're the hard look at the truth. You with us or not?"
The general shrugged. "Always believed in freedom of the press."
"Oh, I didn't mean to bring you into this argument. No, no, no, you look like Diamond City material." Mcdonough said, flustered. He cleared his throat. "Welcome to the great green jewel of the Commonwealth. Safe. Happy. A fine place to come, spend your money, settle down."
"Sure."
Deacon grinned. He was glad that she hadn't bought into Mcdonough's propaganda. 'Safe and happy' his ass - he knew damn well what Diamond City did to discovered synths.
"Ah, yes, well - was there anything in particular you came to our city for?"
"Just.. Looking for something."
"What is it you're looking for?"
She hesitated. "Who would I talk to about finding a missing person?"
"Whatever you do, don't ask Diamond City security for help," Piper butted in, casting a glance in his direction.
"Don't listen to her. While I am afraid that our security team can't follow every case that comes through, I'm confident you can find help here." Mcdonough cleared his throat. "Diamond City, after all, has every conceivable service known to man! One of our great citizens can surely find the time to help you."
"Well, sure - A mayor of a great city must know everyone," the general said smoothly. "Who, exactly, can help me?"
Deacon had to hand it to her - she certainly didn't look like the type to be a master of manipulation. But that likely made her all the better at it.
The mayor straightened up, clearly flattered. "Well, there is one private citizen. Nick Valentine. A detective of sorts. He specialises in tracking people down - usually for debts, but I'm sure he can help you out." He shot her a grin. "Now, I have to get going. I'm sorry Diamond City Security doesn't have time to help, but I'm sure Mister Valentine charges a reasonable fee."
"Thank you so much," the general said, returning his smile.
Piper sighed loudly. "This is ridiculous! I want the truth, McDonough! What's the real reason security always shrivels away when talk of missing persons comes up?"
Mcdonough said something about her being on notice, along with her sister. Deacon tuned them out - Diamond City drama was of no interest to him. He could always pay Travis a visit later to see if anything important came of the conversation.
Once the mayor and Piper had finished their spat, the general said her goodbyes and walked towards Deacon.
He greeted her with a lazy smile, though his heart was racing in his chest. "Welcome to the, uh, great green jewel of the Commonwealth."
The general gave him a nod in greeting. "Thanks. I'm Nora."
"Pleasure to meet you, Nora," he said smoothly. He didn't offer up his own name in turn - for some inexplicable reason, he didn't want to lie to her.
His eyes darted to her forearm, wrapped tightly in dirt stained bandages, much like his own. It was a common practice in the Commonwealth to cover one's soulmark, so he didn't think too much of it, but for some reason, he felt an urge to rub his forearm.
"I assume you overheard my conversation with the mayor. Would you happen to know where, exactly, I can find Mister Valentine?"
"There are a bunch a' neon pink signs near his office. You can't miss 'em."
"Would you mind showing me?"
Deacon sucked in some air through his teeth. "I would, but my boss is a real stickler. He'd have my head for abandoning my post."
Nora sighed but didn't push further. "Well, thanks anyways."
Deacon offered her a lazy smile. "Anytime."
As she walked away, a bounce in her step, his eyes travelled to her forearm once more. He had never been too big on soulmarks - they usually only served to remind him of what he didn't have - but for some reason he wanted to know what hers looked like.
Just for curiosity's sake, he told himself. It would give the Railroad an advantage if they knew if she had a soulmate or not.
But inside he knew it was more than that.
-
He followed her from afar as she walked through Diamond City. She put on a smile for the merchants, but he noticed that it fell immediately after she was out of their line of sight.
Nora quickly rented a room at the Dugout Inn before leaving, politely refusing the owner's offer to make her a drink on the house.
Deacon slipped into her room and left a recruitment tape in the drawer.
-
When Deacon next saw Nora, she was in Goodneighbor with a synth detective by her side.
He heard from one of his drifter connections that she was headed to the memory den.
After she checked into the Hotel Rexford, Deacon once again let himself into her room, leaving yet another recruitment tape.
She would, after all, be easier to control if she joined the Railroad. And yeah, sure, maybe she had piqued his interest - but that interest was purely professional.
He trailed her to the Memory Den but waited outside, not wanting to disturb her privacy.
It was one of the few rules he gave himself for the sake of morality - never spy on someone in the Memory Den.
He knew firsthand how painful reliving the past could be. Making that harder for someone - no matter who it was - was unnecessarily cruel.
When she left, her features were ever so slightly scrunched up, a bored expression plastered on her face. Deacon was experienced enough to know it was fake, but the drifters surrounding her either didn't know or didn't care.
Nick's jaw was clenched. He kept shooting concerned glances in Nora's direction, which she skillfully ignored.
Instead of going straight to the Rexford like Deacon expected, the pair headed to the Third Rail.
Deacon loitered in the lobby, lighting a cigarette and holding it up to his lips on occasion to make it look like he was smoking.
Nora headed to the bathroom and he heard a muffled scream through the walls. Nick jolted, concerned, but Deacon knew how it felt to relive painful memories. He was hardly a stranger to it, after all.
After pacing for a moment, Nick settled back against the wall. He, too, held a cigarette, only he was actually smoking it.
They made eye contact. Nick raised an eyebrow, glowing eyes calculating.
"Hey. Valentine, right?" Deacon said, lowering his voice a couple octaves and adding a husk that would come from years of smoking. "I've heard 'bout you."
Nick stared at him with a deadpan expression. "Your disguises are gettin' sloppy."
Deacon's grinned. "I haven't the foggiest what you're on about."
Nick tapped his cigarette against the rim of an ashtray. "So why've you been trailing her?"
"Who?"
"Oblivious doesn't look good on you, friend. Doesn't go with your complexion."
"No idea what you're talking about."
Nick sighed deeply. "Look, she's good people, alright? Just keep that in mind before you invade her privacy too much."
"Sure thing, chief."
"And also - don't let your leader scare her too much, alright?"
Deacon's heart rate picked up. "I still don't know what you're talking about."
Nora emerged from the bathroom, face and bangs wet. She paused for a moment and glanced at Deacon. He shot her a grin and pretended to take a drag of his cigarette.
"C'mon, Nick. I get you can't drink, but you can just smoke broodily in a corner or something. I need some whiskey," she grumbled.
"Sure thing. I was doin' that already."
Deacon watched as the pair retreated into the bar. He put his cigarette with his foot, much like a drifter would do, and kicked it aside to join the pile of cigarette butts shoved in the corner.
He found himself needing to try harder than usual to seem miserable. So the general of the Minutemen was going to check out his humble organisation. He hoped she chose to join up.
She was a force to be reckoned with, after all. It was better to have her as an ally than an enemy.
-
Two weeks later Nora, accompanied this time by John Hancock, showed up at the Old North Church, just as Nick had implied. Deacon cringed as he heard them fighting through the corridors. Hancock was hardly the epitome of stealth.
He wondered how she had managed to convince the mayor to take a temporary leave for the first time in what must have been 15 years. Maybe she had something he wanted, Deacon theorised, or maybe she just had a silver tongue.
They guessed the passcode quickly - no doubt due to Hancock’s prior knowledge of the Railroad’s activities. Though the mayor had never officially paid them a visit, Deacon knew for a fact he was far more aware of the inner workings of their organisation than he liked to display.
“Stop right there.” Desdemona’s voice echoed through the church. Deacon had to will himself to stay put - he wanted to see how the general would react. “You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting. Before this goes any further, answer my questions.” She paused dramatically, prompting Deacon to roll his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“Put down your weapons first,” Nora said. Deacon winced - demanding things from Des almost never ended well.
“Until we’ve determined you’re not a threat, we’ll point our weapons wherever we damn well please. Who told you how to contact us?”
“Listen, I just found a recruitment tape in a nightstand and decided to investigate. If this is some kind of closed-off, high class organisation, I can leave.”
Deacon scoffed. Yeah, the railroad was just the picture of ‘high class’.
“Not so fast,” Des said hastily. “I’m Desdemona, and I’m the leader of the Railroad. And you?”
Deacon chose to make himself known, stepping coolly out of the shadows.
“Deacon.” Des greeted curtly. “Where’ve you been?”
“You’re having a party. What gives with my invitation?” He said smoothly, skillfully side-stepping her question.
Des sighed, apparently deciding the issue wasn’t worth pressing. “I need intel. Who is this?”
“Wow. News flash, boss, this lady is kind of a big deal out there,” he said casually.
Nora arched a brow, staring at him in a calculating manner. “Sounds like I have a stalker,” she said matter-of-factly.
“It’s not like that,” Deacon said hastily. “Lots of people know about you.” He paused for a moment, looking at his boss incredulously. “Des, seriously, you haven’t heard of her? She’s the leader of the Minutemen. It seems like the whole damn Commonwealth is flying her flag.” You were the one to send me on a mission to investigate her, for fuck’s sake, he added mentally. “If that wasn’t enough, Nick Valentine was in a jam, as usual.” He turned to look at Nora, staring at her through his shades. “But word is, you bailed him out. Talked your way past Skinny Malone, too. Didn’t even have to fight him. Also - the Railroad owes you a crate - hell, a truckload - of Nuka-cola for what you did to Kellogg. He was our public enemy number one.”
“So you’re vouching for her?” Des asked cautiously.
“Yes,” Deacon stated confidently. “Trust me, she’s someone we want on our side.”
“That changes things. So, stranger, why did you want to meet with us, anyways?”
Nora shrugged. “Slavery’s bad. You guys are trying to end it. I want to help. Also - you’re the only ones fighting the Institute, and I want to take them down.”
Desdemona sighed. “I’d like to say that nobody comes here out for blood. Out for revenge. That everybody’s here to help their fellow man. But that would be one hell of a lie. At least you’re here for both.”
“I don’t want anyone else to suffer at their hands.”
Desdemona nodded. “Amen to that.” She paused for a moment. “If we’re going to be dealing with you, I need to make sure we’re on the same page. You know what a synth is, right?”
Nora cleared her throat, suppressing a smile. “You could say that.”
“Then you probably know how the Institute treats synths as property. As tools.”
“Like I said before - slavery is wrong. That’s one of the reasons why I’m here.”
“Not too many people believe that any more. Glad to see you’re one of them.” Des smiled. “We seek to free them from their bondage - give them a chance at a real life.” She paused for a moment. “I have a question. Would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if that man is a synth?”
A bemused grin spread across Nora’s face as she chuckled. Des narrowed her eyes.
“She’s been travelling with Nick Valentine for a while,” Deacon hastily said, trying to prevent the pro-synth tirade Des was amping up towards. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she already has.”
“He’s right. Hell, I’ve taken a bullet for him.” Nora rolled up her sleeve to show a bandaged shoulder. “If they’re good people, I’d risk my life for them any day.”
“Well said,” Des said, smiling. “You were right about us. We’re the only ones in the Commonwealth brave enough, or stupid enough, to fight the Institute. But right now we don’t have the time or the resources to train up a new agent. There are other ways you can help us, though. See Deacon for details. You’re free to go.”
Deacon glared at Des through his sunglasses, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She went into the Railroad headquarters, Drummer Boy trailing behind her, leaving him and Nora alone - spare Hancock leaning against the wall.
“This your, ah, weekend job? When you aren’t a Diamond City guard or a Goodneighbour drifter, I mean?” Nora crossed her arms.
So she had noticed him. He was impressed - people generally didn’t see through his disguises. “You caught me,” he said breezily. “Can you blame me, though? The Minutemen coming back could cause a lot of problems for us. It all depends on who’s in charge. I was glad to see it was you.”
“That explains Diamond City, but what about Goodneighbour?”
“We move a lot of synths through there,” he explained smoothly. “I was there on business.”
Hancock pointedly shook a tin of mentats, causing Deacon to glance in his direction. The ghoul gave him a dirty look, clearly seeing through his lie. Deacon knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t say anything, but it still unnerved him.
“Look, you’ve clearly been watching me. You know I’m a good fighter, and an even better negotiator. I don’t need training to be a good agent.”
Deacon sighed. “I know, but it’s protocol. We can’t let just anyone who can handle a gun run missions for us without vetting them.”
“Then vet me.”
“Hm?”
“Take me on a mission and vet me. Then you’ll see that I’m not ‘just anyone who can handle a gun’.” She crossed her arms, staring at him, her eyes holding a challenge in them. Deacon suppressed the urge to rub his soulmark.
“Alright.”
Nora’s eyes lit up. “Wait, really?”
He liked her smile. He wanted to see it again. “Yeah, why not? I’ll give you a location, you meet me there, and we’ll see how you handle yourself out there on the field.”
-
Nora - or Fixer, as her new code-name dictated - was one of the best agents the Railroad had ever seen. When Deacon took her to the Switchboard, he barely had to exaggerate their success for Des to make her a full-fledged member.
Since then, she had run plenty of missions for the Railroad, making a name for herself among the organisation. Deacon tagged along more often than not.
He found it difficult to call her ‘Fixer’ instead of Nora for some reason. He had never had problems with code-names before, but something about her felt different. Like he had known her for his whole life and needed to adjust.
As for his soulmark.. Whenever Nora smiled, touched his arm, did anything even remotely resembling affection, he felt it tingle the same way it did when it first began to change, only instead of cold, he felt a warm heat spread across his body.
Deacon had never seen her soulmark. Hell, the only time he had seen her without the bandage on was when it got caught in a barbed-wire fence. She kept her other hand wrapped tightly around it as they ran, and the first thing she did when they reached safety was re-wrap it.
He knew better than to question her about it. Soulmarks were sensitive things, after all, and everyone had their own reasons for keeping theirs covered. But the curiosity never faded, and when they fell asleep, side by side in their respective bedrolls, he sometimes found himself lying awake imagining a world where she, too, had pale-purple flowers across her forearm.
But he knew better than to hope.
He briefly entertained the idea of exposing his own soulmark. Surely her response - or lack thereof - would tell him whether or not they matched. But he knew it was more likely than not that they didn’t. He was happy enough with how things were now. Knowing for certain that their soulmarks didn’t match would only cause him unnecessary pain.
So he stayed quiet, diligently making sure that his soulmark remained hidden, and doing his best not to think too much about his partner-in-crime’s forearm.
-
“Hey, Deac?” Nora - Fixer, he chastised himself - asked.
“Hm?”
“What’s the biggest lie you ever told?”
“What are the parameters?”
“Huh?” Nora’s nose wrinkled up.
Deacon grinned lazily. “Yeah, like, what’s the criteria of your question? The lie furthest from the truth, the lie with the biggest impact, the lie that -”
“The biggest impact.”
Goddamnit. He was hoping it wouldn’t be that one. Deacon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, y’know, I don’t usually stick around to see what happens when I exaggerate the truth.”
“Take a guess?”
“Why do you want to know?” He skillfully side-stepped the question.
Nora shrugged.
“I’ll tell you some other time,” Deacon said, averting his gaze. He wanted to be truthful to her. It wasn’t fair to let her travel with him, build a friendship with him, and grow to trust him if she didn’t know what kind of person he was.
It would have been so easy to just make something up, or to avoid answering, or even to deflect the question with humour, but it had always been hard for him to lie to her.
He doubted she even knew what she was asking. She probably just wanted to hear a lighthearted story about a time that he accidentally collapsed a government by pretending to be a Nuka-cola delivery person or something. But if he had the opportunity to be honest with her, to tell her about his past.. Well, he had to do it soon enough, right?
“Alright,” Nora accepted with a nod. She was silent for a moment. “Y’know, if it’s something private, you don’t need to tell me, right?”
He sighed. She was so accepting, so trusting, so.. Pure. He didn’t deserve that trust. “I know,” he said, but he had already made up his mind.
-
That night, after they set up camp and got a fire going, he told her about his past. Every gory detail of what he had done with the U.P. Deathclaws, the lynching he had taken part in, even Barbara.. It was all out there.
She stared at him passively as he spilled out his heart, her face free of judgement. That just made him more nervous. It would have been better if she looked disgusted, shocked, even scared, but she didn’t. Instead, he had no idea what she was thinking.
After he finished, they sat there in silence for a moment, the only sound around them being the distant gunshots that were standard in the Commonwealth.
“Thank you for telling me.” Her voice was quiet.
Deacon’s heart twisted. He told her about his past, about his wife, about the innocent person he had killed in cold blood, and she was thanking him?
He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the moisture building in his eyes. “I..” His voice cracked. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, he didn’t know anything. He had ran through countless scenarios in his head. How she would scream at him, throw things at him, leave him and hike back to Sanctuary.. But he didn’t expect this.
“I never had a soulmate.” She looked down at her forearm. “Pre-war, I mean. My soulmark stayed white all the way through my teens. Eventually I just kept it covered.” She chuckled mirthfully. “My husband’s soulmate died in the war. He bled out in his arms and when he told me, instead of feeling lucky that I didn’t need to go through that, I was jealous. How fucked up is that?” She looked at him, grey eyes welling up with tears. “I was jealous that he had a soulmate to begin with. That he got to feel all those things.” She choked out. “I was jealous of a man whose soulmate was dead. And I never told him.”
Deacon swallowed thickly as a tear ran down her cheek. He had never been good at comforting people, but something inside him made him swing an arm around her shoulders, holding her close to his body.
She shook in his arms, silently crying. “I’m sorry,” she smiled sadly. “I’m making this about me.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you got that out.”
“Same here,” she whispered.
“The biggest lie I ever told wasn’t to Barbara about the Deathclaws,” he said quietly, “it was to the Railroad. When they found me after I had gotten rid of the gang, they asked me why I did it. Instead of telling them the truth - that I did it out of revenge and that I used to be a member - I told them I heard about what the gang did to synths and I wanted justice. No one knows the truth. Everyone sees me as some kind of hero but all I am is a fraud.”
Nora tenderly placed her hand on his cheek. “Deacon, you aren’t a fraud,” she said softly. “You’re one of the bravest people I know.”
“You must not know many people, then,” Deacon joked, ignoring the heat that spread across his body as she touched his face.
“I’m serious. You dedicated your life to an organisation focused on helping people. What’s more brave than that? So many other people in your situation would have just given up, but you didn’t. You took what happened to you and you used it as fuel to better the world.”
He shook his head. “You’re making me sound way cooler than I actually am. I was just scared. I saw the Railroad as a way to make up for what I did, but the truth is, nothing will ever erase my past.”
“You don’t need to erase your past, Deacon,” Nora reassured. “You just need to do better in the future.”
“What happened to your soulmate?”
Nora paused for a moment, still sniffling from before. “Um.. I’m not really sure. When I got unthawed, my mark had changed. Guess they must have been born sometime during the 200 years I was out. But there are so many shitty people out here that I don’t really know if I want to meet them. Like, what if I finally find them and they turn out to be an Institute scientist or something?”
“But wouldn’t you rather know?”
Nora smiled sadly. “I resigned myself to a life without a soulmate some 200 years ago, Deacs. If I find them, I find them, and if I don’t, I don’t. I’m not going to go seek them out.” She sighed. “Besides - you probably know how it feels to live life without a soulmate.”
“What do you mean?”
Nora frowned. “Wasn’t Barbara your soulmate?”
“Nah. I don’t think the Institute is sophisticated enough to make synths with soulmates.. At least not yet. My soulmark was grey for the longest damn time. Then one day, three or four months back, it kinda just.. Appeared. Gave me one hell of a shock.”
“It.. Appeared?” Nora’s brow furrowed. “I’ve only ever heard of that happening with coma patients.”
“What’s a coma?”
Nora ignored his inquiry, proceeding to mutter something under her breath. She glanced up at him. “Why do you keep it covered?”
“You’ve met Glory, right? You think she would just let it slide if my soulmark turned purple out of nowhere?”
“Your - Your soulmark is purple?” She stammered, eyes widening.
“..Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not the most masculine colour, I know. On top of that, it’s covered in these dainty little flowers.”
“Forget-me-nots?”
Deacon’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“The flowers - are they forget-me-nots?”
“Uh.. I dunno, not exactly the most well-read on pre-war botany.”
Nora grabbed a pair of surgical scissors from her bag and cut away the bandage around her forearm. The off-white cloth fell away to reveal the same pale-purple flowers that adorned Deacon’s wrist.
“Holy shit,” he murmured.
Nora shakily held the scissors out to him. “Your turn,” she said, voice quivering.
He took them wordlessly, eyes wide. This had to be a dream. No way in fuck was he lucky enough to get someone like Nora as his soulmate.
He snipped away the bandage, revealing his own soulmark.
Nora made a strangled sound and pulled Deacon into a tight embrace. “I hoped, but I never thought..”
Deacon laughed, incredulous. “Holy shit. Holy shit, I’m so lucky.”
Nora nuzzled into his chest. “I want to make this work with you, Deacon,” she whispered.
“Me too.” Deacon said. “Me too.”