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I once told you I thought the Railroad was living on borrowed time. Knowing what I know now, maybe I would have seen something in the set of your jaw and the pursing of your lips- God knows I looked at them enough. Now, I’m not usually the narcissistic type, but I can’t help but wonder if I could have made any sort of difference in the way this played out. If in those nights we were awake facing each other, holed up in some exterminated raider camp, you would have come to your final decision differently. Would you have elected to kill me if I had read the question in your eyes, and answered it?
Thinking back on it, this comes to me at no real surprise. Paladin Danse was your friend, after all. You still shot him down like a dog when it all came down to it. The whole damn Brotherhood, too. Maybe in my excitement to have that thorn in the Railroad’s side gone, I ignored just how damn easy it was for you.
I should have known better when you sent me back to HQ, saying you needed a few days to travel alone. If I ever knew anything about you, I knew that you’re the type of guy who could never be alone. I’d like to imagine that in that time you went back to the Institute, picked up the supplies you needed, and warped back to do the deed, guilt ate you alive.
And yet, there was no heaviness in your steps as you walked right up to Desdemona. You’re a professional, after all. Her posture was relaxed, even when you told her the Institute ordered you to kill her. Des was still puffing on her cigarette when she asked what you planned to do about it. Your eyes scanned HQ for me and made sure I was looking when you drew your pistol and blew her brains out.
I felt nothing other than numbness when I drew my own. Hilariously, it was some .44 you gave me in the months I traveled by your side. In the time it took my mutinous body to act, Tom and Drummer Boy fell with deadly efficiency. Then, you turned on me.
One shot, I was down to my knees. Two shots, and I knew if I had the bad fucking luck to live through it all, I would never use my gun arm again. Doubled over, I couldn’t hear anything but the sounds of my own gasps of pain. I was only dimly aware of you finishing off the rest. It didn’t matter. I was dead anyway.
“...con. Deacon.” I looked up when I saw your shoes at the edge of my vision. I felt like I finally understood the grand punchline. You kept me alive. You wanted to talk. I didn’t answer.
“I just wanted to let you know… I never wanted it to end like this. I’m sorry.” You were frowning, but the sadness didn’t quite reach your eyes. I could have laughed. You were waiting patiently for me to answer. I swallowed, and the words were thick in my mouth.
“All our final decisions… are made in a state of mind that is not going to last.” Proust would have been proud, I’d wager. If he understood English, that is.
A beat. You raised the pistol to my temple. It felt cool on my forehead. Another beat. Slowly, deliberately, you reached over and pulled my sunglasses off my face. One-handed, you folded them and tucked them into one of the pockets of your armor. Your eyes met mine without a barrier in the way for the first time.
Whatever you found in my eyes gave you the courage in the end.