Work Text:
The first time she heard his laugh—his real laugh—Charmer had to do a double take. They were sitting on her roof at Home Plate, drinking and relaxing after “a long day of chasing around bad guys” as Deacon had called it. They were swapping puns, and neither had laughed because they were throwing out their worst ones first—but the smiles never left their faces. Charmer chugged the rest of her beer before taking a deep breath and going over another pre-war pun that she’d heard in college. It was so shitty and stupid she didn’t even think it was worth saying, but his laugh…
She’d heard his forced chuckles before, seen his lips curl in a silent laugh, heard the over-dramatic, shoulder shaking laugh he had done a few times to annoy someone who didn’t know when to leave him alone, the sarcastic ‘ha-ha’ he gave Carrington all too often at HQ, but never had she heard the light, nearly silent, airy, real laugh that had just escaped his lips.
Her chest felt tight, her breath caught in her throat and all she could do was stare. She remembered her fingers gripping onto the beer bottle so tight that she thought it would shatter between her palms. He started speaking again, cheeks tinted lightly from the booze, rattling off another pun but she wasn’t listening. She wanted to hear that laugh again—that amazing, pure, innocent laugh that knocked the air out of her lungs.
She needs to hear it again.
The second time, she was running into HQ, news from Z1-14 that the Brotherhood found them, the Railroad—her family. A wave of emotion swept through her when she heard his laugh, tears pricking the corner of her eyes as she ran the rest of the way down the stairs. She scanned the area quickly, everyone was there—everyone was alive. No death, no destruction, her family was okay. She needed to save them.
Deacon’s laugh stopped as soon as she jumped onto the middle platform, “The Brotherhood is on their way here! We need to evacu—”
Boom!
The entire church shook above them, the foundation above their head cracking, dust shaking off the roof.
“Damn!” Tinker Tom’s voice broke through the noise, “The booby trap in the escape tunnel is blown!”
“Assume defensive positions!” Desdemona was working her magic as Charmer jumped off from the platform, Deacon moving to her through the chaos, “Reinforce Glory in the tunnels! Move, people, move!”
The third time… it took a while for it to bubble up again. Glory’s death hit HQ hard—but it hit Deacon the hardest. He disappeared for a couple weeks—one second he was standing over the last of the Brotherhood’s scribes, and the next he was invisible, a ghost. Charmer assumed he had finally done what he always wanted to do and used his stealthboy to bugger out. She couldn’t be—and wasn’t—mad at him, she took over most of the HQ missions alone, sometimes running an Op with another friend, but her and Deacon's style of her fighting in light while he fought from the shadows didn’t always work well with someone who didn't work well with her fighting style. In the end, she always took the missions alone, even leaving Dogmeat behind.
She came back to Home Plate after helping another settlement with feral ghouls, tired, bruised and she was sure she had a concussion—she really should have taken someone on that run. She walked through the side door, kicking it closed behind her and was immediately greeted by Deacon sitting on her couch, the Railroad flag he helped her create hung above him. His wig was tilting off his head, sunglasses had specks of dried blood on the lenses, she could see the darkness of a black eye peeking from behind the left side of his sunglasses, his bottom lip was a bit swollen and split open, thankfully no fresh blood. She probably didn’t look any better. She had to take two Rad-Away’s after dealing with the feral ghouls, and she still felt like there was some radiation in her.
Charmer could feel his eyes on her as she pulled her pack off her shoulder and kicked it against the wall. She pulled down the bandana from her face as she walked over to him.
She knew what he needed right now, and it wasn’t booze or stern talking or a yelling match. It was a friend. A friend who understood this Hell, one who wouldn’t judge what he may or may not have gotten into the past couple of weeks, one who wouldn’t ask questions and prod, one who would just sit and talk like they always did. A friend who he had broken his first lesson with.
You can’t trust everyone.
Rules—and lessons—were sometimes meant to be broken.
“You look like shit.” Charmer plopped down onto the couch next to him.
And there is was, that laugh—even if it was broken up, dry and forced—she could hear it. He was still there. He was still Deacon. He wasn’t running away and this hadn’t broken him.
“And you are the most beautiful and radiant of sunflowers I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Her lips curled, “Sweet talker.”
The fourth time was after a confusing whirlwind of emotions, at least, more than usual.
She pressed the button only a week ago, watching, with Deacon at her side, the Institute explode and felt the radiation wash over her skin. She looked back on that exact moment and she swore she felt the explosion do more then just create another crater in the ‘Wealth. The explosion not only ended the Institution, not only ended the Synth’s slavery, it ended everything she had been dealing with since stumbling out of that damn cryo-pod.
As soon as Desdemona started talking behind her—stating ‘job well done’ to everyone—she ran. Charmer had been many things in this life, and a runner was not one of them. She didn’t care that Deacon was on her tail as she searched for that stupid ID card to activate the elevator, she didn’t care that he slid through the elevator doors before they closed, she didn’t care that he cared…
“You look like shit.” He said as soon as they were out of sight from the others in that damn elevator.
Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, shoulders shaking and damn it—she would not cry in front of him. She shouldn’t be crying, not when she killed the man who caused millions of unneeded death, millions of scared people who were afraid that the Institute replaced someone they loved with a synth, millions of unneeded everything!
She shouldn’t be crying sad tears.
Happy. Happy should be flowing through her veins because it was over—…
They were over…
And there it was.
They would part ways as soon as those elevator doors opened and he would be gone.
The End.
No more food fights, late night escapades, running around the ‘wealth in hopes of bettering it… No more Deacon.
“And you,” Charmer took a shaky breath, screwing her eyes shut, “are the most beautiful and radiant of sunflowers I have ever laid eyes on.”
Silence… She’d have to get use to that again.
“You know,” he was turned to her now, chest barely grazing her shoulder, “you’re not much of a sweet talker when you use other people’s lines.”
A pause.
“What’s going on, boss?”
“You’ll be leaving back to HQ.”
“Yeah. I’m sure Dez is already planning—”
“You’ll be leaving… back to HQ.”
Click. He got it, and it terrified her when her hand was suddenly engulfed in his.
“Mila—”
“Don’t—” her voice cracked, “don’t make empty promises, Dee. Don’t say anything unless you fucking mean it because I am about to break.”
The tears fell and silence continued on this too-long of an elevator ride. His hand continued to hold hers, and she could feel his fingers twitching around her hands until he laced them through hers.
“You’re my rock, Mila… The only way I’m leaving you is if you want me to.” His voice was low, reassurance and worry tied in with his voice. Gods be damned if his voice wasn’t the perfect mix of everything she needed right now, all that was missing was—
His laugh.
Deacon pulled her to him, his laugh bubbling in his chest as he captured her chin between his finger and angled her head up to look at him. She could feel the heat forming on her cheeks, one hand clung to his shirt while the other still held his own.
“Dee—”
“Shush,” he cut her off, “you’re going to ruin the moment I’m trying to build.”
She raised a brow, “And what moment is that? When you say ‘jinx’ and suddenly disappear into thin air?”
“Ah,” he clicked his tongue, “you figured out plan A… guess I’ll just have to go with plan B.”
Before she could respond, his lips were on hers. The warmth of his mouth sent a bolt of lightning down her spine. He tasted different then she had thought. She thought he’d taste of hundred-year-old bourbon and smoke, maybe even cheap beer instead of bourbon; but whatever this taste was now—smoke was definitely there, the taste of the quantum Nuka-Cole she forced down his throat to help get his blood pumping in the Institute, but this other taste she couldn’t place. It was sweet, almost like the Sugar Bombs she stuffed her face with whenever she was handed a box, but it had a sour mix… Whatever this taste was, she wanted more of.
He pulled away too quickly, and she knew her face was the perfect description of shock. She stared up at him with wide eyes, mouth agape, cheeks even redder than they had previously been.
“You know,” he drawled, far too pleased with the state he put her in, “for someone who picked the codename ‘Charmer’,” ah, that shit-eating grin was plastered on his face, “you don’t exactly handle being charmed well.”
“In my defense,” Charmer started, already working her ‘lawyer tone’, “it has been a while since I’ve been… ‘charmed’.”
Deacon pursed his lips in thought before replying with a smile that made her heart skip a beat, “We may need to fix that.”
“Oh, ooh, yes. I—” Charmer cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair, “I agree—with that. Completely, yes.”
He leaned back down for a kiss, both their laughter filling the elevator.