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Deacon watched Fixer pacing back and forth across their hotel room, hands flitting back and forth, muttering under her breath to no one. It was a common sight since she'd come back from the Institute, and got worse every time she went back.
"So." His voice was quiet but she stopped in her tracks, which was at least part of his goal. "What's the plan?"
Fixer's laugh was mirthless, just a little too loud as she slumped onto the bed. "Scream?"
"Always an option," he said, nodding. "Maybe not here, though. Thin walls." Fixer's shoulders shook just once in an approximation of a laugh. It was progress, anyway. "We'll find you a nice empty field soon. But seriously." He went to sit next to her. "We need to figure out what we're doing."
"I don't know." She dropped her face into her hands. "I don't make plans, you're the one who makes plans, I just freak out and sometimes it works out."
"That's not true." He tugged her hands away from her face. "You've gotten this far."
"Codsworth sent me to Concord." She starting counting on her fingers. "Mama Murphy sent me to Diamond City. Nick found Kellogg."
"You're the common factor in all that," Deacon pointed out. "You can do this, Fix. But we gotta figure out what you're doing."
"You keep saying 'we'," she murmured.
"Well, yeah. I'm on your side, Fixer. Always have been, always will be."
"...it's gonna be bad."
"Never expected it would be good. Doesn't mean it's not worth doing."
Fixer hesitated for a long moment, eyes on where his fingers were still wrapped around her wrist. Then she leaned sideways, resting her weight on him.
"Sorry." Her voice wasn't any louder, but it reverberated up through his chest from where she rested against him.
He didn't know which thing they were talking about - her situation with the Institute, how badly it had messed her up, or her curling up against him with her face pressed into his shoulder. It didn't matter. "You got nothing to apologize for."
Another small, bleak laugh. "We'll see."
"Yeah." He squeezed her wrist gently. "We will."