Deacon. It couldn't have been anyone but Deacon.
Faye had kept him at arms' length, just like he did with her, for a long, long time. She enjoyed his company and respected his abilities. On some level, it felt like more of a professional relationship than what she had with the others. And she was more than okay with that. She'd listen to him talk, his lies and half-truths, and she knew he was wearing his deceit like armor. She'd seen it a hundred times while working as a lawyer.
But she didn't mind that he didn't trust her enough to tell her his life story. They just needed enough trust to keep each other alive.
Somewhere between talking about old world literature, putting together terrible disguises, and overthrowing the Institute, she found herself wanting to spend more time with him—and missing him when he wasn't around and worrying about him when he was off on a mission without her. It didn't take her long put the pieces together.
The first time she told him she loved him, she hadn't meant to say it at all.
They were walking away from the USS Constitution.
"That was…I can't believe we just did that," Faye laughed, pulling her new lieutenant's hat on.
"See, the problem is that it's another story no one will believe," he said.
"That implies some of your stories are true."
"Some are. Probably."
Faye just shook her head. Three blocks and a small band of dead Raiders later, she was laughing again as he imitated Ironsides. Badly.
"You know Deacon, if I didn't love you, I'd never take you anywhere."
"Careful, Professor. You're gonna make me blush."
"I doubt it," she said, turning away so he didn't see her own cheeks. The words had slipped out unintentionally, and she couldn't decide if she was hurt or relieved that he hadn't taken it seriously at all.
The second time she told him she loved him, she was a little bit drunk.
She'd held a meeting with Preston and the others to divvy up a handful of missions, and a small group had stuck around to chat and share a bottle of whiskey. Deacon was the last to leave that night, lingering to help her clean up.
"I miss the old world," he said with an exaggerated sigh as he wiped out a glass with a scrap of cloth.
"Yeah?" Faye took the glass from him and put it away. "And what do you miss most?"
"Hmm…probably the dancing."
"The dancing, huh?"
"Definitely." He reached over to turn the volume on the radio up. And just as she was about to point out that Shaun was sleeping upstairs, he grabbed her by the waist and led her in an awkward sort of two-step to the rhythm of Ella Fitzgerald's "Undecided."
Faye's laughter made it difficult to keep up with him as he spun her around the room, and after a few moments, she planted her feet and put her hands on his chest to stop him.
"You're a terrible dancer, Deacon."
"Maybe you're a terrible dancer, boss."
Faye laughed again. "I am."
They stood like that, still smiling and holding on to each other, for a moment, a breath, a heartbeat. She was relatively certain it was the first time he'd touched her other than an occasional brush of fingers as they passed weapons and ammo back and forth. But the warmth of his hands on her waist and the whiskey in her blood left her feeling hopeful and buoyant. She looked at her reflection in his sunglasses and breathed, "I love you."
Deacon just smirked at her, spread his arms wide as he took a step backwards, and said, "Obviously."
She had known all along that this was the most likely response—she wasn't stupid, after all—but his dismissal still stung.
"You know Deacon…I was serious."
"Come on, boss," he laughed. "You can't bullshit a bullshitter. And anyway, you know I'm a tin man." He reached a hand out and tapped two fingers to her sternum. "No heart."
And with that, he stepped past her and was out the door.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She wasn't a love-struck teenager. She wasn't the heroine of a romance novel. She was General of the Minutemen and a Railroad Agent and had settlements and people to look after. And she wasn't going to cry over a mistake and a foregone conclusion.
When she saw Deacon the next morning, she smiled and waved, and he gave her a half-salute in return. Like nothing unusual had happened.
She had no intention of telling him she loved him a third time.
…
The sun was shining hot and bright, even though it was still low on the horizon. It was going to be a scorcher, but Faye preferred a clear sky to the low, dense fog or a radiation storm. Even still, she wanted to get out and back before it got unbearably hot.
She and Curie had been chatting about Vault-Tec the night before had stumbled upon an idea, one she was planning on following up on without bothering anyone else. She sighed to herself as she pictured the look on Preston's face if she told him she was going up to the vault. Hancock wouldn't react so obviously, but he would insist on going with her. She knew they meant well, but their constant assumption that everything and anything related to the vault, to Nate, or to the life she lost would potentially break her was frustrating. She had done her grieving. She had come to terms with her new life.
She whistled to Dogmeat on her way out of the house, and he happily loped along with her down the main street of Sanctuary Hills. It was quiet, most of the settlers still sleeping. She spotted Deacon just as she was about to turn to leave through the side gate. He gave her a half-salute, just like always, and she stopped and waited while he jogged over, curious that he was dressed like he was headed somewhere.
"Morning, Professor. Surprised to see you up so early. I heard you and Curie giggling pretty late last night."
"We weren't drinking. Just talking."
"Mhm." He gestured to the mostly empty bag slung over her shoulder. "Going somewhere?
"Just going to check on some info Curie gave." She jerked her chin in the direction of the vault.
Something flickered in Deacon's face but was gone in an instant. He nodded.
"What about you?" Faye gestured to the trilby not normally perched on the top of his head while in town.
"Just out for a walk," he said with a shrug. "It's a nice morning."
She knew better than to ask, so she nodded just like he had, accepting the explanation as it was. She turned back to the gate, wondering why this exchange felt awkward when nothing else had the past few weeks.
"I'll be back in less than an hour," she said, hoping that was a sufficient end to the conversation.
Deacon however, fell into step beside her and Dogmeat. She cast him a sidelong glance.
"There's a good view from the top of the hill," he said in response to her unasked question. "I haven't been up there in a while."
Faye just shook her head and kept her skepticism to herself. He wouldn't be Deacon if he didn't have secrets.
It wasn't until the vault's staging area came into view, burnt out trailers and rusted hulls of cars on the horizon, that Deacon spoke again.
"How long has it been?"
Faye frowned a little as she thought.
"I have no idea, actually. I haven't gone back since I...left. I haven't really been counting."
Deacon's step faltered. "No, I...I actually meant...about me. How long..." His voice trailed off and he shook his add, adding quickly, "Nevermind."
"Oh." Faye's brain went into overdrive, processing both the question and Deacon's uncharacteristic verbal stumbling, and scrambling for an appropriate response.
They reached the crest of the hill a moment later and both slowed to a stop, speaking at the same time.
"372 days."
"Since the moment I met you."
"What?" Deacon's eyebrows were high on his forehead, eyes most likely like saucers behind his sunglasses.
Faye grinned and repeated, "Since the moment I met you. It was like...getting struck by lightning."
"Sounds about right," Deacon said.
Faye swore it was the first time his laugh sounded so obviously forced, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She opened her mouth to apologize, to give an honest answer, but he turned away from her and waved his hand vaguely.
"I'm that way. Have fun down there, boss."
372 days.
The number echoed in her head as she and Dogmeat rode the elevator down and followed the hallway to the Overseer's office. She repeated the number over and over while she picked the lock and pulled out the Cryolator Curie correctly guessed would be there. It was a mantra as she scanned the terminal for any other information that could be useful.
She hesitated just before stepping back onto the elevator platform, wondering if she should explore the whole facility. Dogmeat whined at her side, questioning her pause, and she reached down to scratch him behind the ears. Then she shook her head. MacCready would have grabbed anything useful when he came down with Preston and Hancock to recover Nate's body months ago.
372 days.
She pushed the button for the elevator and let herself wonder how she'd missed that it had been over a year. And how Deacon knew.
Three days later, Faye and Dogmeat were out again, this time on a routine run to check on some of the settlements.
And Faye had a tail. She could sense the presence flicker into her awareness every few minutes, just to her 4 o'clock. She wasn't concerned because Dogmeat wasn't concerned, so she continued on her way, keeping only a fraction of her attention on the tail. If she had to put money on it, she'd guess it was Deacon. Aside from being one of the few capable of tailing her as quietly as this person was, he had been acting strange ever since that morning he followed her to the vault under pretenses of going for a walk. But even if it was him, she had no idea why.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the crack of a gunshot and a shout. Her eyes scanned the buildings around her, quickly calculating where she was and what was in the direction of the sound—now multiple gunshots.
A Railroad checkpoint, she realized and shifted directions quickly, heading for the sounds of fighting with Dogmeat at her heels.
The raiders who had decided to attack the checkpoint weren't all that difficult to subdue, but the fighting had alerted a nearby group of super mutants, which in turn caught the attention of even more raiders. And that's when Faye got caught off guard. She heard the steady beeping of a Suicider headed her way and focused her attention on spotting him and on aiming a shot at the arm carrying the nuke. And she forgot to watch her back. It was a rookie mistake.
The explosion of the nuke—a little too close for comfort—left Faye's ears ringing. She almost didn't notice the shout of her name, but she spun just in time to see Deacon firing repeatedly at the super mutant that was bearing down on her, a bladed board raised above his head. She rolled out of the way only to find herself face-to-face with a mutant hound, and by the time she got her bearings, Deacon was standing just a few feet away, his back to her as he unloaded his rifle into two raiders across the street. She turned to her left to see Dogmeat standing triumphantly over the last super mutant, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of a grenade sailing towards her.
She was on her feet in an instant, screaming and running at Deacon, firing her pistol blindly in the direction where the grenade had come from. She tackled him hard, jarring her shoulder in the process and rolling with him to the ground. The heat from the grenade washed over them, and Faye's vision went completely white for a moment.
She blinked a few times and found herself staring down at a dumbfounded, if still a little blurry, Deacon. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard a muffled wail and Dogmeat's happy bark and knew that he'd taken down whoever had thrown the frag grenade. She listened for his second bark, confirming that there were no threats left, and then turned her attention back to Deacon.
As soon as she did, he reached a hand up to her face and wiped at her temple, his fingers coming away crimson. She stilled at the unexpected contact.
"Deacon, wha—"
Before she could finish the question, he reached toward her again, his hand had gripping her shoulder and yanking her down towards him. She barely had a chance to register that his lips were pressed firmly against hers before he let go of her.
She blinked at him, her brain scrambling for a response. Deacon must have taken her silence as permission, because he pulled her down and kissed her again, gentler this time. Faye was pretty sure she should have stopped him—at the very least to point out that kissing in the middle of a street they'd just been fighting in was not a good tactical decision—but when his hands slipped from her shoulders and buried themselves in her hair, Faye's eyes slid shut and let herself fall into the kiss.
They broke apart only a second later—too soon, she thought—and he gave her a lopsided grin.
"Fancy meeting you here, Professor."
"What—what was that?"
"Last time I checked, most people called that a kiss."
Faye involuntary let out strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. And when she opened her mouth to speak, all that came out was a jumbled mess of words.
"But why. I thought you. What are you. Why are you. Here. You're not." She snapped her mouth shut and frowned.
And Deacon had the audacity to chuckle. "Sorry, boss. I didn't mean to break you."
Faye's frown shifted into a scowl. She started to pull away from him, but Deacon gripped her arm to stop her.
"Ask me again," he said calmly, not a hint of humor in his tone this time.
"Why are you here?"
"Because I love you, Faye. I've walked away too many times. I don't deserve you, and I'm going in blind here. But I know I'll regret it forever if I walk away again. I have enough regrets already."
Faye stared down at him, blinking slowly as she let those words sink in.
"I thought you said you had no heart," she said quietly.
Deacon smirked. "And I thought you knew I was a liar."
Before Faye could respond to that, Dogmeat whined, reminding her exactly where they were. She rolled to her feet and regretted the sudden movement immediately. She shut her eyes as the world tilted sideways, and when she opened them again, Deacon was standing in front of her, making a show of adjusting his hat.
He gestured to her head.
"Looks like you took a pretty good knock there. Let's get out of the sun, and I'll patch you up."
Faye followed him in silence as he led her slowly to a mostly intact awning. She sat on a chunk of concrete underneath it, and he knelt in front of her, rummaging through his bag. When she waved off a stimpak, he pulled out purified water and some clean strips of cloth, talking the whole time as he cleaned her wound and bandaged it.
"That was quite a tackle, by the way. Thanks for the save though. And here I was thinking I'd get to be the knight in shining armor. I should've known you find a way to come out on top. I mean you always do." He shook his head, his voice dropping a little. "I really don't know what someone like you sees in someone like me."
"Deacon…"
He stood up, shaking off her interruption, and held out a hand to help her up.
"Sorry it took me so long, Dorothy."
Faye recognized the dismissal for what it was and decided to let him have it. Instead, she looked up at him and questioned his new nickname.
"Dorothy?"
"Tin Man and Dorothy. Pretty good code names, right?"
"Oh god. You can't be serious." She resisted the urge to shake her head at him, knowing the movement would hurt more than it was worth, and instead slipped her hand in his and let him pull her carefully to her feet. She held onto his hand for a moment longer, waiting until she felt steady on her feet before letting go, and decided they could skip the looting this time.
"Come on then, Tin Man," she said. "We've got a settlement to get to."
He grinned. "Your wish is my strong recommendation."
They set out side-by-side, Dogmeat trotting along behind them. The throbbing in her head was balanced by the happiness buzzing through her as she recounted Deacon's words. She knew she needed to ask him why he'd been following her in the first place. She wondered what this meant for them, how things would change, and what had changed for him already. She knew they'd eventually need to talk about Shaun. She also knew they had time to figure things out, and thinking about it right then was only making her head hurt more. And then she remembered his question from a few days before.
"How long?" She asked, unable to help herself.
Without missing a beat, he replied, "372 days."
A/N: I'm not supposed to be writing fanfiction at all. I'm supposed to be writing a dissertation. This was supposed to a simple answer to a simple question on tumblr. Oops.