It's a perfect summer's night in the Commonwealth. The sky above me is a deep blue, fading into a pale pink skyline. The sun is setting in a fiery explosion of orange, and the few clouds that decided to make an appearance are wispy and low slung, like notches in a gun slinger's belt.

I'm grateful I have the opportunity to enjoy the view. Only a few hours earlier Deacon and I extracted a synth and barely managed to deliver him to the drop off point before the Institute caught onto our tail. Thankfully The Castle was nearby and we got some much-needed backup from the General himself: Preston Garvey.

But now the excitement's over, and danger is averted, for the present.

I'm perched on a corner of the fortress near some heavy artillery overlooking the water, catching up on some much needed quiet time. The Minutemen are unusually at ease after their brief encounter with the Institute, and their patrols are kindly avoiding my small corner of their domain.

Breathing in deep, I catch a whiff of warm earth on the backside of a cool breeze. Somewhere in the courtyard, Diamond City Radio is broadcasting, and someone is whistling along to the music.

Deacon most likely.

For once I have a moment to observe my partner without suspicion. He's scouting the area, despite all Preston's assurances that the place is secure. Deacon is extremely unpredictable except when it comes to security. He can't rest until he's scouted out a place for himself.

I sip my lukewarm Nuka-Cola, annoyance tainting the otherwise beautiful evening as he strikes up a conversation with a passing Minuteman, and within moments feminine laughter echoes across the fortress.

It had taken me a long time to get past Deacon's defenses, and I took pride in the fact that he had told me things he hadn't even told Desdemona. Dare I say we'd gotten close? At least I thought there were times he took careful pains to look out for my needs.

I had hoped that our hard-earned friendship would turn into something more, but just when I think I've finally got him nailed down he deflects. He makes jokes. He slithers away.

Then there's the fact that no matter where we go he manages to draw attention to himself, usually from women. Not that he can help it. He's a good looking guy, witty, full of charisma, and quick with a smile. My code name may be Charmer, but he truly deserves the title.

And he always manages to appear pulled together. Despite being shot at only an hour ago he still looks as cool and collected as ever.

My heart clenches painfully as the woman reaches out to touch his shoulder, and I look away. There's no reason for me to torture myself. I hadn't planned on falling in love again before I met Deacon. Living in the Commonwealth is hard enough without the pains of heartache, and I'd already had my heart broken enough for a lifetime.

But I fell for him. And when I fall, I fall hard.

Maybe I'm a cockeyed optimist, but I'd like to believe there's something special between us. Deacon just didn't know it yet. Or maybe he didn't want to. He's accustomed to keeping a safe distance from everything and everyone, and old habits die hard.

But I can be patient if I want to be. My search for my son is proof enough of that. Give it time and he would see me.

I'd make him see me.

I just hope he won't see me until I get a change of clothes.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, I rub a hand down the torn and muddy dress he'd forced me into wearing. I'd told him it was a terrible idea. The elaborate sequined get-up had a long train that tapered and made it almost impossible to walk, let alone run in, but he wanted to go for the posh disguise. And since I knew I looked really good in the dress, I caved for once.

My vanity might have been the death of me if Deacon hadn't been carrying a knife in his coat. To say I was embarrassed while he painstakingly chopped off the bottom half of the dress is an understatement. I couldn't look him in the eye for at least an hour afterward.

I shake my head. That's quite enough self-pity for the time being. I'll have plenty of time to pine after my partner another time later. Right now I want to enjoy this quiet moment while I still can.

My butt is going numb so I shift to get more comfortable against the artillery, allowing my bare legs to swing over the edge of the wall. I really couldn't ask for a better view of the twilit landscape. Rocks jut out above the horizon, which is littered with the remains of blown-out buildings and skeletal trees. While such a picture once seemed eery and terrifying, it now just felt familiar. Normal.

A few months ago I never would have dared to sit anywhere alone, especially undefended like I was. My gun's still within reaching distance, but in all other respects, I'm completely vulnerable. Fear is no longer a part of my life. From the moment I stepped out of the vault alone, I realized fear could no longer be tolerated. My very survival depended on it. So I adapted, getting so familiar with this war-torn world that chaos is an old friend, and the butt of a rifle against my shoulder is the most comforting thing in the world.

Admittedly, it's taken me a while to get to this point. To not flinch at the staccato of gunfire or the sight of fresh blood on the ground. To not scream at the sight of rotting corpses roaming down empty streets, their macabre forms lurking in every shadow.

Heads tilting unnaturally towards any sound.

Gaping maws hungry for flesh.

My heart rises to my throat the moment I catch wind of the rancid smell of walking death.

I shiver.

"You're not cold, are you boss?"

"No." I said, trying to still my racing heartbeat. "I was just thinking."

"Thinking?"

"Yeah."

He hemmed. "Seems like a pretty dangerous pastime to me. I know you hate to hear it, but thinking can be pretty dangerous. Do you know why?"

"I have no idea."

"Well there, you've got it. The reason is because thoughts turn into ideas, and ideas can eventually lead to revolutions, and revolutions eventually create democracies."

"Is that right?"

He settled down next to me. "I'd bet my ass on it."

"Well then I'll soon be the proud owner of your ass because all of history is against you."

"America did it."

"And practically no one else."

He shrugged. "Ah well."

I release an exaggerated sigh. "It's a shame you have to part with your ass, but you did bet on it, and there's no going back on your bets."

"Well Charms, there's no one else I'd rather have watching over it than you."

"I'm touched."

"You should be."

We grin at each other.

It's moments like these I really try to hold onto.

"But honestly," He says, "nobody back in HQ would ever forgive me if I let you start having your own thoughts and ideas and revolutionary democracies."

"Because I'm supposed to be running their revolution?"

"Because your revolutionary democracy would be way cooler than theirs. Des hates to be outdone when it comes to theatrics."

I laugh. Getting into a conversation with Deacon is always fun. It's like Russian roulette. He could start spouting jokes or philosophy or maybe even quote some poetry, but you never really have any idea how it will turn out until the end.

"I swear it's the truth. You already have an army of people willing to stand behind you. All they're waiting for is for you to say the word, and they'd take on the world."

"That's an exaggeration."

"I don't know how you manage to be so smart, but so dumb at the same time. It's impressive really."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He swipes the bottle from my hand and takes a drink. "You just don't get it. Everywhere we go I meet at least one person who would gladly throw themselves into a pit of Mirelurks for you."

"I'll bet you can't name one person who meets that qualification."

"I'll take that bet, and raise you one Paladin Danse."

"Okay... Well, I bet you can't name-"

He holds up his fingers and starts ticking them off, "Cait, Hancock, Strong, that little guy Kent Connolly… Do you want me to go on? Because I could go on."

"Fair enough, but Strong doesn't count because he would gladly strap a bomb to his chest and blow an empty building to hell if someone told him it was the right thing to do. He also believes in something called 'Sandy Claws'."

"Alright, I'll give you Strong."

"Thank you."

"But that's still more than one person." He smiles smugly. "And I won the bet, so now you're in my debt."

"Well since I own your ass I guess it's only fair. What do you want? A new wig? A Nuka-girl tee? I think I may have found one in the last hotel we scavenged from. I may or may not have taken it off a corpse."

"The wig or the tee?"

"Either."

He pretended to consider for a moment. "A tempting offer, but no thanks. I was thinking of something a little bit different." He stood up and extended his hand to me. "Come on boss."

"I hope you don't expect me to do anything that requires effort." I balk as I take his hand.

This is the first time he's ever initiated contact, and the moment is not lost on me. I'm hyper aware that his hand is callused and rough, and mine in slightly clammy.

As I awkwardly gain my feet I try to pull my hand away, but he doesn't release it.

My heart is beating wildly and I have to refrain from squirming. It's like junior high all over again, except worse because I actually like this guy.

I really like him.

"So how will I be repaying my debt today?"

"A dance." He says. No charming smile accompanies this comment.

"Are you serious?"

He says nothing more, opening his other arm as an invitation.

Not for the first time I wish I could see his eyes.

Crazy He Calls Me begins to play softly on the radio as I place my hand on his shoulder and he slides his arm around my waist.

My waist tingles at his touch, but I like being held in his arms. As we sway to Billie Holiday, I let the small flame of hope in my chest reignite.

Deacon isn't acting like himself, but maybe that's not a bad thing. There's no oozing charming, heart-stopping smile, or smooth compliments, but I think I can feel something… different. Not a bad different. At least, I don't think so. He seems to be content just holding me, apparently unbothered by our close proximity.

"You seem tense."

His voice is steady, but I think I detect a trace of... Uncertainty? Hurt? Worry? In the tone of his voice.

Whatever it is, it's unusual for Deacon to be not self-assured.

I find it kind of endearing actually.

"I'm sorry, I'm just not used to dancing, that's all. I haven't been held this close since..."

I let the sentence trail off, but Deacon seems to understand. I do my best to relax as he pulls me closer to his chest.

The sound of our feet shuffling through the dirt is so loud I almost can't hear the music anymore, but I'm happy. He seems happy as well. At least I hope he is.

I try to read any kind of emotion on his face, but his expression is impenetrable thanks to those damn glasses.

"Looking for something in particular, or just looking?"

"Just looking. Am I making you nervous?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Yep. I was definitely making him nervous.

Awwww!

"You look great in a suit, by the way. It's like you were a bodyguard in another life."

"In another life? What do you think I've been doing for you in this life?"

"Tagging along to crack jokes and find out everybody's secrets."

"See? Bodyguard."

The song changes, but I can't really hear to what. Deacon doesn't seem to notice.

He clears his throat. "I meant to say something earlier, but you clean up pretty good Charms."

"For the five minutes before I experienced an unforeseen wardrobe malfunction. Too bad nobody warned me against it. Oh wait! I did."

"You still wore it."

"Only because I thought it made me look sexy, and I haven't looked sexy in over two hundred years."

He spins me smoothly around a chunk of stone. "Well, you still look sexy, just in a shorter dress."

My heart flutters. "I don't think I've ever been on the receiving end of one of your compliments before."

"Hm. Sounds like something I need to work on."

"You really do."

As he maneuvers us around the rubble and heavy artillery, I discover that being his dance partner is just as easy as being his partner in a gunfight. We work well together.

"You're a pretty good dancer."

"I'm classically trained."

I laugh as he twirls me around again before pulling me back into his embrace, this time resting his cheek on the top of my head.

I bite back a silly smile. I can't tell whether his heart is beating fast because of the dance, or because he's enjoying our flirtation as much as I am. Either way, I'm feeling extraordinarily happy.

The song ends, and so does our dance.

"Everything alright Deacon?" I ask after a moment or two of silence.

"I was just thinking… You lost two bets."

I roll my eyes. "Alright, one more dance. But only because I'm enjoying myself."

"I don't think I want another dance."

I pull back and blink up at him, confused. "Then what do you want?"

That unfamiliar uncertainty seems to have crept back in, and he hesitates. "Well… I haven't really decided yet."

We stare at each other for the space of a moment, and though I can't see his eyes I'm sure they're boring into mine.

"I don't believe you."

"Really?"

I bite my lip. I'm not sure what he wants, but I know what I hope he wants.

I summon up my courage and reach for the rim of his glasses. He doesn't move away, and as I pull them off his face I see his eyes for the first time.

They're not what I expected. Deep set, dark. Without the glasses, he looks just like any other man. But he isn't like any other man, and there's something in his gaze that makes me feel bold.

I lean forward.

He tips his head towards mine.

Time seems to stretch.

His face is now inches from mine, close enough for me to see the lines in his face and smell the sweat on his skin. The faint scent of cigarettes is on his shirt.

Our eyes are locked.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pause as he takes in a sharp breath.

It's now or never.

"Thank you for the dance," I whisper, then close my eyes and take the plunge.

His lips aren't soft, but the kiss is passionate. His arms tighten around me till I almost can't breathe, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

I kiss like a woman who's been without air. He kisses like a man who's falling, and I'm his tether.

When we finally separate, I'm out of breath. I can feel my hair standing in every direction.

He looks slightly shell shocked. "Wow."

I feel a giddy grin rise to my face. "Yeah."

"Do you mind if we…?"

"Please."