Games We Play: Misinformation

Notes: Everything belongs to Bethesda and Obsidian, I'm just playing with their toys.


misinformation

noun

false or misleading information

"I heard a rumor about a settlement that got wiped off the map." Desdemona's voice is steady. She's trying to avoid giving away too much and, as usual, failing. Maybe they've just known each other too long, but he can read her like a book. For all her strong points - and they are legion - she has so many tells when she wants information he could practically write a book on them.

Right now, for example, she's fidgeting. One of the easiest ways to tell when Des wants to know something but doesn't want to ask outright is to watch her leg. If she sits down, crosses her leg and shakes it, that's a dead giveaway that she's dying to ask a question but also afraid to know the answer.

A well-placed lie might not be a bad thing here.

He doesn't have a chance to give it to her, though, because she continues on as if it's unimportant, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"No matter," she charges ahead. "I hope you two don't need long to rest because we need to head out to Mercer Safehouse. Drummer Boy brought the news this morning. They've finished building the relay. Tinker Tom and I will be traveling with you so we can see Charmer off for ourselves."


The next two days pass in a flurry. Again, they take a wide path around Bunker Hill, going through Cambridge instead. They take a road back to the east again, and cross the Tucker Memorial Bridge. It's a long trip, but they manage it in one day, walking from before the sun comes up until well after it goes down. Desdemona is impatient, rushing them, and Tinker Tom is anxious, squinting at everyone and everything like a mole rat made human. They're not exactly unremarkable, and it makes Deacon uneasy, knowing how much their little band stands out on the roads.

Calavera's on watch when they walk up. "Any of you motherfuckers have a geiger counter?" She calls down, gun trained on them, spotlights spinning in their eyes. With her dark hair and scarred face, Deacon can't imagine anyone giving her a hard time. Charmer, true to form, laughs a little when she gives the countersign. There's a long moment where Calavera seems to be considering whether to admit them, and then she does.

At least he convinced Des to use a fake name when they arrive at the safehouse. She introduces herself as Titania and says she's new, and no one has any reason to doubt her. Why would they? None of them have ever met her; they don't even know where HQ is, let alone anything about Desdemona.

Compartmentalization was one of his better ideas, he thinks as he sets his bag inside at the foot of one of the mattresses. It's probably time to change the sign again. He'll have to think of something innocuous but still unlikely to be said to a stranger. Always a fun exercise.

Desdemona and Tinker Tom go to bed; Tom in particular is tired from the long trip, and no surprise, given how little time he normally spends above ground. Deacon, unable to sleep, takes over Calavera's watch, earning a rare smile from her in the process.

He watches the road, and then gazes off into the distance, looking out for movement. The moon is larger tonight and the stars seem especially bright; visibility is good. Every time he turns around, he can see the massive relay in the center of camp, the satellite pointed at the sky. Just the sight of it makes him want to be sick. What if it isn't safe, and Charmer's disintegrated into a pile of goo, no different from old gum? What if she's disintegrated into nothing?

What if it is safe, and she makes it to the Institute and is murdered on the spot by a Gen-2 with a laser pistol?

What if it's safe, and she makes it to the Institute and -

He doesn't want to think about what she might find there. When she goes through their terminals, who knows what she'll find about him? She may not know his old name but she's smart and she's good at connecting the dots. He has not doubt that if she reads the records about him, she'll figure it out.

He's never been in a position where someone knows more about him than he knows about them. While he may not be there yet, he can see it coming and the very thought of it makes him dizzy and nervous.

Is this how everyone feels around him? If so, no wonder he's not popular.

There's a groan of timber as someone comes up the ladder to sit beside him in the guard tower. Charmer's head pops up, a knit cap covering the top. She smiles when she sees him, but he can see it's for show; the smile doesn't reach her eyes. She bears a thermos in one hand; when he opens it, there's hot tato soup inside. One sip and he can feel his insides growing warm already.

While he sips his soup and tries not to think, Charmer settles in the seat next to his. She's wrapped in a green knit blanket. No weapon, and she looks like she just woke up. Sloppy.

"You know, I love the company, but you really shouldn't go up on a guard tower unless you're armed," he tells her, but before he can finish, she flashes her pistol at him under her blanket. He nods, rewards her with a smile.

"I stand corrected." He takes another sip of soup.

"Couldn't sleep?" She's looking at him in that way she has, as if she's evaluating him. He avoids the eye contact, choosing to look instead at the distance. He is supposed to be on watch, after all. It's a perfectly good reason to avoid looking back at her.

He nods. "Plus I figured Calavera might be happy to have a night off."

"She's a...little scary," Charmer volunteers.

Deacon tries to stifle a laugh and it comes out as a snort. "This from the woman who slaughtered an entire settlement with nothing but a pistol and a handful of grenades."

She blushes. Looking at the pink hue of her cheeks, Deacon decides he likes it. He likes knowing he made her blush. She catches him looking at her, and lets out a small, nervous-sounding laugh. In a moment, they're both giggling like a pair of schoolgirls and Deacon's forgotten his uneasiness.

"So you'll finally see your son tomorrow," he says when they sober.

"Yeah." She sounds wistful. It's killing him knowing what she's going to find if she makes it there safely. If she isn't killed when she steps out of the relay.

He sips at his soup, watching the horizon. Everything out there is still and silent. Behind them, the house is quiet, all the lights dimmed. He's glad everyone's behaving themselves with Desdemona visiting. Even if they don't know she's the boss, it makes him look better not to have them drinking and carousing at all hours.

"He's not going to recognize me." Charmer's voice is small, hushed in the quiet around them.

"No, probably not."

"Did you ever want children?" She's not looking at him. Instead she has a locket in her lap, silver. Probably was worth something back in the day. It's closed so he can't see the pictures, and she's twirling the chain between her thumb and forefinger as if the motion is the only thing keeping her grounded. As his eyes adjust, he can see a scrollwork pattern around the outside.

Deacon sighs. He's almost fifty. Kids would've been great, but it's too late for him. With the life he lives, he'd be a terrible dad anyway. Kids should have somewhere safe to grow up, with a solid roof and a warm bed and enough to eat.

"There was this synth about five, six years ago," he tells her. "Young guy, or at least he looked like one, and they're all pretty new when they get out. Dark hair, had a chin kind of like mine. Shape of his eyes reminded me of - my wife. Called himself Anthony. We sent him out west, towards New Vegas, on a caravan. Every time I looked at him, I thought about how maybe he could've been mine, if he'd been human."

When he turns back, she's looking at him, tears brimming her eyes.

"You've missed out on so much." It's not a question.

"Maybe," he sighs again. "But I've also done a lot of things that I'm proud of. I've helped a lot of synths and...well, a lot of people. I'm not unhappy with my life. I'm making things better, a little bit at a time, and -"

That's why he left the Institute. He stops himself before he says it, though.

He's still not ready to share everything.

"You haven't told anyone else about this."

"About what?"

She pauses, thinking. "About...Anthony."

He shakes his head. "No. It's silly, but that's why I sent him so far away. I couldn't bear thinking of a courser coming after him." In the cold, his breath clouds up in front of him. It feels good to let a little of this out. He feels lighter, somehow. "Made sure Amari gave him some good memories first, too. Happy family, that sort of thing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Charmer smile. When she shifts in her seat, her leg bumps against his. It's not unpleasant.

"You cared about him," her voice has a teasing note to it.

Deacon tries to avoid frowning. He remembers A8-95 - Anthony - mopping in the stairwell in front of Robotics. Remembers Zimmer and Ayo walking through, knocking over the bucket and not even acknowledging it, too caught up in their schemes. The defeated look on A8-95's face as he propped the bucket back up and began cleaning up the spilled water.

The way little Liam Binet was the only person who stopped, offered to help. The look on his dad's face, as if Liam had asked a can opener if it needed help.

The way he felt like less of a person just watching that sort of thing, every day.

"Hello? Earth to Deacon, you there?" Charmer snaps her fingers in front of his face and he starts.

"Sorry 'bout that, guess I was more tired than I thought," he shifts in his seat, tries to focus on the horizon.

"Yeah, guess so," she says softly, not taking her eyes from his face.

"Just so you know…" he turns to her. "I hope you find everything you're looking for in there."

She smiles a little, in that crooked way she has, with the left side higher than the right. But then, she doesn't know what it costs him to try to be okay with the fact that she's going in there.

"Thanks, Deacon." She shivers in the cold and yawns; he can feel the blanket against his arm. "I should probably try to get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."

"Yeah, alright," he gives her a steadying hand as she climbs down the ladder and out of the guard tower. "Have a good night," he calls down.

"You too," she says back, turning to the house.

"Thanks for the soup," he calls after her, trying simultaneously to be heard and not wake anyone sleeping inside. She just waves one hand as she goes in, and he settles back in his seat to stare off into the distance.


When Deacon wakes in the morning, it's to the sound of thunder outside. He stirs, yawns, puts on his sunglasses. He can't find his jacket, so instead of scrounging around, he pulls the wool blanket from his bed and pads outside to the porch.

The bright flashes he'd assumed were lightning turn out to be coming from the relay. He must have slept later than he meant to - Charmer already stands on the platform, hair neatly braided, dressed in a nondescript flannel shirt and threadbare jeans, her .44 in its holster.

She looks exposed up there, by herself. Around her, the agents are clustered, Tinker Tom at the control panel. The lines of worry on Desdemona's face are thrown into sharp relief with every blue-bright flash. Their fearless leader looks...worried. As well she should be - they've never been this close to getting someone into the Institute. Really, they've had no contact with anyone in there at all; all the messages they've received have been one-way.

He wonders what she'll find down there. Wonders how much it's changed in the last quarter-century.

She's facing the road, scanning the people assembled in front of her. From up at the guard tower, Pinocchio waves at her and she gives him a small nod. His youthful face creases in a smile, skin white against his dark skin.

Charmer's keeping her face carefully neutral but all that stops when she sees him on the porch. A real smile flits across her face, gone almost as soon as it appears, but Deacon knows it's for him. Maybe it's the wink that goes with it, but something about that brief smirk makes him feel warm inside.

Moments later, with a crack so loud he'll have trouble hearing until late that afternoon, she winks out of existence. Deacon's stomach drops; he remembers the one time he rode the relay, the day that he fled. He'd been sick afterwards, throwing up in a trashcan off and on for an hour. It was a miracle no one stabbed him to death - he'd been useless for weeks after he made it to the surface.

He stands there, huddled in his blanket, long after everyone else disperses. Desdemona gives him a look, then climbs the two stairs and crosses the porch to stand next to him. Something about having her there makes him feel less lonely.

"She's going to be okay. If anyone can survive down there, it's Charmer." It's such a cliche thing to say, or it would be if it wasn't true. Somehow, it makes him feel better.

Deacon looks up at the wintry sky.

"Tinker Tom and I will be heading back to HQ tonight," Desdemona continues, her voice low. "I think you should stay here and wait for Charmer. She knows to come here first instead of reporting back to HQ. I also -" she pauses to clear her throat.

One of her tells. She's about to tell him something he's not going to like.

"I gave her a new sign and countersign. Just in case."

No need to explain what they're protecting against.

Deacon nods. "Got it, boss. Any idea what the ETA is on a return trip?"

"No. It doesn't look like we need anyone here to man the relay, though, as long as we leave it in standby mode"

"How long should I wait?"

The look she gives him says she knows more than he realized, and her voice is kinder, less strident than usual. "As long as you need to, Deacon."

He swallows, tries to sound casual. "Sounds good. I could use a little R 'n' R."

Des looks amused. "Glad to hear it. Well," she stands straighter, as if putting an invisible boss hat back on. "We need to get ready to go. And Deacon?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Get them to shape up around here, alright? Don't just sit on your ass." Des disappears into the house and Deacon grins to himself.

No ass-sitting, just indefinite waiting. Check.