Chapter 9: The Truth Hurts
In a side room away from others, James sat across from a glaring Deacon. The sunglasses muted the glare, but the scowl and crossed arms effectively communicated his feelings. James nonchalantly stretched out in the cushioned red chair and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
"I bought the table. I can put my feet on it if I want to." He joked.
Silence.
"Mad at me?"
Deacon's scowl deepened.
With a sigh, he straightened in the chair and remove his feet. Bending forward, James rested his elbows on his knees.
"I suppose I have some explaining to do, don't I?"
That got a response.
" 'Some explaining'? You have a whole hell of a lot of explaining!" In a flash, Deacon was out of his chair with his hands grabbing James' vault suit and partially lifting him out of the chair. James didn't look particularly bothered by this and just gave Deacon one of his charming smiles.
"I promise to explain everything. You've been so good, following along with my plans. Ask away. Anything you want, I'll answer truthfully."
Deacon released him. James straightened the wrinkles that that formed. Deacon returned to his chair seething. It wasn't that couldn't find a question. It was that he had far too many.
"No questions? I thought this is want you wanted."
For a moment, Deacon contemplated just strangling the smug bastard. Eventually, he decided to start with the most important question.
"Is the Railroad safe?"
"It faces no immediate threats. There are none I can foresee in the near future. In case you're wondering, I am not a threat to the Railroad."
Deacon squinted at James behind his glasses trying to detect any hint of deceit or dishonesty. He didn't find any.
"Why did you stab me?"
"Stop being so dramatic. It was a little prick."
"You have a little prick." He grumbled in a bout of childishness.
"I needed to make sure the Institute believed me. For that to happen, I needed them to see that I killed one of the Railroad. What better way to convince them than to kill my own friend?"
"You couldn't have clued me in?!" Snapped Deacon. "Leave a note or something?"
"There was a lot riding on this. I wanted a genuine undeniable reaction. I got that. The end justified the means."
"God, you are a psychopath."
"Socio." Corrected James. "The term you're looking for is 'sociopath'. Or perhaps 'narcissist'? Honestly, there is some overlap between the two."
Skipping past the impromptu psychology lesson, Deacon continued.
"Who are you loyal to?"
"Myself, obviously. Most people are." James thought for a second. " 'Most people are loyal to themselves' is what I meant. Not 'most people are loyal to me'. Well, there are a lot of people, but that's besides the point."
"Not what I meant." Growled Deacon through clenched teeth.
"You should've specified."
"What was the even the point of all this? The raiders cages, building a new base, tricking me? That alone has cost you thousands of caps and supplies. Why? What is your end game?"
"I..." He paused for dramatic effect and leaned forward close to Deacon. "was bored."
This earned him a punch to face. James pulled away holding a hand to his now bloody and possibly broken nose.
"You were bored?! That's what this was about? When other people are bored they do some jet, find a hooker, get a hobby. Normal people stuff. They do not uproot secret organizations and screw with their friends."
The raised voice drew the attention of Glory who opened the door and popped her head. "Is everything okay in here?"
James gave Glory a thumbs up without looking at her. "Deacon's upset because I told him why he was sticky. Nothing to worry about."
"I see." Said Glory slowly. "I'll be leaving you two alone to work that out. Good luck." And with that the door closed.
"And why was I sticky? What did you do?"
"As I was hauling to back to the base -you're welcome, by the way- a bottle of nuka-cola broke and leaked on to some mentats which made it explode which, in turn, broke other bottles of nuka-cola which leaked on to more mentats. The bottle broke because you are a fatty-fatty two-by-four. Seriously man, lay off of the Fancy Lads and chips. You're getting chunky."
He leaned forward to poke Deacon's stomach only to hand his slapped away.
"Stop getting off topic and I'm not chunky. It's muscle."
"Muscle doesn't jiggle and you're the one who asked the question. I was just answering truthfully."
"What happened afterward? I can only assume you went to the Institute."
"Your assumption would be correct. After killing you and dropping your body back at the base, I went to the Institute. I delivered the news to Shaun. We shared a bottle of scotch and I cried a bit over the deaths of my beloved friends."
"How touching."
"Woke up, had a hanger, got sent to a meeting, and then I had to make funeral arrangements. Really, who tells a grieving father to make funeral arrangements at six in the morning? That is a terrible way to console person."
This caught Deacon's attention "Wait, what? Who died?"
"Shaun did, obviously. Duh."
"It's not obvious!"
"I told you I poisoned the scotch!"
"No you didn't. You just said you shared a bottle."
He thought for a second. "I could have sworn I said I poisoned him." He shrugged. "Silly me."
"You poisoned your son." Stated Deacon flatly. "After you were so happy to be reunited with him?"
"Funny story about that actually. But as I was saying, Shaun's dead which means the director of the Institute is dead."
"And why should I believe you? For all I know you're lying. Again."
"I'll prove it to you. Meet me at Sanctuary Hills in four days. Don't give me that Garvey will be there and you know how he is about me murdering friends. Tell Desdemona and the others if you want. I promise everything will make perfect sense."
Deacon's jaw clenched as he thought about the proposal. James had drugged him and lied to him. Lied to the Railroad. But he had brought him back to the base instead of leaving him for dead. The base that he had bought and renovated. He had possibly killed his son, a member of the Institute. He had little reason to trust his former friend, but some small part of him want to know the complete truth. If there was one.
"Fine. I'll go."