@courier2lw cont. from (X)
Yeah, this? Deacon deserved this, the cold, blunt anger that seemed to grow each time he reunited with West. All this time, Deacon had been telling himself he was just keeping West safe, that by disappearing and keeping tabs on him from a distance, it would keep the doctor away from the danger that followed Deacon like a shadow. The Institute, the Coursers, and every Tom, Dick, and Harry Deacon had managed to piss off between here and Diamond city; None of them could get to West so long as he was careful, covered his tracks, kept away until the loneliness became too much to bear until West really needed him. Sure, it would take longer and longer each time for him to get back on West's good side, but the anger always disappeared before long, and there really was no denying just how well Deacon and him meshed together. It almost reminded him of Barbara when they first met, and that's what scared him the most.
The point was, this, no matter how shitty it was and how awful it made Deacon feel, it was for the best, and it was working, so why would he stop?
Well...the answer was right in front of him, no matter how much the agent tried to deny it. West was...he was better off without Deacon, but every time he tried to cut himself off, to distance himself and let West move on to someone better, safer, he always found himself drawn right back in. The thing was, no matter if Deacon was there or not, West was always in danger, yet another meeting after the doc had fallen in trouble proved as much. Deacon could lie all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he wasn't keeping West safe, he was hurting him all the more.
All at once, lie after lie after lie flitted through Deacon's head as his eyes hit the floor like a scolded child, each one holding the opportunity of further burying his feelings of placating West enough so that Deacon could help like he came to do, like he always came to do, but to his surprise, the very thought of speaking any of them made Deacon's tongue burn, his stomach twisting into knots as his body physically rebelled against repeating this same mistake yet again.
As a side effect of literally biting his tongue, Deacon was quiet for a long, long moment, the agent having to swallow thickly around the lump in his throat as hidden eyes darted from the boy, to the blood, and then to West, all before squeezing shut in an effort to make it all stop. He couldn't lie, not this time, not to West, never again to West, but there was too much going on around him right bow. Deacon wanted nothing more than to shut it all out, and shut himself down, to help West like he came to do, and then disappear again until everything stopped hurting as he buried himself under a new pile of lies. Maybe this time for good. Maybe he would get a new face, a new name, he was overdue for those-
"You're right." In an act of much needed rebellion, the words were spoken before Deacon could stop himself, it pulling a shocked intake of breath into his lungs when he realized he had been the one to speak them. This...it was the truth, and as much as it hurt to speak, this is what they both deserved. West deserved answers, and Deacon...Deacon deserved every single bit of anger and distrust that was coming his way. There was no guarantee that he would be believed, but he needed to tell West the truth, even if the doctor couldn't see it as such. There had to be a way to fix all this, West wasn't Barbara, there...there was still time, a chance to fix this before it all blew up in his face once again.
"You're right, West." Said after a rough clearing of his throat, Deacon's whole body, the very air around him, seemed to cave in on itself, his shoulders slumping beneath his latest disguise --one of West's old shirts he had 'borrowed' the last time they traveled together -- as his rifle was propped up against the nearest table. "It is bullshit, and I...I don't know how to fix it." A truth, in a way, as telling the truth was the only thing that had any hope of fixing what they had, but...the truth and Deacon...even he didn't know what parts of himself were real anymore...
...No, that in of itself was a lie. He knew he loved West, cared for him, wanted to make things right between them, and if that was the only thing about him that was real, it was the best damn thing about him.
"You won't believe me, and I don't blame you, but...I'm...I'm going to tell you everything. All the things I know are real, and you're probably going to hate me, but-" 'I'm tired of this too, of the distance, of the loneliness, of hurting you...' all the things he wanted to say, but couldn't, not right now. Not unless West was ready for it. There was too much going on, too much on the doctor's mind, too much that needed to be done without Deacon adding to the mess. Maybe it was a way to further stall the inevitable, but it's the only card he had left to play, and by habit he was going to take the chance, no matter how self destructive it may be.
"Tell you what we're gonna do, Doc..." Despite this mask being used to pretend that everything was fine to keep Deacon from running away again under the guise of 'helping' West, it was donned by the removal of the agent's sunglasses, his shield, the one protection he had against someone being able to tell truth from fiction. Eyes were the gateway into the soul, or so they said, and there was no doubt about it that the only true way to tell if Deacon was lying or not was by watching his eyes. He always hated how expressive they were, that not one of his emotions could be hidden so long as they were seen, but now? Now he was damn glad he had this one giveaway.
Without it...he really would be nothing but a liar in the end...
"I'm gonna help you out here, whatever you need me to do, and then we're gonna get you some freaking rest. I mean, have you seen the bags under your eyes? Damn things could carry all the loot in the common wealth, no sweat." There was a grin, as there always was, but with the absence of the glasses, it was glaringly obvious it didn't reach his eyes, it begging the question of just how often that was the case with no one being the wiser. "Here, you hold on to these, don't need anyone here trying to swipe 'em while I'm not looking." A rather flimsy excuse as Deacon handed his prized sunglasses over to West with what almost looked to be fear in his baby blues. This was his last gambit, the final act, all West had to do was take the sunglasses, and Deacon knew he had an in. But if he didn't...
"I uh...I also got something for ya, consider it my business card." Pulled from Deacon's pocket at that was a holotape, one that looked to be brand new despite the usual wear and tear that covered the wastelands they were forced to live in, he had gotten it made, just for this. "If you ever need to find me, that's your map." Deacon knew damn well he couldn't always be by West's side, that even with wanting to tell the truth, he very well might disappear again -- be it as a way to hide, or out of necessity for the Railroad -- but at least with this West would be able to track him down no matter how hard Deacon tried to run. All he had to do was follow the freedom trail...
"What, uh...what do you need me to do?"
