I did my PhD in a fish lab, and one time I was emailing a fish company, and the guy emailed me back with the signature “Best fishes,” followed by these guys
Excuse me, Deacon "we were trying for kids" when he found out his wife was a synth, together with Sole Survivor and child synth!Shaun? Deacon finally getting to be the dad he always wanted to be?? Together with someone who sees him as who he wants to be but maybe doesnt have the courage to be yet? Forced to be honest with an innocent child who doesnt see him as a pathological liar because he doesnt want to corrupt him and wants him to live a good life, having a healthy and trusting relationship with the people around him and even *whispers* his father figure?
Deacon and the Sole Survivor finish up a mission in the Wasteland, braving a few stray bullets along the way. Fortunately, Deacon's there to patch his partner up.
Tags: Original Sole Survivor character, fem! Sole Survivor, Mentions of Violence, Established Relationship, written on vibes alone.
Word Count: 1.4k
The acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder clung to the air as the last raider hit the ground. Melissa peered over the side of a crumbled half wall to the grocery store on the other side of the street. The turrets lay quiet, and nothing steered in the blown-out windows. She let her head fall back against the wall and shoved her gun back into its holster at her side. A bead of sweat rolled down her brow, and she wiped it away with her gloved hand.
Someone skidded to a crouch beside her. Deacon rested a hand on her knee and bent his head to look her in the eye. His dark shades slid down the brim of his nose, revealing his deep blue eyes. “Hey, Specs,” he said, “How’re you holding up, bud?”
“Oh, you know.” Melissa took another deep breath. “Nice job with the turrets.”
“Their password was stupid easy.” Deacon rolled his eyes. “Blamco.”
“Like the Mac and Cheese?”
“Yeah, they were hoarding the stuff. I snagged us a few boxes while you were blasting their heads off.” Deacon got to his feet and offered her a hand. He pulled her up, dusted her off, and handed her the small bag, weighed down by boxes of pre-war noodles and cheese. “Let’s go get K-8.”
Melissa fell into step beside Deacon as they backtracked down the street. In the privacy of the moment, she leaned against his side as they went. He wrapped an arm around her back and let her take a breather. The smell of his cologne and his aftershave from earlier that morning filled her nose, and she longed for their apartment back in Diamond City.
The moment’s over when they approach a former post office. Deacon let her go, and she stood straighter as they stepped through the broken front door. Although the envelopes and boxes from two centuries ago were long gone, the clerk's desk still stood, and from behind it, Melissa’s shepherd exploded from her hiding place with an excited bark.
Melissa bent at the knee to greet the dog, petting her on the brown patch behind her pointed ear. “Atta girl, Ladybird. Did you keep watch for us?”
“Are they gone?” Another head poked over the top of the clerk’s desk. A freckled-faced young man who looked like he belonged inside a fast-food restaurant or movie theater, not being hunted down by the Institute or the Brotherhood for being a Synth.
“We told you, K-8. We’re the best damn team the Railroad has to offer, you’re in good hands!”
K-8 sighed and came around the counter. His gaze shifted nervously between the two agents and the door before something caught his eye. He pointed nervously at Melissa. “Uh, M-miss Specs? You’re bleeding.”
“What?” Deacon turned to her.
Melissa raised her arm. A stray bullet had managed to graze her below the armpit. Between the adrenaline and trying not to die, she didn’t think it had been that bad, but the blood oozed past her shirt and came through her thin vest to shine in the afternoon light.
Deacon cursed beneath his breath and pulled the backpack from his shoulder, but Melissa stopped him with her hand outstretched. “Don’t waste a stimpack on it, Deac.”
“I don’t want that getting infected.”
“We’re not far from Good Neighbor.” She reached for his bag and took a roll of gauze from inside. “I’ll go wrap it. Okay? I’m more worried about getting K-8 to the drop-off point in one piece. Once we do that, then we can count the bumps and bruises.”
Deacon frowned. Melissa watched the gears turn in his mind, but with a squirrelly kid on their hands and a raider presence in the area, he didn’t want to stick around long enough to argue. “Fine,” he caved with an inclination of his head to the back room. “Make it quick.”
—--
Good Neighbor rarely changed. It allowed the agents to let their guards down as they passed beneath the Mayor’s building to reach the Memory Den, where K-8 would undergo the procedure to have his memories altered. In the blink of an eye, his memories of the Institute, his escape, and his existence as a Synth would disappear, replaced with a softer life and a new name. One that, if he were ever interrogated by the people out to get him, would keep him safe.
“This isn’t going to hurt?” K-8 asked, for the second time, as they approached the front door of the Memory Den.
“Nah, kid.” Deacon paused with his hand on the knob. “I’ve been here a few times. It doesn’t hurt to go under, it’s like… Going to sleep. When you wake up, you won’t have any idea that something was wrong or that anything bad happened to you. The Doc will be there to see you out, and another of our contacts will be waiting to take you to your new home, where you’ll be cared for.”
“I won’t see you again?”
“Maybe,” Deacon said. “But we’ll be meeting again, and under better circumstances.”
“Remember, this procedure is completely optional,” Melissa added. “If you’re having second thoughts, we can let our contact know. You don’t have to go through with it.”
“No,” K-8 shook his head. “I want to! I want a new life, away from all of that.”
“You’ll still be you,” Melissa said. “It won’t change who you are as a person.”
“No?”
“No.”
K-8 nodded and then allowed Deacon to lead him inside.
When Deacon returned, he took the shades from his face and wiped his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger. His persona of the coy, charismatic, and experienced agent disappeared in an instant. When he returned his shades to his face, it was to point an accusatory finger at Melissa. “You.”
“Me?”
“It’s your turn. Let’s go.”
He led her through the crowded streets. An expert at fading into the background, Deacon weaved past the local guard and the merchants to reach the doors of Hotel Rexford. He pushed them open with a flourish and fished a handful of caps out of his pocket. “One bed, and I’ll do the hot water package.”
“Sure,” the clerk swiped the pile of caps into their hand.
“Deacon,” Melissa pulled on the back of his shirt. “That’s expensive.”
“Yeah, well.”
“We don’t know when we’ll get paid again.”
“We’ll pick up some odd jobs around the Diamond.” Deacon waved her concern away. “Besides, we need hot water to make the Mac & Cheese.”
Melissa didn’t argue further and followed Deacon up the stairs once he got the room key. By the time they reached the third floor, her legs ached, and her side throbbed. He barely opened the door before she threw herself onto the full-size mattress. The blanket smelled musty, but she didn’t complain as the clerk appeared behind Deacon with a bucket of hot water. He took it with a smile and kicked the door shut behind him.
“Alright, Sweetheart.” He set the bucket beside the bed. “Shirt off.”
Melissa groaned.
“The longer this takes, the colder the water gets, and the crunchier that Mac & Cheese will be.”
Mellisa pulled herself up and began to pull herself free of her top layer of clothes.
Deacon set his bag on the edge of the bed and searched through it for their medical supplies. “Atta Girl.”
A few minutes later, Deacon sat cross-legged on the bed beside her. His shades on the nightstand, she watched his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes as he cleaned her side with tweezers, cotton balls, antiseptic, and deliciously warm water. She shivered as droplets roamed down her ribcage. Deacon paused to swipe them away with his thumb.
“Thanks for bein’ a trooper about this, babe.”
“It doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s good.” He put the tweezers aside and picked up fresh bandages. “That means Lady and I can dog-pile you tonight for extra cuddles.”
“Extra? Feeling needy?”
“Uh, you were getting shot at today, and I had to watch from the window. Yeah, I want extra cuddles.”
“I’m the one who got shot.”
“Grazed.” He leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. “And exactly. My plans for tonight are mutually beneficial. First, though, I’ve got to make us dinner.”
“Right, Blamco.”
“Blam-Co,” Deacon annunciated the words as he took the bag of stolen food and the water to the stove. Ladybird jumped down from an armchair to follow and lay beneath his feet as he cooked.
Melissa yawned, gave in, and sank onto the mattress where she watched Deacon hum to himself and sway about with a wooden spoon in his hand. As the smell of expired noodles and dusty cheese took over the room, her stomach rumbled, and she counted the Delivery Mission of K-8 as another success.
Excuse me, Deacon "we were trying for kids" when he found out his wife was a synth, together with Sole Survivor and child synth!Shaun? Deacon finally getting to be the dad he always wanted to be?? Together with someone who sees him as who he wants to be but maybe doesnt have the courage to be yet? Forced to be honest with an innocent child who doesnt see him as a pathological liar because he doesnt want to corrupt him and wants him to live a good life, having a healthy and trusting relationship with the people around him and even *whispers* his father figure?
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Posting my fav pictures of myself from Jamboree weeks later on tumblr because I accidentally killed this shit. Ok go back to not perceiving me if you would please, bye.
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