Chapter Text
Deacon doesn’t know if anyone’s ever trusted him the way that Fixer trusts him, and frankly, when she first crawled out of that vault, he can’t believe that the Commonwealth didn’t swallow her right then. Anyone this kind, this sensitive, they shouldn’t be able to survive in a world like this. If anyone knows that, it’s him.
Of course, she didn’t survive this long without a bit of a mean streak, but it wasn’t misplaced, and Deacon had never seen Fixer be cruel to anyone who didn’t deserve it.
It’s been a long time since Deacon has felt guilt over a lie, but his “recall code” was turning things problematic. You can’t trust everyone, he had written, and Deacon doesn’t regret it, not really, because it’s true. Fixer isn’t a child, though; of course she knows that. Deacon doesn’t trust her, not really, not yet, but Fixer hasn’t let him down up to this point, even if she is on the gullible side.
He finds her gullibility utterly charming.
“You know, I’m beginning to think Tom’s trying to kill us by sending us out here to place MILAs.” Deacons says it as he steps over a super mutant corpse, tapping its head with his boot gingerly for emphasis.
Fixer laughs, smile wide and genuine. “Come on, Deacon, we have to be prepared for any instance of Institute infiltration.”
“Points for alliteration.”
Fixer chuckles again, and he smiles back as a reflex, and oh man does he have it bad for her.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Fixer asks the question suddenly, and were Deacon a less skilled chameleon it may have actually thrown him.
“Only when we’re waltzing into a ruin full of super mutants and you’re armed with five shotgun shells and a tire iron.” He knows what this is about. He’s been waiting for this conversation.
“You’re not a synth, are you?” Fixer evades his evasion.
“What do you mean? Oh man, you read my recall code, didn’t you?” Deacon’s tongue is moving faster than his mind, still playing a part, making the motions without a thought.
“No!” Fixer is outraged by the thought, and Deacon almost winces with something that is very close to guilt. “No, I wouldn’t. I just can tell that what’s written on that paper isn’t a recall code.”
“Fixer, you’re breaking my heart. What are you implying?”
“How stupid do you think I am? You bring the damn thing up every time we talk. For being so great at gathering intel, you’re pretty good at letting clues slip yourself.” She isn’t mad at him, far from it. Fixer’s still smiling, and she hands the paper he gave her a week ago back to him, folded still like it had been when he’d given it to her. “I get that you can’t really trust people in the line of work we’re in, but I trust you.”
You can’t trust everyone, it says on the paper, and she refuses to read it, refuses to do anything except force him to take it back, and it’s like she’s willfully refusing the lesson even though Deacon knows she has no idea what’s written on there. Fixer’s not a terrible liar, and she lies often enough, but she’s never lied to Deacon because if there’s anything Deacon knows, it’s what a lie looks like.
You can’t trust everyone, but you can certainly find your partner incredibly kissable for their inability to comprehend the basic tenets of survival to which you've always clung.