5. The Apology

“I told you that you should have gotten out of Goodneighbor when you had the chance,” Deacon said, leaning against the wall of Dr. Amari’s lab. He had to admit, it was good just to see Amari back at work. For nearly two weeks, the scientist’s life had hung in the balance. Fortunately for her as well as the synths who relied on her services, the bullet that had pierced her chest had missed most of her major organs, and quick intervention had prevented the worst outcome. She’d lost most of her right lung, so she wouldn’t be running any marathons soon, but she had survived.

Dr. Amari wheezed sardonically as she wheeled herself over to her monitor, her dark eyes clouded with fatigue. “And who would help these poor souls if I left? You know how most people feel about synths, and that includes many with my expertise. Until your friends decide to relocate operations entirely, Deacon, there’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“We’re probably going to have to move anyway,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “After what happened to you, it’s clear that the Railroad can no longer guarantee the safety of anyone in Goodneighbor. Until things change, we’re all in danger.”

“You should be used to that by now,” the doctor continued as she typed away on her keyboard. “Isn’t danger your profession?”

“Well, kinda,” Deacon said. “I mean, secrets are my profession. But man, there is an awful lot of danger when secrets are involved. Sometimes, I wish I could just go back to being a teacher. I miss those days. Things were simpler, and there was way less...y’know, stabbing and stuff. At least with kids, you can just hold them by the top of the head until they get tired of trying to disembowel you. Harder to do that with adults, since their arms are longer.”

Dr. Amari shook her head. “I just can’t picture you as anything but a spy. I certainly wouldn’t trust you with my children, if I had any.”

Deacon recoiled playfully, clutching his chest. “Oww! That hurts, doctor! After everything we’ve been through together…”

“Don’t make me laugh,” she gasped. “It’s hard enough to breathe as it is.” She gestured to the screen. “Here’s the information you asked for.”

The spy walked over to her side, eyeing the monitor. Illuminated in bright green type was what appeared at first glance to be a medical supply manifest.

RadAway: 27

Stimpacks: 9

Med-X: 12

Deacon whistled in admiration. “27 completed procedures, huh? I knew this was gonna be a tough station to replace, but…”

“As you can see,” Dr. Amari continued, “I’ve had 12 synths killed in transit in the last quarter. That’s almost double the losses of the previous year alone. Things are getting dire, Deacon. Your friends at HQ need to provide tighter security, or I can’t promise that the next batch you send me will even make it out of town, let alone out of the Commonwealth.”

 “That’s why it’s best if we relocate you,” the spy replied. “I’ll let our people know, and we’ll hopefully be able to find you someplace safer to work.”

She shook her head. “I can’t just leave. My life’s work is here.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to die here,” Deacon pleaded. “It’ll only be temporary, until it’s safe for you to come back.”

“I can’t, Deacon,” Dr. Amari replied. “My work here is too important. And you know as well as I do that there’s no safe place for people with our views in the Commonwealth. Not anymore.”

Deacon sighed. He knew Amari was right. With the Institute’s psychological warfare and infiltration breeding paranoia, and the Brotherhood of Steel literally looming above their heads, the Commonwealth had become a very perilous place to be a friend to synths. Things were untenable here in Goodneighbor, but where was there a better alternative? He couldn’t move Amari without risking Institute intelligence getting word of her location. In spite of the very real dangers presented by staying put, it was honestly the best option. “Will you at least promise to lock your doors?” he said finally.

She nodded. “Mayor Hancock’s already promised me two extra security guards in the Memory Den lobby. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d have to be protected from the people I’ve been treating for years,” she murmured. “What is the world coming to?”

Deacon chucked. “Haven’t you heard? The world’s over. Has been for a long time.”

“Unfortunately, we both know that’s not true,” Dr. Amari mused. “But if the Institute isn’t stopped, it might as well be. Their disregard for life on the surface was always a bit insulting, like they saw us as a petri dish for their experiments. Now...I don’t know. I think I liked it better when they mostly ignored us.”

“You and me both,” Deacon agreed. He thought for a moment, trying to figure out exactly how much intelligence he could safely share with the good doctor. After all, she wasn’t part of the Railroad. Not officially. She was an asset, an ally, but not an agent. Hell, even when dealing with full agents, Deacon rarely told them more than what they absolutely needed to know. It was safer that way, for everyone.

His mind, as it often did, drifted to Myra. If there had ever been a person he wanted to be completely honest with, it was her. That was one of the many reasons why getting close to her was a dangerous mistake. Deacon was incredibly lucky that he’d had the presence of mind to put an end to...whatever had happened that night. He was incredibly unlucky that he had to put an end to it. Of all the times for him to get sentimental…

Maybe there was hope, however. He didn’t necessarily want to believe it, and lord knew the spy could barely see the glimmer of it, but it was there. Once the Institute was gone, the biggest threat to the Railroad would be destroyed, and things would be easier. Then, perhaps, Deacon could convince Myra to help drive the Brotherhood of Steel out of the Commonwealth. After all, Elder Maxson, that crazy son of a bitch, insisted that they were only in the ’Wealth to stop the Institute. Deacon didn’t believe a word of it. It was in the nature of the Brotherhood of Steel to take over everything. But if Myra believed it, and Maxson betrayed her trust...it was possible. And once both factions had either been destroyed or had abandoned the Commonwealth, perhaps things would get easier. Perhaps fewer secrets and fewer walls would be necessary.

Deacon knew it was wishful thinking. Desdemona would never allow him to work with Myra if she realized how close he’d come to letting his guard down with her completely. Frankly, the fact that trusting Myra came so easily to Deacon horrified him. And that night in the bar, those hungry, hot kisses that they’d shared...Deacon had to believe that it had all been part of the act, but oh, how he wanted to believe that there had been truth behind the facade. He never believed that he could feel those things again after losing Barbara. And he certainly would never believe that he deserved them. It couldn’t happen. He and Myra...it couldn’t happen.

All the same, Myra deserved to know the truth, deserved to know why he’d reacted so strongly and had pushed her away. He couldn’t tell her how he felt, not without putting them both at risk, but he could explain who he was at the core. If she knew the real him, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the situation would right itself. Myra would have to be crazy to have feelings for a man like him. Once she saw that, maybe they could move on with their mission. Maybe things would finally go back to normal.

“Deacon, are you all right?” Dr. Amari asked, eyeing him carefully. “You’ve been staring off into space for a long time. Perhaps you need your head examined.”

Deacon shook his head. “I was thinking about what’s ahead,” he said simply. It wasn’t exactly a lie. “We’re going to find a way to stop the Institute, Amari. I can’t tell you more than that, but we will.”

She smiled slightly at him, an unusual expression for her typically stoic face. “I hope you’re right.” Dr. Amari wheeled herself over to one of the tables that framed her lab. She grabbed a holotape from the counter, offering it to Deacon. “Can you do me a favor? Since I’m effectively trapped in the basement for the time being, would you mind taking this to one of the nearby dead drops?”

Deacon nodded. As curious as he was about what was on the tape, he knew better than to ask. “Are you sure you’ll be okay if I leave?”

The doctor snorted. “I can take care of myself, Deacon. I might be stuck in this wheelchair, but I can hold my own.”

“I know you can. That’s not why I’m asking. It’s just...I have a few errands to run. I won’t be back to Goodneighbor for quite a while. So are you sure you can bear to be separated from me, or do I need to ask Dez for an extension?”

“Just get out of my lab before I have the boys upstairs throw you out,” Amari sighed. “It’s bad enough you’ve been smothering me for the last two weeks. Now you’re telling me that you’ve been shirking work and using me as an excuse? That’s unacceptable!”

Deacon laughed, hoisting his pack over one shoulder. “I wasn’t exactly slacking off, you know. You’re Railroad business too. Can’t let word get out that our tourists are getting shot. Do you have any idea what would happen? It’d be chaos in the streets! Rioting, looting, hell, who knows what else.”

“You realize that rioting and looting are basically the national pastime,” Dr. Amari grumbled. “You don’t have to babysit me. Get back to work.”

“Only if you promise to let me borrow that wheelchair when you’re back on your feet,” the spy replied with a cheeky grin. “I wanna try racing that puppy down the ramp at Thicket Excavations. I wonder how fast it can go…”

“Fast enough to splatter your fool brains across the wall of the quarry, I think,” she replied. “This is rare and valuable medical equipment, Deacon, not a toy.”

“Why are all the doctors in my life such stiffs?” Deacon teased. “Do they take your sense of humor away when you get your certification, or is the caustic personality a prerequisite for the job? I’ve always wondered.”

Dr. Amari rolled her eyes. “I’ll miss you too, Deacon. Now shoo, before I sedate you. Lord knows I could use some silence after two weeks stuck with your constant yammering.”

Deacon beamed at her, blowing her a lazy kiss before climbing the stairs and exiting the Memory Den . With every step his smile faded, until all that was left was a neutral expression. He looked at the tape in his hand and sighed. Two weeks, and she was already back to work. There really was no rest for the Railroad, agents or otherwise. Hell, most of them would likely not live out the year, especially now that all of Myra’s friends were poking the slumbering beast beneath the Commonwealth. Agent mortality rates had always been high, but now, with the Institute gaining more power almost daily and the Brotherhood growing bolder and bolder with their patrols...any day could bring another Switchboard Massacre. And this time, Deacon wasn’t certain if any of them would survive.

He opened the dead drop just outside of town, an unassuming news stand half-buried in rubble. To his surprise, there was already a tape inside. Odd. Drummer Boy’s runners usually cleared the dead drops out pretty regularly. Either someone was slacking off, or the message was for Deacon himself. He picked the tape up, turning it over in his hands before tucking it away in his pack for later when he could find a terminal. The spy replaced the tape with the one from Dr. Amari, closing the lid carefully. He tapped out a short series of gentle finger beats on the top of the machine to wake up Tinker Tom’s little alert machine that a pickup was available. Once he heard a muffled beep from inside the box, he walked away, heading south towards the Castle. There were certainly terminals there, or if he was lucky, Myra would let him borrow her Pip-Boy. If the damned things weren’t so hard to come by and so garishly obvious to wear, he would have gotten his own ages ago, if only to play an occasional game of Zeta Invaders to kill time between missions.

As the day deepened and Deacon’s trail brought him closer to the Minutemen fortress, he found his mind racing as he tried to figure out exactly what he should say to Myra when he found her. With how badly their last interaction had gone, he couldn’t be certain that she’d even agree to talk to him. Frankly, he couldn’t blame her. Their friendship wouldn’t be the first one he’d killed prematurely in the name of security, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. 

There was a reason why Deacon preferred working alone. Yeah, it sucked not having anyone to watch his back, but it was infinitely safer in many other ways. Lone wolves rarely were tempted to be heroes, for one. If there was one thing he’d learned after surviving countless massacres and attacks on the Railroad, it was that people who played hero usually got themselves killed. Deacon had no interest in dying. Not before he’d repaid his debt to the world in full. Skulking around and keeping his true intentions shielded from the world might not have been an honorable choice, but it had sure as hell kept him alive. Well, that and his ridiculous good luck, but the spy never banked on being lucky. That required a certain level of comfort and naivete that Deacon was just not capable of any more. Not after Barbara. At least, not until recently.

Deacon could kick himself -- and in fact had kicked himself, both literally and figuratively -- for not being more careful with his interactions with Myra. He wasn’t sure when his desire to recruit her to the Railroad had changed into something far more dangerous and unpredictable. Perhaps elements of affection had been there all along, and he was just too blind or too stupid to realize it. By the time he know how deep the shit he was wading in had gotten, it was almost too late to swim back to shore. In a lot of ways, Deacon wasn’t convinced that he had managed to shake his feelings for her. After that damned hallucination in Hancock’s living room...what was that about, anyway? Just some new torture his troubled mind had cooked up for him? It didn’t matter. Whatever was making him so stupid had to be ignored or destroyed. Myra was too valuable to the Railroad. He needed to be able to work with her without his feelings getting in the way.

The best thing Deacon could do would be to just apologize for being a jerk. He’d tell her that he shouldn’t have reacted that way, and then remind her about the Railroad’s policies on relationships between agents. She’d understand, wouldn’t she? He sighed. “No, she won’t,” he muttered to himself. “Myra’s never been big on rules. Hell, if she...she might see it as a challenge.” He needed to think of another tactic, and fast.

“Maybe you could just tell her the truth?” he mused. The words had barely crossed his lips before he rejected them. Tell her the truth, let her see the real him? What the hell would that accomplish. Sure, it would horrify her to know who he really was. But what if it bothered her so much that she still left the Railroad? That she still left him?

Deacon realized with a jolt of panic that he was honestly terrified of losing her. The fear itself, honestly, was scarier than the cause in his mind. Was he really that far gone? Did it matter? Whether he liked it or not, that was the truth. Deacon had gotten used to depending on her, to trusting her. If he shared that side of himself with her, if her revulsion drove her away...he wasn’t certain he could bear it. Myra was the first person he’d ever considered being totally honest with. If she rejected his friendship once she knew, he would probably never be able to tell anyone again. Was it really worth the risk?

A thousand voices in his head cried out for him to reconsider, to play it safe, to keep his demons locked safely in their cage of lies. Fear overwhelmed him as he continued to walk towards the Castle, one foot carefully planted in front of the other like he was being led to the executioner's block. Still, there was no turning back. There was no undoing the course he’d set for himself. Coward or not, this was the right thing to do. Myra deserved better. Myra deserved the truth. If that meant that she would never speak to him again, at least she would finally understand why he was so flippant with her sometimes: Myra deserved better than anything he could ever offer her.

Deacon camped for the night on the roof of Gwinnett Brewery. He wanted time to think, to plan, and perhaps most importantly to rest before meeting with Myra in the morning. After all, this conversation was going to change things between them forever. He could only hope that the change was for the best.

The spy pulled a folded scrap of paper from his pocket, the poem he’d spent the last half a year fixated on. He sighed as he leaned against one of the industrial air conditioners that crowded the rooftop and read the words to himself, murmuring under his breath.

“It burns so quietly within my soul,” he said so softly that the words seemed to catch on his lips. “No longer should you feel distressed by it.” If only that were true.

::::

“Well, howdy, Colonel,” Deacon drawled as he strutted into the Castle and directly into Preston’s questioning gaze. “I’m here to see the General.”

Preston sighed. “She’s not here, Deacon.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?” Deacon said as Preston snatched the militia hat off of the spy’s head. “And give me my hat back!”

Preston shook his head. “No, I’m keeping this. So, you’re impersonating a Minuteman now? Where did you get the uniform?”

“If you must know, I enlisted fair and square ages ago,” Deacon protested. “Your predecessors weren’t exactly big on the idea of background checks. Too busy fighting each other to care about anything besides numbers.”

“So not only are you a spy, but you’re a deserter,” the Colonel muttered. “Fortunately for you, I’m in a good mood, so as long as you leave the uniform here when you go, I’ll consider you retired.”

Deacon nodded, hastily unbuttoning his tan uniform shirt. “I’ll just take it off now. Save us the trouble.”

“Please don’t,” Preston protested.

“Please do!” one of the nearby militia-women catcalled jokingly. “Always wondered what was under those disguises of yours.”

That voice...Deacon turned to look for the source, his stomach dropping as his eyes met a familiar pair of dark brown ones. Damn it, he’d trained her better than this. “Trail,” he murmured, “what the hell are you doing here?”

Trailblazer smiled weakly at him. “I’ll admit, you weren’t exactly the person I wanted to see either,” she said. “Just leave me be, Deacon. I promise, I won’t make trouble.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Deacon replied sadly. “Damn it, Trail. All you had to do was hide until I left, and I’d never have had to know.”

“I’m done hiding,” she replied. “When has hiding ever helped anyone? It sure as heck didn’t save Tommy, and he was so much better at it than I am.”

Preston frowned at their exchange. “Talise, what’s going on?”

Trailblazer waved a hand towards the Colonel dismissively. “Leave it alone, Garvey,” she murmured. “Please.” Her eyes returned to Deacon, and she frowned. “Tell Dez I’m dead or something. It’s basically true anyways. Trailblazer’s gone. I’m just Talise again. And it’s better this way. I’m happy here, Deacon...really, truly happy. Just let me be.”

Deacon sighed heavily, taking a step closer to her. “It’s not that simple. You can’t just...you can’t just leave, Trail. You know too much. Eventually, someone else is going to track you down, someone who isn’t your friend, and they won’t give you the choice to come home.”

She rolled her eyes. “You stopped being my friend when you didn’t tell me about Tommy. Heck, maybe you never really were my friend,” Trail scoffed. “A man like you...are you even capable of friendship?”

Deacon’s heart contorted in his chest as her words sunk in. Trailblazer was right, of course. The spy had been many things to many people over his lifetime. But when in a long time could he honestly say he’d been someone’s friend? Maybe he wasn’t capable of that sort of trust. Maybe he was deluding himself when he thought that things had changed. “I’m so sorry,” he said gently, “but I have to bring you in. Or…”

Preston walked in front of Trailblazer, a physical barrier between Deacon and his once-student. “Or what? You’ll kill her? Not in my territory, you won’t. Lieutenant Guerra is one of my soldiers now, Deacon. She’s not going anywhere she doesn’t want to. If anyone tries to take her, they’ll be starting a war with us. And I know the Railroad can’t afford that. So tell your boss that Talise isn’t a threat, and leave her alone.”

Deacon chuckled, shaking his head at Preston. “Wow. How long has she been here? A couple months, tops? Damn, you really are a natural agent, Trailblazer. It’s such a shame. Fortunately for all of us, Trail’s not why I’m here. Myra is. You still haven’t answered my question. Last I heard, Myra was here at the Castle. So where is she now?”

Preston’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I should tell you,” he growled. “Not after what you did to her.”

Deacon flinched involuntarily. “What did she say?” he asked nervously.

“She didn’t have to say anything,” the Colonel replied coldly. “What kind of man leaves a woman defenseless like that in the middle of a war zone? Did you know that she almost died? God damn it, Deacon, you’re supposed to be her partner? Why was she alone?”

“Hey, that was her choice,” Deacon lied. “We were on an op, and things went sideways. Next thing I know, she’s gone. I did look for her, but once I heard she was here, I figured she was safe enough, so I went to finish my mission.”

“Well, she wasn’t safe,” Preston growled, rounding on the spy. “Like I said, she nearly died. You should have been there.”

“And what about you?” Deacon retorted. “Like you so graciously pointed out, this is your territory. That means it was your job to protect her.”

“I…” Preston’s eyes darkened. “I did my best. But she never should have been in that situation in the first place!”

“I agree!” Deacon exclaimed. “She shouldn’t have been! But from what I hear, we both screwed up, so don’t get on my case about it! Grab your own plank before you go messing with mine!”

“Fine!” Preston shouted back, grabbing Trailblazer by the arm. “Come on, Guerra. We’ve got drills to run.”

“So you’re just going to leave me here?” Deacon retorted, grinning. “Oh, I’m so playing with that fancy radio equipment you guys have.”

The Colonel shook his head. “No. I’m not.” Preston gestured to a nearby woman. “Davis, please take our...guest to the General’s quarters. Feed him, but he’s not allowed to leave the room for any reason.”

“So I’m being detained?” Deacon asked. “That’s not very nice of you.”

Preston smirked. “It’s only temporary. You’ll be escorted out as soon as you’ve been searched. Thoroughly.”

“By her?” Deacon grinned, waggling his eyebrows at the petite blonde. “Well, well.”

Davis rolled her eyes. “So this is the Railroad’s finest? Man, they are so fucked. Relax, buddy. You ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen bigger and better. I promise I’ll try not to laugh, ’kay?”

“Davis…” Deacon pondered aloud. “Oh! You’re Ignatius’ master, aren’t you? I’ve met your daughter. Great kid. Must take after her father.”

“If you knew him, you wouldn’t be so disrespectful,” Davis growled. “Just for that, I’m gonna take extra care with the cavity searches.”

“As long as you buy me dinner first, lady, you can take all the time you want,” Deacon teased. “I’m kinda looking forward to this now, I have to admit.”

“On second thought, Ignatius is far more qualified,” the blonde hissed as she led Deacon towards the quarters. “And way less gentle.”

Deacon thought for a moment before shrugging. “Eh. I’ve dealt with worse. Not exactly my first rodeo there, cowgirl. But how about we dispense with the formalities and just...have a conversation? Spy to spy. Sound good?”

She nodded. “Any funny business, and you’ll wish we went with the search instead.”

Deacon grinned. “Naturally. No, Miss Davis, I respect members of the profession. Don’t worry. I’ll behave.”

“So you’re one of those noble spies,” she said with a shit-eating grin. “Pity. That’ll get you killed someday.”

“It certainly has kept everyone trying,” he agreed, opening the door to Myra’s room. He walked over to her desk chair and sat, resting his feet on the cluttered desk. “So, I’m Deacon. You probably know me from Ignatius’ reports, which I’m not sure is a good thing, but hey, you work with what you’ve got.”

She flopped down on Myra’s bed with a sigh. “Kestrel Davis. My friends call me Kes, so you can call me Kestrel. Of course, I’m sure you already knew that and you’re just playing dumb. If you were even half as dumb as you pretend to be, there’s no way you’d still be alive. Don’t get me wrong, the Commonwealth is soft. But it’s not that soft.”

“Well, we weren’t all brought up in the desert,” Deacon mused. “I mean, there’s a branch of my family out West somewhere, but I’ve never met them. I just know them by reputation. Not great people, it turns out.”

“Who is, these days?” Kestrel agreed. “So, you’re looking for everyone’s favorite Vault-Dweller. Why?”

Deacon sighed. He didn’t trust Kestrel at all. Of course he didn’t. She was a spy for a rival organization, and while she and her Foxes had never directly gone after the Railroad, they were a bit of an unknown entity. Perhaps, however, that made her the perfect person to confide in. As an agent, she’d understand his dilemma, wouldn’t she? And she’d have no inclination to report back to Dez. “I screwed up,” he said finally.

Kestrel laughed, her grey eyes shining in amusement. “No,” she said sarcastically. “I hadn’t figured that one out at all. So, what exactly did you do?”

“I...might have broken the basic rule any spy knows not to break,” he replied.

Her eyes widened. “You bet it all on red, not black? You fool!”

“What? No! I got too attached to my partner,” he corrected. “What the hell kind of organization are you running?”

“One that doesn’t live by that kind of puritanical bullshit, apparently,” Kestrel muttered. “So what, the General got jealous, and now you’re trying to…” she gasped. “Wait. No. The General is your partner?” Deacon nodded slightly, and Kestrel chortled. “What the hell is it with you guys and her? You’d think she was the only nice piece of ass in this wasteland! Does she know?”

Deacon shook his head. “No. And I’m not going to tell her. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m going to forget about it. I have to. Our mission is more important than something like that. Besides, you know what it’s like. We’d just drag each other down. She deserves more than that.”

Kestrel sighed. “And I deserved a penthouse suite at every casino in New Vegas for everything I did for those people. What did I get? Nearly killed. A lot. You want some friendly advice?” He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she beamed at him. “Okay, well, some advice, at least?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” he replied.

“This life’s brutal and short. You find someone worth throwing everything away for, and you’re a fool for not going for it while you have the chance. I mean, that’s what I did. I left everything I knew, a full pardon and everything, because I knew that my partner was worth fighting for. And damn, what a run we had.” She sighed. “Sometimes, I still hope that calculating bastard’ll walk through the door someday and I’ll finally get the chance to tell him that I…” Kestrel choked back a stray tear, groaning in embarrassment. “Why the hell do you care? We’re talking about you, not me.”

Deacon’s heart ached for her. Here she was, a strong, fierce warrior woman, and just the mere thought of the man she’d cared for made her weak. That wasn’t what he wanted for himself. Any weakness was just waiting for someone to exploit it. People in their business couldn’t afford that kind of liability. “Was it worth it?” he asked softly.

Kestrel nodded. “Yeah. Hell yeah it was. It hurts like a bitch, I’m not gonna lie. But it was worth it, Deacon. Just looking at our daughter makes it worth it. And even if she’d never happened…” she sighed. “I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

Deacon frowned. “It’s not just the rules. I...I’ve lost someone before. I can’t do it again. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“Well, if you wanna be miserable, that’s your right,” she sighed. “Just ask yourself one thing: will you regret it more if you let her go or if you lose her? Because if those really are your only options, I feel like the choice is pretty clear.”

“Maybe,” Deacon replied sheepishly. “But honestly, even if I was ready to come clean with her, I don’t even know where she is or how to reach her. Preston sure as hell isn’t gonna tell me. I think that guy might actually hate me, and I didn’t think he hated anyone.”

Kestrel glared at him. “So what, you give me your little sob story and now you expect information? Sorry, pal. I like you, I really do. You remind me of someone I used to know, actually. But I do believe in loyalty, and you haven’t earned mine.”

“I wasn’t...look,” Deacon backpedaled, “I wasn’t trying to play you. I just really need to find her so I can at least apologize for being an utter asshole.”

She shook her head. “I still can’t help you. But I guess I could use a nap,” she continued, yawning. “There’s water in the fridge if you need it.” With that, she curled up on her side, facing away from him. Her hand rested firmly on the dagger at her hip however, a clear sign that she was still keeping an eye on him.

Deacon walked quietly over to the fridge, swinging it open. To his surprise, the old appliance was backless and non-functional. Inside was indeed a few bottles of water, but also a computer terminal. He grinned. Myra really was a clever one.

It didn’t take him long to break in to her computer, but that was more a testament to his skill rather than her incompetence. “Frankincense” was a pretty decent password. He popped the holotape he’d picked up in the appropriate slot, turning the volume down low and leaning in closely to hear the message.

“This is Witness,” a gentle, feminine voice stated. Deacon frowned. He’d never met the operative in person, but he knew her by reputation. Witness was one of the Railroad’s agents in the Brotherhood of Steel, whose orders were to keep her head down and keep an ear out for any operations planned against the agency. For her to reach out directly meant that either something big was happening or... “ If anyone’s listening, the General of the Minutemen’s near the remains of Allen Safehouse. There’s a cabin there, right on the edge of the lake. My sources say she’s been there for over a week now. Someone should probably find out what she’s doing all alone out there with a Brotherhood Paladin. I’m not saying he’d hurt her. Of course not! Danse would never...I mean, he’s a good man .” Witness cleared her throat awkwardly. “ I’m just saying, whatever led them out there, it’s caused a big stir here. If they’re planning an alliance...We need to move on this before the...oh, geez. Patrol’s coming back. I’ve got to go. Good luck! ”

So Witness didn’t know that Myra was a fellow agent. That was a relief, at least. There were already too many people who knew about Myra’s involvement with the Railroad. If anyone in the Brotherhood even suspected her, even if that person was another agent, it could spell her death. Deacon had to admit, though, he hadn’t been expecting such detailed information about her whereabouts. Either Witness was even better connected than he’d thought, or Myra’s close relationship with Danse was a matter of some concern for the Brotherhood as well.

He sighed. So she was with her Paladin. At a remote cabin. Damn. Maybe his window really was closing. Deacon shut down the computer after erasing the holotape. With a gentle cough, he turned to Kestrel. “Sorry to drink and dash,” he joked, “but I’d like to be escorted out now.”

She groaned, rolling over to face him. “Fine. Don’t let me sleep. Fucking jerk. Do you have any idea how comfortable the general’s bed is compared to my cot?”

Deacon shook his head. “Can’t say that I do,” he replied. “Now, are you gonna throw me out or what? No offense, but I’ve got places to be, cats to rescue...you know the drill.”

Kestrel snorted. “Right. Hey, take care of yourself, Deacon. And don’t forget what we talked about. Life’s a gamble either way. Might as well play.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,’ he replied. “Tell Renata hi for me. You’ve got a good kid.”

“Don’t I know it?” Kestrel stood up, leading Deacon back towards the courtyard. “I’ll tell her you promised to bring her the biggest, stupidest toy you can find next time you swing by.”

Deacon laughed. “Really? I’m not exactly known for keeping my promises, Kestrel. You sure you wanna make me lie to a kid, too? You’re heartless.”

“Well, follow through and it won’t be a lie,” she teased. “Now get lost before Preston realizes I let you go. You owe me.”

“I do,” he replied as she shoved him through the gate. “Thanks, Kestrel.”

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” she snarked, slamming the door in his face.

Deacon looked at the door in shock for a moment before laughing hysterically. Well, damn. That was one for the memory bank. He crept along the outside of the wall until he reached the shore, and with a flourish, he activated a Stealth Boy and was gone.

::::

It took Deacon the better part of a day to reach the cabin. He recognized the small green building immediately. For years, the little shack had been the reception area for Allen Safehouse. There was a trapdoor behind the dresser that led into a series of old drainage pipes for the Chestnut Hillock Reservoir and ultimately to a bunker beneath the lake. It had been one of the nicer safehouses, until the Institute invaded and killed everyone inside, flooding the structure with irradiated water. Deacon wondered if either Myra or Danse had any idea that they were holed up on top of a mass grave.

Deacon perched in a tree outside, pulling his scope out and watching through the cabin window. Sure enough, there was Myra, sitting at the kitchen table cleaning her laser rifle. He frowned as he looked at her gaunt cheeks, her exhausted eyes. Preston hadn’t been lying about her condition. Deacon hadn’t seen her looking this corpse-like since the day he’d rescued her from the vault.

Paladin Danse fussed about nearby, his power armor filling the tight space almost absurdly. Deacon rolled his eyes. How the hell did Danse even function like that in such a tight space? Ridiculous. 

He wasn’t sure how long he waited for Danse to leave, but eventually, the Paladin headed for the nearby ruins in search of supplies. “Are you certain you’ll be able to handle things on your own?” Danse asked.

Myra nodded. “You worry too much. I’ll be fine.”

This seemed to satisfy the Paladin, and within moments, he was clanking away towards the Fens, his eyes scanning for danger with every step. Finally. Deacon hopped out of the tree, landing gracefully like a cat. He watched Danse’s retreating form for any sign that the soldier sensed his presence, but no sign ever came. He was home free.

The spy knocked on the cabin door, his foot tapping nervously. He still wasn’t sure what he was doing here. After how things had been left between him and Myra, he wasn’t even sure she’d even see him. But Kestrel was right. For better or worse, he couldn’t just leave things as they were. Deacon had to take a risk, or everything was going to fall apart anyway. He and Myra needed to work through whatever had been building between them. She was too important to the Railroad for it all to end like it had.

Myra opened the door a crack, the muzzle of her laser rifle visible in the gap. “Who the hell is it?”

“Easy, Whisp,” Deacon replied, waving. “It’s just me.”

“Deacon?” she asked, throwing the door open. She stared at him, wide-eyed. “What the hell are you doing here? Danse will be back any minute. What if he sees you?”

“So let him see me," Deacon replied. "It’s not like he’ll recognize me. We need to talk.”

She nodded, letting him in. “Yeah, we do, don’t we?” She offered him a chair as she hobbled to the counter, pouring a can of water into a small kettle. “I was going to make some coffee. You want any?”

Deacon nodded. “That’d be great, actually,” he replied. “As long as you have sugar.”

Myra chuckled. “Figures you’d take it sweet. I might still have some Stingwing honey, if Danse didn’t use the last of it.” She fiddled around in the cupboard, returning with a small jar of viscous syrup. “It’s not exactly sugar, but it’ll do,” she replied. When the coffee was ready, she poured them each a cup, setting a steaming, chipped mug at each of their places before easing into her chair with a groan of discomfort.

Deacon felt a twinge of guilt as he watched her. Preston was absolutely right. If he’d been with her, Myra might not have gotten so badly injured. It was totally his fault that she was in pain. “Whisp, I--”

“Deacon --” Myra said at almost the exact same time before looking at him with a pained smile. “You first,” she offered.

He smiled sheepishly. “Look, Whisper, I...I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. It was juvenile of me. I...I got scared, I guess.”

“Scared of what?” she asked.

Deacon blushed slightly. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but it seemed like Myra was almost deliberately making things difficult. “You and I, we’ve become friends, haven’t we?” he asked.

“I think so,” she replied. “Why?”

“Well, I…” Deacon cleared his throat. “Look, I don’t really get close to people. Not any more. It’s not just because of Desdemona’s rules, though that’s part of it. But it’s...I’m a fraud, Whisp. Everyone else in the Railroad, you...you all deserve to be there. I don’t. I’m a monster.”

Myra frowned. “If this is another one of your stories…”

He shook his head adamantly. “No, it isn’t. This time, I want to tell you the truth. Will you let me?”

She smiled gently at him, and he felt his heart tremble. That damned smile. “Of course, Deacon.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “This isn’t gonna be easy for me.” He thought for a moment, stirring his coffee nervously as he tried to figure out where to begin. “See, When I was young, a hell of a long time ago, I was... well, scum. I was a bigot. A very violent bigot.”

Whisper watched him with keen interest as he told her about his past with the U.P. Deathclaws, about Barbara. She reached for his hand, holding it gently as he described his wife’s murder, how he’d lost himself to revenge. After he finished, she sat quietly for a moment, her eyes distant. 

“Well,” she said finally. “If that’s true, I’m so sorry. No one should have to go through the death of a spouse. Believe me, I know.”

Deacon nodded. “Yeah, I thought you might understand.” He sighed. “Look, I know it’s no excuse for how I behaved. But you, trusting me the way you do...I don’t deserve that. I certainly don’t deserve your friendship on top of that.”

Myra smiled sadly at him, squeezing his hand. “Deacon, no one deserves the good things in their life. That’s why we call them gifts. You can’t spend the rest of your life rejecting everything good in your life just because you don’t think you’re worthy of them.”

“It’s not just that,” he replied. “Whisp, I...I can’t hold on to good things. Every time I try, they break. Even the Railroad was almost destroyed. It’s a miracle any of us survived. I can’t risk the same thing happening to you. You’re...damn it, you’re too important. To the Railroad. To me. That’s why I wanted you to leave.”

“Deacon, I’m not fragile,” she retorted. “And I think I have a right to choose who I spend my time with.”

God damn it, he really didn’t deserve her. How could she be so...nice? After everything he told her, she was still there, still looking at him like he was the only person on earth. It wasn’t at all the reaction he’d expected, and damn if it didn’t make him want to sweep her into his arms. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not ever. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” he mused, flashing her a bright grin. “Ok, that’s enough tragic backstory for one day. I hope now maybe you understand why I panicked.”

“I...I think I do, yeah,” Myra replied. “But while you’re being honest with me, there’s something else I need to know. I...I learned something about the Railroad recently, and I need to know if it’s true.” She inhaled sharply. “Deacon, does the Railroad kill people? Were we involved in the attack on the Brotherhood recon squad three years ago?”

Deacon’s eyes widened behind his sunglasses. Damn it, he’d hoped she’d never find out about that. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of what the Railroad did to survive. Not exactly. It hadn’t been his call. Desdemona tended to be impulsive, but her heart was in the right place. The Railroad had to be protected. Still, with things between Myra and the secret organization so tenuous right now...hell, Deacon knew how it looked. But he didn’t want to lie to her. Not now. “Shit, Whisp,” he muttered. “Who told you about that?”

“Is it true?” she asked again, her eyes bright with fierce intensity.

Deacon nodded. “But I...you have to understand, the Brotherhood and the Railroad don’t get along. How could we? They want to kill all the synths! Sometimes, we have to do what is necessary to protect our interests.”

“So it is true.” Myra bit her lower lip. “Deacon, how many people have you killed for the Railroad?”

“I haven’t killed anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me directly since I left the ’Claws, Whisp, and that’s the truth!” Deacon replied urgently. “I hate violence. You know that.”

Myra scoffed. “I don’t know a damn thing about you. I can’t believe I let you toy with me like this. You’re still lying to me, even now. Making up a story about your dead wife to get me to feel sorry for you, to forget what the Railroad’s done...”

Deacon cringed, his hand flitting to his sunglasses. He was running out of options, and fast. If Whisper didn’t relent, and soon...He removed the shades, popping them on top of his head. “Whisp. Stop. Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me if I’m lying to you.”

Her eyes met his for the first time, and he saw them widen in shock. Myra met his gaze, her calculating eyes searching his for any sign of guile. A parade of emotions twisted her lovely face, sorrow, anger, confusion...finally, she sighed. “Deacon, I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I believe you. But I’m afraid that good intentions just aren’t enough. I’m not...I’m not ready to deal with Desdemona or her methods. Not right now.”

“So where does that leave us?” Deacon asked, pained.

Myra sighed. “Everyone keeps asking me to choose. Well, you just helped me make a choice. I’ve decided to take the Oath when I get back to the Prydwen, Deeks.”

Deacon felt his heart shatter. This was worse than his worst fears. He knew there was a chance that Myra would turn her back on him once she knew what kind of man he really was. He’d been prepared for that, or so he’d thought. But to have her accept him with open arms, just to lose her again, that was so painful that he almost couldn’t bear it. “So that’s it?” he cried, his eyes welling with tears that he couldn’t hold back. “All the synths we’ve saved, all the people you’ve helped, and you’re just going to turn your back on all of them? On the Railroad? On even the goddamn Minutemen? For what? What did Maxson promise you?”

“I’m not doing it for Maxson,” she replied, her face stricken. She reached for his hand once more, but he snatched it away.

“Of course you aren’t,” Deacon snarled more maliciously than he’d intended. “You’re doing it for Danse. Why the hell should I have expected anything different?”

Myra choked back a deep sob as she shook her head. “Deacon, I’m so sorry. If there was another way...but I think Quinlan knows that I’m with the Railroad. The only way I can protect Danse from scrutiny is if I look like he’s managed to change my mind, like I’ve left the Railroad behind. I can risk Maxson taking his wrath out on me, but not him. He doesn’t deserve to get caught up in all this.”

Deacon couldn’t help himself. It all hurt, so damn much. All he heard was rejection, was her choosing Danse over him, without even giving him a chance to fix what had come between them. He had to get away, had to protect himself. “Well, Whisper, I hope he knows what you’re giving up for him,” Deacon hissed. “And I really fucking hope that he appreciates it. Because you and me? We’re done.”

“What are you saying?” she exclaimed. “After everything you just said, everything I...you’re just going to cut me off like this?”

“You’re acting like you’ve given me a choice!” he replied. “Damn it, Whisp, don’t you get it? If you commit yourself to the Brotherhood, it’s only a matter of time before they order you to hunt me and the rest of the Railroad down. For all I know, they already have. And you won’t be able to defy them, or they’ll kill you for being a traitor.”

“No, they won’t,” Myra retorted. “Maxson and I are close. He’ll listen to me. He has to. All I have to do is convince him that you aren’t a threat.”

“Are you really that naive?” Deacon shook his head. “The Brotherhood hates synths, Whisper. We rescue them. There’s no way we will ever see eye to eye. I can’t believe you would even consider taking their side.”

She shook her head, tears staining her freckled cheeks and misting up her glasses. “Deacon, please!”

He pulled away, his chair scooting across the hardwood floor with a horrifying squeal. “No. I’m sorry, but there’s no way around it. Goodbye, Myra. I hope Danse is worth it, because this choice you’re making? It’s gonna cost you everything, not just me.”

“Deacon!” She cried as he fled the cabin, struggling to follow him. But he was faster than her, and in a matter of moments, he vanished into the forest, leaving any hope of reconciliation behind.

Deacon wasn’t sure how long he ran before he collapsed to the ground, wheezing. He reached into his pocket, fingers playing with the poison-filled bullet that rested there. What had long been a familiar trinket was now a horrifying responsibility, one he couldn’t fail to fulfill. If Myra really was lost to him, if she really had decided to betray the Railroad… he shuddered, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to will the terrible burden he carried away. He didn’t want to kill anyone, especially not her. But he no longer had the ability to ignore the real threat Myra posed to the Railroad. He had to put a stop to this before she exposed the whole organization.

Deacon wiped his eyes, pulling himself to his feet. He knew what he had to do. But for now, all he wanted to do was find a safe place to hide out, to process everything that had happened and everything still ahead of him. Most importantly, he needed a plan, and that meant casing the area around the cabin. That could take days. Weeks, even.

He wasn’t stalling. No, he was going to kill her. Danse as well. It was his responsibility, he knew that. He just...maybe she’d change her mind if he bought her a little more time. Deacon knew Myra cared for him. She definitely did. So she’d come around, she’d come back to him.

Wouldn’t she?