"You have ten seconds to convince me you're not a Synth." The beloved voice in my ear was rough, low and threatening. I had never been on the receiving end of MacCready's hostility before, and his intense anger was overwhelming. He was a trained killer, a dangerous adversary.
I lifted my chin, trying to ease the pressure of the blade to no avail. "R-" I wheezed, cut off as the razor-sharp knife pressed in to stop me, not quite breaking the skin.
"No!" he snarled, tightening his grip painfully, adding, "don't call me that," in an anguished tone. I could feel the shaking of his body through his hold on me, but in fury or inner conflict I didn't know. "Eight seconds." A broken sob escaped my lips, the motion jiggling the blade uncomfortably against my windpipe.
"You want proof?" Slowly, fearfully, I raised my arm into view, splaying my fingers to catch the morning light. "No Synth has cathodes invading their body. Those came from my world." Reaching for the latches on my Pip-Boy, the device came off to clatter noisily on the broken stone floor of the entryway. Across the room, Deacon exclaimed in surprise.
"Look!" I gasped around the terrified sobs trying to break free around the unwavering knife pressed to my throat. "I'm not a Synth!" Shoving my ruined forearm up into MacCready's field of view, I twisted my wrist to show the line of pin receivers glinting amid the scar tissue. I closed my eyes against the rush of heartbroken tears and continued, "You know that thing won't come off unless I allow it, so there's no way the Institute would know about my arm." My voice broke as I begged for my partner, my lover, to spare my life. "Look at it! You know my scars better than I do. There's your fucking proof."
A long moment passed, the only sound our ragged breathing echoing from the stone walls of the empty building. I couldn't see his expression, couldn't see if he was even looking at my arm. Without releasing pressure on the blade, I felt his free hand tentatively reach under the Institute tunic to trace along my ribs, locating the scarred gouge on my side from when he dug out the bullet after our fight with the Gunners. The calloused pads of his fingers brushed across the uneven ridge of flesh left behind as an unlovely souvenir. Suddenly the knife against my throat disappeared, and I heard a low tortured groan in my ear as he softened his grasp.
In an instinctive reaction, I clumsily scrambled away towards Deacon, away from the man I loved who had just threatened my life. In the dispassionately intellectual corner of my mind, I could understand his caution, even his anger. But emotionally I felt betrayed and terrified. The Railroad spy held out his hand to assist me to my feet, expression masked by the mirrored shades on his face. When I turned around to face MacCready, the haunted, self-loathing look in his deep blue eyes spoke more loudly than any words how he felt when he had accosted me, forcing himself to put a blade to the throat of his partner, the woman he loved. I stared back at him, unable to speak, hands shaking in reaction to the extent that it took three tries to reattach my Pip-Boy once Deacon had retrieved it for me.
"So," Deacon said lightly, breaking the silence at last. "Now that we've reestablished our bonafides, let's get back to HQ." He looked me up and down, taking in the stark clean tunic. "Uhh, as much as I admire the fashion-forward look amiga, it might be best if we got you a different outfit." He handed me my coat, but kept hold of my pack.
Digging through the discarded inventory of the abandoned stalls, I was soon sporting a much more surface appropriate tattered undershirt, checkered blouse, and scuffed jeans. Shrugging back into my now-familiar leather jacket completed the transformation, and I felt much less conspicuous and ready to go, heading out through the front entranceway.
MacCready stood motionless until we reached him. I flinched involuntarily when he held out his arm. A flash of pain tightened the skin around his eyes, quickly covered by his anger-laced emotional shield. In his hand was my combat shotgun. "Here," he said in a quiet, cool tone. "You're going to want this back."
I gingerly reached for the weapon. He nodded crisply when I instinctively checked it, noticing it was in better condition than I usually was able to maintain. "Thanks, MacCready," I murmured in a low voice, still keeping my distance. "Um, would you mind taking point on the way back? I... just need some time to recover... please?"
He blinked once or twice, frowning, considering my request. Finally he shrugged, resuming his professional mercenary bearing which created an instant barrier between us. "You're the boss." Without waiting to see if we were ready, he strode out into the late morning sunshine.
While MacCready ranged ahead, traversing our path and checking for obstacles, Deacon and I followed at a more sedate pace. "What happened?" I asked him, a world of questions in those two words. Focusing on my partner whenever he crossed our line of vision, I drank in the sight of his lithe, sure movements. I still love him, but he frightens me. My insides were knotted with conflicting emotions, and I desperately needed to know why my friend, my trusted partner, had held a knife to my throat less than an hour ago.
Deacon answered quite simply, "We won." He took a couple of happy shuffling steps in celebration. "The Brotherhood of Steel wiped out the entire force of Institute Synths, and you two eliminated the Courser. Our 'special cargo' was successfully transported to safety with the help of the Minutemen." He hummed a little triumphant tune under his breath before finally acknowledging my fixed stare. "Oh, you mean MacCready?"
"Yes, Deacon," I grated at him, his lackadaisical attitude irritating me beyond my tolerance. "While I am very glad to know the mission was a success, I would also dearly like to know why my partner, the one person I trusted unconditionally, threatened to kill me. What. Happened?"
Deacon dropped his clownish facade, settling into a quiet walking pace to match mine. "When you and that Courser vanished into thin air... he went completely ballistic. Shot up the ground where you had just been standing, then rushed out on a bloodthirsty tear to find and kill every last Synth still moving." He shook his head. "There was nothing I could do to stop him. He's a much better fighter than I am, and I don't say that lightly. Fortunately, your friend... Tango? Waltz?"
"Danse?"
"Yeah, that's him. Fortunately, he and his squad had pretty much cleaned out the bad guys by then, and he was able to calm MacCready down from his frantic rampage. They were talking quietly when I found them. Unfortunately..."
"Go on." My stomach fluttered uncomfortably.
"Well, by the time I realized what was going on and made my way out there as a 'cowardly merchant' (since we definitely don't want them knowing they helped the Railroad), Danse had all but convinced MacCready that you were probably gone, and if 'you' did return, it meant you were a Synth replacement. He... didn't take that too well."
"He believed Danse?" I knew the two of them had forged an understanding of sorts that night aboard the Prydwen, but I thought MacCready wouldn't take the Brotherhood's fanatical beliefs so seriously.
"Looked like it. The Institute can and does do that, so there's truth there. The timing is unlikely, though. Not impossible, just very unlikely. MacCready was protesting that if anyone could escape, it would be you, but he got awfully quiet when Danse insisted on his version of events. And as much as I wanted to disagree on principle, your Brotherhood friend made a very good point." Deacon clasped his hands behind his back, staring up into the sky thoughtfully. "It wasn't until I managed to shoo those clanking bastards away that I was able to tell MacCready about Tom's special little backup programs."
"And then?"
"Then, he insisted on waiting for you. I don't know what you paid him, but he is one loyal mercenary once bought, I'll give him that." We both fell quiet as MacCready appeared up ahead, skirting from an alleyway into a ruined pile of rubble father along. Deacon dropped his voice and continued, "Loyal or not, though, I could tell something was seriously bothering him. He finally admitted to not knowing quite what to do if 'you' returned... if you were going to be, well, 'you' or not. Since I have much more experience with Synths than he does, we sketched out a plan to let me take the lead in questioning you if and when you returned... but then you suddenly zapped back in and caught us both completely flat-footed. He..."
"He did what he had to, I guess." It's all he knows, after all, the flash of a knife. Violence first, ask questions later.
"He followed my lead. If anything, it's my fault." Deacon's reluctant admission stunned me to my core. "I gave him the signal."
"What are you talking about?" I scanned ahead for my partner, but he was out of view.
Deacon gestured defensively, "I'm talking about you! I couldn't tell just by looking at you, and the initial evidence was rather strongly against you being human- teleporting back to the exact same spot? Clean and unharmed? Wearing a godforsaken Institute tunic?" His voice lowered in frustration. "I hate to admit it, but I didn't think about looking for your Pip-Boy. It wasn't until you took it off that I even noticed it. By then..."
My answer was broken and dejected, "by then, you had ordered the Commonwealth's most loyal mercenary," and my love, "to betray his contract and his partner by putting a knife to my throat." Poor MacCready, he was already torn up inside, then I had to go and pull away from him. Even if it was instinctive, it had to have cut him deeply. In that instant, the fear I felt towards him evaporated, replaced by forgiveness and a pressing need to salve our wounded relationship. I have to get him alone so we can work this out. "One thing he takes absolute pride in is he doesn't break his contracts."
"When you put it that way, it makes me look like a complete jackass." Deacon commented sourly.
"If the boot fits..." I wasn't about to let him get away with dodging responsibility. "You were supposed to be the experienced agent, able to identify Institute meddling. You took the lead by your own admission. Yes, MacCready is a much better fighter, but he and I have a long-term trusting partnership with each other and you knew that. Why would you shift the burden to him?"
Deacon stopped in the middle of the street and removed his sunglasses to stare at me. "You..." he began, then threw his arms up in exasperation. "Fine! I knew the two of you were getting awfully close, especially for a mercenary and his boss." He paused to pin me with a piercing look, and I crossed my arms, hoping my expression appeared impassive, and waited for him to continue. "He'd spent more time in your company than everyone else in the Wasteland combined. I figured if anyone could tell, quickly, if you were human or Synth, it would be him. And he did."
"Can you even comprehend the gravity of what you asked him to do? You used him, not really caring about how it would affect our partnership!" I was floored. Mission over friendship. I don't know if I can grasp that kind of mindset, though I have seen it before.
"Yes!" Deacon practically shouted. "You're not from here. You have no idea how quickly a planted Institute Synth can snap, turning on everyone around him in a ruthless killing spree! There was no time to dance around the topic, so I used the resources I had at my disposal." He turned and started walking again, striding quickly towards the Old North Church just coming into view. "Do I regret turning two partners against each other? Yes. Would I do it again to save lives? Again, yes, in a heartbeat. The Institute is coldly expedient, and sometimes we have to be, too. You're supposed to be going home, anyway. MacCready is a mercenary, he should be used to this kind of thing."
"Wow, Deacon, I knew you weren't too fond of my partner, but geez! He didn't deserve that. That's really cold of you, especially after all we've done for the Railroad. You owe him a very serious apology." I stomped along angrily. "You hurt him, and that hurts me, too. I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust you again,"
He paused, stunned, then laughed sardonically, "No, you have it backwards. I'm a liar; you can't believe anything I say. However, you can trust me. I'm in your corner, whether you know it or not. You wouldn't have even found the Railroad if it hadn't been for me."
"True enough," I grumbled reluctantly. "Though I fail to see much of a distinction between trust and belief. No matter what, I need to clear things up with my partner. Is there somewhere in HQ where we can be undisturbed... and unobserved?"
Deacon pointed up with his chin, "Try the steeple. It's a bit of a scramble to get there, but no one will follow you. Not even me."
MacCready was standing in front of the steps to the church as we approached. The three of us paused briefly to scan the immediate area for watchers, and I took that time to comment, just loudly enough for both men to hear. "Right. Deacon explained what happened after I disappeared." I turned to face MacCready, trying to catch his gaze. "The, ah, reaction to my return was... unfortunate, but I guess necessary in light of the circumstances." MacCready didn't respond, his gaze sweeping the surrounding buildings, stiffened back towards the Railroad spy.
In my peripheral vision, Deacon nodded sharply. "As long as we're all on the same page, I think that's good enough for now. Let's get inside before we attract attention. Dez and Tom are going to want to talk to you." He lightly tripped up the steps, heading for the underground headquarters. As soon as the door creaked closed behind him, I stepped in front of MacCready, my heart pounding nervously. He finally met my gaze with a cool expression, hooded eyes shaded by the brim of his green cap. He's walled himself off. Damn Deacon. I hated the fact that he had been used to threaten me, breaking the deep trust we had spent months building. It's not fair, and I need to make it right if I can.
"RJ?" I asked quietly. The frown on his face deepened at the sound of the name I only ever called him in private. "As soon as possible..."
He shook his head, interrupting me. "No, you don't have to say anything. I get it." Turning away, he looked back over his shoulder, speaking quietly in a carefully emotionless manner. "I guess I'll head back to Goodneighbor then. Thanks to you, my reputation is good enough to get work with anyone I want. Good luck." He would have walked off, but I grabbed his elbow, halting him. I desperately searched for something to say.
The words tumbled out, unfiltered. "Are you breaking your contract with me?" I asked pointedly. "Last time I checked, I'm not back home."
He turned back around, sniper rifle lowered in confusion. "But-" A flicker sparked in his eyes. "It's over, isn't it? I betrayed you! I was supposed to protect you, and I held a fuc-errr, freaking knife to your throat!" I could hear the hopelessness in his voice, anger turned inward. "All I ever do is hurt people, the perfect mercenary sniper. You ran away from me, as well you should..." He shut his mouth with a snap, looking anywhere but at me.
"No, RJ," I insisted. "I was just reacting in fright. For one brief second, you became the nightmare you used to banish." He grimaced, closing his eyes, and I reached out to cover his hand with mine. "But now I understand why you did it, and I still love you with all my heart." Taking a bracing breath, I gently tugged on his arm to coax him to come with me. "It wasn't your fault, you know. We need to talk this over. Please don't leave. Not now, not like this." When he didn't move, I closed my eyes in defeat and dropped my hand, releasing him. "You are so much more than just a hired gun." I sighed, my voice rough with emotion, "If you really want to go, I won't stop you, but I'm asking you to please stay with me. I love you. I- I need you. You're the only person I really trust, even after what happened back there."
A moment later, I felt his fingers brush mine. My insides fluttered in reaction to his words. "I don't know why you still want someone as messed up as me around, angel," he whispered, his voice a hoarse murmur, "but I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth if you asked me to."