"Sorry about this," she sighed the third or fourth time she had to ask him.
"Nah, it's fine." Deacon worked his arm under her legs carefully, not wanting to jostle the healing joint. "It's worth it just to avoid the smell."
"Ha ha." Sole looped their arms around his neck as he lifted her. "Just wish I could get my back."
"What?" Deacon turned sideways to shuffle the two of them through the bathroom door.
"My back. I can't turn around into the spray, so it's hard to wash my back worth a damn."
Deacon settled her onto the plastic stool they'd placed in the shower stall. "Do you need help?"
Sole stared up at him, brows furrowed. They clearly didn't know how to take his offer.
"I'm not being weird," he insisted. "If you need help, I'll help you. Y'know, if you're comfortable."
"...it would be nice to feel clean," they mumbled.
"Just saying. The offer's out there."
"...okay." She looked up. "I'll, uh. Do everything else, and call you in when I need you?"
"Sure thing." There was an awkwardness in the room that Deacon hadn't anticipated when he made the offer, though in hindsight he probably should have. He made fingerguns as he backed out of the room, which didn't help matters in the least, and settled in the living room to wait for Sole to call for them.
Which mostly consisted of staring at the ceiling and drumming his fingers on his knee, apparently. When he opened his mouth to offer he had legitimately just wanted to help Sole be more comfortable. He'd had his fair share of injuries that made life awkward for way longer than he would have liked, and hadn't had anyone to help him out. It sucked. But the more he (over)thought about it, the more he realized he was treading perilously close to the line they'd drawn between themselves, the thing they were steadfastly not talking about.
Too late now, he thought grimly. Train has left the station.
Eventually he heard his name drifting out of the bathroom, and he only hesitated for a moment before heaving himself off the sofa to enter the bathroom.
Sole was sitting with their back to the door, the bar of soap and the washrag on the floor behind them. Perfectly situated for Sole's modesty, as much as she could manage it in this situation.
"Well come on," she said, barely audible over the water. "Hot water won't last forever."
"Right." Deacon tugged his shirtsleeves up over his forearms and settled behind Sole in a squat, reaching for the cloth and the soap.
He hadn't seen Sole's back before, not like this, and was surprised at the number of scars. Maybe he shouldn't have been, with everything they'd been through, but the thought was there nonetheless. Working the bar into the cloth until it formed a lather, he wiped it across Sole's shoulders, careful to avoid the fresher-looking scars.
"You could probably afford to be more liberal with the stimpacks," he said. Sole snorted in response.
"Afford? Have you seen the price of stimpacks lately?"
"Priced a surgery lately?" he countered. The cloth traveled down Sole's spine, skirting a long set of claw marks. The banter helped the anxiety that had been building since he made the offer - it was still normal. It was still just the two of them. "I don't even remember this one."
"Which one?"
"These gnarly-looking scratches." He laid the cloth over them gently, indicating the spot.
"Oh, the deathclaw."
"The what." He wanted to lean around where he could see Sole's face, but that would involve breaching the proverbial curtain they'd pulled around themselves.
"Deathclaw. Before your time."
"Thank god for small mercies," Deacon muttered, moving back up to Sole's shoulders.
"What, you don't like deathclaws?"
"Sole, nobody likes deathclaws."
"I don't know, they're pretty tasty with the right sauce."
"I think I'm starting to reconsider this partnership."
"Aw, just when I was starting to like you."
"Excuse you, I have been a delight from the start."
"Deranged, maybe."
"Oh, that hurts." Deacon reached into the spray to rinse off the washcloth and noticed the way Sole froze. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Just rinsing the rag off. Not trying to - " He faltered, grasping at words for a moment. "Make you uncomfortable," he finally decided on. Sole nodded, but didn't relax until he withdrew.
"Yeah, no, I know. You just. Startled me." It was impossible to read Sole's voice. They didn't sound scared, but not exactly comfortable. Deacon chalked the way they shivered up to the contrast of the warm water and the cold air around them, because any other thought was off-limits.
"Sorry," he said again. "Just let me get this soap rinsed off and you'll be good to go."
He moved in silence after that, except for warning Sole when he was going to reach into the water again. The awkwardness had come roaring back, and he cursed himself for it. Deacon sticking his foot in it again, he thought bitterly. What else is new?
Eventually he got the remnants of the suds off of Sole's back and stood, wincing at the way his knees creaked. "All done," he said. "Let me know when you need a ride back to the living room."
"Will do."
Deacon started to leave, stopping when he heard his name over the sound of the water.
"Deacon?"
"What's up?"
"Thanks."
"No problem." He decided to try for levity, one last attempt to salvage the mood. "I'll just add it to the ever-growing list of favors you owe me."
Sole laughed, to his great relief. "Tell you what," she called, the water cutting off as she did. "Next time your old man knees go out, I'll wash your back and we can criticize your scars."
Deacon's brain shorted out for a split second, the thought racing through a thousand different permutations before he came back to himself. "I wasn't criticizing your scars," he protested, just a bit too late to hide his momentary distraction. "I was questioning your sanity for going up against a deathclaw."
"Technically the deathclaw went up against me," Sole responded. "That's how it works when you win, right?"
"...you killed a deathclaw?"
"How do you think I got away with just a scar? I'm ready, by the way."
"Good, you're coming out here and explaining yourself. Killed a deathclaw, what the fuck." Deacon went back into the bathroom to help Sole up, the sound of her laughter bouncing off the tile.
