"You alright?" Fixer's voice made him look up and plaster on a smile.
"Yeah, just a headache."
"Probably eyestrain," she said. "Sunglasses aren't meant to be a twenty-four-seven accessory, you know."
"These are the sacrifices we make on the altar of fashion," he said solemnly, and she gave a brief snort of a laugh.
"Come here," she said, turning around on her bench.
"What?"
"Come over here and sit in front of me."
"On the ground? Where the bugs live?"
"Do you want my help or not?"
He really did want to stop hurting. It made the recoil of his rifle against his shoulder feel like getting shot himself.
"Fine, but if I get snakebit you're sucking the venom out."
"Absolutely not."
Deacon settled on the ground between Fixer's feet, stretching his own legs out in front of him. Her fingers landed on the arms of his sunglasses and hesitated, a question in itself. He tilted his head back, letting her lift them away, and he closed his eyes against the sudden influx of light.
"I thought you were supposed to be helping," he muttered.
"Trust the process." Her fingers rested on his temples, moving in gentle circles. The motion blunted the sharp edge of the pain, and even that was enough to make his shoulders slump in relief. After a moment she moved her hands down, her fingers sliding down his jawline until her thumbs could smooth along his cheekbones.
"The idea is to encourage bloodflow," she murmured. Deacon bit back a dirty joke; he didn't want to draw her ire when she was in prime neck-snap position.
It was only then that it occurred to him that she was in prime neck-snap position. If she wanted him dead at that point there was absolutely nothing he could have done about it. Sure, they shared beds almost every night, she could have easily put a knife between his ribs at any point, but it was only now that the amount of vulnerability he allowed himself around her was astounding. And probably stupid.
And he didn't care. He trusted her. She said he had his back and he believed her. He had her back. He could sit between her feet and let her literally hold his life in her hands without a moment's hesitation. He let her take off his sunglasses.
"Deacon?" He opened his eyes, looking at her upside-down. It didn't immediately feel like knifes through his retinas, so whatever she was doing must be working.
"What's up?"
"Are you alright?" She tilted her head. "You seemed like you were relaxing, but you tensed up all over again. I'm not hurting you, am I?"
A smile flickered onto his face. Thanks for proving my point, he thought with a level of fondness that even surprised him.
"No, you're not hurting me. It's actually helping a lot."
She smiled down at him, and the sight alone was worth at least three migraines. Maybe even five. "Good."
They sat there for a minute, just smiling at each other. Fixer looked away first, dropping her eyes as her thumbs went back to their pattern under Deacon's eyes. He closed his eyes, letting her chase the remnants of the pain away.
"Thanks, Fix," he muttered, resting his arms over his stomach.
"Anytime, Deac."
