Fixer had fled the scene once Carrington started examining the burn on Deacon’s shoulder, back to one of the darker corners of the underground space. He’d watched her disappear, the look of anguish on her face obvious even in profile.
They’d gotten caught in an ambush of Institute synths - just the gen 2 foot soldiers, thankfully. The synth they’d been escorting had made it to the safehouse in one piece, but Deacon had taken a couple of laser hits in the process.
He’d shoved Fixer behind him and taken the hits for her, actually, which she hadn’t stopped apologizing for until they hit HQ and Carrington started swearing at him.
Once he’d gotten smeared with something foul-smelling and wrapped up like a mummy, he headed for where Fixer had vanished. She was sitting on one of the mattresses, back against the wall and head between her knees. Dogmeat lay in front of her, his head propped up on her feet, looking up at her with baleful eyes.
“Hey,” he said, nudging her with the toe of one boot. “Scootch.”
She shuffled sideways, making room on the mattress, and he maneuvered his way down to sit next to her. Leaning on the wall was a non-starter, however, and he hissed a little as he sat back upright.
“Sorry,” Fixer whispered.
“Fixer, I say this with all the kindness my shriveled heart can muster: if you apologize to me one more time I’m gonna hang you from the roof by your toenails.”
She ducked her head. “So - fuck. You know what I mean.”
He gave a little snort of a laugh. A grin flickered across her face, quickly replaced by the same look of consternation she’d worn since he’d gotten hit.
“Fixer.” He nudged her with his good shoulder. “I’m really fine.”
“You might not have been.” It was a whisper.
“But I am. Don’t get caught up in might-have-beens, they’ll eat you alive. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Except get you shot,” she said miserably. “This is why Dez doesn’t ask me to run synths.”
“No, Dez doesn’t ask us to run synths - “ The emphasis made Fixer look up at him. “Because finding the Institute will do more good in the long run. We’ve got lots of people who can run synths. Only got one you.”
He froze as the words left his mouth. He’d been keeping his voice down to prevent the conversation echoing across HQ, but in that hushed tone the sentiment held more weight than he’d meant to convey.
Fixer looked up at him. He didn’t look away or drop his eyes, as badly as he wanted to do both. He wasn’t going to take it back - he’d meant it, and at some point he’d started saying things he meant, almost exclusively to Fixer. He refused to investigate the source of this sudden sincerity, not because he was scared, but because he was pretty sure he knew what it was and if he didn’t look at it he could keep pretending it wasn’t there.
“Is that why you did it?” Her voice was equally low, and equally charged with something he avoided indentifying directly.
“Did what?”
She reached out hesitantly, fingers flexing slightly before she laid them on his arm, just below where the bandages stopped. “Cover me.”
Her fingertips felt like they’d burn him worse than the laser had. He’d done the math after the fact - with their height difference, a shot in his shoulder would have been a headshot on her. She’d have died, and on the extreme off-chance she hadn’t, she’d have been blinded, at the very least. The thought made panic rise in his chest and lodge in his throat, and he shoved it down in the back of his mind where he couldn't see it.
Fixer’s question brought it rushing back to the fore, and he swallowed hard before he answered.
“Yeah.” His voice was still strangled by the might-have-been, because he was nothing if not a massive fucking hypocrite.
Her eyes went from his arm to his face, trying to find his eyes through his sunglasses. The moment stretched on for eternity, and whether her silence was contemplative or if she was as choked as he was, he didn’t know.
(Some tiny, selfish part of him wanted her to be, wanted her to be plagued by the same terror, wanted her to be fighting the same thoughts. Wanted the overwhelming, irrational thing in him to be mirrored in her.)
“Thank you.” He saw her lips move more than he heard the words, and he used his nod as an excuse to break her stare.
“Besides,” he said in a more normal tone, trying desperately to chase away the tension that still sat in the air between them. “If I lose you I have to train up a whole new partner. Way too much work. Much rather keep the one I got.”
It was still skirting too close to sincerity for his comfort, especially with her hand still on his arm, and he felt mingled relief and regret as she let it fall away.
“Whatever keeps you having to do paperwork.” She flashed a grin as she said it, and the lingering heaviness vanished in its wake.
“Anything but paperwork.” His arm throbbed and he grit his teeth against it, not wanting to stir her guilt back up. But the Med-X was wearing off, what little good it had done him in the first place, and his best bet was to try to fall asleep before the pain came back in full. “I gotta find somewhere to sleep.”
“Here.” Fixer shifted to the mattress adjacent to the one they were sitting on, and the sudden rush of air in the space she’d occupied next to him made him shiver.
He grimaced. “You know I hate -”
“I’ll take watch,” she interrupted, and managed to meet his eyes this time, straight through the sunglasses. The little smile she wore did nothing to diminish what he knew she meant - he hated trying to sleep in HQ, there were too many people moving around and it kept him on alert. But this corner was secluded, without as much foot traffic…and Fixer was covering him. Even Dogmeat was in on it, laying at the front of the little alcove they were in with his head on his paws, but his eyes wide open. On guard.
There was a rush of something dangerously close to affection blooming in his chest, even as he acknowledged that on a normal day it probably still wouldn’t be enough to let him actually rest. But with the chems in his system and the sheer exhaustion of a recent injury threatening to overwhelm him…it just might work.
He nodded, shuffling down to stretch out on the mattress, keeping his weight off his injured side.
“Thanks, Fix.”
“Any time, Deac.”
He heard Dogmeat huff at someone who approached, footsteps retreating quickly, and the dark hid the smile on his face as he settled down to rest.