A Fun Disguise and Bittersweet Lies

-Notes-

Deacon: (v) – to falsify something, to doctor or change it.

(v) - To pack (something) so that the nicest looking pieces are on the outside.

(n) – (in churches) an elected/appointed officer that has various duties.

source: dictionary . com

There are many more definitions than these; I only put the relevant ones. It is interesting that the word deacon has so many different meanings that vary widely from one another, just like Deacon's personality. This will be my darkest fic. I love Deacon; his darkness intrigues me.

Chapter 1: Renegade

Deacon. The night was black and cold as sharp cold pellets of unforgiving rain stung against Sole's skin as she ran. Her lungs fiercely burned and her legs were screaming at her to stop.

I'll be where the red line ends.

Sorry.

This is goodbye, my friend.

The note left on her bedside repeated over and over in her head. It had been written with care on a small piece of parchment paper. It was a warning. How could it possibly have gotten so bad? Was he so far gone that he could no longer be reached?

The rain pelted down harder. Grey and thick, the misty veil obscured anything but a few feet in front of her. The roaring wall of water created a bedlam that drowned out her footsteps, her pants, and her calls. But right now, she didn't give a damn about any of that. She ran. As if following the Freedom Trail already wasn't hard enough, now she was in a race against time. Every time Sole stumbled over a pile of debris, she let out a slew of profanities. Even if he could hear her as she screamed his name, she couldn't hear anything else but the deafening crash of rain.

It seemed like only yesterday that Deacon was trying to convince her that he was a synth. Sugarcoating his lies with humor was his specialty. In reality, he did all of that because he hated himself. She knew his past haunted him. Many times she had woken up to the sounds of Deacon's pacing, insomnia plaguing him. The eyes of a man staring at him as he burned on a pyre highlighted his violent past.

He was a pathological liar. This, she knew. To others, he was a laid-back and amusing individual. But really? He didn't even know who he was. He had been lying for so long that he had lost himself along the way.

Deacon was like the joker in a deck of cards. He was a leaf that the breeze carried. He was a shapeshifter, a master key. He was the jack of all trades but a master of none. The more he tried to be like someone the less of him he became.

Terror squeezed Sole's heart the closer she got to the Railroad. Deacon couldn't do this. He couldn't throw away everything he had worked towards. An unseen pothole threw Sole off her balance as she wobbled forward, trying to catch herself before she fell. Another dip in the uneven pavement sent her sprawled to the asphalt. This road was too old; a weary relic of times long gone.

Sole panted heavily, lungs demanding more oxygen than she could breathe. Her hair clung to her face and droplets of water weighed down her lashes. Staggering to her feet, a stinging burn spread across her knees and hands presumably from the fall she had sustained.

"What am I doing here?" She whispered to herself, staring at the thin scrapes of blood on her palms. Fatigued in every muscle, she pushed on.

She didn't have any time to waste, pondering. All she knew was that she needed to get to Deacon before he did something he would regret. Only about two more miles. Her mind reeled as she ran as to where it all went wrong.

He had confided in her his darkest secrets! Told her about his lost love and past delinquency. She thought they had moved all past that. He told her that she was the only one that got him, but was this just another lie? She wanted to believe in him. How naïve she was. The tendency to believe in the good things was human nature. The pursuit of happiness was a fundamental right. What Deacon was about to do would only cause him pain.

Even after their bonding talks, when Sole had thought everything had gotten better, Deacon continued to say some cryptic things. Occasionally amongst the jokes, he would throw in some pessimistic philosophical notion that would make her wonder. Looking back, she kicked herself for brushing it aside. Deacon was far too smart for his own good. He was one of the very few people she knew that could distance himself from an issue and look at the big picture. But being that smart was a double-edged sword.

One particular comment came into mind that one night they had lain side by side under the stars:

"One day the Railroad's number will be up. I thought that day had come at the Switchboard. I can't shake the feeling we're living on borrowed time." He had said. At the time she had no idea what he had meant. Now, as she dashed madly through the rain and mud, everything was falling into place.

There it was! The Old North Church looked just as dismal and gray as the rest of its surroundings. The only thing was, there were two gen-2 synths guarding the entrance. Shit, she was probably too late. Charging right at them, she took the synths by surprise and put a bullet in each of their heads with her pistol before either of them could raise their own.

She yanked open the door. Everything she did was rushed. At least it was dry inside. She hoped with every fiber in her body it wasn't too late. Worst case scenario, she would be shot on sight right as she found the walls of the Railroad headquarters painted with the blood of their massacre.

Round the corner, through the door, the green lanterns would light the way. She remembered this dungeon well. Run, run, run. Around the pillar, through the hall, down the corridor, damn it all.

Then suddenly…she was there. And so was he.

Sole called out his name.

Right at the entrance to the puzzle lock, two figures turned around. Deacon, on the right, his somber face was obscured by his glasses and his white shirt clung tightly to his skin. He stood listlessly, like an abandoned puppy. But he wasn't alone. To the left of him stood a woman, a thin little thing, with long brown ringlets hanging from her head. She had big brown doe eyes that looked so blankly at Sole under beautifully long eyelashes. The courser uniform she wore looked out of place on her tiny body. Sole's breath hitched.

"Barbara."