#this isn't The Best but a little insight on tony & patty

[gohnnyjuitar]

no tomorrow

Sometimes- when those old world blues get a little too heavy- it’s nice to unload onto someone you’re learning to trust.

Deacon / OC (Anthony Rosario)

Anthony had this piece of paper, this picture, that he'd untuck from his jacket pocket when he thought Deacon wasn't looking. He'd seen the vault dweller glance over it many times since they'd started traveling together, an uncharacteristic frown pulling at his lips and making him look older than he ought to. Deacon never pried, though. Sure, intel was his game, but some things just needed to be left up to his partner to disclose.

One evening, their travels cut short by an approaching rad storm, they ducked into a nearby building- some old clothing store, Anthony had idly commented- and hunkered down for the night.

Deacon filled the comfortable silence with idle chatter, spinning tales as he started a small fire that, normally, would have his partner in crime stifling laughter and rolling his eyes. When Anthony remained silent, Deacon glanced up through his shades. A brow arched when he saw the paper he was holding, green eyes wistful. He didn't ask, didn't have to. Anthony cleared his throat softly and looked across to Deacon.

"Her name was Patricia. Pretty blonde, hazel eyes. Sweetest, most stubborn woman I've ever met," he chuckled, then, "Patty, she was... Something else."

Deacon watched on curiously as Anthony folded up the photo and returned it to his pocket. He leaned forward, eyes downcast behind the flames that danced in the frames of his glasses.

"Met her during college, she was working on a degree for journalism and I was some dumb kid there on a sports scholarship. We were both at a party, my friend kept hitting on her and when she turned around to finally punch him, he'd ducked and she decked me right in the mouth," The laughter in his eyes was somber and it twisted at Deacon's heartstrings. "I had a busted lip and a nasty bruise for days. Must've been pretty charming, though, 'cause she wrote her number on my hand."

Deacon's legs moved as if by their own accord, plopping himself down next to the other man. A small smile was his reward and their knees bumped as if to prompt him into continuing.

"We dated through college, met each other's parents; the whole nine yards. She was real big on charity work, always fun to go out and watch her run things. She rang me after each of my routines during the games, too, and always told me how proud she was of me. I wanted- I was going to marry her. I had the ring and I- The bombs fell and I,' His voice trailed, catching. His frown deepened at the small flames before he continued with a shuddering breath, "I didn't even fucking hesitate. I booked it to the Vault, didn't even try to reach out to her or anyone. I'd signed us both up and I just- I left her."

Light flickered off the steady stream of tear tracks down Anthony's cheeks and Deacon furrowed his brows, equal parts concerned and surprised as he watched the other remove his glasses to rub at his eyes. He hesitated a moment, unsure, before resting a hand on the other's back, rubbing over the worn leather as he choked back a sob.

"Y'know what I think, boss? Bet she'd still be proud of you. Hear me out; you bend over backwards to help out strangers in need. Literally, physically bend over. I've seen it." A weak chuckle answered, and Deacon pressed on, "What you did, it was all fight or flight mode and it's done. Can't change that. I don't think she'd blame you."

When Deacon felt weight on his shoulder and the soft tickle of hair on his cheek, he tensed, only to force himself into relaxing for his partner's sake.

"I- Thanks, Deacon."

"Sure thing, pal. Now I can't wait to get back and tell Drummer Boy you got wailed on by a girl half your size."

Anthony didn't bother stifling his laughter at the offended look he received after swatting at the other man's arm.