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danses-with-dogmeat · 1 year

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Crushing Companions Headcannons Part 6

Alrighty, so it's time now for Part 6 of our lovely crushing companions! (Even though not all of them are technically ‘companions’, per say. Oh well.) And I’ve already got a full line-up for part 7, but as always, feel free to request more if there’s someone you haven’t yet seen! (As of now, #7 consists of Gob, Lieutenant Gorobets, Colonel Hsu, Mason, and Vulpes)

Included Below: Boone, Charon, The King, & Nick

(So, I got a request for The King to be with M!Six, and then Charon and Boone both got M! and F! Lone/Six requests, so I made Lone/Six GN 😅, and Nick just gets GN, cuz there was no specification)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! <3

And thanks for everybody’s patience as well lately, I haven’t been as active as I hoped to be lately, but I’ve got some good prompts on the way here and a special little celebratory event that’ll be coming up pretty soon, so look out for that!

Links to the other crushing companions posts are at the bottom as well!

Boone:

They had come at just the right time. In more ways than one, Six had come into his life just when he needed them. It was just a fortunate happenstance, that some stranger rolled into town just as he was conducting his search for the bastard that ruined what was left of his life, that destroyed everything that mattered to him.

But they’d helped him. Without a second thought, without a shred of selfishness, without pleads for payment he didn’t have, without propositioning him, Six had agreed to help him get some semblance of closure for what had happened. When it was done, he was almost… he didn’t know... It felt nice. To have a sort of explanation, to have someone to blame besides himself, and to have... a partner in something again, even if it was in finding out who was responsible for the death of everything he loved.

For the first time since Carla… Boone hadn’t been alone.

But he knew it was selfish. He was a timebomb, the explosive payment for his past crimes and sins just waiting to engulf another person he could maybe one day have the potential to care about. And yet… when they asked him to accompany them, he just… he couldn’t refuse. Maybe it was his body’s last-ditch effort to survive whatever neglectful end he was planning for it, or maybe he really did want to protect the person who’d helped him find just some shred of peace in what had happened to him. To her. To them.

It didn’t matter why, he supposed. Whatever got him out of that town was saving him. But Six did more than that. With them, he felt like… he hadn’t been saved for nothing. For more suffering. For more payment for what he’s done. They didn’t just keep him alive, they made him feel like it was worth it to still be alive. It was a strange feeling.

Their sweet laugh, coming as effortlessly to them as breathing does for most, even when it felt to him as impossible as swallowing nails whole. Their goofy, playful antics that made him feel his age for the first time in as long as he could remember. The way they danced by the campfire as he sat gloomily cleaning his rifle, the way they kicked up dust just to see the shape of the clouds that formed from it, how, despite being in the goddamned Mojave, they found strange plants and small flowers that they never failed to point out to him, that they would always try to pick to “brighten their journey.” They were frightening, with the amount of trust they had in the world, they were blissfully ignorant, but smart in the way that they knew how life was meant to be lived. Boone had never figured out that trick.

Or… he had, he supposed. He had known how to be happy once. He knew what it was like to look forward to what life had to offer, had known what it was to see the beauty in the small things, how to appreciate what he had. Boone supposed that’s why it hurt so much now, why he feels so hollow…

Feels? Or… Felt?

The smiles began to come easier when he was with Six. As meager as they are, they’re there, in his light eyes, hidden behind his dark shades, a small glint of amusement, of wonder, of… affection for the person beside him.

It took time, but it wore at him. Like a river grinding the land down to form a canyon, creating new grooves, revealing the earth underneath; Six’s optimistic nature, their infectious good mood, their genuine care for him… It wore down his stone defenses, and brought out a side in him that he’d buried deep underneath.

Boone never thought it would be possible, and even if, somehow, it was, he knew he’d never be able to entertain the thought of allowing someone in again, of caring for someone that way again. It would be selfish, it would be akin to a death sentence. A death sentence… or worse. But with Six, he could at least allow himself to be… happy, for a time.

That too was a strange feeling. But for the first time since he lost all he had, it was there. Without his permission, without his knowledge, even, but that odd sort of happiness was there. Six had noticed it too. He could see in the way the regarded him when the smallest of grins touched his lips, a bit of fondness for him, mixed with relief at his expression being something other than stern or somber. When he looked them in the eye, instead of down at the floor, or a thousand yards past them, he could see that subtle spark glinting within their irises.

To see him happy was their goal. It brought them a sort of joy that he could only understand because it’s how he felt with Carla. To see her smile because of something he’d done, it was like the first rays of sunshine after a night spent smothered in ice. It was blissful, it was like solace from every bad memory and every cold word spoken within his consciousness, it warmed him from the inside out, and he could see that same sort of warmth emanating from Six now, when he shared with them that miniscule grin he didn’t think it would be possible to muster after everything he’d been through.

...Was it possible, then… Could they feel for him what he felt for Carla? Was he… beginning to feel it in return?

If they did feel that way for him, Six was patient. It was years, it was so much time spent with only the other for company. Years of being at Six’s side, of them being at his, before they made their feelings more clear, before their affections were more than a glint in their eye and fond smile in his direction. It was clear. They respected him enough not to push or pry. They waited until he was ready to move on, to move forward and away from his horribly tragic and painful past. And that too, was what made him realize the depths of his feelings.

They waited for him. Even when they didn’t need to, when they could’ve told him the truth, when they could have pursued someone else entirely, but they didn’t want to pressure him, to leave him, to hurt him, to make him hurt himself, with all of the guilt that would surface at him moving on like that, moving on too early.

In the end, Six was… they were too much for him to bear to force himself away from. He couldn’t be without them, and they needed him as well. He didn’t want to be without them, and even knowing what he knew about his fate, what he believed would haunt him for the rest of his remaining days, it couldn’t keep him from them. Because it couldn’t keep Six from him either. He told them the risks, he made it clear that it frightened him more than anything, for them to be by his side like this… for him to have the possibility of losing them too. Of being responsible for losing them. Yet, they stayed. He couldn’t even force them away, not if he tried, but how could he try? He wanted them here. Needed them.

Boone was going around in circles in his head. More silent even than usual as he paced around the desert in search of ‘firewood’. There was never any to be found, and yet, now he was looking. He was searching a long time, desperate to find the answer to his innermost questions within the shifting dunes of sand and nothingness.

Eventually, Six called him back. With what few twigs they’d managed to find, they’d built a meager fire, and now invited him to sit within the line of it’s warm, orange glow. The still sands danced under the writhing illumination, but even with the added light, the answer to his musings remained in shadow in Boone’s mind.

“Something’s been bothering you.” Six told him as they sat by his side. Boone only nodded to them.

'Something’s always bothering him.' Boone could imagine their thoughts so vividly, it was almost like they’d said them aloud.

“Anything I can do to help?” They asked him slowly, already knowing the answer, but, as always, asking anyway.

“Maybe.” Boone uttered, much to their surprise. His eyes fell to their face as they smiled at him. They merely looked on as Boone failed to elaborate.

How can I tell them the truth, when I’m not even certain of it myself? I know I… I feel strongly about them, and it’s undoubtable that they feel the same for me somehow, they’ve made that clear enough, but… Can I really breathe the truth of it? Sentence them to a life with me, a life I know they’d be more than happy to give for me, but one they could lose all the more easily by the simple fact of me being the one to care about them… But that’s their decision. And yet... this would be me enabling something that I know will lead only to more pain for them. How could it lead to anything else? How could I knowingly force that fate on them?

A hand on his shoulder tore Boone from the swirling thoughts raging in his mind. His eyes caught Six’s. Their eyebrows were drawn together in concern, their expression was nothing short of pleading, and the light caught in their brilliant irises, emphasizing the distinct glisten along their waterline. Six was so close to him.

“Maybe…?” They whispered, gently prodding his consciousness to connect to his tongue and form words of explanation. Boone relented to it. To his urge to spill the truth, to their pleading eyes, to the insistent grip of their hand upon his shoulder.

It’s their decision. But after everything, they deserve to know the whole truth.

“Maybe… you could help me forget.” He murmured, his warm breath fanning over their lips, so close to his before he felt himself so subtly leaning forward. Forward, and into them.

Six’s grasp on him tightened, even as he heard their surprised squeak as his lips pressed to theirs, but despite their shock, they never pulled away. Not when he pressed into them, not when his hands wrapped around them to pull them closer, not when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. They only mirrored him. Their hands found their way around him to pull him tighter to them, their lips kneaded his and they pressed forward forcefully until he felt like they were one.

Boone was never one for too many words. He even had trouble writing his feelings, had difficulty discerning them in his mind and heart, how was he supposed to just spout them out into the air? No, he said all he could with this action, with the words he did choose to speak aloud. And Six knew how to read him, how to listen and know what he was saying, without more than a glance. This certainly would be loud enough for them to decipher.

That, and they’d been waiting to hear this. Since the day he agreed to follow them, to protect them, he was making moves towards being able to move on. It was painful, and frightening and beyond difficult for a man to do such a thing after losing so much. But it was all proof that one day he could get to this point. They weren’t sure how long it would take, or even if it would ever happen to this extent, but Six wasn’t going to give up on him. Whether or not he ever felt for them what they’d felt for him so early on, they would be there for him. More than happy to help him move on, and honored to be the one to help him forget that overwhelming pain he’d been in before they met him. They didn’t always think it was possible, and of course, Boone didn’t either, but now… Now he supposed they’ll have to find out the same way they’d done everything since they met that night in the dinosaur’s mouth. Together.

Charon:

In the end, all employers are the same. They all have unique methods, but no matter what they use him for, they're inevitably still using him. Even those that have convinced themselves that Charon would stay beside them, should the contract miraculously vanish. Even those who've said they think of him as a partner, as a friend, as family; inevitably, they all wind up using him.

The ones who convince themselves that he cares for them in return are the worst though. Those under this disillusionment that he's happy being their slave. Charon isn't happy. He never is. A man like him doesn’t have that luxury.

The first taste of illusive joy that he's experienced in… what, a few decades? Came when Lone took a hold of his contract. He wasn't sure why they'd been so adamant about claiming his "devotion" as their own, but it didn't matter. The best part of that transaction came from the freedom it granted him. The freedom to destroy the monster who had held his leash for so long, who'd made him do unspeakable things, who’d always managed to find some sick joy in the way he abused his power over his slave. He had always treated Charon like he wasn't a person at all, like he never had been. Killing Ahzrukhal, without an ounce of hesitation… that almost made Charon happy. It was the closest he’d come to it that he could remember.

Charon didn't think any more would come from Lone holding his contract. As a person they seemed… normal, for the most part. A little more helpless and fragile than most wastelanders, a bit emotional, and more sensitive than most he's met. And yet, he's had employers that thought they would be different, that assured him they would never take advantage of him, they would tell him of their intentions to free him, even, if they had the chance. It never worked out that way though. In the end, they're all the same.

And Lone would be no different. He told himself that constantly. Even as they asked his opinion, even as they took his advice, when they requested he take a break, or they gifted him ammunition or food; and even when he had expressly told them it wouldn't be necessary, when they asked him to rest and insisted they would take the night watch in his place, he still managed to convince himself that, in the end, Lone would be like everyone else.

Until the day that it changed. That something in his mind, and deep in his chest seemed to shift. The day was one he'll never forget.

Charon was used to close calls, the Capital Wasteland was a dangerous place, he knew that better than most, but when those raiders had fired at the pair of them when his back was turned, when they caught them by surprise and Charon had discovered that the mad bastards had rigged a car bomb, he thought that that would have been the end to his overly long, and tumultuous life. But Lone had not allowed it.

Seeing his partner, his employer, his owner by all rights and accounts, leap into him, thrusting themself into danger and almost certain death in order to preserve his own life… it was something he didn't expect. Not from anyone. Not ever.

His ‘life’ could hardly be deemed as such. It felt, on most days, that he was more machine than man, he consisted only of what he could do for someone else, and nothing more. On his own, Charon’s life was meaningless, the ones who’d destroyed his past self in that vault made certain of that. Without an owner, without a contract, he would be nothing. But Lone apparently disagreed. And they deemed his existence important enough to snuff out their own in favor of it… He didn’t understand.

After the account, after Charon had downed the remaining raiders and pulled Lone from the car wreckage they’d shoved him away from, he felt bound to their side throughout their recovery in Rivet City. Not because of his contract, that would have forced him to remain by their side regardless, but even of his own free will, he would have stayed… That was a first.

Even as they recovered and slowly took to roaming the wastes together once more, Charon would remain relatively unchanged... On the outside, that is. Inside there would be quite the conflict raging between his temples, and within his chest he would be struggling with these… no, he couldn’t call them feelings. That’s not what they were. Surely it had to be guilt, for the way they threw themself into danger in order to protect him. That was meant to be his job. Maybe it was just his own feelings of inadequacy that drove him to make it up to his charge, but he felt that he wanted to be at their side, almost all the time now. He’d despised each and every one of his past “employers,” no matter how benevolent they seemed, how good they thought they were. To him, they were just still owners. But with Lone… How could things be so different?

Their friendly attitude and comfortability with physical touch didn’t make it any damn easier. Who was he to call them on it when their hands bumped together as they walked side-by-side, or to refuse their head on his shoulder after a long day of wandering? How could he turn them away from grasping onto him when they were afraid? Or pressing against him when they were cold? It wasn’t his place to deny Lone that. Still though, it was the first time Charon could remember allowing such contact without so much as a flinch. There was no order for him to tolerate their physical contact, no request to reciprocate, and though he hadn’t gone so far as to reach out for them of his own accord, despite this lack of their command, he didn’t want to pull away.

Though later, he’d even find himself starting to unconsciously respond to these sorts of tendencies of his own accord. Pushing himself closer to Lone when he felt them shiver, slightly extending his arm so they could better hold onto it when strange noises sounded in the darkness, leaving his hand to linger within grasping distance, rather than pulling it away when their fingers brushed his own. Even as they joked with the stoic ghoul, if one looked closely, they could see the way his ruined lips would twitch upwards, the subtle way his brow would unfurrow, just for a moment. Even he hardly seemed to notice these new tendencies of his. After a while though, they became increasingly more difficult to ignore.

One night, as the pair sat beside one another by the fire, Lone preparing their bedroll and Charon cleaning his gun, he decided to address his original question. The instance that had avalanched into these touches, these musings of something more than the relationship between employee and charge, these strange, indescribable and damn near indecipherable feelings he felt blooming uncharacteristically within himself. He needed to know why things had changed. He told them he wanted to ask them a question, he was clear and concise, no wordier than he needed to be as he briefly reminded them of that day they’d thrown themself onto the threshold of the afterlife in place of him. He could still see the constant reminders of that day, etched in their flame-ravaged skin, ironically aglow with the orange haze of the campfire.

“That day… the car. Why did you push me aside?” He finally fixed his icy eyes to theirs as they looked away in thought. There was a brief silence as they considered his inquiry, and Charon only just realized he’d been holding his breath as they turned back to him with a sheepish smile. “I thought you knew…” They said, rather cryptically. Charon frowned, releasing the breath he’d been holding through his meager nostrils, the sound suggesting a snort.

“Sorry, I just… I thought it was obvious.” They continued with a shrug, “But I did it because I was afraid of losing you.”

“... Because there would be no one to protect you.” He suggested, something deep within his subconscious screaming that he knew that shit wasn’t true. That it couldn’t just be that.

Lone considered his vocal thought anyways, shaking their head at him firmly. “It wasn’t that. I just… I care about you, Charon. I didn’t want to lose you, because I’d miss you if you were gone, I… I wouldn’t know what to do.” Lone was fiddling with their own fingers by the end of it, looking down at their lap as Charon’s brows became progressively more furrowed.

There had been some past owners of his who claimed this very thing as well. That they cared about him. Like he was their friend, or like family to them… But it was always bullshit. There was nothing to keep him from thinking this time would be any different, except… Lone had proven that they cared. Enough to bet their own damn life on it. A life they both knew was worth a hell of a lot more than his own. That was one thing no one, not in his past life, not in this current existence, no owners, no friends, no family, no one had ever done for him.

No one except Lone.

Hell, he could hardly recall a time someone had merely inconvenienced themselves in order to help him, but this? There was a reason the action had elicited such a lasting response from him. He often replayed the memory in his mind, not only unnerved by the feel of the blistering heat, the crash of his body against the hard concrete, the deafening sound of the explosion, but by the horrifying realization that he was about to lose his companion. Even more unsettling, was the realization that that was something he cared about.

How long? He didn’t know. Perhaps it had all hit him at once, alongside Lone when they barreled into him, the affection being forced into him with the same such aggression of their body crashing into his.

Or perhaps it had been festering since that first day. The one where they freed him from Ahzrukhal and told him he’d never be treated so harshly and unfairly again, building with every day they spent catering to his wants, the ones he wasn’t aware he even still had.

With every conversation where they asked his opinion, with every time they suggested he rest, or they offered him a bite of their food even when he’d assured them he didn’t want any. With the silly half hand holds and the nights spent with their head resting against some part of him that felt so oddly warm, but not uncomfortable, not like he expected. With every look they cast him and every protective wave he felt wash over him when they were in danger, not because the contract made it so, but because he was genuinely afraid for the first time in decades.

Afraid to lose Lone, like he thought that he did that day the explosion seemed to devour them and every good thing that they brought into his poor excuse for a life. He did everything in his power to salvage every part of them that he could that day, to hold together the small fragments of hope and life and goodness that they brought to him in such meager quantities by their own standards, but by his own, were worth more than all the riches and comforts he’d seen in his many years upon the earth.

He could have let them die.

He could have been free.

But without Lone, what the hell was freedom worth?

The realization was like a blow to the stomach, making him ache inside like a firebrand had been pressed to his heart.

He must’ve been quiet a long while, he realized, as Lone slowly drew their hand over his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze as their concerned expression blurred into focus. Charon blinked once as his mouth caught up with his mind, the words forming on his lips before his conscience could reel them back in.

“Me too.” he murmured.

“You… what?” Lone’s brows scrunched together as Charon’s gaze fell to their hand resting on his arm. Why would I withhold the truth from them? What could that possibly cause me to gain? His mind worked over the idea, the burning in his chest persisting to maddening degrees that ascended to heat the apples of his strong cheekbones and sear the tips of what’s left of his ears. Before he could consider what he could stand to lose, should his confession be taken poorly, Charon parted his lips.

“I was afraid.” he told them quietly, “That day. I couldn’t lose you, could not let you die… not in my place. Not at all. I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn’t protecting you.”

Their hand released his arm at the sound of his words, and Charon found himself sucking in an involuntary breath. He refused to meet his companion’s gaze, opting to gaze downward, as he was once taught to do in the presence of his employer.

“Charon…” Lone’s hand ghosted over his heated cheek, fingers splaying gently under his chin to pull his eyes to meet theirs. “What are you saying?”

Despite the usual knee-jerk reaction that another’s touch would elicit, Charon allowed their hand to guide his gaze to them. Their pleading expression pulled it from him, that, and his own overwhelming desire to tell them the truth, to say to them what he’d never felt the urge to say before, not with anyone.

“Lone, I… I don’t want to belong to anyone else.” He said lowly, the soft light of the campfire making his eyes glisten with this uttered truth. “I don’t know who I am when I’m not by your side, and… I like who you allow me to be.”

Something fluttered in Charon’s stomach as Lone smiled up at him. “I like who you are too.” They looked away, almost shyly, and Charon found himself smirking. Has anyone ever reacted to me like that? He couldn’t recall, but that didn’t matter. Just this one time, and he was hooked. Lone would look like that again if he had anything to say about it, to do about it, even. “I like that you can be yourself with me…” They whispered, and though Charon’s smirk persisted, their smile withered and faded.

“But you don’t belong to me, Charon. You don’t belong to anyone anymore.” Lone paused before continuing, and as much as Charon felt like he should refute that statement of theirs, he couldn’t interrupt.

“If I were gone, if I’d died,” They said slowly, “would that mean… would you have been free?”

“No.” He told them firmly, not entirely sure how truthful that statement was. “And I wouldn’t want to be... You can deny it all you want, but I do belong to you.”

Lone’s nostrils flared, and they opened their mouth, but Charon spoke first.

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Lone’s mouth closed slowly, almost reluctantly, but they seemed satisfied enough by his words. He hoped they were happy with them, because they really were the truth. The ex-vault dweller just sighed, a small smile creeping across their face tentatively as they shifted in their seat, scooching close enough that they could place a hand over his and lean their head against his arm.

“If you’re happy,” They spoke up, “then I’m happy too. And… If you say you belong to me, then I guess I can’t really argue that.” They paused after that, holding their breath, their hand tense over his and Charon waited patiently for them to continue, as they clearly wished to.

“But I do have one condition, if that’s the case.” They picked their head up and turned to face him as he looked down at their nervous expression. “I want to belong to you too.”

Charon’s brows lifted high on his head and he felt something leap unnaturally in his chest and sear something deep within him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but those words did something to him. Charon didn’t know how to respond properly, wasn’t entirely sure if they meant what it seemed like they were saying, but if they wanted to be his… He knew he wanted that too. More than he remembers wanting anything. More than he wanted revenge, more than he wanted to be truly human again, more than he wanted to be free, he wanted Lone to be his.

Not in the way he was Ahzrukhal’s, or anyone else's, not in the way some animal belongs to their owner, but in the way gunpowder belongs in the barrel of his rifle, the way the sea belongs on the surface of this world, the way shadows belong where the sun can’t reach. It completed him, it complimented him, it just belonged. Like nature, like utility, like necessity, Lone and him belonged.

With that much decided, Charon nodded to them, and Lone smiled. It was a relieved, toothy, beautiful thing, and Charon found his hand accepting theirs as they grasped at him, and his head leaning into their own as they rested against him once more, shifting slightly to ease their body closer to his, and staying there all through the night. His eyes were locked on the persisting flames before him as the air grew cooler, and his mind replayed those words Lone had spoken so quietly over and over again, renewing that jump in his chest each time, and cementing them in his mind as firmly as the words of his binding contract.

The King x M!Six:

He just didn’t have the look. Bless the boy, but he didn’t have the look of a king. He was a right good sorta bloke, heart o’ gold an’ a good head on his shoulders. Banged up a lil bit, but who in the Mojave wasn’t? But darn it, he was no king. An’ maybe that wasn’t somethin’ so bad. All the good Six done in Freeside, he was worth more than ten of his own boys. Maybe he didn’t have the look, the black hair, the light eyes, the cleft in his chin, but he had more than enough heart.

When that stranger started doin’ all his good in King’s side of town, completely unprompted, he knew he had to have a chat with the lad. The whole conversation was pleasant. Six was… He was just good. Something The King wasn’t well accustomed to. There was always something people like Six wanted. Do-gooders don’t do no good unless they get something out of it. Caps, company, accolades, freedom to do as they pleased, no matter the law of the area. He’s seen it so many damn times. Was a real shame.

So he kept asking the man, “What is it you want outta this place?” And Six would only ever shrug. He wanted to ‘make a difference,’ he’d say.

The King’s eyebrows drew together in thought, and stayed there until the end of their conversation, but rose high on his forehead at what Six offered to help him with. The King had been worried sick about Rex for weeks now, thinking the poor hound dog was just gonna meet his end, but what SIx offered… he didn’t even know if it was possible, but he’d be darned if he didn’t let the man try.

All the time Six was away, doing his level best to find a brain replacement for King’s companion, The King couldn’t keep his mind from straying to all that the courier had said. Everything he offered was selfless; he was honorable, truly a good man in a world of sleazy, self-absorbed knuckleheads.

Six didn’t ask for nothing, even when he returned his Rex to him, when his pup was all better, like the old dog hadn’t been in ages. King would’ve done damn near anything, would've given the man time in his rooms, with all the perks that come with it, would’ve provided caps, chips to any casino, a passport to get onto the strip, would’ve given the man his own kidney for what he done for his dear old dog, but, as he was gettin’ used to, Six didn’t want a sweet nothin’ of it.

“Still just doing what I can to help out.” The boy said, with an easy smile and a small shrug. King had to wonder if there was something wrong with him.

“It may be you don’t want nothin’, friend, but I’m gonna do somethin’ nice for ya anyway.” King would tell him, even as he scratched Rex under the chin and gave him a pat as he stood up. “C’mon now. We’re gonna do somethin’ fun.”

He’d take him out on the town. The King’s way. The finest food, the coolest spots, getting waited on, having a ball of a time. Dancing, drinking, meeting and greeting, getting treated like… well, like kings. Yet still… Six was just his old self.

King watched him closely all night, looking for what made his watch tick, what made his heart a-pound, what he really wanted, and still, there was only that kindness, that obliviousness to all that was wrong and greedy about the world. It was damn refreshing to be around someone like that.

After that night… things changed. King knew it, soon as the next morning came and Six was back on his merry way, out there ‘makin’ a difference’ in the Mojave. King couldn’t keep his mind off the boy. Not like when he was out with Rex, not curious and detached, these thoughts were more… intimate. He wanted to have another night like that. He wanted to spend more time with him, to be around that refreshing attitude, to see that explosive smile light up the room like a beam from a spotlight, wanted to hear that laugh that roused him from all his own pessimism about the world, about Freeside and Mr. House, and everything goin’ wrong around him. It made him feel new. Six made him feel like a brand new man, like a kid with a ball instead of a switchblade, a dog with a rubber toy and not some discarded limb. There was a… blissful denseness to that courier, a willing ignorance of the true nature of the bloodthirsty and unforgiving Mojave, and to be around it was to be transported to the kind, sweet world that Six lived in. King wanted to spend more time in that world. Heck, he could spend all of his time in that world, and not find a damn thing to complain about.

So, every time the courier was back in town, King would be the first to know. He’d take him out on the town again, treat him to a nice dinner, or just sit and chat with him about what’s been going on. The King called ‘em ‘meetings,’ but really, he just needed to see him.

“Well… uh, nothing’s actually really happened since yesterday.” Six would say with a smile, politely wondering why, in fact, he was back in The King’s office for the third time in three days, per the gang leader’s request.

“N-nothing? Oh, right, yeah…”

He had to tell him. Sometime, The King had to mention that the reason he wanted so badly to speak to him, the reason he always finds himself back here in this office, with the black-haired man by his side, is that… Well, he just couldn’t get enough of the boy.

“See… Thing is, Six, I just… I needed to see ya. Not for a business reason, nothing like that, I just…” He sighed as Six’s expression grew more confused. “Is it too strange for me to tell ya I like spending time with you?”

It sounded so damn clunky. Nothing like how he was supposed to be. Suave, carefree, confident… But it was honest as all heck.

“I…” Six looked down at his feet, then back to King’s deep blue eyes. There was a little somethin’ extra in ‘em now, The King noticed. “I like spending time with you too, King. I don’t think it’s strange at all, actually.” He chuckled, almost nervously. It made King’s chest flutter in a strange sorta way. Not even his girls made him flutter like that…

“Well, that’s mighty fine to hear, Six.” A chuckle of his own escaped him, “Mighty fine…” He couldn’t tear his eyes from the courier, and without his express direction, his body scooted closer to the man in front of him, the knuckles of his hands brushed against Six’s where they were folded upon the table. Now normally, when brushin’ hands with one of his men, one of the kings, it was a mistake. He would pull away from ‘em, none too subtly, none too quickly. But this time… Well, Six wasn’t one of the kings…

He didn’t pull away. And neither did Six.

“Mighty fine?” Six chuckled, almost nervously, and his hands scooted further forward on the table, allowing King’s to engulf them.

“Yeah…” King’s brain was filled with fog and fizz and a million other things. He couldn’t see a dang thing in there, couldn’t see common sense, nor self-awareness, nor inhibition. He was too focused on Six.

The man who was good. Who was kind, selfless, good-hearted, who didn’t have the look of a king, but only because he looked like nothing the old gang leader had ever seen. A smile that made him ache like a hot-blooded teenager, eyes so bright and full that he could get lost in them, a touch that made him shiver with electricity, like all the neon in New Vegas. The courier captured his attentions just as easy as the bright, wild town, but it kept ahold of them like nothin’ he’d ever seen nor felt. Maybe this path wasn’t right for them, for him. He’s just an old gang leader, after all. Six wasn’t… wasn’t what was expected of him, and he sure as heck wasn’t the obvious choice for someone like Six, but… Even if it meant a surefire trip on a one-way road that lead straight to Heartbreak hotel, The King couldn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him. He couldn’t draw his hands away, and when he found himself leaning forward across the table, tilting his head, closing his eyes only to better feel the touch he was about to initiate, he couldn’t stop himself.

And Six couldn’t pull away neither.

If the courier’s hand in his was like lightning, his kiss was an atom bomb. It was explosive, it was warm, and it turned all else to ash. Every thought against this, every inner prejudice, every uncertainty, any fear of anything, of rejection, or commitment, of his own feelings overwhelming him, as they often seem to. It was all cast away, and just the feeling of him was etched into the walls of his mind, like the shadow of the man himself. The King reveled in it, like he was tasting a sweet song, and Six gave his thunderous applause in return, the delectable praise of reciprocation that left The King wanting.

“Golly geeze, Mary and Joseph, Six.” King whispered as he pulled away, just far enough that their noses were still brushing. “I hadn’t meant for it to go so far… But I honestly say I can’t regret it.”

Six smiled at him. His face was flushed, his eyes still that startling bright. “You know, King... I can’t say I do either. That was...”

King smiled at that, a beaming, broad thing that showed all his pearly whites and crinkled those blue eyes.

“Mighty fine?” He suggested with a chuckle.

“Yeah...Mighty fine...” Six laughed, a sound like soft bells or a finely-tuned piano. The King sure could get used to a sound like that, to a feeling like this one that Six inspires in him. Like music to his ears and a song in his heart. For the first time since he’d met the boy, he felt at peace. There were no distracting thoughts and frustrations, no confounding questions, no terrifying uncertainties. There was only Six, and that little serene world he took with him everywhere he went. Finally, The King felt like he was truly a part of it. And it was just as blissful as he’d ever imagined.

Nick:

The old synth was content for it to be this way. It’d been ages since he’d had a good partner like this, and it’d been… well, never since he’d had someone in his life like Sole. He wasn’t about to put that at risk for something he wasn’t even sure he was capable of having.

Sure, the old Nick, well... he and Jenny had been a gleaming item, a gem of a pair, but this Nick had never so much as had someone to unwind with like that, to come home to, to call his sweetheart, and he’d been alright with it. All this time, and he couldn’t really complain. He had good friends, a good setup, a job he loved, now he had Sole. Nick is many things, but he’d like to hope he’s not a greedy man, and this would be no different than anything else. He wouldn’t take any more than was due, and Sole and him… well, the two had a good thing going. Why would he ever want to jeopardize that by demanding more?

But damn did they make it hard.

The way that ex-vault dweller looked at him… Like he was a person, like he meant something to them. A whole lot of something. He couldn’t quite be sure what it was. He’s been told he comes off as quite the father figure, and he sure feels old enough to be deemed that to ‘em, but it could also be friendship, pure and simple.

But could it be more?

Nick thought he could shake away the thoughts, but no matter how he tried to distract himself from their wily and persistent charms, he never quite could seem to escape it. All the late nights spent at the Agency with them by his side, all those long days, the close calls, the hotel rooms and shallow dives, the cozy campfires, Sole wearing his coat, knocking the brim of his hat playfully, their comforting embrace after he told them about Jenny, their sympathy and their help when it came to Eddie Winter… How the hell was he supposed to ignore all that?

He didn’t want it to be too obvious, but by the time the pair of them had finally downed his oldest enemy and put that case to sleep with the mirelurks, he could hardly stand to hold it in. Their friendship, partnership was so strong, that it felt like the next natural progression. Sole was so comfortable with him, with the way he looks, talks, and operates as a detective and as a person, and as for him? Well, he knew them and their habits like the back of his own skeletal hand. Call it an occupational perk, but his attention to detail is immaculate, and Sole was no exception there. Every word sliding off their tongue, every joke and observation, every story, and he retained it like it was gonna be on a damn quiz. The way they look, disgruntled and sleepy in the early mornings, spritely and bright-eyed on the rare days they’ve had proper sleep, the way they clean up nicer than any wastelander he’s ever seen on their days in the city… Nick didn’t miss a damn thing. Some days, he’d wish he did. Then maybe he would be able to keep his big mouth shut.

The compliments he’d been so guarded with started to flow more easily, his conversation became much less measured, not that he’s ever been particularly stingy with his words, but he’s always wanted people to feel like they’ve earned his praise and his more personal information, and Sole, well, they’ve more than become truly entitled to it all. This though, the confession… Yeah, that might well be taking it too far.

He hoped it was vague enough not to hint to his true feelings, what sorta entitlement did an old bot like him have to their affections anyhow? They were already the best damn partner he’s ever had, shouldn’t that be enough? Even if Ellie says no, if Piper keeps asking when he’s gonna tell Sole the truth of it all, he should be able to make his own decisions, right? And all signs pointed to a confession like that not turning out too well for him, if Sole had any sense, that is.

Apparently though, and Nick means it in the kindest way possible, but apparently, Sole didn’t have any damn sense. They were able to decipher his meaning though. Figures. Suppose spending that much time with him’ll do that.

As with most things, Nick tried to be classy about the whole thing, as unintentional as it all really was. Synths,– well, synths like him anyway– they can’t get drunk, least far as he knows, but there was something about that night. That night at the Third Rail, the lights dim, the VIP room quiet as a bar could ever be, the air warm enough for his body to sense it, and yet Sole still pressed their leg against his where they sat together in the little sofa. He’d chuckled, a deep pleasant sound, as they mentioned Irma’s name with a cocked brow and a smile in their eyes.

“What’s your story with the sexy lady at the Memory Den? She seemed to know you pretty well, seemed to hint at something between the two of you.”

“Caught that, eh?” Nick had looked away, almost bashfully, but he’d never admit that. “Well, yeah, we know each other, sure. Worked on quite a few cases, had a couple of late nights at the office, you know.” His good hand fidgeted with the loose screw on his other wrist.

“Oh?” Sole’s eyebrows rose high on their forehead, their body leaned into his, trying to squeeze out the whole truth his words. Nick smiled at that, knowing the whole of it himself, it wasn’t near as interesting as Irma made it out to be, but… Sole didn’t necessarily have to know that.

He wasn’t sure why he was hinting like this, playing with them. Maybe he just wanted them to think he was desirable; that a human, one as striking as Irma, could have some fond… ah, intimate memories with him, with a body like his. Maybe then they’d see more than just the old hunk of metal and plastic he was sure most folks chalked him up to. Still though, it didn’t feel great to be dishonest with ‘em like this…

“Well, how well did you two know each other? Was she enough to pierce that Valentine heart of yours?” One of Sole’s fingers came up to poke playfully at his chest, and he reveled at the feeling of their touch over the fabric of his stiff button-up shirt as they laughed at their own little jest. Nick swallowed hard, feigning a smile through his nervousness.

There was leading ‘em on, an’ then there was flat out lying, and he wouldn’t do that to Sole. Odds are, no matter what he said, it wasn’t gonna change how they felt about him, how they viewed him, so he may as well just tell ‘em the truth of it. Nick took a breath, his chest feeling oddly tight as he turned his bright, yellow eyes to them and spoke.

“Oh, she was nice an’ all, still is, but no, I didn’t know her that well. We just flirted a bit, that was all.” Sole opened their mouth to speak, but Nick continued swiftly. If he was gonna do this, he best just get it done. Else he’d lose his nerve.

“And there’s only one special person who's been able to pierce this old synth’s steely heart.”

Their brows furrowed, wheels turning in their head as they considered his veiled confession. He could see every thought in their eyes, hear it like they were speaking aloud.

Jenny? No, he said synthetic heart, and that was the old Nick. Maybe Ellie? No, surely that would’ve come up by now. If it’s not Irma… Who else has he talked about? Who else has he met? Are they even still alive?

“And that, partner, is you.”

He hardly even registered the words. They left his mouth without his guidance, and made it to Sole’s ears before he had a chance to bat an eyelid, to take a breath, to consider any alternatives to just releasing the unbridled truth right out into the world for them to make swift judgment on it. He just hoped they were merciful.

“M-me?” They sputtered, pulling away from him until their bodies were no longer in contact. Nick tried not to flinch at the loss. “Why? No, how? I-I mean, how long, Nick?”

Suppose it already could’ve gone much worse…

“Oh, awhile. I, uh, sort of began to notice when we were hunting down the Eddie Winter tapes, but I didn’t–”

“It’s been that long?! The Eddie Winter– Nick, that was months ago!” The whole sofa shook from Sole’s surprise, their voice loud enough to drown out Magnolia’s song for a moment as Nick tried to predict the outcome of this conversation. At the moment, he had no idea whether it was going well or not.

“Why am I just hearing about this now?” Their voice was calmer, more gentle, earnest, and Nick’s chest warmed as they placed a hand on his arm, gripping it just enough to keep him grounded in this moment.

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure. Just… never knew how you were gonna take it. Not every day you find out some metal man has got feelings for ya.” He chuckled dryly as he looked down at the floor. Sole’s lack of any sort of laughter of their own, or any other verbal response made the whirring in his head seem deafeningly loud.

“Nick.” They said it softly, their other hand reaching up to pull his chin in their direction, to lock his downturned gaze with their concerned one. “You’re so much more than that. I know you know that. And you know that I believe that. I have from the beginning, since I met you. And, if you would have told me, when you realized…”

“Sole.” Nick could see the struggle in their expression, the way, he was sure, they were trying to let him down easy, trying to hold back so they wouldn’t hurt him, and he was reminded of just how kind and selfless they were. It was one of the things he loved most about ‘em. “You don’t have to make excuses for me. I know pretty well where we stand, and I’m damn happy to have you as a pa–”

Sole’s fingers locked their grip on his chin, keeping him in place as they thrust their face forward and crashed their soft lips to his. Nick’s brow rose high on his head, but he never even considered pulling away.

He didn’t have the same type of feeling humans did, didn’t feel as easily as the old Nick did, but damn, he felt this in every square inch of his synthetic body. Not just the physical feeling of their warm softness pressing against him, the faint taste of their mouth against his, but the fireworks as they're often referred to, the jump in his chest, the whirring in his head, the electricity in his limbs, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so… alive.

They didn’t hold themselves there for an eternity, though Nick wouldn’t have minded that, but pulled away after they’d made their point firmly enough. Still though, their words after the fact were more than welcome.

“If you’d have told me right when you realized, I wouldn’t have waited so long to do that. Think of all the time we wasted…” Sole shook their head, and Nick’s expression softened.

“Well then… In that case, if you’re sure,” He paused, looking to Sole for one last moment, testing for the hesitancy he couldn’t believe was absent thus far, and they nodded to him. Vigorously. Nick smiled at them broadly.

“Then I guess we’ve gotta make up for all that lost time.” Sole returned his gleeful look, and when he pressed forward, his good hand extending out to caress their cheek and pull them closer, they easily relented, and their lips met his halfway.

Thanks for reading! Here are the links to the previous parts as well!

Part 1 (Benny Joshua, & Hancock)

Part 2 (Arcade, Butch, Piper, Preston, & Veronica)

Part 3 (Benny, Butch, & Danse with M!Sole/Lone/Six)

Part 4 (Danse x F!Sole, Deacon, & X6-88)

Part 5 (Gage, MacCready, & Maxson)