#wycb

Deacon was better than anyone she’d ever known at not letting his emotions get through that "intentionally indifferent" look he always wore, but he was still human.

Her partner didn’t think anyone could read him. He was right about that, but Charmer wasn’t just anyone. Before the war, before she was Charmer, she was an attorney. It was practically her job to read people. Every day, back then, she met people like Deacon.

In her line of work – public defense – every single one of her coworkers had something motivating them to climb out of bed and return to the office, day after miserable, overworked, underpaid day. Their fight against their oppressive system, advocating for one defendant at a time, kept their tanks full of gas even though the engines were sputtering. They all knew they couldn’t make sweeping, meaningful reform just by securing a not-guilty verdict for one person who the judicial system had beaten down – but for them, giving that one person another chance was enough.

She saw so much of that in Deacon. When he rescued one synth, it didn’t put a single dent in the Institute’s oppressive regime over the Commonwealth, but he didn’t care. It didn't matter. That was one synth, one person, who could live freely thanks to the endless hours he selflessly poured into them (usually with no reward, either, aside from a stoic 'atta boy' from Des. The former PD in Charmer could relate to that, too).

She saw Deacon in more than just her cohorts, though. She saw Deacon in the defendants who refused her help, who just wanted to get their proceedings over with so they could face the consequences that weren’t even owed to them. She saw Deacon in her clients who truly had done something terrible but refused to own up to it, choosing instead to shut her out when she tried to tell them she wanted to help them anyway. She saw Deacon in the prosecutors she crossed paths with every day at the courthouse, stepping into a role they felt they were destined to fill because they believed they were doing what was right - and this was the only way they could do it. She saw Deacon in her clients that had been in and out of the system for years, who always welcomed her with a wisecrack and a smile when she went on jail visits because they knew what they had gotten themselves into again, and there was no use running from the inevitable.

She’d never tell him, but Charmer knew Deacon much better than he suspected she did. Her past-life experience combined with the practice she’d gotten in the past few weeks, she could see through that mask of his almost like it wasn’t there.

When he was angry, he’d pull at the hem of his shirt, because the motion was similar enough to balling his hands into fists that it would have to suffice.

When he was disappointed, he’d scrunch the bridge of his nose and pretend he was adjusting his glasses.

When something caught him off guard or startled him, he’d tense his shoulders for a split second before relaxing back into his cover.

When he was trying not to laugh, he would clench his jaw like it would help tame the laughter, and the muscles underneath his ears would pulse ever so slightly.