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Chapter Text

From the moment Nora had clawed her way out of the vault and punched her first dog-sized radroach, she knew this world would be a nightmare. Every new dawn she set her eyes upon further dashed her hopes that it would be one from which she would wake. Mercilessly, the sun rose and set and rose again with no reprieve. Some fresh hell sure to greet her with every passing day.

Let’s see, what’s the count now?  

Shaky legs lift her from her spot on the ground. Her hands push off from her thighs and leave a dusty, bloody trail in their wake. Nora stares dumbly at the contrasting red against the blue of her vault suit. Her eyes lose focus for a moment and she’s reminded of the heroine in her favorite fairy tale; how Alice would count out her list of unbelievable things as a sort of ritual to ground herself the deeper she became lost in Wonderland. Nora had her own list of macabre encounters now, didn't she? 

Nora swayed where she stood. Her head hurt and the feeling that she was forgetting something tugged at the corner of her mind. Whatever it was slipped away before she could grasp it.

 Nora shook herself. The count….

One, the world ended. A shout from her left failed to catch her attention. Her eyes were still unfocused. 

Two, my husband was murdered in front of me. Distantly, Nora wonders at the pain behind her right eye and the way her vision has begun to blur and darken at the edges. Another shout this time with increasing urgency, followed by a small explosion close enough that it should be alarming.

Three, my son was kidnapped and is almost certainly dead. She tries to step over the bodies on the ground but trips on one and falls. Blood that isn’t her own slicks her hands now as she lands, catching herself on one of the freshly dead.

Four, roaches are as big as dogs and I killed one with my bare hands. Someone’s firm grip on her shoulders steadies her wobbly climb back to her feet. More blood on her suit.

Five, the world is full of raiders and I just killed 20 of them with a minigun. Sound begins to reach her again as she straightens to her full height and looks into the concerned face of Preston Garvey. “Nora!” he shouts this time with rising alarm, seeming to question her ability to hear.

The worry in his features and the frantic way he shakes her by the shoulders triggers Nora’s reflexive response to calm him. She tries to smile reassuringly-- she really does. But the movement takes too much effort and she finds herself doubled over, retching miserably onto the ground instead. Which might have helped ease the roil in her stomach she'd been fighting up til now if not for the fact that her position brought her face to face with a bloody, twisted, lizard-like heap.

She felt herself slip through hands futilely clutching to keep her upright. But her legs were noodles, pain wracked her head and she felt herself fading. As Nora lost consciousness, her last thought faded with her into oblivion.

Six, I slew the Jabberwocky…

A few moments before...

When Preston Garvey first laid eyes on her, he had thought she was a vision his desperate mind had conjured from the depths of his hope-starved imagination. He couldn’t begin to guess where this gun-toting beauty had come from with her deep auburn hair that looked too perfect to be real and creamy complexion much too smooth to have withstood a lifetime of radiation damage. As far as he was concerned she was an answer to prayer- a literal angel dropped down by some pitying god in their time of desperate need. Not to mention she was willing to help them. A rarity among strangers these days.

As though confirming his theory of her supernatural origin, she managed to slay thirty-some odd raiders and a deathclaw to boot. Granted, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. The first ten or so raiders she had painstakingly picked off one-by-one inside the building before returning outside with a power suit to aid her. Even with that armor, however, she was vastly outnumbered. And the odds tilted further out of her favor upon the appearance of the Deathclaw. 

He watched in awe as the woman had used the strength of her suit to pry the minigun off an abandoned vertibird and proceeded to shred all twenty-ish remaining raiders into an explosive red haze. Admiration quickly turned to horror as the gun overheated just as the deathclaw appeared, barreling toward Nora in a deadly beeline. To buy her time, Preston had thrown his last frag grenade with all the strength he had. His vantage from the balcony helped his aim stay true. Unfortunately, just as it landed the creature’s momentum kicked it forward, causing it to go off much closer to Nora than he had intended. It had the desired effect though. Nora righted herself from the force of the blast faster than he would have thought possible. Leveling the minigun at the beast, she unloaded a hail of bullets into the already crippled animal and the creature finally fell still.

Alarmingly, Nora followed suit.

Preston left his post on the balcony of the state house and sprinted down to ground level to find Nora climbing out of the armor in a daze. Still several yards away from her, sudden movement caught his eye. Nearby, a dying raider had managed to free a grenade and was about to lob it in Nora’s direction in a final grand gesture of “fuck you.” Nora, who appeared to be bleeding somewhere from her head, unwittingly continued her attempts at standing. 

No time.

Preston tried to shout a warning but it went unheeded. She didn’t even seem to hear him. In a frantic motion, he raised his laser musket and pulled the trigger. No time to aim, the grenade was already leaving the bastard's hand. By some miracle, Preston’s shot grazed his arm just enough to throw the arch wide of the oblivious woman. He braced for the explosion, then put a final shot into the dying man’s head. 

Turning back to Nora, Preston felt his heart accelerate and stomach drop as he realized the woman had been injured worse than he originally thought. Blood now soaked one side of her face as she struggled to keep her feet. Her legs buckled. Barely reaching her in time, he tried to hold the wobbly woman upright. Sympathy welled up in his chest as she vomited forcefully onto the ground and mumbled something unintelligible before passing out. 

He sighed as Sturges and the rest of the group slowly made their way into the bloody mess, peering curiously at the limp form at his feet. Mama Murphy made one of her vaguely sage comments about a “woman lost in time”. He spared little time to wonder over this. He could think of it more later when they were all safe.

“Sturges, find anything you can for a makeshift gurney. We’ll be carrying her back.”

Not a single one of the rag tag group had remained free from injury nor had they eaten in days. Still, after a low grumble of complaint, the other man began picking his way through the surrounding buildings to look for the necessary supplies. 

She had saved their asses, after all. Not leaving her for dead was the least they could do. And if they were lucky they could get something rigged up and drag her back to Sanctuary before nightfall.

Nora woke inside her home. An unwarranted amount of relief washed over her as she blearily stared at the wall with sleep-slit eyes. Her nose wrinkled as a musty smell hit her, triggering an unease that crowded her lungs. An unnamed anxiety clouded her mind for a moment before she relaxed into the familiarity of her surroundings. She had been having some sort of nightmare. But she’s awake. At home in her bed. That’s over now. 

And yet, that feeling of unease kept pulling at her chest. Damn, must have been some nightmare.

Shaking off the remains of the bad dream, Nora let her eyes drift back closed. Try as she might, she couldn’t surrender to sleep even as it weighed on every part of her body. Something wasn’t quite right. Her heart weighed too heavy in her chest. Like a stone wedged between her ribs. It was trying to tell her something. And...What is that smell?  

Some part of her subconscious began to sound alarm bells, her heart picking up pace to the rhythm of that warning. What is wrong with me?  Seeking the comfort of her mate, she reached out behind her to feel Nate’s warm body next to hers. Her arm waved emptily in the open air. At that moment, true panic shot through Nora as her awareness sharpened and she fully registered the lack of any warmth beside her. Nora opened her eyes fully but the dark offered only hints of the room around her. A wall that looked…strange, somehow? No, that’s not right. She was facing the wrong direction. Her bed wasn’t set up this way. There should be a window and- WHAT was that SMELL?!

Agitated by the sheer terror now bubbling up inside her, Nora sat up too suddenly, reaching for the light by her bed. Once again her arm flailed through empty space, throwing her even more off balance. A pit formed in her stomach, sensations akin to a step missed in the dark overtook her.  Trying desperately to get her bearings Nora forced her gaze into the only light source in the room. The window let such little light in it was virtually useless. It was such a dark night. Why was it so dark?  Her weary mind struggled to make sense of her surroundings as reality superimposed memory. The street lights should be casting a glow...

But wait--Nora squinted harder. The window...had no glass. The frame was broken. Pieces of pieces whirled in her head but wouldn't quite connect.

“OH MUM! You’re awake!” A familiar but all too bubbly voice proclaimed as her Mr. Handy floated in through the doorway. The dirty, broken-looking doorway. Nora’s eyes adjusted, focusing on that detail.

“Can I get you some tea?” the Mr. Handy continued as though nothing was amiss. The dissonance between his cheery aplomb and the devastation now settling in her chest cast her into a giddy moment of vertigo. Her heart rate had accelerated to lightning speed and the disorientation made her feel like she was going to be sick again.

Be sick again, she thought. Again--because she had been sick before. Recently. 

Images flashed through her mind as her heart sank further down into the pit of her stomach. Vomiting on the ground while a man with a gentle face steadied her. The face of a giant lizard staring lifelessly at her while she retched. A giant lizard-thing that she had killed…

Nora rose unsteadily from the makeshift bed someone had created for her, wobbling her way outside of her broken house and out into the open air. Across the street, the glow of firelight and the sound of people both spiked her anxiety and drew her like a moth to a flame. 

Several individuals sat around a fire talking in low voices to one another. They looked vaguely familiar. 

“You’re awake!” the man from her nightmares exclaimed and jumped up from his seat by the fire. 

An old woman with rotten teeth and a drug addled disposition ushered her by the fire while pressing a tin can into her hands filled with something warm. “Come, dearie. Sit here. Now drink the stew Mama Murphy made for you,” she bossed in a motherly tone.

Fully awake now and remembering everything up to the point she passed out, Nora accepted the cup begrudgingly. She sat, numb with reality.

“I hope we didn’t wake you.” the man continued in a kind tone. Preston , she remembered.

“How long was I out?” She asked, trying to sound intelligible. Her lips were gummy and her tongue felt like lead as she pushed out the words.

“Since we loaded you onto a cot and dragged your heavy ass all the way back here last night!” a very bitter feminine voice spit from behind her. Slightly startled, Nora slowly craned her neck to see the woman who had spoken. She couldn’t make out much in the dim lighting outside of a cocked hip and a pointed glare directed at the back of her neck. 

“Don’t mind Marcy. She’s like that with everyone. We’re all just so glad you’re alright!” Preston continued unfazed. 

A heavy snort sounded from the direction of the woman named Marcy. Nora ignored her, taking a sip from the tin in her hand. As the liquid burned down her throat, she felt proud of herself for swallowing without any sort of notable outward reaction. Whatever it was, it had lumps and tasted more like the tin can than anything edible. She just hoped it was supposed to have lumps. 

As she sat stoically consuming the tin-flavored gruel Preston continued telling her about the minutemen, their near death experience and her own timely rescue mission as though she wasn’t there for the whole thing. To her horror, he then proceeded to explain why he thought she would make a great general for the minutemen and all the things he imagined them accomplishing together. His enthusiasm and positivity was practically overwhelming.

Nora mimed taking another sip from her tin of torture while quietly questioning his sanity. What little time she had spent in this hellish wasteland, Nora had learned you couldn’t trust people here. Yet here he was offering her a title and asking her to lead them into a shiny unknown future full of risk and responsibilities. Surreptitiously, Nora glanced around at the other members by the fire to take stock of their reaction to this passionate speech.

Marcy had settled herself next to a man Nora couldn’t place, a permanently pinched expression seemingly etched into her features. The nameless man next to her stared off into nothing as though completely unaware of the world around him. Something inside Nora tugged in recognition at the distant look in his eyes. Loss. Stamping down the feeling before it could swallow her whole, she moved her gaze on to the next one: Mama Meth Mouth. Her glazed expression made it hard to tell where her gaze was settled. Like one of those old renaissance paintings, it seemed she was staring into your soul no matter what angle you approached her.

Strange group. Nora shivered and focused her attention on the last one in their little circle. The man named Sturges stared into the fire, nursing his own tin of torture undoubtedly given to him by the old crone. Well, he was still upright so that was a good sign. An overwhelming thirst and emptiness pressed her to chance another sip. Hoping her grimace read as more of a grim smile, she turned her attention back to Preston. No one seemed disturbed by his chatter, as though they had become accustomed to him offering grand titles and proclamations of the future to every passing stranger. Maybe he did.

Almost a full minute of pregnant silence hung in the air, before the weight of it snapped Nora back to attention. Half the group was looking at her with mild expectation, except for Marcy and the man next to her (Jun, she thinks she heard her call him?). Finally, it occurs to Nora that they expected an answer from her. Right now.

Suddenly feeling too warm, Nora clanked her can down and stood abruptly. “Uh, I-I’ll have to.... sleep on it," she managed to stutter out.

Of course, Marcy chose that moment to become invested in the conversation again. “Oh great. More sleep. As if you haven’t done that for long enough while we all-” she started to snipe, but Preston cut her off with a meaningful cough and disapproving glance.

“Of course. You must be exhausted and you’re surely still recovering from your injuries. We can talk more about it in the morning.” he said a little too cheerfully. The displaced brightness in his tone reminded her of the Mr. Handy that still dutifully waited on her back in her home. No, not home. More accurately, the ruins of her previous life.

And it’s all too much.

“Thank you. Really. For all you guys have done.” She sputtered as she began rapidly backing away from the fire. “And I’ll think about it.” She added, but her tone sounded unconvincing in her own ears as she turned and tried her best not to run back to the wreck of her home.

That night, Nora hardly slept. Her mind whirring through her distinct lack of options. Preston and his motley crew are the only (semi) friendly faces she’d run into since she’d been awake. But her husband and child are dead. And from the moment she stumbled from the vault it has been a fight for her life. She hadn’t even had time to mourn, aside from the heavy feeling she carried around in her chest with every slow beat of her achingly empty heart. There was even a moment when she thought about throwing herself from the first building tall enough to fall from. Whether she was still hoping to force herself to wake from the nightmare or simply end it all, Nora wasn’t clear-minded enough to know for sure. The difference hardly mattered. What did matter was her choice not to do it. To live. To fight. To survive. And whatever that entailed, Nora had a feeling she would have to figure it out on her own. She didn’t want to be a minuteman. She didn’t want to be a general. She couldn’t want anything at all. She wasn’t ready for that. 

First thing in the morning, Nora left.

As soon as light stained the eastern horizon, she had packed what little she had (and what had been stuffed into her bag by Codsworth clucking over her like a mother hen). Nora felt some relief that Preston was the only one awake when she sought him out and offered him a brief goodbye with no further explanation. She felt a small pang of guilt at the disappointment on his face as he sincerely wished her well, all while sporting the demeanor of a kicked puppy. 

Then, Nora turned her back on Sanctuary Hills and everything that she had once called home. She wondered quietly as to why she never felt compelled to look back over her shoulder.

Not even once.

Chapter Text

Nora’s feet automatically took the familiar path back to Red Rocket. From there, however, she deviated northeast of her previous route, following the waterline for a bit. She didn’t want a repeat of her time at Concord. Who knew if any more of those giant lizard creatures remained in the area?

She continued in this way, carefully skirting the excavation site that appeared to be occupied, until she came to a tiny settlement. 'Tenpine's Bluff', the two settlers there informed her. The sun had begun it’s downward arc and although there was still a couple hours of daylight left, Nora felt nervous about resuming her journey into unknown territory this late in the day. She didn’t want to be caught in the open when darkness fell. Opting to stay the night, Nora offered to do odd chores to help out in exchange for a bed and modest dinner of tatos and meat scraps. 

The settlers were cautious of her but shared what little they had without hesitation. Nora had managed to make herself quite useful in her short time there after all, building a fence around their prized tato garden. In an attempt to break the silence and put her wary hosts at ease she took a stab at small talk.

“This is pretty good. Probably the best meal I’ve had in…” in 200 years, the thought crossed her mind; but she hesitated while deciding what she should reveal about herself to strangers in this land. “...in days,” she finished lamely. “What is it?” 

She instantly regretted the question.

“Wild dogs roam these woods. Makes for good meat. Probably saw some on your way,” the settler said casually past the dogmeat in their mouth.

 Nora had indeed seen some on her way. Conditioned as she was to her previous life of meat appearing ready-to-eat, it never occurred to Nora to hunt them even as her stomach had screamed for something more substantial than her meager rations of canned food. However, in what must be a new low for her, Nora didn’t flinch from the revelation of the meal provided. The protein made the food feel a little less sparse and dampened the ache in her belly. Desperate times, she thought grimly to herself as she scooped the last bite into her mouth, cleaning her plate completely.

In what threatened to become a routine, Nora slipped quietly from the settlement first thing in the morning with hardly a goodbye. The settlers, already working their crop, barely acknowledged her presence. One offered a slight nod in her direction as she mumbled something about heading out. She felt oddly certain neither of them bothered to look up from their tatos as she trudged once more into the sunrise, though she never looked back to check.

Nora crested what felt like the hundredth dismal, brown, featureless hill that day. Her view no different from all the others with one bright, shining exception. Water reflected from what appeared to be a fenced-in pool attached to a small building. From this distance, Nora could barely make out several figures milling around the edges of the pool but she couldn’t distinguish much more from that. 

She contemplated her options. Nora had no idea what she was looking for in this endless journey of hers. Her only hope was that she would know when she found it. In the meantime, she gladly let the dangers of the wasteland distract her from the ache in her heart that had been threatening to spill over. There was no time to sit down and wallow in grief. You have to keep moving, a voice prodded in the back of Nora’s mind. Never had she felt so thoroughly exhausted and so restless at the same time. It made for a toxic combination that threatened to undo her completely. She needed a rest. A real rest.

Her wounds were healing ok. The head injury had bled a lot and she was sure she had a concussion. But everything else was superficial. The dizziness was fading. The cuts were healing over. Yet something deep-down was screaming for reprieve. A bone-deep heartache.

Her feet slowly moved her towards the hill leading to the pool area. She was still a little ways away, which gave her time to think. Up until now, Nora had done her best to avoid populated areas or buildings that looked inhabited. Too likely to run into raiders or 'unfriendlies' of some sort. But something about the scene before her had seemed peaceful. Almost domestic. Still, she approached the place with caution, the shotgun she had acquired along the way tucked into her arm as she approached. 

Unease flipped her gut when she crested the last and closest hill only to discover not a single individual was in sight where moments before several had been casually going about their business. Realization that she must have been spotted long before she anticipated struck her in a bolt of panic. Mistake! A voice frantically yelled in her mind, just as Nora noticed the lone figure standing out in the open. Mistake! Trap! Turn! Run!  

But Nora had frozen. She was a sitting duck, out in the open. Her best option for escape was back the way she came with the hope that the hills would cover her retreat. She could feel eyes on her.

But when she peered closer at the figure before her, bewilderment stunned her for a moment. At first it seemed the man was facing away from her, his dun colored outfit masking  his features. But then a raspy, “Close enough,” and Nora realized she was looking at the face of the man. Or… creature? He didn’t look entirely like a man. Maybe a man who had been very badly burned. His nose was missing! 

The markings seemed evenly spread, covering every part of his exposed flesh. What could do that to a person?  She gaped stupidly, unable to respond to his warning. Luckily, she was still frozen to her spot so the stranger seemed satisfied. 

“Here to trade, or raid?” the voice queried. He had his own gun leveled at her. 

“Uh….I….” Nora began eloquently. Obviously she didn’t have anything on her worth trading. “Not trade,” she answered. When the man tensed and drew his gun up, she realized her mistake. “Not raid either!” she added quickly. 

The man’s grip relaxed ever so slightly but he didn’t lower his weapon, clearly waiting for a more satisfactory explanation.

“Traveler,” she offered and hoped it was good enough. 

“If you’re looking for Diamond City, you’re way off.” His tone wasn’t exactly threatening but there was a bitter edge to his words that had Nora sensing she was missing some meaning behind them. She responded with only a blank stare.

“To where, then?” he asked again with a little less patience. He sounded suspicious. When Nora continued to stare at him dumbly, he continued, “No one comes this far north for the scenery. So where’re you headin’?” Though he said the words evenly, Nora could swear she heard an accusation layered in there somewhere. 

“I don’t know.” The honesty in the answer deflated her. She felt her shoulders sag under the admission. 

The man must have sensed this as well because he relaxed and something like sympathy flitted across his features. The change in the air was palpable, and it made Nora wonder what he saw in her eyes that caused him to soften and lower his gun. As she responded in kind, he shouted behind himself to what appeared to be empty space. “Stand down, it’s alright.”

No less than six more individuals, all with the same look to their skin and features, appeared from various spots. Alarmingly, many of them had weapons that were likely trained on her seconds before. 

The man turned back to her. “The name’s Wiseman. This farm is known as the Slog.” Nora let herself relax enough to rip her gaze away from him and scan over the land he was indicating. It was only then she realized that the pool had an entire crop of some kind floating in its waters. “I run this place with my fellow ghouls whom you’ve just had the pleasure of meeting.” He said drily. Nora ignored the apology in his tone, too curious about the term he had just used.

“'Ghouls'?” Nora prompted, timidly. She just met these people. She didn’t want to offend them.

Wiseman gave her a look like he was sizing her up to determine if she was daft or something worse. 

“Ghouls. Irradiated humans. You know…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Right. Ghouls .” Unwilling to appear at a disadvantage, she nodded her head vigorously as though confirming everyday knowledge. “You,” she pointed widely to everyone, “are ghouls.” She had no idea what she was talking about.

The expression on his face as she spoke indicated he made up his mind about her. Daft it is, then.

Despite the rough introduction, the people of the Slog proved to be quite friendly. Many of the ghouls referred to her as a “smoothskin”, which only prompted a shrug from Nora. They didn’t seem to say it with anything resembling hostility. There may have been just a tinge of jealousy in the way one of the female ghouls said it. But it made sense, she supposed. She didn’t think much more about it. 

After her brief tour with Wiseman, Nora had busied herself watching the workers and offering to help where she could. Unfortunately there wasn’t much to be done by the untrained. She didn’t want to mess anything up, so she made do with observing for now.

Which led her to Arlen Glass, a ghoul who gave the impression of being far older than the rest of his companions both physically and mentally. It was kind of charming, Nora thought. He gave off a grandfatherly vibe which was only reinforced by his tendency to collect antiques from the “old world.” The ghoul was much too old to participate in the hard labor of the fields. 

“Wiseman was nice enough to give me this little workshop. I used to be an engineer, you know!” He spoke with the slow excitement of someone with too much history and far too few listeners to regale it with. “I made toys that could move,” here he mimed robotic movements, “and the kids! Oh, the kids, they loved ‘em! They would light up when they saw my toys in the department windows at Christmas time.”

That caught Nora’s attention. “Christmas time?” Department windows?  “Do you mean…”

At that moment, Wiseman entered into the little workshop. But when he saw Nora’s expression he stayed silent, waiting unnoticed in the corner.

Arlen was smiling kindly at her confusion. “Where are you from, dear?” He didn’t wait for the answer. “Not around here, huh?” Chuckling now, he continued “Well I bet this is gonna cook your noodle. We ghouls, we’re pre-war!” 

Pre-war. Nora had heard the term applied to herself before. But how could that be…

Her eyes flitted around the room as though searching for an answer. They found Wiseman’s where he stood quietly, waiting for the revelation to dawn on her. As though he were the missing piece she had been searching for, it clicked into place. 

"Ghouls. Irradiated humans. You know…"  Those had been Wiseman’s words. Irradiated humans. They were the product of exposure to high levels of radiation. Like when the bombs fell. Meaning…

“Pre-war.” Nora repeated numbly. “You’re…” she faltered, choked up on an emotion she couldn’t name. “....like me.”

At those last two words, something flashed in Wiseman’s eyes. Surprise, of course, like anyone else to whom she divulged that little secret (and quickly learned to keep to herself). Except no answering disbelief surfaced in its place. Something else seemed to stir in his eyes. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Nora had a strong sense that not many people- not many humans- deigned to group themselves in with ghouls.

Like me. The words echoed in his eyes and Nora felt something change between them in that moment. “Just came to say that dinner is ready,” he said softly before disappearing back into the main living quarters.

The feeling of domesticity returned in force when Nora walked into the living area that night. Before her, a dinner table had been set and all the ghouls (with the exception of a couple lookouts) were seated and waiting for their guest. Dinner was surprisingly good. A hearty stew of fresh veggies and meat. It was almost certainly not dogmeat. With that knowledge, Nora chewed it gratefully, savoring every bite.

As far as she had gathered, there were two female ghouls. Holly and Deirdre. The rest were males. It became very apparent Holly flirted with literally anything that moved. Including Nora. Holly regarded the newcomer with a playful sparkle in her eye. The words fresh prey came to mind and Nora was surprised to discover she was smiling to herself. No individual sitting at the dinner table was spared Holly’s tawdry teasing.

Deirdre by contrast preoccupied herself with the practical. Checking to make sure everyone had gotten enough stew, refilling the water jug in the center of the table and occasionally attempting to reign in Holly’s coquettishness. No one truly seemed bothered by it though. As if this were all just a part of the nightly routine. Perhaps the only exception being Hobbs, a male ghoul who’s carefree laughter and playful demeanor gave off the impression of being “the youngest”. Boisterous and teasing in turns, he’d go curiously quiet after a single, flirty comment from Holly. Amused, Nora narrowed her eyes and wondered what it would look like if a ghoul blushed.

As soon as Wiseman had labeled Nora a guest and not a threat, some unspoken signal opened the  group up to treat her as one of their own. Hobbs and another male ghoul, Baker, began animatedly talking over each other in a competitive attempt to hold the attractive new guest’s attention. Mostly, they seemed intent on talking her through the proper process of harvesting “tarberries”, which Nora discovered was the name of the crop floating in the pool waters. 

“You have to make sure to bounce the berries after harvesting to ensure they’re fresh,” Baker told her with an air of authority on the topic. When Hobbs interrupted the other ghoul's monologue, Nora had the distinct feeling that such uninvited disruptions occurred frequently and that Baker was barely containing his frustration in the hopes of making a good first impression.

“No, first you have to caress the berries to know if they sink or float.” Hobbs interjected. “That’s the only way to know if they’re good!” He grinned and looked around the room for confirmation. When no one took the bait, Baker saw this as his opportunity to take back control of the conversation.

“Yeah, but if you caress them too hard like someone I know, you’ll break the skin and ruin the berry! Which is why you’ve been put back on guard duty.” Baker retorted, turning back to Nora to ensure he still had her full attention.

As if by magic, Hobbs seemed to procure a tarberry out of thin air. He aimed, flicking it in Baker’s direction.

It lodged in Baker’s open nasal cavity.

Alarmed, Nora watched as the ghoul stiffened. Seeming to make a conscious effort not to react, he used a finger to poke the berry all the way into his nose before sucking it down into his mouth. Without missing a beat, he renewed his lecture while chewing around the nose-berry, “And that’s only after you detach them from the vine. It’s a delicate process,” he powered on, attempting to maintain his dignity while Hobbs snickered in the background.  “And afterwards you bounce each one individually as a double quality control measure. If you know what you’re doing.”

“But you can’t just start bouncing the berries willy nilly while they’re still wet. You have to dry 'em-” Hobbs started back in.

Baker finally cracked. “I didn’t say to bounce them when they’re wet, now did I?!” 

Most of the ghouls appeared unperturbed by the lively debate. Some left, having already finished their supper. Holly, however, had been watching the whole thing with delight, as though she had just been served up a particularly tasty dessert.

“Boys, boys!” she interjected. “All this talk of caressing and bouncing.” Her tone was aiming at sultry now. “I’ll caress AND bounce your berries.” She winked at Hobbs.

Suddenly, he had no more words. Silence filled the room save for the scrape of plates as Deirdre cleared the table.

When Baker thought Nora wasn’t paying attention, he flicked a tarberry back in Hobbs direction. But it flew wide of its mark causing the younger ghoul to laugh even harder than before.

And--for a just a moment--Nora forgot that she was sad.

Shortly after dinner, Nora joined Deirdre and Jones in the clean up efforts.

“I can help,” she said as she approached the two. Nora noted Deirdre sported a mismatched set of worn rubber gloves. 

Deirdre followed her questioning gaze. “Ever smelled wet ghoul?” she asked. Nora didn’t know how to respond to that. “Well, I won’t ruin it for you.” she quipped wryly. With a smile, she removed her gloves and handed a limp sponge to Nora.

They established a sort of assembly line. Deirdra scraped, Nora washed, Jones dried. They did this in a comfortable silence for a bit. 

Then, “Vaultie, huh?” Deirdre stated matter-of-factly. 

“Wiseman must have told you.” Nora was surprised. It wasn’t like she had said it was a secret, but Wiseman didn’t seem the type to spill the beans. Plus she hadn’t given him the details of how she was pre-war. Though Nora guessed outside of ghoulification there weren’t many options for being a relic from another time.

“Nah.” Deirdre replied. “You just have that radstag-in-the-headlamp look about ya’.” she said, not unkindly. “And this is kind of a dead giveaway, hon.” She tapped Nora’s blue vault suit and grimaced a little on behalf of Nora's faux paux.

Duh, Nora thought to herself. Maybe she really was daft.

“You must be filled with so many questions.” Deirdre moved on. Giving Nora a knowing look, she said,  “Go ahead.” Waving a hand over her skin to indicate her appearance she encouraged her further: “You can ask.”

And so Nora was filled in on the hairier details of what it meant to be a ghoul. Deirdre answered each question directly. She gave no indication that anything Nora asked bothered her in the least.

“But...your hair.” Nora finally gathered the courage to ask. “I thought you said…” Afraid she was crossing a line, she let the unspoken question hang in the air. She had been enjoying the comradery of sharing chores and chatter. She didn’t want to ruin her newfound companionship by being too blunt.

Deirdre was silent for a moment; then, reached up in one fluid motion and pulled her hair off her head. Nora stifled her shock. That makes sense. “Wigs.” 

Deirdre nodded. “We all lose our hair. Even the ones who keep some don’t keep it all and, well, it just looks patchy. Some try to keep it, most shave it off.” She said it with the somberness of one speaking of losing a vital body part. It struck Nora that she would feel the same and a sisterly sympathy tugged in her chest. 

“Holly had the hardest time with it. She had me do the shaving when the time came. Cried for a week after.” Pausing to remember, the female ghoul continued her story, “She said it was bad enough to be a ghoul, but no one could ever want a bald female ghoul. So I went out and searched the commonwealth high and low. Every retirement home, every dresser, every department store. Nothing . I had just given up and what do you know, I pulled these two wigs off a coupla’ raiders that tried to shoot me on my way back. But it was worth it,” she finished quietly.

Nora allowed a moment to pass in silence at her admission. For whatever reason, she was trusting Nora with something very personal. She wanted to be certain she handled it with all the tact and respect warranted. 

After what she believed was sufficient time, Nora said softly, “You’re a good sister.”

At this, Deirdre smiled and warmth returned to her eyes. “You know, we ghouls have a habit of calling each other ‘sister’ and ‘brother’. It’s….just our way of speaking. Call it living too long, but we all kind of feel like family after a century or so.”

“Oh...so none of you are related?” Nora asked, bemused. “I thought she was your older sister.”

“Baker and Hobbs are blood brothers. But that’s a rare thing.” Deirdre pondered in earnest for a moment. “I don’t think I know any other ghoul siblings that have survived. Not in this area at least. Or Diamond City. Before we were banished, anyways.” Nora didn’t have time to question that last part. The ghoul continued. “But as for Holly, she’s technically younger than me. The wigs confuse smoothskins sometimes. When Holly found out what I had gone through to get her a set of hair, she insisted I take the 'better-looking' one. Scolded me for almost getting myself shot over ‘such a frivolous thing’. But I'll be damned if I’ve ever seen her take it off.”

About that time Holly whisked into the room, depositing her dish into the now-empty sink. “Oh, come on now!” Holly teased, “The only reason I took the silver wig and gave you the brown one was because you need all the help you can get.” She wiggled her hips suggestively in time to her last words and had to dodge a responding swat from Deirdre as she fled back to the living room, giggling all the while. But only fondness glowed in the ghoul’s eyes as she turned back to her task at hand.

Even as Nora smiled at their antics, something the ghoul had said was still bothering her. “You said you were banished from Diamond City?” Nora had picked up along the way Diamond City was one of the only major establishments around. A rare harbor of safety for those lucky enough to live there.

All traces of amusement left the ghouls’ features and Nora silently kicked herself. 

Jones, quiet until now, piped up on this topic. “Ugly affair. Only reason I’m still here is thanks to Wiseman.”

Nora digested this for a moment. “And he’s your...leader. So to speak.” she confirmed.

“The best leader around,” Jones asserted. And Nora could see that he believed it with all his heart. 

The room fell silent after that, leaving her to ponder what kind of man- ghoul, she mentally corrected herself- inspired so much in a people who had been given so little from the world. She found a part of herself wanting to stay long enough to find out.

Chapter Text

“How many?” Hancock asked past a plume of smoke.

“Enough to be a problem.” Fahrenheit responded tersely. The red-head looked irritable. Or tired. Maybe both.

She leaned forward to ash her cigarette, then changed her mind and chucked her glass of vodka across the room. 

Definitely both, Hancock thinks grimly.

The glass shattered, leaving a wet stain that slowly spread down the wall. As though this wasn’t enough, Fahr swore viciously and pounded a fist down on the table.

Maybe she needed a vacation. Hell, Hancock needed a vacation. But he couldn’t afford to leave Goodneighbor right now. Not with the way things were. Just in the last few weeks trouble after trouble seemed to be creeping up around them. Problems were no stranger to Goodneighbor or it’s mayor. Usually, Hancock took it all in stride, confident he could handle whatever life threw his way. And if not him, his fiery second-in-command would dissolve anything or anyone who raised a hand against him. Fahrenheit was loyal like that. And a hard worker. She was practically married to this town, and to him by extension. Not that they were like that. She was his right hand, for better or for worse. They had tackled many challenges since taking over from Vic and Hancock was proud of what they had accomplished together. She wasn’t just another bodyguard, she was his best friend. Not that he would ever say that out loud. It would likely earn him a snort and an eye roll, followed up by something along the lines of,  “Don’t go all mushy on me now, Hancock.” But they knew the other one cared without having to say anything. They understood each other like that.

Lately, however, the problems outweighed the solutions. 

Finn, one of their best guns in a fight, had taken to running a little extortion gig on the side despite the mayor’s multiple warnings to leave off the newcomer’s. Guests to the town were Finn’s favorite, many of which came to Goodneighbor injured or in desperate need of supplies. Made them easy targets. It didn’t sit right with Hancock. Especially the way Finn had ignored his warnings with a disregard bordering on flippancy. Maybe Hancock was losing his touch.The mayor rarely pulled rank on the citizens of his town, determined not to go down the path of his tyrannical predecessor. But his lack of action had only emboldened Finn. He was really pushing his luck. 

When someone really needed killing, Fahr was more than willing to be the iron fist. But if Hancock was losing ground with the people, if he looked like he was going soft… Might be time to handle things the old-fashioned way, Hancock thinks to himself, subconsciously fingering the knife tucked up under his sash.

But Hancock could hardly afford to lose a good gun at a time like this. Not when talk was spreading about people, mostly raiders, mysteriously disappearing with no evidence left behind. The ghoul mayor had dismissed it at first. Just another one for the rumor mill, nothing special about it. That is, until one of his own scouts had gone missing in the area. That made it personal. The last known location of all the victims was consistent. Word had it the disappearances could be pinned down to an old gallery up north, previously thought to be empty.  But Hancock didn’t have time to play detective and Fahr was stretched thin enough as it was. 

Not to mention his competitors in the drug ring had started playing dirty. Someone was selling drugs laced with something nasty. Even worse they targeted the inexperienced, which meant mostly kids. More than one body had turned up in the alleys with the telltale signs of a massive overdose. Sure, this was Goodneigbor. Those things happened from time to time. But this had become a pattern. All of them kids. Too young. It sickened him. He knew the stuff he dealt wasn’t exactly vitamins. But it was clean. None of this crap cut with something too hot to handle. People knew what they were getting and the rest was up to them. Hancock was surely not one to judge what they did with it. Life was hard and only getting harder by the day.

And it didn’t stop there. Finn and the others were small fish in the boiling pot of shit stew. According to Fahr, the “abandoned” warehouses weren’t so abandoned anymore. Some like-minded fools had been gathering in secret to “stage a rebellion”, as Fahr put it.

“You sure?” Hancock took a big pull of jet and held it for a second, contemplating. "Maybe they just want a little privacy for bingo night."

He knew well enough the answer he would get. And it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Fahr’s intel. For all her loyalty, she also had a calculating shrewdness about her. It made her efficient at what she did. Which half the time involved calling Hancock out on his own shit. But it also made her paranoid at times. He knew it was a long-shot to think anything innocent was going on behind those warehouse doors. And lazy assumptions made for dead mayors. Hancock had already proven that much. But neither did he wish to borrow trouble where there was none, especially with how much he already had on his plate. And why face reality when there were drugs and denial to be had?

Fahr rolled her eyes. "Bingo?" Terse un-amusement colored her tone.

"Poker?" he offered, trying to draw out that crooked smirk she occasionally rewarded him with whenever they got into one of their snark battles. It didn't work tonight.

The woman sighed and shook her head. “Yeah.” She leaned back into the couch with a weary sort of resignation. “I’m sure.” She responded, her hand rubbing at the tension in her temples before giving up and dragging it down her face. Hancock squinted a closer look at her through his jet-haze. Dark bags under her eyes and … were those wrinkles?

Enough concern broke through to stunt his high. Just as an impulse seized him to check her for gray hairs like an overbearing mother baboon, a muted boom shook the State House with sufficient force to shake dust down from the crumbling ceiling above. Fahr, who had just closed her eyes and reclined her head with the air of someone demanding their body to feel rested, took a faceful of the loosened dirt. Hancock felt glad he hadn’t had the chance to act on his earlier impulse, because the look on her face at the interruption to her rare1 moment of rest was one of murder. He probably would have lost a hand.

Now he just had to struggle not to chuckle at the site of her attempting to scowl at the dust covering her face as it coated her brows and lashes. If he failed, he was a dead man.

She stood and brushed the dust off with a sigh. “I’ll handle it.” And he knew she would. Whatever “it” was.

If Hancock thought Fahrenheit’s mood couldn’t sour any further, he was wrong. The red-head returned many hours later, even more distraught than before. She thumped down angrily into the couch, sending up a puff of dust. Her temple-rubbing resumed but with enough force the ghoul worried she would rub the skin away. 

“Finn’s dead.”

Hancock’s head snapped up at that. Well, that takes care of that. He sensed the woman had yet to drop the biggest bomb. He waited. Her movements slowed and she leaned into her hand. A low whine filled the room and with a jolt Hancock realized she was snoring. She literally fell asleep sitting up. While giving her report. He felt for her but this was too important. She could rest after her report was finished. He needed to know what the hell happened and what kind of repercussions to be prepared for.

Taking a swig of his vodka, he set the bottle down with an intentional thunk. Years of training stopped her from spooking, but her eyes flew open. 

“And?” He prompted. 

She straightened without giving any indication she knew she had drifted off. Seamlessly she continued, “They broke into your strongroom down by the rail.”

That pulled a frown from him. He leaned forward again. “'They'?”

“As far as I can tell, Bobbi No-Nose was the brains of the operation.” She snarled a little into the darkening room. “Typical Bobbi.” 

“Do you think it could be related to our little problem in the warehouses? You think she organized this and tried to gather...funding?” He worried the edge of the bottle he was drinking from with his finger as he thought out loud. On the one hand, it could be a good thing. If it was Bobbi behind the warehouse rebels, Fahr had just cut off the head of the rebellion. On the other hand, Bobbi had such a silver tongue it might not even matter. She had a way of inciting people to do things on her behalf, with or without her.

“No, I don’t think so,” the red-head sounded annoyed. “This took too much planning. It would be a lot for just one person, even someone like Bobbi. The dig was a big job and she only had two people with her. If she had backup, I think she would have used it.” She paused, then added, “I’ve seen no less than five suspicious-looking ghouls sniffing around those three locations. But none of them were Bobbi. Or anyone else from her little heist. I think it’s just bad timing. Just real fucking bad timing.” She fell silent for a bit.

Suddenly she snatched her hand out and stole the vodka from his grasp, throwing back the rest of the bottle before continuing. Hancock raised his eyebrows but said nothing. No one was stricter on Fahr than Fahr herself. She rarely indulged in anything outside of her cigarettes and the very occasional drink. The woman could put a chimney to shame with how much she smoked. But try as he might, Hancock could never convince her to relax with any of his favorite paraphernalia. Not that he ever felt judged by her. The mayor suspected she just couldn’t stand the thought of letting her guard down that far. Which he supposed he should be grateful for. She was his bodyguard, after all. And most of his people only seemed to do things for him knowing that Hancock would take care of whatever their particular addictions happened to be in exchange for services rendered.

“Mel was there, too. At the dig,” she clarified, “but, judging by the look on his face when he saw me, Bobbi had blind-sided him as well. His biggest crime is idiocy. He ran. I let him.” She nodded as though to reassure herself of that decision.

“I trust your judgement.” Hancock said simply.

His words had a visible and immediate effect. Some of the tension drained from her features. Her shoulders relaxed a little. Seeing this stirred a pang of guilt. It reminded Hancock that, despite her machine-like war attitude, she was still human. Surely she knew he appreciated her but it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit more generous with his affirmations. Grimacing to himself, he made a mental note to do better by her in the future.

He would be lost without her. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought and he shook it off with some degree of effort.

As he looked back up, he watched as she almost drifted off again. This time she caught herself with a sharp snort and a jerk of her head before pressing on, “Finn was obviously the hired muscle. And it’s a damn shame since he was good in a fight but he had it coming.” At this, Hancock nods his agreement.

“I had to kill ‘em both.” She was silent for a moment. Brooding. This struck the ghoul as strange. Fahrenheit had no problem putting down threats. So that couldn’t be the cause. Something else appeared to be eating away at her. He didn’t bother asking, she would tell him if she wanted to. When she was ready. 

"Well, you did what ya had to," Hancock said anyways to fill the silence.

Again, he waited.

She took a deep breath and held it. Then, on the exhale: “They almost had me, John.” That had his attention. She never called him by his first name. “Somehow that little bitch got her hands on some power armor.” Something not-quite-fear tinged her voice. But it was pretty damn close. It made Hancock’s chest tighten and stomach flutter unpleasantly. He’d fought plenty of battles at her side, she never flinched from a fight. Never sounded like that. It made him wonder what exactly had her so on edge. With a start, he realized she was talking again. “If it wasn’t for the mines I planted ahead of time…” She huffed out another heavy sigh and let the obvious hang in the air.

Unable to ignore a sudden urge to comfort her, the ghoul reached across the space between them. Unsure of himself, he gently placed a hand on her knee. “You know Fahr, you’ve had a long day.” He tapped the knee awkwardly in what he hoped felt like reassurance. He was in unfamiliar territory here and this sort of interaction wasn’t something he was used to around his 'right hand'. “Why don’t you get some rest?” Hancock tried to inject his raspy tone with as much gentleness as he could muster. He half-expected her to pull away in mock disdain and say something about “not coddling her” or how he was “going soft”.

She did neither. Didn’t respond to his timid touch. Didn’t even meet his gaze when she said, “You know, John,” That name again. “I might not always be around to protect you.” Her eyes were unfocused, staring into the dark of the room as though he wasn’t even there. She seemed so lost in her own thoughts that Hancock almost felt like an eavesdropper as she spoke.

Just as suddenly, Fahrenheit stood and broke the spell. “Yeah, you’re right.” She said as though she hadn’t just prophesied her possible impending doom. “I should get some rest.” 

As she turned from him and left, Hancock sat alone in the now pitch-black of the room, his own macabre thoughts haunting him from the shadows.

In the morning, they broke their fast together per their standard routine. With a good night’s sleep under her belt, Fahr seemed back to her usual self. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. It started to feel like a regular day. Before long, the worrisome demons that haunted the night before, evaporated in the normalcy of daylight and duties.

After spending the rest of the morning playing catch-up on some basic housekeeping items with his crew, Hancock dismissed the boys. Fahr hung back, which wasn't unusual. However, she smoked her way through a half pack without a word, contemplating the ceiling through the haze. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hancock offered her a crooked smile and fresh pack of cigarettes.

“You know those empty warehouses I told you about?” She was never one to beat around the bush.

“Yeah.”

“Well I think I might have a lead, but I’m not sure yet.” She blew out a trail of smoke. “First, I’m gonna check out that gallery up north to see where our scouts have been disappearing to. I don’t think it’s related but I want to be sure.” She put out her cigarette as she stood up. “If it’s a dead end, at least I’ll be able to cross it off my list.” Grabbing her gun now she added, “And I have a hunch where to go from there.” Without explaining any further, she turned and left the State House, intent on her mission. Hancock had seen the look in her eye and knew there was no stopping her when she got like this.

More power to her.

Yet as she disappeared from view, Hancock had to take another hit of jet to calm an unexplainable spike of anxiety. This wasn’t like him. The ghoul had to repress an urge to call out to her. Be careful. Or maybe, Come back in one piece. Something to let her know he cared. But they didn’t say stuff like that out loud. Neither one of them. They didn’t have to. They knew each other like that .

Chapter Text

Never had Nora been happier to break a habit. The morning after her first overnight at the Slog didn’t involve any backdoor escapes or hurried goodbyes. Instead, she had been treated to a plentiful albeit chaotic breakfast. 

A farmer’s morning starts before the break of day. No light wasted. Unlike dinnertime the previous evening, the ghouls sat down to eat their breakfast in intervals as the others rushed around and prepared for the start of their work day. Dishes were set down and whisked away in an almost constant movement that continued until no ghoul, or dish was left at the table. But rather than sparking the usual anxiety in Nora, this sort of chaos had kindled a glow of familiarity. Despite her settling into the suburban lifestyle as an adult, Nora had been a country girl at heart. Her grandparents had lived on a farm and sometimes during the summer Nora would go to visit them for a few weeks, helping here and there with the odd chore. The early mornings had been an adjustment for her at the time. But as Nora sat and watched the hustle and bustle of the scene unfolding before her, an aching nostalgia filled her chest and swam in her eyes, blurring her vision. 

And the first time a ghoul approached her to ask for her help in the fields, nostalgia quickly turned into a sense of belonging.

That was weeks ago now. Every night when Nora went to sleep, she wondered if it would be her last at the Slog. She imagined the ghouls, politely but firmly, telling her it was time to move on. She was consuming resources after all and they had no obligation to her. Or perhaps that little voice of panic would come back, pushing her to keep moving . But then when morning came, the voice remained curiously quiet and she’d be drawn into whatever the ghouls had for her that day. Whether in the fields or, on the occasion she wasn’t needed for the moment, she’d slip into Arlen’s workshop while he tinkered and talked endlessly. She didn’t mind his chatter. As friendly as everyone had been towards her, Nora felt a special sort of connection with the older ghoul. Often he didn’t even notice when she was pulled back outside to help with some task. He just kept gabbing to the open air, never looking up from his current project. 

This morning started off a little differently. When Nora opened her eyes she was slightly startled to see a ghoulish face grinning down at her. She supposed she should have been more frightened, maybe even screamed like one of those helpless women in the old zombie shows. But it’s hard to feel frightened when the zombie staring down at you was grinning ear-to-ear and practically vibrating with excitement. 

“It’s harvest season!” Hobbs bounced as he said it, barely able to contain himself. 

“Give the poor woman some space!” Baker yelled in the background. “She just woke up to the sight of your ugly mug. You’re going to scare her away and then she won’t stay with us!” 

But even this was said with faux indignation because whatever had Hobbs so worked up, seemed to be infecting Baker as well. His stern rebuke fell flat in light of the grin pulling at his features while he spoke and despite his admonition he, too, joined Hobbs in hurrying Nora out of bed. An exhilarating energy seemed to fuel them both and Nora, still in the dark as to the source of their enthusiasm, already felt herself getting caught up in it as well.

As far as Nora could tell, the seasons in the Wasteland varied only in degrees of hotness. Technically it was getting to be late fall, yet the warmth of the days never faded enough to be considered chill. However, the ghouls informed her that there was enough of a difference in range of temps to affect their crop. This led to a continued “harvest season” in the late months during which they harvested their more weather sensitive crops: mainly tarberries. Though it was possible to grow and harvest all year, their biggest yield and highest quality crop all came from their fall harvest. The Slog’s best produce went for a high price in the commonwealth. And to Nora’s surprise, not just the berries themselves. The Slog had its own collection of specially-made tarberry wine.

“The only kind like it in all the Commonwealth,” Baker informed her proudly. 

Nora noted Hobbs didn’t even bother to call him out on his preening, passing up the opportunity to take her by the hand and pull her to a small side storage area butted up against the main living quarters. 

“And this-” he bubbled animatedly, opening the side door, “is where we keep it all!”

Peering into the small room, Nora had to let her eyes adjust for a moment to take in what she was seeing. Slowly, her eyes took in the lines of shelves and old furniture holding jars packed with the blue-ish berry. And further in, crates of bottles Nora guessed to be filled with the trademark tarberry beverage. 

“Wow,” she gave a low whistle to show her appreciation to the ghouls, who were watching her reaction with an intense sort of anticipation. “This is...impressive.” 

 As much as she was enjoying this she still wasn’t certain it warranted the level of enthusiasm that emanated from the two brothers, both now practically hovering over her shoulder as they observed her every move. Nora didn’t want to disappoint. She reached into one of the crates and made a show of examining its contents, which was rather difficult given the dim lighting. 

“That’s our famous tarberry wine,” Baker supplied, seeming unable to help himself as he pointed out the obvious.

“You’ll get to taste it at the party.” Hobbs added, the wide grin he’d been sporting all morning stretching impossibly wider. “If you stay, that is.” A timid sort of hope tinged his tone.

“Party?” Nora asked. 

As if he had been waiting for this segway, Baker dove into what would surely be a long-winded explanation with wholehearted enthusiasm. “Every year after the fall harvesting is all done, we have a special little tradition--”

“A harvest party!” Hobbs interrupted, causing Baker to shoot him a look. But the younger ghoul couldn’t be stopped. His exhilaration powered forward like a steam train. “We have games, food, music and-” he stooped inside to bend over the crates then straightened, turning back to Nora and raising two bottles in either hand, “ this !” Both ghouls spoke with the air that they were letting Nora in on a sacred tradition. It made her feel special and she found her own mouth curving upwards as they went on.

The grin had already found its way back on Baker’s face as he added, “Wiseman is pretty strict most times about not indulging in our product. But every year we set aside a little of our best just for the harvest party. It’s the one time of year everyone’s allowed to let loose.”

“Even Wiseman!” Hobbs leaned forward adding in a conspiratorial whisper, “Last year, after getting a couple bottles in, he even danced a little!”

This had Nora simultaneously giggling to herself at the mental image of 'tipsy Wiseman' and marveling at the metabolism rates of ghouls if they could easily put back two bottles of alcohol and not be completely wasted. 

Encouraged by her display of mirth, Baker went on.

“Remember the year Dee got a little too,” he mimed tilting a bottle back to his lips, “deep in her cups and-”

“-FELL IN THE POOL!” Hobbs finished. Both brothers howled with laughter.

“Boys!” 

The brothers snapped to attention at the sound of Wiseman’s voice. Caught, they turned with matching expressions of feigned innocence, arms tucked behind their backs. Both carried this out with such synchronicity that it gave Nora the impression this wasn’t the first time they had gotten themselves into some form of trouble together.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what day it is. There’s a lot of work to be done.” Wiseman admonished, but without much heat behind his words. If Nora wasn’t mistaken, the ghoul leader himself had a bit of sparkle in his eye.

“Of course, boss.” Baker was the first to appear apologetic. “We were just telling Nora about the harvest.”

“And showin’ her the goods.” Hobbs supplied unhelpfully, still riding too high to be much deflated.

Baker elbowed him in the ribs. Hobbs poked him back.

“Good.” Wiseman said, giving them a look that said, behave. Then, he turned to Nora and said, “Actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Surprised, Nora turned to face him fully. “Shoot.” 

“I wanted to know what your plans are. How long you’ll be staying.” Wiseman said, and Nora shouldn’t have been shocked at how quickly her heart dropped through her stomach at those words. She had been mentally preparing herself for this inevitability. She should have known better. Not let herself get attached. This is it, she thought pitifully. I’m getting the boot.

“Oh, uh. Well..” she started. “I-I hadn’t really…” Her throat threatened to close up and she willed her eyes not to water. “I mean- I can help. With the harvest.” She tried to keep the pleading out of her tone. Shame heated her cheeks as she grasped at her fraying composure-- lips began to tremble and eyes threatened to water.

However, if Nora showed any outward signs of distress, it seemed to fly right over the ghoul’s head. He seemed lost in thought. Then gave a sharp nod before going on, “Good, good. I was hoping you’d say that. We could really use an extra set of hands.”

It took a minute for his meaning to sink in. When it did, the relief that washed through Nora was so overpowering she almost lost her battle against tears after all. I’m not being sent away. She suddenly felt like she could sing. Or skip. So caught up in her internalized storm of emotions, she almost missed what the ghouls were saying.

“YES!” Hobbs pumped his fist in the air and gave a little jump. 

Baker practiced a bit more reserve but his enthusiasm at her announcement to stay matched the younger ghoul’s as he said, “We can show you how to harvest the tarberries and store them and-”

“Sorry, boys.” Wiseman cut in. “As much as I’m sure Nora appreciates your-" he gave a little ahem, “-willingness to help, I have other plans for you.”

Nora felt a pang for them as she watched both ghouls visibly deflate.

“If you and the girls can help with the harvesting,” he instructed Nora, “that’ll free you two up to build that fence we’ve been needing,” he finished, turning to the brothers. “You okay with that?” he asked her.

Nora vigorously nodded her enthusiasm and gratitude. Despite the two brother’s disappointment in their role for the day, Nora was riding a high of her own. 

She was staying.

The rest of the morning and afternoon flew by in a blur of berries and bottling. 

The cool morning air was spent in the reflected sun of the pool. Holly and Deirdre donned worn rubber boots that reached to their thighs. 

“Sorry we don’t have any other boots to spare,” Deirdre told Nora. “But you can just roll up your pants. You don’t have to worry about getting wet.” Nora remembered Dee’s comment before about the smell of wet ghoul. Not that she minded anyways. Instead she asked if they had any spare sets of clothes as her vault suit was too form-fitting to roll very far up her leg. They supplied her with a dirty set of cargos and Nora made do tucking and rolling until she got them to a working height, allowing her to step into the waters. 

She shivered a little at the first touch. The water remained slightly chill in comparison to the oppressive heat in the air, the early morning sun yet to warm it.

As she adjusted to the temperature, she waded out with the other two ghouls and began watching their movements, miming their technique. 

They did, indeed “caress” the berries as Hobbs had mentioned before, gently disconnecting them from their little vines. The tendrils tickled her palms and the spaces between her fingers as she combed her hands through the blue-ish waters. 

“Try not to break the berries,” Holly instructed. “It’s not hard to avoid once you get the hang of it. The skins are thicker than regular berries. But when they’re ripe they split easy.” 

“You can let the ‘sinkers’ be for now. We’ll get those later. Just try not to roll your ankle on ‘em.” Deirdre added. “The ‘floaters’ are what’s good ‘n ripe. That’s all we want right now.”

At first, Nora had no problems avoiding the fallen berries as they sank below the surface to kick around her ankles. But as the harvest went on she understood the warning better. Though the good berries far outweighed the bad in number, the ‘sinkers’ gathered on the pool bottom over time making it harder to avoid them rolling underfoot. 

Still, Nora found something therapeutic in the process. Swirling the berries through her hands, she began to hum to herself as she worked. The silent smiles the two female ghouls exchanged at her unconscious display of contentment went unnoticed by the oblivious auburn haired woman.

After they had finished, they deposited the fruits of their labor into the various, random containers the workers had collected over time.

“Now for the next part, we have to properly can and store ‘em.” Deirdre guided Nora through the process of preparing, heating and canning the berries in jars; alternatively, they set some of the crop aside for wine-making the next day. As they worked, Dee explained to Nora they had to be extra careful with the jars. “These days an unbroken jar and matching lid is a rarity. We can’t easily afford to lose any.” 

“Doc Weathers brings some through for trading when he deigns to pay us a visit,” Holly’s face wrinkled with distaste at the mention of the man, “but he gouges us. Not even my charms can get him to lower his prices!” she exclaimed placing the back of one hand dramatically against her forehead in a show of feigned scandal.

Nora’s answering smile was genuine but tired. She had truly enjoyed every minute of the back-breaking work. Learning the trade had not only made her feel productive; it made her feel accepted. Perceptive as always, Dee noted her exhaustion.

“Holly and I have this under control. We’re just going to put the jars away and our day is done. It’s a one person job at best. Why don’t you take a rest, hon?”

She didn’t argue. Grateful for the respite, Nora cleaned up, then found herself wandering toward Arlen’s workshop. She could hear him fiddling and muttering before she opened the door and a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. She found that happened a lot since her arrival to the Slog. And the heaviness in her chest, though still present, wasn’t quite so unbearable anymore.  A light rap to notify him of her presence, then she stepped in and leaned against his workbench. 

“I learned how to harvest tarberries today.” Nora informed him, a hint of pride in her voice as she continued, “I even helped can some.” 

Arlen said nothing, but he looked up from his project to give her a quiet smile. 

“Watcha’ workin’ on?” she quipped to him cheerily. 

He continued scrutinizing some part of the object in his hands while replying, “One of my favourite toys. The giddyup buttercup!” He leaned back to show her the bright yellow toy. “Problem is, I don’t have all the parts.” He told Nora, shaking his head ruefully. “If I just had a few more of the pieces, I could have ‘er up and running like a dream. This is one of the first toys made that can walk on its own.” His eyes lit up as he spoke.

Nora took the toy from him and looked at it more closely, faint recognition flickering in her mind.

Her and Nate snuggled in each other’s arms, watching the toy commercial on their new-fangled TV set. He had made a comment about getting the toy for Shaun for his first Christmas. Nora had hotly refused, insisting he was still far too young to enjoy such a complex and expensive toy.

It wasn’t really an argument. But regret still flooded her as she chastised herself for being so careless with her loves. Taking them for granted, unknowing of how short their time together would be. The memory stung her eyes as her fingers traced over the flaking paint. She swallowed back the lump in her throat as she looked back up to Arlen, offering him the toy. He took it back but continued to watch her with a knowing look in his eye. One that asked an unvoiced question.

“I had a son.” It came out like a confession, the strain in her voice forcing it down to a whisper. And as is the way of things, one confession led to another. And another. Until Nora found herself spilling her whole life’s story to the wizened ghoul who sat patiently listening to her like a priest waiting to absolve her of her sins. If only he could.

“It should have been me.” She said when she finished with her husband’s demise. “I should have been the one holding Shaun.” While Nora spoke, something had begun building from deep inside her. Building and building and building until she visibly shook with the effort not to burst. “They made us change into these vault suits. I handed him to Nate and if I had been the one holding-”

Arlen placed a ruined hand on hers. Somehow they had ended up sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor of his workshop.

“It’s good to grieve for them. Your husband and lost boy,” he said gently, “but guilt and ‘what if’s’ will take you down faster than all the dangers in this world combined.” 

It’s good to grieve for them….

And that’s when it struck her. The realization twisted like a knife in her gut. 

“I’ve never cried for them,” she said woodenly. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably now. She grasped at her arms and folded them to her chest to try to stop the violent tremors threatening to take over. “I haven’t cried- -” her voice cracked this time, just as Arlen pulled her into his arms, tucking her into his chest like a mother comforting a child. And finally the great, heavy thing that had been steadily building in her chest every day since she stumbled from that god-forsaken vault snapped with the force of an overstretched rubber band.

And she cried. 

She cried and sobbed and shook so desperately her whole being swayed with the might of it. Through it all, the old ghoul held her with a surprising amount of strength. Like an anchor in a storm, he held her steady through the grief that racked her body. "It's ok," he crooned into her hair. "It's ok."

At some point, as her sobbing subsided into hiccuping sniffles, she began to feel something else. Something that took the place of the heaviness she had been carrying around in her chest. Definitely not joy but... a certain lightness. Like a burden had somehow been lifted. Although the sorrow for her loss remained, she no longer had to carry it. 

Not alone, at least.

After she had gone quiet for some time,  letting Arlen rub soothingly up and down her arms, she began the process of extricating herself from him. She wondered if she should apologize but before she could decide a shout interrupted her.

Then a crack and the shattering of glass. Followed by more popping sounds. Nora had been in the wasteland long enough to know those sounds for what they were. 

Gunfire.

She bolted upright, leaving Arlen on the floor of his workshop as she ran wide-eyed out into the pool area. Wiseman was running toward the western road and shouting something to Jones and Baker, who were hot on his heels, Hobbs close behind. All of them had guns.

Deirdre, who had been putting the last of the jars away, stood frozen looking down at her chest. A dark, dripping stain marred the center of her shirt. Panicked, Nora started towards her just as Holly flew out of the living area, nearly colliding with her. Holly’s eyes flew wide when she saw Deirdre. “It’s just tarberry juice.” Dee reassured them, pointing at the shattered glass on the ground in dismay. “They hit the jar…” she said mournfully. 

At least they didn’t hit you, Nora didn’t have time to say before another crack shattered more jars on their work table. 

“Quickly!” Holly shouted. She grabbed the last of the jars as Nora and Deirdre locked up the storeroom, sealing them away from further damage. By the time they were done, Nora was relieved to see the boys were jogging their way back to them. 

“They’re gone.” Wiseman said a bit breathlessly. “For now.”

“We scared ‘em off!” Hobbs boasted coming to a stop beside Nora. But none of the other ghouls joined in his optimism. Even Baker looked unconvinced.

“They’ll be back, eventually.” Wiseman said.

“Damn it!” Jones swore as he joined them and bent to catch his breath. “They’re getting bolder.”

“What do they want?” Nora asked.

“What all raiders want.” Jones said bitterly. “Everything we’ve got. And then some.”

His answer struck a chord in Nora. Life had always been unfair. But this new world baffled all of Nora’s sensibilities. The way people just took what they wanted, killing any who stood in their way.

She watched as Holly fussed over Deirdre’s shirt, clearly shaken by the close call. Both female ghouls then began the job of cleaning up the last of their hard work that now littered the ground in useless blue stains. At least an hours’ worth of their day’s hard labor puddled on the cement walkway. And the wasted jars. Deirdre had just told her that was a hot commodity. It just wasn’t fair.

The boys stood around, guns still in hand, wary and vigilant while they discussed what was to be done. While Jones, Baker and Wiseman talked, Hobbs began helping the girls pick out the glass shards with a, “Don’t cut yourselves, now.”

“They came from the southwest road again.” Wiseman was saying to the other two. “I think they’ve taken up in that old iron mill down the road.”

Saugus Ironworks. Nora remembered the hulking building and iron wrought sign she passed on her way to the Slog. She had been sure to give that one a wide berth and it seemed she was right to so. Then she remembered their caution at her approach. I had come from the west road. She must have given them a scare. No wonder they acted the way they did.

“We’ll double the guard tonight,” Wiseman ordered. “And tomorrow, boys, that fence is a priority. ”

All nodded their affirmation of the plan; even Hobbs, who looked up from his position on the ground where he was still rounding up shards, to signal his agreement. When Nora tried to help, he shooed her away saying something about smoothskins and glass not mixing. She hardly heard him. An idea was forming in her mind and already she was making her way back to where she left Arlen in his workshop. 

“Everything alright?” he asked.

She only spared him a quick nod before asking him the question now burning in her mind.

“Arlen, did you say that you were an engineer?” 

Surprised at the change of topic, the ghoul nodded. “Sure am. I can make just about anything old-world run again.” He looked down at his toy horse in frustration before adding, “Provided I have all the necessary parts.”

Gears turned in Nora’s mind. She wasn’t sure it would work, but maybe with Arlen’s help…

“I have an idea.” 

Chapter Text

Nora tried to ignore the eyes on her as she packed. She had expected this from Baker and Hobbs and maybe from the girls, but it hadn’t occurred to her that the rather stoic ghoul leader would put up such a fuss. Who knew Wiseman could be such a mother hen?

As she tied up her bag of supplies, Nora could feel the anxiety washing off the ghoul behind her, watching with arms crossed over his chest in disapproval. 

“I just don’t see why you need to go.” He started in for the third time. “If it’s about last night-- I told you, we can handle being a few jars down. We’ve dealt with losses before. And whatever Arlen has put you up to-”

“It was my idea.” Nora quickly cut in. “I want to do this.” And if it works, the farm might be a little safer for it. But she didn’t say this part out loud, still uncertain if her plan would come together the way she imagined. She didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. But after spending hours in Arlen’s workshop, planning and making lists by lantern light, the old ghoul seemed to think they had a chance. Which was enough encouragement for her after the close call they had. 

“We could really use your help here .” He attempted this new tactic with his tone just a few shades from pleading. And Nora realized he must be feeling desperate to stoop to guilt trips. 

Nice try.

Cutting off any further argument, she straightened her spine and strode past him with a confidence she didn’t feel. To be honest, her nerves rattled at the thought of the journey ahead of her.

“I’ll be fine.” She said out loud, but not even she knew if it was more for the ghoul’s benefit or her own.

In the end, Wiseman had insisted on accompanying her past the iron mill. 

“I wanted to lay eyes on it anyways,” he insisted. “Get a feel for what we might be dealing with.” And Nora couldn’t think of a reason to refuse him that, at least. Once they had put enough distance behind them that the ghoul was satisfied she wouldn’t be harassed by the mill’s residents, he bid her a grudging farewell before turning back to the farm.

Alone again, Nora felt the emptiness pierce her like a knife. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to rely on her ghoulish companionship or just how much she drew on that comfort for strength. As the dangers of the open road stretched out before her with only her shadow for company, panic seized her. For a moment, she thought about turning around. What was she thinking? She didn’t really want to leave the warmth and safety of the farm. Sure, she planned to come back. But what if she never did? What if one of the many plentiful perils of the wasteland put her down in a ditch never to be found and this was the last time she laid eyes on the Slog? The thought had her heart accelerating in a way she hadn’t experienced for almost two months now.

No. I’m doing this. Nora resolved within her mind. They need me to do this. And with that thought injecting her with courage, she found the resolve to keep going.

One crazy robot and giant crab battle later, Nora could see the bridge Wiseman had told her about that lead into town. The roads beyond would likely be the most dangerous of the whole affair. 

Worse yet, she hadn’t been able to stop at the trading post she was aiming for. Before she left the farm, Wiseman had advised her that although her path would take her right past the town of Goodneighbor, she would be better off resupplying at Bunker Hill if at all possible. Though the location was just slightly off her route, the ghoul had insisted it would be a safer place to rest. 

Squinting at the sun, Nora worried her lip. What now? Steeling herself, she pushed forward across the bridge.

Moments ago, just as she had been ready to make the turn towards Bunker Hill, gunfire had exploded on the roads leading to the trading post, forcing Nora to deviate her path to avoid whatever firefight was breaking out. Which cut her off from shelter and supplies for the night. Of course, she thought bitterly. Why wouldn’t this happen? Everyone’s out to kill each other, after all . 

Now she was compelled to take the path straight through town and hope she could find somewhere relatively safe before nightfall. As she reached the other side of the bridge, multiple huge buildings flanked her on either side like giants waiting to swallow her up. Any number of things could be creeping in the hollows of the ruined structures. She shivered and looked back to the setting sun. Nora had no way to know how far into this mess of a city the town was. Considering the maze of rubble all around her, Nora doubted her ability to find the damn place before darkness fell. What was the name of it again?  

If she hadn’t been so hungry, tired and rushed to get to safety before nightfall, Nora might have noticed the gun that was trained directly on her. But she didn’t.

“Stop.” A voice commanded.

Nora froze. Well, this is it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Put your gun down and turn around. Hands up.” 

The anger she now felt at herself for getting caught so easily overpowered her initial fear. As she slowly complied with the strangers’ demands, she thought how she would never see the farm again. There was no point trying something. She was caught. Maybe if she seemed cooperative they would take her captive, buying her time to escape…

But all hope of a merciful captor vanished as she laid eyes on the woman before her. She looked vicious. Covered in head to toe with armor and blood like she had just been in the fight of her life. She sported a heavy looking weapon, some sort of modified submachine gun if Nora had to guess. And it was leveled right at her.

“Where you headed?” the woman asked. 

Why was that everyone’s first burning question? Nora thought irritably. Then, hesitated as she considered what answer to give the woman that might get her out of this. If there was such an answer. What had Wiseman said the name of that town was? The rough one with the seedy reputation she was trying to find? The tension and weariness in her body made it hard to think.

Goodneighbor. Right. Aware she was grasping at straws, Nora decided to try to impress the woman. If she passed herself off as the type of person who made Goodneighbor a pitstop, maybe she would think twice about messing with her. It was worth a shot.

“Goodneighbor.”

At this, the woman’s eyes narrowed and she looked Nora up and down as if scrutinizing a new species of bug.

“Never seen you before.” She paused to spit something bloody looking before continuing, “What’s your business there?” 

Great. This backfired. She had no answer that would likely satisfy this woman, who apparently frequented Goodneighbor well enough to know the regulars. And Nora wasn’t one of them.

So she resorted to her usual tactic when running out of ideas. Honesty.

“Just need a bed for the night and supplies for the morning.” 

To her surprise, the woman lowered her gun. Shouldering it, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes from seemingly nowhere. She slid one out, cocking her head as she lit up. Once this was done, she spoke again past the cigarette.

“Well, you’re in luck. That just so happens to be where I’m headed.”

As the realization slowly sank in that the woman was no longer intent on shooting her, Nora released a breath and wondered if the luck she was in was the good kind or the bad kind. Now that she didn’t have a gun pointed at her, she felt relaxed enough to study the woman more closely. Bright orange-red hair half shaved and tossed to one side. Freckles scattered across what would be a pretty face--if she wasn’t scowling like that.

“What?” the woman sniped when she caught Nora staring.

“Nothing...um, can I...pick up my gun now?” Nora cautiously asked.

The woman only rolled her eyes, snorting as she turned and made her way down the road.

Taking her chances, Nora grabbed her gear and ran to catch up.

By the time they reached Goodneighbor, Nora decided whatever luck put her in this woman’s company, it was the kind that got her there alive. She was almost positive she’d be dead had she attempted the city alone, considering the number of raider camps and blood-drenched meat bags they had snuck past on the way. Thanks to this woman’s intimate knowledge of the area, they arrived at the small but well-fortified town before nightfall, completely unscathed. 

Nora still knew virtually nothing about her brief travel companion. The woman never once spoke to her and when Nora had attempted to ask her name, she received a shushing motion and a glare that said, Shut up or I shut you up. She couldn’t argue. Danger lurked in every corner. The less attention they attracted, the better. So, Nora quietly followed the woman until they passed through the door with bright neon lights reading “Goodneighbor”, a matching neon arrow pointing in case the sign wasn’t clear enough.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Nora’s grudging guide began marching off down an alley, clearly forgetting her altogether.

“Hey, uh..” Nora started, unsure what to say but feeling the need to express some gratitude to the woman for choosing to lead her here safely and not turning her into mince meat.

The woman’s head jerked back around, her expression annoyed. 

“I just wanted to say thanks. For... you know…” she trailed off, lifting a hand self-consciously to the back of her neck, unnerved by the intensity of the other woman’s stare.

At this, the fiery red-head softened. Just barely.

“For a bed, check into the Rex down there,” she jabbed a thumb toward a dark alley Nora didn’t want to go down, “Kleo for guns, Daisy for everything else.” She indicated the two small storefronts directly in front of them. “If you need a drink you can hit the Rail.” She rattled through the list with all the enthusiasm of a tour guide reciting their script for the thousandth time. “Don’t bother the mayor, he’s busy .” Here, her signature scowl came back as she emphasized the word, appearing to expect some argument. When she got none, she went on, “Now, I’ve got some business to take care of.” 

Before disappearing from view, she called back over her shoulder, “Oh, and the name’s Fahrenheit.”

After a night at the seedy-looking hotel, Nora decided to waste no further time getting resupplied and back on the road. First stop, Kleo’s. She approached the assaultron with some reluctance but she couldn’t skip this part. Arlen’s list required items sold only at the dangerous-looking vendor’s stall. It was hard to be scared though when half the time Kleo spoke, Nora wasn’t sure if she was threatening her or hitting on her. Bemused, she finished her business and moved on to Daisy’s Discounts.

Much friendlier vibe, Nora decided as she approached the older female ghoul. She took an instant liking to her. Despite her tough front, the ghoul had a hidden warmth about her that made Nora’s heart ache for her friends back at the Slog. Though she knew it would be naive to assume that all ghouls knew each other, much less were on good terms, Nora considered casually dropping her previous whereabouts to the storekeeper to see if she reacted. She decided on offhandedly asking the ghoul if she had any jars that would be good for canning tarberries. 

“I’m running errands for a farm up north that I’m helping out this harvest.” Easy does it, she thinks, watching the woman for any hint of recognition. She isn’t disappointed. 

“Tarberries!” the ghoul had exclaimed, her eyes lighting up a bit. “Well you must be talking about ol’ Wiseman’s farm!” 

As it turned out, Goodneighbor was one of the Slog’s biggest customers. Which Nora figures shouldn’t come as a surprise given the history between ghouls and humans. They chatted for a bit like old friends and Nora left with a lighter feeling in her chest. Daisy hadn’t had any jars to give her, but she made sure to mark the best path on Nora’s map for avoiding trouble on her way to and from her destination.

“And tell that old bastard Daisy says hello,” the ghoul cheekily called after her as she walked away. 

Following the path Daisy had marked on her map, Nora had no troubles getting to her target location: Wilson's Atomatoys Factory.

The only problem being, super mutants had entirely overrun the place. Big super mutants. Nora supposed all super mutants were large but these ones looked absolutely brutal. 

Nervously, she skirted the building to avoid the lookout pacing overhead, then darted toward a side entrance. The only way this was going to work was if she snuck in and out. No confrontations. She only hoped she could pull it off.

Stepping into the narrow side hallway of the building, Nora instantly dropped into a crouch and listened. Overhead, she could hear footsteps creaking around the second floor. And she was pretty sure the area further down the hall had some occupants. But directly to her left was a small empty room. She ducked in, flicking on her pip-boy light. The dim glow lit the room just enough for Nora to do some quiet scrounging. Just a storeroom closet, she thinks with disappointment. But that ends up being exactly what she needs. There on the far shelf-- a row of completely intact giddyup buttercups! Nora imagined the excitement on Arlen's face when the old ghoul learned that some had survived after all. Relieved she wouldn’t have to go any further into the infested building, Nora stashed the toys quietly in her pack; then, began picking through some of the various loose electronics just in case they proved useful. 

She even found an old glass jar that somehow survived the past two and a half centuries. It was missing it’s lid but if the mouth happened to have the same size as the ones that broke… Wouldn’t that be some luck! Nora thinks, brimming with self-satisfaction now. Turning to leave the storage closet, something bright caught her eye, peeking out from under a haphazard pile of cleaning supplies. 

Were those... gloves! 

Bright, pink rubber gloves. A mostly-clean matching set, no less! Pleased with herself at spotting the unexpected treasure, Nora snatched them off the shelf with designs to give Deirdre a surprise when she returned to the Slog. She could use these to replace her old, mismatched pair. Did people still celebrate Christmas?  She wondered to herself, feeling like Santa Clause as she hefted her pack of loot. 

Mission accomplished, Nora moved to exit the small closet when- 

Crunch. She pulled her foot back, straining to see the offending object. An old busted pack of lightbulbs had scattered broken glass underfoot. In the low light, she had failed to see it. 

“WHO’S THERE!?” an angry voice yelled far too close for comfort.

Shit, shit, shit. Her luck had to run out sometime, she supposed. 

Fleeing the room, she immediately propelled herself through the nearby side entrance from which she had entered. Nora forced herself not to look down the hall from where the shouts were now growing louder and louder. Pulling her pack as tight to her back as she could, Nora made a mad dash down the road, the ping-ping-ping of bullets trailing in her wake.

She ran like that for longer than she thought possible before pausing to catch her breath in the valley of two hills. Out of sight. Hopefully.

When no crazed shouts or pinging bullets reappeared, Nora breathed a sigh of relief. 

Now, homeward bound, she thought, smiling to herself at the feeling that word gave her. 

Home.

The trek back went mercifully smooth. She diligently followed Daisy’s same path in reverse and ran into no new troubles along the way. She overnighted once more in Goodneighbor’s sole hotel, feeling refreshed and accomplished with the morning sun. However, while making her way from her room, she overheard something strange. Pausing halfway down the staircase to the lobby, she strained to hear.

Two men’s voices. Both talking in a low rumble, a chord of agitation palpable in the exchange. Only snippets of the conversation floated to her from their source below.

“...poking around here asking questions again.”

“She’s gonna be a problem…...twice now since….”

“Do you think he knows?”

“.....don’t think so but…it’ll be over before….”

“Reel ‘er in…….don’t care what it takes.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it, boss.”

Suddenly the speaker sounded much closer, as though moving towards where Nora stood on the stairs. A spike of anxiety shot through her at the thought of being discovered, certain she wasn’t supposed to overhear whatever that was about. Moving as fast as she could without giving herself away, Nora left the place in a hurry.

Eager to leave the town now more than ever, she dropped by Daisy’s only briefly to voice appreciation of her help. Then, hurriedly, she exited through the gates of Goodneighbor with a sense of relief.

Well before the sun touched the western horizon, Nora came within view of the Slog. Remembering to avoid the iron mill, she forced herself to slow her pace until well out of sight of any lookouts. Then, in spite of her travel-weary legs, she picked up her pace to almost a trot. 

Aside from the ghouls guarding the perimeter, Nora slipped in unnoticed.  It was nearing the end of harvest after all and daylight still burned. Everyone was working the fields. That was fine by her. Greetings could wait. Quickly she deposited her pack on her designated bed and sorted it, separating the electronics from all else. Carefully, she removed the jar she had scavenged. Not wanting to chance it breaking, she began to look for a safe place to put it until one of the girls could decide its usefulness. As she walked into the main living area, looking for an open spot on the shelves, something new caught her eye. 

That wasn’t there before. Resting on the shelf of first aid supplies sat a shiny new bottle and two dark colored IV bags. Curious, she picked up the bottle to examine it’s contents. “Rad-X” the label read. And scrawled on the IV bags in dark ink: “RadAway”. 

Nora had heard of radstorms. Luckily, she hadn’t run into any. The medicine to cure radiation sickness was expensive. From what she had learned of ghouls, they were immune to such things. No one here at the farm would need something like that. No one except…

For what must have been the hundredth time, Nora’s eyes misted at the touching display of consideration shown to her. These people, though so different from her in many ways and so mistreated by others of her kind, were still so willing to embrace her as their own.

She straightened her spine, a fresh resolution powering her. Grabbing her bag, she made a beeline for Arlen and his workshop. 

Arlen hardly ever left his workshop, so no change there. But over the next week, he didn’t just tinker endlessly. He worked with constant purpose. As far as Nora could tell whenever she checked on him, he enjoyed the work. The old ghoul derived a certain satisfaction out of having a bigger goal behind his usual fiddling. 

“Will they work?” Nora asked him, anxiously studying the final product of their cumulative efforts.

Arlen chuckled good-humoredly. “Only one way to find out.”

“After dinner?” Nora suggested.

“After dinner.” Arlen agreed.

At the agreed upon time, Nora met with Arlen again in his workshop. Skipping her usual routine of helping with meal clean-up, she instead worked with the old ghoul to carry, position, and connect their creations to the generator’s power supply.

Once this was done, they flipped the switch to reset the power, earning a few gasps from inside as the lights flickered. When the juice flowed back on, a satisfying churr-churr-churrr sound began to fill the air as their new installations came to life.

“YES!” Nora clapped the older ghoul on the back before pulling him into a full-blown hug. “You did it!” she exclaimed.

“We did it.” Arlen gently corrected, a smile coloring his tone.

“What is going on out-” Wiseman stopped as he witnessed the scene before him. 

Hobbs and the others began filing outside to see what the commotion was all about. Releasing her hold on Arlen, Nora waved her arms in what she imagined to be like those pretty women on TV that wore ridiculous dresses while showcasing expensive cars and technology. 

“Behold!” She said dramatically. “The buttercup battalion!” She waved her arms again and smiled up at the little yellow horses perched on the roof’s edge, ch-ch-churring back and forth while scanning the road for threats. 

When she looked back to the group, she was met with blank stares.

“Turrets.” She simplified. 

A collective “ohhhhhh” rose up from the group. Then, Hobbs darted forward with a “Cool, Nor! Look at you!” He and Baker proceeded to move closer and examine their work more closely, peppering compliments all the while.

“I can’t take the credit. This is all Arlen’s engineering.” Nora insisted. “I just got the supplies.”

“No, no. It was your idea.” Arlen pressed. “And you went all the way to the southern Atomatoy factory to get those parts. That’s quite a feat!”

“You went down there?” Dee and Holly exclaimed in unison. “I’m just glad you made it back in one piece, hon.” Holly added, impressed. Even Jones seemed in awe of what they accomplished as he inspected the modified toy horses, now equipped with deadly firepower from their little horse mouths. They’d only had enough parts for three, but Nora beamed with triumph.

“Obviously you both put a lot into this. Into making us safer.” Wiseman broke in, looking back and forth between the two of them with gratitude. Then he let his gaze settle on Nora. “I appreciate it.” Sincerity gleamed in his eyes.

Tit for tat, Nora mused silently, thinking of the Rad-x sitting on the shelves inside. She would have to mention that when she got the chance.

After everyone finished making over their new defenses, Nora went to sleep that night feeling proud of her contribution to protecting the Slog. Between their new turrets and the fence Baker and Hobbs were installing, their defenses were growing by the day. She just hoped if the raiders ever came back, it would be enough.

By the following week, the harvest was complete and the ghouls began their festivities. Wine bottles were cracked, toasts were made and games were played. It was the first time Nora saw the lounge chairs used for actual lounging. Most days the hard-working ghouls treated them as just another flat surface to use in their labors. The change of pace was nice and she let herself melt into the comfort of it, sipping at her drink. The wine was sweet and a bit tart at the same time. But not overpowering. She liked it. And when she said as much to the ghouls, it seemed to thrill them to no end. 

Thinking back on the brother’s excitement over the harvest party made more sense to her now. Sure, it was fun to sit back, relax and participate in the festivities. But it was more than that. Enjoying free time was one thing; enjoying the fruits of your labor was something else entirely. It made Nora feel fulfilled in a deeply satisfying way that she’d never experienced before.

She watched the scene before her with a sigh of deep contentment. Jones and another worker ghoul hunkered over a game of chess. Deirdre and Baker were playing something of a modified corn hole, tossing weighted bags of bottle caps into numbered buckets from several paces out. “Winner takes all!” She heard Dee crow triumphantly as she landed another direct shot into the furthest bucket. Baker shook his head with a show of grim resignation that did nothing to dull the sparkle in his eye as he watched the other ghoul dance an uncharacteristic little jig of joy.

All around her, the air was charged with a pleasant energy. Nora leaned further back in her lounger, soaking it in.

After the wine had been flowing for a time, Holly dragged a stool out and placed the living room radio on it. Flipping through the channels, she searched until she landed on the one she wanted. Not that there was much choice.

“Booooo!!! Change it.” Jones exclaimed, emphatically making a thumbs down motion.

“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud. I want to dance tonight!” Holly retorted. “Just because you have no rhythm doesn’t mean some of us can’t have fun.”

“It’s not that I can’t dance. It’s because it’s Diamond City radio.” he said distastefully. 

“Let it be, Jones.” Wiseman softly rebuked. “Tonight’s about enjoying ourselves.”

With a grumbled sigh, Jones went silent.

Hobbs, drink in hand, pirouetted dramatically in a series of twirls from one side of the pool all the way over to where Nora sat. Coming to a swaying stop, he tried for a bow, almost unbalancing himself, as he offered her his hand. 

“My lady, may I have this dance?” 

“I don’t know. I’m not very good at dancing, and by the looks of it you might not be either.” Nora laughed good-naturedly. “I might step on your toes.”

“Aw, that’s no big deal.” Hobbs grinned at her.  “Half of them are missing anyways!”

She laughed again but took his hand and let him lead her by the poolside. Apparently, he really didn’t know how to dance either so they just ended up bouncing, swaying and laughing at each other’s antics. Until Holly “stole” Nora, sweeping her into a ballroom-style whirl that had Nora giggling with dizziness. Unable to keep the other ghouls’ pace after just a few minutes, she broke away with an apologetic curtsy before returning to her seat by Wiseman, breathless. 

“You’re quite the life of the party.” he remarked cordially.

Nora smiled at that in silence for a bit. Then decided now was as good a time as ever to say what she’d been thinking since her discovery the other day.

“I noticed you have a little extra stock in your medical supplies,” she said, prodding.

The ghoul regarded her for a moment before her meaning clicked. “Ah, yes.” he said. “The Rad-X and Radaway, you mean?”

“Mm-hm. That stuff is expensive. You didn’t have to do that.” she chided mildly.

Wiseman studied her again, a pensive look about him. He seemed to be deciding something.

“Everyone here seems to have taken to you. Especially Arlen. And Baker and Hobbs, of course,” he said the last part with amusement. 

“The girls, too.” He added a beat later, more serious again.

“They mean a lot to me, too.” Nora replied candidly. “This whole place does.”

“I know.” he continued. “Which is why when Doc Weather’s came through while you were away last week I took the opportunity to put it to a vote.”

This had Nora looking up at him sharply. He didn’t quite meet her eye as he went on: “We always have a little extra put aside for when he stops by. He’s one of the few caravans that travel this far up north. I figured, since you’ve been…” he searched for the right words, “lodging with us and helping out for so long, maybe we should make some accommodations. You know, just in case. Radstorms do come through here sometimes and we’re not bothered any but you...” He took another sip of his wine. “So I put forward a vote that we invest in something that may be needed in the future.” For you, he didn’t have to say. “Everyone agreed. It was unanimous.”

He went silent, giving her time to mull over his words. Fully absorb their meaning. As the significance slowly seeped through, her chest filled with a hopeful warmth.

“This wasn’t just about the medicine,” she said softly. Though it wasn’t really a question, her statement requested an answer from him. She wanted to be sure. Wanted to hear him say it out loud.

“No.” he affirmed. “You’re one of us now.”

Chapter Text

“Sir?” The voice is hesitant, timid even. When it gets no answer, the voice tries again, cautiously insistent.

“Sir.” One of Hancock’s men pushes through the half-open door, chancing only a single step into the room. “I, um- I don’t want to disturb you,” here the guard ghoul takes in the sight of Hancock, strung out across his couch in a pose of impassivity. Strung out, indeed. He notes the spent jet canister clutched in the mayor’s hand. And the three lying empty on the floor. “But, uh...what do you want us to do with the…the, um…” 

Something tells him not to finish that thought out loud. But necessity pushes him forward. 

“It’s just--it’s been days now . And, well, the boys. They’re, uh…they’re starting to complain about the smell. ” Here the ghoul shifts nervously, afraid he’s about to be the spark in the oil field. “What do you want us to do with her?” he finishes quietly.

Still, no answer. 

Hardly daring to move any closer to the unresponsive ghoul across the room, he leans forward just enough to be sure his mayor’s still breathing. He is. No other movement stirs him though. Well, that’s good, at least. Or is it? A voice in the back of the ghoul’s mind asks. 

The guard sighs as he gives up and leaves the room again. Outside the door, he turns to his fellow ghouls shaking his head, “Nothing.”

“We have to do something. ” One of the other guards says, exasperated.

“Maybe it’s time we got Daisy involved.”

Hancock listens to the ghoul leave the room, muttering complaints to the others just outside the door. Like he can’t hear them or something.

He waits until he’s sure the door’s shut again, then slowly begins the battle with gravity to fight himself into an upright position. 

Where was that psycho he bought earlier?  He cast his bleary gaze about for the pack of syringes he’d left on his table. Only to find empty needles scattered all around him, some of which had fallen to the floor. Well, damn. How long ago did he buy that pack again?  He squinted, spotting an unused one that had rolled half-hidden beneath the table. Bingo. Hancock bends, a few creaks popping along his spine telling him he hadn’t moved in far too long. His fingertips barely brush the smooth edge of the syringe. 

It rolls further away from him. 

Sighing and swearing, he gives a little lunge forward, bumping his head on the corner of the table. Swearing louder now, he snatches at the slippery syringe and straightens triumphantly, clutching his reward. Just Med-X. Ah well, it would do.

He quickly tapped a vein and inserted the needle. Then, rapidly pushing down on the plunger, leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction.

“You can’t put it off forever, you know.” Fahr’s voice cuts through his high, causing him to jump, dislodging the needle sooner than he meant to.

He glares up at where she lounges on the other end of the couch, cigarette in hand.

“You know what you have to do.” She blows smoke in his face. 

In a surge of inexplicable anger, Hancock jerks back to a sitting position, readying a smart retort. He thinks he tries to say something along the lines of “Don’t tell me what to do” or maybe, “Don’t tell me what I already know.” But the room is warping and his high must be kicking in full blast because what comes out is:

“Don’t tell me what I don’t want to know.” And just as quickly as the anger surged through him, it leaves his body, taking all his fight with him. He slumped pathetically back onto the couch. In the emptiness left behind, for reasons he can’t quite remember through his drug-induced haze, a terrible sadness takes its place.

When Daisy shows up, Hancock’s locked in a glare-off with Fahrenheit, who stands propped against the far wall, an indignant cock to her stance.

They’ve been at it for hours. Or days. Apparently, one’s perception of time is a bit warped when you spend it getting higher than a kite. Hancock stares back at her unblinking, his eyes bloodshot and dry. But he was numb to the stinging air at this point. He couldn’t blink now. If he blinked, he lost.

So when Daisy knocked sharply once before walking in, he didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge her presence. He can’t blink.

“John?” Her voice sounded strange, warbling a little with some emotion. It could have been pity or it could have been anger. Turns out, it’s also hard to parse out the nuances of social interaction when you’re high and smashed.

 She cleared her throat. Stronger now, “John, you can’t keep this up.” What was it with everyone calling him by his first name these days? No respect.

“John! Look at me.”

Silence. 

Suddenly, faster than Hancock could process how, the table with all his chems flipped. He blinked. From across the room, Fahrenheit smirked. Damn it! Desperately grabbing at the spilled syringes, he found the one he was looking for. Psycho. Perfect. If Daisy was worked up enough to start flipping tables, he was going to need the strong stuff. With an irritated sigh, he righted himself and injected the drug, realizing as he did so that the other ghoul was speaking again. This time her voice was definitely upset, rising in intonation with each word she spoke.

“I know you’re upset. We are ALL upset, John.” She started in. His heart sped up as the drug coursed through his veins, making him agitated. “But if you think for one second that I’m going to stand by--”

“Go away.” he refused to look at her, focusing instead on the ceiling and how it was starting to undulate in time with the pounding headache wracking his brain. 

“--while you sit here and let her ROT--”

“Leave me alone.” he tried to make his voice sound dangerous but it came out too weak for that.

“--in the basement, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“GET OUT!” He finally worked his voice up to a decent yell. But even as it left his throat something inside him, something that wasn’t currently in control, felt regret because nobody-- nobody -- yelled at Daisy.

She flinched back a bit at that. Tears he hadn’t noticed before glistening from her ruined cheeks in the early morning sun.

“Shame on you. Shame on you, John McDonough!” 

And then he really did snap. No one called him by that name. Most people didn’t know his true surname and those that did made it a point to pretend not to know. With the psycho in his system doing nothing to help his raging senses, the rational side of John Hancock was nowhere to be found. Instead, the wounded beast in Hancock’s chest reared its ugly head, roaring its pain. 

Before he could stop himself, he lobbed his unfinished whisky, glass and all, at Daisy’s retreating form. Luckily, his aim was shit. It shattered a few feet from where she was turning to leave.

Most people would have run from the room, terrified they had just earned the bad graces of their mayor. Or at the very least flinch. This time, Daisy didn’t flinch. She froze. Then, slowly pivoted on her heel with a glint in her eye that had Hancock wondering if he was about to have to defend himself. Despite his bluster, he wasn’t sure he was even capable given the shape he was in.

“Now look here,” she advanced a few steps towards him, “You listen to me and you listen well, John.” And something about the way she spoke those words reminded Hancock that, although they were both ghouls, he did not have her 250 years. It gives him the impression of another time, where he’s the child about to be fiercely reprimanded by his mother. The chems have made him too numb to tell what expression has taken hold of his face. 

He just hopes he isn’t cowering.

“I have half a mind to call in the boys waiting outside those doors,” she points to where his guards are undoubtedly listening just beyond the thin wood, “and have them drag your sorry ass off that decrepit couch and kick you to the curb!” She’s on a roll now; but there’s still tears escaping down her cheeks, giving her away. His stomach twists at the sight of them. “And judging by the fact that they came to me-- me, John--for help, they just might do it.” 

After a moment of loaded silence, she coughed a wry laugh through her tears. “Imagine that. Daisy, Mayor of Goodneighbor.” She let her eyes trail pointedly over the various paraphernalia scattering the floor before settling here gaze on the shards of the glass he’d chucked at her. “Someone needs to be.”

And with that, she left.

Unmoved from her position across the room, Fahr resumed her glaring. Except now her arms were folded in disapproval across her chest and her signature scowl fixed firmly in place. All directed at him.

“WHAT?” He tried to match his tone to the menace in her gaze but Daisy’s rebuke had left him feeling toothless.

“You made Daisy cry.” He wanted to challenge the judgement in her voice. But what could he say to that? He had made Daisy cry. Probably earned himself Asshole of the Year, too. 

Since he couldn’t deny the allegation, he settled on some blame sharing.

“Yeah, well. So did you.” He reached for the bottle of whisky on the floor. There was still a little that hadn't spilt. Small mercies.

“You’re why I’m like this, you know.” She sniped in disgust. 

“Like what,” he snarked back, tilting the gold liquid into his mouth, “a stone cold bitch?”

“No,” the sudden note of sorrow in her voice drew his attention back to her. But she no longer looked like herself. Her face was now bluish grey, eyes glazed over; her leathers were smeared in blood. Her body broken.

“Dead.”

And then she vanished.

Even as the hallucination faded from his vision, the sad accusation in her eyes remained seared into his brain. 

It had been several nights ago now, when he’d found her. The bastards had strung her up from his balcony sometime during the night. 

It made him sick to think that he’d been standing right there, over her body, for a cig and half before kicking the length of cord that shouldn't've been there. Noticing the creak of the rope from the sway of her weight…

He had his boys cut her down, cover her and lay her down in the basement. Then he posted guards at the entrance, just in case.

She’d already been dead, of course. No way would Fahr have gone down quietly. But how they’d gotten her up there without anyone hearing or seeing anything, he didn’t know. There was a lot Hancock didn’t know. Whoever the hell had done this, for one. It made him paranoid. He questioned everyone, trusted no one and pretty soon his own men avoided him like the plague. 

Clearly the gesture of hanging her body from his balcony had been a mockery of how he came into power. Where he had hung his tyrannical predecessor, Vic, from that very spot. But Vic’s boys were dead. That night, the culling had been complete, his inauguration written in the blood of his enemies. 

And yet, someone remembered. This was personal. The message had been clear: Your time is coming. And Fahr had paid the price. Because of him. Just to get to him.

Now, with his right hand cut off, Hancock was vulnerable. Fahrenheit was dead. Whatever she learned before she died went with her to the grave. From what he gathered before sinking into his misery, she had successfully cleared out the gallery up north; after that, she disappeared. No one had seen her come back to Goodneighbor. No one reliable anyways. Rumors ripped like wildfire through the town. He’d heard them all-- Fahrenheit committed suicide. The ghost of Vic returned to exact his vengeance. Hancock staged her suicide because she helped Bobbi steal from him. Hancock killed Fahrenheit after a disagreement--The mayor knew better than to give any credence to the word of gossips, but the implications in those rumors hurt. And he still didn’t have any better answers as to who masterminded the whole thing.

Sure, he knew Fahr had warned him about the warehouses. But those were just grunts. As badly as Hancock wanted to go charging in guns blazing, he knew no good would come of it. Cutting down the triggermen wouldn’t lead him to the man behind it. And now with his second-in-command gone…He didn’t dare make a move. He didn’t have the manpower. Didn’t know who he could trust. Only with her gone did he realize just how heavily he'd depended on the woman.

Not only that, but now his suppliers were conveniently disappearing. Most of his dealers either stopped coming to Goodneighbor altogether or the poor sods washed up in an alley to be discovered the next day. Hancock was being cut off in all directions. In his own damn town.

Between the grief of losing Fahr and the helplessness he felt closing in on him, he had lost himself to old habits. Turning to the only comfort he knew, Hancock drowned his sorrows in chems and alcohol. 

But not anymore. 

Well … not in the excess of the last few days, at least. Daisy’s words had finally gotten through to him. After she left, he’d sat for hours, letting the psycho wear off and the emptiness take its place again. But this time he didn’t shoot up to make it go away. Instead, he had let it fill him. Embraced it. Then, he cleaned up. The room and himself. 

Hancock picked the crumpled red coat from the floor, smoothing it’s wrinkles before shrugging into the worn garment. The heaviness felt... right. It weighed his shoulders down in a way that forced him to straighten his spine in counterbalance. Next, he searched for the most important accessory. The one that made him “Mayor” of Goodneighbor. It took a bit of effort as he had apparently discarded it in his closet, likely while getting the whisky. Dusting it off, he stood in front of his small mirror and replaced the signature tricorn hat with a slow deliberateness. As he raised his head up to appraise his reflection in the glass, Mayor Hancock looked back at him. Now if only he could ask him what the hell he should do.

But at least the ghoul knew where he should start. He needed to apologize to Daisy. Checking himself over one more time and giving the ghoul in the mirror a flick of his hat, he turned to head to her store. 

Before he could get anywhere, however, one of his men peeked in. Relieved to see his mayor dressed and appearing sane again, the ghoul straightened in respect. 

Then, with some manner of urgency reported, “Sir. I think you’re gonna wanna see this.”

By the time Hancock had descended the rickety spiral staircase and exited the front of the State House, the ragtag group of travelers had just cleared the Goodneighbor gates. His men had seen them coming and thought to immediately notify him. At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary about a group of injured ghouls seeking asylum in the town of Goodneighbor. Outcast ghouls were, after all, the majority of the residents here. Many had come from less than savory backgrounds or with bitter memories of banishment from Diamond City. 

What was out of the ordinary, however, was the human woman who appeared to lead them. An attractive human woman, no less. Nothing openly distinguished her as their leader; but something in the way she carried herself with tired purpose- while her companions hunched towards the ground without looking up- lent him a good guess. As Hancock drew closer, he saw there were three ghouls total. One was being carried by the entire group on a makeshift stretcher. He wasn’t moving. The other two ghouls, one male and one female, didn’t look that great either. The male was missing half his arm. 

Just before he was close enough to engage them, Daisy had beaten him to the punch. She ran from her stall, calling out to the group as they entered. Judging by their interaction, it seemed she knew some of them. Maybe she really would make a better mayor, Hancock thought to himself grimly. 

“My God, Nora!” he heard her gasp in alarm, speaking to the human woman. “What happened?!” Daisy's eyes were glued to the ghoul laying motionless on the stretcher.

The woman-- Nora --seemed to be barely holding herself together. “Raiders,” she managed.

Hancock watched the exchange, taking the opportunity to examine the woman closer. Exhaustion pulled at the edges of the woman’s eyes, where dark circles stained the otherwise pale complexion. Multiple cuts and bruises scattered her face and possibly other places Hancock couldn’t see. But she straightened her spine in spite of these with a grit reflecting his own struggles. Necessity born of responsibility.  

While she spoke, her companions seemed to curl in on themselves, a lost look in their eye. Clearly depending on her to navigate whatever their sullen purpose be. Yeah, whether she realizes it or not, she’s their leader, Hancock thinks to himself. And if he were a betting man, he’d wager his remaining nine toes the promotion was bloody and unsolicited. Sound familiar? A little voice in the back of his mind whispers. He had only just laid eyes on the woman and already he felt a kinship with her. As if his weary soul had stirred to wakefulness, reaching out to another of its kind.

Daisy cast a meaningful glance behind the small group, as though looking for a missing person. “And the others? Are there more coming?” she fretted, worry pitching her rasp to a higher note.

At the question, something broke in the woman’s eyes. It seemed to take the last of her strength for her to answer, her voice wavering with unshed emotion.

“It’s just us.” The admission left her looking small and vulnerable. She trembled a little where she stood. And as her hollow gaze found his, the wounded beast in Hancock’s chest also found its kin, howling in sympathetic recognition. “We’re all that’s left.”

Chapter Text

The morning after the party started the same as any other day. Festivities completed the night before, everyone had helped clean up and put things in order before going to bed. The next crop’s planting season started with the morning light and would continue through the warm non-winter of the wasteland.

The day was winding down to a close, sun low in the sky. The work had been hot but productive and now with the lengthening shadows, a pleasant coolness had dried the sweat on Nora’s brow. She straightened from the row of seeds she’d been bent over, attempting to swipe with her wrist at a stray hair that had fallen forward into her face without touching anything with her dirty hands. 

And that’s when she saw them. 

“Wiseman,” was all she said. But the gravity of her tone drew every head within earshot to look in her direction. And then to where her gaze was fixed on the southwestern road.

Raiders. Five. Ten. Fifteen, at least. And three wore power armor. All of them headed straight for the farm.

A semi-organized chaos erupted. Wiseman shouted orders. Everyone left what they were doing, dropping tools where they stood. Several ran for the gun lockers inside while worker ghouls further out looked up, oblivious to the cause of the commotion. More shouting and, as the word spread, panic took hold. Ghouls scrambled to grab weapons, some tried to pull on armor as fast as their shaking hands allowed, while others attempted to cover and protect the crops. 

Nora, too, grabbed her shotgun and attempted to pull on what little armor she had acquired. But as she emerged back from the house she and several others found themselves standing almost idly around the pool edge because, how did one prepare for their own slaughter?

The door to the workshop, propped open to allow for better air circulation, caught Nora’s eye. She sprinted to it, practically screaming at the old ghoul, “STAY IN HERE!!” before slamming it shut, hoping he would be safe if he remained out of sight.

Right after she shut him in, the turrets started. The tut-tut-tut-tut-tut of the little yellow guardians’ defense system’s kicking in matched the rapid-fire beating of Nora’s heart. 

They’re already close enough to be in range.  

Before the thought was finished, a violent pounding shook the entirety of the newly-erected perimeter fence. And instantly several more jarring impacts pelted the gate, splintering the wooden doors they all now faced, weapons ready. Wiseman at her right. Jones, Baker and two other ghouls spreading beyond him in a protective arc. Holly, Deirdre and a few other worker ghouls stood on the far side of the pool, angling their weapons at the pounding. Some began trying to fire through the wood in the hopes their bullet would find a target. Shots fired in response and at first Nora thought it was directed at them.

That’s when she noticed the turrets had gone virtually silent. She looked up to where they perched on the roof’s edge. Two already smoked, out of commission. And the third let out a final tut-tut before a rifle blast silenced it as well.

It wasn’t enough, she thinks, heart dropping as the gate gave way. It just wasn’t enough.

Four raiders go down under the hail of gunfire that greets the unlucky few to first pass through. But then the power armor-wearing raiders pushed forward, seemingly impervious to the rain of bullets, and leveled flamers at the group.

It all falls apart as everyone scatters from the bursts of fire. Nora bumps into at least two ghouls in her own mad rush to escape the flames. Whatever hope they had at organized resistance evaporated in the heat of the three armored flame-throwers as they whooshed a deadly inferno in all directions.

Individual battles broke out all around the pool. Crop rows churned to mud.

To her left, Baker and Hobbs teamed up to take down two of the raiders in power armor. Hobbs dashed lithe as a radstag to avoid the flames, taking pot-shots when he could. Mostly his tactic seemed to be getting the raiders to run out of flamer fuel. They’d just about taken one of the two down as Nora moved to join them.

But she doesn’t get the chance. From around the corner of the pool house, a woman wielding a tire iron swung at her, catching her by surprise. Nora lurched backwards, almost tripping. Which ended up being a blessing in disguise. Her momentum took her out of the full force of the swing, making the blow to her head a glancing one. Still, it left Nora dizzy and bleeding for a split second as the raider relentlessly followed up with another blow to her shoulder. The pain lancing her collar bone jolted her into action. The woman’s forward swing brought her close enough Nora was able to grab her by the waist, swing her around and use her own momentum to shove her away. As her attacker regained footing, Nora brought up the butt of her gun, smashing the woman’s nose bloody. She stumbled back, stunned for a moment, giving Nora the advantage. Unfortunately, her opponent was in too close quarters with her to use her gun, so Nora caught hold of her again, dragging her forward while bringing her knee up into the woman’s gut. The raider crumpled. Unsure whether she could safely spray buckshot into someone laying on concrete at point blank range, Nora opted for brute force. She smashed the butt of her gun into the woman’s face again. And again.  And again, until she lay bleeding and still on the hard ground. 

Nora stared dumbly at what she had just done. Chaos still swirled around her, leaving her no time to absorb the shock of her own violence. A ping tore a chunk of concrete from the ground by her feet and Nora looked up to see another raider charging her, rifle raised. She lifted her shotgun and fired, spraying buckshot in his direction. It missed, so she shot again, praying it did the trick so she wouldn’t have to take the time to reload. This time, the man tumbled into a forward somersault and when he landed he didn’t get back up.

Woodenly, Nora looked at the scene around her. Bodies already littered the ground in what must have been only the first five minutes of battle. Ghouls and raiders both. From across the pool where Nora was standing, one raider stood out among the rest. He wore the heaviest power armor she had ever seen and currently he was locked in battle with Wiseman. The ghoul seemed to have managed to disable the man’s flamethrower, but he struggled to make any further progress, the cage helmet and power armor on his limbs protecting the raider from most damage. 

With a sudden change of tactics, the raider abandoned the useless flamer, pulling a knife from his belt and lunging with such deceptive speed it took Wiseman by surprise. Nora felt as though she took the knife in her own gut as she watched the blow hit the ghoul with such viciousness he was lifted off his feet into the air, before being flipped flat on his back. 

Wiseman lay stunned, face up on the concrete. The raider ripped the knife back out, tearing a ragged grunt from the ghoul. Then drew back to hit him with the power of his armored fist. Though the whole thing played out in only a few short seconds, it seemed to happen in slow motion. 

“Wiseman!” Nora screamed, her position too far out of range of her shotgun to be of any use. But her shout caught the attention of some nearby ghouls. Jones, Baker and two others, seeing their leader wounded and helpless on the ground, dashed forward in a united effort. 

Unfortunately, not before the fist came down with ruthless force directly in the center of Wiseman’s chest. He took the full brunt of the impact, chest depressing further than it should have with a sickening crunch sound. 

As the ghouls reached them, Baker and Jones grabbed the raider’s arm, cocked for another blow, while the other two ghouls attempted to unbalance the heavily armored raider by kicking at his legs. The raider stumbled, and for a moment, Nora was hopeful that would be the end of him. But just as it seemed the ghouls had gained the upper hand, the man thrust his free arm out and a schlink sounded from the armored fist as something flew out like a bullet, anchoring itself in the wall of the fence. 

In a surge of triumphant strength, the raider regained his feet with a yell, knocking the ghouls off balance. It was then Nora realized something string-like connected his armored fist to the anchor in the fence. Wire, she realized. Razor-sharp wire. As the man gave a savage yank, he twisted the angle so it sliced through his combatants. The arm Baker used to restrain the man fell away, leaving him to pitch forward, waving his stump to catch himself with the hand that wasn’t there anymore. Jones and the other two ghouls were less fortunate. Their heads rolled off their bodies like basketballs, bouncing once before rolling to a gruesome stop.

This turn of events happened so quickly, Nora had no time to react. Before she could recover two things happened almost simultaneously. 

Arlen chose this moment to toddle out of his workshop, moving towards the pool with some unfathomable purpose. Right into what would be Nora’s line of fire.

At the same time, Holly appeared unexpectedly as though materializing from nothing. Powered by a furious courage, she charged Jones’ killer with a blood curdling war cry. She fired shot after shot from her rifle, each bullet pinging uselessly off his reinforced legs and caged helmet. Entirely undamaged, he disarmed her easily, cracking the butt of her own gun across her face and sending her sprawling.  

Nora reflexively raised her gun in a gesture of defense. Then, lowered it again in frustrated helplessness as she realized the spread of the buckshot from this distance could catch any of the surrounding ghouls. Primarily, Arlen who was now lined perfectly equidistant between Nora and the Raider. And she wasn’t that good of a shot.

Why couldn’t he have just stayed in his workshop! Nora thinks in a panic, trying to position herself within closer range of the raider without exposing herself to his reach as Holly had done.

Already, the raider had flipped the gun around to take aim at the helpless ghoul on the ground. But as he pulled the trigger suddenly it was Deirdre in the line of fire, shielding Holly with her body. And it was Deirdre who took the two shots in the chest. The force of it ripped at her, twisting her body sideways as she dropped like a stone to the ground. 

As this happened, a faint sploosh of water caught her attention. Arlen stood by the pool now, purpose accomplished. But the noise had caught the raider’s attention, too. Ignoring Holly as she whimpered over Deirdre’s motionless form, he moved towards the old ghoul, picking up an abandoned flamer from one of his fallen fellow raiders. Surely, Arlen could see the man coming; yet, he ignored the approaching raider completely. 

“Arlen, MOVE !” Nora shouted. She ran towards them heedlessly now, unloading shots into the armored raider with no visible effect. 

Arlen’s eyes met hers. He gave a subtle nod towards the workshop. And just before the flames engulfed him, he smiled at her.

‘NO!” she tried to scream. But whatever noise she made was drowned in the terrible shriek that tore from the burning ghoul’s throat before, mercifully, he fell silent. Nora’s vision blurred as his killer now turned towards her and distantly she thinks, This is it.  

Yet some part of her, unwilling to resign in the face of her impending death, whispers a question in back of her mind. 

What was Arlen trying to tell me? What was he thinking? And that’s when Nora saw it, lying by the ghoul’s smoking body. The thick bundle of wires draped into the pool. Arlen must have cut the power supply to their now-useless turrets and fed them into the waters. He would have had to cut off the power to do so but...why do it at all?

And then it clicked.

“NORA!” Hobbs called out to her in alarm, seeing the raider bearing down on her.

“Hobbs! The pool!” She yelled waving wildly at the wires.

Whether he understood her meaning, she couldn’t be sure. Either way, he began pelting the raider with bullets as he ran towards them, buying Nora time to act. Distracted, the raider turned around to face the new attacker. 

This was her opportunity. 

Nora ran to the workshop where the generator lay silent and quickly flicked the switch. Immediately, a crackling sounded from the direction of the pool. Triumphant, Nora spun on her heel, propelling herself back outside to finish the job once and for all. If she could just catch him off balance, tip him into the water with all that metal and armor…

But Nora would never get to execute her plan. She re-emerged from the workshop just in time to see Hobbs barrel into his armored opponent, knocking him off balance towards the now-electrified waters. And per his usual exuberance, the young ghoul did this with all the power of a steam train-- taking himself over the edge as well.

Nora felt her knees buckle and hit the ground, watching in horror as Hobbs disappeared over the edge, clutching the raider to him as they both plummeted into the lethal waters. 

Everything went deathly silent. 

Nora didn’t know how long she lay crumpled on the unforgiving concrete or how long she had screamed to make her throat feel so shredded. Slowly, she registered the heavy smell of charred flesh and burnt electronics, the scent strong enough that it began to bring her back to herself. She felt as though her soul had been torn to pieces and then scattered to the wind. There was a distinct feeling of disconnect from her own body, so much so that when her arms moved into her field of vision, she flinched as though expecting them to be someone else’s. Maybe another attacker. When she recognized them as her own, she sat for a time numbly flexing her hands open and closed, trying to convince the rest of her brain that she was in control. 

On the outside, it might have looked like something in a dark comedy, her sitting in the middle of the carnage passively watching her own hands move. Open and closed. Open and closed. By degrees, Nora slowly came back to herself, collecting the broken pieces of her soul one by one. As awareness of her surroundings slowly filtered through her deadened senses, she struggled to stand. Her legs felt like noodles and her whole body shook with tremors; but she managed to gain her feet and survey the death and destruction around her.

She was the only one standing. 

Every other ghoul and raider was on the ground. Most of them dead or dying. Arlen's charred corpse lay where he had fallen. Multiple ghouls scattered the field they had been working just minutes before, never to rise again. And Hobbs…

Some slight movement caught her attention and she turned with a mix of hope and trepidation.

Holly sat on the concrete, cradling Deirdre in her arms, the wounded ghoul gasping and gurgling with every breath while Holly wiped at her chest.

“It’s tarberry juice.” Holly’s voice sounded distant and as she lifted her gaze to Nora, her eyes looked right through her, unseeing. “It’s just tarberry juice,” she said again as she woodenly wiped at the blood pouring from Deirdre’s chest wounds.

Next to her, Baker was sitting with his back to a lounger, bleeding out onto the ground. A distant look of confusion marred his face as he held his lost arm in his good one, attempting over and over again to put it back. He looked like a child trying to reconnect the cars to his train set, but couldn’t figure out why it just wouldn’t stay.  

And something Nate had told Nora about his time in the war echoes in the back of her mind. About grown men crying for their mothers. Lost limbs and night terrors.

Shock, she realizes. They’re in shock.

A groan from her right catches her attention. 

Wiseman! He’s alive!

She ran over to the ghoul on the ground. The wound in his lower gut was bleeding, but not as badly as she had feared. When he tries to sit up, however, he groans nearly falling supine again. Nora catches at his arm.

“Wiseman!” She shouts and shakes him a bit by the shoulders, her own desperation making her impatient. She helps him to his feet with a bit of effort. She can’t do this on her own.

He looks around and for a moment is frozen by what he sees. His gaze lingers on Hobbs, face down in the waters. He starts towards him and Nora has to pull him back.

“Wiseman! Look at me. Look at me. ” She shakes him again. “He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do--” her voice cracks and she has to take a steadying breath before continuing. As she talks his gaze settles on Holly and Baker in the background. “Listen to me. I’m going to need your help.” His eyes return to her. Urgency is making her mind clearer and the wounded can’t afford to lose any more time. “Can you do that? Are you going to be able to do that for me?” 

A nod. 

Something inside Nora recognizes that it has fallen to her to own the moment. If she doesn't, more lives might be lost. A war of make-or-break ensues within herself as she struggles with her own mind-numbing grief and despair. By the end, necessity wins out. They need her. She won’t let them down. With a conscious effort, Nora takes all those crippling emotions and pushes them to the side, compartmentalizing until there’s time to process them properly. Taking charge of both herself and the situation, she resumes giving orders to Wiseman.

“Good. Now, I think we both know she ,” here Nora lowers her voice in case Holly is lucid enough to hear and gives a sharp nod towards Deirdre bleeding out on the ground, “doesn’t look so good. But we need to act quickly. At the very least make her comfortable. The medical supplies-- do you have stimpaks and Med-X?” 

Another nod. 

“Get those. Clear the table, we’re going to put her on it and bring the others inside. Also, I’m going to need something I can use as a tourniquet or bandage.” He stares back at the ghouls for a minute and she gives him another sharp shake. “Are you with me?” His eyes snap back to her.

“Y-yes.” His voice is hoarse. He tries to take a deep breath, winces and coughs.

“You okay?” she asks. He nods, turning to stumble towards the house.  

A cursory check around her shows no other signs of life. Another wave of anguish threatens to overwhelm her, but she tucks it away in the little box she made deep inside herself.  Then, she heads for the ghouls still breathing on the ground.

By the time they corral everyone inside and carry Deirdre to the empty table, she’s hiccuping blood. They administer Med-X for the pain, hook her up to a stimpak and try their best to staunch the bleeding with clean cloths. Thankful that Nate had made her learn some basic field treatments, Nora used an old t-shirt to tie as a tourniquet around the stump of Baker’s arm. It was all they had. She wasn’t familiar with the intricacies of ghoul anatomy but it seemed to Nora that they bled slower than humans. Almost as if they were not as... juicy. And she supposed that made sense. She was just glad something worked in their favor for the moment as Baker and Wiseman seemed stabilized. A little Med-X, first aid and stimpaks had gone a long way. Rest would do wonders as well but was likely out of the question. Nora doubted any of them would sleep tonight.

Holly’s cuts were superficial. She still seemed to be in shock, which Nora knew could be dangerous. But if she recovered from that, she would be fine. She sat by Deirdre and held the ghouls hand. Her breathing had slowed, turning the gurgle into a wet rasp. Nora wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

Suddenly, Wiseman jerked where he sat, as though waking from a dream. 

“Should we...get him now? Or wait til tomorrow?” The question was morbidly practical. But there was pain in his eyes and a tightness in his voice as he spoke. She knew he probably hurt far more than she did.

“I think we should get him now. Before the water…” she trailed off. She didn’t need to finish that thought.

In the end, Nora took it upon herself to retrieve Hobbs from the pool. Night had fallen outside and she could mostly only make out dark shapes in the water. She had the presence of mind to make sure the generator was flipped off even though the power had surged and sputtered out long before. Pulling on the rubber boots they used for harvesting, she trudged out into the dark waters. The chill of the water lapped at her though the boots and she tried not to think about what she was doing. Hooking her fingers around the floating ghouls belt, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to tell herself she was just pulling in the harvest baskets. 

Wiseman helped her roll his limp form up the wide ramp and then carried him to the poolside. 

“I think-- I think that’s good for now.” Nora said, pushing down her nausea at the sight of her lifeless friend. A part of her wanted to run away. The other half wanted to stay and hold him, unable to bear the thought of leaving him alone in the dark. She placed a hand on Wiseman’s shoulder, sensing the same from him, and turned them both towards the light of the pool house. There was nothing more to be done for now. The rest would have to wait until morning.

When they went back inside, Holly and Baker seemed a bit more present. They hovered close to each other, Baker holding one of Holly’s hands and Holly still holding Deirdre’s limp one in the other. Deirdre hadn’t changed. 

After all wounds had been tended and checked once more, Nora decided the only thing left was to try to sleep. Morning would bring it's own necessary miseries. Wiseman insisted on staying awake to watch over the others, some of his protectiveness kicking back in now that the numbness was wearing off. She didn’t argue with him, knowing he probably just needed to feel useful. Just nodded numbly before moving to the bed area and laying on her mattress. 

Even as she lay her weary body down, Nora didn’t think she'd be able to sleep. So when she woke to a sharp noise from the living area, she felt a moment of muddled surprise. But as Nora listened closer to the sounds coming from the next room, she found she hadn’t the need nor the willpower to get up to investigate. Holly’s keening sobs and Wiseman’s own pained words of consolation told her all she needed to know.

Deirdre had passed.

Chapter Text

It only seemed fitting that the following morning, day never truly broke. The grey of the sky, stretching the horizon like a blanket, dulled what little light hid behind it. 

The moment Nora had opened her eyes the heaviness in her chest warned her not to get her hopes up. This time, she wasn’t able to fool herself even for a minute that it had all just been a bad dream. Despair pinned her to the bed, draining her of any will to move or start her day.

And what was there to start? No charmingly chaotic breakfast with a tableful of ghouls. No chatter warming the air with that note of familiarity and ease she was just beginning to get used to. No morning sun to warm their backs for the long day of planting that wouldn’t be done. Seeds were for futures they no longer would harvest.

Futility threatened to undo her. These were thoughts for the dead. And Nora was still alive; along with Holly, Baker and Wiseman. It was with this line of reasoning rather than any true strength that fueled Nora to push herself up to the edge of her bed with a fervor that lacked conviction.

From where she sat, Nora could just barely see Baker and Holly huddled together on the couch of the living area, their hands intertwined. Sleep had claimed them at some point in the night, whisking them into a short reprieve from their grief. As if in answer to her thoughts in that moment, Holly stirred fitfully, whimpering. Maybe not a reprieve, then. Nora’s sleep had been too restless to include nightmares. Perhaps fate had cut her some slack.

As she pushed off the bed and slowly shuffled into the living area, she noted Deirdre still lay on the table but now a covering had been placed over her body. Her gaze lingered there before scanning the room. Wiseman was nowhere to be found.

She wasn’t left to guess for long.

Just as Nora alerted to the sounds of hurried steps and uneven breathing, the ghoul pushed through the entrance to the pool house, clutching a bit at his wounded side.

“We have to leave,” he gasped through uncaught breaths. “Now.”

His ragged declaration startled Baker and Holly from their place on the couch, blinking their confusion through sleep-heavy eyes.

“What? What’s going on!?” The fear in Holly’s voice reflected in the face of the ghoul beside her.

“There’s more.” Wiseman panted out through obvious discomfort. He must have ran most of the way back by the look of him. “Saugus is filled with them. Raiders. They’ll no doubt be checking up on their unreturned comrades now that it’s daylight.”  His voice was much stronger than last night, though tinged with a bitter edge as he spoke. “We’re just lucky they didn’t come back during the night.”

“How many?” Nora tried to remain level-headed, fighting her own rising alarm.

Wiseman shook his head. “Don’t know. But we can’t stay here. Just from what I saw of the outer guard...they’re loaded.” 

“But where will we go?” Baker asked pointedly as he sat up straight, sobering quickly from his sleep stupor. “It’s not like anyone will take us in.” Nora is mildly surprised by how his voice almost turns into a sneer on the last words. Fatigue has left her mind in a soporific state and it takes her a minute to catch onto why.

She studies each of her companions in turn, all expressions seem to have soured with a shared sentiment. She’d seen the same look on Jones more than once while griping about Diamond City, how it’s filled to the brim with bigots. And it dawns on her. It’s because they’re ghouls. The realization turns her stomach as she thinks about unlearned lessons and history repeating itself. All this destruction. The entire world ends. And we still haven’t changed. People still find ways to divide themselves.

“Goodneighbor,” Nora blurts out, surprising herself and all around her. They look to her with shock, then to Wiseman with inquisitive glances. “I remember seeing a lot of ghouls there. A majority, in fact.” Nora recalls her brief time there and the way ghouls not only abounded in the place but seemed to walk around comfortably enough, despite the shady feel of the place.

Baker gave a snort of a laugh. “You really don’t know much about Goodneighbor, do you?”

“She wouldn’t.” Wiseman reminded the ghoul gently. “She’s new around here, remember.” 

“They accept ghouls. I know that.” Nora responds firmly. “Does anyone have any better ideas?”

Silence.

“She’s not wrong.” Wiseman says, chagrin quirking the corner of his mouth. “We don’t have a lot of options. And we won’t get very far in the shape we’re in.” He indicates Baker’s and his own wounds. “We’ll be slow and easy to pick off if we travel too far. And for all his faults, Mayor Hancock has done what he can, in his own way, for ghouls who have nowhere else to go.” 

“Like us.” Nora points out, pushing aside her curiosity at Wiseman’s backhanded compliment of the town’s mayor.

It doesn’t matter that Nora isn’t a ghoul. That technically she could go anywhere she wanted. She’d cast her lot with them long before. And they had accepted her. One of us , Wiseman had said. Where they went, she went. Where they couldn’t, she wouldn’t. She didn’t even have to consciously think it out. It was just the way things were.

His rather unfavorable description of the town’s mayor, however, left her feeling a little hesitant at her own suggestion. Given the vibes she got from the town in what little time she spent there, she shouldn’t be surprised the man sounded to be a mixed bag at best. She remembered back to her meeting with Fahrenheit and how the woman had warned her off from bothering him. She realized she hadn’t met or heard anything about him except by means of present company. And they didn’t seem to think so highly of him. Though Wiseman did make sure to mention that the mayor had done his best “in his own way”. Whatever that meant.

He faced the group with an air of finality. “To Goodneighbor it is, then.”

“But we can’t leave them.” Holly’s eyes looked clearer and more focused than they had in the last twenty-four hours. She spoke the words with a finality daring argument. “We have to bury them.”

A flash of pain crossed the other ghoul’s face. “There’s no time.”

“We can’t leave--” Holly’s insistent clarity teetered precariously on another bout of hysteria. Nora could hear it in the unstable pitch to her voice. Feeling the need to intervene before the ghoul lost the balance, Nora broke in.

“We’ll burn them.” 

Once again, all eyes fell to her, a heavy silence her only response. But at least it wasn’t hysterical protests. Yet.

“We’ll burn them,” she said again, “and come back to properly bury whatever remains as soon as we can.” Her gaze settled on Holly with a firm sort of sympathy. “It’s the best we can give them for now. If we don’t want to join them.”

To her relief, Holly let whatever protests sparked on her tongue die along with something in her eyes as she lowered her head in defeat, nodding her resignation. 

One by one, they gathered their dead. Plucked them from the fields like overripe harvest, placing them side by side in tight, circular groups. Baker and Holly insisted on helping despite Baker struggling with his new handicap and Holly frequently having to stop to regain her slipping composure. 

Even Nora almost cracked when she bent to collect Arlen’s charred remains and the ghoul’s fire-brittled body broke apart in her arms, regardless of how delicate she tried to be. The unpleasant snap of the limb she cradled caused him to slip away from her and almost fall into the pool. She grasped desperately to stop the momentum from carrying him over the edge, then fell to her side on the concrete, fighting nausea and steadying shaky breaths. 

A shoulder on her hand had her looking up to see Wiseman’s gentle gaze and an offered hand of help. Together, they carefully collected all the pieces of the broken ghoul and gently laid him to rest with the other dead. Hobbs, she noted, already lay among them.

Everybody followed an unspoken rule not to stack the bodies on top of one another. When they finished their gruesome task, they had a couple groups of ghouls laying across the open field far enough away that the burn wouldn’t disturb the living quarters.

As the last ghoul was placed, a hush fell over the group as they observed their dead, unsure of how to proceed.

“So do we just….light them?” Baker asked. “It feels-” he swallowed harshly. “It feels wrong somehow. Like we’re missing something.” He turned his gaze from his dead brother and looked up to Nora as though she would have the missing answer. To her dismay, the others followed suit as though expecting an answer from her. No one had argued, but this was still her idea. Jolted by the heaviness of their expectant stares, she stumbled for a moment, fishing for an adequate response to the sad question in all their eyes.

“Sometimes,” heartache scraped raw in her throat and she had to clear it to go on stronger, “Sometimes people say a few parting words.” She made herself hold their gazes, feeling inadequate to the task at hand. “Or they gift the dead with something of significance between them. As a sort of symbol of farewell.”

That was all she had. Her words dried up and stuck in her chest. The stares continued momentarily before dropping back down to the dead. 

Silence shrouded them, heavy as the fog the absentee sun failed to disperse.

Then, Holly reached up slowly, pulling the wig from her head. With a gasping sigh, she folded the item carefully in Deirdres’ arms where she lay on the ground. As she straightened, the sight of her newly bald head and grief-strained features made her look entirely different from the saucy, carefree ghoul Nora had first met months ago. It reminded Nora of something she read in a book once about how people in olden times--well before even her original era--shaved their heads when in mourning. Baker placed his arm around Holly and Wiseman added a hand of support to her back. And at first, Nora couldn’t help but feel ostracized by the solidarity of those gestures, an island observer of the unifying effect grief had over her companions. But then Wiseman looked over and offered her his other hand. When she took it, he pulled her close. Once she was within reach Holly stretched her fingers from where they were tucked tightly in her arms to brush at Nora’s hand. She leaned into the touch and squeezed the ghoul’s hand. 

None seemed to have found any worthy parting words. Instead they bequeathed silence as their send-off to their dead. 

After allowing a respectful moment of quietude, Wiseman broke apart from the group to set the circles alight. Ghouls didn’t need much to burn. Before long they went up like tinder, flames curling around the limbs and faces of their friends, burning away any distinguishable features. It only took a few short minutes.

“Alright.” Wiseman said. “It’s time.”

Surely the smoke would be noticed. All of them knew they couldn’t linger.

The group packed what little caps and meager supplies was left to them and turned their backs to the farm. 

As Nora turned away, a sense of deja vu flipped dismally in her gut, reminding her of when she left her old home in Sanctuary once it no longer held anything that made it home. And as she walked away, side-by-side with the three ghouls, she wondered if she would feel compelled to look back as she hadn’t done before. A harsh wind stung her eyes into a blur, holding a chill Nora was sure wasn’t natural for the present day wasteland. She wrapped her arms around herself and forced her gaze on the road ahead. In this world, there was only one direction if you wanted to survive: forward. The dead were gone. She looked to where her remaining friends trudged beside her, their faces set with similar looks of grim determination. Broken and injured though they be, the living remained.

She didn’t look back. 

They made their way towards the city, their speed in sharp decline almost from the start. Holly and Baker managed to keep moving, though their tread was agonizingly slow compared to Nora, who’s urgent march halted every few minutes to allow her companions to catch up. Worry and weariness gave her steps a nervous energy. She wanted nothing more than to get everyone in safely for the night. 

She couldn’t lose anyone else.

To her dismay, it was Wiseman who slowed them down the most. She studied the steadily waning light of the overcast sky before checking her pip-boy map to recalculate her mental ETA, then sighed. 

Clean bandages had run out, the last of which Wiseman had insisted go to dressing Baker’s stump. Old rags took the place of the stubborn ghoul’s bandages and now he was paying the price. Nora winced as she removed the soiled rag to take stock of his predicament. The bleeding had mostly stopped, yet the leaking had increased. Puckered flesh oozed a thick yellow and green discharge soaking the rags with only sanguineous tinges. Not good, Nora knows. His wound was festering and the ghoul’s steps had begun to sway as the day wore on. 

“Drink this,” Nora pressed another bottle of water into his hands. “As much as you can.” She insisted, her tone almost harsh.

She wouldn’t lose anyone else.

He complied without a word. But as the day drew on he began to lag so badly Nora had to call a full stop. During her previous solo travels, she had made it to Goodneighbor by sundown with Fahrenheit’s help. But with three others and injuries to boot...

Their pace had suffered drastically. Though the sun hadn’t shown its face the entirety of the day, the darkening gloom told Nora nightfall was fast approaching and they hadn’t quite made it to the city outskirts. She looked at Wiseman as he doubled over on the ground, holding the last of the leaky rags to his seeping side. They would need somewhere to rest before nightfall.

“Just go on without me,” Wiseman pointlessly urged the others. “I’ll catch up.”

Ignoring him completely, Nora scanned her surroundings, certain she had passed a farm nearby last time around.

“Wait here,” she told the other two ghouls. “Watch him while I’m gone.”

Sure enough, she spotted the little homestead perched on a hill not far ahead. Hurrying back to the others she told them her discovery and pushed them to move forward once again.

Misreading their hesitancy at her revelation, Nora tried to encourage them. “It’s only a little further,” she said with more pep than she felt. “Just over this hill.”

She missed the glances Baker and Holly exchanged before moving to trail behind with Wiseman supported between them.

Nora approached the door to the homestead with a feeling of relief in her chest at the prospect of securing safe harbor for her suffering companions. She knocked. Soon after, a frazzled looking man with a scruffy beard answered the door. He focused on her with narrowed eyes, noting the shotgun strapped to her back.

“Hi. Um, I’m traveling through and needed a place to stop for the night. I don’t have many caps but--” as she spoke the man was looking her up and down, his gaze lingering on pertinent areas of her body before a rather ugly grin spread across his features.

“Aw, don’t worry about that. I’m sure we can think a’ somethin’ , darlin’.” He leered with a sickeningly honeyed tone.

Hiding her disgust at his obtuse depravity,  Nora tried to backtrack without losing the potential help. “Well, I mean. It’s just for a few hours until daybreak and then we’ll be on our--”

“-- We??” The man cut in again, emphasizing his displeasure. He squinted behind her as though looking for an angry husband to pop out of the brush and beat him shitless. For a moment, Nora wished Nate was there to do just that. She steadied herself with a breath, stepping aside so he could see her companions in the background. They hovered uncertainly several yards away, just beyond the property line.

“Yes, me and my--” Nora tried in vain to continue as she was cut off by the man once more.

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa !” The man put his hands up. “A little lady such as yerself is one thing.” He jerked a nod in the direction of the waiting ghouls. “But I can’t be taking in every stray... creature that passes by.” He laced his voice with derision.

This made the third time he had interrupted her and Nora had enough. Bigoted bastard.

“You want a place to stay for the night? That’s fine. But leave the freaks behind.”

Nora felt her anger boiling over as she spun on her heel, not bothering to waste any further words with the man as he slammed the door on her retreating form. She didn’t have time or energy to suffer fools. Her friends needed help and she had failed to secure it for them. Piercing guilt tempered her stormy stride back to the ghouls, who had moved further down the road in the hopes of sparing Nora the man’s wrath.

“You can go on and stay, Nora.” Wiseman told her, voice strained. He seemed to be having troubles focusing. “We’ll be fine. It’s not the first time we’ve dealt with this.”

“No.” She felt her mouth press into a tight, stubborn line. “We push on for Goodneighbor. Tonight.” Nora said the words with a confidence she didn’t feel. Night would be falling as they entered the city. She had wanted to avoid that altogether. But they were running out of time. Visibility would soon be fading by the minute and Wiseman needed better medical treatment than the road had to offer. At least she had the point-markers from Fahrenheit’s route still in her pip-boy to guide them safely to the gates. It was their only saving grace.  If we don’t stop, we can make it, she told herself.

Within five minutes of crossing the bridge into the city, Wiseman collapsed. 

Alarmed and out of time, Nora and the others surrounded him, desperately trying to get him to rouse. Other than his fast, shallow breaths, the ghoul remained unmoved. His skin felt overheated and his wound continued to soak through the rags. The smell was awful.

“We’re going to have to carry him.” Nora vaguely recalled how Preston had mentioned jerry-rigging a stretcher to drag her along when she passed out in Concord.

After some time of searching, they managed to fashion a makeshift gurney mostly consisting of a thin, worn mattress. Nora took hold of one end while the other two made a concerted effort to support the other, but with Baker having only one hand, it made the weight distribution awkward.

By the time they reached the gates of Goodneighbor, Nora felt on the verge of collapse as well.  

Daisy was an unexpectedly welcome face. Nora had almost forgotten she had made a friend in her short time in Goodneighbor, so distraught she had been while getting there.

While Daisy asked her questions, Nora remained acutely aware of two things. 

One, her comrades barely kept their feet, needing medical attention and rest ASAP. Especially Wiseman, who still lay unconscious on the mat now set on the ground.

Two, during the entire exchange with Daisy another ghoul approached, a slight yet undeniable swagger to his gait, draped in a get-up that was old world by even Nora’s standards. 

“We’re all that’s left,” she had just admitted to Daisy.

The words cut as she spoke them, bleeding her of what little strength she had left. She felt herself sway where she stood...until her gaze locked with the approaching ghoul’s. His eyes were the glassy onyx only some attained after turning. Nora didn’t know what caused the difference. Perhaps the look should have spooked her, unnatural as it was. But as she remained glued to those dark orbs, she felt something stir in her and found she couldn’t look away, the dark of his eyes so deep she’d swear her own reflection stared her down from within. It took her a moment to realize she had held her breath, stilling completely with mouth slightly open. 

She was practically gawking.

Embarrassed by how she must look, she shook herself hoping the moment was lost to the surrounding chaos. What was that all about? Exhaustion must be making her loopy. No other explanation served her frayed nerves and dented pride. She just needed to rest.

Nora told herself she imagined the answering twitch to the corner of his mouth, too subtle to be a smirk; too in time with her faux-paus to be anything else.

Really, though. What had gotten into her? Her priority right now was her friends. She was about to turn a dismissive shoulder to him when he spoke, pinning her in place once again.

“Seems you’re in need of some help, sister.” 

Despite his starkly ghoulish appearance, his rasp only teased at the edges, blending smoothly into the rich purr of his voice more so than any other ghoul she had heard before. If Nora had less pressing priorities or a care to spare for such things, it might have been intoxicating. But she didn’t and it wasn’t, Nora assured herself.

“My friends,” She managed, signaling the ghouls with her. “They need more help than I do.”

Nora thought she saw the ghoul's eyes widen almost imperceptibly at her words, though why she couldn't begin to guess. She found herself looking to the creases in the corners of his eyes to better read him when the blank darkness gave her nothing. Normally, she would question her own unwarranted interest in a complete stranger's idiosyncrasies; but she figured a measure of scrutiny suitable in this situation. Hardly as if she was conducting a character study. No, just a defense mechanism kicking in, she thought, silently praising her own caution. This was Goodneighbor. She was watching where she stepped, that's all.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” the ghoul lifted his palms skyward and gestured around himself to indicate the surrounding town. “Allow me to welcome you to Goodneighbor.” He gave her a quick up and down as though to confirm something. “Don’t believe we’ve met.” 

Suddenly, the thought of introductions made Nora impatiently tired, the demand of unattended needs winning out over her previous curiosity. She’s relieved when the ghoul seems to sense this, turning back to Daisy before she could form a reply that might sound just a bit too snippy to be healthy for her.

“Tell you what,” he tells Daisy, “why don’t you get them set up in the Rex? Have ‘em put it on me. And get Dr. Amari to take a look at their wounded.” He turned back to Nora. “Once you get some rest, why don’t you stop by in the morning for some proper introductions?”

His tone sounded sincere enough and she didn’t think she heard any lewd implications in his offer of a proper introduction. Daisy’s willingness to listen to him also vouched in his favor. Either way, she wasn’t a charity case.

“I can pay for the rooms,” she insisted. “As for medical care…” her voice trailed off and she looked at her companions. They needed tending now and she definitely couldn’t swing whatever that cost at the moment. “I can work it off.” Nora tried to balance the chagrin of admitting her inability to pay with an upward tilt of her chin and a direct gaze, so he’d know she was good for it. Whatever he saw in her pulled at the corner of his mouth, slanting into that half-smile again. She must have been more anxious than she thought because her stomach fluttered a little.

“We’ll work that out in the morning, sister. You get some rest.” He offered a tilt of his hat. “Until then.”

Nora nodded, turning to follow Daisy, but stopped short as the unnamed ghoul prepared to swagger his way into a nearby building.

“Wait--how will I know where to find you?” she asked, though something in the back of her mind told her she already knew the answer.

He turned back to her, a look of amused surprise on his face. 

“Well, that’s easy. I’ll be in the State House,” he smirked, pointing to the large building he was now entering, “answering to ‘mayor'.” Here he gave a little flourish of a bow before ducking in the door and disappearing from sight. 

Of course he is. Her cheeks burned at the memory of her earlier awkwardness.

Of course he’s the mayor.

Chapter Text

Nora woke in the morning slightly more rested than she anticipated. She had felt a little apprehensive going back to the hotel after what she had overheard during her last stay. But somehow the fact that she already knew the place helped counterbalance the feelings of displacement since leaving the farm. At least it wasn’t some ghoul-hating jerk’s crummy cabin floor. 

She wasted no time in checking up on her friends. The Slog’s sleeping quarters had been a communal setup, so any sensibilities about privacy among the group had long since dissolved. Hurrying from her bed and out into the hall, she quietly moved between rooms to assess they all made it through the night ok.  Holly and Baker still slept in their respective rooms. On a small stroke of luck, Nora was able to catch Dr. Amari in the hallway as she left from checking on Wiseman.

“How is he?” she asked, reluctant to be hopeful but desperate for some good news. 

“He’s still in great need of rest,” Amari said. “But he has responded well to the stimpaks and hydration I administered through the night. He should recover if things progress as they are. I’ll continue to keep a close eye on him throughout the day.”

Nora breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll find a way to repay you. Just please let me know if he wakes up or changes at all, ok?”

Dr. Amari gave her a reassuring smile and nodded her agreement. “However, if you wish to discuss compensation, you really should speak with the mayor. He’s been covering the expenses.”

As the doctor walked away, her words sparked something in Nora’s memory. She had almost forgotten her promise the previous night. The mayor...

Returning to her room, Nora glanced around for any reflective surfaces to size up the damage done by the last couple days. She hadn’t exactly had time to freshen up or attend to personal hygiene. And her hair must be a sight to behold if the snarls falling into her face were anything to go by. She brushed at them self-consciously with dirty fingers.

What did it matter anyways? It’s not like Nora had time, energy or reason to indulge her vanity.

Still, she cast about for anything that might serve as a reflective surface. Unable to find anything remotely useful, Nora gave up in favor of downing a meager breakfast of mutfruit while continuing her battle with the tangles. Afterwards, she spotted a small bucket of water on the dresser across from her bed. As she peered into it, she was disappointed to find the reflection too dull to offer her much insight on the success of her efforts to make herself presentable. Praying the water was at least somewhat clean, Nora rinsed her mouth and splashed water on her face. In light of the lack of soap or proper bathing supplies, it would have to do.

Stop being silly, she scolded herself, pushing down a jittery sensation in her stomach at the prospect of meeting the mayor again. He’s just another ghoul. A powerful one. But just a ghoul all the same.

Bucking up her courage, she picked up her stride until she stood before the State House door. Insecurity gnawed at her once more as she paused with her hand in the air. Did she knock? Was it rude to just walk in? He had invited her after all. Pushing her shoulders back in an effort to exude the confidence she lacked, Nora settled for a short rap on the wood frame as she abruptly entered through the creaky door. If someone was listening for a knock they’d hear it and if they weren’t she’d just sound noisy.

Head held high, she walked through the door as though she belonged there, almost faltering when she saw the suited guards at every post, each sporting large guns at the ready. All of whom now focused on her.

“I’m here to see the mayor,” she announced, making a conscious effort to keep her hands at her sides in a semblance of casualness. To her surprise, no argument or effort was made to bar her way. One of the ghouls simply grunted and gave a jerk in the direction of the spiral stairs before her. 

“‘Sup stairs,” he mumbled, never taking his eyes off her. 

Her nerves rattled uncooperatively and she had to fight to keep from fidgeting under their intense gazes. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the guns or simply the stares that followed her every move but Nora became very aware that her vault suit followed her curves uncomfortably close. Feigning an ease she didn’t feel, Nora made a show of disregarding the armed guards as she passed. 

When at last she reached the top of the steps, she was greeted by a voice who’s uniqueness alone had familiarized itself to Nora’s ears. It was almost alarming to know that she could already pick it out of a crowd blindfolded. 

“Hey there, sister. Been wondering when you would show.” 

The ghoul sat in a room with double doors wide open. Everything about him belied “top dog” authority, from the guards he dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand to the casual sprawl of his legs as he leaned back into his couch. Smoke puffed from his mouth as he spoke and escaped in curls from his nose hole. As Nora approached, he stood to greet her. “Mayor Hancock, at your service.” 

At least he’s somewhat of a gentleman, Nora mused, her skepticism of the notorious mayor making her more critical than usual.

“Nora--” she hesitates at giving her surname. For some reason, it feels antiquated. Full of meaning from another lifetime. Useless now. “Just Nora,” she decides.

“Well, ‘just Nora,” he grinned at her through the smoky haze as she entered, closing the doors behind her, “It’s a pleasure.” The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and that puts her on guard a bit. Those deep, glassy eyes. Did they hold the promised fathomless depths that drew her in last night? Or were they only empty black holes, devoid of any of the practiced emotions playing across his face? Free from the worst of her exhaustion and encouraged by his own open scrutiny of her, Nora lets herself study him closer.

He sported the same long frock coat in eye-catching blood red. The frills of his white shirt spilling out from underneath in a V-shape, exposing just enough of his chest to be… alluring? Nora nearly snorted at the stray-- and completely inappropriate-- thought. It made her wonder how many other women had fallen too far into that gaze. At least she had the dignity to catch herself. She supposed a woman of lesser constitution than herself would fall into his eyes, and then into his bed. Luckily his charms were lost on her. Nora was just… intrigued.

And was that a flag? She crinkled her brow, perplexed. Sure enough the red, white and blue circled low round his hips, swaying a little as he sauntered towards her. 

The ghoul cleared his throat pointedly and it struck Nora where her gaze had landed. 

“As much as I do enjoy discussing my…'hidden qualities’”, his smirk entered his voice, “I think we’re supposed to be discussing what yours may be.” 

Fire burned her cheeks again, undoubtedly consuming her whole face as her eyes snapped back up to his face. She might have turned away in embarrassment if not for the fact that he chuckled a bit and this time it did reach his eyes. Twin gleams of mirth flickered warmly at her from out of those depths. So. Not black holes then, Nora concluded with a decisiveness that swirled in her belly.  She wrote it off as more nerves. Reasons she couldn’t name made her feel strangely unbalanced, prompting her to aim at taking control of the conversation again.

“Yes. Right. About that work,” she said, lifting her chin to regard him directly again. She could do that and maintain her ground. Whatever emotional turmoil she had locked away, she wasn’t some hormonal teenager looking to be swept off her feet. Nora could go shoulder to shoulder with the best of them. Fathomless depths be damned. “What do you need done?” She hoped her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

“Well, sister, that’s a list neither you nor I have time to go through.” He barked another laugh, this time more sober and with less warmth. “But there is something I think you can help me with.” He motioned to a chair sitting cock-eyed to the couch he had vacated. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Hancock watched as Nora nervously took her seat, still surveying him with guarded eyes. 

She was a beautiful woman. Though it was clear whatever trials she had passed through to get here had left her beleaguered and travel-worn. Her eyes were a bit brighter after some rest and it struck Hancock that if this was a ghost of her usual self then she must be a knockout at her best. All of these things plus her intimate association with the Slog ghouls had his mind racing with questions he shouldn’t be distracting himself with. And as used to people gaping at him as he was Hancock found her little slip-ups rather endearing. Her cheeks still stained a flush of pink from his last little tease. 

Too easy, he thought. Too tempting, another voice warned. 

But whatever she saw during her rigorous appraisal of him, her eyes didn’t hold the horror or disgust that most others did when taking that long and hard of a look at him. 

No, she wouldn’t if she kept company with ghouls every day, now would she? Instead, her gaze seemed to reflect his own curiosity and--dare he hope--interest? Surely not. He cast the errant thought aside.

As cocky as he knew he came across, Hancock never deluded himself to think anyone wanted him for his body, much less his soul. But even with this knowledge, he had to struggle not to let his eyes and mind wander while they spoke. The woman could probably charm him out of his tricorn if she had a mind to and that was dangerous. For him and the town. 

What was it those pre-war ghouls would say sometimes? Something about not judging books by the outside appearance. Which was one of the few old-world idioms that actually made sense to him. Most books he’d read were terribly burned on the outside, often picked over by scavvers who assumed the value lost, passing over the treasures within altogether. As he returned his thoughts back to the woman before him, he wondered whether she would be a treasure, like those books. 

Or perhaps something less savory? He couldn’t be sure. She was an enigma to him. Most people’s intentions he could read as easily as the books he loved so much. Nora, however, was a bit of a paradox. Despite the meek body language she oh-so-obviously--and adorably--fought to hide, Hancock’s perceptive eye caught more. A deep burn smouldered inside her. He had already seen the embers spill into her eyes more than once since he met her. But he couldn’t let himself get pulled in by those bright emerald sparks no matter how pretty they would look up close and personal. Something told Hancock if he wasn’t careful, he’d be like a moth to the flame. Gone up in the smoke of that slow, slow smoulder.

Besides, he had to keep this professional. She came here to accept work from him. She owed him a debt and he needed her to make good on it. Even if he had been more than happy to oblige, he had business that needed dealt with... and she just might be the ticket.

Before he could speak, an uncharacteristic self-doubt halted the words from leaving his mouth. How much should he reveal? That inexplicable pull he felt towards the woman beckoned him to spill his guts. To tell her everything in exchange for the sweet release of a lighter, shared load. But Hancock shook it off. It was imperative that he stay in touch with reality during this meeting. Need to know only , he reprimanded himself. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable with a complete stranger right now. He had a feeling the whole town depended on him keeping his ground. If Hancock failed to defeat this unknown enemy of his, instinct told him more would be lost than merely the current mayor of Goodneighbor. And there were far worse things than death to Hancock. He’d fought tooth and nail to make this town what it was today. And he was damn proud of it too.

“Well you see, sister, it’s like I said before. Here in Goodneighbor everyone is welcome. The outcasts. The unwanted. The... freaks. ” Nora's cautious study of him continued as he spoke and he couldn’t help but wonder what it was she saw. “It might seem a little rough around the edges at first glance, but we got a good thing going here. A lot of people that wouldn’t have anywhere else to go, find their home here in my town. And that’s how I like it. That’s how I want to keep it. Everyone should get to live their life the way they choose, ya feel me?” 

He paused, wanting her to give him some sort of confirmation to what was normally a rhetorical question. Hancock needed to know she was with him on at least this much.

She stared for a few seconds of empty silence before jolting as though prodded by an electric baton. Realizing he was waiting for her response, she nodded encouragingly for him to go on.

Good. He can work with this.

“Lately, certain people haven’t been so agreeable on the idea. They’ve been causin’ me a bit of trouble, tryin’ to break up the order of things and disrupt our little family.”

Nora’s face abruptly blanks as she shifts away from him to flop back in her seat. 

“You want me to kill someone for you.” She intoned flatly, her eyes glazing over as she put the pieces together.

The gesture signaled such a complete withdrawal from her previous body language that Hancock had to stifle a wince at the unexpected severing of their connection. She might be his only hope at winning this thing and he was losing her. In his hour of need, opportunity had come knocking in the form of fiery green eyes and soft blue curves and he’d be damned if he let that pass him by. He needed to reel her back in. And fast. Feeling desperate, he tried to focus on the fact that he needed her to reach out again while doing his best to ignore all the unbidden reasons he found himself wanting her to.

“What I want is for you to do a little investigating for me.” A loaded pause as they both hold each other’s gaze in a sort of stand-off that says they both know what’s coming next. And then, on an exasperated exhale: “And, yeah, if the situation calls for it--”

“I’m not interested in being your little patsy.” She continued, arms now crossing. “I’ll find another way to pay you back, don’t you worry about that. But not by doing your dirty work.” And to his horror, she stands as though to make her exit, leaving him mentally scrambling to regain his lost footing. 

Damn it, it’s not supposed to be like this. Hancock is the one who keeps people on their toes not the other way around. Yet somehow she’d turned the tables on him. So be it. He’d change tactics. 

“I lost someone.” 

It comes out more broken than he intended. For all the desperation coloring his tone, he wasn’t actually playing her. On the contrary, she had forced his hand and caused him to drop his “cool, calm and collected” act he put on for everyone else. In a rare moment of candor, all bravo peeled away leaving him overexposed.

But maybe honesty would move her. She looked to have her own losses tucked away behind those tired eyes when he first saw her drag in through the Goodneighbor gates. Maybe if he could appeal to that link of mutuality that first tugged him to her…

“Someone close to me. Which makes it real damn personal. And I’d happily bugger the bastard myself but they’ll be waitin’ for that.”

She had stopped her movement towards the door but her back was still to him. If she would just turn around so he could see what was going on inside those eyes...see if he was getting through to her.

“It’s checkmate for me if I make a move like that right now. I need someone who can help from the outside. Someone they won’t suspect. Someone they won’t ever see coming.”

Finally , she faced him, though her expression remained tense and unreadable. The ghoul had to push down an overwhelming sense of frustration at the feeling he was battering himself against a brick wall.

“Something tells me you might just know a little about what I’m sayin’ right now.” He held her eyes, refusing to let go. Willing her to stay. “Why don’t you sit back down and tell me about it?”

And to his relief, she did. 

Whatever decision Nora made in that moment, transformed her. It had her open again, leaning in and speaking her story directly into his soul as she told him about the slaughter at the Slog. Pain of loss evident in her eyes and straining her voice. She held nothing back. Answered the questions he asked her. He learned about everything from her turning down the minutemen and leaving Sanctuary, to the travels that landed her at the Slog. 

They continued this way, back and forth, in give and take. Over time gravitating to one another while they spoke, until somehow they had ended up close enough that occasionally their knees would brush, sparking an electric current with every "accidental" touch. If someone had been watching from the outside, observing how they crowded into one another’s space, speaking in low murmurs and exchanging intense gazes, they might have thought them lovers, trading secrets and whispering sweet nothings.

It came as nothing short of a surprise when a knock sounded on the wooden doors, bringing reality flooding back to the two. And with it the realization that several hours had passed, daylight now fading from the room. The noise shocked them out of their trance like a splash of cold water. Simultaneously, they jumped back into their seats from where they had leaned into the other’s touch like teens caught out by a watchful chaperone.

And Hancock finds himself both relieved that he can’t blush and startled by the knowledge that he might if he could.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” one of the guards rasped, peeking around the edge of the door cautiously as though unsure of what he would find. When he saw both of them sitting primly in their respective seats, he relaxed, letting himself further into the room.

“Dr. Amari just stopped by looking for you,” the ghoul addressed Nora. “Said to let you know Wiseman’s awake.”

Nora nearly jumped out of her seat at the news. “Oh, thank God! Thank you for letting me know.” She turned back to Hancock, seeming to remember for the first time in hours why she had come to the State House to begin with.

“I should get going,” she said, a little sheepish. “I’ve been gone longer than I intended and I need to check up on my friends.”

Hancock nodded and ignored the stutter of disappointment that lurched in his chest. “I have matters to attend to as well.” He felt his expression turn grim. “I have a burial to plan.”

That caught her attention.

“The one you lost?” she inquired. 

“Yeah. Thing is there’s not a lot of options for a proper burial here in the middle of the city. Usually when some poor sod gets himself offed we just drag ‘em out far enough not to attract the super mutants. But…” his voice trailed off. Not her, he didn’t have to say.

A knowing look flashed in Nora’s eyes. Then she cocked her head and appeared pensive for a moment. “Let me go check in on my friends and grab something to eat. I can come back afterwards. I might be able to help.”

And without another word of explanation, she turned and left.

Nora’s pace grew swifter the closer she got to the Rex, excitement pushing her forward until she was almost running up the steps to their rooms. She dimly noted Holly and Baker’s rooms were open and empty. However, this was only a footnote as she passed them by to eagerly push into Wiseman’s room. 

His head snapped up in alarm at her entry. 

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to startle you.” she apologized. “It’s just when they told me you were awake I had to see for myself. We-- we thought, that maybe--” she choked on the words as she crossed the room and reached out to him. His hand reached up to meet hers half way and they sat in silence for a time, the unspoken clear in the clasp of their hands.

“I told myself I wouldn’t lose anyone else. Not on my watch. Not again.” She squeezed his hand as hot tears coursed down her cheeks involuntarily. It was inevitable that all of those compartmentalized emotions would eventually come knocking. 

Apparently, now was the time. “I’m so sorry. ” Nora began to cry in earnest and Wiseman looked up to her in alarm.

“For what, Nora?” the ghoul questioned, his confusion so genuine some of the guilt she had been carrying eased a bit. At least he didn’t seem to blame her the way she blamed herself.

“I tried. I tried so hard.” She hiccupped and sniffed through her words, the ghoul rubbing her hand soothingly all the while. “To keep us safe. But it didn’t work. The turrets…”

Trying his best to parse out the woman’s thought process, Wiseman’s confusion gave way to concern. 

“Nora. That wasn’t your fault.” He spoke the words firmly, almost as if scolding her. “If you hadn’t built those turrets and helped in the fields to allow for Hobbs and Baker to finish that fence...we’d all be dead. Every last one of us.”

Nora made an effort to swallow her sobs and look him in the eye but her vision still blurred too much with the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. He pulled at her hand to sandwich them between his own. 

“Listen to me. I want you to know, I kept track of things when we were sorting out the...bodies,” he said while dipping his head in an attempt to catch eye contact with her shame-averted gaze. “I counted at least three raiders that were put down by the turrets outside the gate.” He squeezed her hand even harder. “And the gates gave us time to prepare. On top of that, Baker told me what you and Arlen did to save me and the others. You saved us, Nora. And for that I will always be grateful to you. It was a glad day when you showed up on our doorstep. You’ve been a friend and more to us.” He finally managed to catch hold of her watery gaze. “You led us when I couldn’t.” Now he was the one to struggle to hold eye contact. “If anyone failed... it was me.” The stark self-deprecation in his words took immediate effect, dropping his eyes as if to study where their hands clasped together.

She placed her other hand on top of his, their roles reversed now. “I saw how you took on that armored raider. You were every bit the leader Jones, Baker and all the others believed you to be. Whenever they spoke about you, I could see it in their eyes. You inspired them.”

He said nothing in return, just swallowed and kept his gaze down.

“How are you feeling?” Nora mercifully changed the topic not wanting to press him too hard while still in his sick bed. They could compete with their feelings of shared inadequacy when he had more energy to spare for it.

“Like I took a kick in the chest from a brahmin,” he said with a strained chuckle, trying for some levity. “But I’ll be fine. I’m getting stronger thanks to the doctor.” He frowned. “But, Nora, I have to ask. How are we paying for all of this? This treatment...I must have wracked up quite the caps.” Uncertainty glimmered in his eyes as though he dreaded to hear her answer.

“I’ve got that taken care of.” Nora hoped he’d leave it at that but Wiseman wasn’t having it.

“ How , Nora?”

“I’ve just spoken with the mayor--” she tried to choose her words carefully. She knew he wouldn’t like the deal she had all but agreed to with the mayor and she definitely didn’t want him feeling responsible for something else if it all went sideways.

“Nora….” 

“It’s ok. He just has some things he needs help with ….and I’m going to help him.” Nora said overly casual.

He wasn’t fooled.

“ No. Nora, don’t get mixed up with whatever he has going on. We’ll find another way, I’ll do it myself!” He made as though to stand, grunted painfully, then collapsed with a sigh back to his bed. “I will,” he insisted, “once I catch my breath.” 

Trying not to further wound his injured pride, Nora didn’t argue with him.

“I’m sure you will. Just don’t worry about that right now. Focus on getting better. I can take care of myself. Really.”

Avoiding the worry that pinched his brow at her weak assurances, she stood to make her exit before he could push the matter further. Satisfied that he was on the mend, Nora told him that she would check in later before she disappeared back out in the hallway, closing the door behind her.

A king’s burial, she had called it.

Hancock steeled himself against what he knew the day would bring. He had put this off for too long. 

Last night after their initial departure, Nora had come striding back into his office with a confidence she could only grasp at just hours before. He had noted the change and hardly had time to ask the why of it before she had pronounced her willingness to help him-- starting with the funeral.

And there it was again, the embers in her eyes. He hadn’t known fire could burn so softly. She had told him her idea with all the gentleness of a trusted companion and all the strength of a seasoned leader. She’s done this before, he thought. Stepped up where others would have bailed out. 

Nothing warranted the careful way she spoke to him as she went through the details of what he would need to do. They didn’t have the history to back up the tender sympathy glistening in her eyes when she told him what would happen after. It took Hancock a moment of trying to guess at what her game was before he realized, with a hint of shame, that she wasn’t playing one. Hardened as he was by his instincts of survival to be suspicious of anything given freely, Hancock allowed himself to accept that this was just… Nora.  

He’d followed her instructions. Or rather, ordered his men to do so. They fashioned a rough but sturdy enough box of the right size and proportions to lay Fahr in. Daisy had contributed to the cause by applying some rare, powdered root from her stock. 

“To help the smell,” she’d said quietly. 

He’d taken her aside and had that conversation finally. And true to form, the old ghoul hadn’t prolonged it or chastised him any further, for which he could only be thankful. He felt too on edge with the mornings task to handle any beratement, however just it may have been.

Next, his men had built a large, wooden platform of sorts. Each corner protruding far enough to act as handles to support the burden they would be carrying. They were just finishing up while Hancock took a hit of jet followed up by a deep pull from a cigarette.

“Are you ready?” softly, from behind him. 

And he muses to himself how strange it is that they both seemed to know he was waiting for her. No arrangements had been made to meet, no confirmation given that she even intended to be a part of it. She just... came. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known she would.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he returned, perhaps too honestly. She seemed to have that effect on him. Dangerous , a voice he ignored whispered in the back of his mind.

Four of his men had loaded Fahr in the box and placed it on the gurney-raft, hefting the handles up onto their shoulders for support. By his order, all his men had pounded as much of the dirt out of their suits as they could manage and he had done the same with his own garments. Straightening his spine, he took his place at the head of the small group and led the way out of the city. 

It felt strange to be leaving this way. Too long he had sat in the security of his tower, behind closed gates. Hancock made a mental note to change that after he settled things in Goodneighbor. No one in power should be comfortable for long. He knew too well where that would lead.

And Hancock was anything but comfortable. Someone was making sure of that--the procession behind him was evidence enough. What was it Fahr always used to say? Sometimes in chess you have to sacrifice a piece to keep the game going. 

Yeah, something like that. She liked those kinds of things. Talking about something while meaning something else. What were those called again? Platitudes? Idioms? Something else?

Hancocks mind worked itself into a near frenzy of thought to distract himself as he marched steadily towards the river. Nora stood ready to one side, shotgun out to cover any who would dare disturb them. Kleo and Daisy, having closed shop for the day, brought up the rear to provide cover from behind. And, much to Hancock’s surprise, Kent Connelly had run up to them just before they passed through the gates, insisting he wanted to be a part of the “honor guard,” his eyes gleaming with all the innocent sincerity of a puppy. 

“At first, I thought she was real scary,” he admitted in that wide-eyed, open way of his, “but then she’d bring me back things from her travels sometimes. Just little things, you know? Like Shroud comics and magazines she knew I collected. And then she wasn’t so scary no more. Unless she wanted to be.” He grinned. Then dropped the smile to sport a more serious expression while whipping a salute to his mayor. And Hancock hadn’t the heart to turn down his hopeful enthusiasm. 

“Could use an extra gun, I suppose…” Hancock had muttered noncommittally. And Kent had dutifully snapped to attention, back straighter than the mayor had ever seen the ghoul before, marching with the rhythm of a soldier. 

Kent’s words rung through his mind. He hadn’t known about Fahr bringing him memorabilia. Often she would snort at his antics and the way he seemed determined to stay stuck in the past. Obviously she had softened towards him a bit, though why and how he would never know now. The thought stuck in the back of his throat. Whatever had changed between them, Kent had felt strongly enough to want to be a part of her “honor guard.” 

Hancock wrinkled his brow as he approached the riverside, “An ‘honor guard’...” he mused under his breath, trying to recall where he heard that term before and what it meant.

He hardly even noticed Nora’s subtle glance at his words.

Pre-war, he knew. Something to do with fallen soldiers. A whole ceremony to recognize the service for which they had given up their lives. For their country.

For their leader. Hancocks vision blurs a bit and he blinks to clear the sight before him. The boys are setting her down by the river to prepare for the next part. 

And suddenly Hancock remembers something from those old books about how they honored those soldiers in death. A shiver ran through him despite the warm day as his hands drifted down to his makeshift belt. Clumsy, withered fingers pick at the knot there but his hands shook and his vision blurred again. In a fit of sad-sick fury, he begins to spastically yank at the stubborn cloth. But the knot seems intent to foil all his efforts and that familiar, crippling helplessness starts to creep back in from the darkest edges of his mind--AND WHY WAS HIS VISION SO BLURRY?

Soft hands capture his frantic ones with gentle pressure. And though he can’t see them, he knows who they belong to. Vaguely, he’s aware Nora has knelt at his feet in the middle of the muddy bank, eye-level to his belt. Patiently, she begins working the knot, seeming to have tapped into his wavelength. He stilled himself, hands out to the side in a show of cooperative resignation, while she pulled and tugged. He supposed it should have been awkward. Tearing up, on the verge of a break down in front of everyone, with a gorgeous woman on her knees before him to undo his belt of all things. But Hancock was too numb to anything other than his pent-up grief to give a flying fuck about what he should be feeling. And besides that, his men dutifully carried out their orders without looking up to stare. If they did notice the scene before them, they dared no comment. 

Instead, they busied themselves unpacking the crate of supplies brought along to complete his--or rather Nora’s -- directives. Lengths of cord were tied round heavy stones which were then tied round the body’s booted ankles. To be sure she doesn’t...return to shore, Nora had explained to him the night before, while averting her gaze as though ashamed to speak of his dead in that way. 

The ghouls had exposed just enough of Fahr’s lower half to complete the task, then doused her body and the rest of the wooden cover in oil before replacing the lid. As if on cue, Nora’s efforts were rewarded as she pulled Hancock’s belt free of his hips.

She met his gaze as she rose to her feet, the soft knowing he found there steadying him as he accepted the end of the garment she offered. 

Together, they approached the makeshift coffin, the weathered flag now spread out between them. Reverently, she draped and smoothed the material over the rough wood. Hancock mimed her movements on his end, hands barely even shaking as he pressed the ratty old fabric down as best he could. The solidarity in her calm support anchored him, like a ship tossed in a stormy sea.

When they finished, both stepped back wordlessly. At a nod from Hancock, the four suited ghouls shoved the raft to the waterline-- and out, wading as far as they dared to float her into the gentle current.

Returning to shore, they removed the last items in the supply crate. One-by-one, each ghoul readied a molotov and lighter.

Abruptly, Kent snapped into a salute, holding the pose and shouting,  “READY!”

The others glanced in mild surprise first at Kent, and then to Hancock with inquisitive glances. Hancock gave a little shrug and jerk of his head to indicate his permission to follow suit.

They lined up.

“AIM!”

They lit up with a snick, snick, snick, snick.

“FIRE!!”

Four molotovs sailed through the air, cracking a flare of fire that spread to bathe the entire raft, the effect properly momentous. 

So caught up was he in watching the building flames, Hancock almost didn’t see Nora approach him, arms extended. She held out the last molotov in one hand, a lighter in the other. 

Taking the items from her, he lit the final bottle then threw with all his might. It landed with another shattering explosion, adding to the flames that licked ravenously at the wooden box atop the raft. 

A king’s burial…

No, a soldier’s.

He watched as the last of the red, white and blue cloth curled up in the flames-- and away into ash.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been watching the slow current carry her further and further downriver. Long enough that all but Nora had paid their respects and left. 

“I lost my husband not all that long ago.” The sudden break in silence caught him off guard. “He was murdered right in front of me and I couldn’t do anything about it. Just.. .watched .” He looked at her, eyes lost in remembered pain. “I felt so helpless.”

Her confession resounded within him, so parallel to his own unspoken ones, that Hancock couldn’t help but imagine yet another string of fate threading itself through their shared histories, binding them together.

After a beat of silence, it occurred to Hancock that Nora might be drawing the wrong conclusion. “I’m sorry.” Hancock managed to rasp out. “It’s never easy losing someone you care about. She wasn’t my wife,” he indicated the steadily waning glow of the raft, “but she was a helluva friend. My right hand. And whoever did this to her,” he continued thickly, “they did it to get to me . And when I find out who that is, they’re gonna wish they’d never crossed me.”

He stewed on that for a moment. “Hell, I don’t even know if it was anyone in Goodneighbor. She left to run an errand up north of the city just before...” He toed the dirt, digging in his boot as he spoke. “Never made it back to town. Her body was delivered to me just a few days ago.”

Nora seemed to consider this for a time. “What was her name?” she asked, her voice still a respectful hush. 

Rather than answer her directly, Hancock decided to indulge his impulse to confide in Nora, just for the sake of the moment. This type of story was his favorite to tell. Not even the bright, gaudy tales of his grand acts of subterfuge and deposition could hold a candle to ones like these. The kind that glowed from the nostalgia of intimate details rarely shared.

“She wouldn’t ever tell anyone her real name. Tends to come with the territory in a town made up of people leaving behind a past they want forgotten.” A wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Heh, but she earned herself a nickname fast enough, between her fiery temper and bright orange hair. Some misguided fool tried to nickname her 'Firecracker', but that ended with the poor sod picking his teeth outta the gutter.” Hancock gave a short chuckle at the memory. 

“But she settled for the name I gave her.” 

He turned to face the woman beside him, finding her full attention trained on him. “She could burn you up at a moment’s notice and freeze you out the next. Not even I was spared when she decided to call me out on my shit. Only one who got by with it, too.”

“One day, she got so pissed at me that she stormed out of my own office and didn’t speak to me for almost an entire week.” He paused for effect. “Which was quite a feat given she faithfully reported to every daily meeting, all the while addressing her reports to the wall. ” Hancock shook his head in a rueful sort of mirth.

“Don’t even remember the what’s or the why’s of it now. But when she finally did speak to me again, I teased her that she wasn’t just the fire, she was the whole damn climate scale. ”  He flashed that half-smile again, the one that reached his eyes too warmly to be a smirk. 

“So I called her Fahrenheit. And it just...stuck.”

And hell was he not prepared for the reaction he got from that simple little revelation.

“ Fahrenheit?” Nora repeated, her eyes wide as saucers. Her hand shot out and gripped his arm, fingers digging in almost painfully. “Wait-- when did you say she left town?”

When Hancock answered her he was even less prepared for her next words. The woman’s eyes turned glassy and distant for a moment and he could almost see the wheels turning as she worked something out that he couldn’t begin to guess at. She had only just arrived in town last night. What could she possibly know of his former partner that he hadn’t? Fahr was dead long before Nora arrived in Goodneighbor.

“Hancock,” she said with deadly urgency. “She didn’t die on her trip up north.” 

He blinked.

“She made it back to Goodneighbor. With me. ”

No...that’s not possible. Was it?

But Nora wasn’t finished delivering jaw-dropping prophecies. Her gaze returned to his with a laser focus and that fire in her eyes no longer smouldered. It blazed.

“And I think I know who killed her.”

Chapter Text

About 2 weeks ago

Fahrenheit stumbled out of the back door of the gallery with nothing short of frenzied relief. PIckman’s little art studio had been something straight out of her worst nightmares, from the hellish paintings to the morbidly unnatural positions of the bodies scattered about the gallery. Fahr wasn’t weak of stomach, hardened as she was to the cruelty of the wasteland. But this was a whole new level of sick. Putting down the bastard with a bullet to the brain was a mercy he didn’t deserve. Even if most of his victims had been raiders. 

She had found the scouts Hancock had sent in. Whether it was an unhappy accident that their gruff appearance landed them in Pickman’s ‘raider’ category by mistake or whether he was simply running out of ‘paint’ and had to lower his standards she didn’t really care to know. She had barely escaped becoming his next macabre masterpiece. The redhead was covered in grime and body fluids from head to toe. 

Too close, she thought as she felt goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. Pickman managed to be a bit more clever than she had anticipated when first assessing his paintings and determining he was a mad man. As her gaze had traveled over the horrific pieces stuck to the walls all she could think was, Not how I wanna go. Yet somehow he got the jump on her, determined to make the red head his next muse. Lucky for her, he also had a big ego. A quick tongue and some flattery got him talking long enough that she was able to take advantage of his distraction and gain the upper hand.

Fahrenheit had lived her life with the constant threat of a knife in the back or a bullet in the head. But violent as those deaths were they were quick and uncomplicated. Sever an artery, you bleed out. Put a whole in your brain-- dead.  

The twisted expressions of pained horror frozen on the dissected corpses inside that gallery...well, it would haunt her darkest dreams for a long time to come. If she lived that long.

The thought put a frown on the woman’s face as she kicked at some rubble in her path. Too many close calls in one week. She felt as though an axe hung over her head and it was only a matter of time before it came crashing down. Between the many problems plaguing Goodneighbor and the weird shit like this going on all around them, she had a strong feeling her number would be up soon. Premonitions like that never left you feeling peachy, but it wasn’t just for herself that she was worried. 

For all his many qualities, Hancock had just as many vices. He relied on her heavily to run the town and if something happened to her...Well, he’d just be lucky if he could remember the combo to the safe in his own office without her there to remind him for the thousandth time.

At the very least, this threat was neutralized. One less thing to worry about.. The threat had been a big fat question mark and hovered far too close, not just to Goodneighbor, but also to another important location of interest. 

And it was towards this location Fahrenheit headed now. Goodneighbor could wait just a little longer. While she was here, she wanted to check on something.

She eyed the tall steeple pointing into the sky, intentionally passing it casually by before doubling back a couple blocks later to circle through the back entrance. 

Just in case.

Present day

Hancock paced his office with a feral sort of energy. Something in the lilt of his stride reminded Nora of the almost-bored impatience of a caged tiger at the zoo, watching it’s observers through thick glass, the latent promise of violence reflected in calculating eyes and rushed steps. Waiting for the moment to pounce. The effect filled the room with a similar, expectant tension while morphing the moderately spacious office into what now felt like a small, constraining box.

One, two, three, four-- turn-- one, two three, four-- turn-- stop and sigh--one, two three, four-- turn…

After Nora’s revelations, Hancock had all but dragged her back to his office, grilling her for details on which she couldn’t elaborate that held a significance to him she couldn’t grasp. The feeling that she was being intentionally left in the dark began to fuel her own brewing impatience. 

“Tell me again.”

Nora hissed a sigh between clenched teeth. “I already told you, Hancock.” She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her tone as she reiterated, “I overheard some men talking as I was leaving the Hotel Rexford. I didn’t see any faces and only caught snippets of the conversation.” She paused, considering her next words. “I didn’t have much to go on as far as context, but it sounded like they were ordering a hit on someone. A woman. Someone they described as ‘snooping around’ and asking too many questions.” 

Hancock gave an amused snort that cut off with a wry twist to his mouth. “ Sounds like Fahr.” He brought a hand up to readjust his tricorn, a gesture Nora was beginning to read as a nervous habit. “But we just don’t know. Not for sure.”

Nora was starting to feel bad about her previous announcement. So sure was she about the connection, she may have spoken prematurely. She hadn’t seen any faces after all. In addition, the afternoon heat was pouring through the office windows, turning the room into an oven. And both of them were getting hungry bordering on hangry.

“You don’t have any ideas who it could have been?” She asked timidly.

“Oh, I have ideas . And trust me, in Goodneighbor we’re all about handling things for ourselves. But not without a bit more proof. ” He sounded frustrated, growling out the last word. “I can’t just go busting in, shooting up my own town all on the word of an outsider. No offense--

“None taken.”

“--who didn’t see any faces and isn’t even sure what she heard.”

Nora felt her face drop, both disappointed and a bit guilty that her lead hadn’t panned out quite the way she had hoped. The mayor seemed to notice. He stopped his pacing and looked at her with a bit more softness. It prompted her to try again.

“I might...I might be able to recognize the voice, if I heard it again. What else do we have to go off of? Like I said, when Fahrenheit and I parted ways she didn’t tell me where she was going. But she told me she had ‘business’ to take care of before heading in that direction. It definitely could have been her they were referring to,” she pointed out for what must have been the fifth time in the last hour.

“But that’s just it!” Hancock blustered. “Just as it starts to make sense it just doesn’t add up!” He threw a hand in the air in frustrated emphasis. “Why would she go chargin’ into a confrontation without saying anything? She always reported back to me first thing. Always. ” 

“Always?” Nora posited, a suggestive hint to her tone. Hancock fixed her with a blank look usually reserved for parents discovering for the very first time that their little angel was capable of rebellion . “I don’t know. It’s not like I knew her like you did. And I’m not calling her motives into question,” she added quickly as the ghoul’s body language took on a protective defensiveness, “but from what you’ve told me and from the little I picked up about her for myself, she seemed pretty...head strong.” Nora tried for a casual shrug to soften the edge of the point she was making. She could see him struggle to neutralize his expression as he ran through the various implications that came with the possibility that Fahr had been hiding things from him . 

“Maybe she thought she was protecting you,” she offered, another surge of guilt shooting through her as she noted the increased distress tightening the corners of his eyes and pulling at the set of his shoulders.

A heavy silence filled the room as he continued to consider her words. Nora shifted in her seat, her awareness of the heat uncomfortably heightened, making her feel itchy. Something about the chafing of her physical discomfort mirrored in the uncomfortable quiet of the room. The oppressive weight of the atmosphere had her vacillating between irritability and a sudden desire to apologize, though for what she wasn’t sure. Before she could decide what she wanted to say, Hancock broke the silence first.

“Your pip boy.” He said the words like they were the long-sought answer to a burning question. It was so unexpected, Nora felt confusion twist her features and cock her head, unsure of how to respond . Was it a statement? Or a question?

She found her answer in the predatory look he locked onto the device strapped to her arm, the heat of which sent a shiver down her spine. More like a demand , she thought suppressing the shudder even as she tried to ignore its effect on her. Fear? Or something else?  

That one she left decidedly unanswered.

He practically pounced in her direction. The burn of his hungry focus stuttering his movements while a practiced restraint kicked in enough to pull him sharply back from his forward momentum. The effort seemed to take everything he had as he smoothed his expression and visibly forced the taught spring of his muscles into a show of feigned relaxation. The transition far too sudden to put her much at ease. Everything about it felt predatory, with Nora being the helpless, quivering prey. It made her head spin and alarm bells chime even as his charming facade injected her with a false sense of calm that immobilized her from acting on her instincts. For a moment, she felt herself caught like a bug in a web, weighing the risk of further entanglement if she fought versus the risk of unseen threats if she surrendered. 

The metaphor flashes Nora back to a lesson from her past life. Specifically, a story about a spider and a fly that her mother used to tell her to warn her off from the allure of “bad boy syndrome”, as she used to call it. Technically it was a story with an overall broader warning but her mother had utilized it to try to scare Nora away from the temptation of dashing rebels with honeyed words and roguish charms. “Trouble, they’re nothing but trouble. Boys who become men who become trouble with a capital T,” she’d say. 

Boys who become men who become mayors, her mind supplied unhelpfully. 

“You said you marked the path that Fahr led you here on,” anticipation roughed his voice, drawing his rasp out from his usual velvet tones. She swallowed at a sudden dryness in her throat. 

“Yeah,” was all she could manage. 

“Can I take a look?” The forced calm of his tone did nothing to cool the searing gaze he pinned her with.

She nodded wordlessly before tapping a few buttons to pull up her map. Then she offered her arm to him somewhat awkwardly so he could see the screen, feeling more than a bit fly-like as he advanced on her hungrily. 

He reached for her and, thinking the ghoul meant to grab at the pipboy for a clearer view, she angled her arm even more to accommodate. To her surprise, he bypassed the device altogether in favor of grasping the underside of her arm, supporting her from having to hold the awkward angle. Even through the sleeve of her shirt she could feel his warmth and the scratch of his radiation-hardened skin. Nora felt her breath catch and her pulse quicken, eyes widening a little at the unexpected gesture. 

Trouble with a capital T, she reminded herself. But as she chanced a glance at his face, now mere inches from hers, his guard had dropped again as he studied the map with concentrated interest, still cupping her forearm with a gentle firmness. A swooping sensation, like a missed step, flashed through Nora’s lower stomach. 

Oh, he was going to be trouble alright. 

But what kind of trouble remained to be seen. As she continued to watch him study the map, Nora sensed a touch of vulnerability hiding behind that mask of confidence and a careful tenderness in the touch on her arm. It made her wonder if maybe, despite the reputation of him and his town, he was more than what he first appeared. More than once, his trials and losses spoke to her own struggles since waking up in this world. And trials had a way of transforming a person. They made you stronger. Harder. What you did with that strength-- that inner mettle-- determined if you came out an ugly burnt thing or something that transcended the pressures of those trials. Something with hidden value hiding under all the dust and ash. The irony of his burnt flesh wasn’t lost on her, and although much of his reputation pointed in the direction of a hardened criminal, it was moments like this that had Nora unable to let go of the feeling that there was something more to him underneath the obvious. Something precious that the harshness of the world both created and covered up. 

Like a diamond in the rough, she mused silently to herself.

Suddenly, Hancock pulled away and Nora snapped her gaze back down to the pip boy on her arm, hoping she wasn’t caught staring again. But her worries seemed for naught as the ghoul strode purposefully across the room to a safe hidden in the floor under his desk. He fiddled with the lock for longer than Nora thought necessary for someone getting into their own safe, intermittently cursing under his breath all the while. Then, he thumped on the outside of the metal door in a theatrical display of frustration before collapsing on the ground with a sad air of defeat. Just as abruptly, he jerked back in motion as though struck by a revelation from above, attacking the dial once more. Shortly after a heavy click popped the door ajar and with a triumphant noise, the ghoul yanked it open. Curious, Nora leaned forward to better see what he had so desperately pursued. 

From within he retrieved a carefully rolled length of paper. Hurrying his prize back to the table in the center of the room, he discarded the various glasses and paraphernalia to the ground with an unceremonious sweep of his arm. Nora watched bemused as he rolled out the paper-- a map, she realized-- and began to study it. 

“Now where did she say….Ah! There. ” A finger thumped to a spot Nora couldn’t quite make out from where she sat. “Lemme see that map of yours again.” He said waving her over without taking his eyes off the paper before him. As she moved to join him at the table she showed him her arm once again and tried to make out where he had been looking on the map. Pulling her arm down level with the table, his eyes darted back and forth from table map to pip boy, back and forth as though making some crucial distinguishment. The paper map on the table contained many of the same prominent features contained in the notes on her pip boy, but also included many others she didn’t recognize. One of which stood out from the rest, marked with a small white ‘x’ intersected by multiple other lines at different angles. When she looked at the corresponding spot on her pip boy, only blank green space glowed back at her. The only notable exception being the first point marker of her travels with Fahrenheit. She had met the fiery redhead by a large building which Nora later input as ‘Pickman’s Gallery’. If the Hancocks' map was of similar scale to her own, it was right next to the missing point of interest that so captivated the ghoul's interest.

She had passed by the area several times now. Nora scrunched her brow in thought. What was the missing point on her map? Surely not anything of significance. If she remembered correctly, there were just some broken down buildings and an abandoned church. The old-fashioned kind with a steeple and everything...

“What is it?” Nora asked nodding towards the mystery location his finger still marked. Hancock looked up as though only just remembering she was present. 

“Oh, uh...just wanted to be sure of the path you took to get here. Make sure there wasn’t more to it.” He avoided her gaze. 

She let the obvious lie hang for a minute. “And?” she pressed.

When he didn’t immediately answer, Nora sighed and crossed her arms. “You can’t do that you know.”

“Do what?” He was a surprisingly bad liar for a person holding political office.

“That.” Nora retorted, letting her irritation seep into her tone. “Use me, ask for my help and then think you can just leave me in the dark.” She fixed him with a glare she hoped communicated she was not to be trifled with. 

After a brief moment, Hancock sighed and gave in. “Alright. But if I trust you with this, there’s no going back, you understand?” A deadly finality clipped his words, making his tone colder than any time he had addressed her previously. No honey or faux charm there.

Nora held his gaze as she answered, “Yeah, I do.”

“Why don’t we grab a drink?” He asked unexpectedly, then leaned into her, filling her senses with a heady combination of whiskey, tobacco and…. grapes ? She didn’t have long to ponder the finer nuances of his lingering scent before he rasped quietly, “The walls have ears.” And without a further explanation to that cryptic statement, readjusted his tricorn before leading her out of the State House. 

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Fahr, but what the hell are you doing here?” Dez asked leaning forward on the center round table, bracing herself with both arms. She appeared to be studying something, a frown pinching the space between her brows in a look of tired resignation.

“I was in the neighborhood,” she responded brusquely. “Taking care of some bloody business.” 

“I can see that,” the other woman returned, her gaze doing a double take at the excess of gore decorating her guest’s leathers.

Fahr pulled out a cigarette and accepted the light the Railroad’s leader offered her before leaning against a nearby pillar. “Thought I would check in.”

Dez turned her scrutiny to the woman across from her, seeming a bit more tense than usual. Not that these meetings were common between them. Fahr was the one who helped coordinate the whole Memory Den operation. But beyond that, the less communication meant the less likely to be discovered. She understood the need for the smokescreen but found the amount of indirect action and waiting around the Railroad’s operations required to be far too tedious for her style. It left her restless and made her trigger finger twitchy. If Fahrenheit ever tried her hand at Dez's typical life in a day, she was sure she’d crawl right out of her own skin. No, she was far better suited to her position in Goodneighbor. 

“How are things in Goodneighbor?” Desdemona asked. And if Fahr didn’t know better, she sensed more to the question than obligatory small talk. Maybe even... an accusation? The way the other woman avoided her gaze and the tightness in her voice that left a cold note in the air only confirmed the suspicion. But as to why, Fahr couldn’t guess.

She drilled her gaze into the other woman, trying to tease out any other hints from her body language. It was a technique Fahr enjoyed using on people. Staring at them to the point of discomfort until the awkwardness made them give something away. But after a moment, the other woman seemed to catch on and steeled her posture, crossing her arms and forcing an equally hardened gaze up to meet hers head on.

Odd, Fahrenheit thinks to herself, a bit taken aback by the unexpected tinge of hostility now hanging in the air. She eased off a bit on the guise of turning her head to blow out a lungful of smoke. She hadn’t come here to make new enemies. And if something here was broken, she needed to fix it. Goodneighbor and the Railroad had been secret allies for some time now. They couldn’t afford to lose each other now. But how do you fix something when you don’t know what’s broken?

Pressuring the woman had only turned her on the defensive. Which meant she felt cornered. Which meant she viewed her as a potential threat. Apparently, Goodneighbor’s problems were more far-reaching than Fahr had imagined. She needed to break through to the woman and find out just what was going on. Despite a majority of Dez’s work consisting of slow subterfuge and sleight of hand, Fahr knew she also appreciated directness when the situation called for it. She just hoped she didn’t push her over whatever edge the woman seemed to be teetering on.

“What gives, Dez?” 

The woman shot her a shifty side glance. Then, after some consideration, blew out an exhale and relaxed her body stance in a way that signaled ‘no more BS.’ Fahrenheit felt her own posture relax as relief washed through her. Success.

“We seem to have….a leak in Goodneighbor,” Dez said bitterly. 

After a beat, in which the woman offered no further details, Fahr had to bite off a snarky retort. Not that she didn’t believe her or had failed to catch her drift.  But she needed details if she was going to get anything done about it and she didn’t have time for vague implications. Still, when you spend your days speaking in code or not at all she doubted Dez could help herself. 

“What kind of leak?” she asked instead, the patience in her tone too exaggerated to be mistaken as genuine.

“Well, that’s just it. We’re not sure.” The woman sighed and lit up another cigarette, snapping the lighter a little harder than necessary. “You know how things work. Minimal communication between cells to avoid risk of exposure. Amari’s solid, I don’t doubt that. But…”

“But what?”

“I heard there’s a ghoul there. One of my sources says he practically lives---”

“--It’s not Kent,” Fahr broke in abruptly. “So that’s ruled out.” The finality in her voice brooked no argument and she felt the stubborn jut of her jaw set firmly in place. Now it was the other woman’s turn to bite back some words, her lips thinning into a grim line giving away her thoughts. 

“Just trust me. He’s not your leak.” Fahr bore her gaze into the other woman's unamused expression, unmoving. 

When they seemed to be at an impasse, both women equally stubborn and unwilling to give ground, Fahr decided it was time to leave. But she didn’t want it to be on a completely sour note. She leaned forward and ashed her cigarette on the table’s ceramic tray before pushing out of her lean to sling her gun back over her shoulder. 

“He’s not your guy. But I promise I’ll look into it.” She turned to make her exit, then pivoted back on one foot to face the other redhead one more time. “Tell me something, when did you first notice your leak?”

“It’s hard to pinpoint since by the time we started noticing things it had likely been going on for a while...but, I’d say sometime in the last few months.” 

“And had you been stashing any ‘packages’ anywhere different from the usual location around that time?” Fahr pushed, “Any changes in the way you normally do things?”

Dez looked shifty again and responded with some hesitance, “Well... because we were already having issues with compromised intel, we did have to divert some ‘packages’ here and there. So yeah...a couple times. Our hand was forced.”

Fahr had already pivoted the rest of the way to turn the full force of her heated gaze on the other woman. Rather significant detail there, Dez, dontcha’ think? 

“ Where?”

Dez gave a wave of her hand appearing to aim for casual but her voice held a bit of acid as she responded, “Where else in Goodneighbor?” 

Fahr’s temper finally flared, her tolerance for the woman’s reticence run dry. In the back of her mind, she knew the entire railroad survived by playing their cards close to their chest. And even that hadn’t stopped the disaster that was Ticonderoga or the loss of the first HQ. But Fahr was an ally trying to help and the woman was withholding vital pieces from her as though she were the enemy. 

And Fahrenheit wasn’t exactly known for her patience.

“GOD DAMN IT, DEZ! For once in your life just say it straight !”

To her credit the woman didn’t flinch at the outburst. Instead, her expression soured as she over-enunciated her answer as though addressing a volatile child.

“ The Rexford.”

As they entered the converted subway station, Nora’s first observation was the pair of familiar faces that sat crowded together in a far corner of the bar. Holly and Baker appeared to be drowning their sorrows in mutual commiseration, the closeness between them a little too intimate to be considered just friendly. Nora quickly looked away, feeling like an intruder somehow. Not my business. Now she knew why she hadn’t seen them much in the past couple days. At least they had each other. Let them grieve whatever way they saw fit.

Her second observation was that the Third Rail bustled with more ears and activities than the State House ever did and when Hancock pulled her into the side “VIP” room she said as much.

“Ah yeah,” he admitted distractedly as he pulled at a curtain to further obstruct access to the little cove, “but at least we have the noise on the other side covering it up. No would-be eavesdroppers here.” He threw her a lazy smirk over his shoulder and added, “Charlie will make sure no one gets too close while we’re back here.”

“Right.” She said as he finally settled enough to lean into his seat on the couch, drink in hand. He gestured for her to sit as well, resuming his careless trademark sprawl as he settled into a comfortable familiarity with his surroundings. The way he held himself, all casual and cocky again, belied his previous tension.

For some reason, the renewed swagger in his stance sent Nora a rush of nerves, even more so as she observed the intimate touches to the small space, quiet by comparison to the rest of the Rail despite not being fully closed off. An absurd, fleeting deja vu flashed through her as she felt like a high school girl again, sneaking off with a boy only to turn shy once the rush of escape wore off. She had always been the “good girl” growing up but that hadn’t stopped her from the occasional impulsive escapade, most of which ended with her bailing once the weight of expectations brought her high to a crashing halt. 

But she wasn’t a girl anymore. And this situation wasn’t like that, she reminded herself . She swallowed her nerves and took a seat, waiting for the ghoul to start explaining himself.

He didn’t wait around. Leaning forward he poured a couple fingers of whisky into a mostly clean tumbler before offering it to her with a formal tilt of his head. She accepted it with a little nod of her own, sipping the harsh beverage and trying her best not to make a face or choke. She had never been one for the hard stuff. It required adapting a taste that she just never felt the need to acquire. In her previous life of suburban homes, white picket fences and her role as wife and mother, she just didn’t see the point in such things. She preferred the sweet-tart flavor of the tarberry wine from the Slog. The memory caught in her heart like razor wire and she had to push down a sudden lump in her throat before leveling her gaze back to the ghoul across from her. 

“Alright. Spill.” 

And he did. For the next couple hours, Hancock launched into a longer and more exciting monologue than Nora had been expecting. She learned more about the Institute than she had anywhere else thus far as well as it’s opposition, which she hadn’t previously known existed. 

The Railroad, he called it. 

The name seemed fitting as he described its purpose and she vaguely wondered if those that employed the title knew the history behind it. Well, if a ghoul mayor could dress up as one of the founding fathers and assume his name, she supposed it wasn’t much of a stretch that the significance behind the title of the covert operation wasn’t lost on them.

“And there’s a... cell operating here? At the ‘Memory Den’?” Nora asked contemplatively. She had never ventured that far into Goodneighbor during her previous visit. 

He gave a nod.

“And that spot on the map…?” Nora asked as she leaned into his space on the couch.

"Headquarters," he supplied, confirming what she had guessed. "So to speak."

Somehow, she had gravitated towards the ghoul during their discussions on the very valid pretense that they would be able to talk in lower tones and reduce the risk of being overheard. She couldn’t help but feel drawn in by the conspiratorial secrecy and rare acts of altruism powering the whole cause. 

Through the night, Nora lost count of the times Hancock had topped off her whisky, that devilish half-smile she was beginning to grow fond of pulling at the corner of his mouth. But she could feel the heat of the liquor staining her cheeks a ruddy pink and her vision was a bit blurred around the edges. Unaccustomed to the amount of alcohol in her system, Nora couldn’t help but revel in the glow it pulsed through her that was only heightened by the excitement of their clandestine conversation.

Reel it in, a voice in the back of her mind chided her. Tone it down! 

But she found it harder and harder to contain her enthusiasm. The buzz of the liquor loosened her up and on top of that she was getting a buzz of another kind as she watched Hancock respond to her enthusiasm for the railroad with an unreserved warmth that she realized he had previously withheld. The way he opened up to her as he answered her questions was so different now in comparison to the mechanical charm he initially greeted her with. The kind she imagined he used to get people doing what he wanted while still holding them at arm's length. No, this warmth was more. It reflected in his eyes with something resembling affection.

Or maybe that was just the whisky talking, Nora told herself, trying to inject some reality back into the situation. The whole thing just felt so surreal.

Everything about the notorious mayor seemed to be coming together, rearranging the pieces of the morbid abstract picture painted to her by strangers into the genuine soul she saw before her now. The rough exterior casing a heart of gold. What other man with his sad, dark history came out on the other side a damn near tragic hero? 

And he wasn’t simply tooting his own horn. Daisy had confirmed the story he had told her about his past, adding even more favorable details that he had glossed over. And now she finds out he’s additionally supporting an undercover operation to free synths held against their will by the ultimate big baddie of the Commonwealth? Sticking his neck on the line for the very thing that could blow up in his face? The ghoul really was a gem. And the whisky burning through her wasn’t helping her contain the warmth that bloomed in her chest. Alcohol had that effect on her. 

So many different ways the whole thing could go sideways. Not a popular decision among the people if they were to find out. Even among ghouls, synths were regarded with suspicion at best and a threat at worst. And not without reason, to be honest. According to what Hancock had just told her, even the kindest most autonomous synth was one recall code away from terminator mode. And it struck Nora how sad that was both for the synths and those trying to help them. What a strange thing to have to worry about. Complete autonomy one minute, mind wipe and reprogramming the next. 

Something occurred to Nora.

“The Memory Den.” 

Hancock had gone silent, giving her time to digest everything and losing himself in his own thoughts for a time. He brought his distant gaze down to meet hers, drawing himself back out of his own head to focus his attention on her.

“Hm?” 

“And the Rexford.” She added, trying her best to keep the slur out of her words.

Rather than re-voicing his question, the ghoul simply cocked his head at her adorably.

Adorably? Pull yourself together Nora! Focus! This is important. The drunker she got, the more conversations Nora tended to have with herself. Stop looking at him like that. You probably have googly eyes. It’s just the alcohol talking and he’ll get the wrong idea. 

“We should check out both of those places. For clues.” She gestured with her hands a little too energetically, unbalancing herself in her seat and nearly knocking her drink over. She righted herself sheepishly before going on, “You know, about Fahrenheit. She probably went to at least one of those places when she came back, right? Why haven’t we gone there yet?” She asked, an impulsive liquor-fueled impatience welling up in her. She felt a pout forming on her lips even as she tried to fight the childish gesture.

“Well once I realized the HQ was right by the gallery Fahr was investigating, I was gonna do just that.” He said puffing off of a bright candy-red inhaler that Nora had a feeling wasn’t for medicating a lung condition. His eyes glazed a little as he relaxed into the couch a bit heavier. “But somebody insisted we come here for drinks first,” he added, a tease glinting in his foggy expression.

Wait, that’s not right. He was the one who insisted on coming here for drinks! She just wanted to know what the hell he was hiding from her.

“True. Figured we could both use a drink while I filled you in on the hairy details. Makes a heavy talk a bit more pleasant if there’s alcohol involved,” he answered her thoughts. 

Nora hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud. Shit. What else slipped out that she hadn’t meant to say? Well this was the first time he had answered her so maybe she was safe. Cursing herself for being such a terrible lightweight, Nora snapped her attention back to Hancock who she realized was talking again.

“...bit late for detective work tonight,” he was telling her. 

She felt her face drop and his answering crooked smile at seeing her investment for the cause both warmed and pulled at her. “But I’ll tell you what. You come over to my place first thing tomorrow when your pretty little eyes pop open and we’ll go together. You and me.” His tone was placating. She might have found it patronizing if not for the affectionate way he glowed at her as he said it. Was it just the drugs he consumed making him look at her like that from under hooded eyes? Or maybe….she swayed sideways, leaning against him, unsure of her own motive but suddenly feeling irresistibly drawn in, seeking some sort of contact no matter how indirect. 

His reaction was immediate. His hand shot out to-- gently but firmly--  steady her away and back into an upright position, perhaps misreading her slump as unintentional. She could hardly blame him given how poorly she was covering her state of inebriation. But as he continued his forward movement to lean across the table and pour her a glass of water, a sting of embarrassment colored her cheeks as she realized he might not have misread her intentions after all.

“ You , sister,” he said, sitting back in his seat again to hand her the glass, “need to switch to some of this, I think.” The ghoul spoke the words without judgement. No sting in his words. Almost kindly.

Which only compounded her sudden shame. If she was pink before, she must be flaming red now as she accepted the glass with averted eyes. What had she been getting at? It’s not as though she tried to kiss him, at least. But still. She had made a fool of herself, invading his personal space without permission or encouragement. And here he had remained the perfect gentleman. 

Her embarrassment threatened to overwhelm her and she almost couldn’t swallow down the water past the lump forming in her throat. She dipped her head into her glass further than necessary in an effort to hide her face, hoping he wouldn’t see the ridiculous sting of tears trying to fill her eyes. It was definitely time to end the night. 

Unable to trust herself to form words, Nora tried to communicate her apology through meek compliance as she dutifully downed the glass to the last drop. The heat in the air suddenly felt stifling. Relief flooded her as he stood to lead them out of the room, across the main quarters-- now mostly empty except for the sad, drunk straggler here and there-- and up the stairs into the fresh night air. 

He escorted her in silence all the way to her room at the Rexford. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes the entire journey back. Just as they approached her door, the one across from hers swung open and Wiseman appeared in the doorway.

“Nora! I--” he stopped short when he saw the mayor beside her, steadying her elbow as she stumbled a bit in surprise at the unexpected interruption. 

Nora watched as Wiseman took careful note of the sway in her step as she caught herself on the doorway, and then very pointedly focused on Hancock’s hand balancing her other arm. 

He said nothing but silently regarded Hancock who silently regarded him right back.

In what seemed to be a record breaking feat, the awkwardness of the last few minutes increased tenfold, filling the air with a tension she could choke on. This went on for what felt like an eternity before Nora decided to make her escape.

“Uh, goodnight. A-and-- thanks. For walking me back.” Nora stuttered out, gaze on the ground all the while, barely getting the last words out before pushing through her door and closing it as quickly as her whisky-slowed hands would allow. She leaned her back on the door in relief. 

Until, after far too long, she realized she hadn’t heard any movement on the other side. Hancock’s footsteps hadn’t moved away and Wiseman’s door hadn’t closed. Surely, she would have heard it. But the strange silence stretched on, making Nora unaccountably nervous. Just as she was wondering if she should open the door and make sure they hadn’t both dropped dead where they stood, a susurrus of coattails followed the tell tale thunking of booted feet down the hallway. It wasn’t until a few seconds after those footsteps fully faded that Nora heard the slow creak of Wiseman’s door as it clicked shut.

Releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Nora threw herself on the bed wishing to erase the humiliation of the evening. 

Whatever that was about. Nora knew Hancock wouldn’t have tried anything with or without an over-protective witness. He had already proven his honor to her in the gentle way he’d redirected her at the bar. 

Just before Nora passed out, her last whisky soaked thought echoed through the corners of her mind.

A gem and a gentleman. 

Fahrenheit had stomped off from the Old North Church’s back entrance in a flare of temper and fouling mood. Neither improved when she heard the sound of people as she approached the main road again. Scowling and cursing silently to herself, she curled behind a crumbling wall to take stock of the unwelcome company. 

She blinked in confusion and squinted at the sight before her, sweat stinging her eyes as she darted her gaze around to ensure she hadn’t missed anyone. Not “people”, then. Just one person making enough noise for three.

Upon closer observation the reason became clear. Blue suit, lost expression, oblivious to her surroundings. 

Vaultie. Easy prey for literally anything in the wasteland with two brain cells to rub together.

Fahr rolled her eyes and stepped from behind her cover, making a show of leveling her big, shiny minigun at the unsuspecting woman. She assumed her most threatening stance and held the pose. Too easy. The thought almost put a smirk on her face. Almost.

She knew she must be a sight with blood and gore still clinging to her leathers. A twisted anticipation filled her as she waited to be noticed, readying herself. The woman traipsed around the bend in the road, straight by where Fahrenheit stood in all her wild glory---

Wait for it….

---and obliviously marched right past her without even blinking, a determined look pulling her features into a dramatic frown. 

Fahrenheit would have felt disappointed if she wasn’t so irritated. Dense little vaultie, aren't ya? She thinks to herself. To Fahrenheit’s knowledge, no vaults were close enough to warrant this woman’s current survival rate. How did she make it this far without ending up in a ditch? She mentally shrugged to herself. Oh well, leave it to a blue suit to make you do all the work.

Clearing her throat, she bit out the warning in her most threatening tone.

“Stop.”

As the woman complied with all her commands, Fahr continued to size her up. At least she had an appropriate look of chagrin on her face to indicate she was aware of how stupid she had been. That’s more than the redhead had been expecting. 

Definitely fell straight out of a vault not too long ago. Her skin was too smooth, free from scars or the radiation-leathered texture of any true wastelander. Auburn hair, creamy complexion, emerald eyes. All soft curves and doe eyes.

Ugh...just Hancock’s type. At least he wasn’t here to try to drag her back to Goodneighbor and adopt her. Sometimes, he was just too soft. Fahr prided herself on balancing that shit right out.

So when the woman told her she was going to Goodneighbor, Fahrenheit just about choked. The irony of her bad luck left a sour taste in her mouth which she attempted to spit out onto the ground. Just fucking figures.  

She debated what to do. Fahr wasn’t cruel. Not really. Sure she couldn’t resist the chance to toy with her prey a little. But even then, she never intended to hurt the woman.  But you could never be too careful with strangers these days. 

And hell, Hancock would flay her alive if he knew she turned away someone vulnerable and in need of help. The ghoul had a soft spot for these types and Fahrenheit made it her job to personally field out the schmucks who tried to take advantage of that. She feared it would be his downfall one day. 

Not so long as I’m alive...

Briefly entertaining the fantasy of leaving the vaultie to her own devices, which surely would end in her violent demise, Fahr sighed and begrudgingly offered to escort her back to town. Then, promptly turned and beat a path down the road, not waiting to see if the woman followed. 

Maybe she could sneak the vaultie in unnoticed and she’d leave before Hancock got a chance to drool all over her. The vendor stalls would be closed by the time they got there so Daisy’s watchful eyes wouldn’t catch them out. She loved Daisy. The way the old ghoul was capable of clucking over Fahr like a god-damn mother hen one minute and dishing out shrewd backtalk to some fool trying to swindle her the next was truly amazing. But she was a gossip. If she saw Fahrenheit show up with a blue suit, the whole town would be sure to know within the hour. And Hancock didn’t have time for distractions or favors or whatever the hell might pop into the vaultie’s mind if the opportunity presented itself. It’s not that Fahr thought the ghoul was a bad mayor but he often needed...guidance. Hancock had a tendency to get caught up in his vices, and a cute little number sporting tight blue curves was just sure to become one of them.

Once they reached Goodneighbor, Fahr was so caught up in her mission she had all but forgotten the woman at her side. After offering her a brief tour of the town and warning her off from approaching the mayor, she promptly turned and stalked toward the Memory Den, obligatory babysitting done and over with.

As she entered, Kent nearly bumped into her on his way out of his little cove. “Oh, sorry, Fahrenheit. Back from your travels? How’d it go? Find anything for me?” The questions tumbled out of him with an enthusiasm the redhead didn’t have the energy to handle.

“Not now, Kent,” she said a bit more gruffly than she meant and tried not to feel the sting of guilt that pierced her at the crestfallen expression on his face when she pushed brusquely past him. She recalled the near-pristine comic she’d snagged a while back still tucked carefully in her pack and told herself she’d make it up to him later.

Maybe I’m the one going soft, Fahrenheit thought wryly to herself.

Dr. Amari bent over a microscope in her lab coat, not bothering to shift her gaze before announcing in a low monotone, “We are closed.”

“Is that so?” Fahr grated irritably. 

The woman looked up from her microscope with mild surprise, unperturbed by the acid in her tone. Dr. Amari had known her-- and worked with her-- long enough to understand that Fahrenheit’s abrasiveness, sharpened even more so by her heightened levels of stress, was nothing to take personally. Many times Fahr had found the doctor to be one of the rare few who could handle her attitude, letting it roll off her without ruffling a single feather out of place. Some rare days when she had a spare moment, she found herself slipping into the doctor’s office on some pretense, because knowing she could talk to someone without them getting their panties in a twist over how she said it had a soothing effect on her that smoothed those edges down a bit. 

“What can I do for you, Fahrenheit?” the woman asked in her uniquely rich voice.

Fahrenheit flopped onto a nearby couch and ran her hand down her face in exhaustion. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

The older woman across from her smiled, arching a shapely brow in her direction as she asked, “Am I to be your therapist now?” amusement coloring her honeyed tones.

“I just paid a visit to our mutual friend.” 

The doctor’s expression immediately sobered. She quickly moved from her chair to close the doors leading to her lab before turning back to the redhead sprawled on her couch.

“And?”

“She said you’d been having problems. A leak?”

Amari nodded. “For some time now.”

“Any ideas? I told her I’d look into it.” At Amari’s suddenly severe expression, Fahrenheit quickly added, “I’m being careful. I can be discreet, too, you know.”

At that, the doctor’s face softened, an affectionate quirk to her mouth as she purred, “Fahrenheit, you have about as much subtlety as a brahmin in a china shop.”

And that pulled a chuckle out of the grumpy redhead. She liked that the woman had that effect on her. It always caught Fahrenheit a little off guard how easily she could slip past her defenses and disarm her in just a few words. ‘Chuckling’ wasn’t an activity she engaged in often, yet in the company of this raven-haired wonder she had managed to coax it out of her in just seconds flat. Even while having a less than light-hearted conversation. 

“I’ll be careful,” she assured the woman again, serious once more.

Dark eyes narrowed in on her and an uncharacteristic concern pinched the doctor’s brow as she fixed Fahrenheit with a look she couldn’t decipher. 

“I hope so.” For a moment, she appeared as though she wanted to say more, then stopped herself before starting again. “As for ideas, I doubt I could shed much light there. We had to divert a few packages from our usual routes but that always carries a risk. The leak could have happened anywhere along the way. Maybe even outside of Goodneighbor.”

“Hmph,” Fahrenheit let out a disgruntled huff. “That muddies the waters a bit, doesn’t it?”

Dr. Amari’s gave her an apologetic smile, “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

Fahr stilled for a moment, basking in companionable silence with the other woman. Then, moment over, she jumped from her seat and shook herself off. Back to work, then. And boy did she have her work cut out for her if this went beyond the gates of Goodneighbor. She wasn’t sure whether to feel frustrated or relieved at the prospect. But she still had one more stop to make before she put it to rest. One she had planned on making anyways. 

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks anyways, doc.” Halting in her tracks she added, "Oh, and do me a favor?” The dark haired woman tilted her head in expectant inquiry, waiting for her to continue. “Don’t tell anyone you saw me here. Not even Hancock. Just trust me ok?” And with that she left the lab, oblivious to the worried dark eyes that followed her all the way out.

Hours later, in the dead of night, Fahrenheit stumbled through the doors to the Den once more, fumbling a bit in the dark. She cast a glance behind her for what must be the thousandth time before ducking into the entryway. As she rounded the hall, Irma was nowhere to be found. Absent from her lounge, she had most likely retired for the evening. But a single warm light glowed from a side room to her right.

Kent.

On a desperate whim of inspiration, she yanked her pack off her back and searched for the comic she had set aside for him. Casting about for something to write with, she swiped a pen from off a nearby desk. 

Paper. 

Finding none insight, she tore a corner off one of the posters decorating the wall mentally apologizing to Irma as she flipped the piece over to it’s blank side. In hurried scrawl she penned one word just as a sharp click sounded behind her back in the direction of the front door. 

Frozen, she strained to hear anything resembling the scuff of footsteps on carpet. Had she been followed? That same dark premonition that had been haunting her for the last couple weeks now bubbled up in her chest, more insistent than ever. It took all of her training to push the feeling down and avoid panic.

After what felt like an eternity of deafening silence, she let out a breath and slipped the torn paper note in between the pages of the comic book. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Just in case.

Glancing towards the dark entry hall once more, she darted into the light of Kent’s room.

“It was the last time I saw her.” Dr. Amari added with a grim set to her features, “Alive, anyways.” She had just finished telling Hancock and Nora about her final meeting with Fahrenheit.

All the while, Hancock leaned against a pod-lounger in what he hoped appeared casual. The last time he had come to the Memory Den had been under less than savory circumstances. Being the only credible physician in town, it had fallen to Dr. Amari to perform Fahrenheit’s autopsy, which he knew she would complete with care and dignity. He wouldn’t have trusted anyone else with her.

He remembered back, nearly a week ago now, as she had sat him down and told him the results with all the stoic professionality befitting her title. The only exception being when her voice cracked uncharacteristically as she summarized her cause of death. The brief slip up had quickly been rectified, so fast Hancock had barely registered the transition. 

“The wounds on her wrists and ankles indicate that she was bound for some time before her death. Hours, perhaps a day at most depending on how tight the bindings were. It’s hard to say.” She had stopped as though waiting for his permission to continue. He could only give a silent nod. 

The doctor had gone on to say that Fahrenheit had been beaten and tortured for some time before succumbing to her injuries. Either from slowly bleeding out or her heart had stopped-- something about shock and pain. The words had started to blur in his mind, filling him with an intense rage and helplessness that would fuel his drug-induced spiral of the following days. Her injuries were so vicious, so numerous and yet so carefully placed so as not to kill her too quickly. It made him sick to think of it. 

A professional had done this. Not a crime of passion or self-defense. The bastards had kept her alive, perhaps hoping to get information out of her. Though that had struck him as a little odd at the time. What information could they hope to get about him? If they wanted him they knew where to find him, he rarely ever left Goodneighbor. It was more a matter of timing and manpower that would take him out. Not some secret held by his right hand. But now, with the possibility that the Railroad played a role in this, it occurred to Hancock Fahr's killers may have been digging for intel on Railroad operations. It was possible not all of this had been about him.

Most of it maybe, he reminded himself, but not all.

The only small mercy had been that the doctor assured him there were no signs of any ‘intimate’ sorts of abuse. He was thankful she hadn’t made him ask, or left him to wonder. He wasn’t sure how to pose the question and was in no shape mentally to try without risking the last shred of self-control holding him together. She had supplied that one small gift without making him request it. And he had been grateful.

Now as he looked across the room at the woman, he could only feel frustration threatening to become real, unadulterated anger . Hancock didn’t get angry often. Irritable, sure. But anger was reserved for when he meant business. Angry Hancock was the side of the mayor that kept his town in line. 

Well, used to anyways.

It hadn’t taken much pressure for Dr. Amari to fess up about her last meeting with Fahrenheit. Information she had previously withheld from him, claiming his right hand had requested her to do so. A statement he immediately pounced on. One he wanted to hotly deny with all the fury building deep in his gut.

Lucky for the good doctor, Nora hadn’t bailed on her offer the night previous to accompany him on this little investigation. He had been afraid she would after the awkward way their night had ended. The thought that she might take his actions as rejection and feel too ashamed to face him again ate at him all the night long. He had tossed and turned wondering if he should have said or done something to explain his meaning better. But he had been too flustered in the moment to find the right words without the risk of further offense. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, honey. But you’re drunk off your ass and I’m not into rape.

No one would accuse him of having a shining record as far as morals go, but Nora was three sheets to the wind. Totally incapable of consent to anything when she had leaned into his side with that look in her eye that was too far gone to know what it wanted .  

And he felt partly responsible. Perhaps he had been a bit too eager to keep her glass topped off. He couldn’t help but enjoy seeing her let loose for the first time since he had met her. She deserved a good time. The tension and pain that always held her features a touch from relaxed melting away into girlish giggles and bubbly chatter. And the endearing way she kept giving him those looks of admiration and wonder as he talked... It gave him a high that was too good to be the stale puffs of jet he had taken, or even the whisky that barely touched his ghoulish metabolism-- another thing that may have added to his miscalculation. He’d forgotten just how slow a human’s metabolism was in comparison to his, especially one who didn’t spend the majority of their nights imbibing some form of alcohol on the regular.

And aside from all of that, she was still getting paid to do a job for him. Though he felt strangely close to the woman despite their mere three day’s acquaintance, he wondered if he wasn’t grasping for something that wasn’t there in the hopes of filling the hole left by Fahr. 

Besides, as far as Nora was concerned in regards to him….Well, Hancock knew alcohol could have that effect on women. Make them all pliant and affectionate when normally they’d be disinterested at best, maybe even repulsed at the idea of being with him by morning. The only time he had sex with someone as high as him was if he’d gotten consent beforehand, when they were still sober and both had agreed that chems and alcohol would be a part of the night. Hell, that was the main reason most of them came to him, looking for highs of all kinds. Though not all had the stomach to include ghoul on the menu. And that was fine by him. 

But Nora was different. He knew better and wasn’t about to dirty himself by taking advantage of her like that, no matter what the hell that farm ghoul thought of him. Remembering the hall confrontation started to make him feel pissy again and he felt a scowl fall over his features. He hoped it didn’t leave Nora with the impression that he would have tried something if not for her watchful guardian. Hell, she was further gone than he had realized when he walked her to her door that night. Who knows what she remembered. Or how she remembered it. 

Yet here she was. At his side once again. Sensing his turmoil and stepping in like his own personal guardian angel.

“Is there a reason you didn’t come forward after you knew that Fahrenheit was dead?” Nora  asked the question that threatened to bust the dam holding back all the volatile things boiling within him. She asked the question so he wouldn’t have to. Somehow, he knew she knew. As though intrinsically bonded through some shared link.

The doctor seemed to sense this as well. And although she didn’t comment on it, made a point of directing her answer straight to Hancock, as though he had been the one to voice the question.

“Tell me, have you ever heard the old expression, ‘the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing’?” She didn’t wait for a response before continuing in explanation, “In business, it has a negative connotation, used to describe inefficiency produced by lack of communication. But in our business, it’s the only thing keeping us alive. One person is all it takes. One slip up. One careless word. One pair of eavesdropping ears. Cells operate cohesively but independent of one another. This is our method of survival so that when the right hand is cut off, the left still has a chance at success, rather than withering and dying in the same stroke.” 

Hancock blinked at the last part and Dr. Amari’s eyes widened slightly in alarm before rushing on to say, “Oh, I didn’t mean--”

“I got your meaning, calm down.” he snapped irritably. 

He sighed and pushed off the lounger. Dead end. Again.

Even if he hadn’t liked it, or the way it had unfolded, the story seemed to line up well enough with Nora’s. He now had a second source, one from within Goodneighbor, that confirmed her claim that Fahrenheit had indeed returned to Goodneighbor before her death. Unbeknownst to the mayor. That’s the bit that just chafed at him. He hadn’t really doubted Nora’s story. But it made something that felt unbelievable just a little more real. Something that hurt. Why hadn’t Fahr felt she could come to him? Maybe she’d still be alive if only...No. He’d been down that road plenty enough. That line of thinking was what kept him circling in the tailspin that nearly undid him.

 Oh well, back to the drawing board. Hancock turned towards the exit, lingering in the entryway as Nora smoothed things over a bit more with the doctor, thanking her for her time before moving to rejoin him where he waited for her. Just before she reached him, Kent Connelly flew around the corner, nearly ploughing right into Hancock.

“Oh, hi there Mister Mayor! Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be here! I don’t often see you around these parts.” He blustered in his usual way. In a flash, he brightened. “Hold on a minute, I have something for you!” And at that Hancock feels an uncharitable bit of regret that he hadn’t slipped through the door before he got caught up in whatever Kent was about to draw him into. He liked the old ghoul, but he just wasn’t in the mood for his loud, never-ending chatter about old world things Hancock just didn't understand.

He had to suppress a groan as, true to form, Kent reappeared all smiles and excitement as he presented him with a comic book. “The Marvelous Misadventures of the Mistress of Mysteries!” He said the title grandly before rushing on, “A special edition, rare even by pre-war standards!” Excitement sparkled his dark eyes and he looked about to continue his prattle before Hancock cut him off.

“That’s nice, Kent. You enjoy that. But I really do have to go--” Hancock began turning away before the over enthusiastic ghoul could say anything further. Or worse-- give him those disappointed puppy dog eyes.

“Fahrenheit wanted me to give it to you!”

Hancock turned sharply on his heel, nearly bowling Nora over in the process.

“What did you say?”

“I haven’t even read it!” he went on irrelevantly. “She asked me not to for some reason. Said it was for your eyes first- just for you. She really emphasized that. But she said I could read it after.” A hopeful glint lit up his eyes again at the prospect and Hancock could only guess at the level of self-control it had required for the obsessed ghoul to leave the comic be all this time. “She wanted you to have it if anything happened to her. It was awfully nice of her to leave you such a nice gift, but--” A confused look marred his features, “geez, Mister Mayor. I never thought you were a fan. I’ve got loads more where this came from if you want. But none as rare as this one.” He admitted with a lustful look at the cover. He offered him the comic again with a strain in his movement, as though it were painful for him to relinquish the treasure. 

Hancock took the comic with some hesitation, wondering what the hell Fahrenheit had been thinking. Flicking through the pages, he skimmed hungry eyes over the images in search of some sort of hidden message. Nothing stood out to him. 

Defeated, he was about to hand it back to Kent when a flutter of movement caught the corner of his eye. Simultaneously, Nora stepped back to indicate something on the ground by her feet.

“Oh, I think you dropped something,” she said in mild interest. 

Hancock looked to the ground where the flutter of movement had come to rest. A jagged piece of brightly colored paper shone back up at him. He bent to pick it up, studying it briefly and thinking it looked familiar somehow. When nothing rang any bells he handed the glossy paper over to Kent apologetically.

“Sorry, I must have torn a page,” he said before moving to turn back to the entrance.

“No…” Kent said, holding it up to the light to get a better look. “Hey! I know what this is! It’s the missing piece of the poster.” The ghoul appeared gleeful of his discovery. Apparently this was big news to him and he turned to shout, “Hey Irma! I found the torn piece of that poster! That’s odd I could have sworn….”

But whatever else he might have said was lost on Hancock because as Kent held the paper up to examine it, the back of the piece was exposed to Hancock’s line of sight. And that’s when he saw it shining out at him. Something scrawled in a hand he knew too well. He’d seen it so many times on finance reports Fahrenheit had forced him to review every goddamned month.

Snatching the paper back from a bewildered Kent, he flipped it around to read the single word penned in her hand. Her last message to him.

He read it over and over again. And when the implication of that word sank in, his heart rate spiked, blood roared in his ears and he’d swear he saw red. That dam inside him-- the one holding back all the brewing anger and violence within-- shattered into a million little pieces.

Chapter Text

Preston Garvey sat on the edge of the Red Rocket’s rooftop just to the side of the giant statue lending the building it’s namesake. He lifted his face to the slight breeze, letting it dry the day’s sweat from his skin. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as he surveyed the fruits of their labors. 

After Nora had refused his offer and left town, Preston wasted no time once the sting of disappointment wore off. Initially, he felt deflated in the belief that his opportunity to stabilize the Commonwealth had slipped away into the sunrise-- right along with the redhead. But now, months later, his ragtag group had cleaned up Sanctuary’s rough edges. Together, they created a halfway decent living space out of a couple of the worn down buildings which had been no more than shells of a past life just weeks before. They had bunks, living areas, mostly intact pieces of furniture and even a modest amount of power rigged up for some light in the evening.

In addition to that, Sturges had rigged a radio beacon so they could call out to other wanderers who were looking for shelter and willing to work hard for their keep. Granted it had on occasion brought them some unwelcome guests as well, mostly it had the desired effect. Several more members had trickled in over time and now they were big enough to set their sights on expansion. It wasn’t much, but some of the smaller territories, such as Tenpines Bluff, had--albeit reluctantly--come into the fold. Though they started out skeptical as to what the benefits of such a partnership would be, it seemed worthwhile to have your neighbor’s back what with the increase in raiders and super mutants roaming about. Even as small as their numbers yet remained, refusing the help of a group such as the Minutemen would have been foolish for a simple two-person single-crop farm. And so they had convinced several similar territories to join their cause. Little by little, they continued to grow. And now those small farms flourished. At least in comparison to the droll monotony of their previous existence. Single crop farms became multi-crop farms as Preston extended supplies and manual labor with minimal asked in return.

“It’ll pay off in the long run. Trust me,” he told Marcy for the umpteenth time during one of her exhausting rounds of inquisition about why they were "giving away free stuff” when they could barely support themselves. 

But that was Marcy. Shrewd as ever in her personality which had only been further sharpened by the brutality of the Commonwealth. Not to mention the personal tragedies her family had suffered. The loss of a child...no one came out unscathed by those sorts of things. Even though such things weren’t unusual in this environment, Preston couldn’t help but sympathize. Which made it easy for him to take her abrasiveness with a grain of salt.

Time would change things. They would change things. Under the Minutemen’s banner, such atrocities that were commonplace now would be stamped out and replaced with new commonalities: adequate safety, plentiful food… joy.  

Preston inhaled a deep breath and let that feeling flood through him. It had been tough, but they had secured Red Rocket and driven out the super mutants that had dug themselves in for so long.  Uprooted them and cleaned them out completely. And all the surrounding territories that the green giants had been terrorizing were safer for it. People were starting to recognize the potential value of the Minutemen as an ally. The thought sparked something deep in Preston's chest. And now, as he lounged above looking down on the sight below him, he envisioned his surroundings as a stage for the next outpost he would build from the ground up. 

It had taken longer than he would have liked to expand even this far out, outside of those few, tiny farming communities. But it was well worth the effort. It took time building up not just outposts, but their reputation as well. As he watched, five settlers struggled to drag a super mutant out of the makeshift living quarters. Drinking in one last look at their handiwork, Preston shoved off his perch to help down below. 

Perhaps he had gotten too carried away in the romanticism of the moment because, though the fall felt graceful, the landing was not. He had misjudged the distance from his overlook and landed harder than intended, taking him to his knees with a pop and grinding in his knee. Frowning, he struggled to right himself quickly, hoping no one noticed his embarrassing miscalculation. 

Guess I’m not as young as I used to be, he grimaced to himself as he managed to straighten just in time for one of the new settlers to run up to him excitedly.

“SIR!” the young woman panted and bent at the waist to support herself on her knees. She was clearly winded and Preston assumed she must have run the entire way from Sanctuary to the Red Rocket, fueled by whatever excitement possessed her in the moment. She was still young and optimistic. He hoped nothing changed that.

“Sir--,” she tried again between gasps while bearing a lopsided grin. 

“I told you, you can call me Preston,” he gently rebuked. 

Many settlers had tried to bestow the title of General on him since Nora’s blatant refusal. As of yet, no willing candidates had stepped forwards leaving the title yet unclaimed. But every time someone asked him, Preston kindly shook his head and stated, “It’s not my piece,” much to the puzzlement of the others. Instead, they settled for calling him “sir” in an unspoken sort of compromise. Until they had a general in the flesh once more, he supposed it would have to do.

“Sir,” she ignored his reprimand completely in her haste to spill whatever news had her so worked up. “I don’t rightly know exactly what this means, but I think you’re gonna wanna read this,” she smiled again, eyes sparkling as she proffered him the paper she had been fanning herself with while attempting to catch her breath. "Trashcan Carla delivered it on her last pass through town."

Carefully, he removed the now-crumpled sheet from her grasp before unfolding it to read the message scrawled within. 

Though the few lines penned were short and to the point, it took Preston Garvey reading them at least ten times to wrap his mind around its contents-- and recover from the shock of the signature below.

As he let it sink in, a grin split his face. Running over to the newly installed bell, he rang with gusto until all surrounding settlers had stopped what they were doing and came to see what all the fuss was about. Preston cast his eyes about until he met the gaze of the man he wanted. 

“Sturges!”

“Yes, sir?” his tone carried a questioning note at the sight of his companion near bursting at the seams.

“You’re in charge while I’m gone.” Preston almost laughed aloud at the utter shock on the other man’s features.

“Wha-- where are you going!?” Sturges stuttered his surprise.

Turning on his heel, he gave the settlers a gentlemanly tip of his hat as he pivoted back towards Sanctuary, already making a list of supplies he would need for the journey. Before disappearing from view, he shouted his answer cheerily over his shoulder to the further bewilderment of his gawking group of spectators.

“Goodneighbor!”

Nora cringed as she felt yet another trickle of sweat join the others in a damn-near waterfall down her backside. 

Why was everywhere in the Commonwealth so miserably hot? And why had she worn her vault suit for this?

Regret that she hadn’t traded the stifling bodysuit in favor of a looser fitting outfit before they started their mission pierced her with annoyance once more. The whole town of Goodneighbor sweltered in the merciless intensity of the sun on a good day. Yet inside these warehouses, the heat had proven to be even more oppressive than Nora thought previously possible. 

She watched in relief as Dogmeat finished off her last kill, ripping into the ghouls throat and viciously shaking his head until his prey fell limp.

“Is that the last of them?” Preston asked in his position parallel from where she ducked behind an old bullet-ridden countertop. 

The redhead timidly peeked from behind her cover. When nothing tried to kill her, she slowly crawled partway out into the open, peering past the broken pieces of furniture which now resembled something akin to swiss cheese with all the minigun fire they had been subjected to.

“I think so,” she answered, patting Dogmeat on the head as he abandoned his prize corpse in favor of her praise. The mutt seemed to really have taken a shining to her for some reason.

Miraculously, all of them had made it out virtually unharmed. It had been a risk. Not only taking on this big of a mission with just the two of them-- and Dogmeat-- but also choosing to involve the Minutemen in all of this. Now that the first half was under her belt, Nora began to gnaw her lip in worry on how that last part would pan out.

Once Hancock and Nora left the Memory Den with the proof they needed in hand, everything seemed to fall into place. They had wasted no time before barricading themselves in his office to finish scheming how they would execute their plan. Hancock had already been clear he wanted the job done from the outside. Until this was over, his men had to be regarded as potentially compromised since the incident with Fahrenheit. The element of surprise would be crucial to their success. And who would expect a mere Vaultie to take down the warehouse crew? But they also knew she couldn’t do it completely alone. 

When Nora had told Hancock that she had some connections she could reach out to, he hadn’t laughed in her face or even questioned her words as she would have thought a roguish mayor on his last leg might be inclined to do. He merely cocked a nonexistent eyebrow at her and gave a low whistle. “Well, well, well, Sunshine. Aren’t you resourceful? I’ll leave it in your capable hands then.” 

And that had been that. Nora wrote her letter and Hancock went about his business for the next few days as though nothing were amiss. His swagger and confident demeanor gave him the appearance that he hadn’t a care in the world. But Nora knew better from the tight smiles that failed to warm those dark eyes whenever they ‘happened’ to pass each other on the streets. Waiting was driving him mad. Nora would have been lying if she'd said she wasn’t struggling with her own anxiety as well. She hadn't known if her letter made it to her intended target or, even if it did, whether or not it would be well received after the way they had parted.

In the time after they made their plans, the two of them saw very little of each other, needing to place distance between themselves so as not to rouse suspicion to any watchful eyes. So she bade her time, visiting her friends and making casual visits to Daisy’s stall by day; then, drinking away her evenings until nightfall, melting into the crowd like any other passerby.

Or so she hoped.

Already aware her alcohol tolerance was shit, she had Whitechapel Charlie secretly cut her drinks down with water. Other times she chose to sip on a glass of tarberry wine, a few bottles of which were stocked beneath the bar for ‘special requests’. Once, Charlie even made her a special mixed drink using the tarberry beverage as a base. It was delicious, but she never allowed herself to overindulge.  She couldn’t let her guard down. Not now. Not even for a second. Too much was at stake. It continued this way for almost a week. The distance. The feigned confidence. The nervous energy of “hurry up and wait.” 

So when Preston Garvey calmly passed through the gates of Goodneighbor with Dogmeat and his gun in tow, Nora nearly cried with relief. 

Now, as she and Preston worked together to clear the warehouses one by one, she felt a lifting of the burden she had been carrying all that time-- only to feel the looming weight of another, even bigger one taking its place. Not for the first time, worry tugged at the corners of her mind. Had she made the right decision?

Still, it was with a sense of release that she stepped out of the final warehouse with her companions in tow and took a deep breath of the cooler outdoor air. 

Incredible , she thought wryly to herself, that this amount of heat would ever feel like a relief.

Outside, the early afternoon sun still baked the run down streets. But the inside of the warehouses had positively boiled in comparison. 

Nora felt the dizzy sensation plaguing her for the past couple hours dissipate a bit as she lounged for a second in the shadow of the building. The pressures of the last couple weeks had opened her eyes to what she could handle. Now that the bar had been raised, anything less felt like negligence. Even now, parched and unbalanced from their efforts, Nora found she was already planning what she wanted to do next. Maybe the deal she had made with Preston wasn’t so bad after all. She could accomplish many more things with his help. And maybe even Hancock’s. If he agreed to it...

Preston broke the silence first. “So if this is all to pay back the good Mayor of this town,” the man said with uncharacteristic grumpiness, “where the hell is he?”

“Who--him?” To his surprise, Nora cast him an almost coquettish grin over her shoulder despite her apparent heat exhaustion. It made him silently question what kind of relationship she had entered into with the notorious mayor.

“Oh, Preston. We may have descended into the belly of the beast--” without warning, the woman’s sly grin turned downright feral, “--but he has gone to cut off it’s head .”

Hancock wandered lazily down the alley as he had a thousand times before, a deceptively casual slink in his gait. He hummed a tuneless sound through the cigarette clenched haphazardly between his teeth. His hand subconsciously palmed the hilt of the knife tucked up under his sash. Shards of broken glass crunched under booted feet as he slowed to a stop; then, pivoted with deliberate precision to face the building before him, like an opponent who dared challenge him to a duel. All the while, one word burned in his brain. The last word Fahrenheit had scribbled to him on that little scrap of paper.

A name.

A surprising calm had settled over the ghoul as he’d made his way to his destination, intent on the vengeance he was about to exact. But as he prepared to make his move, a snarl curled his lip and a growl tore from his throat like a promise of violence.

“Marowski.”

Job done, Preston had followed Nora’s lead after they had made their exit from the warehouses. After her ominous comment about the mayor beheading his prey, she had casually suggested they get some drinks and cool off at the Rail. Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the sleight of hand and shifting demeanor of his companion thus far, he half expected to be led to some terrible, run-down den of murderous thieves from which he would never return.

 So when he stepped past the intimidating bouncers and trotted along behind the redhead into the underground bar, he was surprised to find the atmosphere completely relaxed. Almost...normal. War-weary and heat-drained, the two plunked down onto adjacent stools while Nora deftly ordered two waters from a Mr. Handy with a strange accent who seemed to be running the place. They downed their drinks in respective silence.

When the quiet began to stretch on uncomfortably, the man began to wonder if Nora was always this reticent with her company or if she simply lacked any desire to converse with him in particular. They had made a bargain. He hoped she wasn’t planning on backing out. Clearing his throat, he decided to test the waters. 

“So, mission accomplished,” he started, trying to sound congratulatory at their shared success.

She barely acknowledged him, her eyes still distant in her thoughts as she continued to stare straight ahead. Her only indication that she heard him, a faint nod and a low noise in the back of her throat. 

He tried again, “So about what we discussed…”

“I haven’t forgotten.” 

Preston almost startled at how quickly her focus now trained on him. Her eyes felt piercing all of a sudden and he felt the need to look away. “Right.”  For reasons he couldn’t name, he toyed with the tumbler in his hand as an excuse to avoid her gaze. “Of course.” He wanted to press her for more but sensed now was not the time. Before he could make any further attempts at conversation, his companion stood abruptly, the stool scrchhhh ing loudly in the dim quiet of the near-empty bar. 

“I’m going to check on him,” she explained, her tone low and careful. “He said he would meet us here after. Since we didn’t know how long either of us would take we didn’t set a time, but…” she let the thought trail off.

“You’re worried about him.” Preston supplied obviously. He tried to sound empathetic, but for some odd reason it came out sounding flat even in his own ears. Not that Nora took any notice.

The redhead said nothing, already making a beeline for the door. She didn’t even check to see if he was following. Hurrying to catch up, Preston threw down a tip for the robot and followed the woman out of the bar. They collected Dogmeat who had waited patiently for them outside the entrance. A bowl of water had been set out for him by one of the ghouls at Nora’s request- (he thought he heard her call him Ham?). 

So much had happened so fast. There had been no time for the details to be explained. He was hesitant to even agree to the bargain they had made. The town and it’s mayor had a seedy reputation. He wasn’t sure he wanted here to be the proverbial rebirth for the Minutemen. But now that his side of the bargain was complete he told himself he could rest easier. Soon they would leave and start accomplishing some real good in the Commonwealth. Not….whatever this had been. Sure, the ghouls they had taken out had seemed like thugs and were likely up to no good, but…wasn’t that the standard here? he thought to himself as he chanced a glance at some of the shady looking individuals they passed on the streets.

Lost in his thoughts, it took Preston a moment to realize he recognized the building she was leading him into. The feeling of unease returned in force. “I thought you said we were going to check on the mayor?” Confusion tinted his voice. This wasn’t the State House. Or even a bloody warehouse.

“We are.”

“Then why are we returning to the hotel?”

Nora again said nothing but strode with impatience through the lobby around the desk and into a backroom he hadn’t known was there. As they made their way, a sort of sixth sense heightened his growing agitation. Something was off. 

Why was no one in the lobby? Where had the desk clerk gone? And why was it so eerily silent?

His questions were immediately answered by the scene waiting for him around the corner, stopping him in his tracks. Nora, too, had gone still at the sight before her. Yet for reasons Preston couldn’t fathom, she almost instantly seemed to relax after taking it in, as though a question of her own which she had been fearful of had just been answered to her satisfaction. 

Before them a man sat at a desk. Or rather, had been sitting at the desk. He now lay slumped over the old wood table as it slowly drank up his life’s blood which pooled around him in a red slow-drying slurry. He had been dead for a bit though the kill was still fairly recent. His eyes were locked open in an empty glaze, staring lifelessly into the far wall. What must have been a multitude of lesser wounds littered his body with all the blood that soaked his clothing as well. But it was undeniable that the majority of the blood-letting had originated from the wide gash sliced clean across his throat.

“Nora....” his voice held a warning note. “What in the hell is this?”

Since their reunion in Goodneighbor, Nora had proved to be much more of an enigma to him than he remembered of the bewildered woman freshly stumbled from the safety of her vault. Back then he hadn’t much trouble reading her. Perhaps it was for the best that she seemed to have assumed a good poker face. However, he’d swear he saw a bit of shock and--possibly distaste?-- trouble her features before she quickly rearranged her expression into a mask of indifference as she intoned, “I did warn you.”

He gaped at the woman in disbelief. “When you said the mayor was busy cutting off the head of his enemy, I thought you were speaking metaphorically!” He nearly shouted the words. “Cleaning out those thugs in the warehouse is one thing, but this ….” He let his eyes drift meaningfully over the gory scene before them. “Who exactly is it you’re working for, Nora?”

As if on cue, a rustling of papers and a swish of cloth sounded to their right. Out of a hidden side room that appeared to be filled with files and ammunition, a ghoul emerged.

He wore a long, sweeping frock colored a deep crimson--some of which could now be attributed to blood stains-- and a tricorn perched atop his head rather precariously. His arms were full of documents pilfered from the safe room from which he had appeared-- and clearly broken into. Arms otherwise occupied, he held his knife in his teeth, the outer edge of which was still stained red with dried blood. The overall effect cut a rather savage figure.

Surprise widened the ghouls’ eyes for a brief moment before he smoothly whisked the papers onto the desk and removed the knife from his teeth in a flourish, apparently aiming for suave. 

“Ah! You must be Preston Garvey. Nora’s friend whom she’s told me so much about.” It struck Preston that no warmth or friendliness entered his tone in spite of the words spoken or the cunning smile he now sported. The minuteman could tell the ghoul was aiming for charming, but to Preston he just looked sly. Like a vicious little fox.

As he shifted uncomfortably, his gaze returned pointedly to the bloody mess. The ghoul followed the other man’s expression of horror to the lifeless corpse strewn across the desk before coughing and adding a slight bow. 

“Ah....uh-- Welcome to Goodneighbor!”

After a moment of awkward silence, Nora had suggested everyone head back to the State House and regroup. 

No one had argued. 

It occurred to Nora that this was how a majority of her shots were called. People didn’t follow her out of admiration like Wiseman. Or even respect like Hancock. She just filled in the gaps when no one else knew what to do. People didn’t follow her lead so much as they simply didn’t argue with her when they didn’t know what else to do. Thoughts like these renewed her earlier tension regarding her agreement with Preston as they made their way to the old building.

Preston and Nora had gone ahead first at the behest of the mayor, who insisted he would catch up shortly. The walk back had been loaded with an intense disquiet between the two. When they reached the State House, Nora took the lead as they made their way up the spiral staircase and past the guard ghouls (who looked curiously no different to Preston in their dirty suit coats and mini machine guns that the thugs they had just put down in the warehouses). 

When they reached the top room, he felt unsure of what to do with himself. He didn’t feel comfortable enough in this situation to relax into any of the furniture scattered about. But neither did he feel like standing after the long day he had just been through. When he had first read Nora's note requesting his assistance in exchange for accepting his offer from all those months before, a pure joy-filled energy had powered him all the way across the Commonwealth in his haste to make his dreams a reality. Now all sorts of conflicting emotions were building up inside him, threatening to drag him bodily to the ground if he didn't find some release from them soon. He felt his shoulders sag in an uncharacteristic show of defeat.

“I’m sorry.”

His head snapped up to the unexpected apology. Nora was boring her steady green gaze into his once again. “I know this is overwhelming to you. There’s a lot to explain. And I will. I promise. But I’m exhausted, as I’m sure you are too. I need to take a moment to clean up and clear my head.” She started towards a makeshift partition that he figured must contain the bathing area. Before disappearing behind it she turned and added, “Oh, and Preston.” He met the open sincerity in her eyes and something like relief blossomed in his chest at the sight of it. “I haven’t forgotten my end of the bargain. I intend to make good on it.” 

This . This was the woman he had seen that day in Concord. He felt his shoulders straighten a bit once more.

Suddenly, an idea flashed through him like a lightning bolt. Her directness had caught him off guard. But not for so long that he was about to pass up on an opportunity to put in motion what he had traipsed all the way to this god-forsaken town to accomplish. Now. Finally, now is the perfect time. “Wait.” He watched her pause at the surprising amount of command in his tone. “Take these.”

The woman’s gaze dropped down to the proffered items that he now held out to her. Slowly, she made her way across the room to where he stood waiting, arms outstretched. Without another word, she disappeared behind the partition, his offering tucked beneath one arm.

Hancock trudged towards the State House sometime later, simultaneously relieved and frustrated. The day had been successful-- even more so than he had dared hope. He should feel relieved-- did feel relieved. And yet...

I finally get control of my town back only to cower at the prospect of facing the judgement of a woman and her hoity-toity tag-along. He grimaced a bit at the harshness of his own inner monologue. The stress of the day had definitely taken a toll on his disposition, for sure. But that wasn't all it was...

He had seen the sharp judgement that Preston had flashed at him before turning to leave with Nora. Far worse than that, the ghoul thought he saw hesitation-- maybe even disgust-- in a certain pair of sparkling emerald eyes when they'd first met his.

Well, shit. He'd managed to let himself get put on the defensive before the battle had even truly begun. Either way, John Hancock, the ghoul mayor of Goodneighbor, would be damned if he went through hell and back to take down his enemies, exact his revenge and finally get some answers only to have his ass handed to him in his own office by some holier-than-thou schmuck in a slouch-hat.

Hancock had also seen the way that man had looked at Nora. Not that he could blame him much. But still, it grated on his nerves to see him so openly making puppy-dog eyes at her and following her around these last couple days like the mutt he’d been daft enough to name Dogmeat. And all the while Hancock had to pretend not to notice and keep his distance in order to stick to the plan.

You’d think he saw her walk on water or something. It made him wonder at the nature of the relationship between the two. Who knows what may or may not have happened between them before Nora landed in Goodneighbor? Maybe she had sought succor in the arms of a lover after the loss of her dearly departed husband...There was no doubt in the ghoul's mind that if the uppity minuteman saw such an opportunity with the beautiful redhead he would take advantage of it in an instant, however superior his attitude may be. Nora may have divulged a fair share of her past in their heart-to-hearts, but Hancock knew he'd be a fool if he assumed he knew everything there was to know about Nora. In their short time together, he'd already learned not to take her for granted. She constantly surprised him, in all the best ways possible.

As for this Garvey character--he didn't trust him. Anyone who's survived that long in the wasteland and still deludes themselves into thinking they walk some imagined high road just so they can look down on everyone else-- Pfft! How could he even get worked up over someone like that? Hancock shook himself. These thoughts...Where the hell were they coming from? Tired though he was, he knew he was getting carried away. He could acknowledge that much.

Additionally, none of it had nothing to do with their business contract. Which technically had been completed after today. 

The thought of Nora leaving Goodneighbor to go gallivanting around the Commonwealth taking on baddies with that Garvey at her side...why did that irk him so much? Nora had mentioned the Minutemen but glossed over the details of their arrangement, citing time as an excuse even when they had been literally sitting on their thumbs for nearly a week waiting for the man to show his face. She had instructed him to bring guns, Nora had told him that much. And instead he brought one gun and a damned dog! Hancock thought uncharitably. How would Nora weather the brutalities of the wastelands with such incompetence as her guide? She needed someone who knew the ins and outs of things. Someone who had a firm handle on the lay of the land. Someone who wasn’t so blinded by naivety and hubris that he likely couldn’t even navigate his way out of a paper bag.

But today was still a victory, Hancock reminded himself. He should be satisfied. Life wouldn’t quite go back to normal. He sensed that. But at least it could settle into a new routine again.

... Is that what you really want, though? A little voice whispered in the back of his mind. Just a new, boring routine to replace your old, stale one?

Gritting his teeth, the ghoul climbed his way up the old staircase, each creak a little too familiar in it's repetition. He knew he would have to answer to that voice eventually. But...

First things first. For now, he pushed through the double doors at the top of the steps to face the inevitable hell that waited for him there.

In spite of his anxiety at facing her, Hancock still felt a measure of disappointment when he cast his gaze about and found Nora nowhere to be found. To his further dismay, Preston Garvey sat ramrod straight in one of his chairs. An unaccountable flair of irritation reignited at the realization it was the one he had come to think of as “Nora’s chair”. She always sat there when she came to--

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the other man clearing his voice pointedly while standing to face the new arrival. “You made it.” His voice rang with a patronizing timbre and Hancock failed to stifle his own snort of derision in return.

As if he has the authority to speak to me like that in my own-- the irrational thought flash-burned through his mind, disappearing as quickly as it came. 

Steadying himself, Hancock snatched up a glass and poured himself a drink, offering the man opposite him one as well. At the other’s refusal, the ghoul shrugged into a sprawl across the couch, sipping to calm his nerves. The mayor watched as his grudging guest warily took his seat again, ill at ease in his presence but somewhat appeased by the ghoul's casual posture. If Hancock was being honest with himself, the idea that he made the minuteman nervous gave him a petty bit of satisfaction. Still, if this guy was as significant to Nora’s future as she implied, he needed to make an effort if he was to stay on good terms with her. Even though he'd rather stick a radscorpion's stinger in his eye.

After a time, the man spoke once again. Emboldened by his self-imagined loft, the minuteman's tone held no reservation in it’s distaste for the mayor. 

“So, what I saw back in--” he started in. 

“Was an accident.” The mayor cut him off with a note of deadly finality, hoping to end the conversation then and there.

Disbelief washed over the other man’s face as he opened his mouth to retort. He crossed his arms and stood, no doubt so he could better use that vantage point to glare his disapproval down at the mayor. "You mean to tell me--"

Too much to hope for, I guess. Hancock thought sourly. His thin reserve of patience for the man quickly deteriorating. Fine. Let's dance.

"--that you expect me to believe," he continued with rising intonation, "that man slipped and fell on your knife--neck first? Multiple times? All while remaining seated in his office chair?” As he spoke, the look of disbelief on his face colored each word until by the climax, his eyes were practically bulging with incredulity. 

He truly had no sense of subtlety. 

“If you really think I’m that stup--” 

“--Garvey.” 

“Preston.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Silence. Finally.

Then, “Garvey, the thing is Goodneighbor isn’t like,” Hancock made a half hearted gesture to indicate the man before him, “ wherever it is you come from.” 

Preston attempted to break in again, but Hancock wasn’t done.

“But it’s not as different as you may think. This place has rules and standards of conduct just like yours. It has good and bad,” he leaned forward, lavishing the man with his wickedest grin "and ugly people. Just like yours.” He sipped his whisky again. “And if you’d get off your damn high horse for long enough to pull that giant stick out of your ass--”

A sudden noise from the corner of the room cut him off. Almost like...a slosh of water? His eyes drifted to his makeshift washroom.

Oh... Nora. She must have been bathing adjacent to them this entire time. Which meant she could certainly hear everything. The susurrous of cloth along with other noises continued, telling of her advancement towards coming out to join the confrontation. Feeling momentarily off balance by the revelation of Nora's presence, the ghoul looked back over to Garvey who now wore a smug look on his face that said he knew he'd been caught. Damnit. 

Didn’t know she was there, did ya? The man’s face clearly said. Out loud he opted to play victim, likely in the hopes of hammering another nail in the coffin Hancock had just laid himself in: “So this is the hospitality of the great John Hancock of Goodneighbor?” The ghoul barely suppressed and eye roll. He could tell the man was reaching for wounded sarcasm, but to Hancock he only succeeded in sounding haughty.

Hell, if this bastard thought for one second that he was going to sit back and enjoy watching him squirm he had another thing coming.

“It’s Mayor Hancock to you, sir,” he shot back with a glare.

A sigh and then Nora’s tired voice sounded from behind the partition. “Both of you, please just stop...whatever this is.”

Before either had a chance to argue, she stepped from behind the thin divider. Both of their protests instantly died in their throats. 

The pants and shirt she wore fit more tightly in the bust and hips than originally designed as it had been tailored to the slimmer figure of her male predecessor; but otherwise, the navy blue uniform she now donned from head to booted feet suited her handsomely. 

“Nora…?” was all Hancock managed dumbly as he took in the sight before him.

A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth as she coyly flipped a hat atop her head and cocked it to the side so she could regard him from beneath dark lashes while she slyly retorted:

“It’s General to you now, sir.”