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They roll into one of the many Minutemen settlements littering the Commonwealth just as the sun starts disappearing beneath the distant skyline, and Hancock has never been as grateful for the hours he’d spent watching — and occasionally helping — Nate put up all those fancy turrets. He feels a bone-deep weariness, and not even his tricorn pulled down over his eyes can hide that exhaustion from the worried glances of his companion.
Hancock barely tunes in as Nate greets the settlers standing guard, exchanging news and a handshake before asking for a spot to settle down for the night. The two of them get directed to an empty shack with a single ratty mattress, and if Hancock catches slight frowns and eyes quickly flitting between him and Nate — well, it’s nothing he’s not used to, and Nate’s calloused hand slipping into his rougher one makes it hard to focus on other folk anyway. He lets himself be pulled along by his partner, on autopilot as he just puts a foot in front of the other.
Nate brings them to the shack, and, after a quick cursory glance around the room, closes the door behind them. Hancock hears the faint thump of a bag being unceremoniously dropped to the floor, and then he’s wrapped up in Nate’s strong arms, a large hand coming up to cradle the nape of his neck, just under his tricorn.
It feels like the touch is all Hancock needed for the dam he’d built around his emotions all day to come crumbling down, and it’s with a shaky breath and shakier hands that his own slight arms come up around Nate’s waist. He presses his face into his partner’s chest, for once grateful that he has no nose to take heed of as he settles as close as he can, inhaling the scent of gunpowder and mutfruit. He knows Nate’s whispering reassurances into the top of his head as the man’s arms tighten around him, but he can’t hear more than the occasional snippets of I got you , sweetheart and it’s okay . From anyone else, Hancock would’ve considered them empty platitudes, but the familiar embrace and gravelly voice do wonders to calm him down.
It's only when Hancock’s stopped shaking that Nate loosens his grasp a bit, just enough to be able to tilt his head down to make eye contact with the ghoul, the hand that had been at the back of Hancock’s head shifting forward until it’s cradling the side of his face. A thumb carefully traces the irregular grooves of the ghoul’s cheek, and Hancock gives in to the desire to lean into the touch. He’s still not completely used to affectionate touch like this, to the thought that a smoothskin could caress his face so reverently, and he feels his heart stutter a bit.
“D’you wanna talk about it?” Hancock closes his eyes for a moment as Nate’s soft murmur washes over him, and nods his head. “C’mon, let’s get settled down then,” is murmured against Hancock’s forehead, and he has to stifle a little whine as the comfortable pressure of Nate’s arms drops away. God , but the man in front of him has ruined him. It would be so much easier to just go on a bender and distract himself from everything, and that’s what he would have done just a while ago. A part of him still wants to do that, but he’s trying to learn to stop running away from the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
Hancock watches careful hands reach up to remove his hat, taking it off and delicately placing it on top of the dresser shoved in the corner of the room. He feels naked, vulnerable without the hat casting shadow on his scarred face, which is why he can count on one hand the number of people who’ve seen him without it. Those same careful hands return to help him shrug off his heavy frock, which is neatly folded before joining the tricorn on the dresser. Hancock’s left standing in his thin white undershirt, half tucked in his pants, as Nate drops to his knees in front of him to unlace his heavy combat boots. Hancock reaches out a clumsy hand to rest on Nate’s shoulder, leaning onto it for balance as one foot is lifted at a time to step out of the boots.
When he’s done with the outer layers of Hancock’s armor, Nate just toes off his own boots and kicks them into the corner; undoes the clasps of his leather armor and lets it fall to the floor at his feet. He reaches out for Hancock’s hand and gently guides him to the mattress, sitting down on it and pulling the ghoul down with him. Hancock goes easily, tucking his scrawny back up against Nate’s broad chest, feeling the man’s arms come up around him just as a stubbled chin rests on the top of his head. After so long on the road together, they’ve built delicate rituals around this precious thing they have going on. The two of them have their own idiosyncrasies when they need comfort; Nate’s a face-to-face guy, always saying he finds it grounding, while Hancock still finds it a lot easier to be held without being forced to make eye contact, even if it’s Nate’s soft blue eyes looking at him.
Only when he feels surrounded on all sides by solid muscle does Hancock really relax, letting himself settle down, and raising a hand to entwine his fingers with Nate’s. The vault dweller’s free hand goes down to one of his pockets, takes out a Jet canister and gives it a good shake before bringing it to Hancock’s lips. The slow spread of the chem’s effect through his body has him dropping his head back against a solid chest. Nate could always tell which flavour of chem Hancock needed to calm himself down, even if he wasn’t a big user himself, and the thought of someone going through the effort of learning him like that always gets Hancock.
“Thanks, sunshine,” Hancock rasps, and his voice barely cracks. A few deep breaths go by as he tries to get his thoughts in order. “I guess what bothers me most is not knowing whether I’ve been angry for nothin’ all those years. When did he get replaced? How the fuck didn’t we — didn’t I notice?” Nate’s arms tighten around him, and Hancock feels the soft press of lips to his temple, but he’s on a roll, the entire situation too raw to slow down now. “He’s the only family I had left, and turns out it wasn’t him at all, for who knows how long. I don’t know what’s worse, if Mankind for McDonough was the Institute’s doing or not. I guess the answer lies in the fact that there’s any question about it, huh? That my own brother was soulless enough that I don’t even know if all those people’s blood is on his hands or not.” He lets out a bitter laugh, lifting up a hand to rub angrily at his eyes.
Nate says nothing yet, which Hancock is grateful for. He’s not done, he just needs a moment to gather his thoughts, gather his feelings. Nate just hums as he rubs a thumb over the pockmarked skin of Hancock’s knuckles, shifts his thighs so they create a tighter cocoon around the ghoul.
“God, I’m just glad our parents are already dead and buried because this would’ve killed them otherwise.” He’s pressing so hard into his eye sockets he can only see static “What kind of shitty brother doesn’t even notice his kin’s been replaced by a synth? I should’ve figured it out, tried to get him back, somethin’, instead of being so fuckin’ useless. ‘S all I know how to do apparently, be usele-”
“John.” His name is said softly, Nate’s breath barely fluttering on the side of his head, and the quiet interruption is enough to halt the downward spiral he’s on. Hancock realizes he’d tensed up while talking, spine ramrod straight, and forces himself to slump back. Nate’s hand, the one not still rubbing soothing circles onto rough knuckles, slips through the open front of Hancock’s shirt, comes to rest over a bony chest. Hancock knows the other man can feel the unsteady thrumming of his heart, and forces himself to breathe in deeply as a thumb brushes over his collarbone.
“I know you’re upset, sweetheart, but I love you too much to let you blame yourself for this.” And Hancock thinks ain’t that the real kicker ? The fact that, after all he’s done and all he’s fucked up, he’s got the Commonwealth’s saviour wrapped around him in a dingy little hovel in the middle of nowhere, trying to convince him he deserves more than what he lets himself have. Some mornings he still has to pinch himself when he wakes up and Nate’s snoring against his chest, limbs so entangled he doesn’t know where one of them ends and the other begins.
“I know, sunshine, ‘s just habit.” Hancock lifts up their entwined fingers and drops a soft kiss to Nate’s knuckles, resting his cheek on the back of the other man’s hand afterwards. “I’m workin’ on it.”
“And you’re doing great, John, I’m so proud.” Nate speaks softly, presses a soft kiss behind Hancock’s ear, and Hancock has to close his eyes or he might start crying. “And the mayor might’ve been the last of your blood, but he’s certainly not the last of your family. Hell, he barely was family, even before this. Family’s not blood, John, family’s how people treat you, and how people love you. You’ve got Fahrenheit, and Daisy, and Kent, and Nick, and Robert, and everyone else. And even if you didn’t, you’d always have me. I’ll always be on your side, love.”
That’s what breaks Hancock, what has him turning around in Nate’s arms so he can throw shaking arms around the other man’s neck and stifle sobs in a broad shoulder. Nate just adjusts his arms so he can rub soothing circles on Hancock’s back with one hand and cradle the back of his head with the other.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but I love you so fuckin’ much, Nate.” Hancock knows his words are coming out muffled from where he’s mumbling them against Nate’s collarbone, and that his arms are probably uncomfortably tight around the other man’s neck, but Nate just keeps rubbing his back.. “You’re so good to me.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” Hancock can feel a kiss on the top of his head and lifts up his head a bit. Nate obliges to the unspoken request and drops another kiss on Hancock’s forehead. Nate spends several minutes just holding him before speaking up. “Wanna try sleeping for a bit?”
“Yeah, I’m exhausted.” And Hancock’s grateful Nate didn’t ask whether he wanted to eat, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep anything down.
“D’you wanna wash up or change before?” Hancock pauses at that, weighing the options. That bedtime routine is one Nate introduced him to; not many in the Commonwealth had the — quite frankly — luxurious habit of washing in clean water regularly or having an entire set of clothes just for sleeping in. While he knew he’d enjoy the feeling of being clean, the process was more involved than he had energy for. Changing into comfier clothes though; that he could do.
“Just clothes.”
Nate just hums in acknowledgment, and goes to stand up. Hancock for a moment considers not letting go — he knows Nate could definitely carry him around because all that muscle’s not just for show, but it’s a bit clingier than he wants to come off as tonight. Instead he disentangles his arms from around Nate’s neck and sits back on the mattress, watching as his partner pads over to where he’d dropped their bag. Nate digs around for a few seconds, before heading back to Hancock with a fresh change of clothes for each of them and a can of purified water. He holds Hancock’s clothes up in a silent question, one which Hancock answers by holding his hands out for his garments. He feels settled enough to change by himself — and if he dresses himself, then Nate gets changed at the same time and they’ll be able to cuddle again quicker. Really, it’s just the practical problem-solving expected of Goodneighbor’s mayor.
Nate drops both Hancock’s clothes in the ghoul’s waiting hands, and a kiss on his scarred forehead. Hancock busies himself with getting changed, enjoying the soft feel and cleaner smell of the t-shirt and pants Nate had chosen. He hears Nate do the same near the mattress, and as soon as Hancock’s done with his clothes Nate’s reaching out to pick them up and fold them, tucking them neatly on top of the red frock already on the dresser. Nate’s own clothes are more haphazardly set on top of each other on a chair, and Hancock busies himself with having a sip of water instead of being enraptured with how carefully Nate always packs his clothes. He’d asked once, about why Nate was always so gentle with Hancock’s things, especially when compared with his own, and Nate had just said Because there’s only one Hancock outfit, and it’s a part of you , and Hancock had kissed him until neither of them could breathe.
Hancock blinks himself out of the recollection just in time to watch Nate coming back to bed, now wearing a sleep outfit that suspiciously matched Hancock’s. After gulping down another mouthful of water, Hancock hands the remaining half of the can to Nate, and doesn’t bother hiding how he’s staring at the bob of Nate’s Adam apple as he finishes the water in a few swallows.
Nate sets the empty water can next to the mattress, and lies down on the mattress, opening up his arms in an invitation Hancock’s glad to accept. Whatever the mess with his brother had dredged up in him, Hancock knew that the two of them with deal with it together, and it’s with that knowledge and the comfortable weight of Nate’s arms around him that he falls asleep.