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Lightning flashed, and Scout's geiger counter shrilled. Hancock always said he didn't regret becoming a ghoul, and he mostly meant it, but it was different with Scout. Especially right now. Hancock scanned the horizon, but there weren't any houses with cut little kids and single mothers willing to share dinner this time. Just cracked ground, lots of rocks, and the occasional stunted tree. Hancock had heard of flash floods pouring down from the sky in otherwise desert areas like this, but even if the rain was only drizzles, Scout was already too sick to risk getting wet, and that wasn't even mentioning the rads gathering in the greenish clouds.
“C'mon,” Hancock murmured.
He kept one arm firmly wrapped around Scout's waist, both leading and supporting the woozy human. They'd stopped protesting his help, but they were still being stubborn about him outright carrying them. Hancock didn't give a fuck. If they sneezed one more time, he'd carry them bridal style all the way back to Sanctuary if he had to. He looked around again, his black eyes able to see in the dark better than any human could.
Finally, Hancock spotted an area of darker shadows in the crags of a boulder, what looked like a narrow entrance to a cave. With no better options jumping out and presenting themselves, Hancock steered Scout toward the boulder, letting out a sigh of relief when the two got close enough for him to see that it was indeed some sort of cave opening.
“All right, suck it in,” Hancock told Scout, gently pulling his friend in after him.
He'd barely taken two steps into the cave before he heard the scuttling. He looked back at Scout, and the storm raging just outside. Lightning flashed again, setting off Scout's geiger counter once more and causing whatever else was in the cave to scuttle closer with a hiss. Stuck between a storm and a crawly thing. Hancock motioned for Scout to stay put, unslung his shotgun, and crept further into the cave. Even he was having difficulty seeing with hardly any light source, although he figured out where the creepy-crawly was damn quick when a giant stinger struck the cave wall inches from his head.
“Close your eyes,” Scout called.
Their lighter lit up the small cave long enough for Hancock to see the radscorpion bristling in front of him, and then he shut his eyes on command. He didn't know what Scout's plan was, and a thought skittered through his mind that he was a fucking idiot for closing his eyes on a radscorpion, but then he heard the hiss of a flare. The red light was bright enough in the tiny space that he could track the movement when Scout threw the flare at the mutated scorpion even with his eyes closed. The beast hadn't been prepared like he had, and it scuttled around in confusion, blinded and panicked by the sudden burst of light. Hancock took his best guess at aiming and fired. The beast hissed, and Hancock pumped out the spent shells, reloaded by feel alone, and fired again at the noise.
When he blinked open his eyes, the radscorpion was already curling up in death. Scout leaned heavily against the wall of the cave and gave him a weak smile accompanied by a thumbs up, lit by the slowly dying flare. Hancock stepped over a pincher and pulled Scout deeper into the cave, away from the radstorm outside. Seemed like everything had rads now that he was traveling with a human.
“Sit here,” he ordered.
Scout accepted his help lowering themself gently to the ground, but they smirked up at him. “Bossy.”
Hancock shrugged off his red coat. “Sick.”
Scout didn't have a reply for that, other than trying to cough as gently as possible so their friend wouldn't worry too much. From the way Hancock's eyes narrowed in the dim red light, it didn't seem like they'd succeeded.
“Hand over the lighter,” Hancock said.
Scout looked down at their hand and blinked at the flip-lighter in surprise. They hadn't realized it was still there. They raised their head and held out the lighter, feeling like they were moving through water to do so. Now that the adrenaline of running from the radstorm and facing down the scorpion had eased, and they'd finally gotten a chance to sit down, every part of their body seemed to be pulled to the ground by twice the usual amount of gravity. Hancock took the lighter, but instead of giving Scout his coat like they expected, he bunched it up on the ground. Scout stared at him, not understanding what he meant to do until he flicked on the lighter and held it to the backside of his coat.
“No!” Scout gasped.
They lurched forward, clumsily knocking the lighter out of his hand. Hancock caught them in his arms before they overbalanced and fell forward. Scout hugged him hard, shaking their head against his neck.
“No, no, no.”
“Gotta keep you warm, buddy,” Hancock said.
Scout looked up, anger clearing their head for a moment. “You will not burn your coat. I swear to God, Hancock.”
He glared back at them. “You're shivering.”
“Then go outside and get a tree.” Scout shoved him lightly. “Go on, before the rain hits.”
Hancock hesitated. He didn't like the idea of leaving Scout alone in a cold cave with the dead body of a radscorpion. The flare finally died, darkness enveloping them.
“How long do you think your coat will even burn anyway?” Scout asked, still arguing even though they couldn't see each other.
Hancock sighed and gave in. “Stay here.”
“Not going anywhere,” Scout promised, settling back against the cave wall again.
Hancock felt around until he found the flip-lighter, flicked it on, and gave it back to Scout. They flipped the lid shut to save oil, but it made him feel better to know they'd have at least a small source of light and heat while he was gone. He picked his coat back up and swiped a vial from one of the pockets, just in case, then carefully draped it around Scout's shoulders. They clutched at the lapels gratefully and drew the coat tighter around their body. Hancock eased back out through the narrow cave opening and set off with the objective of “getting a tree.”
Lightning still cracked through the sky and thunder boomed only seconds after it as the storm drew closer. Hancock jogged over to the nearest stunted tree. This would be a lot easier with a hatchet, but a sawed off shotgun had always been his weapon of choice, so snagging the Psycho had been a good call. He slid the needle into his arm with practiced ease and pushed down the plunger as he watched the oncoming storm. The Psycho hit him like the lightning flashing through the sky, and he made short work of snapping branches off the tree with only his hands.
The cave was dark when he got back, but the lighter quickly flicked on when he stepped inside. Scout looked so small huddled in the corner, nose red and sniffling, even though they actually had at least two inches of height on him. Hancock dropped the broken branches in front of them and worked on arranging the makeshift firewood with a chem-fueled intensity. Scout watched him build up a good pile, then paw through their pack. The human's habit of hoarding everything they came across was a pain in the ass to carry, but it was times like these that Hancock had to admit that sometimes the habit provided. He dug out a stack of pre-war money and ripped up the bills for kindling. That's all the once-money was good for now, starting fires and rolling joints. Although from how tightly Scout had once rolled one for him, he suspected that his friend had been smoking hundreds on the regular back in their mafia days.
Scout gave back the lighter, and it didn't take long for Hancock to get the fire started. Then there was suddenly nothing else to do. He stared at Scout, flicking the lid of the lighter open and shut in rapid succession, trying to think of what he could do to help. It had been … three? Maybe three decades since he'd been human? Ghouls didn't get sick and they rarely caught diseases, so it'd been a damn long time since the last time he was in Scout's position. He could barely remember what it was like, having a cold. Anyway, he was pretty sure he dealt with it by getting even higher than usual. Aside from the occasional Mentat and their weekly dose of Med-X to help them sleep, Scout never showed any inclination toward using chems.
“Hancock.”
He forced himself to stop flicking the lighter lid with a wince. The chem was still pumping through his system, the tiny cave too small, too dark, too still.
“The scorpion,” Scout said slowly, past their shivering. “If you can get past … the exoskeleton … we can have supper.”
Right. Food. Humans need to eat multiple times every day. Hancock did too, but he wouldn't die from missing meals. Hell, ferals could shut down completely, almost hibernating as they waited on the ground for the next meal to stumble by, whenever that would be. Hancock stood up and tossed the lighter to Scout, grateful to have something to do. The thick exterior of the creature was tough to break through, but he had steel-toed boots and a hit of Psycho on his side, and it cracked eventually. Doing that and then sawing off good chunks of meat with his knife helped worked off the chem while Scout stayed close to the fire and warmed up. Once he had a pretty sizable pile of edible meat and he felt like he could sit still without wanting to shoot himself in the face, Hancock returned to his friend to check in on them.
“Better?” Scout asked before he could.
“I'm fine,” Hancock replied automatically. “How's my little Scout doing?”
“Warm, dry, not yet glowing,” Scout said, motioning to their geiger counter now hovering at a safe level.
Hancock scowled at the joke, but his ghoulish frowny face didn't bother Scout in the slightest.
“Good company,” they continued to tease him. “Be better if you came over here. Your coat's big enough to share.”
“Don't worry about me, gorgeous,” Hancock said.
Scout snorted. “I want to leech your body heat, so get over here and let me shove my cold hands in your armpits.”
Hancock scooted over with a grin. “Oh, that's where you want to put your hands on me?”
Scout gave a weak laugh and held open one side of the coat for Hancock to get under. His side pressed up against theirs and Scout lifted their legs to drape them in his lap. True to their word, their ice cold hands immediately shoved up under his armpits. Hancock wrapped an arm around them, but Scout made a whining noise of disapproval when that raised his arm up too high for their right hand to get any warmth. Their hands retreated, then pulled his shirt up and slipped beneath it to press against his bare chest.
“Shit,” Hancock hissed. “You ain't getting frost bite on me, are you?”
Scou
rested their head against his shoulder and giggled. “It'd be just our type of irony if I was the one with parts falling off.”
Hancock let out a low growl at the thought. “Don't fucking jinx it.”
“Hey, you're the one who was going to—” Scout sneezed and had to take a moment to sniffle. “Ugh. To burn your damn coat.”
“Don't think I've ever heard that language come out of your mouth,” Hancock said. “I'm shocked. Scandalized. Horny.”
Scout laughed until they started coughing, and then they had to take a minute to get their breath back. Hancock rubbed their back and wished his friend had gotten stranded with Curie or Preston. Those two would know what to do to make Scout feel better. Hell, even Danse might have some sort of military, in-the-field first aid knowledge that could have helped.
“All right, but seriously,” Scout said when they recovered. “Don't you ever pull that self-sacrificing crap on me again.”
“I—”
“Your coat!” they insisted. “I'm totally telling Fahrenheit.”
Hancock squeezed them tighter. “Sure. You get well enough to make it to Goodneighbor, and you can tell Fahr anything you want.”
“You know I'm not dying, right?”
“… yeah.”
“It's just a cold.” Scout leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Dummy.”
Hancock sat frozen, staring into the fire. If he had his old face, it'd probably be as red as the flames in front of him. Scout settled into laying against his side with a yawn.
“Thought you were hungry for supper,” Hancock said.
Scout yawned again and gave another sniffle. “Wake me in twenty.”
“Will do, boss.”
***
“And then he set his coat on the ground and held his lighter to it,” Scout tattled.
Fahrenheit's normally stoic composure broke, and she turned to stare at Hancock with her mouth agape. He refused to make eye contact with her and grumpily popped another Mentat.
“His coat!” Scout said.
“Your coat!” Fahrenheit echoed.
Hancock groaned and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “It's just a damn coat.”
Scout made an outraged scoff in the back of their throat, scrunching up their face in a comically over-dramatic expression of disbelief. Fahrenheit nodded and pointed to them.
“Yeah,” she said, echoing Scout's voiceless sentiments.
A knock sounded at the door. “Uh, Mayor?”
“Come in,” Hancock called, grateful for any sort of distraction.
A guard shuffled into the room, his eyes darting over to Scout instead of Hancock. “So uh, No-Nose Bobbi is drunk off her tits at the Third Rail again, and she's showing 'em to people.”
“Her tits?” Hancock asked.
The guard's eyes immediately snapped over to him. “Yeah.”
“She likes to prove she still has both nipples,” Scout explained with a sigh. They waved Hancock back down when he moved to stand up. “I'll handle her, you can stay here. She's my Ma.”
“She also hasn't paid her tab in three weeks now,” the guard added.
Scout drew up short. “Then again, I would hate to interfere in the life of one of your citizens, Mayor Hancock.”
Hancock grinned and shook his head. “Nuh uh, no take backs.”
“Since she's a citizen of Goodneighbor, then technically, she's your—”
“Nose goes,” Hancock declared, tapping just above his nose holes.
“Nose goes,” Fahrenheit quickly followed suit.
Scout glared at the two of them. “I regret ever teaching you that.”
Hancock's grin turned even more smug. “You're just mad because I win automatically.”
“Not having a nose doesn't mean you always get to win,” Scout retorted.
The guard cleared his throat meaningfully. Scout looked back at him and sighed again.
“All right, I'm coming,” they said. “If she's drunk enough to be showing her tits, she's probably tried to stab at least one other person by now.”
“Tell your Ma I said hi and to go fuck herself,” Hancock called after Scout as they left.
Fahrenheit turned to look at him as soon as the door closed.
“What?” Hancock asked.
“I'm Mayor Hancock,” Fahrenheit mocked. “I don't have a crush, but I'll burn my most valuable possession for you at a moment's notice.”
Hancock threw an inhaler of Jet at her face, which the bodyguard deftly caught. “Shut up and get high. You don't piss me off as much when you're stoned.”
Fahrenheit gave an exasperated shake of her head. “You tried to burn your coat.”
“Scout was cold and sick!”
“Your coat.”