Work Text:
It starts with nausea. A persistent pit in your stomach that never seems to go away. Accompanying the nausea is the enduring fatigue. You play it off as either bad food or a nasty hangover from whatever drug you took with Hancock the night before. But even with limiting drug use and changing your diet the symptoms don’t go away.
Realistically, you know what it is. You knew the potential of getting sick while sleeping with John was high, you just didn't think it was this high.
-pov switch-
Hancock watches you empty your stomach again as his withered hand holds your hair back, the other rubbing your back in small circles. Despite his laid back attitude and ad hoc personality, he’s not stupid. He knows that it’s not drugs or food causing your sickness, it has to be something else.
Radiation poisoning would be a concern but he makes sure to give you rad away so it can’t be that. But as you stand back to your normal height, hand wiping away vomit, John pulls his hand back from your head, a clump of hair tangling between his fingers.
“What the fuck?” John raises his hand closer to his face, carefully inspecting the hair while you heave, your eyes widening at the sight of your hair in his hands. His black eyes flick away from his hands and land on you, an undefinable look in them. “We need to get you some more rad-away.”
And there it is. The reason as to why you’re sick. Noting your hesitance, his eyes narrow. “You have been taking rad-away, right?” Your silence is accusing.
“Yeah, I’ve been taking rad-away.” Unlike a certain spy, you’re a shoddy liar and Hancock knows it. Stomping over to you, he grabs your arm and shoves up the sleeve only to find smooth skin, no bruising from a needle. As he moves to raise up the other one, you try to pull away. “Hancock, wait.”
He ignores your pleas as he raises your other sleeve and the lack of bruising is incriminating. John takes a step back, not really sure what to make of it. “You knew that sleeping with me would make you sick. Why are you not taking the rad-away?”
“We need to save it for when we really need it. Taking it after each time we sleep together is a waste.” You’re not wrong. The rate at which you and Hancock fool around and have sex with each other is staggering. It would be a waste of rad-away to take it each time. “Besides, what if I want to be a ghoul?”
He looks away, pinching the bridge of his nose. The thought of spending forever with you would be incredible, but not everyone who takes on radiation poisoning turns into a ghoul, and you should know this. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to be a ghoul like me, but we both know that it’s never guaranteed. Besides, what you're doing to yourself… it’s not fun, sunshine,” he comments softly, hands digging in his bag before producing a bag of rad-away. “Take it for me. I hate seeing you like this.”
“Bu-”
“If you’re not going to take care of yourself then I’m not going to sleep with you. I will not be complicit in your suicide,” he holds the bag out for you as you weigh your options before you plop down onto the ground with a grumble, shoving your sleeve up. “There’s the smart vault dweller I know.” He beams down at you, helping the needle glide under your skin and into your vein, the medicine mixing with your blood as a visible sigh of relief shudders through your body. “Feel better?”
“Yeah. I was just trying to hold off until I absolutely needed it.” Hancock rolls his eyes in annoyance before taking a seat next to you, lacing his fingers with yours.
“Don’t do that shit again.”
“Noted.”