Work Text:
Nora huffs as she tugs at the cabinet in the food storage warehouse (if you can call it that). She had stubbornly decided to organize it herself two hours ago right after sunrise, and while she’s made decent headway… a little help would probably be welcome. Maybe.
The shelves are set in rows with enough space for the average sized nuclear survivor to fit comfortably between, and with another tug and a good shove, she gets the final shelf in place. Now… to stock it. She lets out a loud sigh and slouches against the wall of the warehouse, sweat rolling down every inch of her body, before exiting back out into the current work-in-progress settlement.
The sun has fully risen and the beams of sunlight warm her skin, and also reveal one of her two companions are still sleeping. Dogmeat lifts his head and wags his tail as soon as he sees her, then resumes resting on his paws.
And, truth be told, Nora knew it’d be a fat chance in hell that Hancock would be up this early. She sinks onto the chair she pulled up next to the warehouse door yesterday, taps a cigarette out of her pack, and stuffs it between her lips with a tired hand. She pulls out her silver lighter engraved with her initials and lights her cig, and takes a long drag. She leans over and pushes a hand into her hair, still lazily puffing on the cigarette, and prepares herself for the remainder of her work. At the very least, getting the canned goods onto the shelves won’t be a difficult task, just a long one as she likes being so methodical with organizing.
Even to the point it’s a pain in the ass to herself.
She peers over at the two huge canvas bags filled with packaged foods. It’s a good thing she got Sanctuary and Sunshine Co-op working on packaging foods for newer settlements; even better that Preston and Curie brainstormed the idea with Sturges. It’s better than the over 200-years-old versions, but… at least the crops should grow quickly, and the caravans coming through should have some kind of fresh food the general store can trade for.
She finishes her cigarette and stomps the burning butt, then stands and stretches with a great groan. Back to work.
She tugs her tank top’s hem down, then hefts the first bag of goods up and hauls it into the warehouse, preparing for yet another few hours of grueling work.
It’s nearly midday when Nora fully finishes and emerges from the warehouse, two canvas bags hanging over one shoulder, her clothes stuck to her in a thick sheen of sweat. Just as she collapses back onto her chair, she hears a familiar raspy groan from within the house in front of her. Within a few moments, Hancock emerges in his dusty pants and ruffled cotton undershirt, squinting harshly. “When the hell is someone gonna turn that damn thing down?”
She snorts with laughter. “The sun?”
He drops onto the stairs, faces her, and nods. “Yeah, that great bright bastard. Horrible.”
“Hancock…”
“Don’t ‘Hancock’ me, sister. That damn thing could use a good tuning.” He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, before taking a puff. He’s quiet for a moment, before seeming to give her a closer inspection. “What’ve you been up to? Looks like hard labor.”
She knocks on the warehouse wall. “Got the shelves set up, and put all the food out onto them. Nice and organized, but whew.” She stretches her legs and slouches in the chair. “I’m a bit wiped.”
He frowns. Well, as much as a ghoul can frown. “Why didn’t you wake me, sister?”
“You were sleepin’. And it seemed like you needed the rest, you’ve been doing nightwatch the last two nights.” She reaches down to grab one of the cans of purified water and cracks it open, then takes a great long sip. “You gotta rest too, Hancock.”
He snorts and scratches the bridge of what used to be a nose just as a stream of smoke comes from his nostril holes. “Yeah, you ever think of taking that advice, too?”
Nora smiles. “Isn’t the saying ‘do as I say, not as I do’?”
“What a crock of brahmin shit, and you know it.” He pulls out a bottle of Buffout and shakes it at her. “We could’ve popped a couple of these ‘n’ had that shit done pronto, but no. You’re about as hard-headed as a steel door.”
“Ow, my pride,” she teases, then rolls her eyes. “Some good old-fashioned hard work never killed anyone, Hancock.”
“No, but runnin’ yourself into the ground might.”
“Please… don’t argue with me about this right now.” She sighs and takes another long drink. “It’s done, we can get the settler broadcast going, and welcome some folks to their new home. It’s a good day to not argue.”
“Was just conversin’, Nora. Can’t a ghoul be worried about his very squishy human companion?”
“What if I say no?”
“I kick your ass this morning.”
“You have an unfair advantage of being well-rested!”
“Yep.” He untwists the cap on the Buffout, takes a couple and dry swallows them. “Anything else we gotta lift?”
“Well… you could hold the doors up while I fix the hinges. I think folks would appreciate the privacy.”
“For sure,” he rasps around a draw off his cig, “I sure as shit would.”
“What, sleeping completely covered by a bedroll isn’t enough for you?” Nora teases, lightly kicking a piece of gravel towards him.
“Oh, Nora, the things I could show you you can do in a bedroll without anything else coverin’ you…” He stares at her a long minute in a way that makes her throat dry, before winking. “But now’s not a time to…. Heh, discuss that.”
“Right. Of course.” She clears her throat and quickly stands up, a little too fast but tries to ignore the spinning in her head. “We should, uh, get started on those doors, don’t you think?”
With a cat-ate-the-canary smile, he slowly rises from his spot on the stairs. “Have you even eaten since this mornin’? You look a lil’ dead on your feet.”
“Well… no.” Now that he mentions it, she feels damned famished. It adds to the spinning in her head. “Maybe we eat first?”
“Yeah, you sit here,” he gently grabs her arm and steers her to where he was sitting previously, “and I’ll fry up some Cram an’ tato hash. Sound good?”
“You could offer me medium-rare Bloatfly right now and I’d probably eat it, honestly.”
“Ew.” His face screws up with disgust as he passes her to get to their shared bags, and returns with a handful of tatoes, cooking oil, and a can of Cram. “I’ve eaten some questionable stuff in my time, but never medium-rare Bloatfly. Be surprised if that didn’t kill ya, sister.” He lights the fusion cell-powered hotplate, puts a pan on top, and pours a good bit of cooking oil into it.
“Hey, you eat what you gotta, right?” She teases, watching him take his combat knife she’s sure she’s seen him kill a few dozen men with at this point, and start peeling and dicing the tatoes. “You did clean that last night… right?”
He gives her a look that could sear off what little fur is left on a mole rat, and doesn’t deign to answer, just shakes his head. You finally notice his hat is missing as well.
“Hancock, where’s your mayoral hat? I rarely see you without it.”
“With my coat. Decided I might feel some sunshine on my smooth skin for once,” he replies with a wink, before tossing the diced tatoes and Cram into the pan. He uses his knife to move it about in the pan, not even seeming to notice the oil popping against his irradiated skin.
A thought of how his skin feels against hers enters her brain, and within moments she chases it away, cursing avidly in her mind.
Not right now, you! Can’t even watch the man cook in peace.