Chapter Text
October rolled around, Autumn wrapping its cold arms around the crumbling Commonwealth. Anxieties were high, the gossip from Diamond City full of synths and the fall of the Minutemen as Quincy was taken down.
For Hancock though: he was living in a place that was part awkward and part relief. The relief of finding a Soulmate that he could see nearly everyday and help keep alive. And the awkwardness of said Soulmate making it as difficult as humanly possible.
MacCready, while accepting that Hancock was his Shadow, had taken to spending as much time taking jobs and being away from Goodneighbor as much as he could. Hancock knew that MacCready had a job to do, and accepted that, but every time he went out and came back injured, Hancock could swear he felt his mind snap just that little bit more.
Hancock would feel the phantom pains of MacCready's injuries and he sometimes felt like MacCready was doing it on purpose as a kind of punishment. Though, which one of them Mac was punishing, he wasn't sure.
He wanted to know what the Merc thought of him. What he thought of them.
He waited by the gate the next time MacCready was due back, a dull and terrible ache in his shoulder telling him that the kid had taken another hit. He stood watching his town, black eyes meeting every face that passed. Even Finn. The lying extortionate rat.
Gotta deal with that asshole soon.
His patience was running thin by the time the sky was beginning to darken, stars popping out to the sound of distant gunfire. He lit a cigarette and popped a Mentat. His Shadows were beside him.
He focused on MacCready; glorious in yellows and oranges and reds, walking steadily with a slight limp and barely moving his left arm.
Idiot. At least he's alive, though I don't know for how much longer.
He wondered whether MacCready was as bothered as he was.
Now, Hancock wasn't stupid. He knew not every person who met a Soulmate stuck around in a romantic sense, but the people that he met like that were at least very good friends. They travelled together or lived near each other.
He liked MacCready, maybe not wholly romantically: MacCready was attractive and he enjoyed his company and thought he was witty. He liked the way he rolled a cigarette between his teeth when he thought and he liked the Merc’s deft fingers as he cleaned his gun. So not wholly romantically.
He wanted them to at least be friendly enough to be near to each other long term. He wasn't sure how he'd react to the pain of losing a Shadow. Fall in a pit of despair and chems for the rest of my long long life, he thought as he lit up yet another cigarette. Hancock sometimes hated his bleeding heart. MacCready was still walking.
Then, he was running and Hancock was sitting suddenly on the ground. Heart beating and thudding against his ribs as though it would stop any moment.
The still Shadow was moving.
Its arm was lifting and pushing, then it was standing and suddenly falling to the floor, curled on its side in the fetal position. Hancock could not believe his eyes. In all his life, he had never even seen the Shadow twitch. And now, all of a sudden, they were obviously very much not staying still.
Someone was saying his name, shaking his shoulder, but he couldn't look away from the figure slowly inching their way to sitting on their knees. They were looking at something to their left, shaking their head. The shove to his shoulder happened again, "Hancock, Hancock!? Do you see them too?" MacCready must not have been too far away after all, Hancock realised. He tore his focus away from the Shadow.
"Do you?" He stood from the ground, grabbing MacCready's arm to start to drag him bodily toward the Statehouse. People were watching them with curious eyes: Finn, picking the dirt from his nails with a knife, had an oily smile on his face. He'd let them think he was high again, "It never even occurred to me that you could see them too. What are the chances, Mac? A million to one. Insane odds!"
He shoved the door open, still dragging MacCready behind him. Up the spiral staircase and crashing through the door to his rooms, he was vaguely aware that MacCready was saying something but he simply couldn't focus on his words. The Shadow was now standing, hunched over something with one of their hands holding their face.
"Far, give us some space, please." He didn't even watch her leave, just spinning to face MacCready, and he suddenly felt stupid, "Shit! I'm sorry, Mac."
MacCready's face was pale and he looked like he'd barely survived a fight with a dozen Super Mutants. The majority of his clothing was shredded and stained with blood and dirt, one of the sleeves of his duster was simply gone. His shoulder was steadily dripping blood onto the floor. Hancock gently guided him to the couch and sat him down, "Really, man, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, let me get you a Stimpak."
He pulled open a drawer from beside them and shuffled around various cannisters of Jet and other such paraphernalia until he found what he needed, "Hancock. I can't believe it. They've never move-fu-ouch!" Hancock stabbed him in the shoulder with the Stimpak.
"I can't believe it either." Hancock took a deep breath, and placed a hand on MacCready's bouncing leg, "and I can't believe that you can see them too." His leg stopped its nervous movements.
"I-yeah? I guess it makes sense though, right? It'd be pretty sh-weird if one Soulmate had two and the other had one? It'd probably make things a bit awkward." He started to shrug off his ruined duster and took off his hat and winced as he pulled destroyed fabric from his wounds, "I wonder where they're walking to, they look a little unsteady. They're big, probably stacked."
The Shadow was shambling, suddenly leaning against a wall or door before bending to pick something up, he agreed with Mac on his comment about the Shadow’s size, "Yeah, looks like they're hitting something. Shit, you haven't moved for nearly forty years and now you're practically running. Damn rough wake up call."
"Forty years?"
Hancock moved his hand away to scratch at his cheek, "Uh, yeah, about that long. I can’t recall my own age right at this moment, Mac. To be honest, I've been able to see them for as long as I can remember. Maybe they were there when I was born? I dunno."
"Ew. They could be eighty for all we know." He made a face before standing slowly, easing his bruised body along, "Uh, do you mind if I borrow something to wear?" He had a pretty blush high on his cheeks.
"Sure, sure. In that room in the dresser." Hancock waved him in the vague direction of his bedroom. He waited for MacCready to come back, silently wondering about this sudden turn of events.
Weeks he had been waiting to get MacCready alone to talk,and all it had taken was an explosive development of their Shadow. Their Shadow. How had it not occurred to him before that his Soulmates would also belong to each other? It was obvious now that he thought about it, how could they not? How would it work? Would he get lucky twice?
He imagined his dream clearing, the house on edge of it lit up with soft lantern light. The three of them walked along to catch a Radstag for dinner, laughing and living. Surviving.
"Can I ask you something?" MacCready came back into the room in fresh clothing and with a slightly cleaner face. Hancock felt a weird thrill pass through him seeing Mac in his clothes. Like a possessive rightness. He just nodded so MacCready continued, "Do you always talk to the Shadows? Or, uh, to me?" MacCready awkwardly sat back next to Hancock, waiting in silence whilst the Ghoul weighed his answer.
He lit another cigarette and offered one to MacCready before he spoke, "I guess so," he decided that complete honesty was the right play here, "Since I was younger, I've spoken to them, you, when I've felt...down. You were a Mist then and I was, well, I was different." He watched the Shadow look at something on their arm, turning it this way and that, "Have you ever tried?"
MacCready swallowed, "No, I don't think I have. Sh-Hancock, I was a kid with two full Shadows. No one else around me was the same that I knew of." He pulled his knees up to his chest and looked for all the world like the young early twenty-something he was, "I guess I just learned to ignore you both. I checked in every now and then. But then my-" he stopped himself and didn't continue and Hancock knew when not to pry. Instead he gently put his hand on his shoulder.
"Do you want to stay here tonight?" MacCready looked at him sharply, "Not in my bed, man, I meant just here. With me. I promise, I'll be a Saint." Hancock grinned, flooding his face with confidence and charisma, all the while wishing that MacCready would smile and lean into him.
MacCready blew an amused breath out his nose before taking another drag on his cigarette, "Sure. I think it'll be good to have someone to help me keep an eye on our Shadow." Ever the pragmatist.
Hancock just let out a small gravely laugh and sat back to watch the Shadow move.
Everything is so fucked.
Holy shit.
Jesus fucking Christ!
He stood bracing himself with his hands on his knees as he looked out over Concord and the stretch of destruction beyond it. He couldn't stop the tears flowing down his face. He was so cold. Deep deep in his bones as though the ice he'd been sat on hadn't quite left his blood yet.
Two hundred years.
Oh, God, Nora, what do I do?
Where do I go!?
He was screaming in his head. He couldn't get his throat to work or his legs to move. Was he screaming out loud? He didn't know. He could only stare out at what used to be his home and hear the roar in his head. He'd lost his best friend, his son, his life. Everyone he'd ever known was dead. Nothing had ever prepared him for this. Nothing.
An orange plume in the far distance caught his attention and his panic rose in his chest.
Fuck. Run. Go, now.
He stood and forced his legs to move as fast as he could down the path that he had taken so many years ago, but it only felt like a few hours ago to him. He briefly noted the skeletons of people, his neighbours, near the gate to the Vault but simply couldn't spare the time to wonder and grieve over them.
He bolted over the barely still standing bridge and into Sanctuary. He didn't even process that his old neighbourhood was a wreck, he just kept moving.
Run for shelter, run before the shock wave catches up.
He slammed into a door without registering that his old home was nearly falling down and ran into the only room with no windows: the laundry room. He pressed himself against the wall in the corner and tried to get his breathing under control.
He heard a whirring and clicking coming towards him, slowly getting louder and louder.
Oh, God, here it comes.
As he huddled in that grim corner with his knees drawn up to his chest and arms over his head to brace for the impact he was sure to come, he felt a small amount of clarity hit him at the possibility of meeting Nora in the afterlife.
That wouldn't be too bad...
NO! Shaun!
Shaun needs help.
Shaun needs his dad.
"I have a buzz-saw with your name on it!" A mechanical and tinny British voice called out and he nearly cried with relief.
"Codsworth? Is that you!?" He opened the door to the laundry room slowly and peeked out.
The whirring and clicking stopped, replaced by the gentle hum of a Mr. Handy's engine, "As I live and breathe!" The Mr. Handy, and definitely Codsworth, floated gently closer as the laundry room opened fully, "It's, it's really you!" The robot folded away its buzz-saw and other sharp appendages.
"Codsworth, you're still here! How!?" He stepped out to look at Codsworth fully in the dimming light. He couldn't believe it. His loyal robot-butler-friend was really floating in front of him: a bit rusted and dented, but it was Codsworth, "Are other people around, too?"
As Codsworth was replying to him, he caught movement in the corner of his eye and stopped dead. Still as a stone and taking sharp breaths through his nose.
Two Shadowy forms were sitting in his periphery; one was lifting a hand to their face, possibly smoking, the other had their knees to their chest. He genuinely couldn't believe it.
He had never had a Shadow before. All his life, he had grown up hearing about other people's Shadows; how they moved and how they looked with colour, how nothing compared to the sheer joy of finding them, of feeling their emotions and pains. The rightness. He had heard of the rare cases of multiple Shadows. Those lucky people who found a whole family all at once.
He had always been an "Unfortunate" and more ugly terms. He felt himself sit on the floor, laser focused on the two people.
They could be across the world for all I know.
"Sir?"
What would Nora say? She'd be happy for me, I'm sure, but what would she do?
She'd find our son.
She'd do something.
"Malcolm?"
Hancock and MacCready kept watch for weeks. Their Shadow was very rarely still; fighting and walking, hammering and walking, talking and walking. Every time that it looked like they were firing a gun, Hancock and MacCready tensed up, waiting for their Shadow to grey and disappear and their own pain to set in. But, it seemed, the Shadow was quite adept. They slept with an arm draped over their face.
One day, toward the end of December, MacCready was sitting on Hancock's couch watching the Shadow. Hancock was taking a chem break and reading up on the news of the Commonwealth, he still had a town to run after all, "They're limping again," he noted whilst tying his boots and shaking his head, "I'm gonna go to the Third Rail today, see if I can drum up some business."
"Sure, be safe," Hancock said absently as he turned the page of Publick Occurrences. He leaned back as he read a new exposé by Piper Wright before practically jumping to his feet and waving the paper in MacCready's grumpy face.
"Hey! Listen to this:
View from the Vault: Whenever I take a walk through Diamond City, blah blah blah, Feral Ghoul and the Synth, blah blah blah, before we begin to answer that question, we have to know who he is. Where he comes from. To my surprise, he did not have much to say about his life in the Vault at all. Because he spent all that time staring at a piece of frozen glass. Every day. For over two centuries. That's right, he isn't just a Vault Dweller, he's an original Vault Dweller. He spent his entire time on the inside cryogenically suspended."
Hancock looked at MacCready expectantly who had stopped tying his boots and was looking up at Hancock with a cocked brow.
"Wow, that's the craziest fu-frickin’ thing I ever heard." He carried on tying his boots: they went up to his knees above his threadbare jeans.
"Is it? We have a Shadow who didn't move, ever, until a few weeks ago."
"Oh, c'mon man, what are the chances? Really? Because I seriously doubt that we'd get that lucky in this world," He pulled on his hat and the tattered duster that threatened to turn to actual dust at any moment, "Besides, I, uh, I've kinda enjoyed it being the two of us. I'll see you later." He grabbed his gun and left the room with a small wave.
"See ya," MacCready's words caught up to him, "Wait! What do you mean you've enjoyed it!?" No one answered him.
Dammit.
Hancock wasn't going to lie and say he hadn't enjoyed it too. The weeks they'd spent watching the Shadow and learning about one another had probably been the best in his life. They had shared their meals and took turns sleeping on the couch or in the bed. Never together, mind. He’d told the man some of his past but MacCready hadn’t opened much up about himself yet. It was okay. Hancock could be patient when he needed to be.
He really wanted to kiss him.
Shit, I can really be a great fucking sap when I want to be.
MacCready needed to start working for his keep again so they were falling back into their old routines. MacCready had caps to earn: that low embered desperation that forever lingered in the Merc pushing him to act. Hancock still wasn't sure why he was so desperate, the Ghoul would give MacCready anything he asked for at this point, but Mac had remained tight lipped. Maybe he was in debt to some fuck down in DC? Maybe he was working to buy his freedom from the Gunners? In any case, Hancock would help him if he asked him to.
Well, better get going too, I guess.
Hancock went through the motions of putting himself together, making sure his red coat, flag-belt, and hat looked just right, before arming himself and leaving his rooms.
Fahrenheit was standing just outside his door, "Hey, boss, just wanted to fill you in on some news I heard."
"The Vaultie?"
"What? No," She gave him a strange look with a fiery brow cocked, "I didn't take you as someone who took that rag seriously."
"Hey, Piper isn't a slouch when getting the gossip. And I haven't caught a lie in there yet." He walked with Fahrenheit down the stairs and out into Goodneighbor, "Now, what was your news."
"I just wanted to let you know that Bobbi-No-Nose wasn't being very quiet last night. I reckon it won't be long before she tries something." She gestured in the general direction of the other ghouls' home.
"Hmm, might have to do something about her soon -" the door set into the sturdy wood and metal walls of Goodneighbor opened with a clatter. Finn stepped away from a wall looking like a rabid attack dog as a big man stumbled through the entrance held up by Piper Wright herself.
Huh. Speak of the devil.
Hancock leaned against a wall by Kleo’s shop and watched with sharp eyes.
"Hey! Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor? You can't go walking around without insurance."
Hancock saw Piper tighten her grip and attempt to pull the man away. The man shrugged her off and stood to his full height. He was massive: tall and broad, the blue of the vault suit left little to the imagination even with the crappy raider armour and gloves over it. He had a good amount of stubble from what he could see at this distance, and through the dirt and blood, Hancock could see bronze tanned skin.
"Insurance," He had a deep lilting voice that was underlined with a general annoyance, "I'm listening."
Piper grabbed his arm again, "C'mon, Blue, he's just trying to swindle you." He shrugged her off once more. Hancock saw that the man cringed slightly as her fingers had wrapped around his massive bicep. He suddenly felt very possessive.
Finn wasn't keen on her interrupting and took another step forward, "That's right, insurance. Personal protection, like. You hand over everything you've got in those pockets, or 'accidents' start happenin' to ya. Big, bloody, 'accidents'"
Hancock had had enough, this extortion shit had to stop. Full stop. His town was meant to be a haven for drifters to come and go as they please so long as they didn't cause too much trouble inside his gates.
You've really pushed my hand, Finn.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out!" He sauntered over, swaying a little to play off the common belief that he was always high, "Someone steps through that gate for the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap."
Finn whirled on him, visibly agitated, "What do you care? He ain't one of us." Hancock briefly noted Fahrenheit quietly loading her gun.
"No love for your Mayor, Finn? I said, let 'em go." His voice was dark, gravel over blood. He looked out the corner of his eye to see what effect this was having on the Vaultie: the man just seemed annoyed. And tired. His hooded eyes were a dangerous dark colour.
Finn didn't seem to take notice, "You're soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day, there'll be a new mayor."
Oh, really? Hancock walked towards Finn, closing the distance in three quick strides with his arms open in a welcoming and friendly gesture, "C'mon, man, this is me we're talking about," he clapped a friendly arm around Finn's shoulders and pulled him into a warm one armed hug, "Let me tell you something."
He moved as quick and deadly as a viper: pulling a long curved knife from the flag that served as his belt and running it through Finn twice. He knew where to hit to make the death quick, "Now why'd you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here." Finn dropped from his arm with a gurgling groan and Hancock let him drop like a sack of rotten tatoes. He turned toward the new guy, wiping his knife of blood, "You all right, brother?"
After a brief talk, the man was quiet and Piper did most of the speaking for them, and after learning that the pair got into a tussle with a nearby gang, Hancock waved them off in the direction of the Hotel Rexford and went off to find MacCready.
The Third Rail was quiet at this time of day and he found his friend-hopefully-more nursing a weak beer and reading a letter, "Anything good?"
MacCready jumped, "Uh, no. Just a friend," He slipped the note into the inside pocket of his duster, "what's up?"
Hancock took a seat next to him, casually throwing his arm over the back of the chair behind MacCready, he let one finger gently hook onto the bare skin at his neck, "I believe I just met the Vaultie, wandered in with Piper," he filled him in on what had happened, "he looked like hell. Sent them to the Rexford for a room."
"A room? Are they -" he blushed and ducked his chin to his chest. For a hardened mercenary, he still had that young awkwardness. Hancock didn't mind. He wanted to trail his fingers over his blushing face.
"Are they fuckin’? I couldn't tell ya. Why, you got an issue?" Hancock could feel Mac's flicker of uncertainty.
MacCready huffed, taking a sip of his beer, "I don't know. Maybe?" He lit two cigarettes and passed one to Hancock, "You got me thinking earlier with that Publick Occurrences story is all."
"Yeah? I thought that was too good to be true, though," he laughed as he avoided a light jab from MacCready's elbow, "nah, I get what you mean. We'll think of a plan to get an answer one way or another though, yeah?"
After an hour or so of hashing out a plan of action (a simple plan of getting “Blue” to hire MacCready), Hancock made his way back out onto the streets. He was thoroughly pleased with himself. He had a plan and was growing closer to MacCready with every passing day: the brief touch of his bare skin grounded and energised him.
He wasn't sure what he wanted out of the Soulmate situation exactly but he knew that he wanted to at least be close. MacCready, for all his standoffishness and world-weariness, was proving to be quite nervous and shy when it came to relationships in general. The young man's emotions were quick to lash around them both down the bond. Annoyance, sadness, and something deeper that Hancock couldn't identify. Hancock would take what he could get, if he was being honest with himself, even if most of what he felt from the Merc was waspishness.
He passed a few folk on his way and then practically bumped into Piper Wright.
"Oh! Sorry, Hancock. How're you doing? Quite a show earlier," she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the entrance area of Goodneighbor where Finn's body had already been bustled out the gate, "Sorry we burst in, we got turned around."
"No problem, I'd been meaning to deal with Finn anyways. Where's your friend?" He didn't see the blue vault suit covered by crappy leather raider armour anywhere.
"Blue? Oh, he's stocking up at Daisy's, we don't know what we're walking into so it's best to be prepared."
"I'll walk you round," He offered an arm out and she linked in. May as well get some information, "so, got an adventure planned?"
"Hmm, kinda. Nick’s gone missing so we told Ellie we'd find him. Blue wants to meet him anyways," Hancock quirked a not there eyebrow at her, "we think he's down at the old subway on the Common. We were gonna sneak down there but, well, you know how the Common is."
A light bulb went off in Hancock's mind as they rounded the corner nearer to Daisy's Discounts, "Yeah, I know how it is. Where's the kid by the way?"
Piper suddenly looked like a nervous mother hen with her mouth pursed into a worried pout and hands twisting together, "I had to leave her in Diamond City. I couldn't bring her out this way. She's smart and knows the danger, but she's just a kid." Piper’s kid sister was about ten if he recalled correctly.
A deep rumbling voice cut in, "Who's just a kid?"
Piper jumped and looked over Hancock's shoulder at the great hulking mass just behind the Ghoul, "Blue! We were talking about Nat."
Hancock angled himself so they had formed a loose circle and, whilst they chatted, Hancock got a better look at "Blue". His skin was definitely a bronzed tan colour underneath all the dirt, fine dark hair peeked out from underneath a crappy helmet, and his hooded eyes were black. Two black pierced bars were on either side of a full mouth.
He watched his Shadow to look for consistencies in how Blue was standing. Sure, the Shadow was standing and seemed to be talking, but anyone could be standing and talking right now.
He focused back onto the conversation, "It makes sense, Pipes, if you're really that worried."
"Yeah, but what about you? And what about -" she caught her words with a wary glance at Hancock, "About all the other stuff."
The man seemed to consider her words, tapping his finger to his chin, "Well, why not Sanctuary?" Piper opened her mouth to argue back but he stopped her, "Go and pack up Nat and I'll meet you back at Diamond City with Nick, then we'll go to Sanctuary. It's miles safer up that way and you can still write your news there. Sturges will have some of the plans built now for sure." Hancock didn’t know who Sturges was but put the name in his mental box of “People Who Know Blue”.
She threw up her arms, "Okay, fine! I know when I'm beat. You can't go after Nick alone though."
Hancock did a polite cough, "I can help with that. I happen to know a great mercenary looking for a gig." He couldn't believe how well this was going.
The man's eyes narrowed and his frown deepened, "I dunno, I don't really work well with mercs."
"Nah, this guy is great! And, I'll get Piper an armed escort to take her back to the City." He flagged one of his men to start making their way over.
"It's worth a shot, I guess?" The man turned to Piper, "I promise, I'll meet you back at Diamond City in a few days."
"Well, if you're sure. And, Hancock, don't get Blue killed please!" The guard approached her and looked to Hancock for direction.
"Of course, Piper," he spoke to his guard, "be a pal and escort Ms. Wright back to Diamond City. Unharmed." The guard nodded and began taking Piper toward the exit, "And you, Blue is it? Let's introduce you to my good friend."
He spun on a heel, red coat swirling dramatically, and began leading the way. He could barely contain his devilish grin even as he felt a flicker of something come from Mac. He quickly checked in on the dazzling oranges and reds: he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. A difficult client, maybe?
"Mal. My name is Mal," he heard as the man caught up quickly to him. Mal. "You're very helpful, why's that?"
"Of the people. For the people. Besides, Piper is an old friend. Her and Nick both. I might even come with you. Gotta keep the instincts sharp, all this mayoral business is making me lose my edge."
The big man huffed, “Didn’t look like you lost your edge to me.”
Hancock grinned at Mal and felt a flicker of anger and something else from MacCready. He shook it off and opened the door to the Third Rail, waving the Vaultie in, "Merc is down this way and in a side room, come and see me before you take off."
"Uh, thanks for the help." Mal went inside with a smile to Hancock, "I mean it." And he disappeared from view.
Be still my beating heart. Have fun, Mac.
Winlock and Barnes stood looming over him. He had barely heard what they had said because his heart was beating too loud in his ears. He sincerely hoped that he didn't look as panicked as he felt and wished he could telepathically yell at Hancock. His emotions were lashing out but Hancock was as calm as ever. Giddy, even. The Ghoul had walked out barely a minute before they entered so he must have seen the Gunners walk in.
Christ, I'm going to die.
"Can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready." Winlock's voice was deep and MacCready thought he could feel it like a hammer in his brain.
He felt himself speak before he could register what he was saying, "I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock,"
Shut up, mouth! Don't make this worse!
"It's been almost three months. Don't tell me you're getting rusty. Should we take this outside?"
What is happening!? But at least I could get some backup outside.
Winlock scowled at him and MacCready half expected him to pull a gun, "It ain't like that. I'm just here to deliver a message."
I can't die yet.
MacCready tried to take a small step back to gain some distance to defend himself and briefly registered someone standing in the shadow of the door to the room, "In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good."
"I heard," he saw, "but you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn't going to work for us."
"I don't take orders from you. Not anymore. So, why don't you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can." Mouth!
"What!? Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this shit." Barnes was getting agitated and, if Winlock was the brains of the duo, Barnes was the brawn.
"Listen up, MacCready, the only reason we haven't filled your body full of bullets is that we don't want a war with Goodneighbor." Winlock smirked. He knows something. "See, we respect other people's boundaries. We know how to play the game. It's something you never learned."
What game?
"Glad to have disappointed you."
Winlock let out a cruel laugh and took a step to close the small amount of distance Mac had managed to gain, "You can play the tough guy all you want. But we know who you are, really. If we hear you're still operating inside Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?"
"You finished?"
"Yeah, we're finished. Come on Barnes." he began to turn away but paused just long enough to add, "Say hello to your boyfriend for us." He laughed and shoulder checked the person in the doorway on the way out. The person huffed and watched the pair leave, throwing the middle finger up at them.
MacCready felt all the blood run from his face and almost collapsed back onto the chair.
How could they know?
He'd been out of Goodneighbor on jobs since he'd found out about his Soulmate, sure, but he hadn't seen any Gunners tailing him. Or, couldn't recall seeing any tail him.
And he he knew he'd never mentioned anything about his relationship with Hancock to anyone.
Relationship? Huh.
During his mild panicked episode, the man that had been shoulder checked had come further into the room. He heard him saying something but couldn't guess at what it had been, "Look, pal," he could hear the weariness in his own voice and grimaced, "if you're here to preach about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun then maybe we can talk."
"Maybe. Why don't you tell who those guys were first." The man, dressed in Vault-Tec Blue MacCready now realised, sat down in what was usually Hancock's chair. It groaned beneath his bulk.
MacCready opened a beer and offered the man one, who respectfully declined with a wave of a gloved hand, "A couple of morons looking to climb the ladder of success by stepping on everyone else on the way up."
He sighed quietly and vaguely hoped the guy hadn't heard it. If this was going to be a job, regardless of his and Hancock’s plan, he needed to seem put together, "You shouldn't be surprised though, that's how it goes when you run with the Gunners."
The man shrugged, "Never heard of the Gunners. Who are they?"
This was a safe topic, he decided, and felt a bit more relaxed, "They're one of the biggest gangs in the Commonwealth. They've got a rep for being crazy, you know? So tightly wound, you'd think they were a cult or something. I stuck with them for a while because the money was good, but I never fit in. That's why I made a clean break and started flying solo."
Not totally a lie.
The man was nodding as though he got it, "What about you? How do I know I won't end up with a bullet in my back?"
The man let out a small laugh. He had a relaxing, almost contagious laugh and Mac felt himself grin, "Are you always this suspicious?"
"Hey! You approached me. And, frankly, I'm taking a huge risk being out here in the Commonwealth in the first place, I'm not about to leave anything to chance." He looked the big guy up and down and focused on the Shadows; Hancock's was pacing back and forth somewhere, hands behind his back, the other was sitting down with hands clasped between their knees, mirroring the big man before him, "Which brings me back to my original question, can I trust you?"
The man nodded before narrowing his dark eyes, "Hold on, what kind of risk are we talking about?"
Shit. Goddamn it, mouth.
"I already told you too much. Need to learn to keep my big mouth shut." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Why in the hell did I agree to this, Hancock?
"Look, I'm tired of playing twenty questions so I'll cut you a deal right now. Two hundred and fifty caps. Up front. And there's no room for bargaining. What do you say?"
He didn't even hesitate, "You've got a deal." There was usually at least a try at haggling and MacCready felt the argument fall out of his brain, "and you get a cut of any loot and food."
"Well, now you're speaking my language." He let out a small cough, "All right, boss, you've got yourself an extra gun. Lead on."
"Uh, sure," he first placed a few strips of caps that were wrapped in paper onto a nearby table for Mac to grab. It seemed he organised them into easy to count bunches, "first, I have to pop in on…Hancock? He asked me to visit before we left."
Mac nodded, “You lead, I’ll follow.” He could feel Hancock’s giddiness and rolled his eyes as he followed the man out.
It was a few hours later, the handover of the general running of the town given over to Fahrenheit for safe keeping, that the three of them left Goodneighbor's gates and turned toward Boston Common.
December ticked into January on Mal’s PipBoy.