Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It has been documented, on this phenomenon that has baffled and delighted humanity since records began, that the being one sees in their peripheral vision is the key to one's completeness. 

Since ancient times: the peoples of the World have chased this idea, documented from the cave paintings of Africa and Indonesia up to the fantastical stories of Shakespeare. They have chased this peripheral being sometimes until their own unfortunate end. Wars have been started and finished, Kingdoms have come together and been torn asunder, families made and broken.
All because of that being in the corner of one's eye.

Of course, it is in this humble author's well researched opinion, that the "happy endings" far outweigh the historical tragedies. One's completeness is worth any heartache and strife along the way and that the "Unfortunates" who are not granted the ability to see this phenomenon are the ones ultimately doomed to a lifetime of near misses and half there relationships.

However, this paper is not to document the lives of a person who can not see this peripheral, sometimes not quite there, Shadow. But, it is to take into account the meaning of it being there, or the various meanings this author could glean from the helpful constituents of the fair city of Paris, in which I currently reside.

Of course; the most common term for it is "My Shadow" or “Mon Ombre” for my Parisian friends. But, you may also hear; "Partner", "Completor", "Soulmate", or even "The Last Piece Of The Jigsaw", much to this author's amusement.

It is widely known that, if one concentrates on The Shadow, it will form the silhouette of that one person who is your exact match in life, in the position or movement of what they are doing in that exact moment. Objects a person may be using do not seem to appear with them.

This has led many a person down the long road of finding Their Shadow and, once found, a Shadow will change from the deepest black to a bloom of iridescent colouration, like oil on water. All it takes to know them is skin on skin contact. A handshake, an embrace, a ruffle of someone's hair. This author can assuredly document that his own Shadow is filled with the most calming blues and greens one might find in nature. As though you were walking by a calm lake under a canopy of blooming willows on a sunny day. Beautiful. I feel her happiness and her troubles and can share and help alleviate them.

There are also, of course, drawbacks to being connected to a person in such a way. To being tied to someone through the very essence of their soul. For example, if a person was badly injured in an accident, or had intense emotional pain and strife, the other person will feel it too. Grief and disease and major injuries. Sympathy pains, one might say.

Of course, children can oftentimes see a less formed Shadow. This is called “The Mist” which has no real form until the person casting The Shadow reaches a certain level of maturity. And, rarely, a lucky soul may find they have multiple Shadows…"

Blah blah blah. A young John McDonough, barely older than fifteen, slammed the ancient text closed with a loud snap. As usual, the information he needed was absent and he'd be damned if he'd ask his mother about it again. Also, the dryness of Pre-War texts truly grated on his nerves. He stood quickly, the rusty chair squeaking its protest at being pushed back so roughly on the cracked and damaged wooden floor, and hurriedly left the rundown school house. 

Stepping out into the market of Diamond City he was promptly met with a cold fine rain and the rush of people seeking shelter. The slight acidic tang it brought to the air from the Glowing Sea was nothing compared to a true Radstorm, so he didn't feel the need to rush. Thankfully, he thought to himself as he strolled through the dank alleys, if a Radstorm did happen on the back of this rain, his home on the waterfront was sturdy enough and kept the majority of rads out. He moved calmly, not dawdling but not running, nodding to people he knew or recognised, and tried to avoid slipping in the slowly muddying puddles. He spotted the glaring red neon sign of Valentine's Detective Agency through the mist and took some more turns before eventually passing by the quietly chugging water purifiers that were twenty or so yards in front of his home.
It was a medium sized mostly metal structure and just large enough to contain two bedrooms and a living room-kitchen combination. "Open plan" people called it.

John slipped into his home by opening the door as little as possible, if he let the rain in he’d never hear the end of it from his mother, and he was slight so could sneak in with minimal trouble through the small opening he made. He made sure to take his shoes off before leaving the threadbare rug by the front door.

Martha McDonough stepped around the partition that separated the main living area and kitchen with her greying hair tied tightly into a no nonsense bun and wearing a green laundered dress. Always one for keeping up appearances. Patrick McDonough had been dead for two years already, perishing on the road with a caravan heading to Quincy and his body left to rot by the roadside for all Johnathan knew.

“Did you find what you were looking for, dear?” She set down a cup of carrot flower tea and lowered herself gently onto their yellow rumpled couch “I know the old school building doesn’t have the widest selection of books.”

John joined her and leaned his head back onto the arm of the couch: blonde curly hair spilling over his brow and shadowing sad big blue eyes. He didn’t want to talk about this right now but he knew his mother would not let up, “No, Ma, nothing about my problem came up.”

“It’s not a problem, John. It’ll all come out in the wash eventually.” She pulled his legs into her lap, gently taking off his socks and rubbing the bottoms of his feet like she used to when he was a child.

“Sure, sure. I just want to know why they won't move!” He scowled and did his usual concentration, focusing on his Shadow. And there it was; a solid, black, large, silhouette of a person sitting upright, completely still, head tilted slightly to the right. The same as always. They had never moved from that spot and had been there for as long as he could remember. Maybe it had been there when he was born? 

However, this time there was something different. John sat up with such speed, his mother sloshed her tea onto her dress as his legs darted away from her and onto the ground. She gasped “John, for goodness sake!” but he didn’t hear her. He was concentrating. His eyes were narrowed and focused on something beside his ever still Shadow. On something only he could see. His mouth hung open, he felt a tear roll down his cheek, and he looked away. Turning to his mother he crumpled onto her with the Mist swirling in his periphery like a happy ball of stars. 

His mother held onto him as he sobbed. 

The years passed. Martha McDonough died and was buried. His older brother got into politics. And John McDonough spent his time drowning his sorrows and escaping to Goodneighbor for decent chems and a warm body. He slept with people to try and alleviate the loneliness. To ignore the desperate, raging, hollow pit inside. It didn't work. It just made him wish for something or someone more. Something bigger.
His Shadow and Mist never changed.

He knew that finding his Shadows was going to be a long shot. It was so rare, he could count on his fingers how many people he knew that had found each other, and lost count of how many people reported their Shadows turning grey and then disappearing: the people who cast them dying in whatever God forsaken place this world had to offer. The pain people felt was said to be comparable to a bullet through the heart. Or, the breaking of every bone in the body. These unlucky people would shut down for weeks, sometimes never recovering fully and only functioning to tend to basic human necessities. So, he tried to ignore them completely, only checking in when he was feeling unbearably low and lonely. Which, unfortunately, was often.

His brother started a campaign in the city; it riled people up, turning them against Mayor Roberts, it got the gossip and hatred flowing. The upper stands became even more paranoid and distanced themselves from the folk in the field. The great floodlights along the tops of the wall pointed towards the citizens as though just waiting for the opportunity to find someone doing something untoward for the guards to take down. There was talk of synths being around every corner and being anybody. How the Institute was kidnapping folk and simply...replacing them.
How ghouls and other "non-human" folk could one day outnumber them and turn feral at any moment.

"I'm telling you now, John, if I’m not in the upper stands within a year, the God awful Super Mutants will be living here next!” He laughed with a sick mile long smile, his ever expanding waist (courtesy of his new, more affluent, friends) shaking with it. John didn’t say anything. He was good at that, just nodding along and excusing himself to a quieter place where he could be alone. 

It was during one such time, his loneliness clawing at his throat, (or was that the Jet? He wasn’t sure) that he concentrated. He had taken to talking to his Shadow and Mist in the hopes of getting a reply, a nod, a goddamn finger twitch. Anything to know that they knew about him too and that they were maybe looking for him too. Whoever they are. 

His older Shadow was, as always and forever, still. The head tilted to one side and ever sat upright. Nothing had changed. So he focused on his Mist; the happy galaxy swirling around in ever changing patterns, letting him know that this person was still alive. Still aware of his existence. Were they?
He estimated that they must be getting on for fifteen or sixteen by now, he remembered clearly the day when The Mist had appeared to let John know the person had been born. 

God, how old am I?

But, then, The Mist stopped. The small flecks of starlight within its suddenly still form started blinking out one by one as the darkness started over taking them. John couldn't lie and say he didn’t panic; bolting upright and using all his mental strength to focus and use his sheer will to stop his Mist from fading away, “No no no no no. Please, God, please. Don’t take them away from me. Let them be safe, please!” But, still, the stars slowly faded away. As indifferent as the night sky reflected on the dark ocean. A black roiling mass churned and shifted, absent of any happy twinkling lights. And then, before John could grasp what was happening, a fully realised Shadow stood in place of his Mist. 

John couldn’t believe his eyes. He rubbed them and blinked a few times before focusing back on this new Shadow. A Shadow that moved! He cried in relief as this person, short and thin, picked something unknown up and slung it over their shoulders and began walking. He knew this person could see him too, sat bolt upright and slowly sagging in relief. He wondered what they thought. Were they happy? Safe? Warm? He didn’t and couldn’t know. 

His musings were rudely interrupted by a shout from outside. “Mankind for McDonough!”

Robert Joseph MacCready could always remember having two fully formed Shadows: one never moved and the other was forever fidgeting in some way. A pair of old people. Adults. Mungos.

Ew.

He never spoke about them with the other kids at Little Lamplight, even Lucia, as barely any had fully formed Shadows and none had more than one. Princess would prattle on about how she knew her Soulmate was a wealthy handsome man and how he was going to come save her from their cave and care for her.
But, no one came. No one came for any of them. It was then he had the realisation that no one cared about what happened to a group of kids living in a damp cave and MacCready decided that having a Soulmate did not mean salvation and love.
They did not mean home.

He did get his hopes up once, when he was around ten years old, when a Lone Wanderer swaggered into their home. He moved just like his fidgety Shadow with twitching fingers and shuffling feet even when standing still. MacCready knew, even at a young age, that his Shadows were older than him by at least a decade. They were fully formed. Mature. But, when he and the Wanderer spoke and shook hands, nothing happened. No burst of colour, no instant connection. Nothing. 

Lucia was his connection. His best friend. And, even when her Mist became a Shadow, she stuck by his side.

He turned sixteen ish and moved on; he said his goodbyes to Little Lamplight, to Lucia, and promised her he would wait for her in Big Town. She wouldn’t be too far behind him, their ages were quite similar.
Big Town was a bust even after the Lone Wanderer had made it safe and brought water. Sure, traders came through when they could, but the town as a whole was low on supplies and he needed to feed and clothe himself. He took a job as a mercenary. Killed people for caps. Honed his skills. Grew and developed. It got easier and easier to ignore his constant companions.
Soulmates did not mean love.

He met a woman named Lucy. Her own Shadow had turned grey and disappeared some few years prior. It was a coincidence that this Lucy and his Lucia from his childhood had the same profession. But she wasn’t Lucia even though he had briefly mistaken her for her after knocking into Lucy in a random bar. He wished that Lucia was doing well wherever she was and hoped she wasn’t a scribe for the Brotherhood like he knew some of the other kids were now. He wondered if she thought of him too. Was she mad that he didn’t wait for her in Big Town?

MacCready felt something close to happiness and comfort with Lucy who wasn't Lucia. He lied to her and told her he was a soldier and he told her he didn't have a Shadow.
She was his shoulder to lean on, to confide in, and he was hers. She kissed him and Mac didn’t have the heart to tell her it felt weird and kinda gross so he let her have him. They stayed nomadic, wandering the east of what used to be America to wherever took their fancy and to wherever people needed a doctor. They wandered from the Capital Wasteland, to the Commonwealth, and back again. They heard stories of the West and Vegas and thought about moving out there sometime. Just him and his best friend.

Lucy gave birth to Duncan on the road somewhere between the Capital and the edge of the ‘Wealth. It had only taken the one time to make him, one weird night where they just kind of fell into each other. He was going to ask her if she wanted to do it again, he wanted to feel the warmth of another person that way again, but she told him she was pregnant and MacCready felt something so deep shift in his soul when his son came into the world that he knew nothing could compare to it. A paternal all encompassing need to protect this small squalling boy and the woman who gave him to him. He would do anything for his son. He would die for his son.
Soulmates did not mean love. This did.

They lost Lucy shortly after Duncan was born. Lost her in such a visceral and nightmarish way that he couldn't process the pain until he stopped running with Duncan. He had left her there to die after she screamed at him to run and save their son: the feral ghouls tearing her apart before he could even fire a shot. He left her body to rot in a subway and his heart nearly stopped, he thought he'd never stop crying, he thought he would die from the pain and the stress.
His friend.
His person.
His son’s mother.
But, Duncan needed him, and his "Soulmates'' never came to help him. They didn't come and provide him the means to grieve. They didn’t come to relieve him from the pain.

Soulmates did not mean love.

He settled down on a rundown farmstead with some old trusted friends; they built it up, got it going on a trade route, and worked the fields for food and profit. Years of hard work and eventual almost happiness again. His son was growing strong and it was a nice quiet place to live and raise a child. He felt as though, even after all the pain and heartbreak, his bad luck was finally turning around. 

Then, Duncan got sick. His strong little body began to waste away as he could not keep food down most days, blue boils made his skin hurt and he cried and cried until his childlike mind seemed to simply accept that this is how he was now. It broke MacCready’s heart so completely he knew he would never heal. He gathered every doctor he knew or had heard of, tried every drug he could think of to try and help his son. Spent all his caps to try and do something. But nothing helped.

Just when he was about to give up hope, Sinclair, a trader who came to them regularly for Mutfruits, talked about how he was going to the Commonwealth to find some kind of miracle cure because his partner was suffering with the same affliction. And, sure enough, in the back of his wagon, a young man was covered in clean blankets and bandages too weak to move as his skin was slowly eaten through. MacCready made the hard decision to go with them. If Prevent existed, he would find it. One last massive attempt to help his poor boy. Duncan would stay on the farm for he was too weak to travel the wastes to the Commonwealth. His friends promised to care for and protect him, “We’ll write often, Robert. Go and do what you can.” And throughout it all, his Soulmates did not come to help.

It took a few weeks, of thankfully mostly quiet travel, to make it to the edge of the Commonwealth. They had to move slowly and carefully for the man in the wagon was so weak, even the bumps in the road hurt him. 
The Commonwealth, in stark contrast to the Capital Wasteland, was a comparatively verdant place with a few major settlements and a booming ecosystem of Super Mutants, raiders, Radstag, and Deathclaws. As they passed through the settlements and Diamond City, MacCready enjoyed seeing the monuments and buildings he knew from his last time travelling here with Lucy and took note of them with a grim sort of nostalgia. 

They walked another handful of days, moving slowly and carefully to assure struggling man in the wagon was as comfortable as possible, and made it to a place called MedTek. They prepped as well as they could just beyond the building's car park and took another disastrous hour to fail their mission. The place was crawling and heaving with ferals and MacCready had froze up; flashes of Lucy danced through his mind, she shouted and screamed at him to take Duncan and run, her face pale and clawed at, limp hands hitting the floor as she staggered, blood pooling and splattering as he ran through it to get out.
He was sure his heart had stopped and, before he knew it, he was outside again gulping in great lungfuls of air with fat tears streaming down his face. 

Sinclair rushed to the wagon with a strangled whining kind of noise to where the very still man lay. Sinclair fell to his knees and cupped the man's face and MacCready had to look away, "No, please, hold on David. The end is right here. Hold on a little longer." David held Sinclair's hand, smiled, and whispered something into Sinclair's ear that MacCready couldn’t hear, "No!" He screamed and then Sinclair went still, almost as still as David, and MacCready knew he could see his Shadow greying and fading away. 

A few hours later, beside a freshly dug grave, Sinclair gave the lockdown codes for MedTek to him, "I'm going back home Mac. I can't stay in this place any longer." He sounded monotonous, like his mind wasn’t really there. Half his soul had passed on and Sinclair didn't speak again as MacCready walked with him until the road split, one path taking Sinclair towards the edge of the Commonwealth, the other taking MacCready even deeper in. He didn't know if he'd ever see Sinclair again and wished he could walk all the way home with him. But he couldn’t leave yet. Not until he found Prevent or died trying.

MacCready needed caps if he was going to hire people to help clear out MedTek. There is a group in the Commonwealth called the "Gunners": a mercenary gang who promised good caps to those who did their jobs and kept their mouths shut. MacCready was placed with a team run by men called Winlock and Barnes. He was their best sniper, took any job he could, saved up any spare cap. He didn't fully fit in and knew he was alone with the group, surrounded by faces that never really looked at him. 

Then, a month or so into his time with the Gunners, he witnessed Winlock and Barnes do something he could not stand by.
They started to Raid. He wasn't sure of the settlement's name or why they were being raided and, against the whole squad, he was powerless to stop it. Now, MacCready had done many questionable things for caps; he had killed many people who deserved it and in defense of himself and his son, he had stolen out of people's homes and out of their pockets and had cheated folk at cards. He had killed for caps. But, he had never razed a whole town to the ground.
So, he ran. He ran away as fast as he could before he ever fired a shot. He ignored the shouts of his “leaders” and ran: “Coward! Deserter!” they called after him and fired a shot but he didn’t feel anything. He could not hurt an innocent man or woman. Could not kill a child. He'd promised his son he would be better.

He ran and ran, falling through the doors of Goodneighbor hours later. He was exhausted and bleeding from a wound in his back that he couldn’t remember getting. A ghoul lady approached him with a loaded gun but seemed to take pity on his panicked and bloodied state and called over a few people to help him up. She allowed him to be deposited on her couch and asked for the Mayor to come down.

Then Robert Joseph MacCready met Mayor John Hancock.

Hancock felt for the kid: barely in his twenties and already struggling with more than what anyone had the right to struggle with. He let him stay in the Statehouse with the other drifters but heard the rumours of his panicked episodes and his urgency. He heard how he was offering some minuscule amount of caps to anyone who would listen to go and hit someplace up north. He heard how he used to be a merc before the Gunners. He heard how handy he was with a rifle. Also, generally speaking, Hancock heard that the kid was well liked in the town: it seemed he was worried about not earning his keep, so offered to help where he could. He heard that MacCready and Daisy were becoming good friends and he was seen at her shop often.
He heard and he heard and he heard. 

So, after a while and good reports about the kid, Hancock let him set up shop in the Third Rail and told him to offer up his services to visitors for the good of himself, for Goodneighbor, and for caps. "Of the people, for the people. Ya' feel?" MacCready had just nodded and was sent along his way with a rough pat on his shoulder.

This passed smoothly for Hancock for a good few weeks; his town was dirty and rough, full of folk wanting a good time and business - and a good time with him was usually business - trade was good, and his town was thriving. 

The winds of Autumn were slowly approaching as Summer started to finish its roll through the Commonwealth: glorious Radstorms were in plentiful supply. And during a particularly beautiful one, as Hancock stood on his balcony allowing the rads to fizzle over his leather like skin, letting it glow on him and in him, he heard a commotion. He sighed and flicked his cigarette over the edge and into the street below.

"Fahrenheit?" He called as he stepped back into his den, "Go find out what's happening, it's messing with my chill." He flopped down onto his couch, shaking a box on Mentats, as the tall woman stood from his desk and shook herself into a long, old, and red American coat. She was striking and intimidating, with red-orange hair like fire and a large burn scar on her face. The perfect bodyguard.

"Sure thing, boss"

He sighed and waited with nervous energy. Though you wouldn't know it from looking at him for he looked as composed and as charming as ever: if a little fidgety. But that could have been the chems. 
His half ghoulish features were a blank slate as though he was simply lost in thought. One of his slowly scarring hands tapped out a quiet rhythm on his knee as the other adjusted the remains of his long blonde hair beneath his hat. 

But, he was always listening. Listening for any threat to his town and people, be it a fight outside the walls or the gossip he got from Diamond City.
He heard everything.

It wasn't long before Fahrenheit was back, "You'd better come to the Third Rail. A pretty nasty fight has broken out."

"Why do they need me for a fight? That's not unusual, Far." Scuffles were a common thing in his town and people needed to blow off steam. However, they all knew that outright murder was severely frowned upon. Of the people, for the people. With exceptions given in certain circumstances, obviously.

"No, but it's that little MacCready kid you like."

He stood maybe half a second too quickly before composing himself and set his tricorn hat properly upon the golden remains on his head, "I don't like him that much and he's not little." Petite, maybe, but not little.
He huffed as he took point on the walk down to the Third Rail, "Besides, the kid can handle himself. I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Sure, whatever you say."

It didn't take long for Hancock to strut down to the bar looking like he owned the place because he did. He nodded to Whitechapel Charlie who directed him to the private suite with a well placed "Sir."

Hancock groaned as he passed the threshold to the spacious, and now ruined, private area that MacCready had set up in to run his business. A few bodies littered the floor, bullet holes very evident in them, a few were groaning as they tried to keep their blood inside where it belonged. Two men were being held back by the bar's security detail. One was a man he had never seen before, obviously a drifter of some form with a badly bloodied nose and a front tooth missing. He'd been punched. Hard. The other was MacCready, bloodied too and looking a bit faint. It wasn't surprising considering the bullet wound to his leg. His hat had fallen off in the fight so his brown curly hair was plastered to his forehead in a mixture of blood and sweat. Hancock liked his hair.

"Well, well, well. What happened here, friends?"

"They tried to fu-frickin' rob me, Hancock! Tried to make a run for it with my pack and gu -"

"Oh, what a load of shit! This one's a lunatic, started shooting outta nowhere! He needs a collar and a leash!" The drifter guy was struggling against the guard who was twisting the man's arm further and further up his back. Hancock looked around at the strewn mess of his hard earned bar; MacCready's pack upturned near the door, still clutched by the strap in the hand of a dead woman, and sighed like a parent who hadn't had enough wine.

"Listen, friend," Hancock smiled with all the charm he had but his words had a dark coldness to them that caught the attention of the drifter, "this ain't how we do things here. How often do you come into someone's home, that they opened to you from the goodness of their hearts, and attempt to rob them?" He stood close to the guy, intimidating him with his sheer presence. 

The man had a hard swallow before averting his gaze to anywhere but the Ghoul Mayor, "It's not like that, man, I swear. We're just trying to get by." He seemed to remember his dead and wounded friends then, "He, that guy, he killed them-"

"After you tried to rob him. Mac, my guy, you're the wounded party here. How do you want me to deal with him?" He looked to the Merc who had a visible tension to his jaw and his eyes were hard steel as he stared down his would-be burglar.

He shrugged as he was let go by the guard, a Stimpak handed to him, "I don't know, Hancock, I don't want him to die." He started collecting his gear from around the room, limping but putting on a brave face. He was pale and looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else.

Hancock turned to the guard, "You heard him. Throw him out on his arse and let the world deal with him." The man started to cry as he was taken away but he didn't fight his removal, "When the survivors are Stimpacked and on their feet, throw them out too. Mac, meet me in the house when you're ready." Hancock walked away and heard a quiet grunt of affirmation as he left the private suite.

Fucking idiots. Come into my home and mess with my friends. He glared at the now clearing sky as he left the Third Rail. Should'a had them quartered. Scavvers are getting bolder and crazier nowadays. 

He took a deep breath as he flopped back down onto his couch, lighting a cigarette and leaning back to relax a little, throwing his hat to the side and tugging the top buttons of his ruffled shirt open. People needed to do what they could to survive, he understood and respected that, but they can keep their sticky fingers to themselves in Goodneighbor. His people needed to survive too, and they worked damn hard to do it. He'd worked hard to claim it from Vic and his boys and scavvers thought they could come in and do that? He took a calming breath and blew the smoke out of his lungs.

He focused on his peripheral vision. On his other people. On his something more. One Shadow still as stone as always and the other was walking somewhere, "Must be nice." He sighed as he watched, "Is someone with you? What does the daisy field you're walking through look like?" 

He wondered what they thought of him. What they would think of him if they ever had the chance to meet. He shut his eyes and imagined walking through a quiet clearing, two faceless people walking with him. They are happy and content. Just living in the moment. Surviving together. At the edge of the clearing is a small house -

Knock knock

He sighed and blew out more smoke and took a moment to collect himself,  "Shit. Come on in, MacCready." 

The door slowly swung open and, green hat and scarf back on, MacCready entered with his long tattered duster coat on, pack on his back, and his rifle slung over his shoulder. Bandoliers of bullets decorated him like medals. The wound in his leg was healing with the help from the Stimpak but obviously still painful: it had stopped bleeding at least. His jaw was still set in a hard line, mouth turned down, but his bright blue eyes looked worried and watery.

His voice was thick as he spoke, "I'm guessing you want me to leave?"

Hancock stood quickly, "Whoa whoa whoa! Now, where did you get that idea?" He approached MacCready with open arms. Welcoming and friendly.

MacCready's lip wobbled, poor man had enough on his shoulders without the worry of somewhere to sleep and eat, "I, sh- I don't know Hancock. I was just sitting there, thinking I finally had a job without the fu- fricking Gunners scaring them off, and all of a sudden I was being pulled off a guy. I just…" he sagged as the stress and blood loss caught up to him and Hancock very gently pulled him into his chest. Mostly for the support and partly to let MacCready know that he wasn't alone in this moment.

They stood there quietly as MacCready took calming breaths into Hancock's shoulder. It was nice and almost cosy for Hancock until MacCready turned his face to get his head more comfortable. The bare skin of his cheek rubbed very slightly against the scarring on Hancock's neck. It was a barely there touch.
But it was all it took.

Colour burst in the corners of his eyes. A watercolour of sunsets and laser fire. It was beautiful and awful. Amazing and terrible. And a Shadow stood, its head slightly forward with arms around something, gripping tightly, coloured in blacks, oranges, reds and yellows. He heard a gasp below his ear. 

They stood very very still.

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.

Chapter Text

Mal was horrifically amazed at this new world; from the gangs, to mutant creatures, to just how long it took to get from one place to another. He remembered walking these streets as though it had just been a few weeks ago; the streets decorated for samhain, people drinking coffees outside little cafés, children playing. Boston had been a strange little haven sheltered in a fragile bubble as soldiers and officials used the area for leave from the fighting. Now, it painfully reminded him of the destroyed towns and cities of Alaska and Canada and it took at least double the time to travel anywhere due to all the rubble and the dodging of raiders they had to do. He missed his car. He missed coffee. He missed the quiet.

He was also amazed at how he was so grateful for his old training, he wasn't sure he would've survived here without it. Grateful for the draft and for Anchorage. Who'd’ve thought?

The sun was setting, the cold of the evening crawling over them, and it was decided that he and his new companions would find an empty house or shop to bunker down in before hitting Boston Common at first light.

He heard his new companions, MacCready and Hancock, whispering quietly to each other as he popped the boards off a door that led to a smaller two story home.
MacCready seemed young with a bit of well trimmed facial hair and bullets fastened nearly everywhere on his clothing; bandoliers on his legs, satchels on his hips, and two tucked into the band of his hat.
Hancock had a pirate stuck in the civil war aesthetic. The old American flag he used as his belt had wicked sharp knives hidden in the folds and even more tucked into his clothing and sleeves. He had first thought the man had suffered some bad burns at some point and felt a kind of kinship with him but then he saw more people like him in Goodneighbor and learnt they were called ghouls. Folk that had been affected but not outright killed by the radiation from the war or other massive sources of the poison, Hancock seemed to be in the earlier stages of ghoulification judging by the others he'd met; he still had some hair and the scarring stretched like black and purple spiderwebs over one side of his face before bleeding black and grey into his eyes. 

The pair obviously knew each other and were close. So close that Mal was starting to feel like a third wheel. He huffed as he made a gap large enough for them to fit through into safety. He began to shuffle in before he heard MacCready clear his throat, "Is there anything in there?"

Mal glanced over his shoulder. MacCready looked fine but he could see that his mouth was pulled down and the Merc had a loose hold on Hancock's sleeve, "I don't know, are you o-" 

Something slammed into his back, growling and clawing at the light leather armour he wore. He couldn't turn to face it without it turning with him. MacCready swore and backed up, Hancock moving to stand in front of his friend and pulling out the long curved dagger he kept in his flag-belt. Whatever was grappling with him smelled awful: like the cloying sweetness of decay, "What is it!? Get it off!"

Hancock rushed to his side and Mal heard the knife enter something with a warm and wet crack, "No need to panic, Princess, there's only one." Hancock looked over to MacCready who had relaxed again, slowly walking over to meet them by the door. 

Malcolm looked down at the thing that had grabbed him. It was a human but its leathery and rotting skin was warped and twisted: large areas of it had sloughed off at some point and revealed yellowing bone and sinew. Its face was one of abject terror, its mouth open as though it was still screaming. Mal felt a shiver as though someone was walking on his future grave, "What is it?" He whispered.

Mac frowned but answered, "A Feral Ghoul. They were people once but the radiation has messed them up and rotted their brains so they attack and eat anything that moves. They usually run in packs but more would be here by now if any more were around."

"Like zombies?" His eyes flickered from the feral to Hancock.

The Ghoul groaned, "Look, pal, I don't eat babies. Ghouls and ferals are very different."

"I didn't say you ate babies," Malcolm stood and took point to enter the house, "s'not my fault I've never seen one."

"I saw the look you gave me. I'm not gonna go feral." Hancock growled as he and the Vault dweller went inside. MacCready rolled his eyes and shuffled in after being sure they weren't being followed. He secured the board from the inside as the PipBoy’s torch was flicked on, filling the room in a green glow that made the shadows twist and lurch as Mal moved.

"Sorry, it just jittered me a bit. I did just find out zombies were real after all. Will it be vampires next?" He mumbled that last bit as he started looking around the lower level, "Why was this place boarded up? It seems like a good shelter." He found a few boxes of old Blamco Macaroni and Cheese and some Cram, throwing it onto an old coffee table.

"Must've been because of the feral," MacCready took off his bag and found a lighter in one of the pockets to start a fire in the old fire place, "Ages ago, instead of wiping the ferals and other things out to reclaim areas, it was easier to just trap them in places so that people could start to live nearby. It worked back then, but now it's just a pain in the as - butt." The fire lit up the living area in a nice orange glow, its heat making them feel less on edge.

Hancock took a hit from the Jet cannister that had been in his coat, the fumes curling up his face like little grey fingers, "Yeah, things are starting to find ways out of their traps or locked buildings. But, ferals don't seem to roam too far from where they know so people generally know where to avoid."

Mal nodded and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he placed a cooking pot on the fire and added water to start making Macaroni and Cram like he used to in college, "This place is so fucked up," He hadn't really meant to say it out loud and it sounded as watery as his macaroni. He looked over at MacCready and Hancock who were sitting close together on a dilapidated couch, "Sorry, I guess I'm still adjusting."

They were silent for a while: Malcolm handing out bowls of the food he had cooked and a few beers he had found, keeping a water for himself. Night had fully set in now and Hancock saw the guy twitching nervously at the sounds of the nocturnal creatures roaming in the distance. Every now and then, a gunshot in the distance went off, and Malcolm’s hand moved ever so slightly to his weapon. He decided he needed a distraction, "This is good food, where'd you learn to cook it like this?" He felt Mac shift next to him as he lit a cigarette, his bowl completely empty.

Malcolm turned his face from the blocked off door he had been staring at, the fire's glow making his face look a bit gaunt and so tired, "Uh, college, I guess?"

"College?" MacCready asked and lit another cigarette for Hancock, sensing a story.

"Ha, yeah. I was studying at a community college in Florida. I wanted to be a vet. Had to learn to cook so I didn't spend all my money on fast food," he said this as though it explained everything but realised it didn’t as MacCready mouthed the words fast food with a furrowed brow, "Anyway, I was specialising in birds and reptiles for my placement."

Hancock let out a chuckle, "Ah yes, I see how that helps with cooking old boxes of Pre-War food stuff. What happened?"

"We got drafted. A few weeks before I was due to move to work a placement at a veterinary hospital in Texas, the army came through." He said it very quietly before standing, "I'm going to check the rest of the house, see if there's any mattresses or something we can bring in here." And he wandered off to find the stairs, leaving Hancock and MacCready to watch after him.

Hancock was frowning as he listened to the footsteps retreat, "Jesus, Mac, does he seem okay to you?"

"No, but he did just wake up after two hundred years. He's still adjusting, like he said."

"Yeah, I guess." 

They sat in companionable silence enjoying the warmth of the fire and Hancock was happy with the constant pressure of MacCready's leg against his own as the Merc cleaned his rifle. He wanted to grab it just to feel the muscles twitch beneath his fingers. 

It was a while before they realised that Mal had been gone for too long, "Should we go see if he's okay?" Hancock was whispering but he wasn't sure why. MacCready just grunted an affirmative before putting his rifle down and standing, pulling Hancock up by his hand.

They found the stairs and quietly ascended. It was too quiet and dark save for the green of a PipBoy light coming from a barely cracked door part way down a hallway. Hancock led the way, tiptoeing as best he could. They pushed the door open and it let out a low creak which became an ominous backdrop noise to accompany the still large silhouette back lit by sickly green. Malcolm stood statue still with something small in his hands in between two baby cradles. His head was down and just staring.

MacCready cleared his throat, moving into the room to glance around, "Are you okay, boss?" 

Hancock glanced at the small thing in the large gloved hands as Mal turned to face them: it was a small teddy bear, an ear missing and dirty matted fur. The Ghoul breathed in relief as Mal said, "Yeah, sorry, I just got daydreaming I guess," He blinked at them and the bleakness there cleared, "there's only a double mattress in the other room that we can drag down stairs. You two can take it and I'll take the couch?"

"It'll be worth having someone on watch. I'll take the first few hours so you two can get some proper sleep on the bed and then we'll trade." MacCready said as he picked up an old magazine off a shelf and began rifling through the pages.

Mal swallowed and nodded before leading the way to the other bedroom. His head down as he passed Hancock.

They dragged the large mattress down to the fireplace and started digging for blankets and other comforts. Before long they had a cosy little nook to take turns sleeping in and it felt safe enough with the boarded windows and blocked entrance. MacCready sat on the couch and got comfortable with his rifle and a Guns, Guns, Guns rag.

"I'm gonna wash up before I sleep." Mal had a blush high on his cheekbones as Hancock just nodded. 

The man stood after removing his boots and armour and walked into the kitchenette. He tied back his shoulder length black hair, revealing a few piercings in his ears to match those in his lip, and pulled out a toothbrush from his pack along with an old tube of toothpaste. The sound of the brushing caused MacCready to look up and both he and Hancock just watched Mal go through his nightly routine.
He finished scrubbing his teeth and washed his face using a rag soaked with hot water from a pot that had been on the fire. Then, he turned his back on them and unzipped his vault suit: the blue fabric falling away from toned shoulders and down a broad back. It was bruised and had a few scars but muscled and rippling. Big arms, also toned and scarred, were pulled from the skintight blue sleeves. They saw black lines trailing up the backs of his hips. Hancock glanced at MacCready whose mouth was partly open with a blush spreading up his neck and smirked. 

The suit was completely off now and bare skin was quickly being covered up with a loose black shirt and black pants combination. Hancock frowned when the man put his gloves back on too. Malcolm turned around too slow to catch Hancock and MacCready looking back at previous tasks, being as innocent as they could be. He padded back over to the mattress and sat beside Hancock, pulling a blanket over his head and shoulders, his eyes shut as he knelt. 

The smell of mint and clean skin hit Hancock and he had to stifle a groan. He felt so domestic. His Soulmate sat comfortably reading a magazine and a maybe Soulmate sat so close he could touch him. Confirm if his and MacCready's theories were correct. Like he was in a warm happy bubble with a full belly and warm pillows. 

He huffed a laugh to himself and started removing extra layers; boots, coat, armour, waistcoat, flag, hat, and ruffled shirt. He didn't test his luck by removing his pants too. 

He heard a small gasp come from his right and glanced over at Mal who was staring at his exposed skin: partly red, raw, warped skin moved over his chest where the remains of his blonde hair fell over his shoulders. MacCready sat up and was watching silently, his own eyes drifting between Malcolm's face and Hancock's bare torso. 

The Ghoul suddenly felt very self-conscious. The way he looked had never bothered him, he liked it in fact and it was a choice he had made, but he was suddenly very aware that he was very different. He let out a small sigh and decided how to play it: with his usual over-confidence, "See something you like?"

Malcolm stuttered for a second before glancing away, "I-uh-sorry. I guess I just didn't know what I was expecting."

MacCready let out a small laugh, "Quit apologising." He gave Hancock another look over, the pale skin of his neck was pink, before getting comfortable again.

Malcolm nodded and lay down on his side on the relatively comfortable mattress. Relative compared to the rotten floor surrounding their little cosy island. 
Hancock noted how he was careful not to take up too much space with his large frame and then lay down beside him, pulling his own blanket up and over his shoulders. His and MacCready's plan was a simple one: accidental touch. A poke to the cheek would do, but the guy kept himself covered at all times and sat or walked a foot or two away. This would have been a good time, feign sleep and roll over, but Hancock would have to move Malcolm's blanket away quite obviously. He looked over at MacCready who just shook his head "no" as though he could tell what he was thinking so he just shrugged and closed his eyes. He could be patient.

He was walking through a quiet clearing with two men beside him. They were happy. A small house was in view across a stream. Radstag roamed in the distance. He felt a warm large hand clasp the back of his neck, gently holding on as they walked and talked and laughed. 

The next night, they were crawling out of a manhole a few blocks away from Diamond City. They were bloodied and exhausted but had completed their goal of saving Nick Valentine. 
It had been a long fight to get the Synth out of his prison. The Vault under the Common had been crawling with Triggermen and even after they had got him out, they had to get past the Triggermen's leader: Skinny Malone and his right hand men. Plus the crazy bat wielding girlfriend. 

He had taken a bullet to his leg which had distracted Hancock long enough for him to take a baseball bat to the head. The splitting pain had reverberated through his own skull.
Mal now had the same baseball bat strapped to his belt. A trophy, he’d said. Thankfully, it seemed that Mal was dangerous in a fight. He had Stimpacked them both in the same breath that he had exploded a guys head with a well placed bullet. 

Mac sat on the floor to take a minute to compose himself, rubbing the sore slowly healing wound in his thigh and going through his ammo, he'd have to buy more. There was conversation happening around him:

"Ah, look at that Commonwealth sky. I never thought something so naturally ominous could look so inviting," Nick was staring up at the stars, his ragged Synth face lit up by the green of Mal’s PipBoy, his orange glowing eyes flitting over the pinpoint glitter above, "Thanks for getting me out. How did you know where to find me, anyway? Not many people knew where I went."

There was a long awkward pause as his boss just stared at Nick. Malcolm took a breath, he had a pretty nasty black eye forming from where the crazy woman with the baseball bat had swung at him, "Just what are you?"

"You really don't know?" He looked over at Hancock who just shook his head with a shrug at the Synth, "I'm a Synth. Synthetic man. All the parts, minus a few red blood cells. I got built. I got old. I got tossed. Then I opened up that little agency in Diamond City and it turns out people have plenty of problems to solve." 
Nick scratched the good side of his face with his metal skeletal hand as Malcolm looked him over in barely contained curiosity before taking in a mechanical breath, "Now, you mentioned something about a missing person. No trace of where they've gone? I want you to come to my office in Diamond City." Hancock let out a groan which Nick ignored, "Give me all the details. Besides, I think you've earned the chance to sit down and clear your head."

MacCready briefly heard the conversation Mal and Nick had had in the Vault, something about a missing person, but had been more interested in keeping watch at the door to be sure they weren't being snuck up on.

Malcolm decided to accompany Nick to Diamond City straight away and MacCready groaned with the effort of standing up. The Synth, man, and Ghoul ahead of him were quietly nattering on about some thing or another whilst he kept his sharp eyes on the buildings and alleys around them. Doing his job. This area of Boston was amazingly quiet compared to the surrounding streets due the proximity of the Common. Only the craziest raiders would come this close and MacCready hoped that they were all passed out in a drugged fueled haze at this time of the night. 

He kept his ears open for any tell tale scuff of a body, breath, or hair raising beeping. All he heard was the quiet whispering of the people ahead and the caw of a crow. He saw Malcolm tilt his head up at the bird with a grin.

A few hours or so later, as the sun was just beginning to rise, they arrived at the gates of the Great Green Jewel. Hancock stopped following and stated that he wouldn't be welcome in the city unless he wore a mask or scarf over his face. Malcolm frowned but agreed that the Ghoul and the Merc wait across the way and out of sight of the gates. MacCready shrugged, not wholly happy because he would've enjoyed some noodles from Takahashi's, but agreed it was better if Hancock stayed safe outside the protective walls. The two of them found a little porch of an old shop to settle down in just past the barricades and turrets. If they didn't cause trouble, they wouldn't be shot at. Malcolm wouldn't be too long.

"So," Hancock stretched and yawned, moving one arm behind MacCready, "what do you think?"

 MacCready rummaged through his pack finding two Nuka-Colas and some snack cakes, "Think of what?" He took a sip of the once carbonated drink and winced, the small amount of rads fizzing at the back of his throat, but it had calories and sugar.

"You know. Mal? The other night he seemed so...fragile. But in the Vault he was deadly. Really knew his way around a fight, and I thought we'd be the ones keeping him alive. Ha!" Hancock seemed elated, a bubble of glee filtering down their bond, a genuine smirk was firmly planted on his half-ghoul face.

"Yeah, he was good." MacCready paused for a moment, a problem weighing on his mind, "He was good."

Hancock nudged him with his shoulder but then left his weight there, "Everything okay?"

"I guess. How do we find out if he's ours? He stays out of arm's reach from anyone and keeps covered up. He wears a full little pajama outfit to sleep in, Hancock. And gloves!" MacCready stuffed a cake into his mouth. It was two hundred years stale but was better than going hungry. He kinda wanted Mal to cook for them again.

"We'll find our moment. He seems friendly enough so a bit of a poke in the ribs when he's changing probably won't offend him." The Ghoul laughed like a whip and popped a Mentat into his mouth.

"Maybe."

They were waiting for hours, the cold was making him grumpy, and MacCready's nerves were starting to fray. The sun had passed its zenith ages ago and was now dipping behind the large buildings of Boston. Hancock was napping beside him so he kept his sharp eyes and ears open.

What if something had gone wrong? Had Diamond City eaten him alive? He had checked in on the Shadow at regular intervals but it had spent most of the time sitting before a sudden flurry of activity that hadn't stopped for the last couple of hours. He was ninety percent sure that Malcolm was his Shadow and, so, was ninety percent protective of him. 

He was also acutely aware that they were sitting in the middle of the ruins of Boston with nothing but a rifle and shotgun. Sure, it was unlikely for someone to come this close to the City if they meant trouble, the ever present guards and turrets saw to that, but ferals and rabid dogs didn't care. If he started shooting at something he would get torn apart by the nearby turret and the guard that had been covertly watching them. He was wearing sunglasses, even in the shaded alcove he was standing in, and MacCready briefly wondered whether the guard knew he had been spotted by him hours ago.

Hancock yawned in his sleep before rolling over and pressing his face into the warmth of MacCready's thigh. The Merc snapped his eyes down and couldn't help the sharp intake of breath or the blush that climbed his neck. Hancock had wrapped one of his legs over the younger man's, an arm raised up to press against his stomach as his face shifted to use the top of his leg as a pillow.

MacCready didn't know what to do with his hands. One had perpetually been on his rifle, always ready to fight, the other had been idly playing with a fraying edge of his shirt. Now that space was taken up by Hancock's arm and he was left hovering. 
He swallowed hard as he let his arm drop to rest over Hancock's shoulder. The red coat was a rough hewn fabric under his fingertips as they unconsciously found a seam to play with.
It was nice, he decided: the warmth of a body against his to help fight off the cold and to add a weight of security. It had been so long. The beginnings of night began to settle around them.

He was just getting cosy, allowing Hancock to shift against him to get comfortable on the hard wood of the porch, when a mechanical quiet cough interrupted his semi-pleasant thoughts. He felt Hancock wake up.

"Hey, kids, we're ready to move out." Around the barricade; behind Nick Valentine, appeared Malcolm carrying a large pack and two boxes of warm noodles which he casually handed to them both, and Piper with her younger sister. The kid looked about nine or ten but had a stern face and carried her own heavy pack like the adults around her.

MacCready looked Malcolm up and down. He had ditched the vault suit and was now wearing an all black ensemble; black boots, black cargo pants with many pockets that hugged his hips, a black over shirt, and a skull bandana that covered his face to his eyeballs. Over that he wore full black armour pieces, the silver of the metal clasps and buckles glinting here and there, and a black helmet. His hair must've been tied up inside it. He looked dangerous and it made him swallow around a suddenly dry mouth. 

Damn.

Hancock stretched languidly, ever putting on a show, that doubled MacCready's blush, "Sure thing."

They travelled for about an hour before finding a boarded up shop to take shelter in. Hancock, Piper, and MacCready formed a tight ring around Nat as Malcolm and Nick popped the boards and ventured inside. 

They stayed as quiet as possible, the nocturnal sounds of the Commonwealth setting Hancock on edge with such precious cargo under his watch. The seconds ticked by like minutes. The minutes were hours. He felt them all huddle closer around the kid who shivered in the cold. Her head didn't even pass his chest.

He heard the cock of MacCready's rifle as he readied a round in the barrel, Piper stiffened beside him and whispered, "Don't shoot if you can help it, Mac. The sound will give us away."

Hancock craned his neck to see what they could see and placed a gnarled hand on the kid's shoulder. 
A group of Super Mutants were lumbering across the street a few hundred yards ahead and he was suddenly grateful for the shadow they were standing in, made all the more darker by the night. They were getting closer with every passing second and Hancock saw the steady flashing red light coming from one of them. A Suicider. He felt his hair stand on end and a flicker of worry filtered to him from MacCready.

They got closer and closer and, just as Hancock was thinking about pulling out his shotgun, a small “hey” was heard to his left. Relief flooded through him as they moved as one clustered unit to usher the child into safety; first the kid, then Piper, MacCready had to be elbowed by him to get inside before he did and as soon as he stepped through, the board was moved back in place by Malcolm and they all stood still as statues. No one breathed. The darkness pressed in on them, suffocating, and then they heard heavy feet walk past the door. A small steady beeping underpinning every step. He heard grunts as the Super Mutants spoke and then a roar as they suddenly started sprinting, the floor beneath Hancock vibrating with their weight. They ran further and further away and everyone around him sagged with relief, "They must've seen something." He murmured and thanked his lucky stars that it wasn't them being chased down.

"What were those?" Mal asked as he stepped away from the group to rummage through the old shelves of the shop, tucking things into his pockets and pack.

"Super Mutants," Nick answered, joining him to grab whatever foodstuffs and drinks they could find, "big, brutal, and always hungry. We must be near a camp."

Nat dropped her pack near the shop's counter before picking up an old cloth doll from a shelf, "That was a close one, I think next time we should all come inside straightaway." She nodded as if the decision was made.

Malcolm let out a small laugh, "If we make good time tomorrow, there won't be a next time. If we set off at first light, we should make it to the Red Rocket before dark and then Sanctuary the next morning." His arms were laden with items, "Come on, there's living space upstairs we can get comfortable in for the night."

They followed him up some stairs that were hidden behind a door labelled staff only at the back of the shop. MacCready closed it and placed a tension trigger there that would give them early warning if anyone came up behind them, "Don't open this door, Nat." The girl nodded and continued up the stairs after Piper. 

The living quarters were an open plan kitchen and living room, two single mattresses already settled in the middle of it, with a few doors on a back wall. One door was shut with a piece of fabric draped on the handle, "Don't go in there," Nick said, "it isn't pretty."

A small fire was lit in an old stove as Mal started pottering around making everyone a meal. A larger fire was lit in the fireplace by MacCready, a pot of water set on the edge of it to heat up. Piper and Nat found a bathroom and got changed into fewer layers and began pulling whatever they could find for the group to get warm and comfortable into the living space. Hancock and Nick dragged a larger mattress out of the master bedroom and moved the larger corner shaped couch closer to the fire. Eventually, everyone was sitting and eating plates of Salisbury steaks plus the noodles from Diamond City. Nat was playing a game on Mal's PipBoy as the adults shared a drink and conversation. 

"So, Blue," Piper began with a notebook poised on her knee, "tell us about your life from before."

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably, "I dunno, Pipes, it's not that great."

"Oh, c'mon, Blue!" She shuffled closer to him, throwing a quick look to Hancock and MacCready who were sitting on either side of Mal, "I want a first hand account of what it was like before." 

Hancock had the sudden urge to yell at her to back up a bit but he bit his tongue. This was the closest he’d been to the man since they’d met and he suddenly didn’t feel all that much like sharing this space with anyone but Mac.

Malcolm sighed, taking a deep breath and sipping at a purified water, "Okay, fine, but I hope you're not disappointed."

Chapter Text

He had grown up as all boys in his neighbourhood had; full bellies, loving parents, grandparents, friends, street games, church, and school.
He had wanted for nothing as his mother, a slight lady from the far east though she had lived in America since she was all of five years old, and father, a burly man from the west from some tiny town near Vegas, gave him all he could ever ask for; toys, books, fancy clothes, in fashion and on brand trainers, the latest backpacks and lunchboxes, and signed baseball mitts. They lived together in a quiet street in a quiet town nestled just outside of Washington inside the Appalachians.

He learned to hunt in the mountains with his father, grandfather, and male cousins, even if he didn’t like hurting the deer and odd bear they wandered across. He enjoyed the time spent with them though as they’d find small rivers to splash through with his father’s gruff voice telling them to be quiet before they spooked the geese.

It had all been better when he was too young to understand why he was the only one out of his cousins to have midnight dark hair and slanted eyes of almost black. It had been easier when he was too young to understand the looks he got in the streets as he ran to the sweet shop with the dollar his mother had given him.
Before his cousins started to pull away from him, before the children at school started to leave him to play alone with hurting words whispered behind their hands. All of them except Nora: fiery, wonderful Nora, who stuck by him as they walked to and from school.

He’s Chinese…like the baddies.
Mummy told me not to talk to him.
He might be a spy.

He wasn’t Chinese. He was American, born and raised, with a mother from Japan and some distant grandmother who refused to acknowledge his existence. His mother had gone against her parents wishes when she had met his father and their Shadows had bled into colour. She had tossed all caution to the wind and followed this brusque sergeant into the mountains.
He started to wear black as he grew taller and broader to try and blend into the background, begging with his body for people to just ignore him and his existence. His mother worried for him even as an auntie told her it was just a phase and that it would pass.

The phases just kept coming; goth, emo, comic books, loud music, smoking…a skin mag with muscled men draped over cars or bending over to kneel on beds.

It’s just a phase…
Just a phase.
He’ll grow out of it.

Gay.
Asian.
Enemy.
Faggot.

“Malcolm, sweet baby,” his mother said to him as he draped his legs over hers on their couch. He was due to start the next phase in his education soon and he and Nora had gotten into the same school together down in Florida, “when are you going to find someone, hmm?”

His dark slanted eyes flicked to his periphery where it remained as empty as ever: no Shadow, no Mist, not even the touch of a ghost, and he shrugged noncommittally as she smoothed the creases out of his black jeans.
He was old enough now to take part in the ceremonies designed for those who hadn't found their Shadows yet. Great parades and moments on stages where people would clasp hands to find their person. He didn't want to take part for what was the point? He didn't want to be touched by strangers after the verbal bullying had evolved into shoves and slaps. Not that his parents knew that.

He sighed and looked away from the nothingness in the corner of his eye, “Never, I guess.”

“You don’t need a Shadow to find a nice girl.”

He fought the roll of his eyes. She knew he was gay, his whole family did and they pulled him along to church in the hopes that he’d be changed. His priest was nice though: he never judged, stating that it wasn’t his job to do so, and assured him that he didn’t need to come to confession to ask for forgiveness over the way God had made him. Mal appreciated it greatly and went to church simply to hear encouragement about his nature rather than light digs that he simply hadn’t met the right girl yet. No one in his family were openly aggressive to him about it.
Apart from that one time with his grandfather and he could see the disappointment in his dad’s face every time he was home long enough from the war to look at him.

“I know I don’t need a Shadow.”

“Maybe they’re just much younger than you?” She tried to soothe, she truly did, but Malcolm was an angsty and sad teenager after years and years of social ostracising simply for the way he looked.

“Ew, mum. I’m not some gross cradle snatcher.” He ignored her gasp and went on, “What? One day I’ll get a Mist and then meet some toddler in a park and just be whole? Don’t make jokes, mum! Oh, there goes Malcolm Grimes: A Red, a shirt-lifter, and a groomer. What a legacy for you and dad, eh?”

“Mal, that’s not what I meant.”

“If I got a Mist now, I’d throw myself off the bridge.”

“Malcolm!”

He stood roughly and slammed his bedroom door shut as he barreled his way inside. He collapsed onto his bed and forced himself not to cry as his periphery remained empty and the cutting words of his peers filled his head.

Just one cut.
No one will know.
Just…one…

His razor was sharp and biting and he focused on the grounding sensation as it tore his skin. No one knew and no one would ever know.

He and Nora went into town that weekend and laughed together as they got their ears and lips pierced. He joked about getting his navel done too and she egged him on until a little black bar sat snug in the dip of his abdomen.
His mother and father were not best pleased but he refused to remove the bars from his bottom lip and ears. He didn’t bother to show them his belly.

He moved with Nora to Florida.

"There you have it folks! After a record breaking census last season, the next ceremonies will take place during the school holidays! Good luck to all you ladies and gentlemen taking to the stages in the next few months! And now, here's some smooth tunes to help you with your day. This has been Johnny Frost with all the latest, for your ears only -" 

A slow jazz melody began to play through his dorm rooms. It was his last year of school and Mal kept his head down over his diagrams of cat anatomy, chewing the piercings in his lip. He had an exam coming up and couldn't afford to do badly. Comparing the skeletal and muscular structure of cats and humans made his brain short circuit, birds and reptiles made much more sense to him.

"Hey, Honey! How’re you this fine morning?” He looked up at his best and oldest friend. She was tall, pale, and stern looking: her dark hair cut into a severe angular bob that framed her ice blue eyes. She had sharp painted nails perched on thin hips as she glared at him. She was dressed in an all black pencil skirt/blazer combo, very corpo-goth chic if Mal had anything to say about it, and very much looking like a lawyer in training. He sighed and looked down at the fastened cuffs of his black sleeves, wrists and hands forever covered and caught her frown, “I hope you're not going to stay cooped up in here all day."

He put his pen away, there was no point in arguing with her when she was in this kind of mood, "Fine, what do you want to do?" Looking down at his own all black outfit, he decided he looked okay enough to go out somewhere. He’d even taken the time to rub some kohl around his eyes today.

"Eat? Plan the holidays?"

"I thought I was going to your parents place?" He grabbed his bag, pulled on his gloves, and followed her out into corridors.

She huffed, "They've decided to go skiing, I could phone your mum and get her to talk to your dad?"

"Nora! You know my dad will say no."

"It's fine! I have a plan!" She grabbed his arm and dragged him along in her wake.

Malcolm Sr was what you would expect from an old Army Colonel; large, buzzed cut, and fierce. The only softness in his heart after years and years of war was reserved for his wife and his country. He stared at the interlocked fingers of his son and Nora, skin on skin, not fully believing it as his Lily fluttered about them both.

Nora was grinning with mischief like she used to when she was a child: dragging Malcolm Jr into trouble. His boy was blushing and didn’t meet his eyes. He looked so much like his mother; angular eyes, straight long black hair, and darker skin. He almost gave up questioning his nature seeing him like that. Nearly eighteen and finally with a girl he was sweet on. He huffed, it would've been better if they'd done this years ago.

Christmas eve night found Malcolm and Nora curled up in his childhood room, hot chocolate with liquor between them. They celebrated their victory of fooling his parents the way most older teenagers would have, with booze and laughter. 

"Seriously, though, Mal. We should just get married after we graduate. It'll keep folk off our backs about...stuff." Her eyes were twinkling at him as she sipped her drink.

"Oh, yeah? And then what, raise a happy little family?" He laughed.

"Well, yeah, eventually." 

He laughed harder, "Ew!"

She threw a pillow at him, whispering seriously all of a sudden, blue eyes wide with more trepidation than he'd ever seen on her, "Honestly, Honey. What else could we do? We're Unfortunate and g-a-y. We'll never be left alone if we don't and what about our careers," she suddenly looked put out, "I'll never be taken seriously if I don't have a man by my side."

War never changes.

The army was at the college. He and Nora stood side by side with interlocked fingers. His father was calling out names from a long list. The news had said Anchorage had fallen to the Chinese forces and the draft was starting. He was shaking. This couldn't be happening. He'd only turned eighteen two days ago: if the army had come the week before he would have been too young for the draft.

I just want to help animals. 
Animals don't care who you are. 
I just want to help the creatures that can't help themselves. 
Please, God, don't let this be happening. 

It was happening though and he was holding onto Nora's hand as if his life depended on it. And, it probably did. Their ruse of a fake relationship had saved them both from the worst jibes of their peers:

Unfortunate faggot! 

Too messed up to be complete, fucking shirt lifter. 

Puff! 

Goth! 

Ew, you eat babies! 

Devil worshipping freaks. 

You and your dyke friend should fucking kill yourselves! 

Unfortunate faggot!

"Grimes, Malcolm Jr." His dad's voice rang out and he heard Nora let out an almost silent sob beside him, her nails dug into the skin of his hand leaving sharp red crescents through his glove as he pulled away.

He tried to keep his head held high as he approached his father. They had the same tall and broad build, strong stubbled jaw, and the same long fingers that wrapped around the paper with his name on it. His dad glanced at him and he saw the tiniest flicker of regret there but otherwise he didn't let on. He was directed to stand with the group of boys - young men - on the other side of the large communal hall they had gathered in. Some were crying.
The roll call continued as he stared directly at Nora. Her eyes were hard steel as she held his gaze. Names continued to be called, more and more boys came forward. Some cried, some panicked, some made a show of their bravery. They weren't even old enough to legally drink yet. Couldn't even rent a car. Children of to war. Young, too young, men.

At the end of the list: Colonel Grimes turned to face them. His uniform was pressed into sharp lines: medals glittering, mocking them with hope and accolades, "You have two days to gather your belongings, to say your goodbyes to your friends and peers. Then we ship to Boston for your training," he paused for a moment and took a breath. He seemed to meet every eye but his son's, "the war is ever unfolding. As you all well know. Strong men are needed to help secure the fate of our great country, the fate of our people, our friends and loved ones. The world. We will not back down from these red demons! We will not back down from holding on to what is ours. We will come out the other side stronger and victorious. Dismissed."

People began to shuffle away in various forms and levels of shock and his father turned and began walking to the exit. Malcolm sprinted after him, "Dad! Dad, please, wait!" He followed him outside into the bright mocking sunlight and gripped his arm. The soldiers surrounding his father turned and their hands went to their guns to the foreign looking student, but were waved off as his father turned to face him.

"Do not embarrass me," he hissed quietly, "we will talk when we get to Boston. Your mother is already there preparing the house." He tried to pull his arm away but Malcolm Jr held on tightly.

"I don't want to go to Boston! I want to go to Texas to study!" He felt like a child.

"And who will be waiting for you in Texas, son? Do you think the draft has stopped at the border of Florida?" His angry face moved close to his son's pale face contrasting bronze, "We. Will. Talk. In. Boston." 

They didn't talk in Boston but Malcolm had one life line there. With the schools shut for the time being, his mother allowed Nora to stay with them as her parents were stuck in Canada with the borders closed. Their house was in a quiet cul-de-sac, surrounded by a babbling creek, populated by people related to the army in some way. Colonel's and Sergeant's wives and children. They would want for nothing in Sanctuary Hills.

He trained for months in Hagen. Grueling hard work with grueling hard people. They were shouted at and bullied by their superiors, made to run for miles and miles with heavy packs and weapons. They fought and sparred and came out the other side bloodied with their hair kept shaved down to their scalps.

Some people looked at him with suspicion over his obviously east-asian ancestry. Called him names and flicked food at him or quickly jabbed him with fists and knees when the higher ups weren't watching. 

He was American. He had been born and raised here.

I don't even know Japanese.

Maybe it would've been easier if he did know some Japanese. To know how to fling cutting words without others understanding and leave them as confused and scared as he was. He didn't tell his father, instead, he cried in the quiet bunk room when the other boys on his squad were asleep. The scars on his wrists were reopened more than once.

They were eventually specialised and he became a heavy field medic. Someone who could fight and heal at the same time but his priority in a real fight would be to keep people alive.
He tried.
Tried so hard to heal and soothe and protect. Even those who had hurt him.

Some boys killed themselves in the bunk room or bathroom, bodies found by their peers in a sudden confronting panic, before they were packed off to their first real mission.

Two years passed. He had scars and muscles. And trauma. 

Anchorage had nearly killed him multiple times, the wounds and scars collecting on his skin like ink on paper. The trenches ran in rivers of red as the blood of allies and enemies mixed to turn the ground slick and dangerous. So many dead bodies; twisted, blown up, cut apart, crushed, burnt, eviscerated. He saw them when he closed his eyes.

The first enemy he'd killed had only died before him because the man had paused in a confused double take as they looked at each other with matching eyes. The man had said something in Japanese but Mal was American. He shot the man. He shot and killed rather than healing and soothing.
His hands were dirty with the blood and viscera of those he'd taken.

His father had died on the field in front of his very own eyes. He had tried to stop the bleeding, tried to keep his father awake and evacuated with his guts inside as bullets and missiles flew overhead. Death and blood and bodies piled high.
The scars on his wrists opened again.

He came home on leave to a heart broken mother and a sobbing friend. He tried to relax. He tried to be normal. He tried.

Lily Grimes died of broken heart syndrome: a rare complication of an otherwise treatable condition. The treatable condition being your Shadow not dying before you did. She never told him that she felt every bullet or his fathers panic. She never told her son of the pride his father had felt toward him at the end on that muddy and bloody field. She was buried with her husband and Soulmate.

It was after her funeral, back at the quiet house in quiet Sanctuary Hills, when Nora grabbed his hand and whispered, "We should get married." She was a lawyer now with a solicitors in Concord specialised in family law. Malcolm just nodded, the shadows of war and the death of his family dark in his black eyes.
The ceremony was small and private. No honeymoon was had and the thought of consummation made Nora and Mal feel sick. They shared a bottle of wine together and quietly laughed over the golden rings on their fingers. He would be shipped off back to the front line in a few days but Nora would be comfortable and taken seriously as the wife of a Specialist Corporal.

Another year or so passed, he couldn't remember. Malcolm was promoted to Staff Sergeant for his actions in Canada. He was known to be hard working and clever, his squad always made it out alive thanks to him. He was fast with his guns and even faster at stopping bleeding. His squad; those that went on missions with him, slept with him, ate with him, got tattoos to mark themselves as a team. The flowing black ink trailed up his thighs and over his hips. 

He came home scarred and tired but Nora was there to help pick up the pieces. His best friend. She was always there when he got off the Vertibird. Always there to help him remember that he wasn't going to get shot at at home. He went on two more tours and got honourably discharged after a massive accident involving Power Armour had left him too injured to continue fighting.

Sanctuary was a sanctuary and the scars on his wrists remained scars.

They were having a small party with friends just like them: Unfortunates and homosexuals. To their neighbours on the outside it just sounded like a group of friendly adults visiting the Lieutenant and his wife.

Inside, it was alcohol and debauchery. Their friends found pleasure in the people and gender they found attractive and coveted but were never allowed to be seen with publicly.
He never took part physically, avoiding the touch of skin as though it burned, and his gloves remained on. Many of the men and women present were married in the same way that Mal and Nora Grimes were. Lavender marriages. It was during one of these nights that a friend, a lesbian like Nora, announced her pregnancy and demanded to know when they would have a child too. 

They used artificial insemination, a cup and a pipette, in their bathroom and in December of 2076 she announced her pregnancy and when their son was born in August 2077 there was no doubt who the father was. They named him Shaun after Nora's father. Her parents had died in Canada after the small town they were staying in was attacked by the Chinese. He held his son first as Nora was stitched up and thought he would burst at the seams with pride and knew he would do anything for this tiny boy.
He stroked the soft hair of his baby’s head with his bare fingers in what felt like his first purposeful touch for another person in years and felt like all was right in the world.

Shaun had inherited some of his father's and paternal grandmother's Japanese heritage. Dark hooded eyes and even darker hair but he had his mother's almost paper white skin and stern look. Nora was ecstatic and took to motherhood like a duck to water. They spent their days in parks and in zoos, their nights were spent with friends and at galas for veterans. It was almost as if Boston was in a bubble away from the horror of the war happening elsewhere.

October 23rd 2077 rolled around, Halloween was close and their cul-de-sac was full of children putting up pumpkin shaped bunting and leaving out jack-o-lanterns as they ran around in horror themed masks. Their Mister Handy, Codsworth, was making their morning coffee, programmed to be loyal and helpful to the family. 

The news was on the television and he stepped away to get Shaun ready for the day, wrapped up in a cosy swaddle for their morning walk along the river to see what fish they could see.

Then, all of a sudden, they were running for the nearby Vault where their names had been down since he was first discharged due to his station. 

“Adult male, adult female, infant.”

Easy as that they were through the chain link fence and past the men in Power Armour who saluted him as his neighbours screamed for help behind him. Nora held Shaun tight to her chest with one arm, her other holding tightly to the back of Mal's shirt as they looked out over their home.

The atom bomb hit the city. Then another. And another. The air rippled with the heat and bloom of radiation and all he could do was watch as the shockwave rolled toward them all. The air turned to ash. People screamed. Shadows turned grey and faded and more shadows were painted onto the ground as people were vaporised. So many people died. So many people he knew and cared about. 

The ground shuddered and he and a handful of his neighbours were lowered to safety and quickly processed into the Vault. Shaun was crying and he offered to take him from Nora so she could have a break but she shook her head with a grim smile at him.

“I'm okay, Honey. Let's just get this done and find our room.”

They got changed into tight blue Vault suits and were directed to the decontamination pods. He offered, again, to take Shaun but was rebuffed once more.

“Mal, seriously, I'm okay. He's just settled. You can have a cuddle when we get out of these stupid machines.” He stroked his son's hair and kissed the tip of his little nose before gently bumping his forehead against Nora's.

“See you on the other side, Captain.” 

She smiled at him, “As you were, Lieutenant.”

He sat in that pod and mildly wondered what decontamination system they were using because it was so cold. Then, two hundred and some years later, Nora was in the Vault, frozen in time with a bullet hole in her head. And Shaun was gone. He wondered how different it would be if he had been holding Shaun and Nora had survived.
She would know what to do better than him.

There was silence in the room. The adults stared at him, the child was oblivious to the tension and heartbreak around her.

Nick rattled, leaning forward to light a cigarette in the fireplace, "We'll find your son, Mal, I promise." 

"Yeah. Well, now you know everything there is to know about me." He huffed out a shaky laugh and tapped a rhythm with his fingers onto his black pants. He waited for the accusations, the insults about his nature. MacCready leaned forward next to him.

"So, you don't have a Shadow?" The young raggedy man looked confused and Mal could swear he looked disappointed and even a little upset, "Like, at all?"

Mal swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, chewing the piercings in his lip, and took a moment to reply, "When I - when I woke up," he took a swig of his water and waved off an offer of a cigarette from Hancock, "I could see Shadows." 

There was an oppressive silence which Malcolm took to mean the end of the conversation. He stood, excusing himself to the bathroom with the hot water pot. His hands were shaking and he could feel the stares burning a hole through the back of his skull.

Chapter Text

Hancock didn't follow straight away, he finished his cigarette and used the excuse of needing to piss to join Mal in the bathroom. 

He had his loose black shirt and baggy pants on and was brushing his teeth too slowly. The back and forth along his teeth making a quiet shwish-shwish as he stared at nothing on the battered tile before him. The bathroom was grody, like everything else in the Commonwealth, but the smell of soap and mint hung in the air.
Mal didn't look at him as he spat into the ruined sink. His ungloved (to Hancock's mild surprise) hands were shaking. Clenching and unclenching to disperse the tension in his muscles. He spied the straight vertical scars on the man's wrists and quickly looked up to the side of Mal’s face. He chewed his piercing in his lip a lot.

"Hey, pal, that got heavy. You doing okay?" Hancock had felt his heart swoop and drop into his stomach when Mal had mentioned his lack of a Shadow in his old life, but hope flickered in his chest once more when he confirmed to MacCready that he now saw Shadows. 

Shadows. Not Shadow. His brain kept repeating.

Mal turned ever so slightly to face him, his eyes were sad and the corners of his mouth were turned down. Up close, Hancock could see a the top of a scar at the point where his neck met his shoulder, it looked like a burn, "Just get to the point, Hancock, you know everything about me now. About what I am," his dark eyes were boring into Hancock's even darker ones, "just say your piece and get it over with. You don't want to travel or work with a faggot. I get it." He said it with a low rumbling venom that made this tattooed and pierced relic even more intimidating than what just his size provided.

Hancock's mind was reeling. He wasn't sure where this had come from, he had no clue on when he had given this man the impression that he cared who people slept with. He’d slept with plenty of folk; men, women, and everything in between! Hell, his Soulmates were men! 

He splayed out his hands in front of him, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down, Sunshine," Mal was breathing heavy erratic breaths, his eyes wide and face flushed with a splotchy pinkness, "listen, no one cares about that shit anymore. Sure, you might get the odd dickwad who keeps to those thoughts, overall though? No one cares who sleeps with who. We've all got bigger things to worry about, ya feel?" Mal sat on the broken toilet staring up at him with watery eyes, "Mal, my Shadows are men. MacCready is a man."

He let out a small relieved sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke and wiped his eyes quickly, "Your Shadow is MacCready?"

"Yeah, of course he is," he felt the rightness in his bones settle as he said it out loud, "we haven't found our third yet. But, hopefully, we'll get lucky again soon." He levelled his gaze at Mal, trying to tell him with his eyes to just reach out and touch him. Malcolm stayed still apart from a small nod.

"Mine could be anywhere in the world, how could I find them? Everything is so...fucked."

They could be closer than you think. He wanted to say out loud but stopped himself. Mal wasn't ready for the possibility and Hancock wouldn't force him to face it, “Well, dunno about that, but I can promise that you won't find any of us minding who you share your bed with.” 

It was a lie. Hancock would care. He'd be exceedingly jealous if the man spent time with anyone other than him and Mac.

Mal huffed, “When I was younger, we went to church. I liked it there and the priest was nice. But, there was this old man who knew my dad, he used to say I was born sick and needed help. He said that if I prayed every day and took penance, God would give me a Shadow. A nice lady to call mine.” Hancock couldn’t help rolling his eyes, “Turns out, God did have a Shadow planned for me. Two! They just hadn’t been born yet.”

MacCready watched his Shadows as he pretended to look out the window to spot danger. They'd been in the bathroom for a while but he had no indication that Hancock had touched Mal, or vice versa. The swirling purples and sharp greens of Hancock contrasted the deep plain black of the maybe Mal.

He heard Piper get settled on one of the single mattresses with an already snoring Nat and Nick approached him.

"I'll keep watch tonight, I don't need sleep to keep this old bag o' bolts moving." His metallic voice was subdued to a grim whisper. The knowledge they all had now weighed on them like a thick cloying blanket. Life before the bombs could be just as grim for some people as it was now.

"Why do you think they were like that?"

"Well, resources we're drying up and the powers-that-be in the world -"

"No, not that. I know the history of how and why the bombs fell," he turned to look fully at Nick, "I mean, how could they shun someone for who they liked or what they looked like? What business was it of anyone else's who Malcolm wanted to spend his time with. He had to marry his best friend just to get people off their backs."

He sighed through his nose as he took in Nick's face. MacCready wasn't the biggest fan of synths, generally. They made shivers crawl up his back and the few he had met - or knew for certain that he had met - had been...weird. One, she said she had escaped from somewhere and needed a place to hide, had come to Little Lamplight to hunker down in the cave system. Her face, whilst pretty and doe like, had had cracks spiderwebbing from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes had a similar orange glow to Nick's and her forearm was damaged just enough that he could see the metal beneath her fake skin. He had told her to go away as the predatory feeling of the uncanny valley had scared his little eleven year old brain.
Another he had met had been moving in a strange twitching fashion and, for the briefest of moments, he had thought he had found his twitchy Shadow. The synth had turned in the shadow of the building it was moving around in and their face had just been a chrome skull. MacCready had tried to back away. To get away from the robot and its strange twitching limbs. But, it had lurched for him and he had shot it.
Nick, though? He had seen him around Diamond City on the odd times he had been in the settlement on a random job or visiting Vadim. He had made him jump at first and his hand had grabbed tight to his rifle but, in observing the townsfolk in the market place, he saw that Nick was just going about his day. He had said hello to a few folk, nodded his head to others, and met up with a young woman who linked his elbow and dragged to the back alleys toward the detective agency. No, Nick wasn't too bad in his books.

"What did it matter to them what people looked like? Ooo, he's got darker skin and differently shaped eyes...big whoop. Y'know? Some people look weird! You, Hancock, that lady who lives near the water in Diamond City with the third eye...me. No one cares."

Nick laughed, "Well, kid, it's not like ghouls and yours truly existed back then. I remember, or old Nick remembers, a lot of prejudice from back then. If you didn't fit in: you were cut from the group. If you didn't fit in, didn't have a Shadow, and you weren't straight? Bad place to be, Mac." Nick lit a cigarette and they shared it between them for a few moments, "What's up with you, anyways? You don't have a third eye or extra fingers that I can see."

MacCready shrugged and wished he'd kept his big mouth shut before Nick nudged his shoulder gently with a quiet go on, kid, so he took a deep breath and mumbled, "I'm pointy."

"What?"

"Doesn't matter. I still don't get why people cared."

"I dunno, kid. Some people are just -" he stopped talking as the bathroom door creaked open. Hancock came out first and shook his head at them: Don’t ask. 

Then, Mal came out, his eyes rimmed red, dressed in his black loose outfit for the night, and collapsed onto the corner couch without saying a word.

Another hour later; MacCready was sharing the larger mattress with Hancock, his arm was over the Merc's chest, weighing on him and practically pinning him flat. He didn't mind and felt a small thrill flutter through him whenever the weight was pressed further. He liked the pressure as it grounded and let him know someone was there: comforting and right and warm. 

The room was quiet and darkened as the light of the fire slowly burnt down, and MacCready found himself staring at Malcolm's gloved hand as it dangled over the side of the couch. It was so close he could reach out so easily and brush a finger over the slim sliver of tanned skin he could see at the top of the glove. But, he would follow Hancock's lead on this one. He sighed and cocooned himself down into his blanket and coat so that only his eyes were visible, he saw Nick stand straighter to watch something move outside.
Then the rain started: slowly lulling MacCready to sleep. 

He was having a lovely dream; imagining the safety of Sanctuary, being warm in an easier place with Hancock and a nebulous other, and Duncan being with them as a tight little unit of four, when he was suddenly and violently being shaken awake, "Mac! Get up and get dressed now! We have to move!" His groggy state didn't let him know who had woken him and then the adrenaline kicked in. There was a flurry of activity around him, bags being packed and clothes and armour being pulled on. Guns being loaded. Then he heard it:

"Here human human human." And the deathly blood curdling howl of a mutant hound. The Super Mutants had sniffed them out.
He bolted upright and dragged his pants and coat on, loading his rifle as he went. Mal was corralling Piper and Nat to the door with the fabric draped over the handle that had served as a warning to stop people from entering by mistake.

"There's a fire escape through this room. Nat, close your eyes and keep hold of Piper's hand. Climb up and onto the roof. Everyone, go!"

They rushed through the door; Nat and Piper went first, followed by Nick, Hancock and then himself. He spared a glance for the couple of dead and rotting ferals shoved into a grim corner.
As Malcolm shut the door and put a leg through the window, the tension trigger downstairs was activated. The boom shook the building and an inhuman cry of pain was heard below. They climbed quickly, the roof was slanted and slippery from the rain and Mal directed them to jump to the next building with a flat roof that was separated from theirs by a narrow alleyway. It wasn't a very large gap but, as they jumped and made it to the other side, MacCready heard a slip and gasp, and spinning quickly to help he saw Mal and Nat still on the slanted roof. Mal had grabbed Nat by an arm as she dangled precariously over the edge, a two story drop below her. Piper cried out.

"I can smell you!" The Super Mutants had surrounded the building. 

Mal tensed and dragged Nat back onto the roof with him, pulling her away from the edge and up onto the peak of the A shaped building, leaning her against a crumbling chimney. Mac couldn't hear what he was saying to the girl but he watched as Mal took off his helmet and tightened it onto the kids head. He followed this up with his chest armour, pulling the straps as tight as they could go on the small girls frame. His quickly wet black hair was in his eyes as he typed something into his Pip-Boy and showed it to Nat and then strapped the device to her thin arm. Stomping up the fire escape could be heard.

Mal looked over at the four of them, all watching with tension in their shoulders. Piper was waving her hands frantically. Mal looked at Mac and moved his arms: catch the kid. Piggyback her. PipBoy. MacCready nodded and stood at the edge of the roof with his arms out and ready for his precious cargo.

Malcolm stood and lifted Nat into one arm: balancing her onto his hip as he pulled something from his belt. A frag grenade. The man slid down the roof and, as he reached the edge, flung the girl at MacCready with one arm, the other throwing the grenade out and away into the alley below. 

Mac caught Nat as she yelled out and the grenade went off to muffle it. He got her onto his back and grabbed her arm to check the Pip-Boy. The map was open with a pinpoint flashing North-West of them. He started running to the other end of the roof, Piper following, and he didn't look back as he followed his orders. He climbed down a ladder as quickly as possible with the kid on his back and waited on solid ground for the others to join him. Three people dropped to the ground beside him, "Mal said to go, he'll meet us at the map point." A voice whispered and he nodded as he heard gunfire beyond the building behind him. They kept low as they moved, Nat was crying quietly on his back, and Malcolm's helmet bumped him in his temple with every step he took.

It was a two hour trek to get over a dangerous bridge rigged to blow that Hancock disarmed as they moved and he kept Nat on his back the whole way. They skirted around Lexington for another hour, keeping low and out of sight of any potential bandits or ferals, and no one talked. 

Eventually, as the sun began to set, they came across an old diner along a crumbling road that coincided with the map point.

"Good evening, sister." Hancock tipped his hat at a figure as they passed the door threshold.

"What d'ya want?" An older woman with greying hair had a loaded shotgun on her counter by her fingers and obviously ready to fire if needed.

Hancock held up his hands showing that they were empty, "We got told to come here by a friend, we need shelter for the kid."

The woman frowned, "Who told you to come here? I ain't got nothing here for strangers unless they buyin'."

"Malcolm Grimes."

At the name, the woman's demeanour changed instantly: a cracked tooth smile lit up her eyes and her tense shoulders relaxed as she casually leaned against her counter and nudged the shotgun a bit to the side, "Oh! Friends of the General are ya! Come in, come in! Get warm!" 

MacCready nearly cried with relief when Nat climbed off his back and entered the diner with Piper holding her hand. They all followed suit, Hancock chatting with the woman as he propped his weapons up against the wall, "The names Trudy, that's my son, Patrick. Any friends of the General are friends of ours."

"General?" Hancock replied, "I didn't know we were traveling with such esteemed company."

"Oh, aye? That man helped us out something fierce and helped the Minutemen out to boot! Earned the title through his actions." She pulled out a good amount of supplies and began handing them out so they could eat, "He's got a few settlements up and running in the past few months or so, really helped trade up this way."

MacCready zoned out of the conversation, too tired to care about Generals and trade routes, and took a seat at one of the many booths in the building, laying his rifle out on the rickety table. He saw a thin young man at the back of the building sectioning out items for sale and nodded in greeting. Nat lay down across the seat opposite him, Piper laying Malcolm's armour and Pip-Boy alongside Mac's gun, she wrapped Nat in her coat and went to join Nick outside with a cigarette. 

The kid promptly fell asleep and the wait for the General began. He watched the Shadow run and crawl and walk as night started to fully enclose on the Commonwealth.
Eventually, Hancock came and sat beside him, taking one of his hands into his own. MacCready didn't pull away: the contact felt nice and soothed his nerves somewhat. Grounding. Hancock passed him a purified water and said, "What do you think we should do?"

"I think we should at least talk to him first. After all he's gone through, springing it on him with a poke to the face or somethin' doesn't feel right,'' he took a long drink before continuing, "After everything he said: the way people treated him and the way he coped? I don't want to fu- mess it up."

Hancock nodded and rubbed a soothing circle with his thumb onto the back of his hand, "Yeah, maybe when we've got to Sanctuary? We could talk to him in private, hopefully."

MacCready nodded and leaned back into the booth's tatty padded seat. He was exhausted and the muscles in his back and legs were screaming at him after carrying Nat for so long. Hours of frayed nerves and quiet seemed to seep from him as he shut his eyes and held on tightly to Hancock's hand. He felt a head lean onto his shoulder and began to doze. They would have to stay the night and get to Sanctuary tomorrow evening, later than they'd hoped but nothing too major.
He didn't remember falling fully asleep.

Hancock lay his red coat over MacCready's sleeping form and joined Nick and Piper outside for a cigarette. The moon was high in the sky and a few hours had passed since they'd made it to Drumlin Diner. He sat on the floor beside Piper and looked out over the road, hoping to see Malcolm. His Shadow was steadily walking so he hoped it wouldn't be much longer, "What a day, huh?"

Piper blew air out her nose in a forced laugh, "You're telling me? Jesus, I'm wondering now if it was worth it. At least in Diamond City we weren't woken up by Super Mutants."

"Nah, just the locals calling for your head. They wouldn't have let you stay much longer, Piper."

Nick chimed in, "Me and Ellie are moving out too. Just have some business to settle when we go back and then I'll be helping her pack up and move to Sanctuary too."

"When we go back?" Hancock furrowed his brow. Sure, he had to go back to Goodneighbor at some point to settle a few scores but he had no plans on going back to the City ever again if he could help it. 

"Yeah, we found the scumbag's house who took his kid. We're picking up a tracking dog and heading back out as soon as possible. He had a secret room full of weapons and it seems Kellogg liked to smoke a particular brand of cigars, hopefully the dog can follow the scent."

Kellogg. The name sounded familiar but he couldn't place it right now, "Well, Mac and I will come back out with you. Can't leave a brother hangin'" it was a weak excuse, even to his own ears, but he didn't want to leave Mal's side if he could help it. Not until they knew for sure one way or another.

"Why are you following him, Hancock? Don't you have your own town to run?" Piper looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a furrowed expression. Piper was a reporter and knew the ways to wiggle the truth out of people better than anyone else he knew without using outright torture. 

He went with a half-truth and sighed as he rubbed his chin with the edge of his Mentats box, "He hired RJ on retainer and I can't be away from him for so long without knowing how he is." 

Weak, again, John. His mind viciously mocked him.

"Wouldn't your bond let you know how he is?"

Hancock laughed and shrugged, "Well, what about you? Why are you following the 'General' around?"

She lit another cigarette, taking a long drag before answering, "To be honest, John, I thought he might be my," she paused for a long moment, "Well, anyway, he's not. And I knew we had to leave the City sooner rather than later, so...here we are." She gestured vaguely at everything.

Nick hummed, "What makes you so sure he isn't your Shadow?"

"I touched him and nothing happened." She shrugged and Hancock wanted to add on that the man was gay but he knew it would just sound childish.
Everyone knew platonic Soulmates were a fact. He also would not let them know that he thought Mal was their third: triads or more were exceedingly rare and he felt he could count on Mal to not reveal the information Hancock had given him last night. He wanted to ask when and how she had touched his skin as the man stayed covered and distant for the most part but thought better of it, it didn't matter because it didn't take, "What's it like being bonded, Hancock?" Piper interrupted his musings.

He didn't know how to answer and was saved from the question by the generator for the diner being turned on and the lights turning the darkness around them absolute. They were in a haven of a warm orange glow, keeping the nocturnal creatures at bay, "Hey, kids, gonna lock up now, y'all better come inside."
Hancock nodded and flicked his smoke away. Pushing himself up, he checked in on his Shadows; MacCready was still curled up on his side, breathing softly. Maybe-Mal was still steadily walking, something held between two hands, his head tilting to the side every now and then as though he was talking to someone.
He sighed and followed Nick and Piper inside, the pair were discussing Sanctuary and what it might hold. Hancock sat beside Mac and settled himself in for a long night ahead.

He was exhausted but refused to shut his eyes. He didn't want to miss Malcolm being let in through the door and also didn't trust the large windows being their only defence against anything that wandered by. He busied himself by idly braiding the remains of his hair where it lay on his shoulder or tapping out a pattern on his thigh.

The night wore on and on: Piper eventually fell asleep with her head cradled by her arms over a table, the diner's owners retreated to a back room, and Nick stayed vigilant as ever by the door, ready to open it if Mal came by. 

A small pack of mutts came sniffing by the walls and windows before moving on into the undergrowth beyond their ring of light. He was very aware that the light wouldn't actually stop anything jonesing for a fight or food but it was nice to pretend. A fantasy he loved to bask in when behind the high walls and guards back in Goodneighbor.

He was on edge. He had travelled through the Commonwealth before, sure, and many times at that, but never with a kid. How did people do it? Families moved between settlements and cities and trading posts regularly as far as he was aware. How did they not just hunker down with their children and avoid the nerve-gnawing knowledge that a single slip up could spell disaster.
He needed some Jet. He needed some Calmex. Daytripper. Anything to stop himself fraying at the edges.

MacCready moved beside him, his curled up legs stretching out over his thighs. Hancock gently laid his hand on the younger man's calf and the touch helped to steady him. He could do this. Just a few more hours until the sun rose and allowed him to step outside to gasp in the fresh air. He could do this. 

So, he sat, cradling MacCready's legs, listening to the night around them. Nick asked him if he needed anything and he shook his head. Nat got up to use the bathroom and then settled with her head on Piper's thighs. The sound of crows from the trees began to call in the dawn. And, then, a knock at the door could be heard.

Nick was at the door in a second, "Who's there? You're a few hours too early if you're wantin' to trade."

"It's me, Nick! I have a guest with me." Hancock gently moved Mac's legs off him so he could stand and felt so much weight lifted from his shoulders. 

Nick opened the door and there stood Mal: the black of his shirt was stained with the brown of drying blood, he had a scrape over one cheek, "Don't worry, the blood isn't mine. Most of it, anyway." He walked into the diner and was followed by a woman with flaming red hair and a stony expression that shadowed bright green eyes, "This is Cait. Cait, this is everyone."

Chapter Text

They left the diner at first light, giving their thanks to Trudy, and beginning their trek up toward Concord.

Hancock walked up beside Mal and MacCready heard him ask, "So, what happened yesterday, General?"

Mal did an awkward grin at the title and took a small step to one side for space but gave them a quick rundown of what had happened. He looked so tired after travelling all day and all night to get to the diner, "After you guys escaped, I ran over the rooftops to draw those big green things away. I had meant to go this way -" he showed Hancock the Pip-Boy but MacCready couldn't see the planned route from the back of the group, "I must've got turned around because the next thing I knew, I was being shot at by some people outside a place called the Combat Zone," the red headed woman, Cait, snorted, "So, anyway, I get inside and I see Cait being forced to fight in a big cage. People started shooting at me but eventually I whittled them down to just Cait and the guy who held her...contract,” Mal said that word with a shot of spiteful venom, “he said if I let him live he'd pass Cait onto me. I agreed and now here we are."

Hancock scowled, "She's a -"

"Oi, I'm not fucking anything." She had a thick accent that definitely wasn't from America but MacCready couldn't place it, "This one shot Tommy after he agreed to take me on."

"I don't agree with slavery or indentured servitude."

"Oh, sure, unless it fucking suits ya."

Mal rubbed a hand down his tired face, "Cait, I've already told you, you're free to go at any point."

"And go where?" She crossed her arms and MacCready decided to stop listening to the bubbling argument. He scanned around their environment: checking for threats as Concord loomed in the distance. It was blissfully quiet but that could change in an instant and he had to stay on guard.

"Hey, MacCready?" Piper pulled on his sleeve, "Do you mind watching over us? Nat has to pee."

He nodded and tapped her hand before turning his face to the bickering group, "Wait up! The kid has to go." The group stopped but stayed focused on their quiet heated discussion. He saw Nick lighting up a cigarette in irritation as his hand waved to enunciate some point he was making, "C'mon, we'll go in the bushes for privacy."

Piper nodded and took Nat's hand, leading her toward a copse of trees. MacCready turned his back and kept watch on the surrounding undergrowth, but all seemed quiet. Crows were perched in a tree nearby so he watched them for any sign of danger; if anything was around, they would know first. He could still hear the others talking from the road and thankfully the girl didn't take too long. He heard her whisper to Piper, "Where should I wipe?" and then some rustling as leaves were pulled off a nearby plant.

They rejoined the group, "We'll circle round Concord to avoid going directly through it. It should be safe enough but I'd rather not risk it at the moment." Mal looked pointedly at Nat and MacCready agreed that it was best to avoid towns if possible. They carried on walking. The area was almost peaceful as they strolled at a mostly leisurely pace; guns were held steady, Nat position toward the middle, eyes alert and scanning, but calm and enjoying light conversation about mostly nothing topics.
Eventually, Concord was passing by on their right: a small jungle of dark grey and red brick. Malcolm climbed a nearby tanker and motioned for MacCready to follow him up, "Can you see anything in the town?"

Mac got down to one knee and hefted his rifle to look through the scope. He carefully panned around rooftops and down the alleys he could see before he saw a small group of people coming out of a long abandoned house carrying items between them, "There's some people, boss. Definitely not raiders, they don't have the right armour. Not Gunners either." He handed the rifle to Malcolm so he could see too.

He grinned, "Excellent," he passed the rifle back and climbed down off the tanker, MacCready close behind, "we're not too far now. Another hour to Red Rocket for a rest and then the last push to Sanctuary." So they followed his lead. Cans of water were passed out with a few rations they could eat whilst walking and small talk was had.

As they walked, MacCready watched Mal and frowned. He always walked alone; taking steps to the side or further forward the way he had with Hancock earlier on, and, even though it'd be obvious to others that he was with the group, he cut a lonely figure: 

The group at large would brush shoulders together, pat backs, ruffle the kids' hair, Hancock lay his arm over MacCready's neck and squeezed gently. Small gestures of contact and bonding. Even Nick, who must have been programmed to do so, would link arms and accept arm pats. It was something everyone did wherever you went: a means of survival. Human contact kept you alive, whether it was your Soulmate or not, and you had to form friendships so you had someone to watch over you.
MacCready knew this first hand through his time in Little Lamplight and then the Capital Wasteland and, after Lucy had died and left him and Duncan alone, it was a pressure that had kept him awake at night as he never could relax enough to sleep. Not with his only company being a toddler who definitely couldn't handle a loaded gun to keep watch.
With this lesson ingrained into most folk, even raiders travelled in close knit groups, it was rare to see a true lone wolf because they simply died from a bullet to the back. Or through simple loneliness. Malcolm, however, stayed out of easy arm's reach of everyone. If someone had wanted to pat his back or brush sides, they would have had to step up to him with purpose and it wouldn't have been the casual easy touches the rest of them shared. 

Now, MacCready wasn't stupid, he knew that Malcolm had grown up in a different time where casual touching may not have existed, and the story he had told had painted a pretty clear picture, but he still wanted to ask him about it. Curiousity killed the cat and all that.

He split off from the back of the group and joined Mal at the front, keeping a bit of respectful space between them both for the other man's sake, "Hey," he kept his voice low, "can I ask you something?"

He hummed in a casual manner as he flicked through a tab on his little arm computer, "Sure, is everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Fu-uh-damn, I know it can be annoying when people pry and I don't want to just bulldoze you with -"

Mal huffed a small laugh and straight white teeth flashed at him, "Just ask the question, RJ."

RJ.

He fought his own flush at the name and plowed ahead with all the tact a young, socially challenged, man could have, "Okay, erm, what's with the touching thing?"
He watched Malcolm's face and saw a frown pull down his mouth and his jaw twitch. He seemed to think as his eyes brushed over the group, nodding as he saw Hancock poke Cait in the ribs before jumping out of arm's reach with a gravelly chuckle. There was a long pause before Mal answered.

"Huh. Um, how do I explain this?” He paused and a furrow formed between his brows as he looked down at his gloved hands, flexing the fingers with a small creak of leather, “It's strange and you might think it's stupid and I'm not sure I can even fully explain it." 

They came up to a large old petrol station and Mal motioned for everyone to go inside and rest up while he and MacCready stayed outside to keep watch. MacCready thought their conversation had finished and was happy to leave it alone before Mal spoke again from where he sat on top of an old rusted car, "I find it strange that everyone here is so free with touch. Where…when I come from, touch wasn't casual. Sure, you'd see young folk holding hands or hugging friends but it was usually a big deal. Touching someone's bare skin? It was mainly reserved for Soulmates. Shadows. We used to have big ceremonies in the larger towns after the census or start of the school year. People from everywhere would be lined up and allowed to brush hands to find Shadows. I never had a Shadow so I never had to take part but I had to watch my peers go through it and it was always painful to see someone leave that stage alone, y'know. Otherwise, people tended to keep a bit of distance between each other." He shrugged as though his explanation were normal and obvious, "I can't even remember a time when even Nora touched my bare skin..."

"So, it's like a habit?"

A sad sad lonely habit.

"Yes and no. I guess, in a way at this point, it's…well, anyway. The only people I'd ever really touched when I was not in war healing were: my mum, dad, and son. And now, I guess, Piper. But that was more her touching me. I never had a reason to touch anybody, RJ, I didn't have a Shadow and I'm gay so not many people wanted to touch me anyways."
He had a rueful smile on his face as he looked at Mac. His eyes were so dark. Like points of shadowed obsidian in his prettily tanned face. MacCready wanted to just reach out and poke his cheek to just confirm that he was his with the sudden sappy thought of being the light contrasting Mal and Hancock's dark: blue eyes to balance out all that black.

He shook himself away from that urge and lamely added, "That's so fuc-messed up."

Another too casual shrug, "Yeah, I guess."

They were quiet for a while, just watching the horizon in companionable silence before MacCready pushed a little further to, hopefully, plant a grain in Mal's mind, if only to encourage him to believe that touch really isn't all that bad once you got used to it, "You have a Shadow now, you could probably find them if you forgot about the old world's views on it. Easier said than done, I know, but you could."

Malcolm just nodded, “The bombs dropped for you over two hundred years ago, Mac. For me: it's been just a few months.”

Sanctuary came into view as they crossed an old wooden bridge over a merrily babbling, and surprisingly clear, brook that was part way through a repair. Hancock could see the hard progress of various levels of construction everywhere and hear the happy hum and chugging of generators and the bustling of folk milling about.

They passed two people dressed in Minutemen regalia guarding a large gate: wide brimmed hats and a mix of blue and brown clothing with laser muskets held easily in their hands. They nodded politely to Malcolm, "Welcome home, General."

"Preston and Sturges?"

"The main house, sir." 

Malcolm nodded his thanks and led them down the street of this small growing town. People stopped to salute Mal or shout out greetings and thanks to him.
He could see some buildings from the Pre-War era being torn down for scrap, a large mound of it was on an old foundation, and stations set up to organise said scrap. There was a farm that was being tended to by a few people, a playground where a few kids were laughing under the watchful gaze of a severe looking woman, and a few water pumps that had been tapped into the earth were dotted about. Everything a town needed to get going.

"General!" A dark skinned man jogged up to them, a wide welcoming smile on his face, "good to see you safe." The man glanced over their group nodding to each in turn and giving a small wave to Nat.

"Preston, how are things going?" Mal smiled back at him, "All good I hope?"

Preston straightened up; falling into a more formal stance, his words were strong and straight to the point, "Everything is progressing as planned. Generators are up along with the beacon, a bunk house is complete with plans to expand to more individual quarters, and Codsworth has the farm running smoothly. Trade is going well with the Bluff, Abernathy, Oberland, and plans to join Greygarden. We get more new people everyday and we've expanded our defences. A scavenger run is due back in the next few hours." 

"Excellent, we passed the run on the way here and they seemed in good spirits," he then introduced them all in turn and explained that Piper and Nat would be in Sanctuary permanently, "Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing, General. Welcome home." Preston relaxed at the end of the report and promised to speak again soon after he had done his rounds and patrol before wandering off down the street.

"Right, well, I guess I'd better show you around and introduce you to people." He clapped his hands once and motioned for them all to follow.

Their first visit was to a good sized two story ramshackle building. It looked thrown together and rickety but, once inside, they saw that the walls were solid. There were no obvious drafts and there were plenty of beds, blankets, and refurbished seating available. Mal explained that beds without obviously personal items should be free for use so Piper and Nat set their bags down next to two beds on the second floor. 

They were shown the outhouses, food kitchen (where an elderly woman sat in a comfortable chair and oversaw the meal prep with a dozy grin), and the old house where most of the tools and workbenches were kept. A handsome man with muscular arms and goggles dangling from his neck was at work there. Mal stood beside him, closer than Hancock had seen Mal get to anyone but still not touching, as the man showed him some kind of circuit board with a grin. Hancock felt a small bite of possessiveness hit him and learned that this man was Sturges. It seemed the pair got along: bonding over tinkering.

Nat ran off to join in with some other children on a rickety climbing frame, looking more like a child than she had in a long time.

And then came the house. It had dead hedges at the front trimmed down to perfect squares and rectangles. A car that had tried to be cleaned, a door that was half off its hinge and blown out windows boarded up with solid wood. Mal walked up and pushed the door open to an almost perfect replica of what had once been his living room: 

Two ratty black couches facing each other over a wooden low table with burning candles in the center sat on a patched together rug. An open plan kitchen sat behind them with mismatched stools with varying degrees of rust embellishments. Broken cabinets had been nailed together and a working cobbled together stove had a low fire burning.

He dumped his pack beside the couch and watched his people look around, "It's not much, but it's private. Everyone knows that this place is out of bounds." 

Hancock nodded but decided to stay silent and standing with Mac hovering by his side. It felt almost like a shrine: a place of worship for a time long gone. For people long gone.

Cait flopped down onto the couch with no such reservations as Malcolm found them all something to drink and snack on, "Pretty fancy place you've got yourself here," she cracked open a bottle with her teeth, "people, food, supplies…"

"Yeah, it's okay for now. I'd like to get it more stable before winter starts properly eating away at reserves. Lots of mouths to feed around here apparently." He shrugged his shoulders and sat on one of the rickety stools, "I'm heading back out tomorrow with Dogmeat and Nick-"

"And us," MacCready interrupted and motioned his hand between himself and Hancock, "we're coming too."

Cait scoffed, "Oh? Then I'm coming too."

"No one else needs to come, we're just going to see if Dogmeat can track a scent, it might not even work."

Piper, who had been looking around almost mournfully, changed the topic abruptly, "Is this where you lived?"

Malcolm looked around at the expectant faces and sighed with a nod, "Yeah…yeah this is where we lived." He shuffled towards the door that let out into the back garden and motioned with his chin, "She loved it here. Nora. She liked to garden and to have dinners with friends or sit with her work files on the coffee table while we watched crap TV. Red wine and savory snacks." He opened the back door and motioned to a cleaned up area with fresh turned dirt near the foot a lone scraggly tree, "I couldn't leave her in the Vault. When Preston and I started work here, he helped me bury her properly. She’d always been more…free, than me. I couldn’t leave her there." He looked around again and registered the dour mood, "Sorry, it's grim, but my life was here, yes."

The rest of the evening passed quietly and eventually his new companions filtered out to find rest or food or, in Cait's case, the bar.

He was just about to begin his nightly routine, pulling off his gloves and untying his boots, when he heard a quiet muttering on the other side of his front door. 
After waiting a moment to see if the people would knock, and then realising they wouldn't, he quietly passed over the room, pulled on his gloves again, and opened the door to Macready and Hancock. They jumped and looked up at him with sheepish grins and Macready quickly holding up a bowl of meat and vegetables that Malcolm assumed was given to them by a concerned Mama Murphy. He motioned for them to come in, gesturing at his tattered couch and coffee table.

"How can I help?" He asked.

Hancock let out a chuckle and kicked his boots off before tucking his feet under him on the couch, looking completely relaxed and at home. Malcolm was fine with it. If anything, he had missed having someone else in his house with him. He and Nora had never been romantic, and they had never shared a bed, but her presence had filled the empty corners of the house and, watching Hancock and Mac get comfortable, those empty corners were becoming full again. 
Hancock pushed himself into the recently patched cushion of the couch and smiled a bit lopsidedly: the spiderwebs of radiation scarring pulling even as the smoother bits moved fluidly, "We were going to ask you the same question, Sunshine." Mal cocked a brow at the nickname but left it alone.

"We're coming with you tomorrow," Macready said as he placed the bowl of food onto the coffee table, "but, when we find this fu-err-Kellogg, what would you like us to do?" They both looked at him expectantly. A mixture of grim resolve and a grimmer glee at the thought of hunting this man down. Mal couldn't lie and say he didn't appreciate it. He decided to cave on his resolve about this jaunt being a small group: safety in numbers he supposed.

“Well,” he sighed and gently pinched the bridge of his nose, a sudden weariness weighing on him at the mere thought of the next phase of his plan to find his son, “I suppose it depends on what we find or don't find. If it's him alone, I'd like to immobilise him and ask questions about where he has taken my son. If Shaun is with him, we take him out quickly.” He shrugged, “That's even if we find him. Dogmeat is a clever dog but I don't know how he can track a cigar through the city.” Said dog was wagging his tail by the back door; large, black and tan coloured, his head cocked to one side with happy eyes and tongue lolling out of his big sharp mouth.

Hancock was rhythmically tapping the arm of the couch, the cogs in his brain turning, “Kellogg, the name rings a bell but I can't place it.”

“He came right up to my pod in the Vault. He said ‘at least we have the backup’, he was wearing leathers, bald head, big scar down his face.”

At this, the penny dropped for Hancock, “Kellogg! That fucker? He's bad news, Sunshine, he used to live in Diamond City, brought all kinds of shit with him. I'm surprised he's still operating, he's older than me for sure. Ya’ sure you want to go after him?”

Mal hummed, mildly wondering how old Hancock was, and flopped back onto the sofa facing them throwing his arms up in frustration as he did so, “Everyone keeps telling me he's a menace but he's the only lead I've got.”

“Well, we'll find him. That fu-err…idiot has his days numbered.” MacCready dropped his rifle onto the coffee table for dramatic effect, “with us at your back, boss, ain't no way he can get away.”

Chapter Text

They didn't leave the next day. Instead, Mal got tangled into the workings and weeds of his growing little town and Hancock got to observe the way he worked when not fighting on the roads.
In battle, from what Hancock could tell, General Malcolm Grimes of the Commonwealth Minutemen was three things; calculating, immovable, and attentive. He navigated battles as though they were a chess game and directed those around him like pawns on the board and he was the Queen. Deadly. Powerful. An immovable wall of sheer muscle and intimidation that they moved around and used as a shield. He kept close to his people as often as he could and was quick with a stim even as he was careful to never touch bare skin and never lingered for longer that absolutely necessary. It was a habit, Hancock knew, a fear: he saw the shivers of near revulsion and the sudden widening of his eyes.

In the settlement, however, it was as if he were watching a completely different person. He still never touched, never lingered, but he seemed less burdened even as the townsfolk and Preston came to him often with queries and concerns. 
Hancock's town was run on two major things: respect and a healthy dose of fear. Respect Goodneighbor or Goodneighbor would chew you up and spit you back out. Everyone knew it. And everyone knew that it was the Ghoul in the red coat that held the reins.
Sanctuary was also run on two major things: respect and fucking gratitude. People said thank you to Mal. They followed his orders - requests - like well trained soldiers and the children stepped in his boot prints like little lost ducklings.

"Makes ya sick, don't it?"

Cait nudged his shoulder from where they lingered on a fence watching Malcolm work one of the Mutfruit trees as though he didn't have underlings to do it for him. He nudged her back, "Nah, seems like he's enjoying himself."
And he did. He had a little grin on his face as one settler pointed out a nicely ripened fruit on a higher branch that Mal plucked with a flick of his wrist.

"Shoulda seen him in the Combat Zone. Someone who does shit like that ain't all there in the head."

"Maybe not. Not many people are nowadays." Mal bent to scooped some trowel-like tool up of the ground and Hancock bit back the flutter in his belly.

MacCready shuffled over with a blush on his face and Hancock would've laughed if it wouldn't have drawn attention from the big man currently wiping the dirt from his face with the back of his hand, "What are we - oh."

He did laugh then, "Just discussing when Cait reckons that he's gonna snap and murder us all in our sleep."

"Well, I didn't say it like that."

"Nah, he isn't the type."

Cait snorted, "Right, and you're an expert?"

"Gunner."

"Oh."

Malcolm moved away from the fields then and Hancock and Mac moved to follow like the children stepping in his prints. The day was quiet as Sanctuary blossomed around them; new crops planted, fresh water piped in from purifiers, Sturges shouting at a team of folk hastily trying to erect a new building. Malcolm breezed through every section to put his touch on everything. MacCready and Hancock his shadows.

The next night as the time ticked over into the early morning: the group was holed up in a place called Greygarden, it's all robot tenders allowing them to rest in a corner of their dilapidated greenhouse. Everyone was tired from the pace Malcolm had set on the road before he decided a few hours rest wouldn't hurt.
Mal was concentrating on his PipBoy, music came from it quietly and he stroked his huge dog's head in his lap. He had spoken with the robot's leader who agreed to join the Minutemen after Mal fixed their water issue.

MacCready caught Hancock's eye over the head of Cait who was reading a magazine at his elbow, he tilted his head to the exit and Hancock stood to follow him. No one paid them any mind, Nick tipping his hat to them as he passed him, “Don't go too far fellas, heard some dogs earlier.”

“Sure thing, just gotta empty the pipes.” Hancock chuckled and walked nonchalantly towards a handy bush, ready to do his business whilst he listened to what Mac had to say.

“I think we should wait until this Kellogg business is over before we speak to him about…you know.” He pissed a foot or so away from Hancock, keeping an eye over his shoulder to make sure they weren't overheard, “Just feels like he needs to really focus on this right now.” 

His mind wandered to Duncan, his latest letter assured him that his son was just the same. Not worse, but definitely not better.

Should I bring it up?

He decided not to. It felt like too much pressure to put on people who obviously had so much going on. Preston and Malcolm had whispered together in Sanctuary. A conversation heavy enough to pull Mal's face into something akin to pain that cleared as quickly as they went silently if someone approached. MacCready wasn't stupid: he knew they were talking about Malcolm's kid and the fucker who had taken him, but Preston asked the man to do so much all the time; this person needs this, this part of the wall needs this, hey, I heard about this settlement...
His list on that little computer on his arm was long. Too long. Too much for one person and his gaggle of strays to get to in anything even close to good time. 
After Kellogg. Everything will be better after Kellogg. And, he'd have to deal with the Gunners before he could even think of bringing Duncan to Sanctuary. His mind was whirling with what ifs. What if he couldn't get help? What if Prevent was a bust? What if he died? Would Mal and the settlers even let him bring a new kid around? The General had said just the other day that there were a lot of hungry mouths in the Minutemen settlements, more mouths might be rebuffed.

His list was so long.

“I can hear and feel your brain frying from here, Mac.” Hancock took a pull from some Jet, his mouth pulled down as he watched the younger man slowly spiral, “What's going on?” Mac looked at him for a few long moments, clearly debating with his own internal monologue, “c’mon, you can tell me anything, Sunshine.” 

He took a deep breath and sagged, his shoulders relaxing as Hancock waited patiently at his side with his hand slowly looping a single finger into the belt loop of his pants. Out of everyone on the planet right now: he could probably tell Hancock anything and the Ghoul wouldn't turn his back. How could he? 
“Well, we have quite a big group now but I'm not sure if I can ask them for a favour yet.” He paused and chewed his lip. No, Hancock wouldn't turn his back, but he could always tell him no  and to fuck off.

“Go on.” Hancock gently gripped the back of his neck in reassurance with his free hand, his rough skin rasped against his and he let his head dip forward onto Hancock’s chest.

“It's those two arse- uh, idiots, Winlock and Barnes. I was hoping I could buy them out but -” his voice caught as Hancock tensed his fingers gently.
God, he was stressed. Everything always felt like simply too much and he wasn't quite sure when he stopped feeling young. When he was ten? Earlier? It wasn't that long ago, really, and now he felt like he was stretched out too thin like a dangerously taut elastic band; Gunners, Duncan, Hancock, Maybe-Mal, life, it was easy to forget that he was barely out of his teenage years and still didn't have a full grasp on who he was.

Hancock was a solid weight in front of him as that hand remained steady with a finger brushing through the fine hair at the nape of his neck. Hancock was a grown up, a mungo, he had his shit together, “I wouldn't trust them even if you could throw caps at ‘em”

“Yeah, I'm right there with you. But, what other choice do I have, Hancock?”

Hancock hummed for a moment and looked out over the scrubland before them and below the highway, “Well, I can't speak for everyone else, but I reckon we need to take ‘em out.” He put it bluntly, no point in skirting around the problem, “They aren't gonna leave you alone and I don't like the thought of them coming up on us in the night. Speak to the General, I doubt he'd like the idea of them either.”

“I dunno, he has enough going on -”

“We're gonna need more than the two of us to get them off your back.”

“You'll help me?” He looked at Hancock in such a way that starkly highlighted how young he actually was: pointy features and all the years of the Wastes and ‘Wealth falling away, if only for a moment.

Hancock huffed and tucked his chin on top of Mac's hat as he continued to keep watch around them, “You are my Shadow, and I'm yours. Not much more to it, RJ.” Mac took a deep breath and slowly rested his forehead against Hancock's chest again.

“Okay. Okay, I'll speak to Mal.” Mac smiled up at Hancock then and to lighten the mood he asked, “You feeling jealous of his dog?”

Hancock laughed hard and stroked the back of Mac’s neck with his thumb as they rejoined the group in the greenhouse.

They were following Dogmeat as he sniffed along the roads leading away from Diamond City. They had found a makeshift rest point with more cigars littered around and exited out of a tunnel beneath a highway, moving west towards the river.

Mal had his head bent as he listened to Mac’s problem, Cait was nearby punching her fist into her palm looking ready to go after Winlock and Barnes right then, “Why don't we just kill them and be done with it?” 

Mac considered her: in the few days she had been with them she seemed to grow more confident that they weren't like the people who held her “contract” and had latched on in a less aggressive way to them personally, she was just aggressive in general. In an annoying kid sister kind of way.
“If I thought it'd be that easy, I would've done it already. Winlock and Barnes always have a small army with ‘em and I was hoping to buy them out but nothing's really stopping them from putting a bullet in my head and taking the caps anyway and I just thought that -”

Mal interrupted his rambling, “We'll deal with it, Mac,” his gaze was on the dog but nodded briefly in his direction, “As soon as we've dealt with this.” MacCready was stunned at how quickly and simply he accepted his problem and how quick he was to promise they’d handle it. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop as they walked but it never did. Malcolm flicked his PipBoy and MacCready watched him painstakingly add his problem to the list under a little bullet point. He had so many little bullet points.

A few more hours passed broken up by minor scraps with the wildlife, including what Mal thought was a strangely bald bear but was gently corrected by Nick that they were now called Yao Guai.
A camp with a bloody rag and the remains of a battle that had left an Assaultron glitching in the road let them know that Kellogg was possibly injured or, hopefully, dying. And then, all of a sudden as though the place had snuck up on them, they were outside the decrepit building of Fort Hagen.

“I had training here once.” Malcolm was surveying the area, taking in what was once a small military town for the command center, “I sat on these steps eating crap rations.” he trailed off as he started to rifle through nearby nooks and crannies as he usually did when they stopped. Dogmeat had lay down at the blocked off main entrance, obviously telling them that this was the end of the line.

Hancock held a hand over his eyes as he looked up at the building, “Okay, Sunshine, then how do we get in?”

“We could just break a window.” Cait had climbed an ancient crumbling plant pot that was leaning against the wall of the building, peeking in through a chipped and boarded up window, “It's pitch black though, can't tell if there's anything in there.” Mac shook his head in minor disagreement as he sat down to rest and check his weapons.

“Uhh, I think there's roof -” Mal had found a holotape in an old jacket and pressed play mid thought, a woman's voice crackled out of his PipBoy:

“Wake up, Commonwealth. Synths are not your enemy. They are victims in this war, as well. True, they were created by the Institute. But they were created as slaves. Thinking, feeling, and dreaming beings utterly oppressed by their tyrannical masters. So join with us in fighting the real enemy: The Institute. Join the Railroad. When you're ready for that next step, don't worry, we'll find you.”

“Huh, these guys again?” Mal shrugged and pocketed the holotape away, “anyway, I think there's roof access but I can't guarantee if it'll be blocked or not after all this time.”

He ordered Dogmeat to stay on the ground, hidden under some scrub with a big hunk of Brahmin meat and purified water, and they climbed up to the roof. The tell-tale beeping of turrets had them all ducking for cover. Weapons were drawn quickly and loaded as Cait unstrapped a sharp wire wrapped bat from her pack: the same bat they'd pilfered from Skinny Malone's girlfriend, “Cover her!” Malcolm barely got out before she charged the nearest turret and began battering it. Bullets were spraying everywhere and MacCready quickly counted five turrets, aiming at the furthest one he could see and taking a shot.

“Argh! Fuck!” Hancock staggered backwards, a hand flying to his clavicle. The pain flared in Mac but he kept his focus as Mal had flew to Hancock's side, deftly pulling a Stimpak out of one of his many pockets and jabbing it into the Ghoul’s shoulder in one fluid motion.

A small explosion sounded and Cait ran to the next turret, covered by Nick who had deadly aim with a .44.
After what felt hours, but was really barely a minute, the bullets stopped and Mal was checking Cait over for injuries.

“I'm fine, just some grazes.” She wiped a bit of blood and oil away from her nose and grinned around at them, teeth red.

“Mhmm, you have a bullet hole in your arm.” Mac watched as Mal cleaned the wound with a splash of vodka before administering a quick Stimpak to speed up the healing process. He then wrapped it tightly in a clean rag. The man double checked Hancock's wound, his gloves were slightly damp from the alcohol he’d used on Cait, before nodding that it was okay. His movements had been quick and efficient with any touching lasting no longer than absolutely necessary.
They all took a moment to collect themselves and to gather the spare ammo from the turrets. They didn't have a weapon that could use it but Mal’s “you never know” had them packing it away anyway.

There was an access hatch and Mal carefully opened it, gun at the ready with its muzzle pointing down toward the ground, stepping through and gesturing silently for them all to follow. Everyone seemed to take a collective steadying breath, checking their weapons, before following him into the dark.

They were exhausted. The building was teeming with turrets and synths. Malcolm had had to do a double take: comparing them to Nick and figuring they must've been the same or similar models, “We'll take a breather here.” They were in a largeish communal space with an old chemistry station that Hancock quickly set up at to replenish medical and chem supplies and a water fountain that Malcolm  checked with his Geiger counter on the PipBoy before refilling water bottles or canteens and passing them around. He disinfected any wounds with vodka and wrapped the remaining grazes with clean pre-boiled fabrics. 

Hancock cocked his head, “You know, normally people just jab a Stimpak and get on with their day.”

“Yeah? That's why infection is rife here. How are we for ammo?”

“Doing okay, but we'll definitely have to scavenge some up after this. Those synths can really take a beating.”

Cait scoffed as she checked over her bat, “I'll say.” It was dented and they were concerned about its remaining usefulness.

Nick hummed and wandered over to some exposed piping in a wall before yanking some piping free, “Here, doll, see if this is to your liking.” Cait gave it some practice swings and shrugged her shoulders. It'll do.

They moved on, restocked as much as possible and as quietly as they were able. They crowded into an old rusted elevator and held their breath as it made its slow and ponderous way down. The air was growing stiflingly warm as they descended and Mac felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his shirt.
More turrets and synths greeted them as the doors opened and, as they systematically dealt with them, a crackle was heard from the speakers set into the old dirty ceiling: 

“Now, if it isn't my old friend. The TV frozen dinner,” Mal froze to listen as the last turret and synth fell, “Last time we met, you were cosying up to the peas and apple cobbler.”

“Son of a bitch!” Cait shouted, her new pipe still buried in a synth's torso, “where does he get off.”

“It's fine, Cait, he's just taunting us.” Mal shrugged and looked around quickly for more ammo and other useful things.

“He's scared.” Hancock's smoke over water voice sounded semi cheerful, “Let's keep going and find this bastard.”

They moved on and, as they approached a double set of doors, the speakers crackled again, “Sorry, your house has been a wreck for two hundred years, but I don't need a roommate. Leave.” This made Malcolm chuckle and pass through the doors without raising to his bait, “Hmph, never expected you to come knocking on my door. Gave you fifty-fifty odds of making it to Diamond City. After that? Figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky.”

More synths attacked, viciously jumping at them or shooting from cover, “Fire in the hole!” Mal shouted as he threw two fragmentation grenades into a mass of the robots. They all ducked and covered against the sudden blast of heat, shrapnel, and noise. It went quiet except for a rapid scraping. The hair on Malcolm's neck rose as two synths, their lower halves missing, were pulling themselves towards his team like an old awful horror film. MacCready bashed the head in of one with his rifle stock and Nick put a bullet hole through the eye of another. A shiver ran down his spine.

“That's how we do things around here.” MacCready muttered and it made Mal crack a grin.

“Look, you're pissed off. I get it. I do.” They kept pushing forward against the wave of synths and turrets, pure rage at the taunts over the speakers fueling them, “But whatever you hope to accomplish in here? It's not going to go your way.”

The group checked wounds and ammo in a kitchen/dining room. Splashes of vodka or whiskey and wrappings of cloth and a few Stimpaks had them on the move again, Malcolm pocketing an old bobblehead for his growing collection back in Sanctuary.

“You've got guts and determination and that's admirable. But you are in over your head here in ways you can't possibly comprehend.” They were swarming down a long corridor with yet more synths, “It's not too late. Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option. Not a lot of people can say that.”

Mal scoffed, “He has an ego the size of Boston.”

Hancock laughed, “Bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Unfortunately, he has the reputation to back that ego up.” Nick grumbled, “Don't underestimate him.”

They moved on: finding a room with spare ammo and Stimpaks, after Cait bashed the lock in with her pipe, there were also two mini nukes with a Fat Man, “We'll come back for that, I don't fancy taking a nuke into a possible gun fight.” Then, they were in Kellogg's bedroom, or what Mal assumed was the man's bedroom ready to bust down the door. when the speakers crackled again. 

“Okay, you made it. I'm just up ahead, my synths are standing down. Let's talk.”

“As if, let's just go in and blast him apart.” Cait was wild looking with oil and blood in her hair.

“I need information first, but yes, he's not leaving this unscathed. Keep your guards up.” He sounded grim and his eyes were shadowed. 

He pulled the black neck scarf up over his mouth and nose, the picture of the lower half of a skull was printed on it. The effect was menacing. This huge grim man in all black. MacCready felt a shiver run down his spine.

The metal doors separating them from Kellogg opened on their own and then they finally got their first looks at the man:

He was bald and scarred, wearing dark leather and looking much younger than they were expecting. The man barely looked to be in his forties but the rumors surrounding him started at least fifty or sixty years ago by Nick's reckoning and Hancock was sure the guy was at least a couple decades older than himself.

They filed in, MacCready taking a spot at the rear of the group remaining in the hallway, rifle casually resting on his shoulder, better at long range than the others.

The man looked them all up and down before his beady eyes settled on Mal, they widened slightly at his dark leather armour, covered face, and tall broad build. Kellogg was at least a head shorter than the General, “And there he is. The most resilient man in the Commonwealth. Funny, I thought I had that honour.”

“Where is my son? Where is Shaun?” He sounded like thunder in the night.

In contrast: Kellogg's voice was ragged and hoarse with the edges of his mouth stained with too much nicotine, “Pal, I'm just a puppet, like you. My stage is a little bigger, that's all. Shaun is a good kid. Bit older than you expected, am I right?” Malcolm tensed visibly, rage barely contained, “But, he's doing great. Only, he's not here. He's with the people pulling the strings.”

“Tell me where he is, dammit!” His gun was loaded in his clenched fist.

“Fine, I guess you've earned that much. Shaun’s in a good place. Where he's safe, and comfortable, and loved.” Kellogg grinned, he knew he was riling the Vault Dweller up, “A place he calls home. The Institute.”

“So, where is it, huh? This ‘Institute’? How do I get there?”

“Ha! Haven't you been paying attention? You don't find the Institute. The Institute finds you. You open a closet, and it's just a closet. You can never find the monster that hides inside, not until it jumps out at ya.” Kellogg's hand went to his belt where they could all see a heavy .44 pistol was stored, “But I think we've been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end. So…are you ready?”

“I'm going to make you suffer.” Malcolm growled, Cait laughed, and then there was chaos.

Kellogg disappeared, his deadly aimed bullets flying at them from nowhere. Cait roared and charged a synth, swinging her pipe wildly, followed closely by Hancock, the Ghoul cackling. The pair were backlit by the synths laser rifles blue ribbons.

Nick and MacCready started shooting at the second synth, MacCready partially covered by the door jam and Nick jumping behind one of the many computer consoles taking up the large room.

It was crowded and hectic and pain bloomed in Malcolm's shoulder as a bullet from nowhere ripped through his armour. He ducked behind cover as he threw a grenade in the general direction the bullet came from and away from his team. It went off and he peaked out to see if Kellogg had reappeared with no luck.

Cait and Hancock’s synth went down and the pair turned their attention to the second, it going down quickly with the four of them ganging up on it.

Another bullet from the dark edges of the room hit Nick in the back and he staggered to his knees, oil and other synthetic fluids dripping steadily to the floor. Hancock knelt beside him as Cait flew through the room, swinging madly. Malcolm joined her watching for a shift in the dust or a shimmer in the air.
A second or two passed and he heard a grunt as Cait’s pipe struck the air with a solid thump. Mal took a chance and shot at the area around Cait, blood spatter misted the air and Kellogg reappeared. He had a bloodied and broken nose from where Cait had initially hit him and, as soon as he was visible again, she struck him as hard as she could over his head, his skull cracking and spilling thick, grey brain matter down his face. 

His eyes went blank and Kellogg crumpled to the floor in an undignified heap. It felt like it had barely lasted a minute but Mal's body was screaming as though he'd just run a marathon, all the adrenaline and anger whooshing out of him at once and leaving him drained.

Kellogg was just...dead.

Malcolm took a deep, steadying, and shaky breath before turning to his team and pulling out his improvised first aid kit from one of his many pockets.

Chapter Text

In the aftermath of the fight against Kellogg, surrounded by the chaos and blood, Nick knelt down by the body and ummed and ahhh’d at the, now obvious, cybernetic enhancements of the man. An interesting device was tied up in his brain matter that had burst out of his skull after Cait’s death blow. Mal didn't want to watch even as a morbid fascination came over him. He had seen worse injuries and deaths in his time but he can't ever recall picking through someones brains. He supposed this was just one of those things he'd have to...adjust to. 

“I know a doc in Goodneighbor who might know what to do with this.” The robot held the device up to the light as he pondered it.

“Amari?” Hancock was standing close to Mal as the man wrapped the bullet wound in his shoulder, “Yeah, and she'll help you out cheap if I vouch for ya.”

Malcolm nodded: tired and happy for someone else to make this plan for him, “Sure, me and Mac have something to do before we go though so we'll meet you there, Nick. Cait, can you go with him?”

“Oh, sure, can't leave ol' nuts'n'bolts to fend for himself, eh?”

Nick tipped his hat, "Charmed."

After they had rested, eaten, and tended their wounds, they made their way out of Fort Hagen. They left Kellogg to rot in the room they’d killed him in, spitting on his corpse as they left.

As they made their way up through the maze-like halls and remains of their battle, Mal's PipBoy ticked letting them know that it had picked up a new radio signal and, as they exited back onto the roof, they all stopped with mouths hanging open as they watched a huge metal blimp float overhead. It was flanked by Vertibirds that flew circles in the churning air, the people inside peaking their heads out to get a view of everything below them. It was playing some kind of marching tune with a voice proclaiming that the blimp came in peace.

“Son-of-a…it’s the Goddamn Brotherhood of Steel. What are they doing here?”

Mal didn't know what the Brotherhood of Steel was but he couldn't find words to ask about them. All he said was “wow” and watched the blimp turn into a speck in the far distance over Boston proper.

Mal, MacCready, and Hancock were making their way to Oberland Station after seeing Cait and Nick onto the road that would lead them towards Diamond City and Goodneighbor. Mal turned to Dogmeat and murmured, “Home, boy.” and the dog scampered off, disappearing into the scrubland over the river.

The settlement was small and still in its beginning stages of Minutemen development: useful scrap piles were being picked through and a farm was blooming. Turrets chugged merrily along, providing some peace of mind to the small group of settlers that nodded welcome to Mal as they settled around a fire.

“What if Amari can't help with whatever that doodad is?”

“If you play what ifs in your mind, you'll never be able to relax, Sunshine.”

“I don't think I'll ever be able to relax again. Not until I see Shaun.” He left the part out where he also wanted to find his Shadows. The ghostly visage of them forever in his periphery. Even now, they were sitting and mocking his fragile sanity; were they together? Were they looking for him? 
They probably had bigger things to worry about, he supposed, so he murmured into the fire, "I don't want it to be an if but he's so small, y'know? He hadn't even stopped weaning fully and he'll be crying for Nora and I just..." He didn't really want to go down that road yet. 

Mac sympathised silently, his thoughts on his own son and how hard it had been to weather through a baby's need for their mother, “What's the plan for tomorrow?” He asked to steer the topic into more neutral, less painful, territory.

Malcolm grasp the new topic like a lifeline in stormy waters, “We'll go to the Interchange but scope it out first, you said they usually have a small army with them? So I want to get a look before dealing with it. They definitely won't talk?”

“Nah, they'll talk, and then put a bullet in you for the trouble.” He kicked a bit of shrub to release some tension as they left the fire to find a place in the settlement to rest as the day began to darken fully.

“Hmm. Well, I have some grenades left still and we have the Fat Man so, one way or another, we'll deal with it.”

The night passed fairly quickly and Malcolm watched Hancock and Mac interact. The small touches here and there, the way they watched the other out of the corner of their eye if the other got up to relieve himself or to grab food. Their bodies unconsciously turned toward each other as they spoke or relaxed, knees and thighs pressed together, shoulders rubbing as they laughed at something the other had said.

It seemed so easy to them and, for the first time in a long long time, he wanted to reach out. But, there was an itch at the back of his mind that crawled at the thought of being touched. Of the rejection. Of the pity in their eyes. The disgust.
It was difficult to navigate in his mind as warring feelings and thoughts fought with each other. He felt a sense of calm with them both. A kind of rightness and he didn't want to jeopardise that. They were easy and talkative with smart mouths and a contagious sense of effortlessness washed over him when they were near. They didn't seem to overly expect anything of him: willing to just sit and have their own chatter if he was quiet. And, in his house the other night, they took up space in the best way possible. As though they had always been there.
No, he didn't want to risk this tentative start to whatever friendship meant nowadays. This calm camaraderie that he hadn't felt since his squadron in Canada. He sat quietly and picked at the fabric of his gloves and sleeves as he watched them.

They left Oberland just as the sky was beginning to brighten in the west. A soft halo of lightest pink silhouetting the high rises of Boston and the stars dotting out one by one.
One of the settlers handed them supplies that varied from water to ammo to chems, with great thanks given to Malcolm and the Minutemen in general for giving them a chance for safety. Hancock snorted and whispered to Mac behind Mal's back about the settler having a crush and Mal blushed to his hairline. 



Mass Pike Interchange was an hour or so away and they wanted to get an idea of what they were dealing with before the Gunners were fully awake.

“If we get on the freeway before the Interchange, we can scope it out from higher up, otherwise we'll be stuck underneath and have to use one of the Gunner lifts.” Mac nodded in the direction east of Oberland over the river. They could see the freeway, looming and cracked, in the distance before a great chunk of it dipped closer to the ground and made a handy climbing frame to get to higher viewing points away from the Gunner camp.

“Makes sense, lead on.” Malcolm said and Mac pulled ahead, leading them to an access he knew of from his time with Winlock and Barnes.

“So, Sunshine, how're you holding up?” Hancock walked with an easy and relaxed gait, seeming for all the world completely unbothered. His hair was almost golden in the rising sun: like a crown or streak of fire that blended with his red coat. He was...distracting.

“Hmm? Oh, I'm fine. Looking forward to giving Mac some peace of mind.”

“I appreciate you doing this for him, but that's not what I meant.”

Mal laughed: a short and painful sound that he'd forced out, “I know. Look, I feel like if I stay still or try and talk about it, I'll never stop panicking about it all.” he gestured vaguely at the land around them. At everything.

Nora would be better...

Hancock went to clap a hand on the other man's shoulder but saw the flinch and flicker of panic in his face and stopped himself, “We'll find your boy. One way or another: it all comes out in the wash.”

Mal put another step between them, simultaneously hating the distance but needing it all the same, and fought to keep a grin on his face, “My mum used to say that.”

“Mine too, Sunshine. Mine too.”

They'd found a slightly higher section of the freeway that overlooked the Interchange from a distance. Mal and MacCready plotted a route to take to the Gunner's base through the scope of Mac's rifle and were taking turns counting the people patrolling it.

“Damn, you weren't exaggerating: they do have a small army. And Power Armour.” Mal handed the rifle back and MacCready held the scope to his eye.

“Yeah…” Mac stiffened, “Assaultron.”

“Damn,” Malcolm stood and started pacing, plans running through his mind on how to take out Winlock and Barnes with as little risk as possible, “Can you snipe them from here?”

Mac frowned, the scope still to his eye still as he tracked the figures milling around, “They have a lot of cover, I could take out some of the underlings and maybe draw them to the edge but, if they use the Power Armour as well, it'll be rough.”

“I'm more worried about the Assaultron.” Mal checked his supplies again before loading the Fat Man as carefully as he could and nodded, “Do it. We'll stay up here as long as we can and if they cluster near the Assaultron, we'll use this.” He nudged the Fat Man gently with his foot, the mini nuke menacing in the launcher.

Mac nodded, took aim, and a crack sounded out around them. A Gunner lookout dropped and, even from this distance, Hancock could see the rest of them scrambling to find the source of the bullet. Another crack and another one fell. The red light of the Assaultron was moving back and forth. Another echoing crack and the Gunners started firing blindly in their general direction, shooting towards the sound of the rifle rather than the person using it. 

And then, in a rather astonishing stroke of luck, the Assaultron moved to the edge of the Interchange and dropped through the floor forty feet to the ground below. There must've been a hole in the road that didn't register in the robot's sensors. Hancock could still see its red light but it was no longer moving, “Ha! I think it's crippled its legs!” He saw Mac grin as he took another shot.

The Gunners knew where they were now and Mal began taking shots with the .44 he'd looted from Kellogg. It was a powerful gun but at this distance was difficult to aim.

“We might have to move closer, Mal!” Mac was taking shots with his rifle, injuring as many Gunners as he could, but he couldn't get a good enough shot to take them out.

Mal squatted down beside him and dragged the Fat Man to him as carefully as he could over the uneven concrete. He grunted with the effort of hefting it over his shoulder and took aim. He then pointed the launcher higher, “duck!” he called, and pressed the trigger.

The whistle from the nuke made the hairs on their necks stand up straight as they all hunkered to the ground. One second passed and they could see the Gunners scrambling for cover, shouting at their comrades to duck or covering their heads. Two seconds and the whistle stopped, the nuke hit the side of the Interchange. An orange bloom and forceful shock-wave rocked the three of them even as they stayed low on their bellies. They heard screaming and a small part of the Interchange crumbled to the ground below in a great crash and rumble of grating concrete.  

Mal felt sick, the bile rising in his throat and the sweat clammy on his skin, but brushed off the nausea as he checked his Geiger counter. There was a small spike but nothing too worrying.

“We should check for survivors.” He hefted his pack and launcher, “oh, and make sure the Assaultron is offline too.” He moved to the edge of the raised bit of highway they were on, checking the height, before deftly jumping down. The others followed with little oofs as they hit the grass.

The Assaultron went down with a quick shotgun to the chest from Hancock and Mal took off its head before hooking it to his belt, “I want to see if we can do anything with its laser.” 

MacCready shrugged and rolled his eyes as he led the way to the yellow elevator that would take them up to the Gunner's base proper. His shoulders tensed and he took a deep breath through his nose. They could still hear the shouting from above but it was weak and warbling. Like a dying lamb in the jaws of a fox. Hancock pat him on the back and moved his hand down his arm to grasp the younger man's hand. Mal hit the button.

Most of the Gunners were dead. Either from gunshots from Mac or succumbing to the burn and shock-wave of the mini nuke. Some were hanging on to life, their flesh bubbling or crippled with nausea from the radiation. Mal had a grim face as he put people out of their misery with quick shots to their heads.
They found Barnes half in a suit of Power Armour, the frame crushed and melting around him, his eyes gazing at nothingness. Winlock was nearby, bleeding out through bubbling and burnt skin but watching them with righteous fury on his face:

“You pathetic weak dog, MacCready. Couldn't even face us like a man. You really think this will be end of you and us?” The man coughed a wet bubble of blood and it popped like morbid bubblegum, “We're everywhere. The Commonwealth is ours and there ain't nothing you and your little girlfriend can do about it.”

Mac snorted, “Oh, yeah? Everywhere are you?”

“We took Quincy and we'll take Goodneighbour too.” Hancock let out a huff of a laugh and Mal focused in on the word Quincy. It was the Gunners who destroyed the Minutemen, the Gunners who had killed all those men, women, and children, “When they learn what happened here, there'll be hell to pay. For you. And for him.” His eyes moved to Hancock who smirked around a Jet canister he'd found, completely unbothered as usual.

“Over my dead body.” MacCready muttered and shot Winlock between the eyes.

They left the area, crossing back to Oberland with the plan to just pass through. Mal waved to the settlers and dropped off anything he didn't want to take with him, including the Fat Man and Assaultron head. One of the settlers went to say something but Mal spoke first, “Please, make sure that it goes up to Sanctuary with the next provisioner. I have some weapons we found that you can bolster yourselves with.” He left a few pistols and laser weapons in a small pile along with a good amount of ammo that he knew he wouldn't need. The settlers began picking through the new weapons with smiles on their faces and they were off again.

MacCready was quiet, watching their six as they followed the road that would take them through Cambridge and eventually down towards Bunker Hill and then Goodneighbor. It would definitely be dark before they got there but, after the events of the day, it was a risk they were willing to take. MacCready would be lying if he didn't say he wanted the walls of Goodneighbor around them and a proper bed before they slept.
He also wanted to thank them both but couldn't find the words at the moment, so he followed in silence. He hadn't realised he'd stopped walking until Hancock nudged his shoulder.

“You okay, RJ?”

He swallowed around some weird stickiness in his throat and nudged Hancock back, “That should send a message to them to stay off my back, eh?” he didn't know what else to say and his voice sounded tight, his mind was running a mile a minute and he simply couldn't believe that Winlock and Barnes were finally off his back. Finally dead and rotting on some two-hundred year old concrete.

Hancock's hand found the back of his neck again, his grip firm but reassuring and he fought to arch into it like some kind of bipedal cat, “I'm sure it will, Sunshine.”

“I'm sure they heard you loud and clear, Mac.” Mal chuckled as he stopped beside them, “Hopefully we've not made them angrier at you.” He had a grin as he said it, just a little jibe.

Mac shrugged, “I know ‘em well.”

“You're not afraid they'll retaliate?”

“The way these lunatics operate, you'd think they would. But, I doubt it.” They carried on walking.

Hancock shrugged, “They just lost two of their best men.”

“There's nothing to worry about.” Mac felt a small pit in his stomach and worried that they'd just made a big mistake but tried to reason it through his frayed nerves, “They've just lost this entire waystation. That will have cost them big. Besides, they have no way of knowing we were involved. Right?” Hancock hummed but kept his hand on the young man's neck for support, “I guess I owe you both a favour now. You hired me, boss, but I'm the one who dragged you both out here.”

“Don't worry about it, MacCready.” Mal rumbled as they paused at the entrance to College Square. He was still and watching the shadows of the buildings around them.

“I don't like these things hanging over me.”

The big man's eyes were narrowed as he scanned the area ahead before he whispered back, “You don't owe me. You needed the help.”

“I like everything to remain nice and even and now you're one up on me.” Mac whispered back, he looked through the scope of his rifle to see what had Mal so spooked, “I'll give you back the caps you gave me in Goodneighbor.”

Mal ducked down behind a car, “Mac, please don't worry about it and, honestly, we can't discuss this right now. There's so many of those ferals ahead and they'll hear us.”

Mac was about to reply but Hancock gave his neck a squeeze and whispered, “I'll go see how many.”

“Hancock, wait!” Mal whisper-shouted.

But Hancock stood with a wink and casually strolled down the street into College Square. Mal and Mac looked over the bonnet of the car with no small amount of worry and guns propped up ready to back him up at a seconds notice. The Ghoul casually peeked around and pointed the ferals out. One came up close to Hancock but ignored him as the Mayor kept strolling.

He came back and whispered with a shake of his head, “Too many. We'll get swarmed.”

Mac felt himself go pale while Mal just stared at Hancock with his mouth open, “How did you…nevermind.” He recovered and shook his head, “Stealth it is then. You okay, RJ?”

Mac just nodded but felt sick and followed the pair out from behind the car.

They carefully made their way through College Square. The ferals were everywhere so they went as silently as possible to avoid them. They kept to the shadows of the dilapidated buildings and, if a feral wandered too close, Mal and MacCready stood directly behind Hancock who simply stood as a shield. It seemed to confuse the ferals and they wandered away after a minute or two of standing before the Mayor who mumbled quietly with a little laugh“King of the Zombies” over his shoulder.
MacCready was placed behind Mal and stood so close he saw the muscle flinch in his back and could smell the big man's sweat. He was careful not to touch. He felt ill and could feel the panic beginning to claw at his throat. It throbbed in his head and he had to avert his eyes any time one of things came too close. Hancock met his eyes and held a hand out to him which he quietly took and grasped tightly while looking down at his feet.

As they rounded a corner, the sudden blasts of gunfire made them all jump. It was close and loud enough that the ghouls in the square began running towards the disturbance and, unfortunately, directly towards them.

“God dammit! Run!” Malcolm turned on his heel and ran towards the gunfire as well, Hancock and MacCready keeping pace. 

The gunfire ahead of them got louder and the growls and screams of ghouls behind them could be felt on their necks. MacCready kept his own scream from escaping him as he imagined the long rotting arms clawing at his back as the many wet slaps of rotting feet grew closer and closer. He couldn't help the panic rising as his mind played the feeling of sharp claws and teeth tearing into him as he struggled for breath beneath the swarm. Hancock dragged him along with sharp incessant tugs to his hand.

Mal saw a barricaded area near the old Cambridge police station where the gunfire was coming from and caught a brief glimpse of shiny Power Armour, he vaulted the barricades and shouted “We're human! We're not ferals!” as a younger woman in a uniform turned her pistol to him. Hancock, MacCready, and Mal ducked behind cover as they pulled their weapons and started taking shots at the ghouls that had chased them down the road. 

It felt like the waves of ferals would never end. Horde after horde came through the bottlenecks of the barricades, some actually laying hands on the power armoured person before deftly being battered away and shot. 

Eventually, it was just a few stragglers that were easier to take out now that the swarm had stopped, and they all took a breath before the Power Armour addressed them.

“We appreciate the assistance, civilians. What's your business here?”

Mac snorted under his breath as Malcolm replied, “Lieutenant Sergeant Malcolm Grimes of the US Army and General of the Minutemen.” He held his hand up to his face in a lazy, almost mocking, salute. If Hancock was a betting man, and he was, he'd say the condescending way the man in the armour had said civilians rubbed the General the wrong way.

The man's eyes widened very slightly and he looked Mal up and down; the dark leathered armour that had the Minutemen logo carefully painted on, dark clothing underneath and the skull printed scarf that covered him up to his eyes, “My apologies…General? I am Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel. If I appear suspicious, it is because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we have been under constant fire.”

“That's just how we say hello.” MacCready sidled up to Hancock and stood close enough for their shoulders to touch.

Danse narrowed his eyes a bit and Hancock saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, “If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.” The Paladin's eyes flicked over to Hancock and quickly back to Mal, “we're on recon duty but I'm down a man and our supplies are low. I've been trying to send a distress call to my superiors, but the signal is too weak to reach them.”

The young woman dressed in a red-orange uniform with brown leather armour over it approached whilst giving Hancock and MacCready a wide berth, “Sir, if I may. I've modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station but I'm afraid it just isn't enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal.”

Danse nodded, “Our target is ArcJet Systems and it contains the technology we need. The Deep Range Transmitter. We need to infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and bring it back here. We can discuss more inside.” The Paladin again looked at Hancock, who cut an imposing figure with his half-ghoul features and blood red coat, before he coughed gently and addressed Mal again, “Your…friends will have to wait outside.”

Mal narrowed his eyes, “Oh? And why's that?”

“We can discuss it -” He was cut off by a man, also in a Brotherhood uniform, who was struggling with an oozing wound to his side. 

“Because we don't want any of those abominations near us!” He had a deep set scowl and was openly glowering at Hancock who simply sniffed and rested the barrel of his shotgun against the shoulder not leaning on Mac's, “Shoulda shot it as soon as it cleared the barricade! Fucking freaks.” The man hobbled into the police station, slamming the door behind him.

The Paladin had his mouth pressed into a thin line but didn't contradict his underlings opinion. “I see.” Mal replied and looked to Hancock for his opinion. When the Ghoul shrugged Mal took it as assent and followed the Paladin inside.

“What a load of sh-crap. I can't believe he's willing to hear them out!” Mac exploded as soon as the door shut.

“Calm down, Sunshine, Mal knows what he's doing...I think.” He said even as he enjoyed the indignation rolling of MacCready and into him. It was nice to know someone would be so pissed off for him in a way. Like a warm blanket.

They waited for a while. Hancock turned over the ghouls, emptying their pockets of bottle caps and ammo and other useful knick-knacks, and MacCready disassembled his rifle to clean it. He was still fizzing with frustration down their bond and Hancock gently tried to soothe him by sending his own calm indifference back to him.

Eventually, Mal and the Paladin reemerged, Mal had a grim look in his eyes, “Can you both go ahead to Nick and Cait, if you don't mind? This shouldn't take too long but they'll need to be updated on the delay.” 

“Is this because he's a Ghoul?” Mac crossed his arms and glared at Danse.

“Ah, well, no. Just smaller groups are less likely to be noticed.”

“Noticed? You're clanking around even standing still. You're just a fuc -”

“Mac,” Mal approached the younger man and, astonishingly, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Hancock caught the slight flinch in the tightening skin around the eyes of Mal but was too pleased at this small amount of progress to comment, “Please.”

MacCready was equally stunned, the shoulder with Mal's hand on it lifted ever so slightly, as though guiding the gloved knuckles to his jaw but Mal pulled away quickly, “Uh…sure, boss. Sure.”

“I'll be a day, tops.”

Hancock and Mac nodded and turned towards the road that would lead them over to Bunker Hill and down to Goodneighbor. Once out of earshot, Mac muttered “wow” and Hancock knew he was a goner for the big man, the twisting convoluted feelings trickling to him from the mercenary like the carbonated bubbles of a particularly well preserved bottle of cola.

Mac could still feel the ghost of the touch hours later. 

Chapter Text

They waited in Goodneighbor for three days. Mac and Hancock assured the others that Mal was fine whilst avoiding the question of how they knew: he was one hundred percent positive that Mal was theirs, even if he struggled on how to broach the subject with him. The Shadow was barely still seemingly only stopping to eat and sit for a scant few hours at a time.

Hancock checked on the people of his town and was happy to find that Fahrenheit had been doing very well in keeping things running smoothly. Or, as smoothly as possible, considering the nature of Goodneighbor. Fahr was shrewd and exacting in her running of business. She was intimidating without even trying, smart as a whip, and had been Hancock’s right hand for the past several years. She had even managed to root out Bobbi-No-Nose: finding her in one of Goodneighbor’s storage facilities with a small group of scavvers after digging a tunnel from the basement of her home to it. The scavvers turned on the ghoul after realising who she had been trying to rob and Bobbi did not survive the interaction and the tunnel entrance was closed off.

Over the course of these next few nail-biting days: The four of them; himself, MacCready, Nick, and Cait, distracted themselves with what Goodneighbor had to offer them. 

Nick had given the device they'd found in Kellogg's head to Dr. Amari and was working with her to get it hooked up to himself so they could pillage the dead man's memories when Mal eventually turned up. The synth and the doctor would hole up for hours discussing wires and gizmos and other such things that Hancock couldn’t wrap his brain around.
Cait gave her time to the Third Rail and took a few shifts guarding the gates, complaining the whole time about being bored but they could tell she was mainly worried about their missing de facto leader. She frowned over the metal points of the gates and, at one point, had found her way up to the roof of a building that overlooked the damaged pile of highway just outside the town.
MacCready was seen spending a lot of time with Daisy in her trade post either talking with her or reading a stack of letters and sometimes writing his own. When he wasn’t doing that; he was drinking in the Rail or shadowing Hancock around. He seemed…lighter. The threat of the Gunners gone from his back, he fell into step beside Hancock a little easier and, when Hancock wrap an arm over his shoulder or back, he didn’t complain or shrug him off. Instead, he leaned into it.

In the evenings, the group would share a meal before separating off to find their own beds or, in Nick’s case, a quiet spot to read updates from the agency sent by Ellie. It was on one of these evenings, the evening where it was Hancock’s turn to sleep in his own bed after giving the first night to MacCready, when the Merc followed Hancock into his room and simply settled on one side of the mattress with a little space between them both.
Morning came and Hancock stretched out only to accidentally knock against Mac’s side with the back of his hand. He didn’t grumble or protest so Hancock simply said, “Mornin’ Sunshine. Sleep well?”

MacCready blinked at him before smiling a half smile and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Yeah, did you?”

“Like a baby.” He stretched again and sat up to find his smokes.

“You know, babies don’t actually sleep all night.”

“Pfft, yeah? What do you know about babies, RJ?”

He felt more than saw Mac’s shift in mood as he sat up and moved to begin his day, “Hmm, nothin’.”

Hancock had the distinct impression that he had somehow put his foot in it and chewed over the apparently innocuous conversation for the rest of day as he dealt with various issues around his little town. Mac didn’t go hide in the Rail or Daisy’s shop like he thought he’d might but he was noticeably more quiet and replied in one word answers with tiny little bubbles of something trickling to Hancock like sad soap suds.

Around midday of the third day, the gate to Goodneighbor opened to Malcolm and the Paladin. It seemed that Mal had talked the other man out of the bulky and obvious Power Armour and the Paladin appeared supremely uncomfortable as he walked just a step behind the General. The group convened in front of the Memory Den and Mal smiled sheepishly at them, he looked exhausted, “Sorry, I'm late.”

Cait punched him in the arm, “That's all ya have to say! Where have you been?” She hit him again.

“Ow! Sorry! Sorry!” He rubbed his arm and went on, dodging another attempt at a punch with a frown, “We got Danse’s team back to the Prydwen and before we could leave, Maxson had words.”

Mac scowled, “Words?” He knew Maxson’s name and reputation and did not like it.

Mal met his eyes and very minutely shook his head, flicking his eyes over to Danse who was watching the people of Goodneighbor flitting around. He didn't seem outright hostile, more curious as he observed the ghoul residents especially, “Yes, words. Nick, is Dr. Amari ready for us?”

“As ready as she'll ever be, I s'pose. It's not really a normal thing we're trying to do but she'll explain it better than I can.” His mechanical voice drew Danse's attention. The Paladin didn't say anything but his mouth turned down noticeably.

Mal stretched his shoulders to relieve some tension and shift the weight of his pack, “Okay, let's get this over with.”

Amari explained to Mal the idea of what she expected to happen. She had tried hooking Nick up to the device so that he could view the memories quickly in his robotic brain but the experiment had failed and they would need Mal to view the memories through the memory pod with Nick acting as a kind of conduit. Cait had volunteered but Amari explained the risks and possible confidentiality relating to Shaun, so Mal it had to be.

Hancock and MacCready waited along the edges of the room with Danse and Cait, watching the process carefully and ready to jump in if it seemed that either Mal or Nick were distressed. Mal climbed into the pod and Amari hooked Nick and the device up to it and then they waited. They listened to Amari apologise sadly to Mal about a specific memory and her brief recommendations about moving on every now and then. She didn't seem too concerned as her eyes flitted between Malcolm's vital readings and Nick's processors, so Hancock and Mac relaxed a little. 

It took around two hours for Mal to sift through the memories completely and he emerged groggy. Nick stood from the stool he had been sitting on and quickly left the room with no acknowledgement to the rest of them. 

Mal thanked Amari and dropped a handful of caps onto one of her desks when she had her back turned before addressing the rest of them, “I have to go to the Glowing Sea. Apparently, a man abandoned the Institute a while back and may know how I can get in.” He had deep circles beneath his eyes and a muscle in his jaw was twitching.

He wanted to ask what Mal saw in the pod: if he saw the Institute, his son, anything that might be of interest tot he Minutemen or Goodneighbor, but the big man seemed so…fragile in that moment that Hancock just found himself trying to reassure him if only a little, “I'll come with you, the rads can't touch me.” Hancock grinned at him, briefly gesturing to all of him. Mal graced him with a little snort and an upward twitch of his mouth.

“Or, I can go, Power Armour protects against radiation.” Danse had a scowl on his face as he looked at Hancock and the ghoul just rolled his eyes.

“I need to go back to Sanctuary first. I need to work out how to protect myself and I won't use Power Armour if I can help it, frankly. It's too loud and risky.”

They began filing out of the Memory Den and spotted Nick sitting on a bench near the exit.

Mal approached with a tired smile on his face, “Hey, Valentine -”

“Hope you got what you were looking for inside my head.” His voice was the graveled and menacing voice of the dead and rotting Kellogg. Mal took a step back as Cait and Hancock's hands went to their weapons and Danse took a sharp breath in, “Heh. I was right. I should've killed you when you were on ice.”

“Mal.” MacCready gently lay a hand on the other man's arm.

Mal shrugged him off but not unkindly, “You - what the fuck, Nick?” He sounded angry and upset but didn't draw a weapon, backed up as he was with Cait and Hancock already loaded.

Nick seemed to shake and draw in a mechanical breath with the orange of his eyes flickering on and off a few times all in the space of a second, “What? What are you talking about?” It was the usual Chicago drawl of the detective that they knew.

“You…”

Hancock lowered his gun, “Were you just fucking with us, Bolts?”

Nick frowned, “I guess that's for you to wonder and for me and Kellogg's memories to know for sure.” He stood and met their eyes in turn, “I feel fine, let's get going.” He began to lead the way out of the Den. The others followed slowly, each of them with a small frown and unspoken concerns shared with puzzled eyes.

They stopped off at Bunker Hill and Mal went round the stalls grabbing ammo and other supplies and discussed trade routes with caravans for the Minutemen settlements he had secured. Mac had never seen so many caps pass through someone's fingers as much they did Mal’s; he bartered, sold, and bought, but always seemed to come out of any negotiations with a tidy profit and, every other day, Mac would find a paper sleeve of his share in caps with “MACCREADY” scrawled on it in black ink. Not to mention the food, drinks, ammo, and other knick-knacks that the man bought for them, never asking for anything in return. It unnerved him somewhat and made him feel off balance with the way he usually did business. Though this was no normal job and the normal rules didn’t apply.

The others ate and drank and kept a close watch on Nick. The Synth seemed fine but whenever he approached them, Danse tensed up and his fingers twitched towards his laser rifle. He seemed a touch more comfortable around Hancock but the voice of Kellogg coming from Nick had unnerved them all. 

Mac didn't sleep, instead choosing to watch over them all in case the memories of Kellogg were more than just a lingering process in the robot's brain. Nothing had happened since the Memory Den but Mac was a cautious man by nature: he didn't like to take chances and he definitely didn't like the chokehold the Institute had on the Commonwealth.

The night passed and it was so quiet that not even the sound of distant gunfire could be heard. Mac observed his sleeping companions, huddled in the rented shack they had; Mal and Hancock had settled close beside each other with a bit of space between them, Cait was dozing in a corner, and Danse slept sitting up against a wall. 

Nick's glowing eyes watched as well but they didn't speak, both so wrapped up in their own thoughts as they were. Mac shifted as his mind wandered from one pressing topic to the next; Duncan, Mal, Hancock, Synths, Gunners, caps, and back through the list again. Was Duncan okay? Was Mal really theirs? What did Hancock want with their relationship? Was he really going to go to war with the boogeymen?

“What do you know about babies, RJ?” 

The small comment from Hancock had sent him into a spiral of worry and some generalised emotional fatigue. The Ghoul had meant it as a lighthearted quip, he knew, but what could’ve MacCready have said in return? Actually, John, I know a lot about babies. Thank you.
He felt shitty. He wasn’t ashamed of his son, not by a long shot, and he didn’t deserve to be a secret. He was a beautiful boy with a clever mind and was the sweetest thing MacCready had ever borne witness to in his life. But, now, he felt like too much time had passed by for him to just casually bring up his dying kid so far south, his reasons for being in the Commonwealth in the first place, and saying it all without sounding like a jerk. He trusted Hancock and Mal, didn’t he? Trusted that they wouldn’t use his son to hurt him and vice versa and was instead worried that they’d not trust him for keeping quiet for so long.

On and on as the night passed by oblivious to his tired mind.

Some hours into his watch, as he moved from one side of the shack to another to sit down in a slightly more comfortable chair, he caught a glimpse of a man standing not too far away. He was dressed in faded dirty blue jeans, a ragged white shirt, a pair of holey trainers, and a set of sunglasses that reflected the scenery around them. He appeared about the same as any other drifter in the Commonwealth but something about him tickled Mac's brain. It was a small amount of recognition but he couldn't place where he'd seen this man before. Was he a settler from one of Mal’s settlements? A visitor to Goodneighbor? 

He chewed the thought around and around before it clicked: it was the security guard who had watched them the night that he and Hancock had sat on the porch of a shop waiting for Mal to leave Diamond City.

They were being followed.

Mac shifted and lifted his chin at Nick, silently pointing to the guy who was drinking a beer in the street, seeming for all the world like a random drunk as he swayed on the spot and looked at some random graffiti sprayed on the walls. Nick stood and went towards the store of food and drink they had laid out, grabbed a Nuka-Cola and walked round to sit by Mac, handing over the beverage. 

“Thanks, man.” They played for normalcy, Mac opened the drink and leant towards Nick as though they were having a quiet conversation whilst their companions slept around them, “That guy, he was dressed as a security guard at Diamond City when you and Piper packed up and left. I reckon he's been following us since then.”

Nick hummed, taking out a screwdriver from a random pocket and pretended to make minor adjustments to his exposed skeletal hand, “What do you wanna do about it? I don't think the residents here would appreciate us confronting him in the middle of the night.”

“I think we wait and see if he follows us out in the morning, encourage us to camp somewhere on the road and see if he shows up.” He heard a small cough from nearby his feet and looked down towards Hancock and Mal. Two sets of black eyes were watching him and the Ghoul gave the barest of nods, agreeing with his plan, “Yeah, that's what we'll do.”

They continued their watch, the man posing as a drunk drifter wandered away but Mac knew he wasn't far.

As evening fell the next night, after a long day of travelling and the odd fight, they unloaded at a place called Starlight Drive-In. They had had to clear out a colony of Molerats but eventually could make a small fire beneath the overhang of the building by the petrol pumps.

“I came here one time, watched an old movie in my car with a beer and hotdog after my second tour of Anchorage.” He stood, hands on his hips and looked around with a half smile on his face, “The film was awful. Some drama trying to be a horror, I can't even remember the name now. I think this place would make a good place for people to settle, with a bit of work.”

Cait rolled her eyes, “You'll have the whole Commonwealth settled if you carry on.” 

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Who will I fight if you take out all the bad guys?”

“I'm sure there'll always be raiders for you, Cait.” He said with a small laugh. She stuck her tongue out at him and he threw a rolled up ball of paper at her.

They, and Danse, continued a light conversation as Hancock, Mac, and Nick walked the perimeter. Mal knew about the man following them but was only mildly concerned. He thought that if the guy was a threat then he'd have already tried something. MacCready argued that he was one guy that they knew of, against a well armed and supplied group of six, they could take him out easily. So they'd reached a compromise: two people would be on watch at all times, rotating out during the night, and a thorough perimeter check of anywhere they rested. If the man attacked, they’d handle him.

“He's too trusting, sometimes.” Mac grumbled, “The creep could come up on us in the night with a knife or something.”

Hancock huffed as he broke the lock to the projector screen door, opening it up to a small room with a few supplies that could be useful, “Yeah, but at least he's careful. Trusting, sure, but he won't put anyone through a risk that doesn't need to happen.”

“Unless it's himself,” Nick put in, “but he's capable. It'll take a lot of hassle to put him down.”

Hancock hummed and looked at Nick out of the corner of his eyes, “How's your brain, Nicky? Any more…voices?”

“Nah, I think it was just a holdover from the Memory Pod. I swear, if I feel off, you'll be the first to know.”

MacCready nodded and scowled down at the ground, “If that guy's in your head, Valentine, I won't let you get to Hancock or Mal.”

“Aww, Sunshi -”

“Wouldn't expect anything less from a merc like yourself, MacCready.” Nick interrupted and Mac simply nodded again as Hancock's hand rested between his shoulder blades.

They continued round, keeping an eye out for the unknown man but, with night falling, there were many shadows for him to hide in. They made it back to the fire in time for the food Mal had prepared: some Brahmin steak with Tato. 

Cait and Nick had first watch so, with full bellies and the warmth of the fire, the rest settled down for whatever sleep they could grab.

Mal watched MacCready and Hancock settle down together beneath a threadbare sheet, whispering quietly together with fingers gently resting on each other, and he fought down a wave of sudden jealousy. He had been trying to be less squeamish when it came to casual touch but couldn't bring himself to skin on skin contact. Had tried to initiate contact as casually as those around him did as a sort of…exposure therapy; touching Mac’s shoulder, tapping Danse to direct him around a tight corner, allowing Cait to jab him…failed with Mac’s light touch on his arm.
It was difficult. When he was younger: his parents had thought it was a germ thing. They’d suggested therapy when, eventually, the only casual touch he had allowed had been from his mother. He’d stomach through the very rare times where a public display of affection towards Nora was needed but his mind would always close up on his general experiences with how nauseating and painful touch from another person could really be.
He fought with his feelings but the thought of someone touching him and the rejection that would follow; the hurt, the name calling, the feeling of a fist striking his face as someone screamed freak. It made his hairs stand on end and a flutter of panic would form in his chest. It built to something akin to snakes writhing around in a knotted coil tight around his heart and lungs. His gloves felt tight and itchy on his wrists.
MacCready stretched and Mal caught sight of the sliver of skin on his stomach as his shirt rode up before he pulled the sheet up to his shoulders as Hancock whispered something that made the man blush. Mal’s mouth went dry.

“I can hear your brain turning over.” Danse gently whispered beside him, making him jump. He was almost too close so Mal leaned back casually on his elbow to get some space, “With Power Armour, the Glowing Sea won't pose much of a threat.”

“That's not -” he cut himself off, glad for the change in topic in his mind, “I know but Power Armour has its own risks that I don't think I can take. I need to be quiet. I think I have a hazmat at Sanctuary that should work if I dull the colour down.”

“Hmm, not a lot of defense in a rubber suit but I see your point.”

Mal hummed, turning the more favourable problem over in his mind before he slowly fell asleep.

They were rudely awoken by Danse, who had swapped in to watch after Cait, and Nick shouting and then scuffling a short way from the dimmed fire. Mal was on his feet in an instant and jogging over to where the pair had a man pinned to the ground, sunglasses shattered and blue eyes looking up at him innocently, “Oh, hi there. This isn't the welcome party I was expecting.”

The man, Deacon, had been trailing Mal since he had first emerged from the Vault and relaying information gathered to the Railroad.

“- and then we help the Synths find a safe place where they can live free. There's some discussion about the older gens -”

“Synths and the Institute stole my son and you're expecting me to join the Railroad?” They were walking past Concord, the Red Rocket gas station not too far ahead.

“Synths still under the control of the Institute stole your son. Not the innocents trying to escape them. How is it any different to what you're trying to do with the Minutemen? They’re like slaves, Mal.” Deacon was a mostly jovial sort of fellow, quick to make a joke or quippy remark, but Mal's patience for Synths was low barring his current company with Nick.

“I appreciate your point of view, Deacon, but this is something I'm gonna have to think about. You're welcome to stay with us and relay whatever you'd like to your group, but I can't just agree blindly to this.”

Cait frowned and looked to Danse, “What about the Brotherhood then?”

Danse cleared his throat, “He hasn't agreed to do anything for us, I am simply here to observe on Elder Maxson's orders as his sponsor. It's the same situation he's offering the Railroad.” He said the name of the group like a slur that had Mal rolling his eyes.

“I'm already fighting a war, two more feels like a bit much.”

“Fine, I'll hang about for a little while, catch a show or something, unless something amazing happens elsewhere.”

Something amazing did happen. At Sanctuary, as Mal was introducing Deacon and Danse to the Minutemen and Piper. They were shaking hands and giving names when Deacon got to Piper, their hands touched and they both froze up. Their eyes went wide and Mal knew that they had just found their Shadows.

Mal tossed and turned in his bed: his mind whirling with jealousy and a bit of sadness. His two Shadows were sitting, one smoking and the other doing something with their hands. Fixing something or cooking? He wasn't sure. 

He thought about Deacon and Piper who had been inseparable since finding each other the other day. They talked and ate together, walked the perimeter of Sanctuary together, watched the kids of the settlement play and Piper introduced her sister to him. They filled the Settlement with their laughs and blushing faces that was, in all honesty, nauseating in its sweetness. He’d spotted Cait and MacCready miming heaving multiple times whenever the pair spotted the newly bonded gushing over each other. They were a nice fit, Mal supposed as he continued to lament about it; they were both clever, calculating, up for a good time, and Mal noticed, completely balanced each other in their personal morals. Piper was a stickler for finding out the absolute truth of a matter even if it meant going up against those more powerful than herself: an honest reporter in a less than honest world. Deacon would lie about the colour of the sky if he thought he’d be able to get away with it. He wove tales and stories and regaled settlers with false narratives on who he was and how he became best friends with the General of the Minutemen.

He thought of Mac and Hancock who also went everywhere together, following him into danger and covering each other's backs. Sharing small touches and smiles. Their bond, like Piper and Deacons, seemed to compliment them too, but something was missing: if they sat on a bench they left a spot on the end, they’d unconsciously look over their shoulders, check in on someone who wasn’t there. Hancock had told hom that they had a third. But, even still, with just the two of them, they seemed almost effortless with each other.
Mal’s own Shadows felt like ghosts to him. It seemed almost cruel to have people fated to complete him but, to have that completion, he’d have to give something he hadn’t been able to give in a long long time. Not since he had last held his son.
His son who was now ten years old and living with strangers in a place he didn’t even know how to get to. He had missed everything; his first steps, his first words, his first bites of food. Tree climbing and learning to ride a bike. His first gun lesson and first day of school.

He was torn in so many directions and felt like jam spread over too much bread. Like a straining meniscus ready to boil over the rim of the glass. How was he meant to go after the Institute and keep everyone around him safe? How would he find his Shadows if he was twisted up in the minutiae of settlements and factions and war and not trying to lose himself. How was he meant to work up the courage to reach out to someone's bare skin and risk opening that jagged hole he’d kept locked away for so long.
He didn't know if he wanted the completion and joy he saw on the others or whether he could handle the stress of keeping even one Soulmate safe from the world he now lived in. He didn't know whether he could cope with their fingers brushing his skin like he saw Hancock do with MacCready. Or the way the Merc would so casually lean against Hancock when they sat around the fire in the evenings on his front lawn. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

If he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that he hadn't quite adjusted fully to this world. He'd known violence in his past life. Extreme violence. But it somehow didn't compare to now. He had to keep reminding himself that the war he was now fighting was simply everyday life for the majority of people here: people went to bed without knowing if they'd ever wake up again. They farmed their crops constantly looking over their shoulders. Raised their children to know how to fire guns and wield knives. He wanted to fix that. With the Minutemen and his turrets and their guns. So that kids could be kids again and people in the Commonwealth could just be people.

He rolled over with a great sigh and his eyes focused on his periphery: his Shadows were moving and he had to concentrate to turn his mind away from them if he wanted any hope of getting sleep. Did they know each other already? Did they wonder where and who he was? Did they…touch each other or were they just as alone as he was? 

A knock at his door gave him the relief of something to do other than wallow. He hefted himself off his bed and cracked his neck with a satisfying pop, semi hoping that some random urgent mission had popped up someplace and he'd have something for right now to distract himself with.

He passed down his hallway and pulled the half standing front door open.

It was Hancock and MacCready, “Wow, sorry, were you sleeping?” The Ghoul looked him up and down and Mal belatedly remembered he only had his pair of loose black pants on. They hung low on his hips and bared more skin than he ever had to his companions without quickly covering back up. He’d forgotten his gloves.

His chest, muscled and lithe, was criss-crossed with various scars and they stood out silvery or pink on his tan skin. Some were very old and some much newer from recent fights. His largest scar was a ragged burn that covered his left shoulder and stretched down over his left breast, completely erasing the nipple there. His arms moved to hide his wrists from them both.

He felt very slightly self conscious, but in a flustered way, not in the I-want-the-earth-to-swallow-me kind of way, “Uh, trying. Come in.” He pulled his lip into his mouth to bite at the piercings there.

The pair crossed the threshold and the three sat scattered around his living area. The old black couches were cleaner now but still groaned and creaked when they sat. MacCready sighed after finally pulling his eyes away from Mal's bare chest and leaned his arms on his knees, “We need to talk to you about something,” when Mal visibly grimaced, Mac quickly clarified, “it's nothing bad! Or, at least, I hope not.”

Hancock, never one to beat around the bush, simply said “We'd like to touch you.”

“Umm -” Mal began as his brain shut down and rebooted.

What?

He wished he was wearing more clothes. Too much skin. Too much vulnerability, “Listen, Mal,” Mac cut in through his slight spiral, “We all have two Shadows each. Me and Hancock have found each other and fu-uhh…damn. Our second didn't move for as long as we can remember and then he suddenly did and then you turned up with this on ice story -” he was rambling so Hancock cut him off.

“We don't want to pressure you, Sunshine, but we also need to know for certain. One way or another, ya feel?”

Mal didn't know what to say. He sat staring at them both with his mouth slightly open in shock and wonder. They thought he was their Soulmate? He couldn't believe it. It made no sense: when he wasn't dragging them into danger he was a sad mess, too stressed to cope with this world and too worried about his son to give much of anything else any thought. Sure, he'd like to find his Soulmates but that niggle in his brain that recoiled at the thought of touch made him panic.
Haphephobia, is what people had called it in his old life. He felt it now; a dangerous churning in his gut, the crying thoughts thought of rejection and pain, the prickling and shivering of goosebumps as his skin would jump and recoil at people's hands. People hitting him in school, in training, in war. The way they’d poke at him and laugh when they found out he didn’t have a Shadow. The way his grandfather had dragged him by the ear and belted him after finding out he was gay. Some people would scrub their skin raw after he'd heal them on the battlefield. He knew because he'd seen them do it whilst muttering about the freak touching them.
And then, he thought of touching them both and nothing happening. No burst of colour. No sudden feelings of rightness and fulfillment. He felt his breath quicken and the blood leave his face. 

“Mal? Mal!” 

The worried shout brought him back though he couldn’t have said which of them did it. They were both waiting patiently, not crowding or pressuring, just gentle patience and open faces. Not faces of pity, just a hint of worrying after they'd watched him spiral out.
Maybe it would be okay? Maybe they wouldn't pity him if nothing happened. Maybe they'd just shrug, no hard feelings, brother, and nothing would change. Maybe he could do this. He wouldn't burst into flame with a quick brush of skin. People touched all the time and didn’t die.

He nodded, not trusting his voice, and watched them both give a relieved smile. They both stood and held out their hands to him, palms up, inviting him to go at his pace.
He stood too on shaky foal-like legs. Slowly and tentatively he raised his hands, hovering one over each of theirs. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before letting his fingers brush against their palms.

His first proper and purposeful skin on skin contact since he had last held his son.

Chapter Text

It took his breath away. Laser fire and sunrises filled his vision. Reds and oranges, yellows and purples and greens. It was a sunset and sunrise at the same time. It was the susurrus of autumn leaves falling to the ground. The gentle pattern of oil on water. Blooming spring flowers and the night sky in aurora.

He felt the sudden flood of rightness. The one he’d only ever read about, the one that had people swooning during the ceremonies in his college days. It filled him up and bubbled over with a giddiness he could barely contain.

He opened his eyes and his Shadows were grinning back at him. The young blush and the ravaged confidence. Something pooled in him and he felt…whole. Complete. A jigsaw finally finished.

“You're blue. Like the sky and ocean. Or rain.” MacCready breathed with a quiet sigh and Mal could feel it. A small swirl of strong relief and happiness that wasn't his. Could they feel his awe too? His overwhelmed churning.

It worked. He'd found his Shadows, or, his Shadows had found him, in a world where things like this didn't seem possible.

Hancock let out a laugh. He couldn't believe his luck. But then, a small amount of panic began to bubble between them all and it bounced around each of their worries like a ricocheting bullet. There were three of them now: three in a dangerous world and on a dangerous mission. Potentially suicidal. 
How were they all going to make it out alive? How would they fight with the distractions of each other's pain and panic? 

The rushed feelings fed his overwhelmed mind which then fed theirs and then came back again. An awful cacophonous feedback loop.

“Fuck.” 

Mal stepped back from them both, his face was flushed and his eyes were wet, hands clenched by his sides. He looked at them both before taking a shaky breath, stamping down his feelings into a deep dark abyss where much of his trauma went to live. In the hole, in a box, padlocked, chained, thrown into the ocean. He cleared his throat and found something to do, “Wow. Okay…” He moved around to his kitchen and started pulling out various foodstuffs and drinks before lighting his cobbled together stove. 

Mal was distracting himself, Hancock knew, so he chose to sit down and wait. MacCready sat beside him, his leg bouncing and his shoulder pressed tightly against Hancock's. The Ghoul gently placed his hand on Mac's knee to settle him, “Shh. It's okay, give him a couple of minutes.” He whispered to the Merc even though he wanted to grab Malcolm by the arms and sit him down with them. 

They waited in silence as Mal busied himself and even after bowls of noodles and mugs of some old beer were placed before them, they stayed silent. Mal sat opposite them, bowl in his hand, but he didn't eat. He just looked at them both: the flush from his face had gone, replaced by a pale blotchiness. No one touched their food but Mac did down his drink to try and settle his nerves.

“So, Sunshine…” Hancock trailed off, looking for the right words, “We good?” He decided to say in the end with a mental cringe at its lameness.
Was it always like this when people found their matches? With MacCready, he had at least got a hug out of it even if it was followed by weeks and months of avoidance. It had taken so long for the young man to even lean a shoulder against him. With Malcolm? Who knew if anything would go even as far as that. He had looked like a spooked Radstag faun at the mere thought of touching their palms for a brief moment with his fingertips. Hancock wanted more. Needed more.

Mal nodded, face still pale but a determined tension filled his jaw, “Yea -,” he coughed, “Sorry. Yeah, we're good. I just wasn't really expecting it to be so easy to find you both and we've been traveling together for weeks now.” He went quiet for a moment, taking some sips from his water, “Look, I don't know how to do this. I think even if I didn't have everything else going on, I wouldn't know what to do.” he looked so nervous, “I've never…I dunno.”

“You don't have to do anything, I think it's enough that we know.” MacCready put in even as his own turmoil thrashed around them, “You just…be you?”

Mal stared at them both. He felt a warm shiver crawl up his back and quickly looked down at his bowl and began to eat.

The next few days were a flurry of activity. Mal had found a hazmat suit that he had previously looted from someplace and squirreled away in one of his many boxes and crates. He had put it on a workbench and scuffed the glaring yellow colour down and covered it with a darker stain. Carefully painting on the Minutemen logo on like he had started to do with all his armour and weapons.

They all sat together in the evenings with the wider group around a fire. They'd laugh and share food and stories but then, at the end of the evenings, Mal would go toward his own home with Hancock and Mac going in the opposite direction to their bunks in the communal building.
He didn't speak to Hancock and MacCready regarding their situation but Hancock could feel his confusion and worry. Hancock didn't think it helped that all he could think about was the man's broad chest and back as he'd moved around his house when they'd been sat with him. He saw Mac blushing occasionally when Hancock felt his feelings about said chest get the better of him but it just made him walk about grinning. He'd feel Mal react back but it was quickly tampered down into some deep pit the man could seemingly open up and ram his feelings into. 

One day they woke up and Mal had departed for the Glowing Sea without them. He had taken Nick and Danse with him and Danse’s Power Armour was gone from the Power Armour station. He hadn't said a word to anyone except Preston and the guards at the gates.

“I can't believe he's gone without us.” MacCready moaned again for maybe the fiftieth time.

Cait snorted, “I'm surprised he didn't take Hancock at least. It's not like the rads can make him anymore ghouly.” She gestured at his very obvious condition as he twirled his hair with a finger with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“I'm a lot quieter than that tin can at least.” Hancock grumbled as he watched Mal's Shadow out the corner of his eye. Thankfully, so far, he had just been doing a lot of walking. He reckoned that they would stop at Oberland for the night before pushing into the Sea the next day. Hancock knew he wouldn't sleep properly until Malcolm was back at Sanctuary but the length of this journey could take a week or more depending on what he had to do.

Both Hancock and MacCready took turns in keeping an eye out on Mal's Shadow over the next few days, wincing every time it was obvious that he was in a fight and gasping in pain when his injuries mirrored onto them. One particularly bad injury made their right shoulders flare into a fire like almost agony that had them both feeling sick for an hour. They felt a little twinge of guilt come from the General.
His Shadow very rarely rested and it was obvious that Mal was pushing through any fatigue whilst they were in the Glowing Sea. It was too dangerous to rest anywhere as far as Hancock knew, and if they did find a safe place, the rads would eventually eat away at them. 

He sent a letter to Fahrenheit after receiving an update from her assuring him that Goodneighbor was doing as well as Goodneighbor could. He felt confident that his second in command could run the place indefinitely. So he spent his time helping in Sanctuary where he could. From patrolling the perimeter, which was slowly having a wall built to keep as much threat out as possible, to helping in the farm by collecting ripe foods and delivering them to old Mama Murphy in the cook house. The old lady would murmur to herself and Hancock had to force himself to not ask questions: the Minuteman star will shine again…the dark path will make him whole…the watchers and metal and fire…I've seen it…she was an odd old lady and Hancock made a note to not leave his chems around her. 

Preston and Cait would train new members of the growing Minutemen militia and Piper and Deacon continued to spend every waking minute together being grossly sappy. Not that Hancock was jealous or anything. Piper and her sister had moved into one of the more private buildings that had been built where she set up her newspaper again. 

The individual buildings that were now being erected around the large tree in the middle of Sanctuary were being filled by the oldest serving residents and Mal's companions first. This meant that Hancock and MacCready now had a private place to retreat to in the evenings as neither felt comfortable in Mal's house without him, nor had the man said they could be in his house without him, and the orange door to the blue house remained barred and guarded by Codsworth.
Their little space was comfortable and simply contained a seating area with a radio and two beds in a room separated from the living area by a curtain. They'd pushed the beds together some time during night one.

It was nice. Distracting. And kept Hancock from tumbling down his own worries about the whole Soulmate situation. 

Malcolm had just left. No word, no note, not even a wave over his shoulder. All he had given was the briefest flickers of random feelings filtering down their new bond before they cut off sharply like a tap being twisted closed.

They'd been too sudden, pushed too much onto him, forced him into something with a partially ghoulified man with a barely controlled chem addiction. 
MacCready didn't seem to care what he looked like. He held his hand when they curled up together on their pushed together beds at night and Hancock wondered if he'd care if he kissed him. He didn't want to rush him like he'd rushed Mal but they had been…together? for a while now. He wanted to but the risk of pushing him away felt too much. Maybe MacCready would run off into the Glowing Sea to get away from him too.

Four days after Mal had left, a day like any other within the settlement, MacCready received a letter through Trashcan Carla and went quiet. The quietness lasted into the next day, then the next, and he didn't even lay whispering with Hancock in the evening in their little private space. There was a tension in his jaw and a tightness around his eyes that was visible to everyone around him. He was waspish and snapped easily and Hancock could feel he was deeply upset about something but thought that waiting for Mac to come to him would be the best play. He didn't want to rush him.

Eventually, after days of him barely speaking to anyone and smoking more cigarettes than strictly necessary, Cait had had enough:

“Oi, your mood is bringing everyone down. Do something useful or mope somewhere else.” Her fiery attitude snapped MacCready’s head up and he frowned at her, “What has you so fuckin' grumpy?” Her fists were balled and, before anyone could step in, she launched herself at Mac with a manic grin on her freckled face. 

They scuffled on the ground, “Ow! Cait get off!” Mac shouted and she danced away from him, the letter he had read days prior held above her head in victory as she pilfered it from his pocket, “Give that back! It's private!” The young woman laughed with a mocking “it's private” and continued dodging his attempts to grab her as she read the letter. Her laughs faded away and her smile dimmed to a serious frown. She stood still as she got to the end of the letter and let Mac snatch it away from her.

“Oh, Mac.”

“Leave me alone.” He stomped away to his and Hancock's quarters, tucking the letter deep into his coat, and slamming the door behind him.

Hancock lingered, watching Cait chew her lip with a frown. She met his eyes and nodded her chin towards the building Mac had retreated to, “You'd better speak to him. He can't go around with that news weighing on him.”

He was angry at her, so angry he could feel it snapping down the bond and be answered with worried waves floating in from Mal. He knew not all the anger was his. MacCready was a veritable Radstorm snapping around him with great rolling crashes of lightning that battered his chest. Hancock nodded to Cait as calmly as he could and followed his Shadow.

Hancock found Mac laying on the bed with his arm over his eyes. He shrugged off his coat and kicked his boots off before laying beside him, “Hey, Sunshine -”

“I don't need pity,” he interrupted but scooched over anyway to give Hancock a bit more room on the bed, “It's private and she's really pis-annoyed me making a big fuss over it.”

“I'm not gonna pity you, you know that ain't my style. But maybe I can help? And, you're allowed to curse, I'm not your mother.”

The seething anger dimmed slightly to a bubbling melancholy, “It's not about you, it's about a promise I made.”
Mac was silent for a long time and just when Hancock thought he'd started to nod off, Mac took a deep breath but his voice came out barely a whisper that had Hancock straining to hear, “I do need help. When I left the Capital Wasteland behind, I didn't just leave Little Lamplight. I left my family behind. I had a…friend or girlfriend, I guess, named Lucy and a son we named Duncan. He's the one I made the promise to. To clean up my act and be a better person.” 

It came out in a rambled rush before he was silent again whilst Hancock reeled. A girl? A son? How had he not known this before? Did Mac even find men attractive? He has a kid!

Family.

He felt a dark bite of jealousy and possessiveness flare inside himself and pushed it down as MacCready continued, “I guess that sounds pretty stupid coming from the guy who shoots people for a living.” Mac was looking at him sadly as Hancock struggled to stop the random surges of petty envy and longing trickling to the younger man.

Was this why everything was moving so slowly between them both? Mac was straight with a kid and this whole thing was just platonic to him. It's not like they'd ever discussed where they wanted this to go between them, and now Mal, but Hancock knew where he'd like it to go. He has enough friends and wanted something more. Something bigger.

Hancock swallowed his initial bout of shock and shook the thoughts away. It wasn't fair to push this on MacCready when he was so obviously trying to open up about things. So, he scooched a little closer and twined their fingers together, “You must've had a good reason to leave him behind.”

Mac shrugged as his other hand came up and started to play with Hancock’s yellow hair where it lay on the pillow between them, “That's what I keep telling myself. He's sick, Hancock. I don't know what's wrong with him. One day, he's playing out in the fields behind our farm and the next he comes out with a fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. Last I saw him he was almost too weak to walk. I didn't dare ask him to come with me.” He pulled out the letter he'd got, “honestly, I don't know how much longer he's going to last.”

Hancock quickly skimmed the letter, a woman named Val was telling MacCready that his son had worsened over the last week and she was worried about him making it into the next month. She was asking Mac to hurry. There was a small shaky drawing, obviously done by a small child, in the bottom corner of a kid and a man holding hands, “Damn, Mac, we should go and see him.”

Another lash of hopeless and crushing sadness that, in turn, received another flurry of worry from their third from wherever he was, “I can't. Not yet.” His voice was shaking and he looked so helpless, so young, “You and Mal have already done so much for me, with the Gunners and stuff, and I feel horrible asking for more. But, if you're willing to risk it, I might have a way we can save him.”

“How risky?” Not that he cared. He meant what he said when he told MacCready he'd do anything for him.

“It's no walk in the park, if it was I would've done it myself.” He rolled onto his side and grabbed Hancock's hand harder, “Look, I really need your help with this one. Duncan needs it too.”

“Sunshine, of course I'll help. And I'm sure Mal will too when he's back. Unless you want to go as soon as possible? We could ask Cait and Preston too.”

He smiled properly then with a surge of relief rolling over them both, “I was hoping you'd say that. A while before we met, I came to the Commonwealth with my buddy, Sinclair, and his Shadow. He had the same disease Duncan has. They'd dug up information about a cure in a place called MedTek Research, even managed to get the building's security codes. I left Duncan on my farm with some friends and came with them.
Unfortunately, Sinclair's Shadow died before we could even get close to the cure. The whole building is crawling with ferals, I…I froze up when we went inside. They were crawling out the walls and Lucy…well, she went that way and I just couldn't do it.”
Hancock suddenly understood the man's fear and sick feeling he'd get whenever ferals were around Like he had in Cambridge. He'd thought it was just a general revulsion for ghouls. But, no, it was a genuine fear and trauma.

“If there's a cure, we'll find it.” he said simply as he gently lay his fingers on MacCready's jaw and watched him speak. He didn't want to push but couldn't help just the slightest intimate contact. He needed it. He needed it as much as he needed air to breathe.

He leaned into the touch, “Thanks. It's why I joined the Gunners and how I ended up in Goodneighbor with you. I needed caps to hire people to come to MedTek with me.” he moved slightly to continue playing with Hancock’s hair, “What you're doing…no one has ever cared so much for me. Even if it takes me the rest of my life, I'll repay this debt to you. I swear it.”
Mac brought Hancock's hand from where it was on his jaw and gently placed a kiss to his scarred knuckles as though sealing that promise. He took Hancock's breath with him when he pulled away.

MacCready waited for two more days after his talk with Hancock. He wanted to leave as soon as possible but, with Mal still away, his patience was a fine thread ready to snap. Eventually he had enough and pulled Hancock and Cait to one side.

“Please, can we go? I'm sorry, it's just I need to get this cure and get it to Duncan before it's too late. I can't wait for the boss anymore.”

Rather than arguing, Cait and Hancock nodded and loaded up. Deacon sidled up to their sides on their way out and simply stated his willingness to help. Preston and Piper opted to stay behind with Codsworth and the dog but told them they'd let Malcolm know where they'd gone if he made it home before them. And suddenly, much to Mac's relief and nervousness, they were on their way to MedTek. It would take until the late evening or the early morning at least to get there as they had to cross Concord and the majority of Medford but a group so well supplied and armed as they were, they should be safe enough.

As they drew closer to Medford, and MedTek by consequence, they had a small fight with a wandering band of raiders. They weren't as armoured as MacCready's group and seemed a little green, so it was quick and painless for the four of them.
Mac noticed that after the fight Mal's Shadow seemed to be running but he paid it little mind. They hadn't had any phantom pains from the man for a day or two so he knew he was in a relatively safer area and he needed to concentrate on his task ahead. His last big effort to save his boy on this ever long road. 

If this didn't work, nothing would.

Then, almost suddenly, MedTek was looming above them and Mac had to pause and take some deep breaths. His group rallied around him and waited patiently, Hancock gently rubbing a spot between his shoulder blades with Cait and Deacon making a show of easy confidence.

“Whatever comes, we can handle it, Sunshine.”

Mac nodded, the touch of Hancock steadying his breathing. He can do this, “Okay, let's go.”

Deacon entered first, so used to stealth as he was, and signaled for them to follow as the coast was clear. Mac checked his Shadows one more time: Hancock's was walking as the real Hancock strolled towards the door, Mal's was still running. He shook his head and followed his friends into the building that would hopefully save his son: ignoring the stench of rot and the feeling of his own skin trying to crawl off his body.

It was chaos. 

As soon as one feral knew they were there, they all knew. It only got exponentially worse when Deacon put in the code to turn off the building's lockdown in the director’s terminal and unlocked all the doors in the building, allowing previously locked away ferals to roam the halls.
MacCready didn't like to think about how many people must've been in here when the bombs fell. How many of them were sick and trapped, wondering about families and friends and if they’d ever get out again. If they’d survive and see the sun again. He tried not to let those thoughts in as he kept trying to stop his friends from being swarmed by the many sharp claws and gnashing teeth. He kept trying to not think about his friend and the mother of his child. Lovely Lucy who hadn’t deserved this kind of end. There were simply too many and if they tried retreating, the ferals would just follow them outside.

He felt a shove from behind him and heard Cait scream his name. A massive blackened feral bowled him to the ground and it took all his strength to use his rifle as a shield to keep the things teeth away from him. It stank of rot and he felt the bile rise in his throat as its bloody drool drip onto his chin.
He tried bucking it off but it was simply too heavy, he could feel his spine and hips grinding against the hard ground as it clawed at him, tearing the skin in his arm and side. He heard Hancock cry out in sympathy pain as he battered a feral away from him with his shotgun, but he was surrounded with Deacon and Cait at his back also trying to make a path to him. 

He began to panic. The sounds of his friends' shouts drifted away and he swore he could feel Death's fingers around his throat. The pressure from this massive feral was crushing him. He felt a few pops in his chest as pain began to blur his mind, “Please! Get it off of me!” Every attempt he made to buck the thing off just pushed him further into the ground, he could feel his breath leaving him.

I can't breathe! Hancock! I can't breathe! 

Blood was in his mouth and he could feel it trickling down his chin and cheeks as he tried so hard to get out from under this thing killing him. His vision started spotting and the pain in his chest and hips was too much, “Hancock…please…” he couldn't breathe. He was going to die. The thing's mouth got closer to his face, the smell of rotting flesh filled his nose, as his strength began to leave his arms.

A great shove came from above and the blackened feral was bodily lifted away from him. He could just make out the metal legs of massive Power Armour through his blurred vision. And, then, he felt himself being dragged away from the stomping steel feet.
He knew he was dead when Malcolm's face swam into his vision. The man was covered up to his eyes by his black bandana but he knew it was Mal. Those slanted black eyes were the most distinct thing he knew. They were worried eyes and he wondered why he was sad and in pain.
The bandana was pulled down and he saw Mal tear one of his gloves off with his teeth. His mouth and piercings were smeared with wet, bright red, blood as he let the glove drop. Mac was confused about whose blood it was until he felt a splash of water to his face and the sting of alcohol being poured over wounds. His brain capacity was jolted back to almost fully functioning as his Shadow worked quickly to stem the bleeding caused by the feral ghoul.
Said ghoul was now a dead husk with Danse standing over it with his laser rifle taking out remaining smaller ferals, “Curie! Stimpak” Mal called out and a white Ms. Handy robot floated towards them. He was dizzy but after the sting of two Stimpaks, he could focus more.
He could feel the warm bare skin of Mal’s hands as he wrapped the wounds on his arm and sides. 

The shooting and shouting had stopped and his friends were sitting around him catching their breath. He heard Mal take a deep relieved sigh before sitting back whilst keeping MacCready between his legs, his hand on his lower back to keep the Merc steady and still, “Is anyone else hurt?” He met each of their eyes as they shook their heads, just a few grazes and scratches, “Okay. Good. What's happening here?”

After an hour of rest and filling Mal in on the situation and letting him read the letter, they began to check their weapons to finish searching the rest of the building. Deacon furrowed his brow and asked, “How did you get here so fast?”

“I got to Sanctuary with Danse and Curie to drop off some things and get you all. Preston told me you had all left about two, maybe three, hours before we got there. Thankfully, you'd told them where you were going so we came sprinting after you.” He paused for a moment to check over Mac again and nodded, “We actually caught sight of you from the peak at Tenpines but you couldn't hear us shouting.”

“Well, I'm sure as shit glad you weren't too far behind.” Hancock placed his hand on Mac's shoulder, “Gave me a real fright there.”

Mal nodded again, the hand on Mac's back clenched around the fabric there and the Merc shivered at the feeling, “And me. Thankfully, Danse is like a train in that armour.”

“Just doing my duty.” The Paladin said but there was a blush crawling up his cheeks.

Cait scoffed and led the way through the labs of MedTek.

They had found the cure. The fragile vial of Prevent was tucked away in MacCready's coat and wrapped safely in some thick cloth. He looked around at his friends with a grin, “We did it. We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live! I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back for this…I owe you all. Big time.”

“All we care about is curing your son.” Mal said. He didn't approach MacCready but he offered him a genuine smile.

“I know you do. I'm just getting tired of taking instead of giving. Maybe, one day, I'll get my priorities straight.” He nodded to Hancock and Mal in turn.

Mal laughed, a genuine relieved laugh, “This is a friendship. Not a business contract.” 

Hancock grinned, “You still worried about balancing the books?”

“Always,” he shrugged, “I'm just used to people taking. Maybe one day I'll realise that you all are different.”

Cait scoffed, “You could at least get a girl a goddamn drink, Mac.”

Mac laughed and wiped his face of the embarrassing sudden wetness there, “Anyway…the last step ahead of us is getting the cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor. With her caravan contacts, she's the only one I trust to get it to Duncan on time.” he grimaced, “This is the last favour I'm going to ask. I promise.”

“Sure thing. I need to go that way anyway, Nick went to Diamond city to get Ellie and I promised I'd meet him to help get their stuff back to Sanctuary. I also need to check out the old CIT ruins.”

“How come?” Cait asked as they began their trip south towards the ruins of Boston as fast as they could, almost jogging to keep up with MacCready’s wired energy.

Mal filled them in on their journey through the Glowing Sea and the scientist turned Super Mutant they met there. How he'd have to take down a Synth Courser to get the technology he'd need to get into the Institute. He also filled them in on the side journey they took in a Vault that resulted in them finding Curie, the Miss Nanny robot who wanted to travel with them to study the world. 

“Still haven’t forgiven you for not taking me with you, Sunshine.” Hancock grumbled as they crossed over a plain of dry grass.

Mal grimaced, “Sorry, I just needed time to…process, I think.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you process?” Hancock tilted his head as MacCready linked his fingers into his scarred hand: blue eyes meeting black meeting black.

“I think so. A little? I dunno…” he shrugged as they came up to his side, “I dunno how to do any of this and I’ve never…y’know.” He was vague and awkward, a strange juxtaposition to how he usually dealt with everything else.

Mac hummed as he lit a cigarette which he handed over to Hancock, “Take your time, boss.” Hancock nodded in agreement.

The sky was lightening as they approached Bunker Hill and they were all exhausted from their near death experience in MedTek and no sleep for a day and night so Mal called for them to rest for a few hours to eat and nap. He paid some caps so they could have a private space and asked Curie to keep watch as she didn't need to sleep, “Of course, Monsieur.” 

After a good six hours of sleep, they got up feeling well rested and to the noise of Bunker Hill in the height of its trade. Deacon and Mal had a quiet word with a well dressed man before they headed out.

They arrived in Goodneighbor in the late afternoon and MacCready made a beeline to Daisy's Discounts with a smile on his face and began to animatedly talk to ghoul shopkeep. The group stayed a few steps behind him to let him discuss the caps amount and plan for the next available caravan to take the cure to Duncan in relative privacy. After a few minutes, Mal had an idea.

“Hey, Mac, why don't you go with the caravan? No no, let me finish." He said as Mac and Hancock went to protest, "Take Curie with you, she's very advanced with medicine and might be able to help. Then, you can bring Duncan back to Sanctuary.”

Mac frowned, “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You have so much going on that I need to help you with.” He gestured vaguely at all of him.

“Listen, I know and I appreciate it so much. But, your boy needs his dad. Go and get him and bring him back so we can meet him, yeah? I'll make sure he has everything he'll need at home.”

“I would love the opportunity to study this disease, Monsieur MacCready.” Mal was sure, if Curie had a face, that it would be pleading.

Hancock stepped in, “He's right, Sunshine. Duncan will want his dad.”

“Umm. Okay, yeah. It'll take me a while to get him though. The farm is at least ten days away, maybe a bit less if I rush. Which I'm gonna.”

“That's okay, Mac. We'll be waiting for you and can't wait to see Duncan.”

“Okay, yeah.” His face split into a massive grin, “I'm gonna go get my boy.”

MacCready and Curie left with the caravan the next morning. A long goodbye was had between him, Hancock, and Malcolm. Hancock giving a discreet hug and peck to the cheek that had MacCready blushing like fire and Mal ensuring he'd have everything he'd need. Mal bought food and ammo for Mac and even a few little toys as a gift for Duncan, ignoring the merc’s protests that he didn’t need to. They waved and watched the caravan leave until it turned a corner and was out of sight.

The night before, Fahrenheit had let Mal know that the old CIT ruins were crawling with Super Mutants and warned him that he wouldn't be able to do what he needed to do without some serious weaponry, never mind the possibility of a fight against a Courser. So, they made the decision to get Nick from Diamond City and then go back up to Sanctuary for rest and to gather what they would need.

Nick and Ellie were laden down with old police files and reports and Nick began to fill them in on a request they had gotten from an old friend of his, “Apparently, their daughter has gone missing. They live way up north on the edge of the Commonwealth.”

“We can check it out when we get a chance. Could it wait a bit?”

Nick just nodded with a shrug.

Chapter Text

The journey back north was mostly quiet, broken up with minor fights that had Ellie ducking behind whatever cover she could find and emerging pale and shaky.

They crossed the bridge and through the new reinforced gate that was guarded with Minutemen and turrets, “General” one of the men nodded at them as they passed through. The settlement was thriving: the ground had been cleaned up of debris and lighting was strung between buildings to light the narrow alleys that had formed with their construction. Some people had set up a few small shops that sold small weapons, armour, and cooked food for the traders that now passed through. Sturges had built a large water purifier that was protected with high walls and a guard; the farm had a fence surrounding it to protect it from the new Brahmin that munched happily from a bathtub-turned-trough. Kids played in the expanded playground, their laughter filling the air and pushing the dangers of the Commonwealth past their walls out of their minds.

Mal introduced Ellie to Preston and Piper. Piper and Deacon had stuck back together like velcro as soon as the man had walked through the gate, he shared what had happened while they were gone and where MacCready had gone.
Mal felt the pang of the Mercs' absence like a dull blade to his sternum but shook it off with a deep breath. The man was going to get his boy and a dad has to do what a dad has to do.

Hancock suddenly remembered his and Mac's little private quarters and felt ill at having to sleep there alone until the man returned. Instead, he followed Mal around as the man checked the various issues within his largest settlement. He slept on Mal's couch in the evenings. The General didn't seem to mind and provided a blanket and pillow for him and, for a few days, settlement life went by as normal as it could without their sniper around.

The group was watching Mal fixing a generator up and discussing the benefits of adding a wind generated power supply when Preston interrupted them:

“General, we've gotten big enough that we're having trouble communicating with all the settlements,” Mal made a face that had Preston hurrying on, “It's a good problem to have. And, I think I have a solution. I think it's time we retake the Castle. It used to be Minutemen HQ, way before my time.” He sat next to them, nudging Cait as he made some respectful negative space between himself and the General, “It's well fortified, centrally located, and most importantly - it has a powerful radio transmitter we can use to broadcast to the whole Commonwealth.”

“What happened to it if it was so well fortified?” Danse asked as he held two wires together for Malcolm to solder.

“It was long before I joined up, but the story I heard was that some kind of monster came out of the sea and destroyed the fort. A lot of the leaders were killed in that battle, and I guess nobody felt it was worth the risk to try and retake it.” They all shuffled together as Mal moved around to the other side of the generator, waving his hand in a motion for Preston to continue, his eyebrows furrowed, “I always felt that losing the radio station was the beginning of all our later problems.” There was a long pause as Mal chewed over the information as he worked, “So…should I have an assault force assembled near the Castle?”

“No.” Preston opened his mouth to argue but the General interrupted him, “No assault force of Minutemen. If this monster is real, it's too risky and I don't have enough armour to go around. We'll go, leave the Minutemen militia in the settlements where they're most useful. Once we retake the fort, we can send word for volunteers to join. No families until we know it's safe.”

Preston smiled with relief and excitement, “Okay, I'll mark it on your PipBoy.”

The walk from Sanctuary to The Castle would take a few days, so long as they weren't waylaid. The seven of them were loaded up with supplies and heavy weaponry. Danse had a missile launcher strapped to the side of his Power Armour and multiple missiles carefully packed away into his pack, “Are you sure this is necessary?” Mal had asked him as he pondered taking the Assaultron head that Sturges had rigged to be fired via the base of its 'skull'.

“If there really is a sea monster, we're going to need it.” The Paladin had replied with Deacon nodding his head in agreement. Mal had a feeling they knew what this “sea monster” could be but were keeping it to themselves to save him the worry. It didn't help.

They followed the road through Concord which was blissfully quiet due to its proximity to the protection of Sanctuary and turned east towards the coast. They planned to follow it down past the airport and over the bay to the old fort. Mal hoped the Brotherhood wouldn't pick them up as they passed if he and Danse explained their current mission, but Maxson didn't seem the patient type and, if Mal were being honest, he had been purposely avoiding the younger man. He got a strange intense feeling off him that rubbed him the wrong way and their beliefs didn't exactly align. 

Most raiders avoided them but every now and then they did have to defend themselves from a few very brave - or very stupid - ones and around noon on the third day, they were passing the bay and airport that was now home to the Brotherhood.
They kept their eyes forward and walked with purpose, avoiding direct eye contact with any Knights or Scribes that crossed their paths. The Brotherhood would tighten their holds on their weapons when they caught sight of Hancock and Nick but let them pass without too much fuss when they saw Malcolm and Danse within their loose walking formation. A few made snide or derogatory comments just loud enough to hear that had Hancock chuckling, but it made Mal feel that dark coil of anger he worked so hard to keep contained.
He knew that word would get to Maxson that they had been spotted close by but hoped the intense man would leave them to their own devices for now. He had a feeling that Danse wasn't overly keen on returning to the Prydwen just yet too. 

It was evening by the time they made it to the road that led to the old fort and decided to camp in an old roadside diner there. They found a few supplies of water, ammo and even some grenades which Hancock quickly scooped into his pockets before handing a few to Cait when she huffed at him. Nick was placed on watch and they all settled down to an uncomfortable night on the hard ground.

He was in that nice warm place that your mind goes to between sleep and wakefulness with a half dream floating around his head. He had images of MacCready curing his son and coming back to them and was enjoying the privacy of his thoughts when Nick gently shook his shoulder, “We have company, General.”

He sat up quickly, his movement jostling Hancock as the Ghoul had curled up by his side at some point, “Who is it?”

“The Brotherhood.” Danse replied for Nick, his voice was low and tight with worry.

The night was black when he met with the group of Knights just out of earshot of their little camp: their Power Armour shining in the dim light. His companions were watching from the windows and door of the diner, their faces hard and promising to start a fight if they needed to.

He stood by a Knight and asked what was happening but the Knight simply stepped to the side and allowed a path for Elder Maxson himself to approach. He held in a groan of agitation at the sight of him and cursed himself for even hoping that Maxson would just leave them be for a while more.

He was a stern looking, bearded, young man with short cropped hair at the sides and a scar along the pale skin of his face. He wore a long armoured battlecoat and walked with his hands clasped behind his back as though he had all the time in the world. 

He met Mal’s eyes with a frown and paused mere inches away. Mal could see every pore and smell the tang of engine oil and welding flux. He barely passed Malcolm's chin in height but made up for it with his sheer dominating presence, “What are you doing here, Knight? I have been lenient with your delay thus far but to waltz on by with your motley group without even dropping off a report and seeing me?”

“Maxson, we agreed that I would learn from Danse before I decided to join the Brotherhood. I am not a Knight.” Mal's training from the army weirdly had him standing at attention for the Elder; his arms stiff, hands by his sides and head facing directly forward.

“Yet,” Maxson began to slowly walk in a circle around Malcolm, he could hear the grinding of the man's teeth as he kept himself in check, “Make a choice or I will make it for you. You, and your group, are either with us or against us and I can no longer afford the delay.” The man stopped in front of him again, his face centimeters away from his own. Mal flinched as Maxson lifted his arm and cupped the side of his cheek, his leather gloved thumb gently caressing his cheekbone, “You have until tomorrow sundown.” He pat his cheek as he spun on his heel then and led the Knights that had accompanied him away.

Mal stood there, frozen in shock, and felt the revulsion of his touch wash over him. Like spider legs crawling down every inch of his skin. Fire ants nipping at him or lice burrowing in for blood. He felt sick. He didn’t know what had just happened or why but he felt nauseated at the caress. And in front of everybody. 

He couldn’t turn to face Hancock, scared of what he might see. Would the Ghoul think him unfaithful?

Unfaithful? 

He tried to pack that thought away for another time but it rattled around his brain like a loose pebble.
Would it be unfaithful? Did they have that kind of relationship? No? Yes? They hadn't even held hands.

Push it down.
Push it down.
Don't worry them.

He heard someone approach and clear their throat and turned to see the whole group had come out to take him back inside, “What the fuck was that?’ Cait huffed, “Did he come on to you?”

Mal flitted his eyes over to Hancock and the Ghoul looked livid with his scowling mouth around a cigarette and low lit by the orange ember. He met his eyes with his non-existent eyebrows raised.

“I - I don’t know. I didn’t mean for it to happen…”

“Well, yeah? We all know that. The fucking creep was creepin’ all over yeh.” She said it as though it was so obvious but Mal still felt dirty and guilty.

Danse spoke up and Mal could see he felt uncomfortable about the exchange. He doubted the Paladin had ever seen his superior officer act like that before, “What did he say?”

“We have until tomorrow evening.”

Danse blew out a tight breath between his teeth, “Okay, we’d better get the fort over and done with at first light then.” They were back inside now, sitting around their provisions and having drinks to abate their nerves.

“Tomorrow to do what?” Deacon mumbled around a Fancy Lad Snack Cake.

Mal and Danse shared a look before Mal answered, “To either join the Brotherhood or to go into hiding from Maxson. I know we’re skilled but I don’t feel like we could take down all the Knights and Paladins on the Prydwen.” He said it as a joke but cringed at the sound of his own nerves, “I don't think he's one for taking no as an answer.”

“So what are you gonna do? The guy seems unhinged from what we just saw. The look he gave us. I don't think he wants us in his Brotherhood.” Deacon said around a pop of gum.

Danse shifted uncomfortably, “He's…eccentric, sure. But, he wants to work for the greater good.” Malcolm could taste the uncertainty coming from his friend. In the time they've spent traveling together and all the things they've seen, Danse had softened, just a fraction, when it came to ghouls and Nick, but the Brotherhood had raised him so he understood the loyalty.

“Yeah? His greater good means wiping people like me and Nick off the face of the earth, brother. What did your mate say when we first met you? Abomination?” 

Danse paled and shifted uncomfortably as he looked at Hancock; they had shared beers together at Sanctuary, watched each other's backs in fights, laughed together at the bullshit stories that Deacon spun, “I'm sure we can make him see the difference between people like you and ferals, Hancock.”

“I'm sorry, brother, but I don't think we can. The guy’s a fanatic and fanatics are dangerous.” He took a drag of his cigarette, “Mark my words, you go up on that blimp tomorrow and you won't come back down.”

Mal looked around at his friends: determined set jaws and twitchy trigger fingers. But he knew that they wouldn't let him go to the Brotherhood to sort the trouble alone and he couldn't put them at risk. Especially Hancock and Nick - they'd be shot as soon as they entered the compound.

“I have to agree with Hancock,” Preston began, “I understand an alliance with the Brotherhood would be exceedingly beneficial, but at what cost?” He motioned between the Ghoul and the Synth, “Just going by what we saw then, I think he has an ulterior motive towards you, General.” 

A small huff of annoyance slipped out of Hancock but he nodded in agreement. Mal could feel his frustration. 

Hancock could see the fort that they planned to take tomorrow and the Ghoul knew what lay inside. If they got out of this fight unscathed, a visit with the Brotherhood may very well finish them off. 

Nick took watch again, quietly pottering around ensuring weapons were loaded and armour was within easy reach as everyone else settled back down into their sleeping spaces. 

Hancock lay back down beside Mal and checked in on MacCready. Their third was laying down, his hand hovering over himself no doubt reading one of his magazines. He knew the Merc would know that something had happened just now and part of him was glad that Mac hadn't been here to see it unfold.

He was seething again when the scene replayed in his mind. The way Maxson had laid his hand on Malcolm made him deeply uncomfortable. The intense look the man had when he had his Shadow in front of him was like a Deathclaw watching a Radstag. 

Mine. 
Mal is mine.

He looked at Mal out of the corner of his eye and noticed his bronzed skin had gone a bit pale and he looked like he was chewing the inside of his cheek along with a piercing.

“Sunshine.” He placed a hand gently on the other man's sleeve, being careful their skin didn't touch, “You're gonna break the skin.”

Mal jumped slightly at the contact, his dark eyes flitting quickly over Hancock's face, taking in the spiderwebs of radiation and the remains of his smoother skin, “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” 

“Maxson. The way he touched me.” Hancock felt the shiver run through the man.

“Why are you sorry for that?”

“I don't want you to think that there's something between him and me. That I'm…unfaithful.”

Hancock barked out a quiet laugh, “What do ya mean? I saw it with my own two eyes that the guy was coming on to you.” 

Unfaithful.
Don’t make me laugh.

Hancock heard a little hum and looked over to see they had an audience. If their friends didn't know about their bond before, they did now. The group was watching them both with mixed looks of shock and confusion.

“Hang on,” Preston gently interrupted with a puzzled look on his face, “I thought Mac was your Shadow, Hancock.”

Hancock felt that hint of possessiveness and defiance as he said clear enough for them all to hear, “They both are.” The rightness of it hit him like a soft blanket being tucked around him, “They're both mine.”

At first light, the group prepped their weapons and medical supplies. Danse loaded the missile launcher and hooked more missiles in easy reach on his Power Armour. Mal wanted to ask what they thought was in the fort but the tension in everyone's shoulders stopped him. It was enough to know that it was likely going to be bad. And then, on top of this possible nightmare, he and Danse would have to go and placate Maxson. Something, he thought, that was probably more dangerous than whatever this sea monster was behind the crumbling walls they could see.

“Okay, everyone,” he began as he stepped out of their shelter, “we get this done fast. Use whatever cover you can if possible and stay together.” He handed out a couple Stimpaks each, “Just in case I can't reach you but try not to put yourselves in any major risk. Me and Danse will take point, Cait you jump in where you can, everyone else stay loaded.”

Everyone nodded but Mal suddenly felt very unprepared: it was hard to strategise when he didn't know what they were going up against. He wondered if people were keeping it to themselves to save him the worry but it didn't help, really. He sidled up to Hancock, “What do you think is in there? Everyone is so tense, could it be that bad?”

Hancock blew the smoke of a cigarette out from between his teeth, “Mirelurks most likely, and it could be that bad if a king or queen is there.” His black eyes watched Mal for a reaction but Mal just had a small look of confusion on his face, “Oh, boy. A Mirelurk is a big armoured crabby thing. Difficult to take down and they roam in packs. A king is a quick and deadly version of them that tends to protect the massive queens, but not all the time. Danse’s missiles are going to be very useful if a queen is there.” Hancock was braiding his hair to keep it off his face for the incoming fight before carefully placing his hat back on top.

Mal nodded as Deacon pulled ahead to peek around one of the walls, suddenly wishing it wasn't these Mirelurks. A minute passes and Deacon slinked back in silence with a frown on his face, “It's Mirelurks.”

Cait groaned and swung her pipe (now welded with sharp blades) in some practice manoeuvres, “Fuckin' shit.”

“Any sign of a king or queen?” Nick asked, double checking his .44 and patting his pockets to check the ammo.

Deacon shrugged, “Plenty of eggs but I didn't see either.”

“If there's egg clutches, a queen might be nearby. Hopefully, she's out hunting.” Hancock crossed his fingers.

“Okay, let's draw the smaller ones out as much as possible. Did you see any cover, Deacon?”

Deacon nodded, “The walls along the edges still have access to the interiors. The normal Mirelurks will be able to get in but a queen definitely won't, if there is one.”

“Okay, first sign of a queen, make for the inside of the walls and shoot from cover.” He took a deep breath, “Let's do this.”

They quietly made their way to the large hole in the old outer walls and Mal got his first look at a Mirelurk. They were large horseshoe crab like creatures, their hard shells wrapping completely around their bodies, the softer underbelly and face only appearing when they scuttled from one place to the next. He also spotted fresh turned mounds of earth that had a few whiteish tops of eggs peeking out. He didn't see anything that matched the description of a King or Queen Mirelurk but agreed with the previous statement that the amount of eggs made it possible that one or the other was nearby. 

He heard guns cock and readied his own, his eyes flicking to Cait as she made her way to the other side of the wall to be able to flank any creatures that took the bait. As she made it to her position, her boot dislodged a small section of rubble. It clattered down the slight incline and he held his breath. The mild hope he had that the Mirelurks wouldn't react was quickly squashed as the nearest cluster of them skittered towards the gap, “here we go” he heard someone mumble and then the first shot was fired.

They flew into battle: he tried to keep an eye on those around him but it quickly became apparent that there were many many Mirelurks. He took note that some of their shells were easier to pierce than others but all of them were sponges to bullets.

Danse had taken to using his Power Armour as a battering ram, the force of it pushing the creatures back and crippling a few of their legs, his fist coming down on the backs of shells created large cracks along them. Cait partnered up with him, her deadly pipe swinging at the damaged shells and faces. A few went down with their efforts.

A red laser ribbon flew overhead as Preston took aim at the soft underbellies where he could and the egg mounds when he couldn't. The vibrations of the scuffle made them hatch, spilling out small and swarming babies. One such swarm was jumping and biting onto Deacon with tiny mouths that were evidently razor sharp. The man swung at and stomped on them, their shells not as hard as their adult counterparts.

Nick and Hancock stayed close by to Malcolm, the three of them pushing carefully forward towards an entrance in the perimeter walls of the courtyard. They made it in and more Mirelurks began to spill out of various side rooms. The large crab-like creatures soaking up damage as the three of them tried to keep a distance from their powerful front legs that they used to bludgeon. A few of them made contact and Mal could feel the power behind the attacks, being swarmed by them would most likely result in crippling or death if he was alone. 

They pushed through and found a staircase that led up to the top of the walls where they found more egg clutches and the adult Mirelurks who guarded them. He heard Hancock swear loudly and then felt a rumbling beneath his feet. Somewhere below,  Danse shouted at the others to find cover. He looked over his shoulder and felt his blood leave his face.

“Down the stairs! Now!” Nick grabbed his shoulder and they began running towards the stairs they had climbed barely thirty seconds ago. 

There was a huge Mirelurk: at least two stories high and wider than an eighteen wheeler. He heard Cait shouting “Queen! Queen!” And then he heard a weird fizzing sound but could not see the source as they grouped back up with the others. His eyes flicked over them all and was grateful to just see a few grazes and the beginnings of blue and black bruises. Danse’s Power Armour had a few dents but he was otherwise unharmed.

He peeked his head around one of the many entrances of the walls and had to pull back instantly as a green acid like substance was making its way to him in a fizzing spray from the queen's mouth. He briefly thought that he could have done without the knowledge of where that fizzing sound had come from. 

Danse loaded the missile launcher and said “fire in the hole” before quickly taking aim around the door and firing.

The thing screeched and went quiet for a moment and Mal had a brief hope that it was dead. But, then, the hissing started up again and his hope was dashed as more of the green acid like substance sprayed through the door, a small amount splattered onto the armour of his leg and began eating through the leather. It was accompanied by a new swarm of baby Mirelurks that Cait and Deacon began stomping on. He peeked through and felt sick that the queen didn't even seem that damaged. A slight burning feeling was tingling in his thigh and looked down to see the acid had bored holes through the armour completely and had begun eating away at his skin. He didn't have the time to take off the armour and rinse the acid away so he'd bare with it for now, checking over Hancock to make sure the Ghoul wasn't too distracted with the sensation he knew he must be feeling. He looked as strong and grim as ever so Mal returned his thoughts to the fight.

He took a few shots as Hancock and Preston ran to a different door opening and began to fire. The queen turned to face the new threat and Danse took the opportunity to aim the launcher and fire again. 

It hit the things shell square on and as the orange bloom and smoke faded, Mal could see cracks in its hard armour. Nick ran to the same door as Preston and Hancock as more babies swarmed them and helped take them out, punching them with his skeletal hand and stomping hard. 

Deacon handed Cait a handgun and she grinned as she could finally take part in the more ranged fight again. Even she wouldn't run up to this monster with only a pipe and her fists. 

The queen turned to face their door again and Danse took another shot that hit the thing directly in the face. It screeched and stumbled back and Mal took the chance to throw a fragmentation grenade. It finally seemed like the creature was hurting so they doubled their efforts and Danse fired the second to last missile they had with them. 

And then, finally, the queen stopped moving as it stumbled to the ground with a great shudder that vibrated the wall Mal was leaning against. He could hear it take a few more ragged breaths and then nothing.

He was sweating and felt a bit ill at the thought that something like this was alive here. It was like something from another world, or a creature from long ago that would roam with the dinosaurs. He had a feeling that this wasn't the last awful thing he would see before his mission was over.

“Mal!” Hancock was running to him, his face full of concern and pain, “Mal. Jeez, Mal, take it off!” The Ghoul stopped in front him and began furiously pulling at the armour on his leg. Mal suddenly remembered the acid and his brain locked on the pain that was blooming there. An almost unbearable heat and nettle stinging sensation had him ripping the leg of his trousers clean off in one fell swoop. The makeshift first aid kit was thrown at him and he quickly rinsed the fizzing puckered wounds there before using a Stimpak.

Hancock breathed a sigh of relief. They both checked in on Mac’s Shadow that was standing stock still, something held beneath both arms, like he was carrying two bundles of wood or pipes. His breath was fast but seemed to relax when the pain was numbed by the Stimpak and carried on walking, shaking his head. It wouldn't be long before he was back with them.

The Castle was clear. They tidied themselves up as much as possible and Preston made plans to make a quick trip to the nearest settlement they had Minutemen at to bring people back to help begin its reconstruction. He promised to bring Mal some new black pants and leg armour to replace his ruined ones. Deacon would go with him for backup and Nick, Cait, and Hancock would stay put to clean up and protect their new asset.

Hancock was grumbling as Danse and Mal were double checking each other's appearance as they made their own preparations to go and see Maxson.

“Sunshine, I really think we should go with you both.” Danse quickly left the room with a mutter of finding ammo at Hancock's words. 

He watched as Mal swapped his dirty and destroyed leathers and armour out for a cleaner long coat with the Minutemen insignia and fitted grey pants, the man was looking at an old American hat as though he was struggling to decide if he should wear it or not. His black fine hair was pulled back into a neat low ponytail where a few fly-aways fell into his black eyes and Hancock took a moment to appreciate the view. The image of the big man ripping his trouser leg off and baring more of the black lines they could see when he didn't have a shirt on had a warm coil turning hot in his lower belly.

Mal frowned and stepped a little closer to Hancock, he smelled of gunpowder and clean cloth “I know. I really wish I could but I can't risk you and Nick with these people. I don't trust them.”

“Well what about Deacon and Cait? Just a little backup. Please, Mal.” Hancock closed the small gap between them, his ravaged hands gently gripping both Mal's arms just above the elbows. He flinched a little but didn't pull away.

Mal nodded but said “Deacon has already gone with Preston and I don't think Cait would be able to stay calm enough to diffuse an argument. She's more likely to start a fight than help me get out of one.” He sighed and his eyes met Hancock's, black on black, “I'd love for you to come but I don't want to give them an excuse to shoot you on sight.” Mal's hands found Hancock's forearms and they stood there for a moment, arms slightly entangled but comfortable. Mal's gloved fingers gripped the fabric of Hancock's red coat, “I wish Mac was here.”

It had been just over a week since they had seen their third. They hadn't felt any phantom pains and any fight he'd had seemed to be short lived. Their Shadow was walking now, his arms in a position where they were wrapped around something of good size. Bubbles of happiness kept filtering down to them from him.

If Hancock had done his maths right, Mac should be back close to the Commonwealth in the next day or two. One more week, maybe less, he'd be back at Sanctuary, “Me too, Sunshine.”
Hancock took a risk and gently let his forehead dip forward to lightly bump against Malcolm's chin; he could feel the man's stubble and the subtle curve of his mouth and the warm metal of the piercings there. Again Mal cringed but allowed the touch. Hancock wished he could enjoy the contact but his stomach was turning with worry for both his Shadows, “Please come back safe, I'll wait here until tomorrow noon and, if you're not back, we'll storm the Prydwen.”

Mal huffed out a small laugh but nodded against Hancock's forehead, “Okay, I gotta go.” Neither moved away from each other, like there was an anticipation and potential for something more to happen, but Mal stepped back when he heard the heavy stomping of Danse's Power Armour, “I'll see you soon.”
Mal quickly pecked Hancock on his scarred cheek and bustled from the room. Leaving Hancock in stunned silence.

Danse had never felt such trepidation about going back to somewhere he thought of as home. Knights, squires, and other Paladins he knew nodded or waved to him as usual but he still felt deeply uncomfortable. Like a child about to be scolded by their parents. 

They met with the Knight who guarded the Vertibird that would take them up to the Prydwen, “Elder Maxson is expecting you.” They simply nodded and boarded the machine. It jerked as it took off and began the quick ascent up to the boarding platform. As Danse looked out over the Commonwealth, he spotted the Castle and suddenly wished fervently that they were back down there building a generator and establishing a water supply with the others. He even briefly wished for a little jab from Hancock or some sage knowledge from Nick. 

Danse didn't know when his loyalties had become so divided but he didn't hate the Ghoul or Synth like he should. Even Cait, who was abrasive and rude, had burrowed into the little box he put friends in in his mind.

The Vertibird docked and they quickly disembarked. He took a deep steadying breath and followed Malcolm into the Prydwen.

Maxson stood with his back to them both as he looked out of the massive windows that had a view over Boston. Mal knew it was a ploy to appear nonchalant and aloof but it didn't make the younger man any less intimidating. He looked like he carried the weight of the Brotherhood on his shoulders and knew how to shrug it off to point that might at anything that went against him. 

Slowly, he turned. His intense grey eyes looked the pair of them up and down before sniffing and nodding, “You've made the responsible and righteous choice, General.”

“I believe I have too.” Mal deliberately kept it vague and hoped his grey Minuteman coat spoke for him.

Arthur Maxson nodded and stepped closer to the two underlings before him, his eyes fixed on Mal, “Danse, leave the room.” Mal glanced at Danse and the other man was staring at him, a look on his face that said “should I?”. Mal nodded and Danse backed out of the room.
Once Mal looked back at Maxson, a flicker of fury was clouding his face, “I didn't realise you held such sway over one of my Paladins. Interesting.” Maxson stepped forward again, he was barely a hand's breadth away and, if Mal leaned forward, their chests would touch, “Tell me, General, what would you do to bring peace to this great Commonwealth?”

Mal felt Maxson's breath waft over him. He smelled of oil and some kind of alcohol, though not enough for him to conclude that the other man was drunk. The man's eyes were weirdly dilated and he was so close. Mal felt the revulsion wash over him, skittering down his spine and making his palms sweat. It filtered down the bond before he could stop it and was answered with Hancock's brief surge of anger and Mac's worried confusion, “I would do almost anything, like I have been.”

“Hmm. Would you take out the Synths? The Ghouls?”

“The ferals, yes.”

Maxson levelled a glare at him, his mouth pulled down deeply at the corners, “The Ghouls. The abominations, you wouldn't take them down? Your…friend.”

Mal repeated himself, “The ferals, yes.” and then added, “And never that Ghoul.” He felt a sudden feeling of rage at the thought of Maxson touching Hancock. Even Nick. He wouldn't let him. 

Maxson had a small grin on his face and tapped his chin in thought, “How are we meant to work together if you don't line up with me?”

“I'm not sure what you mean.” Mal had a feeling that lining up with Maxson would never be possible even if you wanted to.

Maxson was silent, he turned his back on Mal and moved once more to stare out the window, “Our goal is to wipe out the abominations, in whatever form they take, and sequester dangerous technologies from the world to prevent a new war. A war that would wipe out the human race completely this time.”

“We no longer have the technology to launch the weapons that destroyed the world.”

“That's where you're wrong. This Institute, I'm sure you know of them, has technology that vastly outweighs anything we have seen in the last two hundred years. The Synths that they create, I believe, are the least of our problems. We have to destroy it and their creations.”

Mal didn't disagree that the Institute is a problem, “Sure, but what do you plan to do about it when we don't even know where they are?”

“We, the Brotherhood, know for a fact that they are based in the Commonwealth somewhere. I have had scouts out for weeks and months searching and some have not returned. I want you to find them. See what they know.” Maxson turned and took mighty strides towards Mal, stopping barely inches away again, “Find them and you will be…rewarded.” One of his hands came up and gripped Mal's arm, the thumb drawing circles there. Mal felt his skin break out in gooseflesh and prickle, “Take Paladin Danse with you, Knight. Do not take long to report back. Do not try my patience.” Maxson squeezed his bicep and a smirk pulled the corner of his mouth up, “You may leave.”

As he and Danse were leaving the Vertibird that had dropped them back onto the ground, both felt incredibly relieved and lucky. By mutual unspoken agreement, it seemed neither would talk about it until they left the compound.

Just as Mal opened his mouth, his hand rubbing his arm where Maxson had held him, to tell Danse what had happened and they rounded a corner that would lead them back to the Castle, pain rocked through his shoulder and lower back. He stumbled and took a gasping breath before another pain bloomed in his head. Danse stood over him, concern on his face and he knew they weren't being attacked. His stomach dropped as he checked his Shadows. Hancock was running and Mac…Mac's was laying down. A hand covering his shoulder and the other bent above his face as if he were warding off blows. Genuine and pure fear poured out of him and it made Mal’s insides clench. Malcolm began running too. Sprinting as fast as he could back to the Castle. Back to Hancock.