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“If I don't make it back, promise to never forget about me.”
“I could never forget about someone as beautiful as you,” you leaned down to kiss your lover.
“I love you, John,” your voice quivered as the electricity sparked around you, your skin buzzing. “Forever and always.”
“I love you too, darling,” Hancock's voice shook. He was glad that it was dark enough out that you couldn't see the tears welling up in his dark eyes. “Forever and always, my dearest Sunshine.”
And then, you were gone.
The following forty eight hours were the hardest of Hancock's life, or at least that's how he was feeling. He had been through Hell and back so many times, but this was different. Physical pain had nothing on this.
“Come back with us,” Desdemona had told the ghoul, stamping out her cigarette with her boot. “The first place they’ll go is to our HQ.”
Hancock knew she was right; he knew you better than anyone, and he knew that you could not leave a job undone. And that's exactly what you were doing, a job. You were infiltrating the Institute to find your son, and helping the Railroad while you were at it. Hancock has been by your side since the beginning of your misadventures with the synth liberating crew and he knew how much it started to mean to you.
“We'll help everyone we can, even synths. Just like you do in Goodneighbor,” you had told him one night in bed, your arms behind your head as you stared up at the stars. “Of the people, for the people.”
With this in mind, Hancock joined Desdemona and Tinker Tom back to their headquarters. If you had made it to the Institute, and then survived, he needed to be there when you returned. And if for some reason you weren't back in a week, he was to go back to Goodneighbor and try to go on; alone.
The members of the Railroad were nice enough, Hancock would give them that. They, of course, were very into liberating synths and equality for everyone, which was great. Hancock, however, couldn't help but feel like he was being stared at. This was a common occurrence, though with an organization like this, he had been expecting something different.
“Sorry! I've just never met a ghoul before,” a younger agent had blurted out when Hancock caught her gaze. He had figured this was the case. Most of the agents were fairly young, some looking like younger teenagers, while most were in their early twenties. Many of them had likely come from Diamond City, and due to their age, we're probably kept at home and out of harm's way during the exodus of the ghouls from Diamond City. Some of these kids, judging by the softness of their hands, were probably from the upper bleachers too, likely having no idea that anything had happened. It all may have only been five years ago, but those rich kids hardly ever mingled with the less fortunate.
The first twenty four hours had been the hardest for Hancock, and the rest of the Railroad. Most of the members had been optimistic, but he had definitely heard their whispers. It was mostly the doctor, always complaining about how likely it was for them to be compromised and that you were probably dead, either by the Institute’s hands or a Tinker Tom programming error. The doctor droned on and on all day until Hancock told him to, “kindly shut the fuck up.” Thankfully, he did.
As the twenty four hours mark approached, Deacon decided to steal Hancock away for one of his missions. Deacon could tell how antsy Hancock had become, and after fighting by yours and his side at the Switchboard, Deacon figured he could trust the ghoul enough to take him along for his nightly run.
The mission wasn’t hard, though it took Hancock’s mind off things. They just had to sneak into a raider camp, free the hostages, and guide them to a meeting place. It was pretty easy, until one of the hostages screamed once the duct tape was removed from her mouth, emotions overcoming her. After an exchange of annoyed glances, Deacon and Hancock emerged from the shadows, guns blazing.
Returning with only minor scrapes and bruises, the two had completed the objective and made it back to the Railroad HQ in good spirits. Desdemona, after hearing everything Deacon had mentioned in his mission briefing, made sure that Hancock knew that he would now always be welcomed by their organization. She then mentioned that Deacon had told her that he saw Hancock slash a raider’s throat open while holding one of the freed hostages over his shoulder, then managed to headshot two more with his sidearm. Hancock simply smiled and nodded.
The following day, Hancock wandered out of the headquarters and into the church itself. The rest of the members never seemed to go through the church, and if they did, they never were there exceptionally long.
It didn't take long for Hancock to find a secluded room that no one had likely been in since the bombs dropped. Pressing himself up against a wall, he let himself slide to the floor. Shutting his eyes, he fiddled with his pocket until the Jet inhaler was successfully in his hand, then to his lips. With the small puff, Hancock's world slowed and the tears in his eyes would take an hour to slip down his cheeks.
“You're back! Guys, they're back!” Drummer Boy ran down the stairs and into the middle of the room. Tinker Tom groaned as he was awakened from his paranoid slumber, his body unable to stay still for more than a few minutes while he slept. Desdemona and Dr. Carrington quickly ran out of PAM’s room, eyes wide and mouths agape.
You walked down the steps, your face a blank slate, until you saw him.
Deacon had been chatting up Hancock for the previous hour, wanting to know more about the ins and outs of Goodneighbor. It was also clear to him that Hancock had just come down from a nasty trip and wanted to make sure that as the drugs fully filtered out of his system, that he was in a decent headspace. As soon as Drummer Boy had made his announcement, both men stood up, with Deacon taking a step back, pushing the limelight more on Hancock.
“John,” your voice cracked as you said his name. Hurrying forward, you practically fell into your lover's arms, letting out a sigh as he lifted you up off of your feet, your back popping from the motion.
“Hello, love,” Hancock tried to keep his voice even, and it worked for the most part. Only you could hear the tremor of emotion lacing his words.
“I'm sorry to cut the reunion short, but I hope you've got news for us,” Desdemona cleared her throat and shuffled uncomfortably to your left.
“Oh, I have so much to tell you all. About the Institute. About Patriot. That, and I downloaded a list of people that have been working against us; behind our back,” you stated, slipping out of Hancock's grasp to turn and face the members of the Railroad. “Where should I begin?”
Desdemona and the rest heard everything you needed to tell them, and nothing more. Liam Bidet and Z1-14, the general structure of the Institute, and a little bit on the teleporter device you now had. Everything was just mission details, exactly how you wanted it. The personal information, they didn't need to learn about that. It could make them doubt your abilities to reason and doubt the trust they had in you.
Stars swirled in the night sky like a surrealist painting as you popped another Mentat into your mouth. The mix of Mentats and Jet gave you the high you desired. Memory and mind sharp, but the world was slowly shifting around in abstract patterns.
Thumb running across scarred skin, you held Hancock's hand as you both laid atop the Old North Church’s roof, a sleep bag laid out beneath you both. Laying against him, your head rested on his chest, cheek pressed into his skin. Arms embracing your body, his hold was strong and warm.
“Shaun is the head of the Institute, John,” your voice shook in rhythm with your hands. Finally able to relax, you popped the cap off the bottle of emotions you’ve been fighting to conceal. The warmth of your lover's touch allowed you to finally let it all go, to open the cage and let loose the feral beast of raw pain, anger, fear, and sorrow.
“And he's old,” fingers interlaced themselves in your hair as a tiny wave of euphoria washed over him when you let out a laugh. “He's older than both of us. Old enough that I can call him grandaddy.”
“Oh God,” you snorted, covering your face with your hand. “Don't ever call my son your ‘grandaddy’ ever again.”
“Why not?” Sounding as offended as possible, Hancock licked his lips and raised his brow.
“Ew, no!” You whined, pushing his face away from you. Flashing you his signature grin, he fluttered his fingers against your side. Letting out a squeaky laugh, Hancock had to catch you as you flailed away from his touch. “That was mean as hell, John,” you stared daggers, though the intensity was lost on him since he had begun to laugh at your expense. “But yes, don't call my son that. It's gross.”
“Whatever you say, darling,” his raspy drawl made your heart flutter.
“They positively love him down there,” you let out a long sigh, returning to your previous, comfortable position. “When I was there, everyone treated me like I was royalty.”
“As they should,” Hancock places a kiss on the top of your head, lingering to smell the fruity shampoo you had used down in the Institute. He may always love you but seeing you all cleaned up made him feel a certain kind of way.
“They want me to join them. Shaun and I would be the heads of the Institute,” Hancock's muscles tensed beneath your words. “But the things they said about the synths. Most of them made sure that I knew that they didn't think much of the synths, other than them being tools to further themselves. To better humanity.”
“They're wrong,” the vibration in his chest resonated through you, his growl almost sounding like a feral’s.
“I know they are,” you sat up, sitting back on your knees. “Nick is one of the best people around, and it they had their way, the Institute would take him back and kill him. Or worse, they'd reprogram him.”
“So, what're you gonna do?” Hancock asked, rolling onto his side, supporting his head with his hand cupping his face.
“I've gotta be discreet. I need them to think I'm on their side. I'm gonna have to keep lying to Shaun.”
“And then what?” Hancock raised his voice, though concern filled his jet black eyes. “Free the synths that want out, but then what? They'll know it was you.”
“I'm gonna have to stop them. We gotta stop the Institute, John,” you stared out to the skyline.
“You know what the means, right?” Hancock grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly.
“I do,” you sighed. The tears began to slip down your cheeks, emotions becoming too much to handle. “I'm going to have to kill Shaun. I'm going to have to kill my son.”