Chapter Text
She was no stranger to pain these days. It was inevitable; blisters in scavenged boots a size too large, callouses breaking on palms unused to the grip on firearms, muscles aching and throbbing with overuse day after day after day. Sloan had grown used to the daily pains, sunburn and hunger and shin splints, but this was something new.
Every time she breathed in, a shocking sharp sting shot up her side, bruised or fractured ribs, more than likely. Her throat throbbed, the bruises from fingers wrapped tight around her throat standing out in stark contrast against the pale freckled skin of her neck. There was a split down the centre of her lip, and a dark ring forming rapidly around her swollen right eye.
She’d been surprised by the group of raiders less than two miles outside of Diamond City, a foolish oversight that could have cost Sloan her life. Preston had been fast asleep after a grueling week of travel, and she had been on first watch. Somehow she’d managed to nod off, a stupid, stupid mistake, and the next thing she knew, they’d been surrounded on all sides by a small band of desperate men.
Sloan had a boot in her side and a fist in her face before she could react, falling back in a haze of blackness before she felt a pair of hands close tight around her windpipe, squeezing until spots danced before her eyes. She’d barely been able to grab the switchblade holstered on her thigh with a desperate grab of her left hand, activating it and plunging deep into her attacker’s eye socket with frantic abandon.
Preston hadn’t fared much better; he’d been able to fend off three of their attackers simultaneously, by some miracle. If the men had been better armed, it was hard to say whether they would have been so lucky. He was sporting a spectacular pair of black eyes, a pronounced limp, and a stab wound to the abdomen, but he’d shaken off any blame that he might have put on Sloan, for which she was grateful.
It had been his suggestion to head towards Goodneighbour, and while Sloan had balked at the notion, she couldn’t argue. It was their best option; they both needed rest, some minor medical attention, and perhaps a few good stiff drinks.
The going was slow, but the familiar landmarks along the trail to the small town were popping up more and more frequently. They were close.
Beside her, Preston let out a low, exasperated moan. “We’re close, yeah?” he asked, slightly out of breath. Sloan nodded, surreptitiously checking his side through her peripherals to make sure no bloodstain was spreading on his shirt.
“Very close,” she assured him, trying to sound more relieved than she felt. “Another ten minutes, maybe. Nothing we can’t handle.” She shot him a grin that felt more like a grimace, and the dark-skinned man chuckled.
“I’m sure your pal will be more than happy to help out two pitiful looking creatures like us,” he mused, adjusting his sunglasses and shifting his pack to the other shoulder.
Sloan didn’t answer. Her stomach gave a painful swoop at the thought of Hancock. It had been almost a month since he’d kissed her outside of the bar. Almost a month of fretting and overthinking and avoiding Goodneighbour any way she could. There was no part of her that believed it had meant anything to him, and that was harder to swallow then she could have expected. So it was easier to just stay away.
And yet here they were, rapidly approaching the outskirts of the town. Preston kept shooting sidelong glances at her; Sloan had a sneaking suspicion that it was because she had spent a good fifteen minutes that morning applying eyeliner and lipstick, brushing out her shoulder length red hair, and dotting a few drops of perfume on her pulse points. He knew better than to say anything, but she was sure he suspected the truth.
She’d shorn half her head since Hancock had last seen her, and she was sporting a new, puffy pink scar through her right eyebrow. A new leather jacket and heavy leather leggings had become her outfit of choice, although she’d had to strip down to a black linen tank top in the heat a few hours ago. There was only so much she could do to try to look somewhat attractive when she was covered in scrapes and bruises, but she had done her best.
Preston’s stare burned hot on the back of her neck, and she flushed, turning her head so quickly that her neck cracked. Wincing, she rubbed at the twinge, scowling at him a little before she could stop herself. Preston laughed again, shaking his head.
“Relax, Sloan. I’m just making sure you’re doing alright. You look like hell, you know.”
“I know,” she said wearily, dropping her hand back to her side. “It’ll be good to get off my feet for a few hours. I’m not gonna lie, I feel like shit.”
He nodded sympathetically, before gesturing at a sign straight ahead. “We must be just about there, yeah?”
A mixture of dread, anxiety, and relief fought for dominance in Sloan’s stomach. Forcing a smile to her face, she nodded.
“We’re here,” she affirmed, waving at the guard post just ahead. “Welcome to Goodneighbour.”