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Nate wove through the thronged streets of a clear skied Diamond City Market. The late hour and early spring chill made the glowing neon signs shine in crisp blocks of light, scattered by the restless and ever-wary wasteland crowd.
Mercenaries, rolling shells confidently between their fingertips, like coin. Cautious shopkeeps lingered in doorways, under awnings, watchful of sticky fingers thanks to the late hour. City guards roamed past, one hand on their low hanging baton. Nate could smell Takahashi’s noodles, and but for one thing Diamond City would look as close to home as he could get.
There were no ghouls in the crowd.
Nate frowned, shouldering past a gawking Stands family, spread around Myrna’s wares, slumming it for a night. To be precise, there was one ghoul in this mass, and he was the reason Nate was making the rounds at 0200.
He took a sharp right, ducking into the dingy alley that led to Valentine’s door. Surrounded by looping red neon hearts, Nick’s name emblazoned boldly in the center, Nate felt oddly exposed, despite the winding walkways, shrouded in shadow and smoke.
The smoke led him all the way back to the man himself. Nick was leaning in the alcove of his door, face etched in sharp contrasts by the red light and the glow of his cigarette.
“Nate.” Nick nodded in greeting, shrugging one shoulder beside him, invitation inside. Nate shook his head and something in the motion made Nick straighten, smoke leaving his open mouth in a flume.
“Sorry, no time, Valentine.” Nate said. He was shooting for casual, ended up sounding a little closer to exhausted. He’d only been asleep a few hours, before the sound of a front door closing woke him.
Almost another fifteen fucking minutes before he realized what it meant and panicked.
“You haven’t seen Hancock around, have you? About yea high, no nose?” The joke fell flat as Nick, turned to look at him, the motion just a little too fast to be human.
“No.” said Nick slowly. “And here’s hoping no one else here has either, kid.”
Hancock hadn’t even wanted to come here. Piper had sent word that she had info Deacon needed, and Nate hadn’t wanted to wait, couldn’t ever slow the fuck down. Hancock hadn’t said anything when Nate had mentioned it, just drank a little, watched the fire crackle in front of them. He’d worried it might bother him, but Hancock had seemed fine. Piper snuck them in, Hancock wrapped in a scarf and glasses, looking a little like the Shroud himself.
They’d holed up at Kellog’s place, careful to keep the lights low. They’d smoked, but hadn’t fucked.
And then at some point, Hancock got up, and wandered out the damn door. Nate relayed this quickly to Nick, his words tumbling over themselves. It only took them walking to the end of the alleyway. Valentine faded into the crowd, and Nate watched him blend into the night easily, his tan coat flapping behind him. He’d known Hancock longer than Nate, long enough to call him ‘John’, and when he said he had a few ideas of where he might have gone, Nate left him to it. He didn’t think Hancock was feeling particularly nostalgic. They’d talked about each other’s formative years often enough, mostly Hancock probing curiously at the mystery of Nate’s past. Nate didn’t mind remembering, sometimes, although the longer he was here, the more distant and dreamlike his previous life had been.
Hancock had shared a few words, slipped between the sweet, plastic wafts of Jet. Mostly when Nate was too fucked up to register it properly. He remembered more than Hancock thought he had, though. Enough to know that most of Hancock’s sentimentality for his previous life died the day he woke up a ghoul.
No, given how calm and restrained he’d been all night, only taking a few mentats after dinner, and falling asleep soft and easy beside him, Nate was sure he was feeling a little reckless.
He’d probably be surrounded by people and liquor.
=
Two for two at the Dugout Inn. Nate saw him almost as soon as he stepped inside, sitting front and center, buried in a game of Caravan.
He walked toward him, ignoring the looks thrown his way. Nate was only in jeans and a t-shirt, shoulder holster thrown on and hastily buckled in the dark of Kellog’s house and he hated letting everyone see that he was carrying. Hadn’t even noticed he was wearing Hancock’s shirt until almost to Valentine’s, and it fit awkwardly in the neck, too tight on his arms.
It also smelled like him, warm and a little acrid, the heat of radiation pouring off of him, and baking his scent into the fabric.
Hancock didn’t look up at him, didn’t acknowledge him at all, as Nate walked towards him, scratching at half a days worth of stubble. Nate was almost on him when Hancock turned, his eyes catching the light. Sunglasses nowhere to be seen.
“John.” Nate hissed trying for subtle. He mostly sounded pissed. The other player’s were exchanging looks, and he knew Hancock was smiling under that damn wrap, he knew it.
“Finally up?” Was all Hancock said, and two of the men at the table laughed, a brief, smothered sound that made the back of Nate’s neck prickle.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Nate said, but Hancock’s eyes were back on his cards, so Nate just leaned a hip uncomfortably on the table, waiting. God, he was exhausted. Deacon had them running up and down the damn Commonwealth, and after what he’d done to help Nate, he was glad to do it.
The ache of a month of fighting and running, and sleeping out in the dirt with one hand on his gun, had settled into Nate’s body, and it made it hard to think. Hard to decide what to do, with Hancock like this.
Hancock played his hand, tapped his deck to signal he was done, and took a swig of his whiskey, never once looking at Nate where he leaned against the table. The game ended, Hancock tossed a few more caps into the pile in front of him and the men re-shuffled their decks, a cool shushing sound as the cards were sorted and then sent gliding across the lacquered tabletop.
The sound was familiar, a hundred nights in every part of the world, trying to pass the time and not to listen to the booming roar of the bombs falling just outside.
Hancock fanned out his hand, and standing as he was only Nate saw the flicker of white, a card sliding from sleeve to hand, while another took its place.
“Bid or toss ‘John’?” The man said, his voice low and slurred. He was staring bleary-eyed across the table, somewhere between Nate’s hip and Hancock’s elbow.
“Bid.” said Hancock, and his voice was as smooth as his fucking whiskey, which meant he was higher than a rocket. One of the other men laughed, and it was an unfriendly sound. The dealer just nodded, and Nate watched as Hancock tossed a few scant caps into the offering at the center of the table.
“That wasn’t a full bid.”
Everyone at the table stilled. They could kill everyone at this table, but they couldn’t outrun the city guard, not tonight, not as exhausted as they were. Nate’s hands tensed, ready to draw regardless.
Hancock leaned forward, as though to count, his caps now indistinguishable from the other gleaming bits of rubbish, shined and worn from years passed hand to hand, and rubbed smooth in pockets.
“Well look at that.” He said. “I sure didn’t.”
He reached up and pulled down his wrap, revealing the smoothed holes where his nose used to be, his scarred lips and the ravaging radiation had done to his skin. Nate loved to rub his lips over that skin, smoothing kisses into him, until his mouth felt sore and tender from the gentle abrasion. One of the men whistled at the sight.
“Fucking ghoul.”
Nate stiffened, but it hadn’t even come from their table, and that was almost worse. He could hear Vadim talking expansively at the bar, entertaining the few who were foolish enough to sit at his counter. Hancock didn’t seem to react in the slightest, and Nate wanted to touch him, reassure Hancock and himself.
He also didn’t want to throw gas on the fire.
“Well, how about I wager in something else.” Hancock said, and his voice, so even and calm it was raising the hairs on Nate’s arms. “How about I toss in the Vaultie here?”
Nate stiffened, and the movement made two of the other men rise, hands hovering-waiting for an excuse to draw.
The dealer was just watching Hancock, his blurry gaze fixed on the ghoul’s face.
“If I remember right, you like ‘em soft, don’t you Danny?”
“Fuck you.” The dealer said easily, but Nate could see his white-knuckled grip bending the cards in his hands.
“You shouldn’t even be here.” One of the men said, and Nate’s gun was out, leveled in his face almost before he’d thought it through.
“Not so soft, eh ‘John’?” The dealer said musingly, and Nate didn’t spare him a glance, even though he could feel the eyes on him like a heavy hand.
“I will take the bet.” The dealer said, and now Nate did look at him. At his words, the men were standing down, picking their hands back up, leaving Nate aiming at nothing.
“No, you won’t.” Nate said, and Hancock snorted into his whiskey beside him. Nate hoped he fucking drowned in the stuff.
“Ah.” The dealer said, softly, and he wasn’t watching Hancock anymore. His beady eyes were fixed on Nate’s face, and then lower on the too-small, white tee. “So do you think the mayor knows his estranged brother is in town? Hm? Maybe it’s time for a little family reunion?”
Hancock tossed the last of his whiskey back, and slammed the glass down.
“Oh, you don’t want the guards here any more than I do, Danny. You’ll be good, won’t ya, Pip-boy?” Hancock looked up at him, and winked, his eyes a dark gleam in the dim lighting of the bar. “Not afraid to put your ass on the line?”
“You’re a bastard.” Nate said coldly, lowering the gun, and now all the men at the table were glancing at him, at the ragged jeans holey at the knees and pockets. At the too-tight shirt, and Nate realized belatedly, flushing, at the purple bloom of Hancock’s suck marks, chaining his neck, and disappearing under his shirt. He couldn’t read any of them, not in the dim lighting expressions closed off as they looked at their cards, but he didn’t really care to. He scowled at them all, wishing his gun was still in his hand.
“Not very soft at all, Johnny.” The dealer said, and Hancock laughed, a low, pleased sound and then tugged Nate into his lap, knocking his boot into Nate’s ankle to do it.
It was awkward, Nate, a little too tall to fit, his hip pressing uncomfortably at the table. He didn’t know what to do with his arms, definitely couldn’t draw from this position, but Hancock just wrapped an arm around the gangly length of him, pulling him close, into his chest, like he was a toy.
“You’re soft, aren’t you, Pip-boy?” Hancock murmured to him, and Nate could smell the whiskey on his breath, hot and sour. And maybe he was a fool, or a pushover, because when Hancock pulled his chin down for a kiss, he went, curling in on himself to reach.
Hancock had one hand on his hip, thumb rubbing slow circles over the brass snaps on his jeans, and Nate shivered as their mouths met, Hancock’s tongue sliding wetly across his own, suckling on the tip like he was a mentat.
And at the same time he was sliding his swapped cards into Nate’s back pocket, between a handful of caps, and spare wire, hidden from view by the low edge of the table, and the curve of Nate’s back.
“Get a fucking room.” The man closest to them spat, and Hancock flipped him off without opening his eyes or letting go of Nate. It was Nate who finally ended the kiss, lips pinked and wet with spit. He could feel his cheeks flushing, and he looked away, hiding his face from the strange crowd.
“Oh look, you were right!” Hancock exclaimed, cheerful like sunshine, and Nate jumped, rattling the table when a rough hand fell into his lap and squeezed. “Not that soft!”
“Hancock.” Nate said, his voice strange, but the men around the table were just laughing this time-low, awkward laughter. Hancock’s hand never left his hip, still stroking those slow, soothing circles into him.
“Bid.” The man to their right muttered, and Nate relaxed briefly as the table finished placing their first bets. He felt stupid, perched uncomfortably on Hancock’s thigh, big and obvious, but only a few people here were looking at them askance.
This late at night, the Dugout was nothing but barflies, gamblers and drunks. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke, but Nate missed the sweet, ozone smell of burning Hubflower. Another thing not allowed in Diamond City, even though they’d buy the blossoms by the pound. Vadim had gone quiet, or quieter, his story finished, and now he could hear the radio wailing softly from the bartop, calling Nate crazy, crazy for loving.
Nora used to throw afternoon tête-à-tête’s, dress him in a full suit on a Saturday afternoon and then ask him to fetch and carry as she won pennies, or cookies off the barrister’s wives at bridge. It was one of those things he’d done simply out of love, not understanding, or even necessarily obligation.
“Final round.” The dealer said, and his eyes were on Hancock’s hand, and the slow motion as he rubbed Nate’s button to a coppery shine.
Hancock tossed his final cards down, uncaring of his deck smearing across the table, not looking at the other plays or the dealer. He only looked at Nate, those dark eyes glowing wickedly up at him, his mouth quirked into a funny little smile, a sharp twist of lips, and Nate blamed his exhaustion for how much he wanted to kiss him again. Despite everything, all he had to do was look at him, and Nate wanted.
“A fucking Jack?” The dealer shouted, and Hancock was chuckling, a slow rumble that Nate feel thrumming in his chest where it pressed against him. “A Jack?”
“You skavver! Cheater!” The man yelled, and Hancock let Nate slide to his feet beside him. No one had drawn a weapon yet, but it was clearly whisper close. “You fucking rigged these cards!”
“Danny, I didn’t rig anything.” Hancock said innocently, but his shit-eating grin said things no smooth tone could. Nate could hear the table creak as the other men stood, cards forgotten on the table. The leader, Danny, was leaning heavily, hands pressed flat to the tabletop, uncaring of the slow slide of drinks and caps, as the table listed towards him.
“You better fucking not have.” Danny was breathing hard, face red, as he slowly pulled his hands away from the table, giving a short nod to the man closest to him. “For your sake and the Vaultie’s.”
The man circled the table, and Nate watched him, one hand in his gun. Hancock was still boneless in the chair beside him, a loose, liquor sponsored sprawl, and when Nate glanced at him, he was grinning.
“You always doubted my luck.” Hancock murmured, and the muscle coming towards them reached out, yanking Hancock from his chair by his jacket front. Nate drew, but Hancock smacked his gun down, letting the merc rifle through his pockets, roughly patting him down, while Hancock smirked a little drunkenly and threw a wink at Nate.
“He’s clean.” The man said slowly, suspicion coloring his tone, releasing Hancock with a shove. Nate caught his arm so he didn’t fly backwards letting him knock against his chest. Hancock’s hand was on his gun as well, and Nate didn’t know if that was a relief or not.
“Check the Vault-boy.” One of the men called, and Nate felt his back break out in sweat. Hancock stiffened against him, but Danny was smiling now, looking from Nate to Hancock and back again.
“Yeah. Check him.”
“No-” Hancock started, but it was Nick’s voice that broke through the crowd.
“There you are, General.” Nick called, casually elbowing one of the card playing guns out of the way. “I have a message for you, from the Mayor.”
“The General?” Somebody muttered, but Nate was already re-holstering his weapon. The safety was still off. “Oh shit, is he the one-”
“Like, the Minutemen?”
“Thanks, Valentine.” Nate said, and Hancock was smiling at him, soft and slight. “We’re almost done here.”
“You are?” The dealer said sharply, and Nate smiled at him across the table.
“We are.” His voice was loud, and firm, and he only jumped a little when a huge hand clapped his shoulder.
“We are ALL done this night, I’m afraid we’re closing.” Vadim boomed. “I trust this is all fine?”
“Fine.” Danny said. “Run along, Johnny. S’what you’ve always done best.” He spat into the center of the table, among the pile of winnings on the table, before letting the table rock flat onto its legs, gesturing quickly at the men beside him, turning and leading them from the room. Slowly the chatter picked back up around them.
“Thanks, Nick.” Nate said, letting Hancock go, slowly. “Things were getting a little...tense.”
“Anytime, General.” Nick replied, a smile crinkling his eyes amiably at the corners. Nate grinned back at him, the sudden relief making him flushed, exhilarated. “It was my pleasure.”
Hancock snorted beside him, and Nate felt his mouth thin into stiff lines, and there went his adrenaline, as he felt a weariness fill him from head to toe.
“I’m getting out of here.” Nate said suddenly, and he felt Hancock turn to look at him. Vadim had already headed back to the counter, situation diffused, and Nate raised a hand in gratitude as he began to pick his way towards the door, Nick following closely beside him. When he turned back, Hancock was looking at the pile of caps on the table, his hat in his hand.
Then he pushed outside, breaking into the crisp night, the air sharp, sour in the way that seemed to come with any chill in the radiated wasteland, making the breath catch in your throat. Beside him, Nick was already snapping open his cigarette case, and shaking one out. The tap-tap-tap of the glossy metal on his fingers familiar from a handful of awful, sleepless wasteland nights, while Nick kept an unblinking watch, and Nate tossed and turned and listened to him smoke half a carton.
“Really.” Nate said softly, and Nick didn’t look at him, just lit his cigarette, huffing in a breath, and letting it out, heavy in the chill air, from the empty hole in his cheek. “Thanks. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”
Nick ‘hmmed’ and swiftly tapped the ash off in a loose flume, the narrow, gusting wind whipping it down the alleys, flicking it along the decaying cement.
“Ah, you’dve been fine.” He said gruffly, but his eyes were bright, a gold gleam in the darkness. “You got a way with people, kid.”
Nate smiled, a little off-kilter. He didn’t feel S.P.E.C.I.A.L. He felt a little chilly in only Hancock’s worn tee, and bleary with exhaustion.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Nate said drily, and Nick caught his eye, expression sympathetic. More of what he’d been feeling must have shown than he’d really meant. Nick didn’t say anything, but he did shift, cutting the wind with his back. Nate didn’t know if his jacket was that warm, or if Nick didn’t feel it like he did.
Hancock appeared at his elbow, head bare, his cap jingling where it stuffed loosely in his pocket. It was a little foolish, but it was dark enough they could probably make it back to Kellog’s house without encountering further trouble. Hancock wasn’t looking at Nate, even as he grabbed his hand, tugging him towards him.
He was looking at Nick, this funny, closed-off expression on his face. Nate let himself be pulled, curving himself to fit against the other man. He just wanted to pull him back into the nest they’d made of Kellog’s bed, and sleep. Sleep for a whole day, and then sneak back out of this snake pit. Maybe back to Sanctuary-
“What’re you looking at, Valentine?” Hancock’s rough tone made Nate turn, examining his profile, lit by the strings of porchlights, making his cheeks look high and feral. His eyes glowed, but Nate could feel the tremor running through him like a vibration. He was coming off the Mentats hard, if he was this jittery.
“Nothing.” Nick said, his voice bland, and Nate glanced back just in time to see the detective’s mouth turn down, frowning stiffly around the filter of his cig. “Nothing at all. Have a nice night, boys.”
He stepped into the night, flipping his collar up to block the wind, hat tipped low shading his face except for those golden eyes, a watchful shadow.
“Goodnight.” Nate called lamely to Nick’s back, before turning back to Hancock who was looking at him, that strange, tight look still in his eyes.
“My winnings.” Hancock said, his voice low and broken, and he pushed flat against Nate’s chest, knocking him into a rusted bit of tin siding, the corrugated ridges pressing into his spine. His nipples were hard from the cold, making stiff points in the thin white cotton, pressing hotly into Hancock’s roughened palms, and Hancock grinned, a flash of teeth before dropping his hands to Nate’s belt, the worn leather peeling loose easily. The radiation kept his hands warm, making Nate arch into the hand squeezing him through his boxers. His back arched, rubbing him shamelessly into Hancock. There wasn’t many people out, the occasional city guard was the biggest concern, but Hancock was biting his lip, before dropping to his knees in front of him.
“Hancock-” Nate said helplessly, rubbing one hand against the pocked skin, and fine hair covering his scalp. Hancock pulled his cock free, hands warm and surprisingly gentle. “Oh.”
“Guess you didn’t mind.” Hancock bit out, and then licked across his head, quick and dirty and the sight made Nate curse. He felt blown wide open, tender, and everywhere Hancock touched him made his skin burn and jump. Hancock slid the head of him onto his tongue, sucking him in with a slurping pop. Nate’s hands tightened on nothing, his body curving over Hancock like he was wounded. His hips shifted, ruining Hancock’s practiced rhythm, his cock slipping free of the other man’s mouth to rub wet trails across his stretched and worn skin, the texture making him gasp, before Hancock pulled him back in.
“God, you’re a whore.” Hancock breathed, his eyes huge and dark like the sky over them as he wrapped one scarred hand around the wet mess he’d made of Nate, letting him fuck into his grip, while he watched him break. “About to cum on a ghoul’s face in an alley. Should’ve let them take you.”
Nate cried out, bucking his hips, and Hancock was grinning up at him, sharp and savage.
“Let them all take turns wearing your ass out. Bet you would’ve loved it.” His voice was deep, rasping with his quick breaths and Nate groaned, and came, pulsing messily across Hancock’s fingers and pleased grin.
Nate let his head flop back against the wall, his cock wet, and quickly cooling, while he listened to Hancock stand, slowly. He had to be exhausted, at least as much as Nate. The whole walkway still smelled thickly of Nick’s cigarettes, and now sweat and sex, but that was quickly fading in the cutting night chill.
Nate tucked himself away, trying to look neater, less ragged. They only had to get across town, and the guards couldn’t be out in force tonight, or someone would have heard them.
They hadn’t been very quiet, and Nate bit his lip flushing, body still tingling.
“Sorry.” Hancock said softly, and Nate blinked at him. He was standing with his back to Nate, rocking on his heels, hands in his pockets. He felt miles away, and Nate watched him for a long second, before pulling free of the wall.
“We shouldn’t have come.” Nate said, and it’s apology and understanding and forgiveness all in one. Hancock just shook his head, and Nate pulled him in, kissing him wetly, not stopping even their teeth clicked.
“Let’s leave then.” Hancock said when he'd drawn back, and Nate could feel his weariness like a weighted pack, but Hancock still looked stretched, anxious and so he rolled his shoulders, feeling himself wake more thoroughly as he adjusted to the idea.
“Hangman’s Alley?” He suggested, and Hancock was smiling at him, his eyes warm.
“I’ll follow your marker, Pip-boy.” He said smartly, tossing him a wink, and Nate felt a laugh bubble out of his chest. They faded into the shadows, together.