Magnolia was singing her lungs out on the stage and Hancock had just finished talking business with Charlie, taking a drag of his cigarette, when he smelled her approaching behind him. His nose was sharper since ghoulification and he could recognize her scent now and it intrigued him. There were many things about her that intrigued him, if he was being honest. She smelled of smoke and gun residue, similar to Fahrenheit, but something a little more delicate, also. Something flowery. He caught it the first time he'd met her, her mouth agape as she stared at him from behind black frames, when he'd gutted Finn right in front of her.
But Hancock knew it was bad when Sole planted herself on the stool next to him, ordered a double and chugged it down in one go. Or tried to, anyway. A little of the amber liquid dribbled down the front of her vault suit and tears almost escaped her eyes before he reached out and thumped her on her back as she let out a short cough at the burn.
"Whoo, slow down Boss," it was MacCready and even though he said it in a stern tone, there was a smile tugging at his lips as he stopped behind his new employer. "I know you want to celebrate and all, but let me grab a seat, huh?"
"The hunt went well, then?" Hancock wondered curiously, though his gut told him something was not completely right. And he had learned to trust his gut. He took another drag of his cigarette, though his inky eyes didn't move from studying Sole, the way the skin around her eyes seemed tight even though she had a small grin on her face as she ordered another round for the three of them.
"Yep, she shot that ass-, um, I mean dickhole Kellogg between the eyes, blew his brains out." MacCready crowed, clearly proud of his new affiliation. The laugh that Sole let out was a bit hollow, not quite happy. Not good.
He was almost afraid to ask. "... What about the boy?"
She took the shot in one gulp again, not coughing this time but she scrunched her eyes closed beneath her glasses as she wiped the tears from the edges with slightly shaky fingers.
"The Institute has him."
The worst of the worst. "... Fuck."
That was the word for it, alright. Fuck.
Even Sole understood that, in the short weeks she had been surviving in this new post-nuclear world. Even with all her schooling, as brilliant as she could be with words when the need arose. Fuck.
The Institute had Shaun.
She felt empty. There was no other word for it. Killing Kellogg had come with great anticipation, revenge a whole new thing in her life, a force that propelled her forward. She had hunted Kellogg down, at great effort. She had been forced to learn how to shoot to kill, how to avoid or tear down obstacles, how to beat a giant flying bug with a bat covered in nails to stop the imminent violence that had found her at every turn in this god-forsaken world. But she had persevered, she had done things she had never imagined, that she would probably never forget or forgive herself for, but she had survived. Raiders and Super Mutants and ferals had died at her hands and she had pushed all that aside because the burning need to find her baby had consumed her, to the point where sleep had become a distraction that she only ever succumbed to out of necessity.
And now, here she was. Kellogg was dead and she was no closer to finding Shaun. Nate had been avenged, but Shaun was still out there, in the hands of a shady organization.
She didn't even know where to start this new search; Kellogg had been a merc, human, alone, fallible. The Institute was something else, altogether. The search seemed even more impossible now.
What am I going to do?
They drank for a few more hours as the despair seemed to slowly start filling that void within her.
Sole had slowed down, but she had not stopped. She became quieter and quieter as the night continued while MacCready had become louder and louder. She was grateful for that, that he was asking less questions of her and focusing more on the drinks in front of him. MacCready was a new acquaintance; he was a good kid but she had paid for his gun and as such had kept the real reason behind her search for Kellogg a secret. Too much of her was already publicized and she now felt exposed, like a raw nerve. She knew she'd have to get rid of the vault suit soon. She had just been waiting for Kellogg to take a look at her, to recognize who his maker was when she finally found him and put one between his eyes.
But that was done now, old news, time to move on.
What am I going to do?
She noted Hancock's gaze on her. He drank as well, but she imagined his threshold was leaps and bounds above theirs so he never quite got sloppy. He humored MacCready's mood while he kept an eye ever on her. She tried to hide as well as she could for the most part. She kept up with MacCready, laughing at the right moments and asking more questions to keep him talking, but her heart wasn't in it. Her mind would wander, and when they got pretty close to the end of their tab at the Third Rail, MacCready wasn't noticing her lapse in attention anymore.
When they all slowly climbed out of the bar, Fahrenheit keeping a steady hold of MacCready up ahead as they climbed up the stairs, Sole knew she was not ready to collapse into unconsciousness yet. The cold air outside hit her and she almost felt sober again, even though she knew that couldn't be accurate. Especially not when she stumbled on the last step and pitched forward into Hancock, his hands luckily catching her before she ate the garbage strewn pavement outside.
"You all right there, sister?"
That same tone again, the one he had used when she first laid eyes on him. Low and dark and rumbling, she could feel it in her bones. It made her feel warm, chasing the chill that had gotten hold of her and she couldn't tear her gaze away as he helped her right herself, his hands steady on her arms, his smile playful as he caught her staring.
She felt her face heat as well for being caught. "Sorry. Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right. Could've really used that knock on the head right about now, though," she tried to joke. "Forgetting would be merciful..."
He chuckled a bit and one of his hands gave her arm a squeeze in understanding. "There are better and easier ways to forget without the risk of concussion, sweetness."
It was a habit with him, she knew, and she didn't take his endearments too seriously. Two minutes after meeting Hancock, she had noticed the way women greeted him, their undertone of flirtation reflected back in his own responses to them. She had dated a man like him in her past, before Nate, before she had known what her heart wanted. But Hancock managed to put her at ease, in a way none of the friends she had met so far had been able to. Nick connected her to her past, of a different time she had been ripped from and as much as she liked the synth detective, it was almost painful to be near him at the moment. Piper had too many questions when all Sole wanted to do was forget everything but the need to find Shaun. Preston had too many responsibilities and Codsworth made her feel like a festering wound, he was so close to what had been Before.
What am I going to do?
"What would you suggest?" She angled a winning smile over at him, trying to stomp the anxiety building. She wasn't sure what she was thinking, but she figured it couldn't hurt. Maybe he knew of something and she was pretty desperate now. The alcohol had only dulled her, but all the edges were still there.
His smile grew and he brought a hand up to tap his finger against his mouth thoughtfully, "Hmm, I'm more of a mentats ghoul myself, but I don't think that's your ticket today."
"Over-analytic is not the mood I'm going for right now, no," she smirked, knowing she would not be making decisions like this under normal circumstances, had not made decisions like this since her early twenties, her eyes watching Fahrenheit and MacCready disappear into the Hotel Rexford. What was one night off among friends, right? "How about some Psycho?"
The smile on Hancock's face widened and the warmth spread through her.
"You sure you got them, sweetheart?" He picked another Raider off, that last hit of Jet he'd taken giving him the edge he needed to make sure Sole didn't get them both in over their heads.
"Fucking kill!" was the response, followed by more shots, the sound of the empty casings hitting the floor filling the silence that followed. He studied her as he reloaded, surveying her handiwork with a brief glance.
She was a type of crazy he could get behind, that was for sure. He had led her towards the Old State House, introduced her to his collection before he'd taught her the proper method. Clean needle, knock any air bubbles out with a couple of taps. Cleanse the area, stick the needle in carefully and watch all your troubles fade away by a pure hit of such focused energy it made her feel like she could take the world. She had immediately wanted to clear out a Raider nest that had been terrorizing the visitors making their way to Goodneighbor and he was all for recreational drug use and helping the little guy. He just made sure his faculties were with him so he could keep a close eye on her. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt out here.
Although, it seemed that hurt was what she was striving for. She ran straight into the crowd, gun blazing and grenades being thrown in sloppy arcs which caused damage to their ramshackle shelter and brought the rest of the Raiders who had just been passing out in their drug-induced sleep. He had aimed at the ones she missed, taking them out before they could reach her, but she had gotten sloppy with one that was pretty close to her and that Raider had knocked her down in a tangle of limbs before Hancock had been able to take him out. It was a scare and he was already cursing himself for this little field trip as he ran to her, but two shots rang out clearly and then she was pushing him off of her, her face peaking out with a brilliant smile on her face, blood all over her.
The high of the Psycho would wear off soon, however, and he holstered his weapon, helped her up and shook out his handkerchief from his chest pocket. It was old and threading in places, but it did the job well enough. He pulled the glasses off her face, saw her blink owlishly at him, noticed how dark her eyes were, and really, how large they seemed, with the slight glaze of alcohol and the psycho running through her system. She was a looker, that was for sure. He saw the way the others stared at her, found himself staring at her the same way too. He was a man who knew how to appreciate a good looking woman and Sole fit that description handily. That vault suit of hers left little to the imagination, really. He didn't think she realized it either, not if he understood her character so far. She wanted to instill fear in her enemies, but for the most part she'd rather not be seen, aiming at her enemies from afar, the scope being her best friend in the Commonwealth. She was determined, her focus on finding her revenge, but she was also a kind heart and that touched a soft spot within him that wanted to help her out. She was a damsel in distress without being one, too stubborn to ask for help unless she really really needed it.
As it was, the guilt was eating her inside. He could tell, he could recognize the self loathing quite perfectly. Why else ask for an escape?
… And all of this thinking was making him feel pretty shitty right about now, so why not change the subject immediately, huh?
"Had your fill for today, Sunshine?"
"Sunshine?" she sounded amused and confused, her eyes squinting at him.
He chuckled, handing her her glasses back, putting an arm around her shoulders and turning her around easily so they could head back to Goodneighbor. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."
"When you're not happy, my skies are grey…" She smiled crookedly at him, shaking her head slightly as she holstered her own weapon. "Oh Hancock, do you have nicknames for all your admirers?"
Admirers, huh? He liked the sound of that. "Only the ones that matter."
"Hmm, somehow I find that hard to believe." She looked at him from her lowered lashes and he felt his traitorous heart skip a beat. He really had it for the ones that knew how to call him on his bullshit.
"Believe what you will, darlin' but it's about time we headed back before this rampage wakes up more shit we're not ready to deal with."
She gave a low chortle but kept her eyes on her feet as they made their way back towards the neon sign of Goodneighbor. It wasn't until they were almost to the entrance of the Old State House that she finally spoke again, almost a whisper, her words slurring a bit as the Psycho left her system to be replaced by the alcohol, which he imagined was hitting her full force now. "What am I going to do?"
He knew what she meant, of course, but what could he tell her? Her voice had been so low, he wondered if she even really meant him to hear it. But he gave her shoulder a squeeze, his arm still around her and she hastily scrubbed at her face, getting blood on it and her glasses again. She didn't seem to notice it as she walked with him up the stairs and finally collapsed back on one of his couches with a heavy breath. He watched her jump a bit as Fahrenheit approached him from out of the shadows, her hand immediately heading for her holster before she realized who it had been.
"You tuck MacCready in?" Fahrenheit almost growled at his question, and he cackled a bit, reaching for a pack and a lighter as she leaned against the wall next to him.
"Would've preferred to go with you lot."
"You have enough heads to bust here already, don't need you tailin' me all the time."
She muttered under her breath in response and took the cigarrete he offered her. They lit up and smoked a bit as they watched Sole pass out on the couch, her head dangling at an angle he was sure would hurt once she woke up. He didn't have the heart to do it either.
"We've got a problem," he shared with his bodyguard, low enough so as not to wake her.
"The new meat?"
"Institute's got her son."
"Kid's gone then."
He grunted, knowing the answer but not liking it either way. He was a firm believer in helping those in need and it didn't sit well when he couldn't.
Fahrenheit took a deep drag and then asked, "What about the Railroad?"
He quirked an eye at her, "She doesn't have a synth needin' rescue."
"No… but aren't they the only ones who might have more info on the Institute? Other than the Brotherhood."
"Fuck the Brotherhood."
"Right?" She chuckled a bit, but then sobered up, crushing her smoke out in the ashtray. "We might have to deal with them at some point if they start nosing around here with that big airship of theirs."
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he waived off, not even wanting to think about that headache. But he sighed and nodded in her direction after a while. "Point her their way, I guess."
"Wanted her all to yourself, boss?" It was a tease, but it stung because Fahrenheit could read him so well sometimes.
"Fuck off."
When Sole woke up a few hours later, it was with a groan at the crick in her neck and a pounding head. She opened her eyes blearily, noting that slivers of sunshine were coming in through the slabs on the windows.
She had passed out on the Mayor's couch at some point last night. Or early this morning, she really couldn't seemt to remember. Someone had been kind enough to remove her boots and her glasses, but her hands and her hair had dried blood on them and Sole remembered hot showers with a wistful sigh. No one was in the room with her, but she could hear noise coming from all areas, the sound of people going about their daily business.
She reached out to grab her glasses and grimaced at the blood on them too, before she noticed a holotape amongst the drug paraphanelia on the coffee table. Curious, she picked it up and popped it into her pip-boy.
"Wake up Commonwealth. Synths are not your enemy…"
With a start, Sole remembered something she had not thought about. Synths! Hadn't she picked up a piece of Kellogg's remains that had been very much not human? Could she use that to…?
When Sole clambered up the stairs of the Hotel Rexford to wake her mercenary, she had all but forgotten her fatigue, her hangover, and her despair, a slightly crazed grin overtaking her features.