When the mutant hound knocked him on his back, he thought, "Well, this is how I die." It gnawed at the shotgun in its mouth, the only thing keeping the beast from tearing off his face. Its stubby back legs tore apart his thighs, his stomach, preventing any chance at kicking it off of him. Two taloned paws ripped apart the skin on his chest.
He tried to call out for help, still hearing the sound of her gunshots over the frantic growling from the dog that was killing him. It shook the gun in its mouth in an attempt to take it from him. He held as best as he could. He watched the metal bend in its jaws and shut his eyes as tightly as he could, preparing for the gun to break.
But it didn't. Instead, at the last second, he heard combat boots against cement and opened his eyes. It might have been the Jet or the adrenaline, but he watched her sail over him in slow motion, arms wrapping around the dog's middle in a flying tackle. It yelps in pain as she throws it off of him, somehow landing on her knees as it struggled to turn over. A single, well-placed bullet ends the beast.
He was in awe. He tried to sit up, but his chest was on fire and his legs didn't want to support his weight. There was a lot of blood, and none of it was the dog's. He looked up at her when she knelt beside him, already tearing off the sleeves of her undershirt to tie around his bleeding legs.
"That was the coolest shit I've ever seen," he mutters under his breath, suddenly fascinated with the freckles on her nose. She looks up at him, smiles, then looks past him. Somewhere, more super mutants were howling.
"I've gotta pick you up so we can get out of here," she pants, tying both sleeves around his respective legs. He tries to stand on his own, but collapses into her chest. He curses, knowing that he might be the reason they both die today. But she scoops him up into her arms like a bride, wobbling slightly under his weight, and takes off.
The moon is their light as she finally finds a place to rest. In the ruins of an old shipping yard, a huge blue container is their temporary home. It's just big enough for them and a little campfire. She'd loaded him up with stimpaks and bandaged his wounds as best she could, and even though he'd insisted he was fine, she wanted to stop for the night.
He's propped against the inside of the cargo container when she finally flops beside him, handing him a can of beans. He tries not to have her notice him scratching at the strips of old shirt wrapped around his chest.
"Thanks for the beans," he winks at her, and watches her smile grow. Her nose crinkles in the fire light.
"Thanks for, y'know, not dying and stuff," she smiles, dumping the can into her mouth like a drink. He does the same, making sure not to wince as his chest burns. They eat in silence for a while.
"Honestly, though. Thank you," he says, drawing her attention from the embers to him. Her eyes shine in the glow, like the stars in the ocean. "Not a lot of people would've tackled a hound to save one ghoul."
"You're not just a ghoul," she's quick to respond. "You're Hancock. You're my…" He watches her stumble over the "friend", her eyes darting away and her smile growing with her rising blush. Inside his torn up chest, his ribcage tightens. "So, uh, you wanna see something cool?"
He smiles and nods, finding her inability to hide emotion endearing. She digs through one of the pockets on her coat and pulls out a holotape, popping it into the Pip-Boy on her wrist. A little game flickers on the screen. "RED MENACE" illuminates her face.
They spend the rest of the night trying to beat each other's high scores, neither seeming to notice when Hancock's arm finds a place around her waist. In the middle of the night, he awakens to find the Pip-Boy still in his lap, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder. He nestles into her hair, smelling the faint, far away scent of vanilla before falling back asleep.