Pol had been having nightmares, recently. They'd never really gone, so in this case, recently was "the past 5 months of being out of Vault 111", and a long five months they had been. Of course, it was not surprising considering everything that had happened but that didn't make it ok, or pleasant, nor something that she wanted to put up with every night. She had mistakenly believed she had locked that bit of her away, deep away inside of her, but here she lay with tears in her eyes, fear in her heart, and memories she had long wanted to forget. She was sick of the nightmares.
Nightmares that left her shaking in a cold sweat, that choked her every night and didn't let go till she awoke with a scream on her lips, sore eyes and the taste of bile in her mouth. Nightmares about the mushroom cloud, all choking dust, ash and shock wave. Her last vision of her past life, sheltered as it had been, of an orange glow and the hot air shrieking at her as she sunk down, her husband's words washing over her.
"Honey, I love you".
Nightmares of how her last memory of her husband was of him dying in a Cryo Pod whilst she banged on glass till she bled, screamed his name, then was silenced once more; only to wake up and see him, eyes shut mouth agape, blood splintering his chest. Blood shouldn't look like that, all shards and pointed angles, frozen in time as it was. It was as though he had never stopped bleeding She was too late. And Shaun- no, she didn't want to think about him.
Nightmares about what Nate would think of the woman she'd become: of her shooting their son, running around with strangers and no place to call home, the huge lifestyle change from suburban mother with a law degree to sole survivor with a modded Pipe Pistol. How he'd be upset at her for moving on, for finding love and companionship, for loving someone other then Nate. Especially, all things considered, a man the polar opposite of Nate. Nate, serious to a fault, military career, hero with a medal of honour; contrast that with her current beau, a drug-using, freewheeling mayor with a penchant for bad jokes and ever worse flirtation. Part of Pol's guilt was thinking she preferred it like this.
Tonight was a chilly night at Red Rocket, her settlement of choice. Outside it was silent, no Strong's incessant "tinker tinker tinker, Strong bored!" as soon as someone so much as picked up a wrench, no Cait itching for a fight, no Piper demanding everyone build her a new Printing Press. The only noise the rasping breath of her lover and the dull hush of trees swaying in the wind. She lay back into her straw pillow, and thought on the last few months and how she had come to be here.
One of the first things she'd done in the Commonwealth was to get a haircut – she had practically ripped out her sleek bun, replacing it with an elegant but not so formal loose style, all twisting half-ringlets and oh-so-slightly tussled. She preferred her hair down, and it kept the sun off her neck. She had kept her natural colour though - deep red brought out the fire in her eyes, Nate had always said. But she'd wanted to be something unrecognisable to herself. She couldn't stand to see the same woman staring back. That woman, Polly, had lost everything. That woman hurt and mourned and cried, that woman had screamed when she killed her first raider, she missed her husband and her child and she hoped it was all a bad dream. She still had his ring, and at that point had tied it around her neck, a reminder of what she was fighting for. Who she was fighting for. Nowadays, it belonged to someone else.
But it wasn't who she wanted to be – a hero, a survivor, someone who others could look up to, who would help the helpless and heal the hurt. Only this way could she, in her own way, redeem herself, even if it was just to prove to herself that she could. So she changed her style, became Pol, the sole survivor, the woman out of time. Fit for headlines, inspiration, whatever.
The second thing she'd done was paint her face black, lined her eyes and forehead with black paint. Not only to help her blend into the shadows, where she waited, shooting down enemies with lethal efficiency, but it also served as warpaint. A mask to hide everything but the newly formed scars that clipped her pout, her brow, and the deep gash in her nose where a raider had sliced her with a machete right before she had shot his kneecap out. Truth was, she couldn't stand to look at herself. But now, Pol was different, she was still powerful with words as any talented lawyer should have been, but now equally as tough with a pistol or a wink. Pol the sole survivor, with her war scars and kind smile - intimidating when necessary, but kind and warm otherwise.
First time she'd met Hancock, he'd taken her face in his palm and turned her cheek to cheek, then tutted. His skin felt rough, like thick callous, but also soft like old leather. It was an odd sensation, soft but rough, tough but kind, one that she had come to love.
"Now what sorta scumbag would do that to such a fine young lady?"
His signature drawl, the inflection on 'scumbag' had gotten to her even then, even if she had been want to admit it she'd flushed, and later Hancock had admitted he hadn't expected her to last the day- they didn't normally. And she'd told him what she told everyone: she was a survivor. alone in the world, her entire neighbourhood dead and her family gone, she had to depend on herself and be an example of pre-war ideals.
He looked at her different after that, with respect, admiration even. Nowadays, his look was different still.
Only she wasn't the sole survivor. Not any more. She had friends in many settlements and from all walks of life, a sort of new pseudo family: the sidekick Nick -although sometimes she wondered if she was more the sidekick-;the dogs; her best friend Piper and her little sister Nat, almost a surrogate at this point. Heck, even MacCready had grown on her though she'd made a mental note never to lend him caps again. Her friends, her new home, people who helped her feel like she belonged in the Commonwealth, these were things she held dear.
And of course, Hancock.
Trim, gnarled Hancock with his lipless smile, confident gait, slender waist and charm. Sexy king of the zombies indeed.
They'd settled, that ragtag bunch of misfits, for the most part at Red Rocket Station. Sometimes she joked it was the poor mans' Goodneighbour; a collection of misfits from every walk of life. Her misfits, her new home, she'd take in anyone from a Vault Tec Rep to Sheffield. Sanctuary held too many bad memories. She couldn't look at the crib, at the bed where she'd slept with Nate, at that damn Grognak comic or the misplaced coffee cup without having flashbacks to that morning. Staring, watching the life ebb out of Nate's deep eyes and of doing the same to Shaun; those eyes burned into her, if she let them. Sanctuary was no such thing for her. So, red rocket was home, with it's shelters, crop field and dog house... home once or twice a month anyway.
The rest of her time was spent scouting, looking for new settlements to aid, recruiting Minutemen, fighting through gangs of ghouls and mutants, scavenging and selling scrap. And who was her right hand man? None other than Hancock.
They had been travelling together a few months, kicking out raiders and camping under the cool night sky when she'd first noticed that look in his eye. The way his gaze dipped and lingered on her red lips or the skin around her collarbones. The way he might slow his pace or offer to carry if she was tired after a long day, or offered to keep watch so she could sleep or cook or just sit in the quiet. He watched her when he thought she wasn't looking, always smiling; she had half suspected he was checking out her ass when he fell behind her. And of course there was that come-on during the Silver Shroud incident, that, yes, she had itechnically/i instigated but she had been playing a role. Part of her suspected he had known it was her.
At first she had felt... well repulsed was too strong a word, but the idea wasn't appealing to her to say the least. He didn't look human, heck in her old life so much was taboo, it was why she had married Nate, loved him as she did, she'd gotten knocked up, scared and afraid and so they'd agreed to get married. She'd never regretted it, though but, if anyone had found out she'd have been ostracized. She'd only slept with one man in her life, her husband. Her only kiss prior to that had been Bobby Walsh at Homecoming. She was used to being conservative so why would she be attracted to a ghoul? Pol regretted that mindset now, for obvious reasons. She was, at first encounter, reminded of the zombies in B-Movies she used to adore: films like "Zombie Death Army!", "Commie Zombies From Outer Space!" or "The Walk of the Undead". Of course, he was no zombie, but a caring, kind ghoul who had suffered greatly, a man who genuinely cared about her, and how he could make her laugh...it all reminded her of the bits she liked about Nate, all their differences aside, but in some ways, better. She preferred him to Nate in many respects, and that made her feel guiltiest of all. She knew, hoped, she'd eventually move on, but it still felt like betrayal to her.
Pol found herself enjoying this new life more than she'd expected; the new social freedoms, the experiences she'd never had - drugs, drinking, running for your life from a giant dragonfly. There was excitement to be had, and hell, the worst had happened so how much worse could it get? Humanity had rebuilt and endured. The woman had a sense of purpose; she helped the helpless, brought joy and stability to the Commonwealth, killed Deathclaws with frag mines so that the people were safe. She had lost, perhaps she herself was a bit lost but life was still good and it was inspiring to see humanity keep going as it did of course that didn't stop her from feeling bad. She felt guilt that she was slowly recovering from the death of all that she knew, but then, contrastingly, that she was recovering now, five months on it was nice that she could wake up and think of something other than Nate. But with that feeling came all the others that filled her with heaviness. It was bittersweet.
Hancock's jokes lifted that weight, that burden, as did his friendship, his care. And in that she had found an affinity that only made her feel guiltier for having been so judgemental at first and she had, during those first few weeks on the road, found herself talking more; opening up and discussing their mutual love of justice, their losses, life on the road. Heck, once she'd been convinced, at around the six week mark, to join him on a 'Mentat Ride', as he put it. That night had ended with her realization that her feelings were becoming more than platonic.
The night, some three months back, had been cold but comfortable and there had been no rad storms to cloud up the sky that paired with the lack of light pollution – even with Diamond City the sky was clearer- had given a perfect view of the milky way. They had been camped out some ways from Wildwood Cemetery, in the middle of the woods, a scenic spot, as scenic as post apocalyptic wasteland could be. They'd set up camp, set up a stew to boil, and he'd pulled out a tab of Mentats and offered one over. Usually, she let him trip without her, but curiosity had gotten the better of her- curiosity and that eager smile of his.
It was quite unlike anything she'd experienced before, but not in an unpleasant way. They had sat in mutual silence for a while before she had taken point and coughed and spoke up.
"So, that Silver Shroud... you knew that was me, right?" she had grinned through the haze of a high, feeling more at ease than she had in a while. More because of Hancock than the Mentats. She had pushed her hair back behind her ear and watched his reaction; he had been leaning back, eyes closed and feet crossed, but that question caught his attention.
"What, you were that pretty dame who was into roleplay? I had no idea." he'd grinned back at her, and she distinctly remembered having noticed his gaze dip again. She had, at the time, resisted the urge to undo a button to give him a better view, instead questioned why that thought had crept up into her head. She was sure that, around Hancock, a lot of women felt the same.
"Yeah, totally. Me! So... how'd you feel about the costume?"
That question had peaked his attention and he had turned to face her fully, had almost seemed wary. That night Pol hoped he'd not noticed her trepidation, her initial judgement.
"Well, Pol I'm dressed like John Hancock. I think we both know the answer to that...though I must say, you look better than me in costume". he laughed, but part of her sensed he was being serious.
"Mmm, I don't know about that Mr. Hancock. I've not seen you out of that costume yet..." her voice had been low, the Mentats had taken the edge off of her anxiety and given her the will to flirt. He'd gone quiet for a moment then, then that sly grin returned.
"Maybe you will, sister, maybe you will." his gravelly voice had sent shivers down her spine, and she'd realised, more than the cold air, how he had affected her.
They'd both gone to sleep a little while after and when she'd awoken, she had filled with all sorts of conflicting feelings, that spiked in her chest, clouded her head, created a deep pool of guilt and regret in her lungs, heavy and cloying. Her and Hancock had been on the road for almost two months at that stage and she considered him a close friend and personal confidant. They'd fought Deathclaws, raiders, even a Yao Guai. She'd been out of the freezer for three months at that stage and still missed Nate every day, but, she'd had bonded with Hancock quite a bit, if she had to admit. He didn't bring it up again either and she didn't force the matter, but she suspected he was slightly upset, but she couldn't tell with him, it could have been comedown. He was good at hiding his emotions. Maybe he thought she had messed with him.
She hadn't been.
At that point, she'd never told him what had happened so she'd decided it was time but when it came to it she hadn't been able to. Her hazel eyes had filled with tears, a lump in her throat formed, and then she clammed up. Her ghoul companion had urged her not to force it unless she was comfortable, but she had taken him to the vault all the same, trudging through the Commonwealth in an awkward silence. He had kept his mouth shut and she almost missed his terrible jokes.
Inside, it had taken him a few seconds to understand what was going on. She hadn't been able to look her husband in the eye, had just kept staring at that blank hole in his chest, at the frozen blood, at his fingers. She had stood and stared for a good ten minutes in dead silence, had finally confronted what had happened; it was something she had been trying to avoid, she had changed, she had forced the memories out of her head but at that point, they were forefront in her mind. Her companion's eyes had flickered to her ring finger, then to the necklace, and his shoulders slumped.
"Well, shit. I'm sorry Pol, I had no idea. look, we don't need to be here, we can go. it's OK. you'll be OK."
They left soon after. Pol still hadn't spoken and had instead just kept walking, her hands balled into fists, her eyes downturned toward the ground. That night had been quiet. She'd cooked a soup and curled up in a sleeping bag, all but ready to fall asleep to erase the image of her perpetually frozen husband from her mind and push that awful day away. She could have slept for weeks at that point and Hancock had wandered off for a bit. He had returned with a bottle of Bourbon and some shot glasses scavenged up from an abandoned house nearby and had placed them next to her, with a small chink of glass on concrete.
"Listen sister, you need to loosen up. I know things is rough and this ain't the world you wanted it to be, but we can't sit here moping. We gotta do something about it, and I think you are the best person to do that. You with me? "
It sounded almost rehearsed as he said it, as though this was a speech he'd give standing in the balcony at Goodneighbor but she had appreciated the sentiment all the same, and so she'd taken a glass, and poured shots with him. That night, something inside her had clicked. Maybe it was his roundabout way of caring for her, maybe it was the drawl in his voice, the way she caught his eye, or the weeks where they had travelled and bonded but she realized that she was falling for him. She found him attractive.
He'd told her about his losses as they drank- a wife and daughter-, and she had realized more than ever that he was a kindred spirit. Both with losses, both older than their years and they'd talked the night away and fallen asleep a little closer than they normally might have done, the ghoul had faced toward her, and looking back Pol wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't just fallen asleep watching her. The ghoul had even whispered a quiet 'goodnight sister' into her hair while she was half asleep before pulling the sleeping bag up around her shoulders and retreating to his.
They had travelled as companions to Covenant, through an abandoned hospital and all the way up to the Coastal Cottage where they'd set up camp on the coast for a while. It had taken them around a week, and Pol realized she needed to say something. It had been eatng her up inside, and she needed to know whether the glances she caught him stealing were genuine, or whether it was her filling in the blanks. But at the same time she felt as though it had been a betrayal to her husband. Hell, she still thought that. Sure, she'd gotten her vengeance, and her vows were only 'till death do us part', but part of her still felt as though Nate was there. That love was something she couldn't have again. At one point in that mental debate she had decided to take her own advice and had told herself she deserved to be happy now, and that the least she could do was find someone who made her feel safe, made her laugh and relax. Even though he was a ghoul, something about him and his charm made her melt just a little, and had found herself attracted to him. Maybe his swagger, maybe his confidence, maybe his oh so casual flirting. All of it. She had fell for all of it.
That opportunity to talk came a week later- they'd been exploring Salem and the surrounding area for a while and had decided to head back after a few days extra exploring, and had used the cottage as a base. During a routine exploration for supplies a mine took out her ankle, left her unable to walk and she had unleashed a torrent of swears from deep within which had alerted Hancock to it immediately. Hancock had supported her weight, and helped her limp over to the dilapidated structure, where they had sleeping bags, a fire, and supplies to last a week more at least. Couldn't say they weren't prepared- there had been too many near misses. The wind threatened to tear the shack down, and Pol through her pain, made a mental note to fix it up as a retreat, perhaps. The rain leaked through the ceiling, hit the workbench on the way down, producing a rhythmic tap but it was as sturdy a shelter as any, it hadn't fallen yet, after all and the tang of salt water on the air refreshed her. The storm obscured much of the area, but she had known the view was scenic- out over the ocean, and the wastes behind them, it was one of her favourite places in the Commonwealth to date.
The ghoul had gotten a fire started and sat her down in the driest corner, draped his coat over her to prevent her from getting too wet and had scrounged up what he could from the workbench- Stimpacks, bandages, wooden splints. He had looked as handsome as ever to her and in the back of her mind Pol wondered how she had gotten there, in the space of 6 months to go from suburban housewife to dodging bullets and leaping into land-mines. Life was weird like that.
He had busied himself and pulled off her boot, had carefully cut apart her harness so he could get to her ankle. The harness had since been stitched back together, it had been no problem, and he had been deft with his hands. He had probed and poked at her ankle till she hissed and pulled it back, then attended to the swelling. Her foot had sprained, a hairline fracture- she had caught the edge of the blast, luckily, and the worst injury was a cut from shrapnel on her ankle that bled everywhere.
His dark eyes looked concerned.
"Next time you want to walk into a land mine give me some warning eh? Nearly gave me a damn heart attack, thought I'd lost you there..."
He trailed off, dropped his gaze and commenced the patch up her leg. Pol had sat and watched his fingers work in silence. She had been in pain, it clouded and distorted her head. Outside the rain hit hard, and the wind had buffeted the side of the cabin. Caused it to creak and sway, but still it stood, it endured just as the rest of the Commonwealth had. It still endured, Pol visited it sometimes when she needed to be alone. The sky above had blackened – she had seen it through a hole in the ceiling. It had been a long storm.
"You don't want to lose me? " it came out nought but a hoarse whisper, and her voice had cracked with sadness, exhaustion, pain, but he had heard her and paused to look at her, gave a smile that was uncharacteristically sad but equally a comfort. His eyes had lingered on her face, and she couldn't tell with what intent he looked at her. Then, he had spoken, softly.
"Course not Pol, you're a good friend..." she remembered he had trailed off, far from his usual suave self, and resumed tying the bandage and splint on her ankle before he had injected a Stimpak into her leg, although she had felt the effect of something else – Med-X or Buffout maybe – that had coursed through her veins too. No doubt added by Hancock to speed up the pain recovery. The effect had been nigh instantaneous. Relief flooded the area - though it would be a few days before she would be walking on it with support. She had tugged her foot back gently and rubbed her ankle through the bandage with a sigh, she had thanked him and gently lain it on the floor. Then, her gaze had wandered to his hand, his thin -but toned- arm, his shoulders and neck, and finally his jaw. She hadn't been sure if it was the drugs, but damn she had wanted to kiss him.
"Only a friend?"
Her lips had curved. Yes, it had hardly been the subtlest of enquiries, but she had been tired, maybe impatient, and definitely a little stoned from whatever Hancock had mixed into the Stimpak. The ghoul had hesitated, then reached up to push wet hair from her eyes, and she remembed how he had looked at her, then tucked her hair behind her ear. His finger brushed against her skin, rough and soft just as she remembered it and the sensation left her tingling, like her nerves were on fire.
"God, I miss hair. I used to have such nice hair..." he paused. "yours is lovely."
Despite everything, despite her having being chilled and wet and cold and upset from shock and pain and chems, she'd felt a blush creep up under her face paint and was suddenly a lot more glad for it. She had smiled -no smirk, no pout, just a smile-, and he had smiled back. It seemed to reassure him to see her like this and she could tell he'd been really shaken up. Another thing she had felt guilt over.
The ghoul had got up and brought over the sleeping bags, elevated her ankle with one, then settled in the other, and then he had sat next to her, their shoulders almost touching. He had been quiet for a little while, stared out the open door at the storm that had come in, and then he spoke.
"And yes, Pol, maybe not just friends."
Pol, had felt more cocky than usual and she had looked at Hancock with a sly smile. He had gone to push the stray strand from her other ear, leant over her to do so, and she had caught his hand in the process. The Sole Survivor ran a thumb over his knuckle - his fingers curled a little in response and then, she looked at him, turning her head fully to face him.
"How much more than a friend we talking?" she whispered, her voice husky from fatigue and cold and perhaps a little flirtation. The smirk still painted on like the rest of her mask.
A pause from Hancock.
"Well I have been having these impure thoughts..." he never had been one to miss an opportunity to crack wise, that one, but she hadn't minded, though her blush had crept back with a vengeance. He had licked his lips, pulled out a cigarette and lit it up with a deft snap of the lighter, inhaled and exhaled slowly. Pol focused on the action as though mesmerised.
"Maybe we'll get to act on them" and then he laughed his laugh, as though to pretend this was all a joke, that she hadn't wanted to kiss him right then, as if he hadn't feel the same. The laugh that made her shiver. Hancock smiled at her, his eyes lingered a little too long before he pulled his hand back. She had leaned into him and mumbled as she fell asleep.
Pol had slept for a few days, a deep dreamless sleep free of bad thoughts and nightmares, she suspected aided by chems. By the point that she was fully awake the storm had passed and whilst she had been groggy, she had wanted to carry some stuff to move downwind, maybe camp away from shore and the prospect of more storms. Pol handed Hancock back his coat, with a thankful smile. Then, the wounded survivor tested her ankle and found she was able to stand on it alright, so pinned the rest of her harness up her thigh with some Bobby pins so it wouldn't get in the way, and they set off. She carryied consumables, he his shotgun, together they made a right pair.
They walked the road back toward the east and Covenant, towards their overall destination of the highway that lead to Red Rocket. It had been a long trek home via stores and traders to scrap items and buy others, to repair home; their overarching goal in all this was to provide settlements with basics they could build on and sustain themselves with, whilst they travelled between them.
The day was nice enough with a gentle breeze, no rain or rads, though it was overcast. The terrain here was mostly flat, few trees, the overhead highway constantly loomed. it was pleasant though, all the more pleasant for having had a good few days sleeping. Hancock moved up ahead, spurned on by noises, several times, and Pol found herself several times stopping to watch his hips sway. There was unspoken tension in the air, Pol knew.
After a few hours of walking in near silence, Pol had finally got the courage together.
"Hancock?"
"Whaddaya need?"
"We need to talk..."
She paused in her walk and looked at him, standing in the middle of the road, arms folded and he had turned, looked concerned.
"Yeah, Pol?"
"I... listen. I like you, Hancock."
She had paused and dropped her gaze, fiddled with her fingers and stared at the ferns that grew out of the pavement. He laughed once.
"Was that all Pol? I like you too sister".
"N-no, Hancock. I mean". She had, at this point, thought about leaving it at that, but had instead taken a deep breath and continued. "I think I'm falling for you".
He looked taken a back for a second and said nothing. When he did speak, it had been a joke, or an attempt at one.
"Shit Pol did I give you too much Med-X? You still high?"
The woman had looked up at him, all semblance of the cocky flirt gone from her gaze. There had been no shrewd smile or telling pout just slightly nervous eyes and a blush that spread up her neck.
"And I think, maybe I mean, that you like me too."
"You're really not pissing around here are you?"
The ghoul holstered his weapon and stepped closer to her, so that he could look into her eyes. She had averted his gaze, looked down, till he tipped her chin to look at her full on, his eyes had bored into her as though he searched for the sign that said this was a joke. "Shit, was I that obvious? " there was a pause and awry grin, and the tension in the situation dissipated as she let out a snort. He hadn't finished however, and, true to form, had been thinking of her. "But, you don't want to be waking up to this every morning." As he said it, Pol remembered with a pang of guilt, he had sounded almost sad, and she knew he had caught onto her trepidation from those first few days. Shit.
Pol rolled her eyes, placed a hand on her hip, and looked at him.
"I think I do. I'm being serious. I don't care that you're a ghoul. you're a good man, Hancock." She could tell he was taken aback by that, but the grin returned to his face and he smiled, a genuine smile. "What did I do to deserve you, Pol? Shit, karma must have overlooked me." The small woman had smiled in return, then grabbed his hand and pulled him close by his arm, so that she had pressed her chest to his, on tiptoe she had lookedup at him, a finger on his chest.
"You are a good man, stop beating yourself up." she had said with a kiss to his cheek, swift and clumsy and then went on ahead, still with a limp but but feeling substantially less sorry for herself.
"OK, love, lets get this freak show on the road" he had replied, after some few seconds. Pols heart was going a mile a minute, and her blush was back, and she hoped she wasn't coming across too giddy schoolgirl here. She absent mindedly brushed hair behind her ear, and eventually slowed, so Hancock slowed too and walked with her. They talked and it was evident he'd missed company, and she had been all too happy to oblige. They had spoken about their old spouses, their old lives, what they were going to do at Red Rocket and so on.
That night at camp, they ate roast radstag and Hancock pulled his bag over so he was closer to Pol, she lay on her side and he wrapped one arm around her, pulling her in a little closer so he could kiss the back of her head. Payback for earlier, he said. She had smiled, her hand held his, and they slept.
Most of the journey home was like that, although it took them longer than expected; they'd gotten distracted by every ruin, got stuck in a science lab, got caught in several storms, found a new settlement to aid and all the while they talked, flirted, went to sleep together most nights. Nothing more than a few kisses, a few hugs, a lot of flirting. She had been ok with that.
There were a few stand out incidents. At an old abandoned farm they found the place had running water, pumped up from the ground, and Pol had a bath. Her first in weeks. It was only cold and the water only came to her calf, but it had been better than nothing and to her, it was heaven. Hancock had been outside exploring and came upstairs, not expecting to find her in the bath - he opened the door and she screamed from shock before realizing who it was, she had held up a bowl to hide herself. Hancock had just smirked.
"Nice, love, looking good."
She had blushed and made shifting movements with her hands.
Hancock raised his own, a gesture of defeat and a grin on his face.
"OK,OK, I'm going. you mind dropping that bowl first though? I'm missing out he- alright I'm going!"
she had sworn at him.
To date, no man had seen her naked except for Nate. she wasn't sure if she was ready for that yet, though she knew he'd meant no harm from it. When she had finally climbed out, she'd gotten dressed for a supper of squirrel stew and a mocking from Hancock. Looking at the mirror as she did so, she had paused, before rubbing the warpaint under her eyes. This was, after all, who she had become. This was who she was, there was no change to that now. Downstairs had been filled with the scent of stew and cigarettes. Hancock had been sitting at a ruined table.
"Come on you're holding out from me here! I always knew you were a looker, but I had no idea you were that good looking!" he grinned at her, an obvious joke, and she smiled back.
"Could say the same about you, Hancock" she'd replied
That night he held her especially tight, and had kissed the back of her neck, as she had gotten used to.
There had been more causal flirting, a few kisses, but nothing more. She was nervous and he didn't want to press her, so they took it slow. And now, they were back at Red Rocket - it was a long detour, and then a few weeks fixing up Red Rocket with new shacks and fences, and a whole brand new power room. It had required several trips to Trudy to replace the basics.
More importantly, Pol had built them a shack of their own. Two floors, two beds, sofa, TV, safe. built out of scrap wood and cloth, with a view looking out over Concord. Nothing special but a place for them to come to if they needed it, and she felt proud to have built it.
That shack was where she lay now, panting and sweating after another nightmare, sheets bundled up around her in knots, hair messed up. Hancock lay fast asleep next to her, completely dead to the world. Pol felt around in his pockets for a pack of cigs, and took one, softly padding away from the bed to the window, where she could light it and smoke. She didn't smoke often, but she was a stress-smoker, and tonight she was very stressed. The dream was not one she wanted to remember. It was the dead of night, her head throbbed, her scars ached, her heart hurt. she tried her best to shove the thoughts of the dream from her head, exhaling smoke in one smooth motion. She stared out at the night sky, the distant horizon, planning their next move, if only to occupy her head with thoughts that weren't about Nate's scream.
She felt him before she saw him, a hand in the small of her back, rubbing her comfortingly. Normally she would have protested, him seeing her in nothing but panties and a shirt, but she didn't care tonight. Didn't even turn to greet him.
Just let his voice wash over her.
"Whats wrong love? Dreams again?"
Of course he knew about them, she'd told him, only so he would stop worrying about her tossing and turning in the night. He had kept threatening to get her checked into a doctors for rad poisoning, thinking her fever and pallid complexion to be the beginnings of a toxic dosage, so she had been forced to. And it had worked to a point, except that he now knew when she was having them and worried either way. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help, far from it, but she didn't want to show Hancock her weak side, the bit of her that was still Polly.
She nodded in response, wiping tears from her eyes with the butt of her palm and exhaling another smoke cloud. Hancock moved a little closer to her, kissing the top of her head, taking the cigarette from her fingers to have a drag himself, and then passed it back and stood there, staring out with her. She still remained silent, finishing up her cigarette and flicking it aside in one motion, then she turned to him.
"I just, I feel guilty... like I'm betrayi-"
Hancock shushed her. She pressed her head to his chest, closed her eyes, focused on his voice and the warmth of his skin – he was surprisingly warm, and she swore she heard the dull thud of a heartbeat, but she had no idea if ghouls even had heartbeats. He spoke, his voice soothing, steady, and sexy all in one.
"You're not a terrible person, far from it love. I've never met anyone like you, who gave as much of a damn as you. Look at what you've done out here! Ways I see it, moving on is bound to happen eventually, it's just a case of who. And it's me".
She stopped in the middle of a tearful inhale and nodded instead, feeling safe in his arms. The moon shone bright tonight, another clear night, and in the distance trees swayed, lights flickered in far of settlements, she could just about see the Vertibird in the rooftop and the Drumlin Diner from this way-point, up on top of Red Rocket where she'd built their shack. He smiled, that kind reassuring smile. The urge to kiss him returned, but she wanted more than kisses tonight, she wanted him.
Without thinking, she pulled him down by the lapel into a soft, full kiss. The one thing she'd never done - it had been hand, face, neck, only up till this point - her rules, not his, but he politely obliged her, and had been patient. For all his flirting he was a patient guy. She'd wanted to, oh god had she wanted to, but hadn't been sure of how to do it or when the right time was.
And so she kissed a ghoul. He didn't return at first, which sent her heart hammering in fear but then she felt his hand tighten against her waist, pulling her closer and pressing her body to his, as if he didn't want her to pull away. She kissed him, slowly, her hand on the back of his head and his curled into her hair. After a few second, she pulled away and went to apologize but Hancock pulled her back in for another before she could even speak. He kissed her softly, needfully, eagerly, as if he had been waiting for her to try and do that. She didn't even think about it fact he had no lips, just kissed him back as hungrily as he was kissing her. She hadn't even noticed the warmth spreading through her body till it hit her stomach, pooling in her lower body and sending shivers of pleasure thrumming through her body, the beginnings of one-hell of an arousal. She pulled back from Hancock momentarily, to look him in the eye and catch her breath and smile. A nervous one.
"What's wrong love?"
"Its just that I've never done this before, I- I mean i have just not with anyone but Nate..."
Hancock smirked and kissed her again. He still kissed her softly, but deeper too, as though he was testing the waters. She felt a flush creeping up her neck to her face, and the warmth spread, and suddenly it was as though her skin was on fire, and his touch was enough to set it off. It was enough to make her weak at the knees.
"What, kiss?" He grinned, pleased with himself and his terrible joke.
"Oh, you mean the rough and tumble, so that's what you're after, eh?" He paused and brushed her hair from her face, looking down at her, nervous as she was. She nodded. "Don't worry, I have enough experience for the both of us, maybe I can teach you a thing or two."
Pol pulled him in for another kiss and his hand dropped to just the top of her ass, the other pulling her in closer. She kissed him long and deep and found herself getting more wet with each passing moment, and it only just occurred to her how long it had been since she had had sex-. By this point, 5 months, and she hadn't really gotten around to anything else, she hadn't had time or energy. Damn, no wonder she was going crazy. Hancock sure knew how to drive a gal crazy and she wanted him. She moaned a little against his kiss, hoping he'd take the hint without her needing to embarrass herself by spelling it out- luckily for her, he did, grinning against her lips.
Hancock pulled away and lead her back to bed, laying her on the mattress and kissed her again, once, before moving his mouth to her neck. He lay a series of kisses along her, leaving her with raggy breath and a dampness developing in her panties. One of his hands moved to her waist, to support her as he pulled her close, and his other went to work brushing against her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, eliciting a moan from her. A deep blush formed as her eyes snapped open, to the sight of Hancock smirking down at her. He ran his thumb across her nipple again, and she gasped. He captured the noise with his mouth, kissing her softly but eagerly, pressing a finger to her nipple and softly rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Pol moaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut, and Hancock laughed, pulling away, and kissing her ear. Then he whispered, right against her neck, in a way that drove her crazy.
"You're in good hands here love, don't you worry", and as though to prove a point, he brushed her nipple again. Another moan from Pol, a soft, breathy one that heaved her breast and left her panting. His mouth went again to her neck, this time his hand worked under the fabric of her shirt and he gently pressed his hand to her breast, kissing her neck and massaging her slowly, gently.
She sighed and moaned, legs tensing as she became more aroused. It had been so long, she hadn't even really touched herself, and she hadn't realized how turned on she was, how much she needed this. She wasn't even sure Nate had touched her like this. Her face flushed, and she moaned, biting her lip to try and stifle the sound as her partner sucked gently on her neck, then moved on to rubbing her breast. Hancock kissed her deeply once and then licked her ear as he spoke.
"Its a crying shame nobody has treated you right in a long time. You deserve better, beautiful woman like you. You deserve all the special attention in the world, I'm just glad its me that gets to give it. I've got catching up to do."
His words made her so hot, sent her pussy tingling and her chest tight, which seemed to be the desired reaction. She pulled him in for another kiss, pressing her tongue into his mouth. It was his turn to moan, a deep throaty moan that only served to make her wetter. She kept kissing him, needing more, even as she felt his hand slide away from her breast, down her stomach, to her panties where he rubbed her through the cloth and felt how wet she had become.
"Looks like someone really needs this" he smirked, pushing aside the thin fabric to expose her lips. From there he slowly penetrated her with his fingers, slick with her by the first inch. He managed to slide inside her knuckle -deep, and from there, curled his fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she moaned loudly, his name sliding off her tongue with each breathy pant. He took this as a good thing, and gently moved his fingers inside her, pulling out slightly to fuck her with his fingers, egged on by her content sighs. He was watching her reaction as he pulled and pushed his fingers inside of her, fingers so wet that it was no trouble at all. Then she noticed the erection pressing against her thigh and moaned even more. She imagined Hancock moving inside her, hips grinding against her as he fucked her, and that thought sent her over the edge. She came hard, hips bucking against his hand as she panted his name.
"Wow, already? Love you gotta pace this..." he said, smirk betraying his happiness at the result. Still cute, even when she was in the throes of a great orgasm.
She was about to roll over, thanking Hancock, when he interrupted her, hand on her shoulder.
"Oh no, here's a lot of tension we have to work through here. Let me do my thing, love, I promise you'll have a good time."
Pol was tired as it was, and half heartedly began to protest, until she realised just how horny she was, how much she wanted this man in front of her, how much she had missed intimacy and being with someone and falling asleep next to someone she'd slept with. Still, she pursed her lips and was about to say something, before he interrupted her.
"Listen doll, you came after 5 minutes. You need more of that. Let me help."
Pol considered, and then pulled him close for a kiss, deep and passionate, wrapping his lapels around her hand and moaning into it, she leaned into him, into the kiss, savouring the feel of his skin against hers.
When she released him he grinned.
"Yeah that's what I thought " and his hand dropped to her panties again, thumbing her clit and kissing her neck. Then his mouth dropped lower, to her collarbone, and she shifted comfortably, another moan on her lips, she was ready to enjoy herself and let go, she had decided. He trailed kisses down her shoulders, to her chest, to her stomach, before he finally stopped just above the band of her panties. He kept applying small kisses, and rubbing her clit slowly, and she panted and moaned, grinding her hips against his face.
"Hancock please " she panted, voice breathy and full of need. She felt him smile, then he pulled her panties aside and went to work.
He ran his tongue along her pussy in long, agonizingly slow strokes, eventually reaching her clit, where he gently sucked on her, whilst fingering her slowly, teasing her. Pol was moaning more and more, his name a song on her lips, bucking her hips underneath him and grinding against his face. Hancock even groaned a little against her, which felt even better, and he continued eating her out, enjoying her moans. She wasn't a quiet one, and his name was always at the tip of her tongue, always what she sighed out. Then, he slowly licked his way back down to her entrance and ran his tongue along her, slowly, before burying his face in her pussy, moaning against her and sending waves through her body. Fuck, this felt good, and she said as much, whimpering as his tongue worked against her, as he tasted her, as he ate her out. His tongue moved against her, slowly, and she could feel another build up. Hancock wouldn't let go until she had come, his hands grasping her ass and pulling her closer, he pressed his face closer and ran his tongue softly against her, rubbing her clit. It was all too much and she finally came, bucking her hips with a yell, and boy, she came hard. His name, again, came to her lips as quick as you like, which seemed to satisfy him.
Hancock had barely come up before Pol pulled him over, and rolled so that she was on top of him, straddling him, she began to remove her shirt, so he could get a good look at her chest – he cupped her in his hand, and squeezed gently, thumbing her nipple again. She looked down at him, lust lidding her eyes, and purred.
"I had no idea I could feel that good. You enjoying yourself?"
She felt his cock throb underneath her at that, and smiled, a languid smile. The woman put her hand to his face, stroking his skin as she gazed down at him. Hancock gently sucked on one of her fingers, then her breast, causing her to moan once more, before he replied.
"What, love, making a beautiful woman moan my name? What's not to love?" he paused, and then added "besides you really needed that, you got two hundred years of pent up sexual frustration to work through and I'm more than happy to oblige".
Pol paused again, and moved her hips against his slowly, a full body movement, prompting him to gasp, a little whimper.
"Do you want me, Hancock?" she said, voice low and husky as she moved against him once more for good measure. He looked up at her, hand sinking to her waist to steady her. He absent-mindedly moved his hips against her a little, craving that feeling once more.
"Sister, I thought I was doing just fine till tonight, till this, now I know if we don't do something, I'm worried the stress on me will turn me feral." He was, of course, joking, and Pol tutted, moved against him again, and he groaned, a throaty, needful groan.
Pol moved her hand down, working to undo his shirt so that she could splay her fingers across his bare skin. She so missed skin-to-skin contact. His skin felt strangely smooth, a little waxy, but not unpleasant and the survivor decided she liked how it felt; unique and interesting just like him, and she moved her hand down as she started to move her hips slowly against his. She began tracing her fingers slowly down his chest, till they reached his trousers, truth be told she was enjoying being on top, moving her hips slowly against his, watching his reactions to her touch. There she teased the skin just below where his bellybutton would have been, but all that remained was a slight dimple. He was gasping, nails oh so slightly digging in to her skin, as he hungrily kissed her back. He was a much softer lover than she would have thought, but she liked it. And she was determined to make him cum.
Then she dipped a finger below his waist band and slowly, slowly touched his cock, just with the one finger. It felt ridged, more so than a non ghoul one, but more importantly it felt hard, and hot. She undid his trousers, slid them down and worked her hand around his cock in one fluid motion.
He was average human size, which was no complaint of hers, and he felt incredibly hard. She stroked him slowly, languidly, pressing her finger to his tip made him moan, a noise she quite liked hearing, and she did it again. Then, another stroke. She moved a few more times before stopping, making him whimper, as she removed his coat, so that she could look down at him.
God, he was handsome. Thin and sinewy, but muscular in his own way, and his waist, oh god his waist. She'd been staring at him for weeks, especially the sway of his hips. She licked her lips at the sight, more for him than anything, and Hancock moved against her. She gasped once, his name coming to her lips without so much as a prompt, purely to tease him. It worked, and he moved against her again, with a smirk.
Pol moved back in kind, gently touching his cock with her hand whilst grinding against him, then she leaned down and kissed him again, finally moving so that she was not only straddling him, but riding him. At this stage, she was so wet that it didn't matter so she slowly moved herself down onto his cock, the ridges giving an unusual sensation, but not unpleasant, in fact, it felt really good, causing shivers of pleasure at her spine, and another moan escaped her parted lips. Hancock's hands moved to her waist, and he guided her along his cock, helping her ride him. She moaned again, and that prompted him to do it again, nails digging slightly into her skin. After a few more movements, she was sat on him fully, and she lifted herself up and rode him slowly, revelling at the pleasure that shock through her body.
Her ghoul lover watched himself disappear inside her again and again, his breath throaty and slow. Her eyes were closed, face turned up to the ceiling, mouth slightly ajar, and she was moaning as she moved against him. She was a sight to behold, riding him, illuminated only by moonlight, her skin almost glowing from it and her hair glinting that firey red. He bucked his hips against her a little and gasped, and she joined him.
"I'm not going to lie, I need this." She responded, moving herself a little quicker now, her breath coming in quick, stolen pants. "I need you, Hancock." Her breath was coming in quick bursts, her voice low and sultry, but she meant it. Not just the sex, she needed him, all of him. His jokes, his care, heck even the occasional Mentat couldn't hurt. But more than that, she needed his companionship. He smiled at her, and she paused, to lift, and then kiss his hand tenderly, and he stroked her face, running his fingers along the scar gashed into her cheek. He, and she, knew they could have removed it through surgery, but he liked her as she was, scars and all. He didn't need to say it, she could tell by the way he was looking at her, the old sap.
Still, Pol couldn't resist being a tease, and she paused to look down at him. He moved his hips against her eagerly, wanting more of her than she would give.
"You've been a gentleman tonight, and I'd like to repay the favour." Her voice was a low, sultry hum at this point.
"Damn, maybe I'll have to be less of a gentleman next time, see what that gets me, eh?" He grinned up at her, finger absent-mindedly stroking against her soft skin, and she smiled down at him, grinding against his hips, sending another jolt of pleasure through her body. He moved his hips against her slightly, gently, letting her do most of the work – he was clearly enjoying the show. It didn't stop him from putting a hand up to her breast and cupping it, gently, then a little rougher as she rode him a little faster, finding her rhythm and going with it.
It didn't take her long till she was on the edge again, and Hancock watched her with excitement in his eyes.
"Shit, I'm close."
His voice was husky, low – well lower than usual -, and Pol took it as a firm success that she was able to bring him to this point, so she picked up the pace a little more, riding him a little harder and a little faster. She definitely didn't have it in her to cum any longer, but it sure as hell felt good, and her pants, little whimpers and moans mixed with Hancock's increasingly vocal swearing. She paused, and he took that opportunity to pull her in for another hot kiss, she parted her lips and let him kiss her deeply, her hair plastered to her forehead from the sweat – half an hour of straight riding would do that – and she moaned against him more, and then he pulled her close, grinding his hips against her, and thrusting slowly, till he couldn't take it any more. He came with a loud grunt, leaning into Pol as he emptied himself inside her, laying there for a few moments simply staring up at her.
Pol considered herself fully, and adequately satisfied, although after almost half a year without anything, she was sure it would only be a few days before she was ready for more. The nightmares had been thoroughly pushed from her mind, and as she climbed in next to her lover, she kissed his cheek.
"Thank you, Hancock." she whispered. He replied with a gentle, sleepy kiss to her cheek, and a grin.
"I should be thanking you, love" he replied. "You're the best damn gal. I'm glad I'm here."
He paused, and nuzzled her neck, and the two of them drifted off. Outside, the wind picked up, but inside their little shack, Pol finally had a decent night's sleep.