There was something about Hancock that everyone seemed to get. As soon as they stepped into The Third Rail—once they were past the bouncer, Ham, who pleaded with him in soft tones about something involving a 'fucking robot'—everyone seemed to gravitate toward him.

They'd stopped by Hotel Rexford before going to the Rail, and everyone in there had scrambled to him, too. One woman grabbed onto his lapels and muttered something close to his ear, to which he nodded and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Later," he'd said, then whispered something too quiet for Amelia to hear, and Amelia watched as she skittered away looking self-satisfied. Huh.

In the bar, Amelia trailed after Hancock, holding onto his coat so she wouldn't get eaten up by the crowd, but her hand kept slipping. She was so distracted by looking around, marveling at it all. The whole place was full, and everyone was laughing against a soundtrack of crooning love songs. She turned and spotted a woman, dazzling in the spotlight, singing into a microphone, but her crimson image was shrouded by someone tall stepping into Amelia's vision. She looked up to see Hancock staring at her, a drink in each hand. He leaned toward her, one arm gravitating behind her to protect from any jostling of nearby bar patrons.

"Hey, sunshine," he said, pressing a drink into her hand. She took it and stared down into its contents. She hadn't drank for a while; this could get messy. "I see you noticed Magnolia. Goes both ways, if you're interested." She looked back up at him to see that he was smirking.

"I'm mostly interested in sitting down, if that's cool with you." She tried to smile, but the energetic crowd was starting to get to her, especially since it was paired with Hancock being an apparent celebrity.

Hancock nodded, his eyes narrowing into something like understanding. He tipped half of his drink into his mouth and began steering her effortlessly through the crowd. Eventually, they found an empty booth in the corner and she sat. He remained standing, swaying slightly. His dark eyes caught the colorful neon lights decorating the bar and they glittered when he looked at her. "Listen," he said, leaning down against the table. "I gotta go make the rounds, you okay by yourself for a sec?" He barely waited for her to nod before he was off, disappearing into the knot of people. A muffled cheer came from the middle of the room, and she could see his tricorn bobbing around as he greeted everyone.

Pretty soon a Mr. Handy unit, one Amelia had a sneaking suspicion was the 'fucking robot' Ham had mentioned earlier, whirred up to her. "What can I get ya', miss?" She almost got whiplash from the thick Cockney accent that came out of the bot, but recovered long enough to ask, "uh, what do you have?"

Soon, the robot was rattling off enough food combinations to make her head spin, but she settled on a sweet roll, since whatever the hell Mirelurk cakes were, she wanted no part of. He zipped away after a weirdly formal salute with one of his appendages.

She sat back in the booth and permitted herself to relax a little. She'd been stuck in the State House for nearly a week now, sleeping most of her days away. It felt good to exist outside of Hancock's bedroom, though the bed was pretty cozy, for a post-war mattress. She lifted her drink to her lips and took a big, courageous sip, only to have to resist the urge to spit it right back out when the irradiated, ancient whiskey hit her tongue. God, that was horrific.

She returned to her people-watching just in time to see that the Rexford woman was back, at Hancock's hip—wait, no, she was hanging around his neck now. He was snaking one arm around her waist while the other loosely held his now empty drink. She'd been thinking that she was doing some heavy cock-blocking, staying in his bedroom and all, but he seemed to have it handled anyway. Maybe they didn't need the bed, after all. More power to him, Amelia thought.

"Hey, stranger." A familiar voice drew her attention, and she turned to see Nick Valentine standing beside the booth, looking as broody-noir as ever. He had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, both of which didn't make any sense to her, but she was happy to see him. She scooted to the left and patted the seat beside her, smiling.

"Nice to see a friendly face," she said. She held up her bandaged arm and smiled sheepishly at him. "Sorry for, uh, disappearing. Got into a scuffle on my way here."

Nick sat and waved her away. "We disappear, we find each other. It's what you and I do," he said solemnly, his golden eyes bright as he looked at her. She felt warm at this, almost said something to agree, but he was off again, changing the subject. "I see you've gotten acquainted with the mayor of this fine city." He nodded toward Hancock, who was now openly swapping spit with Rexford, both of them balancing on a single bar stool. Okay, so he's a prude about me putting pants on in front of him, but not about this?

Amelia had no desire to drink any of the alcohol she'd been given, but her throat was so dry. "Uh huh," she said thickly, before succumbing and taking a gulp of whiskey. Nick's eyebrow twitched slightly, though his smile remained. "He's a weird… fella." She should just stop talking and be done with it. This was embarrassing, her lack of skills with small talk.

"That's an understatement. Should've seen him before he was a ghoul," Nick chuckled, shaking his head. He took a sip of his own drink but looked reluctant doing so. Amelia's suspicion rang true when he grimaced and set the glass down harder than he'd probably intended. "I forgot how bad the alcohol was here," he muttered, staring now into his glass instead of her, looking mildly betrayed.

"You knew him before he was a ghoul?" Amelia asked.

Nick leaned forward to rest his elbows against the table, and they made a clanking sound upon contact. Constantly, even now, she was convinced that he was human, and then something small like that would appear and remind her that he was not. It was a very strange experience every time. She reached out to hold her glass of whiskey, just to have something to do with her hands, and leaned closer to Nick so she could hear him better.

Amelia hadn't seen him so casual before, tie undone and hat off. Granted, she'd only known him for less than a month, but he seemed like someone who was married to the law (and hence, order and professionalism), even when the law hadn't existed for a couple centuries. "Oh, yeah. Him and his brother were relentless hellions. Mostly John was, though." He laughed quietly, turning his eyes back toward her. "Used to be that I'd come out to the marketplace for some late night noodles and John was hanging from the rafters of Takahashi's tent, screaming like a banshee. Once he was nineteen, it was mostly a whole lot of hitting on various women. If you think these public displays of affection are rough," he said, indicating the nearby tangled up embrace of Hancock and Rexford, "you haven't seen nothing." Amelia laughed, imagining Hancock now, wreaking havoc throughout Diamond City in his big red coat and pirate hat.

"You know, even barely knowing him, I believe you," she said, smiling. Nick's face rested into something more relaxed and he sat back in the booth. They sat there in silence for a moment, Amelia nursing the drink she had no intention of finishing.

"It's nice to see him in charge, to be honest," Nick said fondly. "His brother turned out to be a real prick."

Before Amelia could ask anything else, the robot from earlier came back to the table and inelegantly dropped a sweet roll in front of her. "Sorry, love, bit busy tonight," he said shortly, before turning away from her. "Alright, Valentine?" She stared down at the expired pastry, not really knowing whether she wanted to take a bite out of it or throw it clear across the room and see if she could knock anyone out with it. Soon, the two robots were chatting beside her, and Amelia was losing interest. She was beginning to wonder how she'd even gotten there when Hancock approached the table out of seemingly nowhere, as if on cue. Rexford was nowhere in sight.

"Had a detour," he said, sitting down beside her. With Nick on her other side, there was hardly any room for him, so he sat perched on the edge looking mildly uncomfortable. "Wanna hit the road again?"

Amelia was vaguely aware that he was staring at her, a drunk, crooked smile on his face. He hadn't seemed to notice that it was Nick on her other side. For a moment, she thought about shrugging, saying, no, I'm alright here. You get back to your girl. After all, she didn't want to take up all of his time. She was already living in his bedroom, eating up resources. All she had was a wounded arm that had already been treated. If anything, she should have been on her way already. She should have been finding Shaun.

What came out of her mouth instead was, "absolutely." Because she didn't want it to be true that now, with Nora gone, Shaun was entirely hers to find.


Amelia seemed distant to him as they walked to The Memory Den, so Hancock reached into his jacket and brought out a bottle of whiskey, presenting it to her instead of going through any motions of finding out what was bothering her. He was far too tipsy for that.

She glanced up at him, questioning eyes shining red and blue in the neon lights around them. "Is that Jameson?" she asked, looking down at the ripped label. "Please tell me it doesn't taste like garbage."

"Well, I sure hope it doesn't, because you're tense, I can tell. You need it." Hancock chuckled and handed the whiskey over. She took it from his hands and looked hesitantly up at him, as if expecting permission to open it. "Dig in. I got a whole case of the stuff in the State House basement. Found it a couple weeks back."

They continued on their way through the street at a leisurely pace. Amelia unscrewed the bottle and took a brave swig. "Oh, wow," she mumbled, before taking another enthusiastic drink. Hancock watched her out of the corner of his eye, resisting the urge to laugh. A couple of people wandered over to them as they strolled, but for the most part it was quiet. The soft buzzing of neon paired with the chilly breeze in the air made him feel strangely at peace.

"So," Amelia said eventually, holding the bottle loosely in her hand and swinging it by her side as they walked. He chanced a glance down and saw that she'd already gone through almost a third of the bottle. "How'd a fancy ghoul like you come to be mayor of this town, anyway? You kill someone?" She turned to look up at him, and her eyes lit up like they had when she'd looked at him through candlelight earlier in the night. There were those Nuka-Cola eyes again. His heart did something funny in his chest and if he'd been sober, he would've laughed nervously and avoided the question completely, maybe even suggested they end the tour there and go their separate ways for the night.

"Yeah, I did," he said instead, turning to face her. She stopped walking, and they looked at each other in the street. Her smile was faint and woozy.

"For real?" she whispered.

"For real," he said. His voice had fallen into something quieter, secretive. He took a couple small steps backward, just enough to breach the darkness of a nearby alleyway, and she followed. "Name was Vic. Real asshole. I, uh…" he turned to point up toward his balcony. "… strung him up, threw him off'a there." He turned back to face her again, and she was staring up at the balcony in a sort of dumbstruck wonder, but she didn't look scared. Her eyes slid back over to him.

"Impressive," she commented, nodding slowly. "What'd he do?"

He sighed, looking away from her. He hadn't expected to go into this with her. Ever. "He ran this town like a tyrant. Kicked people's asses. I hung around with some drifters, so we didn't have houses we could hide away in. We saw it all firsthand. We all did nothing." He found himself reaching out toward her and she handed him the bottle of whiskey automatically. He tipped it into his mouth, passed it back. "I, uh… well, I blacked out after one such incident. Woke up in front of these sweet duds." He gestured down to his outfit. Amelia leaned back against the wall behind her, looking up at him with a small smile. "So, I put 'em on, got a crew together, started training. The night of, we waited for 'em to get good and wasted, and then we burst out of the windows and rooftops where we'd been hiding. Loaded bullets in every single guy on Vic's team, then we found Vic and… well." He shrugged.

"So, you threw him off the balcony," Amelia said, and it wasn't a question. She said it as if she understood.

"That I did, sister. And there I am, above his body, gun in hand and draped in these fine clothes, with all of Goodneighbor staring up at me." Something swelled up in him then. He felt pride, for the first time in a while. "I had to say something. That first time I said 'em, they didn't even feel like my words: "Of the people, for the people!" My inaugural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor, that day." He grinned down at her.

"Wow." For a moment, she looked stunned. "That's… admirable." She stared up at him. "Sounds like something out of one of my school textbooks, honestly."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Oh, I definitely believe you. Must have been a total dickhead to piss you off enough to do all that," she said with a confident grin.

"What makes you think I'm not easy to piss off?" Hancock asked, suddenly defensive. His mouth was still twisted into a smile, though, and she laughed. It had that same wild quality to it that it'd had before.

"You're a total softie." She took another swig of her whiskey and swallowed unflinchingly. "You know, outside of this whole anarchy and uproar you led to take leadership."

He raised his eyebrows, allowing himself to lean closer to her, and she stared up at him, any pretense of bashfulness or hesitancy gone. "Can't even handle a girl changing in front of him, though," she continued teasingly, turning her face away to hit the bottle again. "Softie."

He scoffed, but it was mostly to cover up the heat he felt in his face, his darting eyes. He realized dimly that he had one hand up on the wall behind her, was close enough to smell her hair. He felt out of his body for a moment. "What, no witty retort? Thought I'd figured you out," she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Guess I was wrong." The soft slur in her voice was apparent to him. She was drunk now, and he felt guilty, because he realized he wanted to kiss her. The feeling was surging through him like adrenaline, like a Psycho plunged straight into the neck.

It was usually so easy for him, flirting with someone, making moves on them. It was second nature. Especially when he was as drunk as this. Hell, he'd knocked over every glass on the bar earlier because he was making out with some broad in the middle of a busy night, and he hadn't cared. But now, staring down at this vault-dwelling smoothskin, this… girl who defied his expectations so quickly, asked him about books, listened to his long-winded stories and called him things like admirable. He didn't know how to navigate it. He felt he didn't really have a right to.

"Were you a ghoul?" she asked softly. "When you took over?"

Hancock's distant smile faded, and he looked away from her, at the brick behind her. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I took a drug. I knew what it was going to do, what I was going to turn into, but I…" he shook his head. "I just couldn't stand looking at the bastard I saw in the mirror anymore. The coward who'd let the ghouls from Diamond City die when Mayor McDonough kicked them out. Who was too scared to protect his fellow drifters from Vic and his boys." He met her eye again, and she looked immeasurably sad. "I'd be free. Didn't seem like there was any other choice. Now I'm… this." He leaned more heavily against his outstretched arm. "Gotta admit, has some perks aside from the whole tenderized-meat appearance." He tried to chuckle, but it came out more like a sigh.

Without his expecting it, Amelia reached up and lightly touched the side of his face. He stiffened. "You're not a child's nightmare, you're not Boo Radley," she said softly, her lips softening into a smile. Her eyes were twinkling, but they still looked sorrowful. "You did what you believed was right, and I respect that." This surprised him, but he didn't say anything, so she kept talking. "Ever since I've gotten here, ever since you saw me…" Her brows knitted together, and she looked away from him. "I could tell, even before you told me all this." She said it simply, as if he should know what she was talking about, but in a sense, he did. He just had no idea how she had found it out in such a short time, noticed it in his eyes. The wonder and confusion. The insecurity tucked away beneath his clothes.

He swallowed, and it prompted her to look back up at him. She almost looked like she was going to do whatever it was he was scared to do himself. "You don't seem real, Amelia," he said, finally finding his voice. It sounded rough, strained, but the fit of her name for the first time on his lips felt far better than 'smoothskin' had. "Not many people come walking into Goodneighbor looking the way you do."

Amelia laughed. Her thumb was running idly along the grooves of his cheek. Normally, he would have hated even the idea of someone touching him like this. Everything felt so fuzzy, though, and different. He wanted to reach out and touch her braid, see if it was as soft as it looked, but he stopped himself. She was delusional, lonely from all her time in a freezer, and now wandering around the Commonwealth for a month. This was a weird, drunken act of pity. It must have been.

"Not many people vomit all over the mayor, either," she whispered, winking at him. It was the third time she'd mentioned it now, and the third time it had sounded charming anyway. It shouldn't have sounded as alluring as it had then, but with the both of them pleasantly drunk and standing way too close together in the shadowy alleyway, hell, anything she said would have sounded charming. "Or hog his bedroom for a week because of a petty injury."

They stared at each other for a long time before Hancock finally reached out a hand to touch her braid, hesitant. It was like silk to his ruined skin. He almost threw his bullshit inhibitions out the window, almost bent to kiss her it was so consuming, when someone's shadow darkened the entrance of the alley. "Hancock?" Jesus, it was Jade. Hadn't she gotten enough from him earlier? He dropped his hand from Amelia's hair, and she dropped her hand from his face, but didn't tilt his body away from her. Everything in him fought against the very idea.

"Busy," he called to her, and the girl rolled her eyes, but walked away and out of sight again. He turned back to Amelia, but she was moving out from under his arm already, pushing hair out of her face.

"I think I've gotten ahead of myself with the whiskey here," she said quietly. She was avoiding his eye suddenly. "I should… I should get to bed, probably." She looked back up at him, smiling apologetically. "Sorry for psychoanalyzing you."

Hancock just nodded numbly, watching her face. A spell had been broken. An illusion, a dream. "It's fine. Not enough people do it." He pulled his arm away from the wall, tried a grin, but she was looking away again, toward the entrance of the alley. "Do you want me to walk you back?" he asked.

Amelia shook her head, pressing the half-empty bottle of Jameson into his arms. "Oh, no, I'm okay, don't worry about me," she said. He cradled the whiskey, staring at her. She touched the collar of his coat briefly and smiled, but her hand was falling away before he could reach out to catch it, and she was turning, walking away from him.

He watched her go until she was out of sight. Then, he sank down and leaned his head back against the wall. He stayed there until daybreak, and when he finally came to enough to stand up, feeling hazy and wrong, the whiskey bottle was empty.


A/N: Okay, fine, so I'm not exactly being all slow-burn graceful like some of my HancockxSole shipping compatriots, but don't worry, it's gonna take a while before an actual kiss. There will be angst and conflict, I promise. I'll show some restraint from here on out lmao