A/N: Pleased to say, this chapter is a good bit longer then the last one. Almost twice the length! Again, let me know if you see spelling and grammar errors, or just any general suggestions or ideas. I hope you enjoy!


Hangovers. How had she forgotten how bad hangovers were? Fay squinted at her cracked reflection through the dim morning light. Her black hair was frizzed and curled, braid long fallen out, face lovingly adorned with dark circles around her eyes and the foulest breath she could imagine. She could only wonder what kind of chem is just a normal painkiller for headaches. This one was beating at her temples like a jackhammer. Or perhaps the hair of the dog would be the best solution…

Time to tame the beast. She took a bottle or two of purified water and dumped it into an old stained bowl, then stared at it in preparation. Best to just get it over with quickly. With a deep breath, she dunked her head in the water and scrubbed at her hair vigorously. The liquid felt cool compared to the feverish warmth of head and it helped. If only a little.

Though the moment was interrupted much too soon for her taste. The door to her molded hotel room rattled in its frame as someone pounded on it. Fay lifted her head from the bowl and glared at it. "Go away! Can't you tell I'm dying in here? Let me do it in peace!" she yelled and dunked her head back in. More pounding followed of course.

"Vault girl! The boss wants to see you. Something about a deal and a job." A woman's voice. Fay groaned and rested her forehead on the blessedly also cool bowl rim. Hancock. Of course it had to do with him. She threw her sodden waist long hair over her shoulder and threw the door open. With no glasses on, she could kind of make out a tall red head. Must have been that woman with him yesterday. Said woman took a step back at the sight of her and laughed a bit. "I'll just tell him you'll be an hour."

"Make it two," she growled and blew a wet strand of bangs from her nose. "And tell him that next time, he better come himself if he's going to bother me this early in the morning after we've drank ourselves sick. I want him to be just as miserable as I am."

"Will do, Vault girl."

"It's Fay. Please. I have a name."

"Fay then. Later."

She watched the woman walk away and pursed her mouth in thought. She didn't even know her name. Introductions will have to happen later. Now, she needed to fight this mop into place. Fay went to work drying, combing, brushing in a few drops of her vanilla oil, and putting everything back into a loose thick braid again. A quick drink of whiskey later, she felt half alive. Outfitted in her leather pants and white beater, she felt ready to face the smooth red devil.


"You're lookin' good for a dead girl, sister."

"And you look...dead for a living man."

Hancock held a hand over his heart and hissed. "I'm wounded! And I thought we'd connected on an intimate level last night." The small woman clenched her jaw and pushed her glasses up a mite higher on her nose. Obviously she didn't like him mentioning that. "Okay okay. I get the message. No touchy, no hitting on the lovely depth dweller come light."

He pushed himself up from the couch. Time for business. The main candidate for his little recon mission had flaked out, to say the least. Fahrenheit had found the ghoul's body, two shots to the head and caps gone just outside the town. That left this little thing to do it for him. He'd heard some rumors, mostly just this wispy babe knocking out a super mutant in one hit. There was no way he'd believe that shit. But she must have some fight if she could make it all the way here in one piece.

"So? What is this job you want me to do?" Her demand caught his attention again and he let his eyes drift from her little feet, along those fine legs, and curves the rest of the way up. Mmm, he'd have to try again later with her. No way that one was getting away. "Eyes on my face, no nose," she growled and snapped her fingers.

"Peace, four eyes. Here's the deal. I've been hearing shifty talks about this Pickman Gallery. Normally it's crawling with raiders but it's dead silent now. Gives me the creeps. Be a doll and check it out."

"That's it? It's quiet so it must be dangerous? What is with this world?"

"Silence is the worst thing. It means either two things. Someone's schemin' or something killed every poor sod in that area and whatever did it is probably still out there. Now, make sure you actually find out what it is. Don't just pass by and think that's good enough. Good reports means more caps." He tossed a sack of caps on the coffee table and watched her lick her lips as she locked onto them. This one would be the death of him.

"What's with the caps? I thought this was just payment for the info," she asked, flicking her eyes back to him."

"I take care of my people. Specially the ones that do a good job. As much as I hate to admit it, your story got to me though. A baby, lost out in this shit hole? Hell no. I'd take the sucker out that snatched him myself if I had the chance, but that's solely your reward to reap, doll. Now any juicy bits I find, I'll pass on free of charge." Then it dawned on him. Where was the dame that had came into town with her? "Where's your friend?"

Emotions flickered across her face, worry staying the longest, till she went serious again. "I don't know. She never came to the hotel last night. But things haven't been...the greatest. I'm guessing she just got chemed out of her mind and wandered out. I don't need her help regardless." Hancock clicked his tongue in thought. There was no way he'd feel good about sending her in there alone.

"Well shit. How about this then." He got up and gathered up more caps into another bag. "I don't want you goin' there without some back up. That area is bad, real bad." A few scribbles on a sheet of ancient looking paper. He'd get McCready on it. The bastard owed him anyhow. With the note shoved in the bag, the ghoul walked up and held the bag out to her. "There's a guy in the bar you can talk to. His name's McCready, mercenary type. Just give this to him and he'll help you out."

Fay watched the bag like it was full of little rad scorpions, not even trying to take it from him. "Thanks, but I don't need any help. If I can clear out the Battle Zone on my own, I think I can handle a few more raiders."

His mouth went dry and he took a step back. "Say what?" She took out all the raiders in that fucking place on her own?! He didn't know if that was scary or sexy. Maybe both. Hot damn. "You've got to be shitting me. There's no way a dame like you could do all that."

"You don't have to believe me. I don't care. Just know I'll get the job done and done well. Is there anything else you can tell me about this place before I leave?"

"Nah." His fingers caught her chin and lifted her head up, inspecting her a bit closer. Through the thick glasses on her face, she had some nice eyes that he hadn't noticed before. Green, like a nice whiskey bottle. He'd always thought that color was just a rad mutation. But she was prewar. After a few moments, her face started to get a bit pink. "I'm serious about being careful in there," he murmured. "I feel like you and me can do some good work around this place. Come back in one piece. We can talk more."

Her mouth puckered up a bit in a pout. He could see her wavering on her decision. "We'll see, Mr. Hancock," she said softly and smiled a bit. "Now, if you would let go of my face, I can get on my way."

He hummed in thought and leaned in closer. "I never got a tip for my tour last night, ya know. How about a little something, doll. Nothing a married gal can't give a friend."

A moment of sadness flickered in her eyes then she closed them with a soft laugh. The sound sent his gut into a twist. "Was married, remember? Sure. Why not." In one move, she grabbed a fist full of his coat, stood on her toes, and seal her lips on his. Her lips were soft and he caught some sugary scent that drifted from her. The twist turned to a flip as he let out a groan and reached out a hand to tangle in that mane of hair she had. Her own grabbed his wrist before he could touch a thing, her grip so strong he could swear he heard his bones grind together. She pulled back just a bit, breath fanning warm over his mouth as she panted. "I didn't say you could touch." He licked his lips and got something indescribably sweet left from her lips. Aw fuck, who was this woman?

"I'm gonna have to take you on a lot more tours if you always tip like that, Vault girl. I'll be all hot and bothered for daaaays now." She shoved him away with a scoff and he rocked back on his heels, a huge grin on his face.

"You'll survive, no nose. Don't stay up waiting for me." And with that, he watched all five feet of her sashay out leaving him with too many thoughts and the need for a good fuck.


She shouldn't have done that. Fay cursed herself for the tenth time as she rounded another corner, close to the Pickman Gallery. It was too late now. Another hiss escaped through her teeth and she tightened her grip on the device around her fist. The damn man was just too fucking smooth, suave almost. Instead of knocking him on his ass, all she'd done is gave him an ego boost. She didn't need him having more swagger to try and talk circles around her.

The sound of voices echoed around to her and she froze. Raiders. Quickly crouching, she peaked around the corner and saw a few huddled together in front of the door she needed in.

"Don't worry. That fucker is going to pay. We'll paint the walls with his brains and see how he fucking likes it. Piece of art my ass!" one of them grumbled louder and louder as he went. The others joined in with their agreements and growls. Good, they were distracted. She hooked her power fist back onto her belt and pulled out a set of brass knuckles decorated in carefully welded support screws and carpenter nails. This would be easy.

With practiced ease, she slipped up behind the closest one, grabbed his head just so and snapped his neck with a quick twist. The others stood there for a second or so before realizing what happened with a roar. Of course they went straight for their guns. Her fist connected with a chin, bolts and screws sending blood flying, and another to the temple and eye. She turned quickly and kicked the gun out of the hands of the last one, another kick to the groin, and jammed both sets of metal knuckles into his throat. They were jerked down and another kick sent him down, gurgling as blood poured from the gaping hole where his adam's apple used to be.

Fay shook the blood and bits of flesh from her hands with disdain. She still wasn't used to taking a life. Yes, she had done women's boxing and self defense. Being a lawyer had meant lots of unhappy creeps would try to hurt her. It was supposed to give Nate some of peace of mind. Looks like it paid off a lot more then she had thought. The first time she'd killed a person still gave her nightmares. The raider in the cacophony of steel cages that ran screaming at her with a pool cue. She'd shot him right in the face, multiple times. The blood had been just everywhere… She shook the thoughts away and took her power fist back out. No point in dwelling on that.

The door was open a crack and she put her face up to it to peek through. The smell, that god awful smell hit her like a tank and she jerked back, gagging. Oh dear lord, what was in there?! Her stomach revolted and she lost everything onto the ground. More convulsions hit her and she dry heaved a bit more until it became a bit more bearable. Nothing had ever smelled this bad before. She wiped her mouth and steeled herself. This wasn't going to be fun.

It took her hours to clear the building out. Soon she was covered in blood and standing in front of the one labeled painting. They weren't bad, artistically, she could admit that much. But the process to make them, it sent shivers down her spin and more twists to her stomach. He had been killing raiders, yes, but no human deserved to be tortured, drain, and used like this. But this one painting had caught her attention as it swayed in it's spot. Unlike all the other paintings, this one wasn't fixed completely to the wall. She removed it with gentle hands and set it on the ground, examining the safe behind it. It wasn't an overly complicated one at least.

The lock was picked quickly and it swung open on well oiled hinges. Inside was a knife, caps, and a note. Her curiosity peaked as the paper was just a thank you note. The caps were pocketed but the knife, that she pulled that out carefully. It was a nice one, perfectly sharp and glistened with oil in the dim light. Just one prick to her finger tip brought a large drop of blood. Then it hit her. It was his, whoever had done this. The killing, the evisceration, skinning, everything, had been done with this knife. Again her stomach lurched but she held it down and clenched the handle of the knife harder. She would keep it. And once she found the disgusting man that had this, she would use it to kill him herself. He could watch his own blood drain out, just has he had to all those people he'd killed. She slid the blade into the straps of her boot for safe keeping.

She scoured the building to look for anything that would lead to him. Obviously he wasn't here if she had taken care of every person she could find so far. Then she spotted a huge hole in the wall, a lantern behind the metal pipes casting out shadows. Why would there be a lantern back there? Thankfully the pipes were just far enough apart for her to squeeze through and yank her pack after her. Once inside the wall, she followed the collapsed floors farther down until she was in some sort of underground work tunnel. The voices of more angry raiders echoed down to her. They were after Pickman like blood hounds. Perfect. All she needed to do was follow them and let them lead her right to the man.

The tunnels were not in good condition, being filled with trash, small lakes of irradiated water, and cave ins every turn. Fay balanced carefully on a large metal pipe spanning the dangerous water below and glared at the raider in front of her. The bastard charged at her with a roar and she ducked, catching her shoulder in his gut and shoved him over her back. A punch of her power fist into his knee as he flipped did the job and he smacked his head against the pipe as he fell into the water below, sinking fast with a mangled leg to swim with. More voices caught her attention and drew her to a ledge looking into another lantern lit room, a few raiders surrounding a man in a dirty suit.

"Finally got you, you piece of shit. You're gonna pay for what you did!" Shit, they were going to kill him. Without thinking, she pulled out the only pistol she carried on her and shot one of the raiders. It caught their attention enough to where they turned around. "She's with him. Get her!" They swarmed from all sides and she slide down the ledge, right into the middle. She spun with ease and kicked a weapon or two to the ground, grabbed an arm and flipped another over her shoulder to bowl over two others. It was almost too easy. None of this idiots had any idea of even the most basic self defense moves. Once they were down, she shot each in the head. No one needed more raiders in this world.

"My my. Thank you for the assistance." Her head jerked up to the suited man and she clenched her jaw. This was the one who had cause this. Tortured and killed so many for his so called art.

"Are you Pickman?" she asked, stepping up to him and holstering her pistol.

"I am. Are you a fan of my work? It took me weeks to arrange it just the right away," he purred and laced his fingers in pleasure.

"I suppose you could say that. Why were those raiders after you?"

"They didn't take well to me to using their friends for paint. Blood makes the best medium." She hummed and clenched her jaw more to keep from snarling. "Allow me to show my appreciation." He held out a key to her and she took it. "It's for a safe upstairs. I keep it behind-"

"I already found it," she said, cutting him off and pulling the knife out. "It's a very nice blade." She ran the edge carefully over her finger and let the blood drip down. Pickman's eyes followed the blood with wild fascination, a glint of glee in his eyes. "I can see how it helped you with paintings. Allow me to try it out." She slashed out with the knife and cut through his throat like it were butter. Blood gushed out, gurgling as he tried to cry and fell to his knees, air escaped with the liquid. Cold. She felt cold. She had never killed someone someone outside of self defense. It didn't feel good or fill her with the warm glow of justice well served. If anything, she just felt sick as she watched the man give one last gasp and the blood slow to a trickle.

The knife felt heavy in her hand as she glared at it. She didn't want to keep it, but it would be good to show Hancock. With it returned to her boot, she left the bloody place with a sick heart.


Blood dripped from her hand onto the wooden floor in the State House. The soft patter wasn't enough to catch Hancock's attention. He hadn't even noticed her standing there yet, of course. Busy chatting up some young, tall girl in his lap, a tin of Mentats in his hand. Fay held the blade loosely between her fingers and contemplated throwing it at him, but no. She didn't have the aim to guarantee she wouldn't hit him by accident. Instead, she stepped forward and slammed it into the wooden coffee table, between his feet. Speck of blood flew off it and landed on his dusty boots and caused the girl to squeak in fright and call backwards onto the floor. The ghoul didn't even flinch, just lifted a brow at her and crunched the minty chem in his mouth.

"Well well. Look who's back." His eyes roamed over her taking in the blood, the cuts, finally landing on her face. Fay knew she didn't look even slightly welcoming. Casually, she picked up a cloth from his table, removed her glasses, and cleaned the flecks of blood from them. As she focused on the lenses, the girl scrambled up and ran out of the room, her heels clattering on the stairs in her hast. Hancock still didn't move from his spot.

Once she returned her glasses to her face, she got a good look at his face. It was no longer the care free, high as a kite mayor. His eyes were darker, pitch black, and every line spoke of tension. Her shoulders went back and she lifted her chin. "Aren't you going to ask what happened,?" she said softly.

"Not well, I'm guessin'," he replied, sitting up a bit straighter and gesturing to the seat beside him. She took the couch across from him instead and tossed her gore encrusted knuckles onto the table. "You weren't kidding about being able to take care of yourself, that's for damn sure. Now let's hear it."

Her face tightened as she held back the urge to cry. He didn't need to see her weak. "It's a slaughter house. The raiders are quiet because most of them are dead." She paused to take a deep steadying breath. "Pickman, the man that did this, eviscerated and bled out piles of raiders and used that to make what he called art. Painted with their blood, dangled heads from ceilings. It was...just be glad you didn't have to see or smell it. There were some there chasing after him for revenge. I had to take them out."

Hancock leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin over laced fingers. Murder was his expression as he contemplated her story. "What of the guy?" he asked with a lower angry voice.

"I killed him with his own knife. Watched him bleed out." She nodded to the blade embedded in the wood. He nodded at her with a grime half smile and leaned back again.

"Good. Justice is served and my people will have one less thing to worry about." Fay rubbed at her eyes under her glasses with a sigh and hunched over her knees. She felt exhausted. Not just from the killing, but the sheer horror of the place. No one should have to see or deal with that. The soft clunk of glass on wood caught her attention and she looked up slightly to see a bottle of whiskey and a glass in front of her. "You look like you need this."

The bottle was in her hand and uncorked in seconds. Of course she needed it. Anything to help her forget that place. Two gulps, three gulps, she could feel her face numbing, her thoughts slowing. Heaven. "Thank you," she gasped and slammed the green glass down. The urge to cry was gone, the cold empty feeling filled with a warmth. The ghoul sat beside her, close enough for their knees to touch, and placed a bag of caps on her lap. She'd forgotten about her payment. Fay almost didn't want to take it. It would be like taking blood money almost. Practicality won and she shoved it into her pack.

He was quiet beside her. This man was never quiet. She leaned against the back of the couch and looked over at her. His eyes were on her again, still dark and filled with intelligence, sadness, and surprisingly enough, worry. Instead of feeling like a specimen under a microscope, she just felt...at ease. His presence was strangely calming. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that shit," he growled. She just gave him a half smile, shook her head, and grabbed up the bottle to chug down another fourth of it. "I'm serious, Fay."

She froze and stared at him like a deer in headlights, bottle still at her lips. He'd said it. For the first damn time, he said her name. She laughed, laughed so hard tears ran down her face. Of course he looked at her like she'd lost her mind. It fueled the laughter more. After a few minutes, he was about to ask but she put a finger to his lips and set down the bottle as the laughs died down to hiccups. His breath was still as hot on her hand, just as earlier, and more just radiated from his body into her side, even through all those layers of ridiculous clothes. That heat settled in her stomach and curled up her neck to her face. A different warmth from the alcohol.

Another minute slipped by before she pulled her hand away but he grabbed it, halting her from pulling away. Fay's heart speed up and she swallowed. His eyes were so intense, like he was reading her every thought. God, that face. Even with the scars, the hard muscles, he was handsome. What he must have looked like before becoming a ghoul. Fuck it. She needed this.

They both leaned forward at once and their lips clashed, the kiss hard and bruising. The heat in her spread from her head to her toes and she let out a frustrated groan. It had been months since she'd had anything like this. First Nate was over seas, then she had the baby. Once Nate finally came home, she was still in recovery when the bombs fell. Then the weeks in this hell hole. Her frustration levels were on a level she'd never dealt with before. She climbed onto Hancock's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, nipping at his chapped lips.

His chest rumbled as he growled in pleasure, hands twisted into the cushions of the couch. He wasn't touching her. It was an oddly sweet, gentleman like thing to do. She pulled away and grabbed his hands, putting them on her ass. "You can touch now, hot stuff. You have my permission."

He laughed, a deep throaty one that made her toes curl. "Good to know, baby. Man, you're wild." His body heat was surrounding her like a blanket. With light kisses, she traced his cheek, along his jaw, nibbled at his neck. He had a nice taste. A bit spicy, but definitely still male. The hands she'd placed for him traced up her sides, taking their time to feel, scratch a bit. Then the frustration hit her again and she growled herself, running her hands down his chest to his belt. The ridge she felt showed that yes, he did have the right equipment and it was very well sized equipment at that.

Before she could do anything else, he flipped her on to her back, pulling her legs up around his hips. She arched her back and ground against him, groaning at the feel. The ghoul took her wrists in one hand, held them over her head, and leaned down to trail his mouth. Down her neck, pausing at her breasts to nip at each nipple, drawing out a moan from her, and pushed her shirt up a bit to run his tongue just above the hem of her pants. He growled her name again and she froze.

He'd sounded just like Nate, saying it that way. Her head cleared up quickly and everything came rushing back. Sensing her sudden unease, Hancock lifted his head, hat askew and breathing a bit heavy with confusion on his face. Before he could say a word, she pulled away and stood up, straightening her clothes. "I-I can't do this. I have to go," she stammered out, shoving everything into her pack and shoulder it.

Warm calloused skin grabbed her hand and she refused to turn and look at him. There was no way she could handle whatever look he had on his face right now. "Woah there. What's this all of the sudden? I thought we had something good goin' here."

"Let go, Hancock. Please." His grip loosened enough for her yank her hand away and she left as fast as she could. With hurried steps, she slipped down the alleyways, into the hotel, and into her room and locked the door. All the lights were off and she left it that way, curling up on the molded mattress and cried. Cried for what she'd lost and missed.