Hancock just barely managed to be a gentleman, but it had more to do with the terrible sight of all Amelia's cuts and bruises than any real exercise of willpower on his part. She looked absolutely beat to a pulp inside her vault suit, which she feebly tossed into a corner before he helped her into a metal tub of mostly clean, and blissfully hot water. She groaned as she settled into the bottom, her private parts still covered discretely by her underwear. Those would just have to get washed as her body did since she wasn't about to get completely naked in front of Hancock. She still had some modesty.

Washed and dried later she decided that her vault suit was a lost cause and replaced it with some spare Red Rocket overalls Diedre found in her stash. Hancock forced some more chems on her including something called herbal anodyne which would help her sleep, and more of the tarberry paste which he applied himself before helping her dress in the overalls. He carried her over to one of the cleaner looking mattresses just as she passed out again. Hancock sat down on the floor beside her and leaned against the crumbling pool house wall, idly stroking her hair with one withered ghoul hand. She cracked an eye open for just a second at his touch and whispered, "Thank you John" causing his grizzled old ghoul heart to flip over in his chest. Even though he was exhausted too, he fought sleep for a long time, watching Amelia to make sure her chest kept rising and falling with her breathing.

Thanks to chemical assisted recovery Amelia was mostly back to normal the next day, and she insisted on leaving so that she could go home to the Red Rocket and check on Dogmeat. They thanked the ghouls at the Slog for everything and made their way back west.

Amelia was very quiet as they walked, and Hancock wondered if a storm of the female kind was brewing. In his experience, when women got quiet, they were thinking, and while they were thinking, somewhere a man (or ghoul) was in deep trouble. He decided not to prod that plasma mine just yet, and kept his mouth shut.

As the lights of the Red Rocket came into view, Amelia let out a sharp whistle. Seconds later a German Shepherd brand fur missile wearing biker goggles and a Nuka Cola bandana came streaking down the road at ramming speed. Hancock winced, expecting a head-on crash, but at the last minute Dogmeat skidded to a stop in front of them and sat, waiting to be petted.

"Who's the best dog everrrr!" Amelia crooned and wrapped her arms around him, smothering him with kisses as she snuggled him into her chest.

Hancock couldn't help but feel jealous, and his sigh was so loud that Amelia heard him.

"What?" she asked, peering between Dogmeat's ears.

"What?" Hancock tried to look confused, but wasn't really selling it. "I didn't say anything." He moved past her and into the building where he began to throw down his gear. She gave the dog one last scratch and stood up, following him inside.

"I know you didn't say anything, but you sounded like a feral sighing like that."

"What? I can't even breathe now? You're starting to sound like that jackass McDonough." He was trying to deflect and she knew it.

"You know what I mean John. What's eating you?"

"Nothing's eating me. You're the one slipping down the Deathclaw food chain short stack."

Amelia was speechless for a second, not sure whether or not she should be offended by this jab, but a moment later the comment seemed absolutely hysterical. She was doubled over laughing while Hancock scratched his head trying to figure her out. Women made about as much sense as Takahashi over at Power Noodles. At least she had stopped asking questions.

They stayed at Red Rocket for a few days, and Hancock started to feel like he was losing his excuse to stick around. If Amelia wasn't out there in the Commonwealth starting trouble his companionship was unnecessary. Meals were quiet, and the nights were long and mostly sleepless for the ghoul, who couldn't help but spend them thinking about how soft Amelia's skin had felt when he carried her, or how his few remaining hairs stood on end when she whispered his name. He had to get out of here or go absolutely batshit crazy.

One night, while she was outside playing with Dogmeat, he began packing up his things, and tried to compose an 'I'm going home' speech in his head. He was mumbling to himself ridiculous things like 'it's not you, it's me' when he heard a sharp yelp from the dog, a blood curdling scream from Amelia and several bursts of gunfire. Hancock grabbed for his gun and ran outside.

Amelia had been playing fetch with Dogmeat when it happened. She threw the baseball hard into the brush on the far side of the road where it rolled down the other side of the ridge. Dogmeat was only out of sight for a couple seconds when she heard him yelp and saw the vague outline of a super mutant hoisting something in a burlap sack over its shoulder in the gloom. She let out a scream of rage and panic and began to fire towards the retreating form. She stopped quickly however, not wanting to risk hitting her dog. She started to run after them, but tripped and nearly fell face first into a large bag of guts on the ground. There was a piece of rotting paper attached to the top, and on it was a barely legible scrawl. She could hear the distant manic laughter of the super mutant as she read the note, and her blood began to boil with rage.

stupid human

sloth take stupid dog

stupid human come junk yard or sloth kill

bring stupid ghoul

Hancock skidded to a stop next to Amelia, his eyes scanning the ridge for enemies. Amelia's hands tightened around the bloody paper, crumpling it to pieces. She stood slowly and growled through clenched teeth.

"Get the big guns John, we're going hunting for mutants."

"Fuck yeah we are."