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His Main Squeeze

(A/N: Paring based off the 'Fallout 4 Vault Dweller's Survival Guide' where Fahrenheit is called Hancock's 'main squeeze'. I'm aware the Creation Kit labels them father and daughter, but given the Survival Guide entry and how he responds if you kill Fahrenheit - i.e. "Fahrenheit and I had history" - I'm pretty certain they dropped that concept early on. This may be a two-shot or three-shot, it might become even more, but whatever it shapes up to be, I hope you enjoy it. Warning for dark themes, of course. It's Hancock.)

End It

Take the hit. End it.

Worthless.

Look at yourself in the mirror. You can't, can you?

Useless.

You're a failure. No one will miss you. Not even your own brother.

Coward and liar.

Kill yourself.

No. Not gonna happen. But something would. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror anymore, so he wouldn't. But not because he gave up. He wasn't a quitter. Not yet, at least… although if a side effect did end up being death, he wouldn't protest it too much. He pushed the needle into his arm, injected the substance, then waited. The high was amazing. But when the pain started and the screams, he believed he'd never wake up again…

Fallout

"Feral or non-feral, I wonder? I suppose we'll see when you wake up," she'd said. They were the first words she said to him. Well, technically to herself, but eh, technicalities. He frowned and gradually his eyes fluttered open to see some wild child, rough and tumble looking woman. He'd assumed a raider, at first, but given she hadn't blown off his head at first sight, he was optimistic that he was wrong. "There you are," she said, aiming one hell of a big gun at his noggin from a reasonable distance away.

"Put it away, sister. I ain't feral," he growled, slowly starting to get onto hands and knees. "Man, what a trip," he said, shakily standing.

She summed him up then put the gun away. "That doesn't mean you'll stay non-feral," she said. She turned to walk away. "Follow me. I'll get you something to help your situation. Try anything and I'll kill you."

"I'd like to see you try," he replied, already amused and intrigued by this strange woman. She looked back at him guardedly and suspiciously. He put up his hands with a smirk in a gesture of surrender to show her he meant no harm. She observed him a moment more, then continued onward. He followed. "So, you being genuine or actually turning me into a pack of raiders or whatnot? Never mind, don't answer. It'll ruin the surprise. Looking forward to the rush."

"What's your name, stranger?" she questioned.

He was silent a moment. "John," he finally replied. "John Hancock."

"You're lying. Or at least omitting something," she said.

"You're a game player. Poker?" he asked.

"Chess," she answered. "Though I'm one to reckon with at poker as well."

He chuckled. "Maybe in time I'll tip my hand. Or sacrifice my pawn? Or would leaving my king open fit the situation better? Not much for chess allegories," he replied. She smirked a bit, amused, but didn't reply.

Fallout

They'd been at one another's side ever since. Neither of them ever brought it up, but they both knew she had saved his life that day. Maybe in more ways than one. He kept her at his side through thick and thin. She'd been his savior, his bodyguard, his friend… For a little while there, 'friend' wasn't exactly the term to use… Something a little more intimate than friend. Yes, he meant lover. Hey, look at the kind of guy he was. Hell yeah he'd wanted to sample that. Of course he never had, not for lack of trying either, but Fahrenheit was a smart, practical, and pragmatic woman. She'd witnessed his love them and leave them ways, and she wasn't about to become just another you-know-what buddy. She hadn't let him anywhere near that, to his chagrin, but eventually he'd found he'd stopped minding. He had her, what did he need anything else for? Eventually she'd be comfortable enough with this to tackle that aspect of it. There was no rush. For him at least. He kind of tried not to think about that…

The idea that she was refusing sex because of his looks was the farthest thing from his mind. Fahra wasn't that kind of person. She could care less that he was a ghoul. The only thing further from his mind than her reasons being because of him, were her reasons being because of her. Her and her looks. That thought hadn't even occurred to him. He'd never even believed it could be something like that until literally the moment she confessed it.

"Come on Fahra, why not?" he had asked.

"Because you wouldn't want me, Hancock; and even if you did, you probably wouldn't stay. I'm not pretty enough to keep a man's attention long," she had answered.

So now here they were. "What?!" he finally managed to blurt out once he'd gotten over his shock enough to function again.

She sat quietly, casually looking to the side while pretending that the fact she'd said those words wasn't anything big.

"Get serious, John. I'm not the kind of woman any man wants to see naked. They aren't fans of me clothed either. On top of that, your chem use…" she began.

"Forget the chem use! We're focusing on the immediate problem here," he cut off.

"Your junkie ways are the…" she began.

"Don't even!" he snapped. He'd deal with the chem argument later. "Who hurt you, Fahra? Who told you that you weren't a sight a man would like to see? Where the hell did you even get that idea?!"

"No one hurt me, John," she said with a sigh. "There was never anyone who could." Maybe that was part of why she felt like she did.

"You mean you've never been with anyone?" Hancock asked, eyes widening.

She smiled ruefully, maybe even a little bitterly. "One look at the half shaven head, the battle scars and burns decorating my face and body, my complexion, and the muscle mass, most ran screaming for the hills and went after some pretty little number who could kick ass at least half as good, was younger, and looked better."

"How do you like that? I'm a ghoul and you have the nerve to be self-conscious about yourself?" he asked.

"You could do better than me, Hancock," she replied, standing. "Women and men trip over themselves to be with you. You have your pick. Someone young, someone pretty…"

"Just stop!" he snapped quickly pinching the bridge of his no-longer-existent nose. He couldn't honestly be hearing this. He glared at her. He had half a mind to take her into his arms and show her how wrong she was. Make her feel like a woman who deserved someone's whole heart. For anyone else he might have, but this was Fahrenheit. She wasn't like anyone else. If he pulled something like that, he'd most likely be knocked out. Or worse, ditched. He couldn't lose her. "You're my pick," he finally settled on saying. "I ain't searchin' for anyone else and I ain't lookin' for a one-night stand. Not with you. I mean… it's you."

She smiled at him. That smile that was so typically Fahrenheit. Cynical and doubtful at first glance, but look a bit harder you could see that wasn't necessarily the case. The look she was giving him now was one that was his alone. In it was a softness. A hidden gratefulness and love, and it felt… it felt right… She approached him, looked him over, then pressed her lips against his mouth gently. He fought the urge to grab her and bend her backward. Fahrenheit was particular. Things happened at her pace, and he didn't want to jeopardize what was happening between them. Seriously, this had been the first time in all their time together that she'd kissed him. He'd follow her lead…

Fallout

It wasn't her fault the relationship dissolved. He'd tried to tell himself it was, but it wasn't. It was his and it was for just about the stupidest reason on the planet. She'd always hassled him about his chem use, general stuff like 'you know you should quit' and 'those will kill you', but it was nothing he hadn't heard before. Gradually, though, her nagging became more and more common. More and more firm. For the most part he'd shrugged it off. Sometimes he got a bit snappy and told her flat out that it wasn't up for discussion. He still wasn't sure what had set him off that night. Maybe the stress of the day? Whatever it was, things had gotten ugly fast.

"You need to stop," she ordered, coming up behind him while he was in the process of doing some Psycho Jet.

"Or how about you shut up and just this once go through a day without badgering me about the chems?" he demanded.

She started and was silent. "No. I'm not going to shut up and let this go, John," she soon answered. "You're going to kill yourself with those damn things, and I don't want that. I care about you."

"Yeah? Well if you cared, you'd let me do whatever the f**k I want with my life, Fahra! This ain't any of your business," he snapped at he shot to his feet, turning sharply and darkly on her in a way that made her pull back. "And if you cared you sure as hell wouldn't be jumping back in fear! Dammit, I thought you'd figured out by now that I'm in full control of myself when I'm on this garbage!" He threw it aside roughly and popped some mentats. Buffout too just to really get into the high and hopefully pass out into oblivion so he could forget this nightmarish day.

"Stop," she said.

"Fuck off," he replied turning his back on her and stalking around searching for more. "Goddammit, Fahrenheit, where are they?! Where are the chems?!" She said nothing. "I said where are they?!" he roared at her. "I'm not in the mood for this fucking game!"

"This isn't a game, John. It's never been a game," she replied calmly and coolly.

"Bitch!" he spat out before he could check himself. Not that he would have kept his mouth shut even if he had checked himself. There was a blackout moment and when he snapped back to himself, he was leaning over her hand raised high as if to strike. He was breathing hard, labored, and he felt only rage. She stood still and brave, looking up into his eyes boldly with only the faintest hint of misting tears in them. Not once had he ever laid a finger on her. She trusted wholly that he never would, and he didn't. He tried to feel guilt or something on seeing her expression, but all he felt was disgust. He turned sharply from her with a revolted scoff and walked away to go back to his couch and chase the chems down with some alcohol.

"Stop," she said again, quieter this time. "Please… I'm terrified that one day I'll come in and find you dead."

"Shut up!" he'd bellowed before the words had even left her mouth. She'd fallen silent.

No more words had been said until… "I can't watch you die," she remarked.

"F**k. For the last time, I'm not going anywhere!" he shot.

"I won't take that chance," she said. He paused, another canister of Jet partway to his mouth, and turned guardedly, glaring at her suspiciously. "Stop. Please… Stop, or I'm going to leave. And I won't come back, John. I won't." He'd been shocked. For the longest time, he hadn't moved. For the first time since he'd gone clean long enough to establish Goodneighbor again, he seriously did consider, and want, to put it away. All of it. Instead he turned from her and huffed the Jet. He didn't look back. He heard the door close, after a few moments, and closed his eyes. He inhaled all the deeper, hoping that he was taking his last trip.

Fallout

He didn't expect her to ever come back. He was good at hiding his pain from those who knew him. Not that anyone really knew him all that well. She was the only one. Well, Ham knew him pretty well too, and Whitechapel Charlie, but they were smart and kept their mouths shut. Every so often they'd try to offer him something, but he'd shoot them down. Topic would never be breached again. Not even they knew, though, how deeply he had fallen into depression. They didn't know how truly desperately he sought death. He'd lost mom and dad, he'd lost, in a sense, his brother, he'd lost her… He was just so tired of this shit world. He wanted to help people, that's what had kept him going this long, but no matter what he or anyone else did, it wasn't enough. It never was. So what was the point, really? Not like he was making a difference anyway. So one night he took a drug cocktail so potent, so concentrated, that he was certain beyond any doubt, almost any doubt, that it would kill him…

As it turned out, he was only half right. Before he could count backwards from five, he'd collapsed to the ground and gone into a cardiac arrest. Unfortunately for him, Amari had happened by. A concerned Ham had gone to her and asked her to check on him. She walked in just in time to witness him die. She should have let him stay that way, but instead the woman had done everything in her power to revive him. Over and over and over and over again. Every time he technically died, Amari dragged him back with all the expertise she had. Even in the short moments when he was alive and awake begging her to let him go in the few seconds of life and consciousness he'd have, she wouldn't. Eventually he'd given up pleading to be left to die. It wasn't happening. He'd hoped she'd fail in the end, that if he didn't fight she couldn't save him, so he didn't try to stay alive, he tried to die, and that woman still brought him back. He should have shot her for it, but he guessed he couldn't fault her or Ham for caring. He could definitely fault them for keeping him under suicide watch, though. He kept an eye out for any possible opening.

A few days after his rescue, opportunity struck. Amari had to tend to the Memory Den, something was happening that Magnolia and Ham were involved in, and neighborhood watch was dealing with an issue in town. He immediately got up, the moment he was sure he was alone, and made his way to a stash. He fell to his knees next to it and dug through quickly. With shaking hands, he withdrew Overdrive and pushed the needle into his skin. He injected the whole thing. Quickly after, he injected another drug, then another, then another, then another. He kept going until he was wavering, body quaking and breathing laboured. So near to peace and blissful unconsciousness… He pressed in another needle, his head lolling weakly to the side. It would be the final dose he needed, he knew. There would be no coming back from this… He had only injected it part way when a hand was suddenly on his wrist, pulling it away.

"No, no, let me go. Just let me go, dammit. Let me go," he almost whimpered as he felt himself lain back in someone's arms.

"No," a voice answered. A familiar one. He could have sworn his heart stopped. He caught his breath and looked up into the face of the one who held him. Fahrenheit…

"Fahra…" he breathed weakly, voice breaking.

"No," she repeated, shaking her head and pulling the needle away from him.

He saw, then, the tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Tears she tried valiantly to ignore. He hated them. They didn't belong in her eyes. Fahra didn't cry. That wasn't who she was. They didn't belong there. They needed to go away. He reached shakily up, fingers brushing away the stray tears before falling limp as he passed out in her arms. In his last moments of consciousness, he felt her lift his upper half and cradle his head on her chest, gently fingering his scarred skin.

"Don't go," she whispered softly, voice breaking. "Don't go, John. Don't go. Don't go…" There was total blackness then.

Fallout

When he awakened, she was there at his side curled next to him in his bed. She was fitfully sleeping, he was hooked up to an IV, and Amari was there with a deep frown on her lips, anger radiating off her but going unspoken. He watched her a bit uneasily. He knew that look. It meant he was in for it. She looked over at him sharply, noted he was awake, and her eyes narrowed. "Are you satisfied now?" she bit. He winced and looked away, focusing on Fahrenheit. "I've never seen her cry before," Amari remarked, and he knew she was just trying to make him feel that much worse. It was working, so good on her he bitterly figured. "She sent a watchman to find me and bring me here. She wouldn't leave you. The two of us got you into your bed. You can figure out the rest." Hancock was silent. "Do you want to know how many times she watched you die?!" Amari snapped sharply, her anger blatant now. He shook his head frantically, unable to find his voice to speak. Amari seemed to take pity on him. She let it go and spared him that detail. She went back to work and she didn't speak again.

Fahrenheit stirred at his side, her eyes fluttering open. When she saw him awake, she feigned indifference and sat up, stoic as ever. She scanned him quietly to be sure he was really alright, then got up and walked away to look out a window. He watched after her. Her silence was unbearable. "I'm sorry," he finally managed to say, voice so hoarse that he was shocked he could speak at all. She tensed up but didn't speak. "Fahra, please," he begged, trying to move.

"Don't get up," Fahrenheit said, and though her voice was like ice she spoke too quickly to convince him she was angry and unafraid for him. He paused, decided he'd caused her enough strife already, and lay helplessly back down. He half expected her to tell him what Amari hadn't and let him know how many times he had died. She probably wanted to, but she didn't. He wasn't sure whether he was grateful for that or hurt by it. She had a way of doing that. She didn't mean to, but it happened. He heard her sniff and wished for half a second that the cocktail had killed him. She finally turned away from the window and came back to his bedside, perching on it and reaching out her hand, placing it softly on his forehead and brushing it back over his scalp. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel, and tipped back into her touch. "Never again," she all but hissed. He was quiet. They both knew he couldn't promise that, but damned if he didn't try. She let out a breath and lay next to him again, resting her head on his chest and listening to his heart beating steadily…

Fallout

There were no more attempts at suicide after that. She stayed… He didn't know why she stayed, hell he didn't know why she'd come back, but she was here. He didn't bother asking about the status of their relationship after that. He was pretty sure it was over. How could it not be? After everything he'd done, everything he'd put her through, he had no right to think they could just pick up where they left off. He gave her up for lost. He didn't want to, but that was how it had to be. She would never know how much it meant to him that she was still here, though. She would never know how dearly he still loved her. Did he want her back? Yes. He knew when to let go, though. All he needed was her here, even if only as a friend. He prayed one day she found happiness with a guy who deserved her more than he ever had… Another part prayed it would be him again someday…