A/N: TRACK LIST: "Eyelids" by PVRIS, and "Ready to Go" by Panic! At The Disco.

You've got these little things
That you've been running from;
You either love them or I guess you don't.
You're such a pretty thing
To be running from anyone,
A vision with nowhere to go.

So tell me right now,
You think you're ready for it?
I wanna know
Why you got me going!
So let's go,
We'll take it out of here;
I think I'm ready to leap,
I'm ready to live,

I'm ready to go!

The rest of the battle was short-lived. Seeing that Goodneighbor wasn't going down without a fight, the Super Mutants were (surprisingly) smart enough to finally back off. Only a few escaped, and Hancock quickly sent a few willing civilians to hunt them down. "No one messes with Goodneighbor and gets away with it," he growled, and they all yelled their agreement, setting off with their weapons and lusting for mutant blood.

As he looked at his surroundings, the ghoul sighed miserably. This was a goddamn mess. Perhaps if he hadn't concerned himself so much with the damn politics of being mayor, he would have been better equipped for a surprise attack… Fahrenheit would tell him that he couldn't have seen this coming, and that he did his best to defend the town, but Hancock still felt immense guilt. He was supposed to serve the people. No one in power should be too comfortable for too long.

And he was.

And this happened.

A familiar voice broke him from his dark thoughts. "Well, we won."

Hancock turned to focus on Fahrenheit, who was covered in dirt and blood and who-knows what else. Ashmaker sat comfortably in her hands, the muzzle still hot from extended use. A frown curled his scarred lips. "At what cost?"

"Victory requires sacrifice," she answered straight-forwardly. "You of all people should know that."

"You're right." The ghoul sighed again and looked out at the destruction around him. "We won. I should be happy about it." Finally he turned his eyes back to her. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Protecting your strong room," was her grim response. "Somehow… the mutants found its location, too. You don't think…?"

Hancock's eyes narrowed into slits. Rage pulsed in his temples, tightened his chest. "If I find out Bobbi No-Nose was behind this…"

"We'll figure it out," Fahrenheit responded. "What are the orders, Hancock? What do you want me to do?"

"For now, just start fishing out any salvage from the… Old State House. Oh, God." Hancock ran a hand over his chin, trying to keep calm. "It's fucking gone. I… just…" It took a deep breath and a brief moment of silence to bring himself down from his heightened grief. "Salvage anything you can. Chems, caps, supplies, anything." Fahrenheit nodded and turned to leave.

Hancock called after her: "I'm glad you're okay."

She glanced back at him, a hint of a smile on her lips, before leaving the scene and setting to work.

Heading back over to Daisy's, Hancock found a couple of the ground fighters nursing non-lethal wounds; sitting on the floor and leaning back against a counter was Evelyn, with her eyes glazed over. She was very clearly attempting to fight unconsciousness, and it was a losing battle. He made his way over to her, and by the time he crouched in front of her, she had blacked out. The Psycho was leaving her system, and so was the adrenaline. She needed rest, and she needed to be patched up.

After all she'd just done to defend Goodneighbor, the very least he could do was help her out.

Hancock began giving out orders to the survivors; pile the Super Mutant bodies in one area to be burned, and as for citizens of the town, put them on a tarp for their bodies to be claimed by any loved ones. If they weren't claimed in an hour, they'd be burned separately and Hancock would speak a few words on their behalf. It was the least he could do; the Commonwealth was a cold and cruel place, but there were a few good people in it that were willing to put their own lives at risk to make it better.

The unconscious woman resting in Daisy's being one of them.

After everyone had been assigned a job, the ghoul once again approached Evelyn's body and lifted her into his arms; then he began the trek over to the Hotel Rexford, where other injured were being taken to rest and heal up. He requested a private room from Clair and she gave him the key to the penthouse — he took the woman there, setting her down gently on the large bed on the left side of the large room. He found a med-kit and a chem stash in the bathroom (Hancock frequently rented out the penthouse for going on weekend benders) and brought them all over to the bed-side table. Taking her by the shoulder, he rolled her halfway over to examine the gash above her shoulder-blade; looking at the extent of the wound, his eyes narrowed grimly. It would definitely need to be stitched, and would leave a scar after it healed. For now, he simply covered the area with several thick medicated pads to stop the bleeding, and let her rest.

Exhausted, Hancock settled into a high-backed, comfortable chair in the corner of the room and watched her sleep, his own eyes feeling heavy. He found his gaze lingering on her longer than it should've, and the thought disturbed him. She wasn't his type. That was what he told Fahrenheit, right? He preferred small, thin blondes — like Irma from the Memory Den. Just thinking of her brought back a whole slew of good memories. He'd bedded her plenty of times, and had always gotten a good review. Yeah, blondes… he preferred blondes.

But as he took a few Mentats and leaned his head back to sleep, it was the muscled, shapely visage of a raven-haired woman that danced around behind his eyelids.

When Evelyn awoke, pain sliced through her shoulder, spreading all the way down her arm to her fingertips. She let out a groan of discomfort before she could stop herself. Trying to clear her fuzzy vision and assess all her faculties, she realized she was in a hotel room of some sort — in a very large bed — and there was some sort of wet patch on her wound. The pain ebbed but was still present; this made sitting up slow and irritating.

Sharp gray eyes scanned the room and found nothing amiss; the only other things present other than the gaudy decorations were a multitude of chems on the bedside table next to her… and a sleeping figure sitting in a large chair across the room. Looking at the clothing, she could immediately tell it was Mayor Hancock. Had he brought her here? Didn't he have more important things to do?

Then the events from the previous day came to the front of her mind. Oh, right. The super mutants had attacked the town and destroyed the Old State House. It was only due to sheer luck that she and Hancock had survived that. Evelyn recalled the rooftop shooters and Hancock's plan to fortify the walls and take out any stragglers on the ground, and that was how the ravenette had injured her shoulder. She suddenly remembered stabbing herself with a syringe full of Psycho, but everything after that was just a big red blur.

Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, she took a deep breath to quell the nausea turning her stomach and stood up shakily. She needed to get out of here, earn some more caps, and get the hell back on track. The longer she took finding her son, the greater the chance that she never would find him. A brief glance at the chems on the table had her hand stretching toward them; but she faltered. She'd never been a thief — was she really going to start now?

No. Evelyn turned away and began quietly shuffling toward the door.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you."

Hancock. His voice was slow and somehow even raspier than usual, and the mere sound of it sent a pleasant but unwanted jolt of heat straight down her spine. She halted and turned her head to glance back at him expectantly, only to find him still lounging in that chair in the same position, with one dark eye cracked open and watching her. She recognized that look — the question was, Mentats or Jet? "Are you high?" she asked softly, slightly amused.

"As a kite," he answered smugly. "But nevermind me — you shouldn't be leavin' until your shoulder's been stitched up. It's pretty bad."

Evelyn pursed her lips. She didn't need his assessment to know her shoulder wasn't in good shape; she was a goddamn nurse. Frankly, she just wanted to get out of here and get back to her mission. Wait till she got to one of her settlements to get it looked at. But… who the hell else would be able to stitch this thing up before it got infected? Sanctuary — and all of her allies living in it — was days away.

It was with great reluctance that she turned away from the door and perched herself on the bed. Meanwhile, Hancock had stood up from his chair, stretched his limbs, and went over to the med-kit laying on the bedside table. Taking it and opening it up, he sat down next to her and began pulling out needle and thread, sterilizing the needle with a lighter from his pocket and threading it expertly. Despite this, Evelyn couldn't help but demand, "do you know what you're doing?"

"Don't insult me," he answered sharply, giving her a reprimanding glance. She felt that flutter again, and chose to ignore it, simply turning her back to him and unzipping the combat uniform she always wore. Peeling the stretchy but thick material down over her torso, she bared her shoulders and chest area. The only thing covering her upper half now was a plain white bra. Suddenly she felt… nervous. Self-conscious, even. Evelyn was no stranger to nudity — she was a nurse for crying out loud — but for some reason the thought of Hancock seeing so much of her bare skin sent her heart into a panicked frenzy, thudding heavily in her chest. Was it what Fahrenheit said to her that was getting her so worked up? Or maybe it was just her own anxiety? Evelyn still hadn't figured out why a drugged-up ghoul of all people had such an effect on her, and perhaps she never would. Something in her gut told her that there was much more to Hancock than meets the eye, and that gut feeling was what mysteriously drew her towards him. Her only saving grace was that once she was out of Goodneighbor, she'd never have to worry about it again. He'd be out of her hair, out of her heart, and out of her life, and she could focus on finding Shaun.

A hand met her shoulder, pressing firmly on it, and the touch was so electric that she didn't even feel the stitching needle pierce her skin. That dance. His touch was the same; the feeling of his hands on her again sent a thrill through her and she couldn't seem to shake it, couldn't seem to shake the memories of that night flooding her mind. A gasp came from her before she could cut it off, but she bit her lip hard to hold any other sounds back.

"You alright, Sister?" he asked from behind her.

She could only muster a nod. Evelyn kept her gaze rigidly on a spot on the wall in front of her as the ghoul worked; she could tell just from feeling it that he was doing a pretty damn good job. He was no professional, of course, but she was certain that he had some experience. His voice broke her from her thoughts, and he asked something that threw her off-guard.

"We gonna talk about that dance, or what?"

Evelyn's face immediately flushed and she flinched, causing the stitches to pull slightly. Pain bloomed in her shoulder and she locked her jaw. "I-I, uhm… I-I don't know. I just figured that was another normal night for you," she muttered.

She heard a raspy chuckle from behind her. "Dancing with a statuesque goddess who also happens to be a complete stranger isn't exactly my definition of a normal night."

Warmth spread where the pain ebbed. Goosebumps suddenly covered her bare flesh and the raven-haired woman had trouble breathing for a moment; sucking air desperately into her lungs, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Statuesque goddess, eh...?"

Hancock paused in his work and dark eyes flickered up to meet her gaze, stealing her breath away. That intensity again… like he was looking right through her skin… his voice went low, sending a shiver up her spine. "That's putting it mildly."

Evelyn let out a shaky breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and broke their eye contact, fixing her gaze on the wall again. Hancock resumed his work shortly after, going quiet for just a minute before it tiny her with another zinger.

"Why are you really here? I know my humble little town is a treasure, but I can tell you're not just some drifter lookin' for caps. You've got an… urgency about you. There's some sort of mission you're on that means more than your life. That's why you left the Rail so quickly that night, isn't it? So spill it."

She took a deep breath. Something about his earnest voice broke her resolve. "I'm… I'm looking for someone. My son." Her hands clenched into fists. "He was kidnapped; and I don't know where he's gone."

"Goddamn. Unfortunately, kidnappings aren't uncommon out here." Hancock muttered grimly, still working. "Fucking Institute has been behind most of the kidnappings around here… ya think that's who took your son?"

Evelyn's hands were still clenched, and now her teeth were too. His voice was tight. "I know that's who did it."

"Hmmm." He didn't say it, but she knew what he was probably thinking: good luck. That was always the response she got when she mentioned the Institute's involvement. "So that's why my old pal Nick was with ya the day you came into town."

Evelyn nodded quietly. "He was kind enough to take my case."

"Good ol' Nick." He paused. "I'm gonna make another observation here. You seem… different. There's somethin' about you, I can't tell what, but I know one thing for sure — you're not from this era, the here and now. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. So tell me; how old are you, exactly?"

The change of topic was refreshing. Evelyn glanced back, eyes twinkling. A hint of a smile curled her red lips. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to ask a lady her age…?"

His lips quirked into a grin, eyes flickering between her face and his work. "Well, consider me curious enough to take the risk."

Evelyn turned her head back, gaze returning to the spot on the wall. The wallpaper was peeling, and outright torn in some places, but it reminded her of the time before the bombs. A better time. "Well, I'm about as old as you, I'd think," she replied quaintly.

A short chuckle left the ghoul. "Oh, you got me all wrong, Sister," Hancock responded. "I ain't one o' them pre-war ghouls. This beautiful complexion — it ain't from bomb radiation."

Evelyn's brows rose. She'd been told that ghouls were the way they were because they'd been exposed to the radiation that the atomic bombs gave off when everything went to hell. She just assumed that was the case for all of them — so what was his story? "So — how…?"

"Hey, I'm the one askin' the questions here," he interrupted with a smirk. "How the hell did you survive the bombs and still have skin smooth as cream?"

A shudder ran through her at the compliment and she fought to keep heat from rising to her cheeks. After shaking off the initial embarrassment, Evelyn found herself explaining her story, tensing up more with each word. The vault — the cryogenic pods — Nate's murder, Shaun's kidnapping — all of it. And by the time she'd finished, she was gritting her teeth, clenching her fists, and a few tears had stained her cheeks. Hancock said nothing, only listened; finally, she felt him tying off the stitches he'd made, and he used his teeth to clip the thread. "There," he said softly. "That should do it."

"Thank you," Evelyn replied quietly, blinking back the rest of her tears and slowly working her way back into her suit. Standing up, she felt pain race down her shoulder and she grit her teeth to keep her discomfort in the back of her throat.

"Here," Hancock offered, standing up and moving around her toward the bed-side table. Taking a Stimpak, he firmly put it in her hand. "It'll take the edge off. You put up a helluva fight out there, Evelyn. I just wanna say thank you for helping defend Goodneighbor. Ya didn't have to stick around, but ya did. A lotta good people were spared today 'cause of your help."

Evelyn stood up and stared at the syringe he'd given her for a long moment. She finally pulled off the safety cap and stuck it into her shoulder, wincing and pressing down on the stopper. As the chemicals entered her bloodstream, she could feel an overwhelming relief race through her veins like cool spring water, and the sensation was such a shock that she stumbled forward — right into Hancock.

Deceptively strong arms wrapped around her securely. He was safe, he was warm. "I-I'm sorry," she muttered, grasping his shoulders for balance and slowly lifting her head. When she met his gaze, her mouth went dry and the air was pulled from her lungs; she felt like a deer in headlights, all fear and anxiety and excitement. Their connection was just as intense as it had been that night in the Third Rail.

"You alright there, Sister?" Hancock asked, his voice taking on a low tone; perhaps steady… perhaps sensual. She could almost imagine that they were dancing again, with bold jazz playing in the background… His coal-colored orbs never wavered, never once left her own hues as he locked eyes with her.

Her grip on his shoulders tightened instinctively as she stared up at him. "I have to go," Evelyn finally managed to whisper.

Hancock's lips twitched. "About that."

Her brows furrowed immediately. His change in tone didn't settle well with her. His next words certainly didn't.

"I'm comin' with you."