A/N: TRACK LIST: "Flower Power" by Greta Van Fleet, and "Bloom" by The Paper Kites.

As the days pass by my mind
Are the wrong, the right;
You are my sunshine,
And as the night begins to die,
We are the morning birds that sing against the sky!

It turns to night, fire light;
Star shines in her eye.
Makes me feel like I'm alive,
She's outta sight,
She's alright, she's alright, she's alright;
She's outta sight, outta sight!

In the morning when I wake
And the sun is coming through,
Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,
And you fill my head with you...
Shall I write it in a letter?
Shall I try to get it down?
Oh, you fill my head with pieces, of a song I can't get out...

Can I be close to you?

"Sanctuary isn't far, now."

"Hmmm." Hancock was mostly silent as he walked alongside her. Finally, he side-eyed her, amusement in his voice. "We ever gonna talk about your apparent addiction to Psycho products?"

Evelyn's lips pursed in embarrassment. "We going to talk about your addiction to chems in general?"

"Touché," the ghoul laughed, pulling a tin of Mentats out of his pocket as if her scolding had reminded him to take his meds. Popping one into his mouth, he offered the tin to her; Evelyn eyed it for just a moment before deciding against it. While she had nothing against Mentats, she was still feeling the after-effects of using Psycho and knew better than most how bad it could be if the wrong drugs interacted.

"Listen, there's no judgment from my end," Hancock said easily, waving a hand. "In fact, I think it's pretty damn sexy when you hulk out like that."

"When I… hulk out?" Evelyn's tone was flabbergasted — only to hide her embarrassment. Unfortunately she couldn't hide the heat rising to her cheeks. "I — uh —"

"You're doin' that thing again," the ghoul interrupted with a grin. When Evelyn opened her mouth to protest, he said, "don't worry. It's cute. Nice to know I can make ya… nervous."

'You make me want to punch you' rose in the back of the woman's throat but she found herself unable to speak. Instead she just marched on stiffly, both irritated and ashamed at her own stupidity. Evelyn had never once in her life been at a loss for words, or unable to make a witty retort, but Hancock continuously had that effect on her. It was frustrating. And yet at the same time, some part of her, though she wouldn't admit it, was very glad he'd decided to come along on her travels. She couldn't help but remember the way she felt each time his arms found their way around her waist, whether it was to catch her or to lead her into a dance… how they felt warm and strong and… like home.

As they crossed the bridge to enter Sanctuary, Evelyn immediately felt at ease. This was home, or as close as she could get to it in this godforsaken wasteland. Her relief must've shown in her posture without her even realizing it, because Hancock broke the silence once more. "Nice place. You found this?"

"You could say that," was her distant response as her eyes rover over all the houses, some ruined, some intact, and some repaired or rebuilt. This settlement was growing rapidly, thanks to the efforts she and Preston had dedicated to the Minutemen. "This place… it was my home. Before the bombs fell."

Hancock's gaze followed hers. "And now its home to quite a few other people. Must've taken some time and effort."

"I wanted to build a place for Shaun to come home to," she responded softly.

The moment was interrupted by the mechanical wail of a Mr. Handy that came racing over toward them. "OH, MISS EVELYN!" He practically sobbed. "You were gone so long that I was beginning to fear you wouldn't come back, Mum!"

Evelyn's expression brightened and she gave the fretting robot a reassuring smile. "I'm alright, Codsworth. It's nice to know someone's out there worrying about me."

"As always, Mum — oh, my stars, I'd feared the worst!"

Hancock's brow line lifted. "So… a Mr. Handy with severe separation anxiety."

Codsworth's mechanical eye swiveled to stare at him. "So; a ghoul with a severe chem addiction," he sniffed.

"How about you fuck off?" Hancock shot back.

Codsworth looked back at Evelyn; though he had no visible expression on his visage, she could tell he was displeased. "Your new companion is quite rude, Mum."

"Unapologetically," Hancock added.

"Just leave it be, Codsworth," Evelyn said softly, attempting to smooth things out. "I'm glad to see you again. I've got some business to take care of, okay?"

The Mr. Handy sniffed again. "As always, Miss Evelyn," he said, darting off. As he left, she could of swore she heard the robot mutter under his breath, "chems'll kill you slowly, you know, but a snotty attitude will get you shot!"

As the pair made their way through Sanctuary, several settlers greeted Evelyn and welcomed her back. If any stopped her to speak, she introduced the ghoul mayor; the responses from the settlers made the raven-haired woman proud. They didn't give his ghoul skin a second look, and even asked about his outfit or status, all questions he evaded with charm. Hancock seemed like an open book… so the fact that he was private about his past was surprising.

Something inside of her was desperate to dig in and find out.

Finally they arrived at a house that seemed mostly intact, and had even been decorated with any unruined ornaments that could be found. "This was my house before the…"

"... apocalypse," Hancock finished, looking around. "You've been taking care of this place."

Evelyn showed him around, leading him into the back rooms. "There's an extra bed. Anytime we need to stay here, you're welcome to it."

Hancock pursed his lips as if he was trying to clamp his mouth shut; probably to keep from making some inappropriate comment that in any other situation would have been accepted with a witty come-back on her part. So not only did the ghoul have charm… he had tact, too. He really was full of surprises.

—

Why use the spare bed when we could just share one? Then I could finally show you all the ways I would coax your name out of you. Jesus mole rat tacos, it was hard not to say it. The ghoul had to physically purse his lips together to keep it from slipping out. He'd never gotten a chance to show her all the ideas he'd had that night at the Rail… but now wasn't the time for flirtatious commentary. Being suggestive came so naturally to Hancock, though, that the urge was there even in the worst possible moment.

Something in another room caught his attention enough to get his mind off of the inappropriate thoughts floating around in there. Two beds sat in the room she showed him, but the opposite room contained a blue crib and a scattering of child's toys… his brow line furrowed and the ghoul realized just how… stuck this woman was. "For your son?" He asked before he could stop himself.

"Yeah," he heard her murmur faintly as he peered into the room.

Finally his sharp gaze moved back to her. "You know he has to be…" he began, but she shook her head almost ruefully.

"... older than that," Evelyn finished, voice wavering. "I know." Hancock stared at her a moment, and though her red lips were curled into a smile, it was a smile filled with unrest, sorrow, anger. She did well hiding it, but the ghoul was as perceptive as they came and he could clearly see how distressed she was.

The woman standing before him was a person truly out of place and time; and it had taken its toll on her. She'd woken up in a world of chaos with her husband dead and her son missing, and was thrown into this harsh new life with no warning or help; and in learning to exist here, she found herself stuck in denial and unable to move on or cope properly. He had no idea he she felt; Hancock was born in the cruelty of post-war Commonwealth. He was raised in this madness. Taught his whole life how to survive in it.

He couldn't possibly imagine what she was going through.

"Well," he said with a practiced casual tone, "no matter how old the kid is when we find him — and that's when, not if we find him — I know he'll be happy here."

"We?" Evelyn asked softly.

Hancock shrugged, half-grinning. "I told ya I'd help ya. I'm a man of my word."

The joyful and appreciative glow in her gray eyes sent a warmth rolling down his spine. There it was; that feeling. His heart-on. Hancock opened his mouth to speak when there came a knock on the door. "General!"

"General?" Hancock quirked a brow curiously. "You're a General and you've been scrounging around for caps?"

Evelyn grinned sheepishly. "Doesn't pay as well as you'd think." She went to answer the door and Hancock, following behind her, found a man with dark skin standing there expectantly. His posture was rigid, vigilant, as if he was the guardian of this settlement.

"I got word back from the settlers at Oberland. They wanted to thank you for taking care of the raider problem. They've decided to join the Minutemen."

"Excellent news, Preston. Any word from

The Railroad?"

"Desdemona is still considering an alliance. Lots of people are still scared of synths. She doesn't want the wrong people knowing about…"

"Understood," Evelyn finished with a wave of her hand. Hancock was having trouble keeping his jaw from dropping at this point; he'd heard of both the Railroad and the Minutemen… but the Railroad was just a rumor and the Minutemen had been disbanded since the infamous Quincy Massacre. He'd heard a few murmurs of the faction making a comeback but he had no idea she was at the center of it…

At this point, Hancock didn't know what to think. He'd thought this woman was a drifter with a complicated past that was on the mission of a lifetime… but it appeared that she'd tucked quite a few accomplishments under her belt in the short time she'd been awake. The words came out before he was able to stop himself: "you rebuilt the goddamn Minutemen?"

There was that sheepish smile again. "That's way more credit than I deserve. Preston did most of the work. He kinda forced me into a leadership position."

"Very untrue," Preston said cheerfully. "But that's an argument for another time. Speaking of being the General, General… I have something for you."

Evelyn's brows furrowed. She exchanged confused glances with Hancock before following Preston out the door and across the street to the house that held the main workshop. Hancock just then noticed two gleaming suits of power armor and he felt adrenaline rush through him at the thought of hopping into one of those bad boys. Had he died? Had the Super Mutant attack actually gone terribly and the entirety of his journey with this woman just a walk through his afterlife, and he'd finally arrived in heaven? Now all he needed was a mountain of chems to complete the perfect picture.

As they entered the other house, he sadly didn't see a mountain of chems — but he did see an elderly woman relaxing in a high-backed chair with a very familiar expression on her face. She was high as a bird, and if the look on her face didn't give it away, the Jet in her hand certainly did. He jerked his thumb in the older woman's direction while quirking a brow at Evelyn, but she only gave him a knowing smile. Preston explained things as he dug through a green trunk for something. "I found this at the Castle. A few of the others and I all helped clean it up, repair it, and shine it. We all knew you were the only person that could wear it."

He withdrew clothing. Not just clothing; patriot's clothing, complete with an armored chest plate and a tricorn hat that looked almost identical to Hancock's. Preston proudly offered it to Evelyn, who looked shocked. "It's the uniform of the Minutemen General," he quickly clarified. "Haven't seen one of these since before Quincy… it'll be the perfect symbol of all that we've rebuilt."

"I don't know how to thank you," Evelyn breathed, running fingers over the brilliant blue cloth.

"Thank me by wearing it." Preston's dark eyes held a spark of admiration in them. Hancock doubted it was of the romantic sort but the look, for some reason, made his stomach twinge uncomfortably anyways.

Evelyn glanced back at Hancock before taking the uniform and moving into one of the back rooms to change into it. While they waited for her, Hancock turned his eyes back to the old woman in the chair. "What's your chem of choice?" He asked with a grin.

The woman's pale eyes opened and she stared at him with a gaze that seemed so very ancient and so young all at the same time. She looked like she was peering through him, not at him. "I'll take whatever the Sight dictates," she rasped with a vacant smile.

Hancock's brow rose. "The Sight?"

"Sometimes I see things that were; things that are; and things that will be. The Sight shows me what it wants to show me… and sometimes it helps others find what they're looking for, too."

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, eyeing her. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

She held out a hand.

He knew what she wanted, and was all-too happy to oblige. Tossing her a fresh canister of Jet, he watched her take a puff and ride the high with closed eyes. To his surprise, she didn't speak; she began humming. Even more surprising… it was the song he'd danced to that night at the Rail. The song Magnolia had sung when he spun Evelyn around the dance floor, capturing the attention of everyone in the room but only focused on her. "You've already found what you're looking for," the old woman finally said, beginning to cough. She sunk back into her chair, deflated.

Hancock's eyes narrowed. Well, that didn't fucking help at all. "What's your name, lady?" he asked.

She eventually answered, but by the time she did, Hancock's gaze had strayed to the opposite wall — more specifically to where the wall was peeling off… because he could see glimpses of a half-naked Evelyn in the next room and it took all the ghoul's willpower not to lick his suddenly dry lips. He'd seen parts of that smooth, caramel skin when he'd stitched up her shoulder — and now he was seeing much more of it, and his breath seemed to clutch in his chest as he miserably failed in his attempts to stifle his thoughts about all the things he wanted to do to make her scream. Hancock stared until his lungs were screaming and when he finally dragged his gaze away, he found Preston looking at him with narrowed eyes. The ghoul's answer was a simple shrug.

Finally, Evelyn came out. All eyes in the room went to her. Preston had been damn right; she was the only person fit to wear that uniform. Preston broke the silence, his voice proud. "You wear it well, General."

Evelyn's expression was one of contentment; like she was born to wear that outfit. And Hancock believed she was. She may have been the woman out of time, but she certainly looked like she was made for this. When Preston saluted and left to patrol, the raven-haired woman approached Hancock. He couldn't help letting his eyes wander her once more; when she noticed, her red lips curled into a half-grin. "I look like you," she said, reaching up to tap the top of his hat.

"Well no wonder I want to undress you with my eyes then," he replied wolfishly.

She laughed; a calming sound, like a babbling brook or fresh rainfall. "You're that into yourself, huh?"

His body moved without thought; he took a step closer, now looking over her and staring down at her with dark eyes that spoke of his every intention. "I'm more into you," he said lowly.

Her laughter ceased and those bright gray eyes looked up at him. He was once again stunned by the intensity of her gaze; an intensity that matched his own, bit for bit. They held their stare for a few moments, completely oblivious to the world around them… until someone at the house's entrance cleared their throat and Evelyn looked away. Hancock resentfully followed her gaze to find a man standing there. Something about him was… off; maybe it was the obviously fake hair on his head, or the cracked sunglasses shielding his eyes, or maybe it was just his demeanor. Hancock didn't know what to think of this guy other than that he didn't like him.

"Agent RX," the man greeted casually — too casually — and leaned off the doorway, entering the house. "Got a message from HQ. It's urgent."

"Deacon," Evelyn greeted with a smile, unfazed by his off-putting appearance. "What's going on? I asked Desdemona about —"

"It's not about that," he interrupted. "You and I have to get to Ticon. High Rise has got some important info for us. Too important to put in a dead drop."

Hancock tried his best to keep up. Agent? Wait… the Railroad. So they were really true; the rumors. From what he'd heard, the Railroad freed synths and protected them from the Institute. He wasn't too sure about synths, but any organization that aimed to take down the Institute couldn't be all bad… even if the fight was next to hopeless.

Evelyn pursed her lips. "Alright; well, let me gather my things and I'll meet you at the bridge in ten minutes."

Deacon nodded. His head tilted ever so slightly in Hancock's direction, his voice holding a hint of skepticism. "He comin' along too?"

"You bet your ass I am," Hancock insisted vehemently, lip curling into a snarl. He wasn't sure where this defensiveness came from, but something about this 'Deacon' guy just… rubbed him the wrong way. When Deacon merely looked back to Evelyn for confirmation instead of responding to him like a man, the ghoul resisted the urge to knock those stupid sunglasses right off his fucking face.

Evelyn, thankfully, gave a resolute nod. "If he wants to come, then he's coming. He'll be invaluable help no matter what we're dealing with. Deacon, this is Hancock."

When she gestured to introduce the ghoul, Deacon merely looked at him, arms folded casually over his chest. "Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor; yeah, I know who you are. That atrocious jacket gives you away."

"No more unfashionable than that hideous wig you're wearin'," the ghoul replied through his teeth.

Deacon's lips suddenly curled into a grin. "I may like this guy more than I thought I would." Turning away, he headed out the door. "I'll be waiting for you two at the bridge."

When he left, Hancock turned narrowed eyes on Evelyn. "The hell is up with that guy?" he questioned.

She shrugged, smiling ruefully. "Honestly — I don't know. Any conversation I've had with the guy, asked about his past, he's given me bullshit. If Deacon is to be believed, he's the leader of the Railroad, spent a short time as a ghoul, is older than I am, was there for the Quincy Massacre… oh, and he's also a synth."

"Is Deacon even the guy's real name?"

"No idea."

The ghoul snorted. "So he's a compulsive liar… got it. What's the mission?"

"High Rise is the leader of Ticonderoga Safe House, one of the places we take synths for safekeeping until we can get their memories wiped and get them out of the Commonwealth. If he's got some important information, something he can't dead-drop to us, that's concerning. It must be big."

After grabbing some supplies from Evelyn's home, the pair walked through Sanctuary under the warm light of the setting sun and saw Deacon's silhouette against the deep orange sky, waiting at the bridge. Evelyn bade farewell to Jun, who was standing at the guard post rigidly, and got a timid but genuine response. Personally, Evelyn was tired. She'd gone through two doses of Psycho in the past four days and had had very little sleep; but the adrenaline spike caused by the urgency of High Rise's message kept her on her feet and moving quickly. Unfortunately it'd take the better part of a day to get to Ticon, and be the time they'd gotten about halfway, mostly in silence, the woman found herself yawning and unintentionally slowing her pace.

Deacon, who was traveling in front, didn't seem to notice, but Hancock did. Dark eyes narrowed on her as he slowed his pace slightly to walk beside her. "Ya alright, Sister?" he asked quietly.

"Haven't slept since that attack on Goodneighbor," Evelyn murmured; she knew she couldn't push the human body past its limits, but she still felt guilty for wanting to sleep. She knew this was of utmost importance, but she was beginning to see mattresses everywhere, floating around her head, calling her name.

"Jesus," the ghoul murmured, frowning and bringing them both to a stop. "Ey, Glasses! Our girl needs some rest. We gotta stop."

Deacon hesitated and turned halfway to glance back at them. "Can't stop," he called back, about two yards ahead of them. "Gotta get to Ticon by morning!"

"She's dead on her feet!" Hancock hissed back. Evelyn's suddenly bleary gaze moved from her fellow Railroad agent to the ghoul at her side, and was suddenly aware of his hand on her back protectively. Was he aware? Did he know his hand was sending tingles up her spine despite her exhaustion? Did he have any clue what he was doing at the moment, or was reaching for her just impulsive for him? Like an instinct?

Deacon sighed, then hustled back over to them. Seeing the look on Evelyn's face, he relented. "Alright, alright. There's a safehouse about a mile from here. I'll mark it on your map; you can stay there — but someone still needs to get to Ticon by morning. I'll go ahead by myself and you can meet me there tomorrow."

Evelyn nodded, a frown on her lips. God, the guilt was just rolling down her back like a nauseating wave. "I'm sorry," she attempted, swallowing down the lump rising in the back of her throat. "I'm sorry, Deacon. I didn't realize how exhausted I was — …"

"No use in you watching my back if you're too tired to actually watch it." Deacon waved her apologies away nonchalantly. "I'll see ya tomorrow. Dealio?"

"Dealio," was the ravenette's quiet reply. Guilt-ridden gray eyes moved over to the ghoul beside her to see if he wanted to go ahead with Deacon; she knew his reason for coming along with her was that he wanted to get back out on the road again. He'd been living too comfortable in Goodneighbor. He was eager to get back out there, bashing heads and living on the road… right? When she met his gaze, she found something else there, however. Evelyn's voice was faint, uncertain, very much unlike herself. "You can go ahead," she murmured. "I'll just get a little rest at the safe-house and meet you both at Ticon."

Hancock's eyes narrowed just slightly, his voice firm. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

A hint of a smile curled her lips. With a brief nod, she looked up to bid farewell to Deacon to find he was already gone. They veered off to the left, following the directions on her Pip-Boy; as they walked, the sky darkened into a midnight blue-green and the warped rumbling of atomic thunder sounded in the distance. The rain came quickly, burning the moment it made contact with Evelyn's skin; feeling like a thousand needles were pricking into her skin, she hurried along in the direction her Pip-Boy pointed, Hancock by her side the whole time. The directions Deacon gave her led the pair to a small dank cave. "Safe-house, huh?" the ghoul grumbled, ushering Evelyn inside. "This is a dump. 'Least it'll keep us outta the rain."

When they got inside, they did find a couple of rolled-up sleeping bags, a small cache of food, and an ammunition box; this place seemed to just be somewhere for an agent to crash while on the run. It would suit them well enough for their purposes. Settling on top of a sleeping bag wearily, Evelyn felt the rest of her adrenaline fade and suddenly she found it nearly impossible to keep her eyes open. Sure, she'd blacked out after taking those doses of Psycho, but it wasn't rest. That much was proven by the way her stitched-up shoulder still ached and stung with every movement. It had made things difficult getting that Minutemen uniform on…

Hancock settled against the wall opposite her, which wasn't far considering how small the cave was. There were two sleeping bags - but he was sitting up, clearly unwilling to sleep. Her lips curled into a sleepy frown. "I'm keepin' watch," he assured her, lips quirking into a half-grin.

"Take one of my mines and set it outside the cave… it'll alert us to anyone trying to ambush us… that way you can sleep, too."

Hancock shook his head. "Not tired."

"But I — …"

"Forget it, Sister," the ghoul interrupted. "I've got first watch. Get a few hours of zzz's, okay?"

Evelyn frowned even more, but blearily set a timer on her Pip-Boy, took her hat off, and laid her head down. The darkness descended upon her almost immediately. The last thing she saw as she drifted off was Hancock sitting back against the wall, watching her intently.

The wall was uncomfortable and frankly, the thought of taking a snooze in one of those sleeping bags was sorely tempting; but he didn't want to risk anything sneaking up on them. A mine could alert them to any dangers, but if both of them were too sleepy-eyed to focus properly, they'd end up getting killed anyways. No, he felt much safer keeping first watch and letting her get some much-needed sleep.

On instinct, one hand reached into his pocket and grabbed hold of the small half-empty canister of Jet there; but if he partook of the chem, his concentration would drift and he really might end up falling asleep. No, he needed to be clear-headed in case something happened. So he passed the time humming to himself, thinking about the folks he left behind in Goodneighbor, and at one point he even snuck over to the radio in the corner and tuned into Diamond City for some music. That settlement might've been filled prejudiced bastards, but they had some of the most quality tunes in the Commonwealth. Occasionally he looked out at the mild radioactive storm going on outside the cave, but a lot of his time was spent watching the woman sleep. There was something so peaceful, so relaxing about it… the only time the ghoul ever felt more at home was when she was looking into his eyes with that smile on her face.

Hancock's own eyes had begun growing rather heavy when he saw her shift on her sleeping bag, her brows furrowing. Bad dream? Uncomfortable? Perhaps the stitches in her shoulder were tugging? When she continued to shift and groan, he sat up and moved toward her to check her shoulder — when Evelyn broke into a sob and her eyes flew open. Immediately tears filled them; and he wasn't sure if it was on purpose or a reaction from just waking up, but she threw her arms around him, clinging to him and not letting go. Her cries wet his jacket, hands fisting in his clothes, hair mussing under his chin — Hancock didn't know how to react at first, so shocked by the suddenness of her emotional outburst. Finally after he was able to gather his own bearings, the ghoul wrapped two steady arms around her. She was shaking against him. "Hey…" his voice was soft, almost a whisper. "You alright?"

When Evelyn finally lifted her face, wide tear-stained eyes looking up at him in fear, Hancock felt his heart sink straight into his stomach. He felt almost sick, seeing such pain on her face. He'd seen people cry, he'd seen people screaming and begging and pleading for their lives, and yet none of them tugged on his chest like her.

But perhaps that was because he'd never met a purer soul, either.

"Shaun," she breathed, voice trembling. "I — it was happening all over again —"

Hancock immediately understood, remembering what she'd told him of her past. Being frozen on ice… losing her husband… child being kidnapped… he had his own demons, his own skeletons in the closet, and he knew how those memories could seep into dreams and fuck with the brain, even when it seemed like you were past it. He pursed his lips, hands coming up to grasp her shoulders firmly, to try and ground her. "You're right here, right now," he said quietly. "You're not there. You're here. Right here."

Evelyn took a few deep breaths and he nodded quietly in encouragement. Closing her eyes for a long moment, she let out another calming breath. "I-I'm so sorry. I don't know why I…"

"Take all the time ya need," the ghoul replied, a hint of that playfulness returning to his voice. "A shapely she-warrior in my lap? I'm not complainin'."

Through the tears, she smiled slightly. "I thought I was a, ah… statuesque goddess."

"I'm just going to combine every compliment I can think of and make a list," he replied confidently. "And at any given time I'll just choose a phrase from the list, that way I'll always keep ya guessing."

A chuckle came from her and she finally was able to unball one fist from his jacket and wipe her eyes. It was clear she was still tired. "So you don't m—"

Before she could finish the phrase, the ghoul had tugged her fully into his lap and settled against the wall once more, suddenly not caring at all that the rocky surface behind him was digging into his spine. "No, I don't."

In any other situation, being so close to one another would have caused a tension that could be sliced with a knife; their attraction to one another was undeniable. But in this moment, in the aftermath of a horrible nightmare, there was only comfort. Peace. Evelyn settled her head on the ghoul's shoulder, eyes beginning to drift closed again; Hancock's arms curled around her firmly, refusing to let go. "Lemme tell ya a story," he began quietly, chin resting atop her head. "I know a fair bit about you and I feel it's only fair I tell ya a bit about myself, too."

"I still wanna know about the costume," she murmured, voice just above a whisper. It was clear she was already half-asleep and her mere curiosity was keeping her awake.

He grunted in amusement. "Alright. Here's the story. Before I ever even thought about becomin' mayor of Goodneighbor, some asshole named Vic ran the town. He was a real dick; treated us all like his personal piggy bank. He had a goon squad he'd use to keep us all in line… and every once in a while, he'd let 'em off their leash to blow off some steam — and guess who they targeted? Sure some of the folks with homes could lock their doors, but us drifters got the worst of it. One night a drifter said somethin' to them — and those fuckers cracked him open like a can of Cram on the pavement. We stood there… we did nothing."

There was silence from the woman, but her hand, still clutching his clothes, tightened slightly. Hancock was in another world as he recounted the tale, his anger and guilt reflected in his raspy voice. "It was cowardly of us… but we were all so terrified, we couldn't bring ourselves to even move until it was over, let alone go get help. I felt like nothing — nah, worse than nothing. Afterwards I got so high that I blacked out completely. When I came to, I was on the bottom floor of the Old State House — coincidentally, right in front of the clothes of ol' John Hancock. John Hancock… first American hoodlum and defender of the People. I was probably still high, but those clothes spoke to me. Called me to a new purpose, told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put on the clothes, became a whole new person. John Hancock. I got clean for a bit, got organized, convinced KL-E-O to lend me some hardware. Got a crew of fellow drifters together, went out into the ruins, started trainin'. All of us. Next time Vic's boys decided to 'blow off some steam,' we'd be ready for 'em… but when the night came, it seemed fate had somethin' else planned. We let Vic's boys get good and plastered, then we burst from the windows and rooftops where we'd been hiding. They didn't see a goddamn thing. We didn't have to fire a shot."

"But you did."

"We didn't have to… but we sure fucking did. It was a massacre. Once we'd mopped up the mess, we strolled right into Vic's quarters in the State House, put a rope around his neck, and threw his ass right off the balcony."

Her hand once again clutched his jacket a little tighter. "He deserves worse."

Hancock moves his head to top it back against the wall, memories flying past his eyes. "Couldn't agree more. But I had a decision to make, killing Vic… there I was, gun in hand, draped in Hancock's duds, looking at all the folks assembled below. They'd seen everything. I had to say something. The phrase just flashed across my mind and I said the words before I even realized it…"

"Of the people…"

"... For the people," Hancock finished Evelyn's statement, feeling a twinge of pride in his gut. "It's cheesy, yeah, but it's more than just a motto. It's our way of life. That was my inaugural address — became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that night, and I made a vow then and there to never stand by and watch — never again."

Evelyn finally lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his gaze; her eyes were tired, but curiosity kept her awake. "You came so far and fought so hard. You were meant to be Mayor… so why did you leave?"

Meeting those eyes once more, Hancock felt a tingling warmth spread slowly from his chest, enveloping his whole body in comfort like a blanket of clouds on a breezy spring day. His mouth opened before he even had a chance to think. "I'm a man who follows my instincts… and they told me that you popped into my life for a reason. I knew wherever you went… I had to go too."

She stared at him with an indecipherable expression for a long moment, before a soft smile curled her red lips. Hancock couldn't help it when his eyes shifted to them. That was a pair of lips he'd been longing to taste from the moment he first saw them, whether he'd initially wanted to admit it or not. The ghoul was past that point now; he knew he liked her, more than words could express, but he wasn't sure how or if to act on those feelings… because first and foremost, he had no idea if she returned them. Hancock was a perceptive man, and judging from the way she looked at him, he'd say she did… but she was also a naturally charismatic person. Was he special? Was this different?

On instinct, one hand moved itself from its spot around her waist to reach up, a few fingers brushing a lock of curly black hair behind her ear, gaze lingering on the raven strands. Hancock had always loved blondes… male or female… but there was something about Evelyn's black hair that sent tingles down his spine.

He didn't seem to be the only one affected by the touch; Evelyn's breath caught and her eyes widened for just a moment. Her hand still hadn't relinquished its grip on his jacket — but he wasn't complaining, because suddenly that hand was pulling him in closer, their faces inches apart. He could feel her warm breath on his lips, could feel the shiver of her body against him, could see the fear and awe and desire in her eyes… and he found all those things mirrored in his own expression. "I — … thank you," Evelyn finally breathed, her voice a mere whisper. "Thank you for everything you've done."

Hancock tried to wrack his brain for a response, but found his eyes settling on her mouth again, every fiber of his being willing himself not to lean in and claim those lips. The tense moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity… before Evelyn finally pulled back and she let out a shaky breath. Pulling from his lap slowly, she settled back down on her sleeping bag, leaving him feeling breathless, confused, and feeling empty without her in his arms. The loss of her body heat, of her comfort struck him harder than he would've ever thought. The ghoul had had lots of flings, had bedded quite a few people, had even had a small share of real relationships… but nothing in his memory had ever, ever felt like this.

Evelyn's eyes opened slowly to the beeping sound of her Pip-Boy's alarm clock, and mild pain throbbed in her stitched shoulder. Sitting up slowly and painstakingly, she looked around to see that Hancock's head was lolled back against the wall; he was sleeping peacefully, snoring lightly with his mouth hung open. The sight brought a smile to her lips — until she remembered the night before. Her nightmares, the way she'd clung to him like a damn child… the story he'd told about his past, the almost-kiss… Suddenly her lips tingled and she brought a few fingers to them, as if making sure they were still there. Still untouched. Un-kissed.

She couldn't lie, she had desperately wanted Hancock to kiss her. Every inch of her body was filled with warmth, desire, comfort. He made her feel at-ease yet nervous, safe yet endangered.

But so many things stood in the way. She couldn't afford to be distracted by the ghoul, no matter how charming he was… or brave… or caring… or funny…

Evelyn shook her head, forcing those thoughts out and focusing on the present. Luckily, even though both of them had fallen asleep, no one had attempted to ambush or attack them, it seemed. The sun was beginning to rise over the hills in the distance; soon it would be light and Deacon would be expecting them. Hopefully this mission with the Railroad would give some sort of valuable intel on the Institute, on Kellogg, or her missing son… that was one of the biggest reasons she had decided to stick with them, to become an agent and help them in their cause.

Because no matter what, everything Evelyn did, she did for Shaun.

Stretching her arms and legs and lifting herself onto her knees, she leaned over to nudge the ghoul's knee. He started awake, eyes flying open and a hand going to the shotgun on the ground next to him; once he realized everything was okay, he let out a breath and let his head drop back against the wall. Then those dark eyes moved to look at her and a sleepy grin curled his lips. "Morning, sunshine," he murmured.

Something about the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice sent warmth right down her spine, pooling in her stomach and spreading to her limbs. "Uhhhh, morning," she replied hesitantly, her cheeks flaring with nervous heat. Scrambling to her feet and re-arming herself, she began slowly making her way to the cave entrance, hand cautiously going to the shotgun clipped onto her hip. After a thorough examination of the surrounding area, she surmised that no one had been there; it was strange to think they'd both been able to get a relatively decent night's sleep… but there it was. And she was feeling much more refreshed and renewed than before.

Hancock joined her at the entrance, clipping his own shotgun onto his belt. "You look like you're feelin' better," he commented.

The rising sun cast a warm orange/yellow glow on them, and Evelyn peered into the horizon, concern rising on her expression. "Yeah. Better. But we need to get to Ticon, quickly; Deacon will be waiting for us, and this sounds important."

"Then let's get this show on the road."

The journey to Ticonderoga didn't take too long. They met a few irritable raiders along the way and nearly had a shoot-out with some gunners, but all in all the trip was easy and they got there by late morning.

But as soon as they arrived, Evelyn knew something was wrong. Very, very wrong. The whole place seemed… off. Quiet. Like it had been… abandoned.

Shotgun in-hand, the pair entered the silent building with alert eyes. They moved through it without any confrontation — which was in and of itself worrisome. If it had been raiders, or super mutants, they would have been confronted with those who lingered, or at least a few bodies.

But they saw nothing.

It was only when they reached the second floor that Evelyn's eyes widened and she threw herself at something on the ground. "High Rise," she cried, setting down her shotgun and frantically tending to him. He was riddled with burns; laser-fire… after a check to his pulse, her eyes slowly closed and she swallowed back her grief, blinking her eyes furiously to keep the tears at bay. There was nothing she could do to help; first-aid was useless. He'd been dead too long. "He's gone," she finally croaked, pushing down the bile rising in the back of her throat.

"He fought to the death," Hancock said quietly from behind her. "He died for his cause. He's honorable."

Evelyn nodded, sniffling slightly and grabbing her firearm. She stood up slowly, taking in the rest of her surroundings; High Rise's body was the only one. So where was…?

"Your friend," Hancock realized with a frown. "He's not here."

"Which means he was intercepted…"

"... or kidnapped," the ghoul finished grimly.