** CHAPTER SONGS:

"Run Boy Run," by Woodkid, "Where's My Love," by SYML, and "Murder," by Within Temptation.

RUN BOY RUN

Run boy run!
This ride is a journey to
Run boy run!
The secret inside of you
Run boy run!
This race is a prophecy
Run boy run!
And disappear in the trees

Hancock irritably glanced sideways at the most unlikely figure currently trotting along beside him, keeping pace well. MacCready hadn't slowed him down at all and was thankfully silent for most of the time, but Hancock hadn't really been expecting the company. If Evelyn wasn't fighting by his side, he'd just as soon take on the challenge alone. Besides, it wasn't like he could make dirty jokes and hit on MacCready — well, he could, MacCready wasn't a bad looking guy, but jokes like that would probably get a bullet in his head. Unlike the untrusting grouch next to him, Evelyn would simply joke right back.

God, Evelyn.

That name clenched his stomach in the most pleasant and agonizing ways. She was the sunlight; she was the light at the end of the tunnel. But what she'd said… that look in her eye…

Maybe the high had died down too much. Popping a few more Mentats into his mouth, Hancock felt his body relax almost immediately and he continued on his way, paying more attention to the silent man next to him. But one question did nag on his mind; the higher he got, the more persistent the question seemed. But before he could ask, the two were under fire. "Shit," Hancock cursed, fucking behind cover and pulling out his handy dandy shotgun. He should have expected this, considering they were going through the heart of Boston and therefore the heart of danger — but it was still annoying. He had ground to cover, he didn't have time to get side-tracked —

Suddenly MacCready shoved into the space next to him, bullets spraying the ground right next to them. "Is there any way we can just sneak outta here?" Hancock insisted. "I don't have time for this shit!"

"Just give me a second, asshole," MacCready said, loading a few rounds into his rifle and leaning around the corner. Eye on the scope, he fired two shots and the opposing gunfire ceased. When the drifter sat back, the ghoul could see a smug, satisfied look on his face.

"Well," Hancock muttered. "Guess I can't complain about you comin' along anymore."

It wasn't too long before the pair was met with trouble again. Hancock had agreed to scout ahead since he was more of a close-range fighter and they even developed hand signals to let each other know where the enemies were and what to do. Surprisingly enough, they were long out of Boston when danger found them once more. Badlands Raiders made a real bad decision when they decided to mess with Hancock and MacCready — but the problem was that the two men were separated, and there were a lot of Raiders. MacCready was too pinned down by gunfire to get a good shot, and Hancock was too pinned down to take any out at close range. "Looks like your girlfriend is gonna beat that merc's ass all by herself, at this rate," MacCready yelled across a couple of rooftops. "Why the hell are you trailing after her anyways?! I saw what happened last night — we all did!"

"Why the hell are you comin' along then?!" Hancock shouted back.

"She promised me a rare issue of Grognak next time she saw me!"

The ghoul had never rolled his eyes harder than he had just then. Grognak. Glancing around the corner, Hancock took note of how many there were and where exactly they were. They needed a distraction, something that would draw the attention away from MacCready and give him time to put a bullet in a few of these bastards. Hancock's first thought was to make a show, and normally he was just foolhardy enough to do it, but he had to make sure he reached Fort Hagen in one piece. He'd be no help to Evelyn if he showed up crippled. He had a smoke bomb leftover from an old escapade with Fahrenheit, but letting one of those loose would take away MacCready's visibility too.

"Well, shit."

BOOM. Before Hancock could come with any other plans, he was thrown backwards, back hitting the wall of a nearby building. Thankfully he hadn't been singed by the blast, but that was way too close for comfort. In shock he glanced over at MacCready to see the drifter pulling out what looked to be his second frag grenade, and the ghoul put up a hand to stop him. "You nearly killed me!" he exclaimed in outrage, making the signal for them to leave, and the pair used the panic-induced destruction to make a quick getaway. Hancock's leg twitched in pain as he picked up the pace, doing his best to keep up with the drifter beside him. "Did you even bother to look when you threw that grenade?"

"A 'thank you' would be just fine," MacCready snapped, still gripping his rifle in case they were followed.

Hancock muttered curses under his breath, wiping some sweat and ash from his face. MacCready was silent for a long time, but his next words hit the ghoul like a blow to the stomach. "The Hancock I knew would've relished a fight and wouldn't have given a damn about a live grenade."

"Are you outta your goddamn mind? No sane person woulda wanted their fuckin' legs blown off back there."

MacCready rolled his eyes. "Point is, you've changed. A lot."

The ghoul fell silent. Finally, he murmured, "you're not the first to tell me that."

"It's 'cause of that woman. The Grognak lady. Ever since you met her you've changed." There was a slight venom in the drifter's voice, as if trying to get a rise out of the ghoul. "You've gone soft."

Well, if MacCready wanted to get a rise out of him, it worked. Fury boiled in the ghoul's stomach and before he knew it he had the drifter pinned to the nearest wall, a hand at his throat. "Soft?" Hancock's voice was deceptively soft, but the glint in his black eyes spelled death. "I'll tell ya what's soft, MacCready — your fuckin' eyeballs after I pluck 'em outta your goddamn head and squish 'em like grapes."

Most anyone in the Commonwealth would have been quaking in their boots at the threats the mayor of Goodneighbor just delivered, but MacCready only scrunched his nose in disdain. "I was expecting a beat-down, or at least a punch to the jaw. You really have gone soft."

"Oh yeah?" With a perfectly straight face the ghoul delivered a blow to the drifter's stomach so hard that it sent a little vomit flying. Another, and another, and another; until MacCready was done taking punches and shoved Hancock off of him, attempting to pin him this time. The ghoul was a slippery bastard however and was able to slide out of his companion's grasp. "I don't have time for this shit," he snapped, turning to continue his journey.

MacCready surprisingly fell into line, panting softly from their fight and muttering under his breath. "That's what I'm talking about," he hissed. "Are you really gonna change yourself to accommodate some woman?"

Hancock sighed. He really wasn't going to let this go, was he? Still marching purposefully, the ghoul shot a nasty glare at his unwanted partner. "Firstly, you don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," he began roughly. "If time wasn't of the essence, I'd be puttin' a bullet in your leg just for challenging me. I've had this conversation with myself more than once and I've always come to the same conclusion. Truth is, MacCready, and I understand your little pea-brain might not get it at first; I haven't changed. I'm still the same ol' Hancock. The only difference is… I'm not puttin' myself first anymore. I've got someone else to think about for the first time in my miserable life."

A long silence reigned.

Voice quieter now, Hancock finished, "and you wanna know somethin' else? It's fuckin' fantastic."

WHERE'S MY LOVE

I got a fear, oh, in my blood
She was carried up into the clouds, high above

If you bled, I'll bleed the same
If you're scared, I'm on my way

Nick Valentine noticed things. It was his job, after all. So he noticed every single time Evelyn reached into her pocket out of habit, and her expression fell. Thinking back on the story she'd told, she was probably reminded constantly of the precious token she'd lost — and the loss of her trusted companion, too. She probably tried her damndest not to be plagued by guilt, but knowing her, it was there in the back of her mind, constantly knocking, and it made their journey silent for the most part. Nick hummed to himself occasionally, lit up a cigarette here and there, even mumbled some information aloud about some of his other cases, trying to make connections and add up the facts, but he was mostly content with their companionable silence. He knew Evelyn wasn't in the mood to hash things out anymore, and he knew it wasn't his business to pry into personal affairs, even though they were good friends.

But he could see she was drowning in her own thoughts, and as he racked his mind for a way to pull her out of the dark hole she'd crawled into, an old story came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. "I ever tell you about the one and only time Ellie assisted me on a case out in the field?"

Silver eyes darted over to him and dark brows raised in surprise. "Ellie worked with you in the field?"

"Once," Nick responded, amusement in his voice. "Only once. It was about a year ago, and she'd expressed interest in learning how to hold, shoot and maintain a gun for personal protection. Things were getting rough in Diamond City at the time, considering all the Institute rumors spreading around, and I was a big target for those who were afraid of synths."

"Wonder why," Evelyn muttered.

Nick let out a humored grunt. "I think it was the trench coat." A pause. "Anyways, we got a case from someone in Diamond City whose desperation overcame their apprehensions and they hired us to find their buddy who'd gone out into Boston and never came back."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "I understand wanting to find a friend, but it's Boston. They probably ended up in a Super Mutant's meat sack —" A smirk curled her lips. "Heh — I could have phrased that better."

"No, I don't think you could have," Nick replied straight-forwardly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "and that's exactly what happened — but of course we didn't know that when we took the case. Ellie was scared out of her mind, stepping foot outside Diamond City, but she put on a brave face. First we were met with some Raiders who probably took one look at Ellie's tiny frame and decided our valuables were ripe for the taking. Funny thing was — I don't know if she was steeling herself for it, or just panicked — but she took 'em all out before I could even draw my gun."

"She WHAT?" Evelyn was cackling at this point. "Ellie? Taking out a gang of Raiders? There's no fucking way — Nick, you're lying."

"I couldn't be more honest if I tried," Nick reassured her, grinning slightly himself. "Old girl took out all five of them. Emptied an entire clip and wasted some bullets — but by god, she did it."

"What did she do when you both finally found the missing man?"

Nick shook his head ruefully, hands stuffed in the pockets of his trenchcoat. "Hid. Can't blame her; doesn't matter how battle-hardened you are, looking at those ugly green mugs will strike fear in anyone." A sigh. "Those bastards seek out fear, I think. They went straight for her and ignored me. I took care of them, but not before one of them decided to take a chunk out of her shoulder."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "I'll bet you'd never been more worried in your life," she said quietly.

Nick didn't answer. Instead he rifled around in his pocket for a small, dirty pack of cigarettes, and lit one up. Smoking it would do him no good, provide no relief, but it was sheer habit at this point. A part of his programming, even. "I don't think I have to mention she never went out in the field again," the detective finally said, voice filled with amusement once more. "Funny thing was, even though she was the one with a gash in her shoulder, she was still worried about this old tin can."

"Because she loves you," Evelyn responded, exasperated. "When are you gonna get it through that supercomputer brain of yours? Alright — that does it. Whenever we get back to Diamond City, I'm having an intervention for the two of you."

Nick pursed his lips, flustered. His voice was surprisingly even, however. "Not that it's my business, but don't you have your own love affair to attend to first?"

Evelyn flinched. "It isn't any of your business," she muttered. Nick felt a tad guilty for bringing up such a sensitive subject for the woman, but on the plus side, it seemed to have gotten her mind off the mission at-hand.

As night fell, the pair stopped at a Railroad safe house and took a short rest. Nick had suggested Evelyn get some sleep because she'd definitely need it for the road ahead, but the woman refused. Wasn't surprising, considering it was difficult to get her to take a break at all. Now that they were getting closer to Fort Hagen, the ravenette was becoming increasingly single-minded and bloodthirsty. Nick knew at this point there was no point in trying to distract her or keep her calm; Evelyn's pacing and mumbling under her breath was understandable. She was about to come face-to-face with the man who'd kidnapped her son and murdered her husband. It was only her immense level-headedness that even allowed her to consider Nick's suggestion for a rest at all.

"What happened that night?"

Evelyn stopped, turned to stare at him in confusion, and finally found her words. "... What night?"

"The night the bombs fell. What were you doing that day?" Nick continued. He wasn't sure why that question came to the forefront of his mind, or why it continued to linger there despite the myriad of emotions on the woman's tanned face; eventually he chalked it up to mere curiosity. She truly was an enigma — a pre-war relic without the scarred skin to show it. Evelyn took her time in responding, slowly sitting down as if the question had thrown her off completely, exhausting her. Letting out a sigh, she stared at the wall. Nick waited patiently as she decided whether to answer.

Finally, she did. "Halloween was drawing close. Shaun had been taking a nap, then got fussy for a bit. Codsworth tended to him while I changed. Nate was…" her lip trembled and her mouth clamped shut for a moment. Nick's sharp eyes could see tears threatening to fall, but she held them back remarkably well. "... Nate was shaving, in the bathroom. I remember being irritated, because days earlier some guy in an ugly yellow suit kept harassing us to 'sign up for the apocalypse.' Since I was in the military we were guaranteed a spot in the local vault. Apparently he was convinced the end was coming — he didn't know just how right he was, I guess."

She fell silent. Nick thoughtfully replied, "I have memories. Of the bombs. Obviously it is simply part of my programming — the 'identity' I was given — but I sometimes dream about it."

"You can dream…?"

"In a sense." Nick smiled ruefully. "Sometimes I wish these memories were truly mine. But, ah, no use in lingering on things that can't happen. The reality is, I'm an old-generation synth. A bucket of bolts with a brain designed for sniffing out clues."

Evelyn peered at him. A wry smile curled her lips. "You're more human than most humans I know, Nick Valentine," she replied quietly.

Despite Nick's insistence upon getting rest, Evelyn couldn't sleep. Her brain went in circles, and it was only the short and brief conversations with the synth himself that momentarily distracted her from one thing:

She was about to face Kellogg. The man who kidnapped her son. The man who… who killed Nate.

He would pay.

Fort Hagen still seemed as boarded up and inaccessible as the last time she'd passed by it; analyzing the area, Nick said, "we're going to have to find another way in. Perhaps the garage entrance hasn't been blocked…"

"There's an entrance in the garage?" Evelyn cursed quietly. "If only I'd known… this whole time… he was right here…"

She was brought back to the present by Nick's hand settling on her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't waste your breath lamenting the past. We're here now, right? Let's get in there and bash some heads."

Evelyn nodded, following along behind the synth as he led the way. Thankfully the door in the garage wasn't locked or barricaded after all, and as soon as they set foot inside the building, the ravenette felt another step closer to her ultimate goal. She also felt a rush of fury on par with a strong dose of Psycho, and had to keep herself from pulling out her shotgun and mowing down anything that dared move. Up a few sets of stairs they went, and immediately the pair was met with a terminal that locked the door they needed to pass through. In the connecting hallway a robot voice rang out, its politeness deceptive of its true intentions: "is someone there?"

Now was as good a time as any. Evelyn pulled out a laser rifle for longer range, hoping against hope her aim would be as good as it needed to be. "Can you get the terminal?" she asked in a hushed voice as she aimed the barrel of the rifle in the direction of the voice. "I'll cover you."

"Got it," the detective replied, fingers clicking away hurriedly at the keyboard. Sharp silver eyes kept peeled for any sign of danger as she stood with her back to Nick's, using her own body as a shield. If he was going to stick his neck out for her and come along with her on the most important mission of her life, she damn well was going to make sure he left without a scratch.

For a brief moment Evelyn wondered if stealth would be a better option — but quickly shoved caution to the wind and decided she was going to turn every goddamn synth in this hell-hole into scrap metal.

The moment one of the striders poked its head around the corner, she opened fire and mowed it down. Another one followed suit before Nick was finally able to get the door open. Putting a hole right in the synth's chest, Evelyn followed the detective in and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it.

Appearance-wise, Fort Hagen really wasn't different from any of the other pre-war bunkers in this wasteland — but the dangers it held within were much more insidious, the pair realized as they moved through at a quick and steady pace. Kellogg aside, these synth striders were designed to take a beating, and in numbers they were proving to be difficult. Finishing off a batch of them, Evelyn reloaded her laser rifle and prepared to move on when a voice over the intercom froze her in her tracks.

"Well, if it isn't my old friend… the frozen TV dinner."

MURDER

You don't believe what all the signs say,
Don't believe in judgment day;
But you won't be leaving here unharmed.

'Cause I've been finding out
Where you've broken in,
And I will take you out
When I close you in...

I'm killing them all,
I put my soul on the line;
I purify sins
That I've committed in life.
I follow them all
And I'll be bringing them down,
Wherever they go
I'm right behind.
There's nowhere to go,
Your head on the line;
There is no rope -
You're running out of time.
So where will you go,
When I will murder you so?

Ice slid down Evelyn's spine. Though she'd only heard it speak once before, she'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler," Kellogg continued lazily over the intercom.

Her teeth clenched. "Well if it isn't the balding bastard with piss-poor taste in beer and cigars," she retorted, but there was no humor in her tone.

"And professions, apparently," Nick added grimly.

Either Kellogg couldn't hear them, or he simply chose not to respond, but he went quiet after that and the pair continued on their way. The further they went, the colder it got, and the synths kept coming relentlessly. Filled with a new fury, Evelyn tore them to pieces before Nick could even lift his gun. She could tell from his expression that she was worrying him with the intensity of her emotions; he probably thought she was headed straight for a mental breakdown. And maybe she was.

But she didn't have time to dwell on it, and she certainly didn't have time to play it cool or use tact. She barrelled through any synth that popped up in their way, taking scratches and glancing fire the whole time; but she didn't feel a damn thing — nothing, other than rage.

"Sorry your house has been a wreck for two hundred years, but I don't need a roommate. Leave."

There it was again — that dispassionate, snide voice. "KELLOGG!" Evelyn screamed in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Quickening her pace, she was now rushing through the fort so quickly it was becoming increasingly difficult for her partner to keep up. "Hmmm." Kellogg's voice was low, thoughtful as he spoke over the intercom again. "Never expected you to come knocking on my door. Gave you 50/50 odds of making it to Diamond City… after that, figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky." Silence fell for a few moments. Evelyn was too busy stewing in her anger to really respond — not that it would do any good, anyways. Seemed the intercom system was one-way. Kellogg did eventually continue, and Evelyn listened even though every word made her teeth clench a little harder. "Look. You're pissed off. I get it. I do."

"Pissed off doesn't begin to cover it," she ground out quietly, nostrils flaring.

"But whatever you hope to accomplish in here? It is not going to go your way."

Evelyn was at the point where she attempted to lift her gun, aiming to put a hole in the ceiling — anything to shut him up. But Nick was the voice of reason, as always. "He's just trying to bait you," the detective said, voice much calmer than her own. "Don't let him."

"You've got guts and determination, and that's admirable. But you're in way over your head, in ways you can't possibly comprehend."

Evelyn was still riled up, but Nick kept her settled down the best he could. "This guy just likes to hear himself talk," he muttered. "Never gets tired of his own voice. You can't let him get in your head, you understand? That's exactly what he wants."

"It's not too late. Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option; not a lot of people can say that." Kellogg sounded genuine, but there was no way in hell she was going to turn around now. Nick was right; he was just trying to get into her head. Make her falter. Find her weak points, and exploit them.

She wasn't going to fall for it; no. She was going to murder him.

Evelyn pushed ahead, and Nick followed dutifully despite his increasing worry. By the time she heard Kellogg's voice again, she must've gone through a hundred synths. She was running low on ammo in her laser rifle, so she put it away and pulled out her trusty shotgun. She didn't care if she had to put every shell she owned into his goddamned chest; Conrad Kellogg was going to die today. He spoke one final time, his voice sounding resigned. "Okay. You made it. I'm just up ahead. My synths are standing down… let's talk."

Evelyn's teeth clenched but she made no reply; she would wait to look him in the eye and tell him how much she despised him before she killed him. Up ahead, she saw a synth watching them. It opened a door for her to enter, its rifle held uselessly at its side. As they approached, it made no move to attack, but Evelyn lifted her shotgun and put a shell in its head regardless. Normally she wasn't the type to needlessly take a life, but her roiling emotions had taken over her decision-making. She was angry, and they needed to pay.

Much more cautious now than before, the ravenette walked through the door that had been opened for her, and she found herself entering a large, decrepit room with old adjoining desks and many trashed terminals on them. This was a sort of mainframe room where many worked together — back before the bombs, of course. Of course Kellogg would shack up here. It was undoubtedly the safest room in the entire fort.

Speaking of Kellogg, she saw him emerge from behind a desk with synths on either side, and immediately her pulse shot through the roof. She immediately lifted her gun, aiming the barrel straight at him as he confidently approached. "There she is; the most resilient woman in the Commonwealth. Funny… I thought I had that honor. You came a long way… so let's hear it."

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak; to tell him all the horrible things he'd done, to call him every awful name she could think of, to berate him for how he'd ripped apart her family, to tell him he was going to die a slow and painful death… but nothing came out. She couldn't seem to find her voice, and Kellogg noticed. A humorless smile curled his lips as bloodshot hazel eyes — the devil's eyes — looked her up and down. That smile, that cold look in his eyes, it brought her right back to reality and that anger welled up in her chest once more. Before she really knew what she was saying, the words came rushing out: "You murdering, kidnapping psychopath! Give me my SON. Give me Shaun! NOW!"

"Straight to the point, huh? Was expecting you to be long-winded… to make a great speech about all the shit I've done… how I broke up your family. No other choice words for me?"

Evelyn kept the shotgun lifted, even more enraged at the fact that he didn't seem frightened at all. In fact, Kellogg looked quite confident that he wasn't going to get a scratch on him, and that fact alone had her breathing so heavy she thought her lungs might burst. "How about I just put several bullets in your goddamn brain instead, you son of a bitch?"

"Your son, Shaun." That phrase alone kept the ravenette from pulling the trigger. "Great kid. A little older than you may have expected, but I'm guessing you've figured that out by now. But if you're hoping for a happy reunion… ain't gonna happen. Your boy's not here."

"Goddamn it, you mercenary motherfucker! WHERE. IS. MY. SON?" Evelyn's voice had quickly raised into a yell and silver eyes nearly bulged out of her head in anger. She didn't want to kill him until she'd gotten her answers, but he was sorely testing her patience. Only the thought of finding Shaun stayed her hand. "WHERE IS HE?"

"What's the cliche? 'So close, yet so far away?' Yeah, that sounds about right. But don't worry, you can die happy knowing he's safe in a loving home. The Institute." All this time, Kellogg hadn't moved a muscle, not even bothering to reach for the pistol at his hip. Likewise, none of the eight synths in the room had moved, either. The mercenary seemed in no rush whatsoever — and he also didn't seem all that inclined to give her any answers.

Tears were brimming in the corners of Evelyn's eyes, the shotgun's barrel shifting in her trembling grasp. She spoke through her teeth, her voice shaking with fury. "The Institute, huh? I'll find it. I don't care what I have to do. Nothing is going to stop me from finding my son." Salty liquid made its way down her cheek as she pumped the fore-end of the shotgun; hearing this, Kellogg's hand slowly made its way down to the pistol on his belt, eyes never leaving her face. Her next question, however, seemed to surprise him for the first time in their entire encounter: "who is Virgil?"

Kellogg's brows furrowed minutely, but it was more than she'd gotten as of yet. "Where did you hear that name?"

"TELL ME WHO HE IS, MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Who am I to refuse a dying woman's wish?" Kellogg's voice was back to that amused, almost lazy lilt. "He's a scientist for the Institute — or was."

Confusion muddied the white-hot anger she'd been feeling. "But I was told he — he helped synths cross the border over the Commonwealth."

Recognition lit up Kellogg's face, though he did well to keep his expression relatively neutral. "I see. So that was you," he murmured thoughtfully. "I should've known." The hand on his pistol closed around it, pulling it from its holster. Evelyn's finger tightened on the trigger of her shotgun, tears continuing to spill from her eyes. Tears for Shaun. Tears for Nate. Tears for her broken family. For the life that had been taken from her. Kellogg's voice was quieter now; almost tired. "I think we've been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end; so… you ready?"

Evelyn spoke, voice barely a whisper but so filled with venom it seemed to fill the room with ice. "You're going to bleed, and I'm going to enjoy watching the light fade from your eyes."

There was a split-second before the entire room exploded into chaos. In that moment, Evelyn had fired off a round into Kellogg's chest, and he'd managed to graze her thigh with a bullet of his own before ducking behind cover and allowing the synth striders to take the brunt of the fight. Nick, who'd watched the entire scene in grim silence, grabbed Evelyn and pulled her behind a desk for cover, a flurry of laser-fire following them. Another laser blast caught the detective in the leg before they took down the lone synth that had been in the back of the room undetected.

Evelyn, completely undeterred by the pain and filled with blind rage, tried to get up and jump into the fray, but Nick held her back. "Have you got a death wish?" he admonished, trying to shake some sense into her. She wasn't listening; he could tell from the look in her bright, tear-filled eyes. The least he could do at this point was offer her some protection while she went on her rampage; this wasn't his first time fighting alongside the woman, so he knew her battle tactics. Digging into one of her pockets for her, he drew out a familiar syringe; Psycho. Jamming it into her leg, he pushed in the stopper and watched as an animalistic expression hardened her face.

Though the Psycho didn't make much difference in the 'blind rage' department, it certainly made her more resilient. Knowing she wanted Kellogg to herself, Nick busied himself taking out synths who were aiming at her, giving the ravenette a clear line toward her prey. Keeping an eye on her, Nick felt an uncomfortable shiver roll down his spine. He certainly wasn't at the end of Evelyn's gun, but Kellogg was —

— and judging from the look on her face, the mercenary should have been very, very afraid.

Nick got out from behind his desk cover and made his way closer to Evelyn where she made a beeline for Kellogg, simply killing anything that stood in her way; the detective made sure to keep any other gen 2 synths off her back, though he'd gotten a few scratches and scrapes doing so. He'd been pretty lucky so far, and that was thanks to his sharp eye —

— and it was his sharp eye that saw the frag grenade Kellogg was readying up. She was too focused, had too much tunnel vision to see it. Nick yelled out to try and warn her, but it was too late. Kellogg threw the grenade over her head and the explosion came from behind, throwing the woman forward. Nick had been too close to the blast to avoid being knocked off his feet, the back of his head hitting the edge of a desk. The damage to his hardware had the synth blinking slowly, struggling to stay conscious.

Hauling himself to his feet quickly, Kellogg approached Evelyn and kicked her weapon away, pointing his own pistol at her. He paused, giving her a wry smile as she tried to come to her senses, blinking away the confusion. He was bleeding profusely and his breaths came in ragged pants as he stood over her, but his shaking voice was filled with satisfaction as he said, "what do you know — not so resilient after all."

He certainly did like to hear himself talk, Nick thought sluggishly — and that, oddly enough, was his downfall.

Because through a vent in the roof dropped a figure in a flash of red, crashing down on Kellogg. The impact broke the mercenary's leg and left him laying on the floor, crippled; Nick squinted; staggering to his feet and panting, John Hancock of all people mumbled, "goddamn it's hot in that vent."

Crawling through the vents, especially with MacCready constantly complaining and taking up all the fresh air with his blabbing, had been absolute hell. More than one time Hancock had considered farting right in the brunette's face in an effort to shut him up, but had decided against it. He'd also been waiting for MacCready's groaning to be heard by an enemy and a spray of bullets to put them both in the grave, but for some reason, no attacks ever came. A few glances out of the vent openings along their journey spoke volumes; there was a path of destruction that led further and further into the fort, and he knew exactly who'd caused it.

He could only imagine what must've been running through her mind at that moment.

Memories of that night at the Rail went through his mind once more, and a swell of bitterness reminded him that he wasn't completely over what had happened that night. The things she'd said… the look in her eyes… the utter humiliation he'd felt… Hancock had been rejected plenty in his life, but none of it had stung like the expression on her face had. It had taken a lot of thought (and a helluva lot of drugs), but he'd come to terms with his feelings, for the most part. He'd put his heart into this woman — and despite the pain… it had been the best thing he'd ever done. It had opened his eyes to so many things, and he'd come closer to the person he used to be than he ever had as mayor.

No — he'd become a better person. A better person than he ever could have been on his own.

So, no matter what MacCready or anyone else said, he would go to her. He would help her. And he would work things out. Because Hancock was convinced now that Evelyn was his... soulmate. At her side was where he belonged, and at her side was where he would be. They belonged together; the rest was just details.

The air shifted as the pair continued their trek through the vents, and they stopped abruptly when they heard voices. Arguing voices. "Goddamn it, you mercenary motherfucker! WHERE. IS. MY. SON?" That was Evelyn for sure, and Hancock had never heard her voice take on such a tone. The closest she'd come was that night at the Rail… ignoring the clench in his chest and straining to listen in, Hancock tried to crawl as quietly as he could toward an opening so he could get a look at the room below. "WHERE IS HE?" she bellowed, sounding more threatening than he'd ever heard her.

As the two enemies continued their emotionally fueled argument, Hancock found a grate — not too far from where Kellogg was. He could see the mercenary's back and the two synths on either side of him as he continued to argue, much more calmly than his counterpart. Turning his head to look back at MacCready, who had a sour look on his face, Hancock whispered, "can ya think of a game plan?"

"I can't even fucking see down there, how do you expect me to come up with a battle strategy?" the drifter snapped.

Hancock scowled. "I shoulda killed you when I had the chance."

"Being so close to your ass is going to kill me soon anyways," MacCready shot back irritably.

"Hey, lotta guys would kill to be close to my ass," the ghoul countered, smirking. "Lotta girls, too, actually."

"Ugh." The drifter groaned quietly. "Scoot down so I can see."

After shifting around uncomfortably, Hancock was positioned on one side of the grate, MacCready on the other. They both peered down at what was taking place below them, and started talking strategy. "I'm better at close range," the ghoul said, "so I'll need to get down there. Gotta make it count, though."

"I can just snipe them from up here," MacCready agreed. "It might get so crazy that they won't even know I'm here."

"Sounds like a plan." Hancock's attention drifted down to the argument still going on, and a lump appeared in his throat at the sight of Evelyn's face. Tears were running freely down her cheeks, and it was taking everything within her not to shoot her opponent right then and there. The self-restraint she showed in the face of such intense hatred was fucking remarkable; he'd have blown the bastard's head off by now. Seeing her in such pain wounded him deeply, and he wanted nothing more than to get down there and serve some goddamn justice, but he held back. Timing was everything.

But god, did it have to be so fucking sweltering up here?

The room below erupted into utter chaos, and Hancock used the opportunity to shove the grate out, leaving the hole open for him to drop out anytime he chose. He could see Evelyn and Nick taking cover — and the synth shoving a needle full of Psycho into her leg. It seemed he knew of Evelyn's addiction to the chem as well as Hancock himself did. When he saw the grenade in Kellogg's hand, he knew it was time — when he tried to drop out, however, his foot caught. The ghoul's fall was delayed several moments, enough for Kellogg to succeed in his goal of getting Evelyn on the ground. Hancock struggled harder, trying to pull his foot from the fan it had somehow gotten lodged in, and finally he was free —

— and he crashed down… right on top of Kellogg.

It had been unintentional, but he played it off, getting to his feet and shaking the dust off. "Goddamn it's hot in that vent," he muttered, wiping some sweat from his brow.

Nick spoke up from nearby. His voice was slightly warbled, like he was injured. "I'm assuming that was intentional. You have a way of dropping in at the last moment."

"Just lucky I guess," Hancock replied, giving Kellogg's unconscious body a kick and hastily moving over to Evelyn. MacCready picked off the synths one by one from the vent in the meanwhile; it wasn't long before the machines were all still and motionless, and Kellogg was the only one left to take care of. Hancock glanced over at the detective nearby as he stopped in front of Evelyn; while Nick's injuries were concerning, he was far more worried about the ravenette on the floor. Crouching, the ghoul brushed some short black hair from her face and took hold of one of her arms. "Up we go," he instructed gently, giving her arm a tug.

When the mist cleared from her eyes, Evelyn focused up on him and her eyes widened, immediately brimming with tears. "Am I — dreaming?" she asked, voice faint.

"'Fraid not," Hancock replied with a cocky grin. "If you were, we'd be naked and I'd be using my tongue to make you see god. Up we go, love. You've got a mercenary to kill."

Evelyn's expression held a myriad of emotions — amusement, compassion, shock, admiration, gratefulness, immense guilt, and… when Kellogg was mentioned, utter hatred. Gritting her teeth and allowing him to help her to her feet, the ravenette limped over to her shotgun, picked it up, and went over to Kellogg. Hancock stood back from her, and went over to Nick to see how he could help there as she faced her enemy alone.

Hancock tried not to focus on the woman's trembling voice as he took a look at Nick's injuries, exposed wires and dripping oil, but it was hard not to when it was so filled with emotion. "Wake up," she said, kicking him. "WAKE UP!"

As Kellogg stirred, one of her booted feet slammed down on his hand, eliciting a small, tight groan from the man. "You bastard. You fucking son of a bitch. You took my son, you killed my husband. You TOOK MY FAMILY FROM ME!"

"Listen —" Kellogg began, but the foot on his hand went to his throat, pressing down hard enough to make his voice incredibly pinched, his face quickly going red. Between wheezes, the mercenary smiled coldly and said, "it was nothing personal. You... made it personal. Now… I can die happy knowing… knowing you'll never… find… your son."

"Fuck you, Kellogg."

BOOM.

It was a grizzly sight, seeing the shell go into the mercenary's face while his scalp, skull and brains splattered the floor behind him, but Hancock couldn't seem to look away. After watching the dead body for a few moments longer, black eyes shifted to look at Evelyn. She stared at Kellogg, breathing heavily and keeping her shotgun at eye-level for what seemed like forever before suddenly dropping the weapon and falling to her knees.

Having wrapped Nick's head up so the wires up top weren't exposed anymore, he set the fedora atop the synth's head, gave him a little pat, and hurried back over to Evelyn. Crouching in front of her, he watched her intently. She looked… dead. Like murdering that man had taken what was left of her soul.

And then the tears came. She collapsed on him, sobbing, letting out all the anguish she'd been feeling. Her pain seeped into the front of his red coat and Hancock simply sat down, pulling her in close and wrapping strong arms around her. He held her while she cried, ignoring the brains on the floor or the stench of death or the sparks of the ruined synth bodies all around them. The ghoul said nothing, simply let a scarred hand stroke Evelyn's hair as she clung to him, as if afraid she might die if she did. Kellogg was dead now, but there was no celebration to be had. Only mourning for the losses she'd endured. For losses they'd all endured at the hands of the Institute.

She was wallowing in her agony, and he was shouldering that burden too.