There's an old pre-war saying about not being able to appreciate something you have until it's gone, well, that can mean a lot of things for a lot of different people, and not many folks nowadays have enough to lose, or anything to miss. To Nick, it was as simple as being out of doors. It was something he always enjoyed, especially after he had an occasion to spend a good chunk of a week in his cramped, somewhat homey, Detective Agency. At first it was Ellie trying to keep him sane, encouraging him to 'get some air' even though the benefit was entirely lost on him, but he found that he liked it regardless. First it was just taking a lap around the bases, and then it grew into a mile of scenic route up north of the river, through those old houses boarded up if not broken down.

It cleared his head for the most part; he was able to re-approach whatever case had been giving him trouble at the time, but he soon felt like he was following some kind of old pattern. He couldn't figure out at the time what it was, but the answer was actually pretty simple, he's just done it all before.

Ole' pre-war Nick Valentine must have done something similar, just walking, not thinking about much in particular, just enjoying the view, the breeze, and the quiet. The realization didn't bother him as much as he thought it might, it's not like the old cop invented going on a nice stroll. So they happened to both enjoy a walk, no big deal, he wasn't about to let it ruin a good thing. That's what he told himself, at least, when the almost guaranteed impending existential frustration was ready to knock on his front door.

The sky is starting to glow orange between the streets, and the collective trilling of birds echo through the otherwise quiet avenues as they nest within the twenty to thirty story structures around them, making good use of the overgrowing foliage as it climbs those hundreds of feet to coat the outside ruins of what used to be office buildings. He'd made the mistake of wandering into one of those particular oversized bird sanctuaries, the inside looked like it had gotten a fresh coat of white paint and the smell just about knocked him on his hind. Not his proudest retreat, that's for sure.

Standing a few feet from the gate of the Park Street Station, Nick takes a second to just listen; relishing the idea of going on one of those walks of his, but unfortunately the sun is going to come up soon and he's got some extended babysitting to attend to.

He'll have to compromise and settle for the sights and sounds right here in front of him.

He'd managed to get Darla to co-operate, to the extent of her begrudgingly agreeing to cling onto his back while he hauled her topside. They went back through the subway where he'd come in initially all those weeks ago, there was a back door that lead out into an alley, but he wouldn't have been able to get her up that ladder and out the manhole without hurting her further, plus it wasn't exactly sanitary.

While he worried about Darla and her discomfort, he also had to keep an eye on that fellow 'Don' as he walked limping a few paces in front of him, thank goodness he didn't collapse or trip, because Nick sure wasn't up for watching him tumble or fight his instinct to catch him because that would mean dropping Darla to dive bomb after his skull to keep it from bouncing on the tiles. He figured a grown ass man could harbour enough instinct to at least put his hands out in front of him if it came down to it.

Suddenly, like it was scripted, Don interrupts Nick's moment of calm, "Y'know. If I knew that this whole side-quest was going to leave me with more wounds and more things to do, I might have considered just staying in bed this morning."

Nick deems the feeling mutual, slopes his shoulders now that the moment is gone, and turns back towards the gate where Don is leaning with a slump against its concrete frame. It's safe to say that he looks like crap, his breathing is laboured and he looks like he just pulled a two week binge without any sleep, but at least he's able to walk and his state hasn't appeared to dull his mood.

Unfortunately...

"I think it's safe to say that going back West through the heart of Boston isn't the safest route given that one of us can't walk and the other could probably be knocked over by a stiff wind," Don gingerly pokes his thumb against his chest, "Me, that person is me. One stiff wind and I'm a goner."

Nick blinks neutrally and waits for him to finish.

"So!" Don exclaims, "I say we go east, out of Boston, take the long way around the north end of the river. Head over to Cambridge, or, y'know, whatever's left of it, and cross the river again. Boom. Boston avoided."

Nick shakes his head, a little disappointed that the idea isn't better than what's been rolling around in his noggin' the past fifteen minutes, "The bridges on the north-east side of the river are generally crawling with either ferals or super mutants, everything else from here to there is owned by the Gunners or some organized group of raiders."

"Ho-kay, what about South?"

"Too far," Nick sighs, "Though it might make for a nice stroll if two thirds of us were in good health."

Don gently crosses his arms over his chest, flinching a little as he does, and studies Nick through a light grimace of pain, "So-oo, are you going to tell me your plan, or do you want me to keep deliberating for your amusement?"

Nick cocks a little smirk, he's not dull, I'll give him that, "I wanted to see how long I could stretch it."

"Funny-y," Don exhales, "Let me guess; you have some Med-X in one of your pockets too?"

Amused, Nick passively raises a hand, "Look, in all seriousness, I was hoping not to have to use it, that's all. I was waiting for you to come up with a better plan."

"I walked into a mob den with a single hostage at gun point," Don states placidly, "Do I look like a guy with a plan?"

"It was a bit of a gamble..."

"Okay, so, excluding everything up until now in regards to any of my ideas, do please explain how you intend to get us the hell out of dodge in one piece."

Nick shrugs, "Well, we're not going back to Diamond City, for starters."

Don raises his brows, "Beg pardon?"

"There's a settlement nearby," Nick explains, "Goodneighbour, and I happen to know the john who runs it."

"Uh, how close is nearby?"

"About two blocks that way," Nick quickly points towards the north-east exit road.

Don opens his arms in exasperation, suddenly feeling no pain apparently, "Okay, wow, seriously? It's literally just over there? This whole time?"

"Yeah, that one's on me." Nick admits.

"That's one's on y..." Don reaches up and runs is hands over his face, combing through his dark moppy locks, "Shit, okay, I have to know the story behind why that isn't plan A, because that's fucking ridiculous."

Nick sighs and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, hoping to divulge only as much information as necessary given the particular... topic. As it stands it's the last thing he expected to bring up at the end of his imprisonment, surprises all around, "Let's just say I haven't been around Goodneighbour in a while and... the mayor and I have history. I was hoping my first visit after so long wouldn't include dropping two victims of a mob dispute at his doormat."

Don stares at him for a moment, his gaze narrowed in serious analysis that Nick realizes, moments too late, is going to take his lack of facial cues to affirm everything he wants to know. There's something to say about reading someone's reserve with just as much clarity as total emotional transparency, not everyone can do it, and Nick considers in that moment that this john might be a hell of a lot more than he appears.

Don then smirks, and it's accompanied by an expression of dangerous curiosity.

Nick doesn't like it one bit, it feels like he just picked him up like an old leather bound journal and read all his contents, suddenly he feels naked without his jacket.

"Ohhhhh," Don nods, "I see."

"Yeah, so you'll forgive my hesitation on the matter."

"Oh, now that just won't do," Don suddenly guffaws like he was holding it all in with nothing but scotch tape, "We'd better come up with a new plan to avoid the emotional trauma of asking your ex for help!"

Nick feels his coolant beginning to circulate and snaps in indignation, "Look pal, if it wasn't a good idea, I would've kept my mouth shut!"

Don raises his hands, "Alright, calm down! We all have a little history, Mr. Valentine, there's no need to be embarrassed."

The detective would be flushed if his anatomy allowed it, thank goodness he doesn't suffer from that adverse reaction, at least not topically, "Yeah, yeah, are you in or not?"

"Uh-duh," Don points eastward with his thumb, "I'm in no state to crawl through his place by myself!"

"Good, then let's get the hell out of here."

"You're the boss."

Thank God...

Nick huffs as he approaches the gate, his fans are kicking in too now, he knew it was a mistake mentioning Goodneighbour at all; he should've kept his damn mouth shut and risked going south.

Ignoring Don for the moment, he instead focuses on Darla, kneeling down in front of her to get an impression of her state. He'd let her settle for a few minutes after carrying her up here, it wasn't easy on her leg, while she didn't complain, he could hear it in her breathing, every nudge or misstep was probably like pressing puree on a blender.

He'd wrapped his jacket around her earlier, but still she has a light tremble and the cold beading sweat on her brow tells him that she's still in quite a bit of pain, her dark makeup is smeared and running down to the corners of her mouth, really accentuating the discolouration of her skin. When she glances up at him, he can see the whites of her eyes now stained red, her eyes swollen.

"How're you holding up?" Nick asks her gently.

Darla frowns a little, and says nothing.

"We're heading over to Goodneighbour; think you can make the trip?"

She curls her lips a little, her voice is fragile, but still manages to house a little venom, "Don't got a choice, do I?"

"Well, not so much," Nick sighs, "Look, once you're fixed up, I'll take you back to your folks. You want to take off again after that, it's up to you. Can't promise they won't send me out after you again, though."

Darla's expression suddenly drops, and her eyes glaze with tears.

Nick feels himself jolt a little and jokes on instinct, "Hey, come on. I'd at least give you a head start, no sense in breaking my back trying to save someone who doesn't want to be saved, right?"

She shakes her head, "I ain't gonna run off again, why would I? I don't got a reason to anymore."

Nick opens his mouth, but decides not to say anything more, and nods sympathetically. He never saw exactly what happened to Skinny, but judging from the mess he left behind, it wasn't pretty. He doesn't know the exact nature of their relationship, whether it was a fling or some semblance of 'true love' but either way, it must've been damn hard to watch.

"Come on," He pivots on his knee so she can climb onto his back, thankfully his leg isn't bothering him as much as it had been after Vinny kicked it in, "We need to get moving, I'll try to be gentle."

Darla eyes him, but does actually shuffle over to cling onto his back, he loops his arms under her knees, mindful of her broken leg, and manages to get to his feet; thankfully she's not a very big girl.

Nick passes a silent look of acknowledgement towards Don, only to see that all the evidence of the man's elated mood has now been replaced by empathy. If it's towards Darla, or himself, Nick can't be sure, but he's suddenly thankful for the mournful quiet between the three of them as they slowly, quietly, make their way up the road towards Goodneighbour.

Nick can't help feeling a knot of anxiety swell in the hollow bit of his gut. After all, it's been almost a year since he's spoken to John Hancock.

Sometimes, more often than he was willing to admit, John Hancock partook in his far share of all-nighters. Generally they were accidental, you take a sip, you take a hit, and suddenly you're blinking into the sunrise wondering where the hell the rest of your night went. It happens, especially when you're on a particularly good trip, and it's how you can kill a hell of a lot of time in what feels like minutes.

Last night... wasn't one of those nights.

Hancock, for lack of a better term, was fucking exhausted before the sun had even gone down and he committed to that peak level of fatigue like it was his fucking blitz-day present. (That being something Fahrenheit and some of her Watchers liked to call his 'ghoulification' or 'anti-birth' day mostly because it sounded cool.) Just like that he was out like a fucking light before his hat could even hit the floor.

At the time of this particular commitment, his weariness had been a three stack combination of some of those so-called 'all-nighters', infighting at the Third Rail, and an extra helping of drama from the Watch. Turns out one of his own damn people had been replaced. One of his citizens, who at the time had been going through one hell of a personality shift, was cornered, questioned, and subsequently shot. Hancock had heard it from his balcony.

In cases like that, Hancock didn't want to jump to conclusions, but considering who the guy was, and what kind of shift he went through, there wasn't a whole lot of room for doubt. He'd been another low-life that occupied space around here, another local with a few personality quirks that didn't make him fit anywhere else. Suddenly he's a saint and no one could figure out why, at least, not at first. He let the Watchers make the call when the time came.

Being in charge around here isn't without its bad days, but he'd rather do it himself than watch some idiot dangle his power over the folks like he'd dangle his... never mind, Of the people, for the ra-ra-ra...goddamn I'm tired.

Unfortunately, Hancock didn't think to take anything before passing out, the idea and benefit didn't even cross his mind, which it should have, given that he's always heavy sleeper on chems and without them he's literally a boot drop away from being startled awake. Which is why, abruptly, he's blinking, startled, into the dimly lit room he passed out in, on the couch he usually got high on, wondering why the hell he's suddenly awake before the sun could worm its way in through the eastward windows.

"Wuh-th-fuh..." He drawls out, pivoting his head to look around in a haze and spotting someone standing his feet with their arms crossed, he stares at them for a moment and then repeats himself without any clarity, "Wuhthfuh?"

The figure reaches over and turns on the lamp, igniting the room and revealing the shadowy profile of his Second-In-Command, Fahrenheit, as she stands over him wearing her jeans and a stained grey tank top. She looks like she's just woken up too, he can see the irritation lined in her sun baked face.

"Up and at 'em," Her voice is rough and gravelly, "You've got company."

Hancock blinks through his two narrowed slits for eyes against the suddenly blaze of light, processing, as he stares at her, realizing that she woke him up on purpose to tell him... someone is here... here. Here to see him. Someone is here to talk to him freaking now? Before sunrise?

He lets out something not quite committing to a growl, his head falling back onto the pillow curled in his arm, "...later." he sighs.

Fahrenheit sighs too, "Pops..."

Hancock lifts his arm and half-heartedly waves it at the coffee table, "Just... give 'em something... I'll deal with it later."

"You're really gonna want to get up and turn around."

Despite the hour, Fahrenheit sounds neutral, cool, and exactly the opposite of the way he's feeling, and after a moment of silence, Hancock realizes that whatever issue needs his expertise isn't about to go away anytime soon, so he begrudgingly pushes himself up from the couch.

"I swear to god..." He gets to his feet shakily, (thankful that he didn't bother to undress before passing out because he can't imagine trying to piece his costume together right now), and stumbles a little, knocking the coffee table in the process and rattling the two bottles that sit amongst the cartridges of jet, "if it's another one of those chem dealer asshole selling to kids, I'll just shoot 'em without another warning."

Fahrenheit stands facing him with her brow cocked, arms folded, only a couple inches taller than him but taller nonetheless, when the hell did she get so tall?

He shrugs at her expectantly, "Well?"

She then steps to the side, around the end of the couch, to reveal a figure standing in the doorway to the sitting room and suddenly Hancock comes to an alert pause when his clouded eyes meet the familiar bright yellow gaze of the dishevelled silhouette.

For a moment Hancock considers that he may have actually taken something before going to sleep, something akin to that experimental drug he took way back whenever the hell, because it looks a hell of a lot like Nick-Goddamn-Valentine is standing on his doorstep for the first time in what must be a year by now and he looks like he's been shoved into a manhole seventeen times.

Hancock opens his arms in astonishment, not really sure what to say or think, as the detective stands filthy, ragged, and nervously quiet. He can tell because he's winding his hands together and fiddling with that damn loose screw in the joint of his wrist, waiting for Hancock to say something, or waiting to think of something to say, he's not too sure.

All he can know for absolute certain is that he doesn't look like he's here for a long overdue visit.

"Nick," Hancock finally says, totally bewildered.

The old synth looks apprehensive, "Hi, John."

Blossoming at the sound of his voice, Hancock grins wide and lets out a raspy chortle as he practically gallops forward, half stumbling, so he can wrap his arms around the rigid, statue-like frame of his old friend. Forgetting for a moment the last time they spoke and how long it's been, because he's too goddamn happy to see him to care about any of that right now.

He also completely forgets about the lack of plush because it feels like he's ramming himself into a wall in the process.

"Nick!" He exclaims, a little winded and sore in his arms and ribs, "Of course you're the only asshole who'd wake me up before dawn. Damn, it's good to see you!"

Nick, stumbling back a little from the impact, chuckles in what sounds like astonishment, "Didn't think you'd actually be asleep."

"You caught me on one hell of an off day," Hancock lets him go after a moment to take a proper look at him, aside from the grime, he doesn't look to have changed much. There might be a ding or two on his face that looks new, but he appears to be the same ole' synth, "You look good."

Nick smirks a little, turning his head to chuckle bashfully, "You're a bad liar."

Hancock shrugs, "Can't blame a ghoul for trying."

Nick chuckles deeply, and looks down at Hancock with his eyes glowing in the low light, taking a moment to exchange a fond glance before the Major of Goodneighbour can see the familiar warm gaze slowly drain back into the apprehension before he has an opportunity to grasp at it. For a moment there, nothing had changed between them, but... that's not exactly true anymore. Now that he thinks about it, it hasn't been for quite some time and he's starting to feel the impending guilt rise in the back of his skull.

The detective then drops his tone, speaking lower, as if weary of eavesdroppers, "Look, I uh... hate to drop in like this, but... I need your help."

Hancock smiles a little in defeat, nodding, "Yeah, I had that figured."

"I don't mean to take advantage of..." Nick hesitates, sighing, "I mean, I would've dropped by sooner if-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Hancock gently squeezes his upper arms where his hands are resting, "Don't worry about it, it ain't a thing, just tell me what you need."

For a moment, Nick looks like he wants to argue, but instead he gives in to the all accepting forgiveness that Hancock is offering and ducks his head, "I got caught in a situation," He explains, "Pretty serious one, and I have two folks downstairs that need a doctor. I'm not sure how bad it is, but we can't make it to Diamond City as is, I was wondering if..."

"Amari," Hancock nods in understanding, "Yeah, she ain't that kind of doctor, but she'd know better than anyone around here. I'll get one of the Watchers to go down to the Den and wake her up."

"I appreciate it," Nick smiles tenderly.

"You got it," Hancock returns the expression and releases his arms, "I'll get Rufus down here, get him to take a look at you too. You look like you need it."

Nick immediately shakes his head, "No, no, I don't think that's..."

"Come on, I insist," Hancock presses, "You look like you've been dragged to the sewers and back."

Nick looks at him for a moment, and suddenly he can see a little of his old playfulness shine through as he exhales and tilts his head back, "Oh, you have no idea..."

With an assured smile, Hancock turns back around to Fahrenheit with something of a request on the tip of his tongue, considering she's the one in charge of the Neighbourhood Watch, but when he does, it hits him with an embarrassing delay that this slightly tense and awkward reunion doesn't exactly involve just the two of them, but her as well. The moment he sees her, sees the expression on her face as she stands much less interested in the conversation and more so of the contents on the coffee table, her brow so low that it almost obscures her glare, he recalls that Nick leaving didn't affect just him and suddenly he feels like an absolute moron for not realizing it minutes ago.

"Hey, uh..." Hancock quickly glances back to Nick, speaking significantly lower, "I'll meet you down there, okay?"

Nick returns his gaze, but the old synth went and followed his view with an intuitive foresight that he seemed to always posses, and before he answers, his gaze lingers on the fiery red-head a moment longer, something a hell of a lot like shame glazing over his expression before he nods in agreement, "Sure, sure..."

The Watcher that had escorted Nick up had been standing outside the door during the conversation, so when his old friend passes through the entryway once more and shuts the door quietly behind him, the Mayor and his Lieutenant are suddenly alone in a big quiet room that normally held the energy of relaxation and contentedness, but now it's far more thick and tangible with anger and tension.

It takes only seconds for Fahrenheit's lip to curl, generally she's pretty hard to read when she's not feeling anything in particular, but everyone knows when she's angry because she doesn't make an effort to hide it when it hits.

"He shows up after all this time-"

"Don't..." Hancock interrupts her before she can climb into a verbal rage, he doesn't want her to react without thinking, it would do a hell of a lot of damage now that she'd regret later, "Fahr, don't. What matters is that he showed up at all."

Her scowl deepens, but she doesn't raise her voice, "Sounds to me like he didn't have a choice. He's in trouble and that's the only reason he's at our door."

Hancock sighs and drops his hands, "Of course he had a choice, you know better than that."

She lets out a huff of angry laughter and turns away from him, pacing a few steps towards one of the windows halfway covered by a torn red curtain that doesn't quite match his petticoat. Hancock gives her a moment and then walks around the couch towards her, close enough that he can reach out and touch her shoulder.

"You need to cut him some slack, alright?" He says gently, "It wasn't an easy decision for him to make, not just because of me, but because he had you to think about too."

Fahrenheit turns her head to look at him, her anger is colder now, more reserved, she figured as much as he had that Nick would show up again at some point, they never really talked about what happened, but he knew she took it hard, he could tell by her body language, her suddenly carelessness, she began to smoke more, drink more, thank god she had enough sense not to do more chems than she normally would. He didn't want to have to pry her away from them; the smoking and drinking was one thing, but the chems...

"Y'know he saw me almost as soon as he got past the gate?" She starts, her voice once more committing to a low neutral tone, "He didn't say anything to me, he just asked for you."

"Fahr..."

"It's always been about you, Dad," She snaps, "He didn't ask for me, I was just baggage that he had to get to know in the off-time, the moment it was over, he was probably relieved that he didn't have to deal with me any-"

"Fahr!" Hancock admonishes, "Where the hell is this coming from, you know that's bullshit!"

"You don't think he'd actually try to get to know me if you two weren't-!"

Hancock's size is mostly made up from his petticoat, so trying to manhandle someone larger than him wasn't a cakewalk, but somehow, either she wasn't expecting it, or he was too damn angry, he manages to grab Fahrenheit and turn her to face him before she could go any further, "Stop."

A little startled, Fahrenheit doesn't do much to stop him, in fact it breaks some of her resolve and he can see both her cheeks turning red and her eyes begin to glaze. Hancock eases his grip and sighs, grabbing both of her hands instead of her armour.

"Look, we should've had his conversation a long time ago," He eases, "That's my bad, I didn't want to talk about it and I'm sure you didn't either, so we didn't, and then... we kept at it."

Fahrenheit's jaw clenches, her brows knitting together as shiny tears pool in her eyes, her right side leaks and sends a stream down her scarred cheek, she ducks her head and says nothing.

"You need to know, that it wasn't about us, okay, you and me?" He explains, "Nick had to work on himself, and I didn't exactly make it easy for him, but that's history now, I don't have any hard feelings. For you, it wasn't personal, I know he wanted to talk to you before he left, but the fallout was..."

"Whatever," Fahrenheit dismisses, "It doesn't matter. I'm getting upset for no reason. It's not like he's here to fix anything anyways."

"Hey, come on, you know he would if he-"

"God!" She abruptly pulls her hands away, "You have to stop doing that, acting like you know what I know."

Hancock sighs and drops his hands, "I'm just trying to-"

"I'm going out." She interrupts and turns to walk back towards the middle of the room, swiping one or two things from the coffee table.

Hancock shrugs a little in defeat as he watches her march out the door, her heavy descending footsteps echoing through the stairwell until he hears one of the front doors open and slam shut behind her on the second floor. For a moment the mayor of Goodneighbour stands with his hands on his hips, staring out into the room which had moments ago been his resting solace and finds suddenly that he isn't anywhere near tired anymore.

"Damn it..." He sighs heavily before he follows Fahrenheit's path to the coffee table to swipe a cartridge of jet, (he's starting to get a headache from being sober) and walks out of the room and down to the second floor where his new guests sit waiting.