Authors Note:

I feel like Hancock's personality is pretty obvious - he takes on too much, blames himself for things he can't possibly control, forgives people easily (unless they do something really bad), and tries to get others to go easier on themselves.

He's a huge teddy bear. If he'd had any love for Finn he'd never have shanked the guy, even after those terrible comments about the mayordom. I also feel like Pickman is a straight up deranged sociopath. A homicidal maniac even if his normal intended target are Raiders (scourge of the wastes) we all know he didn't start out being the Picasso of Raider livers. Probably mutilated a bunch of animals and a few ex-girlfriends before finding something a little more socially acceptable.

I'm not too sure about the end of this chapter. I wasn't entirely confident in the way I wrapped it up.

I spun on the bar stool slow and easy, a glass of water in my hand. Magnolia and her stage rotated on by, Charlie giving me some serious side-eye, the bar, the patrons and the back room, the entrance, Magnolia's stage and back to Charlie and the bar. I took a drink, my mind blank as the music drifted over me.

I must have looked a sight; blood still caked my armor and the clothes underneath. Bits of people were stuck to my shoes, hair and matter wedged hopelessly into the creases and grooves. I looked at the calling card that I had been using as a coaster, repressing a shiver as I thought back to the blade that had dismembered hundreds of Raiders being pressed against my throat.

My hand touched the slim cut across my throat that had now scabbed over, old blood flaking onto my shirt. I took another sip to keep the bile down. Body parts had been strewn about, meticulously displayed. Corpses propped up and decorated. The stench had been atrocious.

It wasn't the thought of Raiders being treated like they deserved, but rather that I was almost a canvas on the wall alongside them. His voice had been so cold and calculated, his eyes were piercing and fanatical. I squeezed my eyes shut, I could still feel him touching me. His body pinning me below him, his knees digging into my thighs as one hand pinned my arms at an unnatural angle beneath my shoulder blades. His knife had danced along the exposed skin. His knuckles dragged gently across my cheek, through my hair...

I gasped, opening my eyes and spinning on the chair again to calm myself; to stop thinking.

Hundreds of small cuts. Magnolia's stage. Stripes of blood falling down my skin. Charlie. The sound of ripping cloth. Bar. His shouts of anger. Back room. My fear. Entrance. Magnolia's stage. Charlie. Bar. Room. Entrance. Stage. Charlie. Bar. Hancock-

I stopped spinning and frowned out into the room. The burn of shame followed immediately after. I hooked my toe into the bar rung and spun myself away from him.

"Another water, Charlie." I knew I sounded strained.

The smell of Hancock; a unique blend of after-chems, books, and something musky, preceded the man. His barstool groaned and protested under the weight. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, annoyed to see he was taller than me, wondering why I hadn't really noticed till then. My sight travelled lower, meeting his open gaze. My breath caught.

Dammit, dammit! I took another drink, sighed, and turned.

"What do you want?" The words ground out of my mouth.

He smiled, tapping the bar counter. Charlie hummed right over, pouring some amber liquid into a glass without a word and humming away, leaving the bottle behind. I eyed it warily, turning my attention back to the Mayor. The music stopped. I felt immediately naked and uncomfortable.

"I heard you did my job." His voice was gravelly and low.

I was too raw to talk to him right now. I merely nodded, blinking. Sipping. Breathing.

"You look like hell, sunshine." His voice took on an odd tone. "Are you okay?"

For a moment I was torn between being honest and just keeping it to myself.

What would he think? I chastised, A man pressed himself against me. Big whoop. I was almost killed, that happens every day now. I shrugged, taking another sip. I can still feel him on me. I can still feel his hands roaming over me, deciding where best to cut me. I can feel his knife slicing me over and over and over and...

"I did your job." I managed without choking.

I set my glass down harder than I had meant, pushing myself off the stool with the slap of some caps. I heard Hancock call out after me as I all but ran up the stairs. I didn't stop. Ham smiled as I passed him, I think I smiled back but everything started spinning again. I paused for a moment, until I heard the familiar sound of boots stomping after me.

I pushed my way out the door and managed to cross the street, ducking into the Rexford before He could see me. I nodded at the hostess and made my way up the stairs without waiting for conversation. Up to my room where I closed the door, dropped onto the floor, grabbed my pillow, and screamed. I screamed till my lungs burned for air, till the tears dried, till I was too weak to feel violated anymore.

When I removed the pillow from my face Hancock was there, silently sitting and waiting. His face masked in the late evening shadows of my dark room.

"Why are you here?" I asked, knowing I sounded desperate and angry; almost broken.

He didn't respond, instead he got up and lit the candles beside my bed promptly sitting down on the floor with me. I backed away, confused for a moment. He raised his hands and shook his head.

"I don't know what happened, and I know I'm not your favorite person." I wanted to protest, "I know we ain't got much in common, but if something I did hurt you I want to know how to make it right. I... I ain't proud of the way I've handled myself with you. Using my power to make you do my bidding and all. That's the kind of bullshit I became mayor to fight against... I owe you."

He reached out hesitantly, his fingertips barely touching the skin around the cut on my throat. I didn't shy away, I didn't welcome him. It was an odd, tense moment of testing boundaries. He pulled away and sighed. I strangely felt colder without the connection.

"I know it's not that you don't like our kind. I saw you with that old pre-war ghoul holed up in here. Thanks for spiriting him away." Hancock's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You aren't prejudiced. It's just me. And I think that's my fault-"

"What's Fahrenheit to you?" I blurted, mentally cursing myself.

He gave me an odd look, then sighed. "She's my daughter. Mom dropped her off outside the gates one day about ten years ago. Almost right after I became Mayor." He shook his head, a small smile stretching across his face. "Just some dumb teen kids doing what they do. My mama was so disappointed when she found out. She tried real hard for us kids." He sat upright, silencing himself. "My turn."

I shifted uncomfortable, my million and one cuts all itched. I could feel the dried blood flaking against my skin.

"Why don't you like me?"

My eyes went wide, I shook my head. He mumbled, pawing around in his coat, coming up empty.

"Fine." He tapped his fingers against his thigh in a rhythm. "I think I'm gunna bail outta here." He caught the surprise on my face and smiled, "I'm getting too used to this. I need to get back in touch with my fellow low-lifes."

I chuckled, "I doubt you're a low-life, Hancock."

His gaze snapped up to me, a question written across every inch of his body. He shook his head, "You don't know me well enough to decide that, Doll."

I bit my lip. "I-if you're heading out why don't you come with me?"

His gaze held me. He was a captivating person, ghoul or no. The light played softly on the dips and rises of his skin, his eyes refracted the light, looking as though universes dwelled there. A sense of vulnerability came from him and it hit me suddenly that this was the man he'd always been. Buried under the charisma, chems and the tough guy act was a man who felt everything very profoundly.

"I'm not sure, Sister." An arm crossed out over his chest. "You don't really seem crazy about me. But you can hold your own... I have had worse company."

"What about your town?" I asked, kicking myself.

I ask him to come with me, then give him reasons to stay. Smart.

"Fahrenheit can look after things. She's been raised to managed people. She's better at the paperwork too." He smiled, "Unless you're trying to get rid of me?"

"I just... I haven't been nice to you exactly. I'm kind of embarrassed by that."

"Then we're even." He stood, concern crossing his face again as he held out a hand. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I looked at my clothes, at my pillow. I hesitated, then shook my head as he pulled me to my feet.

"Things with Pickman got really... weird." I couldn't meet Hancock's gaze. "It was beyond just kill or be killed. He... he..."

"Did he rape you?" Hancock's grip on my hand tightened.

"No. He... tortured me a little." I shivered, "I can still feel him touching me."

I felt Hancock's hand warm on mine, pulled it away self-consciously. A weird look I couldn't place crossed his face.

"Is he dead?"

"Yeah." I brought a hand to the cut on my throat.

"Good. Cuz I'd've killed him." He leaned against the wall, watching me fall into bed and pull off my boots. "Get some rest Sister. Come visit me before you head out and I'll watch your back. If I can help it nothing like that will happen again."