"Sunshine, please... lower the gun, darlin'. You don't wanna do this, I promise you."
His chest constricts painfully as he watches her glare at him with something akin to fearful determination in her eyes, aiming her '111 Special'—as she calls her heavily modified 10mm—at his head.
She grimaces, as if in pain, then mutters through clenched teeth, "Never again."
Just as she braces—she always telecasts when she's going to shoot; he absently considers that he needs to work with her on that—Charon finally creeps up behind her, sliding the stimpak's needle into the back of her neck, right at the bottom of her skull. Immediately, she goes wonky, gun clattering to the ground, forgotten, as she stumbles over her own feet and falls into Charon's waiting arms.
"I will remove her from the area," Charon supplies, hesitating only a moment to gather Shana to him more securely before adding, "It would not be advisable to follow, for now."
Much as he wants to ignore the ghoul's warning, the memory of the look she'd given him to the very last stays his feet from movement.
It was a look that not only bespoke her utter lack of recognition, but an imposingly resentful hatred he's never seen in her eyes before, and fervently hopes he never sees again.
He's not sure his heart could take it if she looked at him with clear eyes, and he saw that hatred still lurking within them.
He waits until he is certain of his Mistress' return to lucidity—at least, as much as she seems capable of returning to it, at the moment—before carefully lowering her to the ground. She stumbles immediately, still feeling the effects of the stimpak—administered so closely to her brain stem—and half collapses against him, fingers clutching his armor straps for dear life.
"Fuck, why am I so dizzy?" she demands, sharply shaking her head, which only worsens the problem, evidenced by how she immediately topples to the right, only saved from slamming into the ground by his swift actions.
"You sustained a blow to the head, which triggered your... recall," he explains, quietly. "I administered a stimpak just below your occipital bone in an attempt to diffuse the situation and to reduce the swelling caused by your concussion. The dizziness will fade soon."
"Occipita-what?" she inquires, closing her eyes and apparently finding enough relief in the action that she keeps the lids lowered.
"The base of your skull, Mistress."
She ponders that for a moment. "Ah. So because it got shot in so close to my brain, it hit me harder than usual. Got it." She sighs heavily. "Can we sit? I feel like that'd be safer. The ground feels crooked."
He arches a brow at the last bit. While they are standing on the shore outside the Castle, the slight angle of the slope they are currently on is negligible. Still, he allows that it would likely assist in her recovery, and gently guides her path to the wall, setting her back against it as she spreads her legs out before her.
"Thanks. You can sit too, big guy. I don't bite unless y'ask me to." She snorts at her joke, head slumping gently to her left side, rolling the back of it against the wall in lax repose.
"I do not believe our location to be fully secure yet," is all the answer he provides.
A soft hum of acknowledgment rises from her throat, followed by a long few minutes of quiet recovery, the soft lapping of the waves against the shoreline filling the silence peacefully. At length, she speaks up, "So this Mayor person I don't remember. I'm guessing I'm supposed to?"
He shifts his weight to his left foot. A sigh slides from between his lips before he replies, "Yes. Do you remember the synth, Nick Valentine?"
She nods, smiling softly. "Yep-uh. My Detective. He's getting new skin today, some replacement joints and screws. He's my partner. My boyfriend, too." She cracks open her eyes and peers up at him. "I get that right?"
Charon nods. "Yes. Which leaves a puzzling contradiction of memory behind. I am uncertain how much to say, in regards to the Mayor. I will say he is not your enemy. I would recommend not shooting him until this can all be sorted out."
Shana blinks, tilting her head in what appears to be deep thought. Eventually, she dips her head toward him. "Alright. It's a memory issue, so... should probably talk to Amari about it, yeah? Makes the most sense."
"It would seem so, yes." He hesitates, then huffs a breath out and presses on, "Mistress, I feel it would be prudent for me to speak with the Mayor before you do. Do you believe yourself capable of standing upright yet?"
She quirks her brows at him. "I think... maybe? But why do you wanna talk to him first? Why can't I just talk to him? Maybe it'll trigger the memory if I do, like Nick's memory did for... well, me." She shrugs, looking up at him with frank hope in her features. "It's worth a shot."
He barters with a half nod, counter-offering, "Perhaps, but if it does not, he should be... prepared. It would be kinder to him if he were to be warned."
She scowls at him, skepticism and confusion clouding her narrowed eyes. "Why should he be warned? Amari said I'd have memory issues until everything settles, if he doesn't want to accept that, I don't know what to say for the man. What's the big deal?" she demands, becoming more and more agitated. "So what, I forgot someone. I'll remember again! If I re-remembered my entire damned life, I can re-remember one damn person."
Charon sighs, reaching up to rub into the remaining bridge above his nasal cavity. "Imagine if you forgot the Detective, how he would feel." He lowers his hand with a sigh. "It is no less important an issue to you."
Shana stares at him, stunned. Slowly, she lets her gaze drift off to the water, her voice soft and faraway when she uses it to say, "Oh. Shit."
He waits patiently until she looks back to him, after several minutes of searching for something amidst the murky waters.
It does not appear that she finds it.
"I think I can stand, probably even walk if ah... you want to go talk to him. That's uh, probably a good idea, yeah. I don't..." she frowns, shakes her head, then reaches out for him to help her up.
He gauges her capable enough of walking with some limited support after a few moments of assessment and leaves her by the interior Castle wall to finish recuperating in relative safety. He approaches the Mayor, the mercenary, and his Mistress' main Minuteman contact, where they stand nearby the higher of the crumbled sections of wall.
All three speak at once, and he halts, holding a hand up in a request for silence. "She is recovering. Do not disturb her." He looks to the ghoul. "Mayor Hancock, please come with me." He turns and aims for the keep's main gateway, picking up the belated sounds of Hancock's footfalls catching up behind him.
"What's goin' on, Charon? The fuck was all that?"
He ignores the ghoul's demanding query until they breach the outer gate, stepping to the side and leaning his back against a nearby tree to face the frocked man, speaking as he nears. "I assume you were present or at least were warned that she could potentially forget individuals she has met since she awoke from cryogenic stasis, yes?"
Hancock tilts his head slightly, eying Charon with cautious dread. "Yeah, I was there. Why, what's this about? Who's she forgot?"
Charon folds his arms across his chest. "You."
The Mayor blinks, reaching out to the wall for support, as if Charon's answer had blown him over, like a stiff breeze toppling a leaf from its perch on its mother branch. He slides down the wall until his rear hits dirt, though this fact doesn't seem to register with him, as he stares out over the waters Charon's Mistress had only recently sought answers in herself.
Slowly, he reaches up and doffs his hat, setting it next to him, before burying his face in his hands. "Fuck," he mutters, most likely to himself.
Hancock takes a deep, shuddering breath, fingers seeking out his temples and rubbing them as he lifts his voice and addresses Charon, "What should I do? I don't... fuck." His legs straighten, as he flattens his back against the wall and glares his bitter worry up at Charon, entreating him, "I don't want to lose her. I know you've got some..." he waves his hand obscurely, finally spitting out, "thing, some connection with her; dunno if it's the contract, or what it is, but somehow you always know what she needs. What does she need from me, Charon? Tell me."
Charon studies the other ghoul for a few seconds, contemplating his desperate plea. Just when it seems the Mayor is about to give up on an answer, the hope in his black eyes dimming to nothing, Charon answers, "Be what you have always been for her. Support her efforts, remain at her side until she sends you from it. Show her loyalty and she will reward it, as you well know. Give her space when she asks for it." He shrugs. "I have no... special connection, as you assume. I am simply observant. It is a part of my function."
Despite the simplicity of the answer, the Mayor seems to take solace in it, nodding and taking in a slow sigh of release when Charon finishes. "Yeah. Yeah, I can see that. That..." he huffs a sardonic laugh. "That actually makes a lot more sense than what I was thinkin'." He peers up at Charon with contemplative eyes. "So, y'think it's as simple as just bein there for her when she needs it, yeah?" He nods, ostensibly to himself, his gaze drifting back out to sea. "Think she'll ever remember me, or she and I gonna have to start all over again?"
Charon shrugs. "Impossible to say. Doctor Amari is likely to have more insight."
Hancock nods, snatches his hat up, brushing it off and donning it before he unsteadily stands, with the wall's assistance. "Right. We ah," he gestures toward the fort, "should probably head back in. Think I should try to talk to her or wait until we're on the road?"
Charon pushes off of the tree, his arms dropping to his sides. "That is between you and her. You would have less privacy on the road, however, she may feel more comfortable with MacCready and I present. I cannot advise you, in this."
The Mayor dips his head and offers a slight tug of a smirk to Charon. "Thanks for uh... helpin' me figure this out."
Charon considers the other ghoul. "Your status affects the mental well-being of my Mistress. While I find it unlikely she will ever be completely stable, it behooves me to bring her some small measure of stability, for her and those around her."
Hancock snorts. "So, you're really just doin' all this to make your life easier."
"...In part." A very small part, he thinks, but a no less true, or integral part.
I watch as Charon and the smaller ghoul in colonial garb reappear through the gateway, focusing on the red-coated man curiously, digging through my memories.
But, just as I had recalled nothing when Charon first walked over to Preston, Mac, and that strange ghoul, I can recollect nothing now, either.
Charon said this Mayor's supposed to be as important to me as Nicky? But wait... I love Nicky. I know what that feels like. I don't feel a damn thing like that for this ghoul.
At least, I haven't yet.
I shift uncomfortably as I continue to observe them. They speak between them for a few moments, until Charon leaves the Mayor to stalk over to Mac and Preston, likely formulating a game plan to bring back to me.
The smaller man turns as Charon leaves and looks at me, his gaze reaching across the open courtyard and dragging over my form; testing, curious uncertainty, reluctant hope in every ounce of his body language.
Despite the uneasiness the weight of his stare leaves me with, it is not a thing which drives me to deny it or back down from it. I meet it with careful scrutiny, regarding his now slowly approaching form with a measure of evaluation. I don't budge a single inch from my station by the workbench, back against the wall, arms crossed, even when he comes within three feet of me.
The silence feels heavy, dense, like wet humidity in the air between us. His fists clench and loosen habitually at his sides, black eyes boring into my head like he's trying to pry into my brain and rip something out of it.
The memories of him, if I had to guess.
"So," I begin—because it seems he won't, or can't, "I hear you're important as hell to me, somehow." I take a breath and unfold one arm, shrugging off the wall and extending my hand for him to shake. "I assume that means we've already met, but, seeing as I don't remember, I'd like to at least try to ah, re-start things off on the right foot. Shana Stewart, General of the Minutemen and all that jazz."
He eyes my hand and swallows, donning a crooked, sad smirk. "John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor."
That voice... oh. Oh, my. Excess saliva floods my mouth as if I've been faced with a sumptuous feast, prompting me to swallow thickly. Memory or no, I know that voice means... something. Fuck if I know what, but it feels important. And damningly warm.
He pins his left wrist to the back of his hip and bends at the waist, right hand lifting to cradle mine as he presses a gentle kiss to my knuckles. He looks up at my surprised, blushing features, his smirk losing some of its sorrow as he concludes, "At your service."
I clear my throat lightly, offering him a small smile as he slowly straightens and drops my hand. "Ah... well, yes. Pleased to m-meet you, Mayor."
He waves me off. "Hancock, or John, please. You haven't called me Mayor in for damned ever. So," he partly turns, motioning to the fort, before pivoting back to me, "this was a big win for the Minutemen, yeah? How ya feelin' about that?"
I rake my gaze over the dilapidated keep, tilting my head slightly as I return to him. "Well, it's ah... good for them? It'll be great for coordinating our efforts and keeping the settlers safer, I'll give it that. But uh..." I shrug gently. "I did it for them, for their safety, not so I could get the feel-goods about it all." I snort and look down to my hands, frowning at them.
I look up sharply, finding his eyes. "I... I'm sorry I forgot you. I feel like I should remember, but there's just..." I reach up and rub my neck, scowling at the dirt under my boots. "There's nothing." I look back up and catch the tightly contained pain in his eyes, just before he shoves it behind a mask of a smile. "I'm sorry."
He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, s..." he swallows whatever word he was about to say, instead spitting out, "sister. Amari'll figure it all out and we'll have you back rememberin' shit in no time."
The space between my brows creases with a wrinkle of worry, but I put on a brave smile anyway. "Yeah. I hope you're right."
He nods, once, and doesn't seem to be able to meet my eye. "Me, too, sister."