The trio was able to make it out of Boston before the night fell too completely; Dogmeat had led them up across the river, where they took shelter in a small abandoned neighborhood. Staying near the water was tricky business, though; many gangs, mercenaries and raiders alike, favored settling near the river because it provided a natural barrier. Their party was small enough to avoid detection, but they were careful to move quietly, and agreed to sleep in shifts so that someone could keep watch. Rose had been thankful that Dogmeat was with them; even when sleeping, the shepherd's exceptional hearing and sense of smell would be an early warning against intruders.

Hancock had insisted on taking the first watch, but Rose didn't find her sleep very restful. She tossed and turned, caught in the grip of another nightmare. Flashes of brutal strikes and the sensation of violent, angry hands on her body tore through her mind as the memories of her imprisonment with the raider gang replayed in her dormant thoughts. Her subconscious tormenter struck her repeatedly, throwing her back and forth over and over again. Eventually her thoughts became lucid enough to realize that she was actually being shaken, and she tore into wakefulness with a scream, fighting to free her hands as she reached for the shotgun resting beside her.

"Rose! Rose, stop! You're okay!"

Pinned, she stopped fighting long enough to focus. Hancock was leaning over her, trapping her arms by her sides to keep her from hurting herself… or from hurting him. His dark eyes were wide and worried. She heard a whimper and saw Dogmeat nuzzled next to her, ears back and tail tucked low. The shepherd whined when she looked at him and licked her hands.

Seeing her come back to herself, Hancock relaxed and let her sit up.

"It was just another nightmare, Sunshine," he said gently, and readily accepted her into his arms as she tucked herself against him, shivering. "You wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head. She rarely did. She just focused on slowing her breathing and her heart rate. Dogmeat wormed his way underneath her arm and rested his head in her lap; she ran her fingers through his fur, comforted by his unconditional acceptance. Part of her wanted to ask Hancock for a hit of something – anything- to help her sleep, but she couldn't afford to be groggy. Not when her showdown with Kellogg was so close. So she contented herself with listening to his heartbeat, and let the steady rhythm help her keep time until she was able to drift off again.

Hancock sat by the window, alternating between watching the street and watching Rose sleep. She had tried to take the first watch, but he shot her down before the words were out of her mouth. She was clearly exhausted, pushing herself past the limits of her endurance. He knew she was purposefully avoiding sleep.

His presence apparently made it easier for her to drift off. Damned if he could say why, but she claimed she felt safer with him around. Most people usually said the opposite. Since leaving the surgery in the Memory Lounge Rose had asked him to share her bed- or at the very least, the room- with her each night. It was an arrangement that had massively irritated Rose's reporter friend Piper, who was convinced that Hancock was a good-for-nothing degenerate. Valentine wasn't too thrilled about it either, he didn't think, but the synth kept his opinions on the matter to himself.

In spite of their concern, though, the two of them hadn't done more than sleep, which was a novel experience for Hancock. He'd had lovers throughout the years, sure, but generally when a bed was involved they were doing everything but sleeping. Weirdly enough, he found himself kind of enjoying their arrangement. Not that every fiber of his being wasn't dying to fuck Rose, but feeling her cuddled up against his side at night had been extremely gratifying.

For her part, Rose hadn't been shy about her attraction to him, which had surprised the hell out of him. Hancock was just about the opposite of her dead husband, who had been a handsome, straight-laced military type. Who knows, maybe that difference was why she found him so appealing.

But Rose's ordeal with Jayce and his band of fucking degenerates brought whatever momentum their relationship had to a screeching halt. Though it was his arms she fell asleep in more often than not, Hancock still caught Rose flinching if he moved towards her too suddenly. She was doing her best to hide it and he did his best not to notice, but it would be crazy to think that she could handle anything more than this unique little friendship they had developed. She had more than her fair share on her plate as it was without throwing sex into the mix.

Rose was attempting to stamp the memories of her kidnapping down, to lock them away rather than deal with them. Hancock knew the drill; he had done it himself more than once. He also knew that the nightmares wouldn't stop until she could process everything she was trying to deny about the situation. But she was stubborn, unwilling to admit how damaged she had been. She wanted to bulldoze her way through this fucking mess the same way she had tackled everything else the Commonwealth had thrown at her. Well, he supposed that if anyone had a chance at making that happen, it would be her.

A whimper from the dog got his attention, and he turned back to see Rose fidgeting restlessly, her brow drawn into a grimace. Dogmeat nuzzled her face and whined, but she wasn't coming out of it. Hancock reached out and nudged her, but that only seemed to make it worse. Her breathing quickened and she began muttering, alternating between curses and begging. Even in half-coherent sleep talk, hearing her plead for Jayce to stop was unbearable.

Unable to stand it, Hancock knelt over her and shook her shoulders. "Rose? Rose, wake up. It's just a dream, doll." Her eyes fluttered, and he shook her harder. "Come on, Sunshine. You can get out this. Wake up!"

That did it. She jerked into alertness with a sharp scream, and immediately began to thrash around, probably still thinking she was being attacked. He saw her reach for her shotgun and quickly pinned her arms by her sides; the last fucking thing she needed was to fire that off in an enclosed space.

"Rose! Rose, stop! You're okay!" he said, raising his voice as loud as he dared for the area they were in.

It took a second, but the words penetrated her brain and she grew still, her chest heaving from the panic. Her eyes focused on his, and he watched as she worked her way back into rational thought. Satisfied that she wasn't going to try and shoot him any longer, he released his grip on her arms and sat back. He opened his arms to her and she immediately accepted, tucking her head against his chest in an almost childlike way. He could feel her shake against him, and bit back the self-loathing that arose. Christ, what have you done to her, John?

Out loud, he said, "It was just another nightmare, Sunshine. You wanna talk about it?"

Predictably, she shook her head no. She hadn't said a word about what was going on in her head since the night they had shared drinks in the Third Rail. Had that only been a few days ago? It felt like much longer than that.

The rest of the night passed in silence. At some point he must have drifted off, because he woke up to Rose busily loading their guns and double checking her armor and supplies. She didn't mention the night before, and he wasn't about to bring it up. Still, concern weighed heavily on him as he watched her prepare for her showdown with Kellogg; he had never been religious at all, but he found himself praying that he hadn't made a mistake in letting her tear off after the mercenary before she was ready.