Hancock leaned against the doorway of his balcony, staring into the dark shadows of the alley below. Empty bottles and used Jet aerosols were littered around the room behind him. It was one of the few times he had been alone since arriving back in Goodneighbor. The minute he had set foot back inside the city walls there had been nothing but people after him for things. Fahrenheit had harangued him for being gone so long, complaining about the citizens' restlessness, the gangs who were muscling in on their drug trade, and the upstarts who thought that his absence could be an opening to take power for themselves. Drifters and long-time residents alike clamored for his attention, usually wanting chems and reassurance that he hadn't abandoned them all. He smoothed over all of their concerns with honeyed words and plenty of Jet, but it was fucking exhausting. It wasn't like he didn't care about his people, but after being free on the road for so long, having the mantel of Mayor back on his shoulders was stifling.

He had tried unwinding down in the Third Rail, but it was like Magnolia had planned her entire song list to worsen his mood. She had sung beautifully, as always, but each tune was about heartbreak and lost love; the subject choice had been responsible for at least fifty percent of the various drugs and alcohol he had imbibed that evening. He grimaced to himself, his mood sour in spite of his high, and tried not to imagine for the hundredth time what Rose was doing out there with Danse. The thought of her smooth, pale legs wrapped around Danse's hips was enough to make him want to find an excuse to set someone on fire. Preferably a power-armor-wearing someone with the personality of a mirelurk.

In an effort to distract himself, he forced his thoughts over to the worries that Fahrenheit had bitched about for over an hour earlier that evening. She was worried- probably justifiably- that the city wasn't secure enough. The closely-stacked buildings and improvised walls had given them some measure of protection, and so far the city's rep had been enough to dissuade anyone thinking about causing real trouble. He had a few guards on the payroll: enough to watch the Old State House, the Third Rail, and one or two left over to hang out in the streets as a general deterrent. However, their security was nothing compared to the fucking army that Diamond City had, and he knew it. Of the two, Goodneighbor was the easier target.

He had shied away from creating an actual police force within city walls because it went against the entire Goodneighbor way of doing things. He could easily afford to install some turrets around the perimeter, though… and maybe set aside an arsenal for anyone willing to protect their home against assholes looking to pick a fight, if the need arose. Anything much more than that and the lines between freedom and control started getting blurry.

He ran a hand over his face, brow pinched. Keeping Goodneighbor free was becoming a bigger challenge with each passing month, and it was even harder to do it without the general populace seeing behind the scenes. Fahrenheit had already silenced a number of people on his behalf… the lesser offenders had walked away black and blue. The others didn't walk away at all. If he had still been a drifter, he would have easily been one of them. Protecting his rep and his interests had a cost, one that was getting steeper as time went on.

He heard the creak of the staircase behind him and sighed, assuming that Fahrenheit had come back to bitch some more about how he stood around doing nothing. The woman nagged more than his own mother had done… though she was much more likely to follow through with her threats of physical violence.

"Damn it Fahre, can't you give it a rest already?" he demanded. He turned around towards her and was immediately met with the butt of a gun slamming across his face.

"Fuck!"

He stumbled back against the door frame, and bright stars that had nothing to do with chems flashed across his vision. Before he could recover, two sets of arms grabbed him and slammed him back against the wall, and pain exploded across his ribs as a third person drove their fist into his solar plexus. He coughed, trying to get his breath back. As his vision cleared he looked up at the person who stood before him; his heart sank as he recognized the bulky, scarred physique and heavily modified combat armor.

Hancock hitched a cocky smirk onto his face. "Long time no see, Sinjin."

The muscular ghoul grinned. "John Hancock. You and I need to have a chat."

The streets were empty when Rose stepped through Goodneighbor's doors. It was very late- or technically very early. She could have waited, staying at the precinct in Cambridge or couch-surfing with Piper in Diamond City until morning, but she felt impatient. She had never been one to sit by quietly whenever she and Nate had gotten into a fight; if he tried to walk away, she would simply follow him until they had hashed everything out. Perhaps it was the lawyer in her. That need to immediately fix everything or put it to rest hadn't gone away with Hancock, and their fight had been eating at her for the past two days.

She stepped into the Old State House, assuming that was where she would be most likely to find Hancock at that hour. Possibly asleep, probably high. Either way she was fairly certain she was in for a fight. She didn't want Hancock to be mad at her, but she wasn't going to say she was wrong, either. Danse wasn't her favorite person but he was still a person, and one that had needed her help.

The scent of copper invaded her senses as soon as she crossed the threshold, overwhelming and unpleasant. She felt her heart stop for an instant when she saw the body of one of Hancock's guards sprawled at the foot of the stairs, throat cut in a gaping red smile. There were no signs of a struggle; he had been killed quickly and silently, taken by surprise. That was far more professional than the usual M.O. of a raider gang or even the Gunners.

Fahrenheit was slumped against the door across the room, behind the spiral staircase. Rose stepped over to her, keeping her footsteps light, and felt for a pulse. Her heart was still beating, if a little sluggishly. There were no visible wounds that Rose could see, but she did mark an empty Calmex vial lying about a foot or so away on the ground. She had been drugged, then. Rose exhaled slowly; this all gave her a really bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Whoever had done this was smart enough to get the jump on Fahre, and the fact that they didn't come in guns blazing meant that there was a specific goal- or target- in mind.

A quick glance around told her the bottom floor was empty, save for Fahre and the guard's body. She could hear footsteps upstairs; they were evenly spaced, meaning whoever was up there was pacing. Rose readied her shotgun and slowly moved up the stairs, stepping gingerly to avoid any creaks.

As she neared the second floor she could hear muffled thumps and pained grunts coming from behind the closed door of the balcony room, and then a voice she didn't recognize.

"You always were too mouthy for your own good, John," the voice said. "Gonna get you killed one of these days."

"And here I thought my wit was what made me special," came Hancock's sarcastic reply, and Rose felt the vise around her heart loosen somewhat. At least he was alive. For now.

She silently pushed her shotgun back around to her back and switched to her 10mm. If she had to fire quickly, she didn't want to risk catching Hancock in the blast from the larger weapon. She eased her way towards the door, careful to stick to the side so her shadow wouldn't obscure the cracks.

"Why the fuck are you here, Sinjin?" Hancock asked.

"Because I'm disappointed in you, John," the other man replied, his tone both mocking and condescending. "You took a great city and destroyed it. Vic had a good thing going… a city full of addicts and degenerates, pouring all their caps into the business and too afraid to so much as lift their heads. Then you came in with this 'Of the people, for the people' bullshit. My business has taken a big hit now that these junkies aren't afraid of getting their heads bashed in."

Taking a deep breath, Rose pushed the doors open. She took in the scene in an instant: Hancock, looking bloodied and bruised, was being restrained by some raider while a second man in combat armor paced in front of him. He was a ghoul, and had a powerfully muscled physique that told her he was likely just as dangerous unarmed as not. He reacted incredibly quickly for having been surprised, pulling out a pistol of his own and aiming it right for her face.

That was when a third raider came from the side. She knocked Rose's gun out of her hands with her own rifle and brought a knife up under her chin in the same movement. Her free hand pulled Rose's shotgun off her shoulder, tossing it to the side. Rose lifted her palms in a gesture of surrender, jaw clenched.

"You got another bodyguard I didn't hear about, John?" the ghoul asked with a shark-like smirk. His black eyes- just like Hancock's, but lacking their humor and warmth- never moved from hers. "Looks like someone's got a thing for redheads."

"She's no one important," Hancock muttered. "Just another citizen. She ain't apart of this."

The other ghoul- Rose assumed he was Sinjin- glanced between the two of them and then gave a quick bark of a laugh. "Oh, I get it. There were rumors that a nubile little vault-dweller had you by the balls… I'm guessing this must be her." His gaze ran over her figure, and she resisted the urge to shudder. "Not bad. Smoothskin and everything. Might have to borrow her when we get through here."

"You won't live fucking long enough," she promised, which only amused him more.

"And she's got a mouth on her to boot! I can put that to much better use." He winked lasciviously. "Best to leave the threats to the ones with the guns."

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked, flinching away from the sharp edge of the knife at her throat.

"A real old friend of your boyfriend's." He threw a punch into Hancock's solar plexus casually, knocking the wind out of him. "You seem surprised. He hasn't told you about his unsavory past, huh?" He chuckled. "We made some pretty fun memories together, didn't we, John?"

"Liar," she snarled, but all three raiders laughed in a way that made her suddenly less sure.

"You think so? I've heard a couple things about this woman you're runnin' with, John." Sinjin stood between them and pulled out a large knife, playing with it idly. "Big shot with those Minutemen squares. Made a lotta enemies in our circles." He turned towards Rose, head cocked. "I gotta say, you don't seem the type to be shacking up with a drug-addled murderer."

"If your intent is to shock me, you'll be disappointed," Rose replied coldly.

"Huh. So you know about the people he's killed to keep his sweet little gig as mayor? That merc woman he keeps on the payroll ain't just for looks. Packs a mean fucking punch, actually." His grin broadened as he sensed her hesitation. "I can't imagine you're in the dark about all of the drug money he pulls in. Keeping his beloved devotees hooked is what keeps that storehouse of his nice and full."

Rose could feel herself go pale, though she did her best to keep her poker face. Truthfully, she had never given much thought to Hancock's past. She hadn't harbored any delusions about his innocence… sort of hard to do that after stabbing Finn was how he decided to introduce himself. She'd just assumed that he did what he'd always said: he hurt people who needed hurting. Killing people for the sake of staying in power, though… that was something else entirely. She had assisted on cases on the mafia and local gangs for doing that exact same thing.

She looked over at Hancock to see how he was reacting to all of this; he was avoiding her gaze, which didn't offer her any comfort. But after a moment her will hardened; she knew that Sinjin was telling her these things for the sheer sadistic joy of causing pain, and to distract her. For the moment, taking care of him and his little henchmen was the most important thing.

She had to keep him talking, though, so she played along. "I don't believe you," she said, letting her voice crack just slightly. Moving slowly so as to not cause alarm, she wrapped her arms around her middle, as though she were holding herself together.

"The Hancock I know wouldn't be capable of that," she continued, surreptitiously pinching herself to get her eyes to tear up. Hancock had given her a brief confused look at that one; she closed her eyes and gave the barest shake of her head, hardly more than a tic, and prayed he'd pick up on the hint.

"It's possible; he's certainly gone soft, with all of these ideas about creating a 'refuge for the lost' and all of that bullshit," Sinjin scoffed. "I thought maybe, when he took out Vic and them the way he did, that my little addict might've finally found some balls. Couldn't be more disappointed."

"Fuck you, Sinjin," Hancock growled.

The gangster wheeled on him, brandishing his knife. "I oughta just cut that smartass tongue of yours out right now…"

Rose's fingers closed around the hilt of the knife she had hidden in her waistband while his back was turned. She had one chance to get this right; one wrong move and the woman holding her would drive four inches of steel into her throat.

Rose took a deep breath, and shoved herself backwards with all of her strength. The woman stumbled back, giving Rose enough space to duck down and away from the blade at her throat. She slashed at her femoral artery, and when the woman doubled over in pain and shock Rose drove her knife into her temple.

As she fell, Rose lunged for the shotgun she had taken away; the sharp crack of a pistol filled the room and white-hot metal pierced through her right shoulder. Sinjin had shot her. Her teeth clenched as she bit back a scream, snatching the shotgun with her left hand instead of her right. She could see Hancock wrestling with the other raider out of the corner of her eye, though in his battered condition it wasn't likely a fight he could win.

She remembered to move in just the right amount of time and rolled out of the way as another bullet from Sinjin's gun lodged itself in the wall where her head had been. She lifted the shotgun and fired, but the recoil was too much for her to handle with one arm; the shot missed by a wide margin and she nearly dropped it, wincing as the gun slammed back against her bicep and ribcage.

Sinjin was laughing. He closed the gap between them in two strides and yanked the shotgun out of her grip; his other hand closed around her throat and he lifted her off her feet as easily as if she had been a child.

"Scrappy little bitch," he remarked, black eyes flashing coldly. "Coulda made use of someone like you. Too bad."

His fingers tightened around her windpipe, and stars began to flicker in front of her eyes. Unable to think of anything else, she kicked as hard as she could… and actually connected with his stomach. Sinjin dropped her immediately; she landed on her injured shoulder and screamed as pain exploded through her side. She rolled to the side and felt her shotgun underneath her; Sinjin had pulled out his pistol again and was aiming for her. In the space of a second, she pulled the shotgun up and fired again, using the floor to steady her aim. The first shot took him in the armored chest, staggering him but otherwise doing no damage. She fired again, and this time caught his leg, shredding the skin there and shattering his knee. He collapsed, roaring in pain and fury. Rose pulled herself over to him while he writhed in agony, shoved the barrel under his chin, and squeezed the trigger for a third time. Sinjin stopped moving after that.

A second shot followed and Rose blinked, for a moment thinking she was hearing an echo. Then she looked up to where Hancock still wrestled with the other raider; the raider had shot him point-blank in the stomach. Hancock dropped to his knees, hand pressed against his abdomen and a surprised expression on his face.

"John!"

Acting so quickly it was more instinct than anything else, Rose scooped up the pistol from Sinjin's limp fingers and unloaded the rest of the magazine at the raider. Even in her left hand, she had considerably better aim with the smaller gun, and the bullets found their mark in his shoulders, neck, and head.

Ignoring the agonizing pain in her shoulder, Rose pushed herself to her feet and rushed to Hancock's side. He was slumped against the wall now, breathing shallowly with his eyes closed.

"Dammit John, stay awake!" she growled, shaking him. He didn't respond. "I did not go through all of this so you could get yourself killed! John!"

His muscles were steadily getting weaker; he collapsed onto the floor when he could no longer hold himself upright. Rose pressed her hand against his neck; his pulse was getting slower and weaker with each passing second.

"You will not die on me, John!" she said, half demanding and half pleading. She looked around in vain to see if she could see any stimpaks or first aid nearby; there were none. "I've lost too much already. I'm not fucking losing you too."