At first she thought the neon lights shining ahead of her were nothing but a mirage. Weak from the escape she could barely hold herself up, clinging desperately to the walls of the dilapidated buildings around her for support. Keeping to the shadows, cowering at even the smallest of sounds she was so tempted to just sit down and give up. All she had ever known was pain and ugliness, so why even bother? But then she realized the lights weren't a figment born of a desperate desire for safety. They were real.

"Goodneighbor?" Her voice sounded weird in her own ears, dry and weak. Is there really such a thing? And then the image of a young girl floated into her mind, smiling shyly as she offered the last of her water to a complete stranger, for no other reason than to be kind. Good. She pushed the memory away, trying not to cry. She couldn't afford the luxury of tears, not here.

She took a shaky breath and pushed herself away from the wall, leaving a bloody smear on the dirty bricks. She stumbled toward the door the sign pointed to, hoping against the odds that help was waiting on the other side. She tripped over some rubble, scraping her palms and the right side of her face, but the pain was negligible compared to her many other injuries and she staggered back up on to her feet, fueled by sheer determination.

She reached the door, grabbing the handle and pulling with all the strength she had left in her emaciated body. It wasn't enough, though. No matter how hard she pulled, the door did little more than wiggle in its frame. This can't be happening. To come so close to potential safety, only to be too weak to open the fucking door? It was almost too much for her. She dug her barefeet into the ground and pulled as hard as could, abused muscles straining with the effort until her hands slipped and she fell back on her ass, limbs splayed about her, the door falling back against its frame with an ominous thud.

Just as she was about to curl into a ball and cry, the door swung open and she looked up into eyes black as night, unknown but shockingly familiar. The man held out a withered hand to her, smiling kindly, and she wasn't sure if her heart was going to race out of her chest or stop altogether. She put her hand in his without an ounce of hesitation, reassured by the shocking warmth of his skin. He pulled her up easily and she threw herself into his arms, overcome with gratitude. She felt him go still for a long moment, but then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. One of his large hands rested on the back of her head, while the other slipped around her waist. She trembled against him, praying this wasn't all some kind of fever dream.

"You alright there, sister?" His voice was warm and deep, gravely in the best way. She had never heard such kindness in a man's voice and she knew that the instinct that had driven her into his arms was dead on.

"I think I might be… now." She clung to him, hands fisted into the red fabric of his coat, desperate for just a few more moments of human contact.

"Finn, haven't we had the extortion talk one time too many?"

"I ain't extortin' no one, Mayor." The way he all but spat out his title made it obvious what Finn thought about him. That's fine. Give me half an excuse and I'll shove my knife into you so fast you won't even see it… until I pull it back out. Hancock smiled at the miscreant, raising what used to be his eyebrow back before he had become a ghoul.

"You're lookin' to, though. I might be ugly, but I'm sure as fuck not stupid. I don't wanna catch you lurkin' by this door again, ya feel me?"

It was almost as if his mention of the door had brought it to life. He watched as it shook in its frame. He would have threatened Finn some more, but he was curious about what was on the other side of his front door, so he waved him off with nothing more than a menacing glare and went to investigate. The noise had stopped, but he flung the door open anyway and his heart clenched at the pathetic sight before him.

She was barely more than skin, bones and the largest brown eyes he had ever seen. They were such a deep, rich color and they reminded him of the coffee that Daisy loved so much, but could rarely find. She had obviously had a rough go of things, judging by the layer of dirt and grime that covered her and the scraps of cloth that remained of her clothes. She was bleeding from several minor scrapes and cuts, as well as a couple more major ones. She had a particularly nasty gash across her ribs that was still bleeding and one thigh was sliced open so deeply he was pretty sure he could see muscle.

Without thinking about it, he offered her his hand, only belatedly worrying that she might recoil from his touch, most smoothskins did, after all. Shockingly, not only did she not hesitate, but once she was on her feet again she was suddenly pressed against his chest. He was so shocked that he couldn't even react at first. He just stood there, stunned, as she burrowed into him. After a moment he relaxed, wrapping his arms around the tiny smooth skin as she quivered against him. He didn't know what she had been through, but it was obvious that it had been going on for awhile. A person didn't get to this level of malnourishment in a week or two. It took months of neglect to reach this level of emaciation. He filled with rage at the thought of anyone treating another human being with this kind of disregard. It reminded him of Vic, the previous mayor, and the way he had treated the drifters before he had put an end to the tyranny... and the man himself. He had a feeling someone else was in serious need of ending...

"You alright there, sister?"

"I think I might be… now." Her voice was soft, muffled as it was against his chest. She balled her fists in the fabric of his coat, pulling him even closer. He didn't mind in the least.

"I think you'll be even better once we get you inside and seen to by a doctor." He felt her go rigid in his arms, but he wasn't sure what he could have possibly said to upset her.

"I don't have any money." He silently cursed himself. Of course she didn't have anything and how was she to know that he was the mayor, able to get her any help she needed.

"Don't worry 'bout the caps, doll. I'm kinda well connected." He pulled back from her just enough so that she could see his face and winked, giving her his most winning smile.

"That's the least of my concerns…" she was shaking so hard by this point that Hancock worried she would fall over without his support. "People might be looking for me… people I would rather not be found by."

She took a deep breath, trying to keep the fear out of her voice, but she knew she was failing miserably.

"I can see why." A hard, angry look settled on to his features, transforming his face. For one heart-stopping moment she thought the look was meant for her, but when he heard her sharp intake of breath as she tried to step back, the look was once again replaced by one of concern. He's upset that someone hurt me, a total stranger. She had seen so many people not care one iota about the suffering of others that she had feared that was just the way this world worked. Only one other person had ever shown her an ounce of kindness before this and it was an unfamiliar, but utterly welcome, sensation. Everyone else would walk right past, some averting their eyes while others stared, reveling in the misfortune. She wasn't sure which was worse, but either way, no one cared. No one ever cared. Except Maggie. She shook her head, trying to forget, at least for now. That was when she realized the kind man, whose arms were still around her, was waiting for her to say something. She hadn't even realized he had spoken.

"I'm sorry, what?" She could feel the warmth of what little blood she had left filling her cheeks in a brilliant blush. She hated blushing, which only made her blush even harder. Here was this stranger, offering her help when he had no obligation to her whatsoever, and she couldn't even be bothered to listen to him? She felt awful, but he just smiled warmly at her and repeated himself.

"If you're worried about word gettin' around about you in Goodneighbor, it's probably not wise to parade you through the streets all the way to the doctor. My place is right inside and I could go get the doctor and bring her to you."

"I don't want to see the doctor." She could feel herself beginning to shake again, but she couldn't help it. Not after the only "doctor" she had ever seen had "treated" Maggie. She could feel her heart rate spike as she gasped for air, a cold sweat creeping over her flesh.

"Forget the doctor. Don't worry. I've got ya, doll. Just come with me and I'll patch ya up myself." He turned, pulling her along with an arm wrapped tightly around her waist for support. They had made it halfway to the door that the man had indicated when she heard someone clear his throat behind them.

"And who's this?"

"None of your fucking business, Finn. Didn't I tell ya to clear out?" His voice was more of a growl than anything, but his arm around her waist stayed firm yet gentle as he ushered her forward.

"I'm goin'... but it seems to me that you care more for outsiders than your own people, Mayor." She couldn't see the owner of the voice, but it made her skin crawl. When he said the word "mayor" her head snapped up, searching for his eyes. He just smiled ruefully down at her with a slight shrug before replying.

"Everyone starts off as outsider, Finn. Surely even you realize that."

They reached the door then and he held it open for her, leading her in and up the stairs, letting it fall back into the frame with a loud, wooden thunk. She realized, rather belatedly, that she had gone off with a strange man based on nothing more than the kindness in his onyx eyes - and a feeling. She hoped she was right, that he was the kind of man he appeared to be, because if not… she was truly and royally fucked.

He lead her up a curved staircase and into the room at the top of the steps. The room was dominated by two large, comfortable looking sofas facing each other with a beat up wooden coffee table in the middle. Caps, chems and Gwinnett Stout bottles littered the table's scarred surface. He motioned for her to sit down on the sofa to the left while he made room for himself on the coffee table with one careless sweep of his hand.

"Well, doll, you're gonna need stitches. A lot of stitches. I don't think a Stimpak alone is going to close up that gash in your thigh. Do you want a dose of Med-X first?" He had a hand laid casually on her knee as he inspected the wound and left it there as he looked up at her, waiting for her answer.

"I would rather not…" she answered hesitantly. She just didn't like the idea of being so completely helpless so soon after obtaining her freedom. It seemed like an unnecessary risk.

"It's up to you, but if you change your mind just speak up, okay? Cause I'm not going to lie to you, girl. This is going to hurt like hell." His voice was kind as he absently ran his thumb back and forth over her knee. Normally if someone touched her like that, it would have made her skin crawl, but with him, it was comforting. It was a pleasant distraction from all her many hurts.

"What else is new? Isn't that just life? Moving from one painful thing to the next?" She knew she sounded bitter, but why the hell shouldn't she?

"Hopefully that's all in the past now. Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people. We don't stand for the kind of shit you've obviously been through. You're safe here." His voice was warm and sweet, making her want to believe him. How can I? Maggie's the only person who's never lied to me. Why should he be any different? But in her heart, she thought that just maybe this man was being sincere. She didn't know what to say to his promise of safety, so she just smiled shyly and changed the subject back to more pressing matters - not passing out from the pain of all the stitches she was about to receive.

"You wouldn't happen to have some whiskey, would you? Maybe a shot of that would take the edge off…" She hated to ask for anything else after all he was doing, but she really did need that drink.

"I think you're gonna need more than just a shot. I'll grab ya a bottle." He patted her knee and stood up, busying himself with the gathering of supplies and closing the double doors that led into the room and locking them. She watched him closely as he moved about the room. He should have looked ridiculous in his old red coat and equally ancient looking hat, but instead he looked… interesting, exciting. He carried himself well and every movement was made with purpose. His confidence was attractive. When he had everything he was likely to need he sat back down in front of her. He uncorked the bottle of whiskey and took a large gulp before passing it to her, smiling as the amber liquid burned all the way down.

"Helps settle the nerves," he said with a shrug. She laughed, taking a dainty sip and wincing as the liquid fire worked its way down her throat. She coughed a couple times, dismayed that she could feel her cheeks blushing. Again.

"Been awhile." She choked out. He laughed, smiling broadly, but it wasn't unkind and the sound brought a small smile to her lips in return.

"Practice makes perfect, sunshine." He chuckled, indicating she should take another sip by nodding his head in the direction of the bottle still clutched in her hand. The second sip went down much smoother and she was feeling pleasantly fuzzy within moments.

He opened a can of water and poured some onto a cloth. He held the can over her injured thigh, but paused to look questioningly into her eyes, only dousing the wound at her nod. The water was a shock, but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as when he took the cloth and began to clean off the old, dried blood. She held on to the sofa with one hand, the bottle of whiskey clutched to her chest in the other.

"Don't forget to breath," he whispered, not looking up from the task in front of him. She hadn't even realized she had been holding it. She exhaled before taking several deep breaths followed by another swig of whiskey. Maybe I should have just taken the damn meds...

When the wound was finally clean enough and he sat with the needle poised above her raw flesh, he paused.

"By the way, my name is John Hancock. It's nice to meet you." And then the needle plunged beneath her skin. Yup. Definitely should have taken the meds.

Hancock was trying to block out the sounds of her whimpers and cries, because it was tearing him up. There's a reason I'm mayor, not a damn doctor. He hated that he was hurting her, but it couldn't be helped. He wished she would have taken the Med-X, but he had to admit that he was impressed by her determination. She seemed to be a tiny wisp of a thing, barely more than air, but here she was getting stitched up by some random ghoul she had just met with only a few sips of whiskey in her to detract from the pain. She was stronger than she looked and he couldn't help but be intrigued by the woman that had managed to stumble through the ruins in the state she was in and make it his town still alive. That took guts and fire - two things she seemed to have plenty of.

After the stitches were in, he applied a Stimpak to various points in and around his handiwork. Now that the biggest wound of hers was out of the way, he began to evaluate the rest of her injuries. She was going to need a few more stitches here and there, a lot of Stimpaks, and, most of all, a steady supply of food and water. He could see the signs of long term dehydration and near starvation all over her. Her hair had been shaved off, possibly by her captors, but it had begun to grow back. The new growth was the same rich brown as her eyes and he wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Her face was thin, her jaw and nose standing out in stark contrast to the rest of features. Where someone else might have looked severe, she looked striking. He could see that with a few weeks of comfy living her features would fill out, making her even more beautiful.

As he continued patching her up he made mental plans for where she should stay and how best to keep her tucked away while she healed. As long as she was in Goodneighbor he was confident that he could keep her off the radar, but he wanted to do more than that. He carefully tilted her face upward so he could inspect a pair of stitches he had put in her forehead, when the light caught briefly on the usually shadowed skin of her neck. He only got to look for a moment, because at the sound of his shocked gasp she jerked her chin from his fingers. Their eyes met for one electric moment moment before she looked away, focusing instead on the whiskey bottle in her lap and hiding the marks on her neck in shadow once more.

"Well, I think that's about as good as it gets," he said quickly, trying to act like he hadn't seen anything. "I found some clothes that I think might fit you, so if you want to get changed I thought you might be more comfortable sleeping at Daisy's."

He offered her a flannel shirt and a faded pair of jeans which she accepted with a slight nod. She stepped to the side of the sofa and before he could even take two steps she had begun to remove the tattered remains of her clothing. He froze awkwardly, looking up and away quickly.

"I can.. Go?"

A humorless laugh met his ears in response to his stuttered question.

"What's the point?"

The pain in her voice drew his eyes to her like a magnet. His old, red flannel was much too large for her, hanging down to mid-thigh on her skinny frame. There was always something about seeing a beautiful woman wearing something of his. It's been a long time since I've seen such a sight...

"Look," she said before he could think of a response, "I don't know why you helped me, why you give a shit about some ragged nobody that couldn't even manage to open a fucking door… but thank you."

Hancock could see unshed tears brimming in her eyes and couldn't help himself. He closed the distance between them and gently tucked her head under his chin, holding her closely to his chest. He could feel her shoulders shaking as she finally broke down in his arms. He didn't say a word, just held her until it became obvious that she was too weak to stand anymore. He picked her up and carefully carried her over to the sofa, sitting down with her still in his arms. She was far too light and as she cried herself out he made her silent promises that she would never go without again.

"John," hearing his first name in her small broken voice tugged at his heartstrings in a way that was completely unfamiliar, "I know you planned on taking me some place else for the night, but if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd rather just stay with you."

"You sure?" He tried to keep the hopeful sound out of his voice, but he was pretty sure he had failed miserably.

"I've never felt safer. Not that I can remember at least…"

"Never could say no to a pretty lady," he said with a cocky grin, trying to coax a smile out of her. It worked and he pulled her close again. She laid her head on his shoulder and he marveled again at her willingness to be close to him. Beside the occasional awkward handshake or accidental touch, he hadn't been this close to someone that was still in possession of all their skin since before he lost his. He had been with other ghouls on occasion, when the desire for human contact overpowered his insecurities, but mostly he just kept to himself. He didn't know why this smoothskin was so comfortable with touching him, but he was almost disgusted by how much he was enjoying it. He didn't want to let her out of his arms for a moment, afraid that he would never get her back into them.

"You never told me your name, doll." He whispered into her hair.

"That's because I don't have one," she whispered back and he was pretty sure he could hear his own heart breaking to pieces in the silence that followed.