*Another update in less than a month?! It must be a holiday season miracle. xD

Here's another longish chapter for you guys... I think that there might still be *some* polishing I need to do later on, but for right now I'm mostly happy with it.

This will likely be the last update until the new year, so in the meantime happy holidays to you all! 3*

(Cass)

There's not a hell of a lot that's more embarrassing than tossing your cookies in front of other people. Particularly when those other people appear completely unaffected by the same things that made your stomach reverse itself.

I continued to gag and spit for a couple minutes after my stomach was empty. Every heave made my shoulder, back, and head throb. The pain made the nausea worse, but that was okay; it distracted me from the embarrassment. Way to be tough there, Cass.

I couldn't understand why I had gotten sick… surely drowning that feral or blasting a mutant hound's face into a red ruin had been more upsetting, right? I'd bounced back pretty okay from all of that, a few bad dreams aside. Maybe I was just reaching my limit. Sensory overload, and all that. A girl can only take so much. Just thinking about all that blood and shards of skull splattering on the…

My stomach clenched again. No, nope, not going there. Time to think of something else, anything else.

I felt a hand press into my uninjured shoulder and twitched. Sometime while I had been tossing my cookies Nick had appeared. I saw him hold a carton of purified water out to me from the corner of my eye.

"You hit the stairs pretty hard there," he said. "Hope that's not a sign of a concussion."

I accepted the water gratefully. It was kind of him to imply that I had puked because I had been tossed onto the stairs like a ragdoll, instead of being too squeamish to stomach the aftermath of the fight. It wasn't true, of course. But it made me feel a bit less like a wimp.

I swished a mouthful of water around and spat it out. "My back took more of that than my head did." I offered him a weak smile. "Thanks, Nick."

Hancock strolled into the kitchen then. My cheeks burned, but if he thought worse of me for getting sick, he didn't show it. His dark eyes landed on mine briefly before sweeping across my shoulder and the splatters of gore on my jeans.

"You're bleedin', doll," he observed, like he was telling me I had a smear of dirt on my face. Thank you, Captain Obvious. I had no idea.

He cleaned his knife as he spoke, using the tail of his flag sash to polish the merc's blood away. The sight sent a little thrill of fear through me. I'd seen him shoot people, of course; him and just about everyone else I'd met so far. It wasn't necessarily the killing itself that made my gut coil in knots. It was just… there was a whole different level of brutality when the knife was involved. The image of him laying open that merc's neck so effortlessly sent a chill from my head to my toes.

Something must've shown on my face, because he paused and gave me a very careful, guarded look. "Maybe Nick oughta take a look at that."

Pull yourself together, Cass.

I shook my head. Yeah, he was scary as fuck with a knife, but he'd killed that merc defending himself. He wasn't about to use it on me, so I squashed any lingering apprehension.

"If one of you wouldn't mind," I replied, as neutrally as I could manage. "Fingers crossed it doesn't need stitches, but it's kinda hard to tell myself without a mirror around."

Hancock's face didn't change, but I saw his shoulders drop, just a little. "Let's get you upstairs, then. Rads are gonna be pourin' in down here now with that window busted. Rain, too."

I didn't notice until he said it, but once he did I could feel the radiation beginning to creep along my skin. Warm, but not in any way that was comforting.

I nodded with a shudder. "Yeah, okay. Let's do that."

"You should count yourself lucky it only grazed you," Nick said as we headed for the stairs. "An inch or two over and we might've been digging a bullet out of you."

"Damn, and that sounds like so much fun, too," I muttered sarcastically.

Both men chuckled. Good to know that I was nothing if not amusing.

I let them lead the way, mostly because I wasn't interested in moving very quick. My back and shoulders felt like one giant bruise. Turns out getting thrown into stairs isn't the best thing for your health.

That being said, I wasn't paying attention to much besides my own injuries until we started up to the second floor. Hancock had been walking pretty normally up to that point, but the stairs made him brace his hand against the wall. He could still climb up the steps, but clearly something hurt.

Nick hesitated, like he was unsure of whether to offer a hand to help out. "You okay there, John?"

"M'fine," Hancock grunted. "Last guy hit me pretty good in the ribs, is all. Didn't have a whole lotta room to maneuver."

There wasn't any heat in his tone but I blushed anyway. That was my fault. If I hadn't been so insistent about trying to avoid a fight, he wouldn't have been backed into a corner. It was honestly a miracle that he had come out as unscathed as he did.

That mistake could've gotten us both killed. It was a severely sobering thought.

Once upstairs, I shrugged out of my flannel shirt so that we could get a better look at my shoulder. Nick poured a little water onto a clean bit of cloth and dabbed at it, cleaning off the drying blood. The sting made me hiss.

"Sorry," he apologized. "If it's any consolation, wounds like this usually feel worse than they are."

"Know that from experience, do you?" I asked. He gave me a bit of a look, and I realized how that must've sounded. "Fuck! No, sorry, I wasn't trying to-"

"It's okay," he said, waving his good hand dismissively.

I grimaced. "No, it's not. I wasn't trying to be snarky; I thought maybe you remembered from the, err, original Nick's day…"

He shook his head. "I know that Nick was on the wrong end of a knife a few times, but was lucky enough to have never been shot. Can't quite recall the sensation, though. Most of human Nick's memories are just so much facts and data."

"Really?" I wanted to ask him more about it, but then he stuck a stimpak in my shoulder. "Fuck me!"

Nick only chuckled. I glanced over at the wound; it was hard to see from the angle, but it looked like I had about a three-inch line torn out of my skin… straight through a traditional spiderweb that covered most of that shoulder. Of fucking course. The sight made my throat constrict, but not with pain.

"Damn it, that's gonna scar," I muttered.

Hancock nodded from where he stood, braced against the wall a few feet away. "Yeah, probably."

His nonchalant tone made me want to snap at him. I had to take a deep breath and remind myself that he wouldn't understand why the scar would bother me. I so did not have the energy for another fight. And if I started arguing, there was a good chance I would start crying too. I could feel that tight, emotional knot resting just below my ribcage, just dying for a chance to be let out. I was not about to start bawling in front of either of them, so biting my tongue was my only recourse.

It took about half a stimpak to take care of both me and Hancock; neither of us needed stitches, thank god. They made me crunch on a couple of Rad-X right after. Hancock insinuated that we should probably use a little Rad-Away before we left in the morning just in case; I wasn't thrilled with that prospect. He was probably right, damn him, but it didn't mean I had to be happy about it.

It wasn't totally nightfall by the time we were done, but with the stormclouds blocking out what was left of the sun it might as well have been. With no electricity, the house was almost pitch black. Nick had uncovered a handful of half-burned candles during his search earlier; they flickered now on the few intact surfaces we'd been able to find. It gave just enough light for me to get situated on a dilapidated old couch to try and sleep.

Nick and Hancock had both gone back downstairs after the doctoring was done. Hancock had suggested dragging the bodies outside in case ferals or anything else came tracking the scent of blood and rotting meat during the night; Nick wanted to look more closely through the mercs' things for clues about who employed them. They both could see better in the dark than I could, so I let them go without complaint. I never could fall asleep very easily with other people awake around me, anyway.

I huddled alone in the dark, listening to their quiet movements below and the tapping of rain against the (mercifully intact) roof. Between the stress, unbidden images of heads exploding into viscera, and the general anxiety of being alone in a strange dark place, I was almost certain I'd never fall asleep. But miles of walking and all the adrenaline had taken more out of me than I'd thought. I closed my eyes, and was out long before the guys ever came back upstairs.

(Hancock)

Hancock didn't dream much as a ghoul. Back before he lost his smooth skin (and a handful of nonessential body parts), he remembered dreaming a lot. Most of it was probably thanks to whatever cocktail of drugs he was on at the time. The chems hadn't changed, but now when he slept it was usually just blackness. Most of the time he didn't regret it; dreams weren't always the best thing when you lived the kind of life he did. Certain things were a lot easier to do when you didn't have to worry about reliving them once your eyes closed.

Tonight was no exception. The events of the day had worn him out more than he'd thought; he could feel sleep dragging at his eyelids before they'd even finished clearing out the bodies. With Nick able to keep an eye on things, Hancock decided he may as well catch a few hours' shut-eye.

Cass was already passed out on an old couch by the time they got back upstairs. If they had been on better terms, he might've opted to share; he could think of worse ways to spend the night than pressed up against all her soft curves. But there was a good chance he might end up stabbed or shot for suggesting it, so in the end he made himself comfortable in a corner a few feet away. He didn't mind sleeping on the floor, not after years spending more nights than not out on the street or in the gutter. Once you've lived shit like that, four walls and a roof were goddamn luxuries.

It didn't take him long to drift off into his usual dreamless nothingness, but it felt like he'd only been asleep for an hour, maybe two, when some kind of noise woke him up. Years of wariness had him alert almost instantly. He blinked his eyes open and reached out for his shotgun at the same time, staring out in the darkness. Nothing moved that he could see, apart from the flickering shadows cast by the dying candlelight, but that didn't mean nothing was there.

He waited silently for one moment, then two, and then… a whimper? The noise was so unexpected that for a second he didn't even recognize what it was.

Then it happened again, and he realized it was coming from Cass. She was still curled up on the old couch, but he could see her twitching fitfully.

"Cass?" He sat up and moved closer, uncertain of whether or not to touch her. "Hey, sister, you awake?"

She only mumbled something incoherent under her breath. She was definitely still asleep… bad dreams, then.

"Hey, doll, wake up."

He nudged her shoulder; she whimpered again but otherwise didn't seem to notice. He shook her gently and she rolled to face him, but her eyes stayed shut. He could just make out the frown scrunching up her face in the darkness. Jesus, she was a heavy sleeper. He'd thought as much when he had slipped out after their fun the other night, but still. God help her if anyone tried to jump her in the middle of the night.

When it became obvious gentler methods wouldn't work, he gave up and shook her. "Cass, you're dreaming! Wake up!"

That did it. She jerked awake with a gasp; a moment later she yelped and he felt a fist connecting with his newly healed ribs.

"Fuck!" He fell back with a grunt, wincing. "Christ, Cass, it's just me!"

She froze, halfway to her feet. "Hancock?"

"Who else?" He pressed a hand to his chest where she nailed him. She could put a surprising amount of power into a hit when she wanted to. "Remind me to stay outta swingin' distance next time."

"Oh, fuck, Hancock, I'm sorry," she stammered apologetically. "You scared the shit out of me. Are you okay?"

She started to reach out to help him up, but hesitated. Her eyes were wide with concern—a refreshing change from the daggers she'd been staring at him lately—but there was wariness there too.

"I'll live."

Her breath came out in a slow exhale. He wasn't sure if that meant relief, or frustration, or some combination of the two. She dropped her hand and eased back onto the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. The gesture was childlike, almost… like something a little girl might do. Especially with the fading adrenaline sending visible tremors through her frame.

"Must've been some nightmare," he remarked at length.

"... Yeah," she agreed softly. "Yeah, it was."

She went quiet after that. Hancock hesitated for a minute or two, uncertain of what to do. The curious part of him wanted to ask what she had cooked up to unnerve her like that. A little twisted, maybe, but true. That would almost certainly be the wrong choice, though, so what was he supposed to do? Did he stay? Leave? Leaving would be the easier option. Dealing with something like this felt a little out of his depth… and he was probably the last person Cass wanted around.

Nick was good at this sort of thing though. It was part of his job. Hancock could charm a crowd and sweettalk with the best of them, but Nick was the one with a talent for comforting people. If he could console the grieving, worried, or angry denizens of Diamond City on a regular basis, then helping Cass shake off a nightmare would be a piece of cake.

With that thought, he got to his feet to go grab the old synth. Cass had other ideas. She startled him when she reached forward suddenly to grab the cuff of his sleeve, pulling him to a stop.

"Hancock, wait."

He paused, not bothering to hide his surprise. "Yeah?"

"Would you… would you mind hanging out, for just a bit?"

He was so taken aback by her request that he didn't answer immediately. Not that he minded, necessarily, but last he checked she still wanted to knock his lights out. Now she was asking him to comfort her?

"I can understand if you don't want to," she continued, speaking quickly. "It's just…" She stopped and shook her head. "No. You know what, never mind. Forget it."

He wavered, confused. What the hell did she want from him? "I can go grab Nick…?"

"Just forget about it, forget I asked." Her voice was getting harder now, more defensive. "You didn't sign up for this. Neither of you did. I'll just… deal. I'll be fine."

Well, great. Now she was pissed again and he had no idea why.

As soon as he had the thought, though, he knew it wasn't true. A spike of insight hit him like he'd crunched down on some mentats: She's embarrassed, not mad, you idiot.

Once that thought struck him, he could see the way her shoulders hunched, the suggestion of reddened cheeks in the candlelight. He remembered that Cass didn't like asking for help. And now she was not only asking for help, but she was scared, vulnerable, and probably not thrilled that he was one of only two options. Hell, if he'd been in her place he would've been touchy too.

So after a moment he dropped down next to her, arms draping casually over the back of the couch.

She looked over at him warily. "I said don't worry about it."

"I'm not exactly great at this sorta thing," he said, ignoring her protest. "So… do you wanna talk about it?"

"… No."

Fine by him. "Okay."

She frowned, but it looked more puzzled than angry. "Why are you doing this?"

He shrugged. "Because you asked. Or was there some kinda secret message I wasn't getting?"

"No, but…"

"But you'd still like to kick my ass," he suggested bluntly.

She blinked. "Well, yeah."

He nodded. "Yeah, Nick mighta mentioned that I owe you an apology, once or twice." He rubbed the back of his head. "Probably a hell of a time to do that… but I am sorry, doll. For what I said before. I was outta line."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "No shit. What was your first clue?"

"You chuckin' a chair across the room was a pretty decent indicator."

He could see her cheeks darken, but she kept his gaze. "What can I say? I don't appreciate it when a man lies just so he can get me in the sack."

He sat up a little, defensive. "Wait, that's what you think I was doing?"

"Well, let's recap," she retorted, voice clipped. She held up her fingers and begin ticking things off. "You pried my story out of me in Goodneighbor; you let me think you believed me… or at the very least, that you didn't disbelieve me; we fucked; and only then did you have the goddamn gall to tell me that my life—my ENTIRE fucking life—is nothing but a made-up fairy tale." She crossed her arms then, glaring at him. "Your words, by the way. In case you forgot."

He couldn't help but wince. "That might've been a little harsh-"

"A little harsh?! You called me crazy!"

"I didn't-"

"The word 'crazy' literally came out of your mouth."

"Okay, okay, enough already!" Hancock interjected, palms up. "I'm an ass, I get the picture. It was a shitty choice of words." He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "… Okay, so maybe you're right. It is hard to believe you're not some kind of preprogrammed synth."

"Then why humor me if you weren't just trying to get on my good side?" she demanded, jumping in so quick she nearly cut off the end of his sentence. "And don't give me any bullshit about thinking I'm not strong enough to take it-"

"Christ, you are a difficult person to apologize to, anyone ever tell you that?" he snapped. She stopped and stared at him, eyes wide, but at least she was quiet. "I didn't push the issue at the time because I didn't see a reason to, alright? I figured you had enough goin' on as it was, and eventually you'd figure your shit out one way or another." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reining his temper back in. "I'm not gonna pretend like there aren't times that I listen to you talk about the things you remember, or hum along to songs I've never heard, and it doesn't feel like something really might've plucked you outta where you belong to throw you into our mess out here. But then I try to think about how that could've happened, and I ain't smart enough to come up with a way that makes any sense."

"You think it makes any more sense to me?" she asked. Her voice was still hard, but her expression had begun to soften just a little bit. "I never asked you to give me any answers, Hancock, but I did expect you to be upfront with me."

He raised his brows at her. "Really? Is 'upfront' what you'd call sneakin' off in the middle of the night without a word?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. After a moment she looked down and away, her hand automatically coming up to tug at her hair.

"Well, fuck," she said after a moment. "Okay. Touché, I guess." She looked back at him determinedly. "But that's still not as bad as both insulting my sanity and dismissing my entire existence up to this point."

Is she ever gonna let this go? He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He would've pinched the bridge of his nose is he still had one. "I know I run my mouth, doll. I said what I did because I don't want you breakin' your own heart." He stared down at his boots, suddenly a lot more uncomfortable than he had been seconds before… if that was possible. "I like ya, doll. Would be a shame to watch you chasin' something you never end up finding."

Cass sat very still, taking in his words. She didn't say anything for so long that he began to wonder if he'd fucked up again. And why did that matter to him, anyway? Cass had brought nothing but trouble since he met her. He should've cut her loose days ago, and yet he was sitting there damn near fidgeting because she hadn't said anything.

"Well, I guess if that's it…" he muttered. Fuckin' women. Can't live with 'em…

He started to get up until Cass lightly touched his shoulder.

"I know it's a long shot," she said. If there had been any anger left in her, it was gone now. Now she just looked tired, and sad, and he wasn't certain that was any better. "Fuck, it's probably even impossible. I know that, I do… But I gotta keep hoping I'll eventually find a way back."

She blinked too fast and too hard, and he caught the shine of tears in her eyes. Damn it, he hadn't meant to make her cry. That was almost worse than her being pissed.

"Shit, doll, I didn't mean to-"

"Every second of every day reminds me that I don't belong here," she continued, like she hadn't heard him. "I don't have anything here, and I hate that. I don't have a home, no family, no history… I'd never even been farther east than the Sierras. Hoping that I can somehow make it back is literally all I have left, and I just can't let you or anyone else try to take that away from me." Her voice started to get thick; she stubbornly cleared her throat and scrubbed at her eyes. "It just really fucking sucks, you know?"

He didn't have a response to that. What could he say? "Sorry" didn't seem to cut it. He hadn't even paused to consider what that might have meant for her… the hope of going back, of fixing everything. Everyone needs something to keep them going in the wasteland and he'd tried his best to tear down hers without even realizing it.

But what do you say to someone who's entire life has gone up in flames? He didn't have a magical solution he could pull out of his ass for her, much as he would've liked to. There was no expression of sympathy or solidarity he could think of that wouldn't sound empty or fake. But she was sitting there, very obviously trying not to cry, and damn it he couldn't just do nothing. So after a moment he sighed, and reached out for her.

"C'mere," he muttered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her against his side. She must've needed the comfort a lot more than she was letting on, because she only resisted for a quick second before giving in. "You got friends, if nothing else. Me included."

She snorted faintly, and her voice was still a little watery when she asked, "Just gonna assume you're forgiven, huh?"

He gave her a light squeeze. "Call it a hunch."

"Cocky bastard." She curled against his side, head resting in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. A beat later she added, "Thank you, though. For apologizing… and for staying."

"Anytime." He glanced down at her, and a smirk tugged at his mouth. "And by the way… I wasn't humorin' ya to get you to sleep with me. I could've gotten you into bed weeks ago."

She groaned. "Glad to see your ego's intact. Newsflash: you're not that charming."

"That blush you got begs to differ."

She shifted, ducking her head a little, and jabbed him lightly with her elbow. "Okay, Don Juan. You keep telling yourself that, if it'll help you sleep at night."

He chuckled. She nestled closer still against him, hugging him around the waist and letting her eyes drop closed. Soon her breathing began to slow. He eased his arm from her shoulders to curl around her hip; he let his thumb brush against the strip of bared skin there, between her shirt and her waistband. God, her skin was so soft…

Cass hummed drowsily. "Don't go getting any funny ideas, Mr. Mayor."

He grinned, even though she wasn't looking. "Wouldn't dream of it."