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Boston Bugle

Boston Food Riots Continue

In what can only be described as a scene of absolute pandemonium, on Friday afternoon soldiers of the United States Army's 184th Infantry Regiment opened fire on a group of unarmed civilians after an unknown person smashed the plate glass window of the Roxbury Food Bank, prompting several people in the line outside to storm into the establishment. As of yesterday evening, at least four people were confirmed dead and eight others injured, but Jonathan Corman, spokesman for the Army, insists the troops acted within their authority.

"The soldiers in question issued explicit verbal warnings several times. Those people knew exactly what would happen if they broke the line and attacked the food bank. Hunger is no excuse for civil disobedience, vandalism or - in this case - starting a riot that puts the lives of every civilian in the area at risk. It is the role of the United States Army to maintain order in this difficult time...”

October 18th, 2077 – Boston

“Take mine, sweetheart.”

Nora shook her head, folding her arms into the loose sides of her sweater. “I'm not cold,” she said, “I'm just tired and sick of waiting.”

Nate tucked her under his arm. “It looks like they're moving a little up front.”

The line at Roxbury Food Bank stretched at least two blocks down the road, a mass of chattering, disgruntled people clutching ration cards and shushing cranky children. Shaun was, thankfully, passed out asleep in his stroller, swaddled in his favorite blanket, content and snug with a full belly. Nora had nursed him while they stood in line, blanket draped over her shoulder and glaring back at the middle-aged woman in front of them that stared disapprovingly. He'd fallen asleep easily after that, blissfully unaware of anything beyond his mother's embrace.

Nate pulled the ration cards out of his jacket pocket for the millionth time and read down the list of allotments. They could stretch it out for maybe two weeks – if they got everything. Until last week, they had counted on the shipments coming into the grocery store his parents owned in Southie, supplemented with whatever Nora's grandparents were growing in their long-established garden. But then the regular order never arrived, the distributor's phone was out of order, and the store had emptied within two days. The weather was turning cold and there was less and less coming from Renee and George's garden.

I'll stand in line as long as it takes, he'd told Nora yesterday, after the radio announcement that the food bank in Roxbury would be open for a few hours, first come, first serve. She had insisted on coming with him, partly to keep him company and partly because they were known to deny rations for anyone who hadn't come in person. The cards had all three of their names and it was perfectly legal for him to collect for all of them – he'd checked – but they did it anyway.

There was some commotion at the front of the line, a few hundred feet away, shouting and shoving and barked orders to stay back. Nora craned her neck to look before sighing and shaking her head.

“They sent you and God knows how many others over there for this?” she muttered, leaning into Nate's chest. “It's such a crock of shit.”

He nodded in agreement but didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to be said that they hadn't already, but he knew Nora sometimes had to vent the frustration – futile as it may be – out loud.

His own indignation had disappeared the first time he'd tried and failed to revive a nameless twenty-year-old dragged into his aid station with a chest full of shrapnel.

Nora, though – she still had some fight. He worried once that she was naive, but it wasn't that. She was just made of stronger stuff than he was.

“Ugh, stupid shoes,” Nora muttered. She braced herself on his arm to lift one foot, loosening the strap on her sandal and dumping out a few grainy pebbles.

“Never buy a pair of Duchess casuals,” she instructed him, slipping the shoe back on. “I swear, somehow everything gets into these.”

“I don't think they make them in my size, anyway.”

Nora smiled and shifted back into his embrace. They stood like that, leaning into each other as the line inched forward bit by bit, their silence companionable despite the unrest around them. His leg was beginning to ache and the air was getting colder, but Nate was glad she had come. She made it bearable somehow.

The closer to the building they got, the closer the soldiers pressed in on them. Fully armed and kitted out, they paced the line of civilians and barked orders every few seconds. Nate hugged Nora close as his sixth sense tingled.

“STAY WITHIN THE BARRICADE!”

The soldier yelled into his bullhorn as he stomped past. Shaun woke with a sudden jerk and let out an indignant wail.

“Oh, honey,” Nora cooed, lifting him out of the stroller and cradling him to her shoulder. “It's okay, my peanut. Did that dummy wake you up?”

Nate glanced behind them. The soldier was arguing animatedly with two young men a few yards back. That tingle crawled down his spine.

“It's alright, peanut,” Nora was saying to Shaun, bouncing him gently and patting his back. “You go back to sleep, finish your nap –”

Nate pulled them closer. The soldier and the two men were still shouting at each other.

“Nate, can you check the bag for one of his pacifiers?”

The soldier dropped his bullhorn and shoved one man hard enough to knock him over into the wooden barricade. Angry shouts erupted from the people around him.

“Nate, did you hear me?”

“We need to go,” he said, leaning down so people around didn't hear him. “Put him back in the stroller, Nora.”

She looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. “We've been in line for almost four hours,” she said, “We're so close –”

“This is about to go sideways, Nora,” he muttered, hoping the panic rising in his gut wasn't obvious. “We need to leave.”

“Nate, there is nothing in the fridge,” Nora replied, “If we leave now we're not eating tonight.”

He wanted to tell her it didn't matter – he'd find something, somehow – but the words stuck in his throat as the shouting got louder. He grabbed her arm and started to pull her to the side, determined to get her and Shaun out of there. As soon as he stepped around the barricade, he came face to face with another soldier.

“Stay within the barricade,” he growled, pointing behind them. Nate felt Nora shrink behind him.

The soldier was a grunt – a regular enlisted, here purely as muscle, and he was facing down a superior. Nate straightened and squared his shoulders.

“Watch your tone, Private,” he shot back, “They teach you to speak to an officer like that?”

The soldier stepped back with a smirk. “Apologies, sir,” he drawled, eyes roving over Nate's civvies. “We need everyone to stay in line for safety.”

He gestured with his rifle and Nate felt a surge of hot anger flood his veins. He sidestepped to make sure Nora and Shaun were completely behind him.

“Keep your weapon out of my wife's face.”

“Nate,” Nora hissed, pulling on his sleeve. “Nathaniel.”

The private said nothing, that stupid smirk still on his face. Nate held his gaze until he took a step back, then another, and finally turned away.

“Nate, you're retired,” Nora scolded, a slight tremble in her voice. “You're wearing a Red Sox jacket, what are you thinking –”

The sound of shattering glass rent the air. Sudden chaos exploded as people began to force their way over the barricades and toward the broken window of the food bank. Nora hurriedly put Shaun back into the stroller even as he howled in protest. Nate could see her hands trembling.

Gunshots.

Screaming, more chaos, the press of bodies around them. Nora froze; Nate covered her body with his, the both of them huddled over the stroller. People were climbing into the food bank through the broken window.

More gunshots. One of the climbers dropped like a stone.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Come on,” Nate pushed Nora and the stroller forward, hunched, eyes on the subway entrance across the street. If they could get there, they might be able to sneak onto the first train that rolled in before the burgeoning riot shut the system down.

Nora stumbled, swore, and fell hard to her knees on the ragged concrete. Someone ran past, straight into Shaun's stroller, tipping it over. Nate made to grab Nora's hand but someone shoved him as the crowd began to surge past them in a rush; he could only grab Shaun, screaming, from the overturned stroller.

“Nora!” he yelled, glancing around wildly. She had disappeared in the charging mass. His heart jumped into his throat as he yelled her name again. He saw a flash of white sandal in the crowd and shoved his way forward with one hand. He found her sprawled on her side on the ground, shaking and white. He pulled her up and started running – a limping run that shot pain into his hip with every step – making for the subway station.

Gunshots echoed behind them as he pulled her down the stairs into the dark tunnel. The turnstiles that led to the platform were blocked off with traffic cones. A sign bearing the Army seal declared the train closed indefinitely.

He glanced around and zeroed in on the bathrooms; without a second thought he dragged Nora across the tiled entrance. A middle-aged woman rushed out, nearly colliding with them, a panicked look on her face. They could still hear screaming and shots from the street.

Nate pulled his wife and baby into the bathroom and slammed the heavy door closed, then jammed a metal trash can under the handle in a feeble attempt to keep anyone else out. He was still holding Shaun, clutching him to his chest in what had to be a painfully tight grip. He sobbed into Nate's shirt, gripping the sodden fabric in tiny fists.

“It's alright, buddy,” he said, loosening his grip and lifting the baby up to inspect him. No injuries he could see at first glance.

“I'm sorry, Daddy's sorry,” he muttered, holding Shaun over his thudding heart. “Don't worry, you're safe now. Nora –”

He stopped and felt his heart seize. Nora stood a few feet away and looked on the verge of falling apart. She'd lost a shoe and her sweater was torn, the sleeve hanging limp and exposing an angry, ugly streak of road rash on her shoulder. Her knees were scuffed and bleeding. Wild tendrils of hair had slipped her braid and there was blood under her nose.

“Fuck,” he whispered, striding to her. “Come here, sweetheart.”

She practically fell against him, tears erupting from her wide, scared eyes. He stood there, holding her and Shaun as they both cried, a miasma of anger and despair swirling in his stomach.

“Let me look,” he said after a few minutes, pulling back from Nora. “Sit down.”

She slumped to the floor as if her knees had given out. He handed her Shaun, who sniffled and buried his face against her chest.

“What hurts?”

“My head,” Nora whispered, swiping a hand under her bleeding nose. “Someone pushed me.”

Nate grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them in the sink, handing them to her to dab her nose. He squatted next to her, running his hands over her scalp. She hissed and stiffened when his fingers brushed against a damp spot on the back of her head.

“Lean forward.”

There was a small cut near her crown; it had bled enough that her hair was beginning to mat. No lumps or bruises, thankfully. Nora reached up to touch the cut and blanched at the fresh blood on her fingers.

“It's not as bad as it seems,” Nate assured her, “Head wounds tend to bleed all over the place and look worse than they are.”

“You're sure?”

He pressed a wad of paper towels to the wound and nodded. “Did you black out or anything?”

“No.”

“Any double vision, ringing in your ears?”

She shook her head. “No. Just the pain right there.”

“You might need a stitch or two,” he said, “But it's alright. I promise.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded, wiping tears off her face.

“I'm going to clean you up,” Nate said and stood to grab more paper towels. He pulled the torn sleeve away from her sweater and tossed her leftover shoe aside, working in silence as she slowly rocked Shaun to sleep. He cleaned out the scrapes and cuts on her shoulder and knees; focusing on the mechanics of first aid helped keep his anxiety under control.

They waited there for a long time, the sounds of sirens and rumbling traffic above them. Nate did his best to clean the blood from Nora's hair but there wasn't much he could do with just paper towels. He pulled off his jacket and made a makeshift pallet for Shaun, who had slowly, reluctantly fallen back asleep. Nate held Nora's hands and watched their son sleep.

He was so small. Tiny, delicate, as beautiful as his mother.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't the life he had wanted for Nora all those years ago when he offered her the silver band with the tiny opal setting. His vision – their vision – had been a big house in Southie, a gaggle of little redheads, a family pet, reading together in bed every evening. A life they enjoyed rather than just survived.

He had never wanted his son to sleep on a dirty bathroom floor while they hid from riot police.

Nora reached out and gently stroked the gossamer wisp of red hair on Shaun's forehead. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, her voice catching.

“What?”

“I'm sorry,” she repeated, “I should have listened to you and we could have left before it all went to shit –”

“Sweetheart, no,” he said, pulling her into his lap. “This isn't your fault. We tried to leave. There was nothing we could have done.”

He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the fading scent of her lilac soap. “I thought Shaun was dead,” she said into his shoulder, “He stopped crying for a minute and I thought –”

Her voice broke and Nate nodded in understanding. She was trembling.

“I need you, Nate,” she whispered, “I need you and Shaun. Without either of you...”

“I know,” Nate replied, tipping her chin up to kiss her, long and soft and reassuring. “We're not going anywhere.”

Spring, 2292 - Somewhere in the Boston ruins

“I've been here before.”

Hancock glanced over his shoulder to give her a look. “Yeah, you grew up in this city.”

Nora returned his look. “I mean...this building. This.”

She gestured around her, brow furrowed, hands on her hips. Hancock stood, abandoning the broken crates he'd been rummaging through. Nothing interesting or useful, anyway.

He joined Nora as she continued frowning, hugging her from behind to follow her gaze. To him it looked like any old busted-out storefront in the Commonwealth - an empty shell of a building, glass windows long since shattered to dust, shelves rusted, drywall rotting away to exposed studs. There was the ghost of red lettering on the facade and several half-rotted wooden barricades that formed a vague line around the double front doors. He squinted.

“I think we fucked once in that garage,” he said after a moment, nodding to the old mechanic's shop next door. “Ran into a pretty heavy thunderstorm and holed up to wait it out –”

Nora sighed and shrugged him off. “I'm not talking about whatever degenerate shit you've convinced me to do in God-knows-where,” she said, shaking her head. Hancock huffed a laugh.

“If I recall correctly, you were the instigator that night,” he continued as Nora strode away from him, “Ms. Grabby Hands – you took advantage of me.”

“Taking advantage would imply that you don't drop your pants the second you get a hint of cleavage,” Nora replied loftily, “It's not really instigating if you're chomping at the bit any time I need to change clothes.”

Hancock grinned and grabbed her elbow, spinning her around and pulling her flush against him.

“I can chomp at other things.”

“That is, quite frankly, the worst pickup line you've ever come up with. And it doesn't even make sense.”

“Still got your interest, didn't it?”

Nora hummed a vague agreement, looping her arms around his neck, lips lingering on his, content and unhurried. Suggestive banter evaporated from his thoughts the closer she pressed to him, hips angled in just the right -

“I meant from before,” she said and pulled away with a suddenness and grin that told him she knew exactly what she was doing. “I just have that déjà vu feeling.”

Hancock straightened and adjusted his stance, trying to regain his composure as he cleared his throat.

“Need to talk it out?”

She often had that when they were in the city – crossing a street at night, sitting on a rooftop and looking out at the city ruins, meandering through the subway tunnels. Sometimes it was so strong she had to stop and tease out the memory, talking through whatever innocuous thing had left it's imprint so strongly it lingered after two centuries.

Nora stared silently at the crumbling barricades for a few heartbeats and then shook her head.

“No,” she said, turning away. “Doesn't feel good.”

Hancock nodded. They gathered up their bags and put the building behind them, continuing their easy walk back towards Goodneighbor. After a few minutes of silence, Nora stepped closer and linked her fingers in his.

“So, do you just have a mental map of all the places we've had sex?”

Hancock grinned. “Landmarks I'm guaranteed to remember.”

“You're ridiculous.”

Hancock lifted their linked hands and kissed the polished wooden ring on her finger. “Ridiculously in love with a sexy-as-fuck little vaultie.”

She flashed him a smile and squeezed his hand.

“John –”

She never finished her sentence, interrupted by a sudden screech of tearing metal. One of the fire escapes, already clinging to the side of an apartment building by a few rusted bolts and little else, came loose, dislodging debris as it peeled away from the wall almost directly on top of them. Hancock swore and grabbed Nora, who was closer to the wall, and threw her and himself roughly out of the way. They tumbled to the ground, barely managing not to face-plant into a dumpster as the fire escape slammed into the pavement where they had been standing.

The noise echoed around the empty buildings and several birds screeched indignantly before flying away in a huff. Nora muttered a few choice swear words. Hancock groaned and tried to push himself upright, coughing on the dust kicked up in clouds around them.

“This city is coming up with new ways to try to kill me,” Nora said, shaking debris from her hair. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” he ground out, though pain was shooting through his arm. “Landed on that bad shoulder.”

“Let me see.”

“I appreciate the attempt to get me undressed after all our fun banter,” Hancock answered, “But I'm alright. Nothing to see. Just gonna be sore for a couple days.”

“You're sure? I have stimpaks.”

“I'm sure,” he said, lifting his arm up and wincing a bit as his shoulder screamed. “Don't waste the stims – I'll requisition some of Charlie's ice when we get back.”

“It's not a waste,” Nora argued. Hancock sighed and was about to ask her to help him up when a smear of blood on her forehead caught his attention.

“Shit, love, you're bleeding.”

“Huh?” Nora reached up to touch her forehead and winced. A small cut, maybe an inch long, had opened up right along her hairline, wreathed in the bluish stain of a fresh bruise.

“Must have been the shit flying around,” she said, dabbing at the wound with her jacket sleeve.

“You need a stim,” Hancock replied, “Here, put pressure on it.”

He dug around in his coat pockets and came up with a scrap of threadbare flannel that he might have used when oiling his gun earlier. It would have to do; blood was dribbling from the cut and down her cheek alarmingly fast.

“I'm alright,” Nora said, putting pushing his hand away to hold the makeshift bandage herself. “It looks worse than it is. Head wounds always bleed heavily, even the minor ones.”

Hancock frowned and pressed his hand over hers, ignoring the stabbing pain in his shoulder. “And what makes you think that?”

“It's not my opinion, it's a fact,” Nora replied, pushing him away again and pulling the cloth off her forehead. “I was married to a doctor once upon a time. I picked up some stuff.”

Hancock couldn't mask his unease but he did bite his tongue. He had learned by now that arguing with Nora – no matter how trivial the subject – was an exercise in futility.

“Grab my bag,” she said, nodding toward it. “There's an extra bottle of water in there. And I think a bandana in the front pocket.”

“Where's your stimpaks?”

Nora rolled her eyes. “In the medkit, like always,” she said, “I'm telling you, I'm fine.”

“Humor me, love.”

She sighed but allowed him to jab the needle into her thigh, looking pointedly away as her jaw tightened. He recapped the stim and tossed it aside while Nora busied herself scrubbing half-dried blood from her face with the wet rag. He watched, eyeing the cut and trying to gauge if a knot was forming around it. Nora didn't seem to notice as she cleaned herself meticulously in her reflection in the black screen of her Pip-Boy.

“There,” she said, setting aside the rag and water. She twisted the bandana and tied it over her forehead, knotting the ends at the back of her head.

“New fashion statement?”

“And it's keeping the cut covered until I can put a real bandage on it.”

She stood, brushing dust from her jeans, and held out a hand to Hancock.

“Come on,” she said, “We can make the front gate in an hour.”

“You should see Dr. Amari when we do.”

“I was thinking instead I'd help you take your mind off that shoulder.”

Hancock sighed and shook his head as Nora gathered up their bags, slotting herself under his uninjured arm. Leaning on each other, steering clear of any buildings with fire escapes, they continued their walk home.

“Mm – fuck – fuck, love –”

Nora rolled her hips, her forehead pressed to his, grinning and panting. “I thought that's what we were doing.”

“You – you got a mouth on you,” he replied breathlessly, palming one bare thigh as he yanked her closer.

“Never complained before –”

He interrupted her with a bruising kiss, gripped her thighs hard, and flipped her under him. She gasped and dug her nails into his back, little bites of pain that just added an edge he relished. He didn't even mind the burning twinge in his shoulder as he braced himself and thrust up into her.

“John –”

Hancock stilled and pulled back. She had gone slack under him, hands flying to her head. Even in the dark, he could see the color had drained from her face.

“Shit, love – did I hurt you?”

He pushed himself away, lust disappearing like smoke on the wind. Nora reached out and grabbed his hand.

“No, I just – I think I moved too fast –”

He helped her sit up, one hand still at her head. “What do you need?”

She mumbled something and then doubled over before vomiting in a sudden heave. Hancock swore and scrambled to hold her hair back, bewildered at this sudden turn of events.

“Fuck – you sure I didn't –”

She panted and tried to say something but heaved again, slipping forward off the bed to her knees. Hancock stood and went to grab a towel or something from the dresser; Nora whimpered, limp on her hands and knees on the floor. Hancock's heart thudded in his chest. They had both indulged in a few drinks when they got back, but it had been hours since and Nora wasn't exactly a lightweight.

“Easy, love,” he said, helping her lie down, head cushioned on the towel he'd grabbed. “Just lie still for a moment.”

“My head,” she whined, “It's throbbing.”

“I hear ya', Sunshine,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. She was pale and clammy, covered in slick sweat that had nothing to do with their previous activities.

“I got so dizzy when you...”

“It's alright,” he said, “Don't explain. Stay right there, okay? Close your eyes.”

He stood and flipped on the lamp. Nora grimaced, sprawled on her back as she shaded her eyes from the sudden brightness.

“I'm going to get you some water,” he said, “Don't move.”

He shimmied into his pants and practically tripped down the stairs to get to the kitchen. Fahrenheit and one of the Watch, an older ghoul named Bob, were deep into a game of chess in the front room. Both looked up as he strode past, bewildered.

“Boss?”

“Nora,” Hancock replied from the kitchen, fumbling around for a glass or canteen. “She hit her head earlier – I think it's catching up to her.”

“Should I get Dr. Amari?”

Hancock took the stairs two at a time back up to the bedroom, doing his best not to spill the water. Nora was still on the floor, curled on her side now, breathing shakily. He knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You think you can sit up a little, Sunshine?”

Her only response was muffled and punctuated by another whimper of pain. Her shoulders hitched like she might throw up again. Hancock pushed sweaty strands of hair off her neck and froze, his stomach dropping out. She was bleeding from one ear.

“Hancock?” Fahrenheit appeared at the door, pushing it open just a little to peer inside. “What's wrong?”

“We need to get her to Dr. Amari,” he rasped, “I have to...”

He fumbled around, barely able to keep a lid on the cold fear rising in his throat. Blood had never bothered him. He was the calm one, the one that took control in emergencies and kept a level head. But something was very wrong here and it made his insides turn to ice.

“I got her,” Fahrenheit said, kneeling down on Nora's other side. “Grab the blanket for me.”

Right. Nora was still stark naked.

At least it was Fahrenheit here and not one of the others.

“Come on, Wilson,” Fahrenheit commanded softly, forcing Nora to roll into the blanket. “I'm gonna take you to Dr. Amari.”

In one swift motion, she lifted Nora off the floor, cradling the petite woman to her broader frame like a parent would hold a small child. Nora moaned into her shoulder, clutching the blanket in one tight fist.

“Get dressed and come on,” Fahrenheit threw the order at Hancock as she nudged the door open wider and disappeared down the hall.

“It's not uncommon for symptoms of a concussion to show up hours or even days later,” Dr. Amari said, “All her symptoms are very normal – nausea, dizziness, headache. I don't think there's any serious damage to worry about.”

“She was bleeding from her ear.”

“A minor rupture in her eardrum. The internal pressure from vomiting probably opened it up again. It can happen sometimes.”

She leaned forward at the terminal, peering intently at the black and white images of some kind of scan she'd done of Nora's brain.

“I don't see any internal bleeding and she has no skull fractures. Her pupils are equally-sized and respond to light, reflexes normal...”

Hancock had no idea why that was significant, but he was too tired to ask. Nora had drifted in and out while Dr. Amari did her tests. Afterward, he had gently dressed her in a spare night shirt, helped her down a cold bit of some dark herbal tea, and tucked her securely into a cot in the back corner of the lab. She drifted off as he did, seemingly no longer in pain.

“She'll need to rest for the next few weeks,” Dr. Amari continued, “True rest. No working, no traveling, and for God's sake, no shooting or fighting.”

Hancock nodded mutely. No guns or super mutant show downs he could do, and Nora would probably secretly be glad for the break, but no working? That was going to be a challenge. She was a workaholic at the best of times and he knew she had a litany of projects she'd been planning to start as soon as they had made the trip back to the Castle.

“How long is a few weeks?”

Dr. Amari gave him a knowing look. “Two at minimum. Ideally – six.”

Hancock blew out a breath and slumped in his seat. Six weeks of no work or traveling – he didn't relish the thought of six weeks of a bored, convalescing Nora without even her books to distract her.

“The Minutemen have a vertibird, correct?”

Hancock scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Why?”

“If she wears hearing protection, she could travel that way in a few days,” Dr. Amari said, “I would feel better having her under Curie's care in Sanctuary, anyway.”

Hancock nodded silently. He could get in touch with Preston as soon as the sun was up and get it arranged – taking her home would make the six weeks much easier on everyone.

“You rest, too, Hancock. She needs you.”

She left with a gentle nod, turning down the glaring white lights before leaving them alone in the lab. Hancock stretched out in his chair, rolling his shoulder gently to ease out the ache that was returning.

“I told you I'd take your mind off it.”

Nora was awake again, rolled to her side, eyes half-closed, smirking at him.

“I think I'll take the pain over that kind of medical emergency, love.”

She blinked slowly and reached out to grab his hand. She held it to her cheek and sighed.

“Before that,” she said, stifling a yawn. “It was hot. Up until I barfed.”

Hancock chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her temple. “Yes, it was. Get some sleep, Sunshine. You need it.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment. “How many of the Watch saw me naked?”

“Nobody, just Fahrenheit. And Dr. Amari.”

“Thank God,” she muttered, “Bob is like an uncle. I couldn't have ever looked him in the eyes again.”

“Nobody'd think anything of it, love.” The older guys on the Watch, the prewar ones, had a mile-wide soft spot for Nora, a kinship much like she shared with Daisy. As soon as they heard about her collapse, he was probably going to hear lots of opinions about not making her see Dr. Amari sooner.

She was silent, breathing slow and steady. Hancock waited, hoping she had fallen back asleep. Just as he was about to try to settle for a few hours in the chair beside her, she shifted and let out a deep sigh.

“I remember why I knew that place.”

“Tell me later, love. Sleep.”

Three weeks later – Sanctuary

He made it to the bridge as the sun fell behind the treeline, washing Sanctuary in soft red and gold shadows. The gate guard lifted a hand in acknowledgment; Hancock returned it but didn't stop to chat and smoke like usual. He made a beeline for the little yellow house up the hill.

It was unusually quiet when he got there. Dogmeat was stretched out on the rug; he spared barely a glance at Hancock before stretching and going back to sleep. Hancock dropped his pack at the door, listening for his family, and heard Shaun talking to himself in his room.

“I'm home,” he announced, leaning through the open doorway.

Shaun glanced up from the electrical project he was working on. “Oh, hey, Dad.”

“I'm gone for a month and that's all I get?” Hancock asked, “'Hey, Dad'?”

Shaun rolled his eyes and Hancock shook his head.

“Where's your mom?”

Shaun shrugged.

“Has she been resting like she's supposed to?”

Another shrug. “I guess.”

Teenagers. God's gift to ex-junkies who prayed for a normal life they never deserved.

“Do you know where anybody is?”

“Nope,” Shaun replied. There was a sarcastic edge to his voice; he'd taken the bait but was trying to play it cool.

“Daddy!”

Anne came sprinting down the hall, followed closely by Codsworth, and threw herself at Hancock with a grin. She was covered in streaks of dirt, bouncy brown curls falling out of a haphazard ponytail. At last, someone happy to see him.

“Annie!” Hancock replied, swinging her up into a hug and leaving a kiss on one dirty cheek. “How's my girl?”

“I planted some in the garden,” she announced, displaying hands blackened with mud.

“Looks more like you were digging around like a molerat,” Hancock replied, “You know where Mommy is?”

She shrugged and dug a hand into his lapel pocket, probably searching for candy.

“Miss Nora was doing inventory at the storehouse,” Codsworth interjected, “But that was about an hour ago.”

Hancock held in a tired curse. He should have known she'd find some kind of work to do.

“Let's go find your mama,” he told Anne, and lifted her onto one shoulder. “Codsworth, can you keep her here if she comes back?”

“I will certainly try, sir.”

“Don't call me sir,” Hancock said, for probably the eight millionth time.

“Of course, sir.”

Nora wasn't at the storehouse, but no one seemed to know where she had gone. He made the rounds of the settlement with Anne sitting on his shoulder, pretending to be one of the tower lookouts, and he was just starting to get concerned when they passed Preston hauling a box of parts to James's workshop.

“She was in the storehouse, yeah,” he said, “Not long. Said looking at the numbers was giving her a headache. I think I saw her heading towards the cemetery about twenty minutes ago.”

Anxiety bloomed in Hancock's chest but he shoved it down. Preston seemed to sense the shift and set his box down heavily on a worktable.

“Hey, Annie,” he said, “You want to come see the new kittens over at my house?”

The little girl nodded excitedly and nearly threw herself into Preston's arms. Hancock nodded his thanks and headed down the dusty path toward the cemetery.

Nora was sitting cross-legged in front of Nate's headstone. It had been years since she'd been here; the hubflower bushes she'd planted were growing vigorously, the bare dirt was sprouting bits of grass, and lichen had begun to crawl up one side of the stone memorial.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

She looked up and gave him a weak smile. Her eyes were red and puffy. Hancock eased himself down next to her.

“Something on your mind, love?”

She took a big breath and let it out slowly but didn't respond. He waited as she reached out and brushed a bit of errant dirt off the chunk of shattered brick that rested at the bottom of Nate's headstone. A brick she had taken from the crater where the Institute had once been.

“I keep dreaming about it,” she said. She was hoarse as if she had been crying for a long time.

“The Institute?”

“No – that building. Roxbury Food Bank. I remembered it when Doctor Amari was doing her tests.”

Hancock nodded, recalling now that she'd wanted to tell him before falling back asleep. “That's what it was?”

“Yeah. I was there with them.” She gestured vaguely at the headstone. “A few days before the bomb. Turned into a riot.”

Hancock put his arm around her shoulders as she related it all to him. Hours in line waiting for rations, the outburst of chaos and violence, hiding scared in the subway afterward. He stayed silent as she talked; the sun had disappeared completely below the horizon, leaving them sitting in twilight shadows. She finished after a few minutes, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. Hancock still didn't say anything, just hugged her closer.

He knew she didn't need a response. They had been here before, both of them eventually arriving at the point it became necessary to open the door a crack and let some of the pressure of bad memories out for a bit. She didn't have to reassure him when Vic and Guy haunted his steps and he only needed to listen those days that Nate and their baby forced themselves to the front of her mind.

“You know what the real kick in the teeth was about the whole thing?” she said after a long silence, “He got in touch with some other veteran he knew while I was getting my stitches and they gave us a ride home. The next morning the local association had a ton of food delivered to the house. More than enough for two weeks. I had to give away a lot to the neighbors – we literally ran out of room to store it.”

There was always someone who stayed comfortable while the little guys struggled and starved – Hancock had seen it plenty in Diamond City and Goodneighbor before they'd driven Vic out. Scarcity was almost always artificial.

“So you were in the storehouse doing inventory?”

“Every time I go to sleep – I'm here alone and there's nothing to feed Shaun and Annie and we go to look but I lose them somehow. They just disappear when I look away.”

Hancock pulled her closer, guilt coursing through his chest like a bad chem.

“I'm sorry, love,” he said, “I should'a come back with you.”

She shook her head. “I'm not upset about that,” she replied, “Everyone's been more than helpful here. I just – I missed you.”

He kissed the side of her head where she leaned against him. “I'm still sorry. I know those nightmares are a bitch to live with on your own.”

She didn't say anything. Hancock held her, cheek pressed to the top of her head, eyes closed. He was suddenly exhausted, wrung out physically from the two-day trek and emotionally from realizing Nora had been suffering on her own up here. He felt her shiver.

“You ready to go back?”

She let out a breath and nodded. He stood and helped her to her feet, leading the way back down to the settlement, hands linked. As they neared the cluster of homes, he could hear the generators kick on and the streetlights buzzed to life a moment later. Nora slowed and stopped.

“Sunshine?”

She met his gaze, chewing her lip. “I can't...”

“Can't what, love?”

She glanced back towards the yellow house they shared and then back to him. “I can't watch them get hurt,” she said, “I need you to promise...”

She trailed off again and let go of his hand to swipe at her face.

“You have to promise me you'll take care of them.”

Hancock stared for a moment and then nodded. “Of course I will.”

“I know this whole thing wasn't in your plans...”

Hancock tried not to let his sudden irritation show. They hadn't had this discussion in a long time – years, in fact. He forced his feelings down and told himself it was the concussion. Had to be, since she was crying again and she didn't usually let herself do that.

“I didn't have 'plans' beyond finding my next fix and maybe killing some raiders here and there,” he replied, “You know that.”

Nora stared at her feet. “I know, but -”

“No 'but',” Hancock said, stepping closer so he could put both hands on her shoulders. “Nora, look at me.”

She obeyed, staring up at him warily.

“I love you,” he said, “And I love our kids. It was my idea to keep Annie, wasn't it? You brought home that squalling infant and said we had to find her a good family and I told you we could be a good family.”

Nora looked away again. “And the genetic clone of my stolen baby?”

“He's a huge pain in the ass, like his mother.”

“Flatterer.”

He smiled and kissed her. “I chose this life. I would choose it again, over and over,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “And I will never let anything happen to them. I promise.”

She sniffed and leaned into him, hands snaking under his coat to grip his shirt in trembling hands.

“I think this concussion knocked a bunch of shit loose...”

Hancock snorted. “Ya' think?”

“Shush,” she said without any heat, “You call me a pain in the ass.”

She let go of him and straightened. Her face was still splotchy, eyes red and tired, but he could sense a weight had lifted off her shoulders.

“Let's go home. I want you to make me dinner and take me to bed.”

He kissed her once more. “Anything for you, Sunshine.”