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When she told him the truth about his brother, he got angry, really angry; irrationally screaming and breaking things angry. Not that there was much to break, since even the best things they had were usually already broken. But he was so angry it actually scared her and of all the things he’d been and done, he’d never frightened her before.
Telling him when they were in Goodneighbor for supplies was both a good and terrible idea, because when he stormed off she knew right where to find him, namely in the basement of the Hotel Rexford, likely blitzed out his mind on whatever scary toxic crap Fred managed to cook up in some dirty piece of glassware.
She found him sitting in the corner with a bottle of whiskey and a still unused syringe. She didn’t care what chems he took; hell she took enough of her own to get through the day sometimes, but it wasn’t going to help this. If anything, it would just make it worse. She knew. She tried to bury all her shit in the chems at first too. It was half the reason she came to Goodneighbor in the first place.
Hancock didn’t look up when she came in. She just leaned against the wall and watched him for a while, rolling the tube of the syringe back and forth across his palms. He wasn’t really looking at it but looking through it, as if he was hoping it had an answer in the swirl of liquid inside.
“What’d you have there?” she asked quietly and his head snapped up. Usually he was hyper aware of what was going on around him, no matter how fucked up he got but she startled him. Anyone could have walked in and put a bullet in him before he’d even known what was happening. That was almost scarier than his rage.
“How did you find me?” His voice was low, but his words weren’t slurred. He hadn’t started yet. It wasn’t like him.
She gave him a crooked smile but her heart really wasn’t in it. “You’re more predictable than you realize.”
He grunted. “Predictably running from shit as usual.”
She narrowly resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. Predictably beating the shit out of himself, maybe. She crossed the room and crouched down beside him, her elbows on the knees of her ubiquitous blue jumpsuit. Sometimes, she thought about getting something else, but she still wasn’t ready for that.
“So what is it?” she asked again, gesturing with her chin towards the vial in his hands.
“I dunno,” he said, steadfastly not looking at her. “I told Fred to fuck me up.”
“You sure this is the right time for that?”
Hancock practically growled at her. “I can’t think of a better time.”
“It’s supposed to be fun. Feel good. It’s not gonna.” She shifted her weight and her knees creaked in protest. “And it’s not going to change anything.”
“I left Diamond City, my entire fucking life, because of a goddamn synth. And who knows what they did to my brother.” His voice was venomous.
She took a deep breath and sat down beside him, leaning her back against the wall. “You know what they did.”
He made an inarticulate sound and without a moment’s hesitation, whipped the syringe across the room. It hit the opposite wall and shattered, a smear of dark fluid dripping down on to the floor. It sounded like he was struggling to catch his breath.
“Please tell me we’re going to put the goddamn Institute down, somehow. Please.”
She swallowed hard. It was breaking her heart into a thousand broken shards but she knew it had to be done. That old man in the lab coat might have been her flesh, but he wasn’t her son. He belonged to them and there was no going back. She still loved him, in the marrow of her bones, like an ache, a dream she couldn’t shake but that didn’t change what they’d done, what they were still doing. She had an in no one else had ever had. If not her, then it wouldn’t happen.
It wasn’t just Hancock who suffered at their hands. Everyone did, eventually.
“Yes.” It made her throat hurt to say it. “I’ll find a way. It can’t go on.”
He turned his face up to look at her. He knew who ran the place. He knew what it was going to take to stop them. The Institute wasn’t going down without a fight; people who think they know better than everyone else never do, no matter how wrong they are.
“Fuck,” he sighed, looking away again. “I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself because I couldn’t figure out they replaced my brother with a synth and your stolen kid turned out to be the reason that damn synth exists in the first place.”
She let herself lean closer to him but not quite close enough to touch. “It’s not your fault. It’s not mine either. The Institute did it to both of us. That’s why they have to go, no matter who’s running the show these days.”
“It’s fucked up,” he muttered. “All of it.”
“I know.” She shifted over closer until she was touching him, their hips just making contact and the length of her thigh resting up against his. Gratefully, he leaned against her. Every time he did that, accepted her affection just a little easier, her lungs burned, that wave of thrill shooting through her chest like electricity. She put her hand on his knee.
“You don’t need to run away from me,” she said. “I won’t let you down, not if I can help it.”
“I know,” he said, his head resting against hers. “I ain’t ever going to understand it, but I’m damn glad for it. But shit, didn’t want you to…” He sort of sighed, grunted, sounded uncomfortable. “Didn’t want you to see me fucking cry.”
“John, you’re a person. People do that when things go to hell.”
He snorted. “You haven’t.”
She shook her head. “Not yet. If I start, I’ll never stop. I have to do what I have to do and I can freak out later.”
Hancock chuckled darkly. “You’re a hell of a woman.”
“I try.”
He reached up and grabbed her face, turning her towards him so he could kiss her. It was gentle and a little sad and she grabbed his shoulder and just hung on. It would have been easy to get so caught up in what happened to her that she could have forgotten about anyone else. Hancock always helped her remember what was important. She was strong; she could do things that other people couldn’t. She had to do right by them, no matter what it cost her.
The Institute had hurt too many people. There was no going back.
Hancock rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, finally his breathing slow and steady.
“Can I get drunk now?”
She snickered. “You can always do whatever you want.”
“Nah, not anymore, got important things to consider.” He made another sad noise. “But more importantly, I’m a fucking mess. I need to get drunk and I’m….”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” He leaned back and tried to smile, grabbing the bottle, unscrewing the cap and tossing it across the room. He took a swig and offered it to her.
“What’re we drinking to?” she asked, taking the bottle from him.
“My brother,” he said. “The real one. To your husband. To the son you should have had.”
She nodded. “And to you and me, a pair of tough crazy bastards just trying to make the Commonwealth a better place one asshole at a time.” She took a long swallow from the bottle, loving the way it burned on the way down.
He took the bottle back from her and for the first time since she told him, he didn’t look like he was going to crack into pieces.
“To us,” he said and drank deep.