Chapter Text
Lelou woke with a start. Her hand reached to the pistol under the pillow, when a gruff voice spoke in the dark.
"It's just me doll, ain't got no need to shoot the intruder." She relaxed and sighed, falling back to the bed.
"You sure about that, pilgrim?" her voice was husky and dry, making her clear her throat. It was dry, always dry in this wasteland of a world.
Hancock's raspy chuckle came from the corner and the red light of the cigarette illuminated his black eyes for a couple heartbeats. She could hear the gentle slosh of liquid moving in a bottle.
"You know me, doll. I like to watch you sleep. Better past time than stare at the ceiling in an empty room."
"You perv."
"Guilty as charged." he said with a smirk, showing neat row of sharp teeth. Lelou breathed deep, relaxing back on the mattress. They bantered and snipped like this, it was easier that way. They both knew why he was in her room.
"What's the time?"
"Four in the morning. You could get some shut eye still."
"You know I can't. But hand me that cigarette." she didn't smoke before, not really. She just liked to take couple throat hits now and then. She had picked the bad habit few months ago. Didn't carry any with her though.
The ghoul stood, the whiskey sloshing in the bottle and sat down on the edge of her bed. She moved a little and took his smoke, taking a drag of dull nicotine in her system. She could feel the black eyes roaming over her half naked form. She wore the hubris comic grey tank top and grey panties to sleep. The first year in the wasteland had eaten away most of the fat from her pregnancy, the second as the Director of The Institute gave her back her plumb and soft curves, covering the hardened muscles and modified bones, leaving her look like a woman who had lived privileged life of healthy nutrition and no radiation. She was an eye candy to everyone in this ruined world -she knew that- so she let John look. The ghoul had stated his interest long ago and never tried to play her. Frank and honest. Simple. He had watched her back in good and ill, took her under his red frock coat and showed her how to survive beyond the basic camping and hunting skills she had survived with. He never hesitating to put himself in danger to save her. And she tried to do the same. Now days she had become even more adamant on it. Those few she though close, she tried to keep safe.
Reckless, Nick said. Borderline alcoholic too. She though taking a sip from the bottle the ghoul handed to her. The others, Nick, Piper, Preston, even Deacon and MaGready, all had nagged her about her drinking and smoking, occasional chem use. Cait was the worst, the ex-junkie.
Ruining her health. As if she could after all the experiments and genetic modifications Virgil had done to her.
Only Hancock didn't judge her. He didn't let her out of his sight, when she drank herself into oblivion, but he didn't deny her need to dull herself like the others. They meant well, she knew, she just didn't care. She takes another swing of the bottle and rolls on her side, hoisting her legs over the man. He doesn't hide his appreciating look he gives to the brief flash of her crotch.
"Where's my..oh there." she mumbles and takes her sage colored mechanic jumpsuit, pushing her legs through it one after the other. The zipper had been replaced with buttons and though she had access to cleaner and more protective attire, she liked the simple one piece. And she had reinforced it with ballistic weave, so it gave her protection enough. She leans down to lace her worn boots.
"You really going to test that relay?" John asks, his gaze lingering somewhere between her waist and breasts.
"Yeah. Sturgess is adamant for it to work. The worst thing that could happen, is that I die." Johns shots her a un-humored look.
"That's not funny, toots."
"I know. But that's how it is." she says and stands up pulling the jumpsuit over her and takes her bandolier, sliding her hands through the loops, the small colt pistol holsters settling under her arms. Worn leather belt resting heavy on her hips, hand axe on the right side. A knife goes vertical to her back on it's sheath attached to the belt. She finger brushed her auburn hair- originally it was, at least, but the merciless sun had burned it to coppery red, leaving a mess of different colored stripes. She twisted it to ponytail, then adorned her black leather cap, sunglasses and lastly, clasped her trusty pip-boy on its place on her left wrist.
Hancock watched his friend dress. She wasn't a tall woman, around 5'5. Nice to look at with her childbearing hips and shapely ass, breast full and heavy. Curvy, with soft layer of fat on her belly-he knew- he had mapped that soft stomach of hers with his rough hands few times, counting the stretch marks and drawn the lines of the detailed tattoos covering her back and arms. She hadn't been drunk and still she didn't mind him enjoying her smooth and unbelievable soft texture. She never minded him touching her. Skin hunger, she called it, when he had wondered why she wasn't repulsed by him indulging himself. Something about needing the physical closeness of another living being, or something like that. Once - over a year ago - he had playfully grouped her heavy breast, making her moan as he squeezed, his fingers sunk deep in them. Her nipples had produced little droplets of milk when he had teased them. She had burst to tears and he had stopped, instead holding her through the rest of the night, drinking himself silly with her. They never talked about it, but he had stopped chasing her then. She wasn't ready to let anyone touch her like that. And after a while, shit had gone bad to storm. She had fought her way to reach her son and ended up finding an old man with her eyes and her dead husbands face.
And then losing him again.
Time had passed since then, but he didn't make a move on her. Now their handyman Sturgess had tried to improve the relay he made, to get her to the Institute, to better move large amount of supplies to more remote settlements in the future, and even Hancock started to get concerned of Lelous growing lack of self-preservation. She decided to do the test drive herself.
"Look, toots. It doesn't have to be you who tries that damn thing."
"We have tried it with melons, mole rats and even brahmir-all of them teleported nicely. The change of something to go shit is practically non-existing." she says taking his smoke from his mouth. She sucks long, burning it to the stump and breaths deep, dropping the stump to the floor and smashing it with her foot. She turns to look at him as she plows the smoke out, the bright hazel-blue eyes setting to his black orbs. They are softer for him, the permanent half dead stare giving away for the short moment, as she acknowledges his concern.
"It'll be fine, John." He want's to believe her. She smirks to him.
"Besides, we will toss me to the Red Rocket first, so you can wait there." John sighs and stands up. Placing his bottle to the nightstand, he lights another cigarette.
"Yeah yeah, get going then and wake that wacko scientist, so we can get this done with." he grumbles.
The feeling of unease never leaves him.