Chapter Text
The three of them were a
team
. The best team in the Commonwealth. Raiders cowered before them and the people wanted to
be
them. They travelled the land, helping the people that needed helping and hurting the people who needed hurting. It wasn't that hard.
The quest list on the PipBoy was small: Institute? Been there, done that. Brotherhood? The wreckage of the blimp was now home to scavengers. Everything was as it should be. All in its place and all in control of the man who walked ahead of him. Strong arm wrapped around the shoulder of RJ.
His best friends.
They were on their way to the Red Rocket. Their home. His home? The three of them stayed there often. They'd built it up together, their other friends more permanent residents than they themselves were now. It worked and it kept him out of Goodneighbor. He had his own space there, decorated the way he liked, and cosy.
They could see the Rocket ahead against the blurry horizon, maybe another hour or two of their dawdling walk. He wanted to be there
now
. He wanted to take off his boots and wander up onto the roof and sit with RJ and Em the way they always did. Sharing a beer, talking, and looking at the stars. Those two would curl up together on the ratty couch and Hancock was just fine being the third wheel. He'd watch them cuddle, Em’s fingers brushing along RJ’s arm as the mercenary read whatever new magazine they'd found.
Rob would pat the empty spot on the couch with his heartbreaking smile, an invitation for Hancock to sit with them, but he'd shake his head and take the chair. They didn't need
him
disturbing their peace. He said he was
fine
.
And that's what they did. They unloaded their gear and whatever supplies and knick-knacks that Em had found. Mac would hug his son and listen to the boy jabber on about this and that. Their friends would hug them and Hancock would sit to the side with some Mentats to clean his shotgun. He'd be handed beers and be asked how he was and he'd nod and give the reply they expected of him. Hey, Pipes, we're all good, sister. Or, Oh man, you should've seen the guy… Or, I'm fine .
He'd watch Em and Rob accept hugs and high fives and share beer from the bottle. Rob would block Cait's attempts to start a sparring match, and Em would hunch over a generator with Danse. All as it should be. All in its place.
He shrugged, took his things to his room and got changed into less sweat stained clothing, before wandering up to their roof for their usual routine. The fire was already burning, the radio playing, Em and Rob sharing a quiet kiss whilst they waited for Hancock to bring the booze.
He approached them quietly and tapped Em on the shoulder, bare skin briefly making contact. The man flinched and Hancock felt the familiar pit in his stomach gnaw open once more.
“Shit, sorry…I just -” he held out the beer and Em took it with a smile. Hancock saw it and quickly turned away to his usual seat. He didn't need to see his pity.
“Made me jump, man.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Of course he'd made him jump. That pit inside was ragged now and it took all his strength to just sip his beer and light a cigarette. Sometimes, his own reflection made him jump.
“You okay, John?” Rob asked.
“I'm fine, Sunshine.”
***
“Em…Em? Emmett! Let's go already!” Rob was huffing as Em returned some overdue books to the dilapidated library kiosk.
“One sec, I'm so close to winning the magazine.”
“Just break that junk open and take what you want! I hate this place.” Whilst the mercenary loved books and comics, the library was not a fun calm reading-nook kind of place.
Every time they came here, they'd have to clear it out of a new lot of Super Mutants that just seemed drawn to the place. It was always exhausting and always irritating.
“Where's the fun in that, sweetheart?” Em did a stupid little victory dance as the machine rumbled and spat out a magazine, “See? Success!” He pushed back his sandy, too long hair from his face with a grin at them both, green eyes sparkling. He checked the time on his PipBoy, “Getting dark, fellas, shall we camp here?”
Hancock shrugged in non committance even as Rob said, “I'd rather stick pins in my eyes, love.”
“Oh, come one, sweetheart. I know a cosy little nook on the second floor we can all get comfortable in.” His arms splayed wide and MacCready groaned as he stepped closer to him. Emmett grinned and put an arm over his shoulder and looked at Hancock, “What say you, Hancock?”
Hancock . Love and sweetheart and Hancock.
He sighed with a shrug, “I'm fine with whatever.” I'm fine if I get to stay with you both .
They followed Em up the creaking stairs of the bloodstained library and Hancock wondered how long it would last. How long would they let him tag along behind them? How long would they let him live in their home with their friends? How long could they stand to look at him?
I could just go. Save myself the awkwardness and pain.
They had a routine for camping. RJ would put out the bedrolls, all three right next to each other. Hancock would start a fire, and Em would set up the PipBoy to play music and food stuff for them to cook and idly eat whilst they talked.
They talked about everything and nothing. Hancock didn't think there was another person alive who knew as much about these two than he did or who knew him just as well. He didn't think there'd be anyone else
ever
who would know him like these two did. No other person he'd let know him the same way.
They settled for rest to the sound of some jaunty tune and the warm fire crackling happily away. He could, if he wanted to and dared to, roll over and lay an arm over RJ, but he didn't. The younger man didn't want Hancock hugging him in his sleep. He frowned and nodded off to his usual thoughts of fucks sake and fuck me .
He awoke some time later and peeked an eye at his companions. Their bedrolls were empty.
He sat up quickly with a sudden deep feeling of panic. Pain biting and raw in his chest as he fought to control his breathing. Has it happened? Had they finally got tired of him and left?
No. Their weapons and other personal effects were still scattered around their little spot. He breathed out in a sudden all consuming relief and stood to go find his friends.
After a quick search, he found them in a bathroom. They were wrapped up in each other's arms, naked as the day they were born. RJ's head was thrown back as Em gently held his throat and rolled his hips, his dick sliding in and out of the smaller man's behind. The sounds they were making were sinful, groaning and gasping and the sound of skin on skin.
He stood watching a moment beyond usual for someone stumbling across their friends having sex, before backing away and making his way back to their campsite.
The image was burned into his brain. He'd seen them kiss, seen Em smack MacCready's arse as they walked, he'd seen them shirtless even. Many times. But that was the first time he'd seen them so bare and raw together. It wasn't even the sex. He'd seen people having sex and had had sex before. It was the look they were giving each other. Such a pure unfiltered look of love and want and need.
The familiar pain in his chest and stomach ripped open again and he forced himself to breathe around the tightness in his throat. No one has ever looked at him that way. No one has ever touched him the way they were touching each other. Gently and with care.
When he'd had people in the past, they touched him when they needed something. Had sex with him because he had power. Or simply for the bragging rights. Sometimes, long before he had his current status, people touched him simply to hurt.
He wanted to be wanted. Needed to be needed. Loved.
Love and sweetheart and Hancock.
He forced himself to not cry.
***
The area was quiet. Too quiet. He said as much to his friends who simply gave him a laugh and beckoned him over to walk closer.
A gun shot rang out and Hancock forced himself to not say
I told you so
as they fell into their usual routine of backing each other up in a fight.
He was quick and deadly with his knives and shotgun, Em by his side with a .44 and Power Fist. Mac always hung back with his rifle and took headshots of the poor fuckers who tried to take them down. Hancock laughed with the sick joy that only came when he slit someone's throat. His friends and him had taken out the Brotherhood of Steel and some backstreet raiders thought they had a chance? Ha!
He looked round and felt his heart almost drop into his stomach. Sneaking up behind RJ was a raider with a large curved dagger raised high and ready to strike down into the man's head.
“Robert!” He screamed and flew across the space between them and threw himself in the way of the dagger. He felt it sink deep into his side and groaned as he fell to his knees. The raider's head above him burst into brain confetti and showered him in a gross celebration.
His hand went to the dagger in his side and heard Em shout, “No! Leave it in! Wait!” It was instinct though and he yanked the blade free. Blood spurted and somewhere in his brain, he knew that wasn't good, “Hancock!”
He fell to the side and MacCready was quick to catch him by his shoulders, “Emmett!” He screamed but his voice sounded like it was under water, “Hurry!”
“Mother…fucker…” Blood dribbled out of his mouth. He vaguely felt someone grab his legs and movement as he was carried into a nearby building, a trail of blood following them. He was gently put down onto someone's bedroll and then Em's face was swimming above him.
“Why are you so worried, Sunshine?” He thinks he got the words out but he was feeling very light headed.
“Fuck!” Emmett was ripping his shirt open and Hancock wanted to protest. He tried to push Emmett's hands away but the man ignored him. They didn't need to see him without a shirt. They didn't need that image in their brains. He saw MacCready flinch and felt ill, “Stimpak and bandages quick, Rob.”
The items were handed over and he felt Emmett's bare fingers over his side, “Em, you don't need to…”
“Shush,” The man was working and he didn't like to be disturbed when he worked. His brows were furrowed and the tip of his tongue was between his teeth as he concentrated. The fingers were back on his skin with the sting of a Stimpak, “I'm gonna have to stitch you up, John. The bleeding has stopped somewhat but the gash is pretty big still.” He felt Em’s fingers flinch against him and wanted the ground to swallow him.
“It's fine, I can do it myself.”
MacCready scoffed, “No you can't! You nearly passed out then!” He was frowning down at him and he really just wanted to cover up.
“John, I'll be two minutes okay? Here.” He held a Jet canister to his mouth, “For the pain.” Hancock breathed in the Jet as Em pressed the release valve and let the drug wash over him. Anything was better than watching them watch him sober. He felt the slight sting and pull of the needle and thread as Em neatly stitched him back together. Like that monster that guy had made in that old story. He felt the warmth of his fingers and flinched, “Sorry, John, I know it hurts. One more minute, promise.”
He was done and Hancock carefully pulled his shredded shirt over himself and breathed through the faint feeling taking over his brain. MacCready was by his side with a bottle of Nuka Cola, “Here, the sugar will help.” Hancock accepted the drink and took little sips, “Thank you.” He said as he sat by him. So close their shoulders nearly touched. Em had gone off to find him a new shirt.
“What for, Sunshine?” He lit a cigarette and leaned more fully against the wall behind him, watching the mercenary who was twiddling with a frayed bit of seam on his duster's remaining sleeve.
“You saved my life.”
It was nothing new. They'd all saved each other countless times, “Wasn't the first time, RJ.”
“No, but this time it was really close. I had no idea the guy was there until you stood over me.” Mac frowned at him, “First time I've seen you so hurt.” Hancock shrugged, the motion pulling at his stitches and making him wince. Mac stood then, “I'll be right back, just gonna get camp set up, okay?”
“Okay, Mac.” He watched him move about the space. So light footed and controlled. Like a dancer. The fire was lit, the other two bedrolls laid out beside him, and food ready for when Emmett returned.
Their de facto leader came back with a large bundle of clothing held in both arms, “I didn't know which one you'd like best so I grabbed all of them for you to pick.”
He held them up one by one for Hancock to see. All kinds of shirts; short sleeves, graphic tees, flannel shirts, turtleneck women's vests. He settled on a long sleeve white button down, not too different to what he usually wore but devoid of ruffles. He held a hand out for it but was shocked still when Emmett held the shirt in his teeth and moved to help Hancock out the bloody torn mess he currently wore. His hand deftly took the fabric away and helped him put his arms in the cleanish sleeves of his new shirt. Warm hands are careful and gentle where their skin brushed.
Once finished, green eyes smiled down at him, “There, much better.”
Hancock could only murmur a quiet, “Thanks” as they fell into their usual night time activities. Eating, drinking, reading, talking. All flowed naturally around him as he sat on his bedroll and waited to heal. He could barely focus on the conversation. Could barely focus on their food and drink. His mind was whirling in the aftershocks of them seeing and touching him and not running for the hills.
“You okay, John?” One of them asked.
“I'm fine.” He replied.