#cherry feltman

Cherry sat on a broken bench in Goodneighbor, her fingers fumbling with an old flip lighter. She flipped it open, trying to light the cigarette dangling from her lips, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The lighter clicked shut without catching, and she muttered under her breath, wiping at her eyes quickly when she felt the tears starting to well up. Her glasses were nowhere to be seen—probably tossed aside somewhere earlier when her frustration had peaked.

She flicked the lighter again, this time managing to get a small flame. She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill her lungs. But it did little to calm the storm in her mind. The day had been another long string of disappointments—more attempts to help that ended with people politely pushing her aside, more jokes that fell flat, more conversations where she was barely acknowledged.

She took another drag, blinking back tears. “Stop it, Cherry,” she muttered to herself. “You’re fine. Juuust fine.”

“Is that a pep talk, or are you just talking to your new best friend, Grey Tortoise?”

Cherry nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice. She looked up to see Hancock sauntering over, his usual grin in place. He was trying to make it look casual, like he just happened to be wandering by, but she knew better.

“Hancock,” she greeted, quickly taking another drag and holding it as if it could hide the trembling in her voice. “Just needed some air.”

Hancock raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bench and then back at her. “Well, this is the perfect place if you’re looking to catch some tetanus with that air.” He sat down beside her, the creak of the bench protesting under his weight. “So, what’s got you out here in the middle of the night, puffin’ away like you’re in some old noir film?”

Cherry shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Nothin'. Just couldn’t sleep.”

Hancock didn’t buy it for a second, but he didn’t press her right away. He leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the bench, his fingers almost brushing her shoulder. “Yeah, insomnia’s a bitch. But, ya know, there’s usually a reason when someone’s up late, cryin’ into a cigarette.” His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of concern.

Cherry took another drag, exhaling slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s nothing, really. Just… uh...thinking about stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Hancock nodded. “You've never been good at lying, sister.”

She shifted uncomfortably, the cigarette burning low between her fingers. “It’s stupid. Just feeling off, I guess.”

“Off?” Hancock repeated, his grin fading slightly. “Now that doesn’t sound like the Cherry I know. Come on, spill it. What’s eating at ya?”

Cherry shook her head, stubbornly wiping at her eyes again. “I told you, it’s stupid. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Hancock sighed, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “I’m gonna stop you right there, doll. If it’s got you out here alone, smoking like the world’s about to end, again, it’s not stupid. So, how about you give me the lowdown, and we stop this 'lil battle of who's more stubborn?”

She let out a soft, bitter laugh, but it quickly faded. “I just… I feel like I’m always messing up. Like I’m always in the way, like no one really wants me around.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her mask finally cracking. “I’m tired of feeling like this, Hancock. Like I don’t matter. Like I ain't gonna be somebody.”

Hancock’s eyes softened, the humor in his expression replaced by something more genuine. “Well, there’s your first mistake—thinking you don’t matter. I mean, who else is gonna save my sorry ass? Make me a new set of pretty skin and execute the deathclaws near by?”

Cherry gave him a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m serious, Hancock. I just… I try to help, and it never seems to work out. People don’t take me seriously. They just… brush me off.”

Hancock sighed, his hand finally resting on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Listen, Cherry, this world’s got a real knack for kicking people when they’re down, making ‘em feel small. But that doesn’t mean you are. You’ve got a good heart, and a mind sharp enough to cut through all this bullshit. People might not see it right away, but that doesn’t mean you don’t shine.”

She looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just feel like I’m always fighting to be seen, to be heard. It sucks.”

Hancock’s usual quips were replaced by sincerity. “I see you, Cherry. And trust me, anyone with half a brain sees you too. You’ve got a fire in you that’s... hard to ignore... even if some folks are too damn blind to notice. And for what it’s worth, you’re not in the way. You’re in the fight, same as the rest of us still traveling with Bunny. And I’m damn glad to have you by my side.”

Cherry let out a shaky breath, the tears finally spilling over. “Thanks, Hancock. I just… I guess I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Hancock replied, pulling her into a casual side hug. “And hey, you ever need a reminder, you come find me, alright? I’ll be more than happy to talk you down from any more late-night cigarette fests. Maybe even throw in a few more bad jokes or free chems, just for you.”

She smiled through her tears, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Now, how about we go find those glasses of yours before you trip over something in the dark and I have to carry you back?”

Cherry wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes scanning the cluttered workbench covered in medical instruments. The dim light of Sanctuary's workroom cast long shadows, making the array of scalpels, syringes, and papers seem almost alive. It had been another long, uneventful, humid day filled with her personal projects. Her thoughts drifted to the Sole Survivor, hoping they'd return soon and break the monotony with some excitement or a brilliant idea.

With a heavy sigh, Cherry slid to the floor, leaning her back against the bench. "This totally blows," she muttered in her soft, country drawl, unsure if she was talking to herself or the scattered tools.

"Doesn’t look like blow to me."

Startled, Cherry looked up to see a pair of familiar, dirty boots. They looked ill-fitting. And kinda ugly.

"Hey, Hancock," she greeted him without moving her gaze from his ugly boots.

"Whatcha' doin' on the floor?" Hancock asked, amusement in his voice.

"Thinkin'. The usual," Cherry replied meeting his gaze.

Hancock scoffed a laugh, moving past her to rummage through the workbench.

"Wait, don't mess up my stuff!" Cherry jumped up, clumsily bumping into Hancock. He turned, an amused grin on his face.

"Uh, how 'boutcha listen to my new project. Pretend like you're a doctor and don't mess with this workbench, and I'll donate you some of my most valuable grape Mentats," she added, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Pavloving still worked, right?

It did.

Hancock sat on a stool by the workbench, idling with his knife and waiting for her to start.

Adjusting her glasses, Cherry giggled and displayed the workbench a little too upbeat. "From hot dogs to deathclaws," she began.

"Can I, uh, get the Mentats before all of this?" Hancock raised an eyebrow, already clocked out.

"That's the name of my study," Cherry explained, completely ignoring his comment, which caused a scoff. "I grew up in the countryside of the wastelands with my pop. Learned a lot about food, people, and bioengineerin' crops through the family business. I hated the old pre-war dream we was chasin' of a fancy hot dog company, so I started experimentin' with it. Y'know, bein' all adaptable to the wastelands. You know how Jet is made from brahmin dung fumes? Well, think of a similar chem. And, uh, one that could be injected in hot dogs. Mostly as a joke. Or teenage rebellion.” Cherry tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear, an ill-fitting chuckle escaping her lips.

Hancock blinked a few times.

“My pop was furious. Didn’t understand why I was doin' it once he caught me sellin' 'em. Baby's first hot-dog-drug deals. I ended up replaced from the lab department and moved to work the farm."

She pouted, her freckled face looking contemplative. "Anyway, what was I talkin' about?" Cherry's face quickly brightened. "Oh yeah! I’ve moved on to bigger projects now. Somethin' to actually help people. That was just the from hot dogs part."

Cherry gestured to the work table, pointing at what looked like descaled skin on a dish. "I’m workin' on a therapy for y'all ghoulfolk. Nothin' too crazy, just to help cosmetically and maybe regeneratively. In theory. I was harvestin' a deathclaw after a rough fight and noticed deep in the skin—its texture and elasticity. I might have been on somethin' then, but I dissected it, tested it, and have been experimentin' since. My idea is to use this as a skin matrix on ghouls, a graft for injuries or skin blemishes. Maybe we can patch people up, make 'em smile, or even slow the feralization process if I figure out this regeneration thing…" Cherry frowned, glancing at Hancock. “Though, people round these parts don’t care much about ghouls either way. If someone was rich enough, they’d just get their noggin put in a synth or somethin'."

“Woah woah woah, so you'd rather make me into another Nick Valentine?”

“No, the opposite, ideally. My father got all ghoul-y. Only found out he'd been hidin' it after I started workin' on the farm. He used to be vain, doin' interviews and advertisements with whoever, chasin' some image of the family business that hasn't existed for centuries. It’d… be nice to help him, and others like him. Even if it’s just cosmetic, to smooth out the ridges caused by radiation. Make 'em feel better. I need to do more research on the tissue regeneration aspect, and make sure there's no cross-species diseases…” Cherry began to ramble to herself on the so many things she still didn't have answers for.

Hancock's eyes softened as he looked at her. "Cherry, most folks just see us ghouls as monsters, but you're trying to give us a bit of our humanity back. That's something special.”

Cherry smiled, a faint blush creeping over her freckled cheeks as she was taken out of her ramble. "Oh, huh? Thanks, Hancock.” She had been wandering alone with her ideas for quite a bit of time before meeting the Sole Survivor and their companions.

Hancock chuckled, his grin returning. "Just keep doing what you do, doll. Who knows, maybe one day you'll be the hero ghouls never knew they needed." He winked and got up from the stool, pocketing the Mentats laying on the bench. "And hey, if you ever figure out how to make me look as pretty as a pre-war movie star, I’ll be your first test subject."