#lizzcock

Merry Chem-mas?

Pairing: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: M

Summary: When Hancock’s old flame returns to Goodneighbour for the first time in almost ten years, searching for her kidnapped son, it’s more than just nostalgia that makes him tag along.

Chapter Six: Who Are You?

Chapter Summary: After Evan’s murder, Lizzy and John spoke for what he thought was the last time.

My brother’s election felt like sobering up in the worst way possible. Instead of the chems wearing off and reality fading in through the haze, it was the whole world shedding its skin, the shiny moult distracting from all the shit underneath. I’d been too busy getting high and getting my dick wet to notice what my brother had become and what he’d let loose. Now it was all out in the open, impossible to ignore.

I wasn’t surprised about the likes of Malcolm Latimer and Clarence Codman wanting the ghouls out of Diamond City, but the rest? I knew these people. I drank with them, got blitzed with them, slept with them in some cases. Still didn’t see it coming, though.

I tried to stop them, but it was too late. Might as well have been trying to shove a bullet back into a gun that already went off.

And my brother was the trigger.

Now they were descending on their neighbours’ homes and dragging them out into the streets, stealing their shit, hauling them up the stairs and tossing them out the gate. I’ve seen supermutants show their catches more respect. Some of the ghouls resisted at first; one man got shot for putting up a fight, and the rest fell in line after that, but the rest of the city folk still howled for blood. Becky Fallon was there, Moe Cronin, even Mr. Zwicky, who’d let me hang around the schoolhouse after class when my brother worked long nights.

Staying in Diamond City was never an option after this. I couldn’t shoot the shit over noodles and Vadim’s moonshine with the people I’d seen in that crowd. Every face I saw looked twisted, like something had replaced the people I knew and wore their skins all wrong. I gave up on trying to get them to see reason, and elbowed my way through the mob.

I jabbed the button for the lift to the mayor’s office—Mayor McDonough’s office, what a fucking joke—till it came rumbling and creaking down. Danny Sullivan tried to block my path, but I impaled him with a stare and he stumbled back, giving me a wide berth. Geneva stood up from the desk where we’d fucked God knows how many times, then sat back down hesitantly when she recognized me. I ignored her and shoved the door of my brother’s office open.

He stood in front of the bay window, hands folded behind his back. Maybe he saw my reflection. Maybe he knew I’d be the only one who’d try to stop this. “I did it, John,” he said, not even bothering to turn around. “It’s finally mine.”

Read the rest on AO3!

Pairing: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: M

Word Count: Complete at 40K

Summary: When Hancock’s old flame returns to Goodneighbour for the first time in almost ten years, searching for her kidnapped son, it’s more than just nostalgia that makes him tag along.

Chapter Seven: Just John

Chapter Summary: Hancock stays behind with Buck and the raiders to ensure Lizzy and Shaun can escape. Not how he expected go out, but he’s made peace with his fate.

It ain’t so bad, the torture.

I’m no stranger to pain, and after shedding bits of myself for the better part of a year, what’s a couple more fingernails? Plus it even has the added benefit of splicing the shock into bite-sized pieces. Easier to digest. One for daddy, I guess.

Of course it’d have been even better if the radiation drug had withered my heart to some tato-sized husk, too, but fuck it all to hell, that thing still feels as much as it did on day one.

Lizzy.

Shaun.

God fucking damn it.

Serves me right. Doubt I’d have done any less of a shit job at the whole fatherhood thing if I’d been there for them. At least I did good this once. Maybe not the blaze of glory I wanted, but I got the boy and his momma back together, and they’ll manage without me just like they did till now. No need to overstay my welcome. Goodneighbour will be fine, and so will the kid. Not like he’s got much of a choice with Lizzy for a mom.

Buck cuts that train of thought short by pinching the tip of my thumbnail with his pliers. More than a few ghouls have lost their fingernails, but I ain’t so lucky. Gotta give it to him, he’s good at what he does: he doesn’t even give me the mercy of ripping it off all at once, and takes his sweet little time pulling it free from its nail bed. I can’t help the grunt of pain that seeps through my teeth till the damn thing finally does me the honour of detaching.

Buck inspects the bloody thumbnail, then drops it onto a tray with all the phony consideration of a wasteland doc. “You know, the one good thing about ghouls is that I don’t have to hold back,” he says, grinning. “You freaks are hardier than radroaches.”

I fall back against the chair, sweat dripping down my forehead and sticking my shirt to my back. I draw a big shaky inhale, and manage something close to a smirk. “Yeah? Big change for you, I bet, lasting more than ten seconds.”

Someone snorts. Buck’s gaze darkens, and I get a good ol’ punch to the face for my trouble. You’d think not having a nose anymore would make that shit hurt less, but nope. The useless membrane backing the hole in the middle of my face gives way with an almost audible fuck you, and blood gushes out like someone shook a bottle of Nuka-Cola before popping it open.

The taste of copper slides down my throat, and blood pours hot down my face and drips down my chest. Buck lowers himself so that his eyes are level with mine, and the stars still blinking in and out of view spare me the sight of that gruesome hole in his face. “We’ll see how long you last, funny guy. I’d say you won’t be pretty when I’m done with you, but you’re already fucked.”

“You’d be surprised how many people are into that shit.”

He inspects his tools, and elects a screwdriver, turning it into the light. “Not your Lizzy, by the look of it,” he retorts, watching my reaction from the corner of his eye.

That hurts. “Can’t win them all,” I answer with a shrug, but I’m tired all of a sudden. Tired of the pointless posturing, tired of the pain, tired of pretending I’m okay with how everything’s turned out. I don’t even have the strength to work up some kind of reaction when he rips the flag Lizzy wrapped around my arm and jabs the screwdriver into the bullet wound.

Read the rest on AO3!

Pairing: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: M

Summary: When Hancock’s old flame returns to Goodneighbour for the first time in almost ten years, searching for her kidnapped son, it’s more than just nostalgia that makes him tag along.

Chapter Four: Downhill

Chapter Summary: As he and Lizzy make their way to the warehouse where Shaun is being held, Hancock reminisces about a certain night on the town.

Notes: Thanks again to @varghaxa for reading this over! <3 Please note this chapter contains a smut scene, recreational drug use, and violence.

Art by @kalidels​ <3

Lizzy walks on ahead, the heels of her boots striking the pavement with a sharp click. I trail after her, not even daring to blink in case she vanishes in that split second of dark. She’s lucky the worst of the radstorm’s rolled by already; she’s petty enough to run headlong into radiation just to spite me, but a light rain is now falling in its wake, pattering against the broken slabs of concrete. On the horizon, the green roiling clouds are slipping past the skyscrapers.

See, what makes her so fun is what makes her so flighty. Her way or the highway, always.

Case in point: once she even got us into a Triggermen party where we had no business going. That night stands out, for more reasons than one. The summer heat thinning into fall, Lizzy in a red dress that matched the flickering light of the Hotel Rexford sign, people dressed to the nines as they filed into the lobby. I’d donned my best clothes, too. Even wore a tie: my ma would’ve been proud … or maybe just annoyed another woman got me to wear one.

“Let me do the talking,” Lizzy said over her shoulder. Then she arranged her features in a look of stricken innocence before walking up to the large double doors of the hotel. The Triggermen eyed us suspiciously, and I flashed a grin in their direction. I needed to get along with them if I wanted to get in.

And I wanted to, because Lizzy wanted to.

“Your invitation,” the bouncer said as we approached.

Lizzy cast a couple of nervous glances around. “So, um,” she started in a low voice, dropping her gaze in embarrassment. “I had one, but some thief made off with my purse on our way here, and sure enough the invitations were in it.”

She opened her hands to demonstrate just how empty they were. No way in hell that’s gonna work, I thought as the bouncer raised one scarred, skeptical eyebrow, but I agreed we’d try her way first before trying my way. I felt for the cigarette pack in my back pocket, where I kept a couple of bobby pins tucked into the lid. I had a feeling they were getting some action soon.

“No invitation, no party,” the bouncer retorted. “Them’s the rules, missy. No exceptions.”

Lizzy stuck out her bottom lip in a wobbling pout, eyes glistening with tears. A look of faint horror came over the bouncer’s face, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing. “Oh, come on,” she sniffled, blinking back tears. “You won’t even know we’re here, I promise.”

It was pretty convincing, I had to admit, but the bouncer was unswayed. “Sorry, lady, not my call to make,” he retorted.

“Then just ask Marowski,” she bluffed. “Tell him Lizzy’s here and he’ll tell you—”

“What the hell’s going on?” a voice demanded.

Shit. Marowski was marching in our direction, the crowd parting around his large shoulders. Stan Slavin, his bodyguard, loomed behind him.

I was ready to duck out of sight, but Marowski’s arrival didn’t deter Lizzy, far from it. She raised wet, wide eyes at him. “We had such an ordeal just getting here,” she blubbered on, “I was really looking forward to this party, but my favourite deathclaw handbag got stolen with the invitations in it, all I want is to have a good time for once, please, is it really so much to ask—”

“Oh, for the love of—fine, just go in,” Marowski blurted out. “Just—just don’t cry, all right?”

Lizzy swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much,” she said, aiming a tremulous smile at Marowski. To my surprise he ran a nervous hand through his hair, a faint blush colouring his scarred cheeks.

The bouncer cast me a dark glance. “You’d better not cause any trouble,” he warned.

I pointed to myself and mouthed me? with a look of wide-eyed consternation, but Lizzy was already tugging me inside. She winked at me over her shoulder, lashes thick with gatorclaw tears.

“That’s a pretty useful talent,” I pointed out.

She caught the handkerchief protruding from the pocket of my jacket, and carefully dabbed at her eyes. “I just think about mirelurks,” she replied, grinning.

Read the rest on AO3!

Pairing: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: M

Summary: When Hancock’s old flame returns to Goodneighbour for the first time in almost ten years, searching for her kidnapped son, it’s more than just nostalgia that makes him tag along.

Chapter Five: Coming Clean

Chapter Summary: Hancock and Lizzy find Shaun.

The closer we get to the plant Finn told us about, the more Lizzy’s determined posture wilts. Smokestacks thrust into the night sky, and the gleam of the sea blinks in and out of view between the factories and warehouses lining the wharves of South Boston. By the time the building of concrete and corrugated metal comes into view between Four Leaf and General Atomics, she’s all but dragging her feet along the cracks of the pavement.

Lizzy sits down hard on a slab of concrete hidden behind a lone, brave shrub of hubflowers. She looks at me for the first time since we left that basement. “You’re still here,” she says, her expression pained.

“Course. Said I’d help you find your kid, didn’t I?” I sit down next to her, and Gilda curls up at our feet, dropping her head into Lizzy’s lap. “You okay? You’re looking mighty pale.”

“Yeah. Just … just gotta catch my breath.” Wincing, she lifts the hem of her tank top to reveal the graze of Ash’s bullet. It’s still stitched up, with no sign of infection, but that long walk did it no favours.

I dig around my pockets. “Here,” I say, extracting my find.

Lizzy narrows her eyes at me, then raises a surprised eyebrow. “Fancy Lads snack cakes? Well, Mister Mayor, aren’t you just full of surprises.”

“Got some Psycho too if that’s what you’re after,” I say, grinning. “But gotta have some snacks handy for when the munchies hit.”

She looks suspiciously like she’s trying to hide a smile, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “Thanks,” she says, helping herself to the snack cakes. The plastic wrap crinkles in the silence, and I steal glances at her while she eats, absentmindedly keeping the cakes out of Gilda’s reach. She stares at the slate cube of the plant in the distance, chewing on her cakes and thoughts of the fight ahead. Ain’t a sound except the sea, but the bowels of the plant glow a faint orange through the few windows. At least we’ve got the right place, by the looks of it.

I don’t let myself think of what’ll happen if Shaun’s not there, or if … well. He’s gotta be. I owe Lizzy this much.

Gilda starts nosing at my pockets, whining softly. “Sorry, pooch,” I say, rubbing her jowls. “I’m all out.”

The mutt lets herself drop to the dried grass at our feet with a deflating sigh, ears twitching towards sounds I can’t make out. The wind blows the dead fish smell of the sea towards us (if life was fair not having a nose would spare you the deathly bouquet of the wasteland), but Lizzy doesn’t even seem to notice the reek. Her skin has a smooth, pale glow, the line of her scar a thin shadow in the dark, and stray strands of hair blow around her face. I’m already reaching out to tuck them behind her ear when I realize what I’m doing.

She turns to look at me, not quite leaning into the touch. Something complicated flits through her eyes before they drop to her feet, and I shove my hand into my pocket, the warmth of her cheek clinging to my fingertips.

I’ve gotten so used to the silence that I start when she breaks it. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you earlier,” she whispers. “You’re a good man, Hancock.”

Sounds way too much like a goodbye for my tastes. “Hey, hey, hey, no one’s dyin’ in there tonight,” I say, waving the words off with one hand. “You’re fine. No need to make a big deal out of it.”

She shakes her head, ponytail whipping from side to side. “No, let me say this,” she says, so I do. I’m used to Lizzy throwing up coy, flirty smiles like shields, eyelashes batting quick and deadly as gunfire. No role for her to play this time. “The reason I never went back to Goodneighbour was because there were too many memories there.”

Read the rest on AO3!

Pairing: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: M

Summary: When Hancock’s old flame returns to Goodneighbour for the first time in almost ten years, searching for her kidnapped son, it’s more than just nostalgia that makes him tag along.

Chapter Three: Getting Closer

Chapter Summary: Hancock and Lizzy are getting closer to finding Shaun ... and to each other.

Notes: Thanks again to @varghaxa​ for reading this over! <3

Thank fuck for Fahrenheit interrupting my stroll down memory lane before I wander even deeper down maudlin avenue. Chuck somehow manages to return her icy stare as Fahrenheit leans next to me, leathers creaking and bits of metal clicking against the bar. “Got him waiting for you at the State House,” she says into my ear.

Efficient as ever. Everyone should have a fiery redhead to solve their problems. “Good. Keep him waiting. I’ll meet you there.”

Her crooked grin bunches up the burned skin on the side of her face. “Oh, trust me, he’s not going anywhere.” Fahrenheit pushes herself off the bar, and the conversations dim in her wake till her footfalls are out of earshot.

I take my sweet little time finishing my drink, then leave a few caps on the bar while Chuck has his back turned before heading to the VIP area to pay my favourite ex-Gunner a visit. Wouldn’t mind seeing the Gunners eradicated like the pests they are, but anyone who’s trying to better himself deserves a chance, and so far MacCready’s done good for Goodneighbour.

He’s lying back on the couch, his hat low on his face. A flash of blue greets me from under the brim, but he relaxes his hold on his rifle when he recognizes me. “Hancock,” he says, swinging his legs off the couch and sitting up with his elbows propped on his knees. “How’s the coolest ghoul in the Commonwealth?”

“Just dandy.” I pull my smokes out of my breast pocket and hand him the pack. His eyes turn wary for a split second, but he apparently decides he’s done nothing to piss me off and helps himself to a cigarette. “How’s business?”

He catches the lighter I toss in his direction. “Pretty good,” he answers in a puff of smoke, the glow of his cigarette seeping between the fingers of his cupped hand. He hands me my lighter back. “Heading out on a job first thing tomorrow, so I thought I’d catch some Zs while I can.”

I sit on the adjoining chair, then slip a smoke into my mouth. “The gorgeous brunette with the big, beautiful”—I pause to light up—“eyes, right?”

The wary look’s back on his face. “Yeah,” he says, slowly.

“Look, I’ve got a favour to ask,” I say, then blow a tight stream of smoke out the corner of my mouth. “I need you to not go with her.”

Read the rest on AO3!

Pairing: John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: M

Summary: When Hancock’s old flame returns to Goodneighbour for the first time in almost ten years, searching for her kidnapped son, it’s more than just nostalgia that makes him tag along.

(In which my Sole Survivor Lizzy is not the Sole Survivor but just a regular Goodneighbour resident who happened to be involved with a certain John McDonough before he went ghoul.)

Thanks again to @varghaxa for reading this over! <3

Chapter Two: Lighting Matches

Chapter Summary: Hancock reminisces about his first meeting with Lizzy almost ten years ago, back when Hancock didn’t even exist.

How long has it been? Ten years? More?

Lizzy could’ve been gone for a day or a century, for all I know—I got a lot of time I can’t account for—but once I do the math, turns out it’s only just short of nine years. ‘79. Summer, of course, because ain’t no spotlight like the sun on the longest, hottest days of the year.

Did I mention she’s got a flair for drama?

I had a smooth set of skin back then, my pop’s blue eyes, and my ma’s unruly blond hair, which I wore long specifically to annoy my brother: for God’s sake, John, you live in the stands now, John, I won’t have you look like some field rat, John, make some goddamned effort. No skin off my back: plenty of Diamond City’s finer folks have some serious field fever, as long as the rat’s discreet about it. Not that my brother would know anything about it, considering how little action his bed ever sees.

Come to think of it, wonder which son would’ve disappointed our parents the most. The ego-trippin’ bigot, or the junkie who went ghoul?

On second thought, not sure I wanna know.

Anyway, all of that to say I didn’t look anywhere near as devastating then as I do now. I still called myself John, not Hancock, and especially not McDonough. Fuck my brother for ruining a perfectly respectable family name. Did what I could to redeem it, but one man ain’t enough to fix what another broke. Funny how that works. And by “funny” I mean it makes me fucking sick.

I remember shuffling awkwardly in the Trattners’ doorway, my arms full of radstag meat wrapped in pages of the Boston Bugle. “Got lucky outside town and brought down this radstag. Too much meat for me, so figured I’d hand out some of it before it spoils,” I said, like I didn’t live off Jet and BlamCo Mac & Cheese washed down with vodka.

Mr. Trattner—Mitch, I think? Yeah, Mitch—took the meat and smiled, but it didn’t reach his bloodshot blue eyes. China Showdown: the Atomic Ultimatum read the op-ed wrapped around the radstag meat. Behind the slumped line of her husband’s shoulder, Stacey Trattner was staring resolutely out the cracks in the boards nailed to the window. Never saw more of her than the curve of one mangled cheek. No idea if she just never budged from her spot by the window, or if it was a special for when I swung by.

Then again, the entertainment on offer in Goodneighbour might be a tad extreme for your average two-hundred-and-something-year-old housewife. I considered bringing her books or magazines next time.

“Thanks, John,” Mitch said. “Appreciate it.”

“Least I can do.”

I was already on my way when Mitch called out after me. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

Read the rest on AO3!