#whatanightmaregrinch

“Hancock?”

“Hmmm…?” Your hands tightened their grip around his torso, and you pressed your face into his back. His soft raspy chuckle at your insistence had him gently pat your soft hand with his ruined one, and then dragged his fingers across your knuckles lightly. “I love you.” Your voice mumbled softly into his coat, and his heart (or whatever ruinous creature that had become it) twinged. It was easy to be gentle to him in moments like this, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering from the endearment; his anxiety swirled as he considered the time limit to your love. He was silent a moment too long, and your hands gripped his shirt, hands almost shaking in the moonlight as you took the rejection. You remained steadfast in your hope, that perhaps in a few months, a few years; he might come around to your type of love. From his slouched position, he took an extra long drag of his cigarette, before stabbing it out on the floor next to him. His shaky exhale hit your ears, and your grip tightened on him. The silence between you both was cavernous- wide and unyielding; until the faintest tremors from his rib cage indicated he was crying. Your lips pressed into a thin line, you frowned, and your grasp went from his shirt to the his hand that had long since disappeared from yours. He clenched onto your palm, and neither of you said a word as you coaxed him through it, his exhausted gasps and horrid sniffs as his whole body was rigid. Minutes ticked away until it turned into an hour; and just when you thought you’d done irreparable damage, he started to come down from it all. His crying got louder; but it signified he could breathe enough to let it out now, slowly riding the wave down as the adrenaline surged in him. He turned suddenly in your arms to face you, biting back a wince as his ribs nearly crushed your elbow as he rolled, and he thrust his face into your neck, finding purchase on you in whatever way he could. In this position, you wrapped your arms around him properly, trying to protect him from the misery he was entrenched in.

All was quiet in Sanctuary. Night had descended, and the gentle hum of the Bloodbugs were far away. If you pretended hard enough, it reminded you of the way Cicadas used to shout into the night, giving the evenings a natural ambience. This was similar, but Cicadas couldn’t turn a man into a drink carton, insides sucked out and carcass discarded for Bloatflies to feed on in the morning. You lent further back into your chair, which squeaked in discomfort at your actions. You’d taken to relaxing by the back door on nights like this, unable to stop your eyes wandering to the night sky to gaze at the moon. Before the Great War, it was normal to hear the sound of vertibirds, giant monstrous things, storm through the skies over the suburbs as they traveled to bases and distant lands alike to fight their wars. Now they only ever made pace from the Prydwen, and the sky was no longer a reminder to you that you had lived on the very edge of peace and destruction. Your deep thought was disturbed by a light turning on in the kitchen, and a soft but firm footfall approach from within.

Your companion, Danse, appeared. He hesitated upon seeing you lost in thought, but you smiled at him and his stiff posture relaxed somewhat, feeling more confident that he’d not interrupted a preferred solitude. He faltered for just a moment upon noticing there was only one chair which you were currently inhabiting, but decidedly shut the back door and came to sit down on the floor next to you. He seemed to have difficulty for a moment, before settling into a more comfortable position. You couldn’t help but chuckle at him, he looked so awkward , even if he did seem settled. He looked up at you, his usually stern expression soft in its mild confusion. “Is something wrong?” He enquired, and you found yourself shaking your head. “I just didn’t expect you to do that, I suppose I found it funny.” You explained, and he just nodded, following suit as you returned your gaze to the stars.

Since his expulsion from the Brotherhood (and subsequently discovering his true identity) he had been quieter than usual, but you understood well that pain took a long time to subside, especially great traumas such as his. It was difficult for him to grapple with all he’d been indoctrinated to believe and all that he was- how poorly he had acted to those you considered friends, allies and family. On his shittier days, he’d allow that guilt to fuel his self-loathing; and in turn, his mood would sour. He’d retreat as far into himself as he could, moving around the wasteland with you on autopilot. You minded not, you knew not to take his feelings and tone towards you personally. He was never rude to you anyway: sometimes curt, but never had he offended you or made you feel unsafe. You’d been in a similar way after your incarceration and staggered escape from Vault 111. You didn’t know who to trust with your pain, so you did not speak of it. Not until you stumbled through the gates of Cambridge Police station, responding to the somewhat desperate shouts of Danse and his team as they battled feral ghouls. Not until Knight Rhys (of all people) questioned you about your motives, swearing you intended to shit on everything he held dear. Back then, your priority had been finding Shaun. Now? It was picking up the pieces that your son had left behind, wounding the already scarred landscape with more radiation and debris in order to stop the organization that had grown him into the monster he had become. Trying to return to whatever normalcy life in this time offered was difficult for both of you, and neither of you judged each other for having battles too big for you to fight. You had seen him at his worst, held his shaking and crying form as he cursed his existence into the night. He had been your stability when you mourned Nate, and you often visited the grave you’d made for him together. He would sit silently by your side, listening to you as you spoke to Nate, talking about all that he had missed and never got to experience. Together you’d drink a Gwinnett Stout in his memory, and Danse would sometimes talk to Nate too. He would sternly promise the headstone that he’d been keeping you safe in his absence, and it brought you much comfort.

The relationship that you two shared had no name attached to it, not that you minded. Without words, you’d almost settled into a domestic partnership. Even though Danse was now aware he could not sleep for days with little consequence to his well-being, you’d approach him each time you felt tired and you would lie down together on a mattress (or bedroll, situation dependant) , and as you were both on the edge of sleep he would settle his arms around your waist, and you’d curl back into his chest. It would send your heartbeat wild, but you didn’t desire an answer to his actions. You just wanted to experience it. You ate together (even if a few times you argued when supplies were limited, him wanting you to take the remaining cram tins because of his synth status, you reminding him that synths like him had the same food need as yourself), and you’d even bathe together if you were on the road in the commonwealth. There was no awkwardness between the two of you, sometimes you’d even converse-albeit both of you faced in opposite directions, less out of discomfort and more out of respect for each others autonomy.

In a way, the both of you knew each other's intentions. Neither had denied the other. You tore your gaze away from the inky stillness above to look at him, hoping to steal a private glance, but you found he was already looking at you. He flushed, a welcome look on his face. “Can we discuss something?” He broke the silence, and you gave him your full attention, turning your body to face him to indicate agreement. He fiddled with the material of his trousers as he spoke. “Are we… are we in a relationship?” His words made you feel like an open book. How convenient it was for him to be bringing it up, like he knew you were thinking of him. The cool summer breeze caught some of your shorter hairs, and you swept them behind your ears and out of view. “Do you.. think we are?” You asked with uncertainty, and he searched your expression for a clue to how you were feeling. For a moment he held you, suspended at the end of your question. Embarrassment crept up his neck, and he stumbled over his words slightly as he spoke. “Yes, I mean-I hope so. Otherwise I feel a bit.. wrong?” He offered nervously, and you offered him a small, but amused smile. “ I’d consider us so as well.” You confirmed, and Danse would openly admit he felt relieved. “Good.” He muttered softly, slightly nodding as he spoke. Feeling satisfied, you both returned to stargazing. There was a brief silence as you both stared up in a silent appreciation.