Parting Gift

Hancock

"People aren't happy about all the synths moving through the streets," Fahrenheit tapped her finger against the cabinet, trying to draw his attention. All it did was increase the machining in the back of his temples. Whoever laced that Jet with turpentine was going to find himself waking up with a bed full of radroaches - if he woke up.

"And what am I supposed to do about it?" Hancock asked. His back was turned to her as he leaned out of the balcony watching a few of his citizens get into a good old fashioned bar brawl below the Old State House. He had five to one odds with his guards on the small one. Never discount a scrapper.

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes, now banging both fists against the rotted wood, "Ban the synths. No one likes 'em around. It's got everything on edge."

"Humph," Hancock snorted, unable to enjoy the fight with mayoral shit hanging over his head.

"Um, beg your pardon, but I'm looking for a Mayor Hancock." A new voice drifted across the threshold, one of those uncorrupted ones the Commonwealth somehow hadn't broken yet.

Hancock turned around and smiled, "That's me, in the flesh. For now."

"You," the kid stuttered, his eyes widening in terror, "you're a...a..."

"I believe the word you're looking for is ghoul, soft skin," Hancock said lighting his cigarette.

"What business do you have with the Mayor? Unless it's important, I suggest you leave before you find you can't."

The kid gulped as Hancock's bodyguard rounded on him, but the ghoul strode over to pat him on the shoulder, "Now, now, down girl. Save the teeth for when the real shit walks through the door. No reason to go giving the fish here a heart attack." He turned to the kid's watery eyes and asked, "You got a poison of choice?"

"N...n...no," the wet blanket rattled his head like a bloatfly flew in his ear, terrified to accept and also decline. "I'm supposed to deliver this, to you." He held out a brown package to the ghoul. The mayor grabbed it without ceremony.

Hancock stuck his cigarette in his mouth and moved towards his desk with the package in both hands. Sadly, the courier's relief was short lived as Fahrenheit rounded on him. Grabbing tight to his collar, she yanked the kid's face to hers and demanded, "What's in that?!"

"I don't know."

"We weren't scheduled to receive any deliveries."

"I don't know anything about that, either," the kid continued.

Hancock glanced up from his gift and sighed, "Let the kid be. He ain't done a thing."

"I'd advise against opening that, least until we know where it comes from," his bodyguard continued. It'd probably be wise to listen to her. Then again, Hancock wasn't known around these parts for his wisdom.

"We know where it comes from, it's..." Hancock paused and pointed at the kid.

"Uh, George."

"George? Good name there, George. See, comes from George. It's all good." Slicing open the string and the paper, Hancock snuffed out his cigarette in a coffee cup full of butts. Before Fahrenheit or anyone else could object, he ripped back the box's top and reached inside. Only a thin sheet of paper sat at the bottom. Lifting it up to the waning light, a mirelurk caught in Hancock's throat as he read the first words scrawled across the page.

"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union..." His fingers moved to the margins, attempting to preserve and take in every word written over 400 years ago by a bunch of guys just trying to do what they thought was right. Hancock's eyes lingered across the signature big enough to spit in the king's eye.

"How did she...?" he asked himself, shaking his head at the enormity of the gift as well as the message.

"Mayor?" Fahrenheit asked, her fingers still around the kid's shoulder.

Hancock didn't look up, his black eyes still crawling across every word demanding freedom from tyranny and a right to live their own lives. "Did she say anything about where...nah, of course she wouldn't." Laying the Declaration gently across his desk he finally turned to the kid and smiled, "Thanks for this. Take whatever you want from the stash." He gestured to the piles of chems littering the coffee table. George bobbed his head and slid over, his fingers hovering just above things his mother probably warned him away from.

After scooping up whatever tripped his trigger, the courier vanished, the stairs creaking with his feather weight. Fahrenheit inched closer to her boss, trying to read upside down whatever fascinated him. "What's that all about?"

"A reminder," Hancock said, a wry smile twisting up his lipless mouth.

"Of what?"

"To stop running," he chuckled. His finger circled around the signature when his head snapped up to her, "About the synths..."

"Yes," Fahrenheit cracked her knuckles, preparing for retaliation.

"Let the people know that all are welcome in Goodneighbor, even if they ain't technically people. The Institute's gone, these guys are trying to make it same as the rest of us. They deserve a bit of peace for once."

"Sir...?" Fahrenheit dropped back. She disagreed with him, but he knew she'd still follow the orders.

"'Of the people, for the people,'" Hancock repeated, sliding back to the balcony. His eyes drifted across every inch of Goodneighbor as another idea percolated in his brain, "And get in contact with the Minutemen. They've got settlements near here that could use some supplying, I bet. Kleo's overstocked as it is with pistols from the fucking Institute."

"What'll we ask for them?"

"Free of charge," Hancock grinned, "'cept then they'll owe us a favor."

Fahrenheit shook her head, "They'll never buy it. Not with your name attached, or Goodneighbor for that matter."

Hancock folded his arms against his chest, his fingers rolling against the old costume. "Then say they're in memory of Shaun. Preston'll know what it means."

"Fine, though it's fucking stupid," Fahrenheit sighed, stepping away to follow his orders. She may talk shit to his face, but she was great at doing what she was told. Below him, the bar fight broke up - both combatants who tried to make hamburger out of each other now hugging and offering to buy the other drinks. That was the Goodneighbor way.