selfmedicatingmayor:

the-perfect-scientist :

Carlos was starving. How long had he been working? He had no
idea – he was getting a little delirious and he realized he’d been cleaning the
same part for a good thirty minutes. The generator was almost entirely clean so
he’d had to have been there for hours. He needed to eat something and he spent
a good while trying to convince himself to leave.

His caps were still in the Statehouse, so Carlos had to go
back. Just something small, he told himself; maybe a carrot or a single
mutfruit. Just enough to hold him over so he could come back… if he managed to
avoid Hancock. Or if Hancock didn’t even want to see him; that’d be… easier. In
only a couple ways.

Finally Carlos put down the cloth and started for the door.
He built up enough motivation to reach the door and open it without any pause
and he was back out in Goodneighbor. However, he jumped when he noticed a
figure leaning against the wall of the warehouse. Fahrenheit was glaring at him
under the fringe of her hair. Was that a glare? She always looked like she was
glaring.

She didn’t say a word, just looked at him. It took Carlos a
few moments, trying to convince himself the she wasn’t going to hurt him
(despite the look she gave him) and he finally turned away and started walking
down the alley. He felt her gaze heavy and piercing on his back, and when he
reached the stoop he was almost shaking.

Carlos almost jumped inside the Statehouse and he shut the
door behind him. A Neighborhood Watchman shifted his gun when Carlos came in,
but he seemed to relax almost immediately. Carlos looked at his feet and
started up the spiral staircase, trying not to make any more noise than
necessary.

Once Carlos made it up the staircase, a Watchman stepped up to block him from going anywhere but the lounge, gesturing to the scientist to enter without saying anything else. Whether or not Hancock had shown his distress, they’d been with him long enough to know when the ghoul was having a rough time and all the signs were there, it would be easier to simply shove Carlos in the right direction than wait for things to resolve on their own.

Inside, Hancock was curled up on the couch, half-conscious with tear-stained cheeks, the box of cereal he’d been eating laying open on the floor with several pieces scattered about. The place was littered in spent needles and canisters of jet, along with several empty bottles and the mayor himself looked disheveled and exhausted.

Carlos was startled and, and for an irrational moment he thought he might be pushed down the stairs. But, again, it was an irrational thought and Carlos felt guilty about thinking it. Upon realizing where he was being directed though, his stomach felt like it was sucked into a small, localized black hole.

Hancock probably told the Watch that he wanted to talk to Carlos. This was it. He was going to tell Carlos that this wasn’t working. Because it wasn’t – Carlos knew that. He wouldn’t blame Hancock for ending it… though it didn’t change the fact that this was going to hurt so much.

Carlos resigned himself. This was it, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it but… go and face the music. He could do that. He had to. Just stand there and agree with Hancock when he said that it was over.

He had expected, when he walked in, to see Hancock on the couch. Maybe playing with a jet canister or even his knife. Collected, calm, and serious. He didn’t expect to see the prone form on the couch with the mess of drug paraphernalia scattered around him. Carlos was confused at first, but as he cautiously stepped closer and started to put together what all the mess meant – that, plus the image of Hancock lying down motionless – Carlos’ mind jumped to conclusions and he suddenly panicked.

“HANCOCK!!” he screamed and he rushed forward. Carlos used his boot to sweep away the needles scattered dangerously at the front of the couch and he crouched down to take Hancock’s face in his hands and examine it. “Hancock! Han, can you hear me??”