Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At the Observatory, Cooper made a promise to himself that he wouldn't get attached.

It was decided the moment Lucy’s gun went off.

The feral ghoul’s head snapped back, its body sagging against the table it was chained to.

He didn’t know the ghoul or what it meant to Lucy, but one thing was clear—the Wasteland was changing her. The Vault Dweller was adapting.

As he looked back at what was left of the LA skyline, he sighed, realizing they were even more alike than he’d thought.

By the time he confronted Young Henry, he’d overhead enough to the gist of what happened between him and Lucy.

Everything she’d ever known was a lie, and the person she'd trusted the most was a liar. Vaultie or not, he felt sorry for her. He knew exactly what it was like to experience that level of betrayal, to have the person he was stripped away without a moment's notice.

But it had to end there. Caring any more than that would be a liability.

So, he definitely wasn't looking at her when she got a little too close to the cliff's edge—he was scanning the horizon.

But when she stumbled over some loose gravel, he reached out before he could stop himself. In one swift motion, he caught her wrist, steadied her, and quickly withdrew his hand.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something but swallowed the words instead.

She'd been doing that more often lately. And while he knew he should feel relieved, he didn't. Sometimes, her silence was more unsettling than the Vault-Tec bullshit she used to recite.

Flexing his hand, he looked back at the horizon when a hot wind kicked up from the valley, carrying with it a cloud of dust. He tried to cover his face, but it was too late. The particles swept through his nasal cavity and down his throat, sending him into an ugly coughing fit.

Eventually, his legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. A few seconds passed before the weight of her hand on his shoulder jolted him upright. Catching his breath, he turned to find her face level with his own.

"Here," she said, offering him his inhaler.

Her cheeks were flushed from the sun, dotted with freckles that hadn’t been there a month ago. She needed a hat, he thought, before taking it from her hands.

Even though it was brief, he still felt her touch as he fumbled with the inhaler. Once his breathing steadied, he pushed himself up, brushing her off when she tried to help.

She got the hint and stepped back without a word.

Composing himself, he glanced at her for a second. That pained look had crept back onto her face.

Whatever she was—or wasn’t—about to say would have to wait. They were losing daylight and needed to find a settlement soon.

His vials were running low. He could feel it; the slow drag in his limbs, the scratch at the edge of his throat. And even though she hadn’t said a word, he could tell she was struggling too.

Most of their time since the Observatory had been spent leaving Southern California. They had only now crossed the border into Nevada and still had a long way to go before reaching New Vegas.

The Mojave, as he had pointed out to her, was harsh and unforgiving. The critters made the ones in LA look tame, and the people weren't any better. Between that and the climate, it took twice the energy just to keep moving.

He glanced back at her, noticing the distance between them had grown. Her head was down and the spot where her hair parted looked redder than it did the day before.

He sighed, slowing his pace until they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

"I need to check that thing on your arm."

"Oh."

They stopped walking. She pulled up her Pip-Boy and started adjusting it until the map appeared.

"Looks like we're about a mile away," she said, showing him the screen.

He’d expected her to sound more excited than that, but brushed the thought aside. With a click of his tongue, he kept walking. She might not have sounded enthusiastic, but she stayed right behind him all the way to Goodsprings.

As with most new places or things they came across, he warned her to tread lightly. He hadn't been this far east in decades. Back then, Goodsprings was just a quiet place where folks kept to themselves, safe enough for a courier to catch some sleep without keeping one eye open. But there was no telling if any of that was still true.

“Whoa,” she whispered as they crested the hill.

Below them, Goodsprings stretched across the valley floor, its weathered buildings draped in long shadows as the sun dipped toward the mountains.

To his surprise, the gas station was still there and, from the looks of it, still abandoned. As they walked down Goodsprings Road, his eyes immediately went to the Prospector Saloon's neon sign.

"Come on."

The faintest 'okey-dokey' followed, quiet enough that he could pretend he hadn't heard. Still, he couldn't help rolling his eyes.

Music drifted through the cracks of the old building, accompanied by the murmur of voices and an occasional burst of laughter. He tensed at the sound of glass breaking, throwing an arm out to hold her back. When no shots followed, they kept moving.

The smell hit them before they reached the door—stale beer and cigarette smoke, mixed with something cooking.

"Stay," he commanded, tossing Dogmeat a few pieces of jerky off to the side.

"Is she going to be okay out here?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine."

With that, his hand drifted to the pistol on his hip as he pushed the door open. The conversation inside didn’t stop, but he could feel several pairs of eyes turn their way. Then, a whistle cut through the air.

"You okay, girlie? Is that thing bothering you?" asked one of the men at a nearby table.

To his surprise, she scoffed and reached for his arm, pulling him toward the opposite side of the bar. As they left, one of the men shouted, "Oh, so she's a ghoulfucker!"

He started to turn around when she slid into the empty booth. She shot him a look and nodded toward the other side. Stomach growling, he let it go and sat across from her. Some things weren’t worth losing a meal over.

"You know, I'll never understand the hatred toward ghouls," she said after a long pause. "So what if you look different? That man over there, the one who said that, is missing an eye and his two front teeth! He looks way worse than you—no offense."

He blinked, stunned by her outburst. It was the most she'd said all day.

"I have half a mind to go over there and just," she balled her hands into fists and slammed the table. "You know? Just tell him how rude that word is. Just," she slammed her fists again, this time harder. "Really let him have it."

He leaned back, watching her for a moment. Her knuckles had gone white, and a muscle twitched in her clenched jaw. It was the same look she’d worn the day she bit his finger off—maybe just a little more controlled.

He let the silence stretch for a beat before saying, "Alright, killer. Let's try to eat something first before getting into a bar fight."

She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t have to get violent. People on the surface are capable of having civilized conversations, you know.”

He gave her a flat look. "And how have your civilized conversations been going so far?"

"At least I'm trying,” she shot back, her voice pitching higher. “You know, it doesn't cost anything to be nice."

He scoffed. "If you tried that shit while I wasn't here, it would've cost your life. Guaranteed."

She didn’t argue this time. Instead, her gaze dropped, and she started picking at her nails. For once, she had nothing to say.

He exhaled, softening his tone just a bit. “Alright, you want anything other than water?"

She shook her head, not looking up.

He lingered a moment before sliding out of the booth to order their dinner.

When he returned, she was slouched over the table, chin resting in her hands. Her eyes were glossy, unfocused, fixed on something far away.

"Here." He slid a plate of grilled brahmin and a cup of water across the table to her, then headed back for his own.

By the time he sat down, she had already started eating. The brahmin was overcooked, the water tinged brown, but they ate until they were nearly too full to move. Eventually, he reached for his liquor and took a long swig, while she neatly arranged her utensils on the empty plate.

"You ever had alcohol?"

She lifted her head and blinked, as if coming out of a daze. “Uh, only once. I think. My dad—” she took a deep breath, “he let me try some of his wine when I was sixteen.”

His brows shot up. He hadn't expected something so normal to come out of the Vaultie’s mouth. He figured alcohol was just another avoidable inefficiency down there.

“Alcohol wasn’t readily available in our vault, though. We just had some wine during special occasions,” she quickly added.

“Did you like it?”

Her nose wrinkled. “No. No, it was disgusting.”

“Was it red or, uh, white? The wine."

“Oh.” Her forehead creased as she thought about it. “I think it was white. Sorta yellow, actually.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting to the jukebox behind her. A distorted Marty Robbins song played but he couldn’t remember the name.

“Not a fan?”

He glanced at her, unsure if he’d heard right. “No… Are you?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, soft and fleeting. “We used to listen to Marty Robbins all the time, my dad and I.”

Just like that, her smile faded. His chest tightened. As always, Janey came to mind—but tonight, she was harder to ignore. They used to listen to music together, too. Janey loved Elvis—that last summer, they’d played Blue Hawaii until the grooves wore down in the vinyl.

He exhaled sharply, shook the thought away, and downed the rest of his drink. The edges of his vision blurred, leaving him feeling untethered.

"Wow, so you really dislike him, huh?" She leaned back, arms crossed. "More of a Johnny Cash guy, then? Hank Williams? No? What about Don Gibson? Oh, maybe Patsy Cline—"

"I gotta piss." He cut her off, voice sharp. “Then we need to find a place to sleep. After that, we’re getting the fuck out of here."

Chapter Text

Goodsprings Inn was a two-story ramshackle farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Completely inconspicuous save for the tiny wooden sign on the porch that read Rooms Here.

At the saloon, Lucy had struck up a conversation with a woman named Sunny while the Ghoul left to relieve himself. She’d been a resident of Goodsprings her whole life and recommended the inn, adding that it was the only lodging in a ten-mile radius.

The Ghoul said nothing about it when he returned, no praise or thank you for Lucy’s quick thinking, and left after paying for their meal. Lucy stayed back for a moment, mentally jotting down the cost. She may not have had any caps of her own yet, but she did intend to pay the Ghoul back.

The inside of Goodsprings Inn looked like any other abandoned building they’d come across, only slightly less dirty. The sound of the front door opening must have alerted the owner, who called out to them, “One sec!”

The Ghoul, as always, had his pistol at the ready and stepped in front of Lucy, blocking her view.

“Welco—” The voice paused. “Oh.”

Lucy’s heart sank at the shift in tone. She struggled to understand many things about the Wasteland, but nothing frustrated her more than the way people treated ghouls.

Weren’t they all destined for the same fate, should they survive long enough?

“If it’s caps you’re looking for, I recommend the saloon. We haven’t had a guest in weeks.”

The Ghoul’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and his hand fell from his hip. “No, ma’am. We’re just looking for a place to sleep.”

“Just you and the dog?”

Lucy shifted to the side, raising her hand to wave as she smiled at the woman. “Uh, hello! Hi.”

The woman didn’t respond. Lucy hesitated, then let her hand drop. “It’ll be me, him, and the dog. Please.”

The woman peered over the rim of her glasses, eyes narrowing as she studied the three of them. She lingered a moment, then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and asked, “So, two rooms or one?”

“Two—”

“—One.”

Lucy and the Ghoul snapped their heads toward each other.

Silence stretched between them, taut as a wire. Lucy, unable to bear it, apologized to the woman and pulled him aside.

“Look, I’m happy to take the floor if you want the bed, but we need to think economically here,” she whispered in one breath.

He continued to stare at her until she realized they were still holding hands and let go like she’d been burned.

“Now, what the fuck would you know about my finances?” He didn’t bother lowering his voice.

Lucy blinked, realizing he had a point. In an effort to save face, she shrugged and gestured to his clothing. “Nothing! I just figured,” she said, trailing off.

His eyes narrowed, then—slowly, deliberately—traveled down her body.

Lucy stiffened under his gaze, unsure whether to stand her ground or shift uncomfortably like she wanted to. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between evaluation and amusement, though the latter never did reach his eyes.

Then, just as slowly, he looked back up.

“You figured what?”

Lucy pressed her lips together and gulped. If he was waiting for her to dig herself into an even deeper hole, he was going to be sorely disappointed. 

Instead, she squared her shoulders and sighed. “Nothing. Forget it.”

The Ghoul’s eyes lingered a second longer before he turned back to the woman.

“One room,” he said, reaching into his coat.

Lucy sat down on the bed as the Ghoul closed the door. He still hadn’t looked at her since paying for the room, bringing the total cost of the day to 55 caps. 

The mattress sagged beneath her, springs creaking in protest. Like everything else in the room, it was worn but cleaner than she expected. Pale wallpaper, peeling at the corners, gave way to water stains that crept down from the ceiling. A dresser missing half its drawers stood against the far wall, and beside it, a door that presumably led to a bathroom. The space was small, but at least the ceiling was high and intact.

Her cheeks still felt flushed from their conversation downstairs. She hadn’t meant to offend him—maybe she should apologize and explain why she wanted one room instead of two. Only now her face felt warm all over. 

Fudge. 

Thankfully, there was a window next to the bed, and Lucy decided she needed some fresh air. This would’ve been her first time sleeping in a confined space since Vault 4. She was probably just feeling claustrophobic.

She stepped up to the window, running her fingers along the frame in search of a latch. Nothing. She pressed both palms against the glass and pushed up, but it didn’t budge. Frowning, she braced herself and tried again, harder this time.

“Those don’t open,” the Ghoul’s gruff voice called out. 

“Oh,” she stepped back, then sighed, casting one last glance at the window before turning away. 

The floor creaked under her step, the sound swallowed by the rest of the house settling around her. The bed, the walls—everything seemed to shift and groan with the wind. It was so much louder than sleeping outside.

As she expected, the additional door led to a bathroom. Or what used to be one. The tub was cracked and covered in grime, and the toilet was missing, leaving a large ominous hole in the tiled floor. Across from it, a mirror remained hanging, though cracked, above the sink. Lucy leaned in to examine her reflection in the clearest corner of the glass. Her face was definitely red, though mostly from the sun, decorating her skin with freckles she didn’t know she could produce. She poked a particularly red spot on her cheek and marveled at the way the indentation turned her skin white. 

Her hair was as much of a disaster as she’d expected. Lucy didn’t even bother to touch it, knowing the grease would make her feel dirtier. She sighed and walked back into the room, finding that the Ghoul had already gone to sleep. He was sprawled out by the door, his hat pulled low over his face. Dogmeat looked up from where she was resting at his feet and yawned. 

Me too, Lucy thought, yawning back.

She went to take her first step when the floorboard creaked to life. She froze. The Ghoul didn’t move a muscle, so she tried again, but each step sounded louder than the one before.

When she noticed she’d barely gotten closer to the bed, the Ghoul cleared his throat but said nothing else. She took the hint and crossed the short distance as quickly as possible.

With her boots and gear stripped off, Lucy finally got under the covers. They were thin and itchy and absolutely incredible. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed having a bed—even one that poked her in certain spots—and a pillow that wasn’t her backpack. She stretched her legs with a smile, pleased to have so much space.

That’s when the guilt hit her—the Ghoul. She hadn’t even tried to offer the bed again, knowing how stubborn he was and, well… selfishly, she didn’t want to sleep on the floor if she didn’t have to. Unfortunately, the annoying Vault-Tec Voice that sometimes still lingered called out to her, noting how the bed was large enough for two people. She didn’t need all the extra space. They could share.

But then, the Wastelander cut in, sharp and cynical. The Ghoul was dangerous. Sure, he hadn’t tried to kill her—or sell her—since the Observatory, but that didn’t mean she could trust him. Distance provided safety. Even if he wasn’t an immediate threat, he could lash out in his sleep.

And yet… would he? If he wanted to hurt her, he had plenty of chances. The thought of being used as leverage had crossed her mind before. More than once, actually. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

Without him, she had no idea where to start looking for her father. He was the one who pointed them toward New Vegas. He was the one who knew which roads were safe, how to avoid Deathclaws. Heck, he was the reason they even made it to Goodsprings in one piece.

Lucy opened her eyes, her exhaustion vanishing in a blink. She tried to fall back asleep, but her mind wouldn’t settle. Maybe if she understood the Ghoul better, she wouldn’t feel so uneasy—it’s harder to fear what you understand, right?

For weeks, she’d held onto her questions, but whatever curiosity she once had was gone and replaced by something heavier. Not exhaustion, but apathy. Most days, she barely cared about anything at all. Only, the smallest things set her off, her anger simmering beneath the surface, hotter and sharper with each passing day.

Sometimes, Lucy just wanted to scream or break things. Sometimes, when they’d been walking for miles, she silently hoped they’d come across a radroach or bloatfly just so she had an excuse to kill something.

Tomorrow, though, she’d try a different approach. Tomorrow, she’d start to understand the Ghoul.

Lucy woke up the next morning feeling stiff and achy. Maybe sleeping on the floor would’ve been the better option. She sighed, getting up, only to realize the Ghoul was gone.

At least Dogmeat was still here. Even though he’d never admit it, the Ghoul had grown attached to Dogmeat. Lucy was confident he wouldn’t have abandoned them both.

A knock at the door cut through her thoughts. Dogmeat sniffed the entrance, tail wagging. Lucy took that as a good sign and reached for the knob. As soon as she cracked the door open, the Ghoul shoved his way through.

"Seriously?"

Her hand flew to her chest. "What?"

"Didn't your daddy ever teach you not to open the door to strangers?"

"You're not a stranger," she said flatly.

"Could've been."

"The point being...?"

The Ghoul jabbed a gloved finger at her. "You failed."

"Sir, please, I just woke up. Can the riddles wait?"

He looked at her, the faintest trace of amusement etching his face. "At least ask who it is next time."

It took her a moment to process what he was getting at. Then, she let out a dry laugh.

"I cleared that entire Super-Duper Mart, in case you forgot. I may be smaller than you, but I’m capable. And I’m not stupid. Dogmeat smelled you at the door—that’s why I opened it."

The Ghoul crossed the room, silent as he listened. Then, without a word, he turned back to her, something in his hand.

"For the sun," he said, tossing it to her. "You’ve been lookin’ a little red."

She furrowed her brows, unfolding the balled-up leather in her hands. A hat—a cowboy hat, like the one he wore—only in black. She turned it over, skeptical.

"You bought this for me?"

"Something like that."

"Thanks," she managed, her throat suddenly feeling tighter.

He moved past her, calling for Dogmeat as he stopped at the door. "Best you get yourself together quick. We’re heading out soon.”

Chapter Text

Nothing in Goodsprings was more surprising than Doc Mitchell still being alive. When Cooper asked about him at the saloon, he half-expected to hear the old man had finally croaked. But no, Doc was still kicking, still patching people up.

That's when he heard about the courier. Fifteen years ago, they'd taken two bullets to the head and lived. All thanks to Doc Mitchell. Not that he was complaining. Doc always seemed to have an endless supply of chems, Stimpaks, and RadAway.

Decades later, that hadn't changed. He stocked up on all three that morning and asked about the courier. Doc confirmed the story, adding that his door was always open if Cooper needed anything more serious.

On his way out, Cooper spotted a black cowboy hat perched on one of Doc's crowded shelves. The old man was still hoarding shit, letting it gather dust. Doc followed his gaze and offered it to him, free of charge.

Cooper took it without hesitation.

When Lucy stepped out of the inn, Cooper couldn’t help but smirk. The hat suited her, just like he knew it would.

“Lookin’ good, killer.”

The compliment slipped out before he could stop it. Lucy didn’t seem to mind, though. She just flashed him a smile.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure if it clashed with the Vault suit.”

He took a step back, giving her a once-over. The blue-and-gold suit was zipped down to her hips, the sleeves tied loosely around her waist. Beneath it, a white tank top, stained red and brown, clung to her frame.

She looked more Wastelander than Vaultie now. And like the hat, it suited her.

“Just watch your shoulders,” he said as the thought struck him. “Post-nuclear sun damage ain’t something you wanna mess with. A sunburn out here feels like thirty radroach bites at once.”

She grimaced, then nodded, absently running a hand over one of her shoulders. “Okey-dokey.”

Oh, he definitely heard her that time. Cooper cleared his throat and whistled for Dogmeat.

Twice could be a coincidence. But three times? That was a pattern. Stroking Dogmeat’s head, he decided to keep an ear out for the next one.

With their supplies restocked and Lucy’s new hat in place, they set off down the road.

Cooper could feel it coming. The Vaultie had been fidgeting with her Pip-Boy for the past mile, sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wondered how long she’d last before—

“Are you sure? Prin is really out of the way.”

“It’s Primm—and will you just let me do what I gotta do? Damn.” Cooper shook his head.

“Sir, I’m not trying to get in your way. I just... I want to know why.” Lucy grabbed his arm, stopping them both. “I mean, if this is New Vegas—” she pointed to one of the green markers on her Pip-Boy “—then why are we going all the way down here?”

Cooper closed his eyes for a moment, sighed, then pulled his arm free. “Because I’m not in the mood to deal with Deathclaws, Jackal Gangers, or whatever other fucked-up shit is there.”

“So the long way is the safe way. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Unless I started speaking a different language, yeah—that’s what I’m saying.”

“Okay. That makes sense. Thank you for telling me.”

Cooper frowned, studying her. Was she being sincere or just humoring him? He let it go with a shake of his head. “Come on, now. We’re—”

“Losing daylight. I know.” She rolled her eyes.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but Cooper reached out and tugged the brim of her cowboy hat down until it covered her face. He was already several paces ahead by the time she reacted.

After a beat, Lucy called out, “I didn’t appreciate that, Sir!”

Cooper grinned to himself, imagining the look on her face. Behind him, Lucy’s boots scuffed against the desert floor as she hurried to catch up. They had another fifteen miles to go and only three hours of daylight left. At this rate, they’d have to set up camp for the night.

“Sir,” Lucy said, slightly out of breath. “My Pip-Boy picked up a couple radio stations. Do you mind if I listen?”

When he glanced back at her, she was closer than expected. She batted her eyelashes—whether absentmindedly or with intent, he couldn’t tell. There was something habitual about it, though. Something practiced, and yet not entirely calculated.

He nodded, unable to do much else.

Lucy smiled, then bit her lip as she fiddled with the Pip-Boy. Cooper slowed his pace, curious to hear what would play.

Through the static, the faintest sound of horns emerged before two familiar voices began to sing:

“Oh, I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle.”

Lucy looked up from her Pip-Boy, brows raised as if waiting for his approval. Cooper considered telling her to turn it off but felt his resolve crumble the moment their eyes met.

Defeated, he nodded, biting the inside of his cheek when she grinned triumphantly.

They didn’t say much after that, letting Radio Mojave fill the silence. Every now and then, Lucy would hum along, and Cooper found himself wondering how she knew so much pre-war music.

Then again, he thought of Young Henry and the Vaults. Some of the good ones, as Barb had put it, weren’t just shelters. They were time capsules where Vault-Tec employees could play pretend, living out a version of pre-war life that no longer existed. Of course, Lucy knew who Marty Robbins and Johnny Cash were.

Then, another thought crossed his mind. If she’d grown up listening to cowboy music, did she grow up watching cowboy movies too? More specifically, his movies?

“Can I ask you a question?” Lucy’s voice cut through his thoughts.

He hesitated, then sighed, staring out at the endless desert ahead of them. “Shoot.”

“How old is my dad?”

Cooper nearly tripped over his own feet. He caught himself, eyes fixed on the horizon. “How the fuck would I know?”

“Well,” Lucy said, quickening her pace. “He used to pick up your wife’s dry cleaning, right?”

He knew she’d bring this up one day. He had just hoped she’d forget. Or that she’d been too traumatized to hear him that night.

Which, if he was being honest, was a fucked up thing to hope.

“Look,” Cooper sighed. “I don’t know exactly, but your daddy—well, he must’ve been around your age in ’77. Maybe a little older.”

A moment passed as the Dominoes’ "Sixty Minute Man" played through the radio. Then, abruptly, Lucy turned it off.

Cooper could feel the tension rolling off her. He was about to turn around when she said, “So, you were both alive when the bombs fell.”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

Lucy processed that for a moment. “So, that would make him at least two hundred years old,” she noted, her tone flat, factual. 

A faint click—then the speakers crackled, and Ray Smith’s voice replaced the silence.

Cooper didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until Lucy brushed past him.

She glanced back, catching his eye. For a second, she held his gaze and then gave him a small, closed-mouth smile. Neutral. Measured. Just enough to acknowledge his response.

“Okay. Thanks,” she said, her voice unreadable. 

Then she turned forward, walking ahead.

Chapter Text

Walking along the I-15 toward Primm, Lucy thought about her father. 

Had he ever driven this exact stretch of highway? Did he even know how to drive? She looked up from the cracked asphalt to glance at the Ghoul, and wondered the same thing about him. 

More than that, how did he know her father? Were they co-workers? Neighbors? What the heck was dry cleaning? 

The Ghoul had a wife, a family. That’s why he was still here; that’s why he was still going. Lucy’s stomach clenched as she thought about their encounter with Roger. She had been so naive then, thinking the absolute worst of the Ghoul for what he’d done to his friend. Then, the look on his face after she’d asked him that question,

“Why keep going?”

She physically cringed, twisting the volume down on her Pip-Boy. She wasn’t in the mood for music anymore. She wanted to talk. Her father may not have been here, but the Ghoul was. 

With a deep breath, she quickened her pace to catch up.

“Sir?”

The Ghoul grunted in acknowledgment.

“What’s driving a car like?”

He took a moment to work his jaw. “It was… convenient.”

That made sense. Walking for hours had drained her, and they’d only just started their day. 

“I know some cars could go over a hundred miles per hour,” she said, slightly out of breath. “Did yours?”

He sighed, then pushed his hat back, revealing his eyes. Round and hazel, Lucy was stunned by how human they were. He even had eyelashes! Really long, thick eyelashes. Probably the nicest eyelashes she’d ever seen on anyone.

“It sure did.” He hadn’t broken his gaze. 

She cleared her throat—the desert air was so dry. “What kind of car did you have?”

His lips pressed together as he looked back at the road. 

“Kaiser Darrin 161. You heard of it?”

Lucy had, though she couldn’t remember where. As they walked, her gaze drifted to an overturned car off the side of the road, its rusted frame hinting at what used to be blue. 

“What color was it?” she asked as the thought came to her. 

“Yellow.”

“Is that your favorite color?”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a lopsided grin. “Sorta.”

She couldn’t think of a response. The way his face transformed when he smiled was more shocking than the revelation about his eyes. He didn’t just look human—he looked familiar and warm. 

Another beat passed before he spoke again. “What’s yours?”

“Blue,” Lucy replied, shaking the thought from her head.

The Ghoul glanced at her, and to her surprise, the smile hadn’t faded.

“Well, I’m shocked,” he said, voice edged with sarcasm. 

Lucy smiled to herself. For the rest of the way, she thought about the Ghoul’s yellow car, letting her mind drift in their companionable silence. 

As they approached the outskirts of Primm, it became clear to Lucy that the NCR was much larger than she’d thought. Their presence was everywhere in Nevada—old signs, camps, and flags could be spotted every five miles or so. It filled her with a strange sense of sadness to see the ruins of what could have been. Were there other places like Shady Sands in the Mojave? More people killed and displaced all because of Vault-Tec?

One of the NCR’s flags hung above the entrance to Primm, the colors still vibrant despite its worn appearance. 

Lucy turned the radio off as they got closer. The residual silence was heavy for a settlement. She glanced at the Ghoul and figured he must have had the same thought. Wordlessly, he nodded for them to keep moving. She followed as he led the way inside.

A stone wall traced the perimeter, shielding most of the pre-war buildings from the outside. She was shocked at how large and spaced out everything was.

Directly across from them was the biggest building of them all—the Bison Steve Hotel and Lucky Casino. 

So that’s why the Ghoul insisted they stop here.

Despite its size and relatively put-together appearance, something about the hotel—and about Primm—was off.

“Sir?” Lucy whispered. 

He didn’t respond. With his pistol at the ready, he scanned the area. 

“Get your gun out,” he said in a low, even tone.

Lucy did exactly as she was told.

“Now—”

Before he could finish, a bullet shrieked past his head, skimming the top of his hat. In an instant, the silence shattered—Dogmeat barked, snapping at the unseen threat.

The Ghoul grabbed Lucy by the arm and yanked her toward a rundown shed to their right. She barely registered the movement—just the crunch of dirt under her boots, the blur of her surroundings, and the fact that they needed cover.

“Stay here and stay alert,” he ordered. “Looks like we got a sniper.” 

A sniper?

Lucy’s pulse hammered in her ears as the Ghoul left. A sniper meant they wouldn’t even see the shots coming. 

Before she could process it, the air cracked again. And again. Bullets rained from above, kicking up dust in sharp bursts. She gasped and cowered, shielding her head with her arms.

Then it dawned on her.

This was real.

She could die.

Lucy forced herself to move. To think. She took a deep breath and counted to three before popping back up, scanning the rooftops.

There he was.

She spotted the sniper shifting on the roof of one of the buildings. Her gun wasn’t made for this kind of range, but she had to do something. She aimed high and squeezed the trigger, unloading several rounds in his direction.

The last one grazed him.

He screamed—then turned his rifle on her.

Lucy sprinted to the other side of the shed, searching frantically for the Ghoul. When she spotted him several feet away another bullet landed dangerously close to her head.

Somewhere further up the road, near the hotel, the sound of screaming and growling mixed in the air. So there were some on the ground, too. 

Lucy looked back at the Ghoul who had his rifle out now, aimed at the sniper. She gulped and was about to make a beeline toward the hotel when she heard her name. 

“Lucy!” The Ghoul shouted. “God damn it—” 

One of the bullets seemed to hit him, but he shrugged it off and yelled, “Fuck, just go!” 

She didn't need to be told twice. Lucy sprinted in Dogmeat's direction, skidding to a stop at the sight of a mangled raider corpse. Finding a flipped car for cover, she wiped the sweat from her face and waited.

Across the street, a raider scanned the area, gun raised. 

Dogmeat lunged, narrowly missing several bullets. 

Lucy couldn't bear the thought of losing her and jumped out, firing back.

"What the fuck—" The raider dropped. Dogmeat wasted no time going for his jugular.

Blood sprayed across her chest and face. She gagged, trying to wipe her eyes clean. When she opened them, another raider slammed into her.

"Fucking bitch!" The raider's nails raked Lucy's face as hands clamped around her throat. Lucy thrashed, but the woman's weight pinned her down.

The pressure intensified. Lucy's lungs burned. She kicked and clawed but felt like she was underwater. Then the woman's head exploded above her, splattering brain matter everywhere.

Silence. 

Eventually, Dogmeat sprinted over, licking her face. Lucy blinked, trying to make sense of what happened. The headless body was still slumped over her when large gloved hands hauled it off.

She screamed and kicked, desperate to not repeat the last minute all over again.

"Lucy," a voice said. "Lucy, it's just me."

The Ghoul's face hovered above hers, clay-like except for those human eyes. He pressed a hand to her forehead.

“That was all of them.”

Lucy nodded, barely registering what he said. 

“Were you shot?”

She shook her head. 

“Stabbed?”

She shook her head again. 

"Can you breathe?”

Lucy opened her mouth and gulped in as much air as she could, tears stinging her eyes. 

“Good.” He removed his hand. The Ghoul stared at her for a moment, expression unreadable, before gently easing her up onto her feet. 

They managed to hobble into the nearest building. She couldn’t tell what it used to be pre-war, and really didn’t care as the pain from being attacked set in. 

Her head hurt more than her neck, and she felt guilty even wanting to complain when she saw the bullet wounds the Ghoul acquired. His shoulder was completely torn up, like someone took a cheese grater to it. He wasn’t bleeding, though, not nearly as much as he should have been. 

His expression was still hardened and difficult to read as he crudely removed several bullets from his flesh. Lucy sat across from him in awe—he had an entire sewing kit complete with tweezers that were now covered in blood and bits of muscle. Not once did he flinch, and just as he finished putting away the tweezers, his skin had mended itself together. 

“You’re bulletproof,” she said without thinking. 

His eyes cut toward her before dropping back down to his satchel. 

“Is… is t-that common for ghouls?”

Silence. 

She licked her cracked lips and tried again, wanting desperately to think about anything other than what just happened. “Is it a, uh, side effect of the medicine you take?”

The Ghoul stopped what he was doing and said, “I told you to stay.”

Lucy blinked, taking in his words. She thought back to when the first bullet fired, when he dragged her over to that shed, commanding her to stay put. 

"You didn’t, and now you got bruises all over your neck.” He spat, his hands gripping the satchel tightly. “Could’ve died, probably would’ve if I hadn’t gotten to you.”

She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to talk about what just happened. She didn’t want to think about the raider’s hands around her neck, or the sound of her head exploding right above Lucy. 

“What happened?” he asked, voice growing louder. “Why didn’t you use your gun—”

“I did,” she interjected. “I just, I didn’t see her, okay? She came out of nowhere.” 

A familiar heat began to build beneath her chest, spreading across her body the more she thought about it—about how she could have handled things differently. The truth was, she couldn’t have. She didn’t see the raider until it was too late. This wasn’t her fault. In fact, the only reason why this happened was because the Ghoul insisted they stop at Primm. 

“If you listened to me—”

“I would’ve been shot by the sniper.” She continued before he could respond. “I mean, is this even a productive conversation to be having? We survived. Let’s just—let’s move on and get back to finding my dad.” 

She said it like it was easy. Like she wasn’t still feeling the weight of that woman’s body on top of her. 

The Ghoul was staring at her through narrowed slits, a heavy, suffocating silence stretching between. “Fine,” he said eventually, muttering something under his breath. 

Then, he tossed something at Lucy that landed by her feet. It was her hat.

She stared at it for a long moment, barely registering its presence. Her hands were still shaking, and when she wiped her face, she wasn’t sure if it was blood, sweat, or tears.

Across from her, the Ghoul was already pulling himself together, his movements quick and practiced—like none of this had even happened.

Then, his voice cut through the fog. 

“Well, get your ass up then.” 

Chapter Text

For the rest of the day, Cooper kept to himself. Every time his gaze drifted to Lucy’s neck, his stomach twisted. The bruises had deepened, and the scratches stood out now that they’d scabbed over. He told himself it wasn’t his problem. This was her lesson to learn.

If she’d just stayed put—if he’d gotten to her quicker, covered her—she wouldn’t look like that. Wouldn’t be sitting across from the fire, withdrawn and silent, staring blankly into the flames. Before Primm, she would’ve been listening to music or tossing dumb questions his way.

He’d liked those moments, rare as they were. It had been centuries since he met anyone who knew that much about the old world. With Lucy, he could pretend—just for a second—that Cooper Howard still existed.

Fucking moron.

He knew better. She wasn’t interested in him. He was just there. The last one standing.

With his free hand, he traced the scars that fused their index fingers together. If he squinted, he could almost pretend she hadn’t bitten it off in the first place.

A quick glance at Lucy showed she still hadn’t moved. The brahmin jerky sat untouched beside her.

Fine. If she wasn’t going to eat, that was her problem. He wasn’t about to spoon-feed her survival.

Beside him, Dogmeat let out a slow yawn, resting her head on his thigh. Her tail thumped softly against the ground, filling the silence, but Cooper’s thoughts wouldn’t settle. The image of Lucy’s bloodied body outside the hotel flashed behind his eyes, tightening something in his chest.

Before he could stop himself, the words were out. “If you’re not gonna eat, at least give it to Dogmeat.”

Lucy looked up, then gave a listless shrug. “Fine.”

Grabbing the jerky, she tossed it aside. Dogmeat lunged forward, tail wagging as she tore into it.

It didn’t help. If anything, the twisting in his gut only got worse.

He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some goddamn sense into her. Then he wanted to tie her to his hip and keep her there the rest of the way to New Vegas.

Dragging a hand down his face, he let out a sharp breath. He was losing it.

Flustered, he fumbled for his inhaler and took a long, steadying hit. When he looked back at her, she was watching him.

Her features had softened, as if some of the weight she’d been carrying that day had finally slipped.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Lucy's focus returned to the fire. 

Dogmeat settled beside him, licking her paws.

He tapped the edge of his inhaler against his palm, fingers drumming out a steady rhythm. His eyes kept drifting back to her, her face still turned toward the flames.

Unable to stand the silence, he asked the first question that came to mind:

“Did you know that ghoul, back at the Observatory?”

“What?” 

“The feral ghoul you shot in the head,” Cooper said, his tone steady. “Did you know ‘em?”

“Oh.” Lucy’s head tilted slightly. Then her face shifted, something coming alive behind her eyes like she’d been startled awake. “Yeah, so that was my mom." 

He blinked, the inhaler slipping slightly from his grip.

She didn’t give him time to respond. She shrugged, her tone detached, almost conversational.

“She, uh… she lived in Shady Sands with that Moldaver woman. Yeah, I guess she left my dad when I was really young and took me and my brother with her. When she wouldn’t come back to the Vault, my dad kidnapped us and then bombed the entire city. So, I’m guessing being that close to the blast is what made her feral.”

She looked at him and shrugged. “But I don’t know. You tell me, I guess.”

He blinked several times, searching for words. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“Well." He cleared his throat. "Being that close to the blast would’ve turned her into dust. She probably got caught in the first wave of radiation. That’ll turn you into a ghoul in no time.”

Lucy nodded slowly, looking away again. 

"But it’s different,” he said before he could stop himself. "You don’t just end up lookin’ worse than me from that much radiation. Your brain’s gone too."

Silence.

He sighed, thumbing the inhaler in his palm. “Look… if it’s any comfort, she was gone long before you pulled the trigger.”

And then more silence.

“I know it’s… hard, seeing someone you love like that,” he continued. “And I know it’s even harder putting them out of their misery. But you did the right thing. Even if it don’t feel like it right now.”

“I don’t really feel anything right now,” she said. “How did you feel when you—” she stopped herself, mouth closing into a frown.

“When I shot Roger?”

She nodded slowly.

“It didn’t feel good.” He paused, turning the words over in his head. He wasn’t used to thinking about things like this. “I guess it sorta felt like any other big, far-away tragedy. You know it’s sad, but… you got other shit to do.”

“But she’s my mom. I should feel something, right? I mean, it’s sort of concerning that I don’t.”

“And what, pray tell, is the concern?”

“That, I don’t know, that I’m an emotionless psychopath? That I’m just like my dad, which I used to think was a good thing.” Her eyes narrowed in his direction. “It’s genetic, you know. Psychopathy.”

He studied her for a second, then shook his head.

“Now, I’d take this with a grain of salt, sweetheart, but I don’t think you’re a psychopath. You just got a little more crazy in you than most. Probably ‘cause of your daddy. Doesn’t help being up here either. Or running with me.”

A giggle slipped out of Lucy, spreading across her face like firelight.

“I did bite your finger off,” she said after a beat. “So maybe you have a point.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, killer.” He bent his—their—trigger finger for show.

The smile on her face slowly fell, her expression twisting. "No…”

"Yup.” He smirked.

She stared at him, mouth opening and closing as if grappling with something unspeakable. And then, her expression changed softened again.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. 

Tilting her head, Lucy placed a hand over her heart. “You kept my finger?”

Cooper’s stomach twisted. He blinked at her, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah?”

Her eyes flicked between his face and hand. Then, as if amused by some private thought, a small smile touched her lips. She pulled her knees up to her chest, gaze settling on the fire.

“You know, I was top of my class in Intermediate Phys Ed,” said Lucy as she tied her hair back. 

Cooper nodded like he knew what that meant. 

“Were you now?”

“I also took Riflery.”

Now that, he understood. 

“Well, Vaultie, today we’re focusing on hand-to-hand combat.”

With her hair out of the way, he could clearly see the bruises on her neck. Since last night, they’d only become darker and angrier. He felt that familiar twist in his stomach but pushed it aside.

With his knife drawn and angled away from her, he stepped forward.

She eyed the blade. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Well, you’re gonna try to stab me, sweetheart.” 

She stared at him, brows furrowed. Then, without another word, she took the knife from him. As she carefully examined it, Cooper’s thoughts drifted.

All night, he’d replayed what happened in Primm, trying to pinpoint their mistakes. He should have never led them inside, and she should have been more aware of her surroundings. Sure, this was their first ambush, but he’d expect her to know how to fight back. He knew she could. She’d fought him before, and she’d cleared that Super-Duper Mart. Whatever happened yesterday was a fluke, and a learning lesson for them both.

“Good girl,” he said, stepping back several paces. “Now, I want you to really try.”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting her grip.

Sensing her hesitation, he raised his arms out. “Right now, I just wanna get a feel for your instincts. How’d you go about attacking me?”

She kicked some loose dirt around, taking a moment to think. He could always tell when the wheels were turning in that head of hers. When she looked back up, her eyes locked onto his. 

Silently, he counted to three in his head. On cue, she lunged—Cooper immediately blocked her attack, curling his arm around her waist before dropping them both to the ground. Catching his breath, he tugged her closer, just for show. “See, the problem is that you’re very predictable, darlin’.”

She exhaled sharply before they untangled themselves. He watched the way her jaw clenched as she adjusted her grip on the knife. That killer instinct was still there. He just needed to bring it out.

She shook her bangs from her face and attacked again, faster.

He dodged her. Again. Only this time, he’d created enough space between them to slam his shoulder into hers.

Lucy fell to the ground with a yelp, landing flat on her back.

“When you said Phys Ed, is that like dodgeball class or something? Table tennis?” he asked while towering over her.

She was back on her feet in seconds, rolling out her shoulder, eyes fixed on him. Then, just as Cooper was about to open his mouth, she struck.

Not directly, though. She feinted left, drew his attention, and pivoted right, going straight for his ribs.

It was fast, but Cooper was quicker, wrapping his hand around her wrist before the blade could make contact.

He didn’t realize how close they were until he caught the faint scratches along her cheek. The same cheek that had been bright red a couple of days ago, now toned down but still freckly.

He loosened his grip, but neither of them pulled away.

For a moment, it felt like a scene straight out of one of his old movies—until, inevitably, everything went sideways.

Her knee slammed into his crotch.

“Fuck!”

Cooper hit the ground like a sack of bricks. A sharp wheeze cut through his teeth as he doubled over, forehead nearly hitting the dirt. For a full five seconds, all he could do was blink and try to breathe.

When he finally looked up, Lucy was standing over him, arms crossed. Not a hint of remorse on her face. 

That wasn't very Golden Rule of her, he thought, dragging himself upright.

“While I’m impressed that you know how to play dirty,” he said with a wheeze. “That’s only effective fifty percent of the time.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, he went straight for her middle, tackling her to the ground. She screamed, and kicked, but just like the raider he used his weight to pin her in place.

Cooper felt himself slowly detach from the scene as his hands went for her throat. This was a learning lesson. This wasn’t personal. He wasn’t even applying that much pressure. He just wanted to take her back to Primm, to that moment, and show her what could be done with the proper tools.

He glanced over and noticed she hadn’t lost her grip on the knife.

Good. Jaw clenched, he pressed down a little harder.

Seconds passed as Lucy struggled beneath him. He could see the frustration building on her face. She bared her teeth, eyes locking onto his.

And then it happened.

The knife sank into his side.

Cooper let go instantly. A knee to the groin was more painful than this, but it still took him by surprise.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Just panting. Staring.

He pulled the knife out with practiced ease. A thin smear of blood painted the blade, which he wiped against his thigh. When he finished, he looked down.

Lucy was already watching him, wide-eyed and uncertain.

“You did good, killer,” Cooper said as he lifted himself off of her.

She sat up slowly, hand drifting to her throat

“I can’t—” she paused, swallowing hard. “I stabbed you.”

Cooper dropped to his haunches. His eyes went to her throat, then to her face. The panic was fading, but her hand still hadn’t moved.

He sighed.

It worked. That was the important part. No matter how it made them feel.

“Yeah, that was sorta the point.”

When she didn’t respond, he handed her the knife. “Here.”

Her skin was warm and even softer than he remembered.

They stayed like that, her hand over his, until he managed to say, “Keep it. For next time.”

She nodded but then let the knife drop to the ground. His breath hitched as she turned his hand over, knowing exactly what she was looking at.

Lucy studied their fused skin, head tilting slightly. Her necrotized finger traced the seam where his body ended and hers began. Then, as if deciding something, she nodded to herself.

"I thought it would look weirder up close."

Chapter Text

They were taking a "shortcut," but Lucy failed to see how it would save them any time. South of Primm, along the 95, was Legion territory—at least, it had been a few centuries ago. The Ghoul didn’t want to risk running into them, and when Lucy asked why, he wouldn’t say. She made a mental note to ask again later.

Instead of following the highway, they veered southeast, cutting through even greater unknowns. The terrain was rough. Her stamina had improved since Los Angeles, but the journey was still grueling. By sunset, exhaustion had settled deep in her bones.

When they stumbled upon the pre-war trailer park, she nearly cried from relief. Even better, the train tracks running alongside it belonged to the Union Pacific Railroad. 

"This is so cool! I had just taught a unit on the Transcontinental Railroad.”

The Ghoul stayed quiet, chewing on something as he waited for her. She insisted they stop—just for a second—so she could take a closer look. For no reason other than curiosity, Lucy crouched and ran her fingers along the rusted tracks, careful of any sharp edges. There was something deeply satisfying about touching things that someone else had, centuries ago. Even after a month on the surface, the novelty hadn’t worn off.

"You done?"

Straightening, Lucy wiped her hands on her thighs.

"Yup," she said with a smile.

Across from the railway, the trailer park was in ruins. Calling it "rundown" would be an understatement. Lucy wasn’t sure it was even safe to stay there overnight—not just because of raiders, but because the roofs looked ready to cave in.

"Used to be a Ranger station for the NCR,” said the Ghoul. 

“Wait, did you know it was here?”

“Honestly, Vaultie? Completely forgot it existed.” 

Feeling lucky, they decided to check it out. Four trailers and a shed would take about about twenty minutes to loot, and if the Ghoul forgot it existed, odds were raiders did too. 

“Alright, you and Dogmeat can take the two on the right. I’ll check everything else.” 

“Okey-dokey.”

Despite how it looked on the outside, the first trailer she entered was surprisingly intact. Dust and sand coated most surfaces, but nothing had been ransacked or broken—everything remained where it should be, as it should be. The next trailer had the same furniture and layout, just with more dust. The NCR clearly had a strong presence in the Mojave, and a strict sense of order to match.

Rummaging through the drawers, she pocketed a handful of caps and pulled out a plastic comb. It wasn’t a boar bristle brush, but most of its teeth were unbroken, and that was good enough to untangle her hair. She considered it an excellent find.

As she sifted through a file cabinet, a loud crash sounded from outside. Probably just the Ghoul looting. She ignored it until it happened again—louder this time—followed by an unmistakable hiss.

Her stomach dropped.

Dogmeat was already at the door, pawing and whining to be let out. Lucy sprang into action, assuming he’d found a radscorpion. She’d seen her first one back in California, near the Nevada border. Small and easy to kill. Liked to hiss at enemies. Nothing to worry about.

But when she burst outside, the Ghoul was scrambling for his gun, his hand empty, the weapon knocked out of reach.

Across from him, a massive radscorpion loomed, its stinger poised to strike.

Lucy didn’t hesitate. She raised her pistol and fired. Again. And again. Until it dropped.

The Ghoul whooped, clapping his hands. "Goddamn, Vaultie! Those riflery classes paid off, huh?"

Lucy’s pulse pounded in her ears. She tried to smile at him, but couldn’t.

All she could focus on was how good it had felt to pull the trigger. The sharp recoil. The satisfying crunch of bullets tearing through the creature’s exoskeleton. 

She raised her gun and fired again. Stepped closer. Fired.

She kept shooting, even after it was dead.

The Ghoul had gone silent. The only sound was the deafening crack of each shot as Lucy emptied her magazine.

She didn’t care if it was wasteful.

It felt good.

Panting from adrenaline, Lucy reloaded her gun just as she’d been taught in Vault 33. 

When she turned back, the Ghoul was still on the ground, watching her, his expression unreadable. As usual.

“Find anything neat?” she asked, holstering her gun.  

It wasn’t worth dwelling on, whatever he was thinking.

The Ghoul spit off to the side before standing up. 

He adjusted his satchel and shrugged. “Dinner, I guess.” 

Before the sun set, they got to work roasting the radscorpion over a small fire. Thanks to its freakish size, there was plenty of meat to go around—enough for dinner and even leftovers for breakfast.

“It was holed up in that one,” the Ghoul said, pointing to one of the trailers. “Charged at me before I could even open the front door. Damn bugs.”

Lucy noticed the way he shuddered, and a small smile crept onto her face. “Do you hate bugs?”

“I don’t like ‘em, if that’s what you’re asking. Who the fuck likes bugs?”

“Norm,” she said, as if he’d know who that was. “My brother.”

She took another bite of her radscorpion kebab, actually enjoying the taste for once, and then swallowed.

“He loves bugs. He’s read every entomology and arachnology textbook in our Vault. It’s basically the only thing he likes reading about.”

The Ghoul threw his stick-skewer into the fire and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You two close?”

Lucy nodded, finishing off her last piece. “Yeah. We are.”

Not wanting to dwell on Norm, she brought the conversation back to her original question. “So, what’s the deal with you and bugs?”

The Ghoul shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “I told you, I don’t like ‘em. That’s all.”

“Is that why you froze back there?”

When he looked up from the fire, his eyes were steely, narrowed into slits. A month ago, that might’ve terrified her. But now? All she could do was laugh. 

“It is, huh?” she goaded, taking pleasure in the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

It was wrong to push his buttons, Lucy knew that, but the urge was just too strong.

 “First of all, I didn’t freeze. The damn thing surprised me—”

“Oh, did it?” she cut in. “I wonder what that’s like. Maybe you should be more aware of your surroundings next time.” She tossed her skewer into the flames. Even though she’d tried to keep her tone steady, it ended up pitching higher and higher as she spoke. 

The Ghoul scoffed. “I ain’t talking to you when you’re being childish.”

“I’m not! I’m just looking out for you.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then tossed some bits of exoskeleton into the fire. 

“Ain’t that sweet,” he said, voice low and gravely. 

Lucy ignored the strange swoosh in her belly and rolled her eyes. She was being anything but sweet. 

If Betty or Steph were here, what would they think about her behavior tonight? 

“Now, did I hear you correctly, by the train tracks? You said something about teaching.” 

“Oh, yeah. I did,” Lucy said with a nod. “I used to be a teacher. A history teacher.” 

He was changing the subject, but she didn’t mind. She just added her question about bugs to the long list of things she wanted to ask him. 

As the Ghoul’s eyes widened, she couldn’t help but notice how they sparkled in the firelight. “Well, how ‘bout that. What grade?” 

“Elementary. K through sixth,” she said. Her mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow her own saliva. 

Though his face had softened, his eyes maintained their intensity. Why was he looking at her like that? 

Did he always look at her like that?

“Miss. MacLean, has a nice ring to it. Or are you a Mrs.?” 

“Funny you should ask,” Lucy said with an uncomfortable laugh. “I was a Mrs. for, like, two hours. And then my husband tried to kill me. Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t even remember his last name.” 

The Ghoul continued to stare at her, blinking, clearly taken aback by her outburst.

“Gosh, I’m such a blabber mouth. I can start from the beginning—”

“Please do,” he cut in. 

“Okay. So, the night my dad was kidnapped by Moldaver also happened to be my wedding night. I was selected for my Vault’s Triennial Trade with Vault 32—it’s part of our repopulation efforts. Anyway, long story short, I get married and my husband turns out to be a raider, so he stabs me, and then Vault 32 attacks all of us, because turns out they’re also raiders, a lot of people die, and then they left with my dad.”

The Ghoul’s mouth hung wide open as the fire crackled between them. 

“Anyway, why did my dad pick up your wife’s dry cleaning? And also what is that?” Lucy asked in an attempt to move on from the topic of her violent, short-lived marriage. 

After an uncomfortably long bout of silence, the Ghoul said, with nothing but sheer wonderment, “You are something else, Lucy MacLean.”

Not sure how to take that, she smiled politely and waited. She could endure hours more of this—as long as she didn’t have to talk about herself.

Just as she thought the silence would never end, the Ghoul cleared his throat. 

“Dry cleaning is just a fancy way to wash your clothes. You ever owned a wool sweater?”

Lucy shook her head. 

“Of course you didn’t—well, wool shrinks if you wash it in water. So, how do you clean it? You can take it to a dry cleaner. Used to be thousands of ‘em in LA. The name ‘drying cleaning’ is literal. They don’t use water.”

“So, my dad was a dry cleaner?” she asked, even more confused than before. 

“No, your daddy was an assistant. My wife’s assistant. He would get paid to pick up her dry cleaning. That was his Job.” 

Lucy blinked as she tried to process what she’d heard. Her father—Hank MacLean, former Overseer of Vault 33—worked for the Ghoul’s wife?

The Ghoul had a wife?

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

“Of course you don’t because it’s fucking insane. Listen, sweetheart, I know you got a lot of questions right now. I can literally see you thinking about them,” he said with a chuckle, glancing up at her forehead. “But nothing I say is gonna be enough.”

The Ghoul can laugh? 

“That’s why we’re gonna find him, and we’re gonna get you your answers and then some. But until then, ask me about anything else.”

Without thinking, Lucy blurted, "What’s your name?"

The Ghoul stilled. It was barely noticeable, but she caught it—his shoulders tensed, his jaw went tight. 

Then, with a heavy sigh, he said, “Cooper.”

Chapter Text

Cooper waited outside Lucy’s trailer, eager to start the day. He shifted his weight and exhaled sharply, wondering what was taking her so long. She was usually up with the sun. 

Maybe she was still fussing with that comb she’d found yesterday. He worked his jaw, thankful for once to be bald, then turned his head to the side and spat.

Last night kept replaying in his head. He hadn’t expected to learn so much about her, and yet, it still didn’t feel like enough. 

His curiosity was piqued when she mentioned her marriage—if it could even be called that. She’d shocked him before, more than once. But nothing prepared him for the way she described her wedding night.

Aside from that, though, her life seemed relatively normal. All things considered. 

And, of course, she was a history teacher. He could picture her at the front of a classroom—Miss MacLean written on the chalkboard. It suited her.

He could see her as so many things. But here she was instead, more waste for the Wasteland to collect. 

“Cooper?”

He jumped at the sound of Lucy’s voice. Except for last night, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called him by his real name.

“Ready?” she asked, stepping out of the trailer with Dogmeat.

“I’ve been ready,” he muttered. “What took you so long?”

"Nothing." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "So… where are we headed?"

He looked at her, trying to pinpoint what had changed. Maybe it wasn’t her hair.

“Novac,” he said, already turning toward the road.

The first hour of their trek passed in comfortable silence. Novac was a pre-war town off the 95, known for its landmark Dinky the T-Rex statue. Cooper had been there a couple of times in his past life. It wasn’t much, by pre-war standards, but he knew Lucy would appreciate its dedication to a theme.

Thankfully, he had the foresight to ask about Novac when they were in Goodsprings. Doc Mitchell confirmed it still existed, dinosaur statues and all. Even gave him the name of the town doctor in case they needed more supplies. At the rate he’d been puffing on his inhaler, he definitely needed more chems. And water—they definitely needed more clean water.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed it—Lucy lagged behind him, Dogmeat trotting at her side, hat pulled low to keep the sun out of her eyes. Her steps were slower and more hesitant than before.

When their eyes met, she gave him a weak wave.

He squinted, watching her for a beat before turning away.

“Fuckin’ Vaultie…” he muttered under his breath.

Gradually, the distance between them grew larger.

Lucy was slow, sure, but not like this. He found himself easing up until she was right behind him again.

At least two hours had passed now, and she still hadn’t said a word.

“You good?” he finally asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yup.”

She was lying. He didn’t have to look at her to know that.

Was it something he said last night? He’d thought he’d been nice. Courteous, even. So what the hell was her problem?

“Yeah? You’re not gonna interrogate me?”

She didn’t laugh.

“I forgot to ask,” he continued anyway, preferring whatever this was to the silence. “What’s the, uh, age difference? Between you and your brother.”

“Three years. I’m the oldest.”

That explained it. That explained a lot of it.

“Color me surprised,” he said, exaggerating his southern drawl. She always seemed to respond better when he laid it on thick. “So, what else did Miss MacLean get up to in that vault? What’d you do for fun?”

“A lot of… things.” She sounded off, out of breath. “Pipe fitting, gymnastics… science club, chess club… bingo, fencing team C.”

Her bangs stuck to her forehead. Her hat didn’t seem to be helping anymore. Had they really been walking that long? Normally, she didn’t start getting tired until hour five or six.

“Let’s get off here for a sec, I need to piss.”

As he went to find a more private spot, he checked on her one more time.

She was sitting on the ground, knees up, sipping from her canteen.

According to her Pip-Boy, they were only fifteen minutes away from Novac. They were close. She’d be fine.

Once they were back on the road, he finally worked up the nerve to ask something he’d been sitting on for a while. “Did you get to watch any movies down there?”

Her face lit up—just for a second. But he caught it, and he'd hold onto it as long as he needed to.

“Yeah, my dad loved movies. Mostly westerns.”

His stomach churned. He’d expected that answer, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

After the Observatory, when they stopped for the night, he’d waited for her to say something about "Feo, fuerte y formal." When she didn’t, he let himself hope—naively, stupidly—that would be the end of it.

“It wasn’t a MacLean family movie night if we weren’t watching a Cooper Howard picture.”

And there it was. The confirmation he’d been waiting for and dreading the most. 

Hearing her say Cooper Howard hit him square in the gut. Hard. Just like he knew it would.

“I had to beg him to watch Gone With the Wind for my sixteenth birthday.” She shook her head. “He said it was ‘too inappropriate’ for a young lady. And then, wouldn’t you know, the holotape stopped working halfway through. Wanna guess what we watched instead?”

His throat tightened. Even if he wanted to speak, nothing would come out. 

“A Man and His Dog.” She scoffed. “A Man and His Freaking Dog. On my birthday.”

It was beginning to dawn on him that he’d just opened a can of worms. Bracing himself, he took a puff from his inhaler.

“Apparently, Rhett Butler saying the word ‘damn’ was too inappropriate, but Cooper Howard shooting someone in the face wasn’t.”

She took in a deep, shaky breath.

“Oh, and it didn’t stop there.”

He had a feeling it wasn’t going to. 

“There was the Cooper Howard shrine. Yes, shrine. Just imagine—Cooper Howard posters. Cooper Howard action figures. Cooper Howard lunchboxes. Cooper Howard trading cards.”

This was hell.

“And, of course, his most prized possession—an autographed headshot from 2077.”

At some point, his legs had stopped moving. Or maybe they both stopped at the same time.

He wasn’t sure.

She looked ghostly pale.

And yet, he still found it difficult to look away.

As perverse as it was to admit, he kind of wanted to hear her say his name again.

“Lucy,” he said, having no idea where he was going with this. “Lucy, there’s something I—”

And then it happened.

She threw up all over his shoes. 

“Radscorpion.” The word came out of his mouth just as easily as it came out of Lucy. Undigested chunks of the critter slid off his boot, blending into the dirt. He sighed, lifting one foot, then the other, giving them each a sharp shake. 

He should have known eating all that irradiated meat would make her sick. 

“Fudge,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry about that.” 

Ignoring her, he placed a steadying hand on her arm. Then, hunching down to her level, he met her bleary-eyed gaze. “You think you can make it another ten minutes to town?" 

She gagged, but nodded anyway, flashing him a forced smile.  

Wanting to believe her, they slowly began walking again. Everything was fine until she tripped over herself, nearly falling on her face.

Taking a moment to weigh their options, he decided she was better off using the RadAway once they had a room at the motel.

So, without asking for permission, he scooped her into his arms and continued down the 95 as quickly as he could. 

They arrived ten minutes later. He didn’t even stop to look at Dinky and made a beeline for the infamous Dino Dee-lite.

“Alright, killer, stay awake for me now. If you fall asleep, you won’t be able to meet Dinky the T-Rex.” 

To his surprise, that seemed to bring some life back into her. 

"Dinky who?" she mumbled, her words slurred.

"The T-Rex."

"What?" Her voice pitched higher with sudden panic, despite being completely out of it. "There's a dinosaur?"

He let that thought stew as they crossed into the motel, figuring the threat of a dinosaur attack might be enough to keep her awake.

The front desk woman looked up from her book, gasped, and jumped to her feet. 

“Oh god, has she been shot?”

“I’ve been shot?” Lucy repeated, blinking sluggishly as if just now realizing it might be a possibility.

“No, no one’s been shot,” Cooper cut in sharply, not wanting to incite more panic. “Radiation poisoning. We need a room.”

The woman wasted no time leading them to a room on the second floor. It was almost exactly like how he remembered—dingy and outdated, barely holding itself together. But right now, it felt like the Ritz Carlton. 

“Hundred caps a night. You can pay me once you're all settled in.” She paused at the door. “Oh, and there is a doctor in town if you need anything.” 

Right. Doc’s associate. 

Once she was gone, he set Lucy on the bed, propping her head up with a pillow. Then, he got to work, hooking her arms up to two bags of RadAway. Satisfied with the setup, he brushed her bangs aside. Her skin was feverishly warm.

"Lucy?"

She stirred but didn’t say anything. He sighed when he realized he hadn’t put her under the covers. Slipping off his duster, he draped it over her instead.

"Listen, sweetheart, you let me know if you get too warm or too cold.”

He didn’t expect a response. Still, he tucked the edges of the coat snugly around her.

There was a lumpy old couch in the corner of the room. He chose the side with fewer stains, removed his hat, and let out a shaky breath.

By the door, Dogmeat shuffled in place, eyes darting between him and Lucy before making her decision. She hopped onto the bed, careful, curling up beside Lucy’s feet. He didn’t blame her.

Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out a half-empty vial and held it up to the window, watching the air bubble move sluggishly through the golden liquid. He’d have to stop by Dr. Casey’s when Lucy woke up.

For a brief moment, his eyes drifted back to Lucy then to her Pip-Boy. It didn’t go off last night, when they cooked the radscorpion. So much for that rad meter actually working.

But he didn’t want to think about Vault-Tec, so he downed the vial like a shot. Far from his preferred method, but his inhaler was still in the duster, and there was no way in hell he was getting up now.

The chems hit fast, burning down his throat, clearing the gunk from his lungs. All he had to do was sit back and wait for the after-buzz to kick in.

Except it never did. He was asleep before it could hit.

Chapter Text

Cooper sat motionless on the couch, upright with his head tilted back, mouth parted, eyes closed. 

He was eerily still. 

Lucy slid into his coat, thankful for the added layer of warmth. She was thankful for a lot of things, actually. 

Mostly, the ghoul sitting across from her—Cooper. From what she could remember, he was the one who brought her here, to the motel, and administered the RadAway. He even tucked her in with the very coat she wore now. The one keeping her from shivering because the Mojave was surprisingly cold at night. 

Speaking of, she checked her Pip-Boy for the time. 7:48 PM. Gosh, she’d been asleep all day. 

And Cooper… had he been asleep for that long too? 

Gnawing her bottom lip until it bled, Lucy thought back to all the times she’d woken him up just from breathing too loudly. 

Maybe he was really tired.

She moved forward slowly, unsure of her surroundings and of his current state of consciousness. The last thing she wanted was to spook him.

His legs had fallen open enough to leave a gap—the perfect space to step into if she wanted to be sure.

“Sir?” she whispered. 

If he was breathing, it was too shallow for her to notice. Leaning in closer, she strained to see the rise and fall of his chest in the darkness. 

With a soft sigh, she switched on her Pip-Boy’s flashlight and slowly raised her arm, casting a green glow over his face. 

“That’s better,” she murmured.

Under the light, he looked like a clay sculpture—still wet enough to mold, soft but lumpy and unrefined. 

The urge to touch his face was surprisingly strong. 

She shook her head, dismissing the thought, and shifted her gaze to the hole where his nose should have been. 

“Huh.” His septum looked like a toothpick. She wondered how he even smelled anything.

Maybe if he had nostrils, she would have noticed the quick inhale before his eyes snapped open. 

In an instant, he caught her elbow mid-air. She shrieked, her body tensing, but she didn’t pull away. Struggling would only make things worse.

His eyes were wide and wild, pupils blown. He stared at her, unseeing, for a long, terrifying moment. 

Then, his brow furrowed, and the wildness began to fade, replaced by a flicker of recognition. 

Finally, he released his grip. 

“Jesus-fucking-christ, Lucy!”

Dogmeat whimpered from the bed as Lucy gasped—she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath. 

“Sorry!” She tried to step back but his knees held her firmly in place. 

He looked at her, then looked down at their legs, and immediately shoved her away. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

“No, I,” she paused, wringing her shaky hands. “I thought maybe you were… dead?” 

“Dead? What—are you serious?”

She nodded, unable to look him in the eyes. 

Fabric rustled, followed by the soft click of a switch. Warm light spilled into the corner of the room as the lamp flickered on. Lucy turned off her Pip-Boy, glancing up to find Cooper staring at her from the couch.

Her eyes flicked from one side to the other, then she touched her face nervously. “What?”

He was looking at her body. 

It took her a second, but eventually she understood. “Oh! Sorry, here—” she moved to take his coat off when his voice cut in.

“No, keep it.” He avoided her gaze, staring at a spot on the carpet as he cleared his throat. “If you’re cold.”

“Okay,” she heard herself say before thinking it through. Truth be told, she wasn’t ready to give it back yet.

She shifted her weight, arms tightening around herself. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally: “So, what the heck happened?”

He opened his mouth, sighed, then shook his head. “I think it was the radscorpion from last night. Made you sick.”

That made sense. Her stomach had been in shambles all morning, but she tried to brush it off, figuring the discomfort was from overeating rather than rad poisoning.

“Did I pass out again?”

His forehead wrinkled in surprise. “Again?”

“Yeah.” Shoot. She didn’t mean to bring this up. “I got sick after drinking the… pee water.” 

“Pee water?” he asked, almost sounding amused.

Lucy hesitated. She wanted to say, Yes, the pee water I was forced to drink because you wouldn’t share your canteen with me. But resentment wasn’t going to get them to New Vegas any faster. 

She just nodded instead. 

“Never mind. Anyway, thanks for helping me out with the RadAway. I feel much better.” And she did until her stomach growled. 

Cooper held her gaze a moment longer, then stood, stretching his long, creaky limbs. The bottom of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of tan skin. 

“You feeling good enough to find some food for tonight?”

When their eyes met again, his look was sharp, knowing, like he’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t. And maybe he had. Staring was rude, after all.

“Hmm?” 

“Food, Lucy. Are you hungry?” 

“Oh, right. Sorry. I’m starving.”

Apparently, Novac turned into a ghost town after five o’clock. The only establishment besides the Dino Dee-lite Motel was the Dino Bite Gift Shop, which—to Lucy’s disappointment—was closed.

Crystal, the motel manager, was kind enough to sell them two packets of peanuts and a single bottle of Nuka-Cola to share. Cooper was about to refuse when Lucy stepped in, insisting on paying for it all.

Twelve caps later, they were back in their room, eating in companionable silence. Lucy perched on the edge of the bed while Cooper sat back on the couch. On the floor beside him, Dogmeat tore into a radroach she’d dragged in from outside.

The Nuka-Cola was room temperature and flat, but it was the most delicious thing Lucy had tasted since leaving Vault 4. 

The sugar alone left her feeling rejuvenated and giddy. She had no idea how she’d fall asleep later.

“Are you sure you don’t even want a sip?”

Cooper grunted in annoyance and shook his head, funneling the bag of peanuts into his mouth.

Well, she wasn’t about to beg him.

After some time, when all three had finished eating, Lucy spoke up again. 

“Must’ve been weird having the same name as him, huh?” 

Cooper looked up from the knife he was sharpening. He always had to be doing something with his hands. 

“Who?”

“Cooper Howard.”  

His features hardened into a glare. Lucy furrowed her brow right back—what the heck was his problem? 

“Geez, was there anything you did like from back then?”

That did it. Cooper leaned forward from the couch, pointing his knife at her. 

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you don’t like Marty Robbins or Johnny Cash and you don’t like Cooper Howard. What do you like?” she asked, keeping her tone light. 

He exhaled sharply and sat back with a thunk, staring up at the ceiling. “I never said I didn’t like Johnny Cash.”

A flutter of excitement swelled in her belly. Smiling, Lucy cleared her throat. “You’re right. Sorry about that.”

She needed to calm down. Otherwise, he’d spook again. 

“What’s your favorite song of his?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“'So Doggone Lonesome.'”

“No way—I love that one!” 

So much for playing it cool. He was actually responding to her without glares, threats, or insults. Gosh, she should pass out more often.

“Can I ask you something?”

Lucy blinked, taking a moment to process what he’d said before nodding. “Of course.”

He was focused on his knife again, thumbing the blade in a way that should’ve cut him but didn’t. 

“Why don’t you like Cooper Howard?” he eventually asked.

“I don’t not like him. He was just… inescapable. It wasn’t a MacLean family movie night without a Cooper Howard picture…” Her voice trailed as she realized she’d repeated herself from earlier that day. 

“Did you ever get to finish Gone With the Wind?” 

She blinked, repeating his question over in her head before remembering what else she’d said that morning. 

“No.” Even her tone had changed. She’d gone from bubbly to dreary in less than sixty seconds. 

Maybe she actually did dislike Cooper Howard. 

He stared at her for a long while, lips pursed in thought. The dim lighting softened his features more than her Pip-Boy ever had. If he’d looked anything like this before the radiation, he must have been handsome. 

Feeling her face start to warm, she cleared her throat to break the silence before asking, “Do you think we’ll have time to check out the gift shop?”

A small smile spread across his face—he definitely used to be handsome. 

“You think I dragged you all the way here just to skip out on Dinky the T-Rex?”

Hearing him say the dinosaur’s name again made her grin. “Good, because I want to get something to remember him by.”

“Alright, well, we’ll have to get our shopping done early so we can get to the next settlement before sunset.”

She nodded, checking her Pip-Boy for the time. It was already midnight.

“We better hit the hay then,” she said, gesturing to her arm.

Cooper smirked, tipping his hat lower. “Copy that, Vaultie.”

Several hours later, Lucy tossed and turned, wide awake. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about Cooper. 

The more she learned about him, the more questions she had. It didn’t help that he seemed to be warming to her.

Well, maybe. When he wasn’t being ghoulish, he was actually pleasant to be around.

As she sat up to fluff her pillow, a deafening boom rattled the two-story motel. Dogmeat raised her head from beside Lucy’s feet with a whimper. Across the room, Cooper mumbled something incoherent.

Without thinking, Lucy grabbed her Pip-Boy and got up. She marched toward the window and pulled back the curtain. The panes were too dirty to see through, but the sky outside had an eerie green tint.

At first, she thought it was the grime. Then her Pip-Boy crackled to life.

Curious, she opened the door and yelped as wind and wet air rushed in. Rain hit her face in sharp, stinging pellets. She gasped, coughing as the metallic-tasting water coated her tongue. Worse, the wind fought back, making it nearly impossible to close the door.

She started to call for help when Cooper appeared at her side, shoving the door shut with a loud smack. The sudden silence was quickly filled by Dogmeat’s barking.

“What—”

“Radstorm,” he said, panting.

Lucy wiped the wetness from her face with the back of her hand. The Pip-Boy’s crackling was hard to ignore, but the stinging sensation prickling her skin was worse.

Then she noticed the front of her vault suit—soaked through with irradiated rain. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her, but it almost felt like the stinging was cutting through the fabric.

“You might want to change until that thing is dry.”

She lifted her head to meet his gaze.

Vault suits blocked radiation.

“Or don’t,” he said. “You won’t look like me overnight if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re just gonna be really uncomfortable.”

“That’s not what I—" She scowled. "My vault suit is supposed to protect me against radiation.”

“Yeah," he said. "I’m sure it was supposed to.”

She didn’t need him to say anything else.

Defeated, she reached for her zipper. Just as she started to pull it down, Cooper spoke again.

“What?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he turned toward the wall.

She stared at him—what was the big deal?

“I’m not taking everything off, jeez,” she muttered, peeling the damp leather down her sticky legs.

Since when was he such a prude? Probably a pre-war thing, she thought, finding it oddly endearing.

Relief was instant, but it didn’t last long. He was right. Vault-Tec was supposed to do a lot of things. Her vault suit was no different.

Not wanting to dwell on it, she brushed past him and draped her vault suit over the far end of the couch. When she turned back, his eyes were on her—sharp, heavy-lidded, unreadable.

Heat crept up her neck, almost making her forget how cold she was. The air between them felt just as heavy as it did outside.

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, he shrugged off his coat and handed it to her.

She took it without a word. The weight of it settled on her shoulders, warm and familiar.

By the time she looked back, he was already on the couch, hat pulled low over his face.