Archive of Our Own

Mojave Wasteland, 3:48 PM

The overwhelming silence of the surface still unnerved Lucy.  

Vault 33 had never been silent. 

Lying in bed at night, residents were lulled to sleep by machines gently whirring beyond the walls of every bedroom. The ceiling groaned as it strained under the weight of tonnes of dirt. Sometimes you could make out a lighthearted spat from the unit next door about whose turn it was to load the dishwasher. Or a cruel spat from across the hall, the sound of an open hand slap barely muffled by the walls. 

Each unit had been sold as completely soundproof. They weren’t, but Vault-Tec couldn’t be faulted for such a white lie. Not when their attention had gone to more important things. Like supplying them with air to breathe and water to drink.

The common areas hadn’t received the same marketing efforts. They were places where like-minded people met, worked, and played. A little noise was to be expected. Vault-Tec surely hadn’t anticipated the volume at which people could do those things. From dawn to dusk every corner of the vault buzzed with the vibrations of activity. People working as one, their movements exaggerated through shared goals. 

Lucy’s classroom was a powder keg of chairs scraping against tile, barely concealed whispers, and conspiratorial giggles. Paper being passed out, stacked, balled up, and thrown through the air. 

When work and school finished, rooms filled with the sound of utensils scraping against plates, chewing, laughter. Relentless chatter. 

The chatter never stopped; it was as constant as the machines. 

Lucy came by it honestly.

After finding herself out in the open for the first time, Lucy had looked up—peering as close to the sun as she dared—and came face to face with the large, silent expanse of the afternoon sky. 

Her sun had hummed. 

While the surface offered a few novelties she could admit her vault lacked, the silence had been a wholly new and unwelcomed experience. She didn’t know her heartbeat was that loud.

If Lucy focused, she could hear shifting sand underfoot with each of Cooper and Dogmeat’s steps. Curious sniffing when the dog found something of note. Sometimes hollow wind whistling through a rusty bullet hole in a broken-down vehicle.

Unable to trap each precious sound between four walls and an industrious ceiling, they disappeared off into the air as quickly as they appeared. 

Thuh-thump, thuh-thump, thuh-thump.

Lucy desperately wanted to fill the silence with words—anything to drown out the sound of her heart—but she and Cooper weren’t speaking.

Not for a lack of trying on her part. But, Cooper was…difficult. Complex? 

Stubborn. 

She looked down to the Pip-Boy strapped her to wrist. Like Cooper, it was right there yet just out of reach. The last time she tried to play the radio, Cooper threatened to smash it under the heel of his boot. It kept him from hearing potential ambushes, supposedly. More likely, it was just too hard to keep the mask of continual irritation from cracking when trying not to tap a toe to the beat. Regardless, she believed him and kept any musical functions switched off.

They walked in silence alongside a wooden fence, the building behind it little more than support beams on foundation.

Lucy ran her fingers along the wood, desperate for any level of auditory reaction. Her ears perked up when they brushed over the corner of a sun-bleached piece of paper tacked to the fence. The crunch of the paper being bent over itself was delicious. 

She bounced on the balls of her feet, adding the sound of earth grinding underfoot to the crunch. It was practically music. 

Lucy reached for the next piece of paper and it tore under her touch, bending to follow the pressure of her fingertips. Lifting her hand, the torn strip of paper bounced back to try and settle just above where it had been ripped free. That was when Lucy finally took notice of what the pieces of paper were advertising. Bounties, and lots of them. 

She looked down the line of the fence, it was plastered with posters. All proclaiming the same thing, “Wanted: Dead or Alive.” 

To Lucy’s right, she heard a small, distinctive click. There wasn't any time to hide, only to brace herself. 

A gunshot hit the fence just beyond Lucy’s reach. Small particles of wood went flying and beads of blood dotted her arms, thrown hastily in front of her face. 

When she was certain another shot wasn't coming, Lucy lowered her arms. Cooper stood a few feet away, the barrel of his shotgun smoking. He emptied the spent shell onto the ground at his feet and turned away without a second glance. 

Inches from where her fingers had been, the edges of a poster smoldered around a rough hole punched through brittle wood. While Cooper’s shot had managed to obscure the lower jaw of the ghoul on the poster, Lucy would know those eyes anywhere. 

If anything, Cooper had made his portrait even more accurate by adding the embers that so often hung suspended in his stare.

Lucy wondered if he was wanted alive. 

Moreso, she wondered if she could waste another bullet, if only to hear it strike the fence line again. 

She added another missive to the Wasteland’s rulebook: don’t patronize novelty-shaped stores. 

Mojave Wasteland, 09:23 AM

Novac was unlike any settlement Lucy could have pictured.

What purpose could a giant replica of a long-dead reptile possibly have? Her vault didn't have enough suitable marriage candidates, meanwhile, people up on the surface were so unbothered by such issues they put their finite time into things that had no practical value.  

It was entirely possible the war was the result of sheer boredom, having already built all the tacky roadside attractions they could think of. 

No, she reminded herself firmly. The war had been caused by people like her father. People willing to put themselves above the rest. 

Don't think about that. Think of the silly dinosaur. 

Cooper had warned her that things got a little…extravagant the closer you got to New Vegas. Lucy didn't know how you got much more extravagant than a thirty-foot T-rex. 

She also pretended had been his choice of words, and not the needlessly rude metaphor about breasts on animals that didn’t need them.

Giant eye-sore aside, the rest of the town seemed relatively normal. Though that owed largely to the fact that Lucy had long since readjusted her goalpost for what constituted normal. Like any hub, it bustled with energy, which set Lucy at ease and caused Cooper to tighten up. Dogmeat, equally wary of crowds, stayed close to his side, letting Lucy fall behind to try and catch a peak at everything. 

They needed ammunition and RadAway. One more than the other. If you spoke to Cooper, it was bullets. To Lucy, it was the clear bags of orange liquid that burned going into your veins, but not as badly as radiation poisoning did. 

Though the burning was nothing compared to the feeling of Cooper’s weight pinning her down.

A strange, lumpy purple fruit caught Lucy’s eye. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch the sharp points of its bright yellow leaves but had been warned the Wasteland operated on a “you touch it, you bought it” rule. Lucy turned to ask Cooper what the fruit was called, only to find him and the dog missing. 

It wasn't the first time Cooper had expected Lucy to walk in a similar heel formation to Dogmeat, only to lose sight of one another when curiosity got the best of her. Figuring he had simply found the desired stall, she turned to a rough gentleman nursing a wad of chewing tobacco in his bottom lip and guarding a crate filled with more of the unknown fruit.

“Excuse me, could you please tell me if anyone sells ammunition around here?”

The man didn’t answer, he barely looked up. Instead, he spat a brownish mess between his boots and pointed unenthusiastically towards the dinosaur. 

Lucy squinted in its direction. Sure enough, she spotted a door built into its flank, accessible by a questionable set of wooden stairs. 

Of course, why hadn't Lucy thought to look for a business in the rear end of a Cretaceous-age predator? Goodness, the surface was an asinine place sometimes. When it took a break from the needless violence.

“Erm, thank you,” she said, leaving him to his mystery fruit. 

Walking towards the store, Lucy passed by several Wanted posters nailed to the side of a building. They all seemed to feature ghouls, though she couldn’t spot Cooper. Someone had crudely crossed out “or Alive” under each of the inscriptions, leaving each poster to proudly proclaim, “Wanted: Dead.” 

Lucy raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Okey-dokey,” she breathed. 

As she stepped onto the rickety wood steps, the structure moaned under her weight. Putting her trust in maintenance she was certain the building wasn’t receiving, Lucy climbed the few steps before pushing open the door.

The room inside was dim, the only lights angled towards the L-shaped counter jutting from the nearest wall, barely illuminating a rusted cash register and a dower-looking man. A sign behind him faintly read, “Dino Bites Gift Shop (yes we have T-rexes).”

Cooper stood in the corner examining a big box of bright yellow ammunition. No doubt he had recognized the sound of her hesitant steps. If not, he would be watching the door, ready to unholster his revolver or shotgun. He wasn’t picky.

A cold snout pushed against her hand. Dogmeat greeted her. The merchant standing beneath the lights did not. His eyes were trained on Cooper’s back.

Shopping held little appeal to Lucy. Browsing shelves on the off chance you found what you were looking for? Tedious. She strolled up to the counter and cleared her throat, putting on her bright, Vault-Tec-sponsored smile.

The merchant managed to tear his eyes away from Cooper to look at her, though he didn’t seem thrilled about it.

“What?” he grumbled.

Performance review: lacks enthusiasm, thought Lucy.

“Hello there, I’m looking for RadAway,” Lucy said, mustering enough eagerness for the both of them. 

The man looked down at Dogmeat, now standing happily at Lucy’s side, and back to Cooper.

“You don’t need RadAway,” he stated.

Lucy balked. He must not have understood her. “Wha-”

But the man continued on as though she hadn't started talking. “What you need is to stop travelling with the likes of him,” he told her plainly, nodding his head toward Cooper.

Her smile fell a little, but she caught it before it managed to disappear.

“W-while I appreciate the concern, my travel plans are set at this point and they do include him, I’m afraid. Just the RadAway, please.”

Lucy heard the jingle of a box of ammunition being set down and froze. Not here, Cooper, she pleaded, even as the distinctive tap, tap, tap of well-worn boots made their way over.

Standing next to him, her body thrummed from the proximity, his intensity setting her nerve endings alight. 

Cooper stood in the merchant’s spotlight, blocking it from reaching the man. 

“There a problem?” he asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

Lucy shook her head and opened her mouth to answer when the merchant cut in.

“I was talking to the lady,” he said from his place in the shadows. 

Cooper barked out a low, short laugh, “Careful with that, she ain't likely to stop once you get her goin’.”

The sound of laughter did nothing to set Lucy at ease. Not when its edges dripped with faux congeniality that so often got them into trouble.

“We were just hoping to buy a few things, then we’ll be out of your hair,” she insisted. 

Cooper cleared his throat. “You ‘eard her, RadAway. Ammo. Then we leave.”

He reached into his left pocket, grabbing a handful of caps. Before he was able to toss them onto the counter, the merchant slammed his hand down instead. 

“I’m not selling to you.”

Lucy felt Cooper stiffen. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one hand clench the caps so tightly his knuckles were turning pale pink. His other hand migrated towards his holster. 

Without thinking Lucy placed a hand on his creeping wrist, urging him to wait. 

“It ain't for me, it's for the girl,” Cooper said through gritted teeth. 

The merchant’s eyes narrowed and travelled down the space between their bodies, landing where they met at the wrist. Lucy felt warmth rise to the apple of her cheeks. 

“Cooper, it's fine, we can-"

“Hush, Vaultie. This don't concern you.”

Heat ricocheted from Lucy’s cheeks down her spine. It prickled in her fingertips and her unkempt nails dug into the flesh of Cooper’s wrist. A reminder. A warning. She was right there, by his side. 

And it most certainly did concern her. 

“You know, I don't think I saw your face on the bounty posters,” a wolfish smile grew across the merchant’s face as he addressed Cooper, “but I don't think anyone would blame me for putting you down all the same.” 

Lucy visibly flinched at his words, but beneath her touch, Cooper stayed deathly still. 

He only let out a throaty little chuckle, and the inferno that permeated Lucy’s body dropped to a painful chill. Cruelty rumbled through his chest and down his arm. It crackled against her palm like static trying to convince her to let go. 

“You really think that's wise?” 

“I think your kind aren't welcome here.”

He kept his eyes level with Cooper’s while his posture dropped slightly. 

Cooper nodded and chewed the inside of his cheek. Lucy watched the skin pull, the scars stretching to stand in relief. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I've ‘eard that before.” 

He let his eyes drop from the merchant's deliberate gaze, falling to the counter obscuring his right hand. 

“That why you're lookin’ for a weapon?” 

The merchant’s body stilled, his search paused.

Cooper had probably run through that exact scenario and at least three others in the time they’d been talking. 

His left hand released the caps he had been clenching. A few fell shy of his pocket, dropping to the floor. The sound they made felt wrong. Far too light and bouncy for how constricted the room had become.

Cooper’s now empty hand reached to the sheath at his belt and brandished his hunting knife. Lights that only ever showcased dust bounced off the blade as it arched through the air. 

The merchant let out a startled little wheeze when he realized the knife had only pierced through the fabric of his left arm, pinning it to the wooden countertop. A deliberate choice, Lucy hoped he knew. Cooper didn’t miss.

Cooper leaned in close, conspiratorially. As his body pulled away from her, he forfeited her hold on his wrist. She was afraid he didn’t even notice. 

“We can handle this real polite. Or,” Cooper cocked his head in her direction, “the girl can shoot you where you stand.”

And like Dogmeat responded to a command, Lucy found herself involuntarily reaching for her pistol. 

You comin’? he had asked. It was hardly a question. She had followed.

She hadn’t expected his low, raspy drawl and the horrible, heartbreaking things he said to so easily fill her waking thoughts. His words pushed Vault-Tec teachings out of her head like a cuckoo pushed eggs out of a nest. Replacing every carefully constructed lie with two hundred years of experience that left Lucy pallid. 

Her golden rule grew tarnished with disuse. 

Cooper continued, “She's a crack shot, it would only take the one. But I reckon that's still enough to bring a whole lot of people a-runnin’ to see what’s causin’ the commotion. And that’s a sure-fire way to put ‘em in some pretty avoidable danger.” 

Like most who made the mistake of confronting Cooper, the man realized he was trapped. His attention shifted to Lucy, who, in his mind, was his last hope. Desperation, so close to tipping over into danger, emanated from him.

“You don't have to listen to him,” he sputtered, eying her holster warily. 

Cooper didn’t even dignify the man’s pleas by turning to look at Lucy. That’s how sure he was that she would do as directed. Her own moral compass be damned.

It came so easily to him, threats of violence. One murder, the promise of many more. With her as the catalyst. Just like raiders invading her vault under the guise of her wedding. When would they stop being able to trace pain and heartache back to a MacLean?

Her hand fell loosely to her side. 

“I know,” she said quietly. 

That got Cooper’s attention. 

Anger flashed in his eyes. It had been a while since that look had been directed at her. Lucy’s knees started to weaken under its weight. Her hand drifted to the cool metal of her pistol if only to lessen the sting of his disapproval. She had to actively stop her fingers from wrapping over the curve of the grip.

“The fuck are you doin’?” Cooper hissed, spittle flying from his mouth to the countertop where it left small, wet pinpricks in the dust. “I told you I would handle it.” 

Any traces of fear dissipated, making way for a quiet rage she rarely felt. 

“Really?” Lucy spat back, keeping her voice low as though they had any amount of privacy. “Because it sounds like we are about to murder and rob someone.” 

“That's how I've gotten this far, darlin’. How your daddy got as far as he did, too,” said Cooper, pushing the knife’s tip further into the table. Lucy wasn’t sure he was even aware he was doing it. “And I bet you never complained from that cushy vault of yours.”

It’s like he was in her head. That drawl voicing exactly what she didn’t want to hear. Lucy’s fingers fell away from her weapon. 

“Don’t.”

It was a plea. It was weak. Cooper didn’t have time for weakness. 

They stared at each other. Cooper wore the crooked smile of the Ghoul. Lucy knew her face had fallen slack, heavy with betrayal born from trusting a man so easily willing to wound.

Dogmeat whined, looking between the two of them furtively. Her whine pitched to a low warning growl and Cooper broke free of Lucy's gaze to look down. 

The dog was focused on the merchant, momentarily forgotten. Lost to their own issues that sailed so far past RadAway, the man attempted to take matters back into his own hands.  

Lucy looked over just in time to see his free hand grasping blindly beneath the counter, a triumphant look transforming his face as his fingers found their target. 

Cooper flew into action without a glance in Lucy’s direction. Either it had become second nature to throw himself head-first into trouble, or he made the split-second decision that he couldn’t rely on Lucy. She wondered why both options threatened to break her heart even as she seethed.  

Using the knife as leverage to fling himself over the counter, Cooper pushed the merchant to the floor as he crashed down on the other side. Cooper, the knife, and the merchant fell out of sight. Light from the meagre fixtures highlighted a now empty space.

The room stayed deathly silent for a beat. Then two. Three.

Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump.

Even Dogmeat seemed unwilling to make a sound, her nose tilted to the air, trying desperately to make out what was happening. 

Don’t let him die as the Ghoul, thought Lucy. Not when she still needed Cooper. 

And she did need Cooper, she realized.

He could voice all the uncomfortable truths he wanted. Could break her down under the intensity of his blazing eyes if the whim struck him. They could work out why he was unable to trust without causing pain and why the silence that now permeated the room scared her to her bones.

Together. 

Lucy lifted her pistol from its holster. Its weight felt heavier than normal in her hands. She aimed the sight towards the floor at bodies she couldn’t see and took muted, careful steps around the corner to the end of the counter. 

Between her steps, the sounds started. A heavy thunk, a pained grunt. Fabric rustled as bodies wrestled for control. Then the unmistakable click of a shell being loaded. 

Lucy quickened her steps and reached the opening between the counter and the wall. Standing at the border of the employee-only space, Lucy saw Cooper straddling the merchant’s middle. He held him up by his collar with one hand, the other wielding his knife with dangerous precision. It bit the tender flesh of the unknown man’s neck. In response, the merchant’s shotgun was wedged between their bodies. The barrel pressed firmly against Cooper’s heart. 

Neither turned to look at her. But they both knew she was there.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot the fucking thing,” urged the merchant, blood welling up at his throat as it moved against the knife’s tip. 

Cooper said nothing. Did nothing. 

When she also didn’t move, the merchant laughed. A short, abrasive sound that could only be made by a man who knew his time was up.

“Should’ve known better than to put my trust in a ghoul’s whore.” 

Lucy waited for the words to hit her, for the vitriol in his voice to sting. 

The sting didn’t come.

A small glimmer of pride, hardly noticeable under the severity of the situation, did.

It was Cooper who reacted to the man’s words. Cooper, not the Ghoul, looked at the merchant and Lucy knew he already saw a corpse. 

His knife started to slide against the man’s throat. As his last act, the merchant’s finger curled against the trigger. Lucy’s was faster. 

Gore splattered dust-covered shelves. The body went limp in Cooper's hands. 

The Ghoul’s whore reholstered her weapon. 

Blood pooled out from beneath the body. From where Lucy stood she watched it flow along the uneven floor until it reached a box wedged against the corner of the counter.

It looked so trivial, plastic pouches filled with RadAway, packaged carelessly in cardboard. Could it really be worth killing over? 

Lucy looked from the box to Cooper. He glared back at her. 

That heavy silence was back. It stretched between them, a tether that held them at arm's length. 

Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump.

Mojave Wasteland, 7:13 PM

Lucy wrongly assumed that once Novac was in their shadow, she and Cooper would slip back into what constituted their “new normal.” Not carefree, but comfortable enough.

That hadn’t happened.

Back in the Dino Bites Gift Shop, he had loaded the RadAway into his saddlebag without saying a word. He left the shop only after making sure Dogmeat was at his side. Lucy trailed along behind. She wasn't sure what else she could do.

And so she walked. And thought. And second-guessed herself. Regret made way to anger. Then confusion. 

She tried not to notice the silence. 

It had been several hours since Cooper shot an innocent fence and he showed no signs of setting up camp for the night. Even as the sun hung dangerously low.

He barely slowed his pace when Lucy turned to survey the house in front of them, hands on hips.

“No. We ain't stoppin’.”

That was the most he’d said to her in nearly twelve hours. Not that she was counting. 

She was. 

This time, Lucy refused to follow. Dogmeat hovered between the two, licking her lips with anxious hesitation.

“Cooper,” she said, exasperated. The toe of his boot hovered in the air for just a moment before stomping down into the dirt. “I know you feel the need to punish me for…something. Disobedience? Hurting your feelings? Frankly, I’m not sure. But don’t punish the dog, she deserves a break.” 

Something passed over Cooper’s face. It didn’t soften—Lucy wasn’t sure that his face knew how to do that.

Show annoyance? Anger? Easy. Sometimes he even showed pain for the briefest moment. 

But he didn’t soften.

So, Lucy was struck speechless when he silently acquiesced and led the trio into the two-story house.

Marching orders weren’t necessary anymore, Lucy knew the routine. All the same, Cooper withdrew his weapon and pointed up the stairs before turning briskly to the doorway on his right, Dogmeat glued to his heel.  

The stairs didn’t look completely untrustworthy, but Lucy still took her time pressing tentatively on each step with her boot before moving forward. At the rate she was moving, Cooper could sweep the entire first floor by the time she reached the top.

Better a tongue-lashing than a nasty splinter, Lucy reasoned.

A tongue-lashing would at least mean he was talking to her again.

Upstairs tasked Lucy with checking two small bedrooms, a linen closet, and a bathroom. To Lucy, it was more space than any family could need. A whole second floor? Vault layouts seemed much more sensible.  

Second floors also gave raiders and other unthinkables even more hiding spots. Lucy had been taught well though. Every corner was swept with the expectation she’d come face to face with someone who couldn’t care less if she lived or died.

The first bedroom was empty, and she meant empty. Drawers pulled out of chests, two twin beds stripped of their sheets, and empty hangers scattered on the floor of the closet. Lucy wondered if someone found something of worth—or if they had been taking their anger out for having found nothing at all.

No linens were left in the linen closet. Lucy couldn’t help but giggle softly to herself as she silently renamed it the cobweb closet. She'd keep that one to herself, it wasn’t the sort of joke that would amuse Cooper. Not enough profanities. Maybe she’d get a begrudging forced exhalation through the hole that was once his nose. If she caught him at just the right time.

That would be enough.

In the second bedroom, Lucy found a skeleton. Long since stripped of its more fallible parts and sprawled across the bed. Covers thrown haphazardly around them, an open bottle of Plan D left on the bedside table. Lucy suspected they died neatly tucked in and someone just had to find out if they’d taken anything valuable with them to their death bed.

The last spot for people to hide was the small bathroom at the end of the hall. Lucy tiptoed, pistol at the ready, into the room. She pushed the shower curtain down its rod with the muzzle, holding her breath. The plastic lining crackled from disuse, revealing an empty tub home only to thriving multicoloured mould clinging to grout.

Lucy exhaled, her shoulders dropping in relief. Any solace in not dying promptly dimmed as she realized the reason she didn’t want to run into someone wasn’t that she was worried about taking a life—for a second time that day—it was that firing her pistol in such a small room would have been absolutely deafening.

It would take her days—weeks?—to recover from something like that. Then she would truly be at the mercy of the quiet. 

When, Lucy asked herself, did she start putting herself above the person at the end of the gun? Cooper would have been proud. Lucy wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

Turning around to exit the room and escape that thought, she was confronted by another face. Her weapon swung up to chest height, and Lucy’s finger readied against the trigger.

She took in her would-be attacker and her heart rate soared when she noticed they, too, held their weapon aloft. 

Sorry eardrums, she thought.

Scared, brown eyes locked with familiar wide, panicked ones. A hollow laugh forced itself from her throat, the sound echoing off the tile. Her reflection stared at her from above the sink, laughing in tandem. 

It was her reflection. As impossible as that seemed. 

Lucy taught her class about the period in American history when children found themselves plastered on milk cartons with increasing regularity. It was an easy way to highlight how safe they were in the vaults. How could a child go missing underground?

While the days of missing children on milk cartons was long behind them, if Vault 33 decided to revive the practice to ask others, ‘Have you seen me?’ Lucy didn’t think anyone she’d come into contact with in the past few weeks would make the connection between the two women.

Lucy wasn’t a vain person. Vanity would hardly get you anywhere these days—vaults and the surface seemed to have that in common—but she had to admit she’d been dreading this moment.

There simply hadn’t been anywhere with more than a sliver of intact mirror to concern herself with since…gosh, at least the Observation Tower. And she certainly hadn’t been worried about her appearance then.

She set her pistol on the edge of the sink and cocked her head to one side, then slowly to the other.

Her hair, once bouncy and glossy, was slicked with grease that not even the tightest ponytail could hide. She dug her finger into the elastic and pulled it down the length of her hair. Once free, Lucy combed her fingers through the strands, watching as they framed her face for only a moment before falling limp.

Dark rings circled eyes sitting deeper above sunburnt cheeks. The split in her lip was healing suspiciously slow. At least it didn’t feel the way it looked.

She raised a hand to her face. A finger she scarcely recognized gingerly touched the wound.

Lucy remembered looking in the mirror in her childhood room, Stephanie smiling from behind as Lucy ran her hands down the soft white satin skirt of her wedding dress. It had been clean, warm, and smelled like home.

Letting her eyes lose focus, the dried blood on her bottom lip blurred to the colour she had paired with the borrowed dress. The lipstick had also been borrowed. She forced a smile across her lips and a fresh droplet of blood welled up where the split stretched taut.

Her reflection smiled half-heartedly back at her.

At least she still had all her teeth?

In the dirty, abandoned bathroom, her hand slipped down to her clavicle, a little more pronounced than when she had regular access to Jell-O cake. Lucy’s fingers trailed down the thick white strap of her Vault 4-issued white tank top, gritty with sand and stiff with specks of blood that refused to come out—no matter how viciously she scrubbed at them.

Beneath the strap bloomed a mark the colour of the fruit from Novac. She skimmed over the spot fondly and remembered the feeling of Cooper’s tongue laving over it, making sure Lucy knew he was leaving visible reminders she’d been his. 

It fit together, her new look. The necrotic, grey finger rested against the scoop of her neckline. Worn in, bloody, and just a little off-putting.

Like the surface. Like her, now.

Lucy knew there was no point in holding onto the feeling of delicate white fabric beneath hands that had grown more comfortable carving ass-jerky from still-pliable corpses.

She wondered what would happen if Cooper ran his hands over satin, if his trigger finger would register a familiar sensation.

Though he might not tell her if it did.

With the second floor clear, Lucy was free to go back downstairs and report her findings: a whole lot of nothing. But she wasn’t eager to rejoin her sullen companion quite yet. What would have changed in the past fifteen minutes? She gripped the edge of the sink and leaned closer to the mirror. There were definitely the tell-tale signs of radiation sickness peppering her face. Hard to avoid, she reasoned.

Imagine what would happen if they ran out of RadAway. How quickly the small signs would magnify. She looked at her finger, resting against burnt, olive skin, and tried to picture it.

Lucy knew what it felt like to touch a body marred by radiation, and be touched by it in turn. They were sensations she had come to associate with ragged breaths and an ache between her thighs. 

When Steph had first transferred to Vault 33 to marry Bert, Lucy was ecstatic. Finally, someone new to talk to. Someone who was going through exactly what she hoped to go through. Steph’s knowledge would be invaluable. 

Lucy ingratiated herself with the transfer immediately, and soon they were best friends. The two would curl up on Steph’s couch late into the night and try to stifle their giggles while Bert slept in the other room, the TV turned up enough to muffle any sordid details Steph was all too eager to share. 

Like how their wedding night had been over far too quickly. Bert had been a bundle of nerves, clearly expecting too much from himself and letting them both down in the process. However, Steph insisted Bert more than made up for it in the following weeks. Frantic, overeager groping made way for slow, exploratory touches. After which they would fall asleep in each other's arms, content. Only to do it all again the next day. They were newlyweds, after all. 

Lucy nodded along, eating up every word. She couldn’t wait to be matched with her Bert. Sometimes she even lay awake at night and languidly trailed a hand up her own thigh, pretending it was a man who had all the time in the world to find the exact spots that would make her scream. 

Her Bert, the ill-fated Monty, hadn’t been slow or sweet. But he had excited her, left her desperate for more. The unfortunate ending in the pickle barrel aside, Lucy thought for a first non-cousin experience it had far exceeded expectations. 

It was a shame, really, that she didn’t have the next day, and the day after that, to try again. Instead having to focus on an impromptu rescue mission. Which then turned into an information-gathering/revenge mission. Steph’s stories hadn't prepared her for any of that. 

In front of the mirror, Lucy delicately prodded at a bruise above her right breast, feeling the teeth marks embedded in her skin. Dull pain radiated down her torso and coiled low in her stomach. 

Things changed between her and Cooper. Maybe there was room for non-cousin experiences and information gathering/revenge. It got easier. Less…hostile. He stopped trying to use her as bait. She pretended he apologized for having done so. 

He might have, in his own way. Letting her sleep further away from any windows or doors. Not making her eat the ass-jerky she prepared. These could be construed as I'm sorry. If she squinted. 

Still, definitely not her Bert. His touches left her sore and sometimes a little bloody. He certainly didn’t seem interested in holding her afterwards. Lucy wrote it off as satisfying the same urges any newlywed had. She just happened to have a dead husband. Concessions had to be made. 

Lucy kept waiting for disappointment to hit her. Surely, she would find herself longing for what Steph had described—for what she thought she so badly wanted. 

Maybe, Lucy had once thought as Cooper sunk his teeth into her inner thigh, she just wasn’t the type of girl you had gentle, heartrending sex with. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Something that made men grip her flesh a little too tightly and leave red, inflamed marks across her skin. 

But as she looked at her reflection and regarded her claimed skin, she decided to stop waiting for disappointment to find her. 

Sure, maybe there was something in her core that brought out claws and teeth. Good. Maybe she was meant to be worn in, bloody, and just a little off-putting.

“For fuck’s sake,” a gruff voice sounded from the doorway, “I sent you up ‘ere to do a job, and I find you preenin’ in the mirror?”

Cooper’s reflection appeared next to Lucy’s, his eyes dark with annoyance. The mirror was cracked and missing a few shards where the bottom half of his face fell, but it could be safely assumed he was frowning.

Lucy stiffened. She shook her head vehemently as though she’d been caught doing something far worse than worrying about her looks.

“The rooms are clear. No one in the closets, under the beds, or hiding behind furniture. There's a skeleton in the master bedroom.”

“So you thought you earned yourself a break?”

“Was there something else you needed?” asked Lucy.

She knew there wasn’t. At least, nothing Cooper would admit to. She just wanted to keep him talking.

Cooper let out a cruel peal of laughter, all edges and peaks.

“What I need? Now why would you go and concern yourself with that?”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. Lucy turned from the mirror and met his gaze head-on, trying to look unbothered that she was ostensibly trapped. 

“Nah, don’t you worry ‘bout me. Go ahead and keep tryin’ to find signs that the surface is wormin’ its way under your pretty, smooth skin.” 

Lucy’s eyes flickered back to her reflection, pulled in by the bright red blood on her lip. While her appearance wasn’t at the forefront of her mind—she was a little preoccupied trying not to be eaten by every other creature she came across—maybe it was on Cooper’s. Was he watching her for signs that she was changing? Did their…partnership have an expiration date she wasn’t aware of? Screw the smooth, blemish-free vault dweller, but only while she still looked untouched by the trickle-down effects of nuclear war?  

Maybe she didn’t need longing glances and saccharine caresses, but she certainly wanted more than that. 

She shook her head. Her cheeks felt hot. “Is that what you’re so upset about? I’m starting to look…used?” Lucy ran through the merchant’s words for the hundredth time. “People see me with you, are able to spot signs we’re sleeping together, and th-that’s a problem for you?” 

Her voice was becoming shrill. It ricocheted off the tiles and bounced back, only serving to work her into more of a frenzy. 

“What? I’m only good to you as long as I look like I’m fresh from my cushy vault? Is that it? Then my gums start to bleed. Maybe my hair falls out, or my teeth? And then what?”

A cold, terrible idea squeezed her heart. 

“Then I’m not a bargaining chip to use against my dad anymore. He won’t want anything to do with me. Not if I look like a reminder of the world he failed to control. Then I’m really no use to you, am I? Can’t barter with me, can’t fuck me,” she whisper-shouted the word, “why even bother, right?” 

He stared at her. His posture implied indifference, but his eyes? They were monstrous. 

She was so sick of the silence. 

Lucy threw her hands up, “Cooper, saying something!” 

Cooper stepped over the threshold of the room. Lucy stepped back. She told herself she wasn’t afraid. That he wouldn’t hurt her. 

But he already had, hadn’t he? 

He crowded her against the sink until there was no more room to move. His boots ground broken glass against the floor and Lucy could cry from the intensity. It was suddenly too much. Going from near silence, held at a distance, to being able to hear his ragged breath, the swish of worn leather, the clink of bullets in his bandolier knocking together as he towered over her? It was suffocating. It was heaven.

Cooper grabbed her by the hips and swung her around to face the mirror. Lucy had little time to react before her face was being pushed into the chipped glass. Its cool finish did nothing to alleviate the heat that enveloped her body, radiating from behind her. 

“I'm gunna need you to take another lo-ong look in the mirror, darlin’.”

Cooper pressed harder against her temple. Lucy could feel the cracks running through the glass like spiderwebs under her skin. Stars glimmered in the corner of her vision.

“Cause I don't think you quite see what's going on ‘round here. It's like this, sweet'eart: when people see the two of us together, they see a transaction. That’s what it means to be a whore, after all. But they don't look down on you for it.” 

Lucy wriggled under his grasp, but he held fast.

“It's me they hate. Corruptin’ somethin’ so young, so pretty. Must be payin’ her a hell of a lot of caps, they think.”

“And I know they think that. Been dealin’ with it for two hundred fuckin’ years.”

“So,” Cooper leaned in close and Lucy watched his breath fog up the glass alongside her own, “I don’t think you have to worry ‘bout a little bit of blood in yourr gums. You're more like them than me, turns out. Well on your way to bein’ exactly like your daddy.”

Cooper’s heart beat steadily against her back. A metronome to the words working down to Lucy’s heart, where they wound round and round. She was sure if Cooper hadn’t been holding her up she would slip to the floor. 

“Cooper,” she said softly. 

Finally, they were talking. And she didn’t have the words. 

He sneered, “I don’t wanna hear it. Clearly, you don’t either. Rather shoot a man dead than ‘ear ‘im talk ‘bout whorin’ yourself out to a ghoul. Don’t seem very golden to me.” 

Her brow furrowed. Of the past twelve hours, that was probably the part she regretted the least. It was the one thing she thought they were on the same page about. That loosened something. Words started to trickle up her throat.

Lucy brought a hand to the mirror, blotting out Cooper’s reflection. She used the extra leverage to try and give herself just a little wiggle room to turn to look at him directly. Cooper didn’t move. The edge of the sink dug painfully into Lucy’s pelvis. 

But Lucy wasn’t about to let a little discomfort keep her from having a conversation. That just wasn’t the way she was raised. 

What did threaten to stop her was the little voice in her head that whispered, weak. He sees exactly what you are, MacLean. 

“I killed him because he was about to shoot you.” She paused. Her voice was louder than the one in her head. “I mean, he was being rude, but I wouldn’t kill someone over that!” 

“N-not that I care if people know we’re sleeping together. If you want me to clarify that you’re not paying me, I’d be happy to do that. You don’t even let me hold the caps. Told me I’d waste them on things that wouldn’t help us survive more than a day. Those were your exact words. Though I’m not sure how I’d bring that up naturally in conversation. I’d give it a try, though.”

She couldn’t stop the words—both inane and important—from bubbling over if she wanted to. 

“Besides, sex work is known as the world’s oldest profession for a reason, it’s really not an insult, is it? Though I’m very aware that’s how he was using it. He seemed to have some very antagonistic opinions. Or, I guess, the whole town did. All those Wanted posters, did you see them? I’m guessing you did. Why else would you have shot one a few miles back?” 

She took in a gulping breath. 

“I thought I was saving you. I thought that’s what you wanted me to do. Remember last week when I let that raider get away? I heard about that for days. Even though you already shot him pretty close to his femoral artery. I’m fairly certain he was moving on pure adrenaline and died not long after, without my help.” 

Shut up, shut up, Lucy screamed at herself. 

Cooper remained quiet. The room settled back into silence. Lucy worried her bottom lip, tasting copper. 

Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump.

“I’m sorry,” she cautioned. “I don’t want you to see me like one of them. Like him. But I think I understand why you do.” 

The pressure on her temple lessened a little. 

His reply came startlingly close to her ear, “How do you want me to see you?” 

Lucy shifted against the sink and finally took in the warmth of Cooper’s hand on her hip. Hidden behind the weight of his anger pulsing between her temples, she hadn’t noticed how his fingers dug into the curve above her thigh. 

She swallowed.

“I don’t think we get a choice in how others see us.”

Cooper snorted. “That is some grade-A Vault-Tec bullshit. I asked,” Cooper slid a knee between Lucy’s legs, “how do you want me to see you?”

Lucy felt the heat of Cooper’s body surrounding hers, and remembered how it felt when he pulled away from her. The emptiness.

Gosh darn it, it was more than simple newlywed-induced horniness, wasn’t it? 

Motherfucker. 

She gave in. 

“However you want. As long as you know I'm right there, beside you.” 

Lucy waited for her words to be rebuffed. Cooper removed his hand from the side of her face. It wrapped around her waist and settled against her stomach, keeping her close. Or keeping her from getting away, if he had any other ugly little truths for her. Either way, she was thankful for it.

She kept her head bowed forward against the cool mirror a moment longer, trying to alleviate the flush that covered her face. A pipe dream, as long as Cooper kept his hands where they were. 

Giving up, she tried to stand to her full height. There was no room to do so. Her back moulded against Cooper’s front without effort. Tentatively, Lucy let her head recline against his shoulder, aware she might not get another chance.  

Leather, weathered and textured, smelled like it could be a new type of home. 

Shyly, she let her gaze climb her reflection until she found waiting green eyes. Lucy was unable to look away. The embers flecking his irises were little more than ash. 

With the fire extinguished, his face looked soft.

No one spoke for a while. For once, Lucy let herself sit in the silence. She liked the sound of his heartbeat, how it matched hers.

Finally, Cooper turned his head, lips whispering against her hair, “Does that mean you're gunna to start doin’ what you're told?”

“If you stop siccing me on people like an attack dog,” Lucy answered without thinking. 

Cooper smiled into her crown, “There’s somethin’ pretty damn fine ‘bout watchin’ you work though, little killer.” 

Only when Cooper’s hand released her hip to slide forward, fingers spread wide skimming over bright blue fabric, did Lucy realize there were other places—situations that weren’t life or death—where Cooper could bark orders.

“Oh,” she breathed. 

Cooper chuckled. His chest vibrated against her, gravel reverberating from deep within. “Oh?” 

Lucy settled more heavily against Cooper’s solid form, a smile spreading across her lips. 

“Cooper?” 

“Vaultie?” 

“Don’t be gentle.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

The hand resting against her stomach skirted up Lucy’s torso, Cooper’s fingers following the same trail hers had minutes before. Over the dried blood, along the scoop of her neckline, and ghosting across her clavicle. His glove paused at the front of Lucy’s neck. Lucy watched, enraptured with how well they fit together. How his hand nearly covered her neck in its entirety. 

Then his fingers curled, and Lucy felt her throat constrict under Cooper’s grip. He ducked his head further until his lips found the shell of her ear. The pulsating beats of her own heart pounded in her head as Cooper limited her air, mixing headily with his sure, steady breaths in and out. 

“Let me know if you're in too deep,” he whispered.

Lucy wasn't sure if he was talking about the choking, or just in general. 

If the latter, he was far too late.

Still, she shook her head. 

“That’s right, my little killer.” 

Static reached in at the edges of Lucy’s vision. It was a haze that reached downwards to her core. She clenched her thighs together as the pulsating grew undeniable. 

Thuh-thump.

He released his hold on her neck, and Lucy felt the blood rush upwards. It was euphoric.

Cooper’s gloved hand ran up through her hair from the nape up to the crown. His fingers curled into a crushing fist, and she felt pieces of her bangs get caught up in his grip. He pulled the fistful of hair down, yanking her chin upward. Lucy’s eyes squeezed closed involuntarily to keep the tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes from spilling over. 

“Open your eyes for me,” Cooper rasped in her ear. “I want you to see what it looks like to be a ghoul’s whore’.” 

Lucy obediently opened her eyes. Her vision swam as she felt her tears escape down the sides of her face. When her sight cleared, she stared into the mirror. Cooper met her there. 

Held her there. 

She watched his other hand dip further downward and felt it reach the top of her panties. The suit, expertly engineered to be first-rate at regulating temperature, conspired alongside Cooper’s gloves to keep her from truly feeling more than blunt pressure as his fingers searched further. 

Starving for more, Lucy caught Cooper’s hand between her own. He paused, the tension at her scalp lessening. Under his careful gaze, Lucy gripped his wrist with one hand, her slender fingers disappearing under the cuff of his duster. The other pinched the fabric at the end of his index finger. She pulled the glove off in a hurried movement. Immediately forgotten, it dropped to their feet. 

One layer done away with, Lucy guided Cooper’s hand back to her groin. He wasted no time moving downwards, his rough hands catching on the fabric. The grip in her hair tightened, and Lucy gasped at the intertwining sensations.

Her own fingers stretched outward, desperately searching for something to ground herself to that wasn’t heat and leather and heartbeats. They curled around cool porcelain. A welcomed relief to the want growing between her legs and the tingling at her scalp. 

Through her suit, Cooper rubbed achingly slow paths along her lips. Lucy whimpered, watching his hand work. His fingertips pressed gently down against her clit and Lucy felt new tears spring to her eyes. It was the type of methodical touch she had pined for alone in her room. Now it wasn't enough. 

She squeezed the sink’s edge. “Cooper,” she whined. “I ne-need more.” 

“‘Course you do, darlin’.”

The hold on her hair released as he pushed her head forward. One of Lucy’s hands shot out to press against the glass, catching herself before her forehead crashed into the tap. 

Bent forward at the waist, her ass pressed against Cooper’s groin. She felt his erection caught between their bodies and Lucy couldn't help using the leverage from her extended arm to ground herself against it. 

Cooper hissed in a breath, “Just achin’ for it, ain't you?” 

Her vault suit was gripped firmly where it hung off her hips and Cooper yanked it down. Lucy felt a shiver ripple across her exposed skin. Over the rim of the sink, she watched a second glove join the first on the ground, and suddenly a slap rang throughout the room. Heat bloomed across her backside. The sting sent a bolt of desire ripping down to where she was painfully empty. 

“Eyes up, sweet’eart. Let me see you,” Cooper urged. 

Lucy looked up, her face inches from the mirror now. And what she saw set her heart fluttering. Someone at her side, whose clothing was covered in just as much blood. Whose eyes were just as sunken yet blown wide with lust. Someone who knew what it was like to love and to lose and to kill for it. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he growled. 

She thought the same. A shame he wasn’t ready to hear it. 

There was nothing that could tear Lucy away from watching Cooper’s movements as he freed himself from his pants. How he stared down at her, hunger in his eyes. She felt the head of his cock press against her, swollen and ready. It took everything to stop herself from pushing back onto him. 

He began to sink into her slowly, the stretch causing her breath to hitch. While she faced forward, hypnotized, Cooper’s head dropped back. Lucy eyed the tendons in his neck strain beneath skin and watched his bottom lip disappear behind teeth. 

As it so happened, being a ghoul’s whore did have its gentle moments. 

She was quickly forced to eat her words as Cooper pulled back until nearly free, the drag of his cock divine, and filled her to his entirety with a sharp snap of his hips. Lucy’s back arched under the force. 

Together they filled the small room to capacity with sounds, each of which Lucy was desperate to savour. The sound of her skin against leather, his duster snapping around their legs. A muted squeak as her hand slid down the mirror after Cooper grabbed her by her hips and thrust into her with a possessive need. Glass being ground to a powder under their boots.

None of it held a candle to the sounds Cooper made. Lucy was shocked he was able to remain as stoic as he did during the day, the way unbridled groans, curses, and praise continually spilled from his lips. She could hardly keep up, which very rarely happened to her. 

Not that she let it stop her from trying. 

Lucy’s legs shook with fatigue and pleasure. She felt herself losing any semblance of composure the higher she climbed. 

“Please, Cooper,” she begged. 

Cooper’s hand reached out and covered Lucy’s against the mirror, folding himself over her. His other hand snaked over the swell of her hip back down between her quivering thighs. The added stimulation against her clit forced her even higher. She felt weightless, dizzy. 

Small, deep circles were worked around the bundle of nerves as Cooper whispered into her ear.

“Let go, darlin’, let me feel it.” 

Lucy, nestled beneath his steady heartbeat and sure hands, let go and fell crashing down. She moaned Cooper’s name, bookending it between ragged breaths. How glorious, to freefall knowing you'd be caught.

Spent but not finished, Lucy watched herself reach down between her legs, pulling Cooper’s honey-coated fingers up to her mouth. 

With a practised tongue, Lucy cleaned her release from his fingers under his unbroken gaze. The taste of her on his skin burned beautifully going down her throat. His pace grew pitiless as he watched, his hips bucking against Lucy’s inert body. She was well and truly pinned, unable to do little more than take whatever he'd give.

Lucy sucked his fingers further into her mouth, pressing them against the back of her tongue. As she gagged herself on his hand, he bit down on the curve of her ear, though it did little to muffle the moan that escaped. 

She felt him empty himself into her, pulsing within. After a shuddering breath, he stilled, though Lucy didn’t feel his entire weight fall down onto her.

He eased his hand from her mouth and grabbed the sink, using it to push himself up. She only realized how unbelievably warm she had grown after the air hit her back, goosebumps immediately cascading across. 

Cooper reached for her tank top, gathering a fistful of fabric and giving it a good tug. Lucy was pulled up into a standing position, despite her body’s objections. She reached down to pull her suit back up, eager for its warmth as she did the zipper all the way. 

Even still, she could feel Cooper’s eyes on her. 

He waited for her to finish getting ready before he turned to leave the bathroom. Lucy watched him head towards the stairs and eyed the two bedrooms longingly. But she knew the rules: no second floors. It wouldn’t do to trap yourself with escape only accessible with the risk of a broken limb. Not even for a few glorious hours on an actual mattress. With actual springs. 

Good thing nothing was stopping her from bringing creature comforts to the safety of the first floor. 

She made a beeline to the room with two beds before Cooper could object. There was no need to further bother the skeleton. Lucy made quick work gathering the bedding from the floor, holding her treasures to her chest. There was no way to see beyond the mountain of fabric, but she followed the sound of Cooper’s grumbles and managed to find the staircase without bumping into too much. 

“You're gunna go tumblin’.” 

“Not if you help me.” 

Another grumble, but she felt the topmost layers being lifted from her arms. 

Downstairs, Dogmeat was already curled up on the couch. A tight ball of fur in the middle of slashed cushions, foam pieces scattered underneath her. 

Lucy knew Cooper wouldn’t move her. The dog often got the best sleep of the three of them. So Lucy silently set up their makeshift bed beneath her. 

“Get some sleep Vaultie, I’ll take first watch,” said Cooper.

“It’s okay, I’m really not tired. I’ll wake you in a few hours,” she answered. 

Cooper didn’t argue. The fight in him had been quenched—at least for tonight. He simply reclined against the pillow and let his eyes close. 

It was true, Lucy was far too wired to sleep. But she also wanted to see if she could sit in the silence without wishing it was something else. She pulled her thighs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, watching the blankets settle around her. 

Cooper rolled over in his sleep. The man fell asleep scarily fast. He woke up even quicker. Lucy was sure it was a learned behaviour and hoped one day he’d tell her about it. 

His hand extended between them. Lucy set her own down, her fingertips just brushing his. 

Thuh-thump. 

Thuh-thump. 

Thuh-thump.

Lucy sighed, content in knowing that the silence was temporary. In knowing that even if she couldn’t hear it, there was another heart beating alongside hers.