Chapter Text
That night in the Ghoul’s company—as his reluctant companion—felt worlds apart from what she’d imagined as a travel partner.
After leaving the Griffith Observatory, darkness fell quickly, forcing them to seek shelter.
Lucy wouldn’t have noticed the basement entrance that the Ghoul had spotted from about a hundred meters away.
It was inconspicuous, tucked against the side of a ruined house, half-hidden by a withered bush. The Ghoul headed straight for it with purpose, and though Lucy didn’t notice at first, she followed him silently.
With a powerful yank, the Ghoul wrenched open the basement’s stuck, rusted iron door, then turned to the girl:
“Get in there!”
Lucy hesitated for a moment, wondering what might lurk in that dark basement, but night had already blanketed the city ruins around them. She knew the wasteland was even more dangerous after dark. After a brief pause, she switched on the light from her Pip-Boy and began climbing down the basement’s iron ladder.
The basement wasn’t deep—just a few rungs to aid entry and exit—and while it wasn’t tall or spacious, it suited their needs.
They could ride out the night here. With a heavy thud, the Ghoul landed behind her, carrying the dog in his arms. He set Dogmeat down, who immediately started sniffing around the cramped space. Lucy, using her Pip-Boy’s glow, scanned the contents for food, meds, or anything useful. The Ghoul wedged a crowbar into the door to barricade it shut.
“We’re spendin’ the night here, vaultie. We mosey on at dawn. Try to get some shut-eye—you’ll need it,”
the Ghoul grumbled to the girl as he lit a few old candles, their wax dripping like icicles from the metal shelving racks, casting enough light in the small basement.
The Ghoul slumped into a musty old armchair missing one armrest and tossed Lucy a rolled-up sleeping bag from the corner. He barked at her again: “Bunk with the mutt; she’ll keep ya warm.” The basement was cold and damp, its walls radiating a chilling austerity onto its occupants. Dogmeat didn’t need coaxing—he burrowed right into the tattered sleeping bag. But Lucy sat on the floor, staring blankly ahead, and replied: “No… I’m not sleepy.”
The Ghoul acknowledged this with a grunt, pulling out his inhaler from his pocket and taking a deep hit.
Lucy pretended he’d asked with genuine interest and began talking:
“There’s so much swirling in my head right now… I’m wondering if things might have turned out differently if I’d done things another way, made different choices. Maybe if I hadn’t been so eager to get married, the vault door never would have opened, and I’d still be living in blissful ignorance with my dad and Norm, back in our old life…”
The Ghoul interrupted curtly:
“That what ya want?”
“No… I don’t know,” Lucy continued. “Has it ever happened to you? Where everything you believed was a lie, and the person who meant the most to you betrayed you the deepest? It feels like you don’t even know them anymore…”
The Ghoul didn’t respond, just stared at her sharply before slowly pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it. After snuffing it out, he tipped his hat over his face and leaned back comfortably.
Lucy understood—silence was an answer too.
She didn’t press further and slipped into the sleeping bag beside Dogmeat.
Lucy tossed and turned for a long time on the cold stone floor, listening to the patter of icy raindrops hitting the ground just half a meter from her head. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with her, and she drifted into sleep.
A few hours later, she woke to the Ghoul noisily prying open the basement door, flooding the dark space with blinding sunlight. Lucy shielded her face with her hand.
“Good mornin’, sunshine,” the Ghoul drawled, lifting the dog out of the basement and stepping out after him. “We gotta move,” he added.
Lucy scrambled out of the sleeping bag and hurried after him.
“Watch yer step—it’s slippery!”
the Ghoul warned her. But as Lucy took her first step toward him, her foot slid out from under her. Her body pitched backward toward the basement, her feet no longer touching the ground, when a strong, decisive hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to solid earth.
The grip was so firm that she knew she couldn’t break free even if she tried with all her strength.
The Ghoul released the girl and shook his head.
“Thank you,” Lucy managed to gasp.
“We gotta hurry, vaultie. Makin’ a quick detour ’fore our next stop,” the Ghoul added.
“What? Where are we going?” Lucy asked.
“Few miles from here, there’s an old scout camp where I’ve holed up a time or two. Stashed some ammo and chems there, maybe a few caps too.”
After a couple hours of trekking, they reached the rundown camp, consisting of just two larger buildings and a few crumbling wooden cabins.
By then, sweat was pouring off Lucy.
She was having a hard time adjusting to the surface’s extreme weather—freezing at night, scorching during the day. So she zipped down her blue jumpsuit and tied it around her waist.
Dogmeat playfully darted back and forth between the Ghoul and Lucy, who was lagging a few meters behind. Lucy stopped to scratch 404 behind the ears, then heard a loud gunshot followed by a softer thud.
She looked up immediately and saw the Ghoul with his arm extended, holstering his weapon almost instantly before calling back:
“Don’t lag behind, vaultie—who knows what critters moved in since I was last here.”
Lucy hurried after the Ghoul. But he didn’t stop, heading straight for one of the buildings. It must have been a washroom in its heyday for the campers, now just a tiled, ruined structure without doors or windows. When Lucy stepped inside, she saw the Ghoul running his hand over various tiles, tapping a few before exclaiming:
“Bingo!”
He pried off one tile, revealing a small compartment from which he pulled out assorted ammo, stimpaks, and pills.
Lucy hopefully turned on the shower faucet, and a weak stream of yellowish water trickled out. Her eyes lit up, and she dropped to her knees in front of the Ghoul, clutching the hem of his coat pleadingly.
“Please, let me shower!”
The Ghoul didn’t respond at first, just staring down at the girl kneeling before him. He could get used to this sight.
“Please,” Lucy begged.
The Ghoul rummaged in his bag, pulled out a vial of meds, and handed her a pill.
“Swallow this—it’ll cut the rads for the next hour. I’ll stand guard,” he said sternly, then stepped over her and positioned himself at the entrance, back turned to the girl.
“Make it quick,” he added.
Lucy swallowed the pill dry, without water, and started stripping out of her jumpsuit.
She glanced back at her companion one last time before getting fully naked, confirming that the Ghoul was facing away, not turning around—just cleaning his hunting knife and softly whistling a forgotten pre-war blues tune.
The girl unclasped her bra and dropped it to the floor, then slid her panties down to her ankles and stepped out of them. She turned on the tap and stepped under the water. It was ice-cold.
“Huhh,” she sighed, the chill both uncomfortable on her heated body and liberating, finally washing away the grime and cooling her down. After a few minutes, she got used to the cold and stopped squirming. She picked up a dusty bar of soap from the floor and began lathering herself up. Occasionally, she glanced at the Ghoul—it gave her a sense of security knowing he was watching over her, and she thought him a true gentleman for not needing to be asked.
The Ghoul stood rigid, no intention of turning around. But he could see everything perfectly reflected in the polished blade of his knife. When Lucy slid her panties down, Cooper swallowed hard and kept whistling. Her flawless body held his gaze captive—the water droplets tracing down her breasts, the little gasps from the cold making the tiny vault girl utterly irresistible. Blood surged south; one hand subtly stroked himself through his trousers while he watched.
A wicked grin crept across his scarred face as she bent for the soap, giving him a perfect view of her round ass and that pretty pink slit. He gripped himself harder through the fabric, letting out a low, involuntary groan.
In the reflection, he watched her work the lather over her pale skin, lingering on her breasts and between her legs… it was driving him damn near insane, like watching her touch herself for him. Part of him hoped the washing would turn into something wilder, that he’d get a front-row seat to her pleasuring herself. Slow, firm strokes matched his growing need. When he heard the water shut off, he quickly took a hit from his inhaler.
Lucy dried off with an old flag rag and got dressed, then stepped up to the Ghoul.
“Thank you—that feels so much better!” A big smile spread across her face.
“Ready to hit the trail?” the Ghoul asked with a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Uh-huh,” Lucy nodded.
On the way, Lucy’s mind kept drifting back to how vulnerable she’d been to the Ghoul—he could have taken advantage, she was defenseless and naked. Maybe any other man in the wasteland would have, but not him. He protected her and respected her privacy. Lucy felt like she was starting to see another side of the Ghoul—a gentler, more sensual, and secure side.
As they trudged through the dusty wastes, the sun beating down like a hammer on an anvil, Lucy stole glances at her companion. The Ghoul strode ahead, his long coat flapping in the hot breeze, Dogmeat trotting loyally at his heels. She couldn’t shake the image of him standing guard, knife in hand, whistling that old tune. It was… comforting, in a way she hadn’t expected from a irradiated cowboy like him.
“Ya keep starin’, vaultie—somethin’ on yer mind?” the Ghoul drawled without looking back, his voice rough as gravel but with that familiar twang.
Lucy flushed, her cheeks turning pink under the grime. “Oh, uh… just thinking. About earlier. You didn’t have to give me that pill or stand watch. I mean, in the wasteland, people don’t usually… care like that.”
He chuckled low, a sound like dry leaves rustling. “Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental on me now, darlin’. I ain’t no knight in shinin’ armor. Just practical. Can’t have ya droppin’ dead from rads ’fore we find yer daddy.”
But Lucy pressed on, her optimism peeking through. “Still… thank you. It means something. Okey-dokey?”
The Ghoul paused, tipping his hat back to eye her sidelong. His scarred face twisted into something almost like a grin.
“Okey-dokey? Heh. Yer a strange one, vaultie. But yeah… yer welcome.”
They walked in silence for a bit, the quiet broken only by the crunch of sand under their boots and Dogmeat’s occasional huff. Lucy cast sidelong glances at her companion, puzzling over the enigma wrapped in scarred skin and a cowboy hat.
Who was this Ghoul really, beneath the gruff exterior and the chem-fueled haze?
His silence earlier that night lingered in her mind, hinting at depths she couldn’t yet fathom.
The Ghoul, for his part, shot occasional looks back at the vaultie trailing him.
She was a puzzle—a bundle of optimism in a world that chewed up hope and spat out bones. What made her tick?
Why stick with a monster like him when she could bolt at any moment?
He shook off the thought, focusing on the horizon.
As the scout camp disappeared behind them in the haze, they trudged onward toward the glittering promise of New Vegas.
Yet the wasteland whispered warnings—faint tracks in the sand suggested they weren’t alone, perhaps scavengers or worse shadowing their path.
In the growing heat, questions simmered unspoken between them, curiosity flickering like distant mirages, drawing them deeper into an alliance fraught with unknowns and untold stories waiting to unfold.