Chapter Text
Prompt: "I Like You Better Broken"
“You know, I think I like you better like this.”
Two days in a Legion camp had been all it took to break her, as it turned out. Two days with her hands bound behind her back, forcing her shoulders to contort when she was thrown on a stained mattress in the corner, a man who wasn’t the highest ranking man in the Legion but who was apparently high enough to lean in and whisper in the ear of the man who called himself Caesar, pronounced the German way for some indecipherable reason, doing the throwing. She’d fought at first. Had been so sure that words would be enough. They were doing it all wrong, she’d explained, using the same voice she’d used on a group of children in her class who had ganged up on another, insisting the other girl couldn’t be a part of their game because she didn’t have the same brown hair as them.
Children, of course, could be reasoned with. Could be taught. Even adults, in her experience, when shown the error of their ways, understood how to grow and change.
So she’d explained. The Romans, while arguably a patriarchal and even misogynistic society by today’s standards, did not come up with the idea of a king or high ranking official deflowering a Virgin on her wedding night. Of course, they’d had slaves, an abhorrent practice that should absolutely have been done away with by now. But the phrase ‘prima noctis’ had been borrowed during the medieval period, and even then, there was conflicting evidence as to whether or not it had ever actually been a practice, or if it had been made up later. Regardless, she’d explained, the practice would not apply to her because this was not her wedding night and also, she was not a virgin in any sense of the word. She’d done several years of practicing with her cousin, and then she’d had traditional intercourse with her husband of roughly four hours.
There had been no wide eyed surprise at the historical inaccuracies they were perpetuating. No head shaking or apologies or assurances that they would change their ways.
It had taken three men to hold her while they’d put the collar on her. That was something she told herself she could be proud of. It was too tight, making it impossible to take a full breath without her skin rubbing against the rough leather, the constant, just barely audible high pitched sound the mechanical component on the collar made ever present and impossible to ignore. They’d gotten her on the ground, a heavy, pointed knee in her back, the other men watching and laughing while she’d screamed and thrashed, rough hands yanking her arms behind her back and tying her wrists together.
It had taken two to hold her down the first time, the man who called himself Julius dragging her by the hair to his tent and throwing her down onto that mattress, his fellow soldiers on their knees at either side. And then…
She’d screamed and fought and thrashed but there had been three of them and…people had heard. They’d heard her scream and sob when he’d unzipped her Vault suit, looking down at her like she was nothing. The whole camp must have heard her beg until one of the men had put a hand over her mouth. The Ghoul had tried that once too, and she’d given the man in Roman costume the same treatment, blood filling her mouth when her teeth had severed a chunk of flesh on the side of his hand.
The fist that had slammed into her right eye had made the world explode into bright bursts of color, an icepick pain digging into her brain. And then…
Underwear ripped off of her and a horrible dry burning pain. Two men laughing on either side of her, and her own gasping sobs and pleas and then fabric stuffed into her mouth. Tears pouring down her cheeks, head shaking back and forth because this couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.
And when Julius had been done, leaving her shaking so hard her teeth chattered and feeling so filthy she might never be able to get clean, he’d taken her by the hair again, yanking her off of his mattress and throwing her into the corner instead. And then, mercifully, the three men had left. And she’d tried to stop crying…had managed to spit out the ripped underwear in her mouth. Had stared down at herself, dressed only in her tank top, the Vault Suit in a heap by the corner, sleeves ripped off or cut off…she hadn’t been able to remember. And for a long time, all she’d been able to do was lay on her side, bare skin pressed into the dirty fabric of the tent bottom.
The second time, he’d held her down himself, dragging her to that mattress and laughing when she’d fought back, thrashing and biting and kicking. “Keep screaming and I’ll take a few of those pretty teeth of yours,” he’d warned with a cold smile.
His finger had caressed her lip, and she’d dropped her head, eyes closed, lips pressed together to keep the screams in.
She hadn’t stopped shaking since that first time…hadn’t been able to force her mind to wrap around the shape of the situation. The second time had hurt worse, somehow. Every part of her was sore…her thighs from behind forced apart and her shoulders, straining and crushed underneath her, and her head…her head hurt so bad…her eye throbbing, thoughts scrambled.
“Please…please stop. It hurts. Please,” she’d sobbed, and for a second, he’d pulled away, even that motion burning and scraping against raw, tender skin. But then he’d flipped her over, grabbing her hips and it had hurt so badly she’d dropped her face into the mattress, nose and mouth filled with the scent of sweat and unwashed bodies and her own blood from where her teeth had dug into her lip.
A woman had come in after, dressed in a filthy white tunic, kneeling in front of her with a practical kind of frown. “Hungry?”
Lucy had nodded, tears she couldn’t wipe away still wet on her cheeks, one eye swollen completely shut.
“They won’t untie you and put you to work until you stop fighting for a while. Do me a favor and cut it out. I’ve got enough shit to do without having to feed a new one. And hey, don’t even fucking try to run with that thing on your neck. We’ll have to clean up the pieces.” The woman had held out a spoonful of a bland, greenish broth, and Lucy had opened her mouth, allowing the woman to feed her. “There’s no getting out of here. Just let him do what he wants. If you give him a son, he might not hit you as much.”
When Julius had returned that night, he’d gone straight to the mattress, and Lucy had cowered in her corner, stomach aching with hunger, her face throbbing, eye refusing to open. He hadn’t grabbed her though…not until a few minutes ago, hands on her hair waking her from a dead sleep full of dreams about a Ghoul in a cowboy hat and a duster strolling into the tent and shooting Julius in the head.
No. The dick first. Then the head.
But he wasn’t coming. Of course he wasn’t coming. The one person who might have been able to save her…who knew where she was…she’d left him writhing in pain on the ground. Had given her last Stimpack not to the man who’d made sure she got out of that Observatory and who had bought her supplies and had made sure she had food, but to the woman whose throat had been slit a mere two hours later. Who’d led her to this place.
Staring up at Julius with a kind of dull despair, Lucy thought that if she could go back, she’d shove that woman to the giant monster herself and get herself and the Ghoul out of there. Or better yet, she’d ignore the voice screaming for help.
Why hadn’t the Ghoul told her who these people were?
Why had he just strolled into that hospital behind her despite not wanting to be bothered?
She wanted him back. With a suddenness that made tears roll down her cheeks as Julius rolled her onto her front, she wanted the Ghoul back. Because he was mean sometimes, and snarky and sarcastic and sometimes he ate people, but she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t let this happen to her.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he went on, hand shoving her head down into the mattress and forcing himself painfully inside of her, but otherwise, she was still. “I didn’t mind the fighting too much. But I like you better broken. If you’re lucky, you’ll bear me many sons.”
We’ll raise our children together, she thought. That’s what Steph had said once. Steph…her best friend. She missed her so much…Steph would wrap her arms around her and promise that everything was okay.
“This is where you belong, and don’t you forget it.”
Lucy didn’t argue. Didn’t have the strength.
The other slave woman brought her more soup that did almost nothing to dull her appetite. Julius returned and dragged her to the mattress. In between, she lay in the corner, sore and covered in fluids, only hobbling to the bucket in the back corner when she had to, and even that was nearly impossible. She wanted water more than she ever had before…even when the Ghoul had poured his out. She thought she’d just drop to her knees and drink from the puddle like the dog now.
Through the flap of the tent she could hear screams and arguments and laughter. She watched the sun move across the sky with her one good eye. She shook, lying on her side, knees to her chest, tears dripping to the floor, thoughts refusing to put themselves into any kind of order. This was it. She would die here. She would die because she couldn’t keep living. She would…
Julius stormed into the tent, another man right behind him, and Lucy closed her eye, breath stopping in her chest, hiding her face in her knees like a child playing hide and seek.
“This is ridiculous! She’s mine!”
“Are you questioning me?” The other voice, quieter and more measured, stopped Julius in his tracks, and when he spoke again, his voice was subdued, still sullen but quieter now.
“Of course not...”
“Then stand aside.”
More footsteps. A jingling sound she recognized. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And then a voice she knew but didn’t dare try to identify lest the hope kill her broke the silence, dripping with disgust.
“The collar.”
“Julius. The collar.”
Julius swore, and the hand on her hair forced her to her knees. She bit back the scream, remembering his threat, and felt his hand on her throat.
And then, somehow, the collar was gone.
Lucy opened her good eye for the first time, staring down at the piece of leather in Julius’s hand as he released her hair and gave her a shove, sending her sprawling back down to the ground. She watched a familiar pair of boots walk over and watched a gloved hand reach for the ruins of her Vault suit, pausing for a moment, then grabbing it and her boots and…her eye followed that hand and that arm up until she finally saw him.
The Ghoul.
But she’d left him. She’d said that she’d come back but she hadn’t. She’d saved that woman and left him to suffer because she’d been mad at him and because she’d thought he deserved to be taught a lesson. But here he was, stuffing the rags that were her Vault Suit into her bag, then turning and meeting her eyes for the first time.
What did he see, she wondered? How bad were the bruises? Was her nose still bleeding? Could he tell that her eye kept darting to the canteen he carried? He’d called her stupid before, and she’d confirmed it. A naive idiot who’d turned her back on him after all the stuff she’d said about her golden rule.
She dropped her head, hot with shame and embarrassment as tears ran down her cheeks, shoulders shaking.
“Julius, untie her,” the third man, the one she hadn’t bothered looking at, ordered.
“Don’t bother, Julius” the Ghoul told him, stepping closer. He leaned down, a gloved hand under her elbow easing her off the floor and back up to her knees. “Come on,” he ordered softly…soft enough she doubted the other two could hear. “On your feet.” He supported her, letting her lean on him as she got first one foot, then the other underneath her, forcing her legs to take her weight. He stayed in front of her, blocking her, naked from the waist down, from view as he turned her around, that knife of his sliding between her skin and the rope and sawing through it. It hurt but she didn’t care…she wanted it off.
And then it was, the bloody rope dropping to the floor in a heap.
His hand on her shoulder guided her to face him again, and he pulled his duster off, draping it over her shoulders, urging her sore arms through the sleeves and closing it in the front. She held it shut, clutching the fabric that smelled like him…like leather and oil, and was so warm, surrounding her like an embrace. The Ghoul put her boots on the floor next, and she stepped into them, watching him crouch and tie them. Then he slung her arm over his shoulders, leading her without another word out of the tent she’d lived in for the last two days and out into the late afternoon light.
There was blood on her inner thighs, dripping down her leg, and she held her breath, fighting those tears back, but they kept falling. She could only see out of her left eye but the Ghoul was on her right, so all she had to do was force her feet to move, one in front of the other, the Ghoul shifting her a little so her weight resting on his hip. Her bag was on his back and he was carrying her gun and all around them, the camp was in chaos.
He paused for a second on their way out, right at the outskirts of the camp. Hesitated for just a moment. Then, they were moving again, him leaning down like he was adjusting his boot before he started walking faster, the terrain angling uphill. Her boots rubbed at her bare feet and it hurt but everything hurt and she was so hungry her head was spinning and throbbing and one of her knees buckled, but he had her, guiding her up a path that overlooked the camp…unless…was she seeing double out of her one eye?
“Here.”
She looked down and stared at the canteen for a moment before taking it with the arm not slung around him, taking a long drink. She had to gasp for air when she was done but he didn’t scold her for drinking too much. Didn't say anything, just kept walking.
The explosion made her jump, spinning and nearly falling as she stared at the camp, and at the flames engulfing part of it.
And then she turned back to him, turning her whole head so she could see him. He was staring down at something in his hand, rubbing a gloved thumb idly over the surface. A lighter.
“Did you…” she started, voice hoarse from disuse and from screaming. She swallowed, turning back to the camps and watching the soldiers run around.
“Do something stupid? Yeah…maybe,” he muttered, but she couldn’t quite follow the thread of conversation. “Come on. It ain’t far.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, sagging into his side a little. He adjusted her again, a hand on her waist keeping her propped against him. Then, quieter, “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t answer…just kept walking. And she made it a whole ten minutes before her legs refused to carry her another step…before her eye closed and refused to open again, and she was only vaguely aware of arms scooping her up…of her head resting against the hard angle of his shoulder.
“Sorry,” she breathed, and a soft sigh was the last thing she heard before the world went dark.
She woke to the feeling of a hand on her knee and jerked away before she knew what she was doing, curling into a ball but not screaming because Julius would rip out her teeth…he’d hit her again and she didn’t have any weapons and this was her life now and she couldn’t do this! She couldn’t bear it! She…
“Think you ought to warn someone before you go touching them?” someone wondered, and it took a moment…a full three breaths, taken in panicked succession, to understand. The Ghoul. He was here. He’d gotten her out of there. His duster was still wrapped around her body, flapping open at her knees, but she couldn’t uncurl for long enough to fix it.
“We thought she was asleep.”
“Apparently not.” There was a rustle of cloth and the soft jangling of spurs, and then she opened her one good eye to find the Ghoul standing over her, something soft passing over his face. And it made her breath catch in her throat because he’d never, not once, been soft before. Less mean than usual, sure. Resigned to her company more and more, it seemed. But he’d never looked at her like he regretted anything before, and that only made her feel worse about leaving him…about trying to teach him a stupid little lesson when she was the one who hadn’t known what she was talking about.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped, hoping he knew she meant for so many things.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, those dark eyes of his taking her in. “We’re at an NCR camp. This is Rodriguez. She’s got about as much medical training as anyone these days.” He turned his gaze to the flap of the tent and Lucy followed his eyeline, turning her whole head to see. But there was nothing there, and when she’d turned back, the Ghoul was walking away.
“Where are you going?” she asked, lips trembling, hands shaking at the thought of him leaving her here.
His steps faltered, but he didn’t look at her. “I’m gonna wait outside.”
She wanted to reach out…grab his arm and beg him not to. She didn’t even know his name but he’d saved her life and…
He walked out through the opening of the tent and the woman who’d been standing in the background offered a no nonsense kind of smile. “Hi, Lucy. I’m Captain Rodriguez. Your companion said you were being held at a Legion camp?”
She nodded, forcing herself to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Yes. Yes, I…” The words clogged her throat, the shame of it making her whole body hot and itchy. “Yes.”
“I’m very familiar with the Legion, and what they do to the people they capture…the women specifically. I brought you a bucket of water and a cloth to get cleaned up. I’ll close the tent so you can have privacy. And your companion is waiting outside. He’ll make sure no one comes in.”
Lucy thought of the dog…Dogmeat. That’s what the Ghoul called her. Two guard dogs watching the door.
“Do you have any other injuries? I see your eye is swollen. That should go down soon. And I can wrap your wrists. Is there anything else?”
“I, um…I need something…to stop from getting pregnant.”
The older woman nodded. “Of course. We have some medication. It’s not a guarantee, but it decreases the chances of pregnancy.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Rodriguez bandaged her wrists, washing them with lukewarm water first and putting some kind of salve on them. She put some on her neck too, and under her eye where it swelled uncomfortably. Then she brought her a set of clothes. Underwear. A bra. Khaki pants and a long sleeved shirt. They’d ruined her Vault suit. That’s what she kept thinking when she was alone in the tent, scrubbing herself with the bucket of water until her skin was raw. And when she laid down, head resting on the flat pillow, she pulled the Ghoul’s duster over herself again because it smelled like the man who’d saved her and because it covered more of her skin and because it made her feel safe.
They’d ruined her Vault suit and that man had raped her and her whole body still hurt and she was too weak to do anything other than close her eyes and sink back into unconsciousness.
The next time she woke, she was still clutching the Ghoul’s duster…still on the cot in the tent. It was dark outside, the only light coming from a flickering lantern in the corner that illuminated the partially closed flap of the tent…and a chair at her bedside. And in that chair, a familiar man with blue fabric in his hand, a needle in the other. It took her a moment to make sense of it…to realize he was pulling a needle through the fabric, in and out, making tiny, neat stitches.
“You can sleep some more,” he said after a while, not looking up. At his feet, the dog lay with her head on her paws, breathing steadily in and out.
“I’m sorry I left you,” she whispered, voice catching. It still hurt to talk. How much had she screamed? She couldn’t remember.
He glanced up at her, then went back to his sewing. “You were gonna come back.”
She nodded. “I was. I promise.”
“I know.”
“I didn't know…” She closed her eye, breath hitching. “I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“And…they killed her. As soon as we walked in. They killed her. It…was…it was for nothing,” she sobbed. “All of it…”
He sighed, and she heard him get up…heard him walk away, and she put her hands over her face, praying he didn’t leave her here.
He didn’t. Instead, he came back with a bucket of water, sitting at her side and dipping a cup from the makeshift table beside her into it. “Here. Drink.”
She sat up, wincing when sitting up hurt, but she was able to take a sip of the surprisingly cold water. The second it touched her tongue, she was gulping it down. He just watched, letting her finish the glass before dipping a cloth into the bucket of water and leaning in, slow enough she had plenty of time to move out of the way. She didn’t…just watched him as he wiped it across her cheeks, then dipped it into the bucket again and held it against her swollen eye. She let out a sigh, shoulders relaxing, good eye closing at the feeling. “They leave the water out at night to cool it off. That ought to help your eye.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “Hold that there. And sleep some more.”
“Are we leaving tomorrow?”
“If we can.” He went back to his sewing and that’s when she realized what it was. Her Vault Suit. He was fixing her Vault suit.
She laid down, curling up on her side and adjusting the damp cloth so it rested on her eye. But she kept watching him until he glanced up again. “Will you stay with me? Please?” she whispered, ashamed at needing to ask but needing to regardless. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who was good with vulnerability…but that didn’t matter. Not right now. “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
He turned his attention back to her ruined Vault suit. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She nodded, lips trembling, taking deep, deliberate breaths and trying not to start crying again. But the tears came anyway and she curled up with her knees against her chest, shivering in the cold night air.
“Dogmeat? Come here,” he ordered, and she felt him pat the bed beside her.
The dog leapt onto the bed and her eye flew open when she curled up behind her knees, head resting on her ankle over the tattered edge of the duster.
“She’ll sleep here. Keep an eye out.”
She nodded, trying to smile, tears still falling. “Thank you.”
“You ain’t gotta keep thanking me.”
“I’m sorry…”
He sighed, and she closed her eyes tight, expecting him to snap. Or leave. She knew she got on his nerves a lot of the time…she just hadn’t cared before. But she felt like she had been shattered…like every part of her was broken and she didn’t know how to gather the pieces.
Then his hand landed on her shoulder, steady and grounding, and when she met his eyes with her one good one, he had that soft look on his face again, lips pressed into a line, head tilted, jaw tight. Without thinking, she put her hand on his, gripping it tight, like he was a lifeline and she was drowning. And they stayed there for a long time, her just looking at him for longer than she’d ever looked at him before. And his eyes scanned her face, mouth opening and closed again, an expression she couldn’t read settling on his face.
Please, she thought, wondering if he could read it on her face. Help me. Please help me.
The Ghoul let out a breath, eyes closing, and muttering something that sounded like, ‘Goddamnit.’ But she probably misheard…her head still hurt, her thoughts refusing to unscramble themselves. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to leave.
Then, as if he could, indeed, read her mind, he got up from the chair and moved to sit beside her on the cot instead. “You want me to lay down?”
She nodded desperately, clutching his hand. Never in their, admittedly brief, acquaintance had she considered the fact that this man would lay on a bed beside her and open his arms for her to crawl into…that he might let her burrow into his chest and clutch his shirt so tightly her fingers turned white. But he did. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close and didn’t say anything when words began to pour out of her like vomit, not pulling away when she started crying so hard she shook the whole bed, tears soaking his shirt.
“It hurt…I begged him to stop but he kept…he hurt me. He wouldn’t stop! I couldn't make him stop! It hurts! It still hurts! I’m scared…please…”
Dogmeat moved to occupy the space between their legs and his hand rested on the back of her head, the other stroking her back.
“Please…please!” She babbled it like a chant…like she couldn’t stop.
“You’re alright now,” he finally told her, sounding different than she’d ever heard him. “You’re alright Lucy. I’ve got you.”
Apparently that was all she needed to hear.
The tears slowed, her breaths evening out, eyes closing and refusing to open again, breath still hitching every few seconds. And still he held her to his solid chest, the steady beating of his heart finally lulling her into something like sheep. This time she dreamed about his face, softer than before and strangely familiar. He was talking…somehow, she could feel the rumble of his words against her chest.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I…I’ll keep you safe, alright? I’ll do my best.”
Her breath hitched again, making her realize she was somewhere between sleep and waking, and his arms were still there, holding her close. Keeping her safe. One second she was lying in his arms on that cot, the next, they were outside, walking through the Mojave, his arm still around her.
“I’ll have you know, this wasn’t the fucking plan. You ain’t gotta look at me like that. I know I’m fucked,” he muttered.
“What?” she asked, wondering if she’d misheard him.
He turned to her, and this time, he was smiling a little, reaching out to cup the back of her head, and that was odd because the Ghoul didn’t touch her like that and he didn’t smile at her like he’d realized something…like he’d accepted something. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just talking to the dog.”
“Oh…my head hurts…don’t feel good…”
“I know.” He sounded sad about that, thumb brushing back and forth over her back.
“Will you stay?” she asked in her dream, or maybe she was awake. She couldn’t tell anymore…she was so tired and everything hurt…
Another long sigh, and she thought she felt him nod. “Yeah. I guess I will.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, nuzzling closer in the bed or maybe they were in the desert. Then, because it was true and because she couldn't stop herself, she whispered, “you’re all I have. Shouldn’t have left…I’m sorry…”
The arms tightened around her, that hand on her back so soothing she was able to let out a breath, relaxing a little.
“Get some more sleep. You’ll be alright.”
And she did. She slept and slept like she hadn’t since she was eight or nine and caught some kind of flu, waking for seconds at a time and feeling so weak she couldn’t even open her eyes before drifting away again. Arms held her, then eased her back onto the bed. A hand tucked hair behind her ear. Adjusted the blanket or coat or something covering her. Something jumped off the bed, then jumped up again, crawling in front of her this time, her arm draping around what she realized was a dog.
“Dogmeat?” she asked, brow furrowed, too tired to open her eyes. She remembered, just for a second, why she was so tired and why she hurt between her legs and curled up again, hiding her face in the dog’s fur, letting out a whimper.
A strong hand squeezed her shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. “You’re alright,” a voice she knew promised.
She nodded, believing him immediately and sleeping again.
Then another voice. “She’s still out?”
“Yeah. Doubt she got much sleep over the last few days.”
“Want us to give her more?”
He sighed, patting her arm. “Nah…guess I probably shouldn’t turn her into a drug addict just yet. Those withdrawls would be a bitch to deal with on top of everything else.”
She slept again, barely waking when rough fingers pressed gently to her wrist, then again when someone held a cup to her lips, lukewarm water dribbling into her mouth. And she flinched, remembering a hand in her hair and pain.
“Just me. Drink a little,” he urged.
Just him. The Ghoul. She relaxed, drinking deep. She knew his voice…had heard it before. A long time ago…hadn’t she?
Another voice drifted into her darkness at some point. The woman. “You can move on if you need to. We’ll take care of her.”
“Can’t do that. She’s my problem now.” A pause. Then, “I promised her.”
A hand on hers, squeezing gently.
More darkness…a warm, comfortable kind.
And when she woke enough to open her eyes for the first time in what felt like a long time, she found herself curled up on her side, nose pressed to the Ghoul’s chest, his hand on her back, body curled forward like he was guarding her. The dog was there too, a warm, solid presence behind her knees. And Lucy knew it wouldn’t last. She knew the Ghoul didn’t like her…that she got on his nerves. That he probably wished he’d never laid eyes on her. But he’d come for her and he’d helped her walk out of that hellhole. He’d laid down beside her and had held her because she’d asked him to. And when she started to tremble again, his hand started rubbing up and down her back.
So Lucy stayed right where she was, her shaking body refusing to leave the safety of his arms…at least not for a little while.