Archive of Our Own

Oh! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek... 

He carried his own low temperature always about with him... External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn’t know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often “came down” handsomely, and Scrooge never did.

 - A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

STAVE ONE: ROGER’S GHOST

The truth of it was, Cooper hadn’t thought of Roger since he’d killed him. Since he’d blown his brains out in The Westside Medical Centre on the outskirts of the Boneyard. Why would he need to? 

It had happened so far from where he currently was, which was about a day outside of New Vegas, and in such a different environment than the one he was currently in, which was pumped full of just about every drug and chem he could find in the raiders’ nest he had exploded, that well…well, he couldn’t even remember what the point of that was. Did he mention it was a considerable amount of drugs and chems? Damn. This was good shit. 

It took a lot to fuck Cooper up these days. Ghoul constitution was shit on human looks, human taste and smell, human noses, and etc. It also did a number on his human bodily functions and organs. That is to say, Cooper healed as quick as a motherfucker, and short of a direct hit splattering all of his brains out (and even then he wasn’t so sure, given he was a tough old ghoul that just seemed to get tougher every year), there wasn’t much on this version of Earth that wouldn’t have had him climbing back to his feet a minute later and fucking that thing up harder. 

But that prodigious constitution unfortunately applied to the finer things in life as well. To wit, he was a big ol’ bucket of drugs, but a bucket with a massive hole in the bottom, and he had to use a mighty liberal pour to keep himself topped up. 

The raiders had been easy pickings, most of them so high that they were basically comatose, and the rest couldn’t shoot worth a damn anyway. It only took him an hour to clear them out, another half hour to loot, and then he had the rest of the evening to enjoy the spoils, being the victor and all. He probably had enough to be fucked up all night. Well. Fucked up for five hours. 

“Idiots should have followed the Golden Rule of the Wastelands,” he had slurred to Dogmeat earlier, totally shitfaced, “Do not get high off thy own supply.” Wait, not golden rule. That was something else, right? 

He turned his head to ask the vaultie what the Golden Rule had been, then remembered she was gone. Well. Good thing he hadn’t asked. Better call that the Silver Rule of the Wastelands then. 

“Maybe Bronze Rule, to be safe.” Dogmeat was worrying away at a mangy raider hand, ignoring him as usual. Fuck. Had he mentioned yet that this was the good shit? In fact, he might even be past ‘fucked up’ and well on his way to ‘blackout’. Thank fuck for that. Let it be known that Coop was on his way to rescue his family, his number one concern and driving force in life, but let it also be known that running away from his demons was not something he was going to kick out of bed, if he could get it. 

So he certainly hadn’t been thinking of Roger when all of his guns cocked at once, the hammers all drawing back with a distinctive and foreboding CLICK, thunderous even against the crackle of the fire, a sound synonymous with danger. Cooper threw himself down for cover. It was not a particularly graceful move, and once he was down it took quite a bit of work to figure out which part of his body corresponded to which part, then what the difference between right and left was, then finally how to sit up again. Dogmeat hadn’t reacted at all, which was odd. Wasn’t she supposed to responsible one for the evening? She had finished on her hand for the night and had curled up across from him, not quite asleep yet. Well. Maybe he had imagined it. It was either that or fire her as his DD and he didn’t think he had enough caps on hand to pay for a cab. 

And Roger was definitely dead. As a goddamn doornail. He had been there, played a pretty key role in the proceedings, heh heh, maybe not top billing (he couldn’t begrudge ol’ Rog of that one) but at least the ‘And Cooper Howard as ‘The Ghoul’’. Then had not thought one whit of the man after the last bite of his ass jerky. No use dwelling on the past. Cooper tried to keep his regrets rooted firmly in the past past. Like further back. Along with his demons. Easier to outrun that way. Again, great set of drugs here. Hats off to the chef. And the sommelier, who had set the wine pairing (read, himself who hadn’t so much ‘set a wine pairing’ as he had ‘popped handfuls of pills and snorted and injected everything he could get his hands on, even the stuff without labels’). 

Which is why it was so strange that when he got himself sat back up, Roger was sitting across from him at the fire, a chain of vials crossed round him like Coop’s bandolier, and a bandage wrapped around his head. Right where Cooper had blown his brains out. 

“Oh hey,” Roger chuckled, “Fancy seeing you here.” It was definitely Rog, alright. He could see Roger’s limpid blue eyes, his sad little comb-over, hell, even his tattered blazer underneath the vials with his sad little tie, but below that he could see through him, into the Wasteland beyond. Cooper had heard it said before that Roger was gutless, and now he could definitely see it.

Cooper groaned. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken all the unlabelled shit too. Who knew what those desert rat raiders had been cooking up? It would just be his shit luck if they made him hallucinate a weird revenge plot from a guest character of his very, very long life. Well far be it for him not to indulge while tripping balls.  “What do you want, Rog?” 

But Roger blinked at him and it was the same old mild mannered Roger, who couldn’t hurt a fly.  Terrible bounty hunter really. Coop was shocked he’d lasted as long as he had. Pretty sure he had talked his bounties into going with him out of pity. “I’m just here to help, old friend! The same way you helped me.”

”Uh-huh.”

”Say,” Roger said, leaning in. Cooper shot another look over at Dogmeat, who still hadn’t reacted to Roger’s ghost, or him talking to Roger’s ghost.  “Do you remember what I said, there at the end?”

Coop slitted his eyes, tried to cast his mind back. Everything was still moving like treacle for him, like molasses, like… “…something about apple pie?”

”No, before that! I said that smoothies could be so dang unkind.” 

“That they can be, Rog, that they can be.” 

“So why did you go and ditch the kindest smoothie you’ve ever met, huh?”

There it was. Maybe Roger wasn’t here to kill him, but dang if he didn’t know how to push his buttons. His subconscious. Whatever. 

“Dammit, Roger. She was fine on her own. She was only going to slow me down, anyway. I’ve got my goal, and she’s got hers, and the last thing the Wasteland is, is kind. The sooner she realizes that, the better off she’ll be. And…it’s not like we were friends, anyway.”

But Roger was looking at him with a terrible kind of empathy, something he never had never done in life. He shut up. Waste of breath.

”You will be haunted,” said Roger, “by three spirits.”

Cooper froze. “Oh, hell no.  Are you fucking kidding me?! This better not be you trying to pull some fucking Charles Dickens, Christmas Carol bullshit!”

Roger unwound the bandage on his head like it was too warm to wear by the fire. With it gone, Cooper could see the entry and exit wounds he had made. The grey sludge of his brains started to ooze out the sides. “You’ve been wastelandin’ for a long time, friend. That’s a lot of vials. This is your last chance to mend your ways.”

”Fuck you! I don’t need some fucking moral or life lesson right now. I hope you burn in hell, you fuck! You know I played Scrooge on Broadway? Ain’t nothing you or that sick fuck Dickens can teach me about my life.” 

Roger stood and shuffled his way past Coop, placing his hand on his shoulder briefly. Cooper was pretty proud he didn’t flinch away, though it was a near thing. Cooper could hear his breath rattling in his lungs. “Kindness is a beautiful, rare thing,” he whispered to Cooper. “Even you deserve it, friend. Especially at Christmas.”

”And it ain’t fucking Christmas!”

But Roger was already gone.

STAVE TWO: THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS

”Coop. Hey Coop.”

Cooper came awake. The fire was just embers now, Dogmeat fully asleep at his side. After R—his bad trip, he had self medicated with half a bottle of whiskey, which hadn’t made him feel any better, but at least had helped him pass out. 

Only now he’d startled awake because…because Charlie was beside him, a familiar half twist on his mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” Cooper breathed. “fuck no.”

It was definitely Charlie. But maybe it was a trick of the firelight, or his fucked up mind, but it felt more accurate to say it was indefinitely Charlie. As in, when he looked at him he could see Charlie flicker through every age he’d ever known him, young and bright when they’d first met at basic, still with a bit of puppy fat on him, then dirty and determined in Alaska, then covered in stage makeup, then joyful at his wedding, next  solemn and tired near the end of the world, and finally Charlie as a corpse, radiation burned to shit, flesh flailed off his bones. It was all of those Charlies at once, though he fluctuated in his distinctness. 

It was Charlie’s smile and Charlie’s voice when he said, “‘Fraid so, Coop. How ya been?”

”Jesus,” Cooper said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What the fuck are you doing here, Charlie?”

It was Charlie in uniform who said, “I think you know, Coop.” 

”Fuck, man,” Coop moaned, “Let’s not fucking do this, Charlie.” 

But Charlie was always more sensible than he, more disciplined and smarter too, to boot. And let’s face it, a better actor. He held out his hand, and Cooper saw chilblains and calluses developing on it, which became a half burnt skeleton, then flickered back to young and heathy. Charlie was yet another reason why the world ain’t fair or kind, he always had been a far better man than Cooper Howard, and even in death, he was a far better friend. 

“C’mon, Coop,” Charlie said gently, “We’ve got our marching orders. So let’s fall out, eh, soldier?”

And Cooper couldn’t help but grasp Charlie’s hand with his own radiation cursed one, the one with Lucy’s finger sewn on, and then they’re off. 

He’s whisked away somewhere somehow, a sudden wind and tumult around him so he couldn’t see a damn thing, the only thing he felt was Charlie’s dry palm against his own until—

They were by a forest, next to some fenced farm fields. Cooper could hear birds, and frogs, and in the distance he could see pastures, and wheat and farmhouses further than that. There were cows, and horses, and green. 

The sight hit him like a punch to the gut. It’s the Old World. He hadn’t seen that much alive in hundreds of years, the casual abundance of life in the past. What wealth they had had and hadn’t even known it. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long forgotten. But it wasn’t just any fields and pastures, not just any forest. 

”I was born here,” Cooper whispered, “I was born and bred in this place.”

Charlie tilted his head at Cooper. “You know, your hands are shaking. And there’s something wet on your face.” Then after a minute, for Charlie had always been a kind man, too, “Let’s move on. Do you remember the way?”

”Remember it! I could walk it blindfolded.” 

They walked along a path picked through the forest that was no more than the weight of someone walking it, over and over again, wearing the ground lightly. If only all of Man’s works upon the Earth could have been so gentle upon her, being of his weight and his weight only, taking no more than what he needed, far less than what was offered. 

They came across a boy and a horse. Charlie tactfully ignored the cry from the ghoul beside him. The boy had clearly ridden the horse earlier, but was just walking him now. The horse was long past cooled down, and by all rights could have been stabled and combed already, but the boy was still there stroking his horse, whispering sweet nothings, feeding him bits of apple by the by. 

“It’s me,” said Cooper, “It’s me as a boy. That horse is called Sweetheart, because he always was, even though he was a stallion. I raised him from a foal, his momma had died in breech, I bottle-fed him at the start, staying up nights, even though Pa said not to…he was a good horse.” 

Charlie said, “It’s getting late.”

Cooper cleared his throat. “I always stayed out as long as I could, with Sweetheart. I’d tell him all my stories from school. My Pa…my pa hated his name, hated me being sweet on him, but I didn’t care. That horse was the only source of goodness in my life, especially after Ma died…” both men’s eyes looked up the shadowy path to the house beyond. 

“You were kind to each other,” Charlie said gently, “You needed each other in those days.” Neither man needed to say it. There was nothing kind waiting for the boy in that house. 

Cooper cleared his throat again. It was hard to speak without his voice rasping. He could taste salt on his tongue. “I wish…”

”What do you wish?”

”I wish that others had been kind to me too.”

Charlie shook his head, then took Cooper’s hand. “C’mon, soldier. Let’s move on.”

A tumult again, and they were in the mud and sleet of Alaska. It was winter shading into spring, the days were getting longer, and the two of them were with their platoon running drills.

Cooper grinned. “Look, it’s us! Charlie, look how young we are. And look, it’s Lieutenant Stevens. I haven’t thought about him in forever.” 

He pointed out the head of their platoon, a grizzled man who’d always seemed hewn from their surroundings, craggy face and gruff demeanor, not that anyone in his platoon believed that for more than a second. 

Spring in Alaska. Cooper thought of that time as one of perpetual wetness, melting snow churning into mud, and even though it wasn’t as cold or as dark, the damp of it all was its own kind of freeze, its own kind of hell. Everything he had developed some kind of mold or rot. Cooper always expected that he would develop it himself, and remembered checking between his toes and the backs of his knees compulsively. 

They watched the men of their platoon, young Howard and Whiteknife included, struggle through the course in knee deep mud for a minute more, before Lieutenant Stevens seemed to tire of it as well. 

“Alright, platoon.  Endex for the day. Squad leaders, get some sort of accountability, lord knows we need it.” 

“But, sir,” Corporal Howard teased, “We still have a few hours of daylight left.” It’s a familiar scene, and the players knew their lines by heart. The rest of the men drew up, all wearing grins. 

Lieutenant Stevens scowled, though not a very convincing one. “Well the days are getting longer, and more miserable to boot. I’m a bastard, but I’m not a fucking bastard. Get yourselves cleaned up and meet back here. I’ve got some different orders now.”

”What orders, sir?” 

“A mess of a different kind. Whiteknife, Howard and I went out on patrol last night, bagged ourselves an elk. We thought it was a commie in the dark. Nothing for it but to dress it and haul it back to camp, and even after the officers’ cut there’s still plenty of meat left. But it won’t keep long in this weather. Figured we might as well grill the rest up tonight in mess. Waste not, want not and all.”

A ragged cheer greeted the words, then the men ran to stow their gear, clapping Howard and Whiteknife on the back as they went. 

Cooper smiled fondly. “Thought it was a commie in the dark, the old liar.”

”No?”

”No, c’mon Charlie, don’t you remember? We were hunting for elk the whole time. Stevens was sick of the rations, or sick of us complaining about them. He took us out and taught us everything he knew about bushcraft and tracking. Even taught you a couple tricks about surviving off the land.”

”That he did.”

”He was a good teacher. A good leader.”

”So? That was his job.”

”Yeah, but he was different, Charlie. You and I have worked under some real assholes and you know full well the difference. Lieutenant Stevens encouraged us. Spent more time than he needed to with us. Hell, he even paid for Lewis’s bus ticket, the direct one, so he could spend another three hours home on leave with his new baby. He had a lot to teach but he wasn’t mean with it, holding it over our heads like he was better than us, or stingy about the giving of it. He’d lead us up to the trail but wait for us to find it ourselves.” 

“It’s easy to do that, though, Coop. It didn’t cost him ‘nothing. Or, nothing much, anyway.” 

Cooper rubbed his head. In front of them the men were building up a fire. He knew that some time soon Elwes would pull out his harmonica. He was a shit but enthusiastic player. Cooper never thought he’d miss the sound of it.  

“Maybe not, but he had the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service a pleasure or a toil. He was a good man. These little things can really make all the difference in the world…” Charlie was looking at him again. “Fuck, Charlie. I get it now, okay? Fucking hell, man. I got the lesson, you sadistic fuck. Jesus, can we move on?” 

“One more stop, Coop.” Charlie promised. And because Charles Whiteknife was a merciful man, and a damn good friend, he waited until Elwes got through a song on his harmonica before he took Cooper’s hand. It was always hard to tell exactly what song Elwes was attempting to play, but this time Cooper thought it was a song about second chances. Second chances and home. 

Another tumult, maybe gentler this time, and when it cleared they were looking at the Howard family in bed. 

Cooper knew this was coming but it still hurt. If seeing his childhood farm had been a gutpunch, then this was a kneecapping. He and Barb were awake with Janey sprawled asleep between them, sleeping the death sleep of a toddler. She looked to be about three, a bit of drool on her cheek, her head pillowed on her momma’s hip, her feet kicked languidly into her dad’s stomach. 

Cooper remembered those nights. Whenever Janey had had a nightmare, or if they had had to call a sitter she had trouble sleeping in her own bed, and Cooper and Barb were never very good at denying her anything. They didn’t get much sleep because Janey was such a live wire, a regular kung fu fighter in her sleep, but even in his memories Cooper couldn’t recall ever feeling upset about it. He had everything he needed right there in his arms. The good years. Before Vault-Tec. 

This must have been a babysitter night. Barb still had a bit of mascara on her lashes and he could see a tux jacket thrown lazily at the foot of the bed. There must have been a premiere last night, or some kind of red carpet. 

“You ever wish this could last forever?” 

Their hands were intertwined on top of Janey between them. Cooper could see the wicked gleam in Barb’s eyes. 

“What’s gotten into you, old man?” 

She could always read him like a book. “It’s just…You know these roles can’t keep coming my way forever. I’m a handsome cowboy now, but in ten, twenty years, I’m just going to be an old weathered has-been. Are you sure you’re going to love me then?”

Coop always got wistful whenever he had to look at himself. Not to mention a little vain and insecure. He couldn’t help it. He was an actor, after all. 

And Barb had always known that about him. She laughed lowly, then pulled her hand up to cup her husband’s cheek. “Of course I will, Cooper Howard. Hundreds of years could pass and you would still be the same man I married. The same man with the same good heart.”

”Damn you, Charlie,” Cooper heard himself whisper now, “Cooper Howard is dead and gone. I don’t want to do this anymore, Charlie.”

He heard Charlie sigh behind him. “I always did like Barb, you know.” 

“Well she ain’t that woman anymore! And I ain’t that man!”

Another sigh. “Aren’t you though, Coop?”

A hand on his shoulder. A final tumult.

STAVE THREE: THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS

”Why hello again, Mr. Howard.”

Cooper was back by the fire, polishing off the rest of the whiskey. He didn’t think he had tear ducts left to cry anymore, and it was a waste of water in the desert to do it anyway, so he wasn’t crying. That was just the facts. He didn’t have to reach up to his cheeks to know he didn’t have any wetness there. And if he kept drinking, he wouldn’t have to feel it, either.

He looked to his side and saw young Henry MacLean looking as chipper as could be next to him. He was dressed in a real management power suit, hair slicked back, that self same pompous condescension dripping off of him. His look really said, fuck the poor people. It also said, poor people means anyone that’s not me and mine. Men like Henry MacLean had a look about them that said they were up for anything, from a cold beer to murder, and whether it were either extremity or something in the tolerably wide and comprehensive range of subjects between, they would approach it with the same kind of mild pleasantness.  

“Well, howdy, young Henry,” he drawled, “I suppose you’re here to tell me you’re the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

Henry rocked on his heels, self satisfaction shining out of his pores. “Well, I couldn’t possibly say,” he demurred as though it were juicy gossip, “but perhaps my reputation precedes me.” 

“Dipshit, I’m just glad you being here means vaultie finally grew a pair. Offed ya, did she? Or did you finally bleed out from the second hole I put in your ass?”

Henry smiled his smarmy corporate smile. “Well, actually, it’s more complicated than that. I ended up getting a taste of my own medicine, so to speak. But my little Lucy wasn’t the one to dose me. I could never stain her hands like that.”

”The fuck?”

Henry consulted the golden Pip-Boy on his wrist. “Come along now, Mr. Howard. We have miles to go before you sleep.” 

“Listen, you patronizing piece of shit. I ain’t going anywhere with the likes of you. I’ve clearly stumbled on a real humdinger of a drug combo, but you ain’t my friend, and my subconscious should have known better than to send you. I am going to sit here, and I am going to finish this whiskey, and then I am going to sleep it off.”

Henry tsked. “Oh dear. Guilty conscience? Betray someone you loved? Believe it or not, I know something about that.”

”Oh, I’ll bet you do.”

”But as I’ve always told my little Sugarbomb, it’s important to talk these things out. I’ve always said that guilt is a pollutant. If we don’t get rid of it then we’ll end up with it coating our lungs.”

”Leave me. The fuck. Alone.”

”Besides which,” Henry said, “it’s hardly your call to make. Now come along. I want to make sure we stick to schedule.” He knelt beside Cooper and grabbed his shoulder. 

With Henry it was more of a whooshing in the air, like they were being whisked up on a Vertibird, only faster. Cooper felt his stomach drop out from underneath him, and it only caught up when they were where Henry was taking them, out among dark tents, low fires, hushed moans and screams. Cooper fought valiantly not to hurl. When he looked up, he could see rows and rows of crucifixes. 

“Legion,” Henry said to him softly. “I know you know they’re coming.” 

“So? Their little stalemate's over?”

“Lacerta has named himself Caesar. I believe you met him when the two of you crossed paths?”

Cooper remembered the quiet smirking man. “Oh yeah. Reminded me a lot of you, Henry. Ready to let someone else do the dirty work and take all the credit.”

”Well, not anymore. He’s ordered a war of conquest on New Vegas. The Legion are already on the move, and they’re killing and enslaving everyone in their path.”

Cooper’s stomach flipped. It must have been residual from all their whooshing about. He shrugged, kept his tone casual. “So? What else is new?”

”You’ll find Caesar Lacerta to be a particularly bloodthirsty ruler, Mr. Howard. I know that you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on my…methods, but even I am appalled by some of the things he’s capable of. Ten years as Legate has only honed his taste for pain.” Henry pursed his lips. “Shame, really. His army is integral to my plans, but in this state he’s going to cause a lot more harm than good.”

”What plans?”

”Ah, ah, ah!” Henry wagged a pompous finger, “you don’t expect me to reveal that, do you Mr. Howard? The NDAs I’ve signed were very clear about extending into the afterlife. And I didn’t work this hard to have my ship sunk by some loose lips!”

”Jesus, forget I asked.”

”Of course, my plans had always counted on Lucy being safe, either back in the Vault or with me. And as you know, she’s not anymore.”

”…so?”

”So,” Henry nodded towards New Vegas, the same Corporate smile on his face, “so she’s going to die out there. Caesar Lacerta still remembers the two of you. And when he finds her, and he will find her, he’s going to kill my little Sugarbomb. Well, after he makes her wish she were dead, of course.” 

“This,” Cooper said, “is a product of my imagination mixed with a lot of dubious substances. This is not real.”

Henry shrugged. “Now wouldn’t that be nice?”

”Besides, she’s with Maximus—“

”Oh, he’ll die too!”

”—and the other one—“

”I don’t actually know what happens to him, maybe he runs away?”

“And House will protect Vegas.” 

“House!” Henry laughed, “House won’t protect Vegas! House sees exactly which way the wind is blowing, and the only thing he’s interested in protecting is himself. We're similar that way.  He’s going to leave the Legion to battle the NCR—“

”NCR? Those fuckers are back?”

”—And when both sides are exhausted, then he’ll come and mop up the dregs. Of course by then Phase 2 will be well underway, so he won’t be top dog for long. But Lucy won’t last till then. She always did like playing the hero.” Now he looked a little sad. “Say, shall we go visit her? While we still can? My little Sugarbomb.”

“Well, Henry. I don’t know anything about any of that. But if you are the Ghost of Christmas Present or whatever, I’d much rather visit wherever my daughter is right this second.”

Henry was right back to Corporate Fuckwit. “Sorry, Mr. Howard. No can do. NDAs and there’s no way I could violate the chain of command. But what I will say is that if your wife and daughter are in a Vault somewhere, that is probably the safest place for them to be right now. There’s a war coming, you know.”

”Fuck you, Henry.” 

The hand was on his shoulder again. “C’mon. Let’s go see her. You know you want to.”

Another dizzying climb up. When they came down this time, they’re in House’s penthouse at the Lucky 38, and Henry MacLean gave Cooper a discreet moment to dry heave into a pile of rubble. 

House’s screens still said NO SIGNAL, but it looked like emergency backup power had been restored, so there were a couple lights in the cavernous space. 

Thaddeus was doing his best to open a can of Cram with one hand, which is to say, he was busy not opening a can of Cram, and Lucy was buried in the guts of a Securitron. The elevator dinged and Maximus stepped out, looking weary, tight lines etched into his face, and soot on his brow. Cooper hated to admit it, but he was glad the kid was alright, especially after taking on that many Deathclaws.

”Lucy,” Maximus called, “let’s take a break, ok? Have some dinner.”

”Yeah, Lucy! You need to stop and eat! Just let me get this dang can open—“

Maximus took it over smoothly. “C’mon, Lucy!”

She finally popped her head round to look at the boys. Cooper’s heart stopped. If Maximus looked tired, Lucy looked…haggard. Her eyes were bruises on her skin and bloodshot to boot, and there were small nicks and scratches up and down her hands.  A cut on her cheek was bleeding sluggishly. She’s thin and paler than ever. Had it really only been two days? “Oh, maybe in a bit. I’m not hungry right now.”

Maximus took the can and walked it over to her with a fork. “C’mon, Lucy. You have to eat. You’re going to collapse if you keep going like this.”

She accepted it with a small smile, but flinched away from him fussing at her cheek. “Thanks, Max. I’ll just stop for a few minutes.”

“So,” Thaddeus said brightly, chowing down on his own can, “Any luck?” He didn’t see Max making clear, read the room, man signs or Lucy deflating, her fork slowing.

”No…no luck. I keep thinking that I’ll get it soon, but the encryptions on these bots is like nothing else I've seen. My brother might be able to hack them, but I’m worried they’ll just explode if I try. I’m trying to rewire them now but…”

”Oh jeez, that’s too bad.”

”If I could get these online, then we might have a decent chance against the Legion, but the wiring is the most sophisticated I’ve ever seen. Not to mention the code. I’m…I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it.”

Cooper didn’t think he’d ever seen Lucy look this defeated. It seemed to take Max aback as well, because the man quickly tried to bolster. “Well, I know you can do it, Lucy! And even if you can’t, we’ll figure something else out. Don’t worry about it!”

Lucy shook her head. “But the Legion are coming for us. Captain Rodriguez said they’ll be here in four days. If we don’t figure this out, we don’t have a chance.” She handed the can back to Maximus. “Let me just keep tinkering with it for a bit longer…”

”Lucy, you need to rest—“

”Boy, I wish The Ghoul was here,” Thaddeus said blithely. Both Max and Lucy froze. 

“The Ghoul? What could he do?” Max scoffed. 

“Are you kidding me? He’s so cool. He’s got that cool cowboy hat, and those big guns, and he took us to that weapons cache. I bet he could make a bunch of explosions or come up with something really funny and sarcastic to say—“

”Or sell us all out,”

”Or that,” Thaddeus conceded. “But you have to admit the guy does that in style too. Hey, remember when he got you to give up the cold fusion diode? What was his line again? Something about saving bad men with good, um…good gifts?”

”I don’t know if explosions or a weapons cache would make a difference,” Cooper said, “but I do know that there ain’t nothing that will turn those Securitrons on if House doesn’t want them on. Vaultie is wasting her breath over there.” 

Henry shrugged, a ‘well, what can you do?’.

“And,” Cooper said, warming to the subject, “I sure as shit wouldn’t let Rodriguez try and defend the Strip from the Legion, no matter how much NCR backup she hooked up with. If the Legion will be here that quickly Freeside is done for, no ifs ands or buts about it. The NCR oughta retreat and make for the Hoover Dam. House doesn’t need it anymore, but that much power is the real prize of the Mojave. If the NCR can control that, they can rebuild just about anywhere.”

”You’re not wrong,” said Henry. “Too bad you’re not there.” 

“Me too.” Lucy said quietly, working with a soldering iron. Max and Thaddeus paused in their bickering, “I wish The Ghoul were here too.”

”…Lucy, didn’t he sell you out to your dad and abandon you?”

”Which, again, is a pretty badass move.”

She sighed, wiping some excess solder away. “Yes, he did,” she said frankly, “But I get why he did it.”

Cooper’s throat was suddenly dry. 

“Yeah, doesn’t he have like, a family he’s trying to find or something? A really mysterious tragic backstory?”

”It’s not that,” Lucy said, “Or, not all that. I’ve thought about it a lot since and…I think The Ghoul is lonely.”

”Fuck this,” Cooper muttered, clenching his hands into fists. His throat was hot and dry. “She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.”

But of course, no one but Henry could actually see or hear Cooper. So Lucy continued. 

“I think he’s been on his own for a long time. He’s from before the War you know. To be alive and a ghoul for over 200 years…that must really change you. You have to be pretty committed to your goals to want to keep going for all that time. I don’t know if he even remembers how to be the person he was before he had to be The Ghoul. And The Ghoul always has to put himself and his mission first.” Cooper watched her work and thought suddenly, she’s beautiful, exceedingly beautiful.

Lucy tucked a stray hair behind her ear, looking a little self conscious for the first time. He thought, what a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face. “I thought about that kind of life, and I just thought it sounded…lonely. I don’t think he sold me out just because he thought my dad had his family. I think he did it because we were getting too close.” A ripe little mouth, that seems made to be kissed–as no doubt it was.

”…But Lucy, by that logic, he’ll just keep selling you out.”

”Maybe. Probably. But he’s a good man too, Max. And he knew just about everything there was to know about the Wasteland. I know I learned a lot from him when we travelled together, even if he wasn’t the best teacher. And I know I’d feel a lot better if he were here now. Even if he did end up making a deal with the Legion. At least I could tell him that I think he does deserve kindness, even if he doesn’t believe it himself.”

”Lucy…” Cooper reached out for her face. Her freckles melted together when she laughed or smiled. He longed to touch them now, to see if they were smear for him under his finger tips. His hand passed right through. “Darlin’, you shouldn’t think that way of me. I’m not worth it. You need to take your tin man and run now. Vegas ain’t worth it either. If you stay you’ll die out here.”

”Well…” Maximus’s mouth quirked into a reluctant smile.  “Some extra explosions would be pretty nice right now.”

”See?? Oh and maybe he’d know how to attach my arm back on. And I could show him this weird rash on my back!”

”Lucy, c’mon girl, look at me. You can’t say something stupid like that and then not even look at me.” Look at me with the sunniest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen in any little creature’s head.

“She can’t see you, Mr. Howard.”

”And you’re just cool with this, Henry? You’re just cool with letting your daughter die over something like this? The Legion aren’t a fucking joke! You need to make her leave this city!”

”Of course I’m not cool with it, Mr. Howard. No father wants to raise a daughter to be raped and killed by the Legion. And Lucy, I’m sure you’ll agree, is not just any daughter. I know I don’t have to tell you that she’s something special. In fact, if I had my choice, well, she’d be safe with me in a Vault. Or at least with you on your way to Colorado. Then at least she can get Norm’s message and help him out…But we’re ghosts! There’s nothing for it, I’m afraid. I’m dead, and you’ve made your bed already.”

Cooper looked up from trying to touch Lucy, from trying to grab her and shake her. “Wait, what? Norm? Her brother?”

But Henry was looking at his Pip-Boy again. “Whoops! We’re out of time. For what it’s worth, Mr. Howard, I think you would have made a fine son-in-law. Certainly better than her last husband. Let’s do this again sometime. We’ll pencil in another check-in. But for now, it’s time for you to lay in the bed you’ve made.”

The last thing he saw was Lucy’s face, frowning and determined. He thought, Altogether she’s what I used to call provoking, but satisfactory, too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory!

His shoulder was clasped a final time, and they flew up into the night sky.

STAVE FOUR: THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS

Cooper rolled over and threw up on the sand wretchedly. His stomach flipped just as much with it going up as it had coming down, and he hurled a second time. Whatever all that shit was, it burned. 

Dogmeat was beside him immediately, determinedly licking up the sick and stomach acid from his face and the sand. Cooper halfheartedly pushed her away before giving up. Whatever it was she was made of, he doubted this would be the thing to bring her down. She’d eaten far worse. 

And he was still woozy, a pounding headache starting to set in between his temples. He fumbled for his canteen, swished the water in his mouth, then swallowed. Waste not, want not. He took a hit on his inhaler. It didn’t do shit for his headache or his stomach, but he could at least breathe a little easier now, though he was still gasping like a galloping horse. 

Goddamn. That was the last time he was going to mix unlabeled syringes with a full bottle of whiskey. And Daytripper. And Buffout. Probably. What a fucked up dream. Henry MacLean and—

He looked up and there was another ghost in front of him.

This ghost was in complete shadow. It was garmented in deep black. He couldn’t see any more than the ghost’s outline against the night sky, a black cowboy hat, and a suggestion of moonlight glinting off some guns and a bandolier. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, “Dogmeat, you see this, girl?” Dogmeat didn’t look up from her midnight snack. 

“Let me guess. You’re the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.” 

The ghost said nothing, just tipped his hat to Cooper in greeting. Cooper focused on getting his breathing back under control. The spirit filled him with a solemn dread. “Y’all know it ain’t even Christmas, right? Pretty sure it’s June right now.” 

The ghost didn’t respond. 

“Lemme guess. We gotta go on another journey? See my busted up corpse somewhere with my brains splattered out so I can learn a lesson?”

The ghost pointed to Cooper’s right, and Cooper could suddenly see something crumpled up next to him. It’s…his duster and his boots and, yup. There’s his busted up corpse, alright. With his brains splattered out and everything. Guess he wasn’t that tough after all. Without seeming to have moved, he and the ghost were in the Rockies, and he could see that there were three scrawny little bounty hunters creeping up on his dead body. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t tell me those pipsqueaks are the ones that got me.” 

“C’mon, grab his duster! And his guns!” The one in front darted forward, crouched next to his body and started to loot merrily. 

“I can’t believe that this is The Ghoul. The guy’s a legend!”

”Well, never meet your heroes, kid,” Cooper muttered. “This is so embarrassing.” 

“Not smart enough to get out of the way of the Enclave’s auto target defences,” the one in the back scoffed, “I think they do it with lasers or something. Anyone unauthorized stepping into their territory, and boom! Headshot. He probably didn’t even see it coming.”

”Well, hey, are we ok then?”

”Uh, sure. His body must have fallen in front of the boundary. Which must be the tree line there.” 

“Well,” said Cooper, “at least a laser auto defence system is less humiliating than these yahoos.” He cocked his head. Though if that kid was right, then the boundary was probably not the tree line but about 6 inches closer…

”Damn, Ronnie, look at these guns! This is so cool!”

”Oh look, there’s his hat! It looks like it was blown clean off! I think I can reach it—“

BOOM! Headshot, just like the kid said. If only he had been as smart about estimating safe zones. The other two scattered, and Cooper sighed. His corpse was now thoroughly looted and mixed with the blood and guts of some pre-pubescent rugrat. 

“How the mighty have fallen,” he said,  “And let me guess. If I hadn’t decided to come alone, then I could have avoided this fate, right?”

The ghost only shrugged. 

“Perfect. Brilliant. At least the dog isn’t caught up in this. Hey, where is she anyway?”

The ghost pointed behind Cooper, and he turned around and saw…

Dogmeat, who was galloping through the rubble of New Vegas, dodging all of the bodies and fires along the way. He spotted her just as she ran in through a doorway, and thef they’re in the wreckage that was the lobby of the Wrangler. 

“Dogmeat!” Lucy cried. She’s pinned underneath some rubble. Some rebar was stuck straight through her right arm in a macabre homage to what had happened to Cooper. Wrangler is bad luck for us, eh, vaultie? He wanted to say, but couldn’t work up the energy to say it, because she had lost so much blood, and she was on her own, and in front of her was Caesar Lacerta, laurel crown still golden on his head, that same quiet smirk on his face. 

Dogmeat wasted no time, leapt immediately on his back, jaws open for a bite. Cooper wanted to cheer. Bless his girls! They never do anything by halves. 

Except Lacerta was much faster than he looked. He was totally fresh while Dogmeat and Lucy were winded from a long road and battle. He turned while the dog was still in the air and speared her right through the stomach.

Cooper fell to his knees like his strings had been cut. Lacerta tossed the dog and the spear aside, and they fell to the side with a whimper. “Now, where were we?” he said with that same cold smirk. 

“Dogmeat!” Lucy screamed again. 

“If she can get a stimpak she’ll be fine,” Cooper said, to the ghost as well as himself. “If they can both get a stimpak they’ll be fine, they’ve both walked away from worse before. It’ll be fine.” 

The ghost turned to him, cold as the grave. 

“Dogmeat, hang on! I’m sure your daddy is on his way! I’m sure he’ll be here soon!” Lucy was pulling at her arm weakly, trying to get it off the rebar and away from Lacerta. The ghost tilted its head at Cooper, Will he? it seemed to say, Will he be here soon?

Cooper reached for his guns and started to shoot at Lacerta, though the bullets have no effect. A corpse on some back path in the Rockies. No one there to mourn or witness. He ran and placed himself in front of Lucy. “Back off, you cosplaying piece of shit.” 

Lacerta stepped through him. “Well, well,” he said, “I remember you. The vault dweller, isn’t that right?”

Lucy flashed him a smile. “Yes, we had a nice conversation the last time we met, though there was a misunderstanding…” 

Lacerta reached out and grabbed her chin and lifted her up, ignoring the way Lucy screamed as he casually wrenched her arm out of socket. “That’s right,” he mused, “cousin stuff. The old Caesar thought that you were only fit to be made an example of, but you’ll find that I am cut of a more ambitious cloth.”

”...Oh?” 

“Oh yes. You see, I mean to rule this Wasteland. Vegas was just the start. I intend for my army to spring forth from here and sweep over the Boneyard and everything else too. And a growing army needs, well, a growing army.”

”You let her go you sick fuck, you keep your fucking hands off her.” Cooper stalked back to the ghost. “Okay I’ve seen enough. I get it.” 

The ghost only turned his head to the scene behind them. Lacerta continued to lift Lucy and Cooper saw her try and grit back a scream as her arm was pulled further. “Please,” she whimpered, “Please don’t do this.”

”Vault genes make for good breeder genes. Your…proclivities won’t matter, in the kennels. Even if you are a ghoulfucker, I think you’ll still breed true for Caesar.”

”Stop it, you sick fuck! I get it, okay! Take me back, I’m going to stop, I’m going to make sure this doesn’t happen! Hey! Listen to me, motherfucker, I promise I won’t let this happen, so take me back! Wake me up!”

”Of course,” Lacerta grinned and drew his sword, “you won’t need your limbs to do it.” and casually cut through Lucy’s right arm. 

Cooper was screaming now, Lucy’s scream was tearing through his heart, there’s so much blood he could feel it on his face, he reached for the ghost with his fists but the ghost suddenly drew on him, and he could feel his ghostly gun on his forehead. 

Not that he cared, because Lucy was in pain, and Lucy was going to die, and he could still see Lacerta’s grin, like he’s thinking about cutting off another arm. He could feel hot blood on his face, could hear their screams mingle together and harmonize to almost sound like a dog’s growls, and the gun was pressing hard against his forehead so that it almost felt like the butt of a spear—

STAVE FIVE: THE END OF IT

—The butt of a spear smacked into his forehead again. Cooper blinked, and focused on the figure in front of him. 

“Get the fuck up, ghoul, call your creature off!” That sound was a dog’s growl, after all. Cooper felt himself grin savagely, his senses sinking back into his body. There was a Legionnaire in front of him limned in moonlight , Dogmeat (hale again, thank fuck) was wrestling with one in the background and another six were going through his stuff. Normally he’d be loath to attack a contubernium, but he could see they were just kids, new recruits, who weren’t used to working as a team yet. No one was even helping the brat with the dog. And unluckily for them, he had a lot of pent up Legion aggression to work off. 

He dodged the next spear jab easily, grabbed his Bowie knife and used the kid’s forward step to have him gut himself. The warm blood on his hands felt fucking amazing after not being able to feel Lucy’s ghost blood. He wrenched the blade through the guts then twisted, pulled out with a neat motion, and sidestepped the body’s fall. 

The rest of the legionnaires froze, except the one that Dogmeat went for. She had him by the throat now. 

Cooper held his arms out wide, a gun in each hand. He hadn’t been lying to Roger, he did do a run as Scrooge on Broadway. The reviews had been mixed, though Cooper had always put that down to the rest of the cast—Tiny Tim had been syrupy, and Mrs Cratchit had been known to drink and miss her mark. He found himself remembering his lines now. For all that Cooper Howard and the ghoul were different creatures, the two of them always did love some theatricality. 

“I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!” he said, punctuating each with a gun shot. Two down, the third one dove in time, but no matter. “The spirits of all Three shall strive within me. O Jacob Marley! Heaven and the Christmastime be praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Roger; on my knees!” He dove on his knees to reload, grabbed the spear and gutted another legionnaire.  

“What the fuck?!” cried one of them, “What the fuck is going on?” 

Dogmeat finished tearing the throat out, and dove for another. Two more to go. 

“I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy, I am as giddy as a drunken man.” Cooper shot another one, watched his head explode with a sick satisfaction.  “A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world!” He advanced on the last legionnaire, who was trying to scramble backwards, tears and snot running down his face. He holstered his guns and reached for his knife again. No need to waste ammo.

”It’s June, you sick fuck!”

“Hallo here!” Cooper whispered, slitting the boy’s throat slowly, watching the blood run out and down, and down, and down. He kept cutting. “Whoop! Hallo!”

—

Lucy woke slowly. She was curled up against the Securitron, her screwdriver still in hand. She liked sleeping in the penthouse because the dawn light hit there so early. It woke her up and got her back to work. In the light she could see the remains of the circuit board she’d taken apart the night before. Last night she’d convinced herself she’d been making progress, but with a few hours sleep she realized she was just kidding herself. Another dead end. Maybe Max was right and she did need to rest more. Oh well. He’d be up here soon to try and get her to eat breakfast. 

She unbent a little, then froze. Something in the corner of her eye, something was different. 

The Ghoul was next to her, silent as ever, watching her. 

Lucy felt a blush that started on her cheeks then spread throughout her body. It was almost as though he had known they’d been talking about him last night. That was why she was blushing now, she told herself. She turned to look at him fully. 

He was covered in blood. 

This sort of thing ought to have stopped surprising Lucy by now. Her Ghoul (The Ghoul, she corrected herself quickly, this is what I get for not sleeping) was frequently covered in blood, and didn’t seem to care when she pointed it out, but golly, even for him, this was…this was a lot. 

His entire front was a mask of it, and it was smeared all over his face. Lucy could smell it now, the heavy copper of freshly spilled blood. It didn’t seem like any of it was his, and so Lucy found that she didn’t mind. He was crouched beside her, watching her, his knife (also covered in blood) clutched in one hand almost carelessly. Since she had woken he hadn’t moved at all, just followed her with his eyes. 

Oh dear. Now that he was here once again she found it much harder to speak to him. That was how it always was with them, she supposed. She could never seem to recall the full weight of his gaze when he wasn’t present. In the back of her mind, she could hear Thaddeus call him cool again. If he were here now, he’d be in raptures. 

“Hello again,” she said, nervously tucking some hair behind her ear. Her ear was hot with her blush still. 

“Lucy,” he rasped, and Lucy squirmed. That voice was doing something dangerous to her insides. “Darlin’, I dreamed you were dead and I was too late to stop it.”

”Oh. Well…I’m not. See? I’m fine. Alive.” she reached her hand out to his face, meaning to reassure him. His presence felt like a coiled animal, and she was aware again, suddenly, that he was covered in blood and still held a naked blade with his hand. 

She remembered Max saying that he could sell her out, and how she had said that that would be ok. And she had meant it. Though she didn’t think he would, truly. That last time had cost him too. His face was hot beneath her hand. It made the blood on it feel so fresh, like it was her own. He shuddered underneath her palm, and closed his eyes. With the weight of his gaze off of her she could suddenly breathe.

His eyes were open again, but now they felt like liquid honey. Lucy couldn’t help herself, she leaned in, knew she’d always be leaning in when it came to him—

“Best and happiest of all,” her Ghoul said beneath her fingers, “the time before him was his own, to make amends in.” 

She had just enough time to think his words sounded familiar, before he was kissing her and she no longer needed to think at all.