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Cooper had always been quiet. He chatted, of course he did - pointing out bits and pieces, revealing small anecdotes, his propensity towards talk increasing as they grew closer. No one was entirely silent, after all.
As they left the Vault-Tec office though, as he once again had nothing - no location, no names, no lead on his daughter…
He just walked.
Acted as if she and Dogmeat weren’t there, all the sweet bravado from after her rescue gone, and she was so heartbroken for him.
Heartbroken and sore, and tired , as if her revitalised body remembered all at once that it had been in a hospital, hours before. That it had been close to death, close to rebirth.
So she kept her radio off, kept her mouth shut, and just walked beside him. Sometimes, all a friend needed was to know someone was beside them - that they’d have an ear, when it was time to talk.
But still, he remained silent. Not even a grunt passed his lips; and he sighed and grunted and groaned enough for the both of them usually.
As they neared the town, as they approached civilisation, she realised, however, that his quietness before -when they’d been naught but acquaintances to one another- was nothing compared to how he was after leaving those offices.
He’d always insisted on walking ahead, striding at a pace she’d never quite managed to match, but lagged behind now - almost…in a daze. The guards greeted them as they neared, and Lucy plastered on her smile and took charge, knowing someone had to. And if he needed some quiet, needed to retreat inwards, then she’d pick up the slack. She’d greet the guards with a smile as they said how nice it was to see her up and about.
She’d ask how to go about finding somewhere to stay.
She lead their little party down those wide, paved roads towards the Mayor - another ghoul, with kind eyes and a wide smile; and sagged with relief when the woman offered them a place to stay, when she explained that Lucy could come through tomorrow and they’d explore what work they could do in exchange for that safe space.
And somehow, the entire time, he remained silent behind her, not bothering to sit or be polite - just…loomed. No snark remarks, no huff of air, no groan that they needed to get moving.
Just silence, and as she glanced behind her shoulder at him she realised he was entirely empty behind the eyes; reminding her more of the man she’d initially met than ever before.
As if his disappointment had retreated him back inside himself. As if Cooper had given way entirely to the Ghoul.
The sun had dipped below the horizon when they left the office, a hastily drawn map in Lucy’s hand. The mayor told them to get settled for the night, that there was food available in the central plaza - circled in the map in blue - and that they could take up residence in one of the currently vacant homes - circled in orange.
And so she set off for the house, quietly saying to him that they’d get settled before heading back out for something to eat - as if she’d break some kind of…pact by talking at a normal volume. He didn’t respond though, simply put one foot in front of the other behind her, like a shadow. Saw her to the door of the small house - then about turned and left.
And for a split second, she considered chasing.
Considered following him and asking what the heck he was doing, why he was just… leaving her.
She resisted the urge though, knowing in the end if he needed solitude he’d get it - and he’d just go further if she followed after. She just had to trust him, trust he wasn’t leaving entirely . And enter, alone.
The front door was well kept, little hanging baskets of plastic, artificial flowers swinging in the evening breeze either side, and she smiled at them as she entered a house that would probably feel a lot warmer with him by her side. Dogmeat had followed with him , because of course she had, and so Lucy entered 13 Mason Street alone, pulling on the tattered cord hanging from a nearby lamp to softly illuminate the place.
It was small, but…cosy.
A sofa stood by a large window, tattered curtains pulled closed already - a small tv opposite, the kind they’d had in the vault. Beside it, she smiled at the familiar radio, a small curved thing, one they’d also had back in her childhood home.
In fact…as she turned, as she found the main light switch and flicked it on - creaking from age, she realised most of what surrounded her looked like a tired, well-repaired and replaced facsimile of her home. The walls were patterned paper; the floors were the same tiles as she’d grown up with, only peeling a touch at the edges. There was art that she hadn’t seen before, actual paint - open to the air. A landscape, some sort of body of water, and as she gently ran her fingers across it she could feel the paint they’d used, the raised texture of it.
And right there on the far wall…the oven she’d placed so much box-mix cake into, over the years. On every one of Norm’s birthdays, her father's birthdays. On Christmas and Father's Day and Mother's Day, in her…
In her honour.
Gosh darn it, she couldn't…
Norm didn’t know.
Norm didn’t know.
She hadn’t really taken that into consideration until now, until she stared across at the oven her short-lived husband had thrown her against, had hurled her atop…but instead of the horror of that moment taking over her mind, it was the knowledge that her little brother had no idea that their mother had lived.
That she hadn’t been lost alongside so many other vault dwellers, all those years ago.
That instead, she’d been forever changed by their jealous, possessive father into a shadow of her former self. That in one terrible, genocidal moment their father had transformed Rose MacLean from a smiling, intelligent and warm mother to a snarling ghoul with no recollection in her glassy, already dead eyes.
Norm had no idea, and worse, he didn’t know that Lucy had killed her, and more importantly, he had no idea that Hank had extinguished her warm flame long before the day Lucy finally gave her mother mercy.
Lord…Lucy felt her knees weaken as she realised with a shaking gasp that Norm had no idea she was even alive . Lucy had been gone for months with no word, no contact…
She couldn’t look at that kitchen, couldn’t even consider her emotions, the sadness, the healing she needed to do. Instead, she just moved down the hallway, collapsing onto the bed at the end. There were no covers, no pillows - she needed to get up to find those, but… she didn’t feel like it. Didn’t feel like washing her face or taking off her vault suit or going through the routine of adding sheets and duvets to the mattress…
She just flopped onto her front, letting the absorbent padding soak up her tears. She’d held them in for so long, she realised - she’d acknowledged, but she hadn’t really felt. So whilst she had the time, whilst she had only her own company - no one to hear or judge…she let herself wallow in those selfish feelings. Because that’s what they were, really - selfish.
Cooper had been searching for Janey for hundreds of years, with no idea if she lived or not, if she was dead or part of some vault experiment or transformed entirely by the radiation as he was…
So she was glad, in that moment, that he’d taken himself off elsewhere - so she could indulge in that selfish sadness, so she could just feel. So she didn’t have to be chipper, or cheerful, or alert. He’d let himself in, when he came back.
Because she had to believe he would, that he hadn’t just taken himself away - that she’d wake up in the morning to his body, warm by her side. That his coat would be on the rack by the door, his bandolier strewn on the counter.
So for now she just let herself cry, let herself scream her sadness out in a way she’d never done before - too many eyes in the vault, too many people watching out for her. She’d had to be composed, always. Had to step into her mother's shoes, had to help raise Norm. Had to do her bit and make her father proud.
Well fuck her dad. Fuck him and fuck the lot of them - how many people in the vault knew, and just never said anything?
She almost sat up, at the realisation, but just shoved her head into the mattress further, let it muffle her sobs entirely.
How many knew? How many of the elders had she trusted, wrongly? She’d trusted everyone , and everytime someone smiled and said how much she looked like her mother well…she’d taken such pride in it.
Did they know, though, as they said that, that her mother hadn’t died in the vault, but outside of it alongside thousands of others?
She sobbed until she didn’t have the energy to keep going, until her eyes closed and the respite of darkness finally came.
The saloon smelt of stale beer and piss, exactly as he liked them.
He’d spent so long, too long, in classy, slick bars pre-blast. Ordering increasingly expensive scotch - Scottish, of course, Islay, preferably an Oban or Lagavulin - and giving autographs to anyone who asked, nothing but the best champagne for Barb, charcuterie boards and sourdough Melba’s and luxury .
The only snack in this place was a bowl of well-fondled peanuts, and he didn’t have nearly enough of a death wish to consider eating those.
They had two drinks, moonshine tequila or homebrewed beer, and he stroked the neck of the well-washed, reused bottle as he breathed. It had been a bust. He was used to that, of course, and blamed the vaultie - blamed Lucy - entirely.
Not for the lack of information, but for his stark, exhausted reaction.
She was too…optimistic. Too pure, too good. Her chipper little attitude had wormed its way into his brain and rotted that pessimistic nature until he’d headed into that poxy little office with hope.
He’d drown that hope.
Take its withered, shrivelled form and cover it with beer and tequila ‘til it died.
Then, he’d have a drink in its honour and they’d go back to following her daddy.
At the end of the day, there weren’t answers out here. No, he considered, holding the bottle by the stem and necking a good mouthful back, there was only sand, and dust, and death.
Those radscorpions were dead, those raiders were dead, those synths were now dead - if they could be considered alive, and the hope he’d felt coming round these parts was dead too. It had been just as dead five drinks ago, but he at least felt a little fuzzy round the edges now, too.
“Bet you’re surprised to see a joint like this in a Vault-Tec town!”
He didn’t want to hear that name right now.
He blinked for a second before exhaling and looking up, staring at the bartender, deadpan. Who the absolute fuck was this guy and why was he trying to talk to him?
“You’re new to this, ain’t ya?” Cooper finally asked, relenting and speaking his first words for hours. The bartender had to be green; because Cooper knew he was giving off body language, hell, at this point he invented body language, and his body language was not inviting this whelp to talk to him.
This body language said ‘Interrupt my brooding and you’ll find yourself real familiar with the very nice gun I keep in this holster’.
“I am! I’m the brewer, actually, but Nick - he’s my dad's business partner, really, well he’s having an anniversary dinner at home and I said I’d cover. But I saw you and thought ‘That’s a man who’s travelled, that’s a man I can glean some knowledge from, you know?”
“And what knowledge is that?”
“Oh! Well…”
The kid was unhinged. Because the tone Cooper gave was one that indicated - or was supposed to indicate, that whilst he had asked the question, he did not, in fact, mean to receive an answer. The appropriate response would have been to stutter perhaps, to step away, to apologise. To slide away, as the two people either side of Cooper had done - switching up for a nice cool, fresh barstool a bit further away from the incredibly threatening Ghoul.
Cooper knew for an absolute fact that the occasional adversary may, in fact, choose to release a small amount of wee upon seeing the glower he levelled up at the brewer .
This kid, however, brightened and started talking to him about hops.
He slowly turned to the side and saw that the old man sitting at one of the well-repaired tables behind him - the cornerstone of any decent saloon - was smirking into his tequila. He pointedly avoided Cooper's eyes, looking down at his drink in the exact brooding way Cooper himself had hoped to. Instead, a glass of beer was placed in front of him, and the kid started talking about mixes and mashes, asking how the flavour compared to the other places he’d been. Asked where he’d been. All in rapid-fire machine-gun-esque velocity with no chance for an answer.
His hopes lay in the gutter, the sun was long since set and he’d fled to a place where he could just drink in peace, and so he stood - the awkward screech of the stool against the floor cutting the kid off mid-flow, downed the different and admittedly very good beer in that glass, and left.
Felt the stumble hit him as the first blast of night air caressed his ruined face, holding onto the wall of the saloon for purchase as he dimly realised he couldn’t very well remember where the hell he’d followed her to, earlier.
She could have led him anywhere, and he wouldn’t have noticed. He’d spotted the telltale signs of a saloon on the way in and knew that was where he was going to spend his evening. Lord only knew what Lucy would have had planned for them. A film night, perhaps? He’d bet anything this place had the Cooper Howard collection, given the hard-on they’d had for him, back in the day. A place like this wouldn’t have let those old films waste away. He could just picture her unending smile, an optimism he wasn’t sure he could face as she tried to ply him with a game of charades, instead, maybe - or cards.
He recognised a sign though, the flash of blue on the side of a building. He might have been drunker than a skunk, but he was still a tracker. Still the best damn bounty hunter out here. He could hunt down whatever squalid little pit they’d placed them in for the night. It helped that Dogmeat rushed ahead too, tail wagging like a fluffy beacon in the dark.
He stumbled up and down stairs and paths, swaying and relishing in it. When was the last time he’d been able to just drink ? He’d thrown a handful of caps down and it made sense now, that most of em weren’t taken - they’d shoved some moronic gobshite of a kid behind the bar and expected the place to still turn a profit.
Gobshite
He missed Sebastian, he thought, as the foreign insult slid with ease into his soupy mind. Missed the way he’d laugh, the way he’d throw insult after insult and complaint after complaint with the repertoire of a showgirl on a Vegas stage.
Almost tripped on a step, and regretted the four separate inhalers of jet he’d partaken in between drinks- but did so from experience, knowing that beer alone often wasn’t what he needed to get royally fucked.
To get absolutely wheelbarrowed, my good man!
He’d drunk to drown that developing hope that they’d find Janey, not to invite in old ghosts…
Ah!
That was the house. Dogmeat sat in front of the door, watching him trip and stumble up the stairs, and he flipped her the bird as he neared, grumbling at her expectant expression. The door was unlocked - of course - and cold.
He’d have worried, would have considered whether it was even theirs if those weren't her boots by the door, haphazardly dropped. Which wasn’t like the Vaultie, but he was too far gone to care.
She’d left the lamp on for him.
The sight of it knocked something loose in his chest and he stumbled in, almost tripping on those boots; sliding his hat onto the stand and dumping his bandolier on the kitchen counter. The sofa was cold as he dragged his hand across the back of it - the tv off, a layer of dust on the remote.
She hadn’t used it.
Under the warm lamplight, the place looked inviting. Walls a pale pink, striped with white. The hallway dark, but the bedroom lit as he stumbled towards it.
Bed sounded good.
Bed and a warm body, freshly washed and tucked into those lil green pyjamas, smooth, toned legs available for touch; firm little ass against his front.
He dropped the coat right there in the hallway and fumbled at his buckle with his gloved hands before glaring down at his covered fingers and pulling the offending items off - joining the coat on the floor as he entered the bedroom, expecting to see a shock of dark hair over a pillow, covers tucked up to her neck in the incoming cold.
She was asleep, as he expected given how dark that sky was, how bright the stars were, but face down like some sorta corpse, and he stumbled forward with her name on his lips, eyes flitting over her from top to bottom. The doc had fixed her up, hadn’t he? 250+ plus years of practice in that old man, and…
She snuffled, a slight snore that tore a laugh from him, and curled herself up into a small ball, and he realised she’d been shivering the whole time while he just stood there like some sorta’ lemon.
Where were the pillows? The covers? Why was she just face down on a cold, bare mattress?
He turned slowly and looked about before opening the wardrobe as quietly as he could, pulling sheets out and laying them over her haphazardly. Toed off his boots and dropped onto the bed beside her, a burst of warmth spreading through his chest as she muttered his name, shuffling closer and throwing an arm right over his chest as if to keep him there, like he was something worth keeping close.
He smelt like…beer.
It took her a while to place the stench, given her limited experience with the stuff.
And once she did realise what it was, she frowned down at him, because to smell like it in the morning…she couldn’t imagine quite how much he’d had. Untangled herself from him with a slight grimace - turning to a laugh when she saw his boots haphazard on the floor like some sort of invisible tap dancer, the laugh only growing when she stepped out into the hallway.
She saw his gloves first, the leather supple and familiar as she picked them up - the coat next, the three strewn out as if some person had fallen down in the space and vanished, leaving only their outer layers behind. Grabbed the coat too, folding it over her arm and missing her slippers as she padded into the main space - appreciating it more in the warm morning sun.
They’d worked hard to keep this place nice, she could tell - in a very different way to Jimmy and Sarah’s home. Their farm had been well-repaired and…comfortable. All hand-carved items and warm woods and rustic charm, hand-printed curtains and mismatching wall slats. This was… she hung his items on the coat rack, smiling softly at his hat, and ran her now-free hands along the walls. It was definitely wallpaper, but it looked like they’d carefully re-painted and repaired it again and again, each pink slightly different to the last, the whites crisp. The sofa had stitching along one arm, neat, tiny things. The table was freshly waxed, if a little dusty, but…was this someone’s house?
She hoped not. Hoped someone hadn’t been moved out to allow them in, to give them a place to rest their heads.
It reminded her of home, of the vault. She’d thought so last night, but awake and cathartically cleared she could see it all the more clearly, now.
The same modernity, carefully preserved. Metals designed not to rust as much. Fabrics repairable. Paint touched up. The oven was the same, the fridge was the same - both exactly as she’d grown up with, the same colours, the same edges, smooth and shining.
She stared down at that oven, and let her fingers trail across it.
She needed breakfast , she needed to relieve herself, and then she needed to see the mayor about work.
She glanced over the smooth teak dining table towards the hallway, towards her cowboy, and knew he wouldn’t be up for a while. Whilst they hadn’t had beer back in the vault, Sarah had laughed with her about hangovers, about angry heads and exhausted bodies, and she nodded, knowing he’d be asleep for a good while, yet. Dogmeat had been snoring on her back on the sofa but jumped up now, licked her palm as she meandered past, heading into the bedroom to cuddle up with Cooper.
Cuddle up on the covers she knew she hadn't added herself. The covers she knew Cooper must have thrown over her. They were green, cheerful against the creamy yellow walls and red lamp - orange curtains casting the room in a stunningly warm glow - as if the home was cheerful in itself to have them there.
She felt…better, after letting her feelings out. Fresh as a babe, new as the morning itself. She needed to try and get a message to Norm, but the realisation that Betty must have known about her mother…that someone had let her father back in, that more than one person potentially kept the whole thing under wraps…well she’d have to be careful just how she got that message to him. Needed one of those engineers the doctor had mentioned, the day before. Someone who could maybe make her pip-boy link with Norm’s, someone who could get a message to him, or to Steph, or Chert. She trusted those three, knew they’d look out for each other and Norm too.
Knew they’d be worried sick, all of them, wondering where she’d gotten to.
They’d be able to figure out how far it went, together. Norm had loved her old detective books, especially The Secret of the Old Clock. She’d seen that old, battered book on his bedside table endlessly when he’d been young, blue cover with its flash of orange, and knew if anyone could get to the bottom of their vault secrets, it’d be him.
As she headed towards the door, face washed, hair brushed - vault-suit as clean as it’d get, she couldn’t help but wonder…Were…were they an experiment? What experimentation had been done in their vault, if so?
She smiled at the people she passed, glad to see they were a healthy, normal amount of welcoming. Vault 4 had spooked her, but as she walked through she realised there were more ghouls here than she’d seen outside of the Super Duper Mart…Men and women, in overalls and suits and dresses, giving her wary glances and soft waves, friendly good mornings. Integrated perfectly with the…smoothskins.
That was the phrase Cooper used, wasn’t it?
Maybe this would be a good place for the three of them to stay, for a while. Somewhere where neither of them would feel particularly out of place, or different. Like the ranch.
She wanted to go back. When all this was done, when they’d gone and got Steph and the baby and Norm, she wanted to bring them back to the ranch. Wanted that baby, her godchild, to grow up under the warm sun. The same sun she’d always remembered on her face, from her brief time outside of the vault with their mother.
She saw the medics building in the distance and made a mental note to pop in, to thank the friendly old ghoul again and pick up their belongings, but pressed open the heavy old wooden door to the mayors office instead; heading right through at the receptionist's insistence - sitting opposite the mayor with the same bright, wide smile she used with the council, back home. It was a smile that made people feel at ease, a smile that hid her own nerves. If they wanted to stay here for a little bit, if they wanted to rest and regain some strength, some…happiness, like back at the ranch, then they needed to make themselves useful.
Needed to become a well-greased cog in the machine of the settlement.
“You’d mentioned work” she smiled, maintaining just the right amount of eye contact and ensuring both hands were visible. Body language open, friendly. “In exchange for staying. I wanted to see where you needed me, what I can do”
The mayor leaned back, nodding, gesturing down to the suit. “You were wearing that yesterday, and with that go-getter attitude…you were raised in a vault, yes? We occasionally get travellers who wear the suits, given the radiation support, but it’s in the attitude, you know”
Lucy nodded, “I was a very active member of my vault community, and we were all raised to believe in equality and kindness”
The words felt a touch like ash, given the knowledge her father had certainly not treated the NCR with kindness.
“I’ve proven to be very resourceful above ground with repair work and maintenance, and-”
“Terminals. How are you with them, typing and such”
Oh.
Lucy blinked rapidly, shocked. Of all the things she’d assumed they’d need in an obviously well-repaired town like this, she truly hadn’t expected…
“I’m good” she stammered, regaining her flow. “I can…” she petered off, a very Cooper-sounding alarm stopping her in her tracks as she was about to happily tell the weathered, well-dressed woman opposite that she could hack quite a few different types of terminal. That perhaps, just maybe , the mayor of a thriving settlement wouldn’t want to know that the young woman before her could hack into her systems, if the security wasn’t too strong.
“I can type well” she recovered, “and used to help the Overseer, my um…my father, input information into his. I would input all the crop yield information, census updates, etcetera for him, he said I was much faster at it, than he was”
As the words left her mouth she realised that too was likely another manipulation. Because Norm was far faster than she could ever hope to be, but he wasn’t asked . It was one of their little tasks, when she and her father would go into the overseer's office and he’d read out his paper notes for her and she’d transcribe them in - the task that actually left her able to use most of the above terminals with ease. Yes, Norm had shown her how to hack in - people accidentally locked themselves out all the time, and there needed to be a few people who could get back in, after all, but…
“Perfect! Oh, that’s fantastic news. We have a team of typists here who’ve just lost a member, we could do with an additional set of hands. Let me take you down there now”
Whatever they’d sent him to do…it was taking longer than expected, and the sun had long since set, outside. She’d eaten with the other women, laughing together at their small desks - the older women offering…sage advice on how to cheer up her man.
They’d coaxed her worries out of her roughly 8 seconds after stopping to take a break in that way only a room of post-menopausal women could.
She’d followed the mayor down cracked, old stone stairs, greeting the others with a nervous wave, and had been taken under their wing almost instantly. She’d kept quiet at first, reading through a list of births and deaths and quickly updating records, nodding along to the crackling radio in the corner as she worked. Enjoying their snippets of conversation, complaints about knees and humidity and noisy neighbours.
In a few hours of work she knew who was caught sneaking out with who, who was getting married, who was expecting, and who wasn’t , regardless of their attempts.
She didn’t know who any of these people were , but their comings and goings were certainly interesting enough to keep her entertained. And then they’d stopped for lunch, and four sets of eyes turned on her, intent to know what was wrong, what was eating her up.
They knew that her man had spent the night in the saloon, confirming what she’d thought.
They knew that he’d left in a huff, that she’d been brought in on the brink of death just days before. They’d known that she’d left, armed to the teeth, returning with the much fiercer-looking Cowboy, looking sullen.
She didn’t tell them everything, just that they’d hoped to find something, that her cowboy was disappointed in the lack thereof. That his hopes were high…that it was important to him.
She’d left that night with a stack of recipes and a plan, one that she’d had more than enough time to execute. Because with all those years of experience behind them, they’d collectively agreed that to cheer up her cowboy, Lucy needed to either cook him something nice, or give him a show - and she had the confidence to do one of those things.
Still, he was later than she’d expected. Which was good , as it meant she’d been able to shower, to luxuriate in the somewhat warm water, to scrub and polish and moisturise and shave - stepping out feeling infinitely more seductive than when she’d gone in.
Her hair had air-dried, and it felt wonderful to see it glossy and brushed, curling a little naturally at the very ends. She’d gotten used to the snarled, tangled ends, the rough ponytail she had to make do with, out in the wastes - and had thusly taken far too long twisting it this way and that before settling on a half-up style; a few front pieces framing her face, softening her edges.
She’d had time to crack open the makeup she’d looted in the mall, extending the line of her lashes with liner, carefully gliding on the mascara - grateful that Steph had been around to teach her, that she’d had a mother to show her the ropes, back in vault 31. Her friend, her sister , really, had insisted on doing her makeup on her wedding day and she’d felt so beautiful, and tried to emulate that a little, wanting Cooper to see her like that instead, not Monty. Not a group of raiders who kept her ghoulish mother chained in the top of their observatory, regardless of whether it had been an act of love from Moldaver.
She’d painted red onto her lips, tinted her cheeks, primped her hair and then…waited.
And waited.
And snacked on some biscuits that she’d accepted from one of the ladies, heady with the taste of peanut butter.
And waited a little more.
The issue, with his delay, was it gave her time to worry.
It gave her time to look down at her outfit and wonder if she was being silly, if he’d even like it.
Because whilst she’d stolen those calendars, whilst she’d looked through the pictures and tried to find clothes to match, it turned out the ladies of pre-war times didn’t often wear tiny garments, like in the illustrations. If she wanted those, she’d have to sew them herself - and had simply laughed as she’d failed to zip herself into children’s costumes, her slight curves too generous to fit. She’d taken a few, slight enough to roll up, to sew together later.
There’d been a vest that had fit, red fringed suede that matched the boots she’d rolled into the bottom of her bag. And underneath? As tempting as going bare was , knowing that vest would barely cover her, she’d spotted something utterly irresistible in the adults section.
A men’s outfit, in fact - the trousers abandoned and the shirt coming with her.
Cowboy, size large
The sign had been utterly nondescript, and she’d almost ignored the mens section entirely…but the blue and gold had been impossible to ignore. Impossible to ignore, and completely unforgettable. How could she forget it, after all, when its black and white facsimile had graced been a mainstay in her life? Her childhood crush and teenage fantasy, rolled into one…
No, she knew those lines, that embroidery. Knew them as well as the lines on her own suit after walking beside them, feeling them under her fingers for months now.
It was his shirt, nipped in at the waist with a leather belt she’d saved for the occasion - the buckle adorned with a star, the tightness of the thin strip of brown leather flaring the loose fabric of the long shirt out like a skirt. It was longer at the front and back, just covering the lower curve of her ass, showing the bare, milky skin of her thighs.
She turned in the mirror, adjusting the belt, the fabric, smiling as she realised those shorter sides highlighted the complete lack of underwear, underneath.
She startled, jumping out of her skin as the door finally opened, the latch practically a gunshot in the dark. She’d had the radio on, but her anticipation and nerves had it blending into the background entirely.
Whatever her nerves told her, it was too late now - and she smoothed the clothes down one last time.
“Lucy? You home?”
She inhaled and lifted her hand to fix her lipstick, the back of her nail carving a slight smudge back into perfection.
“I swear, if she just left the door unlocked…” she heard him mutter as she walked across the room, boot heels tapping a confident rhythm that echoed across the dimmed room, spurs jangling in the quiet.
He was facing away as she neared the boundary of the room, coat off, trousers impeccably tight around the strong plains of his body - checking his guns and placing them one by one on the counter. He’d heard her, she could tell by the minute change in his posture, the way he straightened slightly. He seemed…relaxed though, moreso than the previous night, anyway.
She had one shot at this entrance, one chance to wow him, and quickly shook out her hair, adjusting her bangs and leaning a hip against the doorframe of the bedroom - legs crossed at the ankle, trying to mimic one of those calendar poses, trying to-
He turned.
His eyes found her quickly across the short stretch of hallway, widening, and she saw the rapid flicker of them as they took her in from head to toe.
He stumbled backwards, almost knocking over one of the stools at the counter, and her heart sank for the briefest moment - this was wrong, she’d…oh no.
He swallowed though, and her pulse switched to a soft flutter when he whistled, instead of chastising.
“Nearly gave me a damn heart attack there, Goose…you gotta give an old man warning before pullin’ a stunt like that ”
“I told you” she tutted with a pout, hoping she sounded coy and seductive. “You’re hardly an old man. Should I take it that you…like it then?
Lord she hoped he did. That it wasn’t too soon to spring this on him, that it wasn’t insensitive, that it wasn’t the wrong plan…
“I have been on this godforsaken planet for over 250 years, Lucy MacLean, and let me assure you of two things” he stalked forward, sliding his hat off and throwing it onto the counter. “The first being that I am old, I have seen and experienced more than you can ever imagine”
“And the second?”
He didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to slide one hand into the other, to pull on the tips of each gloved finger in slow, torturous succession. She was transfixed by it, breath catching as his scarred hands were finally revealed, an odd juxtaposition to the almost perfectly preserved space. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the small glimpses he allowed of his skin, of his vulnerability - even the small act of removing a glove leaving her aching for him.
“The second…”
He walked forward, stalked forward, sliding those bare hands onto her waist - light enough to set her nerve endings ablaze through the thin fabric.
“Well the second being that of all those things I’ve seen and done ”
He quickly switched, hands firm rather than soft; pulling her in tight, drinking in the gasp from her upturned head like it was a hit of Jet. “This here is the prettiest damn picture I’ve ever seen”
He finally kissed her, scarred lips firm and insistent, hands holding her tight, ensuring she didn’t become unmoored. One slid down, toying with the floaty edge of the shirt, whilst the other stayed firm, cupping over the scar Monty left so long ago as if he could feel it there, under his colours. He slowed, kisses turning almost lazy, indulgent. Tongue dragging against hers, drawing it into his own mouth and sucking hard , teeth raking over the muscle as she retreated, as he thoroughly stole her breath with every quaking moan that left her lips.
She exhaled his name like a prayer, like a promise as he stepped back, as he ran a hand over his bare head and looked down at her, dazed.
“I never once in my life imagined anything like this ”
“No?”
He chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk. “After years of karma-destroyin’ existence, I never thought…” his words drifted off and she watched as he inhaled, as he almost visibly pulled himself back together, eyes drifting back down her form and settling resolute on her feet - on those red, buttery cowboy boots.
“A pair of boots like that though, Goose, well…they need spurs”
If he wanted, or needed to change the subject, well she wasn’t about to stop him. He’d had centuries alone, and there was obviously so much in his past he hadn’t told her- so she’d take what she could get. And, admittedly, she was curious what he meant.
He knelt, hands deftly moving to his own boots to detach the spurs, sliding them one at a time onto her own, pristine boots; hands cupping the backs of her calves reverently. The boots were truly beautiful -red leather, embossed with white - the same red as her lips, the same red as she’d seen again and again in those calendars.
“There” he breathed, leaning back, still on his knees. “I’d say those need breakin’ in, but we’ll make a cowgirl of you yet”
“I’ve got the shooting down” she grinned, gasping as he slid a hand slowly up the bare expanse of her leg.
“That you do, though you’ll have to prove yourself with the animals, with the ropes”
He lifted her knee, hooking it over his own shoulder.
“But, first, let’s start by seein’ how well you can ride”
She was glad for the high ceilings as he picked her up without warning; as he suddenly threw her other leg over his other shoulder and stood . She cried out in surprise and pleasure as he deftly buried his head between her legs, those new spurs jangling as her legs kicked out in surprise. For a moment she wondered if he planned to throw her against the bed, but as her back hit the wall she realised with a jolt of something - horror or arousal she wasn’t sure - that he intended to enjoy her here , against the wall.
“Don’t fall now, Goose”
His words were muffled but she felt them, the shape of his lips around each letter, the flick of his tongue on the L’s. There was nothing to hold onto but the wall itself, and she pressed her palms against it as he worked mercilessly - hardly able to breathe.
There was no preamble, no soft lead-up. No kissing up her thighs or gentle, teasing licks against her clit like before. No, this felt like a rodeo; Lucy bucking and thrashing, trying not to fall as a veritable storm of activity occurred between her legs.
She wanted to hold on tight, the height adding a layer of danger that caught her breath in her throat and oddly heightened her pleasure - wanted to dig her hands into the skin of his head, her heels into his shoulders, but…couldn’t. Couldn’t curl her legs against him, couldn’t secure herself tight, not with those spurs.
Instead, she had to try and focus on not impaling him as he pressed into her with that skilled tongue, as he hit against her clit with his nasal bone, as he sucked her til she screamed, stars dancing across her vision. He wasn’t letting up, strong from years of fighting, of persevering, of surviving , and she had no doubt he could hold her in this position for as long as he wanted. Could torture her with this for as long as he desired, knowing exactly what he was doing.
She came with a gasping keen, arms up over her head and pressed into the ceiling, legs quaking - all thoughts of potentially injuring him forgotten under the veritable tidal wave of pleasure, dripping with wetness as he dropped her back down to the ground with the speed and flourish of a dancer.
His mouth glistened and she could taste herself there as she kissed him sloppily, clenching against nothing with the utter indecency of it all as she practically fell against the wall, still shuddering from the aftershocks.
He swore, swiping at his chin with his thumb and licking the slick of her off his own skin, and she forced herself upright, back in control. That was…lord above that was incredible, but she’d had a plan for this evening, and wasn’t about to deviate just because he’d very successfully turned her bones to jelly.
He’d seemed…compliant, when she’d ordered him about before, and she mustered some of that same strength now as she told him to sit down, watching with a self-satisfied grin as he instantly obeyed. As he lowered himself into the chair she’d carefully dragged into the room earlier- testing it hours before to make sure it would be sturdy, that it would fit them both.
He hadn’t noticed her belt before, but it caught his eye now as she moved towards him, making sure to sway her hips just enough - not too much, not too little. She saw the crinkle of amusement at the edges of his eyes, pupils blown enough to give away his arousal - if the marked tent in the front of his trousers hadn’t been enough of a giveaway.
His fingers drifted over the star as she got close enough to touch as and much as she considered snapping his hands away she allowed it, watching his amused expression twist into a satisfied smirk - wickedly hot.
“Well, sheriff, what’ve you got planned for a criminal like me?”
She leaned in, humming with thought as she slid a hand up his leg - relishing in the cant of his hips, the frustrated hiss as she bypassed the length of him entirely to unhook his lasso, instead.
Ran her fingers around its well-worn length instead, returning to her previous position to look down at him.
“What are the charges?”
“Assault, murder…kidnapping”
“Oh” she breathed, gently looping that rope around him where he sat, hoping her earlier experiment would be enough, that the armchair would hold them. That she wouldn’t have dragged the well-built, heavy item of furniture across the house for no reason. “And who did you last kidnap?”
“Just a naive little Vaultie, Sheriff. Could hardly resist her, she had these big ol’ eyes and this impossible attitude”
“Well” she smiled, letting the rouse drop for just a moment. “I don’t know if I’d call that kidnapping, not unless you, I don’t know, used her as gulper bait or something”
“Now, that…” he let the words drift off before attempting a smile that did look a touch more towards a grimace. “That’s a delicate matter, ya’see…”
He couldn't much move, especially not as she rounded the chair, tying the lasso at the back and ensuring he wasn’t going anywhere.
The gulper matter was one she’d nigh on forgotten…then there was the attempted sale at the Super-Duper mart. Both matters she’d forgiven and forgotten, of course, but she did tap her foot for a second whilst she considered whether such acts meant he deserved reciprocation in kind, her on her knees between his, or…
She straddled him, watching as he gulped, as he tried to press up against her.
“Goose, ‘darlin, I”
“Shut up”
She wanted to scream internally as he just stopped talking, eyes heavy-lidded. She didn’t let her weight drop, though, keeping herself raised just enough instead that he couldn’t reach her, that he couldn’t get an inch of the friction he craved.
“Tell me what you want”
Her voice didn’t waver - and his reply came swiftly, punctuated by his hands flexing against his trousers. “You”
“Me?” She smirked, running her fingers along his jaw and bringing his face up to look at her. “You have me. I’m here”
She didn’t even have to try anymore, it was like something had come over her. This was… incredible.
“Please” he swallowed, head thrown back to look up at her. “Fuck me, Vaultie, please”
She looked down at him, at the desperate, wild look in his eyes and told him to open his trousers, if he could reach. He could, and she let herself drop the moment he was freed, feeling the roughness of his fingers as he slid himself into her easily, so, so easily with how worked up she was.
He’d opened her up with his tongue but the thickness of his cock still had her gasping, and he was able to buck against her now but remained still, and she realised with a flush of heat he was waiting for her to tell him to move, to give him permission.
So she didn’t.
She kissed him, instead, unbuttoning the top of the shirt to reveal her unbound breasts just to see his eyes follow the movement. Pressed them together, nodding at his unspoken question and gasping as he surged forward as much as he could , kissing and licking and biting her skin. He was frantic, feral, and she knew what he was doing as she found herself unable to keep still at the onslaught, finally, finally lifting herself up and dropping down, chasing the sensation.
“Fuck, yes, Lucy please”
A woman could get addicted to that kind of talk, to the almost whining tone of it. He released her, head thrown back, looking wrecked, almost overwhelmed, and the length of his neck was so tempting, so…
What was it he’d done to her, the first time they’d…he’d held a hand there, and it had been too much, too soon, but he’d done it, so maybe…
She had one hand on the back of the chair, using it to help leverage herself up, but slid the other to his throat, squeezing for just a moment to see if it was maybe something he liked, and she felt the moan as it left him, vibrating against her hand.
His eyes were closed, mouth slack and she abandoned the top of the chair, quickly wetting her own fingers before pressing them to her aching clit, squeezing his throat tighter and soaking in each and every rumbling moan that he offered. He was strength incarnate, in her eyes, had been since the day they met. He’d survived for so long in the face of physical, mental and emotional turmoil, and just kept fighting ; but right now, between her thighs, throat so impossibly weak under her palm…he let go of that fight, for her.
Seemed to relish in it.
And oh that did something unexpected to her.
Lucy knew she was a strong person. She was resolute, she had morals, she’d fought through enough rubbish of her own and had made it out the other side. She could mat wrestle a grown man…
But in her entire life she’d never felt strength like this.
She felt like she could take on the world.
His eyes opened, locked on hers - no longer lidded and lazy but filled with energy, and she knew he was close. A part of her was tempted to draw it out, to pause, to make him watch as she got herself off but this was still about him, and she’d been on the precipice herself all evening, ready and eager to freefall.
She sped up her hand on her clit and slowed down her hips, kissing the moisture that came from the side of his eyes as he groaned at the change of pace. Tried to tip his head back but no, she wanted to watch and told him as such - moaning slack mouthed herself when he obeyed. It was too good, and he shuddered as he came, eyes on hers, entirely too undone and indecent for her not to instantly follow him over the edge.
She let go of him, blinking and dazed and he laughed, a rumbling, full-bodied sound that had her giggling too, face pressed against his shoulder as the embarrassment threatened to take over.
“You’ve got a hint of something in ya there, Killer” he laughed, coughing a touch, and the sound made her gasp, rearing back to look down at him, fingertips trailing down his throat as she checked for any sign of bruising. “Oh my, I’m…I’m so sorry, Coop, I”
“Nah, you’re good. Didn’t say I didn’t like it, now did I?” he chuckled, rolling his shoulders. “Now, I’m not one to complain, but was there an occasion that prompted all o’this or?”
“Oh” she smiled, shyly, down at him - realising with a bit of a frown that he still had his trousers on, and if she were to just stand up… “I wanted to cheer you up”
He went quiet, and she stopped considering the best way to untangle them and stayed where she was, looking down at him with a soft smile. Hand trailing down his shoulder, fingertips light and following the crest of the ancient gold fabric. They matched, one old, one new - and it made her think of the words he’d spat at her, so long ago.
“I thought, I…hoped…” she corrected, hoping the truth wouldn’t annoy him. “It would make you happy. I know it can’t fix it, but I’d hoped maybe it would help”
He swallowed and inhaled, she could feel the rise of his chest, the way he held the breath for a moment before releasing it from what remained of his nose, and she realised it had maybe been…a while, since anyone had done something for Cooper Howard with the simple intention of bringing him joy. So when he finally spoke, and his voice held roughness, she didn’t mention it.
He deserved niceness. He deserved…more than he’d had, so far.
“Thank you Lucy”