Chapter Text
Ghoulcy Bingo Prompt: Meet Cute
Now
The Ghoul stood in front of the Vault door, stolen PipBoy in hand, and stared up at the yellow ‘31’ surrounded by a round gear-shaped stencil. Why they’d needed to make this shit decorative, he would never understand. Who, he wondered, had designed that Vault Tec gear logo? Who had chosen the font? The colors? Who had made his idiotic smiling face into the blond Vault Boy mascot? It was a question he’d asked himself what felt like a thousand times over the many, many years wandering the wastes. Where had it started? He’d never bothered getting to the root of it. Hell, by the time he’d realized how deep the rot went, it had been too late.
Or maybe he’d just gotten distracted. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to dig until he found the root of all that corruption to expose it. Maybe he’d been happy, there at the end, with a life and a plan, and hadn’t wanted to risk it all by throwing himself into a fight with Vault Tec.
A fat lot of good that had done him.
It hadn’t been easy, getting his hands on a PipBoy…hadn’t been easy tracking down an escaped Vault Dweller between trying to make enough caps to survive and dealing with Dom fucking Pedro. Hell, he hadn’t even known that there was a reason to track down a Vault Dweller or get his hands on a PipBoy. Hadn’t known that there was any reason to hope. Those first few years, sure. As he’d suffered through the pain of radiation poisoning and as he’d watched the world fall apart and come back together and fall apart again…as familiar animals had turned into monsters and familiar monsters had only gotten more dangerous, Cooper had counted the years. He’d mentally calculated their ages. He’d searched around Vaults and he’d questioned (and killed) every Vault Tec asshole he could find.
Nothing. The years had passed. Five. That was fine. What was five years? Then ten. That was okay. Fifteen. He’d watched his skin peel and his nose scab over, losing it piece by horrible, painful piece. He’d questioned every asshole he could find and he’d done odd jobs and he’d hunted down bounties and he’d asked and fought and searched, all to no avail.
Twenty years. Thirty. She would be the age he’d been when he’d lost her. Then older. Then gone.
He gave up then. Even if she was safe in a Vault, no one lived that long…no one but ghouls. No one but him. He’d watched his fellow pre-war ghouls go feral…lose their minds and lose themselves. He’d watched them repeat their own names over and over and over until they couldn't even do that anymore. He’d watched the people of this new world grow up and grow old and die, replaced by more of them who’d never seen a car that wasn’t a pile of rust on the road or lived in a world where there was plenty of food in a grocery store and water was safe to drink right from the sky.
He’d been on autopilot for so long now, just making money and staying alive. He didn’t even know why he bothered anymore. Cooper Howard was gone. Maybe he’d died with those bombs or maybe after a hundred years when he’d finally given up hope. Either way, he was the Ghoul now. The Ghoul chased bounties and killed anyone that crossed him. He found his entertainment when he could get it, and the same for his drugs. He didn’t deal with other people unless he was doing jobs for them, catching them, or killing them. He didn’t look at another person unless he needed something from them or they got in his way. And that life was just fine with him, whoever he was now.
But then, miracle of miracles, he’d run into Henry MacLean.
And somehow, he’d found something to hope for again. It was dangerous, this hope. But so was he. And if she was in this Vault, he’d find her, or he’d die trying.
March 2077
Cooper let the leash hang loose in his hand, walking behind Roosevelt as they strolled through the park. He’d always hated moving…had always hated packing his belongings that seemed to multiply every time he turned his back (surely he didn’t own this much shit) into boxes and packing them into a truck and then having to do the whole fucking thing in reverse. And this time, he was doing it alone. No wife at his side, bitching along with him about how much shit they’d somehow acquired over the years, or talking about color schemes or bathroom themes or which of his movie posters they should display in which rooms.
Just him and Roosevelt.
After the divorce and the alimony payments and the months long fight with the women he’d loved more than anything in the world besides Janey, all he had to show for a decades long film career and a fairly successful military career was enough money to rent himself a two bedroom apartment whose lack of proximity to Hollywood might have been a problem if he was still booking jobs. As it was, part time commercial work was his only option, along with eating through his savings and relying on the charity of his few remaining friends who were willing to stick their necks out and try to get him jobs.
That, and in-person appearances at birthday parties where he dressed up like a cowboy and did rope tricks for little kids. As it turned out, apart from snide comments made by the occasional drunk father, those weren’t too bad. He’d done one for a little girl around Janey’s age and had taken her with him, and the kids had all been good. He’d always liked kids…had always been good with them. And it paid better than shitty commercials for discount snack cakes where he played “background man #3.”
He’d lived in this apartment for less than a week now, after crashing in Sebastian’s guest house and searching for a place, and the only thing it really had going for it was how close it was to a park where he could take Roosevelt for walks and Janey to play. Janey’s room was the only one he’d fully set up…the little bed he’d splurged on and purple comforter, with a shelf full of books and a soft pink rug to try and soften the beige walls he wasn’t supposed to paint. He’d hung little fairy lights around the room too, and her closet was half full of clothes in case she didn’t bring enough from her mom’s.
His own room had a hastily assembled bed and three piles of boxes full of clothes he hadn’t bothered unpacking yet, along with some books and other knickknacks he’d thrown into them. But his plan for the day was to unpack the kitchen…as soon as he got poor Roosevelt out of the apartment. There was a fenced-in area close by, so he was planning to let him run for a while. Burn off some energy.
It was early, not even eight am, and a little chilly for early March in LA despite the fact that he was sure it would heat up before long when the sun finished rising. The part was pleasantly quiet, with just the chirping of birds and the occasional squirrel running by, and he took a deep breath, trying to center himself. There had been days over the last few months where he’d felt like his life was over…where if it hadn’t been for Janey, he didn’t know what he would have done.
But he did have Janey.
He had an apartment and Roosevelt and a handful of jobs and he’d be alright. All his life, he’d been good at making money…surviving however he had to. He’d be fine. Even if he had to find some other kind of job…maybe save up and get that ranch he’d wanted for so long now. He’d…
Roosevelt bolted, yanking the leash out of his hand, abruptly forcing Cooper back to the present.
“Hey!” he called, shocked, then watched in slow motion horror as his usually well behaved dog made a beeline for what looked to be a young Belgian Malinois, or some kind of mix, that just so happened to be attached to a leash held by a woman whose back was to him. Her face was tilted up like she was looking into the trees for something, and she was dressed in what looked like running clothes. The other dog lunged, and the woman cried out as her dog practically yanked her arm out of its socket, sending her flying before the leash was pulled from her hand and she hit the ground. Face first. Hard.
“Oh my god…shit…” Cooper sprinted towards her, dropping to his knees at her side where she lay face down on the ground, his hands hovering over her back, not sure if he should touch her. “Fuck…Jesus…I’m so sorry…he never…I’m so sorry. Miss? Are you…” Cooper finally got himself to stop talking when she lifted her head with a wince, bringing a now-filthy hand up to her forehead.
“Ouch,” she muttered, an embarrassed smile twisting the corner of her mouth.
He let out a breath. At least she was conscious. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.
“It’s okay. I should have been paying attention.”
“Still…I have no idea what’s gotten into him.” He just shook his head, watching their dogs, for lack of a better word, frolic around the park, tails wagging as they chased one another. At least they weren’t fighting.
The woman watched the dogs, blinking a few times in surprise. “Oh…she never plays with other dogs...” She pressed her hands to the ground, starting to push herself up with a wince, and he finally dared to rest a hand on her shoulder.
“Hold on…let me help you. Are you hurt?”
“I…” She finally lifted her eyes to his…hers were dark brown, so large he could have gotten lost in them, and he found himself staring without meaning to, their eyes locking for what felt like several minutes but what must have been more like a few seconds. “I’m sorry…did I hit my head, or are you Cooper Howard?” she murmured, voice faint.
He had to chuckle, and her cheeks went pink. “Both,” he told her with a grin, a hand under her elbow helping her sit up. “Do you need me to call someone?”
“No, I’m…thank you, Mr. Howard. I’m fine,” she tried to brush him off, fully blushing now.
“Cooper,” he insisted. “And please, why don’t you let me get you to a doctor, Miss…”
“Lucy. And I promise, I’m okay.”
“I live close by…I have a first aid kit. At least let me help you get cleaned up.” He gestured to the arm she’d landed on, now scraped up with blood beading to the surface under the dirt. But as soon as he’d said the words, part of him wanted to take them back. He’d just invited a young woman…a beautiful young woman, to his home. Alone. The last thing he needed was an article in the papers calling him a creep or worse, but Lucy was giving her arm a rueful look, wincing as she flexed her fingers.
“I don’t want to impose…”
“You aren’t,” he hurried to assure her, mouth going on ahead without his permission. “It’s the least I could do. Here…” he jumped to his feet and held out a hand, but a soft, furious growling had him freezing instinctively. Her dog had wandered back over to find him apparently looming over her, and the dog’s teeth gleamed as it snarled at him, hackles raised.
Lucy rolled her eyes, seemingly unbothered by the display. “Will you stop? This is your fault.” She gave the dog an affectionate pat as she took the hand he’d offered, letting him pull her to her feet, and the dog moved to sit pressed to her side, still giving him a wary look, but no longer growling. She went to take a step and winced, flexing her foot a few times, and he tightened his hand around hers, trying to stabilize her.
“Can you walk?”
“Oh…yes, I think I just twisted it.”
“Do you live close?”
“Um…about three miles.”
He felt his own eyes go wide. “Is your car close by or…”
“No, if Four doesn’t get at least one daily run, she takes it out on my apartment.” Lucy scratched the dog behind her ears, eyes going soft as she smiled down at her. “Isn’t that right? Did you destroy my kitchen table?” she cooed.
The dog wagged her tail, mouth opening in a proud smile that told Cooper that she had, in fact, destroyed her kitchen table. He had to chuckle. “Four? That short for something?”
Suddenly, Lucy seemed to realize that he was still holding her hand, and delicately extracted it. He let go immediately, putting his hands in his pockets and going for nonthreatening and ‘definitely not a creep or a murderer.’ “No, she belonged to a friend of my mom’s,” Lucy told him, something darkening in her face, eyes dropping to the ground. “When he passed, I took her in. He was a scientist. I guess she was the fourth in the litter? I never got to ask him, and he never talked about his work with me, so....” She shrugged.
“Oh…how long have you had her?”
“Almost a year now.”
Cooper held out a hand to the dog to sniff, hoping he didn’t lose a finger. Thankfully, she just sniffed his hand, then, after looking him up and down, she forced her head under his hand and demanded ear scratches which he happily provided. “Nice to meet you too, Four. That’s Roosevelt,” he told Lucy, jerking his chin towards his own dog who’d plopped down a few feet away to watch them. “He’s usually really well behaved.”
Four trotted over to him, tail wagging, and he hopped up, bowing playfully. “I think they’re friends,” Lucy told him with a little laugh. “I’ve never really had her around other dogs. None of my friends have dogs, and my ex didn’t even want her…” she trailed off, and he bit back every single question that was none of his business.
“How’s that ankle?”
“Not bad. I think I’ll make it.”
He smiled. “If you’re comfortable with it, I’m happy to let you get cleaned up at my place. I can wrap your ankle and give you a ride home?”
“You don’t have to…”
“I know. But this was at least partially my fault.”
Slowly, Lucy nodded. “Well…I suppose my odds of being murdered by a famous celebrity seem pretty low. Besides, Four would probably protect me.”
He felt his eyes go wide, then barked out a laugh. “I wouldn't say I’m famous. Not anymore. And I’ll bet she would. Even if I was the murdering type, which I’m not, for the record, I don’t like my odds against Four. Come on, you two,” he called to the dogs, and, apparently deciding to be obedient again, Roosevelt trotted over, his new friend in tow, both of their leashes trailing the ground. He grabbed Four’s first, handing it to Lucy, then looped Roosevelt’s around his wrist.
When Lucy took a limping step forward, he held out his elbow, and with a sheepish smile, she took his arm. “Thank you. And for the record, I’d say you’re still pretty famous.”
He didn’t argue that he hadn’t had a major movie role in over a year, or that he was struggling to even get commercials these days. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fan of westerns. You’re a little too young…”
“I’m not that young.”
“You’re what, twenty two?”
Lucy snorted. “Twenty seven.”
“Same thing,” he joked, even those they most assuredly were not. Twenty seven was pretty damn close to thirty and…he shook that thought off quick. That was a stupid path to go down, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to go down it. He had enough shit to worry about as it was without adding whatever the hell he thought he was doing here. “Still, usually it’s older folks that recognize me. Or kids.”
“I used to watch your movies with my dad,” she told him simply.
“Oh…I’m…I’m sorry…” he started, but her already wide eyes got even wider and she shook her head quickly, holding up her free hand.
“No, sorry…he’s not…he’s fine. It sounded like I was saying he was…anyway…we just don’t watch movies together anymore,” she told him with a little laugh, and he felt himself smiling.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. The alive part. And the movies part. I’m sure plenty of kids have had to sit through my movies with their parents.”
“I didn’t have to. I liked them,” she told him, eyes dropping to the ground at her feet, expression turning sheepish.
His chest felt tight, all of a sudden, but he made himself smile. “Thank you.”
It hit Cooper the second his front door came into view what exactly he was doing. His apartment was a disaster, and the single piece of furniture in his living room was the couch he’d fallen asleep on the night before after a quick phone call with Janey during which he’d had to literally bite back tears when his little girl had asked when she could visit. There had also been some whiskey involved…he was only eighty percent sure that his glass had made it to the sink, which was also obscured by boxes. But it wasn’t like he could pull his arm away and just tell this woman his dog had indirectly injured that on second thought, actually no, she couldn't come to his apartment, and good luck getting herself home on a possibly sprained ankle. Still, when they reached his door, he hesitated. “I hope you’ll excuse the mess…I’m still getting moved in.”
“Don’t worry about it. I just moved too,” she said quietly with a smile like she was telling him in confidence. He liked that thought more than he should have. “I’m still using three of my boxes as a coffee table, and I can’t find my slow cooker.”
He unlocked the door, brows raising as he dropped his key back into his pocket. “Could it possibly be in the makeshift coffee table?” he offered.
She laughed, and the sound sent a rush through him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time. “I think my ex stole it,” she confided.
That was twice now this beautiful woman whose last name he didn’t know had brought up an ex…but that didn’t mean a thing, he reminded himself as he pushed the door open, unclipping Roosevelt’s leash. “You can let her go. She won’t hurt anything.”
“You don’t know her like I do,” Lucy joked, but let the leash go, brushing herself off before stepping into his apartment. “I apologize in advance if she eats any of your furniture.” Four stayed right at Lucy’s side though, following her to the couch where Cooper found that he had not, in fact, put his whiskey glass from the night before from the sink. But if Lucy noticed it, she didn’t say a word, or even look at it, just eased herself down with a wince that told him her ankle was hurting more than she’d let on.
“I’ll grab the first aid kit. Pretty sure I unpacked that already.”
“Thank you again.”
“It’s no problem,” he called back, stepping into his bathroom and doing a quick scan before grabbing a bottle of painkillers he’d left out and shoving them into the medicine cabinet, then pushing the trash can further back, almost behind the toilet. He pulled off a piece of toilet paper and wiped down the sink, then, finally, grabbed the first aid kit and carried it back into the living room
When he returned, Roosevelt was lying on the sofa beside her, his head in her lap, and she had the softest little smile on her face as she stroked his head. Four remained at her feet, ears pricked, dark brown eyes fixed on him. Not a threat…a promise. He couldn’t help respecting her more for it.
“If you take your shoe off, I can wrap that.”
“Oh…thank you.” She undid her laces and eased her foot out of her shoe, revealing a bright blue sock with little pink hearts. He knelt in front of her, gently prodding around her ankle and keeping an eye on her expression. “Are you a doctor too?” she asked, lightly teasing.
“No, ma’am,” he chuckled. “Just learned the basics while I was in the Marines. I can wrap sprains and give you stitches, but that’s about it.”
“Still…that’s pretty handy.”
“I think it’s just a sprain…try to stay off it for a day or two, and keep it elevated. If it gets worse, go to a real doctor.” He started to wrap it, pulling out a rolled bandage from his brand new first aid kit, then glanced up as he tucked the edge away to hold it in place. “How’s that? Not too tight, is it?”
She shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “Not at all. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Cooper grabbed her a clean washcloth from the bathroom and wet it under the faucet, ringing it out and handing it over as he took a seat on the sofa a respectable three feet away from her. She nodded her thanks instead of saying it for what might have been the fifteenth time, and wiped her face, then her arm.
“You need to wrap your arm too? I’ve got more bandages,” he offered, pushing the first aid kit closer so she could grab an alcohol wipe.
“I think it’ll be okay…” She examined her forearm, twisting it around to see the scrape, and he scratched Four behind the ears when she placed her muzzle on his knee. “Thank you,” she told him, the words bursting out of her like she’d been trying to hold them back. “Again. You really didn’t have to do all this.”
“It’s nothing,” he promised, feeling his smile go soft. “How about I give you a ride home? You shouldn’t be walking all that way with a sprained ankle. I’d call you a cab, but with Four…”
“Yeah…most cab drivers aren’t fans of giant dogs in their back seats.” She ruffled the dog’s fur with a rueful smile. “But if you have plans or something, I really can just walk…”
“I insist. And there’s no need to thank me.” He held up a hand, cutting her off when she opened her mouth to most likely do just that. “In fact, I don’t think you ever need to thank me again, considering all the thanking you’ve been doing.”
Her cheeks flushed, eyes dropping, but her lips twisted into a little smile. “I appreciate it.”
He barked out a laugh, standing and holding out a hand that she took, letting him pull her to her feet.
It wasn’t a long drive to Lucy’s apartment, and they spent the eight minute drive in near silence, his radio playing softly in the background. Four sat in the backseat, watching the scenery as he drove past the park and through a neighborhood made up of small starter homes, most with colorful flower gardens just starting to bloom. He wasn’t sure what to say…this woman was a near stranger, but she’d been in his apartment. He knew she’d apparently liked his movies at some point, but he didn’t know if she wanted to talk about that, or if he ought to ask her something about herself.
Usually, he was good with people. These, however, seemed to be extenuating circumstances.
“Um…turn left up here,” she instructed before too long, pointing, and he did, pulling onto a side street, then into a parking lot of an apartment complex not dissimilar from his own. “That building.”
He pulled into a parking spot, then turned to her with a faint smile. “Well, it was nice to meet you Lucy…I’m just sorry about the circumstances.” He held out a hand that she took with a laugh.
“You too. And thank you again.”
“Last one,” he warned, mock serious, and was rewarded with her soft giggle.
“Fine. Last one.”
He pumped her hand up and down once, then let her go. “Need any help getting inside?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Alright. I’ll see you around.”
For some reason, that made her smile brighter, which only made the ache in his chest stronger. “See you around.”