Chapter Text
Cooper had always wanted a little girl.
He and Barb had tried for years—temperature charts, fertility specialists, injections that left purple bruises on her abdomen. When the test finally came back positive, Cooper transformed the spare bedroom into a nursery with a desperation that frightened him. He painted the walls a pale pink that reminded Barb of ballet slippers, his hand sometimes trembling on the roller, wondering if the color was too traditional, too limiting—what if she preferred purple? He assembled a white oak crib, checking the safety latch a dozen times. His assistant returned with shopping bags stuffed with velvet dresses, tiny patent leather shoes, and a gold locket engraved with a cursive J.
"Janey," he'd whisper to Barb's belly at night. "After my grandmother."
Then, at 31 weeks, there was spotting, then cramping that doubled Barb over on the bathroom tile, then the emergency room as nurses rushed past with hushed voices. Little Janey never wore the dresses hanging in the closet or felt the cool metal of her locket against her skin—just as some dark, whispering part of him had always said she wouldn't.
Cooper took the crib apart alone, his knuckles bleeding as he wrenched apart the pieces. The baby clothes disappeared into garbage bags, but the locket found its way into his drawer. He and Barb moved around each other like ghosts for the next two years afterward, the name Janey calcifying in their throats. It was like nothing happened— except for the way Barb sometimes hesitated when she passed the closed door to what could have been, and for how he'd sometimes catch himself standing there too, hand on the knob, unable to walk away.
So when Barb told Cooper that they'd be taking care of a girl—her voice dropping to that honey-sweet tone she used when asking for something impossible— "Darling, she has no one," and "She nearly died down there,"—Cooper's jaw clenched tight. He stared at the linoleum floor for three long seconds before looking up, his expression hard and cold. "No."
A flat, resounding no.
How could she even suggest such a thing after what they had gone through? And yet—wasn't this what Janey would have wanted, if she'd lived to have wants at all? No. He couldn't bear it. Their home, their hearts, laid bare to some stranger who'd crawled out of that vault alive when their own daughter had been denied even her first birthday. The universe dealt in cruelty, not grace. But then again, maybe this was grace. The wrong child, the wrong time, but maybe—no. He couldn't.
But Barb wasn't really asking—she'd been given this assignment by Vault-Tec after the emergency protocols triggered in a test vault, red lights flashing in the corridors as oxygen levels plummeted to critical. An executive had slid a folder across his polished desk with a photo paperclipped to the corner, his voice stern when he told her there was no other way.
A week later, the girl materialized at their doorstep, clutching a threadbare canvas duffel that had seen better days. She winced at the sunlight—real sunlight—her eyes narrowing to adjust.
Cooper found himself transfixed.
Wisps of hair had slipped free from her ponytail, framing her face. Her Vault suit—standard issue, functional blue—traced the contours of her body in ways that made Cooper's gaze linger where it shouldn't. When she caught him staring and offered a smile, Cooper felt his lungs seize. Guilt and desire warred in his chest, neither winning, both burning. He forced himself to look at the floor, the sky, anywhere else. But his attention circled back to her like compass needles to north.
Nineteen years old according to Barb.
Not a little girl, his mind whispered traitorously, though he knew better.
"Hiya!" was the first word out of her mouth, her gaze flicking between the couple expectantly, one hand fidgeting with the frayed strap of her bag. “I’m Lucy MacLean, pleased to meet you!”
Barb reached out to grab Lucy's shoulder, her touch gentle as she guided the girl through the doorway. Lucy’s wide eyes darted around, taking in the floral wallpaper and the photos lining the hallway as Barb led her to the kitchen. "Put your things here, dear," Barb instructed, patting the counter’s surface. Within moments, Mister Handy—their chrome-plated home droid that whirred softly as it moved—had extended its mechanical arms, lifted the pack and floated up the creaking staircase to the spare bedroom. Janey's room.
Cooper's throat tightened as he watched. He tried to protest, his voice catching as he suggested Lucy might be more comfortable on the sectional sofa, or perhaps he could fix up the garden shed for something more private. But Barb's lips pressed together, her eyes hardening in that way that brooked no argument. Lucy was to stay in the spare room, where Barb could keep a close eye on her. She left the house without waiting for his response.
Cooper watched through the window as she approached the Vault-Tec officials who'd delivered Lucy like some mail-order item. He retreated until the refrigerator stopped him, its cold steel drone buzzing against his back. Across the kitchen, Lucy fixed him with a stare that didn't waver, her pupils shrinking to dots beneath the overhead lights. Between them stood only the granite island, its speckled surface still scattered with the remnants of morning toast. Cooper felt a chill spread across his skin— something in her gaze pulled at him, familiar and foreign all at once.
"She has you on a real short leash, huh?" Lucy said, her head tilted just so.
He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sharp crack of the screen door slamming against its frame as Barb came back inside. Lucy pivoted toward her, and Coop watched as the cold calculation that had hardened her features dissolved like frost under morning sun. The transformation was seamless—her eyes now sparkled with warmth, crinkling at the corners as her lips curved into a honeyed smile.
"Ready for the full house tour?" Barb asked, setting down a thick file on the counter with a soft thud.
"Sure am!" Lucy replied, her voice lilting with innocence that hadn't been there seconds before.
Cooper felt his stomach flip.
Barb showed Lucy around the house, pointing out the little things that made the place theirs—a photograph of Coop and Barb on their wedding day, her in a cream dress, him with a nervous smile and his hair slicked back; a meticulously arranged collection of Vault Boy memorabilia in a glass case—while showing all the important areas. The bathroom with its perpetually dripping faucet, the linen closet where fresh towels were folded with military precision.
They eventually made it upstairs, Cooper trailing behind the two with his heart racing in his chest, each thud growing more violent the closer they got to the spare room. He waited in the hall, his back pressed against the banister. He didn't dare go in. He hadn't been inside since he dismantled the nursery, leaving tiny gouges in the walls that he never bothered to patch.
Lucy looked around, her eyes searching every corner, lingering on the faded rectangle on the wall where something had once hung, her lips pursed in what might have been judgment.
Barb stood by the door, fingers curled tightly around the frame, seemingly unable to enter the room, either. "We can get you some new things in a few days." Barb vaguely pointed at the furniture, standard Vault-Tec issued essentials that came with the house when they bought it—a cheap, unpolished wooden dresser with one drawer that wouldn't close properly and a metal bedframe with rust forming at the joints. Nothing like the hand-carved crib with the mobile of silver stars that he'd built for his real daughter, Cooper thought.
"Thank you very much!" Lucy embraced Barb in a hug, her thin fingers digging into the starched cotton of Barb's powder-blue blouse for a moment before turning to Cooper. She stepped out into the hall, arms outstretched and her face arranged in a perfect smile.
She wrapped her arms around Cooper's neck, the hug different from the quick embrace she had just given Barb, but Barb didn't seem to notice as she busied herself with straightening the hallway runner. Her lips grazed the stubbled edge of his jaw, lingering a half-second too long, a half-inch too close to his pulse point.
Cooper felt his blood run cold at the intimacy of the moment, a chill that started at his neck where her lips had been and spread down his spine. It'd been too long since anyone had touched him that way—purposeful, knowing—and the familiar ache of loneliness twisted into something darker as he watched Lucy disappear into her room.
Lucy began unpacking, methodically arranging the meager contents of her duffel bag—two t-shirts, a pair of pajama pants, and a small metal box with a combination lock that clicked softly as she placed it in the bottom drawer. Cooper fled down the creaking wooden stairs two at a time, his palm sliding damp against the banister, lungs tight as if he'd been holding his breath.
He stood at the kitchen counter, his palms spread flat against the cool surface, fingers splayed. The stone's temperature seeped into his feverish skin, drawing out the heat that had been building since Lucy's arrival, anchoring him to the present moment when thoughts threatened to spiral.
Maybe he was looking too far into things. Maybe Lucy didn't understand how things worked on the surface, didn't understand that there were rules and boundaries drawn in invisible ink between men and women, and certainly between adults and teenagers. Maybe the kiss was totally innocent, a mark of affection for the people who had agreed to give her a new home. Maybe the remark about him being kept like a dog was harmless. A joke that didn't quite land. Maybe—
"Honey, could you get dinner started?" Barb's voice echoed down the stairwell, cheerful and oblivious. "Are you hungry, Lucy?"
"Starved!"
Lucy arranged blue plates on the dinner table, humming something that tickled the edge of memory like a half-forgotten nursery rhyme. Each movement was measured, cautious, her thin fingers hovering momentarily before committing to placement, like she feared the slightest misstep might shatter more than just ceramic. At the kitchen counter, Cooper got a head start on washing the dishes, sleeves rolled to expose forearms crosshatched with old battle scars, while the Mister Handy unit hovered in the corner, its mechanical arms extended with a hydraulic hiss to sweep browning vegetable peels from the counter into a trash bin.
"She's a nice girl," Barb murmured, wiping down the counter with circular motions, hands moving in methodical arcs. Her gaze shifted between the two of them, sharp and assessing.
Cooper's only response was a short exhale through flared nostrils, his back stiffening beneath his shirt until the cotton pulled taut across his shoulder blades. He still couldn't get that kiss out of his head—the way the warm press of her lips set his nerves ablaze, the way his heart had hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
Barb's eyebrows knotted together, deep lines forming between them. "Not your impression?"
"Since when has my opinion counted for anything?" Cooper asked, dishrag suspended over the scarred cutting board, droplets of soapy water falling onto the worn wood.
"It might if you ever shared it." Barb's voice was soft but carried an unmistakable edge.
Mister Handy's chrome pincers gripped the dented aluminum pot, steam curling from beneath the lid as it floated across the threshold into the dining room. Cooper's stomach growled even as his throat tightened. He wanted to flee upstairs, lock himself in the bathroom, yet found himself desperate to be near them both and sickened by the thought of sitting across from them at the same time. Barb with her tired eyes that he couldn't bear to meet, and Lucy with that smile that made him hate himself almost as much as he hated how badly he needed to see it again, even if it wasn't real.
It was all too much.
Lucy's voice lilted from the dining room, saccharine and practiced, like honey poured too generously. "Why thank you!" she chirped, her syllables rising and falling. The robot's single green indicator light blinked once—its version of acknowledgment—as Lucy's performative sweetness hung in the air, unnecessary in the face of circuitry that couldn't possibly recognize it, never mind appreciate it.
"Later," Barb muttered, the lines around her mouth deepening as she shot Cooper a look he couldn't quite interpret—a warning? A threat? Cooper hesitated, fingers drumming against his thigh, before taking his seat at the head of the table.
The three of them ate silently for a while, the only sounds being the hollow clink of metal spoons against bowls, and the occasional creaking of chairs as they shifted their weight.
The quiet stretched until Barb's voice sliced through the thick air.
"So, Lucy," she said, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin, "tell us about yourself? Vault-Tec gave me a file, but I'd rather hear your story from you."
“I grew up in a vault. My parents and my little brother stayed with me," Lucy looked down at her bowl, the thin broth reflecting her pale face as she collected some in her spoon before letting it trickle back. "We… well, my daddy said we’d be safe there, and we were, but... But the vault— it—"
Lucy's voice faded away, and she looked up at Cooper just in time to reveal the tears that had pooled in her wide, doe-like eyes. The sight made his chest tighten. "My daddy didn' t make it. My mom held on for my little brother and I for as long as she could… but then they both—" another pause, her knuckles whitening around her spoon. "May I be excused? I'm sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, it's just— this is very hard for me." She looked at Barb, her bottom lip quivering, for permission.
Barb leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed curiosity. "Well, I did have some questions about what happened the day the vault malfunctioned—"
"Barb—" Cooper's voice cut through the air like a knife, fingers tightening around his spoon.
"The reports say that you ran out of oxygen," Barb continued, ignoring him. Her gaze fixed on Lucy's face. "Could you tell me more about that?"
Cooper's jaw clenched. He gave Lucy a worried glance, but the girl sat frozen.
"There should have been a backup system—" Barb pressed on, oblivious to the suffocating tension filling the room.
Lucy suddenly stood from her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the tile. Her shoulders hunched forward, fingers curling into fists at her sides. "I'd like to go to my room now," she spoke firmly, her voice dropping an octave, all traces of her usual singsong lilt evaporating. "Please." The word hung in the air between them, less a request than a desperate boundary.
Barb's mouth fell open at the sudden outburst, her face draining of color as she let out a quiet "Sure," to dismiss Lucy. Lucy took off without another word, her footsteps thundering across the hardwood floor as she stormed out of the dining room and up the creaking stairs, each step punctuating the tense silence left in her wake.
Cooper shot Barb a look, his eyes wide with shock at what had just happened, the vein in his temple visibly pulsing. "What in the hell's the matter with you?" He dropped his napkin onto the table, pushing away his meal, the smell of it now turning his stomach.
"It's my job to gain information about the vault—" Barb's voice was thin and defensive, her fingers nervously twisting the gold band on her left hand.
Shock drained from Cooper's face, replaced by a curl of his lip that gave away his revulsion. "That kid lost her parents. She was in tears, Barb," he said, rising to his feet and grabbing his plate where dinner sat barely touched, his fingers bloodless around the edge as he marched toward the kitchen. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"
He dropped the dishes in the sink with a clatter that echoed, plates sliding against a stainless steel basin. The walls of the kitchen seemed to press in on him, and he could feel sweat beading at his temples. He needed air, needed to feel the cool night breeze on his face, But Barb followed him into the kitchen, her slippers making soft shuffling sounds as she walked.
"What's got you acting like this?" Barb asked. She didn't look at him, her eyes darting around the cluttered countertop, fingers twitching. She was deliberately avoiding his gaze.
"You bring a girl into my house after telling me that she's poor, she's all alone— she needs us real bad, then you make her cry at the goddamn dinner table." Cooper spoke through grit teeth, trying to control the volume of his voice so that Lucy didn't hear. "I don't even get a say in her being here because Vault-Tec tells you to jump and you ask how fucking high!"
Barb seemed to not even be listening, her hands barreling through the drawers, searching. Papers rustled, utensils clinked against each other. "Have you seen the file I put down earlier? Lucy's file?"
A harsh sound escaped Cooper, something between a scoff and a sigh, as the weight of futility settled over him. What was the point? His words would only bounce off the wall she'd built between them. He turned away, leaving behind the suffocating quiet, the tomb of yet another dead-end exchange between him and his wife.
The next week, the three of them loaded up into Coop's Chevy, windows rolled down to combat the sticky July heat, the radio crackling through static before settling on a top 40 station. Barb sat in the passenger seat, her eyes squinted at weekend reports through tortoiseshell reading glasses, a chewed Bic pen dangling from the corner of her pursed lips. Lucy sat in the behind her, her legs crossed at the knee, toes tapping against the upholstery. Her hand hung out the window, palm cutting through the rushing air in undulating waves, fingertips dancing with invisible currents.
Cooper's eyes darted to the rearview mirror on occasion, catching a glimpse of her hair whipping across her face. He wanted to look away, needed to look away, but found himself glancing back again, stomach churning as Barb's pen scratched against paper beside him, the silence between dashboard and backseat feeling vast and treacherous.
He should be grateful—his wife beside him, this girl safe in their care, the closest thing he would ever get to having a daughter... Yet his fingers trembled on the steering wheel. Lucky, he told himself. A decent man would feel lucky. He adjusted the mirror slightly—just enough that he couldn't see Lucy anymore—then found his hand drifting back, almost of its own accord, to tilt it down again.
“Lucy, did you make a list of all the things you need?”
Barb's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked over at her, studying her profile for a moment to keep himself grounded. The familiar curve of her jaw, the slight crease at the corner of her eye—still beautiful as the day they got married, and yet somehow a stranger's face now, belonging to a woman who couldn't possibly understand him.
From the backseat came Lucy's exclamation: "Yes!" Her weight shifted, sending her foot into the back of Coop's seat as she extracted a folded paper from Barb's borrowed trousers. A gust snatched it through the open window as she held it up to read. "Oh, sugar!" Another shift, another kick to his seat. Deliberate, he suspected. Her voice dropped with practiced disappointment: "It's gone."
In the mirror, Cooper observed her stretching an arm outside, fingers grasping at nothing but air. When she finally slumped back, their eyes met in the mirror, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a little smirk.
Cooper drove the women around from store to store, slouched in the driver's seat, watching through sunglasses as they loaded up his trunk with new clothes for Lucy. He watched them emerge from each boutique, Barb leading the way while Lucy trailed behind, her pale arms draped with shopping bags. The trunk filled steadily with blouses, and sundresses in colors that would bring out the amber flecks in Lucy's eyes. He tried to focus on other things while he waited—like the shitty Vault-Tec commercial script sitting on his nightstand—but his thoughts swung back to Lucy.
What was it about that girl? One minute she seemed utterly innocent, all wide eyed and hesitant, completely unaware of her effect on people. The next minute—a glance held too long, a touch that couldn't be accidental. Was he imagining things? No. He'd been alive long enough to recognize when someone was fucking with him. But why would she? Christ, maybe he was the sick one, seeing manipulation where there was only an awkward adjustment to a new home.
That was it. She was just getting adjusted.
He caught a glimpse of Barb's bob through the department store's glass doors and started up his car, the engine purring to life in the late afternoon heat. But she emerged alone, her heels clicking rapidly across the asphalt as she approached. Instead of sliding into the passenger seat, she leaned through his open window, the scent of her perfume mingling with the car's leather interior.
Barb leaned through his open window. "I have to get to the office—"
"Now?" Cooper sighed, drumming his fingers against the worn leather of the steering wheel. "Do you need me to drive you?"
“No, a car’s on the way.” She glanced over her shoulder at the store's entrance, where mannequins in pastel outfits stood sentinel. "Can you finish up with her in there? She's still trying things on."
"You want me to help her pick out dresses?" His voice carried a note of discomfort.
"Just wait with her until she's done," Barb said, her tone clipped and almost professional. She fished in her leather purse and handed over a Vault-Tec credit card, its metallic blue surface catching the sunlight, but Cooper refused to take it with a dismissive wave.
"I've got it."
Barb took off without another word, her heels striking the pavement in sharp, efficient clicks that faded as she strode toward the corner where a sleek black Vault-Tec sedan would inevitably appear. He sat for a moment, fingers tapping another anxious rhythm on the steering wheel, then twisted the key. The engine died with a shuddering sigh that matched his own. The silence that followed felt heavy as he hauled himself out of the driver's seat and into the store, searching for Lucy.
He sank into one of the chairs at the back of the shop and crossed one leg over the other, watching the minute hand of the wall clock drag itself forward. A stack of dog-eared magazines lay scattered on the laminate side table: a wedding gown catalogue with a beaming bride on its glossy cover, a home appliance order book with prices already circled, and a copy of Tomorrow's Man featuring a bronzed bodybuilder. He flipped it open to find a questionnaire printed in bold red type: "Rate Your Masculine Potency: 10 Questions Every Real Man Can Answer."
How incredibly helpful, he thought, his lips curling into a sardonic smile.
Coop's attention snapped away at the sound of metal rings scraping against the rod as a dressing room curtain drew back. Lucy emerged in a canary-yellow A-line dress, the cotton fabric cinched at her waist, the pleated skirt bouncing just above the middle of her thighs with each step.
"Barb, does this one look okay—" Her eyes, wide and hazel, met his. "Oh. I thought—" Lucy's fingers linked together near her collarbone, thumbs nervously brushing against each other in a gesture that almost seemed calculated in its innocence.
His voice caught somewhere between his suddenly dry throat and tongue. "Barb— she uh, she had to go in to work. Emergency call."
“So it's just you and me?"
"Yeah."
A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Well, what do you think? Is this one good?”
Cooper's gaze traveled from her shoulders down to her feet. His eyes caught on the small birthmark just below her knee, a detail he hadn't noticed before but now couldn't stop seeing.
You look fucking gorgeous, is what he thought. "I'll be at the sales counter," is what he said.
Lucy followed after him a few moments later, the dress folded over her slender arm. A wide-brimmed straw sunhat perched on her head, its ribbon matching the dress perfectly.
"You ready to go?" Cooper asked, his calloused fingers brushing against hers as he took the garment and placed it onto the glass counter where the saleswoman waited.
"I'm ready," she smiled, her hands moving to rub at her stomach beneath her t-shirt. "Can we get something to eat? All this shopping's made me work up an appetite!"
Cooper nodded, his jaw tightening slightly as he reached up and pulled the hat from her head, disturbing several strands of her dark brown hair. The saleswoman's eyes darted between them—lingering a beat too long on Lucy's youth, then on Cooper's weathered face— as he handed her the hat, its price tag dangling from a white string.
He pulled a wad of cash from his wallet, the worn leather creasing with familiar lines. Lucy wrapped her slender fingers around his bicep, feeling the muscle tense beneath his shirt sleeve. She gave his arm a squeeze as a silent thank you.
They drove to a diner with chrome-trimmed tables and red vinyl booths, the kind of place where the air smelled perpetually of burnt coffee and frying oil. A jukebox in the corner played the classics, its neon tubes flickering with each note. Cooper sat across from Lucy as she tore into her burger, grease glistening on her fingertips, pausing only to slurp at a shake.
"This is so yummy!" Foam clung to her upper lip before she licked it away.
Cooper didn't say a word, just methodically cut his meatloaf into perfect squares, fork tines scraping gently against the plate.
She's just getting used to things, he reminded himself. She doesn't know any better.
Be nice.
"I— I'm glad you're enjoying it." His voice came out rougher than intended.
"We didn't have shakes this good down in the vault." Lucy paused, her eyes suddenly distant, like she was looking through the speckled floor to somewhere miles below.
"What was it like down there?" He had heard all about the vaults from Barb—hell, he'd even had a hand in selling a couple—but he'd never heard any first-hand testimonies, and the thought of a vault failing when they were supposed to be safe made his collar feel too tight.
"It was perfect," she started, her eyes shifting from his down to her hands where they lay folded in her lap. "My dad paid for a luxury vault for us, and... I was happy there." Her bottom lip quivered slightly before she bit it still. The sadness that washed over her face seemed... genuine.
Luxury vault, Cooper thought, swallowing hard. Barb had told him it'd been a test vault, one meant to perfect the process before people were allowed into the real ones. Had Lucy's parents been duped somehow? The possibility sat like a stone in his gut.
"Everything seemed to be working A-OK until…" Her voice trailed off.
"It's alright, doll, you don't have to explain." The term of endearment slipped from him faster than he could stop it. "What do you say we get desert? This place has a decent banana split.”
"Okie dokie!" she forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Now why do you do that?" he asked, tilting his head a little as he motioned for the waitress to come over, a woman with bottle-blonde hair piled high and penciled eyebrows. "Why do you always— you don't have to do that around me. You can just be you."
It'd only been a week, but he already felt like he'd seen far too many sides of her—the trembling survivor with downcast eyes, the grateful houseguest who was quick to show affection, and the sharp-tongued girl who'd snapped at Barb over dinner. He couldn't tell which version was real. The mystery frustrated him just as much as it drew him in, like a locked door in his own house.
How in the hell was he supposed to look after this girl when she kept shifting like mercury between his fingers?
Lucy waited until the waitress had taken off with their order, disappearing behind the swinging kitchen door, before responding. "It's... what a woman's supposed to do." Her voice took on a mechanical quality, like she was reciting from some outdated manual. "We're supposed to be pleasant. That's what ensures we find the best mate."
"Mate?" His face contorted as if he'd bitten into something rancid, crow's feet deepening around his eyes. "You mean like, for sex?"
"I'm on a strict timeline for children," she nodded, her ponytail bobbing. "I need to make good use of my fertility." She spoke the words with clinical detachment.
Cooper's throat constricted around a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. It burned a path down to his stomach as he coughed into his napkin, the paper dissolving against his lips. "Good god, you’re—" he sputtered, dabbing at his chin with a crumpled napkin, "—you're young, Lucy. You don't have to worry about things like that." A flush crept up his neck as he glanced at his wedding band, its gold dulled under the diner's fluorescent lights. She had time on her side, not like he and Barb.
Lucy's eyebrows knitted together, her mouth opening slightly to protest before she pressed her lips into a firm line, the defiance in her eyes fading to reluctant acceptance.
“You just— you just worry about being happy.” Whatever that means.
"Are you happy, Cooper?" Her voice was soft.
He stiffened, shoulders squared beneath his shirt.
“I’m sorry to ask such a question, I just wanted to know.”
Cooper chewed the inside of his cheek, contemplating on whether or not he should speak openly, the way he wanted to. "Nothing's ever really perfect. I think you know as much already." He took another sip of his coffee, bitter and black as engine oil, using it as an excuse to give himself more time to think. "But you make do. A man always makes do."
Lucy nodded as if she understood, but Cooper couldn’t help thinking if she was comparing what he said to whatever she learned about men inside that vault. “My daddy used to say that.”
Cooper felt something tugging at his heart, a sensation like fingers hooking beneath his ribs and pulling them apart. "Wise man," he managed, his voice catching in his throat.
She smiled at him, wide and bright, her eyes crinkling at the corners. The careful mask she'd worn since arriving had slipped away, revealing something raw and honest beneath—a smile that reached her eyes and transformed her face. Real, for the first time.
Lucy's voice cracked as she spoke, her fingers trembling slightly as they tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I really miss him," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers trembling slightly. "I miss my daddy."
Coop's lips twisted slightly, a frown forming deep creases around his mouth before he smoothed his expression, the way a man might straighten his uniform before inspection. "I lost my dad when I was young, too. Right before I joined the Marines. Barely even had time to process it before I shipped off to basic training."
"But you made do?" she echoed, her voice lilting upward with hope. The late afternoon sunlight filtering through the blinds cast golden stripes across her expectant face.
"I did," he said with a nod, his hand briefly covering hers on the tabletop. "You will, too. I— Barb and I will make sure of it."
Reassurance washed over her like a warm tide, her narrow shoulders visibly loosening, tension melting away as she exhaled.
The waitress returned, balancing a gleaming glass dish rimmed with delicate scalloped edges. Inside, three perfect scoops—rich chocolate, pale pink strawberry, and creamy vanilla—nestled against each other, crowned with plump maraschino cherries that bled red syrup onto the ice cream below. A banana, sliced lengthwise, framed the creation on either side. The dessert was clearly meant for two, yet a single long-handled silver spoon stood planted in the center.
Cooper's arm jerked upward to flag down the retreating waitress, but Lucy's voice cut through the air between them.
"It's okay, we can share," she said, plucking the spoon from its perch. She twirled it between her fingers before dipping it into the chocolate scoop. He parted his lips to protest, but the words evaporated in his throat as she leaned across the table, her eyes never leaving his, and held the spoon to his mouth. The cold sweetness melted on his tongue as he accepted it.
Lucy's laugh bubbled up like carbonation, light and effervescent, as she scooped up a cherry for herself. He couldn't help but smile in return, the corners of his mouth lifting as he watched her, his eyes lingering on the way her throat moved when she swallowed.
His body hummed with a sensation he'd never dared name but had always craved. Beyond the simple comfort of being needed, beyond even the rare luxury of trust Lucy had afforded him, it was as if someone had finally unlocked a rusted door inside him that he'd long stopped trying to open.
He'd sealed away the possibility so thoroughly, bricked it up behind years of certainty that such things weren't meant for men like him. Now he wondered: did everyone else walk through life carrying this glow inside them, this thing he'd only just discovered had a place within himself?
The rest of the evening was spent in his armchair, a crooning voice spinning from the turntable while amber whiskey caught the lamplight in his glass. A thick ribbon of smoke curled from the Cuban cigar between his fingers. From upstairs came Lucy's humming, punctuated by the soft thud of dresser drawers and the rustle of tissue paper as she arranged her new clothes in the bedroom set that had been delivered and assembled while they were out.
Cooper felt a warmth spreading through his chest that had little to do with the alcohol, his sock-covered toes tapping against each other in rhythm to the music as he propped them on the coffee table. He really was a lucky man. He had a beautiful home, a beautiful car, and a beautiful woman to look up at him with admiration in those eyes of hers—no, he shouldn't think of Lucy that way, she didn't belong to him—all the things a man could ever want and more.
He heard the front door open with a familiar creak, signaling Barb's arrival, and he straightened in his chair slightly, his feet coming down to the hardwood floor with a soft thud.
"Honey?" Barb called out from the foyer, her voice carrying over the low jazz music as she moved in to join him. Her heels clicked rhythmically across the hardwood. "Work was insane, apparently another vault is having some trouble."
Cooper placed his drink down onto the table, his eyes immediately settling on her. "About that."
Barb sank into the plush velvet loveseat opposite him, her fingers working the delicate silver buckles on her heels. "Hmm?"
"You said Lucy came from a 'test' vault?" He waited for her response, jaw clenched.
“Yes, she did.”
He took a long pull from his cigar, letting the smoke gather in his mouth before exhaling a gray cloud toward the ceiling fan. "Then why does she think that she was in some kind of 'luxury' unit?"
Barb went still, her perfectly manicured nails frozen mid-buckle. "What do you mean?"
"She said her father paid for a luxury vault. I didn't know those were available yet. Are they?" His words were measured but laced with suspicion.
Barb kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief, finally having undone the thin straps that had left angry marks on her ankles. She looked back at Cooper briefly before turning her attention to her jewelry, slipping off one gleaming piece at a time and setting them into a small dish on the side table.
"No," she said simply, the word falling like a stone. "She must be mistaken. Everyone involved with the test vaults were told what to expect beforehand."
"So Vault-Tec didn't take her daddy's money, promising a perfect place to live should the bombs start raining over our fucking heads?" The liquor was making his blood burn a little hotter than it normally would, flushing his neck and cheeks. "You're telling me that man knowingly put his wife and two kids at risk?"
"I'm saying her family knew that this was an experimental vault, yes." Her voice was cold as ice.
"And what kind of experiments did they knowingly sign up for?"
“That’s classified.” She stood from the seat, “Don’t stay up too late. I have an early morning and I don’t need you waking me up by dragging your drunk behind into bed at an obscene hour.”
Cooper's hand curled into a white-knuckled fist around the cigar, feeling it crumble between his fingers, warm tobacco flakes scattering onto the floor.
Another night spent dancing around each other in their elegant prison. Another night spent swallowing the bitter words he so desperately needed to say to his wife as she disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps fading into silence.
He stayed put until the neighbors' porch lights flickered out. The whiskey burned in his stomach, a molten coal that slowly cooled to embers. When the sting finally subsided, he crept upstairs, each weathered step groaning softly beneath his weight.
At the landing, the hallway stretched before him; his bedroom door stood firmly closed, the bathroom gaped open, porcelain fixtures gleaming. And Ja— Lucy' s door— hung ajar, a sliver of honey-gold lamplight spilling onto the carpet runner.
He inched closer, one floorboard creaking treacherously beneath him. Through the narrow opening, he glimpsed Lucy sprawled on her back, feet propped against the headboard, toes flexing idly. Her fingers clutched a manila folder above her face—the very one Barb had frantically searched for, cursing under her breath. He tapped his knuckles against the door, the sound barely louder than his thundering pulse.
"Come in!" Her voice lilted with invitation.
Cooper pushed the door open, his gaze sweeping across the freshly painted walls and new furniture before landing on Lucy with a jolt. He saw now that she wore only a thin white tank top that clung to her torso and high-cut panties in a shade of pink that reminded him of cotton candy, delicate lace edging her hip bones.
"Oh, I'm sorry—" Heat crawled up his neck.
"It's alright," she purred, rolling onto her stomach, the folder now splayed before her like an offering. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder as she tilted her head. "Did you want something?"
“That— that folder, where did you find it?”
She smiled at him, her feet kicking in the air. “I found it on the kitchen counter” Right where Barb had left it, he remembered. “It had my name on it, so I assumed—”
He snatched the folder from the rumpled bedspread, tucking it protectively under his arm. "Barb's been looking for that.”
"I'm sorry," she murmured, not sounding sorry at all. Another kick of her feet, drawing his eyes to the length of her bare legs.
What secrets had those pages revealed to her? What damning information was contained in this folder that had sent Barb into such a panic? He had to know. He didn’t dare to look.
"It's fine. Have a good night." He retreated hastily, pulling the door firmly shut behind him with a decisive click that echoed in the silent hallway.
He dragged himself into bed, tucking the manila folder beneath the sagging mattress on his side before finally settling in to sleep, his heart pounding like a trapped animal against his ribcage.
Cooper dreamt of his time at boot camp that night. Drill instructors with veins bulging from their necks yelling at him to keep disciplined, to keep order as he stood at rigid attention.
Barb had left early as scheduled, her navy suitcase packed for a two-day work trip to the Capitol. Cooper spent the morning putting away her belongings—silk blouses and cotton cardigans left strewn across their rumpled bedsheets in last-minute indecision. Their chrome-plated Mister Handy hovered near the closet, its mechanical arms delicately hanging Barb's work shirts.
Once he'd restored order to the master bedroom, he moved to clear the drawers in the desk in his office. The top one overflowed with junk—lime-green Jolly Rancher wrappers that never made it to the trash, stuck together with residual sugar, and ballpoint pens chewed at the ends and dried of ink. The middle drawer contained a graveyard of paperwork—yellowing scripts from canceled productions, receipts crumpled into tight little spheres.
And in the bottom drawer... he found Janey's locket, nestled in an envelope pushed to the very back corner. He held the delicate gold heart between trembling fingers, feeling the engraved 'J' press into his palm like a brand. It felt like someone was slowly sliding a serrated blade between his ribs.
His Janey, his little girl who never was. A phantom weight in his arms, a ghost of laughter he'd never know. He'd have given anything—his career, his savings, years off his life—to have her here with him. He put the piece back, haphazardly throwing it into the drawer with a hollow clatter, never wanting to see it again. He told himself that he had to get over this, had to let it go, but how could he? How could he relieve himself of this crushing, constant ache when no one would even afford him so much as a conversation about it? Not that he ever told anyone…
No one on his team at Vault-Tec even knew Barb was pregnant. No one even knew that they had been trying for three long years of temperature charts and scheduled intimacy. She'd asked him not to tell until their daughter was tucked safely into her bassinet.
Now he understood why.
Cooper sat for a moment in the leather chair that creaked under his weight, just taking the time to breathe through his clenched teeth, to let the emotions wash over him like waves of scalding water.
That's when he noticed the smell of breakfast wafting from the kitchen—butter melting on a hot griddle, the sweet tang of maple.
He locked the door to his office behind him before making his way downstairs. The smells grew stronger as he neared the kitchen, and he entered the room to find Lucy plating golden-brown pancakes covered with glistening strawberries and syrup. Eggs and bacon were still on the stove, popping and crackling.
Her hair was pinned up halfway, falling onto her shoulders in perfect curls. She wore the yellow dress he'd bought her, and little cream kitten heels she must have picked out while he waited in the car. Coop felt his heart skip a beat, then race to catch up.
Lucy's voice rang through the sun-dappled kitchen, bright as the morning light. "Good morning!" she chirped.
"Morning," Cooper replied, his voice softening as he took in the spread being prepared before him: golden pancakes stacked in a precarious tower, glistening bacon curled at the edges, and eggs with yolks like setting suns. "I didn't hear you get up."
Lucy moved the bacon from from the stove to a small dish. “I wanted to surprise you!”
He sat down at the kitchen counter, pulling out a creaky stool from underneath. "Well, I'm certainly surprised."
She arranged everything on the counter with meticulous care. The refrigerator door opened with a soft suction sound, and she poured orange juice into two glasses, pulp floating on the surface. Lucy perched beside him on the edge of her stool, her knee brushing his under the counter. She waited for him to eat first. "I really hope it's good!" her voice held a tremor of nervousness.
"It looks wonderful, Lucy. Thank you." He dug into the pancakes, noticing how they were perfectly browned and fluffy, with crisp edges before he took a bite. The buttery sweetness burst on his tongue, and he couldn' t help himself. "Mmm," he said.
Her smile widened, and she popped a piece of fruit into her mouth.
The two of them ate silently for a while, just enjoying their food. The silence was welcomed as sunlight streamed through the blinds; Cooper didn't feel the need to fill it with questions or sighs, nor did he feel his usual discomfort. This was nothing like sharing a meal with Barb…
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy's hand raise towards him. His attention shifted from his half eaten pancakes to her face. She wiped away a glistening drop of maple syrup that lingered beneath his lower lip with her thumb, the pad of it soft against his stubble before she took it into her mouth with a deliberate slowness.
His breath slowly left his lungs in a quiet hiss.
“I'm really happy," she said, smiling demurely, her voice honeyed and low.
He looked her over—her cheeks colored the pink of spring cherry blossoms, the careful swipe of mascara on her lashes casting tiny shadows beneath her eyes—he felt like he was really seeing her for the first time, even with the makeup that seemed both childish and womanly all at once.
He was…happy, too.
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You get all dolled up for me?" His eyes searched hers, hungry and hesitant at once, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff he knew he shouldn't jump from.
She nodded, the movement small and deliberate, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as a flush crept up her neck.
Cooper reached over and grabbed a plump strawberry by the green stem, holding it up to her lips and encouraging her to eat it from his hands. She did, her teeth sinking into the crimson flesh, juice beading at the corner of her mouth before she swallowed down the fruit and captured his wrist in her grasp.
He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, but she answered by drawing his index finger into the wet heat of her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip in languid circles that made his skin tingle. He felt his blood rush straight to his groin, a heavy throb that made his pants feel suddenly too tight. He wanted to pull away, knew he should pull away, but he stayed frozen in place, letting her suck on his fingers, her eyes never leaving his.
"Lucy..." he rasped, his voice rough.
She pulled his fingers from her mouth with a soft pop and, still holding his wrist in a grip firmer than he expected, let them trail downwards from her lips to the delicate hollow of her throat, then to her collarbones down to her chest before letting go, leaving a damp trail on her skin.
He didn't pull away. Instead he cupped her breast, feeling its slight weight in his palm, thumbing at her nipple through her sundress, feeling it harden beneath the fabric.
Lucy let out a shaky moan that seemed to vibrate through the quiet kitchen, and that snapped him from his stupor. He pulled away as if he'd been burned.
"I'm sorry—" he stammered, face flushing hot with shame.
She shook her head insistently, hair swinging across her shoulders. "No, that— that was my fault."
"It wasn't. I shouldn't have—" He stood from his chair, wiping his damp hand on his pants as if to clear away his guilt. "Let's forget it happened, alright?"
"Okay," she said with her head lowered, fingers nervously tracing the hem of her dress.
"Let's just go out. Would you— would you like to see a movie?" He gestured vaguely toward the door, desperate for escape.
She seemed to perk up at that a little, nodding her head in agreement, a tentative smile returning to her lips.
He quickly realized that a half-empty theater was the worst possible place he could have taken her. Sitting beside her in the dark, listening to the hollow pop of ice in her Cola as she sipped through a straw—he could hardly focus on the screen. All he could think about was how he could slip his hands right up her dress, feel the warm silk of her thighs, those soft, forbidden parts of her just inches away, and no one would have a clue.
He held his sweating hands firmly in his lap, fingers interlaced until his knuckles whitened, trying to contain himself, pretending not to notice the way she briefly looked over at him, her profile illuminated in blue-white light when something notable happened on screen.
Cooper thought a slasher film might be their best bet, something with enough violence to completely kill the simmering tension between them, but each sudden noise only made her lean closer to him, her shoulder pressing against his arm.
He cleared his throat, raising a hand to muffle the sound. His fingers trembled slightly against his lips as he used the moment to shift in his seat, the seat squeaking beneath him. He angled his torso away from her, creating a pocket of cool air between them where seconds ago there had been only the dangerous warmth of her body against his. Six inches of distance—not enough, but all he could manage without making it obvious he was retreating from her.
But then a big jumpscare happened—a masked killer lunging from darkness with a gleaming blade— one that snapped him from his thoughts, and he looked over to her to realize that silent tears were tracking mascara down her flushed cheeks.
“Lucy?”
She stood up without a word, leaving the theater in a rush that sent popcorn scattering across the sticky floor, pushing through the heavy doors into the lobby. He followed after her in a hurry, his footsteps echoing on the marble tiles as he placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
“Lucy, sweetheart. What's wrong?" His voice cracked with concern.
She shook her head a little, her hair falling across her face like a curtain, refusing to answer until he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "It was... a little too much." Her voice was barely audible above the muffled screams still emanating from behind the theater doors.
Of course it was too much. What kind of idiot brings a girl who survived a vault collapse to watch two hours of orchestrated terror?
"I'm so sorry, I thought— I don't know what I was thinking."
He cupped her chin, his thumb grazing the soft skin beneath, gently forcing her to look at him with those wide, haunted eyes. "I'm sorry, alright?"
His free hand held the small of her back, fingers splayed possessively against the curve of her spine. She leaned in, resting her head on his chest where his heartbeat drummed against her ear.
“Let’s go home. Please…”
They drove home in silence, Lucy quietly sniffling in the passenger seat, her face turned toward the window where raindrops raced each other down the glass. He fumbled with the radio dial, settling on a classical station, the melancholy piano filling the car like cigarette smoke—meant to calm her, or maybe to calm himself. He couldn't tell anymore.
When they arrived, she slipped out of the car and disappeared upstairs, the soft click of her bedroom door echoing through the empty house. His heart sank like a stone in murky water. He had fucked this day up royally.
He spent hours sprawled on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes, the television volume barely audible so he could monitor any change in Lucy's disposition. The afternoon light crawled across the living room floor, and still her muffled sobs filtered down through the ceiling, punctuated by long stretches of ominous quiet.
At eight, he called up to her about the Japanese food he'd ordered—her recent favorite—but received only the hollow silence of rejection. He wrapped her portion carefully in plastic, tucking it behind the milk cartons in the refrigerator before retreating to his bedroom, the springs of his mattress groaning under the weight of his regret.
Cooper woke some time in the late morning, golden sunlight slicing through the blinds in sharp lines. He felt a warm weight on his chest— Barb had slept through her alarm again, something she did after taking a little too much Valium before bed, the prescription bottle usually left uncapped on her nightstand. With his eyes still heavy with sleep, he reached down to shake her awake the way he always did, hand wrapped around what should have been her shoulder.
His fingers instead tangled in long, fine hair.
Not Barb. She wouldn’t be home for another day.
His eyes shot open, his heart skipping, and he looked down to see Lucy's pale face curled up against his chest, her breath warm through his cotton t-shirt. He shot out of bed, stumbling backward until his spine hit the dresser, rubbing his hands over his bloodshot eyes to make sure he wasn't still trapped in some twisted dream.
"Lucy?!"
She rose from her sleep, stretching languidly like she belonged there, arms above her head. "I had nightmares," she murmured, voice husky with sleep.
"You can't just—" he threw the covers back violently, sending them cascading to the floor as he gestured frantically, urging her to get out of his bed. "You can't just be in here!
“I didn’t think you’d mind…”
“What if Barb—"
"Is that what you're worried about?" Lucy interrupted. "Your wife catching us?"
"What the fuck?" he pulled at his hair, pacing the carpet. "Just get out, go back to your room!"
Lucy knitted her brows together, her lower lip jutting out in a pout, looking just as confused as she was hurt. Her wide-eyes gave the impression that she didn't understand what she had done wrong, but the calculating edge to her voice when she had asked about Barb told him otherwise.
"Fine, I'm sorry," she scrambled from the bed, bare feet padding across the floor as she hurried to her room, the door clicking shut behind her.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as he willed himself to calm down. His pulse throbbed in his temples, and sweat beaded along his hairline despite the cool air. Confusion and yearning churned inside him like oil and water. How long had she been in his bed? How long had she slept beside him, curved against his chest, his arm draped over the dip of her waist?
His arms ached at the memory of her, hollow and empty. It was the most intimate contact he'd experienced in years—the warmth of another body, the rhythm of synchronized breathing. She was so small, her collarbone delicate as a bird's wing, and damn, she smelled good...
He reached down to pull Lucy's file from beneath the mattress. Not to read it, not to discover what was wrong with that damned girl. But to look at the photo of Lucy pinned to the front with a paperclip—a standard Vault-Tec identification photo.
She looked vibrant, beautiful— completely untouched by whatever hell she'd escaped.
Before he could stop himself, before rational thought could intervene, he slipped a hand into his boxers, the cotton soft against his knuckles as he stroked himself, feeling his cock stiffen and throb in his palm.
He thought of Lucy in her vault-suit, the blue fabric taut across her shoulders, hugging the curve of her hips. He thought of her in that yellow sundress he'd bought her, the hem dancing around her thighs, revealing glimpses of skin. And he thought of her in her panties, the pink cotton stretched over her ass, thought about how he'd like to push them to the side and—
Nothing worked. His body refused to cooperate, his arousal flagging like a dying flame.
Desperate now, stroking faster, he thought of the weight of her sleeping form against his chest, the silk of her skin under his fingertips, the scent of her hair…
It was pointless.
He let her photo slip from his fingers, watching it flutter to the floor like a leaf. A sigh of frustration escaped him, mingled with self-loathing that tasted bitter as bile in the back of his throat.