Chapter Text
If Cooper looked at the Vault Dweller in just the right light, he could imagine her living lavish-like in Old Hollywood. Granted, Cooper’s fifteen minutes of fame had dried up before the bombs fell, but that didn’t mean he didn’t imagine a good life for this little lady.
Lucy had big doe eyes that would have any director swooning, a smile that would knock any two-bit Johnny flat on his ass. Cooper could even imagine her putting that goddamn tongue to good use – she’d be able to keep up with the snakes and the assholes and all the other too-polite phonies that ran the pictures and the Vaults alike. Of course, Cooper didn’t want that life for her, not really. He didn’t want Lucy to live or die with the guilt of posing in ads for the Vaults, spreading lies about repopulating the wastes and keeping people safe. No one was safe in war.
That would never, ever change.
Still, Cooper is a dreamer, if nothing else. He spent a lot of time in the ground, a lot of time imagining what things could have been. He drove himself crazy and back thinking about all the things he did wrong, all the things he could have done differently if he was a better man. He wasn’t a better man, though, which is why he did have to live with the guilt of being the face of the Vaults, with one dead daughter and an ex-wife who orchestrated more than he really understood.
So now, those dreams of Janey and a big house in California had to do with Lucy, too. He wasn’t quite sure when his annoyance for the Vault Dweller turned to…he didn’t really know. There wasn’t a lot of room for anything in him but bitterness and anger, but that doe-eyed, naïve girl made him think crazy, stupid things. The world was big. The world was wide. Hard, and angry too, yes, but he didn’t need to make her angry too.
He could imagine Lucy in a pretty blue dress – not Vault-Tec blue, but a pretty sky blue, not too harsh or blinding – with a petticoat puffing the wide-hemmed skirt around her knees. She’d love to wear her hair up, in the elaborate hairstyles that were popular right before the bombs fell. She wouldn’t have really liked to be an actress, not really – she might have done it for a while, but Lucy’s heart was in being a mother, in being someone who cared about people. She wasn’t the sort of opportunist who thrived behind in Hollywood. She would have loved working in the mornings, keeping house in the evenings, playing family with Cooper. She’d love to cook real, actual food, have a kitchen and a Mr. Handy and a working refrigerator – he could see Lucy now, puttering about the kitchen, grabbing ingredients in a frenzy as she pored over Cooper’s grandmother’s recipe book, putting together something nostalgic and recognizable for her husband to enjoy.
Cooper’s chest seizes every time he thinks of that one. Every time he thinks of the pages of that recipe book smoldering and burning, every time he thinks of the rock on Lucy’s left hand. A second wife – he’d never been anything but loyal and devoted to Barb, but Barb made her bed and she’d lie in it, for fuck’s sake. In this fantasy, Lucy didn’t have a first husband – she’d never met Monty or been stabbed by him, and Cooper could live with his pretty wife and they’d be happy.
And she’d be happy. Janey would be there, happy as she always was, wearing her rose-tinted glasses while Lucy filled her head with stories and old wives’ tales. In his mind’s eye, he can see Lucy being the most wonderful, devoted stepmother; not quite stepping into Barb’s place, but meaning something more, being present for Janey. For seeing her as a little girl, not as an opportunity.
His little girl. God, he missed her.
He could imagine Lucy, lounging in the back garden, by the pool. Maybe resting in a hammock, Janey tucked securely under her arm. She’d had a long day at school, and when Lucy picked her up, they decided to rest together. Cooper could see the torn copy of The Wizard of Oz so clearly, resting on his wife’s chest as his two girls snoozed together.
“Cooper, dear.” Lucy would say, waking up slowly, drowsily, “You’re home already? The time must have gotten away from me – I haven’t even thought of starting dinner.” She wouldn’t apologize because, in his fantasy, Cooper wasn’t an angry man and she knew she had no reason to be sorry. He would smile, because he could see how much she cared for his little girl, how she could spin fairytales into something real, sweet on the tongue like cotton candy, and he would trace his smooth hand over her hair, down the curve of her cheek. She would give him that syrupy sweet smile and press a kiss to his hand, “Did you have a good day?”
“Better now that I’m with you two.” He’d say, and he’d mean it, leaning down to kiss Lucy – and god, would he mean it. He’d never take that kiss for granted, feeling the smooth, eager way her lips chased after his. He’d try to deepen the kiss, but like the good girl she is, she’d laugh and push him away.
“She’s asleep!” She’d whisper too loudly, eyes twinkling with love and mirth and desire. God, what would it feel like to be desired again? To know that someone wanted him, for him and nothing more? “Let’s figure out something for dinner, and we can revisit that…accordingly.” She gives him her best attempt at a seductive, vixen smile, but she’s too sweet. Too sweet for him, to sweet for everything, too goddamn sweet for this world. He can’t help himself – he’d kiss her again before gently waking his little girl, bringing them both inside. In his mind’s eye, he’s still outside, the ghoul version of him standing by the hammock, watching everything unfold the way he wished it would, the way it ought to have.
Janey didn’t deserve the bombs. Lucy didn’t deserve to be born after the bombs. And Cooper…Cooper had to live with both.
He watches Lucy and Cooper and Janey, some unkind part of his mind realizing that he couldn’t really have this. That this was a different part of him, that he could never be this man again – and he wants to curse and scream and kiss Lucy himself, but there’s another selfish, greedy part of him that wants to keep watching. To know that he can be desired and loved and needed.
He can’t tell what they make, but they eat dinner around the island in the kitchen, and everything is laughter and love and jokes. Easy conversation passes between the three of them, and before long, dinner is done and the Ghoul can’t hear any music, but Cooper invites Janey to dance, letting the little girl stand on his feet while he guides her to the music.
He watches Lucy’s face, in this fantasy, so overcome with love and admiration for the man and her stepdaughter. When the song ends, Cooper sends Janey on her way, and the little girl runs outside to play for a bit, practicing her cartwheels in the grass. The Ghoul watches for a while, and realizes, selfishly, that he doesn’t want her to learn how to do a cartwheel just yet – let her be little for a little while longer. Let her figure it out when he’s really here, when he can see her smile and whoop for her daddy to see just how talented and smart and perfect she is. Except she won’t. She won’t, unless she’s somehow…unless she’s had to see all of this too, or be frozen.
The Ghoul’s heart drops when Cooper opens a bottle of wine, the cork being pulled yanking him out of that nauseating line of thinking and straight into another. Lucy, hands behind her back, steps around the island and makes it clear that she doesn’t want a glass, looking up expectantly at her husband. Cooper, confused, furrows his brow and must ask if she’s feeling well; even in his fantasy, his skull is thick as a Mirelurk’s shell, apparently. Lucy smiles at him, big and bright and sweet, and realization dawns on fantasy-Cooper’s face. The Ghoul didn’t know when this fantasy became a nightmare, but he’s starting to realize, actually, that he can’t ever have this. He watches Cooper lift his girl up and spin her around, watches Lucy’s joy become palpable, even separated by glass. She laughs, and clings to Cooper, and god, she’d be the best mother. She’s already proven that, proven to Janey that she can be there and be good, and now…
Janey would never have little brothers or sisters. Cooper can almost feel tears on his cheeks, if he could still cry. He wanted this so bad, wanted this to be reality and for every-fucking-thing else to be the nightmare. But it wasn’t. It wouldn’t ever be like that, ever again.
He was Cooper Howard, the bounty hunter, and he did this for the love of the game. There was no going back.
He didn’t mean to fall asleep, not really. Lucy had been on watch, but he didn’t much like leaving her to own devices. He knew she could mostly handle herself, but really, he didn’t want her to leave without him. That was his bit, and he didn’t have any intentions of doing it again any time soon – still, he wouldn’t put it past her for doing the same.
And the tears weren’t tears at all – Dogmeat laved her tongue across the scaly, irradiated contours of his face, trying to wake him as the sun peaked over the sky. He grumbles, sitting up, and catches sight of Lucy, sitting by the dying embers of a fire. Her hair was loose, stringy and oily around her shoulders, the bags under her eyes deep and the frown on her face nearly deep enough to crack her jaw off.
“I’m up, you mutt.” He says, though he doesn’t really mean it, patting the dog while he shoves her away from his face.
“You’re up.” Lucy says, turning to look at him, and he doesn’t even make a snide comment about how perceptive she is, given he’d already said that. “Good. We should probably get moving soon.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and Cooper has to stop himself from wishing he was doing it for her instead. After a moment, she asks him, “Bad dream?” He arches an irradiated brow in response, waiting for her to elaborate, “You were…talking. In your sleep, I mean. Just…I thought about waking you, but I didn’t want to lose any more fingers.” She chuckles nervously, clearly on edge. Something’s put her on edge, and Cooper feels guilty.
“Naw.” He says simply, trying to orient himself as the sun pushes itself into more of the sky, the desert chill still running up and down his spine, “Didn’t say nothin’ to spook you, huh, darlin’?”
She looks away, a pretty blush on her cheeks, and he knows that he’s got her, hook, line, and sinker. “You were…asking for a few different people. I almost went and got your medicine, thinking it had to do something with that, but you looked fine, I was just…” She stops herself before Cooper does, taking a deep breath, “You asked for me. You asked for someone called Janey. I…” She’s walking on eggshells, and Cooper wishes he could be a patient man again. “I’m just glad that it wasn’t a bad dream, is all.”
Cooper stands, adjusting his belt. Let her think that he was having sex dreams about her – he didn’t need to explain himself to her or anyone else – how could he? She didn’t miss the same things as him. She missed sterile Vaults and routine and structure and calling her husband a fucking breeder. “Right.” He drawls, putting his hat on proper, “Well, c’mon then, darlin’.”
He could have said something else, something better. But, it would just be one more thing for him to regret, to dream about later.