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“I’ll take watch, you rest.”
The words should have been entirely innocent, and, to be honest, welcome. Heck, they were words she’d have given anything to hear, back when she’d first left the vault, but she shook her head, regardless.
“I’m not tired.”
It was a damned lie. A terrible one, and they both knew it. She was tired. Exhausted. She felt it in every pore of her being, every fibre, every twitch of movement.
Lucy’s fatigue felt like the kind of dessert saved for special occasions. Like a jelly cake, multi-layered… and ready for imminent collapse.
He didn’t believe her. She could see from the look he shot her, eyebrows - or where they would be - raising from beneath the brim of his hat. It was late, and they'd made good enough progress that her entire body felt abused. Sore. She wasn't used to walking so far, moving so much, being out in the heat and the wind. Her skin bruised easy, soft and unseasoned by years beneath the false sun. Her boots weren't hers, and didn't fit quite right. Her suit wasn't exactly suited for the harshness of the desert, and colour wise…
They'd had to fend off a few raiders.
She was obvious, she'd learned. Blue and yellow weren't the colours of these folk, or this landscape. She was a walking target, a bright beacon in the barren land that screamed 'easy loot'. He'd tried to tell her, days back, but she'd scoffed. Scoffed. She'd refused to change, zipping the suit tighter, if anything, and realised now - now that she'd been shot at, chased, and almost mauled by some sort of wild dog - that she should have accepted.
She leaned back against the battered ruin of an old truck, lop-sided in the sandy earth, and pressed her thumbs into the meat of her legs as she fought to keep her eyes open.
They ached something fierce. She hadn't known the bones in the front of her calves could hurt, that they were capable of it, without being broken.
She missed the simplicity of before. Knowledge was power, but… there had been more happiness in obliviousness. She'd always longed for more; for love, for a family, but now she just longed for the safety of it all. For her brothers sarcasm to be the most risky part of the day. For repetitive, correctly stored food and Cooper Howard reruns on the sofa.
Dogmeat was happy, at least.
She lolloped around ahead of them, staying close enough to exist in the same orbit, chasing tumbleweed and small animals, rolling around on the warm sand. It seemed… idyllic, almost, the sight of the happy beast upon the backdrop of the kind of sunsets she'd only been able to imagine, before, but…
But she felt too… numb to enjoy it.
Why had she agreed to come with him?
He knows what he's doing.
He's survived for god knows how long.
You don't have anyone else.
He'd tried to sell her.
He didn't seem economically minded now, in truth, but she couldn't help but worry whenever she rested, a little voice in the back of her head wondering just whether she could trust him, or whether… whether he'd just do it again. Whether he'd try and package her up like a creamcake, sell her to another settlement for food or water or medicine…
How bad did things have to get for his mind to turn that way again?
She blinked past the heavy-lidded fatigue and fixed her gaze on the horizon, determined. They couldn't have a fire, not when they were as exposed as this, but she didn't need light to eat a pack of dry Sugarbombs, and didn't want the comfort of the warmth. Didn't want the crackle of flames, the temptress's kiss of the heat. Didn't want to sleep.
He sighed - The Ghoul - and she didn't turn to look, just kept her gaze focused, and her rifle close.
"Right, no point us both playin' the fool."
She heard the rustle of his bedroll, and watched out of the very corner of her eye as he slid his hat over his eyes.
"If you start fallin' asleep, fuckin' wake me. I ain't dyin' because you're too proud to admit you're tired."
She crossed her legs, pulling them in close.
She could do this.
She had to.
What was her dad thinking?
Heck, what was she thinking?
All those lives lost, all those homes ruined, and for what?
Lies.
For lies, lies upon lies upon lies, stacked like Jenga. She'd mourned her mother as a young girl, and somehow mourned her again, now.
If her father hadn't detonated that bomb, she'd have still been alive. Unmutated, untwisted, rosy cheeked and flesh and blood. The woman tied to that chair had been a shell of a person, wracked by nought but hunger.
If The Ghoul was to be believed, anyway. He'd told her so, a few nights back.
"You did the right thing," he'd explained, "and if I suddenly turn, you're to do the same to me. It's a… there's a code, up here, and keepin' her like that, like some… pet…" his words trailed off, and she couldn't decide if they were harsh or soft, if he was trying to soothe her or just angry at what he'd seen. The idea of softness didn't suit him. "What Moldaver did was wrong."
Lucy lifted her hand to her mouth and worried at the skin of her thumb with her teeth, mind flitting back to the conversation again, as it had so many times already. The world was upside down, topsy-turvey. She'd spent her whole life trusting her father with, well, everything, and he turned out to be a murderous liar. She trusted the man, or well, the ghoul a few meters away with literally nothing; but somehow it felt like he'd told her the truth.
She'd spent her whole life banking on blind faith, and it felt odd to turn her back on it now.
Faith that they'd repopulate the world.
Faith that Vault-tec had their best interests at heart.
Faith that folks around her were good and kind and neighbourly.
She let her eyes follow a tumbleweed, tossing this way and that in the middle distance. It looked unmoored, untethered, and she empathised. Her whole life she'd had a goal, a planned out roadmap of aims, faith that she was walking that path towards being a model citizen…
It was baloney.
She'd killed, and hurt, and she'd been utterly, utterly betrayed. Betrayed by her dad, betrayed by Betty, betrayed by Vault-tec, and, and Steph, probably, and somehow the murderous, self-centred man beside her had become someone she needed to trust.
The world had done just fine repopulating itself, Vault-tec had used their 'saved' citizens to experiment, and her neighbours were liars.
They'd lied about the sickness that had 'killed' her mother, they'd lied about their origins and history and the truth of the world outside. They'd smiled and laughed and held her hand, her heart, all the while knowing what was being said was a complete lie.
Had they felt guilty?
Had they just laughed, when she was far enough away not to hear?
What a rude awakening indeed.
Lucy MacLean was in the real world, now. No more pretend. How was she supposed to learn who to trust, though, when she'd never been armed with that kind of skill? She'd figured out the man beside her was trouble, danger, but he'd tied her up and used her as bait for a gulper - so oddly, maybe he was truthful?
He didn't hide his words in honey, that much was certain.
She tried to push the thoughts from her mind, and focus instead on actually keeping watch. It looked as if some sort of storm lingered on the horizon, the sky flickering and twisting with clouds; though no lightning flashed. A green tinge took over, instead, and Lucy checked her wrist for a moment.
Safe.
Whatever it was, it was far enough away to leave her be.
It was pretty, oddly - unlike anything she thought she'd see up here, unlike anything she'd imagined, safely tucked down below.
How had her father plucked her and Norm from this? From reality? From a thriving township, from the sun and friendship and life?
He'd bombed them all to get the two of them back.
Killed so many people, utterly senselessly.
What would she have been like, if he hadn't? She'd have likely known Max, given what he'd told her. Would they have been sweethearts? Would he have been more confident, less unsure of himself?
He'd have been safe from the Brotherhood, that much was certain.
The memory of them tasted like burning flesh. They'd come to 'save' her, but she'd seen the pleasure some of them seemed to take in the killing, heard their tinny, muffled laughter carrying on the wind. Moldaver's people had been civilians, defenceless and just…trying to survive, and Max's people had gunned them down in cold blood.
The Ghoul had gotten her out, had navigated through the smoke and the debris and the… the bodies, without pity or judgement or even really conversation. He'd just been there. Spurs jangling. Knife ready for throwing, if they needed a quiet attack.
No. She needed to keep her guard up. A lack of lying - that she knew of - didn't mean she was right to abandon all sensibility.
She twitched her toes in her boots as her legs started to tingle, and pulled herself up into a wobbly stand. She'd been lost in her thoughts for too long, and her limbs felt half-asleep.
She'd utilise the privacy to go relieve herself behind a scrubland bush, and then she'd recite dates to keep herself awake.
Awake meant safety.
No chance of being ambushed or left behind, or…
Or worse.
"You owe me 10 caps."
Lucy snorted awake to the sensation of a boot digging into her hip and words, floating over her.
"What, I-"
She'd been drooling. She'd snorted awake and she'd been drooling.
"Next stash you loot, you owe me. 'Specially if you find any of those star caps."
What? Star? Wh… she blinked past fatigue and the sun, bright and blaring right into her swiftly adjusting corneas.
A biology lesson floated from the recesses of her mind, from some forgotten crevice, dust-lined and ancient. Rods and cones, wasn't it? Cones activated in the day, and rods to help you see at night, and oh were her cones fighting for survival right now.
"I didn't…" she swallowed, mouth impossibly dry, voice cracking as she spoke. The Ghoul wasn't waiting for her, though - he'd already started a steady meander down the slope away from their little makeshift camp.
She scurried to her feet.
Her canteen was only half-full, if that, but she raised it to her cracked lips and took a swig, regardless.
"I didn't…" she repeated, gasping a little as she caught up. "I didn't make a bet with you- what did I lose?"
"I made one with you, and I don't much care that you didn't make it back."
He…
"You can't just decide you've made a bet with someone! A bet is something mutually agreed."
"Maybe I mutually agreed for the two of us, how about that?"
He was insane. Certifiably insane. She'd guessed as much, over and over, as he'd used her as bait, as he'd dragged her from one town to another, as he'd forced her to drink contaminated water, but somehow this felt like the final straw. The action that took him from mean and callous to actual insanity.
"And the bet," he continued, "was that you would fall asleep and leave us unguarded, which you did."
She hated that he was right, and glared up at him. So what, she'd fallen asleep? She'd fallen asleep alone every night since leaving the vault, and she'd been fine - it was only now they travelled as a pair that she apparently enjoyed the luxury of 'taking turns.'
The annoying thing was, really, that Lucy MacLean was historically fantastic at taking turns. She'd been trained from a young age to step back and let others shine, to hand over a beloved item, understanding you'll get it back. In a vault, you couldn't be selfish, you couldn't hoard items, you…
You shared!
Here, though… the idea of closing her eyes and sleeping around the man who'd sold her for drugs, she…
"I assumed your snoring would keep me awake." She snipped, and knew it hadn't washed when his expression settled on bemusement. His… he had no nose to snore with. Oh, tiredness had scrambled her brain!
"Now, are you gonna tell me the real reason - which you can keep to yourself if you want, I don't actually care, or we can get going."
I don't trust you!
The idea of yelling it to him was tempting, but…
He hummed, and shrugged, taking her silence as answer. "Fine, but you'll die if you don't sleep and possibly kill us both if you do"
"Well, I-"
He tilted his head, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and sliding it into his mouth. "I ain't saying you've gotta make me your best friend, and we ain't gonna start a sewing circle or braid each others hair, but you've got to sleep, Vaultie."
Stubborn. He was so stubborn, and in truth she knew she was being the same. But…
But how was she supposed to see him as anything but the man who'd left her for dead, the crazy man who trussed her up, who'd turned her into gulper bait?
She shook her head and shifted her backpack higher up her back, finding the shape of ruins on the horizon and angling them towards them.
They'd need rest from the sun, and shelter, and maybe…
Maybe a door that they could lock, so no one would need to keep charge. She'd have the women's, and The Ghoul the men's, and no one would interrupt her sleep…
"Towns a few hours ahead," he announced, using his left boot to scrape something from his right. "Come on, Vaultie, let's go."
They travelled in near silence. She was used to it, now, after days of endless quiet. Would he talk, if she tried?
Would his answers be truthful?
Was she the source of the awkwardness, between them?
Questions rattled around her head, bouncing off the edges and growing, multiplying. How old was he, what was his name, where did he come from, how did he know her dad, how did he survive the bombs, had her dad really been alive since the before-times?
Had he always been the kind of person who'd decimate a population for his own goals?
They'd ducked into a building, a while back, hiding from some sort of giant flying… balloon, above. The brotherhood, her companion had explained - each word a shout over the cacophonous sound above. The size of it, the noise, it wrapped a fearful fist around her heart and held it, tight.
Her mind flit back to the memories of their rescue, a day she returned to every time she closed her eyes. Metal armour, larger than life. Gunfire, the likes of which she'd never imagined.
It had been so loud.
Dust, dirt, kicked up into the air and choking her as she and the Ghoul had made their escape, covering her bare skin in a layer of grime.
The smell of their destruction eclipsed the sweetness of their brief, shared kiss.
How many people had been driven into the open arms of such a group, by the actions of one man? How much did her father have to answer for, really?
She stayed quiet as they approached the town, hanging back, even as her eyes flit from pillar to post, taking in the mismatch of signs and metal that made up its wall. It was strange, the building almost resembled a crown, enormous spikes reaching up towards the sky, banners and pendants strung between, interspersed with small, twinkling lights. It was enormous, bigger than anything she'd seen before. The door was open, unlike the last settlement they passed, and he led her through - though her brows furrowed as she realised his posture had changed.
He looked… tense.
What were they walking into?
It was busy, inside, and a part of her wanted to run. How long could she hide from him, really? Who would take her in, and what would they charge for such a service?
She'd learned that nothing out here came for free.
Caps, water, stimpacks… their price would be high, and as their skirmish with the raiders had taught her, she was obvious.
Blue and yellow, like some kind of exotic flower, or a poisonous frog.
She stuck close. Running would be one thing, but if she lost him? The idea was somehow more frightening - and made her feel infantile.
How long would she wait, stood in the centre of this street, before he came back for her?
She wasn't sure what made her stomach ache more - the idea of him in pursuit, or the idea of him caring so little he abandoned her.
Had she ever been anywhere this crowded? The vault had felt like a tight squeeze, at times, but it had nothing on this. People pressed into her from all sides as she tried to keep tight to The Ghoul, but she winced as shoulders and elbows pressed into her, regardless.
"Watch it,"
"Move over,"
"Fu-"
An arm wrapped around her shoulders as she tried to apologise, hands up, and she flinched at the sudden nearness of him. It was one thing to try and keep as close as she could, and another to have the strong bracket of his arm across the breadth of her shoulders, to have the warmth of his skin against hers.
She was fine, without him. She'd been jostled, sure, but-
"I'd reconsider that, kid."
For a moment, she thought he was talking to her, the deep cadence of his tone interrupting her thoughts, but followed his eyes and and she realised with a sharp intake of breath that he wasn't.
He wasn't talking to her at all.
There'd been a set of hands upon the clasp of her bag, and she hadn't even noticed. The hands slowly slid from the bag, connected to set of eyes that were wide as they stared up at the Ghoul.
"Come on, MacLean."
The child… They were filthy, slim, their clothes bedraggled and ripped. How could they leave, without…
He felt her hesitation, and pushed her on, uncaring.
"There's a hundred more like them, tucked into every corner of towns like this. You can't save 'em all."
"They're a child!"
He inhaled, slowly, the exhale sounding softened as it came, unconstrained by the trappings of nostrils. "Like I said, a hundred more like 'em."
She wanted to fight, wanted to argue, wanted to stand her ground and give the child anything, but as she reached within herself for her usual self-righteous fire, she found herself… lacking.
Empty.
Was it the fatigue, or the fact the urchin had already vanished into the throng? Was it the realisation that the Ghoul was right, or the softness of his tone as he repeated himself, like he knew?
He moved her, regardless - pushed her through the crowd until he reached a woman, behind a wooden counter that looked as if it'd been a dining table, in a former life - upturned, adjusted, turned into something new for this new world they inhabited. This place was… enormous, and-
"Looking for a room, you take my kind?"
His kind?
Lucy looked up towards him, then across to the woman, surprised. Were there towns that didn't? Places that didn't allow ghouls, regardless of just how many she'd seen so far. The one beside her had been quite a shock, at first, but then there'd been the ones at the Super Duper Mart, and… and the ones who'd waved at the Observatory, and it felt like every caravan they passed contained at least one or two Ghouls. She'd seen them manning makeshift kitchens, running security, laughing around campfires…
She'd assumed…
Well, she'd assumed they were a normal part of society.
"We do, you look old, you got meds?"
He opened his coat and pulled out a handful, watching as she inspected them before nodding. "You came at a bad time, there's a rodeo this weekend so we're pretty booked, I ain't got nothing fancy."
"Better than the dirt. Got anything with two beds?"
She hesitated, running a finger across the book in front of her and then twisting to look at the wall - and Lucy realised with a sinking stomach that the rows of hooks on the wall behind her were for keys.
What would happen if there was only one bed?
How would she manage, pressed up beside him like… like husband and wife, the dog at the foot of the bed…
"You've either got bunk-beds or separate rooms in the gendered hostels, you-"
They spoke at once.
"The two-berth's-"
"I'm fine staying in the hos-"
He gave her a look, and the woman behind the desk huffed with laughter, shaking her head.
"You got your hands full with this one, eh?"
Was she… she was talking to The Ghoul! Saying he had a hard time with her?
"He can't protect you from the men's dorms, girlie," the woman laughed, handing The Ghoul the keys.
She assumes he's my bodyguard…
Did she look that out of place? That… naive?
She knew the answer the moment the thought popped into her head, and mulled on it as he accepted directions and lead her away from the booth and through the crowd. Yes. She did. She was still in the blue and yellow suit, still protected from radiation but little else, still kept warm and covered with sensors, but sticking out like a sore thumb whenever anyone looked her way. She'd come in staring about like she'd never seen a… whatever this place was… before, and had tried to leave his side almost immediately.
She had no idea what a rodeo was.
The room was up a series of echoey, metal stairs, its number spray-painted upon the door. Atop the lopsided '17' was an old, metal sign, the paint long-since lost.
"Box 5"
Box…
The key stuck, and he had to give the door a firm push, but as it swung open they were greeted by a dusty, cluttered space. Bobbleheads and triangles of fabric on sticks littered the surfaces, and instead of the dresser she had in her room at home, there were lockers, dented and worn.
"Home sweet home."
He wasn't talking to her, more to himself - the words soft, muttered under his breath. He slid his bag from his shoulder and threw it onto the bottom bunk before lowering himself onto it, in turn, stretching out with a groan.
"Not too bad."
She'd seen bunk beds in the films she watched with her dad, and…
"Don't you want the top bunk?"
He laughed, shifting just enough to glance at her through the side of his eye.
"What, so you can sneak out? Not a chance, up you go."
Was she so obvious… She'd already decided not to, of course, but the fact he guessed she'd even considered it?
Though she supposed she'd bitten his finger off, last time, so…
"You hungry?"
She was, but… the bed was right there, and…
She shook it off. She'd… no-one was going to have to keep watch, not in a room with a lock, but she'd need the hunger to keep her awake, but then weakness wasn't an option, and…
He sighed, groaning as he slid back into a seated position, removing his hat just long enough to run his fingers wearily over his face.
"Look, this has to stop."
She gave him the decency of not pretending, not asking what he meant.
"I'm not gonna do anything, Lucy. You've gotta eat, and you've gotta sleep, otherwise you're gonna die."
He was so matter of fact, so straight to the point that she couldn't help but scoff, even as the sound of her name from his mouth sent a strange shiver up her spine.
"Really, it's not that dramatic, I-"
"I don't mean that you'll literally die from starvation or some shit," he rubbed a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his cheekbones. "Fuck."
He looked as if he wasn't sure whether to laugh or yell, face a picture of 'fed up'.
"I mean you're gonna get sloppy. Tired idiots miss obvious signs. They miss a shadow, the sound of a gun being cocked, they miss prints and tracks and other obvious-as-fuck shit. I'm watchin' out for me, and the dog, and you - but the least you can do is trust that I'm not gonna kill you in your fuckin' sleep, okay?"
She stared at him as he spoke. He gestured a lot with his hands, she noticed, turning them this way and that as he got more and more annoyed with her, with… with how she'd been acting.
"What?"
He sounded so done, so annoyed, and the fact of it riled her, the fire she'd been unable to find before burning like a furnace.
"How can you expect me to just trust you?"
The words came out far louder than she'd expected, than she'd anticipated, and… it felt… good.
It felt good.
She stepped towards him, a part of her enjoying the feel of her rage and the fact he had to look up at her.
"You shot a mans leg off in front of me the moment I met you!"
"That was business, Darlin', nothing-"
She cut him off, not caring, no, revelling in the rudeness of it.
"You tied me up and used me as bait for a monster! You could have helped me, we could have found a mutually beneficial solution but no, you tied me up and exposed me to irradiated water and a monster!"
"A gulper," he nodded, "but-"
No, no buts, she wasn't done. She was far from done, in fact!
"You tried to sell me to organ harvesters!"
Her voice had become shrill, loud enough that the moment she stopped, chest heaving, the absence of it felt like a vacuum in the room. There was so much more so say, the infected water he made her drink, the man he'd killed and eaten, the fact he was the first person she'd actually really travelled with since leaving the vault and that was how he'd acted…
"No," he interjected, shaking his head. "I did sell you to organ harvesters."
Her anger, her argument, deflated.
She'd expected him to argue back, not… not give in so easily.
"Exactly," she swallowed, hating the hot, frustrated tears that threatened to fall. She'd never been someone who cried when they were frustrated before, but then no-one had ever made her feel so turned around as the man before her now. She hated it, hated how she felt like an entirely new version of herself since meeting him, hated that she didn't like that version of herself. She'd always been trusting, and happy to help, but he'd given her a hard and fast education in just how badly those behaviours went, out here.
"How can I trust you?"
He gave so little away. He just stared up at her, and silence spread between them, an intake of breath that felt like a lifetime before he finally replied.
"You just have to."
He said it like it was so easy, like she was supposed to just forget their past, forget what he'd done. Forget that for a brief moment she'd bitten him like some sort of feral creature, driven by bloodlust. "We're travelling together," he continued, placing his hands on his knees and standing, slowly. "There's a code in that, and I'll stick to it."
They'd travelled together, before. She could almost taste his blood in her mouth, metallic and irradiated - could viscerally feel the chill of his knife on her own hand in retribution.
"You didn't last time."
He gestured to her with a wide hand - gloved, this time, and far from biting range. "Are you tied up, this time?"
She hesitated. "Well, I-"
Her stomach rumbled, giving her away and breaking the tension, ever so slightly. "You were my captive, before." he shrugged. "We're travelling the same path, now, together. That means we share food, water, and most importantly, rests. Now lets go eat - on you, since we've not found any caps since you lost that bet - and go see if these idiots even remotely know how to run a rodeo."
He left like things were settled, like that was it, and everything was sorted, and… and she followed him, checking her caps were in her bag, given that evidently she was paying. Maybe, just maybe, a little bit of the old Lucy could shine through, safe to peak out behind the hastily built armour she'd constructed, inside herself. Maybe she'd learn what a rodeo was, and they'd sleep in their separate bunks and she wouldn't wake up trussed like a ham in an old film, off to the oven…
"You coming?"
It wasn't the first time he'd asked, was it, and like before, she nodded before following him. She wasn't completely convinced, but maybe, just maybe, tonight could be the start of a truce, of a new start…
Of trust.
She'd been glad to get out of the settlement, the stadium, she'd discovered it was called, but missed it, all the same.
The stadium was busy - bustling, loud and chaotic and so full of life she'd almost been too excited to sleep. The beds had been somewhat clean and comfortable, and the hotel they'd stayed at had showers, albeit cold ones. They'd had walls to protect them from the wind and hot food, for only a few caps!
They'd had to leave, though - two nights was the maximum they could afford, chasing her father as they were, and they'd at least left with some good tips, some rumours.
Supermutants - whatever they were - had made camp along the highway.
A group called the Powder Gangers had started up a few hours outside of New Vegas, and were ones to watch out for.
The Geckos in the area occasionally breathed fire.
Lucy wasn't sure what a Gecko was, but the wildlife of this world never ceased to amaze - it was always far bigger and way nastier than she was expecting, from the textbooks.
They'd had to fight their way to the clearing they lingered in now, and the buildings - often smouldering a little - that surrounded them meant he'd allowed a fire, an unexpected luxury.
Her boots lay half-collapsed beside her, one standing erect, one adrift upon the dirt. She wanted to leave it, wanted to linger as she was and sort it in the morning, but two voices stood out within her, stronger than her wish to relax. The first was an age-old one, a tinny Vault-Tec recording they'd been played as children, that she'd played for her classes in turn, reminded them of the importance of a tidy vault. Someone could trip over a wayward boot, after all, and what if that meant there were one less chef in the kitchen, which in turn slowed down mealtimes, which slowed down maintenance, which slowed repairs…
The list went on. Personal responsibility was everyone's responsibility. The needs of the many outweighed the wants of the few.
The second voice was far newer, a tentative addition.
The Ghoul.
"Leave your boot like that and something'll crawl up in it."
His voice was the opposite of the Vault-Tec recordings she'd grown up with. Warm, rich, human.
Or, well, ghoul, but unquestionably alive.
She was sore, and tired, and worst of all comfortable, but she leaned across, regardless. Stretched out towards the boot, fingertips outstretched, straining. She'd almost got it - and she recognised that if she just moved she'd have it immediately - when she thought she heard a noise, and sat up, rigid and alert.
Nothing.
It was still, and not quite silent, but as she slowed her breathing all she could hear was the sound of very distant gunfire, the chirp of insects in the gloom, and the crackle of the fire before her. Even Dogmeat lay quietly, feet twitching now and then as if she herself dreamed.
Did dogs dream?
She'd ask The Ghoul, maybe… or just add it to the never-ending list of questions in her mind. This one at least wasn't related to murder, or mass murder, or death, or an atomic incident.
She stared down at her now-grey, once-white socks, and wiggled her toes, glad for the warmth of the fire. It didn't help with her fatigue, of course, neither did the fact that she was full. They'd had roasted something - he'd kept the reality of what they were eating quiet, and she appreciated it - and her offer to take first watch had been genuine, rather than anxious. She'd wake him as the fire began to dim, as per his request. The boots still needed lifting, but maybe she could just shake them out, tomorrow? Maybe they-
Another sound, a low, rumbling groan.
She lifted her binoculars, and stared out at the skyline, looking for any hint of colour, of cloud, of danger, but as the sound hit again she realised it wasn't from the wider world, at all.
The sound was much closer to home.
Dogmeat blinked up at her as The Ghoul yelled out, twisting in his bedroll. He wasn't awake, but sweat beaded his brow and his face was contorted in what looked like…
Fear.
A nightmare? She could hardly picture such an ordinary thing from him, but in the same breath the voice within her that was completely her own remembered just how old he likely was, and the horrors he'd likely seen.
He was strong, yes - undoubtedly, but she was surprised something like this hadn't happened sooner. Heck, she'd had nightmares of the attack for at least a fortnight after it had happened - and that had been just her community, not, well…
The world.
"Ghoul?"
She hated not knowing his name, their meagre, fragile trust not extending that far.
"Ghoul?"
Of course he wouldn't answer to that, much as she'd likely not awaken as quickly if someone muttered human towards her, rather than her name…
The main problem here being that she didn't even know his name… what was she supposed to do, cycle through men's names til he settled? Guess whether the man beside her was a Tom, Dick or Harry?
His groan was low and rumbling, hit teeth bared through pulled back lips. He mumbled under his breath, something that sounded like 'no,' like 'please."
What had he seen, in his long life?
She couldn't even begin to imagine the horrors that he'd experienced. The twisting of nature, of people, of war. His breath caught, then came out in great, pained pants; short, sharp exhales through his mouth.
"Dogmeat," she hissed, wishing he'd given the dog a nicer name than that. The beast answered to it, though, and had ignored all other names she tried to offer. One of her ears pricked, and she opened an eye lazily to look across at her.
"Go help The Ghoul, go lay with him or… or something."
There was something oddly settling about pressing her face into the warm fur on Dogmeats back, and she hoped the closeness of the dog would help chase away his demons somewhat.
The dog didn't move.
"Dogmeat, come on," she hissed, again, heart aching as he tossed and turned on his roll, as his fists clenched and unclenched as if he were in pain. How could Dogmeat be so uncaring, so…cold?
Not that she was any better, trying to rope an animal into doing something she was completely capable of. Still, she asked Dogmeat again, before finally moving, herself. Lucy stretched away from the half-tipped boots, groaning at the ache in her tired muscles. The ground was dry, at least, cracked from the lack of water in the soil, and she all but crawled over to the man.
What now?
When Norm was younger, she would crawl into bed with him to help with his nightmares, but…
No.
The very idea of that made her stomach flip and brought blood to her cheeks. She wasn't so forward, and wasn't entirely certain he wouldn't lash out in surprise upon waking. She wiggled to the side, instead, pressing the length of her hip, of her leg, against his. He had his jeans on, and she had her suit, but as she lingered close to his side he settled. It started with his gasping breaths, settling down into a soft hum. His muttering followed, half-formed words evaporating into nothing as his limbs ceased twitching, as his hands relaxed to sit calmly; thrown over his stomach.
"I've got you," she muttered, the same words she said to Norm, all those years ago. The same thing her father did for her, as a teen.
She meant it, though. Watching his face relax into the picture of rest, she realised she meant it.
And more shocking, he'd calmed from a mere touch.
Would he have calmed for Dogmeat, too, or was this just for her?
Did this mean that he trusted her? Really, truly trusted her? He trusted that he could sleep, around her, that he could rest in the middle of the day…
Maybe she needed to let bygones by bygones. Perhaps not forgiven, but… maybe if he trusted her, then she could try trusting him, in turn.
She would never be the same Lucy who left the vault, who immediately tried to offer someone water, who trusted everyone she came across… but seeing him calm at her touch was inspiring, somehow.
If The Ghoul could trust her with his sleeping body, after seeing so much, then Maybe Lucy could find the same, eventually.