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Lucy had been traveling with Cooper for some time now. Though their current arrangement was practical– two people with a shared destination and a partnership built on necessity– her feelings were morphing steadily into something more. They had come quite a way since he’d held her hostage, and though there hadn't been much of an apology or open reflection since that time, she found herself adjusting to his sensibilities regardless.
She was starting to admire him, more than she would admit out loud. She figured it seemed like too much sincerity might make him uncomfortable, and he didn't need the ego boost. It wasn’t just that he was strong, sure, and clever, or that he’d saved her life more than once. In fact, they’d gotten into the habit of taking turns saving one another now and then. It was something more, something that made her chest feel a little tighter whenever he glanced her way.
In the wasteland, one of the only constants was that there simply wasn’t enough to go around. Food, water, relief… there just wasn't enough of anything to give it freely. But that didn’t stop Lucy from trying. Whenever they passed through a settlement, she’d flit around the shops. Her eyes always wide and curious, fascinated by all of the mysterious baubles and leftover trinkets of an old world turned new.
She related very fondly to the way nothing could afford to be wasted. It was a lot like life back at home, though to a much more severe degree. In the vault, everyone understood the value of their items; the communal library with its small collection of physical books. Toys made from hand-me-downs once they could be handed down no further. Food scraps were returned for composting to help the next generation of crops grow. Even her shared wedding dress… though that memory was a bit of a sore spot.
Even though she couldn't really carry more than the barest of essentials in her pack, she still had a habit of looking for anything that might catch his interest, too. Once, she’d found an old military insignia, tarnished and dented but still recognizable, and had eagerly presented it to him. He had mentioned once he’d been in the army, she thought maybe he’d recognize and appreciate the little memento.
Cooper had taken one look at it, confused. “That’s junk. Don’t waste caps on that.”
She’d frowned, more puzzled than hurt by his reaction. “But I got it for you, I thought you’d like it…”
He blinked at her and paused. “I like you not wasting money. We’ve got more important things to worry about.” His tone was gruff, but notably less harsh than it had been in the past.
The currency system on the surface took some getting used to, especially since they didn't use money where she came from. Not to mention the rates things went for seemed to fluctuate arbitrarily from town to town. Haggling, bartering, negotiating (and often threatening), were entirely new concepts to her. She greatly preferred them to outright stealing, though, and did her best to keep up.
After that, she did agree to stop buying things for him, though she couldn’t quite let go of the impulse to give. It was integral to who she was! She loved sharing and she had always been pretty good at it, occasional childhood squabbles with her brother aside.
So, she found a compromise. Whenever she earned enough caps– he’d said that it was her money if she earned it, and that she could do what she liked with it, within reason– for a decent meal, she’d buy food for herself. But she’d always make sure to hand him some, too. It was a small gesture, one that she hoped wouldn’t annoy him. She was careful about it, never making a big deal, just sliding a piece of bread or a bit of meat his way, then going back to her own portion.
Cooper noticed, of course, as this was completely backwards to how surface dwellers operated. Everything always had a hidden price, of that he was certain. At first, it confused him; he’d scowl or shake his head, insisting he didn't need to eat as much as she did or that he had plenty of rations for himself already. But Lucy’s persistence eventually wore him down. That, and the fact he refused to watch her share the rest of her hard earned food with the dog if he didn't take it.
There was something in the way she’d quietly go through the motions, her face determined as she divided whatever she had found that day and passed it to him. It was as if their partnership was the most natural thing in the world, like two people camping instead of constantly staying one step in front of death’s door. Eventually, he’d accept the food, grumbling some sort of a sound she’d interpret as a thanks. And every time she’d nod sweetly, wiping her mouth with a scrap of cloth. Polite as ever, like they were sitting at a little picnic instead of just on the ground in the middle of nowhere.
It was such an innocent gesture, and it started to get under his skin. Not in a bad way, though. It was just… warm. A strange, small comfort in the bleakness of their journey. He’d grown so used to the harshness of the wasteland, the consistent struggle to survive, that he’d forgotten what it felt like to be cared for, even in such a simple way.
One evening, as they sat around a low fire, Lucy handed him his own skewer of some assortment of bush meat. She was silently (but obviously) very pleased that she had earned enough caps that day to get a little bit extra. By this point in his life there wasn't anything Cooper hadn't already tried. He took it, their fingers brushing briefly, and for a moment he paused. He watched her as she settled back on her rear, nibbling on her own with contentment. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and her hair was wild from the day’s travel. But she seemed so at ease and so… happy. It struck him then how much he’d come to appreciate these quiet moments.
Finishing his portion he leaned back. He watched her until she looked up from where she had been letting Dogmeat lick the grease off of her fingers.
“Thank you kindly, darlin’,” he said, with a bit more sincerity than usual.
“Oh, you’re very welcome!” She smiled shyly, pleasantly surprised by the warmth in his voice.
They sat in companionable silence, the fire crackling softly between them. As the food and fire warmed him, Cooper couldn’t help but feel a little tug at something deep in his chest. Something he thought that the world had killed and he had buried so long ago. It wasn’t just the food or the gesture—it was her. Lucy, with her quiet persistence and the ways she still tried so hard to earn his friendship despite everything he put her through, because of everything the world had put him through, first. That was one thing people shared easily on the surface: misery certainly did love company and was never in short supply.
He realized he wasn’t just tolerating her company anymore, except in the moments she was being her most genuine, annoying self. But he was coming to expect and rely on it, to look forward to these small, shared moments. In the dark parts of his mind he worried that it was like she was training him, rearing up to hurt him. But even deeper still he knew he was sinking into this willingly. That sense of fondness made him uneasy. He didn't want to let her see his softness, and couldn't afford to give her any more chances to hurt him. But as he fidgeted, curling her finger inside of his glove, he felt something he hadn’t felt in ages: the smallest flicker of hope.
Trying his darndest not to get too sentimental, he sighed and looked to the stars. He thought to himself idly about how he missed cooking, really cooking. Beyond just heating game and gristle in a dented can over a fire just enough that it wouldn't make his… whatever she was to him, sick. Though his senses were long-dead and dulled from the radiation, he still felt a pang of longing to cook something nice for her. Something with spices and herbs and wine and the heat of the fancy grill he kept by the hot tub. He had to be careful whenever he stepped into those memories, lest he hit a landmine. He tucked the foolish thought away for another time.
Lucy, oblivious to the shift in his thoughts, leaned back while petting the dog whose head lay in her lap. Glancing at him with a hint of nervousness and not wanting to disturb the silence, she whispered “Did you like it?”
He nodded, his expression soft in a way that she had only learned to read by studying him as the weeks went by. Her face lit up, beaming with that bright, genuine smile that always made something inside of him clench. She looked so pleased with herself, like she’d just accomplished something important. To her, she probably had.
As the fire died down and they settled in for the night, Cooper found himself watching her from under his hat. He observed her little bedtime rituals. She always repacked her bag before using it as a pillow and curling up on her bedroll. She watched the fire for a while, the picture of contentment complete with a politely stifled yawn. She was unable to see his eyes, but was familiar enough to know he was probably still awake. So she cast him one more smile and a sweet “good night” before rolling over to let the fire cast its warmth at her back.
From the day he met her, he already knew he was in trouble. He’d lasted this long alone, and knew it should take much more than one bright eyed girl to disarm him so thoroughly. He mulled it over more and more often on these cold nights, as he lay back against the parched earth. He let his eyes close under his hat in the dimming light of the dying embers. Absently, he pet the fur along the dog's back while she curled up against his side. He was starting to care about Lucy, more than he knew he should, and that in and of itself was a death sentence.
But what was one more death sentence to someone who just wouldn’t die? He wasn’t quite sure, but he couldn’t help but think that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. Surely there were worse things he had yet to do and had done already. Like everything else in his life, though, he’d just have to take it as it came- just now with a bit more company along for the ride.