Work Text:
The wind howled low over the sand, the dusk seeming to seep over her body as the minutes passed. She was getting thinner, he noticed, the lack of proper nutrition in the Wasteland finally starting to visibly affect her. She was shaking like a leaf, curling up on the sand, a blurry slash of blue fabric and dark hair against the ground. He hated that stupid suit and everything that came with it, all the ideas that made it possible for them to exist in the first place. He hated that everyone that wore one had the same twisted thoughts, planted from birth, the kind of idealism that got people killed. But most importantly, he hated that the suit wasn’t thicker. Winter, even in the Mojave, was a hard season to get through, and although she was taking it on the chin, he knew she was freezing.
He could hear her shaky little breaths from where he sat, even if his ears weren't what they used to be. Something like pity curled up in his chest, uncomfortable and unfamiliar. He did what he'd been doing for a couple of centuries.
“You cold, Vaultie?”
“You’re not?” She said, no hint of sarcasm or hostility.
“No.” He lied smoothly, tugging his hat further down, the brim sweeping low over his eyes. “It ain’t that cold. Here.”
Sand and pebbles crunched against his back as he sat up, shrugging off his duster and tossing it over to her. It got caught in the wind, and she lurched to scramble after it, fingers digging into the dunes roughly. Briefly, he considered his own hand, and that one mismatched finger. Her finger.
He shook himself, pretending to be amused at her struggle. A month ago, it would have amused him. But now, watching her curl up under his duster as best as she could, still shivering but quieter now, the silence a clear effort not to be a burden, he didn’t exactly feel like laughing.
The cold settled in deeper around him as the sand started to cool, the grains turning to shards of ice as the wind continued to blow. They whipped against his face and now-exposed flesh, biting at it with a vigor that could only be described as tireless.
Lucy continued to shiver, even with the added barrier against the worst of the chill. The sun wasn’t due to appear for hours, and it was only getting colder by the minute.
“Cooper?” Her voice trembled, his neck stiffened as he forced himself not to turn. She continued. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful or anything, but this thing has holes in it.”
The use of his name stopped him dead. No one called him that, not anymore. He didn’t ask where she’d picked it up from, he just staggered to his feet, a particularly strong gust trying and failing to claw him back down. Next thing he knew, he was pulling her into his side, tucking her head under his chin.
“This okay?” He asked gruffly, the immediate warmth of her flooding into his side and through his chest. She nodded against his throat, dragging his duster over both of them, sacrificing some of the coverage to share. She peeked over his collar.
“You’re warm.”
He looked down, taking in her big brown eyes, the long lashes clearly heavy as she settled further into him.
“I am now, darlin’.”