✸ PROMPT - “such a shame our friendship had to end"
― Fandom ⭒ Fallout (the series on Prime)
— Warnings! ⭒ violence, angst, it’s cooper, season 2 ep 5 spoilers, read at your own discretion!
You thought you and Cooper were just starting to be friends. More than friends, if you allowed your heart to think for yourself. All those months travelling the wasteland together side by side must have meant something, right? As you pulled the tranquil dart out of your shoulder and held it in your hands, you began to realize maybe you were wrong from the start.
When you first met Cooper, he nearly blew your head off. Smoking gun pointed right at your temple, the heat burning your flesh. It was only by some miracle that he allowed you to live. That miracle being another ghoul -- feral, as they usually were -- attacking him and freeing you temporarily. From that day on you silently followed behind him, hiding in his shadow presumably without his knowledge. Newsflash, he knew. The two of you had a sort of mutual understanding. The type of mutual understanding that led to a one night stand, then the next night, then the night after that. For awhile things were as perfect as they could get in a world like that.
Lucy came shortly after. Bright eyed fellow vaultie who only wanted to find her father. The very man who made Cooper's entire mood shift at the slight mention of his name. You liked Lucy and enjoyed her presence, even when your ghoul companion chastised you for it. You pitied her, really. She was not far off from you, having the same up bringing. The three of you became a weird little friend group, traversing all over in hopes of bringing Lucy's father to justice, as she would call it. Only, it seems like they wouldn't be doing that together.
"I'll let him explain." You stood by Lucy, gripping the back of her chair protectively as you stared the weird man in front of you down. Cooper lingered close by, his posture rigid like that a guilty child.
The man in front of all of you was nothing short of weird. Hair slicked back in such a professional style it almost felt alien in a place like this. His white dress shirt and tie so pristine it looked fake. A picture perfect man in a destroyed world. Even the way he spoke felt nothing but wrong.
"Hi! I was sent here by your father.." Lucy rose steadily, her eyes narrowing. "Mister MacLean is very impressed that you followed him this far, but he's quite secure in an underground facility there's no reaching him from here. Not without his explicit invitation." Your eyes met Coopers, begging him to do something. Cooper could only look at you for a second before focusing back on the courier, something so out of character it made your hair stick up on the back of your neck.
"You're gonna walk right back out of here and lead us to my father. Now."
"Unfortunately I don't have permission.." The man smiled, a faint beeping noise reached your ears. He turned to Cooper. "Mister MacLean is watching over this gentleman's wife and daughter. They are quite peacefully resting in stasis."
The man turned to you now, a smug look on his almost robotic face. "And wouldn't it be a shame if Mister Maclean had to..terminate, that slumber prematurely? They almost assuredly wouldn't survive the process."
Your lips trembled, your firsts clenched tightly at your sides. Cooper remained silent and motionless. Lucy grasped onto your arm, placing herself slightly in front of you protectively.
"What do you want?" You asked, your jaw constricting as you tried to control yourself. The man smiled still.
"Mister MacLean is willing to make a deal! One families safety for another's." He turned to Cooper. "Mister MacLean will leave your wife and daughter safe and sound in their cryo chambers if you bring his daughter and your friend here, back to the safety of their vaults."
No. No, you thought. You had come such a far way, just to get dragged back to the prison you had been confined too your entire life. You turned to Cooper, eyes begging him to do something to say something, anything to help the situation. You didn't want to leave him, not after everything the two of you had been through together. He was your family now. Cooper didn't even look at you.
"What?" Lucy's voice was soft and quiet, full of disbelief.
"Your father is in the process of setting certain plans in motion. He'd like it if you two would wait it out, safe and sound! Back at home."
For a moment the room was completely silent. Cooper remained stationed in the same spot he had been the entire time, his face blank and unreadable. A large smile broke out on the mans face as he looked in between you and Cooper.
"So! Do you accept?"
Cooper finally turned to look at you. Tears pricked your eyes, betrayal flashing on your face. You knew what his answer was. And to be honest, you didn't really blame him. It didn't stop the pain from spreading throughout your entire body. His family would always be more important, no matter how many times your mind told you otherwise.
"You can't..." Lucy shook her head, her grip falling from your arm. "Actually be considering this?"
"Lucy I brought yall here to bargain with. This here's the bargain." Your brows furrowed, tears falling freely. In that moment you thought back to all of the time you had spent with Cooper. Tending to his wounds on both his flesh and soul, holding him when there was no one else to do so.
"You're just going to let him take them, too?" Cooper gulped harshly.
"Yeah."
You felt it before you realized what he had done. Stumbling back, you observed the large dart lodged in your shoulder. You felt your skull meet the harsh wooden floor soon after. As you stared up at the ceiling, the only thing you felt was pure betrayal. The voices in the room were growing mumbled, your vision growing splotchy. Lucy fell besides you shortly after, the two of you lying in tandem.
How stupid you were, to think you could change a dead ghouls mind. How stupid you were. Cooper stood above you, staring down at your sleeping body. He was supposed to feel fulfilled. With this, it would ensure the safety of his family. The reason for it all. But now, as he watched you sleep with tears still streaming down your face, he wasn't so sure.
Currently thinking about MacCready's trauma and fatherhood, probably moreso then is healthy so here have 2k words on RJ, Lucy, and Duncan
content warning: teen pregnancy, death, sickness of a child, suicidal ideation kinda?, depression, trauma, ptsd, nightmares, happy ending
whatever you do don't think about 18 year old RJ, barely a man and yet having been the only adult in his life for years, finding out his girlfriend is pregnant and panicking because he never had parents, how is he supposed to know what to do? Don't think about RJ asking Lucy to marry him with a ring he bought that same day because he was a gentleman even if he was a gun for hire and he was going to marry the mother of his baby. Don't think about RJ crying at the wedding because he was so lonely once he had to leave little lamplight and all the people he knew but now he has a wife and a baby on the way.
Don't think about RJ holding Lucy's hand while she gives birth, trying to be strong but so scared for her and the baby. Don't think about RJ holding his son for the first time, and seeing his son has his wife's beautiful, dark brown eyes. Don't think about RJ staying up all night, watching that baby like a hawk because any cry too loud could be the difference between life or death. Don't think about RJ having to chose between saving his wife from being mauled to death by ferals or saving his son who has her eyes.
Don't think about RJ, alone, still covered in blood, crying into the blanket swaddling Duncan because he just won't stop crying, neither of them can stop crying. Don't think about RJ having to find his way alone with his son, travel and fight and scavenge and barter with his son tied to his chest. Don't think about Duncan starting to grow hair and it's black like Lucy's. Don't think about Duncan laughing for the first time and RJ breaking down crying because Lucy will never hear their son laugh. Don't think about RJ feeling so lost and confused and unsure of himself and his parenting and pulling on his years in little lamplight, how the older kids took care of him and how when he was the older kids he took care of the younger ones.
Don't think about him taking a job as a farmer out of desperation, not havign any farming experience but knowing the offer of caps and shelter in exchange for labor is the difference between his son's life or his son's death. His life and death doesn't matter. Just his son's. Don't think about RJ taking to the farm life like a fish to water, loving the feel of the dirt on his hands and the sun on the back of his neck. Loving eating what he grew, looking out at a flourshing land and knowing that was because of his care. Don't think about Duncan growing on this farm, toddling through corn and chasing the farm dogs through the razorgrain. Don't think about the farmer's children treating Duncan like he's always been part of the family and the farmer never failing to offer the both of them a seat at the dinner table.
Don't think about a trader coming through, and when he leaves he leaves a sickness that takes Duncan nearly overnight. Don't think about a little 5 year old baby crying, just like his daddy is crying, because he can't play with his friends and his tummy hurts too much to eat or drink and he can't even cuddle with his favorite blankets or stuffed bear because every inch of his skin burns with blue blisters.
Don't think about RJ, now barely 22, having to decide between staying with his son or leaving to find the cure. Don't think about RJ tucking his son into bed, kissing him on the forehead, wondering if this would be the last time. Don't think about Duncan waking up and his father is gone and everyone promises he will be back but all he wants is his daddy cause everything hurts. Don't think about RJ making the trek back to the commonwealth, traveling and fighting and scavenging and bartering alone.
Don't think about every lead to a possible cure RJ finds ending in disappointment. Don't think about RJ joining the gunners for the contacts and their reach, hoping to find a cure through them. Don't think about RJ once again having to set aside his morals just to stay alive, cause now his life does matter cause if he doesn't live then neither will his son. Don't think about RJ laying awake late into the night, until the sun starts to turn the horizon a sick green wondering if today the caravan that passes by the farm will arrive with a letter telling him he wasn't there for the death and burial of his son, that his son with Lucy's eyes and hair and his nose and chin died without his father or his mother, in pain and scared. Don't think about RJ having to decide between being a good man and leaving the gunners and abandoning possibly the only people who could help save his son.
Don't think about RJ finding out, the day he was going to leave, that there is a cure. He knows what building it's in, and he even has the codes to the terminals keeping the place locked up. Don't think about RJ leaving first thing in the morning for Med-Tek, excitement and nerves making his hands shake so bad the cherry keeps falling off his cigarette. Don't think about RJ arriving at Med-Tek only to find it overrun by ferals. Don't think about RJ returning to Goodneighbor empty handed and having to face Daisy's hopeful expression. Don't think about RJ crying into Daisy's shoulder while she promises they will get this cure, they will save his boy.
Don't think about every person RJ asks to help him take on Med-Tek refusing him because that's a suicide mission, and everyone knows it, even him. Especially him, who has to remind himself his life is important because if he doesn't live then neither does his son. Don't think about someone finally agreeing to help, only to turn on him halfway to Med-Tek and steal his ammo, caps, and stimpacks, leaving him with a bullet in his right shoulder. Don't think about him not being able to cry even as he digs the bullet out of his own shoulder, alone, and shaking. Don't think about him finally getting back to Goodneighbor only to have to sleep on a mattress in the statehouse attic cause he can't afford the Rexford. Don't think about him waking up stiff and in pain and making himself stand up and go in search of a job because Duncan's sickness doesn't care if he's in pain and maybe he deserves it for being such a shit father.
Don't think about the Sole Survivor showing up in Goodneighbor, with stories of prowess and generosity on their tale. Don't think about RJ knowing it's too good to be true, knowing he doesn't deserve it, knowing he can't trust anyone but himself, especially not with his son who has his wife's eyes that he can't quite picture anymore. Don't think about RJ drinking until he falls asleep, finally many hours before the sky turns a sick green.
Don't think about RJ becoming more and more desperate by the day until finally he cracks and tells the Sole Survivor everything, hoping against all hope that their generosity will extend to him even though they know him, they know he's a shit friend and a shit employee, and now they know he's a shit father and a shit husband too. Don't think about Sole Survivor calling in favors that same night over the radio while RJ listens with bated breath. Don't think about Piper and Valentine and Hancock and Preston all going to Med-Tek, RJ and Sole at the helm of their little battalion. Don't think about Hancock slapping a hand down on RJ's shoulder and telling him they were gonna get this cure and save his boy.
Don't think about RJ finally having the cure in his hand. Don't think about the blur of time between leaving Med-Tek and arriving in Goodneighbor, RJ holding the padded box to his chest like a swaddled baby, his hands eerily still and his mind in a tunnel-vision to a glowing sign and an arrow. Don't think about words failing him as he opens the box to show Daisy. Don't think about her embracing him, and kissing him on the cheek and telling him that he did it, he found the cure, and he's going to save his son. Don't think about RJ sending that cure off with a caravan, and immediately being sick because what if it breaks on the way, what if they loose it, what if raiders get the caravan or yao guai or a deathclaw or ferals.
Don't think about 4 more months of nightmares of his son dying alone and scared. Nightmares of the cure being stolen or the caravan being attacked or ferals tearing Duncan apart. Don't think about every waking moment of those 4 months being about Duncan, making sure everything is perfect for his arrival. Don't think about RJ saving every cap to fill a sanctuary house with furniture and toys and clothing and books, so many books, every book he can get his hands on. Don't think about RJ getting both excited and filled with dread every time he sees a child settler, knowing soon that will be his son. Don't think about RJ picturing his son playing with that child, running free again, smiling and laughing.
Don't think about RJ seeing his son in person again for the first time. Lucy in his eyes and his hair, tears on his cheeks, his skin healthy and tan from the long walk here and not a speck of blue. Don't think about RJ crying into his son's sweater, not caring it smells like sweat and dirt. Don't think about RJ holding his son that night as they fall asleep, tracing the tips of his fingers over the scars the blisters left behind and feeling peace knowing his son is safe and healthy. Don't think about RJ setting aside his gun to feel the dirt in his fingers again.
Don't think about the first time RJ picking up the gun again, for old times sake, because it's been so long since he went on a job with Sole. Don't think about Duncan crying and begging him not to leave. Don't think about him setting aside his gun without hesitation and falling to his knees to let his son cry into his shoulder. Don't think about him comforting his son by kissing the top of his head and pressing his cheek against black hair, just like Lucy's. Don't think about RJ cupping his son's cheeks and looking into Lucy's eyes, Duncan's eyes and promising to never leave him again.
Instead think about Duncan running after Dogmeat. Don't think about Duncan trying to sneak up on RJ while he's on watch, and RJ pretending to be scared. Deacon offering Duncan sneaking lessons, and Curie teaching him to say "s’il vous plaît" every time he wants seconds. Don't think about Marcy being mean to everyone but Duncan. Duncan asking Sole if he can take a turn on watch, and asking RJ to teach him how to pull weeds, cause he wants to be just like his dad.
Think about Duncan growing up into a lean, lanky teenager with equal sarcasm and kindness, willing to deal quips and favors in equal measure. Think about him trying his first beer and spitting it out while all the adults around him laugh. RJ lying next to him on the ground, them both holding their breath as he takes his first shot on a live animal, hitting the Radstag right in the eye. His dad tries to teach him how to skin the Radstag, and then gives up half way because he knows his son would do it if he asked but the silent tears and shaking hands is more than RJ can bear. Think about Duncan being a big brother to any kid younger than him, always teaching them how to do whatever he's doing and showing them cool tricks his dad or his aunt or uncles taught him. Think about Duncan standing up to bullies no matter the size or power over him, never letting a mean slight slide, especially when it's against his loved ones.
Think about Duncan traveling to Goodneighbor for the first time to visit Aunt Daisy. The woman he's been exchanging letters with since he could learn to write, and only seeing once a year when she braves the journey to Sanctuary. Think about him meeting Fahrenheit, and she offers to cut his hair because it's far too long for what's appropriate if you're going to be adventuring in the commonwealth.
Think about Duncan meeting someone who makes his heart beat fast and he's stuttering over his words for the first time since he was a kid and he's blushing like an idiot. Think about Duncan asking his dad for advice on how to 'put the moves on' someone, as Uncle Hancock says, and RJ wasting no time on warning his son to use protection, and to always pull out, and Duncan being disgusted and embarrassed.
Think about RJ ruffling his son's black hair and looking into his son's amber eyes, and seeing the man his son has grown into, and even though he has no memories of her, sees Lucy in him too. In the way he talks, in his bravery and his kindness, in his sense of justice, and how he's quick to learn and quicker to perfect. Think about RJ seeing himself in Duncan too, in his quick wit and his hardworking nature and his adaptability and his curiosity. And RJ finally realizes that maybe if he could raise Duncan, this boy who is just like him but somehow also a good man, then maybe he's not a shit father.
Summary: Right when he can't afford any more trouble, Cooper Howard dives into it headfirst.
Series Masterlist
Introduction | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Word Count: 7064 (whoops)
Notes: Pretend this isn't late for me. Mostly from Coop's point of view this chapter but mostly bc I like to see him suffer. The length got away from me but I honestly enjoy writing the complications from a dynamic like this so much and I feel like it gets ignored so often. Also if we're interested in a taglist, let me know. Will also make a master list soon, probably when I have a few more chapters out, and will update on Ao3.
Chapter Tags: Smut lite (masturbation/sex dream but only kinda), references to previous sexual encounters, adultery/infidelity, also light angst...like internal angst, bad communication on all fronts, jealousy, major guilt and conflicting feelings
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
He had heard some guys say being with a younger woman would make them feel young again. Cooper felt the most juvenile after the fact as he snuck back into his own house.
There were times he hated how big the house was. He was happy to have it, of course. He knew people worked longer and harder hours than he ever would for so much less, but sometimes it felt like too much. Tonight — this morning, rather — he was thankful for it. His first stop was the scurry into the guest room en-suite, the other bathroom on the ground floor was only a half. He cranked the water as hot as it would go, and put more soap on the wash cloth than he knew was needed. Once he was done scrubbing at his skin, he loaded the cloth with soap and did it again.
When he was sure the smell of sex or French perfume was off his skin, he dried off and threw on the guest robe. He took a moment in front of the mirror to steel himself before starting up the stairs. He paused on the landing in front of the large painted mural of one of his movie posters, working his jaw as he studied the bravado of the man. The painted version of him stared outward, guarding the ground floor of the sprawling ranch. That was how he’d posed, of course—but looking at it now, he was glad someone had been there to watch the house while he’d been out breaking his vows.
He closed the bedroom door behind him as quietly as possible, his eyes immediately falling on Barb’s sleeping form. She was on her side, her back facing the door, away from him. He watched her for a few beats, trying to figure out if she was asleep or if he had woken her up coming home. He eventually broke his gaze, moving to their own en-suite to brush his teeth. When he was done, he cautiously threw on a dab on aftershave for good measure before slinking back into the bedroom.
“Did you shower downstairs?” Barb asked quietly once he had settled into the bed. He mentally cursed himself for thinking she was actually asleep, but he found it was hard to tell anything with her these days.
“Didn’t want to wake you up,” he answered, leaning over to kiss her shoulder. “Know you got to work tomorrow.”
“You were out late.” She noted, looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah, shoot went to about nine.” He said. “Met up with Charlie for some drinks after.” He spoke before thinking the words through. Great, now he was dragging Charlie into this. More than anything, it surprised him how easily the lie fell from his lips.
Barb hummed, turning back over. Cooper couldn’t tell if she was satisfied with his answer. He tried to rationalize it by telling himself she lied through her teeth every day. What was the difference? He knew it was a piss-poor excuse, but he was okay telling himself that to get him through the rest of the night.
Which he was unable to sleep through, of course. First, he kept thinking over the night he had had with you, and once he was certain he couldn’t push it out of his mind. He then decided to think over this entire thing with you. He couldn’t place when he’d realized he was attracted to you. You were beautiful—he’d have had to be blind not to notice. Maybe it was the fact you had proven him wrong, been more than the spoiled diva he had assumed you to be when you first showed up on set with your perfectly tailored wiggle dress and designer sunglasses.
He wanted to blame your persistence, but even if he pushed back, he knew he had loved the attention. Especially when he realized you seemed to actually care for all your snooping. How asinine was that? A movie star of his degree letting the attention of some twenty-something with a handful of credits to her name get to him the way it had.
Of course he knew that this was something that was removed from everything else in a way. Of course it had started from him finding comfort in being able to lament to you, but this was something so unrelated to the bureaucratic dystopia of apocalyptic scheming he’d found himself roped into.
He’d be foolish to think that this made him any better than Barb, and part of him wondered if this was worse. Yeah, what Barb was up to was horrific, but he has broken an implicit vow.
He turned over in the bed so that he was facing towards his wife. She was still on her side, away from him. Maybe she knew, she had always been perceptive like that. Maybe she was too busy to care.
“War never changes.” He replayed her words in his head. He knew war, had seen its gnarled and bloody hand snuff the life from men he knew, men who were soldiers, who had fought tooth and nail not for war but for the promise of what was on the other side.
Barb had made sure to remind him that his time in the Marines didn’t just take a toll on him. He’d felt bad when she’d brought it up then. Now, though, he wondered how much she could’ve meant it. Good men and women fought and died for the idea of freedom, and she was willing to let Vault-Tec level the earth for a business model. Maybe Kate was right, Americans had more in common with the enemy than they knew.
Then, of course, he thought of Janey. His heart ached when he realized he’d forgotten to poke his head in her door and check on her when he got back. He knew she would be safe and sound in her bed with Roosevelt hogging whatever space he could, but the assurance always helped. He made a note to be up before her, make up a big breakfast with pancakes and eggs and whatever else he could muster up for her.
Cooper wondered what kind of food they would have in the Vaults, should they ever be trapped down there. Barb said she was working to get them into a “good Vault” but it’d still be a Vault. Steak dinners would be replaced by canned meat that he could hardly stomach and every glass of milk would come from powder. He knew Janey would be okay; she was a good kid and always cleared her plate, even when it was something she didn’t like. But Cooper hated the idea of her being made to eat the same gruel everyday, of living so far underground that the idea of fresh food becomes a memory of her childhood.
Eventually, the room began to lighten as the sun rose and pushed its light through the window. Not long after, Barb’s alarm went off. After a moment, her hand reached out to cease the blaring, then she pushed the sheets aside and sat up with a stretch. He turned in the bed to watch her, seeing the sunlight shimmer off the rose colored silk headscarf she slept in and bathing her skin in warm glows of the sunrise. Despite everything, he still found her beautiful. Of course he did, she was his wife. But it chilled him to the bone knowing the woman he shared a bed with was so willing to sell the lives of millions of people so casually.
“Sleep well?” He asked, his voice missing that raspy quality it usually had in the morning.
“Mhm, eventually.” She answered, walking over to grab her robe off the door.
“Sorry,” he said, sitting up from the bed himself. “Tried to be quiet.”
“I know,” she said. “Can’t be helped, I suppose.”
“Janey’s off from scouts this week, right?” He asked, getting out of the bed and stepping into his house slippers. Barb hummed an affirmative as she tied the robe around herself. “Quick schedule today.” He continued, walking over to the door to grab his own robe, his hand rubbing over her back as he pulled it off the hook. “Maybe I’ll stop by the store on the way back and pick up some of those filets you two like, do ‘em out on the grill.”
“That sounds nice.” Barb said with a soft smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Evelyn sent me home with a whole case of chianti from her cellar.”
“I’ll make sure to grab some grape juice for Janey then.” He said, giving her a brief kiss on the cheek and opening the door. “I’m gonna go rouse sleeping beauty from her slumber and get going on breakfast.”
“Good luck. She got dropped off tired as a dog last night.” Barb chuckled, smiling more fondly and he shared her amusement before heading down the hall.
Cooper spent the entire drive to the studio lot thinking about how to go about the most basic interactions with you. He realized as badly as he wanted to have you pegged, he didn’t have the faintest idea as to how you were going to go about this. You were a smart girl; you handled your image and PR like it was as easy as breathing. He knew that in front of the eyes of others, you’d keep business as usual, he wasn’t worried about that.
No, he was more worried about when the focus shifted, and then it would be just the two of you, if even for a moment. Would you make some blink-and-you-miss-it remark? A passing touch that lasted a second too long? Or would you just act like nothing happened? You had seemed a little bruised when he had dropped you off, maybe you’d stay away, maybe he should stay away from you. He let out a heavy sigh as he pulled the keys out of the ignition.
Cooper was one of America’s favorite actors, and now he found himself at a loss for how to act around you.
Walking to his trailer, he rehearsed in his head what he would say to you when he saw you. He pushed open the door trepidatiously, half-expecting to see you on the other side, stretched out on the couch like a cat in some form-fitting outfit or even just your dressing robe loosely tied around your waist. But the trailer was empty, and Cooper wasn’t sure if that relieved or disappointed him.
He dropped his stuff off before checking in with the AD, who told him that the director was unsurprisingly running late again. Cooper had expected as much and headed back towards his trailer, keeping his eyes peeled for any sight of you. As he walked past the coffee cart, he did see you. You were perched in a director's chair; your legs folded underneath you and your head resting on your hand while you listened to someone else — some breezy-dressed man with a pencil mustache — carry on conversation.
Cooper stationed himself at the cart, grabbing some coffee and a bagel while he kept you in his peripheral. For what it was worth, you seemed interested in the conversation. Nodding along and even laughing with a bounce of your shoulders. He wondered if whatever the man was saying was actually that interesting or if you were a better actress in the everyday than he gave you credit for.
As Cooper poured himself some coffee, he debated going over there. It could be easier seeing you again with a third party. It wouldn’t hurt to find out who your company was, either. Though, he had a pretty good idea.
As he sauntered over, the man — who he was able to recognize as soon he was close enough to make out his face — noticed him first. Though you weren’t facing Cooper from the angle of your chair.
“Mike, I think you’re on the wrong side of the fence.” Cooper greeted with a smile. Mike returned the expression and reached out his hand.
“Cooper Howard, how are you?” Mike shook his hand firmly. By now, you had turned in your chair, giving Cooper a cordial smile, and he saw no indication of anything else in your gaze.
“I’m doing good, man. How are you?”
“Well, my day’s off to a great start.” Mike answered, gesturing to you, and you gave him a warm, almost cheeky smile in return.
“That’ll explain why an upstanding OEI gentleman like yourself is slumming it in our lot.” Cooper said, setting his coffee down on the arm of another chair.
“Well, no crime in taking a look,” he said. “Besides, my contract’s up after Love Sets Sail premieres. Maybe I’ll shop around before just giving them another Hancock.”
“Well, Crest would be lucky to have you. Lots of buzz around that flick of yours.”
“We’re all mighty proud of it. A lot of films these days just get pushed out as fast as possible and forgotten just as quick. We’re hoping this one slows people down a little.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Cooper replied. “How is Vera anyway?”
“She’s…” Mike hesitated. “She’s doing okay. Spends whatever time she has in Vegas.”
“I’ve never been to Vegas.” You finally interjected into the conversation.
“Is that so?” Mike asked, giving you his attention and an arm around your shoulder; a move that Cooper watched with a keen eye. “I’ll have to bring you next time me and Vince go up, maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.” He winked.
“I could be, but maybe you ought to just play better in my company.” You replied. Mike laughed loudly, pinching your side over the knit of your top.
“The mouth on this one, huh?” He said, looking back to Cooper.
Cooper raised his brow and smiled back. “Yeah, it’s something else.”
You rolled your eyes playfully and got out of the chair, sliding away from Mike’s arm. “I’m gonna head to wardrobe,” you said to him. “See you around?”
“It’d be a dream, sweetheart.” He said with a wink, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek. You only let your hand linger on his arm in return before you started away.
Cooper watched as Mike’s eyes lingered on your retreating form, watching as your hips swished like a cat’s tail, clad in shorts that he figured you must have been sewn into.
“Hell of a skirt, huh?” Mike mused, straightening up as if he was getting ready to leave. Good, Cooper thought. No reason for him to stay with you not here.
He only hummed in response, and Mike shook his head with a boyish smile.
“You don’t need to act like you’re blind for the sake of nobility. Good Lord gave us eyes for a reason.” He said. Cooper just shrugged.
“You need a hand getting out?” Cooper asked, picking up his coffee. Mike made an offended, albeit amused face, and Cooper clarified. “Not being rude, of course. If Miss thing is getting ready then there must be a reason. The flame under her ass burns about as hot as ice.”
Mike laughed briefly, but shook his head. “I got it, thank you though,” he said, putting the cap back on his head. “Nice seeing you again, Cooper.” He repeated the sentiment before heading the opposite direction.
Cooper didn’t go out of his way to see you before filming. While he couldn’t say with certainty if you had been avoiding him in return, at the very least the universe was giving him a moment’s reprieve. Initially, that’s what he took it as, he could put whatever mess this thing with you had become on the back burner of his mind. Circle back after the weekend, after he’s had some time to think about it. But as he gathered his stuff from his trailer after shedding his makeup and changing back into his clothes, he realized how quiet the space was, and he felt his heart clench a little at the feeling.
Maybe he’d gone about this the wrong way. He’d probably fucked up last night, besides seeing you with Mike, you haven’t given him the chance to avoid you.
Cooper thought back, he didn’t think he had been too harsh. He had said what needed to be said for his sake just as much as yours. A line had been crossed and a new one needed to be drawn, he didn’t want you going to bed with ideas in your head about this that weren’t true, that couldn’t be true. He could understand of course where the upset would come from; you’d been vulnerable and intimate with him on a level deeper than any late night conversations from before. And he’d just dropped you off after without even walking you to the door.
In all honesty, he hated himself for letting things get that far with you, on top of all the kinds of fucked up it had been in his own life, it wasn’t fair to you. If this were to continue, what would you even get from it? Late night rendezvouses and sex in the back of his car? There was no world where you could possibly benefit from that. And even if he didn’t wake up yesterday morning knowing he was going to end up with his dick in your mouth, he had always known that letting this relationship become anything more would come at your expense.
There would be no winners in this; this was fair to no one. Not to you, not his family and it was certainly not him. He had never had more shit on his plate in his life, he had been less stressed in Anchorage, and he chose now — of all times — to experiment with infidelity.
The cowardly part of himself wanted to just keep ignoring you until you were strangers again. It had worked today, no reason that it wouldn’t keep working.
But the selfish part of himself kept thinking about how good it felt fucking your face, how in that moment in his car up in the hills, that was the only thing on his mind. Not Barb, not Vault-Tec, not Kate and her Robert House assassination campaign or the looming threat of nuclear war. He was only thinking about how good you were making him feel. How pretty — how fucking gorgeous you were. You were a looker all the time but when you were in his car with your mouth full of his cock, you were the most beautiful woman in the world.
Cooper felt his cock twitch in his slacks and shook the memory from his mind. He decided that he would try to talk to you. He told himself it wasn’t the selfish part of him that decided that, but the considerate part. You didn’t deserve to just be ignored, and even if talking about this felt suffocating, it was the right thing to do.
He’d gathered his stuff and shut the lights off in his trailer before making the short trek to yours. He rapped on the door, but got no answer. His first thought was that you were just ignoring him, hoping he’d go away. But he quickly realized that was just projection and when he took a step back and saw the inside was dark. He’d granted himself credit for trying before leaving the lot heading towards his car.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
You loved the weather in L.A.. The weather back East was so fickle, even during the summer. Spring was always like a fickle lover. There’d be rain most days and when it was sunshine it was short lived in exchange for a cold spell or just more rain. There was one season it had even snowed into April.
Out here was different, and you relished in that. The move had been a career choice first, but it had also been a soft restart. You had enjoyed your time in New York and you loved Boston, but your snooping habit had landed you with more information than you knew what to do with. You weren’t able to look at your father the same way, and what better way to not look at him than to move across the country?
Now you were wondering if you had managed to fuck that up, too. Whatever, you told yourself, it was just head. If that was a crime you’d have a warrant out for your arrest in three states. But you know that it had been more than that. You’d muddled whatever relationship you had with Cooper, there was no going back from that. Even more, he seemed content to just drop it entirely.
Maybe you were being dramatic, you had a habit of getting too into your own head, but you didn’t like how you two parted ways last night, despite ending it with a kiss. This morning, he’d seemed more interested in talking to Mike than with you, and then you two didn’t so much as exchange pleasantries between takes. After wrapping for the day, you’d just wiped the heavy makeup off your face and replaced it with just a little around your eyes and ducked out without much ado.
Shooting had wrapped early enough to give you enough of the late afternoon to yourself. You’d settled to spend the available time in a favored cafe, occupying a patio table with your belongings. The coffee table in your trailer had become cluttered with magazines you had planned on reading during your downtime on set, but that time would usually end up being spent otherwise. With the perfect weather and a cappuccino made to your liking, you’d decided you would try to get through as many as you could.
You had gone most of the way through a LIFE about Shannon Rivers and her husband when someone had approached your table. Looking up from the magazine, you didn’t recognize the man. He wasn’t terribly tall, around Cooper’s height, you figured, but he was dressed well enough. A short sleeve black and white knit tucked into matching slacks. His hair was styled back with enough gel you imagined it would crack if you hit it hard enough, and he had the pencil mustache a lot of men seemed to sport these days.
“Miss Mansfield?” He asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Guilty.” You responded, putting the magazine down on the table with a practiced smile. “But I can’t say I’m as familiar with you.”
“Ah, no you wouldn’t be.” He said, adjusting his shoulders. You noticed his hands were folded behind his back, and you couldn’t see if he was holding something. “Consider me something of an admirer, is all.”
“Well, it’s always nice to meet an admirer.” You said in turn, trying to gauge the man. There was something in your gut that told you something was off, but you couldn’t place it.
“Now I’m not one to participate in the gawking of fame, Miss Mansfield, but would it be too much as to ask for your autograph?” He asked, bringing out one of the napkins from the cafe from behind his back. You smiled kindly, noting the vague transatlantic lilt of the man’s voice.
“No, not at all.” You said, holding your hand out for the cloth. You reached for your purse, taking out a pen. You set the napkin on the table and uncapped the pen. “I have to admit, I don’t get too many requests for this.” You said. The man hummed.
“In due time, I’m sure.” You raised a brow at the remark but kept your focus on signing the napkin. You hesitated before writing, then looked up at him.
“And who should I be making this out for?” You asked.
“Robert.”
“Of course.” You said, writing a quick note on the napkin before finishing it with a signature. “Well, Robert, it was lovely to meet you.” You handed him back the cloth.
“As it was you, Miss Huxley.” He echoed with the same smile before nodding his head and striding off into the street.
You had been occupied with capping the pen to return it into your purse that by the time the name had registered in your head, you couldn’t find the man in the waves of people walking about. You took a moment, trying to think if you had misheard him, but the way your heart had dropped in your chest had told you otherwise. You attempted to brush it off. It’s not like you had ever made an effort to conceal your real name, maybe this man was just a real fan of yours, trying to bridge some connection for whatever reason.
You shook your head with a sigh, but the unsettledness in your chest lingered. You committed the man’s face to memory and decided that you were done being out for the day. You had finished your coffee a while ago, anyway. You gathered your belongings and walked back to your car, checking around you before opening the door.
You knew you weren’t being followed as you drove home, but you still made sure to inventory the cars around you, make sure no one made too many as the same turns as you. You kept telling yourself you were being paranoid, you had probably misheard the man anyway. It was just a combination of everything else you had going on in your head. Once you got back to your building, you gave your keys to the valet and asked him to park it “somewhere new”, just in case. Once you were in your apartment, you felt a little better. Especially after a nap that took up the rest of the daylight.
You were woken up by the shrill ring of the phone, and you trudged out of bed to free it from the hook.
“Mansfield?”
You pulled the phone away from your face for a moment to let out a sigh. “Gilda, hon, how are you?” You greeted, forcing some prep into your sleep-addled voice.
“Oh Mansfield, my love, you’re going to need a pen and paper if you really want to know.” She answered.
“Well I’m sure you didn’t call for me to waste my ink.”
She laughed on the other side of the line, a well practiced, sultry sound. You wondered if you were beginning to sound like that.
“Easy, tiger. I’m calling because it’s been a minute. You never told me how it went with that Mr. Berlyn.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re dying to know.”
“Don’t be like that, Mansfield. It’s because of me you got that fish on the line.”
“You know I don’t kiss and tell, Gilda.”
“Well how about I liquor you up and then you tell me every nasty little detail?”
“You’re insatiable, you know that?”
“Oh, trust me my dear, I’ve been told.”
You pulled away to let out an impatient breath before collecting yourself again. “You know I love to waste your money, Gilda, but I think I’m going to have to pass tonight.”
“Ooh, other plans, then?”
“Some things are better left to the unknown, hon.”
“You’re the worst.” She laughed. “Soon, then. It’s been too long.”
“Gilda, it’s been maybe two weeks.” You let her hear the sigh in your voice this time.
“Don’t tell me L.A. has ruined your brain already. You know us East coast girls move quicker than that.”
“Yeah, yeah. Soon, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”
“Wouldn’t expect any less.”
Eventually you managed to get her off the line, and you checked the clock to make a mental note of a new record for your shortest phone call with Gilda Broscoe. You again reminded yourself to make different friends in the industry, but that was proving easier said than done. Most people were just like Gilda, anyway.
You’d made yourself an easy supper, eating it while you mindlessly watched your Radiation King. There was so much news these days, you wondered if you actually took it in. The last of the troops had come back from Alaska, and had all been awarded a “limited lifetime” supply of Nuka Victory. Then there was a story about some upcoming defense summit in Vegas. You hadn’t paid too much attention to that, by the time that story rolled around, you had been cleaning up the kitchen.
You had decided to just stay in the rest of the night. You had mostly forgotten about the paranoia from the encounter at the cafe, but you mostly just didn’t feel bothered to go and do anything. Besides, it was already well past eight. You were in the middle of waiting for the bathtub to fill up, squeezing the last of the soap into the water, when the phone rang again. First, the noise had startled you, then it got on your nerves. You set the bottle on the ledge of the tub, quickly turned off the water and tightened your robe with a huff as you made your way into your living room. You debated just ripping the thing off the wall, but you just picked up the phone instead.
“Yeah?” You answered shortly, expecting it to be Gilda again or even Mike, neither of which you were in the mood for.
“Mansfield?” You heard Cooper’s voice at the end of the line. The sour look on your face morphed into a soft surprise.
“Cooper? Hey — sorry — I wasn’t expecting your call.”
You heard him chuckle softly. “Clearly. Sorry if it’s a bad time.” You noticed the hushed tone in his voice, and you wondered if this was a less than optimal time for him too.
“No, it’s—I’m not doing anything.”
“How are you?” He asked. You couldn’t help but to let out an impatient breath. He was going to ignore you all day and then call for pleasantries?
“I’m fine, Cooper.” You answered, then continued without giving him much time to go on. “Why are you calling?” You heard an amused breath, or maybe just a sigh from the other line.
“I just—I didn’t see you today.”
“Sure you did, I was next to Mike the whole time you were talking to him.”
“Yeah, Mike,” he said unamused. “You know what I mean.”
“Are you seriously going to act like this is a me-problem, Cooper?”
Another sigh, then he spoke. “No, no you’re right.” You didn’t say anything, you really didn’t have anything to say. After a moment, he continued. “Are you uhm—are you doing a lot this weekend?”
There was another pregnant pause before you answered. “No, not really.”
“Tomorrow, then? There’s this bistro on the East side I think you’d like.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Cooper Howard?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “I just…I’m trying to—I just think that it would be nice to see you more than just after work.”
You narrowed your eyes, trying to imagine what he looked like on the other side of the line. It was easier to figure out people when you could see them.
“What time?”
“I was thinking about lunch? If not, we can go a little later.”
“What number is ‘lunch’ on the clock?”
“How’s noon?”
“Noon on my time, I like to sleep in on the weekend.”
“Then I’ll be there at one.”
“Yeah, I’lll see you then.” You said with some finality in your voice, drawing the conversation to a close. After a quick goodbye that wasn’t entirely non-awkward, you put the phone back on the wall.
Cooper, for his part, had been relieved to hear your voice. You didn’t sound too miffed at him, but were reasonably suspicious. He was thankful the phone call was quick, too. He had told Barb he had to call Charlie about some upcoming ceremony before stepping into the home office and closing the door.
They put Janey to bed not much later, and Barb wasn’t far behind her. She always preferred to be up earlier on the weekends, but especially recently. The days were getting longer as spring settled in and she tried to spend as much time outside with Janey as she could. Cooper speculated if it was because she knew that soon they would be hunkered down in some bunker, where the closest thing to the sun was some fluorescent bulb hanging from a lead ceiling.
Surely the Barb he knew was still in there. Cooper had his blind moments but he wasn’t a fool, he couldn’t have spent so much of his life with a woman so careless for the lives of the rest of the world. He wondered if underneath it all she was still in there. He had to hope she was, despite everything. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to mourn her.
He spent a while in the den nursing a drink, eventually dozing off on the couch not long after the record had finished playing.
Cooper wasn’t sure if he dreamed a lot, usually they were forgotten when he woke up, if not shortly thereafter. This time, it lingered in his mind long after, replaying in his head as he stood under the stream of the shower.
It had started well enough, a memory more than a dream. He was back up in Griffith, you between his legs working your magic. He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes with a whispered praise. When he opened them up again, the two of you were no longer in his car.
It took him a moment to process it, but he recognized it to be a Vault; maybe not the same one he’d filmed that commercial in, but he figured they all had to look the same. Alarmed, he looked down at you, only to find you clad in one of those tacky blue suits, unzipped enough to show your torso, but his imagination wouldn’t let him make out your breasts completely. He raised his arm to try to stop you, but the sound of a geiger ticking rapidly had stopped him. His eyes followed his ears, noticing one of those fucking machines Barb wore on her arm all the time now, screaming about high radiation. Your head perked up at the sound, and he looked back at you.
“It’s telling me you’re bad news, sweetheart.” He said.
“Is that what you think?” You asked, rubbing his thigh. He looked down again, noticing he was wearing one of those suits too, but it had been pushed down enough to free his cock.
“I don’t think it matters much what I think.” He answered, looking around the Vault with a suspicious gaze. He helped you up from the floor where you were kneeling, standing you up between his legs. He spared another glance to the device on his arm, the beeping had softened, but the display read “CAUTION” in large letters. He tried to take it off, but it only wrapped tighter around him, like some sort of constrictor. He let out a breath and just let it be, going back to you.
When he looked up, the two of you were in his trailer instead. You were standing between his legs in nothing but your brassier, garter belt and hosiery. He let out a sigh of relief at the much needed change in scenery, and while the Pip-Boy wasn’t seen on his arm anymore, he could still feel the weight and pressure from it, and the feeling was snaking up his arm. Ignoring it, he placed one hand on your hips and the other on your waist and guided you onto his lap, hearing the beeping growing louder in his mind but he didn’t listen. He rolled his hips up against yours, his cock head slipping against your wet sex. He groaned, his hand moving down to your ass and gripping the flesh as he rutted against you again.
Cooper’s mind imagined the best it could, what it would feel like to be inside of you, his body burned hot but and he shuddered in ecstasy as he bottomed. You opened your mouth, but instead of any wanton noises Cooper had been expecting, the loud blaring of a test alarm ripped from your throat.
The noise had felt loud and real enough to jolt Cooper from his catnap with a start, his heart hammering in his chest, but his cock was also half-hard. So, he decided on a shower before bed. On his way upstairs, he checked the label on the bourbon he’d been nursing, making a note not to drink it again before bed.
He tried to rinse both the anxiety and the arousal that stemmed from the dream off his skin, however it only seemed to be taking care of the former.
It wasn’t a sex dream, he told himself. It was a weird dream that happened to have sex in it. But the rationales didn’t change where he stood in his shower, his dick hard and unwavering despite the icy temperature he’d see the water too.
With a reluctant sigh, Cooper wrapped his hand around his shaft, leaning his other side against the tiled wall as he began to stroke himself. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend he wasn’t here, a grown man masturbating in his shower with his wife asleep on the other side of the door.
He decided to work with the better aspects of the dream, maybe some of real life, too. He imagined himself in the trailer, and you were there, too. Only you were in the shorts he’d seen you in earlier, but one of those cropped blouses instead of the sweater you were wearing. He wondered if they’d be a pain to get off, you probably had to do some shimmying to get in them. Maybe he’d start by just rubbing his dick on your ass over the fabric like some animal, staining the fabric as his cock leaked impatiently. You’d see the stain later and get in such a fuss, but he’d tell you it’s an improvement.
He wondered if he’d even bother getting rid of the shorts completely, maybe he’d just rip them enough to be able to fuck you. He was sure panties weren’t a problem in that ensemble, the fabric would’ve shown a line or lace or something. If you complained about him staining the fabric, he was sure he’d get an earful about tearing the garment.
It wouldn’t last long, he wouldn’t give it a chance. He’d push two fingers into you, and whatever bitching you’d been doing would quickly just become breathy whines and eventual moans as worked you open. He’d loved how you just shut up when he’d gone down on you; no witty comments or quick remarks. The only sounds you’d made were the ones he’d coaxed out of you.
He wouldn’t spend too long playing with you. He was growing impatient, in real life and in this mental movie he was playing as his hand sped up on his cock. He remembered how you’d felt on his hands, on his tongue, and tried to imagine how you’d feel when he’d get to fuck you.
Maybe you’d try to make some comment, but you can’t spit it out right. He wouldn’t care, too busy savoring the feeling of you enveloping him completely. He’d want to see your face, of course, but he’d also want to have you on your hands and knees so he could grip your ass. You were an ensemble piece, but he especially loved the look of your ass. Maybe one day you’d even let him—
He bit his lip to stifle a moan as he came in his own hand, his release painting his lower abdomen before being washed away by the water. He took a moment to catch his breath, making sure to unhand himself before he opened his eyes. He still had enough pride to feel a little dirty about what he’d done.
Cooper wasn’t sure what it was about you. He mused in his head as he took the shower head off the wall to make sure everything was rinsed off the floor and down the drain. He had seen attractive women, he worked in Hollywood. But you had managed to get into his system like the New Plague. Maybe it was the distraction you offered, maybe you were providing him a situation in his life he had some semblance of control over — even if it was a risky one. Of course, your company — in all manners — didn’t hurt either.
Once he felt both himself and the shower were clean, he stepped out. The rings clanked over the curtain rod as he pulled the fabric shut.
You’d been the initiator, he recounted silently as he dried himself off. The playful remarks and flirting cracked the door enough, but he'd stepped right on through. He wondered if you thought about him — about this situation and all its complications — as much as he did. Maybe not; you were young, gorgeous, and you already had the attention of others in the industry, let alone the eye of any man in the public. Hell, you were plastered in a skin-tight rocket suit on a few different billboards across the city. But you didn’t seem like the type to him. You had the confidence, and he figured it wasn’t unwarranted, but you didn’t appear to him like some air-headed floozy willing to throw herself at anyone. You’d even seemed unreceptive to Mike when he’d seen the two of you earlier.
With his robe tied around him, Cooper took a moment to shake any lingering thoughts of you from his head before stepping out of the bathroom. Not wanting to carry them into bed for the second night in a row. As he changed into his pajamas, he tried to compartmentalize. When he could, that’s how he would end most days before sleep. Trying to get back into the mind of the man he had been a few months ago.
Truthfully, he would give anything to go back to then, or even just to have that same ignorance. After pulling the sheets over himself, he moved forward on the bed enough to give Barb’s sleeping form a quick kiss on the cheek, then he rolled back over to his side of the bed.
You know what will be a good AU for the blind betrayal mission, if Danse knew the whole time he was a synth and was feeding information about the brotherhood to the Institute. Only for his cover to be blown by the same person who trusted him, who saw him as an royal allie. Imagine the angst that the sole survivor would go through [specifically if they had a crush on him] and what would Scribe Haylen do when she found out her close friend was aiding the enemy.
But the mission would end differently than in game, depending if you sides with the brotherhood or institute for the end game. As there is zero chance that Elder Maxson would allow him to walk away alive. And if you side with the institute it would be easier for them to destroyed the Brotherhood.
Lmk your thoughts, or if someone wants to attempt to write this as a fanfic.
(This song fits the emotions i am trying to sell, especially with the lyrics "Please don't go... I love you so")
A Damsel in Distress - Paladin Danse x Nate / Male Sole Survivor
Synopsis: A distress signal comes over the Cambridge Police Station radio that has Danse racing out of there quicker than he can think.
Word Count: 3.1K
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Angst. Gore.
Notes: This is me dipping my toes into the fallout 4 universe. so give me some leeway, i wanted to challenge myself by writing this. enjoy :)
The crackling of the radio doesn’t grab the attention of the Paladin at first. His mind too focused on repairing a loose hinge in the right elbow of his power armour that had been bugging him for days. Whenever he’s out of the hulking metal, he always feels vulnerable. Not small per say or weak. A Paladin must know that they can handle themselves in and out of the armour. Yet he’s so use to wearing it almost twenty four hours a day that it’s become second nature within it.
The radio crackles again, louder this time with a voice mixed in underneath all the intense white noise. Paladin Danse stops short, wrench still in hand and looks over to the orange box. It’s not often that distress signals have been picked up. The station that they use is only for people of the Brotherhood or familiar with them.
Scribe Haylen has already wondered over to the radio, adjusting the dial. The whole police station falls into silence as Haylen tries her best to tune into the signal. Even Rhys is watching from afar at the table. But soon he moves back to whatever he was doing, head bowed between his shoulders.
“…. -bridge Police Station,” finally a voice is clear over the radio and Danse can’t help the feeling of his stomach sinking low into his stomach. “I need assistance. Surrounded by raiders! I’m holding myself in the- shit where am I?” A few passing moments of ragged breathing, filled with phlegm and other liquids in the throat, “Some Regional Office and I’ve-” a groan admits itself through the radio followed by a shaky exhale. “Got myself pretty shot up this time.”
Danse may have only met the man a month ago, but he knows Nate’s voice when he hears it. Right elbow joint be damned, he’s jumping into his power armour before he knows it. Haylen is already on her feet and packing her things up.
A large metal hand on her back is quick to stop her in her tracks. “I need you and Rhys to stay here while I go out and retrieve the Initiate,” Danse speaks firmly.
But Danse doesn’t budge no matter how dedicated she is to be leaving with him. “I don’t want this base of operations to be compromised or unattended in case of an attack. I intrust Knight Rhys to overlook this base until my return. There will be no further argument.”
Haylen’s shoulders faulter a little. “What about medical supplies?”
“Where is the location of his whereabouts?” Danse asks, getting to the point quickly.
Scribe Haylen shrugs her pack off her shoulders and grabs out a device from within. She holds it out to the Paladin with some urgency.
“I sent him to BADTFL Regional Office to retrieve the haptic drive. Trek east and you’ll run into it within the hour,” Haylen says. “This-“ she flicks a switch on the device and a slow beep admits from it, “-will lead you right to the signal he’s emitting.”
The Paladin takes the device and looks it over with a bleak expression. It’s almost small within the hands of the T-60, hard to hold onto. But he grasps onto it, unwilling to let go all the same.
“I value your help greatly, Scribe,” Danse thanks in his own way. “I will retrieve him and will be back in just over two hours. If I am not here with Nate when the third hour rolls over, then I give you permission to act.”
And with that, he flips his helmet on and loads his cell rifle before travelling east. He knows going into this alone is stupid and selfish. But he can’t allow his small patrol to be dispersed because of his own need to make sure that Nate is alright. This thing that has decided to make itself at home inside of the Paladin’s chest that makes him feel unable to breathe.
With each block he passes, he can’t help but let his worry grow deeper and deeper. The tightness in his chest becoming a little too much for his own liking. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. No. He shouldn’t be letting himself feel this way. He can’t let himself get close to anyone again. This is purely for the Brotherhood. And nothing more.
But every time the pulse of the signal becomes stronger, becomes quicker he can’t help but let himself feel. The steady beep of the device almost ricochets inside of the Paladin’s brain. He can feel a headache coming along.
He is also well aware that it was Haylen’s needs that has gotten Nate in this predicament, but it is no fault of hers. Nate has shown himself capable many times before. Completing mission after mission for both Haylen and Rhys and reporting back each time with success. A few scrapes and bruises is all that he has been wounded with but nothing this serious. He hasn’t doubted Nate for a moment, seeing on more than one occasion that he can handle himself if not more. He’s been by his side with the synths and Danse saw a soldier, not a scared man that will hide and cower. Not like any of other’s he’s come across within the Commonwealth. Nate’s different.
-
Arriving at the Regional Office, it’s a little too silent for the Paladin’s liking. The distress signal beeps at a quickened pace in one hand as Danse holds his rifle in the other. There’s no one out the front and with no time to delay, he barges through the front door with his gun locked and loaded. Scoping the front entrance, he’s met with a front desk and rummage. No life can be seen.
Walking further in, the only sound being his heavy footsteps and the quickening pulse of the distress signal, he becomes unnerved. He keeps his gun out at the ready, holding it a little awkwardly but he can’t complain at this given moment. His eyes dart back and forth, waiting for something to happen.
Three raiders are dead on the floor in the next room. All pocketed with bullet wounds that seep red into the old wooden floorboards. A switchblade sticks out of the neck of one, his face contorted into permanent horror that has Danse staring a little too long. He continues forward, noting of the busted turret that dangles from its wires on the ceiling.
A muffled argument strikes the Paladin’s attention and, he slows his movements the best he can inside his T-60. He looks into an office like room where three raiders are. He switches the distress tracker off before they become alerted of his presence.
“It’s us three against him!” The only woman shouts harshly into the face of the other two.
The scrawnier raider of the bunch slides down the table with a shaky groan. He holds his side, his hand coated with fresh blood. His grimy face is pale and Danse can tell from here that he isn’t going to last much longer.
“Two against one,” the injured man groans out.
The woman scowls deeply, her yellow teeth like dog fangs that bare something dangerous. She pulls a pipe pistol from her belt and shoots the injured man in the temple without a thought. His body convulses before falling to the side and becoming horrifyingly still. She then turns to the remaining raider, waving the gun in his face.
“Are you with me to kill that son of a bitch?” She snarls.
He pushes the gun from his face forcefully, almost tearing it from her hand. “Of course!”
Why Raiders do what they do, Danse will never truly understand. Was that man not a part of her crew? Not even a second thought to end his life instead of to try and save it. Less mouths to feed. He’s heard that come from a Raider’s mouth before and it makes Danse sick. Never in his life in the Brotherhood has he seen someone put someone down like a dog so inhumanly.
The Paladin places the device in the dip of his chest plating and takes his rifle’s safety off. As soon as the woman turns her back to head into the other room, Danse charges. He crosses the room before the two raiders are even able to turn around at the charging bull coming their way. Something blinds him as he acts, something he hasn’t felt in quite some time.
Danse shoulder barges the man, throwing him across the room into a filing cabinet. The woman stumbles backwards into the wall, eyes as wide as saucepans. She pulls her pistol but Danse is quicker. It takes five rounds for her to fall. She slides down against the wall, her yellow teeth bared as if they were ready to bite.
The last raider struggles to rise to his feet. He tries to crawl away, his breath ragged and shallow. Paladin Danse steps over to him with a frown deep set on his face. He can hear the slow drag of each breath, blood clotting and rising in the back of his throat. A punctured lung.
But despite being on the verge of death, the raider jumps forward with the last bit of strength he has. He dives for the pistol still gripped in the woman’s grasp. But as before, Danse is the quicker draw.
-
The room the raiders were heading to leads down a ramp that opens to a cell. An old prison that Danse has no time to wonder what use to happen here in Nate’s time. It’s dark and there’s not much light getting in through the leaf clotted windows. He turns on his head lamp, lighting his way towards the stairs on the other side of the cell. As Danse passes the steel bars in his search for Nate, the sound of a hammer to a gun cocking catches his attention.
Danse looks into the cell, his head lamp lighting up the shadows. In the corner, something that he didn’t see before is quick to catch his attention. In his blue vault suit and mismatched armour pieces of leather and combat, is the man Danse was looking for.
“Nate?” Danse calls out.
A pained, hearty chuckle comes from the corner that is none other than the vault dweller’s. Quicker and a bit more drastic than he should have, Danse opens up the cell door and stomps inside.
The entire right side of the vault suit is coloured red where Nate holds onto a leaking wound. His usually tanned face is pale as a ghost, sweat dripping and beading down his temple. Yet, even though he trembling from the lack of blood he still has a cocky smile upon his lips.
Bandages and other first aid equipment is spewed around him in a shitty attempt to bound his own wound. At the sight, Danse is quick to exit his power armour. The fat metal digits of the power armour are not going to be able to flirt around the finer details of bandaging up Nate. He doesn’t even think about how foreign it is to be outside of his power armour. His mind his appointed to Nate curled up in the corner of the cell.
“Report to me, Initiate,” Danse says, needing the vault dweller to talk to him.
He gathers up the medical supplies and even reaches forward to search into the pouches on Nate’s webbing belt. Nate groans at the sudden movement and watches Danse with hazy dark blue eyes. The Paladin stops for a moment and looks at the blood weeping from between his fingers. He can’t let himself become panicked in this moment.
“I said report to me,” Danse speaks more firmly. “That’s an order.”
Before Nate can utter a word, Danse moves his hand away to assess the damage. A bullet is still lodged in his side, the wound a deep hole in his side. No exit wound.
“Got shot,” Nate bites back through gritted teeth. Short and blunt, but at least he’s talking.
Danse glances a glare his way as he begins to twists a bandage in his fingers. “How?” He asks.
Anything to keep Nate aware. He needs to keep him talking.
“I hoped it would be you to come,” Nate speaks with a thick slur. “My knight in shining armour.”
Danse doesn’t warn Nate as he digs the bandage deep into his bullet wound. The vault dweller barks out in pain, grabbing out onto Danse’s shoulder to try and keep himself grounded. Danse pushes him back, his head hitting the wall with a light thud. Nate breathes in heavily and grinds his heels into the ground as Danse pushes more bandages inside the wound to stop the bleeding for now. All until he can get Nate back to the station.
“Now is not the time for jokes and quips,” Danse adds before he rips off the remaining of the bandage with his teeth.
Cleanliness is something that cannot be thought of at this given moment. He needs Nate out of here before he becomes another victim of the harsh reality of the commonwealth. He just needs to get him to the station where Haylen can patch him up properly.
“The turret got me,” Nate grits out through his teeth. “Didn’t see it until the last minute.”
“And you got this far afterwards?” Danse asks.
Nate grins at that. “Also got pretty beat up. Didn’t expect a…” he wonders off for a moment, his breathing becoming shallow before he perks up again, “didn’t expect a baseball bat to hurt that badly.” He quirks even in his near death state.
The Paladin doesn’t say anything else to that as he wraps the remaining bandage around Nate’s torso. He pulls it tight, keeping pressure on the wound. Nate flinches at every movement, squeezing his eyes shut with his jaw set tightly. Danse looks over his handy work and deems it able to last the trip back. Not perfect, but good enough.
“Can you stand?” Danse asks.
Nate looks at him bleakly through squinted eyes. His trembling isn’t as bad as it was before, but he looks as if holding his head up is a mission.
“I’ll take that as a no,” the Paladin answers to himself.
He gathers Nate’s things back into his pouches and quickly realizes the man is out of stimpacks. Stupid mistake. Coming out here with barely anything on him. Does he think himself invisible!?
Danse stands up and walks back over to his power armour. Without a word, he enters it and heavy metal sets back into place. He now feels more at home inside of the T-60, now coming to the realization that his back was unprotected the entire time he was patching Nate up. Stupid move. But it’s much safer inside 110 pounds of pure steel and machinery. He can protect himself and most importantly, Nate.
He walks over to Nate and as careful as he can, picks him up like some husband taking his wife away to his honeymoon. Nate groans and hisses in pain as the movement pulls and tugs on his side and all the other bruised and bashed places he’s been struck over. The bullet probably not feeling all to comfortable either still wedged in between muscle. Nate holds onto one of the bars on the Paladin’s chest piece with his head dipped between his shoulders.
Danse moves in a hurry out of the building all while trying to not jostle Nate around too much. He just has to make the trip back to the police station.
-
“A true damsel in distress,” are the first words that come from Rhys’s mouth as Paladin Danse walks through the doors.
Haylen ignores the Knight. She keeps her distance until the Paladin has set Nate down onto a table that she has place into the middle of the side room specifically for him. Danse takes three steps back as Haylen instantly gets to work. She has the basic medical training but has had to learn more from being around the Knight and the Paladin.
“Rhys a need some purified water,” Scribe Haylen instructs without taking her eyes off of Nate.
“What?”
“Now!” She snaps in a tone that both of them rarely seen.
Rhys grumbles as he goes into the back room, leaving them for now. Haylen steadily takes the bandaging off of Nate’s torso, not knowing the full extent of his wounds.
Danse takes his helmet off, the locks hissing and releasing as he does. “As far as I’ve taken note, there is a bullet still in his side and he’s taken multiple hits with a blunt object,” he informs to her.
“Thank you, Paladin,” she says, her voice monotoned with her mind deep on the task at hand.
Nate groans as he moves his hand to his waist, his blood slicked fingers unclipping one of his pouches. He slips out a small device, something that Danse doesn’t recognise at first. But when he holds it out to Haylen, she stops cold.
The Haptic Drive is held between his bloody fingers.
Haylen takes it off him with her mouth a gape. He still got the damn device. Even after all that happen to him.
“Told you I’d get it,” Nate grins as he peers through one narrow eye.
“You stupid man,” Haylen mumbles as she takes it from him.
She sets it aside before returning back to patching Nate up. His priority over the bullet in his side worries Danse for a moment. But he’s seen this happen within the Brotherhood so many times over he can’t truly count them all. Despite being a man out of time, a man from the past. Nate fits into the Commonwealth a little too well.
It could be his military past. Or is pure need to get his son back. But whatever drives him is something that Danse rarely sees within the Commonwealth again. He is aware that Nate’s ranking is unofficial at this moment, but he truly wishes that other members of the Brotherhood could see Nate. Maybe he could inspire people within the Brotherhood. To keep fighting and to keep moving forward.
Danse could deny it a little bit longer for his own sake. Keep himself chin high in work and patrols. But he’ll give himself the benefit of the doubt that Nate’s actions have given Danse a new drive forward. Something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.
Ok so Soles life is so sad, imagine the day the bombs' dropped though. Like male of female the soldier was to make a speech and they probaly called their family or friends and when they came out, to them it was like on that same day they found out everything was different, and almost everyone was gone.
