the Heavy Artillery Rare Pair Exchange 2025 fics have been revealed so I can finally say-
I WROTE A THING FOR RUCKIE! (for orzammar on ao3!!)
word count: 2.4k
read on ao3: Names
summary:
Three times that Runner gives Leckie a nickname. AU set in the world of Fallout New Vegas.
1. Lucky
Leckie cursed his past self for thinking caravan guarding would be an easy job in this part of the Mojave.
He'd met this particular caravan halfway down his usual mail route along the I-15, just outside of Primm. They were headed to Nipton and needed an extra hand, since one of their guards had come down with something nasty and was staying behind. Leckie happened to be headed in the same direction, the extra caps were just the cherry on top. I can handle myself, he'd thought. This'll be easy.
Oh, how wrong he'd been.
A sandstorm had blown in just as they neared the Mojave Outpost, by the Ivanpah dry lake, and while Leckie wanted to continue on to the Outpost (they were right there, it was just up the hill for Christ's sake), the merchants wouldn't budge, so they'd pulled off the main road to find shelter in an underpass of the old, barely intact highway. By the time the storm had finally blown over, the sun had gone down, and the merchants they were protecting were 'too nervous' to move at night. Leckie had objected again, knowing that they were in a perfect position to be ambushed from above or get blocked in from the sides. But the merchants insisted, and they were the ones paying him, and no small amount at that. So, Leckie had relented, and there they'd stayed.
Between him and the other guards taking turns keeping watch, most of the night passed incident-free. But just as the sun rose, gunfire erupted above their heads, hitting the concrete wall and showering them in debris and dust.
It should have been a world record, how quickly things turned to shit. The pack brahmin was killed almost instantly, along with one of the sleeping guards. The remaining guard quickly roused everyone and had fled with the merchants in tow out towards the southern end of the underpass, but just as they reached the main road, all were mowed down by raiders who had clearly been expecting them to run. There goes my pay. And finally, the cherry to top the shit sundae, one of the raiders fumbled a grenade that exploded mid-air, knocking Leckie off his feet and hard against the wall, rendering him unconscious.
He woke to dust, darkness, and a splitting headache. The blast had clearly been the last straw for the old concrete bridge above him, causing it to crumble and collapse over him. At the very least, it seemed that all his parts were intact, but he was woozy and could barely move more than an inch or two. Trapped with no hope of escape. Perfect.
Leckie had no idea how much time had passed while he drifted in and out of consciousness, but when he was lucid again he could hear voices, likely passing prospectors looting the remnants of the caravan left behind by the raiders. Great, he thought. Maybe someone will be a good guy and just shoot me.
The rubble shifted from them climbing around, and that shocked him out of his wallowing with a pained shout as the concrete pressed painfully on his legs. The voices stopped for a moment before starting up again,
"'d you guys hear that? I think there's someone trapped under there." Now there was an accent he hadn't heard in a long time. A Yank, like me, Leckie thought dully.
"Shit, I think you're right." Ah, a southerner.
The first voice called out again. "Hey, hey guy, you alright in there?"
Leckie opened his mouth, immediately coughed on the dust, before he finally managed to wheeze out, "Oh just swell, thanks for asking. I'm trapped under a ton of concrete, my employer is dead and I think I'm concussed, so all in all, quite well. How's the weather up there?" His response prompted laughter from three distinct voices.
"Alright alright, we'll getcha out, don't you worry." The third voice finally spoke. Can't place this one, he thought.
"Let's get workin' fellas, don't wanna be stuck here when night falls." The first voice said, mock-authoritatively. As he heard rocks being moved, the Yank spoke again, conversationally, as if they were old acquaintances catching up. "Hey, guy, what's your name?"
"Leckie. Bob Leckie." Giving his name out to complete strangers, who he wasn't even sure weren't raiders yet? Definitely a concussion.
"Leckie, huh? Runner. The redneck's named Bill, we just call him Hoosier." So he was wrong about the southerner- Hoosier- who he could hear cursing at Runner, making the man laugh. "Don't mind him. He's from Indiana. They got radioactive twisters out there." A pause as a large weight was lifted off of Leckie's chest, and he breathed deeply in relief as he finally could. "And the other idiot's Chuckler." Leckie chuckled weakly as he heard a placating 'hey hey, okay okay!' and a small rock bouncing off somewhere to the side. "So, Leckie, what do you do for a living? You got a broad?"
Time passed quickly after that as he talked with Runner. When Leckie was finally uncovered enough to be extricated from the rubble, Hoosier and Chuckler held up the last slab of concrete while Runner pulled him out, dragging him away a few feet before dropping him. He produced a bottle of purified water and uncapped it, handing it to a grateful Leckie who tried his best not to chug the whole thing in one go.
"You're lucky, you know. Collapse like that, easily could'a gotten a rebar to the chest." The lighter-haired man commented with a hand on his hip, Hoosier judging by the accent.
Leckie stopped drinking with great effort to reply breathlessly, "I'm lucky, huh?"
"Lucky." Runner said it contemplatively, like he was tasting how it felt in his mouth. He smiled down at Leckie like he wasn't covered in dust and panting like a dog, eyes full of mischief and something else. "Yeah, Lucky. I like that."
Leckie felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards even through the pounding of his concussed head.
2. Peaches
Traveling with Runner (and co.) certainly made life interesting, if not enjoyable, far from the monotony of traveling up and down the same stretch of the I-15 delivering letters and packages. The four of them did all manner of mercenary work: bounty hunting, prospecting, caravan guarding (with much greater success). This time, they'd been hired to steal some weapons schematics from the Gun Runners. It was dangerous- they were stealing from the biggest weapons dealer this side of the States, of course it was dangerous- but the reward they'd been promised was equally great, and with so little self-preservation between any of them, they'd accepted.
With no small amount of patience and a small mountain of Stealth-boys, they'd managed to get their hands on the schematics and were on their way out of the office building that served as the Gun Runners' compound. But just as they were about to head out the side door to freedom, Chuckler, who was leading the group, stopped them abruptly.
"Fuck. There's not supposed to be a guard here this early."
"Are you serious? We can't just sit here and wait, my Stealth-boy's about to run out of juice!" Leckie whisper-shouted incredulously.
"Here, Lucky," The sharp corner of one of the devices poked his shoulder. "Take mine."
"Are you insane? You activated yours at the same time as me. You take it."
"No." Runner hissed. "I'm fast. I'll hightail it out the main door, you'll just have to cover me in case anything goes wrong. I'll lead them away and we'll regroup in North Vegas." Leckie had to admit that they had no other options. It was as reasonable a plan as they were gonna get. Fine, I'll take my chances.
"Fine," he bit through grit teeth. "Fine! Get going then, go!"
Runner nodded at them, expression grave as Leckie had ever seen it, then turned and began making his way back to the lobby.
Leckie's heart pounded as he disappeared around the corner. Chuckler peered out the opening in the door, searching for any sign of their friend.
Then, just as the main doors pushed open silently, Leckie's form began to flicker back into existence.
"It's now or never," he muttered, pushing the door open just as Runner burst out of the building at full speed, cackling maniacally with the guards on his tail. The guard that had been blocking their path was clearly stunned, and easily dispatched by Chuckler as Leckie and Hoosier spilled out of the building and began to shoot at the guards who were firing into the night at Runner's retreating form. The remaining men were clearly confused and fell quickly to the automatic rounds of their rifles. As they fired, they began to run too, sideways at first to continue firing back at the Gun Runners, but all breaking into sprints as soon as they'd made it around a corner and out of the direct line of fire. Through the darkened streets of Outer Vegas they ran, giggling and whooping over the distant cracking of bullets and laser rounds flying far over their heads in incredulous glee.
They regrouped as planned and took the schematics to the McLafferty's of the Crimson Caravan, and were given the hefty sum of caps they were promised for their trouble. The four of them immediately spent half their earnings at the Atomic Wrangler's tables, drinking and gambling until they were kicked out as the sun rose. Runner took Leckie to back to the Crimson Caravan headquarters that afternoon for supplies, both still a bit drunk, and there they spent the rest of their pay getting their hands on an untouched, unradiated shipment of pre-war goods, supposedly enough to last the four of them comfortably through the next month at least.
They didn't have enough to rent a pack brahmin, so they ran through the ruined streets of Outer Vegas for the second time with several large sacks of goods slung over their shoulders like a pair of bandits from one of those old-world holotape pictures, back to the encampment where the other two were still recovering from their hangovers.
They rifled through the sacks, not-so-quietly chattering over what they'd managed to get. Pre-war cigars (that Leckie immediately called dibs on), unradiated canned veggies, cured meats, boxed cereals, even a bottle of whiskey.
And, much to their delight, there were a few cans of peaches sitting all the way at the bottom of one of the sacks.
"Eat up, boys!" Leckie called as he tossed a can to each man.
Leckie himself, in his excitement, simply stuck a knife in one, twisting it just enough to get an opening in the lid before downing half the contents of the can, not even bothering to chew.
He regretted it immediately. He was so used to food that could pass for MREs from the first world war that his stomach couldn't handle the richness or volume of the peaches, and as he felt it come back up he stumbled over to an empty corner behind some boxes that Runner was perched on before wretching properly.
He could hear Hoosier and Chuckler both chuckling through their full mouths at his expense, but Runner was near doubled over from the force of his laughter; he was laughing so hard that all he was really doing was gasping hysterically between silent wheezes. When he could finally get a full breath in he exclaimed,
"Peaches. Your new name is Peaches!" And set himself off again.
Leckie laughed, "F-fuck you," and gagged again.
He still found that he enjoyed Runner's laugh.
3. Cobber
It seemed the whole Mojave Wasteland was in a stir from the second battle of Hoover Dam. The New California Republic had managed to kill Caesar and Legate Lanius in one fell swoop, and with the head of the Bull cut off, the rest of the Legion scattered, driven back over the Colorado for good this time. All with the help of some legendary former NCR-ranger-turned-package-courier who apparently could not die. Without House controlling the Strip and with the Legion driven back east to Denver, the Republic was expanding its influence and taking over the area, slowly ousting the existing residents who refused to become citizens. Hoosier and Chuckler had both decided to apply for citizenship, tired of wandering the wastes like nomads and wanting to head West to see the bigger cities, but Runner hated the idea of taxes, and Leckie was getting sick of the desert.
It had been a very short conversation, really, just a few sentences while sharing a smoke outside their encampment.
"I miss the snow." Leckie missed more than just the snow; he missed home. Sometimes it felt like the desert was melting him down, literally and metaphorically, even more so with the NCR moving so rapidly to colonize what was once neutral territory.
"Sure. I do too." Runner exhaled easily, smoke curling around them. He passed the cigarette to Leckie. A Lucky Strike, from a box that Runner had somehow managed to procure for him (for lord knows how many caps) as a surprise birthday present. Leckie only smoked them on special occasions. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as the cigarette continued to burn.
"What do you say we head back East, Lucky?" Wanna go home?
"Where, to DC, the Capital Wasteland?" With you?
"I was thinking the Commonwealth, but we can stop by Rivet City if you want." With me.
"Nah. Boston sounds good." Yes.
And that was that.
They said goodbye to Chuckler and Hoosier at the monorail station with friendly threats to kill them if they didn't write, and watched as the tram left the station, racing west. Leckie couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt as he watched the tram become smaller and smaller in the distance, until it disappeared into the glare of the setting sun. He wouldn't consider himself self-conscious, and he knew Runner would never go back on his word, unspoken or not. But a small, traitorous part of himself whispered accusingly that Runner was accompanying him instead of continuing west with his best friends, men he'd traveled with for years, long before Leckie had stumbled into the picture.
"Stop, Lucky. Whatever it is you're thinking, you're not forcing me into anything." At Leckie's slack-jawed expression, Runner sighed, taking one of his hands and pressing a kiss to his fingers.
He should have known that he couldn't hide anything from Runner. He could read Leckie like a damn children's book.
Frat au baberoe drabble that nobody asked for!! be free my child!
word count: <500
Babe hissed as Eugene dabbed iodine-soaked cotton on his knuckles, flinching in his hold, but Eugene's grip was strong, preventing him from going far. He hushed him, murmuring lowly.
" 's alright Heffron, just a lil' bit more and I'll put some neosporin on it and wrap 'em. Won't hurt a bit."
The redhead winced and flinched again regardless at the final few dabs, but true to the man's word, the application of the neosporin and bandages after could barely be felt.
As Eugene finished tying the knot of the bandage around his hand Babe chuckled, muttering in annoyance.
"I bet I'm the only dumbass stupid enough to have let 'em get that bad before getting help, huh Gene?" The cajun laughed, huffed under his breath really, and shook his head.
"Outta your cohort, sure. Not the only 'un who's stupid though." The redhead scoffed good-naturedly.
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Hey, you said it first. 'm just agreein' with you."
Babe side-eyed him in faux annoyance only for a moment before the corners of his mouth betrayed him. The brightness of Babe's smile never ceased to awe Eugene; it was like standing in a field under the gentle heat of the spring sun, comfortingly warm.
"Thanks Gene," A beat, then a long, dramatic sigh, "... and I promise I won't tell anyone else about your little kindness today. I know you have that 'tall, dark and mysterious' persona to uphold in front of the pledges." Eugene swatted his arm lightly.
"You're only a neo yourself." He swatted him again for good measure.
"A'ight, a'ight. Lay off me, I'm just teasing, no need to haze me again." Eugene couldn't help the smile breaking over his face now.
"Y'all ain't seen nothin' yet. Bull and Martin went easy on y'all." Babe laughed incredulously.
"No way, Martin went easy on us?"
"... Okay, maybe not Martin, but Bull def'nitely softened the blow for y'all, a bit."
"Damn. How come no one's ever told me about this before? You gotta tell me the story of your class' pledging now. How hard 'd they go? How bad was it really?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Wait. Wasn't Speirs your pledge dad?"
" 's right."
"Damn! Speirs is a scary sonuvabitch."
"You're tellin' me."
"Right, right. But you also had Mama Lip, so it couldn't 'a been that bad." Eugene kept his face carefully blank. "A'ight, you tell me then! You ain't sayin' nothing, jeez!" Eugene shook his head fondly. Babe could be so excitable. It was cute.
"Another time, Heffron. Don'tchu got class right about now? You gotta meet with your professor to talk about your exam right?"
"Ah, that? Yeah," A rueful sigh, "I'm not goin'."
"... And why's that?" Babe had the awareness to look sheepish as he spoke haltingly, shoulders hunching up slightly as if bracing for a blow.
"... I may have accidentally... sent the prof a really embarrassing email... during the party last night..."
"Babe."
"Wha- ow, Gene! Christ, fine, fine! Oldheads these days... Ow!"
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