Archive of Our Own

She'd never get used to this.

Looting.

Requisition forms were her bread and butter, the respectful way to ask for more food, for water, for supplies. Scrap fabric for decorations, cookies to share, the Overseer would always ensure that everyone had what they needed - within reason - and that no one went without.

Except when there were famines… of course.

There weren't guns involved, regardless.

They needed water. Needed good food, medicine… they'd used their second-to-last med-x on a radscorpion sting a few days back, and it'd been weighing on her. If she hurt herself, if anything happened…

Would he leave her behind?

Would he wait, and run the risk of losing her father's trail?

She wouldn't let that happen.

She had a gun in her hand now, regardless of her feelings on the matter. Not her usual long-range hunting rifle, but a smaller hand pistol, the sights atop it a mod she'd attached some weeks back. Overkill, she'd thought, but… You couldn't really be too prepared, in the Wasteland.

She hated Super Duper Marts.

At first it'd been the recollection of the first one she'd visited, restraints and feral ghouls and a close brush with death; but every one they visited since felt like a horror show. Long shadows, camping lanterns, ghouls and rad-roaches and in one, hanging sacks of matter, dripping half-coagulated, rancid blood into the tiles at their feet.

This one had raiders.

They'd taken the men outside out silently, stealthily slitting their throats and knocking them unconscious - The Ghoul and Lucy respectively - ducking beneath thick, rusted barbed wire blockades til they reached the smashed, half-stuck front doors. The welcome sign felt like an insult, the bright yellow maintaining its cheery glow regardless of its surroundings, of the radiation and unfettered sun that seemed to fade everything else around them.

"Listen to me, now-"

She couldn't see too many of them, inside.

Would the dog stay put, if they asked?

Could they simply sneak through, unseen?

"I swear to f-"

The gun felt heavy in her hand, regardless of its small size. She was accurate, accurate enough that he'd whistled, impressed, the first time she hit a radstag from an obscene distance, securing a dinner that made her mouth water, at the memory.

Was there a back door?

She yelped as his fingers suddenly pressed into her cheeks, twisting her around to face him.

"Now if I'm not mistaken, darlin', your ethos in life is all about politeness, so tell me why you're ignorin' me so rudely?"

He was so close she could smell the gunpowder scent of him, ever clinging to his gloves. Unforgiving, grip firm on her soft cheeks, those intense eyes flitting across her face.

"Pay attention."

He didn't wait for an apology. Didn't care about things like that.

"In there, I don't want no heroics. We go in, we take them out before they take us out, and we get into the store-room. Most of these folks don't know how to fuckin' read, never mind use a terminal, so I'd put caps on that locked store-room being just choc full of what we need. That's your job, you understand?"

She did. Even as an emotion she didn't want to think about, a heat she didn't want to address, smouldered within her at that grip, that closeness.

He wanted her to answer, not that he'd say it. Still, she nodded, as much as she could against the tightness of that leather-bound hold.

"Good."

They'd had an… incident, a week or so ago. In her defence, their enemy had been a child, one she'd shot around, not realising the local gang recruited young.

Not until the child's knife had been hilt-deep in The Ghouls ribs.

She'd assumed the child needed rescuing…

She'd been wrong.

She needed to make sure she wasn't wrong today. Needed to try and be as hard and unyielding as the man who lead the way, before her. She mirrored his stance, keeping her body low, her gun ready to fire. She used to worry what would happen if someone heard the bullets, whether it would break their cover, but learned quickly that most of the time, the gig was up the moment they were spotted.

And much like mole rats, there were always more raiders in the wings, ready to make their way centre stage.

Ready to try and defend whatever building they'd claimed like their lives depended on it.

Perhaps they did.

She couldn't help but wonder, as she stepped over a reasonably fresh corpse, whether it was an issue of boredom. These people had no livelihood, no purpose. Their education was likely a world away from her own, if they couldn't use the terminals stashed in the back of these establishments, so really, what else did they have to do to try and earn the caps they needed to survive?

She'd seen it in the vault. Not on this scale, of course, but those without job assignments quickly got into mischief - their boredom taking them in new and unusual directions.

This was a little bit worse than hundreds of paper cranes showing up around the vault and sending everyone into a state of confused, frustrated madness, but…

"I'm gonna go left, you go right. Remember, same layout as every other Super-Duper, so you're clearing the back area there and the bathrooms and seeing if there's anything of use in the maintenance closet. You hear me yell, you come give me backup."

He sounded fed up, but she could see the glint in his eyes, the truth that he enjoyed the violence of these little missions. Did he hate raiders, or was it purely a matter of, well…

Boredom?

Still, motive or none, she did as he said. He'd given himself the far harder task, heading into the wide space of the mart, tipped shelves barren and dirty, dodging the sight of the odd raider skipping along the tops.

He was right, the dimensions were identical, or as close as they could be; as she headed where she'd been told to go. They'd found some pretty good ammo stashes in the maintenance closets before, but as she quietly opened the one here, it had been stripped entirely bare. A roll of tape lingered, dusty in the corner, and some sort of wrench, balanced against the shelves, but everything else had been taken.

It wasn't a good sign. Would the store cupboard really be untouched?

She jumped when the first gunshot rang out, gasping as her head hit the hard metal of the shelves, as pain landed through her.

Had he shot first, or the raiders?

Should she go help?

She got halfway back towards the shadowy, overturned shelving units before pausing and turning back the way she'd came. He told her to listen for his signal, his shout, not to be a hero, and not to go off-plan.

She wasn't about to fail, not again.

She found a few shotgun shells in a low cupboard, and some sellable salvage alongside - nothing of use to their journey, of course - jelly moulds and what looked like lingerie were hardly necessary on their trip, but they were exactly the kind of thing vendors wanted. Useful items, rare items, that was where the caps lay.

A shadow moved towards her, stretching down the hallway as if it could smell her, as if it lingered her way, and she pressed herself into an old staff-locker, wincing at the sound of the hanger jostling, desperately hoping whoever it was hadn't seen her.

She didn't want to shoot them.

She knew it would be so simple to press the tip of the gun against the vents and press down the trigger, to angle the bullet into the weak areas of the grate he did behind.

That wasn't how she'd been raised, though. She'd been raised to stay quiet, to see the good in folk, to try and treat others how she wanted to be treated, but seeing a shadowy figure creeping towards her in the dark of the supermarket, well… it was hardly the best feeling.

So she waited, breath held, til the shadow passed, til she knew she was safe before moving again, as quietly as she could. The Ghoul still hadn't yelled, hadn't called her name - or any of his usual variations - and so she continued, as planned, sneaking out of the maintenance area and back towards the main body of the store.

She needed to get towards the back of the room. There were bathrooms, usually - a first aid box on the wall, ready for looting. She kept low, mentally cursing as her path was blocked by overturned shelving, apparently dragged back here sometime in the last two hundred years. She didn't want to head into the area where she could hear combat happening, not until she'd gotten where she needed to go. She needed to sneak, needed to get to her destination as quickly, and quietly, as possible.

The raiders, however, had other plans. She heard the yell of them, a cracking voice shout out that the 'Cowboy ain't alone!', and threw herself down as a spray of bullets hit overhead.

She scurried forward, assessing her paths and choosing out of of instinct. It was the wrong way, but it was covered.

Another spray, and she heard him now, finally, loud and angry.

"Get back here you little shit!"

The Ghoul was fine.

She'd never expected to be so concerned with his well-being, but relief flowed through her when she realised he was unharmed.

Or, well, probably not unharmed, but certainly alive.

Now she just needed to ensure she kept herself the same.

The cover she'd thrown herself behind looked like some kind of counter, once upon a time, and she quickly popped up, shooting her own gun - to let them know she wasn't to be messed with. The glass was smashed and the food had long since rotted to dust, but it offered cover, nonetheless - cover she was thankful for as the shooter got close enough to really hear the gun they wielded; completely uncaring that she'd shown she too was armed, and prepared to return fire.

Olives.

She'd had an olive, once - at a party when she'd been a child.

She hadn't enjoyed it.

They'd sold them, here, apparently - if the small yellowing plastic triangles scattered around her flattened palms were any indication, interspersed between shotgun shells and trodden glass. Herbed, garlic, chilli, she glanced her eyes across them all, amazed by such an insignificant part of the world they'd left behind. Garlic sausage, one little plastic box boasted, 1 dollar per pound. Sliced ham and deli-turkey.

What did they taste like?

They'd have been fresh, like the corn they'd grown back in the vault - sweet and crunchy. Would they be better, then, than the canned version she'd tried so long ago?

Lucy only noticed the other person when their breathing invaded her curious focus, and snapped her attention towards them, finding a pair of eyes as wide as her own.

This was no child.

She was dead.

She reached for her gun knowing she wouldn't manage it, knowing she was going to be shot, or stabbed, or hit before she had a chance of retaliation, but needed to at least make sure she tried.

Her hands had never felt slower, and surprise had never caught her so off-guard as the moment she realised she had her weapon pressed into their side before they'd even moved.

They just sat there, resigned.

This was a raider, without doubt. She'd learned the uniform of the common man, browns on browns on browns, cotton and linen patched and sewn, often loose and ragged. The arm of one jacket sewn carefully onto the body of another, skilled hands ensuring nothing went to waste.

Raiders, however? People like the one before her, all tan skin and scared eyes? They wore strips of leather with hammered metal spikes, criss-crossed across their torso leaving an endless swathe of vulnerable skin on show. battered leather trousers graced their legs, one of which, she realised, was bleeding. The trousers were loose, though, whilst the torso straps bit in tight enough that as the man shifted slightly, she could see thick lines of red beneath.

The armour wasn't his.

She needed to shoot him, though.

This was the exact kind of thing The Ghoul talked about, the point he made, again and again - and she knew she needed to squeeze the trigger, even as the gun shook in her hands, even as she worried her lip hard enough to bruise.

"Please."

He sounded desperate.

"Please," he said, again, voice cracking. "Spare me, I… I'm Not one of them, not really, my mother, she's ill and-"

Lucy could taste the tang of blood on her on her lip; though the pain seemed far away. The man… There was nothing in his tone that made her doubt him, but…

The child.

The knife.

The bitter taste of the rad-x between her teeth as she'd cracked the ammo from an energy weapon open, healing The Ghoul as he bled out on the sand.

She didn't move the gun, but shifted herself, trying to see exactly what was happening in the room, behind them. She could hear the gunshot, hear The Ghoul's laughter as he likely mowed through them, more experience in his pinkie than they'd gained in their short, short lives.

Did she want to be the one to make another life even shorter?

The answer was one she knew without thought, without hesitation. She shifted herself around the raider, sliding her gun back into the holster. If she'd had to, she would, but…

What kind of person shot a man begging for his life?

"Gosh I hope you don't make me regret this…" she sighed, rolling her shoulders back. "You need to turn your life around, you know - I understand that an ill parent is a real stresser but you should know that killing folk? That's just not good! You should take her to one of the towns nearby and find some honest work, and… some better clothes."

"I will," he nodded, scrambling to his feet and staring down at her, shaking his head. "I will!"

Her heart swelled, warm as she smiled - really smiled at him as he turned and began to limp towards a side door, almost tripping over the remains of a long-dead cashier in the process, foot tangling on the dark green apron.

"Thank you, sir," she called, knowing he heard when he turned back towards her. "You know, I knew there were decent people up here!"

Another series of shots echoed behind her, and she knew she had to move. She had to fight, had to contribute, had to do something useful. If The Ghoul had seen her just let a raider go?

Oh, there'd be hell to pay, but for now, as she caught her own battered, bruised reflection in the dented metal of the counter, she felt good.

The golden rule.

It could work, she knew it. People were inherently good, inside - and maybe he'd make it, or… Oh…She should have offered some medicine. They had one or two pieces of first aid left, after all… She'd told him to go help his mother but hadn't even asked what was wrong, whether gauze was enough or whether she needed rad-, or… they couldn't spare much, though…

He'd be fine. If he'd have asked, then maybe, but… But she wasn't naive, and she knew they hardly had enough to share - that was why they were even here, after all…

Still, she needed to move, especially as her name echoed off the walls, angry. How long had he been shouting it for, whilst she was absorbed in a moral dilemma?

She grabbed a few stray packs of Cram that had rolled into the area she lingered, and paused briefly to swipe a gun from the holster of one of The Ghoul's victims - his words echoing within her mind.

"Keep your own ammo if you can, use someone else's gun if it's there."

"I'm here, I'm here!"

"Thank you, princess! I don't know what the fuck you were doing back there, but if you're gonna spend these fights just hiding then you're dead weight, understand?"

She understood.

"Now go do what we came here to do, so we can fuck off!"

There were people, ahead, she could hear them, heck, she could see them, always, always as endless as radroaches…

"But the-"

"You think I give a shit about the raiders? What do you think the gun in your hand is for? What did I just tell you? Don't go aiming for their elbows or some shit, either - shoot to kill."

She hated this. Hated what her father had made her do, what her life had become. It wasn't that she hated being above ground, and heck, there were even parts about travelling with the man beside her that were enjoyable, but she'd never forgive her father for putting her on this path. Forcing her hand, making her have to kill to survive.

"Right." She nodded, swallowing thickly. "Right…"

She felt alone. Knew she wasn't, not with The Ghoul behind her once more, but this felt like a test. A challenge as to what she'd do, to survive. Whether she'd fail, whether she'd fall.

What Lucy MacLean did instead was shoot.

Not for the head, a fact she could hear annoyed her partner, behind her. She shot at the enemy's knee, ignoring The Ghoul's groan, behind her, apologising automatically as she stepped over the raider she'd maimed, his leg now entirely separated from his body.

"You're making them suffer more, Vaultie!"

His tone was teasing, though his words hit hard enough that she shoved them into the back of her mind, guilt eating at her and sending her stomach into knots. The man behind was certainly suffering, groaning and wailing, and as she glanced back, she could see his frantic movements to hold the bleeding stump where his lower leg once was.

"I'm so sorry, I-"

There was another one.

A door slammed open ahead and forced her attention away from the man she'd maimed - bullets landing true and sending the newcomer flying backwards. It was hard not to wince - actual flesh and bone was far worse and infinitely different to the target papers back in the Vault. She'd caught the newcomer in the chest and stared up at the cracked ceiling as she stepped over the body. It wasn't a body, not yet, but from the gurgling and whimpering, she knew it would hardly be long.

An elbow slammed into the wall beside her head, and it was like a bolt of lightning as his breath hit her ear.

"Not your shot, Darlin', you don't get the credit for this one."

Was he being kind? Lying to shield her from the reality of what she'd done?

No… she could see her shot, right in the thigh; blood bubbling up where his boot pressed against the wound.

"Door to the right."

Right, yep. Lucy lifted her picks, pressing them into the lock on the door, twisting them this way and that, feeling the vibration of the tension travel into her hands. It sounded as if something mechanical existed within the room, a small generator, perhaps. Whatever it was, she'd see it soon - the lock feeling closer and closer by the second.

This wasn't something taught in the vault.

This was something he'd taught her, the man who covered her six, now, shooting raiders as they appeared; walking back into the Super Duper Mart to protect her.

"You know," she called, behind her, grinning as the lock gave way, "if you'd just put your weapons down and surrender, we wouldn't be forced to take such acti-"

Her scream cut off her words, any hope of communication lost against the realisation a raider was running at her, wielding the most unusual knife she'd ever seen. She scrambled forward, throwing herself to the ground and heading into the room, rather than out. This was the sound she'd heard through the door, she realised. Not a generator, but… this. The room itself was quiet, the noise retreating with the sheer momentum of the woman who'd run for her. Wherever the Ghoul and the dog had gotten to, she wasn't sure, but they weren't coming to her rescue anytime soon.

She'd also, she realised, made an error.

She'd gone into the room, thinking it would confuse her attacker, thinking they'd maybe struggle to turn around before she'd gotten away, but the room was a dead end.

The far wall held only trashed shelving units and destruction- the doorway almost certainly locked, and almost certainly their goal - going by the lit, glowing terminal that teased her, from the desk opposite.

And the woman with the whirring, moving knife?

Well, she was coming right for her.

"Please," She muttered, pushing herself right against an empty desk, as close to the wall as she could manage. "You don't need to kill me."

Role reversal. She'd spared the man by the deli-counter, but she knew in her soul the woman coming for her now wouldn't be swayed so easily.

The knife came down, but Lucy had already moved, crawling as quickly as she could manage to the next desk along. Thank goodness for all that gymnastics training, speed and agility saving her life once again.

"I really do believe," Lucy continued, breathlessness threatening to steal the words. "If you-"

The knife came down again, and she pushed herself under the desk, frantically fearful. She yelled out the only name she had for him, nothing more than a descriptor, really, and yelped as the whirring, spinning blade caught the wood of the desk and splintered it, jamming.

A chance.

She could shoot.

They were paused, tugging on the thing, staring down at her from her terrified, huddled position.

"Ghoul!"

She was shaking, but knew the closeness would counteract any threat of missing.

Oh, who was she kidding? Her gun hand never faltered; years of training seeped into the very marrow of her bones. Her skill was unmatched in the Vault, and took folk by surprise up here, aboveground.

That was against paper, though - an outline. To kill a person was infinitely different, and felt like a threat in itself, an unremovable stain on her soul.

The whirring knife wiggled, and Lucy lifted the gun, knowing it was her life vs the raiders.

It wasn't the freeing of the blade that loosened her trigger, though, but the smile of the woman who wielded it. A raider's smile, all sharpened, blackened teeth; eyes roving over her hungrily.

There was a want there, and it sickened her.

She pressed her gun to the meat of the attacker's arm before her conscience could tell her to stop, and with one last glance at that knife, at that smile, she exhaled and pressed the trigger.

Blood splattered; painting the table, the knife, Lucy, with a wash of red.

The raider dropped.

No Ghoul to take credit, no observers at all to witness her shame.

Her drop into depravity.

Lucy crawled, slowly at first and then faster, as though she were running away, through the rapidly pooling puddle of the woman's blood. There was no arm left, not one Lucy could actually make out, and bile rose in her throat at the reality of what she'd done.

She'd…

Thoughts for later, right now, she just needed the terminal, tucked into the side of the room. The woman wasn't dead, not yet, but…

Her mission.

The terminal is barely even locked, a mere four letters. Who had been the manager here? It was almost pitifully easy to get in.

PAST

TALE

RATE

Barely a challenge, compared to the things her father used to give them, activities to keep them quiet in the evenings, after homework was done. The click of the storeroom door unlocking felt as though it echoed through the room, and Lucy realised in the small space of time it had taken for the terminal to release, the woman…

She didn't turn to look. Couldn't, knowing what the silence meant.

She swallowed, and exhaled through pursed lips. It had to happen eventually; she wasn't naive enough to pretend that she'd somehow get through this whole experience without taking a life, but that didn't make it right.

She-

"Don't move."

Her heart stuttered within her chest as the voice cut through the quiet, familiar, and somehow, without even turning, Lucy knew who it was.

Desperation.

Desperation made folk do… awful things, and she swallowed down her own regret as tears threatened to fill her eyes, the day weighing on her.

"I let you live."

Her emotions bleed into her words, and as the Raider she released earlier stepped around her, gun drawn, she could see his face harden.

"You Vault-Tec pricks are all just as dumb as each other."

He wasn't wrong.

She blinked away her tears, hot and almost painful. Her lips were bruised, chapped and bleeding, but she bit them nevertheless, trying not to let the stress get the better of her.

"I didn't lie, before, and I need those meds more than you, gi-"

His head splattered on the wall behind him, on the unlatched door, before he could finish his sentence, and Lucy knew in her soul who the bullet belonged to.

He'd saved her.

Again.

She turned, blinking rapidly, unwilling to show The Ghoul her betrayal, her sadness… her grief. She'd finally killed, and for what? For this? To survive, only to be reminded, again, how awful this world really was?

"I'm puttin' you on a fuckin' leash, girl."

She blinked at his words, tears still hot in the corner of her eyes, and wanted to throw something at him.

Lucy had learned many new things about herself since leaving the Vault. She disliked sand in her shoes. She detested roasted rad-roach. She enjoyed the sensation of the sun on her face. 

She loved angry sex. 

It had been an unexpected discovery, especially after years of gentle, soft, reverent exploration with Chet, but oh, the undercurrent of pure annoyance, the adrenaline of the fight, the pulse-raising, breath-catching, passion of it all.

It was addictive. 

“A leash?”

The ghoul stalked forward, shoving the cooling body of the raider who’d attacked her with the knife away with one leather-bound foot. 

“Yeah, you see, girly, I’m getting mighty tired of you point-blank ignoring my instructions. The way I see it, leashes and collars are to keep a dog in check, and you could really do with some obedience classes.”

The room was a mess. Two dead raiders, one hacked terminal, and the kind of quiet that felt like a bubble, like nothing else existed. The quiet of slaughter, the quiet of isolation. The broken glass, concrete and cracked roof tiles crunched underfoot as he made his way to her side, looming, eyes tracking hers as she stood from the battered chair, as she removed herself from the terminal. 

Tension crackled between them, as tense as the start of any storm, as powerful and deadly as the radstorms he’d taught her to hide from. 

This, however?

There was no hiding from this. 

She knew she had two options, and warred between them. 

She could hit him, an open-palmed slap, perhaps, or…

“You are such a-”

He moved as she did, the two of them coming together into a bruising, punishing kiss. It wasn’t soft, or romantic, or any of the things she’d experienced before - it felt as much a declaration of war as it did something wonderful.

It wasn’t their first kiss. 

It wouldn’t be their last. 

How they'd fallen into this pattern, she wasn't entirely sure.

Well… that wasn't quite true. 

There’d been a young man - another ghoul, in truth, who’d taken a liking to her on their journey. The settlement was a sprawling one, caravans and buses converted into something approaching a town, the Red Rocket in the centre forming the community hub, and the youngster had followed Lucy around like a bloodhound on the trail. Offered her blankets, asked her to go for a cola, tried to invite her to stargaze on a particularly clear night. She’d felt so flattered, so… normal. Just a girl, smiling harmlessly at a boy she wasn’t particularly interested in, both knowing she’d be leaving in a few days, regardless. 

She hadn’t even kissed the boy, whose name escaped her, now, but The Ghoul had gone from grumpy to surly in an instant - possessive over her in a way neither of them expected. 

They’d kissed for the first time that night, as she’d confronted him about his behaviour. As she’d asked him just why he was being so rude, as he’d thrown the very existence of Max in her face like some sort of grenade. It hadn't been sweet, not like Max’s kiss, it had been all anger and passion and old-seated grudges, and Lucy had seen stars as he'd fucked her, and…

And they'd fallen into a pattern of it. As the cold of the desert set in, and the stars appeared above, and her radio desperately tried to find a broadcast, they fell together, passing time in each other's bodies. It wasn't romantic, or tentative, but fierce.

She hoped Max wouldn't mind.

Perhaps he wouldn't even need to know, not that she'd keep it from him - it was merely like what she'd had with Chet.

Experimentation.

“You could’ve gotten us both killed, Vaultie.” He hissed against her lips as they pulled apart - Lucy gasping for breath, The Ghoul entirely unfazed. He reached for the zipper of her vault suit, dragging it down as he continued to complain. “You can’t keep goin’ with this fucking Von Trapp behaviour. Singin’ on the mountains ain’t gonna solve your problems.”

What was he talking about?

“You aren’t making any sense,” she tried to argue, voice catching as his thumbs caught her nipple, rough as he pleased. She’d neglected her bra, the item shoved into her bag, and had nothing but her thin tank top to prevent him from getting right where he wanted. “What if he hadn’t have-”

“What, betrayed your trust? Darlin’, you shouldn’t even trust me, the only person out here you can trust-”

How was she supposed to concentrate on being annoyed with him when he paused to pull that glove off, when he slid those bare fingers beneath the waistband of her suit?

“- is yourself. If you keep letting fuckin raiders-”

He ran his fingers along the seam of her, not teasing, not playing, just taking. Giving. 

“- live, all your doin’ is askin’ to die-”

He parted her and pressed down, hard, on her clit.

“- before you’ve had a chance to, what was it you said? Bring that daddy o’ yours…”

He was expecting her to answer, fingers pausing as he stared at her, challenging. 

“To justice,” she answered, swallowing heavily. 

He laughed, a huff of air and a shake of his head more than an audible thing, and her chin fell forward as he slid two of those strong fingers within her, merciless. 

“The only justice that exists out here, Vaultie-”

She felt trapped in the suit, not fully off, constricting her as he rubbed at her walls, the garment too tight to allow proper movement. The heel of his hand was right against her clit, and she tried to widen her stance, tried to focus on the sensation, rather than his words. With a voice like his, though, buttery smooth and somehow familiar, it was impossible. 

“- is the justice you give out. These folk’ll do things to you you couldn’t even imagine, so you gotta get them first.”

He slid one boot in between her legs and pushed them apart, the fabric of the suit creaking and stretching as he gave himself the space to thrust his fingers within her. Her hands slid, hitting the keyboard of the terminal and nearly sending it crashing down onto the floor, only held on by the thick cable - and she was infinitely glad she’d already opened the door. 

“Do you understand me?”

What?

Frustration flared within her as he doubled his efforts, asking her again, tension and anger and pleasure melding together, heightening until she gasped out her refusal, her glare a forced thing as her eyes desperately longed to roll back, twitching as her orgasm hit her. 

“So determined to do the right thing, ey Vaultie?”

He didn’t let up, even as her gasps turned to pained moans, hands lifting to grip at his upper arms, no doubt leaving a series of half-moon indents in the leather. 

“So determined to hate me for what I am, when all I am is a mirror to who you’re gonna become, trust me.”

He’d said something similar all those weeks, gosh, months ago, hadn’t he? That he was her, that she just needed to give it a bit of time. 

How could this be her future?

She couldn’t ever picture herself being as ruthless as this man was, even as he brought stars to her vision, curling pleasure within her so intense it bordered on painful. He killed, and he maimed, and…

And he survived. 

She hated the part of herself that knew part of what he said was true, that… that she was smart enough to know that. 

“I can survive and still be good, in, ah,” she groaned, breath coming out in a near whimper at the intensity of sensation. She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him what for, wanted to stare him down and insist that she’d never stop trying to do the right thing, regardless, but how could she when-

He stopped. 

Stepped back, sliding those slick fingers into his mouth one at a time and just… waited. 

“Go on then, girl. Pretend like this killer hasn’t left you so weak at the knees you can barely stand, tell me all about your little golden rule.”

He was right, and she hated it. She was weak, legs shaking, knees weak. Her body was lit up like the cornfield back in the vault, and every breath she took seemed to argue between wanting to be a great gasping gulp of necessary air and a pleasure-ruined whimper of a thing. 

Still, she stood. 

Stared up into those hazel eyes, into the scarring of his face, and inhaled, grounding herself. She didn’t care that her vault-suit was open, that her pebbled breasts were clearly visible through the thin, now grey tank top, that she’d been on the precipice of orgasm, again. 

“That golden rule is the only reason you’re not feral, outside that Super Duper Mart.”

“And here I am, standing, punishing you for it. Ain’t that a lesson all of itself?”

He argued, yes, but in the split second before he spoke, she’d seen his eyes flicker, just the smallest of reactions. 

He knew she was right. 

She slid the suit off her shoulders, glancing once at the bodies and then quickly back up at The Ghoul, watching his eyes track the reveal of skin.

“I saved your life.”

“After I tried to sell you, girlie-”

“And I still saved your life.”

There was a moment of quiet between them as she knew she’d won. Not eternally, not forever, but right now, in this moment, what could he argue? She’d saved his life. He’d taken her, tied her up, used her as bait, forced her into this strange and aggressive world with an awakening as rude as they came, and she’d saved his life. 

Regardless of it all.

And now he stared at her barely clothed body like a starving man; fingers wet with his saliva and her essence, face fixed in a glare that didn’t seem quite real.

“You aggravating little-”

He surged for her, and the terminal crashed to the ground as he lifted her at the hips, her Vault suit dangling from her ankles, and sat her right atop the ancient, filthy desk. 

“You will be the death of us both, you understand that, don’t you? Your daddy ain't gonna stop, and you cannot keep-”

She shut him up, one hand pressed tight across his lips. With her other, she undid his belt, fingers freeing his erection from the confines of the tight leather. 

“It’s because of my kindness that you’re here with me, Ghoul.”

She hated that she didn’t know his name, and hated more the rush it gave her to have such control over someone so powerful, to be doing this with someone unnamed. It went against everything she’d been taught in the Vault, everything she prided herself upon.

“So maybe you should thank that Golden Rule.”

She felt his huff against her fingers, ready to argue, and bit down on her own smile as she squeezed, pumping him in her much softer hand before he could. He’d had his time, he’d said all she’d allow him to say. 

It was her turn.

“Maybe you should thank me.”

She released him, relishing in the muffled groan, and slid both hands onto his shoulders, pushing him down to his knees. If he’d wanted to resist, he could, but didn’t - merely landing with a thud on the ancient floor. 

“I know I need to toughen up,” she began, widening her stance so he could fit between her legs. “But I also know that doing the right thing is always the right choice, even if-” her words faltered as he licked her, a hot stripe up the length of her folds, tongue dipping within them with practised ease. “If it’s not always the easy one.”

“Now, Darlin’,”

She tightened her thighs against the sides of his head as he tried to argue, words muffled against her skin.

“No.”

Oh, the control was a heady thing. 

With Chet, she’d always taken the lead, but that was just their personalities. Here, with The Ghoul - someone who fought and killed with ease, someone who dominated the space every time he entered it… 

He pressed himself in, firmer, scarred lips finding her clit. 

She exhaled through pursed lips, leaning back and letting her eyes flutter closed. 

“Killing people the way you do is easy.”

He scoffed, the vibration sending a groan from her lips.

“It is!” she argued, core tensing as she moved. “Trusting and hoping that letting someone live might make them change is the harder option, the more dangerous option, the-”

The Ghoul tightened those lips around her clit and sucked, and the argument left her as her chest heaved for air. He was shutting her up, and they both knew it, but as he sucked and flicked an unrelenting rhythm against the most sensitive part of her, she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

Her thighs were the leash, the noose, tightening around his neck, keeping him right where she wanted him, bringing her to a screaming precipice that echoed around the crumbling office. 

She felt dazed, almost, as he stood, stepping between the confines of her legs and the vault-suit and burying himself to the hilt in one fell swoop; a fullness that left her gasping. 

“If that golden rule o’ yours was real, I’d have you on your knees for me, Vaultie.”

He was such a…

He picked up the pace, setting an unforgiving, desk-rattling momentum. It creaked beneath them, the fan hitting the floor beside the once-working terminal as she frantically grasped behind her for purchase. 

He was never slow, never soft, or sensual, or romantic, but something had worked him up, fierce against her like the stallions in western films, the kind tamed by a kind-hearted Cowboy with warm, smile-creased eyes. 

Had seeing her in danger… caused this?

This was going to be over too soon, she just knew it - his hips snapping against the softness of her inner thighs felt almost bruising, fierce and angry. It was good, though, better than it had any right to be. Something about the idea he was chasing his own pleasure without a thought for her already exhausted clit, was…

Why was it so hot?

“Instead,” he groaned, pace faltering. “I’m out here bustin’ my balls, getting you off, all the while-”

He groaned, and she tried to prop herself up, falling back when his hand did stray from her hip, bunching the tank top up. She lifted her arms, pulling them from the fabric, each twist and turn making him hit something new and different within her that had her movements sluggish and ineffective. She’d be sore tomorrow, she knew as fact, but gosh, it was worth it, now. 

He didn’t remove it, though. 

He pulled her up, her arms reaching for his shoulders automatically, supporting herself as the change of angle left her almost on the edge of too much. And then, once she was there, once she was with him, he pulled the once-white fabric tight at the back of her throat. 

“I was right, darlin’, you do look perfect with a collar.”

His voice was darkened, deepened by how close he was, and the possessiveness, the tightness of the fabric around her neck, all of it had her mind emptying from the intensity. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, girl? What would that Brotherhood Knight of yours say if he could see you now, bouncin’ on my cock, eyes flutterin’ closed as I collar you?”

That brought her back, anger overwhelming everything else until she shook off his grip and let the vest fall, loose, behind her. 

“You got a little fight left in you after all, eh? I ain’t fucked it outta you, yet?”

She wanted to slap him, even as his pace continued, never letting up, his lips almost curling into a snarl as he got closer and closer to the precipice. 

She reached between them and grabbed him - hard. He yelped, a sound she’d never heard him make, and paused, breathing hard, a curse falling from those ruined lips as she squeezed. 

“You know, Ghoul,” she exhaled, exhausted from the pleasure, from the anger, from his incessant need to rile her. She wanted to come, happy and overwrought on his cock. She wanted him to learn where the line was. “I think you need to learn to say please.”

That got him. 

He gaped, mouth open like a freshly caught fish, and she tightened herself around him in line with her grip on his testicles, watching as he shuddered, caught between pain and pleasure. 

“Do you want to come?”

He caught himself mid-nod, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. She brought herself close, smiling as sweetly as she could, then lifted herself ever so slightly up, before lowering herself back down on his cock.

“One word, Ghoul. One word, and I release you.”

“I ain’t apologi-”

She shook her head, repeating the roll of her body, watching as he fought to keep his expression neutral. She was a gymnast, an athlete, and she knew she could keep up this kind of core strength for as long as she wanted to.

“I’m not asking for an apology. Why you’re trying to rile me so much, I don’t know, and I’m not sure I care. I’m asking for you to say please.”

“What the-”

Another roll, sliding down on his cock, her own eyes dramatically fluttering at the pleasure of it. He had quite a lovely one, really, not too big to hurt, just big enough to stretch deliciously, to leave her sore and remembering the encounter with each movement the following day. 

“Politeness is important,” she insisted, taking her pleasure from him, “and I’d like to hear you say please.”

“I ain-”

He groaned, hips pushing forward just a little, and she tightened her grip. It was awkward, and her arm would ache, but it was worth it to see him struggle. 

He brought up Max.

He restarted the argument. 

She would win this.

Another roll, and his hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning pale. He could push her off if he wanted. Heck, he was still armed, his gun loose and more than accessible on his hip. 

He was allowing this. 

“Just one word, Ghoul-”

He groaned, the sound half pain and entirely pleasure. “I’m…”

“One word, and you get what you want.”

He glared, face almost turning red as he fought it, fought how good her movements felt, fought the inevitable victory she knew she had. If he hadn’t pushed her off, away, down, yet, then a part of him enjoyed this. 

Was that why he riled her up so often?

Did he want this?

When he finally said it, gasping the word through gritted teeth, she was tempted to ask for it again, to pretend she hadn’t heard, to tease him more.

Instead, she brushed her lips softly against his jaw, lingering by his scarred ear, and whispered, “If only those raiders could see you now.”

He came almost instantly as she released him, the warmth and thrust of his hips pressing them together, her gasping moan right into that same ear she’d just teased. 

She wanted to laugh, wanted to stretch her sore body back and revel in her victory, but instead they just looked at oneanother, pulling back just enough to lock eyes. 

No words. 

Just a nod. A small smile, on her part, a roll of the eyes on his, and order was restored. He handed her a cloth to clean herself up with, tossed her some Rad-X, as if it’d somehow help taking them afterwards. 

She’d have a Radaway, later, at camp - after they’d looted the storecupboard, door swinging open, entirely forgotten. He tucked himself away and bent, picking at the pockets of the corpses she’d blatantly ignored, and gestured for her to get a move on. 

They had a mission to get back to, after all.