Chapter Text
They needed medicine.
Not stimpacks, or radaway - though she always made sure to collect any of those she saw, knowing a stimpack could be the difference between life and death.
A knife, stuck in her side, her new husband laying on the linoleum, face carved open and weeping blood; marring that freshly cleaned, good-as-new floor.
No, they needed his medicine. Those little yellow vials that kept him sane, kept him present.
She’d given him a handful outside the super duper mart and he’d gone in for more, but after weeks on the road they were running slim.
He hadn’t mentioned it and she hadn’t asked, but she’d spotted his reduced usage of them; the slight growl in his voice when he was annoyed, the frequent twitch in his limbs. And finally, the last two nights, a loaded gun slipped into her hand before she went to sleep - the safety off.
What they had was…new, and delicate, and she wasn’t about to ruin it by shooting him in the face.
He’d shot his friend, all those weeks ago for the same reason. She thought of it often in recent days, how he’d helped the other Ghoul reconnect with his humanity in his last moments - asking him questions, letting him think of happier times. The sudden switchover to execution had been a shock, then, but she understood it as a mercy now.
The same mercy he was wordlessly asking of her, should he wake up…changed.
He hadn’t counted on one truly important fact though - Lucy Maclean wasn’t a quitter. She wasn’t about to roll over and shoot the man she found herself falling for in the head when a solution was out there - a literal chemical solution. And all she had to do was find it.
So she traded some errant caps for information and updated her pip-boy map with any potential targets, didn’t explicitly tell him why, and dragged him through run-down shacks and high-end houses; ranches and buses and cars. They had more cram, clean socks and tinned beans than two humans and a dog would ever eat…
And, they’d found a few vials; shoved in first aid kits and car glove boxes; each one feeling like a precious trophy. Above all, they’d managed to buy some time. The caps she spent on information, they’d make - but time? That was more precious than anything else.
And the more time they spent doing this was less time finding her father, so she needed more than a few vials - she needed a solution.
The last building had been a bust. It had been a big, wide wooden house - tattered curtains still floating in the windows, clear signs that it had been inhabited recently, which was usually a bonus. New residents left modern necessities behind, the older places tended to have been picked clean; and really, what use did they have for a few ashtrays and an ancient, peeling globe. She’d hoped for a good find; panic and bile rising when the only score they’d happened upon was a fresh Bloatfly nest.
Neither mentioned what they were looking for - decidedly and collectively going for the plan of ‘we’re not talking about it’. He’d let her slide her hand into his though, as they walked, and kept his hat on, tilted so she couldn’t see his face so easily. She could only guess what expression she’d find there, if she were to remove it.
And then they’d spotted what was their closest chance at salvation, and she let her desperate hope peek through the veil of despondency that had grown with each failure.
A Pharmacy.
The neon sign was broken, likely hadn’t shone with light since the bombs dropped - but she knew the logo. She’d grown up taking medical kits for granted but now…they raided every first aid kit they could get their hands on. Stashed every pain killer, health tonic, purified water and bandage into their packs. The first time they’d done it she’d told him to only take half the items, just in case someone else stumbled across it in a time of need. He’d shook his head and had thrown the bandages at her, telling her out here you just had to focus on yourself. Unless you were so fully stocked you’d not be able to walk properly afterwards, you took the kit. That was before though, when she’d spent half her time lasso’d and the other half with radiation sickness; and he’d been right. And in an odd way, she was thankful for it - for that harsh reality check, that he hadn’t coddled or babied her.
And she knew, that whilst she might not be able to take care of everyone else, up here - she could at least try and take care of him.
The Pharmacy was run down, half derelict, but as the sun glinted off that ancient green sign she knew in her soul that their prayers were answered.
She slowed outside, staring into the window - or what was left of it. Most of them were smashed, and the ones that weren’t were so caked with dirt they were practically tinted. She ran her finger along one, grimacing at the thick layer of filth that coated it - and the thin clean line she’d created on the surface. She rubbed the dirt off on her trousers and tightened her shoes, readying herself for whatever they’d find within.
“Watch my back, we go in and out, ‘kay Vaultie?”
The simple fact that he didn’t argue about going in let her know things were a lot worse than he was letting on. His constant grumbling was usually almost a game, between them, so this sudden agreeable nature left gnawing terror in her stomach.
So she nodded, pulling her gun and stepping into the ruin of a place behind him. It was quiet, still as a painting - though it felt as if something was watching them, aware of them, out in the shadows of the shop. She kept alert, checking left and right as they moved - listening in for any sound. She kept her pip-boy playing away almost constantly; but not for this - no, they needed to hear every rattle, buzz or groan. Needed focus, and vigilance - and if she was honest, she was listening to him as much as for enemies. Listening for the moment that cough became a growl, when she needed to switch her concern to the powerful, impeccably trained mercenary beside her.
Their shoes crunched on rusted metal and broken glass as they carefully picked through the place, one step at a time. There has obviously been aisles once upon a time; great formed plastic shelves that she imagined used to be white, before time worked its magic. How they’d fallen, she had no idea, but all that remained was a mess of toppled shelves falling over one another like drunkards - their contents strewn across the floor. Hair dye and perfume bottles, ancient sanitary pads and tampons; which he told her to grab for gunshot wounds, as thankfully the birth control Steph convinced her to keep in place took care of that. Makeup, row after row of sealed compacts and empty lipstick displays - the raiders preference obvious. The novelty of it almost made her smile, that amongst everything else, people still wanted to wear a nice lipstick.
Posters lined the walls, tattered around the edges but bright and perfect in their images - recruitment to the war effort, asking the viewer to sign up and give a helping hand to Uncle Sam. She saw her Cowboy’s eyes linger on them, and not for the first time desperately wanted to ask whether he’d fought in those ancient wars; whether he’d donned the power armour as a younger man. Looking at the posters though, she couldn’t help but wonder what they were made of to keep their vibrancy when the rest of their post-blast world was crumbling and rusting around the edges.
“Let’s go. There’s nothing here”
She shook her head, feeling tears of frustration at the edge of her eyes. His voice was low, and rough, and he moved away as she reached for him, still in her orbit but not quite close enough to touch.
Making himself as physically out of reach as he’d always been emotionally…
“No, there’s a door at the back” she argued, pushing past him and gesturing towards it with her gun. “We need to check everywhere, need to-“
His gun went off, sending her spine ramrod straight. Again and again he shot; close enough that her ears ached by the end of it, and she turned to see a feral ghoul, face down on the scattered, crumbling newspapers and filled with bullets. She could see the faded headlines from here, the desperate worries of a nation on the brink of disaster, right beside Nuka Cola adverts - now overtaken by the death of another poor soul.
“I didn’t even hear her” Lucy gasped, hand splayed against her chest - heaving a little in her mouth as she quickly checked the fraying pockets of the dead woman for anything of value.
“Thank goodness you were with me, or-“
She heard the crash, pivoted on her toe and rushed for him. He’d stumbled to one side, landing against the shelf of one of the final aisles still standing; packets of ancient Blamco Mac and Cheese scattering around him.
She wished now, more than ever, that she had a name to call him. Something to scream as she ran to him that wasn’t simply ‘Ghoul’ - the fate he was desperately running from and inevitably hurtling towards. Ignoring the risk she swung his arm over her shoulder, soldiering his exhausted frame over her smaller one and making for that door, hoping beyond all else that this desperate plan would work.
Another bit of movement, ahead, and she squeezed his limp arm at the same time as the gun trigger, glad for the riflery lessons now as she landed 3 clean shots right into the Ferals head, before it had a chance to truly get up.
Shot another, to be safe, as they stepped over its corpse, heading towards the peeling blue door at the back of the place. Took out another, right beside it, almost dropping her Cowboy in the process. She ran her hand along the door, pressing into it with all her strength and desperately wanting to scream when it refused to open. There was no hole where a handle even would have been, before the place became this…tomb.
A gurgle echoed through the store and she turned as much as she could, glancing around, slamming her palm against the smooth door in desperation.
“Let me in!! Come on, there has to be a way…”
A terminal.
On a curved grey desk, littered with mugs and clipboards and stacks of magazines was a terminal - its screen intact. She slid her ghoul into a wheelchair and dropped into the cracking, black leather chair behind the desk, booting up the ancient computer and wiping the dust off the screen so she could see more clearly.
Green text clicked into life along the top, and she glanced to her side as she waited for words to form. He wasn’t quite passed out, by the looks of it, unless he tended to sleep with one eye open, watching her…She squeezed his hand, quickly, begged him to stay with her, and got back to work.
Welcome to Dolp Pharmacy (™) Termlink
Your One Stop Spot for all Pharmaceutical Requirements
— — — — — — —
Access Granted to Authorised Personnel Only
Password Required
— — — — — — —
She groaned, lifted all the clipboards and coffee cups, the rusted desk fan, as she checked under the desk. Beside her, the Ghoul turned, heaving, and the sound had her rattling the drawers desperately. He hadn’t actually started throwing up, not yet, and she didn’t know if that was good or bad.
When was the last time he’d eaten?
He’d handed her some crackers that morning, little cheese-flavoured squares that they’d learned she loved, but she hadn’t seen him eat…
A curse was hot on the tip of her tongue and hard to swallow as she tapped her foot, glancing between the terminal and the drawers. She didn’t have time to hack the password, or to sit with a bobby pin and a screwdriver, not as he tried to stand beside her, sliding back into the wheelchair whilst shaking.
“You’re alright…come on now, hold it together for me”
She reloaded her gun with shaking hands and shot the lock.
Dogmeat whined from beside her, and Lucy felt like she could cry when she slammed open the drawer and saw a staff card right at the top, a password written on medical tape on the back- no doubt a complete violation of some kind of security rule. She tapped it into the terminal, the back of her throat feeling tight with unshed tears of relief when it gave her the option to open the Controlled Drug Fridge.
Finally, things were looking up for them, and she selected the option, whooping with delight into the empty room when she heard the latch on the door give way behind them - and then gasping when a head rose at the other end, vacant eyes locking with hers from a distance.
She didn’t dare breathe, not as Dogmeat growled low and the…being beside her did too.
It was fast, but she was faster, managing two shots at its chest. It went down, but only briefly, and she realised with a start that there was something…different about this one. It was stronger - she coud see that, feeling herself go pale as it got back to it’s feet - half crouched like it was ready to spring towards her, teeth bared - and Dogmeat bared hers back, moving between the desk and the enemy.
She couldn’t shoot now, not with Dogmeat standing directly in the way and her Cowboy looking on the absolute edge of reason…no, she stood up, whistled for Dogmeat to follow, grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pushed her Ghoul through that now open door, breathing a sigh of relief as Dogmeats wiry frame followed, winding around the door just in time for her to push it closed , to lean against it and feel the sudden slam of the feral being on the other side. And another, and another, and she braced herself against the door as the slams continued over and over. Was it one particularly violent enemy, or multiples, woken up and egged on by the smell of her fear, the noise they’d been making, the steps of their brethren?
Thankfully their side had a handle, and she twisted the lock closed once more, head hanging against her chest. They had a handle, and a lock, and racks upon racks of medication. All lovely and climate controlled, like it was sitting waiting for them all this time; sleeping beauty in her glass coffin.
And right there, after racks of little cardboard boxes of Codeine and Cocodomol and Morphine and Tramadol, was vial after vial of perfect yellow medicine, lined up like little soldiers and making her want to sob with relief. She parked him, sliding her hands into his pockets and quickly removing them as he snapped towards her, eyes unblinking, the growl almost a whine as she retreated. She’d kept them safe from the ghouls out there but realised in an instant that she’d locked herself in with another threat, and this one she desperately didn’t want to hurt.
Moving as quickly as she could she slapped one hand over his mouth - pushing his jaw firmly up, and pushed the other into his coat pockets, pulling out three guns, two knives, a grenade, and finally his battered inhaler, rolling it safely into her closed palm. She was quick, quicker than him at least, weakened as he was, and spun under an outstretched, swiping arm to get to the terminal in the corner of the small, refrigerated room. Quickly tapped in the password from the previous room, flicking past stock updates, delivery notifications and incoming messages until she saw what she needed - the option to release the locks on the mesh that guarded the medicine.
They swung open collectively, locks hissing as they released, and she stood, realising with a start that he’d managed to stand alongside her, that he was heaving for air, a great gurgling sound from his throat. And beneath it all, her name, again and again and again like a prayer as he lurched forward, as his hands reached forward towards her.
He was with her, but barely. Still holding on by a thread. He swung for her but she moved quick as she could; throwing herself into a roll between his widened stance; springing up on the other side with the kind of rigidity and poise she knew would make her gymnastics instructor proud. Not a skill she’d used often - the ability to do a backflip or round-off not entirely necessary out here.
Her fingers didn’t share her poise though, shaking as she reached for the yellow capsule, fumbling it into its holster and nearly dropping both as he hit the back of her, knocking them and a handful of medicine onto the freezing floor. She rolled, but he was fast; climbing on top of her as soon as she did.
He was snarling, hands reaching for her throat and face and all at once she was back in the vault, freezing as her new husband tried to suffocate the life from her; freezing as the man she saw as her future now pinned her in place on another kitchen counter, beside another Atomic Queen oven.
She couldn’t freeze now. Her life, and his, depended on it. Fighting past the fear, she wriggled a hand free and shoved the inhaler up and into his face, between his lips; holding him still with her legs whilst she compressed it, drugs hitting his system enough to make him pause and stare down at her.
She loaded up another dose, much easier to provide this time with his stillness; and she saw his pupils dilate and contract, felt his hand shift from her throat to her shoulder.
Her name tumbled from his mouth like before, like a prayer, and she wondered for a second why he was using hers as an anchor, when the other ghouls she’d met used their own. Had he truly given his up, and if so, how many years had it been since he’d used it?
He surged down, lips against hers, hands shifting to hold her as tight as he could.
“Thank you. Fuck, Lucy, thank you”
“I’ve got you” she promised, smiling into the press of his lips, glad he hadn’t actually thrown up before.
“I thought that was it, it, it…”
She shushed him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him against her, head resting on her chest.
“There’s enough here to keep us going for a long time, we’re…we’re good. We’re safe”
He pulled back, fingers tracing the soft red marks he’d left behind on her throat, a haunting look in his eyes, and she leaned up, kissing him to tell him it was fine, when words wouldn’t come.
He thanked her again, the words repeating like a mantra, and she fell back, flat against the freezing tiles - an exhausted laugh tumbling from her as he stared down from above.
“You thank me now, but there’s some sort of super-strong ghoul outside that door, and about twelve of its friends, by the sounds of it”
He groaned, standing and leaning back against the cabinets opposite her, and taking another hit on his inhaler, staring down at it with wonder. “This stuff’s fucking strong”
She looked across at him, two exhausted travellers, fighters, toe to toe in what was essentially a huge fridge, and extended a hand towards him, wordlessly asking for help getting up. She checked her gun, opened a transport bag from the floor and began dropping the vials into the special little spots, one at a time.
“Good. I’m not losing you”
He just watched her, expressionless, as she zipped up the bag and filled another, then a third, and stopped her when she tried to hand him them.
“You keep ‘em safe, Goose”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Lil’ killer like you; they’ll be protected”
He leaned in again, holding her like she was something precious - completely unaware of the butterflies in her stomach the soft grip on her chin created. Pressed his lips against hers as if he could inhale her, as if she were one of those precious buttercup yellow vials, and sighed, pulling his gun.
“Let's go fight our way outta here. Grab some of the other stuff too, you never know when you’ll need morphine”
He winked and opened the door, both guns drawn - and as the meagre light filtered in all Lucy could think was how much his silhouette in that moment looked just like the cowboys in the movies, like her every childhood crush rolled into one. Her very own Cooper Howard, minus the horse. Only, she wasn’t content to wait in town. She pulled her gun and followed after him, ready to give their enemies hell.