Archive of Our Own ^beta

In hindsight, he really should have resisted the sadistic temptation of dragging Sunshine-Shoots-Out-Her-Ass through more glass. He should have held his rotted tongue and refrained from taunting her with the carrot of finding out more about her treacherous father.

Fabulous fucking idea. His best. Absolutely. Except it isn’t, because he’s got this moping puppy traipsing along behind him through the sands. He’s not talking about Dogmeat either, Dogmeat doesn’t mope. The Vaultie? Oh, when she goes quiet, you know something is brewing in that overly happy skull of hers and it isn’t good.

Casually tossing a glance over his shoulder, Cooper takes measure of Dogmeat happily trotting beside the young woman, who is staring down at her feet as she walks, a frown marring her perfect brow. She’s lagging unintentionally, like some sort of radioactive slug. Voice rough, Cooper faces forward again, into the unforgiving sun, saying, “You think we’ll catch your slippery daddy with you walking so slow? Pick up the pace or I’ll leave you behind.”

There’s a noise as she stumbles over her own feet, surprised by the sudden sound of his voice. Princess Positivity stubs her toe on some boulder that she didn’t see, being so far up her own ass. She mutters goodness-gosh-be-darned under her breath, never letting a curse touch her pretty lips.

It only takes her a moment to collect herself again, pasting a fake smile on her face. “Oops! I’m Okey-dokey,” she says in a tone that sounds too artificial to be real. It’s a shadow of her usual chipper voice, the voice that drags across Cooper’s ears and gives him a headache. “I’ll keep up.”

She’s decidedly not okey-dokey -what a stupid fucking saying- and he’s going to push the needle in while the wounds are fresh. It’s been twelve hours since they departed from the Observatory and she’s been odd, even for her. “That decrepit ghoul you shot,” he drawls idly, remembering the barely animated corpse at Moldaver’s fancy table, gnashing its rotted teeth. “Done you wrong, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t know much about her, but he does know enough. That dreadful, do-good heart of hers only chooses violence when pushed to it. She wanted to see the good in everyone, even if there’s no good to be found.

The gloomy aura behind him deepens further, as if a shadow has covered the sun. Still the usually talkative girl says not a single word. He decides to enjoy the silence for what it is; it’s better than her jawing at him about the Vault and asking him all sorts of ridiculous questions about Life Before.

Darkness will fall soon…and where they’re heading…well. It ain’t safe without shelter. Between the New California Republic in the west and the Ceasar’s Legion in the east…the Mojave has filled with all sorts of terrors. Flesh-hungry mutants. Slavers who thrive on organ and drug trades. Cooper will have to be extra vigilant as they cross the many miles after stupid Hank MacLean.

He hopes her perfect, flawless skin doesn’t draw trouble to them. Some mutant with super senses could probably smell her pure, non-radiated self from miles away. Cooper’s mouth waters slightly, his ghoul senses twitching. He can only imagine how fresh and clean her flesh tastes.

Her blood is probably like a fine wine. Briefly, his teeth ache with the desire to sink into her throat, but he blinks the sensation away.

Cooper might not like the girl, but he’s not going to eat her. At least, not today.

If she pisses him off enough, maybe tomorrow.

~

She’s staring aimlessly at nothing when she finally answers his question hours later, when they’ve awkwardly hunkered down under shelter for the night. “The ghoul in the Observatory. She was my mother.”

That explains the forlorn, empty stares that he’s practically felt all day. He wanted to slap her silly, snap her out of her funk. On the other hand, he preferred her silence over her obnoxiously positive and ignorant yammering about Vault Life.

“My father bombed an entire city because of her. Just because she left him. Because he’s a monster. And all this time, I never knew.” She’s looking down at her hands as if they belong to someone else. As if she expects to see blood there. Stare a little harder, girlie. “And I killed her.”

A noxious cough rattles up Cooper’s lungs, burning his chest from the inside out. He wheezes for a moment and takes a brief drag from his inhaler, relishing the drugs filtering into his body. The adrenaline spike never gets old.

After, he takes out a bottle of old rotgut, managing a large gulp; he needs it if he’s gotta hear some bullshit whining outta Vaultie Queen here.

Roughly, he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Look here, sweetheart.” Cruelty glimmers in his eyes, because after two hundred years, sometimes it’s just fun to watch others hurt. “You didn’t kill your mother. Your daddy did that all his own when he radiated her into that ruined bag of meat you blew those runny brains out of.”

Her face struggles to stay in neutral. He can see the way her pretty eyes flutter against the tears she’s trying to hide from him. She’s proud, this girl, but she’s also brutally honest and simple to read. Her voice is raw when she says coldly, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

A smirk tugs at the tautness of Cooper’s mouth. “Not a bit.”

She pales a bit and looks sick. Hurt. She averts her face harshly and gasps, a bit wet and throaty. It’s not safe to leave the shelter they’ve got, not at night, so she’s got nowhere to go. She’s trapped herself here with him. Stupid girl. A sob is being strangled in her throat, wretched and pathetic, and it makes Cooper want to vomit. God damn, she’s almost painful to watch, this simple slip of a girl. It’s so easy to get her where it burns, she wears her heart on her sleeve.

Her life has been too easy, up until now. Welcome to the real world, honey- it cuts.

The rest of the night she remains curled in on herself, hugging her own body on the ground as if it’s going to give her some measure of comfort. Every once in a while, Cooper will hear a soft sob, a sniffle from her pert little nose. Dogmeat has curled up next to her, the dog providing her with warmth that the midnight desert sorely lacks.

The crying makes him think of two hundred years ago, about the nights after the divorce when he would stroke his daughter’s hair as she cried in her bed, missing her mother. He would comfort her, try to tell her happy stories, to make her laugh instead of cry-

Cooper sneers into the shadows hatefully.

He hasn’t been that man in a long fucking time. That Cooper died a long time ago. His wife turned out to be the sort of woman who wanted to kill the world and everyone in it. If Barb had shot him in the heart, it would have been no different.

The Vaultie sniffles again, but louder, her small form shaking on the ground where he can see her huddled up miserably.

Cooper rolls his eyes. Christ, he should have left the damn chit of a girl to die under Brotherhood steel.

He’s going to kill her father, after all. Once Cooper strangles the answers he requires out of that snake of a man, anyway.

The Vaultie is livelier the next day, albeit with dark circles under her wide, formerly innocent eyes. Her gaze is bloodshot from silently crying the night away, but there’s a stern line to her mouth, a stubborn will that has her going forward, seeking the father that abandoned her at the Observatory.

Sunlight suits her, the way it always does. Soft across her features, lighting her in ambers and golds. She’s a pretty thing and it’s hard to keep his eyes off her. It’s been some time, yeah, since he’s seen anything like her.

He imagines her hair would be silken to the touch, not rough and ragged like what he’s seen in the Wastes. He’d like to tangle his hand in it firmly and pull, bully her into submission while her greenish-brown eyes spit fire at him.

“I don’t feel so well. Like, it feels as if I could sink into the ground and disappear.” She tells Cooper accusingly, as if he should care or some shit. Fat chance. “I think I need water.”

“Water ain’t gonna fix what you have.” He feels a headache brewing already, right behind his eyes. This is a mistake. He should have never offered to allow her to tag along on some cursed journey after her father. She’s going to wiggle her way under his skin, with that soft mouth, her earnest expressions, her senseless kindness-

She unzips the top of her blazing blue Vault suit, briefly clutching at hand over her sternum. She looks pained. “There’s this pressure in my chest, like someone is standing on it. Do you think something is wrong with me? Is there a normal doctor around?”

A normal doctor? Would ya listen to her! Get a load of this girl.

Is she really this naïve? “You don’t need no damn doctor; you need to toughen up. It’s all in your bird brain.”

Coming up beside him, she tries to take his canteen, but he swats her away. She clenches her fists at her sides and glowers up at him fiercely as they walk on. “I’ve toughened up enough. Please, the water should help. I’ve never felt this…this worn-”

Mother of God.

“It’s called a fucking broken heart. A lotta boo hoo. Get over it.” Cooper makes a sharp, annoyed gesture. “Move on, girl.”

She comes to a complete halt, freezing. “My heart is broken?” The Vaultie murmurs it in disbelief. Then, predictably, her resolve firms. “How do I fix it?”

“It’s incurable, doll.” He sneers a bit, thinking of his own. The way it cracked all those centuries ago and never came back together. A bleeding hole, a ragged wound, put there by the woman he loved more than fame itself. “Embrace the pain and make it something harder.”

She gapes at him, finally a bit of her spirit roaring back into her hazel-green eyes. “You’re a terrible, cruel man, you know that?”

“Music to my ears, baby.” He drawls, amused. Dogmeat runs ahead, scouting through the sands. There’s skeletons, here and there, a few old crucifixes lining the long forgotten path. It’s best they stay away from the main roads. Raiders are always looking for new slaves to trade.

The Vaultie growls at him like the little killer she is. She points that mismatched, sewn on finger of hers at him, an expression of her outrage. “I’m not your baby.”

Chuckling under his breath, Cooper thinks, then why are you following me like those Hollywood Starlets used to, sweetcheeks?

God, he used to have the pick of them, before Barb. Fresh-faced girls looking to make it big in Hollywood, ready to do anything for a taste of fame. Always brushing up on him, smiling up at him, wanting to know what it was like to take a ride on a cowboy.

After he found Barb, he never wanted anyone else. And look what she did to him, look how his devotion was repaid. She hid the singular, most damning thing from him and then left him out to dry, as if he never mattered to her at all.

Betrayal by a loved one…the knife that sinks in deep. Now, Princess Vault is experiencing that pain for the first time in her life and Cooper will enjoy her suffering.

…and she wants a cure for it. This insignificant, ignorant girl. What do they teach these people in the Vaults? That there’s no sadness in the world? That everyone is nice and holds hands all the time? Please.

The rest of their travel that day, she stays three paces ahead of him, muttering furiously under her breath about the deeds of evil men, and how is she supposed to forgive people who simply aren’t ever sorry, and if she can forgive her father does that mean she needs to forgive The Ghoul-

Cooper rolls his eyes and gives her ass a good stare, here and there as she stomps about in front of him. She’s a prime softskin, she is. Mint condition. Lord, he hasn’t seen a girl like her in a very long, long time. Probably won’t see another like her for some time either.

He wants to run his tongue across her skin and see how she tastes. To run his fingers down her spine, to shift her into whatever position he wants. She would follow his lead, he thinks, if she were so inclined. Her skin probably bruises easily and the monster in him would like to see some bruises left by his grip on her.

Her cunt would be tight, the tightest thing outside the Vaults. Briefly, he imagines thrusting into her with his hand around her throat, controlling her air while her hips writhe across his own. Her eyes, gazing up at his face, her lips swollen and wet-

Fuck, he’s getting hard fantasizing about it.

It irritates him; if feels weak, to want someone like this. He doesn’t even like her, but liking someone has never had anything to do with a rough fuck.

If she knew what was on his mind at this very moment, she’d probably shriek at him and call him a no-good deviant.

Or maybe she’d spread her legs for him, nice and easy. Those Vault Girls…bred to be breeders, aren’t they? Repopulate the world with healthy, perfect stock, right? But, it’s more likely that she’d fight him, her face all twisted with anger and disgust, snapping her teeth at him as he tears open that blue suit of hers. And he’d force her to the ground, take her for his own, fill her up until she wants it…and even if she doesn’t because that’s the kind of man he is now.

Except he’s not a man, is he? He’s a Ghoul; he doesn’t even have a fucking heart that’s not black and twisted as sin.

“What’s it like, being a Ghoul?”

Just like that, they’re back to her asinine questions. She’s thinking of her mother again, he’s certain of it. The mother whose brains she blasted into smithereens. The Vaultie has these moments of seriousness, where she looks worse than a beaten dog. She’s a young girl who has had her entire world upended.

She lost her mother and her father all in the same day. The Old Cooper would have felt for her, would have understood her inner misery. Ghoul Cooper, the one who has already been through a meat grinder with his heart for two hundred years? Yeah, he doesn’t have it in him to give a flying fuck. This girl needs to toughen up and fast or she won’t survive this new life that spans ahead of her.

He ignores her, eating some ass jerky instead. It’s chewy and hard, but it’ll get the job done. She won’t have any, naturally; she knows he took it off the rear of some body miles back.

“Does it hurt?” Her voice wavers a bit as she looks at him. They can’t afford to have a fire out here, too risky, but he can see her clear as day in the dark. The shadows in her eyes make her beautiful. “Being what you are?”

Cooper’s about to say something scathing, but when he meets that penetrating gaze, something inside of him stutters. His tongue is frozen. She’s looking at him, as if she’s truly seeing him for the first time. Like she’s trying to understand him and see the man he used to be before he became the monster.

She looks at him like she wants to know him, even though he’s the one who once kidnapped her, sold her to organ traders, starved her, dehydrated her, cut off her finger-

He doesn’t like how it makes him feel. “Life is pain. Haven’t you gotten that through your thick skull yet? You’re as dumb as a box of rocks.”

Her mouth twists sullenly. “You don’t have to be such a…such a turd!”

That’s a new one. Cooper chuckles under his breath, deciding it’s time to clean his guns. At least she’s occasionally good for a laugh. He likes when she all puffed up and self-righteous, like some sort of cat that’s been dunked in a water bucket.

Silence falls over them again, thankfully.

At least until she starts talking again, as if he wants to fucking listen to her and her broken heart yammering.

“I wonder if she recognized me in the end,” She whispers like a kicked puppy. She’s got one of her soft, delicate hands over her heart, as if it aches. Her expression is crestfallen, as if she's struggling to keep herself together. She shouldn't be this vulnerable in front of a man like him. “I hope she didn’t feel any pain.”

A good man would comfort her. Pull her into his arms and make all her troubles vanish. He ain’t the one though, he’s never going to be.

“Aw, love.” He tells her as he idly reloads some ammo, his voice dipping low and dark. “I know she didn’t feel a thing.” That ghoul was far too gone to be anything other than hungry.

This time, he sees the way her face turns sharply to his from the corner of his eye. When he looks at her, the Vaultie’s cheeks are flushed and there’s the oddest expression on her face before she quickly looks away from him.

Huh. Interesting.

They spend many long, hard days dodging mutants, ghouls, and raiders across the Wastes. The sun, beating down on them until the Vaultie nearly faints a few times, pouting about water and her aching heart. Cooper is certain she's getting dehydration and depression symptoms completely mixed up, but what does he know, he's only ancient. Dogmeat is her comfort in the dark hours, the dog resting across her lap as she drifts in her gloomy thoughts. There are times when Cooper almost doesn't mind having her company; he's disturbed by the fact that he's getting used to having her around. 

Sometimes, she tries to connect with him, to find some common ground between them. He doesn't let her. 

Eventually though, it seems they can’t avoid society forever on their way to New Vegas. Unfortunately.

They step into the ragged, small town and Cooper takes measure in that subtle way of his. Cataloguing any possible threats, escape routes, weapons. Feels the way people shudder at the sight of him, fearing The Ghoul infamous for his bounty hunting talents…and fearing him simply for the fact that he is a Ghoul.

Yeah, he’s got a taste for flesh, so he bares his teeth in a parody of a grin, just to make them wonder if they’re next.

This is a seedy place. He’s been here before. Drugs, slavers, prostitution…everything for a price.

He notices when the Vaultie draws closer to him, standing just a hair too close to his sphere of comfort. The smell of her sweat tickles his nasal cavity; it’s not entirely unpleasant. Her face is pinched with concern, her eyes darting around the sights.

Cooper sees the problem immediately and mentally groans.

It’s not like he isn’t aware of the gazes that she draws. She’s Mint Condition. A lot a fellas ain’t seen nothing like her in their entire lives. They’re simply dazzled by her fresh appearance, her sweet face and bright, if not sad, doe eyes.

“In the bar,” he tells her blandly, knowing she’ll follow him anywhere right about now. He needs a fucking stiff drink.

They step inside the ratty, shit-for-furniture dive, all eyes on them. The reek of unwashed bodies is potent. The grime on the floor is so thick that the old wood looks black.

Vaultie Queen keenly feels the leers and the stares in this Community where prostitution is a common practice. Cooper feels the way she huddles closer to him where he sits on his bar stool, as if seeking safety. Mentally, he scoffs; he’s fucking sold her ass for drugs before and she thinks he’s safety? As if she trusts him? Her brains must have gotten scrambled with the grief.

There is a point to that though; his brains were pretty scrambled when he first learned Barb wanted to blow up the world. That sort of grief does things to a person.

He’s barely had a few minutes with his drink at the bar when the first chucklehead thinks it’s wise to make a move. A brave hand taps his shoulder, connected to a man with one beady eye and jagged, ratty black teeth. The nasty fellow smiles horribly at Cooper in a way that the man must think is enticing, asking, “How many caps for an hour with the bitch?”

The Vaultie flinches beside him, attempting to burrow against his chest on the other side. A strange warmth suffuses him at the same time that irritation arises. Everything about her radiates a silent plead, don’t leave me, don’t give me to anyone, please, I won’t annoy you anymore, I’ll be good, just please don’t sell me.

He could sell her. He could do it. He’s done it before. She’s Hank MacLean’s daughter, she’s nothing.

The interloper has his stinking, dirty hand in front of Cooper’s face now, a load of caps on display. Rude.

Cooper should really cut that presumptuous hand off. What is he now, a pimp? Why should this piece of shit even think he deserves to touch such a Mint Softskin, a girl in perfect condition?

-aside from the finger he chopped off, but that’s beside the point, she’s otherwise perfect, okay-

“She’s not for sale,” he tells the ugly mug calmly, inhaling his drugs in the most casual of manners. The power and euphoria hits his rugged veins, making him feel near invincible. He might need a boost if it gets ugly in here. Men do stupid things over cunt. He’s old enough to know.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” the filthy man says persuasively, the reek of him filling the socket of Cooper’s empty nose. Fuck, is this man what reeks in this joint? “I have friends that will pay, too. We won’t use her up too hard, if you know what I mean, haha.”

Once again, Cooper considers his options. He could do it. He could sell her and make some easy caps and buy more drugs, because that’s what he needs to keep going in this fucked up, ruined world. But when Cooper looks down at the slight girl pressed against him, seeking safety, trembling…he can’t do it.

A surge of protectiveness wells up within him, something he thought was old, dead and buried long ago. He doesn’t want to think of some pathetic man touching her soft skin, ruining it. If anyone is going to ruin her, it will be him and him alone.

You want her for yourself, admit it.

Fuck. The last thing he should want in this world is some perfect girl who is already swimming in daddy issues. But alas, here he is.

“Alright. Open your ears, ya great ugly bastard. The girl is mine,” Cooper says as he cocks his gun and shoves it in the odious man’s face, watching his one eyeball bulge in terror, leaking out a tear. “But go on now. Ask me again. I dare ya. See what I do.”

For a moment, the man doesn’t move, just stares down the barrel of Cooper’s gun in disbelief. How did this fucker really think this would go?

“I realize ya don’t look very smart, but make the right choice, yeah?” Cooper gives him a mean smile, eyes hard and biting. “You and your pals can shoot me up, but I’ll still walk full of lead. But say I put this bullet in your skull…will you walk away? Or will you just be future ass jerky on the ground?” Cooper clicks his teeth meaningfully. “I bet you’ll taste rank, but I ain’t picky these days.”  

Without another word, the would-be John scrambles away, probably pissing his filthy pants in the process. Picking up his drink, Cooper mutters, “Smart choice, fella.”

No one bothers them again after that display.

After a moment of peace, his girl says in a soft voice, “Maybe I could have a drink? Of…of liquor?” Her hands are shaking.

“Sip mine, sweetheart.” He pushes the rancid swill this establishment calls alcohol closer to her. Sharing isn’t his thing, but he will, just this once. Because it’s her.

He watches with hungry eyes as she puts her lips where his had been not so long ago. She’s unbothered that he’s a Ghoul. There’s people that wouldn’t dream of touching the same drink. She sips delicately, holding the glass with two hands, still pressed against his side. He wants to taste her lips. When she puts the glass down on the bar counter, he snatches it up and takes a drink, licentiously running his tongue across the place where her mouth had been.

She watches him do this, her eyes focused and wide. She seems dazed, still in shock.

A part of him wants to eat her.

“Thank you,” she tells him so earnestly that it almost guts him.

She’s not thanking him for the drink. She’s thanking him for not selling her as a whore, for abandoning her, because that’s what she expected him to do.

God, that fucking hurts.

There’s only one bed in this sleazy room they’ve been given and he’s not giving it up. He’s two hundred years old, he’s not sleeping on the floor due to chivalry. Tired and endlessly cranky, Cooper lies down on the rickety thing the barkeep calls a mattress and stares up at the ceiling.

The Vaultie stands there awkwardly, taking measure of the situation. There’s a small bathroom that she goes to and uses the pump to bring up water. She shuts the door. Must be doing the good old whore’s bath, splashing water here and there to try and be somewhat clean. There’s never enough water for a real bath, like the old days.

People make do.

He drifts as time passes, allowing his hat to go low over his eyes. He doesn’t sleep, but he dozes a bit. It’s her voice that shakes him out of it.

She’s standing with her hands on her hips at the foot of the bed, all puffed up, hair wet, trying to look brave. Cooper stares at her flatly, ready for whatever shit she’s about to unleash. He recognizes the look in her eye, that hint of defiance.

Chin lifted, eyebrows arched, Princess Peach says, “What did you mean when you said that I’m yours? When we were downstairs. To that…not-so-nice man.”

Of course she wants to talk about it. There’s almost nothing she won’t talk about.

“Lucy,” he says tiredly, her name slipping unexpectedly from his lips. “Shut your trap.”

The use of her name only seems to encourage her. She crawls onto the bed and kneels beside him. The Vaultie’s small hands are on his shoulders now, shaking him. “I’m serious. You can’t own a person. Owning people isn’t right. That’s what the Vault says-”

Cooper groans as if in agony. Spare me that fucking Vault dogma. “We’re not having this conversation. Go to sleep. Somewhere.”

She doesn’t go away, leaning over him earnestly. A drop of water drips from her nose onto him. “Why do people buy and sell women? Is that a job? We don’t have that job in the Vaults. And why did he want me? Why not someone else, there were other women-”

“He liked how you look.” Cooper says with exasperation, trying to push her away before he does something beastly to her. “You’re a magnet for trouble. These rats haven’t seen anything like you before. He wanted to have you, so he was willing to pay for it.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” The Vaultie looks puzzled. “In the Vaults, sex is for stress relief and relaxation. And love! Why would someone buy it? I’m not so different from everyone else…”

She is so innocent that it blows his mind.

“You are different.” He leans up and cups her jawline, feeling the way she trembles under his touch. “You’re beautiful, like a sunrise over the ocean shore. No mutations. No deformities.” Slowly, holding her gaze, he unzips her suit down to her navel, revealing the thin tank top she wears underneath. Placing a hand over her stomach, he says, “You’re so soft that it makes a man stupid in the head.” He can feel a scar under her thin shirt, something like a knife wound. He wonders about that.

She’s breathing heavily, eyes wide, frozen with his large hand covering her. Cooper slowly zips her back up, holding her gaze, showing he has all the power in the world over her. There’s nothing she can do against him and his strength. “And that man thought I owned you and sold you for caps so that I can buy my drugs. He would have fucked you. And then his friends would pay to have you one after the other.”

She looks horrified by the prospect, as all good girls usually are. This is what finally breaks her composure. “That’s…that’s unacceptable! You considered it, too!” In a fit of emotion, she pounds her little fists on his chest, hissing, “I can’t believe you almost did that to me! You, you big…dirty villain!”

He grabs her wrists to stop her, giving her a stern stare. Slowly, as if speaking to a child, he says, “Careful, now. I can still give you to him.”

“That’s what you don’t get.” She struggles in his grip, face flushed, doe eyes flashing. “I’d rather stay with you than anyone here, even if you’re mean.”

Mean? The actual things that come out of her pretty little mouth.

“Oh, I’m worse than mean. I’ve eaten people with this mouth,” Cooper tells her mockingly, just to get a reaction. “I’ve put their flesh down my gullet, had their blood on my tongue. I’ve relished it. I’ve killed men, women, I’ve even killed children. You still think I’m the lesser evil?”

Lucy looks uncertain and disturbed, but that stubbornness persists.

He sneers bitterly. When it comes down to it, he’s a disgusting ghoul and no one prefers a ghoul. “That’s what I thought.”

Something flashes in her eyes, and before Cooper knows what’s happening, she leans down and boldly presses her mouth to his, as if afraid of losing her nerve. Her lips are soft and sweet, like fresh water in an endless desert. Her kiss is violent, at odds with how she feels against his body. She kisses like she’s going to war, like she has something to prove. Her fingers dig into his shoulders as she pins him there, kissing him into the mattress as if she owns him.

Fuck, he likes that more than he should.

The moment only lasts seconds before she pulls away, breathing heavily, as if she’s been running for miles. Her chest heaves up and down, her eyes wild.

“Dirty girl,” he drawls, feeling the firm twitch in his groin. Heat pools there, an echo of hunger. He wants her, he’s wanted her for some time. She’s playing with fire and she doesn’t even know it. “That’s what you came up with, after what I just told you?”

“I’m not a coward,” she says hotly, rolling to face away from him, practically falling off the edge of the bed in her attempt to put space between them. Cooper allows her to retreat. “I’m not afraid of what you are.”

“Aw, baby.” His eyes trace her spine, imagining what it looks like without that odious blue suit covering it. “That’s why I put up with you.”

That night, she doesn't cry herself to sleep over her lying daddy and murdered mommy, but she lies stiff as a board, afraid of being touched by the monster beside her.

Cooper is almost offended. 

~

In the morning, he wakes before her, just in time to see the sunlight glancing off her cheekbone as she sleeps. Her eyelashes are so pretty against her sunlit skin.

He wants to touch her, to brush the strands of hair away from her face. He wants to roll her under him, to protect her from the world outside, to press himself within her skin.

He won’t. She’s not for him. She never will be.

Because the only thing that’s kept him going all these years is finding out who is still running this Apocalypse ship…and once he does, he’s killing her daddy.

And her tears aren’t going to stop him.

Cooper isn’t going to fix her broken heart.

He’s going to make it worse.

~