Chapter Text
Gentle ocean waves push at Lucy Maclean’s hips as she stands out in the water, overlooking the large cliffy islands in the distance.
The locals called one of them The Head for its particular shape, looking like a man in profile, the ear and forehead being the prominent features. That island is why she is at this beach at all.
To find information about her father’s whereabouts, after he was kidnapped from their family homestead only a few months earlier. Her only clue was some photos in her father’s office, of that very beach, from higher above and further away, but the same beach.
She turns around to make out where the photo may have been taken from, and shields her eyes as she lands on a lookout in the distance. Lucy would be in for a hike at some point, just to see if that lookout was important.
Laughter draws her attention to two young men, maybe Norm’s age, with a waterproof camera. She looks back at the Head, dipping her hands into the water.
“You can’t tell it looks like a penis…” says one of the guys.
Lucy makes a face and glances over her shoulder at them. The shorter guy nudges the other with his elbow while he tries to take a picture of something in the distance.
“If you can’t get this picture right, the guys will never believe us.”
There isn’t anything but a cave in the cliffs where they’re aiming their camera, and Lucy adjusts her footing, briefly amused when the curve of the rock face and shadows from the tree cover create a vaguely phallic impression.
She laughs to herself and lowers her sunglasses from her hair.
Music begins to blare from further down the beach, and the two young men start laughing to themselves. Lucy realizes quite a few beachgoers are already convening by one of the small stages at the edge of the beach.
“Hey, do you know what that is?” Lucy calls out to the guys.
They turn to look at her, and one chuckles.
“A variety show for lonely housewives,” he says.
His friend elbows him. “Some old actor does tricks with his lasso on a horse. The ladies love it.”
“Lasso tricks?” Lucy repeats.
“Yeah! You ever heard of Cooper Howard? He did some westerns about twenty-five years ago. I really liked them.”
“And then we grew up,” says the other guy.
Lucy huffs at the comment, but gives them a cheerful ‘thank you!’ before wading back to shore.
Cooper Howard, here? That had to be a coincidence.
Lucy glances down at her hand, the pistol tattoo she’d gotten when she was twenty, with the words feo fuerte y formal along her index finger like the trail of a bullet.
It wasn’t even the only tattoo she had honouring the Howard westerns she’d been raised on. The little horse in brown on the right side of her upper back was the other. The pistol on her hand had been a reminder of her dedication to her family and community. Her father had always told her and Norm that that was the kind of person, not just a man or woman, that someone in their community ought to aspire to be. Honourable, practical, proactive, abiding by the morals of society. Though it had been years since she got the tattoo, and with her father missing, it helped ground her in her search for answers.
Lucy had to follow her gut, and any lead she had, for that matter.
She weaves her way through the dancing a cheering bodies until she gets a clear view of the show, gaze settling on the blue and yellow clad man in a familiar cowboy getup. His horse is cream coloured with speckles of beige and brown, working with her rider as one unit.
A smile plays at Lucy’s lips as she watches his lasso tricks, unable to avoid watching the man's hips and legs work to guide his horse as he works through his tricks.
Then the music shifts, from something playful and danceable to something that makes the crowd erupt into cheers.
Cooper Howard single-handedly tears away his shirt under his fringed jacket, revealing his lean and muscular core and chest and wash of body hair that disappears under his belt.
He drives the horse closer to her, and as she looks away from his body, she finds him looking right at her. Lucy pushes up her sunglasses, listening to the whistles and cheers from the crowd around her, holding his gaze, challenging him to drop it first. And he does.
Lucy licks her lips as the show goes on, joining the crowd in their applause when Cooper performs a new trick. He ends up balancing on the saddle as the horse trots along the perimeter of the stage, the lasso going while his other hand moves to his belt. Off it comes and away go his trousers as well, and Lucy smacks her hand over her mouth to stop the squeak that leaves her throat, though the keening crowd would have drowned her out anyway.
He’s wearing a bright yellow Speedo and his cowboy boots, a fringed jacket and his hat. It’s ridiculous, it’s an insult to his prior work, it’s a strip show! And yet Lucy’s mouth waters and her cheeks grow hot anyway, because whatever he’s packing looks heavy.
It’s just her luck that a band starts their show just as soon as Cooper’s set is done, and most of the crowd disperses. Lucy is heading closer to the stage, against the current of people, zig-zagging to avoid bumping into people. She can see a stage hand giving Cooper, now seated rather relaxed in the saddle, the pieces of his costume that he’d tossed away. He sees her, in her blue string bikini, glancing her way before saying something to the stage hand and riding away faster than she could catch up to.
But she could certainly follow the hoof tracks further up the beach. Her education had included wilderness training; she knew all about animal tracks, and this wasn’t even going to be a fun challenge.
The beach is quieter this way, thankfully, because Lucy quickly finds her way to a metal fence sticking out of the sand.
PRIVATE BEACH: RESORT PROPERTY
The path beyond cuts into the treeline, and she can still make out the hoof tracks. With a quick glance over her shoulder, Lucy passes the sign and heads up the path.
She starts to pay closer attention to the sounds around her, the whistles of birds and the shifting trees making her a little nervous. A feeling she’d kept relatively at bay until her father disappeared.
Lucy takes a deep breath, not needing the reminder of home to distract her from her task. Her community members would be missing her leadership skills and cheerful morale in her father’s absence, surely, but she knew everyone was in good hands with the council. They’d rebuild what was damaged in the attack.
A wooden gate separates the path from another, with a number like an address on the winging door. Lucy catches the door before the wind can slam it, and peers over to the sand beyond.
Horse tracks.
With another steadying breath, she steps over the threshold and gently sets the door into place, heading into what could reasonably be described as a back yard. The tree cover cools the space entirely, and Lucy shivers, taking the corner cautiously as she hears a horse’s chortle and spots the creature across the yard, in a small stable.
She shifts slightly to get a better view of the yard, spotting a large wooden patio and a bungalow beyond it.
A splash alerts her to an outdoor shower with a curved wooden privacy screen.
The horse whinnies.
Cooper Howard steps out of the shower with a towel wrapped low around his waist.
“The security here doesn’t take too kindly to trespassin’,” he says, running a hand over his wet, long-styled and silver-tinged hair. “And so many fans seem to forget, I was a marine before my acting career.”
Lucy scoffs. “I’m not—” a fan . But her cheeks were red the moment he stepped out. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
He laughs, picking up his cowboy hat from a lounge chair and putting it on, easing himself onto the sofa. “If you were, you’d be quite the conspicuous agent, in that bright blue bitty thang you’ve got on.”
Lucy crosses her arms over her chest, walking to the edge of the patio. “I know who you are.”
“I assumed as much, darlin’,” he says sarcastically.
“I don’t understand why you’re here.” She motions at him. “And I’d like to find out.”
Cooper leans forward in his seat, looking her over critically.
“Who are you?” he demands.
“Lucy MacLean.”
Cooper sits back with a dry laugh.
“Don’t tell me you’re from that sex cult?”
“Sex… cult?” Lucy makes a face.
Marriages were arranged by the elders in Community 33, children were taught responsible sexual education. The topic was extremely open, and she had begun exploring at the age of 13. Kissing and touching. Sexual partners were limited though, and one could only tolerate cousin stuff and girl stuff for so long before things got boring or complicated. She’d applied for marriage preceding the triannual trade, the council had accepted and begun corresponding with Community 32 to find her a suitable husband.
Her marriage was only four hours young when the explosions started. And when Monty, her now late husband, had tried to stop her from going to the aid of her friends and family, she’d realized the whole thing had been a trick. A trick to infiltrate and kidnap her father.
“Mix the Hippies with the transhumanists and you get something like VTC… Vault-Tec Cult,” Cooper says.
“Corporation,” Lucy corrects. “We’re not a sex cult.”
“And I’m not an actor.”
“You were. A good one.”
He cants his head. “Nearly a lifetime ago, miss MacLean.”
“So you’ve… heard of us,” she concedes.
“In so many words.”
“I’m looking for my father. He was kidnapped,” she says, and when Cooper does not react, she goes on, a tinge of urgency bleeding into her tone. “Someone called Lee Moldaver tricked us and… bombed our homestead. People died.”
Cooper stands, crossing over to her with heavy steps, until he’s looming over her from three steps above. Lucy frowns up at him.
“And what has any of that got to do with me, Lucy MacLean?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Lucy retorts, gaze flickering over his body. She clenches her jaw and looks away.
Cooper chuckles, scoffing.
“Sounds like your daddy got the commupance he was owed, sweetheart. Lucky for you, Mis Moldaver only wanted him and didn’t return the favour he paid her thirty years ago.”
“Excuse me?” Lucy’s face contorts with disgust.
He smirks and points a tattooed finger at Lucy, but she can’t make out the words. “Your daddy ain’t the man he pretends to be.”
“Neither are you,” she says.
He brings his hands to his hips, and Lucy’s gaze follows. “I’m not playing pretend anymore.” Cooper hooks a thumb under his towel and pulls it free.
Lucy does not avert her gaze, but shudders and shuts her eyes when she realizes he’s still wearing the Speedo. There are faded scars on his legs and back, hidden somewhat by his body hair.
She recognizes some as burn scars, the same her father bore.
“That’s what I thought, sex cult.” He turns away, tossing the towel onto the sofa.
“It’s not a sex cult,” she mutters.
“And I’m not an actor.” Cooper opens the sliding door into the bungalow. “Your ‘family’ was given more grace than Hank MacLean gave anyone.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” she barks, following him onto the patio.
He turns on her in an instant, a sharp look on his face.
“Don’t push your luck, girl. I ain’t above putting my hands on you to make you leave.”
“ Feo fuerte y formal— ” she says, watching his shoulders tense. “What are you, Cooper Howard? I barely recognize you.”
“Get in line. I’m you, just give it a little time.” He steps inside.
“Hey— wait! I need information.”
Cooper gives her a hard look.
“I wouldn’t piss on Hank MacLean if he were on fire right in front of me. The man deserves to burn, sweetheart. Let him. Or you’re gonna get caught in his fire too, just like my daughter and your mama did.”
“Wha—”
“Don’t let the gate hit you on your way out.”
He shuts the sliding door and Lucy stands there on the patio, blinking in disbelief. She lets out a huff and turns away, mind reeling as she steps back onto the sand.
The horse whinnies from her stall, and Lucy glances at her before half-way stomping back down the path the way she came, still reeling from the exchange they’d just had.
She stops and takes a few deep breaths, looking at her hand, at the tattoo that meant so much to her. How could Cooper Howard be part of this ever-growing puzzle? How did he know her parents, especially her mother?
Lucy balls her hand into a fist.
Movement catches her eye, and she turns, but not before a shadowy figure slams a large hand over her mouth and grabs her forcefully around the waist.
Lucy’s scream is muffled, and she growls, fighting the stranger’s hold. He squeezes her harder.
“Quiet, girl. I heard you talking to the washed-up cowboy. Where is Lee Moldaver?”
Lucy just growls again, and he drops his hand.
“You must not have been listening very well,” she retorts.
The second she has a chance, Lucy throws her elbow back and slams it into the man’s face. He shouts, head snapping back, but grabs her before she can dart away.
“Bitch—” He throws her to the ground and kicks sand in her face.
She growls and spits, narrowly avoiding her assailant’s booted kick. Lucy grabs his leg and yanks him over, throwing sand right back at him as she scrambles back.
The man grabs her foot and pulls, making her faceplant, and climbs on top of her, pinning a knee against her back as he wrestles her arms behind her back. Lucy shouts and squirms, tasting blood, and he shoves her face into the sand, grabbing her by the hair and bringing his rank breath close to her ear.
“Look what you made me do,” he growls. But Lucy grits her teeth and headbutts the man, with a wet crack! He howls, and his weight recedes.
Lucy turns over and puts some space between them, spitting blood from where she’d bitten her own lip. The man clutches his nose, blood dripping from behind his hand. He spits and pulls a knife from his belt, flicking it open and stalking toward her.
A lasso snares the man around the middle, trapping his arms, and before he can even turn around, Cooper Howard yanks the rope and pulls the intruder to the ground in one swift motion.
Lucy glares at him, panting, mouth set in a bloody grimace. She gets to her knees and crawls over to the man on the ground, still fighting the restraint of the lasso, and punches him in the face, quickly grabbing the knife from the sand.
“I see you, little killer,” Cooper says with a grin, stalking over to the man. Even in only a Speedo, Cooper easily turns the intruder onto his back and makes quick work of searching his pockets.
When the man resists, Cooper digs his knee into his back.
“Settle down or you’ll find out what fighting dirty really looks like,” Cooper snarls. The man growls but says nothing further.
Cooper pulls two folded and crinkled pages from the man’s jacket and opens them, brow raised, and then yanks down the back of his collar, exposing a brand at the back of his neck.
“Looks like you might get your information after all,” Cooper says, handing the papers to Lucy before he starts tying his arms behind his back. “This fella is from the Brotherhood. Might even consider them the opposite of your little sex cult.”
Lucy scowls and unfolds the pages to find black and white printouts of Cooper Howard… and herself. Both are semi-recent, with a few notes scrawled under each. On both pages, the same note is written in red.
Find the head.
“What the hell is this?” she says.
Cooper hauls the man to his feet.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get cleaned up. I’ve gotta get this virgin here situated so you and I can have a chat.”
Lucy wipes her mouth. “You’re not going to kill him, are you?”
Cooper laughs. “Course not. Treat others as you would like to be treated, or so it goes, hm?”
The intruder grunts, but his face has drained of colour.
Lucy looks at Cooper in disbelief.
“How do you know the Golden Rule?”
“Seems like you’re about to learn more than a few things your daddy has been keeping from you, darlin’.”