The Almost Second Husband Of Ace Matthews (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x OC)

Bounty Blues and Boneless Bustles

In the coming days, the steady rhythm of the Ghoul's work became a strangely comforting heartbeat to the house. The lingering smell of decay was chased away by the tang of fresh-cut lumber and the metallic scent of old nails wrenched free by gnarled fingers. Every morning, Ace woke to the rhythmic thud of a hammer or the unsettling rasp of a saw cutting through wood. Seeing the Ghoul perched on the roof like some grotesque gargoyle, patching holes against desert storms, or hunched over a battered toolbox meticulously fixing some broken contraption, became almost... commonplace.

The changes weren't just physical. Ace, after an initial period of awkwardness, found an unexpected ease in his presence. She would wake to find her boots cleaned and oiled next to the door or discover a meagre dinner waiting on the table whenever she returned late from patrol. They shared meals, simple things cobbled together with canned goods and whatever fresh produce she could trade for.

Conversations unfolded hesitantly, punctuated by long, comfortable stretches of silence. He asked about her job, the town's history, and her life – carefully avoiding any mention of Eddie. She, in turn, learned fragments of his past – not names and places, but slivers of emotion and fleeting memories of a world she had never known. And though her curiosity begged her to push for more, to bring the conversation back to his bounty – whoever she was – it was clear Cooper wasn't willing to share.

Evenings held a different kind of silence. With the last rays of the dying sun, the Ghoul would pull out its threadbare sleeping bag and settle in a corner of the living room. Ace would bring extra blankets, tucking them around it with a touch that had lost its initial hesitation.

Of course, there were complications. Radiation wasn't something you could easily ignore. Mornings were filled with the slight sting of Rad-Away on her tongue, and despite diligently popping Rad-X each night, a low hum of radiation sickness seemed a permanent fixture in the back of her mind.

There were whispers whenever they walked down the dusty street together, stares filled with fear and morbid curiosity. But surprisingly, it bothered her less and less.

Some people, including the two-fingered Ezra and the Sheriff, made their opinions on the Ghoul's presence known loudly, spouting anti-Ghoul propaganda to anyone within earshot, and trying to scare people into believing their everyday ailments were caused by higher levels of radiation in the air. If something didn't change soon, there'd be pitchforks and torches involved.

Today, however, Ace put her worries on the back-burner, slipping her jacket over her shoulders and stepping onto the plain with a smile. Today was trader day; a semi-annual celebration of trading, haggling, and the perusing of fine goods from all across the wasteland - and more importantly, a day where everyone was on their best behaviour. No whispering, no underhanded comments, just a lazy day in the sun filled with the delicious smell of machine oil and petrol simmering.

Dusty Plains wasn't much to look at on a regular day, but this was different. Rickety stalls had popped up along the main street, displaying a motley assortment of wares. Streamers of every colour and hue, or at least as much colour as can be found in the barren wasteland, strung from one building to another, like tinsel wrapped around a radio antenna for Christmas. Traders from neighbouring settlements, their eyes hardened but tinged with excitement, haggled over everything from scavenged tech to surprisingly decent canned fruits.

Ace took a deep breath, the smells of leather, hot metal, and the faint aroma of something that might be edible sending a wave of nostalgia through her. This was her element. Bartering and bantering, the thrill of discovering that one improbable object she never knew she needed – this was a language she understood. Ace exchanged greetings with familiar faces, politely deflecting eager sales pitches for everything from 'miracle' elixirs to genuine imitation leather belts. She had no intention of cluttering her newly-repaired house with unnecessary junk... not yet.