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

Forty Years and Three Husbands too late

So when Cooper stood against the peeling doorframe decades later, his gaze fell upon what used to be the kitchen – now reduced to rubble, with broken cabinets, a rusty faucet, and shattered pieces of two, no three, coffee mugs scattered on the floor. He couldn't help but feel a prickling sensation in his eyes as tears threatened to spill over.

Over the years, he'd wondered what became of the deputy – his deputy. He'd hoped against hope she was happy; she deserved that much.

Sometimes, a ghost of her would flicker at the edge of his vision – sunlight glinting on familiar hair, the echo of a laugh on the wind. It was fleeting, an ache as real as the pain of a missing limb. Yet, even in his bleakest moments, he never pictured this – her living in squalor, bitterness clinging to her like the stench of refuse.

After a meagre dinner consisting of dented cans of beans begrudgingly tossed their way by Ace, a heavy silence settled over them. The only sound was the faint creaking of the rickety lawn chair where Ace sat, grimly surveying the barren patch that had once been a garden. Not a word had been spoken since their pathetic meal. Lucy had fallen asleep almost immediately, thankful to not be sleeping on the hard ground again. She and Dogmeat curled up on the old sofa bed, its rusty springs poking through the threadbare fabric.

"Judas," Cooper muttered, catching the contented snores from the canine.

The sight of the two of them sleeping, so small and quiet, was both painful and strangely comforting for him. He blinked back tears and quietly cleared his throat. He then shuffled over to the pile of cabinets on the floor, determined to find a drink. If this was going to be a long night, he figured he might as well be drunk for it.

He found a battered tin cup and a bottle of something rotgut-brown and unlabelled. With practised ease born of despair and too many nights like this, he poured two fingers' worth, ignoring the way the liquid burned a fiery path down his throat. The second drink was smoother, the harshness dulled by resignation. Setting the bottle down, he leaned against the broken counter, the warped wood digging into his back. It was a fitting punishment, he supposed.

"Are you planning on drinking yourself to death?" Her voice, rough and unfamiliar, suddenly broke through the heavy silence that surrounded them. He hadn't even heard her approaching footsteps, so lost was he in his own thoughts.

Cooper didn't turn. "Maybe. Seems better than most other options these days." He took another deep pull from the cup, savouring the numbing heat of the liquor.

He felt her shift, the creak of the chair causing Lucy and Dogmeat to stir before the snores returned. "Didn't figure you for a coward," she scoffed, a venom in her voice that stung worse than the cheap booze.

With a sigh, Cooper turned to face her. He'd hoped the alcohol would dull the pain of seeing her like this. He was wrong. Ace now sat hunched in the fading light. Her eyes, once whiskey-warm, were now flint-hard.

"I ain't no coward," he rasped, the words feeling heavy and thick. "Just... tired."

"Tired of what? Running?" She leaned forward, the accusation sharp as a rusty blade. "Or tired of caring?"

His grip on the cup tightened, his knuckles turning white. Damn her, damn her for seeing right through him. "Both, I reckon," he confessed, the words barely a whisper.

A bitter laugh echoed in the room. "Always did have a talent for leaving, didn't you?" She stood, her movements stiff and deliberate. "Slippin' away, like a thief."

The guilt flared hot. He'd done what he had to, convinced himself it was for the best. But the look in her eyes, the accusation in her voice, chipped away at that fading certainty. "I had..." he started, then faltered. What could he say? That he was a monster? That her safety, her happiness, meant more than his own? He doubted the words would ring true now, not after all this time.