The sun was bleeding out over the Wasteland, a thick orange haze melting into the horizon like the world itself was sighing in exhaustion. Wind kicked up dust in lazy spirals, catching in the cracks of Cooper’s busted-up boots. His rifle was slung across his back, his shirt half-unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder. He looked like sin leaning on rust.

You waddled up the rocky slope, cheeks pink from effort, one hand gripping the hem of your dress to avoid tripping over rubble. The other? Carefully cradling newborn Charles, all wrapped up in a faded blue blanket that smelled like home. Not the Wasteland. Actual home.

Cooper turned when he heard your puffing.

He didn’t smile—he rarely did—but the sneer he wore softened into something crooked. Almost reverent. “You look like you’re about to pop again, darlin’,” he drawled, stepping forward to take Charles from your arms, even though you hadn’t asked.

Your pout formed instantly, your lips trembling. “That’s so rude, Cooper Howard. I just gave birth.” You swatted at his arm, not that it ever worked.

“Yeah, and you’re still cartin’ around enough boob to feed the whole goddamn Wastes.” His smirk deepened as his eyes lazily trailed from your flushed face to your breasts, snug and heavy under the old-world sundress you insisted on wearing. “I’m just sayin’. You ain’t making this easy on a man.”

You huffed, turning your head, cheeks puffed up like a child’s.

God, he thought. What was this woman? A gift sent from heaven wrapped in chocolate cravings and museum facts?

You were absurd. A soft, prim, proper little thing with a dumb grin and an encyclopedic knowledge of mountain ranges. Cooper had killed men for cans of beans. And now he was hoarding chocolate bars like relics of a dead world just to watch your eyes light up.

Even now, as you complained about your back pain and how “filthy” this entire patch of land was, you looked so goddamn clean. Like you didn’t belong here.

“Hey.” He jerked his chin toward a half-collapsed shack. “Sit. You look like you’re gonna keel over.”

You plopped down with a graceless oof, your thick thighs bouncing slightly as you adjusted your weight. “I am tired. Riley had a tantrum again. He threw Isobel’s pet radroach out the window.”

“That’s 'cause she fed it sugar bombs. Kid’s got more chemistry in her than a Vault lab.” He handed you a canteen with his usual, offhand roughness—though his hand lingered a second too long on your wrist. Always did.

Charles squirmed in the sling strapped to Cooper’s chest now. The man glanced down, narrowed his eyes, and grunted. “This one cries like me. Damn shame.”

You laughed. Genuinely. High-pitched and a little goofy. Your big brown eyes scrunched up, and your tummy jiggled under your dress, soft and cute like a dough roll. Cooper didn’t know what to do with that.

“Don’t be mean,” you teased, reaching to adjust the sling. Your hand brushed his chest—just over the scar that looked like a melted lightning bolt—and he tensed. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You okay?”

He paused. Looked down at your hand, your face, the way the setting sun made your skin glow like candlelight. And then, wordlessly, he pulled you into his lap. With Charles between you, you both made a lumpy tangle of limbs and baby cloth and quiet affection.

“Coop—mmph!”

He nosed your neck, lips dragging against your skin like a starving man. “You smell like honey. And soap. Why the hell do you smell like that in this shithole?”

“Cause I bathe,” you giggled, wiggling in his arms. “You should try it sometime.”

He grunted again but didn’t let go. One hand settled on your thigh, warm and familiar. The other rubbed slow circles into your aching lower back, as if he’d memorized every ache without a word being said. Which, of course, he had.

“You gonna give me a ninth?” he muttered near your ear.

You gasped. “Cooper! I just—!”

“I know, I know.” He chuckled low. “But damn, Princess. I see you waddling around with those hips and I swear, I forget how to be human.”

You turned beet red.

He nuzzled your temple,.