"It was like living in a shoebox--"

Cooper wished he could say he'd tuned out your drunken rambling. Unfortunately for him, you were very loud. And he had to make sure you didn't accidentally spill something about about the bounty that he didn't need the entire town hearing.

"Mhm," he grunted, pretending to care as he took a generous gulp of his drink. "I'm sure your rad-free Vault full of food and fresh water was a real chore, sweetheart."

He was holding your drink in his other hand as he finished his own. At some point in the night you had started talking with your hands, and he really wasn't in the mood to clean up whatever booze you splashed on either of you in the process.

"At least you can go where you want," you said, leaning back on the bar stool. Cooper eyed you warily in case you leaned too far and cracked your head on the wooden floor. "I couldn't take two steps without some nosy bootlicker asking what I was doing or what floor I was headed to."

Nosy bootlicker. The phrase was surprisingly venomous, at least coming from you. From the moment Cooper had lassoed you in Filly you had been nothing but annoyingly nice. But the alcohol had loosened your tongue for the first time since Cooper had taken you hostage.

Although, he hesitated to really call you a hostage anymore. More like a reluctant travel partner.

"Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart," Cooper drawled, partially sarcastic but also intrigued.