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Everyone Deserves Love chapter 4

A/N: He’s here! Now done with the prologue, Barba has finally made it to the story haha. This is a long chapter, but it’s also a lot of exposition since it takes place 3 years after chapter 3. That’s right, this chapter takes place in season 15, right after Cragen retires. Gonna say now that I tried to keep the timeline of the show as close as I could, but I have taken some liberties (for example, Cragen leaving to Lewis dying is apparently 4 months, which is insanely short). Also, yes, Amaro should be on desk duty at this time, but with a threat on Olivia’s life, she’s not gonna be left alone.

Also, now that this story is in the “present” tense, and with both Devon and Barba, the narrative will switch between the two’s pov. It’s mostly Devon’s, but you do get Barba’s insight, as well

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Tags: mentions of rape, mentions of trafficking, alcohol/drinking, knives, guns

Words: 12k+

Courthouse

Wednesday, January 26th. 4:36pm

“We find the defendant guilty,” the juror said before taking their seat. The judge thanked the jury for their services and dismissed the court. On the outside, Rafael Barba showed no emotions aside from a small smirk—ever the smug counselor—and simply gathered his papers, put them in his case, and latched it. On the inside, however, he was many things; relieved, happy, and yes, maybe a little smug. Yet a nagging part of his mind was nervous, if not a little afraid; something he wasn’t quite used to feeling, especially after securing a guilty verdict. Sure, he got the conviction on a top-ranking gang member—one Jorge Ramirez--who was just sent to jail for the rest of his mortal life for trafficking, rape, and murder. But Barba knew that this may put a target on his back in retaliation from Ramirez’s gang…not that he hadn’t dealt with some sort of threats in the past. But this time, his instinct was telling him something was off. He pushed the feeling down, grabbed his case while receiving a very nasty glare from Ramirez as he was pulled away, then turned to see Sergeant Benson and all of the other SVU detectives giving him broad grins or congratulations.

“Guilty on all counts. Nice, Rafael,” Liv said with a pat on his shoulder.

“Let’s hope we can round up the rest of his posse,” Barba replied. “Drinks?”

Flanagan’s Bar

Wednesday, January 26th. 5:06pm

They all agreed that a celebration drink was in order—this had been a rough case all around--and made their way from the courthouse to the cop bar down the street. None of the party were particularly heavy drinkers, but Barba knew that he wanted to leave his mind for a little bit tonight; this wasn’t his first hard case that he had dealt with recently. That being said, Fin only stayed for one drink, saying he had other things to do tonight. Rollins had a couple drinks, then bowed out herself. Amaro mentioned something about facetiming his daughter before she went to bed and headed out shortly after, leaving Liv and Barba alone. They moved from the big, party table to the stools at the bar, chatting idly about the case, then about life; the norm when they were alone together. Barba never admitted it aloud, but he loved their friendship; Liv was smart, strong, and, most importantly, put up with his shit. What they had wasn’t romantic by any standard; it was fully platonic, and they both knew it, regardless of what rumors flew about. But they both cared for each other in a way that was…different from anyone else. These types of relationships seemed to flock to Liv, seeing as she had a team that she worked with daily and trusted with her life. But Barba? Well, he had a couple childhood friends that he’d see around town, though after the business with Muñoz, those friends were fewer and farther in between. Then there was his secretary, Carmen, and a few acquaintances at work—none of these people were actual friends he saw outside of work, besides at the occasional suit and tie benefit dinners his office forced him to attend. Sure, he was friendly…sometimes…with them, and with the SVU detectives, but nothing that was substantial outside of Liv.

“You need a ride home tonight, Rafa?” Olivia asked after she finished her glass of wine. Barba took a look at his scotch; it wasn’t low enough to shoot it back quite yet. And he didn’t want to make Liv wait for him.

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I can catch a cab tonight,” he replied with a half-smile. Olivia gave him a look like she knew exactly what he was thinking, feeling. But she decided not to comment on it. She knew he could take care of himself.

“Good night, then. Good win today,” she smiled at him as she stood, putting her jacket on.

“Sleep well,” he replied, returning her smile, before taking a sip of his drink.

Liv grinned. “Oh, I will, knowing that we finally put Ramirez behind bars.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, gave him a light squeeze, then headed out into the cold evening. Barba sighed and checked his watch, 9:07pm, later than he thought. He was usually in bed pretty early after a big win, since he normally had to stay up late the previous week preparing. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he couldn’t stop the picture of his quiet loft from flashing across his mind, nor the sudden feeling of loneliness—something that he hasn’t felt in a while. Sure, he has been alone for a long time now, but that never bothered him…much. The truth is, he was usually too busy to really dwell on the fact that his bed, his home, his life, has been empty outside of himself. Plus, the scandal with Alex, Eddy, and Yelina happened only a few, short months ago. And Barba still couldn’t understand how Alex could be doing things like…that…when he got to come home to Yelina at night. YELINA. She was smart, attractive, strong…. Oh, the alcohol was definitely affecting his mood. He’d finish this drink, then head home, end this self-pity spree.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” a soft voice asked to his left.

Barba jumped; sucked into his thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone approaching him. “N-no, uh, help yourself,” he replied, turning his head slightly, but not really looking at the person. He heard the stool pull out and the person—a woman, he realized—sat down next to him.

“Whiskey and coke, please,” she ordered. The bartender nodded and went off to make her drink. There was silence, but Barba could feel her gaze on him. His heart was still racing from her surprise appearance, but now he felt his face heating slightly from her stare. “My name’s Devon, by the way.”

“Rafael.” This time, he turned and gave her a somewhat forced smile. He felt his face turn fully red as he looked her up and down, too dumbstruck to even try and hide it. Devon was, well, beautiful. She had long, brown hair cascading down her back in waves, a plain, black v-neck that hugged her curves, navy jeans, and a heavy black trench coat that she had opened once inside the heat of the bar. The simplicity of her outfit did nothing to diminish her natural beauty, and Barba didn’t really care that he was caught staring. She smiled back at him playfully, knowing full well that she had him on the ropes. Now, Barba knew that the alcohol was definitely guiding his thoughts. Maybe his bed wouldn’t be so lonely with her in it. He squashed down the thought as quickly as it appeared; he was not that type of guy. He did not just pick up random women in a bar. No more scotch for a while.

“You alright there, Rafael?” she asked slowly, letting his name dance across her tongue. His attention snapped back to the bar; at some point, the bartender had given her her drink, and he realized that he had been staring at her, mouth slightly open.

“Yeah, sorry. Just had a long day at work,” he replied, taking a sip from his drink. It was low enough now that he could easily pound it and leave if things got any more awkward. He was heavily debating it, debating just getting the hell out of there before either of them made a move.

She nodded, taking a long pull off of her drink, killing half of it in one sip. She swallowed hard, then said, “I know all about long days.” She sat for a second, eyes unfocused, staring at something only she could see. She shook herself, smiling a bit at whatever thought she had before focusing her brown eyes back on his green ones. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Barba thought for what seemed like a long time, at least to him. On one hand, it would be nice to unload some stress onto a stranger. But on the other hand, he was a pretty private man; he didn’t like discussing cases or work with others, especially such a nasty one. Ramirez was one of the worst he’d seen and…wait a minute. It hit him then and he gave the woman a sideways glance; who was this woman? Why did she suddenly appear when he was alone, drinking, and asking him personal questions? Did…did she possibly work for Ramirez? Was she here to threaten him, hurt him…kill him?

Barba pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the blank screen. “Actually,” he started, slamming his drink, “I just got a call I have to take. It was nice meeting you.” He reached into his wallet, grabbed more than enough for his drinks, and dropped the money onto the counter. He didn’t carry any weapons, and he wasn’t much of a fighter. So, he kept his phone in his hand as he gathered his things. He had Liv’s number pulled up so that he could call her if anything happened; it was the only plan he could think of. He gave Devon—if that was her real name—a tight smile before turning and rushing to the door. Just find a cab, just find a cab, he thought. He figured that if there wasn’t one right outside the bar, then he only had to make it the two blocks to the courthouse to find one. There were always taxis on the main roads, and he was hoping that he could outrun the woman, even in his expensive court suit and dress shoes.

He made it outside and took a deep breath. The cold air stung his lungs, but he was used to New York’s frigid nights; it brought his mind back, sobering him up. There were no taxis in sight, so he quickly started to make his way to the main road. He thought he heard footsteps behind him, but he waved it off as being paranoid; no one was after him, surely. This was all an illusion, brought on by stress and adrenaline. But as he passed a dimly lit alley, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was spun around, then felt a hard hit to his cheek. It all happened so fast, he didn’t even catch a glimpse of who hit him, let alone know what hit him. He stumbled backwards towards the alley, dropping his case and his phone. Pure fear rushed through him, and he threw up his arms in a defensive position.

Flanagan’s Bar

Wednesday, January 26th. 9:45pm

Devon waited to make sure that she was right. She watched the man—Rafael—make his hasty exit, then looked over at the two men who were sitting a little way away from her. Just as she thought, they got up, and started to follow Rafael out. She let out a sigh.

As soon as she had come into the bar, she noticed the tension in the room. Those two men, both Hispanic and wearing similar outfits, had been watching Rafael with such disdain that she knew they were there for him. By the look of the two, they were probably apart of the same gang. And by the look of the suit and the scotch that the man at the bar was drinking, he probably worked for the government. Seeing as this was a notorious cop bar, and that two gang members decided to actually stake someone out in it, Devon put her money on police commissioner, or lawyer. Of course, this happens the first night out after a three-year stint in undercover. And of course, there were no cops in sight. In a fucking cop bar. She just wanted to decompress, have a drink and just relax; she may have been back for a week, but she was just finally feeling up for hitting the town again. Though, she did enjoy the short conversation she had with the flustered, yet handsome, man at the bar. If the circumstances were just a little different, a little simpler, maybe they could have helped each other relax. Oh well. Still a chance for that, Devon thought, ignoring the fact that he seemed to freak out, citing a fake phone call to leave abruptly.

She waited for the two men to stand and head towards the door before she, too, stood, pulling out some crumpled bills and paid for her half-drunk drink. By the time she left the bar, the two men were hot on Rafael’s heels, though he didn’t seem to notice—there was a thin layer of snow on the ground that muffled their footsteps slightly. She realized that there was no time to warn him, so she took off after them instead, careful to not slip on the icy ground, silently thankful that she wore her snow boots. She opened her mouth to yell a warning anyways but was too late; the taller of the men grabbed Rafael by the shoulder, turned him, and punched him in the face. Rafael stumbled to the side, into a dark alley, dropping his attaché and phone as he struggled to stay on his feet.

What is this, a tv show? Devon thought. The two men had followed him into the alley by the time Devon caught up with them. Rafael had his arms up in a mock defense position—in reality, he wouldn’t stop a toddler from punching him--and the two men were descending upon him quickly.

“Hey, mind if I join in?” Devon called in a loud voice. Look at me, she practically screamed. The two men whipped around; the one who had not hit Rafael had a pocketknife gripped in his hand. Seeing as he had a weapon, and was closest to Devon, she set her attention on him. He lunged sloppily towards her with the knife—has this guy even held a knife before?—which she easily blocked. She grabbed his wrist and slammed it against one of the brick alley walls, forcing him to drop the knife. She then brought her knee up into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Using his forward momentum, she punched him in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. He fell onto his back, gasping for air. The other man looked to his prone buddy at his feet, then back to Devon, but it was too late; he had left himself open by hesitating. She kicked him in his ribs, sending him into a wall. Then she grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall, not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that he wasn’t getting back up.

Rafael stood in disbelief, mouth hanging open, dropping his arms to his sides, and looked at the bodies around him, then at Devon. “You alright?” she asked, pulling her coat tightly around her in the cold.

“Y-yeah,” he replied. “Just…just a long day.”

Devon chuckled, then led him out of the alleyway and over to his fallen attaché and phone. She picked them up and handed them to him. “I��m serious, though. Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Or call someone for you?” She grabbed his chin, examining his cheek in the light of the streetlamp.

“No, no, I’m fine.” He pulled out of her grip, cheeks red not entirely from the cold, and looked back to the alley. He ignored the jolt of electricity he felt from the soft touch of her skin. “Should we call an ambulance for them, though? You went a little hard on them.”

“Hard on them? They attacked you, screw them,” she replied, then saw the alarm in his eyes. Right, most people would call for help, even if they attacked him first. “Oh, they’ll be fine. If anything, I should call the cops and have them arrested.” When Rafael didn’t respond, she asked, “why were those guys after you, anyways?”

Devon could see him thinking through his answer carefully. “I think it may be work related,” he finally said.

She didn’t push it; she doubted he’d elaborate anyways. “At least let me walk you to somewhere safer than here.” Rafael didn’t want to voice his objections from the bar, especially after the display in the alley, and so they made their way to the main street, Devon walking a little too close to him. To protect him, she told herself, ignoring the side of her that remarked how attractive this man was. Her heart was still beating fast, though from the fight or from examining his face in the light, she wasn’t sure. She thought about giving him her card with her number on it…for protection…but realized she hadn’t restocked her pockets with them since coming back to New York. Oh well…. Once on the main street, Rafael hailed a cab, and Devon didn’t leave until he had gotten in, thanked her awkwardly, and then disappeared down the street. God, I missed this city, Devon thought. Wish I got in that cab with him, though. Now alone, she headed back to that alley to see if she couldn’t get some answers from the two hitmen. Though, by the time she made it back to the alley, the men were gone, the only sign of them was their footprints all over each other in their scramble to run.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Wednesday, January 26th. 10:37pm

“I’m telling you, they were working for Ramirez. Probably some low-level Aces,” Barba said into his phone. He made it into his loft, had locked the door, and instantly called Olivia. Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew the expression Liv had; worry, concern, and yet hard determination, her Sergeant side taking over.

“I’ll put an unmarked on your block tonight. We may be stretched a little thin here, but I can give you Amaro or Rollins tomorrow morning, then have them switch shifts at lunch,” Liv replied.

“I’ll take the car tonight, though I doubt they will strike again so soon. And I should be safe at the office and courthouse; too many witnesses.” Barba moved to his freezer, taking an ice pack out. His cheek was killing him, and he winced when he put the cold plastic on it. He slowly made his way to the hallway bathroom to examine himself. I can’t believe I got sucker punched….

“I can have a detective escort you to and from work, keep the uni’s there at night.”

Liv always had an answer for everything. But Barba was never a man to live in fear; he figured that he could simply carry pepper spray or a stun gun and be fine. Now that he knew the Aces were after him, he wouldn’t get jumped again. Plus, Olivia was going to have every precinct after this gang; they’d be rounded up in no time. “I’ll be fine, Liv.”

He could hear her winding up for an argument, one he was determined not to lose. Perhaps sensing this, Liv blew out a long breath. “I’ll have Amaro there, first thing in the morning. Please, for my sake, take the ride.”

Barba sighed. “Fine, but I don’t need a babysitter while at work.” She reluctantly agreed—he had a point about too many witnesses--then said her goodbyes before hanging up. Barba looked into the mirror in his bathroom, gently fingering the bruised skin under his right eye. There was no covering it—he didn’t know how anyways—so that would be some awkward conversations tomorrow. Hopefully he could glare hard enough that no one would ask. He put the icepack back on the spot, wincing again at the pain. He had no idea how he was going to sleep tonight. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, especially after recounting the event to Liv. He also wished that he had thanked Devon more—she may not have realized it, but she most likely just saved his life. But one question kept coming back, swimming through the thoughts racing through his mind: who was that woman?

Apartment of Devon Motely

Thursday, January 27th. 7:08am

Devon woke up after a much-needed deep sleep, one she hadn’t had for years. There was nothing quite like sleeping in your own bed to make you feel refreshed. She had been out-of-state for three years, in the life of a made-up woman, in a house that was not hers, talking to people she didn’t know. And while the FBI had people come in a day before she was home, to clean all the dust off the furniture and wash the sheets, it was still weird to be somewhere “new.” There was a peacefulness she gained from being in her home—not just an apartment, but home—but it was still a little jarring coming back to reality. Not to mention the three-hour time difference between here in New York, and where she had been in California. Her sleep schedule in California wasn’t normal, but it made NYC seem a little better; waking up at 7am meant she was a go-getter…just ignore the fact that a week ago, that was 4am. She has spent the whole week home attempting to stay awake later, but it wasn’t happening; she slept when it was dark out, and with the city’s tall buildings, nighttime was earlier than that of the sunny West Coast.

Devon had already spent a couple months with the Fed’s shrink, both in the California branch and her home doctor, and was cleared to work. But her boss knew better, giving her three more months to decompress and return to normal. Not that she was complaining; she had never been undercover for that long before, and it took a bigger toll on her than she thought it would. The hardest part about getting back to normal was picking up her gym routine again; the first day was hell. She wasn’t out-of-shape, but she was definitely out of gym shape. And at first, she was happy when the first day was over, the burn a reminder of where she could grow. That happiness disappeared on the second day of gym. After this week, though, Devon was glad to find her body getting back into the motion of things.

After a long shower, she made her way to her closet. Even after a week of being back, she was still excited to put on some of her own clothes again; her last alias had a decent sense of style but was definitely not her. The college student’s style was oversized hoodies, too-tight shirts, and skinny jeans, while the Madam’s style was skimpy dresses and heavy makeup. Devon’s style, however, was practical; you never know when you may have to kick some ass—as evident with the events from the night before--or deal with a hostage situation. She almost always wore loose-fitting jeans, strong but mobile, and plain, scoop-neck shirts that fit perfectly; low enough to show a hint of cleavage--if only she had a dollar for every perp that hesitated from such a small distraction as a hint of skin--but comfortable enough to run, jump, climb, or whatever else her job required of her. She knew that she fit society’s standards of beauty, but as long as that was true, then it was a weapon she could use to her advantage.

While happy for her own home and clothes, nothing made her more excited than having her personal phone back. She couldn’t risk taking it with her last case—she was given a cell phone for her cover--so she had left it behind. But when she had come back from her trip, she found that couldn’t turn it back on. After a day of fidgeting with it, she had no other choice than to ask for help. Because it had sensitive information on it, she could only ask the FBI techs to fix it for her, something that was not high on the list of priorities for them. She only picked it up last night, after the bar fight—alley fight?—and was too tired to bother with it. Now, she held the power button, smiling as the screen turned on. It wasn’t like she was expecting much in terms of texts or calls; she only had a couple friends, friends who had known she was going undercover, but she wanted to meet up with them immediately to catch up, maybe even warn them about the man who was jumped last night. Even though her boss, Assistant Director Thomas Jenkins, gave her time off, she knew that 1) her boredom would quickly take over and 2) she’d get dragged into something anyways. She always did, especially with her friends being SVU detectives.

Her phone finally loaded, and she noticed that she had two unread texts. Curious, she clicked on them. They were both from the same person; Detective Olivia Benson. She opened them, read them, then sat for a moment, trying to figure out her emotions.

Happy Birthday! sent January 1, 2011 12:00am

I know you’re undercover and won’t see this until much later, but I wish you were here right now. I really need to talk to you. Elliot is gone. sent August 26, 2011 3:08am

The first text pulled on Devon’s heartstrings; she had forgotten how a simple birthday message could make her feel cared about—it was a rare enough occurrence. But that second message made her feel such a heavy amount of confusion, guilt, and sadness. She wasn’t here for her best friend when she needed her most, whether undercover or not. If she had known, she would have called instantly. And what did she mean Elliot is gone? Did he retire? Did he finally transfer out of SVU? Or was it worse; was he killed on the job? Devon clicked the dial button, determined to talk to Liv.

The phone only rang once. “Dev? Is that really you?” was Olivia’s greeting, her voice surprised and hopeful.

“Hey Olivia. Yeah, it’s me. I’m back in town. Can we meet up?” Devon thought it better to talk in person about this, seeing as the text was from over two years ago, barely a year into her UC case.

“Of course. Why don’t you come down to the precinct?”

“I’ll be there in 10,” Devon replied. She hung up and looked around her room. She had a grip that she tended to keep stocked with clothes and essentials, just in case. After waffling about it, she decided to take it with her—if Stabler really was killed, she’d make sure the bastard paid, if Liv hadn’t beaten her to it. She had packed it the day after arriving home, so it was ready to go except for one thing. She grabbed her work laptop and charger, and threw them in the grip before zipping it closed. Last but not least, she grabbed her badge, gun, and her throwing knife that she strapped to the outside of her left thigh—ol’ reliable, as she liked to call it.

SVU Department

Thursday, January 27th. 9:30am

As predicted, it took Devon 9 minutes to get to the 16th precinct, and another minute to make it to SVU. The officers gave her alarmed looks when they saw her with her bulging grip thrown over her shoulder. She flashed her badge but was still shocked when no one attempted to apprehend her; she didn’t recognize any of the officers, but maybe Olivia gave them a head’s up. She took a breath once in the SVU precinct, her shoulders relaxing—a second home when she was in New York. She looked to Liv’s desk, but noticed a man with dark hair sitting there. Noticing her stare, he looked up.

“May I help you?” he asked. Instead of answering, Devon looked at the desk that should’ve been Stabler’s, but saw that it was empty, leaving a heaviness in the pit of her stomach. Now feeling unsettled, she looked to Munch’s desk but saw a blonde woman giving Devon an equally confused look. She vaguely noticed the man reaching for his gun.

“Holy shit, Devon?” a familiar voice said. Devon turned to see Fin coming from the coffeemaker, cup in hand.

Devon felt the tension melt away. “Wow, Fin. I leave for three years and you guys change the whole force?”

He pulled her in for an awkward, half-hug, shocking the other detectives, and said, “it is good to see you, Dev. I thought we may have lost another one.”

By this time, the not-Stabler and not-Munch came over. “Uh, I’m Detective Nick Amaro, and this is Detective Amanda Rollins,” the man said, extending his hand.

Devon shook both of their hands. “I’m Senior Special Agent Devon Motely,”—she saw Fin’s eyebrows raise at the new title—"and as fun as it is to catch up and meet new people, I’m actually here to see Detective Benson.”

“You mean Sergeant Benson,” Fin corrected.

“Sergeant? Now this I gotta see,” Devon said, smiling broadly.

As if on cue, Olivia Benson came out of the captain’s office. “Devon Motely. It is so good to see you.”

Devon pulled away from the other detectives and made her way to Olivia. She gave her a big hug, saying “it’s good to see you, too. Can we talk in private?” Devon could still feel the other detective’s gazes on her back, hear their murmuring.

“Of course,” Liv said. But instead of going to one of the interrogation rooms, as per usual, she led Devon into the office. Devon saw that the décor had changed since the last time she was there, but the biggest change was that the plaque on the desk didn’t say Captain Cragen, but instead read Sgt. Olivia Benson.

“Cragen is gone, too? This is your office?” Devon blurted out. Olivia closed the door behind her, then went to sit behind the desk, motioning Devon to sit across from her.

“Cragen is gone,” she confirmed. “And Munch, and Elliot, too.” She then spent the next hour detailing everything that had happened to the three officers. Devon was relieved to hear that all were still alive, just retired. Again, she felt a pang of guilt and wished that she was there to help them through all the craziness that Olivia outlined. Though she was an FBI agent, Devon had a soft spot for the SVU team; she helped them whenever she could with things that were too…much for the four detectives and captain. Then, Liv started on what she had been going through, recounting her troubles with William Lewis, her relationship with detective Cassidy, their bad luck with ADA’s—“though, we have a good one, now. Hopefully he stays on”—and ended on a short, but informative, description of both of the new detectives.

Devon listened intently, and once she was done talking, she sat in silence for a moment, taking everything in. Her guilt was mounting new heights; while she was fucking around in California, her best friend was going through some of the worst experiences of her life. Then, she asked in a low voice, “do you want me to deal with Lewis?”

Olivia caught her meaning, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s fine. He’s not an issue anymore; he’ll be in jail for life.”

Devon nodded. “That just makes it easier to get rid of him. If you ever want me to, I want to be your first call.”

Ignoring what Devon just implied, Liv changed the subject. “So, tell me about your adventures in San Francisco.” Devon’s demeanor changed from plotting murder to one of exhaustion. She let out a sigh, then recounted her three-year UC case in California. She had been posing as a college student by day, and a Madam at night. She worked her way through parties meeting girls, then pimps, then finally, the pimp’s bosses. She felt terrible about the things she had to do; selling girls, drugs, and much worse. She was happy to be back here, where she didn’t have to fake having an interest in those types of things, where she could just arrest the bastards instead of joining them.

“So, when I turned on my phone today, I saw your text. I know that it was from a while ago, and that you are probably over it by now, but I thought I’d still check in on you,” Devon concluded. In her retelling of the last three years, she had completely forgotten about the attractive man in a suit at the bar the night before.

A wave of emotions flashed through Olivia’s eyes, though she kept her face mostly neutral. “You know, I felt terrible about sending that text to you. I knew you didn’t have your phone, and in a moment of—of emotional weakness, I sent it. And it’s not fair to you that I did that. But at the time, I thought that maybe, just maybe, you were able to see it and talk to me, to help me through that time. To let me vent and talk, even if you couldn’t reply, but just to have someone listen.” Olivia had tears in her eyes, which she quickly blinked away. “I also meant to text you again, but any time I opened our conversation, I would see that last message I sent. And I’d feel the guilt all over again.”

Feeling emotional herself, Devon replied, “I’m not mad or upset; I get it Liv, I really do.” Devon put her hands on the desk, palms up. Olivia placed her hands gently into Devon’s, and the agent started rubbing comforting circles into the back of Liv’s hands with her thumbs. “And I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me most. It must have been so, so hard for you to lose Stabler after so long. Do you keep in touch with him at all?”

Liv shook her head. “No, no. In the beginning, I thought about it. At night, when I couldn’t sleep, or when a nightmare would rip me awake before dawn. But I knew that it was for the best, for both of us, to just…cut all ties to him.”

Devon let the silence drag on for a little, continuing to rub little circles in the Sergeant’s skin, letting the conversation rest. “Well, I’m back for the foreseeable future. And I got promoted. And my boss even gave me three months off, if you can believe that!” she let out a laugh, trying to break the tension. They released each other’s hands, the moment over. “Plus, look at you! A Sergeant, and in the big boss’s office, no less.”

Liv smiled and opened her mouth to answer, when her phone lit up, vibrating on her desk. “Benson,” she answered, holding up a finger to Devon. Devon waited patiently while whoever was on the other line talked her ear off. “What? When?” Liv waited a second, “okay, I’ll be right there. I think I have someone that you should meet,” her eyes locked with Devon’s, “just stay there.” With that, she hung up, rubbed her temples for a moment, then got up and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair.

Devon stood up quickly. “What happened? Everything okay?”

“Uh, about that time off that your boss gave you—”

Devon cut her off, “what do you need me for?” Devon was nothing if not loyal.

Olivia smirked. “How about a 24/7 protection detail, overseeing a sarcastic, pain-in-the-ass that we lovingly call our ADA?”

Devon had a rush of thoughts in the matter of seconds—spending 24/7 with someone she didn’t know, on alert at all waking hours, her exhaustion since just getting home, plus Olivia’s description of the victim—but she still said, “whatever you need.” She was glad to help Liv, especially to make up for the past three years, whether Liv thought Devon needed to make up for lost time or not. And with the sudden rush of adrenaline, she could feel her exhaustion ebbing away. Plus, what else were friends for?

“Thank you so much. Come on, I’ll explain everything on the way.”

Courthouse

Thursday, January 27th. 11:16am

As Olivia, Devon, and Detective Amaro, who was grabbed on the way out, pulled up to the courthouse, Devon summarized the conversation of the car ride. “So, let me get this straight; you and Rollins took down a gang leader, with this ADA Barba, pushing him into jail for life, and now the gang has a target on all of your backs? No offense, but why not just let me take down the gang instead of posting me up with an attorney?” She grabbed her grip out of the trunk and followed Liv and Amaro to the stairs.

Liv scoffed. “Because Barba was attacked in a crowded courthouse, with unis posted at every door, and yet someone was able to sneak in, armed with a pistol, and take aim at our ADA.” Liv saw that Devon was gearing up to argue more, but she cut her off, “look, we’re all covered at SVU; we already have leads on some of the big hitters in the Aces. And it would really help if I had someone that I could trust watching Barba so that I, or any of the other detectives, don’t have to.” She had a point, so Devon kept her mouth shut. Olivia wasn’t one to suggest things of importance without a reason.

They made their way up the stairs, past the cops that were mulling around, talking about whatever they were talking about, and into the courthouse. The crime scene wasn’t hard to find; it was roped off with caution tape and there were cops everywhere. Devon looked at the wall next to where they were congregating and saw two bullet holes in the concrete. She noticed a couple things at once; no blood, no EMTs, no CSU, which all adds up to no victim. Good, the perp missed his target—no doubt this ADA Barba that Liv was having Devon watch. Devon knew that he was alive—Olivia wouldn’t have brought her to watch him if he wasn’t here—but no one else was injured, either.

“What happened here?” Amaro asked an officer. He gave him a rundown of the facts; a young, white man walked towards Barba while he was on his way to court. He reached into his pocket; unis saw him as he raised the gun. One cop yelled a warning, tackling Barba out of the way, while the other cop on the door took down the man. He got two shots off but missed his mark, striking the wall. The cops arrested him and escorted Barba to his office down the street to await Liv’s arrival after he was cleared from EMTs; no injuries besides a bruised ego.

Gaining all the information they needed, Devon followed the sergeant and detective out, then down the street to 1 Hogan Place. Once inside the DA’s building, they made their way to the elevator. As the doors closed, Devon asked Liv, “hey, are you and Rollins safe? Are you sure there’s not a hit out on you, too?”

“Neither of us have been alone since Barba was attacked earlier. We’re not taking any chances on this one. This is why I need someone I can trust watching Barba; I can’t spare any manpower on it, and god knows we don’t need the Feds tied up in this.” Well, that explained Amaro hovering over Liv’s shoulder, like a bodyguard.

Devon sighed, “yeah, I hear you. But I want to be kept in the loop; names, faces, tattoos, anything and everything. I want to be able to pick out one of these jerks before they have a shot at Barba.”

“Of course,” Liv replied. The elevator doors opened, and they briskly walked to Barba’s office. There were four cops posted outside the door, which was shut. Liv nodded first to the frazzled-looking paralegal seated at her desk, then to the officers, and they moved to allow the three of them in.

“Barba, are you alright?” Liv asked when she saw him, pacing in front of his desk restlessly.

“I’m fine. But I want that bastard arraigned today, and then I have a case that I’m late for already, but these idiots aren’t letting me leave. I need to—” Barba’s outburst was cut short when he saw Devon, who also froze.

Following his line of sight, Liv said, “right, ADA Rafael Barba, this is Senior Special Agent Devon Motely. Devon, this is Barba.”

Barba swallowed past the lump in his throat, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we’ve met before,” he said, eyes never leaving Devon’s.

It was Amaro’s turn to speak. He grinned in disbelief, “what? When?”

“Last night. In a dingy bar and then again in a dark alley,” Devon answered, making Amaro’s eyebrows raise. If she wasn’t still in such shock, she would’ve shot him a glare.

Liv’s eyes widened. “You’re the one that stopped those men from assaulting Barba? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“One, I didn’t know that was the ‘earlier attack’ you mentioned until just now. And two, he introduced himself as Rafael. I didn’t know his last name or his profession,” Devon explained, before muttering, “glad to see I was already doing this job before I knew it.”

Barba took this time to mentally collect himself, finally ripping his eyes away from the agent and furrowing his brow at Olivia. “Job, what job?”

Liv looked back to him. “Look Barba, I know that last night, you denied having protection. But after this, you need to have someone watching your back.”

“No, I don’t need a babysitter watching me, especially FBI. Why are the Feds even getting involved—”

“Barba look around! You were almost shot outside of a courtroom. You got lucky that he missed. You are going to have protection until this is over,” Olivia ordered.

Barba scoffed. “Over? Do you think that this is just going to go away in a day or two? That if you arrest one or two of these bastards that they’ll back off? I’m not living in fear, Olivia.”

“I know, I know,” Liv adopted her calm, quiet voice that she used with victims, “but I’m not letting you get killed over this. Devon is good; she’s willing to stay for the long haul.”

“Can you not talk about me like I’m not here, please?” Devon piped in. Barba rolled his eyes and plopped down behind his desk, running his hands through his hair roughly, while Liv huffed out a heavy sigh and Amaro stood to the side awkwardly, watching this all play out. “Look, I may just be the ‘babysitter,’ but I’m not working as FBI for this. This is a favor for Liv. Besides, I’ve done this before. Barba, you have nothing to worry about; I’ll be a shadow. You don’t need to talk to me, you don’t need to look at me, you don’t even need to acknowledge that I’m there. I’ll just be your bodyguard.”

“I. Don’t. Need. A bodyguard,” he said through gritted teeth. He slammed his hands down on his desk in frustration, exhaling through flared nostrils.

Liv and Devon exchanged a look. Liv nodded. Perfect, play hardball, Devon’s favorite.

“Fine, I’ll say this in terms you will understand, counselor. As Sergeant Benson said, I am good; you saw that last night. So, whether you like it or not, you will be under my protection until Sergeant Benson says otherwise. You may try, but you will not be able to lose me. I’m going to stay on you, make sure you are protected from all attacks, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Barba opened his mouth, but Devon pressed on, “now, you can make this easier on yourself. Allow me to do my job, allow me to help you, and I will be as I said before, a shadow. Or fight me on this, and I’ll be the biggest thorn in your side. It’s up to you, Mr. Barba.”

Barba gave an impressive glare, aimed at Liv before turning those bright green eyes onto Devon. He seemed to be working through his thoughts, debating on if this fight was worth it. Apparently, it wasn’t, because he huffed angrily and spat out, “fine. But as soon as this is over, I better never see you again.”

“Deal,” Devon said, smirking.

Liv grinned, looking slightly amused, glancing at the both of them. “Well, I’m glad that’s taken care of. Keep me updated.” Still sporting matching smirks, Amaro and Olivia turned to leave, the latter shooting Devon an apologetic smile. Thanks, Liv, she thought ruefully, wondering if she bit off more than she could chew this time.

Once alone, Devon looked at Barba, who had his head in his hands. “Would you like me to sit across from you, or against the wall behind you?”

Barba didn’t even look up from his desk that he was currently staring a hole through. “I thought I didn’t have to talk to you?”

“And I thought you had a court appointment?” She shot back, shrugging out of her jacket easily, tossing it to the couch, making herself at home.

Barba looked up then. He looked at Devon, really looked, as if he hadn’t seen her yet. She was just as beautiful as she was last night; she was tall, fit, well dressed. In the light of day, he could see the corded muscle in her arms and neck. But her image was tainted in his mind now; he didn’t want someone having to watch his back, even if it was a logical move, something he wouldn’t admit. He knew that Liv had his best interests in mind, and he did feel slightly safer having an FBI agent assigned to him, not that he would admit it out loud. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this woman had somehow betrayed him. Even if she had saved him the night before, these attacks didn’t happen until she showed up into his life. Which wasn’t fair to her—it was because of the Aces and Ramirez, Barba knew—but he couldn’t separate the events in his mind.

“I got a text from the judge during your…speech. It got pushed to tomorrow, 9am.”

Devon thought for a moment before asking, “do you have any more court appearances today? Or any meetings?”

“No. I plan on being here in my office the rest of the day, prepping the four cases I now have tomorrow.” With that, Barba pulled out some paperwork and a couple of law books. Taking the hint that the conversation was over, Devon pulled one of the chairs from in front of his desk and pushed it to the side of his desk, enough space between it and the desk that she’d be directly in Barba’s blind spot. Before sitting, however, she walked over to the windows and pulled down the blinds, making the office a bit darker, but making it so no one could look in—even though they weren’t on the ground level, Devon didn’t want any unwanted attention from surrounding buildings. She looked at the closed door, seeing that the unis from earlier were still posted outside; four of them, two on each side. She wondered how long they’d stay before they made excuses to leave. Satisfied, she walked back to the chair she had moved and took a seat.

Devon looked sideways at Barba, trying to figure him out; he seemed like just a normal dude last night, albeit a little awkward, flustered even. A normal dude in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. He had an explosive anger—though that was a pretty normal reaction that people had when they had a bodyguard forced onto them, let alone a couple attempts on their life—but going by the fight, or lack thereof, he was all bark and no bite. But she couldn’t be sure of that, either. She had met previous ADAs that worked with SVU. And while Devon wouldn’t exactly call them fighters in the physical sense, they did know their way around a courtroom. And if Olivia liked him, then she was sure that Barba probably wasn’t that bad of a guy…and he also probably knew how to win convictions as well.

Devon then wondered how she had gotten here. Two weeks ago, she was in California; she was working as a madam, working her way through the ranks up a huge sex trafficking ring. Two weeks ago, she was pinning down a high-ranking trafficker, one in charge of bringing in all the girls for eight different brothels. Two weeks ago, the madam was arrested, as was almost everyone involved in the trafficking and brothels, and Devon was snuck out of the state.

Last week, she was in therapy, spilling everything that had happened, and her feelings on the matter, to a therapist, who actually deemed her as “mentally sound” after only four days. And then, she was back in New York. She had done her normal prep after getting home; she had a debrief with her boss, a check in with the shrink here, she unpacked and repacked her two-week grip, she dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled her guns—her normal glock and her drop gun--and she sharpened her knives. She went to get a drink, something that was denied to her for over three years, and something that she needed so that she could simply relax for the first time since she left. Then that man, sitting right in front of her, was at the bar. He was trouble; she knew from the moment she walked in and saw those two men—Aces—targeting him. But just how much trouble, she had no idea. She got into a fight, if you can call it that, and then heard how her best friend’s entire life had basically completely changed. And now, she was ripped out of her life before it even got a chance to be normal again.

“If you have a question, just ask, instead of staring at me the whole time you’re here,” Barba said dryly.

Devon started; she didn’t even notice she was staring. She cleared her throat. “I do have a question, actually.” Barba stopped scribbling, putting his pen down and looked at her, mildly annoyed. “Has your home been compromised?”

He sighed, picking his pen back up and looking at the notepad once more, clearly not taking her seriously. “Not as far as I’m aware.”

“Okay, that’s good. Even so, we should think about it as if it has been. There’re three options; one, we stay at your place with some extra precautions. Two, I set up a third-party place, like a hotel; don’t worry about cost, I’ll cover it. Or three, we stay at my place.” Barba raised an eyebrow. “Keep your mind out of the gutter; I have a guest room and two bathrooms. I also have extra security on my doors and windows that I had installed.”

“I’d rather stay in my own home, thank you,” he replied, not catching the fact that she had said ‘we.’ He continued writing, clearly done with the conversation. Smiling to herself, Devon pulled her laptop out of her grip and opened it. This ADA was headstrong, like most ADAs assigned to SVU, but she already liked him for some reason. She wasn’t sure why quite yet, but she learned to trust the instinct. Once connected to the internet, she got started on her own work.

Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Thursday, January 27th. 9:15pm

By the time Barba had finished for the night, well, as much as he was going to do, it was dark outside. He looked at the clock, sighing at the late time; he always tried to be out of the office by 7 at the latest, but time had gotten away from him, especially since his mind was rattled. It was harder to focus on the cases after everything that had happened the past two days, plus the extra day he was granted for the case that was pushed just made him more stressed. He sighed again, feeling the pressure that tomorrow would be. Then, he cleared his desk, pushing papers into his briefcase in an order that only he understood. He stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. He heard the sound of a laptop closing and jumped, startled.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Devon said, placing her laptop in her bag and zipping it up. How did he forget that she was there?

“Sorry, I forgot you were checking Facebook all day,” he replied, rolling his eyes, trying to slow his racing heart. It was only a laptop closing. Get a grip on yourself, he thought, chiding himself. Devon slung her grip over her shoulder but said nothing, a small smile on her lips. Barba put on his jacket and walked to the door. Devon was there instantly; she gently put her hand on his stomach and nudged him away from the door. Barba rolled his eyes again, annoyed at the theatrics, as she opened the door, checking every direction for anything out of the ordinary. The unis that were posted had long since left, as had Carmen; the building was empty, silent. Devon had her gun drawn and motioned for Barba to follow her.

“Is this all necessary?” he asked sardonically. Even with his tone, however, he stuck close to her.

“Honestly? Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful,” she replied. They made their way quickly through the DA’s building, Devon checking every corner and hallway, Barba thinking it ridiculous, over-the-top. “Did you drive here, by the way? Or should I order a rideshare?”

“I was dropped off by Detective Amaro this morning,” Barba said. “Seems Olivia doesn’t want me to be alone since last night.”

“I’d ask why Amaro didn’t stay with you, but if your outburst from earlier is any indication, I think I know the answer.”

Barba bristled, but said nothing. They both made it in and out of the elevator, then to the double doors leading outside. Devon stopped him, opened the door a smidge, and examined outside. After a moment, she opened the door wider, slipping out, but still motioning for Barba to stay put. Huffing, he opened the other door and walked out into the brisk night air, making his way to the street.

“Fucking really?” Devon asked, hurrying to catch up to him. There were no immediate dangers around, just a few stragglers walking down the darken streets, so Devon pointed her gun to the ground, more discreet this way.

“Come on Motely, you’ve seen how unorganized the Aces’ have been in their attempts on my life. I highly doubt there would be one waiting outside the DA’s building, especially this late. Probably got too bored waiting for me to come out.”

Devon made it to the curb, hailing a cab, thinking it safer and faster than waiting for a rideshare. As one pulled over to admit them, she said, “they’ve failed twice now, attacking you while you were at a bar and while you were in the courthouse. Honestly, they may be getting angrier or worse, desperate. So yes, I will expect them outside your place of work, along with at your home, the grocery store you shop at, and any other place you may frequent, no matter what time it is.” They both got in, Devon forcing Barba to sit behind the taxi driver—harder for the driver to attack directly behind himself—while she took the other backseat. “Besides, I’d rather be safe than sorry. And I think Liv may actually kill me if you were to get hurt on my watch.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I agree with,” he smirked. Barba knew he was being difficult, and he wasn’t entirely sure why; there had been two attempts on his life in two days, one that left an angry red mark on his face that everyone was too smart, or scared, to ask about, and another that still makes his heart beat faster when he thinks of it, the sound of the gunshots still echoing in his mind. Now that he had time to sit and think about it, he thought that his anger was a mix of stress from his job—he was doing four cases at once, two of which were tough cases to begin with—and a fear that someone actually took a hit out on him. He’d been an ADA for over a decade; he’s gotten multiple threats, everything from violence to him and/or his family to death threats. But this was the first time someone had actually tried to follow through with it. He sighed, deciding to not take his emotional outrage out on Motely; it wasn’t her fault that she got lumped into this. He had to check his rage, especially now when any mistake could be the difference between living his life and being six feet under.

“Can you give me a quick layout of your place?” Devon asked, jolting Barba out of his thoughts. He agreed, spending the rest of the drive filling in the broad details of his loft; it was smaller than he would like, to be honest, but it was cheaper and close to the courthouse. He had a full floor to himself; a living room, kitchen, two bathrooms—though one was a master bathroom connected to the master bedroom—and two bedrooms. There were only windows in the living room and the master bedroom, the fire escape outside the bedroom window.

The cab pulled to the curb; Devon paid the driver, then followed Barba up the couple steps to the glass door of the building. He opened it, and she followed him in, to the elevator, then down the short hallway to the front door of his loft. She allowed him to unlock the door and walk into the living room before stopping him. She took off her grip and placed it on a couch—there was only a loveseat and an armchair around a coffee table--locked the front door, then unholstered her gun once more.

“Anything out of place?” she asked, not looking at him but rather looking down the hallway to the master bedroom, watching the dark doors lining the walls. There wasn’t much to check in the living room; besides the couch, chair, and table, Barba had a simple TV stand with a TV on it, two bookshelves side-by-side, filled mostly with law books and other scholarly literature he kept from college, and a few, minimalistic wall art hangings. He wasn’t a home designer, and he was hardly home as it was, so he never felt the need to decorate. Once he declined, Devon said, “okay good. Now, place your whole hand on my back, and do not remove it until I say so.” Barba opened his mouth to ask, decided against it, and did as she asked.

Once Devon felt his strong hand lay hesitantly between her shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin sinking through the fabric of her shirt, she started to move through the loft. Barba missed a step, not expecting her to move. He then followed, hand staying on her muscular back. She checked every room, gun aimed at chest height, looking in the closets and under the bed, before ending in the master bedroom, announcing that the home was cleared and reholstering her gun.

“You can have your hand back,” she said while checking the locks on the windows.

“May I ask why I did that?” he asked, dropping his hand to his side. He could still feel the pull of her muscles moving under her shirt, even though he was no longer touching her. He stripped his suit jacket and tie, placed them on a hanger, and hung them on his closet door. Normally, he took it off by the front door and threw it over a chair, but something about having a guest over, especially one he didn’t know, made him want to not look like a total disaster. Though, he noticed with a hint of embarrassment, Devon did go through the guest bedroom, if you could call it that, during her sweep. That room had become a second office to Barba; it was a mess of files, papers, books, and other miscellaneous things that made no sense to anyone except Barba, though he wasn’t even sure what some of it was. There was no bed, no dressers, nothing that actually made it a bedroom. Only a small desk and a lonely desk lamp.

Devon gave him a look that said, just do what you’re told, before explaining. “Because I’ve found that it’s the easiest way to protect someone while also scanning a home. If you go in front of me, you have a chance of being assaulted if there is someone here. Likewise, if I abandoned you by the door, someone could blitz you while I’m back in the master room. It just makes sense to have you touching me, so I know you’re safe while I’m also a human shield.”

Barba didn’t want to know how many times she had failed to protect someone to have found out this method of protection. Seemingly approving of the locks on the bedroom windows, Devon moved to other rooms in the house, checking for ways to break in. Thankfully, his loft was on the 5th floor, so besides the fire escape, there wasn’t a real way to break in—unless he had some very, very determined hitman after him. After checking all the windows, she went to the front door. Unlocking it, she checked the hallway quickly before looking at the locking mechanism in the door; it had a normal deadbolt and a chain near eyelevel. There was also a peephole; otherwise, it was a normal door. She huffed when she noticed the screws holding the hinges on.

“Did you honestly move in here without changing at least the screws in the door?” she admonished.

Barba never thought about it before. “Uh, yes?” Devon shook her head.

“You should install some thicker, longer screws; makes it harder to kick your door down.” Devon then rummaged through her grip, pulling out a doorstop.

“A doorstop? Really? That will protect us if someone kicks the door down?”

Devon rolled her eyes. “Of course not. This is a screaming doorstop; once armed, if this door moves at all, that alarm will wake up the whole damn building.”

Barba looked impressed. “Why the hell do you even know about a device like that?”’

Devon laughed, “I may be an FBI agent, but I’m still a woman. Damsel in Defense is a god-send for living as a woman in the city.”

Grabbing the doorstop, she flipped a switch on it, then wedged it under the door. She then glanced at the clock on her phone, noticing it was getting close to 10pm. “Hey, it’s getting kinda late; what time do you normally go to bed?” she asked, realizing that neither of them had had dinner.

Barba looked at his watch, seemingly also unaware of the passage of time. He had to be in court at 9, which meant he had to be in his office at 7 tomorrow morning and now he was faced with the decision that he had almost every night; stay awake and work on his upcoming cases or get a decent night of sleep. He almost always chose the former, he’d just get a strong coffee or three before court tomorrow. But another part of him was desperate to be alone with his thoughts, to really absorbed the events happening in his life right now. Maybe he’d work for a little bit, then figure out a polite way to kick Motely out for the night, something he very much knew he’d fail at.

“It varies, but it’ll probably be around midnight for me tonight…hopefully,” he debated for a moment before saying, “I’m not planning on leaving at all tonight if you wanted to go sleep for a little. I’m leaving here at six tomorrow morning.”

Completely missing the hint, Devon replied, “ah, no worries. I normally go to sleep around that time, too. You won’t be bothering me at all.” To prove her point, she pulled out her laptop, plugged it in to the wall, and sat down in the armchair with it. Feeling like that was a failure to dislodge her, but unwilling to try again at this moment, Barba sighed. He pulled out the paperwork he was doing in his office, and spread it over the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch.

They worked silently for a couple hours before Barba spoke without looking up. “What are you even doing on that laptop?” As focused as he had been on his casework, the constant clicking of keys as Devon typed crept into his brain.

Devon gave him a wicked grin before she replied, “Facebook, remember?” When Barba shot back a glare, she huffed out a laugh. “I’m looking through the FBI’s database on the Aces. I want to know everything I can about them, seeing as I may have to deal with a couple of them in the coming months.”

“What have you found?” he asked, his paperwork completely forgotten. He got up, came over to the armchair, and sat on an arm, leaning in so that he could see the screen. Devon had the leader—Jorge Ramirez—on the screen, with a quick summation of his profile. She also had the two men from the alley and the man that took a shot at Barba today, whose name was Jake Peterson. He couldn’t help but notice that the two men from the alley, Jose and Rogelio Olivera, both had AT LARGE written in their profiles.

“Well, it’s a relatively small gang based in Manhattan; only 65 members, at least on file. Most are Hispanic, drug dealers, and traffickers...seems like their leader, Ramirez, was the bad one. Probably why he was the leader. Though, they do have a couple of white men hired on as frontmen; they’re the ones that sell drugs to the wealthy businessmen because, and I quote, ‘white men are more trustworthy to the rich bastards.’” They looked at each other, “hey, don’t look at me, I didn’t write it. But it makes sense; most capitalist pigs are deeply racist.”

“65 members, though? You’re right, that is small, but it will still take the cops time to catch them all,” the unsaid words hung in the air, tangible, but not claimed, it’s going to take a while for life to go back to normal.

“So far, only two are incarcerated, Jorge Ramirez and Jake Peterson. Looking through the profiles that I can pull up, it seems like only a few of them have actually murdered before, but not as an active profession. Not to get too cocky, but I think that’s a good sign for you; I should be able to take on anyone who threatens you. Unless, of course, you decide that you want to go wherever you want instead of listening to me.”

Barba flinched inwardly at the slight venom in her voice. He had to work on controlling that spite of his. “You’re right,” he said begrudgingly. “From now on, I’ll follow your lead.” He looked down at her, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She looked up at him, returning the smile. “That’s all I can ask of you. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but I am here to help.” They sat there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Maybe protecting the ADA wouldn’t be too bad, maybe this wouldn’t drive a wedge between her’s and Liv’s friendship. And maybe, just maybe, they’d both get out alive at the end of this.

Barba looked into her eyes, lit by her laptop’s screen. He could listen to her, follow orders, like the good lapdog people wished he would be. He knew, deep down, that she was there to protect him; even if it was a ‘favor’ from Olivia, he could tell that Devon’s job meant a lot to her, that she was taking this seriously. He’d have to remember to thank Liv later, if he survived this. He suddenly realized that he didn’t want Devon to leave tonight; he felt safe here, in her presences.

They both seemed to notice at the same time how they were sitting; Barba had been leaning down closer to her face, and she was leaning closer to his leg, cheek almost brushing against his pantleg. He stood up, hiding the blush that spread across his cheeks as he noticed how close to his crotch she had been, how inappropriate it was. She sat up a little straighter and seemed to find her screen very interesting all of a sudden.

“Well, I think it’s about time I went to bed,” Barba said, stretching. He packed up all the papers into appropriate folders and placed them in his briefcase, so that he wouldn’t forget them in the morning.

“That’s probably a good idea. What time do you get up? Do you eat breakfast, have coffee? Anything I can help with?”

Barba was surprised by the questions. “Uh, around 5:00, no, no, and no.” Once he collected his thoughts a little, he explained, “I get up, I shower, I dress. Then I leave.”

“Simple, I like it. See you in the morning,” Devon trilled.

Confused, Barba didn’t move as Devon closed her laptop and put it on the table. She then stretched herself out on the loveseat, as much as she could since it was shorter than she was, putting her head on one of the pillows he kept on it.

“I—I take it you’re staying here tonight?” Barba asked, incredulous at her brazenness.

“Uh, yeah? You heard Sergeant Benson, I’m sure; ‘24/7 protection.’ That includes overnights, Barba.”

He felt the weight of those words; he was seriously going to be with this stranger all day, every day, for who knew how long. “I just…I didn’t expect—”

“It always catches people off guard the first night. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to me. And besides, our deal is that after the Aces are gone, you never have to see me again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change out of these clothes.”

Barba’s face went bright red as he hurried to his room. He could swear he heard Devon chuckling as he went. After a couple moments, he heard the guest bathroom door close. Suddenly remembering his hospitality, he went to his closet, grabbing one of his extra blankets, and made his way back out to the living room. He moved quickly, suddenly embarrassed about seeing Devon in pajamas, huffing out a goodnight as he passed by the bathroom as he retreated back to his room before she had a chance to emerge. Again, he could’ve sworn he heard her laughing as he hurried by. Why was he so embarrassed?

He faintly remembered the night before, how lonely he had felt in the bar. Now that he had a roommate thrust upon him, he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Not like there was much he could do about it now. And with that thought from the night before, the other memories came back, how pretty he thought she was, how he had entertained the idea of bringing her back here, even if only for a moment—

No, he wouldn’t, couldn’t think about that, especially with her right on the other side of his bedroom door, stretched out on his couch, sleeping under his blanket. God, what was happening to him? He still didn’t even really know this woman! He had to be more careful, reign in his emotions; she was an FBI agent, assigned to him to make sure he lived through this threat on his life. Nothing more, nothing less. Though, he had to admit that she was probably going to be around for a while. Might as well get to know her, he thought ruefully. He tried not to get too excited about the thought.

#everyone deserves love #edl #everyone deserves love chapter 4 #edl ch 4 #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #barba x oc #rafael barba x oc #fanfic #my writing #this is not a sponsored ad for damsel in defense #but it is a good source of cool stuff

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eeveevie · 4 years

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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (8/18)

Chapter 8: A Left-Handed Form

After securing an important piece of evidence from the Third Rail, Madelyn and Deacon fill Nick in on the evening’s events and come to a startling revelation. At Railroad HQ, more secrets are revealed in the hunt for Boston’s crime-lord, while members of the team are threatened. Proof of his crimes in hand, Madelyn and Nick finally make their move against Eddie Winter.

“After all, crime is only...a left-handed form of human endeavor.” - Alonzo D. Emmerich as played by Louis Calhern (The Asphalt Jungle, 1950)

While the entire work has a content warning for ‘graphic depictions of violence’, the warning kicks into high gear in this chapter, specifically in the last section.

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

April 11th, 1958

Midnight.

Madelyn felt like she had déjà vu—sitting in the back of a taxicab with Deacon’s hand wrapped tightly around hers, the two rushing away from another devastating scene. Instead of the fiery destruction of Ticonderoga, however, it was the chaotic crowd of the Third Rail, still reeling over the murder of their leader, Skinny Malone. She glanced to Deacon, catching her unrecognizable reflection in his sunglasses—that was the face of a woman who had nearly kissed him under the guise of husband and wife. If only they had more time to stay in those personas—Kitty and Johnny—long enough for her to finally act on her feelings. But Madelyn knew better—knew she couldn’t find comfort in a fantasy life when she hadn’t come to terms with how she felt in reality. Though, matters of the heart were hardly her concern when she had the Eddie Winter case to focus on. While the undercover job was over, their work was hardly done.

Just as Madelyn had done on that cold February evening, she instructed the driver to escort them to the agency. With Skinny Malone’s pocketbook in hand, she didn’t want to risk going anywhere else. There was also the small fear in the back of her mind that she and Deacon had been made—she wasn’t about to lead mobsters to her apartment or the Railroad headquarters. The faster she got to work on analyzing the planner’s contents, the faster a potential lead could be discovered.

“Look’s like the detective is in,” Deacon mused sarcastically as they arrived on the darkened Fens street, helping her from the cab with his lips in a flat line.

With no time for his and Nick’s sustained rivalry, she brushed his hand away and quickly strode to unlock the front door. Madelyn continued towards Nick’s partially closed office door and the light within, grateful for his late nights. Just as she crossed through the doorway, hand on the doorknob, a familiar giggle echoed through the room and she knew she had interrupted something intimate. Jenny was perched upon the large oak desk, one hand wrapped around Nick’s tie and the other hooked around his shoulder as she kept him standing between her legs, the two locked in a passionate kiss.

Madelyn was just about to step backwards out of the room when she bumped into a sturdy chest, tilting her head back to find Deacon—he had covered his natural hair with one of his black pompadour wigs—had he stashed some of his disguises in her office since they became partners? When he noticed what she had stumbled upon, he smiled and let out a low whistle, catching the couple’s attention.

“Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Deacon spoke casually, much to Madelyn’s mortification. He rested his hands on her shoulders, and she smacked a hand to her face. “We have good news and bad news.”

“Oh, don’t mind me, Mads!” Jenny’s amusement wasn’t all that comforting, especially when Nick’s expression was a mix of embarrassment and irritation. The other woman hopped down from the desk to stand, smoothing out the fabric of her dress before flashing a wink. “Humphrey Bogart, good to see you again.”

Deacon barked a laugh. “Always a pleasure, Miss Lands.”

“I’m sorry Nick,” Madelyn sighed, moving into his office—no use in leaving now. “We wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”

The detective readjusted his tie and if she didn’t know any better, flushed at the smear of lipstick on his shirt collar. As he tried in vain to wipe it away with his fingers, he shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be at the Third Rail?”

“That’s the bad news,” Deacon said, relaxing into one of the empty armchairs. Nick’s annoyed expression intensified at the ominous tone. “Skinny Malone is dead.”

At that, Jenny drifted towards the doorway. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Nick waited until his fiancé was out of earshot to ask his questions. “What the hell happened? Weren’t there supposed to be a whole group of undercover cops at the joint? Where was Marty?” he pinched the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down to rub at his chin in thought. “Do I even want to know the good news?”

Before Deacon could make some kind of snide remark or explain in his own colorful way, Madelyn approached, placing the pocketbook she had taken on Nick’s desk. She kept her hand atop the leather-bound covering while he eyed it curiously.

“In order? He was poisoned. Marty was nowhere to be seen, but neither were Winter’s men,” she explained, tapping the book again. “I took this off of Skinny Malone while pretending to be a helpful nurse,” The memory made her stomach churn. “I hope it was worth our trouble.”

Nick took the worn book from her and sat down in his office chair, carefully tugging at the elastic bands that held it closed. Meanwhile, Jenny reappeared with a small tray of coffee, handing a steaming mug to Deacon before approaching the desk. She passed a blue ceramic cup to Madelyn—already made the way she preferred—and another to her fiancé with a grin. But Nick only regarded her with a worried frown.

“Jenny dear, you should take the keys and—”

“What and let the three of you have all the fun?” she smirked, eyeing the way Madelyn was still dressed in her borrowed gown. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Nicky. I know you want to protect me from all the nasty details, but don’t think I haven’t gleamed enough from what you’ve brought home.”

The redhead circled the desk to sit in the other empty armchair, sipping her coffee as if she was satisfied that she had made her point. Nick sighed, knowing he was better off not arguing with his lady-love. Instead, he focused on Skinny Malone’s notebook, flipping through the pages that were filled top to bottom with scribbled writing. Almost immediately, his brows furrowed, and he reached for his pack of smokes, bypassing the cup of coffee.

“Don’t tell me it’s just a log of when he goes to the can,” Deacon mumbled from his spot. Madelyn shot him a warning glance from over her shoulder and he flashed a coy smile.

Nick ignored his comment, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “Seems Skinny and his men were monitoring Winter just like us,” he started, finger dragging across a few lines of fountain pen. “Wiretaps at several locations, stakeouts since he was released from prison and a handful of men on the inside.”

“Did they discover anything?” Madelyn asked.

Working outside of the law, the Triggermen must’ve been able to find more evidence than the agency. Nick flipped through a few more pages, pausing to flick stray ashes into the nearby tray and take a sip of coffee when Jenny gave him a knowing glance. His eyes widened and his smoke nearly fell from his lips as he slammed his palm against the book.

“They followed him to his base of operations!” he exclaimed, turning the pages around so Madelyn could read for herself. With the notebook in hand, she looked over the text—Joe’s Spuckies Sandwich Shop, near Andrew Station in South Boston, underground cellar and bunker—Nick exhaled, “We’ve got him.”

Madelyn wasn’t swayed as she read on.

“Not so fast,” she warned. “The agency is named in here—you specifically—here,” she passed the book back to Nick so he could read. “Eddie Winter has been watching our movements and the Triggermen knew about it. But it looks like Winter didn’t feel too threatened until recently.”

Nick’s expression darkened as he silently looked over the writings with a careful eye. Madelyn could only stand and watch in silence, gazing over her shoulder to find Deacon studying her with concern. Jenny appeared equally anxious, quietly drinking her coffee as she observed her fiancé fretting over the notebook’s contents. Finally, Nick let out a long sigh, cigarette smoke hanging in the air around his head.

“It seems like Winter has been feeling cornered,” he began. Under different circumstances, he would’ve been happier to give such a statement. “He’s been struggling to turn the last batch of cops and detectives across Boston P.D. including the Chief Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Sullivan?” Madelyn clarified, to which Nick nodded. The Boston Chief had always given Nick and Madelyn trouble and the two had always figured he was one of the first to be in Eddie Winter’s pocket. “If Danny Boy hasn’t been compromised, then maybe we can go to him with our findings.”

“Oh, so we’re going to trust the police now?” Deacon quipped, disapproving of her suggestion. “Same ones that left us high and dry at the Third Rail?”

She didn’t want to admit that he had a point. “Marty should’ve been there, I know. After he gave us that holotape from police custody…”

Deacon leaned forward, curious. “What holotape?”

“Apparently, it has Eddie Winter’s voice on it, along with some damning evidence,” Madelyn explained. Her Railroad partner’s expression shifted as he nodded, and she realized she’d seen that look earlier in the evening. “Back at the Third Rail—you said he looked familiar. What did you mean?”

“You won’t like this,” he winced, before continuing with a strained sigh. “He’s the one I saw in the rearview mirror, walking away from the other car out front of Ticonderoga, right before the explosion.”

“Bullshit,” Nick immediately replied. “Like I’d believe a word you have to say.”

Madelyn was just as unnerved by the allegation, look to Deacon who only held a sympathetic frown. “I don’t understand.”

“I’d recognize that kitschy tie anywhere,” he continued. “For a crooked cop working undercover, he didn’t try hard enough to blend in.”

“Says the man who never takes off his sunglasses,” Nick said, mockingly. “Marty’s an ass, but one of Winter’s murderers? That’s a hell of a leap,” he shook his head. “Why would he stick his neck out for us time and time again, if he’d been playing for the other side the entire time?”

“Either he’s one hell of a double agent,” Deacon shrugged. “Or the worst.”

“Deacon,” Madelyn caught his attention, so he’d look at her. “Are you sure? Are you sure you saw Marty that night?”

“Charmer,” he spoke her codename with such sincerity. “I swear.”

Nick still wasn’t convinced, rubbing at his temple in frustration as he lit the end of a new cigarette. “I’m not going to condemn a man over a tie.”

Jenny spoke up for the first time since they had started their conversation about the case. “What did you always say to Marty, Nick?” she said, in a calm even voice—so unlike the usual bubbly tone Madelyn was used to hearing from the feisty woman. “That either his drinking or ambition would get him into trouble one day. Well maybe he was stupid enough to let the greed take over.”

Nick locked eyes with his fiancé, quietly contemplating her words. Jenny tilted her head to the side and grimaced. “He always did wear the most God-awful ties.”

Madelyn struggled to hold back her smile at the way Nick rolled his eyes, conceding with a sigh. If anything, he looked to be disappointed—Marty was somebody he considered a friend. “It would explain why he and the other undercover police disappeared from the Third Rail tonight.”

Deacon hummed, catching their attention. “Are we saying that instead of sending his own men, Eddie Winter had Boston P.D. off Skinny Malone?”

This time his suggestion wasn’t met by outright objection and silence filled the room as they considered the implications. Madelyn hadn’t noticed anything unusual when she was at the speakeasy—then again, she had been frequently distracted by Johnny—maybe that was part of the plan on Winter’s part. Nobody would suspect an inside job. But that still left more than a few questions that needed to be answered. What was on the holotape, and what was Marty’s true role? Another thought crossed her mind.

She pointed at the notebook laying on Nick’s desk. “Anyone find it convenient that Skinny Malone had such an important piece of evidence on him?”

“Like it was meant to be found?” Jenny questioned. What she said wasn’t too far off, but Madelyn had other ideas.

“Or he was planning to hand it off,” she suggested instead. “Didn’t expect to be double-crossed by a bad batch of bourbon.”

Nick nodded, agreeing with her train of thought. “Even with the chips stacked against us, we have the upper hand here with Skinny Malone’s notebook and the holotape.”

Jenny groaned, shaking her head as she finished off her coffee. “There he goes again with the poker analogies…”

“Considering who it came from, that could be a dead-end.” Madelyn noted, solemnly. “We have to listen to it first.”

“You’re right,” Nick replied. “Where would we get access to a holotape player?”

Deacon clapped his hands together, grinning in an all too self-satisfied way. “I think I know a guy.”

Desdemona wasn’t pleased when Deacon showed up at the Old North Church with Nick Valentine unannounced, but wherever the holotape went, the detective followed. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Madelyn to keep the evidence safe, but he needed to hear what was on the recording for himself. While Deacon gave a report of the evening’s events to the Railroad’s leader by the main dais, Madelyn and Nick sat preoccupied by Tinker Tom’s ramblings. The Railroad engineer and self-described inventor was a few screws short of a hardware store, but besides offering the occasional outlandish conspiracy theory, he hadn’t done anything to offend Madelyn since she joined the Railroad. His behavior was something she was used to—Nick, however, looked uncomfortable.

“I wish I would’ve met you sooner, man,” Tom said with a bright smile, gesturing to Nick’s prosthetic hand. “If you want, I could replace that with some top-notch robotics. State-of-the-art circuitry you wouldn’t find anywhere else.”

Nick tried his hardest to maintain an air of civility. “I’m sure the folks at MIT set me up well enough.”

“Oh no, see, that’s where they’ve got you, man,” Tom frowned, shaking his head in earnest. “You can’t trust those scientists.”

Before he could go off on another tangent about how the college was poisoning the water supply, or how to avoid their microscopic food robots, Madelyn decided it was time to steer the conversation to the reason they were there to begin with.

“Deacon said you could help us with this,” she nodded to Nick who hesitated before pulling the holotape from his trench coat pocket. Tom carefully examined the small, yellow, plastic-encased recording and broke out into a grin.

“Oh man, it’s been ages since I saw one of these,” he explained, pushing away in his rolling office chair to a different desk where a large electronic device was set up. Tom swiveled to face them, beckoning them over with a wave of his hand. “After you and my man Deacon went through the Switchboard, a few more agents have been making salvage runs. You’re looking at certified US government property.”

Madelyn wished Tom knew he was admitting to the possession of stolen property to a lawyer—but beyond her agent codename, there was little he knew about her—that was the whole point of codenames and secret identities, to avoid learning too much and forming attachments. She wondered where Deacon had lost his memo. Or maybe she’d lost hers.

“…I’ll just pop this in here and—”

If Tom had been speaking, she had zoned out, and pushed forth a polite smile to compensate. Nick finally looked invested in what the other man had to say, now that they were making progress. With the holotape inside the device, he pressed a few buttons, but nothing seemed to be happening, much to the detective’s frustration.

“Memory hiccup, but…” Tom mumbled, adjusting a few knobs.

Deacon appeared next to Madelyn, gently brushing a loose brunette strand behind her ear. She’d almost forgotten she was still wearing the damn wig and was half-tempted to tear it off when she remembered the ungodly number of bobby-pins keeping it in place. Just as quick as he made the adjustment, his hand swiftly returned to his side. That was one noticeable trait—that when they were around other Railroad agents (other than Drummer Boy) or at headquarters, he was reluctant to be as physically close to her as he usually was when they were alone. It was difficult not to read into, but she found comfort in the tiny gesture nonetheless.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked. Rather than anyone in the group responding, the holotape began its playback.

Message to Robert Cooper—You did good, Bobby. The wife and girl won't be saying anything. No worries. Hell, once those fat life insurance checks start rolling in, Mrs. Montrano will wish her fat slob of a husband had eaten that bullet 5 years ago. As for what happens next - up to you. Beach, sub shop, car yard - doesn't matter where he ends up. I don't give a shit - I just want him in the ground. So long as Johnny Senior never finds out what happens to his little meatball, we're set. Eddie Winter, signing off.

There was a long pause and Nick nearly toppled out of his chair. “Is that it?”

Tom shook his head, raising his hand to hush him as he toyed with the dials. “This baby has a lot more where that came from.”

“Did you hear that though?” Madelyn was breathless. She’d heard Winter’s voice on the television and radio broadcasts during his criminal trials the previous year, but in this context it was far more frightening. There he was, admitting to the assassination of Johnny Montrano Jr, more or less. “Why would he record something like that?”

Deacon scoffed, bewildered. “He’s insane, this is way past conceited, like he thinks he can get away with it.”

“Shh! Shh!” Tom quieted them as the tape crackled to life again.

Message to Marty Bulfinch—Listen Marty, I know you’ve got a history with that private dick, so right now you’re the only thing standing between him and a .44 caliber bullet to the brain. If you want to keep insisting Mr. Valentine has got nothing to hide, then you must not value your life or career. Since everyone already knows about your drinking problem, maybe they wouldn’t be surprised to learn about your gambling debts, or how Mrs. Bulfinch left you to live in New York. Have you seen her Manhattan apartment? Green carpet and white tile in the bathroom? You must pay a pretty penny on those alimony checks. Reconsider my offer, maybe I’ll sweeten the deal with some booze. Eddie Winter, signing off.

“Marty was blackmailed,” Nick spoke the moment there was another break in the recording. He snapped his gaze to Deacon who furrowed his brows in annoyance.

“He still murdered my friends,” he spat.

Madelyn rested her hand on Nick’s arm, trying her best to ease the tension, silently reminding him of where they were. While it was important to learn the circumstances behind Marty’s choices, the decision had resulted in the death and destruction of the Railroad agents—the very people that were helping them now. It wasn’t worth reminding him how she almost died that night as well, if it hadn’t been for Deacon saving her life. The detective sat back in his chair, jaw clenched. Tom took that as his cue to start the holotape again.

Message to Vinnie Vannucci—It’s time. Start having the boys ask around for that broad the detective is sweet on. Find everything you can on that dame of a partner while you’re at it. Hear she’s some lawyer with the District Attorney’s office—she’d be useful if we can bribe her. Otherwise, I know how good you are at magic tricks. Let’s see if you can make two more nosy dollies disappear. Eddie Winter, signing off.

Madelyn could feel Nick trembling from where her hand was still resting on his arm, fists clenched tightly as he struggled to maintain his composure. A personal threat, almost as if Nick was meant to hear it. Then again, it had been personally delivered to them by Winter’s inside man, so it might as well have been a personalized greeting from the crime-lord himself. Even she had been targeted, but strangely enough, she hardly felt as frightened as she did for the other implicated woman.

“That’s all she wrote,” Tom said, ejecting the holotape from the device reader. ��Well, he—this Eddie Winter guy sure sounds—”

“I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch,” Nick muttered, standing before she could stop him.

No matter how riled up he had gotten over each new piece of news or evidence in the case against Winter, Nick had never escalated towards vengeance. Even with all the corruption, the detective still believed in justice, still valued the court system and hoped the right people could put Eddie Winter away for good. But now, it was personal.

“What are you saying?” Madelyn asked, watching as he paced in a small line. It only made the panic rooted inside her chest spread. “Nick?”

“We need to head back to the agency and strategize a plan of attack on his base of operations,” he explained. “No more waiting around. We strike as soon as possible.”

“One step at a time,” she urged, waving her hands in protest. She understood the importance of striking while the iron was hot, but if they charged in blind, they were only setting themselves up for failure. “What about Jenny?”

Her open-ended question alluded to the thinly-veiled threat Eddie Winter had placed against her on the holotape, and the devastation etched into Nick’s expression told her he had nearly forgotten in his eagerness to leave. He scrubbed at his growing stubble, at a loss for words.

“The Railroad can help,” Deacon offered, breaking the silence. “We—I—can go pick her up and take her to a safehouse. Make sure she’s protected until this ordeal blows over.”

Nick wouldn’t be so easily persuaded. “I don’t trust you.”

“Nobody does,” Deacon replied, soberly.

Without any other options, Nick flicked his gaze to Madelyn and nodded. “She trusts you. That’s enough for me,” he let out a long sigh. “Deacon, you keep my Jenny safe, or there’ll be hell to pay, you hear?”

“Anything for you, Valentine.”

With one last nod, Nick took possession of the holotape from Tinker Tom on his way towards the staircase that led back through the catacombs and church basement. Madelyn turned to face Deacon who was pensive, expression disconcerting for how well-dressed he was, still wearing the suit from the Third Rail. She likely looked just as out of place, and hardly felt as confident as she had when she first put on the sparkly black dress hours ago.

“I better…” she trailed off, knowing she needed to leave to catch up with Nick.

Before Madelyn could leave, Deacon reached out to grasp her hand, holding it in a firm grasp. His thumb brushed over her knuckles in an affectionate sweep as his lips twitched to the side in a brief smile.

“Keep yourself safe, Charmer,” he said, softly. She squeezed his fingers back in reply.

“I promise.”

April 12th, 1958

No amount of careful planning could’ve prepared Nick and Madelyn for what they faced when they traveled into South Boston the next evening, breaking into the Joe’s Spuckies Sandwich Shop when the coast was clear. They had trailed Eddie Winter to the location and watched the building from afar for hours before advancing, hoping they could corner him in the underground bunker. The two slowly crept through the darkened halls, pistols drawn—of course, that didn’t stop two of Winter’s men from sneaking up on them from behind, incapacitating them both with a hit from the blunt end of a gun.

The first thing Madelyn heard when she started to regain consciousness were the opening notes to a Bobby Darin album. Her vision blurred as she peeked open her eyes, and it took several blinks to realize she had been moved to a new location—she wasn’t even sure if she was in the sandwich shop anymore. She tried to move but her hands were bound behind her back—as well as her chest and arms—keeping her secure in the chair she occupied. A little resistance proved that her wrists were bound to another pair—Nick. As she struggled to get a glimpse of him over her shoulder, a hand came and jerked her chin from view.

“This one’s awake,” the guard grumbled.

She glared up at the imposing man, wincing at the throbbing pain at the base of her temple where she had been struck. If she were lucky, she didn’t have a concussion. Then again, if luck were on her side, they wouldn’t be tied up in Eddie Winter’s basement. The guard was lucky they had secured a cloth gag in her mouth, otherwise she probably would’ve made to bite at his thumb that still pressed against her cheek. He shuffled away when a new person entered her field of vision—Eddie Winter himself. Tall, lean but muscular, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Befitting of the Boston crime-lord, he wore an immaculately tailored suit, grey in color, with a little white pocket square. If he wasn’t the scum of the earth mob-boss, she might’ve called him handsome—until he smiled, confirming he was nothing but evil.

“Madelyn Hardy,” he grinned, petting at her hair, inspecting a few golden strands. “You are far prettier than I expected.”

Before he could say anything else or run his grimy fingers across any more of her, Nick began to rouse, which spiked Eddie’s excitement. “Come on Detective Valentine, it’s time to wake up. You wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun we’re about to have,” he gave a light tap to the side of Nick’s head, to which he recoiled, shaking his head in earnest. If he weren’t gagged, he’d be giving the mobster an earful.

“Oh no,” Eddie softly chuckled, leaning away so the two could see him easily. He had inferred a lot from Nick’s resistance. “You brought her into this, so any harm that comes to her is your fault.”

Madelyn steadied herself at the veiled threat. Clearly the man had a plan for them that evening and judging by the other guards that occupied the room, it couldn’t be good. Nick fidgeted, his hands fighting against the binds in vein while Eddie watched, a wild glaze in his eyes. Deacon was right—the man was insane and wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. She was briefly reminded of Doctor Crocker, but Eddie’s methodical madness was far more terrifying.

“That’s what I like to do, Valentine,” the man said, slowly reaching into his jacket and retrieving his .44 pistol. “Teach lessons.”

She was momentarily confused—expecting far more from the man who had murdered his victims in extravagant ways—until he raised the weapon and quickly shot not at her and Nick but at the two guards standing watch over them. His aim was deadly, each man only needing one bullet each to the center of their skulls before they dropped to the floor with a loud thud. Madelyn flinched at every movement and sound, yells muffled by the gag, trembling at the mix of fear and relief—was she next? Nick’s curses were equally stifled, and more than ever she could feel his fingers working to loosen the ropes. Eddie hardly had a reaction to killing his own men, running a hand through his hair with a disgruntled sigh.

“I can’t even trust my own men, stealing right from under my nose,” he waved the gun to one of the dead men. “Making moves on my girl. Small offenses to some, but to me? Don’t you know who I am?”

The record player switched over to a new song, and Eddie smiled, mumbling to himself about how he adored the song. After adjusting his suit jacket, he sidled back towards them, with a little dance in his step. Madelyn had never been more alarmed by an action—as the man said—this was fun for him.

“You know Valentine, that’s why when I found out you and your no-name agency were snooping around, I wasn’t in the slightest bit threatened,” he shook his head. “A laughing-stock detective and some reject from the D.A.’s office—don’t you know where the fairer sex belongs, dollface?”

Madelyn gritted her teeth, wanting nothing more than to shoot the man herself. Regardless of the unknown factors, it was now just the two of them against Eddie. If they could get their ties free, perhaps they could end this nightmare once and for all. He backed away, twirling in a two-step to the rhythm of the song.

“Still, never can be too careful,” Eddie continued, walking towards an armchair with a large plastic tarp draped over it. Only then did Madelyn notice feet were sticking out at the bottom, and the droplets of blood splattered across the concrete flooring. “I should’ve picked a better inside man. One that wasn’t so blindly loyal to you.”

Whatever Madelyn expected to see beneath the sheet, it was far worse when Eddie yanked the plastic away, revealing the mutilated corpse of Marty Bullfinch. Not even the scene at Earl Sterling’s apartment could’ve prepared her—the only recognizable part of him left was the bright yellow tie around his neck.

“Poor Marty,” Eddie frowned, tilting his head to inspect the body. “But what a piece of art this is, don’t you agree? One of our new contractors, Mr. Pinkman—wouldn’t want to be alone with him in a dark alley.”

“I suppose Marty did what I asked of him,” Eddie sighed, turning to a small table where he placed his weapon back in the holster of his jacket. Madelyn wasn’t relieved, however, as he swapped it for a short combat knife. “But that idiot had it in his head that he could still help you, leak information that would end the empire I’ve built.”

The man crossed back over to where the two were tied up, focusing his attention on Nick. Madelyn craned her neck to see that Eddie was balancing the knife’s edge under his chin, smirking as he tugged the cloth from the detective’s mouth.

“Now, Valentine,” he said. “You’re gonna tell me everything you know. I know you’ve been dying to say something all night.”

Nick moved and Madelyn realized that in all the time Eddie had been monologuing, he had been breaking free of his binds. “Yeah, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.”

Nick brought his arms out from behind him in one swift movement, using the forward momentum as he stood to tackle Eddie to the floor. Madelyn felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her veins and she rushed, fingers fumbling to loosen her ties so she could help. From over her shoulder she could see the two struggling to gain control of the knife, Nick finally tossing the weapon far away and out of reach. The next move was to reach for the gun holstered in Eddie’s suit. Panic started to rise in her chest—just as the ropes fell from her wrists and she pulled the gag from her mouth, a shot rang out and she froze, turning to see what had happened.

Another shot and her worst fears started to envelop her as Nick slumped to the ground, Eddie’s hand gripped firmly around the .44 pistol. He was breathless and disheveled, but the look in his eyes was rabid as he locked onto her. Before she could stand, he had stumbled over to her, discarding the gun as he pushed her to the ground. Madelyn was splayed against the hard, concrete floor as he straddled her body, large hands wrapping around her neck and pressing down on her windpipe.

“I like to be intimate with my dollies,” he hissed.

Madelyn wouldn’t surrender to the terror—she wouldn’t die like this. She knew there wasn’t much time to enact a plan of escape and squirming beneath him only made him squeeze harder. But she had a promise to keep, and damnit if she wasn’t going to see Deacon again or bring Nick home to Jenny. It was now or never. If anything, she was spurred on by the repulsive way he was half-singing along to the song still playing on the record-player, smile a sickening a sight.

“Could it be our boy's done somethin' rash?”

She twisted her body, reaching down to bunch up the left side of her skirt so she could feel at the cool metal of her holstered pistol. The guards hadn’t bothered to check her for the hidden weapon after taking the one from her hands, and it would be their folly. Eddie’s grasp on her throat made her concentration waver, but she fought through the pain and dizziness. As soon as she had the gun in hand, she pressed the muzzle to his body and fired.

Madelyn sucked in a gasp of breath as his hands released her neck, Eddie’s body falling off of hers as he fell to the floor in anguish.

“Bitch!” he yelled, rolling away and snapping his hands to the wound on his side, blood soaking through his grey jacket. She scrambled away, struggling to stand to keep her weapon trained on him. At her feet, she saw his .44 and swiftly kicked it away. Eddie groaned, snarling up at her. He shook his head and laughed. “You won’t kill me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he barked, gradually pushing himself up to stand. Eddie gestured to where Nick was laying motionless on the ground, a slow puddle of blood had started to form beneath him. “He’s not dead. But he will be. Better act fast if you want Valentine to live.”

Madelyn didn’t think twice, rushing to her partner’s side. Eddie took the time to make his slow escape, pulling himself up the basement staircase and out of sight, a trail of blood following him in his wake. She wondered just how far he’d make it in his escape—but the man was resourceful. Right now, however, she had larger concerns. She collapsed on the ground next to Nick, examining his injuries. He had been shot twice—once to his shoulder which was responsible for the visible pool of blood, but there was another wound to his chest which shook her straight to her core.

Just like Nate.

Except, there wasn’t as much blood, and Nick appeared to be half-conscious as she gripped his hand, trying with all her might to rouse him. She wouldn’t lose him like this. Not after everything they’d been through—not in the same way she’d lost her husband. God—if he even existed—wouldn’t be so cruel to her in such a way.

“Come on, Nick,” she wept, the tears already streaming down her face. His eyes lifted, just barely and she gasped, gripping his hand tightly. Her encouraging words were useless, but she spoke them anyways. “You have to get up, we have to get out of here.”

His breath was shallow and ragged, before his eyes closed again. “Tell Jenny…”

Instead of slumping over his body and sobbing, Madelyn moved, on the hunt for a phone to call for help. He could tell her himself.

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #jennifer lands #tinker tom #eddie winter #also some spoiler characters #eddie winter dances like a psychopath ala american psycho #you may never be able to listen to bobby darrin again #anyways see you next week :D

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mitchsmarners · 5 years

Text

the real world

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] word count: 3,143 chapter count: 4 of 18 summary: after a sudden and unexplained disappearance, richie tozier returns to derry with a secret that no one person could ever hope to hold onto

read on ao3.

moodboard by the lovely @stanleuyris. |

a lil work in progress playlist

the real world taglist: @stanleuyris, @willelbyers, @proton-disaster-blaster, @richietoaster, @beautifullillis, @ichigokazuki, @protectthebyers, @lifesucksheres20bucks, @are-you-reddie-for-it, @reddiegaspbrak, @princesass-theresa, @appojoos, @cheekaspbrak, @roobarrtrashmouth, @reddiesmagic, @moonlighttozier, @flamingcheetoess, @reddie-wise (let me know if you want added!)

perma taglist: @jwilliambyers, @eddiecare, @eddiekabsprak @stanleuyris, @appojoos, @s-s-georgie, @chaotickaspbrak, @eddiefuckinkaspbrak, @edstozler, @emgays, @anellope, @thorn-harvester-ven, @wheezyeds, @vipertooth, @tozierking (also let me know if you want added!)

Eddie and Richie were laying across Richie’s bed, Eddie’s legs dropped into his Richie’s lap and leaning back against the Richie’s inhuman mountain of pillows. Eddie’s mom said too many pillows lead to depression and trouble breathing, so Eddie was only allowed one pillow at the head of his bed. Laying down on Richie’s bed was always like falling onto the most comfortable cloud that had ever dropped down to Earth.

This had sort of become their new thing, over the last couple of weeks. Richie would drive them back to his house in his slightly rundown old Honda, and Eddie would stick around all afternoon. Eddie and Richie, sitting in Richie’s bed or the Tozier’s living couch, after school. Eddie had become a permanent fixture at the Tozier’s dinner table. They’d just sit around, doing homework or just doing absolutely fuck all, until the sun started to set and Eddie’s curfew hit. Some nights, Eddie could escape out his window and skateboard back over to sit and waste time in Richie’s bedroom into the early mornings. Which was a slippery slope all on its own, where Eddie could fall asleep in Richie’s wonderfully comfortable bed and nearly missed his mother’s morning check-ins.

“Fuck off, Tozier!” Eddie cried through laughter as he smacked at his best friend’s chest.

“Hey, hey!” Richie said loudly, grinning from ear to ear. “Language. Little ears?” He pointed towards the bassinet.

Eddie stared at him for a short moment, then scoffed loudly. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, Trashmouth. You’re the biggest curser I’ve ever met in my life, first of all. And second of all, what do you think is going to happen? She’ll hear one curse one word from me, and suddenly be able to absorb information and repeat it back to you?”

Richie made a loud, offended noise. “Just because she can’t talk doesn’t mean she isn’t absorbing information, Eds!”

“Richie, she’s three months old!” Eddie burst out laughing. “She’s not absorbing anything except the formula from her bottle.”

“Oh, yes.” Richie rolled his eyes, reaching into the bassinet and taking the sleeping baby into his arms. He smiled softly down at the sleeping babe, and then grinned up at Eddie. “Mr still afraid of babies.”

Eddie felt himself flush down the back of his neck. Something that hadn’t changed in the last few weeks of hanging around Richie was the simple fact of Riley making him totally uncomfortable. It wasn’t so much that Eddie was afraid of Riley, but that Eddie was afraid of him with Riley. She was so small, though he could see that she’d gotten bigger since Eddie had met her for the first time, and Eddie was sure he wouldn’t be able to take care of her. That he’d do something wrong and she’d end up getting hurt.

Richie smirked at him, lifting Riley higher up in his arms. His smile dimmed slightly as he looked into the sleeping girls’ face. “You know, she’s not going anywhere, Eds. One day you’re going to have to stop hating her.”

“Hating-” Eddie pushed up onto his shins and gave Richie a scandalized look. “Richie, I do not hate her. I just-”

Richie stood, Riley asleep in his arms, and looked down at Eddie with expectation. His stomach clenched awkwardly, potentially as though he was going to throw up. His heart hammered and his palms started to sweat. How could he possibly explain something to Richie when he wasn’t entirely sure about it himself? He was sure that if he told Richie of his fears about hurting Riley, Richie would be able to reassure him easily. Richie, king of clumsy, likely had very similar fears. But part of Eddie- a large part- didn’t want to be reassured. That thought was almost as nerve wracking as the baby itself.

“Richie!” Maggie called up the stairs, startling Eddie and Richie out of their stare down. Riley made a small noise but didn’t seem to wake. “Beverly is here.”

Richie’s eyes blew open wide and Eddie thought if his heart beat any faster, it would explode right out of his rib cage and onto Richie’s bedroom floor. Richie looked between Eddie, Riley and the bedroom for a moment before placing Riley back in the bassinet. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“What?” Eddie hissed.

Richie looked and flailed his hands once they were free of his daughter. “You’ve been wanting us all to make up, right? This is a good chance to do it! I’ll talk to Beverly, I’ll… explain or I’ll make something up. I don’t know. Give her enough information that she’ll forgive me and things can go back to normal. That’s what we want, right?”

It was what Eddie wanted, but he wasn’t so sure that anything could ever be normal with their friends again. “And what?” Eddie asked. “You’re just going to have the conversation here? What if Riley cries or something? What would your explanation for that be?”

Richie shook his head, and bit down on his bottom lip. “I’ll go for a walk with her.” Richie said finally, grabbing his denim jacket off the back of his desk chair. “No risk of that then. Just wait for me to get back.” “With her?” Eddie squeaked, hands shaking. “What do you want me to do?”

“Eddie’s sleeping.” Richie said slowly, shrugging the jacket on. “It’s not a big deal.”

“And what if she wakes up?” Eddie cried. “You don’t even know how long this is going to take! Richie, you can’t just-”

“You know where her bottles are, and you aren’t an idiot, Eddie.” Richie said, stuffing a pack of smokes into his back pocket and jumping into his ratty old Converse sneakers. He tucked the laces into his shoes rather than tie them up, and Eddie wonders again how this disaster of a boy had managed to be such a beyond decent father. “My mom is downstairs if everything really happens. I’ll be back when I can.”

Richie was taking off out the door before Eddie had a chance to give a response. Eddie groaned and looked at the sleeping baby waringly. “Rich-” Maggie was showing at the bottom of the stairs as Richie came thundering down two steps at a time. “Good. She won’t be taking no for an answer, she was about to push past me right and come up there.”

“I was.” Beverly said, standing just behind Maggie with her arms crossed. She glared at Richie as he walked into the front foyer. Richie tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket and forced a smile that Beverly didn’t return. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah.” Richie said, throat dry and voice cracking. “I guess we do. Walk with me.”

“Richie…” Maggie said gently, quietly.

Richie turned around and flashed her a warning look. “Don’t worry. I got it covered. It’s fine.” Richie pressed a hand to the back of Beverly’s shoulders, and ushered her out the front door. Beverly stiffened under his touch, but didn’t pull away. Good sign.

“I know you want an apology.” Richie said as they set down the street. Beverly remained stone silent and Richie’s pulse picked up. “And you deserve one. It’s just-”

“Richie.” Beverly said roughly. “I know this isn’t some light thing. It’s you just jetting off to do whatever, okay? Your whole family disappeared for months. It was obviously something serious. I’m not mad that you had to take personal time or whatever happened. I’m not a monster.”

“I never said you were.” Richie said quietly, kicking at the ground where they walked. He sent a small rock shooting down the sidewalk.

Beverly sighed slowly. “I don’t think that was directed to you.” She shook her head. “The problem isn’t that you left or really even that you didn’t tell us. If something happened to your family and you can’t tell us, that’s your business. But you’ve been lying to us and blowing us off since you got back. And that’s the issue. I won’t be lied to, Rich. None of us will. That’s not the friendship we have.”

“I’m sorry.” Richie said roughly. “I do love you guys, you know? I just… I’m having a lot of shit going on, you know? And shit is so different now and I’m adjusting to my life again and-”

“You’re adjusting to your life again, and the Losers aren’t part of it?” Beverly said coldly.

“No! That’s not it at all!” Richie cried, but he wondered if maybe it was like that. He’d known that this sort of thing couldn’t be a secret forever, not a living human. Riley wasn’t some dirty little secret and Richie had no plans of keeping her life like that forever. His parents had expressed plenty distaste in Richie’s course of action, and Eddie seemed pretty weird about it, too. “I just… I have to get comfortable with how things are now because I can… let people back in.”

Beverly was quiet for a long time, then looked up at the sky. “Let’s go down to the old playground.”

Richie followed her, heart tense.

Eddie sat crossed legged, staring almost unblinkingly at the baby in the basket. Every once in a while, he’d squint to make sure her tiny chest was still moving. He’d reach out slowly, hand shaking, get close to resting it over the sleeping infant then he’d jerk his hand away. He held his hand to his chest, and he glared at her.

Maggie knocked at the bedroom door and pushed it open, holding a steaming white mug in her hands. “Hey, Eddie. I brought you hot chocolate.” She smiled at him. “With extra cinnamon, just how you like it.”

Eddie beamed at her and gladly accepted the drink. “Thank you, Mrs Tozier.”

Maggie pulled out the desk seat and sat down. She smiled at him. “I think I should be thanking you, Eddie.” She said with a smile. “For being there for Richie. He really needs a friend right now and I know he’s so afraid that his friend won’t accept this part of his life. I doubt he’s said anything to you, but I know it means a lot to him how much you’ve been around and how supportive you’ve been.”

You know, she’s not going anywhere, Eds. One day you’re going to have to stop hating her.

Eddie sighed, clenching his fists together. “I don’t think I’m as supportive as you guys think I am.” Eddie said, clenching his jaws and trying to keep tears from forming in his eyes. “I mean, I am supportive! He’s doing something amazing and hard and I couldn’t dream of doing something like this. He’s probably the strongest person I’ve ever met but-”

Maggie kept eye contact with Eddie, smiling softly while he collected his thoughts. He sighed and shook his head. “I’m scared of her.”

Maggie blinked. “What? Riley?”

Eddie grabbed one of Richie’s pillows and clutched it to his chest. “Not in like, I think she could beat me up kind of way. But-”

“In a way, her existence changes your way of life kind of way?” Maggie asked gently.

Eddie frowned for a moment, letting that question turn over in his mind for a moment. He shook his head. “No, not even that.” He replied. “Like, yeah, of course, it’s like that, she’s changed everything but that’s not what I’m afraid of. It’s more like…” Eddie swallowed hard then began to spit out words at a rapid pace. “She’s just the smallest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m terrified that if I so much as look at her the wrong way, she’ll get hurt and that’s a lot of pressure and it really freaks me out like all the time.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Maggie got up from the desk and dropped down beside Eddie on the bed. She wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and he flopped against her gratefully. “I get that feeling. Went and I weren’t much older than Richie is when we had his sister. And it was terrifying. Went took it in stride, Richie gets that from him, I guess. I'm just worried all the time that I was going to do something wrong, or that something bad would happen to her. As she got older, it just got worse. I was so sure we were gonna really screw that kid up.”

Eddie thought on Richie’s older sister, Robin. She was about five years older, already out of Derry and halfway through her undergrad. Serious plans on becoming a lawyer, with a sweet boyfriend and a cute little apartment in New York City. Richie always pretended he and his sister didn’t get on, but Eddie knew he adored her.

“Robin turned out great.” Eddie said softly. “You didn’t need to worry about her. Richie though…”

Maggie chuckled. “Richie is a very different story from Robin. Has been since the day he was born.” The words could maybe be considered harsh, but Maggie’s voice was nothing but fond. “Both my kids are going to do wonderful things with their lives. Just very different things. And that’s okay.”

“You’re not disappointed in him?” Eddie asked. Richie had been extremely vague about his relationship with his parents. He’d mentioned that they’d been very financially supportive, and been great about making allowances for Richie and doing everything they could to make his life easier with school, but Richie had never really opened up to how things were emotionally between them.

Maggie sighed. “I was, at first. I think any parent would be, to hear those words coming from their sixteen year old child’s mouth. Went was furious with him, it was a painful trip to Indiana. But it didn’t take long for the disappointment to be replaced by pride. I’m proud of him for stepping up, for all the sacrifices he’s made without so much as a compliant. He’s a good kid and I’m proud of who he’s grown to be.”

Eddie nodded slowly, eyes dragging down to look at the sleeping baby.

Maggie rubbed at Eddie’s back. “Don’t worry too much, Eddie.” She said softly, moving to stand up. “It’s not going to be instantaneous for you. It’ll come with time, I promise. You just need to bond with her.”

Maggie walked towards the bedroom door, and paused. She turned around and smiled at him. Eddie looked up from the sleeping baby, and frowned. “How do I bond with a baby? She can’t exactly hold a conversation.”

“And who’s to say that bonds have to be intellectual?” Maggie challenged him before leaving the room.

Eddie looked back down at Riley and slowly let his hand come out to rest lightly, barely touching, on her chest. She cooed in her sleep and Eddie smiled.

Beverly hung upside down from the monkey bars while Richie stood underneath. “I’m not going to beg you.” She said, while Richie’s eyes were glued on Beverly’s long hair falling towards the ground. “But I’m not sure we’ll be able to move forward as friends unless you give me something that’s actually true.”

“Do you remember the girl I lost my virginity to? At my aunt and uncle’s?” Richie asked Beverly’s hair. She hummed, still sounding a little disbelieving. It tugged at a part deep inside of Richie that remembered how much it had hurt when none of his friends had believed him about having sex. It didn’t seem like such a huge deal now, but the old Richie was still stung by it. “She was pregnant. We disappeared to go deal with everything she needed help with.”

Beverly dropped off the monkey bars, landing awkwardly on her shoulder. “Ouch.” She hissed while Richie rushed forward and helped her to her feet. “Holy shit, Rich. That’s insane! Okay, I totally get why you’ve been being weird. That must have been so crazy!”

“Yeah, it’s been really intense.” Richie said bashfully, scratching at the back of his neck. Beverly was dusting off her ripped jeans and Richie suddenly felt a wave of affection for her. She’d been one of the most important people in his life for so long that Richie barely remembered a time before being close to her. He opened his mouth, god help him, he was going to tell her, he would, he-

“Well sucks you had to go out there for the adoption process.” Beverly said, grinning at him. “I’m sure it must have been so hard for you both, don’t even worry about acting like a freak lately. I’m sure it’s hard to get over something like that.”

“Uh, well-” Richie said, clearly his throat awkwardly. “Actually-”

“But it’s for the best, I’m sure.” Beverly carried on, shaking her head. “Could you imagine you with a baby? That’s horrific, Rich.” She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure everybody involved is better off this way.”

Richie’s heart sunk and he clenched his jaw. He shook his head, and looked down at his feet.

Beverly came forward and linked her arm through Richie’s. “Take however much time you need to adjust, Rich.” Beverly said. “I’ll get the others off your back, I’ll find something to tell them. Just don’t keep us waiting forever, yeah? We’re your friends, we miss you.”

“Yeah.” Richie said, guiding them towards Beverly’s house with his heart in his gut. “I miss you guys, too.”

When Richie got home, he bulldozed right past his parents without a word and booked it up the stairs to his room. He pushed open the door, trying to remind himself to be quiet in case Riley was asleep, but it was hard to be quiet when he could barely see past the tears in his eyes.

He froze in the doorway, blinking the tears away to double check he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Eddie was sitting up against Richie’s pillow mountain, with baby Riley nestled and cooing in his arms. She had one of Eddie’s fingers tangled in her fist. “Hey!” Eddie spoke softly, beaming at Richie. “She woke up, but she didn’t cry so I don’t think she’s hungry, maybe I was wrong but she seems calm enough and-”

Richie flopped onto the bed, prompting Eddie and Riley to make similar surprised noises. Richie pressed his face against Eddie’s shoulder, eye line set with his daughter’s face. Eddie looked down at him and frowned. “Things didn’t go well with Bev?”

“It went absolutely terrible.” Richie mumbled against Eddie’s shoulder. “But Bev thinks it went well, so that’s what really matters.”

Eddie shifted, and sighed. “Do you want her?” Eddie leaned slightly towards Richie with Riley. “Because I get-”

“Nope.” Richie smiled and inhaled Eddie’s scent that surrounded him. “I am perfect just like this.”

Eddie flushed and looked away Richie to smile down at baby Riley.

#reddie #reddie fic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my writing #trw #the real world

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theprocrastinatingwriter34 · 6 years

Text

We Found You - Part 5

My week has been super hectic, so I apologize for the spelling errors if there are any.

Masterpost

*~*~*

“Who taught you how to do that?” Peter questioned as he set his multi-colored flashcards in his lap. The teen sat comfortably in the cushioned chair next to Tony’s large, full-length mirror. Eddie huffed at the question as he continued to tie his navy blue tie while standing in front of the mirror.

“A friend of mine did,” He replied. “but you were probably expecting me to say ‘my dad’.”

“Actually, I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t.” Peter commented after a slightly long pause.

Eddie glanced at Peter, who looked down and began to fiddle with a corner of a flashcard. Both he and the symbiote picked up the small change in mood from Peter.

“What’s wrong? Is he alright?” the symbiote questioned eagerly.

Shh. Just let me talk. Eddie silently replied.

“Why’s that?” He questioned to Peter, glancing back at him again.

“Oh, no reason.” The teen replied, never looking up from his flashcards. Eddie paused his actions for a moment as he looked at Peter again, knowing something was up. He could tell the teen didn’t want to talk, but it seemed like it was bugging him.

“My dad was an asshole.” Eddie began as he continued to tie. “He didn’t really think I’d succeed in life, so he never taught me.”

Peter’s light brown eyes widened as he looked up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” The teen stammered.

“Give me sec, will ya?” Eddie laughed. “I’m not trying to throw a pity party. I just thought I’d share it with you.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled his feet up to sit criss-crossed on the chair.

“Could I talk to you about something?” He asked, almost mumbling it.

“Sure.” Eddie replied softly.

“Is it normal to miss people, even if they’ve been gone for a long time?” He asked, looking down again. “I mean, I love my aunt, and I love how we are now, but I can’t help but miss my uncle sometimes.”

If he’s living with his aunt, then his parents must be out of the picture. He told the symbiote, who was surprisingly quiet.

“What happened to them?” They asked.

I don’t know.

“It...It kinda feels like a missing piece, you know?” Peter continued, now messing with the chipped nail on his thumb. “I don’t know; I think I’m just rambling.”

“No no, I got it.” Eddie assured. “I’m not an expert at it, but do I know that it’s normal. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

“Wait a minute, you learned part of this cloth tying trick from Anne.” Venom interrupted as they formed a small, dark blob on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Who’s Anne?” Peter questioned, his eyebrows slightly raised.

“None of your business.” Eddie quickly replied as he shook his head.

“Anne used to be his-” Venom began, but Eddie covered them with his hand.

“You know how to tie a tie, right?” Eddie questioned, trying to divert the attention.

“I mean, I did it once, but I had help. I’m not very good at it.” Peter explained. “But that still doesn’t answer my ques-”

“Alright then, I’ll teach you.” Eddie interrupted as he undid his tie and walked towards Tony’s closet.

“Hey! Where are you going? Mr. Stark is gonna get mad.”

“If he’s letting me borrow a suit for the day, then I think he’ll be fine if I borrow a tie to teach you.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he set his flashcards down on the ground and sat up. When the reporter returned from the large closet, he was trying to shoo the symbiote away from his shoulder, but they stayed put.

“Here.” Eddie sighed as he tossed Peter a bright red tie. “Let’s hope that isn’t a priceless tie.”

“I’m pretty sure everything Mr. Stark owns could be considered priceless.”

“You’re probably right.”

As Eddie began to teach Peter, he pulled him up from the chair and moved him in front of the mirror since Peter was getting confused on which way he crossed the tie. At first, Peter struggled with the beginning knot, but after a couple of tries, he got it. With Eddie’s careful teaching, Peter was able to make a decent tie the third try. Once Peter had the basics down, Eddie pointed out the small mistakes that could easily be fixed so it would look clean. The worry that had built up earlier in teen somehow dissipated as he focused on his tying skills. At first, Peter was nervous he had made Eddie uncomfortable with their earlier conversation, but the reporter didn’t seem to mind it. It seemed more like he understood and was open to hearing what Peter had to say. Normally, those close to Peter would get nervous when he brought up his uncle, and it was even worse when he tried to bring up his dad. He wanted to talk about it sometimes, but everyone always acted like they were walking on eggshells when he brought up the subject, so he kept quiet. Although it seemed odd to be relieved over, Peter was glad Eddie didn’t know about his family prior to meeting him. It made things easier somehow. Peter knew Eddie had suspicions about what had happened, he was an investigative reporter after all, but he didn’t act like it was a topic to avoid at all costs.

“So now that I’m practically a master at tying, are you going to answer my question?” Peter joked as he tied the red tie with ease. Eddie sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Anne was my fiance, but we broke it off.” Eddie sighed as he put on the grey suit vest and straightened his tie. Peter’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, you were going to get married?” Peter squeaked as he tried to hide a smirk.

“Yeah.” Eddie replied as he glanced at the teen, who had a mischievous smile on his face. “Why are you surprised? Is it that hard to believe?”

“Maybe.”

Eddie shot a glare at the teen, who was almost laughing, but covered his mouth to prevent it.

“I know you’ve got something to say. Spit it out.” Eddie sighed as he rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t think anyone would date you, much less marry you.” Peter giggled, and it was Eddie’s turn to drop his jaw.

“I agree.” Venom added, knowing they were adding fuel to the fire. Before Peter could react, Eddie punched his arm and got him in a loose headlock.

“You sure got some nerve, kid.” He laughed as he messed up the teens curls. “Try that again, and you’ll be dinner.”

“Hey hey! Don’t mess up Mr. Stark’s suit!” Peter yelped as he tapped the arm around his neck. “And don’t you have to go soon?”

“You’re lucky I do.”

After putting up the red tie and making sure Eddie’s suit was to Tony’s expectations, Eddie grabbed the black topcoat from the chair next to the closet and grabbed the rental car keys. As he walked out into the cold air, he glanced behind him to see Peter waving with Tony standing next to him.

“Good luck!”

Tag List: @thevanillahorizon @noakanoa @quirkyoracle @jackie-sugarskull @ines-nz @yumialiasglubschi @tardisoftheshire @lovable-harmonica @digdipper09 @venomoustia

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eeveevie · 4 years

Text

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (3/18)

Chapter 3: People Who Do Things

The Valentine Agency duo visit the Memory Den where Madelyn engages with a mysterious stranger in exchange for information about the Railroad. An old friend helps Nick discover alarming evidence that could crack the case against Eddie Winter wide open. Later, Madelyn returns to Boston Common to ‘follow the Freedom Trail’ and bumps into a familiar face.

“I admire people who do things.” - Bruno Anthony as played by Robert Walker (Strangers on a Train, 1951)

x - x

Art for this chapter by @its-sixxers :D

[read on Ao3] ~ [chapter masterpost]

January 15th, 1958

“You can’t trust everyone.”

Madelyn spoke the words aloud, gauging Nick’s response. They were on their way uptown, trying to drudge up any leads they could on Montrano’s assassination. The last few days hadn’t managed to secure any valuable information, even from their most trusted of sources. Even their newest recruit, MacCready, had nothing to offer. The streets were quiet—gripped by fear—just the way Eddie Winter wanted it. Now they were switching tactics and stepping directly into enemy territory by visiting the very institutions run by the Winter crime family. It was a dangerous game, but somebody had to play it.

“Is that what that note says?” Nick asked in response, flicking his gaze to her as he drove. Madelyn was alarmed for all of a few moments—he was a detective, after all—it was his job to figure things out. “You’ve been worrying over that piece of paper for weeks now.”

She looked over the words and the well-worn creases where she had folded and unfolded it, even though the words had been seared into her mind the first time she read them. “I received it on New Year’s Eve, at Faneuil Hall. I don’t know who it’s from. I—I meant to tell you about it.”

He looked amused, which she took as a good sign. “No skin off my nose. Looks like you were following its advice,” he teased. “Pretty enigmatic, if you ask me.”

Madelyn was in full agreement. “Do you ever get the feeling that you’re being followed?”

“Comes with the territory,” he replied before realizing her genuine unease. “Hey doll, if you’re really that concerned, we can—”

“No, no,” she shook her head, snapping herself away from the lingering fear. “I’m sure I’m overreacting. We’ve had some run-ins lately that have me spooked, is all.” She tried to lighten the mood. “You never take me anywhere nice.”

Nick’s brows stayed furrowed, hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel, her joke soaring right over his battered fedora. “Don’t remind me. Jenny is still cross that I took you to a crime scene.”

Despite the tension, or maybe because of it, Madelyn laughed. “Well, we didn’t know it was one before we got there. She should be more upset about the blood on your socks.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

At first, when they reached their destination, Madelyn wondered what they were doing at the Olympia Theatre. As far as she knew, it was a reputable establishment, with no known ties to the mobster families in Boston. She stared up at the marquee through the window as Nick rounded the car to her side, opening the door and offering his arm. She took it graciously, still fixated on the theatre signs until he nodded towards a side street with a single, burning red bulb as a guiding light. Luckily, he was just about the only man she trusted to lead her down a darkened alleyway, daring to laugh at the absurdity of it all. At the end of the cobblestone path there was a red painted door with a golden placard that read—The Memory Den.

“You’ve been here before?” she assumed in a playful tone.

Nick looked noticeably uncomfortable, reaching up with his free hand to adjust his tie. “Uh, Jenny brought me here once. We were younger, and Winter didn’t own the joint. It’s not your typical dance hall.”

Madelyn didn’t know what to expect, but when they finally entered she was overwhelmed, all her senses overloaded at once. The music was loud and infectious, crowds of couples dancing close—very close—to the up tempo sounds of the live band. There were sparkling, strung up lights that dangled from the ceiling making her feel like she had stars in her eyes—and what was that glorious smell?

“Blueberry pie,” Nick commented, reading her mind as he took her coat, handing off their belongings to the coat-check boy with a generous tip. “But that’s not what we’re here for,” he quickly reminded. She blinked hard, snapping herself free of the club’s distractions so she could focus on his instructions. “Let’s split up. You work the crowd, see if you can find anybody that knows what’s been happening on the street. I’m going to see if I can find Irma.”

“Irma?” she questioned, with an arched eyebrow. “Looks like I’ll miss out on that sweet-talking that you do.”

He shook his head with a soft, albeit nervous chuckle. Was the illustrious Nick Valentine blushing? “Don’t tell Jenny.”

They separated, Nick disappearing into the crowd as he made his way towards a back rooms, looking for the management who ran the Den. Meanwhile, Madelyn slowly surveyed the room, keeping a mental note of anyone that looked questionable as she gravitated towards the bar. The dancing, however, proved to be mildly distracting, bordering on erotic with the way some couples pressed up against one another. A glimpse of her past—dancing with Nate in a similar fashion when they were young and foolish lovebirds flashed through her mind while her ears burned hot. A tingle crossed over her skin and she practically swallowed the entire first glass of whiskey whole before ordering another.

Madelyn decided cooler heads would prevail and braced herself, letting out a calming exhale as she glanced around the club once more. As far as she could tell, there were no obvious signs that Winter’s men were present. If they were, it was likely they were holed up in the back where Nick had wandered off to. It was her every intention then, to charm the bartender into divulging information when she noticed a man sitting at the end of the bar—somebody who looked suspiciously familiar. Yet, she couldn’t place the man with the dark glasses and black, quaffed hair, or the immaculately tailored suit he wore. He wasn’t a mobster but didn’t look like a regular patron either. Still, she had the overwhelming feeling she had seen him before, racking her memory to figure out when and where.

The stranger didn’t seem to notice her staring but if he did, didn’t seem to care, continuing to nurse his bourbon in that little corner of the bar. And then, he flashed the tiniest of smirks, tilting his glass in her direction. Suddenly a shiver ran up her spine and the anxiety she had been carrying since Faneuil Hall blossomed in full force. She gripped her whiskey tight, shooting back the rest of the contents with only one thought—she needed to find Nick, and get out the hell out of there. Without another moment to lose she moved away from the bar, blending into the crowd of dancing bodies as she made for the back rooms. When she glanced over her shoulder, the man from the bar was not far behind.

Rather than fear, Madelyn felt a rush of annoyance and decided to act. In one swift motion, she whipped around, pinning the much taller man to the nearest wall. One arm pressed across his chest, her other hovering near his throat where she held the end of the hairpin she had yanked free from her curls. With a flick of her thumb, the small blade clicked free, now shimmering in the darkness—a wonderful little present from Nick.

She pushed her stalker a little harder against the wall, boxing him in. “Why are you following me?”

The man’s eyebrows shot up over his darkened shades as he choked out a startled laugh, hands raised in defense. “Maybe I just need to use the can!”

He pointed with both index fingers to the doors just beyond her field of vision, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily. She pressed again, harder against his chest. “Who are you?”

“A priest.”

Madelyn was incensed. “Bullshit.”

“A sailor’s mouth? Adorable,” he commented whimsically, almost as if he wasn’t being held at knifepoint in a dim club hallway. Then again, Madelyn wondered how easy it would be for the man to quickly turn the tables, considering their size difference. The thought had her easing the sharp end of the hairpin a little closer to his skin. He let out a meep. “You sure know how to charm a man.”

“Who are you really?” she asked again.

He wiggled his fingers where his hands were still poised mid-air. “Somebody with secrets to share.”

Well now, that was awfully convenient. Madelyn narrowed her eyes, still skeptical even as she relaxed, leaning away from him. The stranger sighed in relief as she lowered her arms, tucking her hair back into place with the deadly flower pin and stepped away. She looked him over as he straightened his tie, letting out a little cough as he cleared his throat.

Finally she asked, “What kind of secrets?”

“Ah, information isn’t free, my friend,” he replied. When she didn’t say anything, too frustrated by his sudden appearance, he continued with an amused expression. This time, he gestured towards the main room where the live music had grown louder and faster. “I’ll give you everything that you want to know for a dance.”

“No!” she instantly rejected.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Madelyn hesitated over the man’s proposal in her mind and the mere second thought had her heart racing. What was she thinking? She couldn’t say yes. But wasn’t this all part of the job—the dangerous game her and Nick had agreed to? They weren’t going to corner Eddie Winter if they didn’t take risks, and right now, all she had to do was participate in one dance—not jump off a bridge. An entirely new set of nerves overtook her with the way the man was grinning at her, as if he could sense her inner turmoil. It was all made more difficult by the fact she couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, her own reflection shining back.

“Fine.”

He chuckled, beckoning her to follow. “Come on snake, let’s rattle.”

Madelyn ignored the jolt that shot through her when he gripped her hands, pulling her into the crowd of dancers as the music intensified. She hadn’t allowed herself to be manhandled since Nate’s death. There had been no intimacy, no flirtatious touching and certainly no dirty-dancing in an uptown speakeasy. Being escorted like a lady by Nick around town while they investigated cases certainly didn’t count. But now, she blamed it on being touch-starved and reeled in her focus. If she was going to do this, she might as well do it properly.

As the two fell into the rhythm of the music, she committed to every placement of her feet, every twist of her hip, every movement of her hands as they slid across the man’s shoulders and arms, the two of them gliding through the crowd as the music blared. He snaked an arm around her waist, palm flat along her lower back while he held her other hand in the air near their heads.

He was still wearing the same, fascinated smile. “Well Charmer, what do you want to know?”

“Do you work for Eddie Winter?” she asked bluntly, ignoring the pet name. Even if she had her assumptions, she still needed to ask.

The man guffawed, spinning her in time with the beat. “If I did, would I tell you?”

“Fair enough.”

“Who do you work for?” he asked, the two splitting apart for a brief moment to circle around one another.

Madelyn didn’t lift her gaze from his face, and she could only assume he was staring right back. She decided to be honest, hoping to catch more flies with honey, so to speak. “Valentine Detective Agency.”

Not the whole truth, but what the nameless man didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He pulled her back, hands like fire as they glided along her waist to keep her close to him as they moved. She steeled herself, resisting the urge to pinch the nerve in his shoulder and have him writhing like a baby on the floor—Piper had taught her that trick.

“Going after the big dog, hey?” he questioned, not bothering to wait for her response. “Not surprising you’ve run into some dead-ends with all those disappearances. Now with the floaters showing up in the Harbor? Phew. Can’t catch a break, am I right?”

Madelyn wanted to know how he knew about her and Nick’s string of bad luck. She supposed if he knew about the agency, it was easy to hear about the rumors of their constant failures as well, set on by the Boston Police Department. She wanted to know a lot of things, but as the man mentioned the disappearances, she decided to change her approach.

“What do you know about the Railroad?”

The man flashed a low, alluring grin. “That old myth? Everybody knows they’re just a ghost story.”

She wasn’t convinced, especially by the way he seemed completely charmed by the very mention. “I’m not so sure,” she disputed. “What’s this I hear about ‘following the Freedom Trail’?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“From a very reliable source,” Madelyn answered, almost defiantly. “Somebody I trust.”

“Here’s some advice, Charmer.” He spun her away at arm’s length before twirling her back just as fast, this time so her spine was flush against his chest. The stranger’s breath was hot against her ear as he let out a soft chuckle. “You can’t trust everyone.”

Madelyn’s brain didn’t catch up fast enough. By the time she registered the words, he was gone, disappeared into the sea of people. She spun around on her heels in an effort to catch one last glimpse, to shout a response, but there was no sight of the mysterious man. Unnerved, she found refuge away from the crowd, holding a hand to her chest as she steadied her breathing. It wasn’t just coincidence—he had to be the one who sent her the note on New Year’s Eve. More questions raced through her mind, sending her spiraling. Just how long had he been following her? And for what purpose? Was she in danger?

“Hey doll,” Nick found her near the lobby, his expression shifting into one of worry when he sensed her bewilderment. With him was a voluptuous and beautiful, icy-blonde haired woman, dressed in a red-sequenced dress with a slit that rested high up her leg. Madelyn could only assume it was Irma. “You alright?”

She shook her head and then nodded, before shaking her head again. “I’m not sure.”

Irma let out a hearty chuckle. “Looks like you met Deacon, sugar.”

“De—who now?” Nick questioned, clearly confused. “Madelyn?”

She decided this was neither the time nor the place to have the discussion with Nick. At least now, she had a name—something else to go on. Instead of responding as expected, she glanced between Nick and his lady-friend. “Did you get what you need?”

“Sure, sure,” he responded, taking her subtle hint. He tipped his head towards Irma with an appreciative smile. “Thank you, for all the assistance.”

“Don’t mention it, Mr. Valentine,” she purred. “Just don’t let your big, softy-self get hurt, all right? And please say hello to Jenny for me.”

Outside, Nick didn’t immediately press for details, taking the time to look over her demeanor to gauge her emotions. Surprisingly, Madelyn had mellowed out, attempting to rationalize her encounter and determine the next best step. Only then did he dare to flash a sideways smirk. “Make a new friend?”

“Find us a new lead?” she deflected, humorously.

Nick laughed, escorting her to his parked Cadillac. “What do you say to more of ‘walking into treacherous lands’?”

Madelyn flashed Nick a teasing grin. “Lead the way, Mr. Valentine.”

January 16th, 1958

Precinct 8 was the closest police department to Valentine Detective Agency, and it just so happened to be the only precinct in Boston with a somewhat friendly face. Marty Bullfinch—he and Nick used to work together, the closest thing Nick had to a partner before Madelyn came to the agency, and before Marty began hitting the bottle a little too hard. Their last case had them hunting down some golden grasshopper—more of a legend than anything tangible. By the end, the two had gone their separate ways, disgruntled and untrusting of what the other had to offer. It seemed that fate saw fit to bring the two back together at least one more time.

“What is this, some kind of joke?”

Marty’s disposition was alarmingly harsh when he saw the two enter the bullpen, standing up from his desk to sneer at Nick. He looked worse for wear, black hair greying at the sides and thin at the top. He looked haggard, dark lines under blue eyes indicative of a man who hardly slept and drank far too much. Madelyn stepped away as he quickly circled around to where they had been approaching but were now considering high tailing it out of there. Before either of them could take another step, Marty had snatched Nick’s hand in a firm shake, yanking him forward into a tight hug.

He laughed. “Ah Nicky, you old bucket of bolts. It’s good to see ya!”

Madelyn struggled to understand if it was a term of endearment or some in-joke between old friends. Either way, Nick appeared relieved by Marty’s true reaction to their presence. When they separated, the police detective eyed Madelyn with a surprised arch of his brows.

“You replace me with a dame?”

She took no offense, smiling as she extended her hand politely. Marty held it far too delicately, as most men did, sure they were going to break her if touched too roughly. “Miss Madelyn Hardy. Attorney on loan from the D. A’s office.”

“A little more than just a dame, Marty,” Nick said, amused.

“Right,” he nodded, grin a little more nervous as he adjusted his blue patterned tie. “What are you doing here? You know these guys that I work with all hate you, right?”

Nick didn’t waste any time, removing a tattered note from his coat. “Leave this behind at the Memory Den?”

Madelyn resisted the urge to laugh at the way Marty practically leapt to snatch it out of his hands, carefully confirming the paper’s contents before crumpling it up and tucking it into his jacket. Nick had shown her the letter the evening before, or what remained of it—a torn sheet of what read like instructions, signed by Eddie Winter himself. The only problem? A clear evidence marker that showed it should belong in Boston police custody. Irma had informed Nick that Mr. Bullfinch had been at the club, asking too many questions, but ultimately couldn’t resist the lure of a good drink and got careless.

“God damnit Nicky! Are you tryin’ to get me fired?” he snapped in a sharp whisper. “Worse yet, killed?”

“I’m trying to get you to tell me what’s going on,” Nick replied. “Why does Boston P.D. have evidence of organized crime perpetrated by Winter that they haven’t done anything about?”

Marty’s face scrunched up, clearly discomforted with the entire conversation. “Couldn’t you have come here asking for a drink?” he muttered, shifting his eyes around the room. Madelyn noticed that a few detectives and uniformed officers had begun to look their way. “Follow me.”

“Valentine, you aren’t going to get anything from coming here,” he announced, clearly putting on a show as he led them down a hallway out of sight. When the coast was clear, he ushered them into a cramped storage room with a single, low hanging light.

Nick had the foresight to wedge himself between Marty and herself, glaring at the other man. “This better be worth it.”

“Listen, I don’t know who to trust anymore. All the evidence that we collect from low-level busts, from these hits and murders? They keep disappearing. Changing hands. Sent to different precincts for ‘further analysis’,” Marty rambled, pupils blown wide. He was either paranoid or had seen a pattern so startling it could only be true. “When I ask, they say they are trying to match up handwriting samples, that it will take some time. I say, fuck ‘em!”

Madelyn leaned away, startled by his tenacity. “That sounds like a cover-up. A conspiracy to let Winter get away with his crimes!”

“Nothing concrete. I can’t tell who’s on the payroll,” Marty continued, voice atremble. “If somebody ain’t, they’re too chicken-shit to ask the tough questions. But we’re still sent to keep up appearances. Clean up the scenes, make sure to the people, we’re trying to make Boston a better place.”

Nick remained quiet, jaw locked in silent ferocity. Madelyn knew he wanted nothing more than to see Eddie Winter off the streets—by any means necessary. His eyes darkened, narrowing as he focused in on Marty’s jacket. “So there’s more of these self-incriminating notes, you say?”

The other man was just as good as picking up on Nick’s intentions, shaking his head and hands wildly. “Oh no, Nicky. Don’t get it in your head that you’ll be able to get any of these away from police custody. Got em’ locked up real tight across the city. You think you can walk in here because you know me but what are you gonna do in Quincy? Waltz in there and just…” Marty waggled his fingers for dramatic effect. “Five finger discount the joint?”

Madelyn’s chest tightened at the serious expression Nick wore, his intentions clear as day. “Nick…” she warned. “I—we can’t.”

“Yeah Nicky, listen to the lawyer broad,” Marty said in a panicked tone. “Is going after Winter really worth the trouble?”

“Right now there’s smoke burning all over Boston, clouding her in a thick sea of ash. And where there’s smoke, there’s sure to be fire,” Nick described, more determined than ever. “Do you really want to be here when the house burns down?”

His former partner swallowed hard. “God damnit—no,” he finally relented, rustling through his jacket pocket to return the scrap of evidence. “I’ve told you everything I know but—if I find out more, you’ll be the first to know.”

Nick nodded, finding the agreement acceptable. “Good. We’ll do our best to keep you safe, Marty.”

As Madelyn and Nick made their way from the hallway closet, down from the bullpen and into the precinct lobby, they heard Marty Bullfinch call out to them again in his ragged voice. “For shit’s sake! Next time, bring be a bottle of whiskey—or else!”

January 17th, 1958

Boston Common.

Madelyn once promised herself she would never return to the lakeside park or the surrounding neighborhood where her husband had been murdered. She didn’t need to walk the snow-covered streets to relive those moments—every agonizing second still etched into her mind each night when she closed her eyes. It hadn’t gotten easier, even a year later, even with the distractions that life had tried to provide her. She wondered if it ever was going to be any easier, or if she was meant to carry around that pain and guilt forever. Her chest tightened, body going numb as she stared down at the very spot, envisioning the stain of blood and the last flicker of life she saw in Nate’s dark green eyes. Quickly, before she succumbed to her grief, she reminded herself that the past was not the reason she was there.

That morning, Nick had finally confronted her about what had occurred in the Memory Den and she came clean about her suspicions that she was being followed. Madelyn couldn’t determine for how long, but between New Year’s Eve and that evening uptown, it wasn’t a fluke. He raised the same concerns that she did, wondering if there was an underlying danger, but after analyzing the circumstances a little more rationally, it didn’t appear so. The two agreed that if anything, somebody or something was trying to convey a message. While Nick worked in the shadows, tracking down Winter’s evidence files, they decided Madelyn would follow-up on the mysterious stranger. What she didn’t tell her partner, however, was where she was going that Friday evening.

The Common park stood empty, frozen still in the dead of night. Madelyn stood in the chill of the icy winter wind, watching as the hands on her watch signaled midnight. She used her shoe to scrape the snow away from the bronze placard on the ground—The Freedom Trail. Boston. Hundreds of tourists flocked to the site every day, but tonight, she was the sole visitor, searching for a clue. Curiously, there was a small smudge of red paint on the corner, something that looked like an arrow. She slowly moved to the nearby fountain that had been frozen over since Christmas, a low light emanating around the cobblestone. A second sign read—At Journey’s End Follow Freedom’s Lantern—more red paint covering some of the letters.

She was so engrossed with the thoughts of where the red brick pathway led—the graveyard next or was it the statehouse—that she barely registered the quiet footsteps and shadow approaching before it was too late.

“Dame like you shouldn’t be out this late.”

Madelyn swiveled to face the familiar taunting voice, briefly alarmed to find the man from the Memory Den leaning against a nearby light fixture, hands leisurely tucked away in his pockets. He was dressed in the same well-tailored suit from before, albeit with a winter coat to combat the chill in the air, and those damn sunglasses.

“You might be the next disappearance that private dick of yours ends up investigating,” he continued with a smirk.

She knew that it would be a battle of wits with his kind, shaking away any trace of anxiousness from her stance and expression. It would take all the field experience she had—or perhaps just pure instinct to handle the likes of him. At least now she knew his name. “Is this you threatening to snatch me away, Mr. Deacon?”

His lips flattened into a straight line before he let out a hearty chuckle. “How formal! Mr. Deacon, she says,” he shook his head and approached. When he noticed her apprehension, he kept his distance. “Just Deacon, Charmer.”

Madelyn found it peculiar but said nothing. Instead, she focused on the non-use of her name. Her need for pleasantries outweighed the minefield of red flags her mind set up. “Please, call me—”

“Charmer,” he interrupted, repeating the nickname with a grin. “Were you going to say Miss Hardy? Yeah, we don’t really do that.”

Of course he knew her name—Madelyn had to wonder what else he knew, and how much of an advantage this Deacon fellow had over her. When it came to information, she didn’t like it when she was left out of the loop. Rather than expressing her frustration, she peered at him curiously. “We?”

Deacon nodded, removing his hands from his pockets to gesture towards himself. “Me, and my many personalities,” he said with such certainty, she couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. He then tilted his head, jutting his thumb over his shoulder. “Follow me.”

Madelyn hesitated, knowing full well she had no reason to trust the man. A similar feeling to one she felt in the Memory Den washed over her and she stepped forward—be it bravery or impulse, she needed answers—and as Deacon mentioned before, he was willing to provide them. A voice in her mind reminded her that the knowledge she sought wouldn’t come so easily. Information wasn’t free. Still, she wouldn’t have come to the Common that evening if she weren’t looking for something, and she wasn’t about to return to the agency empty handed.

Instead of walking the Freedom Trail proper, Deacon led Madelyn up the streets into the North End neighborhood on the banks of the Boston Harbor. He was quiet, keeping a careful watch on their surroundings—at least that’s what she assumed he was doing, still questioning the purpose or usefulness of wearing such darkened shades at nighttime. Eventually, they came upon the Old North Church, the centuries old building damaged by a nearby property fire a few years prior. She stared up at the impossibly tall steeple and noticed that on the railing there sat a small, burning lantern.

“Freedom’s lantern,” she spoke.

Deacon was impressed. “Now you’re getting it.”

He withdrew a key from his pocket, using it to unlock the rusted chain that would otherwise bar entry to the church. Madelyn took the time to read over the faded plaque set into the red bricks—one if by land, two if by sea—the building was more than a historical site, it was holy ground, offering many heroes of the American Revolution their final resting place. Fitting that it would also be a safe haven for some secret organization. As she followed Deacon inside, she moved her hand over her chest to form a cross—half out of respect at the destruction she saw, half out of the embarrassment she felt for not stepping foot inside a church since Nate’s funeral.

“Ah, et spirtus sancti hmm?” Deacon questioned, his lighthearted tone bordering on offense. She shot him a silent frown, urging him to lead on. It was surprising that after two years, the interior had yet to be refurbished, many of the pews still showing signs of the fire that had swept through. A portion of the upper floor had collapsed, partially blocking the doorway that led to the basement and catacombs, but it didn’t deter Deacon. He waved a hand, motioning for her to move ahead of him. “Ladies first.”

Madelyn shook her head. “Priests first.”

“Oh, I’m going to like you.”

Deacon crouched to avoid knocking his head against the low beam, obliging her request to walk ahead of her down the darkened, narrow stairway. She braced herself along the wall as she followed, watching his every move, suddenly very aware they were surrounded by the dead. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, an irrational thought came to her, telling her this was all an elaborate ruse and she was about to be butchered and encased away in a tomb, never to be seen again. The sheer thought sparked a shiver to run up her spine and she inhaled a sharp gasp.

He glanced back at her, eyebrow raised. “Need me to hold your hand?”

Madelyn was sure she’d ever met somebody so insufferable. Despite herself, she forced back a smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than showing me a collection of dead bodies, Mr. Deacon,” she said the name intentionally, earning a rise out of him. “Been there, done that.”

“I know,” he answered, walking the two a few more paces towards a larger bronze plate, a replica of the ones that lined the city’s Freedom Trail. Wires connected the plaque to a mechanism beyond the brick wall and the further she scrutinized the space, the more she realized there was a room beyond. Deacon flashed another grin as he maneuvered the seal until it clicked a release. “I give you, the Railroad.”

Beyond the false wall was darkness but before she could move forward, Deacon caught her elbow, saving her from falling off the ledge. She was about to say her thanks when the room was flooded with light, Madelyn raising her arm up to shield her eyes. She squinted through the blinding spotlights to the other side of the gutted tomb to see three figures—two women and a man who looked suspiciously like her neighbor, Robby. Before she could speak, the woman in the center called out.

“Deacon, where’ve you been?”

He added his hand to Madelyn’s in a futile attempt to help block out the brightness. “Jesus, Dez—I said no intimidation tactics!”

With a snap of her fingers, the lights dimmed to a more reasonable setting, allowing Madelyn to readjust her sight. She pinched the bridge of her nose, wincing as the dark spots slowly faded away. Only then did she realize Deacon had yet to release his grip of her arm—she decided to say nothing about the infraction, for now. What she needed was answers—now.

“Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” she asked, emphatically.

The woman across the way nodded, signaling Deacon to escort Madelyn across the way to where they could have a more civilized conversation. The others loitered nearby, listening on. Even there, Deacon held onto her and she wondered if he was doing so to keep her put, or to offer her some semblance of familiar comfort in a strange place. Either way, she didn’t bat his hand away, focusing on the red-headed woman as she spoke.

“I’m Desdemona, and I’m the leader of the Railroad.”

She said it plainly, as if it was of no consequence. But there it was—the truth. The Railroad wasn’t some fairytale, made up by Bostonians to scare each other in the night. They were real and apparently operating out from the ruins of the Old North Church. One question nagged at Madelyn’s mind—were they friend, or foe?

Desdemona continued before she could ask. “We went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting with you.”

Madelyn shifted her gaze to Deacon, to her neighbor Robby, to the silver-haired woman standing guard, and back to Desdemona. “Why? You clearly know where I work, and where I live. A simple hello didn’t suffice?”

“I assure you, you have nothing to fear. In a world full of suspicion, treachery, and hunters—our organization must play our cards close to the chest. In our line of work, we have made many powerful enemies—you never know who you can trust.”

Deacon’s fingers tightened along her arm and she thought about the note—his note and words. Madelyn was only beginning to understand. “What exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard rumors,” Desdemona replied, resentfully. “That the Railroad are the perpetrators behind the many disappearances in the city.”

Madelyn nodded, knowing full well she and Nick had added that very theory to their case notes. It was one of the many reasons she had decided to follow the lead downtown in the first place. Desdemona sighed, shaking her head as she pulled a lose cigarette from her jacket pocket.

“There is some truth to the matter,” she continued, the smolder of her smoke casing an eerie glow on her face. “We seek to help people leave the city of their own volition. Battered women unable to divorce their husbands, unlucky bastards who can’t repay their debts to the loan sharks, or sometimes, just a person who wants to get away and begin again.”

“It’s all kosher,” Deacon quipped, as if sensing Madelyn’s tension. “New identities in new towns—and we have an agent within the Boston P.D. who clears the files for us.”

Madelyn was still skeptical of their intentions. “Are you saying you had nothing to do with the last twelve disappearances?”

“That, or the murders,” Desdemona shook her head. “We’ve ceased all activity to switch focus on gathering intel. Haven’t harbored anyone in months. Our main focus now—rather it was—is on dismantling the web of lies being fed to this city. The disappearances, the murders—we might be the only people stupid enough to fight back.”

Madelyn’s heart warmed at the idea, thinking of herself and Nick before focusing on the bigger picture. “Was?”

“We aren’t hiding out in an underground tomb for kicks,” Deacon remarked. “Two months ago—do you remember reading about that gas leak in Lexington that left a bunch of people dead?”

Desdemona hushed him with a wave of her hand, choosing to fill in the remaining details herself. “The media covered up the deaths, as expected. But it was no accident. We were targeted.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Madelyn asked.

“Likely the same people who are out to see that Eddie Winter does not spend another night in prison. The same people who are responsible for making so many Boston citizens disappear in the night, and perhaps the same people who have given you and your detective a string of bad luck.”

Desdemona’s claims were powerful, if true. She motioned to the very man at Madelyn’s side. “What remained of us were lucky to survive, thanks to Deacon. Now that our resources are limited, we have not had as many chances to help those in need or track essential people down.”

“Except for you,” Deacon mused, leaning close to her ear. At that, she finally wiggled herself from his grasp, ignoring his quiet chuckle.

“Why me, exactly?” she questioned. “Despite your limitations, your theory isn’t any different than the agency’s. I’m not sure how we can be of any help.”

“We won’t lie to you,” Desdemona voiced, eyes sharpening as Deacon made a small disagreeing sound. “Your name had come up in our intel too many times for it to be coincidental. So we sent out a few agents to ensure you weren’t a threat. Signaled Deacon to make contact and, well, now you’re here.”

Madelyn wasn’t pleased. “I still don’t appreciate being stalked.”

Deacon shook his head. “Don’t call it stalking. I’d call it…social distancing. Except, well, without the social part.”

“Where is this intel coming from? Winter’s men?” Madelyn asked. If so, she needed to follow-up with Nick, immediately. However, the uncertainty in Desdemona’s expression gave her pause. “Do you not know?”

“We were still in the process of decoding what we had when we were forced to find a new safe house,” the other woman explained. “Many of our resources were left behind.”

“That’s where you come in,” Deacon chimed in.

“Excuse me?”

Desdemona sighed, flicking her cigarette to the ground and extinguishing it with the sole of her leather boot. “Consider this your formal invitation to join our organization.”

Madelyn was caught off guard. She knew immediately what the dangers of joining a fringe, underground society would bring—the unknown frightened her and thrilled her all the same. Yet, she was also aware of how Desdemona and her fractured group were likely the last people left in Boston willing to take a stand against the darkness that threatened to envelop it whole. If she offered a lending hand, it could make all the difference.

“Okay,” she finally agreed with a nod. “I’ll join.”

“Now we need to know what to call you. Secrecy keeps us alive, and code names are a part of that,” Desdemona explained before Madelyn could interject—why couldn’t she just use her own name? “What’s yours?”

She ignored Deacon’s overjoyed expression as he leaned closer. “She’s already got one, don’t you, Charmer?”

Desdemona looked between them curiously, waiting for Madelyn’s approval. With a sigh, she nodded, agreeing to the moniker. At least it was fitting. The expression on the other woman’s face told her she thought so too.

“Welcome to the Railroad,” Desdemona offered a fleeting smile. “Agent Charmer.”

#fallout 4 #fallout au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #nick valentine #ENTER DEACON STAGE LEFT #marty bullfinch #desdemona #waiting 13k words for Deacon is worth it for this #but he was there all along #👀#this is my favorite chapter so far ;____;

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