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eeveevie · 4 years

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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (6/18)

Chapter 6: Not on My Clothes

In the aftermath of Ticonderoga’s destruction, Madelyn and Deacon seek refuge at Valentine Detective Agency only for their partnership to be questioned. Shaken by her near-death experience, she spends some time away from the Railroad but eventually reunites with Deacon for a heartfelt conversation over coffee. Ultimately, the two are sent by Doctor Carrington to investigate one of the last remaining safehouses but come up short. Later, at her apartment, the two find themselves closer than ever.

“I can afford a blemish on my character, but not on my clothes.” –Shelby Carpenter as played by Vincent Price (Laura, 1944)

x - x

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

February 17th, 1958

What occurred after the explosion was still a blur.

Deacon was quick to usher Madelyn off-site as the fire brigade and police descended upon the scene, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he scurried them away from prying eyes. She was too shell-shocked to resist, even if she knew deep down it was too dangerous to linger behind and risk being cornered by an unknown enemy. You can’t trust everyone—Deacon’s words echoed through her mind as they rushed down the Boston sidewalks to safety—but then, who could she trust?

Madelyn’s fear didn’t subside even as they hailed a cab from a quiet street corner close to Cambridge, noting the way her partner still clung to her side as he kept a careful watch on their surroundings. She felt safe there, tucked against his chest, but simultaneously the thought registered that being by his side was what got her into that mess in the first place. Instead of returning to her apartment, or to the Old North Church (any Railroad safehouse was a dangerous bet at the time), she instructed the driver to head to the Fens.

Deacon clasped her hand, gloved fingers tightening around her own as they watched the billowing smoke ascend into the night sky from the back-seat window. They turned to face each other, Madelyn regarding herself in the reflection of his shades before remembering for a brief moment she had seen what was underneath. But it was neither the time nor place to be swept up in emotions, daydreaming about having his baby-blues locked on her as they were whisked away from destruction. Instead, she looked away and allowed the familiar pangs of guilt to worm its way into her chest.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time they reached the agency, and while the neon sign outside was turned off, she could see a few lights on inside indicating life. Sunday evening meant Jenny was working the overnight shift at the hospital, leaving Nick to his own devices and with nobody to tell him to go home. As Deacon helped her from the cab her suspicions were confirmed, spotting Nick’s black Cadillac parked along the curbside. Behind it was Piper’s red Beetle—fantastic. Madelyn didn’t feel like explaining herself, but the longer she idled with Deacon’s hand on the small of her back the more exhausted she became. With nowhere else to go, it was time to face the music.

The lobby was dark and momentarily, she thought she could sneak the two to her office on the other side of the room. Deacon caught on, the two quietly shuffling across the floorboards while eying the second, half-closed door with Nick Valentine etched into the frosted glass pane. Soft, echoes of laughter spilled from the room, the sounds of clinking glasses and Nick grumbling about something. There was a different voice, one she couldn’t pin down—but it wasn’t important—she fumbled with her set of keys, desperately trying to remain quiet in her own place of employment like she didn’t have every right to be there.

“What the—oh, hey, Miss Lawyer.”

Madelyn froze, glancing over her shoulder to see somebody she didn’t expect to—Robert MacCready—leaning in Nick’s doorway and opening it wider so more light spilled out to shine across her and her companion’s body. Deacon sidled closer behind her, either to slip further into the shadows or to force himself into her office—she couldn’t tell. MacCready’s eyebrows shot up a little when he realized she had a guest.

“Oh, so you came to have a lil’ fun with your friend?” he asked, clearly inebriated off of Nick’s private stash of too-good whiskey. The poor kid didn’t know what hit him, and really needed to stop talking. Despite the night she had had, she could feel her whole body burning and heard the softest smirk from Deacon behind her. MacCready gave the two an encouraging thumbs up. “That’s awesome.”

“What?” Piper’s excited voice spilled out from the office.

Before Madelyn could think to hide Deacon somewhere—anywhere (where the hell was she supposed to hide a six-foot-plus tall man in less than a second, anyway?)—her friend was standing in the lobby, flicking on the lights to expose them both. She snapped her eyes shut tightly, unprepared for the brightness and not realizing how sensitive they still were from the blast. She stumbled, but Deacon was ever the sturdy protector beside her, keeping her upright.

“Holy shit, Blue!” Piper announced, the shift in her tone worrisome. Madelyn peeked open her eyes to see the reporter staring at her agape, gaze shifting across her form. “What the hell happened to you?” Piper’s stare lingered where Deacon’s hands were still about her waist. “And who the hell are you?”

That’s when Madelyn realized her appearance was less than stellar—her coat was frayed, singed at the edges from the explosion and even though it was black, it did little to disguise the sprinkling of ash. Her stockings were ripped across the knees, and her heels were just as tattered, one buckle broken and missing. She needed a proper mirror but judging by what she could see in the reflection of her office door, her hair was a mess, golden-blonde curls awry. She quickly discarded a glove to touch at her forehead, realizing that there was a bruise, and on the corner of her lip, a small cut. She wondered if there were any other injuries she hadn’t discovered.

“Madelyn?”

Just as she was wiping away the blood from her face, Nick appeared in the doorway of his office, his confusion quickly shifting into one of concern as he noted the state she was in. Her remorse bloomed into full force—she hated to make Nick worry, and she’d been doing a lot of that lately with her newfound partnership with the Railroad. Rather suddenly she moved away from Deacon, noticing how reluctant he was to let her go. She rushed across the agency lobby and straight into Nick, wrapping her arms around his chest in a tight hug. Unable to fight back the tears that clouded her vision she buried her face into his shoulder, breathing in deep the familiar scent of cologne and cigarettes.

“Hey, doll,” Nick shushed her, clearly alarmed by her sudden show of emotions. She hadn’t cried—at least not in front of him—in a long time. One hand slid affectionately along her back as the other cradled her head. His voice was quiet as he mumbled against her temple. “What are you doing here so late? What happened?”

Madelyn didn’t know where to start—a secret mission for the Railroad to smuggle a witness to a crime out of the city that ended in a car-bomb blowing up half a building and left two people dead. At least she figured High Rise and Henry were dead—they had been so close to the explosion, to have survived would be a miracle. Their deaths weighed heavily on her shoulders and her knees practically buckled beneath her as another sob racked through her.

Nick was quick to pull her into his office, depositing her into her favored armchair before his desk. He hunched down beside her, hands on either side of her head as he inspected her face. She and Nick had a close bond, but even this sort of contact was unusual for them—he hadn’t needed to comfort her so intensely since Nate’s murder. Madelyn tried to lean away but he didn’t let her, thumb softly brushing over the growing bump on her temple before smoothing her hair back into place. She flicked her gaze over the armchair to find MacCready and Piper in the doorway, effectively blocking Deacon from entering the room. However, being more than a head taller than them both, his displeasure was easy to see.

Nick noticed where she was looking and grumbled, leaning back on his haunches as he glanced over his shoulder. “Deacon,” he seethed. “Mind telling me why the two of you have shown up in the dead of night, looking like this?”

Madelyn hadn’t heard that kind of vitriol from the detective directed at anyone but Eddie Winter. She shifted upright, reaching out to place a calming hand on her partner’s shoulder, but he was steadfast, focused on hearing the truth from the other man. MacCready and Piper both shifted, turning to stare at Deacon with similar, questionable expressions—though, Mac was considerably more amused by the situation, fueled by whatever booze they had been drinking before the two had shown up.

“Railroad business.”

Now was not the time for Deacon to be secretive or evasive with the organization’s going’s on, but he didn’t offer anything else, regarding Madelyn with a look that was too hard to read—why couldn’t he just be honest—for once in their brief and complicated partnership? The short answer wasn’t what Nick or Piper were looking for.

“Excuse me?” the reporter snapped, arms crossed. “The Railroad? You mean to tell me that you…” she poked a finger at his chest, prompting Deacon to glance down at her. Piper then gutted a thumb in Madelyn’s direction. “…and Blue are working for the Railroad?”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a smallest of smirks. “We’re partners.”

Nick took full offense to that, standing up in a snap. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I don’t?” Deacon’s brows shot up, not expecting an argument. “That’s what we are, Nicky-boy.”

Madelyn furrowed her brow, looking over at him in alarmed confusion. Where was this animosity coming from? Nick shook his head, hand waving in disagreement.

“Some partner you are, getting Madelyn into danger,” he bellowed. “If you can’t protect your partner, then you’re better off working alone!”

Deacon pushed his way past Piper and into the room. At first he didn’t say anything, mouth twitching like the detective’s words had stunned him into silence—it didn’t last. “How hypocritical, considering the kind of risks she’s facing working with you!” he retorted. “Corruption, gangsters, murderers? I bring her back here with a few scratches but what’s to say you won’t bring her back here in a casket?”

MacCready and Piper both rang out in a chorus of offended gasps. Nick bunched up his sleeves at his elbows and for a fleeting moment, Madelyn wondered what it would be like to see him smack some sense into Deacon. Reality caught up to her pounding head and she pushed herself out of the chair, wedging herself between the two men before they could scrap.

“There’s been enough bloodshed tonight,” she pleaded, the tremor in her voice making it unrecognizable. She pushed at their chests to further separate them, letting her hand linger against Deacon’s coat lapel. “For once Deacon, just shut up.”

He flinched back at her words, expression falling into one of remorse. Before he could cover her hand with his own, she had turned away to frown at Nick. “You should know more than anyone that I don’t need protecting,” she chastised. “I can handle myself, Nick. It doesn’t matter if I’m working with you or with the Railroad or if I’m on my own.”

In a huff she collapsed back into the armchair, reaching up to wipe at the last traces of her tears. From the doorway, MacCready swiftly moved towards Nick’s desk, swooping up a glass tumbler and filling it with a generous amount of whiskey before bringing it to Madelyn with a smile. She was appreciative of the gesture and even though it was—she wasn’t even sure of the time anymore—she took a deep drink. Piper entered the room again, glaring at Deacon as she passed by him to sit in the opposite armchair.

“There was an explosion,” she whispered, finally offering some kind of explanation. She pressed the cold glass to her temple to soothe the headache that had only increased since the bombing.

Nick leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms as he looked to Deacon for confirmation. The detective seemed to be barely containing his anger at the revelation. The Railroad agent gave a little nod. “We were escorting a…friend.”

Madelyn shook her head, sighing as she remembered everything Henry had reluctantly told her in the Cambridge church. “Nick, we were helping a witness to Johnny Montrano’s murder.”

The detective went slack with shock before blindly reaching back for his pack of smokes. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What does that have to do with the Railroad?” Piper asked, her question directed at Deacon rather than Madelyn. “Do you know how long I’ve been chasing down the rumor that you are behind the disappearances and murders around town?”

“Likely just as long as we’ve been investigating them,” Deacon replied. “We’ve had our own share of setbacks.”

Madelyn knew that and had divulged some of those obstacles to Nick but Piper and MacCready were in the dark. She didn’t want to reveal too much and compromise an entire operation, even if the Railroad was hardly working at maximum efficiency.

“We were helping him get out of the city, he said he was afraid for his life,” she explained.

“Was he being threatened by Eddie Winter?” Nick mumbled around his cigarette, his irritation had returned. “Is that why you were targeted? Who else knew you were on the move tonight?”

Deacon was quick to argue, shaking his head. “Eddie Winter is a coincidence. There’s a safehouse with a giant, smoldering hole in it that screams this was an attack against the Railroad.”

“Ever stop to think that it could be both?” Piper quipped, cooling them off before the two men could get into another dispute. “We’ve sniffed out enough corruption in this town that somebody could’ve been hired to knock out two birds with one stone and send us on a wild goose chase trying to figure out the truth.”

Madelyn considered the reporter’s words, knowing what she proposed made a lot of sense. Still, a valuable asset in the agency’s investigation of Eddie Winter had been lost—she flicked her gaze to Deacon, who was pensive—she couldn’t possibly imagine the kind of loss he was processing. First the Switchboard and now Ticonderoga—he had barely survived both—and had saved her life in the process of surviving the second. She kept her eyes on him, the ache in her chest almost too painful to bear. Death and destruction seemed to follow him like he was cursed—maybe she had the right idea to stay away the first time, maybe it was telling she had never properly organized him on her Railroad pros and cons list. If she ran away from the Railroad, from being his partner again, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to return—regardless of how she might felt for him.

“I’m sorry Nick,” she sighed, looking back to the detective. “I would’ve liked for the witness to help us. He was our last best lead to go after Winter.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” MacCready chimed in, leaning over the back of the armchair. He had been fairly quiet during the entire exchange but was now fully invested and had apparently sobered up. He looked between Piper and Nick before focusing on Madelyn again. “I know you’ve been looking for these handwritten notes signed by Winter himself but what if I told you there’s voice recordings?”

Having an informant was starting to pay off—if the information was accurate. Nick looked at him skeptically. “Where’d you hear this?”

“Pays to spend most of your time in a dive-bar,” the former mercenary laughed. “Off duty cops and the like are always spreading secrets through loose lips.”

Nick and Madelyn locked eyes, but she had already heard enough. It was well enough that they could pretend this was good news, but she was still trying to process the night’s events. She blamed having her brain rattled around on why she ever thought it was a good idea to come to the agency in the first place, looking at the group of people around her. If what MacCready was saying was true, she could hear about it later, after she had time to recover. As he and Piper idly chatted about the details of his eavesdropping, Deacon inched closer to where she was sitting and carefully, subtly offered his hand. She frowned, giving a little shake of her head. The guilt was overwhelming, but she couldn’t—not now.

Instead, she looked to Nick who had observed the entire exchange. Surprisingly, his expression had softened, remembering that Madelyn had once expressed to him that she could potentially hold feelings for the man standing next to her. If the circumstances were different—if the two had returned to her apartment maybe—she would’ve let him comfort her and do more than just hold her hand. She didn’t dwell on the what if.

“Nick,” she barely called for him. “Can you take me home?”

“Sure, doll. Sure,” he answered, not missing a beat as he stubbed out his smoke. As he shrugged on his trench coat and fitted his hat atop his head, he regarded Piper. “Think you can lock up?”

“Yeah,” she replied, glowering at the Railroad agent again. “As soon as I take out the trash.”

“Piper,” Madelyn warned, standing to make her exit with Nick. Beside her, Deacon tensed, and she flashed him one last lingering look. “I’ll see you later, Deacon.”

He didn’t sound so convinced, his solemn tone nearly tearing her apart. “Be seeing you, Charmer.”

March 4th, 1958

Avoiding the Railroad was a lot easier the second time around.

Madelyn wondered as the days and weeks passed if it was because she had come so close to death and they were allowing her the space, or they had their own mess to clean up and couldn’t be bothered. Either way, they didn’t try to contact her. Other than Drummer Boy passing a note that High Rise and Henry were confirmed as deceased, her neighbor—agent—kept his distance, politely smiling when their paths crossed in the apartment hallway. There were no updates, no dead drops and no secret messages from her partner.

She hadn’t intended to shut Deacon out again, but this time she had plenty of more reasons to be anxious of him and the organization he worked for. It wasn’t confusion over guilt-ridden emotions she was running from, but rather genuine fear that kept her away. While the point had been made that she wasn’t any better off working as Nick’s legal assistant, in the two years she had been at the agency, she had never suffered a mild concussion—let alone survive a car-bomb. It had only taken a few weeks of knowing Deacon for her to come so close to death and it unnerved her. Despite it all, a small part of her missed him—missed their strange connection—and she had spent more than a few nights foolishly wondering what could’ve been.

In his absence, she backslid to sulking about, putting on a front for Nick and Piper at the agency as they worked the Eddie Winter case files, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered when her friends could tell she was faking most of her cheerfulness. With all that was occurring, she wasn’t sure what the point of it all was anymore. Codsworth also noted her shift in mood, the poor robot-butler doing everything he could to cheer her up with elaborate meals and bad jokes, going as far as to deep clean the entire apartment just so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger when she returned home from work. Madelyn stuck to her routines—day-in and day-out, hoping that one morning she would wake up and feel normal, or at least as normal as she had been before New Year’s Eve.

On a day off, she woke to find Codsworth cooking up another too-big breakfast while Dogmeat happily barked, knowing it was highly probable he was to get the extra bacon she didn’t eat. Before she could sit down on one of the empty barstools, she noticed the bouquet of flowers sitting in the middle of the small kitchen island, already in a vase and water.

“Codsworth, honey,” she carefully reached out to touch the delicate petals—daisies and forget-me-nots—her heart was racing. “Where did these come from?”

“It was the strangest occurrence, mum,” the robot answered, one eye looking back at her as he continued his tasks. “There was a knock at the door just before you woke up but when I answered, there was nobody in the hallway. Just these flowers.”

Madelyn inspected the flora, knowing exactly where and who they had come from. She was caught off guard by how disappointed she was that Deacon hadn’t at least tried to charm his way into her apartment like last time. “No note?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Madelyn.”

Suddenly, her own home felt stuffy, and it wasn’t because of the toast Codsworth had managed to burn—again. Madelyn excused herself from the counter and back to her bedroom where she quickly dressed, offering the Mister Handy a speedy apology as she made her exit from the apartment. Maybe if she was fast enough, she could catch up to him before he got too far. She passed Drummer Boy on the way down the many flights of stairs, pausing in her rushed steps to question him.

“Deacon was just here, wasn’t he?”

The Railroad agent shrugged, but his little smile gave him away. Madelyn didn’t bother to linger, continuing to hurry down the stairwell. Drummer Boy shouted from behind her. “Tell him I was right! He owes me two dollars!”

On the street, she looked down both directions of the sidewalk for a suspiciously tall man in sunglasses. She thought it would be easier to pin him down, but for all she knew he could’ve been disguised as the postman. A few minutes passed and she nearly resigned herself to go back inside, feeling rather silly for her rash decision to come outside in the first place—they were just flowers—it didn’t mean anything. That’s when she saw Deacon standing on the street corner, purchasing a newspaper from the local kiosk before continuing on. Madelyn hurried down the sidewalk to match his stride, and nearly reached out to grab at his arm before stopping herself short.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she huffed out the question, out of breath from chasing him down.

Deacon stopped to look down at her, the surprise quickly molding into one of amusement as he regarded her appearance. In her rush to get out of her apartment, she hadn’t bothered to button her coat, and only then did she notice that she was wearing mismatched shoes. She did well to hide her embarrassment, crossing her arms like she dressed this way all the time. He looked just about the same from the last time she saw him, with a dark coat over his casual attire—like a man on his way to work.

“Slocum’s Joe,” he answered with a smile. “For my morning coffee. Care to join, Charmer?”

Madelyn was taken aback by how relaxed he seemed, considering their last interaction. Instead of reading into it, she nodded, pleased to have heard her Railroad callsign once more. It didn’t sound right coming from anyone but him. Deacon led them around the block to the Cambridge coffee house, the two walking in a strange kind of silence that persisted as they took their seats in one of the tiny, vinyl blue booths. He ordered for her—because of course he remembered her coffee order—and then just stared in her direction. Well, she could only assume so—too much hidden behind those glasses of his.

“You got the flowers?” he asked.

“Yes,” Madelyn answered, tilting her head to the side. The moment felt far too serious. “Well, Codsworth did. He thinks they’re lovely.”

“Good,” Deacon smirked. “A robot deserves something nice now and again.”

The waitress delivered their drinks and Madelyn watched as he inspected his as always before taking a careful taste. She wondered if there was ever a time when he wasn’t paranoid, or if he ever let his guard down. He was a master at pretending to be cool, calm and relaxed—but it was all a façade—something she was very familiar with. Two peas in a pod, they were. As she sipped at her coffee, she thought about her neighbor.

“You owe Drummer Boy money?”

He softly chuckled. “He bet that you would want to see me, and that I should’ve pressed my luck by sticking around this morning.”

“He was right,” she answered, hiding her smile behind another drink. The warmth of her coffee disguised the flush to her face—she wasn’t sure why she had decided to be so forward. “You shouldn’t make a bet against the man who has been observing my behaviors for the last four months.”

Deacon laughed harder, nodding in agreement. “Either way, I’m just glad to hear you don’t hate my guts.”

“You assume too much,” she teased. “Maybe I wanted to see you so I could stick Codsworth on you.”

“Charmer,” he said the name solemnly, harkening back to that last night in the agency. “This isn’t easy, but you deserve an apology. For getting mixed up in our mess. Your ol’ detective was right, about a lot of things. Namely, how piss-poor of a job I did at protecting you.”

She disagreed. “I’d say saving me from an explosion is better than piss-poor.”

Deacon grumbled. “Point being you should not have been anywhere near the explosion in the first place.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Madelyn protested. “I can take care of myself. While it’s comforting to know that you and Nick are so worried, it’s also incredibly frustrating that you don’t have faith in my capabilities. Wasn’t that why I was recruited to the Railroad in the first place?”

He floundered, filling the silence with a big gulp of coffee. “You got me there.”

Madelyn glanced to the newspaper on the table beside their cups and noticed an article that detailed the investigation into the car-bombing that destroyed the Cambridge street corner was at a standstill—as expected. With a frown, she contemplated the amount of devastation she had faced over the years.

“There’s been so much death,” she started with a whisper. “I’ve seen so much death. I know you have too.” She wasn’t blind to that, wasn’t ignorant. Deacon remained silent, watching her carefully. “Working with Nick and investigating the murders, the disappearances, we’ve seen so much.”

Madelyn glanced down to her wedding ring and fiddled with the band. “I told you I was widowed.”

“He was murdered in Boston Common, two Christmases ago,” she admitted in a shaky breath. “A complete stranger came up to us and held us at gun point and then…shot him. Nate died in the street—in my arms—before help could arrive.”

“Shit, Charmer, I—” Deacon’s mouth skewed aside as he fumbled over the right words to say. “Did they ever catch the son-of-a-bitch?”

She shook her head, gasping back her tears. “No. Nick and I have…” she wavered, unsure why she was divulging information that she typically kept locked up tight. Madelyn found her resolve. “Just know that whatever happens, it can’t get much worse than what I’ve already experienced.”

He nodded and looked as though he was going to say something but changed his mind at the last second. Instead, he finished off his coffee, glancing down at the porcelain bottom. “Understandable why you’d be skeptical of our organization, though.”

“You said it yourself, you can’t trust everyone,” she spoke, voice going soft. His head perked up at that, not expecting her to use the phrase back at him. “I want to know that I can at least trust you.”

Deacon was quiet for a long time.

“My relationship with the truth rubs some people the wrong way,” he admitted with a smirk before it dissolved right off his face. “Charmer, I want—”

Madelyn’s heart strained in her chest at his hesitation, and the tension in his voice. If she were to even begin to think about rejoining the Railroad—again—she needed to know her faith, and feelings, weren’t misguided.

“If you believe anything, believe this,” Deacon continued, slowly reaching over to place his hand over hers. She welcomed the touch, smiling as she flipped her palm up to cup his fingers. “I’m in your corner. Always have been.”

March 7th, 1958

Stanley Carrington was not what Madelyn expected when she was first introduced to the doctor in the catacombs beneath the Old North Church. Apparently, the Railroad physician wasn’t overly impressed by Charmer—questioning her routine absences, regardless of how much Desdemona and Deacon talked her up.

“I still can’t believe Dez recruited you,” he groused, face in a permanent scowl.

“So, you must be head of the unwelcoming committee,” Madelyn jested, earning a chuckle from Deacon.

Carrington glared at them both. “I can see why they call you Charmer.”

“I don’t mean to get off on the wrong foot, Doctor,” she corrected with a smile. “I hope you’ll look past the risk of me being here.”

“We’ll see,” he replied quietly before sighing. “I understand you helped Deacon retrieve intel from the Switchboard. An extraordinary feat. Hardly the point.”

Madelyn wasn’t sure if there was a compliment buried in his sentence, but she continued to grin, hoping her expression would placate him in some way. She flashed her partner a knowing look. “What will it take for you to trust me?”

Carrington barked a sharp laugh, but considered her question, rubbing a few fingers at his chin. “With the Switchboard and Ticonderoga offline, we need to confirm if any of our other safehouses are operational. If you could look into the current status of Augusta Safehouse—so far, we haven’t made any contact with our agents there.”

Madelyn looked to Deacon who gave the doctor a simple nod in agreeance. “Blackbird and crew moved around a lot, last time I checked, they were holed up in some office building.”

“I’ll have Drummer Boy coordinate the dead drops once we confirm their last known location,” the doctor replied. He focused his attention back on Madelyn. “Have a care, Agent Charmer. Odds are very good you’re walking into something nasty.”

Augusta is still dark. Location enclosed. Exercise extreme caution.

Deacon and Madelyn picked up the note from a mailbox near Bunker Hill, only to be led back to an old abandoned medical building in Cambridge. The attached hospital was in decline, losing more and more patients to the nearby New England Medical Center, making the area practically deserted, especially for that time of night. And to think she lived not just a few blocks away.

“There’s the railsign,” Deacon mentioned, gesturing to the small etching on the brick wall by the door. To the unassuming, it looked like an unusual piece of graffiti, but to them, it was the marking of a Railroad safehouse. He frowned, motioning to a second, albeit hard to read drawing. “That looks like an x.”

“Danger?” Madelyn asked in a whisper.

He shrugged, moving past her so he could head through the entrance first. She was brought back to the night in which her and Nick had cornered Doctor Crocker in the Fens apartments and swiftly withdrew her pistol, keeping her aim low. While she didn’t anticipate any homicidal doctors jumping out at them, she wanted to be prepared for any possible threat. Deacon walked ahead in the dim lighting, leading the two through a lobby and down a hallway before stopping abruptly.

Something sticky was on their shoes.

She blinked down, hard to see in the dark, but she knew. “Is that blood?”

His next steps were measured, avoiding the stains on the tile flooring as he peered into the open room where the trail led. Without much thought, Madelyn went to follow and nearly toppled into his back as he stood frozen in the doorway, just looking within.

“Shit,” he breathed, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

Quickly he turned to her, trying to shield her eyes in a hug but it was far too late for that—she had seen everything—the bodies stacked in a bloody pile, each with their own gunshot. Judging by blood and the smell, they had been there for a few days. A few cans of gasoline were littered about, but if arson was the end goal, the perpetrators had clearly decided against the action last minute or had been spooked. With the building being abandoned, it wasn’t any wonder the crime scene had gone undiscovered. She leaned away from him, taking careful note of the way his hands trembled—more Railroad agents dead—another safehouse lost.

“Deacon, we have to get out of here,” she urged, glancing down to ensure their feet weren’t tracking anymore of the blood-residue. She didn’t have a lot of faith in the Boston Police Department’s evidence collection techniques but didn’t want to give detectives a reason to come looking for them. “We can call it in.”

“Right,” he replied with a firm nod.

When he didn’t budge, she tugged on his arm, encouraging him to follow. They retraced their steps out the front door, Madelyn only pausing to tuck her weapon back into her purse. As inconspicuous as it was to walk calmly along the sidewalk, elbows linked, she felt like drowning in the adrenaline coursing through her veins. This wasn’t like the Switchboard—certainly not as awful as Ticonderoga—but to walk away from the scene like she hadn’t just been there was a hard pill to swallow. That was the reality of working for the Railroad, she supposed—if they stayed, the Boston police would have questions neither of them would be able to answer. Deacon was a great storyteller, a genius at crafting a lie any schmuck could believe but even Madelyn had a hard time thinking he’d be able to get them out of that big of a mess. It wouldn’t matter how many lawyers she knew at the District Attorney’s office either—a pile of dead bodies in a storage closet could very well be easily pinned on her and Deacon by a bunch of likely corrupt cops. She called Nick from the payphone outside her apartment building, who was disheartened to hear the news but promptly took the information, promising to alert the authorities in a way that it couldn’t be traced to either the agency or the Railroad.

The elevator was out again, prompting the two to climb the stairwell to the seventh floor. As Madelyn struggled to unlock the door to her apartment, she was thankful that Drummer Boy wasn’t lurking, waiting for some kind of update. Inside, she deposited her keys in the small dish, already working on the buttons of her coat so she could toss it over the back of the couch. Codsworth and Dogmeat were nowhere to be found and with a quick glance to her watch she figured the dog had likely whined his way into a late evening stroll.

Madelyn turned on the small lamp in the living room, circling around the tiny space so she could collapse onto her sofa, uncaring about how undignified she looked. Considering how much walking they had just done—from Cambridge to Bunker Hill and back again—her feet were aching. She reached to grab at the buckles of her shoes, but Deacon had followed close behind, already kneeling down on the ground before her knees to assist. His fingers made quick work of the straps around her ankles, slipping off each blue-hued heel before delicately maneuvering, carefully massaging the arches of her stocking-wrapped feet.

“All that running around and nothing to show for it except sore feet,” he teased in a soft voice, as if they hadn’t just stumbled across the scene of his fellow murdered Railroad agents. Master of deflection, he was—bury the pain deep. She was in no position to judge, feeling the sympathy wash through her—it was no way to live.

She watched him, overwhelmed by the gesture—it was too intimate, too domestic and yet so exactly in character for him that she didn’t pull away. Instead she shifted, thinking that at the angle they were positioned in, she might be able to get a peek at his eyes again. Even when the nightmares from the explosion plagued her sleep, Madelyn was calmed by the memory of cool blue eyes hovering over her—if only for a split second. She didn’t want to call herself desperate, but all she wanted was to see them again.

“I can stop if you want me to,” he said, permeating her thoughts.

Madelyn shook her head, a surprising warmth finding root in her chest. “It’s…nice.”

“I can settle for that,” he laughed, swapping for her other foot.

“This isn’t about you having a foot fetish, is it?” she joked, trying to keep the mood light. If that’s what he needed after what they had experienced that evening, then she could deliver.

“What if it is?”

Madelyn smiled, finding herself a little too exhausted to participate in a battle of wits with him. Better to just lean back and enjoy whatever moment they were sharing. Deacon continued his ministrations, but she noticed that his chin was angled upwards so that he was clearly looking at her from behind his shades. Whatever compelled her to lean forward, she couldn’t say. She wasn’t even aware she had gotten any closer to him until she was reaching out with one hand towards his face, watching his brows knit together in bewilderment before his expression softened in realization. Her fingers brushed against the corner of the darkened frames, causing him to edge closer, his hands sliding up her ankle to her calf.

“Deacon, can you take these off?” she asked, perhaps too quietly.

His lips quipped up in a smirk. “My glasses, or your stockings?”

All of her breath escaped her in one stunned huff, and the heat in her chest spread across her entire body. Her toes curled in his grasp and the way his eyebrow perked let her know he had noticed. She hadn’t been spoken to—flirted with—like that in ages. Her mind was a haze of thoughts and emotions—confusion, anticipation and want. Somewhere deeper was the lingering guilt, and the constant battle she always faced, wondering if she deserved a moment of happiness, even if it didn’t seem completely sensible. She wasn’t even sure if she was reading the scene correctly—where was this leading?

Before Madelyn could lean forward and find out, the front door opened, freezing her still.

“Oh! Miss Madelyn, you’re home!” Codsworth greeted, promptly closing the door behind him. Dogmeat barked happily as he rounded the room to sniff at the bodies on the couch. “And I see the milkman has decided to join us once again! How delightful!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Madelyn sighed, flicking her gaze to the ceiling.

Deacon softly chuckled, his breath fanning across her cheek as he gradually pulled away. “Adorable.”

“Might I get you anything mum?” Codsworth hovered behind the couch, completely incapable of realizing he had ruined a moment. Madelyn wasn’t sure what kind of moment—but it was lost. She slumped against the back of the couch, pressing her hand across her face in embarrassment.

“No thank you, dear,” she mumbled.

The robot whirred. “Sir, would you like anything?”

“Sir, did you hear that?” Deacon laughed to himself and she peeked out from under her fingers to find him shifting to stand. “No thank you, Codsworth darling. I should be seeing myself out. Wouldn’t want to impose. What would the neighbors think, a strange man occupying a lovely, young woman’s apartment at strange hours of the night?”

Madelyn kicked her foot against his shin playfully. “You’re overdoing it.”

“Me?” he motioned to himself. “Sweetheart, you don’t know a thing about Deacon and overdoing.”

She rolled her eyes, extending her arm so he’d help hoist her off the couch. His hand squeezed against her wrist, thumb passing along the skin there before withdrawing. This time, he meant every word he spoke. “Be seeing you, Charmer.”

Madelyn watched him as he departed, staring at the closed apartment door as her heart continued to race. “I’ll see you later, Deacon.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #piper wright #robert joseph maccready #stanley carrington #codsworth is here for a blip #so much UST this chapter #also ANGRY NICK #and the footrub scene I wrote like three months ago arrives #light use of canon dialogue again #because 'in our corner speech' is too important #pls enjoy

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