#you may never be able to listen to bobby darrin again

[eeveevie]

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

[honey-dewey]

All the Write Places

Pairing: Javier Peña/Reader

Word Count: 3,041

Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence, some use of (Y/N)

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

A collection of letters between the Reader, who is still in Texas with Javier’s family, and Javier while he’s hunting Escobar in Columbia. 

Mi Amor,

It’s Javier again. I know it’s been too long since my last letter, but the DEA doesn’t want any of my personal information to be intercepted. Steve is doing well. He and Connie just adopted a baby. I think her name is Olivia.

I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while. It’s for the same reason I don’t write all too often. I can’t wait to see you again, I promise it will be soon.

Yours forever, Javier.

P.S. keep an eye out for a package.

———

My Javi,

I miss you so much my dear. Your last letter brought me to tears, and I’m over the moon about the package. The jacket is huge on me, but it smells just like you. You be sure to give the Murphys my love, and kiss their little girl for me.

Things are alright here at home. Your mother treats me like one of her own kids, and it’s very sweet. Your father has begun to teach me Spanish, and your cousins constantly ask about when their Uncle Javi is coming home.

We all miss you, but I miss you most my dear. I can’t wait to see you again.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

The Murphys insist I tell you Olivia is doing well and has received your love. The hunt is long, but the promise of you waiting for me at home is a sure comfort.

I apologize, but I must keep my letters short. Just know that I love you and I will be coming home. I promise.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

I know you must keep your letters short, but your mother insists you write more. She misses you dearly. I don’t think she understands the gravity of your job. Your father understands. He is worried for you, and his brother helped him rig his radio to listen to the Colombian news. Every time I hear that name, I shiver. He’s a horrible horrible man, and I cannot wait to see him rot in prison.

To keep this letter happy, I want to tell you your sister is pregnant! She’s overjoyed, and so am I. I know you won’t be home to meet the baby, but I’ll send photos, just as I always do.

I love you my dear. I’ll wait for you to return to me, no matter how long that is.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

The pictures were just what I needed. They are in my apartment, and I put the one of you and my parents on my desk so you’re always with me.

Tell my sister I’m proud of her and cannot wait to meet my niece or nephew. With luck, we’ll be home soon.

I’m sending another package for you and the family. I love you.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

The pregnancy continues to go well, and the kids loved your package. I’m glad you enjoyed the photos.

Unfortunately, I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. I know it’s hard for you, but my mother just passed, and I’m headed back north for the funeral and to spend some time with my dad. I’ll give them your love, as always.

I wish you were by my side, Javier. The days seem so long without you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Corazón

You shouldn’t have called me Javier. It was risky, for the both of us. However, I do so desperately miss your voice. I’m glad I got to speak with you.

I promised I’d write when I returned to Texas, and I am home beside your family once more. They’re all jealous I got to speak with you, but the adults understand. Your mother especially understood, and made me swear to tell you she wants you to call for Christmas.

Javier, if at all possible, please listen to that annoying American station on the radio, you know the one that’s obsessed with 50’s music? We listen every night during dinner, and it would warm my heart if I knew you were listening too.

Give Murphy my love. Tell him I can’t wait to meet him one day.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

I apologize for the call, but you must understand why I risked it. I couldn’t have you grieve alone, not without me to help you through that pain.

I do know the station you wrote about, and I agree it’s annoying. The boys at the office like it, and it’s on while we work. Knowing you listen to it too, it makes my heart swell. One day, we’ll listen to those old songs together, I promise.

My letters will be few and far between, and I apologize. Things are getting worse here, but I vow to return to you alive and whole.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

You mother has decided our song is that Bobby Darrin song that plays every day. The one about the man who’s away from his woman and wishes he could grow wings and fly to her side? Beyond the Sea, she says it’s called.

Your father always changes the station when he thinks we’re all asleep. He listens to the Colombian news, and I think he prays. You said he doesn’t miss you, but he does. He absolutely does.

In other news, your sister is about ready to pop. She’s always complaining about how much her back hurts, and she’s adamant that the baby is staying in all nine months only to make her suffer. I’ve enclosed pictures, because we all painted her stomach and it was hilarious.

I hope to hear from you again before Christmas. The holidays haven’t been the same without you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

And I thought my family decorated for Christmas. Columbia has some of the nicest holiday decorations I’ve ever seen. I tried to get Murphy to photograph them, but they didn’t turn out quite right. I’ve sent them anyway.

Tell my sister I cannot wait to meet my niece or nephew. I’m sure that tiny bundle of joy will be just what you need over the holidays.

The Embassy is allowing me to call on Christmas, and I’m allowed to stay on the line for as long as it’s safe. With the precautions they’ve taken, I might even be able to talk with you for hours, my love. I cannot wait. It will be the best Christmas present, being able to hear your voice.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

I don’t know when this letter will reach you, but the baby came today! Only a day before Christmas. Your sister is pissed that she’ll be spending Christmas in the hospital, but the baby, a beautiful little girl, is so cute. She’s lifted everyone’s spirits, and the promise of your call tomorrow is only making them happier.

I know this will be our reality for as long as it just be, but I want you home Javier. It sounds selfish, I know, but I want you beside me, no matter the price. Please come home soon, my love, or I fear I may forget you.

I’m eagerly awaiting your call. I’ll talk to you soon.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

———

Mi Amor,

Hearing your voice was just what I needed today. I assume I’ll be receiving a letter soon that tells me my sister had her baby, but I couldn’t wait to write.

My love, I have a surprise for you. Before you get excited, I’m not coming home soon. The fight only grows harder, and I don’t know if I’ll be home for years. But I found you a gift, one I know you’ll adore. I must be there to give it to you, in person. I know, how cruel of me to deny you your gift for what may be years. Just know, I will never forget it. It sits on my desk and Murphy teases me about it relentlessly. One day, I’ll give it to you. One day.

I’ll see you again, my love. I swear it.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

Your last letter stunned me Javi! You must’ve written that as soon as we hung up. As for the gift, it will be aging waiting for it. Am I allowed to guess? Will you tell me when I get it right?

Your mother was a bit disappointed you couldn’t be with us for Christmas. She made an absolutely heavenly apple pie that she said is your favorite.

The baby grows stronger with every passing day. Maybe one day, she and the Murphy’s little girl can be friends. I think they’d like that.

I’ll see you soon Javier.

Yours truly, (F/N).

———

Mi Amor,

This will be hard to hear. I’ve had trouble simply writing it, and I know it will be hell to read. I have to stop sending letters. One of the DEA’s men wrote a letter to his wife, and two days later he was found dead in a river. It won’t be forever, and I will still receive every letter you send me as long as you keep mailing them they way you are, but we cannot risk anyone finding me right now.

To answer your previous question, yes. Please guess what the gift is. I bet you’ll never be able to guess.

I’ll write as soon as I can.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Corazón,

Not knowing whether you’ve received my letters will be torture Javi. But, as you’ve told me many times, I must remain strong. I will admit I cried when your last letter arrived, but then I imagined you sitting next to a radio, listening to our song at the same time I did, and it was like you were beside me. I miss you dearly Javier, but I will remain brave until your next letter arrives.

Until then, I will simply have to keep you updated. The baby is almost three months now and starting to be a troublemaker, just like her uncle. Your sister jokes her first word will be ‘Javi’ with how much we speak of you around the house.

I also heard, via phone, that Connie is back in the states with Olivia. She says Columbia was just too much, but promised to come and visit me. Give Steve my condolences, I know it must be hard.

Until my next letter, I love you dear.

Yours truly, (F/N).

P.S. Is the gift that book I spoke of over Christmas?

———

Mi Corazón,

Another month, another letter. Now, I make no effort to conceal myself when I listen to the Columbian news with your father and mother. Your mother cries, and your father prays. Sometimes I cry with her, and sometimes I pray with him. It’s hard, not knowing who’s reading this letter first.

Connie came to visit, and she brought Olivia. She’s such a sweet thing, and she adores your cousins. She told me about what she’s seen, what’s happened to her, and I wish for you home more than ever. It sounds horrible, her retellings coupled with the news I barely understand, it sounds awful. The price on your head, and yet you walk around anyway. Please, my heart, be careful. I cannot lose you.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

P.S. This guessing game is such fun. Your sister gave me an idea. Is your gift a camera? I doubt it is, but she wanted me to ask.

———

Mi Corazón,

I apologize for not writing for months. I was traveling to visit my father. He had a health scare and wanted me by his side.

The baby is almost eight months now! Her first word was ‘Javi,’ and we all had a big laugh about it. It’s painful not having you here, or at least having letters.

I listen to our song every night, whenever it’s on the radio. Your sister teases me for it, but I don’t care. It connects me to you. To makes me wonder if some day, we could have a future where there’s no threat, where we could be together.

Please promise me Javier, you won’t get involved with any of this dangerous shit happening in Columbia if you can help it.

Yours truly, (Y/N).

P.S. is the gift jewelry? Your mother thinks it’s a ring.

———

Mi Amor,

I have another torturous request. Please stop writing. Your last letter was intercepted by his men and it was almost very bad. Before I go, please know I listen to our song every night. Tell my sister I love her and her tiny troublemaker, my mother I wish I were home, and my father I’m grateful for the prayers. As for you, I miss you so much my love. I tried to delay the inevitable, but we must stop communicating. I love you, no matter how far apart we are. I’ll write as soon as it’s safe.

Yours forever, Javier.

P.S. No it isn’t the book, no it isn’t a camera, and yes it is jewelry.

———

Mi Amor,

Are you still the same person I wrote to years ago? How’s my sister and my niece, and my parents? How are you? And your father? Murphy and I are good, if a little stressed, because I know you’ll ask.

Things have gone maddeningly quiet. He’s gone, it seems. Disappeared, but I’m sure the radio told you. I know you asked me not to get involved, but I did, and I think I’m in trouble for it. Big trouble.

Anyway, I may be home soon, depending on how it all goes. I cannot wait to kiss you again.

Apologies for such a short message after years of nothing. I missed so much, you’ll have to tell me all about it.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

Mi Amor,

Please tell me these letters are reaching you. Are you still with my parents? Should I call? I think I will, at the end of the week. It’s Monday now. I guess I should tell you, right?

I received good news for you today. They’re sending me home. I know, he isn’t dead yet. But every action has a consequence and unfortunately mine are sending me home before my job is done. Murphy is understandably upset. Yelled for almost twenty minutes about how it wasn’t fair. I’d put my life on hold for almost a decade to catch Escobar, it was only right I was there when he was brought down.

But life isn’t like that, and I’ll be on a plane home in a week or two. I can’t wait to see you. I hope you’re still waiting for me.

Yours forever, Javier.

———

“Mi hija?”

You looked around, seeing Javier’s mother come out for you. The tinny radio playing your song flickered next to your leg. It was on repeat, on a CD Javier’s cousin had burned for you. You’d taken to sitting on the porch swing after dinner was over, simply to take your mind off things. The letters were stacked beside you, the newest one on top. You hadn’t had the energy to even open the new ones. What could you possibly say after years apart? Who would he be? Was he still your Javier?

“Mi hija?”

“Yes mamá?”

Javier’s mother sat beside you. “There’s a new letter in the kitchen for you.”

You smiled. “Okay.”

Standing and gathering your letters and the radio, you followed Javier’s mother into the kitchen. It was warm, and there was an envelope with your name on it resting on the counter.

Picking it up, you turned it over to see two tiny words scrawled across the back.

Open me

You popped the letter open, seeing a small card inside.

The porch. Hurry, before the sun goes down.

Confused, you headed back outside, where the sun had just begun to paint the sky. There was someone on the porch swing, rocking back and forth and humming your song, the same song that was playing from the radio by his side.

The creak of the porch door brought his attention to you, and you immediately put your hands over your mouth and sobbed. “Javi.”

“Mi amor,” he said, standing and wrapping you in a hug. “Oh how I’ve missed you. I promised I’d come home.”

“You did,” you said weakly, collapsing into the hug. “Oh Javier, my heart I’ve missed you.”

Javier kissed the top of your head, smiling as you pulled away a bit. “May I have this dance?”

You laughed, beginning to sway as Javier swayed, both humming your song.

Eventually, once the sun had set completely and the Texas stars were out, you and Javier separated, sitting together on the porch swing.

“Oh,” Javier said, standing suddenly. “Your gift!”

You smiled. “You forgot?”

“I was too busy with something else,” Javier said. “But I think I’ve made you wait long enough, mi amor. Close your eyes.”

You did, closing your eyes and hearing him shuffle in front of you. After a minute of silence, Javier spoke. “Open your eyes.”

Opening your eyes, you gasped. Javier was on one knee before you, holding out a gorgeous ring. “I knew,” he whispered softly. “I knew the minute I received your first letter that I wanted to marry you. If we had been married all those years ago, you would’ve been able to come with me, to have me by your side. And now, if you’ll have me, I want to remain here, with you at my side and with me at yours, for the rest of my life. No more letters, my love.”

You nodded, crying as you practically threw yourself into Javier’s arms. “Yes!” You said happily. “Yes!”

Javier smiled, sliding the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit. “Now we’ll always be together,” he said, kissing your knuckles. “Always.”

Kissing Javier firmly, you nodded. “Always. No matter what.”

And you did stick together. The day he got sent back, you packed a bag and boarded the plane right beside him, ready for whatever horrors would await you. He didn’t want you going, but you insisted. Together always, no matter what.

#narcos #Javier Pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing