#Eddie and compounded survivor guilt

[loveinhawkins]

What if Eddie being the fourth Vecna victim was inevitable? Because he’s connected to all of the murders, even the ones he didn’t witness: Max lives opposite him, and Fred died so close to the trailer park.

Dustin theorising about a powerful psychic connection, and what’s more powerful, more haunting than believing that every death leads back to you? That there’s a reason for it, that maybe you’re the problem, the poison in the water.

It’d be so easy to think that splitting headaches are just the result of being on the run, of dehydration. Then, as it gets worse, Eddie seeing shadows out the corner of his eye—that’s just because they’re in The Upside Down, and he spooks easily, he…

He doesn’t know that it’s a trick, even when he falls through the Gate to his vine-free bedroom and no-one’s there, or maybe it’s more that he wants to believe in it, to believe that the past few days were just a nightmare after all, and Chrissy…

He runs to the living room, she’s still—

But the same nightmare unfolds, and Eddie has to watch as she dies all over again; he tries to stop it, but now every time he touches her, it brings more pain, something was inside her head, pulling, and the thought in his head gets stronger and stronger, takes root: this was you; this was all you.

He wakes to Steve grabbing him as he falls, and he screams, fighting against Steve’s hold, can barely hear Steve saying, “Hey, hey, woah, it’s all right, I’ve—”

“Put me back,” Eddie begs. “Put me back.”

“Eddie,” Steve says, like the wind’s been taken out of him.

“She was there,” Eddie says, sobbing now, “she was there, she was right there, and I—I—”

“Eddie,” Steve repeats helplessly.

He’s staring at Eddie like he doesn’t know how to help him, like Eddie’s already too far away to reach.

Maybe he’s right, because Eddie can still feel something in his head, twisting, lying in wait; maybe that’s what he’s really been trying to escape as he kept running—maybe he’s just living on borrowed time.

[ebongawk]

for heart begins to beat, 3, 4, 14

omg 🥺🥺 thank you for asking about my undead babies 🖤 heart begins to beat:

3. what's your favorite line of narration? omg ok maybe it's out of pocket but writing from Vecna's perspective near the end of the story was SO weird and gross and cool:

All it took was one child – one nearly as feared as he – to become the catalyst.  To upend the carefully structured monotony derived from people playing with chemical compounds they did not comprehend. The correct composition may have given them the army they so desired. Alas…  They constructed a most gorgeous explosion instead. And he may have been the bomb, but she was the fire he needed to spark his wick to life.

4. what's your favorite line of dialogue? I'm gonna post like a whole lil section from the second chapter and I don't want to be called out about it:

“I’m glad you did, Eddie,” she said, unable to keep the hitch from her voice.  “I’m glad you lived.” When he finally, finally met her gaze, the well of sadness painted behind his chocolate brown irises was ancient.  As deep and unending as the eyes she was forced to face every day.  The stare she couldn’t stand for more than a second. The stranger in her mirror drawn in midday pastels across another person’s face.  Across Eddie’s face. Squeezing her hand in turn, he rasped, “That makes one of us, Cunningham.”

14. is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic? yeah I wanted you all to know that I'm a better writer than the Duffer bros - not that that's saying much - and that canon is shit (no but honestly, the entire point of this story was to explore the emotional roller coaster that is grief. the way it presents itself as hideous monsters hidden within dark, demented dreams. the guilt of being a survivor when maybe you shouldn't have, and the emotional transformation these difficulties put people through.)

fanfic ask meme!

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (4/18)

Chapter 4: Bad Luck Can Be a Big Break 

Madelyn and Deacon run their first Railroad operation together and find that they get along better than expected. Nick makes similar observations when finally introduced to the enigmatic man whose been following his partner for weeks. Overwhelmed by sudden feelings of guilt, Madelyn decides it’s as good as time as any to activate her last Christmas gift from Nate—a Mister Handy robot named Codsworth.

“Bad luck either makes a man or destroys him. Are you gonna let it destroy you? Depending how you take it, bad luck can be a big break.” - Police Inspector Nakajima as played by Gen Shimizu (Stray Dog, 1949)

x - x

[read on Ao3] ~ [chapter masterpost]

Madelyn devoted the following days to keeping herself from a full-fledged nervous breakdown. That late Friday evening spent in North End bled into early Saturday morning, and it was nearly sunrise by the time she made it back to the safety of her Cambridge apartment. Robby had escorted her back—or should she call him Drummer Boy? She wasn’t sure she’d adjust to codenames or subterfuge, despite the confidence the organization seemed to have in her capabilities. She was a lawyer, who just so happened to be partnered with a talented detective with a penchant for trouble. Maybe the Railroad needed to extend their invitation to Nick instead. And so she spent that Saturday anxiously pacing her tiny living room, Dogmeat at her heels with a worrying whine.

She had scribbled out all her woes on a notepad—listing out the pros and cons of sticking with the mysterious group. For starters, she considered Desdemona a useful ally, even if her tactics were questionable. In the brief meeting underneath the Old North Church, it was clear that the Railroad leader was efficient and would stop at nothing to get the answers she wanted. Madelyn had also met Glory—a tall, silver-haired woman who worked as an intern at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology by day and ran operations for the Railroad by night. She was considered their heavy, taking on the riskier jobs like transporting the ‘disappeared’ where they wanted to go. Well, at least until their base of operations was forced underground. For that, Madelyn etched her name under pros. After careful consideration on having one of their agents as a neighbor, she realized it likely couldn’t hurt to have somebody nearby—and so Drummer Boy was added too.

When Madelyn focused on the cons, her apprehension spiked. All the secrecy and deception was not how she typically operated, even with the Valentine Detective Agency. Nick knew full well she liked to play things clean and by the book as much as possible, seeing as she had the law to uphold. While she enjoyed the thrill of investigating leads and chasing down bad guys, she wasn’t keen on full blown espionage. That being said, she wasn’t blind to the fact that her time with the agency had turned dangerous—Earl Sterling’s case a glowing example. The hunt to corner Eddie Winter would only exacerbate matters. While she carried a pistol in her purse for protection ever since the night Nate died, she prayed she never had to use it. More disadvantages to joining the Railroad: Desdemona had mentioned they were attacked—the deaths swept under the rug by some kind of media conspiracy. So a threat to her life was certainly a possibility. Premature death—con.

Her mind drifted and she thought about their top agent—as Desdemona put it—Deacon. The man who had followed her, tracked her down and ensured she made her way to the Railroad in the first place. Desdemona was now entrusting him to teach Madelyn the ropes, pairing the two as partners, their task to collect more intel on the Railroad’s would-be enemies. When she thought about if this belonged in the pro or con column, she was frustratingly undecided, falling asleep in the corner of her wrap-around couch.

On Sunday, she awoke startled and confused, sure that the last forty-eight hours had all been a dream. The first thing Madelyn did was call Nick, who was on his way out the agency doors to track her down, worried when he hadn’t heard from her after her evening out. Ellie and Jenny had both talked him down from thinking anything horrible had happened to her, and he had stewed behind his desk all, chain-smoking up a storm without getting a moment of work done in the Eddie Winter case—or any other case, for that matter. Nick was relieved to hear she hadn’t been snatched up, but as she expected, had a plethora of questions the moment she mentioned her encounter with the Railroad. Surprisingly, however, the detective was in favor of her newfound alliance, believing the benefits far outweighed the risks. Even if she was reluctant, Madelyn agreed that she would stick to the planned Monday morning meeting with Deacon—whatever that entailed—then rendezvous with Nick to share all the details of her ordeal.

He wished her good luck. Little did she know how much she needed her friend’s good fortune. 

January 20th, 1958

Drummer Boy delivered the instructions for the meeting just after sunrise on Monday—a faded parchment not unlike the one she received on New Year’s Eve—neatly typed lettering directing her to Lexington, specifically on a street corner near the Corvega assembly plant. The industrial complex was a short cab ride from her apartment, and despite the cold-front that had swept in overnight, she elected to wait on the sidewalk, bundled up in her thick, dark blue coat and matching gloves. It didn’t take Madelyn very long to start shivering in place as she waited in the designated spot by the fire hydrant along Massachusetts Ave, wishing she had worn thicker stockings. After five minutes, she glanced down at her watch, irritation rising. At ten-past eight, she dug through her purse and pulled free her compact, compelled for some unbeknownst reason to assess her reflection.

“Didn’t have to get all dolled up just for me, Charmer.”

Madelyn snapped the mirror shut at the sound of Deacon’s voice, turning around to face where he had snuck up on her as if he had materialized straight up from the snow-covered sidewalk like some eldritch being. Or at least, she thought it was Deacon—he looked very different from the last time she saw him. He was dressed much more plainly and comfortably for the weather with a long scarf and gloves. There was something off about his hair, but she couldn’t tell—not with the trilby hat in the way. She wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for the reflective shades.

She was about to respond when she remembered Drummer Boy’s directions. As foolish as she felt, she repeated the memorized phrase. “Do you have a Geiger counter?”

Deacon smiled, impressed. “Mine is in the shop,” he replied. “Catching on quick, I see.”

Instead of offering a proper response, she motioned to his glasses. “Do you ever take those off?”

Deacon deflected, as to be expected. “My face?”  

Madelyn sighed—she didn’t want to appear impatient, but she had been kept waiting and was on the verge of freezing on what was supposed to be Boston’s coldest day of the month. Realizing, Deacon gestured for the two to walk up the incline towards the assembly plant.

“I would’ve worn different shoes if I knew we were going to be heading into Corvega,” she mused, breath frosting in the air before her face.

“We aren’t going inside the plant,” he started with a shake of his head, diverting them behind a small retainer wall. He tapped his shoe down against a metal surface, bending down to sweep the build-up of snow away to reveal a hidden maintenance door. “We’re going through here.”

He pointed to her blue suede heels. “Hope those aren’t designer.”

“You underestimate the mess Nick has dragged me through,” she countered, watching as he lifted the heavy metal plate to reveal a small shaft and a ladder that led down into what she could only assume was a sewer tunnel system. “Can’t say it’s ever been literal shit, though.”

Deacon let out a loud, belly-aching laugh as he sat on the ground, allowing his legs to dangle over the ledge. “Ladies first, unless you’d rather give me the chance at an up-skirt looky-loo.”

Despite the lewdness, Madelyn found herself amused and struggled to hide her smile—there were still some questions she wanted answered before she crawled her way down a mysterious hole in the ground. The letter he sent that morning wasn’t exactly clear, not that she expected it to be. “Where exactly are we going? What are we doing here?”  

“Our old HQ, before we were gassed out was built to be strong, defensible. We thought it was secure. This escape tunnel leads to the base,” he pointed over his shoulder to the Slocum’s Joe in the plaza a few hundred yards away. “Like Dez said, the survivors didn’t have time to grab anything. So we’re getting whatever intel was left behind in the rush.”

Madelyn was held up on secret underground headquarters. “The Railroad had a base under a donut shop?”

“Not every Slocum’s Joe has a massive tunnel complex underneath it,” he grinned, relishing in the fact that he was cluing her in on the big secret. “Used to be a Defense Intelligence Agency research lab during the war—until V-Day, and then some of those spies turned Railroad agents and the rest is history. We called it The Switchboard. Did us good, until more than half of us were snuffed out.”

She frowned, finding the loss of life distressing, compounded by the fact no one outside the organization except their killers and conspirators knew the truth. “What do we hope to find?”

“Something that shows who the sons-of-bitches that did this in the first place,” Deacon responded before flashing a small, grim smile. “I think I left behind some clean underwear, now that you mention it.”

Satisfied on the mission parameters, Madelyn stepped towards the maintenance entrance and began her descent, tightly gripping the metal bars so that she wouldn’t slip. Above her, Deacon watched for a few moments before following, shutting the metal latch closed behind them. Below her there was only a small light to lead her way, and as expected, a large puddle of water that was unavoidable as she approached the bottom. As she stepped through the murky water she groaned, knowing her shoes were now completely ruined—another pair for the damaged by field work box.

“Wet socks, my favorite,” Deacon announced sarcastically as he stepped down next to her, digging through his coat pockets until he produced a small, silver flashlight. He flicked it on, shining it under his chin for dramatic effect before angling it ahead through the tunnel. “Shall we?”

As they crept along the watery path in silence, Madelyn found herself glancing over at her newfound partner, unable to stop her mind from making comparisons to Nick. It wasn’t fair, considering she had known one man for years, and the other for a handful of hours spread across a few days. Deacon was—well he was an enigma, and she was determined to crack the code.

“Desdemona called you her top agent. How does your position differ from Glory’s?” she asked, catching his attention as they walked.

“My job’s mainly intel. So the more places I go, the better I’m doing it,” he turned his head in her direction. “Might have noticed me hanging around if you weren’t so wrapped up in your detective work. What can I say? You’re just one big beautiful distraction,” he beamed. “Plenty of opportunities to learn secrets following you around.”

Madelyn let his overzealous complement slide, focused instead on what he had mentioned. “You weren’t just at the New Year’s gala?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

Figured. She had deduced by that point he was at the Memory Den not only to follow her, but because the Railroad had to have an inside agent there too, and that person could only be Irma, given her position and knowledge of Deacon in the first place. She’d keep that nugget of information to herself for now. Madelyn leaned a little closer—a test, to see if invading his personal space would discomfort him. Of course, he wasn’t bothered in the slightest, as she should’ve known, based on their very first encounter.

“Have you had partners before me, Deacon?” she questioned next, resisting the urge to smile. Now she was just being nosy, even if it was a valid question that had run through her mind. “And why use the codename Deacon anyways? Have a fascination with religious symbolism, or something?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” he joked, feigning annoyance. “I feel like I’m being interrogated!”

Madelyn softly snickered at that. “I could cuff you and take you back to the agency, give you the real experience.”

His eyebrows shot up, lips twisted in amusement. “Kinky.”

Halfway through the maintenance tunnel they came upon a locked gate. Again, Deacon patted at his pockets before reaching directly towards her temple. Understandably, she flinched away, blinking at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Have a bobby pin I can borrow?” he explained, gloved fingers still reaching for her hairline and up-do. Madelyn dodged his invasive approach, pressing her body closer to the iron bars. Maybe she deserved that for testing his personal bubble.

“Good lord,” she sighed, exasperated, pulling free a small iron pin from her golden curls herself. “I can pick a lock too, if you’d only ask.”

Deacon was visibly pleased by her declaration, shining the light on the lock so that she might see her work. “And where might a lovely lawyer such as yourself have learned such a reprehensible skill?”

“My um—” she faltered, deciding now was not the time to tell Deacon about her deceased husband, or the little things he had taught her in their life together. She wondered if there ever would be a time—or if he already knew, and she even needed to broach the subject. The pin snagged and she steadied her hand. “Nick taught me.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her as if he could tell she was being dishonest. She knew if she was going to continue working with him, she would need to get better at the art of lying. She didn’t go to law school for years upon years without developing a silver-tongue—now it was time to put it to good use. Deacon drummed his fingers along the torch.

“I’m used to running Railroad ops solo. But being partnered up with you?” Madelyn glanced out of the corner of her eye to catch a glimpse of his smirk—apparently it was the only expression he knew. “Isn’t too bad. Now that we’re a team, we should have a code name. Like Double Indemnity, or White Heat…the Big Sleep?”

She paused to remove her gloves, stuffing them in her coat pocket. Fingers bare, she had an easier time with the metal pin, even with Deacon’s rambling. “I’m partial to Bogart and Bacall—though I wonder if that movie was only half as good because of their off-screen romance.”

“If this plays out anything like a cliché noir film,” Deacon mused. “I can’t promise you won’t fall devastatingly head-over-heels in love with me by the end.”

Madelyn smiled, but she immediately dismissed the words as harmless banter. So he was a flirt—she could manage that. “I can’t guarantee you won’t be the one doing the falling, Mr. Deacon.”

“Oh, Charmer.”

With a resounding snap, the lock broke free and Madelyn pushed the gate open for the two to advance. These tunnels had more lighting, and beyond another unlocked security door was a small maintenance room, filled with tools, supplies, and boxes. Deacon lingered near the bookshelves, scanning for anything he could salvage. Meanwhile, she peered out through the broken windowpanes and into the large room ahead, overwhelmed by what she saw. A long time ago now, Nate had explained that during his time in the military he had seen intelligence bases that looked straight out of a Hollywood spy thriller, but she always thought he was having her for a laugh—until now.

Even abandoned, the area was spacious, rows of desks set up and prepared for spies—rather, Railroad agents—to research intel on whatever information they saw fit. In an overhead, second-story room sat a large, data computer, powered down and out of commission. She was so caught up in taking in the sight of the so-called Switchboard that she hardly realized Deacon had snuck beside her. She figured he would shed more wisdom on the Railroad’s former base of operations, but instead his next words sent her reeling.

“So you’re married.”

Madelyn nearly choked. “What?”

He tilted his chin down at her left hand and reflexively, she covered the ring with her right, twisting it nervously between her fingers. His expression was too hard to read when he wasn’t grinning at her, eyes always covered up with those ridiculous darkened sunglasses. “That shiny rock you’ve got has implications.”

“Then you should already know the answer,” she said in return, unable to hold back her discomfort. “Right?”

Deacon shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe I wanted to hear it from you instead of reading it in a file. You know what they say about assuming.”

She hesitated several times, opening and closing her mouth when the words wouldn’t come out. This was an emotional wall so few had breached, and she wasn’t sure if Deacon was one that could be added to the list—not yet anyways. Still, she felt as though she owed him some semblance of the truth, a sign of good faith, if their partnership were to continue.  

“I—I’m widowed,” she spoke softly, avoiding looking at his face. “That’s all I’m willing to say, right now.”

“Fair enough,” he replied with a nod. She hoped that was the end for his line of questioning, but then he tapped his finger along his chin. “You’re a woman of faith, right? Have you ever been to the church in Quincy?”

“Now I feel like I’m being interrogated,” she muttered, flicking her gaze to him, hoping he caught her sarcasm. “Are you going to pull handcuffs out of your pockets?”

Deacon’s lips twisted into a sideways grin. “No, but I can talk dirty if you’d like. Veux-tu voir mon pantalon?”

Madelyn couldn’t help but laugh—the warmth in her chest a bizarre and foreign feeling—but her amusement was real. Delighted by her reaction, Deacon silently beckoned for her to follow through the double doors into the Switchboard proper. “Come on, Bacall, let’s find some intel.”

She wanted to tease him, say something clever about how she saw Nick Valentine as more of the Humphrey Bogart type instead, but the moment they crossed the threshold, the air was sucked out from her lungs. The attack on the former headquarters had occurred months ago and yet the underground building still reeked of gas and death. Madelyn felt the corners of her eyes prickle—the air quality wasn’t enough to harm her, but it was caustic enough to be unpleasant. She grabbed one glove from her pocket and held it over her nose and mouth. When she glanced over to Deacon, he was doing the same with the edge of his scarf. She followed him through the rows of abandoned desks and toppled over chairs, scanning the wooden surfaces for files or anything that looked important. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure what would be important. Deacon passed through the area dismissively, brushing aside forgotten paperwork with the sole of his shoe.

“Where are you going?” she asked, coughing a little at the bitter taste in the air.

He silently gestured upstairs and continued on his path. In the console room that overlooked the main floor, the air was clearer, allowing her to inspect the surroundings a little more carefully. On the nearby table was a forgotten notepad, the handwriting barely legible.

“What exactly is a MILA, and what does it have to do with…MIT terraforming the Commonwealth?” she asked, hesitantly. As she flipped through the notes, she was sure she had stumbled upon the rantings of a madman.

Deacon let out a boisterous chuckle. “Bring those with you. Tinker Tom will be forever in your debt.”

“Tinker…” she shook her head, deciding not to ask for clarification. She tucked away the small notepad into her purse. “Another one of your operatives?”

“He’s not a field agent anymore,” he explained as they moved through the back-office corridors, Deacon leading them left towards a few scientific research labs. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, considering he used to work there. “Tom is—how do I put it—our engineer. He invents things, usually things that are incredibly illegal and likely to get us all blown up and killed, but thirty percent of the time, his inventions are helpful.”

“He’s intelligent but has fallen so far off his rocker it’s hard to tell sometimes,” he described further, in a somber tone. “If you were under all that stress from watching your friends die, it’d be hard not to succumb to madness.”

Madelyn didn’t say anything, her mind switching focus to the ­pros and cons list she had drawn up over the weekend. With each new grain of information, the negatives were starting to outweigh the positives. Deacon—she was still undecided. For a moment there, she could’ve sworn she had seen a hidden depth of emotion, but it had faded away just as fast as it appeared. He glanced over his shoulder to look at her, as if he had heard her thinking about him, or rather, felt her staring at the back of his head.

“Our good Doctor Carrington kept a vault up ahead. I can guarantee there’s something we need locked away in there,” he explained. Now there were two names—two Railroad agents in which she needed a face to a name. The back-corner room looked more like a medical lab, albeit with a large, metal door that was better suited for a bank than a doctor’s office. “What’s your lucky number?”

It was a rhetorical question at best, Deacon approaching the safe mechanism eagerly as he removed his gloves. Even though he appeared to know the combination, he made a show of it, leaning in to listen to the gradual ticks of the cogs as they clicked into place. Not a moment later, the lock was open, and he was flashing a self-satisfied grin. “Open says me.”

A gush of air filled the room as the vault door creaked open. Inside, an emergency light flickered eerily, forming elusive shadows out of the metal storage shelves that lined the large safe. Whatever Madelyn expected to find she was astounded by medical and technical gadgets, all abandoned from when the Railroad was forced to evacuate. She was half tempted to pick up a metal contraption of sorts when she was reminded of the possible contamination and focused her attention elsewhere.

“Here we are,” Deacon announced, pulling a large, dusty folder from the shelf. He inspected the contents, allowing Madelyn to gander a peek from over his arm. She was surprised to find many, if not all the pages written in code. “Hadn’t gotten around to deciphering this batch yet.”

“How do you know it’s important then?”

“Because ten people died ensuring it didn’t land in the wrong hands, that’s why.”

Madelyn cocked her head aside, seeing the mission for what it was. “This was the target all along, wasn’t it?” When he nodded, she nearly lost her patience. “You could’ve told me instead of stringing me along for kicks. I went through all of that, and I don’t know why.”

Deacon frowned, realizing he had miscalculated her reaction. “Would you believe me if I said that I don’t know either?”

“No.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded with a small pout. He shut the folder and tucked it into his coat for safe keeping. “Dez approved the op. For all I know, these are instructions on how to brew the perfect cup of coffee.”

She had to take his word for it, hoping everything they had just done was worth the effort. Deacon led the pair towards another maintenance shaft and up a metal catwalk that led to a service elevator. After he pressed the button, she peered at him curiously. “Aren’t we going back the way we came?”

“Speaking of. How do you take your coffee?” he avoided the question, motioning for her to enter the small elevator before him as the doors chimed open.

Madelyn sighed, wondering if it wasn’t too late to ask Desdemona to be paired up with someone else. Still, she humored him. “Two sugars and a little bit of cream.”

Even as they crept through the tunnels, she had doubted that the old Railroad Headquarters was beneath the Slocum’s Joe, but as they exited the elevator into a basement storage room, she was faced with boxes of the coffee shop’s paraphernalia, including a very brightly colored donut costume that was folded over the staircase banister.

“Tinker Tom used to wear that on the street corner while on lookout,” Deacon explained, and she couldn’t tell if he was joking. She followed him up the stairs, but instead of a door there was a false panel of thick wood that took some effort to push open. He stuck his head through the small gap, checking the perimeter. “After you. Cars’ out front if you’d like an escort back to your neck of the woods.”

Madelyn flashed him an indignant stare. She gestured to her ruined shoes. “Two entrances and we had to take the long way around?”

“You’ve shown me you can dance,” he answered. “I wanted to know that you could sneak around too.”

She walked ahead of him through the false bookshelf with half-of-mind to hail a cab as soon as she was outside when his hand hooked into her elbow and yanked her back and into the closest booth. She was about to protest when his eyebrows raised high above his shades. “Act natural.”

She flicked her eyes down to where his hand was covering her own across the table. It wasn’t as an alarming of a shock like the one she felt at the Memory Den, but still, her skin tingled at the unfamiliar contact. Given the circumstances, she didn’t pull away and she squashed the thought that wondered if she would’ve done so otherwise. But if he wanted a ruse, they would need to blend in. She took a moment to shrug off her coat, folding the garment into the space beside her before grabbing the menu tucked behind the napkin dispenser.

Deacon caught on, discarding his own coat and scarf to his right. His left hand breached across the linoleum surface, fingers curling around her right hand again. She wasn’t surprised this was the act he wanted to put on. “Do you see the man at the counter?”

Madelyn barely flicked her gaze up and over his shoulder, grinning like he had told her a joke instead. “The man in black? Yes. He’s wearing sunglasses,” she paused to twist a golden curl around her finger with her free hand—she might have been over doing it. “One of yours?”

“Definitely not,” he responded, disguising his vitriol behind a soft laugh. “But he is here for us.”

She took a glance at the man at the main counter again as discreetly as she could, made easier when a passing waitress collected their coffee orders from Deacon who was all too happy to show off how he had remembered hers. At first glance, the dark-skinned man didn’t look threatening—appeared to be just another businessman on a coffee break—but the way he was scanning the diner with purpose sent a chill down her spine. A hunch told her he wasn’t one of Winter’s men—but then who did he work for?

“Who else knew about us coming here today?” Madelyn asked, not meaning to sound so serious. If this man in black was after the forgotten intel that Railroad agents had died to protect, then he had to belong to the same organization that killed them in the first place. Remembering the facade, she smiled.

He squeezed her hand, either in realization or as part of their charade. “Are you implying we have a mole?”

“Mole, rat,” she shrugged, as if he was talking about something else. The waitress returned with their orders and he stared into his coffee for a long moment before taking a sip. “Afraid it’s been poisoned?”

He chuckled, genuinely this time. “Remember, you can’t trust everyone.”

“Even you?”

Deacon’s fingers flexed against hers again and he flashed a smirk behind the rim of his cup. “Especially me.”

Madelyn didn’t have very long to think about if he was bluffing when she realized the well-dressed man was now advancing towards them. The way Deacon’s foot shifted against her heel told her he also knew they were about to be cornered. She started to run through a myriad of scenarios—one of which included throwing hot coffee—but she wondered if there was something a little more dignified she could do.

Her Railroad partner looked to her, eyebrow arched with a devious expression. “Want to lean over the table and—”

“No—”

“Mads?”

It happened simultaneously, the familiar voice echoing out across the diner—their saving grace—but also Madelyn’s absolute horror. Jennifer Lands came striding over, green heels loud against the tile and matching skirt a flutter as she ducked around the booths to stand right next to their table, circumventing the stranger not a moment too soon. For a moment, Madelyn thought he was going to interrupt but he moved on, flashing one last lingering glance over his shoulder at the booth before moving towards the exit. Only then did Madelyn switch her attention to her friend, who appeared overjoyed, grinning like she had won the lottery. Her hands were clasped under her chin as her eyes shifted between the two.

Oh. Oh no.

Madelyn instinctually pulled her hand away, tucking both beneath the table where she nervously fidgeted with her wedding ring. Deacon straightened his posture, looking too self-satisfied with the change in situation.

“Don’t get shy on account of me,” she beamed, winking at Madelyn. “Won’t you introduce me to your…”

Madelyn was going to regret this. She nodded, gesturing to Deacon. “This is—”

“Humphrey Bogart,” he interrupted, extending his arm.

Jenny giggled, indulging him as she grasped his hand in a polite shake. “It’s not every day you meet a dead celebrity.”

“A friend?” Deacon asked. He used his free hand to point up at Jenny. “I like her.”

Madelyn resisted the urge to groan—to slump into the vinyl diner seat until she could slither underneath the table and out the door not unlike a snake. Or maybe, if she closed her eyes hard enough, she’d spontaneously combust, or she’d wake up and this would have all been a fever dream. Was it possible that she’d inhaled some of the trace amounts of gas while traversing the underground tunnels and was now hallucinating?

“I’m her—”

She snapped herself back to reality before he could say anything—be it the truth or some fantastical lie.

“Jenny, this is Deacon,” she paused, crafting a plausible story in her mind. “He’s an informant for the agency.”

It was obvious Jenny didn’t believe her, still looking at the two expectantly. “You aren’t…on a—”

“No!” Madelyn wouldn’t even let the word come from her friend’s mouth. Deacon smiled, his non-offense to her harsh reaction forcing Jenny to second-guess her observations. The red-head looked ready to question them further when another familiar face appeared from someplace in the diner.

“Jenny isn’t bothering you on the job, now is she?” Nick Valentine—intuition as sharp as ever—gave Madelyn a quick nod. She wasn’t wholly decided on if his presence would make things better or worse. His fiancé seemed to be mulling the information in her mind, still unsure.

Madelyn flashed a toothy smile, gesturing across the table. Her patience was wearing thing. “Nick, you remember our informant from the Memory Den, Deacon.”

Deacon offered a wave. “Nick, you old dog. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Nick nodded, playing along.

He glanced to Madelyn, and she was surprised to find him neither suspicious nor annoyed but amused. A small smirk was pulling at his lips and she had to wonder if he had witnessed their donut-shop antics too. At least the detective knew why she was in Lexington that day and had the sense to put two and two together, unlike his lady love. Jenny wasn’t privy to the finer details of their work—better to leave her in the dark, for her own safety—even if it led to awkward situations such as this.

“We were just going over that information we discussed,” Madelyn said, discreetly.

On cue, Deacon lifted the thick file of paperwork they had just smuggled out from the Switchboard. “What Charmer said.”  

Nick’s eyes lit up, intrigued. “Is that so?” he rested his hand on Jenny’s back, smiling to his beloved. “Sweetheart, do you mind if I have a private, work-related chat with Madelyn? Shouldn’t take but five minutes.”

“Sure,” the red-head replied, her grin a little too devious as she waved Madelyn out of the diner booth. “I’ll keep Bogie here company.”

At Nick’s confusion, Madelyn shook her head, pulling on her coat as the two moved outside. She gave one last fleeting glance to Deacon, who only grinned. Leaving him alone with Jenny was about as bad as the two of them getting caught by the strange man—she only prayed nothing nefarious came of their conversation. In front of the Slocum’s Joe, she busied herself with pulling her gloves back on while Nick watched.

“So that’s Deacon,” he said—a statement, rather than a question. His eyebrows were raised, expression one of mild disbelief. “Not what I expected.”

“Kind of hard to describe a walking question mark, Nick,” Madelyn replied with a low laugh. “He could also qualify as an asterisk. Maybe one of those squiggly accent lines.”

Nick smiled, the mirth in his expression worrying her a little. “I take it the job went well?”

Madelyn hesitated, wondering how much he had seen inside the donut shop. “Very.”

“Suppose there’s competition for being your partner then,” he responded in a playful tone.

“Hardly,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I work for the agency. The Railroad isn’t paying me. Unless you count vague lessons on the importance of trust and intuition as currency.” She patted Nick on the shoulder and flashed an over-zealous smile. “Deacon has got nothin’ compared to you.”

The detective laughed, shaking his head. “So that’s why he calls you Charmer.”

Madelyn balked at what Nick was insinuating. “It’s a codename. Mysterious, don’t you think?”

“Fitting,” he countered, looking like she had told him some hilarious joke. “The two of you are getting along then?”

She realized that perhaps Nick had brought her outside for ulterior motives. Shouldn’t they be discussing what her and Deacon found rather than their rapport? She sighed, deflecting with a shrug. “I can get along with anybody. He’s tolerable, I suppose. He’s incredibly strange, and talks in riddles, and I really need to explain that he doesn’t have to try so hard to get me to laugh—”

Why’d she say that last part for? She broke off, feeling unnerved by the way Nick was looking at her, expression soft with a knowing smile. Madelyn felt her face grow hot despite the chill of the Boston winter air. She avoided his eyes, glancing towards the glass windowpane of the diner where she could just make out Deacon and Jenny sitting, laughing over something. Her thoughts betrayed her—but he’s pretty good at making me laugh, and he isn’t that bad to look at—she shook her head sharply, chasing the idea away.

“If I could make an observation,” Nick started, hesitantly. His hand rested on her shoulder, catching her attention. “I haven’t seen you so chatty and bright in a long time. Not since—”

Madelyn’s mood shifted dramatically, and she frowned up at her friend. “Since what, Nick?”

He winced, knowing he misspoke. In true Valentine fashion, he rebounded as well as he could. “It’s a good look, Madelyn.”

This is why she didn’t get close to new people—it only caused a myriad of confusing emotions. In spite of the turbulence she felt, deep down she knew Nick had a point. One she didn’t feel like admitting to yet, but a point, nonetheless. Her newfound partnership with Deacon—one she had resisted at first—had been surprisingly natural. Too natural, apparently. Now, she felt even more conflicted, and the guilt she’d been carrying around for more than a year threatened to flood her senses.

She put on a brave face, like she always did. “Thank you.”

Nick grimaced, breathing out in defeat. She knew he meant well, but the timing still wasn’t right for her. Her happiness was important, yes, but so was the job. They had bigger proverbial fish to fry. Just when she thought to speak on what they’d found beneath the Slocum’s Joe, Jenny’s jovial laugher echoed out into the Boston streets. Deacon followed behind her, boisterous as he retold some wild tale about spying for the agency in Scollay Square. They approached, unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“I like him,” Jenny mused, nuzzling herself up to Nick’s side as she grasped his hand.

Madelyn found Deacon beside her, but showed some restraint and did not reach out to touch her in any way. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it—pushing the fleeting thoughts away as he flashed her a smirk. “Everybody likes me. Isn’t that right, Charmer?”

“Careful,” she chided in a playful tone, if only to keep the atmosphere light. “You’ll start to sound like a jelly-filled donut.”

The group laughed, and with a quick glance to the detective, he took the cue from Madelyn. “Are you heading home? I can drive you there on the way to Jenny’s hospital shift.”

If she had to guess, if only for a moment, Deacon looked disappointed as he dug for his own keys from the never-ending void that was his coat pockets. No doubt he knew where she lived, but a little voice in her head was telling her that it was time to depart for today and regroup later. Much later—after she’d had some time to think and recharge—and go over that hastily scribbled list of pros and cons again.

“Yes, thank you,” she agreed, turning to face her Railroad companion as Nick escorted Jenny to his parked Cadillac nearby. Madelyn hoped to end their interaction on a positive note. “Would you call today successful?”    

Deacon smiled as he nodded, patting his coat where he had tucked the documents away. “We got what we came for. Its best we split up and meet back at the church.”

She silently agreed but didn’t move right away to catch up with the others. Even though she had just mentally reprimanded herself, she couldn’t let herself walk away without speaking the truth. “We make a good team.”  

“The best,” he replied, delighted by her comment. He nodded, tipping his hat slightly. “See you soon, Charmer.” 

Back in the comfort of her apartment, Madelyn spent most of the evening the same way she had spent the weekend—pacing in a nervous line from her kitchen to her couch, from her couch to the hallway and everywhere in between. She had added more notes, scribbled thoughts and emotions to her Railroad List, reading them over and over as she poured generously from her whiskey bottle with each refill. Even with all the new additions after her escapade at the Switchboard, there was one glaring omission.

Deacon.

Just thinking of the man made her feel uneasy, and not for the paranoid reasons she once held. No, that would be far easier. Instead, she was frustrated by how easily he had gotten past her defenses, knocking down the perfectly built walls she had put up around her heart and mind ever since Christmas 1956. She was capable of being a bubbly, charming person—but it wasn’t supposed to happen so quickly, especially with a practical stranger. Especially with somebody she wasn’t sure she could trust. Wasn’t that what he had been trying to teach her in the first place?  

Nick and Jenny’s observations only made matters worse. In the end, Madelyn only felt conflicted and a compounding amount of guilt—like she had somehow betrayed Nate by letting somebody, anybody get under her skin. Regardless of what Nick, or any of her friends said, she was sure that she didn’t deserve that kind of happiness—not when her late husband’s murderer was still free.

Dogmeat whined, intuitive to her emotions, and she sought comfort in petting the dog, beckoning him to follow her down the hallway so they could get some sleep after a long day. As she passed through the hall, she double backed to the open storage closet, peering inside, just as she had done on Christmas day. Instead of continuing on however, a strange compulsion to inspect the large, dusty box in the corner came over her. The last present she’d ever received from Nate, left unwrapped and hidden for her discover in the garage of the home they once shared. A General Atomics logo was plastered atop the box and below it in white cursive letters read, Mister Handy. Dogmeat shuffled between her legs to get a better look.

“What do you think, boy?” she asked. “Should we open the box?”

He barked, signifying his approval. After the weekend she’d had, perhaps it was time to activate the robot. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a Mister Handy around to help, as her husband had intended. If anything, the extra company—even one built on artificial intelligence—would do her some good. Still, the action would prove to be a large step in the so-called grieving process. Dogmeat barked again, and she focused, steadying herself as she began lifting the flaps.

Curiously, the manufacturers seal had already been broken. As soon as the box was opened, Madelyn knew why—atop the shiny surface of the robot was an envelope. In Nate’s distantly familiar handwriting were two words: Hi Honey! Her entire body seized up as she let out a quiet sob, suddenly overwhelmed. Through clouded eyes, she pulled the box out of the closet and into the hallway, carefully tipping it over so she could extract the heavy metal frame of the deactivated Mister Handy unit. She sat on the carpet next to the robot, Dogmeat sniffing at the metallic surface as she carefully opened the letter from Nate.

Maddie,

I’ve been thinking a lot about our future, thinking about the possibility of welcoming a child into our lives. Lord knows I’ve been having fun trying for one—practice makes perfect, right? I’ve also been thinking about all the preparations we’ve made for building our family: the crib, the tiny clothes, even joking about potential names. It sounds foolish but even one child, one little life created with you would be enough, no matter how long it takes.

I know you’re a fiercely independent and modern woman who likes to take care of herself, but with our plans to grow our family, I was thinking we could use an extra hand. Or three. Regardless of ol’ Codsworth here, I know you will be an amazing mother.

I love you so much. You are my best friend and my saving grace. The first and last thing I think about in the morning and at night. You have made me so incredibly happy. If I should die tomorrow, I’d die a happy man.

-Nate

PS: Did you know twins run in my family?

Reading his words left a new kind of pain in her heart, a fresh reminder of the plans they had before his life had been cut short. How prophetic of him, to leave such a statement about his assumed death. Madelyn wasn’t sure when the note was written, but it had to have been shortly before that fateful night in Boston Common. With his letter were the General Atomic factory instructions, along with more of Nate’s handwritten scribbles indicating which steps she could skip and simple hacks—a cheat sheet from beyond the pale.

After twisting the upper chassis, she found and pressed the activation button until the robot whirled back to life with a series of beeps and garbled words. Almost immediately it was floating midair, eye-sensors adjusting to its environment. Madelyn stood to be as level as she could with the unit, the way it hovered allowed the machinery to tower over her. Her reflection was distorted in the shiny surface of the Mister Handy as she stared at it, suddenly wondering if this had been a good idea after all.

“You must be Mrs. James,” the robot declared joyously, his three metal arms spinning as if to express that delight, barely missing her body. “I am Codsworth. Your new butler. Oh, how wonderful it is to finally meet you. Sir has spoken so much—”

She couldn’t help the strangled gasp of a cry that escaped her, snapping a hand over her mouth to prevent further disruptions. Hearing this robot—Codsworth—speak so casually as if nothing was amiss made reality come crashing down around her all over again. He floated a little closer.

“Have I upset you, mum?” Codsworth asked in a sullen tone.

Madelyn shook her head in earnest, wiping away her tears on the sleeve of her dress. “No, of course not. Codsworth honey,” she sniffled, baffled by her own term of endearment for the Mister Handy unit. Perhaps the overly posh British accent had gotten to her. But now came the awkward explanation of telling a robot that his master was long dead. “It isn’t you. You should know that…Mr. James is no longer with us.”

“Oh, where has he gone off to?”

She closed her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t have to be so blunt. “He’s dead, Codsworth. Died before he could gift you to me.”

Expressionless, mechanical eyes ‘blinked’ back at her, processing what she had just said. “Well, I’m here now, mum,” he spoke. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Sir was so kind when activating me and said so many lovely things about you,” his tone shifted to one of determination. “I look forward to fulfilling the duties I was meant to, if you’ll allow.”

As silly as Madelyn felt to be comforted by a floating Mister Handy unit, she couldn’t help but smile at his words. In a gesture of kindness, she placed her hand against his metal frame, wondering if he—or the wires in his mainframe that made up his personality—understood. It would take some adjustment, but she could get used to having a disembodied voice in her home—the thought made her smile even more.

“Of course, Codsworth,” she agreed. Madelyn released a breath and felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. This had been a long time coming. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you too.”