Chapter Text
JULY 23, 2077
Hard pressed would be the gumshoe who tried to find perfection in his work. Nick Valentine knew this. He knew the way the job grasped at him, the way it scraped its’ nails down his back like a lover and left in the morning without a note or even pausing for a smoke. Satisfaction would never be in his paygrade. Hell, he wasn’t sure if it even included victory’s kiss on the cheek.
Any seasoned vet would say: that’s how it’s supposed to be, kid. Get satisfied, you get proud. Get proud, you get big. Get big, you start forgetting the little guys under your boot. Forget the little guys, and only two things can happen: you start stepping on them, or they make a big guy of their own, and he steps on you. The only way to stay alive in this job was to keep small – and just make sure the bad guys stayed smaller.
Easier said than done.
“Valentine,” came a voice from the door. The frosted glass didn’t illuminate to him their identity. But he didn’t need illumination. He knew that voice anywhere.
“Come on in, Chief Widmark.” He snubbed his cigarette into the ashtray. The embers were just dying when the Chief walked in, like they were ashamed to burn in his presence. The Chief just had that affect on people. Made you want to sink a little bit lower, hide the parts of yourself you knew he’d flaw – the trick to his respect was not doing exactly that. So, Nick straightened, smiled a lazy smile, and nodded. Chief nodded right back.
“For you.” A packet was tossed on his desk. “Merry Christmas.”
“Aw, Chief,” Nick chuckled, “But it’s July.”
“You want to tell Santa, or should I?”
“Nah, don’t disappoint the old coot,” he said, reaching for the paper. One flick of manila and he was sliding the parchment onto his desk. He raised a brow when they audibly thunked. “Hefty stack of trees here, Chief.” From beneath his hat, his eyes flicked up. “Am I about to be real busy?”
“Nothing less for my boy, you know,” Chief grumbled. “Take your time and read it, Nicky.”
And read it he did. Mrs. Roberta always praised him in gradeschool for his quick comprehension. He felt her pride even now as he devoured page after page, lightning fast and definitely earning that gold star on his report card. Something a little less than joy was in his gut as he finished, however.
Chief could read his face. Consequently, the words on his lips before he spoke them. “Yeah, it’s him. I thought we’d get him locked up too, this time.”
“And here I was looking at champagne …” came his mutter. The next page turned and his jaw clenched. “Trial’s next month, huh? What, they ain’t convinced?”
“Apparently seven witness testimonies just ain’t persuasive like they used to be.”
“Too late to mourn for the good old days?” Nick tossed the file back. It offended him. Just an innocent packet of paper, but god it offended him, and he swore he saw those crinkles sneer. Jenny would laugh, he knew it. She said his dramatics were the only thing colorful about Boston P.D., and man could he have used her cheer right now. If he was so colorful, then why was this day turning so damn gray?
His hand rubbed over his mouth. He sighed. “Don’t suppose we’re lucky enough to know the lawyer yet, eh?”
“Oh, well,” Chief managed to laugh without humor, “We do, but … ain’t sure if you’d call it luck.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because it’s her, Nick.”
Like a fool, he almost asked who her was. “Her”, a mysterious and ominous line heard rarely out of silver screens. He should have laughed, really. Asked Chief who’d been giving him tickets to Humphrey and Fairbanks.
But this wasn’t a movie, and unfortunately, he knew just who “her” referred to.
“…Damn,” he said simply. “Should have seen that coming.”
“If you didn’t, none of us would either.” Chief sighed. “Suggest you armor up, Valentine. Because we both know she’ll turn this into a battleground.”
“Well, just let me fetch my good helmet,” Nick said. Chief laughed, just lightly, breath raspy from his own cigarettes, and waved himself out of the office. Nothing more needed to be said between them. And, really, nothing more could be said. Filler wasn’t part of the job description.
Now, Nick was left alone with that sneering packet, which in his mind, now sneered with a very distinctive set of lips, decorated eyes and a beauty mark just below them. Very personable, for a piece of paper.
He snorted lightly. Picked up another cigarette, and lit it.
“Well then, Cancio…” he said, “Let the battle begin.”
“What’s a lawyer?” Piper asked through her noodles. A few drops of broth were perched on her chin, glistening comedically every time she moved her mouth. “Some kinda mercenary?”
Candy snorted. She ate her noodles much more delicately – mostly because she wasn’t entirely sure they were noodles to begin with. “In the loosest description possible, I suppose so.”
“Wow, I can answer mysteriously too, y’know. Wanna know where I grew up? Somewhere between Who Knows Street and Over That Way Boulevard.”
Piper’s little quip was met with a playful swipe at her hat – one she marvelously defended. “Not the hat, not the hat! Fine, Blue. We’ll come back to it. But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”
“If every reporter was like you before the war,” Candy laughed, “Interviews would have been much more interesting.”
“Hey, that’s almost a compliment, I’ll take it.” Piper winked. “Can you blame me? It’s not every day I meet a gal who lies like a love letter. You had Danny thinking he’d scored supplies for the whole year!”
“I flirt with the truth, darling, don’t call it something so obtuse as lying.” Her lips stretched to a grimace. Piper only laughed harder.
“Oh, you flirted alright. Danny was as red as his hair.”
“It’s a talent.” Her brows shot up suggestively. “You know, I didn’t buy you noodles just to boy-talk, Piper. You said you had someone to help me. I do hope that wasn't a lie, too.”
“Oh, right,” and suddenly the reporter looked a little ashamed – a little caught up in the mood of it all. Candy rose a brow. “Sorry about that, Blue. Your kid and all – look, I wasn’t lying. What happened to you … that’s just awful.” Piper chewed on her lower lip, daring out her hand to grasp Candy’s shoulder; a friendly touch, feminine, something one of her pre-war girlfriends would do when she got turned down for a date. Years of practice kept Candy’s face from going soft, and she just stared back at Piper, diplomatic smile on full display.
“So, like I said, if there's someone who can help …”
“Right! Yes, yes, okay. Focusing now.” Piper mimed some kind of laser coming out of her eyes. “Diamond City does boast its’ very own detective agency. It’s right around the back of the shops, neon red sign, can’t miss it.”
Candy took a tentative bite of her maybe-noodles. Patting her mouth with a towel, she cleared her throat. “The name?”
“Valentine’s Detective Agency.”
It didn’t matter how the noodles tasted anymore because they were lodged in her throat, and Candy very much would have liked them out. Piper yelped as she started coughing, one hand over her mouth, and even when the battle was won and she felt that familiar slide of not-noodle-noodles into her stomach, her hands still splayed in concern. Candy waved a hand to show she was fine.
“You said- ah,” clearing her throat again, “Valentine’s Detective Agency?”
“…A little scared to say it again, if I’m honest, but yeah,” Piper muttered. “You, uh, good there, Blue?”
“Dandy.” She wasn’t hungry anymore. “By any chance, this detective’s full name- it isn’t Nick Valentine?” Like it decreased her suspicion, she added, “Just out of curiosity.”
Piper blinked. “Oh, well, yeah, it is. Why, do you know Nicky?”
“Oh…” Candy grimaced, “I sure hope I don’t.”
The first thing her mentor had drilled into her head was that coincidence was a drug. Innocent at first, you’d try it, accept that a few things around you just happened to be like this and that, happened to line up straight, happened right in front of your feet, and it was nothing else to worry about. But then it would be more than happenings – it would be shadowed figures outside your window or a sudden reassignment to a different case, and hooked on coincidence? You wouldn’t notice a thing. The only way to beat the drug was to never believe in it in the first place.
Candy thought she’d been pretty good at that. Ever-present was the risk of frigidity in her expressions and she certainly was never labeled a “warm personality”, but it was a small price to pay for a large winning streak. She’d been proud, even in her law school days, that she’d never been tempted to consider that the fates just aligned in a certain way. Eagle-eyed, panther-sensed, mule-stubborn. The trifecta of effectiveness.
Or, well, not so effective after all, because there was nothing Candy wanted more than to believe Nick Valentine just happened to be a very popular name 200 years after the bombs dropped. Her instincts were scrambled like eggs. She wanted, desperately, to think it couldn’t be – sure, her particular case of time travel was nothing to sneeze at, but that hardly meant it was popular. Piper had labeled her the “sole survivor” for a reason. Unless the Nick she knew had also been royally screwed by Vault-Tec in their spare cryogenics, there was just no living way this was him.
A ghoul, her traitorous mind whispered, He could always be a ghoul. Plenty of pre-war ones around.
Shut up, she thought back to herself, You’re stupid and I don’t like you.
Unfortunately, Candy’s mind wasn’t stupid. It was very smart. It was very smart and now constantly reminding her of that funny little lesson in coincidence, now two hundred and … something, years old. Her instincts were screaming at her. She just didn’t want to listen.
It could still be a mistake, she comforted herself as her hand lifted to the doorknob. It doesn’t have to be him. Maybe it’s not even his real name. She turned it, greeted by a tiny office, clouded by smoke and horribly lit. A flashback of the P.D. made her visibly flinch. Luckily, her weakness wasn’t seen, because the only other occupant was currently facing away, dragging her thin fingers fondly over a few busted file cabinets.
“Oh, Nick …” the young woman muttered, “Look what you did now …”
Oh boy, Candy muttered in her mind, We’ve got ourselves a weeper.
“Excuse me?” she piped up, and the young woman whirled. A pretty little thing, maybe a few years Candy’s junior. Eyes red, nose sniffing, but to her credit, a strong jaw. She instantly straightened herself at the sight of a customer. Candy’s small respect grew, just a bit. She could always appreciate a good work ethic.
“I’m- I’m sorry,” the woman said, “The agency is … closed.”
“That so?” Candy’s brows rose. “Do you cry every time you close, darling? That seems exhausting.”
The tendrils of irritation crept a little around her face, but otherwise little miss red-eyes remained diplomatic. Good kid. “It’s a little hard to stay open when our detective is missing, ma’am.”
“First off, it’s “miss”, not “ma’am”, I am not that much older than you. Well…” Candy pursed her lips. “Technically, anyway. And secondly, what do you mean, missing?”
She sniffed. “Nick was- he was kidnapped, he’s been gone for weeks. I just know something’s happened to him, it isn’t like him to wait-“
Candy’s hand extended. “Don’t work yourself up. Firstly, what’s your name?”
“Ellie.” She blinked, collected herself. “Ellie Perkins.”
“Well, Ellie Perkins,” Candy said, “Let’s start from the beginning. What did your detective say, do, right before he left? Surely he didn’t sneak away.”
“Of course not!” Ellie defended. Suddenly aware of her dramatics, she pulled back more but otherwise kept her chest puffed. “Nick would never do that. He said he was on a case – a girl had been kidnapped, suspected by Skinny Malone and his gang.”
200 years and bombs still can’t change stupid names, she thought. Candy folded her arms. She thought. “So, most likely with this Malone character, then. Think he’s dead by now?”
The callousness of it all made Ellie frown. “Not something I would like to think about.”
“Never remember asking if you’d like anything, dear. What do you think he’s doing, if not coming back here?”
For a while, she was quiet. Candy wondered if she’d been just a little too harsh on the girl – clearly, whichever kind of Nick Valentine this was, he was someone she cared a lot about. That wasn’t in her place to ruin. So, she extended her apology the only way she knew how – with a sigh and a wave of her hand. “Oh, okay, let’s have some hope for once. Those gangster types always like to keep their trophies as pets anyways. Maybe he’s worked something out.”
Ellie smiled; just a bit. “Yeah…maybe.”
“So,” Candy lit a cigarette, “Don’t suppose there’s a convenient file on Skinny’s location, by any chance?”
“Actually, there- wait.” Ellie’s expression went from hopeful to concerned to downright disbelieving, all in a record three seconds flat. “You’re not- you’re not considering going after him, are you?”
“No, I asked because I’m looking for vacation homes,” Candy blew a puff of smoke. “What do you think, doll?”
Under her breath, she heard Ellie mutter something, something like crazy and rude lady, but didn’t bother listening after that. The assistant was busy digging through the center desk before she yanked out a folder and all but launched it her way. Impressively, Candy caught it right between two fingers. Her eyes never left Ellie’s.
“Vault 114,” Ellie said, “That’s where most of their activity comes from, anyways.”
“Oh, I love the easy ones…” Candy muttered, thumbing through. “Tell you what, Miss Perkins. Let’s make a deal.” She looked up through the brim of her hat. “I bring your boss, and in return, you two take my case pro bono. How about it?”
“I…” poor thing seemed unsure. Ellie gulped. “It’s Nick’s decision, whatever we charge. You’ll have to discuss it with him.”
“Well, for your sake, hope he’s a good negotiator.” And if he’s anything like that Nick, Candy thought, He sure as hell will be.