Chapter Text
Manchester
(2 am)
Lightning flashes violently through the sky, illuminating heaps of trash that throw shadows against the grimy alleyway brick walls.People scramble to find shelter inside bars, restaurants, and homes to escape the downpour as Tommy steps out from between apartment buildings, eyes shifting to and fro as he trudges through the puddles along the sidewalk. His paranoia spirals higher with each step, too many ‘what ifs’ buzzing in his skull to give a rat’s arse if he's getting soaked to the bone, dodging people’s snarled words and glares when he clips them with his umbrella as he pushes past the crowds. Ignoring the cars blaring their horns as he runs across the street and down the quieter side of the city.
He scoffs, the city is never quiet. Sleep doesn't exist in Manchester, not when there are things to do, people to see. Crimes to commit.
Or, in his case, someone to get rid of.
The umbrella he grabbed on his way out the door might as well be as useful for drinks with how poorly it's working, the both of them drenched as each step results in cutting wind almost grabbing it out of his sweat and rain slicked grip.The writhing bundle in his arms continues to wail in frustration, drawing occasional looks from passerby’s each time he has to adjust his grip on the umbrella and the baby. Looking down at the bundle, he can’t help but bare his teeth in frustration.
“Yeah yeah, I fucking know. Almost there. Then we’re out of each other's hair. For good!” He harshly whispers towards the squirming babe, earning another squeal and flailing of arms and hands.
The baby's blonde hair, now darkened by the rain, is plastered on the infant's skull as he continues to squirm in the man's hold. The dark blue jumper and duck printed blanket are soaked through, chaffing the infant's neck and cheeks. The discomfort makes him squirm and screech even more as his cries bounce off the rain slicked walls. Tommy looks down at hazel eyes that match his own, sneering as the babe’s face scrunches up, lungs heaving as fat tears join the cold drops of rain pelting him in the face. Even with the large umbrella covering them both, they didn’t stand a chance at not getting drenched.
And he could have stopped, blended in more, made himself invisible like he usually does while out in this god forsaken city. But he can't this time- not with so much at stake for the future of his livelihood. The one he wants, not the one forced upon him. Not the life that he snarled and sneered at every chance he got.
Even if he is seen, what would they do anyways? They'll just see a distraught husband, a father, carrying a baby he can no longer support with the death of his wife. The shock of finding her body in their living room, bludgeoned to death while their wailing son laid in his crib can add to the sob story he knows will gain him sympathy.
Not far off from the truth either, as he does a quick glance at himself to make sure blood still isn't on his hands, hoping the quick wash he did with the hose out in the garden sufficed enough. His shirt is a total loss, splatters of blood and brain matter marring the white material, but zipping up his trench coat remedied that before he snatched the baby and ran before anyone could find him.
Just as the baby’s wailing begins to reach a decibel bordering on inhumane, Firehouse 141 appears, the station lit like a beacon in the night, a saving grace that is just another few feet from the corner of the street he’s turning on. He heaves a sigh of relief, the tension he was carrying with him the last two blocks sloughing off of him like the rain drops on his umbrella. He slows his pace, giving him more of an appearance of a heartbroken husband rather than a man wanting to get rid of an unwanted pest.
The firehouse has been a fixture of this neighborhood for decades, changing hands multiple times before finally landing with the current Fire Chief, a Brit who goes by Price. Of course, most people don't know who runs the firehouse, no reason to really learn unless their valuables are on fire. But in order for his plan to be executed without fail, he needed to know who he'll be leaving the tike with.
Inhaling deeply, he feels the burn of tears begin to pool at his lash line and the lump form at the back of his throat as his nose starts to clog up. Transforming the visage of himself further into a poor sod of a man who is lost, wounded and in need of a last resort.
Making his steps heavier, as if weighed down by devastation, he approaches the brightly lit courtyard of the firehouse - the bay doors are rolled up, showing the firefighters on duty chatting, laughing and attending to various chores of the night. Just as the man steps within a few feet of the entrance, a firefighter with a mohawk takes notice, shouting to the others ‘incoming’, before hopping down from the fire engine and jogging to where Tommy stops.
“Everything okay sir?” the tallest of the firefighters asks, who, he assumes, might be the Captain, judging by the unlit cigar in his front pocket and the mutton chops. He’s the first one to reach Tommy as he clears the bay door, quickly throwing his umbrella down as if he couldn't hold onto it any longer. With a vehement shake of his head, he lets out a sob as he tries to babble out his story, eyes downcast as tears and snot dribble down his face, adding to the cacophony of noises still coming from the red-faced baby in his arms.
“Please, I can’t. My wife- she,” he swallows hard, trying hard not to burst out laughing at the sorrow that crosses their faces at his performance. “She passed away and I can't take care of him. I am so ashamed but just-.” He breaks off with a sob, covering his face with his free hand, allowing both the rain water and fake tears to track down his face.
A heavy, warm hand pats his shoulder and slides to the middle of his back, soothing him, “Oi oi, none of that. That’s why we’re here. We’ll take the little one. No questions. I would rather you bring the young one here than anywhere else. Alright?”
Tommy nods, eyes still downcast, but can see from his peripheral the hand belongs to the Fire Chief. Got them, he thinks smugly, taking a moment to compose himself lest they see the growing smirk on his face. With a heavy sigh, followed by a few sniffles, he straightens to his full height and tugs on his clothes, wiping his face with his sleeve before pushing back the soaking curls away from his face. Looking around through watery eyes, he catalogs the men who are now cooing over the babe, gently wiping the rain from its little face as it continues to cry. One firefighter with umber skin and a blue baseball cap comes out from behind a firetruck, holding an emergency blanket and diaper and motions for the one with the mohawk to bring the little one over so they can get him in warmer clothes.
The firefighter holding the baby, a young man with sapphire blue eyes and mohawk, looks up at him, giving him a gentle smile, “and what might be this wee one's name? Just so we can get the paperwork started.” The baby lets out another loud wail, before settling down again as the man gently rocks back and forth, making shushing sounds with his mouth.
Tommy solemnly looks at each firefighter, before pasting on a sad smile, “Joseph,” he whispers.
House of Riley
(3 hours later)
Simon stares blankly at his sister-in-law and father, their bodies sprawled in the middle of the family room, skulls caved in. Pieces of bone and brain matter bulging from the wounds and splattered across the red paisley rug and red plush couch. With a weary sigh, he turns away from the scene, needing very little in terms of evidence to figure out what happened; not when both were clearly bludgeoned by the hammer laying between them. Tossed next to them without care, as if the deaths were nothing but a means to an end.
Simon snorts humorlessly- knowing how cruel his brother is, that's exactly what happened.
He understands why he killed their father- the piece of shit spent more time drinking and skimming off the top of ‘debts’ that were collected by the bookies rather than doing anything worthwhile for the Riley Empire. It was a wonder Simon’s own mother ran away with most of her beauty intact given the propensity for George Riley to use his fist, more than his words. It wasn't until Simon forced him to secede the throne to him, that his father was finally on a short leash. One that kept businesses from being usurped and money holed away like a rat.
But Beth? The sweetest woman with a backbone made of iron- the only one who was able to put Tommy in his place without so much as a glance. Even heavily pregnant, she still kept the youngest Riley in line.
"Guess it wasn't all entirely true", Simon quietly mumbles to himself, feeling the heavy ache of exhaustion settle in his bones as his thoughts veer towards his missing nephew. Eyes automatically glancing over to the yellow duck themed bassinet in the corner of the room- silent. Darkness shrouding it like the worst omen.
The empty bassinet emanated a sorrow that might bring Simon to his knees if he gets any closer, his heart already shredded into more than just pieces, but into puddles of blood and ichor that makes up the man who is deemed a devil. But no one other than the Riley Household knew that the Devil himself had a heart.
He loved his nephew. Practically raised him once he was brought screaming into this world, since Tommy found his "duty" to be fulfilled once the little heir was born. But Simon never thought of Joseph as a means to an end. He saw him more as a brilliant light to chase the shadows away- a necessity to the Riley Household’s future if they want to no longer be haunted by its past.
But it seems the past has reared its ugly head. Considering Tommy is back to how he was before Beth came into the picture.
As Simon continues to spiral further into the darkened corners of his mind, he barely hears the softened footsteps of Gary, his confidant, who upon hearing the news sent out every available soldier to search the city.
"Boss," Gary murmurs, head low in subtle deference to their status. While Gary doesn't usually show this type of behavior, even in front of the other lieutenants and soldiers, he must sense the hair trigger of Simon's emotions.
Simon grunts an acknowledgment, heart thundering heavily as he awaits the news that his mind is dredging up. Thoughts of his nephew's body thrown in a river, of being sold to another mob family, of-
"No sign of him, Sir. We've searched all the way to the docks in our territory, even enlisted the help of Los Vacqueros since they are currently in town for business. They haven't found much either, just rumored sightings of Tommy's possible whereabouts."
Simon's jaw tightens more minutely, teeth aching at the pressure. "Where?" He grunts out, slowly turning to face Gary, whose face is drawn tight with stress, eyes rimmed red with exhaustion and grief. His dirty blonde hair is in disarray from constantly running his hands through it as he made call after call, some Simon heard from his office as the man's usual calm demeanor was tested.
Gary lets out a slow, measured sigh, and that makes Simon's heart drop that much further into his stomach. "One of the Vaqueros runners said they saw a man of Tommy's description walking with a bundle that matches what Joseph was last wearing, and his blanket you had him wrapped in before bed. He was heading west, towards the downtown area that houses a few places that may look promising. Two of them being the Police Station and Firehouse 141. I wasn't sure if you wanted to contact Laswell yourself or wanted me to do it, but I wanted to get your take on this. I’m-"
Gary's breath hitches, pausing his next words. He tries to clear his throat but even that can't remove the chokehold his emotions have on him.
Simon has known Gary for years, they grew up together with Gary’s father being a Sergeant under his father’s rule. The both of them made a pact when they were younger- rise to the top and make the Riley name respectable once more. And they bloody well did. Whether it was through blood, sweat or tears. They made it. And as Simon's Confidant, he was everything to him. More of a brother than Tommy ever was, and treated Joseph like his own flesh and blood.
Joseph was under Gary's watch tonight, Beth needing a well-deserved night off after Tommy decided to stumble back into the house smelling like a whore house, sneering at her as she reamed him for stepping out when he was supposed to spend time with their son. The following slurred argument filled with threats was promptly halted as Gary and Simon stepped in; Simon placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder and moving him into the lounge, telling him off for his deliberate disrespect again, even if it fell on deaf ears.
All Tommy did was mockingly spit, "yes father" before stumbling to the kitchen. Leaving Beth standing there, bouncing baby Joseph as the little one cooed and babbled, making bubbles form on his lips in screechy delight. The following silence felt suffocating, any progress made thus far up until Joseph's birth was smothered by the cloying vapors of alcohol and cheap perfume.
Simon should have known that Tommy was going to do something. But, hindsight isn’t always 20/20, even if Simon tries. Not when he stands before the destruction by Tommy’s hand, wondering why he ever thought his brother wouldn’t stoop so low. Especially to a child that was only brought into this world on a deal that supposedly promised peace, and safer business practices that would take the Riley Clan out of the spotlight of the law.
Yet, here he stands with his best friend, his Confidante, watching the man blame himself for a mistake that was entirely on Simon. That he should have put a stop to as soon as his guts twisted in dread that night all those weeks ago.
Simon reaches out and places a hand on Gary's shoulder, feeling the tension in the muscle as he gently squeezes to get his attention. "Gary, I'm going to need you to listen to me very carefully, not as your boss, but as my best friend and brother. Please?'
Simon hears a small sniffle before Gary nods, reluctantly raising his head even as fresh tears streak down his face, his nose red from wiping it so many times on his sleeve. Simon can't help the pang that goes through his chest as he gently cups Gary's face with his free hand and draws the other man into his chest. Allowing him the privacy, the comfort, to fall apart. To allow grief to encompass the both of them, just for a little bit.
Once the quiet sobs die down, Simon gently squeezes him again before moving away enough for him to look into watery, red rimmed green eyes. "I know you won't believe me, I know I could even order you to take what I say and tattoo it into your head so it's all you think about until this mess is over. But Gary Sanderson, this isn't on you. It never was." Gary immediately frowns, lips forming a rebuke, but Simon raises his hand, halting whatever words were about to pass through his lips.
"Listen, Gary. What happened tonight was on me, just like anything else Tommy has done because he's been my responsibility since we were kids. You know this, you saw how cruel he was even when we were teens. Everything and anything that involved him was always a mess, a mess that I had to clean up. And I know it isn't fair to me! I know that's what is running through that fuckin’ head of yours, but this is why I wanted us to be in the position that we are - we can control what we can and figure out what to do with what we can't. But tonight? Tonight was on me." Simon walks away from Gary to pace, arms gesticulating wildly as he gets more and more worked up, chest heaving as his walls start to crumble with all the things he's been holding in.
He stops in his tracks as he thinks of what he could have done to stop this, that maybe if he couldn't have saved his piece of shit father, that he could have at least saved Beth, and Joseph wouldn't be out in gods knows where. Lost, alone.
But the more he thinks on it, the heavier dread weighs in his chest and stomach, because there really wasn't a way for him to stop this. Because knowing Tommy, the fucking shit had this planned out months in advance, possibly from the start of the deal made between the McIntosh and Rileys. Now, Simon has a dead sister-in-law, a dead father, a missing nephew and a potential war on his hands.
Simon's eyes drop down to the now covered bodies of Beth and his father, the light from the fireplace casting shadows that seem to waver and extend the longer he looks. But as he blinks, he realizes it's not the fire causing the shadows, it's the tears clinging to his lash line that are distorting his vision.
He grunts out an annoyed sound as he wipes his face, fresh tears following the ones he tries to wipe away. "Fuckin’ hell," he grinds out through clenched teeth as he covers his eyes with his palm, desperately willing his emotions to stop.
Both men are quiet for a time until Gary's phone chimes from within his pocket, usually a subtle sound, but with how emotionally charged the room is, it makes both men jump. Wetly chuckling, Simon walks over to the bar in the corner of the room and grabs for the Kentucky he always has stashed for particularly rough nights that a decent cuppa can't even fix. Gary slowly follows after him, wiping at his face to pull himself back together while Simon takes another tumbler from under the bar top, pouring at least three fingers worth of liquor in each glass.
Setting the bottle down with a hard clack, they wordlessly grab their glasses and toast to each other before downing the amber liquid in one gulp. Simon sighs heavily in relief as the liquid bleeds warmth through his chest and through the rest of his limbs, allowing him a few seconds of reprieve from the hellish nightmare of a goddamn evening.
Gary blows out a hard breath as he sets his drink down, eyes closed to collect himself, before he finally pulls out his phone to answer whoever texted him. As Simon swipes their glasses from the counter and begins cleaning up, Gary swears loud enough to make him drop the glasses, shattering the both of them on the wooden floor.
Simon looks over at his friend in concern, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at the other man, "what happened Sanderson?" Simon barks at him, 'Boss' mode enveloping him like a second skin as he moves towards his Confidante who is shaking violently, his phone falling from his hand as Simon comes up next to him.
"Gary," Simon hisses, "what the fuck is happening?" Gary jumps at how close Simon suddenly is, wild eyes darting from the phone and back to Simon. His mouth moves but nothing comes out. Just as Simon's patience reaches its limit, Gary turns to Simon and finally blurts out "Joseph,” hissing it out like it pains him to do so. But with the name falling from his lips, he can't get himself to stop as he reaches for the lapel of Simon's suit and twists it in his fist, shaking Simon as he exclaims, "Gaz has Joseph!"
He lets go of Simon and stoops down to grab his phone, sweaty hands trembling as he brings the texts between him and Gaz back up and waves it in Simon's face.
"Tommy must have taken him to Firehouse 141 since they participate in the Angel Box Initiative, where people who can't take care of their babies can place them in the box on the side of the firehouse or walk up to anyone working there and hand them a child- no questions asked! Tommy must have scouted it before Joseph was born. But why would no one notice him?! The Riley clan is infamous in this town!"
Gary turns to pace, hands fisting in his hair as Simon now holds the phone, vision narrowing in on the image on the screen. One of the firefighters, an FNG if he had to guess, with an abysmal haircut but startling blue eyes and a bright smile looks at the camera as he holds up a freshly changed Joseph. The 6-month old's hair mussed as if a towel was gently rubbed along his head, his blonde hair a small tuft as he gave a gummy grin to the camera. Wrapped tightly around the baby is what looks to be a sweatshirt with the name 'MacTavish', who he only could assume is the man holding his nephew.
Something stirs in his chest as he looks at the two of them, something like longing, yearning for the domesticity of a life he didn't think he would have after taking over the role of Boss. He only ever allowed himself quick hook-ups, just to quell the beast within him to stay focused and let off a bit of steam as Gary so eloquently told him. But a relationship? That was never in the cards for him, not when he had a father and brother to keep from sticking their blight-riddled fingers into everything he meticulously constructed from the ground up. Ridding of any, and almost all fuck ups.
But looking at this man with his nephew, the most important light of his life, something awakens. A hunger that wants to take and hoard this man away, to keep him away from prying eyes, so that only Joseph and Simon can have that sapphire gaze upon them at every waking hour. To only have that smile aim towards them.
"Gary", Simon snarls, effectively stopping the other man in his pacing.
"Sir?" Gary blurts out automatically as he stops and stands at parade rest, body responding to the tone Simon uses before even realizing it.
Simon takes one more look at the phone before holding it up, brown eyes boring into green. "We have work to do. Clean yourself up and get the boys on finding out more on Firehouse 141 and who MacTavish is. Get them to secure the area so that no one else comes in and tries to take Joseph. Gods only knows what else Tommy has done to safeguard his supposed success," he spits, his face contorting into disgust as he passes him, the phone making a soft thud as he sets it in the middle of Gary's chest.
Simon continues to walk from the living area down towards his office, face illuminated by the low lamps lining the walls and the bluescreen of his phone, steps lighter and more sure than they had been hours before. With the discovery of his nephew, he feels a tentative hope bubble in his chest, that maybe things will be alright. As he dials a familiar number, his mind goes back to the man in the photo with Joseph. The visceral want hollowing his chest out as he mentally runs over the man's features again, and again. Even as the husky, female voice answers on the second ring, it doesn't break the roving in his mind's eye as he gives the women a simple greeting, "we need to meet."