Work Text:
Calabria Installment
1995 Calabria--- 15 years after Nicky's first death
"Joe and I are going to Calabria."
Andy had raised an eyebrow but knew that she wouldn't be talking her wayward little brother out of something he had his mind set to. She blamed it on the Italian in him.
They had just gotten back from Rwanda. The civil war may have ended but the genocidal killings followed close behind on a horrifically massive scale. Hundreds of thousands of innocent people were slaughtered in their villages and no other nation was coming to the aid of the Uganda people.
Nicky, Joe, Andy and Booker hadn't hesitated to dive in and help. They couldn't stop it from happening but they could help save as many innocent people as they could.
The genocides had lasted four long months. In that time, the four of them had gotten separated from each other. Nicky had been separated from the rest of the group early on, but the twelve weeks that Nicky had been separated from Joe had been more than nerve racking.
Without Joe there to curb his more homicidal urges, Nicky could feel himself very quickly slip- sliding back into Primo's mentality.
Nicky became absolutely ruthless; cutting down any militia he came across regardless of whether he actually saw them committing a crime or not. He found himself using his sword just as often as his rifle so he wouldn't draw attention with the loud gunshots.
He apparently became so effective in his personal mission to obliterate any and all milita that crossed his path that he became more legend than actual flesh and blood. He became a horror story shared amongst members of the invading militia. For the civilians living in terror in their small villages he was a tale of a savior riding to the rescue.
As he slaughted a path through the corrupt and dispicable members of the militia who had turned on the people they were supposed to protect, the moniker of The White Crusader followed behind him.
In the end, the rumors of a scary white man who carried a sword and wore a small gold cross around his neck were what helped Joe to track him through Rwanda. When Joe had finally found him, Nicky had been war torn and savage with his soft heart and sanity no where to be seen.
Together, the two of them found Andy by following the rumors of a white woman who wielded a labrys. They stumbled across Booker when the man was literally thrown out of a bar into a heap at their feet on the road. Booker was adament that he didn't want to talk about it and no matter how much needling they had done, he kept the story behind tight lips.
When the rumors of the four of them, separate and together, became so loud that they risked being caught, they slipped out of Rwanda and headed north toward Andy's safe house in Turkey.
The following months were spent lying low off grid; trying to recouperate from the PTSD, the sleepless nights, the memories of seeing the massacres and the endless murders and violence. They all drank heavily, hoping to escape the horrors that troubled them all night and day.
Booker was never sober, staying almost immobile with how sloshed he was. He died from alcohol poisoning several days in a row until Joe cut him off.
Andy was violently withdrawn, the only signs of her in the house were empty shot glasses left behind.
Joe alternated between depression and mother-henning the rest of them to an almost violent degree. He had taken Nicky's idea of killing them to sober them up enough to actually eat something once a day but otherwise stayed in his room.
Nicky slipped back onto the crutch of the cocaine he had practically grown up on. Benders that lasted for days until the high had him so messed up he couldn't stay upright.
They were all a complete mess for several months but slowly, with enough time, they were able to work themselves through it.
With time away from the wars and Joe being the steady if exhausted voice of reason and insisting that they talk through things like the actual adults they were, the four of them settled back into who they had been before the genocides. They were still edgy and tired and Nicky still carried around a bit more of Primo than Booker had admitted to being comfortable with...
Apparently a knife to the chest after startling Nicky awake by accident on more than one occasion was not a normal reaction even by Primo's standards. It was Joe who once again seemed to see the caged tiger pacing restlessly under Nicky's skin and offered a resolution.
"Why don't we go to Calabria?"
Nicky had looked up from the knife he was twirling around his fingers absent-mindedly. He ignored Booker's flinch when he abruptly stopped the movement and jerked his head to drill holes into Joe.
"Let's check in on things there... Maybe it will help your Primo side settle back under your skin, hayati."
Nicky's eyes had suddenly watered with the onset of emotion from Joe's words. Nicky loved this man so very much. Not only did Joe see him to his very soul, he accepted and loved every aspect of Nicky, dark Primo side included. Joe didn't want to see Primo gone, he just wanted to see Primo's on edge ruthless, protectiveness blend back in with Nicky's serene and kind heart.
The next day, the two of them were on their way.
Nicky couldn't say that he was home- sick for Calabria. The last fifteen years had taught him that "home" consisted of a ridiculously romantic artist, a scruffy Frenchman, and a cranky six thousand year old woman. But Nicky was looking forward to having a certain... conversation that he never got to finish.
When Leonardo had shot Primo in the stomach fifteen years ago, Nicky understood the line he had crossed by introducing the man's son to the bloodier aspects of what he and Leonardo did.
The kid had just turned eighteen, already six years older than Primo himself had been when his uncle had taught him what being at the head of a crime syndicate meant. The boy had expressed interest and Primo had known he was ready.
But fifteen years is alot of time to find the hindsight perspective of a situation. It was also a long time to not have any sort of closure... Nicky knew he couldn't have been the only one missing it. He and Leonardo had been friends there at the end and Nicky had cared for Francesco like a beloved nephew.
So, Nicky knew that for Leonardo, not only had he had time to regret shooting Primo but because he hadn't even had the chance to finish taking care of Primo's body ---Primo had revived and had climbed out of his own shallow grave and wasn't that a special kind of irony?--- Leonardo had to try to track down the imaginary person responsible for stealing Primo's body.
For all Nicky knew, Leonardo could have given up the search years ago, but he highly doubted it. The lack of closure would have driven Leonardo mad. The man would have never given up keeping his eyes and ears open for a lead even after fifteen years. But hopefully, Nicky could give them both the closure they needed.
By the time he and Joe got to Calabria, it was already past 1 a.m. in the morning. Joe made noise about waiting until the next day but Nicky shook his head at that; eyes staring intently out the windshield.
Booker had given Nicky Leonardo's current address and wished him luck with a 'Don't do anything stupid.' Andy had rolled her eyes and sent them each off with a hug and a 'Don't get dead.'
Leonardo had moved his family into a house bigger than his last run down shack. It was a four bedroom, two story manor type home set in the hills at the edge of the city sitting on a few acres. It overlooked the port that Leonardo had helped Primo first build and then later turn into one of the most lucrative shipping and exporting locations for drugs in all of Europe.
There were no lights illuminating neither the grounds nor the house; and no guards at the gate. Nicky shook his head in disappointment. Leonardo had learned nothing at all from Primo. He was still far too trusting.
Nicky parked the car around the side of the house and he and Joe slunk around the perimeter through the garden behind the house and up to the back door. Nicky was quick to pick the lock and let them both into the dark house. He took note of the silent alarm system and deliberately chose not to disengage it.
Good. He wouldn't have to go looking for Leonardo.
The backdoor opened into a mud room and that in turn opened into a large sprawling kitchen. An informal dining room was situated through a doorway to the left and the granite- topped bar along one wall looked to be well stocked.
When Nicky flicked on the lights, Joe just raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything.
"Take a seat, Joe. I'll pour us some drinks. I expect Leonardo will be joining us shortly."
Joe tilted his head, shrugged a shoulder and pulled out a chair facing the doorway into the kitchen; setting himself and not Nicky up to be the first person seen by anyone walking through the doorway. He sprawled out in the chair in his usual relaxed manner, his crooked grin on Nicky.
Nicky smirked a little to himself. Joe was having fun. This was new and interesting and not at all how they usually operated during a mission. He was probably very intrigued about getting a glimpse into who Nicky had been before they had met.
Nicky was deliberately loud with the cabinets and the clanking of the glasses against the granite bar top. They looked like they were made of crystal and probably deserved much better care but they did garner the right attention.
The loud clattering paid off when he heard first two pairs of footsteps on the stairs beyond the kitchen then the tell tale click of a safety being released on a handgun.
He didn't turn around from his position facing the bar with his back to the open doorway, but he saw, from the corner of his eye, Leonardo enter the dining room with a shot gun lifted high in a defensive flurry.
Francesco was right on his heels, sweeping the room with a handgun held out at shoulder height. Nicky was impressed and glad to see the young man protecting his father's back. Nicky didn't turn to greet them, just finished pouring the whiskey into the last of four glasses.
"We have company, il mi amour." Joe's voice held a lot of amusement in it.
"Who are you!?" Francesco demanded, his voice much deeper in his maturity than it had been at eighteen when Nicky had last seen him. Nicky turned around with a glass in each hand and a warm smile on his face.
"A toast! To your continued good health."
Leonardo paled two shades whiter; appearing as if he was looking at a ghost, which... Nicky supposed he was... in a sense.
Francesco lowered his gun, his face scrunching in disbelief, "Primo!?"
Nicky opened his arms, whiskey glasses still in his hands and tipped his head with a smirk on his face like 'Ta da!'
"Merda Santa." Holy shit. Leonardo lowered the shotgun, "It is you."
"Si." Nicky confirmed.
Leonardo stepped forward to set the shotgun on the far edge of the table and out of Joe's quick reach which Nicky noticed and approved of. He stepped up to Nicky, took the glasses and handed them off to Francesco who rushed to shove his hand gun into the waistband of his sleep pants.
Leonardo pulled Nicky to him into a fierce hug and Nicky clutched the man back just as hard.
"Sono veramente dispiaciuto ( I'm so so sorry)... I have regretted my actions from that night every single day for the last fifteen years."
Leonardo mumbled into the side of Nicky's neck, his voice thick with tears.
Nicky closed his eyes and just breathed in Leonardo's cologne for a several minutes. When he pulled back, he clasped his palms to either side of Leonardo's face.
"I have missed you, my friend." Nicky said in a rough whisper. Leonardo gave him a watery smile and Nicky patted his cheek none-too gently. "Come, let us toast."
Nicky turned away from Leonardo and grabbed the last two glasses on the bar. He handed one to Joe and together with his oldest friend and nephew, they toasted to the end of Nicky's past life as Primo.
"Salute."