Work Text:
5, 6 years ago
They were swaying together in the darkness of the late evening in Bogotá, the dancefloor only illuminated by the fairy lights hanging from the trees.
The adrenaline from the earlier kill was still pumping through her veins, or maybe it was the company she was in that reignites the fire in her body. She barely cares to remember the gay laws of this country - if anyone dares move against them, she knows how to protect her companion, won't let anything happen to her.
Turning in the other woman's arms - Madeleine, her name was Madeleine, and she was beautiful and dancing only with Florence - and before Florence could think of anything to do or say, Madeleine leaned in and pressed their lips together in a perfect first kiss.
It was going to be the first of many.
present time
Madeleine is carefully watching Florence when she comes to join her for dinner this evening.
Does she know what Madeleine is? Madeleine has figured out Florence's deception – but is Florence also aware that Madeleine did the same? And if so, does she know that Madeleine knows?
A part of her is still hoping that it isn't the case – that she hasn't been found out, that they can stay married and happy in their bubble of lies, that she won't have to take out Florence to keep her secrets – but she knows that it is unlikely. Florence's earlier phone call, asking when to meet for dinner when they always eat at seven, shows that she knows that something is off.
And even if not... could she really keep going like this, pretending everything is fine, pretending she isn’t worried that Florence might have never really loved her?
Trying to distract herself, Madeleine brings in their meal, and Florence quickly takes the knife away from her - disarms her, or rather tries to. Of course, Madeleine has another one for the bread. She thinks she doesn't imagine the way Florence twitches when she cuts it.
Yes, their pretence has grown rather thin at this point.
"How was work?"
‘Small-talk, really?’
"To be quite honest, we ran into a spot of trouble with another customer - double booked with another firm." Madeleine carefully watches Florence's reaction as she says this. She is being honest - just as honest as she always has been in this relationship.
"I'm sure you fixed it, though?" Florence raises an elegant eyebrow.
"Well... Not yet." Madeleine shakes her head, fighting a light blush, decides to change the topic just slightly. "How was Atlanta?"
"We did have a few problems ourselves – some figures didn't add up." –
"Oh! was it a big deal?"
"Life or death."
Oh, in retrospect Florence had never been especially subtle, but of course back then Madeleine had still thought that she was talking in metaphors.
Madeleine knows they are dancing around the issue, they both know what's going on, it's just a matter of time now until one of them speaks up – or doesn't speak anymore at all.
Then, Florence leans over and the bottle of wine she had been holding slides out of her hands, falling towards the floor.
Not quite by accident, Madeleine later thinks, but in the moment, she reacts on instinct, catching the bottle in mid-air.
Much faster than should have been humanly possible.
Their eyes lock.
She lets go, knowing full well that Florence has already seen, that there's no more need for the pretence.
"I've got it, just –"
"I'll get a cloth to mop this up, honey –"
They both run off in opposite directions.
Madeleine's jaw clenches as she makes for her weapons, knowing Florence will be doing the same. Where did she manage to hide them so Madeleine never noticed?
"Darling?" she hears Florence call from upstairs, and Madeleine's eyes water when she hears the so familiar team of endearment, that used to fill her with so much comfort and love, feelings she still isn't quite able to shake.
"How could I have been so stupid?" she quietly berates herself. Feels tears threatening to fall as she still feels so much impossible affection for Florence. "You can't love her anymore."
"What is it, darling?" She then calls out loud. "And are you sure you still want to call me that?"
"Well, I am your wife – aren't I?" The voice is still muffled, but closer; Madeleine thinks Florence must be somewhere in the hall now.
"Until today I thought you were." Madeleine replies, just loud enough to be heard.
“If that’s so, maybe we should file for a divorce.”
Madeleine shudders. "Why did we fail? Because we were living separate lives, or because of the lies?"
"I've got a theory. You looked at marriage like one of your jobs – research, theory, practice. I bet you even made a spreadsheet."
Madeleine clenches her jaw. Aims her weapon at the wall where she last heard Florence. "And you avoided it."
"Why do you mind, if it was just a disguise?" Florence's voice is softer now, and Madeleine still can't bring herself to pull the trigger.
"Who says that it was just a disguise?" She knows she shouldn't have said that, shouldn't reveal that much, but she can't help it – it's the truth.
"Wasn't it?"
“Wasn't it?” Madeleine echoes back.
Florence doesn’t quite answer the question either. “The first time we met - what was your first thought?”
“Why don’t you tell me yours first?”
“I thought you looked like Christmas morning. I don't know how else to say it.” Florence’s voice sounds pressed.
“And why are you telling me this now?”
“I guess in the end, I'm thinking about the beginning. And I just thought you should know.” Madeleine imagines Florence aiming a gun at her now, distracting her with this talk. She quickly moves a bit to the side, almost doesn’t hear Florence quietly speak up again. “...So how about it, Madeleine, hm?”
“I thought –” Madeleine’s breath hitches. She can’t tell Florence the truth, not when Florence might still be lying to her, trying to catch her off guard. “I thought that you were the most beautiful mark I'd ever seen.”
“So – all business.”
“All business.”
“Yeah.”
Florence sounds so defeated, Madeleine almost wants to apologize, to take it all back, to tell her how her first night with Florence was better than any relationship she had had in the past, how her feelings had only grown since then –
“Thank you, that's what I needed to know.”
It sounds like Florence is almost by the doorway of the dining room. Madeleine takes a deep breath, forces herself to focus, for her survival instincts to kick in, and aims for the door where Florence will soon come in…
Except Florence never comes.
Well, Madeleine supposes her wife can’t be entirely naïve if she survived in this business for so long.
She slowly inches forward to open the kitchen door herself. The only thing that greets her is silence.
'She'll have gone to arm herself properly, or she's going around the house to ambush me... I need to find a better vantage point.' With that thought, Madeleine carefully sneaks into the hallway, then backwards up the stairs, listening and watching closely for any sign of her elusive wife.
Once upstairs, Madeleine makes a quick detour into the bedroom. While most of her guns are downstairs, she has a few hidden stashes of weaponry everywhere throughout the house, and she wants to go and collect her favourite of them all: her tomahawk, a blade both majestic in looks and very effective in close range combat.
Tucking it into a holster and clipping that to her belt, Madeleine then quietly hushes back out into the hallway.
Just when she is ducking down behind the banister by the stairwell, machine gun at the ready, she notices a movement downstairs.
Florence is holding out a mirror – no, a picture frame with a shiny glass covering – to look around the corner. Madeleine's breath catches when she recognizes the frame – she chose it specially for this photograph, the first one she had printed of the two of them, and it had gotten a place of honour in the hallway where they both walked past it several times every day.
Now it is nothing but a painful reminder of better times, of all the things she will never have again.
To push back her pesky and undeserved sentimental feelings for Florence, Madeleine aims at the frame, and then for where she must be hiding behind the wall.
She carefully doesn't question why, if she wants Florence dead, she hadn't just shot at the wall in the first place, why she had given her a warning shot.
"Did you survive that, sweetheart?"
Doesn't question why when instead or a reply, her only answer is a pained grunt and the sound of a gun dropping to the floor, her heart seems to stutter for a moment before it resumes beating, either.
Then Florence, obviously very alive, is shooting at her, and all thoughts of regret are forgotten.
They make their way through the house, Madeleine holding a gun in each hand now for better cover, shooting through walls and the paintings hanging on them as they run along opposite hallways.
Despite the action, a small part of Madeleine is still desolate about the fact that their marriage of almost six years should end in shambles like this, in blood, death and betrayal.
In a moment of silence, when Madeleine can't tell where Florence is hiding, as she tries to listen for clues, Madeleine really takes in the destruction around her, quietly despairing about the fact that they are destroying this house – that a bullet shatters the mirror in the bathroom where just yesterday, they had brushed their teeth side by side in domestic bliss, and that there are now holes in the new curtains she had hand-picked (and had a fistfight over) in the store last week.
They aren't just shooting up some random house, they are destroying their home.
But had it ever really been theirs? This is Mrs. and Mrs. Smith's house, not Madeleine and Florence's, not really, not while they both had been playing a part.
Smith, a last name that is neither of their birth names.
Everybody has secrets, yes.
But not like this.
Especially not from a spouse.
Florence lied to her.
Well, evaded the truth the same way Madeleine had, and she knows she is being a hypocrite, but -
But it stings.
'After today, there will be no more lies,' Madeleine tries to pep-talk herself. It’s nothing but the truth, really – no matter what happens, if one of them survives, the other will no longer be there to tell lies to.
Something falls to the ground behind the wall to her left then, and Madeleine pushes all maudlin thoughts away as she aims her weapon to where she thinks Florence's head might be.
From the retreating steps, she knows that she has been too slow.
There's no time to wonder whether she is disappointed or relieved about this when she takes up chase, following Florence into the kitchen.
Florence seems to have run out of ammunition as instead of shooting back at her, a butcher's hatchet embeds in the doorway next to Madeleine's head.
Madeleine keeps shooting, but Florence manages to open the fridge and hides behind the door.
"Your aim is as bad as your cooking, darling." she hears her gasp, clearly out of breath.
Madeleine hisses in anger. While alright, cooking had never been her expertise – her aim shouldn't be insulted thus. Plus, Florence has no idea that she's a bad cook, Madeleine hasn't cooked anything herself in years.
She reloads her gun, intent on showing Florence just how good her aim is – only to fly backwards out of the kitchen doorway when something explodes in a ball of flame, her guns falling from her grasp.
Madeleine has barely regained her bearings when Florence is there, still unarmed but swinging her fists at Madeleine's face, and Madeleine barely manages to evade her blows, jump to her feet and get far enough away to unclasp her tomahawk from her belt.
This is why she prefers close combat – in her opinion, the weapons useful for this kind of fight are a big improvement than those constant firearms.
Florence ducks away from the blade Madeleine is swinging. When she has to back away towards the window, she nearly stumbles over the fallen-down curtain, and Madeleine almost thinks she had her – then, Florence picks up the thick curtain, forming a loop with the fabric, and makes to disarm Madeleine with is.
Baring her teeth, Madeleine tries her best to take her down, but damn Florence is good at this – and, well, while Madeleine usually does prefer close combat, somehow looking directly at Florence while she is fighting her instead of shooting at her from a distance is a lot more hurtful than it should be, what with Florence being a lying liar who lies.
No matter how hard Madeleine struggles, Florence still manages to disarm her, and Madeleine tries not to worry about where her tomahawk ends up, somewhere in the chaos on the floor.
Once again on equal ground, armed with nothing but their own physical strength and cunning, Florence aims at Madeleine's head and abdomen, and Madeleine only manages to block the blows by going into a defensive stance.
It doesn't take her long to figure out Florence's fighting style, however – she's seen worse fighters, there's some finesse to it that Madeleine can actually appreciate, but still – she's no Madeleine.
Once she can anticipate Florence's next move, Madeleine more easily dodges her, then gets past Florence's defence, pushes her into the fireplace and whacks her over the head with the nearest item she can grasp from the mantle.
Florence stands up and catches Madeleine by her dress, shoving her into the wall, then to the ground.
Madeleine feels her face sting, a split lip and an injury over her eyebrow, but she ignores the pain and jumps back to her feet, wracking Florence over the head with an iron pan with a satisfying sound.
She snatches up the curtain Florence had dropped earlier and wraps it around her neck, headbutting her and making her fall. Madeleine had hoped to incapacitate Florence enough to have a moment to get to her weapons, but the other is getting back up too quickly, throwing herself onto her, making them both crash to the ground.
They wrestle, snarling and grunting and neither afraid to play dirty and pull on the other's hair, until they are in a mutual headlock and crash against a table, the impact enough to startle them away from each other.
For a moment, they stare at each other, frozen as they take in the other's ruffled appearance.
Then they seem to have the same thought in the exact same instant, diving across the room for their guns, Madeleine snatching up Florence's glock while Florence takes up Madeleine's larger automatic weapon.
They are still moving simultaneously, and both guns are aimed at each other's forehead within a moment.
Blood is running down Florence's face from a cut high on her cheek, Madeleine must have come close to taking out her eye.
Madeleine feels her own injuries all too clearly, but the pain of having Florence aiming a weapon at her with the intent to kill – of aiming a weapon at Florence, intent to do the same if given the opportunity – is much greater than any physical pain.
Then Florence looks down. Lowers her weapon a fraction.
Madeleine almost flinches, shaken to the core almost worst than when she had first found out that Florence is the assassin that had disturbed her latest mission.
What is she doing? She can't just be giving up! That's not how – well, there are no rules to this, but if there were any, then this would definitely not be how this is supposed to go!
"I can't do it." Florence lowers her weapon fully, looks up at Madeleine with a sadness in her eyes that shakes Madeleine even more. "Can you?"
"Not like this! Come on!" Madeleine snarls, feels her lip split further as her face is distorted in a pained grimace.
"If you want to end it... Just do it."
Florence looks so defeated.
Madeleine's lip wobbles.
She feels tears in her eyes.
This is the perfect opportunity – to end it, once and for all, to walk away the winner of this fucked-up affair, leaving her fake marriage and fake life behind with Florence dead like any other mark, any other job –
But that had been under the assumption that Madeleine had been nothing but a job to Florence, that Florence lied to her, that Florence feels nothing for her.
And someone who feels nothing for her wouldn't have lowered her weapon, now would she?
Tears are running over Madeleine's face, distorting her vision.
That can't happen to someone in her line of work.
But then – this isn't a job, now is it? Not really.
Does it really have to end this way?
They are both killers.
But now they know the truth about each other.
Each knowing the other better than perhaps anyone else in the entire world.
Madeleine's eyes find Florence's in a silent plea, and a moment later, just a heartbeat really, Florence is pulling her gun out of her hands without any fear in her eyes, and then her lips are on Madeleine's, and she barely hears the weapon drop to the ground.
She has never kissed Florence like this, has never been kissed by Florence like this, it has never before been as carefree, as uninhibited.
For the first time since they have known each other, there is no more deception between them.
And no more weapons, either.
Madeleine's knees are weak both from the adrenaline slowly leaving her body and from the way Florence is kissing her, and they stumble against a wall, knocking over a vase that had somehow survived their earlier fighting.
Madeleine doesn't care.
They'll have to renovate the house anyway, after all the shooting.
She smiles into the kiss when she realizes they'll really build it together this time. No more secret storage units, well, at least not secret from each other.
Then it really will be their home, not just a cover in this suburban utopia.
It will be real. Their life, their marriage.
Real.
No more lies.