Since returning from Texas, nothing was quite the same. Memories that Madeline had managed to keep suppressed for years had been faced and, in the end, it hardly made anything better. In fact, it was the opposite. She was grateful to Gavin for going with her but hearing about his potential new relationship had only made her feel more alone. She wanted nothing but happiness for Gavin, but she would be lying if she tried to say it didn’t upset her. She hadn’t been looking for a relationship with him, not really. But she thought she had found a free spirit, like her own. She had felt a connection to him, but it hadn’t really mattered.   

So, in typical Madeline fashion, she was being avoidant. She had returned to New York City as wild as ever. She was out every night, hitting every hot spot in the City. Clubs, bars, you name it. She drank, she snorted coke, she slept with more men then she could remember. She cared nothing at all for her personal safety and often ditched the bodyguards that followed her around, or just ordered them to leave her alone. They lingered of course, probably on orders from Jemaine, but she ignored them.

Her work started to suffer. Madeline hadn’t been down to the docks in weeks and she had no desire to go to Philly. She knew she needed to check on the shop but she didn't want to face reality, not yet. She showed up at headquarters usually hung over, sometimes still drunk. She snapped at people or just locked herself away in her office. Jemaine was amazingly patient but even he was starting to wonder just what was happening with his Consigliere.

If he had asked her, she wouldn’t have had an answer for him. She didn’t know what was happening in her life. Texas had reopened old wounds and Madeline didn’t have the skills to mend them. She felt like she was drowning, and she couldn’t find her way to the surface. She didn’t even know who she was. Was she Jenny, the poor southern girl who had married rich and killed her husband? Or Madeline, the New Yorker who had worked hard and risen the ranks of the crime family, now sitting as left hand to the Godfather Chairman? All the control she had once had in her life was gone and she was losing herself to the streets.

Tonight was no different. She’d gotten invited to a Broadway show by one of the actors, so she had dressed up and gone to watch it. Then, as usual, she went to the after party. The red dress she wore was as skimpy as it came and while there was no understating her beauty, the nights of no sleep and the copious amount of drugs and alcohol she had been consuming were taking a toll. She had dark circles under her eyes and she had lost weight, something her already thin frame really didn’t need.

The truth was that if something didn't change soon, Madeline's future was not looking very bright. 

The party had begun to wind down. The guests departed reluctantly, and Alexander was pleased about how successful the opening night had been. He was looking forward to a long-running production now that he had finally, finally made it as a legitimate theatre guy. He was about to head out himself and get little sleep he could before dawn broke when one of the waiters approached him. She pointed towards the bar where Madeline still sat toying her glass, lost in thought. 

He told the woman he would handle it and bid her farewell with a kiss on the cheek. She had invited him over previously and he had politely declined, not wanting to get involved in the workplace. But if she remained persistent, Alexander thought he might reconsider. Taking off his coat, he tossed onto a nearby chair and loosened his tie as he walked towards the bar. He rolled up his sleeves as he pondered what could possibly occupy the thoughts of the powerful that. It was a shame that he hadn't had too many opportunities to get to know Madeline better for she had intrigued him in the brief time they had spent together.

Alexander caressed the mahogany countertop as he slipped in behind the bar. He tossed a rag on his shoulder and pulled out a camel from his pack, before tucking it behind his ear. His mind flashed back to a memory from a lifetime ago, bartending on the other side of the country, singing for tips in the streets. The thought was humbling and yet strangely comforting to him. As he recalled the times he had helped people escape their tricky predicaments and emotional conundrums from behind a bar counter, he realized he might have to reprise his role for the woman in front of him.

Placing his arms on the wooden surface he teased "You look like shit." The remark though said in jest, which he hoped she was able to process even in her state, nevertheless carried a form of truth to it. This wasn't the woman he had met in Detroit or even the one he saw when he first arrived in the city. This was a stranger haunted by the demons of the past, hiding from the bleak possibilities of the future in the materialistic excess of the present. "I didn't realise my performance was bad enough to send you into a drunken stupor contemplating life and it's meaning while everybody else around you disappears." He joked, gesturing towards the empty hall behind them. 

Tossing his pack of cigarettes in front of her along with the lighter, he gazed into her troubled eyes desperately trying to pierce into her soul and remarked huskily  "So, you're gonna tell me what's got you down or do you need a drink first?"

The party was winding down and Madeline was still there. She’d lost track of her date, which was rather rare for him, but she didn’t mind so much. She didn’t really like him anyways. She was sitting at the bar, finishing off another drink, when Alex approached. She recognized him, of course, but was somewhat confused as to why he was behind the bar.

“I already have a drink.” She was stating the obvious, although her confusion with both where he was standing and why he was asking her a drink she already had was showing on her face and in the tone of her voice. She was clearly intoxicated, although not enough to be completely gone, she still had some of her wits about her.

She noticed the cigarette behind his ear, his rolled-up sleeves and the rag over his shoulder. She had to admit that he was cute - maybe she could salvage the night yet. A small voice in the back of her mind told her not to mix work and pleasure like this, but she silenced it rather quickly. With a sly smirk, she finished off the last of the liquid in the glass before sliding it towards him. “Whoops. Guess I need another one.”

She thought about his question, shrugging slightly and deciding to avoid it entirely. “You know, it’s not very nice to tell a lady she looks like shit. If I were less sober, I might have shot you over that comment.” Considering they first met in a gun store, it wasn't all that far-fetched a statement. 

He caught the glass with practised ease, stopping it from flying off the edge at full throttle to the abyss below. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he was trying to do the same with here. Catch her along her excess laden path before she spiralled down into a pit of despair. As he gazed into her eyes apparently indifferent and yet shielding a fierce turmoil within, he tried to figure out why he cared about the path she was heading on or by extension her as a person. The answer eluded him and he ducked down to search for the ingredients he had asked the barkeep to prepare for his personal use.

Kneeling down, he continued to rummage even as his voice echoed out "It's not very nice for a lady to be oblivious of her shitty appearance either." Standing up slowly, he smiled at her as he placed the stuff on the counter. Wiping off the glass with the rag on autopilot he tried to see just how far gone she was. If there was hope for a potential recovery, or if he was watching a woman so bereft of purpose that she had lost her will to live. Placing the clean glass on the counter, he added in the ice as he realized the answer was somewhere in between, muddled in a thousand shades of grey. 

"As for me getting shot,"  he paused to pour the mix into the glass, never taking his eyes off hers as he continued  "Night's still young. I doubt an industrious young woman like yourself would let a lack of sobriety get in the way of shooting someone if he pissed her off enough."

She, in all her twisted bliss, intrigued him for some inexplicable reason. He knew he wasn't going to fix her, but he couldn't just watch her beautifully damaged self, drift away into an early grave. He finished garnishing the drink before he said "I'd rather not die lying in a pool of your vomit. So before you pull out your pistol I want you to finish this off."

Placing the glass in front of her he pulled the camel tucked behind his ear. Alexander placed the cigarette delicately in his mouth and slowly lit it. He took a long drag and leaned sideways against the counter as the smoke came cascading out of his nose. Brushing his fingers through his hair he gave her a stern look that suggested he would tolerate no excuses and added "Lemon Iced Tea. Virgin. Helps clear the head and pump the filth outta your veins. Finish it all. Now!"

Madeline watched as Alex moved confidently behind the bar, placing a variety of ingredients on the counter. She couldn’t figure out what kind of drink he was making her but then again, her head was swimming with the alcohol she had already consumed that day. She frowned slightly at his comment about her shitty appearance. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in one of the bottles, she had to admit that he wasn’t wrong. Sunken eyes, dark circles…she did look like shit.

“I’m not oblivious to anything. Maybe I just don’t care.” Even as she said it, however, she was fidgeting with her hair and straightening out her dress. She wasn’t used to anything other than positive comments on her appearance so this was new for her.

She could feel his eyes on her as if trying to figure her out. His gaze never left hers and it made her slightly uncomfortable, like he was trying to stare into her soul. She chuckled over his comments, a wry smile on her face as she commented “Pretty girls do not throw up. Besides, a lack of sobriety may not stop me from shooting, but it does do a decent job of stopping me from hitting.” She emphasized that the last word as she took the glass he placed in front of her. She listened as he described it and when he said it was a virgin she couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t need to pump anything out. I put it in there for a reason.” Still, she leaned forward and took a sip of the drink – she was from the south and no true Southerner could turn down a glass of iced tea if it was good. And this was good, dammit. She was rather hoping it wouldn’t be, so she could insist he pour alcohol in it. “I much prefer a Long Island Iced Tea, to be honest.” And yet, she took another sip.

"Why are you still here anyways? Party seems to be over, the night is still young. Are you always the last to leave?" She wanted to keep the focus of the conversation off of herself. She didn't like being made aware of her less than elegant appearance. 

"I'm sure you don't, but I appreciate you humouring me anyway."  He replied as he noticed her continuing to sip the drink despite her objections. Tossing the rag aside, he placed his elbow on the wooden countertop and vaulted over it to her side. Sitting on the bar with his feet dangling off the edge, he looked to the ceiling and let loose the smoke held within.

Her question resonated in his brain and he wondered yet again, just why he was still around. She was no responsibility of his, her well being was not his concern. Wherever her path led her, he wouldn't be accompanying her along with it but still, he cared. Was it a misguided sense of unappreciated compassion, or was it a self-righteous desire to guide a lost soul. What authority did he with all his own faults and shortcomings have to guide someone? What did he know about her troubled past or her conflicted present? 

He turned to face her again and thought of leaving. Returning to his own life and abandoning her to her fate. His eyes glanced towards the exit momentarily and he pictured himself walking out. But then memories of his own life flashed through his brain. His struggles and turmoils that once threatened him with despair were assuaged by help from fellow strange creatures of the night. At the moment he had hated them, but in hindsight, he knew if it weren't for them he may not be where he was today. So perhaps that was what he was attempting to recreate with this strange woman. Or perhaps it was another lie he told himself like countless others. 

He sighed as he realized it was the most beautiful lie he could come up with and chose to embrace it. Flicking the ash from his cigarette to the floor below, he flipped it end to end before offering her a drag. "Hosts, usually are the last to leave a party ya know?" He smiled in a sombre manner before adding the lie "Besides, shitty though you may appear you smell like trouble and maybe ... I want in."

Madeline’s eyes went wide for a moment when he vaulted over the bar. She wasn’t quite sober enough to pick up on all the subtle body language signs – the glance at the door or the clear uncertainty in his own thinking. Instead, she was focused on quietly sipping the iced tea he’d given her, waiting for his eventual response.

She was at least sober enough to laugh at his last statement. She looked over at him, an amused twinkle in her eye. She turned her body towards him, crossing her legs and resting an arm on the bar. “If you wanted trouble, Mr. Knight, you wouldn’t have served me a virgin. Nor would you be calling my appearance shitty.”

Now it was her turn to study him. What did he really want to accomplish tonight? For the most part, when Madeline was approached by men at a bar it was because they wanted to sleep with her. But those men didn’t try to get her sober, they gave her more alcohol. And they complimented her. So basically, the opposite of everything Alex had done here tonight. That was not a man who wanted to get into trouble with Madeline, no, he was acting like someone who was actually concerned. But why would that be? She hardly knew the man and he hardly knew her.

“No,” She said, a soft smile on her lips. “You’re here because you are curious. Curious as to what happened to the beautiful Madeline to make her show up in public looking like this. Maybe you think you can fix me. You're too sweet to take advantage of the situation.”

Taking another sip of her tea, she couldn’t help but laugh. “The truth is, maybe I don’t want to be fixed.” Or maybe she didn’t find herself worth the trouble, to be honest.

She stood from the stool she had been sitting on, a bit unsteady on her feet. “I don’t need to drag anyone else down with me. But I do appreciate the drink.”

Alexander smiled again when she got defensive about his intentions. He couldn't blame her, inebriated as she was, he expected it to happen sooner.  "Curiosity, I've found, is a dangerous thing. Turns the smartest of men and women into idealistic fools. Maybe I just wanted a little foolishness in my ..blissful little life. So fret not, I'm not looking to fix you. I doubt I could fix anyone." He paused and a shadowy gloom passed over his face as his thoughts went back to everyone he had lost. His heart hardened and he regretted his attempt to get close to a stranger again. His thoughts were interrupted as she stood up unsteadily. Catching her arm reflexively, he stabilised her as he stood up himself. His fingers, caressing her soft skin, held onto her wrist firmly as they walked.

Looking straight ahead he finally let the lies cloaking him in self-righteousness slip away as he muttered the truth knowing full well she was too far gone to remember it "A part of me, the selfish core hidden behind empathetic gestures, just didn't want you overdosing or heck even causing a scene on my opening night in my theatre. " His voice had a chill accompanying it as they pushed past the door slowly "I've come too far for something like that to steal the spotlight and get in the way of my rise to fame."

They reached his Studebaker waiting by the curb and he opened the door before helping her in. She looked perplexed, perhaps because of her fading intoxication or because of his presence beside her. Turning to face her, he smiled reassuringly, a smile that never reached his eyes as he whispered "Metre's running lady, where do you want me to drop ya?"

Madeline was far more inebriated than she realized – she needed to lean on him to be able to walk out of the bar without falling. Still, she could understand his words, to a certain extent. She knew the draw of seeing the bad behaviors and thinking maybe, just maybe, it was worth getting drawn into. But she didn’t want to draw anyone in with her….even if he was good looking. She had been good about sticking with men that were outside her line of work or ones she would never see again. The last thing she needed was to mess with a wise guy from Brooklyn and end up getting herself into more serious trouble. 

His next comments threw her off a little, the chill in his voice giving her goosebumps. She ignored it, not sure she had the words to respond even if she had tried. She couldn't blame him; if the situation were reversed she'd be pissed to see someone in Madeline's shape show up. But Madeline was not nearly sober enough to realize what she could have done to him or his career - both on the stage and off. When he finally led her to a car and helped her in, she frowned. He asked her where she wanted to go and she had to think about that for a moment.

“Take me to the NYNZoT headquarters please.” Madeline didn’t let men into her home; it was her safe space. Well, she’d let one in but even that had been a very short visit. Maybe one day it would change but that certainly wouldn’t be tonight. Leaning her head against the seat, her eyes drifted closed, although she fought sleep because sleep brought dreams and they were never pleasant these days. 

"Working late are we?" He remarked when she told him the address, surprised for her condition suggested she hadn't worked in a while. Placing his elbow on the door he pressed on the gas. His hair whipped about in the wind as he weaved the roadster through the sparsely populated streets of late-night New York. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted her shut her eyes and sighed. He hoped she wouldn't pass out in his car, carrying an unconscious senior mobster into the city headquarters might prove too tough for him. Thankfully, he did not have to find out on that particular night. Her eyes flickered open momentarily, locking with his. She seemed unwilling to fall asleep but he doubted it was because she was enjoying his company. 

Headlights bathed his face in an unearthly glow and the sound of a blaring horn made him reluctantly tear his eyes away from hers and back to the road. Swerving out of the path of an oncoming truck, he smiled as the narrowly missed collision elicited a string of loud curses from the other driver. 

They finally rolled to a slow stop outside the building and he parked on the curb. Draping an arm over her seat he gazed back into her eyes wondering what lay ahead for them in the nights to come. She struggled with staying awake and looked at him drowsily and for the briefest of moments, he saw the innocent, lost girl behind the masquerade of the tough mobster who gave no shits. Brushing the back of his finger across her cheek he wondered if there was any way the girl would locate herself in the mindless maze. He wondered if he would feel differently about her if she did. Alexander remained uncertain, mostly because he was uncertain if the change would be better or worse. 

He hadn't quite grasped exactly how he felt about her and although he was tempted to escort her upstairs and see where things led, he declined, not wanting to be another forgotten regret.

Someone nearby recognized her and the silent spell he had found the two of them entrenched in diffused. He watched her step out gingerly and move towards the person. Tilting his head to offer a parting sombre smile, Alexander sped off into the shadowy embrace of the night.