Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

[SquigglyWiggly]

The hitman brushes Cade's scalp with the same hand he used to sew him together.
The sound of his laugh rumbles against Cade's chest.

Maybe he flinches the same way this beast had before, maybe the brushing was distraction or maybe Cade was just catching his breath.

Either way it bites him in the ass.

He's said this before and he stands by it; the nose is the testicles of the face. No one wants to do anything after being slammed there.
The rat keeps going, focusing on Cade's old wound.
It's healed, for the most part, but that doesn't mean it's not still sensitive and each hammer pushes him off little by little until he can't grip the slimy bastard anymore.

Before he knows what to do with himself, he's pinned with a horrible tension running through his shoulder. The kind where your lizard brain begs you to go bone still.

Cade still has one arm free, but damn if it doesn't do shit. The guy just puts more pressure on his shoulder until Cade grips the body resting over him, but he doesn't relax and he doesn't tap out.
The hold puts them close, close enough Cade can vaguely smell the cheap hotel soap this guy must have used.
He wants to be mean, he wants to tear into this guy. Despite the throbbing pain in his face and his sore abdomen, he wants this man. It makes his stomach burn.

Searching for escape, Cade finds a dark lump sitting under the bed and half smiles to himself.
"Nothing that would kill you. Or leave any permanent marks, just enough to get you tell me your actual name and know you're telling the truth," Cade grunts, and the rage of being pinned to a stinking hotel floor like this makes the words a bit difficult to decipher.

Kaden put him in a stress position too, and it made him melt.
Something about hypertension holds make his brain hiccup. There's not much you can do without hurting yourself while your opponent just gets to watch you suffer and struggle.
If NV was Cade's boss, he'd be a man worth following.

But Cade knows if he doesn't do shit, he'll hate himself for it afterwards because this guy's not his boss. He's a punk he met in an alleyway.
He's not ready to fucking give in to this guy.

In one fluid move he rolls into NV and grabs at his own locked fist.
Something in his shoulder pinches, and it feels like being on the wrong side of a morning stretch.
Cade pushes his arm up, forcing NV's up as well.
Down on the floor, it's a perfect hold. Forced up though, his wrist is extended back to keep hold of Cade's.
It's another uncomfortable position, another point of stress.

The Dog thrusts into the body above him, and the hotel room tilts when they roll.
When it stops Cade's ontop again, straddling the guy underneath him and holding his wrist back.

"You Americanta, you fucking bitch."

Cade savours the moment before he releases the pressure. He's just as locked up as NV if he doesn't, even if the other guy's in more pain.

And he means to follow through way a haymaker.
His plan is to take him apart, not the way he'd take apart a Nakurra, but put him out enough Cade could tie him down.

NV's shirt is pulled up, enough to show a patch of skin and the dip of a bellybutton.
It shouldn't throw him for as big of a loop as it always does to remember that this guy is human and vulnerable.
He's a twisted evil little shit, but if Cade grabs his mouth and pinches his nose shut he'll suffocate just like anyone else.

Maybe that's what Cade means to do.
Maybe he means to steal his air and make him fight for it, like an animal.

Cade feels like an animal. A wolf. He's hungry.

It happens all at once, another lunge, another attack, but with the wrong body part.
The really, really wrong one.
Suddenly and inexplicably, his mouth is on this fucker's mouth.

It's not a kiss.

Or at least not like one Cade's ever had. It's with teeth. They clack together, more than lips meet.
It's not a kiss.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Wolf doesn't let up, no matter the progressive pressure Neil is applying to his arm bit by bit, waiting to see the moment his opponent gives in completely. That, or the moment his shoulder joint gives in and dislocates with a satisfying pop.

Neither of those things happens. The Black Dog remains steady, firm, and in a moment that makes MacDarragh grin, the fucker somehow finds a way to reverse the hold. Impressive, to put himself through pain to get on top, placing the heat back on the hitman. Which he successfully does. In one quick move, Neil is once more held down on the floor under the gangster's weight - in this moment, it's as exasperating to be overpowered as it is elating. The two are like kids play-fighting, rolling on a dubiously clean hotel carpet that must have seen some shit over the years. The fun of it all does wonders for MacDarragh's mood.

His wrist aches. He'll be back on top soon enough, putting this guy in his place.

Wolf releases the grip on Neil's arm and it looks like he's winding up for his next move, another attack, just as the hitman is doing the same. He can barely wait, to see what the Black Dog does as well as to answer it in kind.

Whatever MacDarragh was planning evaporates when a mouth collides with his own.

The hitman's eyes widen, anticipating another bite, an unwelcome one this time. A mark on his hand he can accept, even cherish, but his face is another matter entirely.

Yet, this... isn't a bite.

Sure, there are teeth, but they're not tearing into him, reaping at flesh. No. Wolf is kissing him. It's maybe a bit overeager and aggressive, even sloppy, but it's an honest-to-god kiss.

So this is what this is? MacDarragh had been joking when he'd called this meeting a date... Mostly joking... Half-joking. Is this that big of a surprise? No, not really. He probably wanted the guy the moment he got curious about him at the bar and decided to buy him a drink. What's surprising is that Wolf initiates this. The hitman was expecting to have to work on him a little while longer, yet this development is far from disappointing. Quite the opposite.

Neil smiles into the kiss and returns it with equal fervor. One hand shoots up to the back of Wolf's head while the other one finds the man's thigh, gripping it. Suppose this is a type of hold - not a headlock or an Americana, but still. The heat in MacDarragh's stomach from the fight doesn't disperse, it merely redirects itself. He drinks in the contact, tries to put the kiss under some semblance of control, but as always the best thing the gangster does is bite, so MacDarragh decides to follow his example.

His fingers travel slightly up Wolf's leg as he holds his bottom lip between his teeth. Not harsh enough to hurt the tender flesh. Just enough to be felt as he tugs at it. Neil pulls away for a second, nearly breathless, to look into the blue eyes above him.

"Give me yours and I'll give you mine," his voice sounds deeper, hips rolling up. Somewhere during all that, MacDarragh's hand left Wolf's thigh - now it sits between the two men, right under the gangster's chin, pen gripped tightly in it. The object's point makes its presence known by lightly touching the soft underside of Wolf's chin. The hitman's other palm remains on the back of the guy's head, "Name, that is."

MacDarragh raises his head slightly to dip back in, but not for the lips. Instead, he plants several slow kisses on the side of Wolf's jaw - it feels smooth and smells of aftershave.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Cade can never decide if he likes this guy or hates him with a passion.
The pen he'd tried to take two weeks ago is now pressed to the underside of his chin.
It's the traditional, hoity toity kind of pen that has an unnecessary sharp and long metal point. Of course this guy has it, of course he uses it now.
He exhales hard, angry or... Or-
It takes all he has not to slam the man around, hurt him. That's all Cade understands, and it's precious little for this situation.
He wets his lips with a tongue, feeling more than tasting the echo of teeth there.

He doesn't want him to know him as Cade, and definitely not Cadence. Wolf is so much better. It's a little dramatic, but it feels right, mysterious with the proper edge of dangerous to it.
On the other hand Cade can't keep thinking of this menace as Not-Vince.

He leaves flower soft kisses over his skin that burn and the Dog has to know his name.

"Cade," he murmurs faintly. He reaches for the guy's hand, only to stop midway.
The hitman can't stand being bullied into place, just like Cade. The gangster can shove the pen away, and the little fuck will stab him with a bobby pin next.

Swallowing around the sharp point, Cade roves a hand up the firm muscle of the cop's front instead. He has to move, he has to feel.
He's not big like Cade is, but he's not soft either. It's a practical build, one built on the street rather than in a gym.

In one firm jerk, Cade rips the front of the shirt open so he can get a better look. Because he's an asshole he finds the spot he kicked and presses into it.
The guy's whole body runs hot, but it's particularly hot right here where it hurts.

"Now yours."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Cade," Neil says the name back slowly, eyes half-lidded as he tastes its sounds. The way it'd been murmured into existence doesn't feel fake like the last moniker the gangster had presented him with. The man is still Wolf, of course, but now he's also Cade. Good name. It's something else to call him by, something to hold onto.

Even with a sharp point almost digging into his flesh, Cade finds the audacity to let his hands shamelessly wander over Neil's torso and the hitman appreciates the attention. Doubly so after the gangster rips his shirt open. Very animalistic. MacDarragh preens underneath the blue eyes zeroing in on bare skin.

The smirk on his face is impossibly smug, "Like what you see, Cade?"

The fingers digging at the ribs Wolf kicked earlier is less appreciated. Neil's smile twitches for a moment as he winces slightly, holding the gangster's gaze with his own. The pen retreats from Cade's throat and with both hands free MacDarragh freely feels beneath his shirt. He knows what's there, he got a good look last time. Nevertheless, he takes his time tracing the man's musculature, hitching up his clothes along the way to pull them off over his head in a much more civilized manner of undressing someone.

The instant that's done, his palms find the sides of the Black Dog's abdomen, kneading them. On the right, his thumb brushes the cicatrix of the stab wound, and Neil presses on his own healed-over handiwork.

"Call me by your name," the hitman chuckles, for a second thinking of leaving things at that. It's enough of a hint and much more than he'd usually reveal... But he wants to give the Black Dog something to call him back by. With an exhale, he relents, "It's Neil."

He pulls Cade back down, brushing chest to chest with him to recapture his mouth in a harsh kiss, all the while his fingers linger on the wound. Neil is well-aware the bed is right next to them, literally inches away. He doesn't make a move to get the two off the floor.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Cade ignores the teasing. He can only handle so much and his shit eating grin isn't part of it.
The guy isn't even doing anything and he's managed to unravel Cade again.

If a shiver goes down his back at this man saying his name, it's because it's cold.
But if it is cold Cade still lets him take his top off and he's one less layer of self respect and one step closer to making a mistake.
With the pen gone, the pretense he was hiding behind turns that much weaker, that much more a lie.

Why can't they go back to hitting one another?

Cade can do that. He lives that.

"Neil," he says, and then snorts. That's funny.
And a little freaky. The same freaky that brought Neil to the Nakurra's car in a city of thousands.

His name is Neil.

This one time, Cade lets Neil bring him in for another kiss. It's softer than the first one, but not by much.
The touch along his side is a constant reminder of what he's doing and who he's doing it with.

The fight is far from over. In a way it's only just starting, but it's one Cade's never fought in.

He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing, but here he is doing it.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

---
Cade wakes up in a pile of downy soft blankets.
He is ready and willing to chock up the night before as a weird ass wet dream that he can rub out in the shower.

A soft exhale tickles the skin behind his ear, rhythmic and warm. On automatic, his brain supplies the alluring imagery of a cute girl.
Almost immediately, that assumption is shattered by the obviously male hand draped over Cade's stomach. They're pretty hands, but they're not that pretty.

The hazy comfort of sleep buzzing through Cade's body turns into pinpricks of panic.

Fucking hell- they're still on the floor.
He's in his thirties and they slept on the floor.

Cade rubs at his eyes, but the scenery doesn't change.
It was a psychological defect thing and a weird sex thing.
He's stuck his dick in crazy.
Fighting crazy he does, flirting with it too.

He's never literally fucked it.

Or been fucked back by it.

The phone blinks on with a push. The light burns his eyes before he half covers it with a cover of the duvet.

5:05 a.m.

Cade takes the hand trapping him and like he's defusing a bomb, starts pushing it away.
Is this how women feel waking up beside him?
He always thought the whole walk of shame shit was kinda funny. A chick clearly couldn't regret it that much if she got in the bed in the first place.

And yet here he is.

He can't find his clothes.
Idiot Cade put on some briefs before passing out thank fuck, but otherwise he is completely bare to the world.

Under the waistband he has bruises along his hips. Little bluish spots lining up along each other. It's the kind of shit he puts on other people, not necessarily on purpose, but shit, sometimes it happens.

And now it's happened to him.

Suddenly the blankets are too hot and the room's too small.
Cade weasels out of the nest and fate offers his sorry ass some forgiveness in the form of his jeans.

Only...

They could be Neil's. Usually it's obvious who's is what's, but...
Cade drops them, tiptoing to his backpack.
He's barefoot too.

Somewhere his brain teasers him with, it's not gay if you're wearing socks.
It's in poor taste, but he deserves it.

The rope and the taser mock him.
The night tight rope walked in that direction, but a stiff breeze pushed it down a weirder path.
Cade stumbles to put himself in a pair of sweats he brought with him- just in case.
Not in this case, in case. If he got dirty.
Blood, mud, dirty.

In the half dark it's not all that easy to see. They left one light on, but it's by the door which feels far far away.
Cade makes a break for it, which proves to be his second worst decision in the last twenty-four hours.
He stubs his toe on the foot of the bed.

If that wasn't bad enough, he trips on his own feet and lands on the floor hard enough to make the lampshade shake.

An elephant couldn't have made more noise.

"Fuck," he tells the ceiling.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

---

Neil is swimming in warm bliss. He feels like he's flying on a cloud, bundled up and cozy with only his bare feet hanging off to feel the air breeze by while he floats. It's the kind of comfortable one gets after lying down to rest at the end of a busy day, the good type of busy. The aches in his body confirm he has been productive, as does the shape at his side - solid, yet ever-shifting with each breath. Living. Out of nowhere, the shape vanishes somewhere in the vapors and while MacDarragh grumbles internally, he is content enough to simply curl himself further into the cloud.

A loud thud dissipates the pleasant imagery in a poof, shocking him awake. His eyes shoot wide open.

The hitman sits up straight in a blink, arm reaching for one of the knives beneath the mattress because while his bleary conscious might not fully see or know where he is, his subconscious is well aware of the hotel room layout and where he stashed his fail-saves. It's also aware that he has to act, now, sending nerve signals into his tired limbs to move.

MacDarrgh's unfocused eyes sweep over the room for the origin of the noise. Yet, no one comes rushing at him. The door hasn't been busted down either.

Then his gaze lands on a body at the foot of the bed.

Wolf is lying on the ground. No, Cade is. Same thing, really. Neil's mind helpfully provides an explanation, supplying him with memories of what happened last night. Pleasant memories, even more so than drifting on a cloud.

Still, the hitman frowns at the thought that he let his guard down and fell asleep after sex. That's amateur hours. The frown deepens at the realization that Cade isn't in bed anymore, where he is supposed to be. Well, in the makeshift bed, on the floor. Instead, the man is wearing sweatpants he didn't have on before, backpack on his shoulders

Trying to leave unannounced, are we? Classy. Did he take a fucking tumble making his exit? That's hilarious.

Nerves settling, Neil's shoulders relax and he chuckles, redirecting his arm for the duffel bag under the bed. He lets the folding knife fall inside with a clatter, retrieving something else instead. MacDarragh stands, stretching. His ribs smart with the movement, bruised as they are, and that doesn't feel like the sole sore mark he's been left with.

Striding toward Cade, the hitman stops to loom over the gangster, feet on either side of his body as he looks down. The guy should be grateful MacDarragh slept with boxer briefs apparently.

"G'morning. Leaving without even saying bye?" Neil's voice comes out raspy. Shit. He really passed out, huh? He shrugs off the thought, pushing it aside with a smile, "I feel used."

He takes a cigarette from the carton he'd fished out of his bag and lights it, not breaking eye contact with the Black Dog. It smolders when he inhales. Is the light playing tricks on him, or does the gangster look almost bashful? Neil tilts his head.

"Relax, Cade. No need to rush that much."

MacDarragh steps over the Black Dog, heading for the minibar. In an establishment like this, the fridge is pathetically stocked, but the bonbons he grabs aren't from the hotel - he purchased them beforehand. It's an assortment of chocolates, high quality, with liqueur at the center. Neil was planning to either give them to Wolf if the two came to a stalemate again or eat them over the guy's corpse by himself, but the present circumstances under which he extends the box to Cade are a fun twist.

"Be thankful for your lousy escape. You would have missed out on these," the hitman lets the package drop, whether the Dog is ready for that or not, sitting back down on the floor beside the man in an exhale of smoke. He's right in his personal space.

"So, I'm curious, what is in that backpack you think would have made me tell you my name? What was the torture plan?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Cade half sits up with Neil standing over him, but reconsiders it when it brings his face a little close to his crotch.

Right, he's wearing less clothes than Cade is.
But he might as well be in uniform by how little it affects him, smoking on his stick without a care in the world.
Cade has worked out every muscle there is and he's sore where he's never been sore before.
Aside from a few marks Cade left along his chest (but not his neck), Neil looks as good as he did last night.
The yellow light sends a glow over his skin, bathing him gold.

"It's not personal or anything," he offers and feels a little bit like a dick for it.
His voice is just as raspy as Neil's is, maybe more.

For once, he hopes the hitman brings out a gun to finish him off. That would be less humiliating than pillow talk because that's what this is.
The hitman wants to talk about last night. Maybe he wants to discuss Cade's form on top of it, crazy asshole.
Fuck, they were supposed to fight. Probably torture one another. Maybe hang out and watch pay-per-view ironically.

"Thanks," he mumbles.
The Dog takes one of the chocolates, and then another.
It's far from the worst thing he's had for breakfast. One is actually in the mold of a little tiny wine bottle and it's kinda cute, even if it is stupid elaborate.
Neil actually dropped some money for this, and a bit of thought.
Halfway through the second one, Cade wonders on the implication on these.
They're not romantic per se, but they're not chips and dip either.

Cade sighs.
He rifles through the bag, producing the taser. It's not an Axon- so not one Neil would recognize on the force.
But it's still enough to put someone down.

The rope comes out slower.

It's not the horrible fiber he was locked up in. Neil could struggle for a long time and it wouldn't break skin.
Somehow, that makes it worse.

"I wasn't going to do..." Cade rubs at the wolf along his neck. Neil's close, closer than he needs to be. For a man, he's beautiful. Greek god kinda beautiful. The hickies show where Cade paid the most worship.
"It wasn't going to be any weird shit. It was before we..."

He didn't know what he was doing last night. He might as well have been a virgin. A stupid one, on top of that.
Fuck, he had to trip didn't he? If he'd made it to the door, that would've been the end of it. He could forget any of this happened.
Maybe he still can...

"I didn't think you'd honestly tell me your name."

And I sure as hell didn't want to tell you mine.

Rather than talk, Cade takes another chocolate. It really is good. Smooth, rich, with the bite of alcohol to tie it all together.
"Ya'know, we were just fucking around. You left me tied up for a while, I didn't think it would be that weird to do it to you."

Neil's arm had been a warm, reassuring weight against him.
The man he's knocked around as much as he has done to anyone without killing them was holding him in his sleep.

Cade stuffs the soothing ointment and ibuprofen further down the bag the same way he stuffs everything down in his life.

"Anyways, I'm sorry to give you the wrong impression but I'm not into guys."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Ooo, kinky. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Neil grins despite Cade's protests that the rope was not meant for anything untoward. Just some payback for keeping him tied up last time. It's honestly not weird, the hitman would want to do the same if their positions were reversed. Tit for tat, that's what their whole relationship has been. Both of them get it and it's why they get along so well - it's all part of that unspoken understanding.

But even if he sees the reasoning, MacDarragh teases anyway. Because it's not the dim lighting playing tricks on him - this fucking guy actually is bashful. He can't even finish his sentence talking about what the two did. What he started. How cute.

It makes MacDarragh feel better about allowing himself to fall asleep next to the man, almost... pleased about it. It shouldn't, but it does, and he shoos the thought away with a sharp exhale of smoke. Instead, he lets all his focus fall on the gangster, which is much more entertaining than dissecting himself.

The Black Dog eats another chocolate and as good as the bonbons are (and Neil knows they're good) the gesture seems like a lifeline to keep him grounded in an awkward situation. As sturdy of a shape as the man is, his shoulders appear diminished in size under whatever embarrassment has seized him. MacDarragh turns to face Wolf's profile, one leg extending to rest behind the man, brushing along the small of his back.

Cade's truly something else.

And did he really want the hitman's name that bad he'd intended the definitely-not-sexual rope torture as a means of extricating it from him? Funny how names can hold so much meaning to some people. It's not a concept Neil himself is too attached to but, well, in hindsight he's glad he gave it. Hearing it be gasped back at him had been fun.

Yeah, the self-satisfaction is nice.

I'm sorry to give you the wrong impression but I'm not into guys.

Oh... Oh no.

Neil's lips are trembling around the cigarette, nearly letting it fall to the floor. What are the chances of the carpet catching on fire? MacDarragh has to hold the stick in his fingers to not test out the possibility. He also has to use all his willpower to swallow down a loud burst of laughter.

This fucking guy... He's hilarious.

Neil smiles at Cade and the corners of his eyes wrinkle in sincere amusement. It sure hadn't sounded like he wasn't into guys last night. He almost lets that sentence slip before deciding against it.

"No, I totally get it. I'm not into guys either," his tone is casual and cheery when he lies. Well, MacDarragh's not exclusively into guys anyway. Honestly, what's in someone's pants doesn't matter to him, but it sounds like it matters to Cade. That actually puts some things about their tryst into perspective. Calling Cade from last night an eager deer in headlights sounds like an oxymoron, but it's the best descriptor that comes to Neil's mind. Not that he's complaining. A thrill goes up his spine, "We're just fucking around, right? Call it... experimenting."

The cigarette returns to his mouth and MacDarragh's hand finds the gangster's shoulder in a light touch. It squeezes slightly before trailing the sculpted curvature of his upper back, making its way to the other side. To the tattoo on his neck, to brush along it. Neil really likes that tattoo. Somewhere in the ink, there is a love bite - not a permanent mark like the one on his hand, but enough to linger for a bit. It's difficult to distinguish, hidden within the image of a wolf as it is.

"You having regrets, then?" MacDarragh questions, and there is a note of genuine curiosity in his tone that sneaks its way in.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Hell isn't a place, it's a person called Neil.
As if he isn't close enough, he's gotta touch too. Each tiny glance over Cade's skin is scalding.
The hitman had known exactly what to do last night. He always does.
Cade's not a homophobic piece of shit - it's fine if that's what you like, whatever.
But he's not into it. Especially, not the bitch position. That's not him. He's fucking powerful and dangerous and...

Neil confirming it's just goofing around cuts a few of those strands of tension. Not all of them, obviously, but it stops the train of thought from going off the deep end.

"Yeah?" If this crazy bastard who eats death for breakfast (and booze chocolate) can fuck around from time to time then maybe Cade can too.
Things don't have to change.

Cade sighs.
He's had this talk with chicks. How is he the girl in this scenario? He's bigger than Neil is, and he can be more brutal.

He wants another chocolate, but he can't eat all of them.

"Well, yeah," he says because he has to. He can't not say it. This qualifies as a regret.
Cade plucks at the fibers of the dirty floor.
"It's - "

He's gearing up for the, 'its not you it's me routine.'

"I asked you to come here, I -" Cade points vaguely at the guy's lips which are hugged around the cigarette.
"It was just a lot for me. Maybe you fuck every guy you meet, but I don't, okay?"

Cade shrugs the heavy overwhelming hand off his shoulder.
All at once it comes out of him, and it's just as confusing as it sounds inside.
"We're on the floor naked and you still can't- you were- and I was... Like, where do you get off, man? Sex doesn't have to mean anything, but you were..."

How does he put this with Neil staring at him and setting his skin on fire?

"I gotta go." He zips up his backpack, getting up from the floor.
To hell with his clothes, he puts his jacket directly over bare skin. If he wanted the clothes he came in he'd have to awkwardly root around for them with Neil watching smugly from the sidelines and he just can't. It's bad enough Cade's gotta force his bare feet into his boots. He doesn't bother lacing them.

Besides, he'd probably burn those clothes anyway.

The Dog doesn't so much as say goodbye.
It's a continuation of his lousy escape, tail between his legs. But he can't breathe in there.
It's like twenty years of repressed shit is bubbling to the surface and Cade has to get out of the kitchen before it blows up in his face.

In his face and in front of Neil.

He takes the stairs. He can't stand still in a box.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Cade actually confirms he has regrets and Neil visibly pouts. It's not a reaction he's used to getting from a partner, be it a one-night stand or acquaintances-with-benefits, and that manages to wound his pride, just a little bit. It's a spot on an otherwise spotless track record, which simply cannot stand.

MacDarragh snorts in mild indignation, gearing up to go into a detailed breakdown of the two's intercourse from start to finish when Cade shrugs off his hand and continues talking, inadvertently shutting the hitman up.

What he says proves a little bit hard to follow.

The guy doesn't finish most of the thoughts he starts (or maybe it's the same thought attempted several different ways), and despite being someone that prides himself on observing people and getting under their skin, Neil can't quite infer what the jumble of words coming from Cade is supposed to mean. Doesn't sound like the Dog can fully infer the meaning either.

The one thing that's painfully obvious, though, is that he is overwhelmed and unsettled. Yeah, that latter part is another reaction Neil is not used to, not under these circumstances at least.

His eyes follow Cade intently as the gangster rises up from his spot to take his leave in a rush. Neil leans back against the foot of the bed, taking another drag of the cigarette. Ash falls on his chest and his foot taps the floor in an irregular rhythm.

"I'll keep the room reserved the next few days," the hitman remarks after a bout of thoughtful silence, "If you're still confused and want to fight... or talk things out."

Cade is already mostly out the door. The man leaves (or is he fleeing?), for real without saying bye.

Being the sadistic bastard that he is, Neil toys with the idea of chasing after the Black Dog, seeing how many more buttons he can push. But he stops himself - he might have already pushed a bit too hard, and without even fully realizing it. There's a balance to these kinds of interactions. If he doesn't keep things steady on the edge, he stands to scare Cade away (if he hasn't done that already), and that's not a desirable outcome. The gangster is fun.

The room is suddenly quiet.

In this atmosphere devoid of distractions, the hitman is left alone with the uncomfortable thought that he slept here, and not by himself. Neil's mind tells him that as entertaining as this cat-and-mouse game has been, tonight was a dumb move. Not the sex part, the one after. It tells him he's starting to get attached and that's a bad thing. A very very bad thing. A preposterous thing, really.

The room is kind of a mess, with a nest of blankets on the floor and clothes strewn about. Not only the cop's clothes - Cade left his behind. MacDarragh highly doubts the gangster will take his invitation to return to the hotel. Well, it's not like the two aren't ever going to see each other again, but...

Neil huffs, mussing with his hair. The other thing Cade left behind is the box of bonbons, mostly empty now, yet not all the way. The hitman takes one of the few leftover chocolates and puts it in his mouth.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

-----
Oliver sits low in the booth so he's on his knees instead, muddying the seat up with his dorky snow boots.

They've gotten lunch together almost everyday after school because Matilda still hasn't gotten the spare key replaced.
Heaven forbid she leaves a window unlocked for the little shit to crawl through.
If Cade needed any more evidence she has a stick up her ass, this is it.

"Why do you keep getting salad and water, man?" Cade asks, drowning a French fry in a pile of ketchup. The Dog works out specifically so he can pig out (and other less child friendly reasons), but Oliver's a baby. He's at the, picks his nose and plays Fortnite era of his life. It's not a crime if he's a bit pudgy.

Oliver flashes his big blues at him, and then at his salad as if he's not sure quite what he's done wrong.
"That's what me and Matty get when we come here. It's healthy."

"It's McDonald's," Cade says, like that's the answer to everything and it is.
Who in their right mind feeds a child salad when they go to a McDonald's? It doesn't even have bacon bits in it.

The kid dips his fork into the dressing, stabs a mouthful of rabbit food and eats it with zero complaints.
"I like it," Oliver says convincingly, poking a leaf with his fork like it's a dead animal.

Families and friends have been filtering in and out for a while.
It means the indoor playground is stuffed with kids wiping cooties up and down the plastic slides and tunnels. Some get stuck up there and start crying like a cat lost in a tree.
It must be a nightmare for staff.

"You're a, handful of pecans is a snack family... Woman shouldn't be allowed to have kids," Cade grumbles.

Oliver looks away, watching the other children play behind the glass.
Their laughter and squealing can just be heard over the din of the restaurant.

"Matty says you don't like women," he mumbles.

The fresh hot fry of grease doesn't make it to Cade's mouth.
He shifts in his seat, jaw clicking.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Does he give off some kind of vibe?
"I like women. I like 'em just fine between my legs."

Oliver scowls at him. "What the fuck does that mean?"

A miserable looking teenager sweeping the floor snorts to herself as she passes and Cade glares.
But he's the asshole in this situation. Even if she was eavesdropping. Oliver's a kid. Cade doesn't need to defend himself to a child.

"Don't swear."
"You swear."
"I'm an adult."

Oliver looks at him in a funny kind of way, like he doesn't believe him despite the fact Cade's sitting here tall enough to not need a booster seat.

"Why are you always beat up?"

The tattoo hides the nips in Cade's neck for the most part.
But there's not much he can do about the bruise on his face from where Neil head butted him.
Not without some make-up and Cade refuses.
Usually he likes some cuts and bruises; they're like trophies almost.
That sentiment feels kinda stupid with this little guy looking up at him while he stuffs a stubborn piece of spinach into his face.

"You have bullies, me too."

Oliver just about drops his fork
"You mean they don't go away when you grow up?"

Shit.

"Most of them grow with you, some of them get bigger."

Some of them you kiss.

Cade rubs at the bridge of his nose where it smarts the most. His ribs hurt too, sure, but this is the mark everyone looks at.

The hitman said he'd reserve the room for a few days if Cade wanted a second serving.
The man's an egomaniac that doesn't hear no enough. He must be tearing his hair out right about now.

Oliver's looking down into his lap and Cade feels completely wrong for the job.
He's a fucking freak, a sick demented piece of shit and he's parading as this kid's friend.

"I gave about as bad as I got, Ollie." Which... Isn't true. It's true about every other fight, but not that one.

Oliver pushes at his salad.
"I'm going on a field trip."

In a good way, Oliver's also a fucking weirdo.
"...Good for you?"

"Matilda is always late picking me up and my teacher has to stay and I'm always the last one left. He shakes his keys and looks up and down the street and then looks at me."

The little shit doesn't ask outright. Instead he looks at Cade like he's the only person in the restaurant.
Maybe the only person in the world. Somehow, that feels important.
Worthwhile.
Cade's never been the only thing to anyone, and he shouldn't be. Especially not to Oliver.

He huffs.
"It makes no difference to me where I pick you up."

Oliver smiles, and Cade sees his own face.
Not the ugly one that sets people on edge. The smile holds strongest in Ollie's eyes, his mouth just adds to it.

"Can I try a French fry?"

"Dude," Cade starts, bunching a napkin in his hand so he can pull out his phone.
The McDonald's menu is already cued up.
"We are getting everything on the menu. You need to make up for the years of salad."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

---

The station is abuzz with activity, like some kind of hive. And if that's the comparison he's going with, suppose that makes MacDarragh a very weary bee that's seriously considering a career change, leaning so far back in an office chair he's practically lying down.

Shit.

This is what happens when he gets stuck behind a desk - the man gets bored out of his mind, and every second he's forced to stay still it's like his muscles are deteriorating in real-time. Sure, Neil still puts on a smile like it's nothing, but his subordinates are starting to notice that their boss is becoming impatient. Can they blame him? This is mind-numbing work - coordinating and delegating, and on top of that dealing with court bullshit. Viv truly outdid herself this time, she has the cop thoroughly swamped in the hell that is bureaucracy. This might be her worst "punishment" yet.

To make matters worse, in the middle of the precinct figuring out the logistics of a large-scale police raid, today they're going to have to host a fucking school field trip. Because the new assistant Neil hired - the one with the great tits and ass, as Daryl and Kate keep pointing out while they think no one is listening - forgot to cancel the agreement they'd made weeks ago with the school. Or at least postpone the damn thing.

Lonie wouldn't have made such an oversight. Not that MacDarragh regrets what happened with them, it's just that things are hectic enough as is without him having to search for a good fit for his work style. The new assistant will have to do - at least she's easy on the eyes enough to soften the transition for others after Lonie's unexpected "resignation".

Neil sighs, looking up at the ceiling, his leg bouncing up and down restlessly. He's in a shitty mood.

And the reason isn't only because of work...

Neil got stood up. It's a concept his brain can't quite compute - yet another thing he's not used to. The man's been having a lot of firsts recently, none of them particularly comforting. For example, he's never gone back to wait for someone in a second-rate hotel several nights in a row, only to leave alone every time with the pitying gaze of a receptionist following him as he makes his exit. He kind of cornered himself into that one by making a promise.

Sure, he realized Cade was unlikely to return, but... really? He really didn't? It wasn't like they were going to fuck again or anything, not necessarily. They could have just fought things out, gone back to their original arrangement... Honestly, how dare he? Neil showed him a good time (he did, no way he didn't, he has to have), yet the gangster was all in his feelings afterwords and MacDarragh can't really relate. It's not that deep. Nothing ever is. They had a good time, move on.

His mind slaps him hard with the fact that he should take his own advice and move on. Stop thinking about Cade, stop getting prissy over this because MacDarragh is above this kind of weak shit.

Simultaneously with chastizing him, his mind supplies him with extremely unhelpful memories - blue eyes and kissing with teeth, and strong arms that as firm as they can be holding him down also give in surprisingly well when touched the right way. His ribs are sore. He'd fallen asleep.

MacDarragh audibly groans in frustration.

"You good, Cap?"

Eyes leaving the ceiling, Neil looks at Daryl, standing at his side with an annoying expression of concern. That's his own fault. The policeman breathes in, putting on a small smile and giving his subordinate a thumbs-up, "Yeah, just resting for a bit. You excited to show the kids around?"

Like the most easily distracted person, Daryl immediately switches his tune, eyes bright, "Oh, yeah, very much so. Thanks for letting me give the tour. I get along great with kids, you know."

The guy says that loud enough for the new assistant to hear. Neil doesn't doubt he's good with kids - he has the same maturity level as them - but this is also a bit of performative parenting to ingratiate himself with the woman. Daryl and Kate have a bet going on to see who's getting her number first. Neil's betting against him.

"Should be arriving about now... They're going to be curious to hear what you do," the younger officer rubs his hands together. Ah, so maybe he's not THE most easily distracted person, "You feeling up to it, captain?"

"Of course, I'm looking forward to it."

Neil can't very well say no. Furthermore, he's fine. That placates his subordinate enough for him to walk away, leaving the captain to his useless musings once more, gazing back up at the ceiling.

A few minutes later the hubbub of the station is added to by the voices of children ringing out, and Daryl greets them into the station with matching energy. Neil straightens out in his chair to survey the scene. It's around 20 middle schoolers and a teacher streaming in, talking over each other in excitement. The plan is to take them through the dispatch center, show them how prisoners get booked and where they are held, then Neil is supposed to close off the trip and answer any pending questions. All the while reaffirming that they should all be upstanding members of society and obey the law.

Funny. Well, he can follow a script, no issues.

Most of the children seem awestruck to be in a police station and that makes the corners of MacDarragh's lips twitch up. He quirks an eyebrow when one of the kids' searching eyes meet his own. The two stare at each other for a second before the boy detaches from the rest of the pack, and no one seems to notice when the runt of the litter - and he means that literally - starts taking decisive steps in the captain's direction.

Interesting. His growing amusement reaches its apex when the boy starts bombarding him with questions as soon as he's close enough. No greetings, no introductions, just a very earnest eagerness. A very prepared one too. The inquiries themselves are curious - how do cops get fired? Neil hasn't been asked that one before.

He chuckles lightly - the universe has a funny sense of humor. Kid looks like a miniature Cade. It's the eyes, really, but they aren't all the way identical - the boy's are larger, wet like a doe's, which makes them great for emotional manipulation. Neil's mind makes the connection to the Black Dog regardless and somewhere deep inside he cringes at how pathetic it feels. Move on.

Mini Cade brings him back to the present by asking him how his gun works and if he can shoot something. Now that gets a proper laugh out of the cop. Today could be looking up after all.

"Sure, I can give you a special tour of our firing range," the teacher wouldn't mind, not if he takes full responsibility. The man grins conspiratorially, "Maybe even let you shoot a target yourself."

His hand extends forward for a very professional handshake, grinning, "I'm Captain MacDarragh."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Usually the people who end up in Kaden's chair of magical wonders are people who deserve it.
One way or another, they've crossed the Dogs or become an obstacle.

Cade supposes a cop sniffing where he shouldn't be counts as deserving it.
But damn, it's rotten luck. And it's a cruel callback too.
Cade can't decide if it reminds him more of himself or Neil.

The cop never had much clarity to scream, Finch careful to adjust the flow of sedative into his arm.
But he's sweaty and every once in a while he makes an awful sound behind his lips.

Their brave and fearless leader has surgically sliced open the underside forearm of the policemen.
Cade doesn't know shit about the bundle of nerves and tendons and whatever else Kaden is carefully examining. Cade doesn't even know why he's doing it.
Kill a guy or tenderize him a bit and send him off.

Kaden pulls back a piece of bleeding anatomy and his victim's index curls. There's something really weird about the movement, uncanny. Its like Kaden is literally pulling the string on a puppet.
With a scalpel, Finch cuts through the metaphorical string.
The index relaxes back into place.

And then he moves on to the thumb.
And all the while the semi lucid cop has to watch himself be butchered.

Finch twisting Cade's wrist comes to mind.
If I didn't need this I'd break it.

He's systematically dismantling this poor bastard's hand.
His shooting hand.
Thumb and pointer.

Cade rubs at his neck. "... You okay?"

Kaden wipes the blade clean off on a sanitized cloth he has resting on his shoulder.
"Yes."

The answer is robotic and flat, which is usually how Kaden talks. The man stares vacantly at his work.
"...Damien said there was a crooked cop in league with the High-Rise."

Cade feels at the meat of his cheek with a tongue.
Okay, that's something? He can work with that.
"Is that him?"

Kaden softly shakes his head. "No."

Okay, then it isn't something.
Does Finch wish it was? Is this some kind of practice to emasculate another cop?
Things have been weird. Really fucking weird.
With Damien gone and the Nakurra fucked out of business things were supposed to go back to normal.
Or semi normal.

"There's probably dozens. It wouldn't matter," Kaden murmurs. He blinks, slow and purposeful.
"But that one... was different. He seemed to really scare Damien. I've never seen him scared."

There's probably no way to test if the cop actually has any remaining use of his fingers or not.
And yet, Kaden seems done with his efforts to lame the man.

There's no clocks in this room. Something about it breaking the illusion, Cade's not sure.
So he pulls out his phone, partially so he can hide from the intensity of a really fucked up moment of his life.

But it's mostly to check the time.

Oliver will be finishing up his field trip soon.

The only part strapped down on Kaden's victim was the arm he was operating on.
The cop's free hand paws at Finch's shoulder, mewling some grunt at him.
The Butcher shoves the searching hand aside and readjusts the flow of medication.

"Hey," Cade stuffs the device away, clearing his throat. "I gotta get going."

"Where are you going?" Kaden asks, watching Cade out of the corner of his eye.
They're such dark brown they might as well be black.

"Umm... My old place has snow on the roof and I'm thinking I should get to it sooner or later."

Kaden nods, and Cade doesn't believe for a second he actually believes it.
Still, Cade can try and distract him.
"You think I should just rip the band-aid off and live here full time?"

It's something they've argued about a lot.
Cade gave up everything, left it all behind.
His old man's place was something he just wasn't ready to part with. Hell if Cade knows why because he hates the place.

"I do not. In fact, I suggest you frequent it more than here."

That's a... Odd thing to say.

"Why?"

Finch shrugs. "It's just what I think."

Yeah, he was wounded and maybe his priorities have been a bit all over the place, but leave? What the fuck?
The mind games are back at full strength.

The minutes are ticking by. Cade inches to the door.
"I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," Finch echoes.

---

Cade is buzzing after that interaction, the entire drive too.
His hands are jumping on the steering wheel and yeah, he honks and flips a few people off.
It gets worse when he pulls up to a police station.

The whole time he thought his GPS would take him to the zoo or to some boring ass museum.
But that was stupid because he was never in the right area for it to begin with.

"You fucking little..." He bites off the words with a grunt, finding a place to park.
It's not his station, but that doesn't make it much better. Cade is going to chew the kid into pieces for this. Oliver's not stupid; he did this on purpose.
Cade slams his hand so hard into the wheel it hurts.

Get out here

He texts it fast and jumbled and its a miracle autocorrect puts together a full sentence.

Cade waits ten minutes, and not a single text comes back.

"Okay!" Cade says with a cheery voice, "I'm kicking his ass."

He kicks the car door open, slams it shut.
A few cops look his way, proud and self righteous in their stupid fucking uniforms.
Cade controls himself enough not to curse at them for staring.

"Hold it together, hold it together," he mutters to himself, climbing up the steps and into the station.
Last thing he needs is to get arrested.

Suddenly, Cade doesn't feel that bad for Kaden's vivisection project.

The other kids are all where they should be at the receptionist's counter.
Still, Cade doesn't envy the supervisor's job. The Dog just had the one and it's like herding cats.
"Hey, I'm here for Oliver," he tries with his nicest, most obligingly grown up voice.

The teacher, an exhausted gargoyle of a man looks Cade up and down. A cynical look sharpens his already severe looking face.
Damn, the worst people work with children. No wonder Ollie didn't wanna be alone with this guy.

"Oliver? Oliver, this... Gentleman says he's here for you." The teacher twists around, eyes passing over all the little faces. Cade follows the glances, not finding a single familiar face.
"Sandra, where's Oliver?"

Sandra, a little puke faced blonde with ribbons in her hair looks up from her phone where she's been giggling with her friends.
"Oh he's still inside being an idiot."
"We don't call people idiots," the teacher chastises hurriedly, eyeing Cade in a panic. Cade wonders if he'd say the same thing if he was here or not.

"I'll get him myself."

The teacher steps in front of Cade. "Sir- I'm afraid-"

"If the kid comes out kicking and screaming then you can have me arrested by thirty cops at once." Cade shoves past him easily, diving into the heart of the beast.

The bullpen is a pool of activity. Cops are milling in and out, talking, dragging criminals around.
It makes the hair on the back of Cade's neck stand up. A detective is bent over her desk, pushing files and comparing notes with her partner.

Cade feels a pang in his chest.

He can't be here.
The Dog bites into one hand with the fingernails of the other. The pressure grounds him, just a bit.
It'll have to be enough.

But this place is scraping him raw. Every sound, every halfway look at him. He didn't think it would be this bad, but apparently it is.
He has to get some air, but if he leaves without Oliver he'll just have to come back in.
No, he needs the kid.

He's looking for Oliver.
So he sees Oliver first.
He doesn't acknowledge the cop he's with beyond the fancy uniform. High rank, probably captain. Oliver is taking the cop's hands, walking him through what looks like an elaborate handshake.
Zeroed in on getting his kid, Cade's brain doesn't put two faces together until he's standing right there.

Cade feels his mouth drop.

"Cadence, this is captain MacDarragh." Oliver squeals, pushing up the brim of a policeman's cap so he can see.
"He showed me how to shoot a gun and how to get back into the force. You could get your job back!"

The Dog is honestly frozen. He can't move.
He just stands there like an idiot.

"This is my big brother," Oliver beams to Neil, completely unaware he's burying Cade with every word.
"He was a detective. The best detective."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Neil is smiling cheerily when he looks at the person Oliver turns to greet. He's still smiling, even though he's feeling as stunned as Cade looks.

Fuck. The universe doesn't just have a funny sense of humor, does it? No, this is something beyond that, bordering on the surreal and absurd. How many times have he and Cade met purely by coincidence at this point?

Three times. Three out of a total of four.

Why is he here now?

Well, the kid Neil had spent the entirety of the tour entertaining every fun whim of isn't simply the gangster's uncanny lookalike - the two are related. Brothers, apparently. Is he here to pick him up or something, like a good older sibling? Neil's disbelieving brain manages to supply him with the observation that the two have a pretty big age gap. For some reason that's the first piece of information he latches onto.

The fact the Black Dog had apparently at one point been a detective settles in a couple of seconds later and MacDarragh's surprise continues to mount. He didn't know that. Wouldn't have suspected it either - maybe if he'd seen the way Cade handles a handgun he would have had an inkling, but the only firearm he's observed the man hold is a shotgun and he was putting out more wilderman vibes then than anything else, acting cocky. And maybe a bit tipsy.

Oliver introduces the two - as if such a thing is necessary - and MacDarragh unsticks himself from where the surprise of the situation had left him frozen.

He whistles appreciatively, nodding along, "The best detective? That's some high praises." His eyes don't leave Cade - where was he on the force, why did he quit, or was he fired? Does he want to get rehired back into this boring shitshow of a routine? "I bet he was."

Neil beams down at the kid and his hand reaches for the policeman cap he'd left on Oliver's head, lifting it up to ruffle the boy's hair, "You wanna be a detective too when you grow up, Ollie? Even better than your brother?"

Cadence. Apparently, that's his full name. An interesting choice, not one heard too often. Kind of has its own rhythm, much like the man it belongs to.

The present setting isn't the most opportune one for the two to run into each other, but the captain can't say he isn't glad. This could serve as a chance to clear some things that have been bugging him, most importantly ask why the fuck he was stood up.

"Pleasure to make your acquittance. Your little brother left quite the impression," MacDarragh smiles amiably, moving away from where he'd been leaning on a desk, going for Cade to grasp his hand in a firm handshake (a bit firmer than necessary). It's not their first one, but he probably should keep acting like the two don't know each other, for now. Oliver is watching, as are some of his subordinates. MacDarragh purser his lips for a second before taking the opportunity to inquire, "May I ask, where did you serve, Cadence?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Neil's grip is harder than it needs to be. Cade feels the rough catch of the scar.
The cop- the Captain's eyes are glittering with self satisfied pleasure. Cade feels exposed, laid out.

"Well, maybe not better, but I'd still like to do my part to help people," Oliver says, cliche and stupid as only a kid can be.
His baby brother doesn't have the slightest fucking clue who he's with.

It's him. It really is him.
Here, exactly where he's supposed to be and nowhere near where Cade's supposed to be.
And Oliver gives him all the ammo he could ever want. Neil takes it the same way he takes a knife; twirling it around to show Cade he has it. Bragging about how easily he could kill him, but never actually fucking doing it.

Every piece of Cadence' life has been violated and rooted through all in the span of a week or two.
Neil got handsy with the kid, playing with him and ruffling his hair. He called him Ollie.
Has Oliver been with Neil the entire time? Did Neil tell him anything? Do anything?

Cade's hand tightens on Neil's.

What they had was fun when it started.
Cade was a fucking badass and then he was tied up in the back of a car.
And then on a mission to get that pride back, he flushed it down Neil's toilet.
Willingly.

And now this.

He's here with Oliver. He touched Oliver.

Somewhere, somehow, it all comes to a head.
Kaden's fucking freak show, the night with Neil, being tricked into going into a police station, everything. All of it.
His entire life crushing down on him.
He promised himself he'd never be back... Not unless he was dragged in wearing handcuffs.

In the middle of a police station filled with cops, Cade decks their captain.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

This is not the first time Cade has punched him.

It's the hardest, however, by far. Hard enough to actually have Neil falling flat on his ass.

Things happen in a flash from there, all at once. While he is still midway through tumbling to the floor, his subordinates spring into action, with Kate who had been paying the closest attention since the shady guy walked in coming down on the Black Dog with a hard tackle. Before Cade can even think of throwing the woman off, several other bodies join in to restrain the madman that just attacked a police captain in his own precinct.

Neil feels a trickle go down his nose.

"Get on the ground!" "Stay the fuck down!" "Do you have any weapons on you?!" "Right, search him!" "Have you had anything to drink? Any drugs?" "What the fuck were you thinking, man?"

It's a cacophony of loudly barked shouts overlapping with each other until they are barely distinguishable. A pair of handcuffs click around Cade's painfully bent backward wrists, and then several arms start hauling the man up under the armpits. Someone begins reading him his rights while Kate's eyes land on her commander in a questioning look.

"You are being put under arrest for assault and battery on a police officer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law-"

MacDarragh meets the policewoman's gaze, voice measured, "Put him in a holding cell."

She nods without question, dragging away Cade alongside Daryl, who is still in the process of going through the Miranda warning.

... What the hell just happened?

The trickle from Neil's nose is not abating and when he reaches to touch the center of his face it hurts like a motherfucker. As does his cheekbone on the same side. That was a dumb move on Wolf's end to pull in such a place, and it hadn't been charged with the usual energy the two have when they brawl.

A shift in MacDarragh's periphery makes him swivel his head. Shit. Oliver just had to witness all of that. Standing up, the captain dusts off his uniform to the best of his ability, straightening out the wrinkles.

"It's going to be fine," Neils smiles down at the boy, suppressing a wince when the expression sends a jolt of pain through his system, "Just going to put your brother in timeout until he calms down." Calms down from whatever had possessed him to do that...

"... You good?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Oliver is pushed aside in the scuffle. If there was ever a reminder for how little space he takes up in the world, this is it.

The boy looks on in open eyed horror at what just unfolded, unwilling or perhaps unable to completely comprehend what just happened.

He jerks his attention to the captain, staring dumbly.
"...Uh-huh," he mumbles, squinting back into the twisting crowd of people for his brother.

---
In the end, Oliver ends up waiting with the gargoyle man watching.
Given the circumstances, the supervisor is much more invested in staying late.
"So that beast really hit you, sir?"

It's a question that's been asked of the captain several times, mostly by people who weren't there to see it.
Some people were there and want to hear the Captain's heroic tale from his own perspective. It's repeated over and over.
Cadence is a bastard, an idiot, a dangerous individual, a psycho, a nuisance.
A beast.
Every horrible thing someone could be.

The teacher laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Say," he starts, "would you watch him for a second while I use the washroom? Thanks."

Oliver shrinks into his seat, drawing his hood up over his head. The receptionist gave him a popsicle some time ago.
It remains clutched in one hand, unopened.

"Is he going to go to jail because of me?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"I guess he did," Neil's careful smile feels tight when he answers the tactless teacher.

Yeah, he did get hit by "that beast", how many times does he have to reiterate it?

Man, he's surrounded by idiots. Cade isn't the only one that doesn't know how to behave himself right in a social situation. It's really not that difficult - you don't hit a cop while at a police station, and you don't badmouth someone in front of their kid sibling, even if they deserve it. Oliver is short, he isn't invisible. The hoity-toity bastard knows the boy is within earshot - he's right next to him, waiting to get picked up to go home - but he goes spouting off regardless. He's either a moron or he's being purposefully insensitive, which makes him a moron regardless.

Neil doesn't care for sensitivity, not really, but there is a time and place for everything, and this just isn't it.

The asshole laughs in disbelief over the scuffle (oh how very entertaining) and MacDarragh grinds his teeth beneath his amiable expression. His eyes follow the man as he takes his leave for the moment - he'd been all too eager to pawn off Oliver to be watched over by someone else. Didn't even wait for Neil's confirmation.

MacDarragh takes a seat next to the boy, pressing the ice pack into his face to numb it where it hurts the worst. There is rolled-up gauze in one of his nostrils to stop the persistent blood flow - Neil is pretty sure Cade broke his nose. Oh, he's going to pay him back twice over for this one...

A mumble comes from beside him and Neil turns his attention to Oliver - the boy looks somehow even smaller, hidden away in the hood of his jacket. He huffs.

"He isn't going to go to jail, don't worry," the man comforts and he means it. He has no interest in sending Cade away. No, he's going to keep him as long as it takes to figure out some things and then release the beast back into the wild with maybe a parting bruise in return... Neil still doesn't know what triggered the gangster into lashing out.

His brother belives he does, though - he asks if Cade is going to jail because of him. MacDarragh frowns, leaning to try and peer at Oliver, "You're not responsible for what happened, you know... Why would you feel like you are?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The relief is easy to see in the sudden drop of Oliver's shoulders. But the guilt doesn't lift. If anything, it seems to settle like a storm cloud.

"I...sorta tricked him into coming here." Oliver leans forward, bracing his elbows onto his knees.
With sharp movement, he flicks the candy back and forth between his fingers.

"I thought maybe if he saw police again he'd wanna go back to being a cop... That sounds really stupid now that I say it out loud."
Oliver's fingers snap shut around the sweet.
He looks up at Neil, and the sorry state of his nose.
The only nose bleed Oliver's ever known is the kind that comes from dry weather.
If it had happened under any other circumstances, perhaps MacDarragh stopping a robber, maybe it would have been cool to see...

"I shouldn't have pushed my luck, but I didn't think anyone would get hurt."

Not like this.

"It's just - I know it's hard to believe but he's a good person, sir," Oliver says, like the sky is blue and grass is green.

"He went undercover for a year and I don't know the details because no one tells me anything but I don't think all of him came back, ya'know? At the same time I know he could still be cool like you if he really tried to be."

Oliver perks up, just a bit at a sudden thought only young people seem to get.
"Are you going to try and scare him straight?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Cade is not a good person, as much as Oliver appears convinced of the fact, and neither is Neil. The kid calls him cool, though, and that makes the captain smirk. Yes, he is very cool, he knows. The feeling is somewhat diminished by the guilty way Oliver looks at Neil's injury... The man holds the icepack to his face while he listens to the boy's explanation, then sets it off to the side. Light prodding tells him the area has been numbed a decent amount.

"Hey, you wanna see something gross?"

Neil isn't really waiting for an answer. The blood-soaked gauze gets pulled out only to be replaced by a finger while the captain's other hand grips the bridge of his nose from the outside. It's best to make a realignment to such fractures within the first 24-48 hours, otherwise it'll heal all crooked. MacDarragh's hands press in opposition.

There's a nasty crack in the air. A new trickle of blood runs down, and the captain hurries along through the renewed bout of pain he doesn't let show on his face to stuff a clean bit of gauze up his realigned nose, wiping his hands off on another piece once that's done.

Neil turns to smile at Oliver. "Voila," his nose is back to its original arrangement, even if he'll definitely be sporting an ugly bruise tomorrow, "Like nothing ever happened."

It's not like the captain can make the whole mess leading up to this disappear, but this is at least something.

"Listen, I don't hold what happened against you or your brother," that's not all the way true, Cade should have been smarter about things and he is going to pay, yet if the gangster was truly tricked into coming here... "He probably just got a bit overwhelmed."

Maybe. Or maybe he'd just freaked out seeing the hitman again after last time... Neil brushes off whatever unpleasant feeling tries to take root in his gut. Cadence had been an undercover officer - the detective in MacDarragh latches onto that piece of information as a distraction, saving it for later.

"I'm going to talk things out with him," yeah, he's going to scare him. Not straight, though - that's something Cade has already scared himself into.

MacDarragh sighs, leaning back in the chair. The candy is still unopened in Oliver's hands, "... Do you not like sweet things?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The boy nods eagerly at the offer to see something gross.
The captain doesn't disappoint.
A morbid grin replaces Oliver's forlorn expression. This is another thing he's never seen and it makes his eyes light up. It's something only witnessed at the movies, something Rambo or the Terminator would do.

"You're awesome," he says with a smile, watching the blood be cleaned away.
"A little scary, but I think that adds to it."

The Captain's words seem to do a lot to reassure the boy. He's far from his smiling self, but he finds some enthusiasm to gently swing his feet where they don't touch the ground.

Oliver jerks his attention to the candy.

"No, I do- it's just bad for my teeth." Which is another dumb sounded thing to say.

Before either can say more, a flurry of a force to be reckoned with barges in.

Matilda is frizzy haired and with a bit of lipstick smeared off the outline of her lips.
Oliver leans back into his seat, hiding behind MacDarragh's profile.
Like a hawk, the woman is drawn to the movement.

"My baby!" she proclaims for the whole world to hear when she catches sight of her son.
Oliver freezes like a deer in the taillights.
There's no time to tell the Captain it's okay for him to leave now.

She stomps forward with such speed Oliver has to keep from flinching when she stops just to push back Oliver's hood.
Immediately and with unnecessary force, Matilda plants his cheeks with kisses in front of everyone.
It's a dramatic display, somewhat meant for herself and the onlookers rather than Oliver.

"Are you hurt? Oh, you must've been so scared, my poor baby."
"Mom, calm down- it was fine."
"No no, don't stress yourself with speaking. Mommy's here now."

The woman tears the boy from his seat, smothering him in her coat.

Matilda's eyes fall on the captain and linger appreciatively on his uniform.
"So you're the hero?" She pulls her son in closer, pinning him to her side. The woman purses her lips thoughtfully.
The suggestive expression drops when she sneers at the state of his face.

"What kind of insane asylum are you running here? Do you normally have mad men terrorizing the place or was that something special you planned for the children? You should be ashamed of yourself!" Matilda clutches at Oliver's shoulder.

"My baby could've been hurt!"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Oliver is just starting to cheer up a bit when the appearance of someone new on the scene causes him to visibly hide. Not that that works out well for him, beset by the blonde as he is.

All Neil can do is watch from the sidelines as whatever overproduced theatre show the woman is living in in her head plays out before his eyes - a savior that is several hours too late to be of any use and several decibels too loud to be genuine. He recognizes a performer when he sees one. Difference is, MacDarragh is actually convincing in what he does. His jaw clenches at the dramatics, keeping an eye on Oliver - he doesn't exactly look comfortable, clutched in her grip like some kind of practical stage prop.

The kid calls her mom.

Is she Cade's mom too, then? No, probably not, she seems too young for that. Step-mom maybe? Are they half-brothers? It's another thing to save to ask for later. Partially because the harpy soon enough turns her attention on the captain himself, berating him, or at least trying to.

How annoying. Putting on his best service smile, Neil rises from his seat.

"Ma'am, this is a police station. Yes, we do have dangerous elements coming through often," criminals getting booked doesn't stop because of a school trip, and neither does all the officers carrying guns. The children are briefed on all this beforehand.

"Still, I apologize deeply for any distress that might have been caused to your son, but rest assured he has been kept safe," for someone supposedly concerned with Oliver's well-being, she doesn't exactly listen to him or check him over to confirm he is okay. Instead, she eyes the obvious injury on Neil and it causes her expression to switch.

"I'm afraid the person that caused the accident is a relative of yours, actually. Cadence," he doesn't know how wise it is to mention the gangster, but this woman tells him he should be ashamed of himself and he has to bring it up, loudly, "Are you here to take responsibility for him, then?"

MacDarragh leans on his leg, keeping his tone casual, "If yes, then please do so after returning your son home, seeing as his brother won't be able to. Oliver's been waiting a while now, the rest of his schoolmates have already been picked up."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The mentioning of the mad man in question being Cadence shuts the woman up completely.
Her face screws up a moment later, her manicured claws digging into her son's shoulder.

Matilda glances at the receptionist counter, as if she could see further into the station if she tried.
"No one told me it was him," she says, and she doesn't have half the volume she had before. That revelation explains why the man wasn't here to pick up Oliver when he said he would.

Matilda finally drops the grip on Oliver so she can cross her arms. She juts out a hip, glaring. The woman sizes up the captain and Oliver offers an apologetic look for the rampaging monster that is his mother.
"Cadence isn't my responsibility. He's a grown man and if he got himself into trouble than that's his problem, not mine. Can't you see I already have my hands full, I'm a single mother! Look at my face I look terrible."
The woman opens up the camera app on her phone to dab away at the makeup that's been skewed. Her expression softens at her reflection and she chirps once everything has been set to rights.

"Besides, maybe being locked up will help him in the long run. That man needs court ordered therapy," Matilda states, clicking her nails together.

At that, Oliver pulls away from her. "Captain MacDarragh said he'd let Cade go- "

"Well, he's a liar or he's not a very good cop, sweetheart. Come on," Matilda says in a honey sweet voice. She boops the boy on the nose before taking his hand and heading for the door.

Oliver looks over his shoulder at the captain. He offers a small wave before being dragged out the door.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Neil offers a small wave and a half-smile back at the boy. His eyes follow Oliver and his mom as the two make their exit, and once they're out of the station the captain allows himself a tired huff, hands resting on his hips.

The sharp exhale earns him a stab of pain from his still-hurting nose. MacDarragh scowls, but that only makes it worse.

---

Cameras are supposed to always stay on in interrogation rooms, yet the security in charge of them doesn't question Neil when he orders that all recording devices be turned off before he goes in.

He couldn't have made the same request when it came down to the homeless man from over a week ago, who as annoying as he was, was a harmless drunk, which is why the captain had to take the witness outside of the station to procure the information he desired. But Cade has been proclaimed a beast and a madman, one that acted up in the middle of the precinct and hurt one of the cops' own. A criminal type like him is an exception to the rule. It's funny how people's morality can be bendy like that, especially that of those in positions of power, such as law enforcement.

Not that MacDarragh is judging, it's simply an entertaining observation. And a fact that suits him just fine.

Neil opens the door to the interrogation room and steps in alone, folder under one arm. The space is small, almost claustrophobic, and completely white in a strangely dirty way that signifies that it sees a lot of traffic. There is one wooden table crammed into the middle of the room with two chairs on opposite sides. Cade has been placed in one at Neil's instructions, still handcuffed because he's a dangerous man, though now his arms have been bound in front of his body. One of his ankles has likewise been restrained via leg iron to a hook in the floor.

MacDarragh gives Cade a good once-over. Just like in the car trunk, it seems wrong to keep the Dog like this, but it's the least he deserves after the stunt he pulled.

"Keep getting yourself tied up, huh? Hell of a magnetic personality."

The captain chuckles lightly, pulling out the free chair in such a manner that it screeches against the floor with the movement. He seats himself in a relaxed wide stance, setting the folder down on the surface of the table.

"You realize I could have you charged with a felony?" Neil says matter-of-factly because that's just what happens when you get violent with an officer. He taps his fingers on the wood several times over before continuing, "Of course you realize, supposedly you used to be a cop."