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Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

Kaden never planned or imagined their meeting and if he had it definitely wouldn't have been like this.

Damien doesn't like her.

Half of Kaden's focus has to be on drawing in breath with lungs that have forgotten their purpose, but he does.
One exhausting breath at a time.

What he can he allots to the interaction happening above him. Damien looks at her with disgust, showing her his teeth.
Delilah eyes drift away, the exit if Kaden knows the layout of his own apartment well enough.
She gives her jaw a roll, looking back at Damien.
There's no returned anger. Just a contemplative thoughtfulness.

He finally catches sight of whom ever else is in the room; two men with military gear. A boot sounds heavy and imposing when it steps only a few feet from his head.
Visors keep their eyes hidden, their intentions secret.
Kaden feels his tired heart give a squeeze.
A finger twitches when he means to lift an arm.

"...Fair enough. We'll talk when we're out. Right now I'll punch a hole through, you follow," Delilah states, climbing to her feet.
"MacDarragh is here. So is Cade. Cover your face."

She turns to address her own men.
"Clive, take up the rear, I lead. Malcom and Damien in the middle with Kaden. Let's go."

Kaden can't assist with the lift. He's dead weight peeled off the living room floor to hang off,this man's shoulder.

Malcom adjusts his grip on Kaden's arm, shifts him.
"Ma'am, what about the cat," he asks awkwardly.

"Oh the cat...The fucking cat."
Delilah squints before finding the brown black plumed tail sticking out from under the couch.
The woman grabs that tail and yanks Pawl out by it.
The poor feline yowls, hissing furiously and leaving deep grooves through the floor.
The cat is one ball of puffed fur, scratching uselessly at Delilah's armor.
Kaden fights to move, to at least speak, but he can't even lift his head. Not really.

Pawl's a good cat, she's just scared.

One hand holding flailing Pawl, Delilah searches through the case of poisons until she apparently finds what she needs.
With the same care she stabbed Kaden, which is to say none at all, she does the same to Pawl.

The feline goes still a moment later.
Finch fears the worst, that Pawl wasn't even worth the bullet of a merciful kill.

Delilah partially unzips her vest, dropping the ragdoll inside to be pressed snug against her body.
Gun readied in her arms, a little cat head sticking out of her vest, Delilah turns to the group of men.

"On me. Don't lag."
 
Delilah assents to at least part of what Damien is saying, and that's good.

Not about taking Kaden with him, though. That part she doesn't really react to. Supposedly, further conversation is to be had outside, and the ex-cop doesn't know how to feel about it. He has questions he wants answered, sure, plenty of them, but at the same time he feels completely on edge in the company of these people he's not sure of the intentions of, or their allegiance.

Not that he can do much in the present circumstances. The stone-cold woman says to follow and after a second of brief contemplation, Damien curtly nods his head. He'll do so, for now, take advantage of the hole Delilah promises to punch through. Natalia, in all of her saint-like patience, is in her car on the periphery of the raid, waiting for Damien to return with or without the man he came to help.

He marvels at the fact once more that, yes, Kaden is alive.

They just need to get out, to reach Montesano successfully.

Then Delilah mentions MacDarragh and Cade. The ex-cop is already aware of the presence of the prior, yet his blood still runs cold for a different reason - she tells Damien to cover his face like she's aware he has a past with the piece of shit parading around as law enforcement. How does she know? How much does she know, about that and about the ex-convict? More questions to add to the already gigantic pile, but for the time being the mask and helmet he discarded earlier slide back over Damien's face, concealing everything but the eyes.

Working fast, the ex-convict grips underneath Kaden's arm on the opposite side of one of the heavily-armored men - Malcom, apparently - and the two lift the limp body of the capo simultaneously, slinging his arms over their shoulders to carry him up and out of the apartment. Damien holds onto the man tightly in a steady grip on his waist.

He won't let go, won't let him slip.

Well, with half of Finch's weight on him, Damien can't really afford to let go, not even when Delilah unceremoniously drags Pawl out by the tail, and Damien winces at the way the ragdoll is being handled. The cat struggles and tries to give about as good as she gets, of course, but the fighting effort is useless in the woman's relentless grasp.

"Stop!" yelling is the only thing the ex-cop can do, even if he knows from the start it probably won't make a difference, "You're hurting her!"

Just as he expected, that doesn't stop Delilah from injecting (or rather jabbing) Pawl with whatever poison she chooses out of Kaden's case. A moment later the feline goes slack, and Damien has to hope Pawl is still alive - simply put to sleep - and not that Delilah is the type of person to enjoy lugging around dead animals.

With her head sticking out of the woman's vest, it almost seems like Pawl is the one leading the charge as the group of 6 leave the penthouse.
 
MacDarragh is the crooked cop that traumatized Damien. He's behind this raid.
That's the extent of what Kaden knows. He doesn't know why Delilah isn't fighting, or why she's letting someone like MacDarragh do this.
He has so many questions.
All of which are going to have to wait.
Kaden can't speak. Potentially he could make a noise, for what little good that would do. He's a true liability in this situation; worthless and even dangerous to keep.
And he did this to himself. That's the worst part.

Damien takes him, gentler than the practical, no nonsense grip of the other man. He's always been sensitive to cats as well as humans, even when the people around him don't appreciate or deserve it. That behavior clashes with the severity of his uniform.
Only now does the capo realize how much he truly missed that sensitivity, even if at times he struggled to respect it himself.
Finch desperately wants him to ask Delilah again what she's doing here, if she really is here for him or not.
But the woman's gone rigid with the cold focus only military training can give someone.

If she didn't answer him before, she's not going to now.

"Should we take the elevator, sir?" Malcom asks at the end of the hallway.
Sometimes it's ma'am, sometimes it's sir. Delilah has never corrected either title.

Delilah studies Kaden.
In this state he's a problem to be circumvented.
With all his will and might he tries to clench a hand shut, and only barely feels his fingers glance against one another.

"No, but we will anyway," Delilah decides, knocking the descending button with an elbow.
If she feels anything about being in the empire she built while it falls apart, she doesn't show it.
The retired marine holds an arm along the bump in her stomach, hiking Pawl up.

---
He has to shoot guys he knows.

They go for their guns first and Cade doesn't have time for the, 'it's me' charade.
It's almost like he's a cop again, but a really sucky one.
Some kind of twisted half breed like Neil.

In the end he's doing them a favor.
Unless you're the Black Bitch or her brat, you're not leaving this tower but in cuffs or in a bag. Not unless something big and horrible and devastating happens.
That's enough motivation to push Cade on. It's the same feral instinct that makes him tear at people, but this time he's tearing at everything, everyone.
Anything to make a fucking difference in this city where he's just a speck.

Faintly, he knows this will lead him nowhere fast, but that's where he's always been and always been headed.
Finch knew this would happen. Maybe he didn't know when or how, but he knew a storm was brewing.
The coward knew this was coming and he didn't tell anyone.

Because it didn't matter.

Well, he's right about that, at least. It doesn't.

Their weapons stock is untouched.
The raid hasn't made it this far. The firefight is a howling echo at the Dog's back.
It wasn't long ago he practiced fire down here with Damien. He saw a side of the sissy he didn't expect. Dame didn't even hesitate. He just shot the Nakurra hostage down, no questions asked.

A perfect shot too.

Cade rests his gun against an ammo deposit, grunting to lift the lid.
Carefully packed C4 are nestled inside layers of foam.
This whole level is a powder keg and it's low on the infrastructure of the building.
It will wipe the evidence, but more than that it will blot this whole shit show from Cade's life.

His hand shakes around the C4 trigger and the power and death nestled inside of it like a sleeping dragon.
Oliver comes to mind, round faced and stupid smile.

"Oh Ollie," he mumbles into the overwhelming silence.
 
MacDarragh feels alive.

The captain long left his observational post down at the ground level of the building, entrusting others with the boring organizational duties to instead push up at the front of the charge. Or rather the top, climbing the building's floors one by one as he is.

Good choice - so far ascending the Black Dogs' tower has proven to be a hoot and a holler.

Here the Dogs' have had a bit more time to gather their resolve after hearing the original explosion of gunfire and stun grenades from below. Not that they are particularly organized, leaderless as they still are, but the gangsters are fiercer in their resistance. In an attempt at pushback, they are using guerrilla tactics. That's nostalgic - just like sleeping next to a warm shape, this too sparks distant memories in the man. In a different language, sure, but memories nevertheless.

Some Black Dogs set up an impromptu ambush, and Neil alongside the small team following behind him find themselves in the midst of it, as two sets of gangsters try to round in on them. MacDarragh points down one end of the hallway, whistling, and his service dogs immediately focus in that direction, using open doorways as meager cover to shoot from while the captain swirls around to face the other way, throwing a metal cylinder in the air.

Man, he loves flashbangs.

In the explosion of light and smoke that limits line of sight, the hitman isn't aiming for his regular efficiency - he riddles with bullets the vague outlines of opponents without caring where the hits land. Only after the vapors begin to disperse and he gets a glimpse of vitals does he begin being more purposeful, lethal - one bullet, one target. Men fall, both in front and around him as the officers themselves sustain heavy damage. They're doing their job, at least. Once his side is clear, Neil swirls around to take care of any leftovers.

In the aftermath, 11 bodies litter the ground, with only MacDarragh and one more SWAT member left standing, breathing shakily. It's the kid's first gig of these proportions, and it's becoming a lot more than he bargained for. Neil gives him a thumbs-up that isn't really right for the situation as the confused look the kid returns shows.

The hitman doesn't care. He's smiling beneath the balaclava. MacDarragh is untouchable.

A sudden noise from within one of the rooms makes him swirl his head as a lone Dog rushes out of hiding. This desperate guy does the most rational thing Neil has seen so far - coming up from behind the captain's sole surviving subordinate, the man latches an arm around the policeman's chest, while his other hand holds a gun to the officer's head.

"Drop it!" the order comes out in a belligerent shout.

Neil briefly studies this half-smart gangster - it's not Cade. None of the Black Dogs he has come across are him, no matter how long he searches.

When he doesn't get an immediate reaction, the criminal presses the barrel further against his hostage, whose eyes plead with his captain to find a way out of this, do something like he always does, "I said drop-"

The bullet pierces through the police officer's neck to reach the gangster, coming clean through on the other side as they both fall to the ground in a heap.

Now there are 13 bodies littering the ground.

The air is completely quiet save for the final echoes of gunfire lingering. The sound of continued conflict comes from below. After all, MacDarragh instructed his men not to venture to the top floor of the building at the Black Bitch's insistence. He looks up. Neil doesn't do well with being given orders from people he doesn't know and has no respect for - not to drop his weapon, and not to stay away from certain places.

MacDarragh moves on alone, taking the steps of the final staircase to his destination two or three at a time. He wonders what he'll find up there that Delilah doesn't want anyone getting close to. Or who he'll find - the Bitcher fortified in his castle? Or Wolf cozied up with his oh-so-amazing boss? Why wasn't he in the fray...

The first thing Neil comes across is a broken-down door, thoroughly destroyed at the hinges. Peering into the apartment it had once served as an entrance to, it looks to be empty and silent. It's also very fancy - MacDarragh spots a piece of art nearby that looks like an elongated amorphous mess. He hums to himself - Viv would have something like this in her office. Very phallic, but in an "it broke several times" kind of way.

Voices resound from somewhere outside down the hallway, and that immediately makes Neil perk up. He steps over the door to follow the sound as silently as he can, machine gun held in front.

The hitman spots a group of people - Delilah's entourage, waiting in front of a fucking elevator, with two new additions that immediately pique MacDarragh's curiosity. One of them he recognizes, as pathetic as he might look being supported by two people. The silhouette he'd seen brusquely walking into the hotel the first night he was there with Cade is simply unmistakable - this is the Butcher, unarmored and unable to stand on his own feet.

Neil chuckles to himself.

His amusement only grows when he zeroes in on the other new figure, steadily holding up the Butcher on one side...

"I have to apologize, guess one of my monkeys managed to sneak their way up here," the police captain calls out loudly, leaning against the corner he had been ducking around to observe Delilah and co from behind, "I'll get them out of your hair right this instant."

That's not one of his men. They're wearing the skin of an officer, sure, but they aren't one.

Neil's eyes are glittering as he wets his lips.

---

A familiar voice cutting through the air like a knife has Damien stiffen with a cold, paralyzing dread. He looks down, hiding his eyes as if MacDarragh could even see them from where he is standing. There's no way he recognized him, none-

MacDarragh whistles, like he's calling an animal to his side, and the fear mixes with repulsion in the ex-cop's gut.

Even if he didn't recognize him, the captain is calling out to him as if he were one of his own. Damien's heart is galloping. This is the same way he felt back when Moore got assassinated - a confused, scrambling animal that will do anything to escape, even blindly shoot a fucking kid. He forces himself to swallow down the bile when the repulsion in his gut threatens to rise up.

There's nowhere to really run now.

The ex-cop chances a glance over his shoulder and he pales - this is the worst-case scenario. Armored and cocky, Neil is brandishing a machine gun in front of himself, pointed casually down and forward. It'd take a simple flick of the wrist to aim it up at Damien and the rest, and while he, Delilah, Clive and Malcom are all geared up, Kaden isn't. He can't even move on his own. If that gun starts spitting fire, no matter how skilled those agents are-

MacDarragh whistles again, more insistent this time, and Damien cringes.

How long does it take fucking elevator to arrive? The ex-cop's fight-or-flight instinct is screaming at him scratching at the inside of his head, begging him to run. But he can't. And even if he did, then what? Will he accidentally shoot another Conley? Will he hurt Kaden?

His hold on the man tightens.

"You said we'd talk when we're out..." his voice is low when he addresses Delilah, "I'll hold you to that."

Damien lets go of the capo and turns to move away, nodding at Clive to take his place.

"I'll catch up in a bit," he doesn't know who he says that to - Delilah, Kaden, or himself.
 
Waiting makes Delilah shift her weight from foot to foot. She's always been good at waiting, better than he ever was but standing still makes her antsy.
Especially with the sound of gun fire closing in.

And it's for good reason.

Kaden hears him before he sees him. He has a voice like slime.
Delilah narrows her eyes at the new comer. This must be MacDarragh.
Kaden feels like screaming. If there was a time Damien needs him it's now!

The Queen Dog has her rifle pointed up, resting back on her shoulder.
Her eyes flick from the captain to Damien, a gentle grimace souring her regular expression of disapproval.
Kaden urges a foot to move, and it does, barely.
She can't let MacDarragh take Damien. She can't let Damien go, he'll kill him!
Or something much worse.

Damien responds to the whistle, like a dog. The man gives Kaden a squeeze before willingly surrendering himself.
Kaden's traded over to Clive, the hold stronger but that much more impersonal.
Finch grunts, his pride in the dirt when it comes out more a whine than anything else.
A short, desperate animal sound.

Don't go.

Delilah grabs Damien by the arm, an almost instinctual snatch. The Queen pulls the man in, taking a step to half put him behind her.
The motion makes Pawl's head roll a bit, a helpless passenger Kaden's sure Delilah's forgotten all about in the present tension.

She eyes Neil leaning so cavalier along the wall.
There's a charm to the man that placed in a dangerous raid makes him instantly unpalatable. Finch has only met a handful of truly unstable men and kept them at a wide distance. They work poorly with others and their unpredictable nature makes them unreliable.

And they make him feel...wrong.

This man secretes this wrongness like sweat.
Kaden's a bad man. MacDarragh is a bad man.
Does Delilah know him? Or know only of him?

Slowly and then all at once she releases her iron grip.

No!

The elevator dings. The doors slide open.
Empty.
Delilah jerks her head in silent command but never lets her eyes off the captain.
Finch rails against his dead body, fighting to put up some resistance as he's dragged inside.
Damien came here to save Kaden and he's going to die for it.

"We won't wait long," Delilah says, stabbing a button.
The silver doors begin to close.
 
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When Delilah grips Damien and half-puts herself between him and MacDarragh, the ex-cop's eyes widen before his jaw clenches in frustration. They should go, that's what he's doing this for. Yet, when her powerful hold releases and Damien is faced with the reality that he's willingly staying back here, alone with this psycho, suddenly he misses the contact. It's embarrassing and he's thankful his expression is mostly covered. The ex-cop said he'd catch up with an assurance he doesn't actually have in his heart.

The elevator arrives and he almost turns tail to rush in. Almost. Rooting his feet Damien fights the urge, and soon enough the doors close, taking Kaden and the rest away to what he hopes is safety. Delilah said they'll wait. Not long, but they will. That's fine, the ex-convict will keep his word and meet them once he's dealt with Neil. Somehow...

Damien lets out a shaky breath.

MacDarragh approaches with his usual swagger while the ex-cop remains motionless, head bowed like a child about to be scolded. He eyes the S&W at his hip, feeling his shooting hand twitch-

"Eyes up," the captain gestures with the machine gun he has pointed at Damien for the man to look at him.

He doesn't want to, but he does.

For the second time since he was released from prison grey eyes meet green and a spark of recognition comes across the latter. Mixed with... surprise? Was MacDarragh expecting someone else? A second later the surprise morphs back into something sharp.

The police captain reaches up with his free hand to undo his helmet. He discards it alongside the mask, unveiling an all too familiar smug expression. Damien feels sick, even more so when a quirk of a blonde eyebrow and another twitch of the heavy-duty firearm wordlessly order him to follow the cop's example. Reluctantly, he does that too.

"Damien," Neil smiles once the ex-convict removes the last useless line of defense for his identity, "You didn't even say hi last time. That was rude."

---

It's not Cade.

No, it's someone Neil didn't anticipate seeing here at all. His belief that this city is way too small IS reaffirmed - the mouse he'd wanted to catch just so happens to fall in his lap. What is he doing here, helping retrieve one of the Black Dog's top men? MacDarragh grins and, as expected, Damien looks unnerved by the expression. That's how the man's been for a long time around him - scared shitless. It's funny being able to cause such discomfort by merely existing.

The hitman props the machine gun on his hip, rifling through his pockets before he finds the thing he's looking for - a carton of cigarettes. He grips one of them in his teeth, pulling it out.

"Still smoke, yeah?" MacDarragh questions only to receive no response in return. That makes him chuckle.

A flame flickers to life in front of his face, and Neil lights the cigarette with a long drag, letting the smoke drift out of his mouth slowly.

"You of all people got tangled up with the Black Dogs? Ooo, how naughty," he mocks, and while Damien glares the man continues to be stubbornly quiet. Or maybe he's too afraid to speak, "What, you fucking the Butcher or something?"

Now, that gets a reaction, "Fuck off, MacDarragh."

Neil laughs. That tells him enough. Blumenthal's always been a terrible judge of character, not to mention childishly naive. It's what makes him both incredibly pathetic and very amusing to poke at - this guy that played at being a good cop with his buddy and even now, afraid as he is, stayed behind so "bravely".

The captain takes another drag of the cigarette before stomping it out, humming to himself, "How about you fuck off instead?"

Damien's eyes widen in confusion, not really understanding. The captain grins, pointing the machine gun at Blumenthal with his finger on the trigger, though he doesn't shoot, not yet, tapping at it instead. Once. Twice. On the third time something finally clicks in the ex-convict's head, and like the coward Neil knows he is deep down, he shifts to the side.

The gun comes alive.

---

Damien is running, again, scrambling for dear life. Fire follows him at a distance, ricocheting off of walls and threatening to cut into the unarmored parts of his body, that dark shape nipping at his heels in relentless pursuit. Neil's footsteps from behind resound at a languid pace, almost casual. As if he's certain that no matter how fast the ex-convict runs he won't be able to escape. Maybe he's right.

Damien is gripped by a fear that makes his head dizzy. In the thoughtlessness of it all, he doesn't know how he ends up here, but he finds himself slamming shoulder-first into the emergency exit, breathlessly emerging on the landing to the long staircase leading to the bottom of the building. His reptile brain screams with delight - this is it, a way out.

His lungs are burning, but he doesn't give them even a second of reprieve as he begins barrelling down the steps, taking several at a time, landing so hard on the landings below that his legs ache.

When the sound of the door being kicked open follows him, he only redoubles his efforts. He can't stop running, he can't. If he does MacDarragh will catch up. All he needs is to keep moving forward, and eventually he'll reach the bottom, where safety lies.

The shots from above him have ceased. Fuck. Is Neil calling on his subordinates to apprehend him along the way?

Damien faulters for but a moment, just the blink of an eye. That's enough of a mistake.

A sharp pain shoots through his arm.

---

Neil grins looking down the winding staircase, down the rear sight of the handgun he'd taken out in favor of the spent machine gun. The running below him has suddenly stopped, and the hitman breathes in the silence. Damien is not dead, no, but he's pretty sure he got him.

"You've become very morally bankrupt, Blumenthal," Neil's voice rings out, and he clicks his tongue as if to chastise, beginning to descend further, "Not only involving yourself with criminals, but crippling a damn kid."

No answer reaches him, so the captain keeps poking where he knows it'll hurt someone like the ex-cop the most.

"You want to know how the officer you shot is doing? He'll never be able to return to active duty again. It'll be a miracle if he even walks."

There are specks of blood on the concrete, leading further down.

"You're being so quiet, how heartless... Maybe you'd rather know about Michael's final moments?"

Something below shifts involuntarily, and Damien's voice finally reaches him, filled with surprise. That was the right button to push.

"How-" the sentence starts off in disbelief before it becomes a shout, "It was you. You hired her! The Siren-"

Ah, so he knows about her? Makes sense, that's probably why he tried to kidnap Tom. Giving her the old man's name had been a good move on MacDarragh's end.

"What can I say, I like supporting up-and-coming talent," the High-Rise had told him to outsource, and so he did. He found someone he knew would be able to gain access to Kell, just like he would have gained access to Blumenthal, "Genie did a very admirable job."

More footsteps resound, yet not nearly as fast as before.

"But she had to put in some extra work after Moore stepped in to save your ass. Or, well, got your ass framed for the murder."

The light blood trail he has been following stops right outside of another emergency exit, half-open. Neil smirks, holstering his gun and taking out a tactical knife.

This ends here, "You should have died 15 years ago, Damien. It would have been a mercy."

---

MacDarragh opens the door, confident as ever like he has nothing to fear. He's always looked down on Damien. He looks down on everyone - it took the ex-cop a while to realize it back in the day, but to Neil people are objects, to be used and then discarded once their purpose runs out. Or once he stops having fun with them. They're beneath him, and this demented cockiness is what'll be the death of the man. This Blumenthal swears.

He's behind the door, lying in wait, and the hitman anticipated it, of course, lashing out with a blade in hand. What he didn't anticipate is for the ex-cop not to flinch away in fear like he usually does. He doesn't even duck.

Damien catches the knife in his hand and even though the sharp edge immediately starts shredding through his glove, he doesn't let go. Maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, or maybe Neil actually looks taken aback for a beat.

Whatever irrational panic had been in the ex-convict's bones has been replaced with numbness.

Gene is gone. Moore is dead.

In an instant, all the ire Damien holds gets transferred onto this singular person before him.

MacDarragh tries to pull back the knife and it digs in further, but Damien won't release it, closing the distance between the two. He's working on autopilot when his fist connects with the captain's abdomen. The upper arm where the bullet hit him screams out in pain, but he doesn't care. The action repeats itself over and over, and over again.

All he can think is that he could have prevented this. When he was still on the force, Damien found out about the way Neil abused his power, what he liked to do under the protection of a badge. God only knows what he allows himself in his current position... And instead of reporting that to anyone, he confronted who he thought was a person he knew. Stupidly. And he got what he deserved. Neil's always been a violent man.

When he realizes Damien won't release the blade, MacDarragh lets go of it instead, attempting to shift away. The ex-cop won't allow that - he comes at the hitman in a tackle and soon enough they are both lying on the ground. He doesn't know exactly how, but Neil is on his stomach - maybe he fell like this, maybe Damien flipped him over. That doesn't matter. The knife is still in his hand, and while that one might not be able to grip it well, injured and bloody as it is, the other one will.

Damien raises the blade up and embeds it deep into MacDarragh's back. He repeats the same thing again, before the body beath him starts to shift, working to scramble away.

No way is he letting that happen. He'll brutalize the fucker.

The third strike finds its way into Neil's shoulder and the muscles there tense with the pain. If the policeman is wincing or saying anything, that doesn't compute in Damien's mind.

No, instead what reaches him is the sound of footsteps rushing down the hallway, closing in. It's a sobering thing. Whether those are Black Dogs or cops approaching, it's bad news for him either way. Plus, he promised he'd catch up... He glares down at MacDarragh.

It's with some reluctance that the ex-cop moves away, standing up to keep running, but not before one final kick to the man's side. The emergency exit closes behind Damien as he continues his descent.
 
The cops let them pass.
Delilah's men aren't in police garbs, and they let them pass.
They pass by hurting Black Dogs and they don't stop.
Faces Kaden recognize look to them, bleeding and confused as he's allowed out and they aren't. A cat, as special as she may be, is personally carried to safety.

He can't find Cade. In the sea of faces twisted in betrayal and confusion, Cade isn't one of them. The man should have been the first one to find Kaden and they didn't even encounter one another on the way down.

"Dee..." The smothered word is lost in the smog of sound.
These are their people... How could she leave them? How could she leave him?
Tweets mouths at Kaden, pushing against an officer. The veins in his neck suggest he'd be screaming if he could.
The man's quickly brought back in line, shoved into the back of an armored vehicle.

The Butcher is passed from hand to hand, brought into the warmth of a vehicle of his own.
"Watch his head," Malcom grunts and a hand goes through Kaden's hair, digging in by the roots to keep him from slamming into the headrest.
Once seated, the belt goes across his chest and waist, clicking into place.
Finch rolls his head to see the shadowy shape of the Black Dog building through the tinted windows.

Damien's all alone up there. Unless Natalie is somewhere nearby, the man doesn't have a friend in the world.
Kaden swallows, teeth gritting with effort. Delilah's waiting outside, like a wolf scouting prey. For the moment, the car door remains open.
"...Why?" He manages.

Delilah is studying the building, the wash of black figures posted at the entrance.
Ambulances and cop cars bath the outside in a mesmerizing flashing of red and blue.

There's a lot Finch could be asking. Delilah's half glance says as much.
"Damien..." That's all he can do, that's all he has.
Finch wants to tighten his hand into a white fist, but the digits only gently hug together. Just like he was helpless to find Delilah, incapable of protecting the Black Dogs, he can't do anything for Damien.
The ex-con is very little of what he has left, and the man isn't even Kaden's. The desperation remains the same.

Delilah looks down at the cat in her vest, and then, clearly remembering Pawl's there, makes movement to remove her.

"You can't negotiate with crazy," she says, pulling Pawl up by the scruff like a wet towel. Her eyes are more than half slitted, the slip of a pink tongue peeking out. Normally her tail would curl up between her legs in such a position but gravity and circumstances has pulled it into a sagging rope beneath her.
The old marine sets the ragdoll down in a pile on the seat next to Kaden.
Her attention turns back to her legacy being turned to dust, one bullet at a time.
"He's well bred if he makes it back."

Kaden's frown comes on shaky and weak.
He doesn't find the time to question that statement.

The world cracks. Bellows.

Windows shatter in a sparkling hail. Tongues of flame roll out the gouges, puking black smoke.
The world roars again as several more explosives go off. Fire blooms, the building sheds.
The ground shakes. Kaden's ears ring.
Even from this distance, in this cold, he can feel the heat on his skin.
Paramedics and police scurry away from the croaking, creaking building. It wails into the wind, like a living thing, bleeding it's soul in the flames eating it up.

Finch unlatches his seatbelt, but only falls into Clive's restrictive arms.
Pushing blindly at the man does nothing. Pawl had a better chance against Delilah.
He can't see from here, can't be sure. Did Damien make it out?!

"Load up," the queen Dog orders, glaring at the trembling building the same way she studied MacDarragh.
Dangerous, unpredictable.

You said you'd wait!

---
Cade expects to feel something when he pushes the trigger.
Some paradigm shifting horror that washes over him like a wave.

The heat rolls over him, shredding the cold air in claws of fire.
Cade basks in the warmth. His fingers were numb. His toes. His face. This is a hug that wraps around his being.
Police and gangsters scurry like rats.
All of them running from something Cade did.
Cadence fucking Wilson.

They fucked around and they finally found out.

Murderers are caught returning to the scene of the crime. Either they get paranoid and come back to hide something or they're so fucked in the head they want to relive the moment.
Cade doesn't want to relive anything, but he does want to relish in it. Something like this isn't something you turn away from.
He's not looking for anything in particular, or anyone, stalking the corpse of his old life while everyone hides. He doesn't know who made it out and who didn't.
Cade can only hope Kaden's somewhere underneath all this.
That he'll step on him and be able to hear the fucker beg him to take him to safety.
They'd see which one of them wears the leash best.

Something shifts in the rubble near the exit.
Cade latches onto the movement, like a cat with a mouse.
The struggles grow weaker and weaker until they stop altogether.
Another cop.

Cade only knows it's Neil from the pretty bruises across his nose. Ash and blood has added a new, striking dynamic to the colors.
Fate or some nonsense has brought them back together again.
And for once, Cade's got the upper hand.

Ever the fighter and survivor, he's wedged his gun between his leg and the debris pinning it mercilessly to the ground.
Evidently, his efforts weren't enough. The man's bone still now. Unconscious, rather than defeated.
Although... He could be dead.

"...Help," another voice, another cop not a few feet away.
A hand weakly shakes from under a pile. The Captain's team, squished around him on their frenzied effort to escape.
Cade did that.
Cade did that to Neil.

The ruin of the tower creaks, long and drawn out.
Cade shields his burning face with one hand.
Using the gun turned leverage lever, Cade heaves the crushing debris with a groan. If he lets it drop, it could cripple Neil further.
The broken pinky, courtesy of the man in question nearly makes Cade lose his grip. Blood rushes to his head, muscles aching.
There's a point in his mind where he realizes the potential of leaving this guy to become barbecue if he doesn't want to die in here too.
The thought fills Cade with a whirlwind of feelings. Anger, obviously.
A fuck ton of anger. Dying like this would be too easy for Neil, too impersonal.
With a scream, the block of cement and rebar shifts and rolls away.
Cade huffs, heaving air that burns his throat.

He scoops Neil up, an arm under his legs and back.
In comparison, carrying Neil is like carrying nothing.
Limp and small, he melts into Cade's arms. His face rolls into Cade's chest, away from the heat. Dirty hair sticks to his skin with sweat and blood. If it weren't for that, he'd look just like he's sleeping.
You would never see this quiet face and tie it to all the horror.
Even in the present circumstances, Cade let's himself feel a little smug satisfaction Neil's still and pressed up against him.
Exactly what the idiot seems to hate.

Another piece of the ceiling detaches, crushing the other survivor.
Cade turns away, tucking the body in close.

In the chaos, no one stops Cade. No one even notices their captain is missing.
By the time they do, he'll be long gone.
 
Damien did that. He actually did that. He stood up to him.

The sensation of the blade cutting into MacDarragh lingers somewhere in his galloping mind... Is it messed up to call it cathartic? Yet, that's what it had felt like. Cathartic, and painfully won.

The ex-cop's eyes flick down to his left palm - the glove has been thoroughly shredded in a horizontal line as has the skin beneath it, though in the mess of leather and blood he can't see exactly what the extent of the damage might be.

... He can barely feel his fingers.

Damien attempts to clench his fist shut and the digits twitch before the movement sends a sharp pain up the entirety of his limb, causing him to briefly falter in his steps, bumping against the railing. The ex-cop bites down on an exclamation of pain, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. His right upper arm somehow hurts less - the bullet hit him, yes, but it didn't embed itself. It just left a deep graze that, as much as it burns, is nothing compared to this.

Fuck. At least most of this damage Damien caused to himself, he chose not to let go of the knife. He did this too.

The ex-cop grasps his bleeding palm with his good one and squeezes, curbing the blood flow as best as he can, then starts running down the stairs once more, carried forward by adrenalin. That, and the thought that he needs to hurry. Half of him regrets not finishing the job, but the other half of him knows he can't afford to get caught. He needs to leave, fast, or Delilah will have vanished, spiriting Kaden away.

At the mere idea, Damien redoubles his efforts. No way is he going to let that happen.

Especially not when he's so close. The ex-convict's feet land hard on the final landing of the long concrete rectangle that is the emergency staircase - the egress door is right there, almost within reach. Ignoring the protests of his body begging him to stop, slow down, the ex-cop leans into the steel of the exit, pressing down on the level with an elbow. The cold winter air is a relief he can't quite put into words. Like finally being able to breathe again.

The building shakes, and all at once the chill of the outside is replaced by a sudden heat.

Damien feels the explosion before he hears it. The ground below the man trembles and, rushing outside as he is, suddenly he becomes unbalanced. The step turns into a stumble. The ex-cop falls forward to the ground head over heel as everything around him erupts in sound and light, windows above shattering to rain glass shards, and it's only at the last second that the man manages to curl in on himself to try and guard against them.

What the hell just happened?

Raising his head to look at the Black Dog's tower, Damien can't believe his eyes - something inside of the building blew up, its facade groaning with the strain of having some foundational part of itself hollowed out. It's not a professional demolition, the type that would make it collapse in on itself the blink of an eye. Instead, this is a slow, tortuous death for something that once stood so proud.

There's an instinctual, foreign giddiness that settles in Damien's gut after the initial shock - maybe the explosion got Neil.

It doesn't take much for the giddiness to twist into disgust - at the situation, at himself - as tongues of fire dance through the destroyed windows, lapping up at the side of the building while inside a crumbling inferno rages. How many people just died in there? How many police officers and Black Dogs alike?

Did Kaden make it out?

Damien stiffens, scrambling to get back up on his feet. He has to have, he must have. Delilah wouldn't have risked lingering inside, surely...

He finally takes in his surroundings - the emergency exit led to a side alleyway, barren and with no vantage point to the front entrance. No sight of where the capo might be. The ex-convict grits his teeth, setting into a sprint again, fighting against the exhaustion and the aches. His body can protest the mistreatment all it wants later. As soon as he finds Finch. The sounds of evacuation in progress lead him forward, and soon enough he finds himself in the midst of chaos - law enforcement and paramedics scrambling to get away, some on foot, others in vehicles.

Damien's eyes sweep over the scene, this blur of bodies, searching desperately, and then like a beacon they latch onto her - Delilah, her entourage nearby, in the process of loading up into a car.

A bloody hand extends to grasp at a car door before it closes, holding it open with what little force the ex-cop has left. His voice is breathless from running, "I caught up."

Kaden is the first thing Damien's sight finds inside and his chest fills with relief - he's still alive, dark brown eyes clearer than they were before, but with one of the agents holding him in place. The ex-cop grimaces. For a split second, he thinks about wrenching Kaden away, dragging him and Pawl off to where Nat promised to wait. Then the tower groans - a piercing, sad noise on the verge of collapse. Montesano is all the way back at the police parameter...

Glancing at Delilah out of the corner of his eye, Damien ducks to sit inside the vehicle.
 
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Kaden rarely finds it within himself to cry.
The tears just won't fall, no matter how he aches. Already he can feel the dry sobs, the utter emptiness he won't be able to voice.
Even on the edge of the abyss, he won't make a sound. Against it all, he's suffocating again.

But the overwhelming sight of Damien catches the Butcher's brain off guard again. Through blurry vision, he watches Damien struggle into the relative safety of the vehicle, alive and in one piece.
Behind him Delilah's expression softness minutely.

The Queen Dog follows him in, slamming the door behind her.
As soon as she's seated, the car races off with a squeal of the tires.
The tower fades gradually into the distance as they drive. Kaden's home and life gone up in smoke and fire.
He should have been punished for this failure; he should be back there with them.

"Let him go, Clive. He's not going anywhere," Delilah says, unloading her rifle and setting it down between the car door and seat.
At her order, Kaden is put back in his seat. It was frustrating before, but now with the tension low enough to breathe, it's more or less humiliating. Gradually his mobility has been improving, bit by bit, but he's presently weak as a kitten.
Next time he does something as stupid as this again it will be completely lethal and painless.

At the very least, he gets to sit next to Damien.
The man's hot, panting. Shaking. He smells like smoke. The uniform's fabric is shades darker on his shoulder, where blood has soaked it.
And yet the ex-con is far more preoccupied with his opposite hand.

Finch's hands tremble to take stock of Damien's possible injuries. He grunts when he can't do any more than rest his hand over Damien's arm, the one holding his other hand. The man's alive. He's actually alive. It shouldn't have worked out this well, but it has. Finch grips the gauntlet with the little strength he has. The warm tactile armor slides under his fingers with grime.
He's came back. He's here, he's really here.
"You're hurt?"

Delilah exhales, craning her head back.
She unstraps her gloves, biting the tip to pull her hand free.
Velcro snaps and growls as she takes her outer vest off as well.
When someone wears armor they look almost absurdly large and then ridiculously tiny once they undress.
Delilah has filled every corner, and partially freed she still looks formidable. A fine sheen of sweat covers her arms. Pawl's silver white hairs stick to the front of her tunic.
Now the cat is in Clive's lap and as competent as the man is in a heated situation, he seems completely unsure about what to do with the feline. He holds his hands up, as if poor Pawl will bite.
Malcom volunteers, taking the cat into his own lap to stroke at her chest.

"We've got wounded," Delilah informs the driver. "Take us to the clinic."
 
Damien wishes he could relax in the seat - his shoulders are begging him for it, for just a moment of reprieve. It's been weeks since he's put them through anything of this intensity, and now all at once he expects them to comply? Tough luck. Yet, every time the ex-cop's muscles do slacken the pain in his palm and shoulder surge, so he keeps tensing his arms, fighting against the exhaustion. That in turn only makes the soreness of fastly forming bruises worse. It's a lose-lose situation, really.

But at least he can take solace in the fact that Kaden is next to him.

The capo reaches out - slowly, weakly - placing a hand on Damien's arm as he squeezes it faintly through the uniform. He's regaining his mobility, that's good. The action itself is good for other, much more selfish reasons that it's really not the time for currently. Yet, every time Kaden has allowed himself to touch or be touched in the past, the ex-cop has been left warmer for it, and that stands true for the present as well. He turns his head to look at the man.

Kaden's eyes are misty. At that Damien's breath hitches, remembering the state he found him in up in the penthouse. Motionless, suffocating on the floor. The trail that had run down from the corner of his eye as he was clinging to life is long dry at this point, though more threaten to join it. The ex-convict wants to return the touch desperately, to reach out and wipe away the moisture from Finch's eyes.

Damien's missed him.

He was well aware that this reality - with all its implications and hurt - would reaffirm itself if he saw Kaden ever again, but after hearing about the raid... well, he couldn't stay away. He's glad he didn't

The ex-convict wants to return the touch, but his stiff upper limbs feel locked in place, trembling involuntarily, so instead, he settles for scooting his leg to lightly brush up against Kaden's, resting it there for the time being.

Damien stares at the familiar face of someone he's come to care for, voice low, "I'll be fine."

Delilah's instructions to the driver break the ex-cop out of his own thought, and his gaze shifts to look at the woman, "A clinic? Where?"

The clinic. The way she'd said it almost makes it sound like it's an establishment she has a history with... Damien needs to contact Natalia. She's waiting, still. However, if he can't find it in himself to release his grip long enough to reach out to a person beside him, what hope does he have of handling his phone properly to dial the sergeant? Not to mention given the explosion, signals are probably difficult to go through because of calls being made to emergency services, seeking help. Of course, he could text her and wait for the message to go through, but merely thinking about having to press all those buttons sounds like torture.

Not to mention, he can't know how Delilah would react to him trying to contact anyone. Damien's suspicions toward the leader of the Black Dogs are far from gone. His eyes narrow,

"What are you doing here, Delilah?" the ex-cop reiterates his question from earlier, given that now that they're out they can talk as she'd promised. He winces moving in the seat to face her properly, before speaking again, "And why did MacDarragh just let you walk away? He sounded like he recognized you..."
 
"It's privately owned. You'll get the best care," Delilah explains, glancing at Damien's injured hand.
The pressure has stemmed the bleeding, but blood isn't the entire issue. An injury to the hand could be catastrophic. But apparently, Delilah has access to her own institution. When? And how?
The Black Dogs were never that successful.

"I was there saving his ass," Delilah says, nodding at Kaden.
She's watched the way Damien's nudged his knee into Kaden's and watched even closer at Kaden's returned gesture.

Finch bites his lip, grimacing at his childish antics. He had been at the end of his rope. Apparently his endurance is weaker than he would've liked, and his helplessness put Damien in danger. Delilah as well.
Neither of them would have come if he wasn't in trouble. Trouble, partially of his own making.

"MacDarragh," Delilah murmurs with a certain level of distaste. And something else, reverence maybe.
"He wanted you, not me. If I'd been in a better position I wouldn't have let him him take you. Did you kill him?"

"Wh...where have you been?" Kaden asks in a breath.
Part of him doesn't want to do this here, with Damien bleeding. But he can't help himself. For the time being they're limited to this vehicle. It's the optimal time to ask the questions he's been dying to know. Literally. Even if he has to do it in the company of these men Kaden's never met.
Some young part of Finch worries that when the vehicle stops and Delilah disembarks she'll disappear again.
He needs answers before that happens.

Delilah sniffs, wipes at her chin with a thumb.
"Look, it's complicated."

Finch waits for more, but it never comes.
Dread pools in his stomach.
He says what he's known since the gala.
"You're with the High-Rise."

Delilah doesn't snap her attention to Finch, but she doesn't look away either. Nor does she deny the accusation. She sits, eyeing him
"Yes. More or less."

Kaden swallows.
"How long?"

"Half a year."

The ruffled din of the car's interior washes over Kaden's senses like a hood. The world becomes muffled. The moment turns into a smear.
Delilah's face doesn't shift, or maybe time is truly slowed down.
He brushes his leg further into Damien's.
His life's gone. It's foundation was being taken apart months ago and he didn't even know it.
 
Delilah asks if he killed MacDarragh and Damien clenches his jaw several times over.

"No, I didn't have the time," he answers in as measured of a tone as he can manage, squeezing down on his torn-up palm the same way he'd clutched the knife as he plunged it into the captain's back. For once Damien hadn't been the helpless one of the two, "But I hurt him. The explosion should have finished him off."

Hopefully.

As much of a slippery snake as MacDarragh is, Damien barely managed to evacuate the building with a headstart on the bastard, and even if his team did come to his rescue, groups of people tend to move slower, especially with a wounded member. The blast was a tragic event, yes, yet the ex-cop can pray that at least that sham of a police officer is well and truly gone from this world - the hitman that has hurt so many; the one responsible for hiring out the kill on his best friend.

It would offer some kind of closure, maybe. Possibly... Gene had committed the murder, Neil had given her the specifics, and Tom had been the corrupted official that facilitated such a thing even being possible in the first place - both the homicide and the frameup.

Now all three - these targets he'd listed in front of Kaden the very first night when they sat in the diner - are potentially gone, one way or another.

However, Damien can't find it in himself to feel much fulfillment. He hasn't thought about his personal revenge plans for weeks. Well, he has, but in a different light. All of these individuals were responsible in their own way, sure, but the fact remains that the ones truly culpable are the High-Rise. And this isn't only about Michael. It's about the city at large and its people. Natalia and Eli, and Kaden.

And then all at once, Delilah reveals she works with the High-Rise.

Damien bites down on his tongue. He shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't, he's more or less known this ever since the events of the gala. Maybe he's even suspected it since Finch revealed that his boss wasn't dead, and that set off some kind of deep uneasiness in the ex-cop. It's the only thing that explains her actions - faking her death, assassinating the head of the Nakurra, waltzing through the police raid like it was nothing.

Damien isn't necessarily staggered at the revelation itself. No, he's taken aback by the levels of calculated cruelty it puts on display, the truth spoken with such emotionlessness he doesn't know how to exactly react to it. Except to snarl.

"Complicated?" he spits the word out through clenched teeth. It would be a scoff if he wasn't so angry, "Like that justifies anything!"

Delilah came to save Kaden, after doing all of this to him?! She pushed the capo into a gang war he felt forced to fight in her stead, and now the Black Dogs' tower lies in ruins. And it's not like she'd switched sides when she originally disappeared - apparently, this has been going on for half a year. It's all so unfair!

"Why? Why do all of this?"

And why bring Damien along now? She seems to be aware of who he is, surely she's aware of his vendetta as well. The ex-cop's eyes sweep over the interior of the car, eyeing up the agents still present. Fuck. For once, for one fucking time, he enjoyed a single moment of not being helpless, and now he's stuck here, powerless to do anything against them if they make any move. To add insult to injury, these people are driving him to a damn clinic. Why does he keep ending up in such situations?

Kaden's knee bumps further against his, and instantly Damien's mouth clacks shut, eyes on the man filled with concern.

That's the worst part, really. No matter how the ex-cop feels, he can't even begin to imagine what state the capo is in. All he can think about is that near-collision. Unlike then, though, Damien's in no position to force the wheel to turn, as much as he might want to. All he can offer is something to lean on, and that feels inadequate. He feels inadequate.
 
Damien speaks on Kaden's behalf when he no longer can.
Delilah deadpans, "I made a mistake."

A mistake? Which part, the betrayal or this?

Finch looks to the faces of the men Delilah's with, their blurry features and shifting expressions. Are they High-Rise as well? How many other people is she affiliated with? What else is she keeping from him, and why? What did he do to make her choose this?

Absolutely, he has more questions. But the process from thought to voice is too tedious a journey for his brain to make. They're lodged somewhere in his throat, stuck, the same way he's frozen behind his eyes.
He's a shell, buried inside.

The interaction carries on without him. Finch hears sounds, but he struggles to put them together.

"I never asked for him," Delilah's voice says, her mouth moving several seconds late to match with the words.
She's talking to Damien, he thinks.
Poor Damien, he never asked for this. He shouldn't be here. He could have died. Why doesn't the man have any sense?

"I sent him away and he just kept coming back. What was I supposed to do?" She gives a mirthless chuckle.
Finch blinks, slow, but can't make his eyes focus. There's a dreamlike quality to the situation, fuzzy like static. None of it seems real.
There's an intermittent tap of blood that slowly stretches from the back of Damien's hand before oozing free to drip to the floor.
Malcolm's greaves shine with Pawl's drool leaking onto his thigh. Her eyes are half open, glazed.

"I wasn't half as awful as someone else would've been," Delilah murmurs, somewhere far away.
"You think he's good looking now you should've seen him when he was fifteen. Beautiful kid, eager to please. I never touched him. Never let anyone else touch him either."

Kaden's unaware how much more of his past is unearthed for Damien to hear.
He blinks and whole streets have passed them by.
It's like being half asleep, but this isn't calm. The capo imagines with the very distant practical thinking this must be the most awkward drive of anyone's life, but he can't bring himself to speak.

Clive snaps his fingers. Waves his hand in front of Kaden's face. He smiles.
Delilah slaps the man's hand down, glaring at him.
She says more words, more sounds, but none of them penetrate.
 
---

The facility is surrounded by a high stone wall, highlighted with rustic yellow lights.
The driver and the man at the checkpoint exchange a few muffled words before the gate slides open.
Once driven through, the gate closes behind them.

There's what looks like a park nearby, shrouded in snow. Footprints sprinkle the ground, showing it's well use. A great mound of snow is cluttered with the bright red and blue of sleds that have been left haphazardly.

What is this place?

The parking isn't empty, but they find a spot closer than one would expect.
Kaden doesn't jerk into his body. A nudge into his leg brings him back in a blink and a soft inhale.

The crushing reality this is real and it's happening now taps him across his face, padded and slow.
The car door creaks open. The cold air nips at Kaden's nose.

"C'mon, buddy." Malcom says in a soft tone that can only come off as condescending. There's nothing menacing in his face and he looks particularly well meaning holding Pawl.
Delilah bites her lip.

Finch only pulls himself together when Damien moves.
He needs to stay with him. He doesn't know where this is, or what Delilah has planned for him.

This place is so clean the snow piled up by diggers is nearly completely white.
The walkway to the entrance is clear, and if examined closely even seems to give off steam.
They've heated the driveway.

The facility is glowing with Christmas lights, soft yellow and blue. It's comforting and homey in a refined way.
Trees lining the walk way in intermittent spaces have bald, low hanging branches covered in ornaments.
Home made ones, with glitter and constructed with popsicle sticks.

It takes until they're at the sliding doors to realize Delilah and her men don't have their heavy artillery.
Hidden weaponry, most likely, but that's all.
But the priority is taking care of Damien's wounds. That's the first step. Kaden can focus on that.

The interior seems more like a real hospital. Clinical, but well maintained.
The waiting room is empty, save for the toys.
They have plush armchairs and a large toy pirate ship that acts as a cubby holds for small shoes and little backpacks.

"I need emergency care," Delilah tells the nurse at the counter.
The woman has soft eyes that refuse to dampen against the old marine's abrasive nature. The uniform and general roughness of the group doesn't seem to register to the receptionist.
Delilah points a finger at Damien.
"His hand is minced meat and I think he's been shot too."

The nurse is picking up a phone, holding it to her shoulder.
"Right away, Ms Shepherd. We'll get him prepped."

It isn't long before Damien is swarmed by medical personnel. All the new faces and voices make Kaden glare, even if they don't deserve the ire. There's too many people, there's too many new things, new sounds, new smells.
Everything is too new and too sudden and he wants it to go away.
Instead Kaden is herded aside, separated from the man who came back for him.
"I'll be here, Damien. I'll wait for you," he says, and he doesn't know if he's reassuring Damien or himself.

When he goes to follow, he's jerked back by Clive's sudden hold on his arm. It's hard and cruel, borderline painful. An hour ago Finch was helpless, even reliant on it.
The Butcher's attention flies to the hand holding him back and a surge of energy drives him into awareness.

It's Delilah's hand on his shoulder that gives him pause.
She grips him and the contact is grounding, restraining. Finch releases a shaky exhale. A shiver runs down his back.

"I..." He urges himself not to speak, but under her gaze it comes out anyway. "...need him to be okay."

Delilah nods. The springy curls of her hair bounce.
There's freckles across her face. They're easier to focus on than her eyes.
She nods at Clive who hesitantly releases Finch.

"I know," she says, squeezing his shoulder.
"I know."
 
It feels like a children's hospital. That's the immediate thing that comes to Damien's mind. A cozy, well-maintained children's hospital that he is currently leaking blood onto the floor of. He expected something... different. Not ratty or dingy per se, but colder and more utilitarian - something matching the vibe of Delilah and her men. As it stands currently, the group (including the ex-cop himself) are rough-looking interlopers that don't belong in such a bright place. Yet, the receptionist seems unphased as she recognizes the intimidating woman - Ms Shepherd - and it doesn't take long for Damien to be taken away to receive "the best care" as Delilah had promised.

Kaden calls out to him.

It's a voice he's missed more than he can admit. Damien tugs against the hands carefully supporting him to stare back at the man, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted. He wants to say something back, but the words feel stuck in his throat. Fuck. This feels terrible - he wanted to protect the capo, save him, and now he's in such a state he can't even really fight against a nurse a full head and a half shorter, keeping him in place with a steady hold as she and her colleagues proceed to move forward despite his struggles.

Why does this always happen? It feels pathetic. It makes him feel like he let Kaden down. One moment of control, and here he is again - bruised and beaten, needing rescuing. Is he really that weak?

All the same... it is reassuring to think Finch will wait. Selfishly and desperately, he needs to see the man again. The offered piece of comfort produces something that maybe looks like a weak smile out of Damien as he is finally dragged out of sight.

He's taken not to the ER, but to a wound care room, small and well-stocked, and the medical personnel immediately get to work. They give removing his uniform's top an earnest try before establishing that such a thing is impossible with the pain and the congealed blood. Instead, they cut it off the ex-cop. Natalia is not going to be pleased about this - Damien said he'd return the SWAT gear she procured for him... Well, she'll probably be even less pleased about the injuries.

As the ex-cop suspected, the bullet didn't embed itself, but it did cut out a shallow chunk of him - a long divet in the skin and muscle of his arm that glistens a too-bright red. The color of gore with the edges singed from the projectile's heat. He sucks in a breath when the wound starts being bandaged, but what really hurts is the hand.

The further a nurse cleans his palm, the more Damien gets a good look at things that aren't supposed to be exposed. He cut himself deep. He did it, because he refuses to give anyone else the credit for causing this much damage. The edges of the wound are an uneven hack job that have been peeled back to reveal wet meat contrasting with the bright white of tendons, like ropes extending to each of Damien's digits. Ropes that have been severed in several places. Every time Damien or the nurse shifts his hand even slightly, the remaining ropes respond in turn, jumping like living creatures and sending jolts of pain through his system.

It's not a surprise when he's informed he'll need surgery. It's not a pleasant fact, but it makes sense.

They offer him general anesthesia on the way to an operating room, and Damien refuses, adamantly. He needs to remain in control of his faculties, and a deep part of the ex-cop is afraid that if he falls asleep he'll wake up only to find that Kaden is gone. Not because he'll leave him, no, but because he'll be taken away. Not like he can prevent such a thing either way...

Regional anesthesia gets administered into the base of his neck, and while Damien's whole arm is in the process of going slack and numb, the doctor is more than willing to run him through what's about to happen. The ex-convict hasn't been asked for any sort of identification or explanation as to how he ended up in this state, but the medical personnel seems unconcerned with such matters as they chat away.

45 to 60 minutes. That's how long they'll need to stitch his tendons back together.

The surgeon takes a scalpel to widen the wound further for better access, but there is no pain. Damien watches himself be carefully cut open.

---

Damien stares up at the ceiling with a frown, lying in a hospital bed. He's been placed in a private room despite his protests of being more than capable of walking out, because even though the man refused general anesthesia apparently he still needs rest. His hand now stitched shut lies uselessly at his side, still unfeeling, still unable to move, contained in a temporary plastic cast.

The ex-cop sighs. He can't just dally around like this. He needs to get out of here, the sooner the better.

He was instructed to remain here, sure, but, well... no one's been placed in the room to watch over him. His body groans in protest as he tries pushing it up into a sitting position, his limbs' best attempts at keeping him down not working out in the end.

Damien is just about to swing his legs over the side of the bed and make a break for it when the door opens.
 
---


The coffee machine dispenses anything a fanatic could possibly desire. Frappe, mocha, hot chocolate, latte, espresso, cappuccino.
An array of fruits and a tray of cookies and muffins wait wrapped up in plastic to be chosen.

Perhaps it's still too early, perhaps they're on the wrong floor, but the hospital is disturbingly vacant. Specifically of children. It must be a children's hospital, but Finch has yet to actually see one.
When was the last time he saw a little one? Would he even know what a five year old looked like?

He takes his cup, warming cold hands.
A stuffed unicorn is perched in the corner of the counter, half fallen over. Kaden takes it, squeezing softly at the plush.

There's no one watching him, no one monitoring him.
He won't leave without Damien and Damien can't leave. It's dangerous that Delilah is already so sure of that fact.
Or maybe she isn't.
Kaden's eyes drift to the hallway, remembering in his mind the twists and turns it takes to leave.
But where would he even go?

He's not a Black Dog anymore.

The Butcher sets the unicorn down upright, pushing a mug under it's chin to keep it standing.
It's pelt is clear, it's mane unknotted. It hasn't been played with.

Does Damien prefer things plain, or does he like things on the sweeter side?
In the end, Kaden places an order for a latte. The machine clinks happily and a moment later it fills the cup placed underneath it. It chirps goodbye.

Walking up to Damien's room, Kaden feels a swell of a emotion he's been keeping down.
It feels like he's always a moment away from fawning again, and this is no different.
He's desperate for something familiar. The man who only showed up in his life a month ago now qualifies as familiar.

It's both exhasperating and humorously nostalgic to walk in on Damien making what appears to be a premature escape minutes after an invasive surgery.
Honestly, Kaden's surprised he isn't handcuffed to the bed.

Suddenly unsure, he sets the mug down.
Their reunion couldn't have been worse. A position of weakness isn't something he enjoys letting others witness and he was on full display by his own hand.
And yet Finch had kept the man as prisoner for a week. Perhaps it was fair turn.

Damien saved his life. By giving him his air, he bought Kaden precious time.
The capo can still feel the man's hands on his face, his mouth over Kaden's.
Does the intensity of that moment show in his eyes? Does Kaden telegraph what feels painfully obvious?

He casts his eyes downward.
"I was told you'd make a full recovery."

Finch had worried the worst. He had no reason to believe Damien could survive all he encountered and still be in one piece.
He went against MacDarragh, and won but paid for it.

"I... wish the circumstances were different, but I admit I am happy to see you again." He takes a sip of his coffee, as if he could swallow troublesome feelings down with the beverage.
As if touching the cast will scald Damien, he looks instead and has to trust the professionals did their job properly.
He hasn't had so little control in a long time.

"Even if you are pigheaded and stupid for all that you've done to be here. Don't ever do anything so reckless again, please."
 
It's not a nurse that comes in to check up on Damien only to catch him mid-flight.

No, it's Kaden, coffee in hand, and that is much more effective in getting the ex-cop to put a temporary pause on his escape plan. He still swings his legs over the side of the bed, but it's not to get up - instead, he sits on the cot's edge, eyes on the capo bright with relief. Kaden looks more like himself now, even if by a little bit, but aside from that... he waited like he said he would. Not that Damien had doubted him necessarily, but there was still a nagging worry.

When the other man's eyes look down at the ground, that worry spikes again. The paranoid parts of the ex-cop's mind default to a worst-case scenario and tell him he's come here to say goodbye - he only waited long enough for some parting words as a final gesture and now he's leaving with Delilah. Or maybe after seeing the current pitiful state of his would-be savior, he's decided to cut his losses and run.

I admit I am happy to see you again.

The words are a sudden punch as much as they are a caress and Damien's reply is nearly instant, breathless, "I'm happy to see you too."

It feels paradoxical to some extent - he genuinely thought the two would never meet each other again. Hell, he'd left for both of their's sake, yet here Damien is, coming back once more, and while he stands behind his decision to leave when he did, he doesn't regret this choice either. Damien reiterates to himself that he's missed the man and he's missed his voice. Goddamn it, he really is stupid, as Kaden very astutely points out.

"In my defense, I haven't done anything so reckless in some time," the ex-cop manages a half-smile in return.

His gaze drifts down to the cast at the same time his expression falters - yeah, the doctor shared his prediction for a full recovery with Damien as well. He'd called him lucky, all things considered. Call him ungrateful rather, cause Damien doesn't exactly feel lucky. He feels useless. Earlier he had arrived with the sole goal of helping Kaden. He'd had a plan, and here he is now, in a hospital he can only guess is affiliated with the High-Rise, left arm like a dead weight, being worried over.

"I can't make you that promise..." he mumbles. This is what always happens, "But I am sorry. Things... things really shouldn't have ended up like this."

He'll do better next time.

Damien exhales, looking back up at the man who actually deserves concern, "What happened, Kaden? Why-"

When his voice threatens to sound too urgent, the ex-cop quiets down, swallowing. Being panicked won't do any good, so he centers himself, scooching to the side if Finch wants to sit down, "Listen, I'm just glad you're safe. But, please, tell me why did you poison yourself?"
 
Damien's playful banter is soothing, as is his voice. He's actually happy to see Kaden, that's what he said.

"I found out Delilah was watching me," he mutters, thinking about that ice cold memory. How long back had she been watching? Of course she knows about Damien, and even the disgruntlement between him and Cade.
At least she still cared, at least she's always cared. She wouldn't have bothered if she truly had no interest left.
"I wasn't thinking- I needed to know she still wanted me."

Perhaps he's the reckless, stupid one.
That confession is pathetic once voiced.
But things got bad after Damien left. Finch was shutting down long before he took any poison. This situation isn't good, far from it, but the contrast between now and then...
At least it's different.

"She still does, in her own way. Delilah's not horrible. She's... complicated," he settles on. Michael, of all people comes to mind. He was a special person, and someone Kaden never had the pleasure of meeting.
If circumstances were different, meeting Delilah could have been better. He hates that Damien met her like this.
"I must have done something to push her away, and make myself seem untrustworthy."

Finch sits in the spot made by Damien's small relocation. For a hospital bed it's not uncomfortable.
That's everything here, disarming. The walls are a very soft blue and the window let's in the morning sun to stretch across said walls. There's a vase of fake pink and yellow flowers in the corner.
Finch expected a gritty infirmary and the fact that it isn't is unsettling.
They never understood their enemy, not completely and not enough to ever fight back.
It was a dog versus an eagle fight. They never had the resources or the tactics to combat something like this.
Maybe it was always hopeless.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he says, looking away. He violated the man's privacy and sense of self. He knows that now, and perhaps he's always known it.
Just like he knows he would have done it again and again.
Finch presses his leg to Damien's once more.
"I have no power to do anything to you now, Damien. Everything's gone..."

With a finger he rubs at the smooth glass of the mug.

"I couldn't even save Cade. If there was a man owed better from me other than you, it was him. You... didn't happen to see him?"
 
Delilah was watching him, and Kaden doesn't sound like the fact made him feel secure, as he had once claimed of the possibility. There is some karma in the capo getting to experience part of what he put Damien through, but all the ex-cop can feel is upset over the matter. The woman is someone special to him, and she still put him through this, and more. It's not right. Suppose at least it puts Finch's habit of surveillance into perspective.

Kaden uses that word - complicated - just like Delilah had on the ride over and Damien grimaces. It's an empty, meaningless word. A placeholder you say when you can't think of anything else, and it explains nothing, just sweeps things under the rug for the time being.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Damien is equal parts angry and heartbroken when Kaden puts the blame for Delilah's disappearance and actions on himself. The man nearly lost his life over her and he's still talking like this, "Even if- IF somehow you lost her trust, you still didn't deserve what she did."

Damien bites down on any further retorts, looking away. He's projecting his own parental misgivings, and he knows it, but he genuinely can't understand this willingness on Kaden's part to simply... forgive. Or at least justify. Maybe the ex-convict is just a bitter, vindictive person. Maybe he always has been.

With a shrug of the one shoulder he can actually move presently, Damien dismisses the topic, "Forget it, I don't get to tell you how to feel."

It's not his place to be acting like this, he isn't the person that's been hurt. The bed beside him dips when Kaden takes a seat and a moment later the capo brushes his leg against Damien's.

He's lost everything. It's a terrible realization that the ex-cop hadn't fully comprehended until it was voiced to him. He'd been so preoccupied with getting Finch away from the raid, he hadn't paused to consider that his world - as filled with fake excess and violence and death - just crumbled around him. This favorable position in life he'd had to work for. The Black Dogs are gone, most of them arrested or... dead. Can the man even be called a consigliere anymore?

Slowly, Damien places his hand on Kaden's knee, squeezing lightly. It's pitiful condolences, like always. Fuck, he needs to get them out of here...

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't see him," the ex-cop shakes his head morosely when Cade is brought up, "I was keeping an eye out for both of you on the ground floor, but, well..."

He'd been in a hurry.

"I thought maybe Cade had gone up to the penthouse too... It's possible he made it out before the explosion. Let's hope he did."

What could even cause something like that? Or who? MacDarragh is a deranged bastard, but it couldn't have been him.
 
He desperately wants someone to tell him how to feel. With everything that's happened, criss crossed and submerged in personal history, Kaden doesn't have a clue how to feel about any of it.
Damien makes him feel better. That's all he knows, that's all he has.
Even that has strings attached. What is Delilah planning to do with Damien? Will Finch have any power to dissuade her?
Maybe the man's right, maybe Kaden's relationships aren't what he thinks they are. But if that's true, things only become more complex.

Damien's affection is simultaneously too much and not enough.
Finch's fingers itch to touch, to hold. It feels like a little human contact could go a long way if he could endure it.

"I know he's difficult to be around... But he wasn't completely horrible." Delilah's not horrible, and apparently neither is Cade.
If Damien spewed some nonsense about that evil man at the raid being misunderstood, he'd shut him down immediately.
But they're not the same people.

"He tried to kill Delilah," Kaden blurts suddenly. Perhaps in the wake of catastrophe people become unreasonably honest.
What if he's dead because of Kaden?

I gave you my life.

That's what the gangster had said to him in their last meeting. Finch was trying to push him away for his own good, but Cade isn't a man who can be pushed away. He should've known that.

"He got close too. In those days I was too secure to be threatened. It felt like Delilah was invincible." Sitting here now, that remains largely accurate.

"So I was intrigued by him instead. I had met him previously during his time undercover so it wasn't a mystery that he found us. I have never known a more stubborn or relentless person." He huffs a breath, shaking his head.
In many ways, Cade and Damien shared similarities.

"But stupid. So stupid. I'm afraid if anything he got himself shot. He wouldn't have surrendered." He'll never know for sure, not with the explosion.
Delilah said she had seen Cade was there, and unless she was lying he's most likely under rubble now.

It makes his next breath a hollow, empty one.
Kaden traces the curve of his throat with two fingers.

"I gave him his tattoo," he murmurs, feeling the rasp of his fingers against his clear skin.
"I don't know why, curiosity maybe. I don't remember. I think he made it look good."
 
"I know he wasn't completely horrible," Damien hums. Sure, the guy reeked of trouble, but as antagonistic as he had become in the last days the two interacted, he rescued to ex-cop when he had no real reason to. Most importantly, he appeared to look out for Kaden, "Kind of a dick with questionable humor, but... it seemed like there was a lot of trust between you two."

And that had been a comforting thought when Damien left. An enviable one too, for knowing that the same level of reliance was refused to him. Yet it makes sense, he's done nothing to earn it.

Finch continues speaking and the ex-cop listens closely.

Shit, Cade was an undercover officer in his past? So the gangster had indeed been a successful detective like he'd claimed. Damien huffs with a good-natured smile - way to make him feel deficient in yet another area. He still has no idea how or why exactly Cade made an attempt on Delilah's life and ended up as the Black Dogs' second-in-command, but these are bits and pieces of the man's past that can be strung together to create a clearer picture.

Kaden gave him the wolf tattoo. Damien tilts his head, eyebrows raised - like, hired someone to tattoo him, or did the capo do it himself? If the latter is the case, then it's an impressive skill to have. What can't Finch do?

"I agree," Damien nods at the assessment. The art looked good on Cade, "And it was a nice tattoo- Is a nice tattoo. You can't be sure what happened, he could be okay."

"Natalia should be at the scene still, she was waiting on the parameter," the ex-cop retrieves his hand from the knee it's lingered on for way too long already, trying to find his phone, "She's probably assisting the rescue. Maybe she saw him, or at the least I can ask her to keep an eye out for Cade."

And for MacDarragh. The captain should be dead but... it would be good if the sergeant could call the moment the man's body gets dragged out and identified. Just in case.

Damien doesn't finish his search. His hand pauses midway, and he looks up to gaze at Kaden somewhat tentatively.

"Did..." it feels a bit ridiculous to ask, but the ex-cop feels the need to. Maybe it's the way the capo had spoken, or how he'd touched his neck, "Did he let himself get the tattooed willingly?"
 
It comes with some surprise Damien didn't dislike Cade. The man has such patience it's rather difficult to get onto his bad side, but if anyone was capable of it it should have been Cade.
It makes the ache of loss worse. If he had only reassured Cade of his position... Perhaps they could have been a formidable trio.

Damien's friendly, easy going nature in the face of their current predicament hits an unusual break. Can he not find his phone?

Kaden rubs at his chin. "He didn't fight me about it."

Not physically.

"He was a cop, Damien," he says plainly. The man has rescinded his touch, leaving Kaden to feel unexpectedly cold.
"We weren't friends and the alternative was to kill him. So I... kept him. For a while. The torture was minimal and non permanent. Excluding the tattoo."

Kaden takes another long sip of his coffee.
Cade wasn't always the best, but he did do his best. The man truly deserved better than what he received.
The Butcher grimaces into space.
At the time Delilah had told him not to play with his food. He wasn't playing with Cadence. It had been mercy, or perhaps a form of procrastination.
But it hadn't been cruelty.

Now, in Damien's presence the old history looks different.
He did his job. That's what he's always done, without question or hesitation.
Cade represents a rare positive result of his work, but that makes it worse.

"I should go find Delilah," he says next, taking his leave from the bed. He straightens his shirt, feeling dirty but unable to change or shower.
"I need to establish where we go from here. I doubt if she'll be honest, but I have little other choice."

Hand on the doorknob he pauses. "Please don't leave until I understand the situation. I am... asking you to stay. Politely."
 
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So he didn't let himself get tattooed willingly.

A shiver runs down Damien's spine at how casually Kaden speaks about torturing a man, like it's a logical, everyday thing to do. Maybe even a preferred outcome in Cade's case. He shouldn't be surprised, it's not an uncommon occurrence in the world of crime. It's a means to get what you want and a very effective one at that. Even the ex-cop has had musing in that direction - for Genevieve, for Moore. Wonder if he would have been capable of committing such an act. Wonder if Kaden enjoyed torturing people.

Wonder why Cade would ever stay after having his person violated in such a way.

Damien shrugs off another shiver. These are all questions for another day, another time, so he simply goes back to looking for his phone. It's possible that it stayed with the cut-open uniform he had to leave behind, this isn't necessarily suspicious. But in the present circumstances, in this hospital, he can't help feeling paranoid.

Kaden rises from his seat, and the ex-cop follows the movement out of the corner of his eye. Maybe it's just wishful thinking on his part, but he's left with the impression the topic of torture isn't so casual to Finch after all.

The man needs to go find Delilah - that's fair enough, the sooner it's established what she wants the better.

And while he goes to do that, he asks Damien to stay. Genuinely asks, with a 'please' thrown in there too - the second one in this conversation, as a matter of fact. It's a hard thing to imagine coming from the consigliere a month ago- hell, two weeks ago. And while the gesture is a little late, Damien appreciates the effort. A lot. Kaden feels... kind of changed. Yet it's sad to think it might be because he just lost everything.

"I'll be here," the ex-cop nods, voice decisive. Damien's instinctual reaction is to blurt out that he'll come with, yet that somehow feels inappropriate. Still, he wants to go with, he doesn't trust Delilah, but the two deserve their privacy.

He brandishes the phone he just managed to locate among his personal effects with some relief, "I'll get in touch with Nat in the meantime. And... call me if there's anything urgent."
 
Damien doesn't argue, even though he is in a position where it would be appropriate.
The easy success isn't reeling, not after experiencing one of the most intense mornings of his life. But it is... surprising.
Not the submission, because that's not what it is. It's an expression of trust.

That's what that is.

If Kaden had asked Damien to stand aside during the Nakurra skirmish would he have listened?
Is that all it would have taken? Most likely not, but it has the essence of a question he will return to often.
Maybe even Cade didn't need as heavy a hand, even if he wanted it so badly.

"Of course, let it be likewise, Damien."

He's hesitant to leave. This is High-rise territory, but his chances of gaining a straight answer from Delilah diminish greatly if Damien is there.

Kaden stands there, longer than is necessary.
Damien's still half dirty from the raid. It puts hair that at its best is fresh from bed with a hand raked through it into an absolute mess.
The morning rays cascade over his face in a milky glow.
If Kaden were closer, would his eyes be white silver?

Before Damien can look up from his phone and ask with concern and thoughtfulness if he's okay, Kaden slips out the door.
---

He's in her peripheral, waiting to be acknowledged. For that, Dee is hellbent on ignoring him.
She leans into the wall, arms crossed.

"My heart soars to see you're alright, mi vida," he says with the tone of voice of someone who has a ground level heart.
He brushes her arm with smooth hand, before bringing his front flush with her back. He surrounds her, not easily, but he does.
His facial hair is a pleasant scrape against her neck.

"Did you come all this way to guilt trip me, Raul?" She says, allowing him to be worn like a coat over her back.
The man alternates with different colognes. This morning he smells like fruit and that's impressive considering he would've come off a nine hour plane ride.

His voice is a low rumble against her spine.
"Woman, I came all this way to see if you still loved me."

Delilah rubs at her chin, rolls her bottom lip in.

What are you thinking about?

Flattery gets you nowhere, but it's brought him everywhere. He's never called her beautiful, never come running when she was in trouble. Once at a bar she got into a spat with another man and he sat there and watched, sipping at his drink like he had all the time in the world. He's here for him.
Dee does the gesture regardless. She's lived too long to break habits now.
"And to make sure I was alright?"

Raul scoffs, a good natured roll of his large shoulders.
"Oh, I never had any doubt you would conquer."

"MacDarragh was there," Delilah says in a grunt. She scuffs her boot against the floor, listens to it shriek. The linoleum is splotched with yellow and pink polkadots.
"Got right in my way."

"Oh, Neil MacDarragh?" the man says, thick brows furrowed over his gentle understanding brown eyes. "He's Viv's. It wouldn't surprise me if she ignored my call."

Delilah rolls her eyes. Vivienne. She's heard of her, but hasn't yet had the pleasure.
She hasn't had the pleasure of meeting most of them, even though she's been a pawn to some of them.

"In her defense, it was last second. In defense of that defense, MacDarragh might've ignored her even if she called. Apparently he's been acting up recently," the man rumbles.

She feels him watching her. Not a glare, not a forceful dissection. If she looked back she'd see his broad handsome faced with his eyes glazed over with devotion. His back stooped so he can inhale her smell that's nothing but straight soap, sweat and dirt.

"I thought I..." She starts and clicks her mouth shut when her throat aches.
"But I saw his face and heard his voice and I just...Anyway, it's done now, I guess."

"And what about his partner?" His hands loop over her stomach, belting her in. She traces the muscle in his arm. Iron draped in warm flesh.

"I didn't know Damien would be there. Kaden won't do anything to hurt me, which means he won't hurt you. As long as we have him, there's a chance the kid won't cause any more trouble."

"You mean as long as I have you, we have Kaden, which means we have Damien." The smile in his voice makes the words light.
He brushes his chin into her ear again.
"Its elaborate. Blumenthal has been a persistent rash that keeps showing up."

He looks over her shoulder, down past the hallway as if he can see where the boys are together, without a single weapon to defend themselves.
She turns in his arms and like a beast the movement draws his attention back to her.
Despite his status and value, he wears clothes that make him seem average and behind in the times. Denim and too much leather. Old, in a salt of the earth kind of way.
He's the kind of man her father would've wanted over for dinner. Her mom too, the kitchen labour it would take to feed a man like this be damned.
Actually, now that she really thinks about on it, given his skin color maybe they would have been less inclined.

"He'll be within arm's reach if he needs to be dealt with," she says.

He smiles at her.
The tip of his shoe presses on the top of her boot. They're steel toed so when he rests his weight there, she doesn't feel anything. If she wanted she could break his toes with the ridiculous loafers he's wearing.
"I trust your discernment, mi amor."

His head lifts, expression shifting. The look of softness disappears like it was never there.
Delilah turns.

Kaden's eyes shift from where they were cutting into the man, to her.
Raul clears his throat, stepping forward and offering a bear paw.

"You've gotten big," he says.

Finch's scowl deepens. He leaves the offered hand hanging.

"Right," Raul declares, scooping his hair back and resting his hand on a hip. "Forgot about your whole...thing. I'll try not to take it personally."

If need be, the boy will shake several hands. But not this one. Anyone else would see a blank face, but Delilah knows his look of disdain when she sees it. It's his second most popular expression.

Kaden cranes his neck passed the man's form. "Can I talk to you? Privately."

Raul starts up.
"Oh, of course, I'm sorry. You should talk. I'll get us a reservation for dinner tonight, Delilah. Good seeing you again, Kaden."

Finch watches him leave, jaw tensed.
When he looks back at her Delilah forces herself to meet his eyes.
How long has he been taller than her? It seemed just a year ago she was looking down at him.
"Of your bedwarmers he is my least favorite."

She scoffs, nodding. "He does more than warm the bed."

"A man that big lies there."

"That's what I like. The small ones overcompensate."

Without remorse, Kaden states, "Then get a doll."

"That's what he is, Kaden," she returns, stepping away.
"Walk with me. I'll need a smoke if we're going to do this."

His stoicism breaks as she digs a pack from her pocket.
"You quit," he murmurs.

"I did."


Outside the sun makes the world sparkle. The air is crisp, and it bites her nose in a way that's almost pleasant. Breaths feel new in sub zero temperature. It's what she's missed the most being gone.
Unfortunately, he doesn't have a jacket. No, the kid doesn't have much of anything. His cat and the worst possible choice of boy company he could have chosen.
Finch crosses his arms, tucking his hands in.

Delilah lights her stick, sucking in that sweet chemical laden cloud. It sits in her lungs, a tangible weight keeping her from floating away.
Her exhale comes out twice as heavy in the cold.

"Where do we stand, Delilah?" He asks, scrunching his shoulders against the wind.

"I'm still feeling that out," she admits, and brushes stripes into the snow covered railing.
There's seats out here, tables. In the summer it must be nice to have a coffee. In December it's all the same nothingness as everything else.
"Your friend has spit and vinegar."

It's cheap, and far from what they should be talking about, but Kaden nods. Guarded.
"He's adequate. But he won't be bought out or coerced."

She takes another inhale. This one she lets out through her nose to massage her sinuses.
"No?"

His face sets harder, but something glints in his eyes, small and scared. "No."

"You like him?"

The question hangs too long in the air. A denial would be worse, so Kaden says nothing.
"You left me for the ambassador?"

Delilah gives her stick a tap, letting the ash fall to the snow below. "No."

Kaden bows his head, speaking softly. "If he makes you happy I would have tolerated him."

"I said no!" She snaps. Delilah scratches at her brow.
"Shoot, you just dig and you dig..."

Helpless, Kaden stands there freezing his ass off.
With a sigh, she peels her coat off. He stays in place, allows the coat to be draped over his shoulders.
"I can't-" he grips at the coat, brings the collar together with a hand. The boy tucks his face in. His cheeks are rosey red.
"I can't, Delilah."

He had gone frozen in the back of the car.
Vacant, empty eyes. He didn't need to be paralyzed by a drug when Delilah can exist and send him there all on her own.

Without her, he got worse.

She brings him into her arms. The boy tucks his chin over her shoulder. Every shiver runs through her, soaking into her chest.
Delilah combs at the back of his head and Kaden twitches at each rasp of her nails.

"I'll do anything you want- just don't go again." His arms tighten around her. His breath makes a warm spot on her shoulder.
"Please, I can't do it again."

Her eyes close and she brings him in tighter. When did he get so big?
With a heart of stone she lies.
"I won't leave again. I promise."
 
When the door closes softly behind Kaden, Damien glances up. All at once the room is plunged into silence - there is no noise beyond the window, covered in snow as everything is outside. And snow eats sound, consumes it. But the inside of the hospital is likewise quiet, its hallways barren save for the footsteps now walking away to disappear in the distance.

Damien's earlier mellow expression drops, and he bites at the inside of his cheek.

A mug of coffee has been left behind. Kaden didn't specify it was for the ex-cop, but he can assume... It's not very convenient maneuvering over to the window while holding both the cup and his phone in the sole usable hand he has currently, but Damien manages, placing the beverage down on the wide sill. He already dialed in the memorized number, all he has to do is press the call button.

The line rings for several excruciatingly long moments without connecting and the ex-cop is just giving up hope when finally there is an answer.

"Hey-"

"Damien?!" Montesano's voice comes through in a shout, partially out of surprise, partially in order to be heard over the hubbub on her end. It sounds like she's surrounded by chaos - people speaking loudly over each other in indistinguishable directives, sirens blaring. Not only police ones.

"Holy hell, I thought you were dead," the woman exhales sharply in relief before she pauses, and suddenly her tone turns to outrage, "You idiot, I actually thought you were dead! Why are you only calling me now?!"

"I'm sorry. I wanted to do it earlier, but I wasn't able to."

"Oh, get bent," the policewoman is rightfully frustrated at the lame excuse, but an undertone of concern does make its way into her words, "Where are you?"

"I don't know," in a vehicle with tinted windows, with his hand mangled and Kaden going catatonic, Damien hadn't exactly been able to pay too much attention to the path the ride took. He has some vague ideas on direction, but nothing substantial. If he explained what the building's facade looked like, would Montesano be able to track it down? Not that it'll do anyone any good. This is High-Rise territory. Is the clinic a front for the organization? Just like the laundromat he and Michael had stumbled upon over a decade ago, kickstarting this entire chain of events.

The ex-cop's muscles tense and he can actually feel his left arm start to wake up from the anesthesia, even if it's slow and sluggish, "Some kind of children's hospital, I think."

"Have you been locked up somewhere again?"

"No," not against his will. Not yet, anyway.

"... Did you at least find who you were looking for?" the woman says that with some distaste. She hasn't been given a name, so Kaden remains simply 'who you were looking for', but she must have an inkling. Still, at Damien's request, his friend doesn't use the moniker of Fleischer.

"I did."

The sergeant sighs into the receiver, and Damien can picture her massaging her temple to stave off an oncoming headache. Their plan of action has completely fallen apart and she's barely been given any information in this new predicament, "What's going on, Damien?"

"A lot," he wants to tell her. He wants to, but he can't, not like this. It was possible that MacDarragh connected Natalia and the ex-convict. If so, then does Delilah know about her as well? Even just making this call is dangerous, "I'll explain, but not over the phone."

Neither says anything for a moment, before the ex-cop pipes up again somewhat awkwardly, "How are you holding up?"

"What, in the midst of a terrorist attack?"

Damien cringes, an immediate apology at the tip of his tongue, before Montesano continues, voice low, "There were people inside that I knew. Good people, friends. I- my boss is somewhere in there."

Not that her captain was a particularly close friend, but if he's gone that leaves the sergeant one of the people having to pick up the pieces of a broken police precinct, struggling to hold things together while grieving those close to her she might have lost.

"It's a hazard even just being nearby. They're talking about waiting for the tower to collapse further before sending more rescue teams in because it's too dangerous otherwise... Why even do this? It's one thing to destroy evidence. This- This is destroying everything!"

The woman's voice breaks slightly and she has to take several steadying breaths, "Let's... Let's not talk about this over the phone either. I'm holding up as best as I can, helping where it's necessary."

"My condolences."

She simply hums in response, brushing off the topic like she doesn't have time for mourning. She probably doesn't, currently, and neither does she have time for a phone call.

"Is there anything else you need, Damien?"

It's crazy that the policewoman has the willpower to ask this, even crazier that the ex-cop will indeed request more out of her. It makes him feel like an ass, "Yes. I need you to keep an eye out for someone. A white male, about average height, muscular build, with shorn hair and blue eyes. Very distinguishing wolf tattoo on his neck. He was a Black Dog, goes by Cade."

"Also," Damien's gaze travels down to his cast. He feels like there is a twitch in one of his numbed fingers, but it's just a sensory illusion, "Text me immediately after they dig out MacDarragh's body."

It takes Natalia a while to react to that part of the instructions. The ex-cop wishes he could see her face now - was there something in his tone to make her hesitate? Is she disturbed?

"Copy that."

It's a relief when she at last assents. Well, Blumenthal did what he set out to do, but just as he's about to say his farewells a thought crosses his mind, "Can I ask you for one more favor?"

"Okay, you know I'm always here for you, but this is getting kind of ridiculous," the sergeant sounds half-vexed, half-amused.

"I know, I'm sorry, but it's nothing big. Please, just have Eli stay with you."

He knows Montesano bristles without having to witness it. Her home has been made into sacred ground these past weeks. Instead of having Kim and the kids skip town like he'd advised, she's been keeping an even closer eye on them than usual. Nat uses Kim as reasoning for not sending them away, but the veteran's condition can only explain so much. The truth is much simpler - Natalia has decided that keeping her loved ones close is better, as irrational as that might be. Honestly, Damien can't really begrudge her the choice.

"Or tell Eli to have a friend or two stay over. I just don't think it's wise for her to be alone right now."

"Fine, I'll see what I can do," Nat relents much more easily at the second proposition, "Why am I always mothering you two?"

"You mother everyone. And you do it for the same reason you became a sergeant - because you like looking after people." Once in the past, she'd claimed it makes her feel fulfilled.

Montesano chuckles, "That's fair, but if you keep abusing my goodwill like this, who knows? I might turn mean."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Is that a challenge? Ooo, you're going to owe me so many dinners after this is over," the woman chuckles again, for a second allowed to forget the ruin around her, "Better yet, I'll have you babysit. It's been so long I think I've forgotten what a date night is supposed to look like."

"Sure," Damien smiles. He doesn't know if he'll make it far enough to repay his friend for all she's done. He can't make her such a promise... but the idea that it's possible brings him some comfort, "Anything you want."

"But for now, both you and Eleonora should lay low until I get back. I'll call you again when I can. Don't know when that will be, but I will... Stay safe."

"Mhm. Stay safe too, Damien."

The call ends, too late yet too early, and the ex-cop is left in the silence of the hospital room again. He takes the mug of coffee, gone cold at this point - he has to imagine that the latte would have tasted better hot, but it's not bad now either. Not too sweet, just a smidge bitter underneath the creaminess, as coffee should be. There is an itch at the tip of his fingers telling him a cigarette would be the perfect dessert to go with it, but while his lighter is on him, his Marlboros are not. He discarded them on the table back at the house, the carton mostly unsmoked given Eleonora's distaste for the habit. "My house, my rules" type of mentality. Just like their parents. What a brat.

... MacDarragh had asked him if he still smoked. The nicotine hunger is cut through with revolt at the recollection. Damien has tried to quit in the past, of course, for various reasons - on one hand, it was inconvenient getting cigarettes in prison; on the other, every now and again he tried to convince himself it'd be good for his health. He's failed each and every time. The ex-convict takes another sip. Maybe he'll give it a go again now.

Through the window, Damien stares out at the landscape, eyesight following the high stone wall surrounding the facility. He's a fly that's gotten stuck in the web again, of his own volition. He needs to leave. Will he be able to? He needs to get back to Natalia and his sister. But... he won't. He can't, not yet...

If he asked Kaden to go with him, would he?

There are figures outside, in all the snow reflecting the rising sun. Two people, low in Damien's periphery. He struggles a bit to get a good look at them from this vantage point, but eventually he discerns who they are - Kaden and Delilah. The ex-cop tenses slightly, despite having no present reason for concern - they're just talking, like Finch had intended. Regardless, he watches on, as voyeuristic as it feels, because he can't rationalize the worry in his gut away. The man is underdressed for the weather - that's obvious even from this far away.

The longer he observes, the ickier he feels over the action. Yet, he wishes he could hear their conversation. Would Kaden tell him if he asked?

When Delilah envelops Kaden in her coat, Damien finally turns away.
 
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