Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

[SquigglyWiggly]

---

A lot of the medical equipment was in here before Cade ever had inklings of keeping a deranged hitman here.
It all still works, it just needed the dust wiped off. That was everything here, covered in white sheets to save the furniture and curtains from buildup. Walking in was like walking into a house of ghosts, for more reasons than one.

Neil's in the guest room. Most guestrooms are a little storage closest with the springy bed and poor heating.
This one's big, wood floor polished enough to reflect like a mirror.
The hutch and storage drawers are both dark oak antiques. Little animals are handcrafted carved into it's details. Lions, zebras, giraffes... A fucked up looking thing that might be a monkey or a cheetah. He's never been able to tell.

There's a big ass window with pretty panes. Frost scratches into each corner, melting into a round sloppy patch when Cade presses a finger to it.

It's a good room to put Neil in.
Besides the fistful of unpleasant memories he has to wade through.
The captain has a clear view of the endless black pine forest that chokes the country house. There's no city din, no honking or yelling.
Just complete silence.
If he's lucky, a coyote or a deer might toddle by.

They're in the middle of nowhere and Neil is honest and truly fucked.

He's tied stomach down to the twin bed.
Not with rope, but medical restraints that soft hold each limb. Cade doubts if Neil will be in the fighting mood, particularly with one shoulder out of commission, but he's half undressed in a strange place and he's been unconscious for a worrisome amount of time. There's the blood bag hooked to his arm, draining in because most of Neil's original juice is staining the car Cade drove in.

All things considered, Cade personally would freak the fuck out.

Fortunately, he's playing the sociopathic kidnapper this time. He got the little fucker, and all it took was dropping a building on him. It's surreal to look over and actually see him lying there, wounded and helpless.
Taking his uniform off showed the reminiscent planes of a body he's still criminally unfamiliar with. The pink skin was clear and clean, save for the blood. At his neck is where he was muddied and gross, a clear line dividing the clean stuff from the stained stuff.
There's nothing Cade can do for his hair which is currently staining the pillow, but he can wet a cloth and gently dab at his skin.

The cloth comes away black and a sliver of Neil's face shows up.
He's got ash in his nose.
The little thing will be sneezing sut balls.
It's flecked in his eyelashes too.

Wetting and ringing the cloth out, Cade brings it back to work over Neil's lips. He has to be persistent to get the lines of black where it's soaked in, but Neil's soft enough it doesn't need much.
Had this been Cade his lips would've been so dry you'd have to scrape the coal out.

He showered the muck off himset, but he still feels dirty. His pinky is all swollen and gross again, rebelling against the work Cade put it through so he's doing this with his left instead as uncoordinated with it as he is.

It's funny how something so little can stop working and everything else slows up because of it.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

The boy is asleep, not on a cloud but in some kind of comfortable stillness, nevertheless - a darkness that surrounds him and makes him feel small, but not in a threatening way. His body is tinier, too lanky and thin in its proportions to be an adult's, and he's holding on softly to this warm, all-encompassing void.

Something wet and soft laps at his face in slow strokes. Kind of like a tongue. Like Mila's.

But it couldn't be her, that's impossible.

The tongue-that-is-not-actually-a-tongue retreats from his face and a loss stabs at him somewhere deep and forgotten at the same time that bruises start making themselves known. Neil is waking up, and his body isn't exactly pleased with the return to consciousness, but he struggles to open his eyes regardless. His eyelids flutter barely a crack. That's the most he can manage for the moment.

Whatever had been brushing against him returns to his lips, and it takes Neil far too long to connect what he is seeing and feeling with the fact that it's a towel. Someone is... cleaning him? For some reason. His blurry gaze finds an arm covered in rough-looking skin, and as his eyes gradually open further he follows the limb up to whoever it might belong to. The face comes into focus with some delay.

"Cade?" there is surprise and confusion in his tone, though those get overpowered by an overwhelming raspiness that almost makes the muttered name indistinguishable.

Neil's mouth and throat feel incredibly dry, almost painfully so, but the instant he goes to cough everything happens all at once. A sharp pain shoots up in his back and shoulder, shocks of it traveling through his system each time his torso shakes with the unsuccessful attempts to hack the soot out of his airways. And he can't stop the coughing reflex from repeating itself. MacDarragh sneezes and that's somehow even worse.

"Jебати," he spits out once the fit is finally, hopefully, over. However, even remaining motionless grants him little reprieve - his leg aches with a dull pain, as does his head. Everywhere aches, really. He hasn't been hurt like this since he was little. Or maybe he hasn't been hurt like this, ever. It's an unpleasant new experience. Fuck, he feels like garbage. The type of garbage that got stabbed and then had a building collapse on top of it.

The memories come rushing in - the police raid, the scuffle with Blumenthal, the explosion. That's the last thing MacDarragh remembers, everything after that is blank. Nerves on edge, his eyes sweep what corners he can view of his current surroundings - large room, wooden furniture, a dark forest yawning at him from beyond the window. The location is entirely unfamiliar. Isolated.

"Cade," his throat is still parched, but he speaks the name more clearly this time around, lying on a pillow breathing heavily. Coughing should be able to leave him so winded, "Where the fuck were you when I was looking?"

It is the Black Dog, those blue eyes are unmistakable. He'd searched for them earlier to no avail, and now here he is bound by this guy, yet not with rope - with medical restraints. And Wolf is cleaning him. A bit of a weird prelude to what he can only assume will be torture, but MacDarragh can appreciate the care. Is this revenge for the time he patched the gangster up? Neil attempts a tug at the restraints, and it goes absolutely nowhere.

The hitman finds it in himself to smile through the jitters in his gut. Is it a defense mechanism or does he find the situation funny? One thing's for certain, this isn't a position MacDarragh is familiar with, "You finally managed to get me tied up... How'd you find me in the rubble?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The debris covered eyelashes flutter.
The rhythmic soft breaths break pattern. Soft hazy green eyes look up at him, the same way they did back at the hotel.

"There he is," Cade smiles. "Good afternoon, sleeping beauty."

This may come as a shock, but Cade's never kidnapped someone. It's never been something he had any interest in doing. Sure, he's stuffed people into trunks and taken them to his boss, but this isn't that.
This is personal.
Coherency slowly rolls over Neil's face, followed by pain. The dull throbbing kind, the white hot stabbing kind, all of it. Cade hasn't given him anything for it, not yet.
As expected, he coughs out a lung and sneezes his brains out. It's adorably human, in a snotty disgusting kind of way. And just that wipes the little fella out, back heaving for air.
There's a word there Cade doesn't catch, and it takes his brain several seconds to realize it wasn't English.
This guy just gets better and better.

"I killed one of your guys-" Cade makes a gun with his hand and 'shoots' with a twitch of his thumb, "And put on his uniform. I walked passed you I'm pretty sure."

He smiles, one that feels genuine and stupid as he puffs his chest out and wipes under Neil's nose with the cloth.
Neil asked so Cade's going to gloat and he's not going to feel cringey about it.

"Pft, how did you find me with the Nakurra?" He asks with a scoff. Some cosmic higher power has been invested in them since the start.
"I wasn't even looking for you, but there you were and I couldn't help myself. Not when you blew a hole into my life after breaking my finger."

He sets the rag aside into the bowl of warm water it came in. Instead he opts for the glass of cold water, bending the straw.
It's getting harder and harder to find plastic straws, but this house has them. In the kitchen in the drawer by the dishwasher beside the utensils.

"You're lucky I'm not as pissed as I should be," he says, pushing Neil's hair back behind his ear. There'd been some worry about a perforated eardrum or some such thing from the explosion.
But there's no blood or goo and Neil can hear him just fine.

"I still am, obviously. And you're the only thing I can beat on..." With a thumb he traces the outer arch of Neil's ear.
Cade's fingers grip a handful of dirty hair. He presses down, and Neil's head gives in to the pressure.
Partly it's sad to see him like this, like a running horse with a broken leg. Partly, well.
Cade can do whatever he likes and Neil can't do shit about it. Yeah, that trail of thought isn't something to pursue that deep, but it doesn't make it any less exciting.
Particularly because this prick has been so cocky and untouchable. Now look at him.

"But you're already pretty beat down. Hurting you would be like going after a girl. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see how we feel."

Cade's hand drops the locks of hair. He takes the glass, positioning it so Neil can wet his throat.

"Take a sip. You sound like you've been gargling thumbtacks and I've got a proposal to make."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Cade calls him sleeping beauty again, but Neil doesn't answer or necessarily react, just blinks impassively.

He watches the man intently, that's all he can do in his current position, and dissecting Cade's mood offers some small amount of power in the situation. Or at least the illusion of it. For a person that's had a hole blown into their life like he claims, the gangster seems in an exceedingly good mood. He says he's pissed, and MacDarragh believes it - the two aren't mutually exclusive. But presently more than anything Cade is boasting, gloating, and as annoyed as the captain is to have been outmaneuvered, there is a glint in his eyes as he studies Wolf.

To hear that Cade had in fact stolen a uniform by killing an officer produces a snicker. So MacDarragh had been right in suspecting such a thing, but the Black Dog hadn't crawled away to his boss. Good. Still, strange how he didn't notice him - Neil should have been paying more attention to his subordinates instead of searching random gangsters' faces for recognition. If the captain had remained vigilant, their current positions would be flipped.

He should have anticipated Cade would pull a more interesting stunt, broken finger or not.

Something clicks in the hitman's mind and his eyes go wide. His facial muscles are too tired to put on his usual grin, but he smiles anyway, a feeling of excitement underneath it. And maybe some modicum of respect.

"Did you blow up the fucking tower?" he points his eager expression at the Black Dog, fighting through the dryness of his throat to ask a question he already knows the answer to. MacDarragh laughs, though it sounds more like some weird gravelly wheeze in his current state, and it only leads to another painful cough, "You're insane, Cade, honestly."

Just like he is. This is the type of shit Neil would have pulled too. Wolf doesn't disappoint.

"I thought you would enjoy the raid. I guess in your own way, you did. Smart moves."

Neil is at this man's mercy. Cade makes that painfully obvious not only by evidently enjoying himself, but also through his actions - he caresses MacDarragh's ear and grips his hair to push him down, threatens him with a beat down and offers a much-needed glass of cold water. The jitters in the hitman's gut won't stop. That deeply ingrained part of him that keeps him alert and sharp as a knife is clawing at his insides to do something and flip things around like he usually does, but... he can't. He physically can't, not right now. That reality is a discomfort that makes his hand itch. However... this expression looks good on Cade.

Neil takes the staw in his lips, not breaking eye contact. This is as much of a submission as he can showcase. A temporary one, but a submission nonetheless. Until tomorrow, when they see how they feel.

He drinks the most delicious, refreshing water he's ever had.

"A proposal?" Neil's voice sounds much better after indulging in several long gulps, "How diplomatic of you. I thought you would just have your way with me, but this ought to be more interesting."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Being called crazy by this loon shouldn't be taken as a compliment. It's a sign, a bad one Cade should take more seriously.
Instead he marinades in Neil's vicious half smile, gone weak by his recent neutering.

Neil's throat bobbles on each swallow and Cade wonders what it would feel like against his hand. His eyes burn into his and Cade has no illusion Neil is cowing indefinitely. The little shit will behave and bide his time.

He sounds like himself again.

"Don't flatter yourself," Cade grumbles, glancing at Neil. He sets the glass aside, empty.
Rubbing at the back of his neck, he sits on the floor. He's just a little lower than Neil's eyeline.

"You're in a Misery type situation. Ya'know, like the movie. Did you see that one? With Kathy Bates." Cade clears his throat, resting an arm on a raised knee.
How honest is too honest? Yeah, he has Neil strapped down, but he's dug at him with just his mouth easily enough in the past. He'd be easy enough to gag if need be, but if Cade's mad he'll do more than that.

"I'm in a, 'fucked in the ass' situation. I'm holding it together because I want to give you the authentic kidnapped experience, but..." He inhales, shrugging in a, what-can-you-do way.
Cade rubs at his pinky, gentle enough not to cause damage but persistent enough to stoke the ache.

"Um, the last five years of my life just went down the toilet actually, so..." He presses down hard where it hurts the worst, clenching his teeth tightly together.
Yeah, he nuked it himself, but not before it was already torpedoed in that direction in the first place.
He's buzzing with the adrenaline of it all, but when the dust settles he'll have nothing and a guy tied in his bed.

"You can spend the rest of your life in the attic with a shock collar around your neck hoping someone who gives a fuck rescues you before you're fifty or you can help me."

Cade sets his hand under his thigh before he can break the damn thing.

"I want a position in the High Rise," he says, glaring up at Neil.
"Your level, if that's something you can arrange, but I'd prefer higher."

Before the hitman can get a word in edgewise Cade adds, "You can think about it if you need to, but I will call you Cujo and have you doing tricks and shiting in a box in a year, Neil. I'm a sick fuck with a lot of creativity, so don't test me."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Neil watches Cade curiously with an ever-present smile. The more the dog talks, though, the more the hitman's smile drops to be replaced with a frown, blonde eyebrows so deeply furrowed he feels wrinkles he didn't know he had. It's difficult to say what the emotion is exactly, but he looks half-ways displeased, half-way... concerned.

"You can't be serious."

What kind of bullshit proposal is this? He would much rather Cade have his way with him than whatever this is.

He was honest when he said he thought Cade would enjoy the raid - it was a show, a good one at that. Sure, be pissed - about the twisted pinky, about being accosted by the pigs in the middle of the morning, but the gangster calls his situation "fucked in the ass" as if he's the one tied to a bed. He talks about these five years of his life he apparently just lost the same way he'd talked about those two hours. Two precious hours. Who gives a shit?

"Is that where your power comes from, Wolf? From being a cop or a Black Dog?" one would expect there to be snark or mockery in MacDarragh's tone, but he questions genuinely, like he can't exactly understand what Cade is saying, "Are you not strong on your own?"

He has to be, surely. Because he's like him.

And because he's like him, the High-Rise will try and ruin him too. Neil broke a finger, they'll break something much more integral to his being. Instincts.

"You don't know what working for them is like," his voice is still raspy, but he pushes through the gravel because he has to speak. He needs to, "The High-Rise went down the gutter as soon as there were management changes. It used to be fun, it used to be a challenge! Shit, once I was sent to terrorize a competitor. He never found out I was there, and I didn't let him sleep for over a week. Fucker had to be institutionalized by the end of it."

And he doesn't mean competitor as in a rival gangster. That was a businessman, high standing. Infighting between corporate entities is much more entertaining, much more vicious but in a subtle, personal way. It was beautiful work, an art form. Not what he's been doing recently.

"Now it's all sanitized, repetitive."

Management changes also led to the High-Rise behaving more aggressively, but in a moronic way, and that's going to bite them in the ass. They let the Nakurra and Black Dogs duke it out undisturbed, and now a fucking building blew up in the middle of Manhattan. Officers on the force are starting to notice something is amiss, everyday people are also probably beginning to question the violence in their city. The masses are stupid, not blind. Viv and all of the other idiots on that board are on a sinking ship - slowly sinking but sinking nevertheless, and they don't even have the foresight to predict it. If that man still ran things he never would have made such missteps!

Neil intends to get off the vessel before he has to witness Vivienne and the others further desecrate the corpse of what his guardian built. Yeah, he might be in a Misery type of situation, but he's also in an MIA situation thanks to Cade. Presumed dead. This gives him more mobility than being a captain or a High-Rise pawn ever did. Neil could disappear. He'd intended for the raid to be his last job, anyway. MacDarragh has very little keeping him in this city - a promise and a vendetta. That's it. After fulfilling those...

His eyes search Cade's. Yeah, he is a sick fuck, that's the point!

"You are going to be given orders by people beneath you, that have never seen what we do and if they ever did they'd puke their guts out and shit themselves. You'll be leashed by a bitch that's forgotten her place," the way the Butcher had been dragged out, helpless and limp, comes to mind, "But I don't know, maybe you have a hard-on for that kind of thing."

"... You can have my position, I don't give a fuck," that means going back to the High-Rise, even if temporarily, to make the change, but Neil says it anyway. Doesn't stop him from pouting like a child and turning his head the other way, "I'm going freelance after this."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

A simple request unlocks a whole stupid ass monologue Cade wasn't expecting or wanting.
Whenever Neil's smile takes a dip, shit gets real and that doesn't seem likely to change.

He likes sanitized and repetitive work.
The boss bitch thing isn't great - Cade has to keep his face from showing the shit show underneath at even the mention of being someone's lapdog, but bosses are a part of life.
Maybe.

Neil doesn't seem to think so.

Like the little brat he is, he turns away and Cade would roll his eyes if the building blocks of a new life he's been formulating all morning didn't just crack.

"I'm not like you," he growls to the back of Neil's stupid head. He rubs at his throat. "I actually like a little bit of reliability in my life. That doesn't make me a bitch or-"

There's a knock at the door, one so tiny Cade almost believes it's in his head.
He gives a grunt, leaving the floor. The gangster's fingers twitch at his side.
With a swallow, he grabs the glass doorknob and gives it a twist.

A woman stands there, pitifully short and charmingly adorable. Not in a fuckable way, more like a small woodland animal way.

"How is he?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. She was never particularly attractive, and that hasn't changed, brittle hair locked in a bun, somehow flat chested even though she's pudgy.
Whatever cutesy beauty she could have had is thoroughly squished by her ridiculous glasses that make her eyes look bigger than they're supposed to be.

"Awake, talkative," Cade murmurs, scratching at his neck. She follows the movement and when he knows he's been caught, forces his hand down.

"I'm not prescribing this for the man you have tied to a bed." She holds out a yellow pill bottle, rattling as she shakes it.
"Do not take two every six hours."

With a sigh, he takes the bottle of little yellow pills.
"Do you have to do that, Marley?"

The chick in question rummages about in her purse. It's a forest of receipts, lip balm, notes and tampons.
"I'm almost done school. I don't wanna take any chances."

Cade snorts in utter disbelief. This counts as more than a risk, and that's not even considering all the bullshit she's done in the past.
The whole morning has been a grueling test of his patience. There's something about her that gives her a punchable face and her damn voice doesn't help and neither does the legal nonsense.

"Change the bandages once a day, wash the area with warm water - no hydrogen peroxide." Oblivious, she gives him the rundown and Cade wishes he could tell her to shut up.
"Call me if the injuries get red, start swelling or if he starts running hot."

Marley tries to glance under his shoulder. Cade moves to block her, keeping a snarl to himself save for the wrinkles in his nose he can't quite suppress. It gives him a grimace of disgust, rather than bridled disdain and anger.

She ignores it now like she ignored it then.

"I don't know how much this can be helped," she begins, tentatively and fake, "but don't keep him on his stomach with his shoulder up forever. Let him walk around."

After enough digging she finally, finally finds her keys. It's a relief for both of them.
"And don't feed him garbage. Something like rice and chicken will be good for him. Lots of water too."

Cade nods, nearly scratching at his damn neck again.

Marley holds out her hands in surrender.
"Once again, I reiterate that I'm not involved in this and my advice in this situation is to take him to a hospital and turn yourself in."
"You're a fucking saint, Marley. I'll wire you the money.
"Take care of yourself, Cade. Oh - and about the raid..."

Cade rolls his jaw, chewing on his cheek. Some semblance of sympathy on her chubby face feels cheap and useless. What a fucking lie it had been. That'd been the worst part of it all... she fucking looks like such a nice person.
"I was sorry to hear about-"

"No, you weren't," he says, fighting like hell to keep his voice steady, "Unless someone can trace you back, you're debt free and cartel free now."

Her little evil rabbit face scrunches into what is probably supposed to be a very convincing scowl.
"I did what I had to and now I'm paying for it-"
"This is paying for it?!"
"I'm not doing it for fun! My niece has a piano recital I'm currently missing."

The rage stops at his mouth, just barely. It comes out as a close lipped grunt.
But not a shade of fear shows up on Marley's face. Anyone who knows Cade isn't scared of him. It's like as soon as he opens his damn mouth, all his credibility goes out the window.

How many fucking recitals did he miss? How many science fairs and cringey school plays?

"Remember what I said." She's already turned around, wrapping a pretty scarf around her neck.
Cade can't watch her leave him again so he slams the door, probably harder than necessary. It rattles the room.
He wants to press his head to the cool wood, let it soak into his skin. But Neil's here.
Anger is one thing, being a pussy is another.
It was always going to be hard, it was always going to suck. He knew that when he called her.

"Your phone's fucked," he informs dryly. "Do you remember the number well enough to use mine?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

I'm not like you.

Neil pouts further. Shit, maybe he truly isn't. Maybe the hitman caught the wrong vibes, despite being a damn great judge of character. It could have all been wishful thinking on his end.

Or maybe Cade is lying to himself. It wouldn't be the first time.

Before MacDarragh can make any further argument or say something that will definitely initiate the torture part of this kidnapee situation, there is a light knock at the door and the gangster's footsteps move away to answer whoever else he brought out to the middle of nowhere. A woman's voice. Neil can't really see her unless he cranes his neck and that hurts, so he settles on listening in on their rather interesting conversation. This is the person that patched him up, by the sound of it. And his wounds feel... aptly closed, but he's been given nothing for the pain. A pill bottle rattles.

The door rattles as well, when Cade slams it shut.

The gangster doesn't give him room to react to what just happened, and MacDarragh huffs, "Of course I remember the number."

And he gives it, freely. Only once, but slowly enough for Wolf to dial in all the digits.

Neil turns his head back to look at Cade holding the phone up to his year, on a call that he knows will not connect. The hitman takes the time to daydream.

Once he gets out of NYC, he needs to figure out where to go. Maybe he'll go down to Vegas, or El Paso, or even further down into South America. Somewhere fun. He'll need to build a reputation from the ground up, but that's all part of the experience. Thinking about it, he could also travel back across the pond for a bit, see how the work environment is there. The slavs are always getting up to some nasty shit or another.

In any case, he would need to pick out a new name, get new passports and IDs, and all that tedious business. More excitingly, he'd have to dye his hair. Well, not have to, but he wants to. Wonder what color would look good?

The possibilities are endless! Or they would be.

When it finally becomes obvious that Vivienne will not pick up - because why would she answer an unknown caller - Neil smiles. Damn, he's going to have to go see the High-Rise again.

"You can try again later, but it won't work. And even if my phone wasn't fucked, this is a face-to-face meeting kind of matter," he chews on his lip for a moment, searching Cade's eyes again before sighing, "I'll recommend you when we go see your future boss."

"Assuming you'll let me walk around, like your nice friend suggested," Neil's smile twitches at the corner a little bit, eyes narrowing, "Or was she your ex?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Cade waits, hand propped on a hip.
What on earth does he even say if they do answer? 'Hello, I've got your guy, I'd like to talk?' sounds ridiculously torn out of a movie script but what other option does he have? Neil's his only bartering chip.

All his worrying comes to a head when they don't answer.

"Nah," Cade mumbles, staring down at the blank screen.
Supposedly, Neil will arrange a real meet up, but that's putting a lot of faith in a man that's dying to see their positions reversed.
Neil isn't completely fed up, not yet. This is still enjoyable for him, in some way.
And it's not because he underestimates Cade, it's because he doesn't.

Fucking weirdo.

"We had a weird kiss," Cade says with the sudden need to defend his manhood. "But... " That was on his end, and she slapped him for it. So...

"The Butcher hired her when he was in a pinch. Didn't matter if she was just a student, he said she had 'impeccable skill' and 'maintained an impressive gpa' worth contracting."
Cade forgoes the impression, since Neil won't be able to appreciate it anyway.
He does do air quotes though.

"She took the money and all she had to do was sew idiots up. Didn't matter if most of them wound up needing stitches because of him. Thought she cared, but she fucking didn't. Not a bit."
The American educational system is a scam, and Cade can't hold anyone to a higher standard when he is who he is, but at least he doesn't fucking lie about who he is.
Or, well, not completely. Not like that.
Maybe she was scared and doing her best. He'd been fucking terrified himself and he was a big dude. Not that it'd done any good.

Is Neil's boss going to be anything like Finch?

"We'll go tomorrow. Assuming you can walk by then."
Cade pulls back the linen far enough to see the white wrap of bandages covering up his speckled back.
He'll have new stripes to add to the collection.
Right, Cade got what he wanted, or as close as he's going to get for now. Neil will want to be put out of his misery.
His Kathy Bates misery.

"Whoever went after you got you good, hm? Shoulda been me." Cade takes the cup, bringing it to the bathroom sink to fill up. Swiping over the stream, he tests to see if it's cold enough.
It's winter, but of course you can't get cold water.
The soap bar is in the shape of a clam, but blue and sparkly. It's not his thing, but damn if Cade can't change a single thing about this place.
"You kill 'im?" He calls.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Neil snickers, "Weird kisses are kind of your thing, aren't they?"

He hums as he listens to Cade recite his not-ex's backstory, smiling at the air quotes. It's a weird and risky choice to hire a student rather than an established doctor, but if she did the job well, guess that's good enough. Though now Cade's lost that kind of medical support - if he wasn't lying to the woman, she's debt- and cartel-free now. The guy called in a last favor and drove her out here to sew up his recent fuck-buddy, whom he had a spat with.

That's funny. He's funny.

The corners of Neil's eyes crinkle and he laughs to himself again. It ends with a wince just like last time. Damn, the pain is not letting up. He'd eye the pill bottle in Cade's hand meaningfully if he didn't think such a gesture would delay the fucker from giving him the medication. When the gangster takes away the empty cut, there is a spark of anticipation in MacDarragh's gut.

Cade's words dampen the thought of pain relief.

Neil got got. He got got by Blumenthal of all people. Putting something like that into words sounds... absurd, like maybe he dreamt it. The coward can't look him in the eye for too long without getting scared, he's powerless. Yet, the memory of a knife - his own knife - going into his back is too fresh, as are the cuts left behind. He can feel them - they run perpendicular to the ones already on his back, the injuries that are so old he forgets about them in his day-to-day life. MacDarragh doesn't get hurt. He is untouchable. The only other recent mark he's received is Wolf's teeth imprinted on his palm...

"I thought it was you," Neil muses. It should have been the Black Dog indeed, "He was helping evacuate your beloved Butcher, after all."

"Ha! Actually, he was also disguised as a SWAT member, ain't that a funny coincidence? But I doubt he killed anyone for the uniform," the sergeant likely played a role in that instead. After all, Damien is too self-righteous to get his hands dirty like that... He got MacDarragh. Sure, the hitman acted rashly, but that stupid kid managed to land some hits and it's as humiliating to admit as it is kind of interesting. Maybe he finally grew some balls while he was in prison. Not that it matters. It won't be enough to save Blumenthal next time, not when Neil is going to redouble his efforts to put him down for good.

Cade asks if he killed him, and Neil takes a bit long to answer.

"No," he finally calls out, "But I didn't leave him unscathed. And I hope the blast didn't kill him, I'd like to finish the job myself."

"He's an old acquaintance, old assignment... Does the name Damien mean anything to you?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Cade smiles to himself while Neil entertains him with feats of villainous heroics.
What are the chances another guy would dress up? And help Finch?
Maybe it was Tweets but... No, he was arrested.

Cade returns with the cup filled, ready to tease the eccentric robocop about letting a target get away when...

"Damien?"

With an I instead of an A, his brain supplies.

The glass in Cade's hand shatters.
The shards fall with a wet slap alongside the water. It takes everything in him not to clench that hand shut on the glass. If it wasn't his good one, maybe he would.
Cade clears his throat, shifts his weight. The glass clacks and cries under his footsteps.

"Damien Blumenthal?"

What other Damien could it be?
That infuriating little cock sucker was there! He had no reason to be, but when has that ever stopped him from being where he shouldn't?
No wonder Kade was pushing him away again the night before...
He'd gotten his new pet back. He didn't need the old model any more. The gangster swallows and the wolf riding his neck feels like a real thing, dragging him down, choking him out.

Kaden's a fucking monster and Damien's a saint that came running for him, even after being locked up for a week.
No one ever came for Cade. Not then, not now, not ever.

Cade laughs, loud and horribly. He wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand,
"That's really fucking funny," he cackles, fighting for air against the severing strings that must be his sanity. "What're the odds we got beef with the same guy?"

Cade snaps his fingers. "You killed Moore. Yeah, Kaden fucked Damien that night, I remember. That was when I..."

Cade brushes one hand against the other and tries not to look at the dirty blonde he has strapped into bed.
"That was the night I met you."

At a bar when he was elbow to elbow with idiots who didn't know that drink would be their last. Maybe if Neil ever gets free Cade will be one of those idiots.
Will he do it gently, or just as brutally violent as he does everything?

It doesn't fix everything, but it does make it better knowing he's not the only one. Other people have issues with Damien too, other people think about dumping him in the Hudson. Cade's not that far gone, he's not crazy.
"The Butcher was hot fucking shit. That guy comes in and between Damien and the Black Bitch bailing, the whole operation went to hell. My livelihood, hundreds of others, didn't matter."

Cade's quiet until he's not.
"Kaden, he- he's a fucking monster. Like you but... Not."

What he means to do is gossip like a girl on the phone with her feet up. Hit the breeze, bitch about common complaints. That's what he means to do.
But it's been a long day and a long life and it just leaks out of him.

He can't face Marley and this all in the same day.

"I wasn't always like this, okay? I mean- it was always there, I've always been a pain in the ass that no one could put up with and an asshole in general but not like this."
He gestures to Neil, the restraints, the fact he's here rather than in a hospital.
Yeah, partly it's to get into the High Rise, but mostly its because Cade saw a man that humiliated him and made him feel small unconscious and vulnerable.
And he took advantage of that, and he fucking liked it. He still likes it. He loves it.

"He brought it out of me. That- that sick- And then he fucking hated me for it. I did what he wanted and it wasn't enough for him."
He covers his mouth, digging into his cheek. Teeth aching, he holds it back in like vomit.

If someone like Damien can actually love someone like Kaden then that means Kaden isn't as horrible and ice cold as Cade thought he was.
Cadence just wasn't worth changing for, he wasn't worth being kind to.

Cade folds his lips in to keep the bottom one from trembling.

"...I'll go get you another glass," he says as an excuse to get the fuck out.
"Don't go anywhere."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

The name Damien does mean something to Cade. Far too much based on the reaction. Or overreaction, rather.

Neil raises an eyebrow, still smiling, when the cup shatters on the floor, crunching beneath the gangster's boots. If he starts walking around the place with those shoes on, he'll be contaminating the entire house or villa or whatever this building is with tiny shards of glass that'll take ages to all clean up. Like glitter.

And the overreaction doesn't end there, no. A laugh rips out of Cade - one of disbelief at the absurdity of it all, the type of laugh one makes when they can't manage to react any other way to a bout of emotion. Yeah, it is fucking funny that the two have beef with the same guy, but this man's issues with Blumenthal seem to be coming from an entirely different place.

Things are heading into concerning territory and Neil feels his expression drop again. He didn't expect whatever the hell this is. While Wolf's surprises are usually fun, this one isn't. Just like asking to get willingly bound to the High-Rise. Nevertheless, he remains quiet as the tirade continues. Cade says a lot of interesting stuff, including namedropping the Butcher and confirming the fact Damien is sleeping with him, like Neil didn't already know. But unlike the hitman Cade is fucking pressed over the fact, over having his wonderful boss supposedly ruined. MacDarragh rolls his eyes. Yeah, this is precisely why he doesn't do relationships... Or maybe the reason for the meltdown goes deeper.

"Are you giving the Butcher credit for the very person you've become? C'mon, you're above this," Neil has to consciously force his voice to remain calm, schooling his expression into one of neutrality, "So what if he hated you for it? Did you enjoy what you did? Because that's what matters."

And MacDarragh knows he enjoyed it, just like he's enjoying keeping him tied in bed. Almost to demonstrate a point, he tugs lightly at his restraints. If he could only slip out...

He sighs, "If the Butcher- if Kaden did one good thing, it was bringing this side out of you. But it was always there to begin with. And I for one rather like that."

It's what drew him in at the bar, what's been keeping him from killing this man he finds so interesting. On the other hand, this breakdown... it's unbefitting, like seeing Wolf bound and bloodied in a car trunk. Difference is in this case the gangster is hurting himself by senlesessly being concerned with the opinions of others. That part MacDarragh simply can't understand.

Just like he can't understand the way Cade turns towards the door, to go continue his emotional breakdown in private under the pretense of getting another glass.

"I can't go anywhere, and neither should you," his voice is still calm as he makes the attempt, "Stay. Sit down, Cade. Breathe."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Did you enjoy what you did?

All Cade knows is that everything goes quiet when he's dropping bodies. He's on the top of the world blowing shit up.
He feels good about himself, and he knows that's sad. He knows that's wrong.
As good as he feels then, it doubles down the self loathing here.

Neil likes that part of him.

Cade rests a hand on the doorframe. He picks at his lip, peeling the dead skin with his teeth.
He focuses on that, on the tearing of old flesh. He wishes he could shed it all, rip out of the old him and be new and strong.
Cade draws a tongue over the drop of blood before he turns.

"Why, so you can get a good look at the freak show?" He asks with a sneer.
"So you can use it against me later?"

He paces back and forth, like a caged animal looking for a weak spot in the bars. This isn't sexy or fun or whatever the hell Neil likes so much.
This is Cade falling asleep in Neil's arms; it's ugly and it's dangerous. It's not screwing, it's what happens afterwards.
This is Cade.

"I don't need your help. I don't need you to fucking fix me!"

Popping the lid off the bottle, Cade shakes out two little pills.

He grabs Neil's face, fingers digging deep into his cheek at the joint. The gangster pries the man's jaw open, shiny white teeth flashing and strands of spit hanging from his tongue.

This is unnecessary, but when has that ever stopped anyone from doing anything?

Cade pushes the pills deep into Neil's mouth before clicking it shut.
He pinches his nose and mouth closed, and if that hurts then it hurts. This is how pet owners do it, right? If a dog can do it Neil can deal with it too.

"Why don't you breathe, Neil? Relax a little."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

It's a bit late to be worrying about Neil using this against Cade later. He's gotten a good look as is, at the freak show and more. Enough to know that beneath the strong exterior this guy is fragile. Like, a lot. A bit hilariously so, and he does it to himself. The gangster has the potential to be a beast, sure - he stood toe to toe with the hitman, after all - but there is baggage upon baggage weighing him down. And he can't even admit it. That's why he's breaking.

He does need help, especially if he's going to be taking over his position with the High-Rise, and Neil doesn't often do charity work, but, well... he likes a challenge. And that's what this asshole is - the most confounding, grating nutcase he's ever met.

Not grating enough to get rid of quite yet. Emphasis on yet.

His words get Cade to start talking again and step back from the door frame, and MacDarragh suppresses a self-satisfied grin at the fact. In return for him basically extending a hand, Wolf does what he does best - he bites. And that's better. It's not having an emotional breakdown because everything is oh-so sad and terrible after he blew up a fucking building like a badass, and his bitch of a boss doesn't love him back.

The much-needed pills get roughly shoved into Neil's mouth before it's clamped down in a familiar, firm grip, relentlessly cutting off his airflow. And in that moment, he is reassured that Cade enjoys this position of power.

As much as he can relate to that sentiment, Neil doesn't enjoy being on this end of the dynamic. He is still lying stomach down tied to a bed with his head craned to the side. If there was ever an uncomfortable position to swallow pills dry in, this is it. He glares at the gangster for a good few moments as his airflow keeps being cut off.

Yes, this is the part of Cade he likes, yet that doesn't mean he won't pay him back for the humiliation of being bound and treated like an animal. Tit for tat. But, one thing at a time.

Not breaking eye contact, the hitman swallows.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Neil doesn't struggle, no instead he pretends he doesn't need air.
As much as Cade would like a little fight as he bridles a man no one ever has, this isn't all that bad.
With his face half covered, his eyes are that much more put on display, framed in by the angry furrow of his brows. There's a strand or two of hair going over his face; it really makes him look wild. Little tiger man.

This is an instant mood pleaser. It shouldn't be but it is.
Was it for Kaden? He said he never wanted to hurt anyone, but that means he did it out of necessity and Cade doesn't know which is worse.
He called them friends.

The gangster meets his captive's fury up until he swallows. Cade glances down at his throat.
Neil's the kind of cagey fuck that would go blue in the face being stubborn, but Cade's the kind of guy who wants a little bit of spit and hot breath trapped against his hand apparently.
He holds this guy's life in his hand and it's almost gently. There's no blood, no brains, just him and Neil and oxygen he has full access to that Neil doesn't. He takes a full breath himself, just to be a dick.

Would he fight before his eyes started rolling back?

He drops Neil's head, shoving it into the bed for good measure.
It's because it's Neil. He wouldn't do this sort of thing with anyone else.
"I'll be back in six hours with food. Don't piss the bed."

Cade pauses at the door. He glares at Neil, his wrists locked but not out of reach in the slightest. They're strong, but it's not like they're police cuffs. Each one has a clip that just needs a pinch to release.
With a thoughtful hum he goes to the animal themed hutch.
Cade gives a black sock a cursory smell.
It's ancient, but not stinky. He slaps it against his thigh and a few dust bunnies fly out.
After some more ferreting, he stuffs the sock with a few more rolled up until he has something a little bit more substantial.

Grabbing a spare shoelace he ties the end with, he has something that is far from the prettiest thing but it'll have to do.
The wood floor creaks as Cade steps back to Neil's bedside.

"One more time," he says, tapping at Neil's jawline.
"But I liked forcing you open so I could just do that again if you prefer."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Cade takes his sweet time releasing the hold, but Neil struggles to remain relaxed, like he'd been instructed by his captor, after all. And struggle is definitively the right word for it. He's choked the guy out twice before in the past, and he was much nicer. The oh-woe-is-me "I wasn't always like this" gangster lords over the man he kidnapped, taking in deep, purposeful breaths to show that he can. Is Cade waiting for him to thrash around for air, to pass out? Heh, cheeky fuck. This is a war of attrition the hitman is bound to lose, but he fights it anyway.

However, just as he had done to him in the past, Wolf lets go. He shoves his head down into the bed for good measure, though - another thing to add to the ever-growing list of what he's going to do to Cade when he has the chance in the future.

Speaking of which, he's going to be left alone for six hours, apparently.

The gangster moves away to somewhere Neil doesn't have good line of sight of, and he finally allows himself to pant, taking in deep gulps of what was denied to him. His breathing begins to calm down as his focus lands on the restraints. As hurt as he is, he has now been given pain medication, and within an hour or two he should regain a modicum of his strength back. Enough he could try slipping out. MacDarragh smirks to himself at the idea - when his caring captor returns to feed him, he could greet him at the door. Politely, of course.

Such an outcome seems very enticing. Very exciting too.

But then Cade comes back with what appears to be a makeshift gag constructed out of socks, tapping at Neil's jaw. Wolf has some foresight. The hitman has to hope those haven't been worn or used in other, more creative ways recently.

"You are a sick fuck," the hitman huffs, not unkindly. He is annoyed, but... "A kinky one too."

His gaze glistens when he smiles up at Cade, meeting blue eyes that now have a more familiar, sharper essence to them, "Give it a try, I'll bite this time."

Neil shuts his mouth with a clack of the teeth.

He will be gagged. He could bite at a couple of fingers in his mouth, but eventually he will be gagged. MacDarragh knows this for certain. It's another war of attrition he is bound to lose, but he'll fight it anyway. It wouldn't be fun for either of them if he didn't.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

It's purely practical. That doesn't mean Cade can't have a little fun with it.
"It's not kinky to keep you from skipping out the door in sub zero. You'll know when I'm being kinky."

Neil eyes the gag, not with apprehension because he's never been scared a day in his life but with challenge. Cade grins back at him, kneeling down into a position that's halfway comfortable.
He's taken the side of Neil's good shoulder because Cade knows he'd have to really dig into the fresh wounds to get the hitman to scream and as pleasant a sound that might be, he doesn't want to deal with Marley again so soon.

Cade grabs a fistful of hair to drag Neil's head to face him again.
He's never liked or cared about pulling hair. If anything, he's kinda hated long hair. It gets caught everywhere and after one night, his pillow and shower drain is full of it.
But Neil's isn't ridiculously long. He still looks like a dude, more or less and it's something to grab that gives him immediate and easy control.

It's like holding a kitten's scruff.

Cade pins his head down and with second knuckles of his pointer and middle finger, pinches his nose shut again.
It's bad sportsmanship, particularly to tease but the gangster can't help it.
"Is there anything you're particularly in the mood for food wise? Anything at all. Just say the word, Neil. You deserve it after today, you just need to let me know."

Come to think of it, he doesn't even know if the guy's allergic to anything, or lactose intolerant.
Or vegan.
He can't possibly be vegan.
Cade makes a note to get a little bit of everything.

Regardless of the uphill battle, Neil holds his breath again. This time willingly.
It's a different kind of power trip making him do it to himself.
Cade doesn't count but the guy lasts at least a minute, maybe two. Long enough for Cade to wonder about his humanity again.

But his mouth does open.

Stuffing the gag in isn't as easy as the pills had been, but the thickness of it makes it safer for Cade's fingers. Being pure minded you would describe the gag as being more oval, oblong shaped than just a stubby sphere. It's not something Neil will be able to work his teeth around.
Once it's in far enough, he ties the end of the shoelace together behind Neil's head.
The pressure digs into the corners of his mouth, just a bit. It's not a horrible look on him.

"Can you breathe okay, princess? Or is it too big for you?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Cade rises to the challenge, of course.

How many times has he pulled at Neil's hair at this point? He seems to rather enjoy it, like he gets off on it. It's another point to add to the list of things to pay him back for, but unfortunately the gangster's locks are nowhere near long enough to grip onto, which is a shame. MacDarragh would have found that pleasurable himself. The strands do look longer than the first time they met, though, as well as longer than their last meeting. Is Cade growing it out or something? His haircut will be heading into awkward territory sooner rather than later (in a butch lesbian way, that's funny), but if it means Neil can at one point potentially run his fingers through it and choose where to arc and crane and point the fucker's head or even just hold him down into submission by it, that'll be nice.

Though he also likes the way the bristles feel now. That rough brush texture.

When he gets enough of the hair play, Cade pushes Neil onto the pillow and, once again, cuts off his airflow. Apparently, it's another thing he gets off on. It hasn't even been that long since he choked him out last.

Neil refuses to open his mouth regardless. He will in a bit, but he won't give in from a simple pinching of the nose.

In the middle of it all, the guy asks him what he wants to eat, and that almost makes MacDarragh laugh, but he manages to keep it in at the last moment. It's not a legitimate question, of course, but it does get him thinking. Cade's not-ex had recommended feeding him chicken and rice, and the hitman has to agree. But then he side-eyes the gangster and... he's absolutely not sure how good of a cook he is. The guy is white - American white, from what Neil can gather appearance-wise. More tellingly, he took the injured man to a remote forest villa with very nice-looking, doubtlessly expensive wooden furniture. The people that own these types of places don't usually know how to season their food.

Neil's lungs are starting to burn, begging him to breathe. He is loath to allow them the relief, but he's also still feeling hurt and drained. If Cade had been holding his mouth shut, he would have held on until he passed out. As things stand, however, MacDarragh's lips part, taking in the air greedily, and Wolf doesn't waste time putting the improvised gag in.

Neil struggles for a bit trying to bite - cause he's a man of his word - but mostly he keeps his mouth free long enough to quickly state his food tastes, "Something with a bit of spice, preferably."

Then the sock goes in, thankfully not tasting of anything other than old cloth, and Neil rolls his eyes at Cade's comments. The corners of his mouth are already pulled back by the shoelaces, but he rises them up further by smiling and huffing out of his nose to prove a point. Yes, he can breathe just fine, thanks for asking. He can breathe just fine tied to the four corners of a bed and gagged after sustaining injuries...

Damn. He really got got. Twice in one day.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Neil doesn't gag and his exhale comes out easy with a smile that looks more silly than it usually does.
Cade feels his own smile soften, looking at the stranger he's taken home to the family summer house mid December.
The guy was nothing, crushed under dirt and sucking in smoke. Cut up by Damien and left to die.
It didn't stop him, it didn't kill him.

Because he can, Cade gives the head of hair he enjoys tugging on a friendly ruffle.
The hitman likes it hot, that tracks.
"Spicy it is. Don't ever say I never do anything for you."

"I'm pretty sure what you took was Percocet," he informs, half grimacing to himself. That's what Marley always gave him, and it was a fucking pain in the ass to kick the dependence.

"Take advantage of it and sleep it off. I'll be back."

---

Cade rubs at the back of his neck, desperately trying not to feel silly about the whole thing.
There's an inflatable Santa Claus staring him down on the porch making that impossible. That's the whole street, dolled up in lights and garland that's going to be a pain in the ass to take down.
His mom used to do stuff like this; make a giant spectacle for the less fortunate to drive by and marvel at. She loved things like that.
Her middle name was Constance. When dad was pissed he'd say she was a Constance pain in his ass.

Some houses are dead, maybe out of respect for the building that went down in the city with several people inside. Is he fucking insane?
He took down an entire building and then kidnapped a guy. A crazy fucker obviously, but that doesn't necessarily make it better.
And it's all in the name of getting neck deep in more bullshit.

Neil wants to freelance.

Like an antsy kid, Cade goes from standing at the door with his finger over the bell to walking down the steps and then all the way back to the door again.
Like some sort of interpretive dance of indecision.
In the end, he rings the door bell.

Matilda answers, her commercial ready smile for the carolers dropping the moment she sees it's him.
"They let you out?"

A lot has happened in the last seventy two hours. Cade's stares at her for an impressive half minute before he remembers what the hell she's talking about.
"No help from you. MacDarragh didn't press charges."

Something in her eyes says he should have and Cade can't argue that.
At this point in his devolution he doesn't even have a bad steak anymore. He has a good streak.

Cade scratches at his throat. "Can I see the kid?"

He wants her to say no. A big huge shameful part of him wants her to tell him to go to hell, that she'll get a restraining order on him if he comes skulking back here again.
It'd be good enough reason to never see Oliver again and not feel guilty about it. He could have his cake and eat it too.

"You broke his heart," she says, and he sees a sliver of humanity in her face. She wipes back a strand of hair.
"More than once."

The little shit tricked him. He fenced him into it, what did he think was going to fucking happen?
Cade keeps that from showing up on his face. Oliver's just a kid, he didn't know any better. It's not like Cade's told him anything about what happened.

"I probably will again," he grumbles, "but it's never been on purpose."

Realizing this is stupid, Cade starts his retreat. "Just tell him I said hi."

Matilda grabs him. They both glance at her hand on his shoulder.
The mother slowly pulls back. "He's in his room. Take your shoes off."

Cade will take that as invitation enough.
Being in a home, even one as pretentious as this hits him somewhere hard. There's a record playing Christmas music, baking cookies is in the air. The fire place is cackling away, even though it's fake.
Matilda has more than one Christmas tree. She's insane.

But it's still a home.

It's like he almost forgot what one was supposed to look like. Feel like.
Like a gentleman, he takes his shoes off and nudges them off to the side.
He needs Matilda to show him where to go, up stairs, second door on the right.

Oliver is on his desktop, fucking around with something Cade can't understand. He doesn't even know what he's looking at because it's not a game and it's not YouTube.
When did he get so old?

"Hi," he says quietly.

"Hi," Cade says back. He's got the blue walls with the white clouds. Star Wars bed sheets.
When he brings a girl here for the first time she's going to take one look and it'll be the last girl that comes through here.
He has a Lego death star on the shelf. And a few model airplanes.
There's a T-Rex skeleton sculpt made completely out of bits of popsicle sticks.

"This is really cool," Cade says, despite the fact it's the least cool thing he's ever seen.
Oh shit, the tail has little joints made into it with crafting glue. It moves, slightly, from side to side when pushed on, like a real tail.

"Thanks," Oliver mumbles.

The jaw even moves. It goes up, interlocking perfectly with the paper teeth.
Before Cade can break it, he goes to set it down. Before he can do that, a tiny force to be reckoned with slams into his chest.
Oliver wraps his arms around him, or well, as far as they can. Cade has zero knowledge on what to do.
This is a hug, probably.

So Cade puts his hand awkwardly on Oliver's back. It's forced, but it seems right?

"I thought you went to prison. I thought I'd only be able to see you through glass using one of those phone things. I'm so sorry, Cadence."

He's talking high security. Cade's crime probably would've been medium, especially if he behaved himself in which case there wouldn't be a wall between them. Explaining that doesn't seem right for this situation either.

"Buddy, it's okay. I'm okay." It just comes out of him, with a voice he didn't think he had.
Oliver sniffles, and oh fucking great, is he crying? Cade will leave if he starts crying.

It occurs to him Oliver probably assumed the only male role models he has in life would both be people he visited once a month.
Maybe less, if Matilda felt like being an ass.

"I shouldn't have done that to captain MacDarragh, okay? I completely overreacted. You shouldn't have lied to me, but it wasn't your fault."
How fucking terrified was the kid? He saw his own brother assault someone he admired, then get tackled and arrested. Damn...
And he didn't even text the brat he was okay. No, he spent the night with Neil instead.
Damn, Cade is such a fucking waste of space.

The little arms holding him tighten just a bit.
"I just wanted you to be a cop again."

Cade sighs.
"Me too."

Oliver looks up at him. The way blue eyed people are, red eyes stand out like a sore thumb. Doesn't matter if you just sneezed, the contrast of the pink is going to show up.

"But I'm not that guy anymore, Ollie."
He's not going to break this kid's heart again, even if he wished someone had done that for him years ago. It's just too fucking painful, and too hard to explain.
"I couldn't make a difference there, ya'know?"

Maybe he will break his heart, just a little, so it can grow back stronger.

"I'm going to tell you something no one ever will, but everyone all knows. Being nice or 'good' is an uphill battle. That's why no one does it. I'm old as hell and you're the only nice person I've ever met and it's given you jack. You'll drive yourself nuts and by the end of the day it'll amount to nothing."

The kid looks up at him, lip trembling and Cade worries if that was too much.
That wasn't a crush, that was a fucking squeeze. Not even that.

"You gotta look out for you, okay? No one else has got your back." He grips the kid's shoulder, gives him a rattle.
This shit is important.
Oliver's hands are tight. He isn't scratching himself, but his thumb rubs over his pointer, over and over again.

"You made a difference to me," Oliver says through his teeth. For the first time Cade's ever known him, he glares. Honestly glares.
"I know maybe that sounds like nothing to you, but it's everything to me. You're the closest thing I have to a dad and I know-"

"I am not your fucking dad-"

"And Matilda is not your fucking mom! I don't care!" He says, and pushes on Cade's chest.
"I love you! I don't care who you are or what you've done, I love you."

The kid huffs, the same way Cade does.
"You keep trying to pawn me off the moment thing's get bad thinking I'll be better off with someone else when in reality I'd just be more alone. I-"

Cade sweeps his little brother into his arms. The force of it cuts him off.
Oliver doesn't hug him back and for one terrifying moment, Cade thinks he's been played again. Fooled into being a dumbass.
But the shock wears off, and the kid hugs him back.
Cade clamps his eyes shut, holding back tears when Oliver sniffles and sobs into his shoulder.
This is so stupid, so melodo-fucking-dramatic. His brother trembles in his arms and Cade holds him close.

He has no words, nothing to say that isn't a curse word or something that'll fling Oliver's feelings back in his face.
When was the last time he had a hug, especially one like this? Oliver deserves so much better and Cade deserves so much less, and yet here they are.

He's done with the Black Dogs.

He's fucking free. After five years of being in limbo, he's free.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

---

Kaden doesn't need to put on the suit to know it's not going to fit. He's gotten thinner, and only in a month's time.
In the shower he could count ribs. It's unattractive, as is the healing cut he has carved into his thigh. It's a scratchy scab now and without Wight's poultice, it stands a good chance of scarring.
He doesn't recognize himself. He sees his mother's face, of what little he can remember. Gaunt, tired, lost.

So rather than get dressed in a tux that isn't his, Kaden sits on the foot of the bed with a fluffy towel tied around his waist that isn't his.
They could have given them two separate rooms; Raul is more than successful enough for it. But they just gave them the one.
Two beds, however.
There's a divider between them, foggy glass that distorts everything on the other side. It offers the barest form of privacy.
There's a tiny kitchen, bar and living room area as well.

Pawl mews, coarse and somehow groggy from inside the bag carrier. Her gentle eyes peer out from behind the mesh before she flops over onto her side.
Delilah could've killed Pawl giving her a sedative meant for humans at that dosage. It's a blessing the cat is pulling through.

Damien's tried the door to the hotel hallway only to be greeted by Clive and Malcom asking if they need anything. It's blatantly obvious they can't leave the room, even if Raul is being polite about it. It's a step up from the hospital, barely, but Kaden can't shake the feeling that with every new location they sink deeper into the fly trap.
Finch has no choice but to trust Delilah is still nearby. She promised.

"The most likely outcome of tonight is Raul paying you off. Not because he's scared of you, but because he's... infatuated with Delilah," Kaden informs, tugging at a loose thread in the towel.

"What are your going to do, Damien?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"I'll tell him to take his money and shove it up his ass," Damien sneers, cursing under his breath in frustration.

Of course Raul would try to buy him out. But even if that is the most likely outcome, it feels pertinent to expect the unexpected. Just like it feels pertinent to navigate this delicate situation carefully, and insulting the man that reserved an entire hotel floor, including the room Damien and Kaden are currently in, sounds counterproductive. Not that the ex-cop ever honestly planned on insulting him. He more or less blurted that out, yet he can't exactly help it right now.

To say Damien is exasperated would be an understatement.

Nat hasn't texted him further, his gun has been taken, Finch and he can't leave, and supposedly they're having dinner with a black-tie dress code. Because that's the most appropriate way to close off such a harrowing day. Just like it's appropriate that their captors have given a person with one good hand a fucking tux to put on...

The ex-cop looks down at himself only to scowl - he finally managed to fasten up his shirt only to notice last second that he mismatched the buttons. They're off by one. Goddamn it.

Damien will make a full recovery, sure, this is a temporary situation, but it feels particularly pathetic - for the first time in years he'd taken a longer shower, and it wasn't because he wanted to linger and enjoy it or anything. He physically couldn't stick to his usual routine, like how now instead of getting ready within minutes as usual, he is... struggling. How shameful is it to have a tough time putting on socks? Well, he'd powered through that part eventually. Powered through most of it slowly but surely while Kaden freshened up. The shirt was one of the last hurdles. And now he has to start over. He entertains the thought of asking Finch for help for a split second before banishing it - no, he couldn't handle it.

Damien sighs, reigning in his temper while beginning the process of unfastening the buttons, "I don't know, Kaden."

He really doesn't. He's come back into this world and just like always he doesn't know much of anything. At least the ex-cop can hold onto the fact that both Kaden and Pawl are okay.

After a beat of silence, he speaks up again, "What do you mean he's infatuated with Delilah? If... if she were convinced to let us go or at least walk freely, would he listen to her?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Finch glances up from Pawl to the ex-cop at his outburst.
Despite his injuries, he's already showered and mostly dressed. He fumbles more than once with the buttons of his dress shirt and Kaden waits for his assistance to be requested.
It never is.

The capo has never really seen Damien displeased with someone other than himself. It's odd, almost refreshing but not exactly.
It's nice to not be fighting against him. That's something to appreciate with this change; Kaden has nothing now. He is nothing.
They're more alike than ever now.

With a final tap against Pawl's shrouded dome, Kaden leaves the bed.
The tile floor is cold against his bare feet.

First, he helps with the buttons. It's a charming mistake, but not one Damien would have made had he not come to Kaden's rescue in the first place.
Does he regret it and all the trouble Finch has caused him?

After that, Kaden picks up the length of fabric meant to be a bowtie, lifting Damien's collar to slide it around his neck.
Kaden lengthens one side of the bowtie before pausing. He tilts his head, considering the fabric and the collar of the suit.
With a sigh he moves behind Damien.
Hands over Damien's shoulders, muscle memory folds the tie properly.
Once or twice, the back of his hand glances across the warmth of the ex-cop's skin. It's rough from a recent shave and it makes Kaden's hands burn.

"I... I don't know," he admits, drawing the bow snug. Though he can't voice it, he is terribly out of his element. The gangs of NY he understands, but the High-Rise is so convoluted and corrupt there's things he just can't be absolutely sure of.
"He has his own superiors to answer to. Delilah may not be enough."

But she does like you, he thinks about saying, but such a thing seems inappropriate to convey.
And he's hesitant to know what Damien would think about it.

The elaborate bowtie comes together and Kaden shifts to Damien's front to straighten it. This suit doesn't fit him as well as the one Kaden had tailored for him, but Damien looks nice in it regardless.
"Hm," Finch murmurs, brushing lightly at Damien's damp hair. Natalie must cut this. Or Damien does it himself with a pair of scissors in front of a mirror.
He's been out of prison long enough he would have had to do something about it.
There's whisps of grey here and there, most prominent in his temples.

"I think it's less to do with her and more to do with your vendetta. Perhaps you do scare him, though I have no idea why. No offense, but you have nothing besides your persistence."

Kaden reaches around Damien to fix the wrinkles in his dress shirt. With one hand he's unfortunately stuffed the hem of his shirt awkwardly down his pants, making it bunch in an odd place.

"I don't know why Delilah left, but she came when I needed her which means she still has my best interest in mind and you are my interest, Damien."

Straightening the wrinkles, Kaden follows the fabric up Damien's chest until he's satisfied.
His hand comes to a rest just over Damien's collarbone.

"I know... you've waited and fought for this, but maybe... Maybe it ends here. You've given enough, Damien. I think Michael would understand if you let it go now."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien hears Kaden rise from his bed, yet it's not to start dressing himself - it's to approach the ex-cop. When soft hands reach for the pesky buttons Damien almost protests that he can handle the task on his own, but any opposition dies in his throat. Wordlessly, without ridicule, Kaden helps with such a menial, everyday task, and Damien is taken aback that he doesn't feel like some clumsy, incapable child, at least not fully. In its casualness the action is tender.

Maybe it would have been okay to ask after all. It's all a bit ridiculous, really. He requested Finch assist with a revenge plot, why shouldn't he allow himself this type of aid?

I'm sorry you have to do this for me. It's embarrassing that I can't take care of myself.

"Thank you," Damien settles on instead, muttering as he looks down to stare at Kaden's hands, at the way they move. He picks up in the middle of the ex-cop undoing his buttons, so he watches mesmerized as deft fingers undress him to undo a silly mistake. It more so feels like the man is taking off his skin, and not at all in an unpleasant way.

Kaden's wearing only a towel.

Why is Damien only noticing this now? Well, he was aware of it, but it didn't compute that that's what the capo still looks like presently, this close. Involuntarily (or voluntarily and he's just lying to himself) the ex-convict's eyes roam over a canvas of creamy skin he's known was there but never seen; over its planes and angles. Cause that's what Finch is - sharp corners and soft slopes coexisting in one to make something stunning. Okay, yeah, that's another reason Damien didn't want to ask for help. His thoughts are rapidly going in the gutter, so he quickly shifts his gaze up to stare at Kaden's face because that feels like a safer bet. It isn't. His long lashes have always been beautiful, hiding disarming dark eyes, almost like an abyss. A warm abyss. Would it be okay if Damien got lost in it? Maybe he already has.

Even when Kaden moves out of his line of sight, it doesn't get better - Damien imagines the hands reaching over his shoulders embracing him. He imagines returning the gesture. Now, this is psychological warfare, and its effectiveness is painfully obvious on the ex-cop's face. He's usually not so bad at handling Finch... right? Regardless, he can blame his current reaction on the two being apart for weeks.

"None taken," Damien somehow finds it in himself to respond, swallowing around the newly tied bowtie as Finch brushes his hair lightly. All of the man's touches are light, "But I might have more than just persistence."

Are the High-Rise aware of the key now in the ex-cop's possession? The one he hid. He wants to tell Kaden about it, desperately, but in this place how can he be sure someone's not listening in? Especially after what the capo went through. He can hope that Delilah does have Finch's best interest in mind, but it's difficult to trust her, even if the man she slighted still does.

You are my interest, Damien.

Kaden is in front of him again, thoughtfully fixing the ex-cop's mistakes, and he gets a good view of what Damien is certain is a ridiculous expression. If his cheeks were warm before, they are burning now. His heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest.

"Is that what you think I should do?" the question is genuine, begging for an answer.

Michael had wanted to quit. He'd asked Damien to stop the investigation. His friend died because he didn't. Does it end here? Has he given enough? Can... can he allow himself to stop? Damien reaches up to place his palm on Kaden's hand on his collarbone.

"You are right, he would understand. But it's not just about him anymore," he squeezes the hold slightly, stepping forward. If Kaden can sense his heartbeat, that's fine. He just doesn't want him to let go, "I've gotten people that are precious to me involved, Kaden, and you are one of them. I- I don't know if I can leave things."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

"It's what I want you to do," he says, knowing want and should aren't the same. Arguably, Damien should if he values his life.
Depending on Raul's generosity, this could be a new start for him.

In the middle of pulling in a breath to answer, the man steals it by placing his good hand over Kaden's. Good being the liberal term. His fingers are rough and the back of his hand is dry again.
Why won't he take care of himself? He saves Kaden from dying and he can't moisturize?
Repressing a shiver he states, "I can't assist you anymore. I am helpless if they decide to remove you."

His touch is a constant presence. Each subtle rasp sends shocks down Kaden's spine.

The man was looking at him. Was it to see how far he's fallen? It had been a heavy stare, one that weighted over Kaden's being left bare to see.
The warm color in Damien's cheeks is always a mesmerizing contrast from the color of his eyes. He had been so entranced at Nirvana, watching the dancer flow through his routine.
It had been a much needed reprieve to sit and wait with Damien then, in the aftermath of what they thought was a success with the Nakurra.

Kaden changed when Damien left. For the worse.
He's not someone Damien should be concerned for. Natalie and her family he understands. Even his sister, to a certain degree.

"You don't have to decide now," he utters, completely against his nature.
Damien's hand is trapping heat. The heart beneath Kaden's hand is beating fast. It's not Finch's intention to distress him, and yet he's allured by the ticking.
That could have stopped today. It could have ended and Kaden never would've gotten to hear it.

"But please," he says, completely unaware what he's requesting. He's hardly ever propositioned someone with please.

Finch shifts his hand aside, taking Damien's with it. In a soft, slow move Damien could avoid by stepping away if he so desired, Kaden rests his head against the man's chest.
His heart is a soothing, constant sound that instantly spurs up. It's such a strong thumping Kaden's ear doesn't have to be over it to hear.
Damien's alive, he's here and this is what he sounds like.
If Kaden could rest like this, perhaps the lullaby of Damien's life could give him peace enough to sleep.
Particularly if it ever slowed.

"You matter. I need you to treat your life with the same respect and intrinsic value you give to everyone else. You're enough."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Kaden wants him to let go. He doesn't say that he 'should', but 'want' is more potent, given without any justification. Simply... stated, not as a command. It's something else.

Damien feels himself split in two. He's never once thought about giving up before this instant, but Finch gives him pause. Maybe he is fighting insurmountable odds that will only drown him if he keeps pursuing, swimming against an unstoppable tide. The ex-cop has always assumed he'd probably die along the way of this mission regardless, but at least he would wound the beast, chip at its armor. Maybe that was a foolish, self-sacrificial idea. And why should he be the one to struggle and put himself in harm's way? Why should those around him be in danger merely for knowing him?

Yet his gut pushes him to persevere, screaming at him that he can't give up. There's a taste of brass in his mouth telling him he's close if only he has the will to see things through. He can make a change for the better, and then he can be free. Truly free, unafraid of looking over his shoulder for the rest of his days like Moore or Simons. And Kaden could assist him in accomplishing this - he's always been so much more than his position, and that doesn't change now that he's lost it and its resources. They could be partners... Even if he simply stands by Damien's side, that'll be assistance enough. It's a greedy desire, one that the ex-cop won't voice. Not now.

When Kaden tells him he doesn't have to decide, Damien nods and bites at his lip. Even if he wanted to, he can't at the moment. His thoughts are a jumble. There's too much happening all at once, and they haven't even had dinner yet.

Kaden brings him back into the present when he shifts his hand away to remove the hold Damien has on it, and he cringes, realizing that he touched the capo without even asking and for way too long. There's an apology on his lips that gets cut off as Finch leans in. He doesn't know why, he doesn't know how, but the man lets his head rests against Damien's chest.

Everything is muffled by the overwhelming sound of his heartbeat in his ears, pounding away. Kaden can hear it, he definitely can-

He tells the ex-convict he matters and his breath hitches.

Damien's life hasn't mattered in a long, long time. Not to him anyway. Guess that's what happens when one sustains themself on a diet of hate exclusively. It has helped him survive, yes, but it's made him... not enough. He's barely half a person, after all. Sometimes his reflection seems more real than he feels and he hates it for it. Has Damien ever been enough, really? To anyone?... Yes, for five blissful years, he was. It wasn't all good always, but looking back it was all he needed. He was happy. Not constantly, because that's impossible, but he was content. That was it, that fabled "real life". Maybe he can build it again. Maybe he can be enough for someone again.

His eyes find Kaden. Damien doesn't make a move, frozen like he's afraid any movement will ruin the moment, though he does slightly lean his head towards the capo, "I'll try my best."

A second later, tentatively, he asks, "Kaden... what are you going to do now? What comes next?"