Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

[dreaming enthusiast]

Here we go Neil hums to himself. His grins grows in the same breath as his irritation at the feral display Cade treats him to - a wild animal cornered and unable to comprehend its circumstances aside from seeing restraints and a cage, so naturally it lashes out. He contemplates calling it all predictable, but that's not the right word, really. The gangster is anything but predictable, it's part of what makes him dangerous.

Yet this was expected, by virtue of MacDarragh knowing this fucking man.

"Calm down," he commands softly if firmly.

The hitman anticipates the second swing just like he did the first, though this time he doesn't move to dodge. Instead, with a light tap of the phone screen, he watches as Cade's fist sharply changes trajectory and his hands come together with a clink of the metallic cuffs around his wrists. Such a hurdle won't hold Wolf down for long, though. He'll find himself a skyscraper to jump out of before he does anything even remotely reasonable.

So MacDarragh works fast. One of his hands makes a grab for Cade's now bound ones, pushing them down into the gangster's lap, while his other hand latches onto his shoulder. When he more or less gets up from his seat to use his entire body weight to corner Cade back against the window, the sole thing he can compare the imagery to is cops training their K9 units - forearm laid against the man's upper chest, he expects Wolf's teeth to bite into the fabric, to gnash.

"Like always you're fighting the wrong fucking battle," Neil snickers, still maintaining the same tone of voice even if the words are bitter, "I'm not going to sell you out, Cade."

"Though I'm going to need you to act like I am."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The cuffs come together with such shoulder jarring violence that the tiny child thought he had the first time he'd seen it reccurs, that what would happen if someone's fingers were in the way sprouts in-between the instincts to snap Neil's neck.

He makes quick work of Cade, overwhelming him not with might but himself. He fills his lap, spills out around him until there is nothing Cade can see, smell or hear that isn't part of him. The rustle of his arm across his chest, the uncomfortable pinch of his knee stabbing right into a kidney and his eyes. Always his fucking eyes.
And if this was it, maybe Cade could accept that with another good fight but the glint of perfect shark teeth say what they've always have; you're my blood to spill.

But hell, maybe they don't. What does Cade know about anything? Neil's dad could be enough for Neil to abandon his standards. All Cade knows is the blush of last night has found it's way onto his face again and he could toss this little psycho if he were so inclined but he doesn't.

"... You said you'd kill me yourself," he says, and tries to drape it over his fear like the warm slimy blanket it is.
Or maybe after last night's showCade isn't even worth that anymore. Maybe this is the easiest and most product way to get rid of him because he's good for nothing else.

"You're going to kill me," softly muttered with eyes shut tight enough so he can strangle himself quiet.
"Bleed me out in a tub..." And there's no tubs here so.

His breath comes in rabbit quick and then shakily out, the breath a little kid makes when they've got nothing left.
Underneath Neil's pretty hand are his own bound ones, bones still aching, and underneath those is the muddy dried shoe print in his lap.

He can't see behind Neil but he knows the Ice Queen's company of human rights violations is sitting right there, waiting for them.

"You don't have to promise it'll work..." he says, balling his hands and looking into the warm evil face that keeps his nightmares company.
"Or that'll you'll save me if it doesn't just... Don't fucking leave me there okay?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

With mild amusement MacDarragh listens to the comforts Cade gives himself, the smile on his lips quirking further and further as the man talks himself down. Cadence finds succor in the idea that Neil will be the one to kill him, so things won't be ending here (clinically, impersonally), yet it's not only that. The emphasis falls on interesting places - Neil will be the one to kill him. As Cade utters these assurances on the verge of animal panic, it's like he'd... enjoy it, being put down by the hands holding him down.

How many people, if any, has the hitman killed that have relished in the experience?

He wonders if this truth makes Cade feel dirty. He'd take a gander that it does. The moisture underneath his blue eyes - broken like fractured glass - has long since dried and gone tacky. Neil contemplates swiping a thumb accross the gangster's cheek once more, yet the gesture stops before it can even begin in earnest. For their current purposes, Wolf looking like this is more convincing.

So, instead, the hitman slowly pulls back his arm from Cade's chest, only to place it on the top of his head, feeling the pleasant texture of the bristles of hair there; feeling the shallow pants the man is yet to suppress that travel through his whole body in shivers.

And when, humming, he caresses Wolf to hush him, Neil's grin has grown so so wide, "Of course I'm not going to leave you there, Cadence."

Yes, he thinks he would indeed like to kill this man. When the time comes.

All at once, a deep breath fills MacDarragh's lungs, and with the palm of his hand he pat-pats Cade's head in one last contact, "Calm down, but don't calm down too much. Again, I need you to act like I'm selling you out. And the Cade I know wouldn't give in without a struggle."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

He's touched him in more ways than anyone ever has, or thought anyone ever could, but this is the second dirtiest Cade's ever been made to feel in his life.
And Neil's bright eyes shine with amusement and fondness and he wants to melt under it like a dog with its paws up and it's tongue out, like he couldn't last night. He feels dirty, and so so special.

The fear doesn't stop any more than it already has - a restless energy thrumming under his skin, but his breathing evens it out. His pulse slacks like a dying man's, and it all happens at the brush of firm warmth across his scalp. The rustle ticks in his ear and hot exhales roll into his face. The gentle hummed melody serenades his senses.
Terrified, the tension is teased out nevertheless, like his body isn't all his anymore.

And some thought occurs far away that as soon as this pinning, overwhelming, crushing, comforting weight is gone and he breathes a lungful of cold reality air, his body will wire itself up again.
He knows he'll say no then, so he nods now, like he did last night. Like Neil asked his permission.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

---

I wanna wake up in a city that doesn't sleep
And find I'm king of the hill, top of the heap

Frank Sinatra's baritone sounds softly in the background, coming from the record player where the vinyl has been spinning on a loop. A collection of the singer's greatest hits, released 1983. The vinyl sleeve is signed by the legend himself, of course - "To a dear friend, for whom not even the sky is the limit!" proclaims the loose handwriting in the corner of the image of a smiling Ol' Blue Eyes. The immortalized youthful visage of a dead man. This is the fifth time 'New York, New York' has come on in so many hours. It's the first song that ever coined the phrase 'the city that never sleeps' - Vivien's guardian told her that many, many years ago. To him no other piece of music quite captured the pride and elegance of New York.

Of his domain.

Silently, Vivien gazes out at the sight of it sprawling out on the horizon, down below. Far, far down below. On the top floor of the skyscraper every wall is a window.

Few places can claim to have a panoramic view of New York quite like this one. Hands in her suit pockets, Vivien follows along the parameter of the glass, her heels clacking with each measured step. She takes her time, keeps at her own pace despite the beat of the jazz drum from the record player urging her to speed up. Even her heart has stopped galloping at this point. As a matter of fact, it feels so slow she wonders if it's even beating at all anymore.

Unconcerned, the outside world continues thrumming with energy, leaving her lagging behind. Sinatra was right - the city never sleeps; never rests for a second, not even when smothered by the comforting blanket of night as it is now. The most that does is make it drowsy, yet somewhere there is always something happening - a chance meeting at a bar, a murder in an alleyway, illicit dealings in a hotel room. He loved that; more than anything he loved looking down at it with the eyes of a hawk. Soaring from above, it felt like the man could see anything and everything.

Vivien, however, couldn't see the appeal. She tried, but she really, truly couldn't.

--- His back is turned to her, his face inches away from certain death and she's mortified.

She's never been this high up before - she didn't even know anything could be as tall as this building; a couple of weeks ago she didn't even know buildings could have 2 floors, let alone 93! But this man is just... staring down 92 of them like he isn't scared of falling and having his head splatter everywhere like an overly ripe watermelon. He's insane! She wants to run forward and pull him back to the safety that is the center of the room, but whenever she so much as thinks about it her legs start trembling.

She wants to save him, she does! She just... doesn't want to fall herself...

"Vivien," the girl jumps at the gentle voice calling out that name. Her name, she reminds herself. It still feels foreign, but she likes it, she thinks.

Or more so the fact that he gave it to her.

He's turned his head to look at her. His features are indistinguishable, the sunlight streaming in through the window creating a halo around the man that blinds Vivien, yet she can hear the unmistakable smile in his words as he extends a hand in her direction, "Come here. There's nothing to be afraid of."

The girl gnaws at her lip. She trusts him, but... she doesn't believe him. There is so so much to be afraid of, always. You're going to die if you're not afraid.

Then the man presses his hand against the glass and Vivien thinks her heart nearly leaps out of her chest. With a small puppy whine, she moves without realizing it - nice new shoes (he gave those to her too) scuffing along the floor, the girl drags her feet forward. One step. Two steps. There's levity in his voice as, softly, he keeps encouraging her to push forward, "Just a little bit further. You're almost there."

The tears in her eyes help somewhat - through them, the mortifying reality of just how far off the ground she is is blurred, like a mirage on a hot day; especially when she squints until she has barely enough vision to blindly flail around for his hand. And when Vivien finds its familiar warmth, latching onto it for dear life, she collapses on her knees. The girl squeezes her eyes completely shut, sobs slurring her speech, "Can we go back, papa? P-please, please-"

Lightly, he squeezes her hand. But... no answer comes. No calming reassurance.

And, once more, Vivien is so terribly, horrifyingly frightened. It makes her more afraid than even heights do.

She doesn't need to see him to know he's still smiling (he's always smiling), but the idea that those kind eyes could be looking at her in disappointment... If she can't do this is she going to get sent back? Will he not want her anymore? Still trembling, she struggles to get up off the floor. Just like she struggles against all her instincts to force her eyes back open, rubbing away tears and snot with her sleeve. There's nothing to be afraid of, she repeats in her head over and over, praying it becomes true.

The man chuckles.

All at once, he releases her hand, only to clasp her by the shoulders and push her in front of himself, inches away from certain death. She screams. From so high up everything is so distant. Vivien's head is dizzy, her breathing panicked and uneven as the floor beneath her feet feels like it's shifting. But he doesn't let her collapse again, or run away. He hugs her, keeping her in place with a hold that's simultaneously gentle and firm. Like the way he holds this city in the palm of his hand.

"Good job, sweetheart," he praises, and even through the fear she likes that name too, "Very good job."

Vivien breathes in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Again and again. Maybe... if there there is one person that will never fall, it's him. Maybe... he will be there to keep her from falling too. As long as she's doing a good job. ---

Vivien stands rooted in the exact same spot as all those years ago. Things have changed. That little girl that used to quiver climbing up stairs is long gone - she's buried, along with her fears and so many other useless, burdensome things. Now Taylor - the successor, the CEO - is what remains, staring out with an unwavering expression.

Yet why does she feel like she's plummeting?

For the first time in many, many years that sensation of vertigo has come back. Like it never left to begin with, it's merely been lying in wait. For the moment when there's no one to soothe her.

I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm a number one, top of the list
King of the hill, a number one

Sixth time. This is the sixth time 'New York, New York ' has come on...

"Neil," a voice rasps out, barely loud enough to be heard over the jazz, and dry like whoever is speaking hasn't drunk water in their life.

He started refusing to drink or eat on his own a little under a week ago. And two weeks ago was the last time he got out of bed on his own. Vivien steps back from the window, heels clicking as she turns to move towards the luxury hospital bed in the middle of the room. The space is completely quiet, save for the record player. It's also completely dark, save for the light cast by the whirring monitors hooked up to the man, keeping him alive when his body can't do so on its own.

When machines are breathing for you, pumping blood for you, removing waste product for you, can you even qualify as a person? That's what MacDarragh kept insisting.

"Where's Neil?" the voice she barely recognizes anymore asks.

Posture perfect as always, Vivien takes a seat on the chair at his side, "He's going to be here soon."

Her guardian gives no reaction that he heard her, except for a breath that makes it sound like there's gravel in his lungs. His glassy eyes don't see her. They don't see anything, "Имам посао за тебе, сунце. Један са којим могу само да ти верујем."

Impassively, Vivien listens to his ravings even if she doesn't understand a word. She never learnt the language, even when he encouraged her to - it's one of the very few things she's ever dared to refuse him. The only words she knows are the curses because MacDarragh has lobbed them at her so many times in the past. But her guardian? He took the time to study it, even if to this day he has the unmistakable accent of an American speaking a foreign tongue.

"You learnt Serbian. Just for him."

"Од сада ћеш одговарати својој сестри."

Lost to some memory or hallucination, the man simply continues talking to himself. With a steady hand Vivien reaches for syringe she set aside earlier when she ordered the battalion of doctors and nurses tending to her guardian away. Her dark eyes study the pale liquid inside. Curled at her feet, Sina gives off a little shy whimper. The dog doesn't dare move without permission, of course, yet still she desperately wants to catch her master's attention. To ask where Galen has disappeared off to.

Vivien can't bear to look at her loyal pet in this moment.

"Why did you have to get him, papa?" she allows herself this question that has weight on her for most of her life, now when she knows she won't receive an answer because that would be more terrifying than anything else, "Was I no good after all?"

And if I can make it there, I'm gonna make it anywhere

Sinatra chimes in again, with too much grating vitality for someone who died over two decades ago. Vivien hates jazz. She never told her dad, but she really, really hates jazz.

The CEO sets aside the syringe, only to take an empty one. Frustratingly, a tiny part of her too wishes Neil were here.

---

Neil released Cade briefly only so that he could bend the guy's arms backwards and re-enable the cuffs. It feels like an important element to the whole charade, really - there's something about the imagery of him pushing the gangster through the revolving doors of the TreaTech building, one hand on his wrist, the other firmly planted on his nape to lead him forward by force. It takes him back to his police days. Not that he's particularly nostalgic for or fond of them, but it's a familiar, convenient front to put on. Beneath his grip the muscles in Cade's neck keep tensing and relaxing periodically. He feels primed to freak out again at any given point in time, and MacDarragh is making it a personal challenge to predict when that's going to blow. Well, one way or another, they're both primed to put on a show.

If only there was anyone to put on a show for.

The foyer is empty. Which is surprising, but if he rationalized it enough Neil could potentially explain that away with them arriving in the early hours of the morning. However, the reception desk is empty as well, unmanned for the first time in... ever, really. For as long as the hitman has worked here - which has been most of his life - this is the first time he hasn't been greeted by uncomfortable, anxious stares upon making an entry.

There's nearly a disappointment in him over the fact and he wonders if Cade feels the same way, yet he's pretty sure the guy is more likely relieved. There's no Vivien yet, no armored guards arriving to take the captured gangster away for holding. Considering the number he did on TreaTech security last time, maybe they would have restrained him with catch poles, kept him at a distance for their own sake as he trashed around. Yeah, Cade must be relieved that's not happening yet.

With a shove, Neil pushes his captive forward, not letting up the pretense even if there's no one present to pretend for. At least not face-to-face.

The solid body that is Wolf gives him some resistance, yet he does manage to get them moving onward, further into the skyscraper. And the further they go, the more it becomes evident to MacDarragh that something is... deeply fucking wrong.

The building feels abandoned. Not in a decrepit, post-apocalyptic way, but like something passed over this place and vanished any and all living things. Neil has never seen it like this - the concept is so strange he never thought he would see it like this. Much like New York itself, TreaTech never sleeps, and that's by design. It is a hive abuzz with activity. Yet now, bereft of any noise, it's like some disease managed to sneak its way in and ravage the hive in a matter of days. The only thing that's even close to any sign of life is the obnoxious elevator music streaming in from the overhead speakers. Somehow that's worse.

Neil locks eyes with Cade. Cade locks eyes with Neil.

They don't need to speak to communicate what is painfully evident - What the fuck is going on?

The gangster is still bound when they make it to Vivien's floor - fucking empty too - yet as MacDarragh keeps pushing them forward in a rush Wolf isn't fighting him as much. At this point Neil is more jogging than walking. He isn't anxious. That's not the right word, it never has been. But he is on edge. Some restless energy thrums within his limbs, sharpening his senses-

He doesn't know whether to be more or less worried when he finally hears a familiar noise up ahead. The punctuated clacking of her high-heeled shoes against the marble announces Vivien's arrival long before she comes into view. And when she does, The hitman instinctively knows he should be worried.

"MacDarragh," the woman emotionless tone rings loud in the empty hallway. It's not a greeting as much as a statement, an acknowledgment of someone's presence, "Wilson."

Neil sucks in a sharp breath. When he should be pushing his captive forward, he brings him further back towards himself.

"I got what you wanted," he calls out regardless and hopes his grin makes it seem like he means it, still following some kind of script in his head even if the rest of the theater production has completely fallen through.

The CEO doesn't answer. Vivien looks... disheveled. Not to an outside observer, but Neil is not an outside observer. The woman is not wearing her blazer; her manicured nails look chipped even at this distance; and, most concerning, there's only one dog at her side.

"Did you give everyone a holiday vacation or something? In so many years we've never cut back on work," not letting his grin drop, the hitman's eyes dart around desperately trying to locate Viv's second murder machine of a dog, "'Tis the season for giving, I guess."

With a shake of her head, she laughs, "You've always thought yourself so funny, haven't you..."

There is a thousand-yard stare to her eyes that makes his skin crawl. His hold on Cade tightens as he pulls the man even further back. Viv won't harm Neil. Just like he won't harm her. Sure, there's no love lost between them, yet the tentative strings of respect still hold true-

A whistle pierces the air, one he has heard the woman make many times before.

And all of the apprehensiveness that had been building in his stomach drops.

"Sina," Vivien's ice cold voice is contrasted by the rabid, gutteral bark her cane corso gives in response, "Kill."

And in the split seconds that follow, Neil only has enough time to tap his phone's screen and unbind Cade.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

It didn't feel like walking into a tomb; it wasn't cold enough, dirty enough or lonely enough. Sure, it was lonely, but more like the kind you tell everyone off with before slamming the door shut. Self imposed isolation.
People were gone not because this place was dead, but because it didn't want them around anymore. (Or, quite possibly, people were on leave plastering HR for comped therapy sessions after a madman broke free on the upper levels).

MacDarragh never loses heart for the charade, so Cade never leaves that harrowing spot where trust melds into fear. If he stopped snaring him with the reassuring grip on his neck he could calm down and try to kill someone at the same time.
But again, there's no one here, and Neil shares and confirms that concern with one look. And Cade should care about that - care about the ghost town and really fucking care when Neil doesn't know what's going on. But just being kept in the loop... It feels nice. And special.

He's sick to his stomach and he's hungry.

It's a credit to Taylor that the abrupt sight of her makes him want to wet himself and worry about all the sweating he's doing. He hasn't showered in God knows how long...
He can't say she looks weird because she doesn't. Beautiful, not like some girls are like flowers. She's not even a prickly rose, unless it was made out of ice or the jagged rocks people crack their heads on at the bottom of a screaming river. The kind of beautiful where she wouldn't look the same if you took her out of this place, out of those clothes.
And he can't explain that because he's not very articulate at the moment, and when they start at one another he wishes so much he wasn't here because he shouldn't be.

Neil never lets anyone know he's upset; she lets everyone know she's never happy.
The fucking number their dad did on them... And Cade thought he had it rough. You could butter toast with how thick the tension is in here. Vivien breaks it with one word and it isn't grace.

It's a known fact an absurd amount of Americans think chocolate milk comes from brown cows. That same group probably thinks they could take on a grizzly, and yes, those people exist.
Here they'd think, 'Oh a mutt? Fire up the barbie because we're having hotdogs!'
Dogs don't back down.

When this thing hits Cade (or he hits it) you could forgive his confusion because holy shit that's a fucking bear! A bear the weight of a building with a bear trap for teeth and it's going to clamp around his face and crush his head so his eyes pop out.

It takes him right off his feet, so fast and so easily he doesn't know it until the floor hits his back like a second bulldozer.

Smashing the bracelet across it's nose pisses it off - the heartbreaking squeal of dog pain distorted into a baritone rumble of rage.
Cade doesn't remember making the transition to rage himself; one moment he's scared shitless and the next he's still scared shitless but he wants to fill his mouth with a thin coat of fur and feel how supple and wet it is and rip it. Even when his bite force can't compare with the one gunning for his throat.

He forces his arm into its mouth, relishes in the burn that means pain but just spurs him on to fight harder, be meaner and he wants to kill this thing. He really does. This poor fucking thing that doesn't know any better.
He clamps his other hand on the back of an enormous head, jerks and shoves his arm down and deep as it goes, as fast as he can.
And then he forces back on it, rolling with it and gagging it and he'll wonder later when the red is gone if dogs laugh in their own circles about their own idiots who think just anyone can make a human an easy kill.

His arm at the back of its teeth lock it's jaws open, Cade's hand keeps it there when it isn't giving it rabid potshots to the nose or eyes. In one flash of memory his hand scrabbles and claws over the awkward stump of an ear, hunting for place to tear and ruin it.

"Fucking! Piece! Of shit!" Each word is accompanied by another metal hammer down the crest of it's furry forehead.
When he gets the chance he'll move to wrap his arm around its neck and squeeze, squeeze until something cracks or it all stops moving and then he'll find something else to break.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Sina was aiming for him. Sure, she'll reap Cadence to pieces too if he's in the way, but Vivien's target is Neil. He realizes that and wonders whether Cade realized it or not when he intercepted the dog's lunge. A stray thought takes Neil back to his apartment - not to the gangster surrendering for his sake, but to him instinctively shooting whoever it was making a grab for MacDarragh, without even knowing their identity. Because he had his back or whatever...

Maybe the hitman is reading too much into it. Maybe it's much more straightforward, and the man that was broken down to his very core last night simply needs to taste flesh to feel like himself again.

Wolf is at his best when he's fighting.

There's a grotesque beauty to his brutality, the way he loses himself diving in for the kill. Neil's eyes watch the sight intently - he's always liked this part of the gangster. He never really backs down, going at it with wild abandon every time like it's his last. The mountain of a dog doing her best to bite through his arm is just as rabid. When her teeth don't seem to be doing as much damage as she wants them to, Sina trashes her muscular body fighting to get free from the relentless grip holding her down.

If her brother were here, Neil has no doubt Cade would be in trouble. He's seen Sina and Galen work in tandem before, tearing people limb for limb. Yet the second cane corso is nowhere to be seen, and in the discordant melody of bestial growls and pitiful whines he can hear the dog's confusion at this unexpected abandonment. She doesn't understand. Dogs never understand.

MacDarragh feels light-headed, "Stop..."

His lips form the word on autopilot, way too quietly for anyone else to hear. Another pained yelp comes from Sina as Cade bashes her again.

Viv and he were meant to get one each. When their guardian brought the two dogs in, sat snarling in their cages, he wanted for his wards to share. It was a gift, one Neil could not stand to have-

"Cade, stop!"

The command is not as firm as he'd like it to be, but it works. Miraculously, it works. It catches Cade's attention, puts a pause to his assault as electric blue eyes zero in on the hitman. Is he surprised? Neil certainly is.

He'd sounded just like he did when he groveled to Rory.

Sina's paws have stopped trashing in the air, going slack save for the slightest twitch. Her body lies limp on the cold marble floor as Cade throws her off when he stands, yet still the gangster remains tense. Like the rage within him is far from satiated. The rise of a hand keeps Wolf at bay, Neil hopes, as he moves forward to glare daggers at Vivien.

There's a flash of silver. Yet it's not the one stitching together the fresh bite marks on Cade's arm.

Sina's stirs. Her powerful shoulders bulge as she struggles to get up, and she's whining again. Less from the pain, and more so from the strange, numbing sensation the silver pulling the flesh of her forehead back together must be causing. It's one more thing the poor dog can't even hope to understand, so instead she licks her nose. Then growls. The licks her nose again, and if she weren't hyper focused on the scary man in front of her she'd turn her head over her shoulder to be comforted by the sight of her beloved master.

"What the fuck did you do?" MacDarragh asks in disbelief.

Vivien doesn't answer. A horrible silence permeates the air around the woman, and it feels like she hasn't so much as blinked this entire time. Neil really doesn't have the patience for her bullshit-

"You weren't answering my texts. As usual. Then your number went completely dark."

At last Vivien speaks, like this is in any way an answer to the question. If anything in nearly sounds like an explanation, yet the hitman has never known this woman to feel the need to justify anything to anyone. Especially not to him. When Viv's gaze lands on Sina, MacDarragh understands this explanation isn't meant for him.

"You were taking too long. They weren't my first choice for it, but they were the only choice that took."

It's nearly impressive - it's not often that Neil feels genuine disgust towards someone's actions.

He snarl, "Ти луда кучко."

"Doesn't matter either way," hands in her pockets, the CEO shrugs her shoulders.

And once more Neil feels light-headed. He tries to latch onto the familiar - to anger, to spitefulness, or to a knife-sharp smile he can shove right into Vivien's heart. He can't. A numbness settles into his facial muscles, locking them into a blank expression.

"You killed him, Neil," the woman utters what he's known since Cade and he arrived at TreaTech, yet hoped was not true, "Are you happy? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"I didn't-" the hitman speaks, and he hates how impassive his own voice sounds. Just like hers. He clenches his fist, "I didn't kill him."

And that's not a rebuttal. It's an accusation.

He should have been the one to kill him. That was his promise, one he has been robbed of and he wishes so badly Finch hadn't kept his gun. If anyone killed their guardian, it was Vivien - the man had been dead for months.

People assume smoking gives you lung cancer, and it does. But what people don't assume is that all the toxins in tobacco don't just stay in the alveoli - they get absorbed into the bloodstream, traveling across the body to touch all its distant parts. The more often you enjoy a cigarette and the more years you indulge, the higher the risk something will be touched irreversibly.

For their guardian, it was his bone marrow.

AML is a shitshow of a disease. It ravaged that man. Seeing someone like him turn into a shadow of his former self was... pitiful. And like it wasn't enough that it was corrupting the very genome of his blood cells, it spread even fucking further. Neil will never forget the first PET-CT he saw when it all began, staring at the small circles of disseminated malignant tissue sprinkled throughout the man's liver. Then, after Vivien administered Rory's bullshit bioelectronics because she was too stupid and too desperate, suddenly the circles were more and they weren't small any longer. In his final months their guardian's liver was more one big tumor than a functioning organ. Most of his parts were.

If Vivien did hold any foolish hope of scraping away the rot to replace it, would there have even been enough of the man that raised them left to heal?

When words fail him, MacDarragh's eyes ask that question of her instead. They lash into her, making sure she knows just how stupid and desperate she's been once again. And for fucking what?

Lips set into a thin line, Vivien is the first one to break the stare-off with her adopted brother. At once wanting to kill the subject of her master's distress and simultaneously remembering the pain inflicted on her moments ago, Sina chooses to bark in warning at the two men. Because maybe the louder she is and the bigger she stands, they'll turn around and never come back. Vivien's calm voice is the only thing that soothes the dogs nerves and she sits, large eyes still affixed on the gangster in alertness.

"Why are you here?" the CEO herself turns to the gangster, dark eyes boring into him, "Escaping only to then crawl back at someone else's behest seems counterintuitive."

"Shouldn't you be with your own family?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

He's never been called out of a fit like this by anything than a good smack. One that better be hard enough to be the only one.
But he hears Neil. And there's a frail, weak undertone to the command and suddenly Kaden's standing there instead, looking for his mommy.

And he listens, lets himself be neutered when he had this done.
Or he thought he did.
The bear-dog comes back together and Cade remembers how scary that was the first time. It's not just them anymore. He should feel relieved.

The only choice that took.

That puts the empty building in a whole new light, but even Taylor couldn't do that. It's still hard to believe that's the reason there's a dog missing.
There's gleaming bone showing between the ribbons of tattered skin and pulsating blood. It doesn't drip as much as it should- it clings to his arm like magnetic goo instead. The few living drops that wiggle past his fingers to the floor give a horrible background ambiance to the sound of what's left of a family fracturing apart for good.

And fuck-him, all he can think about is Oliver. His own dad comes to mind, but it's Oliver who stays. Alive, safe Oliver waiting for him to come home and play videogames.
And Taylor reads it on his face and asks the obvious question.

And damn him again, he looks at Neil. He even leaves a moment for an answer. The pause is small but it's there.

"...Lady, I couldn't go home," he settles on. He straightens the wrinkles out of his shirt, and notices for the first time it's been torn. Stinky, underdressed and strangled her dog.
He wipes his nose on the back of his hand, wipes that on the back of his pants.

He looks at this empty hallway, at the dog hiding fear behind a puffed chest, at her master, and feels the weight of the missing elephant in the room. The man who didn't die, he's just gone. Like his own dad.

"Whatever, sorry for your loss," he says in a fuck-you sort of way. He glances at the animal who's watching him in the same guarded way. "But I strangled one vicious dog, I'm thinking I'd strangle another nasty bitch just as easy. No matter how pretty or sad. It's over?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Cade's words don't faze the CEO, save for a raising of one unimpressed thin eyebrow. It's far from the first time someone has threatened her, as creative as the gangster's remark is. So, hands in her pockets, she remains unaffected. Unmoving. The woman's always had the poise of a statue. Or more so, like a gorgon, she's always had the glare to turn everyone around her to stone with a mere look. Well, mostly everyone.

In his silence, Neil mimics her cold stillness.

"It's never over," Vivien's voice rings throughout the empty hallway.

Are you happy? Isn't this what you wanted?

Those questions keep replaying in the hitman's head again, and again. It doesn't feel real. More than that, it doesn't feel satisfying, not in the least. It can't just... end like that, not for that man. Viv is lying, she has to be, the bitch.

MacDarragh won't believe her until he sees for himself.

Like she can feel the tension thickening the air - and she can, always has been able to - the hairs on Sina's back bristle. Her teeth glimmer in feeble warning.

"You're my property," the stone woman states matter-of-factly, taking one hand out of her pocket to point a manicured nail (chipped, like she's been biting on it) right in Cade's direction. At the bioelectronics her golden goose invented that are now running through the gangster's veins, "And if I die, then you're High-Rise property."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Someone smarter than this petty gangster would probably like to point out the amusing coincidence that he was claimed by both tyrannical siblings.
Cade thought the whole thing was fucking stupid, in a stuck-in-a-tar-pit kind of way.

"Oh, fuck you so hard," he laughs in that special laugh people reserve for a situation that's not funny.

He looks to Neil again, for some swaggy reply and an overconfident smile but he gets nothing.
Cade has rarely seen him without the signature grin. Without it he doesn't look like him. The shadows fall on his face weird, and there's nothing in his eyes but this killing look. Not a violent, giddy one. Contemplative.

It's the creepiest fucking thing Cade's ever seen, and he has to look away.

"You already have the damn dog," he growls, wicking the air pointing a hand at an animal that is looking for an excuse for round two.
"Your dad's dead! Everyone's dead! It's over! It's done! Sorry, but it is."

He was almost done. This was supposed to be it.
"And besides, whaddya I have to do with any of it?" He explodes, throwing his hands up. "I'm just some random guy! I didn't do anything! I never did fucking anything and everyone wants a piece. It was a mistake, just one small mistake and I keep paying for it. It's not fair, you ice cold bitch! Don't make it personal, I'm not family. He is, but I'm not. You don't have to fuck my life over just because you're on the rag. You really don't."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Neil is so stuck in his head Cade's speech doesn't connect immediately. It's just some ambient whining he doesn't have the space or the desire to process at the moment. It feels like he can't process much of anything, really.

Vivien clicking her tongue is what finally forces him to focus.

"How disappointing," the woman speaks, tone heavy with judgement.

And when she glances at Neil, eyebrows still quirked, that judgement transfers onto him. Maybe if the hitman were in a different headspace he'd tell her to fuck right off; she doesn't get to questioning anything about anything, not when her only companions has only ever been her dogs. Yet as things stand Neil merely holds her gaze.

Before both siblings' eyes turn to pierce into Cade.

Did the fucker really just throw him under the bus?

"If you'd only made one small mistake, you wouldn't be here," Vivien continues, communicating what it feels like both her and MacDarragh want to say. If it were him he'd laugh in Wolf's face to really bring the point home, but Viv has never been one for cheer. Her words are a hammer, "The mistake wasn't one, and it wasn't small."

"If anyone is responsible for what's happening, that'd be you. Since you walked into this building you've cost me much more than you're worth."

What is the cost of a person? What is the cost of Cadence? To Neil, apparently it'd been negotiating with the Butcher, for no return at all. Save for Wolf himself.

"He's not yours to get an investment back on," Neil's tone sounds foreign to his ears when he speaks, in the way something familiar you haven't experienced in a long, long time feels alien. His eyes are still zeroed in on Cade even if the remark was meant for Vivien.

Once more, the woman clicks her tongue.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

He's going to lose everything! Again.
And she's right. She tears him open just as easily as Neil ever did because she's right. He wouldn't be here if it was just one mistake.
All he's ever done is make bad choices, leapfrogging from one to the other!

Two meetings is all she needs to know he's worth nothing but the equipment soaking in his bloodstream.
And the mutant cane Corso giving him a remarkably similar glare to the human ones means it isn't much.

He's nothing.

Cade drives his shaking hands into his face, up over his scalp and then down over his eyes.
He's so lucky Neil gives a shit about him still. The guy defends him but Cade can't look and risk seeing that expression on his face again.
That man owns his ass.
Not the smiling one, not the one that falls asleep on his chest. That void eyed man who isn't sad because his dad is dead but because he didn't get to kill him. A missed opportunity for revenge or one last shared bonding moment they'll never have? Each possibility sends another cold sweat tremor down his back.

It's that one. That's the guy who has his leash.

He can still feel him staring.

"I'll kill you," he whispers, and doesn't expect to be taken seriously. No one ever has. The horrible click sound she makes with her mouth makes him jolt. "Please, let's kill her. Let me kill her. I can go home if she's dead. You hate her anyway. You hate everyone. We can do it quickly. Your dad will never know."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Guardian," Neil corrects, like he always does even though the difference will probably never sink in for Cadence.

But the gangster is right. He does hate her. And that man will indeed never know if she died - the tentative bonds of respect tying the two siblings together while simultaneously holding them back from each other's throats have been severed in one fell swoop. Assuming she isn't lying. All bets are off. MacDarragh has been chomping at the bit for this opportunity to come around for ages. He's imagined it so many times, the light leaving her already lightless eyes, and in this vision he's grinning over her because he's won.

What expression would Vivien have made, had the cane corso in fact managed to tear out his windpipe? If her siccing her dog on him had even been an earnest attack.

"Do you truly believe if I'm gone you'll just get to walk away? Maybe I didn't make myself clear - if I die, then you're just High-Rise property," Vivien keeps pressing even when Cade is obviously on the verge of a freakout, the woman giving less than zero fucks about it one way or another.

But there is truth to her words, "There are others that... how did you put it, 'want a piece'? You've dug yourself in too deep, Wilson."

MacDarragh moves.

He closes the distance between himself and the gangster in several long, fluid strides, to place his hand back on Wolf's nape. Gently, he squeezes then releases the tense muscle beneath. It's nearly like a massage. He runs his thumb right along the prickly hairline and feels the way the muscle beneath it jolts with the sensation. Leaning in, he hums to the man asking for permission to kill his adopted sister.

"Where's the body?"

In the periphery of his vision, the hitman can see the way Vivien's stony mask subtly shifts into one of distaste and life-long hatred. Like always, she doesn't want him anywhere near her precious "papa", "He's dead. That's enough."

"I don't think Sina will survive another scuffle, Viv," MacDarragh throws out, letting some of the usual prodding charm seep into his intonation even if his expression doesn't shift to match. It's kind of like when people laugh without moving their mouth. His grip on Cade's neck eases in warning, "You certainly won't."

Sina does that sharp huffy sound dogs make when they're on the cusp of barking but not quite there yet - it sounds like a 'boof'. Her nails tap on the floor as she readies herself, asking her master in turn 'Please, let's kill them. Let me kill them.' though there is a subtle trepidation to her posturing. The missing space where her brother used to be is still far too stark.

The silence drags on once more, heavy and contemplative. All of Vivien's attention is on her dog.

The woman doesn't speak when she finally turns around, heels clacking against the marble as she leads them away.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

---

Neil hasn't been up here in what feels like forever. He hasn't been allowed to. Partially because Viv is a jealous bitch, and partially because she wouldn't let him kill their guardian. So, actually, wholly because she's a bitch.

Golden sun rays stream into the room, softened by the smart glass of the windows from a glare down to a nearly ethereal glow.

The top floor of TreaTech has always felt like another world. Something cut off from the rest of the city, untouchable by all the mundaneness and filth down below. A throne room.

Neil remembers his guardian taking him up here when he was little; fresh off the boat, really - back before he knew English properly or how to smile. And the man would lead him up to the window that was a wall (or the wall that was a window, what's the difference?) and he'd point out to the minuscule people down in the streets, making up stories about them - who they were, who mattered to them, what vices they secretly craved in their dark little human hearts because everyone craves something. New York was his playground filled with doll houses and toy cars, and tiny people figurines. From so high up, it felt like that man could pluck them with his fingers, have them at his utter mercy. He loved doing that, could go at it for hours.

Even now he expects to see a familiar figure staring out the window. Not imposing by any stretch of the imagination, but commanding attention with his sheer presence and voice. That ever-calm voice, with just a hint of a smile in every word. His words always rang true, not because they were but because he made them so.

But there is no figure. And the room is silent, in as much horrible fear as reverence.

It's the noise of Vivien's heels that once more disturbs the air as she moves further in, towards the far window. Ever diligent, Sina follows at her master's heel, yet not without throwing Cade a suspicious look over her shoulder. The gangster is still on edge, has been the entire walk up here - he feels like a coil, ready to spring at any moment and deliver on his promise to kill Vivien. Absentmindedly, Neil wonders if Wolf would shatter a window to throw her out of. He certainly can't jump out of one himself now - not even a motherfucker like Wolf would chance leaping from such height.

Slowly, the hitman guides the gangster forward with himself. There's a... warmth in the body heat radiating off Cade at his side, one that combats the chill trying to settle in his bones the closer the two get to the solitary hospital bed in the middle of the room.

It's only when they're within a couple of paces that Neil lets go. Numbly, almost like he's in a trance, he closes the rest of distance.

There's someone lying in the bed. They are covered head to toe by a white, crisp sheet of linen, though the outline of a face through the fabric. Like a phantom.

MacDarragh has worked with many cadavers. On his own personal time, but also in the police force when they'd send bodies down for autopsy and identification. Can the movement of lifting off a dead person's veil be called practiced? When he removes the sheet, he does it with the same emotionless neutrality he'd do to a stranger. And for the first seconds that pass him by (somewhere deep, his subconsciousness counts them and they sound like the clacking of high heels), Neil does in fact feel like he's looking at a stranger. Too frail, too pale. Too lifeless. Some young part of him still believed this man was incapable of dying. Despite the disease, despite the intention to kill him himself.

Vivien was not lying.

Unblinking, Neil sits in the chair next to the hospital bed.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

He's collared. Tight enough that if it came from the front he couldn't breathe.
Each handful of pinched tensed muscle grinds a false sense of comfort under his skin. Goosebumps come up at thought of who's doing it.
At first he knows he'll suffocate. He'll drown or he'll snap her neck and that's all he has.

And he still drowns, but it's gentle. They walk. It takes forever. He doesn't calm down, but he isn't biting at the bit.
It helps the same way throwing a blanket over a wild animal's head to make it think it's already dead helps.

Speaking of the dead.

Cade's seen his share of hospital rooms and hospice rooms. Besides the bed and creature comforts, this looks nothing like either of them. Lived in, with an odd smell and a weird feeling, but not what he'd call a death room.
When the sheet's pulled away from something that can't be anything other than a dead body, he still doesn't believe it until he sees it. It's hard to fathom; this much money, this huge a legacy and the cadaver there is just as dead as any dead thing that has ever died.

Why he thought there would be any obvious relation, he'll never know.
It's hard to say how old, especially when a bed this size shrinks everyone laying in it. Double that phenomenon with a disease that grates you down over years, as a bed in the middle of an office room clearly references to and you get someone in their forties who look like moldy cheese left out in the sun.

Maybe it's because the dead don't smile.

MacDarragh didn't look like himself without a smile, and he sure doesn't look like it when he mechanically drops into the visitor's chair.

Is he supposed to do something? Say something?
Just downstairs Neil demoted dad to guardian, but the man who raised you means something doesn't he? Even to someone like Neil.

Vivien watches dead eyed and he wished he could take some petty satisfaction in being here in her freshly opened wound when he shouldn't be, but he gets the feeling she's far more disgruntled by Neil than she'll ever be with him.
Cade's just High-rise property.

How long is he supposed to politely stand here? It isn't like they can have last words, right?
He's such an asshole, but he doesn't care. He really, really doesn't.

"What happened?" He dares because he didn't come all the way up here for bupkiss. If he can't kill her, if his future is forfeit than he's going to know fucking why. What went into making people like this?

He can't be polite, so he goes big. "Did he fuck up your back?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"No," Neil answers, casually but not in a light way. In a nothing way. The sound is just air passing through his vocal cords, formed by tongue and soft palate into words, "My dad did."

Maybe he'll regret saying this later. Maybe he'll be livid with Cade for taking advantage of the situation, because that's what the fucker is doing. He knows, internally, because in the gangster's position he would be pulling the same underhanded trick, so somewhere deep inside, past the unfeeling surface, irritation mixes with mild... acknowledgement. Even though this revelation just means Wolf will look at him weird again. He'll look at him like Neil has gone through the most horrible thing ever.

But at the very least maybe now Cade will stop equating the father with guardian.

Neil crosses his legs. Rummaging through his pocket he searches for something and sincerely hopes it didn't get discarded along the way with all the shit that's been happening. When his fingers brush against the packet of Marlboros, it feels like the first and only thing to go right in so, so long. Muscle memory guides his actions - the opening of the carton, the retrieval of two thin cigarettes. MacDarragh would have preferred cigars for this. And an Irish whiskey. And a living man to say goodbye to.

The hitman holds the two cigarettes in his lips at the same time, then runs his lighter's flame along the ends, inhaling deeply.

When he removes one to breathe a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth, he has to make sure to place the cigarette in his guardian's lips in such a way it won't simply fall out. Out of all of the finicky things he's had to do, this one proves to be especially difficult. It makes sense, given the fact that the man's dead.

Like she can't stand to watch the scene, Vivien has turned around to the window instead.

"He taught me," MacDarragh taps at his own cigarette, half to flick the forming ash at it's tip, half to point to what he's talking about, "But it was my guardian that showed me how to enjoy it. Know what a French inhale is?"

Not waiting for an answer, the hitman demonstrates. He takes another drag of the cigarette - longer, deeper - and as he opens his mouth to breathe out the smoke, he instead inhales it back through his nose. For the first time since he learn how to smoke, it tastes bitter. His guardian taught him most things he knows...

"Your dad teach you anything, Cade?"

---

MacDarragh and Wilson's voices drone on softly in the background, and somehow it's even worse than that deplorable jazz music. She hates that they're here. She hates that they're only here now, when it's already too late.

He's gone, and it feels like nothing matters anymore.

It's over.

Sina sniffs at Vivien's pants. The phone is vibrating in her pocket. It's been going off periodically during the night, yet she's ignored it every time. The sole reason it's even still on is because the CEO feels some kind of obligation to her work, though that just makes it more paradoxical that she hasn't looked at it once. Why can't everyone just leave her alone?

Wordlessly, she retrieves the device, pressing it to her ear, "What do you want?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The voice on the other end comes in strained. There's an effort to smooth out the edges when the speaker seems to remember who he's talking to, but the endeavor is quickly abandoned.
"I have Finch, alive and well. MacDarragh's gone, but he said the man was planning something and he needed... "

He trails away. A hand over the mic muffles the sound of a car engine, as well as the voice muttering, "What's his name? He's the most important thing to me right now and I can't remember his name..."

"Wilson," he triumphantly returns with. "He needed Wilson's help. How many things would Neil need help with?"

The voice is edging the subject, and when it isn't immediately given he breaks. "He's going to see his handler, isn't he? El pobre bastardo must think he'll be free if he gets rid of the old man. And you, I think. It's the only reason Wilson would go too."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"I see," with a pang of annoyance beneath her impassiveness, Vivien suffers the stream of accented words going into her ear.

Big as a bull and almost as smart - that's what she's always said about Ortiz. It made her mentor chuckle even if he thought the assessment too harsh. Yet now, listening to the ambassador's guess at Neil's motivation, she feels proven right. Vivien might call him 'cousin', yet Ortiz has never understood their family. No one has, except them.

"His handler-" would Neil find that term more or less tolerable than 'dad'? He's always been 'guardian' to the man; an angel, if a fallen one.

The sentence balances on the tip of the woman's tongue. She's said it once already and she's going to have to repeat it many times more, yet it feels like it's only going to get harder and harder. Vivien thinks about all the phone calls she's going to have to make after this one - all the friends and business associates and enemies parading as either she's going to have to break the news to. She thinks about the eulogy she's going to have to prepare. About the funeral.

In this moment dying feels easy. Living after someone's death is the truly insurmountable task.

"He's dead."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

And with two words the energy is taken out of the man's voice, like air from a ship's sails.

"He is?" Said softly, not with sensitivity but with disbelief.
A few moments pass, but they're not out of the respect for the dead.

"Are you alone?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"I am," the answer is definitive, as is the pause that follows it.

For all intents and purposes, Vivien is alone.

"Good job on securing Finch, cousin," she notes at last. If it weren't for the Black Bitch, there would have been no need to secure anyone. And yet still that woman draws breath, if barely. Yes, Ortiz has indeed always been foolish, "And I appreciate the warning."

Whatever further words the ambassador might have for her are lost as Vivien lowers the phone, ending the call with a click of a button. It's left hanging there suspended in heavy silence, and when her master doesn't so much as move a muscle Sina worriedly licks her hand.

When she meets the dogs eyes, they're wet and big and solemn. What now?

What now indeed... With the weakest of smiles Vivien rubs her knuckles along the top of SIna's head, before the expression drops as she looks over her shoulder towards the two men she hates more than anyone. The two men that, paradoxically, she's going to make sure no one can touch.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

----
It happens for the first time ever; Cade does know what the hell Neil's talking about. Lots of cops smoke and while it's pretty douchy to do it any other way than suck and spit, he has heard of a French inhale.

Vivien finds some corner to freeze over with her charming voice, and he watches the smoke curl around Neil's face. He can't even say the man's face is haunted it's just... nothing. Like the smile was his face and without it Cade's looking at twitching muscle and pulsing fascia.
It's stupid. He can't look longer than it takes for another smoky inhale to be made and lost.

"Mine never took much of an interest," he mumbles to the floor. "Don't know what he was looking for all his life, but it wasn't me."

It isn't guilt talking about himself at a time like this that stops him.
It should be, but it isn't. Neil's never opened up just because he did. He's clamped shut when coerced.
But MacDarragh's took every opportunity to correct him, about his guardian or otherwise.

"But mine never hurt me like that either," he says, and fuck the little commentary in his head that wrinkles up in self disgust. "I don't think you deserved it because you didn't, but you must've been in the way either way. Hard to imagine you ever being... underfoot and needing a beating but it's not shameful. Lots of kids get slapped around for being weak and small."

His life is fucked, and this is all he gets so he can say whatever he damn well pleases. He bites hard into the fat of his cheek, spritzing his tongue with a wiggling warm mouthful to clear his throat.
He glances at Sina, half expecting the dog to growl, to offer some sort of defense. Neil's got no one.
But it'd be a big fucking joke to think Cade could ever hurt him.

"Were you a charity case, Neil? He saw how pitiful you were and bought you? Like you did with me?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

A scoff manages to break through MacDarragh's stupor, a slight twitch of a corner of his mouth if just for a split second. The gangster is truly the most obstinate fucker he knows, no matter what the hitman says or does to prove the contrary. Maybe Cade will always view himself as a pitiful creature. Maybe that's convenient for him.

Neil shakes his head.

"I don't do charity, Cadence," he takes another drag of the cigarette, then exhales with a nod of his chin in the corpses' direction, "And neither did he."

That's technically not true. The man did do charity, a fair amount of it, but that was mostly because it was expected of his station as is the case with most people in such high circles. Different things motivate them - a misplaced sense of philanthropy, guilt, or just doing it because everyone else is doing it. His guardian, however? To him generosity was a fine weapon, one he wielded with proficiency. It felt like there were times when everyone in the city owed him for one thing or another. After all, there is no better way to own someone than to make them indebted to you.

If you're going to be generous, make sure you're getting something in return.

"So, you're wrong. If he was looking to adopt someone pitiful, there were others that fit the bill much better. No, he heard about what I'd done and saw the potential there."

A memory takes Neil back to Cade's villa; to them playing 'two truths, one lie' and both consistently failing to reach the right answer. Back then he'd handed the gangster the victory, more or less willingly, and now once more he wonders if Cade even deserves to hear the things he's telling him. Yet a part of Neil recognizes that Wolf won't stop prodding now that he has the chance. Plus, talking about their fathers is much easier than talking about the dead man in the bed before him.

"I told you the first time I killed was when I was 8," slowly turning his head to the side, Neil's eyes find Cade's, "Who do you think I killed?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Neil's most favorite phrase in the whole wide world is 'you're wrong'. He can't help himself or, Cade dares to think, maybe he wants to talk.
He just needs a good enough cover to act like he doesn't, and Cade's the perfect dumbass to educate. Whatever helps him sleep at night.

He meets Neil's eyes, and forces them to stay. "So your dad mutilates you, you kill him and you're taken in for showing promise."

Damn. Ulterior motives aside, just...damn.
Cade can't hide the society programmed sympathy that may as well be an insult, so he glances at Vivien and wonders if a shitty background like that would make him more forgiving.
No, he decides with a mental sigh, fuck her. Fuck her so much.

"Not exactly seeing what made you so gung oh for killing a guy already on his dead bed." He shrugs meekly. "Kind of beneath you...Unless you really are that crazy."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

For the second time there is a crack in MacDarragh's mask of emotionless as he scowls at Cade. Not because of the man so nonchalantly breaking down where the hitman comes from, or, well, the basics of it anyway. Point A to Point B. All of it technically true. No, that's not at all what succeeds in getting Neil to feel a well-known sense of vexation rising up.

It's the fact that the gangster doesn't seem to get why he wanted to come here so badly.

All at once it's... unreal again, the reality of it all - the familiar yet unfamiliar body, the broken promise hanging in the cigarette's smoke. And Neil decides he's let his partner prod and poke as he wishes for far too long. Rising from his chair to waltz right into Wolf's personal space, he stares down at the man.

"Really?" MacDarragh's voice oozes out slowly, even when the way he grabs Cade's chin is sharp in contrast, holding him in place. Or putting him back in place, more like, "You, the guy that looks like he's going to come at the thought of another man killing you, can't guess why I wanted to do this?"

The hitman is so close he can feel it when, without fail, his companion's skin begins to pink up under the sudden attention. He snickers and seriously contemplates licking the side of Cade's face if just to see him freak out when a sound interrupts his intentions. Clearing her throat - partially to get their attention and partially to signal her disgust at the sight unfolding before her - Vivien approaches, heels click-clacking along. Neil follows this movement out of the corner of his eyes, though he doesn't detach himself from Cade much to the woman's chagrin. Wordlessly, her grimace challenges him to dare to desecrate this room any further, and in turn his half-smirk challenges her to dare him to do so.

Eyes narrowed, Vivien glances at her adopted brother, then at Cade, "You two are leaving. Now."

Neil scoffs, a mean and mocking sound she's treated her to as often as she's treated him to her ice-cold bitchiness, "What, so you can have some more quality time with "papa"?"

Of course. Even after their guardian has passed, she still tries to get him out of the way. Viv was never good with sharing, but, granted, neither was Neil. Which is why the next words that come out of her mouth aren't at all as much of a surprise to the hitman as maybe they should be.

"No. So you don't get taken."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

He has enough time to realize he's taken a wrong turn in the hierarchy of bad decisions, but not enough to do anything about it. If he even could.
It says more about Neil than Cade that a frown from him means they're still okay. Neil's not okay, even if the guy doesn't know it yet, but they're okay. As okay as they've ever been. It's there in the grip riding along his jaw and squeezing his cheeks just a little too much. And it's unfortunately there in the way Neil airs his issues without a second thought - in front of the ice witch and the dead body that used to be his guardian. Humiliation burns into his face and deep down in his stomach. And Neil makes a face like he wants Vivien to push him into doing something worse, saying something worse.
"Oh fuck me," Cade mumbles to himself and squirms at the choice of words.

He pushes reluctantly at the hawk talons catching on his stubble because he has to, even when the cuffs still locked on him say he doesn't.
Neil's dainty wrist still fits in his hand with room to spare, and he wants this man. Wants him like the worst thing a person could have because at least if they have it, the worst has already happened. He wants him like a sick man wants death. But maybe not half as much as he wants him to want him back.
But death doesn't want. It just takes.


"What?" Taken? Like Liam Nelson's Taken series? And damn, that crazy laugh threatens to bubble out of him. Then it hits him, like a sledge hammer wrapped up in bubble wrap so it breaks him but doesn't kill him. And you almost have to laugh.

"It's that fuckin'- man whore she always had around! Oh holy shit!" He slaps a hand to his forehead, resolved to not having another breakdown so soon after the first one. On the other hand a certain level of hysterics is mandatory for a situation like this.
"The worst chick in the world- second worst," he amends with a respectful nod to Vivien, "is loved that unconditionally. Ha! Of course she is. Oh that is some poetic storybook bullshit right there. I wish I could see their faces when she finally fucking dies because of me."

The real joke is Finch cutting Cade loose. Or prying him loose, more like. His tongue drifts to that alien void. The only thing that man ever did was take, and Cade just begged him to take more. If MacDarragh hadn't stood up for him...if Finch didn't let him go...

For some reason that's funny.

"Do you need a second?" He asks Neil, grinning and belated remembering he's an asshole and one that doesn't have more than a second to give, dead man be damned. He spares the cadaver one last look, and can't feel anything for the man that raised MacDarragh. If Cade had known his smile, would this pallid wane expression be as unsettling as his adopted son's had been?
"I can take a step back but I'm not leaving without you."