Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

[dreaming enthusiast]

If Neil didn't know Vivien better he'd swear the momentary twitch of her eyebrows is amusement at Cade's choice words to describe Ortiz, manwhore that he indeed is. But he does know her, so if anything the gesture is surprise at the gangster guessing so precisely who is after their asses. In another world - not a better world, just different one - this might have been a point towards the CEO employing Wolf to take over MacDarragh's position. Or to work alongside him, who knows.

There's no point speculating either way, because the world they actually find themselves in is the only one that matters.

Neil's eyes find the familiar yet unfamiliar figure once more. When he reaches down to hold its cold hand, it's Sina that growls out the warning in Vivien's hard gaze, like she's afraid he'd cut off an arm or a finger to keep for himself and she won't be parted with so much as a hair from their guardian's head. As Cade offers to take a step back, Viv threatens to take one forward.

Yet even if the hitman wanted to take, there's nothing there to hold onto. Wiry fingers with soft skin (not soft like it used to be; soft from age, from decay) are no longer adorned by rings, and there is no gold-plated cigarette case hidden in a pocket. As a matter of fact, there are no pockets to riffle through - dressed in a featureless white gown (like a bad Halloween bedsheet ghost) the corpse is merely that. A corpse. Picked clean and waiting for even more vultures to swoop down and feast on who this man once used to be and what he once accomplished. Or their assumptions.

Neil remembers Cade's ridiculous suggestion that he wanted him to meet his "dad", and he wonders what that would have been like. What his guardian might have said to this fucking guy that promises he won't leave without him. Somehow, it's only now the realization hits MacDarragh that he'll never hear his soothing voice again.

With a deep inhale he shakes his head, letting the lifeless hand fall back down onto the bed.

"No," Cade can give him all the seconds in the world, but at the end of the day-

"There's nothing left for me here."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

---
Despite all his efforts, there's still a little bit of life left in Cade's life. He gets to say goodbye.

In the end he had nothing to give Oliver. Yeah, he stopped off at a Walmart to trade out his torn clothing for five buck garbage, but there was nothing there for a kid like his brother that didn't scream I ran out of time sorry I suck.
So, tail between his legs, he showed up (again unexpectedly and unwanted). In the middle of what looked like a tea party, filled with the same kind of pastel woman. That scenery battled hard with the memory of Vivien showing them the door, but only after showing them a corpse.

None of it feels real.

He floated upstairs to see his brother for who knew how long, and he had no idea how he was going to explain abandoning him a second time. How old would Ollie be the next time he could see him? He'd already lost so much time...

And the kid's radar is going off. Yeah, he was stoked to see Cade, the only person in the world who was. He didn't notice he came empty handed, like Cade himself was gift enough. And they played videogames in the preteen safety of Ollie's bedroom.

But he knew.

And finally he lets the pretense go once the round ends, resting his remote in his lap and just says, "You're not coming back, are you?"

Cade shakes his head.

Oliver accepts that with a world weary nod. His eyes glisten, but his face says he had been expecting this. Why expect anything better from Cade?

"I'll see you at dad's funeral?" Oliver tests, but there isn't any real optimism there either.

"I don't know," Cade admits with a childish shrug.

"I'm not mad at you," Oliver offers and when Cade looks at him he adds, "In case that's what you thought."
"You should be."
"Well, I'm not."

Not mad, just disappointed.

If he cursed Cade out and told him never to come back this would be easier, maybe.
Instead he puts his hand over his, patting it once, a little unsure.
"I know it isn't your fault," Ollie reasons, "I know there's something wrong and I know there's nothing I can do about it because if you can't fix it than no one can."

He snorted. Oliver looked at him mournfully, like his mom used to.
"The minute it can be fixed- the moment I can fix myself, I'm coming back okay?"

And Oliver looks away, as if to stare wistfully out the window but just stares at the blank wall instead. Eventually his heavy stare comes back and the kid flops his head into Cade's shoulder, and stays there. The idle pause music of the game chimes blasphemously in this quiet moment.
He doesn't know quite what to do, sitting here with the barely-there weight of his teeny brother resting on him.
"I'll miss you," the kid says.

And just like that the ghost of someone who knows what to do takes control and Cade wraps his arms around the little guy, just like he had before when there was still hope and possibility in his life. Before he turned it into a puddle of piss. And it's Ollie who's going to suffer for it. He just about disappears and the horrible thought comes back; how old and grown will Ollie be the next time?
"I'm coming back for you, kid. You're the best part of me. I'll never leave that behind again."

And they stay there God knows how long, even if it's a bit uncomfortable because this feels like goodbye.
So when Cade detaches himself to go to the door before he can start a crying jag again, Ollie catches him by his arm.

"You could take me with you," the kid says, and looks around the contents of his room, his life.

"And I thought about it the whole way coming here," Cade confirms. "I'm not... trying to pawn you off, Ollie. And it's not some bullshit about protecting you either. I'm too selfish for that."

"Then what?" Ollie pushes, throwing his hands up.

"I'm sure you've guessed I'm not good person. If not on your own than from what Matilda says behind my back."

The insistence in Ollie's face pales as he bravely tries to swallow what Cade's pushing in front of him.
He says nothing because normal people don't know what to say to something like that. There's fear there, but not of Cade. For Cade. Fear to ask, to know more. And sprinkling it all is cynical disbelief of a child who plays teen games and watches mature movies. Or wants to, anyways.
The bedspread is starwars and the walls are polka dotted with clouds.

"I'm not ready for you to see that," Cade offers inadequately. "If you had some sense you'd know you're not ready for it either."

And maybe leaving it like this is worse than telling him everything that's happened over the last five years. The mystery will fluctuate between the extreme and the benign in this little kid's head, haunting him until Cade finally decides he's ready to face the judgement of his little brother. But he's selfish.

"I want you to stay my little brother. For a little while at least."
"That's great for you," Ollie says morosely.

Cade sighs. "I love you," he says finally.

The kid looks at him as though he's both a stranger and someone he knows more now. "I love you, too. Take care of yourself. I don't care if you don't think you deserve it. Do it anyway, for me if you can't bother to do it for yourself."

Cade feels at the gap in his smile. Ashamed and simultaneously warmed to the point of tears, he nods and slips out the door.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

----

This time the clerk at the desk doesn't care that two men check in. Its hard to call that progress when it probably has more to do with the sleazy type of motel in the first place.
Laying low, under different names. When the clerk uses it Neil responds as if it'd been his real name all his life.

The room smells like old cigarette smoke. The carpet is spotted in mystery dark splotches that are better left unknown. The TV isn't a fat tube one, but it is the very next upgrade after it and the bedlamps give off burning heat within the first five minutes of being lit.
They've been through too much together for this to bear more than a passing resemblance to their playful hotel trysts. Between thoughts of Ollie and generally giving the guy who just lost his father figure space, it's quiet. Not awkward, but distant almost. Two marooned men sharing the same boat.

And the same bed. He can't wrap his head around that, and he's almost scared to. It's not that he can't perform it's just a weird transition away from a day that will tattoo itself across their souls.
Not to mention he's past wound up, like a cord so tightly twisted it's started cutting into itself and loosens because there's no fibers to hold it tight anymore.
He feels at his wrists where the cuffs had been when Neil meant to serve him on a platter. Not only will he never know if Neil actually would have saved him if things went bad, he'll never care.
But someone would've cared.

And Cade cares about them, so...

"If we get sloshed we can pretend today never happened," he suggests and, sitting at the foot of the bed adds silently to himself, 'and what I need to tell you will be easier to say if you're drunk.'

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

The place is clean. Not as in hygienic, of course, but clean as in its not bugged. Not that MacDarragh's paranoia is bad enough to believe the High-Rise have set up surveillance in this specific shitty motel somehow, but one would be surprised at just how many establishments of the type have hidden cameras in their guest rooms. Imagine becoming an unwitting star on some shady porno site. All of that to say, he was fully justified in checking the room the moment they arrived, just like he was justified in making sure no one trailed their car. The one Vivien was oh so endlessly generous to let them escape in, like they're not going to have to exchange it as soon as possible, or preferably sell it for some cold hard cash they desperately need. The sleek company card mocks the hitman from where he knows it sits inside his wallet and he wonders if Vivien has already frozen all his assets, though it feels more likely that she hasn't. No, the bitch is going to wait for Cade and he to run out of what meager funds they have on hand, and if the time comes when he's forced to use the card she'll know their location in an instant. As if MacDarragh is going to allow that bullshit to go down. Already his mind is running through the contacts he has - those outside of New York, and those that aren't just Viv's bootlickers, which does narrow down the selection-

It's Cade's voice that pulls Neil away from the barrage that are his inner thoughts. It's a good voice, even if half the time the shit the gangster spews is entertainingly ridiculous. Just like now. With a scoff, MacDarragh turns to give Cade a questioning expression. Getting sloshed to forget? Really? With an amused shake of his head, the hitman reaches inside his duffel bag - the sole thing he actually managed to bring. Some part of him contemplated going back to his apartment to gear up while Cade said his goodbyes to Ollie, yet it would have been too risky of a move...

Not to mention some part of Neil was concerned he'd return only to discover Wolf gone again.

"Easier how? Easier for me to hear or just easier for you to talk about?" slowly he stalks forward, stopping right in front of the gangster. The folding knife he retrieved from his things clinks when he sets it down onto the bedside table, "I don't think you want to be on the road with a hangover."

They're going to have to hit the road first thing in the morning, before the sun's even up. Hit it for a while, most likely. Neil's eyes drift to the bed and for a second - just for a split second - he sees a hospital cot instead. Fancy, with one of those anti-decubitus mattresses. And right behind Cade, on the other side of the bed, is a motionless figure covered in white linen-

Unceremoniously, MacDarragh plops down next to his companion, rubbing a hand over his face before his expression can start slipping away again. Fuck... he wants to sleep. Maybe it's not even that much about sleep as it is about the act of lying down, especially now when he doesn't know when he'll get another chance. Doesn't matter if it's on a bed with an undoubtedly shitty mattress covered in sheets that are far beyond questionably clean. He's had to deal with much much worse before, even if that was around three decades ago... Now that he thinks about it, that was the last time he was on the run too.

The hitman lies back, hands crossed under his head like he's looking at the open sky and not a beige ceiling with cobwebs at its corners. Yeah, he really does want to sleep, yet instead Neil prompts Cade to try and say something that'll make this day even more fucked, "Speak. Don't start pussyfooting around now, Cadence."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Not only is Cade unsure which it is - easier to say or easier to hear - he doesn't know which one Neil means either.
This is why, he thinks in Ollie's stupid little voice.
And Neil's prissy, disbelieving look as he nostalgically plants a knife in easy reach means he is doing this sober. All his life he's swallowed the quirks and nuances of people that weren't even that bad - hair clips everywhere, running late to things. All of it meaningless because if he was getting what he wanted - and he made sure he did - it not only didn't matter, it was expected.

He's already getting what he wants. Does he care about Neil's many, many hair clips?

The springs squeak as Neil takes a seat, but not half as loudly as they had when Cade did. He's hungry, and he's waited since last night for MacDarragh to remember he must be hungry too so Cade doesn't have to feel like a fat ass all the time but that hasn't happened yet.
Unperturbed (but secretly very perturbed), the guy falls back to stare at the ceiling. And here he is, about to poke the bear.

"Fine, but you can't get pissed at me," he warns, and maybe it isn't too late to say something else.
"I guess..." He looks at the single queen bed, with Neil settled in the middle. "We're a thing now?"

Because saying Neil owns his ass makes his back shiver and his empty stomach warm.

"And I don't hate that," he hastens to reassure, shaking his head even though Neil already knows how he feels about the whole thing.
He made sure to show it all off to his sister just so he could piss her off a little bit more.

"But I've been someone's bitch before and that went great for everyone involved," he comments dryly because without the caustic humor it'd just be sad and they've both had their fill of that.
His mom used to lead his dad into their bedroom for a massage when she wanted to ask for something or make some kind of apology. Cade wasn't planning on that tactic, but looking back at Neil lying there the thought comes and goes like a cold wind.

"Finch wanted to love me, and maybe even thought he did. But if you hadn't taken me when you did he would have split me open, no questions asked. I'll be yours, and be happy, but I can't be a pet again. I won't, Neil."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

We're a thing now?

Neil closes his eyes, humming along to signal he's listening.

Hell of a time to be having a conversation like this - the unnecessary kind, he'd argue, but Cade seems to find it necessary enough to speak into existence. It's the first time either of them has put the fact into words, but, yeah... guess they're a thing now. When did they become a thing? How did they become a thing? Beyond a casual fling that is, because what Cade is referring to is a thing thing. The man that half a month ago swore up and down he was not interested in guys now says he doesn't hate what they've become. Honestly, Neil would go so far as to bet that he enjoys what they are, very much so.

Yet the quest for a label remains. What exactly are they? Partners, lovers, boyfriends? All the words people use to describe such a situation feel juvenile in Neil's head and, frankly, he doesn't care what Cade chooses to define them as. As long as he doesn't go running off again.

And as long as he lies down at the end of the night - the mattress, as expected, is shitty and springy.

Finch wanted to love me-

The hitman's eyes shoot open. And here he was sinking into the bed and ready to drift off. But of-fucking-course, it always somehow comes back to the Butcher, to all the hangups he's left Cade with. Supposedly every person one come across over the course of their lifetime leaves some kind of print behind, for better or for worse. Finch?... Gaze drifting lower, MacDarragh's stares at the wolf adorning his partner's neck like a permanent collar.

"I did take you. I had to take you, because you wouldn't have left, as if you were happy with that," Neil props himself up on his elbows to properly meet the gangster's eyes, his own narrowing, "What do you want to be, Cade?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Neil's convincing charade shows a crack at the mention of you-know-who.
Right, he thinks, avoid that in the future. He shakes his head, he wasn't happy.
He just blurts out what comes to his brain next.

"Yours," he squeezes out and feels himself pink up. He touches at his neck, as if the stare is something he can rub away.
Neil already took him, and made it clear he meant to keep him. Why, is the big fat question.

"Sorry, but we're on the run in a shitty motel," he says, and slaps a hand out to put the state of their life on display.
"It's hard for me to see a scenario where the assassin badass doesn't get bored with the fuck-up. Especially after your dad- ... especially after everything. "

And before Neil can tear into him, "I know you're sick of hearing me whine. I am too. This'll be the last time I'll ask."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"You're the one holding on to being a fuck-up by insisting you're one every chance you have," Neil shoots back before quickly putting a hand up. To stop Cade from saying anything, but also to put a pause on himself before he gets riled up. Now's not the time for this conversation. It might never be the time, what with how thick the gangster's skull seems to be, yet if given the chance to go to work on Wolf, MacDarragh could potentially turn him into a bad motherfucker like he said he would back at the villa. And the way fate has unfolded - in terrible, hollow ways - he will be given that chance.

It's kind of funny to be focusing on that part, especially after everything. It doesn't make any of it less fucked, of course, but it doesn't make it more fucked either, and right now... that feels like a lot.

"Okay. Okay," Neil starts to lower his hand before a grin sneaks its way onto his face, and his fingers redirect to hold onto one of the belt loops on Cade's jeans, "If it makes it better, were I to get bored I'd kill you instead of throwing you away."

Cade wants to be his, whatever he thinks or doesn't think that might entail. Tugging on the denim, MacDarragh invites his companion to lie down.

"I can agree to your... terms. But that means you're mine, Cade. You sure you know what that means?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Neil's spiked eyes seem to go from a forest green to a mellow meadow or some other corny comparison as he considers Cade.
Why does he always have to make trouble for himself? Cade nips at his lip, the gentle but persistent pull at his hip bringing him further into bed. He tries not to let it bother him, but his resolve for this whole talk shakes a bit.

And it isn't fortified by Neil telling him, almost sweetly, how he'll bury Cade when he's had his fun. It makes him squirm, for a lot of reasons and not all of them bad but even though, realistically, how long can he stand a looming threat on his life all over again? Either it's a flirtatious threat he heats under or it's a mortal situation that will give him stomach ulcers.
The blanket cover catches at the jagged ends of his nails as he finds a spot next to Neil, making himself small as he jitters between sitting and laying down.
The guy is close enough to feel the warmth coming off him. He tugged Cade in but does that mean he wants him to sit so they can hash this out eye to eye or does Neil want him beneath him? The answer is obvious at this point.

But behaving all the time would be boring, wouldn't it?

Cade shivers like an indecisive machine, then gives out like that same machine minus the black guttering smoke and drops his forehead into the crook of Neil's shoulder.
It's smooth and soft until the muscles tense and then, just like that, it's MacDarragh he's resting against and not some chick.
Sex definitely would've been easier than this conversation.

"Hell man, do you?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Of course he knows. There should be no hesitation in the answer, and yet when the supposedly obvious words push against his lips Neil keeps his mouth shut even when he knows the uncharacteristic silence will tip Cade off. So, in lieu of an answer, the hitman hums softly in pretend contemplation, arms moving to wrap around the gangster like twin snakes, until one of them finds the man's nape. Fingers pinch and release the skin beneath.

Neil loathes it, this sudden uncertainty. He isn't used to going into anything without a plan, or at least the confidence of being able to come up with something no matter the circumstances. Yet now it feels like everything he's known has been ripped away from him, slowly and then all at once.

What does it mean to be his? Does it mean being left unattended for weeks on end like his home, or being carefully caressed and preserved like his weapons? Is there a difference between owning an object and a person? Cade doesn't want to be a pet, whatever that's supposed to mean. MacDarragh turns to where the man has buried his face in his neck, and when his lips brush against his companion's ear, this time the thoughtful hum reverberating behind his teeth is genuine. It occurs to the hitman he's... unsure if he's ever had someone.

Or, well, the only person he's had he was forced to share all his life. And now that person is dead. The next time Neil's fingers pinch they don't let go.

"Of course I know," he breathes out with a smile, sliding a leg to press against the gangster in the hopes that's enough to fool him even when he knows it isn't.

"... There's no one else that's gone through what we did, Cade. If you exclude Viv's mutt," the laugh that follows his statement feels forced yet he hoes through the motion anyway, before his voice drops back down to a whisper, "Whether we like it or not, we're stuck together. But, fuck it, I'd rather we like it."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Neil massages the back of his neck like an evil mastermind strokes the spine of a cat. When he talks, it's in Cade's ear and he can hear every small whistle of breath that proceeds every sentence. The charisma injected into every bloated sound oozes out to make Neil sound almost hollow.
A caricature of himself.

In other words, I don't have the faintest fucking clue.

But said with such a fanged smile while fingers tenderize nape meat that Cade doesn't feel the stabbing uncertainty of a relationship that doesn't know what it is, or where its going.
And how does Cade know?

They aren't stuck together.

MacDarragh is leagues ahead of him in this life and the only thing Cade can be is a liability. And maybe Neil not throwing him to the wolves to buy time is simply because that rabid animal is Vivien, and he wants her to have nothing.

Honestly, that is probably a lot of it...

All at once he dares to think, to know, and he leaves the safe ledge of Neil's shoulder so he can see his face.
And he's sure.
As sure as you can ever be with Neil.

And Cade's sure, too. So he doesn't say anything because doing that would only embarrass Neil. Probably without him even realizing it does, and that's why that damned pretty leg is pressed up against Cade's thigh.
He'll never know for sure. Just like he'll never know about the dead man tucked away in Vivien's ice castle. And if he's sure about this than Cade can let that go if it means Neil is happier.

Held at a distance, but nevertheless held. Tightly, and without remorse.

"I...hate that that's enough for me," he says in a weak snort. He reaches up to push his hand through Neil's hair, starting from the nape up. He grabs a handful of golden white locks, but doesn't dare pull and when those eyes say enough, he lets go.

"You really do own my ass," he says, and huffs in disbelief not at that fact but at the impossible bargaining he was making for something that was already bought in the first place.
This is solid, and perfect and fucked up and it's surreal.

And he grabs at that leg again, squeezing through to the almost feminine shape and knowing it's such a fucking lie because Neil could lay him out anytime. A little more than half the width of his own thighs...just a tiny little thing, and he wants it wrapped around his hip or squeezing the air out of his throat.

Before he can follow that thought down into Wonderland, he has to make something clear.
Obediently he eases down into bed, scratchy cover and all. "Wait until Ollie's older to do anything permanent? Eighteen preferably, but sixteen if you can't wait."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Oliver? So he's the reason this conversation is happening. Honestly, it puts much of what Cade has said into context, and Neil should have caught on from the start but he didn't. He didn't even consider the kid brother that Cadence values above everything; the one he hopes to return to. But, really, why else would the gangster hesitate to hand over his leash, if for a moment?

A part of the hitman wants to point out that, given their current condition, it's doubtful how permanent of a thing he can do- how permanent of a thing either of them can do to one another.

The faded bite mark on his hand itches as he sits up to look down at Cade, head tilted in consideration. Watching him lying there, sprawled out on the motel sheets in the dim light of the room, reminds him of the time he stitched up the bleeding gangster.

It also reminds him of the fact it's never going to happen again.

"Fine. I can agree to these terms too," Neil grins. And when he shifts to straddle his partner, he pushes down with his whole weight keeping Cade in place.

It's been a bit since they last fucked. Thinking about it, the last time they were in a positions like this MacDarragh allowed Wolf to hold him a way he doesn't allow people to hold him, and then Wolf promptly leapt out a skyscraper. The memory makes his jaw clench and unclench, even if his smile doesn't falter as he leans down to peer into blue eyes gone dark in his shadow, "But in return you don't get to leave. My promise still stands."

Despite the man in whose name it was made being dead.

His palm trailing up and up along the broad chest beneath it. Neil kisses Cade. Slowly. Deeply. Biting at his bottom lip as he pulls back with an exhale, "Walk away again and I'll kill you."

The instant MacDarragh's hand reaches Wolf's neck he squeezes, fingers slotting into position like the cords of muscle and tendons there are meant for them. It's a surprise when a harsh yank forces the hitman to crane his head back, away from the sight. A surprise, yet not an unpleasant one - hand tangled up in the fistful of hair, Cade holds him in a vice grip. For real this time. And within the tingling sensation on his hurting scalp, he wonders if the gangster feels like his own fingers belong in Neil's hair. Annoying punk. The hitman's grin only grows, eyes glimmering. As long as it's been since they last fucked, it's been much much longer since they last fought. Wouldn't that be nice to have again? A fight, a fuck, and then - finally - some sleep.

Like the worst-timed whoopee cushion, a gurgling growls cuts through the mounting energy in the air. Pouting, Neil tries to catch a glimpse of Cade, before realizing it wasn't the gangster's stomach rumbling that interrupted their moment. It was his own. It's only so long that even his body can run on potatoes and Modafinil, though that fact doesn't stop Neil's displeasure from growing. In response, his stomach just growls back in insistence.

Or maybe this time it was actually Cade.

"Hope you're looking forward to a very romantic vending machine dinner," MacDarragh huffs in temporary capitulation, though his hand doesn't quite release its hold yet. Certainly not before his voice drops down to a purr, "Then afterwards we can finish what we started."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Not only does Neil agree, he climbs on top and lays one hell of a kiss that Cade takes in greedily.
It all comes together when his hand finds it's place collaring his throat, squeezing enough to feel and covering up that wolf tattoo.

This is almost happily ever after. Their breed of it, anyways.

Sucking what little blood he could from his lip, that same urge to grab a crown of gold comes back. He gives into it full hearted, and drinks in the curve of Neil's offered throat. Just beautiful, and it's for him. Maybe for a very long time.

It doesn't take much to make him want to fight and fuck apparently. That's almost just as embarrassing as the terms themselves.
His smile is turning into a soft snarl when Neil, without moving his mouth, growls back.
And damn, it's almost cute the way Neil sends an accusatory glance at his stomach.

A bark of laughter later Cade's easing his hand out but not without a parting shake. "Are you kidding? Look who you're talking to."

He sighs around a smile, looking up into the eyes of the green eyed demon he sold his soul to. "I hope we don't finish what we started for a long time."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

------

Surprisingly, Ortiz doesn't throw another fit. For one aching moment it feels like he won't just dislodge Kaden and Damien both out of life with his bare hands, but beat Vivien until she's paste.
It isn't the dog that stops him, or the icy CEO's complete lack of interest beyond a mild satisfactory look.

It's like the anger and frustration blow away and he's not a business mogul or a representative of anything anymore. Just a man, starring in stark disbelief at a cruelty and spitefulness even he can't comprehend.
And if he does consider ripping Kaden out of this life in petty return like a hearth being thrown out of a house, it only flickers once on his face.

He wordlessly twists away, somehow shocked to see he's been followed this far by the two he told to stay in the car.
Once they pass the L shape of the hallway and the TreaTech CEO is out of sight he barks, "Why are you following me?"

Again, not so much in rage but exasperation. Resigned acceptance to things that don't make sense. It may as well be a dream. "You," he says in a disapproving tone that means Kaden, "I think I might finally understand. You-" an equally disapproving and even absurd sounding tone that could only ever mean Damien, "I don't get at all."

Kaden looks once at Damien. "Whatever happens, we're staying together."

Ortiz pauses, and chooses to do it in the revolving door to the building so that the glass bumps up against their backs and pushes them closer together. He does look back, despite issuing a warning to Blumenthal about half an hour ago to stay out of his visual field unless he wanted to have his corpse rolled out of a car into the street in broad daylight. Then just as quickly, starts up the doors again with a shove that doesn't signify any effort was needed.

The festive cheer of the busy street is immediately at odds with their odd trio. Kaden can't help torturing himself by imagining Wilson had come this way... Or maybe not this door exactly, but only minutes ago he'd been very close.

"Are you going after them?" He asks at Raul's back, without much hope. He's oddly unsurprised when the man minutely shakes his head.

"He's too young, and too mean. Like his sister. Exactly like her. And I'm old and tired. In my wildest dreams I could never win a fight against someone like him and I was stupid to ever associate with a bag of cobras in the first place."

He jerks his head, like he's physically tossing those thoughts aside. He rounds the car, easing the door open.

"And a manhunt?" Kaden questions, still with that unusual hesitance he can't remove from his tone.

"A manhunt?" Ortiz glances once at Damien from over the roof of the car. "If that's something you want to do, then go do it. I've stewed long enough in the... futility of it all. I'm going to do what matters now, as painful as it will be and I... I don't want you to come but I think you should, so you can if that's your choice."

Had Ortiz thrown him into the trunk and given him no choice, that almost would have been preferable.
As it is there is no one to stop him from looking back at the imposing building stabbed into this city street, no reason not to consider finding a management office, snaking through surveillance footage...

Maybe.

"How can I see her?" He says so defeated it's nearly lost in the happy chatter and bustle of New York. "How can I be with her after I let them go? How can I face her after I failed this badly?"

Ortiz struggles, but that first display of massive rage never makes an appearance again. Expecting something spiteful, or at least brutally honest he says, "Because she'll still want to see you."


---

It's sort of anticlimactic how normal dying feels. She's seen enough tearful atheists grow a spontaneous faith to figure it'd be a horrible thing to experience. She almost turns too, but it never saved them so she decides no one's going to rip the heavens open to save her either.

Mostly she's just sleepy. And weepy.

Like, a lot. She cries probably more than she has in the last decade. And it isn't over the stubby bird and who it represents, it's for the empty room. It's for her cold feet, and the fact she can't do anything about it.
It's for the sad polite faces the nurses give her, and the numbers dialed she won't call because she's scared they won't answer. All her big talk about taking care of her boy, now look at her.

Big tough Delilah, still the little girl her mom left behind. So, so tough. And that's why she asks for a pen and paper because she never said goodbye to anyone.
She writes to her mom, wherever she is if she's still even kicking, with lots of un-daughterly curses. Her dad, even though he's gone.

She says goodbye to everyone who's already gone.

She rips up several pages.

The fatigued be damned, she gets into a good rhythm of sorry's and I-wishes that are so physically demanding she has to either write or cry and she refuses to cry. And such is her impressive commitment to her scholarly ways she gets a cramp.
She's even ready to ignore the human faces that come in to check if she's dying comfortably enough.

Almost.

She glances up dismissively, and twangs her neck on the double glance.

Honest to God she feels her bottom lip tremble and Raul the grizzly gives her a teddy bear smile and, damn it, she breaks. She breaks so hard.
And smacks his arm and shoulders and anything she can reach once he's close enough. "I fall asleep and I wake up and you're gone? In a hospital bed, too, you jerk!"

And he could say any number of deserving things, like how it feels to be the one who wakes up alone. But he hunches over to envelop her, and stays like that for a long time letting her make his chest soggy.
He doesn't have to say anything. She knows he didn't find anything. She wishes she could be like the old and graceful ladies on movies that wearily shake their heads no at more treatments, but now, right at the end she'd honestly do anything.

She's had her laughs about Cadence, the irony of it all, and she's positive he probably thinks it's funny too, wherever he is, taking it up the apple chute. He did right by himself in the end, can't blame him for that.

"I don't care if you have to piss in that flower vase and poo out the window, don't leave this room. I'm pregnant with death and you're seeing my suffering through."
"...You say the most awful, ludicrous things! That isn't funny," Ortiz says in a laughing, weeping way. He cradles the back of her head to his chest and she's just a child. "I'll stay."

"I'm sorry..."

"For what specifically?"

She grips at his jacket, still fresh and cold from the outside. She half pulls away to gather her papers and letters, stacking them in a messy pile like the world's most distraught receptionist. "Everything. Me. I shouldn't have fucked you over... Especially you. I should've -"

He pushes her dirty hair back in something that's like a pet. "Don't worry about that now. I know you felt you needed to do it. You didn't, you never had to, but I know why you did."

More time passes like that.

"He would've been ours," Ortiz murmurs in a thoughtful way, in a way that isn't meant to barb her but its torture anyhow. "My boy... somehow."

She can't say anything about the make-believe dream she cheated herself out of. Only pretend Ortiz would've hated him.

"I brought him," he says, jarring her so bad her bones hurt with how she clenches up.

She pushes him away, glaring up at him. And he pushes back when she starts crawling out of bed. The handrail is a bigger obstacle than he is. The handrail.

She pummels him with slaps and punches while he holds her but cranes his head away like she's a yowling cat in the middle of a hissy fit.
"Woman, control yourself!"
"Control yourself! I'll see you in hell, bastard! I swear if you hurt his poofy friend-"

The man himself is apparently summoned by mention alone because there he is in the doorway, looking politely embarrassed to be witnessing a dying woman's mental breakdown. She freezes like that, hair in her face and Ortiz's thumb gripped and ready to snap, puzzling how Blumenthal could be here.

For one moment she's merely frozen, and then when she sees her boy come sheepishly forward she becomes stone. Or her heart does anyways, plummeting to the bottom of her damn soul.

"You couldn't be any stupider than if you had to be watered and put in the window," she says, almost calmly, unsure which idiot she means. Ruefully she rubs her cheek into her shoulder and it comes away dry. Oh, now she's not crying. That's almost unfair.

"You both don't even look hurt. What, you just follow Raul in here?" She asks in disbelief, cracking with a laugh. Ortiz looks at her bashfully, and her next laugh is a tearless croak.

"I knew she wouldn't want to see me," Kaden says, head bent. He shuffles away, glancing down the hallway and away from this. From her.

"Don't fucking leave now," she orders and, remembering she has a death grip on a thumb, lets Ortiz go to right herself and spit hair out of her mouth.
"You commit to being an idiot and come here."

It takes a while. Kaden looks at every set of eyes like he's reading what to do on their faces. Damien's he reads the longest. He finally leaves his hiding place and steps out into the room, but he won't look her in the eye. That's fair, considering she probably looks pretty terrible. Her scuffle took more out of her than she thought it would, but when he's close enough she snatches him too. He puts up with the poking and prodding, dead eyed and hardly breathing. He has something thin and hard in his pocket, like a pen.

He meets her eyes then, all grim business.

"I have mixed feelings about it, but it's good to see you. What are you wearing, you look like a douche." She plucks at his tight sleeve.

Finch makes a tiny sound, like laughter, and glances back at Damien.
But just as quickly his face goes dark again.

"I ruined everything," he says sullenly. "The more I tried, the worse I made things. I am...I am so-"
"You cram that sorry shit."
"It's all my fault!"
"Did you give me cancer?"

The question puts a pause in Kaden's dramatics. Facetious as it may be, Raul still looks at the kid halfway suspiciously.
"No, I-"

"No," Delilah agrees, "you didn't."

"But I let them go. I let them go... I could've stopped this and I didn't."


The kid looks down at his hands, and then grinds the heels into his eyes. Wisps of his hair come down, making him look deranged and disturbed. Funny how just a few hairs out of place on someone so usually meticulously ordered can make them look so unsettling.

"Coulda woulda shoulda, son," she says, not without sympathy. "I've always ran a tight ship. Don't care if that makes me sound full of myself, I did. I tried to lasso and hog tie this too, and I couldn't. Couldn't stop it, couldn't even control it. Some things-" she scoffs at the ludicrousness, "most things can't be stopped. And it isn't your fault. It's just...one of those things."


Kaden drops his hands to give her a helpless look. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Tomorrow," she says, because it's the one thing that comes to mind, "And then the day after that."

She flicks her stacks of pages. He stands there, trying to chew and swallow this reality. It looks more like he swallowed a bug actually.
She glances at Damien, and thinks about the dual letters she wrote for him. One for each possibility, knowing he would never read them and now feeling very weird that he could now actually read them. It didn't exactly show a whole lot of faith in your boy when you wrote a boyfriend letter and an ex boyfriend letter.

But she'd never wanted to burden him. Tie him down with the kid that was hers.

With that thought in mind she awkwardly adds, "Or... don't. I guess. If you can't do it I don't want you to force yourself into it because I said so. I'd wait a year. Oh, but that probably won't be an option now anyways so I -"

Ortiz rumbles and Delilah glares at him, only to notice he has his teddy bear face on. That pisses her off. "Really? You wanna critique my last words? Now?"
"It's just a bit bleak, Dee."
"I don't wanna pressure him!"
"Into being alive?"
"Don't highroad me! Not after your wood carving lesson!"

That shuts Raul up. He crosses his arms, looking mildly ashamed but mostly annoyed.

Delilah gives a big sigh. "Don't live for me, son. Because I said so or whatever. Find someone you love and live for them, okay?"

Kaden shakes his head. "I love you."

And finally those tears that had plagued her for hours come back, just enough to blur Finch out of focus. "You are my boy," she grits through the tears. The words might as well be razor blades for how bad they make her throat ache.
"But I'm not your mom. I'm not the best you got either, and I was a fucking liar for saying so."

"I can't do this without you."

"Oh, yes you can. You've been ready to do this without me for years. It was me who couldn't let go, kid."

Her tears never grow big enough to fall. His, however, grow enough to make his dark eyes shiney. The glittering tears come fast with a vengeance, pouring down his cheek in twin trails. The dam is finally broken. Kaden doesn't seem to notice until a drop catches on his sleeve and then, inanely, he glances up.
When he confirms there isn't a leak in the ceiling he wipes his cheek, marveling at his hand, and breaks the tracks so that the tears that follow run everywhere. And they do, and they don't stop. Rolling down to collect at his chin before plopping away like a dripping tap.
She reaches out for him, where there's enough fabric between him and her to hold. He doesn't cry harder, but he does clench his eyes shut. He puts his hand over hers and squeezes, either to grind out the discomfort or to just feel her and every terrible thing that is to experience.

They stay like that for a long time.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

---

If Damien never saw another hospital in his life, he'd be a happy man. He's had more than enough of needles and thread and life support systems; of that impersonal cold that seems to permeate places supposedly meant to care for people. Though, he has to admit, the children's clinic is not at all as bleak as the one Finch nearly lost his life in. Still, in some ways here it's worse - the ex-cop didn't think he'd ever wind up back here. But what have the last months been if not retreading old paths and suffering though cyclical events? Sure, maybe the faces were different or the situations were viewed from different angles, but the illusion of forward motion doesn't make walking in a circle not walking in a circle.

He left Delilah's room. Not immediately, no - he stayed there for a while, long enough to make sure Kaden knew he wasn't leaving (whatever happens, we're staying together...), but that's not his heart to speak, or privacy to impose on, or tears to shed.

Within 24 hours he's heard the capo laugh and witnessed him cry, and the former is as surprisingly endearing as the latter is painful. It hurts to see the man like this, just like it hurts that once more (as always) the ex-cop can do terribly little to make any of it better, though maybe such a thing can't really be made better by any one or by any means. The most he can offer is to be there when he is needed, and some part of him - a small, tentative part - dares to think that maybe that can be enough for the moment. After all, he knows what it's like to be abandoned to one's grief with no one there to catch you.

Seated in the bedside chair, Damien's crossed arms slide down to his thighs where they dig in. Seems like smoking isn't the only bad habit he struggles to kick...

He's glad that Kaden gets to see Delilah again, incredibly so, and - ludicrously, selfishly - he is jealous of their chance to say goodbye.

In the midst of it all the thought of visiting Michael's grave crossed his mind, but he can't. Not now. Maybe not even for Christmas or for his birthday- their birthday. How did Kaden put it?

How can I face her after I failed this badly?

So, yeah... How can he face him after he failed this badly? And he's not referring to his futile plots of revenge.

The beeping of the medical equipment that fills the room never ceases. It's a constant background noise signifying life as much as it does death. An in-between state. Well, a medically induced coma. Fingers digging even further, Damien stares wordlessly at the person in the hospital bed.

Being faced by a shot Daniel Conley is nearly as horrible as being faced by a shot Kaden Finch.

The ex-cop doesn't even question where he found the absolute audacity to request that Ortiz bring the kid here. Just like he doesn't question where Ortiz found the self-control not to strangle him right there and then, since he can guess that the reason he's still breathing now is the same reason he was treated to dinner back at the hotel, and that reason is a singular person. Some flash of irrational guilt flares up in his chest to have bothered Ortiz since the ambassador deserves to grieve Delilah unimpeded just as much as Finch does, but you know what?

Fuck Ortiz.

As a matter of fact, fuck Delilah too. Kaden apologized to her, and for what? For not killing two people? As awful as said two people are and as much as they deserve to get killed, at least one of them... She didn't apologize for embedding a chip at the base of his skull and then, as a final gift, making him a target, even if it was supposed to be some attempt at keeping him safe. She certainly didn't apologize for taking advantage of Damien's trust. He's still angry at her, for this and so much more. He'll probably always be angry at her. And at the same time there is a large, aching part of him regretful that he'll never get the chance to know this woman, except through stories he'll ask to be told.

The ex-cop's fingers brush against the chrome lighter as he searches his pockets and the familiar shape of the object is reassuring, in stark contrast to what he actually takes out.

Silver swirls within the tiny capsule, the last capsule Finch held onto only to hand it over over a simple request. It was meant for Delilah, as some potential last-ditch attempt at saving the woman, and Damien wonders if Kaden will hate him for using it for what he's about to. But Delilah is dying, and the man in the tower - some nameless villain he can't find in himself to give two shits about right now - is already dead.

Unlike them, Conley is still alive.

And as much as the miracle cure makes Damien uncomfortable on principle, he doesn't hesitate. As has been established, he's a hypocrite.

The silver wriggles as a syringe pierces its casing, and continues to wriggle as it gets aspirated to be administered into the I.V. Like this, the boy looks nearly serene. So much so one could be fooled into believing him to merely be sleeping, if one ignored all the cables, monitors, and the bandages concealing the gunshot wound he sustained to his head. The gunshot wound Damien left him with. It's kind of funny, in the worst way imaginable - Conley feels like the one good thing the ex-cop ever did with his life, even if unintentionally; and just as unintentionally, he maimed it. This version of the kid is so different from his visage in Damien's nightmares, the one he sees when he's paralyzed and helpless. Will healing him now stop him from torturing him in his dreams? Somehow Damien doubts that very much. For that to happen, he'd have to stop torturing himself first…

Fuck, he's so tired.

Emotionally, physically, even though he's done nothing. The status quo hasn't changed, not really. Still, the anger Damien has used to sustain himself for so long is slowly but surely giving way to a heavy, exhausted nothingness, and he's so worried that that's going to be worse. How is he supposed to help Kaden if he's like this?

A dry chuckle sneaks past his lips. Maybe he can make another request of Ortiz and ask him to end it. Damien is still alive - unhurt, even, as Delilah pointed out - and the thought has an almost... disappointed tinge to it. The ex-cop resigned himself to death years ago. Then a second time when he decided to get revenge. Then a third time when he decided to stay by Finch. And, ridiculously - cruelly, even - death hasn't come for him when he so politely left the door wide open. Instead, it's bidding its time for when he least expects it. Probably. The anticipation is worse than the act itself, he muses.

Silently turning, Damien makes to exit the room, to go back to waiting in front of Delilah's.

He won't ask Ortiz for something like this, of course, if only not to give the ambassador the satisfaction. Instead, he'll shamelessly ask that Conley be taken back to the hospital he was staying in, before the cure can heal him back to consciousness. Let the kid and his family believe this all to be a Christmas miracle or something.

Another involuntary chuckle leaves Damien. He covers his eyes like that's going to help at all.

---

Even in as trying as the current times are, standing vigil at the window like Natalia is doing seems… excessive.

Especially when the only sound that can be heard streaming in from outside is the laughter of children. The snowball fight the twins were having developed into a full-blown war some minutes ago when Matt lobbed a particularly large snowball right at the back of Sujin's head and the teenager decided they weren't babysitting any more but getting payback. Somehow that ended in Luca getting shoved face-first into a pile of snow instead of his brother and for a second Nat was gearing up to go deal with a kiddy brawl quickly turning weepy, but instead the twins discovered the magnificent fact they could make funny imprints. Since then both boys have been willingly face-planting in the snow, much to their older sibling's chagrin.

The sergeant allows herself a small smile. Everything is still very much the worst, but at least the children are okay.

Well... Sujin suspects something is wrong, but the twins are utterly clueless as to why they had to go on a road trip to grandma's out of nowhere, and Natalia intends to keep them clueless for as long as she can.

The ringing of her phone makes the woman's smile drop. She doesn't even look at the caller. Doubtlessly it's someone from the station, calling to alert her to yet another colleague perished in the tower collapse, or to ask why she isn't in New York to pick up the broken pieces of the precinct, as one of the eldest officers left after the tragedy.

She'll never admit it, but the thought of simply ignoring it crosses her mind. Years ago a therapist told her she makes herself way too available to everyone, and the stupidest part is she is fully cognizant of that fact as she keeps answering the phone again and again, "Montesano speaking."

For the first couple of seconds all she hears is static.

"Shit, I'm so glad this piece of junk still works," a distorted voice breaks through on the other end, growing clearer with each word uttered, though how could she ever mistake this person for anyone else regardless? "Hey, Nat."

It takes the sergeant's mouth a moment to catch up with her feelings, as both relief and irritation seize her chest until all she can do is scoff back at Damien, "Really? That's it? That's what you choose to say to me?"

"How's Pawl doing?"

"The cat?" she scoffs once more in mounting disbelief.

"Yeah."

Natalia should end the conversation right then and there. Instead, taking her eyes off the children for but a split second, she looks further into the house, past the couch with the atrocious animal print pillows and the silver Christ on the Cross hanging on the wall in the living room. Though she sees no one presently, she knows where all the members of her family are. Always.

"Much like Kim is doing," which is to say that in the midst of all the unfamiliarity both her anxious husband and the cat have found some cozy place to hide in. Potentially together, "They're actually getting along, unlike Eli. She was sneezing up a storm when we left."

Maybe it was a spike in the static. Or maybe she heard Damien wince in shame at the mention of his sister.

"... How's Droopy doing?"

The third time around Nat's scoff is almost a laugh, "What, so you're only going to ask about the animals?"

"... I'm working up to asking about the rest."

Last time Damien and her spoke, he was ordering them to leave the city for their own protection, and yet the present version of the man sounds much more distraught. Scared, even.

If she didn't know him better than he knows himself, she'd call it bizarre.

"You're the only one that still calls him that," the sergeant continues, peering out the window again. Matt is half-burried in snow and, tongue-lolling out, the puppy is trying to dig him out. Or burry him further, it's difficult to assertain, "Haven't you heard, it's Droop now. Droop Dogg. Personally it just makes me think of Goop."

"The first reference even I get, but you're going to have to explain the second one," a sudden pause hangs in the air before Damien continues, voice quiet, "Maybe in person? Maybe on Christmas, or New Years?"

Nat smiles, shaking her head. There's never been a more roundabout way of asking someone to come back...

"I got you a present, you know."

"I got you nothing," his voice is still quiet, and yet the words weigh a tone. There's so much something in that 'nothing' that Natalia doesn't know how to feel about. Except to face it and move forward. What else can be done? "I'm so sorry, Nat. For dragging you and Eli into this."

"You did it for Mike."

"I didn't. Some days I believed I did, but it was never the case. It wasn't even really for myself. It was for… for no one and nothing. I wasted the time he gave me and-"

This time when the static cracks it sounds suspiciously like a sob. Natalia doesn't address it, doesn't poke at the festering wound.

Instead, resolute as ever she simply asks, "What now?"

Damien exhales.

"I think," the man begins, as he is wont to do, "I think I'm going to try to live for the both of us, Nat. And I'm going to start doing right by the people that matter."

That same therapist years ago told her she shouldn't live for others, that one should always live for themselves. But she'll take her friend living for Michael over dying for him any day.

"Sorry, I have to go... I'll talk to you later?"

"Yeah, I'll definitely talk to you later, Damien."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

The kid cried himself dry. She's still a little damp on that side. He took her hand after he wrung himself out, probably more in attempt to keep himself alert than for whatever comfort he could find holding on to a pair of sweaty fingers.
Maybe it did work initially, but gradually as the light of the world dimmed Finch inched himself closer to the bed and after Ortiz gave him a chair it was all over.

The soft golden glow from the lights lining the window warm his face but make the shadows so deep he looks skinnier than he is. With her free hand she almost plays with his hair, but satisfies the temporary urge by plucking at the thin hospital blanket instead.
Raul hasn't said a word in hours. He sits on the couch by the wall, in the dark, hunched over with his chin resting overtop his rough hands.

When he gets up it's to peel his coat off and drape it over Kaden's slumped back. To the untrained eye it's a funny gesture; the kid has a coat (given to him by Blumenthal, she reminds herself) and even if he didn't the room is hot enough.

Raul eases the coat over Kaden's shoulders so it stays. He pauses there and then pushes at some of the hair that's fallen into his face. Just as soon as it happens it ends, fizzling away like moments from a half remembered dream. The man steps away, wiping his hand off on his chest.
His eyes are twin glints of light in the dark, but she can see the shadows of his doubt in her mind. He pulls something from his pocket. The stubby bird she made that he took from her....or maybe a dark blob its hard to tell. However there's no doubt the thing he takes in return is the syringe in Kaden's pocket.
Then he goes right back to his couch. It's impossible to tell if he ever falls asleep, but she feels as close a sense to peace as she ever has with the two men in the same room.

You're going to be okay.

------ Months later uwu ----

The freeze storage makes each exhale a thick rolling cloud. His hands clench, fighting the manufactured cool air.
Employees and staff alike keep well out of this aisle and so they're alone. Usually the 12 pack of brown (and far superior) eggs are more expensive, but this week they're $0.66 cheaper than the white. He stomachs the purchase of frozen mixed vegetables, but it nearly gets tossed back numerous times because microwaved food is a sin against Mankind. Damien points out they don't need to be microwaved necessarily, but that's not the point and he knows it. A dialogue of the nutritionally inadequacies on frozen food and a gallon of milk later, they're out of the tundra section and the terribly positioned rack of mother's day flowers stands as a reminder its spring.
Among other things. Slipping the carton into the crook of his arm, Kaden gives the wilting bouquets of red and pink petals a nudge until they're safe from the worst of the draft.
There's still lentils, sausage, ground beef, tuna and cat food to get. And each selection promises another riveting consultation, as if they needed anything more to bicker about.

"You've said nothing to tempt me so far," Finch muses, glancing away from the shopping list to Damien.
His expression remains cold, his eyes bored despite the pleasant view. The taxed expressions the man was known for have melted into the growing tan he's building. The season's hardly started and if the gradually roughening of his partner's hands are anything to go by, they'll work him until he has a substantial glow. Of course Damien has always been fit, but in a way that had occasionally reminded Kaden of a Greyhound. Not skinny exactly, but strained. Now he possesses quite a powerful essence, frame filled out, standing there judging which of the canned tomatoes are worthy.
"I'm losing my patience, Blumenthal."

And then he lets a smile show, unable to keep the jest going any further. "What other arguments do you have to persuade me into watching the Godfather for date night beyond Robert De Niro's charm?"

He buries what little satisfaction he would find taking the can to feel the rasp of Damien's hand and read the label himself. Instead, feeling mildly devious, he busies himself with looking up the shelves and waits for the true payoff shopping with Damien usually provides.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Al Pacino's gritty brilliance," Damien deadpans, staring at the can in his hand with an expression somewhere between singularly focused and gravely insulted. As if the tomatoes ('Taste Italian Excellence', the label proudly promises) somehow murdered his entire family. The already blurred words blurs even further as he gestures the can emphatically in Kaden's direction, "Because it's a masterpiece, that's why!"

Said like that's more than reason enough. And, really, it is - what with the movie's complex themes and characters, not to mention its singular impact on cinema as a whole. It's one of those iconic classics and, gesturing with the can once more, Damien nearly goes off on one of his tirades before deciding it won't work on Kaden. Monologues never do. Plus, he already extolled the virtues of The Godfather plenty when suggesting a mafia movie in the first place.

Instead, he keeps squinting at the canned tomatoes, yet no matter how hard he tries the finer print on the label isn't getting any more legible. So, with a resigned sigh, Damien reaches into his bag. An actual bag, not a coat pocket that really had no business carrying all the stuff that it used to, especially not something as fragile as glasses. His vision clears as soon as their thin frame is perched on his nose.

Humming, Damien takes another can from the shelf to compare. A part of him hasn't quite gotten accustomed to spending so long agonizing over what to buy. Several months ago a trip to the supermarket amounted to bee-lining it to the frozen foods aisle, getting whatever was cheap and moderately serviceable, then heading right out. Now being frugal is still important, but there is actual enjoyment to be found in food prepared by skilled hands. Hence the thoughtful purchasing and the quasi-philosophical arguments over things like olive oil brands that turn 10-minute shopping into a half-hour affair.

Damien turns his head in Kaden's direction to peer over the rim of his glasses, quirking a brow with a smirk, "Also, because it's embarrassing that you haven't seen it yet, Finch."

Meaning because I want to show you something I like.

It's been... difficult, in a very frustrating way, rediscovering the joy in something he used to enjoy so much in the past. Like having to learn how to ride a bike all over again, though one never really forgets how to ride a bike. But doing it together with Kaden, if under the guise of broadening the man's movie experience, makes it significantly easier. And fun. Often he wonders if Kaden feels the same way when they eat together and he keeps stealing food off of his plate with zero shame or remorse. Well, what matters is that Finch actually eats something - he's still thin, that just seems to be his body type; but now it's less malnourished and more elegant. Not that he hasn't always been.

Damien's expression eases into a soft smile as he keeps looking at his partner.

"I'll make you a deal," a can of tomatoes gets placed in the shopping cart. In the end he settled for the Italian excellence option, whatever that is supposed to mean, partially because it would no doubt make Natalia laugh when he tells her, "You get to choose what we do next date night."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden gives the chosen can a skeptical glance. An argument is on the tip of his tongue, but it would mostly be due to losing the chance to hear Damien talk about the things he loves.
The man brightens considerably.
But it wasn't all a loss. The beloved frames don't change Damien's appearance, so much as sharpen it. If you cast the man in stone as he is now he would become a priceless piece of art.
It's a crime in itself not to have a glass case, but he has to save some squabbles for next week.

"I accept," Kaden says, and were it not for the glasses, would've said something appropriate. "I can think of a lot of things I'd like to do with you."

---

Mother's day has never been much of a staple holiday, but it's still a relief to get back home. Pawl is in her usual place indenting the couch and her slow blinks act as continuous encouragement while dinner is prepared.

In the past Damien was more of a hindrance than a help but presently he's quite capable. If only he wasn't opening mail at the moment. Most of it being bills...
Once Kaden can lock down a proper job they'll meal prep for the week and he can work too but in their current living arrangement it just makes sense for Kaden to cook and clean daily.
Which should be more humiliating than it is, but having something to do is worth pulling all the hair out of the drains and scrubbing every floor.

And it's not as though they have that many floors. Or that many drains, for that matter. Finch's dining room was the same size as this place's living room and kitchen (It doesn't have a dining room).
And it was barbarically cold in the earlier spring. Now it's only drafty.

He's going to watch the Godfather and pretend like it's the first time he's seen it because talking about her in any way is something he can't do right now.
And he knows Damien would understand, just like he knows he would suffer the man's sympathy immediately following. It's a dance they've had many times, and one he just can't stomach tonight when all he wants to do is be with Damien.

So it's the first time he's watching it.

He reaches out a hand while he stirs the sauce, finding an adequately covered place to touch Damien. It's no secret the man thrives on physical attention so Kaden tries to fit in as many idle touches as he can. Shameful to admit; it's a bit like petting Pawl.
If he loved Pawl this much.

"I'm almost finished here," he says, tugging on a belt loop to drag Damien into a comfortable distance. "You have thirty seconds to devout to mail before your attention is firmly mine again."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

It's almost like dealing out playing cards. Two small piles have formed on the countertop as Damien continues to divide the mail on useful - things like bills and coupons - and useless - things like credit card offers and catalogs neither of them is subscribed to but that get delivered anyway. If they had a fireplace they could hold onto the junk mail for kindling, but since they don't and since he doesn't want to waste, things like this go to Eli instead.

"Mhm," he hums in assent, letting himself get pulled in without resistance. The sooner this is done the sooner he can indeed devout his attention to Kaden, as if the man doesn't have it basically always anyway. Briefly, he peers out of the corner of his eye, "Though I am curious what you'd do if I took more than that."

Damien provokes Kaden when he knows he'll inevitably lose, as he keeps deftly working away at the monotonous task. Disregarding what he just said, he would in fact much rather get to the date part of their date night, and the two can finally just spend time together. Secretly (or, well, not that secretly at all) he always looks forward to such moments. No ghosts of the past, no crippling regret. Like the rest of the world doesn't exist, for a few hours at least...

There's a letter that doesn't belong in either pile.

Damien's eyes narrow behind his glasses, like even with them he can't quite read the text in its neat cursive. Or more so like it's taking his brain a moment to process what he's seeing. Somehow it's not the sender's name that breaks through the mental fog, but the return address - the same one he has written down on a sticky note that he hasn't looked at since he found the address some time ago, one of the days he didn't have work and when Kaden and he were not looking up the man's own past. Not that Damien hid the information from his partner or anything. He just... hasn't mentioned it. Not yet.

Because if he can't find it in himself to go to his best friend's grave, how can he find the will to write his mom? How the hell did Patricia Kell even find him?

It's been well over 30 seconds that he's been staring at the letter.

Why now of all days? Damien asks himself, as if his reaction wouldn't be the exact same if it came tomorrow, or the day after, or maybe a week or even months from now. He feels like throwing up. The paper rustles under his thumb where he's clutching it so fervently it feels like it's going to tear. There is an urge to just crumple up the whole thing and throw it in the trash pretending like it doesn't exist. The trash can clanks open when he steps on the pedal.

It's full of the product wrappers and scraps from Kaden's recent cooking, because of course he cleans up after himself during cooking itself. Somehow out of everything, it's this sight that manages to calm Damien down, at least long enough to look at his partner. At a face of concern only Kaden could make.

Damien's brows furrow. Despite his hands shaking, he brings the envelope up for the other man to see, voice cautious. His mouth feels dry, "Did you have anything to do with this?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden only feels Damien stiffen because he's touching him. He stares at the letter he's found- an actual hand written letter, and doesn't move for an extended period of time.
Until he moves to toss it into the garbage.

Kaden switches off the burner, and slides the pan aside for good measure.
He takes the envelope when it's offered, it's good feeling almost fuzzy material scraping along his fingers. It's gently creased where Damien held it too tightly.
For a moment the name means nothing, then it means everything.

The pull to disassociate is like an anchor pulling him to the bottom of the ocean. It happens so fast he nearly doesn't have the time to be surprised.
Then just as quickly it evaporates and he's left with vertigo and a quiet ringing in his ears.

"Is it her?" He asks, staring at the letter and twisting it over. "Not an aunt or anything?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Several seconds pass before Damien finally nods his head. The words come out with difficulty, almost scraped out of his throat, "Yeah, it's her."

He swallows, as if it'll alleviate any of the sudden nausea. At least not physically holding onto the letter makes it somewhat more bearable.

"I don't know how she could have found me," he continues, voice laden with equal amounts of trepidation and disappointment. He searches Kaden's eyes intently, yet only manages to find surprise within their abyss. It wasn't him...

Damien has to actively remind himself it's good that the man didn't contact Patty behind his back when he nearly wishes that was the answer. Because now he's left wondering. Was it Nat? Eli? But why would they not warn him ahead of time? Or did Patty do this all by herself. Did she, much like Damien, spend hours tracking him down? Did she, much like Damien, agonize over penning a letter? The only difference being she actually had the courage to do it. And that fact makes things so much worse.

In some attempt at holding himself together, Damien crosses his arms, "I don't know why she would have found me."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

"Because she wants to see you," Kaden says hollowly. He wants to give the letter away, but can't make it leave his hand. Damien's arms are crossed anyways.
His eyes trace the cursive again.

His eyes hurt like they want to cry. He inhales sharply.
"She found you. This is good, Damien."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Instinctively, Damien shakes his head. Whether it's to deny that she wants to see him or that this is good, he doesn't know - it almost feels like movement for the sake of movement, some kind of gut reaction to nothing in particular.

It's only after he's already done it that he catches himself... as well as the utter lack in Kaden's voice. From the beginning the other man has encouraged him to reach out to Ms Kell, only for Damien to postpone it every single time under any and all pretext he could think of, like a true coward. Of course Finch has been supportive, yet his consistent belief in the idea hasn't faltered. And it's not difficult to guess why.

Nausea mixes with shame.

"I'm sorry," when Damien reaches forward, it's not to take away the letter, but to clasp onto Kaden's sleeve, squeezing, "Maybe... maybe you're right. Maybe this is good."

Though the way he eyes the envelope doesn't make it feel like he particularly believes that - his mind defaults to the worst-case scenario, that she's only written to tell him to stay away, yet at the same time he can't imagine Patty doing anything of the sort. She was always too kind, too gentle. Really, it's the sheer suddenness of the letter that makes it so horrible. Especially around this time of year.

"I'm sorry. I didn't intend for today to turn out like this," Damien reiterates. He struggles for a bit, pondering what he can say to make any of this better, only for anything he can come up with to feel insufficient. At last, he sighs, "We don't have to watch the Godfather. Or anything, for that matter."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

This unease reminds Kaden of the very few times Damien has ever been afraid. But only if you took that fear and turned it inside out.
The envelope is treated to another heavy stare; he can't believe it. The thing he encouraged has happened. But backwards, inside out.

The man goes through his ritualistic apologies while tugging on Kaden's sleeve in a poor substitute for the hug he clearly craves.
An inhale and exhale later Finch is tucking in the tiny pieces of him that wail and cry whenever the three letter 'm' word is said out loud.

"I wish I could believe you carefully planted this to get out of date night," Kaden says with a put upon air.
"But your motives don't line up so I'll have to reject your unnecessary apology."

Softening his voice, he closes the distance between them. With his hands taken up by things too important to let go of he can't clear a spot on Damien's forehead and gets more hair than skin when he kisses him.
"You can leave it until you're ready or you can open it now. Whatever you need to do, I'm with you."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

He wishes Kaden accepted the apology, if only because the world sure isn't going to apologize (it never does), but at least he gives him an out - Damien can set the letter aside, leave it until he's ready.

If only 'ready' didn't mean 'never'.

Deep inside, he knows if he doesn't commit to this now he'll keep postponing again, and so on into eternity. Or until he dies. Or until Patty dies... He keeps looking at Kaden like he's searching for an answer, or gathering the strength to come to one. And it's unfair. Relying on the man like this always makes Damien feel guilty... yet he can't deny that have his partner next to him is a comfort beyond words.

Damien's expression breaks, into what exactly he's not sure. He's not tearing up, not yet (that'll come later, undoubtedly), but it's a wave of emotion nevertheless and he prays just how much this means to him comes through when he proclaims, "Thank you."

He lets go of Kaden's sleeve, only to wrap an arm around his back. He doesn't take back the envelope, though, instead slowly reaching for its seal flap.

Damien squeezes Kaden, even when there's no more proximity to really close between the two, "You know I'm with you too, no matter what."

Inhale. Hold. He pinches the flap between thumb and pointer, then tears-