Realistic or Modern LOVE, LOSS, REVENGE

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden's face wrinkles in distaste at the sputtering of water and choking.

"There's cigarette butts outside of my building where there didn't used to be, which is substantial considering this city is populated with smokers," he says, and he knows they're not his Dogs because no one smokes in that area. And, quite frankly, Damien does have an odor that's freshest when they meet.
"You smoke everytime you come to see me. You'll smoke after you're done here. I thought of asking how many, but I can already guess. Naturally, I asked you a question I didn't have the answer to."

Finch swirls his cup before taking a sip.

"I don't see what's so preposterous about that," he mutters, taking another bite. He's pleased Damien likes his food. It's much easier to eat when there's a social component.

"It doesn't bother me if you're cliche. In fact, I wish you were moreso. You're the oddest person I've met."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien is flabbergasted. Kaden genuinely doesn't seem to realize why this would be inappropriate to ask.

"That's-" really not the type of question you put forward unless you intend to find out, "Sorry, I guess? For not being cliché enough. Not that I know what you were expecting."

Damien ruffles his hair. He allows himself a small smile of consolation at Finch's obliviousness. The capo is not bullying him again, like earlier. Not purposefully, anyway.

"But really, the oddest person you've met? Have you looked in the mirror?" Kaden's eccentricities are too numerous to list. He's a career criminal that enjoys cooking and the company of a ragdoll named Pawl, and now he's sharing a homemade meal with a man he had beat up and intended to drown in the Hudson barely five days ago. A man he talks to way too weirdly sometimes. But he's calling Damien odd, "Well, I'll take it as a compliment."

The ex-cop takes another sip, this time without an accident, "Does it bother you, that I smoke? I vaguely remember you saying that it gives you a headache."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden scoffs in disbelief at Damien accusing him of being strange. Finch is many shades of unusual, but there's leeway when you're a criminal.
Damien's a civilian, more or less, and yet here he is. He's way weirder. Kaden doesn't know what he was expecting either, but it wasn't Damien.

"Yes, it does give me a headache, even though smoking is the lay of the land. I've never gotten used to it," he says, twisting the stem of his wine glass. He nearly mentions his mother, but Kaden's said enough about himself as is.
"And you know it bothers me. You smoked in front of me when we met to goad me, or to show how little afraid you were of me. Didn't like that at all."

He still remembers clearly Damien's smug face.

"Furthermore, it's not good for you. You're going to shorten your life span significantly. When did you start?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"I did do that, didn't I?" Damien muses with a grin.

Kaden's right on the money - it'd been some kind of petty ploy to showcase that he wasn't afraid, which hadn't exactly worked out in his favor. The ex-cop makes another mental note to thank Cade for saving his skin back then.

He taps his fingers on the table, biting at the inside of his cheek.

"It is really unhealthy, I know. I used to hate it too," whatever had possessed Finch earlier possesses Damien now as the words tumble out unwittingly, swept up in the casualness of the conversation. He'll definitely regret this later, "No one starts smoking because they actually enjoy the taste. I picked it up from a guy that did like smoking after sex. It's a fire hazard, but he was stupid."

"If you can't beat them, join them. Guess it's just become a bad habit now, after 17 years of it," he shrugs, eyeing the wine, "It's unfair to be discussing only my bad habits. What's your poison, Finch?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Recollecting the moment Finch nearly had him killed makes Damien smile as if it's a beloved memory.
The man is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. He must have been such a precocious child.

"Ah, so it's not just a media stereotype," Kaden confirms, satisfied. Seventeen years, that's awful.
"Or you like basic men."

With one last bite, Kaden's actually finishes two slices, almost without noticing.
"Let's see... " What constitutes as an unhealthy habit? He would say he overworks to avoid facing his real problems, but Damien's seen enough of that and Kaden thinks it's too obvious.

"When I feel awful about myself I dress up and have men and women flirt with me," he says, sitting back to cross one leg over the other.

"It never goes anywhere because I specifically like saying no. It's validating to know someone finds you attractive even though I know, logically, there's a short list of people and things people like that wouldn't sleep with."

People in bars will pair up in a dirty bathroom. It's not a flattering place to be picked up. Kaden knows that.

"And on the rare cases a man thinks he can force himself on me I get to hurt him," he says dryly, as if he doesn't get to be violent enough on a regular basis. Unfortunately, being six feet tall and muscular there aren't many men interested in picking a fight. Not unless they're exceptionally drunk.

"It's a reckless, stupid thing. I don't know why I do it."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Basic?" Damien mumbles, feeling a bit insulted at the notion that he has bad taste in men. Even though the truth of the matter is he's made several questionable choices over the years. Mostly questionable choices... but he's loathe to admit that.

Somehow, Kaden manages to beat him in that department as well.

The more the ex-cop listens, the more his eyebrows furrow in thought. He's leaning his chin on his hand at this point, having finished his meal, eyes focused on the consigliere.

He had anticipated something at least slightly more trivial. Overworking, micromanaging, and irregular sleep schedule.

This goes beyond a bad habit. It's a bad coping mechanism and Damien doesn't know what could have originated it, but he's taken aback that Kaden feels the need to seek out that type of attention, and in that way. Is it an ego boost he's looking for? Is it the act of being seen and desired itself? The way he speaks about hurting those men that cross a line makes Damien tilt his head.

"I'm not a psychologist, so I don't know exactly what that says about you, but it sure says something," he replies evenly after digesting the information as best as he can, "It sounds dangerous, though, as much as you're capable of fending for yourself. But if creeps get what's coming to them... then good."

After a moment of silence, he shifts back, crossing his arms.

"It does confirm that you're weirder than me."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Unprompted, Damien feels the need to analyze and diagnose Kaden's issues. Is everything the capo says going to illicit shock and judgement from the man? Kaden's attractive and it would be a waste of a body not to pamper it once in a while. That's not that weird. Finch doesn't want to bring biases into this, but if he was a woman he has to wonder if the hobby would be more socially acceptable.

An affronted gasp escapes his lips. How dare he.
"On the contrary, I behave exactly as my environment would suggest. Wight has a houseful of trees, and a bloody pool in the middle of it. I think Topher wanted to keep you as a living mannequin to dress. These people aren't just violent they're... Well, they're fucked in the head." And Kaden likes to think he's on the lower spectrum, but maybe that's being too generous.

"You're the unusual one. You've suffered and you're still... you." Whatever that implies. Kaden still doesn't have a bead on exactly who he is.
"You have friends, a potential future. You could still be domesticated."

Honestly, most Black Dogs are men who have been in and out of prison. But that's because that's who they are and the state doesn't care enough to actually put elbow grease into reforming them.
If a man wants to leave the life, he has to mentally leave it first and Kaden doesn't know if that's possible.

As of now, Damien has a foot in, if even that.

"This is a hypothetical, I don't intend to steal from you again and it doesn't benefit me in the slightest but..."
Kaden rubs gently at his chin with the edge of his thumb, catching on the begining scratch of facial hair.

"How much would it cost to buy Moore from you? Alive. I could set you up. You could forget about all this. Hypothetically."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"No," the response is instant, definitive, sharp.

Damien closes his eyes and scowls, not at Finch but at himself. He needs to temper his voice - this is not going to turn into another argument, not when it's the longest the two men have gone without bickering. It's just a theoretical question, he can answer it without getting riled you, as much as the memory of Genevieve escaping has him on edge. Is Kaden being honest, when he says he won't steal from him again?

"I don't care what or how much you offer me, I'm not giving up Moore. Not even hypothetically. Call him priceless if you want."

Thomas Moore is the one thing keeping Blumenthal going currently, a goal to aspire to reach. He doesn't have a future outside of that, like the capo had ridiculously suggested. And he doesn't have friends, not really - his only recent engagements have been with his well-meaning if anxious ex-colleague and her family, a handful of Black Dogs, and most of all Kaden. A lacking social life by all accounts, yet he's not striving to be a gregarious person.

He's not striving to be unusual either, and can't understand what's gotten the capo so convinced of that perception. The one weird thing he's done is agree to stay for dinner.

Finch doesn't know who this "you" the ex-convict is supposed to be is, yet he proclaims it anyway. Where is he finding the confidence, to say that the years haven't altered him? Damien is painfully aware of their effect - it's been a long time since he's recognized himself in the mirror.

"Domesticated? You mean like what we're both doing right now?" Damien gestures at the table, then shakes his head, "You still don't believe I'm up to this... What would I have to do to make you stop underestimating me, Kaden? Hypothetically."

After less than a second, he adds, "And don't say "kill someone" because I'll remind you you're the one that actively prevented me from doing so."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden doesn't have to wait long for Damien's reply. It's almost ironic to refer to Moore as priceless.

At the mere mention of the twisted man Damien becomes focused, determined. Cold.
It's not intimidating, not when Kaden does it better. Eating dinner is not domestic. Everything eats, or it dies. It's literally and metaphorically a dog-eat-dog world.

Kaden just likes eating his meal with a plate and utensils.

"Stab someone in the back, like I did," Kaden says, simply and empties his wine glass.
"I've never cared for that, 'killing a man changes you' rhetoric. True relentlessness isn't killing the target, it's the collateral you're willing to spend getting to the target. You become changed building up to taking a man's life. Murder is only the final nail in the coffin."

Revenge is a powerful motivator, however. The good in Damien's life was thrown away, but not by himself. It's hate that comes from grief. How does that change the equation? Could Damien already be like him?
Kaden can't be sure.

He only understands his own philosophy.

"You become the man who kills easily by killing the people who trust you a little at a time along the way. Like how you disappoint Natalie. I know you have the motivation, I'm just not sure you understand the price required. Hypothetically."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Sounds lonely," it's just a statement, an observation lacking any particular emotion. Except for a hint of familiarity.

Damien doesn't get to judge considering the position he finds himself in, but he's allowed to ruminate on Finch's insight. He is right - the act of killing itself isn't the mark of true relentlessness. There are much worse things one can do, including what he's talking about. Still, how many lives has the Black Dog taken to become desensitized to it? Because murder can't not change you. That's a delusion. From Damien's experience, it changes everyone involved, whether they want it to or not.

It's the reason he's doing what he's doing. The reason he keeps disappointing Natalia.

"And counterproductive. You'd just be surrounding yourself with people you don't trust, cause all the others are dead or gone. At that point you're opening yourself up to getting stabbed in the back in return," he's thinking out loud, not looking at Kaden but off to the side. He understands collateral, yet discarding the people that you rely on... When he's seemingly finished mulling things over, Damien turns back to the capo. His expression is serious, "I'll keep your words in mind."

The glasses are empty, as are the plates, signaling the end of this arrangement. Damien glances at his wristwatch - it's late.

"You've fed me, and I appreciate that. But I'll be going now," there's no should this time around.

He goes to rise and head for the door before stopping himself in his tracks. Several beats later, the ex-cop produces a small notepad and pen from his coat - he really needs to stop keeping so much shit in his pockets. Regardless, he scribbles something onto the paper before tearing it off and leaving it on the table.

"In case you need to reach me," he taps down on the written phone number. The two should have exchanged contacts the very day they made a deal instead of relying on uncertain meeting times. Aside from a mere convenience, however, this is also a promise to be back, "I don't use it for calls - phone tracking and all that - but ring and I'll get back to you as soon as I can on a burner."

His hand retreats. That's that.

With a small smile, Damien gives the consigliere a nod, "Good night, Kaden."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kaden gives the man the ticket to success and Damien says it's lonely.
Finch's gaze softens. It's so obvious, and yet he never thought of it like that before.

What he says next Kaden knows well. It's the way it is; loyalty is bought which means it can be just as easily sold.
Finch trusted one person. Now he might be alone.

And Damien leaves him with that. As well as his phone number. Having a more substantial tie to the man allows Kaden to loosen the tension in his jaw. He won't have to tell the door men to keep a lookout for Damien's scruffy ass all the time.

"Goodnight," he says, returning the nod.

As soon as he's gone, Kaden drops his head into his arm. Damn, if he isn't tired.

There's an odd silence in the apartment that isn't remedied by Pawl's mews as she rubs against his leg.
The unusual peace and loneliness after hosting lingers. There's dirty dishes to take care of, a table to sweep clean. It's all very anticlimactic.

Kaden produces his phone, but it's not to call Damien.

"He's leaving. Have him tailed." He taps the red button, sliding the cell aside.

Kaden does all of the dishes, knowing he could pay someone else to do it.
He likes everything done a certain way, placed in a certain way. Yes, he could tell someone how to micromanage his kitchen, but it wouldn't be worth the trouble. Not to him. He doesn't want anyone up here.

Before he leaves the dining area, he snakes the wine bottle and glass, fills it half way so he can pretend he's making good choices.

The laptop is where he left it, along side the stale cup of coffee and Ensure mix he's never touching again.

With a shaking hand, Kaden opens the laptops and finds the video he sent himself.
He takes a gulp of wine before clicking play.

---
The visuals rattle as Cade drops Jackie into the chair like a sack of dirt. The gangster pushes on Jack's chest, keeps him from toppling out long enough to buckle the leather straps in around his torso.
The restraints for the extremities aren't necessary.

The feed blips, skipping through the filler to the next segment of interest.
The passage of time is evident just by how pale and ghostly Jackie looks. Especially through a camera's lens, he looks dead.

As if to prove the decaying of his insides, Jackie vomits some of them up over his chin.
It's the same consistency as the bile Delilah had. It doesn't mean much by itself. His lips are pale, his skin clammy.
They are signs of an over dose, but they're also signs of a thousand other things.

"Here, lemme help," Cade's voice comes in tinny and muffled without a mic. The man uses his thumb to wipe Jackie's chin, whipping his hand to shake the mess off.

"It's ironic this is how you're dying. Sweaty and gross," Cade says, lifting Jackie's head to look at him.
"Can't be that bad though, right? You must be out of your mind right now."

Jackie groans, swallows. His eyes are rolling up. "Tell Markus... Tell..."

Cade squats, leans in. "Tell him what, Jack?"

The message is a fist in Cade's face. It doesn't have the power it did before, but it still knocks Cade over.

Jackie smiles, dumb with too many teeth. "Tell 'im half dead I still knocked you on your asshhs," he slurs.

Another jolt in the recording. Finch is on screen. It's weird to see one's self from a different perspective.
People have said Kaden's mechanical, especially when he's working. Not stiff, necessarily, but focused. Efficient.
He takes Jackie's temperature, checks where the needle breeched his skin, draws blood.

The uninitiated would have no reason to believe the dark haired man with the lifeless expression had any relationship with the one strapped to a chair.

"Took him about twenty-five minutes to die," Cade says, dropping Jackie's dead weight arm after checking for a pulse. The gangster rubs at his chin, looking ruffled and indignant.
"What did you give him?"

"The same thing Delilah got."

There's a stiffening in Cade's posture. He stares at Kaden for a second before making eye contact with the camera.
Looking at him again.

Finch taps the screen, pauses the video from playing.
Cade's frozen eyes are locked onto his. The way this camera works, his pupils are nearly white. It makes him look supernatural.

Finch draws a hand over his face. A cold sweat is prickling along his skin.

He clicks play.

The screen blips again.

The room is empty. Cade's gone, Kaden's gone.

The only thing remaining is the corpse.
It hangs in the chair, one strap keeping it from toppling out onto the floor.

The dark speck of a fly lands on a hand, crawling up and down the tempid wet meat.

The first thing to move is a finger. Just a pinky. Its a blink and you'll miss it moment, a trick of the camera, of the light.

Then a whole hand shifts, clenching into a fist. The fly buzzes away.
Jackie the corpse unbuckles the strap across his chest, tumbles from the chair few leave standing. His groaning, animal noises of relief are followed by him finding his fawn like feet.
The color's in his flesh, hair sweated glued to his skin.

For all accounts and purposes, he was dead.

Kaden slams the laptop shut, throws it into the couch. He takes his wine glass, drains it.

He's not dead anymore.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien is exhausted, but it's that strange, pleasant type of exhaustion after a day well spent. By all accounts, the afternoon has been a success. He got what he wanted, as long as the capo keeps his promises - both an entrance into the gala and a new weapon. In hindsight, the dinner wasn't that bad either. Kaden is a decent conversationalist when he isn't constantly playing at being a crime boss.

A car passes in front of Damien as he's waiting at a traffic light, and he catches a reflection in its windows.

The mirror man is smiling. A chill runs down Damien's spine, and it's not because of the cold weather.

This is wrong. The expression feels unearned, undeserved. A pang of deep guilt grips his being and he doesn't try to shake it off. He welcomes it. What the fuck has he been smiling so much about? Realistically, he has accomplished nothing thus far, and he needs to keep reminding himself of that lest he become complacent - the thought that he could still be "domesticated" is not a comforting one.

Damien's lips tighten into a line. He hopes this sudden change in demeanor wasn't obvious enough for the figure tailing him to spot.

Green light flashes across the dark asphalt, beckoning the few pedestrians on the side of the road to go, keeping the flow of the city moving. Damien lights a cigarette as he steps onto the crosswalk.

The ex-convict doesn't have many resources at his disposal, but he's gone to painstaking lengths to keep a low profile after getting out of prison - regularly switching burners, only paying for things in cash, and not alerting any family or prior friends of his release, Montesano being the one unavoidable exception. Peering at this individual out of the corner of his eye, he's not someone the ex-cop recognizes (thankfully) and he highly doubts he has police affiliations. No, the man following him since he left the Black Dogs' building could have been sent by only one person - Finch.

Damien walks casually, not diverting from his usual route. It's not surprising that the consigliere would have him tailed. What is surprising is that he would do it tonight, after Damien willingly handed over a way to keep an eye on him. The ex-convict has nothing to hide, if only he were asked, but this type of surveillance... he'll fight it out of sheer spite.

Some kind of storefront comes into view, and Damien quickly takes the opportunity to duck inside. It's a 24/7 convenience place, yet the interior is completely different from his usual bodega of choice - here it's cleaner, better stocked. The cashier is also completely different from the usual dead-eyed teenager that reeks of weed.

"Good evening," she's young - that's the sole similarity - probably a relatively new hire given how she's not yet gotten tired of the pleasantries of retail service. The greeting is even said with a smile.

Damien doesn't pay her much attention, though, waiting to see if his tail will follow inside.

A noise abruptly disrupts his focus - the girl clears her throat, appearing slightly sheepish after her address was not returned, "Um, you can't smoke in here."

"Hm?" the ex-cop hums absentmindedly, before remembering the cigarette held between his teeth. He holds it out in his hand, yet elects not to put it out, "Oh, sorry. I won't be long."

That's a lie. Damien is walking through the low aisles for a while, cancer stick burning down to a stub. He's not really looking at the things on offer, instead remaining alert of the front entrance. No one comes in. A pair of ever-staring eyes are making it difficult to concentrate.

"Do you need any help, sir?" the cashier's voice comes through again, still sheepish and now a smidge anxious.

Damien frowns, picking out something at random and heading for the register. He misses the indifference of the bodega. However, the girl is evidently relieved to check this odd man out and have him get out of her hair. On his part, he is displeased at the cost of the chance item he'd grabbed - of all things, it's wine. That's what he clutches in his hand as he exits back onto the streets.

The Black Dog's pursuit resumes. Of course the man hasn't left. Damien considers turning around several times and smashing the bottle over the guy's head, but he doesn't deserve it for simply following orders. No, he has another idea of how to lose him.

---

For once the subway seems to be running on time, most likely because of the less busy late hour. Not as late as last time, given that there are a fair number of people around, which makes it easier for Damien's tail to remain inconspicuous. He's standing some ways away from the ex-cop, lining up to enter into a separate door on the train, yet still within the same cart. The rattling of metal foretells the approach of the train long before it comes in sight, arriving with a howl through the underground tunnels like some living beast. It sends a gust of wind as it comes to a stop, screeching against the railway underneath.

The doors of the machine hissing open signals for its passengers to surge forward. Bodies brush against bodies to get in or out, yet it's nowhere near as bad as rush hour. Both men make it inside without issue. Damien has his arms crossed, leaning against one of the metal poles, pretending not to have noticed the gangster following him. He hasn't looked at him directly so far.

He doesn't look at him until the very second before the cart doors begin to close. That's when, with a rapid movement, the ex-convict barely slips out of the train.

The Black Dog scrambles to follow, but it's already too late. What a genuinely stupid trick to pull. But when it works, it works.

Damien maintains eye contact with the man on the other side of the door the entire time the subway is departing the platform, piercing through this nameless underling. The glare is not meant for him, though. It's for his boss. Damien hopes that's obvious to get.

---

The low visibility from earlier in the day has not cleared, yet here on ground level it's easy to surmise that the clouds seen from above are not clouds - they're mostly smog from the city. The streets are misty and wet and cold, cigarette smoke indistinguishable from the surrounding vapor. Damien's footsteps resound at a rapid pace as he walks.

To call him peeved would be appropriate, if mild. He keeps trying to bend over backward to work with Kaden, to have a semblance of a civil relationship despite everything he's already done. Yet each and every time his attempts get spat back in his face. It's a disgusting gesture he's more than familiar with, both metaphorically and literally. It's insulting.

"What a way to end the evening," he scoffs.

By the strange look a solitary passerby gives him, Damien had unintentionally said that out loud. He rubs at his eyes - with his ill-fitting trenchcoat and the paper bag obviously containing alcohol, even if unopened, he must look like some drunk wasted off his ass, spouting nonsense.

The exhaustion from earlier has been replaced by a buzzing irritation. He'll go jogging tonight, disappear into the fog for a bit.

But first, he has to make his way home. On foot.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

---

The ceiling of the motel has water damage. It's mottled black and orange in one spot, where the bathroom of the room above must be.

It's a far drop from a five star hotel, but such a residency is too high profile.

Dee slaps the back of the naked body beside her, prompting the man to jerk. He lifts his head, the glitter that was on his bronze skin now thoroughly rubbed into her pillow.

Getting an escort isn't attractive when a man does it, as a women its downright disgusting.
It didn't feel downright disgusting though, not at the time. She's mid-fifties, it's a use it or lose it type situation at this point and she's going to use it.

"Out you go," she says, and can't find the heart to wince. Let out the room like a dog that needs to go piddles.
"Tip's on the dresser," she adds, to smooth it over.

She lights cigarette as the man hastily dresses, heading to the door.
No pillow talk, no nothing. It's just as well, she's got shit all to say.

No, she pulls the tablet from her night bag.

It's a shock the ragdoll has found the camera first, the lens smudged from its nose and blurring out half of the living room. Although, her deputy always did have a false sense of comfort when it comes to his living space, not noticing a hidden camera for this long is surprising.
It's such a little Oasis he never lets anyone up there. No one but Cade and a man Dee doesn't recognize.

He's not there, not right now. Neither is Finch.

There's no camera in the bedroom. She's an evil sonuvabitch, but she's not that sick. Finch has a right to his privacy, a right to finally sleep easy.

He drained half the bottle before going to bed. The kid who's hardly done weed, almost got intoxicated.

Using a thumb she scrolls back through the timeline.
Finch gripping the wrists of the stranger in his home.

The phone call comes exactly on time. Punctual bastards.
Dee let's them stew for a while, mostly because she can't be bothered to move.

At three cycles of vibrations she holds out her hand and catches the burner before it falls off the end table.

"Yeah?" Her voice is gruffer than she means it to be, from smoke and disuse.

The voice on the other end is posh, refined with false friendliness. It's like talking to customer service.

"There was always a possibility it wouldn't work," she mutters, dragging the smoke into her lungs. "He's the only man in the world who asks questions first."

She abandons the warmth of the bed for the long black case in the corner of the room. Holding the stick between her lips, she snaps the buckles holding the case closed free.
The rifle rests inside, cozied up in foam.

"No, I said I'd do this, I'm gonna do it." Fuck them trying to get another outside hire. They never do the dirty work themselves, ever.

"It's a civilian event or nothing." Dee pinches the phone between an ear and a shoulder so she can pull the beauty free. It's half assembled, broken into pieces so it can fit.
It's cold and heavy in her hands, reliable.
"The Nakurra and Black Dogs don't usually meet in person otherwise."

There's a long pause on the other side. It's a line she hasn't seen them cross, not yet. Heaven forbid.

Reluctantly, they give the all clear.

"I'll be there."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Damien enjoyed jogging once, but his lungs just aren't what they used to be. It's not like he's out of shape - one of the few hobbies a person can cultivate in prison is exercising - but being a habitual smoker for 17 years eventually comes back to bite you in the ass as the ex-convict is made painfully aware by his labored breathing. Each inhalation of the cold November air is faintly painful, the sensation exacerbated by aching, oxygen-starved muscles. Damn. He used to have more stamina. Still, the distance he managed to cover is markedly better than the evening after his dinner with Finch.

Then he ran because he needed an outlet for the irritation threatening to keep him awake all night, but the last few days he's been jogging for the simple act of keeping in motion. It's good not to be stuck in place, waiting around like some helpless animal. It gives the illusion of moving forward towards some type of goal, though occasionally Damien feels like he's more so running away from something - a dark shape keeping pace yet never quite reaching him, nipping its teeth at the back of his heels.

He sighs, wondering if other people get as sick of their own thoughts as he does.

Damien's musings are cut short when a car horn blares right next to him, causing him to nearly jump.

"Earth to Blumenthal! Have you gone deaf or something?" where the loud honk had failed, the voice succeeds at causing him to jump out of his skin.

Natalia leans partially out of the driver-side window of her Kia, parked on the road right next to where Damien had stopped to take a brief rest. The policewoman's eyes pass over him in inspection, before she nods her head approvingly at the fact he's been sweating, "You weren't home when I checked. It's a good thing I'm catching you here."

Damien bristles, swallowing before at last finding an indignant enough voice with which to reply, "What? You stalking me as well now?"

"As well?" Nat's expression instantly shifts to one of concern.

He shouldn't have said that. Especially not with that tone. She of all people doesn't deserve to get lip from Damien.

"Forget it," he flicks his hand dismissively, walking over to the car and leaning down to peek his head inside, speaking in a rushed whisper, "You know it's bad to meet up in person this often. What do you want, Nat? Why didn't you call me?"

"You're staying over for Thanksgiving."

Not this again. Natalia had invited him - she'd tried several times actually, only to be turned down each and every one of them. Damien came over for dinner recently, which should have been enough to mollify her.

"I already said no."

"This isn't optional," she's being deadly serious as she kicks open the passenger door. Damien recognizes the spark in Montesano's eyes - she's a woman on a mission, as silly as said mission might be, "Now, get in before I arrest you."

So she's kidnapping him, then.

---

The first thing Natalia did when Damien entered the house was hand him some new clothes. The second was to sent him up to take a shower. Supposedly, the outfit is a "Thanksgiving gift". It's nice, warm, definitely better fitting. Makes him feel bad he hasn't gotten the Montesano household anything in return.

The bloodhound at his feet yips, tail wagging as it sits down expecting food. He doubts it would find the raw potatoes he's peeling that tasty, but the puppy asks for them anyway. In spite of Droopy's awfully charming wet eyes, he doesn't relent. The twins already snuck some morsels down to their pet, which is why Natalia had to extricate the boys from the kitchen. Damien himself is guilty of the same crime - she simply hadn't caught him.

"Thanks for the help," Kim finds the time to speak up despite being in the midst of multitasking several dishes.

Originally, Nat had volunteered herself, her kids, and Blumenthal for aid, yet that was just a formality. Her husband always has been the one to deal with food preparation by himself, and never has this been more apparent than now when only Damien and Sujin remain. It doesn't seem to bother Kim - he menouvers around the kitchen with lightness and familiarity, evidently enjoying the process. There's a military efficiency to his movements, which makes sense considering he used to be in the military. It reminds Damien of Finch.

"Of course," the ex-cop nods.

He'd been given specific, if rudimentary instructions and was sticking to them. The same is technically true for Sujin, though they've more or less abandoned their assigned task, glued to their phone for the last 10 minutes. Kim notices that as well. With a smile on his face, he says something in Korean, and whatever that might have been it causes the kid to splutter in embarrassment before quickly standing up to leave. The chuckle from their father only makes them pick up the pace.

"Lots of excitement around these parts. They have a date," Kim supplies in explanation after a moment, emphasizing the last word through a still-present smile. That same beaming expression is tinted with just a hint of worry as he looks at the ex-cop, "And how have you been doing, Damien?"

There's that tone of pity - similar to how Montesano doesn't know the full extent of what the ex-cop is doing yet is aware of his investigation, Kim knows that his wife's friend is involved in something dangerous and the mere idea worries him. They're one of those couples, the ones that struggle to keep secrets from each other.

"I've been doing fine," Damien shoots back, expression indifferent as the next peel he takes off digs into the potato a little too deep. He has to hear that same question every time he comes to visit, and though he knows Kim means well it gets annoying returning the same empty answer constantly. The ex-cop's hands pause for several seconds, "Actually, I'm going to a black-tie event."

Kim's eyes go wide at that piece of information, but before he can manage any follow-up questions the doorbell rings. What great timing. Damien intends to take full advantage of it.

"I'll get it."

Droopy follows him on his way to the front door, up until several paces from the entryway where the dog plops down, curious about who might be on the other side. The Montesanos aren't really expecting further guests. It could be a neighbor, or maybe an overly eager solicitor crazy enough to work on a holiday. Regardless, it matters little to Damien as he opens the door.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced. I was just in the area and thought, "I haven't seen Natalia in so long, it would be good to visit". I even got you-" the woman, who had been rifling through her purse, finally turns her gaze to the person that answered her ringing.

Shocked grey eyes meet equally shocked grey eyes.

Eli. Sure, she's wearing heels and a blazer, her hair is straightened and dyed a shade too dark, and she looks older, nothing like the 19-year-old the ex-convict saw last, but it's still undoubtedly Eleonora. One would expect an older brother to be happy to see his little sister, but the strongest emotion coursing through Damien's bloodstream at the moment is horror, and the feeling appears to be mutual.

The woman is stunned, arm hallway to producing what's most likely a gift, before she shoves the package back into her bag and turns around to make her escape. Damien grabs at her arm as she's trying to flee.

"Eli-"

"Let go!" she jerks away, as if his grip is unbearable, a hot iron searing her flesh.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she spits out, glaring at the man, "Didn't know you were out."

She would have known if she ever came to visit. Barred from leaving as she is now, Damien finally gets a good look at his sister. She's aged, though a lot more gracefully than him. Dressed nicely, professionally - not anywhere near as expensive as the capo, but her outfit is high quality. There's a car parked out front beside the Kia - a sleek Lexus.

"You seem to be doing well for yourself. What do you work?"

Eli's grimace hasn't relented, but neither has Damien's hold on her. In a bid that maybe answering him will make this conversation end faster, she speaks through gritted teeth, "I'm a lawyer."

Ah, of course. That's what their parents had wanted for both of their children. Damien hadn't followed in their path, and he never would have expected his sister to either, yet the proof to the contrary is staring him back, angry and revolted.

"So you're working with mom and dad?"

"They closed the firm, Damien."

"What? Did they finally get a divorce?"

"You're disgusting."

So they did. After years of holding onto a fundamentally broken marriage for the sake of appearances, parading their children about like they were the perfect model family, the two had called it quits, but not before pitting the siblings against each other. Long before Damien was put in prison. The two used to have a great relationship once. Maybe on some level, they still care for one another.

"You got the chance to be the favorite child and shit still fell apart, huh?"

Damien doesn't feel the open palm connect with the side of his face, but he hears it. It's not enough to sting that much, not physically, but it is enough for the ex-cop to release Eleonora. She's already in her car by the time Natalia runs out of the house, trying to piece together what caused the commotion. Her numerous questions don't reach Damien.

He won't be staying for dinner.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

---

It's nice, in the way suburban homes are nice. Kaden had a hell of a time finding the place, with every house on the block a disturbing duplicate of the one beside it. The only distinguishing feature are the people who've put up garish decorations and those who haven't.
Still, he can't understand the appeal of knowing exactly what the interior of a neighbor's house looks like. If they want to break in, they know exactly where and how to do it.

In a way, he's avoiding his true responsibilities by being here. If Damien flakes, then that's the way it is. It's no skin off Kaden's nose, aside from an expensive suit that will never see proper use.
In fact, it's probably better for the man and everyone involved.
But Damien isn't answering the phone (the one he said he'd answer), so here Kaden is on the front steps of a little family to bother a woman that is twice as intimidating as she should be.

He's Fleischer the P.I.

Finch straightens his jacket and pushes the doorbell.

Would Fleischer answer the door with hello, or good afternoon? Hello is friendly, but good afternoon is definitely more suave. Should he go for suave? Does that work for middle class families?
Hello is something a chatty doll says, but good afternoon is a solicitor greeting.

The door opens unexpectedly to a man Kaden doesn't recognize. Natalia's husband, most likely.
Of course this fearsome woman has a stay in home husband. Finch likes her even more now.

"I'm looking for Damien." Fleischer apparently skips introductions all together. Finch clears his throat, shifts his weight.
He has no leeway here, no leverage. He's a regular man, with a nine to five. How does anyone live like this?

"We were supposed to work a case today. He's not where he should be. I thought Natalia might know," he explains, when he's just used to saying what he wants and getting it without explanation.
Should he say please? Is that necessary for something like this?

If Damien had just let himself be tailed Kaden wouldn't have to do this. When he finds the man he's going to give him real reason to hide.

"I have the Montesano home, right?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

When Kim opened the door, he didn't know what to think of the unfamiliar, well-dressed man standing on the other side, except for the fact that he's rather direct. The veteran forms his mouth to speak several times, yet gives up on each occasion as the stranger keeps talking. Very to-the-point - no introductions, no nothing. Guess the matter he's addressing calls for some bluntness, though. Kim squares his shoulders, straightening out his back to meet the visitor almost at eye level.

"One moment, please," the man could have probably done without that remark, as Kim merely takes one step back inside the house to call out, "Nat, someone's looking for you!"

He turns back a second later with a strained smile.

"Yes, you got it right. This is the Montesano residence," he scratches the side of his bearded face in a subconscious gesture of worry, "You say you can't find Damien?"

Before Kim can get confirmation of the thing he was already clearly told, the veteran is interrupted by the sound of footsteps and barking approaching from the inside. Natalia rounds the corner - she's dressed in her police uniform, obviously just gearing up to leave for work. Droopy is keeping pace with her, clawed paws pitter-pattering against the wooden floor. The bloodhound stops in its tracks as it notices Kaden, tilting its head to the side with a flop of its ears.

Natalia nearly stops as well, but eventually elects to cautiously make her way next to Kim at the threshold, "What's this about?"

"Damien's not where he should be," her husband supplies, "Apparently he and this gentleman-"

"Fleischer," Natalia cuts in, then raises her eyebrows when the name doesn't immediately connect, "You know... The P.I.?"

"Oh," Kim suddenly remembers, eyeing "Fleischer" with newfound second-hand recognition, "Well, apparently the two had work to work a case today and he's not where he should be."

Natalia places her hands on her hips, lips twisting, "That doesn't sound like him. He's probably still moody because of yesterday, but he wouldn't skip work. Where should he be, Fleischer? And why are you here to ask where to find him?"

Her eyes narrow at Kaden, "Better yet, how did you get this address?"

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Kim has outstanding manners given the situation.
It's Natalia that asks the questions. She's protective of Damien and suspicious, and Kaden can respect that. As much as it irritates him.

Moody from yesterday? What happened yesterday?

If he lets slip Damien's lack of communication, there's a possibility she'll call off work to find the man herself. Kaden doesn't want the company.

"...Damien gave me your address. If I ever needed your help. I need help finding him. He's my temporary... partner, I can't move forward without him," Kaden finished lamely. That's semi believable, isn't it? Imagine Mr Blumenthal giving Natalia's address and not his own.

They have a dog. A puppy. Kaden squints and, yes... It's a bloodhound. It's too young to be saggy, just a young eager pup.

Kaden crosses his arms over his chest, aware the body language makes him look defensive. Whatever, if he wants to cross his arms he'll cross his arms. It's probably a P.I thing to do.
They're always miserable and defensive, aren't they?

"...What happened to make him..." Finch's eyes dart from face to face.
"Moody?"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Natalia furrows her brows at the man's explanation, hanging onto his every word. Her eyes are still suspicious, narrowing even further when he calls Damien his "partner".

When she doesn't immediately answer his question, Kim speaks up instead to break the silence, "He had a bit of an altercation with his sister."

That earns him a pointed glance from his wife, before she relents and sighs in defeat, "I don't know how much he's told you, but he has a... pretty bad relationship with his family. Yesterday his sister came around unexpectedly when he was over for Thanksgiving. Regardless, that whole mess is his story to tell, not ours."

Even if they wanted to, the Montesanos don't know everything, not even about the recent scuffle. Eli refuses to elaborate when the policewoman contacts her, and Damien has outright not picked up the four or so calls Nat attempted before she decided it was best to leave him alone. That was back when she didn't know he had a prior, work-related arrangement, when she assumed he simply needed time away from everything.

"I'll help you," her voice is decisive, "What do you need? Have you gone to his apartment yet?"

The mention of the ex-cop's home makes Kim perk up, "If you're going there, can you give me a moment? I have something to pass along."

He doesn't wait for permission before striding back inside, leaving Nat, Kaden, and the dog alone.

"So," the policewoman starts in the relative privacy they have been afforded, "What kind of cases do you usually take on, Fleischer? To earn enough to afford that car."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Finch feels the frown drop the subtle friendly smile from his face. Damien has a sister. Does he have any other siblings? A family pet? What does his family home look like? Where did he go to school?

He nods at Kim, but the man's already hurried away.

And then he's alone with She-lock Holmes. If she's trying to hide her cynicism, she's doing a terrible job.

Kaden half turns to look at his incriminating Mercedes, still running to keep the interior warm.

"You'd be surprised how many rich women want to keep an eye on their husbands while they travel abroad," he says, and surprises himself with the answer. He only has the basic sense of what a P.I does, but that seems reasonable.
"Lots of businessmen in New York."

Less is more when you tell a lie, Kaden knows that. It doesn't prevent playing the part of Fleischer is a little exhilarating.

"I just need his address. He has some files with him and if he's not up to working, at least I can grab those." He's convincing himself he's an investigator.
But ultimately, he isn't and can never be.

Kim is taking his time so Kaden fills the silence.

"His family doesn't believe his innocence?" He asks, tilting his head. If that's the case, Kaden understands why Damien feels he can't be domesticated. There's no one left to be tamed for, except for Natalia and she has her own family to care for.
"Pardon me, but do they..." How does be explain something that doesn't make sense to himself.

"The man could hardly hurt a fly, much less someone he likes. Are they stupid? He's their blood." He says with acid Natalia doesn't deserve.
He clears his throat, taking his gained step back.

"I'm only curious."

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Rich women, you say?" it's not a question, it's a confirmation. "Fleischer's" answer makes sense and Natalia accepts it for what it is. Though it doesn't remove all of her trepidations, it's a step in the right direction.

What Kaden says next is as well, the woman's gaze softening at the mention of Damien. She gives the P.I. another once-over at the way he speaks, more so filled with curiosity than with suspicion.

"Trust me, I know he couldn't hurt a fly," she says that with full conviction.

As is the case with the true identity of Fleischer, Damien's plans for revenge are something Natalia has not been made privy to - as far as she's concerned, the ex-cop is out here trying to get justice for Michael and himself by exposing the people that ruined their lives. Crime she can imagine him being capable of, but not murder. Not anymore, at least.

"The case against him was very convincing. It had me fooled as well, at first," the sergeant rubs her forearm in a show of regret, "Things fall apart if you actually listen to him, though. His family, they're... stupid, but not in that way. Keeping up appearances means a lot to them. Deep down they must know, yet they willfully won't listen to Damien, cause of the "humiliation" that comes from associating with a person like that."

Natalia puts air quotes around the word humiliation. It's not a sentiment she agrees with, obviously.

Kim makes his appearance once more, carrying a Tupperware container stuffed with as many leftovers as he could fit in it.

"Please give this to him," he extends his arm toward Kaden, and as soon as the P.I. meets the gesture, the realization that he didn't introduce himself comes over the veteran.

"Ah, I'm Kim Montesano. It's good to meet you," since the plastic already connects the two men, he shakes it up and down in lieu of an actual handshake, "I really hope Damien is okay."

"You better make sure he is okay," Natalia chimes in. If she finds it odd that Blumenthal hasn't given Fleischer his address, she doesn't bring it up, "He lives on 133 Avenue D, in Loisaida. Third floor, apartment 4."

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Finch has to willfully force himself from grinding his teeth as Natalia fills him in on the Blumenthal family.
He can't articulate why, but the information irks him like nothing else.

He has to force his grimace away when Kim returns. The man has a kind face, complimented by his selfless sharing of homemade goods. It's amusing to think they got a dog when Kim already possesses golden retriever energy.
They don't know who Kaden is, there's no fear or need to ingratiate themselves to him. They're just... Nice people.

"Thank you. Goodbye." He gives a curt nod to each of them before turning away.

It's an odd feeling knowing he's walking in the same space Damien's sister did. What words did she use to crush him? Did she know what she was doing?

"Happy belated Thanksgiving," he adds.

---
The suburbs were charming in their own way. The white picket fences have a way of disarming a person's sense of safety.

Damien's complex does not.

The temperature on each level of the apartment building fluctuates and when he touched something sticky on the handrail he decided it was best not to touch anything else in the building.
It's generous to say the faint yellowing of the hallway is artistic design and not a mixture of grime and age.

The overwhelmingly welcome atmosphere is not helped by a scruffy looking neighbor that's summoned by Kaden's repeated ignored knocks on Damien's door.
The woman yaks something about needing to sleep and Kaden sends her a withering glare. He's in no mood for trifling matters, not when Damien isn't answering.
The woman gives him the finger before slinking back into her own apartment.

Everyone's testing him today.

Damien's door is of poor quality. The material is that flimsy wood, but not actually wood material. Running a finger past the hinges comes away with rust.
How bad was the interaction with his sister? What's waiting behind this door? Why won't Damien answer?

Kaden is considering the merits of kicking the door down when it opens.

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

"Happy belated Thanksgiving!" Kim calls out as the P.I. steps back into his expensive car.

The Montesanos watch the vehicle depart and drive the length of their street before it finally takes a turn to disappear out of sight.

Kim glances at Natalia, taking in her thoughtful expression, "Well, he seemed nice."

---

Damien should have gotten wasted last evening.

Instead, he held onto the false hope he'd be able to sleep, torturing himself for hours as his eyes stared up at the featureless ceiling.

Featureless. That's a good word to describe the apartment - it's completely blank, devoid of any meaningful objects to showcase an attachment on the side of the person occupying it. It's more or less in the same "clean" state Blumenthal found it when he originally moved in, or at least as clean as a space within this type of building can be, grime stuck too deep in its cracks to ever scrub out. That doesn't matter, though. This apartment is a container with food and basic utilities - nothing more, nothing less, and there's comfort in that. It's kind of similar to a cell.

The feeling of being locked away, which he'd detested so much back in prison, is grounding for Damien at this moment. It lets him pretend that the outside world doesn't exist for a while. Not as convincingly as a cloud cover viewed from up high in a penthouse, but he'll take what he can get.

New York is a big place, impressively so, and a part of the ex-convict had managed to fool himself into believing that in its hubbub he would never find nor be found by the people from his past. How delusional. What did he expect? Sure, working alongside Kaden has been a great way to keep focused, yet the moment he stepped over into the normalcy of everyday existence, he got slapped in the face with the fact that he doesn't belong there. There's a phantom sting left in his cheek.

Damien grimaces, taking a swig from the bottle of wine he'd accidentally purchased - he's thinking too much again, and that can't stand. The alcohol goes a long way to quiet his mind, yet that doesn't mean the act doesn't feel wrong. There's something especially undignified about day drinking. And alone, of all things.

Yeah, he definitely should have gotten wasted last evening. If he hadn't been so stubborn, he would be mercifully passed out by now, sleeping.

Or maybe not. An insistent knocking has been coming from the front door for the last few minutes, and a hungover Damien probably would have found the noise even more grating than his drunk self. There are a lot of things the ex-convict can ignore and has already ignored since yesterday - music blaring from the building across the street, a bed creaking in rhythm from the floor above, the ringing of his phone he'd put on silent after Natalia's third call.

However, this knocking is different, demanding to be heard.

Damien swears under his breath, standing up with some effort. The room is spinning. He nearly loses his balance, yet manages to catch himself on the wall - that's one good thing about the apartment being so claustrophobic, he can easily find purchase on his way to the door. The knocking gets louder and louder as he approaches, threatening to give him a headache. Who the fuck could be looking for him?

Not remembering what happened last time he answered before checking who was on the other side, Damien opens the door. The glare from the hallway light contrasted with the darkness of the shuttered apartment hurts his already blurry sight. It takes him a moment to realize whose face stares back at him. It's no one good.

"Kaden?" Damien's eyes widen.

This is almost as bad as unexpectedly bumping into his little sister.

Finch can't see him, not drunk and sad as he is now. He might have witnessed the consigliere in his own state of neglect, but this is different - Kaden is the man Damien is desperately trying to convince he has what it takes to make good on his intentions. Right now not only does he lack relentlessness, he also lacks any and all amount of self-control. A sober Damien would have insisted he doesn't actually care for Finch's opinion or approval, but he's too drunk to lie to himself. Too drunk to lie to anyone.

This is dangerous.

Despite his limbs feeling way too sluggish, Damien puts all his will behind trying to slam the door shut in Kaden's face.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Deja Vu.
That phrase comes to mind as Damien answers the door just to try and slam it shut on him. Oh, it's one thing to give the Butcher the cold shoulder, it's another thing to give him a door in the face. Kaden politely sets the leftovers down so he can go to work on this man.

Unfortunately for the ex-convict, this is far from the first time Kaden's broken into someone's apartment. And he is breaking in, make no mistake. He's been tested enough today.

A foot lodged in the door keeps it from closing. Ramming his shoulder into it pops it open. There's a momentum to breaking and entering, muscle memory almost.
Kaden doesn't hit Damien, but he does grab the man and slam him into the nearest wall.

He has no fresh bruises. With Kaden's hands gloved he's able to check Damien's wrists - they're still marked but there's nothing else there, nothing concerning.
Kaden grips Damien's chin so he can look at his eyes. They're not necessarily clear, but they're not blown wide by opioid use either. It is difficult with the lighting as it is though. It's a wolf den in here; dark and musty.

The results of his search bring him mixed feelings. The bottle implies the world's strongest alcohol abstaining man is drunk.

"Who do you think I am?" he growls between his teeth.
"Are you under the impression I'm at your beck and call? You can come to my doorstep and ask me for whatever you like and afterwards you get to pretend I don't exist? You said you'd answer and you didn't, Damien."

He told this man things he's never told anyone and he ghosted him. Worse than that, he's gotten himself into trouble.
He stinks of booze, and cigarette smoke, but the whole place stinks so bad it's difficult to determine if it's Damien or not.

"I thought you were-" His grip on Damien falters then goes tense.
"I didn't know if something had happened to you!"

 

[dreaming enthusiast]

Of course that didn't work. Denying Finch entry does little to deter him - the Black Dog forces his way into the apartment with practiced ease, and before Damien can even think about hiding, his back hits the wall with a thud. In the daze of inebriation, the ex-cop feels little pain, but his breath still leaves him at the motion. The only thing keeping him from slumping down onto the floor is Finch's own grip. Regardless, Damien tries to escape. He latches onto Kaden's arm in a desperate bid to make him let go, yet he doesn't have the strength to contest the capo's unabating hold, not presently.

This is awful. Is this how Eli felt?

Damien wants to look away, yet with his chin locked in place, he is stuck under Kaden's unbearable, scrutinizing glare. The most he can do is look off out of the corner of his eye, further into the darkness of his living space - he doesn't want to face whatever emotion might be written on Finch's expression. Is it disappointment or disgust, or both?

If possible, he draws even further back into the wall when Kaden starts talking.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't know you were calling. The phone's on silent, and I don't even know where it is anymore," maybe it's buried somewhere under his sheets, maybe he left it on the table. Damien genuinely can't remember.

So, what? This whole situation could have been avoided if he simply hadn't discarded the device? What little of his mind is currently capable of reasoning tells him he doesn't need to explain himself, he deserves his privacy, yet it's suppressed by a heavy sense of guilt - not only is this unprofessional, but it's true he'd promised Kaden he'd answer. There are laughably few people that would reach out to the ex-convict, and even fewer that would check up on him.

"I'm fine," Damien surprises himself with that attempt at a lie, as unsuccessful as it might be. He sighs, "I'll be fine, I just need a moment."

That reasoning part of the ex-cop's mind nags at him once again, and he finally chances a look at Kaden, like he's taking in the man's presence for the first time.

"How did you know where to find me? Did you have me tailed again?" there's way too much betrayal and way too little anger in his voice, "Why did you even do that, Kaden? I thought-" He has to clamp down his jaw to stop himself from talking.

 

[SquigglyWiggly]

Damien's struggles are laughable, but Kaden's not smiling. The man won't look at him. It's polar opposite to his usual behavior when backed into a corner.
"That phone doesn't go on silent and stays on your person until after a call has been made informing me our business is finished," he says, trying to keep a level voice.
He releases Damien's face, but otherwise keeps him pinned. Why won't he look at him? Is Kaden so beneath him he can't even give him so little as momentary eye contact?

"There's no such thing as boundaries in this relationship. If I want you, I'll take you. If I want you dead, I'll have that too. I can have anything I fucking want, understand?"

Kaden's scowl softens. He's more or less holding Damien up, rather than keeping him trapped. This man isn't snarling back at him. In fact, he looks like he wants to shrink away. But it isn't fear necessarily. No, Damien's never been afraid of him. Even when he arguably should be.
Whatever his sister said, Finch is aware he may be repeating it. Or a bastardized version of it so it can attack Damien in a different place yet to be wounded.

When the man finally looks at him it's with a vulnerability Kaden's never seen on his face, not even at the Siren's mansion. It's directed at him, as if Kaden is somehow responsible for this.

"Montesano told me," he says, looking away to peer into the dim lit cave Damien calls home. If you can call it a home. From what he can see it doesn't have half of the decor Natalia's house does and Kaden didn't even go inside.

He looks back at Damien, holding him still.

"She said you left last night before dinner."

He's still angry at Damien, he is. He's angry at everything.

"And that your sister was there. What did she say? Did she hurt you?"