Cesare had made a royal mess of things. He'd gotten close, and it scared him. For days he'd been roaming around outside Chicago in a half-drunken stupor. The guys were having trouble getting in touch with him, and he was sure there wasn't going to be an office waiting for him when he returned... probably better that way. He took a long drag from his cigarette, hair matted from sleepless nights. He leaned up against his car. What did he want? For so long it had seemed such an easy question to answer. Life and luck had sort of just given him everything he thought he would ever need. Now, here he was, outside of everything through no fault but his own. What was it that made him wander so far away from where he belonged?

The cool breeze came from the direction of the city and caressed his face. Then he heard them, distant at first, but ever more distinct. Gunshots. His heart pounded in a steady firm rhythm. He thought of her, and then he knew. The engine turned under the hood as he twisted the key. That rage.

The scenes of Chicago whipped past him as he drove back down his familiar roads in the Loop towards the headquarters. He squealed the tires stopping in front of the building, and stepped out in view of some curious looks from some guards nearby. Inside the HQ was a rush, and some of the guys tried to stop him and ask questions, "Cesare, where've you been?" "Have you heard what's happening?" but he didn't hear them, he was moving, driven by some supernatural focus towards that door. Behind that door was the beginning and the end of everything.

Behind that door labeled "Nikki Swango"...

Two days of no sleep, cigarettes, coffee, and gunpowder. She was an unshowered mess, hair pulled back in a messy knot and the blood of her late Right Hand plastered across her trousers in a hideous canvas of bloody artwork. Death and allegations were her new best friends.

Not for the first time, her mind lost focus and again went to Cesare. She'd pushed him away, expected too much, fucked up again. Hed been the brunt of every bad moment she'd had since taking control of the crew. Her only consolation now was that he was far away, elsewhere. Not dead. 

A knock at th​​​​​​e door, who the fuck bothered with that shit anymore? She'd let the crew slip into a casual comfort...probably lost respect that way, but she was just one of them, after all. They were the only family she had. ALL she had. 

She moved to the door as she lit another cigarette, and nearly dropped it down her blouse when she saw who stood there.

He looked up and saw her eyes first, and his heart sank. There was sorrow, like some unwelcome tenant, living just behind the brown of her eyes. He hated himself for it. It was living where he'd once been. There was blood on her shirt and the all-to-familiar scent of cigarettes in the air. She opened her mouth a bit to speak, but he rushed into the room past her before words could come out. He paced forwards towards the desk and placed the palms of both his hands on it. Words. He needed them and they always fled at the most inopportune moments.

What could he say anyway? "I'm sorry? I'm an asshole? I don't deserve to be here?" Just mist and smoke covering something more. He breathed in leaning on the desk as Nikki shut the door and regarded him. He turned to face her as he leaned. Her hair pulled back and the slight scar on her neck...

His hands began to fumble around in his pockets, shaking and moving in jerks. It took him nearly six tries to get his lighter to catch a flame. He placed the cigarette in his mouth. He ran his hand through his hair from front to back and could feel the days of decay under his fingernails, the blood of the man he'd killed for his brother.

He wasn't himself. He started pacing back and forth, one arm half crossed over his chest, the other glued to his cigarette all the while glancing up at her desperately trying to free himself of the silence that plagued him...

Something had happened, that much was clear. Ask? Don't ask? Did she really want to know?

It pained her to look at him, even whilst swimming in his own chaos, he was perfection to her. She walked over to him, putting herself in his path, inches from his face. Breathing in, she caught his scent, and it nearly made her weep. Scent. The strongest sense for memory. They weren't a foot away from the armless armchair. 

Very quietly, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips. Just for old times' sake, she told herself. Just in case it was the last. Just in case he didn't love her the way she loved him.

It was like she'd breathed new life into him.

He stood for a moment with his eyes wide as she receded.

Then, gently, easily, and as naturally as leaves come to a tree, he said it. He spoke it to her eyes, determined to evict the sorrow that had resided there,

"I love you."

Why?!?

She didn't say that, of course, but it was there none the less. Instead, she accepted and cherished it for what it was.

"I love you, too," she replied, running a hand through his hair. Her fingers caught on...glass? It was thin, like the glass made for appliance bulbs.

"They're gonna ask, the crew is. Where you've been. What's happened to you. You don't owe anyone an explanation, but I'd advise you cook up a story for them, just to keep things smooth," she said quietly. "A lot's happened. I'm still trying to sort it but while you were gone, things got, well, shit's been a mess," she said, running a hand down her face. She needed a shower and possibly two days of sleep. Food would be good at some point; she couldn't remember her last meal. Most likely it was that cigarette butt she'd nearly swallowed that someone had tossed in her day-old coffee.

Just like that, the incarnation was complete. There was nothing left to say, and he knew he didn't need to say it. Somehow he knew that she understood. It was the connection to her he'd first felt so long ago in Vegas.

For a long time, he didn't say anything. She spoke and when she finished he was silent for a long moment. He just studied her face. He was certain of his ability to read bluffs from his time at the high-rollers tables and he wanted to be certain it was true that anyone could feel for him the same he felt for her... but she did.

The comfortable silence blossomed between them. He knew he would have to explain things. He wasn't going to run from it, but there was freedom in this second; in this deep meaningful plunge through togetherness.

"...I was lost for awhile. Fighting off old demons." he described vaguely the very real distresses of his weekend, "But I know that's not an excuse..."

He took her arms in his hands, "I never wanted to be anywhere so badly in my life, than here..."

Her overtired mind clicked away, if he'd done something to catch heat, was there enough cash to protect him, should she make calls. She justified this by telling herself she'd do it for anyone in her crew, but sinking into the blue that she'd so desperately missed, she simply hoped there would be no compromising positions ahead because there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to cover him. Her interlocking puzzle piece was right here, and she wasn't letting him break away anymore. 

"Is there...something I need to take care of?" She asked, praying he'd not killed a cop or robbed the feds. Her reach only went so far. 

He smiled at her protective instinct, "No," he said in a slight paternal tone, "It's taken care of. Just something I owed my brother. I'll tell you everything when you've had time to rest."

He marveled at her. She worked tirelessly for the people she loved. The things she'd done were amazing. The people she'd surrounded herself with were top-notch. She was unlike anyone he'd ever seen. She'd given him more than he deserved.

"You need a shower, and a nap." he said playfully eyeing her up and down knowing full well she still looked better than he did, "Let me look after things for a couple hours. I'll be here when you wake up."

He locked eyes with her as the meaning struck him fully,

"I'll be here..." he repeated.

Her brow quirked and she paused. "Well that would be helpful, yes. Otherwise I'll be running down the chilly streets of Chicago wrapped in a towel and hollering your name. I may or may not be carrying a cattle prod," she teased, throwing a wink at him before moving into the next room, her makeshift apartment with its tiny bathroom.

Finding an actual place to live hadn't really occurred to her yet.