Nico closed the door. Her fingers lingered on the lock for the briefest moment before, with a sigh, she clicked it into place. It wouldn't hold very much if a gun or even a well-placed boot wanted in badly enough. But, it was locked on principle at the very least. 

Was there part of her that wondered if leaving it unlocked might kill two birds with one stone? ... maybe. 
But she wasn't that kind of person -- at least, not out loud. ... at least, not when it counted. 

Turning back to the fog-filled room, she racked her pistol and gave Ces a look. If they lingered too long, they'd be just as bad off. 
Best make a few air holes in this hot box or get the fuck on with it. 

From behind the men, her eyes narrowed. 
Did she want blood? Suffering? Closure?

Her gaze flashed darkly, dropping to a glint of gold around Flaco's limp wrist.. No... no, no. Right now, she wanted his watch. 
Reaching into her coat pocket, she switched hands, extending that 'yoinked' baton with a tell-tale 'sclink'. Poised and ready to 'mark the hour' as it were. Yet, she hesitated. 

No... not hesitated. Hovered. Like a cat poised to pounce. As her eyes sought Ces' gaze through he smoke and bloodlust. 

Ces watched her unfold - watched the desire in her eyes shift from uncertainty to assurance. And when she looked his way, he nodded and stepped back. He'd hold the line - after all, love isn't always on time. Though it was late, Luca would see her love tonight, platonic as it was. And Flaco? Would feel her love, or better - her hate for what he'd done to someone she loved and cared for dearly. Because this? This was her vengeance to carry out. Her justice to set straight. Her closure for a friend taken far too soon. And Cesare? He was just the catalyst to her desires - at least for now.

Waving a hand, he took a few steps back and leaned against the door - he'd wait until she got started before he would leave his indention on Flaco's crew - permanently.

Whatever warm opium-fueled dreams floated in the heavy, waercoloured clouds that drifted around Flaco and his cronies, surely must have melted into acid-coloured horrors the moment Ces gave the go-ahead.

A banshee stalked, surely. For only a true horror could sound like that. ... and then came the agony. Nico held nothing back, swinging for the fences as she aimed for her prize. The watchface shattered. His wrist shattered. The wood of his chair splintered and snapped, tearing into soft, vulnerable flesh as the follow-through drove his arm down through it. 

Flaco screamed up from his chair, alerting what few nearby crew members could drag themselves out of the drug-induced stupor. Only to be met with the grating bite of bloody iron against the delicate ivory of his gold-crowned teeth. Nico didn't swing this time. The heady tip of the baton forced his mouth wide and pinned him, choking, against the chair as she took aim with her free hand. 

"Such a pretty little bird," she cooed wickedly, "Are you going to sing for me?"  
Flaco's eyes widened impossibly further at the familiar quip. Whether the words, the voice, or both caused the most distress was unclear. 
What seemed apparent was the recognition of death's angel finally coming to call. And the shameful, helpless ease with which she claimed him. 

The pressure at the back of Flaco's throat stayed firm and steady. A diabolical grin graced Nico's features as she twisted and prodded.
Enough to gag but not strangle, not yet.
Her 1922 leveled at the man nearest her left. There was a pause as she looked them all over. She'd always expected to want answers... to need an explanation. All the thousands of times she'd played this moment over in her mind, it had always come with lingering quality time for overdue payback. An equal pound of flesh for each hour they'd spent with her partner.  
But looking at him now, fully at her mercy... she just wanted him gone. She wanted to live in a world without Flaco in it. 

No amount of answers would bring her peace. But she could find her own... eventually... if he just didn't exist. 

Once more, she looked up at Ces across the room. And er expression seemed almost apologetic. 
This wasn't going to be as fun for him as she'd intended.

Her world stopped spinning for just a split second in that moment, as she lowered her pistol. 

... and then raised it once again. "Not interested." 

One, two...
three, four...
five, six... 
seven, eight... 

One to the head, one to the heart - cold, methodical, unflinching. 
Nico barely blinked as chaos erupted outside the door. 

And amidst the raucous, a single female scream... 

The moment Flaco screeched, Cesare was moving - for the three men that stirred? Pity them... His bat crashed into cranium after cranium, blood splattering his new, pretty, blue suit and white shirt beneath. They would feel their world crash - each sickening, resounding *THUD* of wood against soft, malleable flesh squelching in the other's hazy nightmare...

But the first shot jolted Cesare from his barbaric beating, and his eyes immediately locked on Nico - he should have known the sound of the 1922 alllllll too well, but in the moment, he wasn't sure until he saw it with his own eyes. Eight rounds were emptied into Flaco's lifeless (by the first shot) body.

"Fuckin' sound tha alarms, eh?" Ces wasn't upset at all as he cackled in all manner of seemingly chaos-fueled glee. "Grab ya panties love! We's in it NOW! HAHA!"

He looked to the door almost in anticipation as he drew down on the remaining guard in the room, who was starting to stir... The sound of his 1911 cracked through the room, as a shot that Nico didn't fire stole her attention... Pink mist sprayed where there was once the last guard - no more a living being in the room besides the two intruders of the night...

Making his way to Nico, he grabbed Flaco's chair, flinging the dead, beaten, and blown through "Boss Man" rolling away from the desk and into an aquarium along the far wall - the force of the rolling carcass knocking the table it sat on just enough to send the poor fish tank into the ground... Ces stared for just a second at the flopping, dying fish around Flaco - and LAUGHED at the absurdity. But only for the one, quick moment.

Then, it was back in it, and Flaco's desk was flipped to make cover for them before the hail of bullets came flying through the door. Hitting the ground, his hand reached up and grabbed Nico, dragging her down with him quickly. "Reload, and I's hope yous ready for this!" he yelled out, a smile on his face. Perhaps the gunshots had his ears ringing from the close proximity, but the smile sure said he was PROUD of her!

Then they heard it - the sound of breaking doorframe as the door kicked in...

Only a few of the bullets actually made it into Flaco. The rest fluidly double-tapped the guards in the wake of Ces' fury to ensure that none survived the blunt force trauma he inflicted. 
She was green... ish, not stupid, after all. 
Which was evidenced by the haste with which she had dropped the magazine one shot early -- not waiting to waste time using a single bullet on a siege that would require several.  She did, however, pull a compact mirror from her pocket and proceed to... check her hair?? 
No... no, she was angling it to catch the reflection of the door in the now-shattered fish tank. 

As the door shattered, the whole world held its breath for a single moment. She didn't have time to count. Instead, Nico pressed Ces to the opposite edge of the desk and, in that second of reprieve, rolled the mirror from behind the desk toward the far corner of the room. The wobbling reflection meant to draw attention -- and hopefully the initial gunfire -- away from them. 

She hardly even had to push him to his side of the desk, as he was swiftly rolling out to catch the ill-prepared guards. One... Two... Three shots were fired, but not his. Her mirror had drawn their fire. And that opened them up to a hail of hellfire - casing after casing ejected from the one 1911 that Ces had drawn until all that resounded from it was a *click* as the slide slammed back, the magazine empty. And the gun was dropped behind the desk.

Gun two was drawn from his harness, and the casings continued to fly - hot, burning bronze falling to the floor in a storm of fury until again... *Click*

Ces ducked back behind the desk as he drew the .357 from his back holster, giving the cylinder a quick spin. "Cowboy time," he chuckled out as that mammoth of a revolver's hammer was pulled back. The bullets had stopped flying toward the mirror and were now, of course, slamming into the desk that worked as their cover...

Soon as they heard the lull in gunfire from their enemies, Ces looked at Nico. "Cover me," and as she rained down terror, he jetisoned from behind the desk and aimed that monster at the men in his sight...

The defening *CRACK* of the .357 Mag and the casing's fire ring that shot out the barrel damn near lit up the hazy room, but the men at the door were falling - one after another...

Cesare made it across the room barely as a line of bullets trailed behind him... He ducked behind a couch and an armoire as the telltale ring of the automatic fire of a Thompson spelled danger for the dynamic duo.

Okay. Maaaybe shooting was a bad idea. 

Ces didn't seem to care. But he also seemed to put just a little too much faith in her at times. 
Cover. Right. Cover. 

She had nine shots. Was that enough for cover? 
Nico's brain did somersaults as she ducked from behind the desk just long enough to snap off a few rounds in the general direction of their 'friends'. From the wild angles at which they landed, it seemed like she wasn't even aiming at this point. Or if she was, that shaking in her hands had grown worse in the last few minutes. The shots were all wide, ricocheting off the doorframe with tiny firework bursts of sheetrock and shrapnel. Not deadly, but effective enough. 

At least until the deafening crack of that .357 ripped through her like a shockwave. 
The sound was unexpected and overwhelming... rattling her skull so hard that she paused. 

Rule #1 - Never pause in a gunfight. 

She didn't scream. She'd always thought there would be screaming. Instead, the raking sting came with a simple, involuntary gasp. 
She wasn't sure if her knees buckled, or if some reptilian part of her brain switched to autopilot. 
But she found herself on the floor once again, huddling behind the desk as the edges of the room began to darken. 

Not now. 
Any time but now. 

True fear finally began to settle in as she stared down at the crimson smear that stained her fingertips. 
She didn't remember messing up her lipstick. 

And then she heard it - a Thompson. 
Her breath came in ragged, hyperventilating huffs. Thoughts reeling at such a speed that she couldn't catch a single one. She was sick and dizzy at the carousel of mixed pain and panic. 

She tried to lift herself up, to scan the room, but a ripling fire tore through her chest - ripping a sobbing scream from her lips and rocking the breath from her body. A mix of shock and realization slammed through her with all the force of a vicious predator. 

And then, for a moment, everything went quiet. 
The silence and stillness terrified her more than the noise and the pain. 
Was she dying?? Dissociating?? 

Then she heard it - the distant wailing that had brought the all to pause - the Doppler cry of approaching sirens in the distance. 

All at once, the whole world seemed to lurch back into orbit. 
Hushed curses and rushed chaos erupting to almost comical effect as Flaco's few remaining loyalists tried - simultaneously - to decide whether to fight or flee. Half did one, half did the other - ricochetting eacother off the splintered doorframe like pinballs.
It was just enough. Just barely enough. 

Supporting her shaking arm with her free hand, Nico groaned through the biting pain and leveled her gun at the man with the Tommy. 
All their problems disappeared in a pop of pink mist and splatter. ... and then another, and then another. 
There was no honour in her kills. Like shooting frenzied fish in a barrel, as the men tried to flee. Only to be shot in the back on their way out.

Three in the mag, she made a hazy mental note. Staggering toward the door with a look that was more 'flight' than 'fight'; her gaze distant and fuzzy as she searched for Ces amidst the wreckage of the room. 

She didn't call out. 
He'd hear it in her voice if she did. 
But the baby deer way she wobbled herself toward the door spoke volumes, in spite of herself. 

She couldn't get her thoughts to settle. 
Couldn't come up with a plan. 
For once, she didn't have a single solid strategy in that pretty head of hers. 
All her creative solutions washed away by the heat moving down her chest. 

Fire? He said they needed fire... didn't he? 
Cops... shit... They needed to go. 
Warm. Sticky. ... ew. ...She might need a doctor. 
Watch... don't forget the watch. 
Cops... 
Wait... cops. 
Who the FUCK called the police??

Cesare normally would have smiled widely as the Thompson's fire halted. ^{"Damn, she took'em out?"} was the thought that would have rung in his mind.

But he'd heard her wail - on top of the wailing sirens headed their way.

His eyes scanned for her, and finally finding her, he rushed her way in the confusion with little regard for himself. He had to get to her. He had to see how bad it was - because her wobbly legs and paling color told him she'd had enough.

"I gotcha, Nico, don't worry," he called to her as he neared so she wouldn't round on him in the panic. Friendly fire would only create a worsening situation, and they needed NONE of that now. Not with police coming their way. Reaching for her arm, he took hold and stopped her. "C'mon - we ain't goin' that way. How is it? Where'd ya ge-" he trailed off as he turned her. There it was. He could see clearly where she was bleeding from, just above the breast, between the clavicle and scapula - the collar and shoulder. At least it seemed shallow enough. They could take care of that at home, if he could just.. get.. her.. home...

Scooping one arm over his shoulder, he looked at her with a COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY REASSURING GRIN! (It wasn't...)

"This is gonna hurt, darlin', but yous gotta grin an' bear it for a bit."

He then hoisted her up in his arms and headed for a window in the back of Flaco's office... Stray fire had already shot and damaged the panes of glass, making it easy for him to shatter the window and knock away the sharp shards. His coat was quickly laid over the frame, and he helped her climb out, swiftly scrambling out behind her. Again she was hoisted into his arms, and his jacket tossed over her, before he took off down the alleyway towards Barty's.

Barty's! Barty could probably help them. He'd probably be angry, but he'd help... And that was where Ces thought their best chance might be, especially with all the tailoring tools.

She wasn't bleeding that badly. So why did she feel so cold? 
Turning, she reached half-blindly for the familiar sound of Ces' voice. Returning a COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY REASSURING GRIN (it wasn't...) to convince him that she was definitely completely and totally fine (...she wasn't). Even without the ghastly red tear streaking along her collarbone, she was well past the point of 'fine'. 

Two on... however many... probably wasn't the best baptism. A literal trial by fire. ...and in her mind, it seemed like she was failing. 

He was moving... and moving her.
One was arm tossed over his shoulder as his muffled words prattled on about... something. 
He lurched, and his intention came into full focus with white-hot crystal clarity. 
Turning her face into the crook of his neck, Nico bit down on his lapel and quietly, melodically whimpered as he jostled her toward the window... and then down the alleyway. 

"Car..." she managed to plead. Not wanting to lose the Rapide - or its contents - to impound. 
But he seemed to have different plans in mind... 

Down the street, the door to Barty's shop clattered open with an injudicious clang. The normally pleasant bells slammed together in protest as if chastizing Cesare for his inconsiderate late-night entrance. 

Perpetually calm as a cucumber, Barty simply continued to sew. "Your sets aren't quite done yet, S........" 
The old man paused as he glanced over, slowly setting his tools down as the full weight of Cesare's appearance dawned on him. 
Keen eyes absorbed the blood splatter and bruises with a wrinkled, knowing squint. 

"Whatcha got under your coat there, son?" Suspicion mixed with worry and curiosity as he rose and moved one single step closer. A hand sliding beneath the nearby counter as the room held its breath. 

She would probably at least calm herself slightly as the Rapide, parked outside Barty's, had come into view. Ces had thought that far ahead - for once.

However, Barty's question came at Ces with the worry of a father, and that stung perhaps more than anger. He didn't beat around the bush, both out of urgency and respect.

"Shoot out, Flaco's men - she got hit, one in tha collar. Ain't deep, ain't even that bad, but it needs out an' she needs a stitch, an' some booze."

Ces never stopped moving, bringing her to the counter - and passing right by it to go into Barty's back room, where he found a desk to lay her on out of eyesight from the shop's windows.

"Yous were tha best chance I figured, with ya needles an' such. So, will ya help us? Help her?" He seemed fine, like there wasn't a care in the world for Ces - until you looked in his eyes. Barty saw it, the way his eyes sought the old man's, pleading and begging for him to help Nico like she was his best friend, like someone he cared about... Like Luca had looked at her as well, and her at Luca.

Barty just... sighed. Grabbing up a leather apron that he usually reserved for dying fabrics, he gestured toward the door with an almost dismissive wave. "Roll down the shutters and cut the front lights. And boy..." he leveled a 'not angry, just disappointed' look directly at Ces with all the weight of his many years. Without so much as a grunt, Barty effortlessly lifted Nico's weight from the desk with a grace that spoke of a not-to-be-fucked-with figure well-hidden beneath those crisp pleats and starched collar, "You and I are gonna have a chat when this is done."

Nico, silent all the while, let her head rest shamelessly on Barty's shoulder, not unlike a comforted child. A weak smile huffed out as she held Flaco's watch out limply. A wordless offering knowingly shared between the two of them as they disappeared upstairs. A single, permissive glance beckoning Ces to follow once his tasks were complete. 

At the front of the store, perhaps unnoticed before, a heavy chain ran the length of each wall at the side of those floor-to-ceiling windows. A set of rolling steel shutters suspended atop the width of the shop, with heavy, wrought iron latches to lock them in place. In fact, now that Ces knew to look, the entire small shop was nonchalantly outfitted with similar security features. The back door looked like solid iron, with a full-width security bar and a heavy padlock. The small stairwell leading upstairs was gated at both ends with wrought bars. And inside the small studio landing above, each window had its own set of steel swing shutters. 

...just what was this old man into?? 

Ces quickly handled his tasks - though the notice of the building begged more questions than he had the gumption for in the hour...

Tugging the chains to roll the shutters down, locking the deadbolts, and killing the lights, he followed up the stairs - two at a time... But when he got to the landing above, he just - hovered. Like a small child unsure of what to do, he stood by the gate that separated the stairs from the rest of the upper floor. Then, back down the stairs he went. Even if only for a moment, as they'd both hear the FIRST gate clatter closed at the foot of the stairwell.

And the thumping of his heavy footfalls climbing the wooden hill yet again. A secondary clang as that top floor gate closed.

He was quiet - alarmingly so as he shuffled over to them silently. He watched as Barty looked over Nico, checking her for all knicks, dents, scrapes, bruises, or injuries. Cesare's lips pursed tightly. A cigarette would be great right now - but there was at least ONE silver lining...

Flaco was dead.

Nico was floppily waving Barty off. Sure, her knees were scraped to hell, with more than a few ugly red gashes from the broken aquarium glass. But overall, and all things considered, she was fine. He was fussing too much. 

... wasn't he? 

Barty grunted as Ces shuffled over, "Alcohol's above the sink. Bring me the bottle, a clean rag, those tweezers from the sink, and...." he paused to glance around, double-checking that his instructions were accurate, "Yup. That roll of sinew from my desktop."

Quietly, he situated Nico in a shallow chair and gently bopped her on the forehead, "Quit." 
She did. 

Accepting each item from Ces with a grunt, Barty threaded a needle before dousing it all, his hands, the tweezers, and Nico's chest in undiluted ethyl. 

The girl's eyes went wide. 
No sound. Just a wide-eyed silent howl like some haunting Munchian masterpiece. 
"Serve's you right," Barty quipped, sounding more scolding mother than disappointed dad. 

The breath ripped through Nico's chest like liquid nitrogen as she kicked her feet and huffed through the pain. 
He was probably right. She had no business being there tonight. Did she? 
Quiely, her gaze sought the comfort of Ces' presence, reaching for him from across the room like a ship to anchor. Did she? 

Meanwhile, Barty continued his assault. 
The bullet was blessedly shallow. Lodged beneath her supple skin just tightly enough to stick. But with no depth. A glancing blow with just enough unfortunate momentum to catch. As gently as possible, Barty pried it from the wound with shaking hands. Fowning as the brittle, twisted metal cracked clear in two on the way out. A two-tone 'thunk' drew a deep frown from the old man as the pieces fell loose. "If that had gone any deeper... or, god forbid, hit bone..." There was a look that passed between both men. A weighty 'I don't have to say it' expression deepened the wrinkles on Barty's forehead as he glowered in Ces' direction. Mopping her up with more alcohol, Barty held pressure on the newly un-bulletted flesh until the bleeding stopped enough for him to assess. "No stitches. Edges are too ragged, and it'll need to breathe," he shoved the sutures Ces' direction with a 'do something useful' glare now that he had a good look at the cleaned wound. 

Barty was surly and silent as he bandaged the ragged wound and then cleaned up the mess. 

"You two need to change. You can pluck up another loaner. I'll see to it that one's properly laundered. Go pick something rightly sized for the girl while I get her sedate." 

Cesare gave her a gentle smile and patted his watch on his wrist as she looked his way for reassurance. She'd done what they set out to do—Avenge Luca's death. But Barty's words held a weight as the two men looked at each other. Ces' lips pulled tight again, and he nodded in understanding, then just as quickly as he'd been reassuring to Nico, he was labeled useless... Not in so many words, but those were the words that rang out in his own mind as Barty said to make himself useful.

It was subtle, but his head drooped slightly as the sutures were shoved his way. "Mmm," was the only noise he made as he turned to head back downstairs...

The first gate was heard opening, then closed... The thud of heavy foot steps... Then the second gate, open - close.

He could be heard shuffling around downstairs while the two had a moment to speak...

"Don't be so hard on him, Baba." Nico chastized softly. She was still shaking. But at least the room was clear. No tunnel to her vision. "It's not as if he forced me to go, you know." 

Barty was silent in his disapproval. He listened, but he didn't speak, as he stooped to pick up the bullet halves and nonchalantly pocketed them for later. Stopping his fussing about only when Nico reached for his wrist. Wordlessly, she pressed Flaco's shattered watch into the man's palm. Holding his gaze with a fierce and fiery stare. 

"It was for you, too, you know?" she finally asked - tenderly, softly... holding him there in quiet stillness until the anger slowly dissolved and gave way to grief. "He took the most from you." 

Gently, slowly, she let him go, leaving the watch in his hand. "And he was still taking. He was gonna keep taking until someone put a stop to it. You know that. How many more families, businesses, good young men were you willing to sacrifice on his altar?? This Thing of Ours couldn't last with That Thing of His sucking it dry from every angle. You know that. You ain't gotta LIKE it. ... but I know you know. So don't you dare guilt Ces for doing what you never had the coglioni to do your damn self." 

It was Barty's turn to hang his head. 

"I chose, Baba," Nico insisted softly, standing to circle around as he tuned away. Lowering herself such that he was forced to meet her gaze, Nico emphatically repeated, "I. CHOSE." And despite the reluctant ire in his gaze, the emphasis of her words was not lost on him. She chose to go, yes. But it was more than that -- whether he liked it in this moment or not. 

Quietly, Nico perked up as the sound of Ces' two-by-two foot steps bounded back up the stairs below. "If you cannot muster kindness, you will at least treat my choices with respect, Bartholome. ... so help me." 

She was in no state to back up that threat, of course. And they ALL knew it. But, at the very least, her characteristically unwavering fire brought an affectionate smile to the old man's lips... and an acquiescing nod to his white head. 

"I have a bottle of Seconal by the bed. Take half of one and lay the fuck down, Little Girl," Barty laughed, but shot her a reassuring 'I won't shoot him yet' smirk as he turned back toward the door, waiting to see what abomination of fashion Ces bought up from downstairs.  

Was it this one? No... Not that one. Oof, CERTAINLY not that one! So many outfits were looked at, mirror-gawked, and then hung back up neatly where they'd been drawn from. Until eventually, Cesare's no-fashion-having-ass gathered what he could and headed back up the stairs.

Entering the room, making zero eye contact with anyone, he held out both arms. Each had three different ensembles draped over them. One was an evening dress, all black, lengthy, and flowy. Another was a short, knee-length, red, smooth, and loose-fitting dress. Next, the same, but in blue.

And on his other arm, a third like the other's, but black again. Then there was a yellow women's business top with a matching skirt, and lastly a green business suit, again with a matching skirt.

"I weren't real sure what would be best. Layers, or loose. So I grabbed a lo-" he paused, looking at his arm with the dresses. "Agh, stupid! STUPID STUPID!" he chastized himself. "Nothin' ova th' shoulders ya dumb fuuuuhhhhh... ass." He sighed and turned around to head back down. "I'll grab somethin' right. I'll do somethin' right..." he muttered.
If anyone took a moment to note, nothing on him was for him. The only one he could think about helping - was Nico...

"Heeey~" Nico cooed, holding a hand out toward the door. "Loose is good," she wriggled her fingers in little grabby hand waves. 
"Whaddaya think? Red or Black to hide the blood?" 

She'd fully expected him to come upstairs with baggy men's clothes. So the fact that he'd found the one small corner of dresses in the shop was impressive enough. "I bet Barty could tack-stitch it to a real fancy asymmetrical off-the-shoulder number. Might look real pretty, hm?"

Her voice was gentle and cloying, solicitous, as she shot the older man a 'be nice' glare. 

The barbs were already working their felicitous magic. Taking the edge off the pain and making the room all warm and fuzzy. 
She was gonna be just fine. 

"Barty... be a dear and go pick something close to the right size for our boy while Ces helps me outta this sticky mess, hm?" 

Cesare froze as he heard the "Heeey~" from Nico. "I dunno..." he shrugged, still not turning back as he answered her question, his voice sounding somewhat deflated. "Maybe black, since blood darkens when it dries?" he offered, his voice lilting upward as he slowly, finally turned to see her wriggling fingers reaching out.

There was a soft smile as she mentioned the asymmetrical design, and he nodded approvingly. "That'd be real pretty on ya." He sighed gently, finally getting the gall to march over and offer the two black ensembles for her to choose from. "Here, take ya pick." He swung cautiously wide of Barty, very much unsure if he was going to get whacked or not for reaching arm's length.

But her final suggestion had the dark-haired prince of Rodeo Boulevard's soon-to-be-famous massacre frozen in his steps again, his head turning slowly, damn near exorcist style, to look in Barty's direction. His eyes were wide as they made contact with the old man... "Uh - yeah, lemme get right on that," he just about stuttered and spat out while waiting for Barty to smack him right then and there... But strangely, the old man seemed to be, while still angry, not AS angry at him like he was when they'd walked in bloody. It almost seemed a bit introspective? Cesare shrugged that off as Barty turned with a grunt to head downstairs. Nope, still angry...

Once Barty exited the room, Ces looked back at Nico. "You's gonna get me killed by that old man," the words were barely a whisper as he approached her to start helping her undress from the bloody, bullet-ripped clothing she currently adorned. The dresses he'd brought were set aside, and he started carefully with her buttons.

"How bad ya hurtin'?" He didn't really need to ask; he'd been shot before, after all. Even if it were years ago when he was little, he could STILL feel that in his calf every time it got cold.

Nico eyed him for a long moment, deciding the best approach for what she had to say. On one hand, she had things to say. On the other, she could tell he was fragile. 

"What did I tell you about speaking poorly of yourself in my presence?" she asked, ever so very gently. She wanted it to hit home this time... but not in a way that would make him feel worse. It wasn't chastizing, not like she spoke to Barty. It was... somehow more tender. Like leading a skittish horse to water. 

Quietly, she sat up and positioned herself at the edge of the bed so that his job would be easier. But she did little else to help him. 
Forcing him to do the work himself. 

"Give me the short one," she nodded, and then paused to consider his question. "Uh..." there was a lilt to her voice that hinted she didn't want to admit she'd never been quite so violently harmed. "Well, it's certainly worse than a rough beating. But I'll manage." She paused and cupped his face with both hands so that he had to stop and properly meet her gaze, "Are you okay??"

"I know Barty can be... intense. We could always just lock the door if you're afraid of him."
Yea. She was fine. Probably. 

"I know he won't show it for a while, but... he appreciates wat you've done. Even if he won't admit it yet. Luca was special to him... even more than I am. ... kinda... kinda like you are to me." 

She glanced away with an expression that hinted maaaaaybe the meds were coming on stronger than she'd anticipated. A blushing, girlish giggle working out slowly. "I'm sorry," she added with a glance back, pale teeth sinking into her - for once - bare lips. 
(Had he ever seen their natural colour?)

"You should... we should... get home before I'm too woozy for my own good. I doubt you'll wanna stay overnight with the terrore bianco downstairs, hm?" 

Cesare smiled and laughed, softly as it was... "I ain't afraid of'em, Ni~" he offered, leaning forward and lightly bumping his head to hers. "I just feel like I let'em down, like I let you down, is all... Ya know?" Rolling back onto the balls of his feet, he nodded at her before continuing to undress her so they could get her cleaned up more - and into something less bloody and gross-feeling.

"Anyways," he carefully slid the shoulder of her top away from the bandaged wound, completely choosing to let her slip about him being special to her get swept under the rug. It was just the Barbs after all! Even if they both knew it wasn't.

"I honestly think it might be best was stay here for tha night if Barty'll let us. I mean, I know he'll let yous stay." There was a wink that followed that statement as Ces rose, leaning and reaching for the more loose of the two black dresses once she was sufficiently undressed. His eyes, however, remained on her face - frankly enjoying the gentle color of her unpainted lips to match her dark eyes and darker curls. "Can ya lift your arms, darlin'?"

He held the black dress out to cover her torso, even though she still had her bra on, albeit it only hanging by one strap with the other cut from Barty's bandaging and worrying.

"Nice an' slow, it'll prolly sting, and be real tight, and we's don't wanna stretch it -too- much, else it'll start bleedin' bad again. But I's gotta get ya arm in it for now."

It took a few moments, but about the time they heard Barty wandering back up the stairs, Ces had her in the loose-fitting, black dress - her arm on her injured side stuck through the neck with her head, and the other strap hanging victoriously off her non-injured shoulder. That should at least make it easier for Barty to alter it, right? That was Ces' thought at least...

Sitting beside her, he let her lean over on him as he looked to the door, and Barty standing in it holding a suit...