"Oh, you heard this before huh?"

At least his efforts hadn’t gone to waste. Hearing that Dawes was finally six feet under was enough to bring a small smile to his face, and it’s the first time he’s done that since the explosion. Recovery was going to take a long time, he’s still sore in a lot of places from burn wounds that were still healing up, and he aches everywhere, but it’s better than dying. Now that Preferred Outcomes was gone - or so he hoped - he could be back to being a spreadsheet guy before too long.

“Scars huh?” The ex-cop gathers a chair from the room, noting it seems even less comfortable than the average hospital chair, and settles down. “I hear women like scars. Puts some mystery behind a guy.” It was oddly hard to joke, or do something besides the dry humor he and the other had exchanged in the time they had together. To see the able, confidant dealer be so--vulnerable was oddly boggling.

MEME: Antagonize the antagonist

♉ - ❝ After everything you’ve done, you’ve got so much fucking nerve to be coming out with that bullshit. ❞ He wasn’t quite sure what he expected from Mendoza– another bullet to the chest to try and finish the job, perhaps? But he didn’t expect what he heard, and quite frankly it was insulting, as well as enough to ignite his already incredibly short fuse, darkened eyes narrowing as he damn near snarls at his enemy.

❝ Whilst you were locked up in a shitty little cell for three years, I made myself good for a lot of things. I made millions, I killed a lot of people, and I made many more answer to my every beck and call. And now you think you can just come along, all full of your usual ‘delivering justice’ bullshit, and take everything from me? ❞ Stoddard’s voice kept rising until he was shouting the last few words, anger not even covering half of what he felt for Nick right now. ❝ -They didn’t use me because I fucking used them, you could at least do me a favor and get your facts straight if you’re going to try and spout some kind of bullshit to try and win over my loyalty. You don’t deserve it, Nick, you never will! ❞

By this point he’s acting entirely on impulse, moments like this was why he was called the bull. And it’s a nickname Stoddard’s all too happy to live up to right now, drawing his gun before Nick can do the same and aiming right at him, at his chest. Because that’s where he shot Stoddard the last time they met, and he’s going to return the favor if he decides he’s getting bored of trying to make the fucker beg for his life first.

He must look like a sight for sore eyes at the moment, and if he were in any better a condition that’d bother him, he has his own standards to uphold after all. But as it stands, he was lucky to even be breathing at the moment– so he’d rather count his blessings for now, and worry about his appearance when he was actually in any state to do something about it. Funnily enough, he was already halfway to another deep sleep by the time Nick’s voice cuts through the silence, and he’s drugged up enough to decide against feigning ignorance, he wasn’t in too bad a condition anymore.

Well, it was a comfort to know Tyson was at least okay enough to speak. “Yeah, I got him.” There’s a millisecond where the elders words rang through his head, sending a flash of heat in his stomach from still waning anger. How’s your mother Nick? Bastard. His body was still thrumming from the events, making him jerky when he pulls the thankfully still lush flowers from his jacket. “I uh...I know this is totally cliche but I brought a get well present.”

Ever so delicately he places the flowers on the one avaiable surface in the redone room, letting them rest there as he really studies his companion. God, the fact he lived through that was sheer luck and convenience, but he wasn’t going to complain. Nick had a...request to run by him. Not yet, the words are still swirling in his head as the rush and anger from earlier slowly wanes out of him.

             && it’s at that particular moment that the reality strikes her similar to that of a punch in the gut — first                        stoddard, && now nick? even from beyond the grave, julian dawes was most likely laughing at her, aware                    that his legacy was all too existent. her emotions want to take control, yet she can’t find the tears to fall,                    ( as the majority of them dried up after the instance with carl stoddard. ) but just how could this be occurring                once again? a familiar numb sensation begins to proliferate throughout the entirety of her body, making his                  words all the more painful to process as cobalt hues gaze upon him. this was no longer the nick mendoza                    she’d once known — this was both a stranger, && a pretender.

“Claire--” of course it meant something to him, it meant everything to him. Why he decided to do this. It was better this way, or he was trying to convince himself that. This way he wouldn’t have to hide, they could get away and he could actually maybe do something with this--

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” There’s frustration licking at his mind, teeth grinding together as he struggles to find words that do what’s on his tongue justice. “I’m doing this for you, for your safety. For the others’ safety. You need to leave, and you need to not look back. Don’t ever come back.”