BACKLASH

Delilah Buress

She knew it wasn't fair. Not really... The way that she was reacting. It wasn't all Fisher's fault, and she was sure that he and Nick had both done what they'd done for the right reasons, but good intentions weren't necessarily all good, and there was a certain frustration in being coddled - especially when she had no idea it was actually happening. It had been bad enough thinking he had disappeared on her again - but knowing he'd done it to protect her was even worse.

And she wanted to say as much, but the chance came and went as they were interrupted. Listening to the introduction, Delilah tried to force a smile, nodding to the man and extending her hand. She wasn't in the mood for first impressions, but it wasn't Diego's fault she was angry, and in truth, it wasn't Fisher's either.

"He's always been a klutz." She said with a small smirk. It was interesting, however, to hear that this wasn't the first accident that Fisher had... She knew exactly what had really happened to his leg, but the coffee burns... this seemed a little odd, considering she'd spilled coffee on herself at least once or twice a day for the last three years and never had any noteworthy scars to talk about...

Her eyes shifted to Fisher and narrowed just slightly, before she looked to Diego again, "Look... I should get going. You two have work to do and I've gotta go meet my boyfriend for lunch. We'll talk, Fish..." And there was a note in her tone that suggested it wasn't an option. Turning, she made her way back across the street to her car, sliding back behind the wheel.
 
Fisher Hawkins

With Diego's strong grip on Fisher's shoulder, he knew their conversation was over, but he was just a little bit grateful. Delilah used that knowing tone on him and he knew they weren't done, but he could at least breathe a sigh of relief for the time being. "Nice to meet you!" Diego called as Delilah walked away.

"Damn, man. I was gonna tell you to go for it but she's taken." Diego said with another pat on the back. Fish laughed nervously with a roll of his eyes. "Cool your jets, Diego." Fish grumbled. "Don't you have a car to fix?" Diego laughed. "Well, so do you, man. Welcome back."

~

When he'd finished his shift at the shop Fisher headed home. He wasn't exactly sure when he was supposed to take out the stitches but he'd been successfully cleaning and bandaging the wound. The pain was dissipating into a dull throb and the limp was present but diminishing, so that was pretty good in his book. After washing off all the grease and grime of the autoshop, Fisher fell into the couch with a bottle of beer and stared at his walls, filled with evidence.

He had to be missing something. He had all the pieces, why couldn't he make them fit? Solomon was on a personal vendetta. He'd hit John, Rose... who was next? Who had angered him in those years before he blew up like a bomb?

And that's when it hit him. Their case worker. That bratty old woman threw them from one shitty home to the next without a bat of the eye. He had to be going for her next.

Fish put down the bottle of beer and hobbled over to the coat rack. He couldn't go to the social worker office dressed as Knockout.. he'd have to blend in.

Solomon wouldn't get away this time.
 
Delilah Buress

For all she had wanted to go back to her apartment and put everything behind her... forgive and forget, Delilah was unfortunately occasionally lacking the area of mercy. Her anger at Fisher had subsided, but in fading from her childhood friend, it had seemed to increase exponentially towards Nick. She knew it wasn't right, that he had meant well, but she had passed the point of rational behavior and it was probably that, in and of itself, that had driven her to rail on him the moment he arrived for lunch.

Nick was understanding... always understanding, but there was something in the way that he allowed her to berate him that seemed almost like mollycoddling, and this did little to help the circumstances. In truth, she would have preferred if he were angry with her, in return... if he'd screamed and yelled, told her she was being ridiculous. But he didn't... not once did he so much as glare in her general direction, and it was infuriating.

In the end, she'd left in a huff, decided in was a fruitless endeavor to stay with him that night, when he made it impossible to stay -mad- at him. Eventually, breathing fresh, cool air and reflecting on her own behavior brought her to a sense of calm, but with that calm came clarity, and in that clarity she realized the person she was really angry with was herself... for being angry at all. Anger was her sabotage... she knew it all too well - the thing she used to escape, and she was trying... trying again, to get away, to run.

With this in mind, she made her way downtown to meet Nick at his office. It was Thursday, and Thursdays meant Margie Fines. She was a shrew of a woman - all too familiar with Delilah's past... partially because she had been a large part of it, and whether or not it was correlated, she seemed to make it her personal mission in life to make Nick's life difficult. Margie, no doubt, had been a sight for sore eyes after Delilah's ridiculous display...

But she would make it better. She would make it better, because in the end, she didn't want to run. Not really... she didn't want to ruin anything else good and decent, not out of fear or anger or any of her usual excuses. And with take-out Chinese and her heart in the right place again, she had every intention of telling Nick this, even if it meant bearing Margie's glares and attitude...

Then she saw him. It had been luck, perhaps... or maybe not... that the cab had pulled out in front of her as she started across the street. She'd swung to the left to avoid getting clipped by the driver side mirror when she spotted him entering the building and with a sinking, gut wrenching feeling, she knew exactly what he was there for. Solomon... He wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

Margie had put them with the Mcclain family...

Margie was his next target. And Nick was in the build--

The explosion rocked all conscious thought from her mind and Delilah stood in the center of the street as shrapnel from the building rained down around her, frozen, but for the scream that ripped from her throat.
 
Fisher Hawkins

It was a suspenseful drive. His bad leg made it a little bit uncomfortable and his nervousness didn't make it any better. He was speeding, that's for sure, weaving in and out of the traffic as possible because goddamn, Solomon was about to blow someone up.

He hastily parked in front of the building and rushed inside. The office was on the second floor, but there was no time to wait for the elevator. Tugging on the railing, Fisher pulled himself up the stairs. His heart was racing in his chest but there was nothing else that could be done. And once he had reached the second floor, he came face to face with the man he had intended to meet. It didn't make it any less terrifying.

"Looks like you finally managed to swim upstream." Hissed Solomon, that sickening smile plastered on his face. Something in his hand, held in a threatening way, ready to be thrown. Fisher's eyes were wide, panicked. "Solomon, don't--"

His smile widened and he threw the grenade.

His own shout was inaudible, but Fisher wondered if there was still time for him to jump on the bomb. If he could throw his coat over it, he could make it indestructible, saving everyone. Solomon recognized Fisher's instincts, and took the opportunity to dash down the stairs. Cursing angrily, Fisher turned towards the office, stopping his tracks when he realized Nick, a face that surprised him, had already flung himself upon the bomb.

"No!"

No use. He could barely shield himself in time. The thing blew and with it Nick was lost, shock taking Fish over. He couldn't believe... it had happened so fast... he couldn't stop him. Couldn't save Nick.

Holding his coat out, Fisher charged into the wreckage of the office, determined to save whoever was left.
 
Delilah Buress

The world seemed out of focus. In her mind, through the pounding of her pulse, she knew that she needed to move... that she needed to do something, yet despite these very real, rational thoughts, Delilah could not will herself to budge from the middle of the street. By now, those in the vicinity knew what had happened and many had come out of their cars, out of the buildings to investigate, and in the distance sirens screamed, announcing their imminent arrival...

And still, she could not move.

Smoke poured from the hole in the building where the explosion had expelled bits of brownstone into the street below and beyond the gaping darkness, there was only silence. She tried to tell herself that this didn't mean there were no survivors... but in her heart she knew. She felt it. The brokenness. It was different than what she had felt all those years ago when standing before the Mcclain house. Then, she had lost an ideal, a dream... but now...?

Without warning, her legs gave and Delilah collapsed to the pavement, gravel digging into her knees. Beside her, someone called out, but she couldn't speak, couldn't think. Thoughts of Nick replayed with vivid clarity - a reminder of their last words. He had told her he'd loved her and she had shaken her head and responded, simply, that they would talk later.

There would be later. And Solomon was to blame. Solomon and his senseless vendetta...

"Miss...?" The voice asked again and Delilah's eyes snapped up to the man, an EMT dressed in a blue uniform, his name, BRAD stitched across his chest, "Are you alright? Did... did you get hit by anything?"

Shaking her head, Delilah pushed herself upright, staring at the building, "...No. No I'm not alright. But I will be." Brushing past the man, who gazed on in confusion, Delilah made for the building entrance. Solomon had to come out sometime... and when he did, she would be ready.
 
Fisher Hawkins

All around him was charred flesh. Fisher covered his mouth and nose with his hand, trying not to breathe in the stench of death. He couldn’t bare to look at Nick’s body, or what was left of it. How was he going to tell Delilah?

A figure rustled and coughed behind a desk. Fisher saw a man leaned against his cubicle wall, his side freshly bleeding and the skin warped. “Sir,” Fisher called out, making the man’s head turn. “I’m gonna get you out of here,” He promised, reaching out for his hand and draping it across his shoulder. He could barely pull the man up, his bad leg screaming in agony from the strain.

“What’s your name?” Said Fish gently, heaving the man past the wreckage of the office, trying to keep him awake and attentive. “...Joshua….” He gurgled, moving his lips and forcing the sound out was a struggle. “Alright, Joshua.. Just relax. You’ll be fine.”

Fish was trying to steady his breathing just as much as the man he was carrying. The trip down the stairs was not easy for either of them but Fisher was determined, and when he was determined, there was no stopping him. Finally, the two emerged with a puff of smoke just as the fire fighters had prepared to go in. But Fisher saw Delilah first.

His heart broke for her all over again, just because she had the same look in her eyes.. The same look she’d had seven years ago. She didn’t deserve this. None of them did. Brad, the EMT, sprung to attention, taking Joshua from Fisher’s arms, and as the weight was lifted Fish breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lil..” His gaze was tired and sorrowful. He didn’t know what to say, especially because… she already knew. A policeman approached Fisher, prepared to help him to an ambulance, when a look of realization dawned on his face. Fish caught it before the policeman even did, and took a wary step back. Too late. The policeman pulled out his gun and waved it in the direction of the two.

“Hands up,” He announced. “I saw you on the hospital security tapes. Down on your knees.” With a nervous glance over to Lilah, Fisher slowly complied, bringing his hands into the air and kneeling before the officer.
 
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Delilah Buress

For a moment… a long moment, Delilah stared at the officer with an expression of pure and unadulterated emptiness. There was a part of her that nearly challenged the man… and then and there she wouldn't have cared what happened to her. Nick was gone. Fisher’s face a she emerged had been all too telling. Her Nick was gone… taken from her, from the world and all while thinking she was angry with him. And for what? For trying to protect her? Trying to keep her from going back down into the darkness he had helped her out of.

Oddly enough, it was that sobering thought that finally drove her to her knees. She curled her palms behind her head and without looking at him, spoke quietly to Fisher, “Don't say a word about Solomon.” Her voice quivered with raw emotion as she spoke, “Not a word. He's mine.”

And she meant it. Whatever affection she once had for Solomon, it was gone. She had spent far too long feeling sorry for him, but not anymore. She finally had a life again… A good life. And he had stolen it. And he was going to pay.

Clenching her jaw, she fell silent again as they were guided to their feet, the cool, cold steel of handcuffs strapped tightly around their wrists. They wouldn't have anything to hold them on… not in the end. It was a brief distraction, and then she would begin her mission. Solomon was no longer the confused, broken kid she had cared so much for as a child. He was a monster… and it was time to end him.
 
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Fisher Hawkins

The ride to the station was uncomfortably silent. Fish didn’t enjoy being carted around like a criminal when he knew that he wasn’t, and there was something about being caged in the backseat of a vehicle that was quite degrading. He couldn’t spare another glance to Delilah, unsure of what to say and still trying to mull over her words. They had nothing on them.. if he said nothing, he’d be let go. It was as simple as that. All he has to do was say nothing. Like she wanted.

But her words had another, scarier meaning. Without Nick there was no one to ground her and he was almost certain she would want revenge. Solomon didn’t deserve death. He deserved to be incarcerated for his crimes and rot. Fish knew that somehow, he would have to convince Lilah.. convince her to look at it another way. But it was too soon, too soon for any of this. It had all happened so fast and the image of Nick… the situation he was powerless to stop…. it was burned in him.

He was visibly nervous and that was why they had taken him in first. Handcuffed to the table in front of his, leg bouncing and gaze twitching, Fisher waited for the detective. This has happened to him before; when Solomon had done this same thing seven years ago. They’d been on the bus.. there was no proof. And it wasn’t like he’d known anything at that time either.

So his only choice was to wait, and stew in his thoughts, playing the images over and over in his head, especially Solomon’s gleaming smile.
 
Fisher Hawkins

The door to the interrogation room opened and the woman stepped in, her heeled shoes clicking across the floor the only sound she made. A small pile of papers were in one hand and as she sat in the chair opposite Fisher, she spread them out, blue lacquered nails tapping them as she studied something in the mannila file she held in the opposite hand.

“Mr. Hawkins. How you holding up? Do you need anything? Water…? Something to eat?”

Taking only a short peek at the detective who entered, Fisher returned his gaze to the ground quite quickly. He was determined not to say a thing and he knew that his nervousness would get the better of him if he let it. At her offer, he suddenly felt all of the dryness in his throat, the taste of ash that had lingered with his encounter. Something about his better judgement kept him from asking.

“No.. I’m fine, thank you.” He murmured, staring intently at the wall to the side as if it had something to offer.

She smiled, and there was a genuine nature to it, but something in her eyes remained cold - a void of focused determination, as she laid the folder beside the papers, “Not your first time in a station is it, Mr. Fisher?”

The paperwork was indication enough that it was a rhetorical question, as she continued, she shifted one of the pages forward for him to see, “Seven years ago… There was a similar incident that you were involved in, am I correct? I’d like you to tell me about it. What happened to your foster family.”

Swallowing, Fisher stared at the papers. He’d known this was coming. He’d known this would be brought to him again, another smack in the face. “I already gave you my statement back then,” He said, without any confidence. “Why do I need to tell you again?”

“Just… call it a curiosity.” She steepled her hands in front of her, the smile returned, “I find it strange that you seem to wind up in these situations so frequently, and I suppose I’m just trying to understand it. Don’t worry, Fisher. You aren’t in any trouble. But a lot of people have died, and I think you understand that it’s in your best interest that we get as many answers as possible. I would hate for the wrong people to get stuck with a crime of this magnitude.”

He didn’t know what to say, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to stay quiet. Not like he ever had. First she said he wasn’t in trouble, but then she was going on about sticking the blame on someone else. He figured it couldn’t hurt to tell her what she already knew.

“It was my foster brother,” Fisher said softly. “Back then. The mother, the one who took care of us, her son bullied us and I… I guess he had enough.”

A brow lifted, and something sparked through the woman’s eyes as she pulled a pen from the messy brown bun atop of her head, scribbling a note in the folder, “I see… And you think that it’s him now, Fisher? You think this is what… finishing the job?”
Lips pursed, Fisher glanced around the room, as if he were about to spill a secret. Well, too late now. He might as well tell them. Delilah didn’t need to get her hands on him first and he wished the police damn good luck.

With a sigh, Fisher gave a solemn nod.

There was a saying… something about a person appearing like a cat that swallowed a canary, and if ever it was appropriate, then, it seemed, was the opportune time. The woman’s expression shifted and as she sank back, her smile brightened, and she nodded along with Fisher.

“...Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. I think for now you’re free to go, but we’ll have some follow up questions, so it’s for the best you don’t leave town.”

Fish blinked. He was surprised that was it. He’d probably.. Said too much. But what did it matter? They wouldn’t be able to catch him. He kept on telling himself that Delilah didn’t need this. She didn't’t have to spiral down. She didn’t have to lose anything. He knew, however… that he had work to do. He had to find Solomon before he did this again, because Fisher was entirely sure.. He was the only one who could stop him.
 
Delilah Buress

Numb. That was the only word for how Delilah felt. Sitting in the interrogation room, waiting for her turn to tell her story, she felt empty… broken… numb. It hadn’t had time to sink in, that Nick was really gone, but the more she thought about it, the harder it became to wrap her mind around it. Anger, instead, became the most clarifying emotion she could cling to, and cling she did.

But it was little more than a mask… Deep inside, she felt nothing. Nothing but a dull void.

Waiting was the worst part, and the longer she sat, the worse things got. Finally, though, the officer arrived to conduct her interrogation, and while Delilah was less than enthusiastic, and certainly couldn't be considered cooperative, the man hardly seemed to mind. The nonchalance with which he handled the questioning was unnerving, and as she was dismissed, told not to leave town, there was a sense, she thought, of victory in the man's eyes. At the end of the day, though, all she cared about was getting out... Going home.

In the lobby of the precinct, she paused... paused, it seemed, for the first time since everything had happened and breathing in, she wrapped her arms around herself. Tears stung, but furiously, she blinked them away. Home was the apartment she and Nick shared. Nick was gone. She needed to brush past it... move forward. She could grieve when Solomon was gone, too.
 
Fisher Hawkins

They said he was free to go but he couldn't leave without talking to Delilah. It was a terrifying prospect. When they were kids, and Delilah was mad... he always made Solomon talk to her. He couldn't face her. He didn't like face anyone that knew the truth and could 'told you so' him to high heavens. And he knew this was a very special case of 'I told you so.'

Shit. Nick was dead. He'd known the man barely a minute and Solomon had killed him, killed so many others, without a second thought. He'd known the man since childhood and now.. now he was a monster. Hand flying endlessly through his hair and his leg (his good one) bouncing like mad, Fisher kept on going between remorse and anger. He couldn't be late next time. He'd been so close. No, next time, no matter what, Fisher had to go after him. Because if Solomon got away one more time, countless more lives could be lost.

"Lilah!" He blurted, jumping up and then hissing in pain, leaning against the wall a moment to steady himself before setting off after her. "L-Lilah, h-hey.. I .." What was he supposed to say? 'I'm sorry' didn't cut it. He was covered in ash and dirt but the scared look on his face just topped it all off. He was terrified not of her, but for her. Scared what path she would feel the need to travel down, because no matter how many years it had been, he knew her too well.

"Nick.. he.." He swallowed. "He jumped on the bomb. He saved.. s-so many people.. I tried too... I tried to get there before him, but I..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry, Lilah. You can.. if you.. don't want to go back home right now you can come over to my place, I can give you the bed, I can.." He didn't know what he was on about, but Fish couldn't just let her fade away again.
 
Delilah Buress

She didn't want to talk to Fisher. She wasn't angry at him. Not really. It wasn't fair to be - not when he had given everything, she knew, to try and save lives. He was always thinking about others, Fisher... and maybe that was what made it so hard her to see him. She didn't want to think about others. She wanted to be selfish and cold and angry...

And he was a reminder that she was never very good at any of those things.

Looking over to him as he began to ramble, she opened her mouth to tell him to stop. To beg him to stop. She didn't want to hear anything about what had happened, but as he spilled into what Nick had done, her protest fell flat and for a moment, she couldn't think... couldn't function. He had saved lives. But not his own. He had jumped on the damn bomb, and now he was gone. He'd left her. Eventually, everyone left her.

Biting on her cheek, hard enough to stave off tears, she nodded, too devastated by the information he'd given to argue. In truth, the part of her mind that still clung to rational thought was glad he had offered. She desperately wanted to avoid her apartment, and while she had work to do to find Solomon, she couldn't get anything done in the state she was him. A few hours at his place to clean up and sleep, and then she could get started, "Yeah... Okay. Let's go."
 
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Fisher Hawkins

"I know that you don't wanna -- oh." He was already bulleting into his second speech, having fully expected that she would brush him off. "Oh, you.. you want to come." A smile made it's way onto his face, relieved and exhausted. "I'm.. I'm glad." He took a shaky breath, and gave her an even shakier shoulder pat. He didn't know what other comfort to offer.

They were halfway home when Fisher realized that his apartment looked like a police station. With all the photos, clippings, and scribbled writing, he would look like a madman. He was tapping the the steering wheel nervously along the quiet car ride, the absolutely, piercingly silent car ride, that Fisher had no idea how to break.

When he brought her to the door, he turned around and faced her with a determined look. "Give me... five seconds. To clean up. Really fast. It's messy." He begged, staring at with her wide eyes.
 
Delilah Buress

The numbness had returned after that... and without meaning to, without realizing she had, Delilah left the precinct with Fisher, without a single word. She wanted to say thank you... to tell him that despite all that had happened, she was proud of him - but the words wouldn't come. Deep down, she knew it wasn't his fault, what had happened, and she would never blame him - but it was too hard to thank him when in the end, she still lost the most important person in her life.

Throughout the drive, she remained silent, and it was only when they arrived at him place that she seemed conscious at all. She slid out of his truck and followed him to the door, and while it had occurred to her during the drive that he seemed probably more anxious than he ought to have, it didn't really click until he opened his mouth to speak.

Slowly, she looked at him, a brow lifting. If it had been any other day, if Nick had still been around, she might have laughed. He had never been particularly neat when they were kids, but this was the first time she was seeing his apartment and she couldn't help but wonder if the nerves were entirely due to wanting to impress.

But she was tired... and Nick was gone, and all she wanted was to take a shower and sleep. Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes and gingerly, pushed him out of the way, "I don't care what it looks like, Fisher." And turning the knob, she pushed the door opened.

In the frame, she paused, and staring instead, she blinked... first in confusion, then irritation, "What the hell is this?"
 
Fisher Hawkins

"No no no no --" He tried to block the door before she pushed it open, but he couldn't stop her. "It's - - decor...a..tion..." He mumbled helplessly. Oh, no! I've actually just been stalking Solomon for years. The worst part was that besides all of the pictures on his wall, all the madmen scribbles, his apartment was actually neat.

"Nothing. It's nothing. Go take a shower, I'll get towels, nothing, nothing at all." He started at the corner and started yanking off photos. A photo of their house. A photo of Solomon as a kid. A photo of the bus that he'd blown. A photo of the hospital. A photo of a hooded man and a gleaming smile.

He frantically pulled them off, muttering under his breath about the writing that he'd actually done on the walls. "I'll wash it off." He murmured. This was a mistake. Maybe he could've -- picked her up in an hour? Too late. Too fucking late, as always. As always! He had taken down so many things in a matter of seconds but.. what.. what the hell was he doing?

He dropped the photos on the coffee table. He heaved out a big sigh, shoulders drooping as he put a hand to his forehead. "I might have... checked up on him.. every now and then." He bit his lip. "I might have... never let it go." He rubbed his eyes, and regretted it very quickly because now they burned. "I couldn't just.. I couldn't walk away like you could! The irony is I only found him till he blew up a fucking hospital."

He was exasperated and endlessly tired but he.. he didn't mean to do that. And he didn't dare bring up Nick, the perfect addition to the perfect life she had achieved. He had no idea of the years of trauma she had gone through just to reach what he had finally taken from her. He was.. jealous, and angry. Angry that she was able to move on when he simply never could.

 
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Delilah Buress

She wanted to be angry. Maybe it was just an excuse to feel anything, really, more than the cold, numbing ache she felt from losing Nick, but she desperately wanted to feel angry... And yet even in this knowledge, she couldn't bring herself to that line. He was right. She had walked away, but that didn't mean he was capable of it. That didn't mean that he had to follow in her footsteps...

"I didn't walk away, Fish..." She said, as she considered the words, "After you left, it took ever ounce of energy and mental strength not to lose it. I went to six different therapists. The last one, the one that stuck? He's on speed dial, still. I still have nightmares about it. About the house going up. About Solly... What I made him. I didn't walk... I ran away from it. And look what good it did."

Sinking down onto a chair, she dropped her head into her hands with a deep sigh, "The one person who made me feel just a little bit normal... just a little bit safe. And he's gone. Because of me." Looking away, she shook her head, "You don't have to take it down, Fisher, but it isn't gonna do you any good. Because I'm gonna find him, myself. And when I do, I'm gonna stop him." Breathing out, she turned back to him, "I have to... Or what the hell was it all for?"
 
Fisher Hawkins

As she spoke the look of anger diminished into agony. He gnawed on his thumbnail and ran his hand through his ash filled hair and kept on bouncing his one good leg and went through all the nervous twitches possible. His eyes flickered to the photos and then all around the room, memories flooding his mind. He thought about it every time he closed his eyes and every night as he lay awake in bed. He thought about the same things, the fire, the lost friend.

"No, no.. Delilah.. you can't. You can't go after him." He sat down with a huff, panic creeping into his eyes. Now he knew that he had royally fucked up. "I'm sorry. You didn't make Solomon. Please, you.. you worked so hard to get away from this mess that.. I just made my home. Don't take what Nick gave you and throw it away. Please. He was trying to avoid this. You don't have to stop him. Nick said, the police, and the authorities, they'd.. they'd get him.."

He shook his head doubtfully. "It was for you. It was for you to move on and find a better life than replaying one moment on repeat, endlessly. It's what I've been doing, and look where I am. In the fucking projects working at an auto shop. I've got nothing, I'm no one. Lilah. You have a chance. This is what he wanted, please. He did everything to make you feel normal and you're gonna throw it down the drain. Just walk away. Don't run this time." He was begging, pleading. He couldn't let this happen.

"It was all for you." He murmured. "I know I was never there, but Nick and I.. both believed in you."
 
Delilah Buress

"I didn't ask you to throw away your life for me, Fisher. I didn't ask Nick to! Don't you get it!? If I had just kept my mouth shut, Solomon would never have snapped the way he did. I started this, and I need to finish it... I need to... for Nick." Breathing in sharply, she swallowed, fighting back the onslaught of tears, threatening to spill over, "We were supposed to go to a family reunion. He... he wanted to introduce me to his mom. I complained. Told him I wasn't ready..."

Rising, she shook her head, brushing at the front of her shirt, as if the simple gesture could wipe away the feelings, "I'm never gonna be normal, Fish. But at least I can stop him from doing this to anyone else. Please..." Looking to him, her lip turned down in a frown, "Please don't try to talk me out of it. You're all I've got left, Fish... and I don't want to have to leave. You don't have to be with me... you don't have to agree with me or stand by me in this. But don't try to change my mind."

Looking down at her hands, her frown deepend as she took in the cuts and scrapes on her palms and knuckles, from her collapse, "I should really take a shower. After, I think you and I need to talk about what you said to the police. They were too damn content when I wouldn't talk... which means they got something out of you. It's fine. I get it... but I also need to know what they know, if I'm gonna stay ahead of them."
 
Fisher Hawkins

Normal? She was concerned about being normal? Fish felt his cheeks grow hot. They were never going to be normal. She just needed to be safe. To live a life that wasn’t fueled by vengeance. If he just told her.. If he told her about Knockout maybe she’d understand.

He couldn’t believe she thought it was her that had created Solomon. No nice guy suddenly snapped when shit like this happened. Solomon was already starting down that path. They couldn’t have helped. She was going to ruin her life for a false belief. He couldn’t stand the thought, but he knew she wouldn’t change her mind. She was too damn stubborn. Always had been.

He watched her go and didn’t say another word. He wasn’t gonna say a thing to her, not a damn thing. He refused to help her stray down this path. And if she wouldn’t let him talk her out of it.. then he wouldn’t give her any help.

He went to the kitchen to wash his hands and face. The amount of grime was quite impressive, but without a shower it wouldn’t do him any good. He took the pictures down one by one, leaving only the writing on the wall next to blank spaces. He’d put them back up in due time. But he couldn’t give anything to Delilah.

He put on hot water for tea but pulled out a beer instead, leaning against the kitchen counter as he popped the top off, staring into space.
 
Delilah Buress

It would have been a prime opportunity, really, for Delilah to fully allow herself to feel the weight of her emotions. Hot water pounded down on her and so much of her wanted to let go - to give in and let her feelings take over until she dissolved beneath the stream. But control was all she had to hold on to, and somehow, some part of her knew that if she gave in, she would give up. She would realize the foolishness behind her plans and she would give it all up. And she couldn't. She wouldn't. Revenge wasn't a game for the weak... and in the end, that was what she wanted. Selfish and cold as it was, she wanted revenge...

And so she focused instead, honed in on that anger and she scrubbed away her will to relinquish her feelings, sluiced them down the drain. When her skin felt raw, and the water started to cool, she slipped out. In Fisher's bedroom, she stole a baggy sweatshirt, pulling it on, and tugging her hair up into a bun, she made for the main room again, finding Fisher in the kitchen.

"Got another?" She asked, gesturing to the bottle.