Cold Light of Dawn

Who: Brett and Eris
Where: Eris' loft apartment
When: Morning

It was the early dawn when Brett woke with a start, bringing his hand up in front of his face, feeling almost surprised that it was empty. He'd been dreaming again, but the details of that dream were fleeting. He didn't remember exactly what had gone on in it, but he knew it had left him feeling... No, he didn't know how it had left him feeling. Didn't know at all.

It didn't take a lot to wake Eris. She slept fitfully at best, and she was paranoid as all hell. Plus, she'd stopped drinking on account of Brett the night before, and had gone to bed with only a light buzz on instead of the usual passing out she tended towards. So when he woke up, it roused her enough that she shifted, making a soft incoherent noise as she opened up her eyes. It took her a moment to adjust her gaze, so the first things she noticed was that the bed was warmer, there was someone next to her, and she felt fairly exhausted. Then she focused and saw Brett. Which really, should have taken her a lot more by surprise than it did. She didn't remember straight away going to bed with him, but there he was. It took her a moment of gazing at him to recall that that had been on purpose, and it hadn't been for anything like intimacy. Which would explain the whole still clothed situation. She noticed he looked a little...confused? Something. "...you 'kay?" she asked, voice a sleep-hoarse murmur.

Brett dropped his hand, quickly, darting it back under the sheets. "Yeah, fine," he told her, gruffly - covering. He sat up and quickly got out of bed, still dressed as he had been the night before. Shoes off, but still wearing socks, trousers - a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the dragon tattoo on his right forearm, the neck of the shirt with top button open, showing the white vest he wore underneath, the edge of his burn scar showing on his neck. He didn't even glance at her as he headed across to the kitchen area and poured himself a glass of water.

She blinked a little at that, propping herself up on one arm as she watched him make a quick exit. Not that she'd never seen a guy do that or anything. Usually, however, it was when they woke up the next morning and recognized that whoever they'd had sex with the night before wasn't nearly as pretty without alcohol fuelling them. So, it was strange. Of course, she did note that she could see the edges of the scar there, and again she wondered just how extensive it was. She recalled the news article. It was bad, she just needed to know how bad. Which actually had her thinking about their conversation the night before. About intimacy and the fact that he never seemed to indulge in any. Hm. Funny how that hadn't really occurred last night. Unless it had and she'd forgotten. What she hadn't forgotten was that they'd managed to talk last night. Real talking, too, without argument. It was interesting. Strange, but interesting. "Did you have bad dreams?" she asked, voice still not up to par, and she brought the blanket around herself a little better, since she liked the warmth of that much better than the cool air of her loft. Did I have bad dreams?

Not bad, no. The thought rose in Brett's mind and he only just managed to stop himself from saying it. It hadn't been a bad dream, he was sure about that. That was the only thing he was sure about, though - the details themselves seemed fleeting, there but not there, leaving him feeling just... odd. There was no other way of describing it. He'd felt like this before, in the mornings, usually though, he was alone and he just ignored it. It was different, felt different, with her looking at him. He ignored her, tipping his head back and draining the glass.

She waited for his answer until it was clear he wasn't giving her one. "...did I have bad dreams?" she asked him, wondering if she'd thrashed or something. It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility, she knew. She didn't like being ignored, especially considering it wasn't like she was asking him for childhood stories or anything. She was just asking about a stupid dream, and not even for details of it. Really, this behavior seemed weird. But maybe it just wasn't, and this was how he always behaved when he woke up in strange beds with...people. Not that he did that. She was a confused bunny at the moment.

Brett turned to her, setting the now empty glass down on the side as he did so. "How the hell should I know, sweetheart? They're your fucking dreams," he barked at her, almost grateful for the distraction from how he was feeling. He didn't have to deal with it if he could bitch at her instead. It wasn't like it would be unusual for him, after all.

Eris stared at him for a long moment. "Anything else?" she asked, voice flat. Apparently, it was 'immediately jump down Eris' throat' day already. Usually, there was at least some buffer, some little shred of space before he started in like this, but well. Yeah. Apparently not. Maybe he was making up for having been behaving decently the night before.

Brett flexed the fingers of his right hand, still trying to shift the feeling that he'd lost something. Figuring that he needed to deal with that, he walked back over to the bed and started strapping on his gun once more. "No," he told her, shortly, not entirely clear on what she was asking. Turning away from her, he closed his eyes for a moment, getting a flash of blue sky. He opened them again, reaching for his belt, keeping busy.

She made a soft little frustrated sound, reaching up to try and get her sleep tussled hair out of her eyes, and she grabbed the closest thing which happened to be a pillow, and she threw it at his back. "What the fuck is with you today? I haven't even done anything but ask you if you were alright, because you're acting really fucking twitchy. What exactly about that pisses you off?" she snapped.

He twitched and spun round as the pillow hit his back, dropping to the floor. "Broads that fucking throw things at me!" he exclaimed, not impressed at being hit with a pillow. "What? I was meant to be all sweetness and fucking light? What the fuck did you expect from me, Princess? Because I'm such an all round nice guy? Is that it? Maybe I'm just not a morning person," he suggested, heavy on the sarcasm as he sat to put on his shoes, his fingers pulling on laces that didn't feel like they went far enough up. But when had he ever worn boots? That was wrong too. He needed to get out of here - if he was having another morning where he felt like he was going crazy, he didn't need to be doing that in front of her.

"You were being twitchy and a dick before I threw anything at you. It's called cause and effect. You don't get to blame your behavior on something I did when it was your behavior that got me doing it in the first place." Eris snapped. "And no, I didn't expect you to be sweetness and light. I expected a shred of civility. Apparently, that's a little too much to ask." She got up and walked over towards the window, staring out at the grey day. "I probably should have expected that you'd just pick up using me as your personal punching bag again."

He shook his hands out again, trying to get rid of that feeling that just wouldn't shift. He knew it would get worse when he stood up again, standing would mean the return of that feeling - the feeling that he was taller than he should be, that the angle of things seemed wrong. But, he needed to stand, and so he did, just rising further than his fuddled brain told him he should be doing. "Guess you just don't get special treatment, darling," he said, making an effort not to slouch in a way he wouldn't normally do, just to try and get to the height that felt 'right'. Goddamnit, he hated it when he woke up feeling like this. Not that it was exactly the same feeling every time. Just... sometimes he woke up feeling like he didn't belong in his own skin. There was no other way he could think to describe it. And there was no way he was going to be sharing that with her - he didn't want to end up in Bedlam.

She looked back at him. "....right." she said. And she made herself look back out the window. What she was really trying to do was not feel hurt. But that wasn't quite working out for her. She did feel hurt. She felt a kind of sharp, deep sting that she didn't want to acknowledge but was having a difficult time ignoring. If this was how it was, she wished he would have just disappeared last night. Not come back, and talked with her, and been there, and...things that gave her a different impression than the only role she had in his life was a pain in the ass and someone he took out his bullshit on. She knew she was masochistic when it came to him, though right now that part of her personality wasn't in gear. Everything from last night was too fresh for it.

He shrugged on his jacket. "I need to get going, Chipo," he said, not even concentrating. But he stilled the moment he said it, knowing that that was wrong, that he'd just called her by someone else's name. And not a name of anyone he actually knew either. But it was a name that was right there. And not only was it right there, but there was a certain connotation attached to it as well.

That had her looking around. Because...she'd never heard that before. That didn't even sound like a pet name in another language, that just sounded like something else entirely. So she looked around, and stared. He looked like a rabbit in the headlights, or at least, he looked like he knew he'd fucked up. "What did you call me?" she asked. After a long hesitation, she started crossing towards him, not even sure what was going on, but she wanted a better look at his eyes.

He moved when she did, away from her, not wanting to go close to her right now. "Does it really fucking matter?" he covered, brashly. "I call you every name under the sun, if you hadn't noticed, darling. What's one more?" Except this wasn't a nickname, he knew. Hell, it wasn't even a word he'd heard before, but it felt like a name he'd used many, many times in the past, a name that really meant something - which was worlds of fucked up. Especially in relation to her - he needed to just be leaving right now, he really did.

"...yes, and those are mostly restricted to pet names you don't in the slightest bit mean, and occasionally 'bitch'." Eris said. Every once in a blue moon, he called her Julia, and when he was feeling particularly hurtful, he called her Eris. "What was that? Didn't sound like anything you've ever called me before. And you don't exactly look like you meant to do it, either." she pointed out, still walking towards him even if he was moving away. She didn't move faster or anything, she just kept making up the distance. "So..." she prompted. Was it some girl he had? The name was weird though...unless it was a stage name. Was it someone from his past?

"So.... what?" Brett shot back at her, knowing she was between him and the door. Not that that would normally stop him, but he was feeling very much like he was on the back foot all of a sudden. And it didn't help that he was still feeling like he didn't fit his own body. "It's just a fucking name, that's all - nothing to it," he lied. Though he couldn't have explained where it came from even if he'd wanted to. He didn't know, not really. It was just a name, and a feeling. That was all. And it was the feeling that had him not giving her anything on this one. It was that that scared the hell out of him, more than anything else.

If there was nothing to it, he wouldn't be backing up. And he was about to hit the back of the loveseat, actually. Past that the wall. He just looked all kinds of out of sorts. It was something that she didn't quite know how to take, she couldn't read. Mostly, she didn't even know what the fuck it was about or where it came from, so she couldn't leave it alone. Especially with the way he was dodging. "So if it's nothing...why won't you tell me?" she asked. "Explain it to me. Is it some new insult you've picked up somewhere?"

He stopped as he felt the loveseat behind him, his eyes darting to the door before he forced them back to look at her again. "I don't know," he ground out, finally. "It was just there. It's just a fucking name, so leave it the fuck alone." he started forward again, determinedly heading for the door. "I need to go," he told her as he walked past her.

"Trent--" she started, not at all sure what she was going to say or do, but she did reach out to snag his arm, something that about two seconds after she did it she recognized as a bad idea. She couldn't even have said what she was going for there, why she'd done it in the first place, and what she might do if he did stop. Or say, took a swing.

"What!" he barked at her, forcefully, as he swung round to face her, stepping up to be right in her face as he towered over her. "What? What is your fucking problem? So I called you some fucking stupid name and you just can't... God, I bet you were one of those really fucking annoying children, weren't you. Can't fucking leave anything alone. But why? But why? But why? Why? Why? Why? Like a dog with a fucking bone. But just don't - just stop it. Really now."

She looked up at him, at the way he loomed, with the way he was mocking, and shouting at her. And in there, she wondered when he was going to hit her. When one day, he was going to snap, only not just verbally. Only she imagined when he did it, that it wasn't going to be followed by any version of an apology. If anything, there would probably be an excuse. That maybe he wouldn't do that shit if she didn't just keep her mouth shut. She'd never been a girl who was very good at that. Even when she was a little girl, and it was her father who was in Brett's position. It was that mental link that kept her from reacting. It was jarring. She didn't like it, wished she could pull it back, but in those moments, it was just so similar. It wasn't like when she was a kid and she'd been home that the old bastard had needed an excuse to lash out at her either. And Brett could find some pretty thin excuses, but today it just seemed to come from nowhere. She couldn't see even a poor excuse for a reason. Taking a step back, she turned and started to walk away.

He didn't stay to watch her. He'd gotten what he wanted - she'd let him go. And he'd been leaving anyway, only now he felt like shit on top of feeling all fucking wrong. And so, without a word, he headed off, grabbing his tool bag from the table as he walked past, before heading out the door - something that would have been a lot smoother had he not had to stop at said door and unlock each and every bolt she'd put on there first.

Eris headed straight across the room, and didn't turn back when she heard the rattle of the tool box, or the locks on the doors. She'd wanted him to help her with her meds this morning. She'd had a favor to ask. Not anymore. Instead, she just headed to the bathroom door, opened it up and she shut it behind herself, leaning back against it. There was that feeling again. That sick sort of feeling that everything was wrong. And, of course, that this was it. He was gone. And he wasn't coming back. It had been there last night, and there'd been a reprieve, but this morning proved to her that that was just an illusion. A momentary lapse, and now...right. She was going to be alone again.

He got the door open and stepped out into the hallway, but he stopped there, in the semi-darkness. Letting the toolbag drop to the floor, he leaned against the banister and finally let himself sag, taking a few long breaths, trying to pull it together again. He shouldn't have stayed last night. But he didn't dream every night - what were the odds? And he didn't always wake up feeling quite so out of it as this. Would it be better - if he could only remember what had happened? If he could remember the details of the dream, rather than just being left with this feeling, like he should be someone else? That was fucked, right? He was fucked. On top of everything else, like he didn't have enough crap in his life already, he had damn weird dreams.

She heard the clatter of the tool box out in the hall, and she was moving before she consciously decided to. The only thing she could think of was that she'd been found, that maybe they'd got Brett when he walked out the door. It didn't add in that she hadn't heard a gunshot. So she scrambled up, and grabbed the gun from the nightstand. Her heart was thudding in her ears as she ran towards the open door, feeling like she wasn't moving fast enough. Yanking the door wide, she was pulled up short by the sight of him there in the darkness, hunched over. But he wasn't down. So she dropped to one knee and looked down the stairwell. She just didn't see anyone.

He hadn't expected her to come out. He'd thought he was alone, he'd thought he would be alone - that he'd pissed her off enough that she'd just let him go and he could take the time he needed. the very last thing he'd expected was for her to come running out of the door with his gun and for a moment there, he'd though she'd meant to shoot him - that he'd pissed her off that much, overshot the mark that much that she'd flipped and she was about to put a bullet in him. He turned, flattening himself against the banister, hands up a little, though he didn't draw his own weapon. "Now, now, Princess..." he started, calmingly, stopping only as he noticed that her attention wasn't really on him at all. He followed her gaze down the stairwell. "What?" he asked, all the anger gone and replaced by confusion.

Her attention was distracted when he started speaking, and she looked up at him, blinking. Then, after a quick once-over she recognized that he wasn't bleeding, or spilling any other organs or bodily fluids. He was fine. So, he must have just...dropped the box. And been hunched over. For...no reason. She felt like she was missing something, or being played. It didn't help. Of course there was still that little adrenaline rush that was going through her system, even if she was stopped and forced to examine what it was she'd just done. "I thought--" she started, letting the gun down as she looked back down the stairwell again before she looked back up at him. "Nevermind." she said after a moment, before she turned, and walked a few steps away, confused. Very very confused. It was a little late that his first statement filtered in, and she looked back, expression confused with a pinch of hurt. "Did you think--"

He lowered his hands. "I try not to think too hard when someone's pointing a gun anywhere near me. Nothing personal, Princess, just I prefer to err on the side of not getting lead poisoning, y'know," he told her, aware that she was still holding the gun, even if it was lowered. he didn't think she had any intention of using it on him, not now. But still, you didn't purposefully wind up someone who could change their mind on that in a moment. So, she got some more honest, light-hearted humour in his tone than she would normally have gotten. "Why - what did you think?" he asked her, his eyes dropping to the gun, then to the empty stairwell.

"Doesn't matter." she mumbled, turning and walking back towards the bed, so she could set the gun down. As she was thinking about it, she recognized that yes, she was thinking that she'd been caught, but if she hadn't for some reason been concerned about him, she would have gone for the window, not the door. It would have been the smarter move. It would have been a much better plan for continued survival, especially since if they had shot Brett, and he hadn't shot back, he was likely dead. So there wouldn't really have been any reason to go and do what she had. She noticed she was shaking lightly. Adrenaline did that. Fuck. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she stared down at the floor, wondering what the fuck was going on in her own head.

He watched her as she walked back inside, putting things together. He looked down the stairwell again, then followed her, leaving his toolbag where he'd dropped it. He eyed her, sitting on the bed, shaking slightly, and went to the sink, filling the glass he'd used earlier with cold water and taking it over to her. "They didn't come for you," he told her, making an educated guess at that, his tone almost reassuring, rich and warm with the absence of its usual ire.

And here was another switch. She didn't know if she could do this, keep up with it. The immediate acid he'd tossed her way upon first waking, and now...what, he was trying to make her feel better? She glanced up just enough to see that he'd brought her water, even. If she was confused before, she was absolutely fucking mystified now. It was like he'd left one person and come back as someone else. Someone she wasn't entirely sure she knew. Which was scarier? The moment when she'd thought he might hit her and it was all over and done with, or this, this kind of unexpected turnaround into...whatever the fuck it was he was playing at. It felt a lot like things had last night. Where everything was confusing, and she knew she should be making sense of it all but it didn't work. So it was confusing, and scary, and a jumbled mess that she didn't know how to deal with. That uncertain confusion showed on her features a little as she reached out to take the glass, even if she didn't drink any of the water. She also didn't actually get around to answering, since she was trying very very hard to just put things together in her own mind.

The moments on his own had helped a little for him to get his head straight, and that was aided even more by the fact that the dream was fading even further now - that sensation he'd awoken with disappearing with it. It always happened like that - the feeling that he couldn't quite grasp would be right there on waking, and then it would fade, leaving him as him again. It didn't make it any easier to deal with at the time, but he was also aware that she'd done nothing to warrant his attack that morning, aside from being there, and whilst he didn't need much provocation to be an ass, that was pretty extreme, even for him. He didn't particularly like feeling guilty and he would try and deny it all he could, but it was there. Plus, she was shaking, and, he assumed, scared, and he also refused to admit that he was a sucker for that. Another day, denying that could have been that provocation he'd needed, but today, she actually got a moment.

Eris could feel him standing there. Feel his eyes on her. Internally, there was a little rant going on. What? What do you want? Why are you even still here? Why the fuck do you seem to give a shit now where two seconds ago you were screaming at me for no reason? Who's damage is this, yours or mine? But she didn't say it. She might have another day, but she was also still dealing with the fact that she'd just done the wrong thing there. Flat out, she'd not had the right reaction. Particularly with how last night had been, and how...well, three minutes ago had been, it was a really, really bad reaction to have had. It said something, and even if he didn't notice, she did. At least she didn't think he noticed. Maybe he had, and that was why he was being quiet.

"They don't know you're here," he said, eventually. He was still assuming that that was what this was about, since she hadn't contradicted him. "I keep an ear out - your name never gets mentioned," he told her. That was, in fact, a lie. He'd heard reference to 'that stupid dead whore' once, and context meant he could tell it was her. Everyone had had a good laugh about it, or seemed to. But, in that, she'd been dead, and it had been a passing remark, not a topic of conversation. "They all think you're dead."

Recognizing that he was expecting responses out of her, she finally blinked and nodded, looking back down at the water, and she brought it up, but still didn't take a drink. In the end she wound up putting it next to the revolver on the nightstand. "Yeah." she said, voice a lot quieter than she had intended it to be. She still felt like everything was on its ear, and she couldn't make sense of it but she really really desperately needed to. And fast. She looked up, but not fully--her gaze only made it about midway up his torso, nowhere near his face or eyes. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are, Princess," Brett agreed, with only the barest subtle hint of sarcasm. She didn't look particularly fine to him, but he didn't add anything onto that. He didn't go in much for coming across as the highly observant type - though she'd called him last night on being a lot more than he appeared. Still, he'd also admitted to her that he didn't drop the act, never relaxed. He wasn't going to start that now, just because she could see through it.

She heard it there, that undercurrent, she just didn't rise to it. What was she going to say? It wasn't like he was right. She wasn't in fact, fine, but the flipside was what was he going to do about it? Nothing, that was what. Even if he could do something about it she didn't think he'd be especially inspired to. Not with how he'd been behaving not ten minutes ago. She was going to look up at him but had trouble making it that full distance once more. It just wasn't working for her. So she glanced up somewhere near mid-chest range, then away again. I thought something happened to you. She thought she just thought it, but she said it aloud. Albeit very quietly.

Brett caught that. or, at least, he thought he caught that. And then he wondered if he was hearing things, because that would suggest... no. Really. "Just needed a minute," he said, in the end, figuring that that could be vague enough. Non-specific.

Just needed a minute? Wait had she said something out loud? Or was he just kind of filling in a blank? She realized she was being quiet. Probably quieter than she should be. Or normally would be. It wasn't like she was that quiet a person generally speaking. She just....happened to be now, or something. She didn't know. She just knew she was quietly panicking, deep down. Very deep down. Very belatedly, she nodded, even if she was kind of thinking after a moment that that didn't make sense. Needed a minute...he had been leaving. So he could have had all the minutes he'd wanted. The tool box hadn't necessarily needed to get dropped like that, did it? And what had he needed a minute for in the first place? What his hissy fit had been about? The strange name thing? What had he even called her? God, her head felt like a mess. A huge, tangled mess.

He looked down at her, watching her. He didn't say anything else - it wasn't like she was answering him. In fact, the fact she wasn't answering was the only reason he wasn't completing his whole 'I'm leaving now' exit. Because this really wasn't like her, at all. She fought back - she picked, she asked fucking awkward questions and niggled at things. She was an annoying bitch half the time. But the one thing she didn't do was sit docile and quiet. As much as he hated it when it got like this, Brett couldn't deny that he was worried.

Eris' mind wasn't in a place she wanted it to be. She didn't want to be considering what the holy fucking hell was going on. She didn't want to be thinking about how she'd had a reaction she hadn't seen coming, and it had been automatic. Back in the day, she'd have never done something like that. And frankly, considering who she'd gone after to what--protect? Defend? Check to see if he wasn't dead?--whatever the fuck she'd been doing, just what the hell was wrong with her? Was she that broken now? That really, she'd woken up to the third goddamn degree, and still her first and entirely involuntary response was to go towards potential danger? Right. That made tons of sense. He'd called her 'pathetic' last night, but she had to say that she was reaching new depths of that right around now. "...you're hovering." she said, after she recognized that he hadn't actually moved, or said anything, or...whatever. He was just standing there. Probably staring at her. She didn't look up to find out.

He was, he knew he was, he could feel that he was. He shouldn't be. He should be out of here, leaving her to whatever this was. He should be getting as far away as he could from what had gone on this morning - something he blamed on a direct result of last night. He'd let himself go a little - so much for never dropping his guard - he'd talked to her. He'd stayed. He'd let himself give a damn and where did it lead? To fucking dreams, dreams that left him calling her by the name of a fucking... He didn't even want to think it, but he knew what it was. He didn't know why, or couldn't put things together in any way that made even the slightest bit of sense, but he knew what it was. He knew the emotional connection that went with the name that he'd called her, though for the life of him, he couldn't even remember what that name was now, not really. It had just been there, with its meaning behind it, and he'd called her that. And now the name was gone, together with all those other feelings - the feeling that he'd lost something; the feeling that he was too tall; hell, the feeling that his damn skin was the wrong colour. All he was left with now was the knowledge that he'd connected that emotion with her, and that scared the hell out of him. That he really did not want. "So what if I am?" he asked, recognising it was a belated answer.

He didn't answer her right away. They were both doing that at the moment, it seemed. Waiting on answering things, not speaking without either having to think over what should have been a fairly simple answer, or, at least in her case, having to yank herself up enough out of the depths of her own swirling hurricane of thoughts to articulate something approaching acceptable. She reached up and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes for a moment, really kind of wanting to pull the plug on her brain. It could shut up and stop being awful any time now, really. She'd had enough of this bullshit. She was done. She just didn't know what being done meant. Or if it was just that easy. It only took about three seconds for her to recall nothing was fucking easy. Not anymore. "Is there a reason?" she asked, again, recognizing that it was a really, really late answer, and she finally took her hands down off of her eyes, and she stood, not sure where she was going. It was just starting to feel oppressive, with her sitting and him looming. She started to head for the bathroom, so she could splash some water on her face. Still, she wasn't looking at him.

He didn't follow her, but his eyes tracked her across the room as he turned his head. "You're being quiet," he told her, putting the reasoning onto her behaviour, rather than his response to her behaviour - it was more comfortable for him that way.

She didn't answer him when she got to the bathroom. Yep. She was being quiet. As a matter of fact, she was thinking that was the way to go from here out. Keeping her mouth shut. It wasn't like she had anything on her mind she wanted to share. She couldn't make sense of it herself, save for the bits that were gently horrifying her. And he really didn't need to know about those errant sentiments. She looked at herself in the broken mirror for a long moment, seeing all the distortion, the cracks. Yeah, that looked a hell of a lot more like how she felt than any clean reflection would. Turning the water on, she waited until it wasn't mildly brown anymore before she splashed her face, leaning her hands heavily on the basin. He was hovering because she was being quiet. ...isn't that what he wanted? Wasn't he always bitching because she spoke up about anything and everything? One would think he'd be happier with this. And she might have shared that thought, but in the end, she didn't.

Even though she left the bathroom door open, Brett stayed away, giving her her privacy. He held his own too highly to invade upon hers. But he felt like a spare part right now - plus, uncomfortable simply because of everything that had already gone on today. And he knew that he should just walk, get himself out of the situation. But there was a reason that he was still here and - and he couldn't just walk with that reason in place. He looked round the loft, until his eyes fell back onto the bed. He headed over, walking round to the side table. He started to count out her pills, placing her morning dose one at a time into his hand. He'd leave them out for her, with a glass of water, and then he'd tell himself that that was all he needed and he could get out of here and shift all of this.

She heard him moving around, but didn't pay that much attention. After a few moments, she dried her face, and then walked back into the loft properly. Hovering by the bathroom door, like it was some sanctuary she could duck back into if she had to, she finally looked over at him and really looked. That was easier considering his attention wasn't on her. Looked like he was dealing with her meds. Well, wasn't that nice. Leaning her shoulder against the wall, she kept her gaze on him, but said nothing. What was there to say? Other than why are you bothering? You know I'll forget later again. And tomorrow. And weren't you leaving? It felt like you were leaving. And not coming back, at that. So, is this it, sweetheart, or has that changed? If I had a choice in the matter, what do you think I'd choose?

He looked around as he heard her come back, not saying anything, but his expression almost dared her to say something about what he was doing. Then he turned back, finished collecting the dosage and took them over to her, holding them out as he picked up the glass of water as well and offered it to her. "Take them," he said, bluntly. She could take them, he could blame absolutely everything from last night and this morning on the fact she hadn't taken her pills, and he could dismiss it all. Conscience clear. Job done.

She looked at the glass, at the hand he held out her medication in, and she didn't say anything for another long moment. In the end, she took them from him, but didn't go straight for swallowing them down. "I'm still not your pet." she told him. Her tone was quiet. Off-sounding, though it was difficult to place why. Likely it was because whenever she'd reminded him of such a thing in the past, there was a lot more bite to the statement. Today, it lacked that. It was muted, distant. Almost like she knew what the correct response was, and she was parroting it, as opposed to really saying it. In truth, she couldn't summon up the ire. She was still too messy-brained to do that, even if she would have liked to. It would make things easier. Then she took her pills.

"Never said you were. You still need your pills," he told her, watching and waiting for her to take them. She could take them and he could leave. He could feel better about things. In his mind, Brett had decided that that was just what needed to happen to put everything right. In his head, everything turned on that handful of pills. Magic damn beans.

She looked up, eyes finding his, and she managed to hold them there. She held the glass in against her chest, and didn't say anything again for a long stretch of moments. Her mouth opened, but then shut again without her saying what was on her mind. Not averting her gaze, she kept watching the blues of his eyes. She still thought they were nice eyes. Pretty. Clear. Something she wasn't going to forget, even if her mind kept dropping bits here and there with everything else. But then again, people thought that all the time, didn't they. That there would be details they'd 'never forget'. But did they? Or did some things stay whether you wanted them to or not? She supposed she had details she couldn't let go of, though none of them were positive, like Brett's eyes. They were mental scars, as opposed to points of light in her history. Part of her recognized that she was thinking about it all in the past tense. That some part of her had already decided that she did think he was gone for good. That this was it, the last time she was really going to see him. There was something hollow about it. Something that resonated deep, and she wasn't happy with it. She wasn't happy with what it said, and it was right along the same lines as what her reaction had been when she thought something had happened to him had been. She would have been able to deal with it better if it was something that only had to do with her dislike of being alone. But it wasn't.

Brett waited, and watched, but she didn't take the pills. Damn her - she always had to be difficult, didn't she? "The pills, Princess," he said, trying to keep his voice even. he just had to keep concentrating on the fact that it was all because she hadn't taken her pills. Keep ignoring the gaping damn holes in that logic - or lack of logic. Excuse. Justification. There were thousands on possible words. She just needed to take those pills.

Truthfully, she'd been too lost in her thoughts, and had momentarily forgotten she hadn't taken them yet, that she was holding onto them but hadn't completed the ritual. That showed a little, in a momentary flicker in her expression, and Eris finally looked away, and took the pills, drinking some of the water from the glass he'd given her. She looked down, somewhere near his elbow. Part of her wanted to say something, but she couldn't nail a single thing down to articulate. Her luck, he'd leave and then she'd have nothing but a mouth full of things to say with no one to say it to.

He watched as she swallowed them, feeling something lift as she did so, but not as much as he would have hoped. It was just replaced by that nagging knowledge that she wouldn't remember to take them tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Or any time he wasn't around. Oh, sure, she might remember from time to time, but not with any regularity.

Brett nodded, once, roughly. He just needed to tell himself that it wasn't his problem. That she wasn't his problem. He had enough problems of his own. He didn't need to take in strays. If he just kept that in mind, he'd be fine. Right. "This place have a phone?" he asked her.

"There's one in the bar downstairs." she answered. "...I think." She didn't know for certain. She thought she'd seen one, but really, for all she new, it didn't work, or she was just making shit up in her head. "I don't know." she admitted. Why? she thought but didn't actually ask. She was kind of becoming aware of the wall at her back, and Brett standing where he was. It wasn't necessarily that she felt trapped, but it was leaving her feeling strange, so she moved. She turned back towards the bed, setting the glass on the nightstand once more, and then she was at a loss as to where to go or what to do. A whole lot of her just wanted to lie back down and sleep. That'd be easier than dealing with the loud mess in her head. And him doing...whatever it was he was doing. In the end she did crawl back onto the bed, and she curled up on her side, back to him. It left her looking at the window, and the solid mass of light gray that was this city's excuse for a sky. Wasn't the sky meant to be blue? Some brilliant color like that? Kind of like Brett's eyes, but richer? It seemed like she recalled photographs of blue skies, but couldn't remember seeing one in...god how long? She was avoiding. She knew she was avoiding.

Brett looked around and spotted an old copy of the Echo. Grabbing a sheet of the newspaper, he folded it into a small packet and counted out her evening dose into it, before folding it over. He dropped it onto the bed by her side. "I'll ring, tonight - leave message for you, remind you. Would that help?" he asked her. There, that would be tonight looked after, and he could think of something better for longer term. She'd be taken care off. He could feel better. It would be fine.

Eris frowned, not answering for a few long moments. He was going to call? And leave a message? Would that help? Since when are you interested in helping? she thought even if she knew that was a little unfair. He'd saved her in the first place, and taken her in. He just never seemed like it was choice on his part. And really, maybe that had been covered last night. He'd said something about not being a murderer. That that was why she was still breathing. It always seemed to her, however, that it wasn't about that. It wasn't about anything but dealing with a decision he hadn't felt he had a choice on. She wanted to look back at him, to see him, but didn't. Oddly, she was feeling a little like she had right before she'd left his place. Like if she saw him, she wasn't going to be able to go through with it. Perhaps it was a lot like that, just if she was looking now, she might not let him leave. Not that she could really stop him. She recognized it took her too long to answer him. She was just all full of long silences today, wasn't she? "What would you say?"

"I'll think of something," Brett said, not sure exactly what he would say, right now. "Just make sure that you keep them on you. All you have to do is take the pills in that packet, that's all. Packet's full, you haven't - packet's empty, you have. Just need to wait til tonight. Easy, sweetheart - dead easy." Easy for the first time, then he just had to work out how to cover every other time. Had to see whether this one worked first though, didn't he.

Packet? She realized she'd missed something, and rolled over, looking over at him, then at the little makeshift packet he'd made. Picking it up, she turned it over above herself, then shifted her focus past it to him. A few thoughts went through her mind. Like if the guy downstairs found out about her issues, he could take her for a really wicked ride. And, it'd be pretty damn easy for him to off her. All he'd have to do was tell her enough times in the same day to take her meds, and she'd be done and gone pretty quick-like. Or, if he just wanted her out of it enough, overdose her, and...well. Just about anything could happen from there. Her expression flickered a frown and she looked away, not liking that thought, but again she didn't actually share it. She appreciated his effort, even if she couldn't really place why it was he was bothering all of a damn sudden.

He waited for some kind of a response. When he realised he wasn't going to get one, he turned toward the door. "I'll call," he promised, before heading out. He'd call. He wouldn't let himself think about why she was quiet, about what was wrong, he'd tell himself that he didn't give a shit, that he was going above and beyond anyhow by even bothering about her meds. He'd remind himself that it was her choice to leave him. She'd told him by doing that that she didn't want to be his responsibility - hadn't she said as much anyway? He just wouldn't think on it, that was all.

She watched him walking towards the door. He'd call, apparently. Wasn't that what people said when they wanted to cut ties but didn't have the balls to do it? Not that she'd done better when she'd left his place. She'd left notes, because nope. She wouldn't have been able to walk out if he'd come home. Of course, she hadn't wanted to cut ties. She'd just needed to not be there in his place with him. "Thank you." she said. Then, after a few moments. "Goodbye, Brett." She curled on her side more, eyes still on him. She wanted him to look back. She didn't think he would, but she wanted him to. And she really really hated that she wanted him to.

He didn't look back - Brett hated how much fucking effort it took not to look back. Or to say anything else. He hated the fact that he - that she'd roped him in like this. It had meant to be simple, it had meant to be straightforward. A choice. A dangerous choice that could get him killed, but a simple choice. She hadn't been meant to get to him, but she did. And so he didn't look back as he walked out, shutting the door behind him, collecting his bag and heading down the stairs.

He looked back, finally, when he hit the street in the grey dull light of the morning. He stopped, underneath an unlit streetlight and looked up at the window. He stood there, just for a moment or two, and then he headed off.