Discovering More Damage

who: brett and eris
where: brett's apartment
when: late night
warning: nsfw

Eris had taken a bit of a walk when she got done speaking with Jackson. She was unsettled, paranoid, and flat out uncomfortable. In her apartment she felt antsy, and she tried laying down, but that really didn't much work out for her. So, in the end, she got up, and rifled through her things until she found a scrap of paper with a phone number on it. She could really only assume it was Brett's since he'd claimed she had his number.

Then she found herself a payphone, and called it. Unfortunately he wasn't in, but Ginger was. Ginger, his neighbor, the woman who she'd go see fairly often and listen to her going on and on. She was sweet, though, generally speaking. And she was happy to provide Eris with the building's address. Sure, she'd had to make up some ridiculous lie about why she didn't remember where it was, considering she'd lived there, but in the end, the woman really just seemed giddy to hear from her. In fact it was a little hard to get her off of the phone. She wrote down Brett's address, so she didn't forget a second time, and promised Ginger she'd say hello before she went upstairs. Which was a promise she kept. After calling a cab and getting dropped off, she actually spent about twenty minutes talking to her, where she had to explain that she and Brett were trying to 'work things out' which was about as viable an excuse as she could give. While she'd been living there, she'd let Ginger believe they had been involved, because any other story was less feasible. It was what she'd wanted to believe, so Eris had never discouraged it. She also seemed quite pleased that they were working on things, and wanted details, but Eris just smiled and said she didn't want to 'jinx' things.

When she made her escape, she headed upstairs, broke in, which wasn't a difficult task whatsoever, and she re-locked the door behind herself. She poured herself a drink, and looked around the apartment, which felt weirdly like returning home. Even if she'd not lived there long, it had that strange kind of feel to it. After telling herself that was ridiculous, she of course made herself at home. Which included finding a business card that looked suspiciously like the one she'd been given earlier. She even set hers down next to his to read them, the only difference being the notes in her own handwriting on hers. God. This was going to get complicated very, very quickly if she wasn't careful.

This did not improve her mood or her anxieties. In the end, since he hadn't returned yet, she took a bath, trying to relax herself some, and then she took a blanket off of her the spare bed, and laid down on the couch. She didn't really mean to fall asleep...but that was what happened.

The mood at the Kitten Club had been subdued. Backstage, the dancers had mostly been quiet, on stage, they'd just been going through the motions. One of their own had been killed, and Brett spent the latter half of the night playing taxi, driving the girls who would normally walk back to their places. He hadn't volunteered for the job, but whilst the management at the club weren't all heart, they had a good head for business, and losing their girls to some nameless killer was not good for business.

It was gone midnight, therefore, when Brett got home, and he headed up through the quietened halls to his apartment, flipping on the light as he shut the door behind him, snapping the chain home and shutting out the night. He noticed the shape of the couch as he hung up his coat, then his suit jacket and, for a few long minutes, he just stood there, watching her sleep. She was the last person he expected to find here. That she'd managed to break in wasn't surprising - Brett kept a place that was easy to get into on purpose. If his employers wanted to check him out, wanted to toss his apartment looking for incriminating evidence of any type - or if the cops wanted to do that, then they could. They'd find nothing, and they might feel better for looking. They might not look anywhere else, if he came up clean. So, he wasn't surprised she'd managed to get in. He was, however, surprised that she'd wanted to at all. or that she'd even managed to find her way back here - after all, she'd said she couldn't remember really where it was.

Eventually, though, he snapped out of his contemplation of the sleeping woman, and took the barely two strides over to her he needed to cross his tiny apartment and shake her awake, his hand on her shoulder. "Wake up," he told her, his voice gruff.

She'd been pretty out, and so she was disoriented when she was suddenly being shaken awake. It caused a shakey intake of breath, and she looked around, before she blinked at Brett, trying to get the shadows and light to sort of arrange themselves properly so she could focus. It took a few seconds longer than she would have liked, really. Reaching up, she rubbed at one of her eyes, that confusion that was so clear on her features a moment ago starting to clear as she took in his apartment. Right. She'd come over, and then apparently fallen asleep. She wasn't dreaming, and she wasn't at her place. "'M'up." she mumbled, trying to wake up.

"Why are you here?" he asked her, blunt as always. But it was that point that had him really confused - why she was here at all, what she was doing here, how she was here. He was just really stuck on that. He didn't sit down, staying standing over her instead, looking down at her.

She shifted, sitting herself up and she curled up, pulling the blanket with her, back against the arm of the couch as she looked up at him. "Met..." she rubbed her eye again, and tried to remember the name. Then decided fuck it. She pointed to the two cards side by side on the counter. Sure, it was a little incoherent of her, but she'd been sleeping really hard. Which had her wondering why she had. She'd had a few drinks but nothing serious and she'd forgotten her night meds (probably) but still...was it just his place? Whatever, she needed to snap out of it.

Brett looked at where she had pointed and saw the other card lying next to the one he'd left on the table that morning. It didn't take more than a glance for him to be able to finish the sentence for him. "Jackson - you met Jackson." Shit, that could be bad - considering who she was, who she'd been and what a righteous fuck Jackson could be (currently Brett was ignoring that once upon a time he'd been a similar righteous fuck). "He recognise you?"

"Yes, he did." she answered, reaching up to tug her fingers through her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders. "He was in the bar, we were warming up but he got dragged out. A brawl ensued, it happens sometimes. I left. He was in the alley, pretty banged up so I thought I'd help him." She gave an unpleasant little self-mocking smile even if she wasn't looking at him. "What's the saying? No good deed goes unpunished?" Then she looked back to him. She knew it was, and she was still viewing the incident as some little twist of karma.

"Fuck. He try and arrest you? Take you in? That why you're here - you can't go back to yours?" he asked, thinking through the possible options. It would make sense - if Jackson had tried something and she had gone to ground as a result. It wasn't like she had many places to run to, after all.

She shook her head. "No." she answered. "He...I don't know. I tried to tell him that 'Eris' is dead. That I'm just a singer, I'm just...a ghost. No one. He said he wasn't going to haul me in, but he plans on keeping 'tabs' on me. I tried to tell him it could get us both killed since he's so damn obvious, but I really don't think he gives a damn." Finally pushing herself to her feet, she walked over to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap, splashing her face a little. "We talked about Babylon."

No, Brett could well believe that Jackson wouldn't give a damn. He'd always been a damn fool in that respect, thinking that his badge would be a literal shield against the world. Brett considered that he'd been naive in the past, but he'd never been as naive as Jackson. Brett had been a straight cop, but a straight cop with a brain that let him understand that he was living in a crooked world and ideals would never stop a bullet, or a fist. He still couldn't work out how Jackson had managed to make Detective whilst Brett had been flung from pillar to post, never getting his step up. Maybe there was something to be said for resolutely and blindly following through - and surviving. He realised that he'd been quiet for a moment too long. "What about Babylon?" he asked, stubbornly not commenting on Jackson, or the fact that he more than knew the guy.

She grabbed a towel and wiped her face dry, then looked over at him. "I need names. To give to him. Of who's in there now, so he can try and take it down." she said. "...I may have been.." she paused as she searched for the right word. "Passionate about the subject." Or possibly she'd yelled at the man. Semantics. "He seemed interested. He gave me his card, but I don't have names, unless you want to give me a few more bullets for that gun, and I'll go find them myself, but that'd be far messier than just shutting it down and possibly getting a few mobsters off the streets." she said.

Brett looked at her at that - really looked at her. "I thought you were all concerned about not getting me killed," he said, deceptively lightly. He didn't make any other comment other than that, and he didn't show just quite how interested he was in her suggestion. After all, he'd been thinking the other day that, if he chose to, he could use her, filter what he had through her, direct her passion about that place. And the other day he'd chosen not to, because he would have been using her, and whilst he was forced to be a thug, when it came to her, and that area of his life, he could make the choice not to be, and that was becoming increasingly important to him. But, if she was asking for the information, he had to consider whether that didn't shine a whole new light on the situation.

She looked at him as he looked at her, and didn't say anything immediately. "I won't get you killed." she said, voice soft. Then she looked away, leaning her hip against the counter, and she hugged her arms around herself. She kind of wanted to go back for the blanket, but didn't. She'd been all nice and warm and now she was not happy with this being abruptly awake and dealing with things bullshit. "He asked about you." she said, ticking her gaze back towards him, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "I said I might have names, and he asked if yours was one of them." And I about had a fucking heart attack, but he didn't so much notice. "I told him no. But it's obvious he knows you. And you have his card too."

"So, you lied then," Brett pointed out to her. "We both know my name would be one of them - how'd my name even come up anyhow?" Brett asked, deflecting away from the fact that he knew Jack. He thought about his meeting with the guy yesterday, fuck - everything was just getting too close. Three years and he'd been locked in his own world, not having to deal with shit and now? Now it was all coming at him.

"No, no your name isn't one of the ones that I'd be giving. I just want people who've moved in on Babylon. So unless there's something major you're not telling me?" she asked, recognizing that that could in fact, be the case, "Then as far as I'm concerned, I've never heard the name Brett Trent." She moved to get herself a glass out of one of the cabinets, and got some water. "I want to give him big names. Start at the top. Give him the people there, and at the very least it'll ruin some people's days." Taking a moment, she drank some of her water, eyes on him again. "He just...gave it. He asked flat out if 'Brett Trent' was one of my names. I told him no. Then he made some comment about..." then she frowned, and shook her head. "No, he was first saying something about talking to you about being a good cop and now he was talking to me about shutting down my own brothel. Then he asked if you were involved, and I told him no. He seemed...like that was expected. He said something like he didn't think it would be you."

"Names won't do shit and we both know it. 'Specially not at the top. These guys don't just let themselves be connected to this shit, or the cops would have no troubles taking them down in the first place," Brett pointed out. They didn't have to have cops in their pockets to stay afloat - Brett knew that the guys with power had a support network of people making them look and sound squeaky clean and as fresh as the virgin snow. Connecting the dots was next to impossible without evidence and information. Names were just names - they didn't get you very far without something to back that up.

"It would get him started. Weren't you the one who was telling me if I wanted to do something, I wasn't allowed to go in guns blazing?" she asked rhetorically. "That I needed to think things through? Well, this is an open shot. If he actually follows through. And if I can get him anything to start with or go on. Not that I'm sure he'll listen to me anyways." she said. "Y'know, before he recognized me, he called me Angel. Strangely, after he did, 'Angel' sounded a whole lot like 'filthy fucking whore'. So I don't even know. Maybe he just plans on waiting til I give him something then hauling me in anyhow. Which would make everything more or less a moot point. He accused me of human trafficking anyways, I'm pretty sure he'd call it a damn good day if he did bring me in."

For a second, Brett wanted to tell her that she didn't know Jackson. That, of all the cops out there, Jackson's word could be trusted, that he was a safe bet. Except he'd been screwed over by at least one of his 'safe bets', possibly more. Which meant that he couldn't trust that he knew anything anymore. "So, instead of going in all guns blazing, you're gonna go with trusting a cop who possibly can't be trusted? That might not land you directly dead, but could land you in jail - where they're have you all nicely locked in a cage for them to come and pick you off at leisure? Good plan," he told her, his sharp tone covering for that suppressed instinct and the stab of pain he'd had at the fact it would never again hold true.

"Baby, their leisure would be inside a week. I'd give myself about forty-eight hours before I was picked off." Eris said honestly, really not at all batting an eye at his familiar tone. She was a realist, and that was reality. "Faster, if they get an inside tip on the matter, which I'm sure they'd be able to get. But that's hardly the point. Do you see a choice? Whether I can trust the guy or not? He knows me. He knows where I am. Even if I wasn't going to trust him the slightest bit, that doesn't change what he's going to do. At least if I give him something I might have a chance to seem like a smaller fish. And maybe it'll just turn on me anyways but I can't pass up the opportunity to do this, either. I don't really see a choice here, Trent. Do you?" she asked. The last bit was totally honest, as well. Because she didn't see anything. She didn't see an out of any description, if there was one, she was missing it.

Brett felt that push again, to tell her that if Jackson was gonna turn on her, then it wouldn't matter if she was a big fish, or a small fish, that the guy wasn't like that, that he was as straight as a die and that bribery wouldn't work. And that familiar stab of doubt and anger with his reminder that he couldn't say that, that he couldn't rely on the fact that he'd known anyone. And, on top of that, he hated the fact that, yes, he could see another way out. She could disappear again, drop back into the underbelly, Babylon could be left lone - and Jackson could meet with a nasty accident in a dark alley. He loathed the fact that he even had that thought, but it was there.

"I didn't think so." she said, exhaling quietly. She finished off her water then turned to rinse it out in the sink, setting it off to the side neatly. Like she'd done when she lived there. "I think he wants to give me a chance, but I don't know. I think he also doesn't understand the nature of...possibly this entire city. I think he's the type of guy who thinks good and evil are the same things as legal and illegal and somehow I doubt he sees shades of gray." She was back to looking at Brett, and was quiet for a few moments. "I'm assuming you knew him from when you were a cop. Were you friends? He...there was a familiarity to the way he spoke when he was talking about you, even if it was only for a minute."

Her assessment sounded very much like the Jackson he'd known, thought he'd known, the way he'd once seen the guy himself, and that helped, a little. He crossed to the couch and sat down, pushing her blanket out of the way. The cushions were still a little warm from where she'd been lying earlier, and he was still a little damp from where he'd been out in the rain - it made for an odd combination. "Tell me what you think about him. Your assessment. You're good at that," he told her, again ignoring her question. She was too fucking observant for her own good, and had an almost uncanny way of seeing into him, so now - she could direct that highly annoying skill to someone else.

She watched him, though stayed where she was. "I think you're avoiding." she said. But she didn't actually press her question, either, and instead gave him what he was asking for. "I think he's naive. I think he's someone who probably thinks they've got the greater good in mind, but it's a greater good jaded by his world view, which is a very narrow lens. I think that he wants to believe in second chances but he still has trouble with it. Which is why he's said he isn't going to turn me in, but reiterated the fact that he plans to 'keep an eye on me' to make sure that I'm not returning to my evil harlot ways. I think he doesn't know a goddamn thing about what it's like to actually live in this city, when you have nothing. I'm fairly certain he has absolutely no idea what it's like to be nine years old, and stealing to keep from starving to death because no one else will feed you. Or to be a woman who's got nothing, has no education and can't get a proper job, and has nothing left but certain illegal endeavors. I think his heart's in the right place, Eidolon City just isn't the right place for his heart."

Brett considered this, realising that he didn't know enough about Jackson's upbringing to know how accurate she was with a lot about it. They just hadn't really talked about where they'd come from. More on where they were and where they were going. A lot of time on where they were going - they'd shared quite a few idealist-type conversations over numerous beers. And, in that much, what she said corresponded to what he'd known. That took the edge off his doubt, at least. It didn't mean that he fully trusted himself, or what he thought he knew, but it took the edge off. "I always knew Jack as a straight cop," he said, in the end, not looking at her. "Good guy. And yeah, there was always Legal and Illegal for him. Black and white and nothing in between. Not really. No mitigating circumstances, no letting a small crime slip to grab a big one. He turned into the wind and face down the storm, thinking he could hold it back on his own." Brett realised just how much he'd said, and came to his senses a little, shaking his head and abruptly standing again. "He always was a fucking idiot. Surprised he's not got himself fucking killed by now."

She caught it when he went poetic on her, and there was the faintest traces of a smile on her lips before she sobered it. She pushed herself up onto the countertop, and kept her eyes on him. "If I had to guess I'd say he's still a straight cop. Either that or a spectacular fucking liar, but people have tells, I didn't catch any." She paused a moment, watching him very closely. "I think he almost did get himself killed." she said. "They let him go, but I think he needs to consider just what neighborhoods he's being the shining shield man in." Shaking her head, she looked away a moment, then back. "If he keeps coming around and doesn't attempt some subtlety, it's not going to end well for either he or I."

"He doesn't do 'subtle' well, so you might want to start looking for another place, if you don't want him coming round," Brett told her, aware that they were standing in something that could be offered up as another place. Except she'd left, hadn't she? She'd walked out and she'd given him her reasons why. She wasn't going to be coming back. She wouldn't want to. "And he got himself suspended. Apparently he and his partner broke up a drug deal. His partner got shot, that went down like a fucking lead balloon, left Jack cooling his heels - but not before he'd hauled most of them down to the station." He smiled, tightly. "Really surprised that he didn't get a bullet through the brain for it - there were some really fucking pissed off parties in that one. Set 'em back a couple of weeks, upset the balance..." Brett had heard about the ripples it had caused. And, sure, possibly he should have warned his former friend, but at the time he'd been talking to a cop and he wasn't stupid enough to admit to knowing shit about the darker side of things.

"I can imagine he's good at making waves." Eris said. "And he doesn't seem to be slowing down on that, even if he is suspended." she added. She was silent for a few moments, thinking over what he said about her finding another place. "I don't have anywhere else to go." she told him. "I don't know anyone else who I'd be able to work out a deal with that I'd be willing to go through with, and..." I can't stay here. Not that he'd offered. Even if she was terribly aware of the fact that she was comfortable in the space.

"Was suspended - he just went back yesterday," Brett corrected, absently, more concentrating on her not having anywhere else to go. he reminded himself firmly that she'd left him, left here. hell, she hadn't even been able to really remember where 'here' was. "How did you get back?" he asked her, without really thinking about it - it had just been on his mind and then he was speaking.

Apparently, they had been talking recently, and long enough to catch up on current events with each other. That was...interesting. And worrisome. Which was more pressing a matter in her mind than his question, which she'd be happy to answer, but after she said what was on her mind. "Brett, do you trust him not to turn on you?" she asked. Her tone was light. Soft. Something to help cover the concern that the idea kicked up. The last thing Brett needed was to be nailed for something and sent to prison. She only had so many favors she could cash in and she didn't think anything like that could be made to go away. Not really. Not if he was actively charged with likely a multitude of things.

Brett held her eyes for a moment. "I don't trust anyone," he told her, simply. There was no ire there, no anger, none of his usual bite. There was almost an apology and sadness to it, which he didn't catch until he heard it himself. Today had not been a good day, clearly Stella's death hadn't been all worked out of his system, not that that was surprising. But it was leaking through, which he didn't normally allow.

There was a flicker in her expression, as she maintained that eye contact. She definitely heard it too, which was not a tone she heard from Brett often. In fact, she couldn't actually recall a time when she'd really heard it. She said nothing for a few long, long moments, before she got down from the counter and crossed over to him, this time looking down at him. "What's wrong?" she asked. She had the light little urge to reach out and draw her fingers through his damp hair, but didn't. That wouldn't go over at all. He didn't like it when she touched him. Which reminded her of how Jackson had been flinching just that little bit when she did the same. It hadn't mattered then, but in comparison with Brett, it gave her a deep seeded little echo of a pang she ignored.

He didn't answer at first, looking up at her, aware that he could and probably should just brush it off. That there were other things to concentrate on, that the question she'd asked didn't necessarily have anything to do with the answer he'd given. It didn't seem to fit and he supposed they both knew it, and they both knew what he meant. "...Girl at the club was killed last night," he told her eventually, dropping his eyes from hers.

There was a part of her that was just a tiny bit shocked that he answered her. Generally she got the brush off unless she dug, and dug hard and kept at it. But something was very definitely wrong, and this proved that to her even more. "Did you know her well?" she asked, voice still soft, and she sat down on the couch with him. Not as close as she might have had the urge to, but not as far away as she could get, either. It was a middle ground of personal space.

He rallied a little at that, not able to pinpoint exactly what made him, but he did. He looked across, cocking his head slightly. "Don't know anyone 'well', Princess," he pointed out, with an attempt at sarcasm. She should know that by now.

You know me well. "Well for you." she clarified, seeing the switch. Well that was short lived, not that she expected otherwise. It wasn't like Brett did 'vulnerable'. "It's obvious that it's meant something to you." she said, not pointedly, just stating that she did in fact, notice. "It's bothering you." She moved that slight bit away from him as she spoke, since he'd shut down again. Or at least he started to shut down, so she didn't want to encourage more of that.

"One of my jobs is seeing that no bastard gets near those girls," Brett explained, leaving it at that. And, sure, she'd been killed outside of hours, away from the club, but still - she was one of his girls. He gave a damn, as much as nobody knew it. He was just reminded of the conversation he'd had with Lila, how she'd brushed off that there was really a problem.

She didn't say anything for a few moments, watching him. Then she got up, ducked into the bathroom, and got him a towel, which she brought over and held out to him. "Do you feel like you should have been able to save her?" she asked. "It didn't happen when you were there, did it? Or at the club?" If it was, as far as she understood, it would be a big switch of the now familiar track the killer was on.

Brett took the towel and ran it across his wet hair, making the short brown strands stick up messily. "No - apparently her body was found in an alleyway, not far from where she lived. But no, I don't think I should have been able to save her. But they're fucking stupid, still walking home every night." Brett dismissed the idea that he could have had a hand in preventing things. In his head, he was no hero. Not anymore.

Eris stood where she was, crossing her arms loosely across her stomach as she watched him, having given the distance back deliberately, she maintained it. "I'm sure most of them can't afford cab fare, let alone cars. I'm sorry, though." she said. "I'm sure it isn't easy when someone you know just...gets picked off." She'd seen it enough in her day. Just when she'd been losing people, she'd not had the emotional capacity to really feel it. Which made her wonder about now. But the only person she really had was him. And she knew exactly how emotionally horrifying it was to think about him being gone. Even if he was.

"I'm sure most of them can't afford to be knifed in an alley either," Brett pointed out. "It all depends on what risks you're willing to take. But you know that, don't you? With what you did - you know the risks." After all, she'd viewed Babylon as a safe haven.

Eris looked him in the eye for a long moment. "Yes. I do." She knew all about it. She knew just exactly what it was to weigh the risks. Hell. Knifed in an alley? That was her mother. As for the girls there... Good girls from up town didn't wind up dancing at the Kitten Club. Like they didn't wind up at Babylon. The people who wound up in those places were the ones who got in trouble, and were bailed out by the mob. Or they couldn't get anything else. They were doing what they needed to do, and it was still just about impossible to get ahead. Especially when dealing with the mob, which everyone at the Kitten Club was.

He didn't want to be talking about this. It wouldn't help anything, and with her standing there, like that... He stood up, wanting to be over her, the dream he'd had that morning swimming up into his consciousness once again. Sitting there with her standing, he felt like a small child. He felt as vulnerable as a child. Fucking dreams - why'd he been dreaming of being a child anyhow? "I need a shower," he told her, heading off towards his room.

She watched him crossing the room, back to her, and she didn't know if that was cue for her to leave. If he was done now, and that was it. She recognized that she didn't really want to leave. That the idea of going back out into the night...whatever time it was, wasn't on her list of things to do. If it was late enough, she might not get a cab. Did it mean that she'd be the next body found if she did leave? Would he care if it was? In the end, she didn't say anything. She still needed names and he could get her a few of them, she knew. She just didn't say that she wanted them. That if he did want her gone, he needed to write them down for her first.

He ignored her. In actual fact, he hadn't intended her to leave. He didn't particularly want her to leave. And, if she had have done, he would have tried to stop her. He was all too aware right now of the potential for ending up a body in an alleyway, and next time it wouldn't be him standing over her last breaths. That aside, there was an emptiness to this place that was gone right now. So, he ignored her as he headed into his room, found clean clothes and then moved to the tiny bathroom. He closed the door, but didn't lock it, sure that she wouldn't come in anyway. She'd always been good at respecting his privacy, after all. Turning the water on, he stepped under the stream once it warmed, tipping his face up into it and just letting the water hammer over his ruined flesh.

She looked away once he shut the door, then glanced around the place. Heading over to the stove, she got out a pot, and started to throw together a little soup for him. She didn't know if he'd eat it, but she tended to make him things and just leave it in a spot where he could take it if he wanted it, while never mentioning it at all. They had a specific system, she supposed. And it was familiar, and felt what passed for normal these days. She considered another drink of whiskey, but opted out for that, capping it and putting the bottle back. The place felt too quiet, so she turned the radio on, even if she kept it turned down relatively low. It wasn't like the man had walls that kept sound down. She sang along softly with the song that came on, since it was actually one she knew, and she did little things. She put some things away, she started doing the dishes. Things that she'd done when she lived there.

He took his time, getting warm and clean, washing the day away - not that it ever helped him forget, and he never felt truly clean. Not for years now. Turning off the flow, he stepped out, drying himself off and getting dressed again in the clothes he'd brought in before walking back out into the living area. As always, he was in long pants and shirt sleeves, covering the worst of his burns. Even though he'd told her about them, about their extent, he wasn't going to show her the reality. He wouldn't feel comfortable going out there in anything less. The only nod towards the fact that she knew was that he left his top button undone, and didn't bother with the tie. It exposed slightly more of his scar, because she would be able to see all of his neck, but it covered his chest - and that was where it started getting really bad.

She glanced back over her shoulder when he came out, and while she didn't turn the radio off, she did stop singing along with it. Why it was okay when he couldn't hear in her, but not when he could, she didn't know, especially since she did it for a living at the moment. But she didn't figure he'd ever heard her sing. She'd looked for him but never saw him, and anyways, she couldn't possibly fathom any reason he'd have for doing that. Even if deep down, she wished he would sometime. That was just a desire that she couldn't reconsile in her own head so she ignored it. What she was kind of looking for was any sign that she'd been meant to vacate the premises while he'd been in the shower, but she didn't see any. There was no glare at her for continuing to exist in his space.

There was soup on the table now. He knew how this game went. She made something for him, then didn't give it to him. He would always refuse if she asked him if he wanted something. And he would always reject anything she ever made for him. So, she'd taken to leaving things for him. And, in his usual way, he ignored the fact that she had. Maybe he'd get to it in a little while, but never straight away. She'd been cleaning up as well, which he also ignored.

He crossed to the radio and twisted the dial until he found another station, one playing blues - that matched his mood. He'd noted she'd stopped singing along when he walked out, so he figured she wouldn't care that he'd changed it to something she'd find harder, given that she didn't want him to hear her. He was glad he'd never told her that he'd seen her perform.

She took it as a validation for her having stopped. To her it was a fairly clear sign that he didn't want any of that, so...he switched it to something she didn't know. She didn't say anything yet, she was still in the process of doing the little things around the apartment that hadn't so much gotten done when she'd not been there. She also glanced to him when she didn't think he was looking, glancing at the little bit more of his neck that was exposed. He never left the house like that.

"...I don't have much that's specifically on Babylon," Brett told her after an almost interminable amount of silence. He was across the room from her, the kitchen table between them. He hadn't stopped her carrying on with the things she's been doing, but he watched her doing them. He'd become aware that they were all things that he didn't normally do, that had really been bypassed since she'd left, but that she'd never made a point of doing in front of him before. She'd always had so much time when he'd been out, after all.

"Anything you do have would help. Just...and I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but make sure nothing gets traced back to you. If he does go after this, and you don't know if you can trust him or not, I don't want this hitting you." she said. She didn't. She also wasn't looking at him as she did say it, still doing her little busywork type things but she could feel his eyes on her. Part of her kept waiting for him to tell her to stop.

That would be part of the job - working out what information he had that would be (a) relevant and (b) untraceable. Thing was, he'd always purposefully kept away from any real dealings with Babylon. Being the cleaner for her death had been the one time that he hadn't been able to get out of it. He probably had some bits, but it might not be enough. "How soon do you want it?" he asked her, ignoring her statement. Giving it the attention he decided it deserved.

"As soon as you can." she said. "I don't know how patient he's going to be." She finally looked over. "I think I have some leeway but he's already waiting for me to put a foot wrong. It'd be real easy for him to decide I was just giving him the runaround. If you can't do it then...I'll figure something out." she said, not wanting to land it on him. It was her stupid idea in the first place. So, she'd take responsibility for it.

It was late, it was dark, and it was raining. Pretty good, in actual fact. He headed toward the door, picking up his coat on the way and pulling it on. "I'll be back in a little while," he told her, before taking the chain off.

Eris blinked. "...you're not leaving now." she said, having not expected that in the slightest, and she put down what she was doing and she walked up to him. "You just got home. And you just got out of the shower, and you've had a shit night." she said, even if he'd not said he had one, it was pretty clear all in all, and there was the dead girl. "I'm positive it can wait until tomorrow." If she didn't have that much leeway then he was going to sell her out and never had any intention of giving her even a slight bit of time to prove herself.

Brett turned back to her and took a step away from the door. "Princess - it's late and raining out. There'll be less people on the streets, less chance that I might be seen. Tomorrow I might not have that. Hell, tomorrow I might spend all night on some fucking job or other that means I can't get where I need to go. No time like the present - just do me a favour, once I give you what I give you, don't go leaving it around here, 'kay?" he told her, hardening himself against the fact that when he went through with this, he'd be exposing himself to her. He hadn't said shit about anything, but she'd know something was up. What she took from it would be up to her, but he'd be selling out his employers, after all. And it'd be clear that he'd have the information to let him be prepared to do that at a moment's notice.

"Can't you go in there just...on your own? Get assigned there for the night or something? You said you've been back, why do you have to leave now?" she asked, stepping up closer, looking up at him. "And once he has it, whatever you do give me gets burned. Hell, you know I won't even remember it. So I can't even sell you out, even if they catch me and torture me." Which was sadly, likely true. "I don't like the idea of you going someplace where you've got to be using rain and darkness for cover." Especially alone. Not that she'd be any real help to him if she did tag along. Plus, if she was seen...yeah! Wow was that ever not going to work.

"Do you want the information, or not?" Brett asked her, holding her eyes. Strangely, he realised that he hadn't thought she would sell him out. Not with this. His concern had been more that she would leave something lying around this innocently bare and clean apartment and forget about it, not that she'd purposefully give him away.

She looked at him for a long, long span of moments. She did want it. And she didn't know how long Jackson was going to give her before he'd decide she was taking him for a ride. With as straight an arrow he was, it might not be long. It wasn't like she was a trustworthy person in the first place. But she didn't really want Brett risking things either. So, she answered his question with a question. "How much risk is this to you?"

"Long as I'm not seen: not much," he told her, with more than a pinch of bravado. There was risk, there was always risk, but if he could sift through what he had, make sure that what he give her was shit that could be traced back to several potential sources, he figured that he could minimise that risk. He wasn't going to be giving her everything, not by a long shot. This was testing the water time, nothing more. He wasn't willing to trust enough to risk everything.

Eris was silent for a good minute or so, weighing it. He looked serious. And she did know that his 'job' as it were was unpredictable at best and he could just not have opportunity to do anything for a while. There were a lot of factors. That just didn't mean she liked it, and her tone, while quiet and light, reflected that. "How long will you be gone?" she asked. Because she wanted to know when she could officially start worrying. She'd be worrying anyways, she knew that, because if she was being honest with herself, she was worried right the hell now. But if she had a ballpark idea of when he'd be back...she'd know when she could appropriately be concerned. She also reached up and slid her fingertips along the inside of his collar to find the top button, and she did it for him, not letting her eyes drift from his.

Brett tensed when she did that, forgetting or a moment to answer her. And forgetting to push her away until she'd actually done the button up and a few more beats had passed - then he pushed her hand away and took a half step back. "Hour, two maybe," he told her, calculating that. The store he needed to go to wasn't far, but he'd need to be cautious, cover his tracks, then sort through and get the relevant information. That would all take time.

She'd kind of expected him to not let her do it at all, so it was vaguely surprising that he did. And that it took him a second to push her hand away and get that distance back. It was masochistic, probably, but sometimes she simply did things. Went with urges and didn't consider not doing so until he pushed her away, and then she was of course, reminded again that he always hated that. She wondered if she was worse with it now because she didn't see him every day. She stepped back as well, still not looking especially happy with his decision to leave right this second. "Then I'll see you when you're back."

He was aware she didn't look happy, but that wasn't his problem. He was doing something for her - he was doing something for both of them - if she didn't want to be happy about that then that was her problem. There was nothing else to add, and so he simply walked out, closing the door behind him and heading out into the rain once again.

She exhaled and leaned against the wall when he was gone, and she told herself he'd be fine. He was a big boy, he'd been doing this for a long time and he wasn't, above all, stupid. He was a very smart man, even if he pretended otherwise with the people he worked with.

Things were just starting to feel heavy. With the cop today, and that possible execution he could make happen just by bringing her in, with the tatters of Babylon hanging over her head, with wanting to get Brett out and this bringing him closer to something more dangerous, she needed to keep everything together. And once upon a time, she could have. Easily, no problem at all. Now, though? Now she was winging it.

Eventually, she went to curl up on the couch again, listening to the blues music, and waiting for him to get back. She kept her eyes on the clock, too, watching the time go by, wondering what the hell she would do if he just didn't come back.

It was still raining when Brett arrived back again, and he was soaked once more. That was the downside of caution. He'd been as careful as he could be, but his car was known by the people he wanted to avoid, so once he'd got down to the docks district where this particular stash was, he'd dumped it in an alley and walked the rest of the way.

What he had for her wasn't much - notes on names, dates, involved people. A couple of city names that frequented the place, some of whom she probably already knew about, but at least one he was sure had only started going once the Syndicate took over. That might lead to something else, and, in fact, he had information of that particular name being involved in other dealings in the city, but that was more high-risk information so he'd left it out.

As he reached his front door, he paused, dripping on the floor. He was aware that she'd be inside, that he'd be giving her this, that he'd be admitting that he wasn't exactly a loyal Syndicate guy. But, he told himself, she already knew that. She'd known that the moment she'd realised he'd saved her damn life. This didn't change anything, nothing at all. All it was doing was testing her as a way of getting what he knew out there where it could maybe do some good. Stealing himself, he put his key in the door and went inside.

She immediately stood up, and took a few steps towards the door, even if part of her told herself she was being stupid. What exactly was she planning on doing there? Still, she did it anyhow, and she waited, wondering what he would have. And if he was alone. If he'd got caught, he might have people with him. She imagined a ton of different scenarios where things had gone sideways and she was about to find out if everything was okay or everything was fucked. Really, in this? There was no middle ground.

He took a small, ragged pile of scrap papers out of his inside pocket as he took off his jacket, hanging it up, wet, by the door. "Here," he said, handing the information over to her. "This should get you started, but you'll need to copy it out. Jackson would recognise my handwriting any day."

"You're late." she noted quietly, taking the notes. When he said the part about his handwriting, however, that gave her a start and she was suddenly immensely glad that she'd hidden her medication notes before Jackson had entered her apartment. "God..." she said, thinking now she was going to have to try and copy them out herself, and she wasn't very good at that, and plus she'd liked the notes from him. Because they were from him. Because it started out 'princess'.

He didn't ask, and he said nothing to her comment about his timing. Instead he crossed to pour himself a small whiskey. He needed it right now, but he didn't need to get drunk. He needed to stay sharp, just in case. There was no real end to that 'just in case', just that.

She went to sit down at the table, and she started looking over the notes. There was more here than she expected, really, and after she went over it, she was looking back over at him. "You didn't just pull this up tonight." she said. It wasn't a question.

"What did you expect? That I'd just walk in there and take a roll call?" he asked, sipping at the whiskey and resolutely not just downing it.

"No, I expected a list, not...this. This is better, obviously, but this is--you've been working on this." she said. She put the scraps down and turned in her chair to fully focus on him. "How long have you been doing this?" she asked. "And why?" This was something she hadn't anticipated, but she wanted answers. It wouldn't change the outcome but she wanted to know what he was doing. What he was into and why. She kind of needed to know if she was going to be playing go between for the two...The two cops. Because he used to be one and you wondered before about that. And he was a good fucking cop, too. There's all sorts of shit that doesn't add up about him when you get to know him you know that, Julia, so maybe this here is the lynchpin. ...and he's not going to tell you.

He looked at her for long enough that it was quite clear and plain he was purposefully not answering her questions, then he downed the rest of the whiskey, set the glass down and went to retrieve the towel she'd given him earlier, beginning drying himself off again. There was, after all, no way of answering her questions without telling her everything or blatantly lying to her.

Eris looked away, putting a hand up to her forehead for a moment as she squeezed her eyes shut. You know this puts me out there, Brett. I'm already out there. And if you have shit to take people down with then that helps dig you out from under. Which I'm already fucking trying to do, and I'll just bet the boyscout would love that too. He sounded to me like he wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I'm wrong. But I feel like I just hit onto something that's going to leave me extremely fucking vulnerable. Because it'll only trace back as far as me. And if I'm doing it--and I will be--I want to know why. I want to know why I'm possibly going to get myself killed. In the end she stood up abruptly, the chair screeching slightly on the floor, and she walked over to the drawer where she remembered there being a notepad and a pen. Then she took it over to the table to start writing things down, trying to be sure that she had it copied right. But she wouldn't know for sure until he told her. Til he checked her work. When she had it written down, she pushed the notebook across the table, in his vague direction and dropped the pen. "Check that I didn't fuck it up." she said, voice tight. Quiet, but tense.

He'd started to watch her again when she was half way through her copy job. Honestly, he'd been expecting an argument when he'd refused to tell her anything, and it hadn't come. He'd covered his initial surprise by finishing toweling dry his hair, and then he'd watched her until she pushed the note towards him. He picked it up and scanned down it, then checked the notes he'd given her earlier and cross-referenced them. "You got it right," he told her, his gaze going from the papers to her face.

She wasn't looking at him. She just gathered up his notes, and slid them back over, then reached out to take the notebook back from him. Tearing the sheet free, she folded it, then thought better of it and looked around for the card Jackson had given her. Walking away over to where it was on the counter top, she made sure to take the one that was hers, and she put it inside the folded note, then moved to her coat, to put it into her pocket as she put it on.

Brett watched until she started to put her coat on. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he asked her, talking a couple of steps towards her. It was late, and there was that whole 'the streets aren't safe' thing - he wasn't just going to let her walk out. Especially not since she had nowhere to go if there were questions over the security of her place once she got there.

"Elsewhere." she answered, still not looking at him, even if she was aware of him in the space. He'd come closer, and he was about three steps away if he wanted to come right up to her. He was tall, he covered ground pretty quickly when he wanted to. He'd done it to her enough times. He got angry and then all of a sudden he was rightthere. Still, she pulled her hair out from beneath the collar of her coat, and headed for the door, pausing to kick her shoes out so she could put them on.

He took those steps, grabbing hold of her upper right arm and swinging her around. "Elsewhere? Just like that? You know a girl was killed last night on those streets. And don't give me any bullshit about how someone dies out there every night - you know what I'm talking about. There's someone out there hunting for pretty women and he's finding them. Plus, you shouldn't go back to your place - not until we know what's going down. It's not safe there either, if Jackson decides to be the fucking Boy Scout I know he is. So, no, you're not going 'elsewhere' - you're staying right here," he told her, in a tone that didn't brook any arguments. not that that ever stopped her before. Usually that tone just had her telling him she wasn't his puppy to order around.

And really, tonight wasn't any different with her not arguing. "Just like that." she confirmed for him, now looking up at him since he'd invaded her space pretty seriously, not that she was backing down at all. So she just glared up at him. "And yes, I'm aware there's some psycho out there. I'm aware I'm probably even his type. I'm aware my place isn't safe--why the hell do you think I came here in the first place." she snapped. "I'll take my chances."

"No you fucking won't - I'm not letting you leave, Princess," he told her, stepping between her and the door, not letting her go. "This because I wouldn't answer your damn questions? That it - you're fucking... Fine. When? You've only been supposedly dead for the last few months - and Babylon didn't mean shit to me before then. So you want to know the 'when' of it all? That's when. Why?" God, wasn't that the harder question? Fuck. He stumbled with the 'why' answer - even his anger couldn't carry him through that one, though it had got him safely through the first. "Do you really need to know why?" he asked instead.

"I think that this could get me killed. I think that I hand this over, and say he's on the level, and it takes people down, and everything works out fine. Well whatever. Nothing ever works out fine. You know that. I know that. But it stops with me. This information here? It'll trace to me. And that's where it ends. Not that people would be looking too hard past me anyhow, I'd be a little distracting to certain people. So, then I go down. If he isn't on the level then I hand this over, it still stops with me, but he turns me in and then I get tagged on the inside. Or, one tiny little rumor gets back to your bosses, and it won't take them long to find me. And it'll still stop with me. Hell, it could even be traced back to you and I think your little boyscout would still give you the benefit of the doubt. You'd be able to opt out pretty easy with him, if I'm right. But me? I'm just an evil whore he doesn't trust and is waiting to put a foot wrong. I'm a means to an end. I'm okay with that but I don't think it's that fucking much to know why. What I'm protecting. Why I'm doing it." Even if it was clear regardless of her being vastly unhappy with not knowing...that was still her course of action. "But you're not going to tell me. So, whatever. I don't get to know. But I also am not going to sit here either. I'm going to go. I'm going to find a phone. I'm going to call him, tell him what he wants to know, and hope for the fucking best. Please. Move."

He could tell her nothing and let her walk out the door. No - he couldn't do that. Not tonight. He couldn't handle that tonight. He could lie to her, tell her that it was about what they did. Hell, he could really lie to her, tell her it was all about her - that he'd been collecting the information over the last few months driven by her. But he couldn't. For a start, well, it wouldn't work. And then there was the fact that he'd really be using her if he somehow made it work. He'd already sold his soul, as far as he was concerned. He didn't need to try and sell it again. "You came to me for information, sweetheart. You wanted names. I gave you more than you wanted - something that might actually help. Less than two days ago, you were willing to take six shots and call it good. I think I've given you a pretty damn good run," he said, not moving in the slightest.

"You have. Thank you. It's appreciated." Eris said tightly. "I'm going to go make good use of it now. Move, so I can do that." she said, since nothing he said actually addressed her concerns. She didn't expect him to. There was a reason she didn't ask him again for the information. It wasn't going to be put out there. It just also didn't mean she was going to smile and nod and hang out for the rest of the night while he didn't tell her. She was thinking about windows. Though she didn't think she'd make it out of one without breaking something. She could scream...but she'd lived here long enough to know screaming wasn't actually all that uncommon, and no one would bat an eye. She needed to get him to move.

He couldn't let her go. He'd lost Stella last night, he wasn't willing to lose her tonight. He wasn't going to let her leave. Which left him feeling backed into a corner. Really, seriously backed into a corner. And he hated her for it. His grip tightened on her arm as he pulled her a couple of steps away from the door. "I didn't choose this life," he ground out, his voice low, only loud enough for her and with a tone that spoke volumes about his unhappiness about speaking at all. "And if you can use what you know to get back at those bastards? Then you can fucking have it. With my blessing."

Being he was a big guy, and she was a small woman, he didn't have any trouble pulling her a bit away from the door. What he said was new. That he didn't choose the life. It was different than what he'd said last time, that he'd 'wised up'. And she felt like it was the truth now, but she honestly didn't know, and she knew she was too emotionally distraught at the moment to actually even remotely trust her gut on it. "So let me go use it. I'll give him his start and maybe dig up more, and maybe they'll get taken down." And maybe he'd get out. Which was what she'd already started putting into motion, even if she didn't know how reliable Jakob was. "Let go." she said, breaking eye contact briefly to look at his hand on her arm. She started to reach up to put her hand over his, thinking she could do what she did last time. Just put that contact into play and he'd let go. Maybe even the obvious threat of it would do it.

Not until I know you're not leaving again, Brett thought. Except he knew she couldn't actually go anywhere without his consent, and so he let her go, though he didn't step back at all. "The number you have is for the station. He's not gonna be there until tomorrow. You don't need to leave right now." She couldn't fucking leave - he'd told her something he'd never intended to, just to get her to stay, yet still she wanted to leave. that wasn't fucking fair - he put himself out there and it didn't work. What did the fucking woman fucking want from him?

"Then I'll call in the morning." she said. "That doesn't change that I need to go." she added. She tried for the door again, hoping he'd just let her walk this time even if she didn't have a whole lot of hope for that. At least the threat of contact had worked, in case he tried to grab her arm again. Things were nagging at the back of her mind and she knew she'd be spinning her wheels on them, but at the moment, she just...needed to be doing that elsewhere. Not immediately in the room with him. She was upset, incredibly so, and she'd already felt unstable earlier. She was feeling even less stable now. But then Brett could throw her off of her stride like no one had ever been able to do before. He just got to her.

He stepped with her as she tried to go past him, so he was still in her way. "Why - why do you need to go?" he asked, not understanding what was happening here. She'd been pissed at him not telling her things, so he'd caved - he'd told her. And yet she was still trying to leave. He was missing something and he didn't know what.

She closed her eyes for a few long moments, and tried to just breathe. It wasn't nearly as helpful as she would have liked. "Because I do. Because you still haven't really told me anything. And I know you aren't going to. So, fine. I'm not going to beg. I know how this goes and I don't have the mind for it tonight. I know you aren't happy with your employers. I know there are things that never added up about you in the first place and the better I get to know you and your history, the more it should clear up but it doesn't. So now you've told me you're happy for me to help bring them down, well good. That was the plan anyhow. I'm glad you even have things to give me on the matter. I still don't know why. You say you didn't choose, and you know what? I buy that. I believe you. But last time you told me that you just wised up, too, so what am I meant to believe? You don't like questions. I could ask but you're not going to tell me. Or you'll just tell me to go with the most recent. So, fine. Answer accepted. You win. I don't know why you're still trying to keep me here." She looked away and she knew there was something else too, some detail that kept coming to the forefront of her mind then drifting back again. Something at her place.

"One of my girls died last night - I won't risk it becoming two," he told her, after a moment or two. Fuck it, he felt exposed. He felt unbelievably exposed and yet she was basically telling him it wasn't enough. And now he was admitting to her just how much he didn't want her to go, and why - which just exposed him all the more. If she chose to use that against him, he didn't know how far he would let her take him before he decided that it was too much and let her walk out that door.

She caught the possessive in there. The 'my'. That explained why he seemed as upset and off as he had been there. She didn't associate it with herself, though. She wasn't a girl of his. He didn't have obligations towards her. Especially now that--fuck. That was it. That was what she kept trying to latch onto and then it drifted back in her head. And even if she knew she needed to address what he'd just said, she wound up partially whispering to herself what had gone through her mind. It was involuntary, she didn't mean to say anything, it was just there. "Your handwriting." Then she realized she said something and she made another move for the door. "The---the notes, you--it's your handwriting and you said he'd recognize and and I moved them, he didn't see but if he goes back then he might and then--" She needed to focus. God she needed to focus. But the latching onto the thought ebbed her anger down a little. "I won't die." she added, almost another slip, but there was some amount of forethought involved.

He stepped into her path again. "No, you won't - because you're staying here tonight. I'm not gonna fucking risk you for a couple of damn bits of paper," he told her, getting what she was saying and linking it back to Jackson. He'd deal with Jack, if he had to. He could swing Jackson in this - so, there were notes in his writing in her apartment, that meant fuck all, the way he'd tell it. So, he knew Eris Stockard was alive. That didn't make him a damn criminal. The cops couldn't link him to shit down that path. Definitely not enough to warrant her going out on the streets.

She stared at him for a moment. Just watched him, and she tried to figure this out. Really she did. She just felt like nothing was making sense. That it didn't quite work. In fact, this wasn't even usually how they worked, if one was playing it fast and loose with the definition of the word 'worked'. "You're not going to risk me." she repeated, a little confusion flickering in her expression, like she understood it was English he was speaking but the words didn't add up right in her head.

He shut up at that, figuring that he'd really said too much. And she wasn't actively fighting to leave any more, so he backed down, for the moment. He considered just asking her to stay, but he'd made his position quite clear on the matter and he doubted that simply asking her would make any difference, since she already knew he wanted her to.

She didn't say anything for a few long moments, looking away, then back to him. She was debating, not even sure what she was debating anymore. What her next move was. She didn't even know what she wanted anymore in that moment. There were several things that floated to the surface of her mind. Questions, like would you be that upset? why do you care? how hard will you try to keep me here? Does it all scare you that much? Am I one of 'your' girls? There were many. None stayed very long, and she didn't give voice to a single one, but they were there. "Does it matter that much to you?" she asked in the end. She wasn't even looking for an in depth answer there. Yes or no would do. She even heard her own phrasing. She couldn't ask if she meant that much. She'd switched the association to 'it'. An action, not her as a person.

Will it make you stay if I said 'yes'? Brett thought to himself, realising that was his answer. "Yeah, it means that much to me - so will you stay?" he asked her. It was that simple - if that's what it took to keep her to stay, he could admit to that. Fuck - this was hold low he'd fallen. He hated admitting to that. Hated admitting that she meant anything, never mind that she meant that much. It opened him up, it made a crack that she could push against, a crack in that wall of his. But the crack had been made with Stella's death, and he couldn't patch them right now, not with this on top.

She let out a breath, and looked away again, then finally just started to take off her coat. She guessed she was staying, then. Which left her not knowing what to do now. Looking back to Brett for a long moment, she pushed her shoes back to where they'd been, and then she dropped her coat down on top of them. "I'll stay." she said, voice quiet, even if it was just stating the obvious. But she put the confirmation out there for him, mostly, though there was a tiny smidge in there for herself. So she was telling herself she was staying. That she'd made a decision there and she was going to have to live with it. She walked a little further back into the room, and then went to go pour herself a drink. She was going to pour him one as well. They both seemed to be in dire goddamn need at the moment.

Brett let out some of the tension he'd been holding and moved away from the door, heading back into the tiny apartment more. He wasn't sure where to go now, what to do. What to say. She'd agreed to stay, and now... He didn't know what came next. He was too awake to sleep, that was for sure, the adrenaline pumping. He went across to the table, and started gathering up the notes. He was tempted to burn them, now that there was a copy, but that would mean trusting her with the only copy. She might lose it, and then his work would be gone.

She poured the two drinks, and looked at his card on the counter again. Picking it up, she read over the words once more, then tuned it over. To see something written on the back. Helena. And some address. And her first thought was 'is she Amber?' even if that didn't quite make sense. There was a lot on her mind, though, and she knocked back a god half of what she poured, and let it burn down her throat. "Are they all your girls?" she asked, after a long silence, and she reached out and picked up the drink she'd poured for him, and headed over, holdng it out to him.

He was regreting his wording there already, now that the issue of her leaving was solved. She'd forced him to put that out there, to give more than he ever would have, and it left him feeling nettled and uncomfortable. But, it was also too late now. "They're my job," he told her, taking the glass but not drinking from it. One of his jobs anyhow.

"Are they." she said, watching him. "I don't believe you." she added. She also went and sat down on the couch, pulling the blanket back over again. "I think if they were just your job, you wouldn't be upset about one of them dying." she said. "But you are." And she didn't actually ask a question in there again. She was just giving her observation on the subject. "I think they're all your girls." She was quiet for a moment, and managed just to sip at the whiskey this time. "Is Helena one of your girls too?" she asked.

He tracked her as she went to sit. "Helena's just a woman I met yesterday - floored the bastard trying to run with her bag. She was... grateful," he explained. No, Helena wasn't one of his girls, and he wondered why he was even explaining the situation to her, except there were those cracks again and she'd got through them right now.

She looked at him, and there was a ghost of a smile that seemed to drift across her features for a moment, and then it was gone. So he'd played hero again. He was champion of the dancers at the kitten club, of some woman who was getting her purse snatched, and occasionally, her. "You just can't stop, can you." she said, tone light. Distant. Almost like she wasn't talking to him, she was talking to himself. "Tell me about how you got here. You said it wasn't your choice. Sit down. Have a drink. Talk to me." she invited, thinking that there wasn't a hope in hell he'd actually do that.

"I can't stop?" Brett asked, raising an eyebrow and wondering if he actually wanted to have her explain what she meant by that. He didn't go and sit down though, he was feeling exposed enough as it was without getting close to her on the couch - that seemed like a step too far right now. Then again, everything tonight had been one step too far at a time. He was way out of his comfort zone.

She nodded, and took another drink, not surprised he'd opted not to talk to her about what she wanted to talk about. But hey. At the moment, she was just rolling with things. She leaned against the arm of the couch and curled herself up a little, propping her arm on the back of the cushion, closed fist resting against her cheek as she regarded him. "You can't stop playing hero. It's in there, somewhere. And even if you want everyone around you to believe that you're just as much of a scumbag as the people you work with? Deep down? You're just not. You can't fight your nature, and I think your nature is better than you've been trying to make people believe." she told him, not letting her eyes waver from where she had them locked on his.

"You're wrong," he told her, bluntly, meeting her eyes. "Heroes don't make the choices in life that I've made and they definitely don't do the things in life that I've done. So, I floored some weedy fucker as he ran past me. Big fucking deal. Lucky shot, doesn't mean anything."

"You did it at all and there's a lot of people who wouldn't. And apparently, you talked to her enough to get her number. So fuck you, I'm wrong. You saved me. And you seem to keep doing it, too. If anyone knows? I do. Maybe it's not at the forefront? Or you don't want it to be? But it's there. It's in really, really deep but you can't actually cut it out." Eris said, holding his gaze.

"What is it with you?" Brett snapped back. "What's the fucking drive to make me out to be something better than I fucking am? I sold out - I work for the people who tried to fucking kill you. Who've killed god knows how many other people in this damn town just because they were in the way. I've done things you wouldn't even believe. because they told me to. I am not some kind of fucking hero, and I'm not one of the good guys. Haven't been for a really fucking long time now."

"I'm not making you out to be anything, all I'm doing is connecting the obvious behavioral dots, Trent." She snapped back. "And if you want to bullshit yourself? Fine. But I don't buy it because that's not what I see. And yes. I get it. You work for the mob and I'm positive you've done shit that doesn't sit well or would horrify anyone else, and you want everyone to write you off as just another no good asshole. Well, too bad. I'm not buying it." She killed the rest of her drink and set the glass down. "You said you weren't in all of this by choice. So, tell me again how you sold out. That seems like it'd be a choice to me."

"I took what was offered me," he snapped at her, skipping over how he got to the point where he needed to be offered anything in the first place. He'd been suspected of murder - he'd been offered an alibi and a damn good lawyer, and he'd taken both. That was the moment that he'd really sold out. "It's not exactly a choice when it's lose no matter which way you go."

"So, where were you losing?" she asked. "What was the rock and the hard place? What happened to you, that you took what they had to offer when you probably hate them as much as I do. You don't build up little piles of notes on names and all if you're happy. And you're not happy anyways. You won't move up, and that's a choice too because as we've discussed before--you could. Easily. But you don't. You're encouraging me to find ways to take them down, which I'm more than happy to do. But they killed me. They're hurting my girls. I've got my reasons. I just don't know yours. And none of this has anything to do with who you are deep down."

"The rock was prison, or more likely ending up at the bottom of the river. I chose the hard place - and it has to do with who I became with that choice. Fuck 'deep down' - deep down doesn't matter if day to day you're... this," he said, his tone turning to one of disgust as he gestured to himself. "So, no - I'm not happy. Which I'm sure will come as a real fucking shock and I'm sure you really needed to see a pile of fucking notes to work that one out, didn't you? But I'm alive. So, I guess I was wrong - I did make a choice. I chose not to get dead."

"There's more to life than not being dead." Which was something that she knew pretty well, considering she really hated her existence as it was. Not that she could do anything about it, but still. She didn't say anything a moment, just watching him. "And it doesn't matter?" she asked. "Really?" Keeping her eyes on him, she shifted, then stood up and walked just a little closer. "Doesn't matter to who? Us, them, or you?"

"Try telling that to the dead guy," Brett shot back. He knew she knew what it was like to have a life where your other choice was death, and he doubted that she would have ever took the other choice. He did what he had to to stay alive - and then, apparently, he took stupid risks, like her. That was his 'more to life', but he wasn't going to tell her that. She'd only twist it to suit her argument, and he didn't want to hear what she was saying.

"I asked a question." she said. "And frankly, the dead guy isn't feeling any more pain, so I'm not entirely certain it's a valid argument. Either way...there's more. There's more than what you're stuck with at the moment. Or the existence you've decided that you're going to have." She glanced around, then back to him. "I'd guess a whole lot of your life is about punishing yourself for the things you've had to do."

I deserve it. He knew that - he deserved the life he had as payment for the choice he made. For not being strong enough to do the right thing. For being corrupted like so many other people. Sure, he was forced into a corner, but that didn't really matter, at the end of the day. He'd been so fucking high and mighty, once upon a time, when really he was no better than the rest of them. "There's nothing more," he told her, after a moment or two.

"If you really believed that I'd be dead. You'd have tossed my ass in the river and forgot all about me. Because there'd be nothing. No nagging conscience in the back of your mind, that doesn't want you to take that step and become a murderer. You know there's more. You don't want me to leave tonight. If I turned up as the next victim, it'd bother you. Maybe just because you'd feel like you should have stopped me. I don't really know why, honestly, but I think it would." she said, stepping closer again. She still wasn't within reach, she just kept slowly cutting the distance down. "And the real tell? Is that you have that." she said, making a vague gesture over towards the notes. "You're biding your time for something. And maybe you haven't figured out exactly what to do yet? But you're working towards some end game. Maybe you just lucked out and I can be a trigger for it and you don't have to be. Then maybe you will get your life back. But if you do? You really do need to know there's more to it than just not being in a pine box."

"You back on that again? I told you before - there's no getting my life back. It's gone, over. I could no more get my life back than you could get yours. We're ghosts, darling, that's all. I've just had more time at working at my lot than you have. And nobody actually thinks that I'm literally dead. Just gone. But there's no going back," he said, bitterly. he could be realistic about that, after everything, even if he was vindicated, he couldn't go back. And now, he wasn't even sure he'd want to go back.

"I don't believe that." she said. "I think there's got to be something. Hell you even have shit lying around just to nail the people you work for. Fucking--give it to him." she said, gesturing at the card, because in the moment, she couldn't remember his name. "Give it to him and make a fucking deal. From what he was saying about you I'm willing to bet he'd jump at the chance to help you out. I could try to call in old favors, just so you weren't thrown to the wolves on sight." Which she'd already done, really, but he didn't need to know that.

"I give it to him and I'd be dead before the day was out," Brett told her, very serious with that. He could imagine the way it would go. Even assuming that Jackson was as straight as Brett had always believed, it would go badly. Because she was right - the guy would jump at it. And he'd tell people, he'd crow about it. He'd want to help Brett get out and he'd take the info to the best person to have it, and he'd let it be known exactly where he got it. And Brett still didn't know how many people were involved when he got screwed. How far that went. But he could believe that it went far enough that whoever Jackson told would be the wrong guy. Getting the deal from Eris, Jackson would be more cautious with that. He'd deal with it sensibly, professionally. It wouldn't get them all killed.

"Then let me do it." she said. "If you've got anything else, give it to me. Then work something out. Or, don't tell him shit about what you have and just ask him to help you get out anyways. I'm sure he would. But it would still be clean on your end, as far as the O'Malley's are concerned. You might have to go into protective custody, or...whatever, but it could be done. Then you'd be done with this." she said, making a vague gesture to the room.

"They think I shot a cop, Princess. They can't prove it, but they think I shot my old captain," Brett told her. "No cop's gonna help me out. Not while they even think that. I know how cops are, and if you hurt one of their own? If they even think you did? They're not gonna give you the time of day. The O'Malleys - they gave me an alibi, and they gave me a lawyer. The type that really pisses the force off. But they didn't try and make me look innocent - just made it so they couldn't pin anything on me and I walked. Anyway, with the way things are these days? 'Protective custody' isn't all that protective."

"Well, who did shoot your old captain?" she asked. She actually sort of vaguely remembered something about it. It was a while back, years, but yeah, she recalled. It had made the news, of course, people had fussed over it. "Hand them over. Through me. Toss something the paper's way at the same time." Then she stopped. "....definitely do that. Give them something big and flashy to look at and throw a fit about, and some cops will scramble to follow up on it, and in the meantime, maybe the boyscout can chase down what I'm handing him."

"Some guy - I never knew his name. Haven't seen him again since, but he worked for the O'Malley's at one point," Brett told her, before he looked away. He still hadn't touched his whiskey. "It won't work, Princess. Like you said, nothing ever works out the way you want it to." He was certain of that. He just couldn't see a way out, and his gut instinct was to immediately discount everything she suggested. He couldn't do it - there was no way to climb out of this pit.

She looked at him for a long, long moment. "...fine. I will." she said simply, a note of finality in her tone. The trouble was, Eris couldn't do this. She knew she couldn't do it. She didn't have the mental capacity she used to. Even if she wanted to--and she did--this was going to end badly for her. She was going to misstep. Fucking up was inevitable. But it gave her drive. It was still working towards what she'd up and decided she was going to do, and therefore she was going to do it regardless of understanding what was likely to happen. Or understanding that it was probably going to take a hell of a lot more exposing herself than she was happy to do. She was already feeling just short of fucking terrified, just with her meeting with the cop today. She'd wound up at Brett's place because she'd felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Well, she guessed she might as well go with it now.

He looked back at her. "What?" he asked, all front gone with the shock of her simple declaration. He felt like he'd missed a step. "You will what?"

"Start the fireworks." she answered. "I've got a list of names you gave me, they're getting handed to the boyscout. After that? Well, guess it just looks like I'll have to see what I can dig up." she said. Then she turned to walk away, thinking by now she needed another drink. It was heading for the bottle, or heading for the door, and she thought he was less likely to stop her if she went for the bottle. Maybe. Who knew. He got twitchy about that, too. She looked towards the door, though. Because one thing was pretty damn clear in her mind. If she was doing this? Brett needed to be far, far away from her.

He stared and then followed her. "Why?" he asked, closing the distance between them. That he didn't get - the why of it all. Why the hell she would do that. He could understand her wanting revenge for Babylon, but this seemed to be more than that. What he'd given her would be enough to be a start for Jackson. It would give the cops a foothold in getting the place closed down, but until a moment or two ago, she hadn't shown any signs of wanting to hit bigger than that. And now, suddenly, she was out to cause real waves.

"Why do you have all this shit?" she asked, in a tone that suggested that she knew he wasn't going to answer her. And thus it meant she didn't have to answer him. She got to the bottle and glanced around for her glass, but it was all the way over by the couch. So, instead, she just took a pull from the bottle. Not even a big one, really, and she recapped it and set it down with a clunk. Then she looked back at him. "Does it matter?"

He almost answered her. The words were right there, and he almost snapped them out - but then she asked her second question and gave him that moment to grow a brain. Focus on that instead. "You don't have anything on them," he pointed out. "If you did, you wouldn't have needed to come to me for information. So, whatever you're going to try and get? You're going to have to go out there to get. And that's probably going to get you killed. So yeah, it matters. I've told you before - I didn't not throw you in the river that night just so you could die some other way." He glanced at the bottle, knowing that that topic normally came up when he was accusing her of trying to drink herself to death.

"Well, sweetheart, it's a little late for that." she told him. "Your boy's got my number now. Knows where I am, knows who I am. And he wants to keep an eye on me. If that doesn't get me killed, when the others there start asking questions? That will. The second that man ID'd me, the cracked hourglass of my time started running out. So, I'd rather go out doing some fucking damage." And she definitely had her sights set, at this point. If she could do it, it would get him out. She'd be happy with that. It might get Babylon out from under. Maybe one of her girls would set up shop someplace else, take over where she'd left off. She'd call it good with those two things. Brett's life and her girls safe. Yeah. That was a pretty good bottom line in her eyes.

"Then give him your information and disappear. Come back here, hell - leave the city. He found you by mistake, he can't keep an eye on you if you can't be found. What you're planning is fucking suicide." But he figured she knew that. She didn't care - she didn't see herself with a future. He knew this, he knew this very well. It was just a slightly more constructive suicide.

Eris watched his eyes and shook her head, not letting upon the eye contact. "Not good enough." she said. The same thing she'd said to Jakob, at one point. "Weren't you saying earlier that just names aren't really going to do anything? That we both know how this works? Well, you're right." she told him. "Leaving the city is out. Do you think I'd actually make it elsewhere? That I'm actually capable of starting over? I'm not. Flat out, I'm not, and I think you know that. Otherwise you wouldn't have kept an eye on me yourself. You sure as hell didn't come by for the company." Since they got along so well. "And I can't come back here. Remember? If trails are leading back to me, and we need them not to trace back to you...which is the truth, I'm with you on your logic, I understand. The consequence is I sure as fuck can't be anywhere near you. You need to forget you ever fucking laid eyes on me. That you ever knew my name or anything about me."

Brett looked at her for a long, silent moment, then turned on his heel and headed for the door. He didn't get that far though - he got as far as her coat, which had been his intent in the first place. He picked it up, rifling through the pockets, until he found the paper she'd written on before, taking it back. He could burn it - he could burn both of them and then she wouldn't have shit. And he could talk to Jackson, get him to keep his fucking stupid mouth shut, feed him some line, get him to drop it. He could try - but he wasn't going to let her throw away what little she had left.

"Don't." she hissed, crossing to him, and she made a grab for the note, for his wrist. "Don't. Give it back." God, he needed to not be a fucking idiot right now. He really, really needed to just listen, for once, and step back.

Brett lifted his hand up, the notes out of her reach. It wasn't a hard thing to do, considering he was substantially taller than her. "No. There's risks, then there's suicide. I'll support you with one, but I'll fucking stop you before you can try the other, sweetheart."

She wasn't going to try and jump for the note. So, she pushed him, both hands to his chest, just below his sternum. "Give it back." she snapped. "It's not your choice, you don't get to say what I do and do not do, whether you consider me a fucking pet or not." She was definitely keeping herself close, knowing he hated that, and she wanted him off balance. She didn't like using what she knew to manipulate him but in this case? It was necessary.

"It's my fucking list, it's my fucking choice," Brett told her, hardly even swaying when she pushed him. He took a step back though, because she'd come right up close, and that was what he did. "And you're not a pet - but I gave you this and I'm not wiling to let you use it to throw your life away, no matter how much you think you can fucking justify it to yourself because you'd be causing some damage on the way down."

She kept closing the distance, stepping right back into his personal space when he stepped back. There was a wall back there. He'd hit it soon, and then he'd have to make some sort of move. "If you don't give it back to me I'll just have to go find the names myself." she told him. "I'm not thinking I have a very good shot at that. But I'll try. It'll just be a lot cleaner if you give it back and let me go." she told him.

Brett kept stepping back as she stepped forward until he did, in fact, hit the wall. And then he just glared at her, as though the wall being there was her fault. Which, really, it was - if she'd just kept out of his personal space, there would have been no problem. "Be reasonable about this, darling," he said, trying a new tack, though he still wouldn't give her the notes.

"I'm being practical. Possibly terribly cut-throat practical, but it's my throat and I'm not complaining." Eris told him, an edge still beneath her tone, and she didn't give him his space back either. She was right up close, looking up at him and not letting her gaze waver in the slightest. "There is no 'reasonable' in this. Either things get done or they don't. I'd want them to get done. You can make this easier, or you can make this even harder, and more dangerous. Make a choice."

He stood with his back up against the wall for a moment, before he'd had enough. He wasn't some cowering little wallflower who was going to be pushed into submission just by a little invasion of personal space, and if she thought he was, then she didn't know him well enough. He pushed back off the wall, stepping even closer to her as he looked down at her. "There are ways and means," he ground out, funneling the anger at this entire situation. "You don't have to go in there, all guns blazing. Taking your time, being cautious, doing things the right way. Yeah, there's risks involved, but it's not sure fire suicide. Give Jackson some time, watch to see how he does with this, then decide. Then see where we are, see how things have worked out. And, if that works, step it up. But not like this. You're a fool to run it like this."

She didn't back away as he stepped in closer. There were occasional times when she thought he might hit her. He'd never done it, of course. She kept half expecting it, though, in moments like these. Eris just wasn't a woman who backed down because of the threat of violence. Or, even the actuality of it. "Did you forget the part where my clock is ticking?" she asked. "And taking time...what, like you? How long have you been sitting on things?" she asked, even if it was rhetorical. "Just give me the list and go to bed, Brett."

"Long enough - I've been sitting on things long enough," Brett told her, his tone dropping a little from the out and out anger of a moment before. At times it came and went like a flash, and at times, he purposefully reined it back. He still saw her as his opportunity, she could achieve things he couldn't. She could get what he knew further than he ever would be able to. "Jackson will be cautious, with anything you give him. He won't trust you. But, assuming they've not got to him and we're both right in what we think of the guy, he won't sell you out either. Maybe, eventually, he'll try and arrest you for what you were, but he won't reveal you as a source purposefully. There's nothing on that list that would lead back to just one place, all of it could be got from a half dozen guys. It's as safe as I could make it. Let's just see what he does with it. Give it to him, then go to ground for a bit, sweetheart. Everyone's clock's ticking - doesn't mean you have to help it along any."

"Brett, I don't have anywhere to go. And he's made it perfectly clear he's going to be around, 'checking' on me. It's not his arresting me I'm worrying about, it's the fact that he's a fucking bright shining target. Especially in that neighborhood, especially after the shit that went down not ten minutes after he walked in the goddamn door. I asked him to be subtle, but something tells me that'll go against his pretty little postcard view of the world, won't it. No, he's meant to be the cop, the one in charge, and all that's right and good in the world will protect him. Only it won't. And people are going to see him. And you know who's a lot easier to get rid of than a cop? Some stupid bitch singer no one cares about, but who might be feeding the guy information. Problem solved, even if they aren't sure what the fucking problem is. Fuck, they even have the killer they could blame that on. That man is probably going to be the death of me, one way or another. He just doesn't know that. I do. And I'm not about to just sit around and wait for it to come get me."

"Then don't give him the information - problem solved," Brett shot back at her. "He knows where you were, he doesn't know where you are now. He can't keep an eye on you if he can't fucking find you. You're not in that neighbourhood, he can be a brilliant shining beacon of light and hope somewhere else, and you're not feeding him information."

"And that would accomplish what?" she asked. "No. I promised him names, I'm getting him names. I want him to chase this down. I want to hand him as much as I possibly can to get the little house of cards to come tumbling down. And there was that part where I can't be traced back to you. Being here right now? I'm not staying. I can't stay." She drew in a breath and let it out slowly, looking away for a moment, then back to him, still not quite used to the proximity, but neither of them seemed that willing to back off. "I understand this is upsetting for you." she said. She didn't know why it was upsetting, but she knew it was. "But there isn't any going back on this. Don't make it harder than it has to be."

"He'll get names - you just don't have to hand them to him personally," Brett pointed out. "And there'll be no tracing of anything - because you'll be a cold trail. Nobody knows you're here, there's no reason for anyone to know you're here," he argued, dropping his hand back to his side, though he kept a tight hold on the papers. "We can find some place else for you to be, if that's what you want. There are - we can work things out."

"I'm going to call him with it. And if I don't, he decides that I'm a lying whore, and he hauls me in because I didn't own up to my end of things." Eris told him. After that, her tone was lighter. Softer. "I come here, and we're back to the reason I left in the first place. If I'm here, it's not safe for either of us. Not if your coworkers come by, not if the boyscout decides to look you up and drop in. I am working things out. You just don't like the outcome. But it's okay." She reached out, sliding her fingertips down his arm, just a little. "Give me the list, Brett." she said, tone quiet by the end.

His gaze dropped to the side, watching her fingers start the slide down his arm, crossing the dragon tattoo that was inked into his skin. He raised his eyes again to hers. "Promise me that you won't do anything more. Not without talking it through with me first. Not without seeing how this goes," he said, knowing he was on a losing streak right now. There just didn't seem any way to win. Even burning the information wouldn't really achieve anything, and it would send up in smoke his chance to finish what he'd started.

Inside her head, she'd kind of marked what she'd done as a cue for him to put himself on the other side of the room. When he didn't, she was surprised, though it didn't show. She kept her fingers lightly against his wrist, not actively going for the note or anything, she merely kept up the contact. She didn't say anything for a few moments as she watched his eyes. In the end, she looked away, trying to consider, before she looked back. "Alright." she conceded. It didn't clear up the problems she was going to have. It didn't clear up the whole problem with a cop wanting to check up on her. It certainly didn't address the problem of her knowing that really? He needed to not at all be anywhere near her. He needed to cut ties and nowish. While she didn't really want that, she knew it was the only way to keep him truly clear. She found herself brushing her thumb back and forth against the back of his hand, just a tiny bit.

The promise made him feel like he'd clawed something back from this, like he had a little more control again, though he couldn't help but wonder if all it was doing was putting off the inevitable. After all, all she was doing was promising to talk to him - not to actually listen to anything he had to say. He was aware of the soft movement of her thumb on his hand, which in turn brought a heightened awareness of just how close they were standing. He didn't normally let her get this close, he didn't normally let anyone get this close - it was easier to push people away sooner than later, after all. It required so much less explanation. But, tonight, there was nowhere left to go, and in the end, he merely twisted his hand, rotating it so that it was palm-side up, offering her the papers. Maybe she'd back off if she had them. The part of him that didn't really want her to back off was easily drowned out, after all, that hadn't been a voice he'd listened to for well over a decade now.

With the turn of his hand, she let her fingers brush the inside of his wrist. And she didn't take the papers right away. She kept her eyes on his, and kept up that light, tiny little motion. Then she took it, after a few long heartbeats, though she didn't actually step back. She stayed where she was, and watched him. There was a lot going through her mind. Like she was well aware of the fact that she'd be needing to be a lot tougher on herself from here out. That if she was going ahead on the course she'd set for herself, if she wanted at all for him to actually get the benefit of it, no one had ever find out they even knew each other. So, her stupid little move here tonight? When she'd looked him up and come here? That wasn't allowed. And he wasn't going to be able to go to her either...not that he would anyhow. He didn't have any reason to anymore. She recognized the loss she was feeling. She felt it before, only this time it hit harder. Bit deeper. Probably because it was her finally accepting it all. It was just a really hard acceptance.

He gave himself a couple of moments, his eyes roaming over her face as he allowed her to touch him like that. It was nice, and he'd known for a while now that he was attracted to her. Had been for longer than he'd let himself admit to. So, the touch was nice. There could be no follow through though, he knew that. He couldn't bear to see that look in anyone's eyes, especially not hers. And so, having given himself those moments, he pushed the papers toward her a little more. "Go on, take them," he told her, his tone missing the mark of gruff and falling a little thicker than normal.

She did, but she still didn't step away from him. She caught the change in his voice, too. Knew he was going for how he usually sounded and failed. Again, a lot of things went through her mind to say to him. Or, a lot of things crossed her mind though none of them really came close to actual articulation. She didn't deem anything acceptable. Putting the notes into her pocket, she kept looking up at him. And she reached out to touch his arm again, tracing along one of the lines of the dragon. He was going to break this any second now. Remind her that he hated it when she touched him. But until he did, she was going to indulge herself, even if it was just a heartbeat or two.

Now his hand was free, he hesitated once more, but only for a second, before he turned it slightly, grasping hold of her forearm. It wasn't a tight hold, and he didn't move her hand back from him. Part of him wanted to see what she would do with that, if he reminded her that they didn't do that.

Do you want me to stop? was the first thing that went through her mind, but that was kind of ridiculous. What with him stopping her and all, really, that much was obvious. ...only it kind of wasn't. Because she wasn't getting the same sort of read off of him that she usually did, and he hadn't stepped back, which was generally what he did. He just put himself someplace that was else, he didn't take her arm. Her gaze went from his, down to his hand on her arm. And since he had her forearm, and not her wrist, she could still lift her knuckles up a little, to brush against his inked skin. Which she did. At this point she was aware that it was deliberate, and couldn't be disguised as anything but.

She drove him crazy. She always had. She would never listen to him, never do what he said. She was always her own person, often willfully and stubbornly so, against all reason. Nobody got to him like she did, and he doubted she had any clue - except, maybe, when she made him angry. Sometimes he thought she wound him up deliberately. Right now, he knew that she was very aware of what she was doing - he just didn't know what she was hoping to achieve with it, why she was carrying on when normally it took only the slightest hint that he'd noticed the physical contact for her to back off. Verbally they could spar into the night, but physically - well, there was no physically. "Julia..." he said, quietly, trying to inject a hint of warning into his tone, though it was off again.

She looked up when he said her name. Him, the only person who knew it anymore. Would ever know it. The light touch paused for a moment but she didn't stop it. It was just that. A pause. She didn't know what his tone meant. Like she didn't know why he was even letting her do it now. Everything felt like it had stopped for the moment. Or, the whirlwind that was her life, anyhow. Like she was experiencing a moment that was entirely separate from everything else. Maybe he was too. Maybe the rules were suspended for just a little bit. Or maybe she was brain damaged and delusional, and she was just putting connotations onto things because that was what she wanted there. She certainly wouldn't put it past herself. It just also didn't seem the time to go with logic, even if she could see it there. She also knew she should say something. But she didn't actually trust herself to do so. There was still so much going through her mind, spinning through in rapid succession. She knew it. She understood it. She was aware. Like she didn't know if she opened her mouth and gave anything voice if she'd tell him to close his eyes. Because she wanted to. But he wouldn't listen to her. She knew that too. It would just break the moment. So she didn't let herself say anything. Maybe she was waiting for him to finish his thought. His protest, wherever it was that start of a sentence ended. She just looked up at him, and lightly drew her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before releasing it again.

He was cracked tonight, well and truly off his game. Today had just been one thing after another and it had left him feeling battered and bruised. How many times in the past had she told him that she couldn't do it tonight? He felt that way, right now. Like he was done, like he couldn't face the fight any more. And there was comfort in her touch - to push her away would start the fight again. He was just so tired of it all. But yet, she wasn't taking any of the little hints. He didn't buy that she'd missed them. Not her - she would know they were there, she was just ignoring them and he wondered if she was goading him. Waiting for him to push her away, to what end, he didn't know. Maybe to get back at him for making her promise. But he was too tired for the fight right now.

When she spoke, her voice was soft. Quiet, a whisper, really. It was after she'd turned her arm in his grip a little, to better touch his arm. She grasped it lightly, like she was aware he was going to walk away when she broke things. But if she didn't speak, she was going to do something even more ill advised than what she was already doing. It was less a full decision that she was going to say something than some inner urge pushed close enough to the surface of her mind. "You know this is it, don't you?" she asked.

Brett didn't know what 'it' was, so the answer could have been either 'yes', or it could have been 'no', depending on what 'it' she was talking about - he had no idea. He hadn't expected her to speak - there'd been a kind of timeless cocoon to their silence, one in which he could put off making a decision. When she did, he didn't have an answer for her, and in the end, he just looked at her, blankly, a question lurking behind his blue eyes.

She looked back down for a moment, watching as she traced along the dragon's back again, then her eyes found his again. Speaking was required. She'd gone and asked him something, and he didn't understand. She got that. It was clear enough. Of course, in her mind, it sort of had been more than one thing. She went with the more appropriate, however. It just took her a good minute to actually get herself to voice things again. Her tone was the same, a soft, quiet whisper. "When I leave here...I'm not going to see you again." she spelled out for him. "It won't be safe. I can't come here...and you can't come to my place, considering who might be watching now."

He swallowed, knowing that the last two times he'd attempted speech, that hadn't come out quite right. "Can't do that," he told her, managing a good approximation of a normalish tone. "You promised me, remember?" Unless, of course, she'd promised with no intention of following through with that. And it truck him at that that he hadn't thought that she would do that. He'd trusted her to keep her promise. He wondered, then, if she'd been playing him for a fool, and the sting of that thought cut right through him, leaving him breathless.

She nodded. "I know. And I'll keep it." she said. And she meant it. "I'll call you. I'll talk to you. I'll find some kind of way to let you know what's happening after that." She had a few ideas. She could leave him notes signed Amber, that had little clues in them. He was a smart man. He'd figure them out. "But I can't be here, and you can't be there, and anywhere else...it'd be far too high a risk." Uncontrolled environments always were.

"How do I know you will?" he asked her, that seed of mistrust sown now, and watered with the realisation that this would be out of his control. But both of those feelings, those clearly negative feelings were more acceptable for him to allow himself to dwell on than the thought that he wasn't going to see her again. That he'd miss her.

"I'm calling him tomorrow. I'll call you tomorrow night. If you aren't in, then I'll leave a message with Ginger. Just that I called." she said. "You're going to have to trust me. And I know. You don't trust anyone." she filled in for him because he definitely had that riff down, and she knew it quite well. "But there isn't anything else that can be done." she said. Even if he didn't trust her, he was going to have to let her go sometime. And while she was aware he could keep her for a while, longer than he probably recognized, he couldn't sustain it forever.

"And then...?" he asked her. One phone call, one message - it wasn't enough. What she did in the future, that was what concerned him. He didn't want to think that the next thing he heard would be the news that her body had been found after she'd gone and done something stupid.

"Then, I don't know." she said honestly. "You said to wait and see how it goes, I said I would. So I guess I wait. I said I'd talk to you before I made any more moves, so I'll do that too. After that...I don't know. I'll have to see what I can get. I'll have to see if he hauls me in. Or if people around the bar get suspicious. I'm sure you'll find out of anything happens." Like she got herself killed. She was fairly certain that would be a nice headline for the paper.

It was far from ideal, but he knew it would have to do. He hated it, but it would have to do. he'd made the decision when he'd given her the papers, after all. And what she'd said about them not seeing each other was only sensible in that light. Of course, it was hard to be good with that when she was standing right there, with her hand on his arm still, and he hadn't done well with letting her walk away in the past. Of course, this time, it would be with his agreement. That softened it a little - after all, when she'd originally left, when he'd tracked her down, after that he'd left her alone. Kind of. Even if she'd caught him a few times, he'd been avoiding her because he'd thought that was what she'd want. But even then, he hadn't really been gone. Just hiding from her. He didn't know if he could do this. Looking back over his behaviour, he wasn't at all sure he could do this. "You know I'll be around," he told her, on the heels of that realisation. "I'm not like Jackson, I'm not always damn fucking obvious. I'll be around." he could be obvious, when he wanted to be - he could be large and loud and causing a scene, but he'd also always had a talent of being the guy that people didn't really bother with. He could easily give people a reason not to want to bother with him. Not to even want to really remember him.

She looked away for a moment, hand tightening on his arm for a heartbeat, before she looked back. "Why?" she asked. "It's not going to be safe. And if anyone's watching me, if you are around..." no one was stealthy enough that they disappeared. Even if she wanted him around, and truly hated the idea of actually cutting ties with the man. And sure, she said she'd keep him posted and talk to him on the phone, and she would, but she was quite well aware of the fact that she already missed him. When days went by and she didn't see him, when she was down in the club just searching for him even if she knew he wasn't ever going to be there. And she'd keep looking, she knew that about herself, too. She didn't want to play it this way, she was just aware she was going to have to.

"Not gonna follow you day and night, Princess," Brett told her with an air of someone who didn't need to be told how this worked. "Just keeping tabs. Not just gonna leave you out there alone. Anyway, apparently I'm not too good at walking away," he added, trying to give that a flippant, off-hand feeling, though he knew it was the truth.

"Keeping tabs." she repeated. "And what does that entail?" Because she needed to be clear here. She still didn't think it was going to wind up being acceptable, but she wanted to know exactly what he was planning on. If she knew that she'd know what to do about it. If she could do anything, that was. She could have pointed out her problem was not being alone. Her problem was police officer shaped company she didn't especially want. But she didn't.

"It entails me occasionally happening to be in the same area, that's all," Brett told her, stubborn rising up despite his reluctance to fight tonight. She always thought she knew best, but she didn't - not by a long shot. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna take up breaking into your loft again. But, assuming that it's gonna be the cops watching you, you know I do know who they are, can spot most of them. If it gets that you're being watched, then I'll back off if I think I need to. And if it's not the cops watching you? Princess I think I'll get to know if the O'Malleys discover that you're alive pretty fucking quickly, since I was the guy who confirmed your death to them," he pointed out.

Her problem wasn't him breaking into her loft. In fact, she'd considered just giving the guy a key, since he'd been apt to do that. She really wasn't adverse to him being around. She wanted him around. It was just him being around wasn't what was healthiest for him. "Brett, you were angry with me that I chose the One More Round for a reason. Because you shouldn't be seen around there period. You still shouldn't, just...even more now. You keeping tabs even if you are better at it than he is, it's still a risk. Earlier, you said you weren't willing to risk me. I'm not really willing to risk you, either." she admitted, because that was her motivation. Her bare bones, bottom line motivation. He needed to not be involved. He needed not to be able to be traced back to. This wasn't the way to do that. She paused for a moment, looking back down at their hands, how she was still touching him, and she didn't stop then either. "What's it going to accomplish, anyhow? If anything happened, you wouldn't be able to do anything about it. It'd really defeat the purpose of keeping apart in the first place."

"It's not you who'd be risking me, it'd be me risking me. And it'd accomplish me knowing what's going on. I can't just sit here with my thumb up my ass waiting for you to turn up dead. You're just gonna have to trust me to stay back far enough that people will be non-the-wiser. I'm not just gonna leave you, Princess. Got too used to having you around." he didn't address her question of what it would accomplish, nor her observation that there would be nothing he could do. He had no intention of discussing that with her. That would be a judgment call, and the judgment would be his.

As she watched his eyes, watched him speaking, she knew that would probably be worse. Him out there, but just not there. Not anywhere where she'd see him. A shadow on the edge of her life. What life there was left, anyhow. "Well you've been making decisions all night about what I'm allowed to risk, even if it's myself." she said. "Why do you get to do it? It's not fair. And you still haven't said what it would even do. I said I'd tell you what was going on, keeping tabs on me won't do that. And whether you want to leave me or not, it's--" she stopped, and looked away for a long moment, then back to him. She gave herself another second, searching his eyes. "You're a survivor." she said. "Not a very good one, sometimes, and you love to make yourself pay for everything but you're not suicidal. Maybe for you being alive really is enough. And while I aim to change what it is your life is all about, it still doesn't make sense for you to risk things. I'm not coming to this decision lightly, you know that, don't you?" she asked, and she recognized, in her last statement there, that she hadn't given her self enough time before starting to speak again. She was upset. It wasn't overwhelming, drop to her knees upset, but a lot of what she'd been repressing about the situation was welling up, the longer they were talking about it. Or, more accurately, arguing about it. It just happened to be much tamer arguing than they usually did.

"Nobody said life was fair, Princess," he told her and for a moment it seemed like he was just going to leave it at that. "I'm not going to be able to do this if I don't," he told her, capitulating on that. "You didn't come to this decision lightly, well neither did I. I could have walked away a thousand times over the last few months, but here I am. Still. You ever wonder about that? yet you think that I can just do that now, because you've told me how it's gonna be? well, it's not gonna be like that. So you either accept that, or you don't, and I lie to you and do it anyway. Your choice."

"You're here because I came to you." she said, latching onto that straight away. And it was meant to come out angry but it didn't, so much. It missed the mark, and there was a touch of confusion to it. "I asked you." she said. "I asked you if you'd be back and you never answered me." And god had she ever needed to hear him say he would be, but she hadn't, and she hadn't been surprised. Just left feeling hollow. "And every other time you've been by you had a reason." she added, because it was something she understood as well. Like he'd promised to fix her window, and he had. He'd known she hadn't been doing well with her medication so he'd written her notes. And really, he'd found out that he didn't need to do that anymore so as far as she could see? He was out of reasons. It was something she'd been rolling over in her mind quite a lot since he'd left. That he was simply out of reasons to be by. And he never did say he'd be back, when she asked, knowing the reasons had dried up.

"Of course I had a reason - we don't exactly have the kind of... I'm not exactly just gonna drop round for coffee and pie. That's not how... we work," Brett shot back. "But none of those were things I had to do." He paused, for a moment, stumbling over whether he should go on, or shut up. He decided on shutting up before he said too much.

"So you would have been back?" she asked. "Or you just would have been around, where you could see me, but I couldn't see you? Since you did make it pretty clear that you didn't actually want to see me. Talk to me. You were avoiding." She remembered that especially well. God she needed another drink. She was also thinking this conversation should stop, but she couldn't actually cut it off. She needed to know things. She needed to know what happened after this. Eris hadn't ever been good at letting things go and that was really biting at her now.

"I... would imagine that I would have been back," he said, after a moment or two. If she'd asked him about the future and his intentions, as she had the other day, he wouldn't have been able to answer her. Not because the answer would have been any different than his one here to a question about a future that would now never be, but because he wouldn't have been able to vocalise it, to admit it to her. To let her know that she had him. Now, though, things were different, because they were talking about something that was never going to happen. That changed everything, and she'd caught him with his guard down.

She didn't say anything for a moment, then let out a breath, looking down. "I thought you were gone." she said. Her tone was quiet. "I always thought you were gone. Every time you walked out the door." Why she was admitting it, she didn't know, but she was. It was the truth. And now, thinking about what was still on the table, the idea that he might be around-but-not, it didn't make her feel any better. She wouldn't feel any less alone.

"I always intended to be," he told her, with honest truthfulness. He wasn't going to lie to her about that. He'd always intended to walk away - whether because he thought he should, or because he thought that's what she wanted. It was only recently that he'd come to recognise that whatever he actually intended, he'd just come up with another excuse to go back again. "But it never quite worked out that way."

Hearing that he intended to be actually made her feel oddly better. If only because it meant that she hadn't been wildly misinterpreting. It was probably what he'd wanted her to think, and it had worked. She looked up again after a few long moments, and didn't say anything. "You're not going to be able to do this?" she asked. It meant she was probably going to have to change her game plan. She hadn't really anticipated the idea that he might not actually just be able to cut ties and go about his life as usual.

"I'll do it my way," he told her. "If I can do it my way, you'd be surprised what I'm able to do," he added with a hint of bitterness. He could do more than he would ever think possible. Like, for example, abandon everything he held true and right in life and become an enforcer for one of the most vicious families in the city.

She caught the bitterness. It was difficult to miss, after all. She reached up with her free hand, though she didn't complete a movement, like she'd been about to do something but didn't know what it was. And that was pretty much exactly what happened. "I don't like it. And I...if I know you're out there, but..." She was the one tripping over things now. She knew what she intended. It was, however, difficult for her to put out there. To say out loud. That she'd be thinking about him and she'd want to see him, and it would make things harder. It would be easier for her if she figured he just didn't give a shit and was off doing whatever. Not that he was just beyond reach.

He wondered what came after that 'but'. Whether it was just that it would bother her, that it would distract her. Or whether she'd be worried about him, thinking that he'd get himself into trouble. "You don't have to like it, Princess. Lots of things go down in life you don't like. ...I can still lie to you," he offered, though he knew it would be an empty lie. What with telling her he'd be lying and all.

It wouldn't help. She'd know. And even if she tried to convince herself otherwise, she'd still know. He'd just told her. Though oddly, being offered the lie was almost...sweet. Almost. Saying nothing for a few long moments, she didn't know what to say. Part of her wondered if she could disappear on him. So he couldn't follow her. But then again, she hadn't given him anything to go by when she'd left the apartment and he'd had her tracked down in three days. Would he do the same thing? She finally completed the half-motion, and reached up to touch his cheek, tilting his face down a little more. "What would you say? If you were going to lie to me?" she asked.

He could almost say that he was used to her touch by now, they'd been standing there with her hand on his arm for so long, but he'd never felt her fingers against the scruff of his unshaven face before. Still, he let her tip his face down, the whole thing feeling a little unworldly right now. If he didn't know he hadn't touched the whiskey she'd given him, he could have blamed it on being drunk. But he wasn't, he was stone cold sober right now. Maybe he'd just lost his mind - it had been an impossibly hard few days.

"I would tell you that I could just let you walk out that door," he told her, after a moment or two when he'd just looked at her. "I'd tell you that I didn't give a damn and you could do whatever you wanted. I'd tell you that you should just call, once it was done, but that if you didn't, I wouldn't lose sleep over it. And I'd tell you that I had better things to do with my life than follow around a skinny dead girl who was looking for trouble."

She nodded, listening to him, keeping her eyes on his the entire time. She also kept her fingertips on his cheek, feeling the stubble there, something that she appreciated. One thing that looked good on Brett was that scruff. It just fit him, end of story. Sure, it was surprising he was letting her do it at all, but they were back in one of those suspended moments again. Ticking her gaze between his eyes, she smiled, and it was just a faint touch of one, but it was there. "Have any others for me?" she asked. Eris found herself hoping he did. That he'd have more to say. More to share, even if it was put to her in the guise of a lie. That made it a little easier.

More - she always wanted more. Nothing was ever enough for her. She always kept pushing him - even now, even in a lie. Even when he felt like he'd given her more than he should, or would. Still she pushed him. "You always want more, don't you," he pointed out, vocalising the thought rather than giving her what she wanted, though his tone was still far from his usual angry, barbed snap. He almost sounded amused, in fact.

It was the tone that was strange. Not bad, of course, but odd, for him. It brought that little touch of a smile back to her lips. "Always." she agreed. Because she couldn't deny that, really, it was her nature, she supposed. And when it came to him? It was very much true. She always wanted to know more than he wanted to tell her. She wanted him around more, she wanted to push. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked. Which really didn't match up with the whole idea that they weren't going to see each other again. She wouldn't have opportunity to do anything of the sort. But still, she asked it. Like she could pretend there was something more she could be doing at a later date.

He knew that that question didn't exactly have to do with what they were talking about. It was a much wider statement than that - more attached to his 'always' than her original question of him. And probably more than that. And he didn't have an answer for her - or, he had more than one answer for her, neither of which he particularly liked. So, he ditched them both to take an old and well used path of his - flip it back round to her instead. "You'd not listen to me anyhow. You like getting your own way too much."

"You never make it easy, though. I don't always get my way." she told him. And there was something in her tone as well. Some note of affection. He could make her angrier than anyone she'd ever come across in her life, but she never wanted to cut him out. Even now, knowing she had to, she recognized she didn't want it. She'd rather take the risk. That simply didn't mean she was going with her desires. For once she was attempting to go with the greater good. Maybe in this case she didn't want to get her way. Her hand shifted, and she brushed her thumb over his cheek, fingertips drifting down towards his jawline, though they stopped there.

Standing there like that, looking down at her, feeling her hands on him, Brett had an almost overwhelming urge to say two words. And that alone brought him to his senses. What the fuck, exactly, did he think he was doing? He knew where this road led, and it didn't lead anywhere. It would only make things worse. Better to stop it now. He took the half step back and hit the wall, dropping his eyes from hers. "Julia, no," he said, quietly, acknowledging that there was something there to deny right now.

She immediately felt the loss, a jagged sort of pang in her chest that didn't ebb fast enough. It sat there, unignoreable. It felt like she couldn't breathe for a few moments, like it physically pained her to. It wasn't fair. He had her there. And she really hated that. That he used her name, and said 'no', and that was going to ride. She'd have to respect it, because when he bothered to call her by her actual name, it meant something. Even if he wasn't that much farther back than he'd been a second ago, the contact was lost. Her hands dropped to her sides and she watched him watching the floor. Hovering where she was for a few moments, it was less because she wanted to stay there and more because she couldn't force herself to move. She didn't know where to go. Back into the room? To the door? Could she even finish staying the night here, with everything hanging in the air like it was? Like she was watching someone else, she saw her hand reach out again. Twice, towards his, but she never completed the motion. Then she took a step back and turned around, not that she had any more of an idea what she was going to do now than she'd had before.

And, of course, this time you go and do what I say without argument. The thought flashed across Brett's mind and he knew he should be happier about that, but he so rarely got satisfaction from anything these days, and he didn't from this. For sure, it hadn't been anything he'd wanted to do and as she turned away, he stepped forward again, before he caught himself almost touching her and he turned to move passed her, going for his previously abandoned whiskey and downing it without looking at her.

She felt him there, just for a second, but then he walked past. Not looking up, she let her eyes track his shadow. Stop. Stop, stop, stop. Leave. You can't do this. You really can't do this. Not tonight, not ever, and even if you can't really do anything that you've set out to do, this is important. she thought to herself, among a million other thoughts that spun through her mind like an out of control carousel. She took a step, and it was towards the door. Which, fabulously, wasn't far at the moment, since they'd both been headed towards it at one point.

"I'm still not going to let you leave tonight," he told her, without looking over. He'd been anticipating she'd try it, and wasn't surprised when he saw her make a move towards the door out of the corner of his eye. It would be easier just to let her go, he knew. God, so much simpler. Except his reasons for stopping her before were entirely separate from what had just not happened, and they still held true.

"How do you plan to keep me here?" she asked, stopping the movement, though she turned her face more towards him. She didn't exactly look at him, more she was keeping an eye on his shadow still, she was watching him without watching directly. Her tone was soft. Quiet. There wasn't exactly a challenge in there, but there might have been a the ghost of one beneath it all.

Brett closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. God, that woman was so frustrating at times! He looked over at her, setting the glass back down with a heavy thump. She did it on purpose, he was certain she did. Everything, all of it. God. "If I have to tie you to a damn chair, I will," he ground out.

She wondered if he would. And granted, it wouldn't be the first time she'd been tied to a chair before, and she doubted it would be the first time he ever had to tie someone down either. She took another step towards the door, glancing down at her coat. "Would you gag me too?" she asked. Her original question had been 'how do you know I won't scream', but she knew the answer there. Though really, she wouldn't anyways. She wanted out, she didn't want attention drawn. And that was even if it caught attention at all.

"Would I need to?" he asked her, wondering if she really would scream. Somehow, he doubted it. She might talk all night, just to try and make sure he didn't get any sleep, just to piss him off - she did that so well - but he doubted that she'd make any noise save that.

She leaned her back against the door, hand on the knob. "No." she answered. She'd been gagged before too, she never especially enjoyed it. "Can't you just pour yourself another drink, close your eyes, and forget I was here?" she asked. "Let me go?" Even if he'd admitted tonight that he wasn't very good at that, and he wasn't even going to agree to walk away period. That he was still going to be out there, watching, in some capacity. Not all the time, and maybe eventually he'd stop. Maybe he'd get bored. Maybe he was just telling her he was going to do that, because she would believe him. She didn't know anymore.

"No, damnit!" he exclaimed, frustration turning darker, it happened so easily for him. "I told you - I don't want you out there tonight, so just fucking... Leave in the morning." That was almost an acceptable way of putting it. Almost.

She winced, just a little. She also thunked her head back against the door and closed her eyes. "Brett..." she started but she didn't know where the sentence ended. She didn't know if she was about to tell him that she just couldn't do this. That he'd stopped her, and she'd respect that, but she didn't want to sit here and deal with that all night. That she couldn't actually promise she wouldn't do anything more, or attempt to, which would just screw them both over. Maybe she was going to tell him she needed to leave now or everything was going to be harder. Whatever it was, she didn't finish.

"What?" he snapped at her when she didn't finish the sentence. "What?" She couldn't go - she had nowhere she could go. It wasn't like he could even drive her home, make sure she got there. She'd never agree to that and he knew it. After all, she'd claim the cops may be already watching her place. And there was nowhere else.

She didn't have an answer for him. She wanted to, but really, nothing going through her mind seemed acceptable. So she tried it, anyways. Twisting the knob in her hand, she opened the door and took a step out, not going for her coat or shoes, because she was aware it would take time he would use to close the distance. It was a dash down the stairs and out into the storm. It wasn't that far, right?

It wasn't far, but it was too far as he took off after her, catching her before she'd gone very far, his arms going round her as he pulled her back and spun her round. "Serious, Princess - not tonight," he told her, not letting her go in case she made a break for it again.

Well, that was new. She expected to be grabbed, she was kind of wondering if she'd have an arm out of socket or something, but she wasn't expecting to find herself held up against him. Not in the best of ways or anything, but still up against him. Balling her fists for a moment, she tried to fathom what to actually do. In the end, she turned her face up towards his neck. "Let me go." she said. It was soft. Attracting the attention of anyone in the building who might still be awake wasn't on her list of things to do. Granted, she also could have said it without modifying her position but she did anyways. What she didn't do was struggle. Brett? Was a big guy. Unless she actually wanted to hurt him, there wasn't going to be getting away, and she wasn't about to start that.

"No," he told her, also dropping his voice. It was one thing to have a screaming argument in his apartment - they often had in the past, after all - but it was quite another to do so in the public space of the stairwell, where his neighbours may be more likely to just be done with it and ring the police to come break up the domestic.

Eris tried moving her arm a little, to test a bit just how much leeway she had. Turned out she could move her arm at least a bit. she put her hand against his side, and she tilted her head a little more, up towards his skin, so her breath brushed against the side of his neck. "Please." she whispered softly. Nope. No one would hear that. Hell, he'd probably have just a tiny bit of trouble hearing it. But neither of them seemed happy to have anyone else in their business.

He'd done the right thing, earlier on. He'd brought things to an end and stopped everything, but now here he was, right back in it again, and the feel of her breath against his skin just wasn't fair. But she was never fair and he was sure that she did it on purpose. her breath on his skin, the whispery voice, the hand softly on his side... He wondered if she was trying to get him to let her go, purposefully doing all of that to push his buttons and get him to back off. But, she'd just run again. The moment he let her go, she'd just run again - which didn't leave him with a particularly good set of options. He didn't really want to go with the whole 'tying her to a chair' thing. He knew he could be a bastard, but he wasn't that much of a bastard. "No," he repeated, looking down into her eyes.

She looked back up at him and didn't say anything for a few long moments. Planning out what she said was the intention she had, but it didn't actually happen. She didn't think out what she was going to say at all, she just spoke. "Brett, I'm not okay right now." she told him, her voice still that soft little whisper, just for his ears. "I'm really, really not okay. And I can't stay here with you right now. Not..." she stopped a moment, and bit at her lower lip, then finished. "You don't trust me anyways, but you really need to stick to that tonight. I'll go straight to the loft. I promise." Even as she said it, she didn't actually expect it would work.

Stella was going straight home as well. It hadn't done her any good, the intention not to linger. "You have to stay: I know you won't let me drive you home," he told her, not even bothering to ask there. He knew it wasn't sensible, it would be an idiot thing to do, so he discounted it immediately.

He was right on that. His driving her back wasn't a workable thing. She watched his eyes, and saw an entirely immovable opinion. He was absolutely not going to budge on this. She was, in fact, effectively a prisoner for the night. "Are you really going to tie me to a chair?" she asked. "Or cuff me to the bed?" she didn't know if he actually still had cuffs, but he could. They would likely be something nice to have in his...line of work, so to speak. Technically, they were nice to have in her old line of work as well, really, but that was hardly the point. She slid her hand up a little on his side, noticing that it was colder in the hall than it had been in his apartment, and he was pretty much keeping her warm at this point.

He really didn't need the mental image of her cuffed to his bed right now - and he had to remind himself that he did, in fact, have a spare. Unlike her - there was only one at her place. Which he wasn't allowed to go to now. And anyway, he'd never really been into.. he wasn't thinking about this at all. Especially not right now. But still, he couldn't quite hold onto his anger, and he was aware that it had slipped away from him entirely again. That anger was his shield, his protection against the world, and he was having issues summoning it up. "I'd prefer not to have to," he told her, in the end, probably taking longer over that than he should have reasonably done.

Noticing the pause, she wondered. She really wondered. There were things she'd been stopping herself from doing at all tonight, not even really letting herself think about, and he'd put a stop to things. And yes, with the way he'd done it she recognized that he knew he was actively stopping something. That there was something going on to stop. At the moment she could really think of worse places to be than cuffed to Brett's bed. It didn't really make the list of 'bad places' even. It's ranking was somewhere else. Drawing in a breath, she could really feel the fact that he had her held tight, right up against him. She broke eye contact to lean in towards his neck again. It wasn't that far of a move, really, and she nuzzled the tiniest bit, and again spoke so her breath ghosted against his skin. "You might have to." she told him. She'd just try to escape again, she knew it, he probably did. And since they were in the habit of telling each other the truth, she kept with that. Or, that was the excuse she was clinging to.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to get back on track. Really now, that anger could come back at any time now. Seriously - it would be really useful and he could, what? Push her away? So she could turn and run - just what she wanted. No - so he could drag her back inside and why hadn't he done that again yet? It wasn't like he'd never dragged people around and locked them up before. She was messing with his head and he really needed to get in control again. "Come back inside," he managed, making himself open his eyes again, trying to ignore the fact that they'd closed when she did that thing to his neck.

It took him longer to answer her than she thought it should have. Which was good to know. It might mean she was having an effect. She didn't actually stop what she was doing, either. She nuzzled his neck again, brushed her lips against his skin, just a tiny bit. "Am I being given a choice?" she asked, since he'd made it sound like he was asking her to do something as opposed to flat out refusing to let her leave at all. Now, she didn't think that was the case at all, but she wanted to know what he was going to tell her on it. It was slightly better than asking him what was going to happen if she agreed.

He shifted his grip on her, loosening his hold enough that there was a possibility that she could get out, but only if she wanted to head back towards his apartment. And he didn't actually let her go. He just needed to give her that possibility, demonstrate that. And he needed to do it because she kept doing that. "I'm giving you a choice to come back inside, voluntarily," he told her, after another long pause.

Eris was thinking to herself that she had a problem. And that was that at the moment, she wanted to go back inside. If she was being honest, it was about all she wanted to do. But that was in itself, the problem. That was the main issue. She wanted back in. Looking past him, up the hall, then she looked the other way, down the stairs, and back to him. Searching his eyes, she gave herself a moment, aware that even if he'd loosened his hold on her, she'd opted not to put any distance between them. "What's the alternative?" she asked.

Brett wasn't entirely certain he should answer that question, since the mental visual wasn't exactly unpleasant. He needed to keep control of this entire situation, but that seemed to be slipping. Slipped, if he was being honest. A long while back. Possibly hours ago now. How long had he been home anyway? He really didn't know. Fuck. "If I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you in, I will," he said, attempting for 'threatening' and once again missing the mark.

She appeared to think it over, thinking there were worse ways of getting brought someplace supposedly against your will. Even if this wouldn't be. Or, well, not really. She understood this was a big part of the reason she'd been trying to leave in the first place. There were certain urges that were kicked right up right now and she wasn't doing that terribly well on impulse control. She looked at her options, which was the door up the hall, then his shoulder, and she then met his gaze. She didn't say anything. Though she really had the urge to ask him what she got if she did make the trip willingly.

Brett saw the moves, then the way she looked at him and his expression changed to a very 'oh, come on' one as he jumped to the conclusion that she was challenging him, goading him that he'd have to follow through with the threat. Fucking. Stubborn. Fucking. Woman. She just couldn't do anything easily, could she? Well, if that was the way it was going to have to be... He growled a little as he let her go and stooped to toss her up and across his shoulder, before turning on his heel and heading back into the apartment.

There was a part of Eris that hadn't thought he'd actually do that. So when he did, she made a soft little surprised sound, and then she was literally being cave-man carried back to his apartment. She put her hands on his back to try and steady herself, but she didn't actually fight him on it. Looking up, she saw the stairwell getting smaller and she glanced back towards the door awkwardly. What she didn't do was say anything. It was possible, however, that she was grinning.

Brett carried her easily, one hand behind her knee just to steady her as he got them back inside and pushed the door closed with a kick. Crossing the living room, he tossed her down onto the couch with a bounce and stood there, over her, a look on his face that was challenging and clearly waiting for her next move.

As he dropped her down, she couldn't help it. She was still smiling, and as she looked up at him, she laughed, just a little. She kept that smile up, probably the longest the expression had stayed around since her untimely death. And she most certainly didn't laugh anymore, but she couldn't help it. "I didn't think you'd actually do it." she told him.

Brett's eyes narrowed slightly - he didn't like being laughed at. "Yeah, well, now you know," he told her, turning away and crossing to pour himself another drink. After a pause, he poured one for her as well, and pushed it away from himself, across the table, leaving it there for her if she wanted it.

That was probably a first. She looked at him, his back to her, looked at the drink, then walked up to take it. Knocking a good half of it back, she crossed around behind him, and reached out to put her hand lightly on his back. "You know no one's ever treated me like you do." she said, after what was likely a shorter pause than it felt like to her. She was still amused.

"That's probably a good thing," Brett said, after a moment or two in which he digested that, trying to work out what she meant. It wasn't as though he was nice to her, most of the time. Of course, she was a contrary bitch who didn't know what was for her own good and fought him every step of the way for probably no reason other than because she could. But, all the same, he recognised that he was a jerk a lot of the time, and she didn't get special treatment.

"Depends on how you look at it." Eris said. She didn't put the points of view out there, it was just a statement. She looked at his back again, taking another drink, and she slid her hand up his back towards his shoulder. "No one else would have dared try anything like that with me. And trying to keep me somewhere against my will? Never in a million years." she continued. "But then again no one ever would have lifted a finger to save me either. Or try to look after me. I'm sure there's a whole lot of people in this city who would have taken the time to torture me if they'd been in your position."

He still didn't turn round, and he didn't do anything to stop her questing. He picked up the bottle to pour himself another drink, then thought better of it. "Yeah, well you're not her anymore, are you? Things change."

"I'm not." she said. She agreed with him, she could most certainly give him the point. "Still." she said stepping around more towards his side but not actually up to it, and she let her fingers drift between his shoulderblades, then over to his other shoulder. "I've never met anyone like you. I've never dealt with anyone like you. There's just...something about you." She didn't offer what it might be, either, and finished off the rest of her drink too, setting it back on the table.

He looked down at her, turning his face to the side so he could meet her eyes. It wasn't like he'd been at all oblivious to what had been going on tonight, and what she was almost doing right now. "Maybe you should just try slumming it more often, sweetheart," he said, his tone cold. It was meant as a low blow, but he didn't think he had the willpower right now to tell her no again. Not right now.

It hurt. That was clear from the little flinch. That slight little draw back, even if it was just a tiny motion of her head. She looked away, and when she looked back, her expression was unreadable. "You can do better than that." she told him. "If you're going for painful? You can do better. So...c'mon. Lash out. Tear me down." she invited, knowing this was that masochistic streak again. She wasn't satisfied with the barb, if he was going to do it he'd better do it right. Though it was also looking quite suddenly that if he did mean to keep her there tonight...he really might have to tie her down.

"What? So you can have another reason to storm out?" Brett challenged, hating and yet at the same time satisfied that he'd hit home. He'd got her to draw back, just a little. It's what he needed to do. "I don't think so." He was going for a balancing act - and that was something he hadn't had to do in a very long time.

"Because that would be your reason for not? Too late. Just if you're going to do it? If you really just want to hurt me? Do it right. Do you want more fuel? I'm sure you have it anyways but if you're going to be talking about slumming it and all, you could always throw in my parents. In fact I'm pretty sure the alley my mother was knifed in is just a few blocks from here, you'll have to forgive me if I don't quite remember the address, I'm a little fucked in the head. But you know that. But really, if you're going for shoving the knife in and twisting it for whatever fucked up little reasons you've got in your head? Don't stop there." Her voice wasn't the steadiest it had ever been. And it seemed like the longer his comment had to sink in, the more it actually hurt. Or less what he'd actually said, and more his tone. His intention. Because it was terribly difficult to miss that he'd done it deliberately. He'd taken a cheap shot just because. That was worse than the comment itself.

Brett didn't know whether she'd ever told him about her mother before - he knew she'd told him about her background, but he didn't remember anything about her mother. But hearing it there, like that, with what had happened recently, it successfully derailed him and stole from him any kind of comeback he might have had under any other circumstances. He stared for a few long moments, realising that he'd well and truly fucked up in a way that he really couldn't have foreseen. He just didn't know what to do about that and in the end, he did nothing, leaving himself open for her to continue to rail if she so chose.

She didn't. She stared at him for a few long moments, daring him to say anything with her expression, and then she turned and walked away. And it was towards the door again, and she hoped like hell he didn't actually try and stop her this time. She'd needed all sorts of space for a host of reasons tonight, but this one was hitting hard. Well, he got what he wanted, she supposed. One didn't take a shot like that unless they wanted a certain result. He meant to hurt her. Mission accomplished. And she was far too exhausted emotionally to keep with this. She wasn't going to sleep, lying in her...the spare bed, and knowing he was near, and it was also going to be the last time she talked to him properly. Even if he did plan to stalk her. She still didn't know why he'd do that, if anything happened all it might mean was he'd have the off-chance of being a witness. That'd be real helpful.

"I'm sorry." It took a lot to get an apology out of Brett, but he knew he'd gone too far this time. It was all he had to stop her without this getting out of control. The difference this time was that it was his fault she was walking out. That changed things. He crossed the room, following her. "Please," he added, his tone quieter.

She heard him, and she knew he didn't do apologies. After all, he did make a career out of taking everything out on her. It just usually didn't sting like this had. And why it was different tonight, she knew she needed to actively examine, since he'd said far crueler things to her in the past that hadn't gotten near the reaction this did, but it all came down to timing. Intent. She heard him walking up behind her, and she picked up her coat, not looking back at him. She heard the plea. His tone. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she stood still, and tried to center herself, which didn't work, so much. "Give me one. Good. Reason." she said, voice quiet, really no more than a whisper, if tense. "That I shouldn't walk out right now. And don't give me bullshit about a killer out there, I don't care about that. And I don't care about the rain and I don't care about being seen right now and I...give me a reason, Brett. And it better be good."

He didn't know if he could do it. He knew what the good reason could be. He even thought it could be an acceptable good reason, but he didn't know if he could do it. Even now. Because he'd been pushing her away for a reason and it would mean surrendering all of that. It would mean hurt, for him, down the line. Because he knew how this one ended. It was the reason he'd got out of the game so many years before. And choice had become habit and habit had become fear and the wall there was hard and thick with deep foundations and heavy buttressing. It would be like stepping off a cliff and he could feel the yawning chasm before him.

He could just let her go, let her walk out, let her risk it. Risking her or risking him. Chances were that the streets would be fairly safe tonight anyhow. The pattern with this guy hadn't seemed to be a nightly job, which meant the sick bastard was probably home right now and... He was actively thinking about it, he realised. Actively thinking about just letting her walk out, about staying hidden behind his walls. About doing to her what he'd done to every single woman in his life over the decade. Chased them off before they could get too close. Except this time, it could get her killed. And still he was thinking of letting her go.

God, he really was a bastard, a complete and utter shit, not caring about anyone else but himself. This is what he'd come to. This - this was how low he'd sunk. He used to be a guy who meant something, who had a place in this world, and here he was, this was what he was now.

He closed the last of the gap between them, stepping up close behind her. He could feel his heart hammering as he slipped an arm around her waist, as he lowered his head to kiss the side of her neck. "Please - don't go," he said, quietly, and as he said the words, he wondered if they'd even be enough. If she'd leave anyhow. After all that.

She'd been about to just say 'goodbye', and walk out. Shut the door, keep going, possibly disappear after she talked to the boyscout. She'd have called him, because she had promised, but after that? Dropping off the grid had been a pretty clear course of action in her mind. Or, dropping off the grid just long enough to crack things open. Get more information, keep on the course she'd talked about earlier. Because even if she was deeply wounded by him? She still planned on getting him out. He'd saved her life, she wanted to return the favor. It was about all she had to really live for, if she wanted to be dramatic about it. Her life was a shadow and she didn't want to live like that. It wasn't an existence that would sustain her. But if she had a purpose, and one that for the first time in her life actually meant something to her...it changed everything.

So she'd been about to leave. To disappear into the storm, start the fireworks and never be heard from again in one way or another. Then he stepped up. Then she felt him at her back, felt his arm around her, his lips against her neck. Her eyes slid shut when he did it head tilting to the side a touch, and she didn't know for a moment if she hated him for it. Maybe it was something else entirely. She leaned her head back against him, keeping her eyes shut. Because really, while he hadn't given her a real reason? Not what she'd asked for, he'd most certainly stopped her. He had her. That course of action she'd laid out for herself derailed abruptly. Her coat dropped to the floor, and she slid her hand over his arm, holding onto it. Keeping it there.

The moment he'd spoken, the moment he'd kissed her, the insecurities had started. He'd been sure, convinced, completely certain that she was going to walk anyway. Maybe with some comment or laugh thrown in about how he could ever think that that would stop her. After all, he expected the rejection, that particular part of his bitterness had been with him for most of his adult life. Ever since surviving that fire had left his body a ruined mess. That's when he'd started pushing them away. Once the rest of his life had fallen apart, it had been easy enough to expand the bitterness from being directed merely at the women in his life to being directed at the entire world. He'd had enough practice. So, when she didn't immediate reject him, he didn't know what to do. He was still waiting for it, still waiting for that not to be enough, but she wasn't going anywhere, and that threw him and in the end he simply rested his head against her neck, waiting, still waiting.

She didn't move for a few long moments. She just kind of let herself stay there, waiting for him to pull back. Like once he got her to stop, he was done. But he didn't. He didn't do anything more, but he didn't pull away, either. Eris didn't so much make the decision as she merely acted, not overthinking it as she let herself do what she'd been wanting to do for quite a good lot of the night now. She turned around to face him, arms going up around his neck, and she kissed him. Being he'd had his head down against her neck she didn't even have to hit her tiptoes to do it. What she did do was put her all into it. It wasn't a soft, tentative or gentle kiss. It was a kiss that held all kinds of repressed emotions that she'd been holding onto for a long time now. Emotions she really no longer had control of, or even any true experience with dealing with. She'd never had them before, then she got hit upside the head with them.

And so many of them were wrapped up in him. Every time she saw him it was like a new, particularly violent and unpredictable carnival ride. But what she'd been trying to say to him before was true. She'd not met anyone like him. And no one treated her like he did. While she'd brought up what people wouldn't have dared do, there was a flipside. No one else would have saved her. And he had. And he kept at it. He didn't want her to go up in smoke, even if she was okay with the idea. Yes, there was a lot there to express.

He was still waiting for her to go, and he actually dropped his arm from round her when she moved. In fact, he was so surprised when she kissed him that for a moment or two, he didn't return it. Only for a moment or two though, before he caught up with himself, his arm going back round her once again, this time to properly pull her in. As much as he knew that this would end in more pain, now that he'd taken the step, he was committed, and god, he'd thought about this so much recently. Thought about her so much recently. She just got under his skin - the good as well as the bad. She drove him crazy in so many ways, and he released all of that now, in the release of a sensation he hadn't felt for so long.

She noticed the hesitation, but really, wasn't about to just quit. He'd started it. And then he was kissing her back, and part of her reveled in that. It had been a long time since she'd really kissed anybody, and she hadn't ever done it because she'd wanted to. It had always been a play of some description, or a requirement. Desire wasn't really part of her life, in that department, but it most certainly was now. She wanted it to count. When he pulled her in, she was more than happy to go with that, pushing herself against him all the more. One could say she was enthusiastic. He wasn't the only one who'd had it on the brain, and tonight she'd been doing an especially poor job of keeping herself in check. And now she didn't have to, so she wasn't even beginning to entertain the notion of stopping. There was a soft sound in the back of her throat, one she didn't feign.

He ran his free hand up her body, over those curves she'd always flaunted before him seemingly without a second thought and up into her mane of dark hair, twisting his fingers into the soft mass as he stepped back, pulling her away from the door, though for the moment he doubted she was going anywhere. There was a 'later' there somewhere, but he wasn't entertaining notions of 'later' right now. Right now, he was just focused on 'now'.

Eris was okay with being pulled away from the door. She wasn't going anywhere. There would have to be a fire, or alien invasions or the war showing up on the streets outside to get her to leave. She was officially busy. And she also needed air, but she held out as long as she could before she broke the kiss, pulling back and trying to catch her breath. Her heart was hammering in her ears, and she kept her form pressed against his, her arms around his neck, she was just watching for his eyes. Wanting to see for a moment, see that blue she remembered so clearly in the fog.

His breathing was heavy as she pulled back and he sucked in a breath of his own, looking down at her as he did so. The blue of his eyes was darkened by expanded pupils and he had no idea what to say. Brett wasn't exactly well versed in being smooth at moments like this. Or being smooth at all, since it wasn't anything he'd attempted recently. Last few years he'd been taking the 'blunt stick' approach to life, and anyone who didn't like it could just get out of his way. This kind of thing simply didn't feature in his world view, yet here he was, and he was entirely at a loss.

She reached up, drifted her fingers through his hair a little, keeping her eyes on his. Then, she pulled him back down. This time it was a little softer, though still not anything that would be considered sweet in nature. She was still putting a lot of emotion in it, not really thinking talking right now was the best of ideas. They fought when they talked. He'd even said something along those lines before. That if they didn't want to argue, then they probably shouldn't speak. Granted, they'd had a few more civil conversations lately, but they were never that far from another argument. So, she was opting to skip that part for the time being.

Brett was good with not talking right now, though he knew that continuing on with this was simply living on borrowed time. Sooner or later it would blow up, and it didn't help that it was with her - they hardly had a stable relationship even without this particular time bomb. But, it kept her here and he couldn't deny that he wanted it. Not anymore, not now that he was here, kissing her the way he was kissing her, having her kiss him in that way, feeling her against him, touching her. No, he couldn't deny that he wanted this, and he deepened the kiss after a moment or two, straightening up slightly to bring her up onto her toes, so she'd need to press against him more to retain her balance.

It was safe to say that she'd never really done this. Making out with someone she was attracted to, drawn to, wanted just wasn't part of her experiences in life. So, even if she'd spent her life in the world's oldest profession, this was still new. And she was enjoying it. She liked when he pulled her up against him, when she had to push up on her toes, against him harder. She liked everything about this. So while she was already thinking about the next step, too, she was alright with not rushing to it yet. She could savor this for a little while. And it seemed to her like she wasn't alone there.

He was the one that broke the kiss this time as oxygen once again became a necessity and he lifted his head, straightening, yet still looking down at her with a real awareness of her in the world right now, and a growing awareness of the natural places that something like this led to, or should lead to. The knowledge was beginning to creep in at the edges, like some skulking shadow. And like that, Brett was ignoring it, hoping that it would be something that had to be brought out into the light, into centre stage, examined.

She took the opportunity to catch her breath, and as she looked up at him, she smiled. Part of her kind of wondered how she'd got here. Really, honestly, how the fuck had she wound up here? With him? But hey was she ever not in a place to go over examining this shit so she didn't spend too long thinking about it. Ticking her gaze between his, she glanced over towards his bedroom door, then back to him. She was still of a mind if she opened up her mouth it would give opportunity for them to find something to fight about, so she was going with non-verbal, if obvious cues.

Brett, however, wasn't smiling - especially when she started in on the clear and heavy hints. Really, kinda hard to miss and, all things considered, perfectly natural, but yet his concentration was on those shadows, and that ticking time bomb when everything just went so badly wrong, either clearly and explosively wrong, or quietly and mutely wrong, which was possibly even worse. He opened his mouth to speak, but what could he say? His usual approach was to not get to this place. Oh, he'd tried other approaches, but that had been a long time ago, and they'd all ended up the same - that look in their eyes. He couldn't deal with that look in her eyes, and he just knew it would be there. Not even preparation could prevent it.

A frown flickered on her features, and she paused a moment as she studied him. Then she broke the silence. "What's wrong?" she asked. Since something clearly was. Part of her came up with a fairly good suggestion, as well, which was just what she used to do. The whole ex-whore of it all. That might just not work for him. Might be why he tended to hate it when she touched him in the first place, and this was just a bout of insanity he was starting to get over. Insecure wasn't anything Eris was familiar with either, but she was feeling it then.

Brett swallowed and considered the various lies he could tell. The truth... Hadn't he exposed himself enough today. Though he'd told her - he'd already told her. But, like everyone else, she didn't really understand. Nobody ever understood the true extent and what it meant. I don't want you to see me. That was it, but those words were so hard to say. And it was more than that. It wasn't just sight, it was touch - too smooth in places, rough and buckled in other. Wrong. "I... can't," he said, after a pause that seemed to stretch forever.

She heard the words but she wasn't sure she was understanding them. And sure, they'd actually talked what for them could be considered extensively about Brett, and his intimacy issues, and everything else, but well, she'd just been kissing him like the world might be ending, and he'd been kissing her back, and...so she was again, confused. "You..." she started. "I is it me? What I used to do? I...can't change that." she said. It was strange. She'd never once in her entire life even come close to apologizing for what it was she did. This was almost that.

Brett would never like her former profession, and if it was her current profession, they wouldn't be standing here like this. But that life was over - he'd meant what he'd said before, that wasn't her anymore, not as far as he was concerned. He knew what it was to have your life changed that completely. Added to that, he'd only known her in this life, aside from seeing her in passing previously. He knew her as her, not as the madam-come-whore she'd once been. He shook his head. "Not you, Princess," he told her, dismissing that one out of hand.

"Then what?" she asked. She sort of wondered if certain parts of him weren't functioning, but she highly doubted it. Both from experience with men who had that issue, and from being pressed up against him. Which left what they'd talked about before, or, less talked about and more he'd shut down the conversation when it had properly come up. Reaching up, she barely brushed her fingertips against the tip of the scar on his neck. "This?" she asked.

Brett reflexively jerked away from her fingers, taking a step back as he cocked his head to one side, so that his chin covered the worst of the scar. "Don't," he told her, looking away.

Right. Well, that was it then. She didn't do anything for a moment, watching him. "Please?" she asked. She stepped closer, but not right up against him like she had been. Which was making her feel the lost of heat, and she noticed which wasn't appreciated. Part of her was busy rolling her eyes at herself, but another really just wanted to find a way around this. Or through it, maybe. Was there a through it? If there was, she already knew it was going to take one hell of a lot of work.

"No," he told her, letting her step in, not backing off. But his tone was determined, definite. She didn't know what she was asking, she couldn't even imagine what she was asking. There had been a girl once, she'd tried this approach, he'd told her, she'd known - she wanted to see, she'd wanted to share that. And it had ended like it always did. She'd been the last one, he'd stopped after that - he couldn't deal with it. They all acted the same way.

"I know it's there." she said, reaching out to touch the back of his wrist, seeking out at least a little of the contact. "I've seen a whole lot of things in my time." she added, which was the truth. She didn't even have to embellish on that at all. There was a whole cross section of people who bought their intimacy for a reason. "We could turn out the light, if it makes you feel better." she added. She didn't especially want to turn out the lights. She'd rather see him, thanks, but it was his issues that needed to be accommodated for.

"You don't understand," he told her, twisting his hand to run his fingers up her arm. "It wouldn't make a difference." Except he wouldn't be able to see that look in her eyes. No, instead he'd be imagining it. He remembered what that look looked like - it was burned in his memory. It would always be burned in his memory. And he'd have no trouble imagining it on her.

She was a little surprised at the touch on her arm. She'd figured he'd pull away farther, but apparently not. "Why not?" she asked. Working at this was going to be a lot of work. She didn't have anywhere to be, though. He wasn't letting her leave anyhow, and now they'd started this, and she wanted to follow it. It wasn't like she could just shrug and turn it all off now like it hadn't happened. She wasn't even going to try.

He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't even want to explain it. Sometimes, that pity was there right from that moment - before it turned into disgust, rejection, horror. When they saw what he really was. He didn't want any of it. He didn't even want their pity, never mind what came after. he glanced at her, then away again. "Use your imagination, why do you think?" he told her, sharpness edging back into his tone.

Eris heard it, but as she had gotten pretty adept at in their relationship--she ignored it entirely. "Alright." she said. "Here's what my imagination says. I think it's pretty extensive, and you're self conscious about it. To the point where you don't let anyone see and the little bits that I have is probably more than anyone has in years. I think it's probably bad, and even if you can't see it you can feel it." Her tone was light. Not quite gentle, but it wasn't pointed either. "What if we took it slow?" she suggested. "Just...a little at a time."

As usual, she hit it right on the head. She was always far too astute for her own good, even if she did have brain damage. Not everything was fritzing in her head, that was for sure. "Something like that, yeah. And... No, I... Just drop it. I'm sorry - this is just why I don't do this," he told her, finally cracking and letting her go, pulling himself back and turning away, going for the bottle once again, the whiskey spilling onto the table as he sloppily poured himself more than he should. He should have found a different way - what he did was the truth, but it led nowhere, and he'd known that.

She watched him walk away, and she was at a loss for a few long moments. She just...didn't understand. One second they were...and now this. Just...flat 'no', and to drop it. Right. because that was going to happen. "Brett." she said, and it was her turn to have a little edge to her tone. "I don't accept this." she said. "You don't--" she started, then looked away for a moment, before turning back to him. "Just a flat 'no, drop it' and I'm meant to just go with that? Are you fucking kidding me? I don't even get a chance? Or anything? Not even the momentary consideration of the possibility that we could work this out. Just no, fuck off."

He turned back to her, abandoning the whiskey for now. "No I'm not kidding you, sweetheart - you think this is some kind of a joke to me? This is my life This has been my life for the last thirteen fucking years. You want to know what your girls wondered? This is what they wondered. And I don't want your pity and I definitely don't want... You cannot imagine - you think you can, but you can't. And I'd rather save us both that. Trust me, it's easier this way," he told her, hotly, believing every word of it.

"I don't pity you!" Eris snapped, because she didn't. The man had issues, she got it. She understood, she'd seen enough people with issues. Fuck she had a whole boat load herself now. She was chock full of them since everything happened. Still. "I think you're an asshole, but I don't pity you. And I can't imagine. Really? I can't? Do you know anything about me, darling? Anything about the people I've seen in my lifetime? Maybe you're the one who can't actually imagine." she told him. "And don't go expecting to save me from anything, because if I hadn't actually considered that at some point? I wouldn't have kissed you in the first fucking place. Because yes. I'm aware. I don't care. It's just bullshit that you're stopping before anything even starts."

"Yet," Brett snapped right back at her. "You don't pity me yet. And you think I haven't heard that before? That 'I don't care' bullshit. They say that - before they see it. So go on thinking I'm an asshole - you know, you're probably right. And maybe this just proves it. But those nice blue eyes? That's about as far as it fucking goes. The rest of me's a fucking ruin and you'll sleep better at night not seeing that. And I'll sleep better at night not having to see you when you do."

"I drink myself to sleep and you know that, because I have nightmares about the people who came in and ended me." Eris said, tone no longer snapping, it had dropped low, with a hard edge to it. "Seeing you is not going to weigh in on that. And it's not just your eyes that I like." She walked over closer to him, eyes expressing quite clearly that she was pissed at this point. "Now Brett, let me explain something to you." she said, her tone altering just a little. Not much. It was overly patient. "This? This thing here?" she said, gesturing between the two of them. "This doesn't happen to me. Despite what I used to do for a living? I have never really been attracted to anyone. Every bit of it was a show. A play. I am attracted to you. And it's not all based in the physical. Sometimes I think I'm a masochistic bitch for it but whatever, it's there. I never pretended not to be fucked up. So I'm not really willing to just take 'no, never ever forget about it' as an answer." she said. As she finished, she was in front of him, having closed the distance as she'd been explaining. "Now. Do me a favor and use your imagination." she said, making and holding eye contact. "There are one hell of a lot of things two people can do to each other that wouldn't actually hit up your issues just yet."

Her words got through to him a little, enough to give him pause. Some of that, admittedly, was her asking him to use his imagination, simply because he couldn't, not really. He'd still been fairly young when his injuries occurred, and whilst he was far from pure, he hadn't exactly got imaginative with the girls he'd been with either. And since then, well, he hadn't tried to find ways around his problems. Brett wasn't exactly at the front of the herd when it came to lateral thinking, and he never had been. So, for a moment, he stopped arguing, and there was a hesitation that showed in his face.

She looked at him for a moment, seeing the hesitation there. "Do I have your attention?" she asked lightly. She also reached out again, tracing the curl of the dragon once more. It was a fix for the moment, really. But she'd be willing to do it. Of course, that made her recognize the fact that someplace in her mind she was planning on seeing him again, even if she'd already told him it was a bad plan and it was. And was she ever not going to think about it right now. Right now, she wanted much more to concentrate on him. And being there, with him.

There was a hesitation, but he nodded, reluctantly. Reluctantly, because it felt like he was handing control of the situation over to her, and that never sat well for Brett. Really, a lot of their relationship was one long power struggle, and right now, she had the upper hand. Because she could see a way through this which was hidden to Brett. And as much as he didn't believe that there really was a way through this, as sure as he was that for all her confidence and certainty things would end up with the inevitable, he really wanted to be wrong this time.

She glanced around. "There's the counter." she said. "There's the couch." She ticked her gaze to it, then looked at his bedroom door again. "There's your bed." she finished, then looked back to him. "There's also a choice between if we're just taking care of you for the evening or if I'm going to be involved as well." And she left that open as it was, so he could make that decision. Generally speaking she knew what she wanted, but if they were baby-stepping this, she was willing to do that.

"Not just me," he told her, that coming out immediately. Because he didn't think of her that way, and he didn't want to think of her that way, and he didn't want to have this end up being a job for her. If he was willing to try and find a way through it, it couldn't be that. As for the rest, he didn't comment - he didn't know how to. He didn't know exactly what she had in mind, that wouldn't touch on his issues, and he still thought she didn't appreciate the true extent of what they were dealing with. He knew he was completely giving himself over to her with this, and that was as terrifying for him as letting her near him like this at all. Two issues, for totally different reasons.

She nodded, taking that on board, and pleased with the decision, but she didn't show that, because she had wanted it to be a choice that wasn't going to have consequences either way. Looking at him for a long, long moment, she nodded slightly to herself. "I think you'd be most comfortable in the bedroom." she said. "You can decide whether you want the lights on or off. I think you'd probably feel better with them off, but...it's your call." she told him, and she threaded her fingers through his, and tugged just a little towards the closed door of his bedroom.

He felt like a child again as she started to lead him and he tried to shake that off, gathering himself in and taking the lead, though he couldn't shift the grip of terror in his chest, waiting for it all to go wrong. Still, after a few steps, he was leading her as he opened the door to his room and brought her inside, leaving the overhead light off in favour of the small lamp by the side of his bed that when turned on cast the room in an inadequate yellow glow and left all but one corner of the bed in deep shadows. He turned back to her, knowing that he should probably lie down, but at the same time not knowing where to go from here. It had been so long.

She let him take the lead, figured that he needed to in some little part of his mind. Brett...well, the thing was, with the two of them, they were both dominant personalities. It was probably why they tended to scream at each other as much as they did. Just at the moment, she was most certainly taking the lead, and...well. Even if he hadn't done anything like this in years, she was willing to bet he'd been the aggressor in his previous relationships. Some men wanted to be dominated...she didn't figure Brett for one of them. She wanted to walk him through it, but not entirely take over. Which was going to be tricky, but she figured he'd figure out the rest when she got him started enough. Glancing around the room, she looked back at him, and pushed up on her toes to kiss him again. It was actually a gesture designed to get him to relax a little as much as it was something she wanted to do. Maybe the things she knew how to do to push people in certain directions was actually going to help here, even if she didn't like doing that to him at all. In this case? It was a little necessary. "Lie down." she murmured to him, once she broke the kiss off.

The kiss helped, doing exactly what she'd intended and allowing him to relax a little. Kissing her was safe ground, easy, pleasurable, and he drew it out until she pulled back, and then he pulled her in again after she'd told him to lie down, taking that moment of control before he did what she said, not wanting to give in to her entirely. It was a point of principle he just couldn't get over, and didn't want to get over. He wasn't going to meekly submit, for all that he was in her hands and they both knew it. So, he kissed her, holding her for the duration around her waist and with his other hand at the back of her neck, a deep, possessive-type kiss that, whilst not long in duration, said what he wanted it to. Only then did he step back and lay down, looking up at her in the poor light.

She liked that kiss. She was good with it, and it told her what he intended. So, that clinched her intentions more than anything. Looking down at him for a moment, she smiled, a wicked sort of expression, if playful. Then she climbed onto the bed with him, and started to get his shoes and socks off. "Where this ends," she started. "Is with me on my hands and knees, and you behind me." she told him. "You can leave on or take off whatever you want, and from that position I can't see or touch you. But it means we can still have each other." she explained, dropping the discarded clothing off the side of the bed to the floor. She met his gaze, then crawled up his form, settling herself atop him, straddling his hips. Gazing down at him, she settled her hands down against his chest and let her hair fall over her shoulder. "You don't have limits with me, I know I have limits with you. What comes off is up to you, and you know now how this is going to work." she said, leaning farther over him. "So get us there." she finished, handing everything back over to him, since he seemed to want it. She sure didn't mind, and she wanted to see what he'd do with it.

He looked up at her, thinking that this was someone else's life. This kind of thing didn't happen in his life. Hell, he took serious steps to make sure this didn't happen in his life. But it really didn't happen - yet, here he was, and she was just laying out what she wanted and how that was going to happen. And then, suddenly, it was all up to him and Brett had a moment of 'what? huh? wait a minute...' before his own nature kicked in, the nature that refused to show weakness to people. That alone carried him through the moment and he pulled her down atop him to kiss her once again.

She was almost wondering if he was going to call a halt again, and come up with some excuse, but then he didn't. He pulled her down to kiss her and she went willingly. While the situation was odd to him, it wasn't so much to her. She was used to having to maintain lines. Certain rules or restrictions that she'd have to abide by, things she'd have to keep in mind, even in the heat of the moment. Certainly, this was different than those times, but she could still draw on the experience of having to keep her wits about her. To curb what might come naturally. She didn't really want to. But she did want him. So, if that came with restrictions, it came with restrictions.

He slid his hands over her body, exploring her, trying to cover a slight uncertainty and tentativeness with a firm touch. It had been some time since he'd last did this and whilst it was true that you never really forgot, and he'd had his share of experiences in his younger days, things were different now, and before he'd never had to be worried. Be worried that she'd touch him, be worried that she'd feel what was beneath his clothes, be worried that that would affect things, no matter what. He couldn't believe that he could ever be there enough for her to distract from that happening, that if she did realise, did feel it, did see it then no matter what else was going on, it would derail things. It was such a deep seated fear that he couldn't banish it, no matter what she might do. So, he was taking things slowly, not knowing exactly what his next step would be.

Slow wasn't something that Eris generally had much experience with. Most people coming to someone like her knew exactly what they wanted, and they wanted to get down to business. Any kind of slow exploration or otherwise was something they saved for their wives or girlfriends or whatever. But right now, she wasn't here for any reason beyond a desire to be. She kept finding herself remembering that. Just randomly understanding again that she was in this situation at all because she wanted to be. She'd decided that, before. That if she ever went for intimacy again it wasn't going to be anything but what this was. Taking her time with this, or letting him take his, was something she was actually looking forward to, even if it was off the beaten path for her. When she kissed him, it was slow but deep, passionate.

Eventually, he broke the kiss, pushing her back towards a sitting position as his hands went to the shoulders of her dress. He started to slip it down, still moving slowly. He really hoped that the nerves he was feeling right now would die down, would allow him to relax enough to fully appreciate what was happening, but currently he was still just waiting for the axe to fall.

She moved where he indicated, and gazed down at him. She didn't try to stop him at all, but she was wondering. There seemed to be an element missing, and it wasn't just the knowledge that she wasn't allowed to do certain things. She looked down for a moment, then back up to his eyes. "Brett...are you not ready for this?" she asked. Her tone was light. Gentle.

When she asked that, he felt like some virginal fucking school girl; some failed prom date. God, he really was pathetic. He didn't understand why she was even here. He'd never measure up anyway. "I... It's just been a while, okay?" he said, a defensive edge entering his tone without him entirely intending it to.

She'd expected the tone, though she'd actually kind of thought he might go for 'pissed' as opposed to 'defensive'. So she considered it a step up from what she'd anticipated. "Okay." she said. She didn't add the rest of it, thinking he'd likely take more offense, or something, but mostly, she just didn't want to be pushing him into something he wasn't prepared for. Or didn't want. She reached up and traced her fingertips along the back of his hand, not letting her eyes wander from his.

He stilled as she put her hand over his, feeling the rise of a highly self-destructive streak. He couldn't do this. He couldn't play fucking pretend like everything was fine. He couldn't let himself go, waiting for the inevitable moment when everything fell apart. He was fooling himself, and it was fucking pointless. The whole thing was, because sooner or later it would all fall apart, so what was he even doing here anyway? Even if the axe didn't fall tonight, it would eventually. His eyes hardened as he looked up at her, turning defiant and challenging, expecting the worst as he turned his hand, grasping her wrist and bringing it down. He pulled his shirt tails out from his pants with his free hand, lifting them up enough to thrust her hand underneath, waiting for her expression to change, waiting for that look to appear in her eyes when she realised. He'd had enough - he wanted this over. He couldn't do this.

She blinked when he did that, mostly because that was about the last thing she expected him to do. It only lasted a second, though. Then she was concentrating on what she was meant to. What she was fairly certain was meant to crash everything down. She knew that look. That 'fine, HERE' look. And with as many issues as Brett had, and with as self destructive as she'd gotten, yeah, she recognized it fairly well. She looked down, and took a moment, sliding her hand along his skin, though she was careful not to push his shirt up too much since his intention was to have her feel the scars, not see them. Or, that's what she figured. And, as expected, there were a whole lot of contours to feel there. Some places they were smooth, and she could imagine what it looked like. Her eyes even fell a little more closed, even if she didn't shut them entirely. Brushing her thumb back and forth, she found a rough patch. She didn't say anything, she just took a moment to explore about as much as she could manage, in the area he'd given to her.

One of the things was, she hadn't actually been lying to him when she told him he might not be able to accurately imagine the things she'd seen in her years. She'd seen a lot of things. Like acid burns. They weren't like fire burns, but she'd seen them. She'd seen people mangled. She'd seen people after they'd healed from being mangled. She drew in a breath, and looked back up to his eyes. "Am I supposed to run now?" she asked him. If he was going to be stubborn...she could be too.

"You wouldn't be the first," Brett shot back. In actual fact, that wasn't quite true. Nobody had actually literally run away, but there'd been times when they'd drawn back. That was as good as. But she was taking the other tack, the 'it's alright, really' tack. He didn't believe it for a moment, he couldn't let himself believe it.

"Alright, how about the better question then." she said. "Is that what you're trying to get me to do? Is that what you want?" she asked. Her voice was calm. She slid her hand up a little further on his chest, feeling along more lines, more clearly ruined flesh. It wasn't necessarily that it didn't have any impact whatsoever. It just didn't draw up pity, for one. She knew that was a huge thing with him, and she could imagine it. She could imagine a lot of people looking at him like he was some poor little thing, and just how much he'd hate that. She knew him a little better than to afford him that. He might be hamstrung, but it was emotionally, not otherwise.

He maintained eye contact, still looking for whatever he could see there, almost more annoyed by the fact that there was nothing yet. That she was being... her about everything. Annoying. Fucking. Woman. She just had to be right, every step of the way, didn't she? Had to have her way. "I'm not gonna wait for it. I don't want to play some stupid fucking little game where we both pretend that there's not something wrong there. It's pathetic."

"I'm not playing anything." she said first. "And if we're talking about things that are wrong, that depends on one's definition, now doesn't it." she continued. "For instance, if you're talking about this," she said, sliding her hand back down again, then towards his ribs. "Then it's not something wrong, it's a scar. It's a lot of scars. And maybe it feels a little different then anyone else. That's a given. Though, really, an argument can be made that everyone feels different." She kept her eyes down on his. "And there's that part you're missing." she said.

Brett's expression twitched a little as she ran her hands over him. He was clearly uncomfortable with it, though it wasn't that it caused him any pain. The scars had ceased to hurt a long time ago, though they still felt tight at times. But, he'd started this. "What am I missing then? Huh? Tell me what I'm missing."

She leaned a little farther over him, keeping her eyes on his. "We didn't meet at some stupid bar, where I caught your eye and convinced you to take me home. We haven't had some fluffy little romance where the belief that you're anywhere near perfect has even been on the table at any point. I'm not here because I'm your girlfriend, or because of any misleading ideas about you, or us, or anything of the kind. I know what's there. I know you. I'm here, because for the first time in my life, I actually want someone. Just for me. Just because. It isn't that you're attractive...even if you are. That isn't what's drawn me in. It's you. What you're missing here, sweetheart, is desire. And to me that's one hell of a lot more important than any physical imperfections."

Brett glared up at her, but in a warped kind of way, what she said, it helped. "Anyone ever tell you you're a selfish fucking bitch?" he asked her. But it took away the fears he had that any of this would be about him, that having not quailed when she first touched him, she'd be trying to make up for some lack in him, that she'd be trying to prove that she didn't feel pity for him. He knew that she'd know that he'd hate that - hell, he'd told her enough times. But no, the way she'd put it, she was just out for what she could get, and he could deal with that better than anything else. Better than any mushy, fake, romantic-type notions. He pushed himself up, not waiting for a reply from her before he kissed her again, rolling her off him until she was underneath him, pressing her down into the bed.

She might have answered about the selfish bitch thing, which was yes, in fact, she'd been told that a lot, and even he'd slipped that in there from time to time. But with the switch with everything, talking about things was entirely off the agenda for the night. She kissed him back, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling a little, though it wasn't pulling away at all. It just went more with the tone that was getting set now that he'd kicked back into gear.

He pushed the hem of her dress up, bunching the material up around her waist as his hand slipped around the back of her, lifting her up off the bed a little by her hips and hooking a finger into her underwear so that he could draw it down. She wanted it? She wanted him? Well then that was what she'd get, and Brett let anger surge back through him, riding it and letting it sweep him up and over his fears and issues, driving him onwards.

This was nothing like that soft brush of a kiss against her neck that started it all. It had nothing to do with the soft tone he'd used when he got her to stay. In fact, all of that was out the window at current. And there was a part of her that reveled in it. Maybe it was that masochistic streak that ran so wide with her...though really only in regards to him. Maybe it was something else, but she wasn't examining it. She wasn't really thinking about it at all. She pulled at his shirt and felt a button give, even if her intention was just to keep him in where he was, where she could kiss him hard, give him everything back that he was putting into it.

Her underwear came down, her stockings with that and he was fairly sure he put at least one run in them. Like he gave a damn right now. he didn't care if she ended up in rags, though he didn't bother about her dress. One shoulder of it was down around her arm from earlier, but he hadn't got very far there and now he had no intention of going back as he slipped his hand between her legs.

Eris gasped, and immediately pushed against his hand, really not giving even the slightest bit of a damn about tears in clothes, or anything else. She wanted him to know he had her attention, had had it, that that desire she'd been talking about was plain truth. It was evident there for him. She let her nails dig into the back of his neck, and she pulled a little at his shirt again, mostly because she wanted to hear it tear a little more.

He knew he had her attention. Too damn right he'd have her attention - she wanted it and she'd better give it to him, that was for fucking sure. He felt the bite of her nails in the back of his neck as he pulled her up towards him, giving her a bruising kiss as his hand began to move.

She made a sharp sound, but not one that was in any way bad. There was something inherently appreciative about it, really. As she kissed him back, she let her nails drag down a little, and she bit at his lower lip when she got the chance to. If this was going to be going this way? She was happy to follow right the hell along. And participate. There was something about it that was satisfying on some deep, damaged level of her as well. Some part of her that really did want it this way.

He dropped her back down to the bed, pressing his weight down on her so that even without him holding her, she wasn't going to be going anywhere, save for the fact that he raised his hips up off the bed so that her could reach down with his free hand and pull at his belt, not waiting around for anything.

And that was an invitation she wasn't at all going to be passing up on. She didn't. She raked her nails down the front of his shirt, until they caught at his belt, and she yanked at it with what could be considered a bit of an expert hand. She was efficient at it, if absolutely nothing else, and she got that undone, and immediately went for his button and zipper.

He left her to that task, and as the zipper hit base he was already pushing his pants down around his hips, just far enough before he pushed her thighs apart, slipping down between them and driving upward in the same smooth stroke, moving his hand out of the way just in time. There was nothing gentle or nice about it - she'd wanted it and he was giving the bitch what she wanted.

He got a sharp, not terribly quiet cry out of her at that, and her head dropped back a moment. She took a second to recover, before she drew both knees up alongside his hips and pushed back, dragging him back in hard by a hand fisted in his hair, so she could kiss him again. Kiss, bite, go with every firing little impulse he'd kicked up, and he'd kicked up a good lot of them.

He swore at her when she pulled him by the hair, but it didn't stop him at all, if anything, it spurred him on, driving at her harder, like this was another fight that needed to be won. He pulled at the shoulder of her dress with one hand, yanking it down over one shoulder, exposing the skin there, exposing the top of her breast before the material caught, threatening to tear. With his other hand he pulled one of her legs up further, pressing it against his chest, pushing upwards as he broke off the kiss dropping his head to bite into her now-exposed skin.

She gasped, a ragged sort of sound and there was another cry, unsteady, at the back of her throat when he bit her. It was that, and the change of position that really hit hard, and in a really good sort of way. Her hand in his hair tightened, but she didn't even try to pull him away. If anything, she was keeping him there, wanting that, wanting to know how far he'd take it, what was going to come next. She even arched up a little, towards him, towards the bite. Willing to take anything he was giving at the moment.

He pulled harder at the dress, not bothering about the fact that it would have fastenings somewhere, not caring as he heard the neckline rip and it suddenly pulled down further. Her bra was no obstacle either as he pulled that too out of the way, taking her breast in his hand and squeezing, playing, rolling the nipple between his fingers, hard, but not hard enough to bruise. he raised his head to look at her, his breathing laboured, his eyes dark. He took in what she looked like, spread out there beneath him, all dark hair, pale skin and a flush in her face. And that look in her eyes that wasn't at all what he'd feared. Quite the opposite, in fact. "This what you wanted, huh?" he asked her, roughly. He knew it was.

His ruining her dress actually added to things for her. Why, she wouldn't have been able to say, but it did. Actually, absolutely everything he was doing was 'right' in the world of Eris. She heard him and it made her smile, a wicked sort of expression with dark edges, and she forced herself to open her eyes wide enough to look up at him. "Yes." she told him, getting the word out between a breath and another gasp. She kept her eyes on his, happy to let him see the effect he was having. Even if she was sure she wasn't alone.

"Twisted bitch," he got out, taking pleasure out of demeaning her right now, but, really, she seemed to like that and it covered the fact that, god, the things she was doing to him right now. He'd been emotionally screwed up for so long that he couldn't actually take positive without some kind of balancing out of negative, though he wasn't consciously aware of it in those terms. What he knew was that this felt good, and the way that they were going, it felt right.

Her hand came down fast, raking her nails against the unscarred side of his neck, biting in most certainly hard enough to leave long welts there. She pulled him down, and bit into his throat, just under his jaw, before she was at his ear. "You want it too." she ground out, biting at his earlobe while she was there. "You want it just like this." she added.

Her actions got a small cry out of him, which he cut short as he bite once more into her shoulder, raking his teeth down over her skin. He did, he knew he did, he wanted it just like this. He didn't answer her though, not straight away. Instead he pulled out suddenly, and flipped her over, pulling her up onto her knees before driving back in again, pulling her back against him by her hair. After all, she'd promised this was where they'd end up, and he'd hate to disappoint.

She hadn't expected that but she liked it all the same. Reveled in it might have been closer to the mark. She arched her back, and pulled against his grip in her hair--just to see if he'd pull harder because she was working in some way against him. The rest of her wasn't. She braced one hand on the headboard and used the leverage to help her push back harder.

He did, in fact, pull harder as she pulled away from him, liking that she did so, sure that she didn't actually mean to get away. He wasn't going to force her, but fighting? That was something else - that was just fun, and added a whole other dimension to what they were doing. One that he definitely enjoyed and which he really thought she did as well. He wanted her to fight him, he wanted this to be rough, and hard, intense. For it to be as far from delicate, emotional, gentle love-making as it could be. Right now, that didn't turn him on at all: this did. All of it, the feel of being inside her, the way she pushed back against him, even the banging of the headboard against the wall, the knowledge that his neighbours wouldn't be under any illusions about what was going on, the whole thing, all adding up to a fast approaching climax.

She did it again, pulled against him even if he got another cry out of her from the pull back on her hair. Everything was pushing fast at this point for her too, but she wanted that last fight in there, she wanted the retaliation. Since she was sure he was going to give it. So she struggled. Just enough. Just that bit to get a reaction out of him. She didn't even know what reaction she'd get, how he'd take it out on her but that's what she wanted to find out.

Gripping her shoulder in his free hand, he pushed her down to the bed, keeping her hips up, ass in the air, effectively pinning her in place as he still held her with his other hand by a fist in her hair. He moved his hand to between her shoulderblades, holding her down as he pulled her head back, almost growling at her as he moved harder behind her, twisting at each thrust.

Eris appreciated that. That she liked quite a lot. Twisted bitch. Yes, she could quite certainly appreciate this. She liked the weight he had pinning her down, she liked the tight, now painful pull in her hair and the way he had her head pulled back--not a comfortable position by any stretch of the imagination, but that added for her. She still fought that little bit, even though it was far harder now to do anything of the kind. She was, in fact, at his mercy at the moment. She loved the sounds he made, she loved the twists, everything. She did manage to reach back, she latched one hand onto his thigh, finding a little skin, and she dug her nails in as hard as she could, feeling one snap, not that she actually cared. It was all part of the building whirlwind.

He pushed down harder between her shoulderblades as she struggled, though he didn't tell her to stay still. He didn't want her to stay still - he wanted her to fight him, to fight him with everything she had. That did things to him he didn't think were possible and he gave a loud cry as the world exploded for him and he yanked back, hard, on her hair, feeling a few strands snap and pull out of her scalp in his fist.

She felt him hit, Heard it, too, of course, but she felt it more than that. That, alongside every other conflicting stimulation going on at the moment. Pain in scattered places, overwhelming pleasure all coming from him. It didn't take her more than a few moments before her own swept through her, making her shudder, her whole body feeling like she'd lost control for a few wonderful moments. Her heart was hammering in her ears, she felt like she couldn't breathe--which was partly the position, sure, but still. She didn't think she'd have an easier time even if she wasn't being held down.

Brett held the grip on her hair for a few moments longer, then let go, shaking off the dark strands that remained twisted around his fingers, strands that at the beginning of the night had been firmly attached to her scalp. He took his hand from her back as well as he slowly pulled out, pulling his pants back up over his hips once again as he collapsed to the side on the bed, not saying anything. He wasn't entirely sure where things went now, the cresting wave that had carried him through everything had finally crashed, leaving him stranded.

She made a little sound as he withdrew, almost something like a light protest. Like she wasn't quite ready to be apart yet. That was all though, as she stayed where she was a few heartbeats longer, then she slowly shifted, curling onto her side. Her back was to him, but she moved herself back closer to him til she was against him, a clear, deliberate movement. Her breathing was still a little ragged, not having fully evened out yet. She didn't try to say anything quite yet. Mostly because she also wasn't sure what happened now, and frankly, she was happy to let that wait for a few minutes while she was dealing with her pleasant sort of afterglow, and she reflected in a strange little way about what had just happened.

Brett was dealing with an urge to get up and leave, because that would be the emotionally easiest way of dealing with this situation. Every other way meant actually facing and dealing with emotions and he didn't do that. But he was also aware that getting up and leaving right now, considering the earlier events of the evening, wasn't going to go down well. Of course, there was always the 'turning over and falling asleep' tack, but even as exhausted as he was from what they'd just done, the stunned shock of where the night had ended up was keeping him awake. He put an arm around her waist more because it was a natural place to put his arm when he was lying on his side than for any purposeful thought about holding her, as he gently wondered what the hell they'd just started, or even if they'd started anything. After all, she'd already told him that once she walked out that door, they weren't seeing each other ever again. And she'd made it perfectly plain right before he'd, well, attacked her, that this wasn't about any kind of relationship with him. No, for her, this was just sex.

His arm around her felt nice. After all the heat generated with them she was a little cold. He'd kind of ruined her dress, and killed her stockings and all. Though she still liked that. There were certainly no regrets about that. Or anything, really. She thought she might have them. Reservations that reared up in the wake of it all but she was strangely okay with it. Lying there, her the one who was swallowed up by the shadows in the room, especially with her behind him because he cast his own, she could admit to herself that she'd wanted some form of goodbye. A kiss, maybe. Something. This would do. What she was ignoring was the idea that this was probably just going to make it harder to stay away from him. That now that she'd had a taste of this? It wasn't like she was going to leave and not crave it again. Him. Not really it, if she was being honest, and in those moments, she was in a place where she could be that. She tilted her head a little, to the side a touch, almost looking back over her shoulder, but not quite. But she didn't say anything, and then she just curled up again farther, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"You're still leaving in the morning." It wasn't a question. It wasn't even an expression of something he wanted. It was just something he assumed she'd be doing. he didn't particularly want her to go, but then he hadn't wanted her to leave when she'd gone originally. He'd made that clear to her. She'd continuously justified why she'd left. He'd argued with her about it. She'd stuck to her guns. And now, lying here, after that, he wasn't going to expose himself any more by asking her to stay again. He refused to turn himself into a jilted lover.

She didn't answer him immediately. She took her time replaying what he'd just said in her mind, trying to read tone. Absently, she reached down and lightly traced her fingertips over the back of his hand, and she stared off into the distance, not really seeing it. "It'd be dangerous if I didn't." she said. It also wasn't an expression of what she wanted. But her tone suggested there could possibly be discussion on the matter. She recognized somewhere that she was a little surprised. That she thought maybe he'd want to be rid of her all the more now. Maybe he was just confirming that she was leaving so he could feel better about it. She wasn't sure and at the moment, didn't especially want to hazard a guess.

"Lots of things are dangerous," he observed. This was dangerous. Having her here was dangerous. Visiting her place was dangerous. Saving her life - that was possibly one of the more long-term dangerous things he'd ever done. But, he'd done all of the above. And he still wasn't asking her to stay, asking to see her again. He was just making observations.

She nodded. Yes. She agreed with the statement. "I want to do this." she said. "Give the boyscout what he needs...hand in more if I can. Take people down, clear them out. Kick over the playing board." she continued, tone light. Thoughtful. She was still tracing a little on the back of his hand. "If I do it right...you could get out." she said. Continuing before he could shoot her down, she held up her hand to quiet a protest she knew was coming, then went back to tracing. "I know you don't think so." she confirmed. "But I do. I want to try."

The aftermath was fading now, and with it went some of his insecurities. Anyway, they were back on familiar ground once again. "I don't want you committing suicide over this," he told her, because she'd heard that one before. It was nothing new. What was new was the fact that he leaned forward and placed a kiss on the column of her neck as he said it. He might deny it, but there was a possibility he had his own little glow going on.

She let her eyes slide shut for a moment at that. It felt nice. Like that first one had. And it was surprising how much easier it was to hear him say that when he said it accompanied with a kiss. "I know." she said, voice a little softer. She was quiet for a few moments, opening her eyes again to look into the dark on the other side of the room. "I'm not trying for that. You know that, don't you?" she asked, again almost looking back at him but not quite. "I'm not. It's not my goal. I'm just aware of the...shelf life my life has." In a moment of clarity for herself, and in the situation and how it felt, she even added one one last part to it, which she never would have voiced or even thought about any other time. "It's easier to be realistic about it and face it down than it is to pretend everything'll be okay when I know it won't be." Her tone was softer there. Quieter still.

"Realistic is one thing, setting yourself up to burn is something else," he told her. His tone wasn't as soft as hers was, and it was definitely serious, but he wasn't dictating with it, not the way he tended to.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" she asked, not really needing him to confirm it. "I don't mean to be." then she frowned a little. Maybe that wasn't true. Maybe she was, just a little. Just enough that it might be more likely. Because she knew she hated her existence. I don't want to be a broken record. I don't want to be a damaged ghost. went through her mind, but she didn't think she could say it.

"You start fireworks the way you were talking about, that's what you'll be doing," Brett confirmed. He was sure of that much, the way she'd been talking, he was sure of it. Plus, she didn't have the information, so she'd have to create waves getting it. All in all, her way was a death sentence, that much he could guarantee.

"If I don't, nothing happens. Nothing changes." she said, voice still light. "I don't accept that. I suppose I think it's worth it." she told him, sliding her hand over his and letting it rest there. She recognized a moment later that she did it because she figured he was going to pull away. She also realized that she didn't think the motion would stop that action from happening, it would just mean his hand would slide against hers before he did it.

"What about if there was another way?" he suggested. "I... Could help you," he added, with a slight hesitation. This hadn't been what he'd collected information for. Except, wasn't it? Hadn't the whole point of his operation been to try and topple one of the city's crime syndicates, or at least put a huge dent in their operations? And, sure, maybe the plan hadn't been to hand it over to someone who had lived her life on the wrong side of the law, but the way she was going, it was all going to end up back with the force anyhow, and even if it didn't, the goal was the same. It was just the means. He knew that once upon a time that would have been a huge difference to him - once upon a time he wouldn't have agreed that the end could justify the means. But three years was a long time. And he couldn't just let her go to her death when he'd already risked everything to save her once.

She didn't answer him right away, a flicker of a frown on her features. "Help me...how? What other way? What you have? Information?" Since it had been clear earlier that he'd been collecting names at the very least. And the pages had been different, there were different pens used, it had not in any way been done in one sitting. Plus, he'd all but admitted it before. "Wouldn't that put you in danger?" she asked. "The point is to keep you out of it. That's a point I'm not really willing to negotiate on."

"Information enough to cause some real fireworks, in the right hands," Brett confirmed, ignoring her latter statements. "Just think about it. You're not going to be able to get me out, Princess - I may as well be of some good, somehow." He couldn't see how anyone could get him out. He couldn't see why the hell the O'Malleys would let him go. He was a nothing, a nobody - if he wanted out, they would lose a moment giving him his out in a body bag. He was of no importance, and he knew too much. Currently, they trusted him. It had taken him a long time, but they trusted him. He walked, and they'd off him as a matter of expediency.

"I still think I can. It's not going to be easy...I know that. I know it's not going to be anything that happens fast, either, and I...have leverage with certain people. I'm owed. I might not have the full roster I once had of people who owed me but I still have some. I'm willing to do that." It would expose her, yeah. But she was alright with that. "Besides if it's anything that's that good, it's going to come back on you, isn't it?" she asked. "Like I said...not negotiable."

"You go calling in favours and it's gonna come back on you instead. And darling, that's not acceptable to me. Now, I don't mean to go all martyr on you or any bullshit like that, but don't just dismiss me out of hand like that," Brett said, an edge in his voice, but only a slight one. "All I'm saying is I know shit about people, I have shit on people. I'm pretty sure that you had some from before as well. Let's see what we have and look at the best way to use that before you go calling in favours with people who think you've been dead for three months now. And if the best way to use something is putting back where it won't be found again, then so be it, but I'm not as stupid as some people think I am. And I know there's no way out for me, so a lot of what I know? I've made damn fucking sure that at least a good portion of it tracks back to someone else. The Syndicate thinks I'm too stupid for this - generally I'm just a guy standing at the back of a room filled with all sorts of other guys, and once they trust you, they tend to think you're deaf. They don't one-on-one with guys like me. At most, they use me as a driver when they're talking in the back, but I'm never the only person to know something - not unless I'm the only survivor." Which, he had to admit, had happened once or twice.

She listened, contemplating what he was telling her. Considering it. She did have some things from before. Hell, she had shit that went back years. Some of it was irrelevant now, with changing of the guard so to speak when certain people wound up a little too power hungry and got themselves disappeared, but some of it was still good. She also knew he was smarter than he let on to other people, and could imagine that what he said was true. That not everything tracked back to him. Silent as she weighed it in her mind, she wondered if it could work. At all. "I have some things that can be of use." she said first, tone soft if thoughtful again. "If you have information that can't be traced back to you, then fine. That's useable. But nothing that can hit you." She was firm on that point. "And if it all comes crumbling down, you could get out. You aren't a power player. ...not that they think, anyhow, and if they're too busy trying to pick up the pieces, or there aren't enough left of them to even do that for a generation or so..." she paused, and shifted this time actually looking back at him. "You could get out."

"Maybe," Brett allowed, thinking that they really would have to do some serious damage for it to come to that. But, if it made her feel better, he could deal her a 'maybe'. "And you could not get yourself killed again." He paused and took his hand from under hers, but only to push her hair away and expose her neck a little more. Of course, that also exposed the strangle scar she had there. He looked down at the mark as he continued. "Maybe if the guys who wanted you dead weren't there anymore, the fact that they failed might not be so much of an issue to the rest of the city," he suggested.

She didn't stop him from what he was doing, though she lightly wondered why. Then she saw him focusing, and could imagine what it was he was looking at. "I don't think it was just a couple of guys." she said. "It was what I represented." Quiet for a moment, she looked around the shadows of the room again before her eyes were back on him. "I could still represent it. I don't know. And that's if other cops don't find out about me and want to add a footnote to their service record." she said. She was quiet again. You know I hate this, don't you?

"What did you represent? What do you represent?" he asked her, genuinely curious about that. He really hadn't had much to do with her before her death. When he'd been on the force, well, he'd worked vice, but it had been in his rookie days, and he hadn't lasted long, moved on when he'd reported a couple of guys sharing a 'freebie' - some underage girl in an alleyway. That had been quietly shuffled under the carpet and he'd been equally quietly moved on. Once he'd started working for the O'Malleys, trips to Babylon had been a regular affair, but he hadn't involved himself in the workings. He'd gone, he'd sat in the room, he'd left. He'd noticed her enough to know her name and a few things about her, but Babylon hadn't been the O'Malley's domain. Until the day they took it over, and he was sent in to clean up the mess. After that, well, all she represented was a grave.

That had her quirking a light little smirk, and she shifted again, more onto her back, so she could look up at him. "Someone they couldn't break." she answered. "They leaned on me for years. The DiGiovanni family too. Both of them didn't like my neutral ground policy. I can't even tell you how many offers I would get, if I just submitted. How many threats when they would get pissy with me when I told them I couldn't be bought. Funny, of course, coming from me." she continued. Her smile faded. "Eventually they got tired of it, apparently. Got someone on the inside...I still don't know who. Doesn't matter, I suppose. The end result was the same. Out went the lights, and problem solved. Somehow I think if I showed up again it would offend them on a fairly deep level." Which was true. And why she knew for a fact surfacing would get her killed so incredibly quickly it would be laughable.

Brett moved back, so that she could lie out, though he stayed on his side, looking down at her. "And if your resurfacing came with the crippling of the people who went up against you?" Brett suggested. "Wouldn't that send a message all of its own?" He thought that it would, if it was a sufficiently large message. Of course, to do that would mean changing tactics, making sure it was clear that the damage came from her, was caused by her.

"To what end?" she asked. "I can't take it back. Babylon, that is. It's going to have to go down with everything else. And even if I could get it back? I can't..." she stopped, watching his eyes. She didn't want to admit the next part, but she was still feeling that drift of honest and thoughtful that helped her. "I'm not capable of it anymore. The things I'd have to do...I can't do it. So...I come back, crash and burn everything and then....?"

"Have a life," Brett finished for her. "Some kind of a life that isn't just pretending your dead and waiting for that to become real. Do something else - I don't know what, figure that out on the way. But it's better than dying, isn't it?" he asked.

She searched his eyes for a long moment. Probably too long a moment. She could answer him. But in the end she didn't. She reached up and lightly brushed her fingertips down the side of his neck where she'd scratched him, the marks quite visible, even if she was gentle with her touch. Sure, she was aware she should answer, but he wouldn't like what she had to say. And she wasn't up for lying about it. Not right now.

"Just think about it," he said, not pushing it. After all, he knew he'd never get out, why should she think she should get out? The difference was that he intended to survive and she intended not to. That was a huge difference. He felt the slight sting as her fingers touched his skin and he realised that she'd marked him. He didn't know how badly, but he doubted he was bleeding. Strangely, he found he really didn't care, though he knew he'd get questions about it tomorrow. He didn't ask her how bad it was, either. He had no intention of doing so - it was there, he wasn't going to acknowledge it. Relive it once he went to sleep, maybe, but he wasn't going to acknowledge it to her.

She pulled him down a little, enough that she could ever so lightly brush a kiss over his skin where the marks were, even if she'd have to give a whole lot more kisses to cover the whole area. she stuck to one. "I have." she said, voice a soft little whisper.

He pushed her away, hard enough to shove her back onto her back, not liking that answer one little bit, because he knew what she meant. She meant she'd thought about it and decided it wasn't going to be happening. "Then think. about it. some more," he ground out, not buying that for a second.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them back up, not thinking at all that the motion was odd. Exhaling slowly, she gave herself a second. "Brett, I have brain damage." she said. Which he knew. She knew he did. He'd taken the time to write out her medication sheets for her because he knew she just flat out wasn't capable of managing it on her own. And he was right. "Even in a perfect world, where there's no one after me, and I'm not getting hauled in by the cops, and I can just go about my life, I don't have one. I wouldn't be able to really hold down a job. And what I did before? That's all I've ever done. I don't know how to just have a normal life. I don't. I'm not...trying to be overly dramatic, or upsetting, or anything, I just know myself. I mean, be honest, you know me by now. Can you actually picture it? What would I do? Who would I be? I don't work. I'm a broken ghost. And if anything else happens to me? What if I get worse?" Which was a fucking terrifying idea, and one she'd never even actually given voice to before. But it scared her to death. Worse than just about anything. Or no, it could in fact, be the most horrifying idea to her that she could currently fathom.

"Believe it or not, I know what it's like," he pushed back. "Thinking your life is over? Thinking that there's nothing left, and there never can be? Trust me, I've been through it. Couple of times, actually. So, I know what it's like to be there. Where you are. Right at the start. It's worst, right at the start. When it all seems to be too much, when you can't see how you're ever gonna be able to cope with everything. And, I know - I never had brain damage. But I had burns over my body so bad that I couldn't walk and they were surprised I survived. And I went from being what I was to being in a cell accused of murder over night. And what if you get worse? What if you don't? what if you take that stubborn fucking centre of what you are and find a way to cope with what you've got still? Because you are the single most irritatingly fucking stubborn bitch I have ever met, and yet you're just gonna give up? Declare that you've got no fucking future without even trying? Look at what you did - you left here, you organised a place of your own, you got yourself a job. And, sure, you weren't doing it perfectly, but you did well enough, didn't you? And yeah, I had to help you out with a couple of notes, but after that you were good. You didn't need me, not really. And that was just a first fucking try, so don't give me that bullshit about this being it and being the end of the line, because I don't fucking buy that. Not right now." He brought himself to an abrupt end, realising that he was preaching now. He looked at her for a moment, then looked away. Possibly he'd just given away that maybe he'd give this subject some thought.

She listened. She really did. And she understood what he was saying. She just didn't think it applied to her. His damage healed. Or...the physical damage did. He was still damaged psychologically, but that wasn't the point. The point was she didn't think she could do it. And a lot of what she'd done she'd done because he'd helped her. Saying nothing for a long few moments, she really did give what he said thought. "I don't know how to do this." she told him. Not really arguing with him so much as giving her point of view. "The job...I can only do that for a little while. I can't learn new songs. I can't even tell you when I ate last." she said, which was true, and also a point at the same time. "I feel like a broken record. I just...go through the motions, and I know that eventually it's just going to stop, and I don't have any other back up plan. What am I going to do? I just...don't see it. Can't see it. I was never meant to just exist in a life that's what mine is right now. I can't sustain it. I don't know how to just...be normal and be happy with that. In fact, happy is kind of a new thing for me. Along with everything else. And I don't know how to deal with that either. I know what you're saying and I appreciate it. I just think you...you're stronger than I am in that regard. You're a survivor." she told him, since that was how she viewed it. "With what I can see of myself..." she shook her head. "We talked about it earlier. About there being more to life than just not being dead. I'm living that right now and it's not just because of needing to keep myself hidden. That's all there is. Only now there's this. My private little crusade. That keeps me going. Gives me a focus. Otherwise all my days are are one thing bleeding into another punctuated by my uncanny ability to run into law enforcement, and the occasional run in with assholes in alleyways. Can you honestly picture me just...having a life? Seriously. Look at me and tell me you can see me working a nine to five, and coming home and remembering to cook dinner or do whatever. And that's if I'd even be capable of holding down a real job. About the only thing I'd be suited for, after my time runs out at the club would be on my back and I'm not doing that. I'm not going there."

"Then live for the vengeance right now, if that's what you need to do - just don't rule out the possibility of there being something after," he told her, his tone one of incredibly forced patience. Because whilst he really couldn't see her working the nine to five, or being some little suburban housewife with dinner on the table, he refused to write off that there was a place for her in the world somewhere. There was more going down than those two choices - and they didn't all involve her previous profession. "And don't give me that 'you're a survivour' bullshit either. If you weren't, you wouldn't have stood out against the two most powerful mobs in the city for all those years. That's what being a survivor is. Change - fucking adapt. That doesn't happen overnight. And it's not to do with being happy. You think I'm happy?"

"I know you're not." She said, because she did. "I have this silly notion that I'd like to be. That's what I'm talking about, that something more to life. And the girl you're talking about, the one who stood up against the mafia...she died." Because she sure as hell wasn't here anymore. He knew that. "We're going in circles. I know what you're saying. I get it. Maybe eventually I'll see things your way. I just can't see it right now. But you've held on for this long, and don't show any signs of reaching your limits. You'll be okay. I don't think I'm ever going to be." She didn't know if she could be, if she was capable of it at all. She highly doubted it.

"That's just because you didn't know me before," Brett admitted, telling her things that normally he would have refused to, just to support his case. He couldn't let her give up like this, he wouldn't let her give up like this. "Believe it or not, this is the improved me from where I was before."

That brought the faint touch of a smile to her lips. It didn't last long, but was there for a second. "You were still strong enough to get through it to get to here." Would it bother you that much if I was gone? Do I make that much of a difference? Really, she was under the impression if she checked out, he'd be okay. He might be moody about it for a while, but he'd be okay. "We said we'd see what we have, and see what we can do." she said. "If it works out, I suppose we'll have to see what becomes of me." She just didn't think she'd make it and if she did, she didn't know if she wanted that. Facing up to a life that didn't even have a drive like hers did now was a tiny bit terrifying. She paused for a long moment. "What would you see?" she asked. "For me. if you could give me options, what would they be? What could you see me doing, what kind of life?"

Brett didn't actually think he knew her well enough to answer that question. He thought he knew her, but what he knew of her was a mixed bag, and usually revolved around arguments, with the occasional break for talking like they were now, once they'd sufficiently argued enough. It hardly made him a good career counselor though. "You're strong enough too. She might be dead, the woman who achieved what you did, but she left you behind, and you're still strong enough. And your options right now are learning to live with yourself - figuring it all the fuck out. Or not. I wouldn't go with the second. It's not about what we can see - hell, you might wanna ask Jackson one day if he could see the me he knew being what I am today." He shrugged. "Though that's probably not the best example..."

She smiled, just a little. "Think I'm going to start having heart to hearts with Jackson?" she asked. "About you no less? Something tells me he shouldn't ever find out you and I have even met." she said. Which she knew they'd sort of established...she thought. Maybe they hadn't, but it was most practical. Still, she was mostly just teasing, a bit of a playful undercurrent to her tone. "I get what you mean." she added, since she did. She still didn't think their situations were compatible, his was entirely different than hers was and he was okay with trudging his way through life a miserable bastard. She really didn't think she had the option.

"Yeah, I know - and I don't really see you having heart to hearts with anyone." He wondered if this was the closest she got to anything like that. Even then, this level of civility between them was a rarity, and he wasn't under any illusions that things would stay like this now, just because they'd screwed. It would get damn uncomfortable if it did - he wasn't built for playing nice.

Just with you, if it even fits the description. she thought but didn't share. Instead she gave a light ghost of a smile that might have been agreement. "I think there are people who would argue I lack the requisite anatomy to do anything of the kind." she told him. Of course there were a lot of others who would swear up and down she was a saint or a savior or something too. Though those were her girls, her employees that she made sure had always been incredibly well cared for.

He cocked a small smile at that, a rare look on him these days. "I dunno - for a woman, you've definitely got balls, so why not a heart," he put to her, which was the closest he was gonna come to paying her a real compliment, and that was that. "You be careful, with Jackson, 'kay? And you're right, don't let him know I have anything to do with it. He... It would be a bad idea. For all of us. Him included. The guy's a moron at times."

"I will." she promised. She planned to be. She also took the compliment, and thought he had a nice smile, even if she oh...never saw it. It would be strange if she did, but she commited the mental imagery to memory....hopefully. "I get that he's a moron. I'll try and give him enough that he decides I'm not a nuisance to society anymore. I don't know, though. I don't know how serious he is about keeping an eye on me or how long he plans to do it. I don't know what he's going to expect me to do to keep him from turning me in." She paused. "Though if we are going with...more recently discussed courses of action, he'll be useful. He'll even come out ahead on it all."

There it was, she was thinking about it. Even if she still couldn't see past the end , he'd at least got her to think about the possibilities. He'd take that, for now. If he could change her viewpoint in slow stages, that would be enough. Just each time stop her from immediately doing something that would end up in her getting herself killed. He just had to manage that each and every time. He figured that he could actually do that, weirdly enough. "We'll just have to play it by ear," he agreed.

She nodded. Yes, they'd have to. Which brought her to a pressing sort of weight in her mind, and she watched his eyes. "So how are we going to work this?" she asked, tone light. "If we're working at this together, then..." It was oddly easier for her to say that than it had ever been to ask him if he'd be back around again. And she still thought that with Jackson 'watching' that he probably shouldn't come to her place. Even if she was aware in the back of her mind that it would just add a little flash of danger to the encounter that she might actually appreciate in wholly different ways than she'd ever appreciated his company before. That was hardly anything she was going to admit to, though.

"For now we stick to the plan," Brett told her. "You take what I gave you to Jackson, we see what he does with it, how he plays it, whether he can be trusted. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do to set up somewhere we can meet." Which was something that would be a lot easier if he hadn't paid most of his savings to that damn Doc to house her, but he wasn't going to say that here and now. He'd find a way.

She didn't remember that being the plan, though she was fine with it. Or, at least, not the finding a way to meet up places. That was the new thing. It was possibly dangerous and probably ill advised, but she wasn't actually willing to fight him on it. Which was partially why she'd put it to him, put the plan layout for him to say, so she could see what it was he wanted to do. "Alright. I still think we need something to hit up the papers with too. Just for a distraction. If they're worried about that, then it's less concentration on what your boy might be doing."

Brett nodded. "I can see what I've got - something not connected with Babylon, so they don't think it's connected," he mused, lying down on his back and staring up towards the shadowed ceiling as he tried to think about what could fit the bill. Something targeted at the O'Malleys, loosely at least. Maybe something on the edges, but linked to something bigger - something that would worry them, make them wonder what was coming next.

It was Eris' turn to shift to lying on her side, propping her head up to look down at him. It was comfortable, or was after she fixed her torn dress a little so it wasn't pulling so much. Even if at this point, she might as well ditch it. But she didn't want to get up to do that. "Unconnected would be best." she paused, thinking. "Do you have anything high enough up that it'll shock people enough, but not high enough that it's going to immediately start inducing a rash of hits across the city?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think I can come up with something like that," Brett agreed. He wondered how long it would take him. Really, he should probably go now, in the dark and the rain, like he'd said before. But, unsurprisingly, he wasn't really in the mood for going anywhere anymore. He was pretty much okay with staying right here.

She nodded. "Get what you can, be careful when you do, then it gets sent in from an anonymous source. Just send it to the top, or there's got to be a reporter in this city who's looking to make a name for themselves. It won't matter, really, it'll get printed. And if it doesn't? We'll know who we can't trust, and we'll send it to someone else. Or see what we can do with the radio, news stations...someone out there's got to want to break it." she said. "Someone'll want to be famous." If one thing could be counted on, it was the inherent greed of human beings.

"I'll find someone," he promised. He'd pick up a copy of the Echo tomorrow, figure out who was who, get some names from the columns. Something would give. Whoever it was, they'd want to check their sources, but that was their problem - a nice anonymous tip and the rest would be up to them. But there was nothing like a reporter for digging up dirt, and it would be their own neck they'd be risking.

She nodded. "Alright." she said, shifting a little to let her head drop down to the pillow, even if she didn't move back from Brett, really. She sort of wondered how tomorrow was going to work, but didn't ask. It would get figured out. Like the supposed place to meet up would. Though she wasn't actually planning on letting him take care of it entirely on his own. She could look around too, wrack her brain for contacts that might be able to be leaned on and not sell her out. Someone with a place to offer. She recognized that she found it a priority, she just wasn't happy to examine what that might mean. So she didn't. She ignored it entirely. Giving the faint hint of a smirk as she watched his profile, she spoke. "What kind of odds do you give us?" she asked, meaning their new little plan to take mafia families down.

Brett took her meaning the way she intended, not going for the alternate definition. "Not a betting man, Princess - never have been." He wasn't going to put odds on something like this. He wasn't going to be overly optimistic, and he refused to be pessimistic, because she'd just latch into that. Things would be what they'd be, no more, no less.

She smirked a little more, the expression spreading until she shook her head a touch, amused. She pushed herself up, propping her hand down by his shoulder and she looked down at him. She didn't say anything for a moment. "Guess we'll have to see." she said. Eris still believed that part of this could work. And maybe it all would, if they were going to be doing it right. She still didn't see a future for herself beyond that, but that was hardly the point. The point was it was getting done, and it could mean he was going to come out alright. That was still her goal, still her main concern. After that, well. He could figure out what life meant to him then. When he wasn't trapped inside a system he couldn't get out of. He'd figure something out. For herself, she just viewed things as ending. Like this was the last chapter in her particular story, there was no 'after'. Which suited her just fine. She'd never been a martyr. She didn't view herself as one now. Brett was probably right with his assessment of suicidal, though she didn't necessarily feel like that. She didn't contemplate eating a bullet, or slitting her wrists, or anything of the kind. She knew she could easily OD on her medication and tried not to. It was strange. It was probably good no one was asking her to explain herself. After a few moments, she leaned over him and turned out the lamp he'd lit when they'd come in. Then she moved to curl on her side again, pulling the blankets up and over the both of them, because it would be uncomfortable not to do that.

Sleep, then, was the order of the day. Well, it was hardly the first time they'd slept together, though it was a first for this place. His place. And yet still he was in his clothes. And this time she was in hers. But, he wasn't going to get up now. Instead, he just tried to make himself comfortable, pulling off his belt and letting it fall to the floor, and rolled onto his side. Then he closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come.