how to get rid of someone

who: december and brett
where: the hospital
when: mid day

December had eventually woken up, and found Mickey's note. Which...of all the things she was dealing with at the moment, that one definitely was the weirdest. Really the kicker of it all was the fact that he had signed 'always' and 'yours' and crossed them out. It was good they'd been crossed out, but it was clear that he'd intended both of them at least at some point. Which was worrying. She'd been sort of hoping he'd leave, and then he'd just never come back. That maybe he'd come to his senses, and realize that this whole diseased notion of his that he wanted to be around her would be cured.

The note definitely said otherwise. Great. And she had gotten word that her cousin had been shot. Which was also just fucking peachy. She was going to go see him today, and she was mildly entertaining the notion of bringing him something, but she couldn't really think of what. So far, nothing was coming to mind, and she was thinking she'd turn up empty handed. At least she didn't figure he'd give a shit. In the end, she bought some take out lunch on the way to the hospital, because she’d heard the food there sucked. It was something.

Walking into the place, she got directed to his room, and had had to show ID to prove she was family. Then she got let into his room. “I brought food.” she told him, when she shut the door. It was better than ‘holy shit what happened?’ which she figured he’d gotten a lot of.

“Got a file in that cake?” Brett deadpanned, giving her a look. The doctor had visited, and he’d been informed that there was no way he would be discharged until at least the next day, and only then if his pain was under control, and he had someone at home who could look after him. Brett was not impressed - both by the fact that he had to stay in this place and the fact that they were insisting that he be nursemaided.

Arching a brow at him, December didn’t look surprised, so much. “Are there invisible chains to nix?” she asked, walking over. She set down her bag on the tray that rolled over the bed, and started taking out what she’d gotten. “I see your disposition is sunny as ever. What’s the verdict on your condition?”

“Gunshot wound to the leg,” he pointed out, rolling his eyes. “And here was I thinking you were the medical one.” He paused for a moment, before relenting . “Stuck in here until tomorrow at the earliest and no amount of ‘persuading’ will change their minds on that. You’d think they’d be fucking sick of me by now.”

December gave him a Look at the comment, but then he quit the sourpuss act. “You really would.” she agreed, sitting down in the nearest chair after grabbing her sandwich. “You on leave then, from the department?”

“I can’t even walk right now, and half the time they have me fucking high as a kite on painkillers. So yeah, I’m on leave,” Brett told her. It was the one thing he didn’t sound overly bothered about - for good or bad.

“How long? I know the plans they have aren’t exactly great.” December said, biting back a response that was much less civil. But if he kept up the attitude, he’d get it eventually. “You don’t sound concerned.” she added, since he didn’t. That was...kinda curious.

“At least until tomorrow, depending on who can be around when they let me out. Apparently they don’t want me on my own,” he told her, rolling his eyes again. “As for the job - I’m not concerned. Think we touched on that the other night.” He would have said more on that, but not to her. Not when the only thing that had been keeping him tied to his desk was no over. Not when she had such close ties, such personal involvement. He might have been a bastard, but he wasn’t that much of a bastard - or, at least, she hadn’t pissed him off enough for him to let that much of his bastard loose.

“Yeah. Just...I don’t know. Guess it’s weird to see. Especially since you were the hardest working detective on the force.” December said, shrugging one shoulder. “You going to quit?” she asked. “Let the time pay out til you’d have to come back, then just not?” Then she paused. “They don’t want you on your own--you hiring a nurse? Do you want me to come by when I can?” Obviously she couldn’t do anything twenty four hours a day or anything, but she could look in on him.

“I do the job that needs to be done. And now I can’t do it. So someone else can step up. Never did it for the love. Just not very good at walking away.” As for whether he’d go back - that all depended how things played out. He’d shown himself pretty damn bad at planning for the future so far. He doubted that would change any time soon. “I’m sorting shit out so I can go the moment they let me. You don’t have to come by - don’t feel compelled or anything,” he told her, that last bluntly. He didn’t want pity and he didn’t want people going out of their way for him. He never wanted that, never wanted to be seen like that.

December leveled her gaze on him for a long moment. Then she set her sandwich down, and leaned forward. “Look, dick.” she snapped. “Little Princess Soreass needs to shut the fuck up sometimes, and quit treating people like that. Maybe this isn’t about me being ‘compelled’ to see you or what the fuck ever it is in your head that causes you to sound like that, but maybe? Just a minute bit here is you happen to be my only family. And maybe it’s just a tiny bit jarring for me to be dealing with the idea that you were shot, and possibly could have died, and that’d be it. So fuck you, and your tone, and your ‘I’m going to be a bastard to everyone because I can’ attitude. If I come to see you it’s because I want to see you. So pipe the fuck down.”

Brett did not seem to be moved at all by her rant, his face remaining impassive. “Fine, come round if you want, but don’t go out of your way. I’m not going to fucking stop you, but I don’t need everyone around thinking I need some kind of nursemaid. Because I don’t. I’m fine - it was a flesh wound. That’s all. Guy couldn’t shoot for shit and I’ve had worse,” he told her.

“Oh my god! Did you not hear me?” December said, throwing her hands up in the air. “What about me says ‘nursemaid’ to you?” she asked. “Because, by the way? I’m a coroner, not a doctor, I cut up the dead and can tell you how they died, this whole being shot thing isn’t really my area of expertise. I’m not a damn doctor. Or nurse. Or anything like that. And offering to stop by shouldn’t make you jump to whatever conclusion you’re stuck at. You’re being a massively unfair asshole right now, and I don’t really deserve being slapped upside the head with whatever fucked up issues you’re using as a security blanket right now.”

“You asked if I needed you to ‘come by when you could’,” Brett pointed out. “And I’m saying that I don’t need you to go out of your way. I’ll be fine. And I’m always a damn unfair asshole - that’s just not gonna change. You can’t deal with it, then that’s not my problem.” He knew that wouldn’t be taken at all well, but he was in a bad mood already, and being in the hospital always put him on the defensive.

December looked at him for a long moment. "You are one fucked up little bitch, aren't you." she said. Her voice turned high and mocking. "Oh no! I'm in the hospital! I better be a raging asshole to everyone so I can run them all away because I can't stand the idea of being hurt, or vulnerable, or anything! Waa, waa, I can't be a man and just take help if I need it and not if I don't!" she said. "Fucking drama queen." she rolled her eyes. "And if you can't deal with that it's not my problem." she shot back at him. Though by the end of it all, she was less angry and more nearly amused.

Brett said nothing. There was nothing to say. She just didn’t get it, she didn’t understand, she didn’t know where any of this was coming from, or what it was like for him. And now she was mocking him. Well, she could go screw herself as far as he was concerned and the only thing that was stopping him coming right out and saying that was that she was family. So, instead, he was silent, choosing merely to glare at her.

December sat back and ate her sandwich. She didn't glare back at him, she didn't acknowledge it at all. Just so long as he stopped being a pissy bitch in her direction, she was fine with that. So, she sat there, giving off an air of 'I can wait'.

Brett refused to be out-stubborned. If she was just going to sit there in silence, thinking he was going to crack and give in, she had another thing coming.

She finished up her food, and propped her feet up on the end of the bed, seeing his chart there. She picked it up and started glancing through it, even if she wasn't a medical professional, really. She did get to look at what it said about the wound itself. For all intents and purposes, she was ignoring the shit out of Brett as much as he was her.

Brett turned his head, staring out of the window at the sky - which was really the only thing he could see from his bed. He was just at the wrong angle and height to see the city, so instead he watched the clouds go by, ignoring her as much as she was ignoring him. Her looking through his charts without asking pissed him off, but he refused to pull her up on it, that was be capitulation and, given her reaction previously, she’d just laugh at him again.

"So, since you seem to rock at it," December started, after what was actually quite a long time. "What's the best way at getting rid of someone?" she asked, putting his chart away, then looking back at him. "Someone isn't fitting into my grand plan of 'not talking to anyone again ever'. Which doesn't include you before you get your hopes up."

Brett looked back at her, surprised by the question. He frowned, clearly thrown for a moment. “...Tell them to fuck off,” he suggested, knowing he could come up with a better answer than that, but she’d caught him unawares. He did sound less annoyed and petulant when he spoke though.

"I did." She said, sighing as she leaned back, tilting the chair back on it's two back legs. "Several times. Tried logic. Tried a lot of things. I kicked him. And he left me a note with disturbing things crossed out on it. I'm kind of sure I'm in over my head right now? And I have no idea how to actually get him to really leave." she admitted. "I'm sure it won't come as a huge surprise that I'm not exactly an ideal partner. For, like, anyone. Especially not guys who are good Samaritan Catholics who 'just want to help'."

Brett actually listened and considered it further. He paused for a moment, wondering whether he should actually give her advice on this - after all, he knew it had never actually made him happy. In the end, he decided that she was a big girl and she could take care of herself. “Pick on his weak spots. The things you know will hurt the most. If you can’t push him away, make him want to start running. Be cruel,” he advised, a tone of resigned bitterness entering his tone. He’d done it so many times.

She nodded. Quiet for a moment, she sighed. "I don't really want to ruin the guy." she admitted, staring off at a middle distance. "And it's fucked up that he likes me at all. I think I sort of...I don't know. Ask questions, I guess. Apparently no one else bothers getting to really know him, and I managed to do that in a few hours. But I know me. And I know what's wrong with me, which is a whole host of shit that we're not getting into. He's a decent guy. He really needs to be far the fuck away from me."

“Stop asking questions then,” Brett pointed out. “If he’s after someone to be interested in his life, then don’t be interested. Never ask. Never follow through on those little hints he drops. Take away what he likes about you. He’ll wander off looking for someone else to fill that little hole.”

Nodding again, she accepted the advice. "I did try that. I think I just suck at not following up on things. I'll try harder." she told him. She guessed she'd have to. He was right, she could see what he meant there. If she was uninterested, maybe Mickey would leave.

“It’s hard,” Brett acknowledged. “Getting people to go away. People who give a damn, anyway. But it’s never impossible. There’s always some way - you just have to find it. But you also need to know what your limits are.” And she didn’t want to break him. Sometimes, that was the only way. He didn’t tell her that though.

December said nothing for a few long moments. "I need to know what my limits are?" she asked, wanting him to expand on that. She figured if anyone knew, it'd be him. He seemed to be the expert. She didn't really like the subject, or even that she was setting herself up for this. Because she didn't want to hurt him, so much. She just wanted better things for him than would wind up happening if he stuck around her.

“Yeah - you told me already that you don’t want to break him. That’s a limit,” Brett told her, seriously. If nothing else, the turn of this conversation was distracting him from the shit that was his life right now. And from where he was. He could talk about this. He knew about this. Fuck - he was a damn expert on this, though she probably didn’t wholly appreciate that.

"I don't. I just...don't want him to get broken. And if he stays anywhere near me, it'll happen. He's a nice guy. I'm not a nice girl. I don't want him thinking he can...I don't know. Fix me or some shit. And I don't really want to drag him down to my level, y'know?" she asked, actually asking as she looked back over. Sort of wanting confirmation that she was doing the right thing, or at least he understood what she was getting at.

“Then if he’s gonna get more fucked up by staying around you, anything you do to drive him away will be a mercy. Or, at least, that sounds like the way you’re putting things,” Brett pointed out.

"That's how I see it." December admitted. I'm the girl who got involved with a serial killer. I'm not exactly a girl who should be with anyone, ever. went through her mind, for the millionth time. "I just think it's going to be harder than it should be. He's...I don't know. Invested."

“Then give up that whole ‘ I don’t want to be mean to him’ thing. Be mean to him. Be a fucking arse. Make it so that he can’t stand to be round you. Make him question whether he ever knew you at all. Make being in your presence a thankless task. And keep that up - give it time and he’ll walk away. They always do.” Unless their name was ‘Eris Stockard’, of course. But Brett was ignoring that in this little pep talk.

She nodded. "Understood." she said. She was quiet again, staring at a middle distance. "So if the doctors don't want you going off on your own, are you just ignoring them? Or are you not going to be alone?" she asked, finally looking back over.

Brett took a breath, then slowly let it out. “It’s all taken care of, December,” he said, trying to sound like that should be the end of it all.

She looked like she wanted to ask further, but in the end, she nodded. "Okay." she agreed, letting him have his privacy there. "I guess I should get going. I just wanted to say hi, make sure you weren't on your death bed or something."

Relieved that December hadn’t pried further into that, Brett nodded. “Sure - and, as you can see, I’m still pretty much here,” he told her. He didn’t want to get into what he was going to do when he got out of here. Nothing was set in stone, but he could pretty much see it. And he couldn’t deal with the lecture he figured she would attempt to give him about it. Not right now.

Getting up, she shoved her hands into her pockets. “Later.” she said, and headed out, not feeling much better. But at least she knew Brett wasn’t dead or dying.