It Wasn't Meant to Hurt Like This

Who: Brett and Eris
Where: The One More Round, then across town and to their place
When: Late
NSFW

Brett had watched from the back of the bar for the whole of her act. And once Dutch had moved away, nobody else had bothered him. Apparently there was some real benefit in being seen talking to one of the regulars. He'd remember that one for the future. But, for now, he'd stood alone, always with a drink in hand, but not actually drinking a whole lot for all of that. It was simply for appearances until she took her leave and the band took over properly.

He'd given her five minutes, and then he'd made his way to the door backstage. He wasn't surprised when he got stopped, but he'd done this job in another place, he knew how this one went, and a few greens and the right words had got him through easily enough, despite the fact that the 'act' was meant to be being kept anonymous. If he ran this place, security would be rather tighter than it was.

Nobody else stopped him once he was backstage and walking like he was meant to be there, and it wasn't like it was a big place, especially not compared to the backstage area of the Kitten Club. It didn't take him long to find her dressing room and he leaned against the wall, by the side of the door, before reaching over to knock.

The house had been pretty full tonight. Fuller than usual, no doubt, and she'd gotten cheers, and people listened. There'd been an air of disappointment as she'd left the stage, and with it came crashing down on her everything else. She hadn't really slept well after she'd left the apartment, and while she'd done just fine tonight, it really didn't do much for her beyond make her feel like it was the final nail in the coffin. She'd curled up on the end of the ratty sofa that was in the small room, drinking from the bottle of wine she'd been given as a gift earlier. It was cheap wine, not very good, but it was good for the Round. And it had alcohol in it, which was what she was looking for.

When the knock came, she stared at the door for a few long moments, wondering who it was. It could have been a few different people, she guessed. Most likely, the owner. But it might not be him. She also wasn't keen on getting up, but she did anyhow, walking towards the door after she paused to put her heels back on again, for appearances sake. Then she undid the chain, something she'd asked to have installed on the door there because people had initially been a little grabby with her. Then she opened the door. Looking out, she saw him. Brett. Pretty much the other most likely person to have been there, in her mind. Leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, she let her eyes rest on him. She didn't look especially surprised. That still didn't mean she knew what to say--she didn't. Absolutely not. In the end, she said something unrelated to absolutely anything. "The security around here sucks." she noted lightly.

"It really does - I didn't have to pay nearly enough to get back here," he agreed, though in his mind, he shouldn't have been able to get back here at all. Not with her here. "But then again, their advertising sucks as well - you know, I almost didn't get to know this was your last night tonight..." he added, a hint of sarcasm accompanying the look he gave her.

"I think they blew the whole budget for it on this bottle of wine." she remarked, holding it up, since she'd not actually put it down before answering the door. She took a drink, eyes still on him. "I suppose it's a good thing you found out." she continued. "I'm sure you would really have been heartbroken to miss it." There was that hint of sarcasm in her own voice as well at that. Not necessarily to attempt cruelty with it, but there was something underneath her tone.

In actual fact, he wouldn't have been happy about it at all. "I said I'd be here," he reminded her, though he knew that that changed the emphasis on things. That phrased it like he was only here because he was filling a promise. "They're going to miss you," he added.

Keeping her gaze on his, Eris took the step out into the hall that put her directly in front of him. Very close, definitely inside his personal space, even if she made no contact. "Obligation cleared." she said, very much taking it as he'd phrased it, like it had been a chore he was tending to, as opposed to anything else. "And yes, I'm sure they will. Til about five minutes from now when they get some new piece of tail to put up on stage."

He didn't move back, and he wasn't surprised at the way she took things. "I think you should come back," he told her, resisting the urge to reach for her, to hook an arm around her waist. "Here. From time to time. Every few months, maybe. Or a couple of times a year. I was out there, they hung on you. Every now and then, they wouldn't get tired of that. You'd be special."

"They're all drunk miscreants, baby, they'd hang on anyone up there. The house lights go down, the stage lights go up, and they look, because that's what they're trained to do." she said. Though she had to admit, his suggestion was one that called to her. It would be something she'd very much want to do. But she didn't think there was really any way she could. Even if the owner would probably put up with it just fine. He'd probably get a boost of sales any time she did return, though that depended entirely on what kind of talent that they got on behind her. If it was anyone good? People would forget she existed at all within the first set of the new singer. She finally broke contact, though it was just to look down his person, and she reached out and trailed her fingertips down his torso, over his stomach.

"Well, if you don't want to..." Brett said, not liking that she'd just shot down the suggestion. He'd thought she enjoyed this, that this had been the one thing she didn't want to give up. She'd even told him so. And yet she'd immediately dismissed a way that she could at least keep some connection. But he'd learned his lesson. He wasn't going to pursue anything without her on board right from the beginning. He wasn't going to try and run her life for her.

She looked up, through her eyelashes at him to make eye contact again. "I didn't say that." she said. Because she hadn't. She just was used to a life that wasn't actually dicated by desire. Desire was for other people, and something that could be manipulated really really easily. She knew that incredibly well. She let her fingertips slip a tiny bit lower, hooking one finger in one of his beltloops.

He was very aware of her right then, of what she was doing, of her touch and proximity. He just didn't know why she was doing it. After she'd walked out on him last night, after she'd not come home all day. After the greeting he'd gotten. Still, he wasn't moving away. He had no desire to move away right now. Quite the opposite in fact. "Then what does it matter what they want?" he asked her, his voice dropping a little.

On Eris' end, she didn't quite know why she was doing what she was doing either. She just was. Maybe it was because she missed him. Which was stupid, because she'd been the one doing a lot of walking out lately, or attempting to walk out, and all that, but that didn't make it less true. Not that she would ever admit that she missed him. Especially not in such a short span of time. Adding on top of that that she was still feeling like she'd really lost something, that her scrap of enjoyment in something in life was flickering out, maybe she wanted to think about anything that wasn't that. And he was there. He'd showed up, even if she hadn't told him to be there, or when it was. Hell. He hadn't even immediately come at her with anger, which was more what she expected out of him. So it got a different reaction from her.

"If they don't want me, then all I'd be is someone up there making a fool of herself." she said. Which was far more honest than she was happy with right then, but she didn't have the inclination to do otherwise. "So what they want...it matters in that specific forum."

"You said they didn't care who was up there - and you wouldn't be making a fool out of yourself. You're too good for that," he told her, actually admitting that he thought that. he'd known it before, or he'd thought he had. But tonight, when he'd stood and watched her entire performance, he really came to appreciate that she was better than that. He'd come here tonight set on being angry, maybe moving to sit right at the front half way through her performance, so that she could see him, so that she would have to go through the tail end of her set aware that he was there. He'd planned to sit there like thunder and enjoy her discomfort, and then corner her backstage. She'd left him. Again.

Except, it hadn't worked out that way, and after watching her for a while, he'd known that he didn't want to break that. He didn't want to ruin it for her, or take away from it. And now, the urge to see if he could make her cry was gone as well. It seemed petty and pointless.

"Maybe I'm just aware that I'm sure they'll replace me with someone as good or better, and they'll forget all about me, and by the time I got around to a guest appearance, they'd just be annoyed at the loss of their other performer for a night." she said, turning her head to take a little drink from the wine bottle in her other hand, and then she drifted just a tiny bit closer, enough so there was a light brush against him. "Drink?" she asked, holding said bottle in against her collarbone, offering it to him.

He took the bottle off her, but didn't actually drink from it, just holding it in one hand as he finally gave in and put his arm around her, resting his hand, and the bottle, at the small of her back. "See, I don't see it that way," he told her. "I see it that you already have a cloak of mystery round that act. You can play off of that. The fact that they can only see you once in a blue moon now will mean that that'll only increase. They'll cue out the door to catch a glimpse. And you can make the fact that you only ever do the classics part of your act. We'll need to get some better security back here though - so that people like me can't just pay to find out who you really are."

She was unsurprised that he took the bottle but didn't take a drink. She also wasn't complaining, though. If she hadn't figured that was what he would do, she wouldn't have made the offer to begin with. She was listening, however. To everything he said, considering it all. That was clear as she drew her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, eyes studying his. In the end, she pushed up on her toes a bit--her heels didn't quite make up fully for the height difference between them--and she exhaled against the skin of his neck before she spoke into his ear. "Do you think I'm actually that good?" she asked, voice light. "Do you think they'd remember me?" She drew in a breath, and let it out slowly, deliberately into his ear. "Do you think they'd want me back?"

He pulled her against him as she raised herself, and tried not to think too deeply on what her doing that did to him, or whether she was doing it on purpose. No, he really didn't want any of that wine. "Yes," he told her, turning his face a little towards her. "To all of that."

She in turn turned her face towards his, and she might have said something, but then thought better of it, reaching up with her now free hand to put it to his cheek, turning him enough so she could kiss him. And she didn't make it light, or sweet, either. She kissed him like she meant it, because in that moment, she really did.

He tightened his grip around her, pulling her in as he returned the kiss with equal passion. This hadn't been how this was meant to go, hadn't been the way at all. But here they were, and now, in the moment, shouting at her was the last thing he wanted to do, even if he'd been set on the idea since the moment he'd woken up that morning and realised that she was gone. Since all day he'd looked for her, half scared that she was dead. It was only when she'd walked out on stage that he'd let that go, that that rolling wave of relief had hit, just as the sound of her voice had.

She kept up the kiss, pushing against him as he pulled her in, also somewhere in the back of her mind quite aware that she hadn’t actually intended on doing this when she saw him again. There were going to be words, and discussions, and possibly her not going back to the apartment, and there were other things, fuzzy, indistinct sorts of ideas that had plagued her thoughts and which now had entirely been swept away with this instead. Another time in her life just knowing that would have given her pause, would have stopped it just on the idea that it wasn’t what she intended, but at the moment, here and now, she wanted this. Him. And she let him know it, too, in as many forms of non-verbal communication as she could pull off while they were standing in a narrow hall in a dive bar, where she could hear the band on stage, the murmur of people talking beneath that. It just all seemed more distant than it was, as she let her nails dig into the back of his neck a little.

He pushed her back against the wall, hard, which was a move unhelped by the fact that his fist holding the wine bottle was in the way. but it went with the kiss and he was good for going with everything right now. He wanted to. He kissed her until breath became an issue, and only then broke it off, pulling back, his blue eyes dark. "Come home," he told her, though it came out more like a request than an order. He wanted her there, he wanted her back. And he wanted her to want that too.

Right up until that moment, Eris hadn’t been at all sure she was going back there. She’d actually started planning on moving back to the loft, and figuring things out from there. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she may have even made the decision. Only right then, when he said that, that completely dissolved all those plans, obliterated any of those notions. Possibly because he called it 'home', even if she wasn't sure why that played in. She looked up at him, breath uneven, liking the look in his eyes. And she smiled, a wicked sort of expression, but oddly genuine at the same time. “Think you can get me there fast enough?” she asked, tugging on his shirt, wanting to pull him closer again.

He'd had plans of his own, plans that had stemmed from the vulnerability of the other night. Plans to take a step back on intimacy, to stop and regroup and pause things until he came to a conclusion as to what that had been. But then she'd walked out on him. And now she was here and hers weren't the only plans to go out of the window. "You have anything you can't leave behind?" he asked her in reply to her question.

“No.” She said, shaking her head. Really, there probably were a couple of things she’d rather take with her, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t live without, and at the moment? This was rating higher on her importance scale. This was far, far more urgent and anything else was replaceable so far as she was concerned. She wanted to make another move, but she left it to him.

He kissed her again, shorter this time, and then started down the corridor, his hand at her back encouraging her along with him, still clutching the bottle of wine simply because to get rid of it, he'd need to find somewhere to put the damn thing and he wasn't just going to let it drop.

She kissed him back, a little disappointed it was cut short, but then again, they were leaving right now. And had a trek across the city to make. And that seemed like a long drive, really. And she wondered how much she could distract him during it, because that seemed important to her. Really, she had little more on her mind than distracting him. She was quite Brett-centric and wasn’t quite sure how that had happened, but it had. She walked quickly with him, going where he was leading her, just wanting out. Fast.

He handed the bottle to the guy on the back door of the bar, barely even glancing at him as the surprised man took the bottle from him and the couple kept on walking. He'd parked his car in the alleyway at the back, so it was only a few steps before he unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for her.

She really just didn’t care in the slightest that her wine was given away, and she got into the car, looking up at him with that darkly wicked sort of smile that held all sorts of promises. Promises she intended to keep. She’d never quite felt like this before, with that driving passion that had her wanting to crawl over to his seat, and climb onto his lap when he got behind the wheel. But then sexuality and intimacy hadn’t ever actually been anything but a play before him. But she found she rather liked the feeling. There was an underlying excitement to it that she enjoyed.

He took in the look for a second before he closed the door on her and hurried round to his side. He hadn't expected things to go like this, but he wasn't stopping to question them - especially not with that look on her face. Either everything was going very right for some miraculous reason now, or she'd been slipped some very heavy drugs. Either way, getting her home was at the forefront of his mind.

When he got back into the car, she did move, reaching over to roughly turn his face towards hers, so she could lay another hard kiss on him, something she broke off too soon, but there was a reason for it. “Drive fast.” she told him. She didn’t want anything shattering this. And she knew them. They were volatile people. Given enough time, they could probably shatter any kind of positive mood shared between them. So, the less time they had to fuck it up the better.

He didn't need telling twice as he started up the engine and twisted in his seat, one arm stretched out along the back as he reversed out of the alleyway and pulled off onto the road, heading them uptown. He weaved expertly in and out of the lanes of traffic with the eye of someone who'd driven through the city all his adult life and who knew the streets like the back of his hand.

Eris for her part trusted him not to kill them both. And she did little things like rub at his thigh, and touch the back of his neck, nothing that was going to get them into an accident, because that would definitely ruin the fun, but which let him know she was still on that single track with her train of thought. It was possible she would have considered being more distracting if it wasn’t a time of night where there were still a lot of vehicles on the road, but there were. She filed it away as something she could do at some point in the future. But at least he did make the drive fast, as she’d requested. Or possibly demanded, her tone hadn’t been so much a request as an order.

They got back to their building in record time and he slotted his car into its usual space. He turned to her, opening his mouth to say something before thinking the better of it and leaning in to kiss her once more.

She was happy to go with that. In fact, she went with her own urges, and she did climb onto his lap as she kissed him back. Sure, they were in the parking lot of their building, and if anyone happened by they’d see, but she really couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. Not even a slight bit. Eris was still wrapped up in everything else, how she was feeling, how he was making her feel, and she wasn’t going to let anything filter through to ruin it. And she also wasn’t all that interested in curbing her impulses.

He hadn't expected that, but this night seemed to be being run by the unexpected, and he didn't try to fight her on it either, as he ran his hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt up more as she straddled him, not breaking the kiss for a moment.

Eris had one hand in the back of his hair, gripping it tight like he might try to pull away, and the nails of her other were digging into the back of his shoulder, where she’d pushed his shirt aside enough to let her. She nipped at his lower lip, and pushed against him, still ruled entirely by the moment, with no intentions to even ponder stopping that.

He'd not done this since he was a teenager, messing around with his first girlfriend because they had no place else to go. Those days were long gone, and now they had a penthouse apartment a few paces away, and yet it felt like miles, especially given the elevator ride up with it's spotty teenage bellhop-shaped accompaniment. He pulled his face away from hers, pulling his lips from between her teeth as he reached up to move her dress aside, exposing the white skin of her shoulder. He knew what they'd said, what they'd agreed, but right now that could all go to hell as he lowered his face to her skin and sunk his teeth in, sucking enough that he was sure to leave a bruise, marking her.

Eris let her head drop back, knowing what he was doing, and a part of her really relished it. Savored it, even. That spark of pain, knowing that they’d said that there weren’t going to be marks of any kind, and why, and all that other bullshit, but clearly? He liked doing that to her. And she really liked when he did it. She couldn’t explain why and wasn’t about to even attempt it either. She merely went with it, making a little cry as he did it, a sound that was loud in the enclosed space. She held his head to her, not trying to pull him away at all, letting him leave the mark on her.

When he was done, satisfied, he kissed the spot almost tenderly, the start of a row of kisses that crossed her collarbone for a few moments. Just long enough for him to get that out of his system, a tiny bit of gentleness to make up for having hurt her. Then he raised his head and kissed her, intently once more.

It was nice, the contrast there. It added to things, didn’t detract in the slightest, and also didn’t change the mood. It was all part of the experience, which she was still reveling in. When he kissed her again, she kissed him back, both arms around his neck then as she leaned closer, tried to push as close as she could get to him in their current position.

The headlight beams of another car crossed them, highlighting her exposed skin, milky white in the glare for a moment before swinging away as the car pulled into the lot and moved off to find another space. It was only for a second, but it highlighted also where they were. Though Brett didn't make any move to push her off him, he did pull back enough to look at her, uncertain about where this was going. Or rather, incredibly certain about where this was going, just uncertain about how far they were willing to let it go where they were right now.

She looked back at him, considering also. And, in the end, she leaned closer again, nipping at his lower lip. “If you want me here, you can have that. And if we’re going upstairs? Let’s get there.” She was actually probably alarmingly okay with either choice, considering. But she was. kind of like she wondered if they could kick the elevator boy out for the ride up to the penthouse. Which likely wasn’t a proper thing to wonder, but she definitely did.

There were times when Brett's lack of experience really shone through, and this was one of those times. For all he was in his thirties, for all he was a good looking man, his love life had been pretty much dead for years now, killed off just as it had been getting going and leaving a trail of issues behind all to do with body image. Except, in the dark, fully clothed, those issues were more under control than they often were, which left room for him to be sure that he shouldn't have felt a thrill at her suggestion, and shouldn't have hesitated, not immediately jumping to go with her 'let's get out of here' suggestion.

“Baby,” Eris said, trailing a fingernail down the side of his neck before she dug it in and dragged it and her other nails down, just enough to sting. “What do you want?” she asked. And that was open ended, really. He could have answered absolutely anything, and it didn’t sound like she was just asking him to make a decision on the choices she’d presented. It was wide open for anything that might be crossing his mind just now. “Don’t think. Just answer.”

He liked it when she called him baby, he always had done, though he'd never said anything about it. For so long not even admitting it to himself. But he liked it. He met and held her gaze. "Upstairs is a long way away," he said, knowing that wasn't exactly a firm answer, but this was something new for him.

Not letting her gaze leave his, she smiled, that wicked smirk of hers. Nodding, she agreed. “It’s a very long way away.” she agreed. “And there’s all those people in the way. And an elevator trip, with that kid...” she continued, letting her hands trail down his collarbone to his shirt, where she pulled, hard enough to pop the first two buttons that had been done. “It might be too far.” she told him, tone a little purr. She also shifted to push against him, just to give him ideas.

Brett reached up and covered her hands with his, stopping her progress down his shirt. "Princess, I..." he said, knowing she was about to start stepping on his issues. Having her right here and now in a public place like this was one thing, but exposing himself whilst they were doing it? Running the risk of people seeing what he looked like under his clothes? He couldn't do that. He pulled her hands away and lowered them to his belt buckle, wanting to convey that it wasn't the idea that he was set against, just that they needed to work within his limitations.

She took the hint. And she didn’t hesitate, either, she undid his belt, leaning closer to him, biting at his ear, hard enough to give him a jolt. She wouldn’t apologize, but she’d accommodate just fine. She didn’t mind seeing him. But she knew there were issues. Therefore...sure. She’d go around. And she also wanted him back in the moment, so she left little kisses and bites down the side of his neck as she worked at his belt and pants. She imagined he would tear her clothes again...he tended to like that, she’d noticed.

She got her jolt, which involved a little twitch that, in the confines of the car, pushed her for a moment in the direction of the steering wheel as he gasped, pulling her against him, sliding his hands down her body and up under her skirt as he rested his head back, letting her continue with what she was doing all she wanted.

She made an amused sort of gasping sound, not quite a laugh or anything, but definitely one that was appreciative. “Did that hurt?” she asked, tone that little purr again as she kept it up, giving him little kisses, ones that didn’t involve teeth, much like he’d done with her after he’d bit her shoulder. Almost soft, though hers were a little less than his had been. And then she added another bite, this one by his collarbone. That, as she reached down to take hold and stroke him. She did like giving conflicting sensations.

"Bitch," he breathed, though there was no malice in it as he did so. He almost made it sound like a compliment, something to be proud of, his tone heavy and laced with lust as he ran his hands up the inside of her thighs and hooked his fingers into her panties.

That made her smile, and she drew back enough, to look at him again, not stopping what she was doing otherwise, but wanting to see his eyes. “What was that?” she asked. He’d not actually called her that since the first time, though ‘twisted’ had been in the title then. Which really, she hadn’t in the slightest minded, just like she didn’t now. “I didn’t hear you.” she added, letting the nails of her free hand dig into his skin by his ribs on the non-scarred side. She’d dipped her hand beneath his shirt to do so, making sure not to ride the material up, but getting to touch him regardless.

"I called you a bitch," he repeated, unapologetically, slipping a hand beneath the silk as he stated the name, just for emphasis. She wasn't the only one who could play for a reaction, though he was leaving the scratches up to her.

Her eyes dopped to half shut and she made a soft little sound, biting at her lower lip for an instant. She dug her nails in a little deeper, then raked them, not a long distance, but enough to leave a mark. Or, four marks, more specifically. She also had stopped with her ministrations for a few moments there, starting from when he touched her, but she started right back up again as soon as she raked her nails. “Sure you feel that way?” she asked, tone close to 'that all you got?', purely to find out what he might say. Or if he’d add anything to it. If there was more in there he wanted to get off of his chest at the moment.

He curled a finger round and smiled slightly, though only after the small groan that escaped as she stopped. "You saying it's not true?" he asked, matching her tone as he started to move. He'd had other ideas in mind, but if she was going to be like that, then he'd match her with it.

She moved a little, up and forward just a bit, head dropping forward as she gave herself a second to recover. “No.” she said after a moment, tone slightly shakey. Not much, but there was a light little tremble. “Just wondering if you had anything else.” she told him, resting her forehead in against his undamaged temple for a second, taking a few moments to work harder, before she ebbed back again.

He turned her head and kissed her deeply, moving deeper as he did so, pulling her closer to him with his other hand, rocking her slightly. He broke off and pulled back. "Seem to remember I called you twisted once - but don't think you've deserved that yet tonight," he told her, as though that was, in fact, something she'd have to earn.

She’d made a low, soft sound into the kiss as she returned it, getting a little lost in it in the process, but then of course he brought her back in, and she had to give him a grin in response to that statement. “I must be slipping.” she said. “Poor baby.” she added. “Is there anything particularly of interest to you that might earn me my title back?” she asked him, tone light, almost bordering sweet, in direct conflict with her expression.

"Tut tut, sweetheart," he told her, shaking his head a little before he had to break that off to breath in a gasp. It took him a moment before he thought his voice would be steady enough to carry on. "If I just tell you what to do, then it definitely won't be earned." Truth was, he wanted to see what she'd come up with, especially given that he was of the opinion that his imagination was far more limited than hers was.

The first thing she did was slap him--though she was sure to hit him on the undamaged cheek. And there wasn’t anything like good leverage in the space they were in, so it wasn’t really hard, but it was still a slap, none the less. “Now Brett,” she said, tone still sweet, and she nuzzled his cheek where she’d just smacked him. “I did ask a question oh so very nicely.” she told him, before she shoved at his shoulders hard, pushing him farther back in the seat, even if there wasn’t much place to go. She also moved fast, reaching down along the side of his seat to pull the recline lever, to send him farther back down, and she moved accordingly with that, stroking hard, but only for a few moments before she let go entirely, looking down at him, her hair down over her shoulders. “But if you insist.”

She well and truly had his attention now and the look on his face betrayed that. It was somewhere between shock and naked lust. He definitely didn't have any words for her, and he abandoned what he'd been doing, losing the rhythm entirely in the face of her actions.

Eris smiled down at him, sitting back, and she reached out to let her hands drift from his shoulders down his arms down to his wrists. There, she grasped, and she started to move them up above his head. Then she looked down at herself, and ran her fingers back and forth along the top of her stocking. Then she unhooked the garters, and started to slide it down, not in the slightest explaining what she might be doing, or otherwise speaking. She just took her time with it, displaying it for him.

He let her move his hands, stretching his arms out above his head, though there as a slight frown on his face as he watched her, trying to figure out what she was doing. As she lowered her stocking, he leaned up, dropping his hands back down to run along the bare expanse of leg revealed, his eyes fastening back on her face again.

She let him touch her, just for a few heartbeats, before she swatted his hand, and pushed at his chest again. “Down.” she told him. She maintained eye contact as she started slipping her stocking off entirely, waiting to see if he’d listen.

He smiled as she swatted his hand, an evil-type smile and he considered refusing for a moment. this was the game from the other side, where she was the one leading them, and he was the one fighting against it. The smile turned challenging and whilst he didn't make any move to go back to stroking her skin, he didn't move his arm back to where she wanted it to be either, watching to see what she'd do.

She took her stocking, and ran it through her fingers, looking down at him. “You know where that goes.” she said, ticking her gaze down to his arm for a moment, before she was looking back at him. She shifted, moving just slightly back, her back hitting the steering wheel as she did it, though just slightly.

"Do I?" Brett asked, wondering what she'd do if he didn't just meekly give in. Which he wasn't going to do. He wasn't a 'meek' kind of person - any more than she was. They both had particularly dominant personalities. Which was one of the reasons they sparked so regularly. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

“You do.” Eris confirmed, reaching down to take his wrist again, only this time she dug her nails in as she pulled it up above his head again. And while she was there, she laid out against him, though it was to wind her stocking around his wrists, tying them tight. Just not tight enough that he couldn’t ever get free, just that he’d have to struggle to do it. Then, she pushed them a little farther back, so they were behind the seat, to be more effective. Then she sat up again, and looked down at him, and grinned. A purely evil expression.

This was new - and he was suddenly very aware of his position. Sure, with the seat laid back as it was, he was below the window line, but he was still laid out, in his car, exposed, and now tied to the seat with a beautiful woman straddling him. First instinct, he did, in fact, try to struggle. Enough to realise that he could get out of this is he wanted to. Which brought up the question of whether he wanted to. Which - they played these games. The fight - he did so enjoy the fight. And she'd even mentioned him tying her up, so now, she'd turned the tables and he just needed to decide whether he was willing to let her go with it. Which, he realised, he was. He very, definitely, much was. He stopped struggling, instead bucking himself upwards, pushing her back against the wheel again, to demonstrate that he wasn't entirely helpless like this.

Her back hit the wheel, and she leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest. Then she slapped him again, the same cheek she had the last time, because she was not hitting him where he was black and blue already. “Down, boy.” she told him, grinning. She’d liked that. It was clear. She leaned closer again, reaching up to turn his face gently aside, so she could kiss the underside of his jaw--though she was most certainly expecting him not to let her do that. It wouldn’t be any fun if he just let her.

He struggled again, twisting away from her - though without actually twisting too much. Enough to make her work for it, without actually shifting her at all. He wasn't sure he was a fan of the slaps - especially not in the light of the damage she'd done to him the other night, but in the scheme of things he wasn't going to ruin the moment by actually bringing that up and with everything else, he really didn't give a damn about them. He did, however growl at her for it, giving her a dark look.

That she seemed to enjoy. The look he gave her was quite nice. And, in reward for it, she slid one hand down to take hold of him again, watching his eyes as she gave him another stroke. That, for a few heartbeats, before she stopped again, and pushed in closer. then she went back to what she was doing, turning his face to the side, so she could kiss along the underside of his jaw, peppering with little bites. Then she got back to his mouth, and leaned in nearly to kiss him--but didn’t quite complete it.

He pushed himself up, going after finishing the kiss before his tied hands against the seat brought him up short with a sharp exclamation of frustration. "Evil bitch," he gave her, adding to the title. He had more, other words he could add, but they could wait. he wouldn't want to give her it all at once.

Eris almost laughed at that, but she didn’t, instead she pushed against him, looking down at him with an expression that very much matched his description. “Ooh.” she said, reaching up to caress his face. “Evil.” She repeated, sounding like she approved. Then she went to the other side of his neck, to repeat what she’d done before, without first giving him that kiss that she really wanted to give him, but hadn’t yet. And again, she leaned in, leaned close, so her breath ghosted against his lips, and she pushed against him then, too, pushed hard.

He pushed up against her as she did that, as hard as he could within her imposed limitations, the fight turning more to a lack of passivity, to showing her that even if she tied him down, she couldn't control him.

She liked that. But then he was meant to struggle. Shifting a little, almost laying out on her side against his chest and the car seat, she nuzzled at his ear, letting her nails drift down from his neck, over his skin, til she couldn’t get skin anymore, and she kept venturing down. when she did hit skin again, she dug her nails in, and scratched, though only enough to leave light welts. And she almost touched him, made him wait for it, before she did, and she did what she had earlier, biting at his earlobe before she gave him a proper stroke, and she just happened to keep at it. She moved the bites down his neck, stroking hard, if not quite as fast as she gauged he would like.

Her touched felt electric, when it finally came. She was driving him crazy and the barely intelligible almost prayer that he sent up when she finally did betrayed that much, though his tone was clearly still laced with frustration, even through that as he continued to struggle, trying to encourage her onwards, to more, itching to pull free and take her in hand properly.

That’s what she wanted, really. She wanted him pining, and frustrated. She wanted to push him, keep pushing him, to see when he’d break. When he’d finally have enough, and stop letting her torture him, take control back. She left little bites down to his collarbone and across it, then sat back, head down as she looked at him, watching him as she shifted. She moved forward just a little, enough so she could almost complete things, almost put him out of his misery, but not quite. Enough to feel close warmth, but then she shifted back again, wondering how he might take that.

He inhaled sharply, expectantly, his eyes on her as he moved to join her - only to have her stop and move away. The look he gave her for that was amongst the worst of his glares - and he had a whole load of them. This one, though, was warped and twisted by a dark need in his expression. "Fucking evil frustating fucking bitch," he groaned, twisting more.

See, now that was better. And she absolutely adored the look he gave her. And the sound in his voice. She smiled at him, a lazy sort of expression as she laid out over him again, rubbing against him but just a little, just enough to keep him maddened. She looked down into his eyes, reaching up to trace her fingers along his jaw, towards his lips and over them, a feather light touch. “Frustrated?” she asked, tone sweet, light, almost angelic.

He glared up at her again, refusing to give her the benefit of an answer and, instead, sucking her fingers into his mouth, holding them there, running his tongue over her fingertips and he continued to glare up at her.

As he did that, she nuzzled at his cheek, again, a light little touch, and she brushed a kiss there. Then she gave him another, closer to his lips, and another. She pushed against him again, that same sort of just enough but not enough push, and she turned his face towards hers, by the hand he’d latched onto her fingers.

He waited, going with what she was doing, biding his time until she turned his face and kissed near to his lips. And it was then that he let her fingers go and made a sharp dart, capturing her lips with his and kissing her before she had a change to get away, feeling triumphant for his achievement in the face of her teasing.

She knew the game. She really did, and she knew she should pull away immediately, but she didn’t. Because really, being a tease was fun. It was very, very entertaining, but it wasn’t only a tease for the other person. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to be kissing him like that. Like she was trying to breathe him in. So, for a few long moments, she kissed him just to let him know that she did want him. That right now, all she wanted was him. Then she abruptly bit at his lower lip, before pulling back, sitting up to look down at him, breath coming unsteady.

His glare turned to a smile of triumph, because he knew he had her now. He'd felt it in that kiss, could see it in the way her chest rose and fell. She'd cracked - she might continue on with the game, but he had her, they were in the endgame now. "Frustrated?" he asked, trying to imitate her earlier tone.

She looked up at him, and narrowed her eyes. “Do something about it.” she challenged. Which wasn’t a direct answer to the question, so much as it was what was formost in her mind. She wanted him to do something about it. She wanted to see what he would do. What he’d want to do. What he might take from the challenge, if he’d torture her, or end suffering on both ends. She was dying to find out. And to give him incentive, she moved back from him again, so she wasn’t touching him, and she eyed the car door, like she might consider making him chase her down.

It was her glance towards the car door that made his decision. there as no way he was risking her opening that door right now, no way in hell. So, he took her up on her challenge, pulling his wrists apart and tearing through the stocking to free himself even as he pushed up, his arms shredding silk as they came up and round her as he kissed her, pulling her into him at the same time.

She shuddered a little as she threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him back. She pushed up against him, pulling at his hair a little even if it wasn’t hard. And it certainly wasn’t designed to pull him away from her, she didn’t want that. Vaguely, she saw more car headlights somewhere, but was so very much not paying attention to where, and they were a distant knowlege in her mind. She was too focused on him.

He stayed up, pushing her further back until she was trapped against the wheel, reversing the control of the situation almost entirely and he took what he wanted from her, pouring all of his frustration into it, all the effects that her teasing had had on him, giving it everything and more. He'd never wanted her this much, never needed her quite as much as he did right now.

Eris cried out, and struggled a little, but really, in her current position, and trapped against the wheel as it braced her, making sure there wasn’t a whole lot of give between the two of them--which she rather liked--there wasn’t all that much struggling she could even do. He did actually have her almost entirely trapped where she was, unless she truly wanted to interrupt things and god did she ever not want that. Her back was going to be bruised. But then so was her shoulder. And she was happy with that. And despite the fact that they were in a parked car in the parking lot of their building, she wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to being quiet. If he was going to do what he was doing to her how he was, then he was going to hear the result.

When she struggled, he pressed her back harder. As she cried out, he kissed her again to muffle the sounds, but aside from that, he did nothing to attempt to stop her reactions. He didn't want to stop them - he was enjoying them too much. They were like the mark. Proof, a signal. She'd left him, and now, she was back. And now, she wanted to be here. With him. Even if they hadn't managed to make it as far as their actual apartment. It was all the same.

She kissed him when she had the breath to, though things were charing straight towards a hard end with all he was doing. She kept up her little struggles, even if by then the wheel in her back was getting outright painful, but still. She wasn’t at all deterred by that. That was okay with her. His name was in there, in the middle of those little cries, which got shorter and sharper when they weren’t muffled by him. she dug her nails into the back of his neck and knew she drew blood at some point, even if really, she hadn’t even been trying for it.

He hissed as he felt her nails bite in deeper than normal and he clutched at her hip as she did so, the pads of his fingers gripping hard enough that he was sure that he'd leave bruises, even if they weren't purposeful, rather the move had been purely reactionary. He encouraged her on, there with her all the way as their moving bodies were occasionally lit by passing headlights through the opaque glass of the now steamy windows.

She cried out when he grabbed her hip, fine with that as well, and she gave a final little struggle before gave a sound that even hurt her ears inside the space, when she crashed. And it really felt like all of her nerves were lit up with electricity, like it was a rush through her whole system, a helpless, sharp but wholly pleasureable sensation. Very much rating as something she’d never quite felt like that before.

He followed her over, biting down hard on his lip as he did so, hard enough to draw blood, but successfully stifling any calls he may have had the urge to make as he did so. He stiled against her, his breathing harsh and ragged, still clutching her to him, pressing her back against the wheel as he rested his forehead against her shoulder.

Eris had her arms around his neck, and she finally drew her nails from his skin, sort of half holding him there where he was as she tried to regain her senses. Which was taking a bit longer than she would have liked. But she also kind of reveled in it, was happy with the fact that her heart was pounding in her chest hard and fast, that she could barely draw a breath and none of them were anything resembling steady. And, in a moment of something akin to joy with all of that, she laughed, just a little. “God, the things you do to me.” she said, voice just as unsteady as her breathing.

He relaxed back a bit, kissing her on the collarbone, just above where a bitemark bruise was starting to blossom on her. "And yet you keep trying to leave," he said, though it wasn't a pointed comment. Simply a statement of fact. She was the one that kept walking away.

Eris reached up, gently cupping his face in her hands, and she looked at him for a long moment. Then she kissed him, a soft, light kiss where she tasted blood from where he’d bit his lip, something she licked off of her own when she drew back, but she didn’t draw back far. “I’m sorry.” she said. Her voice was quiet. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let me.” Like so far he hadn’t. She knew sometimes it made the most sense to her, that there was some internal instinct that had her wanting to run, to just jump ship, but she was happiest when she was with him. Maybe that was partially what had her leaving. Sometimes it was a little too much for her to deal with. And she wasn’t saying any of that to him. She barely was okay with admitting it to herself. But right now, where she was, considering how the night had gone and she’d had all these plans. Plans that had fucking flown out the window and ended without another thought or twinge of regret when he showed up, and then... She didn’t quite know what happened or why, just that it had, and it had been one hell of a powerful storm that swept through her. All due to him.

"Some days you make me feel like a fucking bloodhound," he growled at her, but, again, there was no ire behind it. If she left, he'd track her down And he'd keep tracking her down - her telling him she didn't really want to go only strengthened that already present resolve.

She drifted her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down from where she’d messed it. She gave him another few light, soft kisses, this time where she’d clocked him with the gun. Gentle, so she didn’t hurt him at all. Nevermind she’d slapped him twice earlier and she had blood drying beneath her fingernails. But it was like what she’d told him before. There was a difference between actual violence, and what they did. “I go to the one place I know you’ll find me.” she said. Because really, as far as getting away went, if you really wanted to disappear, you didn’t head somewhere someone would look first. Or very close to first, anyways. But that’s where she’d headed every time she’d attempted to walk away since they’d started being intimate.

He wanted to threaten that she should be careful - that maybe one day he wouldn't come running after her, begging her to come home. Maybe he'd tell her that at some point, but not right now. "If you want me to find you, you may was well just stay," he said, instead. It wasn't like he liked her walking out. It wasn't a fun time for him when she disappeared, even if he could find her easily enough.

She had a decision to make then. Because she knew she’d be cutting herself off. But at the same time, she felt like she might have learned something. “I can’t promise that I won’t do it again. At the time...there’s always reasons I’ve got. And they’re good reasons, or they seem like it when it’s happening. But I know I look for you. I wait for you.” she told him. Which wasn’t exactly the same as what he’d said for her to say, but it was still true.

You know that's not fair, right? Brett thought to himself, but he refused to sound like a petulant child by expressing it out loud. Since when had life been fair. Never, that was when. He she wasn't forcing him to come after her. But, at the same time, he wasn't going to give her permission to act like that. To run off whenever she felt like it and then sit, waiting for him to turn up. Waiting for him to show that she was still important enough for him to go out of his way for her. Or whatever it was she wanted to prove with that - what that was, he wasn't sure. And he sure as dammit wasn't going to ask her. "We should get inside," he told her instead, reaching to start replacing his clothing.

Eris moved, shifting to the passenger’s side again, and she started to take her other stocking off, so she’d be a bit less obvious with the ‘just got lucky in the parking lot’ of it all. She was quiet, though, since he’d done that cut off thing. But she felt like it was still hanging. And even if it wasn’t like her, the silence sort of had her building things up in her head, til she spoke again. “I don’t want to leave. Sometimes things just seem like they’re crashing, and burning, and I need time, and sometimes I think it’s because my perceptions are suspect, and I can’t help that. Like the other night, I just...I don’t know where I lost things. I still don’t know where I lost things. But I know I did. And I still don’t even know if I really understand what happened or if I’m right in how I see things, or...it gets messy. It gets really really messy, and...when did you become the stable one who wants me to stay?” she asked, looking over at him. It wasn’t an accusation. At the moment she was bewildered, and that was leaking through in her tone.

Brett looked over at the tone, fastening his belt as he did so and replacing his jacket. "I have never left you," he told her, his voice flat, though he didn't sound pissed at all. "Even when you were with the doc and I wasn't going to be around - he called, I was there. So - things get messy and you want out? That it? Claustrophic?" he asked her, actually wanting to understand that. At least if he understood it, he might be able to find a way to counter it.

“Not really.” Eris said. She appreciated that he wasn’t snapping at her, and it helped her keep her focus even if her focus was on the fact that she was unfocused. “It’s not even that things get messy and I want out. You say you were there, well I waited. And pretty much every time you left once I was at the loft I figured that was going to be the last time I saw you. You..didn’t give me much reason to think you’d be back around.” she said, though that wasn’t an accusation either. “I was always...” she didn’t know how to word it. Or how she was okay with wording it. “I felt better when you came back.” That was acceptable. Maybe. “But it isn’t things getting messy and me wanting out. I think a lot of times it feels more to me like I have to. Like it’s the best course of action. Like it’s the right thing to do, even if I don’t feel that way later. I’m not saying it makes sense. Because really, it probably doesn’t, and I’m sorry about that.” She sighed, and leaned her back against the car door, looking at him. “I left your apartment because I realized that if I got caught there, it was going to get us both killed. I know you have trouble believing that, but that was why. It seemed like the right thing to do. And I’m really not at all used to doing the right thing, so I’m not necessarily all that adept at it.” She reached up to tug her fingers through her hair. “After that, if I’ve left, it’s because I feel like it’s best for you. Like when I was trying to clear your name, and all of that, I’d look at the situation, and not see a spot for me anywhere, and I still viewed it as being dangerous for you to be associated with me, and that’s not even getting into my own issues with continued breathing.” She paused, and there was more there, but she looked at him, wanting to give him a shot to respond before she got lost in her own explanations. Because that was likely, really.

"Well, let me clear something up then. It's not best for me. Wasn't then, isn't now and can't see that changing any time soon. So if that's the reason for you keeping trying to walk out the door? You don't have to. As for the loft - you'd left and you left it to me to track you down. Doesn't exactly make a guy feel like he's welcome now, does it? So if I seemed distant, that's because you were the one that walked away and I was trying to give you what you wanted. And that didn't exactly work out now, did it?" He fell quiet and busied himself righting the seat again before spontaneously continuing on. "I like having you around. There's a spot for you in my life because I... want there to be. I want you to be there," he told her, having some difficulty with the admission, not because it wasn't true, but because it was more than he would normally comfortably admit.

She quirked the faintest half smile. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and had the urge to lean across and give him another kiss, but she stopped herself after she just started to drift that way. Because she recalled what happened the other night when she’d done something similar, and then things had all gone very, very sideways. She didn’t want to risk that happening again. Not right now, she didn’t really want to deal with another blowout, especially when they seemed to be attempting real communication as opposed to some choppy, emotionally overloaded version of it. “The other times I’ve gone, it’s because I feel like things crack.” she said. “And I don’t really know how to deal with it besides give us both space. I just don’t think that I do all that well with figuring it out even if I have it. So far I don’t think I’ve really managed much of any revelations or clarity. That just doesn’t kill the idea that it’ll help.” she attempted to explain. “I come from a past where when things got bad, I got hurt. And I know you’ve said you’re never going to hit me, and all that, but it doesn’t change that instinct, it doesn’t rewrite how that response goes in my head...does that make sense?” she asked, needing to check herself there. Really, at this point she was flying entirely blind.

Brett looked out of the clearing windows, into the darkness. "Since you told me that about your past, when things have gotten more intense, I've been trying to back off," he told her. "Give you space, not come near you. So you don't have to be concerned about that. And your reaction to me doing that seemed to be to accuse me of not being there and leave because you'd rather watch your own back than be concerned that I'm not going to be there to watch it for you." He paused, still not actually looking at her at all. Not wanting to right now, admitting, as he was, that her behaviour actually bothered him. That he actually cared how she acted, that he paid attention and that it mattered to him. "Some days you make me feel like I can't win, no matter what I do."

“It’s been a while since you said that.” She said, though her tone was light. Because he’d definitely told her that before. Hell, there were days she didn’t feel like she could win either, though really, that had been less prominent lately. He wasn’t taking to a baseline of anger towards her twenty four hours a day. She didn’t speak for a few minutes, trying to gather her thoughts so she could explain things in a way that would make sense. And even if he wasn’t looking at her, she was looking at him. “I need to see you.” she said. “Or hear you, just...know you’re somewhere close.” she told him. “I know you aren’t him. I know that. But I--” she broke off, sighing. “I don’t know what happened, and in the end it doesn’t matter. If he willingly just fucked off and left me to die, whatever. Maybe that’s what happened. Or maybe something else did, and he was taken out of the picture another way. Either way, I didn’t know what happened, or why, and I just...kept waiting for him, and he never got there. He was in the next room, that close, or he was supposed to be, and I still had to live through all of that. And let’s be clear, it wasn’t like he did a rush job.” Now she looked away, averting her gaze towards the radio dials. “I appreciate you trying to back off but you don’t have to. I didn’t really ask you to, I don’t think. There were only a few times I ever thought you were going to hit me, and I told you before that I don’t think you’d do anything more than that. I think I’m more comfortable with you and any ideas of mild violence than you are. And I get it, I think it’s sweet, even, that you don’t want to step on my issues, but backing off and leaving the room...they’re different things and one’s backing off too far.”

"I'm never going to hit you, Princess," Brett said, his voice turning darker. "I don't care if you're 'comfortable' with the idea. I'd prefer it if you weren't. I'd prefer it if you didn't think of me as the kind of man that would do that to a woman," he told her, before getting out of the car. With that, it wasn't just about how she felt on things. It was how that reflected on him. What kind of a person she saw him as. Once, maybe, he wouldn't have given a damn. But to date, this aside, she'd always viewed him as a better person than the one he viewed himself as. he'd got used to that fact, it seemed. But, apparently, that view only went so far.

All of them are. Went through her mind. She stared at the empty seat for a few long moments, not moving. She wasn’t sure what to say or where to go from there. And she felt like her point was missed, her underlying motivation for why if he was backing off that far she couldn’t deal with it in anything resembling an appropriate manner, and it triggered a flight response. But he was focusing on the hitting thing, which she knew he had before, and apparently tried hard to not put himself into a position where he would make her think that was going to happen, but it could just as easily be read that he backed off so he didn’t do anything he would regret. And she did believe that, she supposed. That he’d not be happy with himself later. But she doubted that would be good enough for him, at least, judging his current behavior.

He closed the door behind him as he got out, noting that she hadn't said a thing. Nothing at all. he walked round the front of the car and opened the passenger door for her - not normally something he would necessarily do, but it was either that or just walk off inside and leave her there and he didn't view that as an acceptable thing to do. Neither for them, nor for presentation to the staff inside who would doubtless be watching.

She hadn’t really expected him to get the door for her, because hey--he’d never made a habit of it--so she made a little surprised sound, and grabbed the back of the seat since she’d been sitting against the door. Then she sat forward fast, turning red in embarrassment, and she bent to find her shoes. She’d lost them at some point, but there, she got them and put them on, giving herself a second to collect her dignity.

He waited, standing with one hand rested on the top of the door, not looking down at her as much as looking over the parking lot. Not that he was staring at anything in particular, simply that she wasn't talking, so he wasn't either.

Eris was very aware of the silence, and feeling like everything had started off well, and look, they were back to the part of the evening where they were upset over things. Typical, really. In a moment of unpleasant examination, as she got out and smoothed her dress, she recognized that if she were who she used to be, the kind of arrangement they had was the kind she would have been at the sidelines prodding at to see how bad she could make it. How far she could push before everything absolutely exploded. Volatile. That was what they were. There was a clear, magnetic sort of draw, at least on her end, and yet there was the flipside too. Now she was of the opinion she couldn’t win. Still, she headed for the building.

He rested a palm in the small of her back as they entered the lobby, nodding to the desk clerk and walking in a straight line towards the elevator. They rode up in silence, not even looking at each other and it wasn't until they were safely back in private again that Brett finally spoke, knowing that the words had been nagging at the back of his head. "You believed in me. When I didn't. You thought I was a better person until I started to believe it to. And you were right. And I believe in me now. Enough to know that I'm never going to hit you. And enough to want you to know that too. I'm not that guy. You said once that I was different from the other men you've known. Well, I'm different. I don't want you to be scared of me."

She looked at him, and that flicker of confusion was there. They’d had this conversation before, she was sure of it. And she couldn’t quite remember how it went fully, but she knew she’d told him the same thing before that she was now. “I’m not afraid of you.” she said. “The only time I ever was was the other night and that was different, and we both know that.” she said, because she wasn’t holding that against him in the slightest, and hell, she still felt bad about the killer bruise and cut he was sporting that she’d handed to him. “I’m not scared.” she repeated, stepping closer to him. “And...I’m glad that some of what I’ve said has sunk in. That...that’s a good thing.” She wanted to explain herself but didn’t know if there was a way. Beyond something she also thought she might have said before. “Honestly, I’ve never known a man who wouldn’t have a break point that would do it. Most of them do it out of habit, it’s just part of life. Hell, priests are taken with flogging people. I...” she trailed off, feeling very much like no matter what she said, he wanted to be her exception. And she wasn’t sure she could do it. She could try, but how did one try to go against a core belief? It was like asking her to believe in love. Which she didn’t and wasn’t ever going to start. It was a fundamental part of her understanding of the world.

"It's never been my habit," he told her. "Not going to say I've never done it, because with the job I did for the last few years, there were times it was expected. but on my own account? Because of anger? No - I've never done that. And if you want habit, that's habit - the not doing, rather than the doing." It was the way he'd been raised, and he'd been raised strictly. "You're not scared? Then I don't want you to expect it. Or be okay with it. Because it's not okay. It's not okay for a person to live their lives thinking that another person is eventually going to use violence against them, like that was just a fact of life. Not when that other person is... Not like this," he said, amending what he was going to say as he hit a wall where words should have been.

Eris watched him, listening, and she still didn’t think he got it, but anything she was going to say on the matter went out the window when he didn’t finish his thought. “When that other person is...what?” she asked. “Finish your thought.” She imagined it was important, since he seemed to be trying to make a clear point, and therefore she wanted to know fully what that was.

It took him a moment, during which time he really had no clear thoughts. Options not fully realised to be discarded, before he opened his mouth and went with, "Someone you're close to," and even then he wasn't entirely happy with the choice.

She didn’t say anything about the choice, though she recognized what it wasn’t. It wasn’t anything resembling ‘relationship’, because he had a violent allergy to anything of the kind. And now she was remembering something along the lines of him putting limitations on things, saying that he wanted them to go no further, everything of that nature. She couldn’t recall the exact wording he’d used or anything, but she remembered the point of it. In the end, she nodded, before looking away and up the hall, thinking he probably locked the door and she didn’t have keys. Granted, they were still not sure how she was going to manage keys, and that was why she didn’t have them, but still. She walked over towards the door, gathering her thoughts, and she tried to go back to what he was saying, and not what she was taking from it. There was a difference, she was sure. His point was he didn’t think it was okay to hit her. That was his point. And he didn’t want her thinking he would. “I can try.” she said eventually, tone lighter than it had been. “To incorporate that idea. Just...understand it’s like asking me to trust you that the sky is purple.”

Good, she wasn't calling him on it, which helped. He knew those hadn't been the right words, but approaching what could possibly be the right words wasn't a stage that he was even ready to do himself. All he got was a blank, and an uncomfortable feeling that he hadn't quite hit the nail on the head. But she wasn't pushing things, which left room for him to quirk a smile. "What - it's not?" he asked as an attempt at levity.

She gave him a faint ghost of a smile back, one that didn’t last long, before she looked at the door again. “I suppose real evidence to that isn’t available anyhow, considering how long it’s been since I’ve seen the actual sky, and not cloud cover. So, I suppose it could be.” she said in return. Her heart wasn’t really in it, but she was going with it. Or attempting to. She’d need to, really, because she needed to not be preoccupied with things that weren’t going to change. Things she was just going to have to decide eventually here if she could live with, or she wasn’t satisfied with. His ill defined ‘not a relationship’ where he wasn’t okay with anything resembling lighter, softer intimacy or even companionship, and yet he said he wanted her around, and came after her when she left. It was possible that her brain would shut down entirely if she tried to make true sense of it. Unless it was just he was using her, and she was a possession he didn’t want to give up. She’d seen people fool themselves into thinking that their toys were something meaningful for them, on some level, when it wasn’t truly about that. And now she was looking at what they had again from that outside view, the track of what it would look like from where she used to stand. She should stop that too because there wasn’t any good there.

"That's true," he agreed, heading over to her and unlocking the door, stepping closer to her. "I - it's good I got to see you tonight. I wouldn't have wanted to miss it," he told her, since she'd taken it the way it had sounded earlier on when he'd said that he'd told her he'd be there. Truth was, he'd always wanted to be there, and right now he thought that it might help things if he gave her that.

This was why Eris had such a hard time sometimes understanding what was happening. What was really going on. Sometimes he drew her in, made her think that there was more there, and then he’d turn around and do things like the other night. And now, she knew he’d said earlier that he’d just been there because he had said he would be, and now he was saying he was glad that he’d seen her and wouldn’t have wanted to miss it, and...sometimes she just was left not knowing what to think. And the worst part of that was not knowing if what she was confused about was him being inconsistent, or her own mental deficiency. Because it was a little unfair to blame him, if really what was happening was her own malfunctions. There were times when she felt absolutely at sea, just lost. “I’m glad you were there.” she told him, because at least that part was true. She hadn’t told him, but was aware in retrospect that if he had missed it, part of her would always have been a little upset about it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked her. That had been one of the reasons that he'd held off admitting that he'd wanted to be at her final show, he knew. Because she'd not told him. For all things had gone badly south yesterday, they hadn't started out that way, and he doubted that her gig had been put together on just a few hours notice. She'd known about it, and she'd just not told him. Which said to him that she hadn't wanted him to be there - no matter that she was saying now she was glad he had been.

“I’d been going to.” she said, walking through the hall to the second door, and she waited there for him to unlock that one too. It was slightly odd, the whole him being entirely responsible for the security bit. And her just accepting it, because she was really aware it was going to take her a long time to even get used to knowing which doors led where. Though she was better now at finding the one that led to the hall that led to the apartment. She rarely screwed that up now. “But...” she stopped, because she really needed to think. And she didn’t want to give him a vague answer, so she needed to remember back. Think it through. In the end, she latched onto something true, even if she really hadn’t thought about it like that at the time. “I was out all day, and I just...I hit you. Hard. You’ve got actual damage there. And sure, it’ll heal, you’ll be fine, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about it, and I don’t know. Maybe I wondered if you’d even want to anymore, and if I told you and you said no, that would...” hurt my feelings. Because that was acceptable to say. Right. Absolutely not. So she didn’t finish it. “I didn’t really want to put either of us in that position, so I was thinking about telling you, or not, and then everything else went to hell, and in record time.” Since that had been pretty fast, really. “And by the time I left, I was thinking about moving the rest of my stuff back to the loft tomorrow, but that plan didn’t hold up, did it.”

Brett had a momentary stab of you're moving out? until she finished that sentence and the spike of concern died back down again. "I wouldn't have said no," he confirmed to her. He hadn't held it against her, what she'd done. It had hurt like a bitch, but he'd got what had gone on. "I'd spent the whole day reviewing the security for this place. If I'd changed my mind about you, I wouldn't have done that," he added in there.

Eris eyed him for a moment, a flicker of a half smile there on her lips for a second before it faded again. “About me entirely? I didn’t think you had. But being pissed at me and not wanting to spend time doing something that’s kind of ultimately a waste of your time...that seemed like a bit much. And when I got back, things were...” she trailed off, sure he could remember. They’d started out rocky from the moment she walked in, and then had gotten bad, then better, then crashed entirely. They tended towards emotional rollercoasters far too often. “You can’t say that you don’t occasionally get a little pissed at me then not want much to do with me.” Then she paused a moment, walking in to the apartment properly, and she took her shoes off first. “Thank you, by the way. For trying to look at the security. I wouldn’t have really thought of any of that.”

"Maybe it's for me to decide what's a waste of my time and what isn't," Brett said, though not pointedly. He locked the door behind them, and placed the keys on the table beside the door, walking further into the room, before turning to her. "You told me that you couldn't do it anymore, that you liked it. You told me that finding something you enjoyed was rare for you. I wasn't going to miss your last performance," he told her, recognising as he spoke that what he was, in essence, saying was that if something was important to her, it was important to him. He hadn't thought about it like that before.

Again, that sounded directly like it contradicted what he’d implied when he saw her. Which made her wonder if that was what the problem part was, if that was for some reason not the truth even if it was how it was put. And, in the end, because it was confusing her what could be considered pretty goddamn badly, she looked at him for a long moment, and asked. “Why did you let me think that the only reason you were there was because you were obligated?” she asked. “I...you sound different now.” And that lost sensation she was feeling leaked more into her tone than she would have liked.

Brett opened his mouth to answer, but he found it was a moment or two before he actually could do that. For all that he could justify it, he knew he'd phrased it in a way she could take the wrong way. "You walked out on me. You didn't tell me about your performance. You complained about the security allowing me to get backstage. I didn't know whether I was welcome at all. I had told you I would be there. Under the circumstances, it was a reasonable excuse," he told her.

It was her turn for a few moments of silence after a false start. In the end, she looked back at him, from where her gaze had gone out the window. “How often do you do that?” she asked. She wasn’t going to ask him for specifics. Frankly she didn’t want to know specifics. But she did want to know if it was a habit. “I take you at face value. Which I’m sure you know.” she said. And she was making sure her tone wasn’t angry, not even pissy. She really didn’t want anything to turn into another fight right now. “So...if you do this a lot, if you go for an excuse, or....something, then that’s what I’m left with. Which...makes me wonder if sometimes I’m less confused than I think I am, and you really are behaving in a way that doesn’t make sense and it isn’t my brain damage kicking me in the teeth.”

He frowned a little. "Not often, maybe sometimes I tone things down a little," he said, feeling defensive even if she hadn't seemed pissed about things. He never meant to make her question her own head, it was just that sometimes he couldn't deal with making himself vulnerable. In fact, he never could, if he saw something that he thought would, he tried to avoid it. He couldn't help it.

Eris thought there was a rather large difference between toning something down, and, say, making her believe something that while technically true, didn’t at all speak to his true feelings or motivations on things. She knew what that was, that was being misleading. It was manipulation, even if she didn’t necessarily get why. In the end, she nodded, and didn’t say anything, because there was that twinge of defensive in his tone. Turning, she headed for the bedroom, with the intention of taking a bath. She didn’t know what to say to that, and while she could tell him what had gone through her mind, she didn’t think it would help. Plus, she actually needed a few minutes to let that sink in, and figure out how she felt about it, because it was not the most pleasant thing to discover.

"Princess - I..." he called to her back as she walked off. "I didn't mean to mess with your head," he said, finding the words. He'd never meant that. He just hadn't wanted to put himself in a position where she'd be able to hurt him, or he'd have to put himself on the line and deal with his issues. He'd not meant her to suffer for it though.

She looked back at him, and nodded again, not quite trusting herself to speak. But then again, she felt a little like a white noise had come down over her, and she needed to figure things out only she didn’t have a point to start with. She felt more lost than earlier, only now she was starting to question all sorts of things and yeah, she’d been doing enough of that lately in the first place. Adding this on top made her almost feel like she was shutting down, due to overload. Maybe she was. What was kind of disturbing her most on a gentle, distant level was she wasn’t really angry about it. In fact, she could summon up no emotion whatsoever on the subject at all right now, though she was certain she should be feeling something. Thus her idea that maybe it was a bit too much for her. “I’m going to take a bath.” she told him, because she felt like if she didn’t say something, he might keep explaining. Or...something.

It was something he'd noticed between them. The only time one of them actually announced that they were 'going to take a bath' or a shower, or whatever, what was really meant was 'I need some time, something's wrong here and I need not to be in the same room as you right now'. It wasn't quite at the level of her walking out - which he was grateful for, given that he'd only just brought her back again - but on the flipside, it was far more reasonable and harder to call bullshit on. Which was why he didn't, even though he was well aware that the need to get clean probably wasn't the issue here.

She turned to head into the bedroom, and through to the bathroom where she shut the door behind herself, and considered locking it, but she didn’t think he’d actually disturb her. He hadn’t tried in any way to stop her in the first place, so she didn’t think he’d suddenly get the burning desire to come crash her bathing time. Not that that’s what it was. Still, she drew herself a bath, wished she had that cheap bottle of wine back, and she dumped her best smelling stuff into the water. It made her skin soft, and was a pretty scent, and right now she was going to do tiny little things to possibly try and soothe herself.

Lighting the candles by the tub, she got in, and sank down, beneath the water line to get her hair soaked, before she was back up again, washing the make up off of her face with a washcloth. As she sat there, and did little things, everything started to crush in on her. It was her last performance tonight, she’d let go of the one thing she’d actually found she enjoyed doing. Everything was all over the place with Brett, and she’d just basically found out that in the one area she’d absolutely trusted him in--not to fuck with her because he knew she had brain damage and all that--he’d just kind of been failing at. And she’d heard him. He’d said he’d not meant to mess with her head, but he had. And she looked back over everything and realized that she didn’t know what to trust anymore. She didn’t know when he was ‘toning it down’ in his own words, even if to her, what he’d done tonight and just lightening emphasis on something were completely different things. But at the end of the day, she didn’t know how often he did it, or how badly he was altering things because he could. And she knew there were things she’d let go in the past, because she’d assumed she had faulty wiring, and was just remembering things wrong, or she’d interpreted something wrong. But now she wondered if that wasn’t it, and really it was him twisting things, because he could get away with it, and well--he did get away with it. In a really distant way, she realized that she was shaking a little bit, and she felt a little sick, and yeah. She wasn’t doing terribly well. At this point she didn’t even just want another drink. She wanted to go to sleep. Flat out she couldn’t deal with this right now, not in any effective manner, and she didn’t want to think about it, either. Sleep was good. Wiping at her eyes, unsure if it was water from the tub or something else, she stared at her painted toenails beneath the water’s surface. It was a little fucked up to kind of have a detached view of a depressive breakdown without experiencing the panic.

Brett didn't try and enter the bathroom. Instead he sat outside, in a chair, facing the door, watching it, waiting for her to come out again. See - this is what happens when you admit to things, he thought to himself. It fucked everything up. But he had never meant to make her confused, either. He'd wanted to keep things simple, on the level. He'd never, ever meant to mess with her head. He considered himself to be a more direct person than that. If he'd wanted to upset her, he would have done it to her face. Not some underhand manipulation and definitely never of her biggest weakness. He'd never purposefully gone after that. Not even during their worst fights. And he would never stoop that low. Just the way he'd never call her a whore, or bring her past into it. He respected her way too much to do that.

Eventually she knew she had to move. Because she kept wiping at her cheeks, and she just didn’t want to deal right now. with anything. Getting out of the bath, she wrapped a towel around herself, and she walked to the mirror, to look into it as she picked up her brush to brush her hair out. And she stared, holding the brush against her shoulder. There was the red scar, standing out like it always did. Proof, a constant reminder of what had gone on. What was ‘wrong’ with her, as that little girl had said. She watched as there were a few tears that tracked down her cheeks, and one second she was looking at it, the next there was splintered glass crashing down into the sink. She’d done it before, at the loft, though last time it had been a lot more intentional than this one, where it was something that seemed to just happen as opposed to have clear intent. She held her hand out and saw the pinch-slide on the side of her hand. So, no. No spontaneous mirror breakage.

The sound of breaking glass was enough to move him, though he thrust away the idea that it was enough of an excuse. That word was far too raw right now. No - it wasn't an excuse, it was a 'what the fuck is going on that glass is breaking in a bathroom!' reaction as he crossed to the door. "Baby, you okay?" he asked, opening the door, not thinking about the fact he'd used her name for him at her.

She noticed, even if it was still in that weirdly detached sort of manner. She called him baby. It was, probably, the equivalent of ‘Princess’. Princess was his ‘nice’ name for her. What he called her when he wasn’t trying to be sarcastic, since they’d started out calling each other pet names all the time, only with a snide sort of tone to them. And she’d adopted calling him Baby, which wasn’t used in anything pointed. It was a true endearment. She didn’t think that he’d ever actually called her that. She thought the most used pointed pet names were darling and sweetheart.

And none of that was relevant in the slightest, though that was what she was thinking about. That, as she watched red dripping down onto the broken glass shards in the sink. “I’m fine.” she said, tone distant. Sure, there was a part of her that recognized that that was probably a totally ludicrious thing to have said, being fine people didn't go shattering their bathroom mirrors, but that was what came out of her mouth.

Fine she might be, be he was going in anyway, he knew, since he was already walking through the door, pushing it open even as she spoke. He caught sight of blood in the sink more than on her, given she was facing away from him, but it wasn't like it could have come from anywhere. The redness attracted his attention far more than the shattered mirror as he took the few steps across the room, turning her round and taking her hand in his, examining the damage. "What happened?" he asked, not looking at her face, concentrating on her hand.

“It broke.” she said. Again, recognizing somewhere that that statement was a little on the stupid side. Mirrors didn’t just break. Not without help, anyways. She saw him looking at her hand, and she reached up and wiped at her eyes again, starting to step away from him, more towards the bedroom, even if there wasn’t any actual pull to get away from him. Just it seemed the thing to do. She was going to go, put her nightgown on, lie down, and sleep. Sleep was fabulous. And she’d stop leaking tears, which she hated, because she wasn’t even crying. Just tearing. Or that was what she viewed it as.

He caught her wrist as she tried to walk away, but didn't try and bring her back again. "It broke," he repeated, a tinge of doubt in his voice. He knew what had happened, of course - that much was obvious. The cuts on her hand, the glass embedded there, the fractured mirror, falling pieces. "You have bare feet - you'll cut yourself more," he pointed out, certain that at least some of the shards would have reached the floor.

She stopped, because she wasn’t putting effort into pulling herself away from him. But she did look down, even if she was rather highly unconcerned with the idea of cutting her feet. There did happen to be glass there, though. “I was going to go lie down.” she told him, her tone still that really distant, non-tone. She hadn’t realized there was glass in her hand, and wasn’t all that concerned with the bleeding. It would stop. She also didn’t try to come up with a better cover story than ‘it broke’ even if he quite clearly didn’t believe her. It wasn’t like it had been a great one to start with.

Brett occasionally got worried. It wasn't as if he were unaware that he was dealing with someone with brain damage, after all. And now was one of those times. "You can lie down once I've looked at this," he told her, almost gently, trying to hide the concern in his tone. She'd broken a mirror, with her fist. The reasons she may have done that were currently taking a backseat to the fact she'd done it at all. "I'm going to lift you over the broken glass, then we can go into the kitchen and I'll clean you up, okay?" he added, going through the steps of what he intended. he didn't want a repeat of the other night that had ended him with a black eye and minor concussion.

“I’m okay.” she told him. But she didn’t protest, either, still looking down at the glass, and she reached one hand for his arm, not really up for fighting him on anything. She was at a blank state. Where her swirling thoughts had shut down and that white noise had fuzzed over everything. So she was kind of entirely in the now, even if it was in a detached manner.

He picked her up - not properly, but simply lifted her enough off the floor that he could move her across and out of the bathroom, setting her back down again once they were in the bedroom, and then leading her out toward the kitchen. "Sure you are - but glass in skin is a bad idea. It'll just dig itself deeper, so let's make sure there's none left in there," he said, almost as if he was talking to a child, worry seeping through and forming into that way.

If she noticed, she didn’t say anything, and just walked with him, reaching up to right her towel again as it started to come loose. Really, towels weren’t meant for extended wear like this. But she went with, not saying anything further. She didn’t really want to, it would require thought, and she wasn’t big on thought just now. She was much bigger on sleep. And ignoring everything because she was kind of thinking she was having a meltdown of some description.

He led her into the kitchen and carefully sat her down at the table, his concern and worry really not decreasing as she continued not to act in any way like her usual self. He took the first aid kit from the cupboard and pulled a chair up by her, before starting to clean her hand up, picking out shards of mirror. "Julia," he said, gently. "How did the mirror break?"

She sat there, and her eyes were technically pointed in the direction of their hands, but she wasn’t tracking any of the movement. She also wasn’t reacting to the twinges of pain from the glass removal or anything else. When he said her name, she took a long moment, before it seemed like it sank in, and she looked at him. She blinked a few times, like she needed the rest to sink in, and eventually answered. “I was looking at the mirror, and then it was broken. I probably hit it.” she said, at least some of her acknowledging basic logic.

At least that was something. Some appreciation of normality. Not staring into space, unreacting. "Why did you hit the mirror, Princess?" he asked her, making sure that he was mostly engaged in dressing her cuts as he did so.

Again, it took her a moment to answer, but not as long as it had the first time. “Didn’t like what I saw.” she told him. She was looking at him, watching him, some focus returning as she did so. With it, of course, came all the shit she was trying to avoid with her plan of going to sleep. All of that shit she didn’t especially want to be dealing with at all. Her world had taken a sharp fucking turn, and she really hadn’t been ready for it. She could expect blows to come from all sorts of different directions, but she’d never thought this specific one, that it would come from him. She figured anyone else in the world if they figured out about her condition and the like would be fucking with her straight away, playing that for all it was worth, but not him. Not Brett.

There was no real answer to that, so for a minute or two, Brett fell silent, finishing off cleaning her hand and dressing it properly, working in silence. That done, he sat back. "You can go lie down now," he told her, not entirely happy with that, with letting her go right now, but his first instinct was to shut the fuck up and not make things any worse. He turned away to start tidying things up, the words he wasn't saying itching at the back of his mind, being resolutely ignored.

She stood, reaching up to grab her towel with her non-hurt hand, so it didn’t drop, and she headed for the living room. When she spoke, she wasn’t in view anymore, she’d taken a few steps into that room, and turned towards the bedroom. “I never thought it would be you.” was said, though she didn’t return to say anything else, and she kept walking.

He followed, stepping into the living room, but not approaching any further, allowing her to walk away. "What would be me?" he called after her, frowning.

“Who would use it against me.” she said, continuing walking. “I always trusted you not to do that to me.” There was more there, a lot more, tons just beneath the surface, but she didn’t say anything more as she got to the bedroom, and she walked to her dresser to get herself a nightgown. She was feeling less like if she shut her eyes she would fall asleep, coming out of her momentary spot of quiet. Part of her would have really liked that back now.

He followed her again, walking into the bedroom. "I'm not using it against you," he said, frustration edging into his tone. "I wouldn't - I would never do that. I'm not - this has nothing to do with your head, Princess," he added, biting back the frustration, but feeling that itch rise again until the words were just there. "It's - I don’t know where I stand, what I’m doing – with you,” he told her, then shook his head. “You keep walking away. I know you say you have your reasons and you’ve tried to explain them to me. But still – you keep walking out on me. And I keep having to come and fetch you back. You tell me that you want me to come for you – but some days, you leave me feeling like I’m keeping you prisoner. Tonight – I didn’t even know if you wanted to come back at all. And with good reason, turns out, since apparently your plan was to move back to the loft. So yes, when I got there, I was cautious about what I said. You’d left me and I’d come running after you. I figured that you were probably going to tell me where to get off. I never meant to purposefully fuck with your head, I was protecting myself.” You’re not the only one who can get hurt. He couldn’t add that last bit, and he didn’t. Nor did he sound like he was blaming her, rather simply making an effort to explain. He didn’t like taking risks, putting himself out there to get hurt. It was hard enough for him to show that he would always go after her, nevermind admitting things when he found her.

She didn’t think first about what she said, she just spoke, turning back around to look at him. “You stand exactly where you fucking want to stand, because you’re the one with all the steadfast fucking guide lines.” she said. “You’re the one who the other night told me flat out that you didn’t want things to go anywhere. That you want them to stay where they are.” she walked to the bed and crawled onto it, though over the covers. Really she was keeping herself back from him, because she tended to advance when she was upset, and right now she wanted to keep far out of reach. And keep him from her reach at the same time. “And I was thinking about moving to the loft, because the other night...” she trailed that off, because it was still raw for her, and also still confused. She still just didn’t have a firm grasp of what had gone on, and she knew that. So she couldn’t so much come out with a full argument on anything because it was so fuzzy.

"When it comes to you, Princess - all my intentions always seem to go flying out the damn window. I don't have guidelines that mean shit when you're around," he told her. "And that scares the hell out of me sometimes," he added, then wished he could take that back. He was Brett Trent: he didn't admit to being scared. Especially not by a woman. He took a breath and ploughed onwards, taking another tack in the hope that she'd let that one pass. "What about the other night?" he asked her, picking up on what she'd said.

She leaned back against the headboard, even if the wrought iron reminded her that hey, she’d spent a little time tonight behing shoved repeatedly against a steering wheel, and that was definitely bruised. But she ignored that entirely. “It felt a whole lot like those guide lines were laid down hard the other night, and---was that why you were leaving?” she asked, suddenly latching onto that. Because she was still not entirely clear on everything. Though that seemed to be her theme in the past day or so. A mass of non-clarity. Lost in the fucking woods. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a whole lot of guide lines that are still there and you’ve been pretty clear about them now.” She paused and looked away, trying to think about how to phrase the answer to his question, and she in the end didn’t come up with anything. She just spoke, and hoped it made some amount of sense. “I don’t know what happened. We were there, and talking, and it sounded like we were on the same page, but then everything changed, and it was like you just--” she broke off and exhaled, not sure how to say the next part. But, like before, she just spoke instead of agonizing over words. “I told you everything about what I was going through, and then were were talking about things but you turned around and said you were fine, and that was it. Like it was all over, because you’re just fine. So, as long as you’re okay, I guess we just keep doing whatever, and it doesn’t matter what my end is. Or if I hate it, or...” she trailed off.

It took him a moment to figure out exactly what she was talking about. And even then, he had to mentally twist to figure things out. "Princess - no. No, it's not that at all. This - all of this... I could walk away from this tomorrow. Tonight. Any time. I set this up for you, and you don't want this - I didn't know that then, I know it now. So, as soon as we can, we get out. This isn't - this isn't like it's a dream job for me or anything. What I meant the other day is that it's not a nightmare for me either though. Doing this? It's a hell of a lot better than where I was. But that doesn't mean that it's where I want to be. I don't know where I want to be. You were talking about singing being something that you love, something that you could do, but that you can't do it. Well, I had that job - I was a cop. That's all I ever wanted to be. And I can't do that now. Even if I could physically go back - which, sure, I could clear my name and force them to take me back - but, even if I did that, my heart's not in it. It's over for me. I don't have a dream anymore, nothing that I can look at and say 'yeah, I wanna do that'. I have things I can live with, and things I can't live with. So, I'm with you - you want out, we'll find a way out. We'll find something that you do want to do. Some life you do want to lead. You think I think things are okay, that we can still keep doing whatever as long as I'm fine? Princess - it's the other way round," he told her, trying to explain, thinking that the best day he'd had in a long time had been the first day they came here. When she'd looked so happy. The best, and the worst day as he'd found out that as much as he wanted to share that with her, he couldn't.

It took her a minute to come up with something to say, to try and sort through everything there. She looked down at the hem of the black nightgown she wore, picking at the lace there. “I don’t understand again.” she said, not looking back up. “I really don’t get where there are these rules you’ve decided are in place, that there’s nothing more that’s allowed to go on, not even just little things, and now you’re saying that you’re willing to base the direction of everything else depending on me and what I want to do.” They didn’t sound like things that matched. “I don’t want everything to be about me. And just because you haven’t figured out a desire, something you want to do yet doesn’t mean you should give up and not try, and just go with my lead because let’s face it here, my lead probably isn’t the sanest of ways to go, considering my condition. Let’s not put the whims of the brain damaged at the fore.”

I don't understand either, he thought to himself. I don't understand any of this. I feel like I'm lost, like someone's taken away the instruction booklet, or someone keeps changing the rules. "You make it sound like I have this whole thing all planned out," he said, instead of putting words to his thoughts. "I don't. And even when I try to - things change." he paused, before adding, "And I'm not just going with your whims. If I was, then I would have just let you be. And I would have let you go after the O'Malley's direct. And burn down Babylon that night. And all the other things I've tried to stop you doing."

“How does having me think the direct opposite of your actual intentions equate to ‘toning it down’?” she asked, and she was aware there was a huge shift there, that she didn’t address anything he’d just said, but it popped out. “And how is that not fucking with my head, or...maybe it wasn’t lying, because technically it was the truth, but that doesn’t mean it was--” she was still hurt about it all, and she was still not quite prepared to deal, so she broke off there.

He was back to being confused again, as she shifted to what he'd said earlier. "That wasn't toning it down - that was. Hell, I don't know what that was!" he admitted. "I didn't want to make you think that. You were making it sound like you thought I'd made myself miserable, put myself in a position that I couldn't deal with, because I was trying to give you a goal, something to live for. All I said was that, if necessary, I could live with this. And I can. If you wanted to do this, I'd keep doing this. You don't want to do this, so I'll leave it behind. I don't care about this, that's not what matters to me," he told her, before abruptly shutting up.

“We can’t leave it entirely behind, I’m not leaving the girls like that.” She said, because that was true. Even if she didn’t want to be doing this, the girls? They were happy. And they were still better off with them than they were on their own. And she still wanted to do what they’d sort of discussed before, possibly sending them to school or something. She did want something to do with that. It was just the rest of it that she didn’t like. “What matters to you?” she asked. She wasn’t done with the other subject, but she’d get back to it. It was the most prominent in her mind.

Brett hadn't wanted her to ask that question, and he certainly didn't want to answer it. It was like a pit opened up in his stomach, a constriction around his chest. He wanted to look away from her, but at the same time, he really couldn't. And with her facing him about how he'd been acting, with the news that apparently he'd been fucking with her head, the only answers at the moment that were suitable ones, that didn't make him feel like a total jerk at a time where, for once in his life he actually didn't want to be one, it didn't leave him many options. In fact, it left him only one option, an option that was akin to throwing himself off a cliff, knowing there were rocks at the bottom, and without even his usual protection of anger, protection that had been wavering more and more lately when it came to her. "You," he said, after what felt like eons, but which may only have been a few seconds. "You matter to me."

She stilled, and looked up from where she’d been messing with the lace on her nightgown. It was little more than a shift in where her gaze had rested, and she didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looking at him. She still didn’t understand him. She still thought that the information she was getting, what she was trying to understand just...it didn’t add up to her. And, like she was discovering sucked the most about all of this lately--she couldn’t tell if it was because of him not making sense, or her not being able to really puzzle it out right. In the end, she decided to tell him what was going through her head. “Right now I feel like I don’t understand anything. Like nothing’s quite making sense. And the worst part about that, is that I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s because I just can’t manage to puzzle it out even if it should be clear, or because you spend an unknown amount of time ‘toning it down’ for lack of a better phrase.” Since she didn’t have one right now that wasn’t ‘lying to me’.

Her reaction really didn't help the feeling in the base of his chest, or do anything to alleviate the stress of having admitted that. He wasn't sure what to take away from it, in fact. Even whether it was a good or bad reaction. "I don't know," he told her, not feeling like he could help her out at all right now.

“Why did you do it?” she asked. “Tonight. With telling me that, or letting me believe it. What did you gain from that? Because all it did to me was remind me that I’m just a chore. Some obligation, because you feel responsible, or sorry for me, or whatever. So there’s got to be some reason you deliberately make me feel like that, that you do that. So either that’s the case, which is what it seems like you’re saying that isn’t, but you make it seem like that, and I don’t know why. And now I’m wondering if part of the reason I’m always fucking confused when it comes to you is because sometimes it seems like you’re a different person, and you give a damn, and you--you just seem different, and then you turn around and remind me that that isn’t the case and you don’t, and I can’t do this, Brett. Okay? I can’t do this. If this is what you do, if this is how you deal, or how you need to do things, then you need to do it with someone else, because I can’t sit here, and wonder just how much of the past few months is bullshit and how much isn’t, and how much you just let me believe whatever, knowing full fucking well that I don’t have the capacity to understand the whole picture! That I’ll blame me and my faulty wiring because I trusted you to not play with me like that!” She wasn’t even sure if all of what she said made perfect sense, but that was farther down the list of things that mattered just now.

He listened to all of that, silently and when she carried on, any thoughts of actually answering her questions went out the window. "I'm sorry," he said, deciding that was really all he could say. "I don't mean to play you." But what she'd said had struck a chord. This was how he dealt. The only way he knew how to deal. And that didn't leave him with a whole lot of options, since she'd been specific about it. He walked over to the bed and took a pillow and a blanket, not looking at her. "I'll sleep on the couch," he said, resigned to that as he turned to walk out of the room.

She looked a mixture of confused, hurt and shocked as he did that. Not that he saw, because she did notice he wasn’t looking at her. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. Apparently that was her answer. And she’d really thought that she was reeling before, but she was wrong. Now she was reeling. Only at least it was better because it hadn’t hurt, and this did. She’d take that white noise back, thanks. She looked down, at her hand and where he’d cleaned it and the like, and didn’t know what to do. So was this it? She left and made him feel like a bloodhound sometimes, and his trick was to make her feel like he didn’t give a shit. Or like he did. She still was having trouble really latching onto what was the real story. She wanted to believe what he’d said tonight, but she knew that’s exactly what it was. Desire on her part for him to care about her. Even if previously, that idea would have terrified her. Now, though, things had changed. Maybe they just hadn’t changed in the right way.

Brett felt sick as he walked out of the room. That constriction hadn't gone away, it had just moved so now he felt like he was going to throw up. But she'd been quite clear. She couldn't cope with things, she couldn't deal with them. And he didn't know how to just fix himself. He didn't even know what 'fixed' would be. He had pieces missing and apparently that lack was something that she couldn't cope with. So, like she said - he needed to do it with someone else. That was quite clear.

He would have left, given her entirely what she wanted, but he couldn't. Neither of them could just walk away. It would be a veritable death sentence for the other. But what they had could be moved. Strictly business. Wasn't that what he'd wanted - only days ago? It had been, only now that that's all there was - surely it shouldn't hurt so damn much?

She watched him walk out of the room, and there was a sharp, leaden pain in her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, but in the end she shut it again. It still left her feeling like she couldn’t deal. With any of it. Not with what happened, with what she still didn’t know about their history, not with the idea of him just not being there, or whatever. And she didn’t know if it meant he wasn’t going to be there, and if he was, was she only going to see him when they had functions to go to? Was he going to leave the apartment? He could keep it, couldn’t he? He’d chosen it, picked it out, he’d called it home. Didn’t he belong here? She’d only been a catalyst. And he’d said he wasn’t miserable with things. He could still do it.

It was all kind of a jumbled, confused mess in her head, and absolutely none of it was good. She reached up to wipe at her cheek again, because that tearing thing was back. What did it mean if she walked out there and said it was okay? She couldn’t really do that, because it wasn’t okay. And even if she felt a little like she’d been hollowed out with a rusty spoon that didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t okay. But he was choosing something else there. He was going to keep doing it, right? God. She needed to go to sleep. But yeah, that really just wasn’t going to happen, even as she turned the lamp out. The bathroom light was still on, leaving a streak of light through the room, but her eyes were on the open bedroom doorway. If she could get angry, maybe this would be better. It just didn’t feel like she could summon up anything even remotely like it. All it really felt like was everything was wrong.

Laying down, she curled on her side, pulling her pillow over so she could still see the door, She could see part of the couch, enough to see he was on it. And she kept her eyes there, watching.

He dumped the blanket and pillow on one end of the couch and sat down in the middle, staring sightlessly forward. This was it, and the worst thing was that he didn't know what 'it' was. Except it felt like the end. But it wasn't fair to have an end when he didn't know what the beginning or the middle had been. He rested his head in his hands for a moment. He needed a drink. He needed a drink and badly. To just forget about everything, just for a while. Maybe that would help. And, if not, it could drown everything out.

He stood, fetching a glass and a bottle of whiskey, before sitting back down in the exact same position and pouring himself a measure. He threw that back. It didn't help - the burning of the liquid down his throat did nothing at all to assuage the sensation in his chest. He poured another, intent on drinking steadily until he either felt better, or passed out. One of them had to happen, sooner or later.

She watched. She could see it. And she counted. And probably lost count in there. Really, she’d seen Brett drink. Aggressively, even. For instance, the night at his apartment when he’d first kissed her. Before then there’d been some drinking. She was pretty sure there’d been some between breaking into intimacy issues. But there was a difference between knocking back a tumbler of something, and doing shots one on top of the other. That was new. And she found herself getting up, quietly walking through the room towards him, and she reached out to take the bottle.

She took the bottle as he was knocking back a shot and he glared up at her, empty glass in hand. "Leave it," he growled, sounding very much like he expected her to do just that. He didn't order her around much these days, but his tone was very reminiscent on the days when he'd tended to do just that.

“No.” she said, turning to head towards the kitchen, because if he was going to be growling at her like that, he was going to go for it again, but there was a handy sink in that case. She wasn’t watching him drown himself. And she didn’t give a damn about his tone. He growled at her, she ignored the shit out of it. It was how they’d worked things for a very long time.

He stood to follow her - and a little too fast, given the amount he'd just thrown back. he swayed before finding his balance and setting off after her. "You can't tell me what to do - give me the fucking bottle back!" he called after her. She didn't get to tell him it was all over, call them off and then take away the one out he had to numb everything right now. She couldn't do that to him. She couldn't leave him like this.

She got to the kitchen and dropped the bottle neck down into the drain, turning around to put her back to it, to block him from getting it. Or at the very least, he’d have to move her, or reach around her to get it again. “Yes I can, and no.” she said, firm on that. Of course, anyone could tell anyone what to do --point in case he used to love to do that to her all the time--it just didn’t require compliance.

He did, in fact, reach round her for the bottle - not that it did any good, given that what whiskey had been left was long since down the drain. He stepped back, feeling the alcohol kicking in, though it really didn't help the way it had been meant to. "Why did you do that?" he asked her, with an anger that felt different. One born of upset than true anger.

“Because if anyone’s an alcoholic around here it’s me, and you don’t do this.” she said, making a vague gesture at the empty bottle. “Don’t start now. All you’re going to do is hurt yourself.” Either with falling over, because he was a whole lot of not steady on his feet, or with the killer hangover tomorrow. He’d just had a day full of fun head pain, she didn’t imagine he needed an encore.

"Yeah, well apparently I do a lot of things we didn't know about before," he shot back at her, turning and walking off, grabbing his jacket from the chair as he walked across the room unsteadily. Maybe he could find a liquor store that was still open, though he'd probably have to drive across town to do it.

She moved to follow him, the moment she saw him go for his coat. Then she rushed to hit the door before he did, putting her back against it. “You’re not going anywhere like this!” she snapped. “And what the hell was that supposed to mean?” Because she honestly didn’t actually get that, and thought possibly it was important.

"You know what I mean," Brett old her, stopping in front of her and tapping the end of his finger against her temple, firmly, but not hard enough to hurt as he leaned into her. "I fuck with your head. Get out of my way," he told her.

Eris reached out to snag the keys from the table he’d dropped them on, and she put them behind her back and leaned there, looking up into his eyes. “And this was news to you?” she asked. “How exactly does that work?” It sure as hell was news to her, but the other way around was a little bit of a mystery. She didn’t answer the bit about getting out of his way, what with her thinking that she was quite clear on her stance on the subject by categorically ignoring he’d said it at all.

"You think I do that on purpose?" Brett countered, his tone once of utter disbelief. "Sweetheart - when have you known me ever to take advantage of what you can't do? Or even fucking highlight it? You really think that this whole time I've been... playing with you. You really think I could be that fucking... subtle? Or that much of a jerk that I'd - that I'd fuck you at the same time as screwing you in a whooooole different manner? Fuck - I know I can be a dick, but give me some fucking credit here. I'm not that kind of a dick."

“I haven’t known you to, which is why this is such a fucking world shattering shock!” She shot back. “And if you aren’t doing that then you explain it to me! what the living fuck were you doing? Why do that to me at all? Why make absolutely fucking sure you remind me every chance you get that I’m just something that’s anything but important to you? You don’t even like me, I’ve said it before, and--explain this to me.” she finished, the last bit through clenched teeth. “Just try to make this make sense in a way that isn’t you being a manipulative fucking dick to me.”

"Because I don't know how to deal with this and it scares the living holy crap out of me!" Brett shouted back, alcohol loosening his tongue by the means of entirely bypassing his brain. "I don't do this - I haven't done this. Since I was a kid. Thirteen fucking years - it's a long fucking time and I don't do this. Only, apparently, I do. With you. And I'm waiting for that fucking piano to fall. And look," he continued, stepping back and gesturing wildly. "It did! Because you can't deal with this. And fine, fair enough - I have issues, you have issues and they're non-fucking-compatible issues. Now move the fuck out of the way so I can go and find a fucking drink because you went and damn well poured all of what we still had in this damn place down the fucking sink."

“So your response to being scared of the unknown here is to make me feel like shit and like I don’t mean anything?” Eris cried, incredulous. “That’s your plan? How does that even make sense? How was that ever meant to actually help you?” she asked, because she was mystified. By now, here, she was lost again because in no rational way did this make sense to her. Again, she totally ignored his trying to get her out of the way. She still had absolutely no intention of moving. And as far as she knew, the doors here were pretty good, so if she had to do something stupid with the keys, then she’d do that too. At least by the time he got the hinges off the door he’d be slightly more sober. Or, that was her working theory.

He finally got the message that she wasn't going to move and took another step back. He wasn't going to force her out of the way. He'd meant what he said earlier - he wasn't that guy. Even drunk, he wouldn't lift a hand to her. It never even occurred to him to do that. "...Because if you don't think I give a damn, you can't... Hurt me," he said, hesitating over the admission. He'd done it for years. Find a girl, date her for a while, dump her before things got too serious and she started wanting more. And it had worked, until he'd moved onto whores. Only, with his girlfriends, he'd always been careful to choose girls who weren't his type, who he wasn't into, who he could be sure that he could walk away from. He hadn't been planning anything with her, he hadn't expected any of this. And he'd found himself with a woman who was exactly his type, and walking away was something he'd failed at time and again. And each time it had gotten harder.

“Because it doesn’t hurt me every time you do something to remind me that you don’t give a shit.” Eris said, crossing her arms, though she still had the keys in her hand, and she still didn’t move from the door. He’d backed off, and that was good, but she wasn’t giving him the opportunity back again. “What exactly am I going to do to hurt you.” she said. “What is it you expect of me, that’s going to hurt you. I know you’ve got issues, and I know a lot of them stem from that,” she said, making a vague gesture towards his chest, his side that was all scarred up. “But I would imagine I’d earned a tiny bit of trust on that. I’ve seen it. I don’t care. It doesn’t phase me. I don’t even think about it unless I’m doing something specifically to not trigger a bad response from you.”

"You want to believe that I'm not going to hit you - but you still expect it," Brett countered. "I don't fucking - I don't do this on purpose, Princess. I don't enjoy this. I open my mouth and that's what comes out. And yeah. You earned trust. Most people have it a whole fucking lot worse than you do," he told her, knowing that it didn't make a damn site bit of difference and not sounding like he expected that to. She wanted something from him he wasn't able to give. She'd made that quite clear. This was all a waste of time, because he couldn't change and she couldn't either. His issues conflicted with her brain damage. Her damage wasn't going away and he'd had his for over a decade - it was hardly an overnight fix. He turned away, heading back towards the kitchen, thinking maybe they'd have something hidden in a cupboard, even though he knew they didn't. He was careful with alcohol in the apartment - he knew how she got.

“I’ll actually give you that.” she said first. To the part about it being like her thinking he was going to hit her at some point. She could understand that part of it. “Though I don’t hold it over your head. I don’t even hold the idea against you.” she added. Since there was that slight bit of difference there. “I don’t make you feel like shit because I occasionally wonder if it’ll happen.” Which really, had been less often since they’d stopped fighting...well. Like they were right now. When he started for the kitchen, she followed, but didn’t go into it with him, and she still had the keys, holding them behind her back so they weren’t in immediate view. “You don’t do it on purpose and you don’t enjoy it but you don’t try not to. And you still go for making me feel worthless.”

He rounded on her. "Don't try and tell me what I do and don't try to do," he shot at her, before continuing on his way to the kitchen. "And I don't try to make you feel worthless. If that's what you take from things..." There was nothing. He looked through cupboards, pushing tins and bottles to the side, in case something, somewhere was hiding, but there was nothing. He turned back to her, finally. "I'm not trying to make you feel worthless. I just... You may be okay with the idea of some guy slapping you around, like that's part of life. I'm not. I put myself out there and... You know? It's like shit happens to you and you rage against it, even if maybe it'll kill you. Shit happens to me and I go with it and do whatever the fuck it takes to survive. To not get fucking hurt. I'd rather be miserable. Fuck it - I don't fucking know how to be happy anyway, so what the fuck does it matter?" he asked her, rhetorically. "But, okay, don't be worthless. I like you - I really, really fucking like you. I haven't just been screwing you because you're an attractive broad. Which, in case you need to hear it, you are - you always were. You always fucking stood out from your girls. And you're the fucking reason I kept coming back and you're the fucking reason I will keep following you." He realised then that she'd followed him this time, which meant that the door was clear - even if he hadn't clued into the fact she'd picked up the keys, so he headed back in that direction.

This time she actually let him get past her, because she had the keys safely behind her back, though she turned to watch him walk that way, and she followed, just not that closely behind. She had to let some of that sink in first. There was a whole lot there to take in. There were a few things that stood out very brightly, like the whole bit about him not knowing how to be happy, the one about how he liked her, and apparently a lot. The last part, which she wondered if it was just a tense slip. Because that sounded like it was present tense, like it was something he would still do. Only she didn’t know if that was true or not. Part of her wanted to ask, another didn’t want to hear the wrong answer. So she was quiet for a moment, trying to decide which was the most important to address. In the end she did what she’d taken to doing that night a lot--she just spoke without making any real decisions on anything. “I never was the type to suffer anything well. I changed things if I didn’t like them. And if it killed me, it killed me, but it was better than living a life where day in, and day out I hated every second of it. To me, life is more than just breathing. And if that’s all it is, then I’m a waste of that breath.” She paused there, still watching him. “I don’t know a lot about being happy. I never really was, one way or another, until more recently, and then there have been times. I think it’s just something that’s there or it isn’t, there isn’t a ‘how’. Maybe me, this, everything, maybe none of it is good enough to make you happy. Maybe that’s what it really is.” Which was another crushing, depressing thought, but hey, it could stand in line with everything else that was making her feel like the world was having a go at her.

He reached the door and tried it, only to find that it was, of course, locked. He looked to the table, then realised that she had the keys. And she wasn't going to give them to him. He turned back to her. "No," he told her, shaking his head. "There's... a hole. Like a moment where I know what I should feel and it's not there. It's like missing a step in the dark. But, like - like being in a familiar house, where you know where everything is and then someone else comes in and moves things, so you go for that step, and you expect it to be there and suddenly... nothing," he said, drunkenly rambling without processing what he was saying. "Like when we came here. And you were so fucking happy - I loved that, y'know? Seeing you like that. And I wanted to be there with you. I expected to be there with you, but then I reached for it and... It just wasn't there. And I don't know - why wasn't it there? It just wasn't there. I figure, I'm screwed. Broken. You got the brain damage, but I got... Broken. Like a jigsaw that's missing pieces." He said, frowning as his drunken brain realised it was mixing analogies.

Even if his explanation was a little messy, she could follow it well enough. She understood what he was saying. “I think I’ve kind of done the opposite. I started fucked up with missing pieces and then my head got scrambled and found them, even if it meant I lost other things.” she admitted, because she could share that if he was going to be putting that out there about himself. Though it didn’t make her feel any better because she didn’t know how to fix that. She didn’t know if there was a fix for it. Even if it sounded like he wanted one. She did walk closer then, looking up to him even if she kept a really tight grip on the keys behind her back. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be able to feel it if it were with someone else?” she asked. “If...if it were someone that you didn’t feel like you had to take care of, or something like that?” because she was always aware of that. That there were things she couldn’t do, that he had to help her. Maybe that took away from it. She didn’t know, but she felt like she needed a reason.

Brett frowned, looking confused and somehow almost like a lost little boy for a moment. "I don't know what you mean," he complained. He couldn't precess all of what she said, what she was meaning right now. He tried though, for the parts that he did get. "You didn't cause this. This isn't you. This is a long, long time before you. Even before the you I didn't know." Because he'd seen her, he'd been aware of her long before he'd found her mostly dead behind a dumpster on a rainy night last year.

“I mean, you know sometimes you have to take care of me, and maybe that plays in.” She said. But then she moved on to the rest of what he was saying, exhaling a little before she did. “Brett, I understand that this has been going on for a long time. And for a long time I’m pretty sure you had absolutely nothing to be happy about, either, and this is the first time in your life in a long time that you’re not in a shitty position all the time. But if we’re just looking at things logically,” she started, really not especially liking where her logic was going, but he looked really lost, and in the end she cared about him and right now she was feeling very honest. Even if it kind of fucked herself over. “You pushed everyone away, like you said, and I’m the first person who’s been in any kind of a position to break through that. Circumstances dictated that, and I have the personality of a pissed off bull, so I could deal with you and kept on at you at the same time. That doesn’t necessarily mean I can make you happy. Maybe it just means that I helped you get to a next step.” Yeah, she really hated this. Officially, she hated it.

"Princess, what does it fucking matter anyway," Brett said, gesturing wildly again. "It doesn't - because you're head's fucked and I fuck with it more. So doesn't matter why I do this, just that I do. And it fucks with you and you said it! You can't deal with that. If I'm gonna be like this, then I need to be like it with someone else and I don't know how to be anything different, so! That's it! The end before I even discovered what the middle and the beginning were!" he exclaimed, expressively, slurring his words.

“It matters to me, because I give a damn.” she told him, though she also started to walk away, bringing the keys around in front of herself as she did so. “And I can’t deal with the idea of you fucking with my head, it feels a whole lot like you yanked the rug out from under me entirely and I’m still not dealing all that well, and apparently you’re not willing to try, either.” she said. “Which means I guess you’ve made your choice.” Which was the part that she hated as well. But there wasn’t any part of this conversation that she liked.

"Choice? I don't have a fucking choice!" he exclaimed. "You said how it was going to be. There's no choice in that. Because contrary to popular fucking belief - I don't want to hurt you. Or fuck with you. Or make your life any harder than it already is. I didn't want that at all. Quite the fucking opposite. But I do. So, no choice. No choice at all."

“And you for no instant whatsoever considered maybe you could make an effort not to. Especially since it’s out there now that you do. But you’d apparently rather do it and walk away before even contemplating trying something else! So, maybe that is it. You choose you. Or, you choose your issues, and won’t even make an effort.” But then, wasn’t that him? Why was she surprised? he’d had things he could have done before to get himself out of things and he never had. She’d had to come in and start pushing things.

"There, see - there you go again. Assuming I've not been fucking trying. Fine, sure - no effort at all on my part. Nope, not a single thing. Nothing. No dealing with any of my issues at all. Say like, oh - stripping off naked for you. Letting you fucking tie me up. Choosing you over clearing my fucking name. Choosing this. All of this. Risking my neck time and a fucking gain when I've never... But no. None of that's making an effort at all. Because I can't manage it. All of it. Because I have issues. yes, I have issues. And yeah - actually. Working on them. But that's not enough. Because some of them - I've tried and fucking failed at. Some of that, I - I just can't do. Like tonight. I wanted to be there. I really fucking did and I even told you that. I told you. And that - that took me working at my damn fucking issues. But no. That's me fucking with your head because I screwed it up the first time round. That's me making you confused and fucking disorientated. So, sorry. You can't do this. And I can't be something I'm not. I can't give you what you want - even if you say you don't want anything. You do, it's clear you do. And I'd like to be able to give you that, but I'm not going to make us both miserable. But my effort? It's not good enough," he said, sounding just tired by the end of his rant.

“You never said you were trying, you just said you did it. And then walked away.” Eris snapped, because she couldn’t keep that down. “So I’m supposed to know all of this how exactly? I’m not a fucking mind reader, and you know that. And let’s not forget where I was just saying that you spend a hell of a lot of time trying to make me feel like I’m not important, because you don’t want to get hurt. So explain to me where I”m supposed to only see all this effort you’re putting in, when it’s all going on in your head and what you actually get around to showing me is a confusing, nonsensical front that I don’t know what to do with anymore!” She walked over towards the window, to look out of it, though that lasted a grand total of two seconds before she looked back at him. “And you liked me tying you up.” she told him. “Like you like all the other things you do to me, and I do to you. Don’t even try saying that that’s all for my benefit, or you wouldn’t keep marking me like I’m yours and you want everyone who sees it to know it.” she said, making a gesture at the dark bruise he’d left on her. Though weirdly, she didn’t sound like she was complaining about the actual mark, just that he was implying all of that was him doing her a favor. “I didn’t ask you to choose me over your name that was all you. I wanted you to clear your own name. I really, really wanted that for you. I still want that for you. But you’re the one being a stubborn bastard about it.” She walked back closer to him, so she could see his eyes better. “Explain to me what it is you think I want, because you seem pretty adamant there. Enlighten me.”

Brett closed his eyes for a moment and let out a growl of frustration, before looking at her again. "Yes, I liked it - I liked all of it. But that doesn't make it easy for me. or mean that I don't have to fucking... try. You're assuming that everything that's hard for me is hard because it's a chore or some bullshit. That's - that's not how it is. It's not hard because I think I'll hate it. It's hard because..." he closed his eyes, and this time kept them closed, even though that made the room swim some. "Because I might like it. And then - then I have to deal with everything that comes after that. Things are simpler when you don't have to deal with that. You know where you are with that." He stopped, and had to open his eyes before he lost his balance completely. "And you - I know you wanted me to clear my name. But, if I'd done that. It would have left no room for you. For us. That's unacceptable," he told her, intensely, trying to focus on her.

Eris reached out to take his arm when he swayed, because he really just wasn’t at all looking steady on his feet. She tried to gently encourage him towards the couch, though didn’t do anything like try and push or pull him in any direction because she wasn’t sure he was up for that. “If that’s unacceptable, why are you leaving?” she asked. Again, she was wondering about his tense there, and the question slipped out before she could think better of it. And the second she had said it, she wanted to take it back, but it was out now. Fuck. She also had commentary about other things, but she didn’t say it, waiting for him to answer what she’d asked. Or tell her it was a slip of the tongue.

He actually went where she led him, far from sober enough to protest. "Because what's unacceptable to me doesn't have to be to you. You see things differently. So - things'll be different. Just business. Simple. You know? I thought that was what I wanted - but you know what they say. Careful what you wish for. Too fucking true." He sat down on the couch, hard. Dropping like a stone.

She stood over him, looking down at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what to say to all of that. “You wanted things to be just business?” she asked. That stood out to her well enough. She wanted to sit with him, or something, but didn’t know where to do that. So she stayed where she was, there, but not in contact at all.

He looked up at her. "I thought things would be easier if I wanted that. After the other night..." he trailed off. That had scared him, really scared him. He hadn't known how to cope with that.

She noted his wording there. “...you thought things would be easier if you wanted that, but you don’t want that?” she asked, mildly confused, so she wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying. Therefore, she wanted him to clarify so she was damn sure. “And after the other night...?” That hadn’t been the best night ever for either of them, apparently. “...were you planning on leaving me?” she asked.

He shook his head. "No - not that, just..." Things had got too intense for him. Before everything went wrong. Before she'd panicked and hit his round the head with his own gun. When everything had been gentle, and soft, and he'd been there, in the moment, with her and he'd just let it all go and thought nothing of it until the world came crashing back in and he'd realised that he'd just opened everything up and he'd realised only belatedly just what he'd done. And what had scared him most was the fact that he'd enjoyed it.

“Just what?” she asked. She felt like she’d missed a step. Like she should have known, or noticed something. The idea that he might even be considering that and she hadn’t understood it was jarring. Though, she imagined, it fit in with what she’d figured before. That she was a temporary thing. That he’d move forward, and leave her behind when he did. Business. He’d wanted things to be just business. She sat down. Not on the couch with him, on the coffee table in front of it.

He looked at her and contemplated whether or not he could answer that. "I... I don't plan anything. There's no grand scheme. Or, if I do - it never turns out that way," he told her, feeling his way through, not thinking too hard on what he was saying. Thinking and he weren't exactly friends right now anyhow. "We got home and you needed - looking after. I wanted - that. Just... Just that. And then, in the tub. Things don't usually go like that for me. I don't know, it was... I can't make this make sense for you Julia. I can't. I know it won't," he told her, rubbing at his temples.

She had the urge to reach out and touch his hair, soothe him a little, but didn’t. Or, she almost did, but didn’t complete the gesture, instead looking away. Silent for a few long minutes, she let her mind run over everything, not that that was super helpful. But she tried to take from what he said what he meant, what he was getting at. “Things don’t usually go like that, I had thought it was an isolated incident. A...special occasion as it were. I know you don’t really do anything lighter. And lately have been running into times when you--like when you said that it was it, you didn’t want anything more.” That had been one of those moments, hell his leaving the room in the first place had been because he pulled away from her. Or, he’d started to be drawn in, to reach for her, but in the end he opted not to and said something about them not being a snuggly couple. “What was it?” she asked. “Things don’t go that way for you, it was...?”

"More," he told her, that being the only word which immediately came to mind. "It wasn't just sex. None of that was," he added. That's what had been so hard to handle. He couldn't even pretend that had just been about the physical. There wasn't even just the illusion of that. He'd been reaching for more, and the realisation that he'd done that instinctively had shocked the hell out of him.

She could agree with that. Even if she was aware of the fact that it wasn’t going to magically become a regular thing--hell didn’t even want it to, there was more going on that night. In general, things had felt different. “I felt cared for.” she told him. Because she had, and at the moment, she thought he might need to know that. “I know you have issues with everything. I know you draw back. I just...don’t want to never reach out for you if that’s what I want to do at the time. And I don’t want you do not do that either, if that’s how you’re feeling.” Of course, all of this was moot considering they’d kind of ended things. Right? Hadn’t they? Even if she really, completely didn’t want that in the slightest? Still, she kept going, and maybe part of her was looking for the way to solve things. Even if there probably wasn’t one or it didn’t seem like there was.

Brett swallowed, and wished again for something to drink. "You were," he told her, looking vastly unhappy. Did it really matter? Whether she was or wasn't? Everything was over now anyhow. It had finally happened - the inevitable, what he'd been expecting. For her to end it. Sure, it hadn't happened in the way he'd thought, but it had happened. It was over, and he couldn't rid himself of that tightness in his chest still. All she could do was say he hadn't done enough, and the way he was feeling right now, surely he'd done too much? If it hurt this much.

Silence descended, and she didn’t fill it right away. She was still aware of things, aware that she had another question for him that he’d not answered before. Though a feeling of hopeless dread was blanketing everything. She’d liked the white noise better. It had all hurt but not in a way that she’d been feeling fully at the time, and she was feeling it now. She was definitely fucking feeling it now, and she couldn’t in any way make it better. She couldn’t make it okay. Or, it didn’t feel like she could. He didn’t look happy either. He looked miserable. She was reminded of when she’d not seen him for a few days, and she’d gone to his place to find him looking a lot like he’d not moved since she’d seen him last. Or maybe she was just projecting, and that wasn’t how it was at all. At this point, she just wasn’t sure. “...I keep asking. You seem to have some idea about what it is that I want. What do you think I want?” she asked him, tone light. Quiet.

"You want me to be okay with everything. To not have - how would they put it? Yeah - 'intimacy issues' that aren't just about you seeing me. You want a guy who'll look after you and actually make you feel like you're being looked after. Being cared for. I can't do that. I just... can't. Except those sometimes, and even then it. It's fucking... You want to be with a guy who's not going to mess with your head, someone who can be there and stabilise you and not screw you around and you can be with and I'm - I'm not that guy, Princess. I don't know how to be that guy," he said, clearly getting frustrated.

She didn't say anything immediately, eyes still on him. "So what guy are you?" she asked, not addressing what he said he thought she wanted. She would get to that. First, she wanted to know what he'd say there.

He gestured again. "I'm the guy that's failing to be that guy. Clearly. On every fucking level. Nah, not that guy," He said, collapsing back into the couch more."I am the guy who... Tries to do what he thinks is right and always finds out that he's on the wrong fucking page to everyone else. Who can't make a big thing out of anything, because - people find out you give a damn about something and they'll use it against you. That's the way of the fucking world Princess. Way of the fucking world," he told her, bouncing from one point to the next with no attempt at controlling his flow.

"I'm aware." Eris said. Because really, if anyone knew that the world was full of people who would turn anything against someone else, she did. She just didn't think that mattered, so much. Again, she was struck with the idea that they had entirely opposite ways of viewing things. He'd rather keep his head down and not even try, she railed against things. "What do you want?" she asked.

That question seemed to stump him for a moment and he stopped, looking confused as only someone far too drunk to think straight can look confused. "I want... I want..." He looked up at her and seemed to get some kind of inspiration from that. "I want to see you happy," he told her, nodding slightly.

For some reason, she'd been expecting him to give her an answer that would sting. Like he didn't know, or he didn't want anything, and things with her were like the business--take it or leave it. So, when he didn't go that route, it surprised her. "What do you want for yourself?" she asked. "And I know you don't know, and don't plan, but just in general, no bigger picture here, what do you want for you?"

The confused look was back again, this time with the addition of a slightly lost look. He'd thought that covered that point. He couldn't have something for himself, so seeing it vicariously through her was the next best thing. Sure, he'd like to feel it himself, but he couldn't - even when he wanted to, he couldn't. So what was the point of wishing for something that was impossible? "I... Don't want you to keep leaving. It's not fair. And I don't want to always fucking fight with you. Can't there be something good without it being fucking ruined every single damn time?" He didn't sound like he was laying blame for any of that, but she'd asked him what he wanted for him, and that's what he wanted. Assuming 'another drink' was out of the question.

She occasionally wondered the same thing. The bit where there really should be a world that existed there there could be something good that didn't automatically come with trauma of some description. "I can try to stop leaving." she said. She couldn't promise she wouldn't sometimes feel the need to do so. Though she could possibly convince herself when she did take off for a while that she came back later. That might be doable. Maybe. She didn't know. As she'd told him before, she always had good reasons. They just never held up very long. "I don't want to fight with you all the time either." she added. "I kind of thought we were getting better at talking. And maybe sometimes it's a little heated, but we haven't fought this bad in a while." Sort of. They were always going to be twitchy people.

"I get angry," he told her, though he doubted it was news. "A lot - I - it's easy. Shit happens and I get angry. But I don't want to be angry with you. I don't want to hurt you. Or upset you. Except earlier today - I did earlier today. I was angry at you then. Really angry at you, but I thought you were dead. When you didn't come home and with that bastard out there and he knows where we are and you're alive and I was - don't do that, okay? You scare the fucking hell out of me when you go. I've seen you dead once, I don't fucking ever need to see that again! But I found you and then you were there and - it was better. And you were - I didn't want to ruin that," he said, again hopping from point to point, his tone ebbing and flowing with it.

Following Brett right now was a little odd, but she kept up. Except for the last part. Still, she didn't address it right away as she let everything else sink in. Like the part where he told her not to take off because he'd thought she was dead. That was an angle she hadn't so much considered, and while she couldn't have said she would have changed her course of action if she had, it was something to keep in mind. "I didn't mean to scare you." she said first. "I'm sorry." As for him being angry and all that, she didn't address it because she could understand why, so she didn't hold it against him. "You didn't want to ruin what?"

"You," he told her, as if this were a long winded and completely clear explanation. He hadn't wanted to ruin her. He'd intended to - he'd waned to make her cry. But he'd watched her and that had gone. He didn't want that, he hadn't wanted that. And the ironic thing was he'd gotten his wish anyway. "Careful what you wish for," he murmured, very much to himself.

She definitely felt like there was more to that than he'd said. And there was the 'careful what you wish for' thing, and she got that that wasn't to her either. But still. She sighed, reaching up with her free hand to tug it through her drying hair. "If I'm ruined, it isn't your fault." she said. And she did consider herself ruined. But that was something different. And it was a good chunk of the reason she'd hit the mirror in the bathroom, too, but that wasn't the point he was trying to get at.

He didn't say anything to that. He didn't know what to say, and his head wasn't on straight enough to think it through. There was just a deep dark well of depression in the centre of his chest and he was staring down it, his eyes unfocused, looking towards the floor as he slouched back on the couch. It was all ended, over, gone. Ruined.

He definitely reminded her of when she'd seen him and he'd been holed up in his place. Drawing in a deep breath, she stood, and headed for the kitchen, drawing a glass of water when she got there. While she was at it, she dropped a few ice cubes into it, then she went back to the couch, holding it out for him.

He raised his eyes to the glass as she offered it, and reached out to take it, cradling it in his hands, though he didn't drink. It was over. He didn't want it to be over, but what could he do? It wasn't like he could argue it, it wasn't like he could make her see things differently. Who he was screwed her up. That was fairly fundamental. There was nothing he could do, but he didn't want it to be like this.

"You should finish that." she said, tone light. She was pretty much where he was. She didn't want things to be over either. And she was willing to try, she'd said she would try not to leave again, but that seemed to have been glossed over. And at the end of the day, Brett, as far as she could tell, wasn't going to do anything. He said he was trying, but she didn't think anything had been said that there would be effort made to remedy things. That awful feeling of hopelessness was back, particularly hard in it's hit as she looked down at him. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to his temple, the side she'd hit, and it was a very gentle brush of her lips. She didn't draw back immediately, staying in close for a second. Giving herself that. "You should get some rest."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head into her lips as she kissed him, still leaning as she pulled back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, still just holding the glass of water. He felt frozen, empty, the constriction reduced to a dull, ever-present ache, like a lump of lead.

That stab in her chest hit again. "So am I." she told him. Because she was. And she still didn't want any of this. She didn't want to not be with him. She wanted him, period. Somewhere along the line, things had changed. At first she'd just not wanted to be alone. She'd been neurotic about it. But it wasn't just 'someone' she needed around anymore, it was specifically him. So it all felt like a loss, a profound, awful loss that she hadn't really seen coming and wasn't in any manner okay with. And she hesitated where she was, too. She should walk away now, go to the bedroom, lie down, try to get some rest herself. But that would really be walking away. Then everything would be over. Really over, and at least if she was discussing things, they were still talking. But she couldn't keep that up forever.

If it had been anything else, maybe there would have been a way. Or that's what he thought. But it wasn't anything else. It was this. How he was hit her in her weakest place. He hit her where she was weakest. And without even knowing he was doing it. That was the worst thing, the fact that made him know that there was no other choice, not one that he could see anyhow. Because he'd not seen this. He'd actually been making efforts to do the exact opposite, and yet, here they were. He looked up at her and realised that he did have a wish, he did have something he wanted right now, unobtainable though it was. "I wish I had the answers," he told her, for once giving voice to that. He would give anything to be able to fix this.

"So do I." she said, making eye contact when he looked up. "I don't want to do this." she added. "I'm having trouble leaving the room." Which was true, even if she didn't like what it said about her. Right now, however, she was a hell of a lot less concerned with that than the issue of them parting ways. Or whatever that would translate to, considering they still had the business together. He'd said earlier something about just business, so she assumed that meant he planned on sticking with that even if he wasn't staying with her.

"I don't want to mess with your head. I don't want to confuse you, or make you question everything. I - I want to be with you, but I don't know how to do one without risking the other," he told her, and even that admission, even with his tongue loosened by alcohol, was hard for him. That was part of the problem.

"Will being aware of it have any impact on your behavior?" she asked. She didn't ask if it would fix it, because she did actually understand that he was a certain way, and he had been for years, and one didn't just shut that off. But if he at least kept it in mind, she could accept that better. She could work with that. She'd still wonder if she was being played, but that was just going to be there now. Maybe if he took a second to think things through before he said anything, she'd have less time where she was thinking about it. She knew she'd probably think he was doing it most when he said something that made her feel bad about things.

"I don't know," he admitted, honestly. He frowned, tilting his head to one side. "Have you ever had something that you really wanted to do, or say, but when you came to it - you just couldn't? Not an 'oh, I don't feel like that right now', but that you just...couldn't. And you don't even really know what it is that you can't do right at that moment. It's just as if an option's not there. It's like that sometimes." Not always. Sometimes he knew exactly what things were, but got that sudden sharp feeling that if he went with that, everything would turn out badly. Sometimes he just, flat out, got scared. He shook his head. "Do you even want to risk it?" he asked, because he was aware that that was what they were talking about. "If I can't - you're going to be the one who's going to get hurt." He wasn't even sure that was really true. This, right now, this hurt like a bitch.

"You're talking to me." Eris pointed out. "The woman who won't just sit still and try to not rock the boat, just in case. You're talking to the woman who's made a career of taking risks." Which was true. He was the one who tried to ensure he couldn't be hurt, or anything. He was the one who couldn't take forward action a lot of the time. "Do you?" she asked. "Even want to try?" Since he didn't seem to want to most of the time. And it felt earlier that he was fine with walking away as opposed to trying anything.

"I don't want to hurt you," he told her, which was as much of an answer as the one she'd given him. Which was 'kind of but not quite' of an answer.

Eris took it as a 'no'. Which was clear on her features and the little flinch she gave. Looking away, she almost told him that if he didn't want to hurt her, not doing this right now would be a fabulous way to start, but she didn't. Instead, she nodded, then turned to head back towards the bedroom, even if she didn't want to. And she was wishing she hadn't dumped the alcohol down the sink.

Brett reached out to catch her hand, intending to stop her before she walked off. "Julia - wait," he said, sitting forward, abandoning the glass on the coffee table. "I don't want to hurt you - I can't... I think this will hurt you. But - when I planned all this, I screwed up. I thought I knew what you wanted and I was wrong. And I promised myself that I wasn't going to go making choices for you again. I don't want to hurt you, but - that doesn't mean I don't want this. You. It's not my place to decide whether you risk getting hurt or not."

She stopped when he took her hand, and she looked back at him, not trying to take it back from him. "I didn't ask you to make a decision for me. I'll make them myself. What I asked was if you even wanted to try. Because if you aren't willing to, or don't want to, then this is it, even if neither one of us wants that. So...which is it. Do you want to try? Yes or no." she said, looking down at him, and she partially turned back towards him again, still wanting to be closer. Especially right now. Like that would make some sort of difference.

It took him a few long moments to answer, and for a while he wasn't sure he was going to. When it came, the nod came first, before he spoke. "Yes," he said, not even attempting to add to that one.

There was a wash of relief through her, that she was a little ashamed of. But it was there, very clear, and unmistakeable for anything, even if she might have wanted to tell herself it was something different. But no, it was relief, end of story. She stepped back close to him, in front of him, and she dropped the keys on the coffee table, sliding her unheld hand over his shoulder and down his back a little, leaning in close.

He was going to try. He was, he really was. And so he pulled her down, a little awkwardly, and kissed her in a way that was far more gentle than he would normally do. Because he was trying, and he was going with how he thought things should be, rather than what he really wanted.

She went willingly, and kissed him back. And she left things gentle for a few moments, though it didn't last all that long. Then there was something else in it, something a little more desperate. she put her arms around his neck, even if they were at first looser than usual. But, like the kiss, that didn't last that long getting tighter.

He abandoned 'gentle' as she did - he'd never been much of a fan of it in the first place and he didn't want to have to hold back. Especially as the feel of her wrapping herself around him, her lips on his did so much to dispel that lump of hurt inside. He ran his fingers up into her hair, twisting the locks around them and holding the back of her head, not wanting her to pull away as his other hand held her to him more and he deepened the kiss yet further.

She kissed him back, shifting closer, happy to go with it, putting as much into it as he was. Though it was less to match him on it and more because she had a hell of a lot to put into it on her own end. She felt so much like they'd dodged a bullet, and there wasn't any actual guarantee that they wouldn't still get hit with it later. So part of it was relief at having at least come to a place that wasn't having them part ways, and another part was trying to make up for it having gone there at all. To make up for the possibility there. Possibly to show him that she didn't have to hesitate over her decision to keep trying with him.

He drew the kiss out as long as he was able before he had to draw back, loosening his hold on the back of her head some, but not totally. He wasn't particularly enamoured with the idea of letting her go right now. He was very aware that they'd just made a decision that changed things. A lot of things. In ways that he was very aware of. He swallowed, silently, not saying a word.

She didn't say anything either. She did shift, keeping close to him, and she let her head drop down some, in towards his neck a little. She wasn't quite hugging him, or so she decided, but it was close. She was with him on disliking the idea of letting go yet. Even if their next move was to go back to the bedroom, and probably get some sleep. It was a little like earlier, when the apartment had been too far to go from the car. Only for entirely different reasons.

He was aware of the almost-hug. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually hugged someone, but he'd felt the drive to hug her the other night. Before he'd realised what he'd been going to do and stopped himself. that had been one of those moments. The moments she was talking about. So, as she dropped her head down, he shifted, bringing his arms round to encircle her. It wasn't a natural move for him, that much was clear, and he was slightly tense as he held her, but he was trying as he closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her hair.

It wasn't like she couldn't feel the tension in him, but the fact that he did it at all said something to her. She rubbed the back of his shoulder where her hand rested lightly, not extendedly continuous, just a few light brushes. "You're not doing it wrong." she said, voice very soft. Quiet, since they were so close. She smiled faintly to herself. It wasn't like she'd had a whole lot of experience with hugging either. Hugging wasn't your main function with an occupation like she used to have.

He took a breath, feeling her rise and fall with his chest. "I wanted to, the other night," he admitted to her, able to on the crest of a minor success. "It felt like the... natural thing to do. And then I - natural for what? Natural for a couple, but we weren't a couple, we were... We'd talked about it and everything and I'd told you things and I was meant to stick to that, only there was natural and - I got confused," he said, though what he really meant was that he panicked.

"I wouldn't have stopped out. Or called you on it." she said. "...I'd rather go with what feels right at the time. And that changes. And just because you do something now and then doesn't mean it'll become expected. That night, that sort of thing felt right to me, too. I wanted it. It was making me feel better. But that doesn't mean I'm going to be trading in who I am for a sun dress and sweetness and light. That isn't me. That just doesn't mean that I never feel like I just want to reach out to you." She found the little marks she'd put into his skin earlier, and she moved a little, giving them soft kisses. "I don't feel the need to have some steadfast definition, or lines. I'd rather just go with what happens, and not worry about the label or where the stop point is."

"What if I take a step and you're not there with me," Brett said, though it wasn't quite phrased as a question. It was there though, that 'what if' at the back of his mind, for all he said he didn't entertain them. He did, he just never admitted to them, never shared them. Or, at least, apparently not until now.

"I would have to say you know me fairly well." Eris said first, shifting again, to pull back enough to look him in the eyes. Her arms were still around his neck, and she gently rubbed the side of her thumb back and forth over where she'd just kissed his little wounds. "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't go for something that would fly in the face of what was wanted. And if you did? There are worse things in the world than being told to back off a little. Or 'not tonight'. I'm not going to disown you or even be angry with you over something. What are you afraid I'll do?"

He didn't have an answer for that one. Or, rather, he did, but it wasn't one he wanted to give her. He knew what he was afraid of. It was what he'd always been afraid of. Rejection. It was the reason he'd always picked women he could leave, always dumped them first, always been a miserable, antisocial bastard to the world at large. Because if he rejected the world, it left no room for the world to reject him. And if it did, then at least he'd deserved that, that had been his aim, his ambition. For the world to say 'fuck you then'. She didn't need to disown him to reject him, and that was what he was afraid of, right down in his core.

She gave him a little while to answer, but it was clear he wasn't going to. She leaned closer, and kissed the cut on his cheek, before she pulled back again to look in his eyes once more. "Answer." she said, voice encouraging if quiet. Almost a whisper, but not quite, it didn't hold the quality of one. She wasn't trying to order him around, but she did want to know.

It was hard for him, and the reaction was physical. His heart rate speed up, his breathing became a little harder, adrenaline kicking in as he was faced with that. But it sounded so fucking needy. Like he was some clingy little pencil dicked teenager. But he couldn't think of any other way of putting it that would be acceptable, yet also say what he meant in a way she would understand. "You don't have to disown me, or be angry with me to... reject," he said, his voice little more than a mumble and he didn't even attempt to complete the sentence.

"I'm not going to reject you." she said. That was first and foremost what she wanted him to know. “Brett...” She drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, looking him in the eyes. “I like you. I want you. I want to be with you. And I know you keep coming back to the fact that you haven’t done this in a long time--I haven’t done this at all. You have my attention. You’re going to keep my attention. And generally...baby, I’m here, okay? It would have to take something pretty insane for me to not want something from you.” She almost made a light little joke, but didn’t, knowing this was hard for him and she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t taking it or him seriously.

But you keep leaving me! Brett thought, but he didn't say that. He was already sounding like a broken record on that front anyhow, and she'd forced out one admission of vulnerability. He wasn't going to add to that. he wasn't entirely convinced on what she was saying, but he nodded. The one thing that he did take away from it was that she'd never done this before. He could hold onto that, and maybe it would help. Help him decide that things were Different.

“Is there anything I can do to make things easier?” she asked. “Either that would help you feel less like the axe is going to fall at any time, or...or anything?” she asked. Right now? In this very specific frame of mind she was willing to ask and possibly even go through with whatever he said. This was important, and she’d gotten a taste of what it felt like, thinking it was all over, and that short amount of time was quite enough for her to understand quite fucking well that she wasn’t okay with that at all. So right now, she wanted to make sure that if there was something she could do to hold things together, she’d most certainly heavily consider it.

"Nothing we haven't already talked about," Brett told her. Even drunk he wasn't going to labour a point that much. And he was becoming very aware that he was, in fact, very drunk. In a whole different way to the way he'd known he'd drunk a lot before. But he no longer felt like he was staring into the bottomless pit, so his mind had space to appreciate the reality of things.

“Okay.” she said, nodding a slight bit. She hesiated for a moment, then kissed him again, this one soft. Light. She also cut it off before it became too much, or had the potential to, because she wasn’t quite sure herself where the lines were right now, and she didn’t want to overwhem him. Still, she felt the urge to do it, and therefore did so. She might not be able to teach him to live in the moment, but she could do her best to not freak him out.

He returned the kiss, a natural reaction, especially in his current state, and then he sunk back again the couch. "Think that sleep thing would be a good idea 'bout now," he admitted to her, feeling like he'd just run a marathon. He never ever wanted another day like today. It'd kill him.

“Then come to bed.” she told him, sliding back, standing up and she reached down to take his hands, tugging on them gently. Sure, he had brought his blanket and pillow out here, but he could take them back. She wanted him in there with her. She would feel better, and tomorrow she could start trying to piece everything together properly in her mind. And she knew it would take a while. She knew that things weren’t magically fixed, and everything that needed discussing was all done. This wasn’t the start of happily ever after or some ridiculous bullshit like that. But it wasn’t the end yet, and that was what she wanted to avoid. She didn’t want it to be over. For them to be over.

Standing would be difficult in his state, and part of him - the heavily inebriated part that was exhausted from the day - wanted nothing more than to slump to the side and bring his legs up and just got to sleep right here, right now. but, at the same time, he didn't want that - he wanted to cement this, by going to sleep right where he belonged. In bed, with her. So, after a moment of steeling himself, he stood, swaying slightly and gathering up the pillow and blanket inexpertly, the blanket trailing on the floor for him to trip over when he started walking.

She was standing close to reach out and steady him when he swayed, and after he started, she just took the blanket from him, along with his pillow and headed for the bedroom herself. She tossed the pillow onto the bed, then pulled the covers down, situating the blankets again, waiting for him. She imagined with as much alcohol as he had in his system, it wasn’t going to take him long to be asleep. She’d probably be awake for a long time yet, but that was alright. she’d take it.

He fumbled with his tie, dragging it off, before sitting down on the edge of the bed and following it with his shoes, socks, then his shirt. he left the short sleeved undershirt he wore on, for once not actually bothering to get changed into pyjamas. Instead he just stripped off his pants, dumping them on the floor and slid under the covers, alcohol and weariness overcoming his usual twitches. He knew he'd have to face them come morning, but he'd deal with them then and it wasn't anything she hadn't seen before. In the grand scheme of today, he could worry about it tomorrow.

She crawled onto the bed herself, then got under the covers, yanking them over the both of them. She was a little unsure where she ought to go from there, then rolled her eyes internally, because it was just stupid to wonder, wasn’t it. They’d established that they didn’t want to part ways, and she’d said that she didn’t like there being lines and such, not with the softer side of things, but that didn’t mean they were going to start snuggling. And tonight she wasn’t going to snuggle, because he might just take that the wrong way. Even if she kind of had the urge to be closer to him, what with still understanding that near miss they had. But in the end she opted to just lie down where she usually did, curling on her side with her back to him, the way she usually slept. “Goodnight.”

"'Nigh'," Brett mumbled, relaxing into his pillows and already more than half asleep, the mixture of alcohol and relieved stress carrying him off more quickly than he'd ever imagined possible.