a little too far

Who: Brett and Eris
Where: Her apartment
When: Night

He'd made his point. He'd found her. She knew he'd found her. She knew she couldn't just walk out on him like that. He'd made the point. That didn't mean he was in a rush to see the bitch again. But it didn't mean he was going to leave her entirely, either. She left him, not the other way round.

But he didn't want to see her - various reasons, he told himself, not actually going into what they were, not even to himself. But he watched. And he waited - until the lights in the apartment above the One More Round went out. Until he could be sure that she was downstairs. She'd be gone for hours, after all. And it was only then that he'd made his move.

Ironically, though he was there to fix the damage caused by his break in, he had to break in to her apartment again in the first place to do it. Just like last time, it was no real trouble - that was part of the reason he was here in the first place anyhow. The window - and those holes in the ceiling, though there was less he could do about them without getting up on the roof, and he couldn't do that without drawing attention to himself.

So, he'd just stuck to the jobs he could do inside, leaving the window until last, fixing other things around the place that were broken, noting other things he wouldn't have time to do today. And then he started on the window, jacket over the back of a chair by now, tool bag at his feet as he hunched over, working on putting a new lock in place.

The night had been slow downstairs. Very slow, considering there was apparently some grand party going on, thrown by the friendly neighborhood mafia. That ought to be something. Either way, it meant that business was slow, and it meant they didn't do more than one set. Which really, for Eris, that was fine. She wasn't especially feeling it tonight in the first place. Her head wasn't in the best of places, so she was all for a night cut short. She could go upstairs, relax, find a bottle, crawl in and black out. Sounded like a plan to her.

Unlocking her door, she headed inside, kicking her shoes off the second she was in, and she moved to shut it--and stopped dead as she noticed someone over by one of her windows.Goddamnit , she needed a purse or something so she could carry the fucking gun Brett had left her. Of course, that was when she noticed that it actually was Brett. She exhaled sharply, thinking he needed a fucking bell. Or a key. Or the ability to warn her in some fashion that he was going to be skulking around the loft doing...maintenance?

Brett turned as he heard the shoes hitting the floor, dropping the screwdriver he was holding and pulling his gun from his shoulder holster, levelling it at... Okay, it was her. Fuck, but he wasn't going to shoot her, so he lowered the weapon. It was his spare - he'd given her his primary, but that hadn't been the only shooter he had, which had been why he'd left her one in the first place.

"What you fucking doing here?" he asked her, immediately going on the offensive, ignoring the fact that this was her place and he'd broken in. Again. She wasn't meant to be back yet.

"I live here." Eris pointed out, crossing the room, over towards him. Mostly to see what he was doing, and how far he was on it. "Generally speaking, I should probably be the one pulling a gun and asking that." she added. She glanced around, wondering how long he'd been here, how long he was planning to stay. It wasobvious she'd startled him, which she figured was good payback for him scaring the tar out of her the other night. "What are you doing here?" she asked, though her tone was much less something that could be taken as an accusation.

Brett holstered the gun again, clipping it back into place. "Said I'd fix your window," he told her, gesturing to said window and failing to mention any of the other bits he'd done around the place tonight. He wasn't after thanks, he didn't want them - far as he was concerned, if she didn't even fucking notice, then he was just peachy with that. "You were working tonight," he pointed out, in that same tone as he'd asked her why she was here.

She wondered then if he'd noticed the fact that she'd smashed her bathroom mirror, and in relation to the thought, she rubbed at the slice on the side of her hand that action had left her with. "Slow night. Some party is going on uptown, I guess." she said, leaning against the wall as she kept her eyes on him. "Shall I go back downstairs and mingle withwhiney assholes until you've decided that you're finished here?" she asked. "You don't seem overjoyed to see me for someone who broke into my loft in the first place." Which left her feeling bad. She didn't really like it, and it made her wonder if this was it. If he'd planned to come in, fix the window like he'd said he would, and then she'd just never see him again. And she hadn't been meant to see him now, either. really, he didn't look like he had that much left to do on the window, and if it hadn't been a slow night, she could imagine he would have been finished and gone before she'd returned. While she didn't like to admit it, that thought stung.

"Opening a new orphanage," Brett agreed, making no move to sit back down and get back to work. In fact, apart from relaxing enough to put his gun away, he hadn't moved since he'd stood to see who had interrupted him. "Downtown - fancy apparently." And full to the rafters ofDiGiovanni money, from what he'd heard. Them and their associates. "And I'd said I'd come and fix the window - so here I am. You can do what you like," he told her, only then turning away and bending to search through his tool bag.

She didn't say anything for a good long minute. She just watched him, turning his back, going back to work like she wasn't there. Dismissing her. She opened her mouth--there were a few things she could say at the moment, and in the end she just shut it again. The party could have been commented on, the orphans. The work he was doing, the break in, the fact that it seemed one hell of a lot like she was interrupting him. Other things. Pushing off the wall she walked into the loft farther, away from him, not sure what to do. What with his oh so big permission to do what I like went through her head, a nasty little voice. Might as well have said 'run along little girl, you're bothering me.

He could feel her there, behind him somewhere, as he worked, finishing off the window. She hadn't been meant to be there - she was meant to be out. And he was meant to have come in, fixed things, and left again. Because she didn't need him anymore, not there - she'd left. She was out on her own. And yet here he was, doing the things for her that he didn't think she could do herself - breaking into her fucking apartment to do it. Shit, but he was a pathetic fuck at times. What the hell was he doing? Breaking in so she couldn't tell him not to come? Which she would do, sooner or later. She's said she wasn't good with things - hermeds , other things. He could believe that, but he was here, wasn't he - doing things still. How much was it that he just wanted to believe that, wanted that to be the case. He finished work up on the window and started over-aggressively jamming his tools back into the bag, furious with himself by this point.

It was hard to miss the loud clanking of the tools as he threw them into his bag and all. She'd wandered over towards her bed and noticed the failed attempts and writing down a system still crumpled up and dropped wherever. So she was kicking the evidence under her unmade bed. "What the fuck have I done now?" she snapped after a few more moments of him throwing tools, and her attempting to hide something she was sure he'd already seen and all. "Would it be better for you if I just left while you did whatever the fuck it is you're doing?" she asked, making a negligent gesture towards the window. "Because I didn't really come home to be treated like shit. If I wanted that, I could have stayed downstairs where cops tell me they could shoot me in the middle of the bar and only have to answer to themselves. Or the patrons get a little too fucking grabby after the fifth beer."

He picked up the bag and turned, all set to just walk out the door as he strode across the room, but he changed his mind half way through that, instead dumping the bag down on the table and facing her. "You always think it's about you, don't you, doll? Well, it's not. It's been a long fucking few days, okay? You're not the be all and end all." Which was a speech that would have been less out of place if he wasn't currently standing in the middle of her apartment, uninvited, having just been doingmaintenance for her without her request. And if he hadn't spent the past three days tracking her down after she'd disappeared from his apartment, leaving only notes behind. Notes which, to Brett's mind, didn't count.

"You're the one who's pissy and being a dick to me. In my place." she pointed out. "So if it's not about me, then fine. Do me a favor and stop taking it out on me, if it isn't my fault. If it is my fault, then at least tell me what the hell I did so I can stop trying to guess. And if we're going with the story that it has nothing to do with me, then what's the matter?" she asked him, keeping her gaze steadily on him, not letting it waver. She didn't imagine he'd suddenly decide to drop down and sob on her shoulder or anything, but maybe he'd at least give her a vague idea of what bug had crawled up his ass.

"I wasn't being a dick to you," Brett shot back. This? Tonight? He didn't think that he'd reached that level yet. There was always that yet there.

"Fine, you're being dismissive and short." she corrected. "And that's not the point, you're avoiding the question." she added. "What's going on?" she rephrased, not that she thought it would help any. Brett wasn't someone who opened up unless it was under duress. Whether or not she had the emotional stamina today to actually get that far was something that remained to be seen. She knew she didn't really want him to take off just yet. That even if he was being dismissive, she was still glad to see him on some level. Which really just solidified in her mind that she was a complete masochist when it came to him.

"Nothing's going on," he told her - once again being dismissive and short. He should just leave, he knew that. He didn't belong here, he shouldn't be here and she didn't want him here. Anyway, it wasn't like he could actually tell her what was on his mind. He wouldn't talk about the thing he didn't talk about and he wouldn't talk about last night, about Jere - because, no. He couldn't talk about that. That would mean revealing a part of himself that was not only hidden, it was gone. And if he got into that, he'd have to get into the lies and, so far, he hadn't really lied to her. He'd just not told her things, left huge gaps. Been, well, short and dismissive at her. Or shouted and swore at her. Got into massive arguments with her. But he didn't talk about his past, and he didn't have to lie about why it was past, didn't have to reel out the story that everyone else believed. Because he sure as fuck wasn't telling her the truth.

Eris sighed, and scrubbed her hands over her face for a moment, smearing some of her make up accidentally, and she noticed it on her hand. So, she crossed to the sink, to turn that on so she could wash her face. She'd go to the bathroom, but hey. Broken mirror in there. She wasn't any keener on seeing her reflection right now than she had been earlier today. She kept quiet until she was wiping her face off with a towel, and she turned to lean her back against thecountertop , eyes on him. "Help me out here." she said eventually. "You just yelled at me for thinking it's all about me, so when I ask you what else is going on, you tell me nothing is." she said patiently. "You're not going for sense tonight, are you?" she asked rhetorically. She drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a rush. "What's the issue?" Maybe that would be something slightly different, and he could give her some form of an answer. Or not, and he'd just throw another fit. Or leave. He could walk out now. She just didn't especially want him to.

Brett looked at the buckets scattered around the room - not overflowing tonight, since the rain had finally stopped, but they were still there. You never knew when the next storm would hit in this damn town. He looked back at her. "You should get on your landlord to get his damn roof fixed," he said, blatantly not answering the question, holding her gaze and just waiting to see if she'd call him on it. Unsure whether he wanted her to or not.

"I don't have a landlord, I have a guy who lets me stay here without signing anything because I currently can make him money. The place was very clearly 'as is'." she stated, holding his gaze. "Now answer the question, Brett." she added at the end, because she didn't have a mind like she used to, but generally had a better attention span than a goldfish. "Please."

"Well, the guy who lets you stay here without signing anything should get his fucking roof fixed," Brett ground out, still holding her gaze. The hold turned to a glare though, when she said 'please' and he maintained that for a moment before finally being the one to look away. Like her asking nicely should actually make that much of a difference. Yet it did. "Saw a guy I haven't seen for a few years last night is all. Used to be a friend, didn't end well - brought back some bad memories," he finally said, after a very long pause, his tone reluctant, as though she'd dragged it out of him.

Thank you. She thought, but knew if she said it, it would probably just shut him up again. Instead she nodded, watching him look away from her. "No chance ofreconciliation ?" she asked. She wanted to ask how long ago it had been, but didn't. He wasn't going to deal with a lot of questions all at once. He'd skip over most of them, ignore things. But she wanted to know how long it had been before he'd had friends. That...was something she'd give a lot to know the answer to. She also shifted to glance over the cabinets, before she saw bread and she started to make him a sandwich--it didn't require cooking, she could manage it. And if he was going to be around the house doing man-work, she ought to feed him. Plus...he'd stay longer if he went for it. And he might do better with talking to her if she wasn't looking at him.

He laughed at that - a harsh sound, lacking humour. "No, Princess. Very definitely not." Not when the guy like as not believed that he was a murderer. That he'd betrayed the badge in the worst possible way. That he was now scum of the fucking earth. No, there was no reconciliation there and Brett didn't want it. He'd given up on all of that, all of them. Anyway, they were all double crossing fuckers would couldn't be trusted. He rested on the table as he watched her, unsure at first what she was doing, then confused as he realised she was making food. Time like this and she was cooking. Right, yeah, of course - he'd admitted his pain and she was fucking ignoring him. Right, well that put him in his place when it came to the scheme of things, didn't it? He picked up his bag an shouldered it. "I'll get out of your way," he told her, starting for the door.

She looked back at him. "You're not in my way." she said first, and it came out like she felt at the moment--a little caught off guard. "Besides, if you leave, who's going to eat this?" she asked, finishing it up. It wasn't as if she ever made anything complicated, he knew that. She didn't quite have it in her to be able to on her own. Occasionally, she tried, though. Like she had at Christmas. "What happened between you two? And no chance because of him, or because of you?" she asked, setting the sandwich on a plate, and she crossed the room towards him, making the offer.

He stopped and looked round, then down at the sandwich as though afraid it might bite. It hadn't actually occurred to him that she'd been making the food for him. And now, he wondered if it was a bribe. To get him to tell her things she knew he wouldn't. He didn't make any move to take it as his eyes darted to hers. "No chance because there's no chance. Because of me. Because of him. Because of shit that happens. Come on, Princess, you of all people know that there are people in your past you could never be friends with again."

She didn't let her gaze waver, and didn't take the plate back either, keeping it held out towards him. "I didn't have friends." she said, voice a little soft. He knew that. Or, she thought he did. She didn't have real friends because she hadn't had real relationships. Anyone in her life was someone who could get her something she wanted, or they were selling themselves out to her because she could get them what they wanted. 'Friends' were fluffy little things she hadn't really believed in at the time, unless it was to her advantage. There were most certainly people in the world who would profess that she'd been their friend--that just didn't make it the case. "But I do know what you're driving at." she continued. "When was the last time you saw him?" she asked.

"Okay - not friends. Trust. People you would never trust again," he amended, his gaze shifting to roam over her face rather than meeting her eyes. "And three years." Give or take. Not exactly, but what was. It could be forever, in the scheme of things.

I didn't trust people either. she thought, but didn't say. Not right now, anyhow. It wasn't the right moment to get into that, and she was surprised he answered her question at all, so she wasn't giving him any ways to dodge around things, or take offense at something, or...well. Anything, really. "Long time." she noted. "Was that when everything happened?" she asked. "Or just the last time you had a run in with him?" She watched the shadows on his features, noted the little things like she usually did when she had time to. Like the little laugh lines around his eyes that told her at one point? Sometime during his life, he'd been someone who smiled a lot. and now....not so much. If ever. She could probably count the times he'd smiled around her on one hand.

His eyes met hers again. "Who said anything happened?" he asked, ice in his tone all of a sudden as he wondered what she knew. He didn't trust enough to just write that off as a throwaway comment. He was always looking for the angle there.

"...you did? Obviously something happened, if you two had a falling out that serious." she pointed out. "I'm fairly sure that it doesn't equate to 'nothing'." she added reasonably. "That's the question I'm asking, doesn't mean I don't have others, but I'm not trying to push too hard for anything right now, alright?" she added, sighing a little and shifting her weight slightly. She glanced down at the plate he'd ignored, and wondered why she tried sometimes. Maybe it was because she did sometimes get answers. They just usually came one at a time, or in small fragments. Still, she wasn't always ignored.

He backed down a little at her explanation, taking that, though he was still on edge. "Yeah, that's when everything happened - haven't seen the guy since. Haven't much wanted to." His eyes followed hers down to the plate as he again didn't take it. She was still holding it - he wondered how long she'd do that for. Until she gave up. He thought about the dark streets and his empty apartment. He needed to get the sheets on the spare bed washed tomorrow. Since she'd left. Since she wasn't coming back.

She moved then, setting the plate down on the nearest flat surface, and then she crossed to where she had her bottles of alcohol. She poured herself a drink, and swallowed some. "So it wasn't a pleasant surprise to be faced with the man." she assessed, looking back at him as she took a drink, and held the glass to her chest. "What happened?" she asked, because she had to. And he would know it was coming, at least. She expected him to not answer, but she couldn't stop herself from trying. She also poured him a drink, and slid it in his general direction, but didn't directly offer it. He likely wouldn't take that either.

He didn't answer her. She offered him options, the way he viewed it. The question. The food. The drink. And then there was the fourth option - he could just walk out the door. He should probably take the fourth option. But then, he'd never been particularly smart with things like that. So, he considered his other options. He reached for the drink, picking it up and downing it in one, feeling the alcohol burn its way down his throat, waiting for the warming sensation to start taking the edge off. Just the edge.

She looked up at him as he did that, and took another drink of her own. She set her glass down and splashed some more in, and held the bottle out to put some more into his glass as well. Her eyes didn't leave his, and she didn't repeat her question. She was just there. And if he wanted to start talking, he could start talking and answer her and if he didn't, he could keep quiet. Eris was just letting herself be present and interested at the moment. He knew she wanted to know. Likely the thing that frustrated him the most about her was that she had her questions. She wanted to know about him, and a lot of times that caused friction because he wasn't particularly enamored with the idea of sharing. Still...sometimes it happened.

He took the glass as she refilled it, then walked over to the window - the one he'd fixed, the one that overlooked nothing but the fire escape that was ready to fall off the building with the next stiff breeze, or so it seemed to him. Better view from some of the other windows, but more chance of being seen. He sipped at his drink, not looking round at her at all.

Her gaze followed him, and she gave him his space, not really wanting to crowd him. She sipped at her drink, let it burn down her throat, and she kept taking in the little details about him. How he was framed in the window, the bleak sky outside not showing them any stars. How he was mostly in the shadows, and had some dirt on the back of his shirt. A smear near his elbow. She wondered how long he'd been there tonight. What he'd been doing while he'd been there. "How long did you know him?" she asked, shifting the question from what had happened. So they were still on the topic, but she was giving him the out for the moment, so he didn't absolutely have to talk about whatever had gone wrong.

"A while," Brett said, without looking round. "...Years," he amended, though he wasn't willing to tell her exactly how long. She could take from that whatever she liked - she generally did. To many times he'd found himself in a situation where she'd come out knowing more than he'd ever intended her to. The only consolation from that was that she still didn't know that much - far from as much as she'd like, he knew. She was a nosey bitch, always with the questions. It wore a guy down.

"Were you close?" she asked. "the kind of guy you went out for beers with, and occasionally listened to marital problems, or crazy girlfriend stories...shared things with?" Because he sure as hell didn't have anyone like that now. The only reason he shared anything with her was because she could be relentless when she wanted to be, and she had little else to focus on. So she focused on him. She had patience, and that worked in her favor, sometimes.

"You could say that, yeah," Brett said, taking a rather smaller drink this time, but it was still a good finger. Not marital problems though - neither of them had been married. Possibly a few crazy girlfriend stories though. Beers, definitely. He took another sip.

Eris was back to the place she often visited while dealing with Brett. She wanted to know how the fuck he went from being a hero cop with apparently buddies he went drinking with and such to who he was now. A mob heavy standing in a woman's loft that she was still fairly certain he couldn't actually stand the company of. Drinking, and staring out into the nothingness that was the back alley. How had he gotten here? She was quiet for a few long moments, just watching him, sipping at her drink. "Do you regret what happened, whatever it was?" she asked, voice soft.

"No fucking point, is there?" he responded, feeling the anger die down, feeling it being replaced by something much, much worse - that dark deep pit of depression. He stared out into the night, like he was staring down into that pit and suddenly pushed off the wall, away from the window, downing the rest of the drink - in two minds as to whether he intended to grab the bottle off her and get seriously fucking wasted, or whether he was going to grab his bag and hightail it out of here before he did something he would regret.

She picked the bottle back up when he downed his, gave herself a little more, and held it out towards him. "There's a whole lot in this world that there isn't a point to." she said. "That doesn't make it any less important." Importance and points were different things, as far as she was concerned. It was like the opposite of doing something on principal.

Her gesture decided it for him and he grabbed the bottle off her with rather more force than was strictly necessary, as though she wasn't going to let him have it. He poured himself a measure, then just kept on pouring until the glass was more than half full. Only then did he set the bottle back down again. "Okay - then you can't regret what you didn't fucking want in the first place. 'Regret' suggests you had some kind of choice. It would be like me asking you if you 'regret' someone trying to fucking kill you," he snapped at her, trying to dig deep for that anger again - it was the better of the two choices and if that meant taking it out on her, well, better that than she be landed with a whiny bastard moping about the state of his screwed up non-existence.

She didn't react when he snatched the bottle away, and she made no comment on how much he was pouring. Apparently, he was staying, and they were talking. Of a sort, anyhow, even if he had that tone back. That tone that said he was determined to be pissed off right now. Good thing she was used to it. Sipping more of her drink, she let her gaze follow him. "So what happened was out of your hands." she assessed. "Why isn't there any going back then? If it wasn't something that had real fault to it..." she trailed off there, so he could get whatever rant in he wanted to.

Brett shot her a look as he downed some more of the drink, feeling the warmth burning through his veins now. "Fuck, I don't know - why the hell don't you just walk back into Babylon, Eris?" he shot back at her, as though she really should know better than to ask stupid fucking questions like that.

She flinched, like she always did when he shot that at her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her face away for a long moment, thinking that he'd got there in record fucking time this evening. When she spoke, her voice was soft. Quiet. "Occasionally, I consider it. I just don't own atommygun ." she told him, and with that she knocked back the full contents of her glass, and set it down with a hard click, really the more prominent admission that she was unhappy with the name-drop.

"Yeah, well - I don't consider it." And whilst he didn't own a tommygun, he could get his hands on one, no problem. He just didn't know who he would be shooting at. And he wouldn't do it. He was no murderer. Fine lines, but they were there - which was why she was as well.

"So was that when this happened?" she asked, still not looking at him, though she looked at her other bottles, and picked one up, pouring herself a new drink. "When you stopped being someone who laughed, and had beers with the guys, and wound up who you are now?" Though she imagined there was a downward spiral there. A slide into who he was, as opposed to an overnight change. While she'd seen it happen, people just having some switch in their heads flipped off one day, she didn't suspect that was Brett's case.

"No, I've just always been a miserable fucking bastard. Why the hell do you want to know anyhow? What difference does it make?" Why did she even... He abandoned that thought and changed track. "You say 'who I am now' like it's a bad thing," he said, which was a line he hadn't tried in a while. He'd given up pretending to be happy with his lot recently. He was in enough with the Syndicate these days that he didn't have to pretend any more. They had enough shit on him to make them confident that they owed him, willing or not. He certainly had no legal way out. And anyhow, he towed the line for them, that was all they asked - they asked for loyalty, not happy smiles. And that what they thought they got - of course, they didn't know about her.

"Considering you're miserable, pissed off a good ninety nine percent of the time, and you lash out at everyone around you? I would say that yes, going from that to this is a bad thing." Eris said. "You even just took a cheap shot at me because you wanted to hurt my feelings--and you succeeded, and you don't even appear to have gotten satisfaction from that. Don't kid either one of us that what's going on with you--what's gone on with you is in any way something acceptable." She finished, drinking more. "If you really want someone to smile and nod at you and tell you everything you want to hear, choose less honest company. I don't know what happened to you. But I want to."

"Oh, I don't know, Princess - maybe I was just born this way," Brett told her, sarcastically, finishing off the rest of his drink and slopping some more into the glass. This was exactly the reason he didn't drink - because it was too fucking easy, it went down far far too easily. And he didn't know when to stop. He was well on his way to being drunk now.

"You weren't." she said. She said it with a quiet sort of conviction in her tone, and she was looking at him again. Watching him drink, and she actually was thinking she should take it away from him. Funny, coming from her. She just thought if she even made an attempt to take the bottle away that he'd react all kinds of not well. She did push herself off of the cabinet, however, and she went to sit down on the love seat, hoping he'd follow suit.

"How the hell do you know?" he snapped at her, refusing to follow her, though he tracked her with his eyes. He just stayed standing resolutely where he was.

She curled her legs beside her--the dress she was wearing at current didn't lend itself well to lounging. Her eyes found his, and she held them for a moment. "Because if you were, I'd be dead." she said simply. Once upon a time she'd always been looking for the angle. The reason he'd done what he had. The big payoff that had to exist somewhere for him to have taken a risk that big. Then she'd found the medal, and things had looked whole a whole lot different.

The simple statement took some of the wind out of him and for a moment he just stared at her, silently. There was a look behind his eyes that was confrontational, almost accusatory as he held her gaze. It segued slowly into a more assessing look, though there was still that edge there that said he blamed her for this as he spoke. "Yes, that's when it all happened," he said, after a long time.

She had a better timeline now. She knew thirteen years ago he'd been a hero cop, burned in the fire that gutted the library. And apparently up until three years ago, he'd still had friends. That was a long time to still be functional. Sipping her drink, she nodded, accepting the information. Leaning her arm on the armrest of theloveseat , she reached up to tug the decorative chopsticks out of her hair, letting it fall back down around her shoulders. "So what happened?" she asked again. She had another question in the back of her mind, but she didn't ask it yet, because it would alter the track of their conversation.

Brett took a sip of his drink, meeting her eyes and very definitely and purposefully didn't answer her question.

"Was it personal or professional?" she asked, knowing how this worked. Knowing that with Brett, sometimes you had to pick everything up by tiny bits then have fun piecing it all back together later. She just happened to be willing to do it. Of course, if he deflected again, she'd change track, she'd just rather be on this one.

Brett looked away and up toward the ceiling. Wasn't that just the best question ever. How did you tell it apart when someone ruined your entire life. More than ruined it - tore it to shreds, flushed it down the toilet, burned it to ashes, killed who you were and made sure there was no going back to that. He looked back, finally, his expression for once empty. "Both?" he suggested. He wanted to claw back the single word the moment he'd said it, but there was no doing that. There was never any going back. So, instead, he drowned it with more alcohol.

Both. That explained things. That was harsh, having a hit that spread out. She knew. She'd made sure to do that to people in the past. It was one thing to recover from one area of your life being fucked over. It was entirely something else to feel like it was coming from all sides. People broke when that happened, and she felt damn sure that's what had happened with Brett. He was just too stubborn to go down afterwards. Or stay down. "That was it? Everything was gone from there?" she asked, still aware she didn't know what 'it' was. But she was fairly good at talking around things, had gotten even better after a few of these conversations with Brett.

"What you see is what you get, Princess," he told her, toasting her with the remains of his drink. This was all there was left of him. And it wasn't much in his opinion. Definitely nothing to be proud of, or to shout about. They'd taken away everything he'd been and left him the lowest of the fucking low.

She didn't raise her glass with him of course. She did take a drink, but that was all. "Can I ask you something?" she asked. Which was probably a huge clue that she was going to ask something big, considering she didn't usually do anything of the sort. Normally, if she was asking anything she just did so. But, in this case, she put that on there first, and actually waited for his answer, more or less prepared for him to just tell her 'no' and be done with it. She wasn't sure if it would stop her or not.

"Never stopped you before," Brett pointed out, drunk enough by now not to give her the flat out 'no' that he would have done sober.

She actually smiled at that. "True." she agreed. She killed a good half of her drink and set it down, focusing on him. Quiet for a few long moments, she studied him, trying to guess how he was going to react and in the end she had no clue. So, she just bit the bullet, and asked. "Why is it you are where you are?" she asked. "You're a capable man. You're far more intelligent than you let on, you're driven, you're quick on your feet, you're good at what you do--but you could be doing other things. You could be doing better things. Hell, you could probably out do a good ten bosses up from your current position in the family without breaking a sweat. Why are you here? Why are you stuck in the same position you've been in for years?" she asked. Which, after she said it, she realized that it said she knew where he'd been at least for a while.

"Let me ask you something, sweetheart - how much of that was meant to be a fucking compliment?" Brett asked her, sounding very much like he would be offended if most of it had been meant that way. Because whilst he was okay with capable and intelligent, he didn't want to be considered driven in his life, or good at what he did. And he definitely didn't want to be any higher up, or do the things he'd have to do to get there.

"I'm stating facts, not flattering you." Eris said. "If I was complimenting you, you'd know. But just telling it as I see it isn't complimentary, it's just fact. The guys doing your job are guys who didn't make it out of eighth grade. They're the ones with no teeth who beat their wives because they blew all their money on blackjack, and who can only ever do anything with a closed fist. They're the guys that were standing in the back of the room with a hard on watching someone kill me. That isn't you. You aren't like the rest of them. So why are you there? Why don't you get out?" Because yes, she was aware he probably wouldn't do well with going higher up on the food chain. She had just put it into the example because of the pure truth in the statement. It was perspective.

"And where, exactly, would I go?" Brett asked her, putting the glass down as he picked up the bottle to pour himself another drink, needing the stability of the table to do that now. There was nowhere to go, nowhere at all. He couldn't run - they'd hunt him down. He couldn't turn himself in - hell, he didn't know what side would kill him for that. or he'd end up locked up and the inmates would do it for him. He was trapped, plain and simple.

"Anywhere but here." she answered. Which would have been much easier if you'd let me die. she thought to herself. And her tab came up in the back of her mind. Like the envelope she had in her bedside table with cash in it, the one that she kept putting little bits into to give to him someday. "Anywhere but where you are. Start over." He was still a young enough guy to be able to start over. Sure, he was bitter as hell, but maybe with a different life, he'd ease up on that. Or find some nice girl to snuggle it out of him. ...that mental image was one she couldn't help but smile a slight bit at, and she took another drink to cover it.

He laughed a little, again without mirth, a shook his head. "Sweetheart, there's no 'out' from this. You don't just walk away. The only place you get to go if you try that shit is the bottom of the river." Unless you had somewhere to go to. Some serious way to disappear. Or you made them let you go. He didn't have either of the first two, and he didn't know what the hell would accomplish the last.

"Brett...you're talking to the girl you made disappear." she said to him. "I have to start over. And alright, I'm not doing that fantastic a job at it, but one of us is brain damaged, and has an excuse." she said, realizing she finished her drink, and she got up and crossed to him, reaching just past him to grab a bottle. Her eyes remained up on his, though. "Why couldn't you disappear?"

He didn't take a step back as she reached past him, though he knew he should. He put his hand down on the table, as if he were steadying himself - an excuse, even to himself, though he didn't look too deeply at that. "Darling - you disappeared because I disappeared you. They thought you were dead. I told them you were dead. I went and told them I pitched your corpse into the river, and I was backed up by the guys who'd been sent to do the job in the first place, who all swore that you were dead when they left you. And then I found you somewhere to go. And until you walked out of that fucking door, you had somewhere to be and you didn't have to step outside unless you wanted to. I don't have that. I don't have anywhere to go and I don't have anyone to disappear me."

She didn't let her eyes waver from his. Aware of the proximity between the two of them, but in a distant fashion, she remained where she was, not following through with the motion to pour herself another drink. Her hand was still on the bottle, she was still reaching past him, somewhat in his space, and she stayed rooted right there. "What if you did?" she asked. "What would it take?"

"I don't - so why dwell on it? It's not fucking going to happen. This is it - end of story." This was all there was. This was his life now. No 'whatif's or 'if only's. He didn't have any dreams any more. No dreams, no aspirations, nothing. Just day after day.

She didn't accept that. She didn't say she didn't accept it, but it was probably there in her eyes. She just didn't have a plan to lay out there for him. Not yet, anyhow. But she might start working on that. He'd saved her life. Maybethere'd be a way to repay the favor, just on a more metaphorical level. "You can always come here." she said. It was said like it wasn't actually connected with their previous line of conversation, and that was because it wasn't. It wasn't really a place for him to disappear. But he'd said that she'd had somewhere to go, and right now? She wanted that sentiment returned--even if she figured by now his place was a revoked sanctuary.

"What? My turn to get us both killed?" he suggested, reaching down and taking the bottle from her grasp, his hand brushing hers as he did so. He poured himself a glass and then set the bottle a little behind himself, away from her. She drank too much, after all.

"Hasn't happened so far." She pointed out. "And I'm tired of it always being my fault, us being on the chopping block." she continued, smirking at him just the faintest bit as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. She also reached back behind him again to try for the bottle. "It can be your fault now and again." Her mind was on whether or not he'd heard her sing again. And that deep desire for him to do that, even if she couldn't explain to herself why that was important to her.

As she leaned in again and reached past him, he got the faint waft of her perfume, fresh and soft. He looked down, very aware of the dress she was wearing, the way it clung to her. He took a half step back, setting his glass very firmly down, and then pushing the bottle back out of her reach - though part of him was crying that keeping it from her was just going to make her go after it more. And he'd definitely had too much to drink. And so had she. "You drink too much," he told her, but his voice didn't come out as gruff as it normally did when he told her that.

She made a little sound, not quite frustrated but possibly of protest. She covered the distance he'd put there, going for the bottle again. "I know." she said. Because she did. She drank too much. It was a crutch, she was aware. She used it to knock herself out and to dull down the noise in her head sometimes. It was really a jarring move, going from not caring about a single thing in your entire life, then suddenly being hit up with emotions you had little control over. Of course, she could always go for a different bottle. She had others around. But she was going for that one, possibly because he didn't want her to have it. Or maybe other reasons, who knew, she wasn't taking the time to examine that.

And then she was back again - and he told himself that he'd known she would do that the moment he took the bottle away, despite him also knowing that he wanted to put distance between them. Still, he'd done the one thing that would get her coming after him. No, not him - just the bottle. He just happened to be in her way. She wasn't a woman who did well with being denied what she really wanted, he'd assessed that much about her. But yet, still, he held the bottle just out of her reach. "You've had enough, princess."

"You've had more than me tonight." she pointed out. And he also had left his glass within reach, but she didn't switch tactics yet. She just kept looking up at him, and she moved closer, still going for the bottle he was trying to keep away from her. She ticked her gaze between his, not saying anything for a moment, just waiting to see if he'd give in or keep up the denial.

"Yeah, and I'm three times the size of you and don't take meds that get messed with with booze," Brett pointed out, knowing he should move back again, but only actually getting so far as to lift one heel off the floor. He'd definitely had too much to drink - her perfume was distracting. He should leave. It might be raining again outside. Rain would be good right now. Andthere'd be no questions that he didn't want to answer. She hadn't been meant to be here tonight anyhow.

"Yeah, but there's a good chance I haven't taken my meds today." Eris said, knowing that wasn't a proper argument by any stretch of the imagination. But it meant she probably wouldn't be too overly woozy! She got her hand on the bottle, leaning closer to do so, her fingertips brushing in against his. Again, there was that internal proximity alert that went off, though she knew it was a bit of a lost cause on him. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her before, and was fairly certain that he wouldn't touch her with someoneelse's parts.

He pursed his lips for a moment, then thought better of it, though he hadn't meant it like that at all. He didn't encourage that kind of thing, wrote it off before it even started. He knew what he looked like - nobody else needed to ever see that. His life was ruined enough without adding that in. He didn't want or need the pity. "Not taking yourmeds? No - that doesn't make it any better. You need to take your fucking meds, Princess. That's what they're there for," he admonished.

Really, right now, she could just take it. She could slip the bottle from him, and she didn't think he'd hold on too hard. "I know, but it should count for something. I tried what you said. I couldn't even come up with a system. So...guess I'll just have to wing it. And I know I haven't had any since I got home, and it'd be a bad idea to take them now." she pointed out, tapping one finger against his, but again, she didn't make the move to actually retrieve the bottle properly. "Besides...I wanted to sleep sometime tonight." Which was the truth. And she didn't usually get there unless she'd knocked herself out somehow.

He almost asked why she did it, only on some level he already knew. And on another level, he didn't. fucking. ask. He didn't get involved, he didn't show that he wanted to know. He stayed apart for a reason and she wasn't going to change that. Not with her questions - and certainly not with her putting shit out there to hook him into asking ones of his own. But she'd got to him enough that he relented and thrust the bottle into her hand. "I didn't save your scrawny neck so you could drink yourself to death," he bitched, because he couldn't just let something go that easily.

She hugged the bottle against her chest for a moment, glad she'd got it, at least. Her eyes remained up on his. He'd used the word 'save'. She knew with the way she did things, she tended to word it differently. She worded it like he'd just opted not to kill her, no that he'd saved her. Even if that was how she really thought about it. Saving someone implied different things than simply not taking a different course of action. The question was out of her mouth before she could actually stop it, one of those times when words skipped over the usual channels of being thought through before they were articulated. "Then why did you save me?" she asked, tone quiet. It wasn't like he'd dropped that information at any point in their time together.

It wasn't until she asked that he realised that he'd cornered himself with that one, and it showed in his face for a moment. He took another step back. "What - I should have just offed you and had done?" he asked, the question harsh as an emergency cover for his misstep, yet it didn't have his usual sharp cutting quality.

"Probably." Eris said. Then she shook her head, and glanced around for her glass, spotting it and his, and she slid his over near him, as she poured herself another glass. "Scratch that. We both know you should have." she amended. "The only thing you got out of saving me? Was trouble." she told him. She took a long drink, then settled her gaze on him again. "It puts you in danger every day. It puts you out financially, or at least, it had been putting you out financially, I really hope I'm not going to continue to be a financial burden on you. You've got your principles, I've got mine. At best I'm a liability to you. At worst I'm your death warrant." She gave a slight little ghost of a smile that didn't last long. "And that's not counting the fact that I drive you crazy." she added. "That's just an added special angle. So...yes. You should have just dropped me into the river. It wouldn't have been offing me perse . Just would have been the absence of saving me. So...why did you? Even if I'd never seen you again, you had to know you were asking for trouble. And a lot of it at that. And then you went and did even more, later." Though technically, she wasn't asking about that, so it wasn't phrased in anything that could be considered a question. It was an observation. "It does leave a girl wondering why. Especially since if you'd had any grand plans for me, you really probably would have gone through with them by now, and you still haven't asked for anything resembling compensation." Which still bothered her, but right now wasn't the time to argue that.

Some things are just more important, Brett thought, but even though his brain was fuzzed enough with the demon drink by now to mean he'd walked into this trap in the first place, he wasn't far gone enough to let that little nugget slip out. "Moment of weakness - guess I'm not as smart as you had me down for," he shot back instead.

"Is that how you see it?" she asked. "...saving me was weakness on your part?" Her tone was unreadable, but her voice was quiet. Her eyes weren't giving anything away either. About the only thing that did was her wrist turned a little, holding the bottle closer, just the tiniest hint of a defensive posture.

"Well, sweetheart - you said it, didn't you? It was trouble - there was no reason for it," he continued, gaining momentum, falling back to twisting the knife to help him recover from his stumble, fighting his way out of the corner he'd found himself in - even if it meant injuring her in the process. "So yeah, guess it was a moment of madness and I've been living with the consequences ever since."

Eris stood there for a moment, and tried to tell herself that it didn't hurt. But that was bullshit, it did. It hurt, it was going to continue to hurt. She kept her eyes on his for a few moments longer, then finally looked away, taking a drink from the bottle, before she turned to walk past him. Heading over towards her bed, she stopped, setting the bottle on the nightstand, and then she opened up the drawer. The envelope was inside, and she took it out, sliding the drawer shut again with a soft click. She looked down at it, keeping her gaze there for a long few heartbeats, before she walked back over towards him, dropping it onto the table he was near. "To compensate for your consequences." she said, tone quiet and unreadable. Then she turned to walk past him again.

He didn't even glance at the envelope as it hit the table. "I don't want your money," he told her. That much was absolutely truth - he didn't. He hadn't done this for money, and he didn't want it to become that now.

"I didn't ask you if you wanted it." she said, tone the same, and she headed past him, back towards her bed again, and the bottle waiting there. Now it seemed like her turn to find the idea of just downing the whole thing as quickly as possible the best course of action. Picking it up, she stood there with it, looking over towards the window he'd fixed.

"Well, then: I'm not going to take your money," he told her, following her over towards the bed, putting distance between himself and the envelope.

She was vaguely, somewhere deep down, surprised that he was coming closer to her. Generally speaking, Brett spent a good amount of his time getting farther away. It was just something he did, and she noticed, and they didn't talk about it. Sometimes she pushed it with him, sometimes she didn't. In this particular case, she'd been going for personal distance. So him closing that more didn't work out for her. Still, she didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on the window, and tried to quiet down the noise in her head. To aid in that endeavor, she took a long pull on the bottle, and went back holding it in against her chest. She was half wondering if the fire escape would hold her, and whether or not she actually gave a shit about the risk.

He closed his hand around the neck of the bottle and tugged at it. "Stop it," he told her, which wasn't part of the current conversation at all. But he'd meant it before when he'd started in on her drinking again. He worried about the amount she drank - it was far, far too much as far as he was concerned and he'd aired his views about that many times in the past. And now she was drinking straight from the bottle.

She let go, not really putting up a fight on that. She did shoot him a look though. It was at once angry, and hurt. Holding it for a good minute, she finally looked away again, and she brushed past him, walking around the bed towards the window he'd fixed, pushing it open to give herself some air. She also stepped out onto the fire escape for a second, before she sat on the windowsill. What she wanted to do was go for a walk. But she knew she couldn't do that. So sitting on the windowsill as going to have to do, even if she did get spotted. At the moment she was just off balance enough to not care.

It was his turn to cradle the bottle now, and he knew the only reason he didn't take a drink - despite the fact he knew he'd had far too much already - was because he'd just taken it off her and he wasn't a complete hypocrite, no matter what he thought she thought of him sometimes. "You're gonna need that money, if you're gonna start a new life," he told her. Not that he would have taken it anyway, but she would need it, now that she'd made the choice to strike out on her own. Now that she didn't want him anymore. Not that he thought she'd ever really wanted him, but she didn't need him, she didn't need to be around him. She'd need the money.

She heard him, she just didn't answer him. Nope, he'd hurt her feelings, and fairly badly, and she wasn't dealing with it spectacularly well. About the only reaction she did give was a little bit of a scoff, and she shook her head, keeping her eyes down on the alley below. She was pretty sure if she tried to go down there this way though if she didn't fall to her death she'd need shots. It was no longer painted with spots of rust, it was rusted with random flecks of paint holding on by defiance.

He could just leave, he knew. And under different circumstances, that's exactly what he would have done. He'd achieved his end, he'd got her to back the fuck off of everything, he'd gotten out of his corner and now was the perfect time to just walk out. Burn more bridges. To go home.... And lie in bed and think about the fact that she'd be still here, drinking herself to the bottom of the bottle. He knew she would - he knew her. He watched her, silently, a seemingly endless silence, that he eventually broke. "I'm no murderer, Julia," he said, wondering if she'd even understand that, really get what he meant by it.

She wondered if he'd done it on purpose. Used her name like that, because he rarely did. Pretty much he was the only one in the world who even knew it. She'd stopped going by it years ago, people probably thought that girl was dead. And well, they'd be right, at this point, but that was hardly the issue. She'd told him, and he almost never actually came out with it. Usually, it was times like these, though. When he knew he'd fucked up, or gone too far, or something. And it fucking worked. There was a tiny shred of herself that just loathed herself for that. Mostly because she didn't know if he did it on purpose, but it was effective none the less. The air from the alley swept through and chilled her skin, the moisture in the air starting to cling. She looked back over her shoulder at him, though. "You didn't kill me." she told him. "And even if you'd have dropped me in the water, you still wouldn't have.You'd've just finished the job." Her tone was soft. Light. part of her did understand what he was saying there. There were lines. She knew all about lines. She'd built her little house of cards up by being able to see them. To draw them for people. Hell, that was one huge part of manipulation. Set someone up and draw for them this very clear picture, with all these neat lines, so that you could justify just about anything. Draw enough lines, and distinctions got interesting. She was feeling poetic in her mind, though she didn't share the thoughts that drifted through. I'm still dying, you know. Still expiring, it's just taking me longer. You just pushed back the moment, I'm living a death-dream. "Tell me what makes you not a murderer." she invited, wanting to hear what he had to say on it. It wasn't in the slightest bit a challenge to what he said. She just wanted to know what words he would put it in, and maybe he'd clarify it better for her.

"I do what they tell me to do," Brett said, starting to answer her even before he'd realised he was going to. He probably wouldn't have done if he'd actually stopped to think about it. "They didn't tell me to kill you. So - doing that would have made it my decision. My choice." He gave up and took a swig from the bottle. "Not a difference that would stand up in court, but it makes a difference to me."

"Well, you're not in court." she said lightly. She kept her eyes on him, watching him take another drink, and she wanted to go get the bottle back again, but didn't. Instead she turned sideways on the windowsill so she could look at him comfortably. "And you chose not to kill me." Quiet for another few moments, she kept her gaze on him. "How long did it take you to decide not to?" she asked. Again, there was no accusation in her tone, no condemnation. She honestly wanted to know. She couldn't tell if she thought it would have been something that had taken him a while to wrestle with, or if he'd just made a split second decision and rolled with it, paying for it every since.

"You were breathing," he told her - his way of saying that the decision was fairly instantaneous. At most, maybe a few minutes, but if it had taken that long, well - it didn't feel like that long anymore. It didn't feel likethere'd been a decision to make at all anymore. He couldn't imagine taking a different path.

She nodded, a single incline of her head as she kept her gaze locked on his. She drew in a breath of the outside air, but heard voices down below, and she took that as her cue to come in, and she shut the window again. Walking back over, she stopped in front of him, and reached out to put her hand on the bottle, to see if he'd give it back up again. "Ever regret the decision?" she asked him, honestly wanting to know that, too. She wasn't going to judge him on it, either way, and her tone suggested that. That it wasn't a trap, a trick question.

He didn't loosen his grip on the bottle, but he didn't pull it away from her either as he looked down at her. "No," he said, simply. That was a fact that had nothing to do with her. Or maybe it did, but only in so far as she'd not turned round and stabbed him in the back for it. The decision to save her life had nothing to do with her as a person, and everything to do with what he needed to do for himself. He didn't regret that decision.

She nodded. Alright, she accepted that. She wasn't sure why that was the case, but he didn't seem to have any hesitation over the answer either, so she didn't have to try and second guess it. She kept her hand on the bottle, but again, didn't really try to take it from him. He wasn't going to give it to her, she knew now. There were two drinks over on the table, but she didn't want those ones. A few things went through her mind then, though she didn't properly latch onto any of them. More questions. Nothing that she even thought had proper answers, or that she could ask. Things she probably didn't really want to know, either. Non-questions, like tidbits of information about her that she knew he didn't know, but also never asked. Because he didn't ask. he wasn't interested. Not really. So, she could ask questions she didn't want answers to, or offer him things about herself, and in the end she did neither. She just kept her eyes up on his, and let the silence stretch out.

"If I go, are you going to carry on drinking?" he asked, after a long while. It was an honest question - he just wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be. And there weren't all that many answers available, after all. Yes. Or no. But then, would he get the lie, or the truth? And which would he prefer? Would she say no? And, if so, would that be the truth? Or a lie just to get him to leave? Or a lie to assuage a guilty conscience for leaving her like that - she knew he didn't like her drinking, or like her not taking her pills. Or, would she say yes? And would that be the truth, or a lie? The truth because it was the truth? Because she didn't care what he thought? or the truth to get him to stay because he knew she hated being alone and she knew thatthere'd be a good chance he would do if she said that. And would he? If she did? And was that good, or was it bad? How much did he want to get out of here? And how much was he looking for excuses - since he hadn't walked out of the door when she first came back. What was his plan here? And what was hers? He didn't know.

There was the out. His saying he wanted to leave now. Which she supposed was a slight step up from him just turning around and walking out--since he could do that now. He could walk out, and not come back. And if he didn't want to, unless she pushed it and went to seek him out, he'd just not see her again. He had that choice now. She didn't answer him straight away. Not because she didn't know the answer--she did. If he walked out right now, hell yes she was going to carry on drinking. He had her wound up, he head was even messier than usual, and if she tried to lie down and sleep with that noise in her brain she'd never make it. She'd lie there, awake, for hours. Exhausted, but unable to just drop off. It was terrible, she hated facing nights like those. All it ever did was make her dread clarity, because her specific brand of it was so tangled. In the end, she didn't answer yes or no. "Does it matter?" she asked. She knew it did, but she didn't mean in regards to her, or his idea about her drinking too much. She wanted to know if it mattered to him. If her answer impacted on whatever he was doing or not going to do. "Is this where you leave?" she asked, the thought sort of making it's way out there without being thought about first--a definite problem since the brain damage.

"It might matter," he said, after a long pause. He wouldn't have asked if he didn't want to know, but he wouldn't allow himself to settle on how it would affect things. To say specifically that he would stay if she told him that she'd carry on if he left would put himself out there too much, and he wanted that out, that safety net of being able to decide that he was going.

You know I do this, why does it matter tonight? Because you're here to see it? she thought to herself, but didn't have the animosity to throw it at him. Not right now. "Probably." she said honestly, exhaling and not looking at him, reaching up to tug her fingers through her hair. "I'm not going to sleep if I don't, and I don't really think I can handle another long night of watching the shadows streak across the ceiling right now." She felt the need to add that because she didn't want it to be out there that she was doing it just to do it. Or, being this was Brett, she didn't want him to think it was just to spite him.

He carried on looking at her for a moment or two, then turned and headed back over to the table. Without a word, he pulled out a chair, sat down and picked up the sandwich she'd made for him earlier on, taking a bite out of it and chewing slowly.

She watched him cross the room, sit down, and wondered if this was the vigil now. If their conversation was over, and he was going to out-stubborn her. But he was eating something, which would probably help with the alcohol he'd knocked back tonight in short order. Her eyes landed on the two glasses that were still there. A little left in his glass, more in hers. Was it really that bad to want a little oblivion? Especially in her circumstance? She also saw the envelope there where she'd put it, where he hadn't touched it. Absently, she picked at the scab on the side of her hand, and wracked her brain for something to say. Nothing quite came to her, though.

He ignored her, for the most part, though he was very aware of her presence. He felt hyper-aware of everything right now. Her. The envelope. His bag of tools. Even the food he was eating. He couldn't necessarily say the same for his thought processes though. It were as though the sensory parts of his brain had gone into overdrive, draining everything else into fuzzy nothing. And so he concentrated on the sandwich he didn't really want.

She waited until he was finished eating before she said anything. Mostly, because she thought it was probably good for him to eat something in the first place, and generally when they spoke, he dropped things like that. So she waited it out. She put a record on, setting it on low, just so they weren't there in dead silence. "It's a losing battle." she said, eventually. "You said earlier that I started over, but I haven't, really. I'm just biding my time." Walking closer, she turned her back to him and pulled her hair over her shoulder, looking back over the bare one. "A little help?" she asked, hoping he got her meaning about helping with the zipper on her dress, which was in a stupid, awkward position like most of the dresses she wore. Dresses like these weren't made for functionality.

"Biding your time until what?" Brett asked, watching her turn round, his over-active senses and his fuzzy brain appreciating the curves presented to him that way. He was unsurprised when she asked him for help. It wouldn't be the first time she'd proven that she didn't even see him in that light, something which itself wasn't surprising to him. That lack of surprise stretched way back beyond them, back to the fire, back to the horrific burns he'd taken, to the scars which now tracked across his body, turning his form into a withered, if fully functional, mess of scar tissue. Any thoughts he'd had about being attractive to a member of the opposite sex had died the first day he'd been able to fully appreciate what he looked like now, and that had never come back. She'd never seen him like that, but to Brett's inner eye, it didn't matter. It was just there, and like he discounted so much, he discounted the fact that anyone could ever be interested in him again, so much so that he didn't even consider it as a possibility any longer. So, standing, he walked over and unzipped her as she asked, his eyes following the zip down.

"That's the problem." she said. "There isn't an end there. I'm just biding time. And either I can hide, forever, which I don't really do all that well with, or I can do something else, and I don't even know what I can and can't do anymore." she continued, holding the dress up with one hand. "I can't do this forever." Her eyes were a little distant, down over her shoulder but not fully on him. "I only know songs I knew before the lights went out. I don't...I can't really learn new ones." Which was probably something people wouldn't think about. "So there isn't a next step. This gig will stop being cute after a while, and I'll be done. If I'm not bringing money in, I'm not going to be able to stay here. There wouldn't be a payout that would afford the risk."

Brett lifted his hands from the bottom of the zipper and stood back a step. "Then you'll leave," he said. It wasn't a question. He might not have contacts outside the city, but he wasn't her. She'd run Babylon, she'd been a powerful woman, he imagined she came from powerful circles. She'd be able to get out, no problems, he was sure.

"Thank you." She half turned, looking back at him fully. "Where would I go?" she asked. "I don't have anyplace I can run to." If she had, she would have by now. When she'd been stuck with Gray, she definitely would have taken the out ifthere'd been one. There just hadn't been. She crossed the room to her screen, which served as a decent place to change clothes, because she didn't especially want to see that look on his face again--the 'back off dirty whore' look. But she wanted out of the dress and into a nightgown. She wanted to be comfortable. Especially if she was spending her night not drinking.

He watched her until she disappeared and then he turned away himself, slipping the gun in its holster off his shoulder as he walked over to the love seat and sat down. He slung the holster from one arm of theloveseat, unclipping the leather catch holding the revolver in place so that he could draw easily if he needed to. That done, he unlaced his shoes and took them off, placing them side by side under the seat, neatly out of the way. And then he laid down. Or, rather, he tried to - but theloveseat was hardly huge, and he was a big man, so he was half on the thing, an arm propping up his head, but mostly his legs were on the floor. Fine for slouching: not so great for getting anything near approaching quality rest.

She came out from behind the screen, brush in one hand as she was pulling it through her hair, and she saw that he'd made himself comfortable. Heading over, she stopped behind theloveseat , and looked down over the back of it at him. "This is very small. You? Are not a small man." she noted. She leaned her hands on the back of theloveseat, leaning over a little bit. "If you're going for lying down, to rest? There's a bed." she informed him.

He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't want to intrude," he said, gruffly, though honestly, now that he was lying down, standing up again was going to be hard work - part of him knew it would be easier just to roll off onto the floor.

"You're not intruding." Nevermind, he broke in in the first place, which was, in fact, the very definition of intruding. Really, one couldn't intrude more. She just happened to be ignoring that fact. He'd fixed the window. She quirked a little half smile at him. "I'll let you know when you're intruding." she added, then pointedly didn't mention anything about it at all. But then she'd also told him earlier he could come over when he wanted. That the door was open to him.

He considered it, and then heaved himself up off the loveseat and made his way over to the bed. It would definitely be more comfortable, and hell knew he had shit to do tomorrow - and it wasn't shit that not getting any sleep the night before was good for. And it was clear that he was staying - he wouldn't get any sleep either if he left her here to drink herself to sleep. He just hoped she didn't try it with him still here - because he did want to get some sleep. He dropped himself down onto the bed, still fully clothed, on top of the covers.

She watched him, and had to shake her head just a little as he flopped down, a light hint of a smirk on her face. Her eyes ticked back to the glasses, but she knew it would get a bad reaction. And right now, she wanted to not have that. She'd already washed her face, she'd brushed her hair, she'd gotten into her nightgown. Now she had to decide if she was actually going to share a bed with the man, or if she was going to let him off lightly, avoid anything that might not go over well, and just curl up on theloveseat. Eventually she walked back over, setting her brush down on the nightstand.

Brett half watched her, wondering what she was going to do. He didn't full-on watch her because, well, he was lying on her bed, and watching someone from that position possibly sent a message that he didn't want to send.

She looked down at him, definitely watching him. And, in the end, she decided she could be polite on the matter, instead of guessing. "If I sleep here with you, are you going to be able to sleep?" she asked. Because some people couldn't. Some people were not bed-sharing types, and they wouldn't be able to drop off at all with another person there. She'd spent a long time sleeping alone, but knew she had felt better when she'd been at his place, knowing he was there. She didn't expect to have much problem at least with that with him just..closer.

Brett was a private person, but he wasn't always going to shoot himself in the foot just out of a point of principle. And he had no fears that she was, for example, going to throw herself at him. No worries about that at all. Theloveseat was uncomfortable, the floor would be worse, and she didn't have a spare bed. This was the trade off for sleep without worrying about her drinking - not that he would openly admit that was why he was staying, but he knew they both knew that's why it was. "I'll be fine," he told her, not asking the same question in return: if she had a problem with it, she shouldn't have suggested it in the first place, should she now?

She nodded, then reached out to turn off the lamp, leaving them in the dark, with the record still playing. It would run itself out then shut off. She usually did that when she was going to lie down, so that the place wasn't so full of silence. Then she crawled onto the bed, pulling the covers back as much as she could considering he was still lying on them. So, she sat there on her knees, and tugged at it twice. "Sleeping is generally more comfortable with blankets, and being comfortable." she said. "I'm not going to find it intrusive if you make yourself more comfortable either." she informed him.

He waited for a few moments until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then he got up again. He wasn't settled enough yet anyhow - he had things he needed to do. He walked over to the door and checked and double-checked the locks. He'd oiled them earlier on, making sure they were all in good working order, so he knew his way around them, even in the dark. Tat done, he headed back over to the bed, collecting his gun on the way past and hanging it up from the bedstead, so the hilt of the gun would be next to his head when he lay down. Paranoia was good for your health, after all. He took off his belt - his only nod to getting undressed and then, and only then, he climbed under the covers, plumping the pillows a little before he laid down.

Should I be wondering about the fact that you can navigate my apartment so well in the dark? she thought to herself, in an amused sort of fashion. she didn't say it. Nor did she comment on the fact that he probably had the place down better than she did. She waited til he was settled, then she curled upon her side, taking his gun---or, hers now, --out from beneath her pillow, and she set it on the nightstand. Then she settled, wondering if saying anything was going to make this more awkward, or less. She really couldn't decide on that one. It was a toss up. "...where do you think I'd go?" came out of her mouth after a few long minutes of quiet. Her voice was soft, because speaking loudly in the dark while curled up next to someone just seemed really wrong.

"Away," he said, turning away from her in the dark. He hated sleeping in his clothes, but there was no way in hell he was undressing with her here, not even in the dark. It wasn't like he could just change into pyjamas, and the night would eventually pass and she'd see in the dawn. "You must know people outside of the city. Someone like you."

She was facing him, and felt him turn, not surprised. What did surprise her was his response. Frowning a little, she didn't say anything for a moment. "...someone like me?" she asked. "...what am I like?" Because that sort of didn't make sense to her. Like her like how? Like a madame? Like her like fucked in the head now? 'Handicapped' as it were? She was missing something, and her tone conveyed that.

He frowned himself as he heard the unexpected question in her voice and he turned back, laying on his back. He'd thought his statement was fairly self-evident. She'd owned one of the most prominent 'hotels' in town. Everyone knew what it was, everyone knew it was a brothel, yet she never got shut down. Brett knew that the Syndicate had wanted what she had for a long time before they made their move, and yet she'd stayed where she was - in his opinion, she'd lasted a lot longer than some. And, to him, that meant contacts. And as he'd got to know her over the last few weeks, he'd come to the conclusion that she really didn't seem to be the type that had just worked her way up through her own business and got lucky with landing the boss' job. "Someone who's used to the good things in life. Someone who's used to power," he said, after thinking about it for a minute or two.

She sat up, looking down into the darkness. Her eyes had adjusted just enough that she could make him out, but only barely. she leaned on one arm, and just frowned for a long, long few moments. "...you don't know anything about me, do you." she said, voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't a question. She knew he didn't ask, she knew he probably hadn't exactly done his homework on her and everything, but that? Was a rather large misconception. That was one of those ground-level, fundamental things that had a tendency to color everything around it.

"I know your name is Eris Stockard. I know when I asked you what your name is, you told me it was Julia. I know you ran Babylon - and very successfully, by all counts. I know you ran in higher circles than I've ever seen before all of this. I know you drink too much and you need to learn to take your fuckingmeds," he told her. He knew more about her as well, but those were things he wasn't willing to let her know he knew.

She was quiet again, and she looked away, even if she didn't even know if he was looking at her. Silence stretched out, until she broke it, first with an exhale. "Eris didn't exist until I bought the run down shell that was Babylon then." she said. "It wasn't all that special when I paid for it. But I had girls around that were in the trade, and they liked the dream I sold. Someplace safe to do their business, where they could turn a client away if they wanted to, and nothing happened that wasn't consensual. People in the right circumstances will give a lot for security. I just knew how to put it together. I can talk a good game. But that's not where I started. It wasn't all fancy parties, and fine wine, and whatever the hell else you've decided my existence entailed." She was quiet again for a minute, and she shifted to the edge of the bed, letting herbarefeet drop down to the floor. Right now she was heavily considering finding those two drinks left out. "This place, with all of it's problems, and the leak in the roof, and the fire escape that's probably more likely to kill you than a fire, and everything else...this place is a hundred times nicer than anyplace I ever set foot in before Eris was born." When she'd just been Julia, struggling to overcome her shitty existence.

Brett was silent at that. What she'd just told him didn't fit with the view of her that he'd built up. He'd assumed that she'd been someone born and raised in privileged. But, if this was true, she wasn't. And he didn't know what, if anything, he should do with that. So what she got in the end was silence.

She didn't really expect anything from him, so she was unsurprised when he didn't say anything. That drink was still calling her, though, so she stood up and started to walk around the bed to go find it. She'd probably be good and not grab a bottle, just finish off the drinks that were already poured, but she really felt like she needed it. It put distance in there. Maybe she'd curl up on theloveseat after all. Or there was always the bathtub, she supposed. Or maybe she'd get dressed and go for that walk she knew she shouldn't take. Just for a little while, just for some air.

He felt the bed shift as she got up and he raised himself up onto his elbows, tracking her shadow as she walked across the room. "Where you going?" he asked, bluntly. He wondered what the fuck he'd done now. So he'd known nothing about her. She knew nothing about him. That was how they worked, that was just the way it was. He didn't see there being a problem with that. What did they need to know? It wasn't like they were involved.

"Not far." she answered, but didn't say more than that. She found his glass though. And that she knocked back immediately, setting it down quietly, as she slid her fingertips over the tabletop, the burn in her throat not even having died down again when she found hers. She knocked that back too, then stood there, trying to decide what her next move was. And really, she had no idea.

The faint music covered the sound of the glasses, but Brett didn't like the vague answer as he pushed himself up off the bed and made his way through the darkness towards her. "What are you doing?" he asked, as he got into her proximity, not knowing exactly where she was. Had he been sober, he would have turned on the light first - that would have been the smart thing to do.

"Nothing." she answered, thinking for a guy who liked distance himself, he was doing a lot of not keeping up with it tonight. Or maybe it was her, she didn't know. And right now she couldn't be bothered to care either, or even try to figure it out. She hadn't gone for a bottle, so technically, as she answered right then and there, she was telling the truth. she was standing there, back leaned up against the table, and...that was it. She was letting the burn in her throat subside, and contemplating what she was doing next. Now that he was over there, closer to her, she recognized that she'd been going to opt for theloveseat.

He didn't know whether she was lying or telling the truth. He recognised that he often didn't know whether she was lying or telling the truth. He chose to believe that she told him the truth, but he knew she'd lied to him at least once. Or, rather, she'd lied to everyone else and told him the truth, which at the time he'd believed was a lie and so counted as such. That was going back now, to the days after he'd saved her. He knew who she was, but he'd still asked her her name. And he'd been expecting Eris and got Julia. She'd explained the reasons for that after the fact, but the sing had been set by then - he'd believed that she'd lied to him and he'd never been able to throw that. He'd been waiting for it, after all. Waiting for the lie, waiting for the betrayal and disappointment. He didn't trust himself, or her. Not completely. "Should I just go?" he asked her, instead. "Would you prefer that?"

"I haven't asked you to leave." she said. She hadn't. Much like, she was thinking, he'd never asked her to leave when she'd been staying with him. Even if they were arguing, and she sometimes thought he would very much like to. And, as she drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, she recognized that that masochistic streak of hers was still alive and well, and she didn't want him to leave. "No. I wouldn't prefer that." she added, a little late, but honest.

Brett was aware that he hadn't been asked to leave, but he'd offered anyway - and he had his answer. It didn't improve things - he still didn't know what to think or what to do. He recognised that it would have been easier if she'd said yes. It would have given him an out. Which begged the question if he would have taken the out, or if he would have stubbornly stayed, even knowing he wasn't wanted there. No, not not wanted - that would suggest that she wanted him here now, which he wasn't convinced of. She simply wouldn't prefer it if he left - that was a very different thing. He didn't say anything, as a result, standing there, the silence broken now only by the repetitive scratch of the record needle as it hit against the end of the still-revolving disk.

Eris let the silence stretch out, mostly listening to him breathing as opposed to the record player. She could feel him there, even if she couldn't really see him so much. Brett was just kind of a presence. Whether he tried to be imposing or not, and she knew sometimes he did, he always was in one fashion or another. He was just very there. She supposed that was partially something she appreciated. His solid presence often times helped her feel more secure. Or--it used to. When she'd been staying with him. "Are you not going to go back to bed until I do?" she asked, the question light, and something that yet again just sort of slipped out. She was curious about it, she didn't have inflection that suggested what she might think about it.

"Something like that, yeah," Brett told her, not making an issue of it, stating it merely as fact. He had, after all, made the decision to stay to stop her from drinking. What good was that if he was just going to go to sleep and leave her to do what the hell she wanted. That made no sense at all to him.

She didn't know what to think about that. Or why he might be doing it at all. But then again, Brett's motivations for things often mystified her. Other times, she thought she could figure out exactly why he did what he did. But their interactions were confusing at best a lot of the time, now being one of those times. "Alright." she said, sighing a little, and she moved, though it was to go turn off the record player. She stood there a moment, kind of wanting to put on another record, but she didn't know if it was because she wanted to hear the music, fill the silence, or stall going to lie back down. "Do you want to hear anything?" she asked him, figuring since she was technically the host for her breaking-and-entering company, she could at least be a good one.

He pulled a chair out in the darkness, one leg of the chair scraping a little on the floor Sitting down, he rested his arms on the table. "Whatever you want," he told her, not showing any preferences. If there was one thing he was willing to trust, it would be her taste in music.

She hadn't expected him to sit down, but alright, if that was what he was doing, sure. He was allowed. She thought about it for a few long moments, then took the current record off, and flicked through her albums. She had just enough light to see some of the titles by, and she was looking for a specific one. When she found it, she set it up, then walked over towards the table as well, pulling up the other chair and sitting down on it, crossing her arms on the tabletop as she rested her head on them. The music was soft, definitely music you listened to in the dark. Anything else would have felt wrong.

So, apparently they were sitting at the table. He'd hoped she'd just go back to bed, but no - they were sitting at the table. And Brett couldn't at all bring himself to utter the phrase asking her to go back to bed with him. That would just feel... wrong. And since he'd already said that he wasn't going to bed before she was, then he was just going to stubborn it out and they'd go when she made the move. In the meantime, he didn't make any effort towards chit-chat. or talking of any kind, in fact.

She let her eyes shut and just listened to the music for a little while. A good five minutes, at least. Then, like she always did, she came back to a question. She always wanted to know about him, but he didn't want to know about her. Part of her wondered just how much she was torturing herself by keeping asking the questions, when there was a truly impressive amount of non-interest reciprocated. But even so, he was her connection. Her tie to personal interaction, to what could only vaguely be likened to social time. She didn't want to be alone, and he was here so she wasn't. And flat out, she did want to know about him. The pieces she didn't have, and couldn't infer on her own. "Tell me about your dragon." she said, voice quiet.

"My dragon?" Brett asked, in the darkness, wondering at first what she was talking about. It took him a moment or two to latch onto the fact that she was talking about his tattoo. "It's a tattoo," he told her, stating the blatantly obvious to sidestep the issue of the story behind it. And there was one - he just wasn't sure he wanted to tell it to her.

"I realize that." she said, internally sighing. "I'm damaged, I'm not that damaged." she added, though there wasn't a whole lot of bite to it. She couldn't summon up ire at the moment, even if it might have made dealing with things easier. She still just felt mostly drained. Exhausted, and a whole host of other things that didn't lend well to something that required energy on her part.

"I didn't mean you were," Brett told her, his tone not giving an inch. He left that hang for a moment before continuing. "You just assumed there was something to tell."

Eris didn't answer him. "Isn't there?" she asked, but she didn't wait for him to respond to that. She didn't really need to hear him deny it or give her the brushoff again. Instead, she stood up, and remained there for a few long moments. Her eyes weren't on him, or where is presence was, it was over on the door. He'd locked them in and all, but that didn't mean she couldn't just leave for a few. She wouldn't be drinking, so he couldn't bitch at her for that. And in the end that was where she headed.

Brett hadn't expected her to walk off, and for a moment he just sat there, completely thrown by the fact that she had. The chair scraped across the floor again as he pushed back from the table, but he didn't stand. "I was caught in a fire," he said, clearly in the darkness, giving as he occasionally did when she made it clear that he'd taken things too far. "Years ago. The tattoo's a reminder." More than a reminder - there was no coincidence that his two main tattoos were fire-related, nor that they were on the few areas of his body that weren't horrifically scarred. He'd had both done in the years following the fire. He was no psychologist, and didn't go into things like that two deeply, but he knew they were related, and it was a way of controlling what he'd been through. A message to himself - personal.

She stopped when he spoke, listening. Really, she'd kind of expected a different reaction, if he gave one at all. She'd figured he'd yell at her again, not tell her what she'd asked. So, when he spoke, she listened, and half turned back. She was remembering the picture in the article she'd found with the medal. He'd done one hell of a lot more than just get caught in a fire. He'd played hero that day. It was the first he'd actually mentioned it to her though. "Makes sense." she said eventually. "There's a scar on your neck. I've noticed it before." She didn't say more than that, because she didn't want to lie about anything. Like she knew that it had to be worse than what she could see now, or that she knew what had happened. Nothing like that. No, she went for what was honest truth--he had a scar, she'd noticed it.

Brett shifted, uncomfortably, reaching up to jerk the collar of his shirt a little higher. He knew that that one peeked out - there was nothing he could really do to cover it. It didn't mean he liked that fact, or that he was okay with it. He hated people seeing his scars - and her mentioning that she'd noticed really didn't help. Of course she'd noticed - she always fucking noticed. He wondered how much she'd wondered about it, thought about it, wondered if she'd figured out how far it went, if she thought of him with pity he hadn't asked for and didn't fucking want. He hadn't answered her as he felt the familiar anger start to well and did nothing to hold it back. "Yeah, that's right, there is," he told her, challengingly.

She could hear it in his tone. It was so very, very familiar. It was just kind of what he did. Brett got angry about things. And in this specific situation, she could guess why. He was going to be defensive about things, end of story. She walked about halfway back over towards him but didn't close the distance. And, even if she really wanted him to keep talking about it, she changed tactics on him. "I want you to tell me about it, but I don't expect you to." she said, tone light.

"Well, that's a fucking good job then, isn't it?" he shot back at her, heavy on the sarcasm, sounding like he was actually trying to bait her - which, he realised, he probably was. It would be easier if she'd rise to it. If she'd say something, if everything he was holding could be realised in one huge almighty argument. if he could take some of his anger and frustration out on her, like he had done in the past.

She didn't say anything immediately, assessing things. His tone, the aggressive note there, everything. Internally, she wondered how much she could take tonight. Because it sounded to her like he wanted a fight. The question was whether or not she could give it to him at the moment. Or at least enough that he could get it out of his system. "I suppose it is." she said. "I like your dragon." And there, if he really wanted to take offense, he'd have to try. But she knew him well enough to know that Brett could take offense to anything, if that was what he was angling for.

She didn't take the bait and that just made things worse for him, leaving him feeling like she was taunting him with her inner poise and cool. That was just who she was - little miss special, little miss in control. he glared in her general direction for a moment, then abruptly stood and stalked over to one of the windows, looking out at the street below, saying nothing. What did he care if she liked his fucking tattoo. So fucking what. She'd just said that to piss him off. What the fuck did she think she was playing at anyhow?

She watched him, gaze following him over to the window, where she could see him better. She ghosted up behind him, but didn't actually get so close as to invade his personal space. Though, really, when he was mad, his personal space could be considered anything within twenty feet. She just stuck to normal personal space rules. "What did I say?" she asked, so at least she'd know what he'd taken offense to this time.

"What do you care about a fucking tattoo, sweetheart? It's ink - that's all. Doesn't mean anything, doesn't matter, so why the hell do you c..." He broke off, abruptly, wishing he hadn't said that at all. Stupid bitch would probably answer him, and he didn't want to hear what she had to say.

He used the 'c' word and she automatically twitched at that. It was something they avoided. Flat out, the both of them had this unspoken rule about admitting anything of the kind. And he went and used it twice, even. She found that jarring and a little unfair, especially considering the way their relationship generally worked (or didn't depending on one's point of view). If anyone showed any sort of sentimentality, it was her. But she never played the 'what the fuck do you care' card. She could have, hell she could have before they'd opted to go to bed. She could have called him on why the fuck it was so important to him that she not spend the rest of her night drinking. It was just one place she generally didn't go, and he didn't either. Til now, apparently.

For a good thirty seconds she had no idea how to respond. It was such a jarring departure from what was generally accepted between them that it took her a second to recover at all. And then she had to figure out what the hell she was going to say about it, because really now...what did she respond with? She started speaking without really coming up with a game plan, which wasn't her best idea ever. "I like it. I've wondered about it, because most people have some kind of attachment to what they choose to mark themselves with, and I'm surethis'll come as a shock to you, but I'm interested. I ask because I want to know, not to piss you off. I'm not digging because I know it'll make you mad, I ask because you aren't ever going to tell me on your own. You're never going to start out a conversation that tells me anything personal, so...I ask. I'm interested." Which did not really answer the question while it did on some level. It just didn't define the motivation behind her interest. Which she really wasn't sure she could explain.

Brett didn't look at her, continuing to watch the street below, his attention on the passing cars. "Well, now you know," he said, his tone final and in no way encouraging of carrying on with the whole 'question asking' thing. He didn't talk about himself, not if he could help it, or avoid it. Not his past. His present, occasionally, but not who he was or where he came from. There was no point there - he wasn't the man he had been. There were some days, most days, when it felt like that had been another life. When he woke up feeling as if he'd just been dreaming of having lived another life - and then it hit him that, really, he had. he'd had another life where he'd been a good man. And now he had a life where he was the scum of the fucking earth and being reminded of that old life, that dead life was just twisting the knife.

Well, at least he hadn't asked her for the deeper meaning there. She wouldn't have been able to answer him, and pleading the fifth wasn't really applicable in personal relationships. "Guess I do." she said. Which didn't mean she'd stop. She knew herself well enough. Of course, there was one sure fire way to get her to stop, and that would be for Brett to stop coming here. For him to drop off the grid and avoid her, disown her as it were, which would be easy for him. She figured if he did that, eventually she'd have to find him, though she didn't really want to think about how long 'eventually' might be for her. Probably a far shortertimespan than was acceptable. Knowing when she did it that it was a bad idea, but not really having the impulse control to stop herself, she reached out and brushed her fingertips against his arm, where she knew the dragon was.

He hadn't been expecting it, and it took all his willpower not to flinch when she touched him - he'd had three years of constant practice in not outwardly showing his reactions to things, after all. He looked down at his arm, making out her fingertips against his skin, and he left it a moment longer than he probably should before he shifted, moving his arm away, purposefully.

When he moved his arm away, she realized she'd been expecting a more violent reaction. And an immediate one, as opposed to a slightly delayed one. She didn't try again, even if she wanted to. She didn't have anything more to say to him at the moment, he hadn't put anything in either, so, she didn't have anything to fill the verbal silence with. There was just the slow music in the background at the moment, a whole lot of darkness, and Brett. Brett who was just being himself in all of his twitchy glory.

He wondered if they were just going to stand there all night, silently, another record working its way towards the end, towards that scratching nothingness. if he said nothing, if he didn't move, would she just stay there, watching him? Would she try and touch him again - something which they just didn't do. There was always that distance between them - physically, verbally, emotionally. They never got close - not really. There would be moments that suggested... But then the walls would slam back up. And Brett was aware that they were his walls, but he was good with that. he had a fucking good reason for walls, he wasn't going to apologise for them, and if she didn't like that, then she could just do exactly what she'd done. Leave. And if she didn't like that now, she could ask him to go.

Eris was good with the silence. It meant they technically weren't fighting, even if she figured Brett's silence was a pointed one. Like the silent treatment as opposed to just lack of thoughts to share. She moved slightly closer, keeping herself a tiny bit behind him, to his side. She could see him reflected in the glass, but she was too shadowed to make out. She thought about when he'd stepped back from the window the other night, taking her with him. Not being seen was a fairly prominent priority. Just...not right now. Granted, the town was distracted in general. There was the party. The lights were off, there wasn't any indication really that anyone was home. She could see the lines on his arm though, and she was distracting herself with that. The curl of the dragon around his arm, how the different shades of ink washed out and left mostly the dark outline in this light. And in the end she reached out again, just to trace a little arc of the dragon's back.

He turned and grabbed her arm by the wrist, lifting her finger off his skin as he looked down at her. "What?" he demanded, pointedly. It wasn't a 'what are you doing?' type question: that much was obvious. But the tone, the staccato way it was asked, that very clearly turned the single word into a 'what the hell do you think you're doing?' type question as he gripped her wrist, not letting her go.

Eris had a lot of experience with men. It wasn't all good, in fact, if she had to categorize it, she'd say a good eighty percent had been bad. But it meant she recognized certain things. Like a grip that was designed for her not to be able to pull away. Brett was a big guy, strong. He pulled it off well. She noted that he wasn't hurting her with it though, which was something that usually accompanied that kind of thing. She didn't try to pull her wrist away, she looked up at him, though. She held his eyes, and didn't have an answer for him. So she didn't say anything.

He held her wrist until he realised that he wasn't going to get an answer and then let her go abruptly. She never did what he expected her to do - though, for the most part, he couldn't have said what he'd expected her to do before she'd done whatever it was she ended up doing. It just always felt, in retrospect, like it wasn't what he'd been expecting. She off-balanced him.

She wanted to rub at her wrist, just a habit, but he hadn't hurt her and she didn't want to even give the impression that he had. Somewhere in her head, buried down in her study of human nature and how to manipulate it, she knew it would be just that--a manipulation, even if it was unintentional. How it would affect him, she didn't know, but she also didn't want to find out. So she smothered the urge, and just let her hand drop to her side, keeping her eyes on his. Silence was still her friend. It wasn't like she suddenly had an answer for him now. She didn't even have an answer for herself, if she was being honest.

He wanted to leave, he knew. He wanted to walk over to the loveseat, put on his shoes, his belt and his jacket and he wanted to walk out that door. He wasn't comfortable here - he didn't know what to do, or say, and she wasn't playing ball with anything. At least, that's what it felt like. Hell, she wouldn't even fucking throw him out.

He needed another drink.

The thought and drive was very clearly there, and he resisted it for only a moment, before he headed for the table and picked up the glass there. The empty glass. And then the other - also empty. That's what she'd been doing. "Why am I fucking here? Why am I even fucking here, wasting my time trying to fucking stop you drinking yourself to death when you're going to do it anyway," he barked at her, wheeling round to face the windows again. "What is the fucking point? When you're just gonna do whatever the hell you like anyhow." He reversed his intention, flipping right back to that instinct to leave, and headed for the bed, his gun the top of his list of things to be retrieved.

And now it was her turn. She really didn't quite know what she'd done just now, and she blinked in surprise as she watched him. "...why do you care?" she asked, tone light, though there was an undercurrent of the confusion she felt. She could have added more to it. She really could have, there was a lot she could have said. But she left it at that, wanting to know if he even bothered answering her. Her throat felt tight, and she was trying to fight back the little wash of negativity that came over her during it all. Emotions she couldn't really even start dealing with at the moment. If she ever tried to get to a place where she could.

"Because it's fucking pathetic!" Brett exclaimed, actually telling her what he thought this time around. "So your life's a fucking mess - it's not going to get any fucking better drowning it at the bottom of a fucking bottle, Princess. Hate to break that to you, but it's not. Or were you like this before? Have you always been a fucking drunk?" he asked, not pulling the punch. He doubted it - she didn't seem like the type. He wouldn't have imagined she could have gotten where she she had been if she'd been a full blown alcoholic. But then again, he'd imagined that she'd come from money, not from the gutter, and he'd been wrong there as well, hadn't he?

"No." she answered him. "I wasn't." She hadn't been. Really, substances weren't her thing, before. She'd provide it for other people, but she'd wanted to keep sharp. Had to, really, not that that had done her any good in the end. It didn't matter how sharp you were when people who were meant to keep you safe fucked you over. It didn't matter if you didn't have a damn thing in your system when a whole lot of big men with guns kicked your door off it's hinges. "Are you under the impression it's going to get better?" she asked him--and it was an honest question, really. She didn't. She didn't see a goddamn thing in her future beyond hiding, or maybe eventually deciding fuck it, one day, and going down while taking a few choice people with her. Though really, that idea hadn't really been formed until just now while she was thinking about it.

"The way you're going, it's gonna get a helluva lot fucking worse," Brett retorted. That was what she was doing, in his opinion. Yeah, she'd got a shitty fucking deal, but she wasn't helping herself at all. She was just letting go, giving up - he knew about the temptation to do that, knew about fighting even if all you were fighting for was to not sink any lower into the mire. Doing what had to be done just to stay alive. What he did, what he had done - none of it made his life any better. Being what he was now did nothing to improve his lot, save for the fact that he wasn't dead at the bottom of the river with a bullet in his skull. That had become his life's ambition. Not dying. It was all he had.

She shook her head. "I've seen worse." she said. "Been there, dealt with it, survived, and at least this is on my terms." Her tone was off. Distant, but not fully disconnected. There was emotion underneath it, but it was nearly impossible to tell what it was--though as she continued to speak, it got heavier in her voice. "I don't see anywhere to go. I don't see anything I can do. Anything I have come up with? Because trust me, I've thought about it--I'm not capable of pulling it off anymore. Fuck, a lot of the things I'm good at I don't have the desire to do. I don't want to go that way. I can't sleep, and when I do I have nightmares, but at least if I've had enough to drink, I don't wake up crying. I can't even do something as simple as figuring out my own fucking medication." The disconnect was gone by then. She was emotionally there, upset, the softness in her tone gone. If he'd wanted a reaction out of her, he got one. "So what's worse exactly? What horrors are in my future because I drink too much?"

Brett pulled on his gun and buckled his belt round his waist. "You're not the only one that's lost, Princess," he told her, sharply. He wasn't going to stay here and listen to a pity party - it hit far too fucking close to home for his liking and he didn't like that - he didn't want to be dragged into that, he couldn't be - he had to keep himself separate from it all.

"Of course I'm not." she snapped. "I never said I was. Not once have I even said I have it worse, if you haven't fucking paid attention. What I've said is that there's nowhere to go for me." Eris walked a little away, dragging her fingers through her hair, then she looked back at him. "This it then?" she asked, since he was leaving. She knew he was leaving. "You're walking out, and why, exactly? I didn't go for a bottle, I just finished what was there, and I was done. And I needed a fucking second because oddly enough, I have feelings that you like to step on sometimes, and you did.How'd you find out about it? Were you going for a drink yourself?"

He'd been starting to put his shoes on when she spoke, but when she did, he abandoned that, crossing the room to her in a few long strides. "Why? Because when I asked you what you were doing, you told me nothing. Because if you want to drink yourself to death, and finally get it over with - finish it because you've got nothing to fucking look forward to but a hard life where you can't do everything your little fucking heart desires, then why should I get in the way of that anymore? I've clearly been doing that for too long now. So, you get to live your own life and I'll get out of your way. And if you really want to know, yes: I was going for a drink. Because I don't have a fucking burgeoning drinking problem that I'm working on developing, and I don't havemeds that clash with booze. And don't give me that 'I didn't take them' shit. Work out a fucking system, sweetheart. You had one, but you left that behind. But you've worked everything else out, haven't you. So you can fucking work that out as well."

She looked up at him, had almost taken a step back away from him but at the last minute caught herself. "When you asked me what I was doing I was already done. I wasn't doing anything anymore, I was finished." she said. "I didn't go for a bottle, I was giving myself a minute then I was--" she broke off, knowing it didn't matter. "And you really think that's what this is. Just me pouting because I can't do everything I want? As if there's something in there I do want?" She stopped for a good few moments, heart thudding in her ears, and she recognized her posture was defensive. At some point she'd hugged her arms around her chest. She felt like crying, really, the burn at the back of her eyes present, but god, did she not want to do that. He wasn't allowed to make her cry, that wasn't how it worked. He wasn't allowed to have that much of an impact on her emotional stability, even if it was more than clear he did. When she spoke again, her voice was light, because she needed to keep it that way. If she let herself get louder or put more into it, she was going to crack, and she couldn't have that. "I didn't leave because I wanted to." she said into what felt like a very loud silence. "I left...I left because I am not going to be what brings you down." Her voice got quieter and she had more to say--she just didn't because she was riding that line. Speaking wasn't going to be her friend for a minute til she could fight it back down again.

"Oh, how noble - well let me tell you something, Princess. There's no room in this fucking world for fucking nobility. It's bullshit. And I knew what I was doing when I brought you home, so fuck that excuse - you left because you fucking wanted to, you walked out. You came here. You have your life and this is what you're doing with it - pissing what you have left away. Finishing off what they started." He stopped, abruptly there as he realised the end of his train there and it shocked him into silence. Because she was becoming what they'd wanted her to become - that's what he was saying. Except in her case, what they wanted her to become was dead. That wasn't what silenced the guy though - his silence came from the realisation that he'd done no better - he'd become exactly what he figured they'd wanted, hadn't he? Hadn't he.

"There's no room for nobility?!" Eris snapped, voice cracking a bit as she did it, but yeah, she couldn't actually hold it all in after that. "This from you? The man who saved my life? But there's no room for fucking nobility, what you're the only one in the world who occasionally has thoughts about someone other than himself?!" She reached up to wipe at her eyes angrily, absolutely detesting the lack of emotional control she had these days and blessing the darkness they'd not lit back up. She wanted to shove him, and reached out to do it--but didn't at the last minute. Her hand was up but she stopped. She just concentrated on breathing for a moment. "I'm not a pet, Brett. I've never been a puppy you took home, that's meant to just be kept in your apartment. I'm a person. And I'm a person with a mark on her. And I don't--I don't really care what you say, or how you want to see it, but I wasn't going to be responsible for you getting killed over it. You told me you're not a murderer. I wasn't going to be responsible for what was going to happen to you any more than you wanted to be responsible for being the one that actually put out my lights. If you really want to see me as a selfish bitch fine. But I don't know why you're seeming to take it so fucking hard when you make it perfectly clear every chance you get that you don't really want me anywhere near you. What would you do?" she asked at the end, at least calming down towards the very end, not that it was easy. And really, she expected him to totally crack any regained composure in about .2 seconds. He was good at that.

When he spoke, it wasn't actually in retaliation for anything she'd said. And his voice was much quieter than usual, subdued and with overtones of something unreadable. "Whatever it took," he told her, in answer to her question. He didn't try and explain it, he didn't want to open that can of worms. And he knew the three words weren't an answer she would understand, that she could understand. As she'd pointed out to him earlier on, he didn't let her in, he didn't tell her things about himself.

Eris read it her own way, though she didn't answer immediately. She opened her mouth to, but shut it before she said anything. It was the tone that really stopped her. That unreadable note in his voice. She didn't think she'd heard that before. It made her realize she was missing something, that she'd already missed something. It was almost a minute before she said anything and it was only one of a million things she could have said. "That's what I'm doing." she said quietly. And then, after another long pause, she had to ask. "What's wrong?" Possibly weird to ask in the middle of a heated argument, but something was. And she didn't think it had to do with what he'd already said to her. Or, maybe it did and this was just flat out It. The End, game over, and they didn't all live happily ever after because happily ever after was a lie.

"No it's not," he told her, shaking his head slightly. "You're giving up." Except, was she? She had an apartment, a job - she was getting on alright. Was he just clutching at things now? Making more of her drinking than he should do? Did he just want to believe that she couldn't cope without him, live without him? Was he just seeing this in a way that conveniently supported that?

That didn't answer what was wrong. Or, maybe it did. Maybe that was the real reason behind things. Instead of just it happening to be pathetic, maybe this was the truth. Or maybe she wanted it to be, because that might mean he gave a damn. Maybe. She didn't know, and she wasn't going to figure it out right now. Not with as messy a place as her head was. "No..." she started, reaching up to drag her fingers through her hair again, get it back away from her face and behind her shoulders. "I mean when I left. I was doing whatever it took. Your...'coworkers' showed up, and until then I'd wanted to just ignore the fact that I knew I could get you killed. I figured it wouldn't happen, or...fill in the blank, it doesn't matter. I was wrong. Because suddenly they were there, and if they'd stuck around longer, or looked around better? Asked a few more questions? You would have had to have sold me out, done really fast talking, and I still don't know if they would have let you live." She was quiet for a moment, looking down. "After everything, I couldn't live with that. I didn't want to leave, I...you're...I just couldn't be this glaring point in your life that could at pretty much any given time get you killed." She gave herself another moment, taking a step or two as if she was going to walk past him, but she stopped, not continuing to do so. "If I'm giving up now...I don't know, Brett." she answered him honestly. "I'm a realist." she said, with a note of light bitter, self-mocking humor beneath the tone. "It doesn't always help."

"Princess - every fucking point of my life is one that would at any given time get me killed," Brett told her, with a total lack of dramatics. "You just adding one more is no huge deal." And at least it's something worthwhile. The thought rose to the surface of his mind for a moment or two, swimming up through the murk.

She looked at him, half out of the corner of her eye, then fully as she turned her head. "Well, the other points probably don't-" care "-it doesn't matter to them. It. Whatever they are. It's a huge deal to me." she said, and she kind of wanted to take it back because she knew that it rode the line. She knew it put her in a vulnerable position, and she was already in one. She spent a hell of a lot of her time there. By now she should be used to it, but she still hated it. She didn't want to be vulnerable. Not by any definition.

"Sooner or later, Princess, something's gonna get me killed. I would prefer that it was something that - that was a huge deal," he said, tightly, backing off and using her wording because he couldn't bring himself to say anything else about it, use any other, possibly more appropriate and explanatory words.

Don't make me your way out. was the first thing that went through her mind. She couldn't help it, it was just there. She happened to be drinking herself to death, but she wasn't putting that on someone else. Obviously, it had an effect, but still. But that...it sounded a little too much to her like he'd accepted the fact that he was going down, he just wanted it to be for a reason he could back up, as opposed to something else. Killed in the line of shady duty, as it were. Maybe that was it. That part of him that used to be a cop, that got all burned up, saving people. She just happened to be someone he'd saved that he could still see, after whatever fallout had happened in his life and landed him here. "I don't want to be what brings you down, Brett. Even if you're okay with the idea. Or...or would prefer it to other reasons. There's nothing about that that would be okay with me." she said, voice quiet. There was almost a gentle quality to it.

"Not intending to go down," he told her. And he wasn't - he lived his life, and dying wasn't on his agenda. He'd realised that three years ago, when he'd made his choices in his life, when he'd let go of everything he'd been, just to keep the shreds of his existence. "Just saying - you being gone? Not gonna make that much fucking difference. Not gonna suddenly mean I'm living to a ripe old age." He could have said more, but he didn't.

What she heard there was that she didn't matter. And she even recognized that that wasn't what he'd meant there. That he'd meant her having left the apartment wasn't going to improve his chances of survival. It still hurt, the idea of it, how he'd said it. That was when she finished walking past him, into the loft a little. Taking a moment to herself(and actively fighting the urge to go grab one of the bottles), she drew in breaths, let them out slowly, and generally pushed things back. "Did you want me there?" she asked, after too long a silence. Her tone was odd--not pointed, but a little off in general. It was the instability that kicked in, where she couldn't monitor her tone as well as she wanted.

Brett actually took a half step backwards at that - as if physical distance would actually help him deal with that question. he knew the answer, of course, he just didn't want to admit it - hell, he didn't really want to admit it even to himself, let alone to her. He didn't do what doing that would do. Put him out there. "I didn't want you gone," he landed on, after a moment too long. It was a passably acceptable alternative.

She waited for the answer, and wasn't sure what the pause meant. Did he just not want to say the words? Was the answer negative and he just didn't want to say it? But then again it wasn't as if Brett was famous for sparing her feelings. In fact most of the time it seemed like if he had any type of shot he took it. She found theloveseat , and sat down on it, exhaling. Right. So, she hadn't really wanted to leave, and he didn't necessarily want her gone. In the end she said exactly what was on her mind. "I don't really know what to do with this." she said honestly. "I..." Nope. She had nothing.

Brett didn't know what to make of that response. Didn't have a damn clue. "You don't have to do anything with nothing, sweetheart," he told her, covering. He didn't know how to feel about it, and so he fell back on his tried and tested method - don't feel at all. Or, at least, act like you don't feel. Don't feel. Don't care. Don't give a flying fuck about anything. Screw the world and everything in it. Isolation was, at least, safe.

Eris thought that it would probably be a hell of a lot more nothing-like if they weren't, say, having a fight about it. Really, that was the kicker. 'Nothing' didn't put people in this kind of position, it didn't make people feel...whatever it was they were feeling. Or, she supposed, she. What she was feeling. With him? Who knew. It wasn't like the man made a whole lot of sense. "You didn't want me gone...and it seems like you're upset with me that I was." she said, thinking it over. She was quiet for another few moments, then she looked over at him again. "Does it matter to you why I did what I did?" she asked, again, her tone honest, not pointed. She didn't want to start the fight up again, she just wanted to understand better, because she sure as hell wasn't understanding right now.

If she could have seen him properly in the darkness, she would have caught the flex of his jaw, the momentary tension in an already vastly unhappy face. "You didn't have to do it," he repeated, his tone giving away what the darkness covered in his expression. She hadn't had to leave. Or, if that was her reasoning - if that were her only reasoning - she didn't have to leave like that. Without a fucking word. Like she was running away. From him.

"I felt like I did." she said, listening to his tone. She shifted on the seat, and leaned her arms on the armrest, watching him in the dark. She couldn't see him well, but she could make him out a little. We should have all of our arguments in the dark. went through her mind. "There was everything I was afraid might happen to you, and I didn't want it to go down like that. ...you said it wouldn't matter, but if I was caught there, with you, you couldn't really get out of it. At least here if I'm caught...you don't have to be involved at all. I just say I crawled out of the river on my own, you're golden, you just did your job and it's not your fault that I wouldn't stay dead." she said. "I didn't think it would matter to you, me leaving. I figured I was an imposition at best, and we already discussed the worst parts of what I was there. I didn't think you'd be..." she didn't know how to finish that sentence. Upset? Angry? She didn't think he'd accept either of them either, because it might mean he was invested. God her head had a lot of circles it wound around and around.

"If you didn't think it would matter, then why did you sneak out when I wasn't home?" he asked her, "Why the fucking hell didn't you just say it to my face? That you were gone? That you'd had enough for whatever the hell reason and that you were leaving? But you didn't - you waited until I'd gone, then you left. And you left me a few shitty notes and nothing. Just left me to track you the fuck down and I find you in the one fucking place in this city where it's a really big fucking issue for me to show my face. So don't give me that bull about this all being for me. Because it's not - or you wouldn't have done what you fucking did the way you damn well did it," he snapped, losing control for that moment before he made himself shut up.

"You were already unhappy with everything, the guys showing up didn't really help anything, and I thought it would be easier. I thought it wouldn't matter, so why wait until you were home? I could get out of your way before you got back and had to deal with...whatever else. I thought a note would be enough." And there was the one major thing she was holding back, and part of her felt guilty for it, but the larger part of her just wasn't capable of admitting it. That she hadn't wanted to leave in the first place, and if she'd waited til he'd come home, she would probably have just stayed. She might not even have gotten as far as to mention it. "I'm sorry if it wasn't." she added, wondering about that. An apology. They generally didn't do those. Or, well. Brett never did. His version of an apology was telling her what she wanted to know if she'd hit the end of her tolerance for his bullshit for the day. But that was also her reading in, putting a connotation onto it that probably was just her imagination. "The place I only picked because your co-workers won't go there, really. It's safer for me. The only other place I could go that would be less likely to have your family show up to gut me is the tunnels, and I'm pretty sure I'd be eaten alive down there. Possibly literally, with some of the stories I've heard. I have nowhere to go. I had to take what I could get. Otherwise, it'd just be a matter of time before someone saw me, and we wouldn't be having this conversation. I'd be dead and you'd be assuring people that you dropped me in the river." She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "What would you have said to me?" she asked. "If I'd waited for you to come home." He hadn't given her much choice to begin with, when he'd first brought her home. He'd been barking orders that night, that was for damn sure. She highly doubted he would have beencooly rational and ready to talk about it.

They're not my family, Brett thought to himself as she said that, but for once he actually bit back saying that. "I don't want your apologies," he said, instead. "And don't give me your bullshit about this all being for my own fucking good, like you only had my interests at heart. What, you think I would have stopped you from going, if you hadn't run the fuck away?" he asked her. Which, in all honesty, he knew he probably would have done. Or would have attempted to do - if he'd been able to find a way to do that without actually, say, admitting that what he would have been doing.

"The thought crossed my mind, yes." Eris said. "And can you stop accusing me of being a selfish bitch now? If you honestly think that, what the fuck are you doing here anyways? I mean really, have I done a bunch to actually give you that impression? I don't deserve this." she said, exhaling. "Either that, or just lay it out there, Brett. Please, I invite you. Tell me exactly what you think of me." Because she was getting tired of all the backhanded 'you're a bitch' he kept throwing at her, and her tolerance for it was wearing thin for the evening.

"You don't want to know," Brett told her, his walls slamming back up into place again. It wasn't so much that he believed that she didn't want to know - it was that he didn't want to tell her and it was Brett's defensive reaction to turn everything possible back on the other person - attack as a form of defence. He was of the opinion that it had worked well for him over the years, if left him lonely, isolated and incredibly bitter. But, he held, not all of that was him - most of that was caused by other people. By the people who had screwed him over and made him into this wreck in the first place.

"Yes, Brett, I do." Eris said, standing back up and walking over to him. "You certainly seem apt to throw it in there whenever you want, so I just want it full force, right now. Shouldn't be hard for you." she told him. He just didn't say it directly. He always implied everything, and well, she was sick of implications. "So go ahead. I'm listening. Get it all off your chest, I'm sure you want to. You've got the perfect opportunity."

Brett half turned and glared at her in the dark. "You always think you know, don't you? You make assumptions and fucking - you don't know me. You don't know anything about me. So don't presume that you could ever guess what's 'best' for me. You left - you left because you wanted to leave and you didn't give a damn about what I... That was all about you and what you wanted and what you needed - and clearly what you needed was to not be around me." or, that's what he'd thought - but as he said it, her words from earlier, that she wouldn't prefer it if he left, chimed in like an off-note there. But like most things that didn't fit when Brett was ranting, he ignored it. "Why the fuck do you think I came here when you were going to be out. And what do I think of you? I think you're someone who's used to getting their own way, playing by their own rules, not someoneelse's . And yeah, I thought you'd been born to that - you definitely act like it at times - but if you're not, you definitely got used to it and now that's been taken away... What do you want? You can't go back, so what do you fucking want? you got a job, you got a place - you know, I'd say that was a fucking good thing, but you're not taking the pills you need, you're drinking far fucking more than you should - and when was the last time you really ate? So, what is this, Princess? What do you want?" he asked her, changing tack mid-rant.

"Where the fuck do you get off bitching at me saying I know things when all you ever fucking do is imply it! Like I'm meant to just stand here and take whatever shit you sling my way because you feel like it. Because whatever the fuck switch in your head gets flipped, and it's time to take it out on Julia again. I'm not a fucking idiot, as much as you seem to think I am, and you continually saying over and over that I do what I do for myself, while entirely ignoring the fact that I keep fucking telling you that's not the case--what am I meant to think? Huh? you draw me different conclusions there then, you fucking selfish bastard." she snapped, really wanting to slap him. She generally didn't go that route, but tonight he was getting to her worse than usual. Probably because it was difficult to argue with someone when they made no goddamn sense. "So who's got it all figured out, Brett. Because it sounds one hell of a lot like it's you. That you've just decided shit is the way you want it to be, and that's it, andnevermind what I have to say about it. So do not even start bullshit where you're slinging that accusation on me until you take a look at your own goddamn behavior." She walked away a few paces again, so she could get over the urge to crack him one, and she had to think about where his rant wound up. She didn't actually know when she'd eaten last, so she couldn't answer him on that. Not that she expected he'd listen to anything she had to say in the first place. It also sank in late that he'd come here when she was out because he'd wanted to avoid her. "I want what I can't have." she said, much quieter, turning and heading back into the loft proper. It was kind of a response on all levels. It could be applied to oh...absolutely everything.

"You asked me what I thought and I told you!" Brett barked back at her, voice raised. he was vaguely ware on some level that the way they were going at each other right now, they'd be heard on the street below, which wasn't a good thing. It was only a small realisation, but it was enough for him to bite back and quieten down, storming off over the other side of the room, finding the kitchen sink and leaning over it, breathing deeply until he'd calmed down. Sometimes he just wanted to shake her. He really, really did. Annoying, frustrating... God, she just...

He ran the water until it turned cold and splashed some over his face, not saying anything more for now, her final comment echoing in his ears. He knew how that one felt.

Didn't say anything to him at the final comment there, because that much was true--though she didn't even know if he did tell her. He just kind of bitched about her. Or maybe that was it, and she just didn't like what she heard, or...her head was far too messy to actually try and unravel it. She heard him at the sink, and she wandered closer to the door. She was considering leaving. Just...walking out. She didn't know where she would go, or what she would do, but that was what her instincts told her at the moment. What she didn't do was shout at him anymore.

Brett pushed off the sink and walked over to the loveseat sitting down and finally putting his shoes on. "I'm going to go," he told her, his voice calmer than it had been. He didn't add anything to that - there felt like this huge hole where words should be, but he didn't have any to fill them right now. He laced his shoes up too tight and stood, feeling like the decision was final - it was almost unsettling, uncomfortable. It didn't sit well with him, but he couldn't articulate that. Definitely not to her.

Hearing that made her chest feel tight. "That's what I was thinking." she said, voice soft. Quiet. Not a whisper, but close. She felt like everything was off too. Probably because whenever they'd had arguments before, there wasn't really any leaving. Sure, he could walk out and everything, but he had to come back eventually. And he didn't, now. Now, he could fuck off and stay that way. Just not come back, and god did she hate that idea. Even with everything else going on, and the fight, and the bruised feelings, and everything else going on, she didn't want that. "I'd just...go for a walk or something."

"It's your place," Brett pointed out.

<i>Yeah, well you never make sense, why do I have to? went through her mind. "I know." she said, making the move to continue towards the door. And a whole flood of other thoughts hit, but she didn't share them. It's not really my place. I'm not really here. I don't really exist. I'm a shadow, sweetie. Shadows don't have places.

He walked across the room, also heading for the door, to cut her off. "I'm not going to chase you out of your own place," he told her, purposefully not using the word 'home'. That felt too... he didn't know what but he wasn't using it.

She stopped for a moment, looking up at him. "You aren't." she told him, but didn't quite explain it. She was still feeling really off, vastly unhappy, and jittery was starting to work itself onto the list. "I just...need a minute, or some air, or...I can't breathe in here." she said, voice sounding as strained as she felt at the moment. And it was true, she did feel like she couldn't breathe, though that really wasn't due to the physical space and she knew it.

He stepped back then, clearing the way to the door, taking her reasoning silently. Maybe it was an act of faith, as a response to everything that had been said - Brett didn't think about it that much. But if she wanted out, and it wasn't that he was making her get out, then he wasn't going to stand in her way. Though he knew the streets were dangerous for any woman alone at this time of night,nevermind one that was meant to be dead.

Eris walked to the door and unlocked it, opening it up and she stepped into the darker blackness that was the claustrophobic stairwell. She could feel cool air rushing up from down in the alley where it came out at, and she noticed herchristmas lights weren't working again. Typical. She just stared down the stairs for a long few moments, recognizing she was in her pajamas, barefoot, and really wasn't in any way prepared to go out into the weather. Not in fucking January. That part just skipped her mind in the first place. Details hadn't seemed important. She thought about herself, walking up and down the streets, lost, because hey--it wasn't like she was going to remember how to get back if she wandered too far. She'd get caught. And if it wasn't by the people Brett worked for, she'd be picked up by someone else. Maybe they'd cart her off to Bedlam. She laughed suddenly, a sound that wasn't at all a good one, and she clapped one hand over her mouth as if she could take it back.

Brett had hung back. He had every intention of following her, but he wasn't going to make that obvious. He'd equally had every intention of leaving not five minutes ago, of walking out and just... He didn't know what. Leaving her to it? he hadn't thought that far along. But the moment that she'd said she needed air, and he'd stepped aside, he'd known that he'd be tailing her. That was just the way it was. And evenmoreso when he heard the almost hysterical little laugh.

Well if she'd needed air before, she definitely needed it now, and she broke into a run, dashing down the stairs, practically falling about halfway down, and she stumbled hard down a couple of steps before she got her footing again. But she kept going, until she broke into the alley. She'd never really had a panic attack before, but that was definitely what was going on now. She still felt like she couldn't breathe, she felt lost and everything around her looked unfamiliar and off kilter. All jagged edges, dark shadows and sharp lines. She splashed through a puddle, trying to breathe, gasping in air too fast. She wanted to scream. Really, that's what she wanted to do. Just scream until her voice gave out and then...she didn't know. Was this what going mad was like? It had to be.

Shit. He hadn't expected her to run, and she was near enough outside before he'd recovered himself enough to start out after her, already mentally plotting the routes she could possibly take from the exit. He slowed as he got there, enough to look round for her without her being able to see him if she happened to look back, then emerged out onto the road, keeping to the shadows, keeping back, watching the streets for any signs of danger.

She leaned over, hanging her head down, hands on her knees. She kept trying to breathe, but it still felt like she couldn't. It still felt like her chest was too tight. Blinking hard, she realized that she'd started crying somewhere in there. She just had no clue when. It didn't even occur to her to look back, to look for him.

He pulled back against the wall as she stopped, stopping himself and watching her. She really wasn't dressed for this, not at all. She couldn't be out for long. His gaze roamed over her, then out across the street, watching for traffic, for people, for anything. But there was nothing - nothing to be concerned about, anyhow.

Standing straight eventually, she hugged her arms across her stomach, and looked around. Up, towards the loft, though there hadn't been any lights on, and none got turned on since her little meltdown. Had he left? Did she miss it? Was he still up there? Or was he gone now, and not coming back, and that was it, and it was all over? Only not, really. She knew she'd keep looking for him, because she always looked for him even if he wasn't there. He was this presence in her life and it was going to leave a huge fucking hole with him gone. She really didn't think there was any fixing that. She reached up and wiped at her eyes again, though she looked down before she did it, just in case. Then she looked up the alley, and down it. Was one of them blind? Did it end on one side? Did she go for the street? Where was she headed? Would she get there? How long would her memory hold out before she was hopelessly lost? ...the better question was if she cared or not. She started walking towards the street, though it was a halting sort of gait. Unsure, at best, and she hissed a little as she stepped on something, and she looked down at her foot to see if she'd cut it. Yeah, this had just been a bad idea all around, hadn't it. It was cold, too. Wet. Because it was always fucking wet--or maybe that was just the puddle.

He watched as she stooped, as he took in that she'd probably hurt herself. He wasn't surprised at that. Not surprised at all. His instinct was to go - to walk over and to check her out. Make sure that she was alright. But he didn't - he wasn't here, not for this. She hadn't seen him - he wasn't going to be seen. It was full circle to where he'd been earlier on that night. Where he'd figured was best for him - in her life, but unseen. Unregarded. They drove each other crazy and no, apparently, neither one of them would walk away. It was madness, he knew that. yet he was still here. Watching.

She didn't know if she'd cut herself or not. She was fairly hard pressed to care right now, so she just kept going. She walked towards the street, starting to hear cars occasionally pass. The outside world was there. But then, Eris' world had never been a big place. First it had been that fucking hellhole that was the apartment she'd grown up in. And even after she'd gotten Babylon...she hadn't left very often. People came to her. Then it was Gray's house. Then it was Brett's. All different little prisons in their own right, really. And now here. Where she could leave...only her own mind was the cage. Stopping, she just looked out onto the street, where she could see lights, where there were vague sounds from the bar. She could go. She could get herself lost, and just vanish. But it wasn't that easy. Because it wasn't as if her story would abruptly stop when she dropped off the grid. It hadn't so far, even if ErisStockard was just gone to the rest of the city.

He moved slowly after her, stepping around and over the detritus which littered the sides of the alley. At one point he missed, kicking over a box that disturbed a cat which went running, yowling out across the alley. Skinny thing, feral and vicious, but knowing when it was outmatched enough to run rather than fight. Brett pressed his body back into the shadows, waiting, breath held, to see if she'd notice him there.

She jolted at the sound, and she whirled around, seeing a blur of motion that was the cat darting off into the shadows, and her heart was thudding in her ears. Her panic button hit, and she stumbled backwards a few steps, towards the street. She almost called for him. But he wouldn't do that, would he? Scare her like this? He was a mean bastard but he wasn't sadistic. And if it wasn't him, she didn't want to call for him because that would put his name out there. If it was the wrong someone, someone who was there to take her out or would take her out, she couldn't just call out for Brett like she knew him. It would mean bad things. Aware in that moment just how unarmed and unprepared for anything she was, she seriously debated just running. Turning and bolting out into the street. But it might be nothing, it might just be a fucking cat. Maybe it wasn't even that, maybe she was just crazy.

Brett stayed totally still as she whirled around, as she searched the alleyway with her eyes. He hardly even breathed. he didn't want her to find him - that wasn't the point. He was just there to make sure she didn't get into any trouble, that was all. She'd needed air, space - and he figured that very clearly and definitely meant space from him as well. So she didn't get to know he was there.

She reached up and covered her face with her hands for a moment. She was scared. That hard thud of her heart in her ears was drowning out everything else. She still felt like air just wasn't getting in well enough. And she knew it was probably all in her head. This entire thing. Everything about it. The sound up the alley? Probably just her mind, playing off of her fears, and she didn't have the control she used to where she could just shut it down and block it out. So it was taking hold, and she didn't know what to do. she didn't know how to deal with it. Any other times in her life she'd been truly afraid, she'd been able to push it back and work around it. That really wasn't the case anymore. Now, it felt like it was choking her. There's nothing there, there's nothing there, there's nothing there. she told herself, but it didn't really have any effect on her. In the end she did exactly what she shouldn't--she turned and bolted.

Brett swore under his breath as she started to run again and he took off after her - which was harder than it sounded. Running whilst trying to stay hidden just wasn't an easy thing to do. But he gave it his best shot, keeping to the edges, closing the gap between them a little more as she neared the mouth of the alley, just in case. he hadn't clued into the fact that it was him she was running from. Or, rather, the idea of someone being there. he didn't think she'd seen him before she ran, had thought the cat had covered for the noise. he just didn't want to let her go out there unprotected. Which, of course, she could generally do when he wasn't around anyhow.

She didn't stop when she hit the street. She ran out into it, even, a car hitting the horn and swerving around her to miss her, and she tried to skid to a halt, but her feet spilled out from under her and she went down. Another car swerved and she was shouted at out an open window, not that she actually heard that. She heard the sounds of the cars, and she heard the horn, but everything else was fairly drowned out. Panic did that. She sat there for a few moments, before she pushed herself back up to her feet, and she looked around, thinking this here? This was it. She was That Crazy Woman. Right now, that's exactly who she was. Some girl out in her nightgown, running out into the middle of the street, and from what? Nothing? Her own paranoia?

Brett pulled himself up at the mouth of the alley as she ran out into the road - the last thing either of them needed was to attract undue attention, and she was doing that well enough on her own right now, without giving people the sight of a large man chasing a woman in her nightgown out of an alleyway - that was a sure fire way to get trouble and the cops coming and sharpish. So, he stopped before anyone could see him, keeping an eye on the situation, ready to step in as a 'passerby' if it was needed.

She made her way back towards the sidewalk, at least the whole nearly getting run over thing stopping her from fully just running away. She looked around again, everything blurry and distorted as she looked through the tears. God, she needed to calm down. She needed to do something that wasn't this. But everything seemed scary right now, and she was disoriented. She looked back towards the alley, but couldn't make anything out, even as she wiped her eyes and tried to look harder. To see if it really was her imagination. She was shaking, and she didn't know if it was the adrenaline, or the cold, or what. She heard voices up the street, the door of the bar opening up and she dashed back towards the alley, not really watching where she was headed. Just 'out of sight'.

She was coming back his way and he knew that she'd have to see him - and he caught sight of the tears, the way she was acting so panicked. Brett stepped into her path and caught her as she ran past him, pulling her into him as a way of stopping her from running, turning them both so that his back was toward the alley, shielding her totally from the gaze of anyone who decided to investigate the alley, though he was deep enough in that they'd have to be looking.

She gave a short little scream when she was suddenly grabbed. She hadn't expected it, she hadn't seen him coming at all, and everything happened so fast. She struggled for just a minute, looking up to try and defend herself, but it was him. It was Brett, and she just looked up at him, expression an open mixture of fear, relief, and a whole host of other emotions. When that recognition of him hit, she stopped any attempts to fight though, and after a miserable moment, she just sagged against him, forehead resting against his chest as she tried really really hard to pull herself together. It just wasn't going to be easy.

For a moment there, he just held her, putting his arms around her as she rested her forehead against his chest. It felt very apparent, there and then, just how tiny she actually was. There was nothing to her - nothing but force of personality. But physically?

He started to feel a little uncomfortable as that all filtered through, winding into his conscious, settling there. It wasn't anything he hadn't considered before, but before there had always been that distance. And before he'd covered with a sheet of bitching - he couldn't do that now. Things had been hell tonight, they'd been hell. Even Brett could recognise when too far was too far. And when he didn't want to go there.

She reached up to wipe at her eyes but didn't step back yet. She knew she should, even if she felt safer there where she was. He had that effect on her. He was there, between her and the street, and...somewhere in there he'd put his arms around her and she wasn't sure when that had actually happened. But probably the thing he'd been going for was to calm her down. Or maybe he just hadn't wanted to chase her if she bolted. In fact, she really didn't trust her judgment on anything right then, so she decided she wasn't going to try and figure out his motivation. "I'm sorry, I--" she started, but she didn't actually know where that sentence ended. Like she wasn't sure what she was sorry for either. Possibly a lot of things but she didn't know exactly what.

"You okay?" he asked - one of the very few times he'd actually ever asked her that question, and managing to do it in a tone totally devoid of anger, or contempt, or even sarcasm. In fact, on anyone else, it might even sound like honest concern.

His tone got through, because it was unfamiliar. She'd only heard it once or twice, really. She shook her head. "No." she answered. Because hey, was she ever not. She wiped at her eyes again, and looked up at him, figuring she looked like she felt--a mess. Maybe she needed to take her fucking medication. Maybe that was it, why this was happening to her. Why everything felt so jumbled right now, and scary, and off.

He looked down at her, took a breath - and then took a step back, letting her go, detaching himself from her. "Right," he said, quietly - not much of a reply, all things considered, but there was that discomfort and awkwardness there.

What reaction she expected, she didn't know. But it wasn't quite that. Just...right. She could tell there was that whole back off, strange thing going on, and it made her feel self conscious. Because for a second, she'd kind of leaned with him, but then...no. She looked down, and her arms slid around herself. Right. When she looked back up at him she gave him a kind of watery smile. "Not really your problem, huh?" she asked, completely rhetorically. She didn't expect an answer, she didn't really want one. "I..." she looked away, reaching up to pull her fingers through her hair. She was confused, and lost, and she didn't know what to do, and she didn't quite know how to deal with him either, and she was crying, and that needed to stop. And he'd been going to leave. He was Leaving, even. This might be the last time she saw him. Actually, that was even more likely now, because who wanted to be around someone they couldn't stand and was a fucking basket case? No one, that's who.

"Did you cut your foot?" he asked her - not answering her question. It had looked like she may have done, from where he'd been standing. And now that he was giving up all pretence that he'd not followed her, he may as well ask - and make sure that it was clean and looked at, since the only doctor she could go see had disappeared weeks ago.

"I don't know, I think--" she started, then stopped abruptly. She looked back, frowning, confused. "How--" she started, it taking her a second to catch on. "Was that you? Did you--" she didn't know how to word that, so she didn't. She left it there. Maybe he'd just gotten to leaving late. He'd just happened to be there, or...she didn't know. She really didn't but she felt like she was missing something, and all she had was a fragmented frame of mind to work with.

I wanted to make sure that you were going to be okay, Brett admitted, but only to himself - he couldn't admit that to her. "You left. I left - it's a small alley," he told her instead, ignoring completely the fact he'd left histoolbag upstairs in her apartment.

She still looked confused. "I thought I heard something, I didn't see..." she shook her head, dismissing it as her own fucked perceptions. But did it add up? When exactly had she cut her foot? Was it before the cat? "Think I'm going crazy." she whispered, a barely audible expression not really meant for his ears. She shivered, the cold seeping into her bones, and she decided to concentrate on what she could handle. She lifted her foot up to eye the bottom, where she could see red.

He didn't catch the mutter - but he did catch the blood on her foot. "That'll be a 'yes' then," he told her. "Come back upstairs and I'll clean it up for you," he added, giving enough to make that sound like an opinion more than a command. He usually toned things to be commands - which he was aware really pissed her off. He was on his best behaviour right now. Well, comparatively.

At the moment, he probably could have toned it like a command and she wouldn't have said anything. She was a little too wrecked and off of her game to really combat him at the moment. And she didn't really want to clean it up. If she went upstairs alone, she'd probably just go fall into bed, and try and pretend this night hadn't actually happened. So she just nodded, and took a step, before she looked up and down the alley, not remembering which way to go until she saw where the street was, so she was back the other way.

He watched her - it took him a minute to realise that she didn't know which way to go. They were less than a couple of hundred yards from her door and she didn't know where she was. That? Was not good. At all. "This way, Princess," he told her, stepping in and putting a hand at the base of her spine before leading her in the right direction. Right now he was actually worried.

She was going to say something, and in the end didn't. She just kept quiet, and she let him lead her back to the loft. It was a little strange, the contact there, his hand on her back, but she didn't protest it. She didn't trust herself to. She didn't trust herself to do damn near anything, really. Right now her best bet was to keep quiet, and follow along. At least she felt like the tears were ebbing. it didn't mean she hadn't just had a total meltdown in front of Brett, which she was wishing he hadn't seen, but still. Baby steps were important right now.

He walked her silently, slowly - letting her set the pace, but keeping with her at all times. He allowed her to go up the stairs before him, yet he was only a step behind, his hand on her back the whole way up. He'd left the door unlocked, since he didn't have a key and he hadn't known whether she'd taken one, but he opened it for her, so she could go inside, still right there, behind her.

It was comforting, him being there. Even if it didn't stop feeling strange. Like he was...well. Taking care of her. Eris wasn't the type who'd ever really been taken care of in her life. If she'd ever needed looking after she'd done it herself. She just happened to be a whole lot less capable of that these days. And to be taken care of by Brett, who...she didn't even know. But she didn't say anything about it either, just rolling with it. There was little else she could do. She could feel the sting in her foot, though it was a really vague sensation that couldn't quite vie for attention with the mess in her head.

He led her over to to the loveseat and sat her down. "Stay here," he told her, before heading off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit she kept there, switching a light on as he went, finally taking them back out of the darkness. He fetched the kit from the cabinet under the sink and headed back to her, via the kitchen sink where he collected a bowl of water to clean her up with.

Vaguely, she wondered when he went in the bathroom, if he noticed the broken mirror in there. But she didn't say anything about it, and remained where he'd put her, staying as told. She turned her head to watch him, eyes squinting a little from the lights being on now. They were giving her a little bit of a headache, but she didn't mention it. The headache could be from anything, really, the lights were probably just pushing it along a touch. It wasn't as if she didn't have other factors going on, like the drinking, the fight, the brain damage....

He set the kit and the water on the floor, before sitting down beside her - there wasn't much room on the loveseat, but he sat as much on the other end of it as he could. "Give me you foot then," he requested, almost formally.

She drew in a breath, and let it out slowly, doing as he asked. She paused though, brushing some dirt off of her calf before she brought it up. Then she wasn't sure where to put it. On the couch, or on is thigh, or what. The cut was on the arch of her foot, just above her heel, and she was kind of trying to figure out logistics while not seeming awkward--and she really failed there.

Brett made the end of the decision for her, bringing her foot into his lap, which was just the best position for him to be looking at it. Which is what he started to do, cleaning the dirt and blood off silently. he felt no need to make the expected small talk about how she shouldn't go out without shoes, and for once wasn't really up for bitching her out about the same topic either.

She didn't fill the silence either, she just kind of watched him as he worked. She'd patched him up a few times, usually after she sort of talked him into it, or she tried enough times and he gave up telling her to fuck off. His work wasn't exactly nice work, so he got roughed up now and then. Like she could see the scabs on the back of his knuckles, still. She stayed still, though hissed a little bit when he touched someplace sensitive. Right. So, that had been a stupid idea of hers. Though really, quite a lot of tonight could be chalked up under the same heading.

For a man who spent most of his present life threatening to, or actually causing, harm - and the rest of the time being a miserable confrontational bastard, Brett actually worked gently and neatly - and he'd clearly done this kind of thing before. He didn't look at her as he worked, concentrating solely and totally on her small injury, making sure there was no glass or dirt left in the wound, that it was totally clean. The last thing she needed right now was for it to get infected. Once he was satisfied that it was clean, he covered it in an equally neat bandage and let her foot go again.

She waited for a few moments after he let go, eyes still on him, before she removed her foot from where it rested in his lap. He hadn't done it, but she could imagine that he didn't especially want it there, so she curled it in close to herself as she rested her shoulder against the back of theloveseat. "Can..." she started, and stopped, for a few long moments. Then she tried again. "Can you go get me my medication?" she asked.

He didn't verbally acquiesce to her request, but he gathered everything up and stood, going and gathering her pills - counting each one out from their respective bottles to give her her night time dose - and a glass of water for her. Then he sat down with her again and handed them over.

She took them, and swallowed her pills down, drinking about half the glass of water with them. Then she just held the rest of the glass in against her thigh, and let her eyes settle on him again. "Thank you." she said, after what felt like too long a silence. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but at the same time didn't know if she even wanted to ask right now. If it would just be a huge waste of time, or start something else, if she could deal with that... At the moment she was feeling very fragile, and she hated it. She just also couldn't shake it. what she was wondering about was that he'd sat with her again. She'd sort of vaguely figured that he'd be gone again already by now.

"Did you get enough air?" Brett asked her, finally breaking his self-imposed silence to ask the question. He'd gone five whole minutes without bitching at her for or about something now, and was swiftly approaching a record in their relationship. But she seemed more fragile tonight, like she would break at any moment, and whilst he'd purposefully broken people in the past, chased them off well and truly, he didn't want to do that here. Not really. Everything he did to her - he kept her at arms length when he could, but he always stopped short of alienating her entirely.

She let out a little choked sounding laugh, and looked away, curling in on herself slightly more. She couldn't tell if he was meaning to needle her, or what, but she kept her eyes averted. "...I don't know. I just...I don't know. Doesn't matter." she answered him truthfully. Particularly that last bit. Because it didn't matter. Couldn't matter. It wasn't like she could get more, even if she was properly dressed for the weather.

Brett opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it and closed it again, turning to slouch on the loveseat, side on to her now, there but not engaging with her. He was still worried about what he'd seen in the alleyway, the confusion written on her face there. he wasn't going to be bringing it up if he could help it, but there was a reason he was no longer trying to leave.

She kept her eyes on him, watched him settle. which was odd because she kept expecting him to leave. "...what were you going to say?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know, so much as felt the need to. She took another drink of her water, and let her eyes settle on him. She had an easier time looking at him just then, even if she was half waiting for him to say something not so pleasant to her. It would be familiar, anyhow.

"Doesn't matter," Brett told her, that dull tone which didn't encourage questioning or interest was back. They'd fought enough tonight, he wasn't looking for another. And all roads seemed to lead to arguments, after all.

"Brett..." she started, tone strained, but she didn't add more. She wanted to know what it was he was going to say, she wanted to know why he'd actually opted not to say it. Brett wasn't really a pull the punches sort, so it seemed odd to her. Which just made her want to know more. Must be that masochistic streak again, kicking in. She just couldn't help it. Letting things go hadn't ever been her strong suit, and it wasn't now either.

"Don't start, Princess," he asked of her, turning to look at her. "Please," he added - another word he didn't use too much.

Sure, he had to say please. "Alright." she said quietly, exhaling. She drank some more water, and curled into the corner of the loveseat a little more, kind of wanting a blanket, but they were all the way over on the bed, and she didn't want to get up just now. Letting her eyes fall shut, she stayed where she was for a moment, trying to get the swirl of fucked up to at least push back farther so she could feel more on top of her game. She usually recovered faster than this as well. Was that a medication issue too?

He watched her as she lay back and closed her eyes. "Not a comfortable place to fall asleep, darling," he said, almost softly. He had to wonder if he was going to be getting any real sleep tonight - this wasn't how things had been meant to go. but then again, how often did anything in life go the way you wanted it to? Never - that was when.

"I'm not sleeping here. I'm just...resting." she answered him, opening her eyes back up belatedly. why are you being so nice to me? was right on the tip of her tongue, and she even opened her mouth to say it, then caught it and didn't. "My head's a mess right now." she said instead. "I'm trying to quiet the noise down." It was true, even if it hadn't at all been what she had been going to say.

He didn't know what to say to that - handling these kind of situations wasn't exactly his forte. he wanted to suggest that she just go to bed, then rest could go into sleep whenever she wanted, without her needing to move again, but he couldn't actually bring himself to say that whole 'go to bed' line. So, he lapsed into silence once more.

She was silent for a good ten minutes, just letting it keep going forward. She finished off her glass of water and shifted so she could set it on the table behind her, then she settled again, eyes still on him. "I can't really go for a walk." she said. "I realized that after I'd walked out I just...I'd get lost." she told him, voice quiet. Almost like she wasn't actually talking to him so much as thinking aloud.

Brett nodded - he didn't point out that he'd noticed she couldn't find her way back. "Is it easier in daylight?" he asked her, actually exercising some patience. He wasn't sure how long he could keep it up for, but he was trying.

"...not really. The problem isn't the dark and I can't see as much, the problem is remembering where turns are. Or if there even were turns." Eris said, tone the same, even if she kept looking directly at him. "It was why I gave myself as long as I did to try and find you again if you hadn't found me. ...I knew I couldn't exactly just do it no problem. It's not like I really know where the apartment is? When you brought me there, it was just the back alley entrance I saw anyhow, and so actually finding it again wouldn't work so well. I was probably going to wind up having to ask for information, or find it, or something and be brought in the neighborhood, then find it from there...I hadn't figured out how it would work yet. Or how I'd get back."

Brett's jaw flexed slightly but he determinedly swallowed the comment. He wasn't looking for a fight right now, so he wasn't at all going to say how that just supported what he'd thought in the first place - that she'd left, that she'd left him no clue to where she would be, and that she wasn't going to come back if he'd not been able to find her. She couldn't have known that he would have tracked her down. And now there was the admission - that she hadn't known how to get back to where he was. How convenient. "How do you get food?" he asked her, trying for a normal tone, but the edge was there. Fuck.

She heard it, but it was actually a little relieving. Better than the silence, and more familiar. "I get things from the kitchen downstairs." she said. She didn't actually go to the store or anything. She didn't know where the nearest one was, and couldn't actually go in the first place, just in case someone recognized her. "I'm not going to break, Brett." she added after a few moments, and she drew her knee up, arms loosely around it, and she rested her chin there. "...I don't really know what you're doing right now, but...you don't have to."

He looked at her, then immediately away again, just a flickering glance. He wasn't so sure she wasn't going to break right now - she'd looked pretty fucking breakable in the alleyway at least. "What would you prefer me to do?" he asked her.

"...be honest?" she suggested. "Say what's on your mind. You don't usually pull a punch, Brett...it's kind of..." worrisome. She couldn't actually use that word. Mostly because she wasn't so much worried about him. He was fine, or she imagined he was. It was more the implication of what his behavior towards her meant in the grander scheme. Like what he was doing it for. What reasons he had. Those were blank spots and she didn't like them there. At least when he was bitching at her she knew where she stood.

Brett looked back at her, really wanting to point out that last time she'd told him to just tell her something and he had, she'd immediately leaped to screaming at him. His brand of honesty didn't usually go down too well, with anyone really.

She kept her eyes on his. "It's unsettling." she admitted. "You're being too quiet, and you're not saying things, and I just..." That kind of just made everything worse, and she didn't know how to explain it. Or if he'd take it as intended, which she wasn't sure he would. No. She was fairly sure he wouldn't, Brett was nothing if not capable of taking absolutely everything out of her mouth in exactly the wrong manner.

"You'd really prefer to fight right now?" Brett asked her, his tone one of dry doubt, as if the clear and obvious answer to that should very much be 'no'. What reasonable person preferred to fight at any time? Of course, the answer to that question was simpler if you weren't Brett Trent, who had an ability to conjure up a reason to fight out of thin air.

She didn't answer him immediately, then looked away. "...is everything you have to say to me argument-worthy?" she asked instead, tone light. Not quite distant, but almost. Probably because she knew the answer to that, and it was 'yes'. The man wasn't known for his sweet sentiments, particularly when it came to her. But since he'd put it like that, she had to ask.

"Seems everything we ever talk about leads to one, sooner or later," Brett pointed out, not willing to land all the blame for that on himself. The fact was that they fought - a lot. Even when she'd been living with him, it wasn't like they really got on. They rubbed along together, but that hadn't smoothed out any of the bumps at all. He found her overly-observant, frustrating and often confrontational. She had a way of worming her way under his skin and pushing his buttons. He didn't know what she thought of him. Oh, aside from the fact that he was a selfish bastard.

"Doesn't have to start there." Eris said. Because it didn't. and every so often, usually after they'd fought for a while, they could even out into a conversation. She kind of wondered what it might be like to skip the argument portion of the evening and skip straight to at least being civil. She wasn't actually certain if they could pull it off, them being how they were, but she felt slightly more capable of it at the moment, being as messy-headed and emotionally exhausted as she did.

"Doesn't it?" Brett asked her, doubtful of that. It seemed, for them at least, that an argument was pretty compulsory. That was just how it was, how it had always been. And he was sure that it wasn't just him - the doc hadn't been able to deal with her either. Hell, he hadn't really asked whatgray'd been unable to deal with, but if Brett was the better option... Then again, he knew much more now about what that guy had been up to, so maybe that wasn't such a surprise at all any more.

She drew in a breath and exhaled it, shutting her eyes for a moment. "I'm too tired to argue with you." she told him. "Doesn't mean I want to sit here in silence, wondering what you're thinking, and worrying about what it might be." she said, going for flat honesty on that one. "So if all you've got to say is argumentative stuff, you've probably got a free pass."

"I think you should get some sleep. You want to know what I'm thinking? That's what I'm thinking," he told her. he wasn't going to get into the rest. She might think he was a bastard - she did think he was a bastard, but she was doing as badly as he'd ever seen her tonight - unconscious and half-strangled aside, at least - and he wasn't going to add to that just because she got 'worried' when he held back.

That pretty much clinched it for her. She looked away for a long moment. "...I'm that bad, huh?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question. She shut her eyes again, and kept her face averted, feeling all kinds of off and ten kinds of bad. He just thought she should go to sleep. Right. Because that was really something that would cause a fight. No, he was still just not saying shit, and that right there told her in no uncertain terms. Fuck.

Brett stood and walked a few paces away. "Nothing to do with that, Princess. You're tired, so you should sleep," he told her, facing away from her still. He wondered if this would prove the theory: that everything they talked about turned into an argument, one way or another.

She heard him walk away, and she opened her eyes to lay her gaze on his back. "You don't--" she started, but she didn't know how to word anything, so she just stopped. She changed track. "...are you still leaving?" she asked instead. She didn't really know what she thought his answer might be, or even what she wanted it to be at this point. Most of the time, she would want him to stay. But if he was staying because he felt sorry for her or something...that left her feeling bruised.

"No, I'm not leaving," he said. That he was sure about. Before he'd not been leaving because he wanted to stop her drinking - now, he didn't think that would be a problem. Now he wasn't leaving because he was flat out, straight up, worried about her. And about leaving her alone right now when she clearly wasn't doing so well.

Yep. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not. She stood up though, and frowned a little. Now that she'd warmed up some and was slightly more in the now, she could feel the sting on her foot. She walked over near him, though stayed a foot or so back from him. "Are you staying because you feel sorry for me?" she asked. "...I don't want pity." she didn't say it with a pointed tone, it was honest. One thing that she'd never gotten the impression of with Brett was that he pitied her, and she hadn't realized until just now that it was something she greatly appreciated. So, right now, with the possibility in her mind, she wanted to put that out there.

"You're not getting pity, sweetheart," he told her, not looking round at her. And she wasn't - she was getting worry, it was a very different thing in his head. This was very specific to the circumstance, to everything about tonight. He didn't pity her, because he wouldn't. he didn't wantanyone's pity either, about anything. It was just that his issues were easier to hide, simply by dint of never talking about them.

Whether she believed it or not, she was going to accept it. Even if he was on 'sweetheart' and not 'princess'. She turned, and walked over to the light switch, to flick it back off again. She felt a little better when the shadows were back, where she could hide more. Even if it wasn't like she was actually hiding. Just...less obvious. Or maybe she was screamingly obvious and she was just telling herself a nice story so she could keep some semblance of sanity with her. Walking over to the bed, she crawled onto it. Curling on her side, she looked over at where she knew he was.

He didn't complain as she switched the lights out, he didn't say anything at all. He heard the springs on the bed creak as she laid down - that was something at least. And she wasn't grilling him on why else he would be staying. And he wasn't filling it in for her anyway. He headed for the bed, shrugging off his jacket and shoes,unshouldering his gun and hanging it once more off the bedpost. Taking off his belt again, before lying down, on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Somehow, she was kind of surprised. She realized that she'd thought he was going to just sit up for a while, or go slouch back down on theloveseat again, but no, he'd come back to bed. She kept her eyes on him, and a lot of things were in her mind, it wasn't really quieting down like it should be. Or she wished it was. But then her mind pretty much didn't cooperate at all with her anymore period. "...is there anything I can do?" she asked, kind of out of the blue, tone light.

He turned his head, but not his body, looking at her in the dark. He was surprised by the question - it seemed out of place, somehow. "Go to sleep?" he suggested, though he knew that was the obvious, and wasn't necessarily that easy. Still, he didn't have any other answer for her.

"Probably not going to happen for a while." she told him honestly. She hadn't really been making up the fact that she used the whole heavy drinking thing to get to sleep. "You're just...really, really tense." she pointed out. Which really wasn't exactly a switch or anything, but he was tense and quiet about it, which was different. That was what was needling her.

"I'm always tense, darling," he reminded her. He assumed she'd noticed that in the past - she was an observant type, after all. She was bound to have noticed. He just usually offloaded some of it directly onto her by bitching her out on a regular basis.

"I know." she said, because it was true. She did. That wasn't anything she was debating. "Don't you ever relax?" she asked him, honesty in her voice there, too. She hugged her pillow to her chest, and shifted, laying on her stomach and it, eyes still on him. "Everyone's got to let go sometime." And she wasn't even actively making him angry right now. Or, she didn't think she was. She wasn't trying to, any ways.

"Do you?" Brett asked, answering a question with a question. He never felt like he relaxed, though he supposed he must do sometimes. Usually very alone sometimes - and since he took her home, he hadn't been alone much. She'd been there. And then she'd left - and he'd looked for her. Those had been long three days. Not much alone time there.

She didn't answer immediately, wanting to give him an honest assessment. "Not a lot. Sometimes." Or more, she had, when she'd been at his place, but that was because she'd known he was there. Mostly, when she could hear him out in the main room, after she'd gone to lie down. Or when she'd been in the bath, but could hear him out there, or in his room. The idea that there was someone between her and the outside door. Between her and the rest of the world, even if that was probably a wildly off idea.

"Nice for you," Brett commented, after a moment or two. At least she could do that - she'd found a way that he hadn't. He was always on edge, always waiting. Paranoid as fuck and working hard never ever to come across as skittish. Always wound up - though the bad tempered persona that came out as didn't actually harm him in regards to the people he was paranoid about. They didn't need him to be a nice guy, so that worked for him. But no, there weren't that many times he really relaxed.

"When was the last time you did?" she asked, voice still soft. She was willing to bet he couldn't really say, or it would be a really vague answer. Sometime a really long ass time ago, probably. She had to wonder if it was three years or so. With whatever had happened then, the big crack in his life.

"Couldn't say," Brett answered her, truthfully. He didn't expand on that - he was still hoping she'd go to sleep, but no, of course not, this was her - she was settling into question mode. Or maybe that was just his pessimistic outlook showing.

She nodded a touch, just keeping her eyes on him. "Don't you ever want to?" she asked. He did seem fairly content to rage at the world twenty four hours a day, but every now and then he had to feel the desire to just stop. To let go,untense and quit being constantly angry. Her mind was back on what she'd known of him before. How even when it was paid for, all said and done, all laid out there for him, easy, willing, everything, he'd never actually taken even that.

"Not sure that 'want' has a whole lot to do with things, Princess," Brett told the darkness, looking back up at the ceiling again. he wanted a lot of things in life, but he'd given up on the idea that he'd ever get any of them a long time ago now.

"Sure it does. You want something bad enough..." she said. Not in her own case. In her past, yes. She'd gotten what she wanted. She'd worked incredibly fucking hard to get it, but she did in the end. It didn't last, but that wasn't the point. She was quiet for a few moments, just watching him. "I recognized you, you know." she said quietly, tone soft.

"No, princess - not even if you want something bad enough," he said, before he realised what else she'd added in there. "You... recognised me when?" he asked, cautiously.

"After I woke up. When I finally got a good look at you, not just your eyes." she said, tone the same. Since that was the first clear thing in her memory after she'd woken back up. Brett's clear blue eyes. That, in the middle of so muchhazyness , it was the only thing that wasn't muddied up with confusion. Of course, she couldn't say when it was. Or what surrounded it, or anything. "I recognized you. You used to come to Babylon sometimes, though it was always on detail, never on your own."

Brett frowned as she mentioned his eyes, wondering how she'd noticed them and not seen the rest of him. He wasn't going to be asking though. Just because he was curious, didn't mean he was going to be asking. "Yeah, I used to come in sometimes," he said, instead, like that was no big thing. She was observant - he wouldn't be surprised if she had every face that came through the door of that place memorised.

"You made quite a stir, you know." she told him. "Most people didn't. Most people the only times they got talked about was seeing who won the bet on whether or not some of your coworkers could get it up this time." Eris paused there, not saying more, watching him. Brett...he'd definitely caused the girls to pay attention.

Brett tensed up a little more, wondering where she was going with this - he knew she had to be leading somewhere, and he was beginning to wonder how much she knew. How much she'd guessed and worked out. "What's your point?" he asked, his voice as tense as his frame.

"You never relaxed then either." she said. She could tell he'd tensed all the more, and she wished she didn't always have that effect on him. But she did, and that was just the way things were. She stressed the man out, whether she wanted to or not. "...don't worry. The girls talked to each other, but never to outsiders." she told him quietly. "They did have some bets though."

"What's. Your. Point?" Brett repeated, wondering if she was just purposefully trying to wind him up. So, she knew that he'd gone along with the guys on the 'expected' trips to her little whorehouse. And she knew that he'd taken a girl each andeverytime , because it was expected. And she knew that each time he'd done nothing - just sat there for an hour or so and left again. What he didn't know was why the hell she was letting him know she knew, and what the hell she thought that would achieve.

"I don't understand." she admitted. "There's a lot of you that doesn't add up. That's just one piece." She also wasn't asking him to clarify it. She wasn't asking him to tell her why. She was just admitting she didn't get it. That she knew she was missing something. Some vital piece. She wanted it. Occasionally, she felt like if she just understood, she'd be able to deal better. Well...she'd be able to deal with him better. "You were even genuinely wanted by a few of them. But it never seemed to matter."

Brett laughed at that, harshly, derisively. The laughter didn't last long. "Some people just decide that they want something because they can't have it," he told her. If some of them had wanted him, that would have been the only reason why, he knew that much. And they would have soon changed their mind when they saw him - he didn't need to deal with the looks of disgust, maybe even horror on their faces. He didn't need to deal with their pity, or their transparent and pathetic attempts to get out of the situation. They didn't know what they were talking about - and neither did she.

She blinked at that, and half propped herself up to look at him. "Why would you say that?" she asked. Nevermind she'd said exactly the same thing earlier. Wanting things she couldn't have, all that. Just in her case it wasn't just something little she was being denied, she wanted her mind back. She wanted control back, she wanted to be able to do things for herself that she really couldn't. She wanted independence and the ability to have a life that at least went somewhere, instead of the nowhere her life was currently heading. "...you think just because they were whores that there's never any desire somewhere?" she asked, the comment not pointed. A lot of people were under that impression.

He looked over at her, hearing the bed springs squeak as she moved. "I think that you'd learn pretty damn quickly to look at a job as just that - a job. Not something to get involved with." he looked back up at the ceiling. "Some of them were glad of the rest," he added, as an afterthought. he'd liked those ones. The ones who knew that an hour spent with him could be an hour of doing whatever the hell they liked, as long as they left him well alone. They were the good ones. Then there were the ones that just wouldn't give it a rest - fucking nuisance women. He knew he'd made some of them cry, but they just wouldn't take no for an answer. then, clearly, they'd gone blabbing to the boss.

"Who said anything about getting involved?" she asked. "Desire doesn't necessarily come with it an automatic attachment. Some of them just...really wanted a crack at you...some were pretty damn upset that you wouldn't let them. And yes, some were happy to let you do whatever. Doesn't mean they were all like that." She kept her eyes on him, wanting to know what the laugh was about.

"Yeah, I noticed," Brett said, but didn't add to that. It was tempting, but he didn't - instead he fell into another round of silence, staring at the ceiling. It was like an itch at the back of his head though - he still wanted to know what her point was. Why she'd told him what she knew, what she was getting at. Somehow he couldn't believe that it was as simple as letting him know she knew he hadn't relaxed enough to ever get laid atbabylon.

"...is that what it would take for you?" she asked, after a few long moments of silence. "Getting involved with someone?" Since that's where he'd taken it automatically. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was one of those rare types who needed the strings attached, who couldn't deal with anything that didn't have any longer term connotation. If that was the case, Brett was in an incredibly shitty position then because he treated the world like it had personally offended him. She knew it wasn't just her he treated like that, it was across the board. So getting through? That would take a fucking feat. Hell, she even actually appreciated the man on levels she couldn't quite explain, and as far as she could tell, he just barely was able to stand her presence, and that was only sometimes.

"Go to sleep," he told her, turning heavily over so that he was on his side with his back facing her. He didn't want to be talking about this. He didn't talk about himself, but he definitely didn't talk about this. And he wasn't going to answer that question - because what would it matter? What the hell did it matter if he needed to get involved or not? When no woman would get involved with him and actually stay involved. Not once things got going. Oh, as long as things stayed nice and innocent, he'd had his share of girlfriends, but nothing ever went very far, and then it ended. And he didn't want to be talking to her about it.

That was as good an answer as if he'd said 'yes'. Huh. That made sense to her. That added up better. If he was the type who couldn't do something part way, which he didn't seem to be in the slightest, then...yeah. If that extended to his personal life, she could see it. She could see Brett with all of his walls, and all of the acid he flung out at everyone around him, and yeah. That would be a very lonely life. And one that had a whole lot of pent up everything. If he could let go for just a little while, she thought it would do him one hell of a lot of good, but that was going to be a hell of a thing to pull off. If it could even happen. She thought about when she'd touched him earlier, and he'd pulled away. Then grabbed her wrist when she'd tried it again, which meant one of two things. Either he didn't like to be touched, or he did, and he didn't want her touching him--or anyone like her. Which she knew already, with the look he'd given her that first night at his place. She still kept her eyes on him, she just didn't settle down again, and didn't any anything, mind working everything over.

She was watching him - he could feel her eyes watching him. And he was sure she wanted to say something as he lay there, just waiting for her to come out with it. Whatever it was. "What?" he asked, harshly, bluntly, when she stayed silent, sick of waiting for her just to spit it out.

She blinked a touch when he said that, and she shrugged one shoulder even if he couldn't see it. The bed squeaked faintly from the movement. She had a squeaky bed, end of story. "I'm just thinking. I thought you didn't want to hear what I was thinking about anymore." she said, voice light. "I seem to have upset you. I wasn't trying to...I figured I'd be quiet." Since he'd wanted her to be.

"You're watching me," he ground out, slowly, sure that she was. he would have heard if she'd lain back down, after all. And it was the kind of thing she'd do. "So just... If you're going to do that just... say it,oaky?" he told her, knowing she'd demanded much the same thing as him earlier on.

Well, she wasn't going to deny that she was watching him. She was. She didn't really plan to stop, either. The gears of her mind were turning, and she wasn't really of a mind to try and derail them again. Not with little pieces of the Brett-puzzle needing to be put in place. "I was thinking that if that was the case, that you were the rare kind of guy who actually needed a relationship, then that makes sense to me." she told him. She'd said earlier that she didn't understand. That cleared at least some of that confusion. Of course, that wasn't all she was thinking but she didn't want to go into thegorey details. She was walking her own line here, and she didn't want to cross it. It was why she'd opted for silence a moment ago in the first place.

"I don't need a relationship," he told her, stubbornly. He'd been single for years now, after all. Okay, so he couldn't claim to be single and happy, but it wasn't the lack of some girlie that made him miserable now, was it?

She paused for a moment, opening her mouth to say something and taking a breath, then she stopped herself, trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to go on with this. Which was odd, really, because usually things didn't go like this. In fact, she was fairly certain this was a first. Her wanting to shut the fuck up about something, and him digging for it.

He gave the darkness a Look - since he wasn't going to actually roll over to look at her in the darkness. But she was just dying to say something right now, wasn't she? "What? Just fucking say it, or go to sleep," he told her, sharply.

"You can stop snapping at me." Eris told him gently. Then she took a minute, sighing, before she continued. "I didn't mean it like you need a relationship to get along. I just mean you need a relationship to have something physical with someone else. You're not a casual lay. And whether the tab was paid for you or not, I don't thinkthat'd sit right with you. It wouldn't be what you wanted, or what you needed. Intimacy isn't something you want to give away unless it's important to you. And you don't get importance with some girl who knows just how and where to touch someone because she's done it a thousand times before. You'd want someone who you actually connected with. Cared about." That was her assessment, her insight. And this time? He'd actually asked for it. Literally.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Brett told her - but he stopped snapping. She said it like it was that simple - like she could just put the pieces together and come out with an answer. So certain, so assured. So very, very wrong. Or, well, mostly wrong. There might have been some right in there, but that was coincidence. She started from the wrong place, she just happened to hit on some lucky notes from there.

She kept her eyes on him. "Where am I wrong?" she asked. "Set me straight." she invited, really wanting to know. "I don't think you're gay, even if that was a theory. I don't think you're impotent, because the markers aren't there. You don't really behave like a lot of them do. There were a whole lot of different girls of all shapes and sizes and you didn't take any of them up so it can't be that you just have an extremely narrow type. I think you have a problem with the kinds of girls at Babylon because--" she stopped a second there. "...because I do. You mentioned the relationship angle on your own, even if it wasn't part of the conversation. So...what am I missing?"

"You're missing the part where it's none of your damn business," Brett snapped, reverting to that. Sure, he could tell her - put he didn't want her pity. He never wanted her pity. Anyone's pity. He didn't even want her to realise that there was anything to pity him for. He'd prefer her to just think him a bastard than that.

She was quiet at that. Things were going through her mind, things to say, but she didn't. At least not yet. She didn't move, she kept her eyes on him, and she just...said nothing. She wondered how things would be different, if she did stop. If she just did what he said--minded her own business, and stopped trying. Would he just drift away? Be happier? Would things just end? But then again, she didn't know if they were ending anyhow. If after he left in the morning, he was just going to be gone.

She was still watching him, but at least she'd shut up. He forcibly rearranged his pillows, stuffing them further under his neck and he lay on his side. He didn't like it when she got this close to things, yet he never actually brought himself to the point of really making sure she stopped pressing - he never ended it entirely. On some level, some deeply hidden and unacknowledged level, part of him almost needed it.

Her mind kept moving. She watched him rearrange his pillows like they'd offended him, waited to see if he was going to relax, do that final exhale most people did when they were truly settled and started to drift to sleep. She wasn't doing it. She was staying where she was, eyes still on him in the dark. Since her eyes had adjusted better, she could see him better. The outline of his shoulder, the way it was hunched in. Absently, she wondered just how fast he'd get himself out of bed and out of the apartment if she just reached out and touched his back. ...about half a second? Probably. She didn't test the theory, it just was a light little urge to see what happened.

He didn't settle, he just lay there, bunched up, tense and overly aware that she hadn't moved yet either. 'Stubborn' was settling in now as he stared into the darkness.

Eris stayed right the hell where she was, and actually smiled in the dark a little. She really wondered how long he was going to keep that up, the immense tension he had going on. The really not-at-all-sleeping of it all. But she'd done exactly what he'd asked her to, so...this wasn't her fault. Technically. She shifted a little, but not to settle into sleep mode, more just to prop her head on her hand, as she kept her eyes on him.

He lasted about five minutes in the end, before he growled and turned over onto his bad, looking at her. "You just going to fucking lie there all damn night and stare?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"...probably." she answered, being honest. "Til I get tired. My mind's moving. I never sleep when it's doing that. But you don't want to talk to me, either, so..." she trailed off. "I was just doing what you asked me to." she pointed out lightly. "Why's it bothering you?"

"Because you're staring at me," Brett ground out, speaking slowly as if he was talking to an idiot. He figured that should be explanation in and of itself. Though, really, he figured she knew that and she was just purposefully winding him up because he told her to mind her own business. This was her silent bit of payback. Bitch.

"...okay, so you told me to mind my own business, and I did for once. And I'm still awake, and thinking about you, so I happen to be looking at you, but I'm not bothering you. And you're still pissed at me." she said, laying it out there. "...Exactly what is it I'm meant to do here, that'll actually be right? Because I'm running out of options here. Unless I have to point out to you yet again that I'm not a puppy, and don't actually have to follow your commands just because you feel like barking them. I'm trying to be accommodating, and I'm still getting hell for it. I'm not seeing a win here, dear."

"Not looking - staring. I can feel you. It's..." Unsettling. God, he hated that. He wouldn't admit that - that she got to him like that, though he was sure that she knew. He was sure that she knew exactly what she was doing right now. "Just don't do it."

She drew in a breath, and exhaled it lightly, keeping her eyes on him. "...you go out." she said, eventually though it was after a long silence. "You've got a job, even if you hate it. You interact with people, you've got a world." she said. "Mine's limited...well, pretty much to you. You're the only one who knows me. You're the only one who knows who I am, what's wrong with me, everything else." It wasn't quite telling him that he was all she had, but close. She just wouldn't put that fine a point on it. "I don't have a lot else to think about or concentrate on, and I'm sure you've noticed by now that you interest me. I want to know what's going on with you...everything you'll actually tell me."

"You have a job too," Brett reminded her. Any other time he would have added that she could go out - that she'd given herself her independence, taken it when she'd walked out. But not tonight, not tonight. "I'm sure you meet people there. You can't entirely hide in full view." Even if she did sing in shadows. You didn't just walk into a club and get up on stage and start singing - someone had to employ you to do that.

"I know. But I don't really..." She didn't want to own up to being afraid but it was part of it. She finally looked away with it, though. At least he'd accomplished that goal. "Most nights I just go down, sing and come back." she told him. "And the other night, I was having a drink between sets, and that's when I met that cop." she said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes a little.

"What cop?" Brett asked, his interest perked in spite of himself. Sure, he'd left that whole life behind. And sure, he'd bitched at Jere yesterday, but still - a cop was a cop and he wanted to know who she'd been talking to. Even if it was just so he could write them off again.

Of course he'd be interested. She was confused for a moment, thinking she'd brought him up before but maybe she hadn't. So, she figured that she hadn't and went with that mentality. "Danny. He didn't see me when he sat down, and when he did, he was going to go for his gun. Jumpy. Told me he could apparently shoot me down in the middle of the bar and only have to answer to himself." she told him. shaking her head a little. She shifted as well, getting a little more comfortable, curling on her side facing him. "This doesn't encourage me to start making friends and influencing people."

Brett barked a laugh in the darkness. Danny - could be any number of people. He figured it was some wet behind the ears rookie to be making fucking stupid remarks like that. Either that, or he'd had rather more than one too many. "So, some idiot kid makes a dumb remark that for his future health he'd better hope was just a one off, and you're gonna take that to be, what? A reason to say I'm the only person you really... interact with," he said, fishing for words and going with what she'd said in the first place.

"He wasn't a kid. and then he proceeded to tell me all about his troubles with the wife and how he was sad because his mistress was working that night. Some people's troubles are apparently that horrible." she said, not really appreciating being laughed at. It had her withdrawing a little, looking away. "How about you get yourself nearly murdered, then tell me how it feels when people flagrantly andflippanty threaten your life again." she said. "It's not nice. I don't even care if he was serious or not, if he was he's an idiot, but who knows if he's that unhinged or not? And he's hardly a reason. It's just how it is. Look, just...nevermind. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"If he's that unhinged then he'll speak out to the wrong person and one morning he'll get washed up from the river. And probably the only people who'll care will be his wife and his mistress. You know how shit goes down in this city and no damn cop's got enough boot to get away with shit without serious bad behind him. And any cop with that isn't going to be cocky enough to go mouthing off about it without a fucking good reason. or be stupid enough to be mouthing off about it in that place." Theclientelle of the One More Round didn't take nicely to mob ties, after all. And sure, a cop shoots a low life and if he knew the right people, Brett knew damn wellthere'd be at least an attempt at a cover up - but that wasn't the same as not having to answer to anyone at all. Everyone had to answer to someone, sooner or later. He feel quiet for a moment, before speaking again. "People threaten my life all the time," he added, his voice lower.

"I think the worst part of that was just not being able to tell him he didn't know who he was fucking with. Both because No one can know who I am anyways, and because I'm not her anymore in the first place." she said with a sigh. Then she just looked at him for a long moment, noticing how his voice got lower there. "Who does?" she asked, voice lowering in response to his. She knew it probably came with the territory, but also thought that it was mostly posturing or really pissed off people screaming 'I keel you!' after him with no real weight behind the words. She shifted back towards him a little, "Do they mean it?"

"Did he?" Brett posed back, and let that lie there for a moment before continuing. "Death threats kinda go with the job. And I'm still here, so... Some of them mean it. They just don't do it. Someone like me? Isn't worth risking your neck on. So, I just make sure that I stay that way. And that I don't do anything that would lead to someone deciding that people wouldn't care enough to bother if I disappeared one night." Or, say, do something insanely stupid like rescue someone they wanted dead and take her home.

Her mind went to exactly the same place. "I don't know if he did." she answered him. She didn't trust her assessments quite so much as she used to. Eris was quiet for a few long moments, just kind of taking in what he was saying. Part of her was recognizing that they were talking. Not arguing, not reallysnitting at one another, they were honest to god talking. It was nice, and strange at the same time. "You saved me." she said, after trying to decide what to say. "You ever do anything like that before?" she asked. "...are there other people in the citythat're meant to be dead and gone, but aren't, or am I it?"

"Who says who's 'meant' to be dead and gone?" Brett asked, dodging round the question. "But no - I never took a half dead girl I was meant to throw in the river and just didn't before." He knew very well that that wasn't what she was asking, but that was the answer she was going to get. Everything else he'd done had been done by some other guy. A guy with a medal for heroism. A guy who'd been so much better than he could be. He was no hero now. he'd fallen too far.

"People make those decisions all the time." she said. He did, even. She knew he had to have killed people, even if he said he wasn't a murderer. And she got the distinction, but still. Her mind also drifted over the medal, but she didn't say anything about it. "Someone decided it was my time to go...and I can't say it didn't work." she said. She smiled, a strange little expression. "Bet this experience doesn't exactly encourage you to make the same mistake twice."

"Pretty damn unique situation, Princess - don't think I'll get the choice again," he said, not willing to rise to the unspoken question there - whether he considered it to be a mistake or not. Her to be a mistake or not.

She accepted that, and nodded a little. "The other part about not talking to people...I can't let my guard down too far, or I'm going to get found out. And I don't even really have a name to give people, if they bother to ask. Which...well, OfficerTriggerhappy didn't. And anything I did tell them would just be..." she trailed off, knowing how she felt, but not sure how to word it.

"You have a name you can give people," Brett pointed out. "Hell, you didn't have any problem giving me a name now, did you? All spontaneous, no thought and everything. Nobody knows you by that name, works well," he added.

Eris just looked at him for a moment. "You think I didn't think about that?" she asked him.

"I assumed you didn't, or you wouldn't have said you didn't have a name to give people," Brett replied. Clearly there was a problem here that he just wasn't seeing.

"You get Julia." she said. "They don't." She knew there wasn't an explanation there and she didn't know where to start with it. So, she just sort of hoped that he did his Brett thing and didn't ask because he didn't really give a damn. It wasn't like he wasmr . questions. Generally speaking he flat out didn't ask her anything. What he knew about her was what she'd volunteered. It was a rare time indeed if he actually asked her anything personal.

That threw him and he frowned in the darkness. "That's... What the hell point is that?" he asked her, though his tone suggested that that could be a rhetorical question. "You know damn well that you can't always remember things short-term. You have a damn good name you know you've got a handle on and you're not gonna use that?" It was clear that he thought she was further hamstringing herself with that decision. It was easier to take that approach than to stop and consider what it meant that she'd made it.

Of course, he had to go in for the mention of her memory. Not that he didn't have a point--he did. It just stung. She didn't lash out though, she really was still too exhausted to drum up ire. So she shrugged. "You missed the main point." she told him. Not that she clarified what it was, but it was a way to get out of dealing with the other stuff.

"Did I? I would have thought that the main point was you being able to do what you obviously wanted - get out on your own and try and get at least some of your life back. Having a name you can go by is a pretty damn important part of that. You can't just go by a stage name from now on," Brett ploughed onwards, still not slowing down enough to have to stop and think about what the main reason was.

"The point is what life? I mean, I can't really get that far out there. I could still get noticed by the wrong people. If that happens, it won't matter what name I'm handing out, I'll still wind up snuffed out. Other than that, let's say I get to know people. It'll be under pretenses. So even if I don't fuck up on remembering what name I gave them...what am I going to tell them about my life? Who I am?That'd be just as made up. I don't think I'm capable of it, and the more important part is I don't really want to." she said honestly, taking to picking lightly at a stray pulled thread on her pillowcase.

"Not being able to get that far out there isn't the same as not being able to get out there at all. yeah, you get noticed by the wrong people and you're in trouble, but it wasn't like your face was on every billboard or anything," Brett pointed out. "People know that you're dead, they're not looking for you. And lots of people don't know what you looked like in the first place. That gives you at least some leeway. As for what you tell people? Can't help you there, darling." he was going to add more, but he recognised that that road lead right back to their earlier argument, one of them anyhow. And he didn't want to go there.

Eris didn't say anything. The point was what she would tell people. And while she knew for a fact that she could play things well enough that she could get people to not ask questions--hell, most people didn't even notice. She didn't necessarily want to do it over and over. Just talk to people, never actually say anything, be a sounding board for their bullshit, then it was done. She really hated to admit it but she didn't really want anything like that. Before, that was what she'd done all the time. People didn't know shit about her and she kept it that way. She didn't have anything that would constitute as a real relationship of any description. Oh, people thought they knew her. But that hadn't been the case. And, since she was just full of rare turns tonight, she kept up with not actually saying anything for the time being. She just kept picking at the thread.

What a surprise: she hadn't wanted to hear what he had to say. he was getting used to that by now. He couldn't win - she bitched at him that he didn't give anything, but when he gave an opinion, it was always the wrong one. He rolled his eyes in the dark and turned back over, away from her again, leaving her to her silence, bed springs creaking.

She looked up, slightly confused when he rolled over in a huff again. She frowned, then sighed, laying her head back down. "I don't really want to get into lying to everyone around me. You said I'd have trouble giving a different name that I couldn't remember. I'd do worse with a whole life I didn't have. And I can do it...I can sit there, and just be a sounding board. People just want to talk about themselves anyways, but I really don't have the interest in being used like that all the time. Like Danny, just whining about his loving wife and how poor him can't see his mistress any time he wants to. He even admitted towards the end of the conversation that he hadn't really wanted to know anything about me. I just happened to be there and I asked questions and listened." She was quiet again for a moment. "I know you said I could start over but I don't know how I'd do that. Not really." Again, she stopped talking for a few moments. "It's what I appreciate about you. I don't lie to you. I'm as-is."

He left it a few minutes, then turned back over onto his other side, facing her. "Look - most people saw what you were. Least, they did if they were anything like me. Hell, you had a name that nobody knows. And I bet a girl like you didn't go spouting off about where she came from to everyone. Which means you have an entire life to talk about that nobody can connect to ErisStockard , once proprietor of Babylon. You just gotta lose that middle bit." he paused and looked at her in the dark. "Is it really that bad to go back to where you came from?" he asked her.

She had thought he was going to remain quiet, and had prepared herself to just kind of lay there, awake for a long time, and then he turned over. She listened to what he had to say, which was surprisingly kind of insightful. She wondered about that, what he meant when he put in that it was all he'd seen. Which made her wonder what he had thought about her, if he'd seen her, like she'd seen him. She knew he'd had the misconception that she'd come from high society. Then, at the end, he asked the question, and she exhaled, looking over his shoulder a moment before she looked back to his eyes. "Yes." she answered, tone quiet. He asked...she couldn't not answer. He didn't exactly do it often so if he was going to, she didn't find it fair to deny that.

He hadn't actually expected her to answer the question - after all, he tried his damnedest not to answer hers when she asked them. But he'd guessed what the answer would probably be anyhow. If she hadn't even considered what he found obvious, if it hadn't occurred - then it had to be something that she'd worked pretty hard to leave behind. Which meant that he really wasn't sure that to say to her when she replied in the affirmative. In the end, he just stayed quiet.

Something tells me the life you left behind is probably better than the one I did. went through her mind. She'd cut off the first life and erased that girl from existence. She built herself a new person, and that one had been erased for her. Now she just didn't know what to do, period. Lost was a good word for it, even if she hated it. "There isn't really an answer." she said after a long time of just looking at him. It was almost letting him off the hook there. She was sure he was trying to make a point with his question and she'd kind of killed it.

"There's always an answer - you might just not like it," Brett said, after a moment or two of silence, and the resignation and depression sounded out in his tone. He wished it hadn't, but he hadn't been able to hold it back.

She propped herself up a little, looking at him. Down at him a little, from this angle. "What's the answer?" she asked. His tone was what caught her attention more than the words themselves. Really, Brett had mostly one tone. Pissed. Base-line Brett was on some level angry. But this wasn't that. This was something else. Negative still, true, but she'd heard it before. That was a depressive note in there. And while she'd been positive for a long time the man had some serious emotional trauma and issues going on, she hadn't heard that specific note in his voice often. So he had her attention, even if she was aware he was about to say something she wasn't going to like. Hell. He'd even warned her.

"Your answer? I don't know. I didn't mean I had an answer for you - just that figuring it out, you can't just... You might not like where you end up. What you have to do. You've just got to accept that you've got to do it," he told her.

She nodded, taking that. That had been much less painful than she'd been prepared for. "Nothing in my life has been that easy." she told him. About the only thing that had been was manipulating people, because that she did find easy. But getting there in the first place hadn't been. "I don't really have problems with challenges or trying to overcome them. I...I know you kind of see me like some stupid princess, or something, but I'm not. There's been a lot of things in my life I've done even if I didn't necessarily want to."

"Never thought you were stupid," Brett told her. Thought she sometimes did stupid things, maybe - but one of the things that irritated him most about her was that she showed far too much perception and intelligence at times for his liking. The rest, well, he simply didn't comment on. He knew how that one went.

She smirked faintly at that. He could have fooled her on that score. But, she didn't challenge his answer, either. "But I am a princess,hmm ?" she asked, and there was a lightly amused note to her voice. "I told you that I saw you before all of this. Did you ever see me?" she asked, coming back to the question in a really roundabout manner.

Yeah, he'd thought she was a princess - there was a reason for the name. He didn't use that one on everyone. And she'd looked like that type. She'd had the confidence and poise of that type. "You're a very noticeable person," he told her, not willing to blatantly come out and say 'yes' to that. But he had, he'd noticed her. He hadn't needed to be told her name by his bosses to know who she was when he'd gotten there that night.

She laughed just a little. "I was meant to be." she said. "So, I'll take that as a yes then." she added. Quiet for a moment again, she looked at him thoughtfully. "You ever drop the act when you're on the job, or out with anyone?" she asked. Because she knew he had one. That intimidating persona, the whole dumbed down thing. He was an intelligent man. He just didn't let on with that fact. Not really. She still couldn't quite piece together why. But then there were always missing pieces of Brett's story that she wanted but didn't have and didn't quite know how to get, either.

Anyone else and they would have got, at best, a 'what act?' response, but they seemed to be in a weird place right now - he was aware that they were actually talking. He was trying not to focus too much on that, figuring that, if he did, the urge to crash and burn it was rise pretty damn fast. And anyway, that response to her would be a waste of time: after all, she was observant. He knew she knew. She'd called him on it, in a way, in the past. "No," he said, simply.

They were in a strange place. He hadn't even tried to duck it. She appreciated that. "...don't you ever want to?" she asked. "...or in your case, go off on the people around you because they're fucking idiots?" Since she knew what level he worked at and what she'd said earlier was what she felt was the truth--if he wanted to? He could be one hell of a lot higher in the organization than he was. He was working far far below his potential. And he didn't just have one thing or another going on, he had things across the board. Like he wasn't just a smart man. He was physically capable as well. Quick on his feet, a fast thinker, he just happened to be pretty blessed in the skills department. At the very least in comparison to the people around him.

That was two different questions, as far as he was concerned. Because no, he never wanted to drop the act, not even for a moment. But yeah, sometimes, he really wanted to lay into the people he worked with. Course, he also wanted to put most of them away for the things they did, so... He got used to not getting what he wanted. "No," he told her, again. It was the simpler answer.

Nodding, she took that as he gave it. It made her wonder though. If she was the only one who ever ever got to see pieces of him. "Am I it, then?" she asked, though it was actually less something that sounded like a question than the others she'd been asking. She didn't imagine she'd get an answer. "The only person around who sees even fragments of you?"

You're the only one who looks. God, that would be a pathetic answer - and not one that he was willing to say aloud, even if it's what he thought. "Guess you are," he grunted instead, his change of tone indicating that he was backing off from the conversation.

She heard it, that clear backing off thing and for once she didn't chase it. Because they were talking. And it was actually a nice talk, all things considered. So she wasn't going to ruin it by turning it into a fight. Plus, he'd answered her in a manner of speaking. She shifted, relaxing a little more. "Think this is a record." she mused lightly.

"Yeah, well, doesn't take much," Brett said, knowing exactly what she was talking about. This was the longest they'd really ever spent without fighting. Well, unless one included the times they just didn't talk. Which he wasn't. This was the longest actually vaguely civil conversation they'd ever had.

She laughed a little. "True." she agreed. Ten minutes could be considered a record. But this time they'd hit a kind of good point, and rolled with it for a lot longer than usual. They'd even had a whole conversation, not one that ended abruptly with more anger, signifying the end of the truce. "We should try it again sometime. As much as I like arguing with you..." she said, tone just teasing enough to let him know she wasn't serious about liking to argue with him. Even if sometimes it was satisfying, and they were both generally argumentative people.

He wasn't going to give to that one. She could tease if she wanted, but he wasn't going to suddenly roll over and let her in, just because they'd managed to bite back the bitchy comments for ten minutes. And, okay, they'd actually connected there for a bit, or whatever else that might have been, but Brett couldn't let that mean anything and everything, so his only response was another grunt.

She had the urge to reach over and muss his hair for a second, but didn't actually contemplate doing it. It was merely a little bout of temporary insanity in the form of a little wave of affection for the man. If anything would end things right the fuck quick--it'd be that. Part of her, a darker part wondered if he wasn't answering because this was it. He was fucking off after this and if she wanted to see him she was going to have to get really damn creative and try and find him. She just wouldn't give the anxieties voice. She'd have to see. "Goodnight, Brett." she said, basically letting him off the hook entirely for the conversation, and all. She'd be up for a while yet, but she felt closer to sleep than she had all night. And if she kept talking to him, she'd keep herself up. And really, as nice as it was to have moments of connection there, and to talk, she wasn't stupid enough to think that they could push the limits there too much.

"Night, Princess," Brett said, not wanting to push their luck either. The lull could only last so long, after all. He was surprised they'd managed to keep it going this long even. He settled down a little more, then turned back over onto his other side - only this time, it wasn't to ignore her. It was just that he couldn't sleep facing inwards. He needed to sleep facing outwards, where he could see the room without moving, where he could get to his gun without turning over. It was just one of those things.

Eris settled in, staying facing him, but she shifted around and curled up properly, letting her eyes slide shut. She hoped she didn't have nightmares tonight, wind up kicking and screaming in her sleep. That wouldn't help matters. But either way, she knew she'd get to sleep a little easier since he was there, so she hoped that carried through to her unconscious mind. In the end she dropped off a lot faster than she anticipated, sleep claiming her in the quiet if not unoccupied dark.