Reactive Choices

Who: Brett and Eris
Where: Doc's house/Brett's apartment
When: Last December

Eris was in the dark. She'd been keeping to that since she'd woken up a while back and found herself without the 'doctor' that had been 'caring' for her. She didn't know how long it had been, the days kind of blurred together a lot of the time. It felt like a long time. It felt like forever. A waiting game always felt like forever, though. It was only a matter of time, she knew. They'd be back for her. Whoever had disappeared the doc? They'd be back.

Then again, there hadn't so much been signs of a struggle as just the normal mess of the place, and the doctor was missing, so maybe no one had taken him. Maybe he'd just left her there. Left her alone. Eris didn't do so well alone. And while she and the doc hadn't become bestest friends in the whole wide world and taken to painting each other's toenails or anything, he'd been there. Present. Sounds in the house, proving to her that she wasn't there all the fuck by herself. Unlike now where the only sounds she heard were ones from outside, ones she was hiding from. Car doors, people walking up and down the street, neighbors fighting, cats yowling. She kept trying to listen for someone trying the door. She'd locked it of course. She'd locked all the doors. She'd locked all the windows.

Paranoia kept creeping in, settling deeper and deeper into her already frazzled headspace, and after the first day (or so? Was it more than one? She couldn't be sure.) she'd started barricades. They didn't really do much. Mostly she knew they'd just serve as an early warning for her that someone was trying to get in somewhere. Then she'd set things up so that there were only certain areas of the house that were even readily accessible. Everything could be herded, and that was how she set it up. She broke locks, jammed doors, did everything to make it harder to get to her.

And even then, she knew that it was only a matter of time. She was already running out of food she could realistically prepare. She slept in the bathtub, a knife(or several) with her, curtain drawn, blankets packed into it. She kept the lights off, so that no one outside would think anyone was home. She tried to be as quiet as possible, while she quietly panicked herself into a paranoid state that definitely bordered on crazy. Her meds were a mess as well, and at some point, she'd taken a few too many, and it didn't mix well with the rotgut whiskey the doc had had under the sink...though that was about the only time she got sleep.

Brett hadn't been to the place for almost a week, but he was here now. Or, rather, he was sat in his car, which was parked inside the mouth of the alleyway across from the house, watching. He'd been there for the best part of an hour now, watching for signs of life - and for other people watching. So far, he'd seen neither, and his concern was growing.

Nobody knew exactly when the doc had disappeared. Or why. It was just one of those things. And sometimes people disappeared - sometimes voluntary. Sometimes anything but. And, occasionally, Brett heard about it. Like he'd heard about the doc a couple of hours ago, just a throwaway comment by one of the girls at the Kitten Club to her friend. Girls sometimes needed the services of someone like the doc, and his going missing was comment-worthy, if nothing else.

Nothing else to anyone but Brett, that was. He had his own reasons for being interested in that particular news - not that he'd shown any sign of that at the club, of course. but he'd made his excuses to leave as quickly as possible and headed over here. It had been then that caution had settled in, and he'd waited. But he couldn't wait all night and he finally got out of the car as night properly fell and headed round and down the back alley, hoisting himself up and over the high wall to drop down into the over grown and tiny back yard which was littered with discarded he didn't want to know what. He carefully picked his way to the back door and pulled out a key, one Dr Gray had given him, at his insistence, some time before. He tried it in the lock - only to find that something seemed to have been broken off in the lock from the other side.

Swearing quietly, Brett moved down to peer through the kitchen window into the darkness beyond. He thought he could make out the outline of furniture, out of place and piled. Not a good sign. Someone had done something to this place. Loosening his pistol in its holster under his jacket, Brett listened for a moment making sure that all was quiet, before he pulled it out and used the butt to break the kitchen window, clearing the area of glass so he could pull himself up and inside.

She had been drifting. Sort of half in and out, partially due to the meds she'd taken a little more of than she should have. The sound, though, the sound she'd been listening for for days finally came, and she clapped one hand over her mouth to cover the slight little cry she'd given. It'd been tiny, right? No one would have heard. Still, she moved, and she moved slowly, keeping herself behind the drawn curtain, grabbing up the butcher knife she had with her while she felt for another one. She had a carving knife in there somewhere too. She told herself to remember to breathe, but it was hard, and she kept listening but it was difficult over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

Brett landed on the kitchen floor, poised and ready, aware as best he could be in the dark, of his surroundings. He took in the furniture piled up against the door as he made his way slowly through the small house, stopping at every corner, leaning with his pistol the way he'd been trained so many years before, in another life. He heard nothing, but as he carried on, he started to worry less - the house was a fucking mess, but it was the mess of someone trying to keep the world out, rather than the mess of someone trying to get in, or searching for someone. The place might have been cold, dark and silent, but there was at least a chance that someone was still here.

Once he was happy that the downstairs was clear, Brett started up the stairs, stepping over that bottom step that had always creaked and starting slowly up.

She kept listening, kept trying to hear whatever was going on. She listened for voices, and she felt like a child. She remembered doing this before. Remembered feeling cornered, waiting to lash out with the blade she was holding onto so tightly that her knuckles were white and her hand shook. She remembered all of this, and it was not a good thing. Why couldn't the brain damage have knocked some of that out of her head? Honestly now, if she had things she forgot, why couldn't have been that? She recognized in a dim manner that she was breathing too quickly, and made herself slow down. She took in slow, deep, quiet if unsteady breaths. Now if she could only will her heartbeat into cooperating, and that panic to ebb the hell back, she'd be doing much better, but she had to start somewhere.

Turning left at the top of the stairs, he checked the bedrooms one by one, purposefully leaving the bathroom until last. He knew her, and her habits, and if she was still here then that would be where she'd be. He knew that - and he wanted to ensure the rest of the house was empty first.

When he was satisfied that there was nothing lurking in any of the bedrooms, he finally turned to the bathroom, stepping up to the door, then off to one side, leaning back against the wall. He dropped a hand down and tried the door, rattling the knob to try and open it.

She flinched. She couldn't help but flinch at the sound. It was too loud in her ears, in the enclosed space. She could try and get out the window. Maybe. It'd be a long drop, she might break something, but she would have a better chance of getting away. She'd try to fight first though. Wound someone. Plus, there was a reason she chose the bathroom. Take your average man and have him fall like a ton of bricks and hit anything on an unforgiving porcelain surface and he's going to be feeling it. If he knocks his head, there's a good chance of at least a few moments of him being dazed. Sometimes, that was all that was really needed. Just that little sliver of time. Everything could change in just a few tiny minutes. Eris stopped breathing, and bit hard down on her lower lip, trying to calm herself and get herself that little bit more alert that she needed to be. But she was still feeling beneath-the-surface fuzzy. Underneath the cold panic there was a part of her that was aware she wasn't going to be fast enough.

But she was going to try.

He was hardly surprised when it wouldn't open - so much work had been put into blocking off the exits of this place, that to then go hide in a room and leave the door unlocked would be perverse. "Princess?" he called, loudly, once, avoiding the use of her name - not that he habitually used it in any event. Still, he stood with his back against the wall. He didn't know if she had a firearm. He didn't know if she'd be alone. He didn't know if she'd recognise his voice. He wasn't taking any chances.

She stilled when she heard that. Part of her flooded with relief, and another anxiety. It could be a trick. He could be there under duress. He could be there to make her disappear too, for all she knew. It wasn't like she was his favorite person in the whole wide world. He'd saved her, but well. The doc was gone, now wasn't he. Maybe now would be the right time to just tie up that loose end. She didn't know, and it took her a good minute to answer at all. "Are you here to make me disappear too, Brett?" she called back. Her voice wasn't the steadiest it had ever been, and there was a hoarseness to it. Probably because she still didn't speak a whole lot and she definitely hadn't said anything since Gray had gone missing.

He leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled, silently, letting go of some of that tension for a moment. He hadn't known what he'd find here tonight, after all. "What do you think, Princess?" he asked her, through the door, his tone more of an answer than his actual words.

She didn't answer him for a moment, even if the relief side of things became more prominent. She kept her grip on the knife, but her frame untensed some. She gave a little laugh that didn't at all sound steady. "You don't really want me to answer that, sweetheart." she said, not even sure if she was loud enough to hear. "I think the doc's gone, and I don't know where he went. Or when it happened. I think it'd be easier for you to just drop me off the grid than deal with me." Which was truth--though wasn't actually an accusation. It was just logic she could see him following, or needing to follow. That didn't mean that was what he was going to do, because a little voice in the back of her mind told her that if he'd really wanted the easy way out he could have just dropped her almost-dead ass in the river when he'd had the chance.

"Would have been 'easier' for me to drop you off the grid weeks ago, if you're following that logic," Brett pointed out, his voice gruff. He didn't want to encourage questions about why he hadn't taken the apparent easy option back then. "Now you gonna open the door and let me in?"

"And I still wonder why you didn't." Eris muttered under her breath. She also occasionally had times when she wished he had, but then again, her default response to the idea of impending doom had been to do everything she could to survive, too, so that was an emotion that didn't fit in with other parts of her psyche. She didn't move immediately, she didn't let go of the knives. She did push the curtain back, and she stared at the door. Finally, she pushed herself silently out of the tub basin, knife up her sleeve instead of out in the open, but she could drop it back down into her hand easily enough. She let her fingertips touch lightly to the dirty, worn brass doorknob, and it felt cold. Brett's presence on the other side of the door was one she imagined she could almost feel. Something steady, if full of rough edges. Then she twisted the lock, and unjammed the hinge she'd done earlier, to make things harder. Stepping back a little, still not turning on the light so it didn't kill her night vision, she twisted the knob, and opened the door a crack. Then she stepped back more fully, far enough back that she sat on the edge of the tub. If he wanted in, he could come in. She just wasn't going to hold the door for him.
He didn't move as she unlocked the door and opened it. And he waited for a moment or two even then before he pushed off the wall and stepped into and through the doorway, not hesitating at all to be framed there, but moving back to the side and against the wall, if this time at the other side. His paranoia and caution was running high right now. "What happened to Gray?" he asked her, his eyes settling on the dark shape which was her.

She watched him with her hair mostly down, obscuring her features. "I don't know." she told him. "He's just gone. He went to bed, and the next day he wasn't there. No signs of struggle, as far as I could see, but then it also didn't look like he was packing for a vacation either. Just...poof." she said, making a vague little gesture with the hand that wasn't ready to pull a knife just in case. "Don't ask me how long ago it was." she added on the end, a little more quietly. She couldn't tell him. All she could do if he asked was stand there looking like she felt--like some broken little mockery.

That had been going to be his next question. How long had she been here by herself. Fuck. "You don't know why he left? What made him? Or if he did? has there been anyone else at the house? You seen anything? Anything at all? Overheard anything?" Brett asked her, rattling off the questions with a frustrated edge to his tone. he needed to know where to start looking for the guy, whether to actually bother. And he needed to find out whether this was connected to her. To him. Did he need to be concerned right now about what was coming?

Eris frowned and looked away, trying not to feel overwhelmed at the moment and emotional because of it. She really hated that, the feel of things spinning out of control. She hated it with every fiber of her being. "What part of 'He's just gone, he went to bed and was gone the next day, no signs of struggle' did you not get?" she asked. "No one else has been here. No, I didn't see anything, or hear anything, and there sure as hell wasn't a 'gone to the store for milk' note either. I don't know what happened to him. He was just gone." She stood abruptly and went to walk out of the room, not wanting to be where he could see her clearly. Or...what passed for clearly, even if it wasn't.

He didn't reach out to touch her, but he did step forward as she passed him, entering her personal space very slightly, enough simply to subtly press a point rather than to actually stop her going anywhere. "The part where usually, when people up and disappear, there's a reason, or logic behind that. The part where I need to know why. Since he didn't give word to me at all, and clearly he sure as hell didn't give word to you."

"I figured he either pissed off the wrong people, or sold me out and didn't want to be in the way when the crew showed up to dismantle me." Eris said, continuing right past him like he hadn't moved, even if she was very aware of it. Like she was aware she'd dropped the handle of the knife down into her palm in reaction to it, regardless of the fact that she didn't make it obvious, or take it the rest of the way out. That was an automatic reaction, not something she could help. She headed up the hall, but just into the darkest shadows there, leaning against the wall again. It was too cold in there. She'd been feeling cold for days now, but hadn't wanted to do anything stupid like light a fire downstairs or anything else that would attract attention. It felt colder in the hall, out of the enclosed space of the bathroom where at least she could pretend that it was slightly warmer.

Brett let her go, making no other move to stop her as she walked away. "Princess, if he'd sold you out, they would have come for me first," Brett said, watching the shadows. But he couldn't deny that his paranoia switch had been flipped the moment he'd heard, and part of him was waiting for them to do just that. Even if the doc hadn't specifically mentioned his name, sooner or later someone would come knocking, wanting to know why he hadn't done his job properly. "And he wouldn't have sold me out," he added, but it was belated. Brett knew he had a hold over the guy, but he didn't trust in things totally any more. Everyone had their price, after all. It was just a case of finding the right buttons to push.
"And you haven't been here, have you. So, for all I knew, they could have got you first. Could have already disappeared you too." Eris said, sliding the knife back where it belonged, feeling slightly better in the shadows. Slightly more in control, able to deal. It helped that he wasn't barking questions she couldn't answer anymore. "For all I know I was sold to the highest bidder, or was someone's form of entertainment--see how long it takes before I come out, only to be taken down the second I do. I don't know." She slid down the wall a little, back to it, knees against her chest. I didn't know what else to do. she thought, but didn't share. I didn't know where to find you. I didn't know if you were still there, or if you could be trusted, or what. I couldn't exactly go asking around. I didn't know what to do.

"If he's still in the city, I'll find him," Brett said, toned as a promise though it was unclear whether he was promising her, or himself. "Assuming the guy's still alive." He paused, finally slipping his gun away under his jacket. "You been sleeping in the bathtub all this time?" he asked her, carefully, making sure that he didn't sound overly concerned. He wanted to switch a light on - take a good look at the state of the place, but there was good reason not to do that. This place had looked dead from the outside, and it needed to continue looking dead. Nothing attracted attention more than a light on in the house of the recently missing. Even if nobody was specifically looking, the neighbours would notice. The neighbours always fucking noticed when you didn't want them to, and Brett no longer had the funds to make sure they looked the other way.

She didn't answer right away. He'd been the one who had come in to convince her that she didn't have to do that when she'd first woken up. And he'd convinced her. Eventually. But she'd gone back to it immediately when Gray had gone missing. "Does it matter?" she posed back, voice light. She didn't expect he would say it was. In fact she was a little fuzzy why he'd ask in the first place. He got why she'd needed convincing not to do it while sharing a house with someone. He needed the bathroom when she was in it, and shitting outside in the back yard really wasn't the way to go. But after he was gone, it wouldn't matter to anyone.

"Humour me," Brett said, bluntly, as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, giving the distinct impression of a sold, immoveable object.

She looked over at Brett, letting her eyes settle there. She knew he could make her out. Just a darker part of the shadows, but enough. Not answering him for a few moments, she studied him. Tried to, tried to read him. It was something she'd been so good at before, but now...especially with feeling fuzzy, possibly a little dehydrated and malnourished, strung out and generally in a bad way--and that wasn't counting her rehab from the whole nearly killed thing...now she had to try harder. She was thinking about what she knew about him. Which really, was a whole lot of not much. She didn't understand what he was about here, and her experience with him in Babylon had been indirect, even if she'd most certainly heard his name. A man like him who never once actually partook of the provided entertainment got mentioned. Hell he'd made girls cry. There were bets running on him. All that really told her though was that he was either very interesting, or very closeted. She was betting on interesting, but she also wasn't keen on trusting her own opinions just now. "What do you think, Trent?" she asked, using the same sort of tone that he'd used on her earlier when he'd shot her the 'what do you think' question.

He didn't answer her straight away. He wasn't a big fan of being answered with questions, though he did it himself from time to time. Brett wasn't a man who believed in 'do as you would be done by'. He did what he did. Other people did what they did - that was just the way the world worked. Nothing in life was fair, after all. He knew better than to expect it, and so should everyone else. "I think if you stay here, you're gonna end up dead, one way or another," he told her, finally stepping forward and heading down the corridor towards her.

She tensed when he started coming closer, and there was the knife again, dropped back down into her hand, but not drawn, not shown. But she could take out his Achilles tendon fairly easily or hamstring him. "True." she said, because it was. There wasn't any use arguing the point, even if it had nothing to do with her sleeping in the bathtub. Or...so far as she could see, anyhow. She didn't elaborate either. About the only thing she could add onto that statement was that she didn't have anywhere to go. Which--hey. He knew that, so it wasn't like it was news. It also was very much not his fucking problem.

Brett stopped a step or two away from her and, again, didn't say anything straight away. He was going over his choices in his head. Or lack of them. The 'easy' option wasn't an option at all for him. It wasn't one he even actively considered. Not for a moment. He'd saved her life - he wasn't going to go back on it now. Sure, it hadn't worked out the way he'd planned. If it could be said he'd 'planned' this at all. But this wasn't how it had been meant to go. It had been meant to go that he dropped her off here, paid Gray off, and melted back into the underbelly of the city. She hadn't even been meant to know that it had been him who had saved her. Gray had been meant to say he pulled her out of the river. But it hadn't happened like that, for one reason or another. Brett thought that it all came back to the fact that Gray had wanted to avoid being stuck on his own in this one - even if he'd been paid handsomely with a combination of Brett's savings, and a relaxation of the hold the ex-cop had over him. He hadn't wanted to be there if the Syndicate ever found out she was still alive. Which probably meant that the bastard had, in fact, just skipped town, dumped everything and ran, leaving Brett standing here, in the dark, facing options.

He could leave her here, he knew. Just walk away as well - that wasn't killing her. She was alive... But he knew that if he did that, it would be as good as. She couldn't go out, she was sleeping in a fucking bathtub and from what it took her to stop last time, from having talked to her and gotten something like an insight into the way her mind worked on shit - that wasn't good. And he knew from the doc that she didn't cope well on her own. He knew about her meds, and her memory issues. That she wasn't the most stable cookie around. He left her, and sooner or later, she was as good as dead. Which left him with even fewer options. He didn't have the resources to take her anywhere else. He didn't trust anyone to help out of the goodness of their own fucking shrivelled dying little hearts - that was how he'd gotten into shit in the first place, and he'd learned his lesson. Burned on the inside now, as well as the outside.

So, in the end, he didn't have choices. What a fucking surprise, or not. Yet again, backed into a corner where every choice was no choice at all, save for the one you went with. "I'll find him," Brett said, eventually, his voice gruff, uncompromising in the darkness. "But, until I do - you're coming with me."

That had her looking up at him. She didn't move, in fact, she stilled entirely. She even stopped breathing for a moment. "And what exactly makes you think that I'm going to do that?" she asked, voice very light. Soft, almost, but not quite. There wasn't the correct warmth that would be involved for a truly soft tone. "And find him...you do that. Either way I don't want anything more to do with him. He's gone. Either he was taken out and killed, or he was taken out and tortured, and given up all of his dirty little secrets. Or he just ditched me, because he didn't want to be saddled with me in the first place. None of this inspires me to want to go through this again. I'll be fine on my own." she said, even if she didn't want to be alone. Even if there was some little part of her buried underneath the haze, and almost too far down for her to recognize but not quite, that wanted to just go with him and call it good. He'd saved her life, and she didn't know him well but he'd kind of been around. She knew his eyes, his voice, his presence. She was slowly piecing him together, even if it was a challenge. And he was the closest thing to someone she could trust in the entire city. Though 'closest' didn't mean she actually trusted him...not in so many words. There was a reason she still had her knife ready.

"You really, actually believe that?" he asked her. "That you'd be fine on your own?" He didn't - not for a moment. Even if she wanted to believe it herself - even if it wasn't just her putting up a front. Believing something didn't make it true, after all.

She didn't answer him. Mostly, because she knew for a fact that she absolutely, one hundred percent would not be fine. In fact she was thinking that on her own, as she was now, she'd be dead inside a week. The city ate people alive on the best of days, it certainly wasn't going to be forgiving of her when she was a shell of her former self. She had no contacts, she had no way to get any money she had stashed, she had no ability to even fucking remember her medication from day to day, no way in hell could she make it. She pushed herself to her feet, not really wanting to be there at the moment, where he was looking down at her and she again went to walk past him. "I don't recall it being your problem, love." she said, tone unreadable and she wouldn't look at him.

He reached out then, his hand grasping her upper arm, not hard, but enough to stop her walking off as she drew level with him. For all that, however, he didn't turn to face her as he spoke. "It's whatever I say it is. Now - do you have anything you need to take with you?" he asked her.

She tensed up bad, both because he touched her without warning, and because he grabbed the arm that had the knife. She stopped, and grit her teeth. Her grip changed, just a little, just enough that the blade actually showed, if he bothered to look down. "Brett." she said, tone also that tiny bit unsteady, as she kept herself under tight control. She slipped a tiny bit, with the knife, but she hadn't done anything like attack him. She turned her face towards him, just a little. "Let me go." she said in that same tone, only it was just above a whisper. Her heart was racing, beating sickly in her ears again. She was a woman who not too long ago had only barely lived through an attempt on her life, and while the bruises left on her had faded, that didn't mean that she was really that capable of handling being grabbed like that just yet.

Brett looked down at her and whilst he saw the edge of the blade, he didn't show that he had. He let go of her arm though, and took a step back. "One bag, nothing heavy - we're leaving in five minutes. I'll be downstairs, don't make me come get you," he told her, heading off down the corridor before she could answer him. He wondered whether she would have stabbed him. If he'd pushed it. He didn't have a clue as to the answer to that - she was a fucking unstable thing, after all.

When he walked away, she stayed where she was until he was gone, and then she sagged against the nearest wall, and reached up to cover her face with her free hand. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She didn't even really know what the hell to do. In the end, she packed the few things that had been gotten for her in her time here, her meds, and then went and sat on the top step, knife held between her knees. She waited.

Brett waited downstairs, listening to her moving around, then listened as she stopped. He waited, counting the time. Five minutes came and went and she still didn't come down. It was close to ten when he walked back up the stairs and saw her sitting there. "I thought I told you not to make me fucking come get you," he growled at her, knife or no knife. Of course, he was also standing a few steps down from her, out of easy reach.

"And if you think that I'm your little prisoner, you've got another fucking thing coming, sweetheart." Eris said back, tone even, tight. "I do not follow your orders. I don't have to do a goddamn thing you say, just because you've decided to bark a command at me. You want that, get a fucking dog. If you want something out of me? Ask. If you want me to do something? Ask. But I'm not going anywhere with you unless we've got that perfectly fucking clear. I'd rather take my chances on my own than the alternative." Even if she knew she'd just be fucking herself over. At least it would be on her own terms. And oddly, this felt good. It was probably the first time she felt like she was taking some control of her life back.

Brett gave her a look, his jaw tightening for a second before he answered her. "I don't think you're my fucking prisoner - but I do think that, right now, we're standing in a house where the owner disappeared some days ago and nobody knows where the fuck he's gone. And you're meant to be dead, sweetheart - and I was meant to make sure of that. And any moment now, someone might find a reason to be interested in this place, so we're getting the fuck out of here and I'm not in the mood to debate semantics on that, or have some pissing contest over who's going to be in charge here. Or whether I said 'please' or not. This isn't an option, or open for debate - you know that as well as I do. We need to get out of here, and I don't see the point of wasting time just to soothe whatever it fucking is that you need to hear."

"And yet you decided it was vitally important to find out if I was sleeping in the bathtub or not. Funny how time wasn't really of the essence when you wanted to know something." Eris pointed out. "Besides, if people came barging in right this second you could just level your gun on me and shoot, and no one would be the wiser. In fact, you might be a hero. Look, you found the errant girl, and hey this time she's really dead. Might get you promoted. Invent a few tips that led you here, you'll be sitting pretty. I think the only one here who's in real danger she can't weasel her way out of is me, so how about I have a say in what we do and don't have time for. I'm serious, I'm not leaving with you unless we get that straight, right now. I spent most of my life getting out from under, I'm not putting myself into a situation where I'm back there, just on a smaller scale." It didn't matter how small the scale was, she couldn't deal with it. Not right now, not anymore.

He didn't look away, not for an instant, as she spoke, and he let her finish, seething internally at her suggestion that he'd shoot her, not even gifting that one with an answer. "I'll bring the car up into the alleyway outside. There's a tree stump at the back corner of the yard that should help you over the wall, but make sure you've got something on your feet - there's needles and broken glass all over the place out there and fuck knows what else. Seems doc there was using it as a dumping ground for his clinic. You decide you've had enough of this and we'll go. I'll wait til you make up your mind," he told her, before turning and walking back down the stairs. Fuck her. Except... He paused, two steps from the bottom and, without looking back, said, "please." It was ground out, the single word low and forced, but it was there, it was him giving slightly - something he never did. He let the word hang there in the silence for a moment, then headed off, into the darkness.

Her decision had been made to just leave. Just say fuck it, and go out on her own, and see what kind of trouble she could stir up before she got brought down. But, then he went and said please. And she could tell it cost him, that he probably absolutely hated that. She'd said to ask, and that was a form of a request. Basically, she acknowledged it for what it was. An effort, of some description. So, very abruptly, her decision was solidified into going with him. She slid the knife into her bag, stood and started down the stairs with it. She didn't have shoes, but there was probably a pair of Gray's left in the closet. If he was going through the effort to warn her, she was going to heed it.

Brett had made short work of getting out of the house - the bitch could climb out the back window just like he had done. He did, however, take a moment to move chair from the pile by the back door to under the window inside the kitchen. And then another to place a cabinet that had been discarded in the yard under the window on the outside so she'd find it easier. He also cleared a few things out of the way on his way across the yard, so she didn't have to pick as much. But that was all - and then he was over the wall and across the road to get the car without waiting to see what she'd do. He pulled the car across the road, turning it in the empty street and backing it into the alleyway by the house. And then he waited.

Eris found shoes, which were far too big for her, but better than needles in her feet. Then she went to make her way out of the house. And she found the chair, and needed it. Eris wasn't anything one could call a big woman. Then she hoisted herself up and she dropped down, though there was a cabinet so the drop was a good few feet less than she expected. Hopping down from there, she made her way across the yard and found the stump he'd been talking about. For a moment, she stood there, and looked up at the sky. It was kind of drizzling out, and she let it fall on her face for a few moments, drawing in deep breaths. That was when she realized she was going from one prison to another, even if she liked the warden better. She wasn't his prisoner--she made sure to make that clear, but the place. That would most certainly be a little cage. Turning, she pushed herself over the fence, dropping down on the other side and losing a shoe, and dropping on one knee in the process. That could have been smoother. Then she stared at the car for a long moment. There he was, as he'd said. Vaguely, she wondered just how long he would have stayed there. She couldn't imagine that long. ...right? Making herself move, she walked to the passenger's side door, opened it up, and got in the car. She shut it, and settled back in the seat, eyes on the window, not Brett, even if she could feel him there very prominently. It was that presence thing he had. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, voice light. As if it wasn't something that oh, say, her life depended on.
Brett pulled out of the alleyway into the rainy night, one of the only cars on the road. He drove casually, relaxed in his seat, checking his mirrors as they headed off, automatically checking to see if they were being followed, which they weren't. "Home," he told her, that single word of an answer.

"Home. Your home?" she asked, just for clarification. It also had her looking at him, even if she didn't make a huge show if it. Mostly, it comprised of turning her head just enough to watch him out of the corner of her eye. In the dark of the car, she didn't think it would be too obvious. She wasn't sure what she thought about that. If it was surprising to her, or not, if she expected her situation to be better or worse because of being in someone's personal space. With the two of them, it could be disastrous. The real question would be if he was the type of man who decided anyone living under his roof had to follow his rules and do whatever he wanted. Of course, if that was the case, she was gone the first second she had opportunity. She didn't know what to expect.

He turned a corner, then immediately took another turn, sending them into the main thoroughfare through town, his concentration really on the streets now that there was other traffic on the road. "Yeah, my home," he told her, in a tone that wasn't exactly encouraging of conversation on the subject.

Encouraging or not, that didn't exactly matter to Eris at the moment. "How exactly is this going to work?" she asked. Because guidelines were good. Knowing what to expect was better. Having a game plan was the best. She'd agreed to go with him, but she wanted to know what that entailed. He could be sullen all he wanted, if he was actually planning on taking her home like he said, and not, say, just finding a good place to dump her, or kick her out of the car, then they were probably going to need to converse at some point.

Brett took another sharp turn, circling back on himself and taking a street he'd not normally take, being extra-cautious. You could never be too cautious - especially not when you had a dead woman in the car with you. "Well, I'm gonna drive us to my place," he told her, reaching behind them to the back seat and pulling an overcoat from there. He handed it to her, knowing that it would dwarf her, but all the better to disguise her. "And you're gonna put that on, then you're gonna come up to my apartment. After that...?" He paused for a moment, before taking another right turn. "...We'll have to see." He didn't actually have a plan for after that.

"Apartment. What kind of apartment?" she asked. Because really, depending on what type of place the guy had, that would change how she might view the proceedings. If it was a nicer place, maybe there'd be a little space, if not, then she was going to need to be more careful, just so that say, no one overheard her or something stupid like that. Everything was in the details, and she wanted to start work on her own game plan.

"Just an apartment," Brett said, gruffly. He knew his apartment was a shithole, so if she was after the idea that it would be a palace, she'd be sorely mistaken. She'd just have to put up with it like he did. He turned the corner, now driving along the road skirting the edge of the park, heading for the darker side of town.

Eris grit her teeth for a moment, then looked over at him again. She wasn't encouraged by the neighborhood they seemed to be heading towards, but then again, she didn't really expect him to have a really ritzy place. It was kind of a sliding scale of alright to uninhabitable. The lights streaked by, the drizzle left streaks on the windshield, and she gave herself a second before speaking again. "Brett," she started, tone carefully even. "If this is going to work at all you're likely going to have to get used to the fact that I happen to be another thinking human being. I'm not a dog, I'm not going to follow commands, and if I'm asking you a question, it's probably not because I'm just wondering what kind of sheets you might have on the bed. What kind of apartment? One with rats and walls so thin you can practically see your neighbors through the cracks? Someplace at least halfways sturdy, where I'm going to have to be slightly less concerned someone might get suspicious? Do you have nosy neighbors, do you have an asshole super who barges in when you aren't around?"

"There's a family across the way - young woman, two brats. They'll cover up most of the noise, but don't expect to get a lot of sleep at night if you need quiet. Don't worry about the super - he fucking knows better than to come knocking, and he wouldn't come in. Anyway, guy's generally so drunk that he couldn't get up the stairs. It's not a part of town where people are gonna know who you are, sweetheart - you're not famous around there," he told her. He'd picked it for those reasons, long before he'd ended up where he was now. He'd wanted somewhere where he could just get away from everything, even if it wasn't the best place in the world. And he'd wanted somewhere where he didn't have to worry about anyone having mob ties. His building was pretty good for that kind of thing - not too poor that people were desperate for money. Not rich enough that they'd need the backhanders to maintain the lifestyle. Everyone just getting on with their own lives as best they could - more so since he went rotten. People there really didn't speak to him anymore, not that they'd done so in the first place.

"Thank you." she said, because that was what she'd wanted, he'd provided. There, was that so hard? she thought, but thought better of saying. She didn't want to antagonize him before they got there. Or, more than she already had. She didn't especially like how he'd worded things, with the 'you're not famous around there' bit, but she got what he meant. "Do you have a couch, or am I sleeping in the bathtub again?" she asked. She didn't mention a bed.

Brett pulled over into an alleyway, negotiating his way down around boxes and past dumpsters until he pulled up outside the back of a dark, dirty brick building, several storeys high. "I have a spare room - not much though, so... Yeah. But there's a bed," he said as he turned off the engine and got out into the rain, waiting for her, his bulk visible in the light of a streetlamp shining off down a ways in the mouth of the alleyway.

Eris got out, pulling the coat he'd given her around her shoulders, and she pulled her bag along with her. Not that it was heavy. She looked around, but hurried up close to him, not really wanting to be out in the alley. Maybe she just didn't like the idea of an alley in general. Alleys weren't good places in this city. Nothing really awesome happened in them. It was always 'so-n-so's mom got knifed in an alley'. Or 'execution-style killings found in the alley'. There were never any tales of 'and I caught my big break in that alley!' or 'I found this fluffy little kitty in this alley!'.

"This way," Brett said, before moving off, leading the way to a basement door into the building. The steps down were damp and covered in mildew as he pulled out a key and twisted it in the lock, stepping into the darkness beyond. Usually, he'd use the front door, but he didn't want to be seen taking a girl home - especially not this girl. He didn't need the questions. So, the little-used back entrance it was, and you could tell it was little used by the way the door creaked and needed to near enough be forced open.

She waited, then ducked inside, not appreciating the smell, for one. But she didn't comment on it, she just went inside, a little ways away but not far. Enough that if he had something bad planned, at the very least she'd see it coming. She wanted to see it coming. She hadn't last time, and that wasn't ever going to be something that left her. Or, she didn't think so. She didn't believe she'd ever wake up without that heavy feeling of dread just under the surface, waiting. Where she didn't look around, checking shadows, listening for movement. When one woke up to something like a murder attempt, it made for interesting sleep habits afterwards.

Brett locked the door behind them, then moved in front of her to lead the way across the almost pitch-black basement to the rickety, rusted staircase that led upwards. As they ascended into the muddy yellow light of the ground floor, the sounds of the building started to filter through. The cries already of children, the as-yet-still-far-off shouts of a couple arguing, the scratchy sound of a poor quality record from the first apartment they walked past. Brett didn't add to the sounds, stalking in silence, heading upwards toward his second floor apartment.

Eris was quiet as well, compensating for the shoes that weren't fitting well, but doing a damn good job of it, really. She followed, making note of the numbers (and occasionally lack thereof) on the doors around her, the sounds she heard, everything. She was trying to orient herself, just in case she needed to get out of here fast. Of course, the worst part was she knew even if she knew these things right now, she'd likely forget them later. She just wouldn't keep the memories, or it was patchy what she might retain.

At the top of the stairs, Brett headed down the corridor until they reached his apartment - the last one on the right hand side, a dark brown door, the dulled varnish flaking in places. The sounds of children at play - arguing play - came from the apartment directly opposite as Brett opened the door and stepped back, indicating she should go in first.

She didn't especially want to go in first, she didn't know what to expect, but she also didn't want to argue with him about it in the hall. So, she went in first. She just got right inside and pressed her back against the wall about a foot in, and she stayed there, waiting. She didn't know where the light switch was, and didn't start feeling around for it either. It was a sound indicator that someone could use to orient themselves to her position. Paranoia was working overtime, she just couldn't actually shut it down. Not yet.

He followed her in, shutting the door behind them and locking it, key and chain. He crossed over to a side table in the dark and flipped on a small lamp, illuminating a poorly furnished, but clean and tidy living area, a small kitchen area off at the back of the room. Two doors stood, closed, along one wall and there was a curtained-off alcove next to the 'kitchen'. Dropping his keys down on the side table, Brett walked to a window and pulled the curtains closed, moving round the small area until the night was truly shut out.

Not moving but watching what he was doing, she let herself take in the space. It was better than the apartment she'd grown up in, but not by a lot. It was workable, possibly, though that was assuming they didn't want to kill each other inside two hours. Quietly, she slipped the shoes she had on off, and she slid them out of her way. One thing she noticed straight away that it was a bachelor's place. No real sign of a woman's touch anywhere. "Rather a Spartan existence, mm?"

Brett shrugged off the jacket he'd been wearing and hung it up on a stand by the door. Underneath he wore a plain white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing the tattoos on his lower arms. "You expect a palace?" he asked her, almost challengingly, as though he wanted her to express some kind of disappointment with where he'd brought her.

"No." Eris said. "Just pointing out that you seem to have skipped over a lot. It almost barely seems like you live here. Seems deliberate." she commented, finally pushing off of the wall, though it was only to take about a step into the room. Her eyes fell and rested on the dragon on his arm, something she'd not seen before, but hadn't heard of, either. But then again, that was because no girl at Babylon had even gotten the man's coat off. She gave herself a moment to gauge it, figuring the ink was older. It had a well worn type of feel to it that old tattoos got. "I like your ink." she stated, eyes still on it. She didn't continue and ask him about it. That was something you did after you knew someone better. She wasn't even sure if she was staying, so she wasn't getting into 'so tell me your innermost motivations for choosing to emblazon a dragon on your person'.

Brett resisted the urge to roll his sleeves down as she commented on the design. He knew that was just a reaction to her - to the fact that she, every now and then, seemed to see more than he was willing to reveal. It was a nasty habit of hers, and it put him on edge. "Guess I just never had an eye for soft furnishings," he said, instead, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Living area. Kitchen. Bathroom's through there, my room's through there - you can sleep over there," he told her, pointing around at the various places, managing to convey in a change of tone a suggestion that his room was off limits. He ended up indicating the curtained area, behind which lay the alcove that passed for a second bedroom.

She caught the tone. And at the moment she didn't so much care. If she had her own room it sure as hell would be off limits to some stray brought home. Which she knew she was. She was a stray. She was an inconvenience, and a rather large risk for something that fell under that heading. Walking slowly past him towards the alcove he'd gestured at, she didn't look at him. "The proper response is 'thank you'." she said. "When someone pays you a compliment." She kept walking, and after a clear hesitation, she looked behind the curtain. Well, at least she didn't get a bullet for her trouble. No one was there.

"Guess I never went to charm school either," Brett told her back as he watched her walk across and look into the alcove - which was all it really was. It definitely wasn't large enough to really be called a 'bedroom' - though that had been how it'd been listed when he'd originally taken the apartment. There was enough room inside for a double bed and a small chest at the top end. At the bottom end he'd placed a chair, leaving a small area of floor space in the middle. He'd put the curtain up himself at some point in the past and it ran on a rail, so that it could be pushed right back, revealing the area to the main room. Generally, though, he kept it closed, for the illusion of a private space, even if nobody else had used it in years. It was the same as the fact he kept clean bedding on it, even though he'd had no plans for anyone to use it in the future. Brett didn't exactly have overnight guests these days.

Eris looked at the space, noting that there weren't any windows. She didn't know if she liked that or not. It was safer, she supposed. But it added to the claustrophobic feeling she was starting to get familiar with. Pushing the curtain partially back, she went to drop the bag she had on the chair, and then she shrugged the coat she'd been given off. Holding onto it over one arm held close in against her body, she looked back out at him. "How is this going to work?" she asked, though her tone suggested grand scheme, not that she was complaining about the space. She wasn't. Just because she'd been taken from her hotel where the only word to describe her quarters was 'lavish' didn't mean she hadn't come from much more humble beginnings. Though 'humble' could probably be better termed as 'dregs of society'.

"How the hell should I know," Brett snapped at her. He didn't know, he didn't have a clue - he'd just felt like he'd had no real choice in the matter. Or, rather, his choice in the matter was clear. So he'd brought her here. That was as far as he'd gotten. No, that wasn't true - he'd assumed that he'd bring her here, find the doc, then put things back the way they had been. Only she'd already flat out refused to go back with that guy, which left her on his hands. "It's late - I'm going to get some sleep, I suggest you do the same," he told her, turning to walk to his room, seeking the refuge of ending the conversation until he'd had time to think.

Eris arched a brow as he tried to bow out, just like that. She crossed to hang the coat where he'd hung his, looking back at him. "I'd like to know what's expected of me." she said, voice light. Almost too light, but not entirely. She crossed over towards him, though she was planning on checking out the bathroom, not anything further. Following the man into his bedroom wasn't exactly on her list of things to do tonight.

Brett stopped and whilst he didn't turn around to face her, he turned his head to the side, not quite looking back over his shoulder. "Nothing's expected of you," he told her, simply. He didn't rely on other people, he never relied on other people anymore - not even when he had to work with others. He'd been a team player once, he'd expected things from other people, had relied on them - and look where it had got him. You couldn't trust people to hold up their end of things, so why expect it in the beginning.

That had her stopping short, in the middle of the room. Her eyes were on his back, watching him, wondering if he was tense, or if she was imagining that. She couldn't tell, not really. Occasionally she had little bits of insight on him, but she hadn't known him for very long and her dealings with him hadn't exactly been long heart to hearts by the fire. "There's no such thing as a free ride, Trent. We're both aware of that." she told him quietly. "So, I'll ask you again. What's expected of me?" she asked. If there was an end of the deal she needed to hold up, she planned on doing it--she just really needed to know what it was so she could be prepared for it. Walking a little closer, though still not directly for him, she didn't let her gaze waver. "Are you going to require services?" she asked, tone even lighter than it had been before. It wasn't as if she had any other resources. Or, not any she could get to.

He stilled, taking that in - knowing exactly what she meant by that. He wondered exactly how much she knew about him - whether she'd even picked him out of the Syndicate guys who came and went from Babylon before all of this went down, partaking of the gifts on offer. He'd gone through the motions. It was simpler than the alternative. Easy - go, get a girl, get a room, stay for an hour or two. Give her some money to keep her mouth shut about exactly what didn't go on behind closed doors. Some of them had tried to do their jobs, some of them had been downright pissed at his apparent lack of interest. He'd never once tried to explain - that would be just as bad, if not worse, than the humiliation of seeing the looks of disgust he could imagine would show on their faces if they ever saw. Saw what he looked like now, the horrific scarring that covered most of his body. But it was more than that - never in his life had he paid for that kind of thing. And never in his life would he pay. His reasons for his long term celibacy were his own, but even if it weren't for those, he still wouldn't have taken the girls at Babylon up on their offers, he still would have only kept up the illusion, going through the motions, and he knew what her definition of services were. And he felt a wave of disgust at her even making that offer. He turned his head back to the bedroom door and walked off, heading into the other room and slamming the door behind him without a word.

She watched his reaction. That was tension. That was a whole lot of tension. She just wondered where it all stemmed from. And, she was thinking she might actually get an answer, or she'd be able to ferret out an answer to a long standing question. Which was why exactly it was that while everyone else who came through Babylon's doors and were offered their choice of entertainment that he never went through with it. It could have been a million things. Could have been performance anxiety, could have been sexuality issues, intimacy issues, could have been a punishment handed down from on high. There were a whole lot of possibilities. She didn't say anything, she just kept her eyes on his door for a few long moments before she continued towards the bathroom, reaching in to flick on the light before she entered.

He stood, at the other side of the door, holding it all in for a moment or two, until he suddenly asked himself what the fuck he thought he was actually doing - why the fuck was he letting her get to him like this? He turned and wrenched the door open again, storming back out into the living area. "Decide whether this is a free ride or not for yourself, sweetheart. But no - I don't want fuck all from you, so keep your fucking offers to yourself. Just keep you head down and don't get us killed," he told her, fairly sure that the latter didn't need to be said, but feeling the need to add something else onto his miniature rant.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, then leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Offer?" she asked, tone indicating that this was not in any way correct word usage. "Offer. An offer, my sweet, is something that's freely given. I wasn't offering. I was asking what the fuck you want out of me, because we both know that I don't have much of anything to give. So don't go behaving like I just came on to you and asked you if you want me to call you 'daddy' or not." she snapped. "What I'm talking about is what you expect. Because no one just shows up out of the blue and takes home a screamingly fucking bad liability and expects nothing in return." she continued. "The doctor sure as hell didn't. So don't even start getting pissed at me just because I want to know what it is you're going to want."

"Gray got what he wanted, I saw to that," Brett shot back at her. He'd definitely done that - it had near enough fucking cleared him out, that was for sure. Silence from Gray didn't come cheap, but Brett knew that he was a guy that would keep that silence, for the right price. Or he had known that until this evening - know he just didn't fucking know what to think. "And maybe you don't do something and expect nothing in return, but I'm not you," he told her, looking her up and down in a way that was very much bordering on unpleasant.

Eris didn't say anything for a long moment. She hated the way he was looking at her, though it was far from the first time anyone had given her that particular look. Though what caught her attention more was his statement about Gray. About Gray getting what he wanted. He sounded sure about that. "Did he." she said flatly, tone suggesting that Brett didn't have the whole story there--because he didn't. Then it was her turn to turn and slam a door behind herself. She leaned her back against the bathroom door and reached up to cover her features for a few long moments. Fuck.

Brett stared as the closed door, putting together what she'd said about Gray, and what that meant. His face hardened as he mentally amended what he'd do when he found the doctor, if what she was saying was right. He stayed where he was for a moment, telling himself to just walk away and leave it. Go to bed like he'd said. But, in the end, he stepped forward, up to the door. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, tightly. It wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but it was an allowable one, one that didn't reveal unacceptable concern, and the tone took even more of that off.

When he asked that, she was surprised. Because she hadn't expected it, and the very first thing that crossed her mind was Why? Beyond that, there was a mixed bag of emotional responses she didn't want to be having. She didn't know how to deal with the majority of them on their own, let alone an attempt to deal with them when they were a clamor of noise in her head and she was still a little fuzzy. In the end, she asked a question of her own. "...does it matter?" she asked, voice just loud enough to be heard through the door, tone dull.

"I asked the question, Princess," he said, equally tightly, his only response. "Had a deal with him - that deal didn't include you. He was covered, more than - it wasn't for him to go changing the terms." But he shouldn't be surprised to find out that the terms had been changed anyway. He hadn't trusted anyone for three years now. The doc had been the first tentative steps back into that, even if it wasn't totally. It shouldn't be news at all that that trust was misplaced, that the guy had his own agenda.

They were back to Princess, she noticed. He tended to say that one differently than the others. Like it had a softer edge, even if his tone hadn't changed in the slightest. Part of her wondered if it was a manipulation technique, and another part wondered if he knew he did it at all. Option number three was it was all in her head. "He was a man locked in a house with a woman at his mercy, love. What do you think went through his mind?" she asked. "Drugs on hand...it wasn't like I could leave or go asking for help anywhere." she added. "And you didn't come around unless I got 'ornery'." Which had been Gray's word (among others) to describe her behavior. She was quiet again for a moment. "He only hurt me once. After that he learned not to." Which might explain her rather volatile behavior now, at least in some respects.

Brett knew what would have gone through his mind if he'd been the guy. But he would never have actually acted on that - especially not in a situation where she was, as she put it, at his mercy. That made things less likely for him, not more. "He drug you?" he asked, picking up on that because it was easier than a lot of other things he could say, fighting to keep his tone steady and unreflective of the fact he was becoming more and more angry by the second.

"I couldn't really tell you." she said. "He gave me medication. Sometimes I would be really, really fuzzy. But I don't know if that's just my own head or not, I haven't exactly had brain damage before to tell you if it was normal. What I'm saying is he had it. It's possible. If I had to guess? I'd say yes." she said. She realized, somewhere in the back of her mind, that with the questions he was asking, she could twist this. She could play up whatever she wanted to, put it in whatever light she wanted, put herself into a position that was probably better than the one she had now. But she just...didn't. And it hadn't even occurred until just then. It was strange, but she tended not to lie to Brett. Even when it would have been convenient. Pushing off of the door, and she crossed to the tub, and she looked into it, sitting on the ledge. It'd do, but she was going to want better products. It wasn't the world’s best bathroom, though she'd had worse places. Just not in a long while. Funny how she didn't feel much like she needed to get used to it. Like part of her knew the luxury she'd been living in had a shelf life.

Brett didn't say anything more as he let the anger course through his system, harsh and hot. He made absolutely no effort to dampen it down at all, saw no reason to. Anger was the only real emotion he allowed himself to have these days and when it came - which was often - he let it, using it to bolster his walls, remind himself of the realities of the world he lived in, the world he'd always lived in, though once upon a time he was too naive and stupid to see it. And, clearly, he was still too naive and stupid to see it - what exactly had he expected? Leaving her like that with some backstreet quack? That money and write-offs from him would be enough? That there wouldn't be anything else added into the bargain? he should know the world better than that by now. So, he didn't say anything, he just stood there, unmoving before the bathroom door.

She kept listening for another question, or for him to walk away. What she didn't get was why this was happening at current. Why he was asking in the first place, and why it seemed for all intents and purposes that he wasn't happy about it. She was putting together that it hadn't really crossed his mind. That for some reason, he hadn't considered the reality of the situation there, but then that oddly wasn't surprising her. More it was that it seemed like...well. The unhappy about it thing. She looked back at the door again, eyes catching the shadows of his feet beneath it. She almost wanted to assure him that she was fine. But she didn't, because he hadn't asked her if she was alright. This isn't concern, he's likely pissed off that he got screwed on the deal. she told herself. "Go to bed, Brett." she said finally to his silence, and she reached out to twist the water on, so she could take a bath. She glanced back towards the door once more, both to see if he listened, and to see if there was a lock. Though it occurred to her that she should have considered the lock before she even left the door.

He swallowed the words back that he wasn't going to say and glared at the door for a few moments more, his face like thunder since she couldn't actually see that. He was pissed at Gray, really fucking pissed about the other man, about what had gone down there. And the more he dwelled on it, the more it seeped in that he was pissed with her as well. For taking that so fucking lightly - for treating it as though it were nothing, as if it were just par for the course, all in a day's work. That she was that kind of person. But, of course she was, wasn't she? He knew who she was, where she'd come from - sure, he didn't know her history, but she ran Babylon, for god's sake. It was small wonder that the doc thought he could take his share. And it was when that anger, the anger at her, reached its peak that he turned and stalked away from the door, though he didn't go to bed - he wouldn't take orders from her. Instead, he poured himself a rare drink and settled down on the couch, brooding.

Eris drew her bath, and took it, though it wasn't a long one. As far as she could tell there wasn't a lock on the door--but then he hadn't even attempted to barge in on her, so she just left it. She washed up, washed her hair, and she grabbed up a comb on the back of the sink. This was going to take her a long time. Wrapping a towel around herself, she opened up the door, and saw him sitting on the couch. Drinking, apparently. She reached up to start attempting to run the comb through her wet curls, but it was an easier idea than it was in practicality. Especially with the harsh soap he had in there. "Got one of those for me?" she asked, eyes ticking to the drink in his hand.

Brett nodded toward the bottle he'd left on the side. "Help yourself - there's glasses in the top cupboard," he told her, refusing to fetch and carry for her, since he was still pissy with her and her attitude right now. He didn't move from where he was sat, on one end of the old and worn couch, cradling his inexpensive whiskey in his right hand.

She went and got herself a glass, then set it down and poured it, taking up residence on the opposite end of the couch. The towel covered her well enough, and she didn't have enough clothes to want to get them all wet before she tried to sleep. She had enough issues with that to begin with. So she curled on the end, and started the long and involved process of combing her hair out. She really, really needed a proper brush. "You seem upset." she noted.

He watched her walk across the room as she headed away from him because, pissed at her or not, he was only human and a guy at that. And as she'd said, guys had thoughts - just because he'd never act of them, didn't mean they weren't there, and he couldn't appreciate the view. He looked away, though, much before she turned or could catch him at that, as as she came back and sat down, he spent some time considering the old stain of unknown origin on the carpet. He only looked back at her when she spoke, and then it was with a closed expression. "Been a long day," he said, his tone unreadable.

"Why has your day been so long? What else happened?" she asked, sipping at her drink a moment before she went back to combing her hair out. God it had been a long time since she'd had to do this the hard way. She assumed that it wasn't all his coming to get her that had him stressed out. She most certainly contributed, but she didn't for a second think that it would sway him that badly just on what had transpired in the past hour or so.

"Days are long," he answered, not really wanting to get into what he did with his day. He didn't want to rehash the things he had to do, the things he was ordered to do. Not that today had held anything 'special' or especially bad. There had been nothing about it - until this evening, until her - that stuck out. It had just been another day. Another day in an existence that he hated, in a life that was his worst nightmare. Just another day. He tipped his head back and swallowed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp.

"What a remarkably bad answer." Eris noted. "I'd tell you about my day, but you pretty much saw my day. I was in and out of a haze that I'm still not entirely out of, and then a man showed up with a gun and took me home." she said. "I'll let you know how that works out." she added, giving him just a little bit of a smile. Bathing kind of made her feel more human again. And if they were going to be existing in the same place for any length of time, she wasn't going to be living around him. She'd hated Gray, but Brett...well. He was different. "So, did you beat up anyone today?"

"Not today, no," Brett said, setting the glass down on the table, not reaching for any more alcohol as he sat back. He flexed the fingers of his right hand, once, as though stretching them out after having made a fist. It was a reflexive gesture, one he hardly noticed and certainly didn't think about. Nor did he offer up any other information about what he'd been doing that day. Just because she was staying here now, didn't mean he was going to be going in for chit chat. He didn't work that way and he wasn't going to change.

She noticed the gesture, filed it away. She also continued combing her hair out, doing it as systematically as she could manage. At least it was out of her face by now. "Did you stand around and look intimidating?" she asked. "You seem adept at that." she added, because it was the truth. Not that she intimidated, but she could understand where other people would shake in their boots if he was standing over them, glowering. Her tone suggested that she was flatly ignoring the fact that she could tell he wasn't exactly into their conversation.

He glanced at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. Well, she could pretend he was into this whole conversation thing all she wanted: didn't mean he was suddenly going to open up to her. "Yeah, I just stood around," he agreed, flatly. Actually, it happened to be the truth. He'd been working the stage entrance for the Kitten Club - not that there was a whole lot of entrance work to be done once the girls were inside, early evening. After that, mostly it was just hanging around, being wherever was least in the way - long as nobody actually tried to get backstage, which happened once in a while. That was his job - make sure nobody got where they shouldn't be.

"Hey. I didn't say you just stood around, there's a difference." Eris said, that light little flicker of a smile on her lips again. "There's standing around, and then there's sending a message. You don't really seem the sort to just stand there, doing nothing. You stand there and look like if anyone's stupid enough to cross you, they'd first have to think twice about it, and second they'd have their ass handed to them." she assessed. "You've been around a while. They wouldn't keep you around unless you at the very least deterred the morons."

"Doesn't take much to deter the morons," Brett commented, blandly. Well, not unless they were really stupid, that was. Some of them were - some of them just didn't learn. Even when they were given a highly physical lesson. "Doubt you need anyone of any great talents, low benchmark for what they'd keep around."

"Yes it does. It also depends on what kind of morons you're attempting to deter. But not just anyone can do it." She was quiet for a moment, finishing off her drink and she leaned over to snag the bottle to splash a little more in her glass. "What makes me wonder is why you haven't moved up the ranks. Maybe you're happy where you are." She glanced around. "I want to know if this place was like this, or if you sold shit to help pay of Gray. How much you actually dropped to him." she said, eyes resting back on him, and she sipped at her glass. "What's my tab?"

Happy - that was a laugh. Or not, possibly the polar opposite of funny. Brett couldn't remember the last time he'd been 'happy'. "Told you, doll - you don't have a fucking tab, so drop it," he said, getting up and carrying his glass to the sink to rinse it out. He didn't broach the subject of his ranking in the organisation. He didn't want to move up from where he was. He hated what he had to do now, but he certainly didn't want to be any higher up. Organising this shit, telling others to go out there and do the things he hated so much. The things that once upon a time, in another life, he would have been working to stop.

She watched him get up, cross the room. She took another drink and set it back down again. She set the comb down too, having gotten most of the tangles out of her hair, even if it felt like straw to her. Reaching up, she loosened it so it tumbled down over her shoulders, and she felt better for it. "So you just...decided not to kill me, paid off someone who took a little more for his end of the deal than you were aware of, or expected that." She wasn't saying exactly what had gone on. If he wanted to know the gory details he could ask. She somehow doubted that would happen. "And that's all done, including you taking me back here, something I might add, is dangerous for the both of us--and you expect nothing in return. There's no price tag on this." she finished. "...I don't accept that." Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out in a rush. "Either you believe me to be stupid, that I'm going to accept this, and not look for the bottom line somewhere, which by the way isn't the case, or you haven't figured out what the price tag is. You're still working on it. I don't think it's unfair to ask what I'm looking at. Most of the time I can puzzle these things out on my own, but in this case?" Eris shook her head. "Honey, you have me confused."

"I said: drop. it," he told her, his voice tight as he fought not to shout at her. Not that he would normally have a problem with that - and by the sounds of things, the couple upstairs had just started in on their nightly set-to anyhow - but laying into her about things in a voice that people could overhear probably wasn't the most sensible of ideas. "Either you accept it. Or you don't. It's not gonna fucking change anything."

Eris took a moment to come up with her answer. She was frustrated, though didn't show it just now. With the way things had been going, she was well aware of the fact that this was going to be difficult. From what she knew of him--and that was remarkably little--he was just difficult by default. "Why?" she asked finally, figuring if he wasn't going to play ball with her the other way, then she was damn well going to cut to the heart of the matter. She'd attempted to be reasonable, to come at this in a more organized fashion. But if he wasn't having that, well, then...

"Because I've already fucking told you that there's no tab in this, Princess and if you decide to think I'm shitting you on that one, that's your problem, but it doesn't change that there's not. So you either believe me, or you think I'm a liar - not gonna change anything now, is it? But that's not my problem, it's yours." He walked across, grabbing his jacket from the stand and putting it on. "I'm going out. Keep the door locked, but leave the chain off. I'll be late back," he told her, gruffly.

"That isn't what I was asking." Eris said, watching him making his move to bail on her entirely. Which was hardly surprising. Though she was in the back of her mind, mildly amused because he'd been set on going to bed--and as far as she could tell? He'd given up the idea entirely and she wondered if it was because she'd told him to. "I want to know why you did this." she clarified for him. "Why did you not finish the job?" she asked. "The water would have done it for you. It would have caused you a lot less grief." For instance, he wouldn't be fleeing his apartment to avoid talking to someone.

He looked at her, long and hard as he settled into his jacket. "Would it?" he asked, eventually, plainly, that dark question in his eyes before he turned and walked out of the door, shutting it behind him. He didn't believe that - it just would have been a different kind of grief. It wouldn't even have been because of who she was, but more because of what she would have stood for, in his mind. That last step into the darkness. Finally letting go, letting that last thin thread of who he'd been snap, break, leave him falling. And yet he couldn't tell her that - couldn't tell her any of that. Would never explain. Who he was, what had happened - she didn't know. She wouldn't know. There was a tab, there was a price she had to pay: she had to survive. That was all. She had to stop him from falling and all she had to do for that was not get herself killed.