what is the matter with you?

who: brett, jackson and eris
where: her place
when: wee hours

The Ball was still carrying on when Jackson decided he needed to get the fuck out of there. There was too much going on in his head for it to be anything close to enjoyable. The roof of his mouth was dry with accepting false congratulations, and his knuckles hurt from how tightly he'd had them clenched. He'd snuck out without saying much in the way off goodbye to anyone. Fresh air was a welcome. He undid his tie as he hauled himself into his car, and then before he really knew what he was doing, he found himself driving to Eris' place.

They'd had a deal. He knew that. That he'd leave her alone. But she was under his fucking skin, everything she'd once stood for, and Babylon was gone. Sealed up, closed down, gone. What did she have to stay here for that wasn't crime? That wasn't starting afresh? He needed her to leave town. So as he parked in the dingy alley by her place and made the way up the stairs, there was only the tiniest pang of guilt that it wasn't fair for him to pull out of the agreement. Mostly he just felt frustrated. He rapped his knuckles against the door and and sighed - being much quieter than he had last time.

Eris was sitting on the love seat, absently listening to music and waiting for Brett to be done in the bathroom. She'd already had a bath, and her hair was damp, hanging loosely around her shoulders. She was definitely in relaxed mode at the moment, in her robe and nightgown, not trying to overly stress herself out for the moment. Of course some tension had been worked off already so that helped matters. And she'd taken her meds correctly so that was a plus too. When the knock on the door came, she frowned, looking over towards the door. Fuck. she thought, before she stood up, walking over closer to it. "...who is it?" she called, tone light. Please don't let it be the boyscout... she thought. Not with Brett in the bathroom. She'd take someone there to kill her, just not the fucking cop.

"It's me," he said, hoping she'd recognise his voice because last time he'd yelled his name she'd been less than ecstatic, "Your absolute favourite person in the universe. You gonna let me in?" his sarcasm was the dripping kind, and he leaned his back against the door frame waiting for her to open up.

Son of a bitch. went through Eris' mind. Of course! It was the cop she didn't want it to be. Excellent. She glanced towards the shut bathroom door, wondering if she should warn him, or something, but maybe she could get rid of him before Brett came out. That and Brett was an observant kind of guy, surely he'd hear the voices and just not come out. Undoing the locks, she opened the door a crack to look out at him. "What do you want?" she asked, voice light, not overly loud.

Jackson turned his head to meet Eris' gaze and gave a world weary sigh. She looked kinda pissy, but what was new? "I bother you during bath time? Sorry. Figured you might wanna know how things went yesterday is all." And talk about you getting out of town, he thought, but not bringing it up yet. Perhaps it could go unsaid. Perhaps she was packing right now. A man could hope, right?

Bullshit. You came here to run me out of town. Eris thought, but didn't share. She stepped back, letting him in, but not necessarily inviting him in. Now all Brett had to do was stay the hell in the bathroom, and they could call it good. "So, how did it go?" she asked, thinking about all she'd seen from her vantage across the street and a few blocks down. It had been a circus, that was for sure.

"Well," said Jackson, slipping past her and entering the apartment with the usual once-over he gave the place. Cop brain didn't let him do anything else because as far as he was concerned she'd always be suspect of something. "I got Damon O'Malley behind bars for pimping, so that's something, right? That whole family is pretty much done," his tone was disinterested and he paused slightly, before turning to face her, and getting to what he really wanted to say "Look. I know I said after Babylon was gone, we were done. But I'm worried. And I'm sorry that last time I came here I was a fucking mess but I still stand by what I said - you need to leave town."

It was when he was looking around, and as he did so her bed came into her view that she realized that Brett's holdster was on the bedpost. And his coat was over by the chair, and one of his boots was sort of half sticking out from beneath the loveseat...fabulous. She supposed it could be worse, but still. She just didn't let her eyes linger on any of it, keeping them firmly on Jackson. "Good." she said to his statement. "I hope the charges stick." which they probably would, considering the O'Malley's lawyers were probably making themselves scarce right now. She leaned back against the wall near the door. "If I don't?" she asked, tone quiet, but it certainly wasn't anything one could consider 'soft'.

Jackson walked over to the chair where Brett's coat was slung and ran a finger over the top of it thoughtfully. He didn't recognise it as belonging to Brett, of course he didn't, but it was still faintly suspicious. The rest of the stuff he didn't notice - his gaze was stuck on Eris. "If you don't? Well, then I guess you don't. But what're you gonna do instead? I don't trust you. At all. I'm constantly going to be waiting for you to slide back into your old ways. There's too many unanswered questions, you know? Like who'd you have over?" he asked gesturing to the coat, and then moving on - he figured whoever it was wasn't still here, considering she'd let him inside so easily, "And it's like I said. I made the call not to take you in for your old crimes. I gave you that second chance, so anything you do because of that? That's my fault. I don't need anything else on my conscience. What've you got to stay for anyway? I thought you was a dead chick walking."

Arms crossed over her stomach, Eris kept her eyes on him, still projecting loud and clear how unhappy she was with this. "Who I had over is none of your fucking business." she said. "And so are my reasons for staying. But what it sounds like to me, officer, is that you're going to be looking for something. That you're going back on our deal, and you're just going to be waiting for me to fuck up at some point so you can land me in jail. We had a deal. This wasn't part of it."

Jackson slumped into the chair with the coat over the back, and pushed a hand through his hair, looking up at Eris with an air of frustration, "I know. I know alright? But in good conscience I can't just let you get on with things. You're fucking... secretive. You don't exactly inspire warm fuzzy trusty feelings okay? I feel like you're plotting something, and I learned to trust my guts a long time ago. It'd be way fucking better for everyone if you just left town. I'll buy you a goddamned ticket myself, if that'll help."

Brett had been taking a bath when the door went and his initial instinct had been to keep as quiet as possible and make like he wasn't there. He'd been aware that half his things were out there, but maybe whoever it was would say their piece and go. that idea, though, had gone out fo the window as he'd realised that it was Jackson out there. Especially given his thoughts earlier in the day. Still keeping quiet, he'd slipped out of the bath and pulled on his shirt and pants over still damp skin, listening all the time for any signs that he really needed to get out there. Once he was dressed, though, he wasn't hanging around, and he opened the door as Jackson finished speaking. "It won't help," he told the other guy, his voice level, serious, preparing for the reaction he anticipated here.

Gawping was the only possible reaction Jackson could come up with for a moment or two, his eyes bugged as he looked from Brett to Eris and back again. What the fuck? was running through his head at a rather rapid pace. "So," he said finally, reeling and not quite sure what was about to come out, "She's the biter, huh?" Awesome fucking assessment of the situation, there, Jackson he thought to himself, but honestly it was all he could come up with. Brett's mystery woman who had him running around doing mob work was Eris. Well fuck.

Eris winced when Brett opened up the bathroom door. He could have just...stayed put. But of course he didn't. This was Brett, who was the king of making things harder. Though, she supposed, he'd said earlier he was going to talk to him. This was just a mess. At Jackson's statement, she blinked and looked over. Really? That was what Jackson was taking away from things? Just that she'd bitten Brett? 'He was being mean' really wanted to come out of her mouth then, just as a pure, knee-jerk reaction, but she stayed herself, biting her tongue. Literally, even. Instead she shook her head and looked away from Jackson, towards Brett even if she kept quiet.

Jackson just got a Look at that from Brett, though it was to conceal surprise. of all the reactions he'd expected from his erstwhile friend, that hadn't actually been one of them. Not that it wasn't relevant it just seemed, well - no, he really hadn't expected that. And it threw him. So he was glaring as a stop gap to a better reaction, always a good fallback for him. "For what it's worth, Haas, yeah. Now whaddaya want? Don't you have some fancy party you should be at being all hailed as the goddamn hero?" he snapped a moment or two later, going with his other fallback: verbal aggression.

"I skipped out on the party," said Jackson simply, sounding weirdly monotone, "I don't even... Jesus, Brett. What're you thinking?" he said, suddenly becoming more animated, the reality of what he was seeing sinking in. He rose to his feet, hands tangled in his hair as if he was trying to hold onto his brain to stop it from combusting with all the what the fuckery. "Are you serious? This is insane. This is fucking insane." he looked between Eris and Brett again, really unsure of what the hell you were even supposed to do in a situation like this.

That was fabulous. She loved being discussed like she wasn't in the room, and like she was a disease to boot. This was the best situation ever. Enough so that she pushed off of the wall to walk over and pour herself a drink. She poured two more as well, though she didn't do anything like offer the glasses, or serve. She just leaned back against the cabinet and took a drink, not offering anything to the proceedings because she was acutely aware that she was at the moment, extraneous at least to one person in the room. Plus she wasn't going to have anything constructive to say.

"And none of your fucking business," Brett growled, not liking being told that he was acting insane. He was lightly aware that he was handling this badly, that he'd known that Jackson had a problem with her, that he knew that Jackson would have a problem with them and that he was going to have to go and talk to the guy and be somewhat diplomatic, but actually faced with the situation here and now, it really wasn't working out like that - Brett was very much getting in his own way.

"I don't even..." said Jackson, shaking his head, not sure where he was going with the whole thing. How could he verbalise how fucked up it was? He looked at Eris with narrowed eyes, noticing that she was drinking. Watching them like her own private fucking show. She was up to something, and she'd hooked Brett in to her scheme some how... with biting probably. Hell. Once a whore, always a whore. He should've known. "What the hell is in this for you?" he spat, not wanting to even look at Brett. Brett was compromised. Brett needed to be made to understand that Eris was a manipulative harpy. A Pimp.

Eris kept her eyes on Jackson, and took another drink. "Shall I assume anything I have to say on the matter you'll dismiss anyways?" she asked. "What do you think I'm getting out of this? What exactly would I have to gain here? What is it you're assuming?" she continued. "Maybe I'm not 'getting' anything. Maybe I enjoy the company." And she was looking nowhere near Brett at this point. Brett, who wasn't even happy to term what they had as anything nearing a 'relationship'. And in that moment she wondered if it was because he was ashamed of her. And right now, with Jackson there, he might prove that theory.

Brett didn't like it when Jackson turned on Eris and he took a step forward, a little more into the line between the two of them, if not directly. "You don't even what?" he asked, as though he could dismiss the exchange between the two of them by pretending it didn't exist. he wanted Jackson's attention on him, not on her.

"I don't know," snarled Jackson at Brett, "I obviously don't know a damn thing," he raked his fingers through his hair and then pinched at the bridge of his nose, "Enjoy the company all you want. Go fucking crazy," he said with a resigned tone. He was tired. Too many curveballs too quickly. It was clear he couldn't talk to Brett about this properly with that fucking woman in the room, and so what was the point? He was getting the fuck out of here. "Do whatever sordid nasty shit it is you do to..." Jackson trailed off and stopped himself from saying to keep him because that didn't seem right. Brett wasn't like that. It must be some information she had. Brett was a good guy, not some squalid sicko. He gave Brett a look that was a mixture of being disgusted and just plain hurt before making moves to get away from the pair of them.

Eris had a lot to say, but didn't say any of it. If he was leaving, that was best. She didn't know if this meant she was off the hook for leaving town, or what, but him not being here right here, right now, that was a good thing. Or, that's what she was telling herself. She didn't like anything left hanging. She didn't like the idea of him leaving, and building up a full head of steam on the matter, then doing something unexpected later. It left her feeling vulnerable, and that was a feeling she detested, even if it was one that she felt all too often these days. It left her torn, but she didn't think she could do much of anything here. If anything Jackson probably hated her all the more now. It wasn't like he was going to listen to her.

She might not be saying anything, but Brett certainly was, especially with the reference to 'sordid and nasty'. "No, you don't know a damn thing, he said, taking a few steps forward and only stopping himself because if he got up to Jackson, he might thump the guy, and a respect for history meant he really didn't want to do that. He might not hesitate with anyone else, but with Jackson, yeah, he didn't want to go there. But he was properly angry now. "You fucking, judgmental asshole," he ground out - which he thought was pretty damn mild, all things considered.

Jackson turned on his heel again to face Brett, his voice catching in his throat. He too felt the tug of being unable to move closer to the man for fear of hitting him - hitting him would feel good, but terrible at the same time. It wasn't Brett's fault was what he felt like he had to remember. He'd been hooked in by a champion of manipulation at a difficult time and he couldn't be blamed. But Jackson still set is jaw, clenched his fists, colour draining from his face. "Maybe I am judgmental," he said eventually - quiet and shaky, "But don't act like it's not something you oughtn't be judged for. Getting stupid for some vixen. She's dangerous, Brett, and now look where you are, when you oughtta be on my side of the fucking fence. You must know that?"

"No, Jack. I mustn't know that," Brett ground out, his voice tight. "Getting stupid, am I? You think she's stopping me going back to the damn force? Get real, Haas - those days are long fucking gone. It's been years. Use your fucking brain - I know you got one in there somewhere." If Jackson thought that it was Eris that was stopping him going back to the force then, well, he wasn't thinking things through. Because there were gaping holes there. Like the fact that he worked for the O'Malleys, and Eris had been 'killed' by the O'Malleys so they could take over Babylon. Brett didn't know if Jackson knew that whole story there, but he figured the guy knew enough that he should be able to piece together that Eris wasn't the reason that he left the force.

Jackson shook his head in disbelief. Of course he thought that it was her fault. Of course. She was a fucking vixen. She had tricks up her sleeve, she could probably make a red blooded guy like Brett think all kinds of things. It was sick. She was planning something. Hell, it was probably her boys who had beaten him up that night. Jackson was probably just another game piece - he'd been on the receiving end of Eris' schemes enough times in the past, getting him away from sniffing at her skirt.

He threw his hands up in exasperation and clenched his fingers through his hair. He felt like he couldn't breathe. "Brett, I can't have this fucking conversation. You've lost whatever fucking intelligence it was you ever had. I'm out of here. Fucking out."

Brett stared at the guy, actually cluing into the fact that Jackson just couldn't see what was right before his eyes. "Yeah, fuck off then. Fuck off home, sober the fuck up and maybe then you can get your fucking facts and dates straight. You know, some fucking days I really don't get how you got promoted and I didn't," he shot back, a bitterness he'd never actually mentioned ever in their history together finally surfacing.

"I haven't been drinking, assmunch! You've been drinking if you think that you're in the right here!" yelled Jackson, kind of missing the point there, and turning on his heel to storm out, still yelling over his shoulder, "You're a moron! I'm a moron too, maybe, but you're an even fucking bigger moron, so screw you!" he didn't mean it. Brett was his friend. He would help him. Of course he would. He couldn't not. But currently he just wanted to hit him so leaving felt like a better idea.

"Screw you!" Brett shouted right back, acting like he was all of eight. "I haven't touched a fucking drop, Mr Big Goddamn Hero in a fucking suit!" he growled at Jackson's back. Yeah, really, really could be handling this better - he was even aware of that on some levels, but Brett generally let his temper get in the way of things.

Jackson made a sort of..."raargghh" noise as he slammed the door loudly behind him, and then turned back around and kicked it. Twice. Hard. Then for good measure slammed the heel of his hand against the wall. God fucking damn. That had gotten out of hand really fucking quickly. But how was he supposed to react? To something like that? He felt angry...and betrayed. Yeah. He felt betrayed. Didn't Brett realise how Jackson would do anything to help him? How he didn't have to turn to that whore? Fuck.

Eris winced at the noise Jackson was making, the little temper tantrum he was throwing. She finished off her drink, and started on one of the others she'd poured. "That went well." she said, tone much quieter than she'd intended it to be, but that was just how it came out. Shit. Just...shit. This was going to be a mess.

Brett had been staring at the now closed door when Eris spoke, and when she did, he turned on her. "You don't fucking say," he snapped at her with the full force of his anger before he stalked off. Had there been another room to stalk off into, he would have done that. But it was a loft, and the only other room was the bathroom, where his bath was still cooling, but he didn't want to go hide in the bathroom right now, and he was far too wound up to go back to his bath.

"You could have stayed in the bathroom." She pointed out. "And don't take your shit out on me. I didn't do anything." she added. Well, she hadn't done anything beyond existing, really. That seemed to greatly offend dear Jackson. And somehow she didn't really figure that was going to go away, either. Nope, in the face of what she'd just witnessed? She was thinking he was going to try even harder to get her to disappear. "Think he'd ever hit the deep end hard enough that he'd actually take me out to rescue you?" she asked conversationally.

"He needed to know sooner or later, especially with what you told me earlier - he just had to go and take it really fucking badly," he said, turning back to her, the anger still very present there in his tone. "And my shit was out here - I wasn't going to hide in the goddamn bathroom like some scared little fucking girl and wait for him to come and find me! And no - he's not going to hit the deep end that bad, because tomorrow morning, I'm going to go and have a chat with him and he and I are going to fucking sort this out! You heard how he was talking - and with what he's said to me before, that all makes fucking sense now. In a 'he's got the completely wrong idea' kind of a way. He thinks you're the reason I left the force. He thinks that, for the last three years - this has been it. Like there couldn't ever have been anything else. like that scenario doesn't make any fucking sense whatsoever and for some reason he can't use the brain he was born with to figure that obvious fucking thing out. I always knew he could be a dumb piece of shit, but this really takes it."

"He didn't seem overly observant about things, and I don't know that he would have beat the door down to get his eyes on some probably naked man." Eris said, eyes not actually on Brett as he ranted. Instead she was sort of looking towards the door but mostly her eyes weren't seeing much that was in front of her. "I did happen to be listening to how he was talking, which gives me even less hope that this'll work out somehow." she said. "Because that right there was a man who wants to believe what he wants to believe. Even if it flies right into the face of all logic. I've seen it before, I'm sure you have too. Some people have on some fairly thick blinders and it's deliberate. Jackson sees what he wants to see. Right now? He wants someone to blame, and I'm it. I am the embodiment of all fucking evil. I'm a dirty, vile whore who sullied his friend. Doesn't matter if it doesn't make sense. I'm pretty sure that's just going to be his story, and he'll stick to it." Her tone was something resembling dull. Distant. She set her glass down, and crossed to sit on the loveseat, eyes still nowhere near him, just...off, on some middle distance.

"He won't once I get through with him," Brett growled, his hackles up at the entire situation, at the fact that someone that he generally respected as much as Jackson was being such a blind fucking fool and only seeing what he wanted. The guy needed to learn to think again. And he knew Jackson, as mad as he was with the guy right now, Brett knew that he was capable of it, more than capable of it.

Finally glancing over to Brett, she let her gaze stay there for a few long moments. "Don't do anything rash." she said, tone lighter than it had been. "You'll regret it." Because one thing she was aware of was Brett genuinely cared about Jackson. He didn't give a damn about much, but Jackson--that much was obvious to her. Hell, she'd lay bets that Jackson rated higher than most people. Herself included, considering. "Tell him it's a business arrangement, I hired you to protect me, and you were just angry and that was why you said anything otherwise." she suggested. "Maybe it'll lift some of the black mark I've apparently left on you. You could have been bathing after helping me out of a rough situation. It's not like there's a lack of people in the city that would love to see me dead."

Brett glared at her, but didn't say anything. Her story made sense - well, more sense than Jackson's assumed story anyway - but right now, with his anger raging full flow, Brett didn't see why he should have to tell the bastard anything but the actual truth. After all, this was one of the few things in his life over the last few years that he wasn't actually ashamed of. But he'd lied about it to everyone else, why not to fucking Jackson? Fuck - he hated his life. It never did actually get any better.

Exhaling, she stood up and walked over towards him. "What do you want out of this?" she asked. Her tone was light if even, calm. Brett might not be a people person, but she was. She knew what made a whole lot of the human race tick, and while generally she'd always used that to twist people to her whims, that didn't mean she couldn't focus it in a different manner. Or, she hoped she could. Of course, it might require Brett not to just bark at her and throw stroppy fits, but she figured she'd give it a try.

I want this to be over. I want a life that I can actually live, where I don't fucking hate myself every minute of every day. Where I'm not waiting for... something and being something I'm not because I have to be. I want to be what I choose to be. I want my damn life back! Brett raged internally. "Out of what?" he snapped back at her.

She ignored his snapping at her, having expected it regardless of the fact that she'd done nothing to actually cause the mess. "Out of the situation with Jackson. What would be the best outcome, in your estimation?" she clarified for him. She leaned her hip against the back of the love seat, keeping her attention on him. Even if she was acutely aware that there was another drink over across the room. Just sitting there, waiting. She'd been doing pretty well with not drinking every night, too. Funny how little it took.

Brett looked bullish for a moment, and was glad he hadn't shared his thoughts, since with her clarification it was clear that they wouldn't have been exactly on-topic. "I want him to leave you alone," he said, eventually. The rest, he could work out, but that was what he really wanted.

"That's my problem." she told him. "And while I appreciate that you want that for me, I'm talking about you. What do you want. I know you don't exactly like owning up to little things like emotions, but I know you care about him. He was your friend, and it's pretty clear to me that he still has a whole boatload of baggage involving you. He wouldn't have been nearly so upset if he didn't give a damn." she continued. "So with that. Between you. What do you want."

"No, it's our problem - I need you and we can't do this if he's always on your back. So, that makes it my problem. Between him and me. I want him to fuck off and leave you alone and get over whatever fucking issue he has with me and the way I run my fucking life because it's clear that nothing less than my slipping back into a damn uniform and going back out on the beat is gonna satisfy the prick," Brett retorted, purposefully calling Jackson names to fuel that protective coat of anger that meant that he didn't need to delve any further into her questioning.

Employing her internal 'brett-to-reality-filter' to his words, she took a moment to assess. She ignored everything about herself, and Brett needing Jackson to back off of her because of their plans. It was wholly beyond the point as far as she was concerned, and while Brett probably wanted to make it the point, she wasn't happy to do so. "He's delusional, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have what he considers your best interests in mind." she said patiently. "To him, I'm sure this looks fairly 'worst nightmare' to him." And he's not that far off the mark, is he, baby? "Ultimately what he's going to need from you is a reality check he can understand, and the assurance that you haven't turned into my lapdog, or...whatever it is he thinks. He'll need to know that you're okay, not under anyone's thumb, and doing better than you were."

"You think I don't fucking know that?" he snapped at her. He knew that, really he did - he was just pissed off at the entire damn situation right now. It shouldn't be like this - and Jackson should know better. It didn't make sense - his story didn't make any fucking sense and the guy hadn't even stopped to think about it. He had to have been drunk, except Brett figured that he hadn't been. He'd seen Jackson drunk - and he didn't look like that. No, Jackson had come to that conclusions sober, which just concerned Brett all the more.

"I think you're pissed off enough to have been snapping at me for the past ten minutes, when I haven't done anything." she said, still not sounding upset about it. "I think you're upset. I think this bothers you to no end, and you aren't the most rational man in the world when you're upset." She was still considering going for that last drink. She half wondered if he'd give her hell about it if she did. "What I'm trying to do is work out a decent course of action, so it gets taken care of, and in something vaguely resembling a positive way. Because him storming off and you going to shout at him isn't going to help anyone."

"Doesn't anything ever get to you?" Brett snapped at her, ignoring all the times in the past where he'd seen things get to her. Right now, he just wanted to be angry and she just wanted to be calm and reasonable and it was frustrating as all hell. Why couldn't she just let him be angry for a while?

Eris stared at him for a moment. "You do." she told him. In fact, he got to her more than pretty much anything ever. He got to her in ways she never figured possible, really, which was a huge reason why she was in this mess to begin with. If she'd just gone and done things her own way, she'd...well. Not be in this situation. She wouldn't be in any situation. She'd be pretty dead by now, in all likelihood. Still, though. "Also, not the point. I'd rather try and figure this out, than randomly bitch, or lash out at anyone in range." she added. "Would you rather I was having some sort of meltdown over it?" she asked, tone lighter than it had been. In truth, the situation was getting to her, she was just hiding it better, and he was too pissed to see it. "Either you want to fix this or you don't. If you do, I can try to help you with that. Or, you can keep up with what you're doing, and see if the raging bull method of negotiation works."

"If I was going to go for that method, then I wouldn't still be standing here - I didn't follow him. I'll talk to him-" When I've calmed down "-tomorrow or so." He hadn't meant it to be like this anyway. He'd been planning on talking to the guy reasonably, calmly, like she was suggesting. And then Jackson'd had to go off the deepend, and things had gone downhill quickly from there. "I know I handled that badly," he admitted, and it was a hard admission for him. He didn't easily do things like admitting out loud that he was wrong. "That doesn't mean that it'll go that way again next time."

Eris wasn't so sure about that, because it wasn't like Jackson was magically going to become reasonable about things. It was then that she took the opportunity to walk back over and pick up that last drink. She also didn't give him hell about handling the situation poorly. "Be prepared for him to keep up with the wild accusations." she said, back to him. "I'm sure he's latching onto that so he can keep believing you're innocent." she took a long drink from the glass, then half looked over her shoulder, but not entirely. "You could tell him the truth. About you, I mean. Not me. I don't think he'd accept anything even close to the truth about me. Your best bet on that front is to separate yourself from any involvement with me if possible."

Brett crossed the room to stand behind her, reaching around her to take the glass from her, though he wasn't harsh about it, just taking it in a way that suggested he expected her to let go and give it to him. It hadn't escaped his notice that it was her third of the night, he just hadn't said anything before now. "I'm not entirely innocent - and I'll tell him what I can without putting him in a situation where he has to be torn between loyalty to me and needing to arrest me for my crimes," he said, some of the anger gone from his tone, fading away with his admission of wrong.

She didn't actually try to fight him on his taking the glass. Eris could feel him at her back, not close enough for contact, just there. "Technically, if you were undercover the whole time, you could be exhonorated, couldn't you?" she asked. "If you went that route, you could at the very least clear your name. You still wouldn't have to go back to the force, like he wants, but you could do that. That...might go a long way to fixing things between you two at least. And it would help your own standing." She smiled very faintly, even if it lacked humor. "You might need to take your gun back, but Jackson was going to site me for having an illegal firearm anyways. You may have to anyways."

"That would mean proving it," Brett pointed out. "Even ignoring certain things, even assuming that absolutely everything I did could be linked back to that one fact - it'd be my word against the entire force. I think that if there was proof I was undercover, there would have been something by now. And there hasn't been, so I would just be some criminal ex-cop pulling excuses out of his ass to try and save his own neck."

Eris was silent for a few long, long moments. Then she half turned, looking up at him as she leaned back against the cabinet. "He might be able to help you. And I can possibly find a little more to help. I could try. I can't make you a promise...but I was already asking for it. Granted, the son of a bitch has done nothing to come through yet. But still. Someone has to know something. You can't have just disappeared down the rabbit hole. There's always someone who knows something."

Brett looked at her, long and hard. "I don't want you pulling in any favours for me," he told her. "We're gonna need all the favours we can get in the future - no point wasting them on the past." He couldn't imagine it would do any good anyhow. Whenever he looked at what he'd been, he saw it as being dead and buried. It was too late to revive that, and he didn't have the heart to hope, or even try.

Technically, if we do things right, I won't need favors like those." she told him. Because technically, they were meaning to do this legally. Nothing shady or backwards about it, straight up legal. So having favors to call in at the police department shouldn't be something they were going to need. And in the end she said what she thought. "I think it would make your life easier."

"Or it would get me taken into police custody, maybe thrown into witness protection for the next few years. Bound up in endless court proceedings? Assuming that one of the many, many crooked cops that are out there didn't decide that I was too much of a risk to their career and it was best that, while I was oh so available and findable and admitting I had all this information, I should really just be disappeared. I'll tell Jackson what I need to, but I'm not going to just turn myself in like that," Brett told her.

She looked at him for a long moment, then away, not saying anything. In her mind, she knew that telling Jackson the truth was going to start him on a path where he tried to get Brett exhonorated himself. Maybe she could help that, just in a very behind-the-scenes way. She went to reach for the glass where she'd originally gotten it from, before she remembered that he'd taken it from her. So she instead wrapped her arms around herself. "What are you going to say about me?" she asked, tone deceptively light. And while she had him tracked in her peripheral vision, she didn't actually turn her head to look at him again.

"At this stage, I don't know," Brett admitted, after a moment or two. He didn't see why he should hide the situation in regards to her, yet at the same time, he did know that, well, he'd seen Jackson's reaction. He figured that he was going to have to play things by ear.

What's most important to you? she thought. She didn't say it, though. In her own mind she was already lining things up. Contingency plans. If he told Jackson what she suggested, then they were going to have to alter their already made plan of the whole public couple thing. That would fly in the face of telling Jackson that it was all just a business arrangement, and nothing more than that. Telling him that then doing something different wouldn't be helpful at all. All it would do is put off the situation for a short bit of time before it came rising up again probably worse than before. For the second time, she went to reach for the glass that wasn't there, and internally really cursed the fucking brain damage. Could she not just remember it wasn't there? For five minutes, even? It had clearly cemented itself in her mind that it had been there to start with. To stop herself from going for a third time, she pushed off of the cabinet, and walked over to her record player, to fuss with that, give herself something to do.

He didn't follow her over, but he watched her go. "I'm not ashamed of you, if that's what you're thinking," he told her when she didn't reply. "No matter what he fucking said about you - he can go to hell. I mean what I said. It's none of his fucking business. And if he can't deal - well, he'll just have to learn to fucking deal."

She stilled a little when he spoke, and she didn't finish the motion she'd started to put music on. At least, she didn't finish it for a few long moments. Then she did. She put it on quietly. "Aren't you?" she asked. It wasn't pointed. It wasn't even toned specifically. It wasn't put out there like she expected a specific answer or was trying to provoke a fight. It was just there. Light, just neutral. Like it wasn't going to impact her one way or another, even if that was a total screaming lie.

"Ashamed of a lot of things in my life. You're not one of them," he told her, though he had to admit - only to himself and never, ever aloud - that he'd been surprised by some of the reactions that she got out of him. And, possibly, if he'd been told years ago that he'd act in certain ways around her, then he would have denied it. But then again, he'd been a very different person back then, and that person died three years ago. There was no comparison. Just like she wasn't the person she'd used to be, neither was he.

Eris didn't look over at him again immediately, but did after a few long moments. She wasn't sure how to take that. She'd most certainly thought it earlier. It had been there, in her mind, and she recognized the fact that she'd been under the impression that he was. That that had settled in sometime while Jackson had been there. It hadn't actually occurred before. It hadn't been something she would have even really thought about, or considered. And what was more, she wouldn't have thought it mattered, either. Only it did. That probably wasn't a good thing. It mattering to her was really a ways off the reservation. It went into territory she wasn't sure about and she most certainly didn't think he was prepared for. Realizing she hadn't said anything, she nodded, a single incline of her head, and that was all before she looked back to her records, starting to tick through them. She was rather hoping that Brett didn't choose now to take issue with her being quiet on him, even if she knew it bothered him sometimes.

He had actually expected her to said something on that. To have an opinion, and he was wrong footed when she didn't. "Should I go? or stay?" he asked her, covering up. She'd gotten two admissions out of him tonight, neither of which had got a reaction from her. He'd completely lost his cool whilst she'd totally retained hers. Things weren't feeling particularly even here, he just wasn't sure what to do about it.

"If you want to leave, you can. If you want to stay, you can." she said. "It's up to you." Before Jackson had showed up, he'd been going to stay. At least, she'd thought so. His gun was on the bedpost. What she wasn't doing was trying to sway his decision. Why she wasn't, she wasn't even sure. If he asked her opinion, she would want him to stay. But she wasn't sure he'd really asked that. Her mood had really shifted into something strange, like she wasn't quite herself at the moment and she didn't even know why. Maybe because she was thinking she saw symptoms of something dangerous in herself, and she was somehow trying to separate herself from that. Or maybe she was just a brain damaged bitch dealing with a whole lot all at once, including police officers that wanted nothing more than to throw her into a bottomless pit in a prison somewhere, mobsters that would probably want to take a good torturing session with her before dropping her lifeless corpse in the river, and an emotional attachment to a man who was about as emotionally unavailable as the statues in the park. Just instead of drifting towards cracking, she was drifting towards a haze. She wasn't entirely positive which was worse, really.

It didn't help Brett's frame of mind right now that she didn't seem to have an opinion, or give a damn, one way or another. He could come, he could go and she didn't care. So, fine - he would just not care that she didn't care. "It's late," he pointed out, since it was, in fact, the middle of the night. or possibly the early hours of the morning. He turned away from her and headed over to the bed.

She wondered where he put her drink, but didn't really look for it. All he'd do is take it away again. Plus, it wasn't like he was really wrong with his opinion that her drinking had got a little out of control. It just would help her sleep at this point, something that seemed a long ways off, regardless of the fact that is assessment of the time was accurate. Moving, she turned out one of the lights, leaving only one of the bedside lamps on. It dropped most of her 'living room' into heavy shadow, though, where she was.

As was his habit by now, Brett slipped under the covers in what he was wearing, conscious all the time of the scars that covered his body, scars that she hadn't entirely seen yet. And now really wasn't the time to change that. He listened to her walking around, but didn't watch her as he lay on his back and looked up at the increasingly darkening ceiling.

She walked over to the love seat, and curled up on the end of that, leaning her back against the armrest, shoulder against the back. Feeling the silence there, she wanted to break it, but didn't know what might come out of her mouth if she did. One thing that she'd learned fairly quickly after she'd woken back up with her head a mess was she didn't always trust herself. No, she'd learned a whole lot of distrust for her own thoughts, emotions, everything. Now she was feeling particularly mistrustful of herself. She could see the bed from where she was, though knew even if he did look over that he wouldn't see her very well if at all.

He waited for a few minutes in the dark after she'd stopped moving before he said anything. "Are you not coming to bed?" he asked, looking around, though he couldn't see her in the darkness. He really hoped they weren't going to have to have the 'who's sleeping on the loveseat' set to again. He'd rather leave if they were.

"I'm not tired." she answered. "You know what I get like when I'm not tired. Can't shut up." Which she was doing a fabulous job of at the moment actually. Keeping her mouth shut right now wasn't a problem at all. Even if she could feel her thoughts just under the surface, questions, like she always had for him. Ideas of wanting to dig in deeper, know more of what went on in his mind. "Thought you'd appreciate it." she added onto the end. Because if there was anything he hated, it was when she got herself into 'I want to get to know Brett better' mode. Though, truthfully, she didn't even know what mode her mind was in at the moment. If it really was something that was him focused like that, or if there were other angles to it. Part of her didn't really want to find out, either.

Brett made a grunting noise that was almost a humourless laugh and turned over onto his side, facing away from her. If she was going to be like that, then fine - as long as she wasn't determined for some unfathomable reason to spend the entire damn night there.

Right. Well, that answered that, didn't it. Resting her cheek against the back of the loveseat, she kept her eyes on him, but didn't say anything more. Instead she listened to the music, and watched him breathing, wondering when he was going to fall asleep. And if he was going to shut out the light. Everything was still just beneath the surface, itching to come out, but she didn't let it. For once, she shut it down.

Brett lay still, gently twitching. The adrenaline was still running from his earlier anger, though a lot of it had dissipated now. He really had to work at keeping it going - something that he often did, but still, it took energy. Had she just come to bed, he decided, he would have fallen asleep in minutes. But she hadn't. Oh no, she had to be 'not tired yet'. Fine, well, he was just going to lie here, silently. She could think he was sleeping if she wanted. Whatever. Like he cared, or like she would be bothered that he was awake.

People's breathing evened out when they slept. It slowed down, came in soft waves. Tension let go, too, even if a person was as high strung as Brett happened to be. And since the light was on him, and she was paying attention, she could tell he wasn't actually asleep. Or, she thought so, anyhow. The song on the record player was one she knew. And, as she kept watching, she started to sing. Very softly, not something that would wake him if he was asleep. But she wanted to see if he shifted at all. If he was listening.

Brett mostly remained still when she started to sing, but he shifted very slightly, a tiny movement of his head as he almost pricked up his ears. He'd decided in the past that she didn't want him to hear her sing - she generally shut up any time he was near, so even if he hadn't been leaving her to assume he was sleeping before, he would have done that now. She had a good voice, after all.

He was pretty good, really. If she wasn't someone who had needed in the past to determine beyond a doubt whether someone else was sleeping or not, she probably would have assumed he was. But she'd started young with that. Trying to determine if her old man was passed out properly, or just waiting for her to try and sneak past so he could knock her around for trying to get out. After that, leaving once clients were asleep, so they could drift off with the illusion that she would be there when they woke. He barely moved, but she caught it, since she was watching for it. She finished the song, though, not stopping at all. She did wonder why he never came to see her sing, and always assumed it was because he didn't actually give a damn about it. Really, why would he? But she'd always wanted him to hear. Like maybe it would let him view her in a different light. Since he was pretending to be asleep, it gave her the opportunity to do that without actually talking about it. She knew why, though. It came back to the idea that he might be ashamed of her. And even if he'd said he wasn't, she'd thought for a good part of that conversation that he was. So there was part of her that still desired that alternate point of view. To prove to him that there was more to her, maybe. A stupid sort of idea, considering she was doing it deliberately when he was pretending he wasn't hearing it at all.

He closed his eyes while he listened - the tune and her voice were actually pretty soothing, especially quiet like that - and they relaxed him as he let go of the remnants of his anger and frustration. Whilst he didn't actually entirely fall asleep, his breathing did even out some and he relaxed some more.

The record ended, and the player shut itself down. She didn't do anything for a few long minutes, still watching Brett, who looked a little more like he was really sleeping now. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, considering. What she was, though, was out of things to really do. Her mind wasn't any quieter than it had been, it was still a mess in there. Glancing around for the glass, she noticed belatedly that it was on the bedside table. That went to show where her focus was, which still didn't make her feel any better. Actually, it served to make her feel worse. She'd been looking over there the whole time, and her focus was so much on him than she'd not noticed the glass where it was. Padding silently over towards the bed, she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. Standing there a moment, she reached out for the glass with one hand, and she turned the lamp out with the other. It was belatedly that she realized she'd even held her breath when she leaned closer, like that was going to make a difference.

Brett's hand shot out to fasten round her wrist the moment that her hand closed around the glass and the light went out. He didn't say anything. His eyes had slitted open the moment he'd heard her start walking again - relaxed he may have been, but he hadn't been sleeping. And he really didn't like her drinking.

Gasping quietly when his hand latched onto her wrist, she felt her heart jump into overdrive in .2 seconds. She exhaled, and gave herself a moment to collect herself. "I thought you were asleep." she said, voice quiet, really more of a whisper than anything. And you really need to not give me a heart attack. she added in her head silently. It was like that moment in the dark, when he'd pushed her, and she hadn't known if there was going to be anything to break her fall. Apparently, he had the ability to scare her.

"I thought you'd decided that I didn't want to talk," he said back, softly, not letting go of her wrist. He didn't want to talk, not really - not if she was in one of her chatty moods. But that didn't mean that he was just fine with her unilaterally deciding that.

Not answering immediately, she kept her eyes down on the little slivers of him she could see. There was some moonlight coming in the window, though it wasn't much. So she could only see the wrinkle of the material of his shirt at his shoulder, a little of his jawline. Not much, and taken by themselves, it gave her a feeling of surreality, like what she was seeing wasn't what was really there. It was disorienting enough that she opted to close her eyes, so she wasn't trying to make sense of imagery she was having trouble putting together. "You never want to talk." she answered him. It was still a whisper, soft. Quiet. Not bitter, or pointed, just fact as opposed to an accusation.

He let her go then, even if the words hadn't been posed as an accusation, drawing back. "And you do?" he asked her, though there was no real encouragement for her to answer - he didn't know how an affirmative response would actually affect him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

It took her a moment or two to answer him, because she wasn't actually sure what the answer was. It was likely nothing as simple as a yes or no. She hesitated over taking the drink she had in her hand, and in the end she set it back down where it had been. She didn't like standing where she was though, it felt exposed. She felt exposed. And in response to that, she moved, walking towards the window where the meager light came in, and she pulled the curtain to block even that out. When lightning flashed, it still silhouetted her in the windowframe, but that was all. Of course, it also blinded her for a moment, so she used that excuse to stay by the window. It was belatedly that she recalled she owed him an answer. "Would it matter?" she asked in return. She wasn't sure of the answer there, and part of her was curious. What she wasn't feeling was upset about it. But then, she still felt like she was in that strange state, like she wasn't quite there.

"It might do," Brett answered her, which was as near to the truth as he could get. He didn't know, and it sounded slightly better than 'it depends'. And it would depend - on him, on her, on what she was asking, on what he was prepared to talk about. About whether they were talking about her, or him, or the weather outside.

She leaned against the windowsill, getting her bearings. She didn't ask what it depended on. There were likely different parameters set up in Brett's mind on things. And it would probably depend on the subject. "You should go to sleep." she said softly. Which really wasn't an answer to anything, but at least was something she thought. Even if it was sort of wildly different than how things usually went, and she was acutely aware of that. It wasn't like she was given to holding things back, particularly with him. But at the moment...

"So should you," he pointed out to her. Maybe if she'd still been there, he would have pulled her down, encouraged her in that. But she wasn't - she was over by the window, and he wasn't going to go and get her.

There was the faintest of smiles on her lips for a half second at that. He just had to be stubborn at her, didn't he. Even now, when he wasn't going to want to talk anyhow, and it wasn't like he was pushing her to. But he didn't want her drinking, and was it just the only fight left to pick? That she wasn't going to sleep? And why did it matter in the first place? Was it actually bothering him or was he just contrary by nature, and she gave him something to respond to that he could argue with? By now she wasn't actually sure. In the end she didn't answer him, figuring if she didn't, he'd fall silent himself.

He'd asked her once, possibly twice now. So when she didn't say anything, neither did he. He couldn't see the smile on her face in the darkness, he had no idea what she was thinking. Half the time, he felt like he couldn't read her at all - whereas she often made him feel downright uncomfortable with how well she could read him. It wasn't fair, but then again, Brett had given up years ago on expecting life to be fair.

It was passed the five minute mark when she finally pushed off of the windowsill. Less because she wanted to, and more because the cold from the poorly insulated window had seeped into her and was making her shiver. She didn't want to go back to the bed, either, but she didn't know where else to go. She'd thought he'd dropped off before, and it was possible he had now. She walked over but didn't climb in, listening for his breathing, wondering if he'd started to drift off.

Brett was drifting in and out of sleep - not properly under, but not properly awake either. He was still lying on his side, and he heard her approach. He just couldn't really bring himself to respond with more than a bearlike grunt and muttering noise, accompanied by a shuffled movement. It was possible he was trying to tell her again to come to bed, but it in no way came out like that.

She wasn't sure what it was either, beyond maybe a half roused state from a dream. Something. In the end she exhaled, and crawled onto the bed, curling up with her back to him before she pulled the blankets over herself. Sleep wasn't going to come any time soon. It really was too bad he seemed to have instant awareness of if she was going for a drink, but couldn't stay awake otherwise. She did feel like if she tried, however, he'd definitely be up. So she didn't, resigning herself to lying there with too many messy thoughts in her head and no real outlet for them.

She earned herself another sleepy grunt as he felt her get in beside him and he shuffled down a little. He made no attempt to roll over though - even in sleep Brett wasn't a snuggly person. That part of him was no act, he'd never been that guy.