things always get worse

who: eris and brett
where: brett's place
when: morning

Eris woke early. When she did wake, she was surprisingly feeling a little better refreshed than in the past few days, which was a plus. That was something she had needed, and even if she probably hadn't gotten that long a rest, the rest she had gotten was decent. She tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake Brett if she didn't have to. Really, partially that was due to the fact that she flat out didn't know what to say. It felt a little strange to her. She'd spent the night, and hadn't intended on that, even if she really appreciated it. That whole not wanting to be alone thing...that was going to come back and bite her, probably really soon. Not the most optimistic outlook, but what else could she do?

She'd wound up hovering by the hall that the bedroom she'd stayed in was, looking out into the living room and at him. He was still asleep--something she actually paid strict attention to. His chest was moving, she could hear him breathing. That relived her, even if she wasn't going to say so outright, even to herself. And, she kept standing there, for a good five, ten minutes, watching. He looked different, asleep. Something she'd noticed when she'd gone to sit by him when the church had been sealed up. All that bitterness wasn't present, and it just...made a difference. Then she started feeling really, massively uncomfortable with the situation, and she moved back to the room she'd been in. Digging up paper wasn't the easiest task but she found some and a pen, and wrote him a quick note.

Gone down to get my things, can't promise I won't get distracted by the pool. I'll be back up soon.

That she taped to the elevator door, before she headed down.

Brett slept for a lot longer than she did - the combined effects of the post-panic attack crash; the alcohol and the pill she'd slipped him meant that he slept long, and deeply, and it was some time after she'd headed down that he woke up, his head pounding, his eyes bleary as he looked around.

His back hurt from lying on the couch all night and he stretched, trying to ease some of that pain away - that rarely worked though. That had been the good thing about the pool down there. Whatever they'd put in the water, it'd been so good for his body. But that place was lost to him now. He'd never be able to make that trip again.

And that point reminded him of her, of the fact she'd stayed last night, and he sat up - only to realise that he'd left his chair round the back of the couch and out of reach. Well, he hadn't really been thinking straight yesterday now, had he. The fact he'd ended up on the floor illustrated that just fine.

It took him a few minutes to get over to his chair and up into it - something he could do without that many problems now that he was sober, if hung over. And then he went looking for her.

When he found the empty room, he told himself that he shouldn't actually be surprised that she'd just left. That there wasn't actually any reason she'd have to stay. And he flat out refused to give this any morning after connotations whatsoever. Pulling away from the spare room door, he headed for the kitchen. It was only luck that he caught sight of the note on the elevator door. And then, he didn't know how to feel - because he was committed to resolutely Not Caring that she'd fucked off. And now she hadn't. Fucking contrary fucking woman. he tore the note off the elevator door, threw it on the floor and carried on toward the kitchen. He needed coffee.

Eris was down there for a while. Because she had fun looking around, she did get distracted by the pool, and she took a long soak. Which was absolutely damn fabulous. It even felt like it made her relax a lot more, and she rubbed lightly at the bruises she'd sustained from the elevator incident yesterday. None of them were bad, which she was grateful for. She felt refreshed after being in the pool, and after washing up, she pulled on some clothes, not really happy about wearing dirty ones, but she didn't really figure just wearing Brett's borrowed sweatshirt was a good plan. He'd be getting that back, thank you very much. She found a sturdy enough stick to twist her hair back with, used like a chopstick, and then headed back upstairs. She did happen to peek into his things to see if they'd happened to refresh his supply of food down there, though, just curious about it. To her, it looked like they had, but then she didn't know how much he'd had the day before, either.

She got back upstairs, and the first thing she noted when she stepped out and the doors shut was that her note wasn't there anymore. Which was explained when she stepped on it, and she looked down, picking it back up. Well...right then. She had no idea how to feel about that. Was he pissed she'd gone down? Invaded his space some more? Sighing, she walked over towards the couch--which she noticed he was no longer occupying, and wondered where things were at. She had no clue, and felt like guessing would be hazardous to her continued mental health. Not that she was mentally all that healthy.

Brett was sitting on the back porch, the door wide open, letting in cold air, though being that he was outside already, he didn't really give a damn. He had his coffee - second cup, the first one had gone down quickly - and he had taken exactly nothing for the thumping pain in his head. He didn't take pills, he could live with some pain, he always did. It gave him the classic bear with a sore head mood though - which wasn't that much of a departure for the guy.

He heard the elevator return, heard the doors open and close, but he decided to ignore it. Ignore her. She could leave now, if that's what she wanted. Like he'd fully expected her to before. At least then his hurt would be justified.

She shivered, considering it was cold in there, and she set her things down, debating what to do now. She was at that kind of awkward stage, where she wasn't really sure what was alright and what wasn't. this was partially due to the fact that she'd stayed the night, and hadn't meant to. That and with all they'd talked about yesterday, with things she'd revealed that in the light of day she really wished she could take back...yeah. Right. She had nothing. She did smell coffee though, which made her stomach growl, and she decided to at least find him and see if he was alright. he's alright. He's fine. He's always fine. she told herself, then, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush, she got up to head towards the kitchen. The door was open near it, and she wished she'd put her jacket on, but didn't say anything. Instead, she padded up silently towards the open door, but didn't step outside. "Morning." she greeted. That was okay, right? He couldn't find a reason to take offense to that?

Brett didn't turn around - because she hadn't just done what she was meant to do - again. She hadn't just left. Like she was meant to just leave this morning, before he woke up, because when he'd seen that empty bed, he'd decided that's what she'd done. And he was pissed at her for doing that. Except she hadn't. And now she hadn't even had the decency to justify his anger by leaving when she'd done whatever it was she'd gone down there to do. Which meant that he was pissed with her for absolutely no reason. Which just pissed him off even more. "Morning," he said, his voice tight.

She paused. Okay, apparently, Brett could take offense to that. Right. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, even if she was a little. "Can I have some coffee?" she asked, tone light, not calling him so fast on the random attitude, but she knew she wasn't going to be dealing with that terribly long. Not after everything she'd done last night. Or that he had.

...And now, apparently, she was hanging around for coffee. Why was he even surprised? When she couldn't fucking stand to be alone and he was, apparently, her choice for being there for her. Which he had been yesterday. What the fuck had he been doing there anyhow? But, he'd been there for her yesterday and she couldn't even have the decency to fuck off today so he could be righteously pissed at her for doing that. No, she was going to hang around and he was going to have to talk to her and she'd probably get some sick, pleasurable satisfaction out of knowing that he had absolutely no reason to be pissed at her, but that he was because he'd decided she'd do something she didn't fucking do. Bitch. Unpredictable fucking bitch. "You know where the kitchen is," he told her, taking a sip of his own coffee.

This was going to be a long morning. And a long cup of coffee, because now that she'd asked for it, she was going to fucking have it. "I was considering toast, do you want any?" she asked, not asking this time if she could have something. But then maybe she was also seeing if he'd take the opportunity. She turned to head back in, figuring he was going to tell her no anyways, because hell, she'd gotten him things when he'd been starving and he could barely tolerate taking it. But she had a craving for peanutbutter toast. Peanutbutter toast and coffee. It was a good combination.

He didn't answer her question and he let her get back inside before he headed in after her and, sitting by the back door, just watched her, saying nothing, thundercloud and all.

She could feel his eyes on her, or imagined she could. He was sitting there, hovering, after all. A very loud presence for someone who wasn't saying shit. She poured herself coffee, and looked for sugar and in the fridge for milk, and then she started her hunt for bread and possibly peanut butter. Sure, she could ask him and all, save herself time, but he hadn't answered her with her last question, so she was doing it herself. Being self-sufficient, as it were. Maybe. Ought to be fun if she found out he didn't have a toaster. That'd be really damn funny, now wouldn't it? She steadfastly didn't turn her gaze on him while he watched her, wondering just how long they were going to be playing at things today...and wondering why they were at all.

He watched her, making her way around his kitchen, getting on with things as though she was at home, ignoring him completely. First she wouldn't fucking leave, now she was making herself at home. And this was the result of being nice to people, for giving them some time, for trying to be understanding. This was him - he did this, she was just... here. And he didn't know how he felt about that.

He watched her for a few long minutes. Watched her look for bread, didn't help her out with finding it. Didn't point out that there was fuck all point in looking in the top cupboards, because he couldn't fucking get there, could he? Course, he hadn't stocked this kitchen either, so for all he knew, there could be shit in there. He watched her, then he gave up and wheeled himself across the kitchen and out. He needed a fucking shower - he still needed a shower. He figured, the way things were going, she'd still be here when he got back.

And then he was gone. Without a word. Jesus fucking... she thought to herself. Seriously, what the living hell had she done to get the cold bitchy shoulder today? Sure, she was fairly positive he was hung over, or he should be, but he would have been hung over without the benefit of the anxiety med she'd spiked his jack with. At the rate he'd been knocking that shit back, he would have to be a much luckier person not to come away with a nasty hangover. Still. Either way she eventually found what she was looking for, and made herself toast, which thankfully she could do without burning, what with it being automated and all, and she went and sat at the little kitchen table, eating it. She was also listening for him, realizing he was bathing when she heard the water running. Vaguely, she had a morbid curiosity about his perfered method. Which was something she was just never, ever going to find out about, because it wasn't going to come up in normal circumstances, and she sure as hell wasn't going to ask. Her day wasn't starting off so well. And next she had to go move her shit from point a to point b. Where she'd be by herself. Yeah. This was a great choice to have. Stick around with Bitchy McGee, or go sit alone, where she knew she'd drive herself nuts after not too long. Swell.

He took his time, not actively thinking about whether he was drawing things out on purpose, just to see whether she'd still be there when he got back, or whether he just needed to take the time. But, hell, he even shaved, which wasn't something he did overly often - usually just when his scruff was threatening to become a beard. He hated wearing a beard. But he shaved today, miraculously without cutting himself either. practice made perfect and he didn't practice and he was usually far from perfect. Plus, he had no patience. Maybe that was it - maybe he took his time more than usual today. But he still didn't know whether he was drawing things out on purpose.

He'd say he felt better when he finally emerged, if it wasn't for the two fucking gnomes hammering on his brain that was the pouding headeache he had. And his back still hurt, though the shower had relieved some of that. His legs ached. All in all, he wasn't in a good place - but at least he didn't feel like he stank any more. And he'd let go of some of his completely irrational anger toward her, though it hadn't gone far - it was there ready to leap back into action if she had, in fact, left by now. or, possibly, if she hadn't - he hadn't decided which way he wanted that to go yet. There were arguments for being pissed at both.

She was still in the kitchen, dunking her folded toast into her coffee then eating some. She sort of vaguely wished she had a crossword puzzle or something to do, even if she'd never been the 'do the crossword with the morning coffee' type of girl. It would just give her something to think about that wasn't what kind of mood he was going to be in when he got back, or why he'd just crumpled her note and thrown it on the floor. She had one foot drawn up onto the chair with her, a partially defensive posture, and she was busy re-sticking her hair when she heard him come out of the bathroom. She wasn't looking over to see if he was coming back. Really she wasn't. She was...looking for...something. Else. Yeah. She wasn't creative enough in that moment to actually come up with what it was? But she was looking for it.

He'd taken clothes into the bathroom with him, jeans, a grey t-shirt, blue shirt to put on over the top. He'd avoided changing in front of her where he could even when they were traveling - he wasn't going to go anywhere near that possibility now. Especially not after yesterday. Especially not after this morning. So, once he left the bathroom, he headed back to the kitchen because, whether he liked it or not, he needed to know whether she was still there. Then he could decide how he was going to react to that.

She saw him coming, and blinked a little bit, head tilting to the side just as she got the stick to hold her hair right, and she dropped them back down. She didn't think she'd ever actually seen him clean shaven. He always had varying degrees of stubble going on. And really, she appreciated the stubble. It just looked good on the man. There was a fine sort of line for men, and most either had to be clean shaven or bearded, but on Brett, the inbetween stages were what suited best. Definitely, she decided, seeing him like this, that haven't shaved for a few days look really worked for him.

Okay, so she was still here - and, by the looks of things, fairly settled in. He considered this and decided that, no - he had no idea how to handle that one. "You sleep okay?" he asked her, in lieu of having an actual reaction. He sounded slightly sullen, but the bristling anger of earlier had gone.

She had to catch up with current events. The whole him having shaved thing was throwing her off. Particularly since she decided with that one little detail that she had a preference, and she didn't want to think about what it meant that she had one. "Yeah, took me a while to fall asleep, but once I did I slept through." she said. "...which is kind of rare for me nowadays." she tacked onto the end because she felt it needed clarification. "I sleep like a two month old lately."

He upnodded a reply to that, not offering a response about how he'd slept - she hadn't asked for one, after all. Crossing the kitchen, he poured himself another coffee, leaving it black, unsugared, the way he drank it when he had a hangover - and only when he had a hangover, when he needed that extra kick, when he brewed his coffee extra strong to help that on its way. He turned to face her once he had the mug, really not knowing what to say. This whole thing felt, well, stunningly awkward, really.

He wasn't the only one feeling awkward. Generally, they had something to do. Or they had something else to concentrate on, regardless of what it was, whether it was a dollhouse, or her being sick, or traveling, or...fill in the blank, really, they usually had something Else going on. Not just...waking up and sitting around in the kitchen in the morning. She took another drink of her own coffee, eyes still on him. "What about you?" she asked. "Can't imagine the couch was that comfortable." she commented. Because the couches in this town weren't the poshest things in the world.

"Not really," Brett agreed, resting the mug down on one arm of his chair. "But drank enough that I was out," he added. There was no point denying he'd been drunk last night. In fact, it was better that he had been, maybe. Could he blame everything on the alcohol, please.

"That's good, anyways..." she said, eyeing him. "Hung over?" she asked. She dunked her toast in her coffee again and finished off the rest of it, in that strange place where she wondered if she should find other shit in the kitchen to look at, if her attention on him right then was weird, or normal. She wasn't that big an expert on normal anymore. Definitely not Brett's brand. She was trying to second guess, and not doing that bang up a job.

"And then some," Brett admitted, almost at that point where he was wondering if he shouldn't just grab the sunglasses he always kept in the side pocket of his chair and slip them on. Not that it was very bright in here or anything, but he didn't know if that wouldn't help. "You?" he asked, though he was predicting the answer there would be no - she seemed determined to to flaunt everything about her very presence in his face today.

Eris sipped more coffee and leaned back a little more against the back rest of the chair. "Not really. But of that bottle, you had most of it." she said. She was still looking at him, still getting used to the whole shaven thing. She'd need to get over that soon, really. It was probably bordering really ass weird. Or maybe it was already there. But she knew she was staring a little, and made herself look away. Wow. Fascinating cabinets in here.

Brett made a non-committal noise and looked away himself. Yes, she was flaunting it. he wasn't sure exactly what, just... her. Every turn being... her. And she was doing it on purpose. To unsettle him. That at the very least - and it was working. She'd worked out how to piss him off, and now she was going for unsettling. Well, he wasn't going to let her get away with it. he looked back over at her. "Everything still down there?" he asked her, lightly.

She looked back over when he spoke, still totally thrown off, and she nodded. "As far as I could tell. I think they restocked your food, too." she added. "But it was there, and the pool was...god." she shook her head slightly. "Did you mean it when you said I could come use it? Because..." she took another sip, not expecting an answer, since he'd already said, and she wasn't even sure she'd take him up on it. "It was nice." she finished, understating it.

He sipped his coffee, trying to maintain a certain level of unattached cool, which was different from his usual ire and rage against the world. "Nobody else is gonna use it," he pointed out to her. Nobody else fucking well better come and use it - if she started bringing people to it then... He stopped that thought. He didn't think she would, not really, after all.

"Well, then expect me by occasionally." she informed him, still unsure if she was going to. But she would want to. And maybe, now and would be an excuse to see him. Even if it was just coming by, and saying hello to him for a while before and after she used it. Internally, she rolled her eyes at herself, and felt a wave of dark self hatred hit, and she shifted, curling her hands around the mug, and she sipped it, eyes down on the table.

You've gotta leave first, to be able to come back, Brett thought, determinedly not passing judgment on that. Anyway, if she stayed, it'd only be because she couldn't stand to be alone. After all - she was using him, wasn't she? She'd even told him that to his face. "Sure," he said, aloud, taking another sip of his coffee.

She glanced over at him again, wishing she hadn't put her hair back so she could kind of hide behind it. She should probably go. It wasn't like he seemed to be overjoyed with her presence here today. He wasn't being as cranky at her as he first had been, but it wasn't as if he was ever particularly welcoming. And this was his house. She was a guest in it, and she was keenly aware of that. Well that and the fact that Brett didn't do guests. He didn't do company, or space-sharing. He was Brett, and he probably would like her to fuck off now. She drank more of her coffee, looking back at the table. "Thank you." she said to his response, notably later than she should have.

"No problem," he said, not sure what else to say. He didn't know how to deal with this morning at all. With the fact he'd thought she'd gone. Then with the fact that she hadn't. The fact she was still here. The reasons, he knew, for her not going. The fact that he shouldn't be wanting her to anyway. And he didn't - he didn't want her to stay. He just... could have been more bothered about her still being here. He should have been more actively wanting her to go. And he was prevaricating. All in all, he just felt awkward. No, he knew what this felt like, though he'd tried to deny it earlier - it felt like he'd just had a one night stand, and now they were in that horrible morning after phase. Just without the sex. Of course, since that'd be fucking unthinkable, now, wouldn't it.

She set her mug down, finished with her coffee, and knew that excuse was dry now. And she had no idea what to say, either. At all. Or, she supposed one thing came up. But she didn't know what to say about that in the first place, or how he would take it, and last time he hadn't dealt well with the idea that he wouldn't be needed anymore, so she didn't know how he might react to her saying she wasn't sure she wanted to take her medication anymore. And god, was she seriously thinking like that? Like he might disapprove, and that disapproval would impact the way she thought about things or did them? Fuck. This was...this was fucked. She was fucked. Do you want me to go now? went through her head, but if she was going to ask, she needed to work up to it. " shaved." she said belatedly, voice a little weirdly distant.

That surprised him. he'd just been sitting there, feeling awkward, very awkward, not sure what to do, or say - and she'd come out with that. It surprised him so much that he actually reached up and felt his chin. It was smooth, of course. "I do that sometimes," he told her. He wasn't sure what else to say about it. Or whether he should offer something back. He should probably offer something back. "You put your hair up," he observed.

"I did. I improvised with a stick. I'm creative like that." she said, smiling a faint bit as she sat back against the back of the chair, pulling her other foot up onto the seat with her. Which wasn't a 'I'm leaving now' move, really. "I've never seen you clean shaven before. It's kind of throwing me off." she told him, tone casual, anyways. "I have brain damage, I need consistency. Change one thing, and my whole world tilts over." she added, making fun of herself in a rare shade of humor for her. Nevermind that everything around her was constantly changing, with the scientists and everything else.

Of course, he'd done something wrong and she just wanted to let him know that. It couldn't be anything else, could it. "Has to happen sometime sweetheart, sorry to ruin your world," he told her, his grip tightening slightly on the mug he was still holding.

She laughed a little, smirking at him very faintly. "Tell me you didn't just take me seriously." she said. Because she noticed he'd called her 'sweetheart' instead of 'princess'. Plus, he tensed in little ways. "I was kidding. Self deprecating humor. Besides if that was really the case I'd be properly fucked all the time, wouldn't I be? With the scientists, all that bullshit...I've just never seen it, so I'm stuck on it." Which could be another symptom of her brain damage, really. It was a detail that was out of place on an otherwise consistent person. So it was thrown into sharp focus. It wasn't at all that she just liked the stubble better and he looked a little strange without it. That that fit his rugged personality more, that edge of his good looks that fit so well.

"Yeah, well, if you can't control the big things, the little things become more important, don't they," he pointed out, stepping away from the suggestion that she could control him. Because she couldn't - even if she decided she wanted to. He didn't go in for that shit.

"Sweetheart, I don't have control of anything." she told him, sighing and shaking her head. So, right, humor wasn't his friend. But then she knew that. She'd thought she'd shared little moments with him before...maybe she hadn't, and that was just one more thing she was making up in her head. Probably was. "Not me, not little details, not big things, not anything." she finished, standing up abruptly to go wash her mug in the sink. It gave her something to do for a moment, and she didn't figure he'd be overly impressed with her leaving him dirty dishes.

"Fine, you were joking. Funny." of course, he'd never been important or noticeable enough to have an effect on her life. "Yeah - I shaved. Never liked the whole wild woodsman beard thing," he told her, which was a nugget of actual fact. He found beards uncomfortable - and more of a pain to maintain than shaving. Couple of times he'd been out long enough to grow one, but they never lasted - especially not when he got a look in a mirror.

With her back to him, she rolled her eyes. Well, he was managing to turn everything that came out of her mouth into something to take offense over today. And that's probably because you're still fucking here. she added to herself silently. When he mentioned the woodsman beard, she looked back at him, considering as she tried to picture it. Then she gave a little half smile. "Not sure a beard would be the best look. I think you're a stubble kind of guy." she said. "It works for you." she told him, turning back to rinse the mug off.

He stared at her back, completely, absolutely and totally thrown that she'd even have considered what may or may not work for him. He was too surprised at that even to come up with a generic bitchy comment, and he was only thankful that she had her back to him. He never expected anyone to think of him as any kind of guy - Brett didn't so much have self-image issues, as no self-image at all anymore. It simply wasn't there. He didn't care and he never expected anyone else even to notice enough for caring to be on the agenda.

Setting the mug off to the side of the sink in the dish drain, she turned around and leaned back against the sink, arching a brow at him. "What?" she asked, since he got really quiet, and she didn't quite know what that look he was giving her was. She didn't want to venture a guess today, either. She was in the middle of wondering if he was just being a bitch today, or if she was back to having read everything wrong. This whole doubting herself every step of the way thing really blew.

He wasn't going to say anything, not that she'd shocked him with what was probably, for her, a throwaway comment. he shook his head and pushed himself over to by her, to the sink. See, not thrown at all. "Nothing," he said, reaching to wash his own mug out.

She watched him, moving out of his way, but just sliding a little down as opposed to moving entirely. " realize I don't buy that, right?" she asked. It was a rhetorical question. She wasn't actually going to push him for an answer. Today that would likely just wind up in a huge argument that she just flat out didn't have the energy or patience for. So witness her skipping it. She just didn't necessarily feel the need to take the blowoff answer without letting him know she knew it for what it was.

He glanced at her, then returned to cleaning out his mug. "That's up to you," he told her. He gave the mug a final rinse and set it on the board to drain, feeling conflicted - everything else he could think to say was a lead up to 'and now you're leaving'. And yet he was hovering over saying any of them. Which was fucking stupid, because he should want that. And anyway, he'd been expecting her to leave all fucking morning anyhow, hadn't he? So what, exactly, was the problem here?

Right. She glanced away, towards the window, and vaguely wished they could kind of rewind a little here. Last night had been...well, okay, heartwrenching in some instances. She'd made herself far too vulnerable, and she didn't like that. But she'd liked when he'd come and sat with her. She'd appreciated it. Plus, they had seemed to connect on levels they didn't usually hit unless they were mid-argument. It had been rather nice to manage it without the previous pre-requisite of a screaming match. All it had taken was her being depressed as hell, she guessed. Which he still didn't need. Her bullshit was really not anything he should have to deal with. Like her stupid not wanting to be alone thing. What was she, five? A stupid little kid who had separation anxiety or something? Only instead of freaking when mommy and daddy left, she twitched when her pissy ass companion just opted to stay home, like a sane, normal person? Right. She really needed to get her shit together. She really, really did.

He looked up at her, watching her looking away. This morning had just been full of silence, hadn't it? And not necessarily comfortable silence either. It was different for them, and he didn't like it. He realised that it was fucking stupid, how relieved he'd been when they'd stopped fighting the last couple of times, yet this, this weirdness, that was worse than fighting. At least fighting got somewhere. Which made him realise that there was a 'somewhere' to get. He just didn't know where that was. "You still have that question," he reminded her, though it wasn't a pressure to ask it, just putting that out there. He wasn't sure what else to say.

That was vaguely surprising, she glanced back over, and watched his eyes for a few moments. "I don't want to waste it." she told him. It was honest, she didn't. And she could very much picture him just refusing to answer her anything after she'd had that question answered. He'd even have a valid excuse, being able to tell her that he'd given her questions. That he'd answered them and everything. And he'd be right, and all. There were other reasons why she hadn't cashed it in yet, though. Not just that she wanted to make sure it was a good question. She also had to find one she wanted to hear his answer to. With her luck, she'd sit on it, finally get around to asking, and he'd pass and make her pick a different one.

"I know - you said that yesterday," he told her. He hadn't been so drunk that he couldn't remember things. Unfortunately. Maybe today would have been easier if he could have forgotten yesterday. But then, she'd still remember anyway, wouldn't she. He would just had to have lived with the knowledge that she knew things about him that he didn't know. And wonder what they were. No, that would have been worse.

"Weren't you the one who told me flat out that I was much more likely to get answers in my...specific circumstances in the first place?" she asked, not pointedly. In fact she had the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She remembered that. That he'd come out with it, that she was more likely to get answers right then. She'd taken it to mean if she were healthy again, out of danger and possibly not a victim of imminent death syndrome, he wouldn't be so generous.

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded, once, and looked away. "You're right. of course," he told her, as if she'd said something he really didn't want to hear. Really, it was the smile, that suggestion that she thought she had one over on him. And the worst thing about that was that she could possibly be fucking right about that. Fucking woman.

So, that was it. She sighed audibly, a little frustrated sound, and she reached up to start to drag her fingers through her hair, but she'd forgotten it was being kept held back by the stick, so she yanked that out of her hair to let it fall down around her shoulders. "Okay, just...fucking come out with it. What the hell is the matter with you this morning?" she asked, looking at him. "I think you've taken everything I've possibly had to say today as badly as possible, and I can't even tell how you have with some shit. So, either tell me what the hell is needling you about my very presence today, or..." Or what, she didn't know. She'd leave, she supposed. She knew she had to anyways, and maybe that was just it. Maybe he was deliberately taking everything that way or trying to, so she'd get pissed and go home. Or, leave. She didn't have a home, as far as she was concerned.

"And what? That makes a change for me?" he asked, his voice low as he looked up at her out of the corner of his eye without turning his head very much. He looked away again. "I thought you'd left this morning," he told her. Or, rather, he said in a barely audible mutter, wondering why the fuck he was even telling her that at all.

"Yes, it makes a change, you've gotten a little better at not making me feel like shit just for existing in your presence." Eris said quietly, that first, before she considered what he had to say there. Because she couldn't tell what that meant. Did it mean he was mad that she hadn't? Or he was mad that he thought she had? There was a pretty gigantic difference in the ways that could be taken. And really, she had no clue which it was. "" she started, tone uncertain, light. "Are you pissed that I'm still here? Or are you pissed because you thought I wasn't?"

The answer to both those questions, unfortunately, was 'yes'. Which really didn't help matters at all. "I expected that you'd be gone," he told her, rather than answering her directly, though 'expect' was maybe the wrong word. Possibly 'anticipate' would be a better word. It wasn't that he'd necessarily wanted that, but it was what he'd figured he'd get.

"...that really doesn't answer me." Eris said, starting to tug her fingers through her hair to get the little knots putting it up had caused. That was the problem with long, thick hair. It got tangled very easily. "You expected me to be gone. I wasn't. I left you a note, even." she said. "Though I noticed that you just crumpled that up." Being he had. "So, help me out. You expected me to be gone--what does that mean, and how does it relate to you twitching at me? What did I do?"

He looked at her, jaw set, feeling bullish. or maybe just playing for time whilst he tried to figure out what he was going to say. "Is that your question?" he asked her, raising his chin a little.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "That's just cruel, Brett." she said, and she grabbed the stick she'd ganked from downstairs off of the counter, and headed past him, hip knocking the handle of his wheelchair a little as she did so, though it was accidental, not intentional. She headed into the living room, and honestly debated just picking up her things and walking out before she even put her boots back on. She really didn't think she had the emotional fortitude to be a punching bag today. Now with all the rest of the shit piling up in the back of her mind.

He jolted as she knocked him, but it wasn't like she'd physically hurt him or anything and he turned to follow her after a moment or two, though he went no farther into the room than the door. "You don't really want me to explain," he told her. She'd be pissed if he did. She'd accuse him of assumptions again - fairly, since that's exactly what he'd been doing, but that knowledge didn't help his ability to emotionally respond to things.

"Right, because it's so much better to hang here and just get acid from you for no reason." Eris said sarcastically, dropping down onto the couch to start pulling her boots on. "That's tons better. I mean usually, I can at least pick out that there's something going on, or it's issues of your own, or it's something stupid I've done, or you're twitching over some external source, or something but y'know? Today I think you just want to be a dick to me. Well, congratulations. You have completely succeeded. Well done, I feel like hell now, and I don't even really know why. Rejoice." she invited, pulling hard on her boot laces, and really, she pulled them too tight, and she gave herself a mini rope burn on the inside curl of her pinky, which she ignored after a little hiss, and a glare at the offending digit.

"I got up this morning and you were gone. And before you were gone, I didn't think about the fact that you might be gone. And then I was fucking pissed at myself for not thinking you'd be gone, because why the fuck wouldn't you be. And then you weren't fucking gone, and suddenly I was fucking pissed for no fucking reason, so I was pissed at you for making me pissed at me for something that didn't fucking exist. And then you didn't even fucking leave when you came back up, so I didn't even get to be fucking pissed at you for that and everything I've expected you to fucking do today you've not done. And I have a fucking bad hangover and I hurt, okay? you want me to go on?" he asked her, spitting it all out in one long rant before he could think better of it.

She stared at him as he gave her that convoluted mess. She was also silent for a moment, bringing her pinky up to her lips to suck on the burn a touch as she considered. "So let me get this straight." she said. "And correct me if I'm wrong here, because I could very well be. But you're being shitty to me, because I haven't followed along with some magical untold script in your head?" she asked. "And because I haven't followed along with my part, you're pissed at you, and you're taking it out on me, because I haven't left?" she continued. "Plus the hangover."

"Told you you wouldn't like it," Brett said, sullenly, wishing he could take that all back again now. It wasn't going to help anything - it never did when he told her things he'd already warned her she wouldn't want to hear. he never made any claims to being a reasonable man. In fact, he generally made it really damn clear that he was incredibly unreasonable.

She bent forward and started to loosen the laces she'd pulled too tight. "Any chance you might want to stop being massively unfair to me today?" she asked lightly, not looking back up at him as she carefully pulled the laces one at a time to allow her foot circulation again. "Or are you content to just keep taking shit out on me?" She didn't actually sound like she was accusing him right then. More like she was asking a normal, every day question.

"I don't know," he admitted. At least he was being honest. She was going to leave - and right now, he couldn't blame her. Which was what he'd been doing all morning. But now she was justifiably going to tell him to fuck off and walk out that door. Which was usually exactly what he was after, he'd just forgotten quite how much it hurt when someone you cared about did it.

She sighed, and flopped back on the couch, arm resting on one of the pillows there, and she propped her cheek on her closed fist. Her eyes were on him, and she was just assessing the situation. Granted, she appreciated the honesty there, even if it wasn't a good answer. And as nonsensical as his reactions to her right now were, at least she had a reason. Not a good reason, not a rational reason, but a reason. "Would this have worked out better for you if I had been gone?" she asked, tone light.

"There is no 'better' for me, Princess," he told her. There was only either waiting for something he knew was coming, or pre-empting it. And she should be leaving now. This was the part where she gave up, where his shit was too much to take, where she walked out like everyone always did. And by tomorrow, he would have been able to decide that that was for the best, that it was inevitable anyway, that his life was simpler, easier, more manageable without having to deal with anyone else. Except she'd not stood up. She'd lain down. Once again, exactly the opposite of what he'd expected.

"Easier, then." she offered. "Would it have been easier?" She was trying to figure out how this worked. And she was already thinking that whatever role she played in his mind--she needed to be re-cast. Though, she also knew that it was the role she normally would have played. There was just a huge part of her that really didn't want to be there with him. Especially when she was working very hard not to treat him like that. Even when she had opportunity. Even when she could see the lines, knew where she could tug them.

"Yes - it would have been easier," he told her, his voice emotionless. Alone was always easier. Hating the world, was always easier. Never having to expect anything but shit from anyone was always easier. Only having himself, that was so much easier than complicating things with other people.

While that was actually the answer she expected--that didn't help her in dealing with hearing it. She flinched, hurt definitely flickering over her features. She tried to sober it away again, but she looked away, and it crept back in, settling there. "I see." she said, after far too long a pause. She didn't know what to say to that. She knew she should--she'd asked and everything, but hearing it like that, and the tone, or lack there of... It was hard to hear. It was stunningly hard to hear. You are a fucking moron. she thought towards herself.

He'd lived through this so many times now - his friends, his family. he'd chased them all away, in one way or another. Sometimes with lies, sometimes with truth - sometimes with just shouting until they well and truly fucked off. This was the way he hated the most - when someone was trying to understand, when he could just try and explain and maybe everything would work out. Except, he'd never wanted it to work out. And anyway, explanations meant putting yourself out there, making yourself vulnerable. And he knew how this went. All he had to do was not give her anything, and she'd go. All he had to do was let her. Except he knew that, with them, it wouldn't be easier. Because he wouldn't just be able to let her go the way he'd let everyone else go. Because she needed him and he couldn't just ignore that. It'd come in an hour, a few, this evening - not long, whenever, and he'd know he needed to contact her, needed to make sure things were fine. And he couldn't do that if he burned these bridges. Never mind what he wanted over what was easiest, he had an actual reason that he could accept in himself, something more than messy emotions that he couldn't always deal with, that he'd been stripping out of his life for the past two years. So, he knew he had to try something. "It's always easier - on my own. Doesn't mean better, or what... What I want. But yes, if you'd left, it would have been easier. I could have just hated you and gotten it over with," he said, quietly, watching her. Watching for her response.

She didn't look at him yet. She heard him, and let the words sink in, some bright and clear, standing out above the others. "And that just...would have been it then. You would have just decided to hate me if I'd left?" she asked, voice very quiet. It wasn't the steadiest it had ever been in her life either. Yeah. She was well and truly hurt right now. "And...gotten it over with. Are you just...what, looking for an excuse then?" she asked, ticking her gaze over towards him, though they didn't actually land on his eyes. It was someplace over his shoulder. Near, but no contact. "Am I that--" she started but cut herself off right at the end, before she finished that statement.

"No, Princess, I'm not just looking for an... God, if I wanted an excuse, I'd find one. I'm..." Shit, fuck, he was going to have to be honest here and it scared the living crap out of him. "...I know I've told you before that I'm just waiting for you to... I... People in my life... I don't have people in my life. And that's for a reason. And you... I had people in my life. And now they're not. Except you are. And I'm... I don't expect you to always be. It's... just a question of who," he said, stopping and starting as he gave up or backed away from certain things and tried other ways of putting things that didn't work either. What it came down to, for him, is whether she walked away, or he pushed her away. But he knew that, one way or another, she'd be gone. It didn't mater that he knew she didn't want to be alone. If that ever figured in, he'd use it as ammunition to prove to himself that she didn't really give a damn about him, that the only reason she was still here was her fear of being alone. It almost made things worse, that knowledge. That she was using him.

Where her sentence had ended was 'disposable'. And his statements didn't really alleviate that feeling. "A question of who?" she asked, not quite connecting what he meant. Then thought she might have, after she'd asked. "What, you or me? But either way that's how things will end, according to the script in your head?" she asked, tone still not steady, though it had a little more strength to it. "Wow, glad I have a say in things. Glad I'm a thinking person with my own free will and all. I may be damaged, but I'm not so damaged that I just--" she didn't even know how to word things. She shook her head and looked away. "You know, once upon a time I would have reveled in playing the part of the villain for you, but not now. Not here. How about you not decide how it's all going to go until I start letting you make my decisions for me." Which wasn't going to happen. Then her feelings on the matter slipped past her filters, which weren't any good anymore in the first place. "Maybe you see me as that disposable? But I'm not." she said. "I'm not a throw away person." She leaned forward again, looking for her other boot, but it was under her jacket, and she couldn't see it straight away. So she just sat there, completely emotionally windswept.

"Disposable?" Brett asked, caught off guard completely by that. "Princess - who said anything about seeing you as disposable?" The second question only slipped out because of that surprise, but he managed to bite back the rest - the fact that if he saw her as disposable, this wouldn't be a problem. The cruel truth that if he saw her like that, he would have done it by now. The unthinkable admission that if she was disposable, he wouldn't have these episodes where what she did and didn't do could flip his emotions like a fucking lightswitch. That all of this stemmed from the fact that she fucking mattered. Far more than he would like, far more than he could admit, far more than he ever wanted. That somewhere along the line, she'd gotten under his skin, and that had given him a whole new set of issues with her.

"What exactly about 'hey, I wish you'd been gone this morning and am pissed you weren't, so I could get rid of you faster and hate you in my own sense of legitimately, and I'm just waiting for you to fuck me over anyways, and know that it's just a matter of time before you do or I manage to get you to' doesn't say I am?" Eris asked, finally making eye contact. "Seems pretty disposable to me. Seems..." She sighed and looked away again, hanging her head down a little as she rested her arms against her knees, letting her hair fall down to at least partially obscure her features. "...don't answer that." she said, voice low, really not wanting to hear what he might say. What he might confirm.

"Fine, I won't answer it," Brett said, backing off out of the doorway and starting to turn back into the kitchen, intending to head for the back door, wanting the air right now, when he stopped and turned back to her. "No - you know, I never said I wished you'd gone. I said I got pissed with myself for believing that maybe you wouldn't have done. And everything got screwed up from there. You know, Julia, if you were disposable, this would be a hell of a lot fucking easier," he told her. And then he turned and headed outside. he needed to clear his head. And right now he really, really wish he smoked. Because he sure as hell wasn't going to be drinking again in a hurry.

She didn't know how this worked. She didn't really want to know how this worked. What she did know, was that the way he said kicked up all sorts of emotional reactions that were pretty far off the reservation. Part of her felt better. part of her felt a sweeping sense of relief, because maybe he was telling the truth, and she wasn't disposable. Another part of her wanted to grab her things as fast as humanly possible and disappear. Because she wasn't meant to mean anything. She was meant to be disposable. She just...was apparently as irrational as Brett could be, thank you very fucking much. Awareness that it made no sense didn't help, though. She wasn't meant to mean anything and yet it hurt really fucking badly thinking that she didn't. And even getting a hint that that might not be the case, that made her feel better and terrified her at the same time. And, along with that terror, deep, black abysses opened up in the bottom of her mind, threatening to drown her. She couldn't deal with this.

It had all gone wrong. It had been meant to just be an arrangement. They were meant to just leave town occasionally, probably get fucked over by the scientists now and again, and then start over, until he found someone else he wanted to travel with. He was meant to be using her because he couldn't spare the pride to ask someone more capable than she was, and she'd just happened to be in the right place a the right time. And she was meant to just be there, because he let her be. Because he didn't know her, understood some pieces of what she might be going through, and he was a cynical, abrasive asshole who didn't give a shit about oh, anything. Somewhere, things had gone really fucking sideways, though, and she didn't even know where. And she most certainly didn't know what the fuck to do about it.

He left the back door open, as always, as he sat out on the porch, looking over the snow. He'd go for a wander, but the ramp down here was out the front of the house, and that would mean going back in past her, and right now he couldn't face that. He'd said too much, he should have just got her to fuck off and gone back to what his life had been before. Fuck it, he should never have even gotten up this morning. He shouldn't have done what he'd done yesterday - but he could trace his 'shouldn't've's' right back to the day that call came in and he went out on that mountainside lookng for a casualty who didn't exist.

She sat there, trying to deal for a good long time. At least heading towards ten minutes. She flat out didn't know what to do. There was this hollow space in her and she didn't know why it was there, how to fix it, or how to sort out her head. She knew she was going to have to say something to him. she just...didn't know what. Feeling the cold seeping into the house, lowering the temperature, she reached out to put her jacket on, and found her other boot. Then she took the time to put it on, lace it up properly, and tie it. then she stayed sat right the fuck where she was, because she still had no course of action she understood or could back up.

Brett was freezing - he had no coat, or even a sweater on, and his hands were like ice. But knowing she was in there kept him out longer than was strictly sensible, and the only thing that drove him back inside eventually was the knowledge that if his hands were too cold, then his feet would be as well - and that could lead to more serious problems that he didn't want to deal with. That was one thing Brett considered he suffered from - a very strong survival instinct. Some people may have considered it a benefit, but a lot of days, Brett just wished it would switch off for long enough that he could end the joke. Finally hit the punchline.

He headed back in, and actually pushed the door to - but not completely closed - behind him. He remained in the kitchen though. He wouldn't know what to say to her if he faced her.

She heard him come back inside. She turned her head a little towards where he would appear--but he didn't. She waited for a few long minutes, and finally spoke, even if she wasn't positive her voice was going to carry properly. "Are you waiting for me to leave, or just hiding from me?" she asked, voice unreadable. She couldn't say she wasn't hiding from him either. Even if she wasn't doing that excellent a job of it or anything, what with sitting there in the wide fucking open.

Both? Neither? No - he was definitely hiding. He was a coward as well as a cripple, it seemed. There'd been a time when he'd been neither, but he'd been someone else then. Now he just didn't know what to do, didn't know where to go from here. He waited for the answer to appear, and, when it didn't, wheeled himself slowly into the living room, until he could see her. And then he still didn't know what to say.

She didn't look over right away, but eventually did. She tore her gaze off of the carpet, where she could see the little tracks from his wheels, up to him. And yes, she was just as fucking lost as he was. Which had her exhaling, and looking down again. "...I know how you feel." she said, figuring they were in the same boat. Flat out not knowing what the fuck to say or do now.

"Do you?" The question was reflexive, blunt, and he looked away immediately after asking it, down to the floor by her side. She hadn't meant it like that, not the whole thing. She'd meant now, of course, right now. This minute. Here. She wasn't agreeing with anything else.

"Right now? Yes. I don't...I don't know what to do here. I don't know what to say. I just know I don't..." she drew in a breath and let it out slowly, evenly, trying to find a calm center of the storm, which really wasn't happening for her. "I don't really just want to leave and not..." she made a vague gesture towards him. "I had a rough enough time thinking that the last time I was going to talk to you was going to be over a fucking computer."

"I know - you don't want to be alone," Brett said, after too long a pause, not looking back at her. He knew that, he knew that's why she was still here. She was using him. He still stung from when she'd told him that. Accused him of using her. If she wasn't going to go, then she was only staying because it was what she needed - someone to be around. And he was it.

She looked up at that, and kept her eyes on him for a long moment. Then she shook her head, and looked away again. I came here to see you. I came here the first fucking thing after I got out of my room, up to that stupid house. I came here, to see you. Because I needed to see you. And not because I didn't want to be alone. I needed to see you because I thought I wasn't ever going to again. And fuck did I ever not handle that idea well. she thought, but couldn't make herself say. "Do you really think what happened the other night had anything to do with that?" she asked, voice light. Quiet. "Honestly?" She looked back. "If it was just about not being alone, I wouldn't have tried to protect you, would I? I would have stayed there all fucking night talking to you, because then I wouldn't feel so alone. So isolated and cut off like I was just going to be fucking left there again but it didn't really matter, because I only had a little while left anyways. Hours, at most. Do you think if that was it, that I wouldn't have latched onto the fact that you seemed determined to be there?"

"And I was snapping at you and bitching at you and being overbearing and demanding and controlling and whatever the fuck else I was being - and you had Everett," he reminded her, though he still couldn't understand why she had him - why she'd even give the time of day to a man who'd tried - and arguably succeeded - in killing her.

"You think I talked to him?" she asked, focusing back on him again. "You think I sat there at his computer, and actually conversed? I didn't. I checked in." And the lie was right there, and it tore at her. But now? Was so intensely not the time to own up. She had a feeling if she did, things were going to be over, and really fucking fast. "I wasn't there talking to him. I wasn't there typing and waiting for the next message to come through. I wasn't sitting there thinking to myself that I had to come up with an answer fast enough, because otherwise he'd worry." Which she had been doing for Brett. He'd told her she had a time limit. She'd adhered to that. "And you are a snappy, bitchy, overbearing, controlling, demanding son of a bitch, but you're you, and at least you're honest with it. And I was honest with you about it. But you're not--he's not..." she grit her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to come up with how to word things but it wasn't as if she was on top of her game.

"Well, how the hell was I to know? And I'm not what? Him? And he's not me? Is that it? Are we back onto this whole fucking 'hero' bullshit again? Or is this something else?" he asked, feeling all sorts of lost right now, not knowing what to think about anything.

"He's not you." she snapped, before she could think better of it, and her mouth didn't actually stop there. "Okay? He's not you. He's a son of a bitch fucking monster who killed me, but he's reliable, I knew he'd do it, he'd get messages to you because he wouldn't want you sitting there all night worrying. And he fucking owes me. I went to him because I knew he would get the job done, and I didn't know it wasn't going to be good enough. That you weren't going to be satisfied. I just didn't want you to--I didn't--" she broke off and stood up, waking a little ways away, though she didn't know where she was going. Nowhere, apparently, it wasn't like she headed towards a door. "I wanted you to remember me better than that, and the second I got out of that fucking place I came here because I needed to see you. Because even if I did cut you off at the end, you were still my lifeline. I don't--it was just the most important thing to me once I was out of there." And she couldn't explain why, because she didn't have that figured out yet. Just that it was fact.

Brett didn't say anything for a while, before he spoke the first thing on his mind. "I was getting you to post every couple of minutes - I was on at you if you left it any longer - the moment you left it any longer. And you thought that a message every now and then would be good enough for me?" he asked her. He didn't address the fact that she'd come here to see him - he really, really didn't know what to do with that piece of information.

"I thought if I wasn't right there, in your face, so to speak, that it might be different, I don't know, Brett, okay? Can I plead overdosed and dying?" she asked, looking back at him, arms crossed across her stomach, her usual defensive sort of posture. "It's not like I had the best head in the world for decision making." Not that she did now either, mind. "I just...things didn't seem fair, and I didn't want things to end that way for either of us, my head was pretty fantastically fucked up and I had no idea what I was going to say, and I you want me to say I'm sorry?" she asked, watching his eyes. "Have I not already?" She honestly didn't know the answer to that one. She thought she'd apologized a couple of times in there since she'd arrived yesterday.

"You don't have to say you're sorry. And you can plead what you like," Brett told her, looking away. He was still trying to workout how to react to being someone's lifeline. It wasn't like he hadn't been that before. Just - not recently. It brought back too many memories. He didn't know what to do with it. Instinct told him to reject it, and wholly reject it, before it could bite him, but he didn't know.

Eris was silent for a long few minutes. Her eyes were on him, as she watched him not looking at her. "You sound like you feel like you're owed an apology." she said, not pointedly at all. Just a fact. He sounded like he wasn't happy with things. Like it had had a negative impact on him, and she could see that, now. She just didn't know about then. Plus there was that bit where she wasn't sure how she was doing anyways with her perceptions. Was what was happening now proof for her that she hadn't misjudged? If she hadn't what did that mean? Did she even want to know at this point? Probably not. "You sound like that it was..." really hard on you.

"No, I don't want an apology - I was just trying to explain where I'm coming from," Brett told her, quietly. "'Sorry' isn't going to change anything. It's a waste of fucking time. What's done is done. Leave it," he told her, though there was no bite to his words, for once he wasn't having a go at her, or arguing with her.

She knew that. That you couldn't ever actually take anything back. That was just fact. Something that was pure truth, no matter what. And yet she still kind of wanted to be forgiven for it. And then she was thinking about that, and why she would want that in the first place, and she just...needed to not be thinking about any of this. In the end she let out a breath, and leaned back against the wall, eyes back on the floor. She was glad he wasn't yelling at her again, but...she still felt like things were wrong somehow, and she didn't quite have an appropriate concept of what was 'right' anymore.

"You did what you had to do," he told her, knowing he'd said that earlier - or maybe yesterday. God, his head fucking hurt right about now, so much so that the pills under the sink in the bathroom for once actually sounded quite tempting.

"Felt like it at the time." she said quietly. But part of her was wondering what would have happened if she hadn't walked away. Particularly now that she knew her little set up there hadn't actually covered bases like she'd thought it would. It threw her. She was much more used to having things effectively dealt with. More used to being able to judge things well. She sighed, and thunked her head back against the wall. "I hate feeling like absolutely everything I think and perceive is wrong." she said, the comment not so much directed at him, it was more just...there.

Brett pushed off, though he didn't know where he was headed. Out, back, he didn't know. Which was a problem when you were moving in a relatively enclosed space. He stopped again. "If you did what you needed to do, Princess, then you don't apologise for that. I'm a big boy, you don't have to worry about hurting my fucking feelings," he told her, in case that's what she thought - that seemed to be what she thought. Maybe.

She looked up at him then, and didn't say anything for a long moment. She was conflicted on that. Because part of her wanted to latch onto that and decide that was it, it was fine. And another part still felt like she'd done something wrong. And she still hated that feeling, that uncertainty. She'd never been an unsure person. She'd always had conviction. And now it was all just...gone. It wasn't there anymore, and she didn't even really know where it went. She didn't know what to think anymore. What to believe. It all seemed like it came back to her being off on something, not on target correctly. Even when she felt so sure about it. "Did I?" she asked at last. "...hurt your feelings."

"I told you to fucking drop it," Brett told her, the bark back again. He really didn't want to answer that question, not at all and he chose a direction, the pills winning out for once as he pushed off, out of the room, headed for the bathroom.

Eris couldn't decide if that meant he didn't like the implication that he had feelings, if he was just annoyed with her not having dropped it, or if she had in fact, hurt his feelings, and he didn't want to deal with it. Or her to know, or...something. She should leave. Get her shit, bring it to the vicarage...find a bottle to curl up with. She was still afraid to take her meds. And she wanted to ask Brett if he knew what would happen to her if she stopped taking them, but at current, didn't think that was the wisest decision ever. She just couldn't help that curl of anxiety in her stomach when she thought about it. The accidental overdose there where she wasn't drunk enough to not care...when it hadn't been intentional at all, when she actually had felt like she might lose all played in. Plus she still didn't know if Brett actually did plan on keeping up with her medication. He'd said he would, but she was pretty convinced that he wasn't going to be the long haul guy. he'd find someone better. Someone who didn't drive him crazy on a constant basis. And she'd be...sitting in the vicarage, alone and likely going steadily madder by the day. Awesome. She had such a great outlook for her life and what that might entail.

He left the bathroom door open as he bent to open the cupboard under the sink and started rifling through the bottles he kept there on the shelf. Most of them were varying levels of painkillers, though there were also some meds he was supposed to take for depression and other fucking things that he wasn't going to be touching. He was fine without them, he didn't want them, and he refused to be reliant on pills he didn't need for the rest of his life just because some fucking guy in a white coat told him that the world would be sunshine and roses if he took them. No, it wouldn't - he'd still be stuck in a fucking wheelchair, living a joke of a life. he hated it, so why the fuck should he pop pills just to make the lives of everyone around him more pleasant? He discarded some of the bottles, looking for something low level enough just to take the edge off of his headache, nothing more. Some of those pills screwed up his head, he didn't want that - he just wanted the pain to go away a little. Finding an acceptable choice, he pulled back up again, setting the bottle on the side and pouring himself a glass of water to take a couple with.

She could hear the rattle of medication. It was kind of an unmistakable thing, and she didn't really think that Brett had taken up collecting baby toys. Just a hunch, that. Slowly, she frowned a little, wondering what he had there. But she didn't go look. could also be aspirin for the headache she'd likey given him. Or just the hangover. She needed to stop giving herself so much credit on that one. It was a bit self centered of her, and it would mean she had that much impact. Impact that she at once wanted and didn't want. She knew she should leave, but she was having a hard time doing that. Because she didn't want to go. She'd be by herself, and not only that, but she was feeling like he'd be gone. Standing there, not leaving wasn't going to cure that. It was just taking a lot of convincing to get herself moving.

Brett swallowed the pills down, draining the glass, then put the bottle back in the cupboard, shutting the pills away again. Some days he wondered why he kept them at all - medication he wasn't going to take. but it was there, if anything became completely unbearable, it was there. He doubted he'd ever be able to shift the thought that things could always get worse. he sat back, his back to the door, not turning round, not leaving. he didn't know what to do next, now, at all.

She kept listening for him. And after a few long moments, she recognized that he was just hovering. Hanging back in the other room, likely waiting for her to get the hell out of his house. She couldn't really think of another reason, so...she finally pushed herself off of the wall, and started heading for the door. And that anxiety feeling that was pushing up through her system, that could just fuck off. She would leave, and do her own thing, and just because she saw only a black end point in her (possibly) near future, that didn't mean putting it off was going to change anything. So, this hanging around bullshit was just drawing out the inevitable, and no one needed that. Not him, not her, and...she'd go. She had shit to do.

He heard her. He realised she was leaving. And he realised that he was going to let her. There were just too many issues buzzing round in his head,. too many questions he couldn't even start having an answer to. He didn't know what to do - and so he was just going to let her leave.

She walked out the front door, and drew in a deep breath of the cold air, telling herself it was fine. For the best, even. And, she supposed, he'd wanted it dropped--well, it was dropped now. Not that she wanted it to be. Or more, she didn't want...whatever it was with them to be. Probably would be by now, though. Reasons, excuses, they were drying up. They didn't hold true anymore, or not until they tried again, which, at this point, she didn't know if that was going to happen either. So, she was going. And she wasn't going to think about him. And she was going to go back to that house, and stay there. Or, that was her plan, anyhow. She just really wished she could get over the feeling that she really fucking hated that plan. She stood there for a few minutes, before she headed out, feeling wholly discontent.