This whole married thing was...weird in its normalcy. Being married to Lee was exactly the same as not being married to Lee, only they had rings now. Oh, he thought with a smile, there was also the fact that Lee's last name had been legally changed to match his. That was pretty awesome.

Just because they were married, though, Tarin didn't want Lee to think that he was going to settle in and let things get boring. That's why he was parading around the kitchen in tight Wranglers and a cowboy hat while Lee finished things up at the shop. There were enchiladas in the oven, and beer chilling in the fridge. The avocados were ready for peeling and mashing for guacamole, the apartment was appropriately dark for mood lighting and candles were on the table. There was even country music in the CD player. It was almost an echo of their 2 month dating anniversary, Lee had loved that, so hopefully she would love this.

There was nothing else to do, and that was the only thing that worried Tarin, if only a little bit. Maybe he'd started a little early, but getting this all set up had been the only thing Tarin could think of since he'd conceived the idea that morning.

Nothing else to do, Tarin paced, then he checked the enchiladas, then he made sure the beer was getting cold. Tarin tapped his foot in impatience, hand hovering over the phone to call Lee and ask where she was. Then he heard the footsteps and pulled his hand back, Lee was home!

Tarin moved, situating himself in front of the door to sweep Lee off her feet as she came inside.

It began with boxers. Red, cotton, loose. Then white socks, pulled up tight as he sat on the edge of a bed.

He was running this one solo. He couldn't call in James. This one was too personal--this was his mistake.

A pair of black dress slacks, hot from the iron. He shook one leg in, then the other. Zipped and buttoned and belted; the belt was black, and shone with the dull polish of good leather.

He'd had a chance at it. He'd had a perfect chance at it--he'd had the man on a chair, handcuffed, with a gun at his head. He'd had the man's hands literally blood-covered; that red hadn't even been dry yet.

He stretched out his arms, and slid the shirt on with a casual flex of his shoulders. It was a dark green, and somehow gave the illusion of there being jade flecks in his muddy hazel eyes. They flashed as he buttoned it from the bottom up, over his bare chest. The round scar that had started this all was covered over. He left its untucked.

Why had he let the freak go free? He could have killed it right then and there, and no one would have given a damn. Self-defense. Take the hand cuffs off before calling in the rest of the NYPD, and no one would have argued with it being self-defense. The thing was a serial killer. Why had he helped it?

A clip-on tie, so dark blue that it was nearly black; it shown in the light like a raven's feather. The gun holster followed. He'd had to purchase a new one. The silencer didn't fit in the old one. A black suit coat followed, hiding the gun like the shirt had hidden the scar.

He was making a house call today, and he was going to finish what he'd damn well started. Why he'd ever let the freak walk was beyond him. And maybe, while he was there, he'd bag himself a leech of a woman. He couldn't have any witnesses, after all. Lee--why had she talked to him, at the coffee shop? Why had she ever bothered to talk to him? All they'd ever done was yell at each other. It sickened him, on some level. They argued like they were equals. When it came to the freaks, things where anything but equal. It would be better when that pretty mouth of hers was quiet.

His keys rattled in his pocket; he'd given Flipsy a pat on her head as she slept in her dog bed, and locked up. As he hit the street below, he slipped a pair of leather gloves on his hands. He carried a small briefcase. Inside were two sets of calling cards. Today, he would hand-deliver them.

Tarin Brooks. Rupert had given the man a loan on life, a few months back. Today, he was calling it in.

The walk to the apartment was short. He could hear movement from inside. The door, like the door of every idiot in the world, was unlocked.

Rupert Kelley stepped into the room.

OOC - So. I started typing and my imagination ran a bit with me. I gave Rupert a spirit. The dude he and James killed on the rooftop. If that's not okay in any way, shape, or form. Or if you think it's lame at all, just let me know and go ahead and post as if Tarin saying "Rupert?" was the last thing said in my post. I"d have asked you, but I was really feeling it and I don't want to lose this post.

________

Tarin was ready. Ready for the door to open, ready to greet the love of his life...his wife as she came back from working at the shop...his shop...their shop. She'd offered to stay and finish up without a second thought, it was just her way. Lee deserved everything he was trying to give her, and more. The door opened and the figure walked through, Tarin moved forward to embrace her before showing her the surprise he'd set up then stopped dead in his tracks.

The figure entering the apartment was familiar, familiar enough that it almost didn't strike Tarin as odd that the man was walking into the room uninvited.

Tarin hadn't seen Rupert Kelley since the night the detective had saved his life...saved his life even after he knew that Tarin had killed...and killed recently. Tarin had even begged Rupert to kill him, only briefly begging to be put down like the rabid dog he feared he was, but Rupert hadn't taken the bait. Rupert had also called Lee that night, brought her to Tarin....that had been the beginning of what was now. In more way than one, Tarin owed Rupert his life.

This man, however, was not the Rupert Kelley that Tarin remembered. Something was different about the man, something was more tightly coiled. He was so formally dressed, and carrying a...briefcase? And he hadn't knocked. There was also the weird confrontation Lee had mentioned at a coffee shop somewhere near the shop. Rupert wasn't dressed like a baristo now...definitely not.

For a reason he couldn't comprehend, Tarin felt a worm of fear working its way up through his stomach, but he didn't want to believe it. Not at first at least, so Tarin backed up, eyes fixed on the man in front of him. "Rupert?" he said, confusion clearly lacing his voice. A hand raised to run though his hair and hit the hat. The hat. Great. Something was really wrong here, really wrong. It was then Tarin saw it. The spirit. It was a man that Tarin had never seen before and he was very much dead. Standing behind Rupert.

"He's going to kill you." The spirit said, in a voice that made even more chills run up Tarin's spine, "He's ordained himself as judge, jury, and executioner..." The spirit paused to laugh, a throaty wheeze that Tarin wished he wasn't the only witness to. "It was an accident...I didn't mean to kill her...I loved my wife."

Tarin's blood ran cold, and in the few seconds it took the process the information he didn't move. Just stood and looked. This was his payback. He'd done horrible things and somehow karma had allowed him to come so far just to snatch every single thing he'd ever wanted right out from under his nose when he had it.

"You're here to kill me." he said simply, his voice much more sturdy and sure than he supposed it should be. "Why such pomp and circumstance?" he added, gesturing to the briefcase and the suited facade, he looked back to the spirit, "If you're just going to put one between my eyes?"

((ooc: That was an awesome move, Tarin. I love it. )

The man backed up as Rupert entered. Didn't shout for help, or anything equally pointless: just backed up, with the same quizzical look an especially friendly dog would get if it saw the neighborhood bully coming towards it with a bat. Good boy. Back into your little apartment, and don't make a scene.

>> "Rupert?"

That didn't need an answer. Rupert used his bad leg to quietly slide the door shut behind him. Click.

What saved Tarin's life at that moment was the hat. The... cowboy hat. In the middle of a New York City apartment. With matching jeans and music, apparently. It was just odd enough to set Rupert back for a moment.

The look on the man's face as Rupert had stepped through the door told Rupert one thing clearly: he'd been expecting someone else to come in, at that very moment. Rupert didn't notice that Tarin was looking at something over his shoulder; he didn't see the look of understanding hit the man's eyes. He was too busy noticing the smell of enchiladas on the air, and that the lights were too dim to be called anything but mood lighting.

Tarin had been expecting someone else to walk through the door, and that told Rupert something else: Lee wasn't here yet.

>> "You're here to kill me."

"Yes," he answered straight, looking slightly downwards at the shorter man. Since the first moment they'd met, back in the medium's shop as he'd shoved his badge in the Tarin's face, Rupert had always found something satisfying in being taller than the mutant.

>> "Why such pomp and circumstance? If you're just going to put one between my eyes?"

"We could talk about that, Tarin." Rupert set the briefcase on the floor amiably. There was no preamble as he took out his gun. "Or we could get this over with, before Lee comes home. You're expecting her, aren't you?" There was something coldly caring about his tone. Rational, and reasonable: almost soothing. "She's not the one I'm here for, Tarin. Don't make this hard for me, and I'll leave her out of it. It's your choice."

He raised the gun, and leveled it with a care he didn't usually take, and a slight hesitation to the finger around the trigger that he didn't usually have. Why was he talking to the freak? What in the world did he expect to get out of it? His finger twitched; three pounds on a five pound trigger. Tarin was taking this with more dignity than he'd credited the man for. Well, good for him. Four pounds.

"What will it be?" He asked steadily; the question itself was a hesitation, though he damn well didn't know why. "Are we going to finish this up quickly, or are we going to give your pretty little Lee time to come home?"

It was more obvious now, why the man in front of him looked wrong, why there was something off. This wasn't Rupert after all. Oh, it was the same genetic make up, Tarin was sure. The same body, and somewhere in there the same mind. The soul wasn't the same though. It was like some sort of avenging angel had taken the place of the man Tarin had once known. The man who hadn't ever taken anything in stride, never in stride, but who had taken it just the same and even tried to help.

Rupert confirmed what he believed was Tarin' suspicion, even though it had been more of a statement after what the spirit had said. Then they got to the real meat of the issue. The gun emerged and Tarin winced self consciously as his eyes immediately locked on the silencer attached to the barrel. Of course, Rupert knew what he was doing.

Tarin was starting to sweat, the fight or flight side of his nervous system begging to be released and do...something then Rupert spoke again.

Tarin hadn't thought he could be more terrified than he already was, but when Rupert said Lee's name. The way he said her name made almost paralyzing fear course through him. It took a moment for him to simply digest what the words the other man said meant. Then he took a shaky breath, surprised at how much easier it became to think as Rupert's gun arm raised and he aimed the gun. He kept hesitating, though. Mercy didn't even become a thought though, just time.

"Well. I didn't set all this up for you." he said, again surprised at how calm he sounded. He looked at Rupert again, studied him, wondering if he was taking too long to form his thoughts before he spoke.

Rupert kept asking if Tarin wanted it over with or if he wanted to wait for Lee. With the offer of Lee's life on the table if this was all done before she got home, what was Rupert getting at? Tarin closed his eyes, hands shaking at his sides where he was afraid to even move them.

"The reason you keep asking is that you knew you never had to in the first place." he said softly. "I just wish you had done this when I asked you to in the first place. She'd still be in Canada." Emotion was there, Tarin was sure he was about to die after all. Not that he thought a husky voice or tears would save him.

The spirit was still there, standing over Rupert's right shoulder and Tarin looked at it steadily, trying to decide if he could feed enough power into it to enlist its help. The gun was leveled, though, and Rupert knew how to use it, and if...when it went off, wherever Tarin was hit he'd lose his concentration. No use in dragging out the inevitable.

"I don't want her blood on my hands too Rupert." Tarin said, reaching up slowly and deliberately to take off his hat and lowere it to his side. Taking a deep breath, Tarin Brooks waited to die.

Tarin Brooks waited to die.

Tarin Freaking Brooks waited to die, with the patience of a lovely little cowboy martyr.

Somehow, Rupert found his mouth twisting into an unsatisfied line. "So that's it, then." He said, a flash of his old anger rising back to the surface. It was buried deeper these days, but it was still there; it just needed the right kindling to flare. "You're just going to stand there and take a bullet, for the woman you love."

His scowl deepened. "Did it ever occur to you, freak, that Lee will damn well find a way to resurrect you and kill you again if you die like that for her? Ever think that if you just stall long enough, that her powers might just be the match for one lousy human with his back to the door? Or, here's a concept--ever stopped to consider that your worthless ass might be able to take on one measly cripple?"

There was nothing but distain in his gaze. Four and a half pounds on a five pound trigger; then three, two, one. He didn't even notice his grip was slackening; there was only so long he could keep his finger that coiled without actually putting a hole in the man. "Are you seriously going to just stand there, and let me put you down like a dog?"

Damned if he knew why, but he didn't want to just shoot the man like that. A new thought came into his mind. Poke a dog with a stick enough, and it will give you a reason to put it down. A grin twisted his face. "Did it ever occur to you," he asked, with sickening calm, "that I might damn well be lying about leaving Lee alone?"

Tarin could see the dissatisfaction written clearly on Rupert's face. What did he want? Begging...pleading. He definitely wasn't going to get that. Tarin stared right back into Rupert's face, hands held out to show that the only thing he held was the cowboy hat, "You're the one with the gun Rupert." Tarin said, unable to relax, even with Rupert continuing the conversation. "I can't shoot lightning out of my hands. In fact, I couldn't do anything but make that spirit standing behind you try and take the gun away, and I can't even be sure he'd do it. I'm not the least bit dangerous right now not even to a self labeled cripple...because the cripple is the one with the gun."

Tarin waited, almost hoping that Rupert would just pull the trigger and be done with it. Dragging it out like this was cruel, even for a vigilante hell-bent on killing him. He kept throwing Lee into the situation though, she'd resurrect him and kill him again for going like this? "Don't you dare talk to me about Lee, Rupert." Tarin said, hand tightening slightly on the brim of the cowboy hat. "Don't you dare tell me how she'd feel when you're the one standing in my house with a gun pointed at me. You damn hypocrite."

Tarin just stared at Rupert in disbelief and slight disgust as he went lower and lower. Dug deeper and deeper. Then he brought Lee into it again. Tarin's jaw clenched and he shook his head, then he smiled. It wasn't a nice smile though, it was a knowing, mocking smile. "You could, but you won't." Tarin said, "I know you won't. You might be a lot of things Rupert, but you're a decent man. I deserve this, you know for a fact that Lee doesn't."

Tarin stood his ground, quiet and still waiting. Not confident, not quite as terrified either though. "Besides," he said, "I've been telling her for ages that she needed to get rid of me."

>> "You're the one with the gun Rupert. I can't shoot lightning out of my hands. In fact, I couldn't do anything but make that spirit standing behind you try and take the gun away, and I can't even be sure he'd do it. I'm not the least bit dangerous right now not even to a self labeled cripple...because the cripple is the one with the gun."

A jolt went through Rupert, momentarily breaking his scowl. The what standing behind him? And the little medium was going to do what with it? He resisted the urge to look: that was such a typical ploy. If there was a ghost, if the man could manipulate it, then he would have done it already. The medium hardly stood anything to lose for trying, after all.

>> "Don't you dare talk to me about Lee, Rupert. Don't you dare tell me how she'd feel when you're the one standing in my house with a gun pointed at me. You damn hypocrite."

Rupert's lips twitched into something resembling a smile. "You know," he said, almost conversationally; "it's been at least a week since someone's called me that. Thank you, Tarin." Sincerity or insincerity: which would be the more disturbing tone, for his voice at that moment? Rupert himself couldn't read it. Rupert himself didn't really care. A hypocrite. He got that a lot. It was starting to just sound like a buzz in his ears; a spelling contest word repeated too many times to hold any meaning. What the hell was a hypocrite? A man who acted on his convictions? That's all Rupert had ever done. His only fault was that those convictions had been hardening, with every friend of his that had gotten killed by these creatures.

He was getting a reaction from the man. Not the man: the freak. It was getting easier to slip the weight back onto that trigger.

>> "You could, but you won't. I know you won't. You might be a lot of things Rupert, but you're a decent man. I deserve this, you know for a fact that Lee doesn't. Besides, I've been telling her for ages that she needed to get rid of me."

Way easier. Twitch of a smile? Gone. Sneer? In full force. "So I'm a murderer and a hypocrite but I'm a decent man? That's cute, freak. That's very cute." A decent man. While we were defining abstractions, what the hell was that? Rupert didn't know, but he sure as hell knew it wasn't him. If anything, Tarin was the--

Tch.

No, Rupert wasn't a decent man. And it was because he wasn't a decent man--and it damn well wasn't because he couldn't seem to get that trigger finger to twitch that extra hair--that he decided to push things. Just that little extra bit further. Just because he could.

Just because he wasn't a decent man at all.

Rupert lowered the gun slightly, and out to the side; it no longer pointed at the man, but it could be easily brought back around. It was an opening, though. A clear opening. An invitation couldn't have been written more clearly in his smug stance--go ahead and try it, Tarin. Or would the little medium really like to die with these last words in his ears, without doing a damn thing about it?

"Did you know," he began simply, "that Lee spent the night at my apartment? It was just after the Camps, while you two were having your little spat. I met her in Central Park. I invited her back. And she said yes, Tarin. Did your little Lee ever tell you about that?" This time, there was no mistaking the sincerity in Rupert's voice. "She likes my eggplant parmesan," he said, with a lewd grin, "if you know what I mean."

Tarin couldn't figure out how to react or what Rupert's ultimate goal was. Well, the goal was pretty obvious, but the amount of trouble he was having getting to the penultimate moment was astounding. Was he here just to show Tarin that he could be? It wasn’t like Rupert, it really wasn’t. Rupert had always been…rough around the edges, and Tarin really couldn’t blame him for his bias against him. He had been the one to see him first after that night…covered in blood. Rupert definitely had just cause for being there, but everything about him was different now. It was startling to say the least, but not quite as startling as the gun pointed in Tarin’s face.

But still, Rupert didn’t pull the trigger. All arrows pointed to the fact that Rupert had done this before, but they still stood there. What was saving him? Tarin didn’t know, didn’t really care, more than anything the confrontation needed to end before Lee got home, and that couldn’t be long.

Rupert was so nonchalant about being called a hypocrite. Then again, Tarin had said almost the same thing to the man the first time they’d met in the shop. Things like that had never phased Rupert, there was no reason to expect that now. He was smiling now though, and the smile almost made Tarin shiver. What the hell was going on? Was all of this simply for the reaction, simply for a little more perverted satisfaction in the whole situation? Tarin didn’t know, but his resolve towards a resigned death was starting to wane. The spirit was still there and with the way he was looking at Rupert, he’d probably cooperate…if Tarin asked…if Tarin let him. The problem was, Tarin didn’t know if he’d be in control enough to stop what the spirit started.

Rupert continued to speak while Tarin thought, catching only most of what the other man was saying. Babbling about the paradox between being a decent man and a hypocrite. Tarin just shrugged, “I said decent. Not a saint.”

But the whole time he was looking at the spirit over Rupert’s shoulder, the spirit looked almost eager now, nodding his head. It was an amazing thing that Rupert hadn’t turned to look when Tarin had mentioned it. Considering how weirded out Rupert had seemed about the whole thing when he first found out about Tarin’s powers, his restraint was admirable. Still the dilemma remained, did he enlist the spirit’s help and try to sever the connection before it could really hurt Rupert, or did he continue to test his luck?

Rupert made the decision for him. First, the other man lowered the gun slightly, the pressure off the trigger, then he moved it. Almost inviting a confrontation, Tarin hesitated, wondering just how fast Rupert had been trained to get that gun up. Then Rupert spoke.

Tarin was slightly shocked at first, he’d thought Lee was leaving that night. Just thinking about it now made his stomach hurt, but he’d been sure Lee had left that night. The fact that she’d stayed another would have stung if they weren’t married now, if everything wasn’t okay. The next comment, however, stung, it stung a hell of a lot and it made Tarin angry…very very angry. The rational side of Tarin’s mind knew that what Rupert was so lewdly suggesting was completely ridiculous. Especially considering the fact that Lee hadn’t wanted anyone to touch her after the camps. The trama and conditioning had been too effective when people touched her while she was there, Lee had expected pain any time anyone was near her. The thought that she could have stayed with Rupert, when she didn’t even like him, and that they…they…they. The rational side of Tarin’s brain didn’t even get a chance to touch that one. Unfortunately…or fortunately depending on the point of view, the rational side of Tarin’s brain was not the one working when Rupert suggested how much Lee had liked his ‘cooking’. The fact that not only had Tarin done what Rupert was suggesting, but had inadvertently killed the woman by doing so, while he and Lee were separated, didn’t occur to Tarin at all. One thing was sure to him, however, Rupert was going to pay for all of this.

Tarin didn’t lunge immediately, that would have been utter stupidity, but the decision had been made and he averted his eyes, glaring at the ground as his irises faded into the whites and the spirit behind Rupert grew more and more corporeal. Fists clenched, Tarin shook his head, “You’re a liar.” He said, his voice almost deathly calm.

When the spirit was whole, Tarin looked up, eyes narrowing as the dead man raised his arm to knock away the gun, “You’d be far better served to watch what you say about my wife you sick son of a bitch.” he said as the spirit’s arm came down. At the contact Tarin immediately severed the link and lunged forward, right fist flying towards the left side of Rupert’s face as hard as Tarin could ever remember throwing a punch. Somewhere the spirit howled in rage at his sudden lack of substance, but Tarin didn’t care. If anyone was going to kill this SOB, it was going to be him. The gun hit the floor and skidded, where Tarin didn’t know and didn’t care, he didn’t need a gun, all he needed was a fist as his momentum carried him into the other man.

The damn little freak lowered his eyes. Well. If Rupert had ever been under the false impression that Tarin Brooks had a spine, he considered himself disillusioned of that one.

>> “You’re a liar.”

Disappointing. Really, it was just disappointing. At least the freak wasn't going to die begging for mercy; that was a small consolation. Still, somehow, he'd been expecting...more. A wave of weariness hit him. After this, he'd probably head back to his apartment to wash up; maybe change into sweats, and just crash on his couch with the stereo blaring. Maybe listen to some Bowie. Rupert began to raise the gun again.

Tarin raised his head.

>> “You’d be far better served to watch what you say about my wife you sick son of a bitch.”

Something hit him from behind, slamming the gun out of his hand; something very human, and something that hadn't been there before. Not that he could see. Rupert reflexively began turning towards it. The image of a man, rapidly fading, registered in his mind. A damn familiar man.

Tarin's fist collided with the left side of his face. With the eye, to be specific.

The next thing Rupert knew, he was on the floor. He couldn't have been out long, because he could hear a sound that got him moving again on a purely instinctual level, where the adrenaline lived: a gun skidding across a floor. He went for the gun. And if he took out the little freak's legs in the process, well, that would just be too damn bad.

A sick sense of satisfaction started somewhere in his gut. This was more like it.

Tarin was surprised at himself, or would have been if he'd taken the time to actually think. Hand-to-hand combat had never, ever been his strong suit and it still wasn't. As Rupert had so callously pointed out himself, however, he was a cripple and Tarin had the upper hand.

If they both lived through this, Tarin was going to rub it into Rupert's face that he'd been stupid enough to think that Tarin wouldn't try to use his powers. All the hesitation had been enough, Tarin's willingness to go down without a fight had disappeared almost as quickly as the spirit after Tarin had severed the link. The adrenaline must have increased his control, the spirits never left on command like that. Maybe it meant Rupert was supposed to live through this.

There was a moment of guilt as his fist slammed into Rupert's face, then pain in his knuckles from the impact. That was part of the problem with fighting, even if you won ended up in pain. Pain was nothing compared to the price of failure though.

Stay down....stay down...stay down... Tarin invoked silently as Rupert fell. But the hope only lasted a second, as the gun skittered out of the entryway of the apartment and towards the living area Rupert was almost immediately on his feet, scrambling after the weapon as it slid across the floor. Rupert was moving, right at Tarin's legs and Tarin had been watching the gun too long to get out of the way.

Rupert crashed into his legs and Tarin felt a brief moment of weightlessness before he hit the floor with a solid *THUD* his breath whooshing out with the impact. Instinct kicked in again and Tarin pushed himself up, trying to pull air into his lungs and grabbing at any part of Rupert he could get ahold of, which included his shoes, pant legs, and ultimately his belt.

Trying to use his sudden altitude advantage to propel himself forward, Tarin pulled back on Rupert while he launched himself forward, halfway landing on the other man as the gun skidded to a stop just inches from the edge of the couch. Tarin reached out to grab it, just centimeters short of the butt of the gun. One more lunge forward (using Rupert's body as a launching pad) and Tarin's fingers closed around the gun.

Launching himself to his feet, still gasping for air, Tarin backpeddled, pointing the gun at Rupert..."STOP...now! Just stop...before I shoot your stupid, persistent ass. Why couldn't you just stay DOWN?"

What followed was a blur of motion, and a freak's grabby hands traveling like a rock climber up Rupert's backside as they both scrambled for the gun. Having a wreathing mass of medium on your back doesn't exactly help your own gun-grabbing efforts.

With one last dangerous tug to his belt, the medium won that little contest. Rupert slowly raised himself up to his knees as the back peddling freak pointed a familiar silencer in his direction. The only thing more dangerous than a mutant: a mutant civilian with a gun he didn't damn well know how to use.

>> "STOP...now! Just stop...before I shoot your stupid, persistent ass. Why couldn't you just stay DOWN?"

"Stay down," Rupert panted, "right. What then, Tarin? What the hell were you planning to do then?"

There was a glitter in his eyes that was altogether too pleased with this turn of events, and not entirely rational. "Go ahead, Tarin. Pull the damn trigger. Or do you only like to get blood on your hands while you're "possessed"?" He brought up his hands into a very deliberate gesture: air quotes. He brought up one leg while he was at it, planting a socked foot firmly on the ground. He'd lost the shoe at some point. "You're such pathetic--"

He didn't know how to finish that. Fortunately, he'd never planned to. Rupert threw up an arm to try and knock the gun off to the side, and then he full-body tackled the freak. If that worked, there was a fist that was just begging to make something break on that pansy little face. We'll see who stayed down.

Tarin was finally getting his breath back, but Rupert had more to say, even though there was a gun pointed in his face. His own gun. Obviously he didn't think Tarin was much of a threat, though, the way he was running his mouth. Tarin winced internally, Rupert was probably right, if there was more required than pulling the trigger, Tarin was clueless.

Rupert spoke again and Tarin sneered. Yes, Tarin could sneer, he was really starting to get pissed off. "You bastard, you know that's not true...and stop tempting me, I don't want to hurt you anymore..." Tarin's hand, the one holding the gun shook slightly as Rupert called him pathetic. Rupert was the one with the swelling eye. Tarin was the one with the gun, then again he wasn't going to use the gun. At least not like Rupert was expecting.

Rupert was moving, and Tarin panicked, not wanting to pull the trigger, but not being sure what else to do. He waited too long. Rupert swung his arm and the gun flew wide. Tarin clung to it like a life line, but was unprepared for Rupert flinging himself forward.

The other man slammed into Tarin and mere moments after regaining his feet, Tarin found himself falling backwards again as Rupert pulled his feet from under him.

He hit the floor just as hard again, this time his rear taking most of the impact, but not prepared for the fist flying at his face. There was a solid *thwack* as it connected with his left cheek just to the side and below the eye and Tarin's vision blurred and his eyes rolled for a moment as everything slowed down.

Just as quickly, time sped up again and they were on the floor, Rupert had nailed him in the face and was surely planning to do it again. Tarin tried to figure out what to do and decided it was time to play dirty. Somehow Rupert had ended up basically straddling Tarin when they'd fallen and was now trying to decide whether to kill him or make out with him. Tarin didn't plan on letting the decision have too much time to be made though. Up came the knee between Rupert's legs and Tarin hoped it connected with its intended target, really hoped. Then he realized that somehow he'd held onto the gun.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his face, Tarin swung the arm holding the gun as hard as he could in the general direction of Rupert's face, also hoping he would connect. He owed Rupert that one. Really owed him.

His fist cracked satisfyingly against the man's face, sinking into the flesh until his knuckles were greeted by a sharp collision with bone. He savored it, drawing back for another hit.

Knee. Capped.

Profanities failed the ex-cop. Instead, he simply froze where he sat, straddled--unwisely, as it turns out--over the freak. Then he was crashing to the side, off of Tarin, as something cold and unforgiving struck into the side of his head. Rupert's world washed to gray. He groaned, attempting a kick in the man's direction before gray washed to black.

((ooc: So. About that belt. *grins*))

Both swings landed. Tarin lay frozen in shock for a few moments, his breathing heavy and his face absolutely throbbing. Rupert hadn't moved, and with how that hit had reverberated through his arm Tarin had a feeling he might not be moving again for at least a while.

Rupert had rolled off him and was now laying slightly sprawled against the couch in Tarin's living room. Now what? Rupert had made a valid point when he'd asked Tarin earlier what would have happened next if he'd have stayed down the first time. There was no way that after all that, Tarin could just let Rupert go. Tarin didn't think there was any way that Rupert would go if given the chance. Not with what Tarin knew now.

His head was pounding, absolutely pounding and Tarin moved slowly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the floor. Rupert still hadn't moved and Tarin grudgingly pushed himself up, groaning at the wave of pain that sent through his head, to check if the other man was even alive. He was.

Tarin wasn't really disappointed, he hadn't wanted to kill Rupert from the beginning, it had been the other way around. That still didn't solve the problem of what Tarin was supposed to do with the other man. He needed time to think.

There was no way that he could just leave Rupert on the floor and let him come around. Tarin had a feeling that would just result in more fighting. So, he did the only other thing that came to mind.

Rupert was effing heavy....Tarin decided five minutes later as he drug the other man to a chair in the dining area of the apartment. Maybe it was even the same chair Tarin had sat in the last time he'd seen Rupert. Getting Rupert into the chair, was another story.

Finally after an incredible amount of grumbling and struggling, Tarin had Rupert sitting up in the chair and had managed, using both his belt and the other man's to secure him to the chair in a way he hoped would keep him still. At least for a while.

There was a small trickle of blood and a huge goose egg on the side of Rupert's head, but his breathing still seemed normal and his heart was beating. Tarin assumed that meant he was going to live.

Leaving the unconscious man where he sat, Tarin went to the kitchen and poured himself a liberal glass of scotch. Who knew where Lee was, Tarin thought as he sipped the liquor and grabbed a bag of frozen corn out of the freezer to put against his swollen face. An idea occurred to Tarin and he filled a glass with water and ice.

Back out into the dining room Tarin went and pulled another chair out and around to face Rupert, then leaned forward to dump the ice water over Rupert's head. The blood made nice little rivulets down the other man's white shirt. "Wakey wakey." Tarin said, sitting back and wondering if it would work...it always did in the movies.