>> “Rupert. Evolution isn’t going to stop. But you know that.”

Yeah. But damned if he wasn't going to give it a try, while mutants still had such a small population. Not that it didn't seem to grow every day. Just walking down the street was becoming a joke of a game: Find the Freak. Seemed like every time he stepped out his door, he ran into one. Or two. And that was before he started looking for them.

>> “We’re all hypocrites Rupert.”

"Yeah," Rupert blearily blinked, "but I bet you don't have people making T-shirts about it for you." 'I'm with Hypocrite'; 'Don't Feed the Angry Zealot'.

Rupert thought he heard a 'sonova--!' when Tarin dumped the bullets out of his window onto the sidewalk below, but it might have been the concussion playing tricks on his auditory nerves. One thing was sure: Tarin really was a damn pansy. That was cute: take the bullets out of the gun. Right. And then put it on the table, like he was still scared that Rupert was going to grab it. Not that Rupert could blame him: the ghost whisperer had quite vividly illustrated how well guns worked without pulling the trigger, and the dull pounding in Rupert's skull was begging to be shared.

>> “I still don't think either of us was ever going to use that tonight, but now I’ve eliminated even the temptation.”

Rupert swallowed back his own whiney 'I would have shot you; I was just making you squirm a little first' retort as this conversation took an unexpected turn.

>> “Now, about the Scotch. I don’t want to sit here and spoon feed your stupid ass all night. ...Now, if I unhook you, can you give me your word that you’re going to stop being violent. I’ll tolerate your attitude towards me, but the second you lift a hand to Lee in violence, I swear to god Rupert I will kill you without a second thought. Don’t think I couldn’t either. We need to talk, and I’d rather do it man to man than like this.”

Well that was too good to be true.

>> "No!"

There we go.

>> "That's going too damn far, Tarin. This isn't the time to sit and chat over Scotch. He came to kill us, Tarin!"

Rupert's chair creaked as he leaned back, giving Lee a clear Back Off, Woman look. "You seriously think killing you is worth more to me than a glass of scotch? Pour the damn drink. I'll behave." Until he was sure he could walk straight, anyway. It didn't occur to him that the scotch might not help that.

Tarin just shook his head as Rupert…joked(?) about t-shirts for being a hypocrite and leaned back in the chair, staring at the gun that was still sitting on the table. Rupert was becoming slightly more coherent now, which was actually somewhat of a relief considering the mess they’d have had if he’d actually needed medical attention. “I’ll one of each, size large. Thanks.” He surprised himself by saying, then shook his head again, glancing at the still fuming spirit on the other side of the room.

Tarin wanted to point out how wrong Rupert was to be taking the law into his own hands, but that would havemade him just as big a hypocrite as the other man. Rupert had broken the law, for Tarin, at least once before. That’s why he’d shown up in the first place this night, to right that wrong. But what he was doing really was utter suicide, Rupert could have been dead by this point, would have been dead by this point if he’d walked into the same situation with any mutant besides Tarin.

Lee was back now, and angry at the fact that Tarin had even offered to let Rupert loose. She was close, and angry and looking at him in a way that usually made him want to do whatever he said. This time, however, he waved a dismissive hand, “Lee…this is exactly the time to sit and chat over Scotch. Besides, unless he’s got another gun hidden somewhere….which he doesn’t, because I checked when I was putting him in the chair…he can’t do anything. I threw away the bullets in this one.” He said, nodding his head towards the gun on the table, then looking back to Lee and
putting a hand on her shoulder, “Just sit down and try to relax a little. I know that’s asking a lot, but there’s nothing else to do unless you actually want to kill an ex-cop in our apartment.”

That said, Tarin poured another glass of Scotch and drank a liberal sip before filling it and setting it on the table before getting up. Rupert had promised to behave, even if he’d pointed out that their lives were worth less than a drink. Whatever, it was good scotch.

It didn’t take long to unhook Rupert’s hands, and Tarin made his way back to his seat and nodded at the glass, “You didn’t mind sharing the glass earlier, so go ahead and take it now.”

Tarin gave Rupert a few moments to adjust to his new freedom and
thought, unable to get the same questions he’d had earlier out of his mind, “Why the vigilante gig?” he asked suddenly, eyes swinging back to the other man, “I asked you earlier about going on a suicide mission…but is that really it? You’re just going to take down as many of us as you can with you? If all of them have
been like that guy…” Tarin said, looking at the spirit, “and me....at least you’re preying on people who’ve actually done something wrong…but Christ Rupert…you’re going to run into someone real
quickly who isn’t going to think twice and be able to do something about it. Even if you have that gun pointed between their eyes.”

Tarin was trying to calm her down, telling her to relax. Like that was really going to happen while Rupert was still sitting in their apartment. Tarin did have a bit of a point, though; she couldn't exactly kill Rupert, and at least if she was sitting, she'd have that bit of extra time to control herself at his outbursts.

So Lee turned, making her way to the far side of the table where she pulled out a chair and sat down. Glaring over at Rupert. Who was apparently going to get to sit there drinking Scotch as though he was there as a guest.

And, as if to prove that point, Tarin chose that time to go over to Rupert, untie his hands from the chair, and offer him a drink of Scotch. It was from the same glass that Tarin had been drinking from, so it wasn't full out hospitality, but still. The man had come into their apartment to kill them, and Tarin wanted to sit and chat.

Then she actually heard what Tarin was saying to Rupert, and her eyes shot to her husband, who was looking off at what appeared to be nothing. At least to her, it seemed to be nothing, he must be looking at a spirit there.

By the time Tarin was finished speaking, Lee's brow was furrowed and her eyes were back on Rupert. "You've done this before?" Lee asked. "How many times? How many others have you executed, slaughtered, thinking you're above the law because you're killing mutants? And what if you catch one of them at home with their human wife, or their kid? A child, Rupert. Would you kill them, too, just so there's no witnesses?"

Somewhere during all of that, Lee had stood up, but only realized it when she paused to take a breath. Sitting back down slowly, Lee took another breath to try and calm herself down once more. "And you thought you had misjudged Tarin," Lee said, her voice now much softer, almost sad, as she shook her head slightly. "He trusted you, convinced me to trust you. Then you proved I could trust you, and now this?"

"Things change," Rupert pointed out simply, as he rubbed at his wrists. And put the damn belt back through the loops in his pants where it belonged, thanks. Now if he could just walk straight enough to get his shoe from their floor, he'd be a happier man. There was something undignified with having one foot in a tasteful black dress shoe and the other in a stripped sock, picking up the chill from the tiled kitchen floor.

The scotch helped more than the shoe would have. He took it in two swallows, with a cough to clear the fire off of his throat. An understated click of glass on table demanded a refill. He'd do it himself, if that bottle wasn't so damn far out of reach. On some matters, Rupert had his priorities straight. Scotch first: check. Now he'd talk. What was the medium's first question? The words 'vigilante gig' swirled in his memory.

"You been watching the news lately?" Rupert asked, his tone unusually subdued. "Been a damn lot of killings lately. Your people killing ours. And don't try to give me that damn line about us starting it; I'm damn sick of hearing that. Cops, firefights, and reporters show up at an arson, try to detain a suspect; massacre. A damn giant and that bone girl going on a killing spree in the middle of New York; no provocation. Some fire mutant lighting up in the middle of a memorial service for murder victims, just for the hell of roasting the crowd. A doctor and his family slaughtered in their own home. Hell, the PETA offices got attacked. And you, medium, are just wandering day to day like a damn time bomb. It doesn't matter that you don't mean to kill people. You've killed before, and you're going to do it again. You know it. I know it. Wife over there knows it." He jerked his chin towards Lee.

"The NYPD are a dying breed. We've lost too many men in the past few years, and damned if people are knocking down the doors to join up for the slaughter. The best part of that joke is that cops still have to treat you freaks like human citizens." Thank you, Supreme Court, for your benevolent ruling in that regard. "Can you even fathom how idiotic it is to try and take mutie criminals down without using lethal force from the start? Bullets don't even work on most of you, especially if a cop has to give you the chance to surrender, first. On the off-chance we bag one of you, there's no prison that can hold most of you, especially not with your little friends attacking from the outside. The legal system no longer applies to mutants, in case you haven't noticed. Someone had to take responsibility for that. So yeah," muddy hazel eyes, still a little bleary around the edges, tried to meet Tarin's own, "I'm doing the 'vigilante gig'. Unless you want innocent people to keep getting killed in the streets at your kind's whim? If I get killed doing it, at least I didn't go down with my tail between my legs, kowtowing to the rights of you 'Homo superiors' to reign on high over when us mere Homo sapiens live or die."

He reached for his glass. Still empty. Dropped his hand back into his lap, and turned to Lee. Her turn. He'd used up any eloquence there was in his concussioned head, so it was down to blunt answers. That suited him just fine. "Yeah, I've done this before." How many times? Not a questions she really wanted answered. "And I'm damn careful not to leave evidence to tie it back to me. Unlike your kind, if the NYPD knows it's me, they'll bring me in. I'll get put on trial, and I'll go away for a long time. I'm not the one who's above the law, here. Thanks." If she didn't turn her gaze away, than he sure as hell wouldn't: he'd make eye contact until he was damn well done answering her. Especially for this next part. "When there are innocents around, I don't make the hit. I'm not going down my mutie grocery list, Emily. I'm only hitting killers. Ones with a damn lot of evidence against them. Who the hell do you take me for?"

His hand reached for the cup again. Fell back into his lap. He was still waiting on that damn refill.

An eyebrow raised as Tarin watched Rupert down the Scotch in two shots. He was going to restate the question when he didn't start talking, but Rupert remembered, or finished thinking and started. Lee had been speaking, but Tarin was lost in his own thoughts, the spirit in the room had been guilty as charged, he'd seen it in the images from the guys death. He'd killed his wife, swore it was an accident, but Tarin could feel it, this man relished his losses of control. The only regret was that it had resulted in the death of someone he'd actually cared for. Tarin tried to convince himself he wasn't like that. Yes, he lost control of himself when merges happened, yes the monster his body turned into had done things, horrible things. Tarin regretted them all though, every single last one of them.

Tarin looked at Rupert, how he was avoiding eye contact, the points he was making and couldn't find a single thing he pointed out to disagree with. Then he mentioned the mutant that flamed up at a memorial service just to 'roast the crowd'. His shoulders slumped as he leaned forward and let his head drop into his hands. "I thought nobody got hurt..." he said, "Except for some of the other mutants who came in to stop it. Lee got hurt." he added softly, leaning back in the seat to stare at the gun he'd emptied bullets out of a few minutes earlier.

The fact of the matter was, Rupert was right. Tarin had heard about the mutants who were seemingly above the law. Tarin had met some of them, in fact. He was one of them. Rupert had helped him though. Tarin stared at him as he spoke to Lee. It vaguely registered in his mind how stupid Rupert was to call Lee "Emily" when she was already so pissed off. Tarin wasn't really thinking about that though.

Rupert kept reaching for the empty glass, and with the way his face looked, he wasn't ready to get up. So Tarin sighed and stood up to pour him another drink, then sat again, brown eyes bleak for a few moments as he spoke with Lee. Then it was quiet.

"He's right." Tarin finally said. "At least if the spirit from earlier is an indication. He's just picking off people who deserve it. You keep saying 'we' but he never had any intention of hurting you."

Tarin stared again for a few moments and shook his head, "I didn't ask for this Rupert...any of it. I'm trying to get help...figure it out so it doesn't happen ever again. I'm not like that guy." he added, staring a the spirit who picked this as the perfect time to leave, "He wanted it. I don't want it...with every fiber of my being...I don't want it...but what am I supposed to do?"

"When there are innocents around, I don't make the hit. I'm not going down my mutie grocery list, Emily."

Rupert kept talking, but that's as far as Lee heard. As if everything else wasn't bad enough, he had just called her 'Emily'. Lee barely even registered what Tarin then said, barely even registered the fact that he had stood up. She was too busy glaring daggers across the table at Rupert. Didn't even notice Tarin's comment that Rupert hadn't intended to hurt her, just him.

And then she heard the clink of glass as Tarin set down the Scotch bottle after refilling the glass for Rupert. Again.

That gave Lee, well, not quite a thought, but definitely inspiration. Standing herself, Lee reached forward and grabbed the bottle of Scotch by the neck. The next moment she was throwing it at Rupert.

"What you're supposed to do is stop pouring his ass drinks after what he came here to do."

If Rupert had any doubts about whether he was making sense, they only doubled when the medium began agreeing with him. Not only that, but the mutant as good as admitted to being behind that fire incident at the murder victim's memorial. Rupert's face twisted into a sneer as he watched the man drop his head into his hands, and eye the gun that he'd emptied of bullets. A bit short-sighted there, huh freak?

>> "I didn't ask for this Rupert...any of it. I'm trying to get help...figure it out so it doesn't happen ever again. I'm not like that guy. He wanted it. I don't want it...with every fiber of my being...I don't want it...but what am I supposed to do?"

Rupert just shook his head at the man. "You already know what you need to--"

CRISH, and the rain-like tinker of glass shards scattering across a tile floor. A distinctly less elegant swump followed, as Rupert fell out of the chair like a dead weight, another welt already starting to rise on his head, under the new mat of blood. Good job, Emily. Good job. Only a low groan and the slight push of a stripped sock across the floor showed that the former cop was still conscious. To be honest, though, without the scotch? He didn't have any motivation to be.

Tarin was back to being miserable as Rupert just sat there, being right, probably reveling in being right. Dammit....Dammit, dammit, dammit.

>>"You already know what you need to do."

Tarin just stared at Rupert, he knew exactly what the ex-cop meant. The gun was on the table, empty of bullets and Rupert still expected him to use it. Hadn't Tarin already explained that wasn't an option though? Hadn't Tarin already told Rupert that he'd given him two very solid chances to do exactly what he was saying needed to happen? Why did Tarin have to do it himself.

He was staring just staring, waiting for Rupert to drink the scotch. Then Lee was going off. Not just going off, yelling at him and throwing the bottle of scotch at Rupert. It was like everything was moving in slow motion, that liquid was lubricating (Yeah...I said it...) the situation beautifully, lines of communication had been open. Then suddenly the bottle was crashing into Rupert's head and he was falling out of the chair.

"LEE!" Tarin yelled, even as the other man hit the ground. "God damn it." Standing, he turned to Lee, "You just don't get it, do you? You're pissed off and biased, but he's right Lee. He only came back here to do what he should have done the night you came back. To do what I can't do."

Tarin looked at Rupert who still seemed to be conscious if not bleary eyed on the ground again, "I told you how many times I hit him. Twice with my fist and once with the damn gun...hard. Haven't enough people died in this damn apartment without adding a cop to the list?"

Turning away from Lee, slightly disgusted with himself, with her, with everything, Tarin went to Rupert and bent down in the shards of glass. "Can you stand up? If you can I think you'd better get the hell out of here."

Almost as soon as the bottle had actually left her hand, by the time she was seeing it shatter and watched Rupert fall out of the chair, Lee was shocked by what she had done. She had actually thrown a bottle at Rupert. Thrown and hit him in the head, after he'd already been hit in the head a few times that night.

"So that makes it ok?" Lee yelled back. Hey, if Tarin was yelling, she could too, right?

But then Tarin brought up a question that stopped Lee dead, brought her back to not only the shock that she'd thrown the bottle at Rupert, but also horror over what she'd done. She'd actually hit Rupert in the head with a glass bottle, hard enough that it not only broke, but also knocked him out of the chair. What the hell was she doing?

And then Tarin was asking Rupert if he could stand, that if so, he thought it was a good idea for him to leave right then. Why the hell couldn't Tarin have decided that a long time ago?

Lee was about to make a similar, though more snappish comment when she actually saw the disaster Tarin was kneeling down in, saw the blood covering Rupert. Closing her eyes, Lee sighed. "He can't leave looking like that," she said, her voice softer, gentler than it had been since before she'd entered the apartment. "Help him up, I'll grab a cloth..."

>> "I told you... I... Twice with my fist and once... hard."

Glass crished against the floor as something blurry, dark, and unfocused settled into Rupert's view. If he could remember how to blink, that might help clear it.

>> "Can you... hell."

Yeah. He could agree with that. Groggily, Rupert started to shift his weight; tugs and pulls of muscles brought him instinctively back to a sitting position, though it took him a moment to understand why the off-white of the floor was so much further away than before. He blinked. It did help; the darker blob solidified into Tarin, though there was an odd tint of red over one side of his vision. Huh.

>> "...can't leave looking like... Help him... I'll grab..."

One of Rupert's arms groggily waved in a pushing movement. "Don't need help," he managed. Reflexive bigotry.

At least Lee realized that she'd done the wrong thing, the realization was written as clearly on her face as if someone had put it there with a black sharpie. But she was still pissed, and she'd still yelled at him. Tarin didn't answer, just looked at her as he squatted on the floor next to where Rupert was floundering in the glass. It was a rhetorical question anyway. At least Tarin hoped it was, because he wasn't going to answer.

Not only did Lee realize the folly of her actions, but apparently now she was going to make up for them by making Rupert presentable to leave the apartment and as she left to do whatever it was she was planning on doing, Tarin shook his head. The sun may have rose and set based on a woman's mood's, but Tarin'd be damned before he knew what was going on in Lee's head.

Rupert chose this point to make it clear...or murkily mumbled that he didn't want or need any help. "Stop being stupid." Tarin said, "I know it's a stretch for you...but pull your concussed shit together and stop being stupid for ten minutes. I already told you once, Lee isn't as nice as I am. She doesn't need self defense, or a gun to crack your head like an egg."

As he spoke, Tarin stood and grasped the other man by the arm, hauling him up despite his weak and nearly incoherent protests. Shortly, Rupert Kelley was deposited back in the chair he'd fell from a few moments earlier and Tarin was making his way back to his own chair.

Lee returned. She was in her sweats and running shoes with a washcloth and hand towel in her hands. The tank top looked good, Tarin vaguely noticed as he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Just get him cleaned up so we can get him out of here. This is too much."

This night had gone nothing like planned, Lee thought as she made her way to the front closet after leaving the kitchen to remove her heels and grab her running shoes. Not even any quickly assembled plans that might have formed after she had walked into the apartment. And thankfully nothing like the plan that Rupert had had in mind for that night.

Sneakers in hand, Lee quickly walked to her bedroom. Yes, she had said that she was going to grab a cloth to clean Rupert up, but said cleaning required some preparation; she was not about to clean up blood, glass, and Scotch wearing a skirt and three inch heels. Not that it took her long, anyway. All she had to do was quickly change out of her skirt and blouse into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, then throw her shoes on before leaving the room. Nothing overly difficult, and unfortunately something far too familiar.

Once out of her room, Lee made a quick stop at the linen closet, grabbing a cloth and hand towel. No longer did she actually bother trying to find the oldest or most worn looking towels, all the old ones were long gone already by this point.

By the time she made it back to the kitchen, really not that long after she had left it in the first place, Lee found that Tarin had at least managed to get Rupert back up into a chair. That would make things much easier; crouching down (since she was not about to kneel in a pile of broken glass) to clean Rupert up would not be fun, and Lee did not relish the idea of repeating that scene from the shop.

"Then wet this and wring it out for me, if you're now in that big of a hurry," Lee suggested, tossing the wash cloth to Tarin as she turned toward Rupert. He was by far not looking the best, but at least he wasn't bleeding that badly. The only wound that appeared to be bleeding was where she had hit him with the bottle. His eye, his cheek, and the back of his head were swelling up rather well on their own, though.

Turning, Lee took the now wet cloth from Tarin. "Thanks, hon," she said softly as she turned her eyes back to Rupert, tossing the towel over her shoulder to get it out of the way. "Now, let's see what we've got here..." Reaching out, she began to carefully wipe away the blood so she could actually see the wound, to see if there was actually any glass in it or not.

>> "...stupid... stupid... Lee is... an egg."

"What?" Rupert grumbled, somehow offended to find himself in a chair again. There was a reason he should take offense to that. He might even remember it, in a moment. Where had his scotch gone? Ah. There was the cup, in front of him. Rupert tried and failed to close his hand around it. It was more to the right... or maybe it wasn't, and that was the problem.

Somehow, Lee was next to him, crouching down. And doing something to his head, that took the red smear off of his vision. Huh. And, of course, sent belated stabs of pain into his skull. He winced, and squirmed away like a man.

"Damn freak--!" He wisely snapped.

Rupert only seemed interested in being as annoying as possible, as if showing up in the middle of Tarin's plans for a romantic evening to kill him hadn't been enough. He was protesting Lee's help at every turn and Tarin really didn't want to deal with it anymore.

Lee asked him to wet the washrag and the way she said it and the tone she used encouraged Tarin to move quickly, just as she'd asked, then returned to give it back. Lee said thanks, and called him hon, and Tarin felt a little better as he made his way back to his chair.

It was unsettling, how good Lee was at administering this minor first aide. Tarin sat back down and tried to figure out how many times it was that Lee had done this very same thing for him. Rupert was reaching for the scotch and Tarin glowered at him, leaning forward to pick the glass up and drain half of it himself before setting it back down on the table.

Rupert called Lee a freak and Tarin resisted the urge to get up and hit him, again. Rubbing his temples Tarin sighed as he watched Lee, she really was quite good at what she was doing...dammit.

"Just hold still and stop whining for the love of god. I don't know what you expected going out and playing super hero in the middle of the night. At least she didn't want to just toss your ass out in the street like I did."

Tarin moved away after he handed her the wet cloth, that much Lee knew, but her eyes were on Rupert in front of her, on the gash in his forehead as she carefully wiped the blood away.

Carefully, but apparently not without pain, as Rupert shied away from her after a couple of moments, definitely a delayed reaction since she'd already been poking around. And called her a freak.

Lee switched hands with the cloth and placed her now free (and much cleaner) hand on Rupert's shoulder, pressing down slightly to try and get it through his mind to stop moving. But Tarin spoke before she had a chance, saying pretty much what she would have.

So instead Lee settled for a different tactic. "I could make this more painful, I'm sure," she told Rupert, her voice low. "And with how you're looking right now, I doubt I'd need any sort of power to keep you in that chair. So stop moving and let me work."

Giving Rupert's shoulder one last squeeze, Lee let go and started working on his cut again. Thankfully, it didn't look like there was any glass in the wound, just blood. That was good news, for both of them. She hadn't been looking forward to picking shards of glass out...

Finishing up with her initial cleaning of the cut, Lee took the towel from her shoulder, folded it up quickly, and pressed it against against Rupert's forehead before turning to look at Tarin. "Could you rinse this out for me?"