Looks like that is money she isn't seeing a return on. The tennis racket she's holding is put on the counter. "You could have called." it is something of a joke.
"Let me take care of that. You're going to need more than water for that." Bette shakes her head at him and herself and any number of other things right now.
At first he pulls back, newly gained reflexes, but soon reminds himself he's not there, safer, and lets her look his injury over.
"I wanted to do this the right way. But he insured I'd never see the outside world while we both lived. This was my only chance."
The words aren't just about his situation, it's also a subtle apology for throwing her efforts to reopen the case out the window, along with the several thousand dollars of her money spent.
He must be really jumpy as Bette hadn't even truly gotten close to him to look at his hand. That gets something of an arched brow, "I can't say one way or the other, Gar. I can't. I don't know."
"I know you can't. I just hope you still trust me, even after..." he pauses. "...better I don't say. Plausible deniability. But nothing lethal, just self-defense, I swear."
He looks away in thought for a moment, then back to her, letting go of the firearm.
"I may have changed to survive, but I'll be damned if he succeeds in making me prove his warped facts right."
This coaxes a small smile to the side of his lips. It relieves him that he's not guilty in the eyes of some.
"In a manner of speaking, but I won't say east, straight or west. Any place in that general direction is usually ignored or checked very little, unless they send "Big Blue" after me. And that's a lot of land and water to cover."
That might have been a joke with a tone of wishing against the reality.
"Hell, lie low for a few years, regardless of country, I might be able to emerge with a new identity, start saving innocents again."
It's wishful thinking, but everyone needs a dream to keep them going.
"If it works, I might even be able to reach out to the people I can trust back here."
His expression softens a little at that, at disappointing her efforts at helping him, but he knows what would have happened if he had remained in here much longer.
"You don't get feedbacks of what goes on do you?"
His shirt is raised slightly, revealing healed injuries that weren't there when he was still a Titan. It looks like the small ones on his face weren't the only ones.
"They always get me stitched up, but I always thought they never reported it officially. I'm pretty damn sure it's his way of telling me I should never have interfered. He either wanted me gone for good by my own doing to tie up yet another loose end, or keep it going until I snap and prove his warped lies about my motives right, damning me to that cage until death, by old age or public viewing. Either way, he wins."
The shirt lowers, eager to get past the last topic.
"Did they ever figure out a possible way out, a defence, anything?"
"There are a lot of ways to beat him. This isn't one of them but you can't exactly go back now, can you?" Bette rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "We'll do what we can where we can."
There was no sign of activity until a silhouette was visible in the kitchen, rummaging, apparently looking around the room.
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Bette has something in her hand behind her back as she approaches from the darker portion of the house. "You rea- Gar?"
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Thankfully his reflexes were still good.
He was scruffier now, stubble from his cheeks to his neck, hair a longer mess, a small scar or three adorning his face.
Slowly lowering the weapon, but not removing it, he sighed in weary annoyance.
"Jesus Bette, I thought you were outta town?"
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Bette looks at the gun for a moment before looking at Gar, "So. What were you planning here, exactly?"
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He's become more succinct than he used to be, and his voice has lost quite a bit of the warmth and humor he used to have.
All with good reason.
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Looks like that is money she isn't seeing a return on. The tennis racket she's holding is put on the counter. "You could have called." it is something of a joke.
Sort of.
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"I couldn't stay in one spot of too long. You know how easily I'm seen without my skin covered." he says, nodding to the gloves on her table.
One had a slight slash into the backhand side of the leather, the same hand he'd been running under the tap since she saw him.
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"I wanted to do this the right way. But he insured I'd never see the outside world while we both lived. This was my only chance."
The words aren't just about his situation, it's also a subtle apology for throwing her efforts to reopen the case out the window, along with the several thousand dollars of her money spent.
Reply
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"I know you can't. I just hope you still trust me, even after..." he pauses. "...better I don't say. Plausible deniability. But nothing lethal, just self-defense, I swear."
He looks away in thought for a moment, then back to her, letting go of the firearm.
"I may have changed to survive, but I'll be damned if he succeeds in making me prove his warped facts right."
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Bette shakes her head a bit. "You've changed but I don't think you've completely lost what makes you, you. I'm assuming you're headed south."
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"In a manner of speaking, but I won't say east, straight or west. Any place in that general direction is usually ignored or checked very little, unless they send "Big Blue" after me. And that's a lot of land and water to cover."
That might have been a joke with a tone of wishing against the reality.
"Hell, lie low for a few years, regardless of country, I might be able to emerge with a new identity, start saving innocents again."
It's wishful thinking, but everyone needs a dream to keep them going.
"If it works, I might even be able to reach out to the people I can trust back here."
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Bette shakes her head as she finishes up dealing with his hand. "I don't know, Gar. I had lawyers working on it but now that seems really pointless."
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"You don't get feedbacks of what goes on do you?"
His shirt is raised slightly, revealing healed injuries that weren't there when he was still a Titan. It looks like the small ones on his face weren't the only ones.
"They always get me stitched up, but I always thought they never reported it officially. I'm pretty damn sure it's his way of telling me I should never have interfered. He either wanted me gone for good by my own doing to tie up yet another loose end, or keep it going until I snap and prove his warped lies about my motives right, damning me to that cage until death, by old age or public viewing. Either way, he wins."
The shirt lowers, eager to get past the last topic.
"Did they ever figure out a possible way out, a defence, anything?"
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