Apartment Complex - Fairfax County, Virginia

A standard six story structure that sets on a three story underground garage. The apartments range from single person living spaces to four bedroom suites, the latter being on the top two floors. There is a front desk and two guards, and two rows of elevators. It is designed to be private and semi-secure, and every apartment has been furnished with modern appliances and fixtures.

She hoped he didn’t mind a jog up six stories worth of stairs, but then again, she didn’t really care. He wanted food, and this is how he was going to get it. The blonde takes off up the stairs, keeping an even pace, not worrying if he could keep up; she highly doubted this would be an issue for him.

It didn’t take long at her pace for them to reach another door, this one showing the interior of a long white hallway. Shoving it open, she waits for him to exit before wandering down the hallway a bit, it’s white and pale grey accents contrasting greatly with the green stairway from before. She stops at a black door where the hall terminated and slides in a different key. With a turn of the knob, she opens the door up and turns the lights on in a room that was both modern and sleek, yet held some sort of warmth that should be missing in a place as clean-lined and sterile as this one.

Setting her helmet on a small table near the door, she steps inside and doesn’t wait for him to enter before heading within.

The sight that greets him is one of open space and simple design. The walls were deep grey, offset in places with white trim or black accents. To his left, there was an open-air living space, the couch and side chairs of overstuffed black leather, the coffee table steel and glass. An entire wall is nothing but glass, a single window that was floor to ceiling, giving a fantastic view of the city around them. Along the actual solid white wall in the room there was a large television set and a rather impressive stereo system, the only decoration to be seen.

Aside from the small vase of calla lilies sitting offset on the coffee table.

It was an odd touch of something personal in an otherwise impartial room, and it spoke volumes about this woman.

To his right was a large kitchen of stainless steel and black counter-tops, the cabinets white while the back-splash was deep grey. The gas range was larger than just the standard “apartment” style stove, and the refrigerator opened up down the center. No pictures could been seen on any wall, no memos or reminder notes stuck on the fridge doors, no shopping lists or mail on the smooth counters. The place was devoid of personal mementos, unless one knew where to look.

A red coffee mug near the sink from earlier that morning.

A deep blue mixer stand in the corner of the counter.

Two dark orange bar stools set under the kitchen island.

Further off from the kitchen there was a hallway, but nothing could be seen any further than the light from the kitchen would reveal, though the bright, oddly warm light of both the living area and the kitchen was enough to see quite well.

Climbing the stairs was easy, just enough work to get the blood really pumping in his legs. Sliding in behind Eleanor, he shuts the door to her apartment behind him. Panning his gaze across the visible area, he noticed a serious lack of personality. It was a nice apartment, stylish in all honesty, but it was no different from a template shown to prospective buyers. In military specialities, there were certain personality quirks that almost inevitably came through due to the job itself. For example, there's the sniper that slowly becomes more machine than person, an understandable side effect of effectively playing god with the lives of those in their scope. For spies, it was a bit different. Shifting personalities and identities so often took it's toll. For many, the original identity of the spy faded from memory or was cast aside to allow room for the forgeries required by the job.

Sweeping his eyes over the apartment again, Cole focused in on what wouldn't normally be seen in a template. There, sudden color changes against the grey and black theme. Red, blue, orange and finally the flowers. Anchor points, reminders of who she really was when she wasn't impersonating some airheaded heiress on foreign soil. But who exactly were those trinkets reminding the contortionist of? Time to pry a little.

Striding further into the apartment, he unzipped his windbreaker and tossed it onto one of the chairs to make himself at home. He played the role of the impressed guest, glancing out the impressive window view and eyeing up the television. Passing the coffee table, he snatches the vase full of lilies with one hand and gives them a careful examination. He was no florist, didn't need to be. He was far more concerned with the reactions of the woman of the house. Rounding his way back to the kitchen, he slid out one of the orange stools and sat down on it, placing the lilies on the island and carefully nudging one of the petals. "Nice place."

Sh ambles over to the island and grabs a stool, sitting and unsnapping one boot at the same time. She didn't have to watch him to know he was studying her through her apartment; it wasn't difficult, should one be even a little observant. And he seemed to have observant in spades. Uncrossing and then crossing her legs again she focuses on the other boot while he picks up the vase on the coffee table.

She doesn't make a scene, or ask him to put them back; instead, she tosses both boots over to her couch before unzipping her jacket, giving it the same treatment as the boots, only this time the pink leather ended up on the seat, not the floor.

Hopping off the stool just as he takes the seat next to it, she rounds the island and begins to unlace the top of her biker leathers, peeling them down slightly as he comments on her apartment. With a half smile, she leans down, elbows on the black granite surface, and eyes the flowers.

"Thank you."

She turns her bright green eyes back to him, placing her chin in one of her upturned hands.

"Two things: one, they were my mother's favourite flower and they were at her funeral, which I didn't go to, by the way."

She sits upright then, hands flat on the island top. "Two: if you want to know something, ask. This doesn't have to be all round-about and secretive, you know." The woman pulls an exasperated face. "And I know that just takes all the fun out of things."

The blonde turns then, a half-grin on her lips, and opens the refrigerator doors, standing arms wide as she surveyed the contents.

"Hmm...I've got an open red wine and beer. Take your pick."

Showing his palms in defeat, Brandon didn't even bother with the roundabout interrogation following her open admittance regarding the flowers. He realized just how difficult it was for him to turn that observational eye of his off when it wasn't really needed. "We both know you were asking for it with this set up," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and rotating in his stool to follow her movement through the kitchen. He wasn't exactly a fan of either option but a drink was better than nothing. "Beer it is," the archer exclaimed, leaning back against the kitchen's island. Crossing one leg over the other, Cole slowly rolled his shoulder to ease out a cramp as his stomach rumbled lightly. That promise of food was sounding pretty good right about now.

Snagging a beer, she slides it across the bar to him, opening the drawer under the island to grab him a key. Upon seeing his face, she smirks and points to a cabinet next to the refrigerator. "Scotch, bourbon on the second shelf. Glasses next to it."

Turning back to the task at hand, she rustles about for a moment before tossing out a few potatoes, a packet of what looked like freshly cut steaks, and asparagus. Closing the doors, she looks everything over for a moment and sets about picking up a cutting board, a couple of pans and a baking sheet.

The cutting board and a well-kept knife are placed on the island, and the pans are set on the stove. A sieve is set in the sink, and she dumps the bag of asparagus into the incredibly clean second half of the sink. Turning back to the bag of potatoes, she carries them over to the sink as well, dumping them into the colander and turning on the water. Her back to him, she waits for him to ask something else; it seemed in his nature to want to know things.

Amusement tugged at the corners of his lips to reveal a slight smile at the mention of stronger alcohol. It would need to wait until later though, he'd already popped open the can of beer he'd originally been given and he wasn't about to waste it while a guest in someone else's home. Taking a long sip, he silently watched Eleanor go about her preparations. She hadn't been kidding about recently shopping. This was going to be quite the spread...for the main course at least. Not having spotted any sign of desert yet, he decided to take matters into his own hand there.

He'd spied the location of her pots and pans as she gathered up her ingredients so upon rising to his feet, he opened one of the pantry doors and snatched a rectangular tuperware before heading to the fridge to retrieve some honey and lemons. Sitting back down at the island, he left the main course entirely to her. Using her knife, he made himself useful by slicing the lemons thinly and depositing them into the tupperware while tossing aside the ends. "You're awfully open for a spy. Any particular reason? And don't tell me I just have a trust worthy face," he added, finishing up the last of his slicing to pour out a generous portion of honey over the neatly arranged slices in the container. Fixing the container's top on firmly, he placed it in the fridge so that the honey would properly soak in over the course of dinner. It was an incredibly easy dish, one of his go to snacks to recharge after an intense workout, but it didn't taste half bad if he didn't say so himself and Eleanor had herself some decent lemons to begin with. Grabbing a hand towel, he wiped down the blade and leaved against the fridge to watch her work.

Scrubbing down the potatoes, she hears him moving around behind her, rummaging through the cabinets, and the refrigerator. Not particularly worried by his actions, she finishes up the potatoes. shaking them free of most water before returning to the island, snaring a white towel as it hung from a ring next to the sink as she goes, just as he finishes up and returns whatever he had made to the fridge.

Tossing the towel over her shoulder, she sets out the potatoes and beginning to cube them with deft moves, placing the chunks on the baking pan. She shrugs at his comment, cutting into he last potato as she responds.

"But you do have a trustworthy face." The blonde tosses a quick smile at him as she slides the remaining potato off the broad blade, setting down the knife and spreading out the cubes as she continues.

"I don't need to keep a cover here. I'm not on the other side of the world, trying to stop some arms deal or silence an enemy of the state" That last bit certainly held a little something to it, but the meaning was slightly vague; maybe she thought she was killing innocent people, maybe she didn;'t think the threat rated high enough. Regardless, there was no disgust when she said it, just a slight emphasis on the words that gave them a bit more weight that the rest.

"And truthfully, it's hard doing what us "spies" do." She wiggles her fingers in his direction. "And never let any spy tell you differently. It gets to all of us in the end."

She grabs a pepper grinder and salt, seasoning the potatoes before sliding the entire baking pan into the oven she'd set just a few moments before; thank God for convection ovens. Wiping her hands on the towel across her shoulders, She goes to opening the packet of steak, waiting for his next question.

Pushing off the fridge, he ignored the emphasis in her response. He knew she'd done prison time, not idea what for, and that wold easily be enough to have someone like herself second guessing orders and the motivations behind them. Good policy really. She wouldn't be much of an intelligence agent if she didn't have the intelligence to ask questions now would she? Picking up his beer back at the island, he swished it back and forth in the can before taking a long drink from it until he'd put down nearly half of it. Lowering himself onto the stool he peered down the can for a moment and finally set it down on the island once more. "I'd imagine the switch to monsters and boogymen was refreshing for you then. Refresh my memory, were you one of the survival cases or did they bring you in without prior experience?" he asked rather bluntly. He could remember from his brief review of her file whether or not Harkness had encountered vampires prior to learning of VWAT. Some might have scolded his straightforward approach to the question, citing potential trauma tied up in it. Personally, Cole didn't really give a damn. If the woman had hangups she'd tell him but he'd always maintained that words alone could never really hurt someone.

Ah. There it was. That question. Opening the pack of steak, she peals out two and wraps the others back in their brown butcher paper, immediately returning them to the refrigerator. Turning back to the matter at hand, she wipes her hands on the towel before picking up the pepper grinder again.

"That answer is actually complicatedly simple."

She twists the pepper grinder over both steaks, then takes up the salt to do the same. "My team and I had a run in with what we thought was either a bio-terrorist attack or a disturbing new torture method." She said the latter - torture method - as if that hadn't been anything to phase her at all. Pivoting around, she turns on the eye under one of the pans and pours a decent amount of olive oil in the bottom.

"Turns out, they were "ghouls", and the one other thing with them was a vampire. Needless to say, they weren't anything we'd seen before."

Facing him again, she picks up both steaks, but hesitates a moment.

"We neutralized them on my order. But there were still living humans in the room, too. They were either food, or new additions to the force; speculation is someone else's job. The woman's face is serenely calm. "I gave the kill order for those as well."

The blonde shrugs slightly, as if to say "what can you do?" before turning and placing the steaks in the hot pan, the sizzle of them searing filling the space, as well as the smell of fresh, well-seasoned meat. "So I suppose you can say I have previous experience"

Nodding along with the story, Brandon kept his attention on the woman even as his eyelids began to grow heavy. Another case regarding a run in with a vampire that Steeler must have stumbled across during his desperate search for soldiers. Not that he couldn't try and sympathize a bit, but he'd just heard so many takes on the same story by now. Yawning audibly, he gave another nod in reply to her carefree shrug regarding the kill order. His eyes now lightly closed, his head was being supported by his palm, elbow propped against the island's counter top. "Couldn't really be helped," he paused just long enough to yawn again. "They got themselves caught up in it, they knew the risks. Not a big deal," he concluded using the wonders of emotionally detached professionalism and a dash of arrogance.

At least her read on his hadn't been false; detached, arrogant, and a bit of an ass. She could work with that. Not turning to look at him as he responded, she flips the steaks and tries to hide a smirk.

"You fall asleep now and you'll miss all the fun that happens later."

Leaving the steaks for a bit, she returns to the sink and dumps the asparagus into the same colander as before, rinsing them and shaking them to dry before hauling them over to a second pan, already oiled and on a medium heat. Tossing them in, she stirs them around for a moment to keep them from flash cooking, then meanders around the kitchen, pulling out two white plates and setting them on the island top.

The pleasant smells filling the kitchen were a partial deterrent but overall did little to hold off the steady advance of sleep. Folding in his arm, Brandon braced his cheek against his forearm and licked his lips. Something was missing...ah yes. Reaching across the island with his free hand, he grabbed hold of his beer and took another sip without opening his eyes. "8 out of ten people would ask you what the 'fun' is," the archer said, eyes still closed but rubbing the bridge of his nose to try and alleviate the weight of his eyelids. "But if I ask you're just going to give me a run around without any real answers," he concluded with a sigh. Patting the counter top with his palm, he straightened up to a proper sitting position and stretched his back again, eyes finally opening. "So I'll settle with sitting here and enjoying the show until the food is ready."

Shrugging, she slings the towel off her shoulder and opens the oven, sliding out the tray with cut potatoes on it, settling the hot metal on the bare surface of the island top. Closing the oven with her foot, she goes back the the asparagus and steak, picking up a plate and dishing out one half of the meal before placing the plate back on the island; she repeats the process before turning all of the eyes off, and setting the second plate down as well.

The blonde pulls out silverware and places a steak knife and fork on each plate, then retrieves a spatula for the potatoes. Piling up a little mound of them on her plate, she offers him the spatula to do the same before sliding her plate over the counter to sit in front of the bar stool next to him.

"Food is ready."

Her emerald eyes smile at him as she turns back to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer of her own and popping it open. Taking the only available seat, she takes a sip of beer and waits for him to gather his own meal.

Her sudden change in movements alerted him to the completion of their meal well before her words did. Appearances to the contrary, the half-sleeping archer wasn't quite as oblivious as he let on. Accepting the spatula, he served himself the remaining potatoes along with the vegetables and steak before depositing it in the empty pan to palm his knife and fork. On reflex more than anything, he gave the knife a little twirl to grow used to its heft before digging into the steak and potatoes. Chewing his way through the first mouthful at the drop of a hat, he washed it down with a swig of beer and sighed contently. "Not bad at all, Eleanor. Certainly beats the stuff they serve on base," he exclaimed, dicing himself a few more bites of meat to go with his vegetables.

Cutting a few bites of her own meal, she watches him from the corner of her eye, an instinctual thing when it comes to anyone holding a knife around her. Even in her own house. Swalloing a bit just as he comments, she sighs slightly dramatically.

I do try my best.

Taking another bite, she thinks for a moment - and knowing full well he knows something is coming - and follows up her mouthful with a sip of beer.

"What is your favourite colour?"

A complete non sequitur, but hell, what else were they going to talk about? His feelings? Her emotional attachment to her flower arrangements?

Setting down the knife, he speared a few cubes of meat on his fork and bit down. He'd all but finished his vegetables and the steak wasn't far behind. Chowing down on another mouthful of potatoes, he washed his mouth out with the last of his beer and gave her an answer. "Dark blue. When did you lose your virginity?" he asked, sending the ball back to her end of the court. If she wanted to toss around odd ball questions to pass time during dinner he was only to happy to comply. Squeezing the empty can in his left hand, he flattened it into a thick aluminum disk and set it down alongside his plate. The joys of strong hands. Out of beer for the moment, he finished off the last of the vegetables.

Finished with her veggies, she moved on to the rest of her steak when the reply and subsequent question is hurled her way.

"Seventeen."

She cuts up a section of steak. "Do you prefer brunettes or redheads?"

The "spy" takes the bite off her fork and waves the empty utensil at him. "Natural, not dyed." She spears a cube or two of potato as a follow up.

Rising from the island, he headed to the cabinet where the hard alcohol was stored, grabbing two glasses and some bourbon. The assassin returned to his stool and poured himself a glass, swirling the amber liquid around in the glass a bit before sniffing it. He was in the middle of his first sip when she asked her next question. He placed the glass back down and considered the best way to explain his position.

"Redheads are hit or miss. Incredibly attractive, or a walking symbol for why red means stop," Cole replied, snatching up one of his few remaining pieces of steak. "Brunettes have a better average because of that. Men or women?" he asked next. He hadn't actually gotten any indicator of her preferences so far. Her forwardness didn't mean shit. He'd known plenty of people on both ends of the spectrum who had that same mentality. He was no homophobe, he just didn't like having to assume such things only to have them awkwardly bite him later on. Surprised, contrary to popular belief, were not fun.

She watches him get up, but she doesn't need to ask where he was going. Turning back to her steak, she finishes off the last bite, forking one of the few remaining potatoes as he returns. When he answers, she swallows and takes the last swig of beer, wishing now she'd gone for the wine. Thank God he didn't say "blondes".Setting down her fork - not able to completely finish (God why had she made such a large dinner?) - she slides the empty glass towards her as she responds.

"Depends. Both can be needy. I have a better track record with men, but women tend to be more entertaining."

The blonde pours herself a glass, asking her next question over the settling of the bottle back on the counter.

"Bed or shower?"

Another stab, another bite, and that was that. He'd finished the plate and felt the satisfying sensation of utter fullness. He took a long sip of his bourbon to cleanse his mouth and refreshed his now empty glass. "Shower is a good change of pace but water doesn't help things slide as well as most people think," he made a pointless gesture with his fork before tossing it down on the plate and shrugging. "Done right, it's great. But it's almost never done right. Republican or Democrat?" it was a sudden shift in topics. Not really thrown in to unbalance her in any way. It was simply the first thing that had popped into his head so he went with it.

The blonde took a small sip of the bourbon, feeling the warmth of it slide down her throat. Crossing her legs, she leans on the bar with one elbow after sliding her plate back. She swirls the glass a bit before answering.

"Neither and both. I don't tend to stick to parties. Though Republicans were good for business."

Her glass is brought to her lips before she asks her next question.

"Boxers or briefs?"

He brought the glass to his lips and drained another glass, enjoying the burn on the way down. His family had been heavily conservative. As for himself, he'd never had any interest in voting. Besides, political debates were asinine. Though he wouldn't really consider himself a lightweight, the rate at which he was going through the drinks was going to become a factor soon enough. He pushed back from the island and headed to the fridge where he'd left the lemons to soak. Bringing the tupperwear back to where Harkness was sitting, he opened the container and fished out the first slice of lemon as he sat back down.

"Non-mission I prefer boxers. More breathing room. During missions I go compression shorts with a cup. Better safe than sorry," the archer stated. Without warning or explanation, he brought up the slice of lemon held between his thumb and index finger and held it in front of Eleanor's mouth. "Try it. They should have had enough time to soak through."

Nursing her own glass, she watches him head to the refrigerator with a small, personal smile on her lips; he was an ass, true, and usually emotionally detached, but she could work with that. If it came time to pair with someone, she would hope to have him backing her up. For everything that he was, he was a professional, and that was always key to her.

Everything else was just amusement or pain waiting to happen.

When he returns, she almost stands to take their plates to the sink when a honey-soaked lemon was thrust in her face. Eyeing him for a moment, she leans forward and takes the fruit between her lips, catching it with her teeth for when he let go, her fingers already cupping beneath it. It was a wonderful contrast in flavour, and unable to help herself, she closes her eyes and smiles, even through the mess they were making.

He waited until her teeth closed in on the lemon and the subtle tickle of her breath moved over his fingertips to release the lemon. He returned her smile with a small grin of his own and licked his fingertips before reaching in to grab another. Biting down on it, the quick burst of sugar was just the rush he needed, quickly chasing it with another sip of bourbon. "Figured you'd like these. Have another," he said, holding out another between his index and middle finger. His eyes didn't fall on her, rather they closed for a moment as he took another gulp of his drink. Vaguely, he could fee a slight flush on the back of his neck. Strong bourbon and he was knocking them back like sodas. His rational mind said that it would not end well, his current mindset didn't give a damn as he waited for Eleanor to deal with the lemon slice before honey dripped all over her counter top.

Her fingers reached up to take the slice from him as she sucked the last bit of honey off the sour fruit. Licking her lips, she opens her eyes to find him smiling back at her.

It looked good on him.

Cleaning off her fingers, she places the spent slice on her plate, surprised slightly when he holds out another. He was also drinking again. Something told her this wasn't like him, wasn't something he did often, and she liked the look of uncaring on him.

Taking the honey-coated lemon from him again, she allows her fingers to brush against his as she keeps the piece from dripping over her chin. This wasn't her plan for the night, but if her life as a lady of espionage had taught her anything, it was that plans were mutable. But she was still wary for those things that would jeopardize a potential working relationship; so far, he was the best match to her personality, but then again, that's what was causing this problem. She was herself: calm, self-assured, and trying to err on the side of "less mess". But she was also curious by nature.

This curiosity meant the night could end a hundred ways, but most of them didn't seem to steer clear of "less mess".

She grabbed the offered slice quickly enough, preventing a massive mess from spilling out over her kitchen. Setting his drink to the side for now, he snatched another slice of lemon and devoured the caramelized fruit. He'd grown used to the unique taste a long time ago. "Used to go through whole boxes of these things on my own back in school. Surprised I have any taste buds left." Leaning back in his chair, he quickly sucked off any sticky residue from the tips of his fingers and crossed his arms over his chest. Turning at the neck, he looked over at the spy and raised a brow. "Next question," Brandon exclaimed, encouraging her to take the lead of the conversation back. Alcohol in his system or not, he wasn't the best conversationalist around so simply responding to her prompts would alleviate at least a small burden.

Finishing the slice, she places it with the other on her plate, licking her lips and fingers clean. He was backing off now, a good thing, she supposed. And he had slid the alcohol away.

Smiling at him, she takes both their plates and moved to the sink, dumping both in without scraping them first; she would deal with that in the morning. "Technically, it is your turn."

She pivots back around to hop back on the bar stool, stealing another slice of lemon from the bowl. She thinks for a moment before responding.

"Is basketball your favorite sport?"

A silent shrug was his only response to her pointing out it was his turn. As she takes their plates to the sink, he took another small sip of his drink before returning it to its previous resting place. That would be enough for now. Watching her slightly more energetic body language, he could only conclude that the sugary snack was the cause. That was their purpose anyway, a quick recharge at a moment's notice. Fully rotating in his stool to face her square on, the archer leaned forward to substantially shorted the distance between them. Elbow braced against the counter top at roughly the spot her plate had just been, Cole set his cheek in the palm of his hand. Dark blue eyes addressed her without a hint of wavering, his face equally stoic. Without looking away, he reached into the container and grabbed another lemon, biting a chunk out of it and swallowing, his eyes locked on hers. "Absolutely. Where is this night going?" he'd asked it with a practiced level of levity which didn't fit the question in the slightest. This time, he was trying to slip in a trick, hiding the question with his tone and the lack of hesitation in asking it to try and prompt a knee jerk response free from any safeguards or verbal spars. He had long since abandoned any theories on the answer. Now it was just a matter of satisfying his own curiosity as to what she thought.

He was closing the distance between them, forcing her to either move away or face him head on. It wasn't a surprise that she stood her ground, mimicking his actions though not leaning any closer. His eyes were on her, and she was surprised yet again to see so very little there; people are so easy to read, so simple to her. She knows a lie, she knows dear, she knows desire, but on him...for him, discerning what he felt or thought was a challenge, one she was enjoying immensely.

But she did know he was trying to throw her, to get her respond instinctually.

Reaching out, she wipes away a small line of honey from his lower lip, licking it off her finger as she replies.

"That depends on where you decide to sleep tonight."

Her eyes keep his.

"Did you ever own a dog?"

He didn't flinch as she reached out to make contact, he didn't even break eye contact. However, as she brought her finger back to her own mouth he did allow a smirk. That tongue of hers was a damn saber. Finally looking away, he didn't pursue her response any further. That would come soon enough. For now, a bit more bourbon. He reached for his glass and took another drink, leaving another sip or two for later. "When I was in high school. A German Shepard named Ringo," With his hand no longer supporting his head, it was free to move well within her territory once more. Keeping his elbow where it had been, he bent his arm inward towards her until his index finger made contact with her chest. "Pet peeves?"

This was becoming both dangerous and amusing, with a hint of a challenge in the mix. The dog thing didn't surprise her - he seemed the type - but the move to touch he cause an eyebrow to raise almost imperceptibly. Reaching foe her own glass she looks away for a moment to take a sip of her drink, settling it back on the counter as she responds.

"Men who don't know what they want."

She half-grins at him.

"And people who talk in movie theaters."

She does nothing about his finger, choosing to let him decide what he wanted to do next.

"Favorite dessert."

And not she was returning fire. Interesting. They could keep this up all night, going back and forth playing around with veiled questions and teasing advances. Not all that different from a sniper duel it could become a waiting game, sitting patiently for the other to make a move and then pounce. Brandon hated sniper duels. Eventually, there came a time when sitting and waiting didn't cut it and you had to call the other shooter's bluff, putting their skills to the test on the belief that you could beat them regardless. The index finger prodding against her chest curled inward, joined by the thumb and middle finger to grab hold of her shirt. She wouldn't retreat, but she wasn't advancing either. So he'd just bring her in himself. Pulling at the spy's shirt, he drew in in close until the distance between them was just a few inches. "Honey. Soaked. Lemons."

He was liking this game, but now he wanted to move it forward. He was patient it seemed, but not that patient. She allowed him to pull her closer, not resisting. A hundred scenarios were running through her head: stop, go, tell him no, tell him yes, kick him out, say he can stay, say he can stay on the couch, play a little longer, see where this goes, don't see where this goes because it will most likely end badly. What if it didn't end badly? What if it didn't end? Would this be something they could keep up?

God knows she was [i]not[i] looking for romance.

Thankfully, that wasn't what this was.

She leans forward until her lips are almost touching his, where his breath was felt on her skin, and she licks her own lips rather slowly, still tasting the honey and wondering if he would taste the same.

"You didn't. Ask. Me. A question."

He'd asked her the question of where this was going tonight but perhaps he should have asked himself the very same question. What was he even doing here? He wasn't a romantic but he wasn't some college horn dog. Had sex really been what led him here? Whatever it was, it was out of his normal routine, an exception he couldn't quite explain. She leaned in closer, damn tease. He could faintly smell the alcohol on her breath. Too wrapped up in his own introspective, he didn't really turn his observing eye on her own motivations. Did they matter at this point? Say it went further, would it be a liability on assignment? No, there was no guarantee they'd be working together and even if they did, she wasn't precious loved one. She wasn't even a girlfriend. She was just some woman who'd caught his eye tonight and managed to impress him a bit. Nothing more. Then again, that would be enough for the moment. Not answering her verbally, he brought up his free hand and gripped the back of her neck, pulling her into a kiss. The taste of lemons and honey was still on her lips. Not bad.

She saw the doubt in him, saw it flash on his face and she was relieved; he had an issue with this too, but the moment their lips met, she knew he had made a decision. They wouldn't be lovers. They wouldn't be a couple. They were two people who were slightly inebriated and wanted something to do. Which at the moment, was each other.

The blonde slides off the stool and stands between his legs, one hand wrapping around the back of his head, the other sliding down his chest, tugging slightly at his shirt.

Suddenly, she breaks away, her lips brushing over his while she speaks. "Make sure I mean nothing to you."

As the spy rose from her seat, Brandon wrapped his free arm around her lower back to pull her in deeper. Upon her breaking the kiss, a trace of wry amusement appeared on his face. She was treating these concerns with far more gravity than he was. Exerting a bit of force around her waist, the archer tightened his hold. "That's all anyone is to me," Cole said, meaning every word of it without a hint of shame. Not interested in further discussion, he cut off any witty retort with another kiss.

So that was that then. She molded herself to him as he pulled her closer, returning the kiss for a moment before tugging him off the bar stool, not breaking the kiss until it had to be. She lead him down the darker hallway, knowing he would follow.

The last door was opened up into a large bedroom styled much like the rest of the apartment; greys and blacks and whites filled the room, which was dominated by a king bed fitted with deep grey and black blankets.

There are blackout curtains over an entire wall, which one could assume to be a full bank of windows, or perhaps a single large one, the same as the living room. A light was on in the bathroom, providing the only illumination in the room.

She waits until he is just inside the room before kissing him again, this time with more force, all reservation gone and the hint of a much needed release pulling her farther into the moment.

OOC: I believe we've reached the 'fade to black' moment.

OOC: Agreed. Lots of stuff happens, probably takes a couple of hours. I'm sure lots of fun was had by all. And done.

-Several Hours Later-

Slowly, his eyes opened and he looked across the room. In the back of his mind was a faint ache of a hangover. Sitting up in bed, the archer closed his eyes again and pressed his palm against his forehead, willing the pain away. Inhaling deeply, he pushed back so that he was leaned against the headboard of the bed. The archer rubbed the bridge of his nose and examined his surroundings again, eventually settling on the woman sharing the bed with him. Right, that had been a thing. Oh well, no matter. Certainly wouldn't be the first one night stand he'd ever had. Leaning his head back, he attempted to go through the list of things he needed to get through today but found himself continuously distracted by the bare skin of the sleeping woman alongside him. Frowning he reached down and pulled the bed sheet up over her shoulder.

She felt him wake, felt him stirring, but didn't particularly feel like waking fully at the moment. She was pleasantly sore in all the right places, and she'd found a very comfortable position to sleep in. They'd done a thing, one they couldn't take back, and she was fine with that. She'd had fun, the night had mostly passed and she wasn't bored or thinking about her next mission - her normal night - and it had appeared as though he had a bit of entertainment as well.

It seemed he was not one to simply rest however. He was awake, thinking; she could almost feel his brain working, but something was distracting him. The way he breathed, the shifting of his weight; she almost rolled to face him when she felt the sheet slide up over her skin, covering her shoulder. It...surprised her slightly. She would have thought him less interested in her now, perhaps ready to just pop on out of bed, but he was still sitting there, covering her. She kept her eyes closed, kept her breathing even, but she knew he would know she'd been woken by the move.

How long did she intend to simply sit there pretending to be asleep? He'd called enough targets on similar bluffs to know possums when he saw one. Though to be fair, she was a talented actor. Her demeanor was spot on, no telltale twitches. Not at first anyway. Her breathing had been the first giveaway to her awakened state but the bed sheet had really done her in. That slight alteration in her body when he pulled the sheet over her, that wasn't the reaction of an unconscious body, that was honest surprise. Evidently he'd acted outside of whatever role she'd started to typecast him into. That knowledge brought a smile to his face, that he didn't quite know the source of. Was it simply the sense of "victory"? Perhaps. Then again, the sight of her short hair splayed out in a wild mess of cowlicks and general bedhead might have contributed a little.

"You're not fooling anyone, Eleanor. Plan on lying there all day?"

Well, bluff called. Smiling to herself, she stretches for a moment, rolling onto her back as she flexed every muscle in her body before huffing, letting her arms fall above her head. She hadn't kept up with the sheet, not caring that it was now all askew again, instead focusing on a spot on the ceiling, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yes."

She grinned slightly, her words coming out with firm declaration of "Of course I plan on it. Don't be silly." Rolling her green eyes to him, she raises an eyebrow.

"Why? You expecting me to make breakfast too?"

Awfully lighthearted for a trained assassin. Then again he supposed that she'd need to be to keep her sanity through all the crap that she had to put up with. All they ever asked him to do was go in and kill the targets. She had to get to know them, understand and socialize them...then slit their throats in the middle of the night. Sliding his right leg back to rest his arm draped over his knee, the archer looked her over and smirked. She's a damn cat, he thought to himself before running his free hand through his hair. He didn't feel any ridiculous cowlicks, that was something. While her body language had caused him some amusement, Cole put on a deadpan expression when he finally responded to her question.

"You were certainly eager to please last night. Would breakfast in bed really be such a hassle?"

He was certainly different from her previous bedmates. She'd shared a few moments with princes and arms dealers, and only a time or two with men as skilled as he was. Other "dangerous" men she'd been with were dangerous because of the power they held, because backup was always in the next room. But he was dangerous in his own right, capable of a kill without needing help. But he wasn't as...broken down as other's she'd seen. He wasn't brooding. He was...dry, witty, uncaring. Interesting.

Smirking at him, she sits up, stretching her arms over her head fully, back arching as her neck relaxes and her head falls back.

"Not if we can have that much fun in the kitchen."

That line got her a chuckle.  The fact that he had just woken up probably made him a bit more accessible but even then the girl's wit resonated well with his own marginal sense of humor.  There was a certain levity to her.  She laughed easily, smiled readily.  Her brightness was refreshing compared to the grim faced professionals he was surrounded by, not to mention his own reflection.  Without any initial explanation, he reached across the bed with his uninhibited left arm and pulled her towards him, draping his limb over her shoulders.  He used a sidelong glance to make eye contact for a moment before turning his gaze to the nearest clock to check the time.  "Don't get the wrong idea.  It's cold in here without a shirt and you're convenient," he said matter-of-factly. "There's already a mess in there from dinner. Based on last night, by the time we'd finish your whole living room would be upside down."

He caught her by surprise again - difficult to do for just about anyone, impossible for most - by pulling her to him. She caught his eyes as they cut to her, and it intrigued her just how quickly they looked away. Snaking her arm around his waist as he speaks, her lips form a smile before they press to his chest.

"I suppose so."

She sighs against his skin.

"But then again, I do love wearing aprons."

The spy smirks and kisses his chest again.

His arm hung limply around her shoulders as she kissed him the first time. The sensation of her breath on his bare chest was...pleasant, but he had no intention of letting it go any further. She might have forgotten about their agreement to eliminate all attachments but he certainly hadn't. However, that didn't stop him from smirking at the image she'd placed in his mind. Just because he had yet to find any point in investing himself in her didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the carnal aspects a little. "You'll need to model that for me later then,"Turning her head a bit, he kissed her ruffled mess of hair and slide his legs over the side of the bed, rising to his full height with a stretch. Feeling the satisfying click of all his joints popping into their proper place, he knelt down and retrieved his discarded pair of boxer shorts and slipped them on before falling back onto the bed with his hands folded behind his head. Unconcerned as to whether or not he'd uncomfortably pinned the woman underneath him, he studied the ceiling with mild interest. "Comfortable bed," he observed with a light yawn.

It was funny to her that he would dance away from something that seemed "intimate"; she wanted to kiss him, so she did. Nothing to be read into it. His body language, the small signs on his face were telling to someone like her, and not for the first time, she wished she hadn't taken up this skill with such gusto.

It got in the way, made things less entertaining.

But he was still entertaining, in his own way; his uncaring made him more difficult to read than others.

When he stands, she ides off the other side of the bed, meandering to a nearby dresser. Puling open a drawer, she hunts for a moment before pulling out a pair of white underwear. She had no need to impress, no need to try and make him feel any sort of desire for her; they'd already had sex. She was pretty certain if it happened again, it wouldn't be because of the colour of her underwear.

Moving to a free-standing wardrobe, she pulls open a drawer to the side, hauling out a thin grey sweater with a cut-out collar. When she slips it on over her head, it is apparent that the thing is a couple sizes too big, and the cut out neckline immediately shifts off to one side.

When he flops back onto the bed, she half-grins before joining him, sprawling out next to the assassin, one leg bent at the knee, a hand beneath her head.

"Better than the floor."

She shrugs.

"So is this where we try to make idle chit-chat? If so, I have to tell you, I am horrible at it."

The spy allows a grin to sneak past her flat facade, and she tries not to look his direction for fear that she might laugh.