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What are you stuck on?

Clint only hummed. Quietly pouring over a road map. Since Richie had felt the need to throw his phone out of the window on the interstate when it EVIDENTLY started giving away their position to "THEM".

How things fit together. All of...

[He gestures vaguely, somewhere around his temple. He's got a notebook open in his lap, but once he puts together that he's being talked to he hastily closes it.]

Everything.

Of course it was giving away their position; you can disable the GPS, sure, but there are people who can turn it back on. And he's wanted.

But right now? He's staring at the notebook in his lap, end of his pencil stuck in his mouth as he thinks.

You don't want to look at the notebook, Clint. You really really don't.

"Your earwigs on the fritz again? I'm serious. I worked it out. Or...I'm close, anyway."

Clint actually hadn't heard exactly what Richie said, only the tone. So he sighs and folds up the map too look at Richie so he can read lips. His hearing aids had completely given out and Clint was plotting a route to his nearest cache for money, phone and a new set of aids. He focused on Richie. "Sorry. Say again?"

"I. Worked. It. Out." He makes a point to enunciate clearly, forming each word with exaggerated care.

Nothing to do with what Clint's up to, of course, but that's not the point. He shuts the notebook hastily; the archer might catch a glimpse of drawings, twisting tubes spilling out of things, but he just as easily might not.

Clint gave him a look then motioned with a hand as he dragged his coffee closer. "Alright. Then tell me how its gonna go down."

Clint has started to learn to just agree and listen when Richie got on a tangent of thought. It was easier... and Clint might be starting to think the guy has some kind of foresight...

He shook his head. "It's not like that, I only see what she wants me to. But...I get it now. That's what this is. I'm not crazy. Something's coming, something big, and she wants me to know."

She. The phantom She. Clint hums and sips his coffee.

"She's trying to warn you? Tell you to get out of the way or warn someone to do something to stop it?"

Been there. Actually I'm there right now.

Anything I could do to help? Trust me it would give my mind a break.

[He looks up at her then, something probing in his gaze. Like he can see inside her, like he's looking for something. A hand moves to cover the front of the notebook, keeping the contents hidden.

Tell her, she whispers. He shakes his head, tries to clear it; he's been trying to ignore her so long that even now it's habit to try. He closes his eyes, clenching his jaw, takes a breath. Tell her, Richie, she encourages, and he lets the breath out and opens his eyes. Watches the woman in front of him warily, still not sure it's the best idea, but she said. She hasn't steered him wrong yet.]

I figured out what it's all about. What's going on. But...I don't know why. Or what's coming.

He frowns, squirming in his discomfort. "...I don't know yet. She hasn't told me."

"Ok... maybe its just not time yet then..." Clint rubbed his face a bit.

"Maybe." It sits uneasily; he doesn't like blank spaces, doesn't like not having answers he can figure out. This whole thing has him off-balance, doubting everything because it doesn't make any kind of rational sense, no matter how much he's been able to put together about it.

Clint watched him for a bit before humming and taking a drink of his coffee. "So Richard, we've spent a lot of time talking about you. I know you've been watching me. Tell me who you think I am."

"...what do you mean."

It was a loaded question, one with a multitude of answers.

Isn't that always the way?

Examining the facts and putting that puzzle together. If I didn't have a day I had to to do that.

My name's Kate, Kate Beckett. I'm a detective with the NYPD.

[She offers her hand. This is usually that point people take it or go awkward when they find out she's a cop but then Kate was an honest woman and didn't care much for lying or misleading. Not without cause. ]

[Richie stares at the hand. Looks from it to her and back, frowning, expression twisting towards suspicious rather than only wary.

She knows.

Not necessarily. It could be coincidence, the cops don't have any leads. Not for anything but the bank job, anyway, they haven't connected them to the murders yet. Haven't connected him. He's been listening. And she's from New York, maybe she hasn't heard about the stuff in Abilene yet.

She knows.

She doesn't, there's no proof. Assumptions in the absence of proof are baseless, useless, it's a basic tenet he's followed his whole life. You can't prove it, there's doubt. Law, science, it's a universal truth. It doesn't mean it isn't, but it doesn't mean it is either, and you can't make assumptions from it.

Lips twist into a smile, eventually, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes and he doesn't take the hand. It's not a good idea; fingers itch for his knife, but he doesn't have it anymore and there's something wrong about that, something that crawls uncomfortably under his skin, but a gun will work just as well if he needs it.

He won't need it, he tells himself. It'll be different this time. He's bigger than it. Better than it.]

You're a little far from home, detective, don't you think?

[Rarely is Kate ever blown off for handshake. She had one of those warm welcoming smiles that generally fuelled the fact she was a decent person. But then people barely ever saw that side of her. Kate preferred to put up walls more than see she had depth. It's a common defense mechanism when you lose your mother at a young age.]

I'm in the area. Off duty before you ask. [Not that he would. Kate sometimes has to remind herself that she's not at work.]

Anything I should know about the surrounding area?

[The truth is Beckett even off duty, still carried work with herself. She had to change her pasture and ton but a cop is a cop. People who can see it will notice a mile away and even though she's not on official police business, Kate was doing a little freelance work of her own. Three victims found in New York, all drained of blood with marks in their necks. Sure it had taken her a while to get used to the idea that vampires and the supernatural could exist.

But if they do? Well Kate wanted everything on hunters, slayers, myths, sightings. She wanted these assholes. ]

By that I mean the night life. I'm not much of a day person. [Possibly the wrong choice of words.]

"Lets start easy. What do you think I do? For a job? I know you've got a few ideas. Tell me." Clint kept his tone even and relaxed. It wasn't a trap. Clint had an idea and it would be better if Richie offeres his own ideas first.

[He shrugs, but the suspicion doesn't ease any. Lingering paranoia and a whispered voice he hasn't been able to shake for a good long time tell him it's a trick, a means to get him to incriminate himself. It's too close to be coincidence. They bury a body and she shows up asking questions like she knows; fingers work against the cover of the notebook, curl around the edge, tight enough to whiten his fingers and he knows, somewhere, he's only making it worse but he knows what comes next. Doesn't need to look through the hole in his palm to see it, even if it's bound up tight now so he doesn't have to. He doesn't look at her; if he doesn't look at her he doesn't have to see any of it, doesn't have to see the things he shouldn't know. Who she really is underneath.]

I don't know, I haven't been here long. Just passing through. There's a bar down the street though, one of those sleezy biker places.

[Something wasn't right here. The way he acted, the lack of faith in a handshake.]

Are you alright?

You seem...skiddish.

I'm fine.

[With the kind of defensiveness that implies he's used to people asking. Assuming.]

"Cop. Fed, maybe. But nothing you have to stay squeaky clean for. Freelance, maybe."

"You're pretty close actually. Strictly speaking I'm an assassin. Haven't done the merc thing for a long time. I got benefits. Full dental. I work for SHIELD." He's banking that the bit of bond they've built will ride him through any outburst or backlash that the admittance might get thrown his way.

Why do I get the feeling you're hiding something?

What would I be hiding?

You tell me?

I'm not hiding anything. I'm trying not to look.

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Really adore your muse.

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I'm glad it's working for you c: he's so awkward and such an accidental creep

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