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[Kick and flail as she might, Neph can't get an iota of leverage on the old man. He's all dense muscle over a metal skeleton that prob'ly weighs a good quarter-ton all on its own and all of that is planted on her ribcage! There hadn't even been time to dodge, he'd knocked her flat coming through the door and just sat.] G-geddoff! Logan! You dick! I can' breathe!

Don't even have alla my weight on you yet. Stop squirmin'. We need ta talk.

All your weight would literally squash me, d'you really wanna mop all that up?! [The squirming ceases, only to be immediately replaced by a hairy eyeball] Talk 'bout what?

Risk m' willin' ta take. Quit squirmin' and I won't have ta get the mop. [A little more weight sinks down on her.] You runnin' away. Leavin' me no choice but ta literally sit on you.

[Okay, she goes limp, figuring if worst comes to worst she can always just Pull the fridge over onto his head. Which she would hate to do, but apparently they're playing by backalley rules today.] Dunno what you're talkin' about, I had a lotta work piled up after my last trip s'all.

You stink ta high hell o' bullshit. Chicken shit. Talk. Now. Done tryin' ta chase you down.

Chickenshit?! [She lifts her head just far enough to glare at him] That's rich comin' from the guy who's too scared to ask whatever it is he wants ta know, unless he doesn't really wanna know it. [Her head goes back with a thump] I dunno what you want me t'say.

What the fuck is going on? Why you runnin' away from home like a fuckin' tom cat in the making? Tell me the goddamn truth. That's what I want.

[Despite everything else, despite what certain other parties might say if questioned, she's not quite ungrateful or bratty or shitty enough to tell him she doesn't owe him those answers. But she does snarl and squirm, and the refrigerator doors rattle ominously.] I--you know why, I--it's just--I'm not--it's weird, Logan, I dunno how I'm s'posed to act with her and then there's all these new guys and they're here in the house and...I...

[Its actually his voice that makes her stop fighting temporarily.] Wait. You? I remember you. What is this? What do you want?

[Nope because he's stubborn. Wonder where he got it from.]

Wanted a beer. All this ruckus yer makin' is makin' that impossible.

The ruckus I'm making? What are you? 80? Let go of me.

I'd get outta here before they call the cops, kid.

I am not a child. Nor am I afraid of the police. [Drunk fearless stage?]

Coulda fooled me. Knock yer shit off. Finish yer drink n' go home.

Do you know the great thing about this situation? You can't tell me what to do. I am a 27 year old woman. I don't need you or anyone to tell me what a need or want or what I should feel. If I want to get really drunk? I can. If I want to talk to this cutie little bartender? I can do that too. Not that it would get me anywhere since I'm pretty sure he's more interested in you but that's not the point. I am free to make whatever bad decisions I want. I am not accountable to anyone and they... they are not accountable to me.

Good luck with that, darlin'. [Drink in hand Logan gets up and relocates.]

[When she finally starts talking he shifts off of her and takes a seat on the floor next to her.] Yeah. Little strange. Yer attitude ain't helpin' anything. Don't think she knows how ta be around any of us either. Been through a hell of a thing. Dying and coming back. It's not easy on anyone.

Good. Thank you. [Goes about her business.]

[After a song or two she finds him again and sits down. This time with her hands up. She comes in peace.] Don't shoot. I just wanted to ask a question.

Ain't a fan of guns. Yer safe.

Me neither. Not really. They can be a necessary evil though. [She lowers her hands.] I just wanted to know who you are. This is the second time I've seen you and I feel like we've done the same thing twice. Before this becomes like a thing, I just wanted to dial down the bitch a bit and say 'hi'. My name is Nicole and I'm sorry about my manners.

Most people call me Logan. [He polishes off his beer.] You kin make up fer it with another drink.

Done. [She heads to the bar and comes back with two. One for him. One for her.] So I know I said one question but You're some kind of soldier, right? Or used to be? You carry yourself like someone with training. Not a cop though. Cops always have their own feel, don't they?