"Oh for the love of... Shut up. Just... Shut it," Bree growled under her breath as she shooed away one of the SWAT guys - Murray, the FNG who was just a tad too overenthusiastic about taking down poor Victor. Like a damn proud puppy dog that had just taken its first dump outside in the green grass, he was waving the muzzle of his M4 in the poor bastard's face and looking to the female agent with that ridiculous, shit-eating grin for her stamp of approval. 

"Good boy, Murray. That'll do noob, that'll do - we'll get your Scooby snack later. Now could you kindly please stop panicking my guy, and back the fuck off before he wets himself?" Bree grimaced with disgust beneath the balaclava as she looked down at Victor. He hadn't quite pissed his pants yet, but the combination of tears and snot flowing copiously down his face, unchecked by hands already zip-tied behind his back, was just... Yeah, it was foul. 

Murray deflated just a bit, but trotted off good-naturedly enough like the good puppy he was way deep down, with a more lop-sided grin now and a small wave of his leather-clad hand for Bree. And all the while, Victor bawled and wailed pitifully, like the enormous child he truly was.

Bree knelt beside him, pointing the muzzle of her own rifle to the floor before she snapped her fingers impatiently in front of Victor's face. "Hey! Hey genius, time to get a grip. Look at me, that's right - look me in the eyes. Yeah Victor, you know me," she whispered just under her breath, her voice deliberately low and even, forcing him to quiet his hysterics just to hear her out. It was an old Mom trick that worked great with kids prone to tantrums - and big damned babies too, it seemed.

She laughed softly when she saw the dawning light of realization grow in Victor's eyes, nodding her head slowly in time with his recognition, though he still snuffled loudly, all snotty wet and miserable. "Mmhmm, Agent Walsh. What the hell were you thinking, Victor? The levels of stupid involved here are just breathtak.. ing... "

Bree's voice trailed off as something tugged at the edge of her vision. Maybe it was the flash of green eyes that caught her attention as they peered up from the floor, impatient rather than darting nervously about, or filled with tears of regret. Or maybe it was the way the entire place writhed with bustle and fear, dread and rage and despairing confusion, all but for this one man in a waiter's jacket, as if he were an untouchable island in a turbulent, wave-tossed sea. He was either on the 'slow' side - and the intelligence that lit those eyes and framed his features, said anything but; or he had a reason to be here, a reason to be calm in the eye of this storm. 

He was an anomaly, an aberration she knew instinctively. Her gut turned as she stood to her feet, warning sirens screaming in Bree's head when she knelt beside him. There was something... Uncanny about this man, something not right at all and she couldn't put her finger on what it might be - and she just hated that lost, insecure feeling. It pissed her off, the questions she couldn't answer right off, the pieces that wouldn't fit quite right in the puzzle. He didn't feel 'mob,' didn't have that dead-eye stare of a seasoned hit man, but she was in no position to take a chance with Victor's life. Pain in the ass that he was, this suicidal gambler was the damned golden goose of insider info - no way she was losing him now.

Her leather-clad fingers cupped the young man's chin as she held his gaze for several long seconds, grey eyes studying that face with the burning intensity of a thousand suns, searching for... She knew not what. But she would. She damn well would soon enough. Her eyes darted toward the guy's name tag: 'Walter.'

Heh. Yeah right. "No damn way you're a 'Walter.' Good try though, I'll give you that. I cannot wait to have a chat with you,'" she said wryly before releasing the man's face, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she stood to her feet. "Murray? Murray!" she called, the young SWAT member trotting toward her eagerly, almost endearing in his desire to please. "Bring 'Mr. Walter' along, would you?"

And she turned back to Victor, who'd begun blubbering his thick, wet sobs all over again. With a grimace, Bree undid the kevlar vest around her own chest, and wrapped it as best she could around the guy's shoulders in a gesture that would have been almost reassuring, but for the words that followed. "For heaven's sake Victor, you have the right to be silent. Do us all a damned favor and make the most of it, would you?"