Her voice pulled Ethan the rest of the way into reality, and he slowly lifted his head off of her arms, glancing around. He carefully undid the tight lace of his fingers, wincing slightly as the blood rushed back into the appendages. And then he set about extracting himself from Bree. He did it warily, carefully, almost as though he had woken up to find himself sleeping with a poisonous snake, and one wrong movement might cause it to strike. But nor was he inclined to stay still, to leave himself wrapped in her arms. Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was weakness, but he was not going to stay there. She was touching him almost like a lover, something that Ethan had not experienced in a long time, and it was making him uncomfortable.

He pulled himself a few inches away from her, sitting up carefully and tucking his knees up to his chest. He wiped at his nose, smearing the trails of blood across his upper lip and over his hand. He glanced down, using this as an excuse to not meet her eyes, before shaking his head slightly.

"No," he agreed wearily, almost blankly. "No more running. There's no point in it anymore."

He was silent for a few moments, unwilling to continue. One of his hands had slipped off his knee and was trailing gently in the piles of pebbled that lay on top of the rock. He rolled one between his fingers, taking comfort in the sensation. And then, finally, he looked up at Bree.

She had taken her shirt off, and his eyes traced briefly over her scar. A small flicker of disappointment flashed through him at the mass of scar tissue. He would have hoped that his efforts had done a better job than that. Yet the fact that she was alive at all after a wound like that should have been more than reward enough. His eyes traced up the curve of her throat, and finally came to rest on her own eyes.

Still he was silent. She had finally asked the question that he knew had been burning inside her, perhaps for even longer than she had known. She wanted to know what he could do. And Ethan had promised to himself that he would explain. Yet he still sat there, silent, and his eyes unconsciously dropped away once more.

What was he? That was hardly a question he was going to be able to answer. As far as he was aware, he was human. His parents had been human, as far as he could tell, as they had never been able to find an answer to the strange things that seemed to follow their son. Yet perhaps he wasn't human, simply because no human should be able to do what he did.

"Are you going to arrest me now?" he asked, a touch of humor staining his bland tone. It was a diversion, and he knew that. Bree would probably know that as well, but it was also something that needed answering. Right now, if she said she was, perhaps he might even go quietly, despite his assertion on the top of that fifteen story building in Chicago. At least, he would be quiet for a little while, until he once more managed to convince himself that he had found the perfect way out, and he got another person killed. He had told Bree the truth. He was done running. There seemed to be no point in it anymore.