"Yeah sure, Ethan." Bree shook her head with exasperation, knowing full well he was deflecting, pushing her away - but she was just too tired, and far too relieved - strangely, inexplicably relieved - he was actually alive and coherent to give much of a damn.

The woman lay back, palms of her hands over her suddenly exhausted eyes. The stones of the riverbank dug into her bare back, but she was just far too tired to even squirm to a more comfortable position. "Just like... Cuff yourself or something with these nonexistent handcuffs I've got tucked away... Oh... Somewhere? Don't get any ideas there, we'll both regret it."

"Then you go do the right thing, turn yourself in. Like, the closest park ranger station, all right? I'm just going to lay here a little longer and soak up the fact that somehow, some way, I'm not dead. All because the person who's haunted my nightmares for the better part of a year did something... "

Bree barked a short, curt laugh, cut off quickly as she let her arms fall to her sides.

"Something impossible. That was impossible, Ethan. I should be dead. You should be dead. Hell, for a few moments there, I thought you were." Bree lifted up her head for a moment, eyeballed the green-eyed man for a moment and then letting her head fall black for again. Weakly, she tossed the wet remnants of her T-shirt toward him, the whole thing kind of splooshing in a soggy mass relatively close by.

"You're still bleeding, by the way," she said, the fingers of one hand waving toward him weakly. Bree hadn't missed the look of revulsion on his face when he looked up at her from her arms. Just one more contradiction in the mass of contradictions, improbabilities and impossibilities. He somehow had Victor killed; but he still cradled the FBI agent hunting him through some of the most deadly whitewaters in the nation. She disgusted him - yet he saved her life, wrapping his arms and hands around so tightly that even unconscious, he didn't let her go. 

Bree didn't get it. But if he wasn't going to explain himself, she was in no condition to beat it out of him. 'Beat it out of him? Really?' The very thought made her grin, as if she'd ever done such a thing in her life, but the wistful little smile still felt good. 

"So are you going to answer my question," she asked, face skyward where she lay catching her breath, "Or are you still calculating the odds of me ever figuring out what the hell just happened on my own? I can tell you the chance of that right off - they're practically nil."