"I don't do unlucky," Ethan replied, a touch of humorous snark entering his tone. It was enough to finally get him to smile, an honest and somewhat surprised expression. The flow of blood finally seemed to have come to a halt, and he wiped is face one more time, looking down at her bloodstained shirt. No, Ethan didn't do unlucky. Maybe, when it came to Bree, there was no such thing as lucky or unlucky. It just... was.

"We seem to have come full circle," Ethan said a moment later. "What now, Bree?" They had gotten a brief chance to talk on the roof of that building in Chicago, but that could hardly be called a real conversation. But now they had spoken enough to get the most important questions in their relationship out of the way, and the buzz that had been keeping Ethan awake and functioning was starting to fade. More than anything, he wanted to return to his hotel room, change into a dry pair of clothes, and sleep until his pounding headache went away.

He couldn't tell, though, whether or not he wanted to get away from Bree. This was the second time she had pushed him to use his abilities in a way he had never used them before. Probability was the bounds of what was possible. Luck was pushing the impossible into the realm of probability. Both of the times he had saved her life, he had been forced to step over that edge. It frightened him, but it also intrigued him. The dark lure of power. Perhaps the best way to stay away from that darkness was just to get as far away from Bree as possible.

"If you try and arrest me, I will run again. I'm not going to jail. I'm not going to go sit in an interrogation room in some FBI compound. And, as you have already told me, you will be obliged to chase me. We will be starting our little game of cat and mouse all over again, and next time it may not end until one of us is dead."