When Ethan finally laughed, a genuine laugh not tinged with bitterness or barely repressed anger, Bree finally felt something inside simply... Let go. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't the murderer or the mobster or the criminally-connected villain of her nightmares. He was just... A guy. A guy who could do some extraordinary things, but just a guy nonetheless. And Bree laughed too, even shaking her head incredulously at Ethan's dire predictions of doom and despair and death.

"Well [i]damn,[/i] I bet you're a ton of fun at parties, aren't you?" she said with a chuckle, stretching her arms overhead until she felt the satisfying pop of her spine, unfolding her cramped legs until she could feel the muscles loosen and lighten.

"I already told you Ethan, I'm not going to arrest you. Did you miss the part where I'm not concealing a gun or cuffs?" she quipped as she pulled her legs up beneath her, almost springing to her feet as she looked down at him. The smile never wavered. "I'm tired of chasing you Ethan. I'm done. I was wrong. I never in a million years could have guessed just how wrong, but I was. Victor wasn't my friend, he was my source - but he wasn't a bad guy either. He screwed up - a lot - and he didn't deserve to get shot. But there isn't a jury in the world that would convict you for taking a step."

Bree stood to her feet, the water shoes on her feet already dry. She looked to the blood-stained shirt Ethan used to stanch the bleeding, and decided to write it off with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I won't either. Still... " The corners of her lips made a mischievous little twist, an impish light in her grey eyes just beginning to shine, suggesting just a hint of the woman who had been, before the day she met a green-eyed man.

[i]"Come with me if you want to live,"[/i] she growled as she held her hand out to Ethan where he sat, her voice deep and low in the absolutely worst imitation of Arnold Schwarzenneger's accent of, quite literally, all time. Bree chuckled warmly, wagging her fingers to him again.

"No really, come with me. Seriously, if you'd like to have your life back. I'm not arresting you, and I'm not going to hunt you down if you turn and disappear this very instant. But right now you are a wanted man in Washington state - hell, nationwide really. I can't just walk into my boss' office and offer up a mea culpa or two, say I had a 'come to Jesus' moment and realized I was wrong, and could you please call off the dogs we set on Ethan? Christ, they already think I'm going batshit crazy anyway - no need to add fuel to [i]that[/i] bonfire."

"But if you want law enforcement across the United States to stop looking at you funny everywhere you go - hell, if you'd just like to go into a Dunkin' Donuts again without wondering if the patrolman at the counter with a dozen sprinkled and glazed is looking at you funny? I'm going to need you with me, Ethan. I'm not asking you to tell my higher ups what you've told me, about the... The numbers. The probabilities you see. But they'll need to see you, to hear you with your own words, your own reasons. It's not a perfect solution, but it's the only one I have to offer to get you your freedom back, so you can stop looking over your shoulder everywhere you go. When we're done, then you can turn, go, disappear - whatever you like."

Her hand was still outstretched, her fingers beckoning Ethan one last time. "What do you say?"