"Agent Smecker, I can assure you that I can make it to my apartment by myself without causing any trouble whatsoever." Leila said, following Smecker to the door, "I am not a child and resent being treated as such." Her strides were longer than usual, trying to reach the door before him. But by the time she reached the doorway, Smecker was already standing inside it. Arms against the wooden frame, he stared at Leila.

"Ms. Giordano." He said simply, "You need to go to your apartment, but we can't allow you to go by yourself. After what happened last night, they'll be people out looking for you and your cousin. Plus, Connor's afraid you're going to turn everybody in, so it's in everyone's best interest if he goes with you." As he spoke, Leila merely stared at him. He spoke like a man who was explaining something to a room of kindergarteners, using a tone that she neither respected nor acknowledged.

"Everyone's best interests?" she scoffed, "I fail to see how it is in my best interest. If I remember correctly, it was him who shot everyone in that bar. So what do you decide to do? Send me out with a murderer? Brilliant! The FBI must be greet you every morning with open arms."

She had expected Smecker to snap back, or at least show some sort of displeasure with her words, but instead Leila saw a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Ms. Giordano." He said patiently, "There are matters at work of which you are not aware. I cannot have you running to the police, or to your uncle, or to your father, or to the media telling them what happened. Trust me, it would bad for everyone involved. Secondly, I do believe that you'll go to some sort of authority, and as I stated before, that's not going to happen. And thirdly, I want to make sure you get where you need to go and back safely."

How traveling with Connor was supposed to make anyone feel safe was beyond her. Hell, the man had killed everyone in the goddamned bar without even blinking an eye. But if it was the only way to get to her belongings, the she would go with him. Her eyes traveled over to Connor's, narrowing in a challenge. All that needed to be said was conveyed in their connected gazes; and with a curt nod of her head, she turned back to Smecker. "Fine." She said simply, "If that's the only way I can return to my apartment, then I guess I'll have to accept the fact that he'll be coming with me." The thought didn't please her in the least. It wasn't in her plans to run right now; if she did, Leila knew that she would be leaving Vincent to his ends. She knew they would kill him; he was a liability. But not while she was around. No. Something about them made her think that they wouldn't harm them while she was there, and something else told her that one brother wouldn't act unless the other was there.

"Glad to hear that Ms. Giordano." Smecker drawled. The tone was back; again he believed he was speaking to a little child. "I'll be back to check on everything tomorrow." And with that, he was out the door.

The apartment was silent once again. Tearing her eyes away from the door, Leila turned her glare yet once again towards Connor. Opening her mouth to speak, she was surprised when Connor beat her to it. "Let's just get this over with." He said, grabbing his jacket off of a chair.

"Yes. Let's."

---------------------------------------------

Accompanying her? What on Earth had he done to deserve this? He wasn't the one who had to make such a big deal out of everything somebody said; he wasn't the one who tried to make an argument out of fucking everything. The only thing he had done was actually be stupid enough to be in the same goddamned room as her when Paul arrived. Why was it that he always had to get the difficult part of the job? Why didn't Murphy ever end up getting stuck with something like this? If he got stuck dealing with this bitch, he should have to be right there beside him, suffering with him like a good brother should. But no, his ass got out of bitch duty because he was still fucking sleeping.

It was amusing watching Leila argue with Paul. Storming across the apartment as of she had an army behind her, her arms crossed, chin jutted out. He could have sworn that he saw fire in her eyes, a sort of rage that she could call upon at will and bring it down upon whoever was closest. Thank goodness it wasn't him this time. But what was strange was that he had never heard anyone talk to Smecker like that. Hell, him and Murph would give him a little hell from time to time, but never would they come out openly like that and tell him off. He was half expecting Paul to snap at her, like he had done Greenley on countless occasions, but instead he just smiled.

He doubted she was even listening to the explanation that he was giving to her, not with her gaze switching over to him like that. He knew that glare, it was one that he had given Murphy time and time again. One that screamed competition, taunting him, saying that he wouldn't be able to stand her for a mere hour. But he'd put up with worse. His eyes narrowing in return, the corners of his mouth twitched as she gave him a curt nod, turning back to Smecker.

Watching as he walked out the door, he finally turned to Leila. She was going to snap at him next, telling him that they needed to get going. But she wanted a challenge; he would give her a challenge. "Let's just get this done and over with." He said bluntly, walking over to the chair to grab his coat and threw it over to Leila. "Put it on. It's cold outside." He told her, only to have it thrown back at him.

"I have one with me." She replied, her tone bored as if she were stating the obvious. "If it's so cold out there, why don't you let me get mine and you keep yours? That would be the smart thing to do."

Smart thing to do? He thought, holding back a snort. He'd just have to enlighten her as to how 'smart' the smart thing to do was. "Well, Leila. The jacket you came in with has bloodstains on it." He snapped, "If you want people starin' at yer as ye walk past, then go right ahead, get yer fucking coat."

"Then what do you plan on doing, oh wise one? You said so yourself, it's cold out there."

A small grin came across Connor's face as she spoke those words. She just didn't know when to give up, did she? Even though he'd been around her for less than a day, he had her pegged as one of those people who always had to have the last word, no matter what. Walking towards the closet, he opened up the door and pulled out an almost identical coat to the one he had been trying to throw at Leila. "This is what I'm going to do." Putting his brother's jacket on, he threw his to Leila. "Now. Are ye going to put the damn thing on or what?"

His words earned him another dagger like glare as she slipped on the jacket, buttoning it up. On her, it looked more like a dress than a jacket, falling down to her knees, but it was better than nothing, and much better than getting told off by Da for not keeping care of her.

"There. Can we just go now?" Leila sighed, walking towards the door.

And there's her last word. Connor thought, beating her to the door and walking her down the stairs. Reaching the car that Smecker had left for them, he walked over to the driver's side. "Excuse me." Leila said, her arms crossed in front of her chest, "And why is it that you get to drive? I'm the one who knows where we're going?"

Because I don't fucking trust you. "Because I don't fucking trust ye, okay." He snapped, pausing only after the words had left his mouth. Yet again, he could have sworn that he saw that same angry fire in her eyes, but the flash of flame was gone before he could properly register it. The door across from him slammed as Leila got inside the car, staring straight ahead with a scowl on her face.

---------------------------------------------

"Because I don't fucking trust ye, okay." Leila didn't know why those words hit her so hard, but it felt like she had been hit upside the head with a blunt object. She wasn't to be trusted, then fine. Glaring at Connor, she walked over to the passenger door, throwing it open as she got inside, slamming it behind her. Staring ahead, she tried to regain some sense of composure. She'd never been talked to like that before, not in her twenty four years on this earth. She'd been told off by her father plenty of times, but never to the extent and by a complete stranger to add injury to insult.

Hearing another door close, she kept her gaze straight ahead, not even acknowledging his voice when he spoke. "And where the fuck to we have to go, lass?" She didn't respond to his question. "Are you deaf or something or are ye just fucking ignoring me? Where the fuck do you live?"

She wanted more than anything to tell him to go to hell at that moment, to tell him to leave her the fuck alone if he couldn't speak to her in a decent tone. But the words that came out were different. "If you can't trust me, then how do you know that I'll give you the correct directions?" she hissed, "How do you know I won't lead you into some sort of trap?"

Turning to face him, her face was impassive. She wanted to see him trip over his own words, to swallow them and admit that he was wrong. It was a game. If he was going to keep her at his damn apartment, she definitely was going to do everything in her powers to make him let her go. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw his face screw up into a knot before opening his mouth. "I guess I don't." he mumbled.

"Meaning…" Leila said, nonchalantly circulating her hand in front of her. The smile on her face was growing into one of impending victory.

"Meaning that I'm going to have to fucking trust ye, okay?" Connor snapped, causing the small grin on Leila's face to spread.

"That's right you will." She said, patting him on the shoulder. It was amusing the look that came over his face at that moment, a peculiar mix of what looked like frustration, annoyance, and indigestion.

"Just tell me where ye fucking live, lass." He snapped. "Because this is wasting my goddamned time."

Her face screwing into a knot of mock concentration, Leila spent a moment pretending to ponder the question, whether to give him the answer or not or annoy him a bit more. It was a game to her, that much was known. In a world where most people took out their aggressions and frustrations with violence and words, Leila reverted to the more childlike method of annoyance. The words 'brat' and 'bitch' had fallen off of many people's mouths when speaking of the young lady, especially when Leila was trying to elicit that impression. Bitchieness was a tool she learned could be employed to achieve her ends, one of the few tools that she could actually wield well, and today she planned on putting it to the test.

"Fenway." She said simply, "I live in Fenway."

"Finally!" he sighed, turning the key in the ignition and driving down around the corner. Leila contented herself with playing the role of backseat driver for the rest of the ride. Comments like "you're going the wrong way" and "now where the hell are you going?" were abundant, causing Connor to tell her to shut up on more than one occasion.

Her eyes fell upon famaliar signs and sights as they went down famaliar street after famaliar street. Connor's voice droned during this entire process. "Is it that street?" That one? That one?" Each time receiving a simple 'no' from Leila.

Fifteen minutes passed until their exchanges changed, "Down that road. My apartment's above The Rack." A few moments later, they were out of the car and walking up the stairs. Pulling her keys out of her pocket, Leila opened the door stepping inside as Connor followed.

"I'll try not to take long." She lied, "Just sit down and try to be patient." Walking across the room, she walked through another door to collect her belongings.

---------------------------------------------

The drive was difficult to say the least. Never before had he been around somebody so fucking difficult. He'd heard the saying mafia brat before, but usually he used it as a joke amongst Murph and Roc after a hit. Never had he actually seen somebody who fit the mold so perfectly. Part of him wondered if she actually enjoyed pissing people off, if it was a sort of pastime for her like some people enjoyed going out to the bar and telling each other to go fuck off, except when she said it she wasn't joking. When they finally reached her apartment, he was relieved. And above a bar nonetheless. If things got bad, he could always just run downstairs for a drink. Hell, he needed one after spending the morning with her.

Following into her apartment, he plopped down on the sofa, trying to take in what laid around him. People who said his apartment was messy definitely should see this place. There weren't empty beer bottles and pizza boxes lying around, but there were more crumpled up pieces of paper and random supplies scattered around the room than any one person could possibly use. Canvasses and papers were laid over almost every flat surface. All in various states of completion, he saw a piece of lined paper next to one of them. Standing up, he saw that it contained little notes stating where Leila had left off and what details were to be worked on in one order. Underneath the piece of notes was a small sketch. Holding it up to the actual canvass, Connor was shocked to see some sort of similarity. Hell, she must have been fucking obsessed with her work to put this much effort into it. Placing the papers back down on the table, he walked around the room, taking in the various other works around the room. They were all pretty good. Hell, they were damn good. Moody artist, he should have figured.

His gaze continued to fall around the paintings and drawings in the room with one catching his attention. A cityscape, washed in an ethereal silver. It was as if a cloud of light had washed over the landscape. Like a fairy tale, it presented a view of awe and of wonder. Traveling down the canvass, his eyes saw something that didn't fit, a deep red. Near the bottom, light met blood. It was this contrast that took him by surprise as his fingers went up to brush the spot where light became dark.

"Please don't touch the paintings." A voice said behind him, causing him to snap back into reality. Tuning around, he saw Francesca standing in her doorway, a bag one hand and a pile of clothes in the other. "The oils on your hands might distort the coloring."

"Oh." Damn. Was that all he could come up with? Like a small child staring at an angry librarian for speaking too loudly in their domain, a sheepish look came across his face. "Sorry about that."

"You should be." Was the curt response he received, "I've been working on the canvass for three months."

Never could she accept anything as is. No. She had to try and make an argument out of everything. But he wasn't going to let her have the pleasure of yelling at him again. No, this time he wasn't going to respond.

"But I'm almost ready to go. I'm just going to change and gather up my portfolio." To these words, Connor merely nodded, throwing himself back down on the couch. His eyes glued themselves onto a small clock mounted onto the wall, watching the hands circle around.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Connor let out an exasperated sigh as the thought entered his mind again to go downstairs and see if the bar was open. "Time certainly does fucking fly when yer having fun." He mumbled. His ears caught the sound of a door opening and turned around to find Leila walking towards the living room, "What the fuck took so long?" he sighed, "Did you get sucked down the drain or something?"

But his humor fell on unsympathetic ears. "Blood's difficult to get off." She said simply, walking around the room and gathering up canvasses and papers. Wrapping each of her canvasses in a white cloth, she added them to what looked like an oversized briefcase. From a closet Connor watched her pull out what looked like an entire art store and place it gingerly inside the case before snapping it shut.

"Okay. Yer've changed; yer packed. Are ye ready to go now?" he sighed, beginning to feel a bit irritable again.

"Yes." She replied simply, "In fact I am."

---------------------------------------------

The drive back was silent, and thank goodness. Leila had enough going on in her mind without having to deal with mindless conversation. She had never thought that packing would be such a difficult thing. Leila had done it numerous times before, but each with the concrete knowledge of when she would be returning home. As she placed her belongings in her bag today, she had no knowledge of when she would be returning nor if she would ever see her apartment again. Connor and Murphy's father had promised that they meant her no harm and that she would get to go home soon, but it was difficult to trust a man whose sons just killed a room full of people.

Her bag was in the back seat, a combination of items she found to be necessary and ones that her heart had pulled at her to bring along. Amongst the clothes that she had picked out of her drawers were a few more sentimental items: a few books from her shelf, a small leather-bound photo album, a wooden music box, and a silver cross that her grandmother had given her on her first communion. She'd cleaned it the afternoon before she had gone out to get a small smattering of paint off of it and had left it hanging by her bed to dry. Circling her neck, she felt comforted by its presence, a reminder that no matter what, there was somebody watching after her; that no matter what, she still had her family and they would be looking for her.

Staring straight ahead, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at Connor. She was livid with him, but her actions had piqued her curiosity when she had seen him with staring at her painting like that. There was a look of awe there that, as strange as it may sound, made Leila feel appreciated. There were very few things that she had ever been able to take pride of in her life, and one of them was her artwork. It was the passion that kept her life running smoothly through everything. Even during the rougher years of her youth, it had been an escape. She was used to having her work evaluated, appraised, but rarely looked at in such a way that Connor had been. He looked at it as if he was actually seeing it, not just the minor technical details that composed it; he looked at it as if he actually saw what she saw.

Hearing Connor clear his throat, she yet again shot a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, this time meeting his head on. Holding his stare, she wondered what the hell was going on.

"Listen." He sighed, "I'm sorry about how I acted earlier today. "Must have been a bad morning."

On any normal day, Leila would have said that he should have been sorry, that he had been a complete and utter asshole, but something else seemed to have crept into her mind. "You can say that again." She snorted, an actual smile tugging at the corners of her face. "I'm betting that it's contagious. Most likely your brother and Vincent will have it when we get back."

"Don't say that." He chuckled, "You don't want to see Murph in a bad mood, lass. It's not pretty."

"And neither is Vincent." Leila laughed.

Silence fell between them yet again until they reached the apartment. Jumping out of the car to grab her things, she almost bumped into Connor as she turned around. His hand reached for her elbow as she stumbled backwards, helping her regain her balance. Uttering a quick apology, she started to walk towards the door.

"Lass." Another set of footsteps fell in time with hers as she walked towards the entrance.

"Yes." Leila responded, turning to face Connor. The morning sun's rays caused her eyes to narrow as she looked at him, her nose crinkling slightly as she adjusted to the light.

"That painting. The one of the city." He said slowly, as if he were choosing each word deliberately, "It was beautiful. I'd never seen anything like it before."

She could feel her face reddening as he spoke those words. While she was usually a casual person, she prided herself in her ability not to let such emotions show under most circumstances. But that ability seemed to have left her as well since last night. How did one respond to that? Leila knew how to respond to critiques of her work, of reviews of her use of color and shading, but never an outright compliment. It was a comment that had taken her by surprise, and for once left her speechless. "Uh, thank you." She said, hoping that her words were at least somewhat normal. "But I have a lot more detail to add to it before I'm done."

Shaking his head, yet another smile came across Connor's face. "That might be, but it's still amazing." He said, pausing for a moment. "Look. I know yesterday was difficult on you, but I want you to know I didn't mean to harm you. It might be strange, but how about we just start over, tabla rasa." He added, extending his hand to Leila.

"Tabla rasa." She said tentatively, shaking his hand.

"Good. Now, let's get upstairs before that cousin of yours thinks I killed you."

For once not making a comment back, Leila followed Connor up the stairs to his apartment, feeling as if somehow the events of that morning hadn't taken place.