"I'm….fine," Renee said in response to Elliot's inquiry.

"Come out here then. I want to keep the two of you together."

She ignored him, standing and walking to the sink, feeling a little dizzy as she crossed the small room.

The image of the disheveled woman reflected in the bathroom mirror was foreign to her. Short hair standing on end, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks; only one other time could she remember having looked this way. But she had never felt so cold.

"Right back where I started," she muttered.

"What?" Elliot asked and then she heard Elizabeth calling her name, only to hear the nervous gunman issue another threat. "Sit down and be quite; I'm warning you."

"I'm fine," she repeated for all to hear. "I'm always fine."

Would it matter if she weren't? What could be done?

Renee turned the faucet on and ran her hands under the water, wondering why it was taking so long to reach room temperature.

It wasn't that late when the door opened. He was home by ten and that was a shock. When he stepped into the bedroom smelling of beer and cigarettes, he presented her with a culpable grin and a small bouquet of flowers. The kind one grabs from the market, or any convenience store for that matter. No care or thought involved, just a spur of the moment decision.

"What are these for?" she asked.

"I just wanted to show you how much I love you," he said, staggering closer. "Do you like them?"

"They're very nice."

"Nice?"

"Oh God," she said and her head fell forward coming to rest on the mirror. The heat and moisture from her breath fogged the glass, mercifully obscuring her reflection.

"What's wrong with you; get out here," Elliot demanded, growing increasingly agitated when she continued to ignore him. "Do what I say."

"I don't want to," she said, pushing the drunken man she'd foolishly married away from her. She could never understand how men thought half a dozen wild flowers could make a woman forgive a month's worth of misdeeds. She wasn't so easily bribed. "You smell like an ash tray, Chris. Go sleep it off downstairs."

He looked at her for a moment, called her a bitch under his breath and she turned her back to him. Just another night in the Ridgewater household; the battle was over. They would sleep in different rooms, live on different floors and continue to drift apart. Both of them knew what was happening. Neither one took action to prevent it. They had tried in the beginning; tried and failed. Now it would seem they were only waiting for the inevitable and wasting their lives in the process.

Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her backwards, not knowing or not caring about the pain he caused. She would tell herself later that he had caught her by surprise and that's why she didn't fight back.

"You're my wife," he reminded her, covering her mouth with his own.

"You don't have the right," Renee said softly.

"Jackson told me to keep an eye on the two of you and that's what I'm going to do. Get your ass out here," Elliot demanded after drawing the conclusion that her saddened words were meant for him.

"A beautiful girl, I married a beautiful girl," he kept rambling as she struggled to get out from beneath him. He didn't even realize it, but he had her face down on the bed with his arm encircling her throat. She could hardly breathe.

"Chris," she wheezed.

When he became aware of what he was doing, he pulled his arm away, running his fingers through her then long hair and kissing her cheek.

"I'm your husband. I wouldn't hurt you."

Always so sweet when he wanted something; tomorrow he'd berate her for not having put the flowers in water, then the vase she picked would be wrong and it would go on from there. It never stopped.

"No." The word ran through her mind but sadly, she never gave voice to it.

"Just lie there then," he said in annoyance when it became clear to even his pickled mind that there would be no reciprocation.

Was this his drunken effort to connect with her and make things right?

She didn't know why she had just stayed there without offering any further resistance, but she had. In his current state he didn't take long. Five minutes after he began, he passed out on top of her. She rolled his body off of hers and ran into the shower, not knowing that the people she confided in when she finally summoned the courage to speak out would shake their heads and tell her that she should have been stronger than that. They would be disappointed in her.

The next morning she had gone out and cut her hair.

Warm water splashed over her face and there was a moment of relative calm while she collected her thoughts. Then a hand grabbed her roughly and a second later she was in the bedroom again; caught by surprise.

Elizabeth was there. Renee saw her for a split second before an antagonistic Elliot entered her field of vision.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked, thinking that by sticking his face in hers and invading her personal space, she would crumple.

Just as she had for his brother; who's soulful eyes cut straight through her and saw everything. The one who'd shoved her against the wall, threatened her, put his hands on her. The one she had almost rolled over for…again. She was angry with herself for ever letting it get that far.

When Elliot saw the look on her face and the fact that she was shaking, he relented.

"Don't let Jack get you so upset. His bark is worse than his bite."

"You should know," Renee said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled, pointing her toward the bed.

"I'm not going to sit on the bed anymore. I'm going to stand."

That was that; strong words that left no room for debate, coming from a woman who would not lie there and take it anymore. Elliot watched her for a moment; taken aback by her sudden strength and wondering if he should press the issue. He decided against it.

"I bet you take shit from him all the time, why?" she asked.

"That's the way it goes in this business; you have to work your way up. He went through the same shit. Jackson's just making me better."

"Making you better how? By telling you you're an idiot. You ride his coat tails and now you're his babysitter," she said, walking towards him and finding it surprising that he backed away. "And for what; so you can grow up and be just like him?"

"Shut up," he demanded.

"No; you could be more!"

From the way his head flew back, people would have thought she'd punched him. He hadn't been expecting words of encouragement, especially not from her.

"Give me your hand," Renee said.

"Not a chance."

"I just want to see your left hand. You can still hold the gun in your right," she reasoned, moving to the side so she was standing directly in front of Elizabeth. "You can see us both. Shoot me if you think I'm playing games. I really don't care."

If she didn't know better, she'd swear his was in awe of her unexpected brazenness.

"He said you were a coward," she told him and watched as his stern expression faded. "I don't think that's true; give me your hand."

With reluctance, he extended his hand. She took it in her own and turned it palm side up, tracing along the deep lines etched across it. They traveled every which way and told stories of their own.

"When I was in high school, I used to have this crush on a boy who lived a few houses down the street," she began, seeing him look at her as if to say, 'what's your point?' "His father used to read tarot cards, tealeaves, and palms. I guess that's what got me into it."

"And what does my palm tell you?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, your heart line and the way it stretches across your entire palm, tells me that you're very dependent on relationships. Is that true?"

"Yes," he admitted.

She showed him her hand. Her line was just the same.

"Not always a good thing, is it? Sometimes we can't move on even when we're being hurt, because we're afraid," she admitted, allowing a tear to slide down her face and making certain that he saw it fall.

He didn't say anything but she could feel him tense and she could see his eyes dart back and forth, searching the room nervously.

"And your shortened head line tells me you're intelligent and intuitive, despite what others may say."

"Stop, that's enough," Elliot said as he pulled his hand away and let it fall to his side.

"But you're insecure; your fate line tells me as much," she finished.

He jerked away when she tried to touch him again. Did he think she was some kind of witch, she wondered. Still, she persisted, reaching for him with both her hands.

"I'm just going to touch your arms. You're still in control." That was probably a very important thing for him. She made sure he knew it.

Her hands brushed against his arms in a comforting gesture and though he seemed leery, he allowed it.

"I want to tell you something. Please listen to me," she said, standing on her tip toes as if she wanted to whisper in his ear and feeling that gun press against her hip.

"I don't think you're like him. You're not a bad man, Elliot. You deserve a long and happy life. But you're a horrible assassin," she said and slammed her forehead against his nose.

He fell backwards, one hand clutching his face, the other aiming the gun. Renee grabbed that outstretched arm and began to wrestle with him. He was stronger than her, a great deal stronger, which is why she felt relieved when she saw Elizabeth at her side, joining the effort.

Together, they repeatedly slammed his hand against the floor, forcing the gun from his grip as he issued a dejected moan. She and Elliot locked eyes when the gun hit the floor. She grabbed for the weapon, he grabbed her. His short nails grated down her arm as they tussled over the gun and out of desperation, Elizabeth landed squarely on his back and bit into the back of his neck. Elliot growled and drove his elbow into Elizabeth's side but by the time he could direct his attention back to Renee, she was pointing the gun straight at his head. Never taking her eyes off him, she stood up and began to back away, wanting to put some distance between him and whatever foolhardy decisions he might decide to make.

Elliot smiled at her while he wiped the blood from his face and indeed, she and Elizabeth had done well. That made it all the more confusing that he didn't seem too concerned with the fact that she was the one wielding the deadly weapon.

"You won't shoot me," he said as he moved to get up.

Would she? She didn't know if she could take a life and thought it was unfair that she should even be forced to make such a decision. Then Elizabeth grabbed the gun away from her and the choice was out of her hands in more ways than one.

Elliot froze and the smug grin left his face.

"I will," Elizabeth warned.

"Then do it," he challenged. "Once Jackson finds out about this, I'm as good as dead anyway. You'll be doing me a favor."

He looked so pathetic, so broken. Renee felt guilty about manipulating him, fearing it made her no better than any other abuser, but he and his brother had started this. It wasn't wrong to fight back.

"Now what do we do?" Elizabeth asked.

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Author's Note: Wow, it's been a productive week for me!

Finally, Renee's strength is beginning to show. She managed to outsmart pretty much everyone in the room. I'm so proud of her.

As always, a special thanks to emptyvoices for her input and suggestions and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review.