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Fine. If he couldn't get himself to ask – she wouldn't wait until he turned it all around again.

Without really thinking it through, she walked over to the bed to pick up her gun, already going over the arrangements for her trip back. Otherwise she wouldn't have been surprised when he suddenly jumped up, his hand reaching the gun an instant before hers, quickly pulling it away.

Irritated, she looked up at him, frowning. Didn't we agree you weren't going to pretend you could ever use a gun on me? But meeting his gaze, seeing the expression on his face, she understood he had no interest in the gun. He just knew she wouldn't leave without it.

Wait, his eyes seemed to say. And she sighed, tilting her head, knowing she would regret it if she didn't leave now. Things had already gone way too far.

She straightened up again, realizing how everything had changed all of a sudden, how they both would have reacted differently to the same situation not too long ago. How going for the gun would have conveyed other messages than her getting ready to leave and him asking her to stay, generated less harmless perceptions. And while she couldn't blame herself for not feeling threatened by him, she wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he obviously wasn't intimidated any longer by her either. It should bother her.

Really? Why?

She sighed and turned her head to cast her eyes round the room in order not to let him see the doubt on her mind. The struggle she suddenly found herself in every time she blinked. It used to be so easy. She was usually able to relax to some degree, once she had decided that it was safe. And that was easy to determine: she was safe when there was no one around who had any interest in harming her or, if there was, when she knew there was a good reason to leave her alone. When she had some leverage. It was simple and it had always worked for her, but now the equation suddenly didn't seem to add up. Or she couldn't do the math anymore. She had given away the only leverage she had: to kill him or at least to threaten to kill him. Because you don't need any. Let's face it: he has done more to help you than to harm you. Besides messing with her mind. Besides planting all these doubts in her head. Besides that, he hadn't done anything that would qualify him as a threat. There was nothing complicated to it. So why didn't she lean back?

Because all you have is your own judgment, which, let's be honest, doesn't count a lot at the moment. Because everything within her objected to the idea of simply relying on him and on the belief that he wouldn't one day change his mind. It wasn't so much the risk of him selling her out that bothered her but more the fact that she was willing to go with it. It simply wasn't like her. To accept a risk, no matter how small it might seem. Just like she had never been the type for doubts and second thoughts. They're just distracting. It didn't mean she couldn't be flexible if necessary, but once a decision was made, once something was done… And that was why a part of her feared what Nick wanted to hear from her. Because she wasn't sure anymore if she could say it.

Of course you can say it.

But could she still live it?

Frustrated, she turned to face him again. She had to end this, the one or the other way. She just kept getting more confused around him and she couldn't afford any more doubts. Things had to get back to normal.

He was still staring at her, his hand still around the gun.

"Do you want me to say it, then?" she offered, getting impatient at his silence. But she didn't have to.

"How do you do it?"

Finally. The words she had more or less been waiting for. So she answered as she was prepared to answer, banning all other thoughts from her mind.

"How do I do it? How do I live with myself, how do I go on?" She rolled her eyes. "It's simple. You can't go back anyway."

"No, but you can think back," he objected.

"Yes. But it doesn't get you anywhere. At least nowhere you want to be. It really is that simple: once something is done, there's no alternative to sticking with it."

She saw him lowering his gaze, staring on the bed sheet between them.

"Your friend is right," she continued. "It doesn't matter anymore. All the thinking in the world won't change a thing and you can regret what you did all you want, it won't –".

"I'm not regretting it," he cut her off, and she raised her brows.

"I'm not regretting it," he repeated, looking up at her again. "I did it to help Phil."

Good for you, she thought to herself. Then what's the problem?

"But I can't –" he started but left the sentence uncompleted.

"Can't what?" she asked impatiently.

He seemed to struggle for the words and it took a while before he got the sentence out

"I can't see what's right."

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He looked for a reaction in her face but there was nothing at first. He couldn't tell if she was waiting for him to elaborate or if she simply wasn't surprised at his words. Maybe she had anticipated them, figured this out as well.

"I just…I can't tell anymore. And I don't mean what's right or wrong in general. I can tell the difference between good and bad as much as anyone else." Maybe as much as you. Cause she knew that difference as well, she just didn't seem to care about it.

It hadn't taken him long to make up his mind about what he wanted to do. Not after that summer. He had known long before he had finished school. Psychology. Because he wanted to know what it was that made people do the things they did. What had made Phil and him do what they had done, what had made Phil's dad do what he had done. Criminal psychology. Because he wanted to know how those minds were working, how they were justifying their actions to themselves. If they were at all. What concepts of good and bad, right and wrong they had.

And did you find some answers? a voice nagged him. Some he had found. Others would probably never be answered to full extent. But I found some concerning you, he thought, his eyes still riveted on Nina's face. He – for obvious reasons – had never had this proximity to a subject, never had comparable insights. It was fascinating and scary at once.

He tried to shake the thought off. Not now.

"I just don't know anymore what's right to me," he clarified.

"Yes, you do," she stated airily, turning away from him and walking the few steps to the chair. "You just don't like it."

He watched her shoving his clothes aside to take a seat, frowning, irritated at how offhand she was about his assertions.

She leaned back and met his eyes again, her expression unreadable. Almost blank but not quite. Bored? Indifferent? Waiting? Observant? He couldn't really tell.

"Okay," he remarked cuttingly, "since you seem to know more than I do - enlighten me."

He had expected one of her smiles to appear on her face, the usual signs of her amusement or sarcasm, but there was nothing. And it actually made him even more uncomfortable. The way she looked at him, staring right into his eyes. Until he understood. It was something she had only come to think of now. Something she hadn't had time to think through.

He waited a few seconds but was too impatient.

"Try me. I might be able to give some clarification on the matter," he offered and another couple of seconds later she finally broke her silence.

"Maybe I was wrong."

He frowned. Not even her tone was giving him any clues right now.

"Maybe there's something else you need even more."

"Even more?" he sneered, aware it was his insecurity getting the better of him. His fear. The fear that she would be right with whatever she would point out next. Right again. Because the more time his brain had to process the information, the more he realized it wasn't all new to him. Deep inside, he had somewhere had the same thoughts, he had just never allowed them to surface.

"You profiled me," she explained unmoved. "You couldn't have missed the most obvious question. What made me do it? What made me betray my country?" Finally, a slight note of sarcasm again, but it was gone as quickly as it had emerged. "Maybe you had an idea after you threw in the towel yourself." She tilted her head, her body language nearly communicating sympathy. Or pity? "That was Tunisia. The same education, the same job, the same frustration. Qualified me, didn't it?"

To understand, to know what it's like, he replied in the safeguard of his head, yes, it qualified you.

"You're repeating yourself," he barked aloud.

"We both quit," she ignored his remark. "We just chose different ways."

"Yeah, that's a way of putting it!" he spat, doing his best to display contempt while his brain started working. Her last words had triggered something, and he got there the same moment she said it out loud.

"So how come I took the road I took, and you didn't?"

She let her words hang in the air for a moment, and he focused all his energy on not showing a reaction.

"You must have been wondering. All this talk about your world and my world, all your efforts to show how you can't understand how I could do the things I did, to emphasize how appalled you are?" She frowned. "Is it really that incomprehensible to you?"

He managed to give her a mocking smile, but it cost him. It cost him a lot. And if it worked, it would only be because she wasn't that sure of her own theory anyway.

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She knew she could be way off, probably was. It was more than a long shot. But there wasn't exactly a lot she had left to lose so she had called him on her hunch. To see where it would get her. But the expression on his face seemed genuine.

"Does that help?" he sneered. "Does it silence your regrets to try and make me just like you?"

She closed her mouth and turned her head away. Not really.

She sighed inwardly. She couldn't believe she had come this far. Not only was she insecure and full of doubts, she was even tricking herself now, trying to make herself feel better by projecting something onto him that wasn't there. Of course she had been wrong.

"You would know what you're talking about, wouldn't you?" he mocked. "You must have wondered yourself: why didn't you just do as I did? Why didn't you just quit if it was so bad? Cause that's what you normally do – you don't like a job, you quit."

True. She lowered her eyes. Why did everything suddenly seem so simple, so applicable.

"So if it was just the realization that the world is a bad place and you're not making it better even if you try – then why did you become a monster," he hissed, "and I didn't. How do you explain that?"

"I'm not the one looking for explanations," she dismissed his remark but something else stuck with her.

A monster. Something in the way he said it, emphasized it. As if…

As if that's what he thinks you are. That's what he means, nothing else. She had to stop reading more into it.

A monster. Wasn't that what she had started to think as well? She was trying not to, most of the time successfully so, but she had always known once that door would be opened, it would be impossible to close it shut again. She knew if she allowed herself to climb all the way down to that dark little room inside of her… But she was on her way now. She was already at the door.

She realized he was talking again, differently though, his words softly penetrating the racous silence within her.

"…to you, but I did."

She raised her eyes, and found him hanging his head, avoiding to look at her.

"Wonder. Just…not often. Just a moment. Here and there?" She heard him chuckle. A weak, desperate chuckle. "I probably just spent too much time inside sick minds."

All her thoughts were forgotten as she frowned at him, wondering if she was really hearing what she heard.

"But you're right. Sometimes I have to remind myself…that there's no excuse for what you did. That it's horrible. That..."

She was taken aback. She hadn't really thought she could be right.

"But I can't help it," he continued, the struggle visible on his face, "a part of me…", his jaws clenching, "…understands."

Maybe she had taken her turn in messing with his mind now. Maybe she had talked him into this. No, you couldn't have. She couldn't just have talked him into believing something like this. She had certainly shoved it under his nose but it had to come from somewhere else. It had to come from him.

"I know I could never have…walked down the same road you did but…" He paused again, staying silent for a long moment while she felt unable to do as much as blinking. She stared, not able to move as he seemed to fall into pieces right in front of her.

"I know what it's like to be disillusioned. I can see why you don't believe in anything anymore. They taught me." He swallowed, and she thought she could see a slight shiver running through his body when he continued. "I could never prioritize myself the way you do. Set everything, really every other thing aside, every…respect for human life, every piece of…" He shook his head. "Just because you decided it's not worth caring about anything else, that doesn't give you the right to… I'm not like you! But I understand it better than I should."

It?

She had known that he had found his way into her mind. He had proved it over and over again. But she had no idea he was this close.

"I know you felt you sacrificed too much to just…walk away. Cause it leaves you with nothing, it left me with nothing. Although I didn't even give half of what you gave. And you're right: those months after I quit, I wondered. In…in my lowest moments," he smirked, "I wondered if I shouldn't have…seen to that I get something out of it. Anything. And then I saw you. In Tunisia. And yeah, I guess that was why I came to you, and why I kept coming back. To assure myself that you're not what I want to be."

She took a long, deep breath. So her hunch hadn't been such a long shot after all. All his emphasizing how appalled he was, how he couldn't understand, his naivety – all just to convince himself. To remind him of the road he hadn't taken and why. Of what was waiting at the end of it.

"But I guess I couldn't distance myself as much from you as I wanted to either. From what you did, from what I know. From what I understand. So I tried to…to break you." He nodded. "Because…" He suddenly looked up, revealing his eyes, and she didn't quite know how to interpret the expression in them. "I don't know. I guess because I thought…if I can fix you, I can fix myself."

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He waited for her to say something but she didn't. Just stared at him, thrown by his revelations. Hell, he had thrown himself.

He couldn't stay still any longer and looked around, reached out for the package on the nightstand then and lit another cigarette. He noticed his hand slightly trembling with the matches and looked up, seeing she had caught it as well but didn't comment. Didn't even give one of her little smiles. Didn't give any clue as to what she was thinking.

He was the first to look away again. He hadn't been prepared for this. He hadn't known any of it until the words had come over his lips. Not really. Not…

Of course I've known it. It hadn't just come flying to him. Maybe the words hadn't been there, the awareness. But the truth had been lying within him all along. He had just not been ready to see it, had tried to make sense of it the best he could without touching upon what he couldn't comprehend. Until now.

Who would have thought this would be the day, he thought. Who would have thought it would be like this. And feel like this.

Sitting up against the wall again, his arms resting on his knees, he took a couple of deep drags, watched the smoke drifting off, watched her watching him. He was alright. He hadn't thought he would be, but he felt alright. Or a part of him at least. The rest was still confused. It would take some time to let it all sink in but a part of him was surprisingly calm all of a sudden.

He finished the cigarette.

"So, it seems you asked the wrong question," she finally broke the silence. "It's not about what I want."

"I guess not," he sighed, and watched her getting up, collecting her remaining belongings from the floor, slipping her shoes on.

"Well, I'm glad we figured that out," she remarked sarcastically and stepped closer, reaching her hand out.

He hesitated a moment but then leaned forward and laid the gun into her open palm. She closed her fingers around it and turned away, heading for the door. He realized this time she wouldn't come back. If all of this had been good for anything then obviously to give her the reason she had been looking for, the reason she needed not to kill him. She had it now - why should she stick around any longer.

"Where are you going now?" he asked, not really sure what he was hoping to accomplish. But she stopped, slowly turning back around to face him. The familiar scornful expression on her face. It was not what he really wanted to ask her and she knew it. They both knew it.

"So, this is it," he stated, and she gave him a scrutinizing look before she took a step closer again.

"What – you thought we could just hang out a little?" she sneered. "As amusing as this was –"

"Oh, cut the sarcasm routine," he cut her off, brusquely. "We both know what's behind it."

She gave him a defying look but didn't object.

"So, what now? You're just going to go on as if nothing happened? Pretend everything's alright?"

"I always do," she replied calmly, as if it wasn't an admission.

"Yeah, but how much longer?"

She took another two steps towards him, a sign of aggression and anger she wouldn't allow to show on her face.

"What do you think this is? A therapy group? I didn't come here for counseling."

"No," he admitted. "Neither to have sex with me. But you had. Which tells a whole lot."

She stood still, tilted her head back to look down on him. And this time she failed to hide her emotions. It was obvious how much she hated him for reminding her. For using it against her.

"If I remember correctly, you weren't exactly fighting me off. So what does that tell about you?"

"That I'm desperate? Confused?" He glared at her. "That I don't know what the hell is going on or how I can make it better."

She raised her brows.

"Oh, I thought you do," she stated, her voice heavy with bittersweet sarcasm for a second. Then she shook her head slightly, frowning at him. "Fixing me? I don't need to be fixed. I'm not a car. I'm not broken."

"Oh, really?" he retorted. "Tell me you're –" he started but she stopped him.

"Don't go there," she warned him, returning his own glare with even more intensity. "No more tell-me-dares."

He clenched his teeth but swallowed the rest of the sentence.

"Alright," he remarked bitterly. "You're not broken. You don't need my help. You don't need anything. You're not having any regrets, you're not looking back seeing all those people who died by your hand or because of something you did, the ones you hurt or simply betrayed. No, you don't need to be fixed. You're just perfectly fine with how things are. In fact, your life couldn't be any better, and if there's anything at all that –".

"I can't," she cut him off, "be fixed." Her voice loud and clear but still matter-of-fact.

He shut up, but she didn't give her words any time to hang in the air. If she was aware of their magnitude, she didn't let it show.

"If you want to get your life back together, fine. Do it. But it has nothing to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you," he objected.

"No, it doesn't," she repeated, accentuating her words carefully and shooting him another glare. "And you better keep it that way."

He stared at her, almost expecting her to raise the gun that was still in her hand to emphasize her point, but it wasn't necessary, of course. He wasn't stupid.

"You don't owe anything to anyone, there's no need to make amends. So do whatever you have to do but leave me out of it."

He tried to smirk. "Still worried I could sell you out?"

Another warning look. Don't push me. And he didn't.

"What about you?" he asked in a less aggressive tone.

She maintained her glare a moment longer, but then obviously decided that it didn't matter anymore. That she had let her guard down so much already that it wouldn't hurt to do it one last time, although sarcasm helped taking the edge of.

"A little late to make amends," she sneered, turned around, and walked out. And letting the door fall shut behind her, she was gone while Nick just kept staring at the wooden frame.