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Eli's eyebrows rise as he feels Scarlet's hand wander up his arm and across his shoulders as she moves around to the other side. His eyes follow her the whole way, watching her as she lowers again to look at the bike.

"I might be able to connect the two," he muses. Though his mind had taken a detour and he was scrambling to get back on track. "C'mon and I'll fill out a bit of paperwork so the shop knows what's happening."

Leading the way back inside, Sandy's nowhere to be seen, so Eli goes around the desk himself, rifling through some papers until he finds the right forms. "Alright... so you got a Honda... and what model was it again?"

Jotting down the information, he proceeds to ask Scarlet her last name again, her phone number, and figures out what day to bring her bike in for the job.

Still looking down at the form and having rattled off all the questions, Eli glances up at her. "Oh, and what's your favorite restaurant?"


Too weak to pull away and still too confused to even think straight, Scott lets himself rest in Hope's arms as they sat on the floor. He shook all over, not understanding what Hope meant. He felt like he'd been stuck in some horrid dream, yet it had been so real. It was a place he never wanted to go again.

Shaking all over, Scott continues to cry, his emotions all askew. Sliding down farther, he winds up curled up beside her with his head in her lap, his arms tucked around himself. He didn't try to push her away though... she was the only thing to comfort him right now and as confused as he was, he needed that.

Scott didn't know how much time passes, but eventually he didn't even have the energy to cry anymore. He just lay in a heap, totally exhausted, his body forced to rest. Slowly, his trembling lessens and his pulse begins to return to a normal pace. He would have fallen asleep, but his mind was still trying to recover and sleep wasn't something is subconscious wanted to do.

Swallowing hard, Scott just lets Hope run her hand through his hair, needing that kind of gentle comfort. "I'm... I'm sorry," he manages to whimper. "I had no control... or anything and I-"

He stops himself, not even sure where he'd been headed. He tries to move a little, but gives up. His body felt like one big dead weight. "I can't get up," he murmurs. "I'm sorry."

Pausing again, his fingers of one hand finds hers, his grip tightening. "I hate them," he whispers as one last stray tear escapes to roll down his cheek.