A/N: Really not sure where this came from. Just know that it didn't. Haven't really decided whether it's going anywhere or if it's just a confusing one-shot. I do know that the tense went bizarre half-way through and I switched it all to this tense…

Minor cross-over, blink and you will miss it - if anyone can tell me what it is, it's a virtual cookie!

She holds the lighter easily, the flame licking up into the air. The lighter is stylised, metal, and while Eliot can't make out the design her fingers obscure, he knows it's going to be the four dragons. It's the same lighter she had when he saw her the last time.

"Can you escape before I drop it?"

Eliot can smell the petrol soaking into the carpet. They are in a ticking time-bomb, and only one of them will survive if it goes off while they are still in the room. It isn't going to be him, if he's still in the room. The flame's dancing is almost hypnotic.

"You as fast as you used to be?"

There is a challenge in her words, and Eliot wonders how it came to this. It had all started out as a regular con, and now it has come to this, the two of them in a petrol soaked house in Toronto, with SRU Team One yelling, with the woman smirking, with that damned lighter flickering and sparking. He knows he can get out, he is as fast as he used to be.

"Shall we find out?"

The woman jerks, a vicious flash of her teeth and Eliot's reminded that she snapped years ago. They'd tried to section her. What a bundle of jokes that had been. The psych ward had been burnt to the ground, nearly all the inhabitants dying, in a 'gas leak'. He knew the truth. It was far more horrifying, and he wondered absently how she'd managed it without help – cause no-one would have helped her. Not in something that psycho.

"Not talking to me?"

It's not a challenge, it's not even a question. It's a statement of fact, she knows he's not talking to her, hasn't spoken to her since the two of them spent six months in hell – almost literally. Admittedly, that was a mutual agreement, they weren't supposed to even meet up, or be in the same city. If either of them spotted the other in the street, they turned around, walked the other way and left the city. Together like this was too dangerous.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

Eliot fights down the feeling growing in his chest. They are three stories up. Escaping from this isn't going to be easy to explain. He can hear the team screaming in his ear and takes the earpiece out. He can't afford distractions right now. All that can exist is him, the girl with the flame red hair, and the lighter. She flicks the lighter closed.

"I can take you down."

His statement doesn't surprise either of them, and her wicked smirk widens as she flicks the lighter open again, the flame leaping up. He stares at it as she stares at him, her eyes flicker almost demonically, the flame reflected in them seems to belong there in a way it wouldn't in anyone else's eyes. His eyes flickered to the tattoos peaking out from underneath her leather jacket. He knows what they are, slipping around her shoulders, he's memorized them, traced them a million times over, before they had to split up.

"Before I drop the lighter?"

Her question isn't unexpected. In fact, it's exactly what she always says in a situation like this. At least…it's what she'd said the last time the two of them had been in this situation. This was only the second time it had happened, and Eliot prayed it would be the last. This was always bloody hard to explain.

"Probably not."

There, he could admit it, he wasn't so proud that he couldn't. At least, not with her. Her eyes lit up and her smirk widened again, all too soon, Eliot was sure her face was going to split in two from the effort of maintaining that smile. Then again, he wasn't quite sure she'd be her or that he'd believe this situation was real if not for that improbably increasing evil smirk of hers. Admittedly, there was part of him that found it absolutely adorable.

"Didn't think so."

It's drawled, and this time, there's no question mark involved, not even for courtesy sake and they're screwed. They've passed the line they always tried to keep so plainly drawn. So long as this wasn't a conversation they could control it. So long as it was an inquisition on one of their parts, everything was fine. That unspoken line had been more than crossed. It no longer even existed.

"It's been a while."

Another admittance from his lips. Truth was he couldn't really risk the whole kit-and-caboodle of the team knowing the truth. If they knew…they'd be at risk. The world he existed in was a risky one. The woman in front of him was leant against the wooden post that ran up the entire house for some completely unknown reason, the lighter being flicked open and closed, on and off idly as she watched him.

"Don't doubt it."

Her accent's faded, it's not as clipped as it used to be. Eliot wonders why his mind is informing him of these useless bits of information. It's not going to get him out when she finally chucks the lighter down. It's just him, her, the lighter, and their strangely teasing, playful, flirtatious words. He never questioned how any conversation they'd ever had turned into this, flirting, banter that was laced with vicious, poisoned jibes.

"You here for a reason?"

Eliot wonders what inspired him to ask. Since when did she ever need a reason to do anything? Still, he asks. His serious words laced with dark meaning she doesn't miss. Her eyes widen, and one hand trails seductively to the low 'V' formed by her jacket's zip. Eliot wonders if she has a t-shirt on.

"I wanted someone to pay."

The seductive move doesn't leave, even as her words are laced with a venom not aimed at Eliot. He doesn't need to ask what that someone needed to pay. He already knew. He'd known since the beginning of this situation, since he'd seen her in that room and neither of them had walked away, instead ending up here. But that still didn't make him extend her an alliance, a 'truce' in their endless, painful confused dance. Just because they are on the same side, doesn't mean they can work together.

"Someone always has to pay."

And doesn't Eliot Spencer know the truth of his own statement? He also knows that all too often, it's the wrong person. Then again, for some reason unless it's a child or a battered woman, Eliot was never been able to bring himself to care before. But now…

"I'd say a penny for thoughts. But it's overpriced for both of us."

Eliot chuckles. Only she candeliver a comment filled with such self-deprecatory nonsense and still make the person who heard it think it was an insult to them alone. He's long since learnt to brush her harsher comments off and see the self-hatred she hid in plain sight in them. Psychotic? Yes. Unaware of it? No. Likes being the way she was? Even more 'No'.

"You're probably right."

He hits back. Two can play this fool's game they got involved in. Whether or not it'll break them is another question. They've never been good at losing. Never been that good at winning either. He's the best in his field and he still strives for more. Blood has long since expunged the demons of her past, yet she still seeks more to prove to herself that she's not weak.

"But that's not why we're here."

Eliot curses himself for voicing that thought. It had been getting as close to perfect they could obtain, this twisted, hateful, skewed encounter. But it has to end somehow. They can't delude themselves about that. They've never been able to delude themselves before, they can't start now. Her eyes hold that dangerous glint again.

"Can you escape before I drop it?"

The lighter flares up again, and Eliot finds himself entranced by the dancing flame this time. Dangerously so, he can't afford distractions.

"You as fast as you used to be?"

Eliot tenses. He's as fast as he's always been. Maybe even faster, he hasn't stopped training.

"Shall we find out?"

That's his cue, and Eliot streaks across the room to the window, even as the lighter falls from her fingers.

"It's not over."

The words are quiet, almost swallowed by the 'whoosh' as the petrol ignites. Eliot smashes through the window and makes the fire-escape of the next building. It's too far for a normal person to make, but Eliot's long since accepted that he's not normal.

Maybe he'll just stay here away. It's comfortable enough. There's warmth coming from opposite him, he's damn near concealed.

Let them think the fire killed him.

It's just not over. It never is, never has been, probably never will be.

After all, they've never had a fat lady to sing.

A/N: Prologue or one-shot? You opinions are appreciated. Please review!