Exiled.

[Eddie Vaako] Eddie's swift, efficient footsteps are probably lost in the other sounds of the hallway. Too common, too much a part of the everyday at the morgue- perhaps, given the busy week- even this late at night the cool tapping of hard soles is nothing to raise one's head at.

The rangy thirtysomething cop presses the omniprescent scowl from harsh features, schooling the severe places of his sharp, aquiline face into something vaguely more pleasing. He'd been pleasing once. The shards of latter day vanity are still a thing easily gathered.

Whoa.. don't go too far, Eddie..

He passes the observation window of the morgue proper like the shadow of a hunting dog. Lean. A bit too tall. Headed for the good Doctor's office.

[Dr. Slaughter] The door to Imogen's office is half open, and the sound of the kinwoman's voice is an easy rise and fall, as she speaks, presumably on the phone.

When he knocks, there is a pause in the conversation, and then the sound of Imogen rising her voice to let whoever know to come in.

She looks up to touch her eyes on the Detective, pausing there, stilling there.

Then she returns to her phone call. The conversation seems to be about the particular scientific details of the findings of a deceased's bloodwork. She explains, once, then twice about the chemical byproducts of heroin, the dilution of levels in the blood. She then assures the other on the phone that she can explain it in court.

Twice, the second time, more impatient.

She puts down the phone, after ringing off, one hand lifting to push back at tendrils of hair from her face, tucking them absently behind the cusp of her ear.

"What can I do for you, Detective?"

[Eddie Vaako] He'd slipped into her office upon being invited with the smooth aplomb of a naturally graceful man who's interrupted a Captain once or twice and lived to learn from the experience. Long, strong hands flick deftly across Eddie's tasteful clothes after he settles into the chair. He arranges himself intently. The motions at once old ritual and something so casual he could do it in his sleep.

Once Imogen's attention is on him, the rangy cop fixes half lidded eyes on her face, the pale green pools flickering along the path of her fingers as she tucks a bit of red behind her ear.

"I was... that.. hm." With a brief scowl, Eddie's hand flickers to his inner jacket pocket. He comes out with two brightly colored cards and leans over to drop them on the edge of her desk before settling back into his seat.

"I was a bastard the other day and I'm sorry." Long fingers slide to the side in a deft, expansive gesture before returning to drum nervously on the arms of the chair.

"You deserved better." He nods at the two cardstock pieces of paper. "My apologies."

[Eddie Vaako] Belatedly.

"Hope you like crazy french circuses."

[Dr. Slaughter] His inauspicious beginning draws a frown. She leans nothing on her desk, sitting poised in her chair. When he apologizes, her eyebrow arches slightly, a measure of tension crossing her mouth.

She looks away - down to the brightly coloured cards he's dropped on her desk, then up again, making no move to pick it up yet.

A silence stretches, a little too long. Beyond the door, a cart rattles as it moves through the hallway, headed for the elevator. There is conversation - male, as two walk down the corridor. Somewhere unidentifiable, a phone rings. It is the middle of the day, and the Cook County Medical Examiner's Office is a bustle of activity.

Her labcoat is hung over the back of her chair, and the slender lithe doctor is dressed in black, the sleeves of her shirt ending at her elbows, the colour of it all, accenting her pale skin and bright hair. One imagines that most people when they first see her, find her ill-suited to her career. Perhaps that impression lingers on many, though after even a small dose of her personality, it might be easy to see why she never focused on living patients.

"You don't owe me gifts for an apology," she says, finally.

[Eddie Vaako] "Can't hurt." He shrugs- then he seems to pause. To consider. That had been too cursory. Eddie shakes his head minutely, leaning forward until his elbows rest on his knees. Long fingered hands dangle between his thighs. A blink and he begins again, less flippant this time. A trickle of sincerity? Maybe. His deep, deep voice thrums through the room again.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd accept 'em. You've uh.." His eyes swivel through the room, then take her in again. He settles for understatement. A lot of it.

"You've helped me out a lot." He nods. Lots more is encapsulated in the statement. Delivered with eyes. The look of a king in his own country, exiled to another.

[Dr. Slaughter] She hadn't intended on accepting them. It's there, in what she said, in the way she does not reach out to touch them or even look at them much beyond that first, cursory glance.

In a split-second that changes.

She leans forward, reaching across the desk to pick them up, tapping them together and setting them beside her phone, to be remembered later.

"Don't mention it," she says.

Another brief silence. Her gaze flicks toward the door, then back again.

"Listen," she says. "I don't talk about what I've done. And from most, it would ha' been th'ramblin's of a -" a pause, before she uses the words, half with distaste, "armchair warrior."

A beat. Imogen can carry a conversation. She can sound intelligent on the stand. Give her things of a more personal nature and each word is carefully considered and chosen, like rounded stones from a pool.

"Had it been any o'er week, I wouldn't ha' gotten into the conversation in the first place."

[Eddie Vaako] At first, Eddie simply seems surprised. Imogen is not one to expound at the best of times. His attention passes between her eyes and lips as she speaks, the rabid attention of a hunter snatching at every word. Once she concludes, he nods- perhaps in agreement, or understanding.

He plucks a bit of nothing from one knee, settles back into the chair with the stony calm of someone who feigns being at ease but rarely is. Too high strung, guilty conscience, mindful of the door behind him, call it like you want.. he still does a good job pretending.

A bit of chagrin shows in the tilt of one stark black eyebrow. A touch of embarrassment.

"When I.. mentioned armchair warriors... I was referring to myself. Not you." He nods, adding a bit lamely.

"I guess it doesn't matter at this point... but I don't actually see you like that at all." He clears his throat.

"Never did."

[Dr. Slaughter] A long pause.

Then: "Alright, then."

And that's all there is to it.

Her phone rings, and Imogen's gaze flicks briefly toward it. "See you at the gym, shall I?" there is a bit of a twist to her mouth at the question.

[Eddie Vaako] He speaks like he's continuing a conversation they'd already been having as he rises from the chair.

"...were doing just Fine, then you had to go and bring THAT up..."

A smile lingers in his voice as he tosses stylish sunglasses on his face, and tosses the doctor a salute. A smoker's cough heralds his trip down the hall.