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Evan was, actually, on the training fields, alternatively turning training dummies into kindling and trying to get passersby to spar with him. He had a lot of broken dummies, but no sparring partner. (He did, however, have a couple of promises to spar later, in an off-the-field kind of way, from some of the women he had stopped. He was okay with that.)

Gir registered the sound of Chel's voice before Evan did, his hyperactive giggling turning into a threatening snarl without pause or warning. It was startling, but not as much as seeing Chel standing there.

"Likewise," Evan replied, surprised. He hadn't seen her again after he had visited her while she'd been in quarantine, figuring that would be her final destination after what she had done to land herself there and resolving to put it out of his mind. He had done all he could for her; some people just didn't want to be helped. It was easier to tell himself that, to reconcile the loss of a friend, than to know that he had failed her, too.

Not long ago, he would have taken her up on her offer to help him do some property damage. They would have destroyed all the dummies and then they would have sparred each other and then they probably would have taken themselves to a bedroom. Now, though, Evan didn't trust Chel with a weapon around him. He didn't trust himself with his own weapon around her, and Gir disappeared with a disappointed whine.

"Maybe another time," he lied, and again, "but it's good to see you. You're looking...better." Alive, and less like she was going to starve to death. "Decided to get rid of the pink? I almost didn't recognize you without it."

Of course Chel had come to him because she wanted something from him--it wasn't like she wanted to hang out. She had made her feelings on that very clear.

"From me?" Evan asked with a dubious frown. Surely there were other people she could ask--people who were still her friends, maybe even people who knew the depth of her treason and just didn't care. He missed her, sure, but he missed people who hadn't stabbed him in the back, too. He was curious, but he wasn't stupid, and the days of rushing to her aid because she whined loud enough had long since passed. "What kind of favor?"

Evan's eyes were immediately drawn to the heavy bracelet on Chel's wrist. That explained why she was being allowed to walk around unsupervised, at least. It wasn't quite the dream come true that Chel insisted it was, but it was better than the alternative--better that she be restrained than dead.

Even more surprising than Chel's request for help from him was her sudden development of something almost approaching a work ethic. "Golem work? Isn't that more Death's area of expertise?"

Evan barked a laugh, incredulous. "You actually told someone that you wanted to go to the other side to find a way to hurt your little friends and they believed you? You did? Did they not," he trailed off, looking pointedly at the bracelet on her wrist. He figured he didn't need to remind her how it had gotten there in the first place.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not going to sit around and keep you safe while you conspire with the enemy to get back at Deus. What the hell made you think asking me to help you continue to commit treason was a good idea?"

"Oh, sorry, you just like the ones that want to kill us, and you like them so much you're willing to turn on actual people for them. My mistake," Evan bit out. He hadn't forgotten Chel's actions in the tower--he never would--and the way she had reacted when he'd told her that he and Ami had TWEPed her little friend. The disappointment, the anger from both of them; the monsters had taken her from him, too, in their own way.

"Aren't you?" Evan asked, and it was almost mocking. "Are you really still a Sun? Because it's our job to hold the line, not break it to let the enemy in. There is no ******** way I'm going to let you run around on your own out there. I can't--I can't trust you anymore, Chel," and it hurt to admit, a phantom ache between his shoulder blades right where she had stabbed him in the back.

It would have been so easy to /take her throat between my teeth and bite and bite and bite and bite/ just let Chel walk away, to let her become someone else's problem. Evan had tried, time and time again, to save Chel from herself until she had pushed him away and it had been a shameful sort of relief. He had been mostly okay with that until about five minutes ago when she reminded him that she was still in need of help, that nothing had really changed despite all that Chel had gone through. She was still a spoiled child determined to get her way, and the tantrum she threw when he wouldn't give it to her didn't even surprise him.

"That's bullshit and you know it," Evan said. "You didn't ask me because you wanted me to watch over you. You asked me because I already know how ******** up you are and the others don't, and maybe if they knew how disloyal you are to anyone but yourself, they'd do what I haven't pass it on to Simon or H or Caelius to deal with. You asked me because if something goes south, you know I'd pull you out no questions asked." She called you a solider, boy. "And if I'd wanted you dead--that day in the infirmary or after every goddamn frustrating experience I've had with you since then--you would be. I don't need to kill you when you're so damned determined to kill yourself."