Nothing happened for a while. Laurel just stood there, breathing shakily and staring at James. Or James's ghost. Or her hallucination. Whatever he or it was. And James stared right back at her. She was typically fairly adept at reading people, due to the years spent in law enforcement that  had honed the skill. Laurel couldn't read him, though. He was just...standing there and looking at her.

Then he made a movement. A shrug. She blinked in response to it. He was turning away from her, moving across the wooden floor, util he stopped in front of her couch and took a seat on the furthest cushion so he was close to the wall. James turned his back on her and then was motionless. 

Laurel stood there for several long moment, staring at his back in disbelief. For another moment she wondered what she was supposed to do, since she sure as hell did not want him there in her apartment. She didn't want to see him, she didn't want to be aware of his presence. She wanted to be completely alone. But she couldn't throw him out, he wasn't even real. Just a figment of her imagination. She couldn't just grab  him and drag him to the door and push him into the hallway before slamming the door in his face.

Taking what was hopefully a calming breath Laurel decided all she could do was ignore him and pretend he wasn't there or real (which he wasn't). Then maybe he'd fade away forever. It was her turn to turn her back, and she went over to her bags of groceries, quickly stowing them away before forcing herself to do the thing she really didn't want to do: fill out the incident report.

Earlier that day she had learned that James's lawyer girlfriend was just a paralegal, and it had taken all of her self control to not punch a wall over the fact that she had allowed herself to be intimidated by a paralegal. But Laurel still took the report seriously, was still wary of Virginia. She may be just a paralegal, but to work at Gibson Dunn meant she must have had some serious skills, and undoubtedly friends in high places. So Laurel took her time with the report, probably more time than was really necessary. She recorded everything that had happened the evening of the shooting, no matter how much she didn't want to think about it, dotted every I and crossed every T, and then proofread it about a dozen times until she was satisfied that it was without flaw. Saving the file so she could print two copies at the office the next day (one for her bosses, one for Gibson Dunn), Laurel shut the laptop and closed her eyes. Letting out an exhausted sigh, she rubbed her eyes before peeking to her right to see if James was still there.

He was. Goddammit.

She was seated in one of her chairs, pulled as far from the couch as she dared, and after stashing the computer on one of her end tables Laurel stood and moved to the kitchen. She had changed into pajamas before starting on the report (blue and white stripped pajama pants and a overlarge band t-shirt that had belonged to Ben), and she was now ready to start her pity party for one. She preheated the oven for her take and back pizza and poured herself a glass of her cheap wine. It certainly tasted cheap, and she hoped it would wash the taste of bitter guilt and despair away.

Hating the fact that it was not yet late enough to slink off to bed without looking suspicious, Laurel seated herself back in her chair and sipped at the wine. After a few moments a glancing over at James's form again and again she finally had enough and turned on her tiny television to distract herself. "Hope you like reality television," she said out loud. She eyed him for a moment before looking back at the screen. "Because I love it."

It was a lie. Laurel did not love reality television, in fact there was a very long list of things she would rather do than watch reality television. But if James was just a figment of her imagination than maybe she could force him out by watching some. It was worth a shot since ignoring him and hoping he'd go away didn't seem to be doing the trick.

"Yep," Laurel continued, sipping at the wine. "Love it. Can't get enough. Watch it whenever I can. I always love seeing what those crazy Kardashians are up to, don't you. Now is it krazy with a K when it refers to the Kardashians? I can't figure it out? You got any ideas?"