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It was a strange shop on the best of days. Amongst the shelves and displays of machine parts and tools were racks of clothes –placed in a scattered manner about the floor as if it were only an afterthought that this store should include clothing in its inventory. Everything from very plain to absolutely beautiful clothes sat in the shadows of boxes and metal.

The shop was always clean, of course, but it could never quite shake the smell of motor oil. Neither could the studio apartment right above it. Neither could he, come to think of it, though he always made the attempt with cologne and strong soap.

The shop was empty of customers as work hours for the factories resumed after lunch. Likewise, he was someplace, but definitely not at the register. Maybe he was upstairs, sleeping through his digestion. Or maybe he was downstairs working to repair one of the bots because he needed the extra money. He always needed extra money, so there was nearly always one or two in the basement.

She wondered, if that was the case, why it was exactly that he was so comfortable leaving a money drawer unguarded. Maybe that had a lot to do with why he hadn't found someplace better than the place above her.

Moira took her time to look through the racks, at the mix of clothing for parties and work. But for a city with a single clothing shop and more than its fair share of factories, this must have been very acceptable.

"Lookin' for something?"

Moira turned her head to find Liam had snuck up behind her –his chin nearly on her shoulder.

He smiled a bit, "Was it me?"

She glared at him, "Of course it wasn't you. I just needed a new outfit." She grabbed a shirt off the rack and pushed it roughly into his arms. "Wrap this up."

Liam paused a moment, looking it over, "You took a three hour train ride for this? Not even your size…" He placed it back and took a dress from another display. He held it up to her, "This is better."

She smacked his hand away, "You're not going to win me over with gifts."

"I wasn't plannin' to," he said, "I can't afford to give away one of these."

"Strapped again?"

He paused as he put the dress back, and she could see his eyes closed as he focused on keeping that smirk on his face, "Hospital bills run a little high."

"At least your limp isn't very noticeable anymore."

She smirked as he froze again, the eyebrows pulled together and the smile now with lightly clenched teeth.

"Just the shirt, then?" he asked, taking it back.

"Yes."

He turned and walked back to his counter –wrapping it up quickly. "Two fifty."

"Your prices went up."

He glanced up, "Seems I had a hospital bed to pay for." He shrugged and brushed a stray bang out of his eyes, "Not so bad, though. 'Least with creditors on my ass, my answering machine is never empty. Makes me feel very popular."

He chuckled. It was paired with his practiced smile, with just the smallest bit of white teeth revealed. His brown eyes were half-lidded; serious but still carefree.

It was the same look he'd used when they'd first spoken –when he'd first asked her to go with him. Based on the memory he had for what had worked with women in the past, he no doubt remembered this look was how he'd first won her.

She wondered, idly, if he was trying again. He was bold and cocky enough that he might make the attempt.

Well, regardless, he was not going to.

Ever.

"How are things on your end?" he asked, placing the shirt into a bag, "I haven't been to Durem in… oh… a long time."

"Just fine. The shop is running well."

"Good. 'S nice to hear."

There was that smile again; the same look that made you want to melt. How many women had he used this on, even in the short while since he had recovered?

How many before her, and how many were going to be after?

Best not to look at it. She turned her eyes to the counter, with all effort made to appear bored with his silly flirting.

He passed the bag across the counter, their hands brushing. The contact was there longer than it needed to be, but she didn't pull away.

"… And yours?" She leaned her hip against the counter.

"People always need clothes, tools…" he said, "I'm just fine." He tilted his head, "You worried 'bout me?"

"People don't worry about pigs, Liam."

"No, 'course not." He leaned forward, "I think it's sweet, though."

"… Yeah?"

"Ya."

He kissed her softly, his hand running through her hair and keeping her in place before he started to kiss more forcefully. She stared at him for a moment, but found herself giving in.

The man knew how to do it. Just the right amount of tongue and nips and stopping for breath… It came from practice with the countless women he'd been with, she knew.

But still it was nice.

Her hands made their way around his back –gripping his shirt just a bit as he worked his kisses from her mouth to her ear.

"Moira…" he whispered, his voice nearly breathless.

"… Yeah?" she asked –leaning her head against his lips as she held him a bit tighter.

He paused to kiss her ear. "Two fifty."

And just like that, the spell was broken. Moira shoved him away and slammed the money on the counter. Liam smirked, content with himself, as he put the money into the register.

"If you ever feel like taking a train ride for generic shirts again… I'd love to have ya."

She gritted her teeth, "Pig."

She could feel his eyes on her as she stormed out of the store. He hadn't changed. In fact, after he closed for the night he probably had some girl coming up to his bed.

She tried to push it out of her head that she very well might have said yes if he'd asked her. How the hell that silky bastard was able to do that over and over…

Best just not to come back. She wasn't going to allow anything like that to happen again.