A/N: The name Saoirse is pronounced See-rsha.


Sophie couldn't remember her dream when she stared at the ceiling, the room barely lighted by the rising sun. Enough to make out everything but not for noticing colour, pretty much all of the room looked grayish-blue.

She only knew for sure that it hadn't been a nightmare, just a really weird dream that left you with a strange feeling in your tummy because it was funny yet so illogical.

Birds chirped outside and Niamh breathed quietly in her sleep, these were the only noises except for her own not so quietly breathing.

The Dubliner sighed and cuddled the stuffed penguin toy tighter. Niamh still owned a lot of stuffed animals but mostly kept them in on the top shelf of her closet. A few of them were already given to Soph, a monkey and two sheep.

The penguin was a baby one, the fluffy greys, with brown eyes and Soph would ask if she could keep it as well.

Those thoughts filled her head for solid 10 minutes, since she wasn't actually awake enough to call herself 'awake' but neither could she fall asleep again.

Suddenly, the rustling of textile and creaking of wood made Soph look to the side, upwards to the bed.

Niamh made some undefinable sounds along the lines of "eh" and "uh", blinking and staring at the wall.

"Good morning" it came from the mattress beside her bed and she turned to look at the other: "Morning."

A few more of the "I don't wanna be awaaake" sounds followed while Soph brushed the streak in the middle of her face aside. There wasn't a day where this jaw-long streak of hair in her face wouldn't get in the way.

Soph got often asked why she didn't cut it off but she only shrugged every time as an answer, eventually adding: "I don't really know, habits?"

When she had cut her hair three years ago she hadn't paid attention, only hated her look, hated it so much that she had grabbed the scissors and had started cutting as if she had been in a trance.

I'm not Daddy's little princess anymore. So why should I look like it then? Will never be Daddy's little princess again anyways. The king is gone and won't return.

And somehow, she forgot a streak of hair right in the middle of her face. She used to wear her ginger hair parted down in the middle, now she had an a bit odd looking fringe or at least an irregular centre parting, the hair close to her parting shorter unlike the bangs at the side. Her hair used to cover her chest, now it didn't even reach her shoulders anymore. She wore it in a high ponytail, the streak in the middle of her face tucked behind her right ear, fixated with two or three bobby pins (just like the hair at the back of her head) most of the time anyways.

When she looked at Niamh, the girl grinned tiredly:

"I bet I look like shit."

"No, I bet I look like shit."

"Having curly, thick hair gets you the most awful bed head."

"Niamh, we had the discussion a thousand times, having hair like MINE plus it being short gets you the most awful hairstyle in every situation – waking up especially."

"I won't let you win, I look more awful."

Soph looked down on her penguin, twitching at the short grey hair so that it was all spiked up before holding it up to Niamh with both hands:

"How about we agree that it has the most awful hair."

Niamh had already giggled when Soph started twitching, but now she laughed.

"Okay. But it still looks cute. Just like you."

"You look cute."

"You look cuter."

"I look like a zombie."

"So do I. No, I actually look like …" Niamh started and Soph hugged the penguin plushie with one arm, the other caressing it, straighten out the fur.

"Can't come up with any good monster that is known for long hair" she sighed wearily and the Irish continued to care for her plushie after she had thrown a look at the other:

"A banshee. Or a witch. A witch is always good."

The other girl laughed again, making Soph snicker too.

"Niamh the witch and Sophie the zombie. Sounds awesome."

"Yaaays! We should do this this Halloween."

"Absolutely. I should actually really visit you on Halloween."

"Yeah, I mean you missed out on Charlie's constant 'pull my bandages' jokes being thrown around last year, especially after five Guinness and three whiskys" Soph meant sarcastically, causing the other to crack up. And making Soph laugh as well, despite remembering what happened yesterday just now.

Will call you back when we got time, okay? Thank you sunshine, bye.

That was when the door got opened, a woman in her 40's and a head full off brown, wavy and totally messed up hair glaring at them:

"Niamh, Sophie, it's half past five. Other people are trying to sleep."

"Sorry" both girls whispered and Saoirse O'Brien sighed annoyed "Really" before closing the door again.

"Is it really half past five?" Niamh asked immediately after her mother left.

"I don't think your mom would lie to us. Could you check my phone, Niamh?"

The other turned to her bedside cabinet and picked Soph's phone up: "It went out. I will unpluck mine and charge yours, okay?"

"Aye" she replied while Niamh replugged her charger and turned Soph's phone on, putting it back on the cabinet.

She looked at her phone: "She was right, holy shit is it early."

She chuckled and put her phone away as well, looking at Soph: "My dad would lie to us. He would exaggerate and say it is two in the morning and call us impolite sheep."

"I still don't get why your dad thinks that sheep is an insult."

"Sheep are kinda dumb …"

"They are not Niamh, I dare you."

"But also fluffy and cute and stubborn."

"And not dumb."

"Eh."

"Niamh … "

"Sheep are wonderful cloud angels. Satisfied now?"

"Aye" Soph smiled victoriously and hugged her penguin, closing her eyes. Niamh tried not to laugh too loud this time.

"Wait, are you so protective of sheep because it's your nickname?" she then asked and the Dubliner looked at her surprised: "Now you mention it …"

She laughed: "But no, I didn't think of it before. I am just very protective of sheep because how dare anyone to say a bad word about those fluffy balls."

Niamh snorted and paid another look to her phone: "It turned on. Want to come here and put in the pin?"

"Too lazy. It's 4861. I trust you enough to forget it after that or not mess around with it."

"Aye aye."

A few seconds went by and she started to groom the penguin again:

"Can I keep the penguin?"

"Hm, I don't know. It's actually a really cute penguin, I might put it on my bed."

"Okay …"

"You have two missed calls."

Soph's heartbeat sped up and she lifted herself up, resting her weight on her elbows:

"By who? When?"

"Wait" Niamh said and opened the notification:

"Two times by His Gayesty" she gave her friend a judging look, who didn't react, "yesterday night around half past eleven. Do you want to call back? I can get the house phone."

You got them in trouble.

You shouldn't have done this.

"Ah, no" Soph muttered and laid back down, turning away.

"I'll think I sleep for a little longer. Night Niamh."

"Night Soph …" the other gave back confused.


Harry felt like he had died yesterday in that box, somebody had dragged his body out of the water a few hours later and had given him a rough defibrillation with thousand volts running through his body.

And he didn't even count the knocked out tooth which still burnt.

"At least I don't have to get it sewed" he muttered while examining his mouth in front of the bathroom mirror, gently nudging the wound with the tip of his tongue. Did getting an ear shot off hurt more than a knocked out tooth? He hoped it would. It really should.

Now he should have gotten away from the mirror, there was nothing left to do here.

Instead he kept staring and asking himself if he was the type of guy one would just want to have sex with. Wasn't that what Michele had tried during the first meeting?

He had only seen him twice and had flirted by hook or by crook.

He hadn't really done anything, they had barely talked –

Harry thought of his past experiences with girls and suddenly it made sense.

Girls had come up to him when he was out in the pub before so why shouldn't a guy now? (Although they had been way less interested at first. Or maybe less aggressive and forward than Michele.)

They apparently had liked the way he looked or they came to one of his friends, starting to notice him when he cracked jokes or just started to chat with them.

So maybe Michele just also liked the way he looked like, maybe Harry was a guy one would like to fuck.

"Fuck!" he cursed upon the sudden realisation that he maybe wasn't as straight as he had always thought. It had crossed his mind since yesterday when suddenly all the touches from the Sicilian hadn't bother him as much as they should have. That he stood here and thought why the hell he was appealing to the other simply confirmed it further and now he was fully aware of that.

But why Michele? It couldn't be only something like sexual attraction, considering that the thoughts really began to spawn once they couldn't see each other.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck my life" Harry continued to groan and curse, turning away and leaving the bathroom, falling into the armchair standing beside the window and tapping his fingers on the armrest while chewing on his lower lip.

A crush on a man he didn't want to have a crush on at all. The only worse way to realize that he was queer had been to crush on Charlie.

"Bah!" he whispered as a shiver ran through his body, leaving goose bumps at the mere thought.

He didn't know if it was a good sign that he didn't react the same when he thought of Michele.

He filed it under "I currently don't want to know" and mentally went through the other events of last night.

Sophie's phone call.

Harry quickly pulled a jeans and a t-shirt from his suitcase, putting it on, grabbing the key of his room and went outside on the hallway.

Charlie's room was directly beside his so it only took him a second before he started knocking on the door: "Charlie?"

He didn't get a response after a few seconds so he knocked again: "Charlie!"

"I'm coming!" it came muffled through the door and he assumed his friend was in front of a mirror and trying to making his hair exactly look like when he had gotten up.

He found himself confirmed when the door got opened:

"What's it Frecky?" he asked. Harry bet the dark circles around his own eyes looked as horrible as the one under Charlie's.

"I wanted to borrow your phone to call Soph back."

"Oh yeah sure, come in."

Harry followed him inside and closed the door behind him while the other walked over to the bedside cabinet and grabbed his phone. After unlocking it, he held it out once the other stepped closer: "There you go."

"Thank you."

"Tell her we are alright and miss her."

Harry smiled faintly at the other: "Of course."

The one second long smile on Charlie's was clearly forced and fake, and it made his friend wonder. Was he really just tired like himself or was there another reason for Charlie being this calm?

"Darn it, Charlie, unlock the screen again."

"Dear lord Frecky" he sighed and took the phone away.

"You could have just unlock it right in my damned hand!"

"And then let you see my code and do bullshit on my phone? Never Frecky, I am not a stupid or a naïve little boy." He gave him back the phone: "Now call her."

Harry scowled at the other but went into the contacts.

He had to admit that "Sheep Princess" was a lot cuter than "Brat".

He mouthed one last "Thanks" at the other before disappearing into the hallway and pulling the key of his room out of the pocket of his trousers, muttering a "Pick up" into the phone.

Just the moment he was about to put the key in the keyhole, it clicked:

"Hello?"

He almost dropped the key: "Hey Sophie?"

The breathing on the other side of the call speed up audible.

"Harry! Hey, how are you?"

He laughed quietly, a huge grin spreading on his face; it was silly, yet he couldn't get himself to stop it.

"Not gonna lie, pretty shitty. I just didn't sleep much last night. And some things happened so I will also go home with a, uh, missing tooth." He closed the door behind him: "Don't worry though, that's all. Oh, and a missing phone."

"You lost a tooth? How?"

"Not so important, it was an accident."

It grew silent.

"An accident?"

"Yeah, an accident. Nothing big, just me being an idiot and … unfortunate circumstances. Like it was with the phone – got stolen you know."

"Unfortunate circumstances, hah …"

"Hey, Soph, Soph – I am still in one piece and not toxicated, same goes for Charlie and Paddy."

"Well, you are not exactly in one piece…"

"Ugh, you nitpicker, it is just a tooth, okay?" he smiled. "Just a tooth, just me slipping on the fish market and saying hello to a particular hard table."

"And you didn't thought of a dentist to get that tooth back in?"

"I insisted I was fine and the time we did got to a dentist, there was not much to save there anymore …"

Harry was very grateful right now he was good at thinking up stories. He couldn't count the times it had saved his arse so far in his life.

She sighed: "Stubborn tosser."

"Yeah, I know. But how are you?"

"Oh, fine, I'm fine, I am at the O'Briens right now."

"Oh, good. Say hello to them from me."

"Sure … when will you come home?"

"Tomorrow, maybe even tonight, I'll tell you when exactly."

"Should I go back home?"

"Only if you want to, it depends on you, not gonna force you."

None of the two said something for a while and her deep breath made the sadness seep over to him.

He was tired and she was tired, they all were tired. Tired of a lot of things and they couldn't sleep it off.

"I, I think I'll go home. Waiting for you and shit, if you come home tonight you might even arrive earlier. Reminds me, what is about my driving licence?"

Her tone had changed to more casual.

"Ah, right that" he said and ran his hand through his hair: "We get to this when we're back."

"I mean, my birthday is pretty soon …"

"Soph, September isn't that near – "

"Time is just a construct, a construct made by people who want to make me impatient! Seriously, I picked my car a year ago but cannot apply for the licence, what kind of bullshit is this!"

She sounded like a kid, like the usual carefree, bratty Sophie he knew.

"I still don't get who the fuck thought you getting a land rover is a good idea – "

"It is for the farm, it – "

"This shit is so big, you might get lost in it! You might accidentally run your sheep over!" he bantered her.

"Harry you are an unbelievable and utter arse! Bloody wanker!"

"You threw more serious insults last week when I ate all the fish fingers!"

"And what?! Oh my god, are you implying fish fingers are more important than sheep to me?! Move your sorry arse back home, I dare you Harry, I will have a surprise of the first water for you!"

"Was that a come at me, bitch, you brat?"

"Hell yeah it was!"

"Well then you better really prepare something good for when I come home!"

"You bet your darn ugly face I will, you tosser!"

He chuckled and heard his sister also snorting on the other end of the line.

"Then I should get home soon to start the prank war, huh?"

"Yeah, you definitely should." She took a deep breath: "And please stay safe and don't lose any more teeth, yeah?"

"I'll try."

"Good … I think you want to hang up now, right?"

"Yeah and as I said, will call you later when we are going home."

"Ok."

"The others miss you. Love ya, brat."

"I miss them too. Love ya, tosser."

The second he hung up he knew he didn't wanted to be an adult. Especially not an adult with a shitty job he still had to take care of.

Somebody knocked on his door.

"Who's there?"

His heart made a little jump when he recognised the smooth voice immediately:

"It's me. I want to talk with you, Signore O'Connel."

Harry cocked one of his thick eyebrows: "Signore O'Connel? Finally back to the proper way of addressing?"

"I first wanted to talk about business, so yes, back to the 'proper' way of addressing." There was a short break: "Although you didn't seem to mind me using your first name so much in the end, don't you Harry?"

The Irish dragged his hand through his face.

He was not going to deny anything, he would just tip toe around it. Which was so not his usual behaviour. But neither was crushing on a man.

"Okay, then let's get this done – what do you want Mister Vento?" he asked after opening the door. The Sicilian looked different today with his hair down and Harry had to take back the frilly statement – it was just really wavy.

Michele got the excited puppy look of his face and put on a more decent smile: "I have to say, I thought about a few things concerning our business plans."

"I see, and what did you think about?"

"That I have a few things I want to discuss in private."

"We are in private."

"I am standing in the hallway of a hotel, with your bodyguards next to you, I wouldn't qualify this as private."

"I hate to break it to you, but I have only known you for two days and whenever we were alone, bad shit happened. Really bad shit."

"You can't blame me for the English incident."

"I can blame you for the fumble without any invitation the first time" Harry gave back, which had Michele looking away embarrassed. "And I am not so sure if the English weren't your idea as well."

The other's eyes shot back at him immediately, scowling. Or more like, he looked something between pouting and deadly offended.

"What kind of accusation is this? Yes sure, I invite Arthur Kirkland to get rid of a man I have never met before. You know Harry – May I come inside for this and close the door?"

Harry stepped aside to let him in and closed the door, the other walked into the middle of the room, taking a look around.

Then he turned to him: "Ask Arthur about the name Vento and chances are he will throw as much of a hissing fit as he does when he hears O'Connel. It's not my first time roaming around in Europe, but that has been at least three years ago, if not longer. Arthur had just been new into the business and we clashed, more via another family I was involved with. Which is quite ironic because our fathers also didn't think that highly of each other after Kirkland messed with my family via an Italian one."

"An Italian? Aren't you kind of … Italian too?" Harry piped in.

Now it was a real scowl: "Well, Harry, aren't you kind of, say, British?"

The Irish frowned displeased: "Then please explain why you are not Italian – that I am not British is obvious."

"Same reason why you are not British – History. We are our own people, before the unification of Italy, Sicilians would have never even thought of calling themselves Italian."

"I would love to ask about more history stuff, but that's a bit off topic right now. Thanks for the explanation though."

"You're welcome. And yes, back to the topic."

The Sicilian rolled his neck once and took a deep breath, before smiling: "I would like to invite you for dinner at my house tonight."

Harry just stood there awkward. Long enough that it was awkward for Michele too.

And also long enough for Harry to realize that he hadn't eaten anything in the past 15 or 16 hours.

"Dinner, just the two of us, at your house?" he repeated and the other chuckled:

"Exactly. To talk about business. And maybe other things."

"Other things …"

"Mhm, I am pretty sure you know what I am talking about."

Harry bit his lip and looked away: "Last night's stuff, yeah."

"So what do you say? I'll cook for you, we'll hopefully sort things out and tomorrow you can leave – if you want to."

"I can leave, how generous of you."

"Hey, if we get the basic stuff in line, I could come to Ireland next to take care of the details – once this entire situation regarding the English has calmed down a bit."

He smirked amused: "And depending on if you are even coming and how things will play out, I would also have another reason to get back to Ireland."

He wanted to get it all sorted out, he wanted to finally have a solution for his dreary financial situation and he also wanted to have an answer about his feelings. And as much as he hated to admit it, Michele wouldn't be different from the girls he had dated before – He would just have to try it out. And a date, which this was, even Harry got that much, was a good way to find it out. The only one he knew to be honest.

"I'm … I'll see" he said and cleared his throat. "Would it be okay if I gave you an answer in an hour or something like that?"

Michele smiled sheepishly: "Sure. I can give you the number of my phone, then you don't have to go through the formal company stuff first."

"That'd be useful" Harry answered and the other looked around:

"Do you have a pen and paper around here somewhere?"

The Irish exhaled heavily when the other already spotted a small pad on the table beside the window, luckily also a biro lying on top of it.

After writing down, the Sicilian didn't bother to hand the number to him, just left it on the table, wasting a short look out of the window before paying attention to the other again.

"Okay" the Irish muttered. "Is there anything else you want to tell me now?"

Michele just gazed at him for two or three seconds with his mouth slightly open, appearing to be lost in thoughts.

"No, I don't. I think I should leave, huh?"

"We both have things to do, don't we?"

"Yes we do. Hear you later then, I suppose."

"Yeah."

And just when Michele was almost out of the door, he turned around once more: "But one last question."

Harry sighed: "Yes?"

The Sicilian smiled: "Can I get a goodbye kissie?"

The Irish didn't glare, yet couldn't hold back the next comment: "You can get my foot up your arse, Michele."

Michele laughed, turning around and lifting his hand with a "Ciao bello" before he closed the door.

Harry sat down on the bed, ruffling through his hair. He waited two minutes.

Three, just to be sure.

Then he went to open the door and peeked down each side of the hallway, luckily not spotting Michele.

Then he slammed his door shut to hurry over to the rooms of the other two.


He still felt dizzy and he didn't like it. A lot of people got addicted to painkillers because, sure, they sent you to lala-land, where everything was good and jolly and nothing hurt. But it was so … boring. Robert had always known, if he would get addicted to any drug besides cigarettes, it would have been ecstasy. Or cocaine, maybe LSD. The stuff that gave you a kick, that made you feel invincible, adrenaline running through your veins.

He got this kick now otherwise, thanks to his work, but when the entire left half of his face started to burn again, he wondered if ecstasy wouldn't have been the better solution.

And about how Higgins wouldn't feel his face at all after their next encounter. Maybe he wouldn't feel anything ever again.

It would be way easier to deal with the rambling mess in his head if he would have a clear mind. The numbness over all these thoughts just gave him more of a headache.

"Robert, you already smoked half a package this morning, I don't think that smoking the rest of it will help more" Tahir said when the blond rushed to the door of the hospital room again. Robert glared at him, sadly unnoticed since the Pakistani-Brit was hiding behind an Issue of the Independent – wherever the hell he even got an English newspaper down here again.

"That's right, sit your arse down, Bailey" Arthur added from the window and with a snort, the Londoner sat down.

If you'd be a smoker, you would have been through half a package, too, boss, he thought while younger man started to walk up and down in front of the large panorama window again.

Arthur disliked being not in control.

It didn't mean everything had to go exactly the way he liked it, but he at least was always calm and happy when he knew what was going on. Even if all of the circumstances are against you, knowing what and that they were made everything a lot easier.

Concerning that, he could only imagine what the others were up to now. He didn't see much structure in O'Connel's way of thinking, nor in the one of his bodyguards.

And Vento? Well, this one was tricky. On one hand very predictable in his mood and strategies, on the other hand the Sicilian had surprised him more than once. And sometimes he believed that guy just was never out of luck.

Would most certainly be an explanation for right now.

"Sir, I hate to say it, but you seem troubled. Do you want to share something with us?" Tahir asked, putting his newspaper down to look at Arthur.

He stopped and paid a short look back before staring out of the window:

"Not really. I just hate waiting" he spit out and began to walk again, making Tahir sigh and continuing to read.

"Okay boss, but we found out where the Irish are, we sent Taylor and Jones there … and that's about it" Robert said. "And after that what? What are we actually waiting for?"

"We'll see" was Arthur's answer, not even looking at him.

"I'm sorry Sir, but we'll see what?"

The other turned to him: "We'll see what we'll have to do. And while I do not want to say that you screwed up, I have to say that I am going to take care of them alone – if it's possible."

The rustling of the newspaper being put down again followed and Tahir frowned at him: "Sir, are you sure? I don't think that doing anything alone is a wise decision."

"Yeah" Robert agreed, scratching his chin: "All alone sounds like a bad idea – even though I can't offer my help."

Arthur frowned, almost glared at them: "I know why you are concerned, but first of all I said if it's possible – I am not a stupid idiot who would just dive head first into a risky situation for the sake of me playing hero or whatever we want to call this. But if it seems to be appropriate to sneak in somewhere alone, making short work of them, then I will do it alone."

"All – alone?" Tahir stressed again and now Arthur snorted and turned to the window, gesturing with his hand:

"Like I said it all depends on which solution is going to be opportune for the situation. I will of course let you know if I plan a single trip, but by single I mean single."

The vibration of his phone ended that discussion:

"Yes?"

"We left the building, but there was quite some nice info we got, Sir" Eliza Jones giggled at the other end of the line. "For example, add that – Vento and O'Connel are about to date. And they kissed or something, and the important thing – they're going on a date. Just O'Connel, all alone."

"The important information in the last sentence, perfect" he replied deadpan, only causing more giggling.

"I am very sorry, Sir. But we should target Vento's house tonight. Things might go in our favour."

"Surely. Thanks for the information, Miss Jones."

"Always pleased to help, Sir!"

"And?" Robert asked immediately, after Arthur had hung up, looking at the screen.

"Well, things took an … unexpected turn, to say the least" he said with a frown and the bodyguards shared a clueless look, while Arthur headed for the door.

"Sir, where are you going?" Tahir said, the younger Englishman only answering with "Preparations, gentleman, preparations."

They shared another confused look after he left, Robert still scratching his chin.

"What do you think does this fuckery mean?" the blond asked, but before the other could answer he cried "Ouch!", glaring at his fingers and rubbing his chin now with his other hand.

Tahir stared at him in incomprehension: "Did you … did you just rip out a hair of your awful stubble?"

"It hurt, okay?" he muttered angrily. "And it's a beard, not just a stubble."

"It's most certainly an insult to everyone's eye."

While words like this went back and forth in the room, Arthur went outside of the hospital.

He had done his research, now he was curious if he had been right. The Bangladeshi-Brit and the Indian woman were still at the entrance of the hospital, paying attention to their surroundings and every person entering the building.

And Varsani kept doing this, Miah now focusing on his boss, the bored expression quickly replaced with curiosity.

"Quit staring, Miah" he whispered after walking up to him and the other cringed, immediately – and way too obvious – scanning the place again.

The Englishman only sighed before also taking a look around: "You'll have to do something for me."

A happy grin spread on his face: "Yes Sir?"

"There is a villa near the west city of Palermo, located near a cliff. I want to know if a certain somebody lives there."

"And I shall now go and find out?"

"Exactly. Right now and inform me as soon as you have an answer."

"Of course, Sir!" he grinned proud before dashing off, Arthur noticing the questioning look of Varsani following her colleague.

There was nothing left to do here, yet Arthur stayed for a few more minutes.

He was somebody who enjoyed rainy weather, he was somebody who enjoyed his home country with most of its quirks.

But the sun blazing down on the place while a stiff breeze puffed through his suit and hair, did lighten his mood up a bit.

You really found yourself the right place to beg for help, O'Connel.

Or maybe it was just the fresh air in general. And the sudden hope that the new variable called feelings would make things a lot easier. He just hoped that love made them blind – as much as it would mean the Sicilian and Irishman actually being interested in each other.

During the time he got back to the room, he pushed the last thought aside, only focusing on how it would all play out well for him.

By the time he arrived at the room again he had already imagined the three worst outcomes for himself.

"Okay, but why the fuck can I just barely open the windows?" Robert asked, standing in front of glass panels, his pack of cigarettes in his hand.

"Because people might jump out of them, I am actually very tempted to do so right now" Tahir said, rubbing his temple and trying to concentrate on the few pages he got left.

"It is going be a single mission, gentlemen" Arthur interrupted them, a small smile on his face.

"Because those two lovestruck wankers" – Tahir looked annoyed, Robert disgusted – "think that a dinner date all alone is a good idea. But all that it is going to be will be a rendezvous with death."

When Arthur walked over to look pleased out of the window again, Robert mumbled a few things under his breath before leaving with a "Fuck it, I'm in the smoking area" and Tahir commented a laconic: "How poetic", before paying attention to The Independent again.