When she woke up again, there was a split moment where she thought she was still in that room where she tensed up all over, and then she realized that the room she was in was a lot less clean and a lot less intimidating, and made herself relax. She stung all over, like she'd been submerged in alcohol and then scrubbed until her skin was raw. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.
The doctor from before noticed she was awake, and walked over. "Hey there," he said calmly, shining in a penlight in each of her eyes briefly to check her pupils. "How're you doing, Harrison?"
"I feel raw," she groaned, shifting slightly in her cot, trying to sit up. "Where's Moran? Is he alright?"
"Hey, stay put," he warned gently, holding a hand over her but not touching her. "You've got some pretty major sub-dermal lacerations. Moran's hanging in there. He should pull through."
"Okay," she murmured, sagging back into the bed, reassured that at least the sniper wasn't going to die. "What time is it? What day is it, actually?" She had honestly no idea - there was too much time she'd spent in rooms unconscious with no reference to the outside world.
"It's Sunday, four days after you two went missing," he said, starting to look over her charts. "We've had you for just over twenty-four hours."
Lorna muttered a swear under her breath. It certainly didn't feel that long. That probably explained why she was so hungry, though. "Tell Jim I stabbed Mycroft Holmes through the hand. I think he'll find that funny."
"He's not exactly in a joking mood at the moment, so I'll let you pass that along at a more opportune moment," he said, smiling lopsidedly.
"Mm. Okay. What's up with him, then?" she raised her eyebrows up at him, curious and concerned. Was this something that could potentially be taken out on her?
He sat down, still glancing at his charts. "If I had to guess? His second and third in command gets taken into custody by his enemy and tortured. That has to feel a little close to home. But you didn't hear that from me. He's been pacing Moran's bedside, alternating between impatient and livid."
She chewed on the inside of her cheek at that news, trying to make heads or tails of it without becoming concerned for Moran's safety. "When can I go? I really don't like sleeping in hospital beds..." she hedged, hoping to get away and drink herself to sleep like she'd promised herself.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to live with it for another day at least," he said, unconcerned. "I need to keep an eye on you. We've never seen injuries like these before, and I need to monitor them carefully to make sure they heal."
"Jesus Christ," she groaned, glaring up at the ceiling like it had anything to do with her condition. Truth was, she didn't like sleeping in hospital beds because she had a tendency for violent, embarrassing nightmares, and when she was in a hospital, she usually had the most reason for those to occur. She really didn't need to freak out the medical staff in the middle of the night because of a nightmare about dumb beetles. "Let me know when Moran wakes up, at least, huh?"
He nodded. "Of course. And prepare yourself. I'll need to tell Moriarty you're awake. He may decide to drop in," he warned.
"Fabulous. Can't be any less fun than the Khan beetles though, so, fuck it," she snorted, raising her arm to look at the marks left by the disgusting things. She was not going to be grifting for a while.
"Khan beetles?" the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. "That the species?"
She gave him a disbelieving look. "Really? The doctor doesn't get that reference? Nevermind. I was joking. I have no idea what species of beetle they were. I'm not an entomologist."
He sighed, shaking his head and smiling a bit, before walking towards the door. "Do you want anything? Pain medication, food, water?"
"All three. You can send it in after Jim leaves, for the sake of whoever's delivering," she added, looking sympathetic. Especially if the boss was in a bad mood.
He nodded, giving her a sympathetic grin. "Alright. I'll make sure to do that."
She settled down as he left and set about entertaining herself by counting the number of drips in her IV that went by in a minute. It didn't really lessen her tension for the idea of Jim coming in while she was prone in bed and weakened from torture.
The door swung open five minutes later, and Jim came striding in, eyes on her. "Harrison. Good. You're awake. Perhaps you can explain what happened."
"Would you like me to start before or after we were so gently taken into custody by Mr. Holmes?" She asked, the sarcasm in her tone not directed towards him, but towards the asshole she'd left pinned to the wall in his own torture chamber.
"Please, start at the beginning," he said, pulling up a chair, his voice sweetly venomous.
If that wasn't a cue to clean up her tone, she didn't know what was. So, when she spoke again, it was with a lot more politeness. "Moran and I reached Baker Street at around 5:45. He decided I would do recon inside the flat, and, if the opportunity arose, he would enter from the roof. I can't say what happened on his end except that he ran into trouble, but when I entered the flat, Sherlock Holmes invited me to have tea, and his brother was there in the kitchen. When Moran was brought in trundled up like Christmas turkey, I didn't fight," she paused for a moment, frowning slightly. "I'm not sure how long the drive there was, and I was too out of it to make sense of it on the ride back, so I can't tell you exactly where we were, but they put us in a white room with no furniture, no obvious doors. Then Mycroft Holmes personally took me to his filthy torture room. I assume the doctor has told you about the beetles. I had about two hours in there, and when they got Moran he had... I don't know, five? And they must have beat him, too."
Lorna forced herself to stop there for a moment because she was starting to trip over her words. Concern for Sebastian was also creeping back into her, and this was no time for that nonsense. "When they gave us some water and took Moran again, I jammed the tray into the door before it could close. Found a supply closet. Killed three of Holmes' men, then sprayed him in the face with air freshener and pinned his hand the wall with a knife. Came home. That's about it."
He smirked just slightly at her description of what she'd done to Holmes, but then his eyes grew cold again. "Idiots, both of you. You should have been more careful. Holmes could have gotten an incredible amount of information."
Her eyes flicked away from him, the closest thing to a head-duck she could manage at the moment. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
He took a slow breath, pressing his hands together, standing. "If we lose Moran, expect to pay for it," he said.
"Sir.." she hedged, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. Oh, she was stupid for saying this. "You know I could have left him there."
He stopped, turned on his heels crisply, and walked slowly back towards her, pulling the chair forward and around and straddling it, leaning on the back. "Yes. Yes, you could have, Harrison. Now, tell me, what do you think would have happened to you, had you done that? I'm curious."
"I'd have paid for it," she said carefully, folding her hands together on top of her stomach. "Like I'll pay for it if Moran doesn't pull through now. The same outcomes. Maybe harsher on one end than the other. But God did I try, sir," she swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. She didn't know why she needed him to know how much she feared Moran dying.
"Trying isn't what I look for, Harrison. It's success. If you don't succeed- if you fail this significantly- then we have a problem." His eyes were ice. "My second in command is dying in a hospital bed, and you're a significant part of the reason."
"With all due respect, sir," she started, and she fully meant it, or she would have been swearing by this point, "I was only following orders. My orders were recon. That was it. Anything that came after that point was cleaning up the mess that I had no part in making. I don't plan, sir," she said, squaring her jaw and finally meeting his eyes. You and Sebastian do. Don't blame me for your error in judgment. I fixed this. She would take what wrath followed. After the beetles, it couldn't be much worse.
He studied her for a few moments, and then his mouth twisted into a smirk, eyes glinting slightly with approval. "Moran might be right about you," he said coolly, standing. "Concentrate on healing. We have work to do."
"Understood, sir," Lorna sighed, the tension flooding out of her body with relief. "Please.. keep me updated on his condition, sir."
He nodded, glancing at her for a moment. "He's not conscious, but they seem confident that he will be soon."
She cleared her throat, nodding slightly. "Thank you," she murmured. If Moran died...
He nodded curtly, heading out the door and not bothering to close it as a woman pushed in a cart with a tray of food and a glass of water on it. "You live," she laughed softly after she shut the door.
"Yeah," she breathed, shaking her head. Her mind was still on the conversation, on Moran. How had she gotten out of all of that? "Surprising, I know."
"Well, let's get you sitting up just a little, and then work on food, alright?" the nurse asked gently, reaching for the button to angle the bed up slowly.
"Christ, I feel like a child. It's only a few holes. To think I'm only a few floors away from a good bottle of scotch," she sighed, keeping most of the bitterness out of her voice. No need to take out her frustrations on the nurse. She hadn't done anything. In fact, she was a little relieved that she could sit up.
"It's quite a few holes," the nurse said, smiling. "Do you want to try eating on your own? Or I can help you."
"I think I can manage it on my own, thanks," Lorna chuckled. She'd killed a few men in this condition, after all, feeding herself couldn't be too hard.
Jim had given up wearing a track in the floor to sit at Moran's side, a tablet in his hand that he was pretending to pay quite a lot of attention to. He was too distracted to really get any work done, though. He had made a miscalculation that had lent Holmes an enormous advantage, for a few hours, at least. And now his second was hooked up to a heart monitor. It was... disheartening.
"You know... it's very rare that you stare off into space," Moran rasped, eyes flickering open for a moment before he shut them slowly against the bright light. "S'kinda cute." Sarcasm.
"Hilarious, Moran," he said dryly, covering up his relief. Good. He was out of the woods, then. "You look like shit."
"Feel worse. The hell'd you do to me? Can't wait until a man's conscious to give him his a beating?" He smirked slightly.
"Apparently I don't have to give you a beating. Someone else will do it for me," he snorted, setting the tablet down in his lap with an imperious look on his face. "This won't happen again. Yes?"
"Wasn't really planning on it happening the first place, to be honest," he grunted, forcing his eyes open again and looking over at Jim. "So no, not on the agenda."
He nodded, tapping his fingers against the screen of the technology in his lap. He wasn't sure what to say, now - an exceedingly unusual occurrence for him. He always knew what to say. "Are you.. hungry? Thirsty?"
Moran shook his head just a little. "No... not yet... more nauseous and fucking out of it, what the hell did they give me?" He tried to examine the IV drip, shifting a bit in an attempt to sit up.
"Hell if I know. They put the two of you out so they could give you a proper cleaning. Would you like to see the beetle bits they pulled out of you? I had them saved in a jar," Jim smirked, kicking lightly at the bed, not enough to jostle it. "Don't sit up. I need you healing."
He glared, but lay back down. "We should get some of those things, boss... they're good. Had me squirming. I want to play around with them. Next person we brought in wouldn't last ten minutes, I don't care who they are."
Jim made a considering noise, leaning back in his own chair. "And did Harrison last? I've always wondered about her pain threshold," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, giving off the air of a predator, before he blinked and met Moran's eyes again. "I will get you those beetles, don't you worry."
He grinned slightly. "She lasted. Gave 'em some useless shit to keep 'em running circles. She ran it all by me. Nothing up to date or useful." A bit of a stretch on the implied order of operations, but it was all technically true.
"Guess I'll have to update her file," he muttered, frowning slightly to himself. Above his expectations. Not the first miscalculation he'd made this week. Disconcerting. He stood suddenly, nearly dropping the tablet. "I have to go. Get better. That's an order."
"Will do, sir. And thank you for waiting around for me to wake up." The last bit would have been said with a self-satisfied smirk if he didn't think the expression would have gotten him killed.
Jim only paused to let Moran finish his sentence before he swept out the door, trying to keep himself together. What was wrong with him?
Sebastian watched him go, studying the retreating back with careful eyes before whatever drugs they had him on dragged him under, and he slipped into unconsciousness again.
Lorna suffered through her overnight stay mostly because they put her under for it, and then in the morning she was discharged with a lot of warnings and commandments about taking it easy for a week that she only half listened to on the way out the door. Normally she might have stopped to see Moran, but her hatred for hospitals was too overwhelming, so she just headed for her own flat.
Moran was discharged the day afterwards, mostly because he threatened to murder the staff if they kept him under any longer. He was released, a good portion of him wrapped in bandages with orders to check in daily for the time being. He rolled his eyes, but made his way towards the elevator and then his apartment at a pace only slightly slower than usual. He hesitated, then knocked on Lorna's door.
"Come in," she called, ignoring the mess around her. She'd torn the place apart looking for bugs, cameras, anything, and had only resulted in getting angry and purposely breaking a few things. She wasn't proud of that. Now she was sat on the floor, one knee drawn up to her chest and a half-finished bottle of scotch in hand.
He walked in, raising an eyebrow at the mess, though he didn't need to ask the reason. "I'll have cleanup come in and do a sweep later today," he said immediately, voice calm as he limped over and flopped onto the couch.
She nodded, throwing back another shot of scotch. It would probably do little to soothe her paranoid nerves. Either way, she was surprised that he was here. "You here to mooch off my liquor supply? I'm afraid I broke a few bottles in my search," (she hadn't, she'd thrown them) "but I suppose I still have enough to share."
He waved a hand. "I'm still high on whatever the fuck they put me on. Rather not mix alcohol with that, not eager to projectile vomit today."
She snorted slightly and gave a small lift of her shoulders. "Guess I'm glad I opted out, then. I'm on my way to getting thoroughly plastered." She gave him a curious look, then sighed - she was tipsy enough to be blunt, at the moment. "Why're you here, then?"
He shrugged. "Make sure you were alive and mostly upright," he provided. "if I was going to have to replace you I wanted to know sooner rather than later."
"That was hardly enough to kill me, Moran," Lorna huffed, a little offended. "Give me this week to heal, sort through any lingering terror, I'll be fine. I have been hurt before."
"Mhm," he said, sighing and closing his eyes as he leaned back into the couch. After a few minutes he muttered "You did good in there, Harrison."
"Thanks," she sighed, her voice quiet. The praise meant a lot, both personally and professionally. "For what it's worth.. I'm glad you're not dead."
It was his turn to be mildly insulted. "Been through worse scrapes than that, believe me," he snorted, rolling his eyes.
"Take the sentiment and shut up, arsehole," she muttered, pushing some crumpled newspapers out of the way and sitting back against the couch.
"That boomeranged quickly," he muttered with a smirk, nudging her very lightly with his leg, careful as they were both sore.
"Sorry," she mumbled, setting down the scotch with a mild look of distaste directed towards it. "I'm a little defensive right now. It's hard to just.. let things go, at the moment."
He nodded a bit. "How's your headspace?" he asked quietly. He wasn't sure why he was asking. He supposed he needed to know how his workers were mentally as well as physically... that made sense.
She didn't answer for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek, which was already sore from abuse. "It's.. in worse shape than this flat, to be honest," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's not good."
He nodded just a little bit. "I picked that up. Want to tell me what's going on in there?"
Lorna gave a helpless shrug, shaking her head. "I don't fucking know. I'm scared it'll happen again. I keep seeing people here and wondering if they're moles. I keep- I keep feeling bugs on me that aren't real," she gritted out, taking in a deep breath. She looked like she was going to throw up. "I know I'll have nightmares. I always do, after something like this. Last night they drugged me and I was okay, but tonight..." she shook her head again, then looked down at her feet, swallowing hard. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. We all get screwed up, it's part of the job," he sighed, his leg shifting, resting against her arm now, just a little. He closed his eyes, thinking. He could feel it too, sometimes. There had been a time, this morning, when he was waking up but the drugs held him under, and he could feel the damn things skittering over him again. He was trapped for a long time, awake but with eyes closed, unable to move, before the drug wore off enough to release him. That was right about when he'd started threatening creative types of murder. He thought for a few minutes. "This place is a disaster, glass fucking everywhere. If you're going to get drunk you aren't staying here, I don't need you anymore perforated. My couch pulls out. You're staying there. Come on."
She made a noise of protest, looking embarrassed. "No, no, you don't- my nightmares- I get loud, Moran, you don't want that."
He laughed. "You think you can wake me up? Hell no. Come on. I've slept through bombings." Not technically true, but he wasn't leaving her here to die of alcohol poisoning and a slit artery on some of the damn glass. He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, considered her, then snatched the bottle of scotch out of her hand, walking towards the door, holding the scotch out to the side. "Come and get it if you want it," he said with a shrug.
"You're a strange man, Moran," she groaned, standing and following with a clink of broken glass. God, he was unpredictable.
"I'm high, don't blame me," he muttered, opening the door and crossing the hall into his own, much cleaner, apartment. "You throw a breaking-things fit in here I will kill you myself," he muttered, passing her the scotch once she entered.
"Your sparse possessions are safe, don't worry about it," she rolled her eyes, sipping her returned liquor. "This place looks unlived in."
He shrugged. "Don't need much," he retorted, walking over to sit on his own couch with a grunt, indicating the opposite end. "There. Crash, get drunk. When you want to sleep we'll pull the thing out."
She sat where he gestured to, curling up and making herself small. She didn't want to take up space here. "You called me shrimp again when you were out of it."
He glanced over at her, shrugged. "I don't remember that. Didn't mean to."
She chuckled slightly. "No, I know. Do you remember what happened to Holmes? I kinda proud of that."
He shook his head a little. "Don't remember much after he brought out the iron, really. It's all a blur. What happened?"
"I maced him with Lysol and left him with a hand against the wall and a knife through both. Hopefully I gave him nerve damage," she muttered, looking vengeful. "I should have killed him."
He chuckled a little, then sighed, nodding. "Probably, yeah... though doing so might have launched a very careful investigation. Holmes would have been in posthumous hot water, but our DNA was all over that place. We'd have been in the system."
She made a slightly comforted sound. "I suppose you're right. It'd be a shame to go this long being outside it to mess up now."
He nodded just slightly. "You did well, Harrison. Just concentrate on getting your feet back under you."
"Okay," she murmured, looking at the bottle of scotch in her hand for a long moment before setting it aside. "I shouldn't keep drinking right now. I'll probably only get worse. And, no offense, but I don't really want you to see me cry."
He smirked. "I wasn't going to police you, but it isn't a fantastic idea to keep drinking, no."
"You're actually pleasant when you're high, you know that?" She chuckled, raising her eyebrows at him. "It's ridiculous."
He shrugged. "Just trying to make sure I don't lose a decent agent to the rubber room. Wouldn't be the first time it's happened." He reached up to rub at his eyes a bit.
"That doesn't surprise me," she sighed, brushing hair out of her face. This work wasn't exactly conducive to mental health.
"Mmm..." he grunted, nodding and reaching for the remote, flicking the television on on low volume and starting to surf channels looking for anything decent.
"Jim said you might be right, yesterday. I don't know what you said to him, but I have the feeling it helped me not get my ass whooped," she murmured, just loud enough to be heard.
He glanced over at her for just a second, then returned his attention to the telly. "Under what circumstances was this comment made?"
She paused a moment. "Erm. He tried to blame me for your condition. I politely reminded him that I have no part in the planning process and that I could have totally left you there."
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "I told him you had potential. He was testing the waters, seeing if you had the balls and brains to politely indicate that he might be misinterpreting the situation."
She blew out a long breath, raising her eyebrows. "I have the boss testing me now instead of just little old you? Jesus Christ."
He shrugged. "He was probably bored, and it was a good opportunity. You're moving up in the world, Harrison, whether you like it or not." He chuckled quietly.
"It's a little disconcerting," she remarked, finally unfolding herself and relaxing into the couch a little. "Even without my fragile state."
"'Fragile state'," he snorted. "Didn't you object to the word 'fragile' not that long ago? Don't let yourself get into a pity pit, Harrison. Not worth it."
"I destroyed half my apartment. Fragile is better than crazy." She sighed, shifting a little uncomfortably. The pain meds were wearing off.
He nodded just a bit. "Fair enough." He glanced over at her as she shifted, noticing her wince. "They give you anything to take?"
"No," Lorna grimaced slightly, "I didn't want anything. I'm not a person to give pills to. I think being an alcoholic and a bit of a smoker is enough for the moment, don't you?"
"Touche," he said, shrugging and standing with a grimace. "You want some of mine for the time being, till the sting wears off? You can't get to them if they're in my apartment, and it'll help take the edge off."
She shook her head, frowning down at her hands. "No. No, thank you." It wasn't that she thought she could get into his flat, it was that it would be so easy to get them somewhere else. The edge was safer than that risk.
He nodded, respecting that for what it was, and getting a couple glasses of juice, coming back and handing her one as he sat down.
She looked skeptically at the colorful liquid, sniffing it suspiciously. "The last time I had juice without vodka in it was years ago. What else have you got in your fridge, popsicles?"
"Look, it's usually for mixing, but seeing as we're both off the booze for the time being, I figure we might as well have something to drink, yeah?" He rolled his eyes, taking a sip.
She snickered, taking a drink and swishing it around her mouth to get the scotch flavor out before she swallowed. "Never took you for a cocktail kind of bloke. Although, you're not really one to hold out for stereotypes of any sort."
He shrugged. "Sometimes I like it straight, sometimes I enjoy a bit more flavor. Nothing wrong with enjoying your tastes."
"No," she hummed thoughtfully, "I figure that if you're going to work in crime there's really no reason to get judgmental about little things. Just not worth it."
He laughed. "Generous of you," he said, taking a long sip of his drink, thirsty.
"Generous would be donating to charity. Buying my crazy mother a better flat. You're just referring to not giving a shit," she snorted, finishing off the juice quickly and setting the glass by her scotch.
He shrugged. "Tomato tomahto." He glanced over at her. "So, bored now, what do you want to do?"
She huffed. "I want to beat the living hell out of that accountant, but he's gone. I checked. No one's seen him in days."
"Probably our leak then. Don't worry about it too much. We'll get our chance. Moriarty doesn't let leaks go."
She nodded. She wanted nothing more than to express her displeasure to the mole over the amount of information he'd collected on her.
"I'll make sure you're around to help," he added, returning his attention to the news, interested to see if there was any news on the government official's injured hand.
"Thanks," she murmured, resting her head on the arm of the couch and closing her eyes. She just wanted to stop thinking for a little while.
He watched for a bit, but when it became clear that nothing interesting was coming on, he shut the thing off, standing. "Alright, up you get," he said, heading for the linen closet to grab sheets.
She reluctantly got up, not keen on moving, then sighed and bent to start taking off the cushions and to pull out the bed. "This is a pretty lame sleepover, Moran. Didn't even get my hair braided."
"Your survival and sanity were more the focus, not your entertainment," he said sarcastically, walking back over and helping to pull the bed out, before starting to put the sheets in place.
She chuckled, stepping back to get out of his way as he made the bed. She didn't need sheets to sleep, but she wasn't going to reject the offer. Then she sighed, growing more serious. "If I wake you up with the noise, don't worry. I'll be fine."
He shrugged. "I said you wouldn't wake me up," he pointed out, walking back to the closet to grab a thicker blanket and tossing it onto the bed, along with a spare pillow. "There. Get some sleep, don't break anything. Remote's there if you want to watch something. I'm going to go pass out."
"Okay," she murmured, drumming her fingers against her thigh. Nervous about sleep. What was she, six?
He waved absently, heading for his room. He should probably change, but he didn't have the energy, so he just lay down in the shorts and tee shirt he'd changed into at the infirmary and closed his eyes. He was asleep in moments.
When she finally crawled into bed, shedding her jeans first - which smelled like alcohol - it was surprisingly easy to go to sleep. She was still healing, after all, and she had a good dose of scotch in her system. But it wasn't long before she started dreaming. She dreamed of being dunked into a tank full of the flesh-eating beetles, kicking and screaming and trying to drag herself out only to burn her hands on the edge of the tank. When she woke up with a shout, sitting straight up in the dark, she could still feel them crawling over her.
He had lied about being a deep sleeper.
A deep sleeper didn't last long in his profession. They died as soon as they took a nap.
He woke at the first signs of her nightmare, his hand closing around handle of the knife under his pillow, but he knew who it was and relaxed, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, sighing slightly. He glanced at the clock. They'd barely been asleep an hour. If he wanted any sleep tonight, things were likely going to have to change. He debated for a few moments, before standing and walking into his living room.
She'd kicked off the sheets a few seconds after realizing she was awake, feeling constricted along with the fact they were damp with sweaty, and was still trying to catch her breath and get her heart rate under control when she saw his form enter the room. "I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I- I should really just sleep in my own flat."
He mumbled something that was lost in the general haze of tiredness, walking over to scoop her up without comment (and ignoring the protest from his arms) and heading back to his room. He set her down on the bed, climbed in, and opened his arms. "Come on," he muttered. "I want to sleep."
She stammered some argument before she realized that there was no way she'd get a second of decent sleep without complying, then fell silent and crawled into his arms, her erratic pulse finally beginning to settle. He pulled the blanket up, flopped his arms over her, and was out again within moments, his chest rising and falling slowly with his breaths. When she fell asleep again, it was with a lot more ease than before. This time her nightmares were all interrupted before they got bad enough to wake her.
He woke up to a warm, heavy lump in his arms, and sighed slightly. Lorna. Right. Man, he had very much been out of it last night... He disentangled himself carefully and stood with a wince but no actual noise, making his way to the bathroom. Lorna shifted as he left the bed, taking over the warm spot left behind by him before she realized where she was and was yanked rudely out of her sleep. He probably wouldn't like her here. She immediately slid out of the bed, hissing as she aggravated her injuries, and braced herself against the wall as her balance wavered. Okay. Maybe moving quickly was a bad idea.
He heard the creak of the mattress and the thud of her hand hitting the wall, and rolled his eyes, heading out and into the kitchen to make coffee. "Take it easy."
She took a deep breath, following him stiffly and pausing in the living room - she felt like one gigantic scab. Every time she moved she felt like something was cracking open. "Sorry about last night," she called into the kitchen, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked at the mess she'd made of the covers on the pull-out. The sheets were pulled up from two corners.
He shrugged. "I didn't complain," he called from where he was making coffee. "Did I?"
"No," she admitted, suddenly very aware that she wasn't wearing any trousers, and began looking around for where she'd kicked them off. "I just... assumed, I suppose."
"You're a slow learner. Haven't you picked up by now that I'm unpredictable?" he smirked, walking over and handing her a cup of coffee.
She took the coffee one-handed, the other hand clutching her inside-out jeans. "I knew you were unpredictable, I just.. thought you were a little less unpredictable," she shrugged, a small smile finally creeping onto her face.
"Got to keep you on your toes," he deadpanned, taking a slow sip of bitter coffee.
She rolled her eyes, taking a swig of her warm beverage and tucking her jeans under her arm. Struggling into them in front of him would be more embarrassing than what they were currently doing, so there was no need to do that. She sighed. "I should probably clean my flat today, huh," she muttered, looking towards the door reluctantly. Not that she wanted to. "I don't know why people let me have things."
He shrugged. "I don't care if you do, but you're not crashing here again." He walked over to sit at the table.
She smirked into her coffee. There was the Moran she expected. Of course, that meant in 24 hours she was going to be a sleep-deprived zombie, but she'd make do. "Thanks for last night, anyway."
He snorted slightly. "I wanted sleep. The logical conclusion was to get you sleeping."
She sighed quietly, looking down at her coffee with dissatisfaction. He didn't really get it. It was rare that anyone ever looked out for her, even if it was just so they didn't have to go through the trouble of replacing her. She finished off the rest of her coffee with a slight grimace at the overpowering flavor and took a few steps forward to set the mug on the table. "I should go."
"Probably. You do have a fair bit of cleaning to do," he said, smiling just a little. "And who knows what Jim will have for us to do."
"Ugh. Please don't remind me I'm on call," she muttered, bending to pick up her scotch from the floor and then walking out. "Bye, Moran."
"Bye," he called, walking to shut the door behind her, before letting out a soft groan and walking over to collapse onto the couch.
Lorna stepped into her own flat and shut the door with her foot, looking in distaste at her flat. It smelled like liquor, she'd ruined several books, and there was glass everywhere. She took a deep breath, then let it all out. Time she got to work.
He fell asleep on the couch again, and woke up groggily a few hours to the ping of the intercom. "Moran, head up to my office, we need to talk before you head to medical."
He shifted painfully, stiff, and reached out to press the intercom. "On my way, sir. I'll be there in ten minutes." He stood, heading for his room to get dressed.
Jim waited patiently in his office, for once relaxing on the leather couch he had tucked into the corner, a newspaper in front of him. There were times he needed a break. Of course, they only rolled around once in four months, but that was a weakness he'd long accepted.
Sebastian managed to work his way into his uniform, and headed for the elevator, taking it up and knocking on his boss's door crisply, preparing himself to move without stiffness or signs of pain.
"It's open," Jim called leisurely, a conscious effort to avoid winding himself up. One day in four months where he stopped constantly inventing new ways to kill people. Why else did he have so many employees, after all?
He pushed the door open, immediately noting the empty desk and turning to the couch. "Break day, sir?"
"Yes," Jim nodded, folding up his newspaper and placing it on the coffee table in front of him with a calm demeanor, looking up at Sebastian thoughtfully. "I had a cinnamon bun for breakfast, and I plan on ordering pizza tonight. Tomorrow I'll feel quite silly," he snorted, then gestured slightly to the armchair across from him. "Sit. You're a mess."
He didn't argue, lowering himself into the chair as casually as possible, though his body ached. "So, no offense, sir, but if you're on break, why am I here?"
"On average, you have one day a year where you have a true break," Jim sighed, folding his hands together and leaning forward to rest them on his knees. "So take one tomorrow. I'll assume your duties for the day. Heal. For me."
He considered him for a few moments. "God, are you having me killed?" he asked calmly after a moment. "This whole thing was a disaster, yes, but consider the paperwork."
Jim drew back, looking mildly offended. "What? Sebastian, be serious," he scoffed, laughing incredulously. "I don't plot anyone's death on my breaks, you know that. I don't touch business on these days. If you don't want the day off, I'll have you do something mind-numbingly dull. Consider that a threat."
He raised his hands."Fine, I'll take the day. Though I'd rather you give it to me on a day where I can go fuck someone. Like this I'm mostly useless." He smirked slightly.
Jim rolled his eyes, snorting quietly. "Oh, I'm sure you'll manage to fuck someone anyway," he said casually, leaning forward to pick up his newspaper again. He shook it out with a loud crinkle of paper, signaling that the conversation was over. "Or was I wrong in my assessment that you liked a little pain?"
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Glad to hear you were assessing, sir. Certainly keeps things interesting."
He raised the newspaper slightly, covering up his face. He couldn't trust it to stay blank like he wanted. What was it about that damned Cinnabon that'd made him so personal? He wasn't a teenager, for Chris'sakes. "Mmhmm. Now go.. do something. Else. Not here."
He wasn't going to argue with a direct order, though he was extremely amused by his boss hiding behind the newspaper. "Yessir," he said, pushing himself to his feet silently and heading for the door.
As soon as Sebastian was out the door Jim relaxed, huffing out a breath. He'd assess his strange reaction to Moran tomorrow. It wasn't something to do on break.
He headed back towards the elevator at a slow pace, sighing slightly as he reached it. Time to head in to medical. But he paused for a moment, before punching in the button for his apartment floor. Might as well stop and get Harrison along the way.
Harrison had just finished cleaning her living room. In the process, she'd accumulated a nice collection of small nicks and scratches from surprise shards of glass hidden in other bits of debris. It didn't really concern her; she just washed each one out, made herself a cup of tea, and flopped down onto her couch.
He knocked on the door briskly. "Harrison, you been down to medical yet?"
"No," she returned, already sounding resigned. Her tea would have to wait. She set it aside and then headed for the door, slipping out and looking up at him. "I assume you're here to drag me down there."
"I don't think dragging sounds pleasant for either of us, I would prefer you walk," he said evenly, heading for the elevator again.
She snorted, following him carefully - movement still hurt, and it would be a little while before the red tracks disappeared from her skin. Yet another reason why she didn't think she'd get a job this week. "Malcolm called earlier. Said that cleanup had the car scrapped. I thought you'd like to know."
He nodded, looking at her as they got into the elevator. "Good. Any other loose ends you can think of?"
"Well, they got our phones, but unless they gave them to an expert I don't think they got them unlocked before we had them shut down. Other than that and a few CCTV's I had to fuck up, I think we're okay," Lorna sighed, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.
He nodded, sighing and reaching up to rub at his eyes. "You shouldn't have had to deal with all of that, but you did well," he muttered as the elevator dropped towards the correct floor.
She shrugged slightly, stepping out of the elevator as it opened with a ding. "I didn't think it had to reach you. It's alright, I was in another network's cleanup when I was nineteen, I learned all the tricks."
He nodded just slightly in approval, heading for medical at his stiff, slow pace.
Lorna kept up with him easily - he was in worse shape than her, after all. His eye was looking better, but he was probably still suffering from the iron. She slipped her hands into her pockets as they entered medical, hiding her cut-up hands. She didn't want the scolding look she'd get from the doctor.
A nurse came over, eyeing them both up. "Right. Mr. Moran, with me, if you would. Ms. Harrison, into room one, right there."
She shuffled into the indicated room with a lazy wave towards Moran. Yay, doctors.
An hour later they'd given him a full exam and changed the bandages over the worse bits. He had some cracks in his ribs, but they were minor and there wasn't much they could do about it, so they just told him to take more meds. He didn't argue, just nodded and headed out to see if Harrison was still around.
She was waiting for him by the exit, her fingers taped up and her abdomen feeling constricted from the new bandages. "They told me you'd be out in a few minutes. Thought I'd wait," she said as she saw him, picking at the linen on her hands.
He nodded slightly, finishing the last few buttons of his shirt as he walked. "Appreciated. I take it they say you're alive and well?"
"Alive, maybe not well," Lorna snorted, turning to walk with him. "They took blood while I was out and I just spent ten minutes getting scolded for my drinking habits. Whatever. I'm fine. You?"
He shrugged. "Some cracked ribs they're keeping an eye on. Mostly just trying to keep me from getting infected, same as you."
"Yeah, both of our values would decrease significantly if we lost an arm," she nodded, heading back for the elevator. Honestly, she was still paranoid about the marks the beetles had left. They weren't exactly hard to see, and if they interfered with her job...
He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "What's eating you?"
She pursed her lips, jabbing at the elevator button to stall a little before she answered. "Job security, I suppose."
"In what way?" he asked as the elevator started upwards again.
"My job requires a certain.. level of attractiveness, you could say," she replied tersely, pulling her collar to the side to reveal the worst of the tracks. She couldn't help being defensive - she was horrified and embarrassed and worried that the loss of her job would end in her eventual death. "If these scar, my major advantage will disappear. Call me vain, I don't care, but I know where my value lies."
He nods just a little. "You have a lot of value as a grifter, well beyond attractiveness. Scarring can be dealt with."
She made a sound of discontent, reaching up to rub her forehead. The physical reminder of being strapped to that table tattooing itself to her skin for any amount of time made her feel sick. She immediately stepped out of the elevator just as it opened, heading for her apartment with her key already in hand. "I'll be drinking if you need me."
He nodded just a little. "I owe you dinner," he pointed out as he waited for the thumb scanner to recognize his print.
She glanced back at him as she opened up her apartment door. "And when you want to pay up, you'll know where I'll be. Yeah?"
"You up for it tonight? Or want to wait on that?" he asked, opening his own door.
She considered it a moment while standing in the threshold before giving a small nod. "Tonight is fine. Let me throw on a jumper so I don't look like a science experiment."
He nodded, smirking just slightly. "Sounds good. Just knock when you're ready."
"Alright. Don't make yourself comfortable," she hummed, stepping into her flat and closing the door behind her. When she reemerged two minutes later, she'd managed to brush her hair, completely change her outfit into something that bared almost no skin, and had slipped a newly-filled flask of whiskey into her boot, just in case. She knocked on his door, resting her shoulder against the door frame.
He opened the door a few moments later, nodding at her. "Ready to go, I take it?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," she shrugged, stepping back. "Usually when bosses want to buy you dinner they just give you a giftcard."
He shrugged. "To be honest? With things the way you are, I'd rather you not be out on your own. If you'd rather the giftcard I could do that."
Lorna shook her head, not at all eager to revisit the experience she was still sweating about. And, if she was being honest, dinner with Sebastian wasn't exactly a hardship. "No. C'mon, let's get something really bad for us."
That managed to get a grin out of him. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, heading for the elevator.
She smirked, shrugging slightly. "I don't know, I have a lot of things in mind. Something fried, maybe. I mean, yeah, normally I'd take advantage of this with something outrageously fancy, but I'm not in the mood."
He nodded. "I know a good fish and chips place down by the docks. Interested?"
"That sounds fantastic," she agreed cheerfully, stepping into the lift with a slight spring to her step. She didn't get out often enough, and she really did love the city. Even the grimier parts.
"Brilliant," he said, grinning. "What say we take a fun car, for the hell of it?"
"If you promise not to crash, I promise not to shriek in terror," she quipped good-naturedly, drumming her fingers impatiently on her thigh as the elevator made its descent into the garage.
"I'll work on that," he grinned, walking over to Malcolm's station and peering in, chatting. A few moments later he returned jangling the keys for the Charger. "Come on."
"Did you threaten him or offer an incentive?" she smirked, raising her eyebrows as they reached the car. Even she could appreciate it.
"I'm in charge of staff, Harrison. It has a few advantages," he smirked.
"You're not lying," she snorted, pulling open the door as he unlocked it and climbing into the rich interior. "How long is the drive to your fish and chips place, anyway?"
He shrugged. "Depends on traffic. Fifteen, twenty minutes." He climbed in, starting the car, which came to life with a rich purr.
She nodded, buckling her seat belt as the engine started up. Better safe than sorry, with Sebastian at the wheel.
He buckled in as well, before revving the engine and heading out of the garage with a grin.
She'd been right to buckle up. Driving with Moran was... an experience. She was surprised nobody had run him off the road in a fit of rage years before. When they pulled into public parking by the docks, she still had one elbow braced against the door and a hand holding on tightly to the seat.
He glanced over at her, and laughed. "Nothing like a bit of adrenaline before dinner," he grinned, turning off the engine and climbing out.
"That's a real fancy word you've got for 'fear', Moran," Lorna joked as she got out to follow him, pulling down her jumper sleeves to cover her hands. Not something she would risk if someone as dangerous as Moran wasn't around.
"All the things we do, and that's what managed to scare you?" he asked with a laugh, heading along the docks towards the restaurant.
She smirked, shrugging slightly as she walked alongside him. She had the feeling that she'd been along this stretch before. "I have mundane fears. I can't protect myself from a car crash, can I?"
He shrugged. "Maybe you should trust me not to crash," he teased.
"Trust," Lorna scoffed, highly amused, "Moran, have you ever trusted a single person in your life?"
"Not one," he said, smirking as he walked a bit stiffly down the road. "It's down that road there."
"Oh. I've been here," she murmured distractedly, frowning slightly. She'd been here quite a lot, actually. Had met Ryan here. Had been high out of her mind here. "Good fish."
He nodded slightly. "I don't tend to like fish and chips much elsewhere."
"No, I understand why," she said quietly, shaking her head slightly and forcing a smile onto her face. Better that he didn't know the extent of the history she had here. "Do they still have those benches by the water?"
"Think they do, yeah. Don't see any reason they wouldn't. Benches tend to be rather stationary," he said, turning down the street and heading for the restaurant.
She rolled her eyes, kicking at a loose bit of gravel and watching it skitter away in front of her. She expected his sarcasm, yes, but while in public she felt she could react a little more freely to them. Safety in numbers.
He laughed at her obvious distaste. "Sorry, did I offend you?" he asked patronizingly.
"I'm not offended, I'm just taking the opportunity to respond to your sarcasm as a normal person in a normal environment. The opportunity doesn't arise often enough," she smirked, glancing over at him as they reached the restaurant. She fought back against the revulsion she felt for going inside, for revisiting those memories, then tapped her fingers against her thigh, considering. "I'll just wait out here, hm?"
He raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I take it you want the fish and chips? Anything to drink?"
She tapped her ankle with her other foot, the dull sound of the flask being hit rising up from them. "No, thanks, I've got that covered. And yeah, fish and chips would be great."
He rolled his eyes but nodded, heading inside. He returned a few minutes later with two orders of fish in chips wrapped in newspaper, and a beer for himself. "Right. Benches."
She pointed towards the Thames, already beginning to lead him over. "Right this way, Mr. Moran. I'll carry that," she added, reaching to take one of the bundles from him, partially just so he didn't look so silly.
"Thanks," he said appreciatively. "I pocketed a bottle of malt vinegar, so there's that, too, if you want some."
"That'd be lovely," she nodded, sitting down with the pained grunt of a woman much older than herself and unwrapping her meal, glancing out over the river. "It's a nice night."
"It is," he said in agreement, sitting next to her with a similar grunt and peeling back his own newspaper, pulling the bottle of vinegar out of his pocket and applying it generously before handing it over to her.
She did the same as he and then set it down between them before starting into her meal with vigor, despite the fact that she was getting vinegar all over her fingers. Messiness wasn't her concern at the moment. The scenery was. "This is where I met the man who got me into the grifting business," she said suddenly, setting down a half-eaten chip. "Before I came here I was just a drug mule. Strange."
He raised an eyebrow at the sudden offering of information, but didn't object. "I didn't know that was here."
"No, you couldn't have. Wouldn't be in any files of mine. It's not significant to anybody but me, really," Lorna shrugged, reaching one-handed for the flask in her boot and awkwardly unscrewing it before she took a swig.
He took a sip of his beer. "Doesn't say why he tracked you down, either. What's the story there? Why convert a drug mule, no offense."
She shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of food before she could respond. "That's just it. He didn't track me down. It was a coincidence. He bought me a drink inside, just started up a conversation with me. When we started dating he didn't even know what I did for a living. Three months in, I slipped up, he found out," she gave a slight shrug, looking amused and a little rueful. "When I first met him he sold insurance over the phone. Seven months later and he'd forced his way into the network and had a business of his own. Thought being a drug mule didn't suit me. So he insisted I change professions. It helped that he'd hooked me on heroin a month earlier and now controlled my supply, of course."
He nodded slightly in understanding. "Well, there are worse ways that could have ended." He broke off a piece of fish, eating it with a content sigh.
"I suppose you're right," she agreed softly, returning to eating for a few minutes. "Hooking your girlfriend on opiates is a pretty dick move, though."
"For once, I completely agree with you," he said, nodding slightly. "Did he get off on the control or something?"
"Yeah," she confirmed, taking a drink. "He didn't like me fighting back, either. So he took away my will. Smart. Just... dick-ish."
"Very." He reached for the vinegar, adding more to the chips towards the bottom. "Well, you smartened up."
Harrison snorted, smirking slightly and setting her mostly done basket to the side. She didn't need to eat that much. "That's debatable."
He smirked. "True. You going to finish those chips?"
"Nah. Have at them," she murmured, leaning back into the bench and sipping from her flask.
He took the rest, dumping them in with his own, taking another swig of beer before setting into them.
"After this I'll just.. walk around for a bit. Avoid your crazy driving on the way home. Maybe try to get laid. I don't know. I don't feel like going home," she murmured, screwing the cap back onto her flask and shoving it into her boot again. Anything to avoid the nightmares for as long as possible.
He nodded, tossing the vinegar-soaked papers in a nearby bin. "Just make sure you stay alert. Don't get grabbed again."
She smirked, standing up. "Not that kind of grabbing, definitely. I'll probably be back in the morning. If I'm not, I've either been kidnapped or I tripped in front of a bus."
He rolled his eyes, standing as well. "Make sure you didn't just oversleep, or I will be pissed."
"I never oversleep in beds with strange men. Call it a perk of the job," she snorted, turning and beginning to walk away. "If you need me you have my number."
He nodded, heading in the opposite direction towards his car. "Don't die, that would be very inconvenient."
She just laughed, shaking her head as she disappeared between a few buildings. She would have gone home with him, but the fact was that he probably didn't want to deal with her when she was in this sort of mood.
He climbed into the spider, starting it up and heading off back towards headquarters, but part of him was nagging at him that an agent shouldn't be alone in the field, on duty or not. And with Holmes back in business, London was certainly 'the field'. He sighed, and by the time he got back to headquarters he'd already decided. He switched cars to something fairly nondescript with dark windows, and hit the road again, heading back towards the docks to start scanning the area for his agent. He'd keep an eye on her from a distance. She'd never know he was there.
I'm not angry anymore,
Well, sometimes I am.
I don't think badly of you,
Well, sometimes I do.
It depends on the day,
The extent of all my worthless rage,
I'm not angry anymore.
- Paramore - Interlude: I'm Not Angry Anymore -
Playlist: Paramore - I'm Not Angry Anymore