She slept... surprisingly well. There were still nightmares, but they had a feel about them that told her that nothing could truly harm her, and stopped any of them from getting truly horrible. When she woke up in the morning, she was pleasantly warm.
He woke up to light filtering through the shades, and a warm, balled-up lump in his arms, which seemed to be a good sign that Lorna had gotten at least some sleep.
She noticed his change in breathing after a moment, debating whether or not to pretend she was still asleep for a moment or not before she realized that was childish. She shifted slightly under the weight of probably four blankets. It still felt nice, even if she wasn't freaking out. "Sorry for doin' this to you again," she mumbled.
"Don't apologize," he said, tucking her in a bit more absently. "I'm glad you slept. Got to keep an eye on you, you know?"
She was perfectly happy being tucked in, the slight bit of tension she'd worked up from wondering what his reaction would be melting away a bit. "You're being uncharacteristically nice to me," she pointed out quietly. "I'm a little worried you're going to kill me or something."
"That would be far too much effort as far as ways to go about killing you," he pointed out. "It's in my best interest to make sure you're mentally sound."
"Sebastian Moran, therapist and sniper extraordinaire. If you ever require a business card, please put that on it," she joked quietly, too groggy to really get out a good quip. And she desperately did not want to offend him.
He rolled his eyes, patting her head sarcastically. "Will do."
She laughed, then yawned, then groaned. Fuck, she ached all over. And, as if the injuries from last night weren't enough, she was hungover, too. Although probably not as bad as she would have been if he hadn't gotten some water into her.
He didn't have much intention of moving, though he smirked slightly at her groan. "Have a bit much last night, there?" he muttered, grinning.
"Yes," she moaned, shifting and burying her face in the pillow. "Last night was awful. Christ. I mean, it seemed so promising. I really fucked it up, though. Ugh."
"Yes, yes you did," he said lightly, smiling and sitting up, heading into the kitchen. "I'll get the ibuprofen."
"God bless," she said loudly into the pillow, then rolled onto her back and forced herself to sit up, pulling down the hem of the shirt he'd given her. Not that he hadn't seen it all before, but she didn't like looking at the damage.
"Just stay there, I'm not officially up," he grumbled, returning with a tall glass of water and a bottle of pills before flopping onto bed and sighing, stretching just slightly, trying not to pull any of the injuries. "I've got the day off, and will be very lazy."
She smirked slightly at that, resting the cold glass against her leg with a slight hiss and unscrewing the bottle to pop a few pills in before washing them down. She glanced down at him then looked away, cautious of staring. "Just let me know when you want me out, won't you? Don't want to overstay my welcome or anything, yeah?"
He shrugged. "You've got the day off, too, my say so. Do what you like. You want to stay here, that's fine, just don't blast music or anything," he mumbled from where his face was pressed into his pillow.
"Don't worry, I'm not the music-blasting type," she replied softly, sinking back down into the bed next to him, just focusing on keeping herself relaxed. She didn't really want to leave.
He nodded slightly, sighing. "How's the rest of you feeling, other than what's hung over?"
"My back stings like hell, and," she pulled up her shirt slightly, and hissed at the black and blue patterning across her ribs that looked too much like hands, "My ribs are definitely bruised. But it shouldn't hurt too much when the medication kicks in."
He nodded a little, turning his head to look at her. "I'm sorry," he said after a few moments. "That was a bad call on my part, letting you head out alone."
She pulled the shirt back down, shrugging slightly. "If you'd insisted on coming with me, I'd have tried to sleep with you. If you'd made me come home, I would have tried to sneak out and would have been drunk enough to fight you if you tried to stop me. There was no good scenario. It's not your fault."
He nodded slightly. "I know. I know a no-win scenario when I see one. Just don't like them." Since when was he care-and-share? He made a slight face, pulling the blanket over his head.
"No," she heaved a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and watching the dim light outside grow a little brighter. "I don't think a lot of people do."
"Jim loves them," he muttered from beneath the blanket. "Thinks they're fucking invigorating."
"Jim's an adrenaline junkie to the max. Not damn surprising," she snorted, pulling up her big mass of blankets up to her chin.
"Hmph," he agreed, rubbing at his eyes a little. "He gave me the day off today. Told me to 'get better, for him' or some shit. I think he might actually be discovering some semblance of a soul."
She broke into laughter at the part about a soul, completely taken aback. "Jesus Christ, if he hears you say that you'll be skinned. Honestly. Keep that to yourself. Fucking hell."
"I'm well aware," he said, grinning under the blanket. "He can't hear me. I'll live."
She chuckled, running a hand through her tousled hair. Christ, she was a mess. "Feeling awfully rebellious on your day off, Moran, you ought to be careful. You never know when he might pop up, hmm?"
"Touche," he agreed with a sigh. He flopped over to face her. "Dear god, it's like we're having a fucking sleepover," he groaned, though he was grinning slightly.
Lorna chuckled, turning her head to look at him. "All my co-ed sleepovers have involved a lot less talking than this, believe me. This is more like a small house party both the guests happened to fall asleep during."
He nodded in slight agreement at that, emerging from under the blankets for some fresh air.
She resisted the urge to fix his rumpled blond hair and looked back up at the ceiling, sighing. "This pull-out is surprisingly comfortable, I'll give it that."
"Being paid by Jim has certain advantages. Our salaries aren't meager," he pointed out.
"No. That's for damn sure. Although most of mine goes back into the job. Clothes, you know," she shrugged slightly. She had a lot of very expensive clothes for jobs. All of them were meant to make her even more eye-catching.
"Mm... should file that under expenses," he pointed out. "Jim wouldn't care. He'd see the logic of it if he even paid attention to it."
She paused, considering. "I would, but then they'd count as company property, wouldn't they? And part of the satisfaction of owning that many attractive clothes is knowing that they're all mine. I'm very proud of my collection."
He smirked. "Whatever you say. Though I'm the same way about my guns, so I suppose I can't really argue."
"Everyone has their hobbies," Lorna hummed, grunting softly as she pushed herself into sitting position, the blankets pooling at her waist. She raked her hair out of her eyes. "Hmph. I need a shower."
He nodded. "You do. You smell like dive bar," he grunted in agreement. "Though that's not gonna feel pretty with your back. Maybe just sponge off or something."
She groaned. That sounded like a lot of trouble. "Fuck, you're right. I guess I should take a bath," she murmured, rubbing at her face with a long sigh. "I'll head back to my place, then."
He grunted his consent, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up as well with a sigh. "Maybe wait on that... They're going to want to see us both downstairs again. Up to you, but I'd rather relax in a bath after I've been poked and prodded."
She took a deep breath. That did not sound like fun. "Fuck. What are the odds of throwing a successful fit and getting out of that? Or getting them to wash me."
"I'd say the latter is more likely than the former," he sighed, shifting out of bed, gritting his teeth slightly. "Feel like breakfast? Or the hangover still hitting?"
Lorna gave a slight shrug. "I could eat. I might leave half of it on the plate, but I don't think I'll lose my cookies," she murmured, stalling getting up. She was afraid of ripping open any of her new stitches. Honestly, emotionally, she just felt... a little empty, this morning. "Thanks for giving me the day off."
He shrugged. "You need it," he said simply, heading into the kitchen. "Bacon and eggs sound alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good," she nodded, pushing herself into standing with a pained grimace. She could really feel the marks on her back. She could even feel his shirt sticking to her back a little bit. "I may have gotten blood on your shirt. Sorry."
"Wasn't an important one," he said, pulling out a pan and tossing it on the stove, pulling eggs out of the fridge. "I've seen enough injuries to know better than that."
She leaned against the counter, blowing out a long breath. She couldn't think of anything to say for a moment. She didn't know what to do with herself anymore.
He cracked a few eggs into the skillet, before starting to hunt down the bacon.
"Do you want help? I'm actually pretty good at breakfast foods," she said quietly, hoping to be of some use. She really didn't like feeling useless. Lazy was okay.
"If you want to keep an eye on the eggs while I get the bacon and toast going, feel free," he nodded.
She nodded, stepping forward and rifling through a few drawers before she found a fork and then stood poised over the skillet. "This is weird." she stated after a minute "The last time I made breakfast with anyone was with my sister. I must have been, like, fourteen."
He grabbed another pan, starting to lay out thick slices of bacon. "Not too strange. Just breakfast."
"Breakfast is sacred, don't you dare try to tell me otherwise," she quipped, immediately dropping back into her sarcastic self. It took a little effort. Less dropping and more picking it back up.
"I wouldn't get far if I tried," he pointed out, putting bread into the toaster.
"As long as you know," she smiled slightly, turning back to prod at the eggs with the fork, pleased with their progress. After another long moment, she glanced back at him. "What are you planning on doing with your rare free day, besides being poked by a bunch of doctors?"
He sighed, shrugging. "Usually I'd go out and shag someone, but given my state that's not exactly ideal. I did try and get Jim to postpone the date a little but he was less than inclined."
Lorna snorted softly, turning off the gas under the eggs and starting to look for his plates. "That doesn't surprise me at all. You know how he is more than I do. Did he say something about believing in yourself? If not I'm a little disappointed."
He let out a bark of laughter. "Now you're the one that's got to be careful about what you say. You'd be as dead as I would."
"Oh, c'mon, you're telling me you didn't get one quip out of him? The quip master?" Lorna smirked, shoveling the eggs onto two plates. "Fuck, I am disappointed. I feel like I've lost a hero, you know?"
"I don't know, it all blurs together after a while," he said, shrugging and adding bacon and toast to both. "You want juice? Yes? Good."
She rolled her eyes at his pushing for her hydration and simply picked up a piece of bacon with her bare fingers and scarfed it down. "I'm thinking I might get drunk again today. Don't worry, not in your place. Safely in my own bathroom."
"I'm thinking you might not," he returned easily, along with a tall glass of juice.
She made a noise of complaint, taking the glass with a sullen look. "You're going to keep me from drinking? What the hell am I going to do with my free time, then?"
He flopped down. "Wow, not even going to argue? That was easier than I thought." He broke into an egg, sopping up some of the yolk with a piece of toast. "Not from drinking, completely, but from going into liver failure, yes. Just cut back. It's not a terrible idea. You were out of control last night, and you know it."
Lorna sighed, staying where she was and eating standing up. "Like I could argue with you. And okay, yeah, last night was bad, but that was only because I was 'out on the town', or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Seriously, what the hell else am I going to do, knit?"
"Practice your marksmanship, or your hand-to-hand, or take up painting, or read. I don't know. There are a million things you could be doing."
Lorna made a bored sound, stuffing her mouth with toast. "I have distinct hobbies. But apparently, all those are bad for me."
He shrugged. "Look, I don't care if you drink. But you went past a line last night, and there are consequences for that sort of thing."
She sighed, finishing off her eggs and bacon and setting down the plate a little too hard. "Do you think Malcolm would be too fucked up if I messed around with him? Think of it as practicing for the job."
"Define 'messed around'," he said, taking a long sip of juice.
"Seeing if I'm good enough to charm a man into being interested when my looks are... debatable," she shrugged, casually taking a swig from her own glass.
He shrugged. "Malcolm's pretty damn level. Have fun." He smirked just a bit.
"As long as I'm not going to get him killed," she snorted, emptying her glass and turning to place it in the sink. Her goal was to get out of her system what had been driving her to every bar she'd visited last night, and since Moran wasn't a candidate anymore she'd just have to settle for Malcolm.
"If you do it won't be my call, but either way I doubt it." He took another sip of his juice, taking his time. "You're welcome to sleep here again tonight if you like. If you're not occupied."
Lorna cleared her throat. "I probably won't be. Fresh stitches and the like. Anyway, after last night... Jumping into that would be stupid of me," she shook her head, brows drawn together.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Either way." He stood to clear his dishes, starting to rinse them off.
She stood around, increasingly unsure of what to do with herself besides wait until he dragged her to medical. What did she do with herself besides drink? She wasn't even sure.
He noticed her shifting uncomfortably. "You going to medical in my tee shirt?" he asked, deciding to take mercy on her.
She pulled at it a little, frowning. "Well, it's dried to my back with blood, and I figure that if I take it off before I go I'm only going to rip something open. If I'm there they might be able to magically stop that from happening and-slash-or patch me up immediately. I'm probably going to pop back to mine to get on some shorts or something, though. Even if this thing fits me like a dress."
"Trousers might be appreciated," he agreed, putting the dishes on the rack to dry.
"Yeah," she mumbled, then cocked her head towards the door, grateful for the opportunity to take a small break from navigating the minefield that was conversation with Moran. "I'm going to go grab some."
"You do that," he agreed, drying his hands. "I'm going to clean up. Meet you in the hall in five."
She nodded consent and then spun on her heel to leave. The five minute breather would have to be enough. When he appeared in the hall five minutes later, she smiled like she hadn't considered stalling and pretending she hadn't washed any trousers.
He could see her discomfort as she left. It amused him, keeping her on confused toes, though he knew he couldn't push it too far. A few headgames were fine, but nothing scarring.
"You ready to go to hell?" She chirped sarcastically as he closed the door behind him. She was only half kidding. She was getting quite sick of visiting the infirmary.
"We'll be going to hell quite a few more times before this is all through," he said, heading for the elevator in familiar routine. "You've bled enough to stick to your clothes. That's not exactly peak condition."
"I never said that I didn't need to go, I'm just extremely reluctant," she pointed out, wondering why the walk to the lift seemed so long when she was with him. "Like going to the doctor's to get vaccinated. You don't want to be stuck in the shoulder and injected with a cold, viscous liquid that aches and burns, but you also don't want to die of bacterial meningitis."
He nodded, conceding the point. "At least you'll be more comfortable after they clean you up and get that shirt off."
"That's true," she murmured, stepping into the elevator. She realized vaguely that she hadn't brought a shirt to change into, and sighed. Too late. "I'm not really a fan of feeling my own crusted blood chafing against my back."
"Somehow I doubt too many people are," he pointed out, rubbing at his eyes a little as the elevator dinged and he stepped out.
She made an amused noise of agreement and stepped out after him, drumming her fingers against her thigh in a display of reluctance.
"Come on, wimp, just get it over with," he muttered, rolling his eyes and walking down the hall towards the clinic.
"I'm not a wimp," she stuck her tongue out at him a bit childishly, considering shouldering him and then realizing it would hurt the both of them. "I got through Mycroft's shit, yeah?"
"Yeah," he conceded, sighing as he pushed into the clinic.
She slipped through the closing door and sighed as it closed behind her, grimacing just a little as a nurse made his way over to them. "Mr. Moran. You can come right this way. Ms. Harrison, you can wait in there."
The session was routine by now, but painful none the less. By the time he was released, he was aching and sore.
Lorna appeared a few minutes after him, having endured the process of detaching the shirt from her scabs with only mild swearing. Now she just felt like she'd been dragged behind a truck. "I can't believe they don't give you a lollipop when you're done."
"How about a drink?" he suggested tiredly. "A drink. Emphasis on 'a'."
"Yeah. Okay. I can compromise," she nodded, hurting too much to argue. Not that arguing with him was the best idea. She could think of worse ones, of course, but that wasn't the point. "Something strong, at least?"
"Yeah, yeah, I've got 90 proof, let's go," he sighed, climbing into the elevator for what seemed the 100th time that weekend.
She leaned gingerly against the inside of the lift as the doors closed, reaching to hit the right button with her foot, mostly just to see if she could. At least her flexibility wasn't ruined.
He watched her do it. "This fucking sucks," he sighed finally.
"What, the being physically wrecked part, or is something else bothering you?" she snorted, with a slight nod. She agreed. This did fucking suck.
"The whole situation," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.
"Sorry," she murmured, feeling a little guilty for that. He was practically having to babysit her, after all.
He shook his head, sighing as the elevator jolted to a halt, straightening. "It's not your fault."
Lorna gave a slight shrug as she walked out of the elevator. That was debatable. "If you say so, Moran."
"Good. Least you still take orders," he snorted, heading down the hall.
"If anything, I take them better now than I ever used to," she rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets as they reached his door and standing to the side. No way she'd be able to open it.
He scanned through. "You know, oddly enough, that's true."
Lorna followed him in, giving a light shrug. "Eh, it's not so odd. I was violently overpowered by more than one person this week. I'm a little cowed, I'll admit it."
He laughed as he walked into the apartment, heading for the kitchen.
She lowered herself gingerly down onto the pullout, throwing the rumpled sheets back into a more orderly shape as she waited for him to reappear with the alcohol she'd promised. It might dull the worst of the pain, and drinking was always therapeutic.
He came back in, sitting next to her and handing over a generous shot. "Here."
"Thanks," she breathed, knocking it all back immediately and shaking her head at the strength of it. He hadn't been lying. "Christ, that's strong. Not complaining, though."
"Figured if we're only getting one drink it had better be a good one," he grunted.
"That's generous of you," she chuckled, leaning back to lay down carefully, resting the now-empty shot glass on her stomach with a slow sigh. "Remind me to get you liquor for Christmas."
He grinned. "Sounds good. I'll get you the same."
She laughed. "If we get each other the same thing it's going to be so embarrassing. Ah, fuck... Hey, did Jim say anything about any new jobs or whatnot? I mean, I thought it'd be nice to have some time off... but now that I have it I'm bored out of my goddamn mind."
"We'll have something to do when he has it," he said, sighing. "Undoubtedly something to do with Holmes."
"Okay, I'm not sure I'm that bored," she grimaced, carefully stretching. He was right, before - she needed to make sure she didn't heal too tight. "I think he'll kill us next time. Well, he'll kill me, at least."
"Yes," he agreed softly. "So we won't give him the opportunity."
Lorna fell silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling before looking back at him. It was... weird,seeing him hurt, off his game. She'd begun thinking he was infallible at some point. Stupid thing to think. Still, it almost depressed her that he turned out not to be. "I'll take a gun next time."
He smirks. "I'll make sure you have one. You know how to shoot?"
"'Course I know how to shoot. Who do you think I am, huh? Being proficient in just knives is pretty fucking stupid," she huffed, setting down the shot glass next to him and then moving up the bed a bit so she could get under the covers. "Sorry, but I need to shed your ruined shirt. I think my own blood is scraping me."
He waved her off. "Just lose it. You want another one?"
She shucked it off and made herself comfortable with the sheets pulled up to her chin, for the sake of maintaining normal conversation. "I don't need one until I get up, so don't bother yourself."
"Don't need one when you get up, either," he smirked.
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You're funny, Moran. You ever going to use up those dares from that plane ride, or what? You can dare me to dust your flat if you want. I noticed some when I left today. I would have thought ex-military would be more obsessively clean than you."
He smirked. "I've been busy. And I'm saving those dares for when I really need them."
"What the fuck are you really going to need, a late night shopping trip? Most of what you'd need from me you could just order me to do anyway," she pointed out, making sure that he could hear the doubt in her voice, since he wasn't going to see her eyeroll from the foot of the bed.
"I'll think of something," he said, smiling. "Too useful to waste."
"Uh huh. God, I wish I'd gotten one on you. I really ought to learn how to win at poker, not just play it distractingly," she groaned, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in one of the pillows, then reaching to flick away the sheet so her wrecked back could get some air.
He laughed, shaking his head a little. "Maybe that's what you should do instead of getting drunk. Learn to play poker better."
Lorna's chuckle was muffled for a moment until she turned her face to the side. "Yeah, I'll just waltz on down and play with some of the hitmen, they won't mind. I could probably learn how to cheat really well."
"Probably. Be careful about betting with favors. They're less nice than I am," he grinned.
"I'll just find a particularly handsome bunch and let them know that if they push their luck I'll rip them a new one," she hummed, relaxing. It felt nice to not have anything pressing against her stitches.
"I'm sure they won't doubt that," he nodded seriously, sighing. God, he wanted another drink. "The hell we have today off for, anyway? Thoughts?"
"Fuck, I wouldn't have it off if it weren't for you, so you tell me," Lorna snorted, giving a very small lift of her feet for a substitute shrug. "Maybe Jim has the same reason you gave me off."
"Maybe," he admitted, nodding. "He was taking a 'rest day' yesterday... Said he'd cover my duties today. It was oddly generous. Makes me nervous."
"I don't think he's going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about. You fucked up, sure, but overall, from what I've been around for, your record is outstanding. Hell, if he was going to kill you, I think he'd at least have a replacement hovering around, you know? I don't know. Holmes has his live-in, doesn't he? Jim could think you're interesting," she shrugged a little, voice in a considering tone. "I'm a little biased, because I think you're interesting, but whatever."
He let out a loud laugh. "Jim? Jim? Jim thinks people are dust specks," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not that I haven't swung that way, but Jim doesn't look twice."
"People are specks to him, yeah," she agreed, her voice level. Surprisingly so, considering she was unfoundedly jealous. "But you're not exactly people, Moran."
He shrugged. "I don't think you're right, but I suppose, agree to disagree."
"Well, if you can come up with a better idea, I'm all ears. I'm not sure it really matters, though. I think you'll find out why soon enough, one way or another, if it suits him," she muttered, closing her eyes and enjoying the slight draft through the apartment that floated across her back.
He nodded, considering. "What must it be like to shag him? I know he's shagged people. It must be fucking intense. Pun intended."
"I haven't a damn clue, I'll tell you that," she huffed, rolling back over and throwing back the sheets so she could get up. "I'm going to go take that soak. If you'd like to keep talking about boys you can sit in the shower."
He rolled his eyes, but actually got up. "Might as well keep company," he sighed.
She was honestly surprised, so hid it with a small snicker as she led the way to the door. "I apologize in advance for the assault on your senses that my shampoo will be. It's really way too fruity but government officials like it, so."
"Oh, well, if it's for the government officials," he smirked, following her and wishing he had a drink in his hand to take the edge off the still-present ache of his body.
She led him into her easier-to-enter apartment and headed for the bathroom, chuckling under her breath slightly. "I'm all about the job, Moran, you know that," she teased.
"Aren't we all?" he muttered, making a seat for himself on the closed toilet, leaning back with a sigh and closing his eyes.
She turned on the tap and sealed the drain, making sure the water coming out was hot before she sat on the edge of the tub and waited for it to fill up a little more. No need to sit around nude and awkward. "You should take vacations more often. Get the fuck out of here sometime."
He shrugged. "I have the time saved up, but it's more trouble than it's worth, and if things go to hell when I'm gone, it's still on my head."
"That's as good an argument to stay as any, I suppose," Lorna murmured, reaching over to shut off the faucets at the tub reached optimal fullness. Standing, she slipped off her shorts and underwear and stepped into the water, slowly sinking in, hissing as the hot water touched her injuries.
He peeked an eye open at her hiss of pain, making sure she wasn't doing anything stupid, before letting it slip shut again. "Best one there is, anyway. Not that I don't like the work, but fuck if it isn't consuming."
"Oh, I know. I have the fortune-slash-misfortune of being bossed around by you all the time, I damn well know how high strung you get," she commented, relaxing into the near-scalding water with a slight sigh of relief.
He smirked slightly. "You'd get high-strung, too, in my position. Already do, half the time."
"'Course I get high strung. You've seen first hand the kind of shit I have to deal with," she scoffed, leaning back her head to get her hair wet and then relaxing again. "What on earth do you suppose all that drinking is for?"
"Yeah, well, I told you. I tolerate almost anything, until it starts getting out of control and endangering my people. Then it stops." He scratched at a bandage, trying to alleviate the itching of the scabs underneath.
"Don't itch. Knowing you, you'll rip yourself open through the bandages," she scolded carefully, making sure to keep any authority at all out of her voice. He was more likely to listen if he took it as a suggestion. "I don't know why you aren't soaking too. When's the last time you got clean, huh?"
He snorted. "Stop mothering, Harrison. Christ. I don't know, but the idea of stinging all over just doesn't sound pleasant."
"I don't mother. I do careless nurture," she retorted, flicking him with a few drops of water. "I'm serious, though. You get infected, who's going to take over your job? Me? Do you want that to happen?"
"They wash me off every time they change the damn bandages," he snorted. "Besides, you'd do fine. I'd love to see you trying to deal with Jim. I'd bring popcorn from the afterlife."
Lorna made a frustrated noise, immediately shooting back with "Really? I still have to see you deal with Jim. You ought to be prepared if he's interested, Moran, because I don't think he'll be deterred."
He laughed, shaking his head slightly. "Whatever you say. I still say it'll be interesting."
"Yeah, real interesting. Be a lot of me being very polite. Ultra obedient. Pulling out all the stops," she muttered, reaching for the shampoo by the edge of the tub and going about the process of lathering her hair up, a painful process. Her arms didn't exactly want to be lifted all the way above her head. Plus, the exceedingly fruity smell was a little bit much.
He wrinkled his nose. "God, you weren't kidding, that stuff is rank," he muttered, pulling a face.
Lorna made a noise of agreement. "I know. It settles a little bit nicer when it's just my hair and not a fucking room, but it's still... not what I would personally choose, I suppose."
"I doubt it's what anyone would personally choose, at least not to put in their own hair." He sighed.
"Obviously somebody does, if the assholes who make this shit are still in business," she huffed, washing the obnoxious soap from her hair and immediately pulling the drain, trying to keep the stuff from seeping into her various wounds. That would hurt like hell.
He nodded in agreement, looking over at her and admiring her body, at the same time assessing how her wounds were healing. "The paper reported on that bastard. They've got nothing, police are saying it was a bad drug deal."
"Which bastard are we talking about right now? I seem to have missed a bastard in our conversation," she quipped, highly aware of his eyes on her as she stood up and leaned for a towel hanging from the shower stall. "Are we talking about Holmes, now?"
"No, the bastard from the bar. Sorry. Lots of bastards. Didn't want to be overly descriptive, just let you know the thing's over with." His eyes followed her as she stood, not leering, just observing.
"Ah, that one," she cleared her throat, nearly dropping the towel as she tried very hard not to think about it, Sebastian forgotten for a moment. She didn't want to think about it at all. The sooner she forgot the entire experience, the better.
He saw her discomfort. "Forget I mentioned it," he said calmly, standing and walking over to place a hand on an unmarred patch of skin. "So, did you get a picture of Holmes when you played pin-the-tail-on-the-ass with him?"
"No," she shook her head, tucking the towel around her chest, "I was a little busy at the moment. You looked like you were really done with that party," she added, very, very aware of his hand. It wasn't that she minded. That was just how she was with him. Touches from him were never mindless.
He grinned, his hand dropping as he headed out of the bathroom to find something more comfortable to sit on than the toilet. "I was alright, you were my designated driver."
She let out a slow breath for following him, drawing her wet hair over her shoulder so it wouldn't drip all down her back. "Thank god. If you'd had to drive us home I would be suffering from whiplash." She wondered if she could sneak in a smoke.
He laughed. "More likely you'd be suffering from dead-ness, what with how conscious I was," he shot back. He looked over at her curiously, before leaning his tall figure down over her to sniff curiously at her hair. He straightened, shrugging. "Not terrible once it's died down a bit. Still not fantastic."
"No, it's not. Before I switched to this I used a nice mint one. That one was enormously better. Doesn't exactly send off the same message, unfortunately. People who smell like mint aren't normally who'd you'd peg as the ones who play fast and loose," Lorna gave a small shrug, looking up at him thoughtfully.
"Touche," he said, nodding a bit and meeting her gaze calmly. "So, now that you're mostly sober and staying that way for a while, what are your plans?"
"Staving off boredom with things equally as unhealthy. Smoking. Ice cream. Unrequited flirting. I don't know, I'll figure it out as I go. What are you going to do with your rare free time?" she raised an eyebrow, turning away from him to walk to her coffee table and to grab her pack of cigarettes.
"Bum a light off of you and amuse myself by annoying you as much as possible," he said, walking over to grab a fag out of the pack.
She rolled her eyes, tapping out one of her own and lighting up before handing off the lighter to him. "How are you possibly going to find a way to amuse yourself for more than ten minutes? I can get pretty zen, Moran."
"And I can be pretty annoying," he returned with a toothy grin, lighting his own cigarette and tossing the lighter back to her. "Suppose we'll see."
She took a drag off the little white deathstick as she caught the lighter and returned it to its place on the coffee table, sinking down onto the couch and crossing her legs. "Well, if it makes you loosen up for once in your life, I can't complain. You're too wound up, Moran."
"I'm wound up?" he asked with a lazy grin. "I'm the least wound up person I know."
She scoffed, giving him a truly incredulous look. "Really? You're wound up so tight that if I stuck a lump of coal up your ass I'd have a diamond in a week. I mean, excluding now - for once you actually look like you're enjoying yourself."
He rolled his eyes. "I take pride in being calm and collected in pretty much every situation," he retorted with a smirk.
She had to laugh at that, taking in another drag off her cigarette and tapping ash into the little tray on the coffee table before she responded. "Yeah, well, I'll give you that. You know what you're doing all the time. It just makes me a little suspicious that you haven't done enough."
"What's that intended to mean?" he shot back, not harshly, studying the ember at the end of his light.
"If you know what you're doing every second of every day, it sounds like you've experienced everything. But no one's done that and no one's ever going to," Lorna shrugged, a little relieved he hadn't fixed her with some sort of glare. "I'm saying you should probably get out more."
He laughed. Shrugged. "I like what I do. I get out enough, just not when you're around, Harrison."
She smirked, almost reaching for a drink that wasn't there - that was a habit deeply ingrained in her, unfortunately for her health. "Oh yeah? Well, goodness me, I guess that means my point is moot then, huh?"
"Suppose it does, Harrison," he said, drawing slowly from the cigarette as he walked over to sit in a chair.
She had a sudden curiosity about what his family must have been like; no one learned that kind of smooth sarcasm without a little genetic predisposition to help them along. Then she shook the thought from her head. What a stupid thing to think about. "Why'd they kick you out of the army, Moran?" she asked instead - a much safer, more work-related form of curiosity.
He flashed white teeth under dark eyes. A grin, neither tight nor easy. "Not playing nice with others."
"Had a hunch it was something like that," she smirked, her free hand working some of the water out of her dripping hair and wiping it off on her towel. It was making her cold.
He shrugged. "Wasn't an 'others' who I felt deserved nice playing. But I was slightly less discrete than I should have been. I've learned better."
She raised her eyebrows slightly. "Now I'm not sure if you beat up a fellow soldier or you ravaged one. How about you clear it up a little bit?"
His grin widened. "Oh, you're simplifying things, I think. There was a list." He chuckled.
"Christ, Moran, you must have been wild back in your prime," she snickered, purposely digging at him, just to see if she could get a reaction out of him. He did have a few years on her, but not enough that she meant it.
"Mmm..." he smirked. "My prime, huh? I don't know about that. I've gotten much more inventive since then. Then things were really just about brute force, but now..."
"Brute force can get the job done, don't get me wrong, but I think finesse is probably a better route for you to take. What if your motor functions stop working as well and you start tripping over yourself, right?" she teased, sucking in a long drag on her cigarette that put her right down to the filter. She leaned forward to stub it out.
He smirked, savoring his cigarette. "Don't age me out too quickly, there, Harrison. I'll retire and put you in charge."
"Don't worry, old man, the age jokes are a one time deal. You won't hear another peep about them tomorrow," she grinned, standing up. "I'm going to go put on some real clothes, if you don't mind."
He waved her off, finishing off his cigarette and leaning over to stub it out. "Just don't push it, or I'll return to my previously discovered nicknames for you."
"If you weren't so curmudgeonly all the time I wouldn't be so tempted," she laughed over her shoulder, disappearing into her bedroom and chucking the towel behind her into the living room.
"Curmudgeonly? Really?" he sighed, stretching. "That's a new one. Makes me sound almost nice, in an odd sort of way."
"You're letting me crash in bed with you because I'm too much of a wimp to get any decent sleep otherwise," she pointed out, returning wearing a tank top and shorts.
"That's practicality," he snorted. "Don't go making me sound soft."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she chuckled, flopping back down onto her sofa. "Neither your personality nor your actual body has any suggestions of the sort. I think your reputation will remain intact."
"It had better," he grumbled, though his smirk returned. He reached up to rub at his eyes. "Gods, I'm bored. I'll be happy when I can get back to work."
Lorna made an agreeing sort of sigh, putting her feet up on the back of the couch. "If you can think of something suitably healthy for our wrecked vessels, by all means, I'm willing. I thought I would enjoy having work off more than this."
"Jim ordered me to take the day off," he muttered, annoyed. "Can't disobey that."
"Then come up with something else you like to do. Clean your guns. Work on your guns. Shoot your guns. You like guns, right?"
He sighed disparagingly but glanced over at her. "Is your view of me really so simplistic? I'd be annoyed, but honestly, at the moment that sounds better than just staring at the wall." He stood.
"No, I just like pissing you off every once in a while," she shrugged, snorting a little. "Either way, its a better suggestion than trying to convince you to drink, fucking, and then a lot of regretting later. Honestly I'm considering getting out a little sewing kit to while away the time."
He shrugged, heading for the door. "Useful skill to have. You coming over or staying here?"
She heaved herself to her feet with a mildly pained sound to follow him. "Yeah, I'm coming. Never hurts to freshen up on guns."
"Grab any you have, I'll see what you can do with them," he muttered, heading across the hall and scanning in.
She turned on her heel to do just that, retrieving her three very well-taken-care-of handguns from their various hiding spots and crossing the hall to his apartment. For some reason she felt a little like she was being tested.
He had opened his gun locker, pulling out a few pieces that could stand a going over, along with his tool box and some oil. He'd already laid out a layer of canvas on the table when she came in. "Grab a seat."
Lorna placed her handguns carefully on the table as she sank into the chair across from him, drumming her fingers on the covered tabletop. "I feel oddly self-conscious about what you think of my weapons, I'll confess."
He glanced up, raising an eyebrow, and held out a hand, waiting for her to pass him one of the guns. He considered it for a while. "It's a good piece," he said after a bit. "You've taken good care of it. A lot smaller than I usually deal with, but you're a lot smaller than me, and are looking to conceal more than intimidate."
"Mm," she agreed, giving a nod, "If it comes down to using one of these there's no point in intimidation. It's just self-preservation at that point in time." And she had used them, when she'd been forced to, although she could take a fair amount of abuse before she even reached for one. She prided herself on the quality of her work.
"I'm aware," he murmured, nodding. He flicked the safety on and off, felt the weight of it in his hand, before passing it back over to her. "It's nice."
"Thanks. It would have been your replacement in Italy if you hadn't been sent to chaperone me," she hummed, setting it fondly back onto the table.
"Glad I can be replaced so easily. One less thing on my to-do list," he muttered with a grin, picking up a much larger handgun and starting to disassemble it for cleaning.
She snickered, starting to do the same with the gun he'd just given back to her, although much more slowly. She wasn't at the point where she trusted herself to not make mistakes. "If it makes you feel better that job sounds like it would have gone a lot more poorly without you spying on me."
He smirked just slightly. "It certainly would have been more interesting for you," he retorted.
She set apart cleaning her gun, chuckling a bit. "What were you doing, anyway? Did somebody try to interrupt or did I garner just a little too much attention?" She glanced up at him, curious. If she'd slipped up she wanted to know how to avoid it next time.
He shrugged. "Once or twice a servant or maid tried to check in, and I diverted them, but one of the kitchen staff ended up recognizing you. I think they worked for a previous mark of yours at some point. It's alright, though, they slipped and fell before they could tell anyone."
"Mm. Maybe I should steer clear of Italy for a few years," she murmured, frowning to herself for a moment and then returning to her weapons. "I could take over the France missions. I speak the language better than Rogers anyway."
He nodded. "That's true. I'll adjust assignments."
"Thanks. I'd like to go as long as possible without being shot," she snorted. Not that she thought it would be all that bad; she'd been through torture, hadn't she?
"Always a decent goal," he nodded, spreading oil over a few parts and starting to clean them carefully.
Lorna made a bit of a face as she got oil on her hands, her natural distaste for doing any work whatsoever rearing its lazy head as she suddenly questioned why she was doing this. "I hope you're not one of those men who doesn't have any hand soap. I seem to have been repressing the memories of how messy this is."
He looked up at her with a snort. "Oh, sorry, princess, you have to get your nails dirty."
"Damn straight I'm a princess. You ought to be nice to me or when I get my full queen status I'll have you killed," she shot back evenly, humming to herself. "Speaking of queenhood, have you given the thing with the boss any more thought?"
He couldn't help but laugh at her transition. "And by 'thing with the boss' you mean...?"
She glanced up at him, raising her eyebrows. "Don't hedge. You know what I'm talking about."
He shrugged. "Anything right now is just speculation," he said. "Who knows if he'll say or do anything, or not?"
"It's Jim, remember," she pointed out, reassembling her gun with a frown of concentration. "He always has something to say."
He laughed. "Not regarding this sort of thing, he doesn't. If he decides he wants to do something about it, he will."
She smirked. "Good luck anyways, I suppose. For whatever outcome you find preferable. You can always find me hanging out with the ordinary folk like any person with a streak of self-preservation."
"I like the challenge," he smirked, starting to assemble the gun again. "Living on the edge. It suits me."
"Oh, believe me, I know you do. Most of the people in this business have the good sense to walk around on the streets with their heads down and their hands on their guns. You, on the other hand," she fought down a laugh and shrugged her shoulders slightly, "walk around like you own the place and you want everyone to know it."
"An accurate assessment if I've ever heard one," he smirked. "It pays to be the big dog."
"Literally," she snorted, looking pointedly at his gun. "That's not standard stock, is it? You spend your money dangerously. And not in the fiscal sense."
His grin widened a bit as he positioned the gun back in its case, snapping it shut. "I like to be prepared."
Lorna chuckled, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. "The day I catch you unprepared will be the day I can die happily. Probably from dying of laughter."
"Given that I could kill you unarmed and with my hands tied, I'm not sure you'd even get that far," he shot back, eyes glinting.
"You're right, you're right - I can't live to tell the tale, can I?" she snorted, rolling her eyes playfully and pushing back her chair to rise to her feet. "You got coffee? If I can't have liquor I need a little caffeine to keep me going."
"Go ahead. Coffee maker's on the counter, coffee's in the far left cabinet," he said, starting in on the second gun.
"Thanks," she replied, heading into the kitchen as soon as he gave her permission. Some part of her that sounded a lot like her mother told her that she was going to get caffeine poisoning if she kept up this habit, while the rest of her ignored it and focused on more important matters. "Is it really safe to stay in London right now? Holmes has to be looking for us, doesn't he? And he's shown himself to be more than capable of illegally using security cameras that aren't his."
"Not Jim's. Closed circuit, all hard-wired, with anti-tapping software and touch-sensor alarms on the whole circuit, swept daily. No one's getting in here." He lay the gun parts out on the table.
"Not what I meant," she shook her head, despite the fact that he couldn't see her. "We have to leave this building eventually, believe it or not. If we don't leave with less than a full platoon of support I don't see how we won't be snatched off the street."
"We won't be snatched off the street because we aren't morons," he snorted. "We'll be careful, and we won't leave until Jim has Holmes's balls in a vice, which shouldn't be too difficult."
She gave a sound of amusement at his language, then sighed. "Fuck, I hate being cooped up in here for more than a few days. I get restless and then I get sore because I use the gym equipment like a maniac. Don't let me exercise, no matter how much I ask."
"I'll do my level best," he returned with sarcastic 'sincerity'. He started to reassemble his gun with careful, practiced hands.
She rolled her eyes, although she supposed that being surprised at Sebastian's sarcasm was, by now, a moot point. "Do you want a cup of coffee, Moran?"
"Wouldn't hate one," he nodded, finishing assembling the weapon and giving it a final polish before returning it to its case and wiping his hands off with a rag.
She poured out two mugs and then returned to the table, setting one in the center of the table for him and nursing her own closer to her chest, relishing the heat. She let the conversation drop, just considering him for a moment over her steaming coffee.
He reached out for the mug, taking a long sip of the hot drink with a sigh.
"You're one of those people I can't imagine as a kid-" Lorna started, then cut off by the sound of the intercom chirping. A different ringtone from Jim's, but still startling. "Did you not tell anybody you were taking the day off?"
"No," he said with an amused smirk, standing up and heading over to the intercom, coffee still in hand, punching the button. "Make it good."
Whoever was on the other side of the com made a sound of nervous hesitation, then went on, "Uh.. Well, we caught Harold Nichols sending out information to a third party, and you, um... you said to alert you a few weeks ago if anything like that came up.. he's in a holding cell. Just... wanted to let you know.." The voice trailed off and Lorna snickered into her hand.
He took his finger off the button for a moment, sighing, before returning it. "And I'm speaking to... who, right now?"
"Ah.. Um.. Clarkson, sir," the voice hedged, sounding as if they'd rather forgotten their name for a moment. Lorna swiftly exited into the kitchen, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Oh, Terribly sorry I didn't recognize the sultry tones of your voice, Clarkson. I wanted to make sure I knew who was interrupting my day off. Tell me- have you by any chance gone about standard interrogation protocols before you took it upon yourself to so boldly elevate this particular issue?"
The person sputtered, a few awkward attempts at backpedaling stumbling out before they managed to put together anything coherent. "Oh- no, I thought - Well, that you wanted to handle it? Ah - Fuck - Sorry - I'll handle it, sir!"
"I want you to handle it until it becomes apparent that there's an actual threat, Clarkson. Then, by all means, feel free to interrupt," he drawled, leaving the intercom and heading back towards the kitchen.
Lorna was leaning over the sink shuddering with laughter, the evidence of a few black dots on the counter and her position suggesting that she'd almost spit out a mouthful of the stuff. "Fuck am I glad that's not me!" she laughed, looking over at him with pink cheeks.
He laughed, too, taking a long sip of his coffee. "So I see."
She wiped at her eyes, trying to calm herself down. "Ah, fuck. You'd scare the shit out of a dragon, Moran. Although that kid probably ranks a few tiers below that."
"One or two," he agreed, amused. He was in a good mood, now. Terrifying someone properly was always a booster.
She finally recovered enough to chance a sip at her coffee, eyes still twinkling. "I wonder who's out sick that he's the one they sent to talk to you."
"He learned," he said, the neat graveyard of teeth flashing through his lips. "He won't make the mistake again. At least, he won't and live."
She smirked, setting down her mug on the table beside her. "Do you let everyone get off the hook so easily, or are you just in a good mood today in general?"
"It was more of a 'too lazy to interrupt my day off to go kill someone at the moment' sort of thing," he sighed. "He got lucky. He won't again."
"That sounds about right. Luck only holds out so long," she agreed, brushing hair back from her face idly. "Well, at least killing people isn't exactly a detraction from the enjoyment of your job."
"You have a fair point," he agreed, topping off his coffee and heading back to the living room.
She followed him after a quick moment to politely wipe up the small mess she'd made from her spluttering, feeling that if she was going to practically live there (practically: she had no illusions that the situation wasn't both temporary and likely unsuitable) she ought to at least clean up after herself. "Have I ever asked you what made you get into this business, or have I asked and you've just told me to stuff it?"
"I think we've had the discussion," he said, flopping gingerly onto the couch, wary of his injuries. "Improper conduct in the military, got drop-kicked out, but had very specific interests and skill sets..." He sighed.
"No, not what I meant," she shook her head, setting herself carefully on the arm of the sofa. "I meant what got fucked up in your early life that you ended up acting with poor manners in the military."
He snorted. "You're kidding me. You want the tragic backstory?" he sneered, kicking his feet up on the end table.
"Hell yeah," she grinned, playing it off as a joke, despite the fact that she was legitimately curious. "I love them. And I'm a spy, come on, I know when to keep my mouth shut. Most of the time."
"Which one do you want? The one where I was orphaned and tortured cats, or the one where daddy beat me and mommy let me share her drinks?" he deadpanned.
"Dammit, there isn't a version where your rich daddy dies while you're in boarding school and your only friend is a french maid? I'm disappointed. I was really hoping for that one," she sighed dramatically, then sobered a little, her face becoming considering. "But you know you look like him, right? That one lord with your Irish-as-fuck last name?"
When he smiled, it was cool and empty. His face gave nothing away. "Now, that would be a story, wouldn't it?" His eyes might have been slightly tense, or it could have been the lighting.She gave Moran an unabashed grin in return, pretending she wasn't absolutely sure she'd guessed his big, dirty secret in one go. She had her suspicions, and if he didn't outright confirm or deny, that was enough for her. "It really would. I don't suppose you're ever going to tell me about it, though."
"No, but I might decide to field gut you anyway, just for kicks," he muttered, reaching out to grab a book from the end table.
"What, is there a difference between that and meadow gutting? No, don't answer, I've decided I don't actually want to know," she smirked, settling back and basking in the sensation of feeling like her usual sarcastic self for a moment. God, she loved pestering him.
"It's the difference between that and clinical gutting," he said casually, eyes on the book as he opened to a bookmarked page. "One involves rope, a tree, and a broad selection of knives, the other involves straps, a sterile table, and a broad selection of scalpels."
Despite the fact she knew he wasn't lying by any stretch of the imagination, she refused to take him seriously. "Kinky. The first one's not real sanitary, though. Bring hand sanitizer."
"If I want sanitary, I use the clinical version," he muttered. "Field gutting is much more entertaining in my opinion. Makes flaying much easier, and gravity helps with the guts, since the subject is vertical."
"Well, it's hard to argue with the benefits of gravity itself, isn't it?" Lorna snorted, equal parts amused and irritated that she wasn't successfully needling him at all. "I suppose my relative inexperience in playing the Most Dangerous Game leaves me mostly out of the gutting discussion to begin with."
"We should work on that. Important skill to have. You need to know how to keep someone alive during the process, as well. What organs can and cannot be removed. All that." He turned the page.
"I never said I wasn't well-versed in torture," she reminded him, eyeing his book with a good amount of doubt. He would never absorb his attention in something mundane with somebody else in his company, would he? That was actually a bit of a jab of what he thought of her abilities. She pushed the thought from her head. "I'm well practiced there, believe me."
He glanced up, smiling. "I didn't say you weren't." He lowered the book. "First time you tortured someone, then, let's hear it."
"First time? Oh, Christ, it was an embarrassment," she huffed, even if she was mildly fond of the memory. Everyone liked an amusing first time tale, didn't they? "I was nineteen, and I didn't know better than to start with the teeth. 'Course, he wasn't real good at talking after I'd yanked out half his molars, was he? I think I picked a nice spot for it, though. In the bloke's very own sound-proofed basement, his family just upstairs." She grinned, remembering her own smug humor.
He grinned, flashing his own teeth, and nodded in approval at the location choice. "Definitely a prime location. What were you trying to get out of him?"
"Oh, just where he was keeping a few hostages. He was a rival kingpin of a significantly more successful cartel than the one I was in," she shrugged, "He didn't do so well running the cartel when he kept accidentally spitting out his dentures."
He grinned. "I would imagine that did put a damper on things, yes," he murmured, laughing.
Lorna snickered, remembering the bloody mess he'd turned into in front of her with fondness sprinkled by just a tad of squeamishness. "I did learn my lesson, though. Start with the extremities first. They don't need those to talk."
"An important lesson to learn." He returned to his book. "Order is everything. We all have to learn it at some point."
"That's likely the most distinctively military thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she muttered, though not expecting him to acknowledge her. She wished, in fact, that she'd had the foresight to bring over some books from her own, separate, out-of-building apartment so she wouldn't be bored out of her mind now.
He rolled his eyes. "It never really gets beat out of you, to be honest," he muttered. He glanced up at her. "You can watch telly or something if you like."
She made a noncommittal noise, shrugging slightly. "I don't watch it. I figure I'm mouthy enough without pop culture references under my belt too. I think I might take a nap. That will cut the time between me and my next drink by, what, three hours, hopefully?"
He shrugged a bit. "Maybe," he agreed, returning to his book.