Playlist: The Killers - Leave The Bourbon on The Shelf

Leave the bourbon on the shelf
And I'll drink it by myself

- The Killers - Leave The Bourbon On The Shelf -

Sebastian was bored. There were few times when he was inactive for very long, so despite the fact that he could afford it, he really didn't have much in his apartment by way of entertainment. He was just considering going out to find some tail when the intercom buzzed and he reached out to hit the button.

"Alright, do you think you're ready to leave time-out?" Jim smirked down at his little machine, putting as much condescension into his voice as possible.

He swallowed back the snarky retort, instead replying with "I think that's up to you, sir."

"How very right you are. Come down to my office when you have a moment." Of course, that meant 'come down to my office now', but he liked presenting the illusion of choice.

He didn't bother arguing that it was really 'up' to his office and turned off the intercom, standing up and checking himself in the mirror before heading for the elevator. He was at the office in less than a minute, and knocked.

"Come in," he called, seated at his chair with his feet on the desk. He'd had a surprisingly good day. It wasn't every day that he got to force someone to watch their own mother being shot.

He opened the door and walked in, shutting it behind him. "Sir."

"Go ahead and have a seat," he grinned, folding his hands together. "Still possessing all ten fingers, I see. I thought so."

"You and I both know she wouldn't do it," he said, sitting at the desk. "Giving her the chance was just to give her some semblance of control so that she didn't break. Which had the desired effect."

He smirked. "That it did." He glanced over at his computer monitor. "Checked herself into the infirmary, too. Had a stroke and everything. I've never seen an alcoholic cut dry like this before. I have the nurses taking notes," he smiled, looking for all the world perfectly pleasant. He loved his experiments.

He nodded. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Though, hopefully she doesn't die. Trouble or not, she'd be a pain to replace." He could tell that his employer was in a good mood, and spoke carefully. He had no interest in changing that.

"Nothing to do to influence it either way, by this point," he shrugged, still chipper. Either way, he'd have a recording of the whole thing. He was sure that whatever she was mumbling through her fever would be exceedingly entertaining. "We need to focus on her actions, in any case. I'm sure Magnussen will have something to say about it. He's sooo disagreeable."

"I'm sure, sir. I just hope he doesn't decide to pay another visit." He tilted his head. "I'm assuming that means you haven't heard anything from him yet?"

Jim tapped a finger against the edge of his desk, lifting one shoulder carelessly. "I don't expect he'll hear about it until something happens, whichever way it will go."

"Which means we have a few hours... Have things been put into play to deal with the car? Do you want me to take a team in?"

"That won't be necessary," he stated, looking positively delighted. "Sherly is on the case, it seems. I'll gamble that he'll work it out. He always does, after all. Oh. News I thought you'd like to hear, considering your personal involvement. Dear old Mycroft is still in therapy to get his hand back in shape. But that's nerve damage for you."

He smiled at that. "I'm glad to know he's remembering us so fondly even after all this time. Thank you, sir. Along those lines, any word on how Watson's recovering?"

Jim snorted. "Poorly, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear you. It's my understanding that he still won't speak about it. That was good work. That's part of the reason you're getting away scott-free on this little train fiasco."

"Which is both unexpected and appreciated, sir," he said with a nod. He was pleased to hear about Watson's stunted recovery. He'd been wanting to know how his mind games had work. "Could I have permission to plant another trigger for him somewhere? By this point it would catch him off guard, could make things more lively. After they've dealt with the car incident, of course."

He waved his hand at the sniper. "Have fun. Make sure he doesn't shatter," he droned, lifting his feet off the desk and sitting properly in his chair. "You're dismissed, daddy has work to do. Go amuse yourself."

He nodded, standing. "Yes, sir," he said, saluting before heading out the door. That was the best interaction with Jim he'd had recently, though admittedly that wasn't saying much, given the last two had involved him getting screamed at, and before that, attacked with glass. Still, that had gone well. He was back in Moriarty's good graces and Harrison would be, too, if she kept her nose clean. It was a good day.

A few months later, and Jim was waiting. He hated waiting. Magnussen, of course, knew that. There was no doubt he'd planned to be ten minutes late. He waited by the window. And resisted the urge to call upon one of his hitmen.

Moran stood by the door, keeping a careful eye on his employer. He would be there throughout the whole meeting with Magnussen, providing immediate security. The cuts on his face had healed to pale scars, which stood out in stark contrast to the brown skin of the rest of his face. He'd actually grown to like them, and Jim had mentioned once or twice enjoying the marks on 'his tiger', which at least was one more thing to strengthen his position with his employer.

Jim was wearing a track in the carpet. He knew it, but that didn't stop him from continuing to do it, jaw clenched and hands in his pockets. "I have half a mind to kill that man," he snapped, breaking the silence. Silence during interim was a hateful thing. "If he doesn't show up, I actually may."

"He won't stand you up, sir. He's trying to get you worked up to gain the advantage." He didn't point out it was working. It was an obvious statement.

"He'll have quite the advantage carrying a bullet around in his head," he growled, stopping and placing both his palms flat on the desk. "Why does everyone insist that anger is a weakness? How ordinary of him."

"Anger isn't, sir, but distraction and heightened emotion can be for an ordinary individual. He's underesti-" He paused as the elevator dinged. "That's him."

"Open the door, then. I'll have him aware of my impatience. Perhaps he'll tread lightly, for once."

"Of course, sir," he said, pulling the door open and glancing down the hall, catching a glimpse of Magnussen and two men, before stepping back to the corner, which was the best vantage point in the office.

Jim sat as Magnussen entered the office, raising one finger. "Those men don't enter my office. Just in case you forgot."

"I'm aware," he said with a smile, accent rolling the r around like dice in a cup. "Stay out here," he called back, walking over to the desk but not sitting, leaving the door open behind him.

He found that he actually preferred that Magnussen stood; it reminded him of speaking to underlings. He gave a tight smile. "I assume you have all the papers you need to go ahead with the article?"

"Of course I do. Your constant doubt in me is rather unfounded, given that every failure in this operation had been on your end." He reached out to pick up Jim's letter-opener, turning it over and over.

"Oh, really?" he smiled, irritation rising in him as Magnussen fondled his letter-opener. That was his. "I wouldn't have counted any of those as failures."

"No? I feel that every mistake is a failure to attain perfection. That little incident with the tram car, for example..."

Moran watched his every move with the letter opener, ready to pounce in a moment's notice if there was any sign of aggression.

Jim shrugged. "If you fail to see the opportunities that arrive with the unplanned, I'm afraid I can't enlighten you." And he had made gains with the incident. He'd picked up Harrison's career and put it on the fast track, if he was going to speak from a management standpoint.

"The unplanned need not occur if you are capable of planning for everything. But I know that's a difficult concept for you." He tucked the letter opener into his breast pocket. "Now, as for Morstan. She's on edge, especially concerned with her husband, susceptible to pressure. She'll be easy to handle."

"Glad to hear it," he intoned dryly, gracefully extending a hand and smiling up at the vile man. "I don't tolerate even accidental thieves, Charles."

He smiled back, before spitting into his hand and grabbing Jim's extended one before he could move. "Neither do I, Jimmy. I'm glad we're of agreement. I'll be in touch."

Jim's expression was frozen in place as the other man left. He didn't know how to process this. He'd never been shown such an utter lack of respect in his entire life, and he'd been abused as a child. When Magnussen and his goons had entered the elevator and been gone a solid two minutes, he finally moved, looking at Moran. "I want him dead."

He'd been waiting for a response, as shocked as his employer, and had let Magnussen leave but had had security delay him for ambiguous reasons by the downstairs doors. "Now, sir? He's still in the building."

"No, not here. I want him to think he got away with it." His voice was perfectly level. It was hard to keep a tight lid on the indignant rage boiling up inside him. "Have Watson's wife do it. Let her know who's been blackmailing her. And I don't want any digital record. Meet her in person. Take whoever you have to to convince her. I want him dead."

He nodded, reaching up to touch the com at his ear to tell his men to let Magnussen go. Then he walked over to a hidden cabinet in the wall and pulled out sterilizing wipes, walking over to hand one to his employer.

Jim grunted his thanks and thoroughly scrubbed his hand (more times than was necessary: excessively) and dropped the wipe into the waste bin with a look of distaste. Then he stood. "No, that's not enough. I'm taking the rest of the day off. I have to shower."

He nodded. "Of course, sir," he said, stepping back. "Let me know if you need anything else. I'll start preparing to make contact with Morstan."

He waved him off, already heading to the corner of his office to access his private elevator. He felt filthy.

He watched him go, then turned for the door, heading out into the hall and down. He needed to pull a team together, needed someone he could trust to contact Morstan. Which meant- "Harrison, you've had contact with Mary Morstan, is that correct?"

"Briefly," Lorna replied, voice toneless. The past couple months had gone by in a strange way: she hadn't come out of that ordeal and managed to remain the same person. Now everything seemed a lot slower. Boring. It wasn't fun anymore. Malcolm fussed over her, of course, stating things like the need for vitamin D and getting a good night's sleep, but there hardly seemed to be a point. "I suppose you're going to want me to do something, huh?"

"That would be your job, unless I've missed a sudden update in its description," he returned easily, leaning against the elevator wall as it started down. "Jim wants her to kill Magnussen. We need to feed her some information. Can that be you, or do I need to find someone else?"

"Yeah, that can be me," she replied, staring up at the ceiling of the lounge. There was a water stain up there that looked vaguely like a rabbit. "Just point me in the right direction."

"Meet me in my office in an hour. I'll give you the information." He started heading that way now. He was using his office more frequently recently, which seemed to please Jim, give him a greater sense of Seb's 'professionalism'.

"Okay," she agreed, then dropped her finger from her earpiece and got up to grab a cup of coffee. She mostly ran on caffeine these days, and her weight was beginning to suffer for it. She'd have to stop that soon, as much as she wasn't looking forward to forcing herself to eat more than she wanted. She sighed.

She was outside his office on the hour, knocking once on the door and waiting.

"Come in," he said, scrolling through the most recent specs they had on Morstan on his laptop.

She opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind her. She didn't speak, just waited. Wasting the effort simply wasn't worth it.

"She'll be at the Harden Cafe tonight, thinks that she's meeting a friend. You'll be there instead. Are you familiar with her appearance?"

"Yes," she confirmed. Blonde woman, short. A rather distinctive face. It wouldn't be hard. She'd have to fix herself up a little to go out in public, but that was easy. A little concealer on the dark circles under her eyes, layers of clothes to hide her frame... hell, if she didn't know better she'd have assumed she was on drugs. She'd have to clean herself up a bit before the Holmes thing was over, or she was dead walking.

"Good. You're to tell her that Magnussen is the one playing her, and give her information about what he has on her. This is what we know," he said, sliding a file across his desk. "You also have a physical exam scheduled next week regarding your being dry for a few months now. Don't miss it."

She picked up the file and tucked it under her arm. That physical was not going to go well; on the drinking front, yes, that was fine, but the rest of her was a wreck. She doubted they'd approve of her increased smoking, either. "I won't."

"Good. You look like you need it. Not in an insulting way, in a 'don't die' way." He nodded to her. "Read over that, let me know if you have questions. I'll want a report immediately after you break contact with her. And last thing: Don't let her know who you work for."

She thought that most of that had been a given, but she didn't say anything, just untucked the folder from beneath her arm and began scanning through, looking for anything unfamiliar. The only question she had was why Magnussen was so suddenly being killed off, but she kept it to herself. "No questions."

"Excellent. I expect things will go well, then. Dismissed," he said, returning his attention back to his computer.

She left the folder on his desk and silently left. It wasn't that she felt cold towards him; she didn't have the energy to be actively cold towards anyone. She just found she had less she needed to say these days. Hell, she hardly felt anything about Moran at all. The fear and respect had been both wiped out by him two months ago, and the rest was too much to think about. She headed for Malcolm's little flat. She hadn't been able to bring herself to live in the one given to her, and her offsite apartment she had sold soon after her mother's death. She couldn't bear to be in a place her mother had frequented.

He watched her go, then stood. If he were to be honest with himself, he missed their old camaraderie. But being honest with oneself was overrated, and he had work to do. He straightened his jacket and packed up his equipment, heading for his apartment.

Malcolm was gone, so she got in and out with a minimal amount of fussing. A little concealer dabbed here, a little makeup there, the necessary clothes for going outside, and then she was on her way. Mary wouldn't be there for hours, but she didn't feel like waiting here.

Mary sighed, walking into the small cafe and looking around for Glenda. It was more of a business meeting about finances at the clinic than a social dinner, from what the text had said, but she and Glenda got on well and she was looking forward to it anyway. It was then, however, that she saw someone she wasn't expecting. The nurse from the hospital. Looking straight at her. She didn't hesitate, walking straight over and sitting across from her. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," Lorna smiled. She'd been nursing the cup of coffee in front of her for a good ten minutes - no pun intended. She hadn't bothered to order anything for Morstan, on the suspicions of poison and all that. "I have some information. Thought you'd rather hear it here, than anywhere near your home."

"Who do you work for, and what were you doing at the hospital?" she said quietly, her voice pleasant so as not to draw attention from fellow cafe-goers, but her eyes sharp.

She sighed, taking a sip from her coffee. "I won't tell you either. It's not important. But I know who's been blackmailing you, and that's important." Lorna lifted her eyebrows just slightly. "So do you want to know?"

She grit her teeth, but considered her options, and then nodded. "Of course."

"Charles Augustus Magnussen. Owns a fairly large newspaper firm, I believe. And your friend, fortunately for you, is his personal secretary," she shrugged slightly, like it was unimportant. Indifference was easy to pull off, because it wasn't faked.

She swallowed slightly. She knew the name, of course she did. Everyone in the business did. She nodded a little. "What does he have on me?" she asked quietly, keeping her expression really tone neutral.

"Something about.. Gaza, was it? I hardly know. I thought the way blackmail worked was they had to tell you," she shrugged, again, then put on an 'oh well' expression. "Do what you will with the information, but do it quickly, I would imagine."

"He's given me broad details. I was hoping you had more." She nodded just a little. "I take it Glenda isn't actually showing up tonight."

"No. She remains blissfully unaware of all of this," she shook her head, then downed the rest of her coffee. "That's it," she said, standing. "If we're both lucky, we'll never see each other again. I'm not that lucky, though."

She reached out and grabbed the woman's wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "You were at the hospital, checking on my husband. I want to know why."

Lorna looked down at her neutrally. Once upon a time she might have tried (or even succeeded at) breaking the other woman's grip, but she was too tired and she couldn't bring herself to get all that offended. "I can't help you. Try asking Magnussen." There. That should be enough fuel on the fire.

She stared at her a moment longer, but the place was too public to force anything out of her. "Don't come near him again, or I will kill you," she said calmly, pleasantly, before releasing Lorna's arm.

She smiled. "I understand the sentiment. Good night, Mrs. Watson," she murmured, and then was gone, slipping out the door before the woman could change her mind about letting her leave. She turned down into the alley behind the cafe, glad she'd brought a car for once. Time to report.

Done. Coming back. LH

Well done. Any complications? SM

No. LH

She was big on brevity these days.

He snorted softly as he read her report, but then texted the boss. 'Day off' did not mean 'day without updates' and he knew Jim would get pissed if he didn't know right away.

Morstan contacted by Harrison. No complications. SM

Jim had been reading in his penthouse. It wasn't a habit he could indulge himself in often, but he felt the distraction would be welcome.

Please let me know when the deed is done.

He didn't need a signature. Moran always knew it was him.

He didn't respond. Updates were one thing, chatting was another. He touched his com, calling through to surveillance. "Keep an eye on Morstan."

Five minutes later, Lorna walked into his office without knocking and sat in one of the horrible folding chairs in front of his desk. "Was sending me really the best idea?"

"That was your call to make, if you recall," he said calmly, looking up at her. "I said 'Can I send you, or do I need to send someone else'. Are you regretting that decision?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Someone without earlier contact..." she trailed off, considering. True, her being recognizable had made their info more believable, but Mary had to have left with the intention of trying to track her down. "It seems I've made a mild mistake."

"Well, keep me updated," he said without much concern. "She's preoccupied at the moment, and should be that way for the next few weeks. Hopefully she'll forget about you by then, or have other occupations."

She gave him a slightly wry look. She didn't think the woman would forget about her so easily, not when it concerned her husband's safety. She didn't expect Moran to understand that, for her own obvious reasons. "Hopefully." She stood to go, making a mental note to have someone send better chairs into his office, for everyone's bloody sake.

"Harrison," he said calmly but firmly. "I didn't dismiss you."

In the interest of being able to walk out she didn't sit down again in the horrendous chair. "No. You didn't invite me in, either."

"So you'd rather ignore protocol on both ends, then?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged, her face still void of expression. If he had a reason for keeping her he'd get around to it eventually. "I've been trying out consistency."

"Are we going to have a problem, Harrison?" he asked finally, standing. "It's been almost three months since Jim shook you around, and your recovery has been less than stellar."

"We already had a problem, sir," she pointed out dryly. "It doesn't matter how well I recover. I do my job. That's enough. Isn't it?"

"No, Harrison, it's not enough," he said calmly. "I need to know I can trust you in any circumstance, not just the simple ones."

"Trust me?" She scoffed, with more life than she'd had in weeks, "Trust me? When have I ever done anything that would make you think that you couldn't. And I'm talking on the job, okay? Christ. Doing my fucking job is what led to this- this mess. I may not follow your orders without question, but I do fucking follow them. Trust."

He smirked slightly, nodded. "There's that spark. I was worried for a bit there. Look, Harrison. I know you have every right to hate me. That's fine, I don't give a shit. But this semi-existent daze state you've been living in? Not good. I need my people healthy, emotionally as well as physically. You've had two months to do whatever it is you're doing, but now I expect you to pull yourself together and have some damn emotion and care for yourself."

She flip-flopped back and forth between outright anger and sheer stubbornness for a moment, and then settled on the latter. "I'm fine. God, Moran, I don't need you mothering me. You're the one who got her dead, after all. And I don't fucking hate you, Christ, I don't fucking care anymore. I'm just tired of this shit. I am so tired of it." She abruptly sat back down and put her face in her hands, chair be damned. "I'm so tired."

He watched her quietly, and nodded a little. "You're not fine," he said evenly, not accusing, just calm. "I'm not mothering you. It's in my interests to have you in good shape. So my question is how can I help you get there?"

"I don't know, Moran. I don't know what's even fucking wrong with me, and I have even less of a clue of how to help," she sighed into her hands, looking now how she always felt: dead tired.

He nodded slightly. "The boss is impressed with your work," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Has been even more so over the past few weeks. But they lack color. I've been where you are. Fucked over by a superior while they get a clean by. It pushed me to be who I am now. Which is why I'm giving you the next week off. Go do what you need to do. Visit family, visit your mother's grave, go to a museum, sleep the whole time, I don't care. The only stipulations are that you need to remain clean and dry. Recharge. This is your chance, Harrison. You don't get your act together, I'm going to need to start looking for a replacement.

Lorna bit back the urge to comment that she wasn't exactly interested in becoming him, which she thought she'd made clear by now, and just nodded, resting her jaw on her fist. She understood wavering job security. Not a demotion - a death sentence. She was much too pigheaded for that. "I smashed every liquor bottle I owned and put my I.D. through the shredder. Couldn't, even if the temptation struck," she muttered offhandedly, mentally cringing at the list of things she now had to do if she was going to pull the scattered pieces of herself back into a whole. "Still, that whole thing was kinda a dick move. I hate to be that guy, sir, but I wouldn't do that to too many people. What happened to the people who did it to you?" She shrugged, not expecting him to answer. She knew what became of those people. They'd worn down too many people too quick. Mad kings didn't live long, did they? "I... guess I have to go wrap some shit up, now."

He looked at her with an unaffected gaze. "I haven't done it to too many people, Harrison. I did it to you. In a controlled environment, where you had time to deal. You're going to get screwed, by the people you care about. I don't care if you don't want to do my job. You need to be able to do any job in this game; you need to know that, and be able to handle it. A lot quicker than you just did. I just broke your fingers so that they get stronger. I know you won't see this as a favor, because it's mostly not one. But yes. You have shit to wrap up. Dismissed."

She got up without comment, because if she'd let herself open her mouth she would have muttered something about not taking off his fingers when she'd been given a chance, and left. She needed to pack, anyway. Staying with her brother for the next week was something she needed to consciously prepare for. He hadn't exactly grown up into an upstanding citizen either.

Eric Harrison opened the door to his apartment late the next night, eyeing his sister quietly. "Hello... Come on in," he said, stepping aside.

Lorna adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder and stepped inside, giving him a quick scan as she passed him. It had been years since she'd seen him. He'd been a lot younger - barely even a teenager, really. "You got tall."

"You got old," he retorted, shutting the door quietly. "How are you holding up?" He walked past her into the main apartment. It was fairly spacious; he'd been relatively successful in his various careers and they'd paid well.

She smiled slightly, setting down her bag by the door. She didn't think she would have to leave in a hurry, but there was no need to throw caution to the wind. "Oh, like you'd expect. Beginning to crack again. Coming down off of something new," she sighed, slipping her hands into her pockets and following him.

"You weren't at the funeral," he said, walking into the kitchen. "Not that I expected you to be. But you weren't. Something to drink?"

She sat down at the table, managing to keep the color in her face at his suggestion. Like death itself was tempting her. "No, I couldn't spare the time. And, no. I need to be dry. Do me a favor and don't let me, even if I ask."

"You, dry? Holy hell, are you sick? Is that what this is all about?" he sat across from her, raising an eyebrow. "You've got six months to live or something?"

"No, no! Well. If I drink, I won't even have that much time. It's an... added perk of the job. Being yanked off substances and waking up two days later with an IV in your arm and the sense you've been hit with a mack truck." She rested her elbow on the table and rubbed at her temples. "This - this is just so I don't shatter into a billion little pieces."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "What happened?" he asked quietly, knowing there was a story.

She copied him, if with a bit more weariness in the movement. "Someone I thought would have the decency to at least not to walk me into a pit of vipers didn't have that decency, and I let them finish their scheme anyway. Mom got killed on the TV. I got pulled off my vice of choice." She let out a long breath. "I haven't bounced back fast enough. I have to get my act together or I'll lose my job. And you know the implications of that."

"Yes, yes I do..." he sighed. "I told you you should have come to work with me. We don't deal with that shit."

"Oh, you know me," she snorted, "It's not fun unless it's a little risky. It doesn't matter now. I can't take that back. Not even sure I want to."

"I've been hearing all about your boss from mine. Seems they really hit it off," he said sarcastically, kicking his feet up on the chair next to his.

She laughed, managing to keep her face from changing. He, of course, would have no idea how very much they'd hit it off. She was almost certain that was why Magnussen was going to lose, too. He'd never made the proper contact with Morstan. Morstan, who would make a grand effort in killing him. "Oh, I know. My boss's foul mood hangs around the office for days."

"I would imagine," he snorted. "Magnussen is a pain enough to deal with, and he doesn't have nearly the reputation of your commander-in-chief." He sighed. "So... Any preference on what we do while you're here?"

Lorna blew out a puff of air, shrugging. "Honestly? I hadn't planned that far. I think I was convinced you were going to spend most of it chewing me out for getting Mother killed. I'm supposed to be putting myself back together, but I'm not sure quite how to do it." She fell silent for a moment, trying to think of something productive to say. "I... don't really want to do anything. Just.. be normal, for a little while."

He nodded. "That's fine. As for the chewing out... It would have happened eventually and we both know it."

"I suppose one of us would have fucked up enough eventually, yeah," she snorted, lifting a hand to rub at her forehead. She could feel a stress headache building. Faintly, she hoped that whenever Morstan happened to strike, it was after she'd left. There was plenty of evidence to lead any of Magnussen's particularly loyal followers back to Jim, and to her. Her brother, she hoped, was not in that group.

"So, headcase. You should relax. Get back on your feet before you get me killed, or someone else. You want tea or something?" He stood.

"Yeah, that'd be fantastic," she nodded. She was trying to avoid at all costs getting either one of them killed, but it wasn't exactly easy, him working for another Boss. "What do you do for Magnussen, anyway? That's more dirty white collar crime than anything."

He filled a kettle, setting it to boil. "Magnussen has many faces. The ones he chooses to show aren't my business."

She knew evasion when she saw it. If he'd done anything normal for the man - accounting, cleaning - he'd have felt no obligation to keep it a secret. So he was just as entangled as she was. "Mm-hm. I don't suppose you'd be willing to talk about your personal life. I'm your older sister, I have a familial responsibility to be nosy."

He smirks. "True. I don't have much of a personal life, however." He leaned against the counter. "Don't have much time for one. I'm sure you understand."

She snorted, nodding. "Yeah. Suppose it was optimistic of me to ask," she huffed, running a hand through her hair. "But I don't know what the hell else I'm running on, besides optimism. How have you been doing, by the way? I'm a fucking mess, but you look alright. Not sleep-deprived or anything."

He laughed. "Not deprived if you never sleep in the first place, are you? I don't know. I'm alright. We run in a rough business. You've got to have the stomach for it." The kettle whistled and he took it off the stove, filling a teapot and adding leaves to steep.

"Yeah. You do," she agreed quietly, running her fingers over a scratch on the table. She hadn't paid much attention to Eric when they were younger - she'd already been running small jobs as a mule. It never occurred to her that he might have been just as whipped as she was, that he might have seen the same things, until she'd heard that he was working for another Boss in London. No one picked up the stomach he was talking about overnight. "Hey, I'm sorry for just dropping in like this. I should have called first."

"I knew you'd be coming," he said, shrugging. "What with mum... It was bound to happen. That was your problem. You always had a conscience."

She laughed, drawing up a knee onto her chair and resting her chin atop it. "You're not wrong. They never squeezed the last drops of empathy out of me. Kinda wish they had, though. I'm fucked up like this."

He laughed, bringing the pot over. He was halfway through pouring when his phone went off, and he set the pot down, picking up. "Hello," he said crisply. Then his expression tensed. "What?!"

Ah. There was that other shoe. She kept her face blank, wishing quietly that she'd gotten to have some tea before this. Not that her personal involvement could really be traced, but it would be fairly obvious Jim was to blame. "Problem?"

He hardly noticed her, waving her off. "Did you arrest them? I don't care, get control o- She what? What the hell were they doin- It doesn't matter. Fix it. I'm coming down there." He hung up. "I've got to go," he said frigidly, heading for the door to grab shoes and sitting on the stairs to pull them on.

She put her arm over the back of the chair and watched him. "Alright. I hope it goes well, whatever it is." It was the most she could say without giving it away; she couldn't tell him that it had been nice seeing him again.

He gave her a long glance, as if considering, before he nodded and grabbed a jacket. "I don't know when I'll be back. Help yourself to the fridge." Then he was out the door.

She got up as he left and moved to the door to gather her own things. She'd hole up in an old safehouse near the river until it all had blown over. Five minutes after her brother, she was back out on the streets.

Make up your mind
Let me live or let me love you
While you've been saving your neck
I've been breaking mine for you

- Florence + The Machine - Make Up Your Mind -

Florence + The Machine - Make Up Your Mind

The Last Shadow Puppets - Aviation