Lorna woke up in the middle of the night, completely disoriented with the total lack of light. She hadn't been in country-darkness for a few years. Living in London made a person used to a certain amount of light that made it through curtains and under doors, but this was reminiscent of cave darkness. "Mmph. Seb?"
He glanced up from his third cup of coffee, not that glancing did much good. "Here," he said after a moment, scraping the chair a bit. "Want some coffee?"
"No, thanks," she sighed, only shifting to make herself more comfortable and then falling still, staring up into the darkness. "How are you holding up?"
"What do you mean?" he asked casually, though he knew exactly what she meant, sipping the cold coffee and staring out into the blackness.
"You know what I mean," she said quietly. "O'Hare. The hallucinations. And now you have the added stress of being hunted. I'm surprised you could sleep at all."
He shrugged. "I can sleep when I need to," he said, intentionally avoiding the rest of the question and standing, walking over to the slider and pushing it open, night-vision goggles in hand so that he could scan the area.
She didn't miss his dodge, but she knew that prodding him never turned out well. A lot of things involving him didn't turn out well, if she was being honest with herself. And yet she'd gone to help him anyway. She sighed.
He reentered a few minutes later. "Nothing," he sighed, setting the goggles aside and closing the sliding door again. "Tomorrow I'm going to go put a proximity detector a ways down the road both ways, so at least we'll have notice of anyone coming in."
"Okay. Will you need me to chat with the Hull woman to keep her occupied or will it be quick?" she asked, just about vaguely making out the outline of his shape as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
He shrugged, walking over to sit next to her on the bed. "I'll say I want to walk around, great outdoors and all that."
"Oh, thank god," she huffed, then chuckled. "That woman really can talk... Oh - it occurred to me earlier, but we were in front of her - I suggest we say we're recently married, and we did it in a rush. Because we don't have rings, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a married couple without them."
He shrugged. "I have. Modern relationships and all. But we can try to get rings if you like." He sighed, staring out at the moonless night and wishing he had a drink. "It's dark as fuck-all out there... I don't think anyone's coming tonight if they haven't already."
"I think you're right," she murmured, shifting a little and pulling the covers up to her chin. "I think we're out of the thickest part of the woods. You should just try to sleep again."
He sighed, still considering the window, then stood, pulling out the pack and unlocking it. He pulled out some of the proximity detectors and placed them at the windows and doors, before locking everything up again and changing into pajamas.
She didn't strain to try and watch him through the darkness, just closed her eyes and tracked him by the sounds he made as he moved through the room. She knew he wasn't at 100% because she could hear him. Normally he was practically a wraith, he was so quiet. When he got into bed, the bit of her mind that had been dozing for a moment tried to get her to move closer, believing it was Malcolm out of habit. She was not at 100% either.
He lay down on his side, felt Harrison shift and then stop. In one hand he held a knife in a death grip, stuffed under his pillow, and he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the old building settling and Harrison's breathing.
For a moment she was worried that he'd say something, and then when he didn't, she relaxed, curling up and burying her face in her pillow. In a few minutes she fell from a light doze into a dead sleep.
He didn't need to sleep, really, just wanted to, which proved to be a problem as minutes of wakefulness dragged on. The pitch black of the room and the relative silence did little to distract him, and his imagination was not somewhere he wanted to be currently. Finally, after what felt like an age, he rolled out of bed, fingers cramped shut around the knife, and went back to the chair, trying to return his attention to surveillance. That, however, proved to be just as uneventful. Finally, he pressed his thumb onto the tip of the knife, until he was just barely avoiding breaking skin, and focused on that. Variations on the theme helped until the sky started lightening enough for him to see again.
Lorna awoke when the sun had struggled halfway up the horizon, vaguely pleased to find that when she opened her eyes she could see colors and details instead of fuzzy black shapes. She uncurled from the ball she'd spent most of the night in (as she was wont to do when she slept in unfamiliar beds) and sat up, groaning. "Fuck.. it's early, isn't it?"
He nodded, glancing over at her before returning his attention to the landscape. "About five a.m. There's a few ways into this area that would be optimal if you don't want to fight with bush or be seen too quickly. I'm going to put detectors there as well as the roads, I think..."
"Uh huh. Alright," she mumbled, sliding out of bed and giving a sullen glance at the bright orange light streaming in through the window, and then turned to shuffle for the bathroom. "Shower."
"You could sleep more if you wanted," he pointed out. "We don't really have anything to do."
"No, no," she sighed, pausing by the doorway and resting her forehead on the wall. "If I get up late today there's a whole cycle.. better that I don't."
"Mmm..." He didn't respond beyond that, reaching out and picking up his cold coffee.
She disappeared into the bathroom to take her shower, planning on taking as much time as she needed, and praying that the old building had more than one source of hot water.
As the light in the room increased, he pulled out the guns again and starting going over them more carefully, taking them apart and cleaning them, preparing for whatever they might have to deal with in the days to come.
She came out of the washroom a half hour later with a blessedly plush towel wrapped around her chest and her pajamas stuffed under one arm. "When my hair gets wet it looks like someone's slit my throat, Jesus Christ, I think I've seen actual blood pools that were less alarming."
He snorted with laughter. "That'll stop eventually," he smirked. "Just hope it doesn't rain any time soon."
"Oh, hell, I didn't even think about that," she muttered, holding up a damp lock of her hair and giving it an exasperated look, then tossed her pajamas on the bed and walked over to the dresser. "Why didn't you get a dye job and I get a short cut? We could have been punk," she chuckled, pulling out a shirt and a pair of trousers that she thought would look mildly acceptable together, along with some underwear.
"Oh, yes, that would have gone over so well," he agreed sarcastically, piecing together the pistol carefully.
"I've never had my hair short before. And probably won't, while I still have this job," she shrugged, dropping her towel on the bed and getting changed. "You men can be awful strange about a woman's hair, you know that?"
He shrugged, too. "I like short hair," he said, walking over to get a change of clothes and heading for the bathroom. "Or whatever."
"You're not exactly the norm, though," she snorted, folding up her pajamas and then wandering over to the table where he'd been fiddling with the guns. She took a sip of the quarter-cup of coffee, and nearly spat it back in. Cold, stale coffee was not a good taste.
"Fresh pot on the hot plate," he called over his shoulder as he heard her gag on the coffee, before shutting the door and turning the shower on.
She turned to get herself a cup, and was pleased to taste that he was right. He didn't seem the type to mess around with her caffeine needs, but it was always up in the air with Moran. After a moment's deliberation over whether or not she knew how to turn off the proximity detector for the sliding glass door, she settled with just standing in front of glass and sipping her coffee, enjoying the view.
He emerged a few minutes later, drying off his own hair and walking over next to her. "It's always a nice view for the first few hours. Then you get sick of it. It's a shame."
"Mm. That's why I've always been happy living in a city. The view always changes. London, particularly. Dublin even more. One of the times I've been there there was a loose horse wandering around the streets," she said, giving a small lift of her shoulders as if that sort of thing were normal. "Though I imagine the birding is good around here."
"Birding?" he sneered, shooting a look in her direction as he opened the packaging of a razor and shaving cream from the suitcase.
"Mmhmm," she confirmed, taking a nonchalant sip of her coffee. "I like birds. And I have a spectacular knack for remembering their names. I had to learn it for a job like, four years ago, discovered I liked it. Not many worthwhile birds in the city, though. Sometimes you can find a raven in the park who will get closer if you've got meat with you."
"That's fascinating, Harrison, truly," he said sarcastically as he finished dressing. "If I need a feather identified at some point, I'll be sure to ask."
"Weren't you the one who said everyone should have a hobby?" she smirked, glancing at him as he finished up. "Oh, Christ, do you know how strange it is seeing you in something that wasn't tailored for you? I didn't even notice it until it was gone, but your normal clothes are pretty couture, Moran."
He grinned as he buttoned his jacket. "Yeah, well, I could say the same about your 'elementary school secretary' vibe," he shot back. He walked over to pick the backpack, starting to transfer the guns into the suitcase so that he could use it to carry the proximity detectors.
"You mean 'hot elementary school secretary,' I know you do," she retorted with a smirk. "You want me to do anything while you're out being useful? I can't think of anything that would help us out, but I'm a tad vapid before I've finished my first cup of coffee."
"Just keep an eye on things," he said, pulling on the pack, the pistol in his shoulder holster. "Make further friends with our dear old innkeeper if you can."
She nodded. "Alright. If you come back and I'm gone, I've probably been sucked into the black hole that is her conversational topics. Come save me."
He rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Likewise, if I'm not back within a few hours, you should probably get out of here."
"Ugh," she groaned, "Don't get killed, okay? God, only Jim's allowed to do that," she muttered, then turned towards the door, coffee still in hand. "Shriek if you get in trouble."
"I'm sure I'll do exactly that," he muttered sarcastically, heading out into the hall and down the stairs.
She followed him out of the room a few minutes later with the purpose of looking for Mrs. Hull, feeling much better, and much more awake, and stuffing down a nagging concern about the sniper's safety.
The next few days were mind-numbingly average. The second day they were there, Sebastian had borrowed Mrs. Hull's car and gone into town to get a few more supplies. He'd told Harrison it was for mobiles and gun oil, which was true, but he also got a sturdy supply of 90 proof, which he hid in the root cellar of a barn he'd found on his wanderings. The next night, and the one after, he'd visited the supply in lieu of sleep, making sure to return to the B&B in time to brush his teeth and shower any scent of alcohol away before Harrison woke up.
Lorna had noticed something amiss about Moran's behavior, but she didn't have enough proof to confront him about it. When she'd woken up in the middle of the night on two different occasions to find him missing, plus the way he seemed to only become more lethargic in the morning... she knew he was up to something, but she couldn't even guess at what. She only hoped that it wasn't anything as bad as sneaking out to have tea with the enemy. Now the two of them were headed back down the hall to their room, just up from supper, and she was wondering if she could wear him out enough to guarantee him sleeping through the night when he opened the door in front of her and they both took in the intruder.
The door opened, and he attributed the moment of stunned consideration to his exhaustion. He really should try to sleep tonight. Then there was a flicker as the man went for a gun, and he was pouncing forward, one hand covering the man's mouth in an iron grip, the other locking him against the floor as they fell almost silently.
She slipped in behind him, shutting the door swiftly and quietly behind her and turning the deadbolt before stepping over the mild struggle on the floor and pulling a gun from their suitcase. Then she stood, and loaded the weapon, just the man could hear the click.
His victim stilled instantly, and he pulled back, hand still covering his mouth. He immediately kicked the man's gun out of the way, and started surveying the room, eyes lighting on an outlet that was half out of the wall, new electronics clearly stuck to the back. "Getting your ears in?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and returning his attention to the pale man as he reached up to untie his tie, to use as a gag.
Their intruder stared up at Moran defiantly, muttering something that sounded vaguely swear-like into the sniper's palm. Lorna set the loaded gun down on the bed and moved to crouch in front of the outlet, carefully peering inside. "It doesn't look like he finished. I don't think we're being heard anywhere else."
"But who would have been listening, becomes the question," he said with a growl, forcing a stray sock into the man's mouth, making him gag and sputter, before tying it in place with the tie. "We need to take him somewhere... not here."
Lorna gave a helpless shrug, looking around the room with a look that said she knew there wasn't an answer available. "What are we gonna do, stuff him in a closet? What do you suggest?"
He shook his head, thinking it over. They didn't have much of a choice. "There's an abandoned barn not far from here... it ought to do."
"How are we supposed to move him? It's not even that late, we can't go dragging him down the hall," she shook her head, letting out a huff.
"We'll have to wait until night, then," he said without hesitation. "After everyone is asleep."
"Yeah, that's the best option," she sighed, raking her fingers through her hair in a stressed-out motion, then she spun on her heel and dug Sebastian's rope from his suitcase, moving over and working around him to truss up their victim.
"Against the bedpost," he said, hauling the man up by the front of his shirt to where he'd indicated. "Don't want him worming about and causing trouble."
"Good idea," she muttered, helping move their intruder and then bending around to bind his hands to the post. "There. You can check my knot if you want." If he could even see in that much detail. He looked tired.
He glanced at it, reaching out to tug on it a few times, staring at it for a few moments. "Looks fine," he said with a small nod after a moment, standing. He walked over to the bureau, pulling out a small bottle of an energy drink, twisting the cap off and taking a small sip.
She sat on the edge of the bed in silence for a few minutes, watching him, then looked down at the man who'd broken into their room. He was wearing comfortable clothes, and clothes that fit him. Not shoddy purchases like their own. How had he found them?
He swallowed a few more sips of the foul-tasting liquid before closing the bottle and tucking it away again, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. He turned to the intruder again, who was staring at them both with beady, hateful eyes. "Oh, give it a rest," he muttered. "You've got a long afternoon ahead of you."
Lorna gave a small snort, nudging the man in the side with her foot. "He's right, you know. I'm going to get a book or something, but I suggest you just sit there quietly and think about the mistakes you've made."
Moran pulled the chair over, sitting in front of the man and watching him quietly. The man struggled for a bit against the ropes, before eventually falling still, evidently resigned to his fate.
Lorna settled herself down for the afternoon with a book about birds, which she'd found on the nightstand with a few others about the area, and read it only mostly because she wanted to reinforce to Moran that she didn't care what he thought.
The energy drink soon kicked in, taking away the sleepiness but not making him feel any better. So he kept busy by watching over their charge, twisting his foot back and forth menacingly or sticking a pin into his arm on occasion if he got bored.
After the hours drew on and it became dark, and then well and truly pitch black, she looked up from her book and set it down in her lap. "Well. Ready to drag dead weight down a few flights of stairs?"
"Raring to go," he sighed, standing slowly. His body ached, and he walked over to the drawer to finish the bottle of energy booster before tossing it in the bin. "Let's get on with it." He returned to their captive, starting to untie the rope, one knee across the man's lap firmly to keep him in place as the ropes loosened. Then he re-tied them, leaving the bedpost out of the equation.
She did her part by keeping her hand clamped around the back of the man's neck, like scruffing a cat. People often tried to take a chunk of flesh when they got afraid, and she'd rather not have to explain that to a doctor. "Alright. Let's do this, then."
He nodded in agreement, standing and hauling the man up by arms. "Listen," he said softly, stooping to pick up the packed backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. "In case you had any ideas of funny business, I have no qualms about killing you and everyone else in this building. Are we clear?"
"I wish I could say he was lying," Lorna sighed, a bit wistfully. It was so easy playing good cop. "But he's a real cold-hearted son of a bitch. Boy, the stories I could tell you. In fact, if you walk down those stairs for yourself, you might be saving yourself a good patch of skin."
Moran gave her a smirk. "You're too nice to the bastard. He doesn't need his skin to talk. Just his tongue."
She shrugged, smiling slightly as they began manhandling the bloke to the door. "I don't know, I thought I'd offer up a benefit for cooperation. But I suppose I am being awfully nice to a man who tried to bug our room. That's just naughty," she scolded, giving the man a stern look before she laughed.
He smirked, then shushed her as he opened the door. To his relief, their charge remained quiet as they moved through the house and down the stairs, finally making it outside. He paused for a moment to get his bearings, trying to pretend he hadn't made the trek a half-dozen times before, and then headed off.
She just followed in silence, keeping her hand firmly on the man's back, just to remind him that she was there, and willing to act. It wasn't easy, making the journey in the dark - she could barely see her feet, and the ground was far from even. When they reached the barn, she almost looked past it. She'd thought it was a hill. "Well. Isn't this cozy."
"There's a root cellar underneath," he said, pushing open the door. "Fairly sound proof. We'll go there."
"Maybe I should have brought my coat," she muttered, shutting the door behind them and sliding in place the rusting latch. "But I suppose it's not too far from home, is it?"
"Not really. It's warmer down there, anyway," he muttered, heading for the bulkhead. "I'd wager, anyway. Out of the wind." He forced their quarry to his knees before walking over to haul the old door open.
She waited patiently for him to open the door and drag their bound package back to his feet again before following, eyes flicking up to find a single light bulb on the low ceiling. Dubiously, she pulled the chain. She didn't even have to squint when the light came on.
He walked over to a dim corner, throwing a dingy blanket over his stash before grabbing a chair and bringing it to the center of the room. "Let's rearrange, shall we?" he said with a smile, bringing the chair to the center of the room.
"Get comfy, darling, you're going to be here for a while," she hummed, patting the stranger's shoulder and gesturing to the chair, trying to put in as much game-show host as she could into the movement. She hadn't had fun on the job for a good while, but this? Getting a little vengeance for an invasion? This she could enjoy.
He dragged the man into the chair, starting to adjust his bindings once again, tying him tightly to the wood. "Now, to let you speak, finally," he said with a chuckle, reaching to start undoing the tie. "I'd imagine you're eager to stop tasting my stale foot sweat."
He made a both affirmative and disgusted noise, digging his feet into the floor. Lorna watched carefully, wishing they had enough rope to secure his legs as well. She didn't fancy being kicked at any point tonight. She turned, scanning the room, and then started rummaging.
He looked up as she started banging about. "What are you looking for?" he asked, almost sharply, as he loosened the tie, leaving their captive to spit out the sock on his own.
"Rope. I don't think your tie is long enough or rough enough to get a good knot in, and I rather like my shins like they are, without bruises," she replied absently, not looking up from a cabinet she was half in. "Don't mind me."
He glanced to her left, where his stash was hidden, and walked over to it, starting to 'look' through the corner. "Good idea. None over here."
"Yeah, excuse me if I don't believe you. Today you set your toothbrush down on the nightstand and then wandered around for five minutes looking for it. Considering your secondary occupation, it's amazing what you look right through," she snorted, moving onto the next rack of shelves. "I'll look my- ah, here we go," she chirped, grabbing a coil of ragged, dusty rope from the bottom shelf and turning around to brandish it triumphantly.
He took a slow breath, relieved, before turning around to take the rope. "Alright, friend. Name?"
The man rolled his jaw, still working the kinks out from having his mouth stuffed full of sock for hours. Then he looked up at Moran for a moment, and weighed his options. "David Rutherford."
"Nice to meet you, Davey," he said, kneeling beside the chair at an angle that he couldn't be kicked at and starting to tie his right leg to the chair. "Care to make this easy and spill your guts? Or do we need to start making that phrase literal?"
David squared his jaw, remaining silent. Lorna stepped forward, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you tell anyone else about us before you tried to bug our room? You're going to want to answer this one, believe me."
Still silent. "Oh, good, I get to have fun, then," he says with a smile, reaching out to start opening his pack, pulling out a knife.
Lorna stepped in front of the chair and crouched so she could look up at the soon-to-be torture victim. "You married, David? You here with anyone else? When they find your body a month from now, will they cry? I'm only asking because I've watched it happen before. That's what happens to the people who don't cooperate. They end up at the bottom of the lake."
"Or maybe just here..." Seb provided, smiling and stepping forward. "Rotting out in an abandoned root cellar to be discovered in a few years by some randy teenagers..."
There was a light sheen of sweat on David's forehead now, his cheeks slightly paler than they had been. Before Lorna could speak again, he shook his head once, a sharp jerk of a motion. "No one knows. I wasn't... sure."
"Weren't sure of what?" he asked, smiling and leaning forward. He was sturdy and powerful on the outside, but he felt off. The pale sheen of the man's skin was off-putting. He was distracted by a trickle of sweat dripping down over David's temple and reached out to scrape it off slowly with the knife. It was a good intimidation strategy, but in reality he just wanted the bead gone. He took a slow breath.
David's eyes flickered off to the side, instinctively avoiding the other man's as he wet his lips nervously. "I didn't know if it was really you. It didn't seem right. You... look different. And the chances of my happening across the two of you together, alone, they weren't promising." He glanced at Moran, then at Harrison, trying to gauge their reactions.
"No, you're right. Your chances aren't promising," he said with a smirk, hand gripping the knife so hard his fingers whitened. "Who do you work for?"
Rutherford worked as a small-time tech, and at that, one who wasn't given many secrets to keep. He'd never had any special training besides an orientation for the fire evacuation, and he only knew about these two people because the head honcho had wanted as many eyes and as many techs looking for them as was possible. He wasn't built for espionage. "M. Holmes. I don't know his first name."
Sebastian's nostrils flared slightly. "Is that so?" he asked, eyes darkening. "And how is M. Holmes doing?"
The man shook his head, looking confused. "I don't know? I've never even seen him."
He smiled. "Well, isn't that just a coincidence, then?" He rested the knife against the man's chest almost casually. "We're on the run from M. Holmes, and just happen to run into one of his associates, but he happens to be completely clueless. Isn't that odd, Harrison?"
"It is. Especially since we had such a disagreement with the man that he needed therapy to recover the use of his hand," she smirked, entirely proud that she'd been the one to do it. Rutherford shook his head a bit frantically.
"I've never seen him. I've never met the man, believe me, please."
"Oh, I believe you, I do," he said, nodding sympathetically. "But Harrison here, she's the paranoid type. Sad really. Wears a lot of tin hats. But there you are. So I think you might have to be a bit more convincing than that..." he grinned, pressing the tip of his knife slowly through the man's shirt until blood started welling up around the knife.
The man started to shake a little, his face going white as a sheet as he tried to lean away from the sniper's blade. "How? What do you want from me?!" he yelped, wide eyes going back and forth between Moran and Lorna.
"I want answers," he said calmly. But the man's panic was catching. What the hell is wrong with me? He forced his hands to remain steady, staring the man down. "Everything you know about Holmes. Now."
"He- he works in government. I don't even know if he's in MI6, or something higher, I just run the numbers, and I run scans- I don't think he does any field work, I think he has agents, or something," the man supplied, stumbling over his words in his haste, still trying to lean away from the knife, and just digging his back into the chair.
He grit his teeth, more angry with himself than with David, but in total furious enough to be tetchy. "Listen, either Holmes sent a total idiot to keep an eye on us or you're lying," he snarled, dragging the the knife down his chest.
He cried out, going slightly green as he caught sight of the blood on his chest. " Fuck! No, no, you don't understand, I'm here on vacation! I've been here for a week! Please, please!"
"Shut up!" Moran snarled. "If you don't have anything to say, don't say it! I don't want to hear the excuses!" He pulled the knife back, pressing it against his hand instead. "You want to match your boss?"
Desperate tears started to well up in the techie's eyes as he shook his head frantically, "I don't know what that means," he half-sobbed, still shaking his head. Lorna watched from against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. This was odd, for Sebastian. His fear tactics were done with control, not.. being mildly unhinged.
"I said," he snarled, "if you don't have anything useful to say, don't say it!" He shoved the knife downward angrily, through the hand, watching as he screamed, his hands shaking. He almost jumped back as the face flicked, was covered in scars before returning to that of David.
Lorna stepped forward, reaching down to tap his shoulder with one finger. The man was going to be useless for the next few minutes at the very least, and he certainly wouldn't be aware of them. "You need to take a break," she said, voice quiet. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but it's not going to work."
He turned around quickly, walking away, leaving the knife stuck where it was, taking slow breaths, trying to get a hold of himself. O'Hare's face still was still haunting him, torn and scarred. He was going to throw up. He turned away, heading straight for his stash and pulling out a bottle, not caring if Harrison saw him.
She watched him go, and was just about to turn away when she saw the bottle in his hand. A second later and she was across the room with a death-grip on his wrist. " This is what you've been doing?" she snapped, standing up on her tiptoes to force him to look at her, not over her. "Instead of sleeping you've been drinking? I didn't tell you in London that you'd had enough just for that day, I meant that you don't use it as a coping mechanism! You don't become what I was, you hear me?" she snarled, wrenching the bottle from his hand and hurling it at the far wall, turning even before it shattered. "It almost killed me. Since when did you become this stupid?"
He wrenched his arm out of her grip, hand already raised to strike before he checked himself, hand curling into a fist before it dropped. "I think I missed your promotion, Harrison," he says quietly, voice trembling with anger. "Congratulations. Unless I'm still in charge here?"
"You're impaired, Moran," she hissed, grinding her teeth in an effort not to completely shout at him. "You haven't slept for days. Sleep deprivation is almost as bad as being well and fully drunk, and you know it." She squared her jaw, falling silent for a moment and looking up at him. "Do you even see the same man in that chair that I'm seeing?"
"Of course I do," he spits back. "David Rutherford." He sets his jaw, walking over to retrieve his knife, the chair arm stained red, and wiping it off on Rutherford's arm.
She kept her rampant disbelief to herself, silently walking forwards and throwing back the tarp he'd set over the corner, and beginning to clean it out without a word. She hated that this had been what he'd been doing with his sleepless hours. Absolutely loathed it. It was almost a personal affront.
He walked over, catching her wrist. "You don't get to decide that," he says quietly. "Leave it."
There was no way she could argue with him. She'd never been able to. He had too much of an advantage over her with rank, with the danger he represented. She yanked her arm out of his grip, glaring up at him with a murderous expression. "Then you better fucking move it," she snapped, turning and throwing the tarp violently back into place. "And next time you try to drink yourself to death in your apartment because of some bloke you left behind, don't come to me for help."
He nodded a little, calm now. He could see O'Hare out of the corner of his eye, though he knew if he turned to look at him it would be David. "I'll keep that in mind."
"You'll keep that in mind.." she muttered under her breath, half turning in a circle and realizing she couldn't walk out, couldn't cool down, and she just took a moment to press the heels of her hands into her eyes and just groan. trying to get out some of her anger. Life would be so much easier if she could really tell him what she was thinking, instead of holding back because he'd make her pay for it.
He took a slow breath, hands shaking as he straightened his jacket. "I'm going to take a drink," he said, looking over at her. "I'm not going to get drunk. When we get back, I'm going to sleep. For right now, we have work to do."
She fought the urge to just press harder against her eyes and let her hands drop, looking up at him with a dead neutral expression - the one she used when she was too angry to risk letting it show. "In my opinion, sir, you really ought to sit this one out."
"Opinion noted, Harrison," he said, stepping forward again and looking at the man, who was beginning to get his sense back. "David! Back with us, I see."
David was shaking, in pain, and seriously struggling not to piss his pants. "What the fuck," he whispered, shaking his head. "What the fuck is happening to me right now? I can't believe this is happening..."
"Perhaps it isn't," Moran said with a smirk. "Perhaps you've died and are in your own little version of hell. In which case, this goes on and on and on... for eternity. Isn't that exciting?" He took a swig from a bottle, then closed it up and set it aside.
"No.. No, don't do that, don't do that," David frowned, screwing his eyes shut. "What do you want from me, mate? I don't do anything."
"What do you do, then? I can almost promise that Holmes doesn't pay anyone to sit around with their thumbs up their arses. Unless you want to lose your other hand as well."
"No! No. I write algorithms that go into searches. Like, like, someone sends me a picture of a person and I write up a new, more efficient formula to track them. That's- that's how I recognized you two," David stuttered, trying to take deep breaths, as if that would help him deal with the pain.
He nodded a little, walking forward. "How many people does Holmes have looking for us?"
David shrugged as well as he could, making a very distinct 'I dunno' face. "I don't pass out a-assignments, or anything, I just do the job and pass it on to my superior. I don't know where it goes from there!"
He studied his face, but had to look away as it flickered into O'Hare again. He walked away, over to Harrison. "Thoughts?"
She shrugged as well, her arms folded over her chest. "I don't think he's lying. I think if he was, he would be wearing something that looked less like an atrocious Christmas sweater, and I think he would have told someone else what was happening. I saw him at dinner the first night we arrived. I think he's a very unlucky man."
He nodded in agreement. "I concur. Which means, of course, that he's suddenly become much less useful." He flipped his knife in his hands. "Unless there's anything else you want to know?"
She snorted, shaking her head, and gave a slight wave of her hand. "No."
David started to hyperventilate.
"Good," he said, turning around and stalking forward, ignoring O'Hare's protests in the last seconds before he slit his throat. He watched him gurgle into silence, and David reappeared, dead.
Lorna watched impassively, sliding her hands into her pockets as the man silenced, and the only sound left in the room was the sound of dripping. "What do you want to do with the body?"
"Probably should bury it," he says quietly, kicking the chair backwards and watching David's head bounce off of the floor. "Don't want the smell tipping someone off."
"Yeah," she sighed, scuffing the floor with her shoe and heading for the door to the barn. "I'll start looking for a shovel, then."
He nodded, watching her go before turning to take another pull off the bottle. Then he started cutting the body free.
She returned ten minutes later, and that was five minutes after she'd found the shovel, because she hadn't trusted herself not to give Moran a good whack with it. "Okay. I hope you scouted for good body locations. And a new place to stay. We can't be here anymore."
"I know a few good places. As for here, I don't see why not. He came here by cab. We'll leave Mrs. Hull a note from 'him' about a family emergency and the settle up money, and no one's the wiser."
"Someone's going to notice he's missing," she reminded him, looking very tired all of a sudden. "And they'll trace him to this place. You know who he works for. How hard would it be?" Either way, she was kipping on the armchair.
"He's got a week vacation, showed up the same day as us. We have a few days. But if you want to move, we will," he hoist the body up carefully.
She rubbed the back of her neck, deliberating for a moment. "I guess we can wait for the morning. I don't feel good about it, though." She shouldered the shovel and headed for the door. "Okay, let's get this over with. Christ."
He nodded, heading after her, trying not to get blood all over his clothes. "Look, we'll leave tonight if you want."
She kept back something spiteful about things that she wanted, just glancing over her shoulder at him with a shake of her head as she held the door to the pitch-black outside open for him. "No, I rather you had a night's sleep under your belt before we have to watch our tails."
"Fair enough," he said, without further comment, heading out into the dark and taking a left, towards an area with a few hills that he'd seen a few days ago.
She didn't try to start up conversation again. Not when they reached the place where Moran unceremoniously dropped the body, and not when the shovel broke ground for the first time. Her anger didn't burn away quick.
He shoveled for a while, let her shovel, shoveled some more, and generally was content with her choice to avoid conversation. He understood why she was pissed. He would be pissed about the exact same thing if the situation had been reversed, but it wasn't reversed, and so he had no desire to be sympathetic.
It was only when David Rutherford was in the ground and half buried when she felt she had something to say, and paused shoveling to do it, planting the tool in the ground and leaning on it for a moment. "Fuck O'Hare. He might as well be dead, Moran. He doesn't change anything. You still left him behind, you still became a cold bastard. Mooning over what could have been kills you. I would know, I've got the liver and the scars on my hands to show for it," she said emphatically, then immediately began shoveling again, biting the inside of her cheek. "This is the last thing I'm going to say about it, but you aren't exactly making progress on loosening up, anyway."
He watched the dirt fall into the hole for a bit longer, before he shrugged. "Look, therapy isn't exactly looked on favorably in the business, alright? I'd much rather be a drunk than perceived as weak. That is a death sentence."
She shook her head, sighing, and handed off the shovel to him. "You're missing the point. The drink makes you weak. Look at me; they took me off and I had a goddamn stroke. I'm angry because you're just completely disregarding another type of weakness."
"Yeah, well, it's better than the alternative. I'm trying to find a happy medium, alright? Obviously not the... alcohol poisoning I was heading towards when you found me, but I need something to take the edge off of things." He wasn't sure why he was explaining himself to her, but he did anyway, tossing the dirt almost violently into the hole.
"Ever tried yoga? I hear it's therapeutic," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. She felt absolutely coated in dirt, as if it had gotten under her fingernails and clothes and into her hair, and she was desperate for a hot shower. Her fingers were practically numb. "Or working out. I'm surprised you don't use the gym in the office to just punch shit out."
"I do," he said with a sigh, tossing the last few shovelfuls in and starting to tamp the dirt into place. "To work off the drinking. But I don't exactly have a gym here, do I? Just walls to crawl and a useless bed." He snorted a bit, and took a breath. "Look... I'll get past it, alright? No need to be so bloody pissed."
"I can't help it," she retorted irritably, helping kick a few loose rocks over the soil. "I see a bottle and I want it. I want it so bad. The lengths I go to to avoid it - I don't go down streets that I know have liquor stores on them, Moran," she huffed, pushing a stone into the dirt with her heel. "And you go and do what you're doing. It feels personal. I know it's not, but it feels that way."
"Why the hell do you think it's all the way out here?" he asked, frustrated, waving to the building. "I shouldn't care. Anyone else, I would've said fuck'em and had as much as I wanted in the room, on me, and if they got shot, their problem. But you... I've kept it a fucking mile and a half away, Harrison," he snarled. "I don't want to make my problems your problems. Went out of my way." He took the shovel and headed for the barn.
She just let out a long breath, the fight draining out of her, and followed him in silence for a few moments, worrying the inside of her cheek. When they reached the dilapidated building, she cleared her throat. "Well... I.. Yeah. You have. I'm... Thanks."
He put the shovel away in the corner. "Just save it," he muttered, shaking his head and taking a breath. "C'mon. You're freezing. Let's go."
She did what he wanted and shut up, falling into step behind him and letting him lead the way back to the B&B in silence. She didn't feel like alienating the closest thing to a friend she actually had.
He took off his shoes before they entered, waiting for Harrison to do the same, carrying them so as not to leave tracks as they headed up towards their room. He entered and shut the door behind them. "Alright... We'll leave tomorrow morning."
"Okay," she replied softly, turning and heading for the bathroom without another word. She'd never fall asleep if she felt so filthy. A minute later, and the sound of the shower running could be heard through the cracked door.
He peeled off his now-ruined clothing, putting them in a trash bag he found in a cabinet and waiting for Harrison to come out so he could clean up.
She reemerged not even five minutes later, keen to get into pajamas and then crawl into bed, and plucked the trash bag from his hand as she passed, immediately dropping in her stained clothes. "The water is still hot."
He nodded, heading for the shower immediately afterwards and stepping in, starting to wash the crimson off his hands and the mud from the rest of him, trying not to think about how furious Harrison had been.
She packed the trash bag away in their suitcase to dispose of in another location, got into her pajamas, and started transferring her clothes from the dresser into their luggage, chucking the clothes she wanted to wear tomorrow onto one of the armchairs. When she was done with that she lifted up the covers on the bed and slipped underneath, curling up in a slightly-frigid ball and shutting her eyes. Better to avoid all chances at conversation.
He walked in a few minutes later, having run the conversation over a few times and having decided that there wasn't a threat to his authority, which had left him in a slightly better mood. He pulled on his pajamas and climbed into bed, sighing at her shivering. "C'mere," he says softly, giving her the option.
She hesitated for a moment, assessing over whether or not she still felt spiteful enough to refuse, then moved over, curling into his warmth and doing her best not to put her cold toes on him. Sometimes he could be a real ass, but she had to admit that he'd been right tonight, and he'd gone out of his way to keep the alcohol away from her. Sometimes she could be a real ass, too.
He wrapped an arm around him, pulling her to his chest and rubbing her back a bit to lend warmth, not speaking further as he closed his eyes and did his best to sleep.
She fell asleep as soon as she got warm, which didn't take very much time at all. And she'd always slept better with another person occupying the bed. Her last vaguely conscious thought was that she hoped they didn't have to bury a body at the next place they stayed.
He woke fairly early, tired but not completely exhausted, and shook Lorna awake. "Time to go," he said quietly, sitting up.
She made a small noise to indicate she was awake, lying there for another moment before shifting and pushing herself out of bed, shuffling for the clothes she'd thrown onto the chair last night. "Have we got to do 'nything else besides payin' before we go?"
He shook his head a little and started pulling his clothes on. "Nothing. We just need to get up, pay, and get out."
"Good," she mumbled, following suit and then putting her pajamas away. She might have even missed the B&B, if not for the fact that it had been so quiet there. She missed noise. "Any idea where we're off to?"
"A bit," he said, looking over at her. "I think it's time to draw these bastards out. Thoughts?"
She combed a hand through her hair, letting out a huff of a breath. "We could start jumping my old safe houses in London. My brother knows where most of them are. I assume there will be a few people watching each."
He nods in agreement. "Take the few we encounter down, and move on before the next wave hits."
"Exactly. I'm sure I can find us places to sleep in between houses. I've spent a lot of time on the streets," she yawned, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room. "I think I have everything."
"Good," he said with a nod, picking up a washcloth and starting to wipe down surfaces for prints.
She got her shoes on and then zipped up their suitcase and got his backpack from the coffee table, setting everything by the door. It would be strange, taking him to all her old haunts.
He finished up a few minutes later, walking over to pick up the pack and opening the door with the cloth. "Let's go."
She nodded, slipping out in front of him with the suitcase and beginning the trek down to the ground floor, trying not to leave any marks behind with her shoes.
He'd called a cab as soon as they'd gotten up. Their elderly proprietor was banging around in the kitchen, so he walked over to knock on the door gently. "Sorry to bother you, but we've had a bit of a family emergency and we're going to have to leave early..."
"Oh, you poor dears!" Mrs. Hull said tenderly, a hand going up to clasp at her pearls. From behind Sebastian, Lorna fought down a smirk and turned her attention to the throwaway phone she'd gotten, reserving them train tickets. "Well, let's just settle the bill and bustle you out of here, then."
He nods in agreement. "Add in any inconvenience caused by our leaving, as well. I know we told you we'd be here longer." Never leave someone disgruntled behind you. That was the worst possible scenario in a situation like this.
She waved them off, shaking her head as she pulled down a hefty notebook from one of her shelves. "Shush, shush, I wouldn't hear of it! Family is more important than anything else, and in the off-season, too!" she trilled, writing them out their bill with the quick efficiency of a professional who'd never relied on a computer. "There you are, check or cash will do."
He handed her the cash, giving her a tired smile. "It's been a pleasure. I wish we could stay longer."
"You're welcome back anytime, my dear," Mrs. Hull smiled, giving him a motherly pat on the arm and returning to fussing over breakfast. "Have a safe trip home!"
"We will," he agrees, trying not to laugh at the irony as he headed for the door behind Harrison. He took their bag and put it into the boot of the cab. "Where are we going?"
"Back to London," she replied, tucking her phone into her coat pocket and pulling open the cab door. "Don't worry about the abundance of security cameras, I know what I'm doing. We're probably going to have a few uncomfortable nights, though."
He shot her a withering gaze. "Oh. Help. Turn the car around. We're not heading to a five-star hotel?"
She gave him an incredibly exasperated look and got into the taxi, seriously considering for a moment telling the cabbie to just drive before she tamped down on her irritation. They were about to go on the offensive against a significantly powerful corporation that was trying to find them first. It wasn't either of their faults that they were stressed. "Let's go, huh?"
He nodded, climbing in behind her and letting her direct as she would, leaning back and closing his eyes, listening to the road as the taxi started moving.
After she'd given their driver their destination, she sat back and tried to relax, letting her mind wander to her plan as soon as they reached London. At one point in time, it had been second nature for her to avoid the streets, avoid places where police officers often ate lunch, avoid the corners she knew sported cameras. When she'd carried a backpack full of drugs up from the Thames, that was when she really had learned her way through the back alleys, and that was when she'd accumulated her hidey-holes. "We'll want to be armed before we leave the train station," she murmured, glancing at him from the corner of her eye before falling silent. She could brief him more on the actual train.
He nodded just slightly. "I don't anticipate that being a problem," he says, nodding to the backpack. "What else do I need to know?" He opened his eyes, turning to look out of the window. He'd done this so many times, laying low, poking his head up to goad on whoever was hunting him enough to get their position and kill them. He was in his element. Usually he would be relaxed, rested, sharp. Instead, he felt sick, both mentally and physically, and it was very uncomfortable.
She sighed, but didn't try to convince him to wait until they were on the train. "We're going to be doing a lot of moving through the echelon of crime in the city. I don't know how much of it you've seen; my understanding is that you've always been pretty high up, but I could be wrong," she shrugged. "Either way, there's going to be constant conflict. For various reasons. The only time we'll be even close to safe is when we find some place to settle for the night and we blend in with the rest of the homeless people."
"I've worked in the rough side, Harrison. I have some experience, not as much as you, but I'm not going to be out of my element, alright? You take the lead in there, but don't expect me to be complaining." He reaching up to rub at his eyes.
Six months ago, Lorna would have made a joke about not hearing him say she had more experience. Now, she just nodded and let it drop. It just wasn't fun to needle him anymore. "I might complain a little bit. But it will probably be about how the neighborhood has changed and back in my day..."
He smirked just slightly. "Never thought I'd see the day you got old," he ribbed lightly, returning his attention to the window.
"It's really hard to tell, now that I've dyed my hair," she chuckled, then looked over at him. "You should take this time to doze. You still look exhausted. I'll get you up when we reach the station."
Usually he would have argued, but right now wasn't 'usually'. He didn't argue, just shut his eyes and let himself doze off.
A half hour later, she nudged his shoulder with her elbow, already in the process of leaning to the side so she could get to the money in her pocket. "We're here."
He woke slowly, but nodded, sitting up and stretching slightly, rubbing at his face as the taxi came to a stop. He climbed out, stretching, and waiting for Harrison to pay the cabby as he unloaded their luggage.
She quickly finished up and got out of the car after him, reaching to relieve him of the backpack. He was already tired, she didn't him sore and stiff, too. "Okay, we should be right on time for the train."
"Perfect, lead the way," he said, frowning as she took the pack but not commenting. He disliked that she was babying him, but at the same time he could see the advantage and didn't bother arguing.
She led the way into the train station, applying liberal use of elbows to clear a path in the crowd exiting the station. A few minutes later they were on the train, sitting down and putting the bag in her lap so she could carefully transfer a couple knives onto her person. "I have a feeling this day is going to be really long."
He slipped a hand into the bag as well, pulling out his handgun in its shoulder holster and quickly tucking it under his jacket. "Do we ever have short days?"
She helped aid the transfer by shaking out her jacket, drawing any attention they had away from his hands and to hers instead. "Those few days when we'd just gotten home from the crazy dungeon and we were knocked out, maybe? Do they count if they're not aided by drugs?" she snorted, folding her coat back up and setting it in her lap.
"I don't think so," he said, shifting his jacket a bit as he adjusted the holster beneath it. "But maybe." He pulled out his burner phone, shooting a text to Jim letting him know they were alive.
She made herself comfortable for the train ride with her mp3 player, plugging in one ear and leaving the other clear as a precaution. Dulling her reflexes would do neither of them well.
In London, Jim had spent the time in which his top operatives were out of the office trying to forcefully sew the deteriorating relations between Magnussen and himself back together. He loathed the man, but his resources were valuable, and losing both Moran and Harrison would slow Jim down for a year at the inside. It wasn't worth continuing the spat over. When he got the text from an unfamiliar number, he was slightly relieved. He wouldn't need to start looking for replacements immediately. If they got back to HQ in one piece, then he would feel a little more secure. He sent back a terse reply on the off-chance that it was someone trying to weasel their way into his system, and went back to work.
Moran smirked at the text, then sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride. Jim would get them out of this if necessary. So far things hadn't been too bad.
Lorna fought back the urge to suggest that he try to sleep again. She'd seen the look on his face when she'd simply taken the backpack from him outside. As the train lurched into motion, she just crossed her legs and stretched out as much as she could in the limited space and carefully put a mental lid over any lingering, idiotic protective thoughts. That was shit that was just going to make her angry later.
The train ride passed quickly, and soon they were re-entering the familiar suburbs approaching London. "What's the plan once we get off?" he asked quietly.
She tugged her earphone out to answer, checking out the window to gauge how far from their station they were. "Get out of the station. They have to have people watching the trains, right? If anyone follows, we lead them somewhere less public and take care of it."
He nodded in agreement. "You get us out, I'll watch for tails." He straightened his jacket again. He was glad that they were going to be moving soon. He was sick of sitting still. He was raring for a little action, body almost vibrating with uncomfortable energy. He was spoiling for a fight, and was almost hoping they were followed.
"Unfortunately for them, I think it's likely you'll spot some," she snorted, shouldering the backpack as the train started slowing. Truth be told, she wouldn't mind if they were followed; torture was messy and complicated, and stabbing someone to death was not. Adrenaline had that effect.
He stood, stretching, and followed Harrison onto the platform, taking the backpack this time. If they needed to run, he didn't want the extra weight slowing her down. "We should have worn the vests," he growled with a sigh. He was half tempted to pull them both into the bathroom and change into them, but they needed to be moving more than they needed to be bulletproof.
She led the way through the crowd, putting on the walk that told people she had a place to be and that she was willing to run them over to get there. "I'm willing to risk that they won't get a chance to have a clean line on us," she returned, glancing over her shoulder at him to make sure he was still relatively close. They joined the sea of people flowing out into the exit tunnels, where she ducked her head again. Unfortunately, they were a little more noticeable than the people surrounding them. Moran's scars hadn't been covered up, and her red hair stood out a little more than she would have liked. "See anyone?"
"Hopefully," he muttered, keeping an eye out for tails and unconsciously monitoring Harrison's direction to make sure that they weren't walking smack into sniper-friendly territory.
"Not really in the range of acceptable answers," she replied, a little absently, shouldering free of a particularly thick bunch of people as they reached the exit and spilled out onto the pavement, where she made a direct beeline for the nearest alley. She'd picked this particular train because she knew where it ended up; she was familiar with the area. It was where she'd grown up, and there were a couple good spots to lead any tails for a quiet murdering. "Should we risk calling a cab, or should we try and get Jim to send us a car?"
He shook his head a bit. "Tail," he said softly, eyes hardening as he glanced over his shoulder at the woman exiting the station and heading quickly after them. "We'll discuss that once they're dealt with."
She nodded, not turning or looking, just leading the way off the street and into the dank alley, slipping her longest knife from out of her jacket pocket and stealthily unfolding it in her hands. Two blocks further this way and they'd reach the perfect junction to deal with their unlucky follower. She just kept moving fast, hoping that they'd reach the small, dark little square between the buildings before their tail made it to the mouth of the alley.
He kept pace with her, slipping his own knife out of his pocket, feeling the weight of the gun against his chest but wanting this to be slow, drawn out, to make whoever this was pay for the shit he'd been dealing with.
When she reached their ambush point she was around the corner as fast as she could make it without slipping on the damp pavement, the back of her neck prickling with the helpless fear of being shot in the back. Then she leaned against the wall, glancing at Sebastian from the corner of her eye as he did the same next to her. She tightened her grip on the handle of the knife, tightening her jaw as she waited for the woman's quick, carefully-placed footsteps to reach them.
He was calm, hands steady, heart rate slow, waiting. Counting the paces, waiting as they crossed over the damp newspapers in the street, the click of heels changing, muffling...
Now.
He didn't think as she came around the corner- Amature of her, to just bull through - just acted, grabbing the woman by the neck with his arm and pulling her back against his chest in a quick motion, free hand grabbing the hand with the gun and yanking it off to the side firmly.
She kept against the wall and out of the way until he'd subdued her, and then she moved back into the contended space and slipped her blade up under the woman's rib cage, gritting her teeth as she felt the woman's muscles clench and wrench at the knife. As soon as she felt blood seep onto her fingers she gave the knife one last good thrust up and yanked the weapon free. This woman would be long dead by the time her people found her. She didn't give a damn.
The woman was dying quickly, silently. It wasn't the slow, rough death his hands were craving to participate in, but it would do. He satisfied himself by snapping her neck a few moments before she would have lost consciousness anyway. Then he scooped the body into his arms, heading for the dumpster a few feet away, waiting for Harrison to open it.
She was only a step behind him, quickly ducking around him to pop up onto her tiptoes and hold up the lid enough for Moran to dump his burden. As soon as the body thudded down into the empty bin - good, that meant the trash wouldn't be emptied for a few days at least - she dropped it again only long enough to peel off her jacket, wipe off the blood on her hands, and then chucked the bloody clothing in after. "Do we risk calling the Boss?" Harrison asked, turning to look up at the sniper with darkened eyes. "It's your call."
He shook his head immediately as he straightened his own jacket, glancing over it for obvious signs of blood on the dark material. "If Jim decides to help us, he will. We're in London. I guarantee that he is aware of our situation. We keep moving."
Lorna nodded and fell back into silence, turning to continue down the alley, leading Moran back out of the narrow space between the buildings and back out onto the sidewalk. After a brief moment to get her bearings, she took a right, and fell into a pedestrian pace. If she could get them to one of her old hidey-holes by the river, they'd be halfway to HQ, and with plenty of good warehouses to hide in once they'd removed any immediate threats. Another ten minutes of walking, and she glanced over at him again. "Do you want help carrying something? If Jim is aware of our situation, then I have no doubt Holmes does. I don't want you to get, like, tired or something. Not that I'm even sure that's physically possible with you, but... We could jack a car."
"I'm not going to get tired," he said, rolling his eyes. "Trust me. I especially won't get tired faster than you would. Don't insult me. As for jacking a car, we're trying to stay low-profile, remember? A call comes in about a jacked car and that gives Mycroft something to follow on the cameras."
"You're right, you're right," she sighed, shaking her head. Maybe she needed some decent sleep, too. She didn't say anything else until the buildings around them slowly began evolving from run-down little apartments and closed drug stores into block-long warehouses, a good sign that they were nearing the river. Eventually, she started checking the numbers painted in peeling white on the side of the buildings.
"We're close," she stated, beginning to crane her neck to try and see if she could spot their destination. "A few of these are still used by the smugglers I used to work for. They'll help us out, if we pay them. Or if any of them recognize me, they'll help for free and try to call someone I don't want coming down here, but it's a better alternative than sitting around and waiting for Holmes to send a helicopter to find us."
He nods in agreement, shifting the weight of the pack slightly to relieve where it was cutting into his shoulder. "Good. How long do you think we'll be able to lay low here?"
"A few days, maybe, at the most," she replied, peeling off onto one of the small, cluttered paths that ran between the buildings. "They'll get antsy if we try to stay too long. Smugglers like to keep the cargo moving. If things aren't safe enough for us then, they'll probably drop us off somewhere I can work with. Wherever that will be, though, is going to be less safe than here." That was assuming the smugglers didn't recognize her. She tried not to let it worry her too much, and she'd already decided to keep what had happened with this particular group to herself. They weren't dumb enough to turn down good money, so Moran was perfectly safe.
"How familiar are they going to be with you?" he asked as they approached a door. "What should I be expecting here?"
She paused with her hand in the air to knock, muttering a quiet swear under her breath, then dropped her hand back to her side. "I don't know, to be honest," she started, "But it could vary. If it's people I knew personally we'll be fine. If it's people who only know my face and-slash-or have only heard of me... I might be in some hot water. You'll be fine, though, they won't turn down good cash money," Lorna shrugged, trying and succeeding to successfully hide her apprehension.
He sighed, but nodded. "Can't be much worse than Mycroft. Let's go." He looked up and down the street, counting the people passing the entrance of the alley, making sure none reappeared, or glanced their way.
She knocked twice without further delay, biting the inside of her cheek as the metal door reverberated, glancing down the alley where it led to the river. A few moments later, and there were the sounds of several latches being undone before the door was yanked open, and a tall man with short-cropped dark hair and several eyebrow piercings was staring at them. Lorna relaxed somewhat, a small smile appearing on her face. "Hey, Anton, mind if we come in?"
A/N
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