I'm not calling you a liar
Just don't lie to me
I'm not calling you a thief
Just don't steal from me
I'm not calling you a ghost
Just stop haunting me
And I love you so much
I'm going to let you kill me

- Florence + The Machine - I'm Not Calling You A Liar -

It took a long time for her to wind down, longer than she was really proud of, but now that she was letting herself unwind (or rather, he'd given her permission to) the fear and the anger and helplessness just took her over for a while. When her tears finally abated, she was immensely glad he was there. If he hadn't been, she'd have come out of it feeling like she hadn't accomplished anything, feeling worthless and discarded and irredeemable. She had no idea why he was doing it. She had no clue. He had nothing to gain from it, and she knew how he felt about any kind of emotional spillage. Lorna took a deep breath, trying to keep herself in the calm that followed a real blowout of a cry like the one he'd just sat through. "Thanks," she said hoarsely, listening to his heartbeat just because she remembered it being calming. Her memories held up.

"You owe me a new shirt. This one's all cried on," he said gruffly, though he didn't release his hold on her.

He hadn't let go the whole time she was crying, and he didn't know why. Why he cared about her when anyone else he likely would have shot for acting like this. Why he risked his reputation with Moriarty for her life, why he wanted her safe. Why she kept him sane. He had far too many questions and didn't want the answer to any of them, so instead he held her close and ignored them.

She managed a weak laugh. "You've ruined enough of my shirts, I think it's only fair," she joked quietly, deciding that for the moment she didn't need to prod him and try to see why he made so many exceptions for her. She didn't want to alienate him again.

He sighed. "I suppose that's fair enough. Though between this one and your makeshift bandage, we're even, I think."

"I don't think we are numbers-wise, but you probably saved me from bleeding to death, so I'll give you a pass," she smiled, raising a hand to wipe the remaining wetness from her cheeks.

"Excellent. So does that mean you're done leaking bodily fluids all over my shirts?" he asks with a smirk.

"I mean, I'm not planning on it, but who knows what the future holds," she rolled her eyes, managing a straight expression for a moment before the corner of her lips lifted.

He kept his deadpan firmly in place, though he reached up to flick her nose lightly. "What's on your schedule for today?" he asked, wondering if he should get out of her hair.

"Nothing big. I have to look over a few documents later, but otherwise I have Kelly running things. He was doing fine while we were gone, and it won't be good if too many people see me like this. I might have to kill one of them to show them I'm still in charge," she sighed, frowning slightly at the thought of returning to work.

"You'll be fine," he said, patting her back with a smirk. "Just kill Malcolm. Two birds with one stone."

"My desire to kill Malcolm is much less than it was," she chuckled, fiddling with the hem of his shirt absently. "Poor bloke just wants me to love him so bad. Too bad it doesn't work like that," she snorted, shaking her head. "But I swear to god, if he tries to get up here again I'll kill him anyway."

"I don't know what he was thinking, with that ring... Jim's intolerant as it is of inter-office fucking. Imagine how he'd handle a marriage. I think the wedding present would probably be a time bomb or a bottle of poisoned wine."

She shrugged indifferently. "I don't know either. But I do wonder about that. He can't care about all of them, right? He doesn't even know all their faces. I think he probably only cares about the higher ups. I mean, Malcolm would still be royally screwing himself by asking me, but I think if he tried it with someone in say, cleaning, Jim wouldn't care so much. They're not as high risk."

He shrugged. "Either way, asking you is a shitty idea," he muttered. "Having Jim pissed at you is a sure way to get dead."

"I just can't believe how oblivious he is. Whatever. If I try to fuck him again please remind me I'm not that desperate," she snorted, making a face at herself.

"Gladly," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Why you ever fucked him in the first place is beyond me."

His head snapped up as someone knocked on the door, and he stiffened slightly. Any of his people would have just texted him if he didn't answer his intercom, and any of Lorna's would have done the same. "Expecting someone?" he asked quietly.

She frowned, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "No. Even if it had been Kelly, he would have just emailed me what I needed," she shook her head, beginning to uncurl from her spot on his lap and suddenly wishing she had actual pajama bottoms. Normally she wouldn't care, but she was a little sensitive about this sort of thing at the moment. "Just wait there, I'll see if I can't make whoever it is go away," she said quietly, rounding the couch and walking over to open the door.

He stood as soon as she did, walking behind to the corner and staying there out of sight. If something was wrong, he wanted to be close by.

She slid back the deadbolt - that must have been Sebastian's doing - and swung open the door, immediately coming face to face with the most scarred man she'd ever seen in her entire life. Luckily for both of them, she'd been through too much in the last two weeks to really be shocked by anything, so she just raised an eyebrow. "If you need a cup of sugar I'm afraid I've been out for the last six months and I still haven't gotten more. What do you want?"

O'Hare gave her a smile, which looked nothing short of demented on the twisted face. "Sorry... Mr. Moriarty just said to let you know I was moving in next door for security reasons. Didn't want you concerned." He hefted a hand that shook slightly. "Name's O'Hare."

Moran froze as soon as he heard the voice, mouth going dry, heart pounding, and slid slowly into a crouch on the floor, fists curling shut so tight his palms bled.

Lorna kept her smile cordial as she shook his hand, though she was starting to get angry. Not at O'Hare, not really. It wasn't O'Hare's fault that he was like this, that he was here, because no one said no to Jim and got away with it. But she was angry with Jim. Doing this to somebody coming off of heroin, for Christ's sake... "Harrison," she smiled, as if nothing was wrong. "This is probably because the last guy who lived in that flat was a mole. I don't remember if we got him or not.. It doesn't matter," she shook her head, then took a step back, making it clear she was going to shut the door. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm not exactly dressed, and I've got shit to do. It was nice meeting you, though."

He nodded. "Of course. Nice meeting you, Harrison." He touched his forehead as if tipping a hat, then headed back down the hall.

She shut the door behind him and slid the deadbolt home, immediately turning and walking to the corner Sebastian was crouched in, kneeling down in front of him and gently prying his hands out of their fists, turning them palm up and sighing at the cuts there. She'd have to get him to wash those out before they got infected. "Are you okay?"

He flinched when she touched him, pressing his elbows against the wall to still the instinct to attack, his eyes shut. "Fine," he spat, jaw tense.

She knew that was a big fat lie, but what could she do, call him out on it? He wouldn't appreciate that. So she just sighed and shifted her grip to his wrists, tugging. "Come on. We should wash those out. I hear infections aren't fun."

He wanted to argue, to stay where he was, where he was safe. But that would have been both petulant and cowardly and he was neither. So he stood slowly, kept his eyes on the room as they walked, and headed for the bathroom.

Once she got him into the bathroom she elbowed the hot water tap on and rolled up his sleeves in silence, and ignored his sound of protest as she washed out his cuts. It was only when she was handing him a hand towel she'd gotten blood on many times before that she spoke, and even then it was carefully. "I don't think I should leave you alone for a while. It'd be difficult for you to get out of the building, but I don't doubt you could do it. If you relapse Jim's going to have your head."

He looked up from where he was drying his hands, and was making a face before she even finished speaking. "Fuck off, Harrison. I don't need a babysitter. I know how to behave."

She rolled her eyes before she could stop herself, too exasperated and strung out for self-control. "Relapsing has nothing to do with knowing what you should do," she retorted, shaking the water from her hands into the sink and turning for the bathroom door. "The last time you saw this guy you got so drunk you asked me for help. You weren't even addicted to any substances then. Excuse me if I'm a little worried that you'll try to do the same this time, but with the thing you really want."

"You're talking like I have no control over myself," he snarled. "You think one man living down the hall is going to send me into a fucking spiral? If that's the case just fucking shoot me now, because I'm useless," he snarled, teeth bared.

She's right, though...

No. She isn't. Shut up.

She whirled back on him, her hands going to her hair, pure frustration on her face. "Why do you always do this, Sebastian? What do you think I'm going to fucking do to you, at this point? Christ, you just keep saving my life and keeping me from falling into a thousand little pieces - I know you should have killed me in there, but you didn't! Why do you keep giving me these free passes if you won't even let me reciprocate a little?" she shouted, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes and bending over a moment just to groan down at the floor. "For Chris'sake, Moran, what do you want from me? I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to call in some favor, and you never do. I have to goddamn pay you back, okay? I can't just- sit here in suspense. Literally all I'm goddamn saying is that you shouldn't be by your own fucking self. Heroin isn't a fucking joke."

He froze as she started yelling, muscles tensed for action, fists clenching again, nails breaking open the cuts again. His expression didn't change, but adrenaline was racing through his system. This wasn't right. If Jim was listening right now he'd probably be dead by morning, for the first thing. He didn't hesitate, just drew back a fist, and drove it into the center of her chest, sending her stumbling back.

You held that blow .

Shut. Up.

He walked forward, grabbing onto her throat. "I don't know who you think you are," he hissed, his face inches from hers as he pressed her back against the wall. "But I don't need to explain myself to you. It's my job to ensure that those under my command are alive and functioning. I don't need to be coddled by you, or anyone else. That means an early grave in my line of work. If you think that we have something special , then think again. You're my employee. That's it, end of story. Got it?!"

Liar liar...

She gritted her teeth, digging her nails into his wrist and resisting the urge to knee him in the crotch. She was just so done with his goddamn shit. "Fuck off!" she snapped, heart hammering in her chest and asking feverishly what she thought she was doing. "And fuck you, Moran, go to hell. I'm not a fucking idiot, I think we're both relatively aware of that fact, despite how fucking THICK you can be, oh my god, stop fucking bullshitting me. I'm not CODDLING you, you piece of shit, I'm covering your fucking ass because I have been there. Because I am almost there myself. Do you know how scared I am?" she demanded, her face a light shade of pink she was so angry, her eyes flicking across his face for an answer. "Considering my luck, there's a very good chance I am pregnant with my fucking rapist's child. You think that doesn't make me want to fight and claw my way out of here and get high in some alley?"

She kicked his shin just because she couldn't stand being so still, pressed up against the wall hard enough that it was hurting her starved back, and she laughed, a harsh, bitter noise. "Fuck you. Christ. You've gone above and beyond your fucking job just so I'll see another goddamn day. If it's just your job you might as well kill me now," she challenged, a muscle jumping in her jaw as she stared up at him. "I won't be able to work right for months. I know I won't. I can't do it. Kelly is competent, with a little training he'd be just as good as me. I'm a grifter who's started having panic attacks whenever I think of going back out again. I'm a ruin. Kill me, if you're just doing your job. Do it. DO IT!"

"Fine!"

He let out a roar of anger and lifted her by her throat, slamming her head back hard against the wall, free hand just behind with a sharp blow to the temple. He dropped her, watched as she slumped to the floor, lax, consciousness knocked through the wall to the next room and taking its time dusting up the place before it returned. The knife that sat always in his belt was out before he even had to think, and he knelt, pressing it to the side of her throat, ready to slide it behind her jugular and tear outwards, watch the geyser of blood as her arteries vomited up their holdings.

He pressed harder, watched the blood well around the point, then changed tactics, pulling her off the wall and against his chest, the side of the blade pressed high and tight, ready to split the soft meat of her throat, expose it to light for the first time, watch vibrant blood stain her pale, starved skin. Already it was surging against his knife, the split started, red dripping down her clavicle as the dark of his blade teased her skin in a hairs-breadth line. The flow danced with her heartbeat, with his breaths, his hand trembling slightly. He shifted his hand on the knife.

One minute.

Two.

The clatter of the knife dropping startled him, but he set her down with apparent calm, standing slowly and looking down at her, throat painted in blood. Almost like he'd done it.

Why hadn't he?

Because you're a ruin.

Her words, but good ones. He looked down at his hands- snipers hands - which trembled slightly. The need was frothing in him now, something to calm that spasm, to give him his tranquility back.

He turned for the door with a new calm, leaving his knife behind. The calm stayed as he walked to his apartment, got a coat and as much cash as he felt comfortable carrying, his wallet, and a gun. Within ten minutes, he was downstairs and out on the street, scars pale in the afternoon light.

Time to disappear.

You went straight for the knife
And I prepared to die

- Sia - Straight For The Knife -