It's better to burn than to fade away
It's better to leave than to be replaced
I'm losing to you, baby, I'm no match

- Panic! At The Disco - Nicotine -

Lorna was still there, although she'd showered and dressed and cleaned out the mug she'd used for coffee, and she was on her own laptop, on his couch, sending a bit of an angry email to Kelly for something he'd botched rather spectacularly. She looked up when he came in. "Sorry, I was just about to leave. Got distracted being angry with Kelly. God, he's stupid sometimes."

He nodded a little, walking over to sit down, trying to act normal, to think. What the hell did Moriarty think he was doing? He'd never known the boss to mistake a call like this. Or... was it a mistake? Either way, it was infinitely frustrating.

"Did he say something typically Jim-ish?" she asked as she shut her laptop and stood, tucking it under her arm. "You look like you're considering violence against something that probably wasn't what annoyed you in the first place."

"He thinks you're my weak point," he said blandly, no inflection, as he considered the far wall, unseeing. "You're my motivation, now. If I don't straighten out..."

She went very still, unable to completely process that for a moment. The first thought to her head was: This is bad. And This is the implosion, isn't it, shortly followed. She said neither of those things. In fact, she didn't speak for a good minute. "I..." she started, weakly, and decided to begin again. "Christ. I'd make a joke about appreciating it if you could keep my alive, here, but I don't think that would be very well received."

"I might shoot you, actually," he said, nodding just a little, eyes still on the wall. Then "The worst part is that he isn't wrong. The smug motherfucking bastard. He isn't wrong."

If it was even possible, she became even stiller, a quick, nervous jolt of fear flitting through her chest and making an exit just as rapidly. How was she supposed to respond to this? What was the right thing to say here? Any direction she took could lead her right to a landmine. She swallowed, adjusting her grip on her laptop slightly, fingers sticking just a little with sweat. "You're mine, too, if it makes you feel any better," she said finally, her voice quiet, like somehow it would keep him from getting angry. "But then, I guess it's not quite the same. I'm.. I'm sorry."

He shook his head just a little. "Don't apologize," he said, finally looking over at her and shrugging. "I have weaknesses... I'm beginning to accept that. As long as I don't fuck up, it shouldn't be a problem."

She nodded, rubbed the back of her neck, unsure what to say next. She really did feel like she had to apologize, but if he didn't want her to, she wouldn't. "Okay," she said finally. She didn't know what else to say. What could she say?

He nodded just a little, staring at her for a moment longer, debating.

Fuck it.

"He is right, though. About how I am with you. And you've tried to point it out as well."

She tried and failed to keep her face from getting a little hot, feeling rather like she'd been dunked into the middle of the Baltic Sea and told to swim for shore. "I.. I don't know what I can say, here," she said, almost in a whisper, swallowing hard. "I'll be as honest as you let me, but I can't... I don't want to fuck this up again, you know?"

He shook his head, shifting forward and putting his elbows on his knees. "Cards on the table," he said evenly. His heart was pounding, mind screaming at him to shut up, but he wanted this. Honesty, for once.

She adjusted and readjusted her grip on her laptop, fighting the urge to just drop it and sit so she wouldn't just collapse like a frightened housewife. "I don't know anyone I'd take a bullet for, besides you. I don't.. I've never cared this much about someone. Everyone else I've been with, I just..." she shook her head. "I don't get invested in people anymore, not since I was a kid. I don't give a shit what people think about me, and then there's you, and I go miles out of my way to try and.. I don't know if impress is the right word, but it's close. What we have going right now.. I don't want it to stop."

He nodded a little, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth. "Neither do I," he said quietly, wishing she'd stop looking quite so eager to bolt but not in a position to do much about it. "I care about you, too. Far more than is healthy in this business. You know how unusual that is for me, I don't think I have to explain."

"No, you don't," she agreed softly, giving in now that she knew he wasn't rejecting her, wasn't telling her to stop, and sat down on the sofa next to him, setting her laptop down by her feet. "I kinda thought this would end worse."

"Well, it always has in the past, so that wasn't a bad assumption. Last time I tried to kill you," he pointed out quietly, looking down at his hands as he turned the situation over. "But hell, if Jim's going to use it against me anyway, I might as well enjoy what I can of it."

"That's not how I would have wanted it," she sighed, "The Jim, thing, I mean. He never exactly lets you make an easy adjustment. Still... I guess now I don't have to worry so much."

"It's not my job to make easy adjustments, to be fair," he sighed. "It's my job to not be affected by things." He pushed a hand through his hair, before looking over at her. "Are you pissed?"

She blinked, honestly surprised. "What? No, why would I be pissed?" she shook her head, trying to look vaguely reassuring. She could almost understand where he was coming from, after all. So much of her time was spent carefully calculating what would or wouldn't piss him off.

"Because Jim's threatening you in order to get me in line," he said with a smirk. "Or did you not pick that up?"

Lorna shrugged, leaning back against the sofa with a sigh. "What's there to be pissed about, really? Being angry about it isn't going to help anything; it might even make it worse. It could be worse. Granted, I'm saying that with an awful lot of perspective about the last month," she snorted. "Maybe I'll feel differently about it in a few weeks."

He laughed, shaking his head a little. "Christ... fuck this. Fuck all of this. This is ridiculous. Six months ago I was the top of the food chain. Now look at me," he muttered, still smiling, but rubbing at his face, chuckling in frustration.

"You'll get back up there. Maybe it won't be the same, but you'll get there. Anyway, it's not as if you're less deadly than you were before. You can still kill more creatively than any of your underlings, I'd bet a hand on it," she smirked, then frowned slightly. "If I'm wrong don't actually take a hand from me, okay? I need those."

"Really, you needed to clarify that?" he asked, leveling a dry glare in her direction. "I've risked my ass to save you how many times in the last few months?"

"Yeah, but that was me in my entirety, who knows how you feel about one measly old hand," she smirked, giving a light shrug. "And I've lost count, anyway. So definitely more than three times. Thanks. Seriously."

He shook his head. "You know I couldn't have done any differently," he smirked. "I've gone soft, remember?"

"You know if I started to take it for granted you'd get annoyed, don't lie," she chuckled. "I try not to be a big risk-taker. Sometimes I manage it okay."

"Sometimes I just manage it okay," he mimicked under his breath. "You're an excellent manager, I'll give you that."

"If I was as reckless as I could be, you'd never be able to keep me alive," she laughed, standing and tucking her laptop under her arm again. "Okay, I really have to go make sure no one's started a fire in my department. Kelly is making a mess of things as it is without an inferno added to the mix."

"I honestly don't understand how on earth your department sets so many fucking fires. You're grifters for christ's sake. I understand the occasional one, but three in the past six months seems excessive." He sighed.

"It's because most of them are cheap fuckers who never learned how to sew properly, or how to iron their goddamn clothes. I'm banning hot glue guns. The irons, I can do less about," she shook her head with a disgusted look and turned for the door. "I'll see you later. Good luck keeping me alive."

He rolled his eyes, but called after her before she left. "Harrison. Stay sharp, alright? On your toes. I'll try to give you advance warning if I fuck up too badly."

She paused half out the door, turning with her hand on the knob and nodding. "I will. I'll keep my phone loud. If you need me to stop you from doing something stupid, you have my number. Text me if you want to do Indian tonight, I'm going to be in that part of town anyway. Ciao," she smiled, then turned and stepped out, shutting the door behind her. That had gone... well, shockingly enough.

He was surprised by the dinner offer. It was so blatantly casual that it was stunning. He decided to ignore it for the time being and think it over later, picking up his laptop and starting to work on emails. He should go out and about, interact with the troops as it were, but he needed a bit of time to process Jim's threat and figure out how to work best."

Lorna spent a good part of the rest of the day too busy resisting the urge to kill her coworkers to be too worried about her comment about dinner. Either way, they'd both made it fairly clear that this - whatever this was - was happening, so she figured she couldn't have done too much damage. And if he hadn't liked it, he was always free to ignore it. She was careful to leave that open as an option to him at all times.

He worked hard for the rest of the day, doing his best to stay in control and focused, and for the most part succeeding. The work helped to distract him from the starving ache in his arm.

At half past six he pulled out his cell phone, stared at it for a bit, the texted a single word.

Dinner?

Lorna was honestly surprised that he'd gotten back to her on that. She was shocked that he'd responded positively.

I'm a block from that really good restaurant. Want me to get takeout? Btw, learned something interesting today. Might have to do with Jim. LH

He raised an eyebrow.

Sure. Get whatever, you know what I hate. And tell me when you get here. SM

Whatever it was, there was no reason to risk phones.

She snorted, slipping her phone back into her pocket. Yes, she did know what he hated. Weird, how many of his tastes she knew.

She was knocking on the door of his flat a half hour with a plastic bag of takeout containing curry goat and chana masala, figuring that it would be ill-advised to attempt to waltz in like she owned the place, even if it wasn't locked.

He opened the door a minute later. "Come on in. You want something to drink?" He closed the door behind her, heading for the kitchen. "Christ, that smells good."

"Water's fine, thanks," she said, following him in to place the bag on the table with a rustle. "And yeah, it does. I thought the cabby was going to ask for a bite on the way here. I was tempted to just grab a bite in the car myself," she chuckled, pulling the takeout from the bag and setting the styrofoam containers down on the table.

He grabbed a couple of forks from the drying rack and tossed them her way, coming over a moment later with two glasses of water. "So. What's this about Jim?"

She sat down at her usual place at the table, prying open the takeout container with a grimace at the sound it made. "Ever since we've been back - and I've been in good enough condition to work - I've been having a list sent to me every few days of people leaving and entering the country. After DeWitt, I thought it would be a good idea to keep track of any of my old... problems. Anyway, I put those people through a filter and go through the remaining names manually. I put Moriarty on the filter just.. because, really. And it's not exactly an unusual name... but pictures come with those names. This old woman who came in through Heathrow a few days ago looks the spitting image of our boss."

His head snapped up from where he'd been pulling some of the curried goat onto a plate. "First name?" he asked immediately, eyes wide and eager.

"Siobhan. Like the most stereotypically Irish name ever," she rolled her eyes, giving herself a generous serving of food. There was still some weight she could stand to catch up on. "You're a little more excited about this than I expected, I'll admit."

"I need everything you have on her," he said, setting his food aside without much thought and running into the next room to grab his laptop, already opening as he headed back. "When exactly did she come in? Do you know the flight?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I can forward the list to you. Today's was pretty short, she's only like four down," she shrugged, leaning back in her chair so she could shimmy her phone out of her pocket, falling silent for a moment as she sent him the email. "There you go."

"Thank you," he muttered, absently taking a bite of food, eyes on the screen as he opened her email, immediately putting the picture into a tracking software plugged into the CCTV and their own systems. "I just hope she's still here..."

"The list is a day old, at most. She hasn't had much time to leave," she shrugged, beginning to dig into her food with relish, feeling like she'd earned it. It was always a pleasant surprise when she managed to do something 100% right.

"As I'm sure you've picked up, that's Jim's mother," Sebastian said distractedly through a mouthful. "He took out his father years ago, but he got his brain from her for the most part, and she's been evading him for years. She's outsmarted him on multiple occasions, so, as you can imagine, he loathes her."

"Damn," she said, around a mouthful of goat, "I didn't expect to be right. What are you planning on doing about this? You seem very suddenly busy."

"I'm going to bring her in," he said plainly, taking another bite of food, hardly tasting it, his focus entirely on tracking this woman down.

"Okay, well, let me know if you want help or something," she hummed, returning her full attention to her dinner. Her filters were turning out more useful than she'd ever thought they would.

He hummed his acknowledgment, taking a bite from a fork he didn't notice was mostly empty. "If I can bring her to Jim... I'll be back in his good books. Maybe I can get this damn schedule he's got for you canceled..." He glanced up. "By the way, you're going on a grand tour of your greatest hits next month. He's got you grifting in all sorts of old haunts. It's like he's trying to run you into someone you know. Which I think he is."

She groaned, setting down her fork and rubbing her eyes. "Shit. Great. What's that, then... Mostly Italy, maybe some Moscow, maybe a little France? Christ, I'm going to get recognized somewhere. Do you know if they're solo jobs?"

"About half of them. The other he's got goons on you. Outside men, I haven't cleared them, which is unprecedented and I despise it," he snapped, before taking a breath and returning his attention to his screen.

"Fuck, that's just outright mean," she hissed, grimacing down at her plate like it had personally done her wrong. "It looks like I'm going to have to make it clear to them that I can and will kill them. I'm not putting up with anyone's shit if they're outside the network. I'm not responsible for them."

He nodded in agreement, shoving his plate away and turning his attention in full to his work. "I've got CCTV of her leaving the airport... I'm trying to follow the car now."

She finished up her plate and then leaned back in her chair, figuring that if she got up to go hover over his shoulder he might not appreciate it. "I wonder what she does for a living. If it's anything like Jim's work, it can't be legal."

"Obviously," he snorted, eyes flicking back and forth across the screen. "I don't suppose you'd be up to grabbing your laptop and giving me a hand? The faster we find her, the better."

"Yeah, sure," she nodded, pushing back her chair and standing. "It's in my flat, let me go grab it."

He nodded, not looking up, still intent on his work. "Right, okay..."

She was gone and back in less than a minute, setting her laptop up on the table across from him, pushing her scraped-clean plate away. "Okay. You using the usual server?"

"No," he said, shoving a scrap of paper her way with scribbled instructions. "Go here. I don't want Jim knowing about this. Not until we succeed."

"Okay," she nodded, glancing over the paper once and following the directions. She'd never been on this server before, and she had to wonder where he'd gotten it. "Okay," she said again, when she was in. "What do you want me to look for?"

"I'm trying to trace her through CCTV right now. I want you to take a look at Heathrow, see if you can find any information regarding her departure. I want to know how much time we're working with..."

"Will do," she nodded, getting down to work and being vaguely glad she had bothered to learn computer skills when she'd first joined the network. It only took her about ten minutes to find the woman's departure flight. "She leaves in two and a half weeks. To Tangiers. Somehow not surprised that's where she lives. If she even lives there, I suppose."

"Two and a half weeks," he murmured, relieved. "That gives us time, then. Assuming she doesn't move the time up... We should still hurry..." He was speaking more to himself than anyone else. "Normally I'd be able to run an op like this without Jim asking, but with him looking over my fucking shoulder all the time I'm not sure."

She was silent for a moment, thinking. "I don't know if you can do it in the normal channels. Or with anybody else's help. Someone might say something, let something slip. I think you're going to have to solo it. I mean, I'll help of course, but I'm hardly a one-man army."

He nodded slightly in agreement. "I can do it solo, that isn't a concern. Just keeping in mind what my options are. Though I would definitely appreciate your help."

Lorna nodded, shutting her laptop and getting up to put the remaining takeout in the fridge before she grabbed their plates and took them to the sink to get washing. "Alright, well, you know where I live," she snorted. "I don't know how helpful I'll be, but I guess we'll see."

"I may need you to keep an eye on cameras, or drive a van, or grift someone, lots of things," he said, nodding. "This... This could make everything better, Lorna."

She shook her hands free of sudsy water and turned to lean against the counter. "Christ, I hope so. For both our sake's."

He nodded in agreement. "We need to make this work. Or he's going to get you killed."

"That's as good a motivation as any," she snorted, rubbing her forehead with her wrist in lieu of getting her face all wet. "God, he's such a sadist."

"He has his masochistic side, but for the most part, yes," he said absently.

"I couldn't care less about his masochistic side unless he's planning on throwing himself into life-threatening danger," she muttered bitterly, drying her hands off on a towel and moving to sit again in her chair, huffing. "I feel like we've had a shitty enough month as it is."

"I couldn't agree more, personally," he sighed, then leaned forward. "Hold up... I think I've got her." He clicked a few times and smiled. "I do. I've got her. Staying at the Milestone Hotel, looks like. She arrived there and her luggage was brought in. Now it's just a matter of finding her room."

"She flew coach, so I wouldn't bother with any of the more expensive rooms. If you can afford the penthouse you're damn certain you're not going to pass up first class," she shrugged slightly, with the air of someone who had flown on semi-public airplanes enough times to get sick of being crammed in the small space provided. "Good work, though. How long did that take you, fifteen, twenty minutes? No wonder you're paid so much."

He smirked a little. "Thank God for the good ol' CCTV. Five million cameras in London alone, on the low end of the estimate."

"I can't believe so few of them are even the slightest bit protected, too. And people wonder how crime keeps such a tight hold," she rolled her eyes. It didn't need to be said how atrocious the police were, either. "What are you planning to do with this woman, anyways, abduct her from her hotel?"

"About the gist of it, yes," he said, nodding and looking over at her. "Bring her in to Jim wrapped up with a bow."

She chuckled. "Alright, then. Simple enough. I doubt it will be our hardest job. I'd say the most challenging thing will be doing it without manpower. Also, by the way, when we do bring her in... feel free not to mention my involvement. I really don't need any more attention from Jim."

He glanced over at her. "This would be good attention, you know," he pointed out. "I'm expecting this to go over very, very well..."

She sighed, thumbing at a scratch on the table that looked a lot like it had been made with a hunting knife. "I know. But still... I rather just fly under the radar. Anyway, if he only thinks it's you he can't try to give the credit to someone else. If he's happy with me I still have to deal with his issues with you," she shook her head, making a face. "I rather you just got the boost. Then it's uncomplicated."

"That's fair, I suppose," he said with a nod, sitting back for a moment and rubbing a hand over his face. "I think I'm going to walk over. Do a little recon."

"Okay," she shrugged, "Try not to look too shady. If you want me to cover up your scars for you, let me know. We have a pretty impressive range of concealers in this building."

"I'm just going to be observing from the building across the street. If I can do anything, Harrison, it's scope a place out." He rolled his eyes, smirking.

She chuckled. "Yeah, alright, point taken. I'm going to grab a shower, I'm fairly certain I have smoke in my clothes. Don't ask."

"Did they set another fucking thing on fire?" he asked, closing the laptop and standing, heading for his room to change clothes and grab his rifle and scope.

She groaned, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah," she called after him. "I didn't even ask how. I gave Kane a few stitches though. Five thousand pounds worth of damage. You don't fuck around with designer clothes. Idiot."

"You know, you complain that you would never want my job, but fuck if I'd go anywhere near yours," he called as he changed.

"You're not cut out for my line of work, anyway," she laughed, pushing back her chair and standing to stretch, back cracking. "You have a decent sense of style but you could never do all the sucking up."

"Very true," he snorted, walking back into the room in blackouts, with a backpack over his shoulder and a green jacket that he would remove once he arrive, to make him look less suspicious on the walk over.

She gave him a cursory glance of appreciation - how could she not - and rolled her shoulders, trying to get a knot out, which she strongly suspected was caused by the ever-growing concern of fucking fires in the damn building. "Have a fun time sitting on a roof. Maybe bring gloves, it's a bit nippy outside."

"Yes mum," he said, rolling his eyes, though he pulled a pair out of his back pocket, waving them and shoving them back. "I'll be back in a few hours, probably. If you want to stay."

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek and managing not to look surprised, or apprehensive, or like she was certain an anvil was going to spontaneously poof into existence just above her head. "Okay. I probably will, I mean, I don't really have a reason to go back to my place," she shrugged, somewhat casually.

"Right. See you then, then," he said, adjusting the backpack and heading for the door. Ten minutes later he was on the street, heading for the tube.

She probably stood there for another five minutes, wondering how the hell this had ever happened. God, they were becoming domestic. And she didn't even care.

He didn't get back until well past midnight, but when he did, he was victorious. He pushed into the apartment, closing the door behind him, and heading immediately for his laptop. "Harrison, I've fucking got her."

She'd been brushing her teeth in the bathroom, and with her flinch she'd nearly taken an eye out, but she appeared in the living room a moment later looking no worse for wear in her pajamas. "Found her, then? Good. Does she look capable of putting up a fight when you inevitably stuff her into the back of a van?"

"Hardly," he snorted. "She's not exactly chipper. I'd imagine she's sharp as a knife mentally but Jim seems to get his lack of healthy bodily regard from her. She's tiny and practically skeletal. I won't have any problems."

"She can't be very tall if she's anything like Jim. God, though, don't ever tell him I said that," she winced, walking over to the sofa and falling back into the cushions gracelessly. "Anyway, I'm exhausted and I was just about to turn in before you came back."

"Right, fine. Go ahead, I'll be there soon," he said absently, waving her off as he continued typing rapidly. "I'm just going to finish this."

"Alright," she yawned, getting up again, although with a little less momentum, quietly pondering how easy this suddenly was for them, and within a minute she was crawling into her usual side of the bed.

How long is this going to last before he pulls back again?

Christ, just keep your fucking mouth shut, it'll be fine. Literally just don't bring it up. I mean it.

He worked far longer than he expected, not heading to bed for several hours. Finally, however, he couldn't plan any further and pulled his laptop shut, heading for his bedroom, rubbing at his eyes. He pulled off his blackouts, not bothering to get into pajamas, just climbing into bed in his pants and curling up next to Harrison.

She only woke up enough to register that he was there and a good source of warmth to cuddle up with before passing back out, having decided hours ago that she would just enjoy this for as long as he let her.

Despite going to bed late, he woke early. He had work to do today, a lot of it, and he wanted to finish early enough to scope out the hotel again tonight, try to gain a sense of schedule. He left Lorna sleeping and rolled out of bed, heading for the shower.

The sound of the water running woke her up, and despite the fact she'd nabbed several more hours of sleep than him, she was far groggier. She shuffled out of bed and into the living room, collapsing in an armchair with her laptop. Oh, joy, the schedule for her upcoming dangerous missions was in her inbox.

He stepped out a few minutes later, looking crisper than he had recently. Not that he hadn't been cleaned and shaved to military precision before, but now there was something in his expression that had been missing, and he gave her a grin as he tied his tie. "Time to give them hell."

"Maybe after a cup of coffee," she muttered, rubbing her eyes as she looked down at the list that was probably foreshadowing her early death. She glanced back up at him. "You look lively. Try n' hold onto that."

"I don't plan on losing it," he said, grinning. "I feel back on my game for the first time in months." He pulled on his shoulder holster, than his jacket.

She smiled slightly, despite her sinking mood at the proof of her impending doom in front of her. It was nice seeing him honestly happy for once. "You're welcome," she smirked, shutting her laptop because she didn't really want to soak in that much fear at once. "I expect a lot of brownie points for this."

"So many brownie points, Harrison. You've no idea. I might actually make you fucking brownies," he smirked. "Alright. I've got to go. Talk to you later." And he was out the door, not bothering to ask himself why he was so free to act however he liked around her. The moment he stepped outside, his smile dropped, and he was all business again, on high alert as he passed O'Hare's door and headed into the elevator to go down and walk among the troops.

Lorna sagged as he left, letting out a long breath. It wasn't that she didn't believe in him, but there wasn't much he could do to keep her alive in most of these situations. She was going to fuck up, or one of the goons assigned to her was. So she spent the better part of her morning arranging her affairs.

He made it through most of the morning before the lack of sleep caught up to him like a train, and he had little choice but to head back to his apartment for some coffee before he dozed off on his feet. He was used to lack of sleep, but that didn't mean that caffeine didn't help. He keyed in, noticing Harrison's laptop out and playing music, and the bathroom door shut. He headed for the kitchen, pouring himself a mug and sighing, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip. He glared out of the corner of his eye as the song on the laptop changed to something loud and at odds with his headache, and headed over to shut it up for the time being, or at least change to something more tolerable. "Harrison, you've got bloody poor taste in music," he called towards the bathroom, sitting down and trying to find what window was playing music. The search was forgotten a moment later, however, and he frowned, reading.

"Only when you're not around," she snorted, walking out of the bathroom drying her hands on her shirt and only making it a few steps into the living room before stopping, taking a bit of a quick breath. "Uh. That's not an invasion of privacy or anything. How about we just.. give that right on back to me."

"No such thing as privacy. I'm your employer, this is a company laptop." He looked up at her, expression unreadable. "Care to explain all of this?"

"I've got a lot of stuff, believe it or not, and some of it is worth a sizable amount of money," she sighed, keeping her voice tactful and polite, worried about stepping on some landmine. "As much as I trust you - with my life, I'd add - I'm not great on the whole blind faith thing. If the boss really wants to hurt you through me, he's going to succeed. I thought it was better not to... leave it to chance, I guess. Anyways, if that bastard does end up getting me killed, I'm not letting all my shit go to the network by default. I'm a little spiteful, sue me."

He turned his attention back to the laptop, nodding just a little. His jaw was tight, nostrils flared a little, but he shouldn't be angry and he knew it. It made sense. He had his affairs in order, had for years. They didn't lead easy lives. So the fact that this was bothering him so much was pathetic. He stood, then, picking up his coffee and heading for the door. "You'd better leave me something good," he snorted, before pulling the door shut behind him a bit louder than necessary.

She flinched despite herself, and walked a bit tensely back to the couch to pull her laptop back into her lap, feeling just the slightest bit nauseous. He hadn't looked happy with that. Ironically enough, with his last statement, she'd already been planning to leave most of her estate to him. Who else? She didn't have any family left, and no real friends to speak of. There was just... no one else.

He spent the rest of the day in an odd mixture of anticipation and fury. It was incredibly motivating. He didn't go back to his flat for dinner, instead picking up a sandwich on his way to watch the hotel. He didn't want to come across Harrison until he'd had time to sort his head out.

He used the few hours on the cold roof- (he'd forgotten his gloves and took pleasure blaming Lorna for it, even if it was nowhere close to her fault)- to settle his mind and figure out what the hell was going on. By the time he headed back for the flat, cold and tired, he'd decided he wouldn't bring it up unless she did.

When she'd decided for certain that he wasn't going to eat with her - and she goddamn wasn't going to text him and ask - she'd eaten a rather disappointing dinner in the staff lounge and then headed back to his flat - and also, when he'd added her into the electronic key, she had no clue - and finished up her task for the day before setting the laptop on the table in plain view and heading for bed. If he wanted to look, he was welcome to, but she wasn't all that keen on trying to bring it up. She was terrified of shattering this peace they were in. She was curled up in bed in the dark, just quietly thinking over the situation when she heard him come in again, and she remained silent. No point in saying anything. Nonverbal communication was always easier with him, anyways.

He saw the laptop sitting out, and stared at it for a moment, before walking over to close it. He stared at the lid for a long time, hands clasped, before he pulled a piece of paper off of the end table and a pen out of his pocket.

Not my business. Sorry for before. Was dissatisfied with the prospect and frustrated by the situation.

Then he stared at that for a long time, too, trying to decide whether or not to leave it there. But eventually he was cold and tired, and didn't care anymore. He stood, pulling his clothes off as he walked into his room and turned out the lights behind him. He pulled on pajamas and crawled into bed, curling up against Harrison's warm body.

She turned and wrapped herself around him as much as she was able when he was so much damn taller than she was, going for quiet reassurance and being pretty sure she'd nailed it. She fell asleep a few minutes later not even bothering to try and deny the warm feeling in her chest. He cared, and that was all that really mattered right now.

He was surprised at the sudden hug, but relaxed after a moment, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He could relax when she was here, in his arms, where he knew he could protect them both if need be. He fell asleep quickly.

A week and a half later, she was making eggs in the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn, Sebastian pouring himself a mug of coffee to her side. He was functioning, as usual, and she was not. Christ, she hated mornings. But it would have been impolite at the least to be grouchy towards him, considering that even with passing time, he'd hardly ever been an ass. It was shocking, but it was worth silently rewarding. Hell, it was pleasant to just be around him, instead of the normal painful-but-inevitable way she followed him around. "You say something about a plan last night? I was exhausted, I'm not sure if I made it up or not."

"Yes," he said, nodding and taking a long sip of the black coffee. "I'm doing it tonight. She's ordered a private car to take her to dinner, and she's dining alone. Her security is laughable. It's going to be easy."

She shook her head, leaving the egg's in God's hands and sitting down tiredly at the table, rubbing at the circles under her eyes. She was starting to strongly suspect she had an iron deficiency, although she'd gained most of her previous weight back. It would explain her constant feeling of a lack of sleep. Unless she had mono. "What does that woman even do for a living? Obviously she makes enough money to be able to hire these people, but.." she shook her head, sighing. "I just hope we're not going to be pissing off a bigger corporation. I've looked, but I can't trace her to anything. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"I assure you that Jim will be happy to help in tying up any loose ends once we've got her. The trick is getting her," he said, sighing as she abandoned the eggs and walking over to keep an eye on them. "She's clever. I think she's just off-guard. Jim's supposedly dead, after all."

"True," she yawned, shrugging mildly. "And I suppose Jim doesn't have any siblings. Or, if he did, they're dead now, so she doesn't exactly have to worry about them. If Jim was a bird he would totally have pushed the other chicks out of the nest."

He nodded in agreement. "I've been getting almost everything I need to do today done earlier this week, so I'll be leaving around 2 pm. I should be back before midnight."

"Text me if you need help or something. But I'm probably going to be making Kelly eat spiderwebs in the basement as punishment, so if you don't really need help I'm just going to enjoy my day," she snorted, a little vindictively. She'd come up with a list of creative punishments for accidents in her department. How else were they going to learn to be more careful?

"Thanks," he said, nodding and pulling on his coat. "If I'm not back by midnight maybe be a bit concerned."

"I'll probably come looking for you. We'll see how I feel," she teased, standing and getting herself a plate of partially burned eggs. "But you'll probably be good. You get caught a lot less often when I'm not there."

"Unfortunately, I think that's true," he smirked, eating quickly. "Alright, I'll see you later," he said, heading for the door.

"Bye. Don't let her cut you. I like your face with its current amount of scars," she hummed, lifting a hand to wave after him and leaning in her chair to snag the newspaper off the counter. She never got too worked up about him going off alone. He was a fucking wraith, for god's sake.

He finished the last few administrative duties quickly, and informed his underlings of his departure just before lunch. Then it was just a matter of a quick walk to his office to get his backpack, and then he was down to the garage, the new chauffeur groveling appropriately as he led Moran to one of the black limos and handed him the keys. By quarter of two, he was on the road.

She spent her day as planned - handing out a few lowly assignments and forcing Kelly to eat any and all spiderwebs he came across in the basement, inhabited or not. She checked, too. She followed him. Morale was significantly lowered, but the fearful tiptoeing had tripled, so she thought it might be an even trade.

He pulled up in front of the hotel at precisely eight o'clock in the company rental car. The uniform had been a bit difficult, but luckily enough the driver had had fairly broad shoulders, so he'd managed to get the coat on at least, and the hat was no problem. The rest wasn't as necessary. His own bloodied clothes were stuffed in the boot of his limo a few streets down, along with the driver's body, wrapped in a garbage bag, awaiting disposal.

He exited the car smoothly, walking around to open the door for Mrs. Moriarty with a polite "Ma'am," and a nod. Her security looked him over suspiciously, but he kept his head bowed and they didn't pause, sitting into the car beside her. He shut the door, walking around and climbing in, shifting into gear and starting to drive.

The car had tinted windows, and it had been an easy thing to cut down the door lock pins so that when he locked the doors, there was nothing to do in the back to unlock them. The driver shield had been closed and caulked. Two minutes into the drive, the gas canister in the back released, and after some furious banging, all fell silent.

He smiled and made the turn towards his vehicle, white gloves pale against the dark leather of the steering wheel.

Jim got the message about an hour after eating dinner. It had, of course, been a little late, but he knew it was better than no dinner at all, so he didn't feel too unhealthy about it. Any negative feelings he might have had, were, of course, completely eradicated as he was told who was being held in one of the basement rooms. He may or may not have jogged to the lift.

Sebastian was waiting at parade rest just outside the lift, and started walking with his employer immediately as he exited.

"She's sedated at the moment, sir, but I can bring her up as soon as you would like."

"Excellent. I have no idea how you pulled this off, but I'm very pleased, Moran. For fuck's sake, I'd stopped looking for her. I think both of us can assume I got my brains from her, considering how many years ago I offed my father," he smirked, looking the picture of nonchalance, despite the fact he felt like Christmas had come around eleven months early. "You can bring her out of it. There's nothing we can do to her while she's under that will bother her in the slightest."

He nodded in agreement, standing tall and proud but accepting the praise with silent nods. There was no need to push it. He entered the cell where the woman was strapped down, two of his best men in the room guarding her. He pulled a capped syringe from where it had been waiting in his pocket and prepared it as he walked over, sinking it with expert hands into her forearm and watching as, a few moments later, she started stumbling into awareness.

Jim stood directly above her, making sure that the first thing she saw when she came to would be him. Really, he was the most frightening thing he could think of. "Hello, Mother," he grinned snidely, "Surprise."

Her eyes focused slowly on her son, but didn't widen or turn away, taking him in with the interest she might lend to an ugly spot on an old sweater. "James," she said, her accent far thicker than her son's. "So you did fake your death then. I suspected. It wasn't a completely idiotic plan, however dull and unoriginal."

"It's hard to convince the police to believe you're dead if you, didn't, oh, fake your own death," he rolled his eyes, turning to Moran and gesturing down at his mother like 'do you see what I have to do with?' and then brightening up again. "Honestly, it doesn't matter to me what you think. It hasn't for a very, very long time. Maybe when I was six. I don't remember the exact date I decided to kill the both of you, either. I guess that plan is coming to fruition, isn't it? Honestly, you got sloppy, didn't you? Coming to my city? What on earth were you thinking?"

She gave a cold smile. "If you're going to kill me James, then do it. All of this blustering on is far from impressive. If you don't care what I think, then why the theatrics?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "I care what I think, silly. I can't waste this. Father died relatively slow, you know. I assume you do, I never checked to see if they identified his body when it washed up. He didn't really look like how he does in his driver's license when I was through. But you," he tapped her on the nose, "You're not quite the brute he was. I don't think we'll go that path with you. Moran, I assume you know where the language center is in the brain. Get rid of hers. She won't need it," he grinned down at her, winking once. He knew what his mother feared. Of course he did. He would chip away at her bit by bit until she didn't remember who she was, and then he'd kill her.

"Of course, sir," he said, nodding and smiling. "Any preferred method? I was thinking a drill and a hot scalpel."

The woman did not flinch, but her face drew just a bit tighter, as did her grip on the arm of the chair.

"Oooh, I like the sound of that," he chuckled, turning to Moran and clapping his hands together once in excitement before dramatically gesturing to the woman. "Have at it. Do try not to sneeze, I can't have her infected before the fun really begins."

"Of course, sir. Though, as long as we keep the infection in check, it could add an element of fun, boss," Moran pointed out with a smile, walking over to pick up a head clamp from the table in back to hold Jim's mother's head in place as he worked. "I've always been a fan of fever-induced hallucinations."

"Tempting, but I think we'll save that for a few steps down the road. If she dies before I get to have my fun, I'll be pissed, and I don't think anyone here really wants that," Jim replied casually, watching with hawk-like intensity as his mother's head was secured to the table. Oh, he'd waited so long for this. And to think he'd just, given up. That would teach him.

Moran secured the woman's head to the side, picking up a knife and cutting away the hair over where he wanted to enter, shaving the skin mostly clean and using the knife to cut away around the area where he would drill through. Siobhan drew in a sharp breath, teeth grit, but otherwise didn't make any sound, which the sniper found amusing. He liked it even better when she did let out a soft moan of pain as he cauterized the wound with a scalpel heated over his lighter.

Jim just stood there, hands resting in his pockets, his face a mask of polite interest. He'd been planning on killing his parents by the time he was ten, but the means had been a little beyond his reach at that point in time. So he'd waited, and he'd bided his time, and finally he would be able to scrape this last remnant of his past out of the gutter and utterly destroy it.

Moran wasted no time in marking his incisions and preparing the drill, getting a final nod from Jim before he turned the device on, heading back over to the woman. She glanced at Jim for a moment, and there was a flash of uncertainty. "James... I'm sure I can be of use somehow. Why don't we work out a deal."

"Oh, mother," he laughed, shaking his head. "No, there's nothing you can give me. There's nothing I want from you. All I want is to see you lose your head, bit by bit, inch by inch. When you're no longer the woman who neglected and tortured a young child, then I'll kill you. But you will spend the rest of your life in this room, and there's nothing you can do to stop that."

She sighed. "Very well. Though I'm surprised you let it bother you that much. I always thought you were too smart to let emotions affect you. Disapp-"

She was cut off by her own teeth clamping together as Sebastian began drilling into her skull. A moment later a scream of pain worked its way through her pursed lips, face contorted in agony as she pulled against her restraints, neck tense.

"I wouldn't try to move too much," Jim advised calmly, just loud enough to be heard over the drill. "You don't want to him to hit something else, do you? Moran, if you do, I won't hold you responsible. This is too much fun."

"Thank you, sir," he said with a smirk, not minding at all the splatter of blood and bone shards that was peppering his suit. He cut through the skull and started moving sideways, outlining a plate of bone to remove to do his work. The woman screamed fully now, but ceased struggling quite so much, body trembling.

Jim lifted his arm, twitching his sleeve back from his wrist. "Hm. This isn't a fast process. Come and get me when she looks alert again, considering she won't be speaking. Do what you will in the meantime."

"Will do, sir," he said, nodding but not glancing up, concentration on not killing the woman under his drill. "Let me know if you need me for anything in the meantime."

"I always do," was all that he said in return, already stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him, the sound of the drill becoming more a muffled drone than an insisting whine. What a truly fantastic day this was turning out to be.

It took another half hour to finish drilling into the bone, with him taking breaks every time the woman got close to passing out to ensure that she remained conscious. He kept her aware for as long as he could while removing her Bracus region, but there was only so much you could do to prevent someone from passing out while you dug around in their brain with a red-hot scalpel.

An hour later he texted the boss. It's done and she's starting to wake back up. - SM

He didn't reply. If he was going to be anywhere in less than ten minutes, he never did. He was down in seven. "How's my dear mother doing?" he gushed, walking over to the table with a insincere smile. There was quite a lot more blood and brain matter on the premises than there had been when he'd left. "Are you ready for the next step?"

The next few days weren't fun. For his mother, that was. It was so satisfying to watch that bitch slip away each time they tapped into her skull. Three days later, and they'd gone through pretty much anything that made a person a person and not a living, breathing husk of flesh. He'd saved long-term memory for last. It was the majority of who she was, after all. He was almost disappointed to come back and find her so suddenly gone, and regretted not staying to watch. He stood over the breathing corpse with a glass of bourbon in hand, contemplating. "Okay. Shoot her. Nothing left to torture now." He smiled slightly. "Distribute her into the Thames in pieces, if you would, Moran. This is a good first step, Sebastian. Don't blow it."

He nodded, pulling his pistol out and raising it, before glancing over at Moriarty. "Do you want to do the honors, sir?" he asked, offering the gun in his employer's direction.

He shrugged. "Why not?" he hummed, handing his glass to Moran in exchange for the gun, leveling it carefully at Siobhan Moriarty's head, and squeezed the trigger, no nonsense necessary. "Thank you, Sebastian, this was sooo fun. I'll be in my office the rest of the day, if you require me," he grinned, trading the glass and the gun again and raising it in the sniper's direction as he headed for the door. "Cheers!"

He nodded as Jim walked out the door, and set to work cleaning up.

Three hours later he'd disposed of the body the way Moriarty had requested, and had cleanup dealing with the cell. It was getting late anyway, so he headed for the apartment, exhausted but happy.

Lorna was on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees, wearily working through a list of all the different mafia's she'd been in contact with, and trying to remember which ones would be pissed to see her again, when he came in. "If you're covered in brains again please wash your hands before even coming within five feet of me. You know how I feel about brains. Eeuugh." She shuddered.

"I cleaned up," he sighed, walking over to sit next to her. "It's finished. She's done with. Jim's thrilled."

"Oh, good," she hummed, giving up on her project for the moment and shutting the laptop lid. "I kinda thought he'd draw it out more than this. Oh well, just means I don't have the urge to jump up onto the furniture like I've seen a spider when you come back," she chuckled, leaning back into the cushions and massaging her forehead.

He nods a little, glancing over at her. "I'm going to ask him tomorrow to change your itinerary. I don't know if he'll do it, but I'm going to ask."

She tried not to wince, and only partially succeeded. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. I already noticed that a particularly high risk job's just gone... missing, I don't really want to risk it reappearing," she sighed, shrugging a little. "Thank you, though. Really."

He growled in frustration. "That's all this is worth? I bring in his mother and he takes you off one damned job? This is fucking ridiculous."

"To be fair, that was the job that prompted the whole 'time to make a will' thing. I was pretty certain that one was going to kill me. Waaayy too many people there who want me dead. Not to mention, Vatican Fucking City. That place is just so much bad luck for me," she muttered, scrunching up her nose at the memories. "Probably all the sinning..."

"I don't care. I did something he'd given up on. James fucking Moriarty had given up and I did it!" He put his head in his hands, gripping at his hair and taking a few slow breaths, gritting his teeth before trying to calm. "Fine..." he sighed finally. "Fine. I just keep at it, then."

She shifted until she was leaned against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Now that they seemed to have a tacit agreement about... well, living together, she felt she could be a little less shy with the physical affection. Only in the flat, of course. She wasn't stupid enough to try and hold his hand or some shit in the middle of the lobby, despite her deliberations on whether or not an appearance of a united front would make them more or less threatening to their coworkers. "I don't know what can top this," she sighed, frowning slightly. "Oh, Christ. What's the one thing guaranteed to grab Jim's attention for months on end? We better start trying to find some dirt on Holmes. It's going to take a while, though."

"Fuck Holmes," he growled, reaching up to rub at his eyes, before sighing. "No, no, it's a good idea, just... frustrated. I was so sure this was going to work." He shifted a little, wrapping an arm around her to be more comfortable.

"Jim's got an enormous stick up his ass, it's not as if you haven't been trying," she scoffed, and then considered crossing herself just in case he somehow found out she said that. "Things will get better. It's not as if, recent circumstances notwithstanding, they can get all that worse."

He tried not to laugh at the stick-up-the-ass comment, and groaned slightly at the knock on the door, half tempted to ignore it. "Who the hell is it?" he grumbled, standing up and heading to the door, yanking it open. Kelly was standing there, looking very uncomfortable and holding a bottle of scotch. "This is from the boss, sir," he said, holding it out. Moran raised an eyebrow and took the large, sealed bottle of, he could now see, very nice liqueur, and glanced at the tag covered in Jim's tight handwriting.

Enjoy with Harrison. Ban lifted. Don't make me regret it.

"Thanks, Kelly," he said absently, closing the door without looking up and heading over to Harrison. "Check out what the boss sent."

Lorna seriously had to stop herself from shouting something biting about spiderwebs from her place on the couch as she recognized Kelly's voice, and then he was back and trying to hand her a bottle of scotch, and she seriously had to stop herself from smacking the bottle out of his hand. "What the hell- Oh. Christ. Really? Oh my god, I'm getting glasses," she squeaked, practically teleporting into the kitchen she moved with such vigor.

He laughed. "Hold on, hold on, bring a spare glass and don't drink any yet," he called, heading into his room and returning with a small black kit, sitting down and opening the bottle. When she returned he poured a half a finger into one of the glasses, and opened the kit, starting to drip various liquids into the scotch, watching for color changes or other reactions. After a few moments, he nodded. "Not poisoned. Drink away."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, not that I don't admire your caution, I do, but why would he poison us?" she sighed, filling her glass up a quarter of the way and then pushing it towards him, not sure how much he wanted. She was going to have to start slow, despite what her body was telling her. Don't be an idiot, you've been completely dry for months, you have less tolerance now. "Unless you mean Kelly, in which case I find it more believable. I don't think he's forgiven the spiderweb thing. Well I haven't forgiven the five thousand pounds and the ruined fucking Gucci, so he can eat a dick."

He laughs. "The day I'm not cautious is the day I die," he snorted. Then "Oh, Christ, I sound like a fucking fortune cookie." He rolled his eyes, picking up the glass and considering it for a moment before taking a long, slow sip. He almost let out a groan of pleasure. "Fuck, this is good stuff. Not that I would care, but fuck, this is good stuff."

Now she had to taste hers, if he was going to endorse it so strongly. So she did, and immediately found herself agreeing with him. "God, what a way to get back on the wagon. This must have cost a fortune," she whistled, sinking back into the couch and giving in to that urge to groan, raising up her glass to look at the warm amber liquid through the light. "Even if it was poisoned, I wouldn't even care. I can die happy."

He laughed, enjoying the drink, taking his time. "Christ... not what I was hoping for, but at least he's in a good mood," he sighed. He took a slow sip.

"I'm so relieved I don't have to be dry anymore. It's so much easier to forget a worse vice when you have a smaller one to comfort you," she chuckled, leaning against the arm of the couch and settling in for a good drinking session. If she was really lucky, she wouldn't even say anything she'd regret.

He smirked, poking her with his foot. "Avoiding me all of a sudden now that your friend the booze is back?" he muttered, rolling his eyes and finishing off his glass, leaning over to pour another.

"You know we're going to end up in the same bed," she snorted, throwing back the rest of hers with a slight hiss and waiting her turn to pour herself a new one. "But if you really can't stand being so far from my crazy awesome body, I'll go back over there. Only once I get more booze, though, I'm still thinking about the brains. Blleegghgh!"

"Oh shut up," he muttered. "Wimp. There weren't even that many brains today. Just a bit. And I've showered." He sat back now that he had a glass in him, sighing as the warmth of it started to melt into his system.

"I'm good with almost everything splatter-able the human body has to offer, but not brains. I don't like the idea of somebody's personality flecked all over me," she smirked, sipping at her significantly more full glass, deciding to throw caution to the wind. She stretched out slightly, resting her feet in his lap. "I'm just kidding, anyway. We both know I've fucked you under much worse circumstances. Really don't want to talk about that job, though, actually, so forget I brought it up."

He almost snorted scotch, laughter catching him by surprise. "I'll endeavor to, but now all I'm thinking about is your tits and they're very difficult to get off the mind..." he teased.

She laughed. "As long as we don't have to talk about that fiasco, you can think about my tits all you like. I don't blame you, they're pretty unforgettable. What would my job success rate be without them? Thirty percent lower? More? Too bad that accountant we had was a mole, I could ask him and then watch him struggle to keep his eyes on my face."

"Are you asking him shirtless, or not?" he asked, observing her over his glass. "I feel like that would tilt the outcome."

"I was thinking more like, a catsuit. Not that I have one, but I'm thinking maybe I should get on that. I think I could pull off a catsuit," she hummed, looking honestly thoughtful for a minute before shrugging and chugging half her drink.

"Catsuit, definitely. Definitely behind the catsuit. Physically behind you in the catsuit, admiring your arse. And if you're just looking to get shit-faced, stop drinking the good stuff once it doesn't matter, will you? There's decent stuff in my safe I can retrieve."

She chuckled, giving a one-armed shrug so she didn't have to lift her glass from where it was resting on her half-horizontal chest. "Eh, stop me before I get shit-faced. My liver can't handle the shock, I really should ease into it. I'll settle for mildly drunk."

He nodded in agreement, smirking a little and taking another sip. "So it's not a mission cancellation, but it's progress."

"I'll take progress. I'll take pretty much anything at this point," she shrugged good-naturedly, working on her glass a little more slowly. "I should probably keep a journal or something. A month from now I'll think I have it bad, and then I can read up on how much shit I went through."

He laughed at that, nodding and pulling his feet up onto the couch, sitting cross-legged. "We've been through hell. Everything after this will be sunshine and daisies in comparison," he grunted.

"Sh sh shh, don't jinx it, the sunshine will give us melanoma and the daisies will turn out to be carnivorous," she grinned, amused by the way he loosened up once he had a few drinks in him. Hardly ever did he look comfortable.

"Oh, there it is, she's gone cynical, it's all over now," he said with a grin, half-toasting her with his glass. "The walls have crumbled."

"Please, if I was optimistic you would get so irritated," she laughed into her scotch, of which the fumes were strong enough to knock out a large, hoofed mammal. "I'm just the right amount of realism and sass. Not to mention some spectacular genes, but I digress."

"Sorry, was that g-e-n-e or j-e-a-n? Because I've never seen you in the latter but I can imagine, and I think I'd have to agree on both, whichever you meant." He smirked.

"Ha ha, you're a real comedian when you have hard liquor in front of you, you know that?" she rolled her eyes and making a sound of amusement into her glass. "And I only wear the latter on very special occasions. Ask nicely and I'll break them out sometime. Only if you don't cut them off. I feel like that's something you would do."

"Pretty please?" he asks with a smirk, batting his eyes mockingly. "I promise not to tear them to shreds, or even rip them a little."

"You're a big fat liar," she snorted, lips curled up with amusement as she leaned over to top off her beverage. "But I suppose I can make an exception. When's your birthday? Or is that classified?"

"Definitely classified," he said with a nod. "But if I'm following your line of thinking, it's tomorrow," he added with a wink.

She laughed, prodding his side with her toes. "Yeah, right. Even if it was, you're going to be too hungover tomorrow to appreciate it anyway. Hey, do you know when Jim's birthday is? I wonder how close you got with his mother."

"I don't know," he smirked, shrugging. "Boss never told me. Fuck, though, lucky bastard. If you can get my father in for my birthday I'll be impressed."

"Why, your dad a right bastard too?" she hummed, making herself a bit more comfortable with her feet pressed against his warm side. She herself had had a rocky relationship with her father. Or maybe, an almost absent relationship. She didn't remember him very well, but from what her mother told her, he'd been a hit man. Lorna hadn't a clue whether or not he was still alive, and she had no urge to find out either way. She'd killed most of her family, accidental or not, anyway.

He shrugged a bit. "He was just never around," he said, taking a long drink of the scotch. "My mom left when I was a kid and from the point that I was old enough to... I don't know, walk, maybe? He just left me alone. When I was way younger he used to lock me in a room with some toys and water and a plate or two of food. Didn't like the idea of paying for a nanny when I could 'take care of myself'." He made airquotes with his free hand, nose wrinkled.

"Christ, what the fuck was he thinking? Doing that to a child," she frowned, looking mildly disgusted. "I mean, my parents weren't the best in the world, but doing that? Makes me angry just thinking about it," she muttered, seriously fighting the urge to get up and try to hug him. "What an arsehole."

He glanced at her, amused at her indignation. "That's politics for you. But thanks to him I'm here and I'm self-sufficient, and he can go fuck himself," he sighed. "Just saying I wouldn't mind taking out a bit of my expertise on him. Seen his belt plenty, I'd be thrilled to show him mine."

She had to take a drink so she wouldn't be angry. Already she wanted to go out and find the man and put him in a hospital. "Politics? If it got out he did that to his own son he'd be in even more trouble than he already is. Actually, did he ever get convicted on the bomb thing?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. Why would he?" He examined his scotch, noting that he was saying much more than he should. "He's a fucking politician. He can get anything swept under the rug."

She sighed with lingering irritation, trying not to feel so violently about this. Literally violent, too. Moran was a bit like a dog in the way that she had to keep herself calm around him, or else he'd sense her fear or anger or whatever, and get defensive. "That's utter shite. You know, sometimes I think I joined the wrong class of criminals, just for job purposes. But fuck, do I love robbing those bastards blind. God, I hate them."

He laughed, looking at her over the rim of his glass. "Look'it you. You'd have steam coming out your ears if this was a cartoon." Then he sighed, tilting his head back smile fading just a bit. "Not going to say I don't hate 'im. I do. But I hate a lot of people. I went into the army just to piss him off, you know? Just had spearheaded a bill lowering support for the armed forces so I signed up the next day..." He laughed.

She raised her eyebrows at him, and finished off the rest of her scotch before responding, as if somehow it would give her a clearer head. "I can't imagine what you would'a turned out to be if he wasn't such a colos- colossal fuckwit," she snorted, setting the glass down a little heavily on the coffee table. Maybe this was why he was so contrary.

He laughed, face a touch redder than usual from the scotch. "Christ, can you imagine? I might've gone into politics, been one of those white collared, baby-face fuckers trying to increase welfare..."

"You would have been miserable," she snickered, half-reaching for her glass again and reminding herself that she should take it easy. For once in her life, she listened to that little voice that told her when she was ahead. "You would have been sweeping so much under the rug, oh my god."

He shrugged. "Eh... I probably would have been average... Whores, liquor, and the occasional murder. No worse than anyone else." He smirked.

"I was going to say something about strangled hookers in hotel rooms, but I guess I didn't have to," she joked, stretching out and arching off the couch just enough to crack her back. This was the best zone of drunk - the warm, comfortable happy one. It wouldn't last long, but it was nice.

He reached out to poke her exposed stomach, amused when she flinched. "How does it feel to drink once more?" he asked with a smirk.

"So fucking great," she hummed, wiggling her toes against his side on the off chance he was ticklish. "Christ, but I missed drinking. I remember the last few months far too clearly."

He rolls his eyes, grabbing one of her toes between his fingers and leveling a glare her way. "Do you like this toe?"

"Okay, so you are ticklish, I was wondering," she laughed, pulling her foot out of his grasp. "Either way, I've already broken a toe in the past, it's not that bad. Arms are so much worse I can hardly believe it."

He rolled his eyes, setting his empty glass to the side, deciding that he was probably done as well, at least for now. "You've grown complacent. I used to scare the shit out of you. Now where are we?" he sighed, mockingly mournful.

"You still strike plenty of fear into me, I'm just A) better at hiding it and B) have made my peace with it. You hold my life in your hands like a tiny, fragile little bird that left a bird-shaped imprint on your window. What happens to me happens," she shrugged, completely unbothered.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Apathy is so boring, but I suppose I'll have to live with it," he muttered, reaching out to tickle her side in revenge.

She let out a very embarrassing, completely undignified squeak and rolled off the sofa to escape, landing with a thump on her elbows, suddenly relieved he had a rug. "You see?" she said, partially into the carpet, since it took her a moment to flip over again in the confined space between the couch and the coffee table. "This is just another reason to be afraid of you. What you just heard leave my mouth never leaves this flat, deal?... Please?"

He leans over the edge of the couch, a shit-eating grin splitting his expression. "Hmmm... I'll have to think about it," he says, chuckling.

"Moran, c'mon, be cool," she groaned, sitting up and flopping back onto the couch, this time a little less horizontal and a little less within his reach. "Share anything else but that.. the noise, okay?"

He laughs. "No, no, I think I'll keep that one in the blackmail folder for now," he smirks, leaning back again.

"Christ, first the dares, now blackmail? You're basically going to own me for the rest of my life," she laughed, rubbing her reddened cheeks. "I'm gathering you're not big on the mercy, either."

"You're just picking that up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Besides. You're the one who proposed poker."

"There is no need to remind me of my folly, I know what I did," she chuckled, slouching down again, though curling her legs up to keep her feet safe. "Anyway, m' kinda drunk, I just say whatever the hell is on my mind first."

"Mmm... Well that's understandable. Careful about that tongue though, don't want to say something you regret in the throes of alcoholic ecstasy," he smirks.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I wouldn't call alcohol ecstasy. Maybe a numbing agent?" she suggested cheerfully, disobeying that voice in her head and turning to pour herself another quarter of scotch.

He raised an eyebrow, reaching out to grab the bottle when she was done and sealing it. "That's enough of that for now, I think," he snorts, setting it on the end table on his side, out of her reach.

"Okay, dad," she snorted, hiding her grin and taking a sip. She was perfectly aware how many times he'd used that one on her.

He rolled his eyes, tempted to tickle her again but deciding she probably would get pissed at him if he made her snort scotch. Instead, he stood, walking over to the kitchen. "I'm hungry. You want something?"

"Have you got anything involving chocolate?" she asked, getting up and following him, keeping her liquor close in-hand. "If not, I'll pass, because I suspect I might pass out in the next hour anyway."

He rolled his eyes, glancing over at her. "There's probably chocolate in the cabinet there, unless you ate it all. Don't pass out, that's no fun. I haven't gotten to drunk-fuck you yet."

"Way to make it sound cavalier," she muttered, already on her tiptoes rooting through the cabinet. Sometimes she could sense their height difference even when he wasn't there; he tended to store things all the way up to the top shelf. If she did that, she'd have broken something ages ago trying to get her stuff down. A moment later she held out a bar of chocolate, triumphant. "But because you have - what is this, German? - chocolate, I'll forgive you."

He smirked, digging through the fridge before pulling out leftover pizza and sticking a slice on a tray in the toaster oven. "Cavalier me and drunk me rarely overlap," he smirks, putting the rest back in the fridge.

"That's not ominous or anythin'," she said, leaning back against the counter and snapping herself off a square of chocolate. "Then again, half the things you say could be considered ominous."

"Only half? I'm slipping." He glanced over at her after a moment though, leaning back against the counter across from her. "I wouldn't ever take advantage of you, if you're worried about that. I was beyond furious about what that shit did to you."

"I... I wasn't," she cleared her throat, a little taken aback. She looked very suddenly interested about the piece of chocolate in her hand. "You- We do a lot of fucked up things in this line of work, but I don't think either of us is that... vile," she grimaced, glancing up at him briefly and then finding that too hard to maintain. She didn't like talking about this kind of thing, not if she could help it. Still. It was.. almost comforting to hear.

He could sense the tension and decided sarcasm was the best icepick. "Just eat your fucking chocolate and stop looking so pathetic, Harrison, would you?" he snorted, turning to pull his pizza out to give himself an excuse to look away, though it wasn't quite warmed up.

"Technically, it's yours," she muttered, doing as told anyways. She usually did, when it came to him. She cleared her throat, trying to become a little more normal. "Maybe 'legally' is the right term. I sure as hell didn't buy this."

He shrugged, turning back around, pizza in hand. "I gift it to you. There. Now it's yours," he smirked, taking a bit of food.

"Okay, fine, you've outwitted me," she rolled her eyes, chuckling. "But this is really good chocolate, again, so I really just can't be angry. What time is it, even? I've kinda lost track."

He glanced at the clock. "Bit past midnight," he said, taking another and frowning as a large bit of the cheese came with it.

She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth and turned to the coffee pot behind her. "Alright, I'm going to need some caffeine then, if you don't want me to be 'boring'. Chocolate has never kept me awake, strangely enough. Coffee, though... Don't let me sign up for any marathons when I have too much coffee."

"I'll keep that in mind," he mumbled through a mouthful of pizza. "Though a marathon might do you good. They're not awful."

"I do work out, believe it or not," she huffed, leaning against the counter again as the coffee machine started puttering behind her. "Sometimes my job requires a little fleeing. And usually I have to be in heels. Really not a good place to be out of shape."

"True," he acknowledged, shoving the rest of the pizza in his mouth and walking over to the sink to rinse off his hands as he chewed.

Not for the first time, Lorna was struck by how normal this had become. And it just got easier with time. That was something he probably wasn't entirely comfortable with. She got herself a mug and poured herself a cup of joe in silence, and then sighed. "Damn. If I hadn't been forced to stay dry I would totally have a flask right now."

"Boohoo," he snorted, drying his hands off. "Look, use the chance as best you can to at least keep things a bit more in control, will you? He'll ban you again if he has to, you know he will."

She raised her eyebrows at him over her mug. "You sure you want to go there? To the particular reason I ended up in that meeting? It certainly wasn't my drinking, I'll tell you that," she scoffed, rolling her eyes

"I'm not saying it was," he said, unruffled. "I'm just saying that now he's got the idea in his head, he'll be eager to reapply it."

"Yeah, alright, fine," she sighed. "Look, I'll try not to let it get to how it was. I have an addictive personality. It's a detriment."

"I'm fully aware of that," he said, nodding and walking over to grab a couple of glasses out of the cabinet, filling them with water and sliding one her way.

She dumped the dregs of her coffee in the sink - she drank coffee almost too fast - and took a sip of water. She wasn't thirsty anymore, but if she didn't drink it, she'd regret it tomorrow. "This was a surprising end to the day, I'll give it that."

"What, being allowed to drink again? Yes. Yes, it was." He sighed, leaning back against the counter and taking a long drink.

Lorna set her glass down on the counter with a shake of her head and moved to take his and set it down. "Alright, let's drunk-fuck, okay?"

And I've never played a fair game
I've always had the upper hand
But what good is intellect and airplay
If I can't respect any man
Yeah, I want to play a fair game

- Sia - Fair Game -