A week and a half later, Jim was pushing a file across the desk to Moran, who he'd let stand this time. He had noticed his discomfort before, and after having his mother delivered to him with a silk bow attached, he thought a break was in order. "You're going in without backup. You won't need it. This should be textbook."
He nodded, opening the file and starting to read through the details, before frowning just a little. "Not to disagree, boss... but, well, I'm disagreeing. They've increased security almost fifty percent in the last week alone... They know something's up."
"So what?" he laughed, shrugging. "This should be a cakewalk. And you'll have Harrison with you, to lie you out of trouble. You're welcome, by the way. I saw you practically climbing the walls when she went out a few days ago with those contractors. Did she tell you she broke one of the men's hands? You're a terrrrible influence. Go do the job. Have a little trust."
He grit his teeth slightly but didn't let the tension work its way onto his face. "Of course, sir. Thank you for the opportunity." He straightened, knowing better than to question Jim twice. "We'll be on route within the hour."
"Good. Update me when possible," he said shortly, turning his desktop monitor on. "Now shoo, daddy has to write a letter to that filthy Magnussen."
He nodded, heading for the door but frowning just slightly when he thought he saw Jim wince just slightly. "Sir, are you alright?"
Jim glanced at him, considering how much to say. This was, however infrequently incompetent, his bodyguard, and the man who had stopped him from dying on the roof of St. Bart's. "Headache. The screen makes it worse, that's all. Do stop loitering." But then again, he was hardly the most open book in the world. He would heal on his own.
He nodded slightly, cataloging the information but making not visual reaction to it. "Yes, sir," he said, stepping out and shutting the door behind him, heading off to find Harrison. He did a few minutes later, in her department armed with a scowl and a fire extinguisher. "Is this a bad time?" he asked sarcastically.
"Kane and Kelly have locked themselves in the broom closet because I've threatened to bash in both their skulls with the once again EMPTY fire extinguisher," she seethed in response, dropping the red cylinder onto the floor with a crash, and then took a deep breath, raking a hand through her hair. "Okay, I'm fine, I'm fine. You have a job for me?"
"We both do. Get dolled up, we're going to a mob party and we need to look presentable and gullible," he said with a grin.
"Oh, good, a party. And here I was thinking my wardrobe would be neglected forever," she smiled, as if the place didn't smell like smoke, and patted his shoulder on the way past. "I'll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes."
"Fifteen if you can swing it, otherwise I'll be out front with a car," he called as he headed for the elevator to go up and change into his tux.
She rolled her eyes at his back, but she was down in fifteen minutes, looking like she'd been prepped for the red carpet. "You look dashing. Usual distant husband, needy wife routine?" she asked as he appeared in the lobby, his shoes much more quiet on the marble floor than hers had been. "I got the new chauffeur to grab the Jag. That's the one I usually think is going to kill me, so I figured it was your favorite."
He flashed her a grin at the mention of the car. "You know me too well. Might have to have you knocked off. As for the routine, I think that's worked the best."
She turned towards the door, smirking. "You better not kill me. Good luck finding someone else who'd put up with your eccentricities and not want to kill you," she teased, opening the door and holding it open for him as she stepped out onto the pavement. She wondered what they looked like, coming out of this unmarked building.
He just laughed, nodding to the chauffeur holding open Lorna's door and heading around to get in driver's side. "Alright. We've got a bit of a drive, which is why I wanted to leave as soon as possible." He passed her the file. "Right now it's a reconnaissance job. Nothing more." He started the car, pulling into the street. "I'll admit I've got a few reservations about security, but Jim seems confident that we'll be able to blend in."
"The day I can't blend is the day I die. Literally," she added distractedly, already reading through the file. "I'll try to get someone to show me around the premises. If not, we may have to peek over some hedges."
"Easier than that this time," he said with a smile. "We have invitations. We're just looking to chat some people up, get a feel for the general direction of the organization. And by 'we' I mean, of course, 'you'."
"Of course you do, you're terrifying and your contempt really shows," she hummed, flipping through a few pages with a rustle, trying to see if there was anything important she might have missed. "This doesn't seem too bad. As long as we don't know anybody there, we should be okay."
"We'll be fine. Piece of cake, Jim said. In and out." He seemed to be trying to reassure himself.
Half an hour later they pulled up in front of the venue, and with some reluctance, Moran handed his keys over to the valet. It would seem out of character not to, but he hated not knowing where his car was in the event that they needed to make a quick escape. He smiled, though, offering Harrison his arm. "Shall we?"
"Only if I'm allowed to have a couple drinks. This place is vaguely familiar and I'm a little nervous," she said through a smile, knowing that nobody was close enough to hear. Appearances were the most important thing.
"One drink, dear. You know how you get," he said, patting her arm slightly, eyes taking in the security at the door as they handed over their invitations and stepped inside. "See anyone we know? I'd love to say hello."
"Not yet, but we'll see who turns up," she shrugged, although a little daintier than normal. She always had to be a little more ladylike at parties. Even mob parties. "You can go pretend you're not having fun in some corner, darling, I think I should introduce myself to our host."
He sighed, leaning down to steal a quick kiss. "I suppose I must let you wander. Try not to get too lost, alright?" He gave her a smile before heading off to find himself a drink.
He seemed a little more sincere than he used to on these sort of missions, but she filed that away to think about later, scanning the crowd for the Don. Lorna was almost certain she'd never met this particular one before, but it would do to be cautious, and maybe to alter her accent a little. There he is. She took a steadying breath, snagged a champagne glass carried by a passing waiter, and made her approach.
Sebastian found a quiet corner and a stiff drink, sipping thoughtfully and trying to look as brooding as possible, keeping a cautious eye out for anyone he recognized. He'd have to socialize eventually, couldn't leave the brunt of that to Harrison, but for the time being strong and silent was his best bet.
Lorna had thought that it had been going rather well until one of the security guards hovering at the edges of the room stepped forward to whisper something in the Don's ear, and his face slipped into a chilly mask, his eyes hardening on her. "You've got a dangerous choice of a husband. If my friend here," he gestured to the guard, who looked like he bench-pressed 500 pounds, "hadn't worked for my good friend across the city, I don't think I would have even known. Markov, you know where to take him. Make it quiet."
Moran saw the goon move forward, and was already on alert. He stared for a second, wracking his brain, and sighed when he made the connection on the face.
Fuck.
It certainly wasn't going to help to pull a gun. By the looks of it everyone in the room was packing heat. Which left few options.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. It's Maxwell, right? Or was it Morris... Or Mirmac... I honestly can't remember, sorry."
The offended goon bristled, and the Don turned towards Moran, looking amused.
"Any particular reason for gate-crashing, Mr. Moran?" he purred as Markov (or Maxwell) and several others started closing in.
"Eh. Saw a lovely lady, figured she was my ticket in. You really should stop adding the 'plus one' section... It's a terrible idea, security-wise..."
Get out, Harrison...
She had the good grace to turn red, looking very sheepish, despite the fact that her stomach felt like it was trying to leave through her feet. "I'm so sorry, oh my god, I thought he just wanted some of the free drinks, and he promised to pay..." Lorna babbled, playing dumb and succeeding, judging by the slightly exasperated look that came over the Don's face. Let me out let me out let me out... She batting about fifty-fifty getting him out when they were both locked up, so...
"Get the lady's keys and drive her to wherever she'd like to go," the Don smiled, patting Markov on the shoulder, and obvious ' Make sure she's away from here' in his eyes.
Moran laughed, tossing the jaguar keys over. The Don gave him a suspicious look. "What? She was going to drink, I offered to drive. You telling me you've never tried to jack a car from a bimbo? Please, this is the mob we're talking about."
The quip earned him a punch in the mouth from one of the goons, and which he didn't take lightly, returning the blow quickly before there was a sea of clicks and he was looking down the nose of an impressive number of guns. "Right, well, I can see we all know who'd win that fight," he smirked.
Markov glared at him, but turned to Harrison, handing over her keys. "Come with me, ma'am," he said gruffly, nodding towards the door.
"Mary, darling, you've got to be more gentle with a woman if you ever want to see one unclothed," Moran shot after him.
She held the keys tight enough in her hand as she left for it to hurt, keeping her face carefully embarrassed as she left. She had to fight the panic rising up in her at leaving him behind.
The Don gave Moran a dry smile. "Well, Mr. Moran, how about you come with me? I have a place for people who enter my home without permission."
"Sure, why not," Moran said with a smirk. "Just hope it's not a sauna. No offense but I think seeing any of you nude would leave me a bit nauseous. Except maybe you, Shorty," he said, winking at one of the guards and receiving another blow for it. Just keep them distracted, Moran.
"You know where to take him," the man snorted, waving at the doorway. "I still have a party to run." Without further ado, 'Shorty' and two other guards manhandled Sebastian out of the room, not hesitating to throw in a few jabs when he put up any resistance. The last thing that could be heard from the Don as he was shuffled down a dark, cleverly hidden staircase, was "Someone find out who owns that man. I'd like to have words with him."
He'd never had a migraine before, but he had no doubt in his mind that this was one. He sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, trying not to wince at the soft ding of the elevator. He'd taken pain killers half an hour ago, but so far they'd done little good, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. With any luck, however, it would fade soon so that he could get back to work. As it was, the incapacitation was extremely irritating.
Lorna knocked on Jim's door still looking good enough to attract entirely straight women, tapping her fingers anxiously against her thigh as she waited. This was so fucking bad. She was in so much trouble. And god knew what Sebastian was going through...
The knock was like a knife to his head, and that influence the snap in his response. "What?" he snarled.
She paused. That wasn't a 'come in'. "There's... there's been a snag, sir."
He swore quietly under his breath, sitting up and composing himself. "Come in, Harrison. There had better be a perfectly acceptable reason that you're here and Moran isn't."
She came in, shutting the door quietly behind her. He seemed to be a little annoyed with.. sound. "Sir.. they, um.. They recognized him."
His attention snapped over to her, headache forgotten for the time being in the face of that information.
Impossible, I vetted everyone that was going to be there.
He kept his expression neutral.
Well, obviously you failed to account for something. Damn this headache...
"Excellent. We'll talk about retrieving him in a few days," he said non-nonchalantly, turning back to his computer.
"I? Um... Ah.. Okay, sir," she hedged, taking a step hesitantly towards the door. This was off. Something here was... just not right. But if he didn't want her in here, there was nothing she could do about it. Without any more hesitation, she turned and exited the room.
He sighed in relief as the door was shut, closing his eyes. He needed to get rid of this fucking headache. Moran could hold out until then.
The next few days were tense. Jim refused to see her, so she spent a good portion of her time in Moran's flat, worrying. He would have made fun of her if he could see her, but she couldn't help it. When they were really in trouble, they tended to be in trouble together, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself.
Five days went by before Jim let them get Moran out. The operation was simple, so even though it wasn't her department, she went along anyway. With most of the Don's guards dead, scattered throughout the house, they finally found the stairwell.
The room was barely big enough for him to sit in, his knees and toes brushing the far wall when he did, and it was pitch black. At first he'd been fine, glad he wasn't being tortured, but as the hours dragged on the small space seemed smaller and smaller, and the slow, steady drip of water on his head started to get to him.
He realized after what must have been a few days (He'd completely lost track of time, but it seemed like days- days spent trying to keep himself sane, trying not to panic as the water kept dripping, dripping, dripping and his muscles seized for lack of movement) that the water was the only thing he would have to drink, and he'd craned his neck back, letting the foul, metallic stuff into his mouth, still dripping slowly. He did that for hours just to get enough to stay alive.
The only thing he was grateful for was an open pipe on the floor on the corner, just big enough that if he maneuvered right he could piss into it. So at least he wasn't living in his own filth. It didn't help much.
The blackness seemed infinite, his body cramped and sore, and he was alone with his thoughts, images forming in his mind to try to cut the blackness. He was three, and four, and five again, staring at the same four walls and the same children's movies that he'd memorized years ago, carefully rationing his food because who knew how long his father would be this time?
The cramps of hunger were as real as ever.
The door was locked, and god knew where the key was, but Johnson had a crowbar on hand, and that was good enough. She wrenched the door open herself, gritting her teeth against the squeal of metal, and handed the crowbar back to whoever was behind her with a smack of metal against flesh. And, for a moment, she was kinda relieved. He was there. God, if he hadn't been... She stepped into the tiny space, crouching in front of him. He looked out of it. "Moran. Moran, c'mon. If you ever want to leave this shithole you're going to need to get up until there's enough room for you to lean on someone else."
The light was absolutely blinding. For a few moments he had no idea what was going on, but then there was a voice. It rang loud in his ears, and he winced, trying to place it. The housekeeper? No...
Pull it together, Moran .
Some part of him still had a handle on reality, and as his eyes slowly adjusted he caught sight of a familiar face. Harrison. Harrison , that's right. That's who it was. He slowly got to his feet, gripping the wall as best he could, muscles cramping and screaming at him in protest.
When he was up far enough that she could get a grip on him she helped, hauling him upwards until she could wedge a shoulder under him and support his shockingly slim weight, helping him out the door. "I want the rest of this house sweeped, and I want it done now. If you find someone who fights you, kill them. I'm in no mood to deal with leftovers today," Lorna snapped, elbowing aside someone who was in the way. "Van around front, two minutes top. GO, people!"
"M'fine, Harrison," he said, still squinting in the light, heart racing. He was out, he wasn't back in that room, that fucking room. "Just a little dehydrated and hungry. And my ass is a bit sore. I'm fine."
"You look awful. And you're really damp. It's kinda gross," she said brusquely, stepping away from him, but ready to try and catch his massive frame if he started to tip over. Either way, her snappish orders had gotten the rest of the underlings out of their hair, something she thought might be appreciated. If too many people saw him looking so shitty they might get ideas.
He walked straight, trying to ignore the charley horse in his right leg. "How long was I in there?" he asked as professionally as he could.
"Five days, more or less," she replied, a little more quietly. Now that he was back and safe a lot of the energy that had been keeping her going drained away. And as much as the more sentimental bit of her brain wanted to, trying to give him a hug or something would go poorly. "Jim's fucking gone off the wall or something, too, so I'm glad you're back."
He frowned, glancing over at her. "What's wrong with Jim?" he asked immediately, discomfort forgotten for the moment. Not that the boss didn't have his moments, but...
"Fuck if I know. He wouldn't even fucking see me until today, and even if this was intended as punishment or some shit, five days was too long under unknown circumstances," she muttered, trying to rein in her anger. "Sebastian, can you save the questions for the van? I haven't slept in three days."
"Yeah, fine," he said, eyes finally getting used to the dim lighting as they approached the door. He glanced around at the bodies. "Mob's gonna be pissed."
"They can go fuck themselves, for all I care," she snorted, shouldering open the door and holding it open just long enough for him to exit. "Again, very low on sleep. My bullshit tolerance is nil. Get in the van, please."
He did, stumbling slightly and trying not to wince at the sudden harsh daylight. "What the hell didn't you sleep for? I thought Jim didn't authorize an operation until this morning?" He strapped in.
"It wasn't a choice, believe me," she grumbled, buckling up and kicking the metal-plated seat in front of her to indicate to the driver that she wanted movement. The van started up a moment later, and she fell silent. She didn't really feel like explaining herself. Especially not in front of people.
He nodded just a little, leaning back in the seat and starting to slowly stretch his limbs, eyes closed. "I need to shower and change before I see Jim..." he thought outloud.
"You probably have time," she sighed, leaning her head against the window and strongly resisting the urge to just fall asleep. "He's being very crotchety. Approach his door quietly, if you know what's good for you."
He nodded a little at that, too tired to comment on much. Finally they arrived back at the gloriously large headquarters, and he stepped out of the van, waiting for Harrison before heading for the elevator.
She waited until they were in the elevator, where there was no one else, until she pulled him into a rough, brusque, slightly angry hug. "God, just fucking throw yourself under the bus some more, why don't you? Christ. I hate you."
He was surprised by the hug, but returned it a second later. "What are you on about, huh? You're getting all damp."
"Shut the fuck up," she muttered, into his extremely damp shirt, which smelled vaguely of rust and a dank, dark place. She pulled away as soon as the elevator opened, looking a little pink-cheeked and irritable as hell. "Okay. Go take a hot shower and see the crazy man upstairs. I'll warm some leftovers up so you don't starve to death in front of me."
"Yes ma'am," he muttered, sarcasm falling a bit flat as he headed for the apartment and immediately went to the bathroom and started up the shower, stripping out of his disgusting clothes.
She followed him into the flat and spent the time he did in the shower just sitting in his kitchen, resisting the urge to just cry out of relief and exhaustion.
He came out a few minutes later, freshly shaven and wrapped in a towel, and headed over to pull on clean clothes. "Alright... I'm going to go see him. Back soon, hopefully."
"Okay. Don't get locked in a cellar again, I'll be furious," she replied, having hastily gotten up and started rooting around in the fridge. God forbid he knew she cared.
He glanced over at her, but didn't have the energy right now to try and untangle that enigma. "I'll do my best," he said as gently as he could, before heading out into the hallway and then into the elevator. A minute later he knocked- quietly, per Harrison's advice- on the boss's door.
"If you aren't Moran, and you're bothering me after I explicitly warned against it, I will get up from my desk and personally throw you out my window. If you are Moran, come in," he drawled, from the couch, where he had a cold compress on his head. He felt like his brain was trying to crawl out of his cranium, so appearances could bloody well wait.
He was shocked by the response, and entered immediately, still remaining quiet. "Moran, sir." He closed the door silently, eyes on his boss, immediately slipping into body-guard mode. "What's wrong?" he asked, surveying the room as he walked forward.
"I have a headache that would dig your grandfather out of it's grave for the sole purpose of rapping his femurs on your forehead like a drum, that's what's wrong," Jim snapped, still lying listlessly on the couch. He would have looked at Moran, but that hurt, so he got most of his information from his audio cues. "I bet that pit was a fun time. How close do you think you got to nirvana?"
"Enough to smell the pot and get the t-shirt, sir," he said, crouching down once he was certain the room was secure. "How long have you had this headache?"
"Far too long. Days," he growled, just generally furious with everything, and very sick of being in pain. "I think I've experienced cluster headaches now. Too bad I can't inflict this upon my enemies."
He nodded a little, concerned but not in panic mode quite yet. "I'd like to bring in someone to look you over, sir," he said firmly.
He considered saying no just to say no, and because he was irritable and in no mood to deal with Moran's more protective traits. But the pain was hampering his work, and that was where he drew the line. "Fine."
"Good," he said, standing and pulling out his phone. "I'm going to step outside. I'll be back in a minute. Do you want anything? Water or pain killers?"
"Both," was all he said in response, closing his eyes and trying to pretend like his head wasn't fucking killing him. There was only so much pretending could do.
He nodded, concerned. Jim didn't react to pain. He'd seen the man take a knife blade with more composure than this. "I'll be back shortly." He walked out of the office door, already dialing Jim's main physician and heading for the floor's kitchen.
He felt so awful that he even had a moment's guilt. He'd slipped up on the mob job, and it had landed Moran in some uncomfortable condition for a work week, and here he was, doing his job like nothing had happened. It was his job, though. The guilt passed.
Moran returned five minutes later with a tall glass of water and a max dose of extra-strength ibuprofen. "I've brought a straw in case that makes things any easier," he said seriously. "The doctor should arrive in a half-hour."
"Fantastic," he droned, throwing back the pills and sitting up just enough to get the water to swallow them down. "Have them come in. Knocking will not be necessary. Nor will your presence. I loathe hovering."
"Unfortunately sir, I'm going to override that," Moran said gently but firmly. "It says in my contract that I have some leniency regarding medical issues and I'm taking it. You took a bullet to the brain, and now you have a massive headache, I want to be around immediately if something goes wrong."
He flailed a hand in the direction of the corner. "Then you will be quiet. Breathe only as often as you need to. I am not joking."
He didn't answer or object, walking to the farthest corner and sitting down, taking a slow silent breath and sitting back, holding it for as long as he could without making him have to pant for air. Exhale slowly and quietly. Repeat. Easy task for a sniper.
Thirty-two minutes later he heard the elevator ding and stood to forestall the inevitable knock, letting the doctor in and putting a finger to his lips. The doctor nodded.
"Do not speak any more than is strictly required," Jim warned, sitting up because he knew doctors always had to look your damned eyes.
When the doctor was finished looking him over, he lay back down and pointed towards Moran. "Tell him, outside."
They stepped outside, and Moran returned a few minutes later. "He gave me some stronger pain killers," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "He also says you need to go in for a CAT scan. I'll schedule one as soon as you take these."
He made a sound of compliance, taking the pills from him blearily and washing them down with the water remaining in his glass. It wasn't long until he felt kind a floaty, the pain in his head a far away ache. After five minutes, and five days of no rest, he fell asleep right there on the couch.
He considered the man for a moment, debating the fury he might face for even contemplating what he was contemplating, before deciding he didn't give a fuck and lifting the small man gently into his arms, carrying him through a few doors to the bedroom and setting him down on the seldom-used bed. He didn't dare go as far as undressing him, but did remove his shoes and tug the blankets up over him. He set the bottle of pills and a fresh glass of water on the bedside table, closed all of the blinds on the windows, and made sure his employer's mobile was within reach. Then he headed back down to his apartment.
Lorna had gotten a little carried away. She'd been desperate to distract herself from her wild relief that he was back, and in the process, she'd made stir fry. It seemed easier than dealing with her feelings. She didn't know what she'd been thinking in the elevator, but it still baffled her that he'd reciprocated. She hadn't expected that from him.
He stepped in to the smell of something glorious, and let out a groan. "Please tell me that's ready to eat," he sighed, wandering into the kitchen. "It smells fucking fantastic."
"Pretty much, yeah, as soon as it cools down. Thought you might want something with protein, so there's a little more beef than I would normally add, but how bad can it be," she said neutrally, shrugging slightly and turning off the stove top.
"Literally anything right now sounds phenomenal, thank you," he said genuinely, giving her a tired smile and walking over to find the largest glass he could find and fill it to the brim with water.
"No trouble," she smiled slightly, getting out bowls and giving him a larger serving. It was rare to get sincerity from him. But he might have been a little too worn for sarcasm. Still. She hated how worried she'd gotten.
He took the bowl with a smile and grabbed a couple of forks, tossing her one and sitting down, starting to eat ravenously, ignoring the fact that it was still so hot it almost burned his mouth.
She ate across from him for a few minutes without saying anything, considering him as she ate. He didn't look like he'd been fed at all in that place. "The Don's not dead," she said, when he was about half way through his serving. "Just so you know."
He looked up at her, and nodded, but couldn't bring himself to quite care at the moment. "We'll deal with it after some sleep," he sighed. He forced himself to slow down on the food so he didn't make himself sick, reluctantly leaving a fair portion in the bowl as he sat back.
She finished off all of hers, mostly because staying up all night burned a lot off energy and if she didn't stay on top of that it would bite her in the butt later. When she sat back she just looked exhausted. "I would ask about Jim, but honestly, I'm too tired to care. Bed?"
He nodded in agreement, standing and shoving his bowl in the fridge for later, walking over to give her a hand up. "Come on. You're exhausted." He wanted to ask about what the hell had happened in the elevator, but that was probably a discussion to had after they'd both slept.
She mumbled some sound of agreement, following him into the bedroom and having just enough clarity left to get out of her clothes and into pajamas, and as soon as she was in bed, passed out. With no reason to keep her awake, there was really nothing that could have stopped her.
He undressed a bit more slowly, pulling pajamas on and laying down, reaching up to turn out the light.
It was back on almost immediately, his heart racing at the sudden blackness, and he sat up, taking a few slow breaths.
Fuck, get a handle on yourself .
He took another breath, and turned the light off again, laying down on the bed and letting the arm and leg opposite Lorna spread out sideways as far as they could, trying to remind himself that he had space. After a few minutes of that not working, he moved to curl up next to Harrison, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. Not alone, not alone, not alone. .. He was still there, though, his pulse still through the roof, and he could feel the shadow of the television in the corner knew if he looked the plates of food would be there... He held Harrison a little tighter, before giving up and getting out of bed, heading immediately for the main room and turning on every light he could find, picking up a knife before laying down on the couch and staring out at every shadow. He was here, in his apartment. Go the fuck to sleep .
She woke up some time in the middle of the night, only really becoming alert after she realized Moran wasn't in bed next to her. For a second, she was petrified that she'd just dreamt she'd gotten him back, and then the calmer part of her pointed out the light streaming in through the cracked door. A moment later she was shuffling into the room, squinting at the light. "Moran? What's wrong?"
He looked over at her blearily, but sat up a second later, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "Nothing, I'm fine, Just couldn't sleep. Go back to bed."
"You have a knife, that doesn't seem like nothing," she yawned, making a vague hand movement at the blade in his hand. "I know y'sleep with one and all, but this seems.. unusual, even f'you."
"I told you, just having trouble sleeping," he growled, sitting back. "I had enough time in the dark, just appreciating the light a bit, alright?" He hated solitary confinement, but that was a weakness, and hell if he was going to advertise any more of those.
She sighed, falling silent for a moment and just considering her options. He was very, very difficult to help, she knew that. God knew getting him to open up was like pulling teeth. And when he looked one edge like this, she had to tread carefully. "Come back to bed," she said finally, voice tired. "I can sleep with the lights on. I sleep better with you there, anyway. Please?" she added, clearing her throat slightly. Even if she was saying it to make it seem like she just wanted him there for her own benefit, it was the truth. As much as she resisted it.
He glanced up, the offer enticing. He was exhausted, and being alone definitely wasn't helping the situation. After a few moments he nodded just slightly, standing and walking over to put the knife back in his safe. He had one under his pillow anyway. "Yeah... alright. "
"Okay. Thanks," she murmured, turning when he was up and heading back into the bedroom, flicking the light switch on as she passed it, and crawled back between the sheets, letting out a long breath of exhaustion.
He came in a few minutes later, climbing into bed and reaching out to pull her close. The light behind his eyes when the slipped shut helped, as did having a warm, living being next to him, and within a few minutes he was asleep.
She kept herself awake until she felt him fall to sleep, concerned about his well-being, and wondering what had caused this. But, as soon as he was out, there was no more avoiding it. She zonked out, not to be awoken until the next morning.
He awoke crying. Fucking crying . Tears slipping down over his face and short gasps catching. He immediately suffocated the sound, sitting up and scrubbing at his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the evidence. He looked around. He wasn't there. He'd gotten out. He was here, grown and successful and working for the greatest crime lord of the century. Not some snot-nosed toddler learning how to save the cheerios in case daddy was gone past bedtime. Or the next bedtime.
She shifted, stretching out as she lazily made her way awake, cracking her eyes to glance at the clock. About five in the morning. She groaned. Why the fuck was she awake? She rolled over, sighing, and finally became aware of Sebastian, sitting up in the kind of position she normally associated with distress. There was nothing she could say to him, she knew that, but silent reassurance was more likely to go over... maybe not well, but maybe not terribly, either. It was hard to tell with him. But fuck... had he been crying? She sat up and twisted to sling an arm around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.
He stiffened slightly. He'd been hoping she wasn't awake. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. But he supposed if someone had to, she'd proven fairly trustworthy so far. He leaned into her a little, taking a slow breath. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up again."
"It's fine," she mumbled, hand slipping up to slide into his hair. She had to stifle a yawn into the crook of his shoulder - he was so warm, she couldn't help it. "Can I do anything?"
He shook his head a little. "No. Being in there just... messed with my head. I'll be alright. You should get some more sleep."
"M' alright," she shrugged mildly. "I got a good five, six hours. 'Nuff to start with... I'm sorry we couldn't get you sooner. Jim just.. wouldn't see me. Sorry."
He laughed a bit, shaking his head. "You know I know how Jim is. You didn't sleep for three days, Harrison. Go the fuck to sleep. Or I maintain the right to ask you what the hell you were going on about on the elevator."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, just a little stiffly. She mostly did. She didn't know what there was to talk about, though.
"Why the fuck were you so fucking pissed?" he asked, leaning back against the head of the bed, careful not to squish her arm.
She made an unhappy sound. "I don't like leaving anybody behind like that. I'm not saying it wasn't the right call, but it doesn't mean I have to be fucking happy about it. I thought that was fairly obvious."
He snorted slightly, but didn't argue. He hated leaving people behind, as well, and she knew it. As for the reason she hadn't slept for three days... He could guess. "You can't go crazy every time you've got to leave me in a bad spot. It's part of the job."
She withdrew her arm from around him, leaning back against the headboard and sighing. "I know. I never meant for this to get so bad. Addictive personality, remember?"
He smirks just a little at that, glancing over at her. He should be furious. Should call this whole trainwreck off before it killed both of them. But they'd tried that and it never lasted long. He reached out, put his arm around her, tucked her into his side.
"I probably wouldn't have slept much, either."
Lorna was surprised, but she was pleased, too, and a little relieved. "Have to admit, I didn't think that was going to be your response," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. "Not that I want you to change your answer, don't get me wrong. Just. Not used to this yet, I guess."
He shrugged a little. "It's sort of become inevitable at this point, I think," he said with a quiet sigh. "Shouldn't happen but it will type thing."
She nodded. She'd had the same sort of thoughts. It wasn't like he hadn't actively pushed her away in the past, hadn't hurt her enough to try and back away, and she'd come back, every time. Not very healthy, but no relationship in her life, romantic or otherwise, had ever been. "You know," she said eventually, voice soft, "I rather it like this than like it was. You stress me the hell out, but... I don't know. I don't mind so much."
He laughed a little. "Well, there's a compliment if I've ever heard one," he muttered, shaking his head. "But yeah... Same."
She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek before she could second-guess herself, and then raised an eyebrow at him. "Now, do you think you can sleep, or am I going to have to try and figure out what's bothering you this much?"
He rolled his eyes, shoving her gently over so she was laying down. "I can sleep. It's fine. Solitary confinement like that just does things to your head."
"Okay," she yawned, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in the pillow she'd claimed as hers a while back. "Wake me up if you need me," she added in a mumble, already half asleep.
"Will do," he muttered, laying down and curling up next to her again, eyes slipping shut. He thought for a while about the possible consequences of what he'd just done, but finally drifted off into a restless sleep.
When she woke up again, it was a much more reasonable time. Comforted by the fact that he seemed to be asleep - she could never tell for sure, with him - she slid out of bed and made for the kitchen at a shuffle, drowsily ruminating on the events of the previous night.
When he woke, he was alone. There was no thought, just a jolt of lighting-quick panic that seared through him as he immediately leaped up and yanked the door open. He made it into the main room before his brain caught up and he recognized the apartment, and dropped the hand that was wrapped around his knife like a child would cling to a security blanket.
Lorna was halfway through the door of the kitchen when he came tearing into the living room, and for a short, terrifying moment she was convinced he'd changed his mind and was going to gut her. Then the moment was past and she took a hesitant step towards him, a hand half-raised. "Sebastian? Are you okay?"
He nodded just a little, setting the knife down slowly on the end table. "Fine, sorry, just... thought I heard something," he said carefully, adrenaline still screaming through him, heartbeat throbbing all over his body.
"Okay," she replied just as carefully, trying to pretend like he didn't look like he was going to jump out of his skin any minute. "Do you want some breakfast?"
"Sure, yes, breakfast would be great," he said, nodding a little and taking a few slow, quiet breaths, trying to calm himself down.
She nodded, sparing one last concerned glance towards him before going into the kitchen. Christ, how was she going to get him to open up about this one?
He followed her quietly, keeping her in sight. Christ, he was going insane. This was pathetic. "Feeling any better now that you've slept?" he asked.
"A little," she nodded, pulling bacon out of the fridge. "Not 100%, but I haven't really been there for weeks, so I'll get there eventually. I think I solved my department's goddamn fire crisis. Only took fucking took writing 'twit' on Kelly's forehead with magic marker. Public humiliation does wonders."
He smirked. "Threaten to tattoo it next time and you're golden," he said, glancing at his phone. "Jim hasn't texted me... I'm going to go up after this either way."
She didn't reply for a moment, not wanting to compete with the sizzle of the bacon hitting the hot pan on the stove. "That sounds not fun. I heard some outside guy came in yesterday. What's the deal with that?"
He knew better than to advertise the boss's weakness, even to Harrison. "Consultant. He's been working on a bigger project than usual. S'why he's been so fucking irritable."
"Ugh, great, another big project that's going to get us in trouble," she huffed, prodding at the bacon with a fork just to take out some of her irritation on something formerly living. "Whatever, I just hope this ends soon."
"So do I," he says, nodding a little and walking over to put toast in the toaster. "But we'll figure it out."
"I guess things always work out," she shrugged, flipping the sizzling meat over. And as long as Jim wasn't putting off something like retrieving Seb from unknown circumstances, she could wait.
He rubbed her back a bit as he walked past to grab the butter. "Chin up. This plan of his won't be in motion for a while."
"I should hope not. I need time to let my newest scars fade," she hummed, patting her abdomen where she'd gotten a minor stab wound. Of course, she was referring to the ones on her neck, too, but if she put enough concealer on she looked alright, as proven by the Don's party. "I really need to stop getting sliced up, I'm lowering my value like crazy."
He shook his head a little. "You're still gorgeous. Just shows you've got a dangerous side. Mysterious. Men like that." He pulled out butter and raspberry jam, walking back over to retrieve the toast as it popped.
She laughed, forking the slightly-crispy bacon onto a couple of plates. "I know. But occasionally it means I don't fit the part, and someone else would be better suited to go. I can't pretend to be a model anymore at some visiting NYC agent's vacation home," she shrugged, neutral about it, and set his plate down at his usual spot and sat with her own. "Not the end of the world. Just means I need to get my goddamn underlings under control."
"Now you know why I'm such a terrifying asshole professionally," he says with a laugh, walking over with a plate of toast. "You want juice?" he asked, returning to the fridge.
"God, no, please," she winced, pausing with a strip of bacon halfway to her mouth. "I kinda hit it hard when you were gone, because there's liquor in here and I might piss you off if I accidentally had too much and got alcohol poisoning."
He didn't react, just poured himself orange juice. "You guessed correctly," he agreed, walking over and starting to eat. He was starving, now he thought about it. Maybe he'd heat up the leftover stir fry after this.
She nodded, already mostly done with her bacon and toast. She'd never been a slow eater, and in their line of work, many things happened without waiting for someone to finish their lunch. "I might be back late tonight. I'm following a greenhorn on a job, and depending on how much they fuck up, it could be time-consuming."
"Good luck with that," he said with a nod. "I'm going to be spending most of the day catching up on administrative work, I expect," he sighed. "I really need to stop getting kidnapped for such long spans of time."
"Yuck," she grimaced, pushing out her chair and going to the sink to put her dishes in. "I don't think you have that many, though. My workload barely changed. There's really not that much happening right now."
He nods a little. "Hopefully that's the case... For now I need to go talk to Jim." He cleared his plate and washed a bit of jam off his face, before heading to his room to change.
She gave him the space and just washed the pan she'd used for cooking, mind on her task for the coming night. It was important this went well. She couldn't risk losing favor with Jim. And, if the new hire wasn't worth it, she would correct the problem.
I tried and I tried, to run and hide
I even tried to run away
Ya just can't run from the funnel of love
It's bound to get you someday
- SQÜRL - Funnel of Love -