She stirred early the next morning, mostly because she'd been sleeping on her sore leg and it was starting to complain, so she rolled onto her back with a tired little grunt. Most of her ached, but a lot of that was the good kind of ache that came about after some particularly vigorous sexual activities with Sebastian, and that she never felt like complaining about.
He woke a little while later when a particularly rambunctious sunbeam made its way into his eyes, and grumbled in annoyance, rolling over and hiding his face in Lorna's arm.
She stifled a chuckle at the noise he made, watching the sunlight reflect off his blond head for a few minutes, chewing over her realization of the previous night. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to tell him. But it was somehow a comforting thought all the same.
Eventually he dragged himself into consciousness. He really needed to start sleeping more. "What time is it?" he asked groggily. They needed to get back. He needed to check on Jim.
It took her a moment to find the clock in the room. "Half past seven. Your other alarm doesn't go off until quarter til, so I thought I'd let you sleep."
He shook his head a little, sitting up with a small groan. "Thanks, but we should get back. I have a lot to do today." He stood, stretching, and headed for the bathroom.
"Okay," she agreed, yawning and just enjoying the warmth of the bed for a moment before getting out of bed, stiff as a board. Oh yeah. There were the bruises. They were impressive, honestly.
He stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, walking back to pull fresh clothes out of his bag and glancing over at Harrison, smirking a bit at his handprint clearly outlined on her skin. "If it's any consolation, your marks on my back are making me live up to the 'Tiger' moniker."
She started pulling on her own clothes, smirking. "That and the bite on my neck. I can't tell if you left any on the back, but my hair covers it all up anyway. And consolation my ass; I like these, motherfucker."
He grinned, then, buttoning his shirt. "Just try not to advertise where you got them. I've got a reputation to maintain of a fearless ice man." He pulled on his jacket, and picked up his bag. "Ready to go? Not much here in the way of breakfast food. We can stop for something on the way back."
"Yeah, I'm good," she chuckled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door. "But fearless ice man doesn't mean incapable of taking me in a manly fashion. I know for a fact half the hitmen would fall on their hands and knees for details."
"Fair enough," he smirked, locking the door behind them and handing the key over to her. "I have another back at my place. Here."
"Okay, cool. Again, thanks," she grinned, getting into the Volks and putting the key in her bag before shoving it down at her feet. She'd never even considered that he would offer something like this. Staying with him was one thing; he benefited from that. But giving her access whenever she wanted? Either he thought something was going to get him any day now, or he was finally loosening up. She hoped it was the latter.
He started the car up, and pulled out.
Forty minutes later they were back at headquarters, having grabbed coffee and breakfast sandwiches en route, and he was heading up to Jim's office with information from one of the surgeons he'd contacted.
Jim had been trying to work. He really had. But the pain was too much, and the potential errors too great, so he gave up and sat in silence, drinking from a bottle of scotch to help numb himself.
He entered without knocking, stopping at the door once Jim saw him so that he could nod him in, but he walked forward immediately this time. "Sir, you can't combine alcohol with the pain medication you're on," he said firmly. "It could cause liver damage, and the last thing you need right now is complications."
He sighed, but he set the scotch back on the desk. "I assume you have news for me."
He nodded, walking forward and stopping just short of the desk. "Dr. Ramone from India is interested in your case, sir. He'd like to fly in and look you over."
"Fly him in. Soonest fly you can swing," he nodded, raising a hand to rub his temples. "I want this to be over."
He nodded in agreement. "I thought you would say that. His plane leaves in an hour, he should be here by late afternoon." He glanced down at his notebook. "Everything within the company is on schedule. The Freehold merger went as planned, and they've yet to question the contract terms, so this may be a fairly uneventful takeover."
"Hmmph. For once I might prefer it that way," Jim muttered, slouching in his chair. Jesus, he was tired. Always was, now. But he couldn't let that weaken him. He almost made a snide comment to Moran about his mistake - one this big he couldn't miss, despite the constant groaning of his brain - but for once, kept it to himself. But he couldn't completely let it go. "Don't let your little snafu last night become an issue. I don't think Harrison is that stupid, but I have been surprised by hormonal women before."
He stiffened slightly at that, but kept his expression steady. "Of course not, sir. As I'm sure you know, I never would."
"Sometimes things bear repeating," he snorted, amused at the way Moran locked up like a rusty animatronic. "Don't look so dour, that's all I have to say on the matter. I really don't have the energy to berate you."
He nodded a little, jaw still set, and relaxed just slightly. "Regarding things which bear repeating, I don't suppose you'll reconsider your position on Harrison's upcoming assignments."
"No. I've told you this already. Don't ask again, or I'll put her on something that will put her in a coffin. Are we clear?"
He almost told him that he already had, but shut his mouth. "Then permission to accompany her on the remainder in case things go south."
Jim made an exasperated sound, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, fine, yes. Knock yourself out, if you'll shut up about it. Christ, Moran, you've gone soft."
"I haven't gone soft, sir," he snarled with barely contained aggression. "I've spent a significant effort training Harrison, and especially given that you're currently incapacitated, she is vital to the efficient workings of your operations. I don't have time to do her work, mine, and yours, or train someone to take her place, so if she gets killed it represents a serious strategic disadvantage." He bit the words you prick back just before they escaped, but stood firm.
"You're right," Jim said evenly, a small smirk on his lips. "But if you've got so little time, why are you going with her? Do you really view your coworkers with such contempt that you don't think someone else could watch over her? You've started making decisions based on your personal emotions on the matter. In this case, I can't argue. You're a good bodyguard. But this is a slippery slope."
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked, nostrils flaring just slightly. He wanted it, but hell if he was going to say anything without permission.
"Go ahead," he smirked, because usually what Moran had to say was entertaining.
"Don't talk to me about slippery slopes. Not when I'm cleaning up the mess you're in because you put a bullet in your head when you couldn't see life beyond your little genius boyfriend. I'm holding this company together right now, I'm seeing to it that you receive medical attention, and making sure you don't mix alcohol with your fucking meds because you couldn't be bothered to read the label, all because you decided to play Romeo before you even bothered to check if Juliet was actually gone. So don't talk to me about slippery slopes, alright?"
He was silent for a minute. Then he whistled. "Been holding that one in for a while, haven't you? If I was feeling a little better I might have slapped you for that. But as it is..."
"As it is you're in pain and incapacitated. Yes, I'm aware." He straightened into attention. "Unless you have anything else, sir, I have work I should be doing."
"No, that will be all. Try not to wind yourself up too much. You're going to have a heart attack."
He didn't respond, just nodded curtly and turned, leaving the room quietly and heading for the elevator. Part of him was surprised he'd left the room alive, honestly. But he was sick of Jim treating him like a child who knew nothing, especially when he was working so diligently to keep the man alive.
A few days later, Lorna was pausing in the mirror on the way to get dressed, checking to make sure that she didn't look too obviously marked, and passed back into the bedroom, heading for the closet - she couldn't keep most of her dresses in his flat, but the ones she did keep couldn't be put in her dresser - when she noticed him sitting on the bed, in a tux. She paused, frowning slightly. "You going out somewhere?"
He nodded a little from where he was adjusting his shoulder holster to be hidden by the narrower jacket. "With you," he said, pulling his jacket on again and nodding in satisfaction.
She looked confused. "What? Why? I'm not scheduled to have anybody on this job," she shook her head, then continued to the closet, pulling out her dress for the evening.
He stood. "Because I'm going, that's why. Since when do you question my assignments? I told Jim I was going in as your backup. He agreed. There's almost no way this doesn't go south."
"Okay," she shrugged, tossing her towel to the bed and slithering into her dress. "I'm just surprised. I've pretty much memorized my schedule, so little changes throw me off. Zip me up, will you?"
He nodded, walking over to do as she asked. "Sorry, Jim's been giving me shit lately and I'm bit sore on the subject." He stepped back, walking over to pull on his shoes. "Do you want me as the distant husband or as a bodyguard?"
She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, mulling it over briefly. "Distant husband. If someone recognizes me, I rather they have low expectations about how dangerous you are. I mean, they can't be that low, because you look like you could wrestle a bear, but better than thinking you're armed."
"Better to go in unarmed, or no?" he asked, letting her take the lead in those decisions. She knew the op better.
She scrunched up her nose. "Probably unarmed. Good security there. Don't know if they do pat-downs, but better safe than sorry."
He sighed, but nodded, removing his jacket and then his shoulder holster. Outwardly, he didn't like it. Inwardly, it just made things easier. "Alright. If you're ready, then let's get going."
"I'm ready," she nodded, turning for the door.
An hour later, they were at the edges of the city, pulling up a gravel driveway. No wonder security was so tight - this place was a nightmare. "Alright. Hopefully this place is big enough, and there's enough people, and I won't get recognized. Hopefully."
"I'm going to stay nearby either way," he said as he pulled into the car park and turned off the engine. He handed a spare car key to her. "Just so we have options," he said, tucking the other set into his pocket.
She tucked the key into her bra - uncomfortable, but her only option - and got out of the car. At the front door, they were frisked, and she was glad she'd told him to leave the gun at home. That was a hitch she didn't need to deal with.
He gave her a nod, parting with now-familiar banter and heading off to find a drink and a corner where he could watch her and the room. If she moved rooms he'd have to adjust, but for the time being it would do.
She'd maybe made it through two rooms of mingling before she felt a hand on her shoulder, and before she knew it was sweeped briskly into another room, the two men by her sides most certainly security. She swallowed down the bitter taste of fear in her mouth, already trying to explain herself away, find an out.
He didn't bother to wait and see if she could talk her way out of it. First of all, he knew she couldn't, second of all, that wasn't the plan. He headed across the room, dodging tipsy party-goers, and pushed the door open, putting on a cheerful face and stumbling a bit as he entered. "Darling? Where'd you- Oh, h'lo, mates.." he said, grinning at the two men who had cornered Harrison. "Don't mind giv'n me back my dance partner, do ya? I think I might be gettin' lucky t'night if yo-"
By that point he was close enough to step in and snap the first guard's neck with clean precision. By that point the other guard was on him, and he twisted out of his grip, landing a solid blow in his gut and shoving him hard, grabbing Harrison from the wall. "Let's go!"
She'd kicked off her heels as soon as Sebastian had entered the room, and she ran after him, feeling the second guard's fingers brush her ankles before she was out of the room, and then she completely lost her bearings. Where he was leading her, she had no idea, not in this huge complex of a place, but there was shouting behind them, and soon after the sounds of pursuit. This is bad this is bad not again notagainnotagain...
He'd memorized the blueprint of the house before they'd come, and he didn't hesitate as he made his way through winding hallways. He was giving their pursuers a chance to take a slightly shorter route, a chance to get close, but it had to be timed perfectly... They burst into the hallway just behind him and he hid a smirk, swearing instead and grabbing Harrison, pulling her up in front of him as the room they needed came into view. He shoved into it seemingly at random, shutting the door behind him, turned around, and swore at the seemingly dead end, pretending to look around for a moment before turning his eyes to the vent. "Right... Through there, come on," he said, walking over to pull off the cover.
"Are you fucking kidding me? There's no way you're going to fit through that," she hissed, bending down in front of it and squinting at the dimensions. She was a lot smaller than he was, and it wasn't going to be a comfortable fit for her. Her stomach sank. She knew that he would hear no arguments about this, that she was going to go without him, and leave him, again. "Sebastian..."
He yanked the cover free. "Just go get the car going, okay?" he said, looking over at the door. There was a repeated bang as their pursuers worked to break it down, and judging by the state of the frame it wasn't going to last too long. "Come on. I'll give them a good what for and meet you out front in five minutes. Just go down to the road."
She didn't believe him, but she had no choice. So she gave him a fierce one-armed hug, turned, and wriggled into the vent.
He pushed the cover back into place, stood, and ran to open the window, leaning out of it like he was helping someone down. The door splintered open, he turned around, ready to fight, but the shot came before he had a chance to advance. He let out a cry of pain as the shot ripped into his gut, knees buckling slightly as he grabbed onto the table for support, and he was in a submission hold before he had a chance to argue, his teeth staining red.
Sebastian. She stopped, almost tried to turn back, heart hammering in her chest, before she grit her teeth and kept going, eventually working to another room. She punched out the vent cover and crawled out, knuckles bleeding, and slipped out the window without a sound. Within five minutes she was in the car, trying not to speed, trying not to be conspicuous. She had to get help. How soon they could get a force together, she didn't know, but Christ, if he bled to death in there...
He didn't remember much detail of the following time span. The room was dark and he never bothered to look around that much, because the instant he was there, there was pain.
Bones, broken and grating against each other when he moved, when he tried to avoid the heavy chain that flogged over his body again and again.
Burns, more chains, eventually he lost track and everything was simply pain alternated with moments of glorious unconsciousness. His blood was everywhere, and part of him realized he might have gambled too much, cut it too close...
By the time they hauled him into a van he was too weak to fight back, though he tried to remain conscious enough to understand where they were going. Then he was dumped onto asphalt, and the sound of the motor faded. The last thing he remembered before he fell unconscious was footsteps approaching hurriedly.
Jim stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment. The call was unexpected, and he wasn't sure how best to process the information. He reached for the intercom almost out of habit and paused as he almost tried Moran.
"Harrison. Get up here."
"Yessir," she said hurriedly, heading for the door, trying not to get her hopes up, trying not to worry about what news he might have. The past three days had been like a nightmare, one she'd had to operate through anyway, and she was barely keeping herself together. About two minutes later she knocked lightly on his door, afraid of making too much noise, if he was still irritable about that.
He opened the door and walked past her. "Come with me," he said as he headed back for the elevator. "Moran was dumped outside a St. Bart's hospital. He's being brought here by ambulance," he said, punching the elevator button with more force than usual. His headache was phenomenal, but at this point, he didn't give a shit.
She was completely silent, waiting for the lift without a word. He wasn't dead. Not dead, but in an ambulance... it didn't bode well. A few minutes later, they were present outside the infirmary to watch Moran being hastily rolled in, the paramedics shouting a lot of things that she didn't understand, and then he was gone behind the surgery doors and she sat hard in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room, raking a hand through her hair.
Jim didn't sit, walking through into the infirmary proper, and then into the viewing window for the operating theater. He didn't need to be told that his sniper was in bad shape. He was pale beneath the coating of blood, most of his body a slightly different shape than it should be where bones were broken and twisted. A bullet hole oozed near the center of his abdomen. The urgency of the surgeons was to be expected.
What he didn't expect was the flatline. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and the operating theater erupted into motion as someone grabbed the crash cart and paddles.
He could die.
It hadn't really occurred to him before that. His sniper was dying. Sebastian Moran, who had worked with him now for almost a decade, was dying on the table.
He turned and exited the infirmary. He didn't want to see any more.
Lorna didn't ask for any news when Jim returned, her stomach twisted up in knots already without knowing what was happening in there. She didn't want to know if he was breathing his last breaths in there. She put her head in her hands.
He sat down a few chairs away, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. He needed to leave for his own surgery in less than an hour.
He tried to come to terms with the fact that Moran was going to die in there. It would be better to be pleasantly surprised than to be caught off-guard. He thought through the list of potential candidates to replace him, but the options were not remotely appealing. He trusted very, very few people. One of them was the man dying a room over. Losing him would be... unacceptable.
The surgery took hours. Jim left early on, for what, she didn't bother asking. It had to be important, to leave without knowing whether or not his right-hand man would make it through the next few minutes, let alone hours.
It took five hours of intensive surgery. One of the tired surgeons who came out, pulling off bloody latex gloves, told her that he was stable, but they were still worried about him. But if he made it through the night, they were fairly confident he would live. It wasn't long before they let her into the room they'd put him in, and she sat in the chair beside his bed and tried not to break down at the sight of him. She'd never seen a person so battered come out alive.
Everything still hurt. That was the first thing that came to mind as he drifted slowly into consciousness. But it was muted pain, and after a few minutes he realized that he was either very close to dead, or on painkillers. Maybe both.
An indeterminate amount of time later he managed to get his eyes open- one of them, anyways. The other seemed swollen shut. He glanced around the bleary, dimly-lit room, trying to piece together where he was. He took a breath, but gagged on something down his throat, and then a second later there was a whoosh of air into his lungs anyway, which was very disconcerting. It was pulled out after another second without his approval, and he began to get the idea that something was breathing for him. He didn't like that, either, and grunted in annoyance, trying to figure out which of his arms was the least damaged so he could get the damned thing out of him.
Lorna had been in a light sleep. That was as much as one could get in one of those chairs, but she woke up when he started moving, the heart monitor's beeps changing pace slightly. It took her a moment to try and figure out what he was trying to do, then reached out, (very gently) grabbed the arm closest to her, which was in a cast. "Let me get a nurse. I'll be right back," she said quietly, voice weak from disuse.
He jumped slightly at her touch, but relaxed when he heard who it was, managing to turn his head enough to see her. He nodded a little, but she was already gone, and he was left with the frustrating prospect of trying to catalog his injuries without being able to see them.
She came back a moment later with a nurse who checked his vitals before agreeing to remove the respirator - which looked like a terribly uncomfortable process, if not quick - and a minute later they were alone again, and he was breathing under his own power. "I guess you want to know how bad of a shape you're in, right?"
He nodded just a little, mouth dry, and wondered what his voice would sound like. It was, as it turned out, hardly recognizable through the rasp. "Yeah... that'd be good."
She let out a long breath. It was a decent-sized list, and she had to remember them all. "You have 38 stitches, a good portion of those trying to repair the hole they made in you when they dug that bullet out. Four first-degree burns, eight second-degree burns. You barely escaped nerve damage there. They broke five ribs, caused a lot of internal bleeding, so they've been coming in about every hour to check for signs of hemorrhaging. Your right arm is mostly okay, but you have a hairline fracture in your forearm, so that's going to be in a sling. Your left is in a lot worse shape. I don't know what they were hitting you with, but you have a couple pieces of metal in your arm holding your bones in one piece. They managed not to break anything in your head and neck, but the swelling isn't going to go down for a few days, at least. Your bottom half is mostly okay, besides the burns and the bruising." She sighed, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes. "You almost died. Your heart stopped twice."
He nodded just a little, and if he wasn't so high on drugs, he was sure the "Okay, good," would have just been mental. As it was, it was suddenly out in the air in his scratchy voice, and it took him a few seconds to realize that wasn't a good response. He decided the best course of action was to shift the subject. "How long've I been out?"
She attributed that strange response to the drugs - of which she'd been clear were not to be opiates - and shifted to check her watch, not sure herself. "Around 17 hours. You were in surgery for five."
He nodded a bit, shifting to look at her. "Where's Jim?" he asked, curious to see the immediate effect of his plan if he could.
"I don't know," she shrugged, shaking her head. "I texted him an hour ago that you were probably going to make it, but no response. He left about an hour into your surgery. He didn't look happy about it."
He frowned, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to think. "Date?" he asked after a minute.
"March 2nd. Well, actually, it's the 3rd, now," she corrected herself, glancing at her watch again. "Sorry."
"Fuck... his surgery," he muttered, only to regret it a second later. He didn't seem to have much by way of vocal control on whatever the hell they'd hopped him up on. He sighed. Oh well. Harrison could know.
"Surgery? What?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Is this about his irritability these last few weeks?"
He nodded just a little. "Shh though... nobody's supposed to know. I'm only telling you because I'm fucking high.." He gave her a grin, then winced as it hurt his face. "His brain's all fucked up from when he ate a bullet."
She let out a long breath. "Christ. That... explains a lot," she muttered, shrugging slightly. "Hey, though, how are you feeling? I made sure they didn't put you on morphine, so it's something else. Something less likely to bring back the heroin cravings in force."
"Thank you," he said, nodding a little. "I hurt, but not bad... I feel good for almost dying."
She let out a bit of a stressed breath, nodding. She'd come so close to losing him. "Well, they'll let you out of here in a few days, then they'll hand you over to me. You're fucking lucky on that account. If you were by yourself they'd keep you here forever."
"Thank you again," he said with a smile. He looked her over carefully then. "You okay? Got out okay?"
She held up her left hand, which was still wrapped up in a bandage. "Split my hand open on a grate, but otherwise, yeah. Didn't get shot."
"Okay, good," he says, nodding a little. "That would have been bad."
"Yeah, it would have been," she snorted. "But it wasn't exactly like we planned that escape. Christ. I thought you were dead." She managed to keep her voice steady, though all she really wanted to do was crawl into his cot beside him and angrily berate him for something that wasn't his fault.
"I knew what I was doing, it was fine," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."
"You're alive, you're not fine," she said irritably, then sighed. "I'm sorry. Been a stressful few days. I mean, nothing compared to yours, but..."
"S'okay," he said, still trying to assure her that she had no reason to be upset. He'd signed up for this. Jim would stop now. "It's nothing I didn't anticipate."
"What do you mean anticipate? How could you have known anything about what they did to you?" she frowned, looking at him like he was crazy.
"No no, not... I just..." He frowned, glancing over at the IV in his arm. His head felt heavier. Had he gotten another dose of medication? "Now Jim'll leave you alone. That's all."
She shifted forward in her chair, her frown growing deeper. "What? Sebastian, did you- for fuck's sake, did you do this on purpose? Sebastian!"
He winced as she yelled. Oh, right, she wasn't meant to know that bit. They had definitely given him more medication, things were very hard to piece together. He decided that the best course of action was to firmly shut up, and did so.
She bent over, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, just trying to breathe. This was too much. He was like this because of her. She should have stayed, should have fought with him. "Youidiot," she breathed, practically into her knees. "I just- I can't-" she shook her head, her breath shuddering, and she sat up to look at him, eyes watery. "Don't you ever pull something like that again, do you hear me?"
"I was just fixing things, it's fine," he said, turning back to her, frowning that she was crying. "Don't cry, okay? I was just giving Jim a taste of his own medicine..."
"You almost got yourself killed, Sebastian," she shook her head, wiping at her eyes. "Just... for god's sake, you can't just do that. I can't- if you die, what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do? God, you're so fucking thick sometimes, I can't believe you."
"It was calculated," he said almost proudly, before deciding that wasn't the best tone. "I'm fine, okay? I'm okay. Not dying."
If he hadn't been bedridden with injuries, she would have smacked him. "That's not the point. You just- Don't do these things for me. If you get yourself killed I will never forgive myself."
"Likewise," he said seriously, looking over at her with a frown. "So Jim needed to stop being a prick."
"And what if he doesn't change anything, huh? Then this will have been for nothing. Besides making me very upset with you."
He shrugged a little. "I had to fix it. He didn't understand. Now he will."
She had to fight the urge to kick his bed. "You drive me insane. You're lucky I love you, or I would fucking kill you." She said it, and she didn't regret it. If he'd fucking died... And he was high, so she was kinda cheating.
He looked over at her again, eyebrows furrowing a little at that. "You do?" he asked. Then, "You wouldn't kill me, because you don't want me dead. That makes no sense."
She rolled her eyes. "Go the fuck to sleep. When you're high it's like the brains just dribble out your ears."
He frowned at her. "I can't... think, okay? They did something to my head..." He closed his eyes, then opened them a minute later. "Are you still angry?"
She rubbed her eyes. He got so much more vulnerable under the effects of drugs. She'd seen that inside that hellhole. "No, I'm not angry. I'm a little upset, but I'm not angry."
He nodded just a little bit, and closed his eyes again. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.
She was relieved that he was back asleep. She needed some time to process all this.
When he woke again a few hours later, he felt considerably more lucid, though he still hurt all over. Harrison was still there, dozing, and he didn't feel a need to wake her just yet, so he just lay there, trying to remember through the haze of medication what they'd discussed the last time he was awake.
She stirred about twenty minutes later, shifting a little uncomfortably, knots building up in her shoulders. "Hey," she rasped when she saw he was awake, "You doing okay?"
"Alright," he said with a nod. "I'd kill for a sandwich, though..." He noticed how tired she looked. "You should go get some rest."
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess I should," she sighed, standing and running a hand through her hair. "There's the button if you want to call the nurse."
He nodded just a little. Her eyes were red, and he gave her a bit of a smile. "Don't worry too much, okay? I promise you won't have to take over for me."
"I better not," she muttered, resting her hand on his briefly, then turning for the door. "I'm going to pass out. I'll probably be back within the next 12 hours."
"Okay," he said quietly, watching her go before reaching out to press the button to see about some food.
Over the next few days, the network was quiet. It was no secret what happened to Moran, and after a day of not being able to reach the boss, most assumed that he'd taken a trip without notifying anyone, as, occasionally, he did. Lorna was, suddenly, the highest-ranking functional agent in the building. She kept things running as smoothly as she could, but with no new orders coming in, it was easier than before. On the day the people at the clinic agreed to release Moran, she stopped by his flat after a meeting to grab him a change of clothes, then went down. She walked into his room holding them up. "Congratulations. You get to move up a few floors to be confined again."
He grinned. "Brilliant. I've been bored out of my mind," he said, working on trying to sit up and wincing a bit as his ribs protested. The last few days he'd been doing very little but move in and out of a stoned haze as the painkillers fluctuated. Lorna had been a bit cool with him at times, and he had a feeling he'd pissed her off, but he didn't remember much so he just let it slide.
"Should have thought about that before you pulled the stunt you did," she chided, though she was smiling. "Do you need help putting these on?"
He glanced up, surprised, wondering if she knew somehow, then nodded just a little. "Unfortunately I think so... Movement is a little restricted."
She nodded, setting the clothes on the bed and grabbing his pants, bending to help him into them. She had a lot of practice dressing people who were not very helpful - she'd had to dress a lot of high friends, back in the day. "I didn't miss that glance. How much do you remember after first waking up?"
"Just about nothing, honestly. They're keeping me fried on pain meds," he grumbled, trying to help as best he could without the use of his hands. "I'm useless."
"Ah. That explains the looks I've been getting," she rolled her eyes, reaching for trousers. "Quick recap; I know what you did. I yelled a little, I cried a little, you mostly looked like a kicked puppy."
"Oh bloody fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, tone black, as he shifted his legs into the trousers she held out. Brilliant.
She chuckled, making an 'I know' sound. "You get real chatty when they have you hopped up," she snorted, buttoning him up and grabbing his shirt before frowning slightly. "Alright, this part is going to be a little more difficult. How much does it hurt to take your arm out of the sling?"
He sighed. "Just kinda put it around my shoulders for now. That'll be enough. I don't care that much and it isn't a pleasant feeling." He caught her gaze, trying to read her. "Are you still pissed, then?"
She sighed, slinging it around his shoulders with a mild shrug. "I wasn't really angry in the first place. I was a little distraught, maybe. I did threaten that if I didn't- wasn't so emotionally attached to you, I would have killed you. I still kind of stand by that."
He nodded a little, smirking just slightly. "Fair enough." It was well worth it even if she had been angry. "Alright... standing," he said, considering the room a challenge and getting his feet squared properly on the floor.
She only hovered a little, ready to stop him from toppling to the floor if need me. Thank god he hadn't broken a leg in that place.
He managed to get to his feet, though his teeth were buried in his bottom lip with the effort. "Okay. Upstairs," he grunted, starting to walk- a bit unsteadily- across the floor.
"If you need them, there are crutches in the hall," she murmured, opening the door and holding it for him.
"Yes, because crutches will work so well with no arms and five busted ribs," he shot back sarcastically, eyes on his goal as he moved at a relatively slow pace out of his room and down the hall towards the infirmary exit.
She made an exasperated sound, following him out. "I'll get a fucking wheelchair if you need it, happy? Christ. Like pulling teeth. Keep in mind I'm going to be taking care of your miserable ass."
"By suggesting crutches to the man with two legs and no arms," he shot back, though he let a smirk soften the words a bit. "Sorry. Thank you for your completely useless but well-meant offer of support."
"You better be careful, I'll just push you over," she smirked, adjusting her pace to match his. "Lock you in the closet or something for a few hours, teach you a lesson."
"I may be incapacitated, but I can still murder you," he grumbled good-naturedly. He was aching all over, and he couldn't wait to get to his apartment and lay down. Almost dying apparently took it out of you.
"Mhmm," she said doubtfully, pushing the button for the lift. "Honestly, I'm afraid to touch you. You might just shatter."
"Don't be ridiculous," he snorted. "I'm just a bit bruised, is all." He glanced over at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes. "How have things been going?"
"Jobwise, okay. Nothing's really been happening. I've been managing what was already scheduled, but there haven't been really all that many hitches," she shrugged, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened and waiting until he got in to push the button for their floor.
He nodded a little, leaning carefully against the wall. He needed to check in on Jim, make sure he was doing alright. "Has anyone heard from Jim?"
"No. I know about that too, by the way. Forgot to recap that. Not sure if you remember. But I have been looking out for messages, but nothing. My guess is that he's not together enough yet to say anything."
He nodded just a little. "Remind me never to get high around you, you learn too much," he muttered as they got to their floor and headed out. He froze as he saw O'Hare in the hallway, and O'Hare stared back, before turning and walking into his apartment. Moran grit his teeth and headed for his own.
She was silent for a moment, letting him process that until they were safely inside the flat. She didn't really know how to continue the conversation, either. Her job was okay, right now, but she was tired and stressed over her personals. It was wearing on her. But he was in worse shape, and her first priority. "You want some food?"
"Yes, please," he said, nodding hopefully. "The food down there is alright but I'd love something normal..." He wandered over to collapse on the couch slowly, head falling back, exhausted.
"Alright, I'll get you something," she hummed, disappearing into the kitchen to heat up some Chinese takeout she'd gotten last night, specifically for this purpose. She brought it out to him a minute later, handing him the bowl before sitting heavily on the floor, back against the sofa. She'd kill for some valium right about now.
He'd figured out he could eat alright with his non-sling arm, and so propped the bowl in his lap and went to town as best he could, letting out a groan of content. "Thank you," he mumbled through a mouthful.
"Thank me by not choking because you ate too fast," she chuckled quietly. "I thought you might want some real food after the infirmary, so I got some stuff last night I know you like. I want all the brownie points you have."
He nodded in agreement, finishing the food quickly and setting the bowl aside, eventually looking at her with a quiet sigh. "So, warden, how long am I in for?"
"They don't want you working until the day after tomorrow, at the soonest. Your head is still recovering from the bashing it took. You go in for x-rays in four days, and that's only because you're so important to operations that they can't spare you. They'll tell you then what you're looking at," she shrugged, resting her head back against the cushions, looking up at him. "And if you really wanted to leave I couldn't stop you. So let's not do that."
He sighed, but nodded, closing his eyes. His head definitely had taken a bashing, so he supposed that was fair. "I'm sorry that I worried you," he said after a bit. "It was... necessary, but that doesn't mean I wanted to."
"Thanks," she murmured. She knew he was going to make it now, which was an enormous relief, but not the end of her worries. And she didn't want to bring up their little mistake, not when he was such a mess. And then there was DeWitt. A contact of hers had seen him in London.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, because he knew her well enough to know she wasn't. He wished he could pull her up from off the floor, but his arms were useless at the moment, so instead he shifted a leg to rest against her arm a little.
"I don't know," she shook her head. She didn't want to bring up either concern, not until he was healthier. "Just.. kinda need a break. I'm not going to get it, but..." She huffed, shrugging a little.
He sighed, nodding a little. "I'll be back to work as soon as I can, and I'll give you a break then, alright?" he said quietly. Everything was such a mess right now. "Is there anything I can help with right now?"
She shook her head. "No. No magic solutions for any of my shit right now. Just... waiting."
"Okay," he said, nodding just a little. He leaned his head back against the couch with a sigh, feeling like shit, mostly because he was exhausted, partly because O'Hare was just down the hall.
She could sense where his thoughts were going. "I don't like him," she said, frowning. "He gives me the creeps. And it's not just the scars. He's... a little off."
"O'Hare?" he asked, looking over at her. "He's a good man, Harrison... He is. He's been through a lot of shit but he's good." He didn't tell her what Jim had said about O'Hare reporting to him. They'd all reported things to Jim at one point or another. It didn't mean anything important.
"Maybe he was a good man," she said evenly, sighing. "But it's not as if you really know him now. That kind of shit changes people. Not many good people work for Jim."
That kind of shit that I left him to, he thought, but nodded a little. "Whatever you say," he said quietly. "If you don't trust him, then that's fine. Probably smart."
She made a tired noise. "I don't trust anybody. I don't trust Kelly. Kelly, who still can't kill somebody without becoming useless for a day afterward. It's almost gross how limp-wristed he is. I'm just fucking suspicious these days."
He snorted a little bit. "Kelly just seems pretty useless in general, in my opinion. I've thought about firing him. And you trust me, at least I think you do."
"Yeah, I trust you. God knows how that happened," she smirked, then sobered a little. "I just hope nobody crosses me. I think I might take a hand on accident one day."
"Lookit you, growing up to be a menace. I'm so proud," he said, smirking a little and nudging her with his knee.
She snorted. "You're lucky that for the most part I have retained my sunny disposition."
"'Sunny', is that what we're calling it?" he asked with a chuckle, though he winced as his ribs objected. "Seems optimistic."
"Oi, I was cynical before I became a menace, you can't count that one," she retorted, glancing back at him just to make sure he was alright. Relatively speaking. He still looked like he'd been beaten with a shipping yard.
"That's my point! You never had a sunny disposition," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He was quiet for a minute, then- "Did they give you any pain meds for me by any chance?"
She leaned to the side, digging them out of her pocket with a rattle. "I am not a clinic amateur. Let me get you a glass of water."
"Okay," he said with a small nod. The jostling of his ribs had apparently been the domino that needed flicking, and the pain medication was starting to wear off rather rapidly.
She got up and returned a moment later, making sure he had the glass before she opened up the bottle and jostled the right number of pills into her hand, carefully passing them to him. He really needed an extra hand. "Let's hope you don't say something even crazier than last time, huh?"
"Here's hoping," he said with a nod, raising his hand up carefully to get the pills in his mouth before switching the glass to his good hand and downing it greedily. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he got the first sip, but he finished the glass easily. He set the glass down on the end table carefully, and sighed, leaning back a little.
"Let me know if you want anything else," she murmured, resting her head back against his leg carefully, in case it hurt and he needed to tell her not to.
He smiled a little at that, though, shifting his leg behind her a bit until he could hook his foot around her hip, shifting her a bit closer. He would never admit it, but he'd missed her the last few days.
She was content to just sit with him for a while, waiting for his meds to kick in. Part of her was glad that he didn't remember her confession; it meant they didn't have to discuss it, and she'd gotten to say it at least once before one of them died horribly. But she was disappointed, too, that he didn't know.
He let out a hum of content as the pain started to fade away, and yawned. "That's better," he muttered, shifting around a bit to get more comfortable on the couch.
"Good. Maybe you'll be able to sleep well tonight. God, I hope you do. I need rest," she muttered.
"I won't wake you up if I don't," he snorted, sounding almost insulted. "I'm a big boy, I can let you sleep."
She snorted. "Mhmm. You think a little differently when you're on that stuff. Believe me, it's a real experience."
"Like what? What did I do?" he asked, looking down at her curiously. "What're you down there for, anyway?"
"You say weird things," she chuckled, shifting to laying down next to him, careful not to flop so she wouldn't hurt him.
He smiled a little at that, closing his eyes. "Like what? What weird stuff did I say?" he asked with a sigh and another yawn.
"What, and give up my dirt on you? C'mon, you have those dares, I got to have something," she chuckled, cuddling up to him as best she could under the circumstances.
He pouted a little but nodded. "S'pose that's fair. Gotta save the dares for a good time," he said with a yawn.
"Hey, you can take a nap if you want. You don't have to worry about anything that needs doing right now. You need a lot of rest."
"You don't need to baby me," he snorted, though his voice was lazy. "M'fine..."
"Someday you're going to say that I'm going to snap, maybe try to stab you," she replied mildly, rolling her eyes. "Your heart stopped, you're allowed to be a little fucked up, okay?"
"You know, I didn't have a near-death experience," he sighed, frowning. "No out-of-body experiences, no light at the end of the tunnel. That's a rip-off..."
"I've never had one either, and I've come close to dying a few times." She shrugged a little. "I don't know, though, if all that stuff is real, I'm sure as hell not seeing a light. They're not even going to let me see those gates. I don't really believe in it, though."
He let out an odd sort of giggle. "The way I see it, if there is a hell, they'll probably hire us," he said with a grin, eyes closed.
"You would love being a torturer. I don't know what I'd do," she snorted. "Maybe give tours."
"You can be the good cop, or a succubus or something," he said, grinning. "Or in charge of the tempting department... acquisition of new souls, all that..." He laughed, obviously amused by the thought.
"Oh, I would make the best succubus. I would take so many souls. Lucifer would give me my pay raise himself. I'd deck out my hell-flat so cool," she snickered. "Actually, I'd have you do that."
He grinned at her. "Yeah? You think? They probably have really good hot tubs in hell. Like... natural heat and all that..."
She groaned. "Ugh, don't bring those up, I'm so tempted to just abandon your ass here and go make use of your jacuzzi. So tempted. "
He pouted. "That's not fair. Though I did give you the key. See? Wouldn't have been so bad if I died, you could've had it all to yourself," he said, nodding to himself at the logic.
"No, I don't think I'd want to stay there without you. I'm pretty accustomed to small spaces, and that's not a small space. It would feel too empty," she shook her head, glancing up at him. His meds were definitely taking effect.
"The jacuzzi is small," he pointed out, shifting a little until he could put his head on the armrest and yawning.
"I can't live in the jacuzzi," she retorted, smirking, then looked up at him. "You should really sleep again."
He stuck his tongue out but didn't open his eyes. "I don't like this stuff... makes my head feel all weird..."
"That's pain medication for you," she sighed. "Not much you can do about it except wait until you're healed enough to stop taking them."
"Hmph," he muttered, yawning again, before opening his eyes to glance at the door. "Is the door locked?" he asked after a moment. "Don't want O'Hare comin' in.."
Well, that answered the question about whether or not Sebastian trusted their neighbor. "No," she shook her head, getting up carefully, trying not to jostle him. "I'll lock it, don't worry about it."
"Mkay," he said quietly, eyes shutting again. A few moments later he was asleep, curled up into a ball on the couch.
Lorna was going to lock it, but then her phone vibrated in her pocket, and that meant that someone in the department needed her. She sighed, stepping outside. She was surprised to find O'Hare in the hall. "Ah. Hi, neighbor."
He nodded a little. "How's he doing?" he asked, eyes on the door she'd just stepped out of, arms crossed.
"He's doing alright," she sighed, sliding her phone back into her pocket. Really, this was out of character for him. She'd only exchanged a few words with him since he'd arrived. "I got him settled. Just have to let his body heal, at this point."
"I can understand that," He said, giving her a grin that was missing a few teeth. "Heard he almost died."
"Yeah, they gave him a pretty good whooping in there," she snorted, rubbing the back of her neck with a glance towards the door. "He'll be alright. He's tough."
He snorted a little. "He's gone soft," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Not the Sebastian Moran I knew."
She raised her eyebrows. "Well, I mean, his heart stopped, and last I checked, that's not really controllable. He's really not gone soft."
He shrugged. "You didn't know him back in the army. I did. I'm not saying he's soft for dying, I'm saying his lifestyle... his reputation... his mental state, too, from what I've seen... All a little squishy." He sneered.
"His reputation. Oh, boy. O'Hare, when he feels like reminding the peons what he's capable of, the office is quiet for days. You've only been here for, what, a couple months?" she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And what about his lifestyle seems squishy to you?"
"What doesn't?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Fancy job, fancy townhouse, and he's stayed here for years. He's become sedentary. We're warriors, adventurers, our type."
She laughed at him. "Christ, are you thick, or what? No wonder you got caught," she scoffed, a bit of a cruel glint coming into her eye. He'd been the one to start this. And her fuse had been whittled down to nothing. "He hit the jackpot. This job? It doesn't end - you don't leave, you get fucking killed. The fact that he's been here for years just proves that he's better than everyone else in this fucking building except for the boss. He's certainly been doing more fighting, more travelling, than you were in that place. Do you call that an adventure?"
He stepped forward suddenly, looking over her, and for a moment it looked like he might attack her. Then he stepped slowly back. "While he's been here basting in luxury, I was a prisoner of war. I've read your file, Harrison. You've spent a little time under the knife. What, a few days with Mr. Holmes here and there? A few weeks, at most? And you're scared, and scarred, and I understand that. Now imagine that sort of thing every day for six years . What were you doing six years ago? Think about everything in between. Every birthday, every day spent on your arse watching television... imagine those little beetles nibbling around under your skin. Can you comprehend that?" he spat, eyes wild with rage. Then he seemed to catch himself, to a breath. "Don't talk to me about his adventures. He's soft."
She was uncowed, and she had every right to be. He could do nothing to her. She was more valuable than him, and if he did anything to damage her, he would pay for it. "I don't give a fuck what you went through, O'Hare. I'll never lose sleep over it. The only impact you have on my life is the air you're wasting when you're in the same space as me," she snarled, staring at him like she wasn't a good couple feet shorter than him. "Your perceptions are skewed. You can't compare everyone else to your life as a fucking torture victim, it's idiotic, and a waste of my goddamn time. And I will talk to you however I want. Especially when you start going down a line of conversation I take issue with. Think before you open your mouth. You're only here to fuck with Moran's head. Killing you would be no loss to anyone."
He bared his teeth just slightly. "I was there because he left us. Disobeyed orders and left us. You and I both know he agrees with me, and it's tearing him apart. You may not care, but he does, and you care about him."
"And you only lived because they let you," she said coldly, looking at him with contempt. "You didn't survive. You didn't do anything to keep yourself alive. There's nothing you can do, not in those situations. You aren't alive because you're some macho warrior, because you're tougher than the rest. You survived because they kept you alive. That's nothing to be proud of."
"No," he agreed, nodding. "You're right. It isn't. It's something to be angry about."
"Yeah, I bet," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Now, are you fucking done talking back to me? Cause if you aren't, I have just been looking for an excuse to beat the shit out of someone this week."
He ground his teeth, but he wasn't in condition to fight anyone anymore, so he stepped back and shut up, eyes blazing.
"That's what I thought," she muttered, pulling her phone out of her pocket and turning for the lift, ready to react if he thought about trying to attack while she had her back turned. "I better not see you on my department floor unless you have a hand-written note from a superior, or I will burn off what's left of your face. Ciao."
He watched her go, turning to consider the door to Moran's apartment, and for a moment his eyes lit up. In her distraction, she'd left the door ajar. He walked closer, considered it... then pulled it shut. Now wasn't the time. He turned and limped back into his apartment, closing the door firmly behind him.
She spent the rest of the day wondering whether or not to tell Moran about their little altercation in the hallway. She felt vindicated, felt like she'd been right to be a little leery of him, but... Moran was healing. He didn't need that stress yet. Just like he didn't need her other stresses.