It's six a.m. again
I hate this and I hate you
The sun comes up again
I love you and I miss you
It's six a.m. again
I hate this and I hate you
You're in my bed again
I love you and I miss you

- Von Grey - 6 AM -

After the nurse came in and told them that he was stable but sleeping, Lorna got up and put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, trying to get him to stop pacing. "Sebastian. If you're not going to get blood drawn at least come back to the flat and rest, okay? Nothing you can do to help him right now."

He didn't need the bloodwork. As soon as the drugs had worn off past a certain point he'd known he was fucked. Half of the pacing had been to keep himself distracted. He gave a bit of a nod as she spoke, but then shook his head. "Go ahead. I'll stay here."

She let out a long sigh, biting the inside of cheek. "...Sebastian. Please. I can't sleep if I'm worrying about you. Seriously."

He sighed, glanced towards Jim's hospital room, and then nodded. "Fine."

"Thank you," she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck and turning for the door. She wanted to keep an eye on him, along with the fact that she'd miss his presence. Damn whoever had drugged him.

He nodded just a little, following her out and to the elevator, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He didn't want Lorna knowing what the drug had done. He needed to work on that.

"Are you alright?" she sighed, looking over him with a little concern. "Just... be honest with me."

"Fine," he said, opening his eyes, and then sighing. "Fuck. We should have had them look at your shoulder," he muttered.

She shrugged a little, taking a deep breath. It hurt, but it was nothing she couldn't do herself with a pair of tweezers. "I can take care of it. I'm more worried about you. So much shit they could have given you..."

"I've been drugged before, Harrison," he muttered a bit shortly. "I can deal with it just fine."

"You know it's different now," she snapped, stepping out of the elevator and in a split decision turning for her own door. She hated when he got defensive. Hated it.

He watched her go. If she thought he was going to stop her, she had another thing coming. He stepped out of the elevator, heading for his own apartment and scanning in, closing the door behind him. Home sweet home. Wahoo.

She just barely stopped herself from slamming the door behind her, silently fuming as she headed for the liquor cabinet. Damn his fucking ego defense mechanisms. Damn them. She got out a bottle of whiskey and moved for the bathroom, where she got her first-aid kit out and plopped herself down into the tub. Cleaning her shoulder wasn't going to be a real clean process.

He paced the room, considering his situation. Then he took a breath, made a dozen individually wrapped sandwiches and grabbed a case of bottled water, setting them both by the radiator in the bathroom. He grabbed the television remote, put in fresh batteries, and shifted the television to the bathroom door. Last, he grabbed his cell phone and charger, and some long-chain handcuffs from his closet. He took a breath, walked into the bathroom, and closed one cuff around the radiator, and the other around his wrist. Tightly.

She spent the next hour and a half digging glass out of her arm and throwing back large swallows of whiskey to dull the pain and trying to ignore the blood that welled up every time she had to poke around in the lacerations for any glass she'd missed. When she was finally satisfied that she'd gotten every last piece out, she stumbled out of the bathtub and turned the shower on to stick her arm under, and watched the little bits of red-stained glass go running down the drain. Fucking hell, if he pulls the shit he pulled last time... I can at least admit I have a fucking problem so it can be fucking dealt with.

He realized he should have grabbed a cushion or something, and folded up a towel to sit on, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. The key was in the other room. He was here for a few days, at least. By then the cravings would be under control.

Lorna brought the liquor into the bedroom with her and sat back against the headboard, preparing herself for at least a good twenty-four hours of drunkenness. The world would keep revolving if she just checked out for a little bit.

The first night was hell. He lost track of time in the windowless room, and five minutes passed like hours. At some point he dented the radiator stanchion, but it wasn't broken, so he didn't care. He threw up until he had nothing left, and after that it was useless gagging, or occasionally the water he managed to get down.

It was late into the second day that she was drunk enough to cross the hall, the need to be in the same room as him overriding her anger. It took her a few tries to key his door open, and she stepped through to close the door heavily behind her. "Okay, I'm done being- shit, ow," she tripped over the coffee table, and limped into the bedroom, wondering where the fuck he was. "Being... pissy," she finished, peeking into the bathroom, and immediately frowning. "What're you doing?"

He'd made a weak attempt to close the door with his foot, but she'd gotten there before he could, and he gave up, leaning back against the bathtub tiredly. He felt like shit, and guessed he didn't look much better.

"Handling it."

"Whaddaya mean, handling it?" she scowled, sitting down beside him with a thump because she thought that maybe her tipping over mid-sentence wouldn't really make her point. "Y'said you were fine, liar. Christ, Seb. Why the fuck do you gotta be this way, huh? You're so fucking difficult ," she muttered, slouching down beside him.

"I didn't want you to worry," he muttered, arm tensing a little against the cuff, cutting into his skin for the dozenth time that morning and sending a slow rivulet of blood down his arm to dry with the rest. "How else would you have handled it?"

"Not by chaining you to the radiator, f'one thing," she grumbled, leaning over him a little to look at his wrist and then slumping back again, sighing. "Where's the key? I've had quite a bit of absinthe but I can take better care of you then this, for fuckin' sure."

"This is a fail-proof system," he muttered, eyes still closed. "And no thank you. I've had enough of my own experiences on absinthe to distrust your judgment."

"Don't be an asshole, you motherfucker. You're the one who decided to chain himself to the motherfucking radiator," she growled, pushing herself to her feet and heading for the door to find the key to his cuffs. "God, you 'ave no idea how angry it makes me that I can't bring myself to stay away from you. Tell me where the fuckin' key is or I'll just pick the goddamn lock."

"I did what I decided was best," he said, voice calm in the face of her anger, just to piss her off.

She turned back to him, letting out a groan and leaning back against the door frame. "You did this because you didn't want me to worry? Because you thought that was the best option? Fuckin- look, Moran, I thought by now that you'd at least consider consulting with this shit. I get that on a job, there's no fuckin' time, like I locked you out so you'd take Jim out first, but this, this is just-" she looked away, breath hitching. Drunk + angry = crying. "All I want is to help. No one helped me, Seb. And look what sort of shit I picked up n'order to fuckin' cope."

"You said yourself," he growled. "There's nothing that you can do to help withdrawal. You've just got to bite the bullet and get through it. Well, consider the bullet bitten."

"This isn't what I meant!" she scoffed, waving a hand in his general direction. "Sebastian, I'm just- I'm offering fucking support. Just..." she trailed off, sighing. "Whatever. If you don't want me here, I'll go."

"Walking in here and insulting my methods and swearing at me while pissed off your arse. Fabulous support. Thanks," he muttered, closing his eyes again. He was too exhausted to deal with this shit.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, raking a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. Just... coming in here and seeing you just.. isolate yourself over this. It worries me."

He was tempted to push her away. If anyone else had seen him like this, tried to extend help, had gotten anywhere close to how she acted with him, he would have killed them.

"Don't worry. That was the point of all this."

But she was Lorna.

She slid down the door frame, letting her head fall forward onto her knees. "What was th'point? I'm... almost unpleasantly drunk. Hard to absorb."

"You not worrying was the point," he sighed, looking over at her. "Mind telling me why in hell you're so drunk?"

She shrugged a little, not lifting her head. "I start to eat myself alive when I get well and truly pissed with you. Self-loathing is a lot easier to deal with after you've had a few drinks."

"Shouldn't you be loathing me when you're mad at me?" he sighed, looking over at her tiredly.

"I can't help it," she muttered, waving a hand at him a little. "I get angry at myself for putting up with you, and then it snowballs into this fucking.. bad past relationships thing, and I hate myself for being such a doormat, blah blah blaah..."

He didn't know how to respond to that for a long while, the words stinging in unexpected places. Places he hadn't even known to protect.

"Sorry our relationship is that shitty," he finally said quietly. The words were missing the usual sarcastic bite that accompanied most of his apologies.

"No, no, no," she picked her head up, shaking it, a little bit of desperation entering her eyes. "Sebastian, that's not- no, no," she pleaded, scooting forward on her knees, hands hovering over his shirt before taking his face in her hands. "You are the best thing to ever happen to me, okay? I fucking love you, you know that. I'm just- I'm not good at being happy."

Something eased at her immediate rush to correct her words, and he relaxed slightly under her touch. "Christ," he muttered, shaking his head a little in her hands. "Don't scare me like that. It's rude."

"What do you think I was going to do, leave you?" she shook her head, leaning up to kiss his forehead once, her hands shaking slightly. "Fuck no. No."

"No, but being told I have to be put up with is hardly a pleasant experience," he muttered.

"M' sorry, I'm drunk," she murmured, slumping down beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Words are... not working for me. It's just.. it's not like that. I mean that's what all relationships are. Putting up with each other. The only thing about you that I have to put up with is your defense mechanism things. Least favorite thing about you. But I have many, many fucking favorite things about you," she sighed, looking up at him. "You're just... like, perfect, you know? For me. I've never really loved anyone else, Sebastian. I don't deserve you."

She was leaning against his free arm, so he shifted it around her, hugging her to his side. "It's fine. But if you're going to be mad at me for not asking for help with the drugs, then you can't not ask for help when you feel like shit and want to drink it off. Doesn't work like that."

"I feel like it's different," she mumbled, shaking her head just a little, but so glad to be touching him again. "I mean, the drugs really have nothing to do with me. I'm upset because of you but then it compounds to me... it's just... a whole mess."

He sighed. "So the drugs- which have nothing to do with you- should involve you, but the me driving you to drinking shouldn't involve me?" he asked, smirking just a little and tucking her against his chest.

"Technically it's not you... I... fuck, I don't know. Too drunk," she murmured, shaking her head. Then she sat up a little. "Should unshackle you though. You don't need to fuck up your wrist."

"Wrist is fucked up. If you wanted to prevent that, you should have been here two days ago." He sighed. "Keys are in the bedside table drawer."

"Okay," she murmured, pushing herself to her feet and heading for the door. She was back in a moment, crouching in front of him and fumbling with the key until she managed to unlock him, sitting back on her haunches and dropping the key. "There. Do you want food?"

He gingerly extricated his wrist, and shook his head. "Wouldn't keep it down," he muttered, reaching up to rub at his eyes.

"Okay. Well, do you want to sleep in an actual bed?" she shrugged, trying to keep herself from slurring. "Just... tell me what you need, yeah?"

"Bed would be good," he sighed, nodding in agreement and standing up slowly, his whole body protesting angrily.

She nodded, trying to look at his torn-up wrist anxiously without annoying him. "We should probably wrap this up in case you try to scratch it in your sleep.

He sighed, but knew a smart idea when he heard one and nodded, turning to start rinsing it in the sink, clenching his teeth slightly as it stung.

She grabbed the first-aid kit from beneath the sink and set it on the counter to flick open the lid, rooting around for the linen roll briefly before coming up victorious. "So they put Jim in an induced coma, huh? He's gonna be real pissed when he wakes up. Wonder what 'e was doin' in there to begin with..."

"He was being an asshole and ditching his bodyguard, is what he was doing," he growled, shaking the water off of his hand and holding it out for her to wrap.

She wrapped it with minimal fumbling and then shoved the first-aid kit back under the sink, heading for the bedroom. "I mean, yeah, but like, why was he there, you know?"

"Hell if I know," he sighed, walking over to flop on the bed with a groan. "Believe me, he and I will be discussing that in detail once he wakes up."

"Good luck with that," she murmured, walking over to the bed and flopping onto the bed, crawling between the sheets without any preamble. "At least he's not dead. At least we didn't fuck up this time."

"Yeah. At least," he muttered, sighing and closing his eyes. "If he'd gotten himself killed, I'd've killed him."

"You have that sentiment about a few people," she muttered, curling up against him, glad to be able to touch him again. She'd missed him. In an angry way, but still.

"Well it's true," he shot back, holding her close and shutting his eyes. Maybe with her here he could get some sleep.

She just fell silent, listening to his heartbeat. Christ, if he ever thought she could leave him...

He dropped into an uneasy dose, stress waking him every half hour or so, but he managed to at least relax.

She woke at about three in the morning, shifting into him with a quiet groan. "Ugh... did I dream that conversation in the bathroom...?"

"Nope," he said simply, eyes boring into the far wall, breaths purposefully slow and even.

"Damn," she murmured, burrowing into his neck slightly, slinging an arm over his chest. "Sorry 'bout that. Thanks for putting up with me."

"I've said far worse when drunk," he retorted, wrapping an arm around her and concentrating on her presence- her scent, her warmth- anything instead of the clawing hunger begging him for a hit.

"I suppose," she sighed, glad to nestle into him. It was almost a shock to remember the days when he'd been nearly disgusted by the slightest affection. Back then, the only thing he'd allowed was rough and dirty sex. Now it was the same, but with an unshakable amount of feeling.

He didn't respond, just traced circles on her back, distracting himself.

"Something you said... How long do you see this lasting?"

"Hm? What did I say?" she frowned a little, looking up at him. Stalling. She didn't know how to answer him.

"Something about fuck no you wouldn't leave me, and me being the best thing that ever happened to you," he said casually. He honestly wasn't sure what to make of that.

She was silent for a moment, taking a long breath. "I... I don't know. I guess I saw us doing this until one of us finds a reason to stop. I don't really put timetables on things, you know?"

He nodded just a little. That was reasonable and about what he'd expected. "Alright."

"Not gonna.. follow up on that, or anything?" she raised her eyebrows, a bit cautiously. "Cause now I want to know your thoughts."

He shrugged a little. "Those are pretty much my thoughts. Just was thinking the reasons might... not come up. That's all."

She was silent for a minute, absorbing that with quiet surprise. That was the closest thing to a commitment that she was ever going to get from him. "Well," she said finally, fiddling absently with the hem of his shirt, "I can't foresee any on this end. And I'm usually a pessimist about... pretty much everything, I suppose."

He nodded a little, taking a breath and relaxing his grip on her, rolling onto his back.

She wasn't sure what to make of his silence. She rarely was. But that was a sleeping dog that was better to let lie. "You want me to get you a water or something? You should really try to stay hydrated," she asked quietly.

"Yeah, that might be good," he sighed, nodding. "I feel like shit."

"I know. I'll be right back, yeah?" she murmured, turning and slipping out of bed with a squeeze of his shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a few ibuprofen, sitting on the edge to hand them to him. "For the wrist. Swelled-up appendages aren't fun."

He nodded his thanks and downed the pills, taking the water in slow sips so as not to disrupt the current delicate balance of his stomach.

She sat there in silence while she waited for him to finish, contemplating the room. It was as familiar as her own flat across the hall, by this point, and she took a moment to enjoy the relative ease she felt, rather than an itching urge to twiddle her thumbs. "When the fuck did we last get a vacation day?" she sighed, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. "It feels like forever ago. Christ, why did I decide to put effort into this job? Things were so great when I was a lazy coaster."

"Because you didn't get a choice," he muttered, closing his eyes as he set the mostly empty glass on the bedside table and putting his head in his hands.

"Well someone was certainly sneaky about it, because I don't recall being forced," she snorted, then twisted a little more to look at him, biting the inside of her cheek. The urge to relapse was awful, there was no getting around it. "Can I do anything to distract you? Do you want to watch a movie or some depressing documentary on whales?"

He shrugged a little, taking a slow breath before he nodded. "Might be a good idea, yeah..."

"Alright," she murmured, gently taking his unharmed wrist and tugging him off the bed. It might have been funny to any outsider - treating someone as large and threatening as him so carefully seemed strange. "Let's go get you settled on the sofa, then."

He stood, thought about mentioning something about him not needing pampering, but didn't have the energy and just followed her meekly. Meekly. Not a word he used to describe himself often.

She could tell he felt particularly shitty, because he didn't even try to fight her. She didn't enjoy it when he fought her, but it seemed to be an essential part of his makeup, so she did her best not to hold it against him. She led him into the living room and deposited him on the couch before going to the cabinet underneath the TV to root through the movies there (most were hers, that she'd transferred from across the hall, since he seemed to have his work place austere on principle alone). "What do you think is more likely to distract you; wildly inaccurate action movies or an annoying RomCom with a white, straight couple that can't communicate with each other to save their lives?"

"God, no romcoms, I'm nauseous enough," he groaned, rubbing at his eyes. "At least inaccuracy isn't sickening most of the time."

"Alright," she chuckled, popping in one at random and heading back to the couch to sit down, silently hoping that the movie just put him to sleep. Unconsciousness was the easiest way to get around this, but hell if she wanted to give him another drinking problem.

He leaned against her, too tired for dignity, and half-watched the movie, eyes closing every once and awhile, at shorter and shorter intervals for longer and longer time.

Slowly, sneakily, she turned down the volume on the movie, waiting until his eyes were closed and his breath was even to do so.

He woke slowly the next morning, feeling incredibly thirsty but otherwise a lot better than he had the night before.

Lorna was sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and looking over her emails, but she got up as she heard him starting to make noises, peeking out into the living room. "Hey. Feel any better?"

"A bit, yeah," he sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "How're you?"

"Fine. A little hungover," she shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. "I've had worse. You want breakfast?"

He nodded slightly as he sat up, pulling his phone out and checking it.

"Fuck," he muttered, immediately standing and heading for his bedroom. "Jim woke up almost an hour ago."

She let out a long breath, leaning against the wall. Well, damn. There went feeding and hydrating him. "Good luck with that shit."

"Thanks," he muttered as he started shaving, as quickly as he could without cutting himself. "Should be thrilling."

"Try not to get killed, huh?" she sighed, mostly to herself, tapping her mug absently. Thank god she wasn't required to go along. She did not want to stand in the crossfire.

"Generally an assumed goal," he shot back, jumping into the shower for two minutes to wash off the reek of days of withdrawal. He winced as the water hit his wrist, but didn't slow as he rinsed and then jumped out, drying off and walking over to the closet to pull on his typical uniform, the crimson shirt oddly inviting despite the circumstances.

It was weird to see him come out in his usual outfit - it had been a long time since they'd been at HQ. It was almost a relief to see it. It meant things were returning to normal. Fucking finally. "Let me know if you survive. I'm probably going to be pacing around my department, making vague threats."

"Will do," he nodded, straightening his jacket over his holster as he headed out the door. "See you later."

She nodded, waved, and turned to go back into the kitchen.

Jim hadn't been in this much pain since before his brain surgery. That had been a different kind of pain - a deep, pushing ache, unrelenting, without end. This pain came and went, flared up when he moved, throbbed when the morphine began to retreat from his limbs. This was not the first time he'd been under the knife, and it likely wasn't going to be the last, but it didn't make it hurt any less. The worst was the foggy state in-between the medication and full consciousness, when the morphine stopped being effective but he was still too out of it to get a handle on the pain by himself. It took him almost an hour to get to the point where he could ask what had happened, and then he felt something shockingly close to embarrassment. You walked right into that one.

Moran strode through the medical ward with a purpose, and no one was foolish enough to get in his way. He walked into Jim's room without knocking, setting the tone quickly. He wouldn't be ignoring anything that had happened.

"Moran," Jim said hoarsely, cracking his eyelids open as the sound of footsteps made its way to his ears. "You're looking well. How're the wife and kids?"

"A hell of a lot better off than you," he said without faltering. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Nothing smart, I'll admit that," he muttered, sullen. "I was rash, Moran. That's all you'll get out of me."

"Not good enough," he said, a bit of a snarl entering his voice. "You're going to apologize, and swear never to pull shit like that again, or I will walk out of here and come back with my resignation letter."

"You're willing to sign your own death warrant in order to hear an apology come out of my mouth? I thought you were a little less stubborn than that," he snorted, rolling his eyes a little, then regretting it. His head was far too foggy for such a maneuver.

"If I have to risk my life in order to make sure you stay alive? I wonder why that sounds familiar..." he hummed sarcastically. "Either you agree to work with me, or I resign and force you to hire someone who you will work with. While I run unannounced security checks."

Jim was silent for a moment, jaw clenched, steam practically venting from his ears. "Fine. I apologize," he spat, looking like the words tasted strongly of lemon juice. "Happy?"

"You're missing a part," he said evenly, not backing down, holding Jim's gaze.

"I agree to work with you," he amended, bitterly. This was not easy for him.

He nodded, his demeanor relaxing. "Excellent. For my part, I apologize for how aggressive I was before you left. I was also out of line."

"I'm not certain 'aggressive' covers it, but I suppose I'm in no position to argue," Jim muttered. He didn't doubt that without Harrison's intervention he would be dead, or at least critically injured. At least there was one benefit to them fucking. "Is there anything else you'd like to berate me for while we're here, or are you done?"

"No," he sighed, finally walking over to sit by the bed. "We used to be a great team, boss. I think if we could get back to that rhythm it would be best for both of us."

Jim sighed, itching carefully above his I.V. "Yes, I think that would be best. Things have gotten... rather out of hand."

"Agreed," he sighed. "We need to focus our energies on the actual enemies. Not infighting. But both of us need to agree to do that. If only one does, it won't work."

"No, no, of course," he shook his head, sighing again. "You're right. I'll... stop needling you. Don't know why I started in the first place, truth be told. Maybe I just can't remember." He turned his head. Ah. He'd just gotten another hit of morphine. "I'll let you work in peace."

He nodded. "And I'll respect your authority. Only take the liberties that are required by my position." He sighed, and rubbed at his eyes again. He was starting to feel off again. "In the interest of full disclosure, given the fact that I'll wager the drugs are affecting your usual ability to perceive, during the attempt to recover you I was injected with something that's triggered withdrawal. I've stayed clean, but it's still in the process of wearing off and I'm not at my best."

Moran had been right. He had missed that. "Hm. Well, I don't need you to be at your best, not right now. I'm likely going to be in this bed for the next three days, if the doctors have anything to say about it. Just stay clean. Work will wait."

He nodded slightly, and stood. "Anything you want done or need?"

Jim considered telling Moran to thank Harrison, then decided that was the morphine speaking. He didn't thank people. "No. There's nothing that needs doing. You're dismissed."

He nodded, and headed for the door. That had gone infinitely better than he's expected.

Jim sank back into the bed, letting out a long, tired breath, and let himself sink back down into the murky haze of the medication.

He had nothing to do, so he headed over to Lorna's department, passing a very cowed-looking Kelly as he walked through the aisles of costuming mixed in with the desks.

Lorna was sat down at her desk, which was tucked in the corner well away from the others, frowning down at her computer. She looked up as he approached, a little surprised to see him. He usually steered clear of the grifting department. She couldn't blame him. "Hey. You look relatively unscathed. How'd it go?"

"He apologized," he said, sitting down in the swivel chair across from her desk and spinning slightly.

Her eyebrows shot up. "He what? Christ, is he fucking dying or something? Never thought I'd see the fucking day. If you're in shock about this it's completely understandable."

"To be fair, I didn't give him much choice," he said, spinning back towards her. "Told him it was that or I'd hand in my resignation."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Christ! I don't know if you're fearless or just crazy. Oh - while we're talking about Jim; I did a little digging into who had him in the warehouse. Whoever it is, they were careful. No one really owns that building, and our people who went to scope it out say that they're all gone now. I don't know who it was, but I don't think that's the last we'll be hearing from them."

"That's odd," he sighed, tilting his head back. I thought for sure it would be Holmes, but he likes to brag, not disappear..."

"Yeah," she shook her head, "And we never saw him in the center of the city like that, before. This just isn't his style. Whose it is, fuck if I know."

"We'll figure it out," he sighed, standing. "Want to go grab breakfast somewhere?"

"God, yes," she muttered, pushing up from the desk. "Kelly, if you set something on fire I'll kill you."

Kelly- who had just walked over- blanched slightly and nodded furiously. Moran snorted in amusement and headed for the door. "Nice to see he hasn't grown a pair in your absence."

She smirked, leading him back out of the maze of clothes and towards the elevator. "I did make him eat spiderwebs that one time. He's learned to cower."

Jim spent the next few days in an odd haze of drugs. Time passed faster, he found, when one was too stoned to pay attention to every little detail. He wasn't sure what time it was when he reached out for his phone and texted Harrison.

Report to my room in the medical ward immediately. JM

Lorna was confused to say the least when she received the text, but she wasn't too surprised to forget to respond. Yes sir. On my way. LH

She walked into the room a few minutes later, knocking lightly on the door as she entered, eyes cautiously scanning the room. "You called me, sir."

"Mhm," he nodded, waving her over. "I'd like to speak with you."

"Er... alright," she nodded, moving to sit in the chair by his bed, folding her hands together in her lap.

"It occurs to me, Harrison," he said, starting to sit up before thinking better of it and laying still, "That were it not for your intervention, I would be a very dead man at the hands of my bodyguard."

She raised her eyebrows. This was looking to be a real strange conversation. "That... sounds about right to me, sir."

He nodded a little, contemplating the ceiling for a while. "I should probably thank you, then."

Lorna decided to just roll with it. The faster it was over with, the less uncomfortable she would be. "You're uh.. you're welcome sir."

"Good," he said, nodding a few times. "Moran and I have sorted this out. I don't anticipate a repeat situation."

"I don't think any of us want to see that situation again," she snorted, leaning back a little in her chair. "Not a fun trip to New York, overall."

"No," he agreed seriously, nodding slightly. "Could be better next time... I don't enjoy being indebted to people, Harrison."

She shook her head. "No, consider yourself debt free, okay? I have no desire to even pretend to have a string on you. Just forget it. Easier for me, in the long run."

He harrumphed slightly, but nodded. "Despite your assurances... next time you have the chance for a vacation, select any destination and accommodations you like. You'll be provided with a company card with enough to fund the high life for a couple of weeks."

"I... thanks," she nodded, deciding that arguing was a bad choice. She didn't know if she'd ever take him up on the offer, but hey, this wasn't a bad thing.

He nodded slightly, and then flicked his hand a few times in a dismissive manner. "Done now."

She stood immediately, nodding a little, and quickly exited. Wait until Moran heard about this.

The next few months were oddly like old times. He and Jim actually got on, even with Jim's frustration at his lack of mobility as he slowly healed.

It was nearing 8 when Lorna got in from her latest job, tired and trying to ignore the twinge in her leg that happened when the weather changed. "Hey, you want Thai or something?" she asked as she walked in the door, kicking off her heels as she went, passing him on her way to the bedroom. "I'm dying for some decent fucking atmosphere. God, I hate the Irish mob."

"Why do you think Jim started his own organization?" he chuckled. "But yes. Thai sounds good. We going there, then? Or ordering in?"

"Out, if you don't mind," she replied, returning from the bedroom carrying a different pair of heels, a thousand times more comfortable than the first. "I'm not wasting this dress on the damn mob. I look far too good in it."

"Amen," he murmured, smiling a bit and nodding as he admired the way the dress hugged her figure. "Come on, I want to glare at people for staring at you."

She smirked, bending to slip on the shoes and then heading for the door. "Christ, if someone had told us this is where we'd be a couple years ago, I think I might have lost my voice from laughing too hard."

"I'd have shot them," he said matter-of-factly. "For being mentally unstable in my direction."

She chuckled, and led the way to the elevator. "C'mon, I haven't eaten in like seven hours."

"Alright, alright," he laughed, easily keeping pace with her shorter strides. "Seven hours. How did you survive?"

"Rats. I've been catching rats and devouring them, all day," she quipped, pushing the elevator button impatiently until it opened and stepped in, hunger motivating her to hurry. "You'll probably want a rabies shot, just to be safe."

"I've already had to get one of those once. Very unpleasant. I'll take my chances," he muttered, shaking his head a bit, smirking.

"Suit yourself," she hummed, drumming her fingers against her thigh, eyes on the floor number. "Christ, I'm starving. Do you think we can bribe the cook to skip the other customers?"

"Almost positive," he laughs. "We'll take the jag and I'll drive."

"Good, I'm in the mood for your driving tonight," she laughed, stepping out of the elevator into the garage with a little distance between the two of them. No need to flaunt their closeness. That was asking for trouble.

He picked up the keys from the chauffeur and headed for the car, the lights blinking as he unlocked it. "How'd today go, anyway?"

"It went alright. Easy day's work, really. Didn't even have to see a dick," she snorted, getting in the passenger side and buckling up. "Either way, got them to sign the contract. Jim and you will probably be seeing a few more of your countrymen wandering around, giving us English-folk dirty looks."

"That's because all of you are stuck-up pricks," he said with a cheerful smirk.

"You're not wrong," she chuckled, leaning back in her seat and watching the buildings go by. It was really a miracle that Moran wasn't pulled over by police for speeding more often. "But who had the empire? We did!"

"That's because no one else was enough of a jackass to decide they needed all the land," he retorted, blowing past a yellow light.

"Oh, shut up. Without our imperialism you lot never would have gotten your potatoes," she snickered, drumming her fingers on the car door as they neared the restaurant. "So close to food.. so close."

He slid easily into a space and cut the engine, tucking the keys in his pocket as he stepped out and straightened his suit. "A little dressy for this place, us, but ah well."

"Better to be overdressed than under. When you're overdressed, people assume you're going to be doing something that's worth the clothes. Funerals, weddings, you know," she shrugged, heading for the door with a clack of heels on pavement. "Anyway, you know me, I'm an enormous ham. Love being complimented."

"That's true, you are," he laughed as they walked in and he asked for their usual table- one in the back where he had a good view of both doors and the kitchen.

They ordered, and when their food arrived, she wolfed it down, exceedingly pleased to have something to soothe the ache in her stomach with. As she finished up, leaned back in her chair, letting out a pleased sigh. "Christ. Food. What an invention."

He laughed. "Agreed. It's been too long since I've eaten out..." He leaned back in his chair. "Want to stay at my other apartment tonight? Be nice to spend a night there with you when I don't think I'm dying the next day."

"Yeah, that'd be great," she grinned, then gave him a mock frown. "So help me though, if you're planning on pulling something along the lines of stupid again I'm going to crack an egg on your forehead."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing stupid. Promise. Just a good night."

"Alright," she chuckled, shrugging. "Then we're good. Should probably digest a little before I let you throw me around, though. I think I remember a jacuzzi?"

"You remember correctly," he said with a laugh, nodding a little. "Want a drink if we're going to be here a while?"

"That sounds good. I haven't gotten good and soaked drunk in a while, I'm starting to miss it."

"Excellent," he smirked, pulling over the beer menu.

It ended up being about two hours before they left, and he twirled his keys around his fingers a few times before shaking his head. "Not that stupid. Only a few blocks to my place. Come on. It's a nice night out, we can walk."

"Mm, alright, but I reserve the right to ravage you in some alley. I'm feeling trashyyy tonight," she laughed, slinging an arm around his side, mostly to keep herself from teetering over in her heels.

"You ravage me in an alley and you might end up more trashy than you're hoping," he snickered. "Lotsa dumpsters."

She shrugged, leaning against him a little as they stepped out onto the pavement. "Eh. I've lived through worse. I mean, there was the chili pepper incident... Blrgggh. 'Orrible night."

"Hmm?" he asked distractedly, trying to remember which way to turn at the end of the block.

They turned a corner and his focus switched from direction to combat far more sluggishly than it needed to. He blocked a few blows that were hard to pick out in the dark, but someone was wielding a chain whip and he took a few hard blows. Suddenly there was another such blow to the base of his skull, and just like that the world went dark.

Lorna never even got the memo that there was a fight. She took a sharp blow to the head in the first second, and went out like a light.