When she woke up again, she had a distinct feeling she'd been out for a while. She shifted a little, sleepily, yawning.

He stirred out of his doze, smiling a little when he felt her shifting around. "Maidin mhaith."

"I don't know what that means," she mumbled, burrowing into his neck with a content noise. The nightmares hadn't been bad enough to wake her, and that was an improvement.

"Sorry. Good morning," he sighed, shifting a little as she burrowed into him. His fingers were itching for the words, and he angled just enough that he could reach his neck, working on the ones there quietly.

"It's okay," she sighed, shifting off him a little, because it was likely that she was starting to cut off his circulation, if she hadn't been already, but she remained close to him. She didn't like that he was picking at his scabs again, but she'd promised not to fight him on it. "Good morning to you too."

"I don't know if it's really morning or not... Just guessed... Is there a clock in here?" he asked, tracing out the first word and moving onto the next.

She shifted to look at the digital clock on the little nightstand between the beds. "It's like 4 in the morning. More sleep than I've gotten in weeks, though."

"Good. Sleep is good. It passes time," he says, smiling a little. "Makes time go faster. Then your memories will go away."

"I know. It's just the problem of staying asleep," she sighed, settling back down, ignoring the various twinges her injuries gave. "I sleep better with you around, though. Always have. Still not sure why."

He shrugged. "Maybe it's the words. They help." He had moved down his neck and onto his shoulders, shifting his shirt aside to get access.

"You never used to use the words. In fact, I don't think I'd ever even heard you speak Irish until we pulled you out of that cellar. Not sure I even knew you spoke it," she hummed, studying the letters on his arm and then tracing them back out on his hand. Maybe if someone else did it he wouldn't need to damage himself so much.

He tilted his head curiously as she started tracing on his hand, pausing in his work. It wasn't as clear as his letters, not as vibrant, the pain wasn't there to sharpen them. But he stilled for a little under her hand, letting her work.

"So how much do you remember of Italy?" she murmured, curiously, hand still continuing its work, growing a little smoother with time. "That's what the poker memory is. Or, it's the beginning of that trip."

He sighed, furrowing his eyebrows. "Bits... bits and pieces. I hit someone with something, I think... We were... I was calling you my wife, I think. Or something. There was a hotel..."

"We were there to get information from this Don. You were the distant husband, I was the bored wife trying to make a name for myself in the drug world... after I fucked him to sleep and got what we needed, we left, but the plane hadn't cleared customs yet, so we had to stay at a hotel a good few hours away," she filled in calmly, hoping it would help him remember.

He nodded a little, smirking suddenly. "He was terrible in bed," he remembered, chuckling.

She grinned, pleased things were coming back to him. That meant that maybe she could help. "Yeah, he was. Certainly inspired you to take action, though, that's for sure."

He closed his eyes, trying to turned the bleary recollections into actual memories. "Did we... I can't remember..." he sighed.

"Yeah," she chuckled, finishing another line of letters and starting over again, using just the pad of her finger. "You used a dare you'd won in poker to watch me get myself off, 'cause he was so bad in bed. Then we went a little farther."

He smirked slightly. "That's the first story I've heard about me I've actually liked." She got a letter wrong and he twitched a little, almost pulling his hand away, but then she continued and he hesitantly relaxed.

"Sorry, slipped up," she murmured, then smiled. "I have more, believe me. We tended to fight and then kinda crash back into each other."

"Tell me some?" he asked, closing his eyes. "I want to remember."

"Well, after Italy, you got a little lippy with Jim and I got a little pissed, cause I thought you were risking my life - long story, there - and we fought and you called it off. Was a little while after that, I was dating the chauffeur, Malcolm, and I was annoyed because he was clingy. You offered to help, sarcastically, and that you could either resolve it violently or occupy me by nailing me to the wall," she laughed, remembering her cautious knock at his door, bottle of bourbon in hand. "Turns out you weren't completely serious, but you invited me in anyway. Left some pretty good bruises on me, I think."

He smiled a little. Her words weren't bringing up memories so much as images. "I wanted you to come anyway, I think..."

"Really? What was going on in your head in those early days is a mystery to me," she snorted, shaking her head. "You were pretty taciturn. Big on reminding me that what we were doing didn't mean anything. Used me, once, to get back at Jim. I got over it, eventually."

He made a face. "Again with the not liking what I hear so much... What the hell were you doing with me?"

She shrugged a little. "You were hot, I wasn't any happier with anyone else, and I'm attracted to things that are unhealthy for me. And you held me together after shitty things happened to me. You started to make me feel safe."

He sighed, but nodded. "So... would you rather I went back to being that me, or would you rather I be a different me, if I can?"

She shifted a little to look up at him, frowning. "Don't change yourself for me, Sebastian. Be yourself. Whatever that ends up being. I like you dangerous and unpredictable, but I'm capable of adjustment. You're still going to be you."

He shrugged, but nodded a little. She had stopped writing, so he started again on his shoulder, sighing as it scratched the itch that had built up while he waited.

She sighed, not completely satisfied with his silence, and shifted to be more horizontal on the bed, stretching out cramped limbs with a quiet grunt of pain. She missed the Sebastian who was in control, who had his memories. But if they couldn't go back to that, she'd take him this way, too.

He opened his eyes, trying to find her blur, but everything was too dark. "It's just... I don't really matter right now, what I want, because that isn't what everyone else wants. So I'd rather know what you want because I care about you, not anyone else."

She wrapped an arm around his waist, burying her face in his side for a moment, taking a breath. "Seb," she sighed, resting her cheek on his stomach. "I don't want you to change for me. 'Cause then I'd always wonder how much of it you were forcing, or if it was just making you miserable and I couldn't tell. It doesn't matter what everyone else wants. As long as you're together enough to do your job, do whatever feels right to you."

"I don't know who I was," he said quietly. "The only person who knew who I was was me, and now I'm never going to know if I'm him again. It's like I died. The words are the only thing keeping me alive."

Her brow furrowed a little. "I like to think that I knew who you were. It took me a long time, but you stopped being so unpredictable. Maybe that's why we started having less flare-ups, less fights. And you changed, I think. You let yourself have a personal life. I know who you were. But I don't know that I could describe it in words."

"But your mind... it feels like something, doesn't it? Smells like something, tastes like something... you- your essence, who you are- it's all connected together in a big web of things that only you can comprehend and I've lost mine..." He was starting to get worked up, fingers digging deeper. "What if I lose the rest? What if it all falls apart? Tá an sliabh a thiocfaidh bheith brablach, agus an thiocfaidh brablach bheith deannaigh ..."

She sat up, turned to face him, cupping his cheek, careful not to restrict his movement in case it made him more upset. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Sebastian. If it's gone, fine. It's fine! You don't even know what you've lost! That's a second chance that most people can only dream about," she murmured, pushing his hair away from his eyes, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "You can build whatever you want to in its place. It doesn't make you any less real."

He took a few shuddering breaths, shaking slightly, his knuckles white as his nails bit into his skin, trying to calm down. He started muttering his words quickly. He needed to pull himself together.

She leaned against him again; the best thing she could offer him was her wordless presence. Very little of what she said seemed to help.

He leaned into her almost instantly, breaths slow with hers, trying to calm down. "I'm sorry... sorry sorry sorry... scared..."

"It's okay," she murmured, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "It's alright. Don't worry about it. It's okay."

He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, tracing the words on his legs almost feverishly, breaths slowly calming.

She just held him for a while, hand brushing through his hair as calmly as she could. How strange it was to be the one comforting him.

Eventually his breaths were back to normal, his leg stained with fresh blood, but his tracing calmer, more rhythmic. "Thank you..."

"You've done it for me many times," she murmured, fingers brushing over the nape of his neck. "Don't mention it."

He shrugged a little. "Still..." He sighed, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, which ached slightly.

She nodded, leaning back against the wall. She wondered if he was as grossed out by feelings as he used to be. Maybe without the years of bottling it up in his memory, he would be a little looser. That didn't mean she didn't want him to get his memories back - she did. But still... if he didn't get them back, could he still do his job like before? Still kill people the way he used to?

He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, silent. He was a soldier. He needed to act like one.

Was he a soldier? It seemed right, and he didn't question it too much, just let it slip past with the other images and thoughts he couldn't quite grasp.

Eventually she leaned over and picked up the phone, waiting for whoever was manning the front desk to pick up before telling them to bring some breakfast and hanging up, returning to her original position. "At least we have room service."

"True," he said, smiling. "What's your favorite food?" He left the words alone for now, turning his focus onto her.

"As a genre, sushi," she hummed, leaning against his shoulder. "I like things that taste interesting. Which, you know, means spices."

He smiled a little at that. "Pad Thai," he said quietly, wrapping his arm around her. "You scared the delivery boy."

She laughed. "You'd just gotten back from prison the night before. You'd kinda fucked up Jim a little, and that got me a little riled up. Opened the door naked and a little bloody. I might have taken a few days off his life."

He laughed, too, smiling and nodding. "I was angry at Jim... I'd never been that angry before..."

"After that incident, you guys kinda agreed to call a truce. Made my life easier, for fucking sure," she shook her head, resting her head back on his arm.

He nodded a little, falling quiet for a bit until a nurse came in with trays of food for them both. It actually smelled good, and he sat up eagerly.

She pulled a tray into her lap and moved onto the floor to give him some room to eat, digging into hers with her bare hands. Proteeiiinnn.

The nurse put the tray in Sebastian's lap, and he dug in as well, getting a mouthful of bacon, sighing in content.

She was done within two minutes, leaning back against the bed with a groan. "Christ. Every meal that I've had since I got out of that place is the best one I've ever had, swear to god."

He laughed, nodding. "I sort of forgot food could taste different than whatever they were giving me."

"They couldn't have been giving you anything good. You're so thin. Makes me nervous just looking at you," she snorted, shifting so her burns weren't pressed up against the mattress. "They should be feeding you extra."

"It was just crackers and every once and awhile an apple... water from the pipe." He shrugged. "It was okay."

"Christ," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "I'm going to fuck up those people. In the meantime I'm going to stuff food into you like a baby bird."

He smiled a little at the analogy, taking his time on a hashbrown. "I'm not too hungry, really. I'm used to it."

"But you can't be this thin for the job. Need to put some muscle back on you," she sighed, shaking her head, then smirked. "How else are you going to pick me up and twirl me around like a pretty-pretty princess?"

He raised an eyebrow, confused. "Is that something I do?" He set his plate aside, mostly eaten, but he was full. "What happens if I can't do the job anymore? If I'm not blind but I can't?"

"No, you don't do that," she snorted, then fell quiet for a moment, trying to make sure that when she spoke her voice would be steady. "...If you can't do the job, I don't think Jim will let you live. He's not really the kind to put people out to pasture."

"Oh... okay," he said quietly, starting to trace the words on his stomach slowly. He looked small, curled up against the wall as he was.

"I hope for another outcome, if that's the case. But.. realistically... Jim doesn't like loose ends," she murmured, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

He nodded just a little. "I imagine at some point those were the terms I agreed to. It doesn't matter much to me. I'll be dead."

"I think we've both always had that particular point of view," she sighed. "Death doesn't worry me, you know? It's what they can do to you before you die that worries me."

He shrugs. "The words will protect me. Jim won't do anything to you, will he? You don't have the words."

She was quiet for a minute, not sure what to tell him. Even if he'd been normal, he would have objected to her plan. "No, he won't do anything to me. I'm still useful to him, in some sense."

He nods just a little at that. "Good. You matter."

"Thanks," she said quietly, not quite managing a smile. She was glad he couldn't see her face. Christ, she'd be lost without him. "But you matter, too."

"If I mattered, I wouldn't be on death row," he pointed out with an odd chuckle. "Then I'll be dead and dead indeed."

"But you matter to me," she said stubbornly, "And maybe even Jim, personally, even if he'd never admit it. If he's got real people emotions for anybody, it's you. You must have been working together for almost a decade, now."

He sighed. "Well, that's good, then." He cocked his head as the lock clicked and the door opened, opening his eyes, but it did him no good.

"Hello, Mr. Moran," a woman's voice said. "My name is Dr. Ellis. We've met before to look at your eyes. Do you remember?"

He nodded just slightly. He had a vague recollection.

"Alright, well, I'm going to take a look at your eyes again, see if there's anything I can do to make them better. Does that sound good to you?" she asked as Lorna got up and moved to sit on the other bed to give the doctor room to work.

"Yes," he said firmly. He wanted his sight back badly. "Please do."

The doctor nodded and drew her tiny medicinal flashlight out to shine in Sebastian's eyes, and as she did so, she was eerily silent for a few minutes, a look of intense concentration on her face. Finally, she turned off the light and stood back. "I can't be sure, but there may be something I can do for you. If the eyedrops I give you don't work, we may even have to try stem cell therapy. I hope you have good insurance."

He tried not to flinch away as the bright light hurt his eyes, and nodded a little when she spoke. "I... uh... I don't know if I do..." he said, trying to think.

"We do," Lorna answered for him. The truth was more complicated than that, of course. Neither of their names could make it into any system that could be accessed by the authorities, or rivals, so the coverage mostly came from a fund that Jim set aside for a certain number of his employees. The ones that would be a detriment to lose, mostly.

He nodded a little. "Thanks," he said, before sighing. "What sort of drops?"

"They're still in clinical trials," Dr. Ellis replied, a little absently, having grabbed a small notebook out of her pocket to write notes in. "They'll either help you or they'll have no effect at all, and we'll have to try stem cell therapy."

"Right... okay," he sighed, curling up in a bit of a ball. "How long until we know, with the drops?"

She slid the notebook back into her pocket, looking down at the man with a quiet sympathy. "A few hours, at the most. Your eyesight won't return fully for at least a week, but you should see some improvement within five hours. If not, well.."

He nodded a little, expression resolute. "When can we have the drops by?"

She brought out her phone, typing fast, then put it away again. "I just sent them to the pharmacy. Half an hour, maybe."

He nodded again. "So we'll know by tonight, then," he said calmly.

"Yes. Have someone call me tomorrow if you're not improving. If you are, continue administering drops every... eh, three to four hours."

He nodded. "Okay.. thank you. I appreciate your help." He sighed, leaning back against the wall again.

The doctor didn't make the rookie mistake of just nodding. She'd been examining the eyes of the near-blind for almost six years, after all. "Your welcome. Have a good day. I hope the drops help," she said professionally, then dipped her head to Lorna and exited, the lock clicking behind her.

He sighed as the door locked, then glanced over at Lorna. "Just in case, do I have a will?"

"Yes, I think so," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I think you've mentioned it. It was a while ago. If you didn't, it's unlikely that you would have been unprepared for that eventuality."

"Right, okay," he sighed, nodding. "I guess we'll know by tonight, then."

She nodded, mostly to herself, and walked back across the room to sit down on the edge of his bed again, silent. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what was more important to him than his sight.

He felt around for her when he felt her sit down, finally finding her hand and then her arm, tugging on her gently. He wanted her close.

She let him pull her over, curling up against his side again, her head on his shoulder. "I don't know when we stopped using the excuse of warmth for this," she murmured, a tiny tinge of humor to her voice. "But it was before you lost your memory."

He smiled at that, laughing. "That is what we used to do... I didn't want it becoming habit."

She smirked. "Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell you what was going to happen with us, just to see your face turn purple. Although, you might have shot me on the spot."

"I might have," he agreed, nodding just a little. "I thought it would be... problematic?"

"At first you were concerned it would affect my ability to work. Or maybe that was Jim's concern. I don't know, it was a long time ago. Then I think you were afraid that you'd develop personal feelings, and it'd make you weak. A chink in the armor, so to speak," she shrugged a little. "I didn't particularly want to care about you, either. You used me against the boss in some little power play you guys were doing, and I stopped.. functioning as well for a while. Took us being locked together in a dark room for.. fuck, three weeks? For us to mend our differences. I think that's when we actually became close."

He nodded just a little, holding her close but making sure not to hold her tightly enough to hurt her. "Well... I'm glad it worked out, then."

"Me too," she murmured. It had taken her a long time to even work up the courage to hope that it would work out.

"Maybe it'll keep working out," he sighed, stomach in knots.

She shifted a little so she could wrap an arm around him, a small frown on her face. "I won't give up if you won't, yeah?"

"Maybe it's better to give up, though," he pointed out. "Then anything better than complete failure is a pleasant surprise."

"Christ, I really need to tone down my pessimism around you, it's starting to get to you," she muttered under her breath, trying not to sound too worried. Moran was a fighter. Always had been. Seeing him flag like this... "I'm not willing to leave that up to chance, Sebastian. I don't know about you."

He sighed, and closed his eyes, starting to trace his words for the third time that day. "What am I supposed to do? Punch my eyes until they get better?"

She didn't say anything, just shook her head, taking a deep breath. He had a point. "I just... I don't like seeing you like this."

He chuckled a little. "I don't like not seeing you like this," he shot back, amused.

"Ha ha," she said dryly, though it was a relief hearing some of that old sarcasm again. "Well, you'll be seeing me soon enough, don't you worry. What a shock that'll be."

"Why?" he asked, sucking some blood off his fingers and pausing for a moment, wondering why he hadn't put the words on his tongue. He'd have to do that next.

"I look different than I used to. I mean, not awful, I'm still pretty where it counts, I have a very symmetrical face, blah blah blah, but... different," she sighed, shoulders lifting and falling a little. "I mean, that's assuming you remember what I look like in the first place."

He shrugged a little. "It doesn't matter either way. You're beautiful." He closed his eyes, wanting to sleep, but someone unlocked the door and entered.

"Mr. Moran," an unfamiliar voice said cheerily. "I have your eye drops." He tensed at the voice, waiting for Harrison to confirm that whoever this was was indeed friendly before he relaxed.

"Thanks, Johnson," she sighed, getting up to take them from him. He'd always shown a lack of fear around Moran that she'd always found a little disconcerting - perhaps he was one of those rare people who had no concept of consequences for their actions? But then, he had made it this far up the ranks. Maybe he was just spectacularly lucky. She checked the box to make sure the bottle was contained within (you never knew what had happened on the way from the pharmacy) before waving a hand at Johnson, effectively dismissing him, and turning back to the blond. "Alright, let's get you medicated, huh?"

He took a slow breath, but nodded just a little. "Let's... do it, I suppose," he said quietly, before starting to mutter his words under his breath quickly.

She took out the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and gently tilted his face upwards with a finger under his chin. "Alright, try not to blink," she murmured, squeezing out one drop into one eye, and then the other.

He continued his murmurings, though he did his best to keep his eyes open. The drops stung and burned, and he almost reached up to rub them out, but instead closed his eyes and kept his head tilted back, waiting to adjust.

She put the bottle away and sat back down on the edge of the bed, reading the back of the box. "It says any discomfort you feel should pass in the first ten minutes or less. Then you might want to try and take a nap, to pass the time."

He nodded just a little, laying down on his back on the cot and starting to trace his words to pass the time, picking up where he'd left off. Maybe in a few hours he would get to see them. His words... Lorna. Everything.

She eventually settled back down beside him in silence, hoping until her chest hurt that his sight would come back. They were both fucked if it didn't.

He pretended to sleep, but for the most part he just felt the time pass with agonizing slowness, not daring to open his eyes.