She shifted a good three hours later, waking from a light doze to roll a little and see what the time was before putting her head back down on his shoulder, stifling a yawn. "You awake?"

"Yes," he said quietly, wiggling a little to wake up his arm which had fallen asleep under her head.

"You should... open your eyes. See if you can.. you know, see," she mumbled, taking in a slow breath. Please be improved.

"I don't want to," he breathed, his free hand tracing words on his chest and trembling slightly. "What if I can't?"

"Then we'll try the stem cell therapy. It's okay," she whispered, taking hold of his free hand to squeeze it. "It'll be alright."

He lay there for a few more moments, trying to get his courage up, but then the part of him which lay mostly dormant stirred its head, and he opened his eyes without further wallowing.

It was bright. He hissed and closed them again almost immediately, before taking a slow breath and opening them again, just a crack. Then another. Then a bit more.

There was a very blurry shape above him.

"Ceiling fan..."

"Thank god," she huffed, running a hand over her face. "Oh, Christ, I was worried. This is good news."

He shifted, looking over in her direction. She was still little more than a blurry shape, but the shape had color and a few fuzzy details, which was miles more than a few hours ago. He smiled. "Hello."

She grinned, forgetting all about her damaged looks. "How much can you see? How much better is it? Fuck I'm glad those drops are helping."

"A bit. Colors... lots of colors. Really blurry still. Sort of an abstract watercolor." He smiled wider.

"Better than nothing, right," she smiled, sitting up and running a hand through her hair.

"Much better than nothing," he said, laughing a little as he was able to track her movements.

She let out a relieved sigh, a much more content sound than anything she'd made in a while. "This is a good start."

He nodded in agreement, sighing quietly and reaching up to rub at his eyes a little. "Yeah, it is."

"Jim will be thrilled. With any luck, we'll have your eyesight back to normal in a week or two," she sighed, leaning back against the wall. A little bit of her worries came back. "And you'll probably remember some more, by then."

"With any luck," he sighed, nodding. "Christ. I thought I was... done."

"I was... a little worried you might be," she replied quietly, keeping her voice steady. You have no idea what losing you would have done to me.

He nodded just a little, reaching out to touch her knee just a little, just wanting the contact.

She started, then made herself relax, leaning against him to let him know it was alright. Where she'd spent the last three months hadn't been his fault, but there were still a certain few things that made her, just for an instant, think she was back there.

He felt her start, and pulled his hand back, but she leaned into him and he relaxed. "Sorry."

"It's alright, I'm just jumpy," she sighed, shaking her head a little. "Still expecting the worst. Gonna take me a little while to get over it."

He sighed through his nose. "Guess we both have some recovering to do."

"Yeah, well," she snorted, "At least mine won't affect my job performance. Christ. I don't have a clue who's going to replace me. No one in my department's qualified to take on that many jobs. I'll need to bring in some new talent, start spreading the workload..."

"I'm still not convinced that you're done... It can't be all that terrible," he said, shaking his head a little.

She was silent for a moment, not sure how to describe it. When she spoke it was with a quiet voice; "I'm not soft anymore. I don't look harmless. People... they look at me now and they thinkdanger. Even if they didn't, if my face didn't tell them about the baggage I'm carrying, about the shit I survived, I couldn't fuck my way into the White House, or whatever," she huffed, rubbing her eyes. "I'm... The damage he did to me was extensive. I've got these.. layers of scars some places. The burns are the worst, I think, though there's not very many of those. I think he was worried I'd die from going into shock."

He swallowed tightly at the description, and he held her a bit closer. "I wish you hadn't killed him."

"I had to," she murmured, leaning into his warmth. "He would be stronger than me at the best of times, and I was malnourished. I needed out. I had an opportunity. And I was angry. I'd stopped fighting him, after the first month. I had too much pent up to stop myself."

He nodded. "I just wish I could pay him back. Keep him alive until he dies in old age, make agony his normalcy..."

She shook her head a little, wearily. "We don't get justice. We're not the good guys. I've made my peace with that."

"I know that. Doesn't mean I don't wish otherwise." He sighed, tucking her under his chin. "Tell me if I do something that bothers you."

"I will. Even if I didn't, you'd know. I'll either freeze or try to kill you if I let that feeling grip me for too long," she whispered, curling up a little. "I don't think I'll be okay for a long time."

"Well apparently I won't either, so I guess we'll have to be patient," he sighed, eyes closing again.

She smirked a little. "Well, god knows I was never any good at that. I suppose I'll have to take up a hobby. Tattoo artist, maybe? Cooler than birding, in your eyes, I bet."

"Birding..." he muttered, confused, but let it slide. "Can you draw?"

"Yeah," she hummed, remembering the time he'd asked her to teach him. She still was amazed that he'd taken the time to notice her doodling. "But I don't really have the time to practice like I should."

He nodded a little. "You should give me a tattoo," he said, smiling.

She laughed. "As soon as I learn how to use a tattoo gun again, I'll give you whatever you want. Been awhile since I picked one up. Years. I've had a lot of strange hobbies..."

"My words," he grins eagerly. "My words, then, when I can see, I won't need to carve them constantly."

"Alright, maybe I can swing it, in like a month," she murmured, deciding that it would be better not to fight him.

He heard her deflate slightly though, and sighed, shrugging a little. "Maybe not, though."

"Whatever you decide, I'm good with. Unless it's Jim's initials. I'm already pissed every time I see those."

"The JM?" he asked, brushing the spot where they, too, were carved open. The anomaly in his words. "Why do they make you angry?"

She shrugged a little, sighing. "It's a jealousy thing."

"Ah." He tilted his head a little, trying to remember. "Why are they there?"

"I don't know the story," she sighed, shaking her head. "I assume it was an ownership thing. Your initials are on him, too. That was an anger thing."

He nodded a little, letting it slip past, not trying to listen much anymore. He was tired, suddenly, the energy of his enthusiasm wearing off and leaving him waning.

She didn't force conversation. He was, naturally, a slightly quieter person than her, and all of this must have been exhausting. She just nestled into him a little more, letting out a long, slow breath.Things will be okay.

He sat quietly, finger tracing his words gently on her arm, leaving no marks. Eventually it stilled as he fell asleep.

She drifted off without really realizing it, and when she woke, it was with a good amount of disorientation. She groaned, shifting with a popping of joints.

He was already awake, studying the blurry world around him with quiet fascination, trying to sort out what was what.

"Hey," she murmured, when she realized he was awake. "I think it's probably time for another couple drops. Just give me a minute to wake up so I don't drop the bottle on your face."

He nodded a little, not really paying much attention, squinting hopefully at the red on the blur that was his arm. It didn't quite focus.

She lay there for a minute or two, trying to wake up, then yawned and finally sat up, fumbling a little on the table between the beds before she got the box. "Alright, lemme see your eyes," she said, stifling another yawn as she turned back to him.

It took him a few moments to remember that she was speaking to him, but he turned his head towards her, tilting it back a little. The drops still stung as they hit, and he closed his eyes as soon as they were in place, huffing through his nose in annoyance.

"Sorry," she said quietly, putting the drops away again and leaning back against the wall next to him.

He shrugged a little. "If they do as much as they did yesterday, they could hurt a lot more than this and still be worth it."

"Let's hope they keep working they way they have been," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling. It was surprisingly clean. "Though any improvement is good improvement."

He nodded a bit, sighing. "How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" he asked quietly.

She gave a helpless shrug. "I honestly don't know. However long Jim tells us to. There's not a lot of argument to be made to let us out, that's for certain."

He sighed. "How did you sleep? Any nightmares?"

"No," she murmured, "but I'm still exhausted. I get the feeling that my sleep was just too shallow for dreams. I'd kill for a cup of coffee."

He nodded towards where he could see the blur of the telephone. "Ask for some with breakfast. Or whatever meal we're on... what time is it?"

"It's.. damn, it's near 7. At night. We were out for a while," she snorted, reaching for the telephone. "What do you want? Breakfast anyway?"

He shrugged. "Get whatever you like. I'm not very hungry."

She sighed, but nodded, dialing the front desk. "Send up whatever the nutritionist recommended. Wh... If you don't know what I'm talking about, ask someone who's with the program, moron." She hung up the phone, letting out a huff. "I have no idea how this place gets on without us."

He laughed a little, shaking his head. "Sounds like you do a lot to keep things running," he smiles.

Lorna rolled her eyes, groaning. "So much more than my job calls for. I have no idea how this much responsibility got piled on me. A few years ago, I did everything I could to be lazy. Ugh."

"Who's filling my role while I'm gone? Is it you?" He closed his stinging eyes again, beginning to trace his words. It'd been a few hours, and they'd sealed.

"I'm in here with you," she shook her head, sighing. "I don't know. Jim, maybe. Or he's relegated the task to someone he thinks is capable enough."

He nodded a bit, looking up as their latch clicked and a blur he supposed might be their doctor entered.

She tensed as the doctor entered, fighting back the impulse to cringe away. She hated the feeling of being locked up in here, being trapped like an animal. She knew it was silly of her; she recognized this doctor - he'd been working here for years. But it didn't soothe her enough for her to relax."

"Good evening," he said, smiling. "I tried to check in with you earlier but decided to let you sleep. How are you both?"

"I'm fine," she cleared her throat, looking through his chest, a good alternative to meeting his eyes or at the floor. "Moran's vision is coming back a little, with those drops."

"Excellent! That's wonderful news. I'll let his specialist know. Right now I'd like to give you each a once-over. Later tonight you'll each have someone coming in to talk to you, see how you're handling everything emotionally."

"I'm fine," she said, a bit tersely. "You don't need to check me over. Nothing's worse. Just send me a cup of coffee or a cigarette or something before the fucking therapists arrive, huh?"

His expression didn't falter. "I'd like to check your wounds daily while you're here. I was unhappy with Mr. Moriarty's initial decision to release you. And I most certainly need to check over Mr. Moran."

A muscle in her jaw jumped. "What you'd like doesn't really matter to me, thanks," she snapped, eyes flashing up at him and then snapping back to his chest, her teeth gritting. "I'm in no immediate danger. Leave me alone."

The doctor did balk slightly then, seeming to think it over for a moment, as if trying to compare the relatively docile Lorna of yesterday with the seething danger today. Finally he sighed. "Very well. At least let me look-"

"She said leave her alone," Sebastian said from where he now stood a mere foot behind the other man, having taken advantage of his distraction. The doctor jumped and turned.

How the hell Sebastian had moved so quietly while half blind was beyond her, but it seemed that his wraith qualities were inborn, not learned. If not inborn, then he'd been so good at it for so long that his muscle memory held up perfectly. Either way, she appreciated the support. "Just give me my burn gel and leave me be, yeah?" she muttered, holding a hand out towards him. "And do send me coffee. Wasn't joking."

He sighed, but slowly walked over to hand her the bottle from his large coat pocket. "I have to look at you, Mr. Moran. That isn't negotiable. I thought we discussed your carving? You agreed to stop, do you remember?"

"No. I said it was a fair thing to ask."

Lorna snorted, scooting back to sit against the wall again, knees drawn up to her chest. She was looking at the doctor sardonically. "You didn't get that yesterday? Did you really think anything would be that easy with him? Christ."

"I was hoping we could work something out. I'd rather not have to take active steps to prevent that, but if I need to, I will."

"No, you won't." His voice had a deadly tone to it that it hadn't taken since he'd been rescued.

"Don't try to fight him. If I can't stop him, there's no way you can. The most you can do is force him to wash his hands so he's not causing himself infections," she sighed, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes.

The doctor squared his jaw. "I'll wait to be advised by your specialist." He turned for the door.

She made a face at his back as she heard him go. She sighed when the door closed behind him. "I'm not looking forward to having to talk about this."

"Don't," he said, smiling. "Just growl at them and act completely bonkers around them, but the moment anyone else is in the room act completely sane. Drive them mad."

She smiled a little, but shook her head. "I can't. If they tell Jim that, he'll know I'm just fucking with them. I doubt he wants anything less than my full cooperation."

He sighed, leaning back against the wall, thinking that statement over. "Mine, too, probably, correct?"

"He probably has higher standards for you. Sorry," she grimaced, looking over at him.

"What does he expect, then?" he asked with a sigh. "Me to give up my words?"

"My best guess would be yes. And I don't know if you can afford to say no to him."

He contemplated that in silence, heart thundering in his chest. He needed the words. That was a certainty. Without them, he would become trapped in the darkness.

"Jim can only kill me."

"That's where you're wrong," she said quietly, then let out a long, drawn-out breath. "But maybe he'd make an exception for you. You've worked together a long time. I don't know if he would kill you slow, with you like this."

He sighed, running soft fingers over his words, not breaking them open, not yet. "I can work with the words. They won't stop me. Why can't I have them?"

"He'll think you're unstable. And you being unstable... that's a recipe for disaster, believe me. There are so many things that could go wrong..." she rubbed her eyes. "He wants you sound and whole. He wants you back like you were before, in mint condition. That'll be proof that you're not."

"My words are what keep me stable. They make me sound and whole. If I lose the words..." He swallowed tightly, making his decision and starting to trace them again. "He's reasonable. He'll understand."

"I don't know. I don't know," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Normally she would have told him that he knew Jim better, but, right now... it wasn't clear if that was true or not.

He pressed his head to his knees, breathing slowly. "Are you okay? He wouldn't leave you alone."

She gave a small shrug, not looking at him. "I'm... not doing real good. I don't like feeling trapped at the best of times. Now, it's... everything feels like life and death. But worse. Death is easier."

He sighed through his nose. "Can I help?" He paused in his tracing. She didn't like it.

"A little. C'mere, please," she murmured, reaching a hand out in his direction. He made her feel small and secure, not pinned down and caged in.

He walked over towards her blur, reaching out to take her hand as he saw it and sitting next to her.

"Sometimes I hate the things that have led to what happened to me," she sighed, leaning into his side, soaking up the heat he still radiated, even at this level of body fat. "My parents, my childhood. Shit I've done. It's pointless, but I can't help it."

He listened quietly, rubbing her back gently. "Seems logical."

She was silent for a while, not having anything to say, then spoke again, voice tired. "My stepfather pushed me into smuggling a week before I turned 17. He was a small dealer. Just needed a mule he didn't have to pay. But even after he was gone, that's not an occupation that you just.. leave. A few buyers knew where we lived. They came looking, once, when I took a chance and stopped going."

Pushing Eric into the linen closet - he's too young, they can't see him - running down the hall, yanking out the dirty backpack beneath her bed and sprinting down the stairs, ricocheting off the wall with a painful spike in her shoulder, staggering into the kitchen, throwing the bag on the table. They put their guns down. Mom's okay.

"Until I picked up grifting skills, until I was free from DeWitt, it was just surviving. But then it was fun, you know? I loved it. The excitement, the ability to put on different people and try them out like shoes. It made the risks worth it. I knew that even if something shitty happened to me, if I got out okay, I had something to throw myself back into. But I don't, anymore."

He considered that for a while, turning it over. "I want you to stay," he said quietly. "But if you don't want to, if you want to go somewhere else, that's okay."

"There's nowhere for me to go," she whispered, shutting her eyes, her cheek resting on his shoulder. "I don't get to just.. leave. There's no retirement, either, if I make it that far. Until either me or the boss dies, I'll be working for this network."

He sighed, thinking. "Maybe I can bargain with Jim," he said quietly. "Tell him I'll stop my words if he lets you go."

"I appreciate it, but.. somehow I doubt that he'll risk it," she sighed. "I know who he is. I've seen his face. I know a lot about this organization. Thank you. But even if the choice was open to me, I'd stay here with you. I don't know how to function out there. How to get a real job. How to pay taxes. But you're reason enough to stay."

He shrugged. "I'm not me anymore. I make you upset." He was torn. "How can you love me, but not my words?"

She didn't know how to respond for a moment, frowning a little. "It's... the words aren't you. They're a children's rhyme, a rhyme that must have come back to you while you were in that hellhole, and they must have been something to hold onto. Some kind of noise, something besides that awful silence that creeps up when you're alone. And they still help soothe you. I understand that. But they don't have a personality. They're not alive, to me. You're alive. And you say you're not you anymore, but the more I watch the more that peeks through. It'll just take time."

He closed his eyes, listening to her talk, trying to understand, but she was the one that wasn't getting it. "The words are me. They're all that holds my body together. If I lose them I'll fade away."

She rubbed her eyes, trying not to get angry at him. "That's not how life works, Sebastian. But... Christ, I'm not in the mood to argue about it."

"I know how life works!" he snarled. "You all are the ones who don't understand it. Life is very very simple. The words keep away the darkness. Nothing matters but that. Everything else is secondary." He closed his eyes tightly.

She didn't say anything else, just sat there, just barely managing to keep herself from tensing a little. He kept pitching into these holes where she didn't know him anymore, where he turned into a complete stranger for a terrifying minute. She just had to let it pass. She sucked in a breath and got up, heading for the bathroom. She needed a shower, anyway.

He felt her leave, and took a few shallow breaths, hands trembling as he tried for a moment to avoid the urge to trace his words.

He lasted a very long eight seconds.

Showers hurt. It didn't matter what temperature she put it at; standing under the spray gave her trembling hands and gritted teeth. Cooler water was less painful, obviously, but overall, it didn't matter. But she didn't want to be out there. Physical pain was better than the pain she felt looking at him and barely recognizing the person there.

By the time he heard her reemerge, he had done his words, far faster than usual and far more roughly. Now he was laying on the bed, blood trickling gently over his skin, resting, feeling the words as they burned and pulsed in his skin, a ward against the darkness.

She sat down on the other bed, grabbing a tray of food from the small table as she passed it - someone must have come in while she was in the shower - and setting it on her lap to eat in silence.

He wasn't hungry, feeling vaguely dizzy and off, and eventually an odd exhaustion slipped over him and he fell asleep.

She was relieved when he fell asleep. It meant she didn't have to pretend to be normal. She slid to the floor, leaning back against the bed, and put her head in her hands.

When he woke up, he felt cold and shaky, and the sheets were stuck to him. He ignored it, used to feeling off, and sat up, wobbling slightly with vertigo.

She looked up as he moved - she'd been in roughly the same spot for the last few hours - and frowned a little. "You look like you might have a fever. Do you feel okay?"

"Fine," he murmured blearily, rubbing his eyes. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, skin pale under the blood, except around his words, where the skin was inflamed and pink.

She sat up a little further, then stood, walking over to check his temperature with a hand on his forehead. She frowned. "You're burning up. I'm going to call in one of the doctors, I'm worried about this."

He didn't argue. He didn't have the energy, eyes bright, jaw a bit slack.

"Fuck," she muttered, whirling for the phone and nearly knocking it clear off the table in her worried rush. She was a bit short with the man at the front desk when he was too slow redirecting her to the infirmary, which was right outside, if only the door wasn't fucking locked, but she finally got on the line with one of the nurses. "Moran is sick. I need someone in here immediately."

The door unlocked a few minutes later, their doctor walking in quickly and heading straight for Moran, starting to look him over immediately.

"These are deeper than I've seen them before," he said evenly, guiding Moran to lay down. "He's lost some blood and it looks like he may be developing infection..." There was a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Christ," she muttered, raking a hand through her hair, her jaw tight. "Fuck. Alright. This is gone past what he can tell you to do. Sedate him, strap him down, I don't care. Just make sure he gets healthy again."

"We may need to do that," he agreed. "I'm going to work with him. Meanwhile, your specialist has arrived. Go ahead out, the orderlies outside will escort you to a private room to talk with her."

She nodded, steeled herself with a deep breath, and headed for the door. This was not going to be a fun experience. Where was her damn coffee?

The orderlies outside kept a careful eye on her as they walked, as if preparing for her to bolt, and when they finally made it to the assigned room they looked relieved. "In here," one said, pushing the door open to reveal a small but comfortable looking room with soft couches. A woman was sitting on one of them.

She didn't even think about running, really. Where would she go? What would be the point of running only to get stopped in the lobby and hauled back up? She stepped into the room with a sigh, and moved to take the other couch in silence. However this was going to go, she wasn't going to start it.

"Hello, Lorna," the woman said. Her voice was solid, down to earth. "I'm Reina. Do you know why I'm here?"

Lorna sighed, leaning back a little gingerly into the sofa. At least Jim hadn't hired someone completely frivolous. "I would assume to make sure that I'm mentally sound."

She nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a good reason to me. Would you say you're mentally sound right now?"

"Depends on your definition of mentally sound," she muttered, then rubbed her eyes, sighing. "I'm not experiencing any unwarranted fear, at the moment. And I won't, unless I feel trapped or pressed. Men are worse."

"Alright," she said, nodding. "That's understandable. You're in a room with Mr. Moran from what I understand. Would you like to change that?"

She shook her head. "No. He's fine. Makes me feel better, most of the time."

She nodded a little bit. "What about stress? How are you feeling with that?"

"I hate being locked in there," she snorted. "I start to imagine he's going to come back at any time."

She nodded a little. "That must be difficult. Do you understand why they lock the door?"

"Of course I do," she rolled her eyes, sighing. "I'm not an idiot. But knowing why doesn't fix the habit I made from being locked in a basement for three months."

She didn't seem ruffled by her bite. "Alright. I'll see what I can do about getting you time outside the room during the day. Would that help?"

"That might help. I don't know. I can't predict what shit my brain will make up in the future," she snorted, looking incredibly tired with herself.

She nodded again. "What sort of shit does your brain make up now?" She didn't shy from the swear in the least.

"Not.. hallucinations, or anything, if that's what you're thinking," she shrugged. "It's.. more like flashbacks. Triggers, I guess. The door opens just right, someone moves in a certain way... then it feels like I'm somewhere else, for a moment. Or I just have this vague feeling of panic sitting in my chest."

She nodded a little. This woman sure nodded a lot. "We can work to try and minimize those. For instance, if I asked the doctors to knock before they entered, would that help?"

She was silent for moment, her face expressionless, then she gave a tiny nod, her jaw tight. She hated letting people see her weaknesses, even if it was a goddamn therapist.

She nodded, too, noting the tension in her shoulders. "Tell me a little about yourself, Lorna. Something simple like your favorite book or television show, or food."

She let out a long breath. Her first instinct was to lie, of course. But it would only be hindering herself, wouldn't it? "I like thai. And sushi. Stuff with spice."

She smiled a little, nodding. "I like thai, too. Do you know any good places around here?"

"Yeah, but I was basically kidnapped from there," she deadpanned.

She nodded just a little. "That must have been a surprise. From what I understand it's unusual for the two of you to take relaxation time. Does that sound about right?"

"Yeah. Neither of us really has the time. I used to, then I started doing more... managing. I don't know. I just wanted to get out of the damn building for a while."

"You don't sound like you enjoy managing. You prefer to be in the field?" Reina asked, sitting back.

"Vastly so," she huffed, looking irritated. "I don't want to be responsible for the fucking idiots who work for me. Do you know how many of them don't even know how to use a hot glue gun properly? Christ. I loved the field. I lived for the field. And now I can't go back."

"Because of your injuries," she said, nodding. How many fucking nods has that been? "Are there other ways that you could go into the field? Surveillance or hits, for instance?"

Lorna gave a mild, slightly stiff, shrug. "I've considered the possibility of surveillance, but I'm still too... striking, now, should I say," she said dryly, her lips pinched just a little. "And hits... If I start to go crazy in here, I'll resort to those. But I tend to get carried away a little too much with those."

"I'm almost certain that we can find a way to get you into the field regularly, if that's what you want," she said firmly. "If not, that's fine, too."

"I'll go crazy, stuffed into some office. If somebody can think of a way to get me back out there, I'm all ears," she shook her head. It wasn't worth it to get her hopes up.

"What about something similar to what Moran used to do?" she asked. "Long distance surveillance and covert operations?"

"A lot of staring through windows, basically," she summed up, then pinched the bridge of her nose. "Whatever. It's better than the office."

"You could expand from there, but it would be a start," she pointed out. "This is going to require some adjusting, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy what you do any longer."

She pursed her lips, looking quietly thoughtful. Vaguely, she wondered how much this woman was paid. "Well, it won't be ideal, but next to the alternative..."

She nodded. "How's Mr. Moran doing, by the way?"

Lorna lifted a hand to rub her eyes, sighing. "Not as well as I'd hoped. I don't really want to talk about that."

She nodded a little. Jesus Christ... "That's fine. We don't have to right now. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

She shook her head, standing. "No." There were things she was just not going to talk about.

She nodded again, slightly. "We'll be meeting again at the same time tomorrow at the request of Mr. Moriarty."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," she muttered, then turned for the door, walking out it and almost directly into a couple of orderlies. She gave them a tired look. "Alright, take me back."

They nodded slightly, before one of them spoke up. "We were told to give you the option of returning to a different room. Mr. Moran has needed to be restrained and is expected to be disagreeable once he wakes up."

She bit her cheek, taking in a slow breath, then shook her head. "No. I'll stay in the same room." It would be unpleasant, but she owed that much to him. She wouldn't abandon him the second he got a little grouchy.

He nodded, and they headed back to the room.

Sebastian was strapped down to the bed with cloth lined leather straps across his wrists and ankles, asleep, bandages wrapping the majority of his body.