She sat down on the other bed in silence, looking over him with a sinking stomach. He looked in bad shape, and it was partially her fault.

It was a few hours later that he staggered into consciousness, eyes slowly opening. It took him a few attempts at moving before he seemed to realize there was a problem. "What..."

"They thought it was best to restrain you," she murmured, from where she was sitting on her bed, her back leaning against the wall. "You were making yourself sicker."

He tugged at them a little, then noticed the bandages. His heart froze. "They took my words..." He took a breath, looked over at her. "Untie me?"

She looked away, swallowed hard. "I can't. They'll just restrain you again and move me into another room." And I hate watching you do that to yourself.

Now he was starting to panic a little. "You promised," he pointed out, opening and closing his hands a few times, testing the bonds. "Remember? You promised you would help."

"I can't, Sebastian," she whispered, looking over at him finally, trying and failing to keep her face neutral. "What if you get an infection that they don't catch in time and you die? You're incredibly malnourished - what if you just can't make enough blood to keep up? I can't be responsible for that. I rather you hated me, and lived."

"No... nononono..." He muttered, starting to twist his wrists in the straps. "I'll die. If I lose the words..." he was starting to breath more quickly, tugging again, trying to sit up.

"You're not going to die without them. Your health doesn't depend on a children's rhyme. It never has," she said quietly, still barely resisting the urge to go over to him. It would likely only make him more upset. "You'll see. It won't kill you."

"I'll fall apart," he whimpered, pressing his head back hard against the pillow. "Tiny pieces, all skin and bones and muscles all falling apart..."

She couldn't take it anymore, she got up, crossing the room to kneel by his bedside, face pained. "No, no no no, it's okay," she shook her head, hands clutching the edge of the mattress. "It'll be fine. The bandages and me will you together. You'll be fine."

"They keep me together," he gasped, looking over at her pleadingly. "Otherwise I'm blank. Otherwise there's nothing and I die..."

"No you won't," she whispered, smoothing a hand over his hair. "You won't. Trust me. Please. It will be okay."

"Dead dead dead," he said, almost singsong, before he started muttering his words, almost desperately, as if he could keep them in place.

She just stayed knelt at his side, in silence, running her fingers through his hair every so often, and trying not to feel like she was mourning him.

Eventually he relaxed a little under her hand, his muttering never ceasing, his voice hoarse, eyes closed.

She didn't know how long they remained like that, but it was long enough for her body to start aching, and, eventually, her hand stilled, and her posture drooped. The two of them were not in the best condition at the moment.

It was a few hours later that the door unlocked and Jim came striding in, eyes cool, calculating. He looked over the two of them and sighed. "Wake him up."

She jolted a little at his entrance, but made herself relax and did as he asked, shaking Sebastian a little. "Moran, wake up. Jim's here."

He opened his eyes, trying to move again and then remembering his position.

"Jim... you can get me out. Please."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to continue to deface yourself?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Jim laughed and walked over to release his wrists and ankles. "While I'm here only."

Lorna moved to sit on the other bed, trying to stay out of their way, though she kept a close eye on Jim. There was a part of her that was worried he was going to kill Sebastian right now, right here.

Sebastian sat up quickly and tried to start unwinding the bandages, but slowly ground to a halt under Jim's glare, fingers tensing but stopping.

"Good," Jim said, sitting in a nearby chair.

"Why are you here?" Moran asked.

"I've been wondering the same thing," Lorna added quietly, cautiously.

"I'm here to assess your progress," he said evenly. "I haven't seen you since I checked you in."

"Ah..." Moran said hesitantly, nodding.

"What do you remember? Any progress?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

He sighed, sitting up more fully. "Yes... bits and pieces. I know who you are. I remember when you hired me, I remember some of what I've done in your employ... It's all disjointed."

He made a thoughtful noise, tapping his fingers on his knee for a moment before he spoke again. "Alright. That's better. Do you think you could still work a gun?"

He nodded just slightly. "I believe so, yes. Yes, I could. Skills like that don't seem to have suffered as much."

"Good," he nodded, sitting back a little.

It was then the door blew open. A moment after that two men stormed into the room, and Lorna flinched, then swore as one headed for her. Jim only looked at them, a challenging grin on his face.

Had he paused to think, it would have been far too convenient. He would have realized that Jim's timing on that had been too casual, too pleased, and that there was no real danger.

Had he had more time to think, he would have then concluded that, knowing Jim, if this was a test, he likely wouldn't have told the attackers that and they would be thinking they were there to assassinate him and there definitely was real danger.

There was, however, no time to think. He was on his feet before the logical part of his brain had engaged, and already halfway through disarming the first attacker to head for Jim. By that point, it didn't matter, and he decided to listen to the part of his mind that had already reacted and keep going. He broke the man's wrist and took the gun, kneeing him in the groin and turning as he was distracted to sink a bullet into the head of the one that had grabbed for Lorna. He turned back to the man that was getting back up to his feet and put him down execution style. Then he headed for the door, gun raised, to clear it.

It was over within twenty seconds.

Watching the two of them move was fascinating. Both had viscerally different reactions; Harrison shrunk away from the door and into the corner like tissue paper being sucked through a vacuum, and Moran practically teleported into the would-be assassin's space, and he moved with surprising speed for someone who looked so frail. When it was over, he was still sitting in the exact same position, grinning coolly.

Lorna wiped specks of blood off her ghost-white face. "What the fuck, Jim?"

"He's going to be fine," Jim said smugly, standing. "You can stand down, Sebastian. That's all that's coming."

Moran slowly relaxed, clicking the safety on the gun.

Lorna stayed where she was, molded into the corner of the room, trying to slow her heart rate back down. You're fine, you're fine, don't break down with Jim here, you're FINE.

He walked over slowly, handing the gun to Jim, his heart slow and steady despite the adrenaline. Sniper's training. He looked Jim over for injury, and when he found none, walked over to where Lorna was crouched and sat down in front of her, a few feet away with his back to her, facing the door, creating a barrier of sorts. Plus he needed to sit down. He didn't have much in him at the moment, and he'd just used most of it.

Her breathing eventually slowed, and her heart calmed, and staying so tightly pressed against the wall became painful for a variety of reasons, so she shifted a little to let Moran know she was functioning again. She didn't want to climb into his lap with Jim right there, who was looking unbearably smug. "I could have used a little warning, sir."

"Warning would have made this whole operation completely pointless," he drawled, still looking Moran up and down, evaluating. "Good. I wasn't looking forward to finding your replacement, it was going to be incredibly tedious." He stood. "I want you back on duty by the end of the month. That gives you approximately seventeen days. Use them wisely."

"Fantastic," she muttered, leaning her head back against the wall. She was going to go insane before then.

He waited until Jim left to slump sideways against the wall, utterly exhausted. "Fuck..."

"Are you okay?" she murmured, giving him a once over, then glancing at the two corpses on the floor. She hoped someone came to pick those up soon.

"Yeah," he sighed, running a hand that shook slightly over his face. "Just amped up on adrenaline..." He took a slow breath. "I suppose that answers the question of whether or not I can do my job."

"Yeah, that it does," she agreed, moving up to sit beside him, shoulder brushing his. "That's good. Means he's probably not going to kill you."

"Brilliant," he sighed, wanting to reach out and pull her closer but deciding it was probably better for her to do what she was comfortable with. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. Getting over the shock, now," she murmured, scraping at some dried blood on her neck. "My therapist mentioned that I can probably still do some degree of field work."

"Okay, well, that's encouraging," he sighed, looking up passively as some medical staff peered through the destroyed door with a mix of hesitation and curiosity before moving quickly to the men on the ground, starting to take pulses and calling for more staff.

"Listen, that one's definitely dead, don't even bother," Lorna rolled her eyes at the closest nurse. "I'm covered in his brain-mist. It's revolting, honestly. I hate brains. Please remove him."

The nurse looked up, and walked quickly over. "What happened here? Are you alright?" She tried to crouch down to look at them but Moran shifted slightly and bared his teeth, and she stopped.

"The boss sacrificed a few contractors for the greater good," she shrugged slightly, giving up and leaning against Moran. "We're both alright."

"Oh... okay..." she said, standing up and glancing at the men on the floor. "Alright... We'll clean up then."

She nodded, and gave up her final scrap of dignity to move into Sebastian's lap, the craving more powerful than the urge to not let other people see her so weak and vulnerable.

He wrapped his arms around her without comment, scooting back further into the corner to lean against the wall.

She didn't miss the glances their way from the nurses as they dragged the body and it's, shockingly, still-alive companion out of the room, but she found it hard to care. Whatever morons in the company didn't know about the two of them by now needed to get with the program or get swept up by the tide.

He pressed his face into her hair, breathing slowly as what had just transpired in the last ten minutes or so slowly took effect. "We agreed not to play games. Then he pulls that."

"To be fair, I don't think it was a game. I think he wanted to see if you'd lost your reflexes. That's as much to protect your safety as it is his," she murmured, glad, not for the first time, that she was of significantly shorter height than him, because it meant she fit tidily in the space he made for her. "Sometimes instinct counts for more."

He nodded, breathing still slow and even, taking in the smell of her shampoo. "Well, great, then. I'm not going to die."

"That's convenient for me," she chuckled wearily, then sighed, falling silent again, and hoping he wouldn't question that. She didn't know what he'd have to say about it.

He frowned a little at that, turning it over a few times. "Convenient?"

She was silent for a moment. "I wasn't really looking forward to a purposeless existence."

He considered that for a few moments, then decided to leave it where it lay, though he did hold her a bit closer.

Sometimes it baffled her how far they'd come, that she could say something like that and not be immediately rebuked, rebuffed, pushed away and sneered at. Instead he'd tightened his grip on her just a little. She was grateful for that.

He finally got to the point where his arse was falling asleep, and he shifted gently, pushing her off of his lap so that he could get unsteadily to his feet, offering her a hand up as well. Bed. Bed sounded wonderful. He tried to ignore the fact that there were straps on his. It was impossible to ignore the bandages, but he was doing his best there, too.

She crawled into bed with pure exhaustion, making room for him on the small space and grabbing his shirt to pull him down beside her so she could curl up with him, and, immediately pass out.

He lay there for a little while, watching her sleep, before he rolled onto his back carefully and neatly beginning to unwrap the bandaging on his left arm. It took him a few minutes, but then his words were free and his breath caught in his chest in victory and he started tracing.

For the first time, however, the victory tasted sour. He felt guilty for doing this next to her, when he knew how much it bothered her.

When he finished his left arm, he rewrapped it neatly with the hopes of evading detection, but after a moment's consideration, didn't unwrap anywhere else. Not yet. He would wait. He would try to sleep.

She woke up hours later, and rolled into him, burying her face in his neck with a slow sigh. He smelled like gunpowder again; it was a surprisingly comforting smell by this point.

He turned his head towards her, taking a slow breath. "Hey there... how'd you sleep?"

"I've had worse nights," she mumbled. "You doing okay? How're the eyes?"

He opened them slowly, looking around and turning towards her, before smiling. It was still fuzzy, but her face had details. "Hello, gorgeous," he laughed.

She grinned, letting out a short laugh of relief. "Christ, those drops are a fucking miracle. God, I'm so glad they're working."

He nodded, reaching out to touch her cheek carefully, and smiling. "Yeah. They are."

She cleared her throat just a bit nervously, still smiling a little. "Well, I guess if you didn't remember what I looked like you know now. I'm assuming it's not an unpleasant surprise, but if it is, keep it to yourself if you know what's good for you, huh?"

He shook his head, removing his hand. "No, I remember you... Now I do, anyway. Your face." His eyes traced the cut over her face. "You look beautiful. The scar doesn't change that. It's just different."

"But just different enough to put a stop to my grifting career," she shrugged, though secretly very, very relieved that this was his reaction. Maybe the rest of her would go over nearly as well. "Oh well. Guess now I can get a tan from being perched on roofs all the time."

"It's not bad," he said, shrugging. "There's a certain thrill to seeing while not being seen, holding life and death in your hands... I used to feel like a god."

"If I was a little less fucked up and the two of us weren't so unhealthy I'd make an innuendo there, but as it is I thought it'd be best to just tell you about it," she chuckled, yawning and rubbing her eyes tiredly. "It's going to be weird working out of another department. I wonder if I'll have to punch anybody to assert my dominance."

"Maybe. I doubt it, though. You know how to play people." He disentangled himself carefully and sat up, a hand going to his arm before he remembered the bandages. He needed to do it in private, only, or they'd strap him down again. Play their game.

"You're not wrong," she muttered, then waved a hand at the table, where the eye drops were. "You should medicate your eyes again. Help you work on hand-eye coordination."

He reached out to pick up the small blur that was the dropper bottle, unscrewing it and managing to get a drop in each eye after a few attempts. "I wish we didn't have to be here any longer."

"You and me both," she sighed, pushing herself up with an uncomfortable groan. "But nothing we can do about it."

He sighed, closing his eyes as they started to sting from the drops. "Maybe we could sneak out."

"And go where? Anyways, we're in here because Jim wants us to be. I don't think that noncompliance will go over well, I don't know about you," she sighed.

He sighed, but nodded. "I know. I just hate..." He trailed off and motioned around himself.

"I know," she replied, sympathetically, "I do, too. Reminds me of being captive again. Not exactly the kind of thing I want to be reminded of."

He nodded just a little, a hand rubbing over his bandages absently until he caught it and forced himself to stop. He needed his words, but now wasn't the time. Right now was the time for cunning. "If there's any way I can help, let me know." She couldn't be trusted to help him, that was clear. She didn't understand. But he loved her all the same.

"I will. Thanks," she murmured, running a hand through her hair, trying to tame it a little. It still took some effort not to be surprised when he asked her in such a straightforward manner, not throwing in the bullshit about employees and efficiency. It was nice, that they'd reached some stage of normalcy, even after three months in their own respective hells.

He headed for the bathroom to try and find a toothbrush and toothpaste, wondering when the last time he'd brushed his teeth had been. He felt fractured, like half of him was ready to cower and die, and the other half would fight endlessly. It was disconcerting.

Lorna called the front desk and ordered breakfast in a typically grouchy manner that she had with everyone except Sebastian when she hadn't had a cup of coffee yet that morning, and then wandered around, digging through cabinets until she found a suitable change of clothes.

He emerged a few minutes later, feeling much fresher except for the bandages covering his body. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the way they compressed him, hid his words. He tried to focus on other things. Lorna, for example.

"I ordered breakfast. And I'm considering my future in a world where the fires in the grifting department aren't my problem. It's hard to believe I'm free, really," she said casually, sitting on the edge of one of the beds in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. It was easier to ignore the twinges of pain she got when she couldn't see the source.

He smiled a little. "They really excel at setting things aflame. We should just rebrand them as the arson and pyrotechnics department."

"Some really attractive, people-people arsonists," she snorted, smirking, then laughed. "Christ, I could be an arsonist for my new job."

"You could," he agreed, smiling and laughing. "There's a lot that you could do. A whole lot of doors wide open."

"Thank god I have a lot of marketable skills. I'd be up shit creek without a paddle if I was only good at the one thing," she chuckled, plucking at the hems of her sleeves, pulling them down over her hands. She wished she was wrapped up in bandages like he was.

He walked over to sit next to her, wincing a bit as the bandages tightened across tender areas. "You're brilliant. You'll be fine."

"If I hadn't known you for such a long time, I'd think you were being so nice so it'd be easier to kill me," she smirked. He seemed to be doing well enough that she could make that sort of joke now.

It took him a moment to recognize that she was joking, but then he smiled a little. "You're awfully confident."

"I feel like you've invested enough time in me for me to be relatively safe. If I'm not the person you've slept with the most times, I'd be surprised," she chuckled, looking up as the door opened and an orderly came in with a tray of food big enough to feed several large dogs and a small pony. "Oh, thank god. I was going to eat my own hand."

He was grateful for the change of subject, sighing eagerly as his stomach rumbled. He took the plate he was handed and dug in ravenously.

Lorna waved a dismissive hand at the orderly (who made himself scarce very fast) and followed suit, beginning to wolf down every single piece of food in reach. Starvation sucked.

He left most of the food to her consumption, eating just enough to cease the rumbling. He didn't want much beyond that. It felt odd to be full. Unpleasant. Slow.

When she was stuffed full of as much as she could possibly eat, she fell back on the mattress, groaning. "Christ. I feel like a python."

He smirked a bit. "You need it. You're almost as skinny as I am." Which was saying something. The white bandages compressing his already nigh-skeletal body did little for his figure.

"Yeah, we really need to put some weight on. And I thought the last time I was starved like this was bad. Oh, boy, if I could tell past-me about the joint pains..."

He nodded a little in sympathy, trying to get his gaze to focus on the bandages. He was longing for her to go to sleep again. Then perhaps he would be able to see the words...

"How are you doing?" she asked quietly, after a few minutes of silence.

He broke out of his reverie, and looked up. "Fine," he said easily, tucking his arms back against himself.

"Okay, well, I'm going to pass out for a while, but if you want to chat feel free to wake me up. My beauty sleep has fallen much lower on the priority list," she murmured, curling up with the pillow.

He nodded a little, leaning back and closing his eyes, listening.

It was half an hour before he felt like she was actually asleep, and almost immediately he started peeling off his bandages, eager to see his words underneath.