The nightmares were all too real. They weren't even dreams, not really: they were memories, replayed again and again, like she could have done something differently, made some other choice to prevent Riordan Moran from abusing her the ways he had. The worst part was his face. So similar to Sebastian's. The same eyes, the same jawline, the same cruel quirk to his smile when he was really enjoying another's pain.
She woke up with a small start, fingers tight in the sheets, sweat sticking the linen to her side and back.
He saw her jump and tense, and immediately started to rewind what was still undone of his bandages, observing her carefully. "You... are you alright?"
She looked at him with wild, scared eyes, jaw tight, transported for a moment back to the basement.
Crumpled on the floor, a throbbing ache radiating through her face, sending a clear message. Resistance is futile.
"Are you alright?" he asks sarcastically, bending down to haul her up by her stained and ruined dress, one she thinks she won't have much longer if he keeps treating it like this, and then she's slammed up against a wall and it's better not to think.
"Yes. No. I don't know," she whispered, burrowing her face in the pillow.
The animalistic fear was easy to read, and had it been on any other face, it would have given him a thrill of power. It still did, just oddly mixed with nauseated fear himself, and concern.
"I'm not my father," he said slowly, carefully, making no sudden moves and forgetting about his bandages for now. "Tell me what you want me to do right now."
"I don't know. I don't know," she got out through trembling breaths, torn between reaching out for the safety he offered and recoiling from the acrid fear he reminded her of. She'd never wanted a hit of heroin more in her life.
"Okay," he said softly, still keeping his voice as gentle and unthreatening as he could. "I'm going to stay right here and I'm not going to move or talk unless you ask me to, okay?"
"Okay," she rasped in response, and then fell silent, curled in a ball, shaking like a leaf. It took a full half hour before one of the impulses won out, and she moved stiffly into his lap, her eyes red.
He was beginning to think they'd be there all day, when finally she stirred, and shifted over to him. Still, he left his arms at his side, letting her move him as she willed, very cautious about pushing her.
She didn't speak for a long while, sitting there listening to his heart and trying to flush the helpless anger and terror from the pit of her stomach. Self pity was useless to her. "I love you, but I wish I'd never gone after your father like I did," she whispered, reaching for his hand, blinking back tears.
He gripped her hand gently. "I feel the same way," he said softly. "I wish I'd killed him when I had the chance."
"I wonder what they're saying on the news about him. I assume they've found his body by now. I hope they're disgusted with him," she breathed, just the slightest bit of an edge entering her voice before she sagged, the fight leaving her. "I didn't think it was ever going to end."
He nodded just a little. "He'll be remembered with disgust," he said quietly. "We'll make sure of that. Tear down everything he ever was." He was quiet for a moment before he said "I can't imagine what it must have been like. But you're safe here, now. I promise you that."
She shifted to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shoulder, unable to speak. She didn't know how to convey just how thankful she was that he was there, that over the course of their tumultuous relationship he had been, for the most part, an unwaveringly safe haven. That wasn't something she'd found in anyone else.
He rubbed her side gently, careful to avoid the wounds he knew lay on her back, and relaxed back against the wall with her resting against his chest. He didn't speak, either, had said more than part of him seemed comfortable with, but she seemed to know she was safe, and that was the important part.
"I don't know how the fuck we've managed to survive all this," she murmured after a long time. "I don't know whether we're incredibly lucky or the opposite."
He nodded a little. "I don't know either," he whispered. "Sometimes I wish I'd died before the darkness. But I can't now, and that's how it is."
"I can't believe that Jim still keeps us around; We're nearly useless like this. I can't believe that it's more efficient to keep me around," she shook her head faintly.
"Want to know something?" he asked, smirking just a little and lowering his voice. "I think he might actually have a heart."
She gave a disbelieving snort. "For you, maybe. He's worked with you for like a decade, and you've saved his life multiple times. I hardly ever see him. The most I ever saw him was the three months you were jail. What's his reasoning for keeping me around?"
"Because I care about you?" he asked, before realizing that sounded very stuck up and trying again. "Plus you're talented. Even if you can't use the talents like you used to, he sees things differently."
"I guess," she said, sounding unconvinced. "I think you're probably more right on the first count."
He shrugged. "Who knows, with Jim." He certainly didn't. He had only vague memories of the man, the phrases he used spurred more by intuition than fact.
"Only him, I'd guess," she muttered, rolling her eyes. At least she'd managed to soften up one of the murderous, stone-cold men who controlled her life.
"I suppose," he said with a nod, sighing and reaching up to rub at his eyes a little. He had a headache.
She sighed. "We should try and sleep. Maybe this time I won't have nightmares."
He nodded just a little. "Yeah. Y-we should. If you have them, wake me up."
"Alright," she replied quietly, shifting off him until she was back on the bed, where she curled up by his hip and promptly fell back to sleep.
He watched her drift off. He knew he should probably sleep, he hadn't in... a long time, but to do so would mean sacrificing the best time he had to form his words, and he couldn't do that. So he reached for the bandage on his leg, unwinding it methodically. He could survive like this. He would have to.
She woke up a long time later, sighing and snuggling into his hip a little more. "Mmf. What time is it."
He looked down at her. She'd slept a few hours, and he'd managed to finish his words for the day. "Just before three in the afternoon."
"Mm... I'm glad you can read the clock," she murmured, rolling onto her back with another small sigh. "That's coming back splendidly. "
He almost hadn't thought about it, and it startled him slightly when she mentioned it. "I can, can't I?" he muttered, almost awed, before letting out a bit of a laugh. "Brilliant."
"Jim'll be pleased. He hates for tools to be one-dimensional," she chuckled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
He didn't quite understand what she meant, but didn't particularly care, sighing in content and starting to look around the room more carefully now that he could. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. "I'm going to come in now," came a voice, before the door unlatched and their doctor entered. Sebastian immediately stiffened.
Lorna groaned, rolling back over and burrowing back into Sebastian's side. She did not want to deal with this.
"You can relax, Ms. Harrison," the doctor sighed. "I'm simply here to change Mr. Moran's bandages... I understand you both had quite the scare earlier."
"Good," she muttered, deciding to ignore the process for the most part. "I just woke up and I am not feeling chatty."
He sighed but seemed to take that for what it was, walking over to Sebastian who reluctantly allowed him to begin unwinding the bandages.
The doctor was not pleased with what he found. "These are fresh. Mr. Moran, if I have to restrain you, I will. You simply have to stop this."
Lorna lifted her head a little, frowning. "Fresh? What?"
Sebastian pulled his arm away. "He doesn't know what he's talking about," he said defensively, sitting back.
"I'm afraid I do, sir," he replied tersely, and Lorna's jaw tightened. I thought he'd stopped. "If you won't agree to stop, I will restrain you. The boss's orders."
He was breathing through his nose now, body tense, evaluating the situation. He could kill this man, but Jim would hear of it and others would come and restrain him, and he would lose the words. It would almost be worth it to see the man who was taking them away die, but not quite. He could lie, say he would stop, but the next time the man changed his bandages the game would be up, and he would be restrained, and he would lose the words. He could agree to stop, and he would lose the words. There was no good way out. He remained silent, feeling trapped.
"Sebastian," Lorna interjected quietly, looking up at him with serious grey eyes, "You won't stop existing if the words stop. They aren't you. They helped you, when you really needed it; I don't doubt that they probably kept you alive in that shithole. But now they are hurting you. You've got to let them go. Please."
He didn't want to listen to her, but he was slowly losing the ability to just let voices slip by unheard, just when he was starting to want it.
"They're my words. It's my body. I choose." He never took his eyes off of the doctor.
"If you get a blood infection, and you die, that decision affects me. The boss will fire me, in a creative way, I am sure," the doctor said, losing his cool a little. "Now, I restrain you, or you stop. Which will it be, Mr. Moran?"
His nostrils flared, then, and he stood, his hand snapping out to grab the man by the throat, tightening...
A second later he let him drop, power in his stance despite his frailty, eyes blazing. "You will not restrain me, you will not give me orders. I will do as I please. I will not die. If I choose to stop, it is because- and only because- Moriarty ordered me to. You need to remember your place."
The doctor was cowed, but not entirely beaten; as he made a run for the door he glanced over his shoulder with a look that said he would be back, however reluctantly it may be. Lorna was quiet for a minute after he was gone, calming her heart, then cleared her throat, very quietly. "If Jim's ordered you to be restrained if you don't stop... I think we can take the next logical step."
"And what would that be?" he asked quietly, ripping off the rest of the bandages and tossing them angrily into the bin. Christ, he felt awful. But he could see his words for the first time, and they were glorious. He smiled a little.
She took a slow breath. "That he's ordering you to stop."
He sighed as she said that, standing there in his pants in the middle of the room, before walking over to the bathroom to see himself in the mirror. The words were backwards there, but he knew them by heart and read them happily, turning to see his back, smiling at how neat the letters were carved even there. "How can no one understand this?"
She remained silent. She didn't know what to say. How to help him. How did you convince someone that they would be real even without the letters they'd carved into their skin?
He stayed there for a little while, looking at them and turning over his loyalties in his head. Finally, he walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "Jim is asking me to die," he said finally, taking a slow breath. "But that's my job. To die for Jim."
"You know, the words will still be there, even if they're not bloody," she replied softly, leaning back on a pillow she'd propped up against the wall. "Those will scar. They'll still be visible."
He considered that quietly, looking at his hands. "The point wasn't seeing them," he said quietly, turning that over. "It was feeling them. I couldn't... couldn't see. I tried writing them on the walls but they didn't matter there. I had to feel ..." He opened and closed his fist a few times, watching the words on the back of his hand crack and spill blood like lava breaking through rock.
"But you don't need to feel them anymore. There are other things to feel," she shook her head, voice still gentle. "You don't need to be dependent on them."
He sighed tiredly, walking over to sit on his bed. He was quiet for a long time. "If I can still see them, maybe I won't die," he said softly.
"You won't die regardless. But there are some things that just keep the human spirit alive, I suppose," she sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. Please stop hurting yourself.
He sighed, running his fingers over the words on his neck, but not cutting in. He looked over to where the bandages the doctor had brought in sat. "Help me with those?" he asked quietly.
"Of course," she murmured, getting up to grab them, then motioning to the bed. "Sit for me, though. Otherwise my arms going to start to hurt."
He nodded, sitting again, posture defeated. He felt sick.
She started the long process of wrapping him back up, careful not to make the bindings too tight. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, when she was almost done. "I know this isn't easy."
He shrugged a little, expression tired and a bit pale. "Nothing is," he said quietly.
She finished and set the bandage roll aside, then tugged towards him gently, giving him the option to ignore her if he wanted.
He leaned into her almost immediately, however, trying to find a way to do so where bony points weren't jabbing into her somehow.
She wrapped her arms around him and tucked him under her chin as best as she could, resting her cheek on his head. Sometimes the best she could offer him was wordless comfort.
He lay there for a long time, silent, not used to being on this side of the hug, eyes eventually drifting shut as he fell asleep.
She leaned back against the pillow she'd propped up and slowly fell asleep, hoping that his sleep was good, and empty of nightmares.
He was blank, his skin empty and fragile, and even as he watched, it was torn asunder and fell away, and all that was left was the darkness...
He woke immediately but without movement, his first response to fear to evaluate. Someone in the room, he was leaning against them- Lorna - The rest of the room empty. One door locked, one leading to a bathroom. One window, too small to be useful. He took a few slow breaths, trying to calm his heartbeat. He could feel the bandages snugly in place. For now, his words still existed beneath them.
She shifted sleepily, letting out a quiet sound of contentment and tightening her arms around him a little, then sighing.
He stiffened when she tightened her grip on him, automatically tensing his muscles to make himself bigger, so that when he relaxed he could slip away-
It's Lorna, you idiot. Relax.
She mumbled something under her breath about bagels, relaxed her grip on him slightly, and then fell back into a deeper sleep.
He smiled a little at that, glad that she seemed to be free of nightmares for once, and forced himself to relax in her grip, not wanting to wake her.
She shifted again a few hours later, letting out a long yawn. She stretched a little. Then sighed. "..You 'wake?"
"Yeah," he said quietly, looking over at her. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better, much better," she sighed, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. "Still tired, though."
"I think we both are going to be for a while," he sighed. He sat up, bandages making him a bit stiff.
"Yeah. We're not exactly healthy, are we?" she snorted, stretching out again to get some feeling back into her limbs. "This is the thinnest I've ever seen you. It's alarming."
He considered his hands, which, even with a layer of bandages, were skeletal, and a memory of muscles and strength flashed by. "It does seem to be unusual."
"It is. You are usually capable of lifting something, like, two and a half times larger than me at my full weight. It's intimidating. I love it. But it's also why I've been trying to stuff you full of protein. You make me anxious just looking at you."
He laughed just a little, sighing and rubbing his eyes. "I appreciate that... I'll work on trying to regain my appetite."
"I understand it's hard. I could barely eat, the first week I was back," she sighed, shifting around uncomfortably and then giving up, carefully peeling her shirt off and reaching for the burn gel on the nightstand. "Christ, these things hurt. I hate burns."
He watched her for a moment, then indicated the gel. "Can I help?" he asked quietly.
She paused for a moment, considered it, then nodded, handing the bottle over and turning to face away from him. "Yeah. Don't think I can reach them without hurting myself."
He nodded, sitting carefully behind her and pouring the gel onto the unbandaged portion of his hand, carefully beginning to spread a thick layer of it across the burns. Now that he could see more detail, his brain was providing information as to the probably methods of injury (where from, and how learned, he had no idea) that turned his stomach.
She tensed a little under his hand, but otherwise made no movement or sound, trying not to think too hard about how those burns had been put there.
Hands tied together, hanging from a hook on the ceiling on her very tiptoes. He's got a red-hot poker, is circling her with it, expressionless. But there's a danger to his eyes. He passes out of her field of vision and then pain so fierce it's blinding.
He could almost see the poker that made most of the marks. His mind told him the length, the diameter, the heat at which it must have been for each strike. Information from experience. He could smell burning flesh, somewhere, see the metal coming to temperature... He shook his head a little, closing his eyes, lost in the memory for a moment. It was blurred, and he couldn't see his victim, but he remembered Lorna's screams. Not then, but it had happened...
He opened his eyes, returned his focus to her, realized he'd stopped applying gel. He started again quickly.
"I wish I didn't remember things so well," she said quietly, a little more relaxed now that some relief had come to her tortured skin. "It's usually not so much of a hindrance. But I guess there are exceptions to everything."
"Trade you," he said, teasing, as he spread gel over the last burn. "Anywhere else you need it?"
She shook her head. "No. He kept the burns in one place. Think he didn't want me getting too gnarly," she snorted, her tone bitter. She hated him, more than anyone else she'd ever met. She reached for her shirt then, remembering suddenly that she didn't want him seeing her like this. "Thank you."
He nodded a little, sitting back and closing the bottle. "Should probably give the gel a minute to dry," he pointed out quietly.
She let out a long breath, but nodded, balling her shirt up in her lap and sitting there, trying to pretend like she wasn't trying to recoil from his gaze. She couldn't hold back her fear that he'd be disgusted.
He saw her discomfort, trying to figure out why it was there, but then his eyes fell on the way she clutched her shirt like a lifeline, and he made the connection.
"My words..." he asked after a moment. "Do they bother you?"
"What?" she glanced back at him, a little surprised, a lot nervous. "...You mean the way you've marked yourself up like that? No."
He considered himself for a moment, running fingers over his bandages. "When they scar, will they bother you? Because I know... I'm a lot different, in my head, and you say that doesn't bother you, but you didn't say about my body."
She shook her head a little. "No, of course not. It's just like a tattoo, isn't it? They won't bother me. They're pretty inoffensive, as scars go."
He nodded a little, then looked back up at her. "We see a fair lot of scars in our line of work, I suppose. I tend to find them attractive, I think. Old me did, and I do, too. They show someone's fought for something."
She swallowed, not looking at him, and nodded a little, trying to keep herself from inexplicably tearing up. He's not going to leave you for a few scars. You know better than that, don't you?
He looked over at her, and sighed. "Subtlety is not my art. Stop being an idiot. You're fucking gorgeous."
"Sorry," she whispered, running her thumb anxiously over the oldest scar on her thigh. "I'm just... not used to being this way, yet. I've always valued myself by how well I could do my work, and now..." she let out a shuddering breath, shrugging a little, helplessly. "Sorry."
He sighed, trying to think of a way to help her, meticulously searching through his woodchippered memories. Booze wasn't an option, physical contact was iffy at best...
He eventually reached out to take her hand in his, letting her see it before he touched her. Finally he gave a frustrated sigh. "You value is not dependent on your work. That's how Jim thinks. You aren't him. You matter to people."
She sighed, holding his hand a little tighter. Then she gave up and just leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, so she didn't get burn gel all over him. "Thanks," she murmured, eventually.
"Don't thank me, it's just the truth," he sighed, still frustrated, wishing he could turn his thoughts into words more easily.
"Yeah, but sometimes saying it is difficult. For one reason or another," she shook her head, then rested her cheek on his shoulder. "I know I'm only good with words when I'm lying. The truth is hard."
"Words are hard," he snorted in annoyance. "But neither of us are really in a good place for actions regarding this subject, so words it is."
She let out a tired chuckle, but nodded in agreement. "We'll get there. Eventually. We got a little time."
He nodded, reaching up to rub at his eyes a little. It was becoming a habit. "I wish I felt like me," he sighed.
"I know," she murmured, leaning up to kiss his cheek before pulling on her shirt, finally. "You'll get better. You've already improved so much in such little time."
He nodded just a little. "I'm not who you expected to find," he said suddenly. "I should have been him. Old me.
She frowned. "But you are him, Sebastian. You may have resorted to a strict pattern to keep yourself anywhere close to sane, and lost your memories, but at your core, you are still the same person. When Jim pulled that shit earlier and you put them down, so fucking fast, even as weak as you are right now... some lost memories can't take your core away from you."
He shrugged, looking over at her. "You expected me to still be... normal. I failed that. I'm sorry."
Lorna shook her head again, sitting to face him, hands on her knees. "Sebastian, I don't know what I was expecting when I pulled you out of there. I knew you wouldn't be the same. Solitary does bad, bad things to you. More than most people. Was I surprised, when I got you out? Sure. But it's not like I could expect you to be the same. I'm not the same. Why should you be?" she shifted and crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Don't worry about it. We'll get through this shit. Promise."