The time dragged by, and Lorna grew more anxious, but she resisted the urge to text him. He'd let her know if he needed her to bring him the car, or if he was going to be too much later. What on earth he was doing, though, she had no idea.

He finally entered the house around one in the morning. His clothes and hair were straightened, but there was no hiding the marks on his neck and arms. Even harder to hide would be the fact that Jim had reopened his initials on Seb's chest. He'd noted the particular location of the marks from Lorna's nails, and had evidently decided that a reminder needed to be made. Slowly.

He closed the door behind him softly, taking off his shoes and walking into the house.

Lorna walked out of the kitchen with a mug of warm tea in her hand, took one look at him, and turned back around, taking in a shuddering breath. Stop it. Stop. Stop stop stop sTOP STOP.

He saw her hands threatening to break the mug, and decided that waiting for her to speak was his best option in this scenario.

She walked back into the kitchen and poured her tea down the sink, hands shaking, stomach churning, breath shuddering. She gripped the counter like it was a lifeline. She still didn't turn back around. "Was it your idea, or was it his?"

"His," he said calmly, walking slowly forward. "He was... disappointed at being left out earlier," he said quietly. "Or rather, that he didn't at least receive an invitation."

"Disappointed. That's a word for it," she scoffed, on the verge of tears, fighting to keep herself aloof. She was losing. "The marks on you won't heal for days."

"No," he agreed quietly, taking a few more steps. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't do it to hurt you."

"I know you didn't, why would you? You don't do anything without a reason," she shook her head, still trying to keep up the act, even as the tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She just ducked her head, refusing to let him see. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

He nodded just a little, not making any more moves. He could try to explain, but that wouldn't improve the situation. "How can I fix this?"

"I don't know, Sebastian. I can't just- just turn this feeling off," she breathed, swallowing hard. Keep it together. As if she wasn't already crying. "I thought we were done fucking other people alone. I thought... fuck, I don't know. I don't know."

"Jim has to be an exception sometimes. It would have been a very bad move for both of our safety if I'd denied him. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. That would be a lie. But I'm also saying that I didn't have much of a choice." His expression remained calm.

"I know, I know," she whispered, raising a hand to wipe her eyes as the tiny plunk of a tear falling into the metal sink reached her ears. "I can't help it. Just ignore me."

He tugged at her shoulder gently, giving her the choice of turning around. He felt... guilty. Which was highly disturbing and not something he was used to.

She turned, wiping her eyes again, harder, like she could completely erase the evidence. He wasn't disheveled, but the marks around his collar were obvious. She hadn't put any of those there.

He pulled her gently against the good side of his chest, holding her close. "I'm sorry," he finally murmured.

She leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, a tiny sob escaping her. Any other person, any other circumstance, and this wouldn't have become this issue. There was no one else who could have managed to make her so jealous, and there was no one else that she couldn't have taken it out on the second she'd thought it had gone too far. But he was James Moriarty, and he owned the both of them, and there was nothing she could do to change that. If she was given the choice to exchange Jim for another boss - for there would always be another boss - she wouldn't, either. Things could always get worse.

"He knows you're jealous," he said softly. "This might get worse. You need to be prepared for that." He rubbed her back gently.

She nodded against his chest, swallowing hard. She'd hoped that Jim had somehow been too busy to notice her jealousy. "What did he say?"

"Nothing much," he said quietly. "Just... be careful, alright? You're playing a dangerous game."

"Not on purpose," she snorted, then sniffled. "I'm sorry I'm being such an ass about this. Who knew I had such a huge jealous streak, huh?"

He chuckled just a little, running his fingers through her hair gently. "Well who wouldn't be about a stud like me?"

She smiled a little. "An idiot, that's who."

"Exactly. I mean, come on. What's not to be jealous about? I'm intelligent, startlingly attractive, I have a flawless personality..."

She chuckled a little, then pulled away a little, letting out a tired sigh. "Let's just go to bed, huh? I'm fucking exhausted..."

He nodded. "Come on. Also we should get a tree tomorrow. If people stop by for Christmas then they'll be suspicious."

"Yeah, you're right," she nodded, turning for the door, her hand falling to grab his. "Let's worry about that tomorrow."

He nodded, gripping her hand and heading up the stairs. He released it when they got to their room, turning his back as he removed his shirt so she wouldn't see his chest, pulling on a dark tee-shirt in case it started to bleed again. He'd have to bandage it in the morning.

She stripped out of her dress and left it on the floor where she'd been standing, heading to the bed to grab her pajamas. As soon as they were on she crawled between the sheets, desperate for some sleep, and to just stop feeling for a little while.

He lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms carefully. "Get some sleep."

She took his advice to heart, and passed out within the minute, soaking up the warmth of his embrace. At least they no longer had to make excuses for this.

He woke early to a pain in his chest, and was on high alert instantly, his hand going to the knife beneath his pillow before he realized that it was just his shirt pulling at the cuts on his chest where it had gotten stuck and was pulling. He gently extracted himself, letting out a muttered swear at the blood on the sheets, but decided that the first thing would be to get an actual bandage on the damn thing.

She groaned and shifted as he got out of bed, grey eyes slitting open. It took her a second to focus them on him, but then her eyes were drawn to the blots of red on the sheets. "Wha's that?" she asked blearily, reaching out a hand to rub at the mark, fingers coming back smudged with blood.

"Nothing. Jim just cut me up a little last night. Go back to sleep," he said quietly, walking into the bathroom and pulling out the med kit.

"What? Where?" She frowned, sitting up a little to prop herself up on her elbow. "Can you reach it or do you need help?"

"I'm fine, I can get it," he said firmly. "It's early. Go back to sleep."

She lay back down, still frowning, though with no intention of sleeping just yet. Why hadn't he bandaged it when he'd gotten home last night?

He cleaned up the cuts before putting non-stick gauze over the wound and taping it up before heading back into the bedroom, laying back down.

She could see the lump of the gauze through his shirt, which for some reason he'd put back on. She was silent for a moment. "He redid his initials, didn't he." It wasn't a question.

"Just go back to sleep, Harrison," was all he responded, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Don't Harrison me," she said acidly, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling, stomach doing a barrel roll. "I hate it when you call me that when we're alone and you mean it."

He sighed through his nose. "Yes. He did. He saw your claw marks all over it and decided to re-assert his territory."

She ran a hand over her face, falling back into silence. There was nothing she could do about it. If she even made the slightest comment to Jim she was sure she would pay dearly for it. How fucking frustrating.

He took a breath, rolling over to throw an arm over her waist. "It doesn't matter. It..." he sighed, trying to figure out what to say. "You're important to me."

"Shit," she groaned, rolling over and burrowing into his side again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's not your fault, I just... I hate being unable to do anything. I'm sorry," she sighed, trying hard not to tear up again.

He gripped her tight. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can't give you everything. I don't have that right."

"I know," she murmured into the crook of his neck. "I know. But we both know I've never good at keeping at myself in check."

"Ain't that the truth," he said quietly. "Merry Christmas, by the way."

She let out a tired little chuckle. "Merry Christmas, Sebastian."

He kissed her forehead gently, then grinned. "Come on, let's go hunt down the most ridiculously pathetic fake tree left in a discount store somewhere."

"As soon as I get another hour of sleep," she laughed, shaking her head at him. "Then we can drink eggnog and all that shit."

"Go ahead," he said, chuckling and sitting up. "I'm awake. I'm going to make breakfast."

"Mmm. Call when you're done. Now I want food," she hummed, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to her chest, yawning.

"Will do," he said, heading downstairs.

He felt like baking for once, so he ended up making cinnamon rolls. He drew various bodily organs with the icing to maintain his reputation. Keira came down just as he was finishing a poor rendition of a liver.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Merry Christmas to you, too. Go wake Lorna up."

"Ugh, fine," she groaned, turning on her heel and heading back up the stairs. When she came back down a minute later, Lorna was shuffling after her.

"I smell cinnamon. Gimme."

"Do you want an eyeball or lower intestines?" he asked, handing her a cup of coffee as she walked over.

"Lower intestines. More frosting," she chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee and leaning against the counter. Last night's frustration was forgotten, for the moment.

He set it on a plate and handed it to her, then gave the stomach to Keira, taking the skull for himself.

They both dug in. When Keira was about halfway through hers she asked, through a mouthful of roll, "So I'm guessing no motorcycle for Christmas?"

"Did you ask for one?" he muttered through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

"I wrote a letter to Santa. I thought it was supposed to magically reach my absent father," she deadpanned, then smirked, obviously amused with herself.

"Guess my surveillance paid off then," he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a hotwheels motorcycle, chucking it at her head.

She just barely managed to duck in time, looking incredibly startled. "What the fuck? How..?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he said with a smirk. "I might check the garage if I were you. But I know you hate doing anything I say."

"What? What? Holy shit," she shouted, practically skidding out of the room, the bang of the garage door following a moment later. Lorna smirked into her coffee.

"Did you really?"

He grinned, and shrugged. "Yes, but it's not in the garage," he chuckled. "I find it difficult to find entertaining things to do with my money. This will give her something to do other than annoy the fuck out of us."

"Where is it, then?" she laughed, finishing off the rest of her cinnamon roll. "You gonna send her on a scavenger hunt?"

"Nah, I'm gonna let her get really disappointed and furious and then give her a gift card to the dealer down the road," he said with a smirk.

"You're a cruel, cruel man, Sebastian Moran," she grinned, finishing off her coffee and pushing off the counter to get herself another helping. "I can only give you your yearly bourbon present while we're here. I figured the tactical sniper rifle was a little much for the shooting range crowd."

"I can live with bourbon," he said with a laugh, listening as Keira started to bang things around in the garage, searching for any sort of clue. "I've got yours, but I'll give it to you later."

"What, you mean it wasn't the cinnamon buns?" she chuckled, helping herself to the eyeball one, and absently itching the scar on her face with the back of her hand. "These are pretty spectacular, I gotta admit."

"I know how to bake, I just don't particularly like it," he said with a smirk, looking up as Keira came stalking back in.

"There's nothing out there, is there?"

He grinned. "No, but your face was priceless."

"God, you're such a motherfucking asshole," she growled, looking about ready to drop into full sulk mode. Lorna just smirked. "Christ. Getting my hopes up for nothing? Really?"

"Did I say that? Lorna, did I say I'd gotten her hopes up for nothing?" he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"No, I don't believe you did," she replied smoothly, a calm smile on her face. Keira looked between the two of them, simmering like a boiling pot.

He let her steam for a few more minutes, then sighed and stood up, walking over and handing her a gift card from his back pocket. "There. Merry Christmas, you little shit," he said, though there wasn't any bite his words. "They've got new stuff and a bunch of classics. That's enough for a bike and whatever equipment you need. Call me if you max out, but do try to be reasonable, won't you?"

Lorna smirked as Keira's jaw dropped, and she stood speechless for a moment, gaping like a fish out of water. "Serious?" she asked in a hushed whisper, "You're not pulling my leg, are you?"

"I figured it would get you out of my hair sometimes. I also figured you might want to leave the house at some point. Mutually beneficial, wouldn't you say?" he asked, still grinning.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, definitely," Keira nodded, still stunned, holding the gift card like it was a precious artifact. "Holy shit. Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah. We'll drop you off on the way to find a fucking tree. You're going to need to pay your own way to a license, though, clear?" He walked over to the sink to wash cinnamon bun icing off his hands.

"Yeah, sure, anything," she shook her head, falling into a chair at the small kitchen table. Lorna smirked.

"Don't promise anything around him. Next thing you know he'll be making you eat a slug."

"Still got one dare kicking around, Lorna," he smirked, drying his hands off. "Alright. Ready to go?"

"Yeah," they both said at the same time, with varying levels of enthusiasm. They both got up, Lorna still in her pajamas.

"We're going to a department store, right? Cause I don't want to go upstairs to change."

"Yes. Don't worry about changing," he said with a shrug, grabbing his coat and the keys.

The two piled after him, Keira with a spring in her step, Lorna with a mug of cooling coffee. "Wasn't gonna."

He climbed in the car and started it up, waiting for them to join him before he headed off, out of the drive and down the road at high speed. He pulled into the lot of the cycle dealer, and glanced back at Keira. "Have fun. Don't die."

"Thanks, I won't," Keira rolled her eyes, then shut the door behind her and walked off.

"God, we're like a family or something. Weird."

"Don't say anything like that, please. I despise vomiting," he said dryly as he took off again, heading for the nearby department store.

She smirked, leaning back in her seat. "At least if you ever need to purge something, we have a backup plan."

"Charming," he smirked, pulling into a parking space outside the department store and climbing out. "Come on, let's go buy some hideous false shrubbery to convince people we have a soul."

"Great," she sighed, getting out of his car. "Let's go then."

They spent less than five minutes picking a tree. There was a blood-red, metallic looking one right near the front entrance, and Sebastian just picked it up with one hand and headed for the checkout.

"That'll work," she agreed, following him to the cashier, who gave them a dead-eyed look.

"Get tinsel or something," he said to Lorna with a grin.

"Ugh, fuck, fine," she groaned, turning back for the decoration aisle. "Be back in a minute."

He laughed, waiting for her to return before swiping his card and then heading out to the car. He lashed the tree on top with a few straps and climbed into the car. "I don't get the whole bloody things about the trees."

"You should, you've got Celtic roots. I think that's where the bit about the trees comes from. That or Germany," she shrugged, settling back in with a yawn. She was still tired from that morning.

"I don't give two shits about roots. This tree doesn't have any. It's bloody plastic." He headed back towards the apartment. "Let's just go set the damn thing up, throw the tinsel on it in the shape of an inverted pentagram, and be done with it."

"I never did really care about Christmas," she commented, looking out the window. "My family always seemed to forget about it until the day after. Too busy with their life of crime, I imagine. New Year's was always more fun; we usually threw a party."

"Ah, New Years. The average individual's excuse to get bloody shit-faced," he smirked. He pulled into the driveway, parking and climbing out to pull the tree down.

She got out with the tinsel tucked under her arm, heading up the driveway for the door - she knew he had it under control. "So, what have you decided to do with Keira?"

He unstrapped the tree and pulled it down, heading into the house after her. He didn't answer until he'd set the thing up in the corner. "I'm bringing her into the network."

"And god watch over whoever has the pleasure of watching over her. You know everyone else will know she's yours. The resemblance is rather uncanny," she pointed out, ripping open the tinsel packaging.

"I plan on letting them know. I think it will be amusing," he returned with a smirk, straightening the tree and holding out a hand for the tinsel.

"Christ, that's gonna be a sixteen-year-old with a lot of power," she snorted, plopping the tinsel into his hand.

"Oh, I'll scare the living shit out of her, don't worry. I plan on personally overseeing her training from above." He pulled the tinsel out of the box, unwound it, and tossed it at the tree haphazardly. "There. Perfect. Let's get drunk." He headed for the kitchen.

She grinned, following. "Ah, maybe one of my favorite phrases. What do you want to get smashed on today?"

"I don't know, how about you choose," he said with a sigh, ripping off the last couple of feet of tinsel and tossing it around her shoulders.

She slung it around her neck like an extremely uncomfortable scarf, heading for the cabinet that housed the liquor. "Hmm... how about champagne? That's festive, right?"

"Sounds fine to me," he said, smirking and following after her. He turned to grab wine glasses before finding champagne flutes.

"Wonderful," she chirped, uncorking the bottle with cheer, very happy to be able to drink. "Should we go ahead and put some 'festive' music on? Or would you rather drink to the sound of my chattering?"

"I swear to god, if you play anything remotely resembling a festive tune, I will decorate that tree with your intestines," he muttered, pouring himself a drink.

"Please. You would decorate the tree with prettier parts of me than that," she waved off, taking the bottle back from him to pour her own.

"Maybe your eyeballs and your tits. Point is it would be painful," he snorted, downing half the flute and refilling it before handing the bottle to her.

She decided to follow suit, with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I suppose I should just be flattered that you think my eyes are pretty. I do try not to spend a lot of time thinking about how you could kill me, if you so wished."

"There are a lot of ways," he agreed, grinning and cheers-ing her with his glass. He sighed, tilting his head back. "So. We have a fucking tree, fucking booze. Now what?"

"I don't know. Relaxation, I suppose, until somebody interrupts us. Hopefully they'll all be too busy with their own Christmas to intrude into ours."

"God, I fucking hope so," he snorted, heading for the living room and flopping onto the couch.

She trailed after him, the bottle of champagne in one hand, her glass in the other, looking for all the world as if she belonged in a stately ballgown rather than a pair of soft pajamas. "We should do something to pass the time. You could use up that dare of yours, maybe..."

He grinned. "Nope. Still saving it. Someday I'm going to desperately need some thing, and I plan on having that dare in my pocket," he smirked, stretching an arm across the couch to invite her to sit next to him.

"Damn," she sighed, sitting next to him, "Foiled again. Christ, by the time you use that dare it's going to be worth a fortune. Like finely aged wine."

"Precisely my goal," he says with a grin, wrapping his arm around her. He sighed, taking a drink. "Maybe I'll give you one of your Christmas presents."

She leaned into his side, settling in. It was easy to do, considering how much bigger he was than her. "Yeah? And what's that? An astounding bout of oral?"

"That's definitely on the list," he said with a smirk, turning to kiss her ear. "But I was thinking about saving that for later."

"I can wait, I suppose," she hummed, basking in the glow that his affection produced. It wasn't a rare occurrence these days, but she knew better than to take it for granted. "If only to prove that I'm not completely impatient."

"Mmmm... We'll see how long you last," he said with a smirk. "Here." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. "Open up."

Eyebrows raised, she took the envelope. "You planning on giving me a motorcycle, too?" she joked, opening it up and pulling out a folded up brochure. It was for a facility that specialized in scar treatment.

He waited a moment, then started his explanation, slightly hesitant. "I... I know your scars bother you. And I was looking around and this place has fantastic results, best in the world. They're in India. So I was thinking we could fly out, have them evaluate you, spend some time out there and you could... they could take care of some of your scars. If you wanted."

She flushed, staring down at the brochure for a moment before twisting and hugging him hard, burying her face in his neck. The emotions rushing through her were strong enough to make her tear up. He'd put thought into this, he'd gone out of his way. Sebastian Moran, sniper extraordinaire, cared that much about her happiness. "Fuck I love you."

He laughed a little in relief, hugging her tightly. "Okay, good. You're not supremely offended. Good."

"No, no," she shook her head, grinning, even though he couldn't see it. "I'm not offended at all. Thank you, just- Christ, Seb, thank you."

He held her tightly. "You're welcome," he said quietly, smiling just a little. He took a breath, and then kissed the side of her neck. "I love you, too..." he murmured very quietly.

That was as much of a present as anything. She squeezed him tighter for a moment, then drew away, nestling back into his side, as close as she could get. "I've always wanted to visit India, too. Such a beautiful place."

He nods. "I've never been there, either. Should be fun." He glanced down at her, and smirked. "Were you crying...?"

"Shut up," she retorted, pouring herself another flute full of champagne. "I have strong feelings about my looks, okay? And you."

He chuckled a little, leaning over to kiss her properly. "I'm glad you like it," he said quietly.

She leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder, just trying to exude wordless gratitude. She didn't know how to tell him just how much it meant to her. He was giving her a second chance at the only other thing in life that had kept her going, and he was doing it because he wanted to. Not for the job, or the network, but because he wanted her to like it. It was enormously touching. Somehow, she didn't think he'd be all that keen on too much verbal affection, even now. "Thank you," she murmured again, instead.

He smiled. "Of course." He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath and thinking over all that had happened since they first met. "This is just a bit different than me ordering you to read through bloody reports, isn't it?" he asks after a moment, sounding amused.

She smirked, chuckling softly. "Yeah, a little," she agreed, running a thumb across the smooth glass in her hand. "You'd be bloody furious with yourself if past you could see this. Remember the days when you kept trying to remind me not to get too familiar with you? I think you would have succeeded if we hadn't kept going through traumatizing experiences with each other."

"Yeah, that would have been helpful. That's all your fault, really. I blame you." He grinned, tickling her side gently.

"Oi, watch it," she laughed, wriggling away from him. "I'll spill the fancy champagne, and you'll have to clean it up! I have to hearken back to my lazier days somehow."

He laughed, but his fingers stilled. "Fine, fine. Wimp." He finished his champagne, setting the glass aside.

"When you're as pretty as me, you can be as wimpy as you want and get away with it," she laughed, making a face at him.

"I don't think I can argue with that," he agreed with a laugh. "Alright, dammit, you know what? I'm making a fire." He stood up and headed for the hearth.

"What? A fire? As in, something mildly festive?" she teased, sipping some more champagne. She was starting to feel a little tipsy, so he must have been feeling it too.

"No, I just feel like communing with my inner arsonist, that's all," he muttered, heading over to pick up a few logs by the fireplace that thus far had been mostly for show.

"'Inner,' sure," she smirked. "I don't see it come out of you all that often. I think it lives on the outside, but you stuff it inside whenever you can."

"Mhm," he said absently as he set up a pyramid. "Where's the damn kindling?" he muttered, standing and heading off to find some newspaper.

She relaxed on the sofa, eyes sliding half shut, relaxed like a cat in the summer sun. This was, really, their first official Christmas. They'd passed it together before, but never like... this. Hell, she was sure there was at least one Christmas they'd spent in captivity, but it was hard to keep track of those things after the fact, because it meant straying towards bad memories.

He returned a few minutes later, and after a long while of swearing and creativity, managed to get a halfway decent fire smoldering. He stalked back over, smelling of smoke, and flopped onto the couch next to her, glowering slightly.

"Oh, lighten up," she murmured, twisting a little to kiss his cheek. "Have a drink. The fire looks very nice, by the way."

"It's smoldery," he muttered grumpily, though he poured himself another glass of champagne, considering the empty bottle before hopping up to go grab another one.

She chuckled, finishing off her own glass and setting it to rest against her side. "It's kinda weird having Christmas in an actual house again. Haven't had that since I was a kid."

"I think this is my first one," he said, coming back in and biting the cork out, spitting it into the fire as he passed and pouring himself a new glass. "My dad didn't do Christmas."

"I'm not surprised," she sighed, looking over at him. "Mine was just conspicuously absent. My step-dad was fine, I guess. Just busy all the time. Always talking shop."

"I'm not surprised either," he said, sitting down next to her with his now full glass and offering her the bottle.

She took it to refill her glass, then leaned forward to set the bottle at her feet. "What about the army? You guys have any kind of celebration?"

He nodded. "They'd put up wreaths and exchange gifts, mostly porn and cigarettes. I generally went shooting." He gave her a smirk. "My squadron came to find me once, said I was being a scrooge. Gave me booze, and we all tried the fruitcake O'Hare's aunt had sent him. Michelson actually puked." For a half a second, his gaze was light, amused, and very much younger. Like he was nineteen again, devouring foul fruitcake and beer. Then he returned his gaze to the smoldering fire again and he was- if still cheerful- older and toughened again. "Good times."

"They don't sound half bad," she agreed quietly, leaning against him. "Better than a smuggler's holiday, certainly. More cheer. Less needles."

"Yeah, that sounds less pleasant somehow," he sighed, still smiling slightly. "How long until you think the motorized brat comes back?"

"If she completely ignores the fact that she doesn't have a motorcycle license, hours," she chuckled. She raised an eyebrow a little. "Why do you ask?"

He grinned a little bit. "No reason," he said, turning his head to push hers to the side gently, nipping the top of her ear. "How much do you want to bet she's going to ignore that fact?"

She laughed a little, goosebumps showing up on the side of her neck. "Tell me the stakes, and I'll bet."

"The stakes are that my teenage daughter walks in on me giving you that mind-blowing oral we discussed," he murmured, smiling.

She felt, suddenly, very warm. "Oh, well, if that's the only risk, I think I'm going to have to accept it."

"Are you sure?" he asked, a hand reaching down to trace over her thigh lazily. "She might just decide she hates us both."

"I think she's already dangerously close to hating me, I'm willing to risk it," she smirked, and pulled him closer by the front of his shirt.

Keira came home a few hours later without incident, hair mussed from the helmet.

They were in the kitchen, working on steak tips and peppers. He looked up as she came in. "Well? How'd it go?"

"Well, I got a motorcycle and I basically drooled all the way home," Keira laughed, looking a little breathless, still stunned. Lorna smirked.

"I think you bought a good few days of no hate."

"Better be at least a week," he shot back, clearly audible to the girl in the next room. "Don't get yourself killed, alright? I'd be somewhat annoyed."

"You have to upgrade me from annoyed, then," Lorna commented, chopping up peppers, a small smirk on her face. Keira made a 'yeah yeah' noise from the other room.

"How about I downgrade her to 'mildly inconvenienced?" he suggested, pouring excess marinade into the pan with the steak.

"Hmm, I can live with that, I suppose," she sighed, pushing the peppers his way. "I was hoping for at least a bump into anger, but I'll take it."

"I suppose, for you, I can be disgruntled. How's that?" he asked, expression unreadable as he dumped the peppers into the pan and stirred them around.

She sighed dramatically. "Well, I suppose I'll have to settle, won't I? I can't really strongarm you into anything else. Not after the living room."

"What about the living room?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answered, child," he retorted, pulling the egg noodles off the other burner and heading over to strain them.

"Ugh, gross," she groaned from the other room, and Lorna rolled her eyes.

"You've known each other for like a week! Get over it!"

"Don't plan to anytime soon. Can't you guys fuck in your bedroom or something?" she retorted. He just rolled his eyes, dumping noodles onto plates.

"Shut up and come get food."

Keira came in, looking like she would like to be stomping, but was too enamored with her new motorcycle to be so rude. Lorna handed her a plate, and turned for the dining room. "How's this for a Christmas dinner? Never did get having lobster."

"I'll have turf over surf almost any day," he agreed, smiling as he followed after her. He glanced over at Keira. "I spoke to Jim today. You'll be joining our network at an entry level."

Keira nodded, already having shoveled a forkful of food into her mouth. "Okay, fine," she said when she swallowed. "When?"

"Tomorrow," he said, taking a bite of food. "You'll start training immediately."

She coughed a little, surprised. "What? So soon? Okay, I guess. Where am I going to live?"

"On base. You'll be provided a room," he said calmly, looking up at her. "You'll be considered a trainee for a month. If you show potential, you'll be hired. If not, you'll be shot. Personally, I'd recommend the first option."

"Oh, shit. Well, that's motivation," she muttered, eyebrows raised. "How the hell do you guys find janitors?"

"Carefully," he smirks, turning back to his food. "And they don't ever last long."

She made an incredulous noise. "Those two have to be mutually exclusive. How the hell would anything ever get clean?"

"There's a reason half of my job is screening new staff," he snorted, smirking. Actually, people well below him dealt with janitors and the like (he just did random spot checks to instill fear.) "The point is, once you join Moriarty's network, you aren't looking at much of a retirement plan."

"Hence why you got a motorcycle for Christmas, and why even the people in the network are terrified of him. He owns every single one of us, and there isn't any chance of finding a new job," Lorna snorted, having been eating mostly in silence for a minute. "And don't consider getting yourself hooked on anything particularly addictive. Jim doesn't take mercy on the people who bring heroin and cocaine into the web."

"Starting to regret coming to me?" Moran asked with a small smirk, glancing at Keira.

"No. Possible death is a definite improvement over certain death," she shot back with a snort.

"That doesn't sound familiar or anything," she rolled her eyes, glancing at Sebastian.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said with a slight smirk.

"Oh hush, you're not even trying to lie," she snorted, laughing a little. Keira was lucky she shared a lot of her father's traits, really. He was a survivor.

He smirked and finished eating, then stood, taking Lorna's empty plate as well as he headed for the kitchen.

"You're on dishes, kid."

Keira groaned, but pushed out her chair and stood to follow, leaving Lorna at the table, smirking. It was so fun watching Sebastian order other people around.

He came back into the room, reaching out to muss her hair a bit. "So. When should I give you your last Christmas present, do you think?"

She leaned back in her chair, brushing a hand through her hair to fix it. "I don't know, it's your gift."

"True," he said with a chuckle, sitting on the table next to her. "How about now?"

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow a little, a smidgen of interest entering her eyes. "Alright. What is it?"

He grinned, standing. "I'll show you. Come on." He reached out to take her hand, pulling her to her feet easily and then dropping it and heading towards the stairs.

She followed, interested, and just a little bit worried.