Lorna woke up in a dimly lit room, next to an open door, which looked like it led into an grungy hallway. It wasn't entirely clear where the light source was coming from, as the room had no windows. Just a coffee table missing three legs, a gun on the floor, and Jim, slumped against the wall opposite. She shifted a little, groaning, her head splitting. This was weird. This was really weird.
He came to slowly, his head and heart pounding. It was a while before he could drag his eyes open, and he glanced around the room. Made to look old, but the dust buildup suggested otherwise.
Harrison was on the floor across from him. There was a gun on the floor between them. He waited until he felt his movements would be less sluggish, then moved with swift precision (mostly) to close his fingers around the metal.
She didn't move when he did, though she shifted a little, to get more comfortable. She groaned. "My head is killing me. What did they give us, elephant sedative?"
"I don't know," he said quietly. "The pain is... elegant to say the least." He hefted the pistol into his hand.
"At least they appear not to have taken Moran. If I trust anyone to bail our asses out, it's him," she sighed, shifting to sit up, unhappy to find herself still in her party dress. "Is that gun even loaded?"
He cocked it, hefting it in his hand. "Judging from the weight, it has one bullet." He leveled it in her direction, considering the situation calmly.
She didn't have the energy to be scared. "What, you're going to shoot me? Before you even know where we are or the situation we're in? Fine, fine, shoot me then. That's not insanely stupid for James Moriarty or anything."
"Did I say I was going to shoot you?" he asked softly, considering her. "I'm just... thinking about it." His mind was still foggy. "You've not been very intelligent of late either."
"I made a single mistake. One that I stand by, by the way, so bite me," she muttered under her breath, straightening her dress as she sat up further .
He sat up at that, eyes flashing. "Say that again," he muttered. "And I will shoot you where you sit."
"Look around, boss," she snorted, giving the filthy ceiling a little inspection. "I think the least of your troubles right now is a little attitude."
He grit his teeth, getting to his feet, stalking over to her with the gun trained on her. "The situation does not matter," he said precisely, tone clipped. "You will show some fucking respect."
"I'll show you some respect when you treat me with some," she spat, waiting for him to take a step closer, to more comfortably enter her range. Shift forward, just a little. Just a little. "I'm yourthird, Jim. I might not go around having the honor of saving your life, or fucking you all by my lonesome, but I think you could give me at least a fucking third of the respect you give to Moran."
"Moran knows when to bow and scrape when he's in deep shit Little Lorna. You seem content to breathe deep and keep digging." His fingers were white on the gun as he crouched, pushing the gun against her forehead.
As soon as the metal touched her skin she exploded into action, hand wrapping around the muzzle of the gun and yanking outwards, twisting, her heeled foot driving up into his stomach, sending him staggering. She passed the gun into her other hand, pointing it at him, cheeks flushed with anger. She was still mostly sitting. "And unlike Moran, I won't kneel and let you execute me. You forgot that I'm not your bodyguard, Jim. I'll kill you to save my own skin."
He heaved slightly as he tried to regain his breath, eyes flashing. "Go ahead, Harrison," he said calmly. "Shoot me. See what happens to your darling Moran. You think I don't have fail-safes in place? I don't tolerate failure, even posthumously." His expression was cold. "Embedded cyanide capsules are a slow way to die."
"I'm not planning on killing you, moron," she rolled her eyes, gun still trained on him, in the center of his chest - a very clear no-miss spot. "For a genius, you're really playing catch-up here. I'm only letting you know that I will kill you. You don't have my loyalty, you have my life. And, hell, to avoid those pesky failsafes, maybe I'll just dismember you if you try anything. I haven't dug my claws into anyone in long time. I'd like to see you try to live without your hands," she snarled, pushing herself to her feet, leaning against the wall, just to have something solid against her back. "Now are you going to play fucking nice?"
"I don't need to play nice," he said calmly. "You do anything to me, and I'll kill myself, just for the pleasure of knowing that somewhere dear Sebby is dropping to the ground, writhing. Don't test me." He walked forward, unafraid of the gun, until it pressed into the center of his chest, staring her down.
She put on the smile she did when she was thinking something particularly unpleasant. She shifted the gun, dragging it down his chest, pausing at his hip. "What do you think will happen if I shoot you in the pelvis, point blank? Do you think it could shatter your hip, like an old man's? Cripple you? How you going to kill yourself if you can't even get up and go to the bathroom?"
He smirked, and his eyes were dark with power. In a moment he spun away from the gun and slammed his elbow into her sternum while his free hand grabbed the gun from her stunned grip, continuing the spin as he backed away, leveling it at her skull. "Need to have a gun for that."
She grunted, bending over a little, hand on her chest. "Okay, ow," she grumbled, straightening up again, and giving the gun a weary look. "I think we've both proven a point here. I'm tired. How about we stop fooling around?"
He considered her, then tucked the gun into his trousers. "Agreed. Let's investigate our surroundings, shall we?"
"Let's," she sighed, turning for the door, then paused and took off her heels, keeping them in hand in case she needed to walk over something sharp. The first step into the hallway was a little disorienting. She immediately felt like she'd lost her sense of direction, like she was looking into a very confusing mirror. "Wow. This isn't going to be fun."
He glanced up and down the hall, which had door upon identical door. The place was falling apart, that was for certain, but had a remarkable amount of similarity to it. Lamps broken in the exact same manner, identical burns on the carpet. He pulled the gun out, turned around, and bashed the grip into the wall. It left a dent, but he hit something solid beneath. Metal. Not your standard drywall, then.
She gave herself and the sedative still lingering in her system credit for not jumping at the sound, just turned her head to give it a look. "Right. Pick a direction at random?"
"Sounds about right," he agreed, scratching a mark into the paint as best he could. It didn't work well. He nodded to their right, holding the gun calmly in hand as they started walking.
"Should we check any of these rooms?" she asked, peering into one as they passed. It was empty, though this one didn't have the broken coffee table. These were the only small details they had to orient themselves with, then. Great.
"Unlikely that any of them contain anything," he said calmly. "This is meant to disorient us. Things will look all the same, few landmarks. We've been given the tool we're expected to start with. I expect any others will be earned."
"Ah, wonderful," she sighed, rubbing her eyes, still keeping pace with him. "Who do you think dumped us in here? Mycroft?"
"Seems like his fingerprint, yes," he said. They came to a T, and he leaned out, looking left and right before stepping out. "Thoughts?'
"I think it looks the same," she sighed, stopping at the intersection with her hands on her hips. "Aren't you supposed to stick to the right wall in a labyrinth?"
"It's a theory," he said calmly, walking to the right and continuing down the hall. He was scanning every section of wall, every door. But it was obvious a reader had been through here- likely Mycroft- to confuse him. Everything he read conflicted. Doors with wear patterns on half the door but not the other. Combination of tarnish patterns that occurred in conflicting environments. And everywhere, things were identical. Freakishly so.
She stayed silent for a little while, walking quietly, bare feet making no sound on the dirty carpet. Then she cleared her throat. "You would recognize any booby traps, right?"
He didn't respond, eyes still scanning. He normally would have responded in the insulted affirmative, but they were dealing with the elder Holmes.
There was a reason he chose to deal primarily with the younger.
She took that as a maybe and started to walk a little more carefully. Alright, Moran, any second now, that'd be great...
It was ten minutes later that they encountered their first moment of interest. He took a step forward, and there was a loud click. He swept his arm back, shoving himself back into her and out of the way as an iron wall propelled down from above with tremor-inducing thud, shattering into the wood beneath the carpet and sealing off the hallway.
He straightened and brushed himself off. "Right," he said calmly. "He's toying with us at the moment. That click was ridiculous."
She stared at the iron wall with wide, shocked eyes, a single shuddering breath escaping her. "Christ, though, what a jump scare."
"Mmm." He turned around without bothering to fight with the door, heading back the way they'd come.
She turned, too, after a second of restarting her heart. Well, wasn't this creative? And deadly? Really, she had to wonder where they were. An abandoned building? Underground? Were there multiple floors, or was this it? How inventive did the traps get? Were all of them deadly? She sighed, shook the questions from her head, and kept moving.
He took another turn down a hall, and then saw something different.
"There's a window," he said, turning to jog down the hall.
"What?" she asked incredulously, turning and jogging after him, disbelief on her face, even as she saw it. They hadn't been in here all that long, but a window was not part of the design plan, that was clear.
There it was. A plane glass window, covered from the outside with wooden shutters, light breaking through the cracks in the wood.
"What the hell..." Jim murmured, before slamming the butt of the gun into the glass. It bounced off without any effect.
She reached out to touch it, brows drawn together. "Plexiglass, maybe. No way we'll get through that without an ax."
"Sure we will," he said, walking off to the side to stand at a slight angle and waiting for her to follow before he raised the gun, and fired.
The plastic fractured, the bullet hole creating a weak point, and he walked forward to smash the butt of the gun into the hole. It gave, creating a larger hole, and he started bashing the plastic free. A moment later he was able to reach through, push open the shutters-
To find a LED light emitter panel inside a cement recess about a foot deep. The light emitter shifted, changing from showing sunlight colors to a pixilated smiley face that winked once before the thing turned off.
He smashed the heel of the gun into it.
She moved forward as soon as he was out of the way, leaning precariously into the hole and attempting to yank the panel out of the cement, grunting with the effort, before pulling back and settling for ripping a loose board off one of the shutters, and emerging from the fake window a moment later looking significantly more mussed. "I'm taking whatever we can use. Who knows what else is in here."
He nodded in agreement. "Right. Let's keep moving," he said quietly.
She nodded, resting the board against her shoulder and picking a new direction, setting off, still carefully watching where she put her feet. Whoever put her here, they were going to regret it.
Time was very difficult to track in the seemingly endless hallways, but hours passed by. They stopped in rooms with adjoining bathrooms to use the toilet and get water. The toilets didn't flush and the water tasted foul, but it was enough.
It was four or five hours later, to his best guess. They were walking quietly through hallways that looked no different than the first ones they'd walked through, though he had a working map in his head. Then, out of nowhere, the ground gave an almighty heave and he hit the floor as the world shook and shifted.
"What the fuck is this!" she shouted over an agonizingly loud groaning noise, the sound of metal being warped and manipulated, flat on her back, hands trying to find a grip in the filth, as if it would steady herself through the shaking. Then, as soon as it had started, it stopped, everything settling in an instant.
He sat up slowly, cautiously, looking around, then stood when it seemed the world had stopped. He shook himself out, jogging down the hallway the way he had come, before swearing. "Well, that's fucking creative."
She followed at a slower pace, making sure that she had her feet firmly under her. "What's happened?"
He waited for her to catch up to see. The right turn they had just taken was now a four way intersection, each hall leading off to turns that were completely unfamiliar.
"It fucking changed."
"Fuck this shit," she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fuck. This must have cost a fortune, too."
"Agreed. I highly doubt we were the origina-" He stopped and froze, closing his eyes, listening to the change in the general eerie silence of the place.
Footsteps.
For a moment he was hopeful. A new element. Someone to question. Torture or threaten if necessary.
Then they clarified, and the rhythm became apparent.
Four-footed gait.
"Run," he said quietly, calmly, but firmly, taking off down the hall in the opposite direction.
She dropped the heels she still carried in one hand, running after him, board still in hand, fear prickling the back of her neck. She did not want to be mauled today. Door door door door where's a BLOODY DOOR!?
He swung around a corner and there was a door to the right. He hauled it open, dashing inside and turning to slam it shut just as she slid in, leaning against it.
She thumped back against it too, just in case it was strong enough to break through. Whatever it was. "Does this door lock, or?"
"Not that I can see," he said, voice tight but controlled. He glanced around the room. "Get that chest of drawers over here."
She nodded, dashing off the door and practically leaping across the room to the drawers and dragging them across the room like her life depended on it, which she supposed, it did. Within seconds it was shoved up against the door, and she stepped back, ignoring the strain in her shoulders. "I think I know what the gun was for."
He shifted to leaning his weight against the drawers as the thudthudthudthud of a sprinting something turned the corner. "Figured that out, have you?"
The screech and crack of claws through wood was deafening, and right near his head. He jumped back as black talons of some sort appeared through the pressboard of the cheap door, dragging and splitting the wood.
"What the hell is that thing?" she hissed, backing away for a moment before realizing that she should help, pressing back up against the drawers again.
"Excellent question." He shifted away as the claws scraped lower. "A wolverine, possibly, though a large one..." He looked around the room, trying to find a solution.
She picked up the board she'd dropped on the floor. "I don't think this is gonna kill it, do you?"
"No, but it might stun it long enough for us to find a better place to hide," he said, gritting his teeth as the door opened, shoving the chest of drawers across the floor a little.
She swung the board like a baseball bat as the creature fell forward, smacking it across the face with a hard thunk, throwing it back into the hall. "Go!" She shouted, jumping over the furry lump.
He was immediately behind her, barely dodging the swipe of claws. It caught the ankle of his trousers, which put up no resistance, shredding instantly as he cleared the creature, bolting down the hall behind Harrison.
He might not know the terrain anymore, but he knew directions, could guess where things had to be.
"Head left!"
She made a sharp turn at the next corner, very determined that she not be caught by an unknown beast just because she'd moseyed around the corner at a light trot, shoulder bumping off the wall for a second before she righted herself, shifting back into the middle of the hall again. "What are we looking for?!"
"The wall trap," he panted. "When I tell you, stop!"
"Got it!" She yelped, wondering vaguely how long Jim could run like this, and being vaguely happy that she was so comfortable running in bare feet.
They ran a through few more hallways, Jim calling out directions. They made a complete U-turn once, and then again, a furious yowling behind them getting ever closer. Suddenly he saw it- a worn groove in the carpet.
"Stop! " he shouted, catching up to her and eyeing the floor and walls, listening to the screams of the angry animal behind them. Three hallways away. Two...
"Don't put your foot on that spot, jump!" he ordered, leaping across the groove to the other side, waiting for her to follow him. A flash of fur and ferocity rounded the corner, but he stomped his foot down on a spot on the carpet, jumping back as the metal wall slammed down.
She sank to the ground as the wall slammed into place, dropping the board by her side, heaving for breath, a hand on her chest. "Jesus," she panted, staring at the wall, cheeks flushed with exertion. "My lungs are not- not up for this crap."
He nodded in agreement, slumping to the floor as the creature clawed and thudded angrily against the metal wall before evidently deciding it wasn't worth it and slinked off.
She got her breath back and slumped onto her back, wiping sweaty hair out of her face. "You know, I think I prefer this to Riordan Moran. And the sleep deprivation. At least we can fight back."
He nodded in tired agreement, rubbing at his face. "Come on. Let's get moving before it finds a way around."
"Yeah, okay," she sighed, standing up and picking up the board again. "Really enjoying the Hunger Games aesthetic, Holmes, real original," she said dryly, to the ceiling.
"I doubt he's concerned with originality. More likely with effectiveness," he snorted. "Failing on both fronts, however."
As if in response, there was a noise from above. He looked up to see a fine mist wafting out of cracks in the ceiling. He swore, pulling his jacket up over his face at starting to move quickly down the hallway, holding his breath.
She was completely fucked on this account, simply drew in the deepest breath she could before the white mist reached her and then held her breath and followed him. She was extremely worried about what was in that mist.
He tried to find a place away from the mist, but it seemed to be filling everywhere. He pushed into a side room but it was there as well. He was running out of air- he estimated that at his body's current adrenaline level he had about 32 seconds left.
30.
He looked around desperately for something to keep out the mist. Went into the bathroom and tore off his jacket, ran it under the water and put it over his nose and mouth. He risked a breath.
The bitter taste of the air told him he'd gambled poorly. He lost consciousness in moments.
She passed out in the hall when her parched lungs risked a breath, and didn't even manage a swear before she hit the floor.
When he woke, he immediately knew something was wrong.
He found, however, after a few moments, that it was difficult to care. The world was silent around him instead of the screaming pile of information it usually was. He felt good. Relaxed. Accomplished. The split second after he'd eaten a bullet in St. Bart's, that pure instant of victory, had felt like this.
But this was lasting. Continuing on from moment to moment. More than contentment, more than satisfaction. Utter... happiness.
James Moriarty was positively happy. Something was very wrong.
Lorna knew specifically what was wrong when she woke up, and she lifted a heavy arm just to make sure. Yep, there was the red mark. She turned her head, looking for Jim. Ah, there he was. She giggled. "You, uh... you feeling this too, boss? Cause I can tell you what it is."
"You mean the inescapable giddiness camping somewhere in my mesolimbic? Yes. And I have a sinking suspicion as to what it is..." He didn't sound overly sunk.
"Welcome to heroin, Jim," she murmured, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. "Fuck, why did I ever stop using this..."
"Fuck..." he murmured, doing his best to be furious about the situation, but failing. He sat up, looked around, let out a bit of a giggle. "New locale, it seems," he murmured.
"Yeah? Describe them. I'm tired," she sighed, still smiling faintly.
"Lots... of trees," he decided. For once, he decided there didn't need to be more detail. The trees weren't real, of course, but they were beautifully detailed, and for a while he was content to just stare at the different idiosyncrasies in the bark.
"Interesting," she murmured, falling into silence for a while. Then a thought occurred to her, and she cracked her eyelids. "Hey... why you so pissed 'bout me marking Seb a little? S'not like Imarried him. Not that'd I say noooo..."
He glanced over at her dryly, but it broke into a bit of a smirk. "Of course you wouldn't, you fucking... sap..." He reached up to rub at his eyes. "Because Sebastian is mine. Not yours."
"Bullshit," she chuckled, prodding his side with her bare foot. "Please. Your initials might be over his heart, but you don't honestly believe you've got a foothold in there, do you?"
For a moment, his euphoria flickered, and he glanced over at her, eyes hardening. The anger faded a moment later, but not the thought. "You think you do? The whore?"
She laughed. "I live with him on and off-site, that must make me quite the rent girl," she smirked, very amused. "Do you think he plans on paying me any time soon?"
He returned his gaze to the leafy canopy.
"When I went missing, he ripped apart the country looking for me," he said pleasantly. "When you went missing, he warmed my bed quite contentedly. I know your perception skills aren't as advanced as mine... but still, surely that must be obvious."
Jealousy raised its sleepy head in her chest, disrupting her happiness. She didn't like that. "And yet I doubt he's ever shown you real affection. Never been jealous when you showed interest in someone else. Never pulled you closer after a fight because the bed's too big all alone. Are you sure I'm the whore here?"
"Our relationship isn't based solely on affection," he said calmly. He was content. He knew he owned Sebastian. Knew the man was loyal to him. It was just a matter of convincing Harrison. "I could ask you similar questions. Has he ever stood still while you pressed a knife to his throat, just because you could? Have you ever watched him squirm and snarl beneath you, under your hand, but not overpower you because he respects your control? Have you ever cowed him, Lorna? Ever seen him drop his gaze and stoop his shoulders to you because he knows who he chooses to serve..."
"Mmm, just about, actually," she chuckled. "Not to the same levels, of course. He's the dom in our relationship, remember?" She sat up, moved to crawl over to him, into his lap, hands curling into his suit jacket to keep herself from falling over, another chuckle coming unbidden from her. "Is that the first time you used my first name? I think it might be."
He reached up to grasp her chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. "I know he's been jealous about you..." He murmured. "Got all pissy when his property went and fucked around with the little Holmes and the American... So you'll understand..." he flicked her chin, "why I get annoyed when someone treads on my toes."
She smirked, letting herself sink back a little into the high, melting into him a little so she didn't have to hold herself up as much. "But if your relationship isn't based on affection... I think I'm a little outside your sphere, aren't I? No overlap, I think," she pointed out, humming. "Call me his property again, though. Gives me this warm feeling in my chest. And other places..."
"Just... what does he see in you?" he asked with a growl, glancing down at her and not really mustering the energy to be pissed that she was leaning on him. He ignored her commentary about property.
She gave him a lazy shrug. "He used to fuck me and push me away. Threaten to kill me. Remind me that I didn't matter to him. Over time... he didn't push as hard. I think I picked him up off the floor one too many times for him to go through with killing me when I dared him to. And that was really the last straw. Both of us had to stand up and face the music."
"Some sort of life debt, then?" he muttered, flopping back onto the ground. She fell on his chest. "I suppose that with a man of his code that's understandable..."
"He doesn't have much of a code," she snorted, pushing into sitting position to clumsily push his shirt up enough to see the initials carved into his chest. "Men with codes don't usually lose control and leave these."
"They do if you break them," he snorted. He didn't mind the marks. It was effort to mind them. "Don't let him fool you. He likes to act like he's an angry, loose cannon, but he's incredibly disciplined, self-motivated. If he didn't have a code O'Hare never would have bothered him."
"I think he was angry, just a little out of control, before O'Hare. O'Hare broke something in him. He asked me for help, then," she mumbled, finger tracing along the S, her gaze thoughtful, a lot of her focus on keeping the memories steady. "He apologized."
"Mmm... I've seen that man apologize quite a lot," he said calmly. "Not really a sparkling day in my book." He shifted a little under her fingers, before reaching up to rub at his face. He was beginning to feel less giddy.
She gave up trying to get him to touch her, react in any way she could control, and shifted to flop onto the ground with a sigh. "You're boring."
"No, I'm not stupid," he retorted, tugging his shirt back down. He sat up again, looking around, and then frowned at something he should have noticed a while ago- a platter cover a few feet away, presumably covering a platter. "What's that..." he muttered, rolling towards it.
"Not a bomb, hopefully," she muttered unhelpfully.
"Mmm..." he muttered absently, picking the cover up slowly. Underneath were two sealed MREs, two bottles of water, and between the two, a single bullet.
"What is it?" she sighed, remaining where she was. She could feel a sinking in her chest, one she remembered well. One she was not excited for. "Any heroin?"
"No," he said quietly, tossing her an MRE and a bottle of water and pulling out the pistol (which he'd just realized had been left in his trousers) to put the bullet in place.
She rolled over and took them, unwrapping the MRE before she felt too terrible. Coming down from the high... god, what a miserable feeling.
He was feeling it as well, taking slow breaths as his stomach tightened. He took a long sip of the water, then opened the MRE, starting to investigate the contents.
She got it open and managed to sit up before bursting into tears, her chest clenching painfully. Not again, not again.
He looked over at her, and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Harrison," he said, his voice cold. "Pull yourself together. We're surviving right now. I don't have time for you to be hysterical."
"I'm fine," she snarled, not making much of an effort to turn towards him, fingers fisting in the MRE with a crunch. "Don't fuck with someone coming down, Jim, first fucking rule in the junkie handbook."
"Sorry, haven't read it," he said calmly, but his voice was clipped. He could feel emotions struggling to break out, and kept everything firmly in check, ripping open the applesauce packet and starting to eat.
She didn't know what she was eating, and she didn't particularly care, just ate in strained silence, battling the pain coursing through her system.
He closed his eyes as he ate, cutting himself off from the complaints of his body and forcing himself to focus on what he knew about where they were.
She finished the food and the bottle of water on autopilot, then flicked away the trash and sat with her head in her hands, trying to keep herself from falling apart.
He set his trash aside as well, keeping the plastic spork enclosed, just in case, tucking it into his pocket. He hadn't drunk much of his water, either. So far they'd been lucky, but who knew when they'd get clean water again?
"Let's get moving," he said quietly. He started walking, despite the slight tremors and aches in his body. He felt absolutely dreadful, knew she must feel worse. But he imagined the creature would return, who knew when, and they needed to understand their layout.
She got up and followed even though she had absolutely no desire to, feeling like every step she took was just one closer to falling to literal pieces, her bones feeling like they needed a bucketload of grease if they were going to continue working for any amount of time. She didn't bother to pay attention to her surroundings, deciding that Jim could have the dubious pleasure of keeping the two of them alive.
He focused on what was around them.
The trees, like the lamps and the carpet of their previous locale, were meant to look identical in every respect. There was a pattern, he found, to the roots and rocks in the earth. He also found that none of them could be moved, and there was a distinct lack of twigs, fallen leaves... anything that might give them something to mark their way with. The earth was hard packed like cement.
It was maybe an hour before she said anything, too busy wallowing in her own misery to say anything before. "This is a pretty shitty rendition of a forest, Holmes. Never been in a forest before that didn't have a speck of mud in it. Look how bloody clean my feet are. Ridiculous."
"Mmm. Agreed," Jim said, eyes still on their surroundings. "Very shitty. Worst forest I've ever been in." There was, as per usual, no response.
At least not immediately.
It was a little over a half hour later by his best judgment that they first heard the rumbling. He couldn't figure out what it was, at first, until he looked to what he had entitled 'east' and saw, down between the trees, a wall of water.
"Well, shit," she said calmly, eyes glued to the advancing wall of water. "Plan?"
"Given that I haven't seen any particular indications of shelter below, I'd say our best bet might be to climb," he said, considering the trees carefully. They had few branches near the ground, but their 'bark' was cragged and solid, and would hold their weight. Whether or not they could hold their own weight was a different matter- one they didn't have time to consider. He grabbed onto the trunk, wishing, not for the first time, that Moran were here, and started pulling himself up.
She turned and picked the next closest tree, steeling herself for the painful climb and then scaling the tree with more skill than someone might have expected from looking at her. She'd had to hide up trees enough as a smuggler to know her way around them. It didn't hurt that she was so light.
He managed to get himself about ten feet up before the water hit, grabbing onto the lowest branch just as the flood plowed into the base and hanging on tight.
The tree trembled under her as the water hit in a way that trees really were not supposed to tremble. She highly suspected that there was a metal core somewhere beneath the bark she clung to, and it was the only thing keeping her mind off the fact that tsunami-worthy waters were several inches from swallowing her up.
For a few moments he thought he was safe. Then, the whole tree shuddered and clanged as something large below the water slammed into it. The tree gave a squeal like a failing iron girder, and bent forward precariously, bringing Jim backwards. He tried to shift onto the high side, but his legs were suddenly being ripped at by the current and it was all he could do to hang on, the rough bark shredding his suit.
She swore under her breath as Jim's tree started to go, staring at the gap between them and wondering if she could make it across. Sebastian would kill her if she let Jim die. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath, and started to edge around to the branch that hung above his quickly-declining perch.
Something in the water scraped into his side and he swore at the pain, heaving himself up higher as best he could as the tree dropped another few inches. He glanced up at Harrison as she worked her way over to him. "Hurry up!"
"No offense, but shut up!" She shouted, her heart jumping as her feet slipped on the slippery bark, wet from the spray. A few seconds later and she was was in a position to reach for him, clinging to the branch beneath her. Please don't break, please don't break... She leaned down as far as she could without risking tumbling in herself, hand reaching for him. "C'mon, then!"
He levered himself up, reaching for her hand and managing to swing himself up just enough to get a grip on it.
She had Sebastian's insistence on training to thank for pulling him up, hauling him up with little regard to his personal comfort, just on getting him out, and a few moments later he was on the branch beside her, and her hair was drenched.
He gripped onto the branch tightly, catching his breath. "Right," he said quietly. "Let's move back toward the main trunk before this branch gives out."
She nodded, shifting back over. "What I want to know is where the hell all this water is draining into."
He nodded in agreement. "Something tells me they'd have thought of that. I can think of plenty of unpleasant ways to prevent us from escaping, the least creative of which is a grate. Or spikes."
"I knew we weren't going to escape that way. But grates, spikes... it's something different, at least," she shook her head a little. "Break up the monotony."
"We'll investigate after the flow dies down. I don't fancy investigating by being hurled at the unknown at a hundred kilometers per hour by a wave of water. If that interests you, by all means." He shifted along the branch behind her carefully.
"No, thank you," she murmured, staring down at the raging torrent. Before she had Sebastian, she would have jumped in, in this post-high flunk, but now? She'd fight off addiction, again, for his sake.
It was another twenty minutes before the water slowed, and dropped. By then his arms and hands were screaming at him angrily for hanging on to the tree for so long. He gingerly worked his way down, trying not to slip on the wet bark.
She went about halfway down before she looked down and judged it an acceptable distance to fall, and dropped to the damp ground, just a little painfully, skinning a knee. She didn't care at all. "Well. What now?"
He didn't respond for a few moments, leaning against the tree to catch his breath. He could feel a beautiful bruise forming where his side had been hit earlier.
"We keep moving," he said quietly. "Go investigate where that water went."
"Fantastic," she replied tonelessly, picking herself up off the ground and moving to do just that, trusting that he would keep up.
He started after her quietly, his mind wandering. How were they going to escape?
By now there was no real way of telling how long they'd been in captivity for, not now that they'd been unconscious. And time passed oddly in a high. But all that was left to them now was to walk, so that was what she did.
He took his time, aiming them carefully toward the west side of whatever arena they were in.
"What I want to know is how they get around this place," she sighed, after a long silence. "Aircraft?"
"Not that I've seen," he said quietly. "I'd say tunnels beneath us. Or they don't, and it's all run remotely."
"What do they have this place for, if not training?" She shook her head, kicking at the packed earth.
"I don't know. While we're here it's for torture. Otherwise..." he nodded a little. "Yes, probably training."
"So there has to be tunnels. Something to bail out of in emergencies. We just have to find one," she muttered, glaring at a passing tree as if it were to blame for their condition.
"The issue is that this place was created by a reader," he said, his voice edged with frustration. "Holmes. Perhaps both of them. I would guess with the explicit intent of making this place impossible to read properly."
"Fine. I'll do it. No one can account for blind luck," she replied stubbornly, now making a small point of stepping on every knot in the roots she came across, pulling every leaf, every branch in her way. "Fuck readers, honestly."
He snorted. "You would say that. It's amazing how arrogant you all are for being utter idiots," he muttered. "You honestly think there will be a trigger in here somewhere? The tunnels are probably opened by a remote possessed by training teams, or by whoever is monitoring them. What use is a prison with a way out that could be stumbled upon accidentally?"
"That sounds like something a reader would say," she said offhandedly. "I'd make a prison that couldn't be predicted by smart assholes."
The gun was out of his pocket and against the back of her head in a millisecond.
"Now now, Harrison... it sounded as though you'd just called me a 'smart asshole'. I'm sure that was a slip of the tongue." His tone was cheerful.
She whipped around, going to grab the gun out of his hand and instead just batting it away, coordination still fucked till Sunday from the drugs. She was seething with anger. "You're the smart arsehole who walked us away from your FUCKING BODYGUARD," she snarled, advancing on him, not caring if he shot her anymore. "Go ahead, idiot, shoot me! Waste your bullet on your only ally! That's not short bus or anything!"
Time slowed.
His finger was on the trigger. He was pulling it, pressure increasing as he swung the gun up to level between her eyes.
His pulse was sounding, thunderous, in his ears, and he felt the mechanisms in the gun responding, knew that in one more heartbeat she'd be dead at his feet, finally out of the way. Moran would be his...
The snarl interrupted his hopes, and he immediately swung around, finger relaxing just a touch on the trigger as he scanned the trees for the creature.
She knew that she would have been dead just then if not for the snarl, and at the moment, she really didn't care - dying from a gunshot to the head was her preferred method to go, if she had to go. Instead, she froze, eyes on Jim, waiting for him to make a move in any direction.
He turned in the opposite direction then, and started to run. He needed to draw the creature out, get it into a place where he could take the shot...
Harrison was beside him, behind them growls and the sound of clawed paws on earth. The chase was on.
She ran beside him, mind shutting off, all her focus on just running, keeping up, avoiding tripping on whatever crossed her path. There was nowhere to hide anymore.
He wasn't going to be able to run long, and he knew it. His ribs were bruised, and they complained angrily with every step, restricting his lungs. He shot a glance over his shoulder, saw a flash of shaggy grey-brown fur. How to do this...
She followed his glance, grit her teeth, kept running, then gathered a breath and shouted. "Bait! I'll be it!"
He didn't argue, just shouted "Fine!" and peeled off to the left, hiding behind a tree.
She ran a few more paces, then turned on her heel and braced herself. The next thing she registered was a wall of gray, and then pain.
He took the shot as soon as he had it. There was a squeal, and then the creature stilled. He moved forward slowly, gun still in hand in case he needed to bludgeon something, but the thing seemed well and truly dead. He pushed it off of Harrison with a grunt. There was a lot of blood. "How much is yours?"
"Too much," she got out through a clenched jaw, her hand pressed against her abdomen, trying to staunch the blood gushing out of the claw marks in her now-crimson dress. She wasn't going to make it very long without some sort of medical attention, that was certain. "Doesn't hurt- as much as it should. Shock- I think."
He considered her for a long moment, and seriously considered leaving her there. He could walk away, leave her to die. But she had been useful, earlier. And he still hadn't figured her out. Figured out why Moran gave her a second glance. He bent down, and after a moment's consideration, started tearing into her dress, folding up a wad and pressing it against her abdomen to stop the bleeding.
She fell into a labored silence, breath coming unsteadily, clear thoughts exiting stage left for the time being. She wasn't going anywhere, not for a while. Vaguely, she wondered where Sebastian was. Did he know they were missing, yet? Or did he think it was another one of Jim's stupid, elaborate plans? That wasn't a good thought.
He wrapped more strips of her dress over the wound, bandaging it as best he could given the circumstances and without damaging his own clothing- not that it had survived too well so far anyway. He pulled the bottle of water out of his pocket, offering it to her. The blood had slowed, though not stopped, and she looked pale, but he was fairly confident she'd at least last the night.
She took a painful sip just because she knew she should, then handed it back to him, head thumping back against the ground, letting her eyes shut, ignoring the slight trembling in her hands. A gut wound. This was how she was going to go. Fucking great. She cleared her throat a little, eyes still shut. "What is that thing- anyway?"
He settled back on his heels, closing the bottle and setting it aside before shifting over to have a closer look at the creature. "I was right. Some sort of wolverine. Definitely modified, however. This thing is far larger than a wolverine has any right to be."
"Great, I've been killed by an over-sized.. weasel," she groaned, a twinge of pain shooting through her as she shifted. "I don't suppose Holmes will send some heroin so I could die with some dignity. D'you hear me, you pompous bastard? Heroin. Nooooooooow."
"Don't write yourself off yet," he snorted, reaching over to pick up the water bottle and taking a conservative sip.
She didn't have the will to argue, falling back into silence, feeling a little bit like she was going to pass out. And then she actually passed out.
He sat a few feet away, unbuttoning his shirt and examining the beginnings of deep bruising on his ribs before buttoning up again and laying down. He was determined to stay awake for a while, but he drifted. Then he smelled something bitter, and he was unconscious.
Playlist: Robert DeLong - Long Way Down
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