Lorna couldn't make sense of what was happening, couldn't make the people in front of her real in her eyes. How long had it been since they had seen someone, anyone? Other than the observation room slip-up, she hadn't seen anybody but Jim for months and months. Too much time. And not just people, either. "...Sebastian? Tha' you?"
"Yup," he said, walking over quickly to unstrap her from the table. "Can you walk?"
The sedatives in her system made her slow, but she nodded after a moment, sitting up, moving to stand, trying to call on the go go go instinct that had kept her moving in front of the creatures in the labyrinths. "Wha's happenin'?"
"We're leaving," he said calmly, injecting Jim with more sedatives and scooping the remarkably light man into his arms. "Let's go."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," she mumbled, trailing after him, stumbling over the corpses garbed in white on the floor. Her brain still wasn't quite caught up. Was this another trick? A cruel joke, to raise her hopes up and then dash them to pieces? But she followed him anyway; not because she trusted him, but because it hurt not to.
He headed out into the hall, Jim slung over his shoulder, scalpel in hand. "We have a short window where the hallways should be pretty clear. Guard change."
She did her best to keep up, but her body was sluggish, unresponsive, weighed down by drugs and starvation and injury. Moving this fast hurt. "Where are we? How... how long has it been?"
"A year," he said distractedly. "Been trying to get you out since you disappeared."
She let out a quiet chuckle, hand brushing against the wall of the hallway, a mild effort to keep herself up should she start to list. "Another year of my life wasted."
"Yeah, about what it sums up to," he agreed, glancing at her as she stumbled before shoving the scalpel into his pocket and reaching over to scoop her up on his shoulder again.
She huffed as his shoulder forced the air from her lungs, then just fell silent, deciding to engage with the world again when it needed her.
He barreled through a stray guard, plowing his bent elbow into the man's temple before heading for the stairwell.
Escape, escape, escape...
Her mind wandered, touching on and then trying to compute exactly what was happening. She couldn't figure out whether or not he was being serious. Had he really come to rescue them? Then again, he had killed those guards - would Mycroft have signed off on that?
It was six minutes and two more guards before he saw the exit sign.
Then they were outside, and there was a car waiting, and they were in it and gone.
She sat in silence, thumbing the ring on her near-skeletal finger, which had been a struggle to keep on all this time. She'd lost the wedding band somewhere along the way. Her eyes were glued to the window, staring up at the grey, cloudy sky. Something she hadn't seen for a year. A year. Spent running through identical landscapes, on the edge of withdrawal, with a person she could barely carry on a conversation with, all the while knowing that Moran had betrayed them. Except, he hadn't. This she'd decided.
He shifted Jim down beside him, and then reached out to pull her into his lap, his arms, crushing her gently but fully to his chest.
It felt like he'd cracked her open down the middle with one movement, and she pressed into him further, fingers clinging to his shirt, forehead pressed into his shoulder. A hitched breath left her. She'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to be in his embrace, to be swallowed up in his arms, warmth radiating into her. "I missed you," she whispered, voice hoarse from dehydration. "Every day."
"I missed you too," he whispered back. "I was trying... but he had me by the balls and he promised to give you to me if I waited..."
"It's okay," she mumbled, almost finding his presence with her here unbelievable. Being held like this by him seemed too good to be true. "I get it. You can save your explanations for Jim. I don't... I don't know if you want to be around when he wakes up."
"There's a reason I gave him more sedatives instead of waking him up," he said quietly. He pushed his face into her hair. He didn't have the energy or will to be reserved right now.
The van jostled as they went over a particularly bumpy road, and she tried to put herself more in his lap, use him as a shock absorber. That was true, of course, but it was also what she would have said if the driver suddenly became suicidal and asked. She also did it because she'd missed him so much, even his most irritating qualities. "You seem healthy enough," she murmured, "that's good."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Holmes was amused by the fact that I had food and you didn't."
"Sadistic bastard," she muttered, letting out a quiet sigh into his collar. "Well, you're really going to get your money's worth when we go to India."
He held her a little tighter.
"I tried," he repeated softly. "He made it worse whenever I fought him."
"It's okay. I know, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head a little. "It's not your fault. It's Jim's."
He didn't comment, just watched the road carefully.
"As soon as you're healthy we're going to India," he said quietly.
"We might want to leave as soon as possible. I don't think either of us want to be near Jim for the foreseeable future. And I want to be as far away from a city full of heroin as possible," she sighed.
He nodded in quiet agreement. "We'll leave as soon as you're safe to travel."
"Okay, good," she agreed, "thank you. I don't think I can trust myself. It was... really high-quality stuff. Even Jim couldn't resist shooting himself up."
He nodded just a little. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But we'll get you clean."
"I know," she nodded. She was quiet for a few minutes. "What's happened out in the real world? With Keira and your sister?"
"I'm not sure about Keira. Have had minimal contact with the network. My sister is working with Holmes. Never did get that sex tape."
"Damn disappointing," she muttered, snorting a little. "Christ, it's been so long since I've had a proper meal. A shower. An actual night's sleep."
"Yeah, well, about ten minutes and all of that and more will be yours for the taking," he said with a small smile.
"God, I hope so," she groaned. She couldn't help feeling like something would pop up in the next ten minutes, a creature ripping open the van like tissue paper to get to them, claws rending into her flesh, again- She made herself stop thinking.
They pulled into the familiar garage of headquarters, and it was so damn simple. They were there. They were safe. That was it.
"I need to carry Jim," he said quietly. "Should I have someone bring a stretcher for you, or are you alright?"
"I've been on the run from all sorts of abominations for twelve bloody months, I think I'll survive a short walk to and from a lift," she shrugged, gingerly climbing off him as a peon slid the door open.
He bent to scoop Jim's lifeless form into his arms, checking for a pulse for just a moment. He was so still it was unnerving. He grabbed a blanket from the car and shifted it over his employer's head and torso, to hide his identity, and for a moment he remembered the last time he'd had to do that very thing.
Then, he'd felt a sense of righteous victory.
Now, he felt little but failure and defeat.
The staff didn't look at her as she made her way to the elevator; in fact, they were very careful not to, and for that she was fiercely glad. She couldn't have stood their gazes. When she reached it, she only waited long enough for Sebastian to enter with his package to hit the button for their floor. He could continue up after she'd made it into the flat.
He hit cancel and down almost immediately. "If you think for a second you're going to get out of being checked out at the clinic, you're very wrong," he said quietly. "You don't have to stay, but I'm taking you there and you're getting thoroughly looked over."
She stubbornly hit cancel again, pressing their floor number again forcefully. "Not before I take a shower, you won't. After I wash my hair, take me wherever you want. But I'm going to take that damn shower before anything else."
He took a long breath, then pressed the next floor, stepping out. "I need to bring Jim down. I'll meet you up there, alright?"
"Yeah, see you," she sighed, leaning heavily against the wall as the doors shut. A few minutes later, and she was in the flat. It was fucking bizarre, being back. She headed straight for that shower, though.
He came up a quarter of an hour later. He'd stayed for a few minutes to make sure Jim was settled, given the staff strict instructions for his care, warned them to stay away from opiates. Then he headed up to the flat, stepping inside, he heard the shower still running and walked through, pushing the door open quietly to check on her.
She was sitting on the shower floor under the stream, examining her new scars. She hadn't ever had a good chance to get a look at herself while she was trapped in those mazes with Jim; sure, they'd dispensed of niceties within days, but she hadn't exactly fancied stripping in front of cameras that could be streaming directly to Mycroft. She was too spiteful for that. She saw his shadow in front of her, turned her head a little so she could see him through the glass. "It's weird, having this much water to spare that I can bathe in it."
He nodded just a little, sitting on the floor, watching her silhouette through the steam-fogged glass. "I imagine it must be."
"I don't know how Jim will react to me when he wakes up, either," she said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the shower. "We had a few... close encounters with each other."
He gave an odd laugh. "Fair turn around, isn't it? He'll be hounding after me, and trusting you."
"That's not what I meant," she snorted, shaking her head. "Yes, we saved each other's lives on a daily basis, but... we almost took each other out a few times. In the beginning."
He nodded a little. "I know," he said quietly. "I watched."
"I don't know how many of those he's willing to forgive, now that he doesn't depend on me for survival," she murmured, standing with a pained grunt and turning off the shower. "Hand me a towel, will you?"
He nodded, standing as well and handing her one hanging on the towel rack. "I'm not sure, either."
"Another reason I think we should leave for India as soon as possible," she huffed, taking it and drying off without much concern for her various wounds. They would just have to wait a few more minutes. "Alright. Clothes."
"Clothes," he said with a nod, heading for the next room and pulling open drawers. They smelled overpoweringly of the scent of wood and glue, having been closed for so long. He pulled out a pair of knickers and some pajama trousers, setting them on the bed for her before going to get her one of his undershirts. Larger, gave her wounds more space.
She finished drying off and following him out the bedroom, gratefully changing into them. Oh, Christ, and what a fucking relief it was. She'd worn the tatters of that white dress and the underwear beneath for a fucking year. It had gone beyond chafing. And it was always a comfort to be wearing something of his. "Alright. You can drag me down to the infirmary now."
"Thank you," he said with a small nod. "If you behave, I'll cook whatever the hell you want when we get back. No limits. You can make a list." After a moment, and without looking at her, he reached out and took her small, bony hand gently in his own. Then he headed for the door.
She let herself be towed along, grateful to have his hand to warm her own, and they went down to the infirmary in a comfortable silence. When they arrived, she gave a bit of a grimace towards one of the nurses. It wasn't anything personal, but she was already extremely uncomfortable. "Don't let them put me out, please. Not unless they have to."
He nodded just slightly. "They won't," he said quietly, but his eyes were on the nurse. "They will clean and dress your wounds, and ensure that there is nothing incredibly wrong with you. They will hydrate you if necessary. Then we will leave."
She nodded a little. The nurse looked just a shade paler than the moment before. "If you'd, um, come this way," he hedged, motioning towards the closest exam room. She sighed, and moved to follow, pulling Sebastian with her.
He dropped her hand after a moment, however, nodding her forward and walking away to find one of the doctors. He needed to discuss methods for helping both her and Jim through the withdrawal that was soon to be raining hell.
She was displeased to be left alone, but she decided not to throw a fuss over it, and sat through her examination in a vaguely sullen silence, only barely cooperating. The nurse had nothing to say about her condition that she didn't already know. Verge of withdrawal, near-starvation, extreme dehydration, and then the numerous and varying wounds and scrapes she'd gotten. Blessedly, there were no infections. She'd already been on that boat once, and it hadn't been fun.
He reentered to find her bandaged and hooked up to a drip, getting fluids, and he sat next to her, his elbows on his knees.
"Remember the first time you brought me into the infirmary after I got fucked up? That guy who attacked me outside the bar?" she asked quietly, out of the blue. "Think that was the first time you were actually protective of me to one of the staff."
He snorted a little, amused. "He was asking too many questions. Dumb fuck."
"Wonder if he's still around," she chuckled quietly, absently fiddling with the IV bag.
"I think so," he said with a shrug. "I never fired him."
She nodded, looking distracted. Her hand switched from fiddling with the IV to fiddling with the engagement ring on her hand. It was a miracle it hadn't slipped off. Not that it really meant anything; but somehow it was still a comfort. It would be a shame when she'd have to take it off for a job.
"I don't have a list of food I want. Anything with protein, actually, is more my request. I'm craving it like you wouldn't believe."
He nodded a little. "Steak and eggs?" he suggested, watching her mess with the ring. His own was still on as well, but the way his hands were folded hid it.
"Sounds like heaven," she agreed. She gave a glance to the IV stand. "Think we can take this with us?"
He shrugged a little. "Don't see why not," he agreed, standing and offering her a hand up.
She took it, relieved to have a little help, then led the way out the door, one hand pulling the metal, rolling stand after her. "How long are they going to keep Jim under?"
He shrugged. "The goal is to get him bandaged and fixed up before they wake him up, because it's doubtful he'll stay in the clinic once they do."
She fell back against the elevator wall again as they entered, snorting slightly. "Yeah, I can see that being an issue. Ugh, whatever. I don't want to see him for a month, at the least. Not without some pretty fantastic makeup sex. I don't see anything else smoothing that shit over."
He glanced over at her with a slightly amused smirk. "Let's talk about that after India."
"That's fine by me," she muttered, moving out of the elevator as the doors open. "Now let's get inside and stuff me full of food, okay?"
He laughed. "Yeah, sounds good," he said, heading for his flat and scanning in, opening the door so that she could roll through.
"I hope your fridge isn't full of twelve-month-old food," she sighed, heading directly for the sofa so she could sit down. She groaned as she did, leaning into the cushions. "Holy shit, it's so soft."
"No. The network knew I was coming back today. It would have been restocked," he said calmly, heading for the fridge and opening it, starting to rifle around.
"Oh, good," she sighed, sinking back into the cushions with a pleased groan. Oh, the wonders and comforts of modern society.
He put the steak on and walked over to her with a mug of fresh, hot coffee and a glass of orange juice. "Here. Take it slow."
"I'll do my best," she muttered, looking at the beverages with wide eyes. They smelled so good.
"Here," he said, setting both down in front of her. "You can have the first two inches of each until I say otherwise, so ration," he said, giving her a long look.
"Damn," she sighed, though she shouldn't have been surprised he knew better than to just trust her. "You know, I have been having liquids in my stomach this entire time. It's not like I was on an IV. My stomach's been having to break down those damn MRE's," she pointed out, in a last-ditch effort. She looked at him just a little hopefully.
"One and a half inches," he shot back, heading back into the kitchen with a smirk.
"Fuck that nonsense," she grumbled, reaching for the orange juice and taking a very reserved sip.
He chuckled just a little, flipping the steak and cracking a few eggs onto the griddle next to it.
Even with the fact that it was irritating, it was... nice, to be taken care of again. She'd gone a long time keeping to herself, fending for herself, unable to reach for him when she needed to. She didn't like this new trend of being captured all by her lonesome (without Sebastian.) A second later, she looked up sharply, the smell of eggs and meat filling her nose. "Oh my god, oh my god I'm so excited."
He laughed, plating the food. He'd left the steak medium rare, still juicy and pink, and had added in peppers and onions. He brought the food in, setting her plate in front of her with some bread to sop up juices, and a bottle of brown sauce. "Try to taste it," he said with a small smile as he sat next to her with his own plate.
"Are you kidding? It feels like I already can," she laughed, mouth-watering fiercely, pulling the plate into her lap and starting to chew down, ravenous. "Oh my god," she groaned through a mouthful of steak, eyes shut. "Fuck this is good."
He smiled, glancing over at her as he took a bite of his own food, taking it slow, savoring it. "Good. I'm glad."
"Shit, thanks," she laughed, going for the eggs next, delighted to find them sunny-side up. She sucked them down a little faster than she really meant to. Protein. Glorious, wonderful protein.
"Easy," he said, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder with a chuckle. "You'll send it all back up if you aren't careful. It's richer than you're used to."
It was hard to make herself slow down, but she did, mostly by leaning back a little and making it harder to reach her food by setting it on the coffee table. "God, I missed food so much. Almost more than if I hadn't had the MRE's, you know? Just having that pale imitation of food..."
He nodded. "I understand. MREs suck," he said in agreement, smirking just a little. "We used to call them 'Moldy and Ready to be Ejected.'"
"That sounds about right," she snorted, chewing on a chunk of steak, a piece of onion in her hand. She didn't care much about utensils at the moment.
He nodded, taking a sip of coffee. "One time we were out in the field for about a month, and we had MREs with us, but some roaches got into the packets. Bastards. Wasn't much for it, that was what we had to eat. There ended up being two schools of thought. Pick 'em out, or get some extra protein."
She nearly gagged. "Aw, Christ, don't make me barf with nothing but the power of suggestion, okay?" she protested, giving him a pleading look.
He snickered, but raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. No more protein stories. Go back to your steak."
She shot him one last resentful look and then did as he said, a few peppers disappearing into her mouth. A few more minutes of careful eating and drinking passed before she said anything else. "You know, I'm looking forward to sleeping properly."
He hummed in agreement. "I'm sure. Not like you've been sleeping on anything comfortable lately."
"I haven't been sleeping, period," she said bitterly, cupping the coffee mug in her thin hands to help warm them up a little. "I never dreamed, not once. Sedation isn't sleep."
He nodded just a little. "Well, then, this should be nice. Get some proper sleep in a real bed."
"With my own personal space heater, back at my side," she added, officially polishing off the steak and moving for the remainders of egg on her plate. She was studiously trying to ignore the building ache in her skull, the miserable feeling building in her chest. She wanted a hit.
He nodded in agreement, smiling just a little. He'd missed her. Not that he'd say that. "What do you want to do now?"
"Honestly?" She sighed, finishing off the coffee in the hopes it would make her feel better. "Take a hit. Other than that, I don't know."
"Would distraction help?" he asked, looking over at her.
"Yeah," she nodded, running a finger around the edge of the mug. It was chipped in one place, but otherwise in good condition. She wondered how long he'd had it. "I don't know what would do it, though."
He nodded a little, looking over at her before reaching out to gently but firmly pull her over, kissing her firmly, and for a moment, letting how much he'd actually missed her flicker through. "I know you're not in any state for things to go anywhere," he said quietly. "Just... " he shrugged and kissed her again.
She was more than happy to be kissed, whether or not he was willing to take it any farther when she was such a wreck, moving more fully into his lap as he kissed her again, arms winding around his neck, hands sliding into his hair. God, intimacy felt good.
He pulled her into his lap happily, eyes closed in content as he relaxed in the fact that she was here, in his arms, and not in Mycroft's fucking labyrinth.
They never did this. Never kissed just to kiss, without the promise of more urgent things driving them, unhurried and relaxed and gentle. It was a wonderful distraction.
He slipped his arms around her waist (trying to ignore how thin it was, how her hip bones dug into his wrists.) Muscles along his back that had remained twisted for months finally started to relax.
They continued like that for a few more minutes before she hit the wall of exhaustion, and she pulled away a little to rest her forehead on his shoulder. "Carry me to bed?"
He didn't comment, just scooped his arms beneath her and stood, walking through to the bed that neither of them had touched in months. It was neatly made, and he reached out with one hand to turn down the covers on her side before laying her gently down.
She curled up where he put her, reaching down to pull the covers over her, and left her fingers curled in the soft fabric, which felt like such a luxury. All of this felt like pure opulence at this point. She reached out for him after a moment, looking to pull him in.
He dodged her grasp, reaching down gently to find her arm and carefully remove the IV he'd pulled along with his foot. Then he pushed the empty bag and stand off to the side and walked around to the other side of the bed, pulling off his shirt and trousers and shoes and climbing in on his side, shifting over immediately next to her and pulling her into his arms.
"Thanks," she murmured, curled up against his chest, relieved that she was back into his warmth radius. "You always have, in one way or another. Even when I thought you'd betrayed us..." she shook her head a little. "You've done too much for me for it all to have been a lie."
"Always have what?" he asked, not commenting on the rest. It was reassuring that she didn't think he'd betrayed them.
"Taken care of me. Sorry," she snorted, shaking her head a little. "I'm fucking exhausted. Not even entirely sure this is real."
"Go to sleep," was all he said, brushing fingers through her hair. "Wake me up if you need anything."
"Okay," she whispered, burrowing into his chest a little more. She fell asleep after a few moments. That was all the prodding she needed on that front.
He stayed awake for a long time that night, just keeping an eye on her. Making sure her breathing stayed regular, her muscles relaxed. It had nothing to do with missing her. Nothing.
She woke that next morning feeling better than she had in months, discounting the withdrawal. She shifted a little, turned more into his arms. Hopefully Jim would remain asleep today, and they wouldn't have to answer to him. But that was asking a lot from lady luck.
He shifted tensely into awareness, grip on her tightening just slightly before he remembered where he was and who was with him. Then he relaxed. "Morning."
"Morning," she murmured contentedly, cracking her eyes open. She immediately regretted that. The sun was coming in through the window, and the headache that had made itself known last night roared back into life. "Oh, god, I feel like shit."
"Yeah, I thought that might be the case," he said quietly. "Painkillers and water?"
"Yeah, please," she mumbled, turning her face into the pillows in preparation for him getting up. God, what a sucky thing withdrawal was.
He shifted out of the bed and headed for the bathroom, getting a large cup of water and the aspirin and coming back in. "Try to get hydrated. That's going to help."
"Yeah, I certainly hope so," she muttered, sitting up and squinting her eyes open so she could take what he offered. "Don't know how much good it will do me in the long run, though."
"We'll see," he said calmly. "You'll get through this. Just take pleasure knowing Jim is going through the same thing."
"There really isn't that much pleasure in that, unfortunately," she sighed, voice quiet. She leaned back against the headboard, lifting a hand to rub her forehead. "Even if he is a bloody cunt and got us into that mess."
"Well, then, just let me know what I can do to help." He sat next to her.
She shifted over to rest her cheek on his shoulder, a quiet sigh leaving her. "Remember when they captured us just for information?"
"Ah, the good old days," he snorted, smiling just a little. "When sadism stayed in the workplace and out of the captivity."
"I don't regret nailing his hand to the wall, though. Never," she muttered bitterly. "Fuck his hand. Fuck his coordination. Fuck him in general."
"Please don't. Jesus Christ, that image is in my head now," he scowled, looking vaguely nauseated.
She made a face. "Eugh, I wasn't even going there. Now I've got that image in my head. And it's your fault. Fix it."
He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who phrased it that way. Be more careful with your obscenity."
She whined, shifting until she was on her stomach, and buried her face in it. "Be nice," she mumbled, her voice muffled.
He reached down to push his hands through her limp hair, massaging her scalp gently. "Fine. But only because you're pathetic at the moment."
Well she wasn't about to argue that. She was a ruined mess at the moment, with the only benefit of not having any severe emotional trauma to complement the physical wretchedness and the heroin addiction. She just fell silent for a while, comforted by his company.
He moved his hands down her neck and along her shoulders, loosening tense muscles as he found them, trying his best to help her relax.
She turned her face to the side after a while, though her eyes were shut, too relaxed to keep them open. "When we go to India - its gotta be a proper vacation. No jobs, none of that shit. I just want to pretend I've got a normal life for a week. Then I'll be ready to kill whoever I need to again."
He laughed. "Sounds good. No jobs for at least a week. Then maybe some casual murders, just for fun for a bit."
"I like that idea. Might as well plan them, right? They'll happen anyway."
"You're so optimistic," he smirked, his hands moving to massage her back. "But yeah, might as well."
"I had a shitty few months, I have a lot of optimism stored up to use for my quota," she chuckled, then groaned a little as he hit a particularly tender muscle. "God, I'm tense."
"Yeah, you are," he sighed quietly, working his fingers carefully into the muscle. "That's why you've got me."
"Not the only reason, but certainly a good benefit," she murmured, just as quiet. It didn't seem worth breaking the relative silence of the flat. A silence that she could trust. Nothing was going to jump out of the shadows.
The next few days were slow and quiet, but something in his mind never quite relaxed. He knew Jim was still under, knew he would wake up at some point soon, and he wasn't looking forward to that in the slightest.
Jim woke up in the dead of night. He got up, removed the various things they'd stuck on him or in him, and walked out, completely ignoring the nurse who hovered a few feet away, too afraid to come any closer. He got into the elevator, rode it up to the floor beneath his, and keyed into Moran's flat. He pushed open the door. That would be enough to wake him, were he home.
He woke to the door opening.
There were three people in the world who could scan into Moran's flat besides himself.
The first was asleep next to him. The second was the single member of the cleaning staff he allowed access for when he was away for long periods. They didn't use it unless they were directly ordered by him to do so, on pain of death.
The third was James Moriarty.
He knew instinctively which of the three was at his door, but picked up the knife under his pillow anyways. Or perhaps as a result.
She shifted as Sebastian did, a small, tired noise escaping her. "Wha' is it?"
"Nothing," he said quietly. "Go back to sleep." He stood, tucking the blankets back around her before he headed quietly into the next room.
Jim was there, standing by the open door.
"Come with me."
He didn't argue, just kept the knife in hand but in a casual stance as he nodded, walking forward. "Lead the way, boss."
He turned and exited out the door again, leading the way back down the hall to the elevator. He needed to find out once and for all whether or not he had Sebastian's loyalty.
He followed behind quietly, and for the briefest second he considered leaping forward and plunging the knife into his employer's back. It wasn't a real thought, just the same stray voice that whispered jump at the edge of a cliff, at the top of a building, just to see if you could fly if you wished hard enough.
He entered the elevator, turning the knife over in his fingers in a relaxed sort of way, not threatening, more to pass the quiet time.
The doors opened onto the basement, and he stepped out without a word, leading the way past the holding cells, to the rooms that were of a more concerning nature. He walked into the first empty one, and pointed at the table. "Get on it."
He looked at Jim for a long moment, trying to judge his mood. He got nothing. The man was a blank slate, everything carefully below the surface. More so than usual. He took a slow breath, eyes meeting his employer's. "Are you serious?" he asked quietly, to stall for time as he considered the situation.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" He asked coldly, staring at him. His hand dropped. "Get on the table, Moran. Now."
Moran considered him for a long moment. He could kill him, right now, where he stood. He could end this man and take the network, say he'd succumbed to the heroin addiction and disappeared. He could end him.
He set down his knife on the floor, straightened, and nodded just slightly, walking over to the table.
He would always give his life for this man. He'd decided that a long time ago. He'd had some conflicts before, but this was clear-cut and very transparent. Jim needed to know if he was loyal.
He was.
That was the first test, passed. A hopeful sign. But he had to make sure, had to be certain he was loyal. He turned for the cabinets. Time to get started.