Playlist: Saint Motel - Move
Lorna burst into the room two minutes later, her face pale, and was by his side in seconds. "Seb, are you okay?"
He looked up at her, his face bloody from his hands, eyes tense, and it took him a moment to shake off the anticipation, waiting for the next drop to fall. He kept one hand pressed over his forehead, scrubbing at the skin there, reminding himself.
"Lorna..."
She grasped his wrist, his free one, and gently tugged, trying to get him to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you home, okay? Get you all cleaned up."
He nodded a little, straightened, held himself tall. He was a soldier. He was free, he did not show weakness, especially not in front of his subordinates. "Let's go," he agreed quietly.
She ducked in to kiss his forehead before helping him back out the door. Thank god. Thank god he's okay.
He was about as steady on his feet as could be expected, given that he'd been strapped down, unmoving, for days. He was stiff everywhere, and felt filthy, and despite his throat being dry as a desert, he needed to piss something awful.
She led him into the elevator, where she basically propped him up against the wall. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you out of it. There was nothing to do."
He shook his head a little. "I agreed to it," he said quietly. "He didn't force me. It was necessary."
"I know, I know, I just... fuck, knowing you were down there in the basement," she muttered, pressing the button for their floor. "Barely slept. Didn't help that Johnson was breathing down my neck."
He decided not to mention that that had been at his request. "Well, I'm back, and you're still clean, and Johnson is presumably still alive, so all's well that ends well, I suppose."
"Except I'm going to cut off his balls the next time he even fucking looks at me, the lecherous shithead," she snapped, gritting her teeth. "I'm too exhausted and strung out for that fucking shit."
He frowned, looking at her closely. "What did he do?" he asked calmly, though there was a dangerous- if tired- edge to his ragged voice.
"Propositioned me about a hundred times. A lot about how he could take care of me a lot better than you. Didn't know he was so into half-starved junkies."
He immediately reached out and canceled the floor selection on the elevator, suddenly standing like he'd never been tortured, adrenaline running him. "Slight pit stop," he said calmly as he punched a new button and the elevator headed back down.
She ran a hand through her hair, making a weary sigh. This was about to get messy.
They stepped out into his department, and he walked along without falter or hesitation directly for Johnson's desk. His steps were quiet, measured, and Johnson didn't even look up until Moran's hand closed around his throat, hoisting him out of his chair to dangle a few feet off the ground.
"Everyone. Here. Now."
He didn't yell, but his voice carried.
Lorna trailed behind him, poised but removed from the surrounding crowd, which congregated at the commotion. Hits was a crowded department.
He was calm, as well. He'd found, over the years, that that was the most terrifying form of anger. He ignored Johnson's struggle for air, legs kicking, and walked over to the cubicle wall and casually broke off part of the metal frame that held it together. It would be sharp enough. He walked back over to the center of the group and dropped Johnson unceremoniously to the floor, giving him a second to catch his breath, before driving the piece of metal through his hamstring.
About half the assembly flinched or winced, a few hisses of sympathy let loose into the air. A few gave glances to her direction, but most of them just looked scared, shocked. Probably had no idea why Moran had just maimed one of their coworkers.
The howl that Johnson let into the air was very satisfying.
"I haven't decided whether I'm going to kill you yet, Johnson," he said calmly, bending down to take the whimpering man's chin into his hand almost gently. "But, as an attempt to get on my good side, why don't you let the class know why exactly there's a piece of metal grating against your fibula?"
Lorna watched Johnson's eyes struggle to meet Sebastian's, big and wide and panicky, skittering around the room. "I just- fuckin hell, Moran, I just heard she was a good fuck! What the fuck's the big deal?"
Ah, Johnson. Always pushing the boundaries.
He reached down a casual hand to grip the metal, twisting it slowly. "Maybe I'll torture you first. Have you ever wondered what your internal organs look like, Johnson? I always think it's odd that most people's organs never see the light of day. Wouldn't you like to be one of the lucky few?'
He screamed, a hand clenched into a fist in Moran's shirt. "FUCK!" he shouted, "FINE, OKAY! I won't try to fuck your fucking rent girl! JESUS, MORAN!"
Lorna rubbed her eyes. Always had to try and keep his dignity, didn't they?
The crowd around them was starting to murmur, expressions varying from fearful to unsurprised, and Moran nodded. "Okay, well that's a start," he decided, standing and bending downward. A moment later he hoisted Johnson up by the spar through his leg until it broke in half and slid out of him, Johnson's screams echoing down the hall. He knelt again, putting a knee on the heaving man's chest.
"For anyone who's interested, Johnson here made a series of unwanted advances at Harrison. Normally I'd just let her deal with it- and she's more than welcome to join in if she'd like-" he added as a side note, offering her a half of the piece of metal- "but Johnson also implied that he would be a better partner for her than I would. I took that as a personal challenge. I feel like Johnson might be losing that challenge, but that's obviously a matter of opinion."
She waved it off. "He didn't touch me. I've been assaulted too many times to draw blood over harassment," she snorted, not very loudly. She heard a few whispers as people in the back who didn't hear were told what she'd said. Well, this would have an interesting effect on the staff. A public declaration that he thought of her as a partner? The rings alone would have been bad enough.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it won't happen again," Johnson was babbling on the floor, frantic, tears streaming out of his eyes.
"You're right, it won't," he said, nodding. "But the question is will it be because you're afraid, or because you're dead? Do you want to live, Johnson?"
"Yes! Yes, I want to live!" he cried, desperately, trying to find some way out of this.
"Okay," he agreed, far too easily, turning with his knee still on Johnson's chest, blocking his view of what Moran was doing. Then he unzipped Johnson's fly, grabbed in roughly and brandished the razor sharp piece of metal. Johnson let out an agonized scream, back arching, and then Moran stood, dropping the man's cock onto the floor next to him and leaving him there, walking over to Lorna. "Shall we?"
She simply took his hand and led him back to the lift, a good five feet of buffer space between them and the staff. Once they were inside and the doors had closed, she leaned against him a little, closing tired eyes. "Well, that'll send a message."
"Which message exactly, I'm not sure yet, but that was the most fun I've had in a very long time," he said cheerfully.
She chuckled, head thunking back against the metal wall. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself at least."
"You didn't?" he asked, grinning at her. "You know, I think Johnson will be much more respectful once he can walk again."
"I enjoyed watching them shrink away from us like frightened sheep," she admitted, smirking, "And I have to say, I'm enjoying the whole 'public possession' thing. Very attractive."
"Yeah, figured it was about time to take a stance one way or the other on that," he said with a shrug. "Glad you don't mind. Jim's going to have something snide to say, I'm sure."
"Jim always has something snide to say," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "At this point I couldn't care less what he had to say."
He shrugged but nodded. "He said he won't kill you, so that's something," he pointed out as the elevator stopped on their floor.
"It's something, yeah," she snorted, stepping out of the lift and heading for his flat. She'd been sleeping on the couch in his absence. She found she couldn't manage it on the bed.
He entered and immediately noted the sheets and blanket on the couch, but didn't comment, heading immediately for the kitchen, ignoring the blood all over his clothes.
She trailed after him, brushing a hand through her hair. "Do you want me to make you something?"
He shook his head a little, grabbing a box of mac and cheese out of a seldom-used cabinet. "You want some?" he asked, raising it in her direction.
"Yeah, okay," she nodded, rubbing her eyes. "Do you want to shower, and I'll make it?"
He nodded a little. "Probably a good idea, yeah," he decided quietly, handing her the box before heading out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. It wasn't until he was reaching for the handle to turn the shower on that the routine faltered, and he felt his stomach drop out. He stood there, hand an inch from the handle, for almost a solid minute, warring with himself, before he shook it off and turned it on.
He stripped, got into the shower, and immediately dry heaved, his empty stomach giving it everything it was worth.
He turned it off a few seconds later, and grabbed a washcloth, deciding a navy shower would be his best bet. He ignored the shaking of his hands.
She could hear the shower turn on and off, but she stayed where she was, boiling the pasta. She'd had to deal with the fallout of water torture before. He would clean up however he was comfortable.
He cleaned up and dried off as quickly as he could, shaving as well before getting dressed in clean clothes and heading back for the kitchen. He walked up behind her as she was stirring the pasta and put his chin on the top of her head.
She made a content noise, leaning back into him just a little - not enough to interfere with the simple task of making the pasta. "You want it a little firmer or a little softer? Can never remember which one you prefer."
"A touch al dente," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist, eyes closed. "Thanks."
"No problem," she murmured, then fell into silence, deciding that he was probably a little tired for conversation. It was so good to have him close again. Not even a full day together, not even twelve hours, and he'd been taken to the basement by Jim. She'd woken up alone, and she'd hated it.
He stayed like that for a while, until the food was ready, and then he grabbed two bowls and forks and waited for her to fill them. Then he headed for the table, eating as he went.
She sat across from him and dug in. She was halfway through her bowl before she spoke. "Really hope Jim's going to take it easy on the jobs for a while."
"I asked him for a vacation. I think he agreed. It was nuanced. He seemed put off," he said through a mouthful of noodles.
"Fucking fantastic," she sighed, frowning a little. "What's his issue? You know what, never mind, I don't want to know."
He shrugged. "I don't know. Wasn't at my best to read 'im..." he mumbled, swallowing and immediately taking another few bites.
"Do you want eggs or something? A protein bar, maybe?" She asked, eyebrows raised a little. "Toast, even. Any form of nutrients."
"This has nutrients," he snorted as he finished off his bowl. "I'll find something else, just... lemme relax a bit."
"Okay," she agreed quietly, finishing off her own macaroni. She could understand where he was coming from.
He was quiet for a few tired moments, watching her finish eating. "Want to go sleep?" he asked finally. "I'll do the dishes later."
"Yeah, sounds good to me," she nodded, getting up and setting her dishes in the sink, then held out her hand for him.
He took her hand quietly, reflecting for just a moment on how simple they had become. How easy it was to be next to her, hold her hand, how readily he'd publicly displayed, at the very least, his possessiveness over her. The ring on his left finger was comfortable there, now. He was used to it, there was a small divot in his finger when he took it off. Like a piece of his finger was missing until he put it back on.
It wasn't as terrifying a reflection as it should have been.
They walked through to the bedroom and he immediately lay down, completely and utterly exhausted.
She curled up with him in silence, an ache in her chest soothed. It gave her too much satisfaction that he'd reacted so viscerally to Johnson's suggestion that he'd be a better caretaker than Sebastian, that he'd cared enough to make such a scene about it. She burrowed into his chest and fell asleep.
Despite his exhaustion, he had difficulty falling asleep. Every time he started to relax, his brain started to disengage, he thought he felt a drop on his forehead and started back awake.
He actually considered apologizing to Lorna for when he'd had to do this to her. The aftereffects were more intense than he'd realized.
Exhaustion eventually dragged him into an uneasy sleep. He woke frequently, unable to move, the drip- he was certain- back on his forehead.
She shifted in the early morning, and moved a little to wrap her arms around him before she could fall back asleep.
She held him for once, and the next time he woke it pulled him to the surface a bit faster than usual. He slept better after that.
When morning broke, she'd made a good start on making up on her sleep. She stayed still, however, afraid to wake Sebastian.
He woke not long after she did, still tired, but her breathing had changed at that tugged him further into awareness.
"Morning..." he murmured, voice hoarse with sleep.
"Morning, Seb," she breathed, shifting and pressing a kiss under his jaw.
He tucked her under his chin, just resting quietly for a bit.
"For the first time in a long time, I'm actually looking forward to a break," he said quietly.
"Besides my worrying about you and the withdrawal and all that shit, the last few days have been a break for me. I haven't been chased once," she mumbled, shrugging a little.
He held her a little tighter at that, taking a slow breath. "Yeah, well, they won't ever do it again."
She nodded a little, but they both knew they'd said such things in the past. It wasn't worth arguing about. He knew it was an empty promise, but that was all he had.
"Do you want to get something to eat?" She asked after a while in silence, voice still soft. "You must still be hungry."
He nodded just a little. "Yeah, I'll get there," he said quietly, taking a slow breath and then disentangling and sitting up, rubbing at his eyes.
She stayed where she was for the moment, since at her current level of weight any unnecessary expenditure of energy was a minus. "Did you sleep alright?"
He shrugged. "Had worse nights," he said, finally standing and stretching fully. "What do you want to eat?"
"Anything you feel like," she murmured, sitting up, running a hand through her hair.
He nodded, pulling on trousers and heading for the kitchen to start digging through the refrigerator.
She got up after a moment, her joints creaking, a headache flaring up again behind her forehead. She pressed a hand to her eyes, letting out a long, quiet breath. You're fine.
He started making french toast, looking up as she came in. She looked like hell, and he knew she felt just as bad, if not worse. He remembered with cutting clarity what withdrawal had felt like. It was hard to imagine living in that state for a fucking year.
She sank into the closest chair at the kitchen table and rested her face in her hands, deciding that silence was fine by her for the moment. Mornings had been difficult for her even before she'd been starved and hooked on heroin again. The several aging wounds on her weren't helping, either.
He came over a few minutes later with a plate of french toast and fruit, setting the syrup next to her. "What do you want to drink?" he asked, heading for the fridge l.
"Whatever you're having is fine," she shrugged, "I'm not picky after MRE's."
He shrugged and grabbed a bottle of tomato juice, pouring two tall glasses and setting one next to her.
"Thanks," she said, lifting her head from her hands to pick up a glass and take a sip. "God am I glad you're back."
"So am I," he said with a nod and an attempt at a smile. He stopped trying after a moment and headed to grab his own food off the skillet.
She didn't think anything of his failed smile. It was hard after an event like that to pretend to be happy. She understood.
He sat across from her and started to eat quietly, just content to be getting food. He knew it was probably going to make him vaguely sick, or at least give him the shits after a few days of not eating, but he didn't particularly care.
"I should report to Jim soon," he said quietly.
"Why?" She snorted, popping a piece of french toast into her mouth. "What's he going to have that's so important? He's probably passed out so he doesn't have to deal with the withdrawal. Take a day off, please."
He shrugged, sitting back and taking a sip of tomato juice and deciding it was decidedly better with Tabasco and vodka. "I'm not exactly on solid footing right now," he said quietly. "And technically I'm on duty. Have been for the past twelve months, not that that did jack shit. The network's in the bloody shitter. Someone needs to make sure it doesn't fall apart completely, and right now that isn't you or Jim. That leaves me."
She rubbed her eyes, letting out a strained sigh. "I can keep it together for a day, Sebastian."
He gave her a long look. "I was a wee bit hungry for a few days. You're starved half to death and strung out. I'm going to go around pulling things out of the gutter, and you're going to rest. That's an order."
"Well if you're going to pull rank about it," she muttered into her tomato juice, then polished off her french toast before leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes again.
He finished his own food, clearing the plates and starting to wash up. "How are you feeling?" he asked finally.
"Awful," she replied simply. "I want to be high. I'm not. It's killing me."
He nodded just a little at that, drying off a pan and hanging it up before turning to look at her, drying his hands. "How do I help?"
"Just... keep me in the building," she shook her head, letting out a strained sigh. "Away from it."
He nodded just slightly. "That, I can do," he said with a small nod. "Should I lock you in here when I leave?"
"Now that Johnson isn't here to breathe down my neck, that might be for the best," she nodded a little. She didn't look at him.
He didn't allow his expression to alter, just nodded once more and headed for the bedroom to shower and dress. "I won't be gone too long," he said calmly. "I can do most of it remotely."
"Okay. Good," she muttered, mostly to herself. The last thing she needed was to go on an alcoholic bender while cooped up in the place because she couldn't take the combination of being alone and starving for a hit.
He came back ten minutes later, showered, shaved and in his usual suit. It felt odd.
"I won't be gone long. An hour at the most. Watch TV or something, okay? Keep yourself distracted."
"Yeah, alright," she agreed, pushing out her chair from the kitchen table and standing to move to the living room. "Come back quickly, please."
He nodded just a little, taking one more look at her before stepping outside and closing the door behind him, engaging the lock and deadbolting the door.
She could escape from here, with time and a lot of effort, but probably not before he came back. She rubbed her eyes and sank further into the couch, the flat in silence.
He headed almost immediately for Jim's office to see if his employer was awake. He'd check in and then go see how his department was handling yesterday's emasculation.
Jim was awake. Miserable, but awake. He'd pulled over his office chair to the large window that took up most of the back wall, and sat looking out, a mug of coffee in his hand. He'd taken about six aspirin not that long ago to keep himself numb to the headache and the shaking. He would admit to having four.
He knocked very softly, just enough to let his employer know he was there if he chose to admit him.
"Come in," he called, voice just a little hoarse. He took another sip of coffee to soothe his throat.
He entered, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Good morning, sir," he said calmly, voice softer than usual so as not to aggravate what he was sure were frayed nerves.
"Moran," was all he said in response, wearily. He didn't bother turning his chair around, just continued looking down at the street below. "Hear what Johnson was saying, did you?"
He shrugged. Jim obviously already knew the answer. "I don't tolerate insubordination, sir. Never have."
"No, you never have," he agreed, finally turning his chair to face Moran, revealing that he was wearing pajamas. "I'm sure you got his attention."
He shrugged. "I should hope so," he said, not blinking at the pajamas, though the only other time he'd seen his employer dressed that way was when he'd been battling the scar tissue. "I think I sent the right message. My plan for the day is to try and get everything organized and evaluated from our absence. Do you need me to do anything else?"
"No, that will be enough," he shook his head, finishing off the last of his coffee and then dropping the mug on the carpet.
He nodded slightly. "Alright. Text me if you need anything," he said calmly. He turned to go, before adding one last thing. "I'm going to adjust security protocols so that you and Harrison need to check in with me in order to leave the building, per the authority given in my contract. That stands until further notice."
"Understood," he agreed, lifting a hand and rubbing his forehead. He really did need to be watched right now. He'd never wanted anything as much as a hit.
He nodded, then exited the office, closing the door behind him quietly. Seven minutes down. His goal was to be back to Harrison within thirty. Forty-five on the long end. He headed down to his department.
His department was quiet. There was still blood on the floor where Johnson had lain. Apparently the cleaners had been too afraid to clean it up. He was remarkably cheerful about that, but his expression didn't change. "Someone get cleaners on that," he said calmly, walking through to his office. "And send someone in here to get me updated." He didn't specify who. It would be amusing to see who drew the short straw.
They sent in the intern, of course. Freshly arrived from the culling grounds, she'd only been sent Hits two days before, just in time for the drama to unfold. Keira stood at attention in front of his desk, eyes straight ahead of her. "Hello, sir."
Oh, this was a delightful turn of events.
"Hello. Your name?" he asked casually, eyeing her up and down. There was a fresh scar along her neck, just barely peeking out from under her collar, but all in all she looked no worse for wear. Good. She'd done well, then.
Just the slightest bit of amusement entered her eyes, but otherwise her expression didn't change. "Keira Malone, sir."
He nodded, jotting her name down on his tablet. "Very well, Malone. How long have you been with the department?"
"Technically I'm not, sir. I'm an intern. They sent me up two days ago," she replied, after a quick glance at the clock on the wall.
He nodded slightly. "And you've been sent in to update me on the situation here, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir, that is correct," she nodded in agreement. She still didn't look at him. She didn't want to react to any changes that may have happened to him.
He smirked slightly. "Pleasure to meet you, Malone. Now go out and inform the department that I'm not in the mood to have my time wasted."
"Yes, sir," she nodded, turning around after a moment's pause to make sure there was nothing else, and heading for the door.
He watched her go, and nodded just a little to himself, oddly proud.
She'd survived.
Well done, Keira.
Lorna had finally turned on the television, but it wasn't helping. She just kept looking at the clock, scratching the back of her hand for something to keep herself grounded.
He made it back thirty-eight minutes after he left, unlocking the door and opening it, stepping inside and closing the door again, looking over at Harrison. "Hey."
"Hey," she replied, over the soothing tones of a How It's Made. She turned her reddened hand over, palm up, so he wouldn't see it.
He walked into the next room to grab his laptop, then returned to the living room and sat next to her on the couch, setting the computer on the table and pulling her into his arms.
She leaned into him gratefully, relieved he was back. He was the only good distraction she had.
He started massaging her arms carefully, trying to relieve what he knew would be tense, sore limbs. "Saw Keira. Seems she survived the culling."
"Good. I'm not at all surprised, but good," she murmured, eyes falling shut.
He let his fingers work slowly over her muscles for a few moments, relaxing what he could and watching as the show made its way through a breath mint factory.
"Is the tele helping at all?"
"It's better than silence," she said softly, eyes still closed. "Fills my head with something else."
He nodded just a little, bending to kiss the top of her head gently. "What about taking a hot bath?" he asked quietly. "Would that help you?"
She was quiet for a minute, then shifted with a small sigh, nodding a little. "Yeah, maybe."
He nodded, too, standing and offering her a hand up. "Come on. I'll join you."
"That sounds good," she murmured, taking his hand and following him to towards the bedroom. She hadn't had a bath with him in a long time.
He entered the bathroom and turned the water on, testing the temperature for a few moments before sitting back to watch it fill, one hand still holding hers. He then turned as an idea struck him, opening the cabinet under the sink and digging around for a bottle that had remained untouched since Harrison had moved in. At the moment he didn't give much of a shit, however. He popped the top open and poured a liberal amount of the liquid under the faucet, watching as bubbles started to form along the surface of the water. He didn't look at Harrison, just put the bottle back, and returned his attention to watching the tub fill.
She was stunned for a moment, standing still and staring down at the bath. "Sebastian? How long have you had that bottle?"
"Shut up," was all he said, dropping her hand and heading out of the room on the premise of finding towels.
She just chuckled, shook her head, and started to strip down. When he came back, she was sitting in the tub with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked tired.
He set the towels down on the counter and stripped out of his uniform as well, climbing in carefully to make sure the water he displaced didn't cause the tub to overflow.
"Hey."
"Hey," she murmured, moving to slip back into his arms, the bubbles shifting with her.
He pulled her against his chest, feeling every turn and angle of her body against his. He'd missed her more than he liked to think about. Having her pressed to his chest, held close, it was a balm.
She sighed and relaxed, her eyes closing again, exhaustion overcoming her. "I love you."
His grip on her didn't change, but he nodded just slightly. "I love you, too," he whispered, voice low.
After that she dozed for a while, the combined warmth of him and the water making her drowsy. She didn't mind. Sleep was an escape.