The next few days were a blur of relaxation, good food, and fucking. The Ganges was just as entertaining as they'd hoped it would be, and India in general was vibrant and rejuvenating.

The beginning of the next week was when he had scheduled the first appointment at the scar removal clinic.

When the day arrived, they woke up early in the day and headed on over. She sat in the waiting room while he signed in, where she twiddled her thumbs nervously. She wasn't sure how much of the scarring they could completely remove, but it was definitely worth trying. It had been so long since she'd been able to run her fingers over a smooth patch of her own skin.

He walked back to sit down next to her, and put his hand over her fidgeting ones. "Relax," he ordered, his voice quiet and mellow. "Things are going to be fine."

"I know," she sighed, shrugging just a little, "I can't help it. What if it doesn't work? What if it gets worse?"

"It won't," he said calmly, gripping her two hands in one of his own. "These people are the best there is."

"Yeah, I know," she murmured, in a tone that suggested she was trying to convince herself. "I'm just being paranoid."

"Yes, you are," he agreed, standing when their false name was called. "Come on," he urged, tugging her hands a little. "It will be great."

"That's a strong word for getting a load of my skin blasted off so it will heal better," she snorted, letting him pull her up, "But yeah, okay, let's fucking do this."

He grinned, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Tell you what, I will dote. You will have me- me of all people, doting on you while you are a sore, recovering, tired, grumpy asshole. Alright?" His smile was teasing.

"I honestly can't even imagine that," she laughed, following the... nurse(? What was she supposed to call these people - were they doctors?) happily tucked under his arm. "Even at my worst, I don't think you've even made me tea."

"You bloody liar!" he laughed. "How many times have I made you breakfast, or dinner, or cleaned you up after you've gotten yourself stabbed?"

"That is not doting. Tea and soup is doting, and plumping pillows - anything less is a small kindness," she protested through her amusement.

"Did you just call my cooking a small kindness? I think I may have just been insulted."

The doctor let them bicker as they walked down the hall, but cleared her throat slightly as she escorted them into an office, and he let the topic drop for the moment.

Lorna dropped into the nearest chair, deciding she would do less nervous fidgeting if she wasn't standing. "Okay," she cleared her throat, "What do we have to do?"

Sebastian continued standing, and after a moment of waiting for him, the doctor sat down, turning her attention to Lorna.

"I've only spoken to your husband, so I'm not certain how much he's told you. Stop me if you know something. I need to do a more thorough evaluation, but just from what I've seen of your medical files and what I can see now, I believe dermabrasion would be an appropriate solution to many of your scars. We can combine that with some steroid injections for more aggressive scarring."

She nodded, twisting the ring on her finger for something to do with her hands. "Alright. Are there any side effects to any of this that I should know about?"

The woman nodded slightly. "There can be some. Skin discoloration is possible, but that's very unlikely for you, since you're fair-skinned. There's also the chance that dermabrasion will itself result in scarring. That happens rarely, but it does happen. Given how extensive your scarring is, I would still recommend it, as even if it does scar in a few places, on the whole you would be better off." Her expression and tone were calm and soothing.

"Alright then," she shrugged, "Where do I sign? Let's start."

She nodded, pushing a few documents across the table. "Look over these and sign. I'll start preparations and we can begin treatment today. Today we'll just do a small area and give you a few days to understand how it's going to affect you and what it will feel like. Then you can decide at what rate you'd like to continue."

She gave a small snort. "As fast as you can do it will be fine. Look at me. I didn't get here painlessly. It can't be anywhere close to as bad as the shit I've been through," she said, briefly wondering what they looked like to this woman. Two heavily scarred people, one looking like they'd been attacked by an Irish professor Umbridge, the other the apparent mauling victim of a bear with a branding iron. Did they look like professional criminals, or like unlucky victims?

She nodded slightly. "Alright. We'll see what we can do. It will depend on how your body reacts. I still want to start small today, in case there are any complications, but I'll develop a treatment plan based on what happens today."

"Alright, sounds fine to me," she agreed, pulling the documents closer to her and scanning them over. She wouldn't sign until Sebastian had read them over, as she was sure he would want to do. She pushed them his way a little.

He sat to read through them carefully, making sure they still had total control and weren't surrendering any rights or information. He handed them back to her with a small nod. The doctor glanced at him. "As I mentioned, Mr. Hallifax, we would certainly be glad to treat you, as well... I'm sure we could work out some sort of..."

She trailed off under Sebastian's glare.

"Best not to bring that up," Lorna smiled at the woman, patting Sebastian's hand soothingly and taking the documents to sign.

He stood down slowly. His words were still a touchier subject than he would like, and the idea of losing them...

He still had days when he thought about carving into them again. The idea of losing them was absolutely intolerable.

She handed the signed documents over and stood in order to move the process along, figuring that the sooner she got his mind off the words, the better. She smiled at the now somewhat nervous woman. "Shall we go, then?"

He stood as well, and the doctor stood quickly. "Of course," she said, straightening her jacket in a way that suggested it was a nervous tick. "Right this way." She swept out of the room.

"Try not to kill the nice doctor who's going to make me able to work again," Lorna hummed under her breath as she led Sebastian after her, "This is your money."

"I know, I know," he sighed, nose wrinkled. "But there are other doctors."

"But they won't be at peak efficiency with a member of their staff violently slaughtered, and then we'd have to find a new place, and god knows how long that would take. Maybe more than a month. Our Jim-allotted month," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at him to make sure he got the point.

He sighed. "I know, I know," he muttered. "I'll behave."

"Alright, good," she nodded, squeezing his hand once and letting go again as the doctor led them into another room, which was much less scary than she had imagined. The machine was much, much smaller than she'd expected it to be, and very non-threatening. For someone used to torture, it was quite a nice surprise.

He watched her take a seat, standing near the door, which he left open just a crack. He was uneasy here, but Lorna seemed to be relaxing, so that was promising.

"Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to start?"

She gave a little bit of a shrug, not really sure herself. "Wherever you think is best. Back, maybe?"

She shook her head a little. "I'd rather do an area you have a clear view of in case anything seems wrong. What about a spot on your arm?"

"Sure, alright," she shrugged, rolling up her short sleeve and sitting down on the vaguely person-shaped table. Sebastian looked like he was tense as hell, and she wondered what it was about this place that was setting him off. She hated medical settings with a deep conviction, and this place was setting her at ease.

The woman nodded, walking Lorna through each step verbally as she applied topical anesthetic and picked up the dermabrasion tool. "You shouldn't feel anything more than a mild buzzing. Let me know if there's any discomfort."

She wouldn't, but she nodded, tapping her fingers against her thigh absently. "Sure. How long should this take?"

"About twenty minutes this time, but if you do want to do this as quickly as possible, later sessions will be a few hours. Most people bring music, or we have a wide variety of movies that we have available."

"Alright, cool, thank you," she nodded, and gestured for the woman to start. "You don't have to come every time if you don't want to," she offered to Sebastian, even though she knew he wouldn't take it. Too dangerous, in his eyes.

"Maybe," he said, though there was no doubt in his mind that he would be here every time.

The doctor got to work, the small buzzing machine in her hand slowly stripping away at the pattern of scars over Lorna's right forearm.

It was mildly uncomfortable, but it was by no means painful, not with her pain tolerance, so she simply took the treatment in silence, her mind wandering to and fro with no real agenda.

He was relieved when the doctor finally leaned back, and set her tool aside. Lorna's skin was raw, red, like it had been badly scraped, and the doctor bandaged it carefully.

"I'll prescribe a mild painkiller, but aspirin is a no-go for the next few weeks. It thins the blood too much. Motrin is fine, or other non-ibuprofen painkillers."

"Got it," she nodded, letting the doctor finish up the bandage before she slid off the table. She could sense Moran's tension. He wouldn't want to be in here any longer than he had to be. "When should I come back, tomorrow?"

She nodded. "That should be fine. We'll be able to tell by then if there's any immediate adverse reaction. Why don't you schedule something with reception?"

"Alright," she agreed, reaching out a hand for Sebastian. "C'mon, let's go sign out and get something to eat."

He nodded a little, exiting first and scanning the hall out of habit before heading for reception.

She waited until they'd scheduled their visit for tomorrow and were outside to speak to him again. "Wanna tell me what's setting you on edge about this place?"

He shrugged a little, reaching up to push a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Nothing that I could... Nothing in particular," he said after a moment. "It's very... nice. It's excellent there. They seem like good people."

"Good people aren't really your cup of tea," she pointed out, squinting under the bright sun. "But your instincts aren't something that I'd ignore willingly."

He shrugged a little. "We'll be careful," he said calmly, trying to shake off the tension. He knew exactly why the place bothered him. The elder Holmes containment facilities that he had experienced had been very similar, down to the friendly hospitality and white, sterile walls, contrasting so starkly with the blood on Lorna's skin...

But he wouldn't mention that place. Wouldn't make that connection for her. She seemed happy there and she needed to feel safe. That was paramount.

"Alright," she agreed, deciding that she wouldn't pry much further if it bothered him. If she noticed it affecting him, she'd intervene, but otherwise she wasn't too keen on forcing him to open up, which would likely only result in a fight. If something was actually wrong here, he would speak up about it.

He reached out, then, putting his arm around her shoulders. "How's your arm?" he asked, playing with the edge of her short sleeve.

"Stings a little, with the anesthetic wearing off," she shrugged a little, though careful not to disrupt his arm from her. She liked the contact too much. "But I've had so much worse, it's easy to ignore. I don't think the more recent wounds will like that treatment so much, though."

He nodded in agreement. "I mentioned that, but they seem to think as long as a scar has formed the treatment will work fine. Still, we may need to do another session later on."

"If you want to bankroll it, I absolutely will not complain," she shrugged, absentmindedly scratching the freshest of her cuts, which was a glassy-looking scab running across her hip. She'd been lucky that she'd moved when she had - those claws were wicked hooks that could have easily gutted her, had she been a little closer. She leaned a little more into Sebastian.

"What the fuck else am I supposed to do with my money?" he teased, smiling and tightening his grip on her. "Got to keep my lovely 'wife' lovely."

"I am shocked you haven't actually bought yourself a Jag, actually," she smirked, basking in the warmth from the sun and from his attention. "But hey, feel free to continue being my sugar daddy, I'm not complaining."

"I can drive Jim's whenever I want, and I don't have to deal with maintenance or parking," he retorted, snorting. "That's the problem with this job. Everything's provided."

"Have to keep the criminals happy or they'll start to kill each other," she replied easily, mostly serious. "I pay for a lot of my own clothes, but that's because I don't want to share them. Or put them in harm's way."

"They have become slightly better at not setting things on fire," he sighed, shaking his head. "Honestly. It's just amazing."

"I feel responsible! How did I teach them this? Was I a bad role model?" she groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

"They're just trying to be as hot as you," he said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes, making an exasperated noise. "Christ. What a strangely competent mob of fools. It's hard to believe they get done the work I give them. God forbid I ever die; no one will be around to clean up their messes."

"They'll figure it out on their own," he sighed. "We've been gone a year and the building is still standing. The babes are grown up."

"They don't have nearly the efficiency rate that they used to have, though," she retorted stubbornly. "And I will not accept sub-par."

He just shook his head a little, a small smile on his face as he approached the car door, opening it for her. "Come on. Let's go find something interesting to do."

"Yeah, alright," she chuckled, getting in without another word about work. She didn't want to taint their vacation time with the job. It would only bring up very recent and painful memories, some of which still polluted her mind when something moved just right in the corner of her eye.

He was careful around her in ways he had never been before. He had always been more protective of her after something had happened, but this was different. He was calculating, careful. Kept her distracted, entertained, busy, kept her mind occupied. Every sentence was filtered around her, like it had been when they first met, but now for entirely different reasons. He had spent too long in luxury while she was in hell.

It was his duty to protect her. That was how they'd begun and he'd never let it drop when he could help it. She would be safe.

It was a couple of days later, sitting on the patio out back of a fairly average restaurant, that anything notable really happened. Their waiter, who Lorna assumed also owned the restaurant, was a fat, balding man who had never heard a word on the subject of manners in his entire life. He stared at her, eyes lingering on the old, rough scars and the smoother, pinker skin, which covered both her arms now. India was far too warm during this time of year to allow for long sleeves, so she was stuck looking like the burn victim she sort of was. But the staring was making her uncomfortable. Already she'd been put on edge by the big dog curled up under the table of a nearby couple - anything above the size of a sheepdog raised her hackles now, despite her former love of big, furry creatures.

Moran had known the man was going to be a problem almost immediately. He kept watching Lorna, and not for the reasons men had used to stare. It gave him an odd pang for when jealousy was the worst of his worries.

The fourth time the man gave Lorna a long, sweeping gaze, Moran stood, his hulking excess of two meters easily dwarfing the other man.

"Stop staring at her," he said calmly, eyes deadly. "Or I will make you pay for the show you apparently think this is, and you will not like the price."

Both the man and Lorna jumped, though the former more than the latter, and a few tables looked over to see what the commotion was. Their waiter obviously considered talking back for a moment, then processed exactly just how much of a threat Moran was, spat on the ground with a muttered "Tourist freaks," and left. Considering that a young woman in an apron ran over a few minutes later, looking very apologetic and polite, it appeared they'd just undergone a waiter change.

"I sincerely apologize for my colleague's behavior, he is not so good with... anyone different than himself," the woman gave a strained smile, hastily pulling out a notepad from her apron. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No," Moran said calmly. He had regained his seat and was meeting her gaze politely, enjoying the way she was struggling to keep her eyes off the words engraved into his skin. "I want our waiter back, please. I want him to come apologize."

"I'm sorry, sir, he's gone on break-"

"Fascinating. Perhaps you should get him."

The woman looked flustered. "Sir, I ca-"

"Now," he growled, in a voice that did not broker argument. She scurried off, looking pale, and he made a mental note to leave her an excellent tip.

"Why did you bring him back?" Lorna sighed, glancing towards the doors anxiously. Sending him away had been great. Seeing him again? Eh.

"Because I want him to apologize," he said calmly. He stood as the man reentered, walking over. The restaurant was watching, but he didn't care.

The man looked a mix of indignant and nervous, uncertain of how to handle the situation. It was clear he was mostly bluster, certain of himself until he actually encountered a confrontation. Moran gave him a cold smile. "I've realized that I never gave you time to apologize, which I know you must be eager to do, given what an ass you just made of yourself."

The man paled with anger and fear simultaneously, scrambling for a moment before sizing Moran up again and giving a slight, jerky nod. Moran smiled, reaching out and wrapping a tight arm around the man's shoulder, forcibly guiding him toward the table.

The man absolutely refused to look at her as he approached, which she was glad about; the last thing she wanted was another long stare. When Moran stopped, effectively braking the shorter man, he cleared his throat a little.

"I.. I'm sorry," he forced out, through what looked like his teeth.

"Excellent," Moran said, smiling and patting the man on the shoulder, instantly cheerful in a way that suggested he was moments away from lethality. His voice dropped then to just above a murmur. "Now get lost. And inform whoever is in charge- I'm assuming an idiot like yourself isn't running this establishment- that you will be paying for whatever we decide to order out of your paycheck. Go. " He dropped his arm from around the man's shoulder, hands going to the pockets of his trousers cheerfully as he watched the man scurry off.

She took a sip from her water as the scene died down, most people returning to their food with only a few more glances their way. "Well, now everybody in this restaurant can describe our highly-memorable faces."

"True," he admitted, shrugging a little. "Shouldn't be too much of an issue though, they side with us," he said, glancing around at the general atmosphere. "And... all tourists. Not a locally popular restaurant. Wonder why?" he asked sarcastically.

The man's wallet dug into his thigh slightly and he smirked. He almost surely had an address, now it was just a matter of biding his time.

She gave a dry chuckle. "Alright, as long as the security chief doesn't think it's a problem, I'll relax. Now, let's order a shitload of food for leftovers, yeah?"

He grinned at her, and started scanning for the most expensive thing on the menu.

He didn't dare make his move for a few days. A few days of careful planning, and setting the man up. He orchestrated confrontation after confrontation for his victim, blurring his own dispute in a web of cross words and near-brawls, and one fist-fight with a homeless man.

When the man came home the evening of the third day, Moran was waiting.

The man didn't notice the hulking Brit for a second in the dim light, but as soon as he fully saw him, he jumped, backpedaling towards the door.

Moran cut him off easily, letting out a quiet laugh. "Hello, Adeo," he said, turning on the light near the door. "Remember me?"

"Yes," he said fearfully, a flop sweat appearing as a shine on his forehead. "What do you want? Money? I can get you money!"

He rolled his eyes. "Please. I have more money than I know what to do with." He started walking forward.

He grew more afraid, backing up into the nearest wall, eyes wide. "What- What do you want, then!?"

"Simple," he said, smiling and reaching into his pocket with his gloved hand. The man flinched, but he simply held out a pen he'd picked up from the man's desk. "I want you to write a letter."

He looked less afraid now, but still very wary. "Okay," he hedged nervously. "What do you want me to write?"

"An apology," he said casually, leaning against the only door out. "Not for the restaurant, no. No, I want you to write this for being a shitty human being in general. Don't mention anything specifically. Just lament your own miserable existence for a few lines. I'll proof-read." He gave a toothy smile.

"Alright, alright, whatever you want!" He shook his head, turning to brace the paper against the wall and start to scribble down a few sentences.

He smiled, watching the man write, checking that nothing in any way hinted to his situation. "Good," he said, nodding in approval and slipping the other item out of his pocket- a knife, sharp, fresh from the man's kitchenette. He stepped forward as the man finished, grabbing him from behind gently but firmly, the knife shifting to his throat. "Now, don't struggle, and this will be easier," he soothed gently.

He did struggle, of course, as they all inevitably did, and he tried flailing behind him with the pen, obviously going for Moran's eyes, grunting with effort.

He slit the man's throat at a careful angle with very limited force, as if the waiter were killing himself. The man slumped, and he carefully placed the knife in his now-slackened hand. He took a few minutes to scan for any sign of his interference, and then left without a trace.

It was by coincidence that she happened to turn the television to the news later that night after a vigorous round of sex on the balcony, and was greeted by the face of their dead waiter, accompanied by a headline declaring suicide. Must have been a slow news night to be running this. "Sebastian?" She called curiously, turning towards the bathroom, where she could hear the sink running. "When have you had the time to fake someone's suicide?"

He looked over his shoulder through the bathroom door, toothbrush in his mouth. "Uh ah ou alkin' a'out?"

"Our ex-waiter is dead. The rude one, who stared at me in the not fun way," she clarified, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Oh 'eally?" he asked, feigning surprise. He spat into the sink, rinsing his toothbrush. "Serves him right. Suicide, you said?"

She rolled her eyes. "Four days after that incident and he dies? No way, that's not a coincidence. I'm not mad, you know. Irritated I wasn't clued in, maybe."

He shrugged a little, putting his toothbrush back in his travel bag. "I just... It's been a while," he said finally, pushing a hand through his short hair. "And he got on my nerves. I didn't figure you would want to be doing much in the way of violence at the moment. You've had a hell of a few months."

"Yeah, no, I've had my fill of fighting for a while," she sighed in agreement, rubbing her eyes, "Just let me know these things, yeah? What's the point of a romantic murder if you don't tell anyone about it?"

He rolled his eyes, walking over to kiss her forehead. "Sentences like that are why I keep you around," he snorted with a smirk.

"I'm a delight, and you know it," she grinned, settling back down in bed and reaching for the remote so she could turn the tv off.

He walked over to lay back next to her. "How're you feeling?" he asked, glancing at the leg that was wrapped carefully in bandages.

"It hurts, but so do three other things, so it's not a big deal," she shrugged, shifting a little to get under the covers. "I spent a couple months in constant pain; a little abrasion isn't something I'll cry about."

He nodded, though his eyes tightened slightly. "Do you need anything?"

"Sake," she said after a slight pause, smiling slightly. "I have a hankering for it. I don't know if they even sell it here."

He laughed, leaning down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to her forehead before straightening. "I'll go find some. Back in a bit."

She laughed too, out of surprise that he was even taking her seriously. "Alright. Don't worry if you can't find it, I'll survive on something else."

He nodded, grabbing his jacket to cover his shoulder holster. "Okay. I might just see if the hotel bar has something, or that package store down the block. Anything else that would suit your fancy?"

"Gummy bears," she chuckled, giving him a warm smile. "Just bury me in junk food."

He rolled his eyes but grinned. "I'll be back."

He was, twenty minutes later, carrying three full grocery bags and flopping them down on the bed next to her. "Alright. I've got cheesy puffs, reeses, various crisps," he said absently, tossing them on top of her playfully but carefully. "Curry crisps, thought those might be interesting, a strange hat-" he stuck the miniature sombrero on top of her head- "Don't ask me why, it was a very strange pound store. I could not find sake, but I did get the requested gummy bears, and vodka, to make said gummy bears more interesting."

"I'll take it," she laughed, shaking off the tiny hat and picking up the gummy bears, cheese puffs, and the vodka. This would give her some distraction from the various aches and pains. "C'mon, let's get me just under drunk enough to thin my blood."

He smirked, grabbing a bowl from the kitchenette and dumping some gummy bears in, along with some of the vodka.

"Thank you for getting all this," she said, moving to sit with her back against the headboard. "It's stupid... but it means something."

He scoffed. "You thank me yet you toss my tiny hat gift away," he snorted.

She picked it up from where it was laying beside her and held it up so he could see it. "I didn't toss it away. It's right here, relax."

"Mhm, a likely story," he frowned, but his eyes are amused. "Just eat your fucking vodka bears."

"Yeah, yeah, on it," she rolled her eyes, chuckling and popping a few bears into her mouth. This was nice. Simple, quiet.

"Budge over," he said, shifting into bed beside her, sweeping aside a few packages of crisps and reaching for a bear.

She leaned against his shoulder, reaching to grab the bottle of vodka, taking a swig and then eating a few more gummy bears. "This is a good vacation."

He nodded in agreement, kissing her ear gently. "That it is," he murmured. He reached out to pick up her arm gently, studying the first patch that the doctor had tested the dermabrasion on. It was healing well, smooth, looking like freshly scrubbed skin.

"It's weird having a patch of skin on me that isn't ridged or bumpy or warped," she commented, chewing thoughtfully on her candy as she observed her arm with him. "It's a trip in the shower, let me tell you."

He held her a bit tighter without really meaning to at that. "Well, soon that will be everywhere."

"Thank you for that," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder for the moment.

"Of course," he said, nodding a little. "What else was I going to get you for Christmas? They were out of decent toasters."

"Not that I'd need one, considering you already have a perfectly good toaster," she smirked, her tone teasing.

"That's my toaster," he shot back with a small smirk. "No grifters allowed. You lot set things aflame too often."

She laughed. "Oh, come on, I can't be held responsible for the hot glue incidents. I never set a fire while I was a peon."

"Still, the risk is just too high. If you want to use it you have to buy toaster insurance," he deadpanned.

"There's no such thing," she said incredulously, pulling back from leaning on him to give him a look. "No one needs that!"

"Absolutely they do," he snorted. "I need insurance that if you set fire to my toaster that you will make it very much worth my while."

"And what insurance would make that worthwhile for you?" She scoffed, raising her eyebrows at him.

He smirked. "I could think of a few things."

She rolled her eyes, not buying into that. "Yeah? Like what?"

"If you break my toaster, you have to wear jeans of varying assortments for two weeks," he decided.

She laughed, leaning against him again. "Alright, but they're all pretty similar."

"To you, maybe," he smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist again.

"My ass can't look that different in differing pairs of jeans," she argued, without any real effort.

"I intend to experiment," he retorted, nipping her ear gently.

She chuckled, resting her bony cheek on his well-muscled shoulder. She was thankful that only one of them was a physical mess this time.

He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders absently. "Get some sleep."

She nodded a little, only just realizing how tired she was. She shifted a little, and curled up next to him. She fell asleep in a hot minute.

He watched her as she drifted off, and smiled just a little.

When did you go soft, Moran?

He sighed, and drifted off to sleep.

She woke up the next morning, a bag of chips crushed under her shoulder. She sighed, shifting away from it and more into Sebastian, slitting her eyes against the rays of light coming in from the window. Brighter than anything in London, that was for sure.

He pulled her closer a bit absently, waking up halfway but remaining that way for a while before sighing and coming fully into awareness. "Morning," he mumbled.

"Hey," she yawned, then gave a content sigh. Her skin hurt, and her joints ached a little, but otherwise she felt pretty good. It was nice, knowing that he wasn't going to leave to go work. "What time is it? Do we have to get up for our appointment today any time soon?"

He fumbled around for his phone for a moment, glancing at the time blearily. "Not for a few hours," he murmured, dropping it again and burrowing under the covers.

"Good," she muttered, curling up tighter against his side. The previous day's murder was completely forgotten.

They just lay there for a while, relaxing, but eventually the dull headache behind his eyes informed him it was time for caffeine. "What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, disentangling himself groggily.

She grumbled as he withdrew, cracking her eyes open to look at him. "I don't care. Protein. Other than that, whatever."

He nodded a little, pulling on trousers and a thin shirt to combat the heat, despite the fact that it was still morning. "I'm going to go to that cafe down the road with the good coffee. Want anything special?"

"Make that coffee as fattening as you possibly can," she mumbled, moving over into his spot, barely fighting back a doze.

"Noted," he said with a small nod, heading out the door.

He acquired the food and coffee without incident, and was on his way back to the hotel when it happened. He was crossing with the light, eyes on a tall man across the street who was blatantly staring at his scars when he heard the screech of tires as something came flying around the corner. There was a louder squeal, brakes this time, as that something did its best to stop. He was mid-turn to see when the moped plowed headlong into him, knocking him several feet down the street. His head cracked into the asphalt, and for the moment, he decided he was just going to stay there.

She heard the commotion outside, and it prevented her from falling asleep any further. She got up, half expecting to see Sebastian already sitting at the small table near the balcony, and shuffled over, stepping outside and leaning over the railing to see what had happened. The moped on its side and the small crowd gathered around it and a person on their back made it clear what had happened. She froze when she realized that the person on their back was Moran.

When he came to a few seconds later, a crowd was gathering. Someone was kneeling next to him, telling him to stay still, but he did a quick evaluation and decided he'd had worse, sitting up slowly despite someone trying to keep him down. His head was pounding, but he ignored it, looking over himself.

His eyes fixed on his left arm.

The entirety of the bottom of his forearm was bloody, evidently where he had caught himself in the fall. The skin was either raw or torn away completely, but that wasn't what made his stomach twist.

His words were obliterated.

They never saw us coming
'Til they hit the floor

- LOLO - Hit and Run -