Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - LA Devotee

Panic! at the Disco - Crazy = Genius

He woke when morning sun hit his face. He hadn't slept that well for that long in... fuck. Who knew how long.

This vacation is making me soft, he snorted mentally, extracting himself from Lorna's warm grasp to go take a piss.

Afterwards he set about making them breakfast, while considering the possibilities of their first victim. They didn't have an abundance of time left. He wanted to start soon.

She woke up to the scent of something being fried, and that was always worth getting up for. She rolled over to face the doorway to the kitchenette, eyes blinking open slowly. "Mm. What is that?"

He smiled as her voice filtered in from the bedroom. "Not sure really. Decided to see what would happen if you did curry refried-rice-style, with some yogurt... It's working surprisingly well."

"Mm, sounds good," she said, getting out of bed and shuffling into the other room. She didn't ache too badly today.

He didn't look up from what he was doing, but held out one arm for a hug as he stirred the rice and chicken around.

She happily went into his embrace, tucking herself easily against his side. It was more of a cuddly move than she normally would have used, but normal was still twelve months ago, and she felt like things were different now. How could they not be? A year apart, a good chunk of that time thinking he'd betrayed her? Being reunited softened some of the hard lines between them.

He wrapped his arm around her comfortably, the other hand reaching out to grab a bottle of olive oil and add a little more to the pan. "So. Who should we murder first, do you think?"

"I'm tempted to do someone famous, but that seems risky," she sighed, nestling her cheek into his shoulder. "Not tourists, either. People will notice."

He eventually reclaimed his arm to turn the stove off, scooping the fried curry into two bowls and handing her one. "Let's just pick someone then. Go out shopping for a victim."

She took it with an excited little shuffle of her feet. "Sounds like a plan to me. Should we decide beforehand what we might like to buy?"

He laughed, grabbing a bottle of sriracha and heading for the table. "Do you have any specific features you'd like?"

"I don't know. Full of themselves, maybe," she chuckled, following after him. "I like knocking them down a few pegs. All the pegs."

"You're so Robin Hood," he deadpanned, sitting down and adding a liberal slathering of hot sauce before starting to eat. "But fine. Full of themselves."

"What about you? I know you like to kill indiscriminately, but you must have a preference," she said, sinking into her seat and pulling her plate closer to her without drowning it in hot sauce first. She'd decide in a second how much spice she needed.

He shrugged a little. "Just the feel of the person, generally. Never really had a type, per say. I'd say let's find a red-head, but we're in India, for chrissakes."

He was washing up dishes when his phone rang, a tone he hadn't heard in almost three weeks. He immediately dried his hands and picked up.

"Boss?"

"Vacation's canceled, Moran. Something's come up. I'll explain when you get here. Your driver will be there in a half hour to take you to the airport. I'm sending her thumbprint to your phone now."

And then he hung up.

He stared at the phone for a moment, and then sighed. "Better pack, Lorna. We're being called in."

"Fuck," she muttered, shoveling a few more forkfuls of food into her mouth before getting up, shoving back her chair and walking swiftly into the bedroom. It was serious, if they were being picked up so fast.

She got the important things of hers packed in fifteen minutes, leaving a good majority where it was. Soon, they would be too small for her anyway, as long as she got back to a normal size. "Did he say what it's about?"

"No, didn't say anything," he said, packing his own clothes. The guns were always packed. "Except that he'd explain when we got there."

"Shit, alright," she nodded, running a hand through her hair. It was still odd to find it soft after so long of it being unhealthy. "Gonna be a long plane ride, then."

"I'm sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves," he snorted, pinching her arse playfully as he walked past to start piling their bags in the foyer. They wouldn't inform the hotel they were checking out for a few days, to throw off any potential watchers.

She laughed, letting him do the heavy lifting, only partially because she was lazy; her skin was still raw. "You don't think we'll get in trouble for fucking on his plane?"

He shrugged a little. "No idea. One way to find out, though," he said with a toothy grin.

By the time they walked into headquarters eight hours later, they were both exhausted. Still, they only paused to drop their luggage at the flat before proceeding to Jim's office. The familiar smell of the place was a strange contrast to the spices and heat of India, just that morning.

Jim was waiting in his office for their arrival, his door open. No one of insignificance came to this floor, and none except Moran would enter. So when he and Harrison appeared in the doorway, he waved them in. "Shut the door behind you."

They stepped through, and Moran closed the door quietly. He didn't bother asking what this was all about. Jim would explain as soon as he liked, and not before. Instead he walked forward, standing behind one of the chairs in front of the desk at parade rest.

Jim didn't waste any time. "My branch in Belgium has gone silent. It's not a big branch, but they're reliable. I can't contact a single one of them," he said, his teeth grit. This was dire. Someone with the power to wipe out a branch of his overnight? "Moran, you're going there tonight. There's only six who I have on retainer; find out what happened. Deal with it. I don't like being in the dark."

He nodded, resisting the urge to glance at Lorna. It would be odd to be separated after so long together, and after so long apart before that. But he didn't let it eat at him. If he had, he might have just put a bullet in his brain himself to save Jim the trouble. "Understood. I'll be ready to go in half an hour, I just need to adjust my packing. Do I have a cover story, or am I going in stealth?"

"Stealth. I don't know if they're even still alive," Jim snorted, shaking his head. He could tell Moran thought about Harrison as soon as he realized he was going alone, but he'd kept himself under control, and Jim had compromised a while ago to just let that be. She was looking better. In fact, her ability to grift had been restored to her. He returned his attention to the problem at hand. "I want reports every six hours. Past twelve, I'll assume there's been a problem."

He nodded again at that. "Understood, sir," he said calmly. He was evaluating the man in front of him carefully, now that he knew he only had a few minutes. Looking for any signs that he was back on the drugs, or resorting to anything else to keep himself occupied. He seemed healthy, however, if still a bit thin.

"If that will be all?" he asked, patient but eager to be on his way if he was dismissed.

"That's all," he conceded, sitting back in his chair, hand going to the bridge of his nose. His head hurt.

Lorna didn't waste the opportunity to leave, immediately doing so. When Sebastian was back in the hallway with her she had to resist reaching for his hand. She didn't want him to leave.

He waited until he was in the elevator to look at her. "Stiff upper lip, Harrison," he said as he hit the button for the floor down. "I won't be gone long." That was as close to comfort as he was willing to edge at the moment. India seemed like a distant world.

"I know," was all she said, looking at him solemnly. "Anything I can do to help you out the door?"

He shook his head a little. "I don't need much. Basic blacks, and whites, I suppose Belgium might have snow this time of year. Thermals. Rations and weapons. I have most of it in a kit bag anyway."

"I didn't think so, but I thought I would check," she smiled. She wasn't willing to let go of India too quickly. She wasn't willing to go to back to being alone. "Just don't stay there forever."

He rolled his eyes as they got out of the lift and headed for the flat. "I just might to avoid your pestering," he snorted, but he looped an arm around her shoulders as he scanned in.

"Yeah, because I'm the one that pesters," she snorted, rolling her eyes right back at him. "Lorna, don't do drugs. Lorna, don't overdo the drinking. Lorna, don't wander off by yourself. C'mon. The only thing I pester you about is your arm."

"You know, I don't think it counts as pestering if the alternative is death," he snorted, opening the door and stepping inside, immediately grabbing his bags and starting to pull out what he would need. Mostly equipment. Clothing would be a very different set in Belgium than it had been in India.

She stood off to the side, not sure what else to do other than watch him. She would unpack herself once he was gone, but she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before he was gone. She didn't want to be without him again, even if it was only for a couple of days. How did she live her normal life without him around, watching her, helping her recover? Keeping her sane? She pushed aside those thoughts. They were useless, and unwarranted. She'd survive.

A few minutes later he packed the last of his equipment and clothes, and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. He would sleep on the plane. "Right. See you in a few days then."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing him by the collar and using it as leverage to pull herself in and plant one on him. "For good luck, since you didn't ask. I'll see you in a few days."

He rolled his eyes right back, but then bent down and kissed her properly, roughly, tongue pressing the attack and teeth nipping her lip on the retreat. "If you're going to kiss me for luck, at least make it the proper sort of luck," he snorted, heading for the door with a smirk and a half-assed salute. He closed it behind him and headed for the lift.

She couldn't help but laugh after the door closed, breathless and so damn in love with him. Already she couldn't wait for when he got back.

He slept almost as soon as the plane took off, and didn't wake fully until the attendant came over a few hours later. He got up, then, slung on a parachute pack and grabbed his bag, waiting for the count. He got the signal, and jumped out into the night, with nothing but forest below him.

It was only the next day, while she was on her laptop, combing through a list of alerts that came from a complicated series of keywords and filters she had set up, that she saw. It would have been insignificant any other time. But he was there, so it raised every alarm in her body. Clicking on the link, brought her to the article, to his mugshot, and her stomach flipped. She barely waited for the page to print out before she was heading for Jim's office, her heart beating too fast.

She didn't knock on his door, just barged in, tossing the printout onto his desk, Sebastian's face staring up. "What the fuck, Jim? WHY?"

He had his hand on his gun the instant the door burst open, and had barely restrained himself from shooting. He had been revving up to give her the lashing of a lifetime- maybe if he felt cheery he would stick to only a verbal one- when he saw the paper, and the gears in his mind shifted. He re-holstered the gun beneath his desk, eyes flicking across the page.

He was furious that he didn't know about this already, that his people hadn't reached out. What the fuck was going on over there? But he didn't let the emotions show on his face. He sat back.

"Good morning to you, too, Harrison," he snorted, expression bored while his mind raced. "Don't blame me for this. Moran's gone and made a dolt of himself. Take a breath, unclench..." he gave an indicative wave to her balled fists. "I have people working to extract him already. He was arrested sometime early this morning." Or at least that was what the article said. How had he not heard?

"Don't bullshit me, Jim," she snapped, leaning over and jabbing the paper, pointing out the charges. "You're telling me he actually went and killed three children with a butcher knife before drawing a swastika on the wall in their blood? That wouldn't be him being a dolt, that'd be him losing his goddamn mind!"

"He was arrested for murder," he said sharply. "A guard at a military base. They're trumped-up charges. I can get him out, but maybe I won't if your tone doesn't improve. Now." His voice was ice. He was in no mood for her accusations. "Get out. I have work to do. And if you ever come into my office unannounced again, I will shoot you, no matter the reason. Am I understood?"

"Understood," she confirmed bitterly, turning and leaving without further argument. As long as it wasn't Jim's fault, she wouldn't stand in his way. She just wanted him out. He'd talked about prison in a way that made her feel as if he had really wanted to avoid going back.

The next day was the most frustrating of Jim's life.

Far from one team going dark- suddenly the whole fecking country had fallen silent. Teams he had contacted just days before for information on the group-gone-mute were suddenly non-responsive. In 36 hours he had lost a country, and his best man in it.

He knew now that it had been a trap. The first team had been the trigger, and he had sent Moran to step on it. That just made him all the angrier. Whoever this was, they had played him for an idiot, and they had succeeded. The ridiculous accusations Moran was facing were a taunt. Whoever this was was laughing in his face. He wanted them dead.

He called in the woman in charge of his relations with Belgium that evening, and called the cleaners in a half hour later to deal with the body. He felt better after that, more in control. This was a puzzle. A challenge.

He would get his country back. Get Moran out.

He went back to work.

Lorna wasn't dealing with Moran's arrest particularly well. She obsessed over any new articles about his arrest, any new tidbit of information, but nothing substantial was getting out of the cell they had him in. She could cope with being on her own when she knew he would be back soon, but this? This was uncertain, unpredictable, it made her scratch too hard at the back of her hands, worrying her bottom lip until it was raw from her anxious biting. He was the anchor keeping her tied down to real life, away from terrible memories and cravings of heroin. He was the thing that kept her sane.

Why wasn't Jim getting him out?

He called her in late on the second day. He hadn't slept, but he took the time to shower and shave before she came, and change into a fresh suit. He glanced himself over in the mirror, and took a breath. This was going to be a complicated conversation.

He returned to his office, and called her in when she knocked. She looked horrible. He could see the raw marks on her freshly-smoothed skin, the cracks in her lip, the bruises under her eyes.

I never should have let them get so close. If I lose him, I lose both of them.

He motioned for her to sit, and put his elbows on the table. It was a moment before he spoke. "Belgium has become... complicated."

She tensed a little, her stomach doing something unpleasant. "What does that mean?" She asked, eyes fixed on him, barely taking in anything else. A llama could have been in the room and she wouldn't have noticed.

He held her gaze, expression cool. "It seems whatever ailment took my first team has spread to the rest. All my storytellers are silent, my bards have gone mute. I'm king of a very silent castle in Belgium, it seems. Or I was once king. Something tells me I've been deposed." The word came off of his tongue like bile.

She dug her nails into her knees, staring at him with her wide eyes offset by the sunken bags underneath. "And what does that mean."

"For Christ's sake, do I have to spell it out?!" he nearly shouted, the anger bursting out for just a moment before he blinked, smiled. "I can't get him out, Lorna dear. My hands aren't just tied, they've been lopped cleanly of."

"So what are we going to do? Surely we can bring in an outside force?" She asked, deceptively calm. She wanted to scream.

He nodded. "I already have two units- one from France and one from Germany- entering the country. We have no information on where dear Sebby is shacked up, and no help once we find him... Retrieving him is going to be slow." He examined his fingernails, then looked back up at her. "Find out who's doing this."

"Yes, sir," she said, taking a deep breath. Her body nearly shuddered in response. "Do you want me to go there personally or find out from here?"

"Here," he said, without a second thought. He couldn't afford to lose his next in command. He looked down at his phone, about to motion for her to go, but then he swore blackly and dialed a number.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

The glass statue in the corner of his office shattered as he hurled the phone through it with a roar. He grabbed the letter opener from his desk and slammed it down into the wood, burying it several inches into the grain, both hands gripping it like it was a two-handed sword. He closed his eyes then, breaths slow.

"The French unit I sent in isn't responding," he said softly, his voice almost playful. "Lorna, be a doll and find out who the FECKING HELL THIS IS."

She wasn't scared of his display of anger. Not for her own sake. He was only acting how she felt. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"Then what in Christ's bloodsoaked name are you still doing here?" he hissed, looking up at her then with a smile that showed clenched teeth. "Go. "

She stood and left without another word, in a hurried movement, driven by her fear for Moran rather than her fear of Jim. It was time to spend the next however many hours it took in the informations department, combing through whatever data they'd received about Belgium before it had gone dark.

It only takes two lonely people
To fuck love up and make it evil
It only takes a drop of evil
To fuck up two beautiful people

- MARINA - E.V.O.L. -