He relaxed once they entered her flat again. Here, he could relax. Here he wasn't under scrutiny, wasn't awaiting trial... Here, he was just himself. Just Sebastian Moran, bodyguard and soldier. Nothing more.

She toed off her pumps to the side of the door and then walked in bare feet to more or less collapse into the couch, tired from the little activity she'd had. Yesterday she had been in captivity, though, so she wasn't going to apologize.

He took his shoes off and sighed, setting them beside hers and walking over to sit next to her, pulling her limp puddle of a form half into his lap, sighing in quiet content, relaxing back. It was good to just sit. To feel safe, to feel himself. He had spent too many months embroiled in espionage, sleeping with eyes half open, body tensed for attack.

He was used to danger, but not that sort. Danger from an enemy you could see, an enemy who knew him and who he knew. A delicate dance choreographed in gunfire and the light of concussive explosives. But Lorna's game was one he never wanted to play again. The guesswork of an unknown opponent, wearing a mask that required endless concentration to keep in place.

She shifted a little more into him to make herself comfortable and relaxed again, her chest warming a little. It felt good to just be able to rest with him with the quiet comfort of his strong hands in her hair. It was still so odd to have this again. "Have I said thanks?" She asked suddenly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for what, particularly?" he asked quietly, fingers turning the ends of her hair into a lopsided braid, for lack of something else to do.

"Getting me out. Us out. I know that you hate grifting, and you didn't have a choice, but still. Thanks," she said, giving a little shrug.

He was quiet for a bit. "About what you said, earlier..." He shifted until he could see her face. "You wouldn't try to grift me, would you?"

If she wasn't used to hard-hitting questions, she would have flushed. As it was, she didn't speak for a moment. She didn't know what to say. "I don't want to lie to you, Sebastian," she said eventually. "I won't tell you it hasn't crossed my mind, or that I haven't had to stop myself before. But I want to mean what I said. And I'm willing to fake it until I believe it's true."

He sighed, leaning back and considering the ceiling for a few minutes, sussing out what he wanted to say, and how to say it. He took a slow breath. "You're an addict, Lorna. On multiple levels. An alcoholic. A heroin addict. You have the personality, the chemistry... But I have seen you muscle through withdrawal over and over. So what I need you to do is get clean of me, okay?" He looked back down at her, eyes, for once, uncertain. Trying to put words together in ways that would properly lay out what was in his head. Not his expertise. "However that needs to happen. I need you to be able to stand on your own two feet independent of me. So the question becomes, how do you get to that point?"

She felt her stomach drop a few hundred feet. It was a feeling she had experienced before when being confronted about an addiction, but never this bad. She couldn't face being without him. She wouldn't. She sat up off him, chest seizing, unable to stand being in such a passive position during such a panic, and she stood, took about a step forward and sat on the floor, breath hitching hard. No, no, god, I can't lose him again so soon, no, no, no...

Shit. "Lorna... What did I just do?" he asked, an edge to his voice, standing up and looking around the room out of habit, on edge. "Talk to me..."

She sat stock still on the floor except for her breathing, which she was just trying to remember how to do properly at the moment. Her fists were clenched against her legs, and her torso was tight and locked in place, panic still throttling her heart. "Please... please, don't- don't leave me," she whispered, voice shaking, tears spilling from her eyes onto the floor, which she was unable to look up from.

"Did I say I was- Fuck, Harriso- Lorna- Fuck. I am not leaving," he sputtered, grasping around and trying to piece together what she had heard of what he'd said. "I'm not leaving. That isn't happening." He sat down behind her and pulled her onto his lap, tight in his arms. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't- I can't get clean of you, not- not-" she got out in one breath before she had to suck in another one, "not... without you leaving. Don't, please don't." She pressed herself hard against him, trying to keep herself from sobbing and not really succeeding, too wracked with fear and the recent loss to react with any modicum of grace.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, enveloping her completely, massaging her back. "I'm not going. I'm not. I want to work with you until you are less dependent on me. But that doesn't mean I'm leaving."

"Yes it does," she protested, tears being mopped up by his shirt, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly. "There's no other way I get clean, Seb. I go cold turkey. I don't- I don't know how to-" she cut off again, breath shuddering.

"Then you learn. We're going to figure this out, Lorna. But without me leaving. That's the end of it. Because I won't leave. And if we can't fix it, then I'll deal with it. I want you to be able to live without me because it would make me feel better about myself, about my purpose. But you are more important to me than any of that, and if it doesn't happen... Fuck it. I'm sticking around."

She took a deep breath, felt something unwind in her chest, some of the panic draining out of her at his words. It hadn't solved her fear completely, but anything felt like amazing relief after that. "Okay," she whispered, nodding a little, and sniffling, "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just- freaked myself out."

"I didn't say that the way I should have. I scared you. I apologize," he said quietly, stroking her hair. "You know I'm terrible at that sort of thing."

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're not leaving," she said quietly, uncurling a hand from his shirt to rub at her watery eyes.

He sighed, trying to get his muscles to relax. So much for not being on edge. "This is what I'm talking about, though. You understand that, right?"

"Of course I do," she murmured, sighing. "I've known about this for a long time. But you're the best thing I've ever been hooked on. I cope with addiction by moving on to something else, but..." she shrugged. "You were the best influence in my life I'd ever had. I made my peace that there was nothing else for me. Even more so during your amnesia episode. I realized that I didn't care about anything, not if you were dead."

He grit his teeth just slightly, taking a breath. "I..." He took a breath, trying to come to terms with the blasé way she'd said that. How inconsequential it was to her that he was her only reason for living. "Look... I'm not going anywhere... But you understand that I think that's bullshit, right?"

"I didn't tell you for a reason," she mumbled, glad that she was all tucked up against him so she didn't have to look at him. "I knew you wouldn't like it. I knew it would influence what you did. So I thought it was better if you didn't know."

He nodded a little. "Easier maybe. Not certain about better." He tucked her under his chin, quiet again. He wasn't sure how to respond to all of this. He didn't know what he should do about it. What was the appropriate way to react? He felt, deeply, that she should be able to survive on her own without him. That was not remotely in question. But getting her there was a different issue.

She closed her eyes, just listening to his heart beat and his lungs breathe for a minute, the regular sounds soothing. "I want you to be able to trust that I'll be able to cope if you die. I don't want to put that pressure on you," she murmured after a little while. "I'll try to learn how. I really will."

He sighed, rubbing her head gently, fingers combing through her hair. "Okay," he said quietly. "I know this isn't a great time to bring this up. I know things are still raw."

She laughed hoarsely, nodding a little in agreement. "Yeah, I might be a little sensitive at the moment."

"Yeah, caught that," he said softly. "I'm not the best at this sort of thing."

"It's okay. I'm not either," she replied. "I'm just not good with surprises. Even at the best of times."

He laughed a little. Silence again, then, "Christ above, I just wanted to haul you into my arms when I came in with her... It took every ounce of self-control I had to stay away."

"I wanted that too," she said quietly. "It hurt, seeing you again like that. Almost indescribably so. But despite the fact that everything I knew was being turned on its axis, again, I just wanted you. I just wanted this."

He wrapped around her a bit more, content to relax and enjoy having her back. "I'm going to enjoy killing her."

"We've said that many times," she snorted. "We still haven't killed your sister, unless I somehow missed it. Not that I wouldn't massively enjoy murdering Ines, but there's a bit of a queue."

"I've been a bit distracted from my sister," he snorted. "But currently, Ines is standing between us and the network. Actually, fuck it, I'm not going to kill her. Once we're back, I'm going to do to her what I told her I was doing to Jim. That's fucking poetic."

She made an appreciative sound. "That's not a bad idea. I would publicly say we've killed her, though. The way she made Belgium turn coats like that... don't want any loyalists coming for her."

He nodded. "I'm fine with making her blind, mute, damn well unrecognizable, and stupid as kamikaze life insurance. Tell the world she's dead and leave her to rot in a cell."

"Sounds like a safe plan to me," she smirked, with dark humor. She wouldn't mind exacting a little of her own payback. Just to help remind herself Moran was hers.

He was quiet for a bit, playing the events of the past few days over again in his mind. "Is it just me, or did Jim almost admit to caring about me on the plane?"

She was quiet for a moment, unsure of how much of Jim's spiral she could safely tell him. After a moment, all she said was "He cried."

There was a long, dumbfounded silence, at which point, he very calmly asked, "What the fuck?"

"I only saw the evidence of it afterwards, only once. But I know what someone looks like when they've been crying," she shrugged a little.

He shook his head a little, taking a slow breath. "Well. That's fucking terrifying. Remember when I was a scary bastard no one liked? Life was simple. Good times."

"Hey, at least you can defend yourself if he tries to kill you," she pointed out, "I couldn't defend myself when you tried to off me. He's not going to be able to throw you around if he's scared of his feelings."

He shook his head a little. "Maybe. Jim is hard to predict, and I've never dealt with... emotions... with him before. Brushed against their potential existence, certainly. The fact that I could was what gave me some control over him. But I may have gone too far."

She gave a small, helpless shrug. "Who knows? Definitely not me. Christ, I still can't believe I've been fucking the man regularly for a few months..."

"Mmm..." he said, careful not to let tone into his voice. "I wonder if that will be continuing."

There was uncertainty in the air now. "I don't know. You're back. I don't see that he would want to."

He shrugged. "Who the hell knows. I never thought that he would... cry... either. But he did."

"He's always liked you better than me. But that's besides the point," she murmured, frowning a little. "Do you have feelings, either way? If I sleep with Jim."

He shrugged. "Probably best if I don't," he said, shifting her out of his lap and standing, before offering her a hand up. "What do you want for lunch?"

She frowned deeper, and didn't let go of his hand. "Sebastian, stop. That's not an answer."

"It's a reality," he said calmly. "I don't have a say in whether the two of you sleep together, and I don't have a right to demand otherwise. So best to remain neutral."

"You do have a say, Sebastian," she said firmly, tightening her grasp on his hand. "You do have a say. I can say no. Him fucking me isn't ownership, not like it is with you. It's anger, and grief, and pain. He doesn't need it anymore. Neither of us do. It can stop."

He considered that, then shrugged, expression still impassive. He thought about breaking her grip on his hand, but decided against it. "Look, Harrison, I honestly don't want to think about it, alright?" Because whatever she believed, Jim would get what he wanted. And for the moment, he was all out of the energy required to play these games. Ines had sucked him dry.

She sighed, and let him go unhappily, sitting again without saying anything else. Him not having feelings about it meant that, at the very least, he didn't like it. So she wouldn't.

He headed into the kitchen, pulling out the makings of cheese toasties and tomato soup, immersing himself in the cooking.

It was the next day that Jim summoned Sebastian from his new offices. The rooms were to his specifications, down to the furnishings within, but he still wasn't comfortable with them. It still rankled too much that his enemy was sitting in his chair, sleeping in his bed, eating from his refrigerator. This place was only a hollow echo of his throne, and the gorgeous view was suspiciously lacking.

He'd spent his time alone working with what little information was now available to him to investigate Moran. Something that he'd done too many times in the past year. But the problem with Armetti's network was that it was very localized. The information coming in from the surrounding city was excellent, and rich in detail, just like the employee database he'd been perusing through, looking for a good custodian.

He decided that he could not trust Moran. Not now, not with the resources he had available. He simply didn't have enough to prove the man innocent, and that was where the trouble lay. Years of faithful service could always be bought out, for the right price. Time was that Jim would have insisted to himself that Sebastian could not be bought; that he didn't have a price, floating somewhere above his head. It certainly wasn't monetary - that hadn't changed. Jim saw to it that the sniper was loaded with enough money to sink the Titanic for the second time. But times had changed. A woman named Lorna Harrison had entered his life, and the former statue-come-to-life had started to crumble at his hardest edges.

Jim admitted that he had his own part to play in the cracking of Sebastian Moran's stone façade. He'd pushed the man one too many times, had played one too many games, both involving and not involving the woman. Their bodyguard-boss relationship had shifted, the day that Moran had pinned him down and carved his initials into his chest. Absently, he lifted a hand to where they lay under his linen shirt, finger tapping against his chest in thought.

Once upon a time, Moran would have done anything he asked without hesitation. These days, he could see the gears grind in the man's head. And again, that was his fault, he accepted that. Didn't mean it didn't bother him. And it didn't mean that it didn't factor into the question of the man's loyalty.

So whether or not Moran had sold information for Harrison's life was indeterminable.

But his bodyguard was a very, very useful man, and he had gotten them back overseas, letting him escape a fate of being locked in his own basement.

He waited at his desk, mind preoccupied, until the knock at the door. "Come in."

Moran felt like himself for the first time in months. He had hunted down a barber that morning and gotten them to shave the hair on top of his head to its usual length, ridding himself of the fucking flop of blond that Ines had insisted on. Then he'd showered and dressed in his usual apparel, which Armetti had provided.

That alone was at a quality he was used to, presumably because Armetti knew that Jim wouldn't stand for his bodyguard wearing something that looked like it had been bought at a drug store. The only issue was that the clothes were to his usual measurements, which at the moment were too big for his rather leaner frame, despite the work he'd been doing to bulk back up. He'd get them tailored later that day. For the moment, Jim was waiting.

He headed for the boss's office, which was in one of the lower floors. It took him almost a half an hour to get through security, even though he was expected, which pleased him.

He entered when the boss told him to, eyes flicking over the office, looking for any potential threats, before he approached the desk, falling into parade rest. "You wanted to speak with me, sir?"

"I did," he said, looking over his bodyguard. Back to normal, for the most part. "I wanted to talk to you in regards to your suspension."

He nodded a little. He'd expected as much. "Have you reached a conclusion?"

"Not one you're going to be happy with," he snorted, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "You're still suspended, but not completely. The fact is that I cannot clear your name with the information I can currently access. But you're too valuable to leave sitting around, gathering dust on a shelf. So I'm going to partially restore your duties, with a caveat. You're going to be minded, and it won't be by Harrison."

He kept his expression carefully blank, though his jaw tensed. What had he expected? "Who's the babysitter, sir?"

"Armetti's right hand," he said, opening up a file on his desk and pushing it towards Moran, revealing the face and dossier of a woman named Freddie Wilkins. "When you're on duty she will accompany you. As for your phone, I've had it jacked so it won't connect to anything outside this facility without going through an administrator's approval."

He picked up the woman's file and glanced over it. Then he nodded. "She seems an appropriate choice, sir," he said mechanically, though internally he was riled against the idea of a woman so many years his junior walking him around on a leash. "Can you give her some money for pizza, or do we have to eat leftovers?" Alright, so he was mostly internally riled.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Stop whining. She doesn't have control over you. Her only power is to stop you from doing something she deems risky. Otherwise you may act normally. Unless you'd rather sit around with your thumbs up your arse..."

He took a slow breath, unclenching his teeth as best he could. "My apologies, sir. Thank you for the opportunity. Will that be all?"

"Tell Harrison I want to speak with her later. But otherwise, yes, you may go," Jim said, flicking his hand in dismissal towards the door.

He nodded, taking Wilkins' file with him and heading for the door.

Ten minutes later he was back at his tiny flat. He dropped the file on his counter and went to change, shifting into workout clothes before heading for the gym. He needed to punch something. A lot.

It was a couple hours later that Lorna was called down to Jim's office, which she would have had difficulty finding had it not been for the incredibly tight security that involved a search for bugs on all her clothes, and, oddly enough, even in her hair. When she knocked on his door, she felt significantly more ruffled than she had a few minutes prior.

Jim called her through, his hands steepled in front of him as he considered her. She was the most complex player in all of this. He had little doubt where her loyalties lay, and it wasn't with him. Still, she was also potentially the most useful piece he had on the board. His queen, as it were. "Have a seat, Harrison."

She did so, absentmindedly noting that the chairs were the same brand as the ones in London, only a little less worn. "How can I help you, sir?" She asked, raising her eyebrows a little. She looked and felt more rested, which she'd accomplished from a 13-hour stint of sleep.

"We need to discuss Moran," he said, sitting back. He watched her expression, and nodded a little. "So he hasn't spoken with you yet. I hadn't expected he would- he's probably off brutalizing someone in the sparring court. I've decided not to reinstate him. He'll be given his duties back for the most part, but only under supervision."

"I suppose I can't blame you for that," she sighed. "Did you appoint anyone particularly insulting or is he that angry he didn't get full privileges yet?"

"He's just that angry," he said with a small smirk. "I appointed Armetti's second in command, a very capable woman with a sturdy record. Nothing on Moran, but as near as we'll get, at least while here. Not the ideal match, but someone has to keep an eye on him. Which leads me to my next point. I want you to keep a careful watch over Armetti. This Ines woman is manipulative, and I wouldn't put it past her to use his obsession with you against us. Don't let that happen."

"The closer I get to Armetti, the easier it will be for him to be manipulated," she said, frowning. "He's not delusional, but I don't know if he'll be able to help feeling more strongly if I start becoming closer to him."

"Let him feel strongly," he said with a shrug. "I want him intimately familiar with the facts- from your mouth- of how his silence will keep you alive. And I need someone keeping him on the straight and narrow. Not to mention you'll need someone to spend time with besides Moran."

She raised her eyebrows a little at that, surprised. Was he limiting the amount of time she could spend with Moran? "And why is that again, sir?"

"Because from now until Moran is cleared, you will be doing your best to be a social butterfly and meet new people." His eyes bored into hers. "I'm not going to forbid your living together... yet. I don't think it's necessary. I think you'll find an appropriate amount of time to spend with a man on our watchlist to keep me convinced of both your loyalties. I trust I am making myself clear?"

She grit her teeth a little, eyes dropping from his for a moment, then shifting back up to meet his, just the hint of a challenge to them. "You want me to lie to you? That is not my normal behavior, sir. I don't socialize. If you want me to spend less time with Moran, fine, alright, I'll do my best, throw myself into the job more. But social? Sir..."

"This is your job, Harrison," he snarled, expression suddenly dangerous. "I just had an entire network collapse under my feet. I do not intend to let it happen again. So dig up your inner extrovert and go socialize, and keep a bloody ear to the ground. Am I clear ?"

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Somewhere along the way, from the months of being trapped in an insane maze with him, to grief-fucking against the wall of his office, she'd lost her fear of him. Respect, she still had. But no longer was she afraid of what he could dole out. "Yes, it's clear," she said simply, voice expressionless. The same one she had used on Sebastian whenever he'd gotten particularly arse-like.

He could hear the impatience, and had he not been so in need of loyal operatives, he would have put a bullet through her then and there. As it was...

"Moran made it a habit to have an attitude with me, Harrison. He paid dearly for that on many occasions. Consider that before you head down that road. You just got your scars all cleaned up." He looked back at his papers. "That will be all."

The reminder of the scars straightened her up a little, and she nodded, then stood. Then hesitated. "I apologize, sir, but... Will I need to be clearing time in my schedule, still?" Is this arrangement still happening, Jim?

He didn't look up. "I'll inform you if you need to. Otherwise, don't. Now go."

Well that's a bloody helpful answer.

She turned and left without another word, dissatisfied and irritated, but didn't sigh until the door shut behind her.

Moran was waiting for her when she got back, with a dinner of french dip roast beef sandwiches. He pulled the potatoes out of the oven as she walked in, and glanced over. "Well. You look about as cheerful as me. What happened?"

"Well I got told to A) Socialize, B) Keep Armetti in my good graces, and C) Only clear time in schedule for fucking him if he informs me, so I'm a little bit irked," she muttered, toeing off her shoes and heading over to sit at the table, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck. "How fucking indecisive is that answer? Jesus."

He snorted, setting the potatoes on the table and returning with the baked sandwiches, handing her a spatula to serve herself. "Sounds like Jim. He doesn't want to box himself into a corner."

"No fucking kidding," she muttered, serving herself with movements just short of angry. "He said he isn't going to make us stop living together yet. So not only do I have to worry about those things, but I have to string Vince along even further. I'm pissed."

"Join the club," he agreed with a small snort, sitting down and taking the spatula once she was done. "I understand his motives in all this, but it's still just as annoying."

"Yeah, same," she said, shaking her head and digging into the meal he'd prepared. She'd had a couple of his home-cooked meals since she'd had him back, but she still took a moment to stop and savor it. At least she wouldn't have to give him up, at least not yet. "It's weird, how reluctant I am to start grifting again. Hits corrupted me, goddammit."

He smirked a little at that. "Did you expect any different?" Another addiction, though one he shared and was a bit less worried about. His little addict... Oh well. He'd fix it somehow.

A thought struck him out of nowhere, and he swore quietly, leaning back and closing his eyes, hand gripping his fork until it bent.

She tensed a little as he practically convulsed, worry and fear springing through her immediately. "Sebastian? What's wrong?"

"I'm an idiot," he muttered, slowly setting down the mangled fork so that he didn't throw it across the room. He stood, but realized there was nothing to do and, after a moment, sat back down. "Keira... Ines will take revenge on Keira."

She wasn't surprised. It had already occurred to her. But she didn't know Ines, didn't know what lengths she would go to. "If she's smart, she ran when we did," she said quietly. "If not... All the more reason to take the network back."

He stared absently at his food, no longer hungry despite being starved after his workout. Still, he reached out and started eating again. He needed to put weight back on. He shoved the Keira issue aside for when he could consider it with more privacy.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian," was all she said, her voice quiet, and she returned to eating too. She hadn't realized that he cared that much for his daughter.

He hadn't realized, either. In fact, that was half the issue. He was angry at himself for being so focused on Lorna and Jim that he forgot about his daughter. And he was angry at himself for caring- after all, Lorna and Jim were his priorities. But the idea of his daughter undergoing Ines's wrath...

Fuck it. He did care. Not so much that it was Kiera, as it was that she was someone he had a duty to protect and he was failing. He didn't care, he was just angry.

Right. Logical.

He ignored his own mental eye rolling and cleared his plate, jamming it in the sink and heading into the living room. He didn't feel like doing dishes at the moment. He'd deal with it later.

She finished a few minutes after he did, not in such an angry rush. She followed in his steps into the kitchen, and there she began doing the dishes. It was something that Moran usually did, with his obsessive need to keep things neat, but it was obvious he was upset. So she would keep things neat for him. She didn't mind. Any small comfort she could give him was worth it.

He did his best to be back to normal by the time she came out of the kitchen. He wished he had his guns to clean, but they were probably somewhere in Ines' possession.

She followed him out into the living room once she was done and sat on the sofa, leaving enough space between them that he could decide whether or not to initiate contact. Her stomach felt weird. She hadn't noticed when she'd been worried about him, but now that she wasn't, it seemed off. She must have picked up something on the plane. She sighed.

He didn't hesitate to pull her up against him. He might have been pissed at himself, but hell if he was going to let that put space between him. Everything that had happened in the last months had been to make the distance between them smaller.

And to save Jim and the Network, his mental voice reminded him warningly.

That, too.

She happily rested her head on his shoulder, and didn't break the silence. It was such a balm, having him close again. She could still barely believe he was there. Alive, unharmed. The loss of him had hurt so badly.

She seemed to melt into him, and he relaxed slowly, taking a sniper's breath, calming himself down. Get a hold of yourself, Moran...

He pressed his nose into her hair, taking a slow breath.

"I'll do my best to keep an eye on the woman watching you," she murmured, warm and comfortable in his embrace. "I trust Armetti, up to a point. I don't know about his people."

"Watching the watchers," he murmured quietly, sighing. He slid a hand up her back, massaging the back of her neck gently, absently. He turned his head, pressing his lips to the skin behind her ear, taking another slow breath. "My skin's a little thin at the moment," he said quietly, apologetically.

"It's okay, mine is too," she replied softly, finding his other hand with her own and pulling it into her lap. "Just about different things. I miss the days when we suffered together. Wasn't that fun?"

He laughed, and shook his head. "No, not at all." He was quiet, before finally saying "I know it's early, but I'm tired. I'm gonna lay down. Coming?"

"Sounds dandy to me," she agreed, not moving. Too used to him picking her up.

He didn't disappoint, shifting and hauling her up into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom, setting her down gently.

She waited for him to get into bed after he put her down and then snuggled back into him, glad she was wearing at least vaguely comfortable clothes, because taking them off seemed like too much of a hassle right now.

He curled up around her, closing his eyes and holding her close. When he thought back over the years, he couldn't really pinpoint a time when "fucking aggressively and carrying on" had changed into "curled up together sleeping without a thought to sex," and he decided not to think too much on it. It would just add to his current anger at himself.

She fell asleep quickly, still easily influenced by the warm safety of him that she had missed so much, had spent so much energy trying to recreate in their too-empty bed.

He listened to her breathing slow, and went back to evaluating the situation. He would need to acquiesce to his handler. It was the only way he'd be able to get anything done, and he wouldn't be able to get rid of her until they had the network back.

When she woke again, it was with a stomach ache, and there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. She groaned, burrowing further into Moran.

He woke from his doze, and frowned. The clock still read that it was still very early morning. She normally wouldn't be awake for hours yet. "Hey... you okay?"

She made an unhappy sound into the crook of his neck. "I think I'm getting sick. Stomach hurts. And I just feel... gross."

"So you cuddle closer. Thanks," he said sarcastically. He shifted away and sat up. "I'll find some pepto."

"Okay, sorry," she muttered, pulling the covers up closer to her. She didn't feel awful, not yet, but she could tell that it was on the horizon and approaching at a moderate rate.

He sighed at that, reaching out to push her hair back gently before heading into the bathroom. He scoured the medicine cabinet before returning with a bottle of viscous, painfully pink liquid. "Ready to drink fuschia-flavored chalk?"

"Yeah," she sighed, sitting up. "I've never minded it too much. In my mind, anything beats cough syrup."

He laughed a little. "I used to get drunk off of cough syrup in high school. We go back a ways." He handed her the bottle.

She chuckled, unscrewing the cap and pouring herself a serving, then swallowing it down like a shot. "I didn't even consider doing that. Hate the stuff. Makes me gag," she snorted, smacking her lips a little at the tacky taste left in her mouth, and screwed the bottle back into one piece before handing it to him.

He set it aside and climbed back into bed, pulling her back into his arms. "If you throw up on me, I will kill you."

"I'm not nauseous, not right now at least," she muttered, closing her eyes again with a sigh. "Just ache."

"Hopefully you just ate something off," he sighed, pulling the blanket up around her.

"Everything I've eaten was provided by you. Either you're very strategically poisoning me, or I'm getting sick. We did just travel, it's not unheard of. I'd actually rather be ill than have food poisoning," she shook her head, beginning to regret never changing out of her clothes. She wanted to be in pajamas, but now she was tired and mostly comfortable.

"Maybe I just finally got sick of you and put arsenic in your potatoes," he suggested, laying down properly and shifting her back against his chest. "Try to get some more sleep."

"Okay," she sighed, forcing herself to relax all the way and try to ignore the discomfort in her guts. She managed to drift off a few minutes later, aided by the sound of his steady breathing.

He closed his eyes, too, not overly concerned. A few minutes later, he was asleep.

When the world gets too heavy
Put it on my back, I'll be your levy
You are taking me apart
Like bad glue on a get well card

-Panic! At The Disco - Always -