If there was one thing that being on a constant painkillers and anaesthesia did, it was put her out deep. No dreams, no nightmares. No reliving waking up during surgery.

She woke with a small start, breath huffing out of her chest.

He was dozing, but woke when she tensed. The lack of sunlight threw off any sense of time, but he had the feeling a few hours had passed, and a quick glance at the clock on the blu-ray player confirmed his theory. He stretched, groaning slightly and wincing as he realized his right arm and hand had fallen asleep. He shifted it carefully, trying to walk the line between waking it up and tugging on his stitches.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" She mumbled, lifting a hand to rub her eyes.

"Yes," he said, but didn't sound annoyed. He grunted, stretching. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Just a nightmare. You know how I am."

He frowned, gripping her just a little tighter. "Which just makes me more concerned," he teased, eyes studying her carefully.

She laughed weakly. "You rather I lie?"

"No. How can I help?" He tilted his head just slightly.

"Just being here is enough," she murmured, resting her head on his chest, and listened to his familiar heartbeat.

He sighed, lifting his left hand and cupping the back of her head, thumb rubbing circles. "Someday, things will go our way for more than a month at a time."

She smirked. "That would be fucking nice. Maybe if we wish, really, really hard for it, it will happen."

"Mm.. good luck with that," he snorted. "So. What do you feel like doing?"

She was silent for a minute. "I don't know," she said eventually. "I feel like I've forgotten how to act completely natural. India helped, and it's not so close anymore, but I spent a year living like an animal. I don't have a concept of relaxing."

He was quiet for a bit, then nodded. "I understand that feeling, believe me," he said softly. "Doesn't really go away but you learn to live with it. It's why soldiers coming home have such a difficult time adjusting."

"Oh. I have PTSD. That makes a lot of sense," she muttered, furrowing her brows a little. "Not sure why that didn't occur to me until just now."

He smirked a little. "It's oddly difficult to self-diagnose. But yes. From what you're telling me I'd say that's the case. Jim too."

"Jim. I feel like I haven't seen him in years," she snorted. "How is he doing?"

He snorted derisively. "Volatilely," he muttered. "Half the time he's a bomb waiting to go off, the other half he's a bomb waiting to go off that wants to bond with me. I don't know what the fuck to do with him."

"That just sounds like Jim, to be completely honest," she muttered, looking up at him. "But maybe that's just me."

"I'm used to the bomb, not the bonding," he sighed. "I hugged him. He let me."

"What the hell?" She sputtered, drawing back to look at him to see if he was serious. "You're joking."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I was exhausted, and... not in a good place. I asked him to trust my word and reinstate me. He did, I got carried away, and..." He shrugged.

"Jesus Christ... Our lives are so fucking weird," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling in defeat.

He nodded just a little. "Yeah, that was when things stopped making sense entirely."

She dragged a hand over her face. "What do we even do from here?"

He laughed. "I have no clue. No fucking clue. I've been asking myself that for a year." He was quiet for a bit, then said in a calmer voice, "We get you back to a point where you can function normally. I learn to use my left hand. We try to help Jim as best we can.. and we take back the network. What else can we do?"

"Jesus," she said again. "Yeah, you're right. There's nothing else for us."

He nodded just a little. "We certainly can't just hole up in here for eternity." He shifted from under her then, sitting up with a groan and stretching. "Alright. I should... do something."

"Is that a something in particular, or just a something?" She raised her eyebrows, looking up at him from the sofa cushions. "Because I'm fairly sure we're entering the time of evening when there's no one very active with work."

"Just... something," he growled, smoothing his hair down again, agitated. "I don't know."

She reached out to brush her fingers along his back, in an attempt to soothe him a little. "You restless?"

"You aren't?" He glanced at her incredulously. "It's been months we've been down here. Or close, anyways. Months Ines has had the network. All thanks to Mycroft. Fucking Mycroft. You'd think they were working together."

"Has it been that long? Fuck, Sebastian, I've been unconscious or close to it for a fucking while. I haven't built up the energy to be restless yet. Yeah, this all fucking sucks, but," she shrugged, "At the present I'm too tired to deal with it."

He glanced at her, and then sighed, and sat down. "I know." He glanced at the bottle of scotch for a moment, then stood again and grabbed it, walking over to the liquor cabinet purposefully and putting it away, shutting the door firmly with his right hand and then gritting his teeth for a moment when his finger protested the jarring. He turned sharply and headed for the kitchen. "I'm making a fucking cake."

She raised her eyebrows a little. "Okay," she said, in a vaguely surprised tone. "Let me know if you want me to help out."

He didn't respond, just started pulling out what he knew he needed, one-handed. He wasn't a baker, so he found a recipe on his phone after a few minutes of painstaking typing with the wrong thumb, and eventually started measuring and pouring, ripping open with his teeth what he couldn't get at with one hand. He was trying, he was, to be the relaxed solidity that Lorna needed right now, but now that she was well and Jim was out of the woods and he was fed, he was suddenly full of energy. He needed to fix this. To get the network back, to have his life back. But, barring that, he would make a fucking cake. He had a few hours before he needed to relieve Adler.

She listened to him bang around for a few minutes before she got up and followed him in, hefting herself onto an unused bit of counter with a strained huff. She didn't say anything, but she wasn't really keen on having him out of her sight. Sometimes she still needed a reminder that he was alive.

He glanced over at her as she struggled up onto the counter, but let her do it on her own, before handing her the wet mix bowl and two eggs. Cracking those with one hand was a challenge he wasn't looking for at the moment. He went back to measuring dry ingredients.

She balanced the bowl on her thighs and cracked the eggs into it. Miraculously, she didn't get any on her hands - and good thing, too, because the sink was across the floor, and that would have been inconvenient. When he turned for the bowl, she handed it off again.

He started combining things, and mixing the batter, throwing in a few handfuls of chocolate chips and then pouring it into a pan. He glanced at the oven, then swore under his breath, walking over to turn it on and get it preheating.

"What kind of cake are you making, anyway?" She said after a few more minutes of silence only broken up by the sounds of preparing ingredients.

"I don't know. Chocolate..." he trailed off, looking for a word, then waved his bad hand dismissively. "...fuckery. Maybe with mint."

She chuckled. "I like chocolate fuckery with mint. Vastly prefer it over those newfangled peanut butter snicker what-have-you cakes. Blech."

He smirked. "Really? I would have figured you would be all for the increase of chocolate and peanut butter in the cake market." He walked over to put the cake pan in the oven.

"I can deal with salty or spicy nuts, but I hate sweet nuts," she said, bitterly. "It's disgusting. Don't do that."

He laughed. "Fine. Whatever you say. No sweet nuts." His lips twitched in a smirk as he said it.

"What?" She asked reproachfully, at his smirk. "What is it?"

"You like salty nuts," he said, snickering openly now.

She gave an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Oh my god, seriously? Gross, dude."

He laughed, and walked back over, settling his hips between her legs. "You love it."

She rolled her eyes again, but she was smiling. "Again, with the me putting up with your nonsense in a way no one else could," she smirked, resting her hands on his waist, taut muscle firm under the material.

"I hate to inform you of this, but men have been making ball jokes for as long as men have had balls," he retorted, planting his hands carefully on either side of her.

"And?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Do you see me putting up with any of those other men...?"

"I'm sure Vince made a ball joke or two... and Malcolm..." He leaned in and kissed under her jaw, still smirking. "And Sherrinford..."

"Vince knew I'd vacate his bed for a week if he got too juvenile," she replied, fingers sliding around his side to the indent of his spine, tracing upwards. "Malcolm was too scared to try. And Ford? I can't remember. Too much time spent drunk or high."

He arched his back slightly under her touch, and hummed, nipping the corner of her jaw. "I guess I'm just pretty then."

"That you are," she murmured, nails scraping over his skin gently. "And you can throw me around, which I like... and that voice you get, when you really want something..."

"What," he asked, letting his voice get a bit softer, a bit deeper, his good hand finding her knee near his hip and sliding up her thigh. "This one?" He kissed her ear.

"That's the one," she confirmed, voice nearly a whisper. Her fingers tightened on his back. "As much as I hate to say it... neither of us are really in the condition for this..."

"I disagree," he said softly, his hand still on her thigh, his voice still quiet, though more smooth than it usually was. "I can't pin you against the wall, yet, true... but I'll bet that if I was as gentle with you as I am with my rifle trigger, we could get somewhere, at least..."

She felt her cheeks flush with anticipation in a way they hadn't in months. There wasn't - had never been - any winding up with Jim. One moment they were talking normally and the next moment was a flurry of action and movement. There was no suspense. She no longer had any resistance to it. "You make a compelling case," she murmured, swallowing a little. "But how can you guarantee I won't rip my stitches?"

"Lorna, love," he said very softly, lips brushing her ear, watching the goosebumps rise on her neck with amusement. "One of us has been a professional woman of the night for years, versed in all the many sordid arts of fucking, and it certainly isn't me. If I can resist my natural urge to pin you against the nearest surface and ravage you until you forget your own name... I'm sure you can keep enough control to leave your stitches intact. What do you think?"

She shivered slightly, cheeks and neck warm. God had she missed him. Everything about him. "Well," she whispered, a small smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. "If you have such faith in me..."

"Always do," he retorted, smiling. "Not here, though. Too much acrobatics and hard surfaces for our current health. Bed or couch, your call."

"Sofa is less comfortable. The bed, please," she smirked, hands pushing up his shirt a little to touch his bare skin. "How much time do we have before the cake burns?"

He considered carrying her, then sighed and stepped back to help her down one-handed instead. His smile returned at her question. "A half hour or so. But fuck the cake. If it burns I'll make another one."

"Yeah, alright," she laughed, shifting her hand to lace her fingers through his. "Now please, take me to bed."

He gave her a hand getting off the counter, and headed for their room, her hand in his. It felt odd, not carrying her, but there was no way he could put that much pressure on his hand, and he couldn't carry her one-handed without unusual pressure on her chest. They took it slowly, and he ended up shifting his arm around her to lend her a bit of support. She was still getting her strength back. But it was fine, and he enjoyed having her tucked close beside him. She belonged there.

He let her climb onto the bed, but as soon as she was there he leaned in to kiss her again, more firmly this time, helping her lay back as he did so.

She slid her fingers into his oddly-colored hair (whatever he had done to it, she didn't know, but she didn't care right now) and kissed him back solidly, her other hand resting against his chest, still lazy.

He leaned his weight on his good hand, shifting over her a bit more, his tongue tracing against her lips. He tucked his bad hand against his stomach, out of the way for now, so that he wouldn't accidentally hit his finger on something and kill the mood.

She had missed this. It wasn't often they held each other this softly. Tenderly, even. And that was because they both enjoyed it another way. But sometimes it was necessary, and even wanted, and this was one of those times. She trailed her fingers down his chest as she let her tongue slip past her lips to brush his, leaving her teeth out of it, for the moment.

He hummed softly, pressing his torso into her wandering hand just slightly, his tongue sliding against hers. He matched her pace, slow and gentle, his nose brushing against hers occasionally.

They had a few more minutes of soft kissing before she spoke, a small smirk on her face. "We always do this."

"What is 'this'?" he asked, pausing a moment just a breath away, nose brushing against hers.

"We fuck for the first time again before one or both of us is completely whole," she chuckled, running her hand through his hair and resting it at the nape of his neck. "So we always have to be careful with each other."

"Well, you're gorgeous, so it's mostly your fault," he snorted, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath, enjoying her touch. "And it could be a long time before both of us are completely whole again." Or never. "And I don't intend to wait that long to fuck you."

"I'm not complaining," she smirked, leaning up a little to nip his lip. "Just noting a pattern."

He smirked back, and rolled his eyes. "You and your damned patterns are delaying the end of months of celibacy," he retorted.

She scoffed, giving him a skeptical look. "Months, huh?"

He tensed slightly. "On your part, yes," he said a touch gruffly.

She rolled her eyes. "Sebastian, are you forgetting that I've been fucking Jim for months, or did somebody hit you on the head while I was sick?"

"Oh. Right." He rolled off to the side, then, looking up at the ceiling with a bit of a wan smirk. "Been doing my best to forget, to be honest."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," she sighed, rubbing her eyes and then looking over at him. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure you had more fun fucking him solo than I did."

He raised an eyebrow, and glanced over at her. "I don't care that you fucked. Well, I do, but not because you fucked. It's just one more reminder of everything with Jim going to hell." He shook his head and sat up. "Never mind. Forget about it." He smirked and reached out to undo the button of her trousers.

She laughed, lifting her hips up to help him get her out of her trousers. "Boy, once you get started there's just no bringing you to a halt. Remember when my father interrupted us?"

"Yes. Quite vividly," he said with a dark smirk. But he paused. "Up to you," he said, hands on her trousers but not pulling them lower. "If you want to just relax and eat cake, that's okay too.

She just shook her head, reached out to grab the front of his shirt, and pulled him close enough that she could kiss him again, eyes falling shut.

He kissed her back, resting his weight on his right elbow so that his left hand could play through her hair. Then he pulled away, smirking just slightly, and kissed her neck, before sitting back again and shifting down a little, and pulling off her trousers. "Now. Taking it slow." He slid his good hand up her bare leg again, and then took hold of the waistband of her knickers, pulling them down and working them over her feet with her help, tossing them aside as well. He smiled up to her, small but eager, a rare expression, and shifted onto his belly, bending to kiss the inside of her thigh. "Don't damage yourself," he warned, shifting her right thigh onto his shoulder and back with his good hand, before bending down to run his tongue over her.

She moaned softly, hand falling to his hair, her breath shuddering as warmth curled up into her belly. She kept her tension in her hand and her chest completely relaxed, to preserve her stitches.

He worked slowly, doing his best to be somewhat predictable so that she wouldn't tense or shift in surprise. His tongue traced slowly up and down her hot lips, circling her clit, before he shifted down again and circled her entrance. Every movement was precise, careful. The last thing he wanted to do right now was hurt her.

She let out soft breaths and moans as he slowly built her up, her fingers tightening in his hair whenever he did something she particularly liked, and even that she did carefully, nearly overcome with the sensation, but holding just enough control to keep from hurting herself.

He smoothed his hands over her thighs as her hand tightened in his hair, pushing his tongue into her slowly and rolling it against her, smiling a little. He closed his eyes, focusing on the noises she was making and the way she felt against his tongue.

It wasn't very long before he was leading her to a soft, gentle crescendo, her breath stuttering and her thighs tightening around him a little. She muttered a swear under her breath when she was able, hands relaxing in his hair.

He pulled away, kissing the inside of her thigh gently before looking up at her, admiring the way her skin was flushed, the way her breasts rose and fell with her breathing.

"Christ, I almost forgot how good you are at that," she breathed, only just realizing that she was still half dressed, a hand touching her shirt absently. "I'm positively winded."

He laughed, crawling up beside her and flopping down, bouncing just slightly on the mattress. "No stamina," he teased, smirking.

"Just breathing shallowly, I think," she chuckled, rolling carefully onto her side to face him, hand going to rest on his shirt. "Why are you still wearing this?"

"I was preoccupied. Plus, we match," he retorted, plucking her top between his fingers. "I'll trade you."

"Deal," she smirked, shifting to sit up and begin unbuttoning her shirt. It required less stretching than a normal t-shirt. "I'll take care of mine so a wrong movement doesn't ruin the mood."

"Likewise," he snorted, sitting up and starting to unbutton his shirt a bit awkwardly with his left hand.

She got done with hers in enough time to lean over and help with his, open shirt completely giving up on covering her chest. Which was alright, considering the situation and the fact that she had a petty smugness about the quality of her assets in comparison to Ines'. As soon as his shirt was open her fingers seeked out bare skin, sliding across his abdomen, her other hand pushing the shirt off his shoulders and then leaving it for him to get over his hands.

He pulled his left hand free and then worked the sleeve carefully over his right. He took a slow breath under her touch, smiling a little. He set his shirt aside and turned his attention back to her, reaching out to trace his good fingers over her collarbone. He kept a good distance from her bandages, eyes tightening just slightly at the bruising all over her chest. Still, he kept his touch light enough to be pleasant.

His touch brought back recollections of their past relationship, when he had pressed hard into bruises just to watch her squirm. Now, his touch made her eyes soften, her heart swell. She let her shirt fall off her shoulders as she leaned forward to kiss him again, lips soft against his, the only throwback to the past the way her nails rasped against his skin.

He smiled just a little at the gentle scrape of her fingers, but his own touch remained light. He had had enough of her hurting for the time being. The sadist in him was happy to hurt anyone but her constantly, and her most of the time, but he had spent too much time thinking she was going to die to enjoy her in pain at the moment.

He pushed her shirt further down her arms, nipping her lip playfully, just enjoying how she tasted, how she felt, the vibrancy of her pulse under his fingers when they found her wrists.

She shifted to get closer to him, still kissing him, her hands sliding up to cradle his jaw as she straddled his waist and settled into his lap, carefully leaning against him, tired of there being space between them.

He wrapped his arms around her, applying no pressure, rubbing his hands up her back slowly. He pulled away for air, smiling and rolling his hips up against hers just a little. "This would have worked better if you let me get my trousers off first," he muttered quietly.

"You were taking too long," she retorted, her hands re-familiarizing themselves with every plane and dip of his muscles, every ridge and scar, although she acted as though Jim's initials didn't exist. "I guess you're going to have to move me."

He closed his eyes as the tips of her fingers traced his words along the ridge of his collarbone. "I'm not in much of a mood to hurt you at the moment," he shot back.

She sighed because he was right, and kissed him once more before she shifted off him again, resettling herself by his side and busying herself by distracting him, lips trailing across his shoulder, nails trailing lightly down the curve of his back.

He hummed happily, stretching slightly, before shifting away and standing, just long enough to rid himself of the remainder of his clothes. Then he was back, his hands reaching out to find her hips, pulling her toward him gently.

She resumed her place straddling his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in to kiss him firmly again, impatient to feel him against her again, and not bothering to be too careful with herself. He would do that enough without her contributing to it.

He kissed her back, a touch roughly just because he could without concern. He shifted, and let out a groan as she finally rubbed against him. His body was thrilled about this opportunity after so long without her, and everything about him was picking up pace, his pulse thundering in his ears, urging him onward.

She rolled her hips down against him, trying to make him make the noise again, her hand with a light grip in his hair, teeth nipping gently at his lips. She'd missed the feeling of slotting against him like this, fitting perfectly despite their differences in size.

He ground up against her, need pooling in him. Not just lust- though there was plenty of that. He needed her. Needed the familiarity of fucking her, the normalcy of it. Needed to ingrain into every corner of himself the memorandum: Lorna Harrison was alive and well.

He got a grip on her arse, but didn't pull her, just pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing a bit short. "Lorna..." His voice contained the plea he would put to words.

"I know," she breathed, fingers flexing on the back of his neck, lifting herself up a little and reaching in between them, adjusting him and sinking down in one motion, a groan drawn out of her as he filled an aching gap inside her. She pressed her forehead against his harder, letting out a huff of air. "God, Sebastian, I missed you..."

He rocked his hips gently, not really moving yet, and nodded just a little. "I missed you, too," he said softly, voice low. His throat ached, he took a slow breath, getting control of himself before starting to roll his hips as best he could in this position, unwilling to let himself be that vulnerable for too long.

She kissed him again, shifting to move with him, letting out a sigh of pleasure. She'd missed this. Everything about him.

She had more freedom of movement than him, which at the moment wasn't exactly ideal. He shifted, supporting her weight in his arms as he leaned forward, setting her on her back. It was against his nature to be this gentle, and he knew it was probably bothering her, but with her chest still healing he wasn't taking risks. He made up for it a moment later, settling back between her legs and starting to move with a bit more purpose, his teeth finding her neck, scraping and biting, egging her on.

Any protests she'd had about the transition was lost in a sharp intake of breath as his teeth found her skin, one hand clutching the back of his neck, the other wrapped around his bicep - not that she came even close to having her fingers meet - and she swore under her breath as the angle changed, her eyes screwing shut.

He bit down hard, leaving a trail of bruises across her neck to make up for the restraint everywhere else. Even his hands were out of the equation- he needed his good hand for balance- So honestly, the sex was less than fantastic by most standards. He found he didn't give a flying fuck. He was with Lorna. His Lorna. That was all he cared about.

She cried out, nails leaving red crescents on his skin in response, and she had to restrain herself from pulling him harder against her, because as much as she wanted his weight on top of her, she had her chest to think of. But she couldn't bring herself to care. They were alive, and together, and she was happy to lose herself in him.

He growled as her nails gouged his back, smiling. He pulled back enough to see her face, to watch the red flush of her cheeks hungrily, meeting her gaze with an odd combination of hunger and relief. His hips rolled against hers with steadily increasing rhythm, and he bent to kiss her again, teeth tugging at her lips.

She kissed him back fiercely, her breath coming hard, maybe partially because she was doing her level best not to breathe deeply enough to hurt, and the increasing speed was starting to get to her, energy building up the back of her spine.

Some part of him realized that he wasn't wearing a condom, and he swore quietly, but didn't stop, just kept it in mind. Heat was spreading slowly up through his gut, and he wanted to shift, to grapple her closer, pin her against something and take her unmercifully. Instead he shifted his weight around onto his bad arm, freeing his left hand and shifting it between them, his fingers stroking across her slick, hot center, moaning against her lips as she tightened around his cock in response.

She jolted with a gasp, breaking away from the kiss as she came, swearing, "Fuck, Sebastian," into his shoulder as her fingers tightened ever further on him, toes curling on the sheets.

He groaned as she came around him, his own breaths short and uneven. He thrust his hips a few more times, but then pulled away, falling onto his back beside her and finishing himself off in a few short seconds. His back arched off the mattress slightly, and he groaned, falling limp beside her, catching his breath.

"Oh, right," she panted once she was able, still laying where he'd left her. "No condom - shoulda said something - got a implant."

"When- Ah. Jim. Right." He tried not to be disgruntled by that, digging around beside the bed until he found his boxers, wiping his stomach and hand off and tossing them the few feet to the laundry hamper. "Good to know." He rolled back toward her, looping his good arm over her waist.

She curled into him a little, still breathing a little hard but mostly back to normal except the light sheen of sweat on her skin. "I should have gotten one a long time ago," she snorted, letting her eyes close. "Would have saved me a lot of grief."

"Yeah," was his only response. He knew it was nothing to do with Jim versus him. Knew that she had likely gotten it because Jim insisted. But that was what rubbed him the wrong way- she had gotten it for Jim. To have sex with Jim. Something she had never done in the years they'd been fucking.

He shoved the thoughts away. It was a stupid line of inquest. "Why not just make it permanent?" he heard himself asking. "You've said you don't want kids."

She knew he was bothered, but that was a difficult thing to approach without causing him to bottle up, so she would need to do some careful sidestepping. "Because I hate infirmaries and I feel like I've spent enough time under the knife," she sighed in response, her hand shifting to his on her stomach, thumb brushing over his skin. She was silent for a moment. "I wasn't willing to risk going without it, with him. If I fucked up with the pills... I wasn't going to be Harley Quinn getting knocked up by the Joker. That means a bullet. And I guess I wasn't willing to have Jim be the one to kill me."

He immediately felt like an asshole, something that wasn't a very common feeling on his part. He shifted slightly, uncomfortably, and nodded. "Makes sense."

He fell silent, relaxing, letting his mind wander.

If it weren't for Jim... If it weren't for all of this. If it were just us... What would I want?

Before Keira, the answer was never questioned. He had never wanted children. Never. Never wanted to deal with the weakness, the exhaustion, the risk brought on by progeny. And that was even before factoring his own childhood experiences.

But then Keira... Keira had appeared. And despite his own fierce opposition to the idea, he found himself slowly drawn to her. Found himself proud of the girl with his face and his marksmanship, with her fiery disposition and hard work. She had wiggled her way into a spot in his affections. And now, staring down the barrel of grey hair, of old age, of an eventual retirement package from Jim in the form of a bullet, the thought of a legacy... And who but Harrison..?

He closed his eyes, tried to shake the thoughts off. These weren't thoughts he wanted to have. They were impossibilities. He didn't want children, he never had.

He shifted away and stood, heading for the bathroom and closing the door, taking a slow breath, and then taking a piss as an excuse for getting up.

She shifted to get under the covers when he disappeared into the bathroom, letting out a sigh, rubbing her eyes absently. Her uterus had always been a burden she hadn't asked for, and she would have considered just having the damn thing removed if she wouldn't have to deal with the hormonal fallout and the scarring that came with it. She'd had a few scares as a result of that decision, and always an underlying anxiety, something to be considered during the simplest of decisions.

She was tired of having to worry about it. Especially for Jim. Whatever would have happened to her, had she ended up pregnant, it would have been twisted, and her fault for letting it happen. Jim didn't protest when she told him she was getting the most expensive one, and she'd taken that for what it was.

He walked back out a few minutes later, having cleaned up properly and feeling more like himself. He climbed back into bed, shifting under the covers and reaching out to tuck her back against his chest. He'd spent too long without her there to do anything else.

She let out a contented sigh, extremely pleased to be back in his arms, and shifted to be even tighter against him. The hospital bed had given them a poor excuse of this. This was far superior.

He kissed the top of her head, a silent apology. He was tired, but not sleepy. He just wanted to lay there, listening to her breathe, every bit of her body pressed up against his.

"Is the cake still in the oven?" She asked after a long period of comfortable silence, her voice soft, weary. That was as much energy as she'd expanded in a long time.

"Fuck," was his quiet response. He let out a quiet groan of annoyance, but then slowly released his hold on her, standing up and walking out of the room, not bothering with clothes.

The cake was burnt, but not too badly, and he set it on the stove to cool, turning off the oven. By the time he got back, Harrison had curled up onto a ball, monopolizing the blankets. He rolled his eyes, and walked over, digging out a spot in the blankets for himself behind her and climbing in again. "It's not charcoal, so that's good."

"That is good. Charcoal isn't fun to eat," she murmured, shifting back into him. "I look forward to gorging myself on it."

"It is a bit crispy," he snorted. "But it'll serve." He pushed his hand through her hair, fingers twining through it absently.

She closed her eyes with a sound of contentment. She loved it when he played with her hair. It had been one of the first forms of affection he'd ever offered her, and she had memories associated with new safety that went along with it.

He smiled as she practically purred under his touch. "Fucking dork," he muttered affectionately.

"Fight me," she snorted, cracking an eye to look back at him. "Punk."

He raised a slow eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "And how do you think that would go, exactly?" he asked, tone amused.

"Uh, I think I would win," she grinned, being purposely obtuse. "I mean, just look at me."

His other eyebrow rose to join the first, a real smirk developing now. "Terrifying to behold. I'm trembling."

"Yeah, I fucking bet you are," she laughed, suddenly just extremely grateful he was back. When was the last time she had fun?

"Shuddup, pipsqueak," he muttered, tucking her back against his chest with a sigh.

She only hummed in response, shifting a little to bury her face in his neck, absorbing his warmth like a cat.

He sighed, relaxing, quiet for a bit. "How are you feeling?" he asked finally.

She shrugged a little. "I'm alright. Pain's okay. I've had worse."

He nodded a little. "Once you're both recovered... we need to start making a bid for the network."

"I know," she sighed, into his chest. "As much as I just want to take a break, yeah."

He nodded, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. "Think about it this way: the sooner we have the network back, the sooner we're away from Armetti and Adler."

She groaned in relief, leaning back a little to rub her eyes. "Fucking hell, I forgot we don't need her anymore with you back again. Thank God. Ugh, she's so irritating. I just want to punch her smug, posh face."

"Well, she'll be out of your hair. And dead, hopefully. Or at least stationed somewhere else." He tucked the blankets around her a bit more firmly. His good hand shifted from her hair down her side, wrapping around her torso to find her hand and lacing his fingers through her tiny ones. He could feel her ring butting up against his.

It was probably significant that they both wore their rings on the same hand, on the same finger, but if she ever said such a thing out loud things would get uncomfortable, so she kept quiet about it. Instead her mind wandered to Vincent. She was still consumed with fury about what he had done, but there was a limit to what she could do to him. Physically, she couldn't maim him more than he'd already been. But she was allowed to emotionally devastate him.

Well that was an idea. But the question was, how mad would Sebastian be if she told Vince they'd gotten married?

He closed his eyes, letting the silence stand, just holding her. He was feeling... oddly sentimental. And a touch brazen, and a lot uncertain, through today's kill had certainly helped. Eventually, he spoke again, voice odd in the quiet. "Have you ever considered the possibility that we'll get old?"

She was silent for a moment. "I suppose not," she answered, voice soft. "The furthest I'll ever look is five years. More than that always seemed too optimistic."

He nodded just a little, thumb rubbing over hers absently. "I think we could," he said after another silence.

She squeezed his fingers. "I don't think I'd mind that," she murmured. "Being old could be okay."

He nodded just a little, and shrugged, the hint of a smirk on his lips. "So far it isn't bad," he said lightly.

She laughed. "Yeah, you seem to be doing okay," she teased, smirking. "I'll join you eventually."

"Sooner than you think," he teased, chuckling quietly. He sighed, and then just bit the bullet. "I'm going fucking grey."

"Is that what happened? I thought somebody attacked you with half a bleach kit," she snorted, though her fingers tightened on his in support. "But hey, no big deal. You can totally pull off the silver fox thing."

He snorted slightly. "I hate it," he muttered, annoyed.

"If you want my help covering it up, I have plenty experience dyeing hair," she said, shifting to press a kiss to his cheek.

"It's not even how it looks," he sighed grumpily, though he struggled to keep up the mood as she kissed him. "It's that it's there. I'm not even forty, for fuck's sake."

"Everyone in positions of power and responsibility go grey early. It's not about how old you are, it's about how much stress you're under. Which is a lot," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

He snorted derisively, but didn't have a retort, so he just shifted a little and tucked her under his chin to avoid her looking at him like she'd won.

She accepted that for what it was, falling quiet. God, it was a strange thought, considering them growing old together. She still lived in a world where she could hardly believe that he thought reasons to leave her might not come up. This? She would never have even have considered it.

He spun the ring on her finger absently, silent again. He was basking, really. Basking in the relief of having her here, alive, in his arms, after so much pain and anger and fear and stress... She made him feel good. Like nothing else ever had. And she kept him sharp when he most felt like just stopping. The relief he felt was enough to make him a touch giddy, despite his attempts at grumpiness.

That, in retrospect, was really the only logical progression he could find later leading to what he did, then. Something he had rarely done before. Not unprompted.

"I love you." Quiet, just a breath and a bit of a tighter hug. He kept his eyes closed.

She squeezed his hand again, warmth flooding her chest. "I love you, too," she whispered.

She might be addicted to him, but god did she love him. She'd never had an addiction she'd actually felt good about before.

He sighed quietly. "You should get some sleep," he suggested after a moment.

She sighed. "You're right. I don't want to, though. I'm sick of sleeping."

He laughed softly. "Fine. That's fair. What do you want to do then?"

"I don't know," she sighed, rolling onto her back. "We already had sex... Made a cake... I kind of have a plan to fuck with Vince, though."

He shifted up onto his elbow. "Oh? Tell."

She held up her hand between them, palm facing her. The ring was evident on her finger. "I tell him something that will emotionally devastate him."

"Such as?" But his eyes were on her hand, and he had a sinking suspicion.

"I tell him we got married," she said, dropping her hand. "I'm not suggesting we do, obviously. Just tell him. He won't spread it around, he's not that dumb."

He could immediately see the appeal. Armetti's fury and pain would be boundless. But there were risks. "We'd have to tell Jim you were doing it. Otherwise if it got back to him... But I don't think he'd object. Not after..." He lifted his hand absently.

She gave him a slight shake of her head. "I don't know what you're talking about there."

"This," he said a bit sharply, waving the bandaged hand a bit. He took a breath, and his tone softened again. "After what Armetti did, I don't think Jim would object to you fucking with him. That's all." He shrugged.

She nodded. It hadn't occurred to her to get permission first. She was too used to having free reign with Armetti. And she wasn't sure how he would feel if he'd gotten news that they had fucking married each other.

He glanced over at her, and shrugged. "If you'd rather not tell Jim, that's fine, but if it get's back to him that we 'got married'..."

"Would he even care?" She asked, rubbing her eyes. "How is it any different from what we're already doing?"

He glanced at her incredulously. "You're serious?"

"Yes," she said, shrugging. "Jim only discourages fraternization among his high ranked employees so they don't get emotionally entangled. But the three of us have all come to terms with how that's not going to change. We've been together for a long time, Sebastian. Lived together for a long time. What's the difference?"

"The difference..." He sat up a little, incredulous. "The difference is it's marriage, Lorna. It's a fucking advertisement to the world. 'Here's my pressure point! Come get it!' Because we definitely need to highlight that right now." His heart was pounding. He'd gone too far, saying what he had. Why the fuck was she acting like this? "Not to mention the vast realm of interpersonal issues, not the least of which is who says I want to marry you, anyway?"

I may cry ruining my makeup
Wash away all the things you've taken
And I don't care if I don't look pretty
Big girls cry when their hearts are breaking

- Sia - Big Girls Cry -