When you get older, plainer, saner
Will you remember all the danger
We came from?
Burning like embers, falling tender
Long before the days of no surrender
Years ago
And well you know?

So smoke 'em if you got 'em
Cause it's going down
All I ever wanted was you
I'll never get to heaven
Cause I don't know how

Let's raise a glass or two
To all the things I've lost on you
Tell me are they lost on you?
Just that you could cut me loose
After everything I've lost on you
Is that lost on you?

- LP - Lost On You -

That stung. She pulled away from him, cheeks burning. "I wasn't suggesting we get married, Moran, don't get your fucking panties in a twist," she snapped, using anger to cover up the hurt feeling in her throat. "I was asking why Jim would fucking care. Also, even if we did, by the way, it wouldn't be an advertisement, because we've both been wearing the same rings for at least a year and half, and I like to think that neither of us are stupid," she spat, and suddenly unable to stay still, twisted and slid out of bed, gritting her teeth when her stitches pulled a little, and started angrily pulling on her clothes.

He sat up, watching her for a moment. "Where are you going?" he asked, voice empty, though he was a roiling mess of anger, confusion, and concern for her health.

"I thought I'd go tap-dancing," she snarled, her clothes half on, and she could no longer tell the difference between the pain caused by her injury and the pain caused by him. She couldn't make herself look at him. The desire to hurt him back was strong, and if he tried to stop her, the thin layer of resistance stopping her would fall apart. "Why, do you fucking care? I'm not leaving the base, so fuck off."

His eyes blackened slightly. "Look, I don't know what bug crawled up your ass and died, but you're not the one who has a right to be pissed right now. Sit the fuck down before you hurt yourself. You were in a fucking wheelchair this morning."

She let out a harsh laugh, buttoning up her shirt with white-knuckled hands. "Oh, I don't have a right to be pissed? Fuck you, Moran. I never have a right to be angry with you. You can fucking throw a fit about whatever you FUCKING please, and I'm not allowed to be furious right back at you because the second you feel an emotion you're not comfortable with, you're transported back in time to a place where whatever this is new, and fragile, and utterly controlled by you," she hissed, now completely dressed. "Here's a fucking news flash, asshole; this has been happening for almost FIVE, maybe SIX YEARS. You don't get to do this anymore! I'm sick of it! I'm done. I'm not just going to take whatever you feel like throwing at me and then come crawling back for forgiveness three days later. At work, you are in charge of me, but not. In. Here. Actually-" she laughed again, though she looked demented, her eyes stony on him, merciless, years of repressed anger welling to the surface. "This isn't your apartment this time. Get dressed and get the fuck out."

He considered her for a moment, expression blank. Then he stood, starting to get dressed. He buttoned his trousers and shirt without a word, fumbled with his hands for a moment, then swore quietly and stuck his left ring finger in his mouth, working the ring off with his teeth. He tossed it on the bed. "Find someone else to play house with," he muttered. "I'll be in reality." He turned and left without a word, grabbing his gun holster on the way out.

She sat down on the bed once he was gone and broke down, her head falling into her hands, a sob bubbling out of her chest. Part of her was trying to make her feel regret, but she shook it off. She was tired of living that way. Dancing around him, always afraid he'd shove a wall in her face. She wouldn't survive without him, but she didn't give a damn. If it took her wasting away to knock his pride down a notch, she was fine with that. What did she care? What did she have to lose? If he was gone from her life, and she didn't have to take care of Jim, there was nothing for her.

He walked down to his ruined flat with an icy calm that he hadn't used in ages. He walked in, closing the door behind him, and looked around the room before walking through and starting to right it. Putting the now-battered couch back in place, cleaning up the broken glass from a cabinet door that had shattered, returning the end table to its former position by the couch.

He set his gun on the coffee table, and went into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and staring for a while before closing it again, empty-handed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of painkillers the infirmary had given him, tipping two into his hand and tossing them back, before finding a glass of water to chase them down with.

He leaned against the sink, then, hands gripping the edge of the counter, just watching the water run. He could feel the coolness of the air where the ring had been.

He was an idiot. He had always been an idiot. Hadn't Jim warned him, back at the beginning of all of this? Warned him that she wouldn't be able to remain stable, to keep it separate.

He had seen it in her face, when he'd said he didn't want to marry her. It wasn't the disgust and dismissal he'd been desperately hoping for, though she rallied to it a moment later. If that had been all, he would have apologized and backed off. No. She'd been hurt. For just a moment, his words had hurt her. And that was terrifying and infuriating. He had trusted her. What a nauseating mistake.

It had been his fault, all of it. Starting the relationship, thinking it could work, allowing himself that weakness- the ring- God, the fucking RING. He should have destroyed it the instant he finished the assignment. But no. He'd been sentimental.

She eventually couldn't stay still any longer. She got up, tears still rolling down her cheeks, and walked out into the living room, to the liquor cabinet, and grabbed the bottle of scotch. Then she went into the kitchen, uncapped the bottle, took three long swallows, and threw out his cake.

Eventually he turned the water off, and walked back into the living room, sitting down on the couch. It groaned in protest, evidently not pleased with his weight after he'd thrown it across the room, but it held. He had options, he realized. He could spiral- could let the weakness overtake him and fall into a self-pitying hole, and Jim would kill him. He could retire... Same result, though not without honor. Or he could grit his teeth, cut out the infection, and get back to work.

He stood, walking into the bathroom and digging around until he found a set of clippers. He plugged them in, and then started cutting his hair, shearing off the months of growth that he hadn't bothered to neaten up, watching the short, off-blond clumps collect in the sink. Once he was back to his usual military cut, he shaved, and then removed his shirt. He considered the initials on the right side of his chest, and for a moment he considered cutting them off, but that was the sort of drastic start to a spiral he didn't need. Instead, he ignored them, walking over to get into the shower, leaving the water icy.

She went into the bathroom and got the painkillers they had given her out of the medicine cabinet, and then got into the bathtub clothes still on, and resigned herself to drinking herself unconscious, and took three of the pills at once, washing it down with the liquor. It was precisely the sort of thing Sebastian would have yelled at her for, and she didn't have access to heroin. There was nothing else to do.

He finished showering, and stepped out, drying off and going to get dressed, finding the med kit and changing the bandages on his hand. He pared them down until it was just the carefully splinted and wrapped trigger finger, and none of the other structural nonsense. He didn't have time for it.

Then he shrugged into his shoulder holster (on his right side, now) and his jacket, and headed out. It was time to begin work to reclaim the network. If he needed to do it himself, he would.

She managed to stay conscious for far too long, so she took two more pills and got out of the bathroom, both bottles in different hands, and now kind of hazy, got into her wheelchair and did a few half-assed wheelies before she left the flat, just wanting to get away. She wheeled herself back to the training yard, awkwardly stopping every time she wanted to take a swig of scotch. Inside, it had been cleaned up. She went back to their corner and just sat there, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, and because she was mad, she took another pill, and continued drinking until she passed out.

Someone found her three hours later, and that's when Jim was alerted. He put down the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an irritated breath, and then picked up his phone again.

Care to explain why the fuck Harrison is back in the ICU with an overdose? She was cleared because she was in your custody, Moran. JM

Despite himself, his stomach twisted when he read the text. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

I'm sorry, sir. It was never communicated to me that my monitoring her was necessary. She asked me to leave. I left. SM

Jim let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Now he had to fix their problems.

Come here. JM

He didn't bother responding, just left the security department (much to the relief of its occupants) and headed for the infirmary.

He didn't bother checking on Harrison. There was nothing he could do. He just headed straight for Jim's room, knocking quietly.

Run, my dear, as fast as you can
You killed me here, the blood's on your hands
Oh, I don't really think that you will ever understand
The person that I was, the person that I am
I'm different now, you're distant how, will we ever work this out?

You're always getting me high then you're pulling me low
Then you beg me to stay, but you want me to go
You're always telling me "yes", but your answer is "no"
If you want me to guess, I'm just a stranger you know
If you call this winning, why do I feel like a loser?
Yeah, yeah, I'm just a loser

- Falling in Reverse - Loser -

Pills 'n' potions
We're overdosin'
I'm angry but I still love you

- Nicki Minaj - Pills N Potions -