Samantha awoke to a desperate ache in her bladder. She had no idea how long she had been sleeping but it was about to cost her a renal infection. As she slid out of bed she was greeted with a dull pain in her abdomen.
"Oh, yeah," she muttered, tentatively feeling the bandaged area with her fingers.
She had had only a blissful few seconds before yesterday's memories came rushing to the front of her mind.
She paused and looked around the room. Where the heck was she? The décor was modern and expensive looking, stylish but not too fanciful. It could have been a holiday home perhaps.
She then spotted the door to an en suite and hurried to it as much as her injured body would allow. After relieving herself and washing her hands, she became suddenly alarmed by the reflection she caught in the mirror above the sink. Her hair was ragged and in knots. Dark rings circled her puffy eyes and her lips were dry and chapped. She was wearing a white shift that wasn't hers, and it was stained with sweat and blood.
"Good to be back to work," she sighed acerbically. She ran the shower and returned to the bedroom to look for her belongings. She found her clothes on a chair, torn and bloodstained. Her spare clothes would have been back at the flat she was staying at so she had nothing to wear but this soiled nightdress. Her phone was on the bedside table but the battery was dead. The gun she had carried the night she was attacked was predictably nowhere to be found.
She checked the drawers and wardrobe which were stocked with fresh towels and women's clothing. The clothes were chic and not exactly to her taste, but they seemed to be roughly her size so they would have to do. She grabbed a towel and made her way to the shower.
The water felt good and the warmth was comforting against her skin. She lathered some shampoo into her hair and felt her locks loosen and the texture return to normal again. She stayed under the shower until the water ran cold.
As she towel-dried, she noticed that her bandage had become damp and had lost some of its adhesion. She would need to replace it. After some more rummaging she found a First Aid kit in the bathroom cabinet. She peeled away her damp bandage and inspected her injury. The laceration extended across about three inches from her navel. The area around it was rather inflamed and some puss was visible between the sutures. Images of the previous night flashed in her mind. Of course she would have spiked a fever with this infection. She could only hope that it wouldn't delay her recovery time. Sighing, she dressed her injury with fresh bandages, wrapped herself in a towel and returned to the bedroom.
Finding something to wear with her injury was tricky. A lot of the clothes seemed to be a little too small for her, making any mid-rise jeans out of the question. The only other options were suit pants and pencil skirts but they would still be too painful for her around the waistline. She opted for a grey tunic dress with a cowl neck. It was a little tight around the bust but the rest of it flowed loosely around her body giving her injury the space it needed. The only shoes available were too small for her so she was resigned to wearing her lace-up boots instead. She couldn't bend over to tie the laces though so the boots were left loose. It looked a bit absurd with the dress.
She only realised how exhausted she was when she sat at the edge of the bed. The infection was taking its toll on her body. She wondered if she should check herself into a hospital. Would that make her vulnerable to another attack? She considered the possibility that the attack may have been a warning rather than an assassination attempt. But then that opened up a whole lot of new questions. She would need to discuss this with Mycroft.
Oh.
Her phone was dead.
She tried to recall the last time she contacted Mycroft. How long would she have to have dropped off the radar before he would send a search team?
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a steady, rhythmic banging coming from the next room. It wasn't until she heard someone moaning that she realised what she was hearing. Her ears burned, feeling intensely embarrassed at being witness to someone else's…passion. But who the hell else was in this building? Another memory from last night flashed in her mind, and this time she was remembering Moriarty crossing the room to her... Oh…
The noise was starting to get more rambunctious and she decided that she could no longer just sit here listening to it. She made her way to the door which apparently led out into a hallway. To her right were a couple of more doors she assumed led to other bedrooms. She took a left, which led her out to a landing overlooking a spacious living area. She descended the stairs carefully, each step a struggle against pain. She then noticed Moriarty, who was sitting on one of the luxurious sofas, reading and with earphones in his ears. He looked up as she approached and she stopped in her tracks. His eyes trailed down her body and back up again, probably thinking how ridiculous she looked right now. Despite the awkward circumstances at that moment, she found herself oddly comforted that he was here and not contributing to the noise upstairs.
Who's having sex? she mouthed.
Moriarty looked puzzled as he removed his earphones and listened.
"Oh god, are they at it again?" he said.
"What? Who?"
"Nika's having an existential crisis," Moriarty sighed as he resumed reading, "Got herself a young buck. On the plus side, at least they're getting along."
Samantha really had no words. Everything about this moment was just bizarre.
"I think you and I should talk," she said eventually.
"I suppose we should."
The noise upstairs grew louder again.
"Maybe somewhere else?" Samantha suggested.
Moriarty gave a grunt that was somewhere between agreement and disgust.
Samantha followed him out through the patio doors into a large secluded garden. The garden was particularly beautiful and its beauty was only enhanced by the mild spring morning. They strolled down a small gravel path. Samantha struggled to keep pace with her injury but declined Moriarty's help when he offered. They reached a bench at the bottom of the garden that was adorned with a floral canopy. Samantha carefully sat, stretching out her legs so as not to put pressure on her abdomen.
"How are you feeling?" asked Moriarty as she settled into a comfortable position. She thought it odd for him to ask something that would imply concern.
"Not great," she replied stoically.
"Well you look like shit."
She choked.
"Please don't make me laugh," she said, suppressing a chortle, "I'll pop a stitch."
"Well I suppose we can't have you busting your guts all over the place. I'm not cleaning up after you again."
"Oh no. Can't interrupt you brown-nosing Yakuza now, can we?" Samantha derided, but not without a touch of humor in her tone, "I suppose there's a reason you had me patched up and taken here? I can't imagine it was solely out of the goodness of your heart."
"What?" Moriarty gasped as if overly offended, "Do you mean to imply that I would have an ultimatum in helping the woman that utterly destroyed me and my empire? How presumptuous of you, Samantha."
She gave him a look.
"Ok fine, you got me. But you owe me some answers too. I did save your life after all."
"You did not save my life," Samantha corrected, "But you did do me a favor. So tell me, what was it all for? I recall you said something about my attacker having some connection to Tatsumi."
"You were in the suite where Tatsumi was killed. Somebody obviously didn't appreciate you snooping around. If we can find out who, it could lead us to his killer."
Samantha frowned. This raised several more questions, but one seemed more pertinent.
"And what is your connection to the Tatsumi family?" She enquired.
"Ah, ah! That's two questions," Moriarty scolded, "It's my turn."
"What is this? A question for a question?"
"Exactly that. Now, tell me why you were there that night."
"I thought you had it all figured out," Samantha cooed.
"Mmm... I know you're working for Mycroft. I don't know specifically why you were at the hotel though."
Samantha considered how much trouble she would be in if she started sharing sensitive mission details to Jim Moriarty of all people. However, she had sought him out for reasons specific to this mission so perhaps divulging what she knew already would benefit her in the long run. She sighed and explained how she tracked the paper trail to Ishikawa and how the only information she managed to squeeze out of him was the address of the hotel.
Moriarty made an intrigued noise in his throat and said, "What was in the safe?"
"That's two questions," she grinned.
Moriarty chuckled, turning his gaze to the garden. There was an undeniable familiarity about all this and Samantha wasn't sure how to feel. On one hand, Moriarty's past actions were unforgivable. The situation he had put her in had forced her to give up everything about her old life. If she didn't have the support of John and Mycroft back in London, her resentment could have pushed her over the edge. On the other hand, their ease of conversation was pleasantly nostalgic. She could, at the very least, strike a temporary alliance with him while she was here. What she would do with him after…well…she would have to cross that bridge when she came to it.
"So," she piped, "You and the Yakuza. Start talking."
Moriarty regaled his side of the story from the assassination attempt on Nika to running into Samantha at the hotel.
"So has Rin just relieved you of any burden or…?"
"Oh no, she still holds all the power here and she could have her way with me any time she likes," Moriarty replied, "However, I have assured her that our currently wavering agreement will be profitable to her in the future. I scratch her back, she scratches mine and ensures that I have the means to support her business should she ever need it down the line. All I need from her is a leg-up and I'm back to being good ole fashioned Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal. And that was two questions."
"Fine. You can ask two this time then."
"What was in the safe?"
"I don't know. It was empty. But I told you that and you just wasted a question."
"Do I get a do-over?"
"No."
"Damn, good thing I have a spare."
Samantha fought a smile.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked and Samantha rolled her eyes.
"No," she said curtly before changing the subject, "What is this place?"
"We're currently located just outside the city," said Moriarty, gesturing around him with his arms, "The property belongs to the Tatsumi family. Nice digs, eh? There's decent security in place so you'll be safe here while you recover. Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No," Samantha huffed, "And since we're onto a new subject, how are you free, and what the hell have you been doing this whole time?"
"Ah! Now that's a story for another time."
"I have all day."
Moriarty peered at her, his features scrunched in exaggerated concern.
"Are you sure?" he queried, "You look a bit peaky to me. Maybe you should lie down."
Samantha opened her mouth to protest before realising he was probably right. She felt totally drained, and she was finding it difficult to distract herself from the pain any further. Besides, she still needed to touch base with Mycroft and reassure him that she was still alive… at least for now.
"You think Nika and her beau are done bumping uglies?" she enquired.
Moriarty laughed mellifluously.
"God I hope so," he chuckled, "Only one way to find out I suppose." He stood and began making his way back to the house. Samantha intended to follow but she was having trouble standing up in a way that didn't send a dagger of pain through her stomach. Moriarty quickly noticed her hesitation. He casually turned on his heel and extended a hand.
"Do you need help again?" he said, amusement cracking the corners of his eyes. He seemed to be taking a certain amount of pleasure out of her current vulnerability. She sighed despondently and took his hand. She then anchored her heels into the ground and used his arm as a lever to pull herself up while keeping her body poker straight.
"Thanks," she muttered, finding her balance. She glanced at her hand in his and quickly snapped it away, feeling flushed. Moriarty raised his eyebrows, his mouth taut as if suppressing a grin.
"Come on then," he said, with a nod of his head, and they strolled together back towards the house.
