Samantha took a card from the top of the deck and flipped it over.

"Ace!" she said, grinning at her competitors, "Bottom's up!"

She brought her beer bottle to her lips and began drinking. She nudged Jirou to her left who followed suit, as did Abramovich and Moriarty. Her stomach strained at the rapid intake of carbonated liquid, but Jirou was almost on his last legs and so she held out for as long as she could muster. That wasn't to say that she was still up against a large Russian and an Irishman but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Suddenly, Jirou coughed and sprayed beer all over the coffee table. He then sprang up and ran towards the bathroom. Samantha slammed her bottle down and cheered.

"One down, two to go," she said.

From somewhere in the house, Jirou could be heard violently throwing up. Abramovich sighed, put down her drink and said, "I should see if he is ok."

Samantha took the deck of cards, which fortunately were spared from Jirou's eruption, and began to shuffle.

"Guess it's just you and me, Mr. Moriarty."

Moriarty rattled the bottle in his hand.

"I don't think I have enough beer," he said.

Samantha grinned.

"I don't like the look you're giving me right now," Moriarty said warily.

Samantha reached up from where she sat on the floor and pulled the bottle of saké she had stashed between the armchair cushions.

"Good thing I found this in the cupboard earlier then," she said as she left it in the middle of the table.

"Of course you did."

"What's the matter? Afraid of losing?"

"This is a stupid game."

"Why? Because you can't use that big brain of yours to win?"

Moriarty opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again with a roll of his eyes.

"Thought so," Samantha placed the deck on the table, "Your turn."

"I never pegged you as a lush," he said, taking a card.

Samantha huffed.

"I've been bed-bound and on meds for ten days," she said, "I think I deserve a little fun."

Moriarty revealed his card.

"Three," he said, "Three is me."

He then unscrewed the saké and downed a shot straight from the bottle. He grimaced as he put the drink down again.

"You wouldn't happen to be hiding whiskey under that cushion would you?"

"'fraid not."

There was a comforting famliliarty to his demeanor at that moment. His features were soft from both alcohol and tiredness. His hair had begun to free itself of the confines of his styling product, and he sat cross-legged in jeans, socks and a shirt unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled to the elbows. Samantha reached across and grabbed a card. She smiled.

"Two," she said, showing Moriarty, "Two to you."

"Oh come on!" he whined, reaching for the bottle again.

She couldn't help but laugh. While the possible consequences of fraternising with the likes of Jim Moriarty and his associates crossed her mind, she had to admit that she needed this. Recreation was something she had little time for and it was something she was severely lacking in these days.

"I swear if this is a plot to get me inebriated-"

Samantha threw her head back with laughter.

"Oh Mr. Moriarty," she said through tears, "When will you learn to chill?"

She crawled to his side of the coffee table, grabbed the saké and took a swig.

"Pretend," she continued, raising a finger, "that tonight we are not mortal enemies. Or co-workers or whatever. Pretend that we are two old pals catching up over drinks."

He gave her a look.

"Am I your mortal enemy?" he said in mild surprise, "Well gosh, I am flattered. I mean I have lots of enemies, sure, but mortal enemies... Maybe I'm not trying hard enough for one."

"Maybe you just kill them all before they've reached mortal status. Can't have too many people making your life difficult, eh?"

Samantha quickly downed another shot of saké and turned her gaze away. Her common sense told her not to poke the bear but its screams were drowned out by the blanket of alcohol.

"We don't have to be enemies," Moriarty said after a beat.

"You want to be besties?" she swung her head back to him with a sarcastic smile.

"Well what are you going to do after all this is over? You going to go back to kissing Mycroft's arse?"

She looked down to her lap, her smile gone.

"I guess so," she said curtly.

Moriarty snorted.

Samantha slammed the bottle down.

"What?" she said hotly.

"Oh come on, you are wasted on the British government. Look what they have you doing, pissing about with Yakuza when you could doing so much more."

"I like what I do," Samantha protested.

"Mycroft is smothering you with rules and procedures," Moriarty's lip curled in disgust, "He's softened you. The Samantha I know would never have gotten stabbed by a petty thug-"

Samantha stood quickly and stormed out of the room. It was hard to say what exactly got to her just then but her throat was tight and her eyes burned with angry tears.

She made her way to the bathroom but she could hear Jirou through the door retching, and Nika mocking him relentlessly. She turned and headed back upstairs to the en-suite in her room. She clutched the sink with both hands and stared into the mirror.

He will not do this. He will not get to you. He will not get inside your head.

She took a breath and suppressed the anxiety that was starting to bubble up.

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.


The en-suite toilet flushed as Samantha emerged. She was momentarily startled when she saw Moriarty leaning against the door frame, but she then rolled her eyes and turned away.

Moriarty was anything but finished with her.

"I'm rebuilding my empire," he said.

"Good for you." Samantha was leaning onto the window sill, her back turned to him.

"You will join me."

"Well I'm sorry to inform you Mr. Moriarty, but when this is over, when we are done here, you will be shipped back to the UK in handcuffs and tried in a court of law for everything you have done."

Moriarty blinked. There was a moment of nothing before he felt the anger surge through his body. The snitch. The rat. He was disgusted. Mycroft and Sherlock and John Watson and all that simple London life had ruined her. She was one of them now, not her own person, not the unyielding woman he met years ago.

"I should have killed you," he muttered, regret dripping from his words.

She spun to look at him, her green eyes wide with indignation.

"Then why didn't you?" she snarled, "Put me out of my goddamn misery so I wouldn't have to put up with you anymore."

His face was hot now, the anger rising and rising until he was sure he would no longer be able to contain it. Samantha stepped up to him, squaring off with him face-to-face.

"You had ample opportunity," she said, her eyes boring into his, "All those times I was made vulnerable to you, all those times you had power over me, but you never did. Were you really waiting for me to submit to being your pawn, even though you know what I can do to you, even after all I have done to you and can still do to you? You could have killed me a thousand times over you goddamn idiot. You could kill me right now - just put your hands to my throat and squeeze - so why don't-?"

"Because I'm in love with you!"

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could catch himself saying them. He wasn't sure what he was feeling just then but the look of disgust on Samantha's face was disheartening.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her wrist as she pushed past him. Then everything happened inexplicably fast.

His hands were in her hair, hers beneath his shirt. He was falling into her causing her to crash backward into a dresser. Without loss of momentum she sat up on the dresser and tightly wrapped her legs around his waist. They were both breathless, the years of tension between them exploding in passionate fervour.

Moriarty batted away the thoughts that creeped up in his mind - the doubts, the what-ifs, the warnings. He ignored his better judgement because he just wanted this. God, did he want this. He could deny it over and over and over but it never made it any less true. And if there was anything that was ever more true in this entire god-forsaken universe it was that he wanted her more than anything. More than wealth or power or intellect or -

She stopped suddenly, withdrawing her clawing limbs and turning her head to the side. Moriarty frowned, searching her for an explanation when a shadow on the floor caught his eye. He looked back to see Nika standing in the doorway. He caught a fury in her eyes just before she turned and disappeared again. He swung back to Samantha catching her lips with his but she was less than reciprocal. She gave him a look that told him he knew what he had to do.

Moriarty sighed, his passion quickly extinguished.

"Shit," he said, and he left to pursue Nika.