Harry had always thought he'd end up in hell. He was not good enough for heaven and the main part wasn't even the job. He was somehow sure his dad was in heaven now. He was more than certain that Paddy would wind up there.
But it felt like heaven. Arthur crying out right after the gunshot and the only pain he felt was the dull pulsation in his bottom and the scraped elbows from his fall. He also fell on his back when Michele kissed him but no additional hurt here.
Or Michele's lips were just a damn strong painkiller.
The Sicilian grinned at him afterwards and Harry was glad that he got off him the next second because he didn't need him to know what that cat-like grin did to the Irish. He might not see the boner but feeling it was another thing.
"Now, Arthur, you won't need this anymore" Harry heard the other say and immediately pushed himself upwards, taking a look at the scenery while he got on his feet.
Arthur was on his side, leaning on his elbow and gritting his teeth. Tears gathered in his eyes and he couldn't stop pained whimpers escaping from his mouth every now and then as well as heavy breathing, the leg with the shot foot laid still while the other convulsed and wiggled. The gun was in front of him until Michele hunkered down to pick it up.
"You might hurt somebody and how terrible would that be?" he said and Harry couldn't decide if the endless hate in Arthur's or the sweet, sly victory in Michele's face was nicer.
He wanted to take this moment and hang it framed on his bedroom wall.
"This is not over" Arthur hissed, causing the other's smile to spread from ear to ear:
"Oh, really? Tell me, what's the ace up your sleeve? You have gun proof shoes and are only playing along to please us?"
"That's a very clever theory, give me the gun and let me test it" Harry said and the Sicilian laughed, locking the gun and shoving it in his pocket:
"Oh bello, you already have such impressive guns, handing you one more would be unfair" he purred, running his hands up and down Harry's arms before he went to cup his face, pressing another kiss to the laughing mouth.
Harry replied to it and to the next one, letting his own tongue poke at Michele's which had darted out to see if it would make the other open his mouth. Michele dug his fingers into the messy hair and Harry put his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.
They would have gone on like this for forever probably, but of course the Englishman had to spoil the party again:
"If you plan to torture me … with your face sucking until I … I die of blood loss, then I would like to propose a last wish – shoot me in the … head or go get a bloody room."
They ignored him and Harry instead pulled Michele as close as possible, hands crossed behind his back and lazily resting on his arse:
"Is this a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
Arthur groaned and closed his eyes. Michele instead chuckled, fingers trailing from his chest to his belt buckle:
"Well, is that a phone in yours or are you just happy to see me?"
Arthur groaned even louder: "I hate you pretentious, nasty wankers."
Harry put one hand away and pulled the phone out: "No, just a phone, Michele."
"That is a pretty flat phone for what I felt" Michele whispered, brushing part of the Irish's fringe out of his blushing face. "But actually, it is better than nothing. Could I have it for a second?"
"What do you want with it?"
"Take care of this kill joke here" he said, nodding towards Arthur. "The twins can take him to the hospital."
"I see" Harry said, handing him the phone. He felt kind of disappointed when he turned away. He hadn't noticed but he had missed being with somebody over the last years.
As he spoke Italian into the phone, the Irishman turned to Arthur. The blond had sat up but hadn't moved the leg with the shot foot.
"Don't look at me like that" he snarled at Harry who only grinned.
"Not like what?"
"You didn't do anything. It was all Vento, so knock of that … condescending grin."
Harry leant down to him: "How else should I get to your level if I don't condescend? Look at you! Crawling in the mud because everything failed – I broke the box open, Charlie taught your bloody minion a lesson … And yes, Michele's little helpers shot you in the foot."
"They have a name, you two" Michele joined the conversation, getting a "Sorry" from Harry and a "As if I'd care" from Arthur.
"Oh, you should care Arthur, because they are so nice and will take you to the hospital. Be the gentleman you always say you are, will you?"
Arthur bit his tongue. "Of course. After all I am one unlike you savages."
"Savage yourself" Harry said, shoving the phone Michele had given him back in his pocket when they heard a car coming closer. The red Mito stopped seconds later a few metres away from him and the twins quickly got out.
"Alright, we are not gonna touch that" they said in unison with their eyes on Arthur and Harry had to snort, which made the Englishman interrupt his efforts to get on his feet on his own to glare at the Irishman.
"Marco, Lorenzo, please, a bit more professional" Michele said with a smug smile and they sighed, synchronously grabbing one arm each and pulling Arthur on his legs.
"Ouch!" Arthur cried out, gritting his teeth and glaring at them but they only rolled their eyes, one putting his arm around his neck.
"Oi" Harry said after they got him in the backseat, one already having opened the driver's side.
"Thanks for saving my arse."
"Well, it's our job to look out for Michele" one of the twins said, the other only grumbling something and getting behind the wheel. "So we had to do something."
"Still, this deserves a thank you."
Harry didn't know if it was on his own accord or if Michele had given him a look behind his back but after a few seconds the other said: "You're welcome."
Harry could see Arthur saying something but didn't hear anything; same went for the other twin's reply. He started the car and within a minute Harry saw it getting smaller and smaller in the distance.
"Well then!" Michele said, making him cringe, and stepped up to him. "Do you want to go back to your hotel or stay a little longer?" He rubbed over his arms: "Not here, of course. It can get pretty nippy once the sun went down."
Harry looked at him for a bit and didn't answer. Not that he had to think about it – He just really liked looking at the other.
"Didn't you say something about a good bottle of wine?" he asked with a faint smile.
Michele cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head: "That would take quite a while if we don't want to waste wine." Harry grinned and he carried on: "And it is pretty late already."
"I've been home later, trust me."
"But not when you had to work the next day. Not when there was something important, right?"
"Michele, if you want me to stay for the night just say it" Harry said and the other smiled:
"Alright. Would you like to stay for the night?"
"I would like but there are several reasons why I can't."
"Really? Which ones?"
"Well, I have nothing to wear for tomorrow."
"You can go back to the hotel before we meet – You'll have to talk with the others before anyways, don't you?"
"I have nothing to wear for the night."
"I have a guestroom so if it is about me seeing you half naked, don't worry, doesn't have to happen. If you are royally uncomfortable sleeping in underwear I can even lend you something."
"The others would be terribly worried."
"Nothing a phone call couldn't clear up."
"I don't want to cause any more trouble."
"After what we went through the last two days I really don't think you can call this trouble anymore."
"I would have to endure Charlie pretending we did it for quite some time."
Michele laughed and shrugged then, shoulders still slightly shaking:
"Well, for that kind of problem I have no solution."
Harry smiled again while looking at him.
God, please stay like this, so sweet and kind. Moment, linger on …
"I think I can live with it" he said. "May I take your hand?"
"Of course" Michele answered and with their fingers intertwined, they went back.
"I think I missed this" Harry said halfway to the property.
"Missed what?" Michele asked with a curious expression.
"This" the Irish answered, turning their hands upwards and kissing Michele's knuckles. "Doing all this cheesy lover stuff."
"Oh, so the big tough Irishman doesn't mind clichés so much in the end?"
Harry grinned and kissed him on the lips: "It's not cliché, it's just really really cheesy."
"Don't you mean romantic then?" he asked.
"Eh, all the same" Harry answered and Michele chuckled again:
"No, it's not."
"Well, to me it is" he said impatiently and the Sicilian sighed:
"Either you just have no appreciation for the fine art of love or this is one of those nasty north European traits."
"Ah yes, you southerners are all about amore and living life full of heart" he gave back and Michele opened the gate with a small smile:
"Dolce vita is what we aim for."
"Vita means life, right?"
"And dolce is sweet" Michele said, pulling Harry inside, close as if he wanted to kiss him, but instead just gazed at him. The Irish noticed the sparkle again.
"Like you" he said, poking his nose and Harry had to cackle, still grinning while Michele locked the gate. He gave the Irish another kiss once he was finished, his hands had starting to run up and down Harry's arms again.
"Could it be that you really like my arms, Michele?" Harry asked and the Sicilian bit his lip, gaze at said arms:
"They are really nice looking arms … they are feeling good too … Bet they'd feel even better if there wasn't a shirt on them."
"Should I go Chippendales and rip my sleeves off?" Harry asked with a grin that almost went beyond his face when Michele laughed again.
"Oh hells yeah, please" he said then. "But let's go inside first if you want to strip for me."
"Of course" Harry said, following him to the door. While the other opened the door he turned around to take a look at the sky.
The sun still hadn't set all the way, a small strip still visible over the cliff they had just left. Just two more minutes and it would disappear behind it, only dimly lighting his surroundings but still painting the sky red …
"Harry?"
He shook his head and turned to the other, following him inside.
"Go to the living room, I'll get the wine. Living room's there and please don't look into other rooms."
Michele had opened the door opposite to the dining room as he said this, making sure Harry went inside before he left down the hall.
The living room was as big as the dining room, bigger even, and kept in brown, orange and golden colours. To his right was a huge, comfortable looking armchair, surrounded by three shelves going under the ceiling, in the corner opposite to him was a long sofa, one end pointed to his left, the other at the shelves.
And to his left was the same type of window he had already seen in the dining room; two more armchairs and a little table beneath it.
"Do you like the view?" Michele asked when he came back and Harry turned away from the window, sliding his phone back in his pocket after he had sent the others a message:
"The stuff outside or you?"
He noticed that he had gotten rid of the gun.
The Sicilian laughed and went over to him to place the bottle as well as two wineglasses on the table:
"Both."
"My Sicilian surroundings are very beautiful, thank you" he answered and Michele kissed him. Once Harry closed his eyes he realised how tired he was. It was like all of the weight fell off, all of the adrenaline from before sunk at once.
"Michele, how about we kill the bottle some other time?" he whispered. "I'm really tired."
"Of course, bello. Hopefully we will have plenty of occasions. Just wait, I'll get the guest room ready."
"Don't bother" the Irish just said laconic, going straight to the sofa and falling face first on it.
"Gooood, I love your sofa" he moaned, Michele already laughing like a maniac, and Harry turned around.
"Yes, here I'll stay, good night Michele."
It took a couple more seconds, almost half a minute before Michele caught his breath:
"Harry don't be silly."
"You don't have to make the bed, I don't have to get up, everything is fine."
He sat up and started to take his shoes off, Michele sitting down behind him with a frown on his face:
"You won't sleep that well here."
"Oh, trust me, I have slept well in worse places, it will make no difference where I sleep here" he answered, unbuttoning his waistcoat and putting it over the couch's back rest. Leaning against Michele's shoulder, his eyes shot up at the Sicilian: "Would you let me lie down?"
Michele just looked back at him, turning his head to kiss him on the hair. Then he grabbed his chin, pulling him back for a kiss on the lips.
And another one. And one more. The kisses were returned by Harry, open mouthed, tongues pushing at each other, sloppy and intense as Michele sucked and nibbled at his bottom lip.
"Sorry" Michele whispered into the silence after the last of the many kisses, placing a chaste one on the swollen lips. "But your face just looked … too adorable. Like begging for a kiss. And then I got carried away …"
"It's fine, it's just kisses after all" Harry whispered back, clearing his throat. "I am really tired though …"
"Do you want me to leave?"
The Irishman gave him an utterly confused look: "Well, I didn't expect you to sleep on the couch anyways?"
Michele grinned: "And if I'd like to?"
"You won't sleep well."
The Sicilian's hands went up his arms: "But when there's no Harry in my bed I won't sleep well either." -
"In that case you can stay here …" Harry said with a smile, but added emphatically as the other took his shoes off: "And we'll sleep together. Nothing more."
"Won't go any further than those kisses unless you tell me to" Michele said, pushing his shoes aside and laying down on the couch. Head against the pillows, he opened his arms: "Come here, bello."
Harry chuckled, crawling up to him and pressing one more kiss to his lips:
"Good night darling."
"Buona notte tresoro."
Harry turned around, back towards Michele. The pillows were fluffy and the sofa was fortunately upholstered with textile instead of leather. Just as he wanted to tell Michele that the arm in his neck was yet getting a bit uncomfortable, the other shifted, pulling his arm away and rubbing over his side with the other.
"You know what other part of your body is also exceptionally great?" he whispered and kissed Harry's neck.
"Which one?" he asked back tiredly. The tiredness in his voice was gone when he had to yelp the next second.
Michele squeezed his arse once more, chuckling: "This one here."
With another kiss on the neck, he withdrew his hand and put it around his waist: "Sleep well."
"Michele, you touched the butt."
The other snorted, shuffling even closer: "Should I have not? Didn't saw a sign around here that said Don't touch the artworks."
Harry giggled, ending it with a noisy exhale as Michele pressed a few more kisses to his neck, then getting his face away from the back of his head.
Despite being tired as hell, Harry couldn't fall asleep immediately.
Mindlessly, he put one hand on Michele's to caress the back of it with his thumb.
When was the last time I have spooned with somebody? Sure as hell forgot how nice it feels.
The flat shoes hitting the tar wasn't the only noise but the loudest in the small street.
Sophie hadn't run until she turned into her street and saw her house.
In that moment something in her had sped up and her feet had almost started to move faster on their own accord, not caring if the shoulder bag was slamming against her hip and thighs or if the cable of her earphones swung wildly from left to right. Her feet just wanted to run and everything else had to adjust.
Pressing her bag to her side and putting her headphones into her trouser pocket, she came to a stop before the gate of the fence surrounding her house, panting heavily as she pressed down the handle.
After closing it, she turned around and looked at the house.
Nothing had changed at first glance. At a second glance … Perhaps the colour of the window frames was getting cracked. Maybe the ivy had grown even more in the little time she was away.
"Aww, come on, why do you look so old?" she said with a frown, walking the short cement path to the door, looking for the key in the mess inside of her bag.
After opening the door, she waited. The sounds of the city, cars passing the main road around her borough, birds singing, people talking, all of this melting into one big swoosh the further it was away, the low buzzing noise of a huge city.
From inside she couldn't even hear the grandfather clock in the office upstairs.
Nobody here to welcome me …
"Hello Sophie!" somebody greeted her, one of her neighbours.
"Hello Alby!" she answered before closing the door as he continued on his way.
That's my job! It's not me who needs to be welcomed!
Dropping her bag on the floor, she went to the kitchen, first steps still hesitant as if she was waiting for something.
"Just a little hello though?" she muttered, looking around the room.
In the silence she heard the deep freezer buzzing in the storage.
"I always knew you loved me the most" Soph said, opening the storage door and patting the freezer before taking out one of the countless instant meals.
As it was turning in the microwave, she looked around. The kitchen was as clean as she had left it (which was only half-decent, but cleaner than it looked on other days the siblings were at home) and bored as she was, she looked into the rest of the rooms on ground level. All of them were in the same condition, but as she went around in the living room, she noticed the layer of dust on the fireplace.
The top of it was filled with picture frames of her family; pictures of herself, of her father, Harry, her mother Freya, Paddy and on some you could even find Charlie.
She brushed over the thick frame of one that kept four pictures. You could see Harry as a baby on all of them: In the hospital bed, sleeping on the couch together with Freya, in a buggy with Aaron behind him and on the knees of Charlie's mother Gwendolyn.
As she rubbed the dust between her fingers, the microwave bleeped and after she started it again, she went to cupboard to go get a duster.
Whistling into the silence, she decided to turn on the stereo in the living room.
"And they say, she's in the Class A Team, stuck in her daydream…"
Having been exposed to mostly 'summer songs' whenever she had turned on the radio over the last time, it surprised her to hear such a slow song.
"And they scream, the worst things in life come free to us" she started to sing along while grabbing the frames, starting with the biggest one in the last line. The textile went quickly over the glass, dusting off moments that in reality had gathered dust a long time ago.
Freya and Aaron on their wedding. Freya as a young woman, barely 18 years old. Her father around 20 years with a haircut and a moustache that made Soph snort whenever she had to look at it. Her parents on holidays in Greece. Aaron together with William McAlistair, family friend and, as she later found out, business partner of her father. The frame with Harry's baby pictures. More of her brother, most pictures taken on some beach nearby but she couldn't recall which one.
She loved the picture of him trying to eat a shell and she couldn't even pinpoint why. Maybe because her mother looked at the sea, not paying attention to the boy on her arm – and her father had rather photographed his son trying to eat a shell instead of stopping him from gnawing on the hard, dirty thing.
She moved on to the frames in the next line.
Harry on his father's shoulders. Harry and Gavin, William's son, building something with branches, the Scottish boy grinning from ear to ear. She smiled and brushed his face gently with the duster before putting it back: "You haven't changed at all, I believe."
Freya together with Millie, Gavin's mother, both woman laughing and wind blowing through the blonde and red hair. If there was one picture she liked the most of Freya, it was this one. Her mother, who she never met, didn't look that strange to her on this picture. The pale face with red cheeks and nose and a laughing mouth made her look alive.
You two are walking talking copies of Aaron with Freya's freckles, but Harry got his mother's nice facial features Soph remembered Gwen's words.
She was right. Freya reminded her of Harry in this one.
"But lately, her face seems, slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries, they scream, the worst things in life come free to us …"
She put the picture back, moving on. Harry and Charlie playing football. Paddy and Aaron working in the front yard. Her mother planting some flowers together with Gwen, Harry curiously looking at their work. Paddy with the two boys on each arm, both of them holding a flower in a cup.
Freya and Aaron on the beach. Gavin and Harry building a sandcastle. Harry after his first day of school. Harry after his fifth day of school, totally exhausted and carried on Paddy's shoulders. Harry doing homework. Aaron and Harry in the park, collecting autumn leaves. A very blurry picture of a squirrel. Harry and Paddy beside a snowman, both grinning from one ear to another. Freya reading a book. Aaron and Harry on a sledge. Harry and Charlie scrambling on the sledge, Aaron and Connor, Charlie's father, talking in the background.
Harry dozing under a tree on a blanket with his mother. Freya knitting something, her belly already pretty round. Harry with the tiny jacket his mother had knitted. Freya and Paddy on a bench in the park, Harry chasing after a pigeon.
Sophie in the hospital bed. Aaron standing in the kitchen with his daughter. Sophie and Paddy sleeping on the couch. Harry sitting on the front porch, holding his sister, who was wearing the jacket from a few pictures ago.
Soph knew that that jacket still was somewhere. She wondered if it was safe where it was and not already eaten by moths.
Sophie's christening. Sophie and Harry sitting on a blanket in the front yard, the little girl clutching at the sheep plushie her brother showed her. Sophie on Paddy's arm in front of a sheep meadow, little hands reaching out to touch the animals. Harry and Sophie in the Zoo. Sophie reading something, the yak plushie from the zoo next to her. She still remembered how she had wandered off and had tried to climb into the yak compound on that trip to pet the "fluffy cows." Mainly because it was one of those family anecdotes that never died.
Sophie on Harry's arm, trying to climb on a tree with his help. Harry on his confirmation. Sophie on her communion, both pictures in the same frame.
She wiped a streak of hair out of her face as she put the pictures back. She knew the little girl with flowers in the long ginger hair and the gapes in the wide smile but it was hard to believe that it was her. Something had changed over the years and it wasn't just the haircut and the permanent teeth.
The last picture was one of Freya and Harry again, a close up of their faces, Harry probably sitting on her lap.
As simple as this picture was, it confused Soph through its placement – completely out of line with the other pictures of her mother.
The bleep of the microwave jolted her out of her thoughts and the picture out of her hands. With the ugly sound of glass bursting, it hit the floor and Soph whispered "Fuck!" almost scared. Ignoring the microwaves continuous bleeping, she quickly hunkered down to pick it up.
The glass was still in the frame but cracked up to the point where you could barely see the picture behind it.
"Shit …" she cursed once more, biting her lip and running her hand through her hair.
She couldn't just put it back and then simply tell Harry what happened.
Not with mam's picture.
She got up, laid it face down onto the fireplace's top again and hurried down the corridor into the guest room. Over the last years that room had more and more turned into a second storage for things that didn't fit behind in the one behind the kitchen or was simply not meant to be close to food.
She ripped open one of the drawers, knowing that it was the one for office supplies and the likes. Nothing in the first two drawers of the dresser, but she found several stuffed into one corner of the last one.
"Please fit" she whispered after having sorted out two that seemed to be the size of the old frame. Pressing them to her chest she walked back into the living room, putting them on the couch table before getting the picture and sitting down on the couch.
She shoved her fingernail under one of the metal brackets, grimacing in pain and pulling her finger back as it cut into the flesh. Trying another finger, she bit her lips but managed to open it. Same went for the other three brackets, tears in her eyes when she could finally remove the cardboard -
She paused.
Somebody had written on the back of the picture. At the first moment, the handwriting seemed unfamiliar and familiar at the same time and it took her a moment to figure out to who it belonged.
It was her father's. Shaky as if he had written it in haste or not paying attention, but definitely the one of Aaron O'Connel.
She squinted at it, not able to make the words out immediately.
Looking for …
a photo of us … for …
family picture …
nice frame…
Looking for a photo of us for family picture, nice frame.
The sentence made no sense to her. She didn't even know what it was. Or who 'us' was. The 'family' stopped her whole process of thought. Why would her father write something on the back of this photo?
Oh.
She left the picture like it was on the couch table and went into the kitchen. She'd ask Harry or Paddy to help her with finding a good picture of her and her father. As well as a nice, big frame.
The only thing that he needed now for the moment to be perfect would be rain pounding against the windows.
But of course the island had to keep him away from true happiness by inches, so he only heard the whizzing of the air conditioner whenever the songs in his headphones paused.
So … so you think you can tell … Heaven from Hell, Blue skies from pain … Can you tell a green field … From a cold steel rail?
He turned the next page around, having the words of it already memorized. The paperback was old and worn, had seen more places in the last 10 years than other people did in their whole life.
"'The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?' Oh, you bet your arse they are" Arthur grinned ironic and tiredly. "Every single last one of those bastards roaming the earth."
His foot hurt, a dim pulsating under the cast around it, but he couldn't get himself to care. Just wiggled his toes as he sang along quietly with the music.
"We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year … Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears, wish you were here."
No, that part wasn't true. He was glad he was alone, left with just enough energy to read a book he knew by heart and listen to songs he knew by heart and ignore the itching within the cast as well as possible.
That had been way different a few hours ago.
"Sir!"
Arthur had known how he had looked but it had surprised him nonetheless to see the shock in Tahir's face when he came out of the operating theatre. He had grid his teeth:
"Where's Bailey?"
"One last final check to decide if he could go tonight. He'll be here soon, Sir."
"Oh, going, good cue – Tell everyone else they are dismissed and should get back to England on the next bloody plane."
"Work's over here?" the Pakistani-Brit had asked and Arthur had turned away, lips having been pressed into a thin line before spitting out a "Yes. We three depart as soon as we can tomorrow. Now go and tell the others."
"Are you sure you want me to leave for this, Sir?" Tahir had asked and Arthur's expression had softened, even though he still had sounded grumpy:
"Just come back once you are done, Rashid."
"Of course, Sir."
"Sheez, don't treat me like a child, Tahir" he had sighed quietly after the Pakistani-Brit had been gone.
He had heard his other right hand before he entered the room. Somebody else having talked, words he hadn't been able to make out, Bailey's voice without having understood him as well. And then, after a few more words from the other person, the Englishman had been clear and loud:
"Little bastards!"
The door had been pushed open the next second, Robert having pulled a face that was sure not friendlier than Arthur's.
"Little bastards indeed" Arthur had said. The other had grinned in response.
"All those small islands are full of sons of bitches or so it seems, Sir."
"Seems so, doesn't it?"
"Any plans for now, Sir?"
"We go back to England."
He had seen Robert frown displeased and he had closed his eyes before having continued: "Then we recover and work a plan out to get back at them."
Arthur had looked back up at the other: "Do you think you're the only one here who really wants to strangle an Irishman, Robert?"
"Strangling is an excellent suggestion, Sir."
"It's simply the first that came to mind, to be honest."
"I am sure I have some more."
"Let me hear them then. The quicker they are the better."
"Are you sure? I thought more of the more painful the better."
"Drowning is painful as hell and see where it took us! No, I just want them be dead."
"It was the staged drowning that took you two here" Tahir had interrupted, Robert having cringed and turned around:
"Jesus Christ Rashid, would you stop creeping up on me for fuck's sake?!"
"Well, it took you to hospital" he had said, having looked at the other at the corner from his eye, an unimpressed look on his face, before having spoken to Arthur again:
"Pulling a stunt like a single mission in the enemy's territory is why you winded up here."
"It's not exactly like you stopped him, besides, my god what are you Rashid? Our mom?" Robert had given back, having earned a glare from Tahir who had sat down on the nearest chair:
"Sometimes I feel like the last sane person in this entire company – sanity and reason has nothing to do with mothering!"
"Good grief Tahir, you sound exactly like an upset mom" Arthur had said with a smile, having made Tahir twitch his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth while Robert had grinned from one ear to the other.
"Thank God that I know you are actually clever" the Pakistani-Brit had replied to Arthur, look then having shifted to Robert, whose grin had quickly faded: "And thank god you're pretty."
"Pretty? What do you think I am, a little girl with flowers in my hair? A vain poof like this bastard of an Irishman?"
"I'd say handsome, but your appeal is destroyed the moment you open your mouth. No, actually that beard of yours ruins it alone already."
"Anything else you want to bitch about, sweetie?" Robert had growled and despite it sounding like a death threat, Tahir had chuckled at the last word. "Besides, what kind of explanation was that?! Pretty is just the girl word for handsome."
"First of all, don't assign genders to words, Robert" Tahir had said with a calm smile. "And if you ask me, pretty is very shallow compared to handsome. Handsome can only describe the looks, yes, but I think it also has to do a lot with posture and vibes one is giving off."
"Enough of that, we can dispute over words and their meanings later" Arthur had interrupted them, just as Robert had stopped frowning and had opened his mouth to answer. "I think our topic was a 100 ways how to kill an Irishman?"
"You can't discuss a hundred ways how to get rid of them" Tahir had commented, eyes on his phone and both blonds had answered synchronously with the same deadpan face:
"You bet your arse we can."
"101 – Luring you into the moor and making sure you wander off the safe tracks" Arthur grinned and closed the book.
Deep down, something was still rambling, deep down the anger over everything that had went wrong here hadn't disappeared entirely yet.
But it was three in the morning. He had read Sherlock Holmes paperbacks for the last four hours. He had let British bands wash over him for the last four hours. And not even his cast itched enough to make him pissed at the Irish and Sicilian again.
He was not angry at anyone; just mildly displeased in what kind of world he had been thrusted into with this job.
His eyelids fell shut as one of the foreign bands on his phone started to play.
Take away the sensation inside … bittersweet migraine in my head …