Vance unlocked the door, hearing a hissing whistle of the kettle as they came back home after days in hospital.
Vance growled. Finch grimaced, twirling her hair around her finger.
"He's still here," Finch whispered.
Vance dropped his bag and stalked to the kitchen. Thaddeus turned.
"Ello, do-urk!" Thad said as Vance grabbed him by his shirt front, whirling him around and into the cabinets. A strong hand wrapped around his throat as Vance hauled him bodily through the flat and towards the door.
"Not in my house," Vance said, swinging Thaddeus and shoving him against the front door. A swift punch to the jaw, and Thaddeus ducked the second, making Vance punch the wood.
"Whoa, whoa," Thaddeus wheezed out, hands outspread.
"Oh! Oh, God, Vance, don't break him!" Finch scolded, pulling at her boyfriend's back.
Thad curled defensively, despite his nearly matching height with the street-boy-turned-master.
"Her da sent me," Thaddeus said.
"Liar," Vance said, making a move to throttle the bloke. "Moran doesn't trust anyone."
"No, remember? I told you, Papa gave him the key," Finch said impatiently. "You told me to live with him. Which I am still feeling quite put out over."
"I was a bit under fire," Vance complained. "I had half the French police on my tail. I didn't actually think he had a key."
Thaddeus rubbed his throat as he pulled his keys from his pocket.
"Yeah," he said, jingling them. "It's not like I'm sleeping in her bed, mate. There's plentya-"
Vance snatched the keys from his hand. "Get out," he said to Thad.
"What?!"
Finch wavered, biting her lip. She crossed her arms over her chest petulantly. "You weren't invited."
"I was too," Thad said. "And all my stuffs-."
"Forfeit," Vance replied, yanking open the front door.
Thad's face dropped. "But-" he said, looking back at Finch as Vance shoved him through the open door. "But-"
"Oh, at least let him get his things. He brought everything here, and he doesn't have anywhere to go," Finch said, hating the pitiful look on Thad's face. "And then you can toss him out."
Vance slammed the door on Thad, making a face that said 'so there'.
"Too late," he said. "I'm home, and I don' need no stranger in my flat. He can pick his shite off the street tomorrow." Vance threw the keys down into the basket by the door. "You wanted him out. He's out. And I'm home, probably nearly for keeps now with your Mum in her state."
Finch worried her lip, her eyes large with concern. "Yes, that's what I wanted, but I didn't expect to feel sort of guilty over it. You can't just give him a few moments to collect his things?"
"Do you remember what happened when you let me back in?" Vance said, smirking.
"You left. And only come back once every few months," Finch muttered, turning away to get Thad's things herself. She couldn't just leave him homeless with no clothes or anything. "And you just made someone as homeless as you without even giving him a chance to get his coat."
"Oh please. He's not homeless," Vance said, grasping her hand. "He's the grandson of the bloody McCannady bitch."
"She threw him out. At least, if he's telling the truth," Finch replied, turning to throw herself against him, his touch breaking a dam she hadn't know she'd put up. She buried her face in his throat. "Why do you have to keep leaving. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you."
Vance buried his face in her ginger-gold hair. He wrapped his long arms around her. "I missed you too, bird," he sighed. "Forget about the git, and just be with me, alright? I'm back. I'm not going no where no time. I think your Mum's proved it's time for her to give up her spot. I ain't ready for it, but I've got to anyway."
"I don't want you to leave again," Finch whispered against his neck, her breath brushing over his skin. "I missed you. I was so fucking lonely."
Vance picked her up, carrying her towards the big bedroom. The loft was well and good, but he wanted to stretch out with her, not feel like he needed a hidey-hole. This was THEIR flat. He kicked off his shoes, pulling off Finch's and kissing her as he stroked up her legs.
"Fucking lonely," he murmured, echoed. "Lonely enough to fuck?"
"Yes," Finch hissed out through her sniffles. propped up on her elbows to watch him. "Missed you so much it hurt sometimes." It was true. The aching lonely feeling in her chest had her always concerned now.
Vance crawled up her body to kiss her on the lips. "You and home are the only things that kept me hanging on out there," he mumbled against her lips. Her milky soft thighs warm under his calloused palms. He'd put aside the cravings for her skin in the hospital. Spencer had looked too close to death to consider it. "You can deal wiff the traitor later. You're mine right now." He kissed her lips and moved to her throat, kissing and sucking with fervor. He hadn't realized how badly he'd missed this.
She arched into him with a gasp, hands on his back, clutching him closer. Thoughts of him had been one of the few things she'd been able to latch onto herself. During the day she'd been able to throw herself into work, but at night, alone in her bed, she couldn't stop wishing he were there. "You feel like a dream. You're home. I can't believe you're home."
"Yes, home," Vance said, chest warming as he thought about how he'd get to stay this time. At least a little longer than a week or so. He'd show Finch just how much he missed her.
***
Spencer hated everything. He was impossibly weak, sick, and he couldn't stand his dad doting on him one more minute. He was on several medications and had to get an intramuscular shot until his blood levels were testing properly again. He was more upset that neither Abby nor Brandon had come to hospital.
He was out of breath as he reached the top of the stairs. Breathing, it seemed, would take a while.
He shakily hung his coat on the hook, wanting to throw up. Not that there was anything in his stomach to lose.
"You're home," Abby said, looking confused. She switched off the television, and went to help him with his coat. "I weren't expectin' to see you today. You were released?"
"Yeah," Spencer breathed. "They wanted to section me, but Dad managed to convince 'em it was an accident." She let him lean on her to get him to the sofa, settling him on the worn leather.
"Can I get you anythin'? Tea, water? Oh, fuck, you look sick," Abby fretted, petting his mussed hair.
Spencer flapped at her. "Stop that," he said. "I'm fine. Just.. sit. Bit dizzy and you're moving and making the room heave. I've had Dad and Finch on me every second, not to mention nurses. I've been poisoned, I'm not an invalid."
"You're sick. And I'm worried, Which, if you weren't sick, you'd be over the moon for," Abby replied, but she gingerly perched next to him, holding his hand. "You scared me."
"You didn't come to the hospital," Spencer said, looking away. His hand tightened on hers regardless.
"I did, once," Abby whispered, squeezing his hand back. "You were asleep. For an hour. And then your Da came in an' looked all worried, and I felt like I was intrudin'."
Spencer shook his head. He reached out, pulling her in for a cuddle. "Would've rather'd had you," he sighed. "They were all fighting over Mum. I didn't- I don't even know why I took the pill. I just knew she shouldn't have it."
"Is she goin' to be alrigh'? Are they putting her somewhere safe?" Abby asked, not entirely understanding the situation. "Finch said she was seein' things."
"I don't know," Spencer said. "She's still not stable enough to leave. I was healthy going in. I'm sick now. She was sick then, but the poison wasn't in her system as long. Fuck, Abs, I'm ill. I can't take care of you like this."
"Don' worry about me righ' now. I take care of me. You need to worry abou' yourself," Abby replied quietly, stroking her hand over his stomach like she was petting a cat. "You've been seriously ill. You're no' in any shape to do anythin' other than rest."
Spencer's body jerked. "Brandon?" he asked, trying to sit up again. It wasn't happening. He rolled his head to look worriedly at Abby. "Please.. no."
Abby glanced away, her free hand reaching up to scratch her head nervously. "He's no' here. Something about a late class at school." She returned his concerned stare. "Are you alrigh'? We need to take you back to the 'ospital?"
Spencer pulled her hand down, wrapping it back around his aching stomach. "No," he sighed into her hair. "Nope. How much does he know? About what happened? What do you know? Did you two talk? Tell me everything." He was out of breath.
Abby leaned her head on his shoulder, inhaling him. "I expect he knows more'n I do. He called Finch a few times while you were in the 'ospital, checkin' on you. He hasn't been in the flat much, and when I did see 'im, he didn' look too well."
"Finch would've told him everything," Spencer said, eyes closing in pain. "Mum tried to commit suicide. Cyanide. Because my father-" Breathe. "Had promised her. Promised to do it for her. She's been seeing ghosts. She's not crazy."
"Seein' shite that isn't there sounds crazy to me, Spencer," Abby replied, looking up at his wheezing with concern. "You didn' know what she wanted to do when you went to ge' her?"
"Thought she needed some space. She knows," Breathe. "She knows Jim isn't real. I need a pill," he said, gesturing back at his coat. "Cyanide toxicity in my blood. Makes me feel- like I can't breathe, when I can."
Abby went to dig the medication out of his pocket, darting as quickly as she could into the kitchen for a glass of water. She held them out to him on her return, her skin pale as pale with panic as his was with illness. "Here, don't want you keelin' over on me."
Spencer took it quickly, placing the water on the coffee table and reaching back out for her.
"I'm fine," he said again. "Come here."
She sat down again, settling into his embrace. "I'm sorry. Abou' your mum, that is."
Spencer kissed her temple. "Thank you," he murmured, lips cold. "For being here." His throat felt like it wanted to close. He knew if she wasn't, he'd have been alone. "It'll take a little more time to clean out the lower flat at this rate.."
"Don' worry 'bout it righ' now. You've go' much bigger problems with your mum and your family," Abby whispered back, fist clutching his shirt. "You just rest and let me know how I can 'elp you for once."
"Just be here," Spencer whispered back. "Please, just stay. I'm afraid- I'm afraid if you don't, I'll be alone." He was miserable admitting it. "She thought I was my father."
"I'm sorry," Abby said, wishing he weren't sick so she could take his mind off of it. She didn't know how else to cheer him up. "Did- Did she say somethin' to you? You wouldn't have mentioned it if she hadn't."
"He promised to kill her, when she got too sick," Spencer choked. "He was gonna kill my mum. She said she'd always loved him best, and he was gonna kill her."
Abby gasped, squeezing his thigh. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's some heavy information they put on you."
Spencer held her tightly, sniffing. "She didn't mean to," he said, burying his face in Abby's hair. He did like that she was so small, tucked against him. "She was just scared, and alone. She couldn't go to one of them. Not one."
"Because they'd put 'er in the nut house?" Abby offered quietly.
Spencer laughed bitterly. "Because they wouldn't have helped her make it stop."
Abby pulled back to look at him, her hand tightening in his soft shirt. "How could they do that?"
Spencer shook his head. He pulled her back in for a kiss. His heart ached for his mother.
"Don't ask me questions you don't want the answers to," he breathed. She nodded, but she did want the answers. She wanted to know who she was dealing with when she dealt with him. And she also wanted to know-
Heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs, the smell of a bar wafting in with the draft.
Spencer stiffened. "Fuck-" he swore, trying to sit up and look not-sick.
"Shh," Abby tried to hush him. Bran loomed in the doorway, looking like he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't the one hallucinating.
"You're- um, you're home," Brandon said.
Spencer's eyes were hard. "And you're drunk," he replied. "Let's point out more obvious facts." The last few words were wheezed out. He missed his oxygen mask. Brandon's face crumpled and he fell to the floor in front of Spencer, crying into the younger man's lap.
"Fuck, I was so scared," Brandon said between sobs.
Spencer looked startled, eyes wide as he looked between Abby and the mass of blonde hair in his lap. He patted Brandon's hair, turning it into pets as he tightened his hold on Abby, not wanting her to disappear. Spencer's hands trembled. He was glad he was sitting.
"I thought you were going to die," Bran whispered against the soft cloth of Spencer's trousers, his whole body like a living lap blanket. He sniffed. "Don't. Don't do that again."
"Didn't bloody well plan on it," Spencer rasped. "Greedy git. Didn't even come see me." He yanked at a lock of blonde hair. "Can't believe Finch bothered you with this mess."
"Fuck you," Brandon spit out, but his words were slurred and sad. Abby started looking nervous, like she wanted a way out.
"Abs, can you make a bit of tea?" Spencer asked, turning his head to nuzzle her. "Haven't had anything since I threw up brekkie. Be a love?" He kissed her temple. "Please," he whispered.
Abby nodded, and she went into the kitchen, telling herself that she wasn't obeying an order but helping a sick friend. A sick friend who had helped her through two major injuries.
Spencer laid his head back on the sofa, closing his eyes as he threaded his fingers through Brandon's hair. His chest felt tight, and his head swam. None of it was due to arousal.
"How much have you had?" he asked without moving.
"N-Not much," Brandon lied, his voice croaking. "I just- I just couldn't handle it."
"You disappointment me," Spencer said. You disgust me.
Brandon nodded, his lips numb. "Yeah. I'm sure I do." He patted Spencer's legs before pushing himself up, wiping his eyes. "Glad you're back." And he turned, heading for the stairs.
Spencer ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet, watching the pill and water come back up. The smell of alcohol stuck in his nose. He started to cry as he dry heaved, nothing to come up.
"You're home," Abby said, looking confused. She switched off the television, and went to help him with his coat. "I weren't expectin' to see you today. You were released?"
"Yeah," Spencer breathed. "They wanted to section me, but Dad managed to convince 'em it was an accident." She let him lean on her to get him to the sofa, settling him on the worn leather.
"Can I get you anythin'? Tea, water? Oh, fuck, you look sick," Abby fretted, petting his mussed hair.
Spencer flapped at her. "Stop that," he said. "I'm fine. Just.. sit. Bit dizzy and you're moving and making the room heave. I've had Dad and Finch on me every second, not to mention nurses. I've been poisoned, I'm not an invalid."
"You're sick. And I'm worried, Which, if you weren't sick, you'd be over the moon for," Abby replied, but she gingerly perched next to him, holding his hand. "You scared me."
"You didn't come to the hospital," Spencer said, looking away. His hand tightened on hers regardless.
"I did, once," Abby whispered, squeezing his hand back. "You were asleep. For an hour. And then your Da came in an' looked all worried, and I felt like I was intrudin'."
Spencer shook his head. He reached out, pulling her in for a cuddle. "Would've rather'd had you," he sighed. "They were all fighting over Mum. I didn't- I don't even know why I took the pill. I just knew she shouldn't have it."
"Is she goin' to be alrigh'? Are they putting her somewhere safe?" Abby asked, not entirely understanding the situation. "Finch said she was seein' things."
"I don't know," Spencer said. "She's still not stable enough to leave. I was healthy going in. I'm sick now. She was sick then, but the poison wasn't in her system as long. Fuck, Abs, I'm ill. I can't take care of you like this."
"Don' worry about me righ' now. I take care of me. You need to worry abou' yourself," Abby replied quietly, stroking her hand over his stomach like she was petting a cat. "You've been seriously ill. You're no' in any shape to do anythin' other than rest."
Spencer's body jerked. "Brandon?" he asked, trying to sit up again. It wasn't happening. He rolled his head to look worriedly at Abby. "Please.. no."
Abby glanced away, her free hand reaching up to scratch her head nervously. "He's no' here. Something about a late class at school." She returned his concerned stare. "Are you alrigh'? We need to take you back to the 'ospital?"
Spencer pulled her hand down, wrapping it back around his aching stomach. "No," he sighed into her hair. "Nope. How much does he know? About what happened? What do you know? Did you two talk? Tell me everything." He was out of breath.
Abby leaned her head on his shoulder, inhaling him. "I expect he knows more'n I do. He called Finch a few times while you were in the 'ospital, checkin' on you. He hasn't been in the flat much, and when I did see 'im, he didn' look too well."
"Finch would've told him everything," Spencer said, eyes closing in pain. "Mum tried to commit suicide. Cyanide. Because my father-" Breathe. "Had promised her. Promised to do it for her. She's been seeing ghosts. She's not crazy."
"Seein' shite that isn't there sounds crazy to me, Spencer," Abby replied, looking up at his wheezing with concern. "You didn' know what she wanted to do when you went to ge' her?"
"Thought she needed some space. She knows," Breathe. "She knows Jim isn't real. I need a pill," he said, gesturing back at his coat. "Cyanide toxicity in my blood. Makes me feel- like I can't breathe, when I can."
Abby went to dig the medication out of his pocket, darting as quickly as she could into the kitchen for a glass of water. She held them out to him on her return, her skin pale as pale with panic as his was with illness. "Here, don't want you keelin' over on me."
Spencer took it quickly, placing the water on the coffee table and reaching back out for her.
"I'm fine," he said again. "Come here."
She sat down again, settling into his embrace. "I'm sorry. Abou' your mum, that is."
Spencer kissed her temple. "Thank you," he murmured, lips cold. "For being here." His throat felt like it wanted to close. He knew if she wasn't, he'd have been alone. "It'll take a little more time to clean out the lower flat at this rate.."
"Don' worry 'bout it righ' now. You've go' much bigger problems with your mum and your family," Abby whispered back, fist clutching his shirt. "You just rest and let me know how I can 'elp you for once."
"Just be here," Spencer whispered back. "Please, just stay. I'm afraid- I'm afraid if you don't, I'll be alone." He was miserable admitting it. "She thought I was my father."
"I'm sorry," Abby said, wishing he weren't sick so she could take his mind off of it. She didn't know how else to cheer him up. "Did- Did she say somethin' to you? You wouldn't have mentioned it if she hadn't."
"He promised to kill her, when she got too sick," Spencer choked. "He was gonna kill my mum. She said she'd always loved him best, and he was gonna kill her."
Abby gasped, squeezing his thigh. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's some heavy information they put on you."
Spencer held her tightly, sniffing. "She didn't mean to," he said, burying his face in Abby's hair. He did like that she was so small, tucked against him. "She was just scared, and alone. She couldn't go to one of them. Not one."
"Because they'd put 'er in the nut house?" Abby offered quietly.
Spencer laughed bitterly. "Because they wouldn't have helped her make it stop."
Abby pulled back to look at him, her hand tightening in his soft shirt. "How could they do that?"
Spencer shook his head. He pulled her back in for a kiss. His heart ached for his mother.
"Don't ask me questions you don't want the answers to," he breathed. She nodded, but she did want the answers. She wanted to know who she was dealing with when she dealt with him. And she also wanted to know-
Heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs, the smell of a bar wafting in with the draft.
Spencer stiffened. "Fuck-" he swore, trying to sit up and look not-sick.
"Shh," Abby tried to hush him. Bran loomed in the doorway, looking like he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't the one hallucinating.
"You're- um, you're home," Brandon said.
Spencer's eyes were hard. "And you're drunk," he replied. "Let's point out more obvious facts." The last few words were wheezed out. He missed his oxygen mask. Brandon's face crumpled and he fell to the floor in front of Spencer, crying into the younger man's lap.
"Fuck, I was so scared," Brandon said between sobs.
Spencer looked startled, eyes wide as he looked between Abby and the mass of blonde hair in his lap. He patted Brandon's hair, turning it into pets as he tightened his hold on Abby, not wanting her to disappear. Spencer's hands trembled. He was glad he was sitting.
"I thought you were going to die," Bran whispered against the soft cloth of Spencer's trousers, his whole body like a living lap blanket. He sniffed. "Don't. Don't do that again."
"Didn't bloody well plan on it," Spencer rasped. "Greedy git. Didn't even come see me." He yanked at a lock of blonde hair. "Can't believe Finch bothered you with this mess."
"Fuck you," Brandon spit out, but his words were slurred and sad. Abby started looking nervous, like she wanted a way out.
"Abs, can you make a bit of tea?" Spencer asked, turning his head to nuzzle her. "Haven't had anything since I threw up brekkie. Be a love?" He kissed her temple. "Please," he whispered.
Abby nodded, and she went into the kitchen, telling herself that she wasn't obeying an order but helping a sick friend. A sick friend who had helped her through two major injuries.
Spencer laid his head back on the sofa, closing his eyes as he threaded his fingers through Brandon's hair. His chest felt tight, and his head swam. None of it was due to arousal.
"How much have you had?" he asked without moving.
"N-Not much," Brandon lied, his voice croaking. "I just- I just couldn't handle it."
"You disappointment me," Spencer said. You disgust me.
Brandon nodded, his lips numb. "Yeah. I'm sure I do." He patted Spencer's legs before pushing himself up, wiping his eyes. "Glad you're back." And he turned, heading for the stairs.
Spencer ran to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet, watching the pill and water come back up. The smell of alcohol stuck in his nose. He started to cry as he dry heaved, nothing to come up.
***
Thaddeus had waited outside the flat on the sidewalk, disbelieving. He waited, and waited. Lights turned out in one of the rooms, and he turned, hurt. He'd thought he and Finch were at least friends, friendly. His jaw was swelling and his back teeth ached. His throat felt mangled.
He didn't even have any money in his wallet. Just an ID and an oyster card with 50 pence on it.
He didn't trust any of his old acquaintances at this point and the temperature was dropping. He headed back to the only safe place he knew - Finch's shop. He actually had a key, but it was on the ring that Vance had snatched from him. He had to break into the shop, promising himself that he'd fix it.
He found a set of sheets he'd been using to lay over things when they'd painted and wrapped up in them. A low sofa had been situated in the 'lobby' of sorts and the tired 'traitor' fell asleep, wondering what he was supposed to do now.
Sun shined through the windows in the morning, lighting up the place like a movie scene. The locks twisted with a key, and the bells on the door jingled.
Thad curled in on himself, wincing at the light.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled.
"Oh my God!" Finch gasped, dropping the duffle bag of Thad's things on the ground, her hand pressed to her heart.
Thaddeus sat up straight. "Oh fuck!" he swore. "Finch!" He'd forgotten where he fell asleep.
Finch sucked in a breath, massaging her rapidly beating heart while she tried to calm herself down. "Fuck, Thaddeus, you scared me half to death!"
Thaddeus shed his sheet, limping over to her on his half-asleep leg. He rubbed her back and looked at her worriedly.
"Sorry, love, wasn't sure where else to kip and still make it to work on time," he said. He kicked the door closed. "Letting in the cold air."
She cleared her throat, oddly letting him pet her. "I brought your things. I'm sorry he hit you."
"Protective of you," Thad said, stroking her hair with his opposite hand. Almost embracing her. "Can't blame him. He solves his problems with his fists."
"I mean, to be fair, you shouldn't have moved in the way you did," Finch scolded, looking up at him with big eyes. "But he should have at least let you gather up your things. And he shouldn't have hit you." And the fact that he had hit Thaddeus made her wonder how well she knew her boyfriend after all.
Thaddeus smirked, leaning in to kiss her suddenly.
And Finch's hand found it's way around his throat and pushed him back by it. "What are you doing?"
"A kiss to make it better," Thaddeus laughed, letting her push him away.
"See? Just like that I no longer feel bad for you," Finch muttered, flicking on the shop lights and heading for her station to start prepping for her first appointment.
Thaddeus laughed, bending to pick up the bag.
"How's your brother and your mum?" he asked, digging through the bag for a sweater. He was still cold.
"Still alive. Spencer took it upon himself to get discharged, and he and Brandon have already had a fight over it," Finch sighed, wishing Bran could just find some happiness in life. "But Bran was drinking and I think Spence might be over him doing that."
"Can't blame him. Addiction's a bitch," Thad said. He rinsed up in one of the sinks, turning on the office computer. "Aren't they cousins or something?"
"Yeah, their fathers are twins," Finch replied, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Apparently incest runs in the family. Does that bother you?"
"All mob families have their dirty little secrets, don't they?" Thaddeus said, fingers tapping on the keyboard to pull up the information for her appointment. "Secret is - I'm the bastard secret of two."
"Really?" Finch asked, trying to pretend she wasn't interested. "Is that why you're such a pain in the arse? Family issues?"
Thaddeus cackled. "Absolutely," he said. "Hiding from two families? Why not just go shack up with their rival? My father was McCannady - killed by the boyfriend, by the way. Thanks for that. Jumped me up the line to succession. And my mother was from the Shan family." He turned on his stool. "She was sent on a suicide mission after I was born." He hopped down, heading towards her station. "So, why not hide out with the Moriartys? And such a pretty one as well. If only you can get past her sour attitude."
"I do not have a sour attitude, I don't like nosy intruders who may or may not get me and my family murdered," Finch replied with a frown on her face. She sat down to sketch the time away while waiting. "I'm a perfectly good-natured girl. Ask anyone else."
"I have," Thaddeus said from behind her. He perched on a chair, watching. "They say you can shoot a quarter out of the sky without looking."
"Once and I was looking, you have to be looking," Finch said without thinking, and then she blushed, realizing how it sounded. "I mean, I mean, we've all been taught, obviously."
"Obviously," Thaddeus murmured. "The difference is, you and I don't want to be a part of it."
"Well, I am involved. With Vance, and he's stuck in the thick of it, thanks to my mum," Finch sighed. She chewed her lip, sketching the pencils over the paper. "She took him and made him to suit her needs."
"So take him back," Thad replied. "Take him back before the world kills his spirit. I saw you. He wasn't a man to face the world with his fists. He's not a soldier." He pulled a bit of Finch's curls back over her shoulder to lean closer to her ear. "He was a lover once, wasn't he?"
"He's still a lover," Finch snapped, ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine. "He's got to be strong, for his job. And his job means everything, and I would never ask him to leave it."
"Where am I to stay tonight?" Thad asked softly.
Finch sighed, looking up at him. She pressed her lips together, a trait picked up from Dr. John. "I don't know."
The door bell jingled. Thaddeus stroked Finch's bare throat, dark eyes looking into hers.
"I'd like to go home," he said, before turning to greet their customer with flamboyant false cheer.
Finch gulped and started to put away her things. He had no labels, no sexuality she could pin on him (example, Bran was GAY, Spencer was BI). Just some sort of charm and an honest personality that could be masking manipulation. And what's worse was it was working.
"And this, lovely duckling, is your mistress artist," Thad said with a smile. He winked at Finch. "Be gentle with her, my love, she says it's her first," Thad said, placing his hands on the petite girl's shoulders.
"I'm always gentle," Finch said, plastering a fake smile on her lips. Well, until she had to be otherwise.
Sun shined through the windows in the morning, lighting up the place like a movie scene. The locks twisted with a key, and the bells on the door jingled.
Thad curled in on himself, wincing at the light.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled.
"Oh my God!" Finch gasped, dropping the duffle bag of Thad's things on the ground, her hand pressed to her heart.
Thaddeus sat up straight. "Oh fuck!" he swore. "Finch!" He'd forgotten where he fell asleep.
Finch sucked in a breath, massaging her rapidly beating heart while she tried to calm herself down. "Fuck, Thaddeus, you scared me half to death!"
Thaddeus shed his sheet, limping over to her on his half-asleep leg. He rubbed her back and looked at her worriedly.
"Sorry, love, wasn't sure where else to kip and still make it to work on time," he said. He kicked the door closed. "Letting in the cold air."
She cleared her throat, oddly letting him pet her. "I brought your things. I'm sorry he hit you."
"Protective of you," Thad said, stroking her hair with his opposite hand. Almost embracing her. "Can't blame him. He solves his problems with his fists."
"I mean, to be fair, you shouldn't have moved in the way you did," Finch scolded, looking up at him with big eyes. "But he should have at least let you gather up your things. And he shouldn't have hit you." And the fact that he had hit Thaddeus made her wonder how well she knew her boyfriend after all.
Thaddeus smirked, leaning in to kiss her suddenly.
And Finch's hand found it's way around his throat and pushed him back by it. "What are you doing?"
"A kiss to make it better," Thaddeus laughed, letting her push him away.
"See? Just like that I no longer feel bad for you," Finch muttered, flicking on the shop lights and heading for her station to start prepping for her first appointment.
Thaddeus laughed, bending to pick up the bag.
"How's your brother and your mum?" he asked, digging through the bag for a sweater. He was still cold.
"Still alive. Spencer took it upon himself to get discharged, and he and Brandon have already had a fight over it," Finch sighed, wishing Bran could just find some happiness in life. "But Bran was drinking and I think Spence might be over him doing that."
"Can't blame him. Addiction's a bitch," Thad said. He rinsed up in one of the sinks, turning on the office computer. "Aren't they cousins or something?"
"Yeah, their fathers are twins," Finch replied, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Apparently incest runs in the family. Does that bother you?"
"All mob families have their dirty little secrets, don't they?" Thaddeus said, fingers tapping on the keyboard to pull up the information for her appointment. "Secret is - I'm the bastard secret of two."
"Really?" Finch asked, trying to pretend she wasn't interested. "Is that why you're such a pain in the arse? Family issues?"
Thaddeus cackled. "Absolutely," he said. "Hiding from two families? Why not just go shack up with their rival? My father was McCannady - killed by the boyfriend, by the way. Thanks for that. Jumped me up the line to succession. And my mother was from the Shan family." He turned on his stool. "She was sent on a suicide mission after I was born." He hopped down, heading towards her station. "So, why not hide out with the Moriartys? And such a pretty one as well. If only you can get past her sour attitude."
"I do not have a sour attitude, I don't like nosy intruders who may or may not get me and my family murdered," Finch replied with a frown on her face. She sat down to sketch the time away while waiting. "I'm a perfectly good-natured girl. Ask anyone else."
"I have," Thaddeus said from behind her. He perched on a chair, watching. "They say you can shoot a quarter out of the sky without looking."
"Once and I was looking, you have to be looking," Finch said without thinking, and then she blushed, realizing how it sounded. "I mean, I mean, we've all been taught, obviously."
"Obviously," Thaddeus murmured. "The difference is, you and I don't want to be a part of it."
"Well, I am involved. With Vance, and he's stuck in the thick of it, thanks to my mum," Finch sighed. She chewed her lip, sketching the pencils over the paper. "She took him and made him to suit her needs."
"So take him back," Thad replied. "Take him back before the world kills his spirit. I saw you. He wasn't a man to face the world with his fists. He's not a soldier." He pulled a bit of Finch's curls back over her shoulder to lean closer to her ear. "He was a lover once, wasn't he?"
"He's still a lover," Finch snapped, ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine. "He's got to be strong, for his job. And his job means everything, and I would never ask him to leave it."
"Where am I to stay tonight?" Thad asked softly.
Finch sighed, looking up at him. She pressed her lips together, a trait picked up from Dr. John. "I don't know."
The door bell jingled. Thaddeus stroked Finch's bare throat, dark eyes looking into hers.
"I'd like to go home," he said, before turning to greet their customer with flamboyant false cheer.
Finch gulped and started to put away her things. He had no labels, no sexuality she could pin on him (example, Bran was GAY, Spencer was BI). Just some sort of charm and an honest personality that could be masking manipulation. And what's worse was it was working.
"And this, lovely duckling, is your mistress artist," Thad said with a smile. He winked at Finch. "Be gentle with her, my love, she says it's her first," Thad said, placing his hands on the petite girl's shoulders.
"I'm always gentle," Finch said, plastering a fake smile on her lips. Well, until she had to be otherwise.
***
Mary lay flat on her back, her hands resting on her stomach. She smelled weird. She didn't like it. Her mind was turning over the facts.
Fact, she's poisoned her only son.
Fact, she'd passed along a potentially fatal heart defect to her daughter.
Fact, she'd pretty much lied to everyone to avoid having the children taken away from her and it resulted in her attempted suicide.
Fact, she had to stop being Moriarty. That was the only way she might even get Jim to stop talking to her.
She still didn't want to stop. She didn't want to relinquish control. She'd taken control, taken her own destiny in her hands by leaving with Jim, and she'd gotten her life back. Now she was in square one all over again, with no legs and the feeling that her world might just be ending.
Jack stood in the doorway.
"If you were thinking any louder, I might have telepathy," he said.
He'd avoided the hospital room itself. He popped in only when he knew Mary was asleep. He didn't want to get into the middle of the fighting and arguing and suggestions.
"I'd begun to think you'd gone this time," Mary replied, concentrating on a warped ceiling tile. "Unless you have and I'm imagining all this. I do that now, you know."
"Ah, bullshit, you know it. You know what's real and what's not. You've been tested," Jack said with certainty. "You don't think I stopped stalking you just because we were shagging?"
"Going to stalk me when they lock me away as well?" Mary asked flippantly.
"No one's locking you away," Jack said, walking over with his hands in his pockets. "They're trying to keep your kidneys from shutting down though. You and I both know you aren't walking out of here."
"Ouch. Hitting all the soft spots today, are we?" Mary shifted, looking over at him. "You're here, though. What took you so long?"
Jack shrugged. "Figured I was the one with the least say so in what was to be done with you," he muttered. "And if it looked bad, I'd do what you set out to do in the first place."
"Oh, two men making empty promises to kill me. How charming, is this what all the girls go for these days?" Mary quipped, watching him with wary eyes. "You've been with me for practically thirty years. Why would your opinion matter less than theirs?"
"You love one, married the other. Kids with both?" Jack said, looking over her machines. "Freya's been your friend far longer than being your lover. John has no say, but we don't factor him in, do we?"
"They might. I surely do not. He's a doctor, doctors are trained to lock people away," Mary murmured, watching him. "I love you, too, though."
Jack leaned down to kiss Mary's forehead. He rubbed the place with his thumb.
"I know you do," he said. "Which is why I'm asking you to take a look at the flat I've found. Well, it's more of a penthouse, but I assume we can manage it."
"No," Mary sighed, looking disappointed.
"No." Jack sat. "Was it you want, Mary? Do you really want to die? To leave all of your children sick and your lovers falling apart with the one person holding them together gone?"
"You would all be fine without me. Possibly better off," Mary said, looking at him with sad eyes. "I bring nothing but bad luck. Look at what happened to Finch and Spencer."
"Yes, look what happened," Jack said. "Spencer tried to beat his father for promising to help you die. Finch has learned to stand on her own two feet without a lover at her side every second. Ignore the empire you've run and look at the people you've helped make."
"People that would've been taken away from me had anyone realized I was hallucinating," Mary replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. "And knowing I was an unfit mother, I continued to lie to their fathers about James. Yes. I can see your point. I'm wonderful."
"I knew," Jack said softly.
Mary blinked rapidly, her monitors beeping. "What?"
"Of course I knew, you argued with him constantly," Jack chuffed. "You were never violent, did or said anything to harm Finch. I read the test results, saw the brain scans, Mary. I've followed your medical history like the world's longest soap opera. Of course I knew."
"I do not argue with him," Mary said, looking very put out that she wasn't as good at secret keeping as she thought. She turned away in a sulk. "If you knew, you could have at least mentioned."
"And embarrassed you, brought it all out and been right here ten, twenty years early?" Jack said, gesturing to the room. "Bloody hell, Mary, why didn't you say anything? The same reason."
Nosy brat. Jim wasn't visible today.
"What do you want?" Mary asked, wondering which of the two she was speaking to. She curled in on herself closer.
Jack stroked her hair as he sat on the edge of her bed. "To steal you out from under the noses of everyone else, go on a crime spree until we get shot to death by a firing squad," he said with a smile. "Why, what do you want?"
"Control. Happiness. To know who I am," Mary whispered, wondering where she'd gone wrong. "To be able to walk."
"Come on then," Jack said. "Get up."
"I can't get up, I've been poisoned," Mary sulked, twisting to glance at him.
"So," Jack said, tugging away her blankets. "Bran's got the AIDs and Spencer took the same drug you did. Get up, we're going for a walk." He tugged his hands under her armpits. "Up, up."
Her kicks were as weak as a kitten's bite, but she found her two feet planted on the floor in a matter of seconds anyway. She scowled up at him. "I'm up. What now?"
"Hang on, let me grab this," he said, pulling her IV stand, and straightening her cords. "Aaaand we're just gonna-" He unplugged the unnecessary monitors from her chest. "We're going for a bloody walk." He wrapped his arm around her waist and placed her other hand on her IV stand as a make shift cane.
"Robe," Mary commanded when she felt a draft on her backside. She frowned. "Where are we walking to?"
Jack moved to wrap her up as best he could in her fluffy tatty robe.
"Down the bloody hall for starters," Jack said.
They walked at an agonizingly slow pace. Mary's one leg dragged along a little, but both feet were taking steps. She sighed. "I'll miss this part, I think."
"Yes well, get used to barking orders, Iron Queen," Jack said. "You can do that just fine from a chair."
Mary sighed, squeezing his hand. "Would you hate me terribly if I gave it all up?"
"The dead can't hate," Jack said in her ear.
"I mean, if I stopped being Moriarty. If I was just-" Mary shrugged, not wanting to say her own name because she didn't feel like that anymore. "If I just wasn't."
"Mary, you have to stop being Moriarty," Jack said. "It's long past time to let Jim go. I don't mean orders for your cohorts, I mean, orders for your lovers. We can still give you pleasure. You and Freya can puzzle out a new shop or hell, buy out anything in London. No more hiding or pretending, or masks." They'd walked to a fire exit. "Let's go for lunch."
"I like lunch," Mary said, not hungry in the least. She sighed. "Moriarty is all I've ever been. I don't know what comes after. And everyone pushed and pulled and took it from me, never asking if I was ready." She was ready now. After her hallucinations had hurt her child-
Jack opened the door. "Maybe it's time you found out," he said, cold air blowing in. He held out his hand to her. Mary tried to smile for him, and she put her hand in his.
"Yes, I expect it is," she whispered.
Jack stood in the doorway.
"If you were thinking any louder, I might have telepathy," he said.
He'd avoided the hospital room itself. He popped in only when he knew Mary was asleep. He didn't want to get into the middle of the fighting and arguing and suggestions.
"I'd begun to think you'd gone this time," Mary replied, concentrating on a warped ceiling tile. "Unless you have and I'm imagining all this. I do that now, you know."
"Ah, bullshit, you know it. You know what's real and what's not. You've been tested," Jack said with certainty. "You don't think I stopped stalking you just because we were shagging?"
"Going to stalk me when they lock me away as well?" Mary asked flippantly.
"No one's locking you away," Jack said, walking over with his hands in his pockets. "They're trying to keep your kidneys from shutting down though. You and I both know you aren't walking out of here."
"Ouch. Hitting all the soft spots today, are we?" Mary shifted, looking over at him. "You're here, though. What took you so long?"
Jack shrugged. "Figured I was the one with the least say so in what was to be done with you," he muttered. "And if it looked bad, I'd do what you set out to do in the first place."
"Oh, two men making empty promises to kill me. How charming, is this what all the girls go for these days?" Mary quipped, watching him with wary eyes. "You've been with me for practically thirty years. Why would your opinion matter less than theirs?"
"You love one, married the other. Kids with both?" Jack said, looking over her machines. "Freya's been your friend far longer than being your lover. John has no say, but we don't factor him in, do we?"
"They might. I surely do not. He's a doctor, doctors are trained to lock people away," Mary murmured, watching him. "I love you, too, though."
Jack leaned down to kiss Mary's forehead. He rubbed the place with his thumb.
"I know you do," he said. "Which is why I'm asking you to take a look at the flat I've found. Well, it's more of a penthouse, but I assume we can manage it."
"No," Mary sighed, looking disappointed.
"No." Jack sat. "Was it you want, Mary? Do you really want to die? To leave all of your children sick and your lovers falling apart with the one person holding them together gone?"
"You would all be fine without me. Possibly better off," Mary said, looking at him with sad eyes. "I bring nothing but bad luck. Look at what happened to Finch and Spencer."
"Yes, look what happened," Jack said. "Spencer tried to beat his father for promising to help you die. Finch has learned to stand on her own two feet without a lover at her side every second. Ignore the empire you've run and look at the people you've helped make."
"People that would've been taken away from me had anyone realized I was hallucinating," Mary replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. "And knowing I was an unfit mother, I continued to lie to their fathers about James. Yes. I can see your point. I'm wonderful."
"I knew," Jack said softly.
Mary blinked rapidly, her monitors beeping. "What?"
"Of course I knew, you argued with him constantly," Jack chuffed. "You were never violent, did or said anything to harm Finch. I read the test results, saw the brain scans, Mary. I've followed your medical history like the world's longest soap opera. Of course I knew."
"I do not argue with him," Mary said, looking very put out that she wasn't as good at secret keeping as she thought. She turned away in a sulk. "If you knew, you could have at least mentioned."
"And embarrassed you, brought it all out and been right here ten, twenty years early?" Jack said, gesturing to the room. "Bloody hell, Mary, why didn't you say anything? The same reason."
Nosy brat. Jim wasn't visible today.
"What do you want?" Mary asked, wondering which of the two she was speaking to. She curled in on herself closer.
Jack stroked her hair as he sat on the edge of her bed. "To steal you out from under the noses of everyone else, go on a crime spree until we get shot to death by a firing squad," he said with a smile. "Why, what do you want?"
"Control. Happiness. To know who I am," Mary whispered, wondering where she'd gone wrong. "To be able to walk."
"Come on then," Jack said. "Get up."
"I can't get up, I've been poisoned," Mary sulked, twisting to glance at him.
"So," Jack said, tugging away her blankets. "Bran's got the AIDs and Spencer took the same drug you did. Get up, we're going for a walk." He tugged his hands under her armpits. "Up, up."
Her kicks were as weak as a kitten's bite, but she found her two feet planted on the floor in a matter of seconds anyway. She scowled up at him. "I'm up. What now?"
"Hang on, let me grab this," he said, pulling her IV stand, and straightening her cords. "Aaaand we're just gonna-" He unplugged the unnecessary monitors from her chest. "We're going for a bloody walk." He wrapped his arm around her waist and placed her other hand on her IV stand as a make shift cane.
"Robe," Mary commanded when she felt a draft on her backside. She frowned. "Where are we walking to?"
Jack moved to wrap her up as best he could in her fluffy tatty robe.
"Down the bloody hall for starters," Jack said.
They walked at an agonizingly slow pace. Mary's one leg dragged along a little, but both feet were taking steps. She sighed. "I'll miss this part, I think."
"Yes well, get used to barking orders, Iron Queen," Jack said. "You can do that just fine from a chair."
Mary sighed, squeezing his hand. "Would you hate me terribly if I gave it all up?"
"The dead can't hate," Jack said in her ear.
"I mean, if I stopped being Moriarty. If I was just-" Mary shrugged, not wanting to say her own name because she didn't feel like that anymore. "If I just wasn't."
"Mary, you have to stop being Moriarty," Jack said. "It's long past time to let Jim go. I don't mean orders for your cohorts, I mean, orders for your lovers. We can still give you pleasure. You and Freya can puzzle out a new shop or hell, buy out anything in London. No more hiding or pretending, or masks." They'd walked to a fire exit. "Let's go for lunch."
"I like lunch," Mary said, not hungry in the least. She sighed. "Moriarty is all I've ever been. I don't know what comes after. And everyone pushed and pulled and took it from me, never asking if I was ready." She was ready now. After her hallucinations had hurt her child-
Jack opened the door. "Maybe it's time you found out," he said, cold air blowing in. He held out his hand to her. Mary tried to smile for him, and she put her hand in his.
"Yes, I expect it is," she whispered.
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