Harder still was being an ocean away from the love of his life.
Love?
Vance sat up quickly on the plush sofa in the suite he was sharing with Jack and Mary. He wondered over to the window that showed a busy New York City down below. Cars stood still, honking uselessly.
He took a picture with his mobile, smiling as he send it off as a text to Finch.
[missin u ;) - v]
After a few moments, he received a text back. [Silly. - FM]
Vance's smile bloomed down at his phone. He missed her like crazy. After Mary's party, he'd been so drunk off her.
"I didn't do nothin' awful," he'd said to Mary, in defense of her daughter's debauched look.
"I really, really do not need the details," Mary had sighed in return, glancing up at him from her tablet. "At all."
"I didn't take no advantage, and I don't want-" Vance had said, gesturing. "Don't want no sort of misunderstandings messin' up this America thing. I'm to do the job, right?"
"Jack, I'm going to have to find a new thief if you don't stop him from rambling at me," Mary said, returning her gaze to her device.
Jack had dragged Vance by the back of the collar and plopped him at a desk. Back in front of his language practice. Again.
The phone had been a new thing though. He'd stolen enough of them, but never bothered to hang onto one. He knew phones had trackers in them, and stealing one would be an easy way to find the thief. They'd taken him to a couple of parties, a few challenges, steal this woman's necklace, lift this man's wallet.
But Jack had whisked Mary away on something that had been too important to risk a rookie on. Vance had been too nervous to leave the room alone, but tonight he was feeling bold. He slipped out of the room and downstairs. He was practically vibrating as he headed out the door with his bit of pocket money.
"Jack, it's escaping."
Vance's smile fell.
"Back upstairs, greenie," Jack said with Mary on his arm. They were dressed up and had an air of relaxation about them.
"Aww, bollocks," Vance said.
"Good Lord, I hope not," Mary muttered under her breath. "You'll have a turn eventually. Right now you're working. Come along, back upstairs."
Vance followed, shuffling his feet.
"Don't feel like I'm working, sitting in a fancy room," Vance said. He scowled. "Doesn't. Doesn't feel."
"Much better," Mary said approvingly. "Yes, well, you are working. You aren't ready for the street yet." She looked up at him with wide green eyes. "I promise. If you listen to everything I have to say, the pay off will be worth it."
Jack let them back in the room, going to the mini bar to pour a couple glasses of nice wine.
"Promises, Mary? You should listen to her, kid. She never makes promises," Jack laughed.
"Yes, well, this is contingent on him doing as I ask, which rarely happens with any of you," Mary sniped back, tugging her hair out of it's complicated style, kicking her heels to the side. "How is my daughter?"
Vance's smile reappeared.
"Awake still," he laughed, pulling out his phone.
[go to bed, little bird. it's late - v]
"I sent her a picture of the view!" he added.
[Drawing a stencil for someone. Sleep soon. Come back. - FM]
"Ah, very good. And your languages?" Mary asked, taking the glass Jack offered her, tipping up to kiss his cheek.
"Trying," Vance said. "Regional accents are easier, but Mandarin is a nightmare." He groaned. "No' even the language, but Mista Holmes! Oh my God." He dropped onto the sofa dramatically as Jack laughed.
"Mister Holmes is a nightmare," Jack murmured to Mary. "A scourge on the earth."
"Nah jus' his nephew," Vance muttered, tapping out another text.
[soon. i hope. m doesnt tell me nothin - v]
[Get used to that. Knew her for 25 years before she told me what she does for a living. -FM]
"Has he started on the writing lessons yet? I did ask him to throw those in before we left," Mary asked, perching in a soft chair.
Vance sat up straight. "Writin'? I can write," he huffed.
"You said you couldn't write well, and I told you that could be taught," Mary reminded him in a firm voice. "You can read well enough. You'll need to learn to read in other languages soon. But, to be frank, your grasp of your own language is so wretched I can't imagine you're good at writing. You need to be better."
"Yes, m'am," Vance said, cheeks warming. "It's just that.. my mum.."
"Oh boy," Jack muttered.
"What about your unfortunate mother?" Mary asked, swirling the wine in her glass.
"You ain't gonna yell at me for using my left hand, are you?" Vance asked from under his hair. Mary still intimidated the hell out of him.
"Whyever would I?" Mary asked, pursing her lips. "I want you to do something well, why would I then prohibit you from using the hand you do it best with."
"Not normal," Vance said softly. "Better at using my left hand for writin'. Didn't know if it would mess something up."
Jack put his arm around Mary. "He's not from London, love. Smaller town folks still hold old traditions and superstitions. Smack you with a ruler?"
Vance nodded.
"You say that as though I wasn't beaten for ridiculous 'reasons'," Mary snapped at Jack. "I'm merely trying to impart to the child that I do not hold with those beliefs. I care about performance. Not the past."
"Don't fight!" Vance said, face warm. "I'll practice 'en. Copy the dictionary. War'n peace, anything."
Mary looked at Vance, her lips tilting down in a frown. "We're not fighting."
"Sorry," Vance said. "I'll do it."
Jack stared, brows raised. "Mary, a moment?"
She nodded, and strode into the bedroom, leaving Jack to follow. Vance slunked deep into the sofa, tapping away on his phone to say goodnight to Finch. Jack set his half empty glass on the bureau.
"He looks up to you," Jack said, taking off his blazer and pulling out his leather jacket to lay out on the bed instead.
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