"What'd you do this time?" he asked, nudging Finch with his socked toe.
"Stop pokin' me, I'm sleeping," Finch mumbled, trying to pull her blanket over her head. Her arm was numb from where it was wedged awkwardly under her. "G'way."
"It's nine," Spencer intoned, as thought it meant every one should be awake. "Dad said you were hiding out from Mum. What'd you do?"
"None of your bloody business," Finch told him, pushing herself up. She winced, hand flying to her forehead. Ugh, headache. Probably from the wall. "Did she at least say hi to you before she left or was she too busy sucking your father's cock?"
Spencer curled his lip.
"I didn't see her," he sneered. "Unlike someone I was given up to the happy gay detectives while your Mum controls the universe for Father to chase after her."
"Issues much?" Finch huffed, falling back on the pillows. She stuck her tongue out at him. "You're her fuckin' golden kid. Always on and on about Spencer the genius." Which hadn't actually bothered Finch, because usually she was joined at the hip with her mum. But... this morning seemed different. Everything was wrong. "Spence."
He climbed onto the sofa, curling up on top of her feet.
"You really fucked up, huh?" he said, squeezing her leg.
"Yeah," Finch sighed, blinking at him. She offered him a little half-smile. "I think I did." She cleared her throat. "Hey, Spence. Did they ever tell you what mum actually does?"
"They never told me anything," Spencer said avoidantly. "Why did they tell you?"
She shook her head, her red-gold curls puffy from sleep. Like a messy halo around her face. "No. Just, was curious, is all."
"You mean, you don't know," Spencer smirked. He passed over his coffee. "You need this more than I do."
Finch took the cup, sipping, cringing at how he took his coffee. "Bitter. Like your soul. What do you know?"
"Almost everything," Spencer said, rolling his eyes. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "What's it worth to you?"
"Nothing a'tall," Finch lied, and she put the cup down on the coffee table, standing. "I've got to go home, at least, eventually. Um. Tell your dad thanks, and Dr. John, too." She tugged on her jeans from last night and her jacket, feeling grimy in them. "Unless you'd just like to fill your sister in to be nice. In which case I might stick around."
"Buy me lunch," Spencer wheedled. "I spent my lunch allowance on... something. I'll spill. Besides you wanna go home like you want a shot to the face." He smirked and winked.
"Um," Finch considered the offer. Finally, she shrugged. She had some tip money left over, if that pickpocket hadn't taken it from her. "Alright, baby brother. You pick the place and then I want to know everything."
"Cool," Spencer said, hopping up. He turned slightly. "And don't call Dad, Dr. John. Hurts his feelings, even if he doesn't say anything. He's still my dad, too."
Finch scowled at him. "And I should worry about their feelings? I can't imagine what they call either of my fathers."
"Father is perfectly civil with your dad. They had brunch the other day," he said. The his hand flew to his mouth. "Oops. No one was supposed to know about that. Be right back!"
"He doesn't like Jack," Finch muttered, determined to be right even though she knew it was useless as he was already gone and it was like arguing with a brick wall, anyway. And she'd already done that once.
***
Spencer bit into his bacon butty and his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Omg," he mumbled. "Delicious." He chewed, sitting across the table in the cafe from his sister. "Okay, so. Let's start with what you do know."
"I'd rather start with you. What I know involves why I was sleeping on your couch last night and I'm not ready," Finch frowned, shaking her head. She could really do with a shower. "It ended with our parents locked in the studio downstairs shagging, and by the by, sound really carries in that house."
"Why do you think I sleep upstairs?" Spencer said with a raised brow. "Okay, so you know the name Moriarty right? I mean, duh. But it's not just the restaurant. That's what uncle Jack boiled it down too, an amusement. But years ago? In the underground, it's something totally different."
"Different? How? It's just a name," Finch said, spearing some eggs. "I mean, mum said she had an old boyfriend called that, too. Jimmy or something. Papa gets all sad when she says his name so she doesn't talk about him a lot."
"Jim Moriarty," Spencer said. "Exactly. He was mad as a box of frogs. Wicked smart though, and Father's arch nemesis. Father still talks about him sometimes, lets things slip. Evidently the man became a moniker, and our Mum took over the reigns after he died. Apparently this Jim had a lot of power, lot of money, too. But Moriarty? It's like the Dread Pirate Roberts. It's only a name. People use it from time to time, but it's the fear behind it that matters. And right now, Mum's Moriarty."
Finch blinked at him. That vague nauseated feeling from the night before returned. She set her fork back on the table. "So, what, like, my Mum's a super villain?"
"Not a super villain. THE super villain," Spencer shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Pretty bitchin' for an ol' lady, huh?"
"But she's-" Finch's voice cracked, and she pressed her hand to her cheek. "She's losing her legs. Slowly, and she won't admit it, but she is."
Spencer said down his sandwich, wiping his mouth. "Already?" he asked softly. "I thought she'd have longer."
"She was using a cane last night. Pretty hard, too," Finch said, looking back down at her food. "She's going on sixty, y'know. Normal people would already have health problems."
"She'll get herself killed," Spencer said, smacking his hand on the table.
"That's what I thought when I followed her. I don't know why, I just had this niggling feeling. So, I followed, and when it looked like whatever the deal was was going wrong, I- I sh-shot a bloke," Finch ended with a whisper. She nearly shook just thinking about it. "Apparently caused more harm than good."
"Did he die?" Spencer asked, tilting his head.
"She didn't say," Finch shrugged. "She was too busy scolding me for coming along. Well, not even scolding, really. I dunno, whatever that was, it- it wasn't Mum. Not my Mum."
"Dull," Spencer said, slouching in his chair. "You should've checked. She wasn't Mum. She was Moriarty. She was doing her job." He turned his wrist. "Shite, I'll be late for class."
"It's 'kay, go. We should have breakfast more often, though. No one ever tells me anything," Finch said, sipping at another cup of coffee, this one properly sweetened. "Go, go, go."
Spencer got up, heading for the door before backtracking.
"Oh yeah, don't tell Dad or Father, or even Mum, but I've signed up for the Police Academy next semester," Spencer beamed, smacking her on the arm and skipping off.
"Wait, what?!" Finch yelped but he was already halfway down the block. "Fuckin' brothers."
The door chimed and a tall, familiar figure headed towards the counter.
"One coffee, extra milk, sugar," Vance said to the frowning woman behind the counter. "I've got the money. My quid is just as good as-" he turned, intending to point to the rest of the patrons. "Oh. You."
"This is not my morning," Finch muttered, leaning forward, covering her eyes with her hand. For someone who usually didn't care about either sex, she suddenly felt a little self-conscious and more than a little blushy.
Vance chewed his lip, but paid for the coffee. He fiddled with the nice leather wallet as he headed over to Finch.
"Um," he said, ducking slightly to try and catch her eye. "I uh, well." He placed the wallet on the table. "Might want to give that back."
"That's Spencer's," Finch said, glancing from between her fingers. She put her hand down. "You know he's Sherlock's son. Why would you take his wallet, of all people?"
Vance grinned. "Because I nick it from 'im when he's being a brat. Besides, he had fifty quid in there. Rich little shite. Won't hurt him none."
"Keep the cash. Perhaps it'll teach him to look after it better," Finch replied, lips twitching up. "Little brothers. Who needs them."
"Planned on it," Vance said, blowing at his coffee. "That'll get me a room out of the cold for a night, two if I can pony up another tenner, but I'd have to find another fool."
"Here, I've got some on me," Finch said, pulling her own wallet from her pocket. She held out a few notes. She didn't get as good an allowance as Spencer (and he'd claimed to have spent his!) but she did work hard. "You could use it more than I could."
"Whoa! No way," Vance said, pushing her money back her. "Nu-uh, I get my money like a good thief. I don't do charity. Now, if you've got a job for me, we could talk."
"Yeah, don't have much in the way of jobs. I barely have one myself," Finch sighed, but she left the money on the table. "Want some breakfast? I think I might need another cup of coffee."
"Are you asking me out?" Vance smirked.
"No!" Finch's eyes widened, and she looked a little like she was considering hyperventilating. "N-no, I'm just, I'm having a bad morning. Thought someone might as well get something out of it."
"Awright. Breakfast," Vance said, sitting. "Nothing fancy."
"You pick," Finch said, leaning forward, propping her chin on her hand. She pushed her soggy eggs around with her fork after flagging a waitress, ordering a coffee for herself.
"Bacon butty is fine for me, thanks," he told the waitress, tracing patterns on the table as the waitress cleared the dishes from the table. "Bad morning. Your Mum still upset with ya?"
"Dunno. Haven't been home yet," Finch answered, rubbing her temple with her fingers. "My brother and I were catching up. Talking about last night and stuff, like what our mother actually does." She toyed with the new knowledge. "Do you, um. Have you heard of Moriarty?"
"Sure," Vance said, drinking his coffee as he shivered, warming up.
"What have you heard?" Finch pressed, leaning forward.
Vance put his hands up. "Don't deal with him. I don't gamble, not up for anything more than a puffa, and I sure as hell don't need to owe nobody else nothing more. Met some of his men in the pen. They didn't last long. Rats," he spat the word.
Drugs. Gambling. Just what was her mother up to? And something caught in her head, something... Sherlock had mentioned before. About Finch taking over. She shivered. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Oi, I dinna mean anythin'," Vance said, holding out his hand. "I can pay for my own and go." He tossed a thumb over his shoulder, though he hadn't dreamed of running into the golden girl again.
"No, no, it's nothing to do with you. I um, I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I just found out some, um, things. Nothing to share with an outsider. It's a lot to take in all at once," Finch said, even though now that he mentioned it, he did smell. She blinked. "I don't have much of a backbone. I don't think I can do what my family needs me to do."
"Thought you just shot a bloke," he said, lowering his voice as he risked a hand over Finch's. His dirty nails looked awful next to her own. He flinched.
She didn't really notice. When it came to most people, Finch was absolutely clueless. "Shh. I thought he was going to hurt my mum. That shouldn't count."
"Well, you had enough backbone to protect your family," Vance said. "But, protecting and loving your family doesn't always mean you do what they want you to. What's right for you? Ain't always right with them." He squeezed her hand gently. "I seen you lookin', go on and ask." He gestured to his face.
Finch licked her lips, and in a leap of deductive reasoning that Sherlock had pounded into her since birth, she made a connection. "Your family did that?"
"Mum," he agreed. "Belt. Don't even remember what I did wrong anymore. All I knew is it weren't right to be hittin' on me anymore. Instead of getting my backside, she got me in the face."
"And you can't see out of it?" Finch asked in a whisper, and her hand reached up to brush his face without even thinking to ask.
"Nah," he said, leaning into her touch. "Scarring or somethin. Puts people off. Not as much of a badarse as you thought, huh?" He laughed. "Other'n works just fine though!"
Finch gave him a genuine smile. "I don't know. You're pretty bad. You steal things. If you managed to get something off Spencer you must be brilliant at it."
"Pfft, nobody's better'n me at pulling something off someone. You couldn't even tell it," he snickered. "Nobody ever does. I only take what I need. I tried going straight like Mista Holmes says to us, but with my rap sheet? Nah, no one'd have me."
"You've been arrested?" Finch asked, looking interested. "For what? Just stealing or for drugs, too?"
"I weren't doing the drugs!" Vance said. "Well, just a bit of pot, but I weren't. They called it a drugs bust. ASBOs for being in the park at night, sleeping where I weren't supposed to. Got caught lifting some things from a store or two. Vandalism, trespassing. Stupid shite. I'm not some crackhead. I made it through Year 8!"
Finch pulled back from him, realizing how close they were when his breath wafted in her face. "I believe you. Just, y'know, never met anyone whose been arrested for anything before. Well, except my Aunt Free, but they don't talk about that sort of thing much. It's not on, apparently."
Vance's brows furrowed.
"Jus' cos I've been in some trouble don't mean I ain't human," he said.
"Who said you weren't?" Finch asked, blinking, clearly startled.
"Damn near everyone, little rich girl," Vance breathed. "Wake up. The world's not all roses. People do bad things. Don't make 'em not people."
Finch's eyes turned hard and her mouth set in a line. It hit a little too close to home, his words. "Yeah. Well, I'll keep that in mind. Keep the change." She stood and headed for the door, leaving her cash on the table.
Vance cursed, dropping his chin. He paid for his food and scrapped together the last of the money. It was just short of two nights, but he could sleep comfortable one night, get a shower, some cigarettes and food if he swung it right. It felt like guilt money though.
He sought out one of the younger kids, passing off half his breakfast to a tow-headed little girl and gave the tenner to her older 'sibling'.
Jen had been right. He should've put the girl out of his mind. Two different worlds. He blew out smoke from his last cigarette. Now Finch was asking about Moriarty? He was worried about her. Nothing good ever came from that name.
"I'd rather start with you. What I know involves why I was sleeping on your couch last night and I'm not ready," Finch frowned, shaking her head. She could really do with a shower. "It ended with our parents locked in the studio downstairs shagging, and by the by, sound really carries in that house."
"Why do you think I sleep upstairs?" Spencer said with a raised brow. "Okay, so you know the name Moriarty right? I mean, duh. But it's not just the restaurant. That's what uncle Jack boiled it down too, an amusement. But years ago? In the underground, it's something totally different."
"Different? How? It's just a name," Finch said, spearing some eggs. "I mean, mum said she had an old boyfriend called that, too. Jimmy or something. Papa gets all sad when she says his name so she doesn't talk about him a lot."
"Jim Moriarty," Spencer said. "Exactly. He was mad as a box of frogs. Wicked smart though, and Father's arch nemesis. Father still talks about him sometimes, lets things slip. Evidently the man became a moniker, and our Mum took over the reigns after he died. Apparently this Jim had a lot of power, lot of money, too. But Moriarty? It's like the Dread Pirate Roberts. It's only a name. People use it from time to time, but it's the fear behind it that matters. And right now, Mum's Moriarty."
Finch blinked at him. That vague nauseated feeling from the night before returned. She set her fork back on the table. "So, what, like, my Mum's a super villain?"
"Not a super villain. THE super villain," Spencer shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Pretty bitchin' for an ol' lady, huh?"
"But she's-" Finch's voice cracked, and she pressed her hand to her cheek. "She's losing her legs. Slowly, and she won't admit it, but she is."
Spencer said down his sandwich, wiping his mouth. "Already?" he asked softly. "I thought she'd have longer."
"She was using a cane last night. Pretty hard, too," Finch said, looking back down at her food. "She's going on sixty, y'know. Normal people would already have health problems."
"She'll get herself killed," Spencer said, smacking his hand on the table.
"That's what I thought when I followed her. I don't know why, I just had this niggling feeling. So, I followed, and when it looked like whatever the deal was was going wrong, I- I sh-shot a bloke," Finch ended with a whisper. She nearly shook just thinking about it. "Apparently caused more harm than good."
"Did he die?" Spencer asked, tilting his head.
"She didn't say," Finch shrugged. "She was too busy scolding me for coming along. Well, not even scolding, really. I dunno, whatever that was, it- it wasn't Mum. Not my Mum."
"Dull," Spencer said, slouching in his chair. "You should've checked. She wasn't Mum. She was Moriarty. She was doing her job." He turned his wrist. "Shite, I'll be late for class."
"It's 'kay, go. We should have breakfast more often, though. No one ever tells me anything," Finch said, sipping at another cup of coffee, this one properly sweetened. "Go, go, go."
Spencer got up, heading for the door before backtracking.
"Oh yeah, don't tell Dad or Father, or even Mum, but I've signed up for the Police Academy next semester," Spencer beamed, smacking her on the arm and skipping off.
"Wait, what?!" Finch yelped but he was already halfway down the block. "Fuckin' brothers."
The door chimed and a tall, familiar figure headed towards the counter.
"One coffee, extra milk, sugar," Vance said to the frowning woman behind the counter. "I've got the money. My quid is just as good as-" he turned, intending to point to the rest of the patrons. "Oh. You."
"This is not my morning," Finch muttered, leaning forward, covering her eyes with her hand. For someone who usually didn't care about either sex, she suddenly felt a little self-conscious and more than a little blushy.
Vance chewed his lip, but paid for the coffee. He fiddled with the nice leather wallet as he headed over to Finch.
"Um," he said, ducking slightly to try and catch her eye. "I uh, well." He placed the wallet on the table. "Might want to give that back."
"That's Spencer's," Finch said, glancing from between her fingers. She put her hand down. "You know he's Sherlock's son. Why would you take his wallet, of all people?"
Vance grinned. "Because I nick it from 'im when he's being a brat. Besides, he had fifty quid in there. Rich little shite. Won't hurt him none."
"Keep the cash. Perhaps it'll teach him to look after it better," Finch replied, lips twitching up. "Little brothers. Who needs them."
"Planned on it," Vance said, blowing at his coffee. "That'll get me a room out of the cold for a night, two if I can pony up another tenner, but I'd have to find another fool."
"Here, I've got some on me," Finch said, pulling her own wallet from her pocket. She held out a few notes. She didn't get as good an allowance as Spencer (and he'd claimed to have spent his!) but she did work hard. "You could use it more than I could."
"Whoa! No way," Vance said, pushing her money back her. "Nu-uh, I get my money like a good thief. I don't do charity. Now, if you've got a job for me, we could talk."
"Yeah, don't have much in the way of jobs. I barely have one myself," Finch sighed, but she left the money on the table. "Want some breakfast? I think I might need another cup of coffee."
"Are you asking me out?" Vance smirked.
"No!" Finch's eyes widened, and she looked a little like she was considering hyperventilating. "N-no, I'm just, I'm having a bad morning. Thought someone might as well get something out of it."
"Awright. Breakfast," Vance said, sitting. "Nothing fancy."
"You pick," Finch said, leaning forward, propping her chin on her hand. She pushed her soggy eggs around with her fork after flagging a waitress, ordering a coffee for herself.
"Bacon butty is fine for me, thanks," he told the waitress, tracing patterns on the table as the waitress cleared the dishes from the table. "Bad morning. Your Mum still upset with ya?"
"Dunno. Haven't been home yet," Finch answered, rubbing her temple with her fingers. "My brother and I were catching up. Talking about last night and stuff, like what our mother actually does." She toyed with the new knowledge. "Do you, um. Have you heard of Moriarty?"
"Sure," Vance said, drinking his coffee as he shivered, warming up.
"What have you heard?" Finch pressed, leaning forward.
Vance put his hands up. "Don't deal with him. I don't gamble, not up for anything more than a puffa, and I sure as hell don't need to owe nobody else nothing more. Met some of his men in the pen. They didn't last long. Rats," he spat the word.
Drugs. Gambling. Just what was her mother up to? And something caught in her head, something... Sherlock had mentioned before. About Finch taking over. She shivered. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Oi, I dinna mean anythin'," Vance said, holding out his hand. "I can pay for my own and go." He tossed a thumb over his shoulder, though he hadn't dreamed of running into the golden girl again.
"No, no, it's nothing to do with you. I um, I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I just found out some, um, things. Nothing to share with an outsider. It's a lot to take in all at once," Finch said, even though now that he mentioned it, he did smell. She blinked. "I don't have much of a backbone. I don't think I can do what my family needs me to do."
"Thought you just shot a bloke," he said, lowering his voice as he risked a hand over Finch's. His dirty nails looked awful next to her own. He flinched.
She didn't really notice. When it came to most people, Finch was absolutely clueless. "Shh. I thought he was going to hurt my mum. That shouldn't count."
"Well, you had enough backbone to protect your family," Vance said. "But, protecting and loving your family doesn't always mean you do what they want you to. What's right for you? Ain't always right with them." He squeezed her hand gently. "I seen you lookin', go on and ask." He gestured to his face.
Finch licked her lips, and in a leap of deductive reasoning that Sherlock had pounded into her since birth, she made a connection. "Your family did that?"
"Mum," he agreed. "Belt. Don't even remember what I did wrong anymore. All I knew is it weren't right to be hittin' on me anymore. Instead of getting my backside, she got me in the face."
"And you can't see out of it?" Finch asked in a whisper, and her hand reached up to brush his face without even thinking to ask.
"Nah," he said, leaning into her touch. "Scarring or somethin. Puts people off. Not as much of a badarse as you thought, huh?" He laughed. "Other'n works just fine though!"
Finch gave him a genuine smile. "I don't know. You're pretty bad. You steal things. If you managed to get something off Spencer you must be brilliant at it."
"Pfft, nobody's better'n me at pulling something off someone. You couldn't even tell it," he snickered. "Nobody ever does. I only take what I need. I tried going straight like Mista Holmes says to us, but with my rap sheet? Nah, no one'd have me."
"You've been arrested?" Finch asked, looking interested. "For what? Just stealing or for drugs, too?"
"I weren't doing the drugs!" Vance said. "Well, just a bit of pot, but I weren't. They called it a drugs bust. ASBOs for being in the park at night, sleeping where I weren't supposed to. Got caught lifting some things from a store or two. Vandalism, trespassing. Stupid shite. I'm not some crackhead. I made it through Year 8!"
Finch pulled back from him, realizing how close they were when his breath wafted in her face. "I believe you. Just, y'know, never met anyone whose been arrested for anything before. Well, except my Aunt Free, but they don't talk about that sort of thing much. It's not on, apparently."
Vance's brows furrowed.
"Jus' cos I've been in some trouble don't mean I ain't human," he said.
"Who said you weren't?" Finch asked, blinking, clearly startled.
"Damn near everyone, little rich girl," Vance breathed. "Wake up. The world's not all roses. People do bad things. Don't make 'em not people."
Finch's eyes turned hard and her mouth set in a line. It hit a little too close to home, his words. "Yeah. Well, I'll keep that in mind. Keep the change." She stood and headed for the door, leaving her cash on the table.
Vance cursed, dropping his chin. He paid for his food and scrapped together the last of the money. It was just short of two nights, but he could sleep comfortable one night, get a shower, some cigarettes and food if he swung it right. It felt like guilt money though.
He sought out one of the younger kids, passing off half his breakfast to a tow-headed little girl and gave the tenner to her older 'sibling'.
Jen had been right. He should've put the girl out of his mind. Two different worlds. He blew out smoke from his last cigarette. Now Finch was asking about Moriarty? He was worried about her. Nothing good ever came from that name.
***
Finch was still feeling angry when she let herself into the flat. Probably pathetic to be her age and still living at home with Mummy and Daddy but she'd never had a reason to want to leave. Or really do anything. So she worked at her parents' bar and stayed in her childhood room. She gulped, though, hoping her mother was out.
"Mum?"
Sebastian was waiting on the sofa.
"Not home," he said, arms crossed in patent Fatherly Disapproval.
"Hi, Papa," Finch said, her voice going soft. She gulped. "I, um, stayed over Spencer's."
"Mmhmm," the older man said. His blond hair had lightened into a yellow-white. The lines on the face were a bit deeper, but they were from joy, not anguish. "How's your brother?"
"Stupid," she said with a sigh, perching on the edge of a soft chair to look at her dad. "But brilliant. Like a miniature Sherlock."
"And what do you have to say for yourself?" Seb's piercing blue eyes hadn't softened despite the rest of his features.
"She told you?" Finch asked, feeling like the air had been stolen from her.
"Told me? I helped clean up your mess, little miss," Sebastian replied. "Cocked it up right good. With my gun."
"Papa," Finch said, her voice cracking. "I was scared. She was going to get hurt." I'm still scared. There's still so much you haven't told me.
Sebastian got up, cupping Finch's face. "Mary is perfectly capable of handling her own, Finch. She did, even when bound to a wheel chair. She had Jack and personnel in place, but you. I could have lost you. Do you understand that?" He blinked, eyes watery.
"But Papa, you taught me. You and D- John. Why did you teach me if I'm not supposed to use it?" Finch asked, holding his hands to her face.
"Because you were never supposed to need it. Your mother and I- the things we've gone through to keep you safe. To keep you, to have you," Sebastian said, pulling her in for a rough hug. "You will never know how hard it was. I taught you to save yourself. To save you."
"Papa," Finch sniffed, hugging him back. "Sh-She- And I just thought- Papa, I didn't know. And I thought she was, I thought something might happen."
"You are so, so grounded," Sebastian sniffed. "Come, come here. It's time we talked." He held out his hand.
Finch settled next to her father, cuddled up to his side, holding his hand like she'd done when she was a little girl. She didn't want to point out that at twenty-four he could hardly ground her. "Spencer probably told me everything you're going to say, Papa. I just don't understand."
"Spencer is a nosy little git who should keep his mouth shut," Seb said, sighing. "I'm not going to tell you about your mother, Finch. I'm going to tell you about Jim. And about.. myself."
Finch licked her lips. She had been curious. "Okay, Papa. I'm listening."
"I had just been dishonorably discharged..." Seb started.
Sebastian was waiting on the sofa.
"Not home," he said, arms crossed in patent Fatherly Disapproval.
"Hi, Papa," Finch said, her voice going soft. She gulped. "I, um, stayed over Spencer's."
"Mmhmm," the older man said. His blond hair had lightened into a yellow-white. The lines on the face were a bit deeper, but they were from joy, not anguish. "How's your brother?"
"Stupid," she said with a sigh, perching on the edge of a soft chair to look at her dad. "But brilliant. Like a miniature Sherlock."
"And what do you have to say for yourself?" Seb's piercing blue eyes hadn't softened despite the rest of his features.
"She told you?" Finch asked, feeling like the air had been stolen from her.
"Told me? I helped clean up your mess, little miss," Sebastian replied. "Cocked it up right good. With my gun."
"Papa," Finch said, her voice cracking. "I was scared. She was going to get hurt." I'm still scared. There's still so much you haven't told me.
Sebastian got up, cupping Finch's face. "Mary is perfectly capable of handling her own, Finch. She did, even when bound to a wheel chair. She had Jack and personnel in place, but you. I could have lost you. Do you understand that?" He blinked, eyes watery.
"But Papa, you taught me. You and D- John. Why did you teach me if I'm not supposed to use it?" Finch asked, holding his hands to her face.
"Because you were never supposed to need it. Your mother and I- the things we've gone through to keep you safe. To keep you, to have you," Sebastian said, pulling her in for a rough hug. "You will never know how hard it was. I taught you to save yourself. To save you."
"Papa," Finch sniffed, hugging him back. "Sh-She- And I just thought- Papa, I didn't know. And I thought she was, I thought something might happen."
"You are so, so grounded," Sebastian sniffed. "Come, come here. It's time we talked." He held out his hand.
Finch settled next to her father, cuddled up to his side, holding his hand like she'd done when she was a little girl. She didn't want to point out that at twenty-four he could hardly ground her. "Spencer probably told me everything you're going to say, Papa. I just don't understand."
"Spencer is a nosy little git who should keep his mouth shut," Seb said, sighing. "I'm not going to tell you about your mother, Finch. I'm going to tell you about Jim. And about.. myself."
Finch licked her lips. She had been curious. "Okay, Papa. I'm listening."
"I had just been dishonorably discharged..." Seb started.
***
Seb was drinking down his third pint. The scrawny little shit across from his was smiling like a mad thing. He was promising Sebastian sex, money, and a trial run at a job.
"So?" Jim said, eyes alight.
"Alright," Seb said, dropping his tankard.
Jim had tied him up, shoved his cock deep in Seb's throat and made him feel alive again for the first time in months. He hadn't meant to shoot all those civilians. They'd had guns. Hadn't they?
He came crying in relief.
He loosed his first sniper shot at a banker from two hundred yards away. He didn't feel a thing.
***
"Jim and Mary, they were.. different, but the same. They were sick, sick together. Your mother's legs and Jim's madness. Jimmy was growing sicker though, and after your mother's surgery, she was healing. It was my job to watch her, to make her learn to walk again. Keep her wounds clean, keep her fed, keep her alive," Seb said.
"I have so many questions, I don't even know where to start," Finch said weakly. But there was one glaringly obvious one that had to be asked. "How did Jim die?"
"Stupidity," Seb said, hurt in his eyes. "Your mother had won him back from Mycroft Holmes, pulled him from custody. He was still in cuffs. She just wanted to know she was loved. I was scared, darling. Jim had owned me. If he'd been freed, truly, I would have been back under his heel. I was well and truly smitten with your mother. I begged her."
"Begged her to what, Papa?"
"I asked her to shoot him," Sebastian whispered. "To end it." He smiled though. "I think she'd already planned it. She was already pregnant with you." He stroked her cheek.
Finch's mind was whirling. "And she just did it? B-But what- Why did she even go with him?"
"Because he threatened Sherlock," Mary said, having crept in nearly silently. "Because he promised he could fix my legs."
"He did fix your legs," Seb turned, swiping at his eye. "I saw them, often."
"Yes, well. Best not to dwell in the past. I find it rather depressing," Mary remarked, heading for her bedroom. "When I come out of the shower, this conversation had better have been ended."
Seb squeezed Finch's hand. "Your mother took on a very big job, love. A very, very big job. No matter what anyone says, it's not yours to take on. We've done our best to give you the best start to do anything, be anyone you want to be, but we also knew being who we were, you were always a target. We wanted you to be protected. To protect yourself. Until you could find yourself a Jack." He snorted.
"Papa," Finch said a little condescendingly. "I'm pretty sure I'm never going to find someone like that." Even though her mind was suddenly flickering images of scarred eyes. "I'll just be your little girl for forever."
Seb tugged her in for a hug. "You'll always be my little girl. Just promise, never, ever do something like that again," he said.
"I'll try, Papa. I'm sorry I worried you," Finch said, hugging him back. She listened to the water running, hoping that she would be able to keep her promise. Seb kissed her on the head.
"Now, I have your Tiger-mummy to go soothe before she roars the house down. I'd suggest you go hide up in your loft before Jack gets home tonight. He's going to be very cross with you," Sebastian warned.
"Sound advice. I love you, Papa," Finch whispered.
"I love you too, cub," Seb said, hefting himself off the couch. He'd heard the water shut off. He winced as he headed towards his shared bedroom with Mary. He sat on their bed, leaning forward on his knees. His wife emerged in nothing but a towel, having made the union proper when Mycroft passed away a few years back. She sighed at the sight of him.
"Alright, tiger. My turn for a scolding? Am I being too harsh on your baby?" Mary huffed, reaching for her favorite loose nightgown.
Seb caught her up before she was able to pull it over her head.
"No," he rumbled, kissing the side of her clean smelling neck. "But she needed the truth of things, Mary. She's not a baby anymore."
"She's also not even close to being able to insert herself into my business," Mary replied, brushing her hands over his hair. "She's not a child, but she's certainly not a criminal, either. She was born to be better than all of this."
"I wholeheartedly agree," Sebastian said, turning to kiss her. "But you can't leave her blind to it. Sherlock is daft thinking she can replace you, but you cannot, cannot leave our baby girl blind to the criminal world that's out there. They'll eat her alive."
Mary shivered, leaning into him. "Yes, well, Sherlock is daft about many things. He seems to think you'd agree to retiring with him to the country, of all places."
Seb cleared his throat. He stroked Mary's soft waist. "Actually.."
"Oh, oh, no! No! He hasn't gotten you in on this, has he?" Mary put her head on his chest. "Seb, you hate Sherlock. You always have."
"Jim hated Sherlock. I hate that you have.. relations with the man. But I have never, never asked you to change your relationship with him, or Jack, for that matter," Sebastian said, holding her. "You.. need him. The way Jim needed you. He's shown me the blueprints. We wouldn't share much of the common areas, unless we chose to."
Mary sniffed, everything she'd wanted since she'd returned twenty-five years ago so close to being within reach. It was overwhelming. At the same time, the fear for her baby eating at her. As long as she was Moriarty she would be able to protect her loved ones. "You have to know what that would mean to me. To be with them again. John wouldn't like it, though."
"Mary Morstan," Sebastian chided. "After all these years.."
"If you can get John to agree to it, and Jack, maybe. Probably wouldn't work, though," Mary sighed, kissing Sebastian's heart.
"John Watson has spent every single moment since you returned loving you," Sebastian murmured. "I know the look of a man in love."
Mary blinked. "What?" She shook her head. "N-no, no. What- But Jim said and then- then the, when I came back- oh, he calls me the most wretched names."
"He's hiding his broken heart," Seb said, tipping up her chin. "He'd thought he won your heart. That you'd be Mrs. Watson. We'll manage. Jack will hate it, but he'll either adapt or pitch a tent in the yard." He kissed Mary soundly. She kissed him back, her hand reaching up to cup his jaw, thumb playing with his ear.
"I never will regret choosing you, though, tiger," Mary whispered. "You're mine. My own tiger."
"I know. It's why you're mine. Mine now. I outlasted that Holmes, and I can live with another. If only to rub it in his face that you're still mine," Seb growled. "Come to bed. Forget the nightgown."
"For you, my tiger, anything," Mary said, letting the towel and nightgown fall to the floor.
"I have so many questions, I don't even know where to start," Finch said weakly. But there was one glaringly obvious one that had to be asked. "How did Jim die?"
"Stupidity," Seb said, hurt in his eyes. "Your mother had won him back from Mycroft Holmes, pulled him from custody. He was still in cuffs. She just wanted to know she was loved. I was scared, darling. Jim had owned me. If he'd been freed, truly, I would have been back under his heel. I was well and truly smitten with your mother. I begged her."
"Begged her to what, Papa?"
"I asked her to shoot him," Sebastian whispered. "To end it." He smiled though. "I think she'd already planned it. She was already pregnant with you." He stroked her cheek.
Finch's mind was whirling. "And she just did it? B-But what- Why did she even go with him?"
"Because he threatened Sherlock," Mary said, having crept in nearly silently. "Because he promised he could fix my legs."
"He did fix your legs," Seb turned, swiping at his eye. "I saw them, often."
"Yes, well. Best not to dwell in the past. I find it rather depressing," Mary remarked, heading for her bedroom. "When I come out of the shower, this conversation had better have been ended."
Seb squeezed Finch's hand. "Your mother took on a very big job, love. A very, very big job. No matter what anyone says, it's not yours to take on. We've done our best to give you the best start to do anything, be anyone you want to be, but we also knew being who we were, you were always a target. We wanted you to be protected. To protect yourself. Until you could find yourself a Jack." He snorted.
"Papa," Finch said a little condescendingly. "I'm pretty sure I'm never going to find someone like that." Even though her mind was suddenly flickering images of scarred eyes. "I'll just be your little girl for forever."
Seb tugged her in for a hug. "You'll always be my little girl. Just promise, never, ever do something like that again," he said.
"I'll try, Papa. I'm sorry I worried you," Finch said, hugging him back. She listened to the water running, hoping that she would be able to keep her promise. Seb kissed her on the head.
"Now, I have your Tiger-mummy to go soothe before she roars the house down. I'd suggest you go hide up in your loft before Jack gets home tonight. He's going to be very cross with you," Sebastian warned.
"Sound advice. I love you, Papa," Finch whispered.
"I love you too, cub," Seb said, hefting himself off the couch. He'd heard the water shut off. He winced as he headed towards his shared bedroom with Mary. He sat on their bed, leaning forward on his knees. His wife emerged in nothing but a towel, having made the union proper when Mycroft passed away a few years back. She sighed at the sight of him.
"Alright, tiger. My turn for a scolding? Am I being too harsh on your baby?" Mary huffed, reaching for her favorite loose nightgown.
Seb caught her up before she was able to pull it over her head.
"No," he rumbled, kissing the side of her clean smelling neck. "But she needed the truth of things, Mary. She's not a baby anymore."
"She's also not even close to being able to insert herself into my business," Mary replied, brushing her hands over his hair. "She's not a child, but she's certainly not a criminal, either. She was born to be better than all of this."
"I wholeheartedly agree," Sebastian said, turning to kiss her. "But you can't leave her blind to it. Sherlock is daft thinking she can replace you, but you cannot, cannot leave our baby girl blind to the criminal world that's out there. They'll eat her alive."
Mary shivered, leaning into him. "Yes, well, Sherlock is daft about many things. He seems to think you'd agree to retiring with him to the country, of all places."
Seb cleared his throat. He stroked Mary's soft waist. "Actually.."
"Oh, oh, no! No! He hasn't gotten you in on this, has he?" Mary put her head on his chest. "Seb, you hate Sherlock. You always have."
"Jim hated Sherlock. I hate that you have.. relations with the man. But I have never, never asked you to change your relationship with him, or Jack, for that matter," Sebastian said, holding her. "You.. need him. The way Jim needed you. He's shown me the blueprints. We wouldn't share much of the common areas, unless we chose to."
Mary sniffed, everything she'd wanted since she'd returned twenty-five years ago so close to being within reach. It was overwhelming. At the same time, the fear for her baby eating at her. As long as she was Moriarty she would be able to protect her loved ones. "You have to know what that would mean to me. To be with them again. John wouldn't like it, though."
"Mary Morstan," Sebastian chided. "After all these years.."
"If you can get John to agree to it, and Jack, maybe. Probably wouldn't work, though," Mary sighed, kissing Sebastian's heart.
"John Watson has spent every single moment since you returned loving you," Sebastian murmured. "I know the look of a man in love."
Mary blinked. "What?" She shook her head. "N-no, no. What- But Jim said and then- then the, when I came back- oh, he calls me the most wretched names."
"He's hiding his broken heart," Seb said, tipping up her chin. "He'd thought he won your heart. That you'd be Mrs. Watson. We'll manage. Jack will hate it, but he'll either adapt or pitch a tent in the yard." He kissed Mary soundly. She kissed him back, her hand reaching up to cup his jaw, thumb playing with his ear.
"I never will regret choosing you, though, tiger," Mary whispered. "You're mine. My own tiger."
"I know. It's why you're mine. Mine now. I outlasted that Holmes, and I can live with another. If only to rub it in his face that you're still mine," Seb growled. "Come to bed. Forget the nightgown."
"For you, my tiger, anything," Mary said, letting the towel and nightgown fall to the floor.
***
Finch knew better than to be out alone at two in the morning. But the pub didn't run itself and two of the servers had called out sick. She was only a lowly waitress but since she was family she couldn't leave the bar alone. Not with Jack and Mum and Papa out of town. So, at two in the morning, she was stumbling through the chilly dark back towards the flat. Tired, smelling of beer, and entirely unaware of her surroundings.
A rough arm grabbed her and held a knife at her throat.
"Give me your money," a foul breathed man growled.
"P-Please! L-let me go," Finch breathed, trying to remember exactly what John had taught her to get out of a situation like this. Except, in the time of struggle, it was hard to recall self-defense techniques. "I'll give it to you, please, just let me go." Maybe if she moved her hand to the left...
"Now! Give it to me," he snarled, poking her slightly.
"Georgio," Vance shouted from across the street.
The thug looked off the to side.
Finch took it upon herself to elbow him in the stomach. The man buckled, dropping the knife. Vance had run across the road.
"Are you alright, miss-?" he started, realizing who he'd just saved.
"Damnit, V," the thug wheezed.
Finch was panting, on the verge of running when Vance appeared. "I-I-I need to go."
Vance pulled out his last five dollars and shoved it at Georgio. "He'll be fine," he said, grabbing her away. "He just needs a hit. Come on."
She gripped his hand like she'd never let it go. "I-I'm, I mean, I was um, just on my way home. I-I- He just startled me."
"Yeah, stupid thugs like him, no finesse. And pulling a weapon should be last resort," he said, hurrying with her. "His brain's addled though. Too much cocaine. Heroin too. Meth. Eating away at his brain. He literally can't think."
"Sounds awful," Finch breathed, blushing at how lame the words sounded. "I'm sorry, bit frightened. I knew it was stupid of me, but I just, it was so nice and there was no one out."
"There's always people out," Vance snorted. "You're lucky I just got kicked out of my hotel."
"I know," Finch said, shivering from fear. "Thank you. Thank you! Oh God, I forgot to even say thank you. And you saved me and everything. I mean, I was going to try and get away but we've seen how well I do running in the dark."
"Brick walls. They jump right out at you every time," Vance laughed, swaying slightly into Finch. "One minute you're running, then BAM!"
"It's not funny," Finch sniffed, sulking. "I was afraid." It was a little funny. "We're just up this way. Would you like to stay? The night, I mean. My parents aren't home, and I'm-" Finch shivered. "Little shaken, I think."
Vance's brows rose.
"Sure, if you think I won't run off with the silver ware," he said.
"Sherlock would probably be very disappointed with you if you did. Not to mention, and please don't take this the wrong way, but you really don't want to cross my mother. No place would be safe for you," Finch said seriously. "You keep turning up in the strangest places."
"Just in London," Vance replied. "Alright, so I've maybe stuck around a few particular neighborhoods, but I figured it'd get out of my system soon enough."
"Oh? Looking for something?" Finch asked curiously. "Is it a girlfriend?"
"Hah! What am I gonna do with one of those?" he laughed. "Nah, just wondered if I'd see you again. Thought what with you bein' a trouble magnet, I thought 'V, you gotta watch out for that bird'."
"I'm not usually a trouble magnet," Finch fretted, lips twisting to the side. "Just lately. I-I really should have known better than to walk home. It wasn't even my shift but they would've been short and with my Jack out of town there would have been no one to make sure everything ran smoothly. One of my dads, Jack Kincaid, he owns the pub I work at."
Vance let out a whistle.
"Maybe I should just walk ya to your door," he said. "I don't need Kincaid pickin' up my trail. I'm clean."
Finch looked up at him, puzzled. "I'm not even going to ask. I have enough to deal with this week, I don't need to know what Jack has been up to. I know it's silly, but I'd really like the company. I hate it when they leave me alone."
"I could use a shower," Vance admitted. "Do you have a washer? I mean, not that I expect-" he stammered.
"Yes, you're more than welcome to use the laundry, if you'd like," Finch said, slipping her key into the door. She flicked on the lights. "Want some tea? I might make myself a decaf."
"I don't want to impose," Vance said, looking at the flat. He took it in quickly, feeling like he would dirty anything he'd touch. "I haven't, er, anything to change into. I'll just- I'm fine. It's all fine." He didn't even want to sit on the sofa.
"I'll give you one of my tee shirts. I usually sleep in my old uni sweats, so you could use those until yours are clean," Finch called over her shoulder. She took the opportunity to change into a sweatshirt and track bottoms herself, coming out with a clean tee shirt and sweatpants for Vance. "Here. Shower's just through there and laundry is over there. I'll go start tea."
"Th-thanks," he said, ducking into the bathroom to shower. He tried not to look at the grime the washed off him as he showered. He'd only just showered at the hotel, but it was in his clothes, in his hair, in his very veins. He worked extra hard to get his hands and face clean.
Still the same man looked at him in the bathroom mirror. He had to bunch up the sweats to the top of his calves, but the waist fit his painfully thin hips. The shirt was oversized on Finch, and fit him fine. Everything was soft and clean. He could almost moan.
He headed towards where she said 'laundry' was meant to go and hesitated. The machines were shiny, clean, with buttons and knobs. He held his bundle of dirty clothes, layers and layers.
"You okay?" Finch called out, pouring steaming water into two large mugs, arranging a sandwich on a plate. "I need a snack, so I made you one, too."
"I, uh-" Vance said. He swallowed. "I haven't used this sort of washer before. It looks a bit.. different. Mind showin' me erm.."
"Oh! Oh, yes, sure, I'm sorry, I didn't realized," Finch bustled into the room, putting a capful of detergent into the washer. "Here, put your clothes in, yes, like that, and-" she shut the door and set the cycle. "There we go. Washing up. Come on, this way. I need something to eat." And so do you.
Vance sighed in relief. He followed like a lost stray.
"You have a very nice.. flat," he said, picking up the cup of tea and sandwich. His stomach growled.
"My mum liked it. Said there was a lot of light here," Finch told him, perching on a chair with her own sandwich, a bag of crisps set in the middle. "Then Jack added on his own room in the back. She- My mum, that is- wanted a good place to raise a kid. She says babies need lots of light and open space."
Vance sat, taking careful bites of his food.
"She raised a good kid. I can see why you still live with them. Your parents - I mean. She just had you?"
"And Spencer, of course," Finch said, chewing. "She um, let him be raised by his dads, though. She kept me close, because of my Papa. Do you have any siblings?"
"Wait? Spencer's your brother?!" Vance said, mouth hanging open.
"Yes? That's why I said about little brothers, last time, when we were talking. Oh, you didn't make the connection. Yes, Spencer is my baby brother," Finch chattered, swinging her feet. Her tongue darted out to lick a stray dab of mustard from her cheek. "We have different fathers, but our mother is the same."
Vance laughed, covering his face.
"I thought he was your boyfriend, which is why you were goin' to see Mista Holmes," he laughed, face pink.
"No, I know I told you Sherlock is one of my dads!" Finch giggled, fanning at her face, which seemed suddenly warm. "I mean, we're not blood related or anything, but him and John, I spent a lot of time with them when I was younger. My mother had Spencer and gave him to them."
"Yeah, but some birds call their bloke's parents.. their.. nevermind," Vance said, ears turning red. He stuffed a bite of sandwich into his mouth. "That was.. good of your Mum. Lots of good parents. You two were lucky ones."
"Yeah, but y'know. There's all these other things you don't know," Finch said, her smile going tight around the edges. "Y'know, I've never talked this much to anyone before. I must be boring you."
"Not at all," Vance admitted. He kept flicking glances at Finch. It was hard to look at her directly, especially with all this light. He kept his chin ducked as he ate. "Don't have any bruvvers or sisters. Got some littles I look after sometimes."
"Littles?" Finch asked, tone curious. She munched a crisp.
"Younger homeless kids," Vance said, reaching out to take one. His mouth watered around it. "Couple of girls, a boy or two sometimes. Younger'n legal. System usually picks 'em up, but they try."
"Oh, how awful. I mean, that there are younger ones," Finch said. Her green eyes were big and concerned. "My mother, she was homeless for a while. Her foster father wasn't nice. I mean, I shouldn't tell you that. She doesn't even like to talk about it. I mean, I'm rambling again, I'm sorry! That's nice, that you take care of the other ones."
"I ain't no saint. But I hate to see 'em going hungry like. I wound up in juvie before foster care. Aged out, thank God," he said. "Not sure if my mum ever had any more kids. I hope not. No dad in the picture, so who knows."
Finch reached out and patted his arm. "Well, if you ever want one, I've got a few to spare."
"I manage," Vance said, taking the last bite of his sandwich. The back of his neck tingled. Like he was being watched. "Feels strange, being inside."
She looked at him and licked her lip again. "Sorry, if you need to go, I mean, I understand. I just- I've never been attacked like that. I mean, it's silly for me to be afraid. And I hardly know you, I mean, for all I know it's not safe to have you here. But-" Finch sighed, hands wrapped around her mug. "I just don't want to be alone right now. And I don't have any friends. Or anyone."
"It's okay. I don't expect nothin'. You need me tonight, then you can put me out in the morning. I won't be offended. I'm not the sort your kind keeps around," Vance said. "Just not used to being spoiled like this. Food, warmth, not running. Feel sort of naked too. Without everything."
"Well, as you keep saying, I'm a little rich girl," Finch sighed, looking sad. And a bit lonely. "And we are spoiled little creatures. It's late, we should probably sleep."
"I don't mean no offense, Miss Finch," Vance said. "From my side of things, you live in luxury. Even a safe place to sleep is rare on the street. Where am I meant to.. stay?"
"Um, is the couch alright? I can fetch you a blanket from my room," Finch said, standing to clear their dishes away. She rinsed them, but left the actual washing until the next morning. "Here, I'll show you." She motioned for him to follow her, and led him back towards her room. Flicking a single switch, she lit up the entire room with fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. Books lay in piles on the stairs to her loft and in little rough wooden book shelves. There was a desk, and an easel with her latest piece on it, and several beaded chandeliers (just for decoration) hanging from above. The windows were covered in floral silk scarves and strands of gems and glass.
"Whoa," Vance said, stepping into her room. "It's like a goddamn fairy world." He reached for a pile of books, touching them longingly.
"I, um. I spend a lot of time alone," Finch said softly, feeling suddenly self-conscious as she pulled a worn quilt from her closet. "Alone in here, too. So I just, um, wanted to decorate it a bit." She handed him the blanket. "If you'd like to borrow a book, I'd be alright with that. I have so many."
"It'd just get stolen," Vance said, shaking his head as he took the quilt and wrapped it around his shoulders. He felt warmer, safer. "What's up there?" he asked, nodding to the loft.
"My bed," Finch replied, stepping up the little stairs to light up her cave-like bed. The mattress took up the whole built-in loft, with rustic wooden doors that closed her in. "My Papa made it for me." Inside, the walls were lined with more and more books, little paintings and a few stuffed animals (that made her wish she hadn't brought him in here). She blushed. "Ermmmm, yeah. I s'pose it's a little childish, and I am almost twenty-five, but I- I like it in here."
Vance perched at the opening.
"No, it's wonderful," he sighed, eyes wide as he looked around. "So many books. It's like a little hidey hole. Your papa's a smart fella."
"I like to read. When you don't talk to too many people, reading is a nice way to pretend you have a social life. I mean, I have some friends, but I mean, I just like being alone sometimes," Finch said, plopping herself down on her mattress, looking up. "Papa is the best. Sherlock is the smartest, and Jack and John love me, but Papa is the best one."
Vance shuffled in a little more.
"See, rich girl," he laughed, nudging her with his hand. "Don't have to be money you rich with."
Finch grinned, her eyes sparkling in the low light. Her hair shined a goldish hue, and she looked a little impish. "I know how lucky I am. Sometimes even if it feels like too many, I know I've got family."
Vance licked his lips, leaning closer. The dim light was making him bold. Finch didn't seem to care about his face too much. One girl had told him - girls that mind don't matter, and girls who matter don't mind. Her lips parted, her pale cheeks blushing yet again, eyes on his. Something had changed in the air. The electricity between them nearly buzzing.
"Vance," Finch said his name, breathing it more than speaking it.
He raised his hand again, stroking her cheek. "Yeah?" he asked.
She blinked, realizing how close their faces where. In this light, dressed in clean clothes, with clean hair, he- he looked so- like how- "I, I mean, I'm babbling again."
Vance's pulse was wild in his throat, but he knew this would probably be the only change, the only shot to taste an ounce of this girl's life. He took her by the jaw, pulling her in to softly press his lips against her sweet deep pink ones. She made a little mmph-ing noise, and it was clear she had either never done this or not done this often. His breath on her skin, it made her shiver, and she found her hand reaching up, touching his throat, like she'd seen her mother do to her father.
Vance kissed slowly, teasing her lips with his own. He took her touch as inviting and tilted his head, licking across her lips as he reached out with his other hand to touch her waist. Her lips parted instinctively, letting him in. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat. He traced his tongue past her beautiful lips and pulled her tighter with his hand at the nape of her neck.
His skin was burning hot. Everything that was missing before, was perfect. She was perfect. There was no rush to hide from people he didn't want to see, no police to break up the moment, no need to close his eyes and imagine someone, anyone else in his arms.
"Finch," he whispered between one kiss and the next.
"V-Vance," she stammered out, eyes hazy. "I-I've never, not, I mean, of course I have but- Not-" He felt so good. So dangerously good. Like drugs she'd never been courageous enough to try or being too drunk.
"Oh, oh, right, sorry," he said, taking his hands away. "Couch then?" he said, ducking his head. "I'll-just- sorry. Sorry."
"But I-" Finch blushed, and her shoulders fell, and she nodded. "Yeah, I understand." Rich girl isn't good enough for the dashing blind thief boy. Got it, got it.
Vance paused at the entrance of the loft. "Understand what?" he asked, holding the quilt tight about his shoulders.
"Nothing, I'm sorry," Finch blushed, tucking her hair behind her ears. She gulped and looked away. None of the boys or girls at school ever felt like he had. She bit her lip, her tongue feeling almost cool on the burning flesh. "Goodnight, Vance."
"Night, little bird," Vance said, leaving her to her nest.
The living room was empty, but it was warm and quiet and safe. He curled up on the couch, snuggling into the warm and clean. He still felt hot and bothered, but decided it would be rude, if not appalling to wank on the sofa. Still he shimmied trying to get comfortable as he dozed off, perfectly content, hopeful. In love.
A rough arm grabbed her and held a knife at her throat.
"Give me your money," a foul breathed man growled.
"P-Please! L-let me go," Finch breathed, trying to remember exactly what John had taught her to get out of a situation like this. Except, in the time of struggle, it was hard to recall self-defense techniques. "I'll give it to you, please, just let me go." Maybe if she moved her hand to the left...
"Now! Give it to me," he snarled, poking her slightly.
"Georgio," Vance shouted from across the street.
The thug looked off the to side.
Finch took it upon herself to elbow him in the stomach. The man buckled, dropping the knife. Vance had run across the road.
"Are you alright, miss-?" he started, realizing who he'd just saved.
"Damnit, V," the thug wheezed.
Finch was panting, on the verge of running when Vance appeared. "I-I-I need to go."
Vance pulled out his last five dollars and shoved it at Georgio. "He'll be fine," he said, grabbing her away. "He just needs a hit. Come on."
She gripped his hand like she'd never let it go. "I-I'm, I mean, I was um, just on my way home. I-I- He just startled me."
"Yeah, stupid thugs like him, no finesse. And pulling a weapon should be last resort," he said, hurrying with her. "His brain's addled though. Too much cocaine. Heroin too. Meth. Eating away at his brain. He literally can't think."
"Sounds awful," Finch breathed, blushing at how lame the words sounded. "I'm sorry, bit frightened. I knew it was stupid of me, but I just, it was so nice and there was no one out."
"There's always people out," Vance snorted. "You're lucky I just got kicked out of my hotel."
"I know," Finch said, shivering from fear. "Thank you. Thank you! Oh God, I forgot to even say thank you. And you saved me and everything. I mean, I was going to try and get away but we've seen how well I do running in the dark."
"Brick walls. They jump right out at you every time," Vance laughed, swaying slightly into Finch. "One minute you're running, then BAM!"
"It's not funny," Finch sniffed, sulking. "I was afraid." It was a little funny. "We're just up this way. Would you like to stay? The night, I mean. My parents aren't home, and I'm-" Finch shivered. "Little shaken, I think."
Vance's brows rose.
"Sure, if you think I won't run off with the silver ware," he said.
"Sherlock would probably be very disappointed with you if you did. Not to mention, and please don't take this the wrong way, but you really don't want to cross my mother. No place would be safe for you," Finch said seriously. "You keep turning up in the strangest places."
"Just in London," Vance replied. "Alright, so I've maybe stuck around a few particular neighborhoods, but I figured it'd get out of my system soon enough."
"Oh? Looking for something?" Finch asked curiously. "Is it a girlfriend?"
"Hah! What am I gonna do with one of those?" he laughed. "Nah, just wondered if I'd see you again. Thought what with you bein' a trouble magnet, I thought 'V, you gotta watch out for that bird'."
"I'm not usually a trouble magnet," Finch fretted, lips twisting to the side. "Just lately. I-I really should have known better than to walk home. It wasn't even my shift but they would've been short and with my Jack out of town there would have been no one to make sure everything ran smoothly. One of my dads, Jack Kincaid, he owns the pub I work at."
Vance let out a whistle.
"Maybe I should just walk ya to your door," he said. "I don't need Kincaid pickin' up my trail. I'm clean."
Finch looked up at him, puzzled. "I'm not even going to ask. I have enough to deal with this week, I don't need to know what Jack has been up to. I know it's silly, but I'd really like the company. I hate it when they leave me alone."
"I could use a shower," Vance admitted. "Do you have a washer? I mean, not that I expect-" he stammered.
"Yes, you're more than welcome to use the laundry, if you'd like," Finch said, slipping her key into the door. She flicked on the lights. "Want some tea? I might make myself a decaf."
"I don't want to impose," Vance said, looking at the flat. He took it in quickly, feeling like he would dirty anything he'd touch. "I haven't, er, anything to change into. I'll just- I'm fine. It's all fine." He didn't even want to sit on the sofa.
"I'll give you one of my tee shirts. I usually sleep in my old uni sweats, so you could use those until yours are clean," Finch called over her shoulder. She took the opportunity to change into a sweatshirt and track bottoms herself, coming out with a clean tee shirt and sweatpants for Vance. "Here. Shower's just through there and laundry is over there. I'll go start tea."
"Th-thanks," he said, ducking into the bathroom to shower. He tried not to look at the grime the washed off him as he showered. He'd only just showered at the hotel, but it was in his clothes, in his hair, in his very veins. He worked extra hard to get his hands and face clean.
Still the same man looked at him in the bathroom mirror. He had to bunch up the sweats to the top of his calves, but the waist fit his painfully thin hips. The shirt was oversized on Finch, and fit him fine. Everything was soft and clean. He could almost moan.
He headed towards where she said 'laundry' was meant to go and hesitated. The machines were shiny, clean, with buttons and knobs. He held his bundle of dirty clothes, layers and layers.
"You okay?" Finch called out, pouring steaming water into two large mugs, arranging a sandwich on a plate. "I need a snack, so I made you one, too."
"I, uh-" Vance said. He swallowed. "I haven't used this sort of washer before. It looks a bit.. different. Mind showin' me erm.."
"Oh! Oh, yes, sure, I'm sorry, I didn't realized," Finch bustled into the room, putting a capful of detergent into the washer. "Here, put your clothes in, yes, like that, and-" she shut the door and set the cycle. "There we go. Washing up. Come on, this way. I need something to eat." And so do you.
Vance sighed in relief. He followed like a lost stray.
"You have a very nice.. flat," he said, picking up the cup of tea and sandwich. His stomach growled.
"My mum liked it. Said there was a lot of light here," Finch told him, perching on a chair with her own sandwich, a bag of crisps set in the middle. "Then Jack added on his own room in the back. She- My mum, that is- wanted a good place to raise a kid. She says babies need lots of light and open space."
Vance sat, taking careful bites of his food.
"She raised a good kid. I can see why you still live with them. Your parents - I mean. She just had you?"
"And Spencer, of course," Finch said, chewing. "She um, let him be raised by his dads, though. She kept me close, because of my Papa. Do you have any siblings?"
"Wait? Spencer's your brother?!" Vance said, mouth hanging open.
"Yes? That's why I said about little brothers, last time, when we were talking. Oh, you didn't make the connection. Yes, Spencer is my baby brother," Finch chattered, swinging her feet. Her tongue darted out to lick a stray dab of mustard from her cheek. "We have different fathers, but our mother is the same."
Vance laughed, covering his face.
"I thought he was your boyfriend, which is why you were goin' to see Mista Holmes," he laughed, face pink.
"No, I know I told you Sherlock is one of my dads!" Finch giggled, fanning at her face, which seemed suddenly warm. "I mean, we're not blood related or anything, but him and John, I spent a lot of time with them when I was younger. My mother had Spencer and gave him to them."
"Yeah, but some birds call their bloke's parents.. their.. nevermind," Vance said, ears turning red. He stuffed a bite of sandwich into his mouth. "That was.. good of your Mum. Lots of good parents. You two were lucky ones."
"Yeah, but y'know. There's all these other things you don't know," Finch said, her smile going tight around the edges. "Y'know, I've never talked this much to anyone before. I must be boring you."
"Not at all," Vance admitted. He kept flicking glances at Finch. It was hard to look at her directly, especially with all this light. He kept his chin ducked as he ate. "Don't have any bruvvers or sisters. Got some littles I look after sometimes."
"Littles?" Finch asked, tone curious. She munched a crisp.
"Younger homeless kids," Vance said, reaching out to take one. His mouth watered around it. "Couple of girls, a boy or two sometimes. Younger'n legal. System usually picks 'em up, but they try."
"Oh, how awful. I mean, that there are younger ones," Finch said. Her green eyes were big and concerned. "My mother, she was homeless for a while. Her foster father wasn't nice. I mean, I shouldn't tell you that. She doesn't even like to talk about it. I mean, I'm rambling again, I'm sorry! That's nice, that you take care of the other ones."
"I ain't no saint. But I hate to see 'em going hungry like. I wound up in juvie before foster care. Aged out, thank God," he said. "Not sure if my mum ever had any more kids. I hope not. No dad in the picture, so who knows."
Finch reached out and patted his arm. "Well, if you ever want one, I've got a few to spare."
"I manage," Vance said, taking the last bite of his sandwich. The back of his neck tingled. Like he was being watched. "Feels strange, being inside."
She looked at him and licked her lip again. "Sorry, if you need to go, I mean, I understand. I just- I've never been attacked like that. I mean, it's silly for me to be afraid. And I hardly know you, I mean, for all I know it's not safe to have you here. But-" Finch sighed, hands wrapped around her mug. "I just don't want to be alone right now. And I don't have any friends. Or anyone."
"It's okay. I don't expect nothin'. You need me tonight, then you can put me out in the morning. I won't be offended. I'm not the sort your kind keeps around," Vance said. "Just not used to being spoiled like this. Food, warmth, not running. Feel sort of naked too. Without everything."
"Well, as you keep saying, I'm a little rich girl," Finch sighed, looking sad. And a bit lonely. "And we are spoiled little creatures. It's late, we should probably sleep."
"I don't mean no offense, Miss Finch," Vance said. "From my side of things, you live in luxury. Even a safe place to sleep is rare on the street. Where am I meant to.. stay?"
"Um, is the couch alright? I can fetch you a blanket from my room," Finch said, standing to clear their dishes away. She rinsed them, but left the actual washing until the next morning. "Here, I'll show you." She motioned for him to follow her, and led him back towards her room. Flicking a single switch, she lit up the entire room with fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. Books lay in piles on the stairs to her loft and in little rough wooden book shelves. There was a desk, and an easel with her latest piece on it, and several beaded chandeliers (just for decoration) hanging from above. The windows were covered in floral silk scarves and strands of gems and glass.
"Whoa," Vance said, stepping into her room. "It's like a goddamn fairy world." He reached for a pile of books, touching them longingly.
"I, um. I spend a lot of time alone," Finch said softly, feeling suddenly self-conscious as she pulled a worn quilt from her closet. "Alone in here, too. So I just, um, wanted to decorate it a bit." She handed him the blanket. "If you'd like to borrow a book, I'd be alright with that. I have so many."
"It'd just get stolen," Vance said, shaking his head as he took the quilt and wrapped it around his shoulders. He felt warmer, safer. "What's up there?" he asked, nodding to the loft.
"My bed," Finch replied, stepping up the little stairs to light up her cave-like bed. The mattress took up the whole built-in loft, with rustic wooden doors that closed her in. "My Papa made it for me." Inside, the walls were lined with more and more books, little paintings and a few stuffed animals (that made her wish she hadn't brought him in here). She blushed. "Ermmmm, yeah. I s'pose it's a little childish, and I am almost twenty-five, but I- I like it in here."
Vance perched at the opening.
"No, it's wonderful," he sighed, eyes wide as he looked around. "So many books. It's like a little hidey hole. Your papa's a smart fella."
"I like to read. When you don't talk to too many people, reading is a nice way to pretend you have a social life. I mean, I have some friends, but I mean, I just like being alone sometimes," Finch said, plopping herself down on her mattress, looking up. "Papa is the best. Sherlock is the smartest, and Jack and John love me, but Papa is the best one."
Vance shuffled in a little more.
"See, rich girl," he laughed, nudging her with his hand. "Don't have to be money you rich with."
Finch grinned, her eyes sparkling in the low light. Her hair shined a goldish hue, and she looked a little impish. "I know how lucky I am. Sometimes even if it feels like too many, I know I've got family."
Vance licked his lips, leaning closer. The dim light was making him bold. Finch didn't seem to care about his face too much. One girl had told him - girls that mind don't matter, and girls who matter don't mind. Her lips parted, her pale cheeks blushing yet again, eyes on his. Something had changed in the air. The electricity between them nearly buzzing.
"Vance," Finch said his name, breathing it more than speaking it.
He raised his hand again, stroking her cheek. "Yeah?" he asked.
She blinked, realizing how close their faces where. In this light, dressed in clean clothes, with clean hair, he- he looked so- like how- "I, I mean, I'm babbling again."
Vance's pulse was wild in his throat, but he knew this would probably be the only change, the only shot to taste an ounce of this girl's life. He took her by the jaw, pulling her in to softly press his lips against her sweet deep pink ones. She made a little mmph-ing noise, and it was clear she had either never done this or not done this often. His breath on her skin, it made her shiver, and she found her hand reaching up, touching his throat, like she'd seen her mother do to her father.
Vance kissed slowly, teasing her lips with his own. He took her touch as inviting and tilted his head, licking across her lips as he reached out with his other hand to touch her waist. Her lips parted instinctively, letting him in. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat. He traced his tongue past her beautiful lips and pulled her tighter with his hand at the nape of her neck.
His skin was burning hot. Everything that was missing before, was perfect. She was perfect. There was no rush to hide from people he didn't want to see, no police to break up the moment, no need to close his eyes and imagine someone, anyone else in his arms.
"Finch," he whispered between one kiss and the next.
"V-Vance," she stammered out, eyes hazy. "I-I've never, not, I mean, of course I have but- Not-" He felt so good. So dangerously good. Like drugs she'd never been courageous enough to try or being too drunk.
"Oh, oh, right, sorry," he said, taking his hands away. "Couch then?" he said, ducking his head. "I'll-just- sorry. Sorry."
"But I-" Finch blushed, and her shoulders fell, and she nodded. "Yeah, I understand." Rich girl isn't good enough for the dashing blind thief boy. Got it, got it.
Vance paused at the entrance of the loft. "Understand what?" he asked, holding the quilt tight about his shoulders.
"Nothing, I'm sorry," Finch blushed, tucking her hair behind her ears. She gulped and looked away. None of the boys or girls at school ever felt like he had. She bit her lip, her tongue feeling almost cool on the burning flesh. "Goodnight, Vance."
"Night, little bird," Vance said, leaving her to her nest.
The living room was empty, but it was warm and quiet and safe. He curled up on the couch, snuggling into the warm and clean. He still felt hot and bothered, but decided it would be rude, if not appalling to wank on the sofa. Still he shimmied trying to get comfortable as he dozed off, perfectly content, hopeful. In love.
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