OH MY GOD. I WANT ONE. DYING AHAHA
ask and ye shall receive
just getting into the festive spirit
exactly. as. planned.
He went in through the back door this time, nice and quiet (and not cursing internally at all). The old man still didn’t have any idea of what was going on. As Shinwell snuck past him watching TV on full blast, he caught himself wondering whether he’d have to die, too. Yeah, sure, he probably didn’t have much more than five years to live, ten tops. But the possibility that he might be killed just for being old and easy to take advantage of still made Shinwell feel dizzy. He hurried to creep up the stairs. Who cares?
After peering around the corner for just as long as was absolutely necessary, he was pretty sure: No guns. Pretty sure. (This wasn’t going to end well, was it?) Careful to keep his breathing shallow, he pressed back against the wall. Might as well stay up here, be ready or whatever. Not that he actually knew what was coming. He didn’t want to know. The smell only made his nausea worse.
[text] upstairs no guns
[text] backdoors unlocked
Sebastian stayed where he was for now, eyes firmly fixed on the window through which he could see the target as he sent Shinwell another text.
Good. Use it to get out and meet me out front. Fast as you can without getting caught. - SM
“Médecins Sans Frontières?” She prompted back, glancing over at him. “Before I had my stint with Bart’s. Before,” she waved her hand absently as though to encompass the whole room. “All this.”
"Right." Sebastian nodded, his gaze following her hand. He wasn’t sure if he should ask any more questions, wasn’t sure if he had any he really wanted answers to.
click for captions.
God dammit. There went his feeble hopes of getting to chicken out of this. So he’d stay. Fine. Whatever. (He started feeling sick.)
"Yeah, alright." Nodding dumbly, automatically, he took a few slow steps to the side, his eyes still trained on the window. He couldn’t see the man from here. He’d have to get inside again to make sure identifying him as unarmed hadn’t just been wishful thinking, after all. He really, really didn’t want to go in there again.
But he said yes, anyway. Like a good (frightened) little boy.
"Yeah, see you then."
Sebastian made it in 20, parking over in the street running parallel to the house and feigning nonchalance as he strolled towards the most likely looking vantage point. See but don’t be seen. He pulled his phone out and sent a quick text to Shinwell - it was the fool’s own fault if he’d infiltrated the house but forgotten to put his phone on silent.
I’m outside. Where are you? - SM
"Africa." The word was soft, and she felt colder. She rolled her head back again to stare at the ceiling. There was a crack forming in the far corner. "But it depends on where my reset button would be. There’s a few things I’d like to forget along with..all of this." Things she’d like to have undone. "Otherwise.."
Alice exhaled a huff, and hated that crack on the ceiling simply for a fixed point to channel her anger towards. “Otherwise it’d probably all end up in the same place again.” Silence fell again, but she wasn’t exactly the best judge of how long it lasted for. The whiskey was trying to keep her blood warm, but it wasn’t as calming as she’d hoped it’d be.
"I’d get bored."
"Africa?" Sebastian prompted.
"I’m here on official orders, Moran. Don’t shoot the messenger."
"And what are those official orders exactly?”
"Oh, go on then. Make me. Just try. "
"Off you pop."
"Not now, Anastasia. Can’t you see I’m busy?"
He’d almost been hoping Moran wouldn’t pick up his phone and he’d be able to stall for another hour or two, even when, quite obviously, that wouldn’t have made anything about his situation any better at all. Of course, the other picked up far faster than Shinwell could have anticipated instead, and he was quite startled there for a moment; mostly because that particular tone of voice wasn’t something Shinwell would ever be able to grow fond of.
"Uh", he started, proving yet again that eloquence was the polar opposite of everything he’d ever been good at. "Yeah, Johnson here." Not that Sebastian didn’t already know that. "Just checked, he’s here. Alone, too. Not armed right now, I don’t think." There was a pause, and he kept staring at the window he knew Edwards to be sitting behind, only just realising that the man was going to die today. "Want me t’wait here?"
"Yes," Sebastian said immediately, pressing the phone between his jaw and his shoulder so he could keep talking while lacing up his boots. "Find a good vantage point - see him where he can’t see you, if possible. If you can work out whether he’s actually armed or not, I’ll give you a raise." He got to his feet, swiping up his keys, phone, gun, and strode to the front door. "If he leaves, follow him. Text me any and all updates. I’ll be there in 30 minutes."
It stretched longer than she’d actually intended it too - more than she’d actually noticed passing. The pads of her fingers pressing into the glass she still found herself holding, the muffled sounds of traffic somewhere beyond the front door that reminded her that a date on the calendar didn’t actually matter; the world kept pushing on, regardless.
She couldn’t decide if that was comforting or not.
"Fuck." The curse was low under her breath, and her head was against the back of the couch before she could even think to take it back. England was too cold, the colours were all wrong. She felt like laughing all over again.
It made her feel reckless again. Waves of mania. Insanity, maybe. She wanted to say that she could imagine Kato pressing his lips to her forehead and murmuring comforts, but she couldn’t remember what his voice sounded like anymore. The sudden realization left her breathless. “If you could forget everything that’s happened to you up to this point, would you?” She rolled her head to one side to get a look at him. “Just walk away. Be ignorant all over again.”
Sebastian turned to her sharply as she swore, poised to react if something was seriously wrong. Her words were startling for their quietude.
"Yes," he said instantly. He couldn’t miss Jim if he’d never known him. But then: "No." He’d always missed Jim. From the second he arrived back in London from Afghanistan, he’d ached for him, before he’d ever even known he existed. The staleness of domesticity. He couldn’t stand it, even then. "If I could go back to Afghanistan," he said. "Or the jungle." He hesitated. "Would you?"