the world's most famous crook

She twitched a little, frowning as she put her sunglasses back on and laid back--his shadow still falling over her.

Her eyes rolled and she tilted his head towards him to reply when--

"Uegh, is that a worm?" she asked, mildly disgusted and mildly intrigued as she watched it writhe on the hook from behind her UV tinted sunglasses.

It was probably for the best, as she did not want to explain that yes, the Tipton had a pool, but no she did not have the access to it that she wanted...though, she could probably find a way to sneak in. Auntie Daphne did not appreciate them running about.

The lack of a reply to his question was enough of an answer all on its own. But, given two more seconds to the thought, maybe she didn't want to be hanging around the building where her father had died horrifically, huh? It wasn't like the waters where his own had disappeared under would ever be the same if he returned to the spot, but he wasn't too keen on heading down that way any time soon. Or stepping foot aboard the Jolly Roger.

Not until he'd properly earned the right to be there this go around.

"Yep. They're the designated goated bait," he replied, tucking the rod between his ribs and elbow to free his other hand so he could dip down again to pull out the little tub of worms he had, giving it a wiggle for her benefit. He tossed it back in the bag, returning to casting off.

James let the reel out a few dozen centimeters and with muscle memory, pulled the rod back over his shoulder and threw it forward again, letting it arc over his head and releasing his finger from the string to let the hook go lofting through the air. It hit the water, sinking, and he closed the bail.

He simply rolled his eyes as a lesser form of argument and waited for the sting along his abdomen to calm down.

"What?" He didn't make the connection at first, the ongoing brain fog had been the worst part of the whole ordeal the past month and it had been better, but not nearly enough. "No, I'm not-" hadn't he had a conversation about uni with James in the past? He couldn't remember. Frustrating enough, that, but it also left him in the uncomfortable spot of the two alternatives being he either just didn't remember because his brain had felt fried the past month or James hadn't been paying attention in the first place. And one of those felt like yet another dragging point to add to his misery.

"I don't think biochemistry is going to fix this problem," Sid countered, dryly, resorting to his defenses as he felt the pins and needles of exasperation rather than proper anger. He wanted the latter, at least it gave him distance, but he'd underestimated how sore some wounds still were. "I just don't want to deal with anyone from the garage right now; I've got enough problems without that," he grumbled.

Between wounded pride and wounded body there was only one he had much control over and he wasn't giving that up easily; it felt like the ledge his sanity was so carefully balanced on at that moment.

Which meant he had to trade off doing the stupid thing just to keep some degree of control over the situation and drag himself back up. But what in the hell was he supposed to do?

"Exactly how am I supposed to fix this problem since you seem to be the only one on this entire street just that offended by it?" Sid countered; he was too damn tired for this and the words were strained between gritted teeth, "If it was in your yard I'd get, sure; but do you think I purposely intended to break down right in this spot when I have been avoiding you for months?"

Oop. Right. James had forgotten about the bit where Sid was going to school on his father's preferred track rather than what he actually liked– aka machines. Ah well, the slip up was probably for the best! Gave the impression that he didn't care enough to remember. See? Even when he didn't meant to, he was still quite good at this. Like it just came naturally.

A dark brow lifted at Sid citing not wanting to talk to anyone at the garage. The fuck did that mean? Probably that he'd pissed someone off in there and had been kicked to the curb probably. Which was a very silly thing to do since this was such a small town– if you weren't careful, you could be blacklisted from half of Swynlake just for stepping on the wrong flower. Whatever, he didn't care enough to ask and get the story. It wasn't like it mattered passed the fact that the garage wasn't going to be very helpful. Unless James tricked them into coming down, but he didn't want to be blacklisted by that lot if they interpreted the situation as James being on Sid's side of whatever beef had been created.

He sighed, expression turning very unimpressed as he heard the next argument. Well no fucking shit he was the only one 'offended,' he was parked in front of James' house! Pissing off James' dog, and being a hazard to James' Mr. Smee. Whenever he was coming back home, that was.

He opened his mouth, about to say all of this, when Sid threw out the last bit. Avoiding you.

Huh.

James didn't really know what to do with that. On one hand, it was nice to know Sid had gotten the message. On the other, how much effort did he go to do all that? And why the fuck was he avoiding James? It should be James who was avoiding him! But he didn't because he didn't care enough to– except it didn't matter, because Sid had been doing it for the both of them, making James' life that much easier.

The little watch beeped and James looked down at it, hitting the button for silence.

Still, he nodded with a soft smile that only ebbed towards a frown a little bit. He was sympathetic, of course. While he had some experience in learning to deal with a missing piece of him, it was still nothing like what James went through. "...nothing they can do about that?" He probed lightly with a tilt of his head, uncertain. He knew there was a lot that went into fitting prosthetics and getting used to them and everything but...

He had to wonder how much of it was just going to happen regardless. That if there was a point where there was no further they could go to try and make it a seamless adjustment.

"I mean - it's kinda crazy, right? How much magic surrounds us and yet things like this... - they got nothing?" Sure, maybe he could wish upon a star for his injuries to go away, or James could make a deal with the devil for his leg back but... they really didn't have any magical advancements to like... help?

James gave Milo a frown and a slow, elongated tsshhh out of the corner of his mouth in response.

Ugh. Athletes.

He'd never been one of them. Sure, he was a fan of sports and watched rugby and cricket like it was a religion, ran around like an idiot when he was a wee one, but he'd never had the desire to get out there and have a crack at it himself. His version of exercise had been riding around on bikes or skateboards with his mates and getting scraped up by the concrete instead of a pitch. Why people subjected themselves to working out had been a mystery to him– and then he'd gotten the news that he needed to start so he wouldn't die when going up against the monsters and sea creatures of the world. He had done it but he hadn't necessarily found enjoyment out of it.

Just like he didn't in PT, or in Mr. Smee's training these days.

He shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. As far as he was aware, no, but it wasn't like he'd really gone to bat for himself about it either. James knew it was fucked up to think but– he thought it penance. The pain a payment plan on what his father had done for him. Every time he felt it was a shilling into the jar for what he owed. Only, there was no end to it since a life was priceless.

"Yeah. It is kinda fucked that fairies just have talents to heal people like that–" He snapped his fingers. "–but they're not in an ambulance getting paid, ain't it? I dunno I guess I wouldn't know if I'd trust a magical solution on something like this anyway. Always seems like it needs something to get something, and I already gave my foot away, didn't I?"

Everything in her wanted to reject what she was doing. Some distant line of ancestors were screaming in some combination of rage and pain, her very bones ached, and she could feel herself getting weaker and weaker.

But she couldn't stop. If she stopped, it meant she was giving up and she wasn't going to make that mistake again.

Her voice was already going hoarse when suddenly - "Fuck! FUCK!"

With a jerk, the figure under her flailed and breathed oh god he was breathing, he was breathing and he was swearing at her and it was the best sound she'd heard in her entire life.

"Shit I'm sorry I'll get it, I didn't think about it, I just - hold on, hold on, this will hurt like a bitch."

Before he could react, she reached over and yanked out the knife with one sharp movement. As she did so, she winced, the sensation pulling at her burned hand. But it didn't matter. She tossed the knife aside, watching as the wound in his side began to knit itself closed.

Only then could she breathe.

With one more small cry, she pulled herself in close, kissing him fiercely. "Don't you ever do that to me again. Ever. I mean it James, never ever again."

Despite the fierceness in her tone, her eyes still dripped with tears as she leaned back into him.

The yell that came out of him when the knife was finally removed was undignified and ghastly, his fist hit several more times against the wall until the pain finally subsided. He was left panting, body a ragged doll against the floor until his mouth was being covered by the scorching softness of Mim's. James hadn't been prepared for it, and therefore only responded with a muffled, mmph! before she was pulling away to scold him.

He watched her as she did and smiled, teeth showing, eyes bright with the infinite affection of someone who knew how privileged they were to bare witness to such a thing. To be held in the arms of someone who was capable of pulling off something as magnificent as what she had just done and for it to not even be the thing spoken of.

She was angry. She was covered in his blood. She had tears spilling down her face, streaking her cheeks. She was beautiful.

"I promise," he told her and had never meant anything more in his entire life than he did those words. James took her hand, marveling at his ability to do so with strength that he never thought he would have in this body again, and placed it flat against his chest. Inside, behind muscle and bone, his heart beat, trying to reach out to meet her palm. Wanting to thank her, wanting to let her know it was just as much hers as it was his now.

The other one still hurt, and Sid wanted to be angry about that but he was too busy damning himself, again, over it.

"No," Sid refused to do that, not with his pride still stinging from being ousted from that job, "I don't hate myself that much."

James had little idea he'd worked at the garage because of course he'd had the delusion that James knew anything about him and the man did not; but he didn't care if the words made sense.

There was still the problem at hand though and that was infinitely better to focus on than trying to navigate the harder one of feeling so damn exposed just sitting there with James studying him. Something he would have strived for once, his attention, felt too-sharp at the edges when he could only feel it as scrutiny to brace for.

It would have been a great time to snap at him and Sid was starting to wonder why he lacked the energy to; the arguments had been fun, well, at least for him.

"Just give me a minute." He hated to compromise with himself that way but he also didn't want to test the protest of sore muscles and new scars just yet.

Lord have mercy. James thought he remembered how bloody dramatic this sod was after merciful months without direct contact– apparently he was wrong! That or Sid had upped his dramatic game, which was just as feasible.

He shook his head, blinking wildly as turned away, needing some reprieve from the scene in front of him with the familiar street just to the left of it. How the hell did that response make any sense to what James had said? What did calling for a tow have to do with–? Or was asking for help really that blow to the ego that he couldn't just ask a service to do what they were fucking there for because he had to be able to do everything himself?

"Sure. I'll give you 60 seconds and then I'll call for it since I love myself," he said. James lifted his arm above his head, letting the tension it caused on his sleeve to pull it back enough to expose his wrist. He lowered it so he could use his other hand to fiddle with the buttons on the plastic watch that resided there, among various other bracelets, to set the timer for one minute.

He rocked back a little as he hit the button and said, "Starting now."

James looked up, smiling with sarcastic pleasantness at Sid.

She wanted to enjoy the warm weather and if she couldn't afford a trip to the Mediterranean, she could at least pretend. Even as the cool wind swept off Atlantis and made her skin break out in goosebumps.

Usually, preparation for summer involved getting extensions put in her hair, lightening it so it was sunkissed, getting a spray tan that would make her warm and golden. Getting manicures and pedicures and botox and lip filler.

She couldn't afford any of that. Even with Oswald funding her bad habits, she wasn't sure if she could push her luck and ask for these sorts of things. Though, he should like to keep his treasures shiny. April wasn't foolish enough to think he saw her as a treasure.

So, she had to do things the old fashioned way. She had put lemon juice in her hair, combed it through, and now she was laying with her bikini top untied, the little triangles just covering her breasts. (She couldn't have tan lines.)

It was working quite well, despite the chill. Until a cloud moved over the sun, dropping the fragile warmth several degrees. April sighed and flickered her eyes open behind her sunglasses--

Only to realize it wasn't a cloud at all.

"Jimmy, darling," she cooed sweetly, lifting up her sunglasses to look at him. "You're in my sun."

[outfit]

"Your sun?" he echoed. His movements were exaggerated as he squinted up at the celestial body, face scrunched up, hand against his brow ridge to help block his eyes. After a few seconds he shook his head, more water flicking in various directions from the ends of his hair. "Yeesh, the rich think they own everything these days, don't they?"

James shrugged of his backpack, bending to drop it off relatively gently on the ground. It was a relief on his shoulders and on his residual limb in the prosthetic's socket. And without the solid mass against his back it allowed the breeze to catch the soaking wet shirt plastered there.

"I thought this was public area," he said, not moving. Instead, he prepped the fishing line.

Thankfully the spool he'd wound at the beginning of the day hadn't managed to get loose after his plunge, but he did have to load the line through and re-tie a snap swivel for a lure and bait. It didn't take him long to get the thread through the rod, and then he was carefully administering the knot his father had taught him years ago and bending over to lick the spot once it was ready to pull tight. After, he reached down into his bag.

Not that it had been going well up to that point; historically speaking Sid's attempts bordered on some unsettling mix of intrusive and more desperate than he would admit. And still entirely ineffective as well; but he wasn't entirely blaming himself for that because he had to learn these normal interaction things now rather than having the luxury of growing into them.

But he at least had James attention for the time being.

"I don't know what-" Sid paused, pulling his words to a shrieking halt because while he was being honest and he had no clue what James was referencing did he really want to give him one more thing to see as wrong about him?

He didn't care, you see, if people thought that. Except with certain people he kept trying to be more acceptably normal around.

"Uh, okay. You better change that," he trailed off with a glance towards the GPS on his phone since their destination had changed, yet again. And it was definitely the perfect cover for his stumble.

James waited for Sid to finish that sentence, brows lifted slightly in an open expression to hear him out. Almost as if he might have been interested to hear it, learn whatever new fact Sid was going to offer up about himself. But it didn't come and James accepted that just as easily as he might have the actual fact– obviously the guy had built up a steel fortress around himself, complete with little construct mice running around the outer walls to knock out any intruders.

Whatever. James wasn't about to start clapping his hands and balancing a ball on his nose just to get an answer out of him. In his experience, if people wanted to talk, they'd talk. If they didn't, they didn't. They weren't sitting in an interrogation room and Sid didn't have any information James was absolutely dying to know– he'd leave him be.

"Ah, right-o," he said, already leaning over to get the phone back to add a stop. It took him a second to search up the nearest store that he figured would have a Colin (or Cuthbert, or Carl, or Cecil, or Charlie, etc., depending on what was around) that was on the way. Once he'd found one and had everything arranged, James set it back where he'd gotten it and sat back in his seat with a sigh.

His friend's recovery was kind of a big deal to Milo, who had visited his bedside in the hospital and prayed that things would be an easier adjustment for him than they'd been for him - and Milo had lost so much less than James had. Even if it didn't seem like much? Walking better was still an improvement. Still something worth mentioning.

"Walking better is newsworthy in my books. Means we'll have you running 5k's in no time." He teased lightly, though his smile turned a touch softer, concern dotting his brow. "...it still bothering you at all?" Milo asked then, glancing down at his hand - moreso the missing finger.

Even now, going on years later, sometimes Milo still felt that phantom pain shoot through joints that didn't exist anymore. It was a wildly annoying concept.

James rolled his eyes, already regretting that he had said anything about the subject. It was such a stupid thing and he felt like a stupid person for not having proper feelings about it.

On one hand he enjoyed the praise because, fuck yeah, he had worked hard to get to where he was. Days in PT and sweating his ass off when all he had wanted to do that morning was rot away in his bed instead.

On the other hand, they were celebrating walking. Walking. That was something that babies did months after getting their bones stabilized and muscles strengthened, squishy brains figuring out how it all got put together– hell there were animals out there that did that within minutes of being born.

And here he was, basically an adult, who was just picking it back up. Yeah, sure, whatever, he was learning anew– but it still seemed like something he should already know how to do. After two decades of it being mere muscle memory, how was it this fucking hard to figure out?

"Yeah. When it hits wrong in the prosthetic sometimes it just–" James clenched his jaw, the mere thought of it making the residual limb twinge with distinct memory. He shook his head, "Oi, I'm not running in any sort of marathon. I wouldn't have wanted to do that when I had both legs, it sounds like voluntary torture."

"Go to the lake, he says. You'll have a good time, he says. You'll learn something!" James was muttering to himself as he walked along the shore of Atlantis. The water wasn't particularly fussy that day, only replying to his grumpiness with soft lapping at the banks. It seemed like it was still waking up from its long slumber under the thick sheet of ice that had covered it for months. As if it was morning and the lake had yet to crawl out of the cozy bed toward the smell of caffeine and bacon.

It wasn't that James didn't find merit in Mr. Smee's teachings. He did. Of course he did– but sometimes his idea of a lesson were head scratchers. One minute he's trying to work on James' reflexes with the most stressful game of dodge-the-sharp-object he had ever played, and the next he's suggesting that James go fishing.

And James did.

What else did James do? Glad you asked!

Fallen into the bloody lake, that's what. All because he had taken his prosthetic off and one ungraceful hop had led to another.

Slosh, glomp. Slosh glomp, went his footsteps as he came around a bend and– oh. There was a person there. Laying down on a towel, looking more like they belonged on a beach in Porthcurno rather than here. He went to start making his way around them, until he thought he recognized the particular shade of blonde. (Well, he had a one in third chance now, didn't he?) With a glance toward the way home, he decided to walk toward the girl instead. Better to air dry a bit before muddying up the entry way, right?

He approached, stopping at just the right spot where he'd be blocking the sun off the majority of her, and turned his back as though he didn't notice she was there at all. The hand with the fishing rod let the end of it fall through til it hit the ground. And then he whipped his head, and shook off like a dog might, water droplets flying this way and that– no doubt casting some her way.

"I'm going to move it," he added blandly, even if he wasn't sure how to do that yet because it wasn't that difficult to just push the car off to the other side of the street, but he didn't feel too enthusiastic about his ability to do so at the time.

Because he wasn't really interested in calling Buster and suffering having to ask one of his former coworkers to come bail him out with a tow unless it was a last resort. Especially not Buster; he'd give him hell, in a good natured way, yes; but Sid just didn't want to deal with that either.

Once he'd made sure there was nothing in the way of the tires he returned to the back of the car and gave it an experimental push and it offered the vague promise of creeping forward a few inches but that was about as far as he got before the sore muscles in his side informed him that carrying on in that attempt would, in fact, not in well for him.

Sid hissed, uttering a few choice words under his breath as he pressed his palm to that spot and bit back the flare of irritation because it was quite literally insult to injury and he didn't appreciate that at all.

"Give me a minute," he grumbled, sitting down on the edge of the bumper to debate his next move and wait for the burning sensation to calm enough to catch his breath properly.

"Uh huh," James drawled because from where he was standing it sure didn't look like it. It looked like Sid was slinking around like a slinking slinker who....slunk. Albeit with a little less slinkiness than he usually had about him. He squinted as he watched the round the car, trying to pinpoint what about him was off.

In that time, Sid managed to shove the car forward, which told James a few things about the situation he hadn't noticed before. Mainly that the car wasn't parked there out of choice. Surprising, given how this bloke liked to just pop up somewhere in James' path and not bother to move out of the way. This time, it seemed he was genuinely just in the wrong place.

Huh.

Admittedly, it was a bit funny to watch the guy struggle. He snorted at the sound of his annoyance, peering up from where he had gotten distracted watching the front tires to the back of the car once more. And, once again, he saw that there was something not quite right about the owner of the car. Or, you know, more than usual anyway.

But Ashley also couldn't push him if he was refusing help from her. And he seemed ready to try to go off on his own in pain. All she could really do is offer help one more time. And then if he refused it again she would just have to let him be. People were allowed to make up their own minds. Even go against medical advice if that was their choice.

Ashley's eyebrows raised as she glanced James up and down. "You look the opposite of perfectly grand here, but you know yourself better," Ashley remarked. She took a tentative step away from him, watching his face and his movement carefully. "I'll offer one more time, in case you were being too stubborn but are more aware of your limits."

She held out a hand to him. "I can still take you to someone more specialized to get a look at you."

James didn't really hear what she was saying, the pain sort of making everything sound like he was underwater. All warped and far away, a bit of ringing around the edges. (That was probably more to do with his tinnitus but whatever.) He looked at her like he was paying attention but all he could think was, ow ow ow fuck ow ow fuck fuck.

"Uh huh," he said, a non answer since he didn't know what he was responding to. James looked down at her hand and pressed a smile to his features. He reached back, giving her a low five and sliding his fingers across her palm, and pulled back to snap his fingers.

"Thanks, mate. I appreciate it," James nodded. "I'll see you 'round, eh?"

Mim stared down at the still form of her partner, the fading twitch in his fingers. Even the blood pouring out of him had begun to slow as if it knew there was no more damage it could really do. It had already taken everything. She'd lost him. They'd lost.

"No," she said again, barely recognizing her voice. "No. No you don't get to do this to me James Jones! You aren't leaving me again! I refuse!"

Her voice cracked as she grabbed hold of him, shaking him slightly. If they'd been with the rest of their team, maybe someone else could have saved him. Or maybe they would have simply pulled her away. Leaving her to keen in some kind of animalistic grief as they told her there was nothing she could do. Sometimes they lost people. It was the life of an adventurer. It was the rules.

Mim didn't care. She'd only ever lived by her rules.

If you don't like the rules, change the game.

Her eyes fell on the bag she'd nearly forgotten, the small gentle beam of light appeared in a thin line on the floor of the carriage. The Llyr book. The book that burned. The book that made you feel stronger and healthier simply to be in its presence. Maybe it would be enough.

With hands gone tacky from the drying blood all over them, Mim ripped over the bag and reached in to pluck out the book. She could apologize later for the stains.

Holding it in her hand, she could feel the radiance echo through it, and just as quickly cringed away from it. She wasn't a being of radiance. She was shadows and darkness, hellfire and disappointment, fey tricks and nightmares. She had no business touching this book or expecting it to work. Far more likely it would burn her alive.

"Please. Please you're a book that helps. Help me this once. Lend me the power I need just this once."

Horrible things often happened to people who reached for power that wasn't theirs. Her patron might sense it on her and be offended by it. She didn't care.

Ripping the book open, she had no idea what page it landed on, but she saw something about healing and was determined to try it. Placing both hands over his heart, she began to read from the book.

It began to glow. So did her hands. With each carefully pronounced words, warm golden light began to fill the carriage until it became bright enough to blind. For the first time in her life, Mim understood what it was like to burn, and she could feel the horrific pain of it in her hands and shooting up her arms towards her chest.

She just kept reading. Once again, she ignored the tears falling.

James was dead.

At least, he was pretty sure he was dead. That's usually what happened when someone bled out, but even if they survived the initial wound there was all sorts of complications that came after anyway. Like Death had simply granted them a few hours because he had something else to do, but would come back for them later.

He became dimly aware that he was rocking. It wasn't like that of the carriage he had just been in. This was of a much more gentle variety, a slow back and forth that he knew all too well. He had spent too many years in his childhood aboard his father's ship to not be well acquainted with the steady rhythm of a boat on water. The sound of it, the subtle splashes that flickered all around along side the groan of the wood as the vessel shifted under the weight of it was ferrying from one place to another.

A heavy mist kept anything farther than a few meters shrouded from his eyes. It sat heavy above the water but allowed the little boat to cut through, as easy as a knife through– well.

Soulmates, really - if one believed in those.

It only made sense to want to do anything and everything to get back to where they were before.

Milo wanted that so badly too. So much that it twisted that imaginary knife deep in his chest, shredding his heart to pieces every time he thought about it. The complicated part of it all, of course, was the stuff James - and everyone else - didn't know. The Huntsclan of it all. The danger, the risk, the liability. The way it felt suffocating to even imagine trying to fall back into a close proximity with Luca out of a terrible, horrible, very real fear that they would use that against Milo.

....and Milo loved Luca way too much to ever want anything to happen to them.

So it was better this way. At least, that was what he'd keep telling himself as long as he could.

"....I appreciate it." He finally relented, his own hand raising to scratch lightly at his temple. "...I might even take you up on that - just... I don't think right now is the time. I do appreciate it though, really.. I need someone willing to knock some sense into me, yeah? I'd do it to you too - and who knows, maybe I should, I just feel out of the loop on what's going on with you so... Enough about me."

James watched Young carefully, as if he would give some sort of tell into why he was so reluctant to go after Paguro. To try making right what had been wronged, to rebuild. It wasn't like something as precious and unique as what the pair of them had was going to wait around forever. Maybe in the world of fiction, love was served up on shiny silver platters for all those who sat at the table of the story being told.

In this one? It was rare. And even if someone did manage to find it, it was hard to keep it for a long time. To James, it appeared that Young had the impossible opportunity of being able to get another grasp on it where it had been ripped from his fingers, but instead he was just...standing there, watching it get farther and farther away.

But whatever. He'd already wiped his hands clean of the topic.

"You're the only interesting one in this room, mate. I've got nothing new to report," he dismissed. It wasn't as if he could tell Young about what he had actually been up to in his lessons under Mr. Smee to follow in his and James' father's footsteps. (Oh, the irony.) He lifted his hands, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "Same old, same old. Guess I can walk better now, but...that's about it."

Not that she would admit any of that. She didn't care. Why would she? She could just buy a musk that smelled like all those things if she wanted. Goosebumps broke out on her flesh as she handed the jacket over. She hadn't planned for him to actually want it back--and it was still chilly outside.

"Here, I didn't want it anyway. The leather is--" so soft, so supple, the perfect fabric after being worn so long "--so not my color. If I hadn't been drunk as fuck, I would've never let you play knight with it. Appreciate you, though, Jimmy." She kissed her hand and blew it towards him.

Admittedly, there was a sense of satisfaction that came with watching her not get what she wanted. Was he proud of how he had gone about it? Probably wasn't a good luck to just be insulting customers, but it had gotten the job done he supposed.

He smiled as she laid down the insults, enjoying hearing those far more than he would whatever strange compliments she thought would work him over. It seemed much more sincere, didn't it?

James reached for the coat, welcoming it back to where it rightfully belonged. His other hand shot up next to his face, fingers closing down as if he was physically catching that kiss– but he was no sorcerer, so it was only empty air. He turned his wrist and pretended to toss it over his shoulder, like a crumpled up piece of paper.

"Thanks, January," he told her, mockingly pleasant. "Always a pleasure."

Culture shock was a surprising thing; Sid had always assumed it wouldn't be as intense as he sometimes found it to be. He knew the Boiling Isles was a world within itself practically, but a lot of things were comparable; and then some things weren't comparable at all. Those were usually the things that held his interest.

"You said you had to be nice to me," he pointed out, even though it contradicted his earlier comments about that particular birthday tradition. But since it worked in his favor at that point Sid didn't mind being contradictory.

"And you still didn't answer my question about if it supposed to be a bug flavored cake or a cake flavored bug," this was actually an important detail for someone who only really understood those things by other people's reactions, "I'm just going to guess it's probably not the first one."

At least he understood now it wasn't a real caterpillar; obviously an important distinction to make. But he wasn't entirely convinced that there weren't giant ones somewhere out in the world.

On the other hand, he didn't want to admit that and sound like he was an idiot so he kept the thought to himself and would try to figure it out later online where a search engine couldn't judge him.

To him it just sounded like Sid was saying it to counter James and be a pill. As he had been in every single conversation they had ever shared since they had met. He had been about to argue back when Sid hit him with his own words– and James regretted them, of course. Christ, he'd really just subjected himself to being nice to this guy?

It was his birthday.

He had been somewhat decent.

His idea of a good time was going to look at old, weird looking toys.

Look, there was obviously something fucked up going on in Sid's life. (There was something fucked up going on in everyone's life– that was life.) He'd dropped a few hints here and there that his father was a bit of a tosser, that not having to be at home today was a relief and a gift itself. It didn't sound like he was treated very well.

Maybe....maybe James could suck it up and be a bit nicer to him. Just for the day!

It was probably to his own benefit, too. It meant he wouldn't get left behind in the morning, left to either figure out public transport back to Swynlake or having to ask Mr. Smee to come pick him up. (Which he wasn't entirely sure the man wouldn't do anyway when he found out where James had been dragged off to. And by who.)

Mim felt her hands begin to tremble at those words, although she tried to keep it under control. But she couldn't. Not if James was admitting defeat. Had already moved from a brash front into apologizing as if that was anything she wanted to hear in this moment.

She followed the motion forward and rested her forehead against his. A small fiery tear dripped down her cheek and landed on his skin, flaring brightly for a moment before burning out again.

"No, no it's my fault. I should have figured out that it looked like it had run away and I could have found you sooner, I could have explained, I should have trusted you after everything - "

But she'd been so proud. She'd been so proud and so hurt, and she'd needed time to pull off part of the favor she owed her patron for their help in escaping the city, so she hadn't. Her pride had felt like comfort. Like the last thing that was truly hers when everything else had been ripped away. But it wasn't, was it? All it had done was steal away what could have been.

"I don't want to do this without you. Please. Please don't leave me."

She wasn't aware of the other tears that had continued to fall down her cheek. The sounds of pursuit had faded to being entirely unimportant.

Her world was here in her arms, trapped by the boundaries of the carriage and somehow still slipping further and further away, no matter how tightly she held on.

There was a lot he wanted to say. To do. To...be.

For someone who was used to scraping through by the skin of his teeth and surviving off the same tactics a roach lived by, he had always figured his luck would run out some time. He had made some sense of peace with it.

What he hadn't anticipated was leaving anyone behind.

He had never done that before.

Never stayed in one place long enough to tie a rope tight enough that it would require being cut to leave, rather than just unknotting it. Not since...well.

And even then, it seemed as though they had always been bound, not quite realizing they had each been carrying around that tether. Mistaking it for the weight of something else rather than an attachment they weren't willing to let go.

James didn't want to leave her like this. He didn't want to leave her at all. He tried to get his fingers to tighten, as if that might do something, but they didn't respond. His arm fell. He tried to say something, as if he had ever been any good with serious sentiment, but he couldn't. His breathing had slowed from the frantic rush it had once been.

He went still, a remarkably uncharacteristic thing for James Jones the II.

Milo couldn't explain why. Even if--... Well. He thought maybe if there was someone else in Swynlake that might understand, it could be James. He knew Mr. Smee - they'd talked at great lengths before and he could easily tell where the older man sat on a lot of different.... issues, so to speak. He didn't know where James was on everything though.

It was best not to involve someone else.

"Look, it's... it's complicated, man. I'm not really in a place to get back together with them, and I don't think they're particularly interested either! So. It's best this way. Even if it seems really stupid."

Of course it was. It was always so bloody complicated.

That word, used in the context of something like a relationship that held the weight of a lifetime within it, to James was utter bullshit. In his deluded mind (one who had shaped its understanding of love around his father's grief for his mother and his unwavering loyalty to Mr. Smee,) if someone had something like that, they would do everything in their power to keep it.

People always made the simplest things complicated. It was just their nature, it seemed.

"With that, we can agree," he huffed, half amused, half annoyed. James breathed in, reaching up to rub at his cheek. "But fine. Your life, your decisions. Not like I'm the poster child for making good ones."

He let his hand fall.

"Just– if you do ever wisen up, I'm here to help. Should you need it."