“No.” Barely slept at all, truth told, but most nights had found him ensconced in Jim’s bed, he’d even had it moved from flat to flat, pounding away on his laptop or sifting through stacks of paper. He wasn’t Jim, he couldn’t do it all in his head. He needed maps and facts and figures spread out infront of him. Needed plans in black and white unless there was a gun in his hand.
Report to superior officer. “Smells wrong there.”
It was a relief to hear him speak, but Jim hardly let it show. In fact, the only way he acknowledged it at all was to lift his head back to look at the other man. He wanted to argue, wanted to reply, ‘Oh I don’t know, I’ve spent plenty of nights there while you were out on jobs’ but he didn’t.
He simply smiled that sly grin of a man who didn’t need to speak to get his point across. He and Sebastian knew each other well enough that words were necessary only half the time. Which was what meant the few profound words they ever did share mean more.
Besides, silence was needed when a sniper took aim and focused on his target. Jim had learned that early in life, even if he was only the spotter.
“Tea?” he asked casually, as if it weren’t after midnight and unusual to offer.