The elder Moriarty picked up his glass as well, tipping it slightly towards his brother.
“Slainte.” He laughed, swirling the wine around once before taking a sip. He watched Jamie over the top of the glass, again knowing his brother was trying to analyze him, sort him out. He saw the exact moment Jamie decided to stop trying, the moment he switched all of that off. For the moment. Jim smiled to himself; in less than ten minutes, Jamie would be at it again.
“Not bad, but not exactly ideal for a stay of longer than a week. You’ve already been in town five days. Where do you intend to make your more permanent abode, since you’ve given up wandering for a bit.” He snorted, setting his glass down. “And Mum will want to come visit, you know she will; she’d take it out on me if you’re not in a nice flat, with nice furniture, nicely kept up.” He shrugged. “So you can either sort that out for yourself or I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Slainte,” Jamie returned, amused smile on his face. No matter how paths decided to twist, no matter what tried to knock you down, you always had your roots. They weren’t what defined you, but they were your foundations. Without them you would crumble to the dust, sometimes with them as well.
“I don’t know,” he groaned, “I don’t have every second of every minute planned out. Spur of the moment can be nice every now and again.” He stabbed at the food on his plate, forehead creased. He didn’t have an actual plan at all, and he didn’t like it when his brother picked up on things like that. Jamie had always felt overshadowed, when had he ever been Da’s favourite? It was always Jimmy. It had left a need to prove himself, something branded into his soul. How was he supposed to do that? Especially if he seemed to be unable to plane. Jamie sighed audibly, raising the fork to his lips again. Biting the food off, he slid his eyes closed. Great, Jamie. Just great.
Mary smiled and slid into the passenger seat. “Hello to you too, Oh do you now?” She asked putting her seat belt on and leant across and kissed his cheek. “Hey! I’m not going to do grey!” She exclaimed and laughed. “So where are we going, Jamie?” Mary asked smiling broadly at him.
“If you say so,” Jamie teased. “The Piccadilly Restaurant,” he laughed, Italian had always been his favourite; wasn’t it romantic, too? “Unless the lady doth protest?”
(Source: isitignoranceorapathy, via thescarletthreadsofmurder)
#my little brother needs to learn to comb his hair