Page 122 of Drift

“Peter Pan and Wendy.” He tilted his head as his eyes softened. After a moment, he offered his hand over. “Name’s Martin. I’ll be Drift’s father.”

West’s eyes didn’t startle. She’d no doubt worked it out, and she looked down at the offer of a hand for a moment, then reached and took it. “I—”

“The thing with being here, West, around us… MI5 players…?” Martin gripped a little rougher at her hand. “Neverland will only ever be a fictional landscape in a fictional tale. So us? You promise to remind him he needs to keep that instinct sharp over men like me, how it’s not safe play around these walls, then I’ll always keep the windows and doors unlocked for both of you to get out.” The barest dark offer of a smile. “He’s right it’s not safe around here, so you both keep your wits and an eye on a way out.”

West narrowed her gaze, then gave a small nod. “A way out it is. Because you feel… ill to me too.”

Every door came with locks, so the offer off Martin to always leave them unlocked would no doubt have more weight in their world than the offer of an open door to welcome them in.

“Good.” Martin sent a wink her way, then released her hand and eased back against the wall. He looked at Drift, and Light wished to God he had access to his head to see what worked in his eyes. A moment later, he offered a hand over to Drift. “Martin.”

Drift eyed it up, frowned, then took it. “Drift.”

Martin suddenly twisted his hand palm up, then ran a touch by a recent burn mark. Less angry ones marked the skin, and when Drift tried to pull away, Martin again tightened his grip.

“Someone else or you?” Martin flicked a look up at him.

“Flaws.” It came out so flatly. “A reminder off a good friend that I have some and screw up because of them.”

Martin let him go and eased back against the wall. “What kind of flaws?”

“It’s in the name.” He held Martin’s look. “I drift.”

Martin frowned for a moment. “Hmm. Harrison.” It came so quietly, and Drift returned his frown. “That’s my surname,” added Martin. “It’s part of who you are. So is your grandfather. Greg. Whether you stay or go, whether you trust me or not, always take those two names with you, look him up, and find some peace in order to stay sane and sharp.”

Drift screwed his face a little, maybe at the push away, and Martin looked around the hall. “I get the feeling that the money that this home represents, the space it offers, you don’t like it either.”

Drift shrugged and eventually glanced around. “Like you said, the money the home represents, the space… it’s wasted.”

Martin looked his way. “You earn your bed, money, and space, right?”

Drift snorted a smile. “It doesn’t come free for most outside of theborn into itbrood.”

Martin cocked a brow. “A debate on not classifying stolen goodsasfree income is perhaps best saved for another day, hm?”

Light winced, but Martin wasn’t one for backing off from the realities.

Drift didn’t seem too bothered by the challenge as he shrugged. “It still translates to skilled work bringing in money, which goes back into the pot to look after our pips.”

“All of it?”

Drift eased back a little, and West looked away too.

“Ah.” Martin pointed at Drift, then West and offered a small smile. “No judgement here. Like I said: you stay sharp and sane.”He indicated around the hall. “But from whatever skilled means, the money for this place is earned as well. More than.” He looked at Drift. “It’s also earned with the knowledge that family comes first no matter whose ‘pips’ are crying outside those gates. It’s brutal, but it’s sane play, one you are a part of now if you need it. Like Light and Jan, you come before anyone out there, but only if you call it, not me, not anyone else.”

Drift watched him back for a moment. “Here’s not my world. Understand that. I’m a thief, but if I take a phone, it provides a blanket to keep one of ours warm. I steal food, someone back home doesn’t starve. I take heroin from a pharmacy, I selfishly shoot up and have a few moments of false happiness over hours of shouting into the cold. That’s sanity in my world.”

Drugs? The mention of them had Martin leaning forward, his arms across his knees.

Drift shook his head. “Point being: move into bed-warming territory, here, it moves beyond survival into self-gratification, where percentages of thousands of pounds rarely move beyond an off-shore bank account.” He frowned. “Is it really sane play here? Because you’re going for the Night-walkers like it’s a hobby, fuck anything to do with professionalism over MI5. And whether smart or delusional, that’s a real fucked-up hobby.”

Martin tipped his head Drift’s way. “Like I said, you hold on to that ability to read people. It’ll keep you safe in the long run, especially from the likes of me and Gray. But talk…?” He nodded. “Oh I really need to hear you talk Night-walkers now and why you fuck up your head with drugs over keeping it clear when you really should be staying sharp with this.” He tapped Drift’s forehead a few times. “You take no more, or you’ll find out just what kind of bastard nightmares I come with, no drugs in tow.”

Light knew that blackness well enough as it crept into Martin’s look. Jack took damn good care of his physique, his mental health too as best he could, but Martin had his own ways. Even his choice over Japanese green tea in moderation aimed to cut anxiety, irritability, sleeping issues… all to help stay sharp. So yeah, learning Drift took drugs really wouldn’t go down well.

Martin got to his feet, and Drift followed up almost instantly as if expecting a fight.

“Give me a moment with Light, yeah?” Martin held out a hand to West and helped her up, and Drift eased off. “Go on through to the lounge.” A snort. “Try not to steal anything from Simon. He’s… delicate.”

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