A/N
Sup guys - this is a conversion of a rp with a friend that has been going on for several years. The writing of about the first four chapters is a little janky because its so old - once you get past those, though, I promise it picks up. I hope you all enjoy - and if you do, comment! Helps me keep updating!
Moran, the boss is going to be so pissed if you don't get your ass back here. Seriously. -LH
I know how to do my job, shrimp. And I know how to handle Moriarty. -SM
Did you just call me shrimp? Just because I'm 5'4 to your, what, 6'2 doesn't make me a shrimp. Jesus Christ, you're in a bad mood today. Bad hair day or something? LH
Watch your step. Your track record isn't stellar, and I'm in charge of staff. If I want you replaced, Jim won't question me. -SM
Who's going to replace me? Kelly? He's blown his cover four times and he's worked with us for almost two years, and the next spy below him can't compete with him. Don't be an idiot. Just because you're his favorite doesn't mean he'll throw out something valuable. I've worked hard for my standing. You're just a good shot. LH
Yes you have, don't blow it now. I'm home now, mom. That was sarcasm, in case you were having difficulty. SM
That's funny. So is it just a bad hair day, or did Jim get pissy with you earlier...? LH
"Bad hair day." A gun pressed to the back of her head. "Watch your step, as I said. Nothing ruins one's day like stepping in shit." His voice was dripping sarcasm. The gun dropped and he walked around her, heading for the base's kitchen.
Lorna was too used to having guns pulled on her to do more than tense up slightly as he pulled that, smirking slightly as he walked by before following him with a spring in her step. Nothing made her day more than exasperating Moran. Annoying was too strong of a word - she never let it get that far, because she knew that he was a very dangerous man, and she had too much respect for him for it to get to annoying. "There's fresh coffee. And liquor, in case you want to live up to your Irish roots. Your hair is actually fine, by the way. I think maybe you should freshen up your personality, though, just a suggestion," she shrugged, giving him a wide smile.
He poured whiskey into a mug, then filled it with coffee, taking a long sip, watching her with a raised eyebrow. In truth, he was about as fond of Lorna as he could be of a co-worker, which was fond enough to want their advancement but detached enough to kill them if required. She had potential. "I think I'll keep it the way it is, thank you."
"Mm. You're probably right. I think your skills come less from your steady hands and more from your ex-military aura. You'd probably have to be, like, a rock star or something boring like that if you had a better attitude," she chuckled, making the same drink for herself and taking a sip smugly. She enjoyed her conversations with the sniper, mostly because he never got sore about her teasing. Everyone else either liked it too much or got huffy.
"Hilarious. Have you considered stand up comedy? Would be ironic if you couldn't stand up. I could help with that." He took a long sip of the bitter drink, hardly blinking as the whiskey burned his throat.
Lorna shrugged. "No, no, I already tried not standing up. Yeah, some mafia guy helped me with it before I started working here. If I wanted to do that again I'd just ask him." She gave him another smile and then grimaced down at her mug. "I think I overdid the coffee on this one. Not enough whiskey."
He passed the bottle her way. "The faster your liver fails, the faster you stop being a pain in my arse."
"It's nice to know that I have a coworker I can truly count on to look after me," she hummed, uncapping the bottle and unceremoniously making the coffee-to-liquor ratio about 50-50. At this rate, he wouldn't have too long to wait. "By the way, did you hear about the new hire in the hitman department? Wait, yeah, you're chief of staff, sorry. Either way, I...well," she frowned, suddenly serious. "I don't have a good feeling about him. He's familiar somehow."
He raised an eyebrow, though that was his only reaction. He took such information seriously, but didn't let any concern be known to subordinates. "Elaborate."
She shrugged again, tapping the edge of her mug noiselessly. "He makes me feel like I'm on a job assignment, you know? Normally I wouldn't think too much of it, except he starts getting twitchy when you look at him too long. I think someone should do a second background check. Make sure he's not here to cause trouble for us," she sighed, glancing back at Sebastian with a cautious expression.
He considered her for a moment, then drained his coffee, pouring in another shot of whiskey. "You said he's familiar. You worked with him before?" He topped off her mug with whiskey, then closed the bottle and put it in the cabinet.
"Maybe. I'm not sure if it's that or if I've met him on a job," Lorna shook her head, leaning back against the counter, gray eyes troubled. "I'd know him if I knew where I've seen him, but other than that, I can't tell you. Thanks, by the way," she added, sipping at her now 70-30 drink.
He put back about half his shot of whiskey, wrinkling his nose a bit at the dregs of coffee mixed in. "I'll look into him. Until then you don't make any moves. Tell me if you find out anything else."
"Understood," she nodded. She was a sarcastic troublemaker, but she knew when to obey orders. It was the only reason she'd survived for so long in Moriarty's network, after all. She might have been the second-longest surviving employee, after Moran. It occurred to her that there was probably a way to check.
He nodded a bit, then turned and headed out of the kitchen in the direction of Moriarty's quarters. "I marked how full the bottle is, shrimp. That's enough imbibing for the evening," he called back.
"I'd prefer something a little more height appropriate in terms of a nickname! And that's rude, because I paid for this bottle myself!" she called after him, looking a little disgruntled as she settled back against the counter to finish her drink. Best not to follow him to Moriarty's office.
He ignored her with a smirk, and took the lift up to Moriarty's office, knocking on the boss's door lightly.
Jim was working. All of his employees who valued their lives knew his working hours, and so that meant only one thing - it was Moran knocking at his door. "Come in, Sebastian," he said, just loudly enough for it to reach the door.
He opened the door just before Jim finished talking, to push the edge a bit. He gave his employer a casual salute. "How's the evening, sir?"
Jim glanced up from the screen of his computer, raising his eyebrows. "Could be better. Some low-level idiots fucked up a job and now I have to clean it up before it collides with other plans of mine. But you needn't be worried about that. Actually, I wanted you in here so you could look at a picture and tell me how many potential sniper hideouts there are. You're best qualified."
"Of course, sir," he said, walking forward and leaning against the desk. "Let me have a look."
Jim finally stopped typing away at his keyboard to pull up a picture of a rather ridiculously opulent country club, tilting the screen towards Sebastian. "Any and all points that would be a potential perch, point them out. I'll have them filled with security guards. I'm throwing a small... party, I suppose, for my biggest clients, and I can't have any of them killed. I won't be there, of course, but they're rather our income, hm?"
He nodded, scanning the building with quiet concentration for a few moments. "It's a horrible building, lots of curves and corners, hard to get a clean shot," he said quietly. "Which narrows it down. These two east windows and the treeline with vision to them are the clearest shots, I'd have a sentry along that line, maybe two, it's large, and one in each window. The only other real shot is this northwest corner, with the bay windows. If you can cordon off that corner of the club I would. If not, then curtain the windows. "
"That's helpful, thank you," Jim replied curtly, eyes flicking to each of the places the sniper had mentioned and storing them away. He knew many things about the business of crime, but he didn't have the particular skill set that Moran was so good at, so he gave credit where it was due. He didn't thank everyone. "I'll have a job for you in a few days. That's all I need you for right now, if you don't have anything you need from me," Jim murmured, closing out the picture and beginning to type furiously on the keyboard again.
"One thing, sir, if you're not too busy," he said, straightening again. "There might be a small staffing issue which I should make you aware of for security reasons. Harrison's indicated that one of our new hires seems off. I believe his name is Salvos. Just be aware that he's currently flagged by me until I clear him."
Moriarty glanced up at him for a moment, an eyebrow raising slightly before he returned to his work. "Harrison, really? Knew there was a reason I pay her so much. Keep me informed on this. I expect you'll be able to handle it," he sighed, frowning at the screen. He'd had his suspicions that somebody under his employ had ulterior motives, but not many people ever got to actually see him, so finding out who it was on his own was difficult.
"Of course sir. Was just making you aware of the threat." He turned to head for the door. "When was the last time you ate, sir?" he put in as an afterthought.
"This morning," Jim said crisply, eyes flicking up towards Moran again. What a strange question. Was that concern? "When was the last time you drank? You smell like whiskey."
"Five minutes ago," he said with a smirk. "And don't look so surprised. If you drop dead I have to do your damn job. You want steak?"
"What I want is a five-star sushi dinner, but I have another hour before I can do that, so I'm afraid not. I'm saving space. Business meeting," he shrugged slightly, not bothering to inform Moran that if he dropped dead there would be only one person qualified to do his job, and no one would be able to convince him to do it. "I... appreciate it, though."
He just nodded. "Of course, sir. Let me know if you need anything." He stepped out and closed the door.
"I always do," Jim muttered to himself, shaking his head as he returned to work.
Outside, Lorna was waiting with her back to the wall by the door, a thick manila folder in her hand. "I have a report for you. Aren't you lucky."
"Thrilled," he said, back to deadpan, reaching out for the report. "What is it?"
"Some mid-level target killed. A few complications. I think McKinnon is in the hospital. I don't know, I only skimmed through it, which I'm not even supposed to really do," she shrugged, handing it to him.
He sighed. "Must have been what the boss was pissed about." He sized up Lorna, then made a decision. "Hell, I don't want to go through this crap." He handed it back to her. "Take a look through it. I want a briefing in twenty minutes. Impress me." He headed for the den.
Lorna held the file on her fingertips, looking after him with a slightly stunned look on her face, mixed with a tiny bit of disgust. Oh, god, she was considered responsible enough to handle this? What had she done wrong? Was it something she'd said? After a minute of being frozen with regret, she sighed and sagged, tucking the file under her arm and heading for the kitchen. Time to slog through the thing in ten minutes. Then she'd have a little time to... well, do nothing.
He turned the TV on low, watching the time pass. Lorna had been here long enough to start taking on more of a leadership role. It'd be good for her, especially if she ever wanted to head a security web. After only fifteen minutes he called "Time's up, shrimp. Get in here."
She'd been done for ten; it turned out that she'd covered a lot more ground in her skim than she'd thought she had, and had been entertaining herself doodling for the rest of her time. "Please stop calling me that," she groaned as she walked into the room, thunking the folder down onto the coffee table with an exasperated expression. "What do you want, here? Just the basics, or details, too?"
"Tell me what you think I need to know. I'll let you know how you do." His expression gave no clues.
Lorna hadn't really expected any differently. He was intentionally difficult, and she still wasn't sure if it was just with her or if it was to all his colleagues. "Alright. Fine. McKinnon was assigned to shoot and kill a Mr. Harold Baxter, involved in insider trading and corruption at a high up bank here in London. McKinnon broke into Baxter's house at 1:30 in the morning last night and promptly got himself shot by security. He took care of the security guards, limped his way to Baxter's bedroom, and killed the man where slept. The cleanup crew made it look like a regular robbery - we have possession of quite a few Rolexes now - and McKinnon got to the hospital. Claimed a mugging gone wrong. If the cleanup crew took the security guards' guns, that should be the end of it. If not, the slug in McKinnon might be traced back to Baxter's. If that happens, I suggest we cut our losses." She folded her arms over her chest as she finished speaking and raised an eyebrow at Moran. "So?"
He reached a hand out for the report, flipping it open and skimming over the file. "Next time mention who heads the cleanup crew. I want to know what standard mistakes to expect. And get to know those mistakes. Preempt them. For instance, Wallace was heading this crew. He's never had a problem with guns before. Prints, he tends to have an issue with, but McKinnon isn't in the system, so even if that were a problem, it isn't one."
She nodded slowly, quietly appreciating his lack of sarcasm. "Alright. I'll watch for that," she murmured, running a hand through her dark hair. It was a habit of hers, something that she did whenever she felt she'd had a near miss. "Who's going to fill McKinnon's place while he's in recovery?"
He sat back, considering. "McKinnon's job description, do you know it?"
"Yeah, I know the basics. Mid-level targets, nothing fancy. Basically an up-close sniper who occasionally picks up some intel on the way out. I like my job more." Lorna shrugged, rolling her shoulders. She often got tense shoulders - probably from day-to-day worries about the safety of her life.
"I know the basics," he said dryly. "I was ensuring you did. Take a look at things, find a replacement, and run it by me."
She sighed heavily, looking just as dryly at him. "I already know who. Williams. His reflexes aren't as fast, but he's cautious and smart and I think he can handle it. I do pay attention, you know. I fraternize, unlike you," she pointed out, although not unkindly. She didn't do so in the interest of making friends, not really, although that sometimes happened. She just needed to know who was a potential threat. Of course, these days it happened a little less. More responsibility was being foisted on her, and she didn't have the time for it like she used to.
He nodded. "Williams is a fair choice, if an obvious one. You didn't do as terribly as I expected you to." He stood, tossing the file at her. "Brief him tomorrow. And you don't read files without my permission, are we clear?"
Lorna rolled her eyes, catching the file one-handed. "If you wanted me to stop you should have noticed three months ago. But yeah, whatever, fine. Less work for me, anyways," she waved a hand at him dismissively, then lowered herself into a nearby armchair, the file in her lap. "Why are you doing this?"
"So that you can try to take my job and I have an excuse to kill you," he deadpanned, his attention back on the television.
"That's stupid. I don't want your job. My job is actually fun," she shot back, resting her head back against the chair and closing her eyes. She could sneak a nap in here. The only people likely to be even remotely comfortable waking her would be Moran or their boss, and neither were really concerned with her.
"My job is fun. And pays about five times as much. Plus I get to boss your lazy arse around."
"Your job is lame. You sit on rooftops and stare through a glorified monocle at people until you kill them. I get to pretend to be other people and drink on the job and sometimes actually deliver heads on silver platters, so, I don't know, that sounds like a lot more fun to me," she hummed, smiling to herself. "Sometimes I hum the mission impossible theme song to myself."
He raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her. "If I had any respect for you, it would have just been lost," he intoned dryly, returning his gaze to the screen.
"I don't need your respect. I only need you to hate the other coworkers a little more than you hate me," she shrugged, yawning. She would just go home, but she was on-call for any quick jobs that needed doing. Sometimes she thought it was unfortunate that she had a wide skill range.
"Oh, I loathe you all equally, that's what makes me such a fantastic boss," he muttered.
"Damn. I guess I need you to just not shoot me without undue reason," she sighed, shifting from her upright position to her head over one arm of the chair and her legs slung over the other.
"I'll consider it," he said, standing with a grunt and heading for the kitchen.
She stayed where she was, folder tucked in-between her and the chair for safe-keeping. She didn't think that Moran thought all that highly of her, but she didn't think it was worth it to try and raise his opinion. As long as they paid her and left her largely alone, she was happy. All she needed was her liquor.
He returned a few long minutes later with steak tips and peppers in a bowl, sitting on the couch and digging into the hot food quietly.
"Try not to waft that over here. I'm saving myself for a beautiful little bottle of bourbon later tonight and I'd hate to waste all that space on food," Lorna muttered, cracking an eye to look over at him.
He waved a hand in her direction, intentionally pushing the smell her way. "Suit yourself."
Lorna sighed. "Sometimes I picture you fat and bald just so I can keep myself from pulling a knife on you. Don't let yourself go. You'd look terrible."
"Sometimes I picture you dying of a mix of malnutrition and alcohol poisoning because I find it entertaining. No warning, you might even look better, but then, I have odd tastes." He took another bite of food.
"Mm. I expect that I'll be held up to all the med students a prime example of liver failure. I'll be such an attractive corpse, though," she snorted, unsurprised with his statement. She checked the clock, sighing in relief. "Alright, I'm out of here. Please, definitely hesitate to call if you need me."
"I won't," he said with a smirk, turning off the television. "I might have an impossible mission, shrimp. Who knows when I'll need you."
"If you call me that again I promise physical repercussions," she rolled her eyes as she stood, bringing the folder with her. She was half serious. "See you, Moran," she waved, heading for the door. God, she just wanted to get home and sleep. Although she had to file this folder first.
"See you, shrimp," he said with a laugh, standing and stretching.
She stopped by the door, looking back at him. "I'm serious, you know. Don't call me that. Okay?" She had her reasons for this not becoming a permanent thing. And it wasn't something she wanted to get into.
He raised an eyebrow, but knew enough to sense a line. "Fine," he said, shrugging. "And here I thought you were gonna make good on that promise." He snorted, heading down the hall towards his on-site room.
Normally, she would have, but she wasn't too eager to go toe-to-toe with Sebastian Moran when all she had on her for a weapon for a rather thick folder. She just needed sleep - actually, now that she thought about it, she hadn't slept in 48 hours. She had a room here, if she wanted it, but she preferred to sleep at her own place. It felt safer.
He closed the door of his room, walking over to sit on his bed and pull off his shoes. He lay back, still in his typical uniform- black dress trousers and a crimson shirt to hide any blood. He stretched out with a yawn, looking over to make sure the intercom light was blinking, meaning Jim could reach him if he wanted to. Then he closed his eyes, drifting off.
Lorna had a short walk home to her own flat, since it was just down the street. She dumped her keys on the hall table as she closed the door and then shuffled off to bed, not even bothering to get out of her work clothes first. Forty-eight hours worth of exhaustion didn't allow her to.
Sebastian was roused by the buzz of the intercom. He opened his eyes, a hand on the knife under his pillow as he scanned the room, before leaning up to press the button. "Yeah, Boss?"
"The business meeting fell through. A menial car crash. Ironic, if things hadn't gone my way I would have arranged for one myself. Come for sushi. I don't enjoy eating alone." Jim said over the intercom, pressing the button with his elbow while he straightened his cuffs. Dinner with Sebastian was always amusing.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. "Yes, sir." He sat up, checking in the mirror to ensure his shirt wasn't wrinkled and his short-cropped hair was neat. He combed down a portion of hair that was sticking up, before strapping on his side holster and pulling on a blazer to cover it. Never go out unprepared. Especially when somewhere where the boss could be threatened. He turned and headed for the door, taking the lift up a floor and then walking down the hall to knock on the door to Jim's office.
"It's open," Jim replied, standing from his death and gathering his own jacket. It didn't bother him that he'd likely woken Sebastian up; he paid a lot for Moran's services, and he would use them whenever he liked.
He walked in, looking crisp and clean, as though he'd never been asleep. "Though I'm going with you, I'm not going to cancel your other security assignments for this evening, sir. I don't like that a potential non-ally will know your whereabouts," he said first thing.
"I won't argue, I trust your instincts," Jim agreed easily, heading for the door. Hell, those instincts had saved him more than once. Credit where credit was due. "Do you want to drive the Jag? It's not the Autobahn, but there ought to be a few open stretches of a road between us and the restaurant."
Moran grinned. Jim seemed to be in a better mood. He was well aware that the Jaguar was his sniper's favorite of the cars. "I certainly won't argue that, sir." He touched a button on the side of his watch, activating the mic to the garage. "Malcolm. Sweep and prep Mars," he said calmly, using the car's code designation. "Anything else before we go, sir?"
"Yes, any reports come in? Last I checked was noon today," he nodded, opening the door and stepping into the hall. The building was always quiet at this time of night, something he appreciated immensely. It was why he worked late nights instead of early mornings.
"The report on the McKinnon situation, sir," Moran said, opening the next door for his employer. "I assumed you were aware of the details given your mood, but I'm prepared to brief you if you prefer."
Jim sighed, walking into the stairwell with a suddenly sour expression. "My mood was due to another report. I don't know the details of McKinnon's job other than what I told him to do. The quality of work around here seems to be getting poorer. Why is that?"
"No excuse, sir. I'll work on improving it," Sebastian said smoothly, though his eyes were dark. "What other report was unsatisfactory? I'll see to improvements personally."
"The intel-gathering on our neighborhood drug lord. It was a botched assignment and Kelly nearly blew our cover. When someone nearly finds out about me, I get a little upset," Jim replied levelly, although there was a dangerous quality to his voice that smart people were wary of. They entered the garage, the door clanging shut behind them with a resounding echo. For Malcolm's sake, the car better have been swept. "Let Kelly know that the next time he has to bring in another, higher-ranking agent to get him out of trouble that he'll be talking personally to me. And he doesn't want that."
"I'll make sure to inform him," Sebastian said crisply. Malcolm was waiting by the car, standing at attention. "I swept the car, sir. No sign of any interference." He looked to Jim. "Will you be driving tonight, sir? Or will Moran?"
"Moran. Might be subject to change, depending on how much sake he drinks," Jim fired off, tapping his fingers impatiently on the trunk of the car. "Shall we?" he raised his eyebrows. He was not keen to be held up.
Malcolm hurried to open the passenger door for Moriarty, while Sebastian walked around and climbed into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition and smiling as the car rumbled to life. He strapped his seat belt into place and glanced over just long enough to ensure that his charge had done the same. He touched his watch. "Mars leaving with Jupiter. Satellites follow in two minutes." Then he took off out of the open garage with a grin and a roar of the engine.
"If you ever wondered why I chose the codenames of all this to be space related, it's because of Holmes. The man hasn't a clue about the solar system," Jim muttered, smirking slightly as he looked out the window. "Just a fun fact."
"Very clever, sir," Sebastian smirked. "He's a royal idiot about the oddest things, from what I've picked up."
"You're not wrong," he chuckled, pausing to give Moran directions to the restaurant in case he'd forgotten where it was. Ordinary people did that sometimes, annoyingly. "So, tell me what happened to McKinnon."
"Botched the job," he said, relaxing a bit as they hit a motorway and easing onto the gas. "Got himself shot by security. Took them out and went through to deal with Baxter, which he did. Cleanup dealt with the situation, made it look like a break-in. McKinnon's in the hospital on the premise of a mugging. The slug in his leg shouldn't match anything, but I'll have the tech boys alter any info the police have tomorrow morning just in case."
James glanced over at him, looking mildly amused. He didn't mind that McKinnon had gotten himself hurt - he'd finished the job, after all. The bullet in his leg would be punishment enough. "You didn't read that report yourself, did you?"
"No sir. Had Harrison read it and brief me, figured she needed the experience. Is that a problem, sir?" He shifted lanes, heading for their exit.
"No," he shrugged nonchalantly, straightening his cuffs. "I just find it... curious." Sebastian was perfectly suited for his job. The fact that he was training someone else to take over a part of it was definitely curious.
"In what way, sir?" he asked, starting to navigate the busy London streets, hazarding a glance at Jim.
Jim looked over at him, folding his hands in his lap. "You have the standard trust issues of an ex-military man, you easily and efficiently complete all the duties of your job, and you distance yourself - perhaps unintentionally - from the rest of your colleagues, yet you've decided to entrust a career spy with some of your responsibility. I think that's interesting."
"It's part of my responsibility to my position, sir," he said, stopping for a light. "She has potential. I'm not giving her any vital information, and she'd be a fish out of water if she tried to take over my position, not to mention dead. But I learned from my superiors, which is how I gained my position with you. I don't trust her, and she will not be taking over any of my responsibilities. However, I've decided to give her a bit of training, so that should she gain employment elsewhere, she will have a bit of footing, and I'll have someone in a good position who owes me." He accelerated as the light turned green, turning onto the street the restaurant was on.
He let out a small snort, pulling out his phone to check the news absently as Moran continued driving. "That last part won't happen and you know it. If she tries to leave, kill her. No one gets to me, Moran. That goes for any high-ranking employees." No, no, he couldn't have anyone who knew and talked to him leaving, they would know too much. The ones with above-average intelligence knew that.
He smirked slightly. He should have known better than to try and cloak his reasoning. "I'm aware sir." He pulled into the parking lot, parking cleanly and climbing out, walking around to get Moriaty's door. "My main line of consideration is more tactical. Eventually, my job will catch up to me. I figured it might be useful to have someone prepped for you who knew the business. I haven't finished giving her my trials yet, though, sir. I wasn't going to bring the idea to your attention until I was sure she was a viable option."
Jim stepped out of the Jag with an appreciative nod, buttoning his suit jacket as he started leading the way towards the restaurant's doors. "Mm. I have high hopes for her. Still, don't get yourself killed. That would make so much extra work for me. And the alcohol in the kitchen would really pile up."
"I wasn't planning on it, sir," he said, straightening his jacket and stepping ahead to get the door. "Though I believe Harrison would have no problem with the alcohol."
"I seem to hire a lot of alcoholics," he muttered, stepping through the door. The place was nearly empty, as it always was when he went here; he chose hours least likely to have people and then made sure there were no people by renting the place out. Other people's conversations were distracting and irritating.
"No, sir, you hire special operatives and soldiers, a high percentage of which happen to be alcoholics. It's the same anywhere else in the industry," he said with a touch of amusement. He hung back just behind Jim, letting him deal with the staff however he pleased while Sebastian scoped the place out, looking for any potential threats.
"The usual table, Billy," Jim waved to the waiter, who led them to a secluded booth in the corner next to a tastefully-decorated aquarium. "Yes, I suppose you're right, Moran. Not many of my operatives have a background like her, though. Hmmph. I recommend the sashimi here, it's excellent."
He nodded, glancing over the menu. "It's unusual, yes, but it hasn't affected her quality of work as of yet, so I'm inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt."
"Give it another five years. I think she'll snap under the mental strain, personally," he hummed nonchalantly, summoning Billy over with a polite wave of his hand. Even if he was rude to the young man, he was always compensated, so Jim didn't feel like he had to be too careful. "I'll have what I usually have, thank you, Billy."
Seb glanced up from his menu. "I'll have the otoro, and two spicy salmon rolls. And a bottle of whatever your best sake is. Japanese, not any of the domestic shit," he handed his menu over.
Jim smirked as Billy hurried off, a nervous tilt to his shoulders. "By the way, I wanted to bring you here anyways to talk with you about an upcoming assignment. It'll take you out of the country for about a week, and you won't be alone. I hope you like Italy."
"Good wine, good food, decent mafia, what's not to like?" he leaned back in the booth. "What's the situation, and who will I be stationed with?"
"I'd like to enter into a business relationship with one of those decent mafias, but I need some information on them first, things they aren't willing to speak up about. Unfortunately, the group I'm interested in is... rather old-fashioned. They haven't got anything on computers. That makes it a lot harder to get," Jim sighed, pulling a bit of a disgusted face. "You and Harrison are going in. Your job is mostly to keep her alive and to reinforce her cover. I already sent her the details before we left."
He nodded. His typical assignment style, as well as hers. "Should run smoothly, sir. I assume you'll have a thick file for me back at base. When do we leave?"
Jim glanced at his watch, raising his eyebrows. "Tomorrow. Apologies, I realize I should have gotten around to telling you sooner. Hm. I'll save you the trouble of Heathrow and let you take my jet. It's a privately-owned airport, so you shouldn't have any issues there. Just security. And that thing with Kelly," he tacked on, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes as Billy re-appeared with their food, remarkably balancing everything. Probably too scared to make two trips. He understood.
Sebastian was mildly tempted to knock something over just to watch the man scramble, but he was hungry and there was no way he would knock over the boss's food, so he let it be, watching as their plates were laid out. "I can do that, sir. Anything else you need, you should be able to contact me." He poured himself a glass of sake, tasting it and nodding slightly. It wasn't bad. It was strong, at least.
"Good. I should be able to handle your duties for a week, however," he shrugged, digging into his plate of sashimi with vigor. He'd been waiting for this meal all day, after all, and it was nearly 12 at night. This restaurant knew vaguely who he was.
He started in on his own food. Jim had been right, unsurprisingly. The sashimi was delicious, and the sushi was not far behind. He'd eaten not too long ago, so he took his time to enjoy the food, finishing off his glass of sake and pouring another, offering the bottle to his employer.
"No, thank you, I'm trying to cut back," he declined politely, then finished his food in silence. He didn't know why he'd told Moran that. Usually he didn't feel the need to explain any of his actions to anybody, especially not personal ones. Strange. Perhaps he was due for some rest.
Sebastian nodded, setting the bottle down, interested by the slightly less than frigid response. He weighed the risk and reward of pursuing the tidbit, but figured he could blame it on administrative details if Moriarty objected. "Since when?" he asked casually, attention on his food.
Jim didn't answer for a long moment, focusing on the very last scraps of food on his plate as he considered sharing. He had known Moran for a long time. Longer than he'd really known anyone else, for that matter, and he always had... appreciated the man. And Holmes seemed happy with his goldfish... "The beginning of the month. I noticed my tolerance going up beyond acceptable limits."
He nodded a little, careful not to over-react to the sudden divulgence of information. He washed down his last bite of sushi with a long quaff of the sake. "Would you like me to remove the wine choice from your usual base meals for the time-being?"
"No, that won't be necessary. I don't overindulge in wine often." Jim cleared his throat and sat back, resting his hands on the table in front of him with unusual stiffness. He was unaccustomed to this sort of conversation.
He nodded easily, sitting back as well, content to enjoy his sake until his employer decided to leave or order desert. "Let me know if you'd like me to make any changes in the future."
"I..I will," Jim nodded, feeling even more out of his depth, and immediately turning to summon Billy. "Check, please."
The man nodded, scampering off, and Sebastian couldn't help a laugh. "Skittish, isn't he?" he commented with a smirk.
"Mmm. Well, he serves a lot of mob bosses, I think he's learned to be careful," he chuckled, adjusting his silver tie with a smirk. "I pay him for his troubles."
"You always do, it's an interesting characteristic in a criminal mastermind," Moran said absently, draining his glass.
Jim shrugged. He had his reasons; paying people more than usual for doing small things was more likely to make them a) want to please him, and b) be less likely to think of him first if the police ever nosed by. "Ready to go? Can you drive?"
He considered that for a moment, and then considered the half-empty bottle of sake he was sealing to bring back to base. "In the interest of your personal safety it may be best if you drove, sir."
"I think I can handle that," Jim smiled, sliding out of the booth and standing, holding out his hand for the keys. The Jag was his favorite, too, but Moran didn't need to know that.
He handed them over, and stood. His stance was steady, but he could feel the slight haze of intoxication as he followed his employer.
"That must have been strong sake if you drank half a bottle and come out like that," Jim snickered as they walked out into the parking lot, swinging the keys in between his fingers with a giddy sort of carelessness. He was always in a better mood after having eaten. "Anywhere in particular you'd like to be dropped off, Tiger?"
He raised an eyebrow at the nickname, one he heard on the rare occasions that his boss was in a good mood and had little to ponder on at the same time. "Back at the base for me. Easier," he said, stretching. "Besides, if we're going to be leaving early tomorrow then I have work to get done."
Jim nodded, unlocking the car and getting inside with a smile that was barely being kept from full-on grin. He really liked this car. "Make sure you get Harrison if she doesn't wake up. I know how she is. She does speak Italian, however, which is useful if you wind up someplace where they can't understand your Irish brogue."
He rolled his eyes, climbing in. "I speak passable Italian, too, you know," he said with a jocular smirk. "'Shut up or I'll shoot you' is all you really need in any language, right?"
He started up the car during the pause in speech to enjoy the growl of the engine and then started the drive home, allowing a smile at his joke. "Usually spies need a little more than that. I suppose you have the general gist of it, though. The two of you should work out a reasonable cover story for traveling together, too. I'd sleep on it."
He nodded. "I'll think of something. Do we have passports?" he asked, stretching out in the seat, reaching down for the lever to push it back in the car, seeing as he was a good bit taller than Jim.
"Yes, under Steven and Lucy Morrison. Be siblings or spouses, I don't care," he shrugged, "The forger messed up and I haven't enough time to get either of you a new one." He revved the car forwards to get through a yellow light, someone honking angrily behind them. He smirked.
"A new passport or a new forger?" he asked with a smirk, knowing that the toleration of a mistake of that sort was vastly dependent on Jim's mood. "I'll make a decision once I'm more aware of the intricacies of what we're doing over there."
It was both; the forger had chosen an inopportune time to screw things up. "That's reasonable. You don't have to decide until you're there." He trusted Sebastian to handle it. In other words, he was in an exceptionally good mood tonight.
Moran nodded in appreciation of the exceptionally subtle compliment. "I'll handle it."
They pulled into the garage and Jim stepped out, leaving the car on. He knew that Malcolm had a thing about parking them himself. He thought it might have to do with his compulsive need to keep things orderly. He indulged it a little. "Doubtful I will see you tomorrow, but the things you will need will be sent to your room," Jim informed him, giving him a quick smile. "Goodnight, Moran."
Sebastian nodded as he climbed out of the car. "Thank you. And thanks for dinner. Goodnight, sir."
Jim nodded in return and then turned to head for the elevator. His penthouse was on the top floor. He wasn't climbing the stairs all that way.
Seb let him go in the elevator, and waited for it to return before taking the elevator to the floor below. Anyone wishing to get to Jim's floor either had to have Jim's retinal pattern, or pass through Sebastian's security protocols. He entered his quarters, putting the sake in the fridge before heading towards his study with a sigh. Plenty of work to get done, sleep would have to wait.
Lorna woke up early the next morning to what seemed like too much information in her inbox to be possible for the amount of sleep she'd gotten, but when she realized that all of it was from Jim, she sighed and read it all through the space of time it took to get through a quarter of a pot of coffee, then she got out her phone.
Whenever you're ready to leave for the Holy Roman Empire you just let me know. I'll be packed in five minutes and I can be back at base in ten. LH
Seb woke up to Lorna's text. He'd managed to get a few hour's sleep.
Roger that. I have our passports. We're married, fun as that is. We look too dissimilar to be siblings. SM
Lorna snorted, in the midst of her packing. She had no idea if Sebastian had much experience with interacting with people on a job; as far as she knew he was more the kill from a distance type. Well, it would be fun to fuck around with him, either way.
I have a ring that will pass for a wedding ring, but you'll have to scrounge something up, too. You're going to let me do most of the talking when we arrive, right? LH
I'll act hung over or something, should warn people off. SM
He hopped out of bed, starting to pack a suitcase specially designed to hide his guns through customs.
She finished packing - a mixture of sturdy, tough clothes and tight dresses her mother would insist were too small - and headed down the street towards HQ, the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She wasn't bringing any weapons with her besides a few bottles of assorted poisons disguised to look like medicines, mostly because she wouldn't require one. Not if Sebastian was around.
Do you think the plane has those little tiny bottles of liquor? Wait, no, do you think we can smoke on it? LH
Liquor in large bottles. Smoking is an absolute no unless you want Jim to have your head. It's his plane. SM
He finished packing and headed for the door, turning off the lights as he went.
Fine. I might get a little crabby on you, then. Don't worry, I'll make up for it in Italy with a sickening amount of charm and a tendency to wander away from my constantly-hung-over husband. LH
She texted him as she walked into the main lobby. The building really was elaborate - she hadn't worked for many crime bosses who had a full-time receptionist.
Sebastian headed into the elevator and hit the button for the lobby.
Haven't got any nicotine patches? SM
She sat on a bench as she waited for him, staring down at her shoes to avoid looking at the receptionist - who had never liked her - until her phone buzzed again.
No. I have an irrational fear Boss will see me with one and connect me somehow to Holmes and then I'll be killed. I don't know. I think I had a nightmare about it once. LH
He rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the elevator. "Let me get this straight. You can infiltrate diplomatic meetings on a completely bogus identity, but you can't use nicotine patches." He snorted, walking over to her.
"What?" she said defensively, standing up and putting her free hand on her hip. "That's a completely legitimate reason. Also I just really, really like smoking. And it's nowhere near the same thing, by the way. I don't have to lie to nicotine patches. I have to lie to myself. Can we leave?"
"Come on," he snorted, heading for the door to the garage, his trunk wheeling behind him. "Honestly, it's pathetic."
"What, my inability to lie to myself? No, no, you see, that's what I drink all the alcohol for," Lorna snickered, following him with a spring in her step. After a good cup of coffee she was a morning person. Before, she was likely to kill somebody.
He looked over at her with a withering glance. "On second thought, I can't wait for you to be sufficiently grumpy like the rest of us," he snorted, heading for one of the standard black cars.
She grinned, putting her stuff in the back and then climbing into the passenger seat; she knew Moran was a stickler for control, and letting him drive was part of it. "Oh, come on, lighten up. We're going to Italy! This sounds like the best job I've gotten in months, honestly. You can bring back a bottle of olive oil for each one of your friends."
He snorted. "Yeah, I'll do that. Olive oil... How in hell did you get into this business?" He rolled his eyes.
The next look she gave him was a little dryer. "My stepfather was a criminal and thought that a 17-year-old girl would do nicely to get him into a.. a place. So, you know, wasn't exactly my dream job."
He glanced over at her, and nodded. "No, suppose not. Would you like some pity? Is that the request here?" he added, ribbing.
Lorna gave him a disgusted look. "You asked me, I told you. If I wanted your pity - no, no, I wouldn't want it. Just drive, okay?" she snapped, buckling her seat belt, her good mood evaporated.
He sighed, starting the car up and heading out of the garage towards the airport. After a bit, he said "I'm sorry. I wasn't intending to insult you."
"It's fine. It's just a sensitive subject," she muttered, avoiding looking at him. She hadn't really meant to snap, and it felt a bit disrespectful. (In other words, dangerous.) "I suggest not asking me any questions about any backstory shit unless I'm good and drunk, and only if you're serious. That's my only boundary. Avoid that and this week will go fine."
He shrugged. "Fair enough, we all have them." He took off down the highway at a good clip, and it didn't take long to get to the airport, and he parked the car, hopping out and getting his trunk out of the boot, tossing Lorna her bag.
She caught it easily, back to her normal self by the time they had arrived at the airport. She tried not to get on airplanes in a bad mood. She was mildly superstitious about it. "What are you thinking about for the cover story? The night we go down there they're throwing what sounds like quite the party. We could be interested in smuggling, perhaps?"
"Well, it'll help if I know the details of your mission. I just got told the basics and to cover your arse." They started walking across the tarmac towards the small private plane.
"I have to photograph a few files in the Don's private office. It's in the middle of his private villa, where he's throwing this little gathering we'll be attending, and he has the only key. But," she held up a finger, a smile spreading across her face in mock excitement, "Lucky for us, he's straight, single, and has a weakness for attractive young women. My favorite kind of target. And I'm not even supposed to kill him when we leave. I'm excited."
He made a face. "Sounds horrible. But whatever makes you happy. I take it I should be as unpleasant a 'husband' as possible to give you the sympathy card to play if you like?" He nodded to the plane's security as they passed. They all knew him, and most knew Lorna.
She shrugged. "It's not necessary. Honestly, it's just a lot easier to say you're bad in bed. That really makes men sympathetic," Lorna smirked, trying to hold in a laugh. "They're all eager to prove themselves and whatnot. Oh, boy, straight men are the dream."
"Brilliant. Then I can wander off and focus on shooting people who try to shoot you," he said, handing his trunk to an attendant and climbing up the stairs to the plane.
"The first night you should probably stick around, but other than that, yeah, I love that idea," she agreed, giving her duffel to the attendant before trotting up the stairs after him. As soon as she stepped over the threshold she pulled her hair back into a ponytail - her superstition again. And it was a little warm.
He walked over to sprawl on one of the leather couches lining the side of the plane, before leaning over to pull open the fridge. Damn, Jim was in a good mood. "He's had 'em stock us up, top shelf stuff... You want scotch, whiskey, rum, beer..?"
Lorna walked over to crouch beside the couch, peering into the fridge with an impressed whistle. The last time she'd been on the plane there had been a single bottle of spoiled orange juice in the fridge. "Mm. I haven't had scotch in a while," she hummed, reaching in to grab it herself. "God bless that man."
He laughed. "I don't think God has anything to do with it." He took the bottle of whiskey and grabbed a glass off an edged shelf. "James Moriarty has a throne waiting for him in hell."
"A throne? The throne. Sebastian, please - Lucifer is only keeping that thing warm," she smiled, taking up residence on the other side of the plane and foregoing the glass - she wasn't going to need it. "Of course, you and I probably have some front row seats."
As long as I get to help barbecue souls, I'm happy," he smirked, pouring a generous portion of whiskey and tossing it back.
She sipped at her scotch with a stoic face. It was strong, but she had just decided that she was going to finish the whole bottle just because she could. "I'll admit, that sounds like you," she chuckled, then sighed. "Hey, we have a two-hour flight ahead of us, you want to play a game of cards or something?"
He shrugged. "Why the hell not," he said, searching a few drawers before he found a deck, pausing to pour himself another shot. "What do you want to play?"
"I know all the rules of poker because of the job, and I know a little bit of Blackjack, Gin, I remember like, maybe the general idea of Euchre? So it's completely up to you," she grinned, just surprised that he'd agreed. "What do you want to play for?"
"Blackjack's not nearly so entertaining with just two players. Five car poker, I say." He started to deal. "I called the game, you call the stakes."
She nodded, gathering up her cards. "Okay.. but you gotta tell me what your boundary is, then. I don't want to chance upon it in a confined space 35,000 feet up in the air. Tell me what to avoid, is all," she asked carefully, trying to instill an actual respectful expression onto her face. It didn't come naturally.
"I'm not going to murder you for suggesting something I don't like," he said without altering his expression, dealing. "Just suggest something, I'll let you know- and live- if you cross the line."
It briefly crossed her mind to suggest strip poker, and then she realized that she still had a week to deal with him and she was also just too nervous to do that, then she thought of a drinking game, and realized that they both had the tolerance of pirates. "Okay...hm. Whoever wins gets to make the other person do something really stupid. Rob a convenience store, blah blah blah. Can be whatever. No rules, yeah?"
He considered. "Nothing that would piss Jim off too much, but other than that, I'm game." He picked up his hand. "How many hands? Or is this per hand?"
"I think per hand is more fun, don't you?" Lorna raised her eyebrows, sipping at her scotch.
"And are we canceling out wins and losses, or stacking?" he asked, glancing at his cards before returning them to the table.
"Canceling," she replied, sliding her own cards towards her. "I should warn you I'm not great at poker. I mostly use it for talking."
"Mmm... We'll see. Well, we'll have to have some way to increase the bet, so... I bet two such dares." He sat back to wait for her retort.
She chuckled, taking a moment to down another swig of liquor before she shrugged. "Okay, I'll raise you to three."
"I'll match that," he said, flipping a card from the deck.
"Seven of hearts on the table. And the bet's to you."
Playlist: 3OH!3 - Bad Guy
Younger Hunger - Dead Inside
We have an enormous playlist on youtube of all the songs for this chapter and subsequent ones - if you're interested you can find the link at my profile, and every chapter that has a song attached will tell you which song(s) it is!