It isn't until he moves in with her that he realizes just how much work Jim puts into making herself into Jim Moriarty. There's a wig – though it matches her natural colour, its main purpose is to alter her hairline. She binds her chest underneath her suits. There's prosthetics to give her face a more masculine look, specifically stubble. Her eyes are unchanged – big and dark and twisted yet lovely.
Sebastian watches her mid transformation, awed by her attention to detail. She catches his gaze in the mirror and smirks.
"I could have been a fantastic makeup artist, don't you agree?" She asks, dabbing at her neck with something or rather. "What a boring life that would have been."
It's a long process, though the results are impeccable. Still, Sebastian can see why she prefers to do her work without face to face meetings.
Some would look at her Jim Moriarty and wonder why she wanted to be a man so badly, or if she did want to be a man so badly, why didn't she go through the process of becoming one? Sebastian did wonder at first, but he soon learned that wasn't it at all. Jim didn't want to be a man.
"People take you much more seriously if you're a man," she'd stated simply. "Well, sort of. They take you seriously sooner. Call me lazy, but I didn't want to play all the little games required to earn their respect. There may be equality or whatever, but it's still a man's world." She'd raised an eyebrow and giggled. "And besides, this is so much fun."
Of course it is, because everything is just a game to her. She does things just because she can.
At their flat, she had no problem with her femininity. In fact, Sebastian would argue that she embraced it. She'd lounge around with her hair down – it wasn't long, it had to be shorter for her wig to sit right – humming to herself and occasionally paint her toenails. Sometimes she'd wear makeup, the downright girly eye shadow and lipstick shit. As a woman, she was pretty. Not striking, but she was still beautiful to him.
She even wore dresses.
Jim might have been damn good at being a man, but she knew how to be sexy as hell as a woman. One night while he'd been working on a manuscript, she'd leaned suggestively in the doorway, dressed in tiger print lingerie.
"There's a wild animal on the loose," she'd said lowly before biting down on the blade of one of his hunting knives and holding it between her teeth.
He'd been mildly annoyed at being interrupted, but how the fuck was he supposed to resist that?
The one thing that always bothered him was what to call her. Obviously her name wasn't really Jim, and it seemed weird to call her Jim when she wasn't being Jim. Curiousity eventually prompted him to ask her birth name one day while she'd been sprawled lazily on the sofa, texting and probably ordering some poor sod's death.
"Jane," she'd answered flatly, and he wasn't sure if this were true or not.
In the end, he'd simply started calling her Jay.