Warnings: Pretty extreme violence, language, an author who is sorry for his treatment of these characters

Disclaimer: Jim and Seb aren't mine. They will never be mine, and I have to accept that *tears*

Angry, Excited, Dangerous

"Alright, kids. We'll pick this up tomorrow. Class dismissed." Jim smiled as the bored secondary school students shuffled out of the room. A few girls stopped at his desk on their way out.

"It was so cool that you could sub in today, Mr. Moran," one of the vapid teenagers sighed. Jim flashed her a stunning grin.

Watching all this through his scope, Sebastian made a gagging noise. The cutting-edge microphone hidden in Jim's tweed pocket was transmitting every nauseating second of this performance into Sebastian's ear. He didn't like this plan. He didn't like his name being used for Jim's alias, he didn't like having to watch an entire day of boring classes, and he didn't like all of these obnoxious teens hitting on Jim. He wasn't even sure about all the details of the job. Just that a kidnapping would eventually occur and Jim needed the protection of his sniper if anything went bad. Or rather, Professor James Moran, the fun and charming substitute teacher, needed protection. Sebastian was ordered to remain on a roof adjacent to the school until Jim was ready.

Back in the classroom, one of the girls was twirling her hair while she shuffled her weight from leg to leg. She was telling some boring story about her dog that made Sebastian suicidal with its insipidity. Jim, however, seemed entirely enraptured by it. He was leaning against a large oak desk with one arm across his chest and the other hand pressed to his lips. Every so often he would nod sagely or say some wholly insignificant comment like, "Oh, I see," or "Really? That's fascinating."

Finally after a few more minutes of dull stories, the girls finally left. Sebastian let out a harsh breath of extreme relief. "Thank fuck," he muttered to his gun. It wasn't unusual for Seb to confide to Bor rifle, which he had affectionately dubbed Alex. They had gotten rather close over years.

Sebastian watched Jim stuff papers into his brown leather messenger bag. He looked to where he knew Sebastian was watching from, and Seb had the eerie feeling that his boss could actually see him.

"Moran, I would like for you to meet me by the front door of this building immediately," Jim said for the microphones. Sebastian marveled at how easily the psychopath could switch from the gregarious professor to a no-nonsense mastermind in a second. It was a talent that frightened the sniper a little. He wondered which Jim was real, or eve if there was anything absolute about the man.

Sebastian disconnected his ear piece, packed up Alex and climbed off of the building. As ordered, he waited for Jim by the front door of the school building. He smiled pleasantly enough at all the passing children, but knew he probably looked a bit leer-ish. It was hard for a man with so many scars to blend into a crowd of kids. Toss in the suspicious case he had slung on his back and Seb was surprised no one had alerted the police. Thank God no one could see the handgun in his pocket.

After about twenty minutes of awkward loitering, Sebastian was mentally cursing his boss. Instructions be damned, Seb made up his mind to enter the building. He marched to Jim's classroom ready to yell about whatever trivial thing he was doing.

As soon as he rounded the corner into the room, he knew something had gone wrong. His skills of observation were still lacking to some degree, but he could see the obvious signs of a struggle. There were a few scattered papers and a some scuffs on the floor. Sebastian's time in the military had grated him the ability to sense danger, and the air in the room was saturated with a recent fight.

Immediately, Sebastian's soldier mode kicked in. His muscles tensed and he examined the scene. The scuffs made a path from the door of the room to a large supply closet. Sebastian pulled out his Beretta 92, attached a suppressor, and readied a straight-armed stance. He stopped in front of the door to the closet, set down his rifle case, and steadied his breath, ready for anything.

And then he kicked in the door.

Everything happened quickly. Sebastian's sharp eyes surveyed the scene in a split second. Jim was tied to a metal chair in the middle of the small room. His uncharacteristically colorful tie was knotted as a blindfold across his eyes and orange duct tape covered his mouth. Some sort of wires held him to the chair. A sinister looking man had a short knife pressed to Jim's throat, and a thin line of blood had already welled up.

It took Sebastian no time at all to place a bullet directly between the eyes of Jim's attacker. Jim didn't even flinch, though he received a little blood splatter on the shoulder of his coat and Sebastian wondered if he would be in trouble for causing a mess. The recently deceased man crumpled to the floor, his knife slipping out of his fingers and clattering against the tiles.

Sebastian rushed to Jim's side and tore the duct tape off of his face. He didn't worry about doing it carefully; Jim could handle pain. For this reason, Sebastian also didn't worry about the drying blood stained across Jim's throat. He circled around behind the chair, stepping over the bleeding corpse, and pulled off the blindfold. Then he set in working on the cords around Jim's wrists.

When he came to the front of the chair, Sebastian saw Jim's eyes for the first time since entering the room. There was no mistaking the blinding fury there. It was so intense that for a moment Sebastian's heart stopped.

"Sir?" Sebastian asked quietly, remembering that they were meant to be in professional mode. Jim held his gaze. "Sir, did I do something wrong?"

"What were your instructions, Moran?" Jim inquired dangerously.

"To protect you, sir."

"I seem to recall telling you to stay outside," Jim seethed. He stood up from the chair. Despite the six-inch height disparity to Sebastian's advantage, the assassin suddenly felt extremely small. He forced himself to nod bravely.

"Yes, but I suspected danger. Correctly, it would seem." He gestured to the body on the ground.

"Did I give you the codeword?"

"Sir, you were gagged! What was I supposed to do?"

"I forget sometimes how entirely unintelligent you are," the consulting criminal growled. "I mentioned a kidnapping, did I not?"

Everything suddenly clicked into place for Sebastian. "You meant to be captured."

"Oh, congratulations!" Jim snapped sarcastically. "You've finally caught up! Do you realize that you've completely fucked up everything?" Jim's voice rose to a shout. Sebastian hoped no one else was in the building. "I gave you a direct order, Moran! And you not only disobeyed, but destroyed all of my plans!" Sebastian resisted the urge to cringe. It would only spur on the sadistic man.

Jim stormed out of the cramped closet to pace and Sebastian knew the panic was setting in. Jim's anger was always accompanied by an anxiety attack. He suddenly turned to face Sebastian, his voice becoming a dangerous whisper. "You're going to fix this." Sebastian wasn't sure if he meant the job or the anger.

Jim swept back in to the closet and stood over the dead kidnapper. He stared condescendingly at the cadaver, as if it was somehow his fault. "You will clean this up, Moran. You will erase any trace of our presence. You will stop any investigations into this man's disappearance." Jim looked back up into Sebastian's eyes. "But first, you will sit." He pointed to the metal chair.

Sebastian didn't hesitate for a second. This wasn't a "it's already so bad, it can't get any worse" situation. It was more of a "it's already so bad, and if you continue to dick around you will die a death so painful and horrible that you won't even notice you're dying until the Devil greets you and wishes his condolences" type of thing.

As soon as Sebastian was seated he could see Jim's panic dissipate. The level of tranquility that flooded Jim's features was a clear sign of the pain Sebastian was going to experience. It meant his boss had a plan that satisfied both his need for revenge and his sadistic urges. "Hand over your gun," Jim ordered. Sebastian quickly passed the pistol to his boss. He heard it being placed on one of the shelves behind him.

The sniper was still trying to deduce what might be in store for him when Jim picked up the knife lying next to Sebastian's mistake. He held the blade in front of his face, examining the metal. "Colonel," Jim sighed, his voice full of malice. "I just want to make sure that you know that what I am about to do didn't have to happen. You could have simply followed my orders like I pay you to. I'll make sure you remember that for next time." Amazingly, Sebastian found comfort in the promise of a "next time." It gave him the guarantee that Jim wouldn't kill him for his indiscretion. He didn't think he would, but anything was possible with James Moriarty.

After his speech, Jim walked behind the chair and placed his hands on Sebastian's shoulders. "I wouldn't move if I were you," he warned. Sebastian fought the urge to run and instead clutched tightly to the edge of his seat. He felt the dig of the blade on top of his spine through the fabric of his black nylon shirt. The pressure increased and the sound of tearing fabric crackled through the air. Sebastian knew Jim was being careful not to cut him yet. He wondered what masterpiece his boss was planning.

Jim pried the slit he had made in Sebastian's shirt open and pushed down the shoulders leaving the sniper's back exposed. Sebastian kept his silence, but privately mourned his shirt. The tip of the knife brushed across his skin as Jim mapped his path. Sebastian wished he would start. The torture of wondering how bad the final cuts would be was eating at him. He hoped stitches would be unnecessary.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sebastian felt the first bite of steel on his shoulder blade. He hissed a little and his back involuntarily seized up. Immediately the knife stabbed in an inch deeper. "You have lost the right to feel pain, Moran," Jim growled. Sebastian considered the absurdity of this statement but straightened up anyway. Jim drew the knife out a little and continued to slice.

As distracting as the pain might have been, it was the trickle of blood down his back that sent his nerves itching. His skin felt like it was crawling and it took more willpower than Sebastian had ever used to stop his muscles from contracting.

Thankfully, the flow from his wounds increased and eventually the tickle turned into a warm wash. Sebastian tried to track what was being carved into him, but Jim's cuts were quick and precise. He would only be allowed to examine the extent of Jim's handiwork when he was given permission, and Sebastian's boss was still far too upset to give any indication of a final product.

After a few silent minutes – save for the soft, wet sound of blade through blood – the knife fell away from Sebastian's skin. Sebastian heard Jim's footsteps as the smaller man stepped back to appraise his work. "It's nice," he commented, as if at a demure wine tasting. The clink of metal on tile sang out again in the small room. Sebastian's eyes followed Jim as he walked smoothly out of the supply closet as if suddenly unaware of his wounded employee's presence. "I have blood on my teaching coat," he muttered absent mindedly. "And I've lost my tie. It was expensive. Though I suppose it was dreadful. I have so much more planning to do and I –" he faded out as he escaped the building, leaving Sebastian still bleeding in the chair.

Sebastian finally allowed a heavy breath to escape him. He had a high pain tolerance, but Jim knew exactly how to make a shallow cut feel like an amputation. The muscles spanning across his back felt weak, and his entire core was wracked with heavy shivers. He spent a few minutes collecting himself before he felt comfortable enough to stand. He immediately felt dizzy and wondered how much blood he had lost. Probably not too much. Jim wanted to hurt him, but having Sebastian die would have been completely counterproductive.

Sebastian pulled the tatters of his shirt back over his shoulders and winced at the feeling of cloth on his open gashes. Sluggishly, he set to work cleaning the scene, taking frequent breaks to steady himself. He called in some lower employees of Jim's to take out the body, but he decided to keep the knife as a reminder of Jim's wrath.

When the group of what Jim affectionately called his "dispensable henchmen" arrived, Sebastian left them to finish up. If any of them noticed the torn shirt or bloody gashes, they didn't say anything. A wise career move.

He grabbed his gun off of a high shelf (taking a minute to wonder how Jim could have possibly reached that high) and slipped out of the room. His faithful Alex was leaning up against a wall in the classroom. Sebastian scooped it up, but dared not let it hang from his abused shoulders. The light outside of the school building stung Sebastian's eyes, but he appreciated the distraction from his back. His driver was waiting for him on the road and Sebastian was incredibly thankful to be going home.

Finally back in his own flat, Sebastian tossed all of his things to the floor by his front door. "Sorry, Alex darling," he grumbled. He pulled off his torn shirt and threw it by his feet. He half-jumped through his living room, trying to remove his trousers, and finally dropped his shoes in his bedroom. By the time he made it to his bathroom, he had finished shedding his clothing. It took him seconds to find the right water temperature for his shower, and he stepped in as quick as he could. The sting of the water against his lacerations was close to unbearable, and for a second Sebastian needed to steady himself against the tiled wall. The water swirling into the drain was a vicious red. Sebastian grimaced at the sight.

When he felt sufficiently cleaned, Sebastian climbed out of the shower and wrapped a soft towel around his hips. Sitting next to the sink was a hand-held mirror that Jim used for preening in the mornings after he stayed at Sebastian's. Jim's vanity knew no bounds. Sebastian put his back to the large wall mirror and picked up Jim's little reflective dish. He aimed the smaller mirror behind him to examine the damage on his back. He was amazed. Jim's skill with a knife never failed to impress the highly trained killer.

Scratched across his upper back, spreading from one shoulder-blade to the other was a bloody word. "FUCKUP." Sebastian glowered. The calligraphy was nice enough, but he'd never be able to go without a shirt in public again. He continued to survey the slashes and noticed that only the smaller branch on the "F" seemed deep enough to warrant medical attention. That was probably where Jim had decided that showing pain wasn't part of the punishment. It would be fine without stitches, it just may take a little longer to close up than the rest of the label.

Sebastian pulled on a terry-cloth robe. It hurt a little when the fabric rested against the word on his back, but Sebastian took it to be a reminder if his mistakes. When he pulled open the bathroom door, he had sleep on his mind. He was, however, a little perturbed and shocked to find his bed occupied.

Jim had his nose buried in a book, but Sebastian knew him well enough to know he wasn't reading it. "Boss?" Sebastian called. He received no acknowledgment. "Boss, how long have you been waiting here?"

Jim hummed a little. "Long enough to see you come home. Quite a show." Jim still didn't look up. Sebastian heard the remnants of annoyance in his boss's voice. The anger wasn't quite gone yet. "You know I need to see it," Jim commented to his book.

Sebastian turned his back to Jim and let his robe slip down a little. He could almost feel Jim's eyes admiring the scratches. By the time he pulled back up his robe and turned around, Jim was back to staring blankly at the pages in front of him. Sebastian detected a hint of pride.

Poor Seb. I do put him through so much, bless him.

I got a little eager in posting this. Don't expect one-a-day updates!

See you next time! Xoxo