Warnings: Violence, Sexual content, Language, Silly OC

Disclaimer: I don't own Jim or Sebby-baby

Mischievous, Excited, Safe

"Sir, you are needed at holding cell twelve." The grunt relaying this message stood emotionless in front of Sebastian, trying to be the perfect soldier.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" the sniper questioned snidely. He liked to seem a little simple to the lower workers. It gave him an air of mystery. He saw the messenger look flustered for half a second and then quickly regain his composure.

"Mr. Moriarty has demanded your presence," he recited quickly. Sebastian found himself suddenly interested.

"Mr. Moriarty, eh? Well that changes everything, don't it?." It wasn't entirely untold for Jim to want Seb around during an interrogation, but it was always either during one of Jim's more intense mood-swings or part of a much larger and more devious plan. Sebastian nearly shuddered thinking about whatever crazy state is boss would be in.

"How'd he seem to you?" he pressed the grunt.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I understand." The man looked at Sebastian warily.

"How did Moriarty seem? Was he angry, upset, giddy, airy? How'd he seem?" Sebastian was getting a little impatient.

A brief and immediately retracted smile appeared on the grunt's lips. "Really? Can you imagine Mr. Moriarty being giddy? Or showing any sort of emotion?"He noted Sebastian glaring at him darkly. He straightened up and resumed soldier mode. "He was professional and emotionless as always, sir."

Sebastian frowned, a little confused. "All right. You should pray that the boss don't find about your little slip there," Sebastian conceded. The grunt flinched a little at the implied punishment. Sebastian brushed past him and started toward holding cell twelve.

Sebastian stepped in to the dark corridor cautiously. The door to the cell was set into the wall on the left. Jim was pacing in the narrow space, seemingly very calm and collected. The sniper didn't announce his presence. He simply waited in the doorway for Jim's acknowledgment. He held a straight-backed and very formal stance. He figured better safe than sorry. If he acted like it was all a joke and Jim actually needed him for something, he would pay dearly.

It didn't take the consulting criminal long to stop pacing and raise his eyes to Sebastian. "Moran, I need your assistance with something," he stated casually.

Scientifically speaking, maybe Sebastian heard that Jim's voice was just a hair off of its normal pitch. Intimately – and more realistically – he probably saw the underlying hint of pure excitement hidden behind a straight lipped and relaxed face. Either way, something was setting Sebastian on edge.

"Of course, sir," he offered the dangerous psychopath. "What's the job?"

"Nothing too extensive," Jim tutted. "I simply need an intimidating presence in the room for this interrogation." He was acting normal enough, or as normal as he could ever be. He didn't seem to be caught in the midst of any sort of fit. And yet, Sebastian didn't dare let his guard down for half a moment.

Sebastian tried fishing for any information on the job. "Are my explicit instructions to look scary...sir?"

Jim was looking at him, but Sebastian suspected he was elsewhere. "Yes," came the airy reply. "I need the image of a bodyguard, I suppose." With this anti-explanation, Jim pulled the door to the cell open. "After you, Moran." It was less of a courteous invitation and more of a strict order. Jim closed his eyes, quietly preparing himself for his upcoming plan. Sebastian shuffled past him into the room.

Sebastian took great pride in his night-vision and it took no time at all for him to adjust to the dark room. There was an extremely thin man wearing simple rags on the floor in the center of the cell. He had a polished shackle leading from one of his wrists to a loop attached to the ground a few feet away. The room and set-up was so primitive that Seb wondered if the hostage even knew about the high-tech facility that surrounded him.

If he really thought about it, the clever sniper could probably have figured which one of Jim's dissidents he was currently viewing, but his train of thought was still determining why he had been called there.

Jim had planned his entrance beautifully. Dim lights set in the walls glowed softly, casting dangerous shadows across the consulting criminal. He strolled in coolly with his hands jammed in his pockets. The door swung shut behind him as if his presence was creating an inescapable vacuum. The chained man's face remained placid, which in itself was a pretty impressive feat. Jim removed one hand from his trousers and made a tiny motion for Sebastian to stand in a corner.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett," Jim cooed with a voice that asserted himself as king.

"Ah, Mr. Moriarty, I do believe it is morning," the other man quipped, remaining as bored-looking as possible.

"Time well kept. You believe correctly," came the affirmation.

Sebastian watched this exchange with only the faintest interest. Jim's business was not his own. He was acting as an employee, a servant of his boss. From the chained man's inherent cleverness, Sebastian guessed that he was the map-maker Jim had been so enamored with recently. The one that had hidden some great treasure and layered the directions to it with unbreakable codes.

"I would like very much for you to tell me where you have hidden my client's possessions," Jim said in a polite Irish lilt.

"Yes, I know you would. Unfortunately, I have no knowledge of such objects," said the liar.

"Actually, Mr. Bennett, I had hoped you may be difficult." His voice had taken a turn toward the singsong and gloating. "Up until now, you have resisted my usual methods of persuasion admirably." Sebastian wondered if the light was playing tricks, or if there really was a worn, proud smile on Bennett's face. "And I've concluded that, like myself, you believe your mind to be so superior that the pain to your body becomes meaningless. Of course, you are not quite as brilliant as me, but you have made a fun opponent."

"I accept your compliment."

"Yes, well, I have more devices at my disposal than the ones that split skin."

"Are you suggesting mind games?"

"Nu-uh. I'm done with games. How does mind control sound?" Bennett lifted an eyebrow. "With that, I'd like to introduce my subordinate."

Sebastian was truly shocked. Was he being asked to be part of some sort of demonstration? Nothing close to this had happened before. There was no protocol. The soldier was lost.

Jim made a nearly imperceptible gesture and Sebastian stepped closer to him. He suddenly felt like he was part of a car show and was about to be inspected.

"This is my lov-e-ly assistant, Colonel Sebastian Moran." His name? His name. His real name. Jim never used his real name. Jim never let him get exposed.

"Moran?" Bennett repeated the name as if it was some foreign anathema to his tongue. "Pardon my curiosity, but I have done extensive research into your operation. I have reviewed hundreds of branches on your crime tree, and have examined most of the leaves. I know every single gun you've ever hired. And yet, I am unfamiliar with any Sebastian Moran. You wouldn't be giving me a false name, now would you?"

Jim looked thoroughly offended at the notion. "Me? A liar? Mr. Bennett!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "I thought we understood one another! No, no, no. I have just kept my dear Sebastian well-hidden. In the dark, where he belongs."

Sebastian had been tense from the moment he saw Jim in the hallway, but now he was thrumming with alarm. He could only imagine one reason for his boss dragging him from the shadows; He was being discarded. Jim had grown bored with him and was planning on terminating his employment via large head wound.

"Hm, I see," Bennett mused. "And what makes this one so special?"

As an answer, Jim turned his face up to Sebastian's. He made no other movement. It was just a millisecond of eye-contact before he looked away. If he wasn't fearful for his life, Sebastian would have felt extreme intimacy. Instead he worried for a moment that Jim may try to eat him.

Bennett raised his eyebrows in an unnecessary show of surprise. "Oh, I see. I must say, I didn't take you as sentimental, James."

"Actually, there is only one man who takes me at all." Sebastian was on the verge of blushing. This was wrong. It was professional time. Their relationship was not to be spoken of while playing as subservient worker and employer. This was was business, and yet Jim was blurring that line into oblivion.

"Now that my connection with my sniper has been made clear, watch closely. And keep in mind that Sebastian has greater mental prowess than most. It's why he has risen so high within my company. He is not an ordinary mercenary. He may be cleverer than yourself.

Bennett watched sceptically, yet attentively, as Jim took a step away from the alarmed assassin. He pulled out his mobile. The screen's glow illuminated his face from beneath, twisting his features to a demonic high.

"Relax, Moran," Jim soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you...physically."

It wasn't his boss's promise of a semi-painless display that allowed Sebastian to unclench his jaw. It was his last name. He was still a subordinate and he hadn't misread the situation.

"This is a song I composed a while ago," Jim explained to his audience. "I call it Pavlov's Sonata." He tapped a button on the screen and a sweet piano melody filled the small room. It sounded familiar and Sebastian figured he had probably heard it in its early stages in the flat.

Suddenly, Sebastian's sense of danger exploded. Something was wrong. Alarm bells were tolling in his head. He cringed, though he wasn't sure from what. He scanned the room, seeking out the source of peril. His breath was coming short as adrenaline filled his body. But for what? There was nothing to be seen except a terrified-looking cartographer and an amused psychopath. The contrast of the pretty music was making him feel dizzy. Sebastian braced himself for pain, but nothing came. Sebastian's mind was racing. Jim seemed alright, but Bennett looked even more terrified than himself.

Jim held up his phone and clicked the music off. Bennett stared pale-faced at him with bleak understanding.

"Like a dog with a whistle," Jim chirped. Sebastian took deep breaths, trying to steady himself. His instincts had saved him on many occasions and he trusted their response to whatever had just happened. He felt his breathing slow a little and noted that the feeling of impending death was dissipating.

"Would you like to see more?" Jim asked his captive. Without waiting for a response from the still-stunned man, Jim tapped his touch screen again. A different movement of the sonata leaked from the device. It was softer and eerie. It sounded like a lullaby had slit its wrists and was waiting to bleed out.

Despite his own unease and the glare of both other men, Sebastian felt his brain go a little fuzzy. His mind had stopped whirring and trying to glean Jim's intentions. He wondered vaguely why he was the object of focus and why Jim was smiling and who Mr. Bennett was and why the ground was so close and where his legs went. Lying on the cold ground, Sebastian heard Jim's dangerous, threatening voice break through the fog.

"And I care for Sebastian. Imagine what I could do to you." Then the sniper heard no more.

Sebastian awoke with a startled gasp. He immediately went to trying to discover what had happened and what situation he was in now.

The ground he was on was still cold, so he couldn't have been down for more than a few minutes. He did not feel tired, indicating his sleep was artificially induced. Beyond the cool touch of the floor there was a warm smell in the air. The tantalizingly coppery aroma of fresh blood.

A glint off the metal loop in the floor caught his eye and he visually followed the chain to where it was still clamped around Bennett's wrists. Though really, when a person's brains are only fifty percent still in their skull, restraints become rather redundant.

Sebastian twisted around to see Jim sitting on the floor behind him, a satisfied grin plastered onto a smug face. He had maroon spatter across his suit. Sebastian was sure he would hear about how inconsiderate it was for Bennett to have bled on the expensive Westwood jacket later. Currently, Jim's gaze was fixed on the confused sniper.

"Sir," Sebastian started, not sure if they were still in business mode or not, "What happened?"

Jim cocked his head. "Bennett told me what I needed to know, then he had a run in with the wall. Most unfortunate."

"I mean, why am I on the ground?" Then as an afterthought, "Sir?"

"You fell asleep in the middle of a job. How unprofessional, Sebby. I expect more from my employee of the month." Sebastian unwound a little to slip into comfortable mode.

"Did you poison me, Jim?"

Jim scooted a little closer and stroked Sebastian's hand. "Now, now. You know our rule about poisoning. I have to ask first."

"Okay then. Did you have anything to do with my abrupt nap time?"

Jim smiled broadly. He pulled out his phone and waggled it. "My newest venture! And you're part of it, Seb!"

Sebastian stared at the little device. Jim was giving him the always-infuriating Don't-You-Get-It smile. The screen showed a simple list of mp3s, each a different movement of Pavlov's Sonata. Pavlov.

"Did you...condition me?"

"Like Pavlov's dog! A dog drools when it hears a bell, and you do what I want when you hear music! It's brilliant!"

Jim was so happy, so excited, and Sebastian wanted nothing more than to punch the joy out of him. His bossed seemed to sense this toxic anger and shrunk a little. He knew that Sebastian would never seriously hurt him, but he still didn't like being glowered at. He hung his head slightly.

Sebastian felt pity for his boss. His delusional grandstanding only revealed his true, sad side. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know where to draw a line. Sebastian looked at the rejected man and wondered how he had ever been angry. How could he when – no. This was wrong. He was supposed to be mad. Why wasn't he furious?

Sebastian strained his ears and heard the faintest chime of music. "Dammit, Jim!" he cried.

Jim's puppy-dog eyes vanished in a second to be replaced by the evil amusement that he wore so well. "Did you feel it? Did you start to feel pity? Oh, please tell me you did! This is too perfect!" Jim hopped up and gave a stupid little twirl. Then he focused onto Sebastian. The sniper also stood, not wanting to be quite so overpowered.

"Do you want to see the others?" Jim asked with the excitement of a child with a new toy. "I have so much more to make you feel!" Sebastian began to protest. Jim flounced over and covered Seb's mouth with his hand. "Listen, Tiger. I asked, but really I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world. Now, I don't really want to break your brain, so here's what's going to happen. I'm going to try out a few more of these soundbites, and you're going to express the induced feeling honestly." Sebastian glared down at the little man still holding a hand to his face. "Any questions, darling?"

Jim's hand slipped down to Sebastian's throat, possibly to comfort the assassin. Possibly to threaten him. "How did you do it?"

"Let you in on my process? Hmm, I'm not sure." Jim made a point of visibly pondering. Sebastian was never famed for his patience with Jim's acting. "I suppose it couldn't hurt!"

Jim began to circle around Sebastian, like a shark and its prey, while he explained the process. It had taken quite a long time to pull together.

First, Jim had to compose the music. Easy enough. He often composed when bored. Next, Jim separated the song into several movements, each to be designated to a different mood. Then came the hard part. He had to wait, music player at the ready, for Sebastian to be feeling whatever mood Jim was trying to capture. Some were harder than others.

Getting the sleeping one was the easiest. Jim simply crept into Sebastian's flat each evening (assuming they weren't already sharing a bed) and eased him out of delta sleep and into beta. This way., his sleeping brain registered the music but wasn't awake enough to notice the change in external stimuli.

When that particular movement was played back, Sebastian's mind had so heavily associated it with sleep that they could no longer be separated. The subconscious reasoned that, because it was hearing sleep music, it must be asleep. And thus came the passing out.

The others were more difficult, but Jim persevered and finally collected a good library of the emotions of Sebastian Moran by playing Pavlov's Sonata so low in volume, that the sniper would have had to strain just to realize it was there.

Sebastian took a moment to think about this. Not only did Jim get to decide his every action, but now he could decide how that made him feel.

"Seb, darling, I can read you like a book, you know. I promise, this whole process was just meant to frighten Mr. Bennett. I shall destroy the sonata as soon as I'm done. But I need to see them all. I need to." Sebastian saw Jim's desperate expression. The one that should have made him wish for a cyanide pill. The look that ended empires. And then music filled the air.

Sebastian cringed, ready for whatever the sweet notes would do to him. Yet, he felt no different. He felt himself. There didn't seem to be any brain-control, and Sebastian figured some part of Jim's plan had gone wrong. He smiled a little thinking about the mistrials of his supposedly infallible employer. He was still thinking about them when the crisp Irish voice interrupted.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Jim had his head cocked to the side and looked utterly human.

"Nothing, boss," Sebastian replied, though he was sure his grin was giving him away. Could Jim really punish him for enjoying his short-comings.

"So, you're not smiling because you're thinking about me being a real person. About my humanity? And you almost made me feel special." The music stopped. Sebastian's smile died with the melody.

"What was that supposed to be? Happiness?" Sebastian wasn't sure if he had felt the right thing, but it sure seemed like Jim knew exactly what he had been thinking.

"That particular piece was happiness over my mistakes. Though I must say, I am a little disturbed to see the pleasure my fallacies bring you." Jim was frowning, but it was extremely artificial. "No matter, I suppose. Shall we see another?" Jim flicked the screen again and a faster piece made an audible appearance.

Sebastian felt fuzzy again. He wondered why Jim would want him back asleep. That seemed to rather defeat the purpose of this game. But Seb didn't fall back down. He felt just felt a little foggy and some familiar feeling was creeping up on him as the movement progressed.

Jim had resumed sitting on the floor, and stared with a rapt expression at the sniper. Sebastian stumbled and almost fell, but managed to catch himself in time. He decided Jim had the right idea by being in the floor. He squatted low, and then rocked back into a sitting position. Jim was still observing.

"Whisch one's this then, Jimmy?" Sebastian asked, trying to see past the clouds in his head.

"Interesting," came a reply that sounded impossibly far away.

"Wow! Yer voice is so far! Like, I can hear it fo'ever ago! That's so weird, Jimmy." Sebastian wasn't sure what it meant, but he felt like he had to say it. Jim needed to know.

Sebastian managed to clear out his head long enough to see an amused Jim peering at him on eye-level. The music – which had rose to a blaring pitch – stopped suddenly. Sebastian's head spun at the loss of interference, and the room swam back to sharp focus. From the crystal-clear state he had returned to, Sebastian could see what had just occurred pretty easily.

"Did you just get me drunk?"

Jim smiled. "What would make you think that, Seb?" he asked coyly.

"I got...cloudy. And I'm pretty sure I called you 'Jimmy.' How often do I do that sober?"

"Never, thank God. Anyway, what do you think?" Jim looked at Sebastian as if he actually cared about anyone else's opinion.

"What do I think? I think you should bloody stop." Jim looked a little confused by Sebastian's upset. "No one likes having their brains fucked with, Jim. Not even if it's by you."

Jim looked almost surprised by this admission. One might think that he thought Sebastian was enjoying the special treatment. "Can I have one more?" Sebastian looked at Jim with his mouth open. "Sebastian, just one more?"

Sebastian stared a little longer. He knew he didn't actually have a choice, but he still really wanted to refuse the psychopath. Finally, he sighed.

"One more. Then that's it."

Jim lit up again. He pressed something on the phone and a fast tune tore through the room. "This one's special," Jim stated. He didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular, though his attention was fully on Sebastian. It made the taller man feel a little uncomfortable, but he felt no noticeable mood-swings yet.

"This one's special because nothing happens at first. Also, it's one of the few physical reactions I crafted. Get ready, Seb."

Sebastian had almost no time at all to ponder the words "physical reaction" before he learned through experience what they meant.

A random viewer of this scene would think the poor man was having a fit. Sebastian seized up on the floor and began breathing heavily. A more observant onlooker would notice the blush rising to his face, the quiet, low moan that accompanied the first sharp breath, and the involuntary stuttering of his hips. Neither audience member would be able to miss the rapture that took James Moriarty while he watched his favorite employee shudder into the ground. He could barely turn off the music, he was so filled with excitement. Sebastian was curled on the floor, breathing heavily. For a while, Jim simply watched him, but his excitement could not be contained for long.

"That was amazing!" the psychopath cried. Sebastian glared at his boss, face slack and still huffing. "Brilliant! I am a genius, the most clever man to ever have walked this planet. Tell me Seb darling, was it dry or do I need to call in for a new pair of pants?"

"Wha – Wha jus hapin'd?" Sebastian asked rather breathlessly. Jim smiled a grin that was all teeth.

"You never were very eloquent afterward, honey. Was it as good as usual? See, I wasn't sure if it would be because you weren't expecting it and there was no physical stimulation, but it was still my handiwork and I am the best."

Sebastian took another moment, listening to his boss's gloating. Finally he found his thoughts and spoke. "I didn't like that, Jim." It was childish and simple, but he didn't really feel up to having some intellectual argument with his intellectual employer.

Jim frowned intensely. He looked as though Sebastian's response had both surprised and disappointed him. "Not at all?" The question was sincere and maybe concerned.

"No. Not at all."

Jim chewed his lip a little. "Well I guess with so little stimulus and even less notice, it came as rather a shock." He stopped for a moment. "Ha, that was funny. I'm funny."

Sebastian groaned, though this time it was out of exasperation. "No more, right?"

Jim smiled kindly. "No more, Tiger. Now, can we go home. It smells a bit like cracked skull in here."

Sebastian stood on shaky legs. "I wonder why," he muttered.

"Don't be naughty, Seb." Jim hugged a stiff-backed Sebastian. "And now it's time to leave."

"Delete the music."

"But, Sebastian! I worked so hard!"

"Delete it, Jim."

"Ugh, fine. For you, Colonel, I suppose I could try."

Whew, that was a long one. Happy late Thanksgiving. Mofftiss bless us, every one!