Over the next few weeks, Moran got very little sleep. When he wasn't working, he was keeping an eye on an increasingly frustrated Harrison. And when he had a few free hours, he hunted. If anything, his alcohol consumption increased, but he did his best to keep the signs from Lorna.
Lorna knew that Sebastian's drinking wasn't getting any better - she was awake a lot more often than he assumed, considering she spent so little energy every day - but decided to keep her opinion to herself. This was mostly because when he left to go murder a few people (he sometimes smelled like blood afterwards) she got up out of bed and walked around, desperate to move a little in the free time she was given.
If Jim was bothered by his bodyguard's drinking and murder habits, he didn't say anything. In fact, given what was in the works, it amused him more than anything. He finally had deemed Harrison well enough to put his plan into action, and as soon as he got confirmation, he wandered into the bedroom where Harrison was making slow but steady laps, and leaned against the doorway. "Moran's been arrested," he said calmly, breaking the silence.
She stopped dead, sucking in a startled breath. "What? He got what? Oh, Christ."
He didn't move from his post, considering his nails. "Seems he got a little over-zealous in his exploits. If my sources are correct- and they often are- he's a suspect in over a dozen murder cases."
She sat down on the bed so her legs didn't decide to just give up altogether. "Fuck. Fuck. Is there any way we can get him out? We got any connections to the NYPD? Something? Anything?"
He looked up at her, and gave a broad smile. "If we didn't have a way to get him out, I wouldn't have turned him in. But for the moment, we need to make things much worse for him."
"You... Oh my god." She laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling looking a little stunned. "I... Just... Alright. What do we have to do?" He would tell her why eventually. Asking was just a waste of time.
"You need to start preparing your testimony," he said brightly. "Rape and attempted murder should not go unpunished."
She let out a long breath, trying to keep control of herself. She did not want to do this. She did not want to go up in front of a court full of people and pretend that Sebastian had done those things to her. What if he believed she was really trying to get him locked up? "Do we have a physician that will back me up on that? This is America, after all. Attempted murder should be easy, though. Leg's not quite healed yet."
"That one that looked at your leg seemed pliable. I'll be doing some research. You just work on believability. I don't anticipate any problems. We can blame him for that scar on your neck too, if the trial gets delayed long enough."
"Don't worry about believability. I bring out my best stuff in front of crowds, because I can't use the crutch of playing to any one person's weaknesses," she sighed, running her finger along the thin couple ridges that crossed her throat. "I would guess that he doesn't know about any of this, am I right?"
He smirked slightly. "That would have killed the fun. It was also imperative that he not seem too smug. Additionally, I think this slap on the wrist may help to break him of his hunting habits..."
"I guess I'm the only one who thought that whole thing was just a little bit hot," she muttered under her breath, rolling on her side and leaning to grab a bottle of liquor on the nightstand that still had a few servings left of alcohol in it. These days, she was a little less careful with Jim. After Sebastian's advice that she not 'cower' and the incident where they left her tied up in the basement to undergo a slow psychological torture, she figured that if he was going to kill her, he was going to kill her, and that would be that. It was about the same strategy she had adopted with Sebastian, but she left a lot more of the verbal respect in with the boss to make up for the fucking. "But uh, yeah, I can see him being too smug. He really doesn't hide his condescension as well as he thinks he does."
"I'm well aware," he drawled. "I regularly ignore it because I'm aware he's doing his best job at keeping it under wraps. Occasionally I don't. He has marks. As for the hunting... it certainly has its place. But it was getting out of hand, and I was close to losing control of him. That is unacceptable."
"I understand. I mean, am I going to enjoy it? No. But I understand," she shrugged, moving up to lean against the headboard and uncapping the bottle. She'd stopped taking pain meds a few days back, so even if Sebastian had been here he wouldn't have yelled at her. She hoped. "We going the standard route? Getting to the jury?"
He nodded. "With a few flairs thrown in. The main purpose of this whole endeavor is to show Mallory who's really in charge here. I want to do it well."
She snorted. "I can get behind that fucking shit. What a twerp. Someone needs to call his mother to come pick him up from daycare."
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he nodded. "I'm glad you approve," he said dryly. "I'll be interested to see how Sebastian handles prison. He was never good with confinement."
"He's going to have the other inmates bowing at his feet. Lot of dangerous men in there, but I doubt there are any that can stand up to his caliber," she shook her head, taking a sip from the bottle and making a bit of a face. "God. This is awful. Who let me buy this?"
Jim ignored her, turning the situation over a few times. He hoped they gave Moran a little time in solitary... he might have to pull a few strings and make sure that happened. The security feeds of that would be very entertaining...
The boss seemed to have checked out of the conversation, so she followed suit, continuing to drink in silence. She was worried about Sebastian, but there was nothing she could do to help him, not now. Not anytime soon. Distractions were going to be necessary.
"Don't get too drunk," he finally said as he headed for the door. "If I have you two constantly seesawing in and out of alcoholism while the other one is in a jam, I'm going to be very put off."
"I was an alcoholic long before I met Moran, and I do my job splendidly while drunk, thank you, but whatever you say, Boss," she sighed, though held onto the bottle. Tonight wouldn't matter much in the grand scheme of things.
"Don't test me, Harrison," he warned suddenly, voice serious. "I remember how much you loved your time down in the basement. You're testing your leash, I'll let it happen, but consider this a yank. I want that 'recovering' part of the alcoholism to stay put. Or I'll leave you in that basement until you're old."
She took one more sip from the bottle and set it down, looking at him carefully for a moment. "I'll keep it under wraps. I don't have any desire to be that dependent on anything again, sir. But... permission to speak freely?"
He smirked. "Taking lessons from Moran, are we?" He considered her, then nodded. "Fine. Go ahead."
"I get why you put me down there. Really. I've been in the business long enough, I think," she sighed, rubbing at the cut in her leg through her jeans. It was starting to itch. "But my being down there wasn't really my fault, was it. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you.. what, thought I was a good enough grifter that I'd done the same thing to Moran and you that I did to Sherrinford Holmes? And you would have been right. I can lie to anyone. And even after you stuck me down there, when I ran into another network I immediately led them away. I have no interest in compromising you or this operation. You don't need to threaten me into doing my job. It's kinda counterproductive."
He contemplated her for a few minutes. "I'm not threatening you to do your job," he finally said, each word crisp. "I'm warning you of two things. First, that I will no longer tolerate the two of you being so dependant on substances, alcohol included. If you continue that behavior, the result will be termination of your employment. That's a fact."
He considered her for another moment, hands in his suit pockets. "The second is that I'm going to start giving you more freedom to operate as you choose. Moving you out from under Moran's direct command- slowly- but I want you to know that that puts a lot more responsibility on your shoulders. Dear Sebby is well aware of what I will do to him if he steps too far out of line, and it isn't kill him. He stopped fearing that years ago. The thought just annoys him. So we have different arrangements. You're hitting that point as well." He sneered, and in a mocking, babyish voice crooned "You're getting so biiiiggg...." His face almost immediately snapped back to dark. "So I'm upping the ante. More freedom, more responsibility, but you're going to know the consequences as well. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir," she nodded, chewing that over. And really, that was the more effective route. She didn't fear death. But there were other things she did fear. "I... appreciate the clarification, sir."
"Good," he said, hopping up and heading for the door. He wanted to watch the security tapes of his Tiger's containment so far.
Lorna sat quietly to herself for a while, just trying to digest this. Digest what this was going to mean in the future, mostly, and how many new ways she'd need to find to stay on her toes.
Moran lay back on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, listening. There was the dull murmur of prison life, occasionally punctuated by raised voices, swearing or laughing, it varied. It was hard to believe that he'd only been here for five days. Hours blurred together into bored eternities punctuated by bad food and sleep.
He'd been given the 'new guy' treatment for a total of about two minutes, until he'd knocked the main abuser out with one quick blow to the neck. He'd earned some enemies, but more friends, and he was starting to see more respect from passers-by as the rumor spread and mixed with the rumor that he was in for murders. Plural. Lots of plural.
Now, he was planning. Mapping out the politics of the place in his head and working out which of the guards he needed to buddy up to and which of the prisoners he needed to put in their place. He needed a few more days to gather a little more information, but when he struck, it would be quickly.
He looked up as one of the guards- ran a smuggling operation for the prisoners, important- came to his cell door and banged on it with his club. "Moran. You've got a visitor. Let's go."
Lorna was sitting in the empty visitor's room - today wasn't a visiting day, but she'd cried enough and had looked helpless enough that the obviously straight male guards had relented. That was good. Finding corruption among the ranks this quickly was promising. Still, there had been a lot of I have to do this, please, and If I don't face him now I'll never get rid of these nightmares, and some really obvious innuendos before they'd agreed. Now she just waited, wiping at the heavy-handed, smudged eyeliner that had really helped emphasized her crying.
He was walked into the visitor's room and up to a booth. He wasn't surprised to see Lorna. He'd been expecting her or Jim. She'd grifted her way in, judging from the makeup.
He waited while the guard shifted his handcuffs to the bar down the center of the table, and then reached up to pick up the phone, waiting for her to talk first, letting her set the tone. Jim would get him out. He knew that.
Lorna waited until the guard had withdrawn to the far corner of the room, because what came next was going to be a little difficult, and her concentration was going to split enough without worrying about what the guard was thinking. She picked up the phone and started to talk, her face crumpling just a little as she started to wind up into a long tirade. "I had to come, I had to see you with my own fuckin' eyes in here.."
On the table, she lifted two fingers to get his attention and then began to tap out her message in morse. It would take her more time than it took him, and she wasn't as good at it, but it was the simplest way to get the message across.
SORRY STOP
NOT ENOUGH TIME TO EXPLAIN STOP
WAIT THIS OUT STOP
JIMS ORDERS STOP
SORRY AGAIN STOP
He caught the gist of the tirade, enough to coach his facial expressions with her voice while he worked out her slightly faltering morse. He had hope at first, but the more she tapped, the more his stomach dropped. No mention of getting him out of here, just that Jim had done this. That was a stinging betrayal, but let it pass without any reaction. He waited until she was done, then caught her eye and nodded slightly. Message received. He didn't dare tap back. The prisoners were observed much more carefully. He let her tirade run down, then gave her a tired sigh. "What do you want me to say?" How am I supposed to act?
She sat back, wiping at her eyes. She understood what he meant by that. It just killed her that she couldn't just tell him what was happening. "I don't want you to say anything," she choked out, remembering to keep the emotion in her voice. "Don't fucking try to defend yourself. Least of all to me." Stay inactive. Just let it play out.
"Then I'm not sure I understand why you're here," he said, sitting back with a sigh, but adding a small nod. Fine.
"I just.. had to see you," she breathed. That was true. "Had to see for myself that you were caught. And now I have. I hope you rot in here." That wasn't. She stood, and hung up the phone, hard enough for the guard to hear, and turned to go, battling the part of her that was angry with her for making him stay here.
He watched her storm away, gut sinking. He'd almost allowed himself to hope he was going to get out of here. Jim... Fucking Jim had put him in there. He mulled that over as they brought him back to his cell. Boss could have at least told him...
He felt a glint of anger.
The weeks leading up to the trial were mildly miserable for her. Even after every mission to secure another ally in court, someone else who would be there to turn the tide at the last second, she felt guilty for her upcoming participation in court. They'd done this before, with Jim, but still she had to fight her doubts back. It was harder at night when she was alone in bed, her fears creeping out and circling around her head. What if he gets convicted? What if they move him somewhere we can't get him? What if what if what if...
It took him another week to fight his way to the top, but it was worth it once he was there. In the end, it hadn't been overly difficult. He had made a deal with the smuggler and gotten control of imports, then used that control as bribes and threats where needed. A little brute force applied as needed, and he was on top.
That did very little to make the place less shitty.
For the most part when he wasn't on work detail, he lay around staring at the ceiling, occasionally reading, but mostly getting slowly more and more furious with James Moriarty.
The day of the trial came, and Lorna carefully chose her outfit to suit the occasion. Not too nice, but not too frumpy. Just enough to say lower middle class, and dropping. She hated that she had to testify.
Jim wasn't planning to attend. There was no reason to. He didn't expect anything to go wrong, and if it did, there was nothing he could do about it. "Have fun, I'll be watching," he said, nodding to the television where he'd set up the court security feed.
Lorna nodded and turned wordlessly to leave. She called the cab robotically, walked into the courthouse in silence, and found the room without much trouble. No other trial besides Sebastian's was being televised. What other serial killer had chosen their victims so randomly, so quickly? She found a seat and sat with her face downturned, her hands folded in her lap, and waited for her pseudonym to be called. She didn't want to see Sebastian like this.
He walked into the courtroom quietly, orange jumpsuit blaring, shackles on his wrists and ankles. He saw the cameras but ignored them for the most part, his eyes scanning the room. He was surprised but relieved to see Lorna in the witnesses section. They hadn't abandoned him then. She'd help. He nodded at her slightly, a flash of hope in his eyes for the first time in weeks.
She bit the inside of her cheek as he noticed her, shaking her head just once, finally letting a few of her emotions filter through onto her face. There were no cameras on her yet. That would be later. She wanted to help him, but she couldn't. That would only get her in serious trouble.
He frowned at the look in her eyes. Much more pained than hopeful. Not a good sign.
The opening statements were brief. This case had been so widely publicized by this point that it was a short matter of making a few direct points. His defense was weak, and frazzled by his lack of interest in cooperation. He was beginning to regret that.
Lorna tried to block out most of the trial, and only looked up from her hands when the prosecution called her fake name. She swallowed, stood, and took the long, lonely walk up to the stand, where she was grateful to sit again. Four cameras at least were trained on her face - precisely the reason why she was wearing such heavy makeup. The less recognizable she was, the better. "State your name for the prosecution, miss," the lawyer in front of her ordered, straightening out his suit jacket.
"Karen Polinsky," she replied, leaning forward a little so her quiet voice could be heard in the microphone. She took another deep breath as the lawyer started to weave a complicated and obviously pointed question. She had to keep herself from looking over at Sebastian. I'm sorry.
He was surprised when she rose for the name, not because of the name, but because she was being called for the prosecution. As the attorney introduced her, however, it started to sink in. She was still the persona from the jail. She was testifying against him.
It occurred to him suddenly that Jim might be trying to get rid of him. That this was his way of getting Sebastian out of the way for a few years until he needed him again. He was sure that he at least would eventually expected to re-enter service, unless he got the death penalty here... his gut twisted and he bared his teeth in fury and disgust.
Coward.
The prosecutor was a good one, she had to admit it. His questions quickly veered into invasive, and Moran started to sound worse and worse, and when the lawyer asked her to show the scars on her neck to the jury, she had to grit her teeth to keep herself together, especially when the lawyer pointed out her slight limp. Of course, it made her look all the more convincing, and when she was finally allowed to step down from the stand and return to the crowded seats, she passed her doctor headed the other way. She sat down again, trying not to think too hard about the things she'd said - so many of them reminded her of DeWitt that it made her sick to her stomach to even think of Sebastian that way. What she really wanted was to leave and go home, but she had to stay. Had to see what the verdict was. Had to bring him home.
For once, he wished Lorna wasn't such a good actress. The way she told her story he could almost see it himself, and he knew she had to be drawing on her experience with Dewitt, which made it all the worse. He had raped people before, but only when he was assigned to torture them in that manner. Never outside the torture field and never without explicit orders to do so. It wasn't something he liked using. It wasn't honorable. To think about doing something like that to her... he was sure his face was a bit pale, but he didn't care, sitting expressionless, knuckles white. He didn't look at Harrison, and after that, he tuned the proceedings out. It didn't matter any more. He was fucked or he wasn't, nothing he did would change it.
The trial took hours. She wouldn't have even noticed the jury re-entering the room after their deliberations if all the cameras hadn't turned back on at once, half pointing at Sebastian, the other half the judge. Just like with Jim, the judge did a double take. Advised against it. Strongly.
Not guilty.
She felt a weight drop off her chest, clutched at her knees in relief. It didn't matter what they thought of her now. Appearances didn't matter anymore. There was nothing more they could do.
He looked up at the verdict, and took his first full breath in almost three months. It blew across the angry embers in his chest, and they glowed. Waiting. He stood, held out his hands to the confused guards as they looked around before finally unlocking his shackles. Reporters were clamoring for his attention but he didn't pay them any mind as he walked out of the courthouse and into the waiting police car to go back to the prison and be processed out.
She left in the flow of people, shouldering past a few reporters who wanted to know what she thought of such a surprising, shocking verdict, and managed to steal a cab from somebody to get back to the apartment. The ride home seemed shorter than usual, but now time seemed kinda wonky anyways, and when she keyed into the flat and walked into Moran's room to get her makeup off, she wasn't sure what she was feeling, and it took her a good while to understand what it was. Trepidation.
The cruiser dropped him about a mile from the apartment at a restaurant he was pretending to crave, finally dressed in his proper clothes, and as soon as they were gone he walked back towards his apartment, a hat he'd shoplifted pulled low over his eyes. Twenty minutes later he stood outside the apartment, light green, key in hand. He took a breath, and unlocked the door.
Lorna had been waiting for him in the hall, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, but as soon as the door opened she was getting to her feet, sucking in a deep breath. "Sebastian."
Jim's snicker from down the hall made her jump. "Oh, Sebastian~" he mocked, giving Lorna a merciless look as he approached. "Don't wear him out tonight, I might need him tomorrow."
He barely looked at Lorna, brushing past her and taking the hall in three long strides, body relaxed and unthreatening until the last second. Then the moment was upon him and he had the man's throat in his hand, pinning him up against the wall, feet off the ground by a good half meter, fingers slowly compressing his windpipe. "Something funny, Jim?" he asked with a growl, eyes alight, deadly.
Jim was surprised to find himself so suddenly in a completely different spot than he'd been standing about a second earlier, and he nearly forgot to hide it. "Yes," he drawled, a grip on Moran's wrist. It was becoming significantly more difficult to draw in breath. "The way you two moon over each other, you're like bitches in heat. Put me down, Moran."
He didn't hesitate as he pulled his knife out of his belt, pressing it just beneath Jim's eye, the point drawing blood as he pressed it down and it sank into the fleshy area above the eye socket. "No." He stared the man in the eye, grip still tightening. "Shut up and listen to me, you little shit."
Jim didn't cry out in pain, but he jerked once, involuntarily, his teeth grinding together as he struggled to keep himself under control. He didn't say anything, just stared back, waiting for the sniper to get whatever it was he needed off his chest. Lorna stood frozen off to the side, almost afraid to breathe.
He tightened his grip on Jim's neck, watching as his face darkened, his pulse pounding in his ears. "You can put me in prison, you can do whatever the hell you want, but you FUCKING TELL ME!" he roared, shoving Jim a few more inches up the wall. "As much as you may like to think otherwise, I am not your plaything. You don't want me to step out of line? You stay the fuck in yourmotherfucking lane! I am your second in command, your bodyguard, your chief of staff. I cannot do my job if you do not tell me shit. Give me a fantastic fucking reason that I shouldn't KILL YOU right now!"
"You won't have a purpose without me," Jim snarled, with just barely enough air to do so, digging his blunt nails down Moran's arm, trying to keep his airway open. He was not going to pass out.
"Don't fuck with me," he laughed. "I could run this company without you, and with a hell of a lot less bullshit," he laughed. "You are worthless. You are here for art. That's it." He watched Jim purple slightly. "Beg me, Jim. Beg me for your fucking life, you worthless shit."
Even if Jim had wanted to beg - Jim Moriarty would never beg once in his life, not even for his life - he doubted he had enough air to, so he just fixed Sebastian with a snide look, a disgusted one, one that said you are so far beneath me that you could be an invertebrate under my feet.
Lorna, however, was a little less convinced that they could succeed so well without Jim. They still had Holmes and Mallory to worry about, and if it came down to a battle of wits, she and Moran were unlikely to succeed. So she was going to have to find another outlet for this aggression. "Moran..."
"Shut up, Lorna," he said, still staring Jim down and pressing the knife in further. It slipped through the fat and muscle, scraping against bone. "Beg, Jim, or I'm going to kill you right here, right now, and leave you to rot."
Jim finally couldn't keep quiet, shouting as the blade cut into him, but still there was a defiance to his eyes, a fury, an iron will. "No," he growled, panting for breath now, both because his air supply was cut short and because of the pain shooting around his eye.
"Sebastian," Lorna said, a little more urgently, a hand going to grab the back of his shirt. "Sebastian, you can't. You were just on live television. How long until Mallory or Armetti tries to track us down? You can't."
He stayed still for a long couple of seconds, before letting out an angry yell and hurling Jim to the side so he slammed into the table, on him a second later, sitting across his waist and ripping open the other man's shirt. "Fine," he growled. "You live." He pressed his blade into Jim's chest, starting to carve without hesitation, scrawling his initials in deep, in the same place where Jim's were on him. "But you don't fucking pull this shit again, or I will kill you, consequences be damned."
Lorna watched for a moment, Jim snarling and fighting under Sebastian in vain as the letters S M were scrawled on his chest, and then turned and practically fled into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, trying to slam the swelling feeling of bloodlust back into the depths from whence it had came.
When Moran was done, and relaxed a little on top of him, Jim kicked free, sliding off the other side of the table with a fumble, more wounded animal than anything, and stared at the sniper from there, panting and bloodied, and furious, but in no position to do anything about it.
"Remember this feeling, you bitch," Moran practically purred. "Next time you try to fuck me over, remember how you feel right now. Powerless, wounded, with nothing you can do to fix it. I can do this to you because I want to in five minutes, but I choose not to. Decide whether you want to risk losing my loyalty." He stood up, wiped his knife away and walked towards his room.
Jim said nothing, just slunk off to his room to lick his wounds and fume.
In the bedroom, Lorna was picking at the scab on her leg with a singular sort of focus, her jaw tight, her shoulders tense, and she didn't look up when he entered the room. "Wash your hands or prepare yourself for some very rough sex."
"So what you're saying is don't wash my hands," he muttered. "I've been in prison for three months. Rough sex sound like heaven."
She slid off the bed without another word and shoved him back against the door to lean up and kiss him with what would normally be considered too much teeth, and completely disregarding the knife that was still in his hand. She didn't care. She just had to do something.