He fingered the leather straps on the table, and stretched a few times knowing they'd probably be over him soon and movement would become a luxury. He decided silence was best for now, chatter tended to indicate nervousness. He wasn't nervous. He'd been under the knife before, and he knew Jim and his work intimately. He might not know what exactly to expect, but one thing was clear. Jim was torturing him, not killing him. The Boss had hope still that he was loyal. That would be enough to get him through this.

He got out a water tank on rollers, moving to position it by Sebastian's head, then started to strap him down. Physically damaging him would get him nowhere. Psychological torture would be more effective. It was only slightly ironic that Moran had done this same thing to Harrison while testing her loyalty. "You will not be alone," Jim broke the silence as he turned the drip on and made sure it worked before rolling it over his head. "My goal is to break you, not make you insane. You may talk to me."

"I appreciate that, sir," he said quietly, blinking as a drop hit him in the forehead, and taking a slow breath. He actually did. It was a consideration Jim didn't have to make. But he was acknowledging and accommodating for Moran's weak spot rather than exploiting it.

Even if Moran turned out to be the mole, had betrayed him and his trust, it would be a shame to put him down. He'd been a good bodyguard, when he'd had the opportunity to be, and he'd been instrumental to Jim's recovery after the brain surgery. But if it had to be done, it had to be done.

Jim walked over and sat on the folding chair in the corner.

He closed his eyes, did his best to ignore the constant dripping on his forehead.

"Glad to see you seem well, sir," he said casually, in no particular struggle yet.

"I've had better days. I think I have about twelve minutes before the lingering pain medication in my system will keep back the cravings, then I'll have had a few more better days," he replied, his soft voice even. Mostly emotionless.

He would have nodded if he could move his head. His brow furrowed as the next drop hit him, and instead he opened his eyes, not sure if it was better to see the drop coming or not.

It was interesting, being on this side of the technique. Part of him wanted to ask what it was going to take to prove his loyalty, but he knew that was a pointless question. He was going to have to break. He was going to have to hold out for as long as he could stand- days? A week? And only when he truly broke, truly lost everything he had to hold onto, only then would Jim be able to see through to what he was at his core. Anything less could still be a farce. He had to give his best, and he couldn't fake a break.

He understood completely. That didn't make it any easier.

"It's interesting, being on this side of it. I know the science, but that won't make it any less effective," he murmured.

"I've never sat through this. But I haven't been under the knife very often," he commented, shrugging a little, even though he couldn't be seen. He knew that this was a long process, and it would require patience, which wasn't his strong suit. But some things weren't optional, and this was one of them.

"Let's keep it that way," he agreed, taking a slow breath as the next drop fell. "How long do you think I'll last?"

"Harrison lasted about two days, if my memory serves. But then, she had fury to fuel her. Maybe you'll make it to your third day. It doesn't matter, though."

"No?" he asked quietly, drumming his fingers just for something to do. "Why not?" He didn't particularly care, it was just something to talk about.

"When you break, you break. What does the time matter?" He snorted.

"I don't know," he muttered, rolling his eyes and then blinking a few times as a drop of water slid into the left one. "Just curiosity. Going to be here a while, might as well make it interesting. I think I'll last until day four, personally."

"That'd be inconvenient. I'd rather not be stuck in this shithole longer than necessary," he sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "Even if it is my shithole."

"Well, I suppose we'll see," he sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "But this whole thing is useless if I do less than my best, and we both know it. Maybe you can take shifts with Harrison or something." Sarcasm.

"Somehow I'll survive without her," he replied, just as sarcastically.

"What are you going to do about her, anyway?" he pressed, closing his eyes again, deciding that knowing when the drop was going to hit made it no better. He tried to shift his head enough to get the drop to fall on a different spot. It didn't work. "She saved your life quite a few times in there. And you saved hers."

"What do you mean, 'do about?'" He shook his head. "What are you on about?"

He shrugged as best he could. "I mean you two had a hell of a thing going in there and she's worried you're going to end her, so I'm curious."

He snorted. "That's idiotic. At the most I'd torture her."

"Not everyone takes that as casually as we do, sir." Another drop fell, and his voice tensed for just a moment, more annoyed than anything.

"She'd simply do best to stay out of my sight for a while," was all he said in response, sounding just a little bit irritated.

"On that note, I'd like to request a couple week's vacation if this all goes well," he said calmly, changing the subject as smoothly as he could. "For both of us, whenever is convenient for you."

"Vacation? You? I didn't know you knew the word, Moran," Jim muttered, then let out a breath. "I'll make a note of it."

"I save it for special occasions," he quipped, before falling into silence, trying to drift away into distraction. It was oddly difficult with a drip of water hitting his forehead every half a minute or so.

He was silent for a moment too, then, "What do you mean, special occasion?"

He had the sudden feeling that he'd slipped up, though he wasn't sure why. "I don't know. Getting out after eleven months of captivity- twelve for you and Harrison- and proving my loyalty via torture seems occasion enough. Don't you think?"

"You've been captive before, the both of you have. What makes this time different?" he frowned, not sure whether he was being suspicious or just ignorant.

"I was being sarcastic, Jim. Hell. I don't know. It's just been a long time. And the other times I didn't have to watch day in, day out. I've worked for you tirelessly for how many years? I just need a couple weeks. Harrison too."

This didn't sit right with him, and he couldn't exactly say why. He ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. "Alright, I suppose I can't argue."

"I suppose not, sir." He didn't know why they'd been arguing in the first place. He'd obviously said something to upset Jim, but what was anyone's guess.

He fell silent, analyzing why he'd just reacted the way he did. God, was he still jealous?

The next few hours were rather boring, but he did his best to enjoy them, because he knew he would be longing for them later. And sure enough, as the day dragged on, he started to feel it- the nerve-induced anticipation of each drop, the general irritability, the need to fucking move ...It made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. He couldn't see Jim, so unless he spoke it was as if he were alone, which didn't help. But speaking took precious energy and moisture, a fact he remembered when he realized how hungry and thirsty he was. He tried to tilt his head enough to get the water into his mouth. Seeing as he couldn't move it at all, that was a rather futile effort.

About six hours in, Jim stood (with a grunt of effort) and moved towards the door. "I have to take care of myself. I will be back within the hour. Don't go insane."

"Don't shoot up," he retorted, his voice a bit tense as a drop hit him square in the same spot it had been hitting for the past... fuck, how long had it been?

"I wasn't going to," he muttered, and left the room, closing the door behind him with a definitive click.

He stared up at the drop, watching as it formed. Somewhere, he wondered where Lorna was. He hoped someone was keeping an eye on her, keeping her clean. Hopefully Jim had thought of that.

The next drip wavered on the pipette, fell slowly, hit... it felt as though it bruised his forehead, and tickled as it rolled over his temple. The next drop was already forming.

Jim returned within the hour, as promised, having fed and watered himself, and this time brought with him a soft plastic water bottle. When he shut the door and went over to the table, he pulled the tab up on the bottle so water could leave the nozzle. "Open up, and don't choke."

He saw the water and did as he was told immediately, swallowing carefully as Jim drizzled the much-needed liquid into his mouth.

When he judged Moran needed a break, he set the water bottle down by Moran's shoulder and leaned against the wall, even though exhaustion was urging him to move to the chair. "Harrison thought about harassing me in the hall. Probably because I forbade she come in here."

"Does she know what's happening? And is someon-" drip "-someone keeping her from getting high?" He took a few dry swallows, trying to see where the water bottle had gone before relaxing. If he was going to get more, he- drip- was going to get more. Nothing he said or did could change that.

"Yes, and yes; Johnson, from your department, is babysitting her. He seemed to be the only candidate with the willpower and the strength to keep a junkie from taking flight," he rolled his eyes, waiting another moment before stepping again and picking up the water bottle. "Alright, baby bird, open uupp."

He did his best not to roll his eyes, not in the mood to lose his only source of water because he- drip - couldn't take being patronized. He waited until the bottle disappeared again to speak. "Is she cooperating at least?"

"She bit Johnson when he tried to stop her from storming off because he said something or another that pissed her off," he shook his head, flicking his hand dismissively. "But otherwise, yes, she hasn't been too difficult."

He smiled proudly at that. "Yeah, well, Johnson isn't known for his tact, so..."

He rolled his eyes at Moran's expression, and moved to sit down, bored of the conversation.

He sighed as Jim left, returning his attention to the nozzle just as another drop fell, gut twisting as it hit. He was certain there was a bruise there now, a slight indent in his skin as the water dripped on and on...

Time wore on dramatically slow. He knew that the longer it wore on, the closer he was to reaching some sort of end with Moran, and that was the only thing that kept him on edge. He had no idea which way it would go.

The bruise became an indent, and then - drip- a little pit. He knew- knew - it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but he also knew that there was a gradually increasing cavern in his forehead, an - drip - ache and pain he couldn't reach, and he couldn't move, and the fucking dripping, the water sliding down his temples and pooling in his ears like it was waiting to crawl into his brain...

It was hard to remind - drip- himself that Jim was there. He had to fight for that. He wasn't alone. He spoke sometimes, just to hear Jim's voice, to solidify that. He couldn't see him.

It - drip - became hard to breathe, and he wanted to rip the strap off of his chest. It was squeezing him, preventing him from getting the oxygen he so ba- drip- dly needed in the face of all this fucking water. Drip.

The noise the water made hitting his skin seemed to echo off the walls, combining with the pain of it boring through his skull...

Eventually the adre- drip- naline wore off and he just wanted to - drip- sleep...

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He would not break. He would not-

Drip.

The next day, Jim did the same thing he had he previous; announcing that he needed to care for himself for a little while before he would return to the room, and left again, bringing back more water. "What's your status?" he asked when he returned, water bottle in hand. He didn't expect Sebastian to lie, at this stage.

"Could really use somethin' to-" drip . He faltered, cleared his throat, and then said, a bit more rushed, "Could use somethin' to eat, boss." He kept his eyes on the drop above him, tensing just slightly as it fell again, one hand tightening into a fist. "As for this... startin' to affect me, I can feel it, but I've got a ways..."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a peanut butter granola bar, unwrapping it entirely and holding it above his mouth for him to take. He didn't say anything.

He closed his teeth around it eagerly, chewing carefully. For a moment he considered choking, which would mean that Jim would be forced to remove him, but it also meant they'd have to start all over again with a much angrier Jim, and that sounded entirely unpleasant.

"You ready for water?" He asked, after he judged Sebastian had swallowed the rest of his food.

He nodded a little, though part of him wanted to say no, no he wasn't ready for water, he hated water, fuck water-

He opened his mouth obediently, eyes on the drop.

He watered him the same as he had the day before, being careful not to spill any, or choke him.

He drank gratefully, but didn't complain as it was pulled away.

"How long has it been?" he asked quietly, returning his attention fully to the drip.

"Two days, two days and a half," he shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

He nodded a little, swallowing tightly as another drop hit his forehead. Harrison had broken by now, and he could feel the nervous energy threatening to tear along his spine, but he had a while in him yet.

He would give Jim his best. Everything he had.

The drop came, and he couldn't help the intake of breath.

"Harrison is about ready to blow her cork, cooped up in the building like she is. I'm fairly certain she's about ready to kill Johnson, and I can't say I particularly blame her. His tact is failing rapidly," Jim said quietly, in an effort to distract Moran for just a minute.

He laughed just slightly, though it was strained. "I'll help get her sorted once we're done here," he said, like they were at a meeting. "She'll be alright til then. And it's not like Johnson is indispensable."

"No, but I rather not find his dead body in the elevator."

"She's more creative than that, give her credit," he sighed, smirking a little at the memory. "Tell me you would have reacted any differently if you had Malcolm invading your office to moon after you."

"He never would have gotten that far. You would have killed him," he pointed out, voice vaguely amused.

"Yes, but imagine you didn't have me around," he said, latching onto the imaginary world that wasn't this drip like a lifeline. "You would have done a lot worse than stabbed him."

"Depends how busy I was," he snorted, smirking. "If I had nothing going on, then maybe it would be spectacular."

He smirked a little, though it fell away as another drop hit and he almost gagged, taking a slow breath to try and calm himself. Throwing up now would be less than ideal.

Jim moved to sit again, falling back into silence. That was as much of a break as he could really afford to give.

He closed his eyes as silence fell, and then it was just him and the water again.

He swallowed back a very un-Moran-like whimper of panic.

On the third day, Jim was getting tired. He was weak, and the cravings were coming to a head. He was irritable and weary.

Sebastian Moran was shattering. He could feel himself fracturing slowly, each drop splintering him further apart. He didn't speak any more, didn't trust himself. He shook, sometimes, from exhaustion, from panic, waiting for the next drop to fall... that was the one thing that never changed, the dripping. His skull screamed at him, his whole body wanted to tear at the table until it broke under his thrashing...

His eyes were bloodshot, his body exhausted, and he knew he was losing his grasp. The time between drips seemed to lengthen, each time an infinity in which he thought- perhaps this time- he would be free, but the fear was always present, the knowledge that at any time the next drop could come-

and then it did, and the little world of hope he had built would be swept away, and he would start scrambling to build again, more and more exhausted, but maybe this time-

This time-

This time-

Drip.

Jim knew that Moran's four day prediction would not be coming true, and this day he didn't leave the room to take care of himself, didn't feed or water Moran. It would happen soon.

He started muttering, talking to himself, not caring what Jim heard. He needed to hear it.

"Just one more, Moran," he whispered. "Just one more, then it's over."

"Get up, Moran. You can do better than that. One more, one more than we're done."

"One more. One more. Just... just one more."

He was losing it. Jim got up, went over to stand by the table. "How long were you working for Holmes, Moran?"

"I wasn't," he said, his voice breaking slightly as another drop hit him. "Fuck, Jim... I-" He tried to move his head away as another drop formed, arms straining at the leather, muscles bulging. "I never would have done that, you know that..."

"I don't know that. If you're lying, I'll leave you here to rot, and I'll find something similarly creative to do to Harrison. Tell the truth, and I'll put you out of your misery."

"What do you want me to-" drip - "Fuck! What do you want me to say?! How the hell can I convince you?" He arched his back as best he could- which was to say, not at all- hands curling as he tried to break his restraints. "Help me help you, Jim, please..." His voice was strained, and he was scrambling desperately for decorum in front of the boss, but he was so fucking tired...

Jim stared down at him, looked at the desperation in his body, the look in his eyes. There was nothing left in the man in front of him that could be capable of lying. He was a raw exposed nerve, in agony. Jim reached out and started undoing the latches.

He was off the table and across the room in an instant. He didn't really remember moving, but the tank was in small pieces on the floor and his hands were bloodied. He made sure it was his blood, not Jim's, then sat on the floor and scrubbed at his forehead, trying to get every last bit of water off of it.

Jim left without another word, relieved but drained.