A/N

TW for assault at the end of the chapter - possibly triggering for some folks

Moran headed for Harrison's cell a few days later. He'd been avoiding it, but the guilt was eating him alive and he needed to remind himself why it was he was doing this. Needed to see her in the cell, needed to see her hurting. He would get his resolve back, get his anger back, and get back to work.

She had been spending her time trying to think of anything but the video. Puppies. Handguns. An irish jig. She was desperate for outside stimulation to distract herself, so she looked up quickly as the door opened, and then had to stop herself from cringing. "Hey, Moran. Here to brag about getting your dick wet, or is it something else?"

She caught him off guard, and he started just slightly, more a tensing of muscles than anything. "What..." Then he shook his head and forced a grin. It was queasy at best. "I came to see you, Lorna dear. What, I move on and suddenly you don't want to talk to me? That's just rude."

"Please, I think I saw your dick more times in one day than I had in the combined time we lived together. I've really had enough of looking at you for a week," she said snarkily, eyes on the wall across from her, not on him.

"I'm not sure what you're rambling on about. Have you been fantasizing about me, Harrison? Finger fucking yourself in here, thinking about my cock?" He was wracking his brain. Had Ines come down to boast? No. That didn't explain the visual element... A tape. There had to be a tape. He took a breath.

Her eyes slid back to him, dry, but not particularly vindictive. "I knew she didn't tell you beforehand, but you still haven't heard? She filmed you. Put a lovely saxophone accompaniment over top. She played it twenty-two times for me and Jim. I suppose I should be thankful I was called versatile."

His jaw clenched, but he nodded just a little. "Right," he said quietly. The skin on the back of his neck was crawling. "Yeah, well, I've called you worse to your face." With that he headed for the door, and the elevator. He'd told Ines he'd serve her like he'd served Jim, and he would. That meant reminders on exactly what it was she was entitled to.

She snorted a little as the door closed at how all the sting had been sucked out of him at once. She'd never seen him look so... some mix between disgruntled and disquieted. It made her feel a little bad, but she was still hurt enough not to care too much. He could deal with it.

He headed immediately for Jim's office, and knocked, opening the door without waiting for Ines's invitation. She was at the desk, sorting through papers, and he didn't give her a chance to react. He stood tall, eyes black with anger, and when he spoke, his voice was cold and unerringly precise.

"You might be under the mistaken impression that you own me," he said quietly, his eyes boring into her. "And I want to make it very clear that that is not the case. I help you, you don't torture me. That was the arrangement. But if you feel that that arrangement entitles you to my rights, or to film me without my permission, you can put a bullet in my head right now. And good luck resolving your security system without me."

Ines sighed through her nose, looking up from her pile of papers with a tired demeanor, as if he were an overeager child interrupting a parent who was attempting to get some work done. "Your feelings have been noted, Colonel. I will do my best not to irritate you in that fashion again. Now, if that's all..."

"You won't 'do your best'," he said, an edge to his voice. He walked forward, and put his hands on the edge of her desk. "You won't. Full stop. And if you think you might, you'll reconsider. There were lines even Moriarty knew not to cross with me, since I almost killed him when he did. He wears my initials just like I wear his. I might work for you now, but you'd do well to keep that in mind. Do we have an understanding?"

Her eyes sharpened just a little on him, appraising him, calculating what he was worth and what the limits of his bluffs were. She may not have been a reader, but she knew that this wasn't a bluff. "Yes, we have an understanding," she agreed after a moment, giving a very rare deferential nod. "I apologize. Please be aware I will not tolerate threats, however."

He stood fully, then, and gave her a smile. Nothing like the soft smiles he had given her so far, this one was his usual: all teeth and no warmth. "Well, seeing as we both understand now what the other won't tolerate, I think we'll be able to work well together. I'll leave you to it." He turned and headed for the door.

She bit her tongue to stop herself from calling him back and chewing him out. He was no longer her prisoner, she could not do with him what she wished. It was inconvenient, but if she wanted his cooperation she would need to treat him differently. She returned to her work, irritated.

Moran continued working on the security system over the next few days. He avoided the basement, so when he wasn't planning, he was walking around headquarters, listening. He needed to know the public opinion.

Generally, it was confusion. Ines's people had taken over security, but she only had enough people to place a few key staff members in the other departments. The workers were still largely the same force as had been under Jim, and they had no idea what the fuck was going on, or where Jim and Harrison were, or who this new woman thought she was.

Ines was becoming... slightly suspicious. Moran said he was her man now, but still. Something didn't sit right with her. She wasn't sure what, but she wasn't going to stand for it. So she called him back up to her office, a test planned for him.

He took the stairs up and knocked, waiting to be called in before stepping inside. After his outburst a little healthy respect was the wise move, to get things back on track. "Hey boss. How can I help you?"

"Moran, thanks for coming," Ines smiled, lacing her fingers together on the desk. "I wanted to extend an olive branch. Something to lift your spirits. I know that you used to visit the people that were kept in the basement for torture training. I thought you could vent a little like that again. How does Jim or Lorna sound?"

It started out bad, and got worse. He forced a grin, though. "Either sounds good. They both got mouths on them. Been itching to have a little fun. Jim especially, the prick."

"Then have fun," she smiled, waving a playful hand towards the door. "I look forward to the footage."

He nodded, grinning, and turned and left. He didn't dare let the expression falter, even in the hall. He hadn't known about the camera in her room, and he was paranoid now. He got in the lift this time, heading down and trying to prepare himself. Trying to find every time he'd hated Jim over the years and bring it to the surface.

Jim was finding his captive existence... boring. Besides from the infrequent entertainment provided by the woman who had kicked him out of his office, he'd been left largely alone. He was fed, but nothing was wrong with the food. He hadn't seen Moran in person. Only seen Lorna once, and she seemed alright.

He'd been thinking about Moran, anyway. Weighing his suspicions about his loyalties with what he'd seen on that screen.

Sebastian exited the lift and nodded at the guards as they joined step with him. "Transfer Moriarty to interrogation room 4," he said absently. They opened the cell, walking in with guns drawn, and one of them put Jim in cuffs for transfer. Moran looked at him, tried to find the anger, but all that was there was nausea, deep in the pit of his stomach. Still, he forced a leer. "Hey, Jim."

"Moran. So good to see your face in person," he said icily in response, still clinging to his dignity. "Much better than that grainy camera."

He grinned wider. "I heard you got quite the show. You always were a bit voyeuristic, though, weren't you? Don't be jealous, though. I've come to give you a little attention too."

Jim gave him a condescending smile. "I'm afraid that even the thought of hate-fucking you makes me shrivel up like a dried prune," he said, tilting his head mockingly. "I don't want your attention. Thank you, though."

"Well, luckily for you, that isn't what's happening today. Unless I get very bored," he said, nodding to the guards. They hauled Jim to his feet and started moving him toward the door. Moran stepped aside to let them through. They moved Jim across the hall to the interrogation room, and shoved him onto the table, starting to strap him down.

"Oh, joy, torture," Jim rolled his eyes. "This isn't even for information, is it? You know everything you need to about this network," he said, glaring at the guards as they treated him roughly.

"No, no, this is just good ol' fashioned fun," he said cheerfully, walking over to personally slam Jim's head into place, strapping it down tightly. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this, you fuck? Ines made the offer and I jumped at the chance."

"You're a known sadist, Moran, of course you would," Jim said acidly, eyes tracking Moran's movements, ignoring the throbbing in his head. He'd never been so conflicted in his life. He was a reader, close to the best there was, and he could not tell whether or not Moran was lying. If he was lying, he was doing it well. He could excuse that, if it meant fooling Ines. But if he wasn't lying...

What could have changed Moran so dramatically? After all the sniper had willingly sacrificed for him, and for Harrison, what had made him turn traitor? For Christ's sake, there were so many times his bodyguard could have let him die, or incapacitated him personally. But this vicious treatment, the earnestness in the way he had fucked Ines... Was this part of a long game, or had he truly, finally gone off the edge? Jim hadn't made up his mind yet. That was the trouble with feelings.

He dismissed the guards to the outside of the cell, and stood over Moriarty, considering him quietly, coldly. "Where to start..." he murmured, reaching out and trailing his fingers up Jim's torso, starting at his navel and ending near his throat. "I would love to open you up... crack your rib cage open like a blooming onion and see what you've got in there. But we need you alive. So I'll have to be a little more creative."

Jim snorted, rolling his eyes again. "Alright, drama queen. Let me know when you've decided on something. I'm really not in the mood for you to be pulling out all of the theatrical stops."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, before he started unbuttoning Jim's filthy shirt. He pushed the material aside, and smirked, running a finger absently around Jim's nipple until it hardened.

Then he grabbed it between two fingers, with every ounce of strength he possessed, and started to twist. "I've always wondered if I could just... pull one off."

Jim grit his teeth, muscle in his jaw jumping, but otherwise didn't react, already deciding to draw from the place he had when Mycroft had captured him, questioned him about the network. He found that unbreakable nugget of pain tolerance of the center of his being and situated himself around it, closing himself off from the outside world. Moran could do whatever he liked to him, but he would not give him the satisfaction of enjoying his pain.

He twisted further, felt blood well up under his fingers, and suddenly realized that if he wanted to he could just tear the skin away. Instead he released, trying to find satisfaction in the way Jim's muscles twitched, in the cold concentration in his expression. There wasn't any.

He spent the next hour working his way through a list of non-maiming tortures, or at least ones that left minimal scarring.

He was washing the blood off of his knife, having finished removing Jim's fingernails. The man still had yet to scream, and it was starting to grate on him. He tried to let that fuel him, and after a moment's consideration, went to a new cabinet, opening it with a touch. "You know, I'm getting the sense that pain just... isn't working for you," he sighed. "So let's try something else." He walked over, a syringe in hand. He tapped it lightly, sending a small fountain of solution into the air. "What happens to that beautiful mind of yours if I fuck with it? If you lose control of your mind? Throw a few monkey wrenches into the machine..."

Jim gave a pale imitation of a smile, something akin to the sinister grin of a jack-o-lantern. "And what is that? What do we have that will utterly break down the years of control I've piled around my mind like sandbags? Oh, excuse me, what does Ines have? I forgot your new fuck buddy. She's so forgettable. At least when you shacked up with Harrison she was a good enough distraction younearly killed yourself for her? Or did you forget?" He sneered, eyes blazing, locked onto Moran's. Even if Moran really was a traitor, even if he was doing this of his own free will, he knew that not everything that had happened in the past had been a cover. And if Moran was doing this because he had to? He still wouldn't lie down and take it. He would dish out as much mental turmoil as he was capable of producing. Normally, he would have started with the sacrifices Moran had made for him, but with that tape...

He grit his teeth a little, taking a slow breath. Hating Jim was getting easier and easier.

"What is it you like to say?" he muttered as he flicked the inside of Jim's forearm a few times, hunting for a vein. He found one, and stuck the needle in. "I'm so changeable. " He depressed the plunger, emptying the syringe into Jim's arm. "And I'm not going to break your control, Jim... I'm not even going to rob you of it. You can have all the control you like." He set the syringe aside, reaching up to get a grip on Jim's hair that straddled the line between affectionate and painful.

"No... Jim, I don't give a fuck about control. I'm going to take your mind. Take that beautifully honed knife of a wit, and dull it down until it couldn't slice butter. That was a mercury solution, Jim. Just a bit, for now. You know the effects of mercury poisoning, I'm sure. I'm going to let you sit with that, with mercury running through your system, being accepted, accumulated... and in a few hours I'm going to come back and give you some more. And then again... I expect you'll start feeling the effects within a few days. And it will just get worse. Then, when I've decided you've reached the point where you've got just enough brain power left to hate yourself for what you've become... I'm going to leave you. How does that sound, Jim?"

"Lovely," he spat, visibly humming with anger, impotent rage, and a layer of fear just beneath the surface. Another version of the thing he had done to his mentally gifted mother. How poetic. Had it ever even occurred to him in his life, he might have cried. But no, that one he had reserved for the traitor above him, about to take from him the thing he had once protected. "Are you done monologuing? Mind if I get a word in, slighted little henchman?" He asked, his voice twisted in anger. This was irrefutable proof that Moran was being sincere, that he really was gone. "A question occurred to me while you were rambling on. How long do you think Ines is going to keep you around? Look at you. You had everything your little heart could dream of. Access to all the people you could ever want to torture. A beautiful woman who fell so much in love with you she nearly killed herself when you died. A lucrative bodyguard job. And you still betrayed me. Who says you won't do the same to her?"

"I followed the current, Jim," he said, dropping his grip on the man's hair and ignoring the barbs. "She had me locked up by myself for a while- you know how I get. Anyway, she brings me out and shows me the mess you had become... What was the point of guarding a man who went to shambles if I died? Is this what I could have given my life for, Jim? I'd protect you just so that you could fall to pieces afterwards, and lose everything? It's pathetic. I don't give my life for pathetic. Ines offered me worthwhile work, I took it. Harrison was regrettable, but as you've reminded me so many times... there's other options out there."

Despite himself, he was ashamed. Damn him. Moran knew him far too well. In hindsight, he should have recycled bodyguards every few years. He could have avoided all this. He was silent for a moment, eyes boring into Moran, despite the sickly feeling in his stomach that he assumed was from the mercury. "You may work for her, but good luck finding yourself purpose."

He shrugged. "Not that I care what you think, but I have it. Honestly, you're my one disappointment in all of this. I thought you were better." He turned and headed for the door.

Jim curled his hands into fists, fingertips screaming in pain from his lack of fingernails, which was exactly what he wanted. He was furious.

Moran left and headed for the security station. He needed to work. Needed to lose himself in how he was fixing all of this. More than ever, he missed Lorna. But she didn't even want to look at him, and he couldn't blame her.

The next week was a motley of short torture sessions and desperate planning on the part of Jim, trying to figure out how to get himself out of his situation. And he came to the conclusion that the only way to really end the mercury situation, to stop Moran's sadism, was to kill him. Even if Ines continued it when he was dead, at least he'd have gotten his revenge.

It was during the fourth session that he managed to nick the metal nail file from the obsessively-groomed guard.

Moran exited the elevator, heading for Jim's cell. His plan was working. Ines was thrilled with the mercury plan, and the saline he was injecting was keeping her satisfied for the time being. If she checked Jim's blood for mercury she would find some- the minuscule amount he'd injected the first day- but it should be enough to keep her off of his scent.

The guards were on either side of him, and opened Jim's cell as usual to transfer the man to the interrogation room.

Jim had been waiting. He'd heard the guards voices as they walked away from the cell to escort Moran, and he stood against the wall, behind the door. The second the door opened and the first guard stepped in, he lunged, plunging the nail file into the guard's neck, unflinching as blood spurted against his face. The second guard shouted, elbowing past Moran, and he was down with a sharp jab to the eye, and then Jim jerked towards the sniper, snarling and furious.

His body hardened as the first guard screamed, muscles readying, adrenaline pumping. Jim lunged at him and his hand snapped up, slamming into the side of Jim's arm as he stepped to the side, and grabbing at the elbow, twisting hard to lock it and force Jim down. His other hand found the nape of the man's neck. Then he pushed him hard to the floor, knee finding the smaller man's back. In seconds, he had him subdued, though his arm was burning where the shiv had opened a broad gash across his upper arm and shoulder.

"Nail file," he breathed, sliding his hand up to Jim's wrist and twisting until he dropped it. "Creative."

"Fuck off," Jim panted, trying to struggle for a moment before he relented, knowing he would never overcome the sniper by force.

He shoved Jim harder into the ground and leaned down as he reached for Jim's other arm. As he did so, he got close to Jim's ear, and murmured, so softly he wasn't even sure Jim would hear, "Saline." Then he was leaning back, wrenching Jim's arms behind his back as backup ran down the hall.

Jim felt something funny happen in his chest, somewhere just underneath his ribcage, which was a mixture of surprise and hope, and he was limp as Sebastian manhandled him further, ignoring the guards. It could be a lie. But something told him it wasn't.

Moran borrowed cuffs from a guard and closed them around Jim's wrists, arms still behind his back. "How about you just stay like that for a while?" he snorted, hauling Jim up to his feet and shoving him into his cell, slamming the door. The guards stared at him, but he straightened, blood running down his arm. "What the fuck are you staring at? Get these bodies out of here," he snarled, heading for the lift.

The guards glanced at each other and then jolted into action, deciding to listen to his orders.

Moran evaluated the injury in the lift. It was his dominant arm, however, and partly on the back of his shoulder, so there was little hope of stitching it up on his own. Reluctantly he headed for the infirmary.

Ines wasn't too pleased to hear about Jim's struggle. Moran wasn't doing too well with his playthings, was he? Maybe his spirit wasn't enough in the game. That was fine. She would punish them for him.

She picked up her phone, and called a special contractor.

He got the call to her office just as they were finishing the bandages. He'd been expecting it, and headed up to her office immediately, pausing just long enough to get a new shirt from his room. He finished buttoning it just in time to knock on her door, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

"Come in," she said, sitting back in her chair. She waited for him to step in before she raised her eyebrows at him. "What the hell happened down there? I was under the impression you could handle yourself. Instead two of my men are dead and Harrison is still completely unharmed. What's up?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Harrison is unharmed because I was under the impression I was to choose between her and Jim, and I chose Jim. As for your men, blame whichever one of them was enough of an idiot to let him steal their nail file. Jim's a dangerous man. You should count yourself lucky it wasn't worse."

"I expect better," she said in response, eyes and voice cold. "This is not better. If I let you torture my prisoners, I expect real anguish. So it's my turn."

He straightened, his stomach full of acid. "Real anguish? An hour ago you were thrilled with my tactics with Jim. He's so terrified he tried to escape! What the hell else do you want?"

"Control," she snapped, slapping her hand on the desk. "I want them afraid to even try to escape. This? This is ridiculous. They need to be taught what happens, now."

"I haven't had the chance yet!" He retorted angrily. "He just tried to escape! I couldn't teach him a lesson until he actually tried something!"

She glared at him for a moment, then snorted. "Fine. You can keep Jim. But I'm going to vent on Harrison."

His stomach dropped, but he forced himself to shrug. "Fine, no skin off my nose. Enjoy."

"Thank you. You're dismissed," she said sharply, still irritated, and waved him off.

He left quickly, and headed for his room. He couldn't deal with torturing Jim any further today. His arm was killing him, and he was exhausted. He needed sleep. He'd deal with it tomorrow.

Ines scheduled Harrison's visitor for the next day and then went to bed herself, where she slept like a baby.

He woke feeling just as exhausted as when he'd gone to bed, but he hauled himself out of bed anyway. He washed off with a damp cloth, and took some painkillers for his shoulder, before dressing and heading out. He wanted to just work on security, but knew that he needed to deal with Moriarty before Ines took it into her own hands.

Lorna had heard the ruckus the day before, and she was quiet in her cell, afraid to draw attention to herself. Guards who had just lost a couple of their comrades could be dangerous, even though she had had nothing to do with it.

Ines stood outside Harrison's door for a moment, relishing the feeling of anticipation, before she nodded to the guard. He opened it and she stepped inside. "Lorna! How are you today?"

She flinched a little as the door opened, eyes focusing on Ines after a moment. "I'm tired. The cot in here is terrible."

"I'm actually here to try and make that situation a bit better," she said, smiling. "I want you to meet someone." She waved her hand, and a short, stocky man, with black hair, acne scars, and rheumy eyes stepped in. He considered Harrison eagerly. "I'd like you to meet Ralph. Ralph, this is Lorna."

"Hello, Lorna," he said, smiling and revealing a few broken teeth, fixed with gold caps. He walked forward.

"What situation are you trying to remedy?" She asked warily, eyes on Ralph, caution in them. "What's this guy do?"

"He makes beds more comfortable," Ines said, still smiling. "Ralph, why don't you show her?"

Ralph grinned, walking across the room purposefully.

Lorna leaned back, a twinge of fear on her face, but nothing else filtered through. "How on earth does he make beds more comfortable?"

"I'm sure you can draw your own conclusions. Do you want her restrained, Ralph?"

"Nah," he said, still backing Lorna into a corner. "Prefer 'em free range. They're more fun that way."

"She's fairly adept at defending herself."

"So am I. Don' worry, love. I'm a professional."

Lorna sucked in a breath, recoiling away from him, fear compressing her chest as if she'd been squeezed. She pressed herself back into the corner, eyes locked onto Ralph, looking ready to fight. "Don't you dare touch me," she snarled, teeth clenched. "You'll regret it."

Ralph nodded. "A lot of people say that," he said, as if she had mentioned that his eyes were a strange color.

Ines sighed, considering, a hand resting on the gun at her hip. "Please don't ruin his fun."

"Really? You're not even going to let me fight back? What kind of gladiator arena are you running?" Lorna spat at Ines, her stomach churning, unwilling to just let him do to her whatever he pleased.

"Oh, struggle a little, he enjoys that. But no injuring. This isn't a gladiator pit, Lorna dear. It's punishment."

Ralph reached out suddenly with both hands, grappling Lorna and pushing her firmly against the wall.

"Punishment for WHAT," She snarled, fighting against Ralph's grip, trying to ignore the shaking of her limbs, prompted by adrenaline. "I haven't DONE anything. Stop this shit!"

"Not yet, no," she agreed calmly. "But you might."

Ralph reached out and ripped open Lorna's shirt.