Chapter 27: Marshmallows.
"So many doors, how did you choose? So much to gain, so much to lose. So many things got in your way, no time today, no time today."
-Danny Elfman, Alice in Wonderland (The Theme Song).
Jim decided that the three of them should go out.
So John ended up with temporary dye in his hair and eyebrows, which he had protested loudly, until Sammy had pointed out that Jim was doing his hair red, so he had no right to complain. Sammy, not being on any of the records, was fine to go as she was. John got to keep what he was wearing, and Jim got dressed in dark jeans and a black button-up shirt.
Then the three of them made their way through Brewer's, pausing every few seconds as men and women stopped to hug or smile at Sammy, paying no attention to the two men with her. The Misfits were, indeed, well-loved here. They finally reached the car room, and without discussion, John and Jim headed over to their favorite, Sammy following their lead.
John was silently excited to get out of the building. It was large enough not to feel enclosing, but it had been weeks since he'd seen the full sky, not just glimpses of it through his skylight, and he had been getting jumpy.
"Can we hold off on the manic driving this time?" John asked, clicking his seatbelt into place.
"But it's so much fun!" Moriarty pouted.
"You've got a kid in the back, please drive responsibly," John replied, gesturing to the girl in the backseat. Jim hesitated.
"Fine," he said with a shrug.
So they only went 10 miles over the limit, just enough to get John's exasperated smile, and Sammy's cheers as they passed other cars on their way to… wherever they were going.
They ended up at a park, where Sammy convinced both of her older companions to play with her. Sammy got to be the knight in shining armor, Jim spared no time in claiming the role of villain, and John got stuck as the damsel in distress. Jim made Sammy run obstacle courses, figure out puzzles, and answer riddles to get back 'her princess'. Eventually, John caught on to what was really happening. As Sammy climbed poles, did flips, jumped from tree to tree with ease, she was practicing for her jobs. And when Jim asked her questions, laughing evilly, he was testing her knowledge and giving her the answers she didn't already know. It was training.
John had to admire the strategy, really. Sammy had fun, John got out of the house, and Jim got to test one of his Misfits. Not bad.
The rescue scenario was run several times, with slight variations, and then they went for lunch. They got hot dogs from a vendor, and settled down onto a park bench to eat, each of them hopelessly trying not to make a mess. They got a few looks from passer-by, and John suddenly realized that they must look like a family. Jim seemed to sense this thought, and smirked over at him. John just shook his head slightly, and took another bite of his lunch.
The trio headed home after that, Sammy and Jim going into John's flat while he stayed behind to check on his patients, and then followed. He joined Jim in the kitchen, the two of them working together on a more elaborate chicken dinner, while Sammy read them poetry, sitting on the counter with a book in her lap.
Once the chicken was in the oven, and John had chopped the beans, and Jim had gotten the rice ready, they retired to the living room and watched a bit of telly. Sammy claimed John's lap, and Jim draped an arm around John's shoulders, making the blond man roll his eyes, which made the dark-haired man grin.
"You know, I have an idea for tonight," Jim said after a few minutes. John turned his head, waiting for the criminal mastermind to elaborate. His tone was exited but not playful, which meant that it was going to be hard to talk him out of it. "Marshmallows," he said triumphantly. John blinked.
"Wait, what?"
"Marshmallows! I can bring in a little firepot, and we could set up a fire in the middle of the hospital room, and all the kids could roast marshmallows!"
"Jim, that's a really bad idea. An open fire, in the hospital room, where there are people who can't evacuate if it catches?"
"Oh, come on, we'll clear a few of the beds so that there's nowhere for the sparks to land." John still was not convinced. "And we'll have a bucket of water nearby, to be thrown at your discretion. It'll be fun," the last word drawn out into an almost petulant drawl. John hesitated, weighing the risks of saying yes against the risks of saying no.
There was a possibility of an emergency if he said yes. But if he said no to Jim while he was this set on an idea, there was certain to be some sort of negative reaction. And a sulky Jim was not fun to deal with.
"Alright, fine, it sounds good. But make sure that the marshmallow sticks are blunt… they could poke their own eyes out, or each other's! And only the older kids are roasting, they can cook them for the littler ones as well. Oh, stories around the campfire! I'll have to find a sort of creepy one, but not scary enough to give any of the younger kids nightmares."
"What about The Highwayman?" Sammy asked, naming one of the poems that she had read to them earlier. "You liked that one, and it has ghosts in it."
"Good idea," Jim and John said at the same time, and then they glanced at each other, smiling.
"I'll do that," John said.
"I'll get to work on the firepot and firewood. You keep an eye on dinner, okay?"
"Fair enough," John agreed, and Jim left with a cheery wave, kicking the door open as he left.
"You're cute," Sammy said.
"Um, sorry, what?" John asked, looking over at her.
"The way you talk. You really like him, don't you?"
John looked away, unable to answer. He couldn't say that he liked Jim. He was too unstable. Maniacal. Insane. Homicidal. But he would be lying if he said that he didn't. He was too charismatic. Good company. Good with kids. Funny.
"Yeah, I do," John admitted. There was something wrong with him. Very wrong. He wanted to ponder that a bit more, but he didn't have time right now, because Sammy was still talking.
"And he likes you," she mused, more to herself than to the man beside her.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," John said with a little laugh. Moriarty actually liking a person? It was a strange idea. Liking John, of all people? Ridiculous. If he had any sort of positive feelings towards anyone, it would be Sebastian, or little-Jim.
"He does. He asked you if you were okay when you fell at the playground." John winced; it had not been one of his more graceful moments. "And he laughs a lot when he's with you. And it's just that way he looks at you. He likes you!"
"Alright, so what if he does?"
"I don't know yet." There was a pause. "Do you think he would be okay with me calling him daddy, too?"
"I think you'd have to ask him about that. But… he'd probably be pleased, actually."
"Would you be okay with it?" Sammy asked. John thought about it for a moment. On one hand, he felt quite privileged, being the one that Sammy called her daddy. And to have to share the title with James Moriarty, of all people… But on the other hand, who better to share it with? They were already some sort of family, after all.
"Yes, I think I'd be fine if I had to share you with Jim." Sammy grinned, and gave his middle a hug. "Oh, shoot, the chicken!" John said, and Sammy let him stand up. "Love you," John said briefly, reaching down to touch Sammy's face, and then ran to the kitchen to make sure their dinner didn't burn.
Ooooo0000ooooO
That evening was one of the best that John had ever had. They ate in the hospital room, to avoid getting grease on John's carpet and furniture. John's workers ate with the kids on the floor, and the meal was filled with chatter and laughter. John sat with his back pressed to Jim's, and talked to a group of kids who wanted to know what it was like to be in the army.
Once everyone was done, cloths were handed around to clean their hands and faces, and then Jim stood up and told everyone his plan. The kids loved it, and Jim shot John a pointed look, earning himself an eye roll.
So they pulled in two firepots, and took out the blunted marshmallow cookers. The smaller kids hung back, the older Misfits took turns around the fire, and the adults waited their turn. Even the patients (the ones who were awake) got their own marshmallows, and soon everyone was licking their fingers free of the sticky sweet goodness. That was when Jim got up to turn off the lights, leaving the firelight to light up their faces. The kids hushed, turning to John in anticipation. The doctor didn't hesitate; Sammy had helped him memorize the poem, and it was his scene.
"The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, the moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas." John's voice was loud in the silence as the children watched him. This was different than usual. They weren't cheering or participating, just watching with wide eyes, listening to the smooth rhythm of the words. "The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, and highwayman came riding—riding—riding. The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door."
In the quiet, John was able to drop his voice, adding to the story's creepy aura. The poem continued, rising then repeating, and then it ended. They sat in silence for several seconds, absorbing the story.
"Next time, we could roast hotdogs," Jim suggested into the absence of noise, and the children erupted back into conversation. John smiled at the mastermind, and got an unexpectedly sober smile in return.
Oooo000oooO
Sammy decided to stay the night, so John and Jim put her to bed together, Jim patting her on the head, and John kissing her cheek.
"Jim?" she said quietly.
"Yes?" Jim said, pulling the word out longer than it should be.
"Would it be okay… If I called you daddy?" Jim looked over at John, who gave him a tiny smile of a blessing.
"Yeah, sure," Jim said. "I'd like that." Sammy smiled and reached up to pat him on the head, as he had done to her. Jim grinned, stood up, and walked over to stand with John in the doorway. "Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite," he sing-songed, and then John closed the door and they stood alone in the bright lights of the living room.
The two of them moved together to the kitchen, where the hospital workers had left the dishes for them. They had offered to find someone else to do the dishes, but both of them enjoyed this careless part of the evening. Washing and talking about mundane things.
The conversation followed no particular pattern. They discussed their new co-parenting status, John thanked Jim for letting Sammy come to see him, they talked briefly about the new sniper who had been shot earlier that day, and then John asked about the text that Jim had sent to Sammy. He received the answer he had expected; there was a Misfit who needed comforting, and no one else would do it right, so Jim had done it himself.
From there, the conversation went to less serious things, like 20s movies, and desserts, and childhood camping trips. Jim shared very little about his youth, but today, John learned that his uncle had taken him on camping trips. There was a hint of bitterness somewhere in his voice when he talked about it, but John didn't press. He probably didn't want to know.
John thought about telling Jim that he had found the answer. The answer to the question that Jim had asked him the first time they had met to eat a meal together, when John had still been limping, and Jim had ordered for both of them, and they had played a question game that had never been finished. But it wasn't the time yet. He would wait until he could do it dramatically, Jim would appreciate that. The criminal mastermind had told him that if he found the answer, he would tell him something that he had been 'wondering about for a while.'
As curious as John was, something told him to wait. It wasn't the right time. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew.
After all the dishes were done, John and Jim went to the consulting criminal's office, as they did every night. It was late, but it always was. John sat down in his chair (Jim had decreed that no one else was allowed to sit in it), and Jim started pacing. Behind him, on the wall, there was a board full of the manic scribbles that was Moriarty's writing.
"Presumed to be one shooter. Not trained, but practiced. Changes guns. Left handed. Picking off both Moriarty and M's snipers, so we can assume that he knows the two empires are connected, although whether he knows they're the same person is another matter. He's somehow got the information about who my men are, and is using it. I am now assuming that the wave of snipers that were anonymously turned in, half a year back, was him, working with the police without giving them a name or a face. When that failed, he started shooting to kill, so he's determined, but he started out small. So he's on the good side? Why not just come out and work with the police? Because I would find him, of course. I have connections everywhere, and he must know it."
It was the same speech, the same questions, that Jim had been asking for the past few weeks.
"It doesn't make sense. It's not the Iceman, it's not Reese's, it's not Fatman, it's not Heyho Silver. So who, then? Who?" He aimed the last question at John, who just shook his head. "And you're no help, and my networks are no help, and my snipers are no help, and I've got to do everything myself!" The last two words were shouted at John, the criminal mastermind's body coiled and tensed in a way that spelled danger as clearly as a crouching tiger.
"Your own fault for being such a genius," John retorted, his heart beating faster than normal. It didn't happen every night, but it happened often enough that he thought he would be used to it, this tenseness in the air, as the world waited for Moriarty's response, but the adrenaline still flooded through his veins. Whether it was from fear or exhilaration, he didn't know, and he didn't care to know.
"I didn't choose this! It was created, I made this, and now someone is trying to destroy it, and I want to know who!" The words were screamed, voice rough with volume, eyes glowing.
"I'm sorry, I don't know who, I'm not a genius, I can't figure it out for you!" John shouted back, standing instinctively. The two men, so short around everyone else, were around the same height. Jim glared at him, and John simply looked back. Familiar brown eyes, wrinkled brows, lips pressed together into an angry line. Dark eyes and light eyes caught and held in an almost physical way, the two of them drawing closer together. Finally, they stood close enough to touch, neither one blinking, just staring at each other.
"You are intriguing, aren't you?" Jim finally said, his voice recovering its playful cadence.
"I hardly compare to you," John answered.
"Well yes, that's the whole point," the dark-haired man said, shrugging, "but I'm not very interesting to myself, am I?"
"Lucky you," John muttered.
"Oh yes, lucky me, to be stuck inside a mind that I know every inch of, just pacing back and forth, trying to find something new. But your mind? You hide things from me, from others, you hide things from yourself, it's a castle full of secret rooms, and I intend to find every single one."
The criminal mastermind had stepped forwards, long fingers lightly touching the side of John's head, tracing his temple through his hair. It was an uncomfortably intimate gesture, but John didn't move away. Eventually, the hand dropped, and Jim finally smiled. "I'm going to be up much later, you should probably go to bed. Can't have my doctor too tired to save lives now, can I?"
"No, you can't. Then again, criminal masterminds with empires to run shouldn't be too tired to keep their plans straight, either."
"I've been doing this for years. My body is used to it. Yours, on the other hand, is looking a little run down."
"…Thanks," John said, grimacing.
"Oh, I'm sorry was that hurtful? You're still gorgeous, Johnny boy," Jim said exaggeratedly, and then dropped his voice to an almost sultry tone. "With your grey eyes, and ears that are just begging to be pulled, and-"
"Alright, tone it down a little, I get your point," John said. Jim grinned, satisfied. "I'm going to bed now," he said, and headed for the door. Then he hesitated, and turned back. "I know you're used to it and all, but do get some sleep, I know you didn't get any last night. Three nights maximum without, okay?"
"Yes, mummy," Jim said, rolling his eyes. John sighed, quite aware that he wasn't being taken seriously, and headed out the door, back to his bed.
A/N: Yes, I know, I'm terrible, I said I would post a lot, and I didn't post at all. I am a tease, I am horrible, I am forgetful, and I will not waste your time with pointless excuses. I'm back now and I'm sorry, that's all that needs to be said.
On another note, I have two more chapters for you, because I was mean and I didn't post over the break. So yay! Also, I have 92 reviews, which I am very grateful for, and 8 more and I will hit the triple digits for the first time in my fanfiction-writing history! So review for me, please! I absolutely love you all!