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Sebastian used to find it an annoyance to have a pasty Irish prick screeching through his earpiece when he was on a job that required absolute focus and precision.
He is not certain when he started to enjoy the hysterical, irrational badgering, but Sebastian does know exactly when he stopped enjoying his job: when Jimmy fucking Moriarty blew his supposedly brilliant little brains out all over a rooftop like the feckless, selfish, insane bastard that he was.
Seb cannot bear the sight of blood anymore, and maybe that would be kind of funny if his only real skills weren't killing people or hurting people enough that they didn't harm his Jim.
Who was perfectly capable of harming himself, evidently.
The real kicker of this cosmic joke was that Jim had saw fit to leave his criminal empire to Sebastian, as if the big blond wouldn't trade everything including his own heartbeat in a heartbeat just for this waking nightmare to be over and for Jim to be… anything but gone.
Sebastian Moran has no use of a criminal empire without James Moriarty. Seb has no use for anything without Jim, and all the riches in the world can't making that gaping lack bearable.
The quiet is awful. Seb used to think the tense, angry, quiet sulks or the silent, morose mopes Jim often fell into were the worst. Not anymore. Now Sebastian knows: the sound of a home without Jim in it is one of the worst noises of all, and it's not an absence of noise either – it's a ringing in Seb's ears that becomes a pounding and inevitably he feels overly anxious and sick.
Sebastian tries to leave, but he can't. He can't leave Jim's things. He can't leave Jim's smell, although that is slowly leaving him just like Jim did (well, a damned sight less bloodily) and Seb is beyond bereft at that.
Sebastian tries to drink the misery away, but nothing even begins to dull the screaming ache. Sebastian even contemplates suicide, but he's pretty sure that he and Jim are destined for the same place and Seb's not sure he's ready to cuss Jim out in hell for a broken heart and a scattered skull.
Sebastian Moran does not know what to do to escape the horrible silence, so he determines to keep himself busy.
Sebastian Moran gets a job. He can't bear to work with anything of Jim's, and just the thought of blood make his stomach rebel violently, but he calls up an old army buddy and gets himself a mindless earner in a warehouse where he is kept blessedly busy and the only time he needs to use his brain is if an order comes through for a peculiar amount and he has to do a bit of arithmetic to get the weight of goods to match up. He literally has a button to press for a 'problem solver' if an item is misplaced or oversold and mostly Seb is kept too busy to think about the diluted parallel of a life before this where his consulting criminal partner was to go-to 'fixer' for anything and everything.
It's good to have a routine, and the physicality of the job helps with Sebastian's restlessness and difficulty sleeping through the long, lonely nights.
Seb's colleagues help too. There isn't much chance for small talk, and since the male-dominated warehouse is largely peopled by former addicts, school drop-outs and young dyslexic soldiers with PTSD, there is a peculiar bubble atmosphere that's something like support. Everyone here knows loss in some form or another, and it's okay to be quiet in your hurt.
The team holds each other responsible too. If you don't show up on time -or at all- it's noticed for more empathetic reasons than a disciplinary record. The little lesbian who teaches literacy, numeracy and employability courses has on every one of Seb's bad days turned up at his flat at lunchtime -having pitched in on the warehouse floor if classes were quiet and deliveries weren't – and persists with Seb until he relents. He will let her in and listen to her reasonable badgering, then shower whilst she fixes him something to eat. He will spend the afternoon in the warehouse catching up with tasks and face the flack from the lads he's left in the lurch and by the end of their shifts he will try to stay behind and help because it feels better in the warehouse than at home.
The lads will invite Sebastian out, and since so many of the men are in recovery for something or other, they don't often go to the pub. Seb has had a drinking problem on and off for most of his life, and without Jim to keep him sober it's helpful to have these distractions. They play football (and get their behinds handed to them by the young lads). They cook for each other and have barbecues in back gardens with disposable plates and genuine laughs. Geri, the little lesbian, turns out to be an international level fighter and gives lessons on nutrition and self defence on quiet days. She drags Seb along for sparring practices and doesn't tease him for his new aversion to blood. She doesn't get mad when he fights out his frustrations without due care to her own wellbeing at her gym.
She hands his arse to him more than a few times.
Without really meaning to, Sebastian is training regularly – and with better focus – and eating well. He's not happy, exactly, but he's getting endorphins from the exercise and affection from his new social sphere and every distraction is a welcome movement away from looking for imaginary clues from Jim.
Sebastian is blindsided one day when Geri interrupts his working up a sweat hefting heavy turkey boxes in the freeze room to give him a peculiar, pursed lip look that makes him nervous. His immediate thought, laughably, is that one of the lads have relapsed, or that the old codger who does deliveries has had a heart attack behind the wheel and caused a smash up. She looks that concerned.
“What is it?” Sebastian asks, and doesn't feel any better when she says that they should talk about it in the office. He goes to take his luminous fleece off and Geri says to leave it, to just come, and that worries Seb further.
“Not in trouble, am I?” he jokes weakly, and then suddenly feels a tightness in his gut that perhaps he is. He has kept his nose mostly clean whilst working here beyond the odd drunken fight out of hours and he hasn't done anything more than look up aspects of Jim's criminal empire in months, so surely not? Sebastian suddenly feels like when he would get in trouble at school, although instead of the consequences being a hiding from his father it's the far more worrying possibility that he'll lose this job, and thus the distractions and healthy environment it provides.
Seb thinks he'll go mad thinking about Jim if he doesn't keep this job.
Geri puts her small hand on his large arm. “Course not,” she says. “We'd have your back in here, even if you were.”
She's telling the truth too. They're a tightly knit little community in this bubble. Admittedly one of the directors is shagging the barely legal office apprentice despite his wife and two kids and her still liking Hollyoaks and regularly getting grounded by her mum for getting too drunk at the weekends, but other than that they're not a bad lot.
It occurs to Sebastian that the young skinheaded lad he's been trusted with training up for the past week hasn't been in yet today. Was he mistaken that this is the teen's half-day for college?
The mouthy little prick might have gotten stabbed, or locked up. Seb finds himself hoping that it's neither, because although the kid still has to grow out of a disturbing nonchalance towards videos of people getting their heads blown off, young Jayden is actually a soft-hearted wee git deep, deep down.
Geri lets Sebastian into an empty room and closes the door behind them both. She indicates for Seb to sit down and he does so with an unsettling feeling of dread in his gut. He thought nothing could hurt him after what Jim did, but apparently that gaping wound has left Seb raw and vulnerable to any little thing.
“Um, Sebby, what are thing like at home?” Geri asks.
Sebastian stares at her, not understanding the question. “Fine,” he says. “I know I've had a bit of a problem at first with drinking and fighting but I haven't-”
Geri lifts her left hand and wiggles her ring finger. “I mean like… family-wise?”
Sebastian gives her a blank look. “I don't have..? No kids that I know of, husband… topped himself,” Seb swallows, because it's still difficult to say. “Brothers are in the forces. Got a sister in a similar line of work and another's a socialite, no job, rich enough not to raise her own kids.”
Geri gives him a funny look. Strained. Sebastian suddenly wonders whether his lesbian sister would find the expression cute, and then wonders whether he's become one of those people who lumps all the gays together.
“Your husband,” Geri blurts. “Can you… Look I'm sorry… Can you tell me a bit more about him, please?”
Sebastian is uncomprehending. “I dunno what you want me to say… He died. Took his Beretta with him up to a rooftop and blew his- well, he shot himself.”
Geri swallows. She is looking at him very, very closely. “What did he look like?”
Seb starts to wonder if this is about who his husband is. Was. “Always well dressed. Wiry little thing, weighed more than he looked but ate like a bird. Dark hair – he'd slick it back for work and get mad if I messed it up. Dark-eyed too… no one else with eyes like those. See right through you. Clever. Frighteningly fucking clever.”
“Scar on the back of his head… about here?” Geri asks, and she points at the back of her own skull.
Sebastian feels suddenly cold all over. “What?”
Geri lowers her hand and takes a deep breath. “There's a bloke outside. Irish. Posh. Looks a bit… like he's been sick or something, for a long time. He wants to speak with you. Says he's your… well. Says he's your man.”
Sebastian feels a wave of dizziness hit him and she was right about needing a seat. He snatches for the wastepaper basket, thinking he might need to retch, but the feeling passes. With shaking hands Seb puts the bin down and smooths back his hair. “Can… Can I see him?” he asks hoarsely.
Geri gives a slow nod. “Will I go get him? Give you a minute to… collect yourself?”
“No,” Sebastian says. “No, I want to see him now. In case...” He trails off, feeling stupid for almost saying 'in case he disappears'. It's not Jim; it can't be. This is some sick joke, or a warning, or-
Geri says, “If you're sure.” She opens the door, and leads him out towards the reception area. Through the window of the door at the end of the corridor is a man in a suit grimacing at the cheaply upholstered chairs and-
It looks like-
Is it..?
Jim Moriarty turns at the sound of the door opening.
He stares. “Seb.”
There's no mistaking that voice, or that face. There never was a body recovered; Seb saw the gunshot but by the time he got there Holmes' men had cleared the scene.
Sebastian crosses the short space in a few strides and snatches at this man. He spins him around, and on the back of the bloke's skull isn't just the scar Jim got from a coffee table when he was a teen, although the sight of that alone is enough to make Seb's gut lurch again…
There's a massive, ugly, uneven scar, carefully stitched and starkly bald against Jim's dark hair.
“Where the fuck were you?” Sebastian demands.
“Limbo,” Jim says, turning and giving a thin smile, and Seb wants to punch him.
“I thought you were fucking dead!” Sebastian roars.
Jim grimaces at the volume. “Yes, well, that wasn't so far from the bounds of reality.”
“You're not fucking dead!” Seb snaps.
“It was touch and go for a while,” Jim says. “Months, apparently. I was out for most of it.”
“Where the fuck have you been?” Sebastian demands.
Jim straightens his suit and Seb realises he is clutching it tightly enough not just to crease but to stretch the seams. That used to be a serious offence. Sebastian does not let go.
Jim sighs. “In the custody of our dear friends the Holmes'; where else?”
“I'll fucking kill that-”
“You'll leave well alone,” Jim says firmly. He looks tired, Seb notices, and the suit is a little too big. Jim's lost weight. Geri was right; Jim looks like he's been poorly for a long time.
“I thought you were dead,” Sebastian says, and some of the pain of that stark statement spills out into his voice.
“Well, aren't you glad that I'm not?” Jim asks. His gaze is peculiar, like he doesn't already have the answer to the question.
“Depends,” Sebastian mutters. He's surprised by the way his lie makes Jim flinch minutely. The big blond sighs and fixes Jim with an uneasy look. “You know I haven't looked after… 'your things'?”
Jim's dark eyes narrow. “I'm aware; yes,” he says waspishly. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You though… You're… well?”
Sebastian blinks. “I guess,” he mutters. “Yeah?” He looks around for Geri, who is hovering discretely but protectively in the background. Seb jerks his head at the woman. “They've been looking out for me here.”
I should hope so,” Jim says. “That's Frenchie's niece.”
Sebastian blinks. “What?”
“Frenchie,” Jim says slowly. “My doctor. Retired Major Gérard.”
Seb turns and looks at the woman he's worked alongside for months. She did always have something familiar about her…
“Wait,” Geri interrupt. “You're Jim Jim! My auntie… You were on the news and she cried...” Geri – who Sebastian has seen handle class after class of feral children, an accidentally severed artery, and a forklift accident- massages her temples. “You're fucking Jim Moriarty,” she whispers.
Jim's lip twitches. “Well, Seb was, actually...”
Sebastian doesn't know whether to hit him.
Geri takes a deep breath, and then straightens her back. “Well, shadow king or not, Mister M, Seb is one of ours. So if you've come to tangle him in your infamous web-”
“I haven't,” says Jim, and Sebastian looks at him. Jim meets Seb's eyes and says, “He's my husband.”
“I'm your fucking widower,” Sebastian cannot help but say.
Jim's lip quivers. “Always got to have the last fucking word, haven't you?”
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” Seb fires back.
Jim raises his brows. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Sebastian rubs his face. “I don't fucking know,” he says.
Jim gives him an odd look.
“If you both want some privacy,” Geri says softly, “the attic room's… quiet.”
'The attic room' is where any donated booze ends up. The warehouse takes donated food from supermarkets and redistributes it to worthy causes like breakfast clubs, old folks' homes, rehabs and foodbanks. The alcohol cannot be distributed, so it usually gets given away as ceremonial gifts to posh investor types or surreptitiously provided at the rare party where alcohol is permitted.
“Have you got the key?” Sebastian asks.
Between the alcoholics and the teenagers, the attic room has to be kept locked, and the key supervised. Geri usually has it, unless she's training for finals or it's a day when she teaches at the gym, because between warehouse classes and helping out on the floor she's here more than most people.
Geri fishes the key out of her cargo trousers – pretty much everyone wears jeans here, fancy suits are impractical on the floor and disengage the students- and hands it over. “Mind yourself,” she says.
Sebastian nods.
Geri turns to Jim. “I'm watching you,” she warns, Moriarty or not, then turns towards the door.
“Popular around here, I see,” Jim comments blithely.
Sebastian shrugs. He'd been good at instilling loyalty in his men too. The only difference is, because Geri helps out management, and he's just a warehouse grunt, she's technically kind of his boss. Seb's never been too good with authority.
“Geri's decent,” Sebastian says at last.
“From what I've been hearing around here, so are you,” Jim says.
Seb doesn't know how to respond to that. He's sick at the sight of blood these days so he's hardly quick with his fists the way he used to be. “Yeah, well,” he says flatly. He rubs his neck. “Follow me.”
Jim does, and climbs the stairs with him to the attic room without complaint. “You always had shit taste in boots, but that jacket's a new low even for you,” the Irishman teases lightly.
Sebastian turns around, glances at Jim, then blushes a little as he looks down at his luminous yellow fleece. It's fucking comfortable, is what it is, and entirely necessary when spending an hour or two in the freezer. Actual frost flakes drift into his pale hair in there, and melt slowly down his scalp when he returns to the usual temperature of the warehouse floor, which is never that fucking toasty unless you're working your arse off, because there are always huge, open doors for the vans and forklifts and pallets to come and go.
Seb slides the fleece from his shoulders. He won't need it up here above the heated office space. “Health an' safety, innit,” he mutters.
“You're starting to sound like one of them,” Jim comments mildly.
Sebastian shrugs and unlocks the door. He lets Jim step inside and take in the mountains of alcohol before asking, “What can I get you?”
Jim blinks. “What's this?”
“Where we keep the booze we can't donate,” Sebastian explains. “It's still registered, but we can take what we like within reason.”
Jim picks his way over crates of beer and cider. “Donate?”
“We're a not for profit,” Sebastian says. “The food out there comes in because supermarkets overordered, or the packaging changed, or it's close to the date. It's cheaper nowadays for them to donate it instead of landfill it. In some places it's already illegal to landfill good food. And some of our food's still good long after its date: we've got paperwork down there from Kellogg's saying their cereal is still fit for purpose three months after it.”
Jim stills in his path over various bottles of spirits. “Since when did you care about food poverty?”
Sebastian shrugs. “Had to care about something, I guess,” he mutters. He walks over to where he knows the expensive wines are and offers a bottle to Jim.
The Irishman looks surprised, but takes the dusty thing and makes to open it. “I'll just drink from the bottle like we're fourteen, shall we?” he says dryly.
“There's plastic cups from the last showcase event for stakeholders,” Sebastian says. “Just got to find them...”
Jim looks around without complaint. “Are you sure?” he says with a skeptical yet amused skew to his voice.
“Somewhere...” Seb says. His sniper's vision helps him out and he finds the things tucked away behind boxes of cocktail-in-a-bags. He retrieves two clean cups and carries them over with shy triumph.
“You always were good at finding things,” Jim says.
Sebastian nods slowly. “You found me though.”
“Twice,” Jim says. He frowns and opens the wine. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to track you back to this place after you all but set fire to my hard work?”
“I saw you shoot yourself in the head,” Seb says dully. “I thought the only way you'd be coming for me would be wearing Jacob Marley's chains.”
“Yes, well, sometimes I get the better of myself,” Jim mutters. He pokes the back of his skull. “That being said, I think I shot off some of the manic, marvellous bits of my brain. Runs a bit slower now. Took a bit of navigating, but… it's calmer in here.”
Sebastian looks at Jim. “Yeah?”
Jim nods and gestures for the cups. “Yeah,” he says.
Sebastian nods slowly. He holds out the cups for Jim to fill then drinks from his own in considered silence. “I missed you, you mad fuck,” Seb says at last.
Jim glances at him, then at the dark fluid in his cup. “I've missed you too,” he says.
Sebastian sighs. “Now what?”
Jim looks at him soberly. “What do you want to be next?”
Sebastian is surprised by the question, and cannot answer it for some time. “I don't know,” he says at last. “I miss my husband, but it turns out I… don't miss that life.”
“The best marksman the world has ever seen doesn't miss shooting things?” Jim queries. “I couldn't understand it when I found you'd up and left the whole fucking kingdom behind.”
“Didn't want your empire without you in it,” Sebastian says. He takes a deep breath, then half of his drink. “Also hard to be a sniper or the face of a criminal underground when I can't fucking stand the sight of blood.”
“What?” Jim says.
“After… seeing your head,” Seb says quietly. “Through my sight… The… spatter… Never again.”
Jim makes a funny noise in his throat. He doesn't touch his drink. “I'd heard you'd lost the taste but… I didn't...”
“Oh, it's fucking hilarious,” Sebastian says dryly. “Geri takes me to her gym to work out my… aggression… and I lose it if I as much as bloody my knuckles on a punching bag. I've fainted and everything. It's humiliating.”
Jim considers. “You don't think you'll get over it then? Even knowing I'm not dead?”
“I don't know,” Seb says in a voice that sounds like a 'no'.
Jim knocks back the rest of his drink. “Then I won't put you to work like that,” he says at last.
Sebastian glances at the man sidelong. He doesn't expect that response, but also… “I don't want to leave here. I'm staying.”
Jim widens his eyes then pours more wine into each of their cups. “Why? You've got a fortune and a degree, but you'd rather pick and pack boxes of food for the needy?”
“It's honest and it's easy,” Seb says. “There's nothing to think about, and I'm too busy to think about… you. Us. What I thought I'd lost.”
“You want me to tell people that my husband works on a warehouse floor?” Jim says.
Sebastian curls his lip as he glances sidelong at the man. “Who are you planning on telling?”
“I don't know,” Jim says. “I always liked bragging about you.”
Seb shrugs. “Tell them I heard the next biggest devil after you was a trillionaire in the warehouse business, but I got a little confused without your guidance.”
Jim glances at him askew then scoffs. “I think you've done fairly well without my guidance, that hideous fashion crime aside.”
“Leave my poor fleece alone,” Sebastian says. He doesn't mention that it's not actually his. There's a set number in a variety of sizes downstairs and people just tend to pick the closest and get on with things. Jim might have a fit at the thought. Not that many people get a chance to share this one. There aren't many people Seb's enormous size.
Seb frowns. “Wait,” he says. “You think?”
Jim looks into his cup again. “Like I said: you seem popular.”
“Fuck knows why,” Sebastian says quietly. “I was a right prick at the start, a total mess, but… being here… settled me. They watch my back, and give me a boot in the arse when I need it.”
Jim gives him a wry, sidelong look. “Need that often, do you?”
“Less now,” Sebastian replies. “I was drinking a lot at the start, fucking about, not turning up… Got my work ethic back.”
“When I was trying to find you, there was a lot of talk about you drinking a lot,” Jim murmurs. “Then your trail dried up.”
Sebastian looks at his remnants of wine, shrugs, and then passes it to Jim to finish it. “I didn't have you to flay me bloody if I was too hungover to work, or get home,” the blond says.
“The plan wasn't… I didn't mean to leave you alone,” Jim says. He frowns into Seb's cup and drinks that too.
Something in Sebastian's chest squeezes then releases. “You didn't?” he says quietly.
“The plan wasn't to… I didn't mean to do, what I did,” Jim says starkly. He looks at his hands around the now stacked empty cups. There's about one more left in the bottle. Jim's tiny chest heaves a difficult breath. “I wasn't in control,” he says. “In my right mind. I wasn't… I wasn't thinking clearly.”
“I told you at the time something was wrong,” Sebastian says.
“You were right,” Jim says. “I was increasingly manic; wasn't eating; wasn't sleeping; wasn't listening to you… I was so obsessed with the game, and then… Sherlock was boring, and it didn't feel better – the game was supposed to make me feel better- and I just… I wasn't thinking properly.”
“You were gone,” Seb says. There is a lot of pain in that short sentence. He doesn't know if it is equal to the pain that Jim was in, or if that matters.
“I'm sorry,” Jim says, and Sebastian doesn't expect that.
Jim gives him an uncomfortable look. “Yes, I am aware I don't say that as much as I ought,” he says wryly.
“What's changed?” Seb asks quietly.
“I'm missing about twelve percent of my brain matter,” Jim says.
Sebastian eyes the brunet. “Are there any other changes I need to know about?”
Jim looks at him funny. “Are you intending to stay?”
“With you?” Sebastian asks. He swallows. “I guess. Was that really an option?”
Jim shrugs. “You went through the grieving process. I don't know how you feel now.”
Seb gives the brunet a sharp look. “How do you think I feel?”
Jim is quiet. He unstacks the cups and splits the remaining wine between them. He hands one to Sebastian, and as the big blond stares at the liquid debating whether to drink it, Jim says, “I'm hoping that you feel glad to see me, but I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't.” He drains his cup.
“What?” Sebastian responds.
Jim fidgets with the empty cup. “I know I'm not easy to live with, tiger. And you had an out when you thought I was gone.”
“I've never wanted an out,” Sebastian growls. “Not from you. Sometimes I wanted to pick you up and shake you until your excess brains dripped out of your ears and you stopped being so maddening, but you, you were for keeps. That didn't change.”
“This life seems quiet,” Jim says. “Maybe that's better.”
“Everything about this life is great except for the massive gaping lack of you,” Sebastian says.
“Really?” Jim asks very quietly. He turns to Seb to do that intense analytical scrutiny thing he does sometimes, and after so long the return of that look makes Seb shiver, but it feels worth it when Jim softens around the eyes. His eyes look so tired, and they had for a long time back then too.
Sebastian chuckles awkwardly and drinks. “I didn't smash your face in when I saw you were back, and you know my shitty temper. I've fucking missed you,” he tells the bottom of his cup.
“I missed you too,” Jim says, and his accent sways into the rougher, more genuine Irish brogue than the soft, vague, middle class thing he's been using all day. Funny that even after a shot to the head Jim can still remember to fake his accent in almost all conversation.
Or maybe it's harder to remember how he used to speak.
“Do you remember much?” Sebastian asks. “From before?”
Jim grimaces. “Give or take. I wouldn't have minded losing more of my memories to be honest.”
Sebastian presses his lips together.
Jim looks at him astutely. “Not the ones with you, mostly. There's a few times… more than a few times… where I regret how I treated you.”
“I didn't think psychopaths did regret,” Sebastian says reluctantly.
“It's not a precise diagnosis,” Jim says, not for the first time. “But even if I look at you as mine, an extension of myself – and I know how objectifying that sounds – I… Well, I should have treated you better.”
Sebastian shrugs. Jim's moods could be horrible, but so could Seb's own temper. “It's not like I'm an angel,” he says. “And I don't have to live in your brain.”
“You don't have to live in my brain but you chose to be there for all the things my brain put you through,” Jim says.
Seb shrugs again. “Yeah. Well,” he says. He frowns at his boots. “Part of the package. I fucking love you.”
“Still?” Jim asks.
Sebastian snorts. “What do you think?”
“Why else would I be asking?” Jim snaps softly.
Seb snickers and crumples his cup. He drops it to the floor and reaches for the smaller man. “Because you're an egotistical little prick and always have been? Come here.”
Jim pouts at the description but he throws himself at Sebastian with more force than the blond expected. Seb wraps his strong arms around Jim to steady the man. “Ooft,” says Sebastian. “You alright there?”
Jim does not smell of hair gel or the correct fabric softener, but his skin smells like it used to. He presses into Sebastian's broad chest and the blond cannot help but inhale deeply.
“No,” Jim mumbles, sounding vulnerable, but after a moment he giggles. “Sebastian, are you sniffing me?”
“Yes,” Seb agrees unapologetically. “I've missed the smell of you.”
Jim surprises him by not saying anything cutting. “You don't smell of smoke or gun oil anymore.”
“I quit,” Seb says.
Jim raises his head from Sebastian's chest, and the blond feels a loss at that until he is met by the hilariously uncanny sight of an astonished Jim Moriarty.
“You quit smoking?” Jim says.
“I quit smoking,” Sebastian agrees.
“What? Who even are you?” Jim says, and he's back using that honest accent he usually only slips into when he's feeling exceptionally emotional. He must be deeply shocked. “Who even are you, tiger?” Jim demands.
Sebastian puts an arm on the small of Jim's back to secure the man then shrugs. “I just didn't want to anymore.”
“The amount of times I threatened you, punished you, literally skinned part of you for smoking in our room, and you just felt like quitting?” Jim says sounding scandalised.
“Usually you called it your room,” Sebastian says. “And yeah. It kills your sense of smell, and I was already starting to lose what you smelled like and I didn't want to contaminate anything that still smelt like you with the smoke.”
When their home had stopped smelling like Jim, Sebastian had moved around each of their safe homes chasing the scent. It was no wonder Jim had struggled to find him really.
Jim stares at Sebastian for a beat. “You sentimental thing,” he says at last. Usual accent.
“I lost my fucking husband,” Seb says. “Who by his own account was the most impressive specimen of manhood to ever exist.”
“Well, I wasn't entirely wrong there,” Jim says, but his voice is muted and he's joking. He's giving Seb a soft look.
Sebastian raises his free hand and brushes his fingertips along Jim's hairline. “Can I touch?” he asks quietly.
Jim hums in agreement. “There's not much to mess up anymore.”
“Does it hurt still?” Sebastian asks.
“Kind of? The bone itself seems to hurt every time there's a change in temperature or humidity,” Jim says. “And that's nothing compared to if I knock it against something.”
Sebastian grazes his lips against the top of the scar tissue he can reach, then considers the action. “I imagine that would be pretty painful,” he says tartly.
Jim looks up with another funny look on his face. It takes Seb a hot second to realise Jim is silently asking permission for a proper kiss, and that almost sends Sebastian for a mental spin because Jim's never much been one for asking may I?
Seb feels a twinge of nerves then. It's been such a long time since they kissed.
Jim is his husband.
His dead husband.
Rather, his not dead husband.
Sebastian lowers his mouth to Jim's slowly, like the moment could fade away if he moved too quickly. Jim seems momentarily taken aback by the unusual tenderness, but he wraps a possessive hand across the back of Seb's skull and kisses back with feeling. Sebastian grins into the kiss.
He's hard when Jim eventually pulls away, and as Jim is on his lap the Irishman would have to be oblivious not to notice. “I've missed you,” Seb says, because that matters more.
Jim grinds a little. “Take me home?” he asks. He touches his own face and winces. “I know we still have things to figure out – how we're going to move forward, for one – but I just… I need to go to bed with my husband.”
Sebastian swallows. As much as he wants that too, he has to admit, “My place isn't kept as tidy as you would make me.”
“I don't care if it's a fucking drug den as long as you're there and naked,” Jim says stoutly.
Seb gives a wry, lopsided smile. “I'll remind you that you said that.”
Jim's dark eyes shine. He gets off of Sebastian's lap and tugs Seb to his feet. Sebastian kisses Jim briefly then gathers his fleece and their rubbish.
“Let me get rid of this and change into my civvy boots then we can leave,” Sebastian says. “Oh, and I need to give this key back to Geri.”
Jim wrinkles his nose petulantly, never having been a very patient man, but agrees. He waits whilst Seb locks the door behind them then follows the blond down the stairs and along the corridor.
Sebastian deposits the rubbish in recycling bins and checks the time. He's not sure where Geri will be, and Jim cannot be on the floor without work boots.
Seb figures he'll head to the lockers and see if he bumps into the woman. He's usually lucky that way. Jim loops his fingers in Sebastian's belt loop and Seb looks down. He grins at Jim, who looks just a little bashful, and peels away Jim's tiny paw to take it in his own.
It feels nice, walking down the corridor hand in hand.
Jayden did indeed have a half day today, as he's shoving his college bag in his locker when Sebastian draws close with Jim. By a stroke of luck, Geri is there smirking at the teen and demanding, “What time do you call this, eh, slacker?”
From anyone else such words would provoke a heated response from Jayden, whose hot-headedness has been a handful for Seb of late. They're a bit alike in that way, actually. However, the brat is bowing his shaven head bashfully in response to Geri's wide, warm grin.
“Fuck sake, miss, you know I've been putting in a full day!” Jayden protests, his voice unusually soft and rising a little at the end. He's standing there with one shiny oxblood Doc Marten boot on and the other foot clad in only a sock on the warehouse floor. The lad picks up a regulation steel-toed work boot and gestures with it. “Working my arse off, I am!”
Geri raises a brow slowly. “Is that how you talk to me, young man?”
Jayden pouts and looks away as he drops to the floor to put on his work boot. “No, miss; sorry miss,” he mutters to the ragged laces.
“What am I going to do with you, trouble?” Geri asks, sounding fond and nakedly amused.
Jayden looks up swiftly then lowers his gaze again to fuss with unfastening his other red shoe. His cheeks look a tiny bit pink, and Sebastian has been watching the pair long enough to know that the kid has a great big crush on Geri despite her sexuality.
“Don't know, miss,” Jayden mumbles. He can't seem to unknot his lace so unzips his fourteen-eyelet boot with a further embarrassed clumsiness.
Geri grabs the other work boot in Jayden's size and swaps it for his Doc Marten with an easy mutter of, “Give it here.” Some of the lads she teaches are dyspraxic enough to need regular help with their work boot laces, so she manages to tease out the knot with practiced, nimble fingers. Jayden is casting around for something to look at other than the pretty young woman when he notices Sebastian.
“Alright, guv,” the teen says with a genuine smile that makes Sebastian feel that bit fonder of the boy. Jayden stands, work boots fastened, and straightens his broad shoulders proudly. His ears then turn pink and he flicks a humble glance at Geri. The boy then focuses a wary, mildly belligerent look at Jim.
Jim smirks like he recognises the same similarities to Seb that Sebastian sees.
Geri discretely puts Jayden's infamous ox blood boot aside and gazes between Seb and Jim, and their linked hands. She questions Sebastian with her eyes and the man feels a rush of affection for the way she has shifted her body in readiness to toss Jim out on his ear if required.
“Fine here for the moment,” Sebastian tells her. Jim doesn't comment. Seb continues, “Do you need me back?”
Geri's gaze softens. “We can manage if you want to take the day, sweetie. I've only got a work skills class this afternoon and the manual handling guy is coming in for that. I can take Jay and cover for you on the floor for the rest of the day.”
Jayden flashes Seb a look tinged with curiosity and concern, but the youngster's eyes have also bugged out at the prospect of spending the day entirely at Geri's side. At least someone's having a good day without having to think too hard about it.
“Yeah, that would be great,” Sebastian says. He smirks at Jayden. “Don't you go showing me up in front of Ger, alright mate? Best behaviour from you.”
“Like I would!” the skinhead says indignantly. “I'm not a kid.” Seb starts to grin at that, because he's sure Jayden would like Geri to notice that (as if it would make any difference). The teen gazes at Seb and Jim's hands and says nothing, but then presses his lips together. Jayden gives Sebastian a serious look -Seb never misses a day when he is training the lad- and murmurs, “Everything alright with you anyway, big man?”
Bless the scamp. “Yeah, slugger, I'm fine,” Sebastian says, although he's not sure things are that simple. “Had some… family stuff… come up. Hence this is um, my ex husband, Jim.”
At the same time Jim introduces himself as, “Seb's husband, Jim.”
Geri tries to suppress a grimace whilst Jayden merely blinks. “Thought your husband was dead?” he asks.
“Me too,” Sebastian says brightly, and fixes a pointed look at Jim.
Jayden frowns and actually steps between the two men, covering Sebastian's huge frame as best as he can and squaring his own broad shoulders at Jim threateningly. “Oh yeah?” the skinhead says.
Seb cannot help but grin. He takes in Jim's expression for a moment then nudges Jayden back gently. “It's alright, son; I chewed him out whilst you were at college.”
Jayden bares his teeth in a sneer at Jim Moriarty before stepping down. “You better be good to Seb,” the lad says with a level of cool menace only a teenage delinquent can manage. “He deserves better.”
Jim seems uncharacteristically lost for words. He gives a shellshocked nod and looks at Sebastian like he's not sure what he's missed that could create this situation.
“I do deserve better,” Sebastian agrees sternly, casting Jim a look that only further perplexes the other man.
“So I keep hearing,” Jim says. His gaze flickers to Geri long enough to suggest she threatened him at length before being permitted to see Seb (which she did, graphically).
Sebastian flashes Geri a look, to which she feigns unconvincing innocence. He knows the woman had done a stint in the adjutant general's corp before teaching literacy to addicts and teenage tearaways. She is easily as strong as spirit as she is in body, and Seb rather regrets hoisting boxes of frozen turkeys when he could have been listening to Geri give Jim Moriarty a fierce tongue lashing.
Sebastian fishes the attic room key out of his pocket and hands it over. “Thanks for this.”
“Any time,” Geri says, taking it back and adding it to the ring of others. She gives them both a wry grin. “Although one not dead husband is probably enough.”
Jim snorts and Sebastian grins. “Yeah, for us too.”
Seb puts a hand on the back of Jim's narrow neck and guides the slim Irishman towards the exit. “We should get going.”
“Aren't you forgetting something?” Jim asks brightly.
Seb's forehead crinkles in confusion. “I don't know; am I?”
“As keen as I am to get you all to myself again, I'd rather your very fetching yellow rag stayed here,” Jim teases.
Sebastian laughs, and lets go of Jim to go hang up the fleece. He also pulls off his work boots and changes into his own. “There; happy?” the blond says.
“I'll come looking for you at lunch tomorrow if you don't turn up,” Geri warns. “I don't care what state of undress you're in; I want to know you're okay.”
Sebastian grins at her. “I'll see you in the morning. If I can't get a babysitter for this one I might put him to work on the floor.”
Geri chortles whilst Jim flaps his lips and makes an indignant noise. “I'm not-”
“Always room for one more in this family,” Geri says. She reaches over and rubs Jayden's scalp playfully. “Isn't that right, tough guy?”
Jayden tries unconvincingly to keep his voice gruff and not high with pleasure. “A fucked up family,” he huffs. “Don't call me that; I'm not a kid.”
Jim's pout is a lot more convincing.
“What have you been told about your language, fucker?” Geri scolds the teen, her eyes twinkling. She prods Jayden in the chest. “I'll have you know there's no escape for you now; you're one of us. And you're lucky you're not my kid because I'd have properly booted your arse for all of your nonsense.”
The skinhead tries to hide his huge smile and instead glower 'like a man'. “Would you fuck, you dozy mare,” he grumbles.
Geri, in truth, would adopt Jayden in a heartbeat and never take a hand to him, although she would threaten regularly to slap some sense into him. “Don't you try me, young man,” she warns. “Do you want a time out before you even get to work today?”
Jayden swallows and spits a 'fuck off, miss' at his feet mainly for the benefit of the other men present. Standing there in the jeans he expertly bleached himself and a teeshirt emblazoned with an old band Seb knows Geri likes too… Sebastian can see a resemblance between the pair. Geri is in work boots now, but this morning she was in fourteen eyelet Docs too. She's wearing cargo trousers and an oversized RealTree top that falls off of one wiry shoulder exposing the branded strap of extortionate underwear she favours; Sebastian knows she buys it from abroad because she bitches to him about the customs fees every time she has to fork out. Left to their own devices, Jayden and Geri spend more time talking about fashion together than any of the young ladies in the office.
Jim might actually like them both, given the chance. He's the reason Seb recognised the logo of Geri's lingerie in the first place.
Most of the people in the warehouse are good people (ignoring the criminal records most of them have) but these two… they are alike people. Sebastian wonders if the reason for Jayden's little crush is not in fact because Geri is fit, assertive, and mad fond of the brat, but actually because of the visible kinship between them.
Jayden adheres religiously to perceived fashion rules and a stringent exercise plan that he hopes will see him excel in the army (although Geri has quietly been trying to talk the lad out of that aspiration, wanting him in some safe apprenticeship). He throws himself headfirst into things where he has a tangible place. Loud-mouthed, broad-shouldered, quick-tempered, bratty Jayden wants to belong. He wants a purpose and pride in himself and to be wanted. It's not a crush: Jayden only wants to be her's.
Given this epiphany, Sebastian turns and looks hard at Jim, who frowns questioningly at him.
Jim is visibly tired, but he casts Seb a fond look that undoes months of damage all at once. Not all of it, no, but some of it. It makes Sebastian feel lighter.
They're both kind of tired, him and Jim both, to be frankly honest. Sebastian has gained a bit of a taste for life again from working here, but he's still tired deep down in his bones. You can't lose the love of your life to their own doing and not feel fucking deathly tired.
Sebastian suddenly does not want to leave the shelter of this familiar place. He wants to pull Jim away from the door and just… wait a bit. Face the rest of the world later.
He could get the attic key back from Geri and reacquaint himself with Jim's body up there instead.
Jim tilts his head in question and takes a step away from the door towards Seb.
Sebastian catches Geri watching him thoughtfully. She says, “It's alright to go, you know. The place will still be standing when you get back, even if I have to crack the whip and a few skulls to manage it.” She touches Jayden softly. “I've got this big lug here to help me.”
The lad beams and draws himself up to his full height. “Yeah, I'll look after things for you, big man.”
Sebastian doesn't know how to tell them both that he feels safe here, and is uneasy about venturing back out into the rest of the world. The world Jim ran. The world Jim faked his death in. The world Seb grieved so fucking deep in.
“Course you will,” Seb says fondly instead. “And you be good as gold for our Geri, alright? She's got enough on her plate as it is.”
Jim comes and leans into Sebastian's side. He watches the interplay between them curiously. Sebastian curls a strong arm around Jim protectively, and the Irishman grins up at him. Seb fucking loves him.
“I'm always good for Geri!” Jayden insists, which isn't entirely true, but mostly is. He might pretend to be a devil spawn outwardly, but he's a kind of cute kid under the damaged adolescent thing. He's a hard worker, when you can persuade him not to skive; and he's loyal, when you can persuade him to care; and Jayden is downright sweet when he thinks no one is paying attention.
Geri herself gives the lad an appraising look. “If you're anything less than the little star I'm used to, you'll be getting a swift trip over my knees, young man.”
Jayden laughs, and lets the woman draw an arm around his wide shoulders and ruffle the shorn fuzz on his scalp. “You're not allowed,” the lad says.
Geri sniffs. “Any judge in the land would take one look at the pair of us and know you needed every bollocking I give you. I'd get a special dispensation and a distinction if I gave the back of your legs a good slapping.”
“Oh, and I suppose he'd make me call you Maw too,” Jayden retorts.
Geri smiles and taps the teen on the nose. “Like I need a judge to make you call me Mummy.”
Jayden blushes pink. “You can't just say things like that!” he protests.
“Why, because a strict mummy is exactly what you need?” Geri teases. She nudges him. “Get onto the warehouse floor and I won't have time to embarrass you.”
“I'm sure you'll manage,” Jayden mutters. He flicks his gaze to Sebastian and Jim then says, “Get out while you still can.”
Geri laughs and lifts up a reflective jacket in Jayden's size, which she pushes into the lad's hands. She looks like a mother ensuring her child brings his jacket to school, and Seb cannot help but think they would be good for each other. Jayden needs someone sensible to love him, and underneath her rough and ready attitude Geri has so much love to give.
Oblivious to Seb's thoughts, Geri smirks at the blond and says, “He's got a point, sweetie. The real world is out thattaway.”
Jim looks up into Sebastian's face and raises an eyebrow in a way that accurately manages to relay the question: I thought we were in a rush to get out of here for sex?
Sebastian bites his lip. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “Let's get you home, shall I?”
Jim gives him an approving look.
Jayden calls out a goodbye and heads out onto the warehouse floor. Geri winks at Jim, still a little threateningly. Perhaps she's had a call to her auntie and discovered that Jimmy was a scrappy little runaway himself once.
“Don't be a stranger, either of you,” Geri says.
Jim swallows. Strangely, he does not seem inclined to snip back at her when he can tell Seb is fond of the woman.
Seb grins at her. “Tomorrow. Make sure Jayden remembers to eat later.”
“I've warned him,” Geri says. “If the lad can't remember to eat proper meals on college days but still thinks he's going to do a man's day of labour I'll drag him home and fatten him up myself.”
Sebastian snickers. “I don't think that's much of an incentive.”
Geri smirks. “Oh, he knows I'd make him wash the dishes.”
“I think he'd listen to your advice about not joining up if you made him do your dishes,” Seb says.
Geri sighs. “I'd kidnap that boy and wrap him in cotton wool if I could.”
“You keep telling me you're not supposed to have favourites,” Sebastian says.
“I don't; I love all my kids… and adult kids,” she says, meaning her students. “Some kids just need a little extra love, is all.”
“Is that what you call it when you smack me around the back of the head?” Seb asks.
Geri laughs. “No, that's because some overgrown kids are overdue a taste of my hand.” She fixes Jim with a look. “You better hope you become one of my favourites.”
Jim looks astonished to be spoken to thus, and Seb gets the feeling Geri's aunty might find her phone line clogged up in future.
But he's going to occupy Jim plenty first.
Sebastian finally says his goodbyes and shepherds his favourite brunet outside. The Irishman gives him a long suffering but affectionate look.
Sebastian closes the door behind them. “Jim?”
His former-or-current husband looks at him attentively. “What?” he asks with a quirked brow.
Seb's voice must be telling then. “You know how I let your empire go to shit?”
Jim narrows his eyes. “Yes?”
“Do you still have much of a network?” Sebastian asks.
“Depends,” Jim says. “What for?”
“The kid's in a half-way house. Geri's not gone through the adoption process. Whose palms would we need to grease to put them together?”
Jim gives Seb an odd look, then tilts his head thoughtfully. “It wouldn't need much, given his age. Them sign a bit of paper; me make a few phone calls.”
“You?” Sebastian asks.
Jim's nose wrinkles. “We didn't all grow up with your silver spoon,” he reminds Seb. “Some of us were in and out of boys' homes and orphanages… I keep an eye on the care system here and back in the home country.”
Sebastian gives Jim a long look. “Are you saying you sometimes use your power for good? No, wait… vulnerable lads. People trafficking and young criminals, right?”
Jim sniffs. “I'm not adverse to putting some good into the world, you know.”
There's an opening for Seb to say 'coulda fooled me' but he does not take it. Instead he says, “I don't want to be the bad guy anymore.”
Jim stares at Sebastian. “I could fix that,” he says quietly.
Seb frowns. “I don't want you to change my-”
“No,” Jim says. “If you don't want to do bad things anymore… Well, you ran my empire into the dirt. I'm going to have to rebuild anyway. So… If you want something new..?”
A slow smile spreads across Sebastian's scarred face. “A new challenge for you, Jim-boy?”
“I'd do that for you,” Jim says.
Seb doesn't point out the things that hurt that Jim didn't do. “I guess we should drink to that then. Something new.”
Jim's brow crinkles. “You've drank enough for one day, don't you think?”
Seb grins wryly and throws an arm over Jim's skinny shoulders. “I've missed you.”
Jim burrows his face into Seb's sleeve. “I've missed you too,” he sniffs.
Sebastian gives the shorter man a look of love and devotion. “Shall we go and let you tear strips off of me for how untidy my bedroom is?” he suggests.
“Can we have sex first and argue later?” Jim asks.
Sebastian snorts. “We can skip the arguing altogether, if you like, but that doesn't sound like us.”
“Maybe we could try it,” Jim says.
“Shall we see how we feel after sex?” Seb asks.
“Maybe we should buy breakfast things before we go home?” Jim says. “That way we won't have an argument tomorrow about who gets out of bed to buy bacon and rolls.”
Sebastian scoffs. “When have I ever made you make my breakfast?”
Jim's lips twitch. “I feel there might be a lot of emotional blackmail in my future after what I did.”
“We won't need to have an argument about breakfast, because I need to get up tomorrow for work,” Sebastian says.
“You're going to leave me in your bed all day when you go to work?” Jim protests. “What if I get bored?”
“I'm not leaving you unsupervised,” Seb scoffs. “I'll get you registered as an adult volunteer and you can help out at the warehouse where I can keep an eye on you.”
“Sebby, darling, we are going to have our first argument if you think that I am going to perform manual fucking labour for a charity,” Jim says.
Sebastian pulls the shorter man close and kisses Jim's head. “You'll do as you're told, Caspar, or I'll call Ghostbusters.”
Jim grimaces. “Oh don't. Not fucking ghost jokes, Seb.”
“I'll hum the whole of 'Unchained Melody' if you don't do as you're told,” Sebastian says.
“I never do as I'm told!” Jim protests.
Seb kisses him again unrepentantly then says, “So it's about time that you learned.”
“No shitty ghost jokes Sebastian Moran or I swear to god the next thing I shoot will be you,” Jim grumbles.
“Don't shoot me until I've seen your face when you have to put on work boots someone else has worn,” his husband teases.
Jim looks horrified. “I'll divorce you right now, Moran.”
“You can't divorce me,” Sebastian scoffs. “You're dead.”
Jim's expression freezes as he realises that he is indeed legally dead, and cannot file for a divorce easily. “You sneaky fucking bastard you planned this. This is some Clockwork Orange shit!”
Sebastian laughs uproariously. “I wish I was that clever, Jim-boy.”
Jim gives him such a dirty look Seb stops laughing just long enough to press a kiss against Jim's sulky little pout. Jim bites him, but then clings so hard Sebastian suspects divorce is back off of the table.