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For the last month, Sebastian Moran had ignored the almost daily text messages that came from a blocked number. he was not desperate enough to work as a bodyguard. He would, he told himself, be back in the field soon.

And yet...

"Sebastian, I can't help you until you are ready to help yourself. Now, let's talk about Jake. You--"

"Fuck this."

"Sebastian?"

"You heard me. Fuck this."

"Sebastian, please sit back--"

"I'm done."

[blocked number] 9:20 AM
The job's still open.

[me] 9:25 AM
Won't agree to anything until we meet.

[blocked number] 9:25 AM
Time and place. My treat.

[me] 9:26 AM
Can pay for myself. Kelly's at 7.

...And yet here he was, sipping a soda at Kelly's, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into with even just this meeting.

"Hey, Seb!"

"Hey Gina." He always sat at this table, and she always had the section.

"Meeting a date tonight?"

Sebastian looked at her. He knew-- paying attention to the people around him paid off more often than not-- about her recent break up with her boyfriend. She'd be looking for a good rebound fling before they got back together. He smiled. "No date, but I'd love to have one tomorrow. I've just got one problem."

"And what kind of problem would you have with getting a date?"

"I don't have your number."

She blushed, giggled, and bent over to write it on one of the paper napkins. He pocketed it and watched as she walked away. At least, no matter what else happened, tonight had not been wasted.

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Sebastian arched an eyebrow at the words. What in God's name is this?

"I don't agree to a job without details. Spent years in the Army doing that." Asking questions? Was how he could prepare. How he could survive. "What the fuck does a professor need to be protected from? Especially by a discharged Rifle?"

He was sceptical and almost amused.

"And I don't go blabbing to people I haven't hired yet. The details include what I've told you."

Moriarty's gaze darted theatrically from side to side before he looked to Sebastian again. His head tilted a bit to the side and he spoke in that same low voice of his; it was very solemn. None of those ups and downs that 'the professor' held.

"I operate as a sort of ... interlocutor for some very dangerous people, Mr Moran. All I need is some insurance that once the job is completed I won't be found rotting at the bottom of the Themes. That'd be you; my insurance.

"As your military career states, you're an exceptional sniper. Probably the best in London. Many men leave the war and they're not able to even look at a rifle again without cringing.

I needed to see what you looked like, after all."

Edited 2012-02-14 19:39 (UTC)

'The best in London. One of the best in the whole Royal Army.'

Sebastian left the correction unsaid, though his posture straightened with the thought. Still, there was something about this man. He was not the energetic professor his therapist would release him early from sessions to see. This man... was something else entirely.

The reference to men unable to look at a rifle hit home but not as an exact sentiment. It was being without one that made him uneasy. Even now, his service pistol was at his back in a concealed holster. Did this man know he only tolerated his therapy sessions because they were the key to returning to active service?

It seemed impossible that this man would need protection, but Sebastian had seem unassuming men prove to be the most dangerous of the lot. Besides, his pension from the Army went only so far. He refused to live off his parents, too.

"What would my hours be and," he pushed a day, clean napkin forward, as it was bad form to talk money, "I will need a monthly figure before I can accept or decline."

"Ooo, you're quick." James clicked his tongue and stared at Sebastian from under his brow, head tilted forward. When he smiled it was dangerous and unstable, like TNT. A quiet chuckle spilled from him and he sucked in a gentle breath to compose himself. His fingers tapped at the corner of the menu once more before he closed it and set it down on the corner of the table. He leaned back into his chair.

"Don't we wish it could all be that easy? And, really, I would love to just go ahead and divulge that kind of information, darling. But that's bad business."

I wanted to see what you were like, if you were interested, now I need to see how you preform. The last time you held a gun was six months ago...," he trailed off there. His face scrunched in a telling way that could have easily offended the man.

"I have a job for you to do, Mr Moran. Make no mistake I am interested in your services, but consider this a test drive. For you and myself. If I am satisfied, you can expect the jobs to come regularly. If not, well -- you won't hear from me again."

He didn't specify if this meant killing Moran - because now he knew - or if it simply meant James Moriarty would vanish into thin air. It would have been easy, because he was a myth. Always had been. Some people thought he was in the secret service, some thought he wasn't even one man. And some of the truly creative wondered if he was Elvis. He liked that one.

"I'm giving you a chance to get back to where you were. You miss it, that much is painfully clear. You do well with this and you'll not have to worry about a lack of action. Not ever again."

James leaned forward, folding his hands together on the table. He looked...blank. Like there was nothing there behind his dark eyes and white teeth.

"The payment I'll disclose for this first assignment is in the region of 10,000 pounds. Half now, the other upon completion."

Upon speaking James pulled his phone from his right inside breast pocket and taps a few things against the screen before turning it around to face Sebastian. He has a transfer screen up. Of Sebastian Moran's bank account. The 'send payment' button is, for the moment, untouched. He's asking Sebastian's permission.

"Colonel."

The correction was not angry, simply matter-of-fact. He was barely used to the rank himself, but he'd bought it with blood. Blood and his entire career. He'd been wounded, badly wounded, but had tried to fight, even as the men with him were killed. His second had died trying to help him. So they'd given him a medal and a promotion. Even if he went back to active service now, that promotion meant he would work behind the scenes, likely never see the front lines again. He had paid dearly for his rank, and he would wear it as a badge of honour.

He wouldn't bother remarking that he'd held a gun plenty since then. He'd gone hunting with a rifle, practiced shooting with his service pistol. But he hadn't had his gun-- his sleek, trusty sniper rifle-- in his hand for six months. Not since the ambush had descended and he'd grabbed it from the hands of his dying second and started firing as best he could. Panic, really. He'd have been better to shoot with his pistol. But all he could think about was Jake being shot when he went for the rifle and that he ought to use it because of that.

Ten thousand pounds. And half of it ready to be wired immediately, judging by the information on that phone. Sebastian's heart was pounding, and the words caught in his throat. The money... The money was appealing. Of course it was. But he was being offered a use. To do something.

There was only one question, and he managed to ask it evenly. He knew this 'assignment' could not possibly be fully legal. Everything about this arrangement said that. He was willing to accept that. He just needed to be able to weigh the risk against the gain. He just needed to know...

"How many laws will I be breaking?"

James Moriarty doesn't show any acknowledgement to the correction, his eyes harden and again his neck curls forward. His stare never wavered from Sebastian Moran; Colonel. Moriarty had him, he knew, started wrapping him around his finger already.

He hisses, "Does that matter?"

That was a boring question. He knew Sebastian was still as 'honorable' as he could be. Could. And he could be so much more than that safe and average routine. He was already on his way. Had been. James was just the pull into the shadows Moran needed.

Moriarty reveled in the fact that he was this man's freedom and his shackle at the same time. That he was giving him something he'd only had a taste of before, and letting him have it - oh - he was delighted to be that catalyst.

Now just how hard he'd have to pull.... well. That was up to Colonel Sebastian Moran.

"Yes."

No specific number was the deal-breaker, but he would not pledge himself to something without knowing what it would cost him, what backlash to prepare to withstand. ...Perhaps, if he let himself be honest, it was because he wanted to know in advance how far across the line he'd always walked he would now step.

It was a large gap, soldier to mercenary. A leap. He'd only agreed to a step-- soldier to bodyguard. This didn't sound like a bodyguard's offer. There was something more to this, the darkness circling around the edges, like a predator trapping its prey.

Which role did he play in this?

For once in his life, he wasn't sure, and that sent a chill and heat through his veins he could not deny. It was like the taste of whiskey-- a sharp, burning feeling that he knew would leave a mark by the time he was done.

"You're looking for a commitment. I won't commit without a few more details, sir."

The bite in that 'sir' makes him want to laugh but the most he does is smile fleetingly. He likes the latent fierceness this one has. The caution, it's debatable. Because he likes his henchmen stupid, but the ones close to him less so. He wants to be surrounded by intelligence - but none as smart as he. James needs to be the one thinking three steps ahead of everyone and that included body-guards.

But a bit of brains might be better than less. So he'll concede now. Give him the answer he wants. He sighed melodramatically - making a fuss out of nothing, of course - and shrugged, his whole body moving with the gesture.

"About three, with this first job."

Give or take.

The phone remains.

'About three.' Factor in that the man would have guessed he wouldn't want to break many and might easily be lying. So, in the neighbourhood of five, Sebastian guessed. He wanted to inquire as to the severity of the laws, but... Too many questions might make that nice four-figure offer go away.

So the former colonel nodded.

"I'm in."

A button-click later, Sebastian Moran was 10,000 pounds richer. James failed to mention the money would mysteriously disappear should he fail to impress - but that could be held against him at a later date. Mustn't show all your cards in one hand after all.

James slides his phone back into his breast pocket and stands.

"When you return to your flat, check your phone. Instructions and details will be sent.

Also, bring your... accouterments. Better safe than sorry, darling."

He shrugs and glances about at the very empty restaurant - had it been this quiet since they had started talking? Who knew.

"Well, I'd better be off. Nice to finally meet you, Colonel." He smiles, insincere and too sharp to be anything but a mock of the very human expression before turning around and snapping his fingers and there's an honest to goodness squeal of tires as a car pulls around to the front of the restaurant and that shit only happened in movies, not real life so how the fuck did he do that?

Nobody would find the answer out today and James holds his hand out at the pretty girl Sebastian was talking with before - Gina - and she hands him a plastic bag with a box in it. Take-out.

"Have a nice night, love." He sounds different already; very nice and bizarrely charming. Gina smiles and wishes him a good night before the bell on the door chimes and once again Sebastian is sitting at a table by himself.

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