Chapter Text
For quite some time, Sebastian didn’t see much of anything of Moriarity.
Their arrangement was simple. Sebastian would carry on doing not much of anything with his life until he got a text. They started out coming in every once in a while, then more frequently, then to the point where Sebastian almost always had some job on his platter. He didn’t mind- he felt most at home being the scope of a rifle.
He never saw Moriarty, but sometimes he felt him there. Sebastian had gotten very good at recognizing that persistent, unshakable feeling of being breathless- prey, stuck in a trap, helpless. That was what Moriarity felt like in his mind. At first it would leave Sebastian confused and wondering why he felt so off. It damn near made him miss a shot when he was hit with the sensation during a job.
But slowly, he started to recognize when Moriarty was looking in his head. He wasn’t so off-put anymore, quickly able to gather his senses and focus on the task at hand.
Even better, he had started to be able to clear his mind. Countless people on online forums had tips for tricking telepaths, either by distracting them or controlling your own thoughts, and they were easy enough for Sebastian to employ. Hell, half of them weren’t too far then what he learned in the army. Once or twice, he could’ve sworn he felt Moriarity’s amusement while he was doing so, but that could’ve just been Sebastian’s imagination
Despite the blatant violation of privacy, it was nice to be able to work under one person. He didn’t have to worry about finding his next job, or whether or not they’d be reliable enough to cough up the money (or whether they’d be dead by the time he came to collect). He just had to wait for a text.
One thing he did note, however, was that almost everyone he was assigned was related to superhumans in some sense. Sebastian didn’t have a problem with that, of course. He had made a career of it. At first he just thought that Moriarty needed someone willing to take those unpopular jobs. But that didn’t explain why he was assigned to shoot politicians vocally advocating for addressing superhumans, as well as several scientists working on research related to superhuman abilities. Moriarity was keeping him busy putting bullets in the heads of everyone with any sort of stake in superhuman policy. The targets fell all over the political spectrum with no clear pattern.
Maybe Moriarty was invested in politics, or trying to create a power vacuum. Maybe he simply didn’t like people trying to bring more visibility to superhumans- understandable for a superhuman operating entirely in the shadows.
Whatever the case, it didn’t change his job. Sebastian could wonder about the man's motivations and methodology all he wanted, but at the end of the day he would still pull the trigger without a second thought.
Sebastian wasn’t expecting to see Moriarity in person again. He was wrong.
He was at a bar, listening to some football game and considering starting some meaningless fight with an asshole who couldn’t take the bartender’s repeated hints, when he got a notification. He knew who it would be
Have a job for you. Arrive at the following location tomorrow at 2. Wear something nice. -JM
Attached was a link to an upscale restaurant that Sebastian vaguely recognized. Maybe one he'd been to when he was younger on one of the many occasions his father tried to teach him table manners. Or he was just getting all of those places confused again- they tended to run together in his mind.
Did he have a suit to wear? He had to, right? But thinking about it, when was the last time he had worn a suit? Did he even bring one to his apartment when he moved in?
...He wouldn't bet money on it.
Sebastian sighed. He liked this job arrangement because it was easy, and he didn't have to talk to people. Buying a suit to go to some stuffy dinner wasn't part of that.
He toyed with the idea of ignoring the message and spending the next day sleeping off a well-earned hangover. Unfortunately, he knew even as he finished off his drink that it would be his last.
It didn't take him long to get home- the route from the closest bars to his apartment was too familiar for him to openly admit, and he could've made it in his sleep.
His door was definitely locked- he knew that because he had to fumble with the keys that he always seemed to struggle with (which was stupid, since he had no problems with the intricate mechanisms in a rifle). His windows were all locked as well- they hadn't been opened since he signed the lease.
Yet as soon as he crossed the threshold, he knew someone had been there. Sure, the apartment was just like he left it- immaculately so. Everything locked, nothing disturbed. Part of him was convinced he could dust for prints and find nothing.
Except for the sharp tang of cologne hanging in the air. It definitely wasn't his. The only bottle he owned (an old, half-empty bottle of some cheap brand he still had from high school) was nothing like this. What was in the air had a hint of spice to it, and probably several other notes that someone else could pick up on. It was expensive- he could tell that much.
Sebastian walked the rest of the way into the apartment, quietly closing the door. He didn't go for his concealed carry, or even ready himself for a fight. He had a nagging feeling he knew who had been there- and even more so, that whoever it was, wasn't there anymore.
Nothing was out of place until he got to his bedroom. Laying on top of his bed (which was neatly made, a habit he couldn't break no matter how much he had tried) was a suit. It was a simple but designer, and Sebastian had a strong feeling that it was custom made and tailored. He didn't know how Moriarity had gotten his measurements, but it wasn't like a telepath had many issues when it came to getting information.
Some part of him was annoyed at the blatant breach of his privacy. Not only had the man repeatedly been spying into his mind, but now he was breaking into his house? It wasn't a palace, to be sure, but it was his . Shouldn't that count for something?
But a bigger part of him was amused. Had Moriarity read his mind, knowing that he didn't have a suit? Or did he simply not trust the hitman's judgment when it came to apparel?
Sebastian snorted. He half-considered buying his own suit now, just to piss the man off. Wouldn't that be grand?
Instead, he hung the suit in his closet (as opposed to throwing it on top of his dresser like the rest of his clothes). As he did so, he noticed that along with the suit was a folded pair of nice white gloves.
Sebastian grimaced, looking down at his hand. He had several burn scars over his body, in stripes that resembled long marks down his back and side. Those could be easily hidden by his shirt, but the ones on his right hand were almost always visible.
Vanity had never been high on Sebastian’s list of concerns, so he didn’t bother with trying to cover up. Some women even found the scars attractive. But had Moriarty noticed and wanted him to hide them? Did he not want to be seen with a scarred man?
He shook his head. Panicking like an insecure schoolboy was pathetic, and he wasn’t going to stoop to that level. Instead, he laid down in bed, hoping to sleep.
If only Moriarty had left him a bottle of whiskey, too.
- / - / - / - / - / - / - / - / - / - / - / - / -
Sebastian arrived ten minutes early, standing silently by where he was told to wait. He got a few odd stares- try as he might, he couldn’t help but look like a soldier on duty wherever he went. And with the suit on, he most definitely resembled a bodyguard.
Moriarty arrived twenty minutes late, on the dot. He seemed entirely unbothered by his own lateness, however.
In the abandoned building where they first met, Moriarty had looked like some sort of ephemeral pretty boy. Now, he reminded Sebastian of a celebrity who knew he could arrive hours later and still have the guests kissing his feet. He only acknowledged Sebastian with a slight, nearly imperceptible nod of the head.
“Did you send it at the wrong time?” Sebastian asked innocently in a low tone as he took his spot behind Moriarity. It wasn’t exactly smart to mouth off to a man with power over the mind and access to highly trained killers, but Sebastian had never been called smart, and he wasn’t looking to change that anytime soon.
“I said to arrive here at two. I never said that I would be here ,” he hummed. “I thought you might absorb some manners by sitting there and waiting. Clearly it didn’t work.”
“It's cute you thought you thought you’d be the one to teach me manners.”
“Aww, you think I’m cute?”
Sebastian didn’t respond, allowing Moriarty to walk ahead. The two entered the restaurant. Nearly everything was gilded with gold and the lush carpet seemed entirely too lavish for Sebastian’s taste. A waitress seemed to recognize them on sight, nodding her head and gesturing for them to follow.
While he didn’t have much experience as a bodyguard, he had the understanding he was supposed to be scanning the area for safety risks (mainly angry people with big guns), but it was hard to focus on anything except Moriarty.
The man carried himself with a boundless energy, as if at any moment he was going to break into dance or lunge across a table to attack someone. But more than that, his body was… nice. His tailored suit was clearly designed to show off his form (as well as hide the gun he had, hidden to most eyes). He was slender in a way that made Sebastian feel like he could easily snap his wrist in two, but with an air of danger that suggests if Sebastian tried, there would be a knife in his neck before he got a chance. What did it say about him that the danger made him more excited than anything?
He realized with a start that he could feel Moriarty watching. Not with his physical eyes of course, but he could feel him in his mind.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that's rude?” Sebastian muttered, not wanting the waitress leading them to their table to overhear. The waitress still gave them a glance, and at first he thought she must have heard something, but she went back to navigating the restaurant soon enough. He was just paranoid.
“Fantasizing about your boss is rude. Of course, I’m flattered, but very offended.”
Sebastian was tempted to roll his eyes, but abstained.
The waitress showed them to a private table, gesturing for them to sit. It was framed by a window overlooking the city, with yellow flickering lights reminding Sebastian of the tongues of distant flames. A pair of businessmen in expensive suits were already seated, exchanging hushed tones. Their empty glasses suggested they had been waiting even longer than Sebastian had.
Moriarty dropped himself into the seat, crossing one leg on top of the other. He seemed entirely unbothered by the disgruntled expressions of the tablemates. Sebastian stood behind him, doing his best to look like a professional bodyguard and not a bored ex-soldier.
“We usually do not tolerate lateness from prospective clients, but for a man of your reputation, we are willing to put aside such behavior,” one of the men spoke, his voice laced with a French accent.
“Oh, how generous of you!” Moriarty feigned gratitude, placing a hand on his chest. “I would simply have no idea what to do if two men like yourselves couldn’t find a place in your hearts to forgive me.”
The two men shared a glance, clearly uncomfortable with his demeanor.
One of them cleared his throat. “Well, ah, you wanted to discuss using our service? How many units are you interested in purchasing?”
Moriarty picked up the faux-silver knife from the table. He twirled it between his fingers for quite some time, allowing the silence to settle uncomfortably. The waitress offered them more drinks, but no one dared to respond aside from a shake of the head. Once he was satisfied with the atmosphere he had created, he tapped it against the glass, as if preparing a toast.
“I would love to discuss your service.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand to give the impression that he was giving his full attention. “Tell me. Who else do you sell to?”
The men looked uncomfortable and put-off by the question. Finally, the French one spoke up.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Oh, you don’t see how it's relevant, do you?” Moriarty still sounded perfectly pleasant, but his tone had an edge. “You don’t understand why I want to know, hm? You couldn’t possibly imagine that?”
“Well-”
“ Well ,” Moriarity interrupted, not giving the man a chance to respond. “I think you’ve misunderstood the dynamic here. I don’t need you to try and understand me, I need you to listen and do what I say . Sebastian?”
Sebastian tried not to look surprised at being talked to directly instead of being treated like a dangerous statue. “Yes, boss?”
“How long would it take you to get to the office building on the corner of fifth and main?”
“Five minutes, tops.”
“And how long do you think it would take Mr. Belmont here to get ahold of his lovely wife and tell her to get somewhere safe?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Probably busy this time of day. More than five minutes.”
The French man, Belmont, looked sickly at the suggestion despite his attempts to keep a poker face. Sebastian didn’t have to be a mind reader to guess he was trying to figure out how Moriarity knew about his wife.
“What do you want to know?”
Moriarty gave him a pleasant smile. “How long have you been selling to the government, and how often do they buy from you?”
The look on the two men's faces nearly made Sebastian laugh aloud. He allowed his gaze to drift away from the table as they scrambled to tell Moriarty what he wanted to know, figuring he didn’t need to memorize the list of business transactions.
Odd. A restaurant like this should have been busier this time of night. When they entered there had been a few occupied tables, but now there was nothing, only quiet classical music playing from some unidentified source.
Something clicked in Sebastian’s head. The waitress, earlier, had set off his alarm bells. At the time he attributed it to paranoia, but what if his instincts had picked up on something subtle?
He subtly scanned around for her. There she was- twenty or so feet away. But she wasn’t serving another patron, or carrying trays. She was standing as still as a statue, with her head tilted slightly to the side. Listening. Of course, a normal human would never be able to hear that far, but superhuman senses were a common enough superhuman trait.
Moriarty gave Sebastian a subtle glance, raising an eyebrow. Sebastian didn’t have to explain what he was thinking, justify his reasoning, or explain his plans. He just had to wait for approval.
There were a few moments of consideration. Then, without much hesitation, Moriarity pulled out his gun and shot the two men. He wasn’t perfect with a gun, but Sebastian didn’t have time to critique him.
The loud, unexpected gunshots in such a quiet place had the waitress reeling, holding her hands over her ears. It only took her a few moments to begin to recover and reach for her waistband, but by then Sebastian had already closed the space between them.
He grabbed her arm, easily able to twist her arm away from whatever she was reaching for. She struggled as he subdued her, and while it didn’t amount to much, Sebastian duly noted she was impressively trained.
Knock her out .
Sebastian had obeyed before he had enough time to process the telepathic order. The waitress- or agent, or whoever, was unconscious on the floor.
Moriarity was still seated, sipping his expensive wine, watching the scene with a mild amusement. His hand was still resting on the gun, tracing the ridges as if it were a beloved pet. Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to the same amusement.
“We need to go. Now.”
“Can’t I finish my drink first?” Moriarty rolled his eyes. “God, men these days. In such a hurry.”
Sebastian felt his eye twitch. “We don’t know who she was working for. Maybe she was with the government, and alerted them. They could be on their way now. Or she was part of some crime ring and let the boss know to send his goons. Or maybe the regular cops are here. Either way, we should leave.”
“ You don’t know who she was working for.”
Sebastian paused. “Excuse me?”
“You said ‘ We don’t know who she was working for’,” Moriarity explained, using his fingers to make exaggerated air quotes. “You forget yourself, Moran.”
“I’m sorry, I guess I just figured if you had been actively reading her mind you wouldn’t have been allowing her to eavesdrop on your conversation- or, I don’t know, let me know? Use your ability in some way other than ordering me around or reading my thoughts?”
“I figured I would give you the chance to prove your bodyguarding abilities to me.”
Earlier, Sebastian had wanted to push him against a wall for a less-than-appropriate reason. Now he wanted to do so to snap his obnoxious little neck in half. He pictured it as clearly as he could, hoping Moriarity could see it in perfect detail.
“Besides,” Moriarty continued. “I don’t think you’re in a position to critique me in how I use my abilities, when you refuse to use yours.”
That gave Sebastian pause. How did Moriarty know that ? Most telepaths could only detect surface level thoughts- something you were currently thinking about. But Sebastian hadn’t thought about his power in some time. And officially speaking, Sebastian didn’t have any superhuman abilities. All records of it had been erased when he deserted.
Moriarity gave him a grin, evidently proud at silencing the man. He threw his head back, finishing off the glass of wine, before tossing the empty glass to the side and standing.
“Well, we should get out of here. Those friends she called won’t be as lovely hosts.”
Sebastian watched Moriarity leave- walking as if he was leaving a perfectly pleasant dinner party. The man was infuriating. He didn’t respect Sebastian’s privacy or respect him as an equal. He made stupid decisions and didn’t seem to listen.
If Sebastian was smart, he would quit and leave.
So, of course, he followed Moriarity.