Chapter Text
Sebastian, for he was Sebastian now to Jim, was taken back by the army the moment he was deemed healthy. This time none of them vanished in a dramatic and angst fuelling way. Contacts were exchanged and Jim even put him into his train.
Time went on ticking. Jim passed his degree and was recruited on a professor’s capacity in an extraordinary fashion for his work during his Ph.D. He’d been very proud of his first paper and even sent a paper copy to Sebastian. Not that the man got much out of it. He quickly became a recognized figure in his tightly knitted community, and moved about quite a lot. On one memorable occasion, he’d been to a conference nearby where Sebastian was positioned and they had an indecent amount of sex. Apparently, Moran had gone a bit nuts at seeing Jim finally rid of the last scraps of his teenage years’ awkwardness.
And then there was the business. It was going well. Expanding further. Jim was just melting slowly into the shadows of the underworld and before people took notice, he was behind them and whispering in their ear. His position was shaky, and he walked it like a tightrope walker his rope. With gracious agility and a crazy fuckin' lot of self-confidence. And it was enough to fool people and to start the myth. Of course, there were never many details in their correspondence. Nothing compromising. But Moran had learned to read in between the lines and he liked how Jim sounded.
Everything was fine. That is, before things went down into a nightmare on Moran’s side. They got flanked and the new recruits panicked... And somehow everything went from bad to worst, down and down until he hit the bottom end of a dirty, hot and narrow cell.
--
Something changed, that day in the coffee shop. Sebastian wasn't sure what he said to make it so, but it changed for the better. There was still the undercurrent of electricity and lightning that seemed to float around Jim, even if he was the only one who noticed it and got shocked, but there was also something else. Some sort of steady resolve.
Jim sent him off to war with a kiss and a promise to keep in touch.
And he did, which was both a surprise and a relief. Their letters and emails weren't deep, he was SAS and they regulated and read his things and they both knew it, but he could read between the lines and was happy to learn of his degree, his advances. By the time Jim was a professor, he'd made Colonel. He didn't understand much of his publication but he'd crowed loudly when he let his troop have extra drinks that night and they'd ruffled his hair and slapped his back and said he was whipped by a nerd and that his boyfriend was dating a meathead. He didn't correct them about the nerd thing, because it was kinda true and he chuckled too, but only because he was laughing at the fact that he knew Jim was building something they'd never even dream of. He didn't correct them about the boyfriend thing because... well, it wasn't (?) true and it didn't matter either way because he wasn't leaving the man even if they weren't fucking.
Which changed when he learned that Jim was at some smart people math thing the town over where he stationed. He'd never requested leave before, he didn't really have a place to go before seeing Jim in uni and afterward the guy was busy and Seb was kept equally busy. He'd take it when they told him he had to, when it was regulation, but he never really got the chance to go back to England for it. But when he learned Jim was going to be less than 100km away? He was outside his superior's office at the crack of dawn, demanding the full two weeks he was supposed to get yearly. Enough arm bending and he got it.
And christ was he pleased. Jim had grown, he'd settled into his skin and lost all that ganglyness. He was slick and cool and there was a confidence he hadn't had before and he was in a goddamn suit and Sebastian thought he might blow a load in his pants when he saw him. He'd dragged him to Jim's room and the man had to quite literally tie him to the bed to escape getting jumped so he could get dressed and go to his conference.
Not that he minded too much, though the ropes coulda been a little looser...
It was great. Things were great, they were great. He loved it, loved everything minute of it.
And then everything went to shit and he was going to be killed.
They'd raided a mujahedin camp, a smaller base. It was supposed to be easy, but a newbie tripped a mine and then the whole camp knew they were there. It'd been like shooting fish in a barrel, they were in a goddamn minefield and the poor fuckin' kids had scattered and the ones who didn't get blown up got shot down. He wasn't stupid, he knew how things were going down and he had enough experience to know how hostage negotiations went down. They'd beat him and try to get information from him but they'd turn him over once they got paid and what they wanted, and he knew they'd be given what they wanted. They wouldn't leave him behind.
And then he and five others got transported to a large camp.
And then the people in charge of getting them out got footage of two of their guys getting executed and he knew how it went down. Numbers were run somewhere, in an office. And the fuckers in charge decided that the four soldiers left there in that hellhole weren't worth the manpower and the asset drain to get them out. They'd been left for dead. Two of his guys got sick, the conditions weren't good and their wounds got infected. Shrapnel from the field, plus the whipping and the lashes, long stripes on all their backs until their flesh was in shreds. The dust was everywhere, red and gritty and it sunk into the wounds and itched and he wasn't surprised when they died and it was just him and another guy.
It was supposed to be an easy job. And easy raid. They'd sent him in with a team of mostly new guys, they weren't strong enough, they weren't prepared. He was though, but he knew how it'd end. He had information and they got it from him. They had all the time in the world to get it out of him and he was going to die there. Trading secrets of the people who'd sentenced him to death in exchange for a bit of relief, a little less suffering was worth it. The other guy was tougher than his other troops had been, but he was losing it. Talking to himself. Sebastian kept quiet, whenever he was awake. He sat, mostly, because his chest was raw and red and his back was on fire. His legs had been sliced and cut and burned by cigarettes and he'd been poked and prodded and hung by his wrists and ankles and sitting was the least painful.
He spent his time rethinking of memories. He'd expected to get injured, medic'd out. Or maybe retiring, when Jim asked him to come work for him. Once everything was stable. He dreamt and daydreamed of things he could have had. Of maybe sharing a flat with Jim. Cooking breakfast and making him eat it. Listening to his stupid rants and ruffling his hair and watching him eat the weirdest, sugariest things. He was sick and he ached, every inch of skin felt raw and his bones burned and he knew it was only time before whatever he was sick with took him or they got fed up and killed him. He wondered how Jim reacted when he'd heard he was a POW. When they told him he'd been declared KIA, body unrecoverable.
He wondered if he cried at all. He hoped not. That'd be weird.
When the door was opened, the heavy metal sliding back and him and Henry grabbed, he knew something was different. They were yelling and talking and angry and they never bothered to take both of them out before. They were dragged towards the courtyard and he knew exactly what that meant. That's where they'd kill the first two, and that's where they'd kill them. He waited until he got out of the tunnels to struggle and try to make a break for it. Even if his head felt stuffed with cotton and he hadn't eaten a goddamn thing more than some fuckin' bread in four weeks he wasn't going to let them kill him so easily. But those things worked against him, he'd been kept in a tiny dark room and he was sick and weak and the asshole he punched recovered and knocked him in the head with the butt of his gun.
He'd always been told his skull was thick and it must be because it didn't knock him out. His head swam though, as they dragged them out. The sun hurt his eyes, the blood dripping down into his lashes and making things look red. It was easier to just close his eyes and wait.
The muffled talking went on forever but his brain didn't bother to translate, it didn't matter. And then a hand was gripping his hair, pulling his head up painfully and he heard... no, that wasn't... it was Jim but it wasn't, it was something else, cool oil and snakes in sand and coal dissolved in saltwater. "This one's half dead. I won't pay full price for that." Yup, his head swam, that was Jim. His head was dropped, the grip gone and even then he couldn't bother to pay attention, he just... whatever it was, he just had to hope it'd work out. That Jim would save him. Well. Not Jim, he supposed.
Moriarty .
Eventually, there was an agreement, because he heard Jim clapping way too close to his face and a maddening, gleeful voice. "Load up the merchandise, boys! And make sure they don't bleed on my seats," he purred at the end, wiping the blood away from Sebastian's eye.
In all honesty, he didn't remember anything of the trip back to England. Someone stuck him with something and then he was out like a light, waking up feeling like a mummy in some goddamn room he didn't recognize. His eyes cracked open and... fuck, there was Jim, in his suit and on his laptop and... he felt a tear slid down in his face. "Hey," he croaked, and his lips cracked when he smiled when Jim looked up with a startled expression. Fuck, his throat hurt.
"Gonna kip on your couch for a bit."
--
He passed out again, missing Jim's expression. It was precious though, as few people ever caught Jim either startled or out of his depth. He shrugged it off, with a shake of his head. He'd get used to it soon enough, as there was no way he'd let his Tiger out of the radar again. His hand clenched around the phone he was typing on for a second, as the realization of how close he'd managed Sebastian's survival.
He sent the last few orders and confirmations and set the phone aside, looking at his sleeping guest. In a few hours both Moran's old regiments and the men that had taken him prisoner would be wiped out. It was a statement and a power play. An introduction.
Jim Moriarty did not fight back. He just didn't. He struck.