Jim [redacted] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
searchingfordistraction) wrote2012-01-31 09:35 pm
searchingfordistraction) wrote2012-01-31 09:35 pm
Entry tags:
movie night
The first time Sebastian Moran found Jim Moriarty in his flat at two in the morning, he nearly shot his new boss out of sheer reflex.
These days, when he hears noises out in the living room in the wee hours, he doesn't even bother reaching for his gun. He just pulls on his dressing gown to check that he hasn't left anything out there he especially likes. Usually, when Jim makes his nocturnal visits, it's to work on a project he's decided he hasn't got space for in his own flat, and usually at least once something gets broken when Jim hits a tricky bit.
Tonight, Jim is crosslegged on the floor, working intently away and surrounded by what appear to be computer parts. He's got the telly on.
"What're we watching tonight, then?" Moran asks, casually snagging a mug that hadn't made it to the kitchen and putting it on the top shelf of his bookcase. "Not bloody Doctor Who again, is it?"
He's mildly surprised to get an answer. He is not at all surprised it doesn't make sense.
"Don't need Doctor Who anymore."
"Thank Christ for small favors." He's stepped far enough into the living room now to see that Jim has left precisely one of the sofa's three cushions clear of computer bits, which is as blatant a request for Moran to join him as he ever gets.
(A request, not an order; an order would be verbal. Still not optional, but then he'd never dream of telling Jim no.)
Moran sits, leaning forward to snag the DVD case sitting on the coffee table.
Matilda.
"Milliways?" he asks. Must be. Jim doesn't really have a usual type of film, but if he did, American adaptations of modern classics of British children's literature wouldn't be it.
"I promised her a laptop."
Which, Moran sees now, Jim is building himself. She must have made quite the impression.
He settles back to watch the film.
It doesn't take long to see what it was about Matilda Wormwood that so appealed to Jim. The film loses no time in establishing her brilliance, her hunger for mental stimulation, her parents' negligence, her parents' -
Ah.
"Get up. Get up. Get out here. Gimme that book."
Moran very carefully keeps his eyes on the screen as the scene unfolds, watching Matilda's family berate her for her intelligence until she retreats and cries softly into her book. He doesn't let his glance so much as flicker toward Jim, doesn't acknowledge the way Jim goes still and quiet.
The next scene, with Matilda's father tearing into her for displaying her mathematical proficiency, doesn't help. Even with the subsequent scenes showcasing Matilda's triumphant revenge, it takes nearly ten minutes for Jim to start working again. He slows down a few more times after that, but nothing else in the film, not even the most vicious displays from Agatha Trunchbull, trip him up like those few moments of abuse from Matilda's father.
Jim doesn't talk about his past, not even to Moran, but it doesn't take a genius to work certain things out. Things like where the cigarette burn scars on his back and shoulders came from; why he reacts so badly to having his brilliance questioned by idiots (he can hide his reaction when need be, but one of his darker moods will never be far behind); why Irene Adler, the only person who has managed to be his friend since they were young and who Moran has never seen indicate that she gives even the smallest shit about anyone else, is so intensely protective of him. (The most terrifying hour of Seb Moran's life was not from his time with the army, or any of his jobs for Jim; it was when Irene, upon realizing the status Moran was gaining in Jim's life, took him out to dinner to determine his intentions toward her best friend.)
And it's not hard to draw conclusions about why Jim didn't want to watch this movie alone.
These days, when he hears noises out in the living room in the wee hours, he doesn't even bother reaching for his gun. He just pulls on his dressing gown to check that he hasn't left anything out there he especially likes. Usually, when Jim makes his nocturnal visits, it's to work on a project he's decided he hasn't got space for in his own flat, and usually at least once something gets broken when Jim hits a tricky bit.
Tonight, Jim is crosslegged on the floor, working intently away and surrounded by what appear to be computer parts. He's got the telly on.
"What're we watching tonight, then?" Moran asks, casually snagging a mug that hadn't made it to the kitchen and putting it on the top shelf of his bookcase. "Not bloody Doctor Who again, is it?"
He's mildly surprised to get an answer. He is not at all surprised it doesn't make sense.
"Don't need Doctor Who anymore."
"Thank Christ for small favors." He's stepped far enough into the living room now to see that Jim has left precisely one of the sofa's three cushions clear of computer bits, which is as blatant a request for Moran to join him as he ever gets.
(A request, not an order; an order would be verbal. Still not optional, but then he'd never dream of telling Jim no.)
Moran sits, leaning forward to snag the DVD case sitting on the coffee table.
Matilda.
"Milliways?" he asks. Must be. Jim doesn't really have a usual type of film, but if he did, American adaptations of modern classics of British children's literature wouldn't be it.
"I promised her a laptop."
Which, Moran sees now, Jim is building himself. She must have made quite the impression.
He settles back to watch the film.
It doesn't take long to see what it was about Matilda Wormwood that so appealed to Jim. The film loses no time in establishing her brilliance, her hunger for mental stimulation, her parents' negligence, her parents' -
Ah.
"Get up. Get up. Get out here. Gimme that book."
Moran very carefully keeps his eyes on the screen as the scene unfolds, watching Matilda's family berate her for her intelligence until she retreats and cries softly into her book. He doesn't let his glance so much as flicker toward Jim, doesn't acknowledge the way Jim goes still and quiet.
The next scene, with Matilda's father tearing into her for displaying her mathematical proficiency, doesn't help. Even with the subsequent scenes showcasing Matilda's triumphant revenge, it takes nearly ten minutes for Jim to start working again. He slows down a few more times after that, but nothing else in the film, not even the most vicious displays from Agatha Trunchbull, trip him up like those few moments of abuse from Matilda's father.
Jim doesn't talk about his past, not even to Moran, but it doesn't take a genius to work certain things out. Things like where the cigarette burn scars on his back and shoulders came from; why he reacts so badly to having his brilliance questioned by idiots (he can hide his reaction when need be, but one of his darker moods will never be far behind); why Irene Adler, the only person who has managed to be his friend since they were young and who Moran has never seen indicate that she gives even the smallest shit about anyone else, is so intensely protective of him. (The most terrifying hour of Seb Moran's life was not from his time with the army, or any of his jobs for Jim; it was when Irene, upon realizing the status Moran was gaining in Jim's life, took him out to dinner to determine his intentions toward her best friend.)
And it's not hard to draw conclusions about why Jim didn't want to watch this movie alone.