searchingfordistraction

Matilda shows up in Milliways with a bright smile, a backpack containing her laptop, and a resolution not to use magic in front of anyone unless Jim says it is okay.

(Not using magic in front of people is hard. It's gotten harder since she started learning it properly. Lavender is telekinetic now, and Matilda is waiting until the time is right to introduce her to the more destructive powers; she knows she tends to overestimate other children sometimes and if she overestimates Lavender's ability to maturely handle fireballs and lightning bolts, the consequences could be pretty brutal.)

He grins when he sees her.

"Ready?"

"Yep!"

This is going to be so much fun.

The Door opens into Seb's flat - Milliways chose to turn up during one of the rare occasions when Jim decided to pay a visit during the day instead of the middle of the night.

(This might just be because Jim's flat is not furnished for company. Or much at all. He uses it for things that are far more valuable and interesting than extraneous furniture.)

It doesn't take her very long at all to decide that this isn't Jim's place. It just isn't... Jim-like.

"Whose house is this?" she asks, turning a full circle to look at the entire living room. (She has a theory, but you never know.)

"Mine."

Moran was not all that concerned about hearing the door open to guests he definitely hadn't let in; Jim's the only other person with a key to his flat, and the only person period capable of breaking in when he forgets his key (or, more likely, doesn't bother with it), which is most of the time.

Which is why, when he appears, he is not holding a gun.

He does look slightly disconcerted by Jim's company, but that passes within a second or two.

"You must be Matilda." He recognizes her from the movie, and while Jim isn't exactly big on sharing Milliways stories, her name has tended to crop up in conversation every now and then. "Sebastian Moran. Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, hi!"

She smiles at him.

"Yep, that's me. It's nice to meet you too. Jim's mentioned you once or twice."

And he's in the books, but she's not completely sure the books are a safe subject, and considering Jim, she's also not going to take them as a source of reliable information.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Even with six-year-olds, dry (when not flat-out sarcastic) is Moran's default state.

Not like she's a normal six-year-old, anyway.

Behind Matilda, Jim's mobile goes off. It's a business call; Moran can tell by the way in which the ringtone is not the kind of cheesy disco Irene likes to program in whenever she gets a chance. She only does that for her own number. Business contacts get left out of it.

Jim answers it promptly, disappearing into another room, and Moran knows without being told that he's temporarily designated babysitter.

Thank god she's not a normal six-year-old.

"That's gonna be a few minutes," he says. "Like a cup of tea while you wait?" It's the only beverage he has in the house that's anywhere near appropriate to offer a kid, normal or not.

"Sure," she says agreeably. "Thanks!"

She's acting reasonably normal, except for the part where she came here with Jim through an interdimensional bar.

"Not a problem," he says. "Kitchen's in through here."

He pulls out his own mobile to fire off a quick text on the way:

Jim's brought Matilda by.

Irene knows how to extract stories from Jim. She'll have heard all about Matilda by now and will never bloody forgive Moran if he doesn't send that text.

And he'd just as soon avoid being on her bad side.

Matilda trots along after him. (If she'd figured out how to look at things that aren't in her line of sight, she might read that text, but she hasn't. And it would probably be rude. Although, given that he's friends with Jim, Sebastian must be used to geniuses spying on him.)

Honestly? He's all but forgotten how to deal with people who have manners.

The answering text comes as he's filling the kettle; he visibly braces himself as the vibration goes off a split second before the ringtone starts.

Tearin' up my heart and soul
We're apart, I feel it too
And no matter what I do I feel the pain
Without or without you

The worst part is, he's fairly certain he knows which band that is. Fucking Irene. He should not be able to identify late nineties boybands, for fuck's sake.

"You're repeating yourself," he mutters.

The message itself reads: Try not to let them leave in the next 20 minutes.

"Why does your phone play music you don't like?" wonders Matilda. Speaking of absent manners.

"Because Irene Adler thinks she's funny."

Moran disagrees, but he lost that battle before it started. If even Jim can't keep his mobile out of Irene's hands, Moran hasn't got a chance.

Matilda giggles.

She tries not to! But she does.

He allows himself to smile wryly.

At least this time it didn't go off in front of someone he's meant to be intimidating.

"Looks like she's going to stop by," he says, getting mugs out of the cupboard. "She's keen to meet you. People Jim actually likes are generally worth meeting." They are very few and exceedingly far between.

"I know," says Matilda. "There's not very many of us."

"'San exclusive club."

To say the least.

(He also happens to think it's a good one to be in.)

"I got in by having an unmeasurable IQ," Matilda says cheerfully. "What'd you do?"

Inappropriate answers to this question include: Shot people with lethal aim whenever Jim told me to.

He pauses, searching for something a bit more kid-friendly.

"Didn't get chased off, mostly," is what he settles on. It is, at heart, a more accurate answer, anyway.

She grins. Clearly this is perfectly understandable.

"He's nice to me, but I don't think he's nice to a lot of people," she says wisely. "And I bet he's hard to keep up with."

"I do a lot of nodding without actually listening," Moran agrees.

He's long since learnt how to tell the difference between when listening is important and when it's frankly easier for both of them if he doesn't bother trying to follow what Jim is saying.

The kettle clicks; he pours out the water, then investigates the fridge to see if the milk is still good.

Matilda giggles at the mental image this presents.

"My friends do that too, sometimes, but I try to stay on their level so they don't have to."

There is plenty of fun to be had there. Newts, for example, are totally comprehensible to your average six-year-old.

The milk is acceptable. He puts it on the counter.

"That," he says, "is because you have manners."

"You're funny," she declares. "I like you. I'm glad you're Jim's friend."

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