and honey

Jim's never brought a guest back from Milliways before. It hasn't seemed worth bothering with.

But he has visited Matilda's home several times, and traditionally speaking it is only polite to return the favor.

More importantly, she asked, and the reasons to say no were far outweighed by the reasons to say yes.

This kind of shit is exactly why Seb Moran doesn't like Milliways.

It all begins well enough. Jim turns up with a couple DVDs at what is, for them, a reasonable hour. He even brings takeaway in his usual haphazard fashion: enough food for half a dozen people, a variety of appetizers and entrees that don't go together. It's what happens when a man who cares about neither the cost nor the taste of his food does the ordering. Moran is long since used to it. He also knows that it's not so much a polite gesture as it is a way of warding off his inquiries into when exactly it was Jim last ate. Still, it's not the worst start to an evening.

Then he sees the DVDs' covers.

Fucking Milliways. It's all well and good for Jim, not minding that their whole world only exists because some bastard in some other reality decided an idea he'd had would make a cracking detective story, but Moran minds. Moran minds very fucking much. This shit was not in the job description when he signed on.

But he knows by heart the blankly uncomprehending look he'll get if he tries to complain, so he just pours himself an extra-large whiskey and keeps his mouth shut.

The first movie isn't so bad. The fact that the people on the screen don't look anything like the people in this world makes it easier for Moran to pretend they're just watching some flashy popcorn flick. Jim casually predicts each of Blackwood's tricks through mouthfuls of takeaway as they play out, with the occasional complaint about excessively obtuse scriptwriting mistaking itself for clever, but he's always doing that with movies. Moran learnt long ago that if he wanted to be surprised by a plot twist, he'd have to watch alone. It's a good sign, though, more encouraging than their last movie night; Jim even sits on the couch next to him, foot tucked up with his knee resting against Moran's thigh, rather than isolated down on the floor like before. Moran can feel the way his focus sharpens every time Irene Adler is onscreen, but that's no surprise. It'd be odd if Jim's devotion to Irene didn't bleed across the universal divides.

There is one sticky moment about half an hour in, when Irene is conferring with the shadowy figure in the cab.

"Ugh, really?" Jim mutters. Moran glances at him, then realizes,

"Wait, is that meant to be you?"

"A cheap imitation." Most would only hear the scorn in Jim's voice, but Moran knows him well enough to catch the anger tucked carefully away underneath it.

He pays closer attention after that.

There's another scene with Irene and the shadowy Moriarty in the first film, but Jim doesn't offer much of a reaction to it; it isn't until the beginning of the second, when Irene meets Moriarty (who has a flagrantly different voice) in a restaurant, that Moran feels Jim shift. It's subtle, with no outward change, but it's something Moran learnt quickly to pick up on - the split second when Jim goes from calm observer to ready to kill.

The reason why becomes clear with the end of the scene. It's written ambiguously, but the offscreen crash of china and retching sound spell Irene's fate out obviously enough. Moran is still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of a world where James Moriarty would kill Irene Adler when Jim says conversationally,

"She's fine. She made it to Milliways. I took her to the infirmary myself."

"Glad to hear it," Moran says, in all sincerity.

Jim leans forward, placing the takeaway carton he's been eating from on the coffeetable. When he sits back, he ends up much closer to Moran.

"My double is an idiot," he says, "but I'm told yours is much better."

"Right," Moran says, then, "What?"

Jim exhales a quietly amused sound, leaning his cheek against Moran's shoulder. "Of course you're in this one. Where would Moriarty be without his Moran?"

"I'll tell you where he's about to be with his Moran," he mutters. Jim ignores him.

Jim seems to take it as a mortal insult that his double is so foolish, so complacent, so disinterested in the details that would have saved him. By the end of the movie, though, Moran thinks it's a hell of a lot more unsettling to have a double who does everything he'd do himself.

Fucking Milliways.