Author: the-future-librarian PM
Moran meets Moriarty in a pub. It was fate. It was also a bad idea. How fem!Moran and fem!Moriarty meet and what followed. Eventually these two get together because I can't imagine a universe in which they don't..Rated: Fiction T - English - Crime/Romance - J. Moriarty & Sebastian W./Seb - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,074 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 11 - Updated: 09-29-12 - Published: 08-06-12 - id: 8402304
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
AN: I own nothing. Any mistakes are my own, and if you notice any please let me know.
It was a bad idea from the start, but neither of them was exactly known for doing the right thing.
The pub was grimy, dark, and too full of people to be completely comfortable. But then again, she didn't really give a shit about comfortable. She'd been to Afghanistan and back. She'd seen the sand and the sun and the blood and the pain and the bodies. The only real surprise had been the sand, but well, the army didn't need to know that. Actually, it was probably best that no one found out about that. Not that she really cared. Prison couldn't be much worse than Afghanistan, could it?
The war was over for her anyway. Got shot one too many times. Shot the wrong person too many times. Dishonorable discharge, but she was never in it for the honor. Plus she learned enough to get a couple of jobs back home. Didn't know snipers got paid so well. If she had, she would have learned to shoot ages ago.
"'Ello, sweet'art. Wot's a bird like yew doin' in a place like this?"
She sighs. Not again.
"Aw, come on! Yew 'aven't e'en looked up from yer pint yet! 'Ow yew know yew ain't intrestid?"
"Aside from your atrocious grammar, your insufferable stench assures me that anytime in your company would be less than pleasurable."
She kept her eyes firmly locked on the deep amber liquid in the glass she held in front of her.
"Wot was that?" he asked, and she didn't have to know what he looked like to picture the dull confusion on his face. She'd seen it often enough.
"You're a dick. Easy enough to understand now?" she replied setting her drink down heavily.
"'Ay, 'ay! Sweet'art! No need to git feisty yet! We 'aven't e'en made it to the the bedroom!" he chuckled, one oversized meaty paw coming down and grasping her wrist.
His hand was on hers for only a moment before she was out of her seat and snatching her hand from his. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it so she could yank it upwards, towards his shoulder blades. Her other hand shot up, grabbing his head and slamming it down on the bar, knocking her nearly empty glass over. The last drops of amber foam sluggishly leaking onto the bar next to his face. And all before he managed a garbled, "Oi! Wot do yer tink yer doin'?"
The pub was dead silent as she leaned over and hissed into his ear, "Touch me again, and I'll break every bone in your hands. And if you're lucky, I'll stop there."
She pushed his arm even farther up before dropping him and sitting back down. As he scrambled away clutching his nose with his good arm, she picked up her glass and using a stray napkin, wiped up a few drops of beer and blood.
Slowly conversations began to trickle back to life. Soon enough the pub was back to its drunken chatter; the only noticeable difference was the foot of space given to that strange girl at the bar.
She raised her hand signaling for another pint and sighing gratefully when the glass landed in front of her. A sip into her drink she heard someone drop into the barstool next to her.
"That was quite a show earlier," the newcomer—a woman, Irish by the sound of it—said.
"Still not interested."
"Not what I meant, but I'll take it as a compliment." Looking up from her glass, she was met with the sight of a woman leaning against the bar eyeing up the stranger with dark, appreciative eyes. Dark hair fell around pale skin, and a black dress hugged her figure. No place to hide a weapon in sight. "Jane Moriarty. Hi," she said smirking when she saw the returning gaze.
"Moran," she replied.
"Oh, I already know who you are, darling," Moriarty said distractedly taking a scotch from the bartender.
"Oh really?" Moran said, taking another sip of her beer.
"Of course, Colonel Sebille Moran." She took a sip of her scotch. "Or should I say ex-colonel?"
Moran froze and just watched as Moriarty smirked over her glass. "What do you want?" Moran barked.
"To hire you, of course. Considering that last display, I would have hired you in an instant, but after seeing your résumé, that display put you just over the top. Extraordinary résumé, by the way."
"And where'd you get a copy of that?" she asked, face blank, but she was gripping her glass so tightly her knuckles went white.
"A friend made a recommendation. Don't worry. They aren't the type to go to undesirables."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
Moriarty smiled. "You don't, darling. That's the fun part."
"You know could have just called me," she quipped, her fingers relaxing. No cop would be so cavalier while unarmed.
"Yes, but I wanted to see what I was dealing with, and make you an offer."
"What kind of offer?"
"Long term contract. Lower pay, but a steady income. Comes with some benefits," Moriarty said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
"And if I want to quit?"
Moriarty's smile slipped into a quick, exaggerated grimace. "See, that's the problem. No take backs. That's why I have a preposition. I give you a paycheck. You work with me for a month. No other contracts, short term or otherwise. Then when a month's up you can walk away. No consequences. And if you choose to stay, we'll work something out."
Moran paused for a moment, contemplating the offer. She appraised her potential boss again. Moriarty smiled at her assessment, eyes glinting in the dim bar lights. Danger sparked in her eyes. And Moran couldn't help herself.
"I've got nothing in the works for now so," she paused and sighed, "Might as well. What's my first job, boss?"
Moriarty's smile stretched into a shark's grin. "Oh, this is where the fun begins."