the_story_teller | For Jim Moriarty

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For Jim Moriarty

Richard's found himself in the bar again, which is something he seems to be doing more and more these days. It throws him off his guard a bit less each time it happens, and takes him less time to adjust to suddenly not being where he's meant to be.

And at least this time, he's himself, so the risk of getting sucker-punched and getting a second black eye to match the first is, in theory, smaller.

Today, he was on his way home from a rehearsal for a small show he's in when the bar found him. Once over the initial brief shock at walking into his flat and finding not his flat, Richard makes his way up to the Bar and orders a coffee before settling down to read one of the books he'd recently picked up. He's already finished the first one and is about halfway through the second, determined to find the story where his name comes up.

He's starting to think it's going to prove Mr Moriarty right and never come up at all.

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Yeah, well. Not everyone can do insane maths proofs in their heads.

Richard takes a few moments to put together everything he's heard from people over the last few days.

"Is he in any of those stories?" he asks finally. "I haven't seen that name come up yet either. Or in any of the movies."

Jim watches him as he thinks. It's cute, like an especially thick puppy.

"No," he says, "he seems to be strictly an adaptational invention."

Not unlike Rich, though he doesn't say as much. May as well make him work for it.

"How many of the movies have you seen?"

"Uh, two," says Richard, before adding helpfully, "and the television show."

He picks up his knapsack and pulls a stack of DVD cases from it. The first one being an all-too-familiar packaging that's been being passed around the bar like the latest STI, and the other two featuring someone Jim may find rather familiar. After a brief moment's hesitation, he offers them all to Jim.

He accepts all of them, including his adaptation. For Matilda's benefit. He's seen her adaptation, after all, and he's heard rumors about turnabout being fair play.

(It doesn't occur to him to wonder if it's appropriate viewing for a six-year old. Why wouldn't it be?)

His expression freezes very briefly when he looks at the first movie's cover. Holmes's isn't the only familiar face.

"Is the Professor as much of an idiot in these as I've heard?" His voice oozes disdain, spiked with a healthy (or, given the identity of the speaker, perhaps unhealthy) dose of anger.

Richard very suddenly and very deliberately avoids eye contact.

I, uhm, sort of had some questions about that, actually," he says. "If that's all right, that is."

He'd hate to touch on an uncomfortable subject again. It was scary enough the first time.

Jim raises an eyebrow.

Go ahead, Rich. He's waiting.

Oh, this is awkward. All the awkward. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all.

The longer it takes him to frame his first question, the more difficult it becomes to ask it at all.

"Well, I guess, why?" he finally asks. "Mr Holmes says that this whole thing between the two of us — I mean, you and him — is because of boredom, but... there's more to that, isn't there?"

He sounds almost hopeful, like he doesn't think boredom is sufficient reason to do half of what he knows is coming.

"Should there be?"

Jim's tone is mild as milk.

There are two things Richard has always been good at: falling into a new role, and getting people to feel important enough that they don't have to prove just how important they are.

"I guess not," he says. "But I guess — you two are both really smart. I mean it. I couldn't do half of what you can, and I'm not even going to pretend that I can. I guess I just thought it would be more intellectual, maybe?"

"What, we should write proofs at each other? He who publishes most wins? If I'd wanted to play that game" - he holds up a movie DVD - "I'd be him.

"I prefer slightly higher stakes. Hardly worth getting up in the morning otherwise."

Sometimes he doesn't.

"Well, no. I mean...I don't know."

Like he said. He's not even going to pretend.

"But I think that might be why I'm not really getting it. I don't really know why I — me — whatever. Why I'm doing all of it."

He doesn't seem like he's about to run, but he doesn't exactly look comfortable with the situation, either. He really should have just kept quiet.

"You won't," he says, bluntly.

"You're ordinary, Richard. Ordinary people don't know what real boredom is. You're too dull. You think twenty minutes in a waiting room is the height of tedium."

He frowns, thoughtful, as something occurs to him.

"We're in Milliways," he murmurs. "There must be some way to show you."

"Yeah, well. If we were all geniuses, then you'd just be ordinary." It's obvious sarcasm, but without any real bite to it; just some he says automatically.

When Jim speaks about trying to show Richard whatever's on his mind, he can't help a self-conscious look over his shoulder.

That isn't even worth the effort of a scathing look, so it doesn't get one.

Jim pats the Bar.

"Help us out, darling? . . . I'll behave, I promise," he adds after a moment, when nothing is forthcoming. "Lock me out if I'm not a perfect gentleman with this one."

There is a distinct impression that, if Bar had eyes, she would be rolling them, but a room key appears. Jim snatches it up before she can change her mind.

"Thank you, my dear," he coos.

There's a moment, very brief, during which Richard considers reminding Jim that there are rules around this place, and that the trust that Jim will follow them is the only thing keeping him from all but running out the door.

Of course, Jim already knows all this (how could he not?), so Richard keeps all this to himself as he watches the exchange with nervous apprehension.

"What do you mean, 'with this one'?" he asks.

Probably shouldn't have said that.

Jim looks up with a sharp smile.

"I don't do anything anyone says 'no' to."

Whether or not a 'yes' carries any true meaning is another matter entirely.

"Coming?"

Never get into cars with strangers. It's one of the first things children learn.

But Jim's not really a stranger, is he? He doesn't seem to hide much of himself at all (at least, not that Richard's noticed; what he's seen from Jim more or less matches up with what he's seen on the BBC DVDs, at least). But he is something else entirely.

"Er. OK," he says, getting up slowly and slinging his knapsack over one shoulder. "Where are we going?"

All the same, he starts following before Jim even answers.

"Room one-eleven," he says. "Sounds like one of the generic-use rooms. I expect we'll find suitable equipment in there."

Milliways is feeling cooperative today; the room in question is right near the first flight of stairs where it ought to be.

This place doesn't make any sort of sense to Richard. Not that he's done too much exploring yet, but he knows that room 111 probably shouldn't be right there.

His nervousness only increases as he watches Jim unlock the door.

"You'd let me know if I pissed you off, right?" he asks. "You're not gonna, like..."

Well, he doesn't even want to think about the end to that sentence.

"Stash your body for the cleaning staff to find?" Jim finishes for him, looking up as the door swings open.

"There was a murder here once," he says. "Once. It may not seem like it, but I do know my limits, and I am not as good as Milliways."

He pauses, then, as an afterthought,

"I've got no reason to kill you, anyway, why would I?"

"I have seen the DVDs," Richard points out. "You did put a little kid in a bomb, which is pretty fucked up."

Congratulations, Jim. You got Richard to swear.

He peers into the room, hesitant to cross the threshold.

"I'd blown up a blind old woman," he points out, unconcerned. "I had to raise the stakes somehow. Everyone clutches their pearls when a child is at risk."

The room has a decidedly scifi air, full of sleek technology that makes Jim brighten with interest as he talks.

That seems to spark some sort of memory in Richard.

"How did you know, anyway?" he asks. "The other day when we were rehearsing. That I'd worked with her before?"

Jim couldn't have researched him. Could he?

Having the distraction does seem to put him a bit more at ease; enough that he finally walks into the room and even examines some of the items on a nearby counter. He's not sure if any of them are dangerous, though, so he doesn't dare touch. He's seen enough episodes of Star Journeys to know that anything completely benign and harmless looking will kill you dead in ten minutes.

At least he's not wearing a red shirt today.

Either Jim has not watched enough episodes of - anything, ever, or he doesn't care. He's already picked up the closest item to examine it.

"Have you?" he says distractedly. "Multiversal resonance, probably. I just thought it would be funny."

"Yeah," Richard says. "I even went to school with the woman who's playing Irene. I mean, we're not super close, but I guess the pool of desperate actors is pretty small."

He looks over to see what Jim's holding in his hands, and more importantly, what he's planning on doing with it.

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