RP oneshots

Selfish.

-In response to the announcement of Sebastian's death, because it broke my heart, so now everyone else gets theirs broken. -
MoranSebastian

He hoped Kate wouldn't notice the missing army jacket... or tee shirts... or boxer shorts- or anything he'd slipped out of Sebastian's things. She'd been very kind when he went over there, despite the entire situation being his fault. She didn't show that she blamed him, even though he blamed himself enough for the both of them. But she was clearly taking it hard, and she was at about the same point he was- denying it. In any way, shape, or form possible. He'd made up some half-arsed lie about files and documents, and quickly took the worn military jacket and a few other things. He couldn't remember the last time he regretted stealing something this much.
Still, he laid there, practically swimming in the tee and shorts, curled up with the army jacket. He couldn't help it- as much as he wanted to deny that Sebastian was dead, it was clear to him that the only other explanation would be worse.
Mycroft.
If Sebastian wasn't already in the hands of Death, he was likely being tortured to them. For the sake of Sebastian, he hoped the prior was true over the latter. No matter how much he wanted Sebastian to be alive, he didn't want it to be like that. He didn't want Sebastian to be suffering- not because he was so stupid. That would be worse than Sebastian dying because of his stupidity. He should've just let it go. He shouldn't have been so stubborn, or gotten so upset. This was his fault, and only his fault, and he knew it.
He curled the jacket in tighter, eyes screwing shut as he inhaled the familiar scent of gunpowder and cigarette ash. Sebastian could come from straight out of the shower, and that's still what Jim thought he smelled of, most. Whether it was just the unconscious association of it that caused it, or if Sebastian actually did, didn't matter. Because the jacket smelled of him, and he clung to it like a child would their safety blanket.
He'd been feeling it since he saw the message. The world slowly shifting back to where it had been- it always did when Sebastian left, and it always fixed itself when he returned. He always returned, but this was different. Sebastian wouldn't return, not this time, and he could feel the acceleration of the shading falling to black.
He could feel paranoia creep up his spine, and could smell the stench of a man, more drugs and alcohol than human, climb the stairs. Hear the banging as he crashed, and taste the bile rising to his throat as he felt the bed dip beside him.
The memories were filing back into their places, and he couldn't do anything to stop their teeth from sinking into him, tearing at his flesh and at his mind. He couldn't do anything about it, except clutch the jacket closer, and breathe in the familiarity. Imagine Sebastian pulling him close, and holding him.
"You promised..." He whispered into the dark abyss surrounding him, "You promised you wouldn't leave me, again..." But, in the end, Jim knew it was his own fault. He was the one who fired Sebastian, knocked over the first domino that led to the fall of the great Tiger.
Sebastian, for the sake of the sniper's own self, had to be dead. The horror he'd face if he wasn't would be more than just physical. Those few things that sparked real fear in Sebastian's eyes, those memories... they'd be relived, until he took his very. Last. Breath.
More than anything, he wanted it to all be some nightmare his mind conjured up. But the pain was too real, and the reactions of those around him too sound. He'd promised Sebastian he'd try his hardest not to hurt himself anymore, but he could feel the scars on his arms itching to be reopened, again. Did a promise still count if half the party wasn't there..?
No, he couldn't, not then.  Sebastian deserved a proper funeral, and a proper apology when it happened. He could never desecrate Sebastian's memory by doing so before the funeral had even been held. He'd have to grit his teeth and wait.
The millions of thoughts zoomed around Jim's mind, his stomach curling into itself as Jim did on himself.
It all ached, and just wished it'd stop. He hated the feeling- the one where you realize just how much a person made you up. The hollowness that replaces it, more painful than any sort of heartbreak, though it, in itself, was a form. It was a crushing thing, feeling the person slip from the holes they filled inside you. But, moreover, Jim felt completely isolated. Like a child, again. Perhaps back to when he was teaching, or when his mum died. Every painful memory shooting through him, no one to stop it. All he had was the jacket, and the minute good it did comparatively being better than nothing at all- even if the feel of it beneath his finger tips made him want to cry.
He could hear his phone buzzing with messages and calls, most likely from random clients, but he couldn't bring himself to pick it up from the floor.
It would be selfish to hope Sebastian was alive, even if it meant he was being tortured. Even if it meant he was alone with Mycroft. That, as long as he was alive, it wouldn't matter. It'd be horrendously selfish to wish that Sebastian was being barraged with every memory that hurt him most, if it meant he bled dry in sone government warehouse somewhere. So, incredibly selfish...

And damn, was Jim selfish.