Amnesia: Unknown [a Tom Hiddleston / Jonathan Pine, Jim Moriarty fanfiction]

[9]

You didn't know what to expect.

Actually you did: this was the moment he decided to do away with you, or at least hold off on doing so until he got from Tom exactly what he wanted.

You clutch the gun closer as the guard leads you further down the hall. At least you proved to yourself earlier your abilities. Then again, he saw just exactly what you were capable of. He knew how you moved, your doubts, your hesitation. He knew your reaction time, your stance, how your eyes narrowed ever so slightly each time you pulled the trigger. Besides, it would be at least two against one, for there was no way that you were fast enough to take out both Moriarty and the guard and still slip away.

But what did he mean by "again?"

As the guard knocks, you hold your breathe. You were going to have to move fast, for Tom's sake anyway.

Was he here behind closed doors?

But when you saw the unarmed Moriarty in sweatpants and a t-shirt, all defensive calculations were lost in scribbles.

"Hi."

Him? Being sheepish? Was that a real smile? What happened to the stubborn hardhead?

"Looks like we're matching," he says, play kicking at the ends of your own sweatpants. "Come on in."

You get nervous when the bodyguard follows suit, but relax a bit when he heads off into a different room, leaving you and Moriarty in the living room of the suite apartment.

As you took a look around, you could see everything was immaculate. Kitchen sparkling and smelling like lemon, couch adorned with throw pillows and a blanket, the television and its accompanying remotes with not a single speck of dust on them. Even the floor smelled like him, an earthy, yet clean, sandalwood.

"Care to sit?"

You nod, watching Moriarty closely as he made his way into the kitchen, but you couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Why did you call me down here?"

He turns around and, in his hands, are two cups of tea. As he comes back, he states, "I figured you were going crazy without it."

But even as he hands it to you, you set it down on the coffee table, not even wanting to touch it.

"What did you do to it?"

"Nothing."

"Why did you give me this cup in particular?"

"Because you like it with one sugar and lemon?"

You wait for him to take a sip of his own cup before speaking up, "Switch cups with me."

"Kitten, this is ridicu—"

"Switch...cups."

With a groan, he complies, and you start to drink from his cup, holding in winces as his tea was not to your liking. But you wait, watching to see if his story held up. And by the looks of it, he was telling the truth, he drinking your beverage and grimacing for the same reasons as you did previously.

"This is disgusting, how do you ever drink it like this?"

"How the heck do you manage to drink it plain?"

"Why mess up a good thing?"

"Again, you drink it plain."

Moriarty smiles, as if this were all familiar. "I won't get you started on coffee then."

"What's wrong with coffee?"

"Do you want to meet her?"

You freeze. Not only did he go off topic, but who was "her?" And why did the mention of another girl sting a bit? Were you not the only one he had abducted? Was Tom not the only life on the line?

Were you not a special "kitten" after all?

"Who now?"

With a smile, he whispers, "I'll be right back," and goes off into a separate room.

The anticipation is agonizing with each passing second, and with the growing silence your suspicions grew. Maybe "her" wasn't a girl after all. Maybe it was the "her" of a beloved gun or knife of his. People name boats and cars and countries and usually feminize them. Perhaps he had done the same with this "her," the "her" that would lead to your doom.

You start to shake as you hear his footsteps coming back, and your eyes start to dart around to see what you can grab. The kitchen was too far away, so those utensils and cooking tools were out. You could throw the TV or maybe even the mugs, hot still with tea, to make some headway, but it wouldn't do you any good.

Please let Tom be safe.

But all your doubts subside when you see him round the corner, a black shorthair in his arms, one that you somehow felt an instant connection with.

"Wednesday?"

For an all too rare moment, you see a smile break across Moriarty's entire face, not hidden in some way to keep his guard up.

"She really missed you. Kept cuddled in your special hoodie."

Without hesitation, you reach out your arms for her, and the cat instantly curled into you once in your hold, purring loudly. For a moment, there was no Tom, no abduction, no guns or hideouts or secrets to be explored. There were just purrs, tea, and a warmth against your chest. And you knew Jim knew it; you could somehow read that smile of his as plain as day.

"So..."

You look up at him. "Hmm?"

"You remember her."

"Barely. It's all a little fuzzy." As you look down to pet Wednesday, you smile to try to reassure him, hoping it could buy you some patience for your and Tom's sake. "I remember the fair—"

"Obviously."

"—and we were laughing. There was so much laughing and I think I pushed you around a bit—"

"You always do—"

"—and we were outside the ring toss booth—"

"It was behind us." You look up at him and chuckle.

"Would you like to tell me the story, or do you wanna keep interrupting it from my end?" And for a moment your heart stops, face flushes, eyes widen in horror, breath snatches and folds into itself; for you had not realized until then that you were talking out of turn, distracted and detracting from your purpose.

Oh gosh, this is it. This is how it ends. Tom, my love, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have, I—

But it was alright, for Jim's smile only grew, perhaps even more genuine than it already was. "She's coming. She's still in there..." Getting up, he heads back to the room which he came, adding as he walks.

"...Somewhere."