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Fiona & Moriarty- Lesson One

Fiona had a bad time during those two weeks. Part one of until I run out of writing.

Warnings for minor whump, gun violence, forced to choose, and murder.

The first lesson of many. Don't hesitate.

"Pick one."

She didn't want to. The couple in front of her- bound and gagged, their teary eyes staring up at her- they hadn't done anything bad! They didn't deserve this-

"I'm being generous, giving you a choice. Don't make me regret it."

She couldn't- she couldn't- sentence someone to death? No, no, no- it was wrong, it was terrible. She couldn't. She couldn't choose!

Moriarty huffed, twirling the gun in his fingers. "I'm starting to regret it."

She begged him to just give her more time- couldn't they spare them? Give them another chance? She didn't want to, please don't make her, please-

"PICK," he snarled, bludgeoning her with the butt of the gun.

Sobbing, she pointed.

BANG.

Blood sprayed everywhere, and the remaining person's muffled sounds of horror filled Fiona's ears. But it was over. It was ov-

BANG.

More blood. So much blood. Too much-

"What did you do?! You said-"

He rolled his eyes. "You took too long. Do a better job next time."

Fiona stared down at the two corpses, feeling ill. She only took two steps backwards before she started to vomit.

But the nightmares lasted so much longer.

Fiona & Moriarty- Lesson Two

Part Two. Content includes kidnapping, threats of violence, actual violence, swearing, forced to hurt, dehumanization, mutilation, noncon touch (nonsexual), autocannibalism, branding, and torture. Moriarty is co-owned with @space-is-out-there! Let me know if I missed any tags.

Lesson two. Respect.

"Welcome to my humble lair!" Moriarty announces, as if Fiona is supposed to burst into applause at the sight of dingy dungeon walls. Instead, she nearly breaks a wrist trying to pull the chain she's cuffed to out of the wall. "Where is everyone?! Where did you take me?!"

"A- wouldn't you like to know and B- to my home!"

"A- Yes I would and B- fuck you and your dungeon house," the girl snaps. Moriarty cackles at that, flashing perfectly white teeth as Fiona looks around in a sudden panic. "What did you do with my wand?!"

"I assure you it's unharmed. I'm just saving it for when you earn it."

What-

"I was wrong about Mark," Moriarty says, waving a hand dismissively at the thought of his son. "I thought he might have what it takes, but... I'm still in the market for a protégé."

Fiona's expression is incredulous. "No way I'm doing that! You're even more insane than I thought if you think I'll EVER work for you!" She pulls even harder at the chains, but they don't budge.

Moriarty rolls his eyes. "They use those chains to wrangle dragons, you know."

Fiona stops pulling and glares at him. "So what, then? Are you planning on just keeping me in here forever?!"

He scoffs, like she's an idiot. "No, of course not. If I can't convince you, I'll merely erase your memory and mind control you!" He pauses, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. "...Or I'll kill you and feed you to the rats. Depends on my mood."

Fiona wipes the horrified look off her face before that statement can sink in. "Great. So there's no option where I, say... stab you in the back?"

"Not unless you want to be tracked to the ends of the earth by my men and fed the skin of everyone you care about," Moriarty responds matter-of-factually.

Fiona feels ill. "Thanks for that image."

"You're welcome, love!" Moriarty chirps, and claps his hands together. "Now, if we're going to get along, there are some ground rules you should know about. Follow them, and your apprenticeship will be relatively pain-free. Disobey, and there will be consequences. Number one-"

Abruptly, he is standing less than a foot away from her, and she startles on instinct. He clicks his tongue. "Don't hesitate. Hesitation makes you weak- and you can't run a criminal empire like that, can you?"

She opens her mouth to speak and he holds up a finger to silence her. She's so surprised that she says nothing, her mouth agape- and Moriarty claps. "Rule number two- respect. You may be next in line to run this place, but I am your boss. You follow my orders, when I give them. You may call me Moriarty when we're alone; boss or sir when in public."

She can't help herself. "What are you calling me?"

"Whatever the hell I want," he says.

She wasn't sure what else she expected.

"Rule two-and-a-half- look me in the eyes when I speak to you." Moriarty snaps his fingers, catching her attention from an extremely interesting mold spot on the floor. "Manners are important- we can't have anyone thinking we're uncivilized, can't we? We're not barbarians."

"Yeah, just criminals," Fiona mumbles.

"That's no excuse to be rude," Moriarty retorts, snaps his fingers, and her cuffs vanish. As Fiona rubs her wrists, he taps his watch. "Hmm... that's all I have for now, so... Time for training!"

"I don't want to," Fiona says. Just how far can she push him...?

"Too bad."

That answered that question.

"Now are we going? Or am I dragging you out one chunk at a time?" Moriarty asks, looking at his nails as if her answer didn't really matter. (It didn't.)

"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," Fiona grumbles, rising from her spot on the concrete floor. "Although I am interested in how exactly you'd train a dismembered protégé."

"With great effort!" comes the cheerful reply.

----

"First, I’m going to teach you a very important part of running this operation," Moriarty tells her as they stroll into a warehouse. She has no idea where they are- planewalking definitely broadens one's options for evil hideouts, she supposes.

Most of the goons that catch sight of them avert their eyes and scurry in the other direction. She wishes she could too, but Moriarty has a grip on her shoulder- she swallows her discomfort and pipes up. "So it's not just fancy suits and maniacal laughter?"

"No, those are just perks," Moriarty responds without skipping a beat. "Respect. Respect is important. There’s someone here who has disrespected me. We’re going to make sure he doesn’t do that anymore."

"What'd he do?" Fiona quips. "Stole your ice cream money? Broke your Action Man?"

"Someone’s been skimming off top of their transactions," Moriarty says, and gestures to a scrawny man being held by two guards. The man flinches when Moriarty makes eye contact with him, and cowers when the mastermind strides forward to speak. "Thought you could fuck me over, did you?!" He leans in to yell in the man's face. "DID YOU?!"

"Seems to me like he already regrets his situation," Fiona says quietly.

Moriarty steps back to stand next to her and draws a knife out of his jacket pocket. "He skimmed off the top of my money so I say... we skim off the top of his head."

Fiona looks at him blankly. Moriarty rolls his eyes and clarifies. "Cut off his ears... and make him eat them."

The man blubbers and starts to cry. Moriarty flips the handle towards Fiona expectantly, who flinches as if it might jump and bite her. She stammers. "Are you sure this is… necessary?" She grasps for something, any excuse to get out of this. "It just- uh- seems like a lot of effort to deal with all of this personally..."

"This is what we call a teachable moment! You see- if you don’t make people respect you, they'll just take it as permission to walk all over you."

"Can't you get respect by, you know… treating people like people?"

"No," Moriarty shakes his head. "That only works in la-la land... and in Philadelphia. AND I DON'T SEE ANY CHEESESTEAKS, NOW DO WHAT I ASKED!"

She reels backwards at his screaming, and unconciously takes a few steps towards the captive instead, who is whimpering and sobbing. Like a switch was flipped, Moriarty grins widely and gives her a thumbs-up. "Go on!"

Her throat is bone-dry. Her voice comes out hoarse. "My hand is shaking."

"Rule number one," Moriarty reminds her. "It hurts more when you hesitate."

It's like her arm is detatched from her body. It moves on its own, drawing the blade closer. It cuts cleanly, and the distant thought occurs to her that the knife must be very sharp. Blood drips off the blade and onto the floor, stark red against the gray.

Blood pools on the ground and stains her fingers. There's an incessant loud noise droning on in the background, and Fiona resists the urge to cover her ears.

Moriarty is clapping. "Is this how proud parents feel? I never got this feeling from my kids." He gestures for the guards to drag the man closer. He hasn't stopped screaming. He stops, briefly, to swallow, when she places the severed ears into his mouth, and then Fiona doesn't see what happens, because she's vomiting onto the floor.

She retches and gags and sobs and by the time she comes back to herself enough to think, the man is gone, and Moriarty is clapping her on the back, talking at her as if she's in any state to pay attention.

"Honestly, it looks like you were dressed by a pedophile with a doll fetish- oh wait! You were."

The world swims before her eyes, and she takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Shoves the images in her mind away. Stands up straight. Don't think about it.

"I think you would look good in a suit," Moriarty muses.

Fiona can't stop a laugh from escaping. It wasn't particularly funny. Her voice comes out sounding like it belongs to someone else. "Matching outfits? Really?"

"Please. Female crime bosses have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. I’m helping you." Moriarty takes her hand and swings it between them like a loving father. "Now let’s go shatter that glass ceiling!"

----

Several hours later, Moriarty sits at his desk. Fiona, for her part, is standing in the corner doing her best to avoid attracting his attention. Doing her best to keep her mind blank. She shifts uncomfortably in her new suit- not because it doesn't fit, but because it's a mirror of Moriarty's outfit.

The mastermind spins around in the chair like an excited toddler, beaming at her. "You did excellently today- I'll give you a reward. Come here."

It's a simple demand, and an enticing prospect. Moriarty waits for her, entirely unreadable, betraying no hints for what the "reward" will be.

Her legs aren't moving.

Moriarty smiles and repeats himself. "Come here."

She doesn't want to. "Can I- can I stay here?"

"Ah, that's very polite, asking for permission," the man nods, approvingly, before continuing, "You may not."

Haltingly, she shuffles over to him, defiantly stopping a bit away. Oddly, he doesn't seem to notice her hesitation- or, more likely, just chooses to ignore it. He draws her into his arms, running a hand through her hair, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice is quiet. Hushed. "You're so tiny."

She blinks. Why-

Abruptly, he runs his fingers through her hair, down the back of her neck, and every muscle in her body braces for pain- but instead, he guides her to sit on the floor, resting a hand on her shoulder. Before she can fully process what's happening, he's tied a blindfold around her head, plunging her world into blackness, binding her hands in front of her-

She closes her eyes as she feels the telltale pinpricks of tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, but he only shushes her. All she can hear are his shoes tapping against the floor, and touch is the only sense she still has- but it's okay. It's going to be okay. She did what he asked. He said this was a reward. It's okay-

And then she feels something caress her shoulder.

Fiona flinches, her back arching against the sudden touch. Moriarty hushes her. She can feel his breath against the back of her neck. The tears spill over, soaking into the blindfold and running down her face, dripping off her chin. Moriarty stops tracing her arm and gently wipes her cheek with a finger.

She never gets used to it- every time she thinks she's getting used to the pattern, the awful cold feeling of his fingers all over her, he'd drag his nails across her cheek, she'd feel his tongue in her ear, kisses pressed to the back of her neck, and her whole body would spasm with shock, with terror. Moriarty holds her close, stroking her hair, her face, and for just a split second, she's back with her family- she can't bring herself to move away, she can't. Not even when the cold steel of a blade presses against her bare cheek.

"Hold still now…"

Pain. Sharp and white-hot, like fire magic. She bites her tongue to keep from screaming as the blade draws four shallow lines across her skin. She can feel the blood run down her cheek and her breath hitches, a sob tearing itself free from her chest. Moriarty hums, pressing a wet cloth against the burning sensation, and Fiona clutches at his suit coat, heaving shudering breaths. "What did you..."

The man shushes her. The washcloth is removed, and Fiona winces, but the fiery feeling has mostly faded away. In its wake is a peculiar sensation on her cheek- like exposed skin hitting air.

Ever so gently, Moriarty traces along her cheek, in a peculiar pattern that she can't quite place.

|\/|

"Congratulations, my dear protégé."

His voice follows her into unwilling sleep.