bakerstreet | Healing the Broken

Healing the Broken

healing the broken meme
a shipping meme

The events of many canons have left its characters ravaged, unable to be the whole people they once were. They can never go back to the innocence they had before. However, they can find someone who can pull you back from the brink. Some say love can conquer all ills and cure all broken people - the jury is still out on that, but enough people subscribe to the notion that it may have some merit. With the right affection behind it, can it be the elixir to heal traumas or mend angst? For this meme, it can be. No matter what your what your problem is, from daddy issues to being mind controlled to hating all humans or being just a jerk, all you need is healing from the right person.

All in all? This is a shameless meme playing with the idea of "cured by love." Love it or hate it, it's prevalent in fiction, both fan and published. And sometimes, no lie, you just want to play it and not be judge for the pure shlock you know it to be. Here is the place; now is the time. However, you don't have to go for unrealistic escapism. One partner trying to help the other through trauma is not an easy task, and there are bound to be setbacks, resistance, and hurt feelings. And what if BOTH partners are a little bit broken? Can they survive together, or will they bring each other down?

how to play
- Comment with your character and preferences. Feel free to talk about your character's problems. You might also want to mention if your character is the one who needs to be healed or can do the healing. Or perhaps you and your thread partner can play two roughed up characters learning to trust again!
- Reply to others.

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Having put in very little physical effort himself, Jim had no problems being short of breath. He would stay latched on to his Tiger's mouth indefinitely. There was a reason he had manipulated the situation into something relatively stable, and that was so they could afford such luxuries as extended kisses in the middle of a charnal house. Jim was a romantic like that.

The fire crackled in the walls as they slipped away. The children and the young woman, who had been found in the kitchen, were handed what cash had been found in the brothel and sent in the opposite direction. All souls accounted for, some blacker than others. Later that night, wrapped around Jim, Jack slept heavily until the braying of camels woke him. Pounced on Jim insuring that he wasn't entirely selfish. Enjoyed being whole, not dwelling on the reasons parts of him considered him broken.

Departure at 7pm, they boarded, coolies tossing supplies through the open window of their 'first class' sleeper cabin. Water, lots of water, fresh fruit and a few MREs, as the trip could be 42 - 70 or more hours depending on breakdowns. Fava bean soup would be available in the dining car, tea as well, but with the train packed with as many bodies as it could carry plus others on the roof, it was very likely the food would run short. In the seats, everyone shared everything, a community of people formed temporarily by the confined space. Cargo was stashed all over the train, taking up as much room as the people. Guards taking bribes to transport items from one place to the other...same thing with those on the roof. When it pulled out and built up speed, the train clipped along at about thirty miles an hour, stopping at little towns and villages along the way.

Jim, of course, caught every virus from every cough of every person that came within 50 feet of him. No food borne illnesses, though, and he didn't pick up anything from accidental contact. Jack's fastidious efforts to make sure he didn't have contaminated food, or infested bedding, or unwashed hands made the difference between a multilayered cold and life-threatening disease. At least Jim looked miserably ill enough that some of the passengers tried to give him some space?

"We're going straight to a luxury hotel." As much as Jim was completely at a loss for making complex plans for their more rustic parts of the journey, he had entire days of work mapped out for himself for the time they spent in civilization.

The hole in the floor of the so called lavatory had been a bit of a shock to the man, but Jack passed him actual toilet paper, so the fussing had been considerably lessened.

"Al Salam Rotana." The train was broken down again. Thankfully it was at night and they sat on the top of their car. Jack had locked the door of their 'stateroom' so that belongings wouldn't be rifled through and, giving Jim a boost, they had gone up out of the window. The air was cool and the stars were sheer brilliance. "Reservations already made."

Frankly, he was looking forward to washing all of the grit out of his hair and clothes. A bucket of questionable water dumped over his head just didn't quite do it anymore.

Edited (html error. oops) 2016-04-19 18:58 (UTC)

What he had been losing in skin layers and hair color, Jim had been gaining in strength and agility. A month ago he would have been hard pressed to wriggle out of the window unscathed, but with Jack's help he managed to pull himself up onto the top of the train without risking a fall. Yes, Jim was naturally lazy and only his tendency to forget to eat had saved him from becoming doughy up to now, but maybe there was something to this "physical fitness" business. Not that he was ready to admit it to Jack, the last thing he wanted was an enthusiastic drill sergeant making him do "wind sprints (whatever those were, sounded ghastly)" before breakfast every morning.

He had crawled onto Jack's lap, dressed in the latest avant gard fashion that had been debuted a few years ago at Buckingham Palace (except with boots). Not that his sheet provoked much of a reaction among the other passengers, it was dark and patterned and wasn't that conspicuous in the darkness. "All other things equal, the stars are more visible at the equator than at the poles." Not that Jack had asked for an astronomy lesson. "The Earth's circumference is greatest here, so there's less atmosphere in the way to diffuse the light."

Heat still radiated off of the metal of the sleeper car, offsetting the cool of the night. From the far flat horizon that surrounded them the sky had his head tipped back. Always aware of those around him and of the vibrations that ran through the cab, they were perfectly safe. Would have had no qualms of riding on top, if eyes and mouth were covered. With Jim, however, Jack was only willing to risk the top while the train was stopped, and definitely not during the scorching hot days that baked them in their room. Wet sheets soon dried in the arid climate and were wet again. The wet towel hung over their window was often dunked wrung out so that it wasn't actually dripping, then hung back up.

Arm around Jim's back tightened, thanking, "That I did not know." Had he thought about it, the answer might have occurred to him, but it was not of utmost concern and therefore did not. "I am aware that the tropics - Cancer and Capricorn are where deserts tend to be located."

"I used to believe that I could count them all, memorize their positions, learn their names." The sheer impossibility of keeping track of all the stars, of counting even a tiny fraction of them, was clearly obvious from their current viewpoint. The wide streak of the Milky Way seemed almost blinding in its brightness. He smiled, absently. "I used to believe that I could own the sky."

Moriarty the astronomer. Yes, he could picture that. Obsessively tracking stars looking for planets that caused the stars to flicker or wobble. Could still do that, throw his brain at the sky rather than managing the weaknesses of man. Not like an astronomer needed a bodyguard however, Jack would have to reinvent himself.

"Writing the computer program that tracks them all would be well within your reach. Once you catch up," if you ever add what has been accumulated, "Have new finds added in." In a way, that would be owning the sky. Again, there was nothing for Jack do to help with that. At least breakfast would still need to be made.

"Then I learned it was impossible for me to touch them. Any of them. They're all completely, permanently beyond my control." Jim sniffled, not from any sort of emotional reaction but because even in the dry air his nose was leaking like a faucet. "And I decided that I didn't want them anymore."

There went that idea. Exhaled an 'ah'. Lack of direction was going to be the death of them.
That or Jim's allergies to everything and susceptibility to every little virus.
Needed to find a warlord who was trying to go legitimate and needed the skills Jim could offer. Either that, or find a hobby and keep traveling.

Looked towards the engine, the lights of the engineers still bobbing around, the problem still unresolved. None of the passengers were concerned. Those on the roof slept or, like them, were cooling themselves. An entrepreneurial few were cooking slices of a newly killed goat or a chicken over a fire. Flatbread was being fried on a flattened panel of metal. Reminded him of gyros. One would be pulled off of the panel, filled with roasted meat and a child would run the filled pocket to someone holding out a few bills. They were doing a brisk business.

"I could probably fix the engine." Maybe, if he had his entire workshop full of power tools. "It would take me a few days. Weeks, if I can't machine any replacement parts." Not that he wanted to become a grease monkey of any sort. He didn't bother mentioning that he could convince the passengers to become a murderously angry mob, or persuade several of them to sing "Kumbaya" if he felt like it. "The roasted meat is appealing. Do you think I could eat it without catching space rabies?"

Old tech was sturdy but fussy. Once upon a time this used to be a part of a larger system of rails, but most had been torn up during various wars. A vital link to civilization, Jack wasn't concerned about the delay. The train would run again, just a matter of time.

"It was freshly killed in front of you and is steaming hot. It's safe, Jim," indulgent while giving him the basic guidelines for eating street fare. "I'll hold onto your ankles while you scoot to the edge and outbid the others."

"My precious darling, you have a real knack for thinking up the most difficult solution possible to any given puzzle, usually requiring some death-defying acrobatics and cold-cocking dozens of professional thugs along the way." Moriarty turned to the nearest teenage boy and struck up a conversation in Sudanese Arabic. No, he hadn't been honing his fluency in the dialect as he had in Egypt, recruiting dozens of native specimens for his linguistic experiments. This time he had absorbed the basics by listening to the endless chatter around him.

It didn't take long to arrange a modest payment for the service of fetching them a midnight snack. Jim didn't have any currency tucked in his sheet, but managed to hand the boy correct change anyway. Jack would have gotten used to having his pockets "picked" by Jim many times over the years, having items appear and disappear from his clothing with equal facility. What, you didn't expect Moriarty to carry things around in his pockets, did you? It would ruin the elegant lines of his suits!

He had ordered two goat-wraps and presented Jack with one of them. "Here, you're my poison taster." Belying the statement, Jim immediately started nibbling at his own. He made a face at how strange this exotic rustic food was to his un-cosmopolitan palate, but kept at it.

No, Jack just wanted a look at Jim's ass as he wriggled cautiously to the edge, otherwise he would have offered to do it himself. That the problem was solved another way is also attractive, just in a different fashion. Having his pockets picked, useful items borrowed or other items deposited, or ending up with a hot potato of a pearl in his pockets, is just a(n) (dis)advantage of being with Moriarty. All in a day's work and one of the reasons Jack so regularly takes inventory.

"Gladly."

Tasting much like lean beef, despite its reputation for being gamey, goats survived on very little, in places where cows would destroy the environment. Losing one goat wouldn't hurt a family as much as losing a cow and goats had an advantage that they reproduced much quicker and were easier to care for. Cubed cuts in a tangine was delicious. The thin strips were still tender, and although Jack would have liked some veg in the makeshift sandwich, the plain, hot trainside meal was delicious.

Jim stopped mid-chew, tilting his head up and staring intently off into the distance. Unlike those inhuman Holmes brothers, Moriarty had only been blessed with normal hearing and so it took actual effort for him to listen in on individual conversations among the relatively quiet din of the people crowded around them. Several more seconds went by before he refocused on his immediate environment, resuming his war of attrition with the food in his hands. "Southern Sudan might be interesting."

He meant South Sudan, technically a separate country now with a short and tense history. Jim hadn't known it existed, hadn't even been fully aware that there was a country called Sudan in African until very recently. He had known some basic schoolchild lore about Egypt and the Nile River but couldn't have narrowed the locations down to any particular region of this part of the world. Even the geographic lines between the Middle East and Africa were indistinct. He knew the general location of Afghanistan and all of the major powers in Europe and Asia, those were contiguous and so actually mattered. Everywhere else, including America, required crossing an ocean and so he had tossed them all into the same generic bin. His contacts and resource holdings were mentally categorized according to major cities, all independent of one another. Those operating in New York and Washington D.C. didn't bother interacting with each other until he told them to. Political boundaries had no real meaning when anyone he really cared about operated outside the law. As long as they followed orders, the details of how they went about it were their problem.

Though Moriarty remembered the places they'd actually visited in fine detail and had made as accurate a mental map as he could from his imprecise innate awareness of distance and direction, he still had no desire to replace the mysteries of the Dark Continent with active pursuit of the abundant general knowledge he might easily absorb with even the most cursory research. That would go against his personal Prime Directive: Don't Spoil the Fun.

"It is a warzone," said between bites. "Sure you want to be the one white guy?" in a sea of darkness? and he didn't just mean color.

The country supposedly had oil reserves, but the chaos had essentially shut the country down. Jim would be wearing a bullet proof vest and wear protection everywhere else. Guns and their usage was more common than a good meal in South Sudan. UN camps were overstuffed with people. Those who weren't in the camps were systematically raped and killed - burned alive, hung, suffocated in shipping containers, cut to pieces or simply shot.

Yes, the country and the situation needed to be resolved, but were they necessarily the ones to do it?

"I'm going to get us invited to dinner with the new Vice President. Maybe fly him up to Khartoum for the weekend if he doesn't have the kind of resources necessary to assure our complete safety. The carnage is supposedly winding down a bit at the moment. He might be looking for advice to keep it going in that direction."

Jim rested his head against Jack's shoulder, the top of his shoulder at the moment because sitting on his lap had skewed their relative heights. "Besides, what sort of 'white guy' could be considered relevant in a civil war? I might as well be some kind of bear wandered onto the battlefield, just another obstacle that both sides need to shoot around in order to get to each other."

"Of course you are," agreement, because Jim could and would do whatever he wished. Jack would be there helping to dodge bullets, taking hits, and striking back. "Bears are rather unusual down here however. Might just shoot you to get a closer look."

That said, "I think he would be puffing if he said he could protect you," from what he knew from the situation. "The fighting hasn't stopped, but the country could potentially support itself."

"He can barely protect himself." Jim furrowed his brow, trying to put the puzzle together with the few blurry pieces he had. Finally he gave a mental shrug and looked back up at Jack with a relatively carefree smile.

"Not enough information yet!" The food was strange, yes, but with actually getting some physical activity and not having an endless supply of anything London could offer was teaching him what hunger felt like. Moriarty bit into it with more conviction.

Khartoum would provide most of those answers, what with the refugees camped outside of town. Only a little bit if information would come from the north as they moved south. His arm tightened around Jim's back for a second, he knew and wasn't someone who needed to have everything planned out, not when he had a direction to keep moving in.

The hot meat stuffed naan was eaten and they had another hour to admire the diamond studded sky before the train shuddered. As the engine strained forward inches at a time, he helped Jim hang off the edge of the car to swing through their open window. Dropped in behind him and wrung out a towel to hang over the window, to keep out the sand and create passive air conditioning, a swamp cooler, that kept their quarters bearable. 'Bearable' was a loose term, considering that the wood and metal tube was an oven. Those riding on top were subject to the direct sun and abrading sands.

They pulled into the city the next day and traveled to the Al Salam Rotana Hotel by dubious cab. The were sandy an smelly, hard to tell them apart from the rest of the population. The pith from Jim's hat was beginning to dry out, his shirt dried then soaked in sweat to chafe against fresh skin.

Despite all of Jack's best efforts, Jim was haggard and exhausted by the time they arrived. That didn't prevent him from striding cheerfully into the building, greeting all of the employees and striking up a conversation with the bellhop about his family, his plans to meet up with friends after work, learning a bit more about Sudanese Arabic syntax in the process. Not that they needed a bellhop, they were carrying all of their possessions in a few sturdy bags, including the leather courier bag that was quickly wearing in to conform to Jim's body.

Though their suite was air conditioned, Jim ran himself a shallow, tepid bath and promptly fell asleep. His fingers and toes pruned in the water, thin layers of sand drifted to the porcelain surface, and the next layer of peeling sunburn was covered in a thick, rehydrated layer of aloe. At least he was over his most recent case of the sniffles?

Grim, he had watched Jim take the lead, their ambassador and self appointed spokesperson. After taking a round of the penthouse for security's sake, Jack showered, sand scraping across his scalp until the second rinse of thick lather. Sand in polite and impolite places, he was relieved when he thought he could finally declare his body sand free, at least for the time being. Helped grease up Jim, then fell over, dozing lightly in the unfamiliar place. His body was used to the rocking train and the lack of movement kept his rest shallow.

After the long nap, a meal was ordered up. A tagine of marinated goat with pickled lemons and olives, naan to scoop up the meal, chilled fruit, and endless glasses of tea arrived, eaten as they looked out over the pool, which was now full in the evening's lower temperatures, and out over the flat ground that stretched out in the city's lights.

"The markets will be a good place to speak with the locals and refugees." Markets were open in the mornings and again in the evenings.

"Don't want to." Substantially revived, all Jim wanted to do right now was wrap himself around Jack and drown in him.

Hadn't meant now, tonight. Tomorrow, the day after perhaps, while he arranged transport via Land Rover or by sail, depending on direction. It was easier to pretend to give in, to be the one giving something up.

"As you wish, Love." The third floor wasn't high up, but with the topography level, the land went on forever until it touched the edge of the sky. "Another day, there is no rush."

"Don't know what I want." He pulled Jack into a long, languid kiss, desperately fighting off the ennui that had returned with a vengeance and now threatened to devour him whole.

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