AN: I wasn't going to do a sequel, but damnit, Just Whelmed (who betas this as well). This is the long-awaited (or not) continuance of the Becky and Raylan Givens saga.

Disclaimer: I own neither Justified, Heart, or Sherlock BBC.

There were pictures on the wall of cute children all in rows, framed "Thank you for a great school year!" in shaky, beginner penmanship. On the floor of the mostly complicated nursery by two boxes of unused baby shoes lay a woman curled on her side. Her bound wrists rested on her heavily swollen belly and blood dripped into her face from a cut on her scalp.

"Please," she whimpered quietly. "Please."

One of the two men in the room with her gave her a baleful glance. He had a gun resting casually, tapping slightly to draw his prisoner's attention to it.

The other man, a good looking blonde with a nasty black eye, smiled from over the box of toys he was sorting through. "You're just being cruel," he told his partner. "There's no need to tease them."

"I just don't want her to alert the neighbors."

"In this day and age? They'll just think it's the television. Even if they don't it's not a problem, no one gets involved anymore. It's sad really." He pulled out a stuffed dog from the collection. "What do you think about this?"

"I think you're a little old for night-lights and stuffed animals."

Blondie chuckled. "It's for my nephew, asshole. He turns two tomorrow and I never got a chance to run to Toys-R-Us."

"Make sure that it wasn't made in China," the first man replied, calmly checking his silencer. "They have a tendency to poison kids according to the news."

" 'Made in Mexico.' Should be safe."

"Then it looks fine. I'm not exactly the expert here, Bill, my four are all girls. Everything was pink 'till 8th grade." The first man, whose name was Stan, smiled fondly in remembrance of little pink bows and My Little Ponies underfoot.

The woman on the ground was biting her lip until it bled in an effort to keep silent, unnoticed and maybe forgotten.

She was not so lucky.

Stan cocked his gun and aimed at her temple.

"Please," she stammered, tears mixing with blood and snot on her face. Her hands convulsed helplessly over her abdomen. "Please, no, my baby."

"Hang on a sec," Bill said, shoving the dog into his jacket pocket. "Shame about the baby."

Stan gave the younger man a half-smile, never taking his eyes off of the cowering woman at his feet. "You're getting soft in your old age, Bill."

"Watch your mouth," Bill replied good-naturedly. "Do you have any idea how much a newborn will go for on the black market? All those parents wanting to adopt?" He pulled a wicked looking knife from his boot.

"No, please!"

"Shut up," Bill told her conversationally, "or I'll cut your eyes out."

Stan shifted his weight, interested. "You have contacts who can take care of that?"

"When don't I have contacts?" He gestured to the stereo in the corner of the room. "Does she have any Heart?"

"A greatest hits package."

"Well, I have a birthday party to get to tomorrow, so we should start." The music blared as Stan and Bill dragged the screaming woman into the bathroom, covering the sounds of her terror and pain.

Oh, Barracuda.