Jim had been out and about to get water, which was the reason he saw the sniper. "Moran," he said, just loud enough to be heard. The man looked lost.

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he immediately straightened, trying to bring himself back together. "Sir. How can I help you?"

"What's the situation? I haven't heard anything in a while," Jim raised his eyebrows. It was very quiet down here. Empty halls. He hoped it stayed that way.

His shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "There have been... complications. There was a spring-loaded blade in the device that was deployed when they attempted to remove it. It should have cut through Harrison's heart, but it caught the surgeon's hand instead. Preferable, but Harrison got a shitload of incompatible blood in her system. They're trying to mitigate side effects now."

Jim dragged a hand over his face, letting out a sigh through his teeth. "Tell me they at least know what's making her fucking ill."

He hesitated, then shook his head. "No. Hopefully the device will give us some answers," he said quietly. "And you, sir? Any symptoms...?"

He shook his head in return. "Not that I'm aware of. I would have alerted one of the medical personnel." Then he fell back into silence, his eyes boring a hole into the wall over Sebastian's shoulder. "I'm sick of Holmes having the upper hand."

"Agreed," he said quietly. He suddenly felt every second of his week without more than a few hours' sleep at a time. "I'm sorry, sir. I never should have let this happen."

His eyes shifted to Sebastian again, deadly sharp. "What does that mean, Moran?"

He met Jim's gaze, and somewhere he knew he needed to tread carefully, but extreme fatigue was making that voice quite a bit quieter than usual. "Just what I said. I should have found a way to stop this. And I'm not fishing Jim, I'm just fucking complaining, okay? I couldn't have done anything, but I'm tired and angry and powerless and she's fucking dying in there." He snarled the last bit, and then took a breath, rubbing at his eyes. "Sorry, sir. I'm not in a good state to be discussing anything right now."

Jim slid his hands slowly into his pockets, considering the sniper in silence for a moment. The danger was mostly gone from his eyes. Perhaps if he hadn't been fearing for his own life he would have snarled back, but now... now he needed Moran caring. And he had to admit that there was a strain of anxiety woven into the complicated mess of his brain, linked to the well-being of that woman, who had served as some kind of link to the man they had both lost. "If she dies... do what you must. Just don't jeopardize me."

"I would never jeopardize you, Jim. I never have unless it was my only option." He considered the other man for a moment, then gave up on pretenses and leaned against the wall, sliding to sit on the floor. "But I know you don't believe that, so unfortunately you're just going to have to wait and see what I do."

He snorted, and moved to lean his shoulder against the wall. Sometimes he had to wonder how they'd gotten here. He and Lorna would never have been kidnapped from that party if he hadn't pulled her aside to ream her for leaving her initials on Moran's chest. Or if he hadn't fucked Moran in that alley. Or a hundred other million things that came together in a spectacular fashion to produce the shit-show they were in now. "Sometimes," he started, without really knowing where his words were going, "I think I'm almost as bad as Sherlock."

He glanced up, then. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and wasn't sure he should ask, so he just waited. He missed the old days when he could read Jim easily.

"I used to mock dear old Sherly, for keeping people... around him all the time," Jim sighed, running a hand through his hair. The gel he had put in it almost 48 hours ago was starting to give up the ghost. "And then you die. And I lose all my superiority in the matter. If I didn't know what it did to me I would kill you again, just to prevent it."

He was surprised at that, and too tired to keep the expression entirely off of his face. He took a breath. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead," Jim said, giving a slight flick of his hand out of his pocket.

He nodded slightly, composing his thoughts, then standing slowly, meeting the other man's gaze. "I miss you, Jim," he said finally, exhaustion clear in his tone, his stance, his expression. "I have given you the better part of a decade of my life. Every day, everything you asked that I could deliver. I have kept you alive through the thick of it. I have served time in prison for you, I have been shot for you, I have been tortured for you, and I used to be the one man you actually trusted. Things got fucked up. I understand that. But I was proud to be your second, sir. And I hate the fact that I lost that just because the universe decided to give us shit." He shrugged, and fell silent.

He hated how much that worked. He hated that he wanted to drag the man over by the collar and kiss him, because god he'd missed him too. Had missed him so much he had fucked a woman alone for the first time in ten years. Had grown an attachment to her, loathe as he was to admit it, just because she had traces of Sebastian all over her. It was one of the few times in his life that he was unsure of what to say, or do. "I... Fuck, Tiger, it's not like I enjoy stringing you out, putting you on bloody probation - but what the fuck else am I supposed to do?"

The nickname, after so long, gave him courage. "Trust me," he said finally, straightening slightly. "Not because it makes sense, not because the numbers tell you to, not because of any sort of logic. That's trusting probability. Trust me, James. Trust our friendship. Because you know what? Fuck it. You're my friend. Whether you like it or not."

He stood waiting, then. For a bullet or for agreement, he had no idea.

Friend.

That was too much emotional affection for somebody like him. He'd been called 'friend' sincerely probably once in his entire life. He just stared for a moment, and blinked, and stared some more.

"You're reinstated," he said finally, and did a very un-Jim-like clearing of his throat, looking away.

It was his turn to stare, then. And blink, and stare again.

He knew not to push it further. To just nod, and murmur a quiet "Thank you, sir," and let Jim have his space in a moment of unheard-of vulnerability.

He knew all of that, but still, a second and a half later, he had crossed the hallway between them and done something he had never dared to do. He pulled James Moriarty, ruler of the supposedly free world, into a bone-crushing hug.

Jim stiffened like a cat planning its escape. He put up with the hug for about two seconds before he gave Moran a very reluctant pat, clearing his throat again. "I feel like that's enough, Moran."

He nodded, releasing the man and stepping back, a pleasant grin on his face, the first in nearly a week. "I'm surprised I got that much, boss. Thank you." Then he glanced down the hall toward the infirmary, and the smile faded. "I should get back."

Jim nodded, following through on the motion with a flick of his wrist. "Go. Keep me updated."

He nodded, turning to go, then glanced back. "Anything out of the ordinary, boss.. tell me right away." Then he headed back down the hall.

Lorna woke up in a different room, to the slightly unsteady rhythm of a heart monitor. Oh, Christ, she hurt. She groaned, shifted a little. Fuck, why did everything hurt so much? Her chest, sure, that made sense, but her stomach, her arms, her legs, her head. She felt utterly sick.

"Easy," came Moran's hoarse voice. A hand hovered over her shoulder, but didn't touch unless necessary. "You're alright, Lorna. Stay still."

"What the fuck did you guys do to me, run me over with a mack truck?" she got out, though it was hard. She felt like she was on heroin withdrawal and the flu and had been punched in several different places.

He withdrew his hand when it became clear she wasn't moving. "Things got complicated," he said quietly, eyeing the tangle of tubes going into and out of her at various locations. "But you're fine now." It was the second time he'd said something of the sort, probably because it had been his mantra since the surgery. He stood. "I need to tell them you're awake," he explained quietly. "I'll be right back.

She didn't say anything in response, just concentrating on breathing through the pain, though judging by the tube up her nose, it wasn't a big deal. She didn't try to lift her head to get a better idea of what was happening to her torso. But she got the feeling she was hooked up onto a lot of machines.

He returned a few minutes later with a relieved-looking Shelby. "Ms. Harrison. Good to see you awake," he said brightly, walking over. "How are you feeling?" He started glancing over the readouts on the screens beside her. Moran returned to his chair, rubbing absently at the rough beard he hadn't bothered to shave.

"Awful," she muttered, a little resentfully. She was still confused. "What happened?"

Shelby sighed, and turned to her, apparently satisfied with what he saw on the displays. "The pod had another defense mechanism- a spring-loaded blade, of sorts. It went off when our surgeon was inspecting the device, and almost cut through her hand. It would have killed you, if it hadn't hit her first. It was aimed at your heart." He paused for a moment there, letting her absorb. "While we were trying to get her free, a good deal of her blood entered your system. You had a hemolytic transfusion reaction- in short, your body started fighting against the foreign blood, which made your hemoglobin levels skyrocket and your blood pressure dropped rapidly. Your body responded by triggering massive clotting all over your system to attempt to stop what it perceived as blood loss. We call this disseminated intravascular coagulation, and it's why you're so sore." He glanced at his clipboard, and at the display again. "But that has all been dealt with. Your body is fine in that respect. As for your illness... We're still working on a solution. But for now, I want you resting. You've been unconscious for nearly four days. Your body is trying to recover."

"God, really?" She groaned, lifting a heavy hand to rub her crusty eyes. Four days? Yeah, she could believe that. She felt like she'd been crushed under a rock until ten minutes before she'd woken. "How's Jim?"

Shelby's gaze flickered to Moran, who nodded his tired approval. "He started exhibiting similar symptoms to yours fifty-two hours ago," Shelby admitted. "We're discussing options."

She nodded, tired of speaking. It was so much effort. She hurt so much.

Shelby glanced at Moran again, then said softly "We could try more effective paink-"

The haggard-looking Moran was on his feet in a second, moving with surprising speed. He grabbed the smaller man by the back of his collar like a wayward kitten, opened the door to the hall, and chucked the specialist out into it. He slammed the door behind him, then took a slow breath and deflated slightly again, walking back to his seat. He pushed a hand through his hair. It was an odd color, not quite his usual blond and patchy in places. He'd done his best to dye it two days ago, and it had gone rather awry, but he didn't feel like dealing with the streaks of silver that had appeared at his temples. He leaned his elbows onto his knees. "Sorry. He's been recommending opiates for days. I've been recommending he shut up."

"Why? Aren't my addiction issues on my records?" She sighed, looking over at him. She frowned a little. "What's up with your hair?"

"They are," he sighed. "But apparently he believes that small quantities would dull the pain without triggering your addiction. Which is idiotic, but I've been putting up with it because he's useful." He ignored the hair question.

She didn't have the damn energy to bother to pursue a question he wouldn't answer. So she just shook her head a little, heaving as big of a breath as she could manage, with the pain and the tubes and the stitches. "Doesn't he know that alcohol addiction can be triggered by a few drops, even after ten years? Idiot fucker. Heroin is way worse."

"I know that. And you know that. But he seems to be convinced. I don't care. He's the only person we have who has a chance of figuring out this..." he waved a hand over her. "Whatever the fuck this is. I've made it clear that if he does anything to bother you, I will kill him. You're fine."

"Okay," she rasped, letting her eyes close. Fuck she was exhausted. And she'd already been unconscious 4 days.

"Get some sleep," he suggested quietly. "I... may not be here when you wake up. But I'll do my best."

She frowned a little. "Where will you be, then?"

"Running the network," he said tiredly. "Jim reinstated me as his second, and with you and him out of commission, I'm the only one holding the reins."

"Jeez. Well, congratulations and good luck, I guess," she snorted, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, thanks," he said sarcastically. "Enjoy your sleep, you lazy arse. You're stealing all of mine." He leaned in, kissed her forehead, and then stood, heading for the door.

She watched him go, a small pang in her chest, and then she closed her eyes and passed out hard.

Moran waited for the elevator doors to close before wilting slightly, leaning against the lift wall and reaching up to rub at his eyes. He needed to shower, shave, and sleep, but the Network was on autopilot at the moment, which was a horrid idea.

He stepped out of the elevator and headed for Jim's office at a zombie-like pace but stopped when he saw the woman leaning against the wall outside. He straightened immediately, sharpening, his hand drifting for his gun. "Adler. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Moriarty rang for me. I thought it best if I didn't drag my feet," she said, giving Moran a once over with a critical eye. "Didn't he tell you? Things must be more chaotic than I thought."

"They're fine," he said gruffly, scanning into the office and motioning her in behind him. "Take a seat," he said, walking around to Jim's chair and grabbing his own laptop from where it sat central. He flicked it open and logged into the security servers, pulling up the background checks and sorting by date. There at the top was Adler's. He sighed, looking through it. His eyes kept blurring, and he had to rub them to focus. "What the fuck were you doing in Siberia? "

"I was managing a problem in the grifting department when shit hit the fan," she said, examining her blood-red painted nails. "It took me to Siberia. When I got wind of the coup, I thought it might be better to wait out the worst of it where I was... Inaccessible."

He sighed. "Not a bad move," he admitted, putting the laptop aside. "What did Jim hire you for, precisely?"

"That time?" She asked archly, eyebrows raised again. She wasn't ever in the business of making things easy. "Jim hired me because you were presumably rotting in some coffin, and dear old Harrison was required to take over your post. Ooh, and she was a mess. So touching..."

His gun was in his hand and aimed at her with surprising speed, but his expression was casual. "I want to be clear as we are starting out," he said quietly. "I am exhausted. I haven't slept properly in more than a week. The only two people in the world who aren't on my shit list are currently down in the infirmary, and I have precisely zero time or patience for bullshit. If you decide to continue being unhelpful, I will shoot you now, and save myself the trouble. I don't have any problem with that, and honestly, Jim is a little too occupied to get pissed at me for it."

She raised her hands in surrender, looking tense and a little intimidated, but still somehow poised. "Fine, Moran, be that way. Jim hired me for the same reason as he did then. There aren't enough hands around to help. So he hired a pair of unquestionably discreet ones."

He nodded a little, lowering the gun but keeping it in hand, resting on the table. He didn't feel bad about pulling it, though perhaps he should. His patience had evaporated off a long time ago. "Fine. We are short staffed, I can't deny that." He glanced at his laptop and clicked a few times, before scanning his thumb and painstakingly entering a long password one-handed, cursing under his breath when he mistyped the first try and had to enter it again. "There. I've given you access to our current reports and overviews. Do some reading. There's an office free for you two floors up. J34. Your number has been sent out to the departments. You are officially on call. Congratulations." He stood. "Focus on familiarizing yourself with our situation. Contact me immediately if any situations arise. I'll be in the infirmary getting some sleep." He motioned toward the door with his gun casually. "You're dismissed."

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but was too in tune with her sense of self-preservation to allow it, and instead just nodded and stood, making her way to the door without any fuss.

He watched her go, and when the door closed he collapsed back into Jim's chair slowly, putting his hand over his eyes and taking a slow, shaky breath. He felt overwhelming... relief.

He dismissed the feeling a moment later, disgusted with himself. He was a soldier. A sniper. The best there was. He could have carried on on his own as long as was needed.

Now, though, the too-short-by-far cot in the infirmary sounded like the most wonderful place in the world. He stood again, exited the office and locked it carefully, and headed for the lift. Maybe now he could get a solid five or six hours in.

Lorna woke up again an indeterminate amount of time later. She could see a clock on the wall, but she'd never read the time before she'd passed out, so it meant nothing to her. If it was correct, it was late at night. Impossible to tell, in this room, but a couple of the lamps in the corners of the room had been turned off. She shifted a little, uncomfortably, and caught a glimpse of Sebastian, seemingly asleep on his cot. He looked far too big for it. The door handle clicked, and she looked over as it opened, revealing Vince. He looked just as haggard as Sebastian.

Armetti stepped in and closed the door very quietly behind him, turning to look at Lorna. He seemed surprised to see her awake, but then offered her a tired smile and walked over, sitting down in Sebastian's chair. "How are you feeling?" he asked, voice soft.

"Like shit," she said back, even quieter. It was easier to whisper. Required less effort. And she didn't want to rob Sebastian of sleep, no matter how unlikely it was that he wouldn't wake up to the soft sound of voices. "I don't know what day it is anymore... You don't look so hot either."

He shrugged. "And you somehow look as beautiful as ever." He reached out to take her hand in his. "We're working. As best we can. We will solve this," he said firmly. "You'll be fine."

She gave him a wan smile. "Thanks," she said quietly. She'd had the flu, once, while she was with Vince. He'd waited on her hand and foot for a week. Then it had seemed appealing. Now?

"Has anything happened, while I was out?"

He sighed, sat back a little, but his hand remained around hers. "Adler is here. Moriarty brought her in to assist Moran," he said softly. "It's Tuesday, by the way. Five days after your surgery."

"Fuck, really?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes with the hand plugged into the IV and heart monitor. "Jesus. I hate her. But if it takes some of the strain off Sebastian, whatever. I'll take it." She glanced down at his still form, at the other end of the room.

"Mm..." was Armetti's response. He sounded less than thrilled. There was silence for a bit. "I'm... I was... glad to hear he was alive. You must have been thrilled," he said softly.

She looked back at him, eyes a little softer than before, and she gave him a kind of rueful smile. "Yes and no. Not the best way to find out. But I was still... relieved."

He nodded, squeezing her hand. "You love him." His voice was neutral, but he had never been good at hiding his emotions from her.

She sighed, looking away from him, her eyebrows drawing together slightly. "I thought we talked about this in New York, Vince... I have for years. That didn't change."

"New York changed," he insisted. "We had that conversation, but I turn that night in that room over and over in my head. You were... Ethereal. A primal hunter, a goddess, with the power of life and death and the bridge between clenched in your hands. And after you finished with that woman, you turned to me... It was like we had never been apart."

She looked down towards Sebastian again, worried that he was hearing all of this. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in front of him. But she wasn't going to risk waking him up just to deal with this. She closed her eyes for a second, taking a breath, then opened them again and looked at Armetti. "That was what you asked for, Vince. You asked for it to be like it was, in the old days," she said steadily, though some deep, dark, forgotten part of her was hurting. Couldn't he move on? "I gave you that much. But that was all it was. It will never happen again. Now that I've committed to some.. some warped version of monogamy, I won't betray it."

He dropped her hand, sitting back slowly. "Right," he said stiffly. "How silly of me." He took a slow breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, they were sad, but he was smiling. "You always have been such an artist as a grifter. I shouldn't have let myself get carried away. My apologies."

"I'm sorry," she said, voice soft, a frown on her face. "I'm sorry I can't give you what you need from me. But, Jesus, Vince... Even if I don't die in this bed, you've got to get over me. It's been nearly a decade since I left New York the first time. I don't want you... usable to me. Easily manipulated. I'm your weak point like nothing else. You would give away everything for me. Hate me, if you have to, but there are few people in the world I'm tired of yanking around, and you're one of them. I'm sick of hurting you, Vince. You've done too much for me."

He pushed a hand through his hair, and shook his head a little. "I'm sorry, Lorna," he said quietly. "I can't do that. I don't even wish I could. But I'll do my best to keep it from affecting you." He reached out and took her hand again, pressing it to his lips gently.

Moran's cot squeaked as the sniper shifted, and Armetti looked over. "I should go," he said, looking back to Lorna. He stood.

She nodded, tucking her cold hands under the covers. "Alright. I'll see you around, Vince."

He turned for the door, and then hesitated. When he turned back, his expression was conflicted. "Lorna... If he ever..." He glances at the sleeping Moran, and then back to her. "...dies, again... I hope you will consider me as an alternative to suicide?"

Something in her chest clenched hard at that suggestion, a resounding, disbelieving NO.

Nothing, nobody, could fill the void Moran left behind. Certainly not Armetti. A man she'd never truly loved.

"Sure, Vince," she said, lips twitching up a little. A passable lie.

He studied her face a little, then nodded just slightly, and left without another word.

The door clicked shut, and Moran waited less than a second before he let go of the laughter that he had been suffocating himself to contain.

"Jesus," he managed, wheezing, a few seconds later. "It's a goddamned soap opera."

She let out a mildly exasperated sigh. She was too tired to find anything amusing, let alone this. She wasn't surprised he was up. "Shut up, Moran," she said wearily, rubbing at her closed eyes.

"I mean, did he just quote Humperdink in earnest seriousness?" he muttered to himself, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Eventually the chuckles calmed. It was mostly the exhaustion anyway. He raised his head and looked over at her. "You alright?"

She opened her eyes just enough to give him a look, which went from him to the machines all around her, and then closed her eyes again. "I don't know," she said, sarcastically.

"Not what I meant," he snorted. He walked over, considering her, then reached out and very gently nudged her arm with his hand. "Budge over. My bed fucking sucks."

She scoffed a little - he would have about as much room on this bed - but moved over nonetheless, unable to pass up the warm comfort of him beside her. She didn't answer his question, or say anything. She didn't know what to tell him. It hurt, somehow, severing that one last fail-safe, that one last safety line to a permanent harbor. And any reminder, any implication of his death stung like nothing else. Now that she'd experienced that feeling, it was the thing she feared most in the world.

He climbed into the bed, very carefully putting an arm around her and tucking her close against his chest for the first time in more than a week. He took a slow breath, savoring the feeling. He'd missed her. And some part of him was afraid he wouldn't be able to do this much longer.

She never got over how soothing it was to be tucked up against him, the feeling of safety settling deep in her chest. She sighed, leaned into him, and sank into a doze.

He lay there for a few minutes, appreciating the moment, but it wasn't too long before he fell asleep, as well, resting well for the first time since this had all begun.

She woke up to Shelby standing very awkwardly over them, a folder in his hands. He cleared his throat, obviously unsure how to treat her when she was snuggled up to the most dangerous person on base. "I have news."

We were reaching in the dark
That summer in New York
And it was so far to fall
But it didn't hurt at all
And let it wash away, wash away

- Florence + The Machine - The End of Love -