Lorna woke up, and was groggy and confused. Where was she? What was happening? What were these machines making noises about? She muttered something unintelligible and shifted, looking around with blurry eyes.
Moran watched her stir, his breathing purposefully slow and steady to keep his heartrate down, despite the fact that he felt like the organ was in his throat. Shelby had texted him a half an hour ago that Lorna was stirring, almost a full day after the specialist had administered the cure. He reached out awkwardly with his left hand now to take her right in his, gripping it gently as her eyes flickered open, confused.
"Hey there..." He said quietly.
They landed on him and had trouble focusing, but she knew his voice. "Hi," she said, with difficulty. Her throat burned from disuse. "What... What's going on?"
"You're getting better, that's what's happening," he said with a small smile. "Shelby found a cure." He gripped her hand a little at that. "Take it easy. You're going to feel rough."
"How... How long was I out?" She muttered, blinking and managing to clear her eyes up a little, but they were still shockingly uncooperative.
"About forty hours," he said softly. "It could have been a lot longer. We got lucky." He watched her blinking, and glanced at Shelby, who was waiting quietly by the door, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. "Everything seem alright?"
"Yeah, I just feel confused. And bad. Gross," she muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
"What kind of gross?" he pressed. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It wouldn't be unlike Mycroft at all for something else to happen now.
"I don't know, just... Gross," she muttered, shrugging a little. "I can't describe it. A lot of shit has happened to me."
He glanced at Shelby, who was looking over the screens connected to her. The specialist nodded just a little. "Well, your vitals are looking good, and you're awake, which is good, I'm told."
Shelby spoke up for the first time, watching the woman blink a few more times. "How is your eyesight, Ms. Harrison?"
"Kinda fuzzy," she replied, blinking again. "Why, is this not normal? Is something wrong with it?"
"It's fine," he assured her gently. "Not unexpected. It will clear up. The fact that you're communicating clearly is a very good sign. I'm just going to ask a few questions to assess how you're doing. Can you tell me what four times twelve is?"
"Uh... forty-eight, I think?" she frowned, looking unsure. "I'm not really great at math, that's probably not the best line of questioning to see if I'm okay..."
He smiled. "That's correct. And it's alright, just need to trigger that portion of your brain." He started in on a list of quiet questions, most of which Harrison answered easily, and nodded his satisfaction. "Excellent. Right now I'm not seeing any signs of lasting brain damage, and her vitals seem fine. I'll leave the two of you alone. Call me if you need anything. Ms. Harrison, there's a bowl of ice chips beside your bed. Perhaps you can try a few of those if you're feeling up to it. I'd like to see how you do with actual food and water."
"Yeah, sure..." she muttered distractedly. Her eyes were on Sebastian, now that her vision was slowly coming together. He looked... different. Slightly unhappy, beneath the surface. Had something happened to Jim, while she was out?
He took his leave. Sebastian waited for the door to close before turning his attention back to Lorna. His bandaged hand was tucked inside his jacket. "It's good to have you back, you asshole. Don't ever scare me like that again." But he was smiling.
"Hey, not like I had a choice in the matter," she retorted, rolling her eyes a little. It didn't make her nauseous, which was a nice change. "What about you? What's wrong, you don't seem happy."
He shook his head. "It's fine. Let's focus on you. Ice chips, for example." He released her hand and grabbed the cup, passing it her way. "Take it slow at first."
She nodded, taking it and tilting a few chips into her mouth, and crunching them up dutifully. She didn't have the energy to question him further.
He watched her carefully, but she genuinely seemed to be improving. He was relieved. "I should go let Jim know you're awake," he said after a minute. "That the treatment worked. I'll be right back." He stood, arm still tucked away, and headed for the door and Jim's room.
She nodded and watched him go, then closed her eyes to rest.
He knocked on Jim's door quietly, half hoping the man was asleep. He hadn't gone to see Jim since his debriefing after the accident.
Jim was awake, however. "Come in, Moran."
He took a slow breath, then squared his jaw and opened the door, stepping inside. "Harrison is recovering, sir," he said immediately.
"Good," he said immediately, looking very ill himself. "How soon are they planning on taking this blasted pod out of my chest?"
He sighed, walking forward. "I have the bomb squad dismantling Harrison's device and learning everything that they can, but it's been slow. Holmes wasn't looking to make it easy. There's supposed to be a report on my desk by this afternoon."
"At least that's something," he muttered, somewhat impatiently. "I'm bored of being in bed."
He nodded just slightly. "We'll fix this as quickly as we can without endangering your life. If you like I can bring you your laptop and anything else you would like, if you would prefer to work."
"Yes, I would prefer it, so long as the doctors don't give me that look," he said irritably. "You know the one."
He smirked a little. "I'll warn them that the look will be rewarded in kind. Anything else?"
"No, it's nothing you'll allow me to have," Jim shook his head. "I'm sure you're dying to go back to Harrison."
He stiffened just slightly. "I may not be able to guard you currently, sir, but you're still my primary concern," he said levelly.
Jim gave him a level stare. "You threw away your position and ability because you got emotional about that woman. I suggest you make it worth it."
His eyes flickered, then, and for a moment there was fury. For just that moment, he considered how easy it would be to kill Jim. Lying there, weak and immobile, near death... he could smother the man and no one would be the wiser. He could step into control of the network just like that.
It flashed across his mind in a heartbeat, more images than actual comprehensive thought. Still, he shoved it aside almost immediately, and took a slow breath. "It was not my intention for that to be the outcome, sir, and that never would have been my conscious choice. I'll endeavor to fix it as quickly as I can."
"I know that you didn't do it purposely. You're not an idiot. But it's what happened. Which makes you kind of an idiot," Jim snorted. "Don't get worked up. I'm angry enough. I don't really want to see your maimed mug right now."
"Of course, sir," he said softly. He tilted his head just slightly, a hint of deference. "I'll leave you be."
Jim didn't say anything in response, just waved his hand and returned his attention to his thoughts.
He stepped out, closing the door behind him. He knew he should go back to Harrison, but now that she was in the clear, he found he wanted to be anywhere else. Instead, he left the infirmary, and headed for the lift and the gun range.
Two hours later, he had emptied more clips than he could count into the target at the end of the range. The place was empty, had been since he had ordered everyone out after his first round had ended up half off of the target completely. Now he was exhausted, furious, and looking at a sixty-something-th spread that looked just as bad as the first.
He emptied the next clip in just seconds, letting out a roar of frustration that echoed around the empty range for long seconds after he'd fallen silent. He set the gun aside with a hand that shook slightly with fatigue, and sat slowly on the ground, taking slow, even breaths, his eyes red.
Lorna didn't know how much time passed before the door opened again. Oh. Another nurse. Great.
The woman peered in nervously, carefully, seeming to relax just slightly once she realized Lorna was alone. She laughed a little and stepped in all the way. "I brought you juice, Ms. Harrison. If this goes well we can try applesauce," she said, walking over and offering the woman a small bottle of orange juice.
"Great, something that doesn't taste like vomit," she said, though wasn't able to really work much tone into it. "Give it here."
"Right, sorry," she tittered, opening the bottle and handing it over. "I'm a bit nervous after everything."
She raised her eyebrows. "After everything? It seems like it would be fairly quiet, with the two of us bedridden."
"Three," she corrected absently. "Armetti won't be up and about for a long while. A month, at least, Mark was saying."
Her brows furrowed. "What? What the fuck happened to Vince?"
The woman looked stricken. "No one has- I... No offense, ma'am, but I shouldn't... it's not my place." The woman was pale now, and made a quick exit, letting out a startled shriek as she almost bumped into Moran on his way in. She scurried away and he stepped in, closing the door behind him, hand beneath his jacket again.
"Hey. Trying juice, I see?"
She didn't answer, just looked at him suspiciously. "What happened, Moran?"
He walked over to sit next to her, and considered lying, but how long did he expect to run this game? "Armetti and I had a fight."
She pressed her lips together and let out a breath through her nose. "About what, and how bad?"
"What else? And... Not great. He'll use a cane for the rest of his life." He opened and closed his left hand.
Her jaw tensed and released twice in succession and she nodded. "Okay. Are you alright? Vince isn't exactly a harmless little lamb."
He hesitated, swallowed, and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then slowly withdrew his bandaged hand from his coat.
She reached out to gently take his heavily wrapped hand, frowning in confusion. A broken finger? Why would he refuse to tell her about that? But... Why would it be wrapped in gauze like that?
Her eyes hardened as her grip softened, teeth clenching. "I'll kill him," she said dangerously, eyes on his hand. "I'll fucking kill him for this."
He didn't respond, just pulled his hand back, tucking it away again. He felt sick, and he couldn't meet her gaze, his eyes on the monitors across the bed like they were suddenly the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.
She reached for his other hand, needing to touch him, make sure he was alright. He wasn't, she could already tell. But still. "I'm so sorry, Sebastian," she said, voice gentler. "Can I do anything?"
He didn't quite grip her hand back. "No," he said quietly. Then he closed his eyes. She's almost just died, idiot. Get a hold of yourself.
"No," he said again in a different tone, opening his eyes again and gripping her hand and giving her a faint smile. "It's fine. I'll adapt. I always do."
She gave him a rather worried smile in return but was relieved enough that he was smiling at all. When he'd temporarily lost his eyesight, it had been bad. But losing his trigger finger? Oh, Lord.
He straightened up a little and then sighed. "I should go. I have a meeting with the bomb squad to discuss removing Jim's implant. And you need to rest."
She nodded, squeezing his hand and reluctantly letting him go. "Alright. Hurry back."
He nodded, stood, turned to leave, and then turned back. "I'm no longer Jim's bodyguard," he said after a small silence. "Armetti's second has taken over the position. I'm just administrative now." He shifted. "Just thought you should know."
She nodded, face only vaguely sympathetic. She knew if she appeared to care too much it would only sting him. She didn't want that. "I'm sorry," was all she said, softly.
He shrugged. "I don't care. It's just.. You're third in command, you should know." He left without another word, walking through the infirmary quickly, not changing path for anyone. He entered the lift and punched the button for Jim's floor, taking a slow breath as the doors closed.
Lorna took a deep breath after he was gone, struggling to hold back tears. Vince had taken the second most important thing from him. She was going to give him hell for this.
Armetti eyed Lorna's door apprehensively. He shifted slightly in the wheelchair, wincing and trying to get his weight off of his injured thigh. Then he reached out and knocked.