"Hand over your weapon, please, Ms. Harrison," Mycroft said, sounding bored. "My men have orders to kill you if you refuse to cooperate."

She made sure the safety was on and then carelessly dropped the weapon on the metal floor, her eyes glued to Mycroft. "Tell me what you're going to tell me, Mycroft. I'm not a patient woman normally, and even less so with you."

"You're under arrest," he said simply. "Effective immediately. You will begin working for the government, for special operations. You will be overseen by me."

Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. "And how do you expect to keep me from running off during an op? Are you going to implant another time bomb in me? A shock collar, maybe? Oh, maybe a handler who will assault me while we're in the safehouse?" she rattled off, voice dryly irritated.

"Hardly, Ms. Harrison. I'm going to offer you a reward." He leaned back toying with his ever-present umbrella. "In exchange for your undying loyalty, I will offer you- One liver."

She was silent for almost half a minute, staring at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

"Well, to be precise, the location of one specific liver, currently residing in one specific individual," Mycroft idled, clearly enjoying her confusion. "You've been out of the loop for a few weeks, Ms. Harrison- Excuse me. Mrs. Moran. You see, your husband isn't doing very well at all."

She went ghost white, the color draining from her cheeks. "Jesus," she whispered, looking off into space for a second. "I assume you have some sort of proof for me?"

"Video evidence, among other things." He pulled a tablet out of his briefcase and turned it on, handing it to her. "Everything you need to know is there." There were several medical reports, and a grainy video. The thumbnail showed a buttoncam view of Moran, looking wan and jaundiced, lying in a hospital bed. Jim was beside him, and they looked to be talking.

She felt her stomach plummet a few thousand feet looking at the proof. "Alright," she whispered, handing him the file and the small tablet back. "I don't have a choice either way, it seems." She was quiet a second, then looked at Holmes again. "If I die on one of these stupid missions, you still have to give him the liver. Where... where did you even find it?"

"Not if you commit suicide," he countered. John sat there looking aghast.

"Mycroft, you can't just-"

Mycroft continued as though he hadn't spoken. "As for the liver, Mr. Moran has an unusual set of qualifying factors that exclude him from matching with most donors. Mr. Moriarty has been very... motivated in his search for a match. But I have something he doesn't- Mr. Moran's mother."

Lorna just nodded along as Mycroft stipulated that she not kill herself, and then somehow managed to look even more shell shocked than she had before. "His mother? Christ. Well, that would help, wouldn't it. Also, John - see what I mean?"

"I..." John trailed off, bewildered.

Mycroft nodded. "If you try to escape, you never find his mother alive. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes," she replied simply, though her voice betrayed her fear, her swiftly crumbling spirit. She looked away from them, hands curled into fists where they rested on top of her thighs. Would she ever be able to escape, once Sebastian had what he needed?

"Good. In that case, welcome to the team," Mycroft said with a smug smile.

John grit his teeth. "Mycroft, she came to help us on good faith. You can't just-"

"Yes, I can," Mycroft smiled, and leaned back in his seat. "I don't need your consent, John, as much as you might feel differently. My brother agrees."

"Your brother is going to hear about it from me when I get home, and so are you, right now." John shot back, uncowed. "This is wrong, Mycroft. I've seen you do some shady things over the years, but this?!"

Mycroft fixed him with a dry gaze. "Just because you've had sex with the woman doesn't make her an innocent civilian. She's an internationally sought after criminal. If other countries knew her identity, she'd have dozens of arrest warrants after her. She'd be a target for dozens of hit squads. She gave up her rights a long time ago, John."

John flushed red, but his expression didn't falter. "Don't take the high ground with me, Mycroft. I can think of a couple of international ethics violations on your end, as well. Or are we forgetting the time that you sold your brother's soul to Moriarty for information? Or the labyrinth you stuck him and Mrs. Moran in? I'm sure the United Nations would have a field day. She's a human being who came here on the grounds of a bargain for mutual gain. Truce. Neutral ground. You respect that, or I don't respect you."

Mycroft's smile didn't change or falter. "I think you'll find that that doesn't mean very much to me, John."

"One of the many ways you're less intelligent than your brother," John said with a smirk.

The smile twitched but didn't fall. "I have to say, I expected better of you, John. Falling so easily for a criminal. Again? I suppose we always knew you were an adrenaline addict."

He shrugged. "I don't see how that's an issue. Now, never loving anyone..."

Mycroft laughed. "Not an issue? John, I believe you are forgetting that this woman was the very same who helped set you back a year on your health. Are you telling me you care about her?"

Lorna watched him in silence, not sure what to make of the conversation anymore.

"She's a human being, Mycroft. You've probably done more to my health than she has, and I still care about you ." John shook his head.

Well there was the admission, she supposed. Wow, that had been so much easier than Sebastian caring about her, or hell, even being friendly with Jim. It squicked her out a little, how easy it was for everyone else. It felt... weak, almost. How could you let down your barriers so quickly, so easily?

Mycroft's smile grew condescending. "You've never complained about repurposing a criminal until now, John. Please, do stop being so silly."

"Do the words 'good faith' mean anything to you, Mycroft? Not in the dictionary sense." John's tone was biting.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Like arguing with an illogical brick wall," he sighed. "Do you honestly believe they would do the same for us, John?"

"No," John says, unflinching. "But I believe- or I did- that we were better than that. That we didn't stoop to the same levels as a world-wide crime network."

Lorna snorted. "Stooping? There's no difference between the government and a world-wide crime network."

"I'm beginning to agree with you," John said dryly. Mycroft ignored them, apparently done with the conversation.

She gave a slightly weary smile and didn't respond, the expression sliding off her face after a moment as she looked through the window at the slowly retreating island, hiding in the waves.

It was a longer flight, this time, if only because of the tension in the chopper. John kept glancing between Mycroft and Lorna, uncertain.

They eventually landed, and the tense atmosphere shifted into a different sort of tension. The door slid open and three men immediately were in her face with assault rifles, which she looked at very dryly. "Like that's necessary with the sword you have hanging over me," she snorted.

"No, but no harm in being over prepared," Mycroft said, pressing a button in his seat. Her buckle released. "Go on. They'll escort you. And please don't think we're above killing you if you try to run."

She gave him a derisive look. "As if I think you're above anything? For such a genius, Holmes, you're a god-awful fool," she scoffed, and stood, managing to look poised half-hunched in the short space, and let herself be guided off the helicopter with the insistent escort of the guns beside her.

"Charming woman," Mycroft said once she was gone, standing. "I have a car waiting to bring you home, John. Your daughter has been asking for you. I believe my dear brother is teaching her dissection."

John let out a violent kind of sigh, and tromped out of the helicopter without anything to say to Mycroft for the moment. But once he was on the pavement, and Mycroft had climbed down beside him, he turned. "What are you planning to do with her? Lorna?"

"We have a few jobs to which she will apply her talents and knowledge, as well as her status in the criminal world. If she succeeds, she'll be returned to her people. If not... Well, we'll see how things play out."

John stared at him for a long moment. "This may be a counterproductive thing to say, considering what I said earlier, but you're just going to let her go? What's the catch, Mycroft?"

"Nothing so dull as a catch," the elder Holmes chortled. "Once she has earned her husband's health, we lose leverage. At that point, we have two options, one of which is releasing her. The other option would be a waste of a valuable potential asset. If she returns to her cohorts, there may be something which allows us to regain leverage."

John didn't reply, just shook his head in disgust and headed off, looking stormy.

Lorna was shown, rather roughly, to what turned out to be what looked like a hotel room, if a hotel room had a steel door and a very sturdy looking lock. The door closed behind the goons and the lock clicked, and she sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. The full weight of her situation, and Sebastian's, was coming down hard on her, a weight pinning her down. Sebastian. She didn't know exactly where she was, but she was in England as far as she could assume, and Sebastian was only a few hours away at most. Dying in a hospital bed, with only Jim there to support him. Soon, they would know that she was not returning, and she didn't know how much information they would have about it. Would they think her dead? Captured? Or a traitor? Her shoulders hunched and a sob forced its way out of her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth and broke down as silently as she could manage.

It was three days before she truly had human contact again; they fed her through a slot in the door, and the rest of her needs were taken care of by the limited furnishings in the room. Someone had thought to leave a book she'd never heard of (or maybe it was an accident, but she was grateful for it anyway) and she burned through it in the first two days. The third, the door opened unexpectedly in the early morning, and she jolted up from her sleep, heart jumping from past traumas. It was a group of three men, one unarmed in the front and flanked by two goons. The one in front obviously was more important than the rest of the people who she had glimpsed. His eyes were stern on her.

"Get dressed. You have a meeting with Mr. Holmes to attend. We'll wait outside. Knock when you are ready. Try anything, and you'll be shot in the gut. Unpleasant way to die, I hear. Understand?" He said, in a voice she would have described as being owned by a man who knew he was in charge. She didn't say anything, but nodded, and that seemed to be enough for him, because he turned and led the goons out of the room again, and she was left to get out of bed and do as she was told. The clothes they had provided for her were simple and a little scratchy, but they fit fine (something she couldn't always accomplish with unfamiliar shirts, for reasons most bustier women would understand immediately), and she knocked on the door when she was done dressing, as ordered. The door opened swiftly, a gun the immediate thing in her vision, but then it was determined she was not a threat and it lowered. The leading man only looked at her for a second and then simply said, "Come," and led the way down the sterile-feeling hall.

The stern man only showed her as far as the door, but the goons followed her in and took their places on either side of it, and she entered with a grim sort of resignation.

Mycroft was waiting in a briefing room. It was a sterile white room, not ideal for his purpose, but entirely ideal for setting Harrison on edge.

His bid to destabilize her partially worked - bad memories crawled at the edges of her mind, and she had to work to keep them out of the forefront. "Oh, so you're not just keeping me to work with, you're also trying to psychologically torture me again. Wonderful," she said dryly, walking forward to sit in the chair opposite him, her face ever-so-slightly sardonic. "Well, get on with it, then. Tell me what impossible mission you've drummed up for me."

He feigned ignorance as to her accusations.

"I think you'll actually agree with this particular assignment," he assured her, turning on the screen on the wall. "You'll be helping us undermine a child porn ring."

She flinched slightly, a pained face coming on as she glanced toward the screen. "You're not showing me the proof, right? Just the target information, right?"

"Proof is not your area of concern, Ms. Harrison," he responded, unconcerned and somehow a touch insulting as he put an image up on the screen. A handsome man in his late forties eyed them from the picture. His hair was prematurely grey, but aside from that he seemed to have maintained a good portion of his youth. "There's our target, the man running the operation. His first name is unknown, but he goes by Luciano in the industry. I'm told you have a connection."

Her stomach dropped about five hundred feet into the Earth's crust and her voice went with it for a hard, brief moment. "His first name is Antony," she replied expressionlessly, attempting to focus on deep breathing for a moment, as invisibly as possible. No way it was hidden from someone like Mycroft, unfortunately. "I've said it once and I'll say it again, you're a sick fucking bastard, Mycroft," she said dryly. "I assume you want him dead. How do you want it done?"

"If I wanted him dead, he would be dead by now," Mycroft responded, thoroughly amused by Harrison's reaction, but externally as expressionless as a bowl of congealed oatmeal. "If he dies, we lose the locations of hundreds of children, who would be liquidated into other networks or sold quickly while Luciano's people recover and adjust their hierarchy. While I don't find this to be an unreasonable cost to hamstring the lot of them, the British government as a whole is somewhat more... soft-hearted. As a result, you will be retrieving the information that we need regarding the children under his... care... before dispatching him and any of his associates you can get your hands on."

"So you do want him dead, just not right away," she amended, eyes on the screen. "Fine. Am I going alone? Where is he? What are you giving me? I don't feel like the dramatic, drawn-out debriefing is going to be fun for either of us if you take too long," she tacked on at the end, glancing at him with sharp eyes. He'd put a leash and collar on her like no one else had before, but damn if she was going to play the submissive little captive.

"You'll be going in alone. You decide what story will work best for you and we will fabricate it. He is currently in Naples, where his base of operations has been for the last three years."

"Of course he's in Italy. Why wouldn't he be? Just the place I am most likely to be recognized for a spy, that's all," she said bitterly to herself, rubbing her eyes. "Fine, alright. Time to go classic. I'm a client, but one he wouldn't need to see personally, at least not right away. I want to put off him seeing my face until the very last second. I..." She paused, her face thoughtful. "You've done analysis on him, I'm sure. What are the odds that he'll refrain from shooting me immediately if I tell him my real name and that I'm there to give him Armetti?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking slightly alive for the first time since they had begun speaking. "Now there is an interesting question... yes. Yes I believe he might."

"I'm fucking crazy," she muttered to herself with a glance up at the ceiling, then looked back to Mycroft. "Better start laying a trail for me, then. If you can't hide that I was with Moriarty all this time and not with Armetti, make it so I was more involved with him. If you can squash the rumors that me and Sebastian got married, do it - better that he thinks I just broke up with Vince. I need a reason to be away from the network like this..." she drummed her fingers on her thigh for a second, looking into empty space, then nodded to herself. "I need to look like I'm on the run from the Network. Ask Luciano to hide me in exchange for Armetti's head."

"Mmm... You do perform that particular act quite convincingly," he said dryly. His hand ached today, and he was running out of patience. "I'll send someone to discuss the particulars."

She smirked at his mention of her and Sebastian's brief stint as fake escapees from Jim's network, and stood without further prompting - she was never disappointed to exit Mycroft's presence, and leaving the sterile white room was a bonus. "You do that. I have a blank wall to go stare at until you do. Riveting fucking stuff," she said, and then turned and left, regardless of whether or not Mycroft had anything else to say.

The goons were waiting for her, as was the stern man, and he simply gave her a once-over before turning and leading the way back down the hall, to her room, where a meal was thankfully waiting for her.

It was a few hours later that they sent in the brown-haired woman who looked at her like she was some particularly smelly garbage, but went over the mission details succinctly and efficiently, and left her with a thick folder to peruse that night, as she was to leave the next morning. Fine with her. She wanted it to be fast - she needed to get back to Sebastian.

The table was cold against his skin, the leather straps warm and damp with perspiration. The world tilted and shrank, focusing in on a single drop of water, suspended mid air, circling it slowly, the room spinning by behind. He knew it was falling, knew in the next moment it would hit his skin. For this moment, though, it seemed his prayer was answered, and time had stopped. Stopped the water, given him just a moment's reprieve...

But as he studied the droplet- a perfect sphere, light shining- he realized that perhaps the moment was lasting too long. His heart had stilled with that drop. His lungs had stilled with that drop. Each part of him, stilled, but time was not stilled, he had been wrong, only space, and now he was needing blood, needing air, if only he could make his lungs MOVE-

"Moran... Moran ..."

He took one painfully slow breath, fighting for every molecule. Oxygen hissed into his nose like a trickle of water on an inferno-

"Tiger, please..."

That, more than anything else, dragged him back to consciousness. Back to the rhythmic concerto of monitors, to the insistent hiss of the cannula. Not the impatient demand, but the exhausted, quiet request. He dragged his eyes open and focused on Jim.

Jim was tired. Had been, in fact, for several weeks now.

Sebastian had taken such a sharp dive that it felt wrong to be away from him - what if Moran died, while he was off taking care of some stupid shit that wouldn't matter in three days? If Moran was going to go, he needed to be there. Another quick scare, but it was over, for the moment.

"I have news," he said quietly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and to clasp his hands together. "You're not going to like most of it."

Seb nodded, and looked around, before reaching out to grab onto the handrail with a hand he vaguely recognized as his own- just thinner and oddly bruised. He hauled himself up to a sitting position, muscles trembling slightly in a way he resolutely ignored.

"What is it?" Asked the voice of a seventy-year-old pack-a-day smoker.

Jim knew that he could not keep Sebastian in a lying down position permanently, and this was one of the times he would allow this dissent. He took a deep breath. He didn't want to give part of this news. He even considered just not doing it. But he did.

"Mycroft is refusing to send Lorna back. He's keeping her captive under a deal that you receive a compatible liver when she's done what he wants her to do. The donor..." He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Is your mother. He has her - she's impossible to get to. We have to wait this out. As much as I don't fucking want to."

Sebastian sat still for far longer than he would have in any other circumstance. He eyed the door, mentally measured the distance to it. Considered the distance beyond it. The nurses and doctors, the security. If he took Jim hostage he could make it through most of them, but in this shape he was uncertain of his ability to walk, much less control someone bodily.

Suppose he could get out, what then? He could take a car, but driving would be a whole new complication. He could force someone to drive him, but then what?

Then what, and then what, and then what.

He turned to Jim, ignoring the second half of the information. "What are we waiting for?"

He could see the fight behind Sebastian's eyes, could see the realization that his body could not back up that fight, and saw the logical conclusion; Moran wanted a plan.

"For Lorna to do it. To complete what she has to. I don't doubt that Mycroft will fulfill the deal; when he considers it filled is another matter. She is, for the moment, safe from him. He needs her for something. You're the matter of concern; for both of us, I would imagine." He fell silent for a minute, looking down at his clasped hands, somber. "She'll be fine, Sebastian. She always is."

"Don't lie to a man on his deathbed," Sebastian spat. "You are conveniently ignoring a slew of..." he paused as his voice gave out, caught his breath, and continued, repeating the process every few words, much to his increasing frustration. "...facts. One, we have no guarantee that Holmes knows where my mother is... He's lied to us before... Such as a month ago about not double-crossing... us about Harrison... Two, who says my mother will be a match? ...We have no guarantees that she... even has a compatible blood type...Three- no, Harrison is not always alright... She has almost... Died... Fuck, you almost... Died, Jim... If I hadn't... Gotten you out... Of that fucking maze... " He trailed off, point made, breath short and face sweaty. He concentrated on staying upright, bracing himself with the rail.

Jim let him talk himself out, watching him impassively, waiting. Then he spoke again. "I'm not lying, Moran. This is not the maze. She has autonomy now, as far as my limited sources have been able to tell me. She could come back, if she worked hard enough at escaping - she's capable. But whatever evidence Holmes has must be enough for her. The fact that he knows we need a donor in the first place... Every time I look around it seems we have sprung a new leak. We'll deal with that later. As it is..." He sighed. "Neither of us are willing to give up a chance. She will be fine. If things go south, if I have to send people in for her, I will. But if Mycroft truly has your mother, I have no doubt that he would kill her and ruin our chances should we interfere. So we will wait."

"Jim..." he murmured, but couldn't think of an argument. He finally slumped back into the bed, looking down at his hand on the railing, at the skin that was slowly yellowing like a timer counting down. Then he looked up at his boss. "When was the last time you slept?"

"A week. I'm due for it," he conceded without a fight. He felt bone-weary. He looked down at his hands again for a second, rubbing one thumb against the other absently. "You're losing the bet, by the way."

Sia, Diplo, & Labrinth - Angel In Your Eyes

-Author's note

My friends, it's been since May 2018 since we've gotten a single comment! I miss yall!