But strictly speaking, I'm still on track
Strictly speaking, I'm holding back
Troubles keep falling in my lap
Yeah, but strictly speaking, I'm still on track
So tell everyone I'll be alright
'Cause strictly speaking, I've got my whole life
More than one major setback
But strictly speaking, I'm still on track

- Tame Impala - On Track -

Jim spent the next hours working. Armetti had not replied to his email, and he had decided that he had allowed that particular thread to unspool too far unwatched. He started trawling through his sources, compiling information, finding the story behind quiet little ticks across the globe.

Lorna woke up almost nine hours later, and dragged herself up, Magpie shifting from her torso to the bed. She shuffled into the bathroom, used the toilet, brushed her teeth, and went back out into the bedroom. The intercom's light was off, so she hadn't missed anything. She turned and headed for the wardrobe, where she changed out of the clothes she'd slept in and into less-wrinkled clothes that smelled of wood glue from the stagnant drawers. She didn't mind - it was better than wearing the clothes of her enemy.

She made herself coffee, ordered breakfast, and received it at the door with her normal controlled exterior firmly in place. Technically, with Sebastian decommissioned, she was the highest-ranking member of the Network. She wasn't sure what story Jim had fed to anybody outside of medical or the family, as odd as that was to acknowledge, so she wasn't sure what to expect from the man carrying her food. He gave it to her with a typical amount of respect, but nothing that said he knew that her husband was in surgery. She accepted the food and shut the door, letting the mask slip again. She ate her food in silence, though opening her email on the phone that had been given to her to check her messages.

The worry was there, deep in her chest, almost so deep as to be in her guts, but she had decided not to let it take over yet. There was nothing she could do to change what was going to happen - to change what was happening, a few floors below her. Sebastian would either make it or he wouldn't. No sense in grieving before he died, and certainly no sense in celebrating before he was alright.

She fed Magpie, sitting next to the eating cat and answering emails one by one, her back leaning against the cupboards. She didn't move when Magpie finished and walked off, focused entirely on her task. Don't fucking slip.

The intercom buzzed two hours after she'd woken up. She nearly flinched, then swiftly stood, ignoring her stiff legs, and walked over to press the button on the intercom. "Yes?"

"He's out," Jim said without preamble. "No complications. Come down." Then the intercom clicked off.

She was thankful he didn't keep her in suspense, and turned around to head downstairs. She reached the medical lobby two minutes later after a jog down the stairs, and held out a hand to stop the nearest nurse. "Does Jim want to see me before I find Moran?"

"He's in with Moran already, ma'am," the nurse said, nodding toward the room Sebastian had been in before. "He's waiting for you."

"Thanks," she said, and moved off swiftly. She wanted to see Sebastian alive and... Yeah, just alive, though she'd take conscious, too. She entered the room a moment later, after a soft knock to announce her entrance.

Moran was still out, an oxygen mask over his face, heated blankets around him to keep him warm as he slept off the anesthesia. Jim was in one of the chairs beside him, working on his laptop.

Lorna walked over and sat in the spare chair. She was silent - not smart to interrupt the boss's work, and Sebastian wasn't there to talk to anyway. She watched his face for a while, then shut her eyes and listened to the beeps that meant his heart was still beating.

The beeping picked up pace slightly a while later, and Moran's eyes fought to open, before he squinted blearily at the lights and shut them again.

Lorna blinked as the beeps changed, and looked over just in time to see Moran shut his eyes again. "Hey," she said quietly, leaning forward. "I hear you did great. No complications."

He opened his eyes again at her voice, though it took him a while to manage to focus on her. "...wtimesit?" he finally croaked groggily, his breath fogging the oxygen mask.

"Early afternoon," she said softly, after she figured out what he was trying to say. She leaned forward to put her hand on the edge of the bed. "I know you didn't have much control of it, but thanks for not scaring me too badly in there."

"...Where?" he asked, confused, looking around slowly, before settling on her face again. Then he looked to Jim, and smiled at the cool, analytical gaze of his employer. "Hi."

Jim just raised an eyebrow.

"In surgery," she chuckled, glancing over at Jim to check on his mood, as she often did, then returning her attention to Sebastian. "How do you feel?" She knew he wouldn't be feeling better, per se, but she wanted to make sure nothing was worse, even if the doctors had told her that everything was fine.

He considered that with bleary seriousness, but eventually got lost staring at a pattern on the water cup. Jim snorted. "I doubt he will be overly useful for a few minutes yet, Harrison."

"I know, I'm just... Concerned. Invested. Whatever you want to call it," Lorna sighed, sitting back in her chair while she waited for Sebastian's sedation to wear off a little. She glanced at Jim's laptop, but carefully not at whatever it was displaying. "What are you working on? Declassified enough for your current second?"

"My second," he corrected. "Current and future. With Moran decommissioned you've been promoted. Congratulations." He tilted the laptop her way. "I've shifted a few players to get a closer eye on Armetti... I'm not pleased with what I'm seeing."

She wanted to wince at this new information. Well, perhaps not new, but rephrased, and unpleasant to hear. But, it was unbefitting of that new title, so she didn't, just leaned over to look at the laptop. She frowned. "What am I looking at here?"

"Armetti's network's recent flight records. Italy, most recently," he said, tapping the screen. "Damian Rossi, returning home to visit family."

She clenched her teeth a little. "He was supposed to stay put," she said, firmly. "Should I call him? Or do you want to scout further?"

"No... Don't call him. I was suspicious when you said the shooter missed. This just confirms it. He's making poor choices, our Vincent."

She clicked her tongue in agreement, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she thought. The sniper had missed - otherwise she never would have had the chance to speak to Luciano before he died. But that was odd, wasn't it? Snipers weren't supposed to miss. They were supposed to kill as instantly as they could, in most situations. So why would they miss, especially when she was right next to the target to provide assistance? Armetti had a habit of breaking in his people by mutilating their hands.

She rubbed her eyes. "Do you think this Damian Rossi knew who I am? And past that, do you think he knew to tell Armetti I was alive? Or do you think he would have bothered?"

"I imagine he did know," he agreed. "That factors into why he missed. He's already injured- I'm sure you've drawn the same conclusion I have about Vincent's habits with fingers. He sights in, sees his mark very close to a woman, adjusts slightly, though not with much regard for a potential casualty if it comes to it. Then he recognizes you right before he fires, and has a split-second reaction. Damian saw what Armetti was like when Luciano killed you. Imagine his fear of repeating the mistake."

"Fuck, are you telling me his new hire knew who I fucking was? Vincent telling the story to anybody who will listen, now?" She hissed, rubbing her eyes again, hard enough to see spots. "We have to do something."

"Obviously," he said, rolling his eyes. "But I'm waiting this out. He's a live explosive. I want him to shatter all over someone else for a few days before I go trying to handle him. Let him burn off a little energy."

She let out a forcibly controlled breath. "I should have just killed him years ago," she muttered, not entirely seriously, tipping back her head to look forlornly at the ceiling for a moment. She sighed again. "Well, let me know when you want me to use me as the fire blanket to smother that bullshit out."

He nodded in agreement. "It was indulgent of me to allow him to survive this long, I'll admit."

She sighed again, falling silent for a bit, watching Sebastian fade in and out. Then, she said quietly but boldly, "How much of my management work do you think can be done remotely? If Keira takes Hits I'll be free to just manage Grifting, which isn't that hard. If they don't take Hits, I can put Kelly mostly in charge of Grifting and just check in as needed, take over most of Hits..." she reached up to rub her face, then realized she was wearing a mask, and crossed her arms again. "I guess I'm asking how much I can be with Sebastian, if he wants to be somewhere other than HQ."

He seemed unsurprised at the question. "I'll want you at headquarters minimum one week a month, plus any time we are running a complex operation, or there's an emergency."

She nodded in agreement. Those were reasonable things to ask for. So somewhere close would be ideal, but she'd be willing to hop on a plane when she needed to if it came to that. "Alright," she said, and sat in silence for another few minutes, before saying, in the privacy of a room occupied only by the three of them, "And what about you? You gonna visit if he wants to move to Switzerland or something?"

"I imagine there will be times when his consultation will be necessary," was his only answer.

Moran scoffed sluggishly, eyes still shut. "Y'll visit all th'time."

Lorna grinned under the mask, eyes focusing on Sebastian's face. "Hey, sleepyhead. You feeling a little more with it now?"

"Fugoff..." he muttered.

"That's a yes," Jim said with a smirk. He closed his laptop with a snap, and stood. "I have work to do. Don't die, Tiger." With that, he turned and walked out.

Lorna chuckled at Jim's exit, shuffling closer in her chair to the bed. "Telling your wife to fuck off? Moran, please."

He grinned doofishly at that. "We're married," he said with conspiratorial happiness.

"Sure are," she agreed warmly. "Have the documents and everything. I used you as part of my cover story with Luciano. It's fun telling half-truths."

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to reach for her hand and frowning when he found he didn't have the strength. "What'd... You say?"

She saw the small movement and did the work for him, slipping her fingers under his with another shuffle of her chair. She smiled smugly down at him. "Just a, 'oh, woe is me, I left Armetti because I was madly in love with Moriarty's second and now I'll kill Armetti for the life he took from me' story," she hummed, voice going soft and high pitched for the ruse part. "Then Jim let him know he was watching after my- after a video of me being fake hurt was circulated, and I got to use you as my motivation! Very fun acting, as stressful as it all was."

It took considerable effort for him to follow what she was saying, and he more or less gave up after the first half a sentence, just admiring her voice and her face after so long away. The world was blurry and difficult to piece together, and he knew that were he any more sober that fact would have been driving him insane. As it was, though, whatever they had him on was doing its job, and he felt tranquil.

She knew by his face that he probably wasn't retaining much of anything she said, but she filled up the silence in the room for a little while, just talking about how she'd escaped and Anton and the flight back - nothing that mattered, but stuff she wanted to tell him about anyways. She'd missed him like she'd never missed anything else.

He floated in and out of consciousness over the next few hours, a little more clear each time. He was in pain, yes, but not much more than he had been recently. All in all, he didn't feel much different, but that would take time. When next he found himself wandering into consciousness, he focused on Lorna. She was reading a book he didn't recognize. "You should... get some rest..." he said roughly.

She looked over at him, her masked smile reaching her eyes. They looked a little tired, but she shook her head. "I'm okay. Not on call yet. I can be tired in this chair for a while yet."

He sighed, coughed, winced, glared, and then nodded. "I can't wait... To be out... Of here."

She nodded a little, putting aside her book and reaching out to grasp his hand gently. "Me too. You know I hate infirmaries. You just had to go and get yourself sick, didn't you?" She teased, chuckling a little.

"I did my damndest," he shot back hoarsely, deadpanning. "I told you I was allergic to the fucking cat."

She let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head a little. "Yeah, yeah, and I remember telling you maybe you were getting the flu or something. Magpie is growing up, by the way. We had a very touching reunion after I convinced her she knew me," she hummed, then tapped his hand. "There room on that bed for two?"

He grinned, shifting slowly over, careful not to yank too many wires or tubes.

She climbed in carefully, settling herself against his side with a pleased hum. "Alright, now get well soon, huh? That's an order."

"No shit," he muttered, but he wrapped an arm around her carefully. "You're fine... on this... side, but careful... About the... Incision..."

"You got it," she hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek briefly and then relaxing with a sigh. God, she loved him.

The next few days passed in a slow blur, with Sebastian fading in and out of sleep or unconsciousness as medication flowed into him. The worst of the pain was kept at bay by morphine, which he didn't feel very bad about indulging in for the first little while, but eventually he started staying away from it as much as he could manage. He had no interest in getting addicted.

Lorna reacquainted herself with the Grifting department as Sebastian grew slowly (ever so slowly) healthier, taking on her old responsibilities with a straight back and a smooth smirk, as befitted the head of her department. Kelly was relieved to step back down, which she found amusing, and somewhat relatable. Sometimes she wished she wasn't in control of so much of this world she was in. Other times she felt like nothing was in her control, and she thoroughly hated that. She visited Ratree once in the infirmary as the woman recovered from her donation, but otherwise spent her time with Sebastian or at work. About a week and a half after the surgery, Ratree knocked on the half-open door as Lorna sat reading by Seb's bed, and she looked up at the woman before looking over at Sebastian. "Your mother is here. Want me to clear out for a bit?"

He opened his eyes, studying the other woman and attempting to keep a handle on his interest. "Yeah... Go ahead. We'll be alright."

"You got it," she smiled, leaning to pat his hand before gathering her things and slipping past Ratree with a nod. Ratree walked further into the room, still a dignified presence.

"Hi," she said quietly, sinking into the seat Lorna had vacated. "They said you were well enough to talk, so," she made a small gesture with her hands, smiling a little beneath her mask, enough to reach her eyes.

"Well enough," he agreed. His voice held a little strength for the first time in a long time, now that his body was starting to rally. He looked her over. "And you? Recovering?"

She nodded. "Yes. You and your colleagues seem to have hired some gifted doctors," she said, dark brown eyes meeting icy blue ones. She was silent for a beat, as if unsure what to say, then, "I hear I have a grandchild?"

"You do," he agreed with a small, tight nod. "Keira. I only... just met them myself a... Few years ago, but they're almost... twenty."

Ratree nodded a little, looking quietly pleased. "Good. I wasn't sure grandchildren were even a possibility - for a few years I wasn't sure whether you'd died in the army," she said simply, though softly - regretting never having known more of her son than what a late-night, tired internet search of his name could tell her. She cleared her throat a little, rubbing her thumb over her knee with a rasp of fabric. "Your wife, Lorna - she's been kind. More than I expected. I'm pretty sure I approve," she added at the end, a small joking lilt to her voice.

He smirked, though the expression was a little forced. He wasn't exactly sure what to do with this woman. He'd never had anything close to a motherly figure, and he'd always hated his father.

She was free to walk around, so clearly she'd passed Jim's security checks, but that gave him little to work off of.

"How did you know my father?"

"I was an escort, when I was younger," she started simply. "Your father paid for my services. When you were born, he took you and tied my hands with red tape. That man was... Wrong, inside."

"We... Agree there," he said with a slow breath. "I'm sure... Harrison told... you, but he's dead."

Ratree nodded a little. "She told me she did it. I have to admit, it warmed me up to her nicely," she said, just a hint of amusement to her voice, and then she sighed. "I never got much chance to be a mother, Sebastian. You were my only child. As such, I can't promise I'll be much of a good and motherly addition to your life, but when Mycroft gave me a chance to try..." She was silent for a moment. "I'd like to try to get some of that back. But I won't try to force you into it - not that I think I could. But I ask you to consider it."

He let the silence settle between them as he contemplated what to say.

"I don't need or... Want... A mother. Never... Had one. Don't see... Any reason to change that." He took a slow breath, before continuing. "Six months ago... Would have killed you for... Suggesting that. But now..." He looked down at himself with a poorly-disguised flicker of disgust. "So.. Let's start with... Acquaintances... And see where that... Gets us."

She nodded. That was a reasonable request in her eyes. "Alright. I'm happy to take it at whatever pace you like." She'd waited this long. She could wait as long as it took.

He nodded. "You said you were... an escort... Before. What were you... doing now? Where... were you?"

Ratree shrugged a little. "The money business. Managing, loaning, etc. Above board, but not a... forgiving business for anyone who isn't careful. As for physically 'where'; I was in Switzerland. Best place to be, if you're in my business."

He laughed quietly. "I like... Switzerland. We had a... Good time there." He looked her over again. "How did Mycroft... Find you?"

She lifted her hands a little, a mystified gesture. "I don't know. I asked Lorna that question myself - she didn't know. Mycroft appeared at my office, made it clear that you needed my assistance. I took the gamble. Though I'm not sure I truly had much of a choice."

He shook his head. "You didn't," he confirmed. "Not with Holmes. He's... Difficult."

"I got that sense. Both from the man himself and your wife's description of him, limited as it was." She leaned back in her chair. Even recovering from surgery, she had poise. She let out a quiet breath. Her thoughts wandered back to Riordan, on the subject of difficult men. "Did Riordan ever mention me? Or was I just..." She waved her fingers once. "An absentee figure?"

He shrugged. "Not really. No. If I... asked, it didn't end... well. I stopped asking."

The one time he'd asked had left him locked in his room for a week. When he returned to school- still sick from lack of food- hos teachers expressed their sympathy for the bout of flu his father had reported him suffering. He hadn't asked again. He knew better.

It made sense now. He'd wondered what his father's aversion was, but if Sebastian had somehow managed to find out that his mother was a call girl, he could have damaged his father's political career handily.

Her eyes tightened, trying not to imagine what Riordan would punish a child with, and she nodded. "I see." She wondered what Riordan had done, both to her son and to his wife, who hated him far more than on Sebastian's behalf, but it felt intrusive to ask.

He read the question on her face. "Some other day... When I can drink, and swear... More forcefully."

She gave him a pinched smile and a nod, understanding. "Even then, you don't have to tell me. I wish.. I had been there to shield you from these burdens. I'm sorry I wasn't."

He snorted. "Don't need shielding... Not your... Job. I learned. Made me who... I am." He lifted a hand to examine the nearly skeletal digits, the scar around his trigger finger. "Who I was."

"Maybe you didn't need it. I still wish I had been there," she said simply. "And I doubt very much it is in the past tense."

He didn't respond to that. "You should go... We'll talk again." His head was starting to throb and he wanted time to process all of this. What he wouldn't give for a fucking drink.

She nodded, standing slowly so her incision wouldn't pull. "Thank you for talking with me," she said calmly, and then made her way out. This had gone better than it could have.

A/N

Thanks for reading! Any thoughts? Also, last time I posted I didn't realize, but I NAILED the 3rd anniversary of this fic being posted! How wild is that?