Person of Interest 1. Chapter 1

As always, I do not own or make any money from POI. Please read and review, it you like it let me know, if you don't let me know. It is how I learn.

It was very late in the evening; the computer monitors reflected light back into Finch's glasses as he stood in front of the desk. His eyes searching the screens as the pictures changed in front of him. Finch's face was drawn; lack of sleep was catching up with him. The small bandage on his right temple showed dark against the glow of the monitors. There was a look of worry and concern etched deeply into the lines on his thin face, the small scab just below his right eye could just be seen. His eyes surveyed the six monitors as his fingers on the key board changed the video feeds, his fingers froze. He tapped a couple keys and a single video feed popped up onto the center monitor.

His whole body stiffened. There in the video feed was the New York night skyline, shot from Brooklyn Bridge camera number 30 SE. It showed a dark clad figure in an overcoat walking toward the railing of the bridge. Finch could see the man's long hair being whipped about his face as he neared the edge of the railing. The figure grabbed the railing and looked over, looking down. Finch felt his heart speed up, felt the tension in his tired body react to the surge of adrenalin. He'd seen this before, but it was no nightmare.

_His Machine had followed a similar long haired, tattered clothing figure once before, that man had been his hope…his end to a festering problem and even though that man had climbed to the top railing he had not jumped that evening, It now seemed so long ago._

The Machine identified the man in the live video feed, a red box appeared around his head as he turned his face back over his shoulder, as if looking for someone. Under the red box a text appeared. 'target found'. Finch reached up and tapped his right ear.

"Mr. Reese I found him." His voice carried a note of worry and tiredness. It was soft and full of trepidation.

Reese's voice spoke to him through the ear bud he wore. "Where is he Finch?"

Finch heard the tension and pain in that voice that he had come too trust. He swallowed and adjusted his glasses. Remembering, watching as the man on the video feed hooked a foot onto the bottom railing and started to climb.

"Finch!" Finch jerked as the voice shouted into his ear.

Finch drew a deep breath in. "Mr. Reese…He is exactly where you were on the Fourth of July…five months ago." His voice was soft, as if speaking to loud might make the man he was watching on the center monitor take the next step up on the railing. his hands reaching for the next hand holds. "Hurry Mr. Reese….Hurry…"

POI


	2. Chapter 2

three weeks earlier

Reese stood hunched against the cold, in his knee length overcoat. A frown on his lips, worry in his eyes, he watched as Finch slowly made his way down the icy street. That Finch had gone out after being holded-up in the library for three days because of the raging rain and snow storm that had brought New York to a stand-still was a puzzle, Reese wanted to solve it. "Where are you going Harold?" He was following his eccentric employer.

Reese had seen Finch quietly gather his coat and head out the back of the library, not saying a word about where he was going or even that he was leaving the building.

After all Mr. Finch was a very private man. It had peeked Reese's curiosity. So, Reese grabbed his coat and ran down to the front entrance and treading dangerously fast on the extremely icy sidewalks. He went around to the back of the building and just caught sight of Finch heading east around the next block. Reese glance up. Across the street, there were ice spikes hanging off the buildings. They were too large to be call icicles, some looked over five feet long and as big as one of his thighs. He had heard warnings about walking to close to high buildings.

There were very few people out on the streets so Reese had to hang back so if Finch did look over his shoulder, Reese could find a spot to duck into or behind. But Finch was being Finch. He was heading directly to his destination. There were very few stores open. Those that were open, were where the proprietor lived on site and still had electricity. Most of the power was out, but there were a few small areas that had back up generators or other sources of power. Six blocks later, Reese still had no idea where Finch was headed. It had started to sleet again.

Reese melted into a door recess and watched as Finch crossed the street mid bock. Slipping and sliding across the icy street, hands and arms flailing like a broken windmill in the cold wet sleet as he keep his balance. Reese found himself holding his breath for his friend, knowing that a fall on the icy street could be devastating for him. He smiled as Finch made it across, got a little better footing and started on down the street, heading to the corner.

Reese stepped out of his hiding spot and started to follow when he saw Finch do a funny little awkward sidestep and went flying sideways into a dark slot in the wall.

John moved into action. He half ran, half skated his way across the icy street and came to a sliding halt, bumping up against the wall just to the side of what he saw was a recess. He could hear voices mumbling and a moan. Quickly glancing he'd seen no weapons, so he stepped into the entrance of what turned out to be a hallway. Taking the three swift steps to where the attackers were standing over Finch, his expression set, his mind registered that the door to the entrance was broken open.

The shabbily dressed man on the right was raising a foot to kick Finch. The man never saw the punch that slammed into the side of his head. He fell sideways, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Reese moved so that he was standing over Finch in a protective stance, leaning in toward the other man. For a moment he thought he was seeing a ghost of himself from his past.

The man's hair was long and dark, blending down into a scraggly beard that was peppered with grey; covering a face with a lot of deep scars. There were spots where no facial hair grew. He was almost as tall as Reese. He wore multi layers of clothing under a well used, over sized military jacket, covering at least three shirts. His outer pants were more dirt than cloth and could probably stand on their own. They were tucked into a pair of military issue boots that were held together with duck tape.

Reese took all of this in, in less than a second. He looked into the eyes of the man across from him. He stopped in mid reach, shock crossing his face. He saw a pair of eyes he knew, a set of pale blue eyes he knew well. Surprise and doubt filled his eyes. His voice was a soft question. "Colby?" Even in the bitter cold Reese could smell old alcohol and body odor.

Reese saw the pale blue eyes narrow. He saw the fear of the name and knew what was about to happen. With fluid motion he blocked Colby's right hand and stepping over Finch he forced Colby back, away from Finch. Reese blocked the left hand that was swung at his head and then blocked the retreating kick that was sent as Colby moved back another step. Reese saw Colby shift into a right hand defense stance. Reese countered, going to a left hand defense position. His right foot moved forward, dropping his left shoulder down, he countered another punch and a sweeping kick. He saw Colby finally react to the left hand stance, and Colby's right hand came forward to open a path to Reese's jaw. Reese sidestepped slightly to the left, Colby's left fist sailed past Reese's chin and John sent a short non-lethal chop to the center of Colby's chest.

The blow moved Colby back several steps. He staggered and fell against the corner wall. Shaking his head as a dog might, as if shaking water from his shaggy head, he glared at the man standing before him. His eyes widened, a look of doubt came into the pale eyes. He was slowly coming out of the drunken haze and knew he was fighting someone with skills sharper than his right now. His eyes shifted, looking around. He was in a fight, there were two bodies on the floor and he was cold. Without thinking he turned and shot out the doorway into the ice filled street, scrambling to the right.

Following Colby's retreating figure, reaching out with a hand, Reese grasped just a piece of the tattered military jacket and it tore loose. Reese's feet hit the ice just inside the recess of the door and his feet slipped as he fell sidways. Throwing his hands out to stop the fall he got his feet under him. Finch's pain filled voice stopped him from pursuit. He stopped at the edge of the doorway, righting himself against the door jam. Slowly looking back toward Finch, propping his shoulder against the wall, he check around the corner of the entrance.

A choked whisper drifted from the floor. "Mr. Reese…?" a groan followed.

Reese stopped and looked back down at Finch, he was turned toward Reese and there was blood streaking across the pale face, his glasses were askew. Reese glanced once more in the direction Colby had gone and then stepped back to Finch. Taking a quick glance at the bum on the floor, he saw he was still out cold.

Going down to one knee "Easy Harold…" Reese reached down and helped the smaller man as he struggled to sit up. "Easy don't move too fast…" Reese straightened Finch's glasses.

Finch reached up with shaking hand and touched the side of his face, adjusting his glasses over his ears and nose automatically. He lowered his hand and was staring at the red smear across his hand. "Am I bleeding?" His voice was soft, an octave higher than normal, almost childlike. He touched his head again with the same hand and more blood came away. "Oh…I am bleeding." His eyes got even wider. What little color that was in his face left.

"Let's just sit here for a moment, don't move too much. Let me check you out." Reese's expert hands checked Finch for any broken bones and then he took a look at the head wound. There was a large bump just above Harold's right eye brow, the skin on the bump had been split and that was where most of the blood was coming from. There was a small set of scratches on Harold's right cheek, but it was already starting to clot over.

Reese glanced over his shoulder looking out the doorway that Colby had escape through. He took a minute to look again at the second assailant. He took a good look at the man's face. He was still showing no signs of coming around, but he was breathing. Reese looked back at Finch and saw the pain and panic in the hazel eyes, he could feel him shaking. Shock was setting in.

"Come on Harold…We need to get you back to the Library." Reese carefully lifted Harold to his feet, keeping a steady hand on him to make sure he had his feet under him.

Finch tried to turn his head and upper body to look at Reese but the pain shot through his neck and back, he smothered a gasp and felt his world spin. Reaching out, he clamped a hand on Reese's arm, even though Reese had him. His sight dimmed slightly and he heard Reese's voice as if he were far away, not right at his shoulder.

"Deep breaths Finch…that's it breathe deep…there you go…Steady…" John saw color start returning to Finch's pale face.

Finch focused in on John's dark coat. He could see the woven fibers, the snow droplets that were now frozen. He listened to John's soft voice. In a whispered voice he repeated. "Breathe…yes…Mr. Reese… I am breathing." He didn't see the smirk that crossed his companion's lips, but he felt Mr. Reese's hands as they guided him out of the recessed doorway and out into the snow.

It was snowing again, and not just the little flakes. These were large fluffy snow flakes and they were falling at an alarming rate.

John checked the direction Colby had gone, but there was no trace of him. The snow was coming down heavy. Reese directed Finch out onto the side walk and saw that visibility was down to about five feet with the heavy snow coming down. He carefully moved across the now snow covered ice. Locking the distance to the curb in his mind's eye, he made the curb and stepped out onto the street.

Twice crossing the street, he had a little skating episode with Finch and was glad he was able to keep both of them upright. He made the far side of the street and found a little shelter from the large snowflakes. He put his shoulder along the building and directed Finch back to the Library. The wind started to pick up, pushing at their backs.

It was blowing snow so hard by the time he got to the Library he almost missed the entrance, a shift in the wind told him he was past the construction cover that was over the side walk. Going in the front entrance he used his key to get them inside. Reese stopped just long enough to remove the snow from both their heads and shoulders. Finch had remained quiet the whole walk back and Reese was glad when he got Finch's over coat off and settled his boss in front of the computer. He saw some spark come back to those hazel eyes. "Finch don't move while I get a wash cloth and a couple bandages." He saw Finch look at him and was glad to see an acknowledgement.

Reese hurried, took his long coat off and tossed it into one of the many corners as he hurried into the room that held his supplies. He brought the First Aid kit out, which was more like what the ambulance drivers carried around, then a first aid kit, and he had added several extras to it.

He stopped at their utility room and got a washcloth and wet it. Walking back to where Finch was sitting he noted that his employer was looking blankly at him. He watched as Finch's eyes tracked his movement, but there was no expression on the computer genius's face.

Reese put the kit on the computer table and turned to face Finch. "Harold…do you know what day it is?" He saw those hazel colored eyes look up at him.

"It is Wednesday Mr. Reese." Finch moved in the chair a little… "Why do you ask?" There was a touch of irritation in his voice.

"Just checking, you took a hard hit to the side of your head…" While he was talking, he was reaching for the pen light he carried inside his suit coat pocket, pulling it out he pressed the small button. "I'm going to check your pupil's reaction…"

"All right…" Harold blinked owlishly. Glancing down at his hands he saw there was dried blood smeared across his finger tips and palm. He started to reach up toward his head, but Reese handed him the wash cloth.

"Hold this for a moment…" Reese reached with the now free hand toward Finch's glasses, gently removing them. He set them on the computer table. He stooped over and with the end of the pen light he touched his nose. "Look at me Finch…Look right here."

He studied Finch's reactions as he complied with the simple commands, he flashed the light across both hazel colored eyes, the right one first and then the left. He straightened up pocketing the pen light as he turned it off. Reaching out he took the wash cloth from Finch's hand. "This might hurt a little." As carefully as he could he started cleaning the blood from Finch's face.

"Ooohhh…that hurts…"

Reese flinched, glancing at Finch's eyes, his hand stilled at the edge of the lump that was now about the size of a small egg, his lips drew down in a stern frown. "I have to get this clean Harold…You don't want it to get infected." He studied the hazel eyes for a moment then returned to cleaning the wound, he tried to be even gentler, but he also knew from experience that it still hurt like hell.

When he was satisfied that it was clean he took several steri-strips and pulled the split skin together and closed the small wound, listening to Finch making small sounds under his breath. Then taking a large sized bandage he opened it up, pealed the tape off and dabbed a bit of ointment he had made up special onto the center of the Band-Aid. "This will probably hurt for a second but the ointment has got some numbing stuff in it and will help…" He applied it over the top of the lump and didn't react when Finch hissed his displeasure. He stepped back and surveyed his handy work. "I'll get you a couple Ibuprofen, and some ice…it will help with the swelling and the headache."

"Thank you Mr. Reese." Finch reached out and took his glasses off the table and put them back in place…

"Would you like some Tea?" Reese disappeared into his room, put the kit away and then walked back out. He hadn't gotten a response from Finch. He stopped and studied his employer/friend for a moment, worry creasing his brow. He started walking toward where Finch was seated in front of the desk and its computer. Finch had both elbows on the arms of the chair and was staring straight ahead, unblinking.

Worry came into Reese's eyes, the corner of his lips pulled down slightly. "Finch are-."

"I was mugged." He tried to turn slight so he could look at Reese, but it hurt too much.

Reese moved to stand in front of Finch, seeing the pain the movement caused. "Yes." He stood looking at Finch with a frown slowly starting to settle on his face, worry moved into his blue green eyes. He saw Finch look up and lock eyes with him.

His eyes had been on the computer screen, moving only his eyes he looked up at Mr. Reese. "You called one of them by name…?" Anger settled in those hazel eyes.

Reese did a slow blink. "I think I knew the guy that ran away… His name is Colby Abbot…We served together, we were in Tikrit." Reese's eye narrowed slightly as he saw a reaction on Finch's face

Finch broke eye contact and then looked back at Reese. "He was with you in Delta Team Alpha."

"Yes." The frown deepened, going into Reese's eyes."

"He was MIA, you too were captured."

"Yes, I was captured and got away, he was listed as MIA. When I got back I told them he was killed, they said there was no body so he was MIA." Reese glanced away and then looked back at Finch, he'd seen something in Finches eyes. "What's this about Harold?…where is this heading?" His soft voice got a little edge to it.

Finch reached up and touched the side of his head. Drawing a deep breath, he slowly let it out, dropping his hand back to the arm on the chair. He looked away. He had promised he would never lie. He looked back at Reese, concern in his eyes. "You were not the only Person of Interest I have kept track of over the years." He became uneasy, he adjusted his glasses, his eyes stayed on Reese's. "Your Mr. Abbot resurfaced a year after he went MIA, in Russia of all places. His finger prints were linked to an assassination." Finch swiveled slowly in his chair and stood up, using the side of the desk for a couple steps, he went to the multi-file drawer in the corner. He opened the second drawer down and leafed through some folders and then pulled one out.. "This is what I have on Mr. Abbot…" He slowly walked back to the computer desk. Gingerly Finch reached out handed the file to him. He slowly sat back down as Reese took the file.

Reese took the file handed him and moved back away from the monitors and Finch. He skimmed over the pages, his face going to the blank mask he had perfected so long ago. Walking over to the plexus glass board they used, he stopped, quickly glancing through the report and then looked at Finch over the file. He blinked and shuffled his feet. "Let me get the Ibuprofen and some tea…" His voice was flat and even. He set the file down on the corner of the desk and walked off into the small room that served them as a kitchen

Finch swiveled the chair and followed Reese's retreating back into the kitchen and swiveled back around and shifted the chair to the key board. His fingers flew over the keys and the tap, tap sound filled the quiet room. He tried to bring up the cameras in the area where he had been mugged, but everything was down. Typing in a name, he read a number. Reaching up, he gently touched the side of his face. His eyes went to the building's windows and it looked like a white out.

He looked from the computer screen to the file cabinet, slowly again getting to his feet and went over and open the file drawer again, pulling out a numbered file that he had pulled up on the computer. He walked back to the desk and sat back down. He could hear Reese moving around in their little kitchen store room. Again he asked the computer to search and it came up with snowy screens.

Folding his hands in front of the keyboard he listened to Mr. Reese moved around in their kitchen store room.


	3. Chapter 3

Reese moved automatically, hands doing the work; making coffee, getting the teapot ready, filling the tea caddy. His hands were working on their own, putting everything together while his mind worked on what he had quickly scanned before setting the file down and walking toward the supply room.

Colby had re-surfaced; eight months after going MIA. He had been linked by signature to seven assassinations over the last five years. Reese had recognized all the names, low key, high ranking people in military intelligence. He had also recognized the signature, a copper coin with a death mask and the number 4…suddenly a flash back.

_The last mission Delta Team 4 had been on; a rescue mission went very bad. That had been in Dokar, they had been sent from Tikrit on the high security mission, and somehow the team had been compromised. There was talk of a trader. John had been leader that night and they had rescued the downed pilot from the Insurgents. They had walked into a fire fight. John had covered his team members and the pilot as they had retreated from the firefight. He had held the rear guard and kept the fifteen to twenty insurgents pinned down until the others had escaped; he had greatly reduced the insurgent's numbers._

_ Firing off a long burst, he turned to run and heard and then saw a mortar shell land about 50 feet away. In the second before the bomb went off, he saw Colby giving him cover fire. The bomb went off just in front of Colby who had come back to cover John's escape. A bullet ripped into John's back at the shoulder, it spun him around and as he fell to the ground. It was what saved his life. A large chunk of concrete sailed past him. The concussion from the mortar knocked him senseless, and by the time he had figured out which end was up he was hooded and bound. But he remembered that moment like it was yesterday, because he had seen the look in Colby's eyes. He had locked eyes with Colby for that brief second, just before the mortar had exploded. Colby's pale blue eyes saw Death coming and John had recognized that look. He had seen it more than once, sometimes caused by his own hand. He had been captured; the two other team members, with the pilot had made it out safe. John and the two surviving members had thought Colby had been killed in action, as did everyone else._

John focused back in on his hands as they completed the task of pouring coffee and a cup of simmering Sencha tea. After adding a spoon full of sugar to the tea he picked up both cups and walked out of their little kitchen/store room. Walking the short distance to the computer desk; his eyes were focused on nothing and as he started to set the cup of tea down. Finch spoke. "Mr. Reese…are you alright?"

Reese, half bent over, the cup of tea almost on the desk, froze. His eyes focused on his hand, then the tea and he lifted his head slightly, his blue green eyes looking at Finch. "Yes…" He set the cup down and came to his full height, continuing to look at Finch. He saw worry and concern and a touch of fear flash across the computer genius's face. "Why do you ask?" His tone was even, flat, worry touched the corner of his eyes.

Finch looked at the tea and pulled the cup toward him, breaking eye contact. He waited until he had the cup gathered in his hands before he looked back at Reese. "Because the last time I saw that look on your face… you demanded that I get out of a car and you disappeared for a few days…" Finch kept his eyes locked on John's, lifting the cup to his lips sipping the tea.

John's facial expression didn't change, but the edges of blue/green eyes softened. He turned his head just a touch. He didn't respond. He bent and picked up the file. He glanced at it, walking toward the window; the snow was still coming down heavy. He stared off into the whiteness of the snow. He held the cup clenched in his hand. He remembered reading the military reports of why his two other team members had not come back for them. They thought that both Colby and John had been killed in the explosion, and they had the injured pilot to secure. _'Leave no man behind.'_ The thought shot into his mind and echoing right behind that thought. '_You're alone out there and no one is coming to help you.'_ That was when he had realized that, that mission. He sipped his coffee and looked at the report Finch had handed him, he wasn't seeing the report. His mind sent him to a dark, foul smelling cell.

_John had spent seventeen days being beaten and tortured until a guard finally slipped up and John had killed him. He escaped, killing three others as he got away. It had taken him two days hiding and stealthily moving around to find out where he was and another three days to get to a town where the US military was in presence. He had almost been killed by a US Army patrol. The bullet that had saved his life was removed. He had received several commendations and a couple medals for his actions._

"Mr. Reese?" Finch's voice was low, soft. He saw Reese turn toward him. "I also found this…" He extended his hand toward Reese, holding another folder out.

Reese turned and walked back over to Finch, his eyes surveying the computer genius. His color had improved, but he was still moving even more carefully than normal, and there was a pinched look to his face. Reese set his cup down with the file and took the folder. He looked at the cover.

Classified files: USAF: classified documents: BLACK OPERATION:CD59863257/586/AYR456 .

Moving only his eyes he looked at Finch. "This is an official file. How did you get possession of it?" He saw a small turn of Finch's lip.

"I have my resources…" He took another sip of the tea and set the cup down. John didn't ask, so he didn't tell him he had a file exactly like that with John's name on it. "I believe Mr. Abbot is a very dangerous, troubled man." His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes shifted to the monitor.

Reese glanced at the folder and then back at Finch, picking up the other folder. He turned, heading over to the chair that was at the far side of the computer desk and dropped into it. "Not all of us came out of that war unscathed." He opened the file and started to scan it. It was standard information on the first page, on the second page there was a 'profile'. John glanced at the date and saw that it had been their evaluation just before being sent to Dokar.

Abbot, Colby D.

Evaluation: subject is under weight, complaining of constant headache, complaining of having 'waking dreams'[possible PTS]. Noted: hand tremors, hesitation in answering questions, second guessed three ops. REVAL: after mission.

Reese felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Colby should not have been sent out on the team. As a team leader on the mission, John should have been advised of Colby's situation. He knew that Delta Team Echo should have been rotated stateside for R&R. The team had pulled four back to back missions in country and the mission before Dokar had been long and extensive. They had spent two months tracking down three US flyers who had gone down and been captured. They had rescued all three but the mission had been so covert that twice they had been fired on by their own troops. Echo team had been deep in hostile territory and got their men out alive, but the physical cost had been at a premium for the team.

John leafed through the rest of the file. Closing the folder, he opened the first one that Finch had given him. Scanning through it, he saw where Finch had tracked Colby up until 2009 and he had been on the west coast, where his call signature had shown up on an assassination attempt…Attempted. The subject had not been killed, only wounded.

Reese drew his right ankle up over his left knee and laid the folders across his lap. Leaning back in the chair a little more, he put his right elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand went to his jaw, he ran a bent index finger along his jaw line. His eyes shifted over to Finch, he studied the eccentric genius for a moment. "Why did you quit tracking him after 2009?"

Finch's fingers paused and he looked over at Reese. "He dropped off the grid and did not resurface until about three weeks ago, here in New York. The Machine picked him up in a crowd. He was pan-handling down on 7th Ave." Finch looked back at the computer screen, adjusted his glasses with his right hand and looked back at Reese. "He was not a number, just an interest…"

John's left eye brow raised. "An interest?"

Finch's fingers stopped on the key board. "You were not the only 'interest' I have tracked.


	4. Chapter 4

Looking back at the computer screen, Finch glanced at Reese who had gone back to reading the documents in his lap. Reese on the outside looked like he was settling in for the evening, but Harold could tell from the set of his lips and the pinched look around his eyes that he wanted to be out and looking for Mr. Abbott. As Finch stirred in front of the computer; he felt his sore body responding a little slower than normal. He raised his right hand to the side of his head, gingerly feeling the bandaged lump above his eye. Then, he adjusted his glasses and closed his eyes for a moment. He had never been mugged, he had other terrible things happen but never mugged. His private security, two men who had been in his employment for several years were now only around him in special occasions, now that Reese was around, he had been using them less and less. They still oversaw his private properties and his other business concerns. If Reese hadn't been following him…

A small alarm went off. Finch jumped, his eyes went wide, then he realized what it was and started to push his chair back away from the computer desk.

"I'll get it." Reese, who had been watching Finch out of the corner of his eye, closed the folder and got to his feet. Setting the folder on the table he walked past Finch who was checking his watch. "If this keeps up were are going to run out of diesel by tomorrow noon." Swiveling in his chair, he turned to watch Reese walk over to the generator. It sat in the corner of the next little book area. Reese grabbed one of the cans of diesel and stepped to the generator.

Reese twisted his upper body, looking at Finch; a small smile touched the corner of his lips. "I stocked three extra, ten gallon cans down in the basement when they issued the storm warnings last week." The slight smile had come from a stray thought, he had been a boy scout…always be prepared…

"Very astute of you Mr. Reese…

Turning back, Reese took the filling cap off the top of the generator. Reaching over for the funnel, he put the small end of the funnel in the top of the tank and hefted up the diesel can and filled the tank. Replacing the cap, he looked at the elaborate exhaust system. It had been specially designed for this room. It was the quietest generator Reese had ever been around. The generator ran all the lights and power to the computer system Finch had installed here. The fumes emitted from the generator were collected and dispensed into a system that vented to the top of the Library roof. There were several monitors attached to it, to make sure that each floor it passed through was safe. It was a very complex system and John had studied it the first few weeks he had been around it. He hadn't asked, but the more he was around this exocentric genius; the idea that Finch had probably designed the whole thing was added to the list.

Looking back over his shoulder Reese smiled again. "I'll bring them up tomorrow." He placed the funnel and can back in their respective places. Bending at the waist, he looked at the side of the generator. "Oil level is still in good range…Temp is in safe range." He turned and walked back to the chair he had vacated. Sitting his long frame back in the chair, he took the folders again and looked over at Finch. He wanted to go out and look for Colby but with the snow falling like it was, it would be impossible. He was also worried about Finch. "How's the headache?" He noticed how Finch was moving and that the startle of the alarm had put a fine sheen of sweat on Finch's forehead.

Finch looked up from the computer screen. Absently, he touched his cheek where the scratches were. "I'm all right Mr. Reese." He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Thank you for filling the tank." There was a tone from the computer. Finch indicated the computer screen with a gesture of his hand. "I found some footage from a working traffic camera, before the snow got so heavy…"

Reese set the files down and got up, walking around to stand just behind Finch's chair, he leaned over slightly to see the computer screen. It was the side traffic camera, showing a long shot of the intersection. Two men were seen walking from the direction Colby had run. They suddenly stopped and quickly disappeared into the entrance of the hall way. The camera angle was such so you couldn't see what they were doing.

Finch came into view a couple minutes later, from the opposite side of the street. He could be seen slipping and sliding across the street and stepping up onto the sidewalk. A few flakes of snow were falling. He passed the entrance were the two men had gone into, suddenly he was jerked sideways. Reese was then seen running, slipping and skating across the street, following Finch. There was a little balancing act as he slid into the wall. Getting his feet back under him, he moved to the edge of the entrance. He did the quick glance around the edge of the doorway and then he slid around the edge and disappeared.

Snow started coming down a little harder and the screen was blurring with white flakes and then a dark figure came out into the white snow and ran off and out of the camera view.

Finch gestured toward the monitor. "I will write a task to search the cameras in the surrounding area to see if we can identify where they came from…" Finch glanced stiffly over his shoulder at Reese. "Depending on if the cameras are working and not frozen we should have information very soon."

Reese looked out the window across from the computer desk. A look of impatience crossed his face. There was still a white-out. "Would you like another cup of tea?" His voice was that soft rasp. He was going to get himself some more coffee. He was feeling extremely restless and he knew he needed to hunker down and wait until they got a lead and the snow slowed down. Coffee usually settled him down; heading for the kitchen/utility room, he glanced out the window. It would be bad enough to have to go in several inches or feet of snow, but he needed to find out where Colby was holed-up.

"Yes, thank you Mr. Reese." Finch tapped a couple keys and glanced at the smaller screen on the right hand side, out of thirty cameras, sixteen were still working. The others had been broken or frozen for a couple days. Writing another search, adding the criteria for body recognition, his fingers flew across the keyboard. He hit the final key stroke as Reese walked back out of the kitchen/utility room.

Finch nodded his thanks as Reese set the tea cup back on the computer desk and walked back over to his chair. Finch could feel the tension Reese had under control. It was like a coiled snake, patiently waiting to strike. Finch went back to sipping his tea and writing programs.

Reese studied the folders, slowly reading the 30 page classified document that Finch had some how gotten his hands on. He glanced at the computer wizard, realizing again at how cunning his employer really was. Reaching out, he took the cup from the edge of the computer desk and drank down the coffee. Glancing out the window, he saw he could almost see the snow covered trees now.

He looked back over at Finch, a serious expression on his face.

Finch his eyes on the computer screen, suddenly felt like he was being watched. He looked over at Reese, seeing him staring at him, a frown touching Finch's lips. "What?"

Reese's voice was that soft rasp. "If I leave here, will you promise not to go out?" His head tilted just slightly. "You already have one bump…I don't want to-."

"I will not be going out…" He looked over at the window, it was still snowing. "And I don't think you should be-."

"I need to see if I can track Colby down…Now…" Reese, coffee cup in one hand, folders in the other got out of the chair in one fluid motion. He set the folders next to Finch and headed back into the kitchen/utility room.

"Mr. Reese, there is over two feet of snow-." Finch saw that it was going to be useless to argue.

Reese came back out of the room, checking his gun and then slipping it into the holster at his back. He walked over to where he had laid the overcoat and, picking it up, gave it a little shake. "If you find anything call me." He headed toward the main hallway.

"What if a number comes in?" Finch tried one more ploy.

Reese stopped, looking back over his shoulder at Finch. "That's what the phone is for." He turned and sauntered out.


	5. Chapter 5

He moved slowly through the calf deep snow. He was cold, hungry, and hung-over. He had a case of the shakes and it wasn't from the cold. It had been awhile since he had a drink and that was too long. Colby shook his head, the snow that had gathered there rained down in a powdery spray over his face and shoulders.

Colby tried to piece together the last couple hours or so. He had come out of a black out in a fight. He tried to remember what the guy had looked like but he couldn't, but the voice, the way his name had been spoken….He knew him…from some where in the past.

Stumbling, he caught himself against the edge of a wall. He looked around. The street was deserted, not even a snowplow had made it down here. He straightened back up and continued on.

The pain was starting to take control of his mind. It throbbed from deep in his right side and began to radiate out. He needed to get a drink, needed to drown the physical pain so the voice in his head would not start. That single voice would lead to the others, and the only way to stop that was to drink until they stopped. His hand reached down and touched his right side. Intellectually, he knew he truly couldn't feel the scars across his rib cage or the three inch hole just under his last rib through the multi-layer of clothing, but he knew they were there.

The wind picked up, picking up the fresh fallen snow and twirling it like a little tornado.

A sharp crack sounded in the air.

Colby reacted, the sound was like a shot, his head whipped around, eyes franticly trying to see the sniper, to see anything and then the sharp crack happened again. He looked up, just in time to see a section of heavy ice breaking away about thirty feet above, from a window jam.

Lunging out of the way, he threw himself out onto the snow covered street. The chunk of ice crashed down where he had been standing. Shards of ice flew everywhere, like little missiles shooting through the air, some smashed into the wall, instantly turning to powder.

Sitting up, looking more snowman then human, he wiped his face clean of snow, feeling his half frozen beard. His head jerked up as another chunk snapped and fell. He watched as it came down, busted into a thousand pieces and showered him with little biting knives, small spots of blood formed on his face.

Staggering to his feet, he stumbled off down the middle of the street. He had to get a drink. Looking at the different business on either side of the street, he pushed through the snow, now finding drifts that were thigh high. There was more wind here whipping up the fresh fallen snow and mixing it with the flakes that were still falling from the sky. Traveling here was harder, but he didn't want to go back to the sidewalks.

Two blocks down he found what he needed, a liquor store. It wasn't open but he didn't care. Looking at the overhang in front of the store, he didn't see any large ice waiting for him. He moved to the front of the store. There was an expandable gate on the plate glass window and all the bottles had been removed from the displays. Colby moved to the door. It was heavy, safety glass; he could tell by the icon etched on the bottom corner that the door was alarmed, that and it was taped. He knew in this weather it would take at least twenty minutes to a half hour for the cops to show up, if they could get here.

He reached inside his left jacket pocket and pulled out a tire iron. It took him two blows to get the door glass to crack and then another two to get it to finally shatter. There was a red light in the back of the store that was suddenly flashing. He knew that meant that even with the power off and no immediate alarm, that the silent alarm had been triggered.

Using the tire iron to remove the rest of the glass, he stepped through the opening and went directly to the counter and stepped behind it. Laying the iron on the counter, he grabbed several bottles of bourbon off the shelves and stashed them in his coat inside pockets. When he had the inside pockets full, he took two extra bottles. Putting them in the front pockets, he then turned, picked up the tire iron and stepped to the register. Putting the narrow end of the iron into the lip of the cash register drawer, he gave one quick move and popped the drawer. It was empty.

Rage filled his mind. Taking the tire iron he laid waste to the register, the counter and the shelving behind him. Finally stopping because he was exhausted, he went back around the counter and out the door.

Stopping at the doorway, he reached into his left pocket, pulled a pint of bourbon out, cracked the seal and twisted the cap off. Putting it to his lips, he drank several deep swallows down. Capping the bottle, he dropped it back into his pocket. Suddenly the world was a lot better.

Checking up and down the street, he headed back the way he had come, following in his own footsteps. He glanced nervously at the section of the sidewalk that the ice bombs had come down on and hurried past there. He got back out onto a cleared street and headed toward the park, there were a couple tunnels there he could hold-up in, vaguely he wondered what had happen to Bob, they had been working together. His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle, twisting the cap off he put the bottle to his lips and finished it.


	6. Chapter 6

Reese trudged through the snow. He had gone down to the area of the city he had called home for awhile, before Finch had rescued him and given him a job and a purpose. He'd lived on the streets of New York for a time, hiding from himself and everyone else.

He knew all the good hiding places. He had haunted the streets and alleyways learning the dos and don'ts of being on the street, there was a different etiquette when you were homeless or a bum or a drunk. He had learned quickly the territories each of the homeless people claimed, and where their boundaries were. He learned not to touch anything in a cart. Early on he had gotten his knuckles smacked with a baseball bat wielded by a homeless lady. Soon she became his street mentor and a friend.

Colby was not here, he'd asked around the fire barrels and no one had seen him. He had checked all the dark corners and steam vents. There were people there, just not who he was searching for. His next stop was going to take a little time. Moving back out onto a plowed street, he headed for Central Park. He was walking. Most of the streets had been plowed only to be snow bound again. He was quite sure this last snow fall had put down well over two feet of the heavy white stuff.

A single beep sounded in his left ear.

Reaching up he tapped the hidden ear piece. "Yes Finch."

"Mr. Reese there was a break-in at a liquor store about six blocks from where I was accosted." Finch's voice carried a hint of disdain. "I heard it on the police scanner and accessed the stores alarm system and their video. I was surprise the store had a battery back up system for the alarm and video, but checking into their history of break-in-."

"Finch…The point." Impatience rolled across Reese face, his lips tightened.

"Yes of course Mr. Reese." There was a short pause. "The video was a little dark but I used the facial recognition and it is Mr. Abbot."

There was another pause, just about the time that Reese was going to speak, Finch's voice sounded again in his ear.

"He took several bottles of liquor, broke into the cash register and then tore the place up."

Reese's lips turned up in a cold smile. "Let me guess, there was no money in the register?"

"That is correct Mr. Reese." A touch of surprise in his voice.

Reese continued walking. "I'm headed toward Central Park…I'm walking that direction, haven't seen a cab in the last half hour…There are a couple good places to hide-out and stay warm in and around the park. And, it's not that far from where you were…accosted" Reese used Finch's word.

"Walking? Please be careful Mr. Reese. The Weather Channel is predicting more snow; another band of storms is coming through the area. They are predicting another foot or more. It should start in about forty-five minutes"

Reese glanced at the lowering clouds. He figured it would start sooner. "I'll call you a little later. How does the head feel?"

There was a slight hesitation "I am fine Mr. Reese…I hope you find Mr. Abbott."

Reese tapped his left ear and headed across the street, feeling the sand and salt crunch under his feet, the truck had just driven by. Glancing at the sky again he saw flakes starting to fall from the lowering clouds. Moving his shoulders under his coat, he headed for his destination. He watched for a cab and for the chunks of ice that were occasionally cracking and falling from the buildings.

POI

Colby sipped at another bottle. His eyes slowly searched across the snow covered parking lot in front of the Baseball Café. He had walked down the 56th Street Transverse to the entrance of the parking lot. 56th Street had been freshly plowed and other then the few mountains of snow to go around, his path to the café had been clear. The sidewalk down 56th street had about five to six feet of snow piled up on it. The plows had occasionally put breaks into the piled snow, so that as things started to melt the water had some place to run. He had walked along the edge of the street, keeping an eye on the few cars and trucks that braved the weather. The parking lot had not been plowed. Making sure to leave no tracks Colby used one of the cuts in the piled snow to literally slip into the dense trees just before the entrance. Under the canopy of the trees, he plowed through calf high snow, back toward the side entrance of the building. Reconnoitering the cafe before going to the back corner, he saw no one had been around it. He saw no tracks, except that of a squirrel that chattered at him.

The back corner had a small covered area that, during the summer months, was a storage area. But in winter, nothing was kept there. The one thing it did have was a steam vent manhole cover. It was a great place to hide. The little enclosure around it allowed him to bed down on the warm grid and not freeze to death, and not be seen. He had discovered this a couple weeks ago and had used it since then.

Entering the little safe haven, he pulled the bottles out of his pockets and put them on the little shelf in the corner. Reaching under the shelf, he pulled his bedroll and backpack out, placing the bedroll over against the brick wall of the Café, on top of the steaming manhole. Sitting down on the bedroll with his back to the wall, he drew the backpack up onto his lap. Reaching over to the shelf, he put the bottles in the backpack, keeping the one he was working on in his left hand.

Reaching up with a gloved hand, he put the tip of his right index finger to his lips and using his teeth, he pulled the glove off. He flexed his hand. The scars on the back of his hand were almost blue with cold. Reaching with his right hand, letting the glove hanging from his teeth drop onto the backpack, he took the top off the bottle and putting the bottle to his lips he consumed the contents. It no longer burned going down and the warmth was a welcome feeling in his stomach.

He laid the now empty bottle on the floor and slid it under the shelf. There was the sound of glass hitting glass. Leaning his head back against the wall, he ran his bare hand over his face and beard. Idly, he stilled his hand as he felt ice on his beard. Using a thumb-nail, he broke the ice crystals loose. Closing his eyes, he slowly groomed his beard. The warmth of the liquor was spreading and silencing the voice that spoke to him in his head.

His hand slowed, his breathing became deep and steady and the alcohol in his body took over and let him sleep.

POI

"Stop here."

"Here?" Dark eyes looked into the rear view mirror and saw the only fare he'd had all day nod. "Want me to wait?" Pakakka Hinnis took a look around the empty street; the snow was starting to come down harder.

Reese fished into his pocket and pulled the fare out and a little extra and handed it through the cabbie's window. "That would be nice…Can you give me twenty minutes?"

He saw Pakakka glance at the money in his hand.

"Wait for you I will…Don't think I will have a traffic jam..." He pocketed the money.

Reese gave him a small smile and opened the cab door. Glancing across the parking lot of the Baseball Café, he didn't see any tracks in the snow, but he knew he wouldn't. He gently shut the cab door and glanced up and down the street. His eyes saw what he was looking for. He moved back up the street a few yards, looking at the break in the plowed snow bank on the street and smiled. He saw foot prints in the snow leading toward the café. Sliding on the ice, He moved onto the snow covered ground, slightly surprised that the snow was as deep under the cover of the trees. The limbs of the trees were heavily laden with several inches of snow. Glancing through the trees toward the parking lot he could see the snow was increasing. In his life time he had been in both extreme heat and cold, burning sands of the deserts and the Russian winters of the tundra. He preferred a balmy day in the park. As he followed the tracks he saw were they where heading. He knew of the spot behind the Café. A grim smile touched his lips.

POI


End file.
