Howdy. :)

This is the tenth (count 'em, 10!) installment of my PoI series. This particular one can probably stand on its own, but there is back story that will help with certain things. The first story in the series is "Dark Horse".

A lot of this story is inspired by the song "Madness" by Muse. It's on their new album, I recommend checking it out.

Enjoy!


John scuffed across the floor in his socks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Lifting the drapes a little, he peered through the window. Dawn was barely beginning to break across the cityscape. Shadows fled as the pale light poured in between the buildings.

He leaned against the window frame, his arms folded over his wrinkled shirt, and squinted out at the new morning. Things were different. Even as he stood there in the quiet of Sam's apartment, John knew that his situation had changed. Last night it was one thing. Now, this morning, it was something else.

John looked behind him, responding to the sound of movement. His eyes fell upon Sam, still asleep on the bed. She turned over, absently brushing her hair away as she found a new, comfortable position on the mattress.

They had been up most of the night just… talking. There was always the temptation for more than that, but John swore to himself that he'd never give in to that, not while he kept the job that he did. They had danced around it before, admittedly. But he would never hurt her that way. It was all just too dangerous. That was the bottom line.

John smiled a little as he turned back to the window. Sam would have said that he had too many bottom lines. Maybe that was true. It was with a certain finality that he dealt with things. It had always been that way. But now, as he had originally thought, things were different.


She practically inhaled her coffee as she walked up the steps to the eighth precinct. She'd had some late nights, and any help to keep herself awake was very welcome. The heat from the coffee was an added bonus.

"Detective."

Detective Joss Carter stopped automatically and turned, avoiding an instinctive eye roll when she saw who had called her.

"Agent Donnelly," she said, attempting to hide the dread in her voice. "I'm surprised you're still in town."

"We've always got a few projects going, Detective," Donnelly said with a stiff smile. "I thought you might be able to help me on this one, as you have already had contact with him."

"So… not the Man in the Suit this time?"

"We're always working on that, but this is starting to take precedence. And, if we play our cards right, this could lead to the Man in the Suit."

Donnelly handed over a photograph, an ID portrait of a man, Caucasian, roughly middle aged, dark eyes and hair that was receding.

"Agent Snow?" Carter said uncertainly, holding the photograph of the CIA agent. "Okay, I can't let you guys start chasing each other around the city."

"I don't plan on doing that," Donnelly said, his normally slack face gaining a little spark. "I know he's also come to you about the Man in the Suit."

"Not recently."

"No, and we know why. Snow was originally assigned to this case, sort of as a last chance deal with the CIA."

"As in, 'if you mess this up, you're done'?"

"Basically," Donnelly nodded and took the photo from Carter. "What we know so far is that Snow has been trying to off our Man in the Suit long before you and I ever became involved. Catching him here was his last chance and he blew it."

Carter, already aware of the punch line, raised her eyebrows and finished Donnelly's great reveal for him. "So he's not CIA anymore."

"No, he's not. He and his team were terminated several months ago for failing to catch this guy."

Carter pulled her coat tighter around her. Her nose was starting to go numb in the cool autumn air. "So you're telling me that Snow is still here somewhere, maybe looking for the same guy?"

"That's what we're thinking. But, seeing as how he hasn't approached you in a while means that he's lying low, investigating on his own."

"But why would he be still looking for this guy if he's not even getting paid to do it?"

Donnelly's eyes flashed and his lips twitched. That only meant bad news. "Snow has lost his job and his credibility. One of the theories is that his hunt for the Man in the Suit is more of a personal thing for him now."

"Which makes him more dangerous," Carter muttered. Her dark eyes looked past Donnelly for a moment, along the street as though Snow would be standing there, lurking in the shadows. "Isn't the CIA going to be sending another team to take care of both of these guys?"

"They will eventually," Donnelly agreed. "Our Man in the Suit isn't off the hook yet. But I think, and my superiors agree, that Snow, if he's doing what we think he's doing, is more of an immediate threat."

"What do you need me to do?" Carter asked.

"Right now, just continue as you are. If Snow tries to contact you, and I have a feeling he might, you know how to reach me." Donnelly started to leave when Carter took a breath.

"It's interesting," she said.

"Interesting?"

"Snow is so determined to get this guy. It kind of makes you wonder."

Donnelly stepped toward her again, curious. "Yes?"

"All of those crime scenes, those murders that he's supposed to have committed… because his prints were found at each of the scenes. Seems kind of convenient, huh?"

Donnelly eyed her for a moment. "A little, maybe. I'll check in with you later, Carter," he said, and headed down the precinct steps, hitching his collar up against the cold.


Perhaps he'd shared a little too much with Sam last night. His mind was still groggy from lack of sleep, and they had spoken for so long, that John couldn't be sure where they'd stopped. He had told her about what it was like, working overseas, in Special Ops, and on missions for the CIA. He never went into detail as far as the missions went, but focused more on what it was like personally, for him – the thrill, the fear, and the rush he felt from the time he went in, executed the plan, to when the mission was over. She'd asked the same questions he remembered asking in the moment.

Who is he? Why was I sent to kill him? Is the information we're after really worth the torture? and so on.

John had told her that was partially what drove him to leave the agency as he did. And she'd asked what the other reason was.

One of the reasons John liked Sam, why they seemed to get on so well was because she had the same set of ideals as he did. The only difference was that she probably would have asked questions sooner than he had.

John went on to explain his last mission to her, leaving out the classified details, as they were. The Agency had sent him and his partner to their deaths. But John managed to escape.

In exchange, he'd learned more about Sam's parents and family, her love of children, and even her talent for music. The every day memories of the no longer average woman. John devoured it.

What had happened last night was intimacy, just in another form.

John stepped away from the window, allowing the curtains to fall closed, leaving the room in semi-darkness. He moved back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress next to Sam's knees. Reaching across her, he lifted a section of her dark hair off and away from her neck, brushing his fingers along her jaw as he did so.

Things were very different. And there was no going back.


Sam left her apartment in the late evening.

She started down the street and regretted not wearing a coat over her costume. The dress was long, but the fabric was much too light to be worn on its own in the middle of a New York autumn.

There had been one number since that… odd night she spent with John, but it had already been taken care of just yesterday. Today, she hadn't heard from John or Harold at all. Harold's absence of communication was understandable, and expected. John's, however, was perhaps understandable, but also annoying. Since she'd come back into town late that summer, hardly a day went by when she didn't hear from him. Yet, Sam couldn't be concerned. She knew why John was keeping his distance. He'd even acted strange when they were taking care of the number yesterday.

So, John had opened up to her, perhaps more than he'd meant to. But, there was no harm done. In fact, Sam thought of it as kind of a breakthrough. She had finally gained the opportunity to step inside the vault as it were, and saw the human being behind that rock solid exterior John always kept up.

Granted, over the past year, Sam had had glimpses of the man underneath all of the training and grief. That night, though, John had asked if he could keep her. For just that night? Or… maybe until further notice? Sam shook her head at the thought. Judging from his standoffish demeanor yesterday, it was most likely the former.

But, they would be good. They were good. That's how it always was.

Sam's overactive brain, however, couldn't just let things lie. Where did they go from there? They were closer, yes, but still not as close as she wanted them to be. She knew that the romance, the white picket fence with a family, and a dog was simply not a possible option if she wanted to stay with John. So, what were the options? She had no answer.

Whatever they were to each other before, it was stronger now. And no matter how things panned out, she was there for good.

Sam hiked up the white dress as she crossed a street onto the next block. The air was crisp and cool, getting colder by the day. But the sun was still out, giving off the last bit of warmth before autumn made way for the winter.

Dodging a group of kids, mostly dressed in costumes from recent comic book movies, Sam continued down the street.


The party at Alina's apartment was exactly what she expected. Sam stepped through the front door to have her ears accosted by the deafening bass to whatever Lady Gaga song that happened to be playing. The lights were dimmed. Black lights and multicolored spot lights glowed eerily down from the ceiling as Sam stepped into the apartment. Alina had turned her spacious apartment into a posh night club.

Sam smiled, made one last adjustment to her hair, and entered the living room. It was packed with people, all in costume. A few faces turned to her and greeted her, raising their martinis in approval of her costume.

"Sam!"

Sam looked around until her eyes fell upon what looked like Marie Antoinette with a darker skin tone. Alina held onto her tall, powdered wig as she shoved her way in between her party guests, wearing a very authentic looking Georgian era ball gown. She took up the space of a pool table with the thing.

"Marie Antoinette?" Sam asked, pointing at her.

"Princess Leia!" Alina said, pointing at Sam's white dress and the buns on either side of her head. "I think we actually have an R2D2 in here somewhere. I have to get a picture with you two." She took Sam by the hand. "Come on, I want to introduce you to some people."

Sam grinned, allowing Alina to drag her through the crowd of people. There were several Thors, and Sam was glad she'd ditched the idea early on of dressing as Catwoman. There were more than she could count.

She met up with Cal again, a very friendly transvestite she had first met when she was helping John with a case that concerned Alina. They had later saved her life. But, that was the job.

After saying hello to Cal, Alina introduced her to many other people, the names of whom Sam would completely forget in the next two hours.

They ended up in the kitchen where the music was a little muffled, and a conversation could be held without shouting. Alina fought with her dress as she made Sam a drink. "I take it John and Harold declined my invitation?"

Sam choked violently. "Are you kidding me? That was very sweet of you to invite them, Alina. But when I told them about the party, they looked at me like I had just beamed down from the mother ship. Harold looked particularly horrified."

Alina burst out laughing and handed Sam her drink. Sam took a sip of the alcohol disguised as candy as she waited for Alina to stop laughing. She had every right to. As promised, Sam had delivered Alina's Halloween party invitation to John Reese and Harold Finch when she came into HQ one morning. They had just stared at her. It was really unnerving.

It was a kind gesture on Alina's part, as John and Harold, along with Sam, had saved her life. But inviting those two to a party was like trying to force Lionel Fusco to stop eating meat. It was just pointless.

"Oh well. I thought John would have at least thought about it."

Sam scoffed at her. "Are you kidding? The only thing I've ever seen him dressed up in is a tuxedo and – "

"I bet that was nice," Alina waggled her eyebrows under her thick costume makeup.

Sam paused and thought back on it. That was her first official job helping John. They had dressed up only to get blown up. "Yes, yes it was. But – "

"Bow tie, or neck?"

"What?"

"I'm trying to envision it, Sam. I need details."

"Oh," Sam looked away from her as she tried to remember. "It was a black neck tie, vest, and jacket."

Alina closed her eyes and smiled. "Nice."

"You know, ever since I came back into town, we always end up talking about John whenever we get together. Why is that?" Sam asked, knowing very well what the answer was.

Alina considered Sam for a moment before she answered. "Okay, I'm going to lay it all out for you. Are you ready?"

"I was born ready."

"I've never understood that statement."

"Me neither. It's not possible."

"Anyway, let us compare a few things. I am the gorgeous –"

Sam nodded her agreement.

"Thank you – wealthy owner of several family businesses. I live in one of the best cities on

the planet. I have two security guards, a phone just for my appointments, and a kick ass wardrobe. I have also not dated in almost a year. And even though I was nearly blown up earlier this year, my life has become painfully routine ever since. And when I say routine, I mean boring."

"Are you saying you're in a rut? I'd like to switch ruts with you," Sam said, feeling the buzz of the alcohol.

"Are you saying that you're in a rut? Because that's just not true."

"Are you going to lay it out some more?"

"I wasn't even finished."

Sam waved her hand, giving Alina the go ahead as she took another sip of her drink.

"You, on the other hand, are a writer turned vigilante – "

"Ah! No, no. Nix on the vigilante part. We don't like that word," Sam cut her hand across her throat as she spoke. "We… help people deal with their life threatening problems."

"Whatever. You are a writer who has continued her writing career while becoming involved with two mystery men who happen to save people's lives on a weekly basis."

"Maybe two to three times a week, it depends really," Sam explained. "And I only met them because they saved my life first."

"Your life, Sam, is filled with adventure, danger, and a tall, dark, and handsome man who would kill to protect you."

"We've got each other's backs," Sam shrugged.

Alina snorted. "Really? You see him almost every day. You told me that you saved his life. He's saved yours. You left town and came back because of him. Don't deny it! And that's all that's come out of it? He's got your back?"

"Alina," Sam shook her head. "Let me lay it out for you – John and I have so many issues that it is amazing that we are able to talk to each other the way we do. John's baggage is almost laughably extensive. We're almost… more like brother and sister, really." Sam's insides twitched at what was coming out of her own mouth, but it was mostly true. Mostly.

"Right."

Alina's disbelieving eyes looked past Sam for a moment. She grinned. "Something's got Cal's panties in a wad."

Sam turned around to see Cal making his way toward them. It really was surprising how well he pulled off Bette Midler. "He might be wearing a thong," she reasoned.

Alina smiled at the joke as Cal approached the counter. "There's a tall, well dressed, somthin'-somthin' at the door. No one's letting him in because of your no costume rule. I've already called dibs."

Alina's dark, penciled eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I didn't think everyone would take it so literally."

"Are you sure he's not in a costume?" Sam asked Cal.

"I'm pretty sure because he's your man in a suit. That's usually what he wears, right?"