Author's note: This is a 4 part Person of Interest story set sometime between episodes 2x04 and 2x10. I've spent the summer binging POI, and Harold has endeared himself to me, so of course my muse needed to whump him a bit. I'd call this story canon compliant, no pairings unless you wanna squint a bit. Next planned update 6/6/16.
Standard author's disclaimers apply.
Chapter 1
"Good morning Finch," John strolled into the Library where he was unsurprised to find Harold typing away at the computer. Even though they had finished a case two days ago, John was sure that there were many other things Harold Finch had to facilitate in the day to day.
"Mr. Reece! I wasn't expecting you today, I haven't received a new number."
"I know," Reece replied, removing his gloves and disappearing between the book shelves.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm looking for a book."
"Doing some light reading?"
"Not exactly," he reappeared carrying three of Finch's books, and lined them up in order. "I received the call."
"You received… from the Machine?" Finch stood up examining the three books.
"Yes."
"That hasn't happened since…"
"Since you came back. I know. Will you look this up please?"
Harold sat back down at his computer and after some swift key strokes a picture popped up on the monitor and started printing. "Jamie Escobares, age 52, yes, I thought he looked familiar. He runs one of the magazine kiosks I frequent sometimes when Grace's work gets published. He likes dogs."
"That's interesting Finch, but probably not the reason the Machine gave us his number."
Finch scowled for a moment at his compatriot and returned to the computer.
"I'm not seeing much else here, Mr. Reece. As with some of an older generation, not much of an online presence, no email, I guess that makes sense when your livelihood depends on print media."
"I guess I should go check him out."
"I could go, Mr. Reece. He's seen me before, so it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for him if I stop by and strike up conversation."
"I don't think that's such a good idea Finch."
"Oh?" Finch leaned back in his chair and gave Reece one of his piercing glares.
"It's just that, the Machine gave this number to me, and not you, which is unusual. So maybe the Machine doesn't want you working this case."
"The Machine doesn't want me working… The Machine, or you Mr. Reece?"
"The Machine, but it doesn't hurt that I agree with it." John walked around and taped the picture of Mr. Escobares on the glass. He knew Harold was staring at him with his trademark piercing glare.
"Oh you do?" Finch shot back accusingly.
"Yeah," he turned back to Finch and tried to put on his most caring face. "I mean, it hasn't been that long since you've been back, nor since you were having panic attacks in the middle of oncoming traffic. Are you sure you're ready to go back out for field work, into possibly dangerous situations?"
"Mr. Reece, I realize that my recovery from recent events has been, let's call it private, and I've appreciated you not drawing attention to my certain complications. What you must realize is the numbers will never stop, regardless of situations that happen in my life. If I'm going to continue to be helpful, we're going to need to put the past behind us. I've been getting myself together and getting here every day without your assistance, I can certainly walk to the local kiosk and have polite conversation without the world ending."
"Look Finch, the Machine…"
"The Machine is just that. It's code and processes that I designed. It doesn't look out for me. It's has no concern about me leaving the library, because it's not programmed to do that!" Finch thought to himself, at least not anymore.
"Okay, okay Finch, calm down," Reece raised his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry to even suggest it."
Finch returned back to his chair, his gaze unfocused in front of him. "I have to do these things, Mr. Reece, if I'm going to move on."
Just then Reece's phone rang. He glanced briefly at the ID before answering, "Carter?"
"Something's going on down here, John. Do you have a moment to meet, or are you working right now?"
"Mr. Reece is available to meet with you Detective Carter," Finch interrupted. Reece shifted his eyes back on the other man.
"Good. You know the place. I'll be there in 20," and the call ended.
"Have it your way Finch."
"I'll be fine Mr. Reece."
"At least take Bear."
"No, Bear will need to stay. It's too hard to work on my phone without both hands free."
"Fine, but Finch, if there are any problems, you call me right away."
"Of course, Mr. Reece."
Finch stood back up and put on his overcoat and scarf. They locked up the library and Reece walked with him to the corner where they went their separate ways. Maybe John was overreacting. He tried to soothe that nagging voice in the back of his mind. It was possible that he was becoming as paranoid as Harold, he thought with a laugh. Not everyone in New York was out to get them.
(SCENE BREAK)
Forty-five minutes or so later, Reece and Carter found themselves holed up in a booth of a little diner. Carter was warming her hands around her coffee mug, while Reece listened to her recent update on Agent Donnelly and the FBI case against the man in the suit.
"He just needs another distraction. Something else will come the FBI's way soon."
"I don't know, John, he seems eerily fixated. I think the building could burn down around him, and he wouldn't care as long as he catches you."
Reece's Bluetooth beeped. He motioned to Carter that he'd be just a moment and touched his earwig, connecting it. "Finch? Are you okay?"
"I've made a grievous error Mr. Reece!" Finch's harried whispers came through the device.
"What's wrong?"
"Mr. Escobares is being robbed, by two men, at gun point, right now!"
John looked pointedly at Carter. "I'll pull the car around," she got up, throwing some bills down on the table and rushing for the door.
"Is this what the machine identified as the threat Finch?"
"I don't think so, it only sees premeditated crimes, and this doesn't seem very… ah!"
"Finch?!" Reece was moving for the door now, scanning for Carter's car. He could hear Finch's labored breathing and the sounds of a man threatening to blow Harold's brains out if they didn't get money right now. The hostile sounds continued through his ear piece as he barked the address to Carter and she sped away. He could hear Finch being dragged into an alleyway, or possibly, a side street.
"Hold on Harold, we're coming," he tried to reassure his partner as Carter hit the siren. It sounded like they were getting into a car. John could hear more muffled talking between the men, and maybe something in Russian, finally a loud noise. Then the line went dead.
"Finch? Harold! Damn it!"
Carter was driving like a women possessed, "Hold on John, we're almost there."
Reece was pretty sure it wasn't going to matter. He had a sinking feeling that they were already too late.
(SCENE BREAK)
Harold had taken a slightly more scenic route to the magazine kiosk after departing Mr. Reece's company. After all his bravado earlier, he admitted to himself that he had to steel his nerves a bit before performing more undercover work, even for something as simple as this. He distracted himself by the thought that he had planned to pick up Grace's most recent illustrations anyway, and this was the perfect excuse to do so.
Thankfully the weather was brisk, but nice. He walked up to the kiosk just as Mr. Escobares finished ringing up two women purchasing various fashion and gossip magazines. Finch busied himself looking for his desired periodical.
"Hello! No Bear today?" Mr. Esocbares moved from behind his cash register to stand near Finch.
Finch looked up from the magazines, "Sadly, no, I have some other non-dog friendly errands to run today, so Bear had to stay behind."
"Ah, too bad. Such a beautiful animal. I'm quite jealous, but a dog that size would not fit in my family's tiny apartment."
"He does demand quite a bit of space and attention."
"Well, attention we could provide. I'm sure my kids would spoil a dog quite rotten."
"Hah, yes. By the way, I don't think we've formally met?"
"No? Well, please, my friends just call me Jamie," and he stretched out his hand.
"Harold, then. It's nice to finally put a name to the face," Finch returned the hand shake. "Tell me, Jamie, do you get a chance to read many of these magazines? I was hoping to pick up one or two more of these about art and culture, but I'm not sure what's good."
"The kiosk keeps me pretty busy, but I did glance at some of them when I put them up for display. Maybe a few down here would be something you're interested in?" Jamie pointed down on a lower shelf where several similar magazines were organized.
"Thank you! I'll take a look," Finch gingerly got down on one knee. Jamie returned behind the cash register and seemed to busy himself with his phone, so Finch took this opportunity to retrieve his own phone to blue jack Jamie's. He was too distracted to notice the two men that had just arrived at the kiosk and were hurriedly talking to each other in Russian. The phone had finally finished its connection when one of the men pulled out a gun and shot into the air. Finch ducked his head in shock and fell over from his crouched position. He rotated to put his back against the kiosk wall and attempted to make himself as small as possible on the ground.
The man with the gun was now loudly threatening Jamie and demanding the money in the register. Jamie seemed to be arguing with the man, begging that his family needed that money, and they could not take that, too. Finch was shocked that Jamie would risk his life for whatever small sum was in the register. Quietly he reached up and connected to Mr. Reece.
"I've made a grievous error Mr. Reece!" Finch whispered as best he could. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.
"What's wrong?"
"Mr. Escobares is being robbed, by two men, at gun point, right now!" he could hear Carter talking in the background, but his attention was brought back to the two men. The first one was repeatedly jabbing his gun at Jamie, trying to get him to move faster. Jamie had finally agreed to open the register, but he seemed to be stalling, maybe for police to arrive. The second Russian had also pulled out a gun and was pointing it randomly at whomever he felt was the biggest target at the moment. Finch was growing ever more concerned that someone was going to be killed.
"Is this what the machine identified as the threat Finch?"
"I don't think so, it only sees premeditated crimes, and this doesn't seem very… ah!"
The second man must have decided that enough was enough. He grabbed Finch by the lapels of his overcoat, lifting him to a standing positing and twisted him around into a headlock. His gun was now at Finch's temple, and he said in his thick accent, ""Give us the money, or I blow this man's brains out!"
Jamie reluctantly relinquished the last of the funds in the cash register to the first man, as the second man started to drag Finch away, "We're going, now!"
The first man continued to train his gun on Jamie Escobares, but followed his partner around the corner and down a darkened side street. Finch did his best to stay on his feet as he was half pushed, half dragged through the narrow opening onto another, quieter street. He grasped for purchase on the thick arm around his neck and shoulders, with wide eyes and labored breathing. His hopes of being released after the criminals and managed their getaway were dashed as they continued to take their prisoner to a waiting car.
"Can you drive?" the first man asked Finch.
"Yes."
"Good, get in," he pointed his gun at Finch as the second man released him. Finch started around the car.
"Wait!" said the second man, "give me your phone." Finch reluctantly handed the man his phone and entered the driver's side of the car. The first man got in the passenger seat, gun still trained on him. He said something to the second man in Russian, and he dropped Finch's phone on the ground and shot it with his gun. Harold jumped at the sound, and the first man laughed at him. While the second man got in the back seat, the first man produced a pair of handcuffs. He placed one around Finch's right wrist, and the other around the steering wheel.
"I'm getting an inkling that perhaps robbery was not your first motive?" Finch asked, trying to sound braver than he felt.
The man in the passenger seat responded by handing the keys to Finch, training his gun on his prisoner, and telling him to drive where he was told.