The second of my POI musings. This time Reese's attention is more evenly divided between Finch and Carter. Still don't own, spoilers at least through episode twelve, and some mild but effective swearing ahead. Now let's get down to business, shall we?

The bar was all smoke without mirrors.

That was probably a good thing in a place like this. Barring the masochistic, people didn't want to see themselves getting good and drunk anyway - not that they'd recall half of what happened here afterward come morning.

Predictably, though, John Reese would recall just about everything. He was made that way.

He wasn't drunk - not tonight, and probably not for a long time after tonight. John had mostly shied away from bars and alcohol since Finch had rescued him from his run towards suicide. Now, with numbers to track, there was no time to drown himself in sorrow.

But tonight was also different. Tonight no new numbers had come in. And John had only picked this particular bar becasue tonight, hiding in the smoke sounded wonderful.

What or who he was hiding from was a little fuzzy (and not just because of his drink - his one drink). Was it Elias? Snow? The NYPD, even?

Finch, he eventually decided, taking another gulp of whatever the hell he'd ordered hours ago. I'm hiding from Finch, the man no one can ever really hide from.

"Hey there, handsome."

She slid into the unoccupied barstool next to his, dark-haired and curvy. Inwardly John cursed his own inattention (what if that had been an enemy? You'd be dead, soldier), but managed to keep his outward expression unconcerned and calm, even flirtatious.

"Hey."

The word alone turned her into a near-puddle. (He didn't approve.) "...You, er, waiting on someone tonight?"

"No one in particular." He flashed her his I'm-so-dead-sexy smile.

In response she leaned in, and rubbed one of her legs against his under the bar table. "Well, what do you know - neither am I. What do you say we get out of this fire waiting to happen, and get better acquainted at my place?"

Playing it cool, eh? I know your game. "...I never leave with a lady when I don't know her name."

"And I'm a bred New Yorker," the brunette fired back, obviously made braver than even John could have imagined by the alcohol she'd undoubtedly consumed. "I know better than to give my name out to a stranger - even a yummy one."

John smirked at her. But oddly enough, as he debated on whether or not to give her his name, he remembered that Carter already knew it. He'd told her when they met in person at the restaurant.

...But why does it matter that Carter knows? She's just Carter. Part of the job. And I'm not on the job now.

But what if this flirtatious girl becomes a number? Becomes part of my job, part of Carter, part of Fusco and Finch -

Shit.

To cover his pause, he gave her what she clearly wanted. "...It's John."

Her eyes brightened, and she traced the outline of his jaw with one hand - one very fragile hand, to him. "You can call me Jess."

Jess.

Jessica.

- Damn it.

It was the equivalent of being splashed with cold water. The haze lifted, the smoke didn't seem as thick and constricting. Those feelings had gone straight to Joh's chest instead.

It's not her. It's not Jessica. It can't be, because Jessica is sweet and blonde-haired and -

Dead. The word mocked him, as did this stranger with only part of her name. Dead, without you around to even try and save her.

...I have to get out of here.

As if on cue, his phone rang.

It wasn't hard to fake a disappointed look, to pull out his phone and glare at it while staring apologetically at his company. "My boss," he said smoothly, flipping open the screen. "Probably calling me back to work again. ...Sorry."

Jess pouted, but John was already weaving through the crowds with his eyes on the door. Never mind the fact that five minutes ago he would have ignored the call, or at least have been angry at being found after hiding so well. Jess's hands on him were like cold remnants of what could have been - her voice, while nothing like Jessica's, haunted his ears. He needed out of the past. Hell, he needed out of the present. John couldn't wrap his head around why, but he needed the future. He needed cops and numbers.

He needed -

"Hello?"

"Having fun, Mr. Reese?"

John let himself smile. "Time of my life."

"Good to hear. Though I'm sure your version of 'fun' wouldn't be all that appealing to those who aren't ex-CIA agents."

"Mmmm. ...So what's the occasion, Finch? Do we have a new number?"

"No... I just thought it would be best if I checked in."

A camera on the street suddenly swiveled to face him. Paranoid and quick as ever, John ducked into the dark alley nearest the bar and swore, if playfully. Harold might as well have said "Found you" in the most juvenile way possible.

At times like this, the billionaire's scrutiny of him was both repulsive and thrilling. The game could be fun occasionally - but on nights like tonight. when ghosts wailed in his ears and the past was more frightening than the present, John didn't need to be watched and played with - he needed to get back to work.

"You still there, Finch?"

"Of course."

"Where are you?"

"Certainly nowhere with angry drunks and desperate women."

Well played, Harold, John thought. "I was getting bored here anyway. I need something to do."

"Your new lady friend suggests otherwise."

John sighed. How long has he been watching me tonight? When, exactly, did he find me?

"If you don't want company, Harold, just say so."

Silence on the other end. If it hadn't already been ridiculously early in the morning, he would guess that Finch had hung up - as it was, an oddly loud shrill had him swearing (angrily this time) and holding the phone away from his sensitive ear.

"Sorry, Mr. Reese," Finch said from a distance. "But apparently there really is no rest for the weary. We now have a new number."

If that news was supposed to annoy or subdue him, John would be surprised - instead, his chest was no longer intent on constricting, and the fog in his head cleared. He had a purpose again.

"Mr. Reese?"

"I'm here, I heard you. I'll meet you at the library, but it may take a while."

"No need for you to be a pedestrian - "

At that moment, a black limousine pulled almost silently into the alley John had ducked into, headlights on low. Instinctively he felt for his gun, but Finch wasn't finished.

"I took the liberty of sending some of my employees to your location."

The windows of the limo rolled down, and John recognized one of the bodyguards who had used Finch's money to bail him out of jail. The man hardly looked like he still held a gurdge, but one never knew these days. Particularly not in New York.

"Compliments of the boss," the man said. He crooked a finger.

John tilted his head to the side, considering. How did Finch know I was still in the area... ? I could have been anywhere.

Never mind. I don't know why I bother to question him at this point.

"Get in, Mr. Reese. Dawn is approaching."

With a smile, John cut the connection and pocketed the phone. He opened the door and slid into the limousine, noting that Bodyguard #2 was not present.

Oh well. Finch won this round - but the game's never over. I'll find a better place to hide from it all next time...

Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Also, has anyone noticed that for a few months now, John's phone gets destroyed every other episode? Poor Finch. :D