Spoilers: Burn Notice S5 E17

Person Of Interest S3 E3

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Note: This is somewhat of a sequel to my story 'Snowstorm', but it can stand alone as well. Here's a short summary in case you don't want to read that one: Someone from the Organization has a data disk that contains a firmware virus meant to sabotage the Machine. The Machine arranges for Michael to learn about that person. He arrests the person and finds the disk, and the Machine sees to it that he and Fiona take it to Reese and Finch - in the process they learn about the SIN's, but don't know about the Machine. The two teams reluctantly work together to get the people who want that disk back off Michale and Fi's back, and to save the programmer who is writing the virus delivery routine.

Note that this story does NOT return BN back to canon.

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Setting: This is set late in BN S5. Anson Fullerton set Fiona up for the bombing of the British Consulate in Miami and is now blackmailing her and Westen. They try to outwit him, but he is always ready for them. Michael has clearance with the CIA again and used it to upload a computer virus to their network. Fullerton wants Michael to get some other agents burned.

It is POI early S3 - Shaw is kind of on the team, Root is in a mental hospital, the Machine has gone rogue.

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Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and am not making any money from this work.

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Acknowledgements: I'd like to thank planet_bob, Fingerz and Anaxandridas for their input!

ID: Anson Fullerton

Tracking …..

Facial recognition failure - image source data inconsistent.

Tracking …

Target acquired.

Updating probabilities …

Database code 5290 - access lost.

Accessing backup …

Backup not available.

Database consistency check - FAILED

Updating probabilities - INSUFFICIENT DATA.

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"Doctor-patient confidentiality, not your thing is it?"

Root nonchalantly lounged in the chair opposite Dr. Carmichael's desk. The room was bright with morning sunlight, and they had been sitting in silence for several minutes, with the psychiatrist filling out paperwork; a transparent means of enticing her to speak. Her opening statement was just an observation, but the complete lack of accusatory undertones gave way to the flavour of an ill omen.

"Why do you say that?"

The psychiatrist looked up from the paperwork with only the slightest hint of alarm showing in his body language. He knew, of course, what she was talking about, but how could she possibly know?

"This isn't how She wanted this to go. But it's just as well." There was a pause before she continued. "You don't understand, do you?"

"Maybe you can help me understand?" Dr. Carmichael said in a patient tone he hoped would conceal the urgency he felt.

"Hah, well, it's too late now."

So the Machine was opposed to her killing the psychiatrist. That didn't mean she could not put him on edge a bit. She had had her fun now though, and saw no point in further engaging with the sorry excuse for a human across the desk from her. She consequently let her eyes go dead and thus ended the supposed therapy session.

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Despite it still being morning, and the end of autumn, the air was hot and humid in Westen's loft, even more so up on the mezzanine where he was picking through a pile of assorted passports.

"So this is it?" Glennane shouted up at him from beside the bed. She yanked his grey duffle bag from the floor and pushed it onto the sheets. "We'll just keep doing what that sicko Anson wants? His glorified attack dogs? Today we kidnap someone, tomorrow he'll have us killing people!"

"I won't let it come to that," Westen answered calmly, without taking his eyes off the passports. His mind was made up. They'd been over this the night before, and he had a mission to prepare for.

"No, I won't let it come to that."

The added intensity in her voice made him finally look at her. She was still clutching the sides of his bag.

"Fiona. Please. We'll find a way out of this."

Glenanne gave the bag another shove then turned around and walked to the window to let her anger and frustration simmer down. When she heard the sound of Michael's steps descending from the mezzanine, she turned to face him again. He stopped in front of the bed and stashed two passports in separate pockets of the duffel bag.

"Maybe we should ask for help," she finally suggested in a calm and imploring voice that agitated Westen more than her anger had.

"Ask who?"

"You know whom I'm thinking of. We'll be in their backyard." It was an option. Not the worst one at that. She had thought about it before, but discarded the idea then. But she could not continue to let them be Fullerton's errand boy and girl. The outline of a plan was forming in her mind and it calmed her down.

"No."

She cocked her head and gave Westen a withering look.

"No." He insisted.

"Fine, have your way. Don't expect me to be a part of it."

"Fi, I'm doing this for you."

"No, no you are not doing this for me!"

The spectacular flaming anger in her voice had been blown out, but the calm, quiet coals that remained burned even hotter. He knew refusing her suggestion would bring out the heat again, but he could still make things right, his way. He wished she would just trust him on that. But before he could say anything else to convince her, she was gone and he was left staring at his wide open front door.

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Shaw unclipped Bear's leash as they entered the main chamber of the library. The room was cool, despite the noon sun shining in through the windows. She lingered by the doorway and let her eyes wander, confirming what the locked gate had indicated: There was no one else here.

Bear, unimpressed by her idleness, insistently pushed his tennis ball against her right hand.

"Really?"

Bear looked at her with anticipation.

"Fine."

The ball flew across the chamber, bounced off the wall and was caught mid-air, then promptly returned to Shaw's hand. She threw it again, intrigued by the dog's simple happiness at chasing the little yellow ball. On Bear's fourth return, he dropped the ball prematurely, his interest suddenly taken by the sound of the gate opening. He trotted toward the staircase.

Shaw set her face to neutral, adjusted her black denim blazer, and prepared to exchange no more than a few words with Finch. She halted as the sound of the footsteps coming up the stairs was not Finch's uneven limp, but rather a steady, light, slow tapping.

Shaw pulled her weapon and concealed her body behind the door frame, even as Bear stood wagging his tail at the top of the stairs. A hand and a woman's dark-blond hair came into view.

"Hi there. Are your owners home, hmmm?"

Glenanne looked up and spotted the gun pointing in her direction from the end of the hallway.

"Hello." She said tentatively, regretting that she had not used more caution.

"Who are you?" A detached female voice asked, or rather: demanded, from the main chamber.

"I'm a ... an acquaintance of Mr. Finch's."

"Take your weapon out slowly and drop it to the floor."

Glenanne hesitated briefly, but the fatalistic mood she was in made going along easy enough. She set her favourite firearm on the floor and gave it a light kick, under Bear's watchful and confused eyes.

"Come in."

Glenanne walked down the hallway toward the disembodied voice, Bear following along. Heeding a nod from Shaw in that direction, Glenanne sat in the chair Reese usually occupied. Shaw rubbed the dog's ears, without taking her eyes or her weapon off the other woman.

"So, who are you?"

"None of your concern."

"Reese finally convinced Mr. Finch to get a bodyguard?"

"Do I look like a bodyguard to you?" Shaw's voice was empty, the quizzical nature of the sentence betrayed only by its grammatical construction.

"I guess not."

Under different circumstances, Glenanne may have relished figuring this person out. Maybe would have looked forward to teasing some sign of emotion out of her steady face. But this was not the time for playing games. It also was not how she had expected her appearance at the Library to go, and for as much as she normally thrived on disruption, she was not in the mood for unexpected situations. Before this encounter could play out, though, the gate rumbled again, and shortly thereafter Finch appeared in the hallway. He was temporarily taken back by the firearm on the floor, but then he saw the two women.

"Ms. Glenanne!" he exclaimed and quickly shuffled into the chamber.

"What an unexpected visit. I see you've met Ms. Shaw."

Shaw studied Finch's face and posture in an effort to determine the kind of relationship between him and the well-dressed woman. Finch noticed her scrutiny and felt cautiously proud. Shaw was coming around, starting to care about more than the dog.

"It's quite alright Ms. Shaw. Ms Glenanne is a friend," he reassured her.

Happy enough with this explanation, Shaw shrugged and unceremoniously tucked her weapon away, then pushed the dog leash, which she was still holding, into Finch's hand.

"He ate, he pooped." she informed him before disappearing into the hallway and down the stairs, where she passed Reese. She gave him a somewhat surprised look before deciding she really did not care why he was back at the library.

"Train station here today," she commented in passing.

"What does that mean?"

She had already disappeared into the shadows leading up to the exit.

Reese jogged up the stairs then slowed down at the top, looking around the corner wearily before proceeding into the hallway. He picked up Glenanne's firearm from the floor and slunk through the corridor toward the main chamber, where he found the firearm's owner looking somewhat uncomfortable in his chair. She had not noticed him yet.

"Hello." His gun was held at an angle toward the floor and he continued to survey the room. "Where's Finch?"

"Gee, everyone's so friendly here today." She turned around to look at him. "Nice to see you again, too."

Finch appeared at the doorway into the alcove.

"Ah, Mr. Reese. Impeccable timing."

He looked at Reese's firearm just long enough for the other man to notice and ignore the stare. The stare turned into a frown as Reese began checking the corridor and alcoves, gun barrel first, but, since Finch was unable to discourage his operative, he opted to instead fetch the tea from the alcove..

"So, Ms. Glenanne, what brings you back here to New York?" Finch handed Glenanne a cup then sat down at his desk. Reese walked back into the chamber and, prompted by another of Finch's stares, tucked the firearm into his belt and retreated to perch near the windowsill.

"I, ehm, I could use your help."

Glenanne struggled to keep eye contact with Finch, but she had to assess how her statement was being received. She briefly turned to glance at Reese as well, but his face was blank as usual.

Reese noticed the reluctance in her voice, the unease in her body language. The confidence she had emanated during their last encounter was still there, but it was shadowed by something dark looming over her. Even Finch picked up on it.

"We're all ears, Ms. Glenanne." The smile and gentle mannerism came easy to him.

"So, as you know, Michael has been working to dissemble the organization that had him burned. It seemed to be going okay, but he missed someone. The guy's name is Anson Fullerton, and he's one of the head honchos." She started tentatively, but picked up speed quickly. "He played us. Set us up, made it look like I'm responsible for the recent bombing of the British consulate in Miami. If we don't do what he wants, he'll hand the evidence over to the police."

She paused, and Finch finally asked:

"What is he having you do?"

"You know, the usual - steal things, kidnap people. In fact, this week we're up here to kidnap some woman from a psych hospital. God only knows what he wants with her, or what he's going to do to her."

Some of the anger she had stashed away shone through now. It alarmed Reese; he knew from bitter experience that angry and desperate people, especially dangerously skilled ones, were prone to leaving a smouldering trail of destruction along their paths.

"What do you want us to do?" he asked, carefully tinging his words with part concern and part caution.

"I'm not sure really, but you are the only variables that Anson cannot possibly have accounted for. He knows everything about Michael, about me, our friends, how we operate ... our pasts. He's always one step ahead of us. The only way to get ahead of him is to surprise him, and, well, I was hoping you could be that surprise."

Her cards were on the table, and she felt more vulnerable than she was comfortable with, but she never doubted that coming here was the right thing to do. Separating from Westen to ask shadowy strangers for help maybe did not sound prudent, but what other option did she have?

"Westen doesn't know you're here, does he?" Reese guessed.

"No." She turned to look at Reese. "You can probably imagine how he feels about you two."

"What is he doing about your situation?"

"Right this moment, he's kidnaping that psych ward inmate."

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Ms. Dostenski had just settled in for a quiet afternoon shift when she saw a van from a hospital she had never heard of before pull into the nearly empty parking lot. Two orderlies in white scrubs exited the vehicle and were soon standing at her desk, with a request for a patient transfer.

"It's really unusual for patients to be picked up this late in the afternoon. The doctor's out already," she informed them.

"Oh we know, but you see we were having trouble with the van .."

".. cooling fluid leak .." The other one chimed in.

"... so we had to stop and have it fixed. We were really supposed to have her back already and we don't want to make the trip again. Can't you make an exception?"

"Please, if we don't have her at Greenview by tonight we'll be in deep with Dr. Finley."

"Well I don't know. Are you sure Mr. Swift is alright with having her moved?"

"Ma'am, we're just the orderlies. You're welcome to call Dr. Finley and talk to him yourself."

Westen pointed at the number in the letterhead of the fake paperwork they had handed the attendant moments before.

Ms. Dostenski reluctantly dialled the phone.

"Greenview therapy center, Dr. Finley speaking."

"Yes this is Ms. Dostenski from Stoneridge Hospital. I'm calling in regards to a patient of ours, Ms. Farrow."

"Ah yes, Ms. Farrow, I trust she is safely on her way here?"

"No, I mean not yet, I'm just calling to confirm the transfer."

"Oh, well, if you could have her ready quickly, she's been accepted last minute into a new treatment program which starts tomorrow morning. I'm afraid if she's not here then, she'll lose her spot."

"I see, well, sorry to disturb you Doctor, we'll get her ready right away then."

"Very good."

Ms. Dostenski gave Westen and Porter another scrutinizing look, then turned to an orderly and instructed him to prepare Ms. Farrow for transfer. Fifteen minutes later, Root was in the van with Sam, Jesse and Michael.

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Finch froze when he realized whom Westen and friends were breaking out of the psych ward. He looked from Glenanne over to Reese, who, having come to the same realization, pushed himself off the windowsill and approached the desk in silent alarm. The search for Anson Fullerton was already running in the background on one of Finch's machines when he reached the desk, and Finch's fingers were flying over the keyboard as he circumvented Stoneridge Hospital's security and accessed their surveillance feed. Both him and Glenanne were momentarily mesmerized by the display of efficiency and concentration in front of them.

"What?" Glenanne finally asked.

"Finch?"

Glenanne looked up at Reese and back at Finch. "Will someone tell me what is going on?"

"I need you to tell me everything you know about this Mr. Fullerton." Finch's voice was urgent. She recognized the leverage this held.

"Not until you tell me what is going on."

Finch looked at Reese for support. He was too preoccupied with the searches on his computer to also deal with the people in front of him.

"The woman Westen is kidnapping is a very dangerous, very intelligent, and seriously deranged assassin and computer hacker. She likes to go by the name of Root," Reese said.

"Oh that's bad. I don't even want to imagine what someone like Anson and someone like her could do together!"

"Kidnapped."

"Finch?"

"Past tense. As in: it already happened."

"I have to call Michael."

Glenanne rushed out of her chair to make the call in the other room.

"I guess the question of whether or not we'll help Ms. Glenanne just answered itself," Reese said once Glenanne was out of earshot.

"Hmm," was all he could get out of Finch.

Reese put his right hand hand on the ledge of the leftmost computer screen, and bent his body around the desk like a downhill skier avoiding a pole in slow motion, until he could see the front of the display - not that it made much of a difference.

"Finch, anything?"

Despite having his workspace encroached upon, Finch did not look up at him.

"Haste makes waste, Mr. Reese."

Reese let go of the screen and began pacing the room, and Bear, hoping this was a heeling exercise, eagerly trailed him. It was not long until Glenanne came back.

"They've already handed Ms. Farrow over to Anson. They don't know where Anson went with her. How is it you know this person, anyway?"

Finch stole a glance at Reese.

"The details are unimportant right now," he said before shifting his attention back to the screens.

"Of course they are, don't know why I bother to ask. Are you .. going to do anything?"

As if on cue, a printer rattled on the shelf behind Finch. He turned to retrieve a picture of Anson, with whatever was still available of his DIA personnel file. Finch handed it across the desk for both Reese and Glenanne to study.

"That's all I could find on him. It looks like he's been systematically wiping out all his digital footprints."

"It's more than we were ever able to get," Glenanne admitted. Finch of course wasn't surprised by that. Reese could tell now that something had Finch worried. Something other than Root being kidnapped by a rogue DIA psychiatrist.

"To answer your question, Ms. Glenanne, yes, we will do something. We will see what we can do about your problem with Mr. Fullerton, and I trust we can count on you to help us get Ms. Farrow back."

"I'd be happy to."

"What about Mr. Westen?"

"Let's just say he's not happy that I came to you for help. I'll go talk to him, and I'll be in touch ... thank you."

"Don't thank us yet."

Reese retrieved Glenanne's firearm from his belt and held it out to her.

"You may need it." He had a glum, lopsided grin on his face.

Glenanne nodded, took her weapon and left. Reese was concerned as he watched her disappear down the hallway, but there was nothing he could do. He directed his worry to the man in front of him instead.

"Finch, what is it?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it. Some of the information I found on Mr. Fullerton seems corrupt. Not altogether unusual, but a paranoid individual might see tampering in the databases - the Machine uses those databases, too. It's almost as if he's trying to hide from the Machine."

"That would mean he knows about it."

"Maybe not the details. But I think he knows something. His organization was, after all, involved in a previous sabotage attempt. It's not a far leap to think that the Machine had something to do with the situation that brought Ms. Glenanne back here."

"Well, lets find him then. Any leads yet?"

Finch checked his screens once more.

"No, nothing yet. I'll contact Shaw; I'm sure she'd be delighted to help us retrieve Ms. Groves."

Finch's cellphone rang and he raised an eyebrow as he answered it.

"We have a new number," he announced moments later.

"Now is not really a good time, Finch," Reese said, as if Finch could control the timing of new numbers.

"No, no it isn't." Still, Finch opened another console window and initiated a search on their new number.

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Glenanne sat in her rental car at the back of a gas station, David Gray's 'Where do we draw the line' appropriately playing on the radio, when she saw Westen, Axe and Porter drive up. The three men were on their way to the airport. Axe and Porter had the good sense to stay in their car while Westen walked over to Glenanne's car.

"I told you I didn't want them involved," he said as soon as he was sitting in her passenger seat.

"Yeah, well, it's my life you're playing with, and I wanted them involved."

"So you trust them more than me now?"

"This isn't about trust, Michael. This is about taking down Fullerton without me going to jail."

"For all we know, they are working with Fullerton."

"What we- what you were doing is clearly heading us down a road we don't want to be on. So I took an exit without knowing the street map. At least now we have a real chance."

"We had options before."

"And what options were those, huh? Name one occasion where Anson wasn't two steps ahead of us. Name one person he hasn't sunk his claws in to get to you."

Westen rubbed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest.

"We worked well with them before. You feel jerked around by them, believe me, I get it. But you are no stranger to lying and withholding information, so get over yourself. They can help us."

He knew she was right. He just did not want to admit that he had gotten them into a hole too deep for him to get them out again. He was still clinging to the hope that an opportunity would present itself allowing him to cleanly fix the situation, even as Fullerton came up with surprise after surprise for them. Maybe it was time they came up with a surprise of their own.

"Do they know what they are getting themselves into?"

"They have an idea."

"And they are willing to help?"

"For now, anyway. They are somehow involved with Ms. Farrow."

"Somehow involved?" Westen sat up straight and looked at her harshly.

"Yes, 'somehow involved'. I'm sure they'll share details if it becomes necessary. Isn't that what we would do?" Glennane answered in a 'taste your own medicine' tone.

They sat in silence for a minute. Westen stared out the windshield, pondering. Whether this would dig them in deeper or stir up that opportunity he'd been waiting for, he could not tell. He knew he would not be able to convince Glenanne to back out, and whatever way it would turn out, he owed it to her to be by her side.

"Let's go meet them."

Glenanne started the car.