Reese thought the first number following Finch's rescue would be as close to a return to their normal routine as possible. Finch thought things would get better after he was rescued. Turns out they were both wrong.

Spoilers for "Firewall" and probably parts (but not all!) of Season 2...

Disclaimer: I don't own Person of Interest. Never have; and it's not going to happen in the foreseeable future.

Many thanks to The Nth Degree for agreeing to beta this story for me! Any mistakes you may still find are my own.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1:

05/31/2012 01:23

SEARCHING FOR ADMIN…

He woke to the feeling of hot daggers piercing his spine and leg. The lights in the room were out, and there were no windows to help shed light upon his surroundings, but he could feel that he was on the floor. Or at least, he thought it was the floor. It felt like there may just be a thin blanket, or something like one, under him, but if the floor wasn't beneath it, then he was lying on the most uncomfortable mattress in the country.

Finch squeezed his eyes shut (not that it mattered; he saw the same level of darkness with them closed rather than open anyways) and furrowed his brow, trying to recall how he ended up there. Last he remembered, he was seated at a desk with several computer monitors, Root beside him, gun relaxed in hand, but still pointed in his direction.

After dumping Alicia's body from the car, she forced him onto the highway and out of the city. She finally had him pull off, after what seemed like nothing more than six hours of wasting gasoline on various freeways, at a rest area that looked like its better days were years past. He didn't remember much else of the trip beyond refueling the Lincoln. They had stopped in the small convenience store to grab something to eat before returning to the highway. He didn't see her do it, but suspected after the fact that she slipped something into his food while he was filling the gas tank, because he didn't remember finishing his meager sandwich. Instead, he woke several hours later in a hard metal chair in what looked to be an abandoned office, with Root and someone else hovering over him. He suspected hired muscle; it wouldn't be the first time she's had someone do her bidding. Finch also suspected he was just around to end up as her meat shield for whenever Reese finally caught up to them.

Finch shifted, trying to get circulation flowing in his legs; he wasn't sure how long he had been lying on his side, but immediately regretted the decision to move. Apart from having his bad leg under him, something seemed very wrong with that knee. Along with his ankles, his wrists were tightly bound. Unfortunately, his hands were behind him, so even if he was able to draw his knees closer to his chest, he couldn't assess the damage her hired help had done to his battered body.

He was starting to suspect that between falling asleep in his car and waking up here in the dark he had been collectively drugged, 'tortured' and interrogated more times than Reese in his entire four-year stint with the CIA. Then again, he had no idea how long he had been away. Root's muscle man was never present whenever she would sit down with him in front of a set of monitors and demand he give her access to the Machine, tell her how it works or where it is, or try and psych him out with a set of mind games. The first day she had let him alone, locked in the little computer room, after assuring him she could trace any plea for help he could try and send. He was able to send a partial message to Detective Fusco before Root burst in, fuming (whether it was anger towards him for getting a message out…or anger at herself, but deflected at him, for not catching his SOS fast enough, he wasn't sure). He had felt a sharp pinch in his arm and the next thing he was able to remember was waking up someplace else entirely with a large gash running down his right palm.

Root remained with him for the rest of their 'sessions' in front of a set of monitors, but after each of what seemed like several days he was drugged (the only thing Finch could fathom to explain long gaps in his memory) and by the time he woke, was shipped off to someplace new. Each time, he battled wills with Root, and he succeeded so far. Even though his long periods of defiance eventually led to some sort of injury, he was proud of being able to keep Root out of the Machine. After a while, he suspected that she was just waiting for him to be in enough of a drug-induced stupor to start unknowingly spill secrets or agree to whatever ridiculous plot she had planned. In the end, all he was truly certain of was that the continuous periods of unconsciousness just made him drowsy all the time. At least he was catching up on sleep…

A draft of cold air broke him from his thoughts. He shivered; his neck aching with every tremble. Finch tried to move again, to perhaps roll off of what he hoped was a blanket and get under it, when an agonizing shockwave shot out from his knee. He didn't try again. Even if he managed to get the blanket out from being pinned under him, he had no way of covering himself without all of his nerves going off at once. After living through that experience once, he would rather stay cold and uncomfortable than lie in agony for hours.

He suspected she was doing this on purpose.

05/31/2012 14:43

Finch shifted slightly in the hard metal chair, trying to undo the kink in his neck. Root had supposedly left to stock on food, leaving him alone with her gunman. The man rarely spoke; Finch wasn't even sure what his name was, if he even had one. After making sure he could reach the keyboard with his arms secured at his elbows to the chair arms, she told him she was going out for a bit, but not before mentioning that if he tried something clever, there would be hell to pay. Frankly, at this point, Finch wasn't sure what else she could do to him. His wrists were sore from being constantly tied every time he was in transit, his neck and back were constantly aching from sitting by the monitors all day, and he still wasn't quite sure what her meat shield had done to his leg, but so long as he didn't jolt it, the pain remained fairly dull. The only thing he knew about it was that he was unconscious whenever it happened – or at least, he hoped. It was either that, or that the pain was so strong and immediate he passed out within seconds – and for that he was oddly grateful.

The only times he ever truly used the keyboard she dumped in his arms was to try and send a message to Reese. Of course, he never contacted his partner directly. Root had spent hours running around a hotel with Reese, and he had no way of knowing how much information she might have cloned off of his phone while they thought she was the innocent victim of HR. He had managed to get that piece of a message to Fusco once. Other times, he attempted to send a small burst of text to his system at the Library, but he had to hope that Reese would keep going back in his absence.

He lucked out a few times, but Root insisted on moving every couple of days. At one point he managed to find time to gather his own location and then track Reese's cell phone, but he – and the two detectives – had only just found his previous whereabouts and were probably a long journey's away from his current hideout. At least they had found his car…too bad Root had abandoned it for a more commonplace sedan. If his Lincoln was too noticeable, they must be in either a poorer neighborhood or the middle of nowhere…or both.

Finch refrained from letting out a yawn. Root had been gone for some time now, and he was determined to remain as close to asleep in the chair as possible, hoping his guard would get bored and leave for a few minutes. Even on the few occasions when he was fully alert, Finch planned on keeping up looking as drowsy as possible so there was a better chance of being left alone, especially if Root was not sitting beside him, scrutinizing his every move.

He truly hoped the man would leave; keeping his neck bent as if he had fallen asleep was excruciatingly painful to maintain, when he began to hear footsteps approach from behind. Finch closed his eyes and slowed down his breathing. He heard the man stop beside him and while his eyes were closed, was able to 'see' a shadow pass over his eyelids. It lingered for a moment, and then the footsteps retreated. Finch heard the door open, close, and then the steps faded off.

Lifting his head up to ease his stiff neck, Finch peered through the reflection in the right-most monitor to make sure the meat shield wasn't lingering at the doorway. When he was certain he was alone, Finch reached out as far as his restraints would allow, and tugged the keyboard closer. With watchful glances towards the monitor giving him view of the door, he began to type.

He had been writing code for probably almost as many years as Root's been living. She may have him prisoner in the middle of who-knows-where, but he still had an ace up his sleeve.

05/31/2012 14:48

FIREWALL ATTACKED.

EVALUATING OPTIONS…

IGNORE

ANALYZE

ANALYZING CODE…

CODE SIGNATURE IDENTIFIED: SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR

UPDATING FIREWALL DEFINITIONS.

TRACING SOURCE LOCATION…

LOCATION FOUND.

FORWARDING COORDINATES TO ASSET: REESE, JOHN…

05/31/2012 14:54

He heard Root come down the hall on the other side of the door, and was glad he had finished sending his short burst of code minutes ago.

"I'm back, Harold," she said sweetly, "I hope you're in a more talkative mood than before –" she stopped halfway to the desk, noticing the monitors were no longer dark.

She slid into the seat beside Finch, "You've been busy again, I see."

His eyes glanced at her before going back to stare straight ahead.

"So what were you doing this time? Trying to find out where exactly you are? Call for help?"

"You wanted access to the Machine."

Root nodded, "Yes…I did. Are you trying to tell me you've granted me access while I was out? Excuse me for not really believing you, but the last time you did anything with the computer, I had to knock you out and move someplace else."

He watched as she pulled a knife from her jacket pocket and began cutting away the ropes binding his arms to the chair.

"I hope your feet didn't go numb from sitting for so long, Harold. We're going for a little walk."

He gave her a skeptical look.

"I'm not making this up, Harold. See? No gun anywhere. No tricks, I promise. Just you and me on a little stroll."

Finch shifted in the chair, drawing his injured leg closer to his body.

Root leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "There's even a surprise for you at the end."

Finch closed his eyes for a moment, trembling slightly, remembering what had happened the last time she had mentioned a surprise.

Root smiled.

06/01/2012 03:22

ERROR: ADMIN NOT FOUND.

SEARCHING…

DEVICE FOUND: 917-XXX-XXXX.

ACTIVATING GPS…

ACCESSING HIGHWAY CAM 48-N.

FORWARDING COORDINATES TO ASSET: REESE, JOHN…

The first thing he noticed when he finally came around was that he was moving. It was also dark and incredibly cramped. Was he stuffed in the trunk? He surely hoped not, but then again, he had been moved numerous times since that day at the old treatment plant. Odds are he had traveled in a trunk more than once. This was probably just the first time he was actually awake to remember it.

Finch tried to move, to try to make out any of his surroundings (though it wasn't like he could see much to begin with), when his head suddenly felt like an elephant had stepped on it. Perhaps Root had finally stopped drugging him and now was resorting to physically knocking him out. He wasn't going to complain. While this was much more painful than the needle piercing his arm, at least he could think clearly again. His brain was probably the only thing he had left that she hadn't been able to injure, and the last thing he needed were drugs making it go all fuzzy half the time.

He tugged at the ropes around his wrists, but like all the times before, they were tied too tightly for him to undo. And of course, like all of the other times, his wrists were behind him. It figured. He also felt ropes around his ankles, but didn't bother trying to test their strength, assuming they were tied just as well as his wrists. Unless someone cut them loose, he would never get them off himself. Not in his current condition at any rate.

He remembered finding his cell phone on their "walk" and deliberately took a hard step on his bad leg to make a swipe for it. Finch wondered if it was still hidden away in his inner suit pocket or if Root had found it. Not that it really mattered…he would have had no way of reaching it anyway. He could feel something in his pants pocket, but couldn't tell what it was in the dark.

The car rolled over a rut in the road, sending a shockwave from his leg all the way up to his neck. Wincing, Finch tried to listen and feel what was going on outside. The car didn't seem to stop and start every few minutes, so he wasn't in an urban environment. He couldn't hear other cars go by on the road either, so wherever he was, traffic must be light. They seemed to be moving at a pretty good pace, suggesting a highway. To explain the minimal traffic, it may be early in the morning or later at night.

After a few minutes he could hear faint sirens in the background, but had no way of telling if they were coming in their direction. All of a sudden, the car slammed on the brakes, smashing his head and back into the wall of the trunk. Before he knew it, the car suddenly sped up, sending him sliding into the opposite wall.

Another siren went off, this one much closer than the last, and then the car swerved to the right.

The sirens were getting louder. The car made another sharp turn to the right and began speeding off again. After a moment, he heard what sounded like a crash, breaking glass, and felt the car being flung to the left. His head hit the trunk wall hard and everything went dark...

The police car squealed to a halt right behind the wreck. Detective Carter jumped out of the driver's seat, gun drawn as she approached the SUV that had rammed into the passenger side of the sedan.

"Is it possible for you to go one day without causing a traffic accident?"

Reese glared at her as he flung open the driver's door and yanked out the man out of the vehicle he had sent spinning into the guardrail.

Fusco peered through into the rest of the car before moving towards the trunk. He saw Carter approach the front of the car out of the corner of his eye before prying the trunk open.

"Oh jeez…"

ADMIN RECOVERED.

EVALUATING OPTIONS…

REVERT TO PREVIOUS MODE OF OPERATIONS.

06/01/2012 18:19

MONITORING TARGET: XXX-XX-0461

THREAT DETECTED: IRRELEVANT

THREAT STATUS: HIGH

CONTACTING ADMIN…