Author's Note: First story ... just can't seem to get these boys out of my head. Time hops around a little, hopefully not too confusing.

Chapter 1

"Mr. Reese."

There was a hint of admonishment the first time he said it. The second time, it was a warning.

"John."

Reese tilted his head slightly at the use of the first name. Hesitated. He pulled the com bud from his ear.

He almost popped it back in, but then let it drop to the ground and fought the urge to stomp it.

Really, Reese?

Reese took a step forward and heard the crunch under his feet anyway. A untrained eye might not have noted the grimace that graced his face.

Well that decided things.

It didn't matter anyway. Finch was wrong. They weren't done here.

Their number was safe. True.

All five years of him. Gone to protective services.

But it didn't seem like a closed case. Not yet. Not deserving of the Nice work, Mr. Reese, a comment that Finch had let slide over the com so gently, as though hinting that his work there was finished whether he liked it or not.

The job was to protect the boy.

The boy was safe.

Job well done.

But the monster still lived. Not just lived. Wandered the earth.

So was the job really done?

What about the next victim? There would be a next one. He was almost certain of it.

Reese caught the reflection of the man he was tailing in the bank window and turned slightly, hiding his face from view as he pretended to check his phone for messages.

There were no messages, no missed calls.

He moved forward on the street, keeping his distance but not trailing too far behind.

Who was he kidding? This guy wasn't trained to know if he were being followed. He wouldn't even expect it.

Reese narrowed the gap between them.

The man reached the curb and looked up at the traffic light, blinked his narrow eyes as it changed. Stepped out into the crosswalk.

A taxi making a turn braked heavily as the portly man stepped out in front of him without even a glance.

Reese wished he were behind the steering wheel.

Mr. Carl Stevenson kept walking, hitting the sidewalk again and then pausing at a stairway leading down. He took it.

Reese glanced at the sign above the door. A comic book shop. Really?

"Finch?" He stopped himself. A habit already. A dependency.

A weakness?

The silence in his ear felt deafening all the same.

He slipped his phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen. No missed calls. No messages.

It would ring if he were needed. If there were another number.

Stevenson was back up the stairs almost as quickly as he was down them and Reese was suddenly glad for his hesitation in following. He moved his profile sideways again as the man headed back in the same direction he had come.

He glanced back at the storefront. Closed.

Stevenson was moving again before Reese could be too annoyed at himself for missing the sign initially, and he picked up the pace of his stride to match the man's.

The second stop was an unpopular pub. It almost looked closed itself, but he heard a jingle as the door open and shut, heard an echo of voices from the inside.

Reese hesitated. He glanced again at his phone, sliding it from his pocket.

Nothing.

The last time he had cut his employer off, the reinitiation of contact had been immediate.

He followed Stevenson.

A peace offering, perhaps.

Finch didn't even hear his footsteps, just the crinkle of the pastry bag as it found his desk. A styrofoam cup followed, a distinct wafting of Sencha green emanating from the lid.

He was waiting for the day when he would actually hear Reese before he was at arm's length. When Reese would let him hear him.

Finch slid the cup backwards to a safer distance from his keyboard and immediately regretted the quick motion of pushing it away when he saw something akin to hurt flicker across Reese's face.

It was gone as quickly as it came. A perfectly sculpted expression of ... nothing, really, replaced it. "Do we have another number?"

Finch turned, a movement not just of his neck but his body with it, stiffly almost, but second nature.

He took in the rumpled shirt, the darkened eyes, the slightly disheveled hair. A slight hint of stale beer. He could ask Reese if he had slept even an hour the prior night but the image in front of him didn't necessitate it.

Finch wondered if he had made the right decision. Perhaps they were moving too quickly.

Did he have a choice?

"Finch?"

"We do, Mr. Reese." Finch pivoted back to his screen, brought up a quick window. Felt his employee move closer. "Adam Lowes. Mechanic on Atlantic."

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Some outstanding debts, a penchant for gambling. An ongoing divorce." Finch was swiftly bringing up window after window on the screen. "Perhaps an affair...?"

Security footage of the mechanic's shop, Elmo's. It looked busy. There was a used car lot next to the property.

"I'll get to it then."

"Mr. Reese."

Reese turned back, a question on his face until he saw Finch's hand out.

Palm open, outstretched. An ear bud.

Reese hesitated and then reached for it. He didn't expect the slight tap to his wrist as he took it. His eyes met Finch's.

"Don't do it again."

Finch saw it then, the challenging look in Reese's eyes. The silent, subtle defiance.

Defiance because perhaps he was starting to trust?

Or maybe just the opposite. Finch leaned back in his chair but didn't break eye contact. He studied him carefully. Another time.

"The car you used last week," he started, redirecting the dialogue.

Reese braced himself for another potential chastisement. He broke his gaze, looking back at the computer screen. Shifted his stance.

Finch continued. "The one you chose to use as a rather... striking conversation piece?"

Said car had been decidedly rammed into their target's brand new convertible.

"I won that conversation," Reese offered. He looked back to Finch, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

Finch almost looked amused. "Indeed. Said car will be at Elmo's this afternoon. I suggest you have a conversation regarding your deductible."

The number, Adam Lowes, eyed him from behind the counter and whistled.

"Man... You were in it? What the hell, man. Not even a scratch?"

Reese gave a smile, a shrug. He could feel the bruising from last week, when he thought about it. An tender rib, maybe, here or there. But Finch was listening. "Nothing broken."

"What happened?"

"Some guy ran a light." Some guy was him, of course.

"Damn... He must have been going fast."

No comment. Reese leaned against the counter, watching the man type slowly at the keyboard.

"So we took a look earlier..." Adam looked up. "Honestly, it's totaled, man. It'll cost more to fix it than it's worth at this point."

Reese frowned.

"I mean, we can do it." Adam clicked a few times at his mouse impatiently before the window changed on the screen. "Your insurance just won't cover it."

Reese paused just a second. "That's not a problem."

Adam looked up, a questioning look on his face.

Reese gave a crooked smile. "Sentimental to her... I can pay. Whatever it takes."

"Mr. Reese."

The warning tone in his ear this time made Reese's lopsided smile genuine. He took it as a challenge.

"How's that work, do you need a deposit now or...?" Reese shifted his stance against the counter.

Adam nodded. "Yeah, man. Yeah. That'll work." He typed again at the computer, cursed under his breath. "Hate this thing." He cleared his throat. "We'll have to order parts." He was looking behind him now, through the glass that separated them from the main garage. There were two men there, one in mechanic's coveralls, the other not. He looked back at Reese and then back to the computer, a sudden sheen of sweat visible on his brow.

"Whatever she needs." Reese pulled out his phone, bluejacking Adam's as the man struggled again with the program on the screen. His eyes skimmed the small waiting area.

"It's not very good," Adam offered, watching him approach the older coffee machine in the corner.

Reese glanced back over his shoulder at the man as he planted a small bug that would give them eyes. "It'll do..." He pushed a weak styrofoam cup under the appliance's spout, covering his motions. Pressed the button. The machine coughed to life. He frowned a little as he watched the brown liquid fill the cup, thicker than expected.

Stepping back to the counter, Adam was finishing up. He looked up, rubbed a hand across his cheek. Reese noted the gold band on his finger.

"If you can pay in cash... even any of it, I can get you a discount." It was said cautiously, as Adam eyed him. "Just saying, man. I can help you, you can help me, you know what I mean?"

Reese nodded. "Sure." Gaining some trust. He wondered what kind of money trouble this guy was in.

Finch was not surprised the first time he was tailed by Reese.

He had been expecting it.

And Reese was good, he would give him that.

Had he not expected it, he may have even missed it, given something away. He even assumed he had lost the tail, more times than one, only to catch a glance in a window, a rear view mirror.

If not for knowing that profile so well now, even the back of the head, he might have let down his guard.

But Finch's livelihood had been staying alive, unfollowed, for years.

As things stood, after the first few times, Finch's guard was down enough to consider it a game.

"The gentlemen who just entered, table seven by the door..." As Finch settled his tab, he stood from his booth and slipped the waitress another bill. "His dinner is on me."

The girl glanced at table seven, a smile starting on her lips.

Finch, seeing her expression, could only shake his head.

He slipped out the side door as table seven was eagerly approached.

In Adam's apartment, a very vocal tabby cat was rubbing against Reese's leg. He surveyed the nearly empty room, absently bending to stroke the feline. It arched its back in approval.

"Not much here..." Reese's eyes went to the sagging black futon along the one wall with any furniture.

The cat followed him as he moved, crying plaintively. He peeked in the bedroom and kitchen, briefly, before coming back to the main area. Reese noted the light brown dusting on one side of the couch's black mattress. Mud?

He glanced up. Drop ceiling.

"What are we hiding..." He stepped up onto the mattress. It sagged but held his weight as he reached up toward the ceiling and pushed up one of the stained ceiling tiles.

"Finch, you there?"

"Always, Mr. Reese."

"Lowes may have a gambling problem, but money is not the issue." He quickly scanned the dusty stacks. "There's gotta be a quarter mil here."

He snapped a few photos as he perused the remainder of the apartment.

"Perhaps he's skimming from the shop?"

In the kitchen, the cat was tripping him, or trying to. A desperate meow. He glanced at the empty food bowls in the corner of the linoleum.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, Mr. Reese."

"Not you, Harold."

"Feeding the pets falls outside your job description, Mr. Reese." The voice on the other end of the com was not amused.

Reese was already snapping open the container of cat food and pouring a healthy amount of kibble into the dish.

As the feline purred, Reese had a funny feeling. A prickle on the nape of his neck. He lifted an ear, staying in a squatting position. Purring and... nothing. He shifted his weight, starting to stand. Then he heard it.

Sometimes his inner sense was the one that he needed the most. The one that kept him a step above the rest.

Moving to the edge of the kitchen, he slid silently out its side door just as two men barged in the back one that was his initial entrance.

Reese swung around the front of the house, noting a dark sedan two doors down that had not been there upon his arrival.

"Sending you a plate, Finch..."

Reese didn't quite understand how someone who walked with a limp had evaded him more than once.

Admittedly, he hadn't tried hard the first time. Hadn't realized he had to. But more than once was now turning into near a dozen times.

He would almost think Finch was faking the gait if not for the honest stiffness and pain he had occasionally seen the older man wear during the short course of knowing him.

Yet somehow, Finch seemed able to disappear. Anywhere.

And this.

This. Reese felt like he was being punished.

MoMA for over two hours now, no, make it three. Reese glanced at the clock on the wall. Finch knew he was following him.

Finch was testing his patience.

Meanwhile, the woman next to him pressed closer, trying to get a better look at the work hanging in front of them.

She wasn't trying to get a better look. He could smell her perfume.

He sighed.

"I know. Beautiful, isn't it?" She glanced at him, a cautious smile. Her voice was near a whisper.

He smiled back, not cautious at all, but it didn't reach his eyes.

She didn't notice.

"It really... Just gets to me, you know? Like an emotional stab in the heart."

What? Reese looked back to make sure they were still both looking at the same piece.

A single red dot in the midst of a pure white canvas.

"Mm-hm."

He could stab someone in the heart, yes.

She was saying something else. He wasn't listening.

He wanted a drink.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Finally.

"Duty calls," he said, slipping the phone out, hardly glancing at it. He smiled at her, this time genuine. "Enjoy."

She was turning. "Would you want-"

But he was gone.

She frowned, her eyes surveying the room, trying to find the suit in the midst of bodies.

He had vanished.