I had this idea at the worst time ever- my exams start tomorrow and I'm not ready at all. But I had to get this idea out of my head otherwise it'd have driven me mad.
Well, I discovered Person of Interest a while ago now, but I absolutely adore this show. As much as I love Doctor Who actually.
I'm starting this one now, but I'm most certainly NOT abandoning The Tale of the Wolf, which is my main project. Both stories will be continued after my exams. Unless I'm struck with a great idea.
Well I hope you enjoy this short first chapter! (Also I apologise in advance for my bad English, I'm still trying to improve. I appreciate advice about that.)
Both shows go to their respective owners.
Timeline: Happens after the events of the end of season 2 for Person of Interest (SPOILERS), and right before Doosmday for Doctor Who.
(A big thanks to Evenmoor for noticing my mistake in the Social Security number of foreign people. Actually, the British ones are something like AB 12 34 56 C, while American ones are 123 45 6789)
One Strange Number
Person of Interest / Doctor Who
John Reese walked the streets of New York with his usual assured step -it was the best way to go unnoticed- towards the café. The morning sun touched his face with a welcome warmth that made Reese's lips twitch upwards. Today would be a good day, he decided. Finch hadn't called him yet, meaning that there wasn't any new Number to rescue for the moment. However, Reese was in a good mood, and decided to bring his employer a cup of tea anyway; much like he'd do when Finch called him in the morning.
John moved through the morning crowd in the streets, a crowd he'd learnt to get used to as New York was one of the 'cities that never slept'. He wasn't bothered though, he had learnt to enjoy it. The crowd would bring him protection and a good place to hide whenever he was following a Number and didn't want to be noticed. It hasn't always been like this though, when he was working as an operative of the CIA, his missions most usually brought him to locations much less enjoyable than New York. Or he was too busy on his missions to appreciate his surroundings.
And then he had been a homeless, depressive and dirty vagrant. He had been avoiding crowds then, prefering to travel underground or through the dirty alleys behind buildings, and using the trains when there was the less people possible.
This time was over however; now that he worked for... or rather, with, Harold Finch, John's had enough free time to do as he pleased. And feeling the morning sun lit his face pleased him indeed.
Opening the door of the café, Reese let his senses be overwhelmed by the sent of fresh bacon, eggs, coffee and other possible breakfasts, the chatter of people eating together or the orders being prepared behind the counter. John ordered a cup of coffee, a cup of Sencha green tea and a box of donuts and waited patiently. He usually went to different cafés across the city in the morning, as to not be noticed. Today was one of those rare days where we could go to this one café, where the donuts were just delicious- just the right amount of sugar and frosting. Definitely a good day, Reese thought, as he received his order and exited the café.
The ex-CIA operative strolled along the streets towards the Library, their QG. Harold would undoubtedly be there already at this hour, probably working even. John wondered if his employer even knew how and when to take a break- he had, more than once, found Finch sleeping with his head resting on the keyboard in an uncomfortable position, lines of codes flashing on the multiple screens. John eased a smile at the memory; Finch had looked peaceful, but he'd had to move him or the older man would have woken up hours later with an even sorer neck.
Arriving at the back entrance of the building, Reese looked around quickly, making sure he hadn't been followed. When he was sure he was alone, he opened the door and slipped inside. As he walked up the stairs, the familiar scent of old books engulfed him. A few seconds later, he was greeting Bear with a scratch behind the dog's ears. The Malinois was waggling his tail in contentment as he followed his master into the room. Finch was unsurprisingly seated in front of the screens, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.
"Hello, Finch."
Stopping the movement of his hands for a moment, Harold turned his whole upper body to greet Reese. "Hello, Mr. Reese."
John smiled and put the box of donuts open on the desk, along with the cup of tea, as Bear settled into his bed near the large table. After nodding to his employer's thanks, Reese sipped coffee from his own cup. As he glanced at the board where they usually put the picture of the new Number, he noticed that it was empty. "No new number, I take it?"
"Indeed," Finch replied, fishing a donut from the box, carefully wrapping it in a napkin as to not dirty his fingers. "This is why I did not call you," he added and took a bite of the pastry.
Reese raised an eyebrow and looked down at his employer. Had he misjudged and annoyed Finch by coming anyway? Not moving, he waited as he saw the older man opening his mouth again to speak.
"Although, I cannot complain," Harold said and let the corner of his lips twitch in a brief smile. From the corner of his eyes, he saw his employee ease in his stance, and continued, "This is from the H&J café a few blocks away, isn't it?"
"Can't hide anything from you, Finch," John said with a smile as he took a seat.
They fell in a comfortable silence, eating and sipping their beverages with the sounds from the computer as a background noise, which was also comforting. Only the sound of Bear's squeaky toy would break the silence from time to time, but neither men wanted to put a stop to it.
When the last donut was eaten, Finch carefully wiped his lips with the napkin, and sipped the rest of his tea. "It was very nice of you to come, Mr. Reese, but I am afraid I have no entertainment to provide you today." There was no hidden message as most people would think, just a simple statement, as Harold closed the donut box and placed it in the bin nearby, along with his empty cup.
"We're in a library, Finch," Reese replied, amusement clear in his voice. "I'm sure I can find something to do. As much as John loved the sun and the city, he also enjoyed a day inside, from time to time. Especially if he could spend it in the company of his employer.
"As you wish," the older man replied. He wouldn't let any of his emotions filter on his behaviour, but if he was honest with himself, he did prefer having John's company rather than staying alone with his computer, even if they didn't talk. The recent events with Samantha Grooves, or Root, and the Machine had left him unsure of Reese staying with him in the end. But when they did talk, John had already forgiven him, the virus, the computer, Ordos... Jessica. And Finch had never been more grateful. However, he would gladly take the burden off Reese's shoulders, as he new the younger man blamed himself for Jessica's death.
But now wasn't the time to linger on such thoughts. John was there, and that was all that mattered. Turning again to face his screens, Harold went back to coding. Reese stood up, and looked through the shelves full of old books for something to entertain him. He found himself in front of the row of books that hid the small safe with the picture of people John new Harold hadn't been able to help. Women whose number kept coming up, and Finch'd had to watch, unable to help. Reese would never hold his employer as responsible for the death of these women, of Jessica. It had been his own decision to let her go after all. Never had he doubted Harold. 'If Finch has something to do with the virus, then he must have good reasons', he had said to Shaw the other day. Finch was a good person, and Reese knew it.
Walking past this particular row of books, he continued his research, until he heard Harold call for him. "What is it?" he asked as he moved to join Finch at the computer.
"We have a new number," Harold said, turning his neck as far as it'd go to watch Reese walking up to him. When the ex-CIA operative was close enough, Finch held his phone up for the other man to see. A list of authors and initials was displayed on the screen; a text from the Machine. John immediately knew what to do, and walked back to the shelves to retrieve the corresponding books. Finch would never say it aloud, but he was glad that John had discovered how the numbers worked. He could avoid the unnecessary pain of standing up, and anyway, it was always better to work together. Harold frowned as he stopped his own train of thoughts, and right in time, as Reese reappeared with the books.
Finch opened a window on one of the screens, ready for the search of the new Social Security number. John turned the books to read the numbers to him, but there was something wrong. The first two books and the last one were some of the rare books in the Library without numbers; only the initials of the authors could be used. The number would mix letters and digits then.
"Could this be a foreign number?" Reese asked. It was the first time the Machine had given them the number of someone living out of the United States. John knew the Machine was watching everyone around the world, but he was still surprised.
Harold nodded, though equally surprised, and worked on the keyboard again, enlarging his search. "Possibly." He typed in the numbers, and they both waited for a result. When it was done, John settled the books on the desk, and bent over, a hand on the back of Finch's chair.
Finally, the picture of a young, blonde woman was displayed across the screen. "Rose Tyler. Born in 1986, London," Finch read. "No criminal records, she hasn't moved from London, apparently..."
"London?" Reese repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"It would seem so," Finch nodded. "She also appears to live a quiet life... Ah, wait." Finch's hands moved quickly on the keyboard, windows opening one after the other on the screens. "She was working in a shop in 2005, and was a witness of an explosion."
"A robbery that turned badly?" Reese suggested. "Do you think she would be eliminated because she saw the criminals? It was back in 2005 though, why would they act only now?"
Finch stayed silent as he didn't have any answer. He kept looking at the screens in search of more information. "Here," he said. "It says she's been missing for a whole year. She was back home few months before Christmas of 2006. But there is absolutely nothing that explains why and where she could have been all this time." Frustrated at the lack of information, Finch dug deeper into his sources as John waited patiently beside him. What he found though, stopped him right there and then, and he stared at the screens.
Reese frowned, "What is it?"
"She's... She's reported dead," Finch swallowed. It didn't make sense, the Machine wouldn't give them the number of a dead person. And yet, they had received it.
"What happened?" Reese asked, just as surprised as his employer was.
"An attack apparently... Soldiers, all over the world. Do you remember anything about it?"
"I don't think so," John replied. He'd had other things in mind at the time. Seven years ago he was still with Jessica, but was about to let her go.
"Me neither," Harold replied, frowning. He had been too busy working on the Machine with Nathan to go out. "There is, however, a list of dead people, and she's there," Finch continued.
"We received her number though," Reese said. "So she must be alive. Did they find her body?"
An interesting question, Finch thought. As a reply, he tapped quickly on the keyboard, looking for the answer. "Apparently not. Her mother was also listed as dead, and no body was found either."
"Well, that's a strange one," the ex-soldier said as he straightened up. "So what do we do, if she's supposed dead?"
Finch turned his chair to face Reese. "That, Mr. Reese, I have no idea."
