Disclaimer: I do not own POI, or the characters. Otherwise I would have ended things differently... *Sniffs* anyhow...enjoy!

John spared every second he wasn't firing at Samaritan ops to check on Finch and make sure he got off the roof safely. As soon as he made sure the other door had closed and his friend was out of danger he turned his full attention back to the matter at hand-namely the people that were firing at him and trying to stop the upload of The Machine to the satellite.

He heard her in his ear, but it was strange; it almost felt like she was a physical form, standing right beside him, supporting him. He continued in the bullet exchange for a few more moments before feeling a fiery-hot pain rip through his shoulder. He fell to his knees with a grunt, but forced himself back up. He got a few more shots out before he felt another bit of fire enter his gut, and another one in his leg. He fell again, only this time, he wasn't able to make it back to his feet. He continued firing his weapon though, making sure no one would get near the briefcase. His vision started swimming in front of him, but he forced himself to keep firing, discharging bullet after bullet, until finally the last operative that he could see was on the ground.

"It's done," Root's voice chimed in his ear. He felt a burden lifted off his shoulders, and he smiled in triumph. His smile was replaced by a grimace though as the adrenaline started to wear off and he felt all the pain and agony those bullets had caused. "It'll all be over soon, though," he thought to himself.

"Can you hear me?" he asked quietly, hoping to hear the voice of The Machine one more time, but all he got was white noise. He felt nothing but the numbness in his hands and heard nothing but the static in his mind as he struggled to sit up. He glanced around, trying to determine how long it would take before the missile arrived. He couldn't see or hear any sign of it, but he knew it was coming, and that it wouldn't be long.

He didn't know what made him do it, but he forced himself to his feet and, using the ledge for support, made his way around the roof towards the door leading back inside. He barely made it twenty feet before he fell to his knees with a grunt of pain. Looking down at his shirt, he saw that the entire front was covered in red. There wasn't a speck of white left visible to his eye. He started crawling towards the door, supporting himself on his good arm, but before he got far, the door burst open and half a dozen figures in black converged on the roof, moving towards him at a rapid pace, guns trained on him.

He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, then raised his own gun while still on his hands and knees and pulled the trigger. The first shot clipped one of them in the arm, spinning the man around and leaving him crying in pain, while the second bullet that exited from the chamber nailed the target in the upper thigh, dropping him. He pulled the trigger a third time only to hear the empty click as his gun informed him that the magazine was empty. He tossed the gun away from him and tried to push himself back up into a standing position, but the remaining four hostiles surrounded him. He got ready to put up as much of a fight as he could, but the butt of one of their rifles quickly put a stop to that idea. He collapsed to the ground without a sound, lying on his stomach.

"Get him up and off the roof, quick!" said the man who had introduced John's face to the butt of his gun. "We've got less than two minutes before the missile hits." One of them bent down and picked up the ex-agent in the fireman's carry, then hurried as fast as he could to the door leading downstairs. He was flanked by two men who kept watch, guns trained and ready to fire at anything that moved. The one in charge stood over the two who had been hit by John's bullets. "Get up or stay and die," he commanded harshly before he followed the men carrying the unconscious John. The one who had been hit in the arm scrambled to his feet, but the man who had been shot in the leg was unable to get up on his own. He called out for help, but his companion simply gave him a pitiful look and hurried through the door. He heard through the com link the harsh commands to get the ex-CIA agent in the car, and then he heard the sound of a car peeling away from the building. He had barely registered those sounds when a new sound entered into his ears; the sound of a drone. One tear slipped down his cheek before his whole world exploded.

1 week after the final fight, Finch

"Harold?" Grace asked as she stared at him, not wanting to believe her eyes.

"Hello, Grace," Finch replied. His voice was soft; he sounded like a man who had been broken, but he pushed that aside and continued to look at Grace.

"Wha-I don't understand...the bomb, the ferry…" she stuttered. Her hand went up and covered her mouth, slightly muffling her words. She stumbled back a bit as Harold walked towards her, and he stopped, not sure whether to keep moving forward or not. His answer came to him as Grace dropped her paint pallet and crossed the distance between the two of them, throwing her arms around him and burying her cheek into his shoulder. He grimaced and uttered a small cry of pain as his spinal injury acted up, his week-old bullet wound throwing in its complaints as well. Grace hastily pulled back. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" she asked, placing her hand lovingly on his cheek and scanning her eyes over him for his injuries. He felt his heart expand with love that he only felt while he was around this woman, placing his own hand over hers.

"You didn't hurt me, Grace. How can you think that when I'm the one that has so obviously been the cause of your pain?" Grace simply stared at him. He pulled her gently over to the closest table, sitting himself down next to her. "There are some things I was going to tell you before...well, before everything fell apart. If you want me to, I would still like to tell you those things now." Grace, still wide-eyed and obviously in shock, simply nodded, and Harold commenced telling her a story about a machine and a very special group of friends who worked to save people from violent crimes, sacrificing everything they had for their cause.

1 week after the final fight, Fusco

Shaw had just left him in the diner, taking Bear with her. He grumbled a little bit, but knew that the dog would be happier with her. He also thought maybe she'd be a little less crazy if she had permanent ownership of the dog, but somehow he seriously doubted that. He left the money on the table to pay for his meal as well as his tip and slowly made his way out the door.

Shaw joked about the knife wounds not affecting his appetite, and she was probably right. What was affecting his appetite was not knowing what had happened to Glasses and Wonderboy. He had a gut feeling that he hoped was wrong, but years as a detective told him that usually his gut instinct was right. Currently his gut was telling him that one, maybe both of them, had not made it out alive. He shook his head, dispelling those thoughts. Until he had proof, he refused to give up on them. He just wished he knew where to start looking.

He walked into the precinct and ignored the stares that were coming his way. The captain had been removed of duty after taking a look at the security footage from when he and John had been apprehended, and he was given back his job. There was still going to be an investigation, but he had been informed that there wasn't anything substantial that would hold up in court against him or Det. Riley.

He sat at his desk and out of habit looked across at the desk where first Joss, then John used to sit. He was starting to think that that desk was cursed. He rubbed his face, trying to think about anything other than his missing partner. He turned to the stack of cases on his desk, deciding now was as good a time as any to dive back into his day job.

2 weeks after the final fight, Shaw

Shaw grabbed her latest POI and they ducked behind a counter in the doctor's office. The latest number was a doctor who had accidentally stumbled into some loan sharks having a "discussion" with one of their clients, who had later ended up in the ER, where he passed away. The doctor had agreed to testify, but for some reason at the last minute decided not to.

She peered around the counter and fired three shots, taking down the approaching figures. They all groaned and rolled on the floor in pain while Shaw looked back to her ward. She gestured towards the door. "Alright, are you ready to get out of here?" she asked. He hastily nodded his head. "Let's go then," she continued as she pulled the man to his feet.

"Well done sweetie," Root's voice purred in her ear. Shaw ignored the voice as she focused on getting them both out the front door. "7 o'clock," The Machine informed her. Without looking, Shaw swiveled her arm back and shot the kneecap of the person trying to sneak up on her. The doctor looked at her.

"Who are you?" he asked. Shaw sighed. They always asked that.

"Concerned third party," came her distracted reply. The doctor continued asking questions, but Shaw tuned him out as she turned to talk to The Machine. "Are there any more coming?"

"Just one; the big shark," replied the AI.

"Where?"

"He'll round that corner in thirty seconds." Shaw prepared herself and waited for the loan shark to show his face. She also pushed the doctor back to the wall opposite her so that he was out of sight of the man coming for him. She saw him turn the corner and pull a gun on her, but she was faster; before he could even pull his gun all the way out, he was down on the ground, clutching at his knees. Shaw walked over to him, kicking his fallen gun away from him. "I've gone ahead and alerted the authorities; they're on their way," The Machine informed her. Shaw smirked as she heard the sirens getting closer and closer. She pulled out a ziptie and bound the man's hands together, then turned and looked at the visibly shaken doctor.

"I think you can handle it from here, yeah?" she asked. "Just do me a favor and don't see any sketch artists to describe me. Tell them I was wearing a ski mask or something. Otherwise, I know where you work, and I know where you live." She gave him an evil eye before turning and jogging down the street mere seconds before the cop cars pulled up.

She entered the run-down apartment building she had called home for the past two weeks, sat on the broken couch and propped her feet up on the small table in front of her. After taking the earpiece out of her ear and tossing it on the table as well, she gave a short whistle and Bear came barreling out of the kitchen and hopped up next to her. She pet the enthusiastic Malinois and chuckled as he tried to lick her face. She thought about Fusco, hoping that his wounds were healing okay, and then her thoughts wandered to John and Finch. She only let herself think about them for a few seconds before shaking her head, pushing them out of her thoughts.

"Come on, Bear, wanna go for a walk?" The dog gave an excited bark and hopped off the couch, fetching his leash and pressing it into Shaw's hand. She chuckled again as they walked out the door, back into the streets of New York.

5 weeks after the final fight, Present Time, Finch

"Harold?" Grace's voice broke through his thoughts as he was staring at the headstone in front of him. He glanced over at his once-again fiance, who was holding out a cup of tea for him. He accepted it with a small smile and put his arm around her as she came and stood by his side. "Is there anything that I can do?" He gave her another small smile, turning to stare into her gorgeous eyes.

"You can continue being you," he stated simply. She nodded in understanding and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"He sounds like he was an amazing person," she remarked. Harold nodded.

"He was. He was selfless and protective. He was the best friend anyone could have asked for." His voice shook slightly. It was still difficult, even after over a month.

There had been nothing left on the roof after the missile hit, but he knew that nothing up there would have survived, and there would have been no remains left. He had hacked the police database a few weeks ago and confirmed that there had been no testable remains left on the roof, but he knew whose remains they would have been. He had then decided to honor John and get him a better headstone than the one the CIA had given him after they thought he was killed in Ordos.

He and Grace stood there for a few more minutes before Harold finally stretched, then turned to the woman next to him. "Are you ready to go home?" he asked Grace. She looked up in his eyes, nodding.

"Yeah, I am. But only if you are," she insisted.

"I am," he smiled at her as they turned away and walked out of the cemetery. They travelled for a few minutes in silence before Grace looked up at Harold.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"You look like you're deep in thought about something," she clarified.

"Ah. I was simply wondering what Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco have been doing, if they're alright."

"Why can't you just contact them and ask?"

"I think Ms. Shaw wants to be left alone right now, and I don't want to endanger Detective Fusco anymore. He's been through enough the past few years. He deserves some well-earned time with his son. To have a life free of HR, Mr. Reese, me…" he trailed off. Grace put her hand on his arm.

"Are you sure that's what he would want?" Before Finch could answer, a figure in black leggings and a black jacket stepped out in front of them.

"Pretty sure it's not what he wants, but hey. Maybe I don't know him as well as you do," Shaw commented drily.

"Ms. Shaw?" Finch's mouth was open slightly in shock. Grace's eyes widened.

"Hey Finch. Long time no see."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I came to tell you that I think your machine is on the fritz, and I came to pay my respects to John." She brushed past him and walked back towards where Finch and Grace had just come from.

"Wha-my machine? What are you talking about, Ms. Shaw? The Machine was destroyed along with Samaritan!" Shaw shot him a slightly annoyed look as she stopped at the headstone.

"Nope. Somehow she got another copy of herself made and stored safely somewhere. She started calling me about a month ago, giving me numbers again. She's basically the same Machine. She even has the same...same voice." Her voice wavered a little bit, and Finch knew she was thinking about Root. She composed herself quickly and continued talking. "I would have come to you sooner, but I didn't know if you had survived or not, and the numbers kept coming. Thanks for letting us know you were okay, by the way," she added, voice dripping with sarcasm. Harold ignored the last comment.

"Even if all this were true, how did you find me?"

"About two weeks ago, The Machine alerted me that someone had hacked the NYPD database, only looking at one file; the one about the building that was hit with a missile. She told me it was you, and she told me where to find you."

"But if you knew for this long, why-"

"Wait to come find you?" She shrugged. "I was doing fine with the numbers, and once The Machine told me where you were, I did go look for you. I saw you'd found your way back to Grace, so I decided to let you have some space. Sounds like we all had the same idea," she added. Finch's head was still reeling.

"But why come now?" he finally asked.

"I told you, your machine is on the fritz, and you're the only one I trust to fix it."

"What makes you say it's on the fritz?" Shaw reached into her jacket pocket and handed Finch a folded piece of paper, then turned back to the headstone and stood there with her hands stuffed in her pockets. Finch unfolded the piece of paper and stared at what was scribbled there. The numbers seemed familiar…

"A number. Well it shouldn't come as a surprise to you, Ms. Shaw, but The Machine is programmed to give out numbers of people who need assistance. There's nothing strange about that."

"Look closer at the number, Finch," Shaw instructed. He did as he was told. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew those numbers…

"This...this is John's number!" he finally exclaimed.

"Bingo. Either your machine is a little behind the times, or it's completely delusional. Either way, it needs fixing. Will you help me?" Finch looked at her, then Grace, then back to Shaw.

"Ms. Shaw, I-"

"Harold." Grace put her hand on his cheek, making him look at her. "Go help her. The Machine is still out there, still giving you new numbers to save!"

"No, I can't, I'm done with that life, I-"

"Finch, I'm not asking you to become Watchtower. All I need is for you to come work some of your computer magic, get us working again." She stared at him, and after a few more moments of looking between the two women standing before him, Harold sighed.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do."

Shaw led Finch and Grace down an alley into an abandoned warehouse. "Lovely accommodations," Finch muttered to himself. An excited yelp had him turning around quickly as an excited Bear ran towards him. "Bear!" He reached down and pet the excited dog, whose tail continued to wag incessantly. Grace bent down as well, letting him sniff her hand before cautiously letting her rub his ears. Harold smiled a small smile before turning his attention back to the building they were in. It reminded him of his old Library, actually. Sitting in the middle of the warehouse was a large cabinet, and inside he could see blinking lights of different power sources. "That's The Machine?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Yup, what's left of her. Or at least what she needs to function at the moment. She says there's always room for improvement, but this will do for now." She gestured towards a desk with several monitors sitting on or around it. Finch gingerly sat himself down and began to type away, looking for any sort of error.

Several Hours Later

"Ms. Shaw, I cannot find anything wrong with the code. This is quite perplexing," Finch admitted. Shaw shoved the rest of her donut in her mouth and walked over to stand behind him.

She had gone out to get some food and entertainment for everyone about an hour ago after realizing Grace was starting to get fidgety. Besides, Bear needed a walk. She had brought back a book and some coffee for Grace, donuts, as well as tea for Harold, and a massive bone that Bear was currently trying to devour.

"So….what? John's number has been used in identity theft?" Shaw was only half joking. She was still confused, but if Harold said The Machine was working… Harold looked into the webcam.

"Can you see me?"

::YES::

"Who am I?"

::HAROLD, ADMIN::

"Find Sameen Shaw."

::LOCATING PRIMARY ASSET…:: A yellow box appeared around Shaw's face on the monitor. Finch and Shaw shared a glance.

"Locate John Reese."

::LOCATING PRIMARY ASSET…LOCATION UNKNOWN::

"Why did you give Ms. Shaw Mr. Reese's number? What makes you think he is in danger?"

::ACCESSING AUDIO RECORDING….::

"That's him? The great, feared, unbeatable Reese? Doesn't seem so scary to me!"

"He didn't put four guys in the hospital five minutes after he woke up," chided a second voice. "Even heavily sedated and drugged, this guy is dangerous. The boss wants him taken care of, but she wants to do it personally. We're supposed to wait for instructions, but she said we're gonna make our move soon. We're going to bring him to her, but first we need to take care of his arm. I'll keep you updated on the plan."

::AUDIO RECORDING COMPLETE::

During the conversation, Shaw had moved closer to Finch, staring at the screen with a look of shock on her face.

"What day was this recorded?"

::JULY 15, 2016, 7:37 PM::

Finch checked his watch. That was less than 16 hours ago! "Do you have a video recording?" Shaw asked, trying to not sound excited. If this was some stupid glitch, she didn't want to have her hopes up for nothing.

::CAMERA ACCESS UNAVAILABLE::

She sighed in frustration.

"Can you show me footage of the building Mr. Reese was on, right before the explosion?" Finch asked.

::ACCESSING VIDEO RECORDING::

Finch, Shaw, and Grace watched the 5 minutes before the explosion, but they couldn't see anything on the roof. As the missile hit, Finch turned his head away and Grace put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Nothing," Finch mumbled. He started to push the chair away from the desk, but Shaw stopped him.

"Hold on!" He gave her a look that clearly radiated disappointment, but she wasn't going to give up that easily. "Show us footage of a camera facing the front door of that building!"

::ACCESSING VIDEO RECORDING::

This time as they watched, they saw two black SUV's screech to a halt in front of the building. Six men poured out of them almost before they stopped, leaving only the drivers in the cars. Nothing happened for a few minutes, until suddenly the front doors burst open and five of the original six men came out. One was clutching at his shoulder, but the rest seemed to be crowded around one man who had someone on his back.

"Pause the video," Finch commanded. The AI complied. "Can you zoom in and enhance the image?" Once again, The Machine did as she was told. Finch sat back. There was no mistaking that suit, and as they had The Machine play the video in slow motion, when the unconscious man was thrown in the backseat of one of the vans, there was no doubt left in any of their minds. John Reese was alive, and he was in the hands of dangerous looking people. But if he was already taken by someone, who was talking about him over that recording?