Author's Note: This kinda fell into place when I was talking about my tattoos with a friend. How tattoos are not just a fashion victim thing, nor are they the preserve of gang members and hairy bikers. It's definitely AU, and then I thought about what Harold did with numbers before Reese, and how there might have been one or two that he could have saved.
"Who is she, Finch?" Not a number, that was for sure. John Reese had tried all sorts of oblique ways to get more information on his elusive boss. Observation was the one that panned out the most. Asking Finch direct questions had a tendency to prompt zero answers.
A number-free day and idle curiosity had led Reese to a book. Inside the pages of the book, a sketch. Detailed, elegant, a name - Kari signed in elaborate script in the corner. Initials and a number.
It was a beautiful picture, more of a design than a picture, a dove was the central theme, entwined in ivy. The eyes of the dove seemed to be pleading to be set free.
Then Finch had caught Reese admiring it. "She's very good." Reese said, to cover the embarrassment of being caught openly prying.
"She, Mr Reese?" There was an odd inflection in Finch's voice.
"Kari." Reese looked up with real curiosity. Finch sounded embarrassed. He was actually blushing.
Finch turned away. "An artist I know." His tone did not invite further inquiry and that piqued Reese's interest. A day off, no number in sight, Carter busy in court, Taylor on a field trip, Reese was at a loose end.
Besides Finch had said artist that he knew. In the present tense, implying that this was something that was part of Finch's life right now. Something a little more complex than green tea, or a corner café and eggs Benedict.
Reese figured that if she was an artist, she was bound to have a business. Perhaps it would be something as a simple as a search in a telephone directory. And he had a day to play with.
There were five businesses with the word Kari in the name. The first two turned out to be ladieswear boutiques and no one in them was actually called Kari. The next one on the list was a flower shop, the lady proprietor had bought the shop from a friend who had named it after her deceased grandmother. Which left two.
One in Brooklyn, one on 96th. It was the cupcake bakery in Brooklyn which won the day, if this slightly frustrating hunt proved to be fruitless, Reese knew the cupcakes would make Carter a very happy woman after a long court case.
He drove out to the bakers, purchased six cupcakes. Then having satisfied his need to please Carter, Reese went in search of the tantalizing snippet of information he had on Finch.
An artist called Kari.
Kari's of Brooklyn proved to be a gift shop. Though this time, the owner's name was Kari. As soon as he mentioned art, the motherly middle-aged woman smiled, "Oh dear me, hon, no. You want the tattoo parlour on Sun Street. It's a couple of blocks over." She gave directions. "The shop's called Infinity Tattoo. It's very popular."
Reese's curiosity radar was pinging double time, but he dutifully bought Carter another gift, taking another five minutes for gift wrapping before he departed.
Infinity Tattoo on Sun Street proved to be a huge double fronted shop, and judging by the level of traffic entering and leaving, had a diverse clientele and was clearly, as Kari the gift shop owner had said, very popular.
Just why Finch would knew a tattoo artist out in Brooklyn was the only thing ticking through Reese's mind.
He went in. There was a waiting room, a reception desk, and behind the desk and to the side he could see cubicles where various artists were plying their trade.
The receptionist was a young, sharp-featured girl in her early twenties. "Here for tattoo or piercing, hon?"
"I'd like to see Kari," Reese evaded the other question. He was long past the age of getting anything pierced, and not here for a tattoo. Just curiosity and another tiny piece of the puzzle that was Harold Finch.
"Well you are in luck, hon. Kari will be finished in about ten minutes and her next slot cancelled fifteen minutes ago. So I'll pencil you in. If you'd like to take a seat."
Reading upside down was almost a required skill, and Reese stared intently at the large diary in front of him. Several artists in the shop, but clearly the most popular was Kari. Her appointments were back to back, with the one tiny gap where the girl was pencilling in Reese's name.
Reese turned his attention to the walls of the reception area. Photographs of tattoos, some with original drawings preserved beside them. There were works of art too. Kari's name featured prominently amongst them. He studied her paintings, mostly gothic in style, but there was a wistful beauty to them that he found strangely hypnotic and soothing.
"Mr Reese." He turned round. She was a sharp-featured girl in her late twenties, the resemblance to the receptionist obvious. They had to be sisters. Where her sister's eyes were a pale blue, Kari's were almost silver. Intense. Reese could feel himself being assessed from head to toe. She probably knew his measurements and weight without asking.
What she saw seemed to satisfy her, "this way," she turned and headed towards a large cubicle at the back.
Reese followed her. "Have a seat." He sat on the large adjustable chair that she indicated.
She took her seat on the small stool beside the chair and picked up a sketch pad. Looked up at him, a searching look, her smile was friendly but clearly amused.
He raised an eyebrow.
She clarified. "He said you would come."
Reese didn't bother with the obvious question, who. He could almost sense Finch's presence despite having turned his phone off, and put his earwig away in the case in his pocket.
It was not exactly a surprise, but slightly disconcerting that his elusive employer and friend had read him that easily.
Kari was sketching on her pad.
"People come to me for lots of reasons." She said, "and not always the reasons you might think. Tattooing can be for remembrance, to conceal something, or reveal something of a person's nature. It isn't all gangs and hairy bikers. Or fashion victims for that matter."
Reese pondered that while her hand seemed to be moving across the pad of it's own volition.
"Why did Finch come?"
Kari's smile was enigmatic, "I never talk about my clients, Mr Reese." Her hand seemed to be moving more quickly, "he said you would ask that too."
"You're not Finch's cousin or something?"
"No." She stopped drawing and studied it for a second. "He also said if you wanted something he would pick up the tab."
She turned the pad around.
In that moment Reese decided that he was definitely up against something supernatural here.
Two tigers, one clearly male, standing protectively over a smaller female, the two tarot cards behind, the hanged man with his promise of knowledge and self-sacrifice, and justice, the karma card.
He had never really considered a tattoo, even if he had, he had no idea about design. Kari seemed to have read his aura and conjured something from the depths of her imagination which fit him exactly. Suddenly he was thinking about it.
He could also understand how Harold with his brilliant mind and secretive nature would find himself drawn to this enigmatic girl with her long, narrow silvery eyes, and pale hair.
Slowly he nodded.
She turned from witch to business woman in the flick of a switch.
"I need you to fill this out." She handed him a clipboard with a printed form on it. "Since it's Harold," he noted with some amusement that she glanced towards the door to see if she had closed it behind them, "whatever name you put on the form will be just fine."
He took the clipboard and scribbled his name, a dead drop address that sprang to mind, a burn phone number that had been dropped six months ago, worked his way through the no boxes alongside all the various medical conditions, signed to swear that he was sober, not on any drugs, legal or otherwise, in his right mind, and had a bath that very morning. Agreed with Kari where he wanted the tattoo to go and obediently took his jacket and shirt off.
Watched her sanitise everything, wrapping the arm of the chair that she had slotted into place in cling film. "Take a seat, get comfortable and relax, I'll just go and get this sized, and then we'll look at the placement."
He sat down, and made himself comfortable, resting his elbow on the carefully sanitised arm of the chair, the plastic slick and cold beneath his skin, the antiseptic smell curiously reassuring.
She returned with paper in hand. "You comfortable?"
"Yeah."
She sat down, made herself comfortable. Wiped his upper arm down with the same antiseptic cleanser. The solution cool against his skin. Positioned the design carefully and pressed it against his arm.
"How does that look?" She indicated the mirror behind her, and he glanced across.
"Fine."
"So we're good to go." Kari assembled her needle gun, "okay, the deal is, any time this gets to you, or you just want to take a break, say so. If you start to feel whoozy, say so and we take a break. Just breathe normally and relax."
"I have some experience with needles," he muttered drily.
She raised an eyebrow, "I've had tough guys, been all round the world, seen every damn thing, survived falls, crashes, come off bikes. They sit down in that chair having seen it all, been there, done that. And a tiny ring of seven needles starts up. They pass out in a heap on the floor." She gave him the full wise-ass look. "Do you really want me to go on?"
"No ma'am."
"I'm not ma'am. Kari, or K. But not, ma'am."
He smirked at that. She certainly gave as good as she got.
"Here we go."
The needle buzzed and he steeled himself.
It wasn't too bad, certainly nothing like having needles shoved through his ulna nerve and brachial plexus. Although the pain of that was made worse by having to use his arm afterwards. The buzzing and the vibration was mildly irritating.
She outlined the piece, and slowly but surely he felt it take shape as he closed his eyes and drifted peacefully.
She lovingly applied the design to his skin, this was the part she loved, the creation. Sound instincts and experience told her that he was just drifting. So while he drifted, she thought about the things that she could have told him. The secrets that were not hers to reveal.
How eighteen months ago, a small guy on crutches had come to her and warned her that her baby sister was in danger. How she wouldn't ordinarily have believed him, but his cultured voice, bookish appearance, and the fact that he had dragged himself on crutches all the way out to the wilds of Brooklyn, where he stood out like a sore thumb, convinced her to take him seriously. How he had helped her with enough information to wrest her sister from the clutches of a disastrous relationship. How she paid him back with a piece of artwork, and information whenever he asked for it, with no questions asked on her side.
How once a month he took her to lunch, always different restaurants in different places, how they talked of art and books, and computers and how she knew he was a kickass programmer but not what he actually did, and how he knew who her favorite artists were, and how she got inside her clients' heads and seemingly read their minds to create perfect designs for their bodies. How body shape and body image didn't matter to her, she was creating for the soul within.
Harold hadn't told her about Reese, until the day, a month ago she had seen him going into a building with a taller, younger man who seemed to fill the role of bodyguard. At their next lunch three days later, Kari mentioned the big guy in the smart suit and Harold reluctantly admitted he was working with the man, John Reese.
He didn't say what John's job was, and in accord with the boundaries of their relationship, Kari didn't ask. She knew that whatever Harold did, he helped people, and that was all she needed to know. Hiring a big, physically capable guy to help out with that made good sense.
Now John Reese was here in her tattoo parlour, asking about Harold. It was kinda funny when you thought about it. Harold had sounded a little amused by it when he rang to say that Reese was probably on the way.
Up close and personal, John Reese was tall, dark and handsome, lean-built, with that cool watchfulness that said military or similar. Kari Stephens was an expert in body type and John's body was the result of years of honing in the field, not a Saturday night special courtesy of some swanky gym.
She had seen plenty of tough guys melt into a puddle when she started work, John was an exception, perversely he seemed to find the buzz of the needle soothing.
With the outline finished, Kari looked up. "You want to take a break?" Wordlessly he shook his head. She raised an eyebrow, "when I said relax, I didn't mean slip into a coma." He smirked at that, "I was just getting comfortable."
"Tell that to the marines."
His smirk widened. "Very funny. Did your friend Harold tell you that?"
"No. Harold didn't." She began the shading, "years of experience, I've been doing this since I was eighteen years old. You didn't get to be you by working out in some ritzy gym, and you've been a lot further than the mean streets of Brooklyn." She gently wiped the excess ink and studied the shaded stripe that she had made. It looked good. She drew a lot of inspiration from the oriental artists. The three month trip that Harold paid for had given her a new perspective.
He had gone quiet again and she looked up. "John, you know all that you need to know about Harold. He's let you in this far. And that's a lot more than most people know about him. Believe me, Harold gives you something to believe in, it's best to go forward understanding that what you know is what is safe for you to know. Safe for you as well as him." She turned back to the task in hand.
Joss Carter pushed open her front door, wondering what she would find behind it. John had a habit of appearing out of nowhere. It was pointless locking her front door. He got in anyway. In a fit of annoyance, she gave him a key. He picked the lock in nothing flat anyway. Just because he could, and he was trying to get a laugh out of her. And when he did, he would smirk that smirk, and she would be torn between wanting to beat him to a pulp and drag him into the station in handcuffs, and diving headlong into his arms.
There was a fancy cupcake box and a brown paper bag on the kitchen table, and John was stretched out on the couch.
Joss deliberately detoured into the kitchen. Appearing too eager to see her suit guy would be a mistake. Give John Reese an inch, he would take several miles.
She opened the cupcake box, six perfect, luscious, tasty cupcakes sat in regally expensive boxed splendour within. Joss selected a peach one, she could sense John's smirk even from there in the kitchen. He would know which one she would take. Joss was almost tempted to put it back and select another one, but damn, he was messing with her head now.
As she peeled back the paper she took a peek inside the brown bag. "Are you cooking tonight," clingfilm, nappy rash cream and micropore tape?
"No. I had takeout in mind."
She joined him on the sofa. "So what's with the clingfilm and the nappy rash cream." He reached into his pocket and handed her a little card.
"You got a tattoo?" Carter's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.
He nodded. "I went out to Brooklyn, came back with six cupcakes and a tattoo. And all I wanted was information."
"Show me."
That lazy smirk peeked out again, "Detective, you just want me to take my shirt off," he shrugged out of his jacket, and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"Any excuse, but right now I just want to see this mysterious tattoo." He peeled his shirt off slowly, seemingly enjoying the look of curiosity in her eyes.
His right bicep had been wrapped in cling film, micropore tape holding it to his skin. Joss could see blood beneath the wrap, and the area was warm to the touch.
"Hey, I get to take the cling film off, bathe it, leave it exposed to the air for fifteen minutes and wrap it all up again." He consulted his watch, "in about half an hour."
"Well, I can't pretend to understand why, or what you were doing in Brooklyn, but if you wanted a tattoo, this place at least seems to understand hygiene."
John smiled. He was sure that by now Finch would have had a full account of Mr Reese's attempt to get the goods on him. And how Miss Kari Stephens was a good choice for gatekeeper of secrets. He looked forward to round two of their sparring match.