The last thing Harold Finch hears are shots reverberating through the com link.

What follows is a phenomenon that has become increasingly more frightening with every Number he sends his employee to investigate, every instance he sends Mr. Reese…John…into a dangerous environment: …dead air.

Over the months since he hired the ex-agent, their communications improved exponentially, becoming more efficient with each new upgrade: first working with only hand held phones, then with a head phone and blue-tooth earpiece, and finally with ITE devices that are as sensitive as they are invisible.

He - who always maintained that to be predictable is to be vulnerable - cannot now envision being disconnected from John Reese for any length of time while working a Number. Sometimes even keeping the connection open when the ex-op is not working directly on a case, a situation of which he hopes John is not aware.

But that is probably an overly optimistic expectation as the ex-op is…to use John's favorite saying…'smarter than the average bear'. More than once he was caught listening in without participating.

"Are you hearing this, Harold?"

"I'm here. Always."

Which is why Finch is now completely unnerved!

Even under the most taxing circumstances, John has managed to keep the link intact, and to now lose that connection, knowing that a fire fight is underway is…terrifying. Unable to rouse even a static response, he goes on auto-pilot, checking the various devices, trouble shooting connections, but knowing this is simply wasting time.

The most obvious answer to the why of the lost link is of course that his employee is temporarily "down" and has lost the com earpiece, and/or his phone. The possibility that the ex-op is mortally injured and down permanently is something he simply can't address. Won't address…

Hard on the heels of that last thought, his facile brain runs through various actionable items and with his choice made, he quickly dials a familiar number.

"Detective? I need your assistance…"

"Finch?" Carter replies, "Sorry, but I'm in the middle of a deposition. Can this wait? I should be through in about 30-40 minutes."

Half an hour? Even five minutes will be too long! Finch forces himself to reply with a calm he doesn't feel as his anxiety starts rising. "No, that's alright Detective. I'll find another way."

"Did you try Fusco? He was at his desk when I left the precinct."

"Thank you Detective." Finch taps the key to end the call.

Fusco.

Not his first choice for a rescue, although he reluctantly admits the detective has been helpful to them on a fairly reliable basis over these past many weeks. But he still remembers only too well the portly policeman made a valiant attempt to kill John, and not just once! Those are offences he can't easily forgive. Carter at least made up for her one transgression by helping him whisk Reese out from under collective CIA noses at the critical moment. But Fusco?

Detective Fusco is still on probation as far as he's concerned. Numerous times he warned John, first obliquely then plain bluntly, that turning a dirty cop into an asset could easily transpire into a big mistake. Perhaps a fatal mistake. John evidently sees something in this person that he does not. His own biggest weakness is the inability to really understand what motivates other people; he is aware of that and accepts the deficiency.

But given that there aren't a lot of options on the table, he lifts his hand, hesitates, then reluctantly taps the keypad again. He's putting his faith in John's better ability to judge the dirty cop…

"Fusco here."

Finch swallows his uneasiness as he starts his request as before, "Detective, I need your assistance."

"Hey, Professor! It's been a while. What can I do for you?"

The detective's cheery notes grate, but the cop isn't yet aware of what has occurred so he consciously calms his voice, tersely explaining his need for help. The big question is: has this pet sufficiently bonded with the ex-op to willingly to go into harm's way to help?

Surprisingly the chubby cop does not equivocate. With no more than the request he assist Mr. Reese on a job, Fusco's quickly on the move, calling for the most direct route to John's last GPS coordinates. The screeching tires and traffic noise he hears through the detective's phone verifies the cop is making good use of the cruiser's ample horsepower as he speeds toward the dock area.

Finch can only hope there won't be any major pile ups as a result…

During the 15 minutes it takes for the detective to bully his car through the cross-town traffic they have little to say other than exchange information on traffic issues, on Finch's part because he's busy creating various contingencies should they prove necessary; on Fusco's part, because he's busy barreling through the city, trying not to attract the attention of other unis…

But Finch understands there's more behind their lack of conversation. He's aware the detective holds him in awe, not so much because of intelligence issues or an ability in the realm of technology, but because the cop perceives he, a man weakened and crippled, has somehow managed to put a leash on the most lethally talented human being Fusco has probably ever met.

That puts Finch on a lofty perch, a position of power he is not above using to his advantage if need be.

...

"Please hurry, Detective. Time is of the essence." Finch strives to keep the angst out of his voice. "The police have already been notified of shots heard…"

"Wonderful. So what am I going to find? Your boy bleeding out…?"

"I sincerely hope not," he replies. Oh, God…please not!

It's been a long twenty minutes before he's gotten Fusco to this point. Twenty minutes calling for assistance, giving directions, frantically searching city cameras and private surveillance feeds for any sign of his employee… He only knows that John was following their Number to a drug deal, anticipating that whatever the Machine is warning them about, it would very likely happen there.

"Detective! Do you see him?" Finch is beyond trying to keep the urgent tone out of his voice. The last GPS reading put the ex-op somewhere in an alley in a warehouse district of the city, but other than that he doesn't know anything. Doesn't know what really happened or whether his employee-partner is still alive or…

Finch chooses to ignore Fusco's typical street slang response - something about wadded panties - as he ticks off the seconds in his head, waiting for the detective to provide an answer his question.

There are times when he's very happy to sit safely in his library among his treasured books and electronic toys and play the part of John's "handler"…but this is not one of them! If it had been more expedient to drive to that location himself he would have done so, but after verifying Fusco was the closer of the two of them to that area, he chose to send in his proxy, speed being of far more importance. In addition, he is still making arrangements for transportation, a safe house, and medical experts.

That last detail he fervently hopes will not need to be expanded to include mortuary aides.

"Detective! Are you still there?" The lack of information is wrecking him. Despite his efforts to block them, images crowding his brain of John lying dead among some alley litter are becoming progressively more vivid and disturbing.

"Got him, Professor. Let me check things out. I'll get back to you…"

"Oh, thank God. He's still alive then?" he replies, all artifice forgotten as he makes no attempt to prevent relief and worry from coloring his voice.

Positive thinking…positive thinking. If you think he's alright then he will be…

Which is pure nonsense of course…but indicative of the level of stress he's experiencing. Still, he deliberately pictures Fusco walking into a shadowy passageway, shuffling through what is probably a landfill of filth and debris, and seeing John standing there; probably dusty and dirty, with that familiar smirk he so often seems to sport around Fusco. Any minute now the cop will call back…or maybe hand John his phone and…

And since when had John Reese become such a fixture on his life's path?

It had always been just Nathan and he for so long - through college and afterwards. Establishing their business, growing IFT took literally years, with thousands of hours of close collaboration; they pretty much lived out of each other's pockets during that time.

He had relied on his business partner for more than just engineering expertise; Nathan was his conduit to the real world, away from the technologies that entranced him, isolated him from other people. When Grace came along he become aware of more opportunities to branch out, finally recognizing there were other lanes to his path. His world was expanding.

Then perversely, he lost them both and his sorrow became a prison in which he locked the door on himself, deliberately hiding alone, without any real connection to others. That was, until he went looking for an asset, someone who could help him in his new obsession to save the Irrelevants. Until he found a burned-out ex-CIA agent.

This is just mental babble, he scolds himself, suddenly picking up the conversation on Fusco's com.

"Any other holes I should know about…other than this one in your leg?" he hears the cop say gruffly. That mental image changes instantly: John is on the ground surrounded by a puddle of blood.