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SERIES: Firewall (POI only this time)
Series List:
1. High Voltage
2. Live Wire
3. Sometimes the Words are Hidden
4. Seasonal Currents
5. Redeemed
6. Not All the Facts
7. Under Pressure
8. Circuit Breaker
9. That Which Is Home
10. Lunatic (POI crossover starts)
11. Mostly Business as Usual
12. Phoenix Rising
13. All the Way from the Dark
14. Shadow Dancing
15. After the Storm Breaking
It had been a curious message, left on Carter's desk, addressed to the detective, but meant for Finch. There had been no name mentioned, just 'John's handler' and Carter had called him immediately to let him know.
"No one saw a thing," she told Finch. "Fusco's out on a case, so the desk was unoccupied. Any idea who it might be?" Carter asked, sounding none too happy about her role as a messenger and the fact that someone had connected the dots.
"No, but let me reassure you, Detective Carter, I will find out."
Harold Finch wasn't a very trusting man and had a healthy dose of paranoia going for him. The phone call couldn't be traced. No one would get the location of the library or any other place out of that message.
"Need any help?" she offered.
Finch was slightly touched and suppressed a smile. "No, thank you, detective. I can handle it."
"Of course you can," she sighed, then disconnected.
Carter had sent him a picture of the letter and the envelope, but aside from an address there was nothing tell-tale or unique. It was handwritten on standard paper and an envelope that simply had 'Carter' written on it. Not even a stamp.
Of course, he had researched what was at this address, which was a café smack in the middle of downtown, out in the open on a plaza, surrounded by tourists, business people and New York natives alike.
A safe place.
Nowhere to hide and still so many places to be invisible.
And also a place to have snipers aiming at one's head.
Reese was running an errant and Finch had left him a brief text to inform him of his location, though he had no doubt the other man would get it out of The Machine somehow if he threatened it enough. Or asked nicely.
Finch couldn't be sure anymore. His program had evolved incredibly fast, had developed in a way he had barely dared to dream of, and now it was also free.
His work.
And he took a certain amount of pride in it.
Sitting at one of the tables of the coffee shop, his back to the wall, eyes on the crowd, Finch wondered if the decision to come here alone might not have been a little too overconfident. Well, he had Bear. The dog wouldn't let anyone harm him and he had seen what it was capable of.
He had also chosen the inside of the coffee shop since the likelihood of a sniper out in the open was not to be trifled with.
"Thank you for coming."
He looked up, the movement of his head slightly hindered, right into the sharp eyes of a man he had never met in person but had seen multiple times through cameras and from a distance.
Mark Snow.
Ex-CIA agent.
Werewolf.
Packless alpha.
"You know who I am, so don't even try to play dumb. I know who you are, though your name still escapes me."
"Then how do you know I am the one you are looking for?"
The smile was thin and humorless. "I took a gamble."
Bear was watching the werewolf, not aggressive, not docile. He was ready to spring into action should Finch be threatened, but he wasn't warning Snow off either.
"Mr. Snow," Finch replied neutrally, voice even. He congratulated himself on that. "Why don't you join me?"
Snow slid into the chair opposite of him. He looked… not good. Finch had last seen the man almost dead, drugged, after Stanton had kidnapped him. He had lost his whole pack to his psychotic, former beta. Last that had been known of him was that he had left the CIA, disappeared, gone deep.
Now here he was; back in New York.
"What can I do for you, Agent Snow?"
The man's pale lips stretched into a grimace of a smile. "You know as well as I do that I'm not an agent anymore. So drop the charade."
Finch briefly inclined his head, glancing at Bear. The Malinois was still watching the wolf.
"You contacted me. I'm surprised you did, actually."
Another grimace. Snow's pale skin and too gaunt look spoke of the past months' trial. Losing everything wasn't easy; Finch could relate. Losing a pack was even worse to an alpha. The CIA might have established another, but trust wasn't easily given once more. That Finch could relate to as well.
"How is our mutual friend?"
"You should ask him, not me."
The brown eyes grew sharper. "I never had any doubt what John could be, what he was for my pack. I made mistakes. A whole lot of them. I should have listened to instincts I was born with. It cost me everything."
"And yet here you are."
He snorted, glancing out the window, roaming over the wide plaza. Dressed in jeans and a black sweater, Snow looked far from the CIA field agent Finch had watched for a while. He looked almost lost, alone, like he was trying to swim and found himself failing in a tank that held far larger predators. Predators that had yet to approach, but he would show a weakness soon.
"Why did you contact me?" Finch repeated.
"You are John's handler. He's a hellhound. He needs someone to tame his instincts, to rein him in, to guide him. He's a weapon the Special Forces created and the CIA continued to shape. He's a superb killer."
Snow's eyes never wavered from Finch's. The cipher refused to be baited.
"You're handling that weapon now and it hasn't blown up in your face. That tells me he trusts you. More than is probably healthy and so much more than he ever trusted any one of us. You're there for him. You have his loyalty."
Finch felt a spark of panic and bit it back. Where did Snow have that knowledge from?
As if he had read his mind, the werewolf smirked and tapped his nose.
And yes, Finch refused to react in any way, right down to blushing. His expression stayed carefully bland and almost disinterested.
"I never figured John would ever bind himself to someone. He was always part of the pack. I realize I thought wrong. I made many mistakes. And yes, I did some research of my own, used some remaining informants and contacts and used my access to the CIA data base before I was given the boot."
Good god…
"Not that there is a lot," Snow added. "John's file, of course. And his true file. And some hints as to The Man in the Suit. A few notes here or there that finally make sense, now that I'm talking to you."
Finch's face remained a blank mask. "What do you want, Mr. Snow?"
The pale face seemed to reflect weariness and pain all of a sudden, briefly, barely contained, then Snow had himself under control once more.
"I'm not here in any capacity but my own, though. There is nothing out there for me."
"Then why come here?"
Finch was getting more annoyed by the minute that he had yet to get a straight answer. Bear was still rather relaxed, but he was watching the former agent closely.
"I know what you and John do. I went over the old files, over what the FBI had on The Man in the Suit. I followed new leads, rearranged a few things, and finally understood. You run an operation very much outside the law, saving people in danger. I have no idea where you get the information from, but John is there. Shooting kneecaps."
The smirk was back.
"You know I have no pack. I have nothing. I'm on my own and I can't continue like this. Werewolves aren't made to live without a pack."
"I'm sure you could find another."
"There is no other."
"The CIA has run with packs as teams for ages. You're a successful agent."
"I doubt I would manage psych eval."
Finch placed both hands flat on the table before him, holding the sharp eyes, unblinking.
"Then what do you expect of me, Mr. Snow?"
"I want in."
Finch froze. Something inside of him screeched with alarm. The intensity of the brown eyes grew and there was even a fine sheen of yellow. The supernatural side was rising.
"Threatening me won't get you anywhere," the cipher said flatly.
The yellow disappeared. "I'm rather far from threatening and very much into begging."
"After everything you did... To John… You tried to kill him multiple times, Mr. Snow. I'd rather not have you around."
Snow closed his eyes, clearly fighting back a more primal response.
"It was my job. I did my job. I followed orders because I was a good doggy. And I did it badly because my own beta killed my whole pack and tried to kill me."
"You had ordered her to be killed, by John," Finch reminded him. "She was good holding a grudge. You might find John doing the same."
The other man's jaw clenched, muscles ticking.
"I was under orders. I believed them. I believed that they were compromised."
"And I believe that an alpha would never turn on its own pack."
The alpha protected his pack. He took care of them. He trusted them and they could trust him in return.
The eyes flared, pain and desperation and anger mixing together, then Snow had himself under control, breathing a little harder. Finch found himself still remarkably calm, right down to a very even heartbeat.
Bear had by now sat up and was watching Snow with intense eyes, tense and ready to jump into action.
"I did a lot of things in my time with the CIA that I'm not proud of. Have you ever looked into your asset's past? Do you know where and who John killed? He followed orders. So did I."
"Blindly, Mr. Snow."
Another flare.
"You want me to believe that you've changed? That you could work with a handler? Outside a werewolf pack? You're still an alpha and that will never change. You can not be what you aren't. You can't not be an alpha. You would try to assume control. I can think of several more reasons that speak against me trusting you."
"You protect your own. Your pack," Snow said softly, nodding briefly.
Yes, to a wolf that made sense, and Snow had very much found back to his more primal instincts in the past months. The CIA had trained him, shaped him, given him the team that had become his pack. He had used his abilities for them. He had forgotten to trust something more instinctive, wilder, primal.
That had changed.
He could smell John on Harold, something that had apparently never registered before when he had had Reese in his fingers.
"My pack," Harold echoed, though they were neither werewolves, nor pack. "Accepting me as a handler would be only one difficulty. I wouldn't be able to keep Mr. Reese from simply tearing you to pieces. And to tell the truth, Mr. Snow, I'm not very much inclined to do so."
It got him a humorless smile. "I don't fault you for it." He glanced to the side and the smile widened a little. "You also seem to have branched out already."
Finch blinked and turned his head a little, catching sight of no one other than Samantha Shaw. Standing at the counter, like she was waiting for something or someone. The woman was dressed in jeans and a black overcoat, watching them with dark eyes and an emotionless expression. But those eyes were intense. They spoke of swift and violent retaliation should Snow twitch in the wrong way.
"New recruit?" Snow asked lightly.
"I believe you would have more success on the open market with your experience. Job applications like yours would be eagerly taken," Finch said, refusing to get into the matter of who Shaw was.
"My supernatural status would make it extremely difficult."
"Others have worked around it."
There was a slightly desperate edge to those features now. The tightness around the eyes was another matter.
"I have lost everything," he said, voice still tightly controlled, but there was a first tremor. "Only another werewolf can fathom what it means to be packless, to be an alpha betrayed by one of his own. You're human. You wouldn't."
Finch regarded him neutrally. "Still you appeal for my help?"
"Because of everyone and everything out there," Snow glanced around again, "seeing what happened already, seeing what John does and how he trusts you, I think you are my only option. Aside from ending it altogether."
Finch frowned. "You ask for my trust."
"I ask for survival," Snow corrected him.
Finch said nothing. He simply regarded the man who had dealt out so much pain, had nearly taken something from him that he had, even back then, considered to be more than a tool, an asset. Now, seeing what John had become, what bound them together, he wasn't sure there was any kind of solution for this problem. For Snow's problem.
"Think about it," the former CIA operative said, rising slowly.
And then he walked out.
Finch remained behind, mind whirling, but he finally paid and left.
Shaw wasn't anywhere to be seen.
tbc...