Chapter 2

- Four weeks prior -

"Finch," John's voice drifted from the library's speakers, "I gift wrapped our perp for the detectives."

Harold almost sighed a heartfelt "Finally!" at Mr. Reese's words. The last couple of days had seen them practically scrambling to keep up with the numbers. Lately the Machine had been acting strangely, with suspiciously long periods of no contact at all on the one hand and literally overrunning them with numbers on the other. It was rather worrisome, but currently Finch just didn't have the time to ponder any further on the subject.

Over the last three days they had handled a total of five numbers and Finch couldn't really remember the last time he had slept more than one hour at a time. And it had been even worse for Mr. Reese, who had literally been crisscrossing the city at a perpetual run. Harold appreciated that the ex-op hadn't uttered one syllable of complaint, but he'd been able to pick up the strain and exhaustion in the younger man's voice. The traces were minuscule but to Harold, who depended on figuring out the state of mind and well-being of the more than tight lipped John Reese merely by listening to the nuances in his soft voice - it was clear that even John was slowly reaching his limits.

"That's good to hear." Harold replied instead. "I'll make sure to inform them."

"I'll be back at the library in about 30 minutes."

"Actually, Mr. Reese," Harold said, a little surprised himself considering the run they'd had, "there's no need."

"No new number?" John asked, and Harold allowed a small smile to play around his lips at the slight undercurrent of hope he'd detected in Reese's voice.

"No. It seems we are finally getting an evening off." He heard Reese sigh as the other man let go of the pent up tension of the last three days. Harold knew that it wasn't really late yet - just shy of six o'clock in the evening - but if Mr. Reese felt anything close to as tired as he felt then the prospect of hitting the sack early should be music to the man's ears. "I suggest you head home and get some rest, Mr. Reese."

"You sure you don't need me, Finch?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'll just finish up here." Harold's intentions for the evening probably didn't differ much from Reese's. He'd take Bear for a much needed walk through the park then treat himself to a meal at one of his favorite restaurants before heading home and catching up on some shut-eye. That was if the Machine didn't have different plans.

"Alright." John's voice sounded lighter now. "Call me when we have a new number."

"I will." Harold turned his attention back to his computers, making sure that he wiped every trace of his meddling from the systems he had hacked in order to work their latest number. He nearly startled as John's voice once more filled the air around him, having figured that the other man had terminated the connection already.

"You know, Finch", John said, and Harold recognized the change in his voice from business to relaxed teasing, "sometimes a vacation does sound very appealing. Don't you have a private island, or something?"

Finch smirked. "I did," he replied matter-of-factly, "but I'm afraid it got moved." Harold could literally hear John's eyebrows crease in confusion in the brief silence that followed his cryptic remark before he tentatively asked, "That's a 'no' on the vacation, then?"

"No rest for the wicked, I'm afraid."

John chuckled. "See you in the morning, Finch."

Finch arrived at the library early the following day as was his habit. Having moved the metal gate aside that had blocked his entrance and was designed to keep unexpected and nosy visitors out off his sanctuary, he unclasped Bear from his leash and limped over to the cabinet where the dog's food was stored. Following his morning routine Harold prepared Bear's food while his computer systems booted. He hadn't received a new number yet, so there was no reason to rush.

"Here, Bear." He said softly as he placed the bowl in front of the patiently waiting Malinois and ran his hand lovingly through Bear's soft fur.

Harold wasn't expecting Mr. Reese to show up for at least another hour or two, but he counted on his employee to come bearing breakfast. Until then he would settle with a cup of freshly brewed Sencha Green Tea and immerse himself in his system maintenance routine, while Bear kept him company lying on his doggy bed right beside Harold's workstation.

The persistent rumbling of his stomach alerted Finch to the fact that apparently some time had passed since he'd placated it with the cup of green tea earlier that morning. Having lost track of the time while being engrossed in his programs he was startled to realize that more than three hours had passed since his arrival at the library. And Mr. Reese was still a no-show.

Puzzled at the unusual tardiness of his friend Harold reached for his cell. He halted after typing in Reese's number. Mr. Reese had been really pushing himself with the last batch of numbers, never really having taken a break over the span of more than three days. He hit the disconnect icon on his phone, deciding that he'd take Bear for a walk and get something to eat first - also giving the Machine a chance to communicate a new number to him - before putting out an APB for The Man in a Suit. John certainly deserved the rest.

When he returned to the library there was still no sign or word of John. On his stroll through the streets Harold had received a new number and currently he wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or worried about John's continued absence. It was nearing noon for Pete's sake.

Harold limped through the library, collecting the books he'd need to decipher the Machine's Dewey Decimal code. After piling the last book on top of the two he'd collected prior, he balanced the small stack on his left arm and fished for his phone in his vest pocket. His call went straight to voicemail.

He dumped the books on his desk, resting the hand that had previously balanced them on top and stared at the phone in his left hand. Mr. Reese had turned off his cell? More likely it's been destroyed – supplied the voice of paranoia in his head - a voice Harold Finch had come to trust a great deal. No, he was not annoyed. He was definitely worried now.

He sat down and placed another call.

"What do you want, Finch?" Detective Joss Carter always managed the feat of sounding both annoyed and eager to help whenever Finch or Mr. Reese gave her a call. Usually it would elicit a small, quirky smile on Finch's face, but his mind had already started running through various scenarios – none of which were doing anything to ease his feeling of uneasiness.

"Good day, Detective." Harold said in greeting, polite as always. "I have another Social Security Number that I would like you to run a background check on. Please." Harold listened to Carter's obligatory sigh, waiting for her to ask him to go ahead. After he'd dictated the nine digits to her, which she dutifully jotted down onto a paper pad, she asked, "Alright. Anything else?"

Harold paused. "Yes," he started out haltingly, "have you heard from our mutual friend today?"

Something very audibly clunked on the Detective's desk and Harold assumed that Carter had tossed her pen down, exclaiming in exasperation. "Don't tell me you lost him again, Finch?"

"I wouldn't … not exactly." Harold still wasn't entirely sure himself. Maybe Mr. Reese really had just overslept. Or was lying unconscious in his bed. Again, the voice of paranoia decided to chime in. John did get quite knocked around by those thugs that tried to kill their number two days ago …

"Have you ever thought about getting John one of those dog collars with GPS?"

Harold could hear that the Detective was only half joking, but he did not feel like laughing at the moment anyway. Since it seemed that John had turned his cell phone off or his battery died (and Harold refused to let his mind come to a more sinister explanation again) tracking Mr. Reese's position via his phone's GPS signal was out of the question.

"I would appreciate it if you gave me a call as soon as you've got the information." Finch knew that even though his words had been polite he'd just very rudely cut off the call to the Detective. Truth be told he didn't care, although he might apologize to her later. Now he had a more urgent matter to attend to.

Grabbing his overcoat and Bear's leash he hurried out of the library with his destination being John Reese's loft.

At Reese's apartment Finch let himself in after knocking on the door had not yielded any reaction from within. He walked into the open space of John's living room but was greeted only by silence.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold called, waiting for an answer. Bear, who sat beside him, eyed Harold with his brown eyes. The dog was nervous, having picked up on his master's troubled state of mind.

Limping deeper into the silent apartment, Harold searched for any evidence that his employee had been here. But everything looked pristine, except for a thin layer of dust that had accumulated over the last three days when John had been too busy to even think about household chores. Nobody had been inside the apartment for days, that much was obvious.

The funny feeling that had plagued Finch's stomach since this morning evolved into something more akin to burning nausea. Standing in the middle of the bright and spacious apartment Harold felt his heart rate speed up, his vision tunnel and his mouth turn dry at the implications his overactive mind happily supplied unfiltered.

The world was literally closing in on Harold Finch. "This … is not good."

To be continued ...