Author's note: Thank you all for your nice reviews!

Chapter 2

"Mr. Reese, the police have been alerted. I believe Detective Fusco is quite capable of dealing with Mr. Palmer on his own now, and suggest you extract yourself out of the situation."

"Next time", Reese panted in reply, "I will make Fusco do the work for once."

Finch hadn't been able to find a video-feed that captured that particular part of the platform (most likely the reason Mr. Palmer had chosen that spot in the first place). But from what he'd been able to hear - and he briefly wondered whenever he'd gotten to be an expert at discerning the severity of a hand-to-hand fight by its noises alone - the Detective would not have been a match for their Number's ex-boyfriend. He listened as Reese handed off the perpetrator into the Detective's capable hands and decided that this was an opportune moment to make himself a fresh cup of Sencha green tea. He wandered over to their kitchenette area, Bear following him on his heels in hopes of puppy-dog-eyeing himself into a treat or two.

They returned to the computers about 10 minutes later. Bear trotted over to his doggy-bed, happily chowing down on the dog cookie he'd managed to procure. Finch carefully balanced a cup of tea on a saucer with one hand and a sandwich on a plate with the other. He hadn't had realized how hungry he'd been until his stomach had loudly grumbled at the sight of the food they kept at the kitchenette. Finch sighed and watched Bear contently chewing his treat, knowing full well that he'd been played like a fiddle by the dog.

"Put your gun on the ground."

A strange, rough voice came through the speakers and Harold's head snapped up. He hurried to his desk, setting his tea and sandwich aside and took his seat in front of his monitors. He re-established his - a little more than illegal - up-link to New York City's system of surveillance cameras in order to follow Reese's movements from the platform to his present whereabouts. It didn't take long to pick John Reese's tall frame out of the crowd on the video-feed and Harold noted that he did look a little banged up as he watched Reese disappear behind the door of a public restroom.

"Kick it over."

Finch hit fast-forward, the sound of metal sliding on tile filling the silence that had followed the voice Harold didn't recognize. Reese still hadn't said a word yet, and this worried Finch. His heart-rate sped up considerably as he recognized the figure on the video-feed that stealthily followed Reese into the restroom only two minutes after John had entered it. "Oh no."

After the initial shock Finch sprang into action, calling the Detective while desperately looking for a way to get eyes inside that restroom. "Detective." Finch said as Fusco answered his call after what had felt like an eternity. "I'm afraid Mr. Reese is in need of your assistance again."

Finch didn't really listen to the Detective's incredulous reply, swallowing hard as a flashing window popped up on his screen, accompanied by a soft beeping alarm.

CONNECTION LOST

With the connection to John's cell lost, he literally had no idea what was going on inside that restroom. His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes scanning the lines of information rapidly scrolling across his screen until he found what he was looking for. Hacking into the video-feed of the restroom's surveillance camera was a piece of cake, something Harold Finch didn't even have to think about. The contents of the monitor in front of him changed, displaying the grainy and slightly blurred feed from the small camera mounted at the ceiling and Harold stared at it, horrified. Even with the less than optimal properties of the feed he could see that Reese was being held at gun point by Control's goon.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat he interrupted the Detective's rant, his voice leaving no argument. "Detective, there is no time to explain. I need you to get up to the public restroom on ground level. Now!"

Finch watched Reese's lips move, but had no idea what was being said. Hersh had his back to the camera so Harold wasn't able to see his reaction and judge what was going to happened next.

Harold flinched in surprise as John's body jerked twice and was thrown back against the restroom's fixtures by an invisible force. He froze in front of his monitors, helplessly watching John's struggle to remain conscious.

By the sound of Fusco's rustling clothing, his heavy breathing, fast footfalls and yells for people to get out of the way he was closing in on Reese's position rapidly, but Harold feared not fast enough. Now would be a good time, Detective.

Hersh closed the gap between the downed Mr. Reese, forcing John's head back by pressing the muzzle of his silenced gun to John's forehead. Reese looked up coldly at the gunman and that's when Harold stopped breathing.

So far, when Mr. Reese had gotten into a precarious situation Harold had only been able to listen, imagining the worst while waiting to hear from him that everything had turned out alright in the end. But now, actually being able to watch ... it was so much worse. Harold knew that what he was about to witness was an execution and there was not a damned thing he could do to stop it.

Harold knew immediately when John realized that they were being watched. For a second Reese looked straight at him through the camera, before closing his eyes, the tension dissipating from his body.

"No." whispered Harold. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. The word repeated in his head over and over again in a continuous loop. He knew he should look away - that if he continued to watch he'd never be able to erase this moment from his mind, and that he'd be forever haunted by the memory and his inability to save his friend.

He jumped at the loud bang that echoed through the library. His long forgotten tea cup dropped to the ground with an equally loud crash, spilling its lukewarm and untouched contents all over the floor.

To be continued …