A few days later, John had bid farewell to the Tower and its inhabitants. He certainly left with more possessions than he had on the way in. A small duffel bag carried his clothes and the medicine he would still need to take for some time.
Matt had made sure his apartment still belonged to him and had even arranged for a cleaning crew to prepare the place for his return. John hadn't worried about his weapons stash. He knew without a doubt that Shaw had taken care of those after his death.
Entering the large living room and its huge windows had been quite pleasant, but he didn't linger. He had a visit to pay to a special address.
Following the information sent by "Thornhill", he entered a building, followed a hallway and passed several doors with codes only a computer could have come up with. He went down a final flight of stairs. On the right, a corridor opened onto a brightly lit room. He moved in that direction and froze. The cold metal of a gun had been placed on his neck. He rose his hands slowly.
"Shaw. I know you shot me the first time we met. But I really thought you had gotten over the bad habit of pointing a gun at me since then."
Before Shaw had started to work with them, each time their paths had crossed, Shaw had always pointed a gun at him. It was a good thing she had only shot him the first time. Vests stopped bullets, but the impact was still painful.
Bear had rushed to meet him and was barking happily, jumping to try and lick his face. Obviously, the joy of seeing his master was stronger than his military training.
"And in case you have any doubts on my real identity, Bear seems to be convinced."
"Bear, affligen!" Shaw ordered in a dry tone.
Bear whined softly, but went to lie down on his blanket, his head turned toward John.
The silence lingered, the weapon didn't move an inch.
"Still not convinced I shouldn't shoot," Shaw mused, clearly enjoying the situation. "I do have a few reasons to do so. The fact that you are apparently alive even though we buried your body, having kept silent for almost ten months, entering our new HQ as if you belonged there…"
The weapon moved minutely. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Not mentioning that you knew Daredevil…"
John frowned. How did Shaw know about that?
"Meeting him at your funeral was quite a surprise."
John smoothed back a smile. Matt hadn't mentioned that meeting.
"Shaw, how about you consider the different options once I put my arms down? I've been a convalescent for quite a long time and this position isn't that comfortable."
Shaw reacted immediately. She put the gun away and caught John's elbow to lead him toward a couch where she forced him down. A hand on his wrist, the other on his face she checked his pulse and his pupils. John refrained from any comment. Shaw had taken his unexpected return quite well, he wasn't about to complain.
She gave a satisfied groan and stepped back. "You seem to be doing okay."
"Yes, thank you. The doctors gave me a clean bill of health a few weeks ago now."
Sameen crossed her arms watching him. "So you are alive," she stated the obvious.
"Apparently."
Bear came back with a plush toy and placed it carefully on John's knees, then laid down by his side, his muzzle over John's shoes.
Shaw laughed.
"Now, that's a welcome. I'll have you know that that frog is his favorite toy. No one can even get near it. Giving it to you must be the greatest gift he could think of."
She turned her gaze to the dog. "Ungrateful pup," she complained. Turning back her eyes to John, she added, "you've always been his favorite."
"I was his master," John reminded her.
"Don't I know it. I almost lost him. Getting over your death was tough."
John was watching Shaw closely. He knew how feelings were not her thing; he wasn't surprised she hadn't shown more happiness at seeing him alive. He couldn't help teasing her a bit; he was far too glad to see her again.
"Didn't you miss me?"
Shaw frowned, as if faced with an impossible problem. She sat by his side on the couch.
"First Root, then you. Finch leaving too…" She kept her eyes on the wall on the other side of the room, clearly upset by the situation.
"Sameen," John said softly. "I would have contacted you earlier if I had could; but I wasn't really in good shape."
"I bet… Picking up the pieces after being blown up by a missile is quite a feat." She looked at him. "How did you manage that?"
"Long story…"
"That you are going to share. I can still shoot you," she threatened.
John had a silent laugh. From Shaw, the sentence meant, "I'm glad to see you back."
"Apparently, you were upset I didn't tell you about Daredevil…"
"Yeah, that's a story for another day. For now, I want to know how you survived a missile."
"By not being there when it impacted."
"So you can fly now?"
"I can't. Ironman, on the other hand…" John left it at that, waiting for her reaction.
He wasn't disappointed. Shaw's eyes widened. She was clearly thunderstruck as her mouth opened a couple of time yet finding herself incapable of uttering a word. She swallowed visibly and finally managed to talk.
"I hate you. Most people don't even get to see one superhero. And you just happen to meet two of them."
John cleared his throat discreetly.
"No. No…," Shaw fumbled, suddenly realizing the place Ironman had obviously taken him to.
She watched him in silence. John shrugged an apology. She rose suddenly and started pacing.
"Did you see them all?" she asked almost reverently.
John nodded, amused by her reaction. They had never addressed the Avengers topic, but it was evident Shaw admired then just as any other New York citizen.
She stopped her pacing and turned around to look at him.
"No wonder they managed to get you back on your feet. Those guys have techniques that would make the best hospital weep."
"And even for them, it was a close call for a while. My odds of survival were really low when I got there."
"I would love to see the x-rays and scanners of what they did…" Although she hadn't been a doctor in a long time, she was still quite curious about surgical procedures.
"It shouldn't be a problem."
As a matter of fact, getting Shaw's professional opinion interested him. He knew that, unlike any other doctor, she wouldn't mince her words and tell him the full truth about his health and what to expect in the long run.
"You've been at the Tower the whole time?"
"Yes."
Shaw observed him silently, remembering his injuries after Carter's death; how he had barely survived but had vanished as soon had he had been able to stand. Spending so many months in Stark's building could only prove that he had been in worse shape…
Then she understood. He did not like being dependent on friends nor imposing on them. At the Tower, there were only strangers, in a world that thought him dead. He didn't need to spare anyone's feelings.
John bent over to scratch Bear's head. The Malinois rose to his feet and started to lick his face. Bear's joy knew no bound.
"Enough, Bear. Sit now!" he finally ordered.
The dog sat immediately but his tail kept moving at his back. John brushed his ears one last time and got up to explore his surroundings.
A disused bank… The very same whose floor he had helped blow up. Obviously the owners had not anticipated that anyone would enter the premises and had closed business. The bad publicity probably hadn't helped either and the building had remained unoccupied until The Machine had somehow found a way to purchase the place. Finch would have never bought a building with so many dark memories. The days following that number had been among the worst in John's life, first Rikers, then the bomb vest…
The computers had been set up in the basement. The reinforced safety was a clear advantage, and there was more than one entrance. Even if John was personally responsible for one of the openings.
Shaw was watching John as he moved around the room. His gait was fluid and a stranger wouldn't have noticed the difference, but she had known him for years. He had lost that cat like grace that defined him. The best doctors and prostheses in the world would never replace a real body.
"You do exercise daily, right?" she asked, the doctor taking precedence for a minute.
John turned around and raised an eyebrow with an amused smile. Shaw had an angry look on her face and John dropped the amusement.
"Yes, doctor," he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm still hoping to get back my full mobility."
"It's not…"
Talking to patients had never been Shaw's strong suit. But this was John, a friend. Seeing his face stopped her next remark. No need repeating what the doctors had probably already told him, that he would never recover a hundred percent.
"Ready to come back to work with us?" she asked instead.
"Us?" he asked in surprise. "How many are you?"
"Not enough, believe me. The Washington team that you know. And Bear and I here in New York. Roots' geeks take care of the IT part…"
"They come to work here?"
"No, they don't. They do drop by now and then, but they don't need to be here in person. As long as they have a computer and internet access…"
John stopped in front of the open door of the safe. Shaw had turned the place into a military arsenal. The weapons were neatly arranged. She could probably take over a small country, or maybe not that small a country. He recognized some of his own weapons.
"Some of that stuff is mine," he commented. Shaw raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Thornhill got you a nice hideout."
"Thornhill?"
"The Machine."
"I know. It's just… I never use that name…"
"She used it as identity when she called me."
"She called you?" Shaw repeated eyes wide.
"How do you think I found this place?"
"Like any decent agent, by spying on me."
"Outdated. Why bother, when an omniscient Machine can just tell you?"
"Never thought I'd see the day you would channel Root…" Shaw winced. The death of the young woman had affected her more than she was ready to admit, or capable of dealing with.
John didn't reply. They had all been affected when the Machine had chosen Root's voice to communicate.
"Are you coming back to work the numbers?" Shaw asked clearly.
"You had any doubts?"
"Finch isn't around anymore…"
"Are you writing the checks?"
"Finances are not lacking if that worries you."
"I have few needs."
"You still have your flat?" Shaw asked, the hint of a smile creeping on her lips.
"I do…" John answered in a cautious tone.
Shaw smile widened. "Good. It means Bear keeps living here. »
"He is still my dog," John countered.
"Yeah, sure, if you say so…"
Having heard his name, Bear had come by their side. He gave them both a lick and sat in front of them.
"No cheating by giving him absurd dinosaur sized bones," John warned.
"He's smart. He'll make the right choice."
"So, you've got a new number?"
"About time you asked."
John slowed his jog down to a brisk walk. He breathed out deeply.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, he forced himself to keep up a swift rhythm. He should not be that tired from the few miles he had covered.
Not that long ago, that would have been the warm up phase.
Of course, not that long ago he had been blown to pieces.
Not that long ago, he was still stuck in a wheel chair…
The rational part of his brain knew he needed to give it time. The less rational part was starting to think that time was taking far too long.
Slowing down, his breath almost back to normal, he observed the park around him. Surveillance was so deeply embedded it had become a reflex. Some joggers, mothers with their baby buggies, tourists. The typical park population during the day.
The uneven step of a person caught his eye. Apparently, John wasn't the only one having problems with his body. The man turned toward the path on the right. John saw the white stick first… then the familiar face.
Matt.
John couldn't help a frown. He had already seen Matt go through quite a few ordeals in the past, but the young man seemed a breath away from breaking down.
He walked to him slowly and called him from a distance. He absolutely didn't want to surprise the young lawyer. Matt might react instinctively and hurt himself in the process. John knew exactly how their bodies responded despite not necessarily being ready for it.
"Hello Matt!"
The lawyer stopped and turned toward the voice, a smile on his lips.
"John. I wasn't expecting to see you around." He bent his head slightly, that typical movement that indicated that he was studying the environment. "Happy to see you're doing better."
"Not really." John's answer was a bit dryer than it should have been. "But you look worse than I did when I got blown up by a missile." The comment might have been a bit straightforward, but close to the truth. Matt looked scary.
"At least you were smart enough to be on the top of the building when it went down," Matt mumbled. He started walking. "Do you mind if we keep moving? I need to exercise."
A building going down, John mused. The media had intensively covered the Midland Circle incident a few weeks back. John's past had taught him to identify blurred truths. He had never believed to the earthquake theory; nor that the rebuilding works had weakened the ground and had caused the building to crumble, which in turn had stabilized the terrain.
"Okay, I'll bite… How do you escape from a fifty-story building falling on your head? I know first-hand that your armor isn't that resistant."
"Long story."
"Never doubted it."
They walked in silence a moment until John couldn't stand his friend's muffled pained breaths any more. He knew Matt would probably have kept going until falling flat on his face.
"Matt, could we sit down for a moment? I still haven't got all my strength back. I only ran a few miles, but I feel like I have run a marathon."
Matt's amused smile told John he hadn't been very subtle, but he still let John direct them to the nearest bench. He could not hide his relieved sigh though.
"So, that long story…" He was curious. He wouldn't deny it. And Matt had admitted to being hurt in the explosion.
"Don't you have some number to save?" Matt asked, hiding the word number behind a hand.
"Not today. Actually, Shaw is taking care of most of the work. With the best will in the world I am still not strong enough in some situations."
"At least, you can run."
"Dear lord, what happened to you?"
"You're not going to drop this one, are you?"
"Not a chance. You were by my side when I needed help. My turn now." Matt's presence by his side after the accident had indeed been precious, even if John found it hard to admit that he too could use the help of a friend.
Matt laughed softly. "Next time, I'll let Tony deal with you by himself."
"I'm not that eager for a repeat…"
"Who knows? If people can come back to life, why not AIs?"
"People don't come back from the dead, Matt. Whatever your religion says."
"Said by the very one who rose from the dead."
"Said by the one who pretended to be dead."
"Everyone thought I was dead for a few weeks."
"Exactly what I said. Not dead."
"We did bury Elektra…"
Elektra. The ex-girlfriend. The dead ex-girlfriend. John had met Matt the day of the funeral. His friend was so depressed drinking alcohol mid-morning hadn't phased him at all.
"She still came back to try to kill me."
"Are you sure the chemicals that burned your eyes didn't affect your brain?" John had seen his share of weird things. But if one thing was fatal, it was death. Real death, of course.
"I don't know where to start."
"Usually the beginning is a good place."
"The beginning takes place a few thousand years ago."
"Then we're lucky I have lots of time."
So Matt told him an extraordinary tale, with dragons, immortal human beings, men whose skin stopped bullets, women able to hold lift cages with one hand. There were katanas and severed heads, battles thirty stories underground, unbelievable fights. And as a common denominator, a group of people linked by the love they shared for their city.
"I still don't get how you made it out of the rubble," John commented.
Matt laughed out loud, then stopped, holding his ribs.
"Don't make me laugh, it hurts," he complained. "I tell you a story that should get me committed and the only thing that has you worried is how I survived?"
"If I told my epic battle between two AIs, I'd probably get an adjoining room in the same establishment."
Matt stopped a new laugh with a grunt. "Yeah, probably."
John waited patiently.
"The dragons' skeletons formed a sort of tunnel. I had to dig quite a bit, but I reached a sewer." Matt straightened carefully. "I still don't know how I made it to the orphanage." He rose slowly. "John, I need to move, my body tends to get stiff. And this bench is far from comfortable."
John watched him as he unfolded slowly. Considering Matt had been in the accident three weeks earlier, he wasn't doing that bad. He himself had still been in coma three weeks after his own accident.
"Do your friends know you are alive?" John asked.
"What about yours?" Matt answered back.
"I asked first."
"Karen and Foggy know. And Father Lantham." Matt frowned. "Actually, I wonder if he wasn't the one to take me to the orphanage. Apparently I wasn't in my armor anymore…"
"Finch is in Italy. This is not the kind of news I feel confident sharing over a phone," John said before Matt asked him again.
"Zoe?"
John smiled. He should definitely pay her a visit.
"Then of course, she will probably punch you. Be careful," Matt joked without waiting for an answer.
"What about your new friends?"
"Not sure they are really friends…" Matt explained hesitantly.
"Colleagues?" John offered.
"People with whom I went through difficult times. We were close because we had to be at the time, then each of us went back to their own life." Matt seemed to ponder about it. "They are weird…"
"Says the guy who roams about at night in a red suit."
"They kept making jokes about my armor. I need to hide my face if I want to be able to practice as a lawyer!" Matt exploded.
"Hey! Don't blame me." John raised his hands in defence. " I saw how it protects you. I'm glad you have it."
Matt turned pleasantly surprised. "Thank you," he said glad John understood.
"Then of course, there is the matter of the horns," John muttered.
Matt opened his mouth to protest then realized John was just joking with him.
"Yes, of course, make fun of the blind guy," he answered, shaking his head. "Go visit your friend Zoe. And say hi for me."
"I will." John extended his hand, not surprised when Matt shook it. "Take care of yourself and keep me updated."
"I told you I would help you if you needed me some day…"
"For the moment, none of us can help anyone. But when the time comes…"
They went their separate ways.
John walked back to their new HQ. Even if he could not intervene physically for the moment, surveillance generally didn't require too much energy.
Matt kept just walking. He would win the battle and get all his strength back, even if he had to clench his teeth in the meantime.
As Finch had said more than once, the numbers never stopped. Unfortunately, John was in no shape to chase or fight against the nastier specimens of their work. Most of the time he just took care of surveillance then called Shaw when more muscle than usual was necessary.
These last weeks, the amount of numbers given by the Machine seemed higher than usual, but it could have been an impression due to his absence. The fact that he had to wait by the side more than once probably added to the feeling.
This afternoon, after making sure their number was safe, at least for the moment, he had decided it was high time he went to see Zoe.
He had pondered for a while as to whether this was a good idea. His meeting with Matt had been the final nudge that convinced him that he had nothing to lose. If he was honest with himself, he missed the young woman, and was looking forward to talking to her.
As he knocked on her door, he wondered how she would react. Chances were she would shut the door violently, mad at his deception. Though part of him hoped that she would happy enough to see him alive and she'd forgive him. This second option was his favorite since it would allow him to kiss her much sooner.
The door opened and Zoe froze. She lost all color and opened her mouth, then crumbled down. John just managed to catch her clothes and slow her down as her body fell heavily on the floor. Trust Zoe not to react as one had imagined.
He picked her up in his arms, pushed the door closed with his foot, and laid her on the couch. He sat by her side, brushed her hair away from her face.
"Zoe, Zoe," he called, trying to wake her up.
Leaving her for a few minutes he went to the kitchen fetch a glass of water. If needed he would splash her face with it.
The fixer opened her eyes sluggishly. She cringed back as if seeing him for the first time.
John ran the back on his fingers softly over her face.
"Easy Zoe. Breathe." He helped her sit up, keeping a hand on her back. She seemed ready to pass out again.
John picked up the glass and had her drink a few sips. Zoe swallowed and finally talked.
"John," she whispered.
The ex-agent gave her one of his rare blinding smiles. "Hello Zoe."
"John," she repeated, then her bottom lip started to shiver.
John frowned. He had never seen Zoe so disarrayed. Then of course, she had been at his funeral and had spent the last months mourning. Even a woman as strong as Zoe was bound to be a bit overwhelmed by the situation.
Against all expectations, Zoe leaned on him and started crying.
Dealing with weeping women was not a talent he had. John wrapped his arms around Zoe and patted her back clumsily.
"Hush… Everything is alright, Zoe." He tried to find words but came up blank. Communicating was definitely not his strong suit and seeing Zoe like this left him feeling totally helpless.
After a few minutes, Zoe calmed down and straightened, watching him closely.
"It is really you," she whispered as she had thought it had only been a bad dream.
"Yes." He answered softly, moving a stray hair away from her mouth.
She opened her mouth and her lips moved but no sound came out. John picked up the glass of water again.
"John, I'm going to need something much stronger than water," she said, having finally found her voice back.
He went to the bar and took a whisky bottle and two tumblers. He sat by her side again and poured the drinks.
"I had considered several hypotheses on your reaction. I'll admit seeing you faint wasn't one of them."
"Faint?" Zoe repeated dumbfounded. "Do you think that I'm some dainty lady from the south? John, you almost gave me a heart attack!"
She grabbed John's arm as if she still needed proof that he was indeed by her side. She accepted the glass and emptied it. John raised an eyebrow. He had been quite generous when pouring.
"What?" Zoe spat. "If you can pretend to be dead for almost a year, I believe I'm entitled to get drunk when you show up."
John silently refilled the glass.
Later John came to think that the reason he hadn't noticed the quantity of recurrent numbers was because of the sheer amount of numbers given by the Machine.
He was currently running six numbers at the same time, glad he had recovered almost completely or he would never have been able to shoulder that much work. Shaw had her plate full too, the long hours and seemingly unending flow making her look angrier than ever.
So when she called him late in the afternoon, he didn't bother to say hello.
"Shaw, if you're calling to tell me we have a new number, you're not going to like my answer."
"I could lie. It has never bothered me much," Shaw answered without a hint of humor. "Of course, it doesn't change the situation."
John closed his eyes and breathed out deeply. They couldn't go on like this. Long days and long nights were one thing. Going on forever would be fatal at some point. They were bound to make mistakes or worse find themselves in a deadly situation.
"Time to call for reinforcements I think, Shaw."
"What? Lionel doesn't know you're back."
"I'll do some recruiting." And John ended the call without giving any more details.
He knew Matt would be glad to help them if he could. He had been following his actions through the press and had been relieved when Daredevil started to make the news now and then. It meant that he had recovered from his injuries and was back out in the field. He also knew that the stories that made the headlines were only a small part of Matt's work. Hopefully he could spare some time to help them manage the numbers.
Finding him during the day was not a problem. Spotting him in the night might prove trickier. Even if Hells' Kitchen wasn't a huge area, it still covered quite a number of blocks. Relying on luck to help him was bound to be a long process.
Thankfully, The Machine was now more helpful when tasked with special questions. Of course, cameras pointed to the streets, not the roofs, so it might take some time, but Daredevil did fight on street level. Having asked Thornhill to spot Daredevil for him, John waited while checking on another number.
Matt rolled back to his feet and caught the baton at his side. He was fighting some nasty drug dealer's minion. Matt had been following him for a couple of days and had decided to catch the guy and "convince" him to talk. It had proven more complicated than anticipated.
Either the man didn't know when to quit or he was using his boss' products. Matt was breathing hard from the fight but the henchman kept fighting back. He threw his baton barely slowing the guy down. Maybe he hadn't read the man's size properly, though he would be surprised. He had thrown quite a few punches; he had felt the body up close.
Some foot scraping on the ground told him they now had a witness. He fervently hoped it wasn't some "fan" trying to get a look at Hell's Kitchen night time vigilante. He certainly didn't enjoy the publicity the press seemed keen on giving him.
Two gun shots made him jump in surprise but didn't prevent him from hearing the man's screams and the noise of the body falling to the ground. The bystander apparently hadn't been happy with just watching, but Matt wasn't sure he wouldn't be the next to be shot at. He jumped back behind a dumpster. His talents were no match for bullets.
"You can come out, I won't shoot you."
"John?" he asked bewildered.
"Yes."
Matt exhaled loudly, trying to get his breath back, and fighting the adrenaline down.
"I hope you don't mind my intervention, but I'm sure he deserves it," John commented.
"Shooting people is not the solution, John."
"Oh come on. You beating him to pulp would have landed him in the hospital anyway."
Matt winced. John was probably the only person who could make him feel bad about this. Matt had principles. He didn't kill people; he didn't use guns. Some other vigilante had pointed out that the injuries he sometimes he inflicted on his victims were no less life threatening than bullet wounds. Still having someone throw it at his face so plainly was not easy to accept.
"I was hoping to convince him to lead me to his boss."
"Drugs?" John asked.
"Yes. To kids! In a school," Matt spat.
"Okay. Let's see if I can help you convince him then."
John had kept an eye on the downed guy, but he knew he wouldn't go far even if he had been able to move. Knee wounds were not lethal but did effectively stop most people.
Both Matt and John stood over the man who shrank back, clearly hoping he could dissolve in the ground.
"A name and you'll only need crutches instead of a wheelchair."
Matt almost complained, but he knew most of the time, a threat was as efficient as real action.
"Leeds, Alistair."
John gestured with his gun, silently prompting for details.
"Consultant company on 55th." Eyes fixed on the gun still aimed at his remaining working knee, he quickly revealed everything he knew about the operation.
"See? Not that difficult." John turned his head to Matt. "I need to talk to you, don't leave." He turned back to the guy on the ground. "Get that knee fixed and make sure I never see you in town again."
He put his gun in his back and put a hand to Daredevil's arm leading him out of the alley.
Knowing that Matt favored rooftops, and spotting a convenient location, John climbed up a ladder sure that he would be followed.
"Thank you," Matt said.
"You're welcome. Watching you getting hurt is not a show I enjoy. And anyway I needed to talk to you, so I just sped the whole thing up."
"Leeds…"
"We'll take care of him, don't worry. We'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone again."
"Someone else will replace him."
"I'll make sure that group is put out of commission. Of course, it will only be a question of time before a new boss turns up."
Matt grunted. Fighting crime was a never-ending process.
"You wanted to talk to me?"
"Some time ago you told me you would be glad to help us."
"Certainly. What can I do?"
"It's not that simple. We are being drowned in numbers and are seriously shorthanded. I was wondering if for a while you would be willing to help us."
"Fighting crime with a precise objective versus just acting on the spot. It does seem more efficient. As long as I can still help the random victims."
"Matt! I'm just asking for some help, not telling you what to do!"
Matt froze at the tone. John pinched his lips.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap," John apologized. "We never had that many numbers all at once, not even when we were taking HR down."
"When was the last time you slept in a bed?" Matt asked guessing John was beyond tired.
"A bed? I'm not sure I remember what one of those even looks like," John answered trying to bring some levity to the conversation.
"Yeah, thought so. As I told you before, I'll happily help you guys. Just call me when you need me, I'll be there."
"Thanks."
"And when this is over, we could have a drink. We don't do that often; I really enjoy those times."
"It's a deal."
Then, one day, several weeks later, Leon and Zoe's numbers came up together. John's heart gave a jump and he almost rushed out to assist the young woman without a second thought. Then he watched the stack of files from the previous weeks. Shaw had just been dropping them in a basket once they were done with them.
This wasn't the first time they had to deal with repeat numbers. Pushing down his worry, John started sorting the files. The "new" numbers on one side, the ones he was sure he had already seen in the past on a different tray. He made a third pile with those he wasn't sure. He couldn't remember all the people he had helped during the last six years; and when Shaw had started working with them, he had not always paid much attention to her cases.
The pile of new numbers was high; obviously crime knew no rest.
The stack of repeat numbers was easily double size. Some numbers dated from way back. One of the numbers had even been dead when it came up. That had already happened, and John had been declared dead more than once, so it had not raised any flags. But that amount of repeat numbers was not normal; even if some people could to be unlucky. Leon being the living proof of it.
He was observing the stacks deep in thought when Shaw arrived.
"You're cleaning up?" the young woman asked, giving a last lick to an ice cream.
"Not really."
"Wow! I knew we were busy but I hadn't realized we had had that many numbers." She got closer to the table. "What's with the piles?"
"The biggest one is numbers that we already had in the past." He gave her the pictures of Leon and Zoe. "These two arrived a little while ago."
"What new mess has Leon got into now?" Shaw grumbled. "Since, unlike Zoe, he still believes you're dead, I guess I get to take care of him." She studied the pile anew. "Is it me or don't you find it weird to get that many repeat numbers?"
"And there's more. Check the cases. In most of them we haven't been able to identify the threat. »
"And since we were so busy, we were just happy about it," Shaw concluded. She turned to look at the monitors. "What's wrong with you?" she asked the Machine.
"Where's Finch when we need him?" John corrected. He went toward the exit. "I'll go make sure there's no real threat against Zoe. You watch Leon."
"Enjoy your evening!" Sameen shouted after him with a knowing smile.
"Root's geeks" as Shaw used to call them were contacted to identify the problem, but all their searching didn't get them any closer to an answer. The numbers kept coming. Yet, now they checked for repeat numbers discarding them or at least running a quick check to put them aside, waiting for the "bug" to be solved.
A few days later, John entered the room to find Shaw harboring a sinister face. More than usual. She pointed to the screen when he got by her side.
Grace.
John couldn't help a wave of worry, before he decided it wasn't possible. Grace was in Italy. Their system only gave them local numbers.
"Okay, that's it! I'll go get Finch. His baby needs some serious spanking."
"You're going… to Italy? Shaw stuttered.
"Yes. Do what it takes to have Her tell you where her creator lives. I'll get in the next plane."
He had vanished before Shaw could wish him a good flight.
End part 2 – tbc
