Well, folks, here's my take on how Elias got from the events of "YHWH" to the reveal of his continued existence in "ShotSeeker". Don't poke too hard, the plot's still full of holes, thanks to POI's writing team which plainly just doesn't want us to think too hard about the whole thing!

Shit!

Lionel stood, ignoring the blood trickling down the side of his face from the scalp wound he'd received in the rollover. Dominic was unmoving on the ground in front of him, all his menace suddenly extinguished. For a crazy second Lionel stared at the gun in his hand. That wasn't me, was it? Then he heard two more shots. The windscreen of Elias' car had a neat hole in it, and Elias was slumped in the front seat. His henchman was down too - next to the car, not moving. What the fuck?

He stared up at the buildings around them. Someone was up there, someone nearly as good with a rifle as Tall, Dark and Homicidal. He holstered his weapon and after a hesitation zig-zagged his way over to the car. No more bullets, which he devoutly hoped was a sign that the sniper was gone. Elias was shot through the shoulder – maybe the distortion of the car's glass had put the sniper just fractionally off his aim. Either way, the crime lord was stirring, his hand going to the hole in his shoulder and coming away bloody. One thing for damn sure, Lionel thought grimly, whoever wanted Elias dead would come back for another pass as soon as they realised they'd missed. Gotta get this guy outta here.

"Elias. It's me, Fusco. Can you walk?"

Elias stared at him without recognition for a moment. Then he blinked and passed his bloody hand across his face.

"C'mon. Wake up, we gotta get out of here." Fusco resisted the urge to shake the other man. Something in his tone pierced Elias' fuddled senses. He blinked again and shook his head slightly. "Walk. Yes, Detective. Yes, I think I can walk..." Some kind of survival instinct was kicking in, Lionel could see. He pulled the door open but before he could say anything else Elias said gently, "But maybe it would be better to drive, Detective. It's only the windscreen that's broken."

"Oh. Yeah. Right." Okay, so Elias wasn't the only one who was in shock. Fusco dodged around the front of the vehicle and got in the driver's seat. Mercifully, the keys were right there and he turned them. The car started and Lionel drove away, pulling out his phone as he did so.

POI*POI*POI*POI*

Farouk Madani was deeply asleep when the call came. For a second he squinted at the number displayed on the screen. Then he realised… it must be that somewhat overweight detective who worked with Harold Partridge and his friends. He'd only seen the man the once, when he arrived with the small Persian woman with the knife wound that time. Sighing a little – he was short a night's sleep already – he accepted the call.

"Farouk? I got an emergency here."

"Yes, you people usually do," he replied patiently.

"No, I'm serious. I gotta drop this guy off and then come back for him. Can you patch him up and keep him until morning? And not a word to anyone."

"What's that phrase you people use sometimes? 'Not my first rodeo'. I'll keep him safe." Farouk was pulling himself into focus. "You can bring him around the back of the clinic. I'll be waiting for you."

"Will do." The detective ended the call. Farouk pulled on clothes, thanking the All-Merciful that he lived only a couple of blocks from his work.

POI*POI*POI*POI*

Lionel pulled the bullet-scarred car away from the clinic, not even glancing back to see Madani and his new patient as they retreated into their temporary sanctuary. He was cutting things awful fine. But he'd seen enough lights and sirens on the way to the clinic to figure that all hell had broken loose in the city tonight. With just a little luck – and wasn't he about due for some? - the 'shots fired' call from the crime scene would be at a lower priority than whatever craziness was going on right now. He was holding his breath as he approached… he was going to have a hell of a time explaining this if anyone else had arrived. But there were no lights or movement as he pulled up.

He got out of the car. This next bit was going to be tricky. He manhandled the cooling body of Elias' henchman into the front seat where Elias had been. Hopefully the guy wouldn't mind the use Fusco was going to put his corpse to – Elias' people had always been loyal if nothing else.

The T-boned transport was still on its side, gas leaking in a rapid drip-drip-drip from it. Lionel looked desperately for something he could soak in that fuel. Dammit, nothing around! Frantically he popped the trunk of the big town car and discovered something even better: a fuel can. For the first time that night he found himself smiling. He jogged over to the transport with the empty can and waited impatiently for it to fill, looking over his shoulder. To get this close and then be rumbled by first responders… When the can was two-thirds full he gave up and raced back to Elias' car. He sloshed the gasoline liberally around, then thought to place the can back in the trunk. Keys back in the ignition… he examined the car carefully, nodded to himself and lit a match. The car went up with a satisfying "whoomp". As it burned, he backed up a bit and placed two shots into the fuel tank. The "whoomp" became a roar. He stood watching, feeling the adrenaline he'd been running on for the past hour recede to leave a shaky fatigue behind. He was under no illusions that he'd done a perfect cover-up, but he knew enough to realise it didn't have to be perfect. Reasonable doubt, just muddy things enough to create reasonable doubt and it would be enough. He hoped. He raised his phone and put in a call. "This is Detective Fusco from the Homicide Task Force. We were T-boned..."

POI*POI*POI*PO*I*

He put in his report and finally got away from the precinct as the sky was beginning to lighten. One last chore and then he could go home, lie down for an hour and then get back into the office to try to make contact with Glasses and the others. There were no external lights on as his pulled his cruiser around to the back of Madani's clinic, but he could see a glow where there were lights on inside. He dug out his phone once more. In a moment Madani was at the door, ushering him in. Elias was lying propped in a bed, pale and groggy.

"I'm not happy about moving him, but he can't stay here more than another hour," said Madani in a low voice.

"It's okay, I got somewhere he can go," replied Lionel in the same tone. Together the two men got Elias into a wheelchair and out to the door. As they manoeuvred him into the back seat of the cruiser, Elias reached out and gripped Madani's forearm. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I won't forget this."

"Actually," said Madani after a second, "I'd prefer if you did exactly that." Elias gave a faint smile. Then the door slammed shut and Lionel dropped into the driver's seat. He sat for a moment, trying to force himself to move at least enough to start the car and drive away.

"So, Detective – I assume you have some specific destination in mind?" came Elias' voice from the back seat.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Lionel shook himself awake and forced himself into just one last burst of activity before he could stop.

He eased the cruiser into the traffic – still light, though the city was beginning to wake up. The two men were silent on the journey out to the safe house, Elias seeming to doze for most of the way. Getting him out of the car, into the elevator and up to the apartment was tricky, but at last they got there. Elias was very pale and seemed to be barely hanging on to consciousness.

"Is this your house, Detective?" he asked as they made their way slowly and painfully down the stairs just inside the door.

"Nah. Our friend with the glasses owns it," Lionel explained.

"Ah."

Lionel half carried, half dragged Elias the last few yards to the hospital bed in the corner. The crime lord collapsed onto it with a groan of relief.

"Listen, I gotta go now," said Lionel. "Stay here, don't leave, don't call anyone. I'll tell Finch you're here."

"Yes. Yes, Detective," said Elias obediently. He seemed half asleep. Lionel could wish he was the same himself, but he dragged himself to his feet one last time and walked out of the apartment. Fustercluck. That was the word for this whole thing. Fustercluck.