"Detectives," the maître d said as soon as he saw them, "this way, please."

Carter followed the man through the dining room. The fact that they were expected put her on edge. John was obviously up to something, and he was buttering them up; the favor must be huge. But the scent of well-cooked food surrounded them. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation. Whatever Reese wanted, she might as well hear him out on a full stomach.

The man gestured her into a private alcove at the back of the room. John stood beside the table, his hands clasped loosely in front of him and a shit-eating smirk on his face.

"This better be good," Fusco complained loudly. "This place is way out of my …"

Reese took a single step to his left.

"Shit!" Fusco said. He shouldered past Joss and wrapped Christine Fitzgerald in a bear hug.

Carter looked at Reese. "You could have told us," she said mildly.

His grin got bigger. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Shit," Fusco said again. He finally let the woman get some air. "How long you been back?"

"Couple hours. How are you?"

"I'm, uh … I'm … hey, Carter, Chrissy's back."

"Yeah, I see that." She moved in and gave the woman a hug, too, much more restrained. "You cut your hair."

Christine touched the tips of her shorter hair. "No, I had somebody cut it, which is apparently an important distinction."

"It is," Reese said. "Sit, I'm starving."

"How did you even know I was thinking about cutting it?" Christine asked. She settled into the seat in the corner, and Fusco sat beside her.

John hesitated. "I met somebody who did the same thing. Cut off all her hair in a moment of darkness."

"Met somebody somebody?" she asked speculatively.

"A client," he clarified. "Well, her daughter was the client. The mother used to be Agency." He smirked. "Quit almost twenty years ago, four kids and a minivan, and she has not forgotten a damn thing they taught her."

"Sounds dangerous," Fusco said over his menu. "What'd she need you for?"

"She was outnumbered."

"Where do you even find these people?" John started to answer, and Fusco held his hand up quickly. "Nope, nope. I'm sure I don't really want to know."

"Good choice, Lionel."

"Can I meet her?" Christine asked.

"I hope not. But you'll probably get to meet her old partner. We kinda recruited him."

"Agency too?" Joss asked dryly.

"Retired."

"Great."

"Just what we need," Fusco grumbled. "Another psycho in a suit."

"He doesn't wear suits," Reese answered. "He looks like a handyman."

"And what, he knows ten ways to kill you with a bottle of Elmer's glue?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Fusco grunted. "I'm gonna need a really big steak."

"Anything you want," Reese answered.

"Does Glasses know you're back?" Lionel asked.

"He already had a date," John answered. "He's having dinner with the Ingrams and the Carsons."

"That sounds fancy," Joss said.

"Fwah-fwah," Fusco agreed. "Lobster and champagne."

Christine looked to Joss. "How was Hawaii?"

"Sun, sand, clear blue water. Cabana boys with mojitos all day long. Lots of fresh seafood. It was good."

"How'd Taylor like it?"

Carter smirked. "He met girls."

"As one does."

A waitress approached with a tray of hot appetizers; Reese had evidently ordered in them advance. "Can I get anyone a drink?" she offered.

"You have hard cider?" Christine asked.

"We do."

"That, please."

"That sounds good," Carter realized. "Me, too."

Reese ordered the same; Fusco asked for a Coke. The waitress left menus and went away.

"I thought he had a girlfriend," Fusco said absently. "Taylor." He kept sneaking looks at Christine.

"They're on a break," Joss answered. "She's overseas for the summer and they agreed that they should both explore their options."

"Options are good," Christine said.

"And you would know," John teased.

She paused, a stuffed mushroom half-way to her mouth. "Oh, damn, I missed Fleet Week, didn't I?"

They chatted and nibbled appetizers until their drinks were served and their dinners were ordered. It was very light, casual. Small talk. Christine seems a little – tentative wasn't the right word, Carter thought. Vulnerable? Correct, but not quite the word she was looking for either.

Convalescent, she finally settled on. She reminded Joss of someone who had been critically ill. The sickness had passed, but the effects still lingered. She was well enough to be out to dinner, but still delicate. Breakable.

She'd never seemed that way before.

It set both of the men on edge. Joss could feel how careful they were being. Anxious. Hyper-vigilant. They were unsettled. So was Christine.

Everyone was talking, but the air was heavy with the things that weren't being said.

The waitress brought salads and a basket of warm bread. There was barely room for all of it on the table; Carter wondered where they'd put their steaks when they arrived. But she tore off a piece of the soft brown bread anyhow. It was delicious.

"Eat," John urged Christine. He reached across the table with his fork, speared the onions off Christine's salad, and ate them. She did not object; she didn't even seem surprised.

When he'd said he thought of her as a sister, Joss thought, he'd been completely literal about it.

"You're thin as a rail," Fusco said.

Self-conscious, Christine picked at her salad. Fusco's shoulders hunched forward. Reese flexed his fingers unconsciously.

They reminded Joss suddenly of an early morning when Taylor was a baby. Her mother had come over and found Joss sitting in a rocking chair sobbing, holding her son, who was also sobbing. I can't get him to sleep, she remembered crying, helpless and hopeless. I'm so tired and I can't get him to sleep. Her mother had taken the baby and sent her to bed. Joss woke up four hours later and found her son sleeping in his crib. When she'd asked for – demanded – the secret, her mother simply shook her head. You were anxious because your baby was crying. Your baby was crying because you were anxious. The more he cried, the more anxious you got – and the more he cried. I wasn't anxious or crying. I just stopped the cycle.

Nobody was crying – yet – but everybody was anxious. Joss needed to break the cycle. "Did you find a place?" she asked quietly. "For your dad?"

Reese winced. Fusco frowned. But Christine looked relieved. "I found the ruin of this old watchtower, right on the coast." She brought out a post card out of her purse and showed it to Fusco.

He pointed to the card. "What are these, sheep?"

"Uh-huh. It's at the edge of a farmer's field. Just a circle of rocks in this big green field, and the wind off the sea all day long, and sheep. And squirrels and rabbits and birds. It's really pretty. Peaceful."

Fusco passed the post card across the table. It was a nice professional picture of a ruin, rugged stones stacked about five feet high in a ring, with the sea glinting behind it. John flipped the card, but it was blank except for the name of the tower and the location.

"The farmer didn't object?" Carter asked.

"He's dead," Christine said. "I talked to his wife. She's ninety. Her grandson runs the sheep. She's used to random tourists. She made me dandelion tea."

"That sounds real nice," Fusco said.

"It was awful. The tea. The lady was very nice." She shrugged. "So … that's where I left him."

"How's that feel?" Joss prompted.

"Like I'm naked," she answered with surprising bluntness. "Like I carried him around as a shield for my whole life and now I'm on my own."

"You're not," John said firmly. "You're not alone."

"I know. But I don't have him." Christine took a drink of cider. "I should have let him go a long time ago."

"You were hurt bad back then," Lionel said quietly. "You needed the protection."

She shrugged. "Maybe. But I didn't let him go when I outgrew him."

"We all got shells, kid. It's hard as hell to let them go. And most of them aren't as tough as yours." He gestured to John. "Well, except maybe his."

"Thanks, Lionel," Reese grunted sardonically.

Fusco smirked, but focused on Christine. "You put the shield down. That took a hell of a lot of guts. So don't go beating yourself up over taking so long to do it. You did it, that's what counts. And if it takes you a while to get used to being without it, so what? Give it a little time. You're doin' real good, kid. I'm proud of you."

Christine's eyes brimmed with tears. Fusco put his arm around her and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Joss glanced over. John was looking stiffly at the far side of the room, away from them. His lips twitched like it couldn't decide whether to smile or frown. His hand opened and closed on the table. He either wanted to punch Fusco in the mouth or kiss him there.

Carter reached over with her fork and stabbed a cherry tomato off his salad.

Reese turned to look at her. "What?" she asked innocently. She popped the morsel into her mouth and chewed it before she continued. "Aren't we doing that?"

His lips barely curved, but his eyes lit up. He exhaled, relaxed. Then he used his own fork to steal her onions, too.

"Don't even think about it," Fusco warned. He untangled himself from Christine and pulled his salad closer. "I like onions."

Carter felt the mood shift. They were back to being themselves.

The waitress arrived with steaks. In the shuffling and clearing of plates to make room, Reese managed to snitch Fusco's onions. Lionel just laughed.

They ate, and they talked. About everyone's summer. About Taylor, and his work with CIREI - the Carson-Ingram Renewable Energy Initiative. About Will and Julie Ingram, and the baby they expected before the end of the year. About Rhonda, and Lee. About cases Carter and Fusco had worked. About the massive mess that HR had left behind, and how long it would take to clean it up. About Chaos, and the park that now stood on the site.

"Thank you," Christine said to Lionel, "for the plaques. They are really nice."

He squirmed. "I wasn't really sure about the phrasing. Whether I should use 'Tommy' or 'Thomas'. We can change it …"

"It's perfect. They both are. Thank you."

"Lionel," Reese teased, "are you blushing?"

"Shut up," Fusco snarled.

"I could get used to eating like this," Joss said.

"Well, on a captain's salary," Reese said, "you could afford to get used to this."

Fusco raised his eyebrows at her. "You gonna take that job?"

Joss shook her head. "They haven't even offered it to me."

"They will," John predicted.

"I'm not sure I want it."

"Now that HR's gone, the good people can rise to the top. And you're one of them. You deserve it."

"It's a lot paperwork and glad-handing," she argued. "Where I am, I can actually help people. One-on-one."

"So who was at the head of HR?" Christine asked.

"Alonzo Quinn," Carter answered. "The mayor's right-hand man."

"How'd you uncover him?"

Reese put his fork down with the thump.

"She cut a deal with Carl Elias," Fusco said in the sudden silence.

Joss watched John's lips press into a tight line. He wouldn't look at her.

"Anthony's boss."

"Scarface? Yeah."

"Huh."

"So now he's out of jail," Reese said tightly.

"And Alonzo Quinn is in," Joss countered. "And Simmons, and all his other flunkies."

"I know Simmons," Christine offered. "He scared the hell out of me. Every time I saw him."

"You know Elias?" Reese asked.

"Only by reputation."

"He's a lot more dangerous than Simmons ever was. Smarter. He plays chess at Harold's level."

"He's ruthless," Carter agreed, "but he's … honorable. He keeps his word."

Reese did meet her eyes then. She could see how upset he was, even now, at the deal she'd made with the crime boss. But he didn't comment; it was done. Instead, he looked at Christine. "And for future reference, do not call Anthony Marconi for anything. You need help, you call me."

"You were uncon—"

He raised his chin.

"Yes, sir," Christine amended immediately.

"Good."

"So did we save room for dessert?" the waitress asked brightly.

Carter considered the third of the steak that was left on her plate. If she stopped right now …

"I know a certain dog that would be happy to take care of that," John offered. His steak was gone, but his side vegetables were largely untouched.

"Dog my ass," Lionel snapped. "You got a partner who'd be happy to take care of that." He had about a quarter of his own steak left, but no potato.

"You can take the rest of mine home," Christine offered. "What do you have that's chocolate?"

"Triple-chocolate torte and chocolate mousse."

"Torte. And a double espresso."

Reese cleared his throat, glanced deliberately at his watch.

Christine sighed. "Just make that a regular coffee."

Because her big brother says so, Joss thought, and smiled. They were cute together.

"The house special tonight," the waitress offered, "is fresh strawberry crepes with fresh whipped cream."

"Oooh, damn." Christine bit her lip, undecided.

"Bring her the crepes," Reese decided for her, "and a slice of the torte in a carry-out box, please."

"Same for me," Joss said immediately.

"That," Fusco added, "only without the cake."

"Same," John said.

"Coffee all around?"

"Sure."

When she left, Reese shook her head. "Women and chocolate. I really don't get it."

"If you'd ever been married," Fusco answered, "you'd know better than to even question it."

"Wise man," Carter said.

They lingered over dessert until Christine yawned despite the coffee. "I'm sorry," she said, resting her head on Fusco's shoulder. "It's been kind of a long day."

Reese brought a black credit card out of his pocket and waved it at the waitress before she could produce their check. She took it and trotted away.

"I'll be damned," Fusco said. "he actually bought us dinner."

"Miracles do happen," Carter agreed.

John snorted, only mildly offended. "Yeah, see if I do it again."

"Why don't you take Scotty home?" Joss asked Lionel. "John can run me back to the precinct to get my car."

Lionel looked surprised, then gave her a grateful little smile. "Sure. You ready?"

Of course there was more chatter, and Christine had to hug them all before she got into the car. Joss watched them drive away, then turned back to Reese. "Where you parked?"

He nodded toward the end of the block. "Something on your mind, Detective?" he asked as they walked.

"It kinda felt like they had things they needed to say without an audience."

"I suppose."

"What's on your mind, John?" Carter prompted.

"Not a thing."

"Your girl's home safe. We had a really good dinner – thank you again, by the way. Nobody's trying to shoot you at the moment. So how come you're using one-syllable words?"

He shook his head, his lips so tight they all but disappeared.

"She was unarmed," Joss said, "and injured. And crazy."

Reese looked at her. He knew perfect well who she was talking about, and she'd been right about who he was thinking about: Root. "And the next time we see her, she'll most likely be armed and uninjured and still crazy."

"You think she can get away from them? The government?"

"I think," John answered, "that the government thinks she can lead them to the Machine. And sooner or later they'll get cute and let her escape so they can follow her."

"Wouldn't the Machine warn you?"

John shrugged. "Maybe. But she'd be relevant to national interest – so maybe it would just tell the government. I don't know. I just know that I had the chance to kill her and I didn't do it."

"She was unarmed, John," Carter retreated.

"I've killed unarmed people before."

"Before. That was who you were before. That's not who you are now."

His mouth twitched, undecided again. "Maybe it's who I needed to be for a little longer. Killing one more person – it wouldn't have mattered much to me."

"Yes, it would."

Reese stopped next to his car. "Kara Stanton used to say no good deed goes unpunished. That any time you don't complete a mission, no matter what the reason, there'd be a price. I wanted to think …" He paused. "If there's a price for this, for letting Root live, I'm more than willing to pay it. But I'm afraid that it won't be me. That it will be one of you. Christine. Or Finch."

"John." Joss took his arm. "I was there, too, remember? I had a weapon. I could have killed her. I didn't."

He smiled tightly. "That's never been who you are, Joss."

"She poisoned my son. She ruined his prom night. She put his life at risk. She put my partner's life at risk. And yours. And Finch's. And I knew she was never going to face any kind of trial. Maybe I should have killed her. Probably I should have killed her." She squeezed his arm. "But we didn't. And right now she's in custody and we're all here, and we're all safe. So stop. Stop beating yourself up, stop second-guessing. Stop worrying about something that may never happen. Your kid sister's home. She's all in one piece. Let yourself be happy about that. At least for tonight."

It took a long moment, but she finally felt his muscles relax under her hand. "I suppose," he said, very softly.

"You suppose I'm right?" she prompted gently.

He smiled briefly, wryly. "I suppose you're right."

"Good."

Reese sighed. "Thanks, Joss."

She smiled and squeezed his arm one more time before she let go. "Feed me steak and I'm just a fount of wisdom."

"I'll keep that in mind."


With all the relevant Numbers currently under control, the entire Research team had gone out to dinner together. They'd eaten at a Japanese hibachi place that was equal parts dining and entertainment. The food was excellent, the table-side theatrics were diverting, and the chance to spend a few hours out of their dour den was priceless.

The team was surprised when they got back to the hotel without any of them being summoned to work. They walked through the garish, tacky lobby of the pseudo-Western style resort together. For once it was blessedly free of teenage tourists. The hotel was an affordable spot for 8th grade class tours to Washington, D.C. and they got groups from all over the country. Summer had given them all a blessed lull in that regard, too.

"See you in the morning," Poole called as they split off toward their individual rooms.

"If we're lucky," his second-in-command answered. "Otherwise we'll see you in twenty minutes."

Nick Malone – who had started his life as Nicholas Donnelly – nodded grimly and went to his room. He knew as well as the others that it was absolutely uncertain: They might get a good night's sleep, or they might be summoned to work at any moment. It all depended on the processes of a massively powerful, all-seeing computer system that they called a dozen different names.

But none of them knew that he could speak to her directly.

He closed and locked his door, and tossed his phone and key card onto the table. "Asena? Everything okay?"

His computer chirped once.

Curious, Donnelly sat down at his desk and read the message on the screen.

NO CURRENT RELEVANT THREATS

"Good," he said.

TWO NON-RELEVANT EVENTS YOU SHOULD BE AWARE OF

"Okay."

After a brief pause, a surveillance camera feed appeared on the screen. There was a time stamp in the corner; the event was three hours old. He immediately recognized the cell where Samantha Groves – Root – was being held. He turned up the volume and watched and listened to her confrontation with Control.

"What's all that about?" he murmured aloud when the video ended.

At the bottom of the screen, the letters DNO appeared.

Donnelly smiled grimly. "You dunno. I dunno either. Keep an eye on it for me, will you?"

The letters disappeared and were replaced by squiggles. ≈≈≈

"Did you just sigh at me?"

YES

He chuckled. "Yeah, I know, you're always watching. What I meant was, keep me in the loop, okay?"

YES

OF COURSE

"You just sighed again, didn't you?"

There was a brief pause.

YES

"What's the other thing?"

The view of the prison office dissolved slowly into cubes and then pixels. A new picture came into focus with maddening slowness. It was the front of a restaurant, Donnelly finally managed to discern. The camera was high, and the resolution was poor. It was likely a traffic cam.

People came and went. Cars passed. Then people came out of the restaurant and Donnelly sat up straighter. The faces were blurred, but the shapes were immediately familiar. One was Detective Fusco. The woman on his arm was Christine Fitzgerald.

"She's back," he whispered.

Asena did not answer.

Just behind them leaving the restaurant were Detective Carter and the ever-elusive Man in the Suit, John Reese.

He frowned, but his resentment was worn and powerless, merely habit now.

There were hugs, and then the group split up. While he watched, Fusco put the younger woman in his car and drove away.

The video ended.

Donnelly sighed himself, quietly.

YOU SHOULD REST NOW

He cocked his head at the screen. "You got something cooking, honey?"

I AM ANALYZING SEVERAL ONGOING SITUATIONS

He'd learned long ago that there was no point in trying to pry anything out of the computer until she was ready to divulge it. Sometimes the situations she was considering would prove inconsequential. The others she would bring to the attention to one of the agents in the Den.

He might get a whole night's sleep. He might get ten minutes.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

He closed the computer most of the way, but not completely, and went to bed.