Meant For This
Chapter 3
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There was a moment of unnatural silence before the terrified aide began screaming. John jumped up and tried to position himself between Harold and the direction of the shot. But in the dimness he careened into the IV stand which crashed to the floor, pulling Harold's arm with it at an awful angle and setting off a series of shrieking alarms on the monitors. Another shot rang out. John wasn't sure if he was the target or if the sniper was aiming at Harold, but either way the shooter had an unobstructed view. A third bullet lodged in the mattress a few inches from his friend's head, and as Harold looked at him helplessly, John realized with horror that between the neck brace and the now-twisted IV tubes the man was virtually immobilized. He frantically began trying to free him, and the nurse, who had been huddled on the floor, crawled over to help. There were footsteps and shouting in the hall, and as John reeled to face the door he felt something crush beneath his foot. He realized without looking that it was Harold's glasses and felt an irrational surge of panic, as if he had just lost the man himself.
A gunman appeared in the doorway but John was quicker, taking out the assailant with a single bullet. The other men retreated and John whistled for Bear, covering the dog as he raced into the room. The nurse had freed Harold and together they moved him into a wheelchair. He groaned as his neck was jarred and John tried to tuck a pillow under it for support. He wondered what kind of damage they were doing, but he couldn't see another way. He had to get them out of there.
Another shot from the sniper breezed by his face as more gunfire erupted in the hall. A glance revealed one of the assassins advancing on the hospital's security guard, who had taken a bullet in the leg. John neutralized the gunman with two well-placed shots to the kneecaps, and kicked his gun out of reach. But as he moved to help the guard he heard a click, and felt the hard nose of a pistol in his back. John felt his shoulders sag. He was running out of moves here. Then before he could try anything he heard a welcome voice - weak, but most definitely Harold's.
"Bear, stellen!"
In an instant the dog was on John's attacker, ripping away the arm holding the gun. John spun and finished the job, forgoing the man's kneecaps in favor of a more permanent target.
He nodded at Harold who was sheet white but still managed a faint smile. Still holding his gun in one hand, John grabbed the wheelchair and raced out of the room towards the service elevator, Bear loping alongside of him.
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John had always regarded the Brooklyn Heights safe house as one of Finch's more eccentric contingencies. An elegant brownstone on a private, tree-lined street, it was protected by Harold's beyond-state-of-the-art surveillance system. The townhouse was a veritable bastion, complete with a panic room, and an elaborate computer network that made it almost a satellite of their operation at the library. Finch only made him aware of it after their encounter with Root, and John assumed it was Harold's fortress-of-last-resort. As he pulled up in front of the house he once again marveled at the man's foresight and preparation.
He looked over at Harold, but his partner was barely conscious.
"Stay with me, Harold, please."
John got out of the car and paced anxiously, instinctively drawing his weapon when another vehicle approached. But he exhaled with relief at the sight of Dr. Madeleine Enright, New York's top trauma surgeon. And while the doctor had certainly been surprised to receive his call, she was very willing to help the men who had saved Amy's life, and rescued her from a terrible dilemma. It was on her direction that John had not yet moved Harold from the car.
"Thank you for coming, Maddie."
The doctor hurried over. She looked at Harold, and John watched the shock register on her face.
"Why isn't he in a hospital?"
"You know the kind of work we do as well as anyone. We've made enemies. Believe me, this would not be my first choice for him either. "
Dr. Enright stabilized Harold's neck, and together they moved him inside and up to a bedroom. The house was freezing, but there was a fireplace opposite the bed and John quickly lit it. Maddie began to examine Harold. Blood was seeping from the incision and he had several small lacerations on his face from the shards of broken window. She sent John out of the room while she worked.
Maddie joined him in the kitchen thirty minutes later. He could tell from her face that she had a dozen questions she wasn't sure she should ask. So she answered the one on his own face instead.
"He's going to be okay."
For a moment John couldn't speak, so the doctor continued.
"As far as I can tell, there's been no additional damage done. He should recover if he gets the proper care - ideally in a hospital." John shook his head. She looked at him directly.
"Then I hope you're ready for this. I'll leave you supplies and directions, but he's your responsibility now."
John's tired mind swam as she went over her instructions for Harold's care, writing him notes as she went along. When she was finished she looked over at him.
"He's a remarkable man, isn't he?"
John just nodded. She didn't know the half of it.
"You know that he assisted me in surgery, don't you? I had to open Veldt's chest and perform a heart massage in order to save him. I couldn't have done it without Harold's help." She sounded a little in awe. "When I was attacked he knocked out Wesley's operative with the overhead lamp."
John could only shake his head. Of course Harold had never shared these details of his time with Dr. Enright. But her description of Finch in action brought his first smile in hours. She smiled back.
"He's extremely strong-willed. Follow my instructions and he'll recover in time. I'll check back soon."
John thanked her as best he could. They had acquired many enemies along the way, and now he realized that they had made a few good friends as well.
"You can go up. I gave him something for the pain and he's sleeping."
Harold looked peaceful in the fire's warm glow, and Bear was stretched out on his side in front of the hearth, already half asleep. As tired as he was, there was one more thing John needed to do.
He rummaged in the drawer for what he knew must be there, and set the spare glasses on the nightstand next to Harold. Finally he sunk down in the oversized chair next to the bed, and with final glances at his friend and his dog, let exhaustion overtake him.
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A/N: The literal translation into Dutch of the verb "attack" is aanvallen. According the several sites, however, the actual command appears to stellen, so that's what I went with.
I guess not everyone enjoyed my cliffhanger. Sorry about that! But that must mean the story is working, right? I'm going to run with that. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate it.
