As they crossed the café, Zubec gestured them over. He didn't say anything, just glared at the girl's purple cheek. Then he pushed two steaming mugs and a plate of biscotti across the bar to them.

"Thanks," Reese said. He took one mug and the plate. Christine took the other mug and they went to the elevator.

It looked like creamed coffee, but it smelled like Irish whiskey. Reese took a sip on the way up and found that it tasted like heaven. "Oh, that's good."

"He likes you," Christine said.

He took another long sip. Coffee and real cream, whiskey and … brown sugar? "I think I love him," Reese answered.

"I'll let him know," she teased gently.

"He's worried about you."

"He's always worried about me."

"Not without some cause."

"True."

Bear lifted his head and wagged his tail happily when they entered the apartment. "How's the baby?" Reese asked. He rubbed the dog's ears and slipped him a treat. Then he settled onto the couch and dunked one of the biscotti in his coffee. It was delicious, too.

Christine paused at the door to kick her shoes off. It was a habit Reese had noticed before; he suspected that if she lived anywhere but New York City she would be barefoot most of the time. The little boy running in the grass flashed through his mind again. She needed a house with a yard. Grass between her toes would do her good.

She wandered over to her screens and checked her many running processes. Outside the rain had slowed to a steady hard drizzle.

"Your hour's up," Reese said, gesturing toward the ice pack in the sink.

"Yes, dear," Christine answered. "In a minute, dear."

Reese sat back, wrapped both hands around his coffee mug. He was emotionally exhausted, but he felt centered again, in a way that he hadn't since Finch had vanished. Let the genius be cranky for a few more days; it didn't matter now. John understood their relationship again. As much as he ever had. Finch was indispensable. John knew why. He could live with that.

Christine made herself a fresh icepack, then settled on the other end of the couch with her coffee in one hand and the ice against her cheek with the other. He offered her a biscotti, but she waved it off. It probably hurt to open her mouth that wide. Badge of honor, Reese reminded himself, and let it be.

She didn't seem to need any conversation from him, at the moment. It was very peaceful.

This, John thought suddenly. When he'd asked Finch if he'd ever craved a more conventional lifestyle, this was what he'd had in mind. His dog and his cat sleeping at his feet. The rain outside the window. A warm drink in his hand and nowhere he had to be. His beautiful wife at the other end of the couch, content to listen to the rain. Maybe a baby sleeping in the bassinet in the corner, a toddler crawling around on the rug …

He sighed heavily. It was all illusion. The beautiful woman at the end of the couch wasn't his wife. He barely knew her. There was no baby, no bassinet. No toddler.

The cat wasn't his anymore. The way things were looking, he wasn't even sure about the dog.

And then, of course, his phone rang. He answered it without even looking at the screen. "Hello, Finch."

"We have a new Number, Mr. Reese."

"Of course we do." He stood up, walked to the kitchen and put his mug on the counter. "I'll be there shortly."

He put his phone away, went to the bathroom to retrieve his bundle of wet clothes. When he returned, Christine held his wet shoes and jacket in a plastic bag with one hand, and a set of car keys with the other. "Want these?" she asked, jingling the keys.

He did, actually, very much. "You don't mind?"

"I'm sure as hell not going out in this."

He took the keys and then the bag. "I'll bring it back, I promise."

"Uh-huh."

"Probably even in one piece."

"Uh-huh. I'm not worried."

"Uh-huh," Reese replied. "Of course you're not." Something occurred to him. "Listen. If you find tunnels that you want to check out, why don't you come find a big predator to go with you?"

"I'm a big girl, Mr. Reese."

"No, you're really not." He moved the ice pack, touched her bruised face very lightly, replaced the ice. "And besides, it's kind of fun."

Christine thought about it, finally nodded. "I'll call you if I come up with something worth seeing."

"Good." Reese picked up the leash and gestured to the dog. "Let's go, Bear."

The dog lifted his head, but did not get up.

"Bear," John said firmly.

The dog whined. Then he pushed himself up on his front paws, so he was sitting with the kitten between his feet. He reached down to lick the little thing again. Looked at John.

"He's welcome to stay," Christine said quietly.

Reese sighed. "He only knows commands in Dutch." He wasn't really concerned about that; if Fusco could figure it out, he was sure Christine could.

And she did, just that fast. "I have the Google. And he doesn't seem to have any trouble communicating."

The kitten wriggled, and Bear leaned down to nuzzle it again.

John shook his head. On impulse, he took out his phone and snapped a picture of the two of them. "She needs a name, you know."

"We'll come up with something tomorrow."

She didn't add, 'if she's still alive', but Reese heard it. He couldn't argue.

"One night," he told Bear sternly. "You can stay one night, and you'd better behave yourself. No pizza, no soda, no scary movies." He handed the leash to Christine. "He likes to chew paper. Especially books."

"I'll keep an eye on him. But I don't think he's going to leave her side."

"I'll come get him in the morning." He went over and patted the dog one last time, and then the kitten. Then he took his clothes and left the apartment.

XXX

Christine Fitzgerald's car was an utterly ordinary old two-door Ford, black, dirty and dented, with rust spots and a slightly bent back bumper. It was a five speed. Reese had to slide the driver's seat all the way back to work the clutch. The interior was immaculate, of course. It had no radio, but it had after-market slots for two USB drives and a phone jack.

No GPS, and likely no way to track it. At least, no way that anyone other than Christine knew about.

Reese didn't think to look under the hood. At the first corner he wished he had. The unassuming little car had pick-up that would have made Mario Andretti weep for joy. He guessed it had something from the V-8 Hemi collection, and how the hell she'd gotten it shoehorned under that hood was either a mystery or a miracle.

On the way to the library, Reese began to plot how he could get his dog back without giving up the car.