Author's note: Thanks to one of the lovely ladies in the Facebook POI fangroup I am a part of for suggesting Tompkins Square Park, which will be featured in bigger part in another chapter of the story.

Also, dear readers, I apologise for testing your patience. There will, eventually, be longer chapters that won't take me as much time to write, but I'm being very careful with these earlier short ones because they set up the rest of the story. Thanks for reading this continuing story!

The Grumbling Detective Goes Where He is Told

2012

4:12 p.m.

Fusco grumbled his way to the destination he had been given. He'd had to buy a new card to get into the subway after discovering his old one didn't have enough money on it, then spent a few moments dithering - trying not to be too obtrusive - before just giving up and deciding that if somebody stopped him he'd just show them his badge. Now he was sliding his girth as close to the wall of the subway tunnel as possible without becoming one with it - he knew about that third rail thing and had no intention to end up as crispy as the bacon he'd had that morning.

He found the door along the subway tunnel just where the g.p.s. location Finch had sent him showed it would be. A twisty tunnel led off from the door, finally rounding one of the corners he found the weirdest room he'd ever been in. It was lit by no light source Fusco had ever seen, the light seeming to emanate from everywhere and the whole place looked like some sort of control room for some alien ship. There were flashing lights, glowing screens that were simply sheets of dusty glass with glowing esoteric symbols running up them, and two chairs made out of what looked like stone, crystalline wires running up and down the backs and into panels under the arms.

"What in-" Fusco didn't even finish the sentence, it wasn't worth wondering about. Curiosity killed the cat, or the cop.

Reese wasn't here, that was the important fact, so Fusco pulled out his phone and called Finch.

He heard Finch's phone turn on, and didn't wait for any hellos from Finch, "Hey, I'm at the place. I don't see any sign of our guy. But there's this weird room, lotsa screens and flashing lights, the sorta place you'd get more outta than me."

"You may be right, for once, Detective," Said Finch's voice, both directly in Fusco's ear and a few yards away.

Fusco cursed in surprise, spinning about to face the crippled recluse, and said, "You know, you move real quiet for a guy with a limp."

Finch raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you're just not paying attention."

Fusco stashed his 'phone back in his jacket pocket. "Well, since you don't got anything for me to do, I'm going to go back to my real job; the one I get paid for."

"Oh, but I do have something for you to do, Detective."

Fusco hid his eagerness under a groan. "What now? You want me to walk your dog?"

"Bear does need a walk, incidentally. You'll find him in the somewhat apprehensive hands of a young man standing above the steps to the station." Finch pulled a folder out of his messenger bag and held it out to Fusco. "I would suggest Tompkins Square Park."

"Somebody in trouble?" Fusco asked, flipping through the folder.

"Take Bear for a walk, Detective. I'll be in touch."

Fusco recognized it for the dismissal it was and made his exit with the appropriate and requisite amount of grumbling.

A strange whooshing and scraping sound resounded down the winding corridor and Fusco almost turned back to see what it was, then shrugged. It was just a weird sound, probably something from one of the machines.

"If Mr. Glasses wanted me around, he woulda told me," Fusco muttered, but he wavered indecisively; as smart as Finch was, he had been slipped a doozy of a mickey by that identity thief chick and he wasn't exactly the sort of person who could hold his own in a fight. "Nah." Fusco finally decided. "He gave me someone to protect, an' he'll hardly thank me if somethin' happens to that girl. 'Course, Mr. Sunshine won't be too happy if somethin' happens to his boss again."

Fusco sighed. It wasn't easy, working for those two guys. But they were good guys, doing something right, doing something he wanted to be a part of even if it seemed like he got stuck in the middle in every situation. They saved innocent lives, and here was a chance for Detective Lionel Fusco (a dirty-handed cop) to help; besides, the professor knew the risks, the kid probably didn't even have a clue she could be in trouble.

He inevitably grumbled while following Finch's order.