No bad guys, only bad bugs.

The Greatest Reward

"Finch, I need you to do me a favour," Reese requested as he appeared—seemingly from nowhere—in the library. The look on his face was one of determination—and something else. Even Bear sensed that there was something different about his master, and came over to nudge Reese with his head.

Finch stopped typing on the keyboard and looked up. "I will do my best, Mister Reese. What do you need?"

"I want to find out where they took Carter's household goods."

Finch furrowed his brow at the request. "Where they took...? I don't understand."

"Joss mentioned something about how everything is going to be burned today," Reese remarked. His voice carried just a trace of anger and sadness.

"I'm not sure what I can do to help, but I will do my best," Finch hesitated. He wanted to get a little more information before he committed himself to some kind of flight of fancy his associate and friend seemed to be having.

"The chair."

"Chair?" Finch echoed stupidly.

"Her grandmother's chair is scheduled to be burned today, and I want to save it," Reese said earnestly.

"I see." Now it was making sense in his head. Finch nodded. "I'm not sure it's possible."

"Anything is possible, Harold," Reese snapped. He had racked his brain for hours trying to figure out a plan to repair and fix Joss' broken heart. This was the only way to right a terrible wrong.

"It's full of bugs," Finch stated the cold hard fact.

"It can be fumigated," Reese argued. "It can be saved."

"It rained last night. It might be ruined."

Reese's expression hardened. "If you don't want to help, Harold, I understand. I can do this on my own." He grabbed his suit coat and pulled it on.

"John." Finch stood up to try and stop the angry man from leaving. "I want to help. And I am willing to do what I can to help you and Detective Carter," he said earnestly. "However, I want you to understand that there are going to be problems—problems that may not be easily rectified or corrected."

Reese stopped, turned around. There was a pained look on his face. "Nothing is impossible, Finch. We have proven that countless times."

"True, but saving lives is entirely different than saving furniture," Finch replied with inarguable logic.

Reese considered what his mentor was saying, but he could feel the pain of Joss' loss pierce his heart. It may have been his fault that bugs invaded her home, and now he had to right that wrong. First, his best friend didn't want to help him; and second, if he was able to locate the chair, in what condition would it be? Damn the rain.

Reese closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm trying to save her memories," he said simply.

Finch took all of one second to consider the remark before sitting down at the computer. His fingers entered information into the New York Waste Management database at lightning speed. His eyes never left the monitor screen.

"You're in luck, Mister Reese," Finch spoke up to break the quiet. "I have located Detective Carter's furniture... At least, a part of it," he amended.

Reese perked up at the revelation of information. He hurried over to look at what had been found. "What do you mean 'part'?"

"Apparently the moving company took some of the items to one area, and because they were over the limit, they took the rest somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I'm sending the coordinates to your phone."

A moment later Reese's phone beeped. He looked down at the address. "I'm on my way. Could you get-"

"I'm sending the other coordinates to Detective Fusco."

"Thank you, Finch." Reese's feet barely touched the marble floor as he hurried out of the library to the dump.
*******

"I'm sorry, Detective," the pretty, petite blonde apologized, "but I can find no record of any furniture arriving." She closed the drawer to the tall cabinet and walked back to her desk.

"I was informed that the delivery of furniture was made two days ago," Reese said, giving her a charming smile. She smiled back.

"If I knew what you were looking for..." she prompted coyly.

"A piece of furniture—a chair, to be exact. It...could be useful in an on going investigation," Reese supplied the bogus information. Perhaps if he let her believe she could be part of the quest, she might be a little more helpful. "I have the Bill of Lading here." He handed the shipping receipt to her.

"I see. Tell you what. Let me call Chuck. If anyone will know anything about any deliveries, it will be him." She picked up the phone receiver and dialed an extension. "Chuck, it's Allison. I have a police officer here looking for a chair that was supposed to have arrived two days ago; says it's important; part of an investigation... Yeah, I have a BOL number: NYC784-1223-6958A." \

She waited while the number was looked up.

"It was?... All of it?... I see... Okay, I'll tell him," Allison replied, hanging up the receiver. She tried to put on a happy face before saying, "It was destroyed."

Reese felt his stomach fall to his knees. "All of it?"

Allison gave him a sympathetic look. "All of it. I'm sorry. He said that it was infested with bedbugs and needed to be destroyed immediately."

"Thank you." Reese turned on his heel to leave.

"This isn't going to hinder your investigation, is it?" Allison wondered, concerned laced her voice.

"I don't know." Reese pulled open the door.

"Have a good day, Detective."

Reese's only response was closing the door behind him.
*****

"No luck here, either, Superman," Fusco revealed over the phone. "I think I may have found something, but it wasn't a chair." Three hours of traipsing thru rotten garbage and God only knew what, had left the portly detective exhausted and in a foul mood - not to mention he was going to have to burn his clothes when he got home. And nothing was accomplished. There wasn't enough soap in the world to wash away the stench.

"Lionel-" Reese wasn't in the mood to play games.

"And before you ask how hard I tried, I'll let you know that ruined my best pair of shoes and my suit; I walked four acres of garbage trying to find that chair," Lionel growled. He sighed, dejected that he had failed in his mission. "It's not here. What are you going to do now?"

"I'll think of something. Thanks, Lionel." Reese disconnected the call. The chair was gone, and he was too late to save it. At least Joss would never hear it from him. But somehow he needed to make it up to her—help take her mind off of her sorrow. Zoe was helping some, but he had to think of another way to heal her heart.

He pressed the coded button on his phone.

"Yes, Mr. Reese?" Finch greeted from the other end.

"We failed."

"I heard. I'm sorry." And he was genuinely sorry that things had fallen through.

"I still need your help, Harold."

Intrigued, Finch raised his eyebrows. "What do you have in mind?"
********

It had been a long morning of hitting dozens of stores and trying on more outfits than she could count. Up and down the streets of New York City, the two women had traipsed—their arms filled with packages and bags—until their feet begged for mercy. Now they sat in a well established delicatessen and took the moment to relax and recharge.

"Thanks for going shopping with me," Joss said before taking a bite of her overloaded club sandwich. She closed her eyes and savoured the tenderly cooked meats. Although she had devoured a large breakfast, the constant running around the streets of Manhattan had left her famished.

"You're welcome, Joss." Zoe took a long sip of the iced tea. "I'm sorry to hear what happened."

Joss gave a little smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Me too." Her heart squeezed painfully, then she remembered the feel of Reese's arms around her, holding her, protecting her, as he gave her comfort.

"It is nice of Harold to help out," Zoe observed.

"It is," Joss agreed. A part of her was still a little apprehensive over Finch granting her carte blanche with a credit card, but she was beginning to relax—a little. Still, it surprised her that anyone could be altruistic.

"And then having John help out by giving you a place to stay..." Zoe let the suggestion trail off and hang in the air.

Joss pretended to be interested in the toothpick holding her sandwich triangle together. "It's only temporary," she dismissed any possible innuendo.

"Maybe." Zoe used her fork to poke around the salad and move the cherry tomatoes, but she didn't eat. Her curiosity was peaked by the actions of her one time flame and mutual friend John Reese.

"It's only for a couple of weeks. Kenny said that the fumigation process should be done by then."

"So, why three weeks?" Was Joss squirming? Zoe's sharp eye almost missed the way the usually cool detective shifted in her chair. Inside she smiled. Oh, yes, Joss had reacted. This is going to be fun, she thought to herself.

"The third week is for everything to settle and make sure that I can go back. Plus, I need to fumigate the things that I managed to salvage."

"I'm sure John would help."

"Oh, no," Joss argued. "I would never put him out any more than I already have. Besides...he has you," she pointed out. Zoe laughed.

"No. I don't have John, and he definitely doesn't have me. We're...friends. Nothing more—nothing less." Basically the truth, but she wasn't going to go into detail with Joss Carter.

"Oh." Had Joss read the situation wrong? She was almost sure there had been something between her mutual friends, but her instincts had been a little hinky because of her lack of sleep. "I thought..."

"He's a nice guy, good to have on your side in times of trouble; but he isn't, and we aren't. His eye is somewhere else." Zoe focused her gaze on Joss.

Before Joss could reply, Zoe's phone vibrated. She glanced down at the text.

"Well, speak of the little blue-eyed devil," she breathed. "He wants to know what time we're coming back." Her fingers flew over the tiny letters to quickly respond. A few moments later the phone vibrated again. She texted her response, then pocketed the phone.

"That should satisfy him for a while."

"What?"

"I told him that we were having lunch and still had a little more shopping to do; I will have you home by six," Zoe promised. "Let's finish lunch and then hit that little boutique down the street. I remember seeing the cutest little dress there—definitely your style." She smiled enigmatically. "Something tells me you might be needing it."