Warning! Spoilers for episode 2 of the third season in this chapter and the next!

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He knew he would never have a pack again, never be able to trust a beta, or another wolf of another pack. He would never be able to rely on anyone but himself.

Mark Snow was a scarred, damaged being, surviving by sheer stubbornness and willpower, clinging to his new life with a ferocity that even surprised himself.

Shaw had no small part in that. She was as tenacious as a wolf and just as dangerous; maybe even more so because she was human.

Snow didn't trust her, though. He couldn't allow himself that luxury ever again. Well, at least not now. The wounds were still there, open and barely healing, and even though Shaw wasn't a werewolf, she was a potential enemy.

Still, he had put his life in her hands. A human wolf, as damaged as he was, though in a different way. And someone who kicked his ass into not giving up on life.

She wasn't pack, she wasn't a beta, she wasn't even anything his vocabulary knew, but the supernatural in him accepted her.

Mark Snow respected her.

Her and that strange pack-like not-pack she was a part of. A pack with an unlikely alpha. A human, a preternatural with no alpha vibes, who was a handler and not really a leader. Someone they all turned to and who protected them as fiercely as Snow had protected his own.

No, you didn't, a nasty voice whispered. You didn't protect them to the very end. You sent Kara to die. You sent a pack member to die.

Snow leaned against the alley wall and tipped back his head, looking at the strip of sky above. The bustle of the streets echoed around him, but he didn't really listen to it.

He had done the worst an alpha could do and he had paid; all of them had paid for his mistake.

Finch, as strange an alpha as he was, had never left his operative to die. Snow knew of the lengths the man had gone and it was astounding. Physically, he wasn't even an opponent to take seriously. Mentally was a different matter. And considering his resources, the things he had done, what he still did, the man was a mystery and a serious player in a bigger game.

He had the loyalty of a hellhound. And a human wolf. And Detective Joss Carter. Snow knew there were probably more people, but the man wasn't alone. And he was definitely in command.

It was something Snow would never have again: pack, trust, the comfort of knowledge that someone would have his back. But he would hold on to what he had now. It wasn't the same as before. It wasn't something his wolf felt comfortable with either.

Be an asset, be of use. Or just… die.

His only choices.

He shook his head and pushed away from the wall, strolling along the alley and crossing to another street.

He was patrolling. Patrolling felt good. It wasn't something he had done all too often before. It was one of the many instincts that had been trained out of him by the Agency. So much was coming back, his senses awakening by the training he did himself and the rather straight-forward, no nonsense training of Shaw.

Snow tilted his head a little as he stopped at an intersection, almost smiling when his hearing picked up all the little whispers and murmurs that he hadn't listened to before. His sight was sharper, his sense of smell better. Of course, New York wasn't a place he wanted to have enhanced smell or hearing due to the noise pollution, not to mention the garbage, but it was… so much better.

He was so much better.

He should really write Shaw a thank you card. If he gave her flowers she would probably kill him with them.

The supernatural smirked.

Snow got himself a coffee and was about to turn toward Central Park when he picked up something he had noticed on and off before.

He was being watched.

Not Shaw.

His wolf was getting better at detecting those belonging to the not-pack. It was like the more primal side of him had simply chosen to integrate them into his understanding of what and who he was now. An alpha who was part of something, who he wasn't the leader of. He was a loner, like Reese, like Shaw, like Finch, and still they formed the not-pack, with him at the fringe as Shaw's asset.

His new world.

Oh well.

He sipped at the coffee.

Time to pay his respects.

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Numbers came and went. They successfully kept people from dying or killing other people.

Snow wasn't forgotten, but he kept a low profile. Reese sometimes caught a flash of him somewhere, like an afterthought, a scent, a trace of an alpha werewolf, but there was no active encounter.

When there wasn't a number, Reese tried to track his former alpha and pack leader down.

Keeping an eye on him.

A close eye.

"You must be bored out of your mind."

Reese's eyes tracked the movement in the area, but his attention was fully on the man behind him.

"Not particularly."

Snow moved soundlessly next to him. He was in a suit, as usual. He looked… slightly healthier than before. More alive.

"Not getting tired, are you, John?"

He gave the werewolf a bland look.

Snow chuckled. "No, you wouldn't."

"You think Shaw is your ticket in?"

"I think Ms. Shaw is a very formidable asset who can make her own decisions."

Reese's smile was cold. "You might want to remember that before you make your decisions."

The alpha grinned, the bright humor almost disturbing. "I already made my decision, John. You just have to make yours. I didn't contact your… mate to stir up trouble."

The flare of silver was more tell-tale than any threatening move and Reese knew he had momentarily lost control. Enough to give Snow a clue or two.

Instead of a smirk or a silent threat, there was suddenly a small, almost wistful smile on the wolf's face.

"You found a second chance, John. And a mate. I'm not looking to take either from you."

Reese stared at him, eyes narrowed. His hands clenched a little. The threat was rolling off him in waves.

Snow raised his hands. "I'm not going to hurt him."

It was clear who 'him' was.

"Then leave," Reese growled.

"I can't."

"This isn't your territory, Snow!"

"No. It's yours."

"You're an alpha. You won't accept anyone else to lead a pack."

"A pack, John?" Snow teased mildly.

"What do you want, Mark? What do you really want?"

"Nothing you or your mate can give me," was the slow answer.

"And Shaw?"

"She is a distraction, a way to alleviate the pain. She is good at what she does. Very good."

With that he walked past him.

Reese watched him with a mild frown.

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"Enjoying yourself?" Shaw asked when he not so accidentally ran into her two blocks down the opposite direction from Snow.

Reese raised an eyebrow at her, sipping at his coffee.

"You?" he asked neutrally.

"Immensely," was the level reply.

"How's your asset management coming along, Shaw?" He glanced at her.

"It's an on-going project."

Reese's lips curled into a tiny smile and headed to the restaurant Finch had made them a lunch reservation.

Things were quiet, almost back to normal, with a sprinkle of Shaw in their daily operations to make things interesting. Snow was a thought that never left his mind, but his instincts had calmed down somewhat. The man was a threat, but not an immediate threat to Harold, which had been and still was his primary concern.

That changed in October.

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She slid into the room, gun drawn, taking in the situation in a heartbeat.

Kruger was down. Two gunshot wounds. One fatal. To the head.

"I got him," she told Finch.

Reese on the floor, trying to get up, failing.

No one else was there.

There was a soft gasp from Reese as he tried to push himself to his feet, one arm curled protectively around his abdomen. Shaw saw the hole in the back of his suit jacket where the bullet had ripped into him.

"Can you walk?"

She knew he had worn a vest, but it hadn't stopped the projectile from most likely breaking his rib. From the pain reflected in his face, it had at least fractured it, but the break was more likely.

Without hesitation she pushed a shoulder underneath Reese's, pulling him up.

"I need to get to Collier," he gasped, teeth grit.

"We gotta get you out of here," Shaw contradicted.

"She's right, Mr. Reese," Finch sounded in their ear pieces. His voice was calm, level, but Shaw wasn't a trained assassin for nothing. She heard the fine notion of stress. "Another time."

Reese limped, trying to take as much of his weight as possible. His eyes were half-closed, but Shaw didn't doubt that he was aware of where they were going and what was happening around them.

Getting the taller man into the car elicited a sharp exhalation from him and the lines fo pain deepened. Broken ribs were a bitch and this one had been broken from a hard blow to the back. Shaw knew hellhounds like werewolves were fast healers, but even they needed time.

Right now she had to get him somewhere safe to take care of the rib.

"Where are you going?" Reese asked.

"Library."

"No."

She shot him a narrow-eyed look but continued on her way.

"Shaw," he snarled.

"Ms. Shaw is correct. The library is the safest place for her to treat you injuries," Finch said evenly.

"What about you?" Reese demanded.

Shaw almost rolled her eyes. Protectors. Hellhounds were foremost protectors and right now, because of the pain and because Finch had been hurt, too, Reese wasn't thinking straight.

"I'm fine, Mr. Reese. I'll join you shortly."

The snarl was a lot more inhuman now and Shaw glanced at her colleague. There was a glint to the blue eyes that was downright eerie and one she had never really seen before up close, even in the most dangerous of situations. Reese was letting the hellhound slip through.

He was losing control.

He was cracking, fraying at the edges.

"Finch…"

"As a matter of fact," the cipher continued, ignoring Reese's interruption, "I'm already on my way."

Reese sat up, hissing as the pain flared up again, and he almost curled forward. His arm tightened around the weak side.

"You are aware that I can call upon a driver, Mr. Reese?" Finch chastised.

Shaw smirked a little at Reese's dark look, deftly maneuvering through the traffic. At his glare she gave him a pointed look.

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He slipped into the room, the smell of blood and death powerful and fresh. His eyes glowed a faint yellowish-orange as he prowled through the twilight, stopping at the body.

Execution.

Lips pulled back over still human teeth.

Snow had followed Shaw, had lost her, had picked up her trail again, and he had unwillingly become involved in whatever their mission had been. Snow had yet to really understand what Reese was doing for Finch, what Shaw's role was.

Right now he understood that death had happened.

He disappeared before the cops came, blending in with the shadows, watching until the body was wheeled away.

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Wrapping Reese's ribs was a quick and efficient maneuver for Shaw. She had experience in all kinds of medical matters and various injuries in the field. She had had to treat herself often enough, right down to removing bullets from her flesh.

Reese simply sat there, face a mask, the lines of pain still present, his breathing shallow.

Finch limped in just as she was taping the tight bandages in place, and Shaw gave him a quick once-over.

The man looked too pale for her liking and she saw signs of a concussion, though probably only a mild one. He had come up here under his own power. His limp was a little more pronounced, his body language stiff and speaking of the headache.

She moved almost silently over to him, making just enough noise not to startle him. Normally she liked to sneak up on him, test his reflexes, and Finch had barely ever shown his surprise when she had suddenly appeared. He was good at hiding those reactions. He had good masks.

"I'm perfectly fine, Ms. Shaw," he now said dismissively.

"Bashed over the head with a vase is not fine, Finch. Let me look."

He turned, his eyes meeting hers in a startlingly steady way. "I do not require assistance."

Shaw stayed where she was, still analyzing, still watching, then she stepped back a little. She didn't need to turn around to know where John Reese was. His presence was there, almost physical, and she gave Harold a smirk.

"Finch," the quiet voice of the other ex-operative broke the silence.

Finch transferred his steady dismissal onto Reese, who wasn't fazed either.

Shaw moved into the background, a shadow, a watcher. The relationship between the two so very different men was something she was fascinated by, something she had yet to understand, but she knew that Reese had bound himself to this man, that Harold Finch meant that much to the hellhound, and that was enough.

With a tiny curl of her lips she silently left the library.

Let Reese deal with the stubborn billionaire. Her part of the job was done.

tbc...