Author's note: I'm not really happy with this chapter. Just warning ya.


Chapter 8

Finch had closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as Detective Carter informed him that there had been evidence of Mr. Reese having been drugged and injured. The image of John stumbling around the darkness, weak and confused was forcing itself to the forefront of his mind.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open, as something in his brain clicked. He looked down at Bear, who was still staring into the darkness. Could it be that the Malinois had been trying to tell him something all along?

He was startled by Carter calling out his name. "I've got to go." he told her, tapping his ear-piece to end the call.

"Bear." He called out softly to catch the dog's attention. The animal's head swiveled around and upwards, his brown eyes looking straight at him. "Where's John?" At the mention of his master's name Bear emitted a heart-wrenching whine.

"Go!"

The dog didn't need to be told twice. Jumping up, Bear literally dragged Finch after him as he was finally allowed to follow the scent of his master mixed with blood, that had been filling his sensitive nose ever since he'd gotten his first sniff of the night air and driving him nearly crazy.

Harold kept a tight hold of the leash, even though Bear was nearly choking on his collar, afraid if he let it slip Bear would disappear into the darkness and if that happened he'd never be able to catch up.

Finch was dragged along by Bear for a couple of hundred yards. They were coming up to a car parked at the side of the road. In the meager light provided by one of the rare streetlights a couple of yards down the road Harold was able to make out what looked like a shoe sticking out from underneath the front of the car. Drawing closer to the vehicle he realized that the dark splotches of paint he'd assumed were part of a crappy paint job were actually hand-prints left there by someone in blood.

Ordering Bear to sit and stay, which the dog only reluctantly obeyed, Harold slowly limped around the hood, finding John Reese lying sprawled face down on the street in front of the vehicle, his strength probably having given out after he'd lost the support of the car.

Harold softly called Mr. Reese's name, waiting for a reaction, a groan … anything, but John's form remained still. He tried it again, with more urgency. "John?" Still, no reaction.

He stiffly got down on his knees in front of John, not caring what the rough asphalt might be doing to his tailored slacks. He put his right hand underneath Reese's shoulder and gently turned him until he was lying on his right side. John felt alarmingly cold underneath Harold's touch, and Finch dearly hoped that the low body temperature was only due to the fact that Reese was merely wearing his dress pants and shirt outside in the cold.

"Oh God." Exhaled Harold in dismay as he took in Reese's battered face. John's nose, split lip and a nasty cut on the side of his head were still freely oozing blood. Cuts and bruises marred his features and his right eye was almost swollen shut. Further inspection of Reese's body revealed a dark and slowly growing bloodstain on his right lower abdomen and Finch started to feel slightly ill.

With a shaking hand he haltingly reached for John's neck. Placing two fingers on John's carotid artery he sighed in relief at finding a strong, yet slightly erratic pulse.

Harold's relief quickly changed into surprise and then shock as John's only visible eye snapped open widely. His left arm shot forward, the fingers of his hand clasping tightly around Harold's throat.

Seeing absolutely no recognition in John's bloodshot and dilated eye Harold desperately tugged at the vise-like grip around his neck. He tried to speak but was only able to produce croaking sounds.

Harold couldn't breathe and panic began to set in. His attempts at dislodging John's fingers became more feeble with each second passing, his vision getting blurry around the edges. He could barely hear a thing over the din of blood rushing through his ears. Bear's barking sounded like it was miles away.

The dog, confused by the actions of his masters, had left his ordered position barking in agitation, torn between attacking and standing down.

John just minutely moved his head in the direction of the dog, but Harold felt a slight decrease of pressure around his throat, though not nearly enough for him to draw in sufficient air. Reese squeezed his eyelids together before rapidly blinking a couple of times. As John made eye contact with Harold recognition zapped through his features. The pressure around Harold's neck thankfully let off and he was finally able to breathe again.

Finch fell sideways, catching himself from landing face down on the street just in time. A coughing fit took his breath away again, causing him to see stars. Practically choking on the last couple of coughs, Finch fought hard to finally be able to fill his starving lungs again.

He didn't know how long it took for him to get his breathing somewhat back under control, but when he finally succeeded he looked up to find Reese watching him with horrified eyes. Finch held up a hand in a gesture of reassurance. "I'm ok." At least that was what he'd tried to say. It ended up as a pitiful croak followed by a new coughing fit. He moved a hand to gingerly probe his throat. Even swallowing hurt.

"Harold?" Reese was breathing hard like he'd just run a marathon and his body was trembling. His soft voice had a quiver to it, that Harold would have never thought to ever hear from his usually stoic partner.

"I'm ok." This time the words were intelligible enough.

"I'm sorry, Harold. I ..." John was reaching for him now, with the same hand that not minutes ago had been trying to squeeze the life out of him. Harold hesitated, but the utter despair in the other man's features made the decision for him.

Clasping his hand around Reese's forearm he made an effort to right himself. Making sure that John was looking at him he rasped, "C'mon John. Let's get you to a doctor."

However, he had no idea how he was going to get Reese on his feet by himself. It certainly didn't look like the man had enough strength left to stand, less to walk. John had practically deflated right in front of Harold, slumping down after having spent his last resources.

Finch was alerted to people approaching by footsteps drawing close. Bending his entire body sideways to be able to see passed the car Harold was relieved to find the familiar figures of Detective Carter and Fusco approaching. Not wanting to aggravate his throat any more he waved for their attention.

"Finch!" Carter angrily hissed at him. "What the Hell do you think you are doing by running off into the night?"

Not feeling the need to explain himself, Finch merely stated, "I found Mr. Reese."

Carter's anger evaporated at Finch's words and both Fusco and her rushed over to see how badly John was hurt. She noted that Reese, though awake, was about to collapse backwards from his half sitting position and most likely would have pulled Finch right along with him if she and Fusco hadn't stepped in.

"Whoa buddy." Fusco said as he caught Reese before he could keel over. Carter helped Finch to his feet, who bent down giving Bear a loving pet. In the dim light Carter could see angry red marks on the man's neck and realized that he'd only been whispering.

"Finch, what happened to your throat?"

He touched his neck self-consciously, not meeting her eyes. "A misunderstanding." He turned his body completely away from her looking down at John and Detective Fusco. "Would you please help me get John back to the car?"

Judging by John's condition, who didn't look like he even noticed what was going on around him anymore, Carter figured there was no way that he would be able to walk the distance back to the cars. And she highly doubted that dragging him all the way back there would be beneficial to his health.

"Wait here, I'll go get the car." If the situation hadn't been that tense Finch's 'why-didn't-I-think-of-that' look would almost have been funny. Instead she had Finch toss her the keys, spun around and sprinted back to where they had left the cars.

When she returned with the car, Fusco and Finch had somehow managed to get Reese back on his feet. Supported by one man on each side of him, his arms thrown over their shoulders, Reese hung like a sack of potatoes between them and with his head hanging down on his chest it didn't look like he was supporting himself at all.

In the beam of the car's headlights the dark bloodstain on Reese's shirt stood in stark contrast to the white of the fabric. Before she'd only seen that he'd been beaten to a pulp, but hadn't noticed the blood on his shirt. She stopped the car right along with the three men and got out immediately. Going around the front of the car she opened the passenger rear door and helped fold Reese into the backseat, having an eerie sense of Déjà vu. Next, she opened the passenger front door to let Bear jump onto the seat.

Finch was already limping around to the driver side, throwing them a glance across the car roof. "I take it you can take care of the situation at the house?"

He spoke so softly that Carter had to strain her ears to be able to hear what Finch was saying. Even though she had no idea what the situation back at the house was exactly - except that it looked like a royal mess - or what it would entail, Carter nodded her head in affirmation. "Yeah."

"Good. I'll be in touch." Finch said before disappearing behind the driver wheel and sped off, leaving Fusco and Carter to watch the taillights disappear around the next corner.

"And who's stuck dealing with their mess again?" groused Fusco beside her. Carter just sighed and started to walk back to the house, scanning for signs of life in the neighboring houses. Everything was dark and quiet and with a small miracle she hoped nobody had witnessed their little scene. She pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket with the intention of calling their find in.

"It's just not fair, that's all I'm saying."

Not really listening to Fusco's rant, Carter sighed again, hit speed dial and put the phone to her ear. "Yes, this is Detective Carter ..."


Déjà vu didn't even begin to describe what Harold felt as he once again sped across the streets of New York City with an injured and semi-conscious John Reese slumped in the backseat. Harold wouldn't be surprised if he was able to spot new gray hairs after this little disaster.

He took a glance in the rear view mirror to check on John's condition. Harold hadn't thought it possible but Reese had managed to sink even deeper into the leather of the seat, his eyes closed and his head resting on the headrest, gently moving from side to side following the movement of the car.

"How are you doing back there, Mr. Reese?" Harold was glad to see that his words managed to rouse John … well, somewhat. Without moving a muscle John mumbled a soft and slightly slurred reply. "Just peachy, Harold."

"Just hang in there. We're almost there."

"Oh, I'm hanging. Don't worry, it's just a scratch."

Somehow the words spoken by a semi-cognizant injured man did not help to appease Harold's worry. Granted, John was a lot more alert than the last time he had been bleeding out on Harold's backseat, but the slurring property of the words only served to negate John's assertion of it 'just being a scratch'.

"A scratch wouldn't bleed that much, Mr. Reese." Finch pointed out.

"Huh?" John lifted his head off the headrest, blearily looking down at himself, probing the red stain on his shirt with his hand. "That's not that bad." he slurred. "I've had worse." Plopping his head back Reese closed his eyes again.

"Mr. Reese?!" Harold's worried exclamation prompted Reese to mumble something that sounded close to "I'm awake."

Pressing his lips together Harold figured he could risk raising his speed a couple of miles per hour more.

"Hey, Harold?" Finch's eyes traveled back from the road to the rear view mirror, noting that John was still slumped into the seat like the last time he checked.

"Yes, Mr. Reese?"

"I'm sorry for bleeding all over your backseat again."

Despite the situation Harold couldn't help but smile. "Don't worry about it. I'll just get a new car." Reese emitted a soft snort at that, but didn't comment any further.

The rest of the trip was spent with Harold trying to rouse Reese every few minutes, his worry increasing by how harder it seemed to get the man to respond. Finally arriving at his target address, he got as close to jumping out of the car as he could. He had called ahead and their arrival had already been expected by the doctor, who'd happily declared his willingness to take care of 'special' cases every once in a while and not ask any questions by the monthly fee that Harold had been prepared to pay.

Together they managed to drag the by now completely out of it Reese into one of Harold's safe houses that he had equipped to facilitate medical treatment whenever the need arose.

Having deposited Reese on an exam table Harold stepped back to give the doctor room to work, telling him the little he knew about what had been done to John. He watched as the doctor peeled back John's eyelids as best as he could, shining a pen light into his eyes. Looking up at Harold he asked, "Do you know which drugs and how much he was given?"

Harold shook his head and the doctor proceeded to probe John's back of the head for injuries. Finding none he then concentrated on John's stab wound, cutting off John's shirt. Harold winced at the sight of John's battered rib cage. A myriad of bruises stood out starkly against the too pale skin of his torso.

Turning a little green himself by looking at the bloody puncture wound in John's side Harold wondered if he'd ever get used to this, though he wasn't sure that he ever wanted to. Seeing blood still welling up even after the doctor had wiped most of it away Harold's worry increased again.

"How bad is it?" he asked, his voice still no more than a rasp. The doctor looked at him with squinted eyes. Apparently deciding to treat only one patient at a time he gave Harold a reassuring smile.

"It doesn't look to be that deep. No major organs or arteries were hit or he'd bled out already. I'll just have to get the bleeding stopped and replenish the fluids he's lost. I'll keep a close eye on him to make sure there's no internal bleeding, but I think it looks worse than it is." He continued probing John's rib cage. "Looks like a couple of bruised ribs and two broken."

"What about the drugs?"

"Hopefully the fluids will help flush them out of his system, but I'll keep an eye on that, too. At the moment his breathing and heartbeat are steady. He'll most likely have to sleep them off."

Harold was relieved to hear the reassuring assessment of the medical professional, but there was still one more thing he wanted to hear. "So, he'll be okay?"

"Yes", the doctor said while getting Reese started on an IV with fluids. "He'll be groggy and definitely sore for a while, but should make a full recovery."

Harold sighed. "Thank God."

"I'll have a look at your neck later", remarked the doctor casually, as he attended to the bleeding wound again. "But from what I've heard and seen so far I suggest you'd better limit talking to a minimum before you over-strain your larynx."

Harold nodded in acquiescence, even though the other man wasn't paying attention to him. Standing beside the exam table he let his eyes roam over Reese's body once more, taking in all the bruises and cuts. Conner had really done a number on John and Harold had to admit that he was glad that that man was never going to hurt anybody anymore.

"I've got this covered." Having donned a surgical mask in preparation to applying stitches to John's puncture wound only the doctor's eyes were visible of his face, but it didn't diminish the sternness of his expression as he ordered Harold to go rest until he'd come to check out his throat. Finch was reluctant to leave Reese's side, but he had to admit that his throat and back were starting to kill him as the tension of the last couple of hours was paying its toll.

In the end, Harold complied with the doctor's orders and went into the living room, where Bear was obediently waiting for him. He picked a spot on the lavish couch to sit and wait. It didn't take long before the exhaustion got the better of him and with Bear's head on his thigh, hand warmed by the animal's soft fur, Harold slowly drifted off to sleep.