Joss tried to relax but couldn't. John was working his first case with Harold, some Diane Hanson. She hadn't heard a single peep from him except for once with a rather cryptic question that she wished she never answered. She should have known better, especially how secretive John was being, because as she entered the precinct after lunch her friend Kane had told her all about Anton and his buddies getting shot up with their own merchandise.

She sat down at her desk, phone pressed to her ear and ready to ream that man out. He answered after a moment. "That's why you called me and asked who was a two-bit criminal with gun charges, so you could steal their goods!" she snapped annoyed. Maybe she was more annoyed with herself because she hadn't said no to that soft seductive whispery voice. She hadn't known how this first case was going to work out, but she should have known that John wasn't going to be able to color in the lines of the law. This was a man who was former CIA, not exactly a boy scout.

"I needed weapons at a cheap discount and you did say if I needed any help to call you,"he remarked softly.

She frowned. "Don't remind me," she grumbled.

Joss thought she heard him chuckle and she tried to hang onto her irritation. "They didn't know how to use them right, Carter; one was holding his piece sideways."

"Yea, it's dumb, it'll eject a shell casing into his face and his aim will be askew," she huffed and she heard an approving hum from him. "So what?—you stole their weapons to teach them a lesson?"

"I took the guns so they couldn't hurt themselves. They need practice, Carter," he reasoned and she nearly clucked that he had shot them in the kneecaps so his reasoning did not play, but refrained, barely. She didn't want to be overbearing on his first case. Saving John hinged on getting him to take to this purpose of saving these people. She could gently steer him in the right direction as time went on.

"Try to keep your law-breaking to a minimal, John," she admonished. As she told Harold previously, she had rules and she wasn't about to break any without a damn good reason.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Joss," he murmured before he hung up with her.

Joss sighed as she slung her cell onto her desk. Even though her reason to call him was to yell at him, she hadn't exactly gone too hard on him. Not at all as hard as she wanted too, the anger in her seemed to seep away at how different he sounded. He sounded better since getting out of the encampment. This purpose was already starting to yield results and she wouldn't trade it for the world. Saving John was important to her. If she had to keep reminding him that these weren't the CIA days any longer than so be it. The CIA; they were going to be a serious problem. She only knew what Finch had told her, that John was burned by the government. Finch had been sketchy on the details, maybe she could get John to open up to her about his past. If she knew more of what happened, maybe she could shield him from the CIA longer. But sooner or later they were going to get wind that John wasn't dead and she had no doubt that they'd show up unfortunately.

She met enough of those types when she was on the other side to save her soul. They were all alike: unfeeling, cold, and lethal. She could spot them out in a crowd, so when they came knocking she'd be ready, but that begged the question: why hadn't she been able to peg John as CIA? Oh, she pegged him as military and Special Forces easily, but she hadn't gotten the vibe of CIA. Maybe it was because he wasn't like all the rest she had ever met before. John was the atypical CIA agent she supposed because he certainly wasn't unfeeling he seemed to feel everything. It was why he felt like a monster, didn't want her help or her to keep coming back to try to save him when he was in the encampment. He had been persistent in his wish for her to leave him alone, but she just out-stubborn him. She was sure John was lethal because, again, she circled back to him, believing himself to be a monster. Only a man who had killed for his country and good at doing it would feel as he did even if the burden he was carrying was unjust.

Joss frowned at herself for worrying over something she couldn't stop from happening nor know when it would even come. The day the CIA came knocking could be tomorrow, a day or week away, or even years. Who knew? Why borrow trouble?—so she carefully shelved thoughts of the CIA to be worried about at a later date. They would just have to cross that bridge when they came to it. She and Finch first needed to save John from himself.

He wasn't sure about this, wasn't sure about anything except for the fact that his body thirsted for his booze that he refused himself. John needed a clear head for this work, a life depended on it, so he could maybe get a drink after this case was finished. After losing the boy, Michael Pope, they had to play the waiting game of when he would resurface. And with his phone being in the boy's backpack they would know. John kept the guns that he might need with him in the duffel bag as he sat in the taxi cab. He had taken a detour to the encampment in the Upper East Side, wanting to see Joan, and handed her takeout from a diner nearby. He had quite the illuminating conversation with her.

"I'm glad you're letting your cop lady help you, John, you don't belong on these streets. You belong elsewhere," Joan murmured as she ate the chicken sandwich he purchased for her, knowing of her affinity to chicken.

"Neither do you," he said quietly as he sat beside her. She deserved a mansion at the very least for all the kindness she had shown him.

Joan smiled. "Actually, these streets are where I belong, and I'm not leaving them," she countered as she easily ate the chicken sandwich.

He eyed her perplexed. This was not the first time she said as much. Joan never gave any indication that she wanted to find a way to get off the streets. "Why?"

"I lost my Chris, so material possessions hold no meaning to me any longer, John. Haven't for a very long time now, because anywhere I could choose to lay my head would never feel like home without him in my world."

"Who was Chris?" This was the first time she ever got personal and he could see pain in her green eyes.

"My husband, a man I loved more than anything. He passed away."

"I'm sorry."

Joan shrugged. "It was a while ago, John. Chris had lung cancer, stage two. We both thought he had a chance. He couldn't work any longer, so we lost his health insurance, and I did the best I could. I worked three jobs to try to pay for his treatments and our bills, while trying to take care of him. But the medical bills mounted on us so I sold my car trying to pay for his treatments and without a car I couldn't get to work so I got fired. We lost out home to foreclosure, since you can't pay your mortgage payments when you don't have any money too. I pawned my wedding and engagement rings to try to save my husband. But in the end it didn't matter, the cancer had spread throughout his body, and he passed away," Joan said quietly before nodding to her cart. "Those men's effects, at the bottom of my cart are the only things I have left of my Chris. After his funeral I found life simpler here on the streets and I'll never leave them." she said with a steady gaze.

"Mr. Reese," Finch spoke, interrupting his reverie without realizing it. "Michael resurfaced, but we aren't the only ones looking for him and he's not alone. Listen," John listened to the conversation. Men were planning on killing Michael and making it appear to be a gang related murder. He eyed his new burner phone as they tracked the GPS of the phone in Michael's backpack. His taxi was driving west away from the encampment, while whatever vehicle Michael was in was driving up Riverside Drive. They currently were at 88th Street and approaching fast.

"97th and Riverside, make it fast," John told the driver. He could head off the vehicle and save the boy, loading a tear gas grenade into the grenade launcher. Once they arrived, the street was empty for the time of night and he held out money. "Keep the change," he murmured, glad for a quiet cabbie, grabbing his duffel bag of guns as he climbed out. He didn't hesitate as he walked into the middle of Riverside Drive, tugging on a ski mask and waited as the SUV speeded toward him.

He dropped the bag of guns down and aimed his grenade launcher at the approaching vehicle and fired into the windshield. The man swerved and rammed into a parked car. John tugged out a gun as he walked towards the smoky car with flashing headlights. The driver exited first and he shot his kneecap before the man in the backseat exited and he punched him out before taking his identification. John rounded the other side of the car, opened the door, and grabbed the back of the boy's jacket and his backpack, yanking him out of the car.

"Are you crazy?! Do you know who they are?" Michael asked.

He eyed the police shield. "I do now, they are police," he muttered. "Finch, I got the boy, we need to get him someplace safe."

"I know just the place, Mr. Reese."

"You used a grenade launcher on Riverside, John!" she snapped in agitation. Half the precinct had been in a buzz this morning wondering who the hell would do such a thing, oh but she had known! And she let him loose. The SUV had been empty, found smashed up against a parked car. Some blood was found on the pavement at the scene, which was currently being analyzed by Curtis. Knowing they were cops meant they'd be in the system, and with the blood they could get the men who were trying to kill a young boy.

They were quietly hiding across the street of some truck stop diner in East Harlem waiting for men that he was following to exit. She had called him up earlier this morning and he agreed to let her bring him coffee and help. She wanted to head there to yell at him for his antics the night before.

He turned to look at her. "I also got Michael out of that car with dirty cops," he murmured as he went back to taking photographs of detectives.

She sighed. "I've heard murmurings of a group full of dirty cops called HR, there was nothing concrete to prove they were real but it was speculated. Now we know these dirty cops do exist, thanks to your…unorthodox ways," she said quietly, watching through her binoculars the men he was taking photos of as they exited the truck stop diner they met at.

"Do you know any of them, Joss?"

She squinted. "One is recognizable but I don't know his name. And the others, I have no idea who the hell they are. But get me their photos and I can get you names when I get back to the precinct," she said as she settled the binoculars down to glance at him. John lowered the camera and nodded.

"Thanks, Carter."

She told herself to not ask, to not do it, and let him have a measure of privacy, but she couldn't help it. Her curiosity won. "You went to the encampment last night."

He blinked as he turned to look at her. "You were following me."

She shrugged. "More like checking up on you," she refuted and he cocked a brow. She exhaled, clearly caught and knew it. "I just didn't want you to disappear on me, so why did you go back there?" She refused to tell him she sat in her car for a hefty two hours before giving up and driving home and he still hadn't left. She wanted to know if he stayed all night there.

"Which time?"

"You went there twice?"

He exhaled. "I went before saving Michael and then again after, so which time?"

Well when she went to the encampment and found him in there it had been already after the call came in with the incident on Riverside. "After, but why did you go there twice?"

"First time I wanted to see Joan, give her something to eat. And second time I just went there," he said quietly as he looked elsewhere.

And realization dawned on her. "You're not used to having a place to rest your head, are you?"

He kept his gaze off of her, face neutral. "Not really. I haven't had a pillow to rest my head on, a bed to sleep on in months. Before the encampment, I was traveling and before that I was in Ordos on a mission that proved to be my last," he admitted gruffly. He was in Ordos China? She wished she could get more information about that, about what had happened to him but she could see he wasn't in the mood to talk about it. His face was closed off and she knew when to pick and choose her battles. Poking for more information now would backfire. "It felt like the walls were closing in on me." he whispered, surprising her as he offered more.

"Call me if you feel like that again, John." she said immediately. He looked at her. "Day or night, call me if you feel like you're suffocating and I'll be there. We can take a walk or talk, or something."

"I'll get you these photos." he said as he turned and walked away, not actually acknowledging her request. She turned and headed to her car to get to the precinct so she could do some research on these cops for him.

Joss arrived at Central Park. Harold had called a meeting there, where he was currently waiting. She walked towards him as John appeared out of thin air nearly giving her a heart attack. They stood together as John discreetly handed Finch the photos he took earlier in the morning.

"Here, we think we are up against a group of corrupt cops," John said quietly.

"They're called HR," Joss said. She nodded to the photo of Stills. "Stills, who John stole his badge," Joss started and threw in a glare at John for good measure for giving her his badge number and when questioned he had admitted to stealing it and refused to give it back. "He's Narcotics, him and his men get word of deals and they go steal the drugs, the cash, and kill all the witnesses."

John pointed to the rotund detective. "And they have Fusco frame up guys like Pope for the murders." he said. Finch eyed them both. "I think the next target is Hanson but I don't know for certain, hell I don't know anything for certain because I don't know where you are getting your information," John snapped angrily.

Joss had to agree, she felt the same way as John. "Finch, tell us, so we can understand," she pleaded.

Harold eyed her. "Your life is too important, detective. Where I get this information…knowing about it, could get you killed. Mr. Reese and I, no longer have anyone left that cares for us, but you…you have your son."

"Isn't it up to me to determine if the risk is too great or not? I've been helping you off and on for a couple months now, not knowing if I was doing the right thing. I let you spin your wheels on telling me where you get your information from because it was helping, it was saving lives, but no longer. This case changes things, proving that there are dirty cops in the precinct's is worrisome, Finch. I want to know, like John," she said. It would help her understand just what she was dealing with in Harold.

Harold eyed her for a long moment before glancing at John. He seemed to contemplate for a few moments before he sighed gently. "When the towers came down, you were in a hotel in Mexico," Harold murmured as he eyed John before looking at Joss. "And you were at your station for the U.S. Army." Joss wasn't even surprised about the information he had about her, what surprised her was the information he had about John. She wondered if he was in a hotel in Mexico with this 'Jessica' woman or was it something else.

The three of them turned and began walking while they listened to Harold speak about what he had been doing during the time of the attacks. "After the attacks the government gave itself the power to read every email, listen to ever cell phone. But they needed something to sort through it all. Something that couple pick the terrorist out of the general population before they could act. The public wanted to be protected, they just didn't want to know how they were being protected. So when they finally found a system that worked they kept it secret."

John eyed him. "So how do you know about it?"

Harold paused almost as if for dramatic tension. "I built it," he said. Joss and John shared an astonished look before they resumed walking together. She shouldn't be surprised with knowing how good this man was at hacking. "But there was a problem with this machine. I had built it to stop the next 9/11, but it was seeing all sorts of crimes. So I had to teach the machine to divide the things it saw into two lists: relevant and irrelevant. Events that would cause massive loss of life were relevant, supposed to be passed along to the NSA or FBI."

"And the irrelevant list is all the premeditated murders, kidnappings, and other such crimes we have been trying to stop for the last couple of months." Joss stated for confirmation.

Harold nodded. "Every night at midnight the machine erases the irrelevant list." he said and Joss gasped. She couldn't help it. She couldn't imagine saying any life was irrelevant but the intricacy of the machine he built…to an extent those small time murders and crimes were in fact irrelevant to the larger scheme. This machine was built to protect everyone from a large scale attack. Now it made sense, the guilt that clung to Harold like a stench that, no matter how hard he washed and cleaned himself, he couldn't rid himself of. "It was only later that I realized my mistake and that irrelevant list was eating away at me." And now it also made sense as to why this man with severe physical handicaps was trying his hardest at saving lives, because he felt guilt over the irrelevant list, of those men and women who appeared on that were relevant to someone.

"So where is the machine now?" John asked softly.

"What?—the drives, who knows, government facility somewhere I suppose. But the machine is everywhere: watching with ten thousand eyes, listening with millions of ears."

Joss remained silent, listening to the two men speak. Her mind was in a whirl right now, trying to digest this information about this machine, an artificial intelligence, was working at the behest of the government. The information Finch gave her, about all those cases, the one they were working now…everything was falling into place like dominoes. Never in a million years would she guess what Finch said but in the end she wasn't fully surprised. Technology was advancing so quickly and she knew how intelligent Finch was with a computer.

"We have no idea why it picked Diane Hanson, then," John murmured as they came to a stop.

"It wouldn't be steering us towards her if it didn't see something," Harold replied.

"I don't know if I can protect Hanson, I can't see the whole picture."

Harold eyed John. "I offered you a job, Mr. Reese, I never said it would be easy,"he said and with that turned and left them.

Joss touched his hand gently, his gaze slid off of Harold's retreating form and landed on her eyes. "You can do this, John if there is anyone that can, it's you."

"You don't know that for certain, Carter, I can't protect someone if I don't know where or what the threat is."

"Yes I do. I know you can do this, so does that man." She motioned with her free hand towards the man walking away from them. "You just need to believe in it yourself," she said before releasing his hand and turned to head towards her car, feeling his penetrating gaze on her back.

AN: These first several chapters will be recognizable to you with some au differences. But I will be eventually diverging from canon because I have a number case I want to write so badly I can taste it and I think it will work for this story. Then again knowing my muse it will lead me to some weird place that I never meant to go :D I can't wait for you guys to read chapter 13. I really had fun writing that chapter but you guys have two more chapters to go to get there XD

Thanks for reading XOXOXOXOX