Title: Something Happened To Me Yesterday

Author: November9Noir

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from 'Person of Interest,' nor am I profiting from this work in any way.

A/N: My tag for Ep. 1.10 'Number Crunch', best epi of the season IMHO. (I wish I could attach a sound file here, because in my opening scene I can hear the long, haunting intro of the Rolling Stones' 'Gimme Shelter' playing, must be the frustrated filmmaker in me…)

The images of the cityscape flashed in between the periods of blackness, just like a Martin Scorsese film montage. Reese couldn't be sure if it was minutes or seconds ticking by. He hoped it was the latter, but he also knew he was wounded seriously enough that it could well be minutes, that he was lapsing in and out of consciousness, slowly bleeding out into his abdominal cavity. A gruesome and uncomfortable death, and it was getting hard for him to breathe.

He couldn't seem to hold himself upright. More cityscapes passed by, with the occasional words from Finch, 'Hang on, John. Hang on. We're almost there." Light and shadow passing rhythmically, buildings and streetlights, and then they were somewhere dark, Finch opening the door and somehow managing to manhandle him out of the back of the limo and onto a gurney.

"No hospitals," Reese wheezed. Finch was almost as surprised as Reese was that he was still conscious.

"I know what I'm doing," Finch snapped. This was not the emergency entrance, Reese realized. It was cold and harshly lit. Banging through one of the many doors, he saw 'Office of the Medical Examiner,' and then the arrow sign pointing to the Morgue.

"I'm not dead yet," he protested, whether a weak attempt at a jest or as a plea for Finch not to leave him to die, Reese wasn't quite sure.

"Yes, Mr. Reese, I know," a tight-lipped and pale Finch replied. "Be quiet now." He covered Reese with the sheet and pushed through the last swinging door.

"Third one tonight," the coroner said, not looking up from his laptop. "Must be a full moon." Finch wheeled the gurney over to the table and pulled the sheet off, showing a wounded Reese. That got the man's attention.

"Your name is Farouk Mahdani," Finch declared. "You were the best surgeon in Najaf. But you can't afford a license in the States because you send all your money home to family." He limped over to the doctor, slung a satchel from his shoulder and dumped it out on to the table. $250,000, but who was counting?

"Stitch him up, no questions asked, and you can be a doctor again." Finch was not asking. Dr. Mahdani looked back and forth a few times from the money to the patient. His expression didn't change, but he got up and lowered the rail to the gurney and got right to work. Finch stepped back with a slight relieved sigh.

When the doctor extracted the bullet from Reese's thigh, Reese promptly passed out. "Just as well," Dr. Mahdani muttered. It was battlefield surgery, quick and dirty, but he got the job done, stopped the bleeding, and Reese's chances were better than they were before.

"It's up to him and God now," he declared when he was done.

"Thank you, Doctor," Finch said, "You have saved his life, and I'm very grateful for that. I have people to take care of him from here."

"Don't thank me yet," Dr. Mahdani advised. "He needs a hospital. He's very likely going to develop septicemia."

"My people are very good," Finch assured him. "They'll be prepared for anything."

Finch held out the satchel, repacked with the money. Mahdani looked at him and shook his head. "Keep it. I am a doctor. I don't want your money."

(Some time later…)

Reese slowly came awake into fuzzy darkness, hearing the sound of heart and pulse monitors, feeling the oxygen feeding in through tubes in his nose, and needles dripping cold fluids into his arms via I.V.'s. Someone shifted in the chair next to the hospital bed.

"Welcome back from the dead, Mr. Reese," came Finch's voice, as wry as usual. "How do you feel?"

Reese considered that for a moment. "Like I've been shot," he finally replied. Finch chuckled at that. Reese tried to move, but everything hurt like hell. "Ugh," he groaned as he gave up. "No, I feel like I've been rode hard and put away wet. What happened?"

"You got shot." Reese couldn't see Finch's face, but he could hear his light teasing tone.

"Finch…" Reese half-growled and half-sighed in warning.

"I'm sorry, John. I have really missed talking to you, so forgive me if I tease you a little bit and take advantage of your weakened state. You were never what anyone would call verbose, but I do appreciate your rather dry sense of humor."

Finch's monologues usually gave Reese a headache, but since everything else hurt just about equally he decided to let it go. "How long has it been?"

Finch took a deep breath. "Sixteen days. It's December 31st."

"Nice to know I didn't sleep the year away," Reese commented dryly. "Were my injuries that bad?"

"The bullet in your leg fractured your femur and put a nice big hole in your quadricep, but didn't hit any vital artery. The bullet you took in your abdomen was a 'through & through,' the doctor said, that nicked your large intestine and caused internal bleeding. You developed septicemia and had a raging fever for many days. But thanks to massive doses of antibiotics, and, I think, your own stubborn refusal to die, here you are." It was the longest speech Reese had ever heard Finch make.

Reese's mouth twisted into a smile. "Thanks, Harold. Where am I?"

"My own personal physician's private clinic."

"Of course." Where else? Reese thought to himself.

"What do you remember?" Finch wanted to know.

"You wheeling me down to the morgue and dumping a bunch of money on the table, telling the doctor to fix me up."

"Which obviously he did. But here's the thing. He didn't take the money when he was done. He just said 'I am a doctor' and walked away."

Reese smiled at the surprise in Finch's voice. "Not everyone can be bought. Some people will still do the right thing because it's the right thing."

An attractive, slender, middle-aged Japanese woman came in. Her face was kind and unlined in that Asian way, though her hair was showing some silver-gray among the thick raven's-wing black. "Hello, Mr. Reese," she said in a pleasantly musical voice. "I am Dr. Kaneko. I am very pleased to see you awake. Harold-san never doubted that you would pull through." She wore a modest knee-length (if tight) skirt, and a silk blouse under her white doctor's coat.

"Heart rate and blood pressure good, still some swelling and fever," she announced after examining him, palpitating his abdomen and leg. "We'll start you on some physical therapy in the next few days." Dr. Kaneko turned up the drip on his painkillers.

"Doctor's orders. Rest now," Finch advised. As Reese drifted off, he heard Finch say, "By the way, I'm going to have to dock your pay, Mr. Reese. It's a bitch to get blood out of leather, you know. I had to have the back seat replaced in the limousine."

Okay, yay, I got it done! There have been so many wonderful fics out there for this ep, here is my humble offering.