Sorry for the long wait. Well, you are about to see our mutual friends take control of CaReese's vacation, and with the Machine also getting involved...well, you know it's going to be anything but typical. I hope you enjoy.


The Greatest Reward

"Good morning, Lionel." Shaw sidled up beside the detective who was busy munching on a pretzel.

Lionel covered his heart with his hand. "Geez! What is it with you CIA operatives? Didn't anyone teach you to knock?"

"Takes too much time." Shaw took the seat on the bench beside Lionel. "You texted me. I hope you bought me lunch."

Lionel picked up the brown bag, thrusting it at her. "Here."

Shaw opened it. "Gee, thanks," she deadpanned, pulling out a pretzel. She took a bite. "Is this how you treat all of your dates?"

"Be glad you got that."

"Real nutritious. Where's the coffee?"

"I didn't get you any," Lionel replied. Shaw gave him a blank look. "This isn't a date."

"Bummer. At least you remembered the cheese."

The pair ate in silence.

"I'm sure there is a reason you wanted to meet out in public."

"Any word on when Wonderboy and Carter are supposed to return?"

"Aw, Lionel. You sound concerned," she mocked, her tone dry without feeling. Something that was not lost on the detective.

"Concerned my ass. I'm tired of picking up the slack."

"For a moment I thought you were getting worn out from all our numbers."

"Well, my knees could use a break." Shaw shrugged, took another bite. "Hey, I'm not as young as I used to be," Lionel protested indignantly.

"You would be if you laid off the crullers and pumpkin spice lattes," she pointed out.

"Comfort food; I'm missing my partner."

"Sure, Lionel."

"So, do you know when they are returning?"

Shaw shifted her weight, tried to find a comfortable spot on the cool, hard wood. "I think Finch said something about them coming back today."

"It's going to suck for Carter," Lionel groused. "You know, coming back to most of her house missing."

"Those things happen." To other people, she added silently. She had bounced around for so long that she no longer put a sentimental price on material things.

"Yeah, well, they shouldn't happen to Carter; she's good people."

"Bugs don't care."

"I care."

"Is that why you want her back?"

"Look, I miss her."

"And-?"

"And her sub is a pain in my ass." Lionel kicked at the small rock on the ground. He watched as it bounced over the sidewalk, over the dead leaves, then hit the base of a tree trunk to come to a rest. He sighed. It hadn't made him feel any better.

"I'll bet he is. You sure it isn't the other way around?"

"Look, I'm having to do my own reports," Lionel growled with indignation.

"How many?"

"Fifteen."

Shaw looked nonplussed. "Fifteen?"

"Ten."

"Ten?"

"Okay. Okay. Six. Are you happy?" he surrendered.

"No," Shaw answered truthfully.

"Gee, you have a great bedside manner, Doc."

"Ditto."

The pair sat quietly on the bench. Neither was eager to begin a conversation, but neither was in any hurry to leave.

"What if I said that I didn't want Carter to come back?" Lionel asked out of the blue.

That made Shaw blink in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Look, hear me out."

Shaw sat up straighter, to say she was intrigued would be an understatement. "I'm all ears."

"Are they having fun in Atlantic City?"

Shaw shrugged indifferently. Finch hadn't said anything to the contrary. "I guess you can call it that."

"Carter hasn't had a vacation in years," Fusco admitted between bites.

"Yeah."

"She needs to get away," Lionel continued. "Have some fun. Kick up her heels. Although I'm not sure Superman is the right person to do that. Still, it wouldn't hurt her to get away from the rat race."

"Away from you?"

"Ha ha. You and Wonderboy are real comedians. Too bad vaudeville isn't around anymore; the two of you could take your act on the road," Lionel mocked. He balled up the waxed paper and tossed it in the wastebasket two feet from where he sat. "I have to go back to work."

Shaw grabbed his arm. "Wait. Look, I'm sorry. I'll hear you out."

"Carter needs downtime. And I think I know how."

"Is this going to get us in trouble?" Shaw wondered, half excited by the possibility.

"I thought you liked trouble."

Shaw considered a response, then nodded. "I'm in. What is your plan?"

"Finch is good with computers," Lionel mused.

What seemed to be a smile of appreciation tugged at Shaw's lips as her mind melded with his.

"I like the way you think, Lionel." She hit a button on her phone.

"Good morning, Ms. Shaw," Finch greeted from the other side.

"No time for pleasantries, Harold. Have our mutual friends departed Atlantic City?" she inquired.

"They just checked out of the hotel," Finch passed along the information.

"I think we may have found a way to keep them on holiday for a while longer," Shaw said.

"I heard. I must commend Detective Fusco for taking the initiative. What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know...maybe a traffic jam."

"Heh. A little too Chris Christie."

Lionel rolled his eyes thoughtfully. "How about a little congestion that leads to a detour?" he amended.

Finch typed quickly on the keyboard. The Machine mulled over the input before offering a suggestion.

Finch smiled. "I'm glad we're on the same page," he praised his invention. "A work request to fill in a huge pothole has just been filed with Public Works. That should detour them. As for them taking it slow and easy... I hope Mr. Reese knows how to change a flat tire in the middle of nowhere."

Shaw and Lionel smiled.
************

"I can't believe in two hours I'm going to be back in Manhattan," Joss remarked. Her tone held disappointment at leaving her vacation. But the fun was over, and now it was time to go back home.

No, she told herself, not home. She didn't have a home; just a room in John's loft. It wasn't the same. She sighed.

"What's wrong?" Reese asked, looking out of the corner of his eye at Joss. He sensed there was something on her mind, but he didn't want to intrude by asking.

Joss shrugged. "Nothing." She looked out the passenger window at the passing scenery. "Nothing." She reached over and turned on the radio. Smokey Robinson's clear and pure tenor filled the interior.

The phone rang. Reese reached over and hit the talk button.

"Hello, Finch."

"Good afternoon, John. I take that your two days in Atlantic City was memorable," Finch greeted.

"It was. Thank you, Harold."

"Thank you, Finch," Joss chimed in.

"I am going to assume that you are on your way back to Manhattan."

"That was the plan," Reese replied. "What's wrong? You have a number we need to take care of?"

"No. I just wanted to make sure that you and Detective Carter are well. I will see you when you return."

"Thank you, Finch."

"You're welcome, Mr. Reese." The call disconnected.

"Whew!" Joss breathed a sigh of relief. "For a moment I thought he was going to have us tail a suspect."

"I thought you were eager to get back to work," Reese teased.

"I guess. I just want to put my feet up. Enjoy the rest of my vacation." She hoped she sounded convincing.

"I know what-" The phone buzzed.

Road construction ahead. Take detour in 500 feet.

"Okay, slight detour," Reese said.

"What do you mean 'slight detour'?" Joss asked, sitting up straight.

"Road construction."

"What?! There's no road-" Her phone buzzed. "I stand corrected. How do you suppose that happened?"

"I'm not sure." Reese guided the car out of the line that was forming, and pointed it in the direction the Machine had directed.

"Why didn't Finch say anything?"

"Maybe he didn't know," Reese tried to cover for his friend.

Joss snorted sarcastically. "Finch knows everything—even before it happens." The miles ticked by slowly. The music played softly on the radio, substituting conversation by placating both occupants.

"Where are we?" Joss asked nearly an hour later. She was hungry and needed to stretch her limbs—among other personal things that needed tending to. She wished she hadn't had that second cup of coffee at breakfast and instead grabbed the extra blueberry muffin.

Reese peered at the landscape. "Somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania...I think." It looked a little like the National Geographic pictures, he thought to himself, but he was hoping they would be heading toward New York. Soon. He wondered-not for the first time-if he hadn't made a wrong turn.

"How much longer?" Joss asked, shifting in the seat. What she would give for an ice cold Coca-Cola.

"In one mile make a right," the computer voice instructed.

"A little over a mile," Reese guessed. He was sure the GPS had a reason for sending them in this particular area, but a little part of him doubted the technology.

"Good. Pretty landscape," Joss observed. She had seen pictures of farmland in Amish country, but it was quite another to be experiencing the majestic beauty. She hoped her phone was fully charged.

Suddenly the car swerved to the left. Reese tried to keep his cool as he performed a defensive driving technique to correct and point the car in the right direction and keep it on the road.

"Hold on," he ordered and braced his arms to help guide the car to the shoulder. Slowly he applied the brakes until they came to a stop.

"What was that?" Joss asked fearfully, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"I don't know." Reese was already half out the door. "Stay here."

"You stay here," she retorted. "I'm coming with." Stepping out of the vehicle, she hurried to where Reese was opening the trunk. "What happened?"

"A flat."

"A flat?! This is a brand new car!"

Reese opened the compartment, extracting the jack, tire iron, and spare tire. "Don't look at me." He handed Joss the jack. "Hold this for me, please?"

"Sure." Joss followed to the front end of the car. She cast a disgusted look at the circle of rubber while Reese readied the tire to be changed.

"Jack." Joss handed over the tiny mechanism that was supposed to hold up a one ton vehicle. "Tire iron."

"How long?" she asked. She tapped her foot impatiently.

"A few minutes."

Joss let out her breath and tried to think of something other than her screaming bladder. Maybe if she took a walk, she could focus her attention elsewhere. Then they could be back on the road.

Stepping back, she walked around the car, then stopped cold. Was that what she thought it was?

"John," she called out. "Come here, please."

Reese stood up and rubbed his dirty hands across the legs of his slacks. "What's wrong?"

"Uh..." The words failed her, so Joss pointed at what had caught her attention. "Look."

Reese turned his head to look in the direction of Joss' finger. "What the hell?!" He hurried over to the passenger side of the car and knelt down beside the tire.

"Is that what I think it is?" Joss wondered out loud.

Reese let out a heavy breath, then slapped the tire hard. This couldn't be happening; not twice in one day, he cursed silently. But the evidence was right there and it couldn't be denied.

"It's flat."