Still don't own Person of Interest!

56: Danger Ahead

By the time John was finished chewing out Agent Gibbons, the young former trainee had come to be cowering in his chair. He knew it wasn't every day that his trainer lost his temper, but that when he did, you'd better listen and watch out. When he heard that Chessie had been abused and neglected for most of her life, he paled and realized what he'd done.

"Oh, god," he murmured. "I had no idea…. God, I feel so stupid…"

"You'd better," John snapped. "Come on, we may as well let you up in the library."

The young CIA stared after his former mentor and took in his appearance. He'd heard rumors of a suit-clad vigilante in the big apple, but surely his trainer wasn't the vigilante, was he?

He didn't have time to find out since he was technically here on business. He sighed before following John into the elevator, and then turned away when he pushed the button, not wanting to anger the man more. When they got to the library, they were both surprised to hear Phantom of the Opera playing in perfect Japanese.

"Is that… Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again?" John asked, and Finch nodded.

"She found it on YouTube," Finch said as if it explained everything. "You know how she gets when she's upset."

"I'd rather have this than a crying fit," John admitted as he went back over to the larger of the two black velvet boxes, "Now what the hell did the director want in giving me this?"

The younger CIA shrugged before John opened the box and withdrew the note. He blinked at it before looking in the box and closing it with a sharp snap, wearing a look on his face that Finch had never really seen before – it was smug, annoyed, amused, and pained all at once. He blinked owlishly before turning back to his computer screens.

"What was it?" Gibbons asked curiously.

"What do you think?" John asked sitting down on the couch and putting his lower right leg on top of his left knee. "That was his way of rewarding and apologizing to me, if you catch my drift."

He nodded awkwardly as Reese began sipping his coffee and reading the note. The older ex-CIA growled and glared angrily at the young CIA who had tried reading over his shoulder, causing the young CIA to retreat. When Reese turned the note over, he almost choked on his coffee and set it on the table coughing and sputtering. The younger CIA was laughing at the note and his reaction, while Harold was looking up with mild distaste and amusement.

"What did it say?" he asked curiously, "I'm assuming he wants you back in the CIA."

"He says if I want to stay out of the Company," Reese rasped, "I-I have to get married within the next year!"

Finch blinked at him quizzically and owlishly, not quite believing what he was hearing. After all, he calculated, it could have been John's way of being allowed to get a 'Mrs. Reese' into the mix since he'd wanted to be a dad for some time but couldn't because his work was too dangerous. Unless they'd managed to train a third party member who would be able to protect their child or children they'd have no protection for their child unless Chessie stayed home, if Chessie could conceive at all. She hadn't asked for feminine hygiene products yet, so she either hadn't gotten to that stage of hormones, or she went out and bought her own behind their backs.

"Married? You? Hah! That's a good one," Gibbons laughed before a loud gunshot rang from the street below. "What on earth…?"

"Where is she?!" a familiar male voice yelled angrily.

"Snow?"

"Snow," John confirmed for Chessie, who grimaced. "No, you may not shoot him."

"John, Chessie," Finch said, "We've got an issue."

"Well, I recommend going out the back," John said to Agent Gibbons. "It won't be pretty if Mark sees you, Leron. Chess and I will head out the back after dark, once he's gone. If he's not gone by then, we'll call the cops."

"I'd like to know how he got away," Finch said pursing his lips.

"I think we'd all like to know that," Chessie growled angrily. "Can I please go shoot him?"

"No," the three men said in unison, some louder than others.

Chessie wasn't impressed and went off into the back of the library to sulk. Leron shook John's hand and the two spent the next hour catching up on old times and what the other had been doing. John's only tale to tell was that he was a paid bodyguard now, with Finch as his secretary and boss combined, so to speak.

By the time they realized that Snow was in the elevator on the way to the library, it was too late. John raced towards Chessie and put himself in the way between Snow and her. Leron put himself between Snow and Finch, just to be safe, but the ex-CIA agent ignored him and raced to the back to find the other ex-CIA agent.

John had taken three bullets, two in the vest and one in the arm, before he finally figured out Snow's position. Chessie whipped out a bow and arrow and pulled it out against him. He'd shot her twice in her vest before she expertly aimed (and hit) a bull's eye to his shoulder socket, effectively hitting the nerve and nicking it so that he couldn't use the arm without a mass of pain.

With that, Snow withdrew, but not before he shot both of his targets with a bullet laced with a drug that would cause both of their hormones to skyrocket out of control until they got the antidote. Chessie felt no change, but John immediately knew what was wrong. He curled over, aiming his gun at Mark's retreating frame just before clamping down on any and every hormone based reaction his body had, including an adrenaline rush. He forced them away after a few tense seconds where the other two in the library were unsure of whether or not Snow was coming back.

"Whoa," Leron murmured as John carried Chessie (who'd passed out from the estrogen high) over to their section and used her body to cover up his waistline. "What happened?"

"Poisoned bullets," John gasped, "I'm not sure what's wrong, but… I'm heading home. Chessie's unconscious, I'm not risking my only fighting comrade in this ragtag mess. I'll see you guys in a few days or as soon as I recover, whichever comes first."

"Okay," Leron nodded. "Hold on, let me get a sample of blood so we can analyze it."

John reluctantly stayed behind to let him, and the two blood samples (one from each victim of the bullets) was pocketed for further use before the ex-CIA agent went off to his apartment. He knew where to go from here, and what to do. The question now was whether or not Chessie would give in to the poison or fight it tooth and nail. All he knew was that now there was danger ahead.

One fifth of the way done!

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