A/N: I am so sorry, everyone, for the immensely long break in this story. Real Life caught up with me in the worst possible way as my Mum passed away last month after a long battle with renal cell cancer. Thankfully my sister and I were able to be with her as she passed but obviously family commitments have taken priority, and it's really only been in the last week that I have been able to get back into the right head space to finish this chapter off. But to make up for the long break, I'm posting two chapters at once. Enjoy!
So to recap, dear readers, Reese, Shaw and Finch are tied up with the latest Number – a promising young cricketer who along with his father has been caught up in the murky world of spot-fixing and sports betting. Reese has been sent to bed with a head injury – a bed without Joss unfortunately as she's in hospital having just had her fist round of stem cell injections.
When Reese awoke in the morning Shaw was standing over him with her doctor bag on the end of the bed and a hypodermic syringe in her hand. He blinked at her, allowing the little surge of adrenalin sparked by the sight of the needle to subside. "What's that, Shaw?"
"I was about to give you a little something for the headache – you've got a real doozy, right?"
He blinked again. "Actually it's not too bad," he lied.
Shaw eyed him, a slight smile pulling the corners of her mouth. "Well, suit yourself. You're sure you don't want it?"
Damn sure, actually, but he had to suppress a wince as he eased himself into a sitting position. Shaw was putting the syringe away and pulled out her little flashlight again. Her expression cooled into professional interest as she checked his pupils and made him repeat the neurological exam she'd put him through the previous night.
"Mm. No further sign of brain damage or skull fracture. You experience any drowsiness, nausea, visual disturbances-"
"I know how to deal with a concussion, Shaw," he said, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice.
"Knowing how to deal with it is one thing. Actually doing it is another story with you," she shot back. "You're no damn good to anyone staggering around with a brain injury, but if you'd just let me finish what I was trying to say?" She crossed her arms and waited with icy calm.
"What?" he mumbled after a moment.
"I was trying to tell you that you're okay to get up and go see Joss. Just take it easy, no driving for a day or so. And Finch wants a consult as soon as you can get over there after you've seen her."
"Oh. Okay."
He was woozy as hell as he hauled himself out of bed and felt mildly resentful of Shaw as she waited for him to shower and shave, presumably in case he collapsed. But the warmth of the shower helped dissipate the headache and the large mug of coffee with two Tylenol she presented wordlessly to him as he emerged made up for a lot.
In the end he allowed Shaw to chauffeur him to the hospital and drop him in front of the main doors. It was 8:45; Joss's MRI was scheduled for 9:00 sharp, so he would be pretty much bang on time. A sharp twinge of pain in the back of his head accompanied this thought. "Bang" on time, geddit? he thought grimly to himself as he pushed through the doors and began the trek to the medical imaging department on the far side of the hospital campus.
xxxx
Joss lay looking at the white plastic a few inches from her nose and tried to ignore the clunks and bangs of the MRI scanner as it operated. She'd been surprised at just how loud the thing was when she'd first encountered it, but by now it was just a routine. She had long ago lost count of the number of times she'd lain in it, motionless, listening to the noises it made and feeling grateful she didn't get claustrophobia. After a long while - during which she composed closing addresses to the jury in her head - the scan was finished. She emerged from the scanner to find John waiting for her, leaning against the wall just inside the doorway where she'd stashed her overnight bag. He looked like shit – the suit and shirt were clean and pressed as usual, but his eyes were bloodshot and his face was drawn. She felt her brows rising. "Don't tell me. Major blow to the head and about… three hours' sleep last night, right?"
His lips twitched at that. "You know me so well, Joss. How did you guess?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're right, I do know you well. Getting banged up is your normal condition. I just hope the other guy looks worse."
He shrugged. "I'll find out when I catch up with him. How're you?"
"Slept okay." Quite badly, actually, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "The funny clogged feeling in my lungs is better. I guess it's all spreading out, being absorbed or whatever it's supposed to do. But the scan will tell us."
The imaging tech poked her head out of her little booth. "Ms Carter? We're all done now. Results will be with your doctor by this afternoon."
They took the hint. She picked up her overnight bag and they pushed through the double doors, to stroll arm in arm down the corridor.
"I'll be glad to get out of this place," said Joss. "I've spent way too much time in hospitals the last two years."
John gave one of his tiny nods at this. "Finch wants to see me about the latest number. Wanna come?"
No thought required for that question. "Sure."
"You're driving, though."
"That bump on the head must've been a good one. Where's the car?"
He blinked several times. "Change of plan. We're taking the subway."
"Wow. A really, really good one." Joss tried unsuccessfully not to smile while John's face stayed completely blank. She passed her overnight bag to him and he put it over his shoulder as they made their way down the front steps and towards the subway station.
Xxxxx
When they arrived at the subway Bear trotted up wagging and nosing at them; Finch was sitting with his back to them doing Finch-things with his computer. He did not look up as they approached.
"I've been doing a little thinking, Mr Reese. Our principal problem with removing Akbar and Sharif is that they have diplomatic immunity. But it occurs to me that we can use their status as foreign nationals against them." Finch's fingers were flying as he spoke, and new windows bloomed on the screens in front of him. "All it requires is..." his voice faded.
Reese and Carter exchanged looks and prepared for a wait. Bear disappeared and came back with a ball, and Reese amused himself for a few minutes tossing it for the dog. Joss peered over Finch's shoulder for a little while, but soon gave up and settled herself on a seat, watching the two boys play. Finally the ball disappeared under the subway car, joining what must by now be a large collection under there. Reese wandered over to join Joss on the bench, shooting a wry glance at Finch as he sat down.
"I thought you wanted to talk, Harold," he said patiently.
"Sorry. I just had a thought. Which turns out to be..." his voice faded again. Joss rolled her eyes.
At last Finch straightened his back and turned towards them. "Well. That was ... rather a challenge."
Reese didn't reply, merely raising his eyebrows.
"It occurred to me that it might be possible to interest the US authorities in Sharif and Akbar if I could manufacture some terrorist connections for them. It was made complicated by two factors, though." Finch paused, waiting for encouragement from his listeners.
"And these were…?" Joss obliged.
"Well, in the first case there's this system which already watches for terrorists and sends their numbers to the government. So in the case of Mr Akbar I had to create an artistic impression of an Islamist disguised as a diplomat. This proved a little challenging since Pakistan's digital record-keeping is chaotic at the best of times and non-existent as recently as five years ago."
"But you managed it," said Reese.
"Yes, I've given Mr Akbar a close connection with several radical clerics and planted a damning email correspondence in his files which will cause Homeland Security to take a very dim view of him. I expect the State Department to declare him persona non grata within a few hours. I've also engineered a nice surprise for him when he arrives back in his home country."
"Good," said Joss.
"Mr Sharif presented a rather different problem." Finch's face was serious. "Samaritan would have been on the verge of targeting him anyway, I think. His former military associates have their fingers in a number of very nasty pies, including the opium trade out of Afghanistan. He's been procuring weapons for them and smuggling them into the Swat Valley from whence they filter across the border into the Kunar Province of Afghanistan. And of course the opium filters back in the opposite direction. What's more, Mr Sharif seems to have been sniffing around more advanced weaponry – perhaps for the Pakistan military, but quite possibly for militants in the tribal areas or their relatives and friends over the border. Either way, he's not exactly a terrorist as such, but he's certainly one of those profiting from violence and unrest. And he's helping to keep the pot boiling in those areas."
"And so?" murmured Reese.
"And so I have caused the CIA to become aware of his activities, and his links to the arrival of various heavy weapons in the Kunar Province. He'll be lucky to just be declared persona non grata like his friend."
"So what do we do now?"
"There's not much to do, Mr Reese. We simply wait and watch for the time being. I rather suspect the authorities will catch up with our threats before the day is out." Finch glanced at his computer screen. "I can give you Sharif's address. Why don't you keep an eye on him until your old friends come to get him, Mr Reese. I see there's a vacant apartment across the street which might make a good vantage point."
Reese nodded at this. Joss rose and began to make ready to move. "I think I'll leave that to you, John. I want to get home – Dr Epstein should be calling in a couple of hours."
"Never picked you for the type to sit by the phone, Carter," he tried to joke.
She didn't seem amused. "I think you'd sit by the phone too, if you were waiting for this particular call, John," she said softly.
He ducked his head in apology. "I'll be along later, then, Joss." He wanted to say something else, but instead reached out and stroked her cheek before he turned to make his way to the outside world.
xxxxx
He had a few hours to wait. Sharif arrived home after midday – walking a little stiffly, Reese was pleased to note. Evidently some of his blows in the fight last night had hit home. The day was wearing towards evening when they came. A team of four, one in the car while the other three entered the house looking like insurance salesmen. Reese sat in the upstairs apartment and watched the denouement with savage satisfaction. Sharif was struggling furiously, the black hood over his head and the three bulky men half carrying him down the steps. They reached the big black town car parked at the curb and the door opened for their burden like the mouth of a grave. A leaden thud as the door closed, the roar of the engine, loud in the quiet street, and he was gone.
Reese continued to sit for a while. He could see in his mind's eye all that was happening to Sharif now - the bite of the needle in his arm, the confusion and nausea as the drug kicked in, questions and blows - all the untender mercies of the CIA. He was pretty sure the bullet at the end would come as a relief. He rose, stretched, and let himself out through the back door.
xxxxx
Finch was sitting in his usual pose, stiffly erect in front of his bank of screens and keyboards. His fingers were still, though, and he watched the security camera footage with a small, lopsided smile on his face. Salman Akbar was looking dazed and angry as he was hustled through the secure area of JFK to be placed unceremoniously on a flight to Karachi. Finch derived a surge of pleasure from the thought of what Akbar's likely emotions would be when he arrived home to find that he now owned only the clothes he stood up in. Medicins Sans Frontiers would be glad of the donation, though.
He glanced up as Mr Reese emerged from the tunnel leading in and approached his desk.
"Harold," said his partner with a nod.
"Mr Reese," acknowledged Finch. He pushed his chair back and stood, massaging his back with one hand. "Another case concluded satisfactorily. Mr Akbar will be back in Karachi, penniless, in about fourteen hours. And Mr Sharif is in the hands of your former associates."
"Yup. He's being rendered somewhere right now. If they even bother - they may do the cleanup right here in New York. We did it that way a time or two."
Finch considered what Mr Reese was not saying in that sentence, and decided to shelve the subject. "I presume you will want to go find out the results of Joss's scan from this morning, then."
Mr Reese nodded. "I just thought I'd check in here with you. Where's Shaw?"
"Sleeping, I think. She took Bear back to her place, said she'd walk him over there. He badly needed the exercise."
Another nod. "If we're all finished here, then I'll be going."
"Yes, we're finished. At least until the next number." Finch bent to pick up his briefcase and followed his friend as Mr Reese turned towards the exit. "Oh. John?"
"Yes, Harold?"
"Please convey my best wishes to Joss. I hope the news is good."
A swift smile crossed John's face. "Thanks, Harold. I'll do that."
xxxx
When Reese opened the door to the apartment Joss was sitting with her feet up on the couch. She looked up at him, her face luminous. "Good news, John! They said everything was going exactly as they expected it to. The stem cells have dispersed as expected, and so the next injections are scheduled for next week."
"That's great, Joss!" He could feel a grin cracking his own face as a burden he hadn't even been aware of dropped away.
"Epstein said there's still a long way to go, but we're over the first hurdle. Oh, God, I can't believe it, John. It's going to work, I'm going to get my life back! I can be police again."
He could find nothing to say, just grabbed her hands and pulled her up to face him. They were both laughing with sheer joy as Joss danced into his arms and they spun around like teenagers to land on the couch breathless. He folded her in close. Her breathing was wheezier than ever, but at last he could listen to each intake of breath without the gnawing undercurrent of worry. It was working. It was working.