Disclaimer: I don't own Person of Interest. I do not profit off of this fic.
Author's Note: I did not intend to continue this fic, buut, i began writing this fix it after watching 3.09 and just had to put it out. I might continue with a proper s3 au or not..donno about that. But here goes, hope you like it.
Nothing much changes after Joss learns about the existence of an all-seeing supercomputer.
Scratch that, everything does.
Over a conversation at Finch's library, she learns of its primary job to prevent terrorist attacks, and its side job of sending the social security numbers of ordinary people involved in violent crimes to Finch and his team.
A team she's part of now.
The sheer magnitude of privacy breaches doesn't sink in until Finch gives her one of those x-raying looks again and says "It sees everything, detective. It hears everything, spying on you – us, every hour of every day. I…admit that it isn't very ethical but – "
"Ethical?" she asks, "That's a massive breach of privacy, and civil liberties."
"– it's a black box, completely inaccessible to anyone human. Technically, no one's fourth amendment rights are being violated."
"Technically, right."
"Even before we handed over the machine to the government, it had saved an estimated 4000 people preventing 54 terror attacks."
"That doesn't make it right, Finch." She retorts and leaves, and doesn't speak to Finch or John for a week.
Later, she sits herself down, and glares at the camera on her laptop,
"I think you can hear and see me."
Her camera switches on and off – so she hadn't been imagining it that one time.
"Look, I don't know if I can trust you. Finch built you, and he seems to be a good person," she pauses, " but, if you interfere with Taylor's life, or Lee's or any child's for that matter or involve them in any way – I'm done. I don't care, you do not involve children in this fight. It isn't theirs. You hear me?"
There's a pause and her screen goes blank before a YES types itself out in all caps.
"Good."
She begins receiving texts with nine-digit social security numbers – ones she knows Finch and John aren't receiving. They sometimes call her while she's working one she's gotten.
She doesn't know how long she can convince Szymanski and Fusco that they're because of anonymous tips though.
She has a feeling the ones she received wouldn't have ended as smoothly if John had been involved.
She's wary, but in the end, she's saving lives.
Then, John gets arrested, and escapes by the skin of his teeth; Donnelly gets killed, and she almost dies.
After John is rescued from the bomb the numbers slow in frequency, even the ones Finch receives.
She stops receiving them two weeks after.
She rings Finch, "What happened? What's wrong with your machine?"
"Detective, I'm not sure how you know something's wrong, but we're-" Finch begins.
"Uh huh, you're handling it yes, but what happened?"
There's a pause before he answers and she wonders why she even wanted to know.
"There's a virus in your machine?" she hisses.
"Yes, but I assure you, there's nothing much we can do about it. Don't worry detective." Finch says, voice unruffled, and keeps the phone with a gentle click.
Worry she does, from what she's gathered, it's a sort of artificial intelligence system that knows everything about everyone in the country, the last thing the world needs is it going rogue.
And then with the whole thing with Cal and Fusco and Terney, and her being demoted, its slips away to the back of her mind.
The numbers resume after a fiasco she still isn't too sure of.
Both the vigilantes are tight-lipped about it, and Shaw – their new friend - is too.
Finch assures her that the virus has been dealt with and she grunts in reply, throwing a wary glance at the street camera.
Apparently, Root – the sociopath who'd kidnapped Finch, is in a mental asylum, instead of a grave. She wonders why exactly the lady's alive, when she's a threat to Finch, why John or Shaw haven't killed her yet.
She sighs and heads to where she's helped stash Elias, he'd better not have gone to check on his lieutenant.
Two days after Mike Laskey is assigned as her partner, she receives his picture followed by a name – Mikhail Lesnichy, with his gun permit.
She blinks and rubs her eyes, so her gut feeling was right.
She wonders whether she should inform Finch about this new development with his machine; that would mean telling him that the machine sends her occasional numbers too.
She decides against it.
After dark she's chasing after a lead about HR, when her phone rings.
She looks down at the name and frowns – Ernest Thornhill.
"Detective Carter" she says warily.
"THREE O CLOCK" a mechanized voice says.
"What?" she murmurs, slipping her gun out in one hand, eyes roving around in the rapidly fading evening light.
"YOUR THREE O CLOCK" a mish mash of voices say.
She turns and there in the distance spots Laskey, Terney and Simmons, heading straight towards her location.
"Uh, thanks" she murmurs, as she slips the phone and gun away, and slides into a nearby alley.
She risks a glance at one of the cameras and gives a small smile as it blinks.
She goes home and stares at her phone for a long while.
She rings Finch.
"Yes, detective?"
"Is… Ernest Thornhill another alias of yours?" she asks quietly.
There's a long pause, "Ernest Thornhill…is an alias of the machine, detective - though I'm unsure – "
"I received a…text with a number from under that name." she says.
Another pause, and a faint 'oh dear'
"Let us know if you need help with that, detective. Thank you for…letting me know."
"So…why is your machine contacting me Harold?"
"I'm not sure, detective." he says, sounding oddly disturbed.
She doesn't quite know what to make of this.
She doesn't receive any numbers after that. Neither any cryptic calls.
Which is why it comes as a complete surprise when, after she's just refused Reese's help, her phone buzzes before she can smash it.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE
She grits her teeth and smashes it nevertheless.
Having her privacy invaded is bad enough when it's a person, she's just refused John's offer, and no way is she accepting help from a mass surveillance system - however it may have helped her.
A payphone rings as she's giving Fusco the slip, silently apologizing to him. She picks up.
STAY
"No," she says quietly.
STAY
She sighs, narrowly avoids slamming the phone back, and leaves.
Just as she's reached Judge Monahan's house a recording plays.
"Sir, this is Judge Andrew Monahan. I'm sorry to bother you at home. I just received a call you might want to be aware of. Do you know a police officer by the name of Joss Carter?"
"You were right to contact me. Tell me everything she told you."
She swears under her breath at her confirmed suspicions.
"I was about to call John anyway. And stop, I don't need your help right now." she murmurs.
It doesn't contact her again, through her chase in the subway and to the morgue. Though she thinks - as they're escaping corrupt cops and avoiding trouble - it might have been useful to have help like that. If only for the reason, that they could get through the city alive.
John's kiss and confession inject her with a twinge of unease. This is unlike him, to be so open. She's pretty sure he doesn't see her as something more than a very close friend.
Though, she has to admit, she has considered asking him out once or twice, but the man has issues, and she has a feeling he's probably in a relationship with Finch.
It strikes her a moment later that John might be trying to sacrifice himself to save her.
"Oh no you don't" she murmurs and gets to work.
And then everything's over, Quinn is behind bars and HR almost shut down, with an arrest warrant for Simmons who's the only loose end.
And she's standing on the curb, talking to John,
"All right, where's my weapon?" John says softly.
"Your gun's property of the NYPD now." She chuckles.
"Time I got some new hardware."
"Looks like your ride is here," She says, as she sees Finch limping in across the road, " guess we were all worried about you."
"If my number was up, I'm just glad I was with you."
So that's why he'd gone all pale in the subway train. Maybe she'll confront him about the kiss later.
"No one I'd rather be with at the end." He rasps lowly, and she's opening her mouth to agree when the phone on the curb opposite, starts to ring.
Her own – a burner she'd bought temporarily suddenly speaks, THREE O'CLOCK
John tenses and turns, settling into stance and she pulls out her gun just as Simmons comes into view, his gun aimed right at her.
"Your times up." he growls and Joss lowers her aim to his knee and pulls the trigger, even as John moves and knocks him to the ground.
There's a grunt as Simmons falls, and she grips the gun tightly against the sudden tremble in her fingers as John slips the gun from Simmons' hand and shoots him in the other knee.
The payphone stops ringing.
She hears Finch's unsteady tread and turns to see him looking as white as sheet.
"Detective," he breathes, a slight hitch in his breath the only sign of anything, "are you- are you alright?"
"Yes," she breathes, letting her shoulders loosen, but gripping the gun tighter.
"The safety, " Harold murmurs gently, and she switches the safety on, nodding her thanks.
Simmons groans, and she looks over to see John whispering in his ear, his hand on Simmons' throat, his expression as deadly as she's ever seen it.
"John" she says, her voice somehow steady, despite the quivering feeling in her chest.
Harold, to her surprise grips her shoulder.
John roves his eyes over both of them, Simmons' gun still held loosely in hand.
"Mr. Reese, I'm afraid we must leave, Detective Carter has to call this in, and – "
John nods, "Yeah, Finch." he gives her a curt nod, gaze softening, and leaves, and she gets to work cuffing Simmons.
She texts Taylor that she's fine and lays awake well after she returns home that midnight.
Pulling out her burner phone from the bedside table, "You saved my life." she murmurs, "Thank you."
Her phone buzzes, as though in acknowledgement.
She sighs, turning over to one side.
There's another buzz, ASSISTANCE REQUIRED TO SLEEP?
She pauses, and nods, "Yeah."
And its her mother's voice which emerges singing her a lullaby she hasn't heard in years.
Joss smiles, and sleeps.
The next morning, every one in the precinct wants to congratulate her, though some do throw her suspicious glances.
"Well done, partner." says Fusco gruffly, his face looking no worse for the wear he's suffered.
"Thanks Fusco. How's Lee doing?"
He sighs, " Glasses's given me contacts for a few therapists. I've told him not to tell his mom, but don't know how that's going to work out."
She nods, "It'll be hard, but hey, you'll help him through it. I know its different with a professional but I'd be willing to talk to him too, calm him down."
Fusco nods.
"How are you doing?" she asks more quietly.
"I'm okay – really. I'm just glad you're alive Joss."
"I'm glad you're alive too, Lionel."
She turns and stares at the pile of pending paperwork on her desk, and shares a commiserative glance with Fusco before getting to it.
Barely escaped death or not, there's always paperwork.
Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated!