Chapter 3
Adjustments

The trek up the stairs to John's loft revealed that Bodie's concussion was still causing him problems; John had to steady him most of the way. Fortunately, John heard nails on hardwood while he was still unlocking the door, so he was able to order "Stop! Zitt!" before opening the door and prevent Bear from knocking Bodie over. Bear was sitting obediently but still wagging his tail furiously and whining in confusion when John did open the door and ushered Bodie in.

"Voorzichtig," John told Bear, closed and locked the door, and held down a hand. "Kom."

Grinning, Bear trotted up to John for scritches. Then he curiously but cautiously approached Bodie and sniffed the hand Bodie held down to him.

"Hij is mijn vriend,"* John told Bear, who promptly licked Bodie's hand and made Bodie chuckle. "Bodie, this is Bear."

"Hello, Bear," said Bodie and scratched Bear's head, much to Bear's delight. "What breed is he?"

"Belgian Malinois. They didn't arrive in the States until after 1900."

Bodie nodded. "Explains why I've never seen one before. Trained in… what was that, Dutch? German?"

"Dutch."

"But your accent is terrible," Shaw called from the sitting area.

Bear galloped off to her side, and John rolled his eyes and led Bodie the same direction.

"Nice place," said Bodie, taking off his hat.

"Thanks," John replied. "Came with the job." That wasn't strictly true—Finch had given it to him for his birthday toward the end of their first year of working together—but it was close enough. "I'm sure it's pretty different from what you're used to," he added.

Bodie shrugged with a wry smile. "Oh, I can sleep most anywhere."

That wasn't really what John had meant, but he left it for the moment because they were approaching the table, currently covered by a load of shopping bags from various high-end 'big and tall' stores, and coming into view of the sitting area, where Shaw was fussing softly over Bear and Finch was doing something with his laptop. One of them—probably Shaw—had tacked a white sheet up on one wall to cover the bricks, and John's camera was sitting on the coffee table alongside some other gadgets.

"My associates," John told Bodie as Finch twisted to look up at them. "Sameen Shaw, Harold Finch. Cheyenne Bodie."

Bodie nodded to each of them in turn. "Mr. Finch, ma'am."

"Hey," said Shaw, raising her chin.

"Welcome, Mr. Bodie," said Finch and turned far enough to shake hands. Then he gestured toward the sheet as he turned back to his laptop. "If you would be so kind, I need to take some photographs of you for your new identity cards. We'll also need to scan your fingerprints for a few of the licenses you'll be needing while you're here."

Bodie looked dubious. "Well, if you're takin' pictures, shouldn't I get cleaned up first?"

"It's not necessary for this first batch, although I will want more for other purposes after you've had a chance to shower and change. For the moment, speed is more essential. And cameras now are much faster than the ones you're used to."

Bodie still looked dubious, but he handed his hat to John and took up a position in front of the sheet. The bright backdrop made the bruise on Bodie's cheek more pronounced, but John knew that could easily be fixed in Photoshop. After directing Bodie where and how to stand, Finch had John take the pictures. A couple of bursts (the speed of which seemed to daze Bodie) got enough headshots for the official documents, and Finch also had them get several different shots of Bodie in "costume," with and without his hat, for fake promo posters of "The Thalia Reportoire Company in Wagons West, starring James Thornton Merritt as Cheyenne Bodie." He finished the first flyer while Shaw was using the fingerprint scanner on Bodie and printed it off for Bodie's inspection.

"That looks right awful," Bodie declared with an approving grin and handed it back to Finch. "No wonder it folded."

Everyone else laughed.

"Now, if you folks'll excuse me, I really would like to get some o' this dust off me."

"Of course," Finch said, already putting the finishing touches on Bodie's new driver's license, as Shaw handed him the fingerprint scanner. "The rest can wait at least until after supper, if not tomorrow. Thank you, Mr. Bodie."

Bodie nodded, and John started to lead him toward the stairs leading up to the mezzanine that housed the bathroom. But Shaw dashed over to the table and started gathering up the shopping bags, and Bodie did a double take and stopped when he realized what Shaw was doing.

"Are those all for me?!" Bodie asked.

"Gotta have something to wear," Shaw replied, shoving a handful of Walmart bags into John's hands. "No idea how long it'll take us to find you a way home, so Finch said to get you a variety."

"We can return or tailor anything that doesn't fit properly," Finch added.

Bodie looked around at them all, clearly at a loss for words. "That's… mighty kind of you," he finally managed.

"Our pleasure," John answered with a smile and motioned Bodie toward the stairs again. Shaw brought up the rear and started laying things out on a bench while John showed Bodie where everything was and how the shower worked. "Need anything else?" he asked when he'd gone over everything he could think of.

Bodie still looked overwhelmed, but he took a deep breath and shook his head. "Uh, no, I don't think so. Thanks."

John nodded. "We'll leave you to it, then." And he turned to go, shooing Shaw out the door.

"Reese?"

John turned back, eyebrows raised in question.

"Why'd the government try to kill you?"

John sighed. "I can't give you the details without putting your life in greater danger. You might not believe me even if I did. But… remember that attack I mentioned?"

Bodie nodded once.

"After that happened, the government developed a project so secret, only eight people in the world knew it existed when it was launched. Finch built it. Shaw and her partner asked questions about it. My partner and I had contact with a piece of it that the government wanted destroyed—that was the first time they tried to kill me. The second time was just trying to finish the job. By the third time, I think they suspected I'd found out what it was."

"Had you?"

"Not the full story. Finch told me about the project shortly after he hired me, but I didn't find out the rest until just a couple months ago, when the project removed itself from government control."

Bodie blinked. "Removed itself?"

"It's a long story," John said with a wry smile. "The government still gets the benefits, but the project is now much, much harder for anyone to abuse—our government, foreign governments, or private entities like the one we prevented from getting control of it a few months back."

"I see," Bodie said thoughtfully. "You don't control it yourselves?"

"We don't even know where it is now," John admitted. "Even if we did, Finch deliberately locked himself out years ago. The most we can do is keep it from falling into the wrong hands."

Bodie nodded slowly. Then he added with a knowing look, "When you're not shootin' abusive husbands."

"In Shaw's defense, the kill shot was the only real option this time. Normally I prefer to shoot 'em in the knee and leave 'em for the cops, and Shaw's getting better about using less-lethal force."

That surprised a laugh out of Bodie, but he nodded again. "That tells me what I wanted to know. Thank you."

John nodded back and left, ushering Shaw down the stairs and going to the kitchen himself to start supper. "How's it goin', Finch?" he asked as he passed the sitting area.

"Almost finished," Finch replied, not looking up from the laptop. "Was there a problem? You were up there for some time."

"Nah, Bodie just wanted to make sure we're not traitors."

Finch turned to give John a skeptical and faintly reproving look. "You didn't tell him about the Machine."

"Of course not." John got out a stock pot. "But he asked why the government tried to kill me, and I gave him as straight an answer as I could—safely."

"He's telling the truth, Finch," Shaw chimed in as she sat down on the floor to play with Bear. "I heard the whole thing."

Finch glanced at her before returning his attention to John. "Was he satisfied?"

John shrugged and started taking the soup ingredients out of the fridge. "Said he was."

Finch turned back to his computer. "Well, I suppose it can't be helped."

"Finch, the man is 133 years and a thousand miles from home. He's having enough trouble with the horseless carriage and the wireless telephone. You really think he's going to buy the idea of artificial intelligence in general, let alone the Machine?"

"I'm still having enough trouble with the idea of time travel," Finch muttered but didn't push further.

John let the conversation drop and went back to work on the soup he'd been planning, chicken noodle soup with half-and-half added to make the broth richer—a simple, old recipe that he'd learned from his adoptive grandmother, hopefully old enough that Bodie would be familiar with it and bland enough that it would sit well on an upset stomach.** Ordinarily, he'd make it all from scratch, but reducing the broth would be time-consuming enough, so he was using store-bought organic broth and pre-cooked chicken. He'd just ignited the burner under the stock pot when he heard the shower turn on upstairs.

"How many people are you planning to feed, John?" Shaw asked from the floor.

"Five," John replied. "Six if Fusco comes, but he probably won't."

"That's a lot of soup for five people."

"It looks that way now, but it'll be about half that volume when I'm done."

"There," Finch interrupted with a final triumphant click of the mouse. "That takes care of everything but Merritt's social media profiles, which will require considerably more photoshopping, and we may need Mr. Bodie to compose the captions himself for greater authenticity. For now, I need to go collect his new documentation and assemble his new wallet. I'll be back in about an hour." He shut his laptop, rose stiffly, and started to leave, but paused and turned back to the kitchen, eyes narrowed. "Try not to give away any more of the family secrets while I'm gone."

"I still haven't guessed your favorite color," John noted mildly.

Finch rolled his eyes and hobbled out.

Clearly bored, Shaw came into the kitchen and helped herself to a beer. Then she went back around to the other side of the bar and started pestering John with questions about Bodie, the soup, the pie he started next, cooking in general, and life, the universe, and everything. John put up with it mostly as a way to keep Shaw tethered until someone else arrived or supper was ready. So it was a relief when Carter texted to say she was on her way; John took a break from rolling out the noodles to text back with the address and sent Shaw out to guide her in.

Only when Shaw was gone did Bear come into the kitchen to beg for scraps. John gave him several and noticed that the water had finally turned off upstairs. Bodie's back must have been killing him to need that much of a soak in hot water. Of course, even if he knew how to survive a fall from a height with minimal injury, the way John had learned, he had apparently blacked out in transit, so the real miracle was that he hadn't sustained worse injuries and had been able to stay on his feet as long as he had.

John was just starting to kick himself for tiring Bodie out when Shaw returned with Carter, who got an enthusiastic welcome from Bear before dropping an unmarked black duffle on the couch on her way to the kitchen. "Got that run through Ballistics for Finch," she told John, pointing to the duffle as she walked away from the couch. "It's now registered to Thalia Rep in the State of Georgia."

John smiled at her. "Thanks, Carter. Can I get you a drink—water, pop, beer?"

Carter groaned and fanned herself with her uniform cap. "I don't care, as long as it's cold."

"I'll get it," Shaw offered, quickly moving the duffle from the couch to the hall closet arsenal before coming back to the kitchen and shoving her way behind John to the fridge.

"Somethin' smells good," Carter added, easing herself onto a barstool.

John's smile broadened. "Thanks! Can you stay for supper?"

"Wish I could. Laskey followed me to Mom's house. I got out the back without him seein', but I dunno if he'll still be there when I get back."

John nodded his understanding, hoping his disappointment didn't show on his face, and swiftly cut the noodle dough into strips to drop into the boiling broth.

"You own this place?" Carter asked, accepting a beer from Shaw.

"Birthday present from Finch," John answered.

Carter chuckled. "'Course it was. Nice view!"

Shaw closed the fridge with a quiet, appreciative curse. "It sure as hell is."

Puzzled, John glanced over his shoulder at her, but she wasn't looking toward a window. He followed her line of sight to where Bodie, rounding the corner of the closet, was just reaching the sitting area and saying hello to Bear again. Bodie had sensibly put on boots, jeans, and a short-sleeved maroon Western-cut shirt with pearl snaps and had rebandaged the worst of the cuts on his arms, but casual as the outfit was, it somehow took him from trail boss to matinee idol. And if John could see that, it was no wonder Shaw was practically drooling.

Carter had turned her head at almost the same time and now swiveled her stool toward the door. "Good to see you on your feet, Mr. Bodie!"

Bodie smiled at her and came over to the bar. "Evenin', Miss Carter. Nice to see you again."

"Can I get you a beer, Cheyenne?" Shaw offered.

"No, thank you, Miss Shaw. I could do with a cold glass o' water, though."

John started to tell her where the glasses were, but she already had the cabinet open when he turned to her—when she'd searched his kitchen, he had no idea, but she evidently had. With a shrug, he turned back to turn the fire down and finish putting the last ingredients into the soup pot while Shaw filled the glass from the ice maker in the fridge door. What he did say was, "Beer with a concussion, Shaw? Didn't you go to med school?"

He could almost hear her eyeroll.

"You doin' okay?" Carter asked gently as Bodie sat down beside her.

"Well, I think the pills have worn off," Bodie admitted, "but at least I've stopped bleedin'. Sorry for gettin' blood all over your trousers earlier."

Carter smiled. "Don't worry about it. There's a reason the uniform is black. And trust me, your blood's not even close to the worst thing I've gotten on my clothes on the job."

Bodie looked at John with a wry smile. "I'm afraid to ask."

"So am I," John agreed.

"Here's your water," Shaw announced as she came around the bar and set the glass in front of Bodie, then swarmed up the back of his stool to check his head.

Bodie raised an eyebrow as if to say Really? but sat patiently if bemusedly as she prodded, only flinching a couple of times when her fingers touched the sorest spots.

Carter watched, amused, and drank her beer while Shaw worked. "Will he live, Sameen?" she asked when Shaw jumped down.

"Yep," Shaw stated, then came back around to where Bodie could see her. "I'll get you some more pain relievers."

"Thank you, ma'am," Bodie replied.

Shaw nodded and hurried off upstairs to raid John's medicine cabinet.

"Seriously, though," Carter pressed, meeting Bodie's eyes again as he took a drink of water. "Aside from the pain… are you okay?"

Bodie looked down at the glass in his hand and turned it speculatively, making the ice clink. "It's a lot to get used to," he confessed quietly, not looking up. "I don't rightly know yet."

"Yeah, I can imagine." When Bodie looked up at her, Carter gestured toward John. "We've been overseas. We know how hard it can be to make that transition back, 'specially to a place like New York. But at least we know what everything is and how it works. Missin' 133 years…."

Bodie winced and looked at his glass again. That must have been the first time anyone had actually done the math in his hearing.

Carter noticed, put down her beer, and put her hand on Bodie's arm. "At least you know about the electric light and the telephone, right?"

Bodie smiled and looked at her again. "Yes, ma'am, I do know about those. Can't say as I've used 'em much, but I have seen 'em before."

"Puts you one up on Rip Van Winkle," John quipped as Carter withdrew her hand, and Bodie chuckled. "What about typewriters?"

Bodie shrugged. "Again, ain't had much call to use one, but I can in a pinch."***

John nodded. "We might need you to. Depends on what Finch comes up with."

At that, Bodie frowned and looked around. "Where is Mr. Finch?"

"Had to run some errands. Said he'd be back—" John was interrupted by the sound of the key in the lock and Bear barreling off to the front door.

"Af!" Finch's nasal voice commanded.

"—about now," John finished with a smile.

"Det. Carter!" Finch called, closing the door behind him and limping toward the kitchen. "Thank you again for your assistance this afternoon."

"Hey, no problem," Carter replied with a smile and drained her beer. John took the empty bottle from her to wash and recycle.

"I'm glad you're here." When Finch reached the kitchen, he handed Carter a piece of paper. "This is Mr. Merritt's new cell phone number."

Carter nodded and tucked it into her shirt pocket.

Finch then held out a phone to Bodie. "This is Mr. Merritt's new cell phone. We'll show you how to use it later."

Bodie raised a skeptical eyebrow but accepted the phone, looked it over, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

"And this," Finch continued, handing Bodie a wallet, "is your new identity." As Bodie flipped it open, Finch explained, "Driver's license, concealed handgun licenses for Georgia and New York, Social Security card, Stage Actors Guild membership card, Tulane University alumni card, medical insurance, car insurance, credit cards, debit card for your bank account with Wells Fargo, several business cards, publicity photos, information from a handful of casinos in New Jersey, and some cash just in case you need it."

Bodie's brow furrowed in an expression somewhere between worry, confusion, and amazement as he thumbed through everything and counted the bills in the bill pocket. John didn't know the conversion rate between 1880 dollars and 2013 dollars, but he did know Finch well enough to know that some cash might turn out to be more money than Bodie had ever had in his life.

Finally, about the time Shaw returned with a bottle of Tylenol, Bodie looked up at Finch again, shaking his head. "You folks have been mighty generous. I don't know as I can repay any o' this."

"There's no need, Mr. Bodie," Finch insisted. "Our only goal is to help people. You're hardly the first person we've assisted in this way, and I sincerely doubt that you'll be the last."

"Well, at least tell me how I can earn my keep while I'm here."

Finch hesitated. "You'll need a good deal of rest these first few days. As for what's to come after that… that might be best discussed over supper."

Bodie looked a little relieved and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Y'know, everyone's taking this whole spontaneous time travel thing really well," Shaw noted, putting the Tylenol bottle on the counter with a clack. "I mean, Axis II Personality Disorder, I've got a good reason. But nobody else is freaking out about it, either, and that's starting to freak me out."

Bodie frowned at John in confusion. "Freak…."

"Panic," John translated.

Bodie's face cleared, and he turned to Shaw. "Panic won't help us much, ma'am. Fact is, I'm here. All we can do is make the best of it."

Before Shaw could come up with a retort, the oven timer buzzed, so John switched off the oven and the burner under the soup and took the pie out to cool while Shaw retrieved her beer.

"Listen, I gotta get goin' before Laskey figures out he lost me," Carter told Finch.

"Thank you again, Detective," Finch replied. "We'll be in touch."

Bodie stood and ushered Carter out while everyone else said their goodbyes, then came back to take his Tylenol while Finch cleared the table and John set it. Shaw, for her part, asked Bodie some pointed questions about what hurt and where, which he answered tersely but still slipped into Cheyenne a time or two.

"I'm sure sorry," he said, rubbing his forehead, as Shaw and Bear herded him to the table for supper. "I haven't spoken that language since… well, since the last time I was playin' someone else undercover. I don't know why I keep fallin' into it now."

"Concussions can do weird things to you," John noted.

"Cheyenne was basically your first language, though, right?" Shaw asked. "I mean, presumably your birth parents spoke English…."

Bodie shrugged his eyebrows. "I suppose so. Nobody left now to tell me any different."

"But the first language you remember hearing and learning to speak was Cheyenne."

Bodie nodded. "That's true."

"And you have used it in the last…."

"Four years."

John made a mental note to find out what might have been happening in 1876 that Bodie was avoiding talking about.

Shaw sat down, which Bodie took as his cue to sit down across from her. "The place where the bushwhackers hit you is close to the language center of the brain," she explained. "That could be why you're sometimes defaulting to Cheyenne—at least, we assume it's all Cheyenne. What other languages do you speak?"

Bodie blew the air out of his cheeks. "Let's see… I can converse in Arapaho and Sioux; I understand more Shoshone and Apache than I can speak; and I know just enough Spanish to trade in."

Shaw shook her head. "Yeah, see, other than Spanish, we wouldn't recognize any of those."

"Do you speak Spanish?"

"Spanish, Farsi, and German."

"Farsi?"

"Yeah. My mother was from… well, you'd know it as Persia."

"Well, I'll be!"

John had, by this point, served everyone and put coffee on to brew to have with dessert, so he and Finch sat down and made an effort to keep the conversation light for most of the meal. Everyone complimented John on the soup, and Bodie ate two helpings—"Guess those pancakes wore off," he said ruefully as John handed him his refilled bowl.

"Don't worry about it," John assured him with a grin. "There's enough left for tomorrow's lunch."

Not until pie and coffee (and sencha green tea for Finch) had been served did Finch bring up the subject of Bodie's employment. "I believe Mr. Reese has already told you at least some of what we do," he began. "To put it more plainly, we receive information about people who are about to be involved in violent crimes. Some are victims; some are perpetrators; some are both. We're never certain when we begin the investigation. But our overall goal is to stop threats and save lives whenever possible."

Bodie nodded. "Go on, I'm with you so far."

"Mr. Reese also told you about 'the Man in the Suit' and the fact that because Officer Laskey mistook you for him, HR has already given orders for you to be killed."

Bodie took a deep breath. "He… didn't exactly put it like that, but… he did say my life's in danger, yes."

Finch paused. "We realize that you're not familiar with New York or with the way everything works in this year. And of course, we don't expect you to do much of anything until you've recovered from your concussion and your ribs have healed. But if you're willing, once you're well… perhaps we would do well to have a second Man in the Suit in the wings."

Bodie looked at Shaw and John, considering, before turning back to Finch. "You mean a 'two places at once' kind of game?"

"How long would it take HR to figure out that there's two of us?" John asked.

Finch pulled a face. "Not much telling. But ironically, that might actually put Mr. Bodie's life in less danger until they can determine whether he's working with us or whether he's just a copycat operating on his own."

Bodie nodded thoughtfully. "Now, the only times I've seen this done, it was done with men who were doubles of each other. Reese and I can't exactly pass for twins."

"That shouldn't matter," said Finch. "Outside the police force, the only description people seem to have heard is of 'a tall, dark-haired man in a nice suit.' That could fit half a million men in New York."

Bodie nodded again and spun his coffee cup pensively.

"You ever been a lawman?" Shaw asked over a bite of pie.

The corner of Bodie's mouth twitched upward. "Some o' my shirts still have the pinholes in 'em."

"I'll provide you with any equipment you may need and further cover identities in cases when we need you on the inside," Finch continued. "And of course, I will pay you for your trouble."

Bodie nodded once and raised his cup with a wry smile. "Well, I can think of worse ways to go."

John clinked his cup against Bodie's in agreement.

.

* Stop! Sit!
Careful. Come.
He is my friend.

** This is in fact a recipe that was handed down to me from my great-grandmother; it has her name in the title, but I don't know whether she invented it or whether she was only the first person in our family to write it down.

*** The incandescent electric light was invented in 1879, the telephone in 1876, and the first practical typewriter reached the market in 1874. None were common outside major cities in 1880.