Chapter 4
Step into My Parlor

Anthony Marconi was driving slowly through Red Hook, establishing his on-duty presence in the area before the meeting with HR, when his phone rang. It was Carl's ringtone.

Anthony answered without looking. "Yeah, Boss?"

"I take it you're not at the rendezvous point yet," Carl began without preamble.

"Nah, since I'm too early to meet Giuli and the boys, I figured my patrol car would look less suspicious if I did some patrolling first."

"Very sensible—and very useful."

Anthony frowned. "Why, something wrong?"

"Possibly. Our friend at the Real Time Crime Center called to tell me about a strange murder there in Red Hook, the second one of its type today. A federal agency called the NID has taken charge of the investigation, with Dets. Carter, Szymanski, and Fusco seconded."

"Besides the Feds being involved, what's so strange about it?"

"All I've been able to gather so far have been rumors. Even our friends are sworn to secrecy about the details they know, and they don't know much. But word on the street is that the murdered men were killed with some sort of extremely classified secret weapon… and the second one may have been a member of one of the cartels."

Anthony raised his chin. "You think this has something to do with this proposal HR has for us?"

"I don't know what to think. If it's true, I also don't know whether the killer is trying to start a war between us and the cartels. That's why I want you to look into it." Carl gave him the address of the crime scene.

Anthony nodded. "Okay, Boss, I'll see what I can do. It may not be much if I can't get past the Feds without raising suspicion, or if I run into Carter or Fusco, but I'll call back as soon as I can either way."

"Thank you, Anthony. I'll tell Giuli not to go to the meeting until he hears from one of us."

"Right." Anthony hung up and headed to the crime scene, calling the precinct dispatcher when he got close to make his "interagency assist" official. He saw no other uniformed officers on the scene when he arrived, but neither did he see the three NYPD detectives, which was a good thing for his cover. So he parked his cruiser and made his way past the crime scene tape as if he belonged there.

Before he could see much of anything, however, an unfamiliar man whose whole demeanor screamed Fed challenged him. "Sorry, Officer, this scene is off limits to unauthorized personnel," the Fed said.

"Oh," Anthony replied, all innocent confusion. "I was in the area and heard the radio chatter, so I thought I'd stop by to assist. Sorry, er… Detective?"

"Agent Barrett, NID." Barrett flashed credentials that somehow looked more authentic than Anthony's own—which was saying something, considering that Anthony had actually gone through police academy to earn a legitimate place on the force while also serving as Carl's inside man.

"Agent," Anthony corrected. "Well, as long as I'm here, is there anything I can do to assist?"

Barrett hesitated, seeming to take Anthony's measure. "Actually… there is one thing. The details of the case are classified, but we're having trouble getting information through the usual channels about one aspect of it." He pulled a wallet in an evidence bag out of his pocket, and Anthony didn't know whether to expect a trap or a test. "Can you see if you can find out more about this man?" Barrett continued, opening the wallet and turning it to reveal the driver's license inside.

Anthony didn't recognize the picture, but when he read the name, he couldn't hold back a slight inhale.

Barrett noticed. "You know him?"

"I know the name," Anthony admitted. A degree of honesty struck him as the best policy at the moment. "Just from things I've heard on the street, nothing that would stand up in court."

"What have you heard?"

"He's high up in the Sinaloa Cartel. I didn't even know he was in New York; last I heard, his territory was around Vegas."

"That fits," Barrett murmured and put the wallet away again, clearly connecting dots Anthony couldn't see. Anthony could only hope they didn't include his own true loyalties.

"What, is he wanted for something he's done here?"

Barrett shook his head. "He's dead."

So Carl was right to be worried. Anthony opened his mouth to ask another question—but stopped as an utterly foreign emotion suddenly swept over him. For the first time since he'd killed his abusive father, he was soul-deep afraid. Worse still, Barrett paled at almost the same moment and grabbed his radio.

"This is Barrett," the agent barked. "Fall back to defensive positions now. Do not trust your eyes, and do not fire unless fired upon." Then he looked back at Anthony. "With me, Officer. You have your vest on?" he added, leading the way toward the nearest cover that would put a solid wall at their backs.

Anthony nodded and followed. "What did you mean about not trusting our eyes?"

Barrett shook his head. "That's classified."

There wasn't time for Anthony to press for more answers, classified or not. Darting shadows at the edges of his vision drew his attention away from Barrett, and a wall of smoke billowed out of a nearby doorway, disorienting him as he backed away from it in a rush. His heart pounded as he tried to get his bearings again. He'd almost succeeded when he caught sight of Carter, Szymanski, and Fusco standing with their backs to each other and their handguns drawn, watching warily for the threat he sensed but couldn't really see. He backed into a wall trying to get away from them and from the smoke—and then there were white-haired men jumping out of windows and down from roofs, enough of them that he couldn't get a good fix on their numbers, and the detectives started shooting. The white-haired guys reacted to being shot but didn't fall.

The gunfire grounded Anthony enough to reach for his shoulder mic with his left hand while his right drew his own gun. "Level 3, this is 15-Adam-10," he called, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "Ten-85, 10-34S!* We're under attack—shots fired, repeat, shots fired!"

But whatever the dispatcher replied didn't register. Flashes of blue light flew past him with a zapping noise that sounded like something out of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, and he thought he saw the detectives falling and being dragged away. He tried to shoot the men who were dragging them, but that only drew the attackers' attention toward him. He kept shooting as he retreated swiftly toward his car, but he neither saw nor heard Barrett as he passed where he thought the Fed should be. Now thoroughly panicked, Anthony reached his car just as he fired the last round in his magazine, but he didn't have time to do more than recognize the steel at his back. Another white-haired guy came out of nowhere and slugged him hard enough to stun him briefly. In the second or two it took him to start to recover, the guy grabbed him, disarmed him, unzipped his jacket, and slammed an open hand against the strike plate of his vest. Whatever that was supposed to do apparently didn't work. The guy looked baffled, then roared in anger and produced a knife from somewhere up his sleeve.

Before the knife could strike, there was another roar—the sweet, sweet sound of a P-90. The white-haired guy jolted but stayed on his feet longer than should have been humanly possible before the repeated bursts of semi-auto fire finally took him down. But when Anthony saw the shooter, he still couldn't quite believe his eyes. That was a P-90, all right, and the man wielding it was wearing some kind of all-black uniform with a tac vest… but the last time Anthony had seen that face, Carl had been pistol-whipping the Man in the Suit.

John, Anthony remembered slowly. The Suit had told Carl his name was John.

John almost looked like he wanted to keep shooting, but he lowered his weapon anyway. "You all right?"

Anthony wrestled in a deep breath and nodded. "Thanks." He could hear more zaps and gunfire, but they were fading with distance.

"Where's Carter?"

Anthony shook his head. "I dunno. I think these guys knocked 'em out and carried 'em off somewhere—her, Fusco, Szymanski, Barrett, anyone else who was here." He glanced down at his attacker… and immediately wished he hadn't.

The blood pooling on the sidewalk was black.

Anthony swallowed hard and looked up at John again, but John was looking away, listening to something else—or maybe to the lack of something else, since the firefight seemed to have stopped. A flash of frustration crossed John's face, and he listened a moment longer before turning his attention back to Anthony.

"What did the trust offer Elias?" he demanded quietly.

"Who the what?!" Anthony was baffled, and he didn't think it was just because of what he'd been through in the last few minutes.

John looked at him intently. "You're not here about the weapons that were stolen from Area 51?"

"Area 51?!" Anthony echoed, even more confused than before. Carl had mentioned secret weapons, but he hadn't guessed…. "My boss buys people, not weapons. Some of the boys and I are supposed to be meeting with HR about something they said would help us take down the heads of the Five Families. But nobody said nothin' about no trust or weapons or whoever the hell these guys are." He pointed down at the body between them without looking at the black blood not thinking about it not thinking about Area 51 not thinking about aliens….

John huffed. "Figures. When are you supposed to meet HR?"

Head still spinning, Anthony checked his watch. "'Bout half an hour. But the boss said he'd hold the boys back until we found out more about whatever happened here. He's worried someone might be trying to start something between La Cosa Nostra and the cartels. The guy who got whacked was high up in the Vegas branch of the Sinaloas, so the boss may be right. If it's this trust thing, or if HR's trying to set us up…."

John shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I can't be sure how much HR does know, but nobody knew for sure these guys were alive until you and Barrett radioed. They probably used the Sinaloas to get here from Vegas and then killed their contact as soon as they didn't need him anymore and dumped him, both as a message to the trust and as an announcement of their arrival. I doubt they even care about the balance of power between the mob and the cartels."

Anthony frowned. "Why do they care about the trust? What is it?"

"It's an organization of rogue federal agents. Apparently the Trust"—Anthony understood the implied capital letter now—"captured a member of the gang, and we think they plan to sell him to Elias along with the stolen weapons. We have no idea what the Trust hopes to get out of the deal beyond the goodwill of La Cosa Nostra, unless they're trying to take over from the inside once Elias has full control. But like I said, they have no idea that the rest of the gang is still alive."

Anthony spat a colorful Sicilian curse, then took a deep breath. "What can I do?"

"Give me a ride to where you're supposed to meet HR. If I'm right, that's where the gang's headed."

Anthony nodded and pushed himself away from the car to go retrieve his sidearm. "Sure. I'll tell the boss what happened, but I know he'll want these guys and the Trust out of our city."

John nodded once and pulled a handheld radio out of his vest. "Sheppard, this is Wayland"—Anthony didn't buy those as real names for one second. "Got a line on the rendezvous point, and I'm on my way there. I'll vector you in once I have coordinates."

"Copy that," came the crackling reply.

Anthony found his gun on top of a pile of trash (mercifully well away from his attacker) and took a moment to reload before putting the gun back in the holster and heading back to the car.

"Is that your only firepower?" John asked, pointing to the holster.

"Unfortunately. I can't carry any fun toys on duty without raising too many questions."

"I wouldn't normally let you borrow mine, but I don't think we have time to stop by anyone's armory. And you are going to need something more than a handgun."

"What about you?"

John smiled a little. "I'll get by."

Anthony decided not to comment. The two of them got into the car just as a federal CSU team arrived. John texted his invisible friend while Anthony updated the precinct dispatcher on their status. Then, as they drove away, Anthony finally called Carl.

"Anthony!" Carl answered. "I heard your calls on the radio. What happened?"

"Boss, we've got a problem," Anthony stated.

Joss stifled a groan as she started to come around. One advantage to her Army training was that her instructors had drilled certain procedures—especially "how to survive after being captured"—into her so thoroughly that she could follow them without conscious thought. In this instance, she wasn't aware enough to remember being captured until after the groan could have given away the fact that she was waking up, but the fact that she was vertical was enough to make that particular training kick in. She didn't open her eyes, not only because she didn't want to attract her captors' attention yet but also because she had a terrible headache from whatever they'd used to take her down. (It must have been one of those weapons Col. Sheppard had said was too classified even to name.)

She heard a quiet snore to her left. That was probably Fusco. She could only hope Szymanski and Barrett, assuming they'd also been captured, were close enough that Reese and Col. Sheppard could rescue all of them at once. If they'd been split up, there was no way Joss would be able to help find the others.

Right, self-check first. Bound upright with something sticky she could feel against her hands but not against her face. It almost felt like she was encased in a spiderweb, except whatever this stuff was could support a human's weight and was heavy enough to restrain her without constricting her breathing. She still had her vest on, which was a small comfort. Besides feeling headachy and sick, and possibly drugged, she didn't think she was injured. That was also a small comfort. She didn't dare move enough to work out whether she'd been disarmed, but she suspected she had.

Col. Sheppard hadn't been kidding when he'd said they'd know if the Wraith showed up. They'd all known even before Barrett radioed. Part of her wanted to know exactly how the Wraith had managed to trigger such fear and project illusions—and she was sure at least some of what she'd seen hadn't been real. Part of her really, really didn't want to know.

Fusco was still snoring softly, which meant he was still breathing. So: two known live captives; two missing, presumed captured, status unknown. Unknown location, unknown number of captors. Reese and Col. Sheppard should have heard Barrett's radio call, if not Scarface's—and he had a lot of nerve showing up at her crime scene! She supposed she owed him for calling for backup, but she didn't particularly care if he'd wound up on the wrong end of a Wraith weapon. Anyway, Reese should have heard the radio chatter, but whether he'd be able to find them now… Finch could do a lot of things, but surely even his hacking and tracking skills had their limits. She had to assume she was on her own, at least until Fusco woke up.

Okay, so she knew that much. Time to observe more. Smells: damp concrete, the slight metallic edge to the air she associated with a metal building past its prime, something foreign but faintly reminiscent of a pile of dead crickets in August. The dead-cricket smell was close enough that it was probably coming from whatever the Wraith had used to restrain her. As she tried to work out what that might mean, she heard a soft congested snort and cleared throat to her right. That sounded like Szymanski—she'd caught him asleep at his desk during tough cases often enough that the noise made her want to refill his coffee and tease him about being too old for all-nighters after she woke him up.

Revised status: three live captives, two unconscious, held in a metal building, probably some kind of abandoned workshop or warehouse. Joss still wasn't sure about Barrett, but she was getting somewhere. Now to try to count guards.

She didn't hear anyone moving or breathing close enough to overpower easily if she could get out of her bonds. She thought she could make out some slight movement twenty or thirty yards away, but the rustling she heard sounded more like the restless motion of someone waiting anxiously for something than like the attentive pacing of a guard. It wouldn't make sense for the Wraith to tie them up but not leave a guard… maybe the guard was standing or sitting too still to be heard and the anxious person wasn't with them.

Only the fact that she was listening intently allowed her to catch a quiet male voice saying, "Calm down."

"I don't like this," the anxious person—another man—replied at a similar volume but with much more heat. "I mean, it's bad enough that Sheppard and his team are on our tails because we were stupid enough to bring a Wraith to a major Earth city, but does Kinsey really think he can get away with double-crossing the LCN?"

"Kinsey's a snakehead."

"Not that he didn't think he was practically a god even before he got jumped by the snake," added a third male voice. "But you know what the snakes are like."

"And it's not just the ego," the first voice continued.

"He's not…." The anxious man sounded horrified. "He's not looking to use the LCN as hosts?!"

"Hey, nobody tells us anything," said the third man with an air of throwing up his hands in a don't-shoot-the-messenger pose. "All I know for sure is that Kinsey's got zero influence since that whole thing when he failed to start a nuclear war. He thinks Elias has the means to get him what he wants, and he thinks this deal is the way to get Elias on his side."

A muffled groan—the anxious man had probably buried his face in his hands. "We are so gonna die."

Before the conversation could continue, and before Joss could make sense of it, several loud sets of footsteps approached from what she assumed was outside. The echoes suggested a large space with little in it. She couldn't quite make out how many people there were on each side, and she hadn't heard a door open—but then, she might not if the place didn't have a door or if the door had been left open while Kinsey's goons waited for whoever the new arrivals were.

"About time you got here," the first voice called.

"What the hell?!" demanded a loud male voice she recognized, vaguely. It was a friend of Capt. Womack's—Lynch, Capt. Lynch from the 51st, Fusco's old boss. He must be there with HR. (Fusco didn't stop snoring; Joss had to assume that meant he was still under whatever drug the Wraith had dosed them with.)

"What do you mean, 'What the hell'?" the first voice shot back. "Did you get the Suit or not?"

"No, we did not get the Suit. He disappeared because you idiots tried to hack his phone. Sheppard and his unit have also disappeared, right before you idiots started dropping bodies. And that second body means we are all in deep trouble with the Sinaloas!"

"Hey, whoa, what? What bodies?" asked the third voice.

"Don't try to play innocent with me, kid," Lynch growled. "You rook us into playing middleman between you and Elias with a promise of some sort of highly effective, super-secret weapons, and now we've got two bodies instantly turned into raisins? What is this, some kind of power play?"

"We don't know what you're talking about, Lynch," the first voice insisted.

"Yeah, I find that difficult to believe," drawled another, deeper voice that Joss connected with a face she thought belonged to someone in IAB.

She opened her eyes a crack to see the same man standing beside Lynch, along with Det. Romano and… her heart sank when she recognized the fourth HR man as Terney. On the Trust side, she counted four more figures with their backs to her, three who would pass for Feds and one with long unkempt white hair. That had to be the known Wraith. Where the unknown Wraith had disappeared to after sticking their captives to this wall, or whether anyone else even knew they were there, she couldn't tell.

The IAB detective—Davidson, maybe? She only knew him from his picture—stepped forward a little as he continued. "There are a few too many coincidences for these murders not to be connected to your being here, especially since the NID took over the investigation before the first body even made it to the morgue."

"And now we've lost two detectives from Homicide Task Force and one from Organized Crime," Terney added. "I mean, Elias probably considers that a bonus because two of the three were honest cops, but it's a good way to get kneecapped by the Suit, you know?"

The anxious man groaned again, and this time Joss could see that he was one of the Trust twits. "I knew it, I knew it. I told you this was a bad idea!" he told another of the Trust guys.

"Shut up," that man snarled—the first voice—before returning his attention to Lynch. "Look, we don't know what you're talking about, but before you jump to any more conclusions, maybe we'd better demonstrate our secret weapon so you can see if it causes the same effects."

"Oh, by all means," Lynch replied with sarcastic graciousness.

The apparent leader nodded to the third Trust guy, who produced a keyring and used one of the keys on it to unlock a restraining belt that Joss could now see was keeping the Wraith guy's hands at his waist. The Wraith guy flexed his hands for a moment before walking up to the IAB detective and… sniffing like a cat?

After a moment's staring contest, the IAB detective scoffed. "Some weapon."

The Wraith guy let out an unearthly roar, ripped the detective's shirt open, and slammed his right hand against the detective's chest. The detective gasped… and began visibly aging as the Wraith guy's long black nails dug into his skin. It was all Joss could do to keep from screaming. She couldn't afford to attract attention—and even if she did, she was too late to save him. Before she could fully process what was happening, the Wraith guy let go of the withered husk that used to be a dirty cop and let it fall, walking back to his captors as the surviving HR men stared in horror.

"Oh, don't be alarmed," said a distorted voice that somehow went with the monster makeup (or was it makeup?) Joss caught a glimpse of before the Wraith turned around again. "It was only a minor culling, not even worth the name. And he was already dying, so he made for a very poor meal, although his defiance was tasty enough."

"Shut up," the Trust leader snapped. "You've been complaining that you were starving, and as soon as we let you off the leash, you complain about the food."

Joss suddenly understood why Reese had recommended ballistic vests. She wished that mystery hadn't been solved for her.

Lynch was first to recover his voice, though not his composure, as he shook a finger at the Trust leader. "You just killed a cop."

"A corrupt cop," the leader returned, unbothered. "Let's understand each other. The planet would be better off without all of you, and the only reason you're here is to introduce us to Elias' men. Now, I truly don't know who killed those two people you were in such a sweat about when you came in—but you know as well as I do that however the Suit found out about Sheppard, the information didn't come from us."

Lynch spluttered.

"So are you gonna work with us, or does my friend here get to find out how clogged arteries and smoker's lung taste?"

Lynch spluttered even worse. "Why, you—"

"Lynch," Romano interrupted. "You're forgetting where you are in the chain of command."

Sulking, Lynch shut up.

Romano looked at the Trust leader. "All right, put the cuffs back on. We can make a deal."

"I do not think you want to do that," said a second distorted voice from somewhere in the shadows.

Joss tried and failed to stop her heart from racing. If the unknown Wraith could do whatever the known Wraith had just done—if she weren't hallucinating—this was on track to be the worst afternoon of her life, which was saying something.

The Trust leader actually looked shaken as he turned to the known Wraith. "Stop that."

"I am doing nothing," the known Wraith replied evenly.

To prove his point, four of the unknown Wraith—one of whom Joss recognized and thought she'd shot—stepped into the light and toward the two groups. "The man you call Lynch is right about one thing," said the Wraith who seemed to be their leader, addressing the Trust. "You were fools to think that only our brother survived and that the rest of us would not follow. But now I really must insist that you return him to us." His tone would have fit better with the outfit of a Georgian aristocrat than the goth look he was currently sporting.

The Trust leader might have been shaken, but he wasn't cowed. "Or what?"

The Wraith leader smiled the evilest smile Joss had ever seen. The known Wraith immediately turned on the Trust leader and… did the hand-on-chest thing while the unknown Wraith minions did the same to Romano, Lynch, and the Trust guy who had the keys. Joss shut her eyes, but she couldn't shut out the screams. Yet the silence that followed was almost worse.

"Please," Terney finally begged, voice cracking. "Take your friend. We'll tell Elias it was all a big mistake. We'll even try to patch things up with the Sinaloas for you. Just, please… I got a family."

"I'm sorry," the anxious Trust guy pleaded in much the same tone. "Really, I told them we shouldn't do it. I tried to be nice to you!"

When none of the Wraith replied right away, Joss cautiously peeked at the scene again. The leader was having some kind of silent conversation with the known Wraith, who was taking off the restraining belt. Then the leader circled Terney and the anxious man, looking them up and down before stopping in front of Terney with the same evil smile.

"Yes, you may be more useful alive," the leader purred.

Terney seemed to be on the point of tears. "I'll do anything, I swear. Just… my girls…."

"I do not have much time to ensure your loyalty, but you surely understand that I cannot rely only on oaths."

Terney gulped audibly, and the anxious man looked ready to faint.

"Therefore, we will begin your conditioning at once." The leader looked at his minions, who advanced toward the other men.

"What do you mean, conditi—"

Terney broke off with a yelp when two of the Wraith grabbed him and dragged him toward a wall. The others followed with the anxious man. Joss couldn't see what the Wraith did, but when they backed away, their captives were stuck to the wall with some sort of thick red webbing that almost looked like blood vessels or muscle fiber. (Was that what smelled like dead crickets? Joss wasn't grossed out by much, but that sight turned her stomach.) Then the leader relieved Terney of his tie, carefully unbuttoned his shirt, and opened it far enough to expose his undershirt.

"Do not worry, Raymond," the leader crooned—and how did he know Terney's first name? "This will hurt, but there will be pleasure in the pain." He raised his right hand…

… and all hell broke loose for the second time that day.

Windows shattered. Doors flew open. Wraith dropped from the ceiling; Marines jumped through the walls, almost. There was real smoke and fake smoke, blue light and red light, shadows and muzzle flash. Joss thought she saw Col. Sheppard, Dex, Reese, and Scarface, but so much was happening so fast that she almost didn't know which way was up and which was down. She struggled a little against her bonds, hoping to escape in the confusion, but they were too sticky and heavy to move against without help. All she could do was lean back against the wall, pray, and try not to cry.

The fight seemed to take both an eternity and no time at all, but the combined volume of all the weapon-fire made her ears ring so badly that it was several seconds before she realized the shooting had stopped. It was several seconds more before she dared to look to see who won. There were bodies strewn all over the floor, but the people still standing were in black or olive drab uniforms, for which she thanked God. And miraculously, it looked like everyone who was webbed to a wall had survived. She could hear one of the Marines radioing for multiple ambulances and a CSU team; she guessed those units would be either with the NID or cleared by them. That… that was good, she hoped. She closed her eyes, took a couple of ragged deep breaths and let them out, opened her eyes, and started concentrating on faces.

There—there was Scarface, still free, blast him. He was standing next to Reese, who was standing with Col. Sheppard and his team, who were huddled around Dr. McKay, who was studying something that looked like a cross between a Gameboy and an iPhone but was probably insanely classified.

Through the general chatter, she could barely make out Dr. McKay saying, "Nn, so far I'm not picking up any extra life signs—Teyla?"

Mrs. Sheppard shook her head. "I no longer sense any Wraith."

Psychics. Great. Just what the day needed.

"Oh, no, wait," Dr. McKay said more loudly. "There are some life signs along the walls. Those two are… those guys." He pointed toward Terney and the anxious man, who were about to be cut down by the Marines. "But over here…." Dr. McKay turned toward Joss, still looking at his gadget.

Dex turned, too, and his eyes widened as he saw her. "Hey," he said urgently, drawing the others' attention.

"Oh, there they are," said Col. Sheppard, and his team and Reese rushed toward Joss while Scarface went off to do… something else. She was past caring. They'd seen her; they were coming. "Rodney, Teyla, you get Barrett," Col. Sheppard ordered as they approached. "Ronon, you take Fusco. Wayland—"

"I've got Carter," Reese announced and pulled out a big knife that would have been more impressive if Dex weren't carrying an honest-to-goodness sword sheathed on his back.

"Then I'll take Szymanski," Col. Sheppard agreed.

Joss's head was still spinning. She hardly dared hope Reese was real—but there, she could feel the flat of the knife as it slid through the webbing and between her and the wall. A few swift slices, and there was nothing holding her up anymore… not even her jellified legs, which gave out and left her to topple helplessly into Reese's arms, her own arms scraping against his tac vest as she instinctively put them around him.

He was solid. He was real.

The relief of it was too much, weak as she still was from whatever the Wraith had dosed her with. She clung to John and wept wild, deep, wracking sobs as he held her tight and guided her down to kneel together.

"I'm here," he murmured again and again. "I'm here. I've got you. You're not alone."

That was the same promise he'd made the first time he'd saved her life. He was a man of his word.

"What…" Her question came out almost as a hiccup. "What did I just see?"

"It was a nightmare, Joss"—but the way his arms tightened further proclaimed that a lie meant to console them both. "Just a nightmare."

.

* From what I've been able to find online and what we see in "Nothing to Hide," NYPD identifies patrol units by precinct number, sector letter, and car number. I've had to guess Anthony's car number, but we do see in "Witness" that he's assigned to the Fifteenth Precinct, and "Adam" would designate the sector he's supposed to work. (The POI Wiki assumes his status on the force is only a cover, but given what we see in Season 3 about HR putting Bratva members on the street as uniformed officers and given that Elias was a teacher until "Witness," I see no reason why Anthony's day job wouldn't be just as genuine until "Flesh and Blood," even if HR gave him more leeway than most about doing things for Elias and going wherever he wants on the clock.) The rest of this line is based on NYPD's 10-codes:

Level 3: for the attention of the borough task force and precinct units

10-85: Need an additional unit

10-34S: Assault in progress, shots fired