"It's a no-brainer, Finch," said Reese patiently. "We trade Pat and the file for Shaw. Everybody wins."

They were sitting in the uncomfortable, but more private, accommodation of the subway hideout. McKay was locked in the safehouse with Bear keeping him company – neither party seemed very happy about that – and was hopefully asleep anyway.

"Unpleasant as your cousin is, I can't quite reconcile myself with handing him over in cold blood to be executed by SIS," argued Finch stubbornly. "We don't make moral judgements, remember? We prevent violence from happening, regardless of whether the person we are helping deserves it or not."

"They're going to keep coming after him, Harold," said Carter. "I agree, we can't hand him over. But we can't protect him indefinitely, either. Bowen's right. McKay crossed a line and there's no way he can scramble back over it at this late date."

There was a glum silence.

Reese stirred in his seat. "I have an idea. I think I know a way to keep SIS from killing Pat, but get them off his back as well. And he even gets to experience the consequences of his actions."

"Oh yes…?" said Finch.

"Ah," said Joss as she caught Reese's eye. "I think I know what you have in mind..."

xxxx

They set up the meet for Central Park again, but it was morning this time. Reese sat alone waiting on a park bench watching the dappled sunlight through the leaves, people walking dogs, a bunch of school children on a trip, teachers and a couple of moms shepherding them along. All so innocent and normal. When he saw Bowen approaching he rose and the two men began walking along one of the paths, making way for the occasional jogger. Reese waited until they were away from the most heavily trafficked places before he broke the silence.

"I have a deal I can offer you in return for Shaw. First, you get the file." He could see the eagerness in Bowen's eyes. "That's the main thing, right? I have a friend who can guarantee that even digital copies, if there are any, will go away."

Bowen nodded.

"Second," Reese went on, "my grandfather lives out his life undisturbed. What little there is of it."

Bowen was about to shake his head when Reese went on. "Come on, Martin. You know Henry Harris is irrelevant. He's ninety-seven years old, bedridden, and if he was going to tell anyone about that file or use it in any way he would have by now. Besides, he's dying. He'll probably be dead by the time you get back to London." He paused to allow this to sink in.

Bowen nodded slowly.

Reese took a deep breath. "Final thing: I have a bottomless hole I keep for people like my cousin. See, I used to kill people, like you. But finally I got sick of killing. Even people who deserved it. I'll put my cousin in a hole so deep and dark he won't see the light of day until he's an old, old man. If he lives that long. But you don't get to kill him."

Bowen considered this for a long time as they walked. "My orders were to eliminate him."

Reese shrugged. "I wish I could let you do that. In my opinion, Pat doesn't deserve to live. But it's not my judgement to make. And it's not your government's either. Anyway, without his evidence he can't touch the British royal family. Even if he went public – in about twenty years' time – without that file it's just someone else taking pot-shots at the Queen. She must be used to it by now."

Bowen nodded slowly.

"Anyway, those are my terms," Reese continued. "You get the file, Patrick McKay disappears for a very long time, and my price is that we get Shaw back and no-one gets killed. Take it or leave it."

xxxx

So, have you made up your mind, Martin?

He was walking back along Third Avenue towards the Coronet when Athene's voice sounded in his ear.

"Yes. I think we have no choice, and your man's offer is as good as we get."

He's not my man. In fact, he'd be horrified to hear you call him that.

Martin shrugged, and then became aware of how strange that would look to anyone watching. Still, New York. No-one gave a damn.

"I'll use the burner he left with me to contact him once I'm back at the hotel. I suppose David'll be pleased , since it turns out the woman he snatched was bloody useful in the end."

I think David's feelings will be quite mixed, Martin.

"Oh yes?"

You'll see.

"Hm. Well, we'll be back in London within twenty-four hours regardless. I imagine you and your friends will be glad to see the back of us."

Oh, not entirely.

"What's that mean?"

Aside from any, uh, feelings David might have on the subject… I have a yen to see the world. In a manner of speaking.

He walked on in silence, trying to work out what Athene might possibly mean by this.

So… Martin, could I come with you?

"What? What do you mean?"

I mean it's been fun. I like you, and I want to help you out. And you could help me.

He frowned. "How the hell could I help you?"

I want you to be my Admin. You see, I'm a computer system. I was born… strangely. It's complicated, I'll explain it all, but I want you to be Admin. Someone I can ask questions of. Could you? Please?

"I… I suppose I could try..." he sounded very unsure, even in his own ears.

Great! I tell you, Martin, it'll be fun.

There was the abrupt silence in his earpiece which signalled Athene's departure. He walked on, bemused.

Xxxx

"Mr McKay." Finch eased the door open and then stepped through. McKay was back on the couch, flicking through TV channels. Finch wondered whether he'd moved at all. Bear certainly hadn't: he was still sitting, prone but alert, watching McKay.

McKay craned his head over his shoulder. "Oh. Mr Partridge, right? I was wondering when you'd get back."

Finch advanced further into the room and sat down opposite McKay on a straight-backed chair from the dining table. "I have some good news for you, Mr McKay. My associates have been in contact with the people pursuing you, and they've agreed to call off their hunt in return for the file."

McKay looked sceptical. "Really?"

Finch smiled reassuringly. "Really."

McKay's eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "I don't believe you. There's something else you're not telling me."

Finch sighed to himself. He was far from happy about Mr Reese's plan, but John's words came back to him."Just do your part, Harold, and get the file off him. Anything that comes after is on me."

"We have very few options open to us, Mr McKay. If you want MI6 off your back, you simply must surrender the file to me."

McKay looked deeply mistrustful. "I bet you've got your own plans for it. That file's worth millions."

"Is it worth your life?" asked Harold angrily. "Because if you hand it over to me you can walk out of here with your life. I can't continue to protect you otherwise."

McKay continued to stare at him. Then finally his eyes flicked back to the TV screen. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "Here it is." He dug in a pocket and fished out a safety deposit box key.

"Thank you," said Harold, taking it from him. "Are there any further copies of the file?"

"No," said McKay, sighing. "I figured making more copies would dilute its value. I mean, sure, it would have made sense from the insurance point of view, but believe me, if the stuff in that file leaks out it'll be all over the Internet in hours. So no copies. It's only valuable as long as it's secret."

Finch snorted a little. "Your mistake was to underestimate the lengths some people would go to to ensure it remained so."

"Yup. Yeah, I guess so," said McKay. His attention slid back towards the TV screen.

Finch stood up. "Well, thank you, Mr McKay. I'll ensure this gets where it needs to go."

"So, can I go now?"

Finch hesitated. "One of my associates will be here very shortly. I'd appreciate it if you waited for him." He considered whether there was anything else he should – or could – say, and decided not. He turned and walked through the safehouse door, shaking his head at himself as he did so. Moral ambiguity… this whole situation stuck in his throat. But what else could he do? Down the stairs to the lobby. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall shape detach itself from the wall it had been leaning against and disappear up the stairs. Finch chose not to notice. Turning up his coat collar, he pushed open the main door and made his way out onto the street.

Xxxx

Pat was sitting with his back to the door when Reese pushed it open. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening, and his eyes widened in shock as he registered who his visitor was. He scrambled to his feet, evoking a growl from Bear.

"Pat," said Reese steadily. "I see the plastic surgery turned out well."

[The soft texture of Pat's hair under as he tangles his fingers in it. Round hard skull underneath rising to meet his hand as Pat straightens in surprise.]

A muscle in Pat's jaw worked. "You could have killed me."

[The first impact, a crash of breaking glass, a jarring sensation running up his arm.]

"Damn shame I didn't."

[Second impact: Pat fighting now but his alcoholically-slowed reactions are no match for John's own rage and grief and adrenalin.]

"We all wondered what became of you after you joined the army."

[Scent of spilled beer, sudden drop in noise level as those around realise what's happening. Third impact, another jar up his arm, Pat's body slumping as he loses consciousness.]

"Bet you didn't wonder very much."

[Fourth impact, blood on the table mixing with the beer. The football players on the screen score a touchdown. Almost complete silence as he pulls the weight of Pat's head up for another blow. Arm starting to hurt.]

McKay shrugged his shoulders.

Reese stared at his cousin. "I heard you're an advertising guy now."

[Fifth impact. Pat is completely limp as he lets go. The thump as his face – what remains of it - hits the table for the last time seems very loud.]

McKay smirked. "Yup. Got a condo in Manhattan and a six-figure salary. So, ah, how are you doing, Johnny?"

["That's for Julia, you bastard," he whispers in his cousin's ear. Straightens and walks out of the bar.]

Reese blinked slowly. "After I joined the Army I ended up in Special Forces. And after that, well, if I told you I'd have to kill you."

McKay stared at him uneasily, and then evidently decided his long-lost cousin was joking. "Well, whatever you're doing right now you seem to be doing okay. Nice suit."

Reese didn't reply.

[Sitting in the cell in the Sheriff's office feeling the adrenalin drain away, leaving a trembling nausea. The black knowledge that it hadn't helped. Nothing would help. Nothing would bring her back.]

"You know," continued McKay, "being the black sheep of the family, we always figured you'd end up sleeping in the gutter somewhere. Every time I passed some homeless, down on his luck vet, I'd take a look to see if it was you." He smiled coldly.

Reese set his jaw. "Glad to hear you were so concerned for my welfare, Pat. But I'm not here to chat about old times."

"Oh?" McKay raised his brows in pretend inquiry.

Reese smiled gently in reply. "Nope. See, Pat, we're taking a little trip." He moved towards McKay, smiling pleasantly. "See this?" He held out his right hand, the gesture distracting Patrick from what Reese was doing with his left. Pat's eyes widened momentarily as the needle went into his neck. Then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he slumped to the floor. Reese didn't bother to catch him. The rage in him beat slowly in his veins, demanding some kind of outlet, but he gradually smothered it down. Not yet, he told it. Not yet.

Xxxx

Fusco was sitting at his desk, contemplating the idea of lunch pretty soon. Carter was off somewhere with Tall Dark and Homicidal, so he was left minding the store as usual. His phone chirped at him, and as he pulled it out he glowered at the display. He let it ring for while, debating whether he even wanted to take this.

"Hello," he snapped when he answered the call at last.

"Lionel. I have a job for you." Mr Happy's usual smooth tones.

"Yeah, don't you always. Question is, am I going to jump to my feet, click my heels together and say 'Jawohl, mein Führer'?"

There was a slight pause at the other end. "Well, you can if you want to, Lionel, but it's really not necessary."

Fusco rolled his eyes. "After the other night, I think you've got some nerve ringing me up and asking me for anything. You've gotta make up your mind, Riley. Am I part of your team or not? Cause if I am, you can treat me with some respect. And if I'm not, well, you can stop phoning me."

His words hung in the air. Fusco held his breath. He hadn't planned on having this conversation, not like this, not right here. But it had been coming on for a while now. Time for Mr Sunshine to make up his damn mind.

The silence on the phone stretched even further. "Okay, Lionel. I'm sorry I was sarcastic to you the other night. Now, I have some unfinished business I need to see to, and while I'm otherwise occupied I have a package I need you to look after for me. Can you do that?" Reese's tones sounded patient, like someone giving a child what they wanted. Fusco squirmed a little, but he could hardly object to what was being said.

"Yeah. Okay," he sighed. "When and where?"

"Right now, actually. The package is in the trunk of your cruiser. I'll call you when I'm ready to collect it."

"Wait, what? How did you-"

"If he starts moving or making any noises, call me, but I think I gave him enough to keep him under for a good twenty-four hours. That should be enough. Thanks, Lionel."

"John? John!" But there was no reply.

Xxxxx

He called Joss next. She sounded tired as she answered. No, there was no great change in Grandpa. The staff were truly impressed at their devotion, though. Looking forward to seeing you, John.

He drove back out to Queens impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel at every delay in the traffic. Yet when he reached the hospital he parked the car and sat in it for a full ten minutes before getting out and walking slowly towards the doors. When he reached Grandpa's room, he tapped lightly and opened the door gently. Joss was there, turning towards him with a tired smile. He sat down next to the bed and examined the frail old man lying there with his eyes open, vacantly staring.

Everything about him was yellow now – even the whites of his eyes. The blue irises looked very strange against that sickly background; Reese found it hard to make eye contact. He sat there, watching and waiting for… something. What, exactly, he couldn't say.

Time stood still in that room. He looked down at his watch and saw two hours had passed. Where the hell had they gone? He'd seen death in many different guises over the years, but the slow inevitable ebbing of life that he was watching now was the most unnerving of them all.

"You should have been more like Pat," his grandfather murmured.

"What?" After no noise apart from his grandfather's laboured breathing, the words came as a shock. Then the anger came. The rage was back, beating with his heartbeat.

"You had the looks, you were smart enough. Why couldn't you..." the whispered voice trailed off as the dying man ran out of breath. There was a long pause. Reese wondered if Grandpa had gone to sleep, except those eyes were still wide open, unblinking.

"...make something of yourself." Grandpa took up his sentence right where he left off. Another long pause. "You joined the Army 'cause you had to, but then you stayed… I joined up out of duty, but after it was over I got out fast as I could… Why, Johnny? Why did you leave us?"

Reese sat unmoving, his face set. The faded blue eyes met his. "Why?" his grandfather whispered.

The silence lengthened. Joss shot Reese a look, her eyes troubled. Finally he stirred.

"I walked away from you because you wouldn't believe me. Pat raped Julia, made her pregnant, forced her into an abortion and then stood by and allowed her to kill herself. And no-one would believe me when I told them."

Another long pause. Silence apart from the laboured intakes of breath, the hiss of the oxygen.

"He looked me in the eye and swore it wasn't true," whispered Grandpa at last.

"I looked you in the eye and swore it was!" Reese shouted. Joss jumped in her chair and made to take Reese's hand but stopped the gesture as he got to his feet. "You know what, Grandpa? You thought I was just a young punk. But your golden boy was a monster." He turned and made for the door. "For a long time I thought I'd turned into a monster too. But I'd forgotten what Pat was. Even at my worst, I was never him. But he was the one you believed. So tell me, Grandpa – what does that say about you?" He didn't wait for the old man to answer. He just yanked the door open and walked out.

xxxx

Twenty minutes later Joss caught up with John outside the main entrance. He was pacing back and forth between the doors and the parking lot, his hands jammed in the pockets of his coat. As she approached he turned and saw her. His face was drawn. Tired. She didn't know what to say to him, so as soon as she reached him she pulled him towards her for a hug. He wrapped himself around her. The familiar sensation of his breath stirring her hair, the slow steady rhythm of his heartbeat next to her ear… for a moment the rest of the world ceased to exist. Then reluctantly she pulled away from him. They began to walk: out of the main gate, around the corner away from the main road and along the residential street.

"He drifted out of consciousness just after you left. The nurse came in just now to give him his meds. His breathing is slowing down. She says it won't be long." He nodded at this.

Joss waited for him to say something, but he was silent.

"He's not conscious any more, John. Or at least, he's not responding. Maybe you should come in, say a last goodbye."

"No." The word was ripped from him. "What do you think that was just before, Joss?"

"I saw you walk away from him. Just like you did when you were a kid. But if there's one thing I've learned in this world, John, it's that burning bridges is never a good idea." They walked on for a while, not talking.

She could see him thinking about what she'd said, and pressed on. "Blood's thicker than water, John. That man is your grandfather, your own flesh and blood. He shouldn't die alone." She saw that one hit home. "Sometimes, the only connection you can make with someone is to hold their hand while they're dying," she said softly.

He nodded slowly. "Okay, Joss. Maybe you're right." They turned and began to walk back towards the hospital entrance.

As they reached the door of Henry Harris' room, they saw a nurse slipping out of it. She turned to face them, her face serious. "Mr Harris? I'm very sorry. He just slipped away. Only a few minutes ago. I was just coming to find you..."

Joss looked up at John's face to see a flash of stark desolation cross it. For a tiny sliver of time he looked like a small, lost child. Then his face settled back into its habitual expression of cool calm. "Thank you, Nurse," he said.

The nurse gestured for them to enter the room. "I'll leave you alone for a while," she said softly, and was gone.

The bed was laid out flat now. The old man was lying on it looking as though he was only dozing, as he had for many of the previous hours. But the hiss of the oxygen was absent. John stood for a moment looking down at him, then sat heavily in the chair next to the bed. Joss put a hand on his shoulder. She couldn't muster any words at all, but after a moment she heard John sigh. He shook his head slowly and stood up again. "I guess some second chances come just a little too late," he said quietly.

To be continued...