Kat was still unsure about her choice of debut acts. She had chosen the least offensive performance she could give, a classic, bump-and-grind style act, choreographed to 80's era INXS. Her usual acts tended more towards performance art, examining a variety of themes, but she was afraid that eight months away from them in a new skin might make them somehow ring less true to her. Either way, the time for indecision had long passed, because she was standing in the shadows at the edge of the stage, waiting for her music to begin.
Harold, meanwhile, had worked his way into the solid middle of the crowd. He couldn't quite see what was happening, but to be honest, he pretty much preferred it that way. He knew that it would be incredibly foolish for anyone to attempt to harm a performer while she was on stage in front of a few hundred people, but it still might have been nice to have a better vantage point. He twisted around, peering toward the back of the space, asking himself where Mr. Reese would have positioned himself.
Of course, Reese's tactics would never suit Finch, and he knew that. Moments, later, however, his ears perked at the sound of a familiar name. At least Kat had had the good sense to change her stage name, it had been mentioned and confirmed all over the emails in her inbox.
Once upon a time, Maggie had performed as Raven Blackfeather. It was a name that was important to her. It was so important that, when it came time to choose a new identity, she had incorporated it into her new name. Corvis, a play on the Latin word for Raven. It was because of this, and because she was fond of appropriate turns-of-phrase that she selected a new name under which to perform: MissNomer. She had been proud of the pun.
Finch found it exhaustingly useless to repeatedly ask the patrons around him to politely get out of his way, but as fortune would have it, the girl collecting tips from the crowd was passing close to him on the way back to the stage. He rummaged in his jacket pocket for cash, not looking at the denomination, before waving her over to deposit it in her tip jar, and then conveniently used the furrow in the crowd created by her flouncing skirts to slip closer to the stage.
He ended up in the second row, just as Kat was stepping onto the stage. He really wasn't sure he was prepared to witness this, honestly. But he had pledged himself to saving somebody, and today that somebody was Kat.
She eyed the crowd, picking out individuals to connect with as she danced. A glance here, as she peeled off a glove. A bit of a sarcastic smile there, as she pulled the panels of her now-open corset across her front to conceal herself before a big reveal. She bent to draw down one of her stockings for her most impressive stocking peel (thank goodness she could still balance long enough), and when her head popped up again, she found herself looking at an unexpectedly familiar face in the crowd.
He felt her eyes find him, but her face didn't register the familiarity. Perhaps that was a good thing.
She felt him gazing back at her, an expression of mingled horror and awe on his face. She froze for the tiniest moment, sure everyone in the universe could see the temporary surprise passing over her face, before she once again arranged it into something resembling sauciness.
He was glad, for once, he was able to maintain such a stoic, neutral expression at a moment like this. He was still a little horrified, of course, that the girl who wore a hoodie in 90-degree August was now standing on stage in little more than a bra covered in ostrich feathers, but it was interesting to discover just how little importance was placed on this fact, compared to her dance technique.
Finally (after what could only have been described as an eternity by Finch), she had finished her act. He scanned the crowd for the hundredth time for anyone suspicious, but it occurred to him that he wasn't even sure what could be described as 'suspicious observation' in a setting like this.
Meanwhile, in the crowded, strangely lit dressing room, Kat was shedding the last bits of her MissNomer persona and mutely pulling on her baggiest jeans and tee. This had always been a tactic of hers when performing at shows without an escort; to wear the ugliest street clothes in her wardrobe so that she might be left alone on the train ride home. Was she sure that Harold Hawke was in the audience? It might have been anyone. But she was sure. She could still hear Reese in her head, warning her that seeing him again meant certain danger. She couldn't help but wonder if this meant that Reese was somewhere, hiding in plain sight as well.
The end of the set heralded the splitting of tips between all of the girls. The stage girl with the tip jar was leafing through bills in a corner as Kat laced up her boots.
"Hey… someone put a hundred dollar bill in here." The girl was looking around the room. "Can we maybe find Mr. Rockefeller out there and thank him? Oh, man. There's another one. Looks like I'm taking a cab home tonight!"
Kat distantly remembered Harold's promise to pay her a premium to walk Bear on short notice, and she looked up from her boots. This was really too much. She stepped out of the dressing room and wound her way out from behind the bar to find him standing, looking uncomfortable, in a corner, sipping water. His eyes traveled over the rim of the glass, and then over the rim of his glasses, to her face.
"I see you've found me." He said simply.
"I see you've found me." She replied. "Let me guess, I arrange one performance and…"
"What did you expect?" He asked, without malice or sarcasm.
"I expected to be able to go home." She said, slouching defeatedly.
"Katherine…"
"Let me go get my stuff. Also, you left me four identical voicemail messages."
"I… couldn't decide what to say."
"Clearly." She shouted from behind the bar.
For the second time in as many months, Kat found herself in the passenger seat of the black Lincoln Town Car. She wasn't sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't a straightforward drive back into Manhattan.
"This isn't the way back to my apartment." Kat prodded at one point.
"I'm not taking you back to your apartment. Mr. Reese is otherwise occupied at the moment, and I'd have no way to keep you safe if I took you there."
"You mean to tell me you both were watching me in my own apartment?" She asked, irritated.
"Katherine…"
"No, it's fine. I guess I should have expected that. Have you been watching me this whole time?"
"What could we possibly gain from spending our time watching someone who's done nothing wrong?" It wasn't exactly the complete truth, Finch knew, as The Machine was watching everyone constantly, but that was hardly something he was prepared to discuss with Kat. At his assurance, however, she visibly relaxed.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Bear has missed you." He responded. Hesitantly, she cracked a smile, despite herself.
"Hey, do you think we could pick up a $5 pizza on the way? I'm starving, and someone went a little crazy with the tip jar this evening. I'm feeling generous, I'll share."
It was Finch's turn to smile.
"I'll tell you what. I'll get you any pizza in Manhattan."
"…Seriously?"
"Yes, Katherine. Whatever you'd like."
"Can we get Deep Dish? I haven't had Chicago pizza in ages."
Finch wasn't sure what he had gotten himself into. Who eats deep dish pizza in New York City?
"…Yes."