So… Another one of the Duo's backup team. He's beginning to wonder just how large is this army of assets the Professor commands. But right now he's got a bigger worry. His charge has gone completely still, face white as a sheet and breathing now so shallow as to be almost imperceptible.

Reese's head is slumped back against the seat, his length keeping both legs folded at an uncomfortable angle in the cab's limited space, putting pressure on the injured leg and no doubt causing the guy a great deal of discomfort.

At this rate the Suit will be out for the count, and he still has to get him to Finch. Alive.

"Damn…"

Fusco grabs the tall man's arm and with some gentle tugging drags him to one side so that the Reese's head is braced against the cop's shoulder, the injured leg now able to semi-stretch as his foot slides under the cab's front seat. The fact that Wonder Boy is not resisting at all has Fusco at the edge of panic. To go through all this and then deliver a body to the Professor? No, that just can't be the way this ends!

Fusco crowds his door some more and guides the ex-op's head from shoulder to lap, thereby allowing the taller man to lay on his side, more prone on the bench seat and in what Fusco hopes is a position that will slow the drop in blood pressure.

"Yeah…but just so's you know: we still ain't dating!" he says to the semi-conscious man whose head is now resting on the cop's thigh.

Fortunately Reese gives no indication that he's noticed the change in position - thank God for small favors - and Fusco presses his fingers on the ex-op's carotid artery, relieved that he can still find a pulse, even weak as it is.

What is probably just minutes but seems like hours later, they pull up to the back of an exclusive condo unit where the ground floor garage door rises upon their arrival. The cabby immediately drives into the darkened area, a space that lights up like a Walmart parking lot before the car even rolls to a stop. The garage door lowers with a muted rumble behind them.

He sees Finch hurrying toward him, his distinctive lurching gait very pronounced, followed by a couple of stout and totally unremarkable medically garbed attendants pushing a gurney. Fusco's not sure of his moves now. Not a leader, he reminds himself…and hopes that Finch will hustle and give him some instructions as to what he's to do with this dead weight – no, not dead…don't think like that! - lying next to him on the cab's back seat bench.

Part of him wants to get rid of this responsibility as soon as possible; if Wonder Boy is going to kick the bucket, better it be on Finch's watch than his own. Then he'd only have to worry about how to break the news to Carter.

But another part is screaming in frustration at not being able to do more to help the one person who has managed to make him feel proud to be a cop again - because somehow, sometime, the Professor's deadly weapon of choice has begun to play an important role in the performance of his job as detective. And Carter's job.

He tells himself it's all professional of course. That since the Suit has been instrumental in taking down some of the baddies on the street, he could, with a bit of a stretch, think of Reese as an "asset" to him and Carter.

Yeah, right. And in his mind's eye, he sees Mr. Sunshine smirking and Carter laughing at him all the way out of the bull pen!

In quick order the attendants have the cab door open and Reese on the gurney. Finch flutters around them much like his namesake, giving orders, directions, and wincing visibly at his employee's stifled groan as the burly pair gently stretch the ex-op out on the narrow mattress. As the gurney is rolled toward the private elevator, the computer geek finally turns to Fusco, his face permanently creased in worry lines.

"Thank you Detective. I'm sorry I couldn't be there to help you but I had to arrange for the appropriate facilities for Mr. Reese." And with that calm pronouncement he hurries to catch the elevator door before it closes.

"You're welcome!" Fusco calls after him as the garage door raises again, allowing him and the cabby to leave. "Keep in touch, yeah?"

Months later…

"That's the rest, Carter"

He lays the thick stack of forms in front of her, thankful to have finally finished the tedious task, even if it required he stay way past his shift time last night. She gives him a baleful look. He's just added to her workload for the day, since part of the routine paperwork dumped on her desk will now require her input as well. And her plans for the evening didn't include shuffling more paper around.

"Well, gee…thank you so much!" Words laced in sarcasm.

And he asks the question that has become part of their morning routine. "Heard anything?"

"Not a word," she responds, knowing what Fusco was asking and giving the same answer she has now for the many past weeks. She shoves the towering stack aside. "The cell numbers still don't work. That pair has gone completely dark," she reminds him with a sigh. "We'll just have to wait till one or the other surfaces again."

"Yeah," he says softly, and makes his way back to his own desk.

Months have passed and he's fallen into the familiar rut…routine…whatever…of the job. Cuffed, stuffed, and bagged his share of city scum. Participated in drug busts. Gave depositions. Filled out a blizzard of paper reports and online forms. Got called on the carpet for missing a court date - and then was handed a commendation for participating on a FBI sting.

And still, all the while feeling like he's just going through the motions. Like his world has somehow gone off kilter, with puzzle pieces of his life shifting around and nothing fitting together quite right.

The only time he feels somewhat put together is during time spent with his son…and Rhonda, when his schedule can dove-tail with hers.

If he were capable of creating a literary allusion, which assumption would be that he even knew what the word meant…he could say that his life's marching band is still playing the songs, but every melody is now slightly out of tune. And without a majordomo, his particular parade is just wandering along without much energy, enthusiasm, or direction.

He's not such a girl as to analyze his feelings much, so only intuitively knows this on-going depression has something to do with why he keeps checking his phone. And why, when it does ring, there's always this tiny burst of anticipation.

But hope, or something, is inevitably squashed; it's never the call he seems to be waiting on.

So now it's déjà vu all over again – like the last time the Duo disappeared while Reese was healing from wounds compliments of his former employers. That time Fusco hadn't even been closely involved – it was all Carters game. But he'd heard the details later and watched his partner grope for equilibrium after internalizing the anger at being played by the CIA, with the added horror of having watched the Man in the Suit gunned down right in front of her eyes. And then there was of course her feeling of guilt at having had a hand in that shooting.

No, he hadn't been directly involved but it hadn't been pleasant watching Carter struggling to cope.

That time it was months before the two individuals appeared again…testimony to the critical role Finch's human weapon plays in their endeavors to save people. So what would happen if sometime Reese didn't come back? Would the Professor still want to continue with his strange hobby? Would he be able to?

Fusco's gone back several times now to that ritzy condo where he and the cabby delivered Reese, even going so far as to ring the doorbell while rehearsing some lame story about having to check out a complaint call…but nothing: the place is deserted. And now has a 'for sale' sign in the window.

So the Professor took his employee to some other location to recuperate - or at least that's what he's hoping. Would be nice if someone would just give him an update, now wouldn't it! After all, wasn't he the one instrumental in saving Wonder Boy? Assuming he saved him. The image of that large puddle of blood and the ex-ops pale face…But the Professor has resources no normal person does; he wouldn't have permitted Wonder Boy to die!

And since that line of thinking always depresses him, he leaves the station to find a falafel vendor, because there's nothing like lining your stomach with grease to make a person feel better. As he's biting into the third fritter, his phone rings, starting that little adrenaline push he's come to expect with every call.

"Fusco here…" he mumbles around a mouthful of chickpeas, not even bothering to look at the number on the cell.

"Hello, Lionel. Miss me?"

The whispery voice in his ear has him swallowing hastily, his fumbling hands dropping the last of the fritter on the sidewalk. And he suddenly realizes that in a dark corner of his mind he seldom visits, a lock box where he keeps other life horrors tucked away, he has been secretly harboring the possibility of Reese being dead.

His mind spins as he attempts with his inexperience for that sort of thing, to identify the various reactions that sound has summoned: relief at knowing Wonder Boy is still alive, anger that he was kept in the dark so long, grateful that this complicated connection with his nemesis is still intact…

As he responds, his adrenaline spike levels off, his world rights itself, and all the puzzle pieces fall magically back into place. The majordomo is back to lead the band…

"Nah. You been gone?"

- End -

Please read "But Are We Friends?" for this story for Reese's POV and "I'm Here. Always..." for Finch's POV.