…
"I'm curious. Was there a point where you knew you'd become the bad guy?"
"Woke up one morning, realized I was paid to guard a bunch of jerks on Wall Street who were robbing everyone blind. Stealing my annual salary in an afternoon. So I said 'what the hell'?
"I don't believe you. See, I've been watching you Lionel, and your heart's not really in it. Stills does it for money, but I think you do it because you're loyal."
And that was the beginning of his complex relationship with the cop. He knew he was good at reading people; his former job demanded that talent, because if an agent in the kind of work he did couldn't accurately predict behaviors…well…he'd quickly be six feet under.
And because of that talent, he knows Fusco is a man who longs for a leader, much like a puppy longs to follow the alpha. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Lionel can be won over by other than money, and the person to sway him is someone willing to lead his parade.
"You ready to get to work, detective?"
"I'm no good to you. I'm dead. It's a matter of time before the gangs get me or IAD."
"No one knows you're involved, Lionel. I took care of that."
…
He surfaces to something connecting with his belt buckle, his first reaction being to immobilize whoever, whatever is touching him. His hand shoots out – thank God it's working this time – and puts a vise-grip on a wrist.
"Whoa! Take it easy Kemo Sabe! I'm only trying to help, not cop a feel!" is the immediate response. Fusco doesn't resist the hold, instinct kicking in and probably telling him that it will only result in a struggle, one that if the detective doesn't lose outright, will put his charge in even worse shape than he already is.
The cop's words finally seep through the cotton into Reese's brain and he slowly releases his grip on the offending appendage.
"Fine…" Reese whispers, allowing his hand to fall back to the ground. But a black fog is churning around him now, replacing that thick cotton, enticing him to just lay back and sink below its surface. Just let go and there will be peace and quiet and…
But what is Fusco doing? He attempts to sit up but the effort to do so is monumental as the detective moves hands along his leg again, positioning the belt high up on his thigh then tightening it to – oh, God! All thoughts of darkness and peace and quiet evaporate, as he pants for control over the spears shooting into his leg. He fights to keep conscious.
"You're going to have to help me here, buddy! You need to get up on your feet." Fusco leans over, grabs him by the arm and pulls, and he stifles a groan. But though his leg screams at the change in position, one word seems to stick in his head.
"Buddy..?" he gives the incredulous response between pants. Fusco ignores the comment, concentrating on getting that one good leg under him, and with a great deal of maneuvering and pain, he's finally upright, somewhat steady. He tries hard not to lean too heavily on the shorter man, but the cop is focused on moving the two of them as quickly as possible and simply pulls him into his own substantial frame, increasing their pace.
Between pants Reese reminds himself to remember this moment as his detective is barreling along the alley with a burden a good head taller than himself. The scene is fraught with material for some really premium snarky remarks! He tries to craft some in his mind, but the effort to simply keep conscious leaves no room for anything save the determination to stay upright.
Fusco finally halts in front of a cab, the driver already out the door and rounding the car to help load his injured passenger, and - is that Fermin? Huh. Finch has been busy…
The process of positioning him in the cab leaves him in agony, part of which is the result of being folded into a too small space, his injured thigh under pressure as his knees brace against the back of the cab's front seats. He is faintly aware of Fusco sliding in next to him, of the cab is moving, but that black fog threatens to overwhelm him again.
He fights to stay in the present…and loses.
…
"You know Lionel, next time you have a date, don't be so melodramatic. I thought you might be up to something."
"It's called a personal life. After taking a bullet in the ass and saving your life more than once, you think I might've earned just a little privacy?"
"No."
Of course not. But not for the reason that Carter or Fusco himself would expect from him: once a dirty cop, always a dirty cop and not to be trusted. No, the explanation is simple; he remains involved in Fusco's life because the detective did not enter into this game voluntarily, instead is being forced to participate. And while he might not particularly wish it so, that makes Fusco his responsibility to protect. But that still doesn't mean he will give the cop leeway to shirk his duties!
"I'm getting sick of doing your dirty laundry! Go ask Carter."
"Carter's busy working a murder investigation, Lionel. Didn't you take an oath to protect and serve?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So go be a cop!"
Over time Reese observed the detective beginning to act like the good guy again as between the two of them, he and Finch frequently positioned the portly cop to make the important arrests, close cases. And those events did not go unnoticed by the-powers-that-be at the precinct: Fusco fairly glowed upon receiving a commendation resulting from his injury protecting the fourteen year old Darrin. A dirty cop on the path to redemption.
But it was not in his best interest to allow Fusco to stay on that path. With only a tiny twinge of conscious, he yanked the cop back into the dirt.
"I can't have you coming clean, Lionel. I need you inside HR, get close to them."
"I was just starting to enjoy being a good guy for a change…"
Sorry Lionel, you've done some good work. But you're more useful on the inside."
"My hands are dirty and always will be, huh?"
He didn't answer, because to tell Fusco the truth - that indeed the cop was passing mile markers on the road to salvation - would make it that much more difficult for the detective to execute the role of dirty cop believably. So he forced his asset to continue to operate in that shadow world between decent and decadent. Much like he did for so many years working for the CIA.
Sometimes Reese doesn't like himself very much…
(To be continued…)