Chapter 17

A/N: In this chapter, we catch up with some POIs, Persons and Pets, of Interest, but we open with a brief conversation between one of our favorite couples, John Reese and Jocelyn Carter.

"So…would Harold's system been affected if Stanton's plan had succeeded?"

Reese sat there, sipping his coffee. They were in a car, staking out the latest number, who was apparently mesmerized by the endless timeouts and commercials at the end of a late night TNT NBA telecast and wasn't planning on leaving his home anytime soon.

The last time Joss had asked about where he and Harold got their information was after Root had taken his friend, months ago, but Reese knew she hadn't forgotten or stopped wondering about it. He shifted slightly in his seat to look at her, not saying anything.

"You don't have to answer," her voice was calm as she looked out the windshield. She closed the little flap on the lid of her coffee cup. "When I was an interrogator, we got briefings on chatter, trends, things to look for when we were drawing somebody out. After 9/11, NYPD got a lot of training on terrorism and surveillance – still do, through Homeland Security."

Joss paused, put her cup in the cup holder. "We're taught to look for stuff that leads us to groups, conspiracies, teams, organizations - whatever you and Finch get leads you to people… but that data has still got to be collected, sorted, categorized and prioritized some way."

She shifted her body slightly towards his. "You don't have an army of snitches, or a bunch of analysts working for you, and even if you did," she cocked an eyebrow at him, "they'd quit in a week."

Joss smiled softly at him, then her face grew serious again. "When you and I were apart, I worked with Finch almost every day. Spent a lot of time listening to him…I always knew he was a brain, but –" Joss leaned closer, "- whatever's out there, whatever system you guys get your information from, I thought that Harold hacked into it, or somehow had gotten access to it, but now…he must have worked on it," Joss shook her head slightly, as if the realization had just come over her, "hell, he might have even built it."

Finch was brilliant, a genius, Reese thought, but he wondered in what subtle little ways Joss had drawn Harold out with her intelligence, training and natural curiosity, what words and phrases his friend might have unknowingly uttered, nothing individually, but with someone like Joss, clues that she was able to tie together that led her to something much, much more.

"For a long time I thought Stanton wanted to take something out of that DoD facility, but then I thought, what if she wanted to put something in?"

Reese couldn't answer her. He knew, she knew it.

Joss turned her body back towards the windshield. "Finally. I thought he was fused to the remote." As their target stood up, Reese and Joss slipped out of the car.

They touched hands briefly and then made their way towards the apartment building.

XXX

"You moving?"

Rafael Alvarez glanced at his watch. He'd planned on having everything packed in his car before Joss Carter arrived, but it had taken longer than he thought, and of course she was right on time, her red coat shimmering with the dusting of a light snowfall.

He laid the last of the boxes on the porch. "No. Nikki's things. I didn't realize she had so much stuff here."

"I'm sorry, Rafi." Her big brown eyes took in the boxes, neatly labeled and sealed. Nikki had never lived with him, but over the years there was an accumulation of linens and kitchen gadgets, books and knick knacks, things that were scattered in every room of his place, but they, and she, had never really become a part of his life.

Alvarez shook his head. "Should have happened a long time ago. We both knew it wasn't working."

She nodded as she walked up the porch steps. "Need some help?" Alvarez saw that she wasn't as thin as before, and there was something different there – she was still Detective Jocelyn Carter, still serious and intent, but he could see that she had solved the problem that was plaguing her before.

"Nope, all done." His eyes flickered over the container in her hand. In the cold morning air, he could detect cinnamon and vanilla and almonds, all melding together in a way he hadn't smelled in decades. "Well, I can at least pretend that I've burned off enough calories to justify whatever you got there, Doe Eyes. Come on in."

They sat down in the kitchen, exchanged their usual gossip and then went over the files from a suspicious death she was investigating. The victim appeared to have died of a heart attack, but there were scorch marks under the carpet near the well-worn recliner where the body was found, and she wondered if the burns were trying to conceal a clue as to what had really happened. Alvarez agreed that she was on to something and they made plans to tour the site tomorrow.

He got up and poured them some more coffee, eyes twinkling as he sat back down. "Your new guy know you're stepping out on him?"

She raised both eyebrows at him, and he laughed. "You're sharing the stuff he made for you, Doe Eyes, with me. You didn't get this at some bakery – this," he picked up a crumb, popped it in his mouth, savoring the taste, "was made by somebody who knows what he's doing."

Her eyes were challenging as she leaned forward, but he noted that she didn't deny it. "And how would you know, Rafi?," jerking her head at the pizza box on the counter, "you live on takeout and delivery."

Alvarez smiled as he took a piece of the sublime tart on her plate. "I wasn't always in FDNY. Went to boot camp the day after my high school graduation. Spent a few days in Paris. The food," he closed his eyes at the memory, "never forgot it, and this, this is Paris."

"I've gained ten pounds," she protested, but her eyes were shining.

"You could stand to gain ten more. Media keeps pushing these lollypop girls at us – bodies as thin as a stick, nothing for a man to hold on to. Guy wants to put a little meat on your bones," he swiped another piece. "I like him."

She nodded, but as expected, didn't say anything more. He tried to steal more from her plate, but she made a stabbing motion at his hand with her fork, then relented and gave him another piece. They talked about his military days as they polished off the rest of the tart together.

As she walked down the front steps, Alvarez said softly, "I'm glad you're happy, Doe Eyes. You deserve it."

She turned back, looked at him, her eyes glowing. "Ten o'clock, Rafi," and then she walked away.

Alvarez took the rest of the boxes out to his car. As he loaded them in the trunk, he thought that for the first time in his adult life, he would be alone, truly alone. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he knew he had to do it, knew he had to move forward.

Getting in his car, he drove to Nikki's and set the boxes on her porch. As he pulled away, he thought about Joss Carter. Once again, she had defied his expectations. "Should have known, not to bet against ya, Doe Eyes," he said softly.

She did it, he thought, he could do it too.

He headed towards the nearest big box store to buy some new things for his place.

XXX

The coffee shop was surprisingly empty when Joss walked in. She placed an order with the person behind the counter, then checked her messages on her handheld as she waited.

"For here or to go, Officer?"

Joss raised her head at the soft voice.

The barista smiled at her. "I was in the back." He was standing next to her, and Joss was struck by his ability to seemingly materialize out of nowhere, his lean form as graceful as ever as he took her drink from the counter person and handed it to her.

Joss pointed at the banner over the counter. "I see you're moving on. Congratulations." LaBlanca had bemoaned his departure the last time Joss had stopped by her desk, sourly predicting that the quality of the coffee and the service would dip precipitously after he was gone.

"Thanks, year's not up yet, but I've got another assignment." Joss detected a small note of pride in his voice, and she knew that whatever the assignment was, it was a big one, one that he had worked very hard for, and deserved.

Joss smiled, nodding, "I know you'll do well."

Other than those brief texts the morning after the confrontation with Beecher in that small courtyard, they had not seen or communicated with each other.

His long fingers barely touched the lid on her coffee cup. "Do you need anything else?"

"No. I just wanted to stop by and wish you good luck. Take care, John."

"You, too…Joss."

They smiled at each other, one last time, and Joss walked out into the bright sunshine.

XXX

Harold Finch hated to admit it.

The library was empty. He should have enjoyed the brief respite, the peace and quiet – working the numbers made life hectic and while his friend John Reese prided himself on slipping in and out undetected from anywhere else, he seemed to relish making his presence known here, letting weapons, softballs, Frisbees, cameras, surveillance equipment and other items clatter, slide, vibrate, crash, collide, roll and bounce about the room like a convention of symphony percussionists, and then making an innocent face when Finch would glare at him or make a pointed comment.

Not to be outdone, Bear made his own racket as well, gulping water from his bowl as though he had just crossed the Atacama* desert, tearing after some insect who was minding its own business and sometimes snorting and snuffling in his sleep as though he were a massive water buffalo.

But this evening man and beast were absent, off with Jocelyn Carter on some undoubtedly muddy and sodden trek through a God-forsaken portion of New York's urban landscape, the Machine wouldn't deign to dispense a new number and the array of keyboards and screens on his work table were mocking him with their silence.

No, the library was empty and quiet, and tonight, Finch hated it.

Harold had thought about sitting in the park across from Grace's house; she always kept the holiday lights up until the first day of spring. He remembered thinking it was silly at first, but now looking at those delicate lights strung across the façade cheered him and sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of her through the windows. He'd put on his jacket, but then he remembered that she was attending a gallery opening tonight, so he had decided to stay put and wait for his friends' return.

Deciding to make another cup of tea, Harold was in the makeshift kitchen, when he heard a softball careening against one of the file cabinets and the clinking of Bear being taken off his leash so that he could go after it.

Smiling, then putting an aggrieved look on his face, he stepped back out into the main work space. "Really, Mr. Reese, is all this commotion necessary? A simple 'Hello' or 'We're back, Finch' would have sufficed."

His friend smirked. "Bear likes to make an entrance, Finch, you know that. It's…part of his genetic makeup."

"I wasn't aware that his DNA included rampaging like a bull elephant." He cast a critical eye at his two friends. They weren't nearly as sodden as he'd thought they would be and there were no flecks of mud on Reese's boots and jeans or Bear's legs and paws. They were also earlier than he expected.

Finch crossed the room, scratching Bear behind his ears. "Did Detective Carter come to her senses and elect to do something slightly more entertaining tonight than tromping about in the dark like a vagabond – bleaching grout, perhaps?"

"Sleet, and she's got a parent-teacher conference first thing tomorrow, so we took Bear for a walk and then he and I went to that used bookstore you're always mooning over…we found something for you."

Reese took a small package out of his jacket pocket and handed it to him.

Harold opened the package. Inside was a bird watching guide that had belonged to one of the founding members of the historical society he belonged to, his name and the year neatly written on the inside cover. There were notes and sketches in the margins, corrections in the text, even hand drawn maps on the blank pages at the end of the sites he had visited.

It was an incredible find, and while Finch suspected that Reese wasn't being truthful about stumbling upon this one of a kind item in a used bookstore, he knew his friend would deny taking the time to search something like this out for him. "This is…" he looked up, smiling softly. "Thank you, John."

"Thank you, Harold."

The two friends nodded at each other, knowing nothing more needed to be said.

Reese tilted his head at him. "Do you recognize the places noted on the maps?"

Finch sat down, his fingers flying over the keyboard, "Well, of course things have changed significantly, but I created a program that cross indexes the Dutch explorations, Native oral accounts, British colonial maps and local geographical surveys, both during the Articles of Confederation period and after the US Constitution was –" he paused, peering over his glasses. "Are you really interested?"

Reese shrugged. "I can pretend to be interested."

"Bear does a better job of that than you, Mr. Reese, but," he opened the book to one of the last drawings, "I think one of the maps details a location you could explore with Jocelyn. Knowledge can be…quite alluring to the fair sex, John."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience, Finch?"

Harold's smile was full of secrets. "Have a seat, Mr. Reese, and find out."

XXX

Even if Reese hadn't already known where to go, her red coat stood out amongst the gray and white headstones.

The funeral had been held two days ago and while Joss had attended it, he knew she wanted to say a private goodbye to Cal Beecher.

Rain and a late season cold snap had created patches of black ice all over the tri-state area, and the Narcotics Detective's sports car had smashed into a guard rail, killing him instantly.

Beecher had gotten his promotion and had moved to another precinct; Joss had not seen or spoken to him again after that night in the courtyard.

Reese took her hand. She didn't look at him or say anything, but she squeezed his fingers twice; first to acknowledge his presence and then again, when she was ready to go.

XXX

Detective Kane had a mouth as big as the Grand Canyon, so Fusco knew to expect something when he walked into the precinct. His co-workers were a little too chipper, a little too polite when they greeted him, their eyes were a little too bright as they followed him down the hall. People he hadn't seen in months, let alone years, were in the building, saying hello like he was a long lost relative. Even his captain, who normally spent his time holed up in his office, emerging only for coffee and to scream at someone, not only smiled at him, but actually moved aside to let him pass in front of him.

"Crime take the day off?" Lionel muttered to himself as he went down the hall.

Squeezing past the crowd clogging the entry to the Homicide Task Force bullpen, Fusco saw the source of his sudden popularity.

The crime scene crash dummy, naked except for the two life-sized photos of his face taped to its ass, was propped up over a huge glazed ham on his desk.

Moons over My Hammy.**

The room, already jam packed, exploded with laughter, as the rest of the building poured in.

It had been a bad day already; the power was out at his apartment - he'd overslept and there was no hot water – a cold wash up and shave, no time to grab a hot coffee on the way in.

Strike One, he'd thought.

Now this. Strike Two.

He couldn't explain what happened, how he'd run into his ex at a Denny's, how they managed to have a civilized conversation for once, how he offered to look at her car on the way out, how he said something, he didn't know what, that pissed her off, how he zigged when she zagged with her fists and how he somehow wound up falling face first onto a table full of Slams, Skillets and Omelettes, his ass in the air, including three plates of Moons Over My Hammy.

How Kane was there with a look on his mug like he had the one winning Powerball ticket.

Lionel knew what to do. He slowly bowed and waved to the crowd, turning in a complete circle, then he sat at his desk.

The best way to get past a prank was to acknowledge it, admit they got you and then leave it there for the rest of the day to let your audience traipse past and get a good look and a good laugh at your expense.

As his partner, Carter knew what to do, too. Pretend it was an ordinary day. She didn't laugh, make jokes or comment on the display. Far as she was concerned, when she brought him a badly needed coffee or handed him a file, it didn't exist. Carter didn't even blink when a potential witness kept turning around to look it, calmly repeating her questions and regaining his attention. Her lips didn't twist, her eyes didn't sparkle and her voice didn't change at all.

She was actually a little too good at it - maybe she was taking lessons from Wonderboy. He knew they had worked out whatever was going on between the two of them; Carter was quietly happy and Mt. Rushmore was actually almost human, he thought.

At last, the day, like all days, finally ended and Fusco was cleaning off the last spots of glaze that had splattered on his desk, when he got a text from the woman he was seeing, Rhonda, that there was an issue with her ex, so she had to cancel their date tonight.

Lionel sighed, his shoulders slumping. Should have known. Strike Three.

Carter tilted her head at him, as if she was reading his thoughts. "How 'bout a drink, partner? I'm buying."

Fusco shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not. Got your credit card, Carter? You're gonna need it."

As they put on their coats, Lionel asked, "Did your grandmother tell you that things always happen in threes?"

Her forehead crinkled. "Yeah, why?"

"She ever tell you why those three things are always bad?"

Carter laughed. "Guess I am going to need my credit card tonight. Spill, Fusco."

Lionel began telling her his tales of woe as they walked out of the bullpen.

XXX

The owner of Cat and Mouse opened his eyes with a start.

Damn prostate, he thought, but as he sat up, he realized that wasn't it.

Always a light sleeper, honed by a less than honorable past and a stint in prison, he had learned to trust his instincts. Throwing on his robe and jamming his feet into his slippers, he quickly made his way downstairs.

Few people knew that he owned both sides of the entire block, and even fewer knew that he actually lived on the top floor of the building that housed Cat and Mouse. He maintained an official residence just outside the city for business entertaining and occasional liaisons with women who wanted to be as discreet as he did, but this was his real home.

Even after all these years, he still enjoyed wandering the building after hours, running his hands over the glossy book jackets, adjusting the display stands, making sure everything was just so, but tonight he didn't linger. He headed right to the display window, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

There on the floor, was Mouse, her body curled protectively around Cat. She turned her huge eyes at him, and he knew that Cat was dead.

He shouldn't cry, knew this was coming, had thought it through, had planned for it.

Cat had lived a long time, certainly much longer than the bedraggled starving creature he'd found decades ago, shivering in the basement of this building, wailing like a cat, would have. The parrot had been with him through tough times, had seen things develop and grow, and flourish, over the years. He had been petted and feted and coddled and cared for, had the love of faithful companions, had lived a good life.

He pushed down the low, raw sob that was rising in his chest, knelt beside the two creatures.

Cat had been ill for some time, small tumors inside his body. An intelligent creature, he knew that there was something wrong with him, besides the vagaries of old age. The parrot had become snappish and churlish, angry and sometimes even cruel, and like many of us, took it out on the one closest to him, the one he cared the most about. Mouse.

While there were times when she growled and hissed, and even swung her paw at him, she never hurt him and she was always patient, always there for him to lean up against her and seek forgiveness and comfort, her long tail sheltering him, as though she could keep the inevitable away.

And perhaps she had. Cat had lived twice as long as the avian specialist's prognosis had given him.

As he ran his hand over Cat's feathers, Mouse began to purr, a low, slow hum, soothing and calming him, the owner realized, as much as herself.

"You did your duty, little one," he whispered to her, as he cradled his old friend to his chest. "Now, it's our turn."

XXX

"He hasn't been in trouble for a long time, Finch, so these records weren't digitized. They won't be scanned for another six months at least," Joss said, as she handed him the dirty, cracked folders that had been stored in the old annex.

"Thank you, Detective. I'll return them to you as soon as possible."

Joss nodded. As she walked away, Finch called out, "Detective, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation you had with Mr. Reese several days ago."

She turned to look at him. Joss saw fear in his eyes, not fear for himself or fear of what she might find out, but fear for her if she did. She realized he was terrified for her.

Jocelyn Carter knew herself very well. She knew she would never stop looking for answers, never stop wanting to know more. She knew that one day she would have to have that conversation with Harold and John.

But for now, she would wait.

She walked back over to him, touched his hand. "What conversation?"

His fingers curved around hers, just for a moment, and then he nodded, and limped slowly away.

*The Atacama desert of South America is the driest place on earth.

**Moons Over My Hammy. Per Denny's website, this meal is a three-egg omelette with diced ham, melted Swiss and American cheeses, hash browns or grits and a choice of bread. It clocks in at 730 calories, of which 460 are fat.

A/N: I had gone back and forth regarding whether or not I wanted to keep Beecher alive or kill him in this story – for about a minute, then I came to my senses and bumped him off. Our girl had gone through so much in this story already, so a quick, accidental death (was he speeding, perhaps?) worked here.

Next, the final chapter is called Walkabout, and yes, we will be making a return visit to the bookstore, Cat and Mouse.