John hurriedly punched numbers into the phone as they moved up the basement steps and out of the building. It was a small house of some sort, in a row of other small houses on one of the east side neighborhoods.

The call was answered on the first ring. "Where are you?" Finch sounded anxious and a little scared.

"I'm not exactly sure. Track this number, Finch."

"Got it," Finch replied after a few minutes. "They've taken you a ways east from the city. How are Miss Tudin and her brother?"

"She's here with me," John glanced at Sam. Her normally playful eyes were deadened. She stared blankly ahead of them as though she were a robot, waiting for more instructions. "Scott is dead." John heard Finch's exhale over the phone. "We have to get to her parents, Finch. Two of these men went after them."

"I considered that when I lost contact with you earlier. I sent Detective Fuscoe to the Tudin's almost two hours ago. There are also police heading to your location right now. Someone called in shots fired."

John didn't say anymore, but moved across the street to an early two thousands Toyota parked along the road. His hands moved automatically, popping the lock of the car and hotwiring the ignition as he continuously glanced at Sam, who made no protest at stealing a car in order to get away. She kept silent when he unlocked the door for her, and as the engine started.

After a half hour, John's new cell phone rang. Sam glanced at it as he answered.

"John," Finch hesitated. Finch rarely called him by his first name. Something was wrong.

"What is it?"

"Miss Tudin is still with you?"

"Of course."

"Her parents have been killed. I'll leave it up to you, how to tell her. I'm sorry."

John gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"The local force and city detectives have already been called up to the house, including Detective Carter. Because these are Elias' men, it still is an issue for the city police.

"The only good news in all of this is that Detective Fuscoe was in time to catch the killers before they escaped. They were attempting to open the safe in the house when he entered. It seems that Mr. Tudin did not cooperate with them as easily as they had hoped he would."

John remained silent. His anger and grief boiled just beneath the surface, and it was all he could do to keep it under control.

"John?"

"I've got it, Finch. Thanks." He hung up and tossed the phone into the back seat.

Sam looked at him. He felt her eyes on him, but didn't want to meet them. "What is it, John?"

Sam remembered the sound of John's voice rather than his words when he told her that the rest of her family had been killed, murdered. She vaguely recalled the questions Detective Carter asked her when they reached her parents' house. She did remember being grateful to the detective for being as delicate as she had been with the situation. Detective Carter must have understood. Just like John. Somehow they both knew what it was like.

"I'd like to think that I'm a brave person, or that I have the potential to be so. Both my mother and my father were brave, and exceptionally stubborn. The two may be linked. Bravery may be just another word for being terrifically stubborn, I'm not sure," a small chuckle rippled through the seated crowd. "I know that they loved me and my brother, Scott, more than either of us realized. But I will never forget the bravery that Scottie, my little brother, displayed in those last moments before his life was taken. He did save my life, and I will forever be in his debt for that… "

The sunlight blinked in and out of the clouds on the cool, autumn day. Sam stood, in a black dress and coat at a podium in front of three identical caskets. As she spoke of her family whom she lost only a week ago, she was calm. It spread through her like an incoming tide, relieving some of the numbness that she'd been fighting with since that awful day. Had it only been a week ago? Although the numbness never would fade completely, Sam was slowly beginning the journey of regaining her strength and her self.

Sam glanced up at the crowd gathered to commemorate her parents and brother, and noticed a man standing at the back by a cluster of trees. He wasn't very tall and wore a dark brown suit and glasses. He stood still, his hands folded in front of him, and was listening respectfully with the rest of the crowd.

When she finished speaking, and the service was concluded, Sam endured being consoled by people who knew her parents, coworkers of her father's, and some of Scott's old high school friends. A small group from the funeral service would be headed to her parents' house afterwards. She intended to show up, eventually, but decided that she'd take her time in getting there.

As she worked her way out of the crowd, she saw the same man again. He was watching her, as though waiting for her to be alone. "Hello," Sam said, holding out her hand, which he took. "I don't think we've met before."

"We haven't, Miss Tudin," he said simply, shaking her hand. "My name is Harold Finch."

Comprehension dawned on Sam's face. "John's friend."

"Yes."

"Is John here?" she asked, looking past Finch as though John would pop out from behind one of the tomb stones.

"He was planning to be, I'm sure. I wanted to speak with you first, if I may."

"Of course," Sam gestured to the now empty seats and they sat down.

"That was a lovely eulogy. Very well written and spoken."

"Thank you."

"I am deeply sorry for your loss," Finch said as they sat down. "It was you and your brother we were trying to protect. Instead of saving two people, we lost three."

"It's not your fault," Sam automatically reached out and grasped his hand. "If Scottie hadn't gotten involved – "

"I'm sure you've gone over that many times in your mind already. I don't mean to bring it up again."

"I don't blame you though, or John. What happened wasn't planned, it just happened."

Finch observed her for a moment. "You're a very intelligent woman, if I may say so, Miss Tudin."

Sam smiled. "You may. And you may also call me Sam."

"I came to offer my services, Sam. I know your father left a lot behind to deal with and he ended up leaving it all to you."

"It's a lot to handle, but I'm letting the lawyers deal with most of it. I'll put the house up for sale, and everything in it that I don't want to keep."

"Sensible," Finch approved. "What about you?"

"Well, I lost my job at the coffee shop because of unexcused absences," Sam rolled her eyes. "But I have recently come into a little bit of money, so I'll be staying in the city I think. I like it there."

"You lost your job?" Finch raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"The manager of that place is a high school senior who plans on going into business. He's an enormous douche, who only goes into anything for himself. It didn't surprise me."

The corners of Finch's mouth turned up a little at the verbal bashing of her old boss.

"Well, we might be able to take care of that, actually," Finch said. Sam could see him thinking.

"Take care of what?"

Sam looked up. John Reese stood in his usual garb, a dark suit and shirt, no neck tie, and a black coat.

"You have excellent timing, my friend," Finch said as Sam stood.

The calm began to recede when she saw John standing there. She fought back her tears as he embraced her. "I'm glad you're here," she muttered.

"I never got a chance to – I'm so sorry – "

"No," Sam looked up at him. "Don't you dare, John. Do you know how hard I tried to blame you, the both of you? I was close to drawing diagrams in order to convince myself and the counselor I've been seeing all week. But that was totally wrong. It's not your fault, do you hear me? No one can predict the future." Sam brushed the tears off of her face irritably. "If it hadn't been for you, there would be one more casket there."

She pulled away from John, but he kept a hold of her hand as they stood there, Finch sitting in one of the abandoned chairs.

"I'm really happy you both thought to come."

"If you ever need anything – "

"You'll find me," Sam finished John's sentence with a sad smile.

He squeezed her hand and released her. He muttered something she didn't quite catch and turned to leave. Sam and Finch watched him walk through the rows of tombstones, his coat blowing out behind him in the breeze, almost like a cape, so Sam thought.

"Mr. Finch, I do have a favor to ask, seeing as how you're one of the few looking out for John."

Finch eyed her suspiciously as she sat next to him again. "What is it?"

"If John is ever in trouble, or needs help, I want you to call me. I can handle a gun, and you said yourself that I'm intelligent."

"Mr. Reese's line of work is very dangerous, Sam, I wouldn't want you to – "

"Harold," Sam said. The stern way in which she spoke his name stopped him. "My family is gone. I have very few people left. You and John are two of the very few people. Do you understand? Whatever he is, I consider John my friend, and I want to help him."

"Mr. Reese would not approve, I don't think," Finch said, knowing full well that John would bodily toss him into the Hudson if he even considered Sam as a source for helping in their little operation.

"You're the boss, though, right?"

"In some ways, yes." Finch glanced in the direction John went.

"Just promise me that you'll call me."

"I'll have to let you know," Finch stood up and started to leave. "This is a very reckless decision you're considering, Miss Tudin."

"That makes this number two out of my entire life!" Sam called after him.