Just a shorty that I've written! Not many chapters at all. Enjoy!

I do not own anyone or anything, but Quinn.

John loved to draw. Sketch was more the term, but Finch always called it art. He never did it often and when he did take the rare occasion it was usually when he was alone. The latest sketch was of Bear waiting at the door for Finch's return home. Just as he was about to start in on Finch's workspace in the background, his phone started to ring.

"Hello, Finch. I'm guessing this isn't a social call?" John teased.

"I've just been given a new number. It's going to be a tough one," Finch told him.

"How so?" John asked, suddenly rigid. He didn't like the tone of Finch's voice.

"The number it gave me... belongs to a child," Finch almost whispered.

"How old?" John got right down to business.

"Eleven," Finch told him.

"I'm on it. Text me the address," John said as he headed out the door. He took a motorcycle, wanting to be as quick as possible.

When John arrived at the address he was shocked, but it didn't show on his face. It was a squatter's residence.

"Finch, are you sure she's only eleven?" John asked.

"Positive. She dropped off the map about five months ago, but she's in deep with a gang," Finch replied. John dismounted the motorcycle and entered the dank building with his guard up more than usual. As soon as he opened the door about halfway he heard a mechanical whirring. It only took him a split second to realize it was a booby trap. He ducked as a spear came rushing at him from the ceiling. He tuck and rolled as a smoke bomb was thrown his way.

"Stop where you are, stranger. Don't get any closer!" a voice warned. John put up his hands in surrender.

"I'm just here to help," he told the voice. From behind a ratty sofa a small girl peeked at him. Her black hair was tied up in a knot and under a cap and her tan face was smudged with dirt.

"What are you doing here? Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm a friend looking to help you," John told her.

"Mr. Reese, ease up," Finch scolded, "she's still just a child."

"That doesn't tell me anything. Get out!" she pulled out a small gun from under the sofa. John backed up a bit.

"My name is John. I've been set to help you," John told her.

"By who? Who knows I'm here?" the girl demanded.

"Just a friend. He knows just about everything. No one else, to my knowledge, knows you're here," John admitted to her. Finch smiled at the compliment. It was nice to be recognized.

"How do you even know I need help? What do you know about it?" she asked. She slightly lowered the gun.

"I know that your stepfather was abusing you at home. I know that you ran away and then found a gang to become your family. I also know that you lost some drugs that you were supposed to smuggle across the Mexican border," John ticked off.

"I... yes..." the girl lowered the gun completely and stood up. John took her in. She was small, Hispanic, and fit, "so. What're you gonna do with me? Turn me in to Josef? Or how about my stepfather, Derrick? Tell me now so I can get ready."

"Neither," John said. She gave him a questioning look, "Quinn, I'm not here to put you in a dangerous situation."

"How do you know my name?" she immediately demanded.

"I told you," John reminded her, "my friend knows everything."

"You two need to get out of there, Mr. Reese," Finch instructed John.

"On it, Finch," he replied. John turned back to Quinn, "we need to go."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. If I leave, they'll find me and then I'm muerto. Dead," Quinn said in a quivering voice.

"I can keep you safe, I promise," John told her. By this time, he had reached the middle of the room. Quinn's lip was still quivering and a few tears slid down her cheeks as she laid the gun on the sofa. She took a steadying breath.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"A safe house," he told her, "how do you feel about motorcycles?"

Please comment and review! :D