A/N: I'm back, so I can update regularly and thank you again for your patience and your awesome reviews! Also thank you for reading, favoring and following! Everything is really appreciated. I would like to thank Linda and my guest reviewer as well, since I can't reply to you individually. You all are super kind and I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter!

Just War

Chapter 5

They kept John in the ICU for two days. Heavily sedated, they put him off the ventilator later on the second day, switching to oxygen treatment.

It was dark outside and Harold was reading on one of the comfortable armchairs of the ICU room when Detective Carter called.

"Detective."

"Finch, any good news there?" She asked softly, a tinge of expectation.

"There have been some improvements." He declared cautiously, Harold didn't want to dispense false hopes to no one, himself included.

"I see. Do you think you can meet me and Fusco in Washington Square Park? We do have some good news."

Finch suspected it was just an excuse to make him leave the clinic, since she could just update him on the phone, but he accepted all the same, the prospect of fresh air was quite appealing after all.

"I'll be there in a half an hour."

John was breathing peacefully through the oxygen mask, they were also done with transfusions and his complexion looked a bit healthier, although still very pale.

There really wasn't much he could do there, so Harold left the clinic to meet with the detectives.

It was a nice evening, and he even decided to pick Bear up on the way. He missed the routine with the dog, it helped him keep time, allowing himself more breaks from the workaholic attitude he was prone to fall in.

At the moment he couldn't afford any distraction though, not during these first days, so crucial for the investigation.

So Mr. Tao was taking care of Bear most of the time, because in the end they got along just fine. Harold had even brought Bear's bed at Leon's place, equipped with John's suit and all. For once, the nosy accountant hadn't asked any questions about the unusual arrangement, although Harold had been ready to deal with any unwelcome enquiry with some Dutch command.

Anyhow, he now tried to enjoy his brief time with Bear, who looked ecstatic to be with him.

Harold finally spotted Detective Carter and Fusco, who were looking around curiously, both with hands in their pockets.

"Detectives." He greeted amiably, the weather was really pleasant and maybe Harold was looking forward to hearing some good news more than he had anticipated.

"Hey Finch." Carter greeted him with a small smile, scratching Bear behind his ears. Fusco nodded his greeting, petting the dog as well.

There was an awkward silence then, Harold knew Carter was a mother and he recognized the badly concealed look she was giving him and Fusco was almost fidgeting, looking anywhere but at him.

He couldn't stand the silence any longer, so Harold decided to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

"John's breathing on his own. They'll probably move him to a regular room tomorrow. But I reckon you had some good news on your part." He added without pausing.

The tension eased visibly and Fusco talked for the first time that evening.

"We have a strong lead on Stevenson's attackers. He's been receiving death letters and menaces for a while, from a religious group."

Harold recalled John's comment about brochures on radical religion views, having seen those in both Stevenson's flat and office.

"They don't quite like his research on artificial intelligences, because they think it's against God's will." Carter quoted with an incredulous tone.

"I see." Harold nodded lightly. "It would be very helpful if I could have another look at that computer. The package exploded a few minutes after our incursion. We must have triggered the device in some way." He mused aloud.

"It's in Evidence..." Carter stated quietly. "But we can arrange something if you make it fast." She added hastily seeking confirmation in Fusco.

"Yeah, of course. Why not?" The male detective shrugged as it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Very good. Meanwhile I'm afraid we need to keep watch over Mr. Stevenson, until we don't catch the culprits."

Harold stated pensively, although sorry to keep asking both detectives for favors.

"That won't be a problem," Carter declared promptly. "Now that we've identified an actual threat, officers will be assigned to his protection, so Fusco and I can focus on the main investigation."

She sounded reassuring and Harold was once again touched by their helpfulness and affection. They, him and John, had really built a strong team along the way and Harold seemed to forget that sometimes. Old habits, he guessed.

"Thanks detectives, I really appreciate everything you're doing." He told them sincerely.

They looked almost embarrassed then and Harold continued without missing a beat. "I'll keep in touch. Have a nice evening and take some rest."

"Finch!" Carter called after him after a second, then she hesitated for a moment.

"Take care." She simply said eventually.

And he knew she meant of himself and John as well.

The following day found Harold a bit refreshed - he could rest in his personal room at the clinic, if he was too tired to reach the near safe house - and John in a regular, luminous room. He was stable enough not to need constant monitoring and his lungs had started doing their work again, although he could still need some oxygen now and again.

It was mid-afternoon and actually sunny. Light was filtering through the shutters, enveloping the room in a warm and cozy cocoon. Harold was typing quietly on his laptop, decrypting all data he had collected from Stevenson's computer early that morning. He had been as fast as promised and no one had noticed his little trip to Evidence, also thanks to the complicity of Detective Fusco.

And thanks to his brief visit Harold had been able to find out that he was the one responsible for the bomb ignition, because it had been programmed to explode at Stevenson's first attempt to login to his personal account.

Harold was now working on the prototype project and any possible connection to it, because religious radicals didn't quite explain the presence of four armed men, highly trained and ready to die. Shaw hadn't updated him yet and Harold was keeping himself busy doing what he was good at: delve into.

The groan was barely perceptible but made him stop dead in his tracks.

His gaze darted on the bed beside him and sure enough blue eyes were fluttering open.

"John." He almost chocked on the name. The unfocused gaze sluggishly moved towards him and Harold wasn't sure his friend was actually seeing him but he jerked upright, covering the brief distance to the bed.

The operative didn't seem coherent or capable of assessing his surroundings and Harold caught a flash of panic crossing his eyes.

"John, you're safe. I took care of everything."

He found himself repeating that sentence, mimicking his and Joss' words, not really capable to reassure his friend in any other way.

But John seemed to accept that, just like he had when he had been lying on that facility floor, bleeding to death. His eyes cleared for a moment, seemingly relaxed, then eyelids dropped down again.

Maybe he had managed to calm him with those simple words, or maybe John had merely dozed off again. Harold simply didn't care, his friend had woken up and everything felt a bit better already.

John woke up again late that night.

Harold had just wrapped things up around Stevenson's case, Fusco and Carter had arrested the engineer's partner and co-founder of "AI – The Next Generation", Michael Richards, after finding his fingerprints all over Stevenson's desk and computer and the scraps of the bomb.

But essentially they had been able to apprehend him because, after having found out that his plan with the bomb had been unsuccessful, he had tried to strangle his partner just as the police was taking him to a safe house.

Not a very smart move.

That's why he was probably looking at "guilty but insane", attempting murder the last straw on his collection of foolish acts.

Committed atheist, after a bad divorce Richards had been brainwashed by his old schoolmate Daniel Emerson, founder of the religious group "No future against God's will", into joining his movement and boycotting everything he had been working on for the last 20 years. And of course in his mind boycotting included getting rid of any AI prototypes and aforesaid prototypes creators.

Then Shaw had called, informing Harold that the only survivor of the shoot out at the facility had "assured" her that nobody was going to go after James Stevenson any time soon.

"We are saving people again." Was the whispered conclusion, hoarse but full of relief.

"It seems we are, yes. But didn't I start this conversation with a I'll give you a full report as long as you don't try to speak?"

John had managed to stay conscious incredibly longer this time, well, more than the previous 30 seconds, and of course had immediately tried to speak despite Harold's prompt recommendation. Then of course had asked about Stevenson.

So Harold had thought to coax him into listening only with the promise to offer him a full report on the case, hoping the former agent would drift off again and rest. But trust John to use every ounce of willpower to hear out every single word and comment in the end.

At the reprimand Harold watched him finally close his eyes, a tiny smile soon replaced by a grimace as he shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

The grimace didn't stay long, but Harold could tell his partner was in a great deal of pain. He squeezed his shoulder lightly, trying to convey a small measure of comfort.

"A nurse will be here shortly, you'll be able to rest comfortably till tomorrow morning." He assured firmly.

John didn't give any sign to acknowledge the sentence but Harold felt his body relax a bit under his light touch.

We are saving people again.

The exact thought, in all its simplicity, had crossed his mind as well and Harold had felt relieved in a way he hadn't imagined possible, painfully aware of how much he needed to be successful in their mission. And he knew John needed it as much as Harold himself.

He remembered how difficult had been to learn about Cal Beecher's death, then face Joss' pain and confusion. Harold also recalled how painful had been for his friend to spend 24 hours with a dead man walking, do everything he could to help him with his revenge, only to watch him die in front of his eyes.

But James Stevenson was safe.

We are saving people again.

Still, Harold thought they had paid a high price to be back on track, a price too close to the one he couldn't afford to pay. But John's was gradually healing and he observed his friend relaxing completely as the nurse injected some pain medication in the IV attached to his arm.

So Harold relaxed as well, deciding he could allow himself a hot shower and a proper night's sleep at his safe house that night.

"Ms. Shaw suspects those men were from the Government. CIA or some secret unit like ISA." He explained to John the next day.

The ex-operative was more alert and Harold hadn't been able to avoid the gunmen topic any longer, even if he still was firmly refusing to let his friend talk too much.

"I'm pretty sure they were ISA." Was the raspy retort.

And Harold realized that everything had gone so slow - the investigation, the hypothesis, all the usual routine around their cases, because he hadn't been able to compare notes with his partner. Harold had been left alone, with the help of people only externally involved in their duo dynamics.

He was glad he could put it right then, even if the investigation was almost closed and all gunmen but one were uselessly dead.

Even if John couldn't actually do anything but voice up hypothesis. Very softly and not too often, he mentally added.

"Well, Mr. Reese, you could have talked sooner, instead of spending the past three days sleeping." He told his friend with a deadpan expression then, finding no little amusement at the dirty look he received.

However the former soldier looked tired and hurting again, and Harold was sure he would never utter a word about it. So he decided it was time for an ultimatum.

"Now John, since I've filled the umpteenth request of yours - and I'm telling you, I feel like I'm dealing with a four years old, it's a book or television. No more questions, reports or chats whatsoever."

And true to form, the taller man's mouth curved in something very close to a pout.

"Bear?" Was the hopeful whisper.

"Book or television, Mr. Reese, you even get to pick the channel or the title." And Harold emphasized his point holding the remote in one hand and a small pile of books in the other.

John looked seriously grumpy but pointed at the books, at last.

"Very well. White Fang?" Harold suggested. He watched a tiny smile appear on his friend's lips, as he nodded lightly.

And John was already dozing off, but Harold settled back and started reading all the same, listening to the sound of his voice and his partner even breathing.

TBC