This is near the end now, properly this time. In this chapter I will be extending my artistic licence by a few miles. Bullet wounds are nasty and take a long time to heal but if I gave the actual healing time we'd been here for ages and you'd all get bored, so gloss over that reality fact and enjoy! It's only fanfiction at the end of the day. Thank you to all those who have read this, it means a lot to me. This is my longest fanfiction ever – I normally write one offs or shorts but this is the longest yet and I have thoroughly enjoyed it. Much love X

P.S Sorry this has taken so long, so much has happed recently I don't know which way is up anymore!

Soundtrack: Takida – To Have and To Hold

The penthouse lay empty and dark, the early morning light only just beginning to seep through the large windows. All the lights were off and there was a chill in the air, a few soft furnishings were misplaced, a tell-tale sign of the occupants having left in a hurry. Harold wasn't here. John stepped forward and let out the breath he'd been holding. Don't let your selfishness cost him his life. He hadn't expected to return here so soon, it was a bittersweet reunion. His gaze wondered to the kitchen: on the first day he reached up over Harold to get a glass for him shortly before finding out he was a sense offender, he chuckled at the memory. He looked over at the leather sofas: Joss looked to peaceful when she slept, the memories of Joss flooded back and ached the barely healed wound in his heart – he hadn't yet grieved for her, he blinked back the tears. Finally, he looked at the door to Harold's bedroom: the balcony with the beautiful view of their dystopian world where Harold had snapped his cane and released his Master's hold on John. He smiled, the room in which he'd spent so little now had so many memories, some bad but mostly good. John strode to the corridor leading deeper into the penthouse. The large mahogany door caught his eye but he walked straight past it, he arrived at the small cupboard and tentatively pushed the door open.

He heard the low hum of the computers, the room was bathed in a black light from the screens. John sat in Harold's chair and wiggled the mouse, the screen lit up: a map of an apartment building on the east side of the State. He scanned the image before him – a Government Officials Apartment Block. The apartment belonged to Kara Stanton, the late Kara Stanton. John knew her but he hadn't heard the name in a long time. There was a GPS signal coming from the apartment, John clicked on it, it belonged to a Samantha Groves, Stanton's slave. John supressed the surge of anger inside him. He stood up and walked out the room, he went into Harold's bedroom and pulled out the box from the wardrobe. He loaded the gun and placed it in the back of his trousers. He took out his phone and put it to his ear, he walked towards the front door and froze.

'Hi John, it's me. I want you to know that I'm sorry, for everything. My feelings are still real John, I love you. I always will. But you have Miss Morgan now, you make a good couple. Treat her well. I know who is after Miss Morgan… so I guess this is good bye. Thank you John, you've been good to me and I'm sorry I wasn't to you.'

An ice cold fist closed around his heart. Harold had put himself in danger to save Miss Morgan. You make a good couple. Harold wanted him to be happy, and with no Harold there would be no numbers, he'd be free to live the life he wants. John breathed down his rising anger – deep down he cared and cared deeply for Harold.

Harold lay on his side, his arm pillowed underneath him. The door opened and Harold woke. The searing hot pain in his neck and back was instantaneous. He shut his eyes tight willing back the tears. Root walked into the room and knelt in front of Harold dressed in the same jumper and shorts as before. Harold opened his eyes and looked at her, mouth set in a firm line.

'Morning Harry.' She smirked. 'Did you enjoy yourself earlier?'

Harold pushed himself up into a sitting position, eyes burning into Root. She was balanced – gracefully – on the balls of her feet, sitting on her kneels with her legs parted slightly. Harold kept his gaze up, he wasn't falling for that again. Not again. Root extended an arm to look at her watch on her tiny feminine wrists.

'It's nearly one Harry. In the morning we'll take a trip, far away from here.' She looked into his eyes, a defensive vulnerable look glassing over her eyes. 'Far away from the things that cause us harm.'

'What did Miss Morgan do to you?' Harold asked, he didn't care, he just wanted to know.

'Tell you what, if you answer mine I'll answer yours.' Harold looked at her, eyes not giving a thing away. 'Where are they Harry?'

'Who?' he asked quietly.

'Miss Morgan's unfortunate clients. Where are they?'

'I don't know.'

Root lashed out sharply and accurately, her palm meeting Harold's cheek with a loud slap. Harold was shocked, he hadn't been hit like that in a long time. His frightened eyes looked at into Root's eyes, which were fired up with a short anger. He watched her calm again. She forced a smile.

'Over the last few decades, some incredibly high profiles figures have disappeared. Gone. Completely vanished without a trace. How would someone be able to do that? Money? Resources? Knowledge? They'd need all of it and only a select few ever had that kind of power. Miss Morgan was one of those select few: you know as well as I do what she does Harry. I know why, I know how, God I even know who but I don't know where. I want to know where they are.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.' his voice still deathly quiet.

'The people who disappeared – businessmen, politicians, influencers, corrupt officials. There are no death records for any of them Harold, which suggests they are still alive somewhere. I want to know where.'

Harold leaned closer, inches from her face. He spoke with a level and slow voice. 'I don't know what you're talking about. They are dead. You're on a wild goose chase Samantha, quit while you're ahead.'

'My name is Root. Where are they?'

Harold cast his gaze away from her and leaned back against the wall. He was done talking. Root's lips formed a thin line. She stood up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Harold sighed heavily. The look that passed through her eyes: it was hidden deep within her and it hurt. She felt. She always had. Outside the room, Root leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Harold had seen her weakness. In her desperation to find Kara, she'd let her unrequited feelings show. Human nature. She thumped the wall with her fist, damn human nature, damn bad code.

John held his gun in his hand, he was coiled and ready to pounce, like an viper in a trap. He pressed himself into the foyer wall. The whole building was abandoned years ago but it had been overrun and abused by sense offenders for years. The walls were covered in rebel slogans, the floors were a mess with boxes, broken weapons and furniture. John peered into the large foyer and scanned the room for any dangers. He lowered his gun and tapped his earpiece.

'Zoe. Kara Stanton, what do you know?'

There was a long radio silence pause. 'Stanton was one of my…subjects. She started to kill for no reason, shoot offenders without trail, to kill for fun. She disappeared. She had a slave – Samantha Groves. I don't know what happened to Groves after Stanton disappeared. Why?'

'Groves is the one who shot you. I went back to the penthouse, Harold left GPS co-ordinates to Stanton's residence. Does Groves know it was you?'

'She may well do in which case you'll need me, Harold knows what I did but nothing else. Groves was nasty, if she believes Harold knows anything he won't have long John.'

John tapped his ear piece again. He walked over to elevators and pressed the call button. A ping echoed through the empty room.

Root stood before a large mirror that was leaning against a wall in the bedroom. She had changed from her shorts and knitted jumper to tight black jeans that hugged her legs and kneel high heeled boots partnered with a sassy leather jacket which hid a tight, plain black top that hugged her small breasts and flat stomach. A mechanical beep caught her attention. Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked up and finished zipping up her boot. She walked into a small office and sat at a computer in the empty apartment, the computer beeped again, she wiggled the mouse bringing up a live feed from the elevator. She frowned, it was empty. Root stood up from the desk and picked up a gun off the desk. The moonlight highlighted her body and hair beautifully. She pulled the catch back on the gun and smiled at the delightful metallic clunk is made. A door opened in the main area of the apartment. She stood just inside the doorway of the office, hidden by the darkness. She watched as John entered the room and compassed it, just like he was trained to. She focused on his eyes as they scanned the room: the walls, the ceiling, the floor. She also eyed his gun in his hands, her grip tightened on hers. John knelt down on the floor and touched a mark on the floor, his eyes snapped up and scanned the room again. The marks on the floor led into a small room. John stood tall again and followed the tracks: Root stepped into the moonlit room and followed John silently.

The tracks in the dust lead to a door; John reached out with a gloved hand and tried to turn the door knob. He knelt down and ghosted his fingers over a clear shoeprint – a shoeprint he knew was Harold's. Root stood behind him and drew her gun, the silencer extending the barrel. John paused. He jumped up and spun around, taking Root by surprise. He drew his gun and aimed it as her. She didn't even flinch. They stood opposite each other, both solid and steady and eyeing each other carefully with their guns at arm's length. Silence spread itself between them.

'You must be Samantha.' Said John.

'You can call me Root, Mr Reese, that's what you liked to be called isn't it?' John squeezed the handle of his gun then relaxed again. He didn't talk about his past. Root lowered her gun slightly and shrugged. 'I'm not giving him back, not till I get what I want.'

'He doesn't know anything.'

'A great number of people, good people, disappeared. I want to know where they are.'

'And you think Harold knows?'

'Harold Finch is the most powerful man in the State, what he doesn't know isn't worth knowing. He knows.'

'He doesn't. But I know someone who does.'

'I'll get the information I need out of him one way or another. I don't like killing people John, but sometimes it needs to be done.'

'If you harm him in any way…' he threated.

'I don't need to.' John's eyesbrows quirked up. 'You've already done the damage.'

'Let me see him.'

'Give me Miss Morgan.'

'I will get her, you will bring Harold and we will all go.'

'Deal.' Root smiled and pushed past John. He slipped his into the back of his pants. Root opened the door then stepped back, looking expectantly at John.

John looked at room then walked through the door. He stood in a darkened room, the door was pushed closed behind him. John's eyes scanned the room from floor to ceiling: dusty, damp, concrete floor and a single light fixture on the ceiling. His eyes came to a slumped figure in the corner.

'Harold.' John whispered.

The figure didn't move. John surged forward onto his knees as the tears began to fall from his eyes. He put his strong arms around the figure and held him for all he was worth.

'Harold. I'm so sorry.'

The figure groaned and moved.

'Oh John. You came for me.' Harold's voice was weak and quiet.

'Of course I did.'