A/N - I am pretty sure I am not the only one who often looks at that handsome, chiseled, stoic face and wonders "What are you thinking, John?"

Many stories I've started have their origins in that question. Recently, I asked that question while re-watching 'Number Crunch' as John walks across the parking garage towards his confrontation with Mark Snow. Then it got longer as I realized there might be a lot more going on than I had first thought.

This is what I came up with - it turns out he was thinking about quite a lot.

oO0Oo

John made his way towards the car looking forward to heading home. He loosened the muscles in his neck and shoulders as he went, shrugging into that more comfortable 'off-duty' feeling. As he crossed the deserted and silent upper level of the garage, he thought about the events of the evening. Most importantly, Wendy and Paula were safe.

He frowned a bit when he thought about the fact that they hadn't been in time to save Claire or Matt. It was deeply troubling. Why hadn't the machine given them those numbers sooner? He made a note to discuss that with Finch at the first opportunity… or in the morning. If he would admit it to himself, he was tired. Plus Finch should get some extra rest after nearly being blown up yesterday. Yes - he'd ask about it in the morning.

John would not be so quick to force his employer out into the field in the future. But he couldn't help being impressed at Finch's willingness to join him. He'd only hesitated for a moment. And then, when danger had arisen, when they'd realized there was a bomb, Finch had not run for cover. He had not thought of his own safety in spite of John's exhortations to the contrary. He'd moved towards the danger instead of away from it and nearly been caught in the explosion. John had learned more about Finch in that moment than in the last several weeks combined. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on his boss over the next few days to make sure the damage to his neck and back hadn't worsened.

John would sleep pretty good tonight, though - knowing that Finch had escaped harm, and Wendy and Paula had that shopping bag full of money. They'd do some good with it. Take care of their mom, maybe have a little left over for themselves. It was gratifying to know he'd been able to give them that.

After handing out pain and suffering for so long - to be the one to give succor and safety to those in need felt like a balm to his wounded soul.

Once again he felt thankful to Finch for this new opportunity. He understood what he'd been given - not just a second chance, but also a chance at redemption. It was also a chance to know and 'work with' people like Detective Joss Carter.

Carter…

He'd honestly begun to believe that people like her had become extinct… Far too many bad people - not enough good. Carter was good.

Tension continued to bleed away as he took another deep breath. He thought about how he'd been able to save her life - and how just moments ago she'd actually thanked him for it.. They may not be on the same side… yet. But at least he was not her enemy. There was a time when he would have been. Kara would have hated her. Snow, of course, would like her - or at least - he'd like being able to manipulate her.

He wished that Mark Snow and his pals at the CIA had never learned of Carter's existence - of her connection to him. But he had known that - sooner or later - they would. It had become inevitable the night he'd first met Carter. After that debacle on the subway, he'd known she would run his prints. And he'd known that running his prints would raise red flags on more than one database.

At the time he hadn't cared in the least.

That night was supposed to be his last.

It wouldn't have mattered if Snow - or anyone else for that matter - had come looking because he would be beyond their reach. He'd be dead.

Now that he was still around - and intending to stay that way - he could only hope that somehow no one ever noticed that an NYPD detective had managed to run a 'dead' CIA agent's prints through AFIS.

Regardless, he resolved anew not to allow his past mistakes to hurt her.

He'd asked Finch to continue his heightened monitoring of her, even after they'd eliminated Mr. Kovach, Hector Alvarez, and Elias as threats to her.

He'd suspected his boss would have anyway. Finch was thorough like that.

Then, over the bluejacked phone, he'd heard her utter the words, "You're CIA - I met plenty like you in the Green Zone..." John had heard Snow telling her about him. Mixing enough truth with the lies to make it believable. Heard Mark claiming to be his 'best friend.'

His fears had come to pass. Mark Snow was busy trying to manipulate Detective Carter.

He'd vowed to himself to do whatever it took to keep Snow from hurting Carter. And he would keep that vow. But there was little he could do about it tonight. Tonight he would allow himself some much needed rest.

oO0Oo

The garage wasn't completely silent, of course. Nor had John ceased being vigilant. Being unaware of his surroundings was something he'd long forgotten how to do. And parking structures in New York City were rarely still.

There was at least one vehicle roaming the aisles, a big one - SUV of some kind judging by the sound. John noted it, but didn't give it much thought. Soon whoever was driving would find their spot, or pick up some hospital worker who'd just finished a shift and they'd depart. It was one of the reasons he'd parked on the top level in the first place. No one came up here unless there was no where else to park, and that was not the case tonight. The garage was barely half full.

So when the engine noise only increased, he frowned slightly to himself and felt his tension return, his body automatically returning to a state of alertness. The vehicle should be departing by now. The fact that it wasn't meant trouble. His inner musings silenced themselves as he re-checked his escape routes. There wasn't much cover available - none that he could reach before the car came into view.

As the vehicle approached, he quickly scanned for possible dangers. He knew what he would do if tasked with capturing (or killing) a man such as himself. So he cataloged possible sniper perches, noted that the cameras had quit blinking, evaluated his options, and accepted the possibility that he would not be leaving this place unscathed.

The gloom was his biggest advantage. The headlights would be his enemy's. Shooting them out would be his first priority.

The final step of his preparations was to calculate the most strategic position in which to stand and face his enemy. It was the tiniest advantage, but if it allowed him to reach cover even a fraction of a second sooner, it would be worth it. He knew he would need every possible advantage.

Tracking the car's approach, he continued to walk until he reached his last stand, outwardly appearing to be relaxed and unconcerned.

He turned just as the car stopped, almost nonchalant in his motions. Giving his enemy the impression that he was unprepared would also be to his advantage.

As he tried to make out the occupants of the vehicle, his earbud beeped: Finch. If Finch was calling with a new number, he would just have to wait until John took care of the immediate threat. He tuned out the sound.

Then he received his first real surprise. He was not surprised to see Snow exit the car - he'd already put that particular enemy at the top of the list of potential threats. He was surprised - and then slightly encouraged - to see Carter get out the other side. He'd known Snow would manipulate her into being his asset. But the fact that she'd come along - that she hadn't merely turned him over and then turned her back - meant she wanted to see how this played out. That perhaps she wasn't completely sure she'd done the right thing. Yes, Joss Carter was someone the world could not afford to lose. He wished he could see if her expression was one of satisfaction or of doubt.

But confirming Snow as the threat also diminished his hopes of turning the situation to his advantage. Now he knew there was a sniper. Now he knew exactly what was at stake. The only thing he didn't know was if Mark had orders to capture or to kill. His earbud beeped again and again he ignored it.

Snow's tone of voice revealed nothing. "Hello, John."

He readied himself while still appearing unconcerned. He injected a bit of surprise into his tone since Snow would be expecting it. "Mark."

"Glad to see you're still alive."

So that you can have the opportunity to kill me yourself? "I bet you are."

With the first words of the exchange, the scales were quickly tipping towards death rather than capture. The only question that remained was, Would Snow kill him in front of Carter? Once again he was grateful that her sense of justice had held true and she hadn't merely abandoned him to his fate.

When his earbud beeped a third time, it occurred to him that perhaps his number had come up. He still couldn't answer.

Mark was talking, and John wondered why. "I'm surprised you wound up in New York City. I thought you'd get yourself a cabin in the woods. Montana, maybe." Was he still trying to reinforce the lies he'd told Carter?

It was time to move things forward - to take some semblance of control. "What do you want, Mark?"

Snow's response was not encouraging. "It's time to come home John. Slate's been wiped clean."

It was a complete and blatant lie but the scales had tipped back in his favor just the tiniest bit. If Snow was here simply to terminate him, he'd have done it by now. Bless Carter for her dedication to justice. "You know that'll never happen."

What he was really saying was, 'Just get on with this…' He was sending his own message to the invisible sniper: 'I'm not coming quietly… Do what you came here to do...'

Then he braced himself for the coming bullet, chose his escape route, focused on taking out the headlights as quickly as possible, and prepared to move regardless of the damage to his body.

Then it came. A fire burned through his left side, and he fell. All conscious thought ceased and he moved by force of will alone. Though his body was screaming at him to curl into the fetal position to preserve life as long as possible, he pushed the noise away and threw all his effort into taking out those headlights.

He got the first one.

Then a second fire was ignited in his thigh. He did not allow it to affect his single minded focus, though.

Now he had a mission, and he pinned all of his energy to it. He was no longer man - A man could not move in his current condition. He was instinct - training - survival - determination. He took out the second light and made use of his planned escape route. Staggering to his feet was pure agony, but it just didn't matter. The door in front of him was all that mattered. Reach it- and then he could feel.

oOo

Crashing through the door and into the wall behind it, he instantly regretted his decision to allow himself to feel.

He leaned heavily against the wall and listened to the door swing shut behind him. He would have fallen if not for the railing and the fact that his good leg was locked beneath him. For a moment the pain was overwhelming and it was all he could do to keep breathing.

But Snow and company were out there and they weren't stupid. In a moment they would figure out where he'd gone and come after him or maybe they would cut him off at the street. Either way, he had to get out ahead of them.

He needed to move.

He grit his teeth, forced his knee to bend, and started down the stairs as fast as his wounds would allow.

Every synapse in his brain was engaged in controlling pain and forcing torn and bleeding muscles to move.

He recognized the symptoms of shock. He was all too familiar with the weakness that came from rapid blood loss. He was dying and he knew it and he wasn't all that surprised. Harold had told him from the beginning that he'd probably wind up dead. He'd thought it would be from a bullet intended for one of the Numbers. He hadn't expected someone from his past to be the offender.

His past…

It had been a long time since anyone had cared whether he lived or died.

So when his earbud beeped again, his finger went to his ear without even thinking about it.

"Hey, Harold."

"John! I've been trying to call you."

"Yeah… I've been kinda busy."

"Where are you?"

"The parking structure… It's not looking good."

"Carter sold you out. They got to her."

Carter… She'd been forced from his thoughts. But he didn't hold her actions against her - Snow was a master of manipulation. John was still grateful to her. Her presence was very likely the only reason he was still alive… still free…
"Yeah - they're clever like that."

But none of that mattered any more...

"I wanted to say thank you, Harold... for giving me a second chance." Thank-you for being the reason I will not die the monster that I was... That I had a chance to do some good in this world...

"It's not over, John. I'm close. Just get to the ground floor."

Close? No! John already blamed himself for connecting Mark Snow with Carter - if Snow got wind of Finch because of him…

He couldn't let Harold - or his work with the Numbers - be jeopardized because of a futile and pointless attempt at rescue.

Don't come here, Finch. Don't put yourself in Snow's sights - he doesn't know you exist. Don't sacrifice yourself. Not for me… Not for me… "No… You stay away… Don't even risk it!" But part of him already knew his protest would fall on deaf ears. Finch was just as stubborn as he.
'Just get to the ground floor' echoed in his head as his vision began to fade. 'Just get to the ground floor.'

He turned at the bottom of the stairs and tried to start down the next flight but it wasn't there. Expecting to step down, his foot landed hard and sent a shockwave of pain through his body. He moaned.

Wracked with a fresh wave of pain, he knew he was just about done. He leaned heavily on the railing and fought to remain upright. There were no more stairs. Had he reached the ground floor? Would Finch really be there?

Through a haze he saw a door. He all but launched himself toward it. His legs no longer obeying his commands, he pretty much fell through. If not for the railing just on the other side he would have fallen and that would have been it.

A screech of tires forced his head up and a large, dark shape sped towards him. He blinked and saw Finch getting out of the car and heading his way.

Once again Harold had found a way to keep him going beyond what was humanly possible. Not because he'd given hope of survival - but because now John needed to make sure Finch got out of there before Snow found him.

He knew he was in shock. Gasping, unable to hold himself upright any longer he put out an arm in a silent, desperate plea for help and stumbled toward the car, his eyes closed against the pain. He had to stay on his feet. If he fell, Finch would be captured.

Just as Finch reached him they both heard, "Hold it!"

John felt rather than saw Finch's head jerk up in the direction of the sound. Was it Snow? Was he too late to get Finch out of there? He looked. He had to somehow save Finch from whatever the threat was.

Carter.

Moment of truth time.

oOo

Later - as he sat watching hour after hour of boring video feeds in their next case, John would turn this moment over in his mind. He would deeply regret what they'd asked of Carter. He knew it had torn a part of her away: The part of her that was clear black and white.

For Finch's sake - and his own - he would be eternally grateful that gray had won the night.

But at that moment he'd had nothing left to give. No more strength. Determination could carry you only so far...

"You-"

He heard her recognize Finch. Now she would track him as well. Would she turn them both over to Snow out of a sense of duty? Or would her experience tonight open her eyes to who Snow really was?

He wanted to ask her to get Finch away from there, but he couldn't summon the energy.

The seconds ticked by as she wrestled with her sense of right and wrong. Eternal seconds - each one brought Snow closer.

Finally: "Get him out of here."

And then he felt her arms around him. Stronger than Finch, she helped him the remaining distance to the car. Once inside he looked up at her. He saw anger, reluctance, duty, fear, and frustration all at war. He had nothing to say that would help, nor the strength to speak if he had.

Finally - resignation and concern won: "Go!"

They were away.

Agony coursed through him as Finch tore over the curb and around the corner, but he welcomed it for now every passing second took them further from capture, from imprisonment, although perhaps not from death - death seemed to be keeping pace.

Carter had let them - had helped them escape.

Finch seemed determined to try to save him.

John closed his eyes, gave himself fully to the process of surviving, and considered the unbelievable, incredible fact that someone - perhaps even two someones - cared about him enough to risk themselves for his survival.

He would do his best not to let them down.

oO0Oo
the end
oO0Oo

I have a rough draft of Carter's POV, and an outline of Finch's, but honestly, I probably won't get them ready for publishing unless you guys seem interested. I'm not holding them 'for ransom,' just stating a fact.