This is the fourth and, most likely, final installment of the story of my OC, Samantha Tudin, and her adventures with John Reese and Harold Finch. It's the last one because, basically, I'm out of ideas. If I get anymore I may jump start this again.

I'd recommend reading the three previous stories before delving into this one, starting with "Dark Horse". (Don't worry, they're not very long. :P) There will be a lot of references to events and details that happened in the preceding stories in this, so be warned.

Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

The warmth of his hand moved up her bare calf to her thigh and over the hem of the insignificant dress to her hip. She lay on the bed in a strange room, relaxed and unfeeling as he lay down next to her.

His hand kept moving, savoring the touch of a treasure he'd won. His warmth reached her back, and the zipper of her dress. The cold hit her back, but she barely felt it. She laughed at nothing as he slipped the heels off her feet and they clattered to the floor. He kissed her collar bone and the hand, as though moving with a mind of its own, reached her neck, under her hair, and worked the clasp of the halter top of her dress. She exhaled sleepily, her vision of him blurring and coming back into focus, then blurring again.

"He's coming," said a far away voice. The words came slowly, lagging when they reached her ears and then her brain. She couldn't tell if it was in her head or someone had spoken them.

"Mm. Okay," she sighed as he moved on top of her.

"Are you all right, Sam?" the voice asked.

"'m-fine," she replied.

"You're just fine," he whispered to her and kissed her throat.

Sam felt that she should be doing something right now, but she couldn't think of what it was. Her arms rested on the pillow above her head, and her feet dangled off of the bed as he began to take her.

The thunderous noise didn't make her stir. She lay on the bed, her thoughts fogged and slow as he jumped up in response to the door that had burst open. She met John's eyes for a moment. They seemed to blacken as he looked at the room's other occupant, like a shark when it smelled blood.

"Hey, this is a private room!" he shouted as John strode forward and kicked him against the wall.

"So you can rape and murder in private?" John said in a dangerous voice. "How convenient." He slammed the man's head against the bedside table, knocking over a lamp, and he collapsed onto the floor, semi-conscious and bleeding.

"I think you got him," someone else said.

"John brought Lionel," Sam said airily into the blankets.

"Just take care of him," John growled.

Lionel took out a pair of handcuffs and bent over what was left after John's expression of anger.

The mattress sunk as John sat next to Sam and lifted her eyelids. The light was too bright and his face was blurry, but she still recognized him. "Hi John. This bed is soooo comfy! You should try this bed."

John quickly zipped her dress back up and, grabbing onto her wrists, he yanked her up, flinging her upper body over his shoulder, and grabbed onto her legs as he stood up.

"Woooo!" Sam said as he turned around, letting her arms dangle. "How long is this ride? Wait, wait, wait," she said, sounding a little more sober. "Harold's in my phone and my phone is… where is it? Oh no," she said, her panic rising. "I lost Harold!" She sounded truly horrified. She cupped her hand over her ear and shouted aimlessly. "Harold! Are you there, Harold?"

"I'm right here, Sam," Finch said through her earpiece.

John turned again, looking for Sam's purse. It was on the floor next to the door, along with her shoes. He picked them up and handed them back to her.

"Ah, yesh. Thankyew. John found you, Harold," Sam slurred.

"She's completely gone," Lionel said as he hefted his latest arrest off the floor, his hands cuffed behind him.

"Which is why we came here when we did," John said impatiently.

"You won't get away with this," the now handcuffed criminal said, blood dripping down his face. "My father – "

"Your father won't come to your rescue this time," John said angrily. Before he could hit him again, Lionel dragged him out of the room.

"Hey!" Sam poked John in the back. "Watch your cold hands. I am a lady after all," she laughed after she spoke.

"That fact is all too obvious at the moment," John tried pulling the skirt down and lowered his hand to her knees, holding onto her as he carried her out of the room and down the stairs.

"John," Sam whined and squirmed as he carried her. "You're jabbing into my stomach." She kicked her legs, and John's other hand grabbed her ankles and held them down.

"We're almost there," he said, pushing through the crowd in the darkened and deafening downstairs and out the front doors of the club.

Sam felt nauseated, John's shoulder poked into her stomach and her head bounced around, her hair flying wildly below her as he carried her across the street to the black sedan parked along the curb.

The world turned right side up again as John bent down and set her on her feet. The street spun around her. Sam swayed and John caught her before she hit the ground. He half carried, half dragged her to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. Sam fell onto the seat as John took off his suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. He lifted her legs into the car and shut the door.

"Back in the car," Sam said tonelessly, leaning back and closing her eyes.

"Good," Finch said to her as John opened the driver's side door and slid in.

He turned to Sam, taking an object out of his pocket. "Sam, give me your arm."

"I'll give you more than that," she said sloppily, reaching out her bare arm.

John held onto her wrist, pulled the cap off of the syringe with his teeth and injected its contents into the crook of her arm.

"Ow," Sam moaned, pulling her arm away.

John pulled at the jacket around her, attempting to cover up as much of her as possible.

"Is she all right, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked through their earpieces.

"I just gave her the shot. She should come back in a few minutes." John started the engine, glancing again at Sam, and pulled onto the street.

Sam sighed contentedly and rested on her side on the seat.

"How are you feeling?" John said after a few minutes.

"I may puke," she said, sounding more like herself. "But other than that I'm okay. My head feels... clearer."

She kept her knees together and pulled at the skirt of the tiny, green halter dress, but it didn't move. John glanced at her legs. "I didn't think you were going to drink it," he muttered with agitation.

"I wouldn't have been able to fake being roofied, John," Sam reasoned. "Besides, I knew you would be there before anything drastic happened."

"Not soon enough," John said quietly.

"How is Rachel?" Sam asked sleepily, purposefully changing the subject.

"She's fine. She's with Harold."

"I dropped her off at her mother's," Finch chimed in. "She and half a dozen other women will be filing charges in the morning. It looks like Rachel would have been his first murder if we hadn't intervened."

Sam nodded, satisfied. "So it worked. That's always a good thing." She smiled into the headrest and pushed her arms through the sleeves of John's jacket. The cuffs came up to the top knuckles on her fingers, but it was warm and smelled good. She sunk down into it and closed her eyes.

"You should tell me where we need to go to find the rest of that dress," John said seriously.

Sam lifted her head in protest. "Harold said that I had to slut it up!"

"I said nothing of the kind," Finch said in their ears.

"Well, no – you didn't say those exact words, but that's what you meant," Sam continued. "This guy was following Rachel for weeks and already got to her once before. We had to be drastic in order to make him switch to someone else in a few days." Sam started laughing softly. "If it makes you feel better, John, you can borrow one of Eva's dresses and be the decoy next time. I'd be happy to do your makeup."

John's mouth twitched. "That's Eva's?" John glanced again at the skimpy, green monstrosity they were defining as a 'dress'.

"It's from her single, partying years," Sam explained. "It fits her a little better too," Sam squirmed in her seat.

"That thing doesn't fit anybody, Sam," John said with finality.

They reached Sam's apartment building, and John walked her up. She was more stable, but needed his steady hand to put the key in the lock of her front door.

"Thank you." She stepped in, turning on the light in the front room. "Do you want to come in for a minute?" She asked out of courtesy, and the idea of keeping John around while she was in such a strange mental state seemed appealing at the moment.

John smiled a little. "I'd better not. Get some sleep, Sam."

"You too. Oh, your jacket," she started pulling it off, but John kept it on her, buttoning one of the buttons.

"Hold onto it, I'll get it later. Goodnight, Sam," he said, rubbing his face and stepping away from the doorway.

Sam watched him walk down the hall and into the stairwell before she closed the door. She hung up the call to Finch and took out her earpiece. Dropping her shoes and her purse onto the couch, she walked to the window and watched John step out of the building and across the street.

"That isn't quite your style, is it?"

Sam twitched around, and regretted the movement. Her brain sloshed around like an adrift pile of seaweed and her stomach lurched in protest. She grabbed onto the windowsill for support as she blinked and squinted into the kitchen.

Carl Elias along with the man Sam had nicknamed Scarface stood in the darkened kitchen. They'd been waiting for her. Elias was indicating her dress.

Sam dove for her purse and pulled out her gun. She pointed it unsteadily at the two men. Scarface also drew his weapon, but Elias shook his head only once, and the sidearm was put away. Sam, however, didn't feel as comfortable and kept her weapon trained on them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

Elias turned the light on in the kitchen. "Put that away, Samantha. No one wants to get hurt."

Sam hesitated, her eyes moving from Elias to Scarface and back again. She lowered her gun, but kept it in her hand with the safety off.

"That's a little better." Elias stepped out of the kitchen and sat down on the couch next to Sam's purse. "The small hours of the morning and you're just getting home, Samantha? A big date tonight?" Elias's eyes moved down the dress and back up again. "I can already tell he's a gentleman, giving you his jacket to keep warm." He smiled pleasantly.

"No. I was… I was helping John with something," Sam explained curtly.

"Ah, yes, the hero and his loyal sidekick," Elias said with a smile. "How are you enjoying that?"

"What – do – you – want?" Sam said through clenched teeth.

"I told you I would check up on you," Elias explained. "I wanted to see how things were coming on your end of our deal."

"The deal is off," Sam snapped. "You didn't hold up your end at all! John nearly died that night, and I know you were behind it."

"I had nothing to do with – "

"You sicked the CIA on him!" Sam shouted.

"They came to me with questions, I answered them. Am I the one to blame for their actions?"

"Yes. We had an agreement, and the first chance you have to get John out of your hair, figuratively speaking of course," Sam's eyes flicked to the top of Elias' smooth head then back to his face, "you take it. And it wouldn't have cost you anything, would it? None of your money, or your peons. You just decided to let someone else do your work for you." Sam paused, as though waiting for a response. She didn't get one. "I'm not doing anything for you. You had your chance, and you screwed it up."

Elias observed Sam for a moment, a mildly interested expression on his face. "I can understand why John keeps you around. You are a very intelligent woman, Samantha. I might try to get you on my side of things."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, let's see you try."

"No, I don't think I will. You are already very dedicated where you are, aren't you?" Elias' voice softened, making him feel even more dangerous.

Sam flared up at his meaning, his allusion to her feelings for John. The gun came back up, pointed at his forehead. "Get out."

Elias nodded to Scarface and stood. "Do you think that I'll just accept this as a loss and walk away?" Elias quietly asked. "You are becoming more like him, Samantha. But you are still very naïve. And quite valuable… to some of us."

Sam cocked the weapon.

Elias lifted up his hands in peace and walked towards the door along with Scarface. They let themselves out. Sam ran to the door once it shut and locked every lock it had.

She put the safety back on her gun and put it in her purse as she collapsed onto the couch, her hands shaking from the rush and fear that had come over her.