Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Desperate Measures

The door was definitely shut tight and locked. And by the looks of it, it had been rigged that there was no way to open it from the inside. No knob, no handle.

Examining the heavy, fire-proof door, John discarded the notion of trying to open it by force. Beside the fact that his shoulders most definitely wouldn't thank him, it wouldn't do any good anyway. Though, hitting the bloody thing a few times to release some of his frustration for being so unbelievably stupid by letting the freaking thing close behind him sounded very appealing at the moment. What had supposed to have been a simple extraction had just turned into his personal nightmare.

At least his cell phone still had reception, but he didn't like the way his conversation with his employer went either. "What do you mean by 'it could take a while', Finch?" He tried not to let his frustration with the situation seep into his voice, but it wasn't easy.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reese", Finch said, not really sounding sorry at all, "but something has come up that needs my immediate attention."

"Well, then send somebody else."

"I would if I could, but Detective Fusco is still busy taking care of your – and I quote – 'latest mess'."

"Ok, Carter then." John suggested, not having given up on hope just yet.

"She's at a Criminal Investigative Analysis Seminar and has left instructions not to be disturbed." John got a sinking feeling in his stomach and … was that amusement in Finch's voice as he continued? "I think her exact words were 'If it's not bleeding, suffocating or about to explode – don't call'."

John closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling slowly through his nose, while he battled to reign in his frustration. Things were really not going his way.

"Are you bleeding, Mr. Reese?" Finch inquired, though he very well already knew the answer.

John narrowed his eyes, his reply a terse "No".

"Suffocating?"

"No."

"About to explode?"

"Not this time."

"Well then, I guess, you'll just have to be patient for a couple of hours." At that John closed his eyes again. This is so not happening. "I'm sure", Finch went on, sounding rather smug, "you and your companion will find some topic to talk about."

A suspicion formed in the back of John's mind. Dropping the volume of his voice even lower he asked, "This isn't about you losing the bet, is it?"

Harold scoffed, managing to sound truly affronted by John's accusation. "Mr. Reese, I assure you I wouldn't leave you stranded on purpose as a childish knee-jerk reaction to losing a petty bet. Though, I really must say, gloating does not become you."

"I didn't …" Reese stopped himself, realizing that his denial would sound rather undignified. Instead, he sighed, collecting himself. "You know", he began softly and calmly, trying to be the reasonable one, "we can always forget about the bet. Lethal Weapon and Die Hard were only suggestions. You can pick the next movie, I don't mind … just get me out of here." John winced at the slight undertone of desperation that had involuntarily crept into his voice at the last part.

Finch seemed to have picked up on it, too. It was quite apparent that he had a hard time keeping the smirk out of his voice. "As appealing as your offer sounds, I really am not in the position to come and get you at the moment. But don't worry, you'll be save where you are. Detective Fusco is rounding up all the suspects as we speak." Which meant, that definitely nobody would be coming by to check on their victim, inadvertently giving John a chance to free himself.

"Finch." Reese said, turning the name into an undisguised threat.

However, Finch was obviously still enjoying himself. "I promise, I'll see to it that someone will get you out as soon as possible. Sit tight. I've got to go now."

"Finch! Don't you dare!" Reese hissed. "Finch?!"

John waited a couple of seconds, hand pressed over his earwig, but the line was irrefutably dead. This is so not happening.

It didn't take long for the ensuing silence to be broken by a drawled out "Sooooo…". John dropped his hand in resignation and put on his best impassive expression as he turned around, facing the man he initially had come to save. Again. "We are stuck then?"

"Yes, Leon." John said calmly.

Leon eyed John first, then the door, then John again, with a look of expectation. "Can't you, I don't know, break it down with some of your Ninja moves?" John just stared at Leon, not dignifying his ridiculous question with an answer. Caught uncomfortably in John's icy stare, Leon's eyes darted to the floor and his face fell. "I guess not." He mumbled under his breath.

Reese took the moment of probably highly short-lived silence to actually look around the room he - so inelegantly - had ended up trapped in. It wasn't large, just enough room for a very uncomfortable looking cot and a crate serving as a table. Apparently, more comfort wasn't necessary for holding people prisoner these days. Unfortunately, there also was definitely not enough room for John to pace.

Leon had sat back down on the cot after Reese had let the door fall shut behind him, while attempting to free the smaller man from his cuffs. Never one to be able to take silence, Leon was already fidgeting and John was sure it wouldn't take long before there would be an end to the blessed silence. And he was right.

"So, watcha bet on?"

John regarded Leon, who seemed to be genuinely interested. "How long it would take for you to get into trouble again." Keeping his voice devoid of any emotion, John ignored the hurtful look that traveled across Leon's face as he continued, his lips twitching into a one-sided smile. "I gave you less than two months. Finch, four."

"Hey!" Leon exclaimed in indignation. "It wasn't my fault this time!" Again, Reese just stared at him, an eyebrow raised inquiringly. "Well", Leon amended sheepishly, "sorta."

Reese's eyes rolled toward the ceiling and he decided to give checking out the door another go. Once again, silence fell over them, while John searched the frame for a weak spot or … anything. And as before, Reese knew the silence wouldn't last.

"You know, I know this guy, who knows a guy …"

John exhaled and closed his eyes. This was going to be one hell of a challenge to his self-restrain.

- three hours later -

Lionel Fusco warily approached the door behind he assumed he'd find John Reese. Glasses had called him to ask to pick up Wonderboy, who'd managed to get himself into some sort of trouble once again. Although, Finch didn't really want to go into details, his warning that his knee-capping, trigger-happy friend might be a little cranky caused Lionel to exert additional caution.

He knocked on the door to let the other man know that he was going to open it. "John? You in there?" he called out for good measure, receiving no answer.

Hesitatingly, Lionel opened the door, slowly pulling it toward him and making sure that it still served as a cover between himself and the presumably cranky ex-op. He peeked around the heavy metal door to find John Reese sitting on a cot, his suit jacket discarded beside him, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and with his eyes closed. On a crate in front of him lay his partly assembled gun and his hands hovered over the remaining pieces of his weapon. Without opening his eyes, Reese expertly inserted the recoil spring and the barrel into the slide and attached it to the gun. Lastly, he inserted the magazine and let the barrel slide forward. Finally opening his eyes, Reese let his gaze slowly travel upwards. "Hello, Lionel."

The quiet, yet menacing tone caused Lionel's hairs on the back of his neck to rise, mumbling a cautious greeting of his own. Still wary of Reese's apparent bad temper – well, slightly worse than usual – Lionel decided to keep the door as a shelter between them for now. "You don't answer your phone anymore?" he asked, receiving a deathly, cold stare from the other man. "Glasses was getting worried."

Reese got up and tucked his weapon into the waistband of his pants at his back. Figuring that as long as he stayed out of reach it was safe enough to enter Fusco pulled the door open all the way, making sure it would lock in place this time. Getting his first look at the tiny room in its entirety Lionel realized that John hadn't been alone. Slumped against the wall of the other end of the cot Reese had been sitting on was a second person, who so far hadn't stirred one bit.

"He dead?" Lionel asked, while eying the slumped figure from a safe distance. Wasn't that the little Asian guy that had gotten him into trouble with the Arian Brotherhood a couple of months ago?

John half turned and regarded Leon's still form like he just now noticed him there. "He's just unconscious." He commented, making it sound like it was no big deal.

Fusco finally ventured into the room bending down to make sure the guy was indeed still breathing. He was and at first glance Lionel couldn't see any injuries either. Trying to rouse him, he gently slapped Leon's cheek with the back of his hand. The man was out cold. Fusco turned to look at Reese, who'd rolled down his sleeves and was currently busy beating the dust off of his suit jacket. "What happened?"

Reese shook his jacket one more time, taking a lot more interest in his piece of clothing than in Fusco and the unconscious man beside him. "I obstructed his external carotid arteries."

Perplexed, Lionel's head whipped around. "What? Why would you do that?"

John shrugged into his jacket, pulling his sleeves into place. "I've been wanting to try out this technique for a while now." His hands moved up to his neck, straightening out his shirt collar. "Leon volunteered."

Somehow, Fusco highly doubted that volunteering had had anything to do with it. He just gaped at Reese, who buttoned up his suit jacket, flashing him a toothy, yet humorless smile. "Worked like a charm."

Fusco just shook his head in disbelieve. "But he's going to be ok, right?" He asked, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the slumbering Leon Tao.

Reese peered passed Fusco, a smug smile playing around his lips before schooling his features back into its usual sourly expression. "If memory serves me right", Reese paused, slowly turning his piercing gaze back to Lionel, "he's going to wake up with quite the headache. Which is only fair, considering the headache he's given me."

Even though, John Reese's ire, delicately wrapped in threatening impassiveness, wasn't directed at him this time, Fusco still had shivers running down his spine. Deciding to better keep his mouth shut, Fusco watched as Reese unnecessarily tucked at his jacket one more time before purposefully stalking off into the direction of the open door.

"Hey!" Lionel called after him. "Where're you going?"

"I'm going to catch me a bird." Reese threw over his shoulder without even slowing down and Fusco was sure the temperature in the room just dropped a few degrees by the ice in John's voice. Whatever he had meant by that statement, Fusco would make sure he'd stay out of it.

Turning back around Fusco eyed the unconscious man on the cot. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he spun around, yelling. "Hey, aren't you going to help me carry him? … Reese?!"

- Fin -