Disclaimers: Nothing is mine but my grammar mistakes.

A/N: Set after Season 2 finale. Just some musings on what could happen next, a bit of action, a pinch of humor and a lot of angst. I opted for the easy way, because I'm nowhere near as awesome as POI writers are. I hope you'll enjoy it all the same. Critique is much appreciated!

A/N 2: Sporadic references to my previous POI story What Does Tame Mean. No need to read that first, but if you do, I won't certainly mind ;)

Just War

Chapter 1

It had been a couple of rough weeks. Even deciding to ignore the terrible ordeal involving persistent FBI agents, prisons, bomb vests, viruses, and rooftops and poisoning, what had come next could be considered equally taxing. To put it in a euphemistical way, that is.

Harold was painfully aware of how close he had come to nearly lose everything, once again. Just like it had happened a few years before, when an explosion had robbed him of his only and dearest friend, his first attempt to lead a normal life with the person he loved and the ability to run on a treadmill.

The latter he would have traded without a second thought, with the possibility to leisurely toast with Nathan again, or surprise Grace with another treasure hunt.

He couldn't have that though.

However, against all odds, he had managed to embrace another routine. A routine that involved people in danger and dangerous people, an abandoned Library, a dog and another friend.

It certainly wasn't what people called "conventional life", but considering the premises of his past, such as being the creator of the first, real, artificial intelligence who spied on everything and everyone, every hour of every day, he couldn't imagine a better life.

And yet, only three days before, his world had gone upside down again, and till the very last second before answering that call on the street he had thought it would have stayed that way. That his mission had been redacted, that he could no longer provide John with the purpose he needed.

But his Machine was still there, she was still communicating with them, spitting irrelevant numbers through payphones on the street.

John was still there.

He was there despite the recent discoveries about Ordos, despite Harold's 911 call and all his following attempts to lose him. In spite of all Harold's efforts to keep him away from Root and her madness, and away from the Government and their unscrupulousness, John had stayed, unfaltering.

He still couldn't believe that the ex-operative had planted a bug on his glasses, Harold might be the one describable as reclusive and misanthropic, but John's displays of consideration were unusual, to say the least.

Then again, he knew John Reese was anything but a common man. You don't become a CIA spy just because you can recite by heart "100+1 ways to kill a man and make the body disappear" and be able to actually put theory into practice.

He mentally grimaced at the thought, he had obviously made that title up, but he wasn't really sure such manual didn't actually exist.

Anyway, he knew John possessed also a brilliant and gentle mind, that's why he had been not only his first choice for an asset, but also his first contingency plan.

Too bad that mind could also be quite stubborn, hence John's refusal to leave the entire issue to Harold, once again unmindful of the danger he was literally chasing. Then trust Shaw to add unpredictable variables to an already complex equation.

Also, he still couldn't believe that his friend hadn't demanded an explanation straightaway after the mess was over, but simply walked with him, silently listening while Harold had apologized for something he couldn't have predicted, really, yet had changed the former soldier's life and almost got him killed, first with a bullet then with cheap whisky.

Sometimes it was just so easy to put the blame on everyone but ourselves, and Harold still felt partially responsible for what had happened to John in 2010, but apparently his friend was painfully aware of the fact that the greatest blame laid in his own decisions and his own decisions only, like keeping his mouth shut in an airport terminal, whispering those words a few seconds too late, quieter than they should have.

And Harold wished he could ease that burden from his friend's shoulders, make it disappear even, just like he had seen John attempt with Harold's personal one, after that particular trying day with Russian Roulettes and painful memories.

But at the same time he knew it wasn't possible. They had moved on though, they had gone back to the Library, back to their routine, with a wandering yet still functioning Machine, once again keeping themselves busy with new numbers and new cases.

"Good morning, Finch". John sauntered as usual in the corridor, greeting Bear with a scratch behind his ears and a treat.

Harold allowed the tiniest smile on his lips and watched his friend leave a box of pastries and a steaming cup of tea on the desk, just as his reach. Then he proceeded towards the board, studying the new picture hanging there while sipping his hot coffee.

"Good morning, Mr. Reese, new number". He unnecessarily stated, savoring the familiarity of the sentence along with a mouthful of donut.

The whole ritual tasted familiar and Harold couldn't help but rejoiced at the newly found schedule, promptly scattering on his monitor everything he had found on their new irrelevant.

"What do we know about him?" John demanded, attention to Harold's computer and a donut of his choice.

"James Stevenson, 55. Head of a research center called "AI: the next generation". He and his team are currently working on a new prototype they're being quite secretive about."

"Spying on the competition, Harold?" Quite used to John's ironic comments he absently reprimanded him and went on.

"Be serious, Mr. Reese. I couldn't find anything on this prototype; it could be a Robot or an innovative lawnmower, for what we know."

"I doubt an innovative lawnmower would rise violent, premeditate crimes, Finch". Of course he agreed with the ex-agent, but they had learnt, sometimes with luck, sometimes the hard way, that everything could happen, even under seemingly boring circumstances.

"Be that as it may, I couldn't get to hack into their system, so we need to plan a night incursion in Mr. Stevenson's office, to gather some more information on this mysterious project. I think it could be the key to this case."

Harold wasn't particularly happy about that arrangement, and even less when he saw a wry smile appearing on John's lips. The insufferable man didn't even bother to conceal those anymore.

"As you wish, Finch. Always glad to be part of your descent into deviant behavior". Recognizing the quote, from one of his own declarations nonetheless, Harold sent him a withering glare.

"Mr. Reese, I wish you'd spare your brilliant mnemonic capabilities the effort to remember such trifling details".

John looked quite amused; something very similar to a laugh escaped his mouth, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Send me Stevenson's home address, Harold. I'll keep an eye on him while you review your breaking and entering notes."

It was Sunday, and James Stevenson had spent great part of the day at home, reading a book. It was a worn copy of "Second Foundation" by Asimov. Stevenson had probably read it dozens of times and by 4 o'clock he had reached chapter 16, page 125. He had eaten pizza leftovers for lunch (pepperoni), had a mid-afternoon snack (Milky Way), and used the toilet five times.

Harold knew because John had made sure to inform him regarding every single detail. We can't overlook anything at this stage, Finch.

Obviously the ex-operative had been and still was bored out of his mind.

At the library Harold hadn't managed to find out much more about the man: no wife, no kids. Valedictorian, top of the class, degree with honors, Major in Electronics Engineering… Stevenson certainly appeared to be very smart, but nothing more.

And he wished he could blame John and his continuous interruptions for the scarcity of information, but frankly, Harold had suspected since early that morning that they could find useful data only in his working station at the office.

"Finch, you there?" And there he was again.

"Yes, Mr. Reese, as I was 2 minutes ago." Harold sighed in exasperation, preparing himself for another futile piece of information.

"I've called Fusco, he's gonna keep an eye on Stevenson during our little trip."

"Mr. Reese, it's not even dark yet, surely you know better than me that we should act concealed by darkness." Harold didn't really mind moving already, he just needed to taste some bits of revenge.

"Harold, it's Sunday."

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Reese."

"We don't need darkness to enter an office on a non-working day. Besides, the man has spent the entire day reading, barely moving. I'm sure even you would have done something else by now."

Harold was glad to notice that John was starting to sound properly exasperated, but he deliberately decided to prolong his payback just a little longer.

"I can't really know, Mr. Reese, I've never spent an entire day reading. Never had the time."

"Well, I know, because you now enjoy much more exciting activities. No one has been to the office today and that facility, by the way, is in the middle of nowhere."

"Yes, I've checked the location myself, it's quite isolated."

"Well?"

Satisfied with John's level of irritation, Harold decided he had made his partner suffer enough. "I'll meet you a block away from Stevenson's house in a half an hour, then we'll head there."

"Good."

John did sound quite triumphant, so Harold felt the need to clarify his point.

"And, Mr. Reese? I really appreciate the effort to bring logic to your cause, nevertheless next time you can simply tell me that you're bored."

"AI: the next generation" facility wasn't as big as Harold had expected. They hacked into the alarm system without problems and found Stevenson's office almost immediately. They couldn't see any physical prototype, so Harold assumed the project was still at an embryonic stage.

He went straight to Stevenson's desk then, curious and thrilled at the same time to deal with a system he hadn't been able to crack from the Library.

John kept looking around. He had secured the perimeter before letting Harold in and now was slowly wandering around the place, looking for any useful sign that could help them understand where the threat would stem from.

He was silently working when something got his partner attention. Harold sensed his change of pace and briefly watched him grasp a leaflet, which had been lying on a parcel just behind the monitor he was working on.

"Looks like our number is a member of a radical religious group", John stated while perusing the brochure. "I've seen more copies of this in Stevenson's apartment."

"Uncanny." He mused, "I would have expected better religious judgment from a man who has spent the entire day reading Asimov."

"What do you know, Finch, you geniuses can be quite eccentric. Are you a member of a cult I should know about?"

"I'm afraid, Mr. Reese, I've never had time for religion either. You're quite aware I've spent great part of my life working with computers. That's why" he was glad to announce, "I've just managed to enter Mr. Stevenson's secret account."

"Never doubted you, Harold. Found something interesting?"

Fingers working swiftly, Harold started going through all the data appearing in front of him.

"It seems you weren't entirely wrong about spying on the competition. Stevenson is working on a sort of artificial intelligence, capable to detect criminal intent. The project seems more focused on home invasions, bank robberies, certain-"

"What's this sound?"

Harold forgot his musings on Stevenson's project, every ounce of attention immediately to John and his urgent tone.

"What sound?"

He did hear something then: a low, acute beep, barely perceptible. Harold sat up and looked around, trying to identify the source of the sound. After a few seconds his gaze lingered on the parcel in front of him and it seemed that his partner got the same impression, because simultaneously John grabbed the small package and brought it to his hear.

He froze and Harold saw realization suddenly drawn into his face, eyes wide and shocked. They exchanged a look before the taller man threw the parcel as far as he could, and then launched himself behind the desk.

The impact took his breath away and Harold found himself on the floor. Then it came the deafening explosion.

TBC