Chapter 5

"C'mon. Let's go, before your boss has a heart attack."

Fusco's voice rang out through the loudspeakers at the library. Only he didn't know that what he probably meant as a joke wasn't that far off from the truth. Finch's heart was racing, going at least a hundred miles an hour, fueled by copious amounts of adrenalin coursing through his blood stream. Even though this had not been Reese's first close call (although his closest to date) Finch had still been left a nervous wreck. He'd never get used to these kinds of situations, but he wasn't sure if getting used to watching your friend being faced with life-and-death situations was such a desirable achievement after all.

He watched as Detective Fusco and Mr. Reese navigated the impromptu obstacle course on their way to the restroom's exit, noting the Detective taking the brunt of John's weight. Finch knew Reese would try brushing off this encounter and his sustained injuries as a triviality later on. But judging by the way he let himself be supported by the Detective - and the occasional hiss of pain John wasn't quite able to suppress - Finch was pretty sure that his injuries, though not life-threatening, were anything but trivial.

After checking all the surveillance cameras in their vicinity to make sure that no other surprises were awaiting these two outside the restroom or on their way to the Detective's car, Finch sent Fusco a text with Dr. Mandani's address and the instructions to drop Mr. Reese off at that address - no matter what he was going to have to say about it

Following their uneven progress through the crowd, Finch couldn't help but marvel at the Detective's courage. Harold practically had had a front row seat to what almost ended up being John Reese's execution. Instead, Detective Fusco had come through for them. Again.

Finch figured he owed the Detective an apology. Not that he would ever admit that much to the Detective's face, but still. Back when Mr. Reese was working to turn Lionel Fusco into an asset, Harold had been far from convinced that it was a good idea; nor had he been able to see any attributes in the portly Detective that he thought would contribute to their endeavor in any way. However Mr. Reese had, and not for the first time Harold was glad that he had.

At first the Detective had understandably not seemed all too happy or too eager about the arrangement, because ... well, it was based purely on blackmail. But now - despite all Fusco's grousing and seeming reluctance - Harold easily saw through the act, having realized the Detective actually enjoyed working for them. Most of the time, anyway.

Finch kept an eye on them until they disappeared inside a surveillance blind spot, noting with relief that it seemed like Reese wasn't relying on the Detective's support as much as anymore.

They must have been nearing the car, because Fusco dismissed Reese's line about being able to drive himself with a sarcastic "Yeah, right". Rustling on the line cued Finch in to the fact that Fusco was pulling out his phone and after a pause Fusco sighed and said resignedly, "Seems like you are going to the doctor."

Reese's grumbled reply was drowned out by the noises of the phone being stuffed back deep within Fusco's coat pocket.

Meanwhile, Finch went back to check on Hersh. He was still lying on the floor unconscious, just as Fusco and Reese had left him and Harold found that weirdly satisfying. He was startled by an unusually outspoken and highly accusing "Ouch!" from Mr. Reese, and worry for his employee immediately returned full force.

"Oh, I just saved your ass", Finch heard Fusco say, clearly annoyed. "Quit whining."

At that Harold couldn't help but smile. Yes, indeed. Detective Fusco had become a very useful, resourceful and - at least by Finch - valued asset in helping him keep his sometimes overly reckless employee alive and in one piece.

Who would have thought?

The End

Author's note: Thank you all for reading!

The amazing RadioShack84 wrote an Epilogue to this story. Go to her profile and check it out!