ADMIN NOTE: This will not show up in storyline now due to the fact Harold and Reese totally changed their canon. So Enjoy the snippet but understand this is Non-Canon now.
It had started with a number.
It always did.
When the number turned out to be Detective Kate Beckett of the NYPD, everything in him had screamed to grab Finch and walk away.
Mr. Finch refused to leave, reminding him that it was their duty to save these lives.
When Michael Westen leaned against the wall next to him, while he was watching the detective, he knew he should have gone with his instincts and kidnap Finch, fuck The Machine and its Number.
Three days later everything went to shit.
The mafia’s henchmen opened fire in the precinct.
Bold, if Reese said so himself, and stupid.
He was surprised at how fast the writer reacted, let alone the accuracy and versatility he showed in shooting back. He ignored Beckett’s yelling, and kept her behind the desk. Esposito grabbed Ryan and hit the floor, covering the smaller man from the hail of bullets.
Reese’s weapon was out before they even started shooting, he noticed Westen had done the same. The two moved easily through the precinct taking out gunman in tandem. That was until one got a few lucky shots in and John went down.
“Reese!” Westen took out the gunman then slid next to him. “Sam need help here.”
“Busy Michael!” Sam yelled from his position across the room, back to the wall, gun in hand.
It was then two men wearing blue jeans, t-shirts and black peacoats walked up the stairs in perfect sync, pulled their weapons and began firing. They never missed and didn’t stop until the mafia guys were dead and they were standing in front of Javier and Ryan.
“That’s something you don’t see every day.” Reese leaned back against the wall, gun next to him. Two shots, one to the abdomen, the other to the chest. Finch wasn’t on his way to save him this time.
“I’m sorry Mr. Finch.” His voice soft and caring. “I don’t think I’m getting out of this one.”
“Not so fast John.” Westen settled in front of him, ripping open his shirt to check the wounds. “Fuck.”
John’s eyebrow went up, “You don’t cuss.”
“Unfortunately my Mate has been a bad influence.” Michael looked around the room, then back at his old friend. SWAT would be moving in fast, and Reese was still very much wanted by NYPD and the CIA.
Reese groaned when Michael lifted him into a fireman’s carry and made his way out of the main office area, he kicked open the door to a side office and laid him down on the couch. Slammed the door shut and moved a chair in front of it.
“That won’t stop SWAT.” Reese smirked as a coughing fit took over. He lifted his hand, wiping away the blood.
“Sam will take care of it.” Michael looked down at his only friend and mentor at the Agency. “I can save you.”
“What?” John looked up at him.
“I was going to tell you, once this was over, but as usually nothing goes to plan.” Michael knelt next to the couch. “Tell your Mr. Finch to have an ambulance waiting and blood packets.”
‘Oh.’ Finch’s shock came through the earpiece. ‘He’s a Vampire.’
“A what?” Reese coughed again, this time chocking on the blood that was beginning to pool in his lung. He looked at Michael, having trusted the man in combat and in the field. “Do it, whatever it is. I can’t leave him.”
Michael closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they were unnaturally bright. He gave Reese a grin that accented the fangs. “You’re getting more say in this than I did.”
Reese nodded, his eyes closing. “Harold…”
‘I’ll be there when you wake up John.’