Woe to the Vanquished

Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest don't belong to me; I'm just borrowing them with no intention of gaining any profit.

Acknowledgments:

A huge THANK YOU to my awesome beta scully1138. Seriously, thank you!

Also, a quick shout-out to ShaolinQueen, who more or less patiently listened to me whine and came probably pretty close to hopping onto the next flight in order to tie me to my desk, I bet.

Enjoy ...

Chapter 1

The cold water felt heavenly on Reese's skin. Bent over the stainless steel sink he splashed two, three more handfuls of the cold liquid onto his face. The water dripping back down into the mat sink was tinted red, washing away the blood that was oozing from a cut to his right eyebrow and his nose - evidence of having previously been in some kind of skirmish or another.

He had been in time to save their latest Number from being shoved in front of an arriving subway train by what John assumed was now her ex-boyfriend. Finch had failed to mention, however, that said boyfriend carried a black belt in Kung-Fu, or some other kind of martial art. It wasn't like John couldn't handle any Bruce Lee wannabe, but he had to admit it just had taken him by surprise and the ex had gotten a few lucky punches in.

Knocking the Karate Kid out completely was – however very gratifying – maybe a little premature, John mused. Fusco would have had at least to work for his latest arrest instead of just showing up, slapping cuffs on the unconscious perp and consoling the distraught ex-girlfriend, who by the way, had not thanked John for his crude, yet effective intervention.

Granted, she didn't really have that much time to bestow her gratitude on Reese as Finch had thought it prudent for John to make a hasty retreat before he was forced to answer a few unpleasant questions. Reese had had no problem seeing the wisdom in Finch's suggestion of not attracting further attention and pulled a disappearing act Copperfield would have been proud of. He slipped into the nearest public restroom, trying to get rid of the most glaring indicators that he had just been an avid participator in a fight. At least the phrase "You should see the other guy" wouldn't be a lie.

Supporting himself on both sides of the sink, John let the water drip off his face and ignored the stab of pain breathing caused his bruised, maybe even cracked, ribs.

He hadn't heard anyone opening the door, but the click of the door being bolted was like a thunder clap inside the otherwise silent and empty restroom. John looked up into the mirror, its surface permanently fogged up by age. Leaning on the door and therefore blocking the only exit was Control's man, arms crossed over his chest.

Hersh – John remembered Shaw calling him that last time John had seen him inside the empty "atomic reactor" where The Machine used to be, pointing guns at each other. That there was now a gun hidden somewhere within easy reach on Hersh Reese had no doubt, ready to dispense its fiery-hot metal projectiles long before John would have even a chance to reach for his Sig tucked securely into his waistband at his back.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Reese slowly reached for a paper towel to dry off his dripping face, the aches of the previous fight pushed to the back of his mind.

At Reese's movement Hersh tensed, pushed himself off the door and stepped further into the room, and John noted with a little satisfaction that he still made sure to stay out of the reach of his target. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

By the time John had dried off his face and slowly turned around Hersh's silenced gun was pointing straight at his chest. John leaned back, nonchalantly bracing himself against the sink, waiting and assessing the man opposite him. They had met at least three times before and each time Reese had managed to either keep or gain the upper hand. However by the looks of it this time Hersh was intent on not letting that happen again.

"Put your gun on the ground." Hersh said, his voice eerily as devoid of emotion as Reese's, his own gun never wavering from his target. Reese delicately reached behind his back, carefully extricating his gun from his waistband. He held the gun up between his thumb and forefinger for a few seconds before he hunkered down to place it on the floor in front of him, his eyes never letting Hersh out of his sight.

Reese straightened up, hands held raised at his side. They both knew the game. Hersh was making sure that Reese could pose no threat and Reese was playing for time as much as possible, while looking for a way out. So far, he had not found one. "Kick it over."

Reese complied, giving the gun a shove like it was a soccer ball. Hersh stopped its forward motion by stepping on it, but made no move to retrieve it. Yes, he had certainly learned to be careful around John Reese.

By the mirthless smile playing around Hersh's lips, he knew that John had hoped that by picking up the gun he would give John an opening for an attack. "Now, toss me your phone."

John again reached inside his coat, careful not to make a wrong move under the other man's watchful eye. He tossed his phone over to Hersh, who caught it one-handedly and promptly dropped it to the floor to stomp on it, the phone's display cracking with a crunch.

"We", Hersh said darkly, after he was satisfied that there was no one else listening in, "have some unfinished business."

John arched an eyebrow, his hands still raised at shoulder level. "I thought you just follow orders", he drawled softly, his expression void of any emotion, "not carry grudges."

The smile was back on the man's face, but this time he actually looked amused. "Who says these aren't my orders?"

Before John even had a chance to process what Hersh had just said the gun pointing at his chest bucked twice and two very powerful punches knocked the air out of his lungs, driving him backwards, his back painfully colliding with the sink, somehow ending up in a half-sitting, half-lying position against the wall between the restroom's two old sinks. Black spots were crowding his vision, but John gritted his teeth and tried to prop himself up off the floor. Breathing was a sheerly impossible task, and if his ribs had only been bruised - maybe cracked - before, they were definitely broken now.

He managed to push himself into a sitting position, gasping for air. Hot metal was pressed against his forehead, pushing his head back against the wall. The renewed surge of adrenalin pushed the encroaching darkness away as John stared up at the uncompromisingly hard face of Control's man. His need for oxygen momentarily forgotten, Reese knew that this was it. There was no way he could move fast enough to get a hold of the gun pressed to his forehead before the trigger was pulled. Besides, he rather doubted that he could get his body to heed his commands at the moment anyway.

Out of the corner of his eyes Reese saw something that caught his attention and at the same time let his heart sink - a dark, gleaming glass dome, covering a surveillance camera that was mounted on the ceiling, overlooking the anteroom of the restroom. John just looked at it, praying to whoever would be listening that it was only a dud, or not functioning.

"This is going to be quick." Hersh's low voice pulled John's attention back to the other man's impassive face. "How is that for mercy?"

John closed his eyes, the breath he tried to take hitching as pain stabbed through his chest, expecting it all to end with the feeling of white hot metal piercing his skull and searing its way through his brain matter any second now.

Please, Harold, look away.

A loud bang reverberated through the confines of the restroom and for Reese everything went dark.

To be continued …