Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Is that her real name?”

“If it isn't, I've yet to find it.” There was a rustle of papers and then a photo was taped to their cracked glass board. “Information on her is sparse. She's not even on social media. And it's unfortunate that her government's online systems are sorely lacking.”

John Reese studied the face in the photo: clearly of Asian ethnicity, early-to-late twenties, conventionally pretty. But what caught his attention were the piercing eyes. For a young woman, her gaze carried the weight of the ages. It was as if she was looking straight into his tainted soul.

He mentally shook himself and tuned back in as Harold Finch continued his briefing.

“She’s not local.”

“Alexandra Tresé arrived in New York from Manila two days ago on a multiple entry visa,” Finch went on. “So the Machine gave us her passport number instead of her social security number.”

“With a last name like that, I’m not surprised if she attracts trouble.”

“Or starts one,” Finch responded in an equally dry tone. “She arrived with a small group. Henry “Hank” Sparrow.” He added a photo of a grizzled, middle-aged man somewhere in his fifties. “From what I found on him, he’s the bartender of the night club The Diabolical, of which Ms. Tresé is the current proprietor. He’s quite active on Friendczar[1], mostly posting photos with famous patrons of The Diabolical . No wife or children that I could find, no more living parents, had two older siblings who passed on. No criminal records that I could find so far, only reports of public disturbance at the club when customers get unruly.

“And then there are these two: Basilio and Crispin Ramon, connection to Ms. Tresé is unclear." Finch frowned at his own information. “What digital footprint I found of them, doesn’t allude to their relationship to her, or their origin.”

A few pictures of the group were added, snapshots taken from a surveillance video from some reception area. Basilio and Crispin were obviously identical twins, though one wore his hair past his shoulders. Both were wearing sunglasses even while indoors.  But that wasn’t what John found remarkable.

One photo caught one of them eyeing a woman who passed by, his sunglasses lifted for a better look. And that’s when he saw. 

His eyes were inky pools with no discernable irises.

“Finch, are you seeing–”

“Yes, and I’d rather we move on to more relevant information?” his partner cut in a tad testily, his gaze to the floor..

“How did he even get past the TSA looking like that ?” Reese asked instead, nonplussed, pointing at the brothers.

Rapid clicking filled the silence for a few minutes as Finch worked his magic. “I don't think they did. That photo was taken from their hotel lobby. And their flight records were clearly planted. Whatever their means of transport was, I’ve yet to discover it. If I could trace the source of the falsified data, I might find out more.” There was more typing. “I’ll keep digging. In the meantime, you can find Ms. Tresé and her entourage at the Americana Inn.” He handed John a slip of paper, which listed the address of the hotel and their number’s rooms. 

“I’ve made a reservation under John Anderson in the room next to Ms. Tresé’s,” Finch added, “so you won’t look out of place if you’re wandering its halls as one of the guests.” 

Reese tilted his head. “That’s the fourth time in two months that I’ve used that alias,” he noted, giving Finch a look. “Any reason why that alias again?”

“Oh, has it? I hadn’t noticed.” Finch barely looked up from his computer.

Reese snorted, not believing Finch’s casual tone one bit. He was never going to let Reese live down that painfully awkward “date” with Maxine Angelis.

He turned back to the board, lost in thought as he stared at the pictures. “These men… I recognize fighting men when I see them. They’re either running towards a fight, or causing it.”

Finch’s lips drew to a thin line. “I’ll look for arrivals from Manila within the week or so, check for any connections with our number.” He glanced up at John. “Be careful, Mr. Reese. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Now, Reese’s eyebrows shot up. He wanted to tease Finch at the Star Wars reference, if not for the grave look on his face.

He gave a curt nod as he checked his gun and spare weapons, ignoring Finch’s appalled look. “You know I’ll be careful, Finch. Just get me whatever you can on Alexandra and her friends.”

Chapter Text

Reese arrived at W 38th Street forty minutes later. The five-story brick building wasn’t exactly the hotel that he had in mind. With a mental shrug, he went in and checked in at the reception. Finch had reported that Alexandra and the men mostly kept to themselves, and stayed in their rooms throughout the day, occasionally meeting at Alexandra’s room. Reese thought that interesting.

He scanned his hotel room. A twin bed with slightly faded burgundy and gold covers, wooden bedside table and lamp, a small sink with a mirror at the foot of it. The last item looked to be a new addition, its black-and-white scheme a glaring contrast to the polished wood of the headboard and small table. Still, this was a step up from the little apartment he rented before Finch gave him his loft on his birthday.

“Charming,” Reese said to the room at large, knowing Finch was listening. “Not something John Anderson would be seen in, I think,” he added, eyeing the swirling imperial patterns on the bedcover. 

“It was the only room available on Ms. Trese’s floor that I could book,” Finch pointed out.

He scanned the walls and ceiling and found a small vent above the mirror and sink. He dumped his bag on the bed and knelt before the portable sink to check if it would hold his weight. Finding it satisfactory, he took out the surveillance equipment he brought with him, and with one foot on the bed and the other on the sink, started feeding the mini camera through the vent, stopping just as he felt it hit the vent cover from the other room.

“I got eyes and ears in her room,” Reese informed softly a few minutes later, watching Alexandra Trese seated on the edge of the bed, legs crossed and eyes closed as if in meditation. She didn’t look to be going anywhere anytime soon.

“Are the men in their room?” he asked.

“I believe so. I haven’t seen them captured by the hotel cameras in the past few hours.” 

“Okay.” He tapped his fingers against the desk as he watched Alexandra’s unmoving form, willing her to do something . 

Half an hour passed before Alexandra opened her eyes and rose fluidly from the bed, picking through her long coat that was on the other bed and fished out her phone.

Now was his chance. He opened the bluejacking app, but Reese deflated at seeing her fiddle with an old flip phone. He tried anyway, and the ‘connection failed’ message in red text blinked at him.  

“Any chance you know how to bluejack an old Nokia phone?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Reese sighed. “Nevermind,” he grumbled, dismayed that Alexandra wasn’t making a call. “I think she just sent a text. Probably to one of the men.”

Sure enough, after a few minutes, she picked up her phone, read the screen, then began to put on her coat.

Reese dashed out of his room and made for the elevators before Alexandra or her party did. “Finch, she’s heading out. Tell me if they get off on another floor. I’ll be waiting for them just outside the hotel.”

“I’ve hacked into the Inn’s surveillance system. They don’t seem inclined to get off on any floor other than at ground level. And…”

He caught the hesitation. “What is it, Finch?”

“It might be nothing, but Mr. Sparrow seems to look unwell.”

“Unwell enough that he’s being taken to a hospital?” Reese wondered.

“We’re about to find out. They’re coming out now.”

Reese waited for them from across the street, and followed at a discreet distance as they entered a noodle house.

They took a table close to the wall, a prime spot to watch the entrance, service counter, and the door that likely led to the kitchen. The paintings there seemed to fascinate the men, enough that Hank took out his phone to take pictures. Reese saw his chance, bluejacking Hank’s phone as he took a table himself. He was somewhat glad to note that the brothers wore tinted glasses.

He sipped at the house tea he was given, sorely wishing it was coffee. He kept his head facing the menu before him, while discreetly keeping an eye on the little group. 

Audio from Hank’s phone filtered in his earwig. “You don’t happen to understand Filipino, do you?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Reese. But I do have a conversation analysis program that is more efficient than the commercially available ones. And they might be speaking Tagalog, which is the prevalent spoken language in Manila.”

“Your design, I presume?’

“Of course,” Harold replied airily. “In order for the Machine to carry out its functions well, I programmed it to understand almost any language spoken - provided, of course, it can get enough samples for it to understand and process–”

“And Tagalog?” Reese cut in smoothly before Harold got enthusiastically derailed any further.

“There are at least 1.8 million Filipino immigrants here in the States alone, not to mention they are quite active on social media, so we should have more than an ample sample size to process Ms. Tresé and company’s conversation.”

Of course he built that, too. “How fast can you translate their current conversation, then?” 

“Check your texts.”

Reese’s brows shot up. He was getting line after line of texts as the group’s discussion filtered in his earpiece.

“Hindi praktikal yung mag-ikot-ikot tayo sa mga ospital dito….” Alexandra said.  /It’s not practical to make the rounds in the hospitals here…/

/I told you that was a lame-brained idea!/ The long-haired twin, Basilio, spoke. 

/Let’s just eat and take this discussion in my room. We’re too exposed here./

The seemingly relevant conversation ended at their number’s table as they proceeded to tuck into their meal. The succeeding translations Reese was receiving were banter among the men about visiting the States for the first time, and who would likely act like the bumbling tourist most.

“I’m having a little trouble multitasking here, Finch, so I haven’t read the earlier conversation. Care to tell me the cliff notes of what they were talking about? I can’t read text while trying to get a bead on our number here.”

“Getting lax with your spycraft, Mr. Reese?” Finch teased. There was a pause as he was likely going through the transcripts. “They were talking about a certain Christina who arrived a few days prior. They were discussing her possible whereabouts and where she would likely turn up. Apparently, this person attacks pregnant women for some reason, and one of the brothers thought of going around nearby hospitals.”

“I got the last part,” Reese acknowledged with a slight grin, recalling in amusement how Basilio smacked his brother upside the head. “Interesting conversation to be had between a bar owner and her ‘friends’. What’s their interest in this Christina that they traveled half the globe?”

“That’s what we need to find out,” Finch’s dismay bled in his voice. “Fortunately, we have another lead. They have a hacker on their side that did part of the work for us. This person got to track their quarry’s GPS to somewhere in Queens Village. They’re fairly good…”

“But he’s no match for you,” John finished with a smirk, not fooled in the least by Finch’s patronizing tone.

There was a non-committal hum. “I tracked down the planted fight details, and got more information about our friends that way.” Another pause. “And it seems that Alexandra Tresé is definitely more than just a pub owner.”

Reese was intrigued. “Yeah?”

Finch went on. “By all accounts, they don’t work for any government agency, but they do work with law enforcement—specifically, with a Captain Guerrero. They work with that one police captain on cases of the mysterious kind.”

“Define ‘mysterious’... okay, hold on.”

It was almost an hour when Alexandra and the men stood. Reese gave them a half-minute head start before following, making sure they were going back to their rooms before going into his.

“They’re back in their rooms,” Reese reported, tracking Alexandra’s movements in the video feed.

“Good. The conversion analysis is still running and will send you the translated texts once it picks up their conversation.”  

“Any chance that you could send it as translated audio instead?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Finch responded a few moments later, followed by rapid-fire typing.

Reese was intrigued. Was Finch going to update code on the fly…? 

He sat up when he saw Alexandra open her door. It was Hank and the brothers. Their voices filtered from his headset he just put on. “You’re recording this, right?”

“But of course. And…”

There was a brief crackle before new voices filtered through. It was delayed by a couple of seconds, but an amalgam of voices overlapped with that of Alexandra’s group, until their voices were discernibly turned down, with the new voices turned up.

“Siguro naman, makakapag-usap na tayo ng maayos ngayon?” Hank spoke as he entered. [Surely. We. Can. Talk. Freely. Now.]

Reese found himself nodding in appreciation at Finch’s display of programming wizardry.

[A. Good. Thing. Too. I. Can’t. Help. Feeling. Like. We’re. Being. Watched. And. It’s. Hard. To. See. With. This. Thing.] Basilio pocketed his sunglasses, just as Crispin perched his on top of his head.

[I’m. Thirsty. Can. I. Get. A. Drink. First?] Crispin strode to the small fridge before anyone could stop him.

The rest moved further into the small room and took their places. Basilio sat on one bed closer to the door, where his brother joined him, and Hank took the chair by the small desk. Alexandra stood by the window.

Reese’s eyes narrowed. “She’s their leader,” he observed, noting how the men all faced in her direction. He remembered at the noodle house, how the men seemed to take their cues from her, how they kept her in front of themselves as they walked.

“It seems so.” Finch remarked, likely watching the feed as well.

“Keep an eye out, Finch,” John instructed as he stood, picking out some things from the duffel. “I’m going to check out the guys’ room.”

“Is that wise? They might return any minute.” 

He was already out the door, and was picking the lock and was inside seconds later. “Doesn’t hurt to cover our bases. Besides, if they’re making their plans, they won’t be back here very soon. Gives me time to snoop around.”

“Be careful, Mr. Reese. I'll keep the channel open.”

“Always. Thanks.”

Reese had half an ear to the translated feed as he carefully rooted around the men’s hotel room, but it was the brothers bickering. It was tricky, trying to discern nuances of an unfamiliar language. It was easy to pick up on the brothers’ disposition from the snatches of conversation they’ve listened in to thus far, Hank slightly less so. With Alexandra, even her natural speaking tone was almost as robotic as the mishmashed machine voice.

“Ms. Tresé is making a call,” Finch supplied.

Crispin piped up. [Heyyy, Jobert! How’s it going?] 

“She called tech support,” Reese observed as Crispin and Jobert chatted amiably about the game the latter was playing. Alexandra wouldn’t be calling out just for idle chatter. He turned his attention to the task before him.

The men clearly packed light, even with the small arsenal they brought: shotgun, cartridges, a couple of pistols and extra mags, and a small speckled branch [1] about a meter long. He picked it up, frowning as he turned it in his hands. It wasn’t a branch, but made of something else. Maybe s ome kind of animal tail…?

He found the weapons and that odd thing from Hank’s things, and nothing among the brothers’ meager belongings. Odd. Those two looked like they’d be packing serious heat.

“Wonder how they got a hold of these?” Reese murmured. 

Finch was predictably not pleased with Reese’s discovery. “I doubt they snuck that in. However, there are no indications that I could find that they’ve purchased those weapons here.”

Then Reese’s spine straightened when Alexandra cut through the boys’ small talk.

[What else do you have on Christina for us?]

[Guess what? Captain Guerrero came through and sent over a copy of the police report on the latest homicide he’s investigating. It’s not good, gang. Not good at all.]

[Out with it, Jobert.]

The sigh was apparent over the feed. [This is definitely the work of a manananggal . Several deep lacerations on their arms, chest and thighs. Some of the victims’ abdominal area was mostly gone. Not even a trace of the f-fetus.]

Finch couldn’t help murmuring, “Oh, my.”

[How could the ship have allowed pregnant women?] Hank blurted, disbelieving. 

[Both victims were women within the second trimester of their pregnancy. So long as the woman has proof of her health and is within the second trimester, they allow it.]

Alexandra spoke. [You’ve cross-checked the manifest for locals who boarded the Manila pier, yes?]

[Yep! The rest of the passengers check out.]

[Too bad we’re not home,] Hank complained . [Would’ve helped if Alex could divine her whereabouts in the good old-fashioned way.]

Reese frowned. Divine?

[Which is what I’m here for, boss. She left some nice little breadcrumbs for good old Jobert to track her with. After the Oceania docked in Cape Liberty, New Jersey, she made a call to an AirBnB place. Stayed at the same address since.]

[The address?]

Reese’s ears perked up. “Finch?”

“I got it.” There was silence on the line as Finch likely made a query for that information. “It is indeed a residence in Queens Village. It belongs to a Benjamin Alfaro, 62, Manila-born. Became a US citizen six years ago. Sending you a photo and his information, including Christina’s photo.”

Even as Finch fired off his information, Reese’s phone pinged, and he opened the attachment. He stared at Alfaro’s craggy face, the disinterested gaze. He satisfied his gnawing curiosity and opened Christina’s photo next. Dark, stringy hair, a slightly darker complexion than that of Alexandra’s, wide nose. She looked to be in her late twenties to early thirties.

And then there were the eyes again. Christina was smiling in the photo, but Reese felt there was something… actually, there was nothing behind her black eyes.

He switched between photos. “They don’t look like a loving couple…”

When he switched back to Christina’s photo, he found himself staring into dark, hollowed eye sockets.

What…!

He blinked hard, looked again. It was just Christina’s normal-looking dark eyes looking back at him.

“But wait! There’s more!” Jobert quipped in English. [The past few days, she and her boy-toy were driving around his neighborhood, within a twelve-block radius. But they seem to be always coming back to the same two blocks.]  

[Looking for her next victim,] Alexandra quietly declared with narrowed eyes. [Any information on her boyfriend?]

[Uh, Patrick Delgado, 28. Ship steward. Works for the cruise line the Oceania is part of. Not sure if he was on the ship with Christina at the time - I’m still checking. The cruise line’s employee database is a liiiiittle harder to crack, and Christina doesn’t post pictures of him, either. I’ll send it over when I find him.]

She thanked Jobert and ended their call shortly after.

[What do we do, boss ?] Basilio asked.

[We need to be very discreet about this,] she advised. [We are very far from our usual jurisdiction and we will have no backup from Captain Guerrero. And we also need to catch her red-handed. We might anger the locals who allowed us entry if we misstep.

[Rest up, all of you. Let’s meet in a few hours.]

Reese hastily put the items he disturbed back in their places as best as he could, thinking up strategy as he went. “We don’t have an exact time, but something’s going down, and it’ll be soon. What’re they doing now?”

“Looks like the men are about to leave, so I suggest you do the same, Mr. Reese.”

“Already have.” He closed the front door quietly, nodding at a passing old woman with what he hoped was a charming smile before deliberately walking past his door then doubling back once the lady was nowhere in sight.

He was just in time to watch their feed as Hank, Basilio and Crispin headed for the door.

Alone in her room, she opened her flip phone and began fiddling with it. 

Then Alexandra Tresé looked up and straight at him.

The suddenness and intensity took Reese aback, but he held her gaze. Logically, he knew there was a wall between them, but he couldn’t help the chill that traveled down his spine. 

Out of nowhere, shrieking of a thousand voices assaulted his ears, followed by the sudden surge of heat coming from his earwig, so unbearable that Reese tried digging it out of his ear and stumbled out of his chair. 

He gaped at the monitor in shock. Alexandra turned away, and the screen went dark.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Reese? … Mr. Reese? Is something wrong?”

He released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, but couldn’t find his voice. His eyes roved frantically, searching. None of the furniture or the equipment were ablaze, and the heat of the flames was just… not there.

What the fuck was that??

“It seems that we lost our connection to the feed. Did they find you out?”

Reese’s hand immediately came up to his earpiece, relieved it hadn’t melted into his ear canal. He sprang up from the bed he flung himself to, grabbed bottled water from the nightstand and poured its contents onto the laptop keyboard.

“You didn’t hear it?” 

“Hear what?”

“I might have been made.” He grabbed for his bag and was out the door, swiftly making his way to the far end of the hall leading to the stairwell. He kept an ear out as he took the steps two at a time; somehow, nobody was on to him.

“What?? How?”

“Stand by.” 

He reached the ground floor and strode calmly past the front desk and out the entrance. Then he took a meandering route about the neighborhood until he was sure he wasn’t followed, before making his way to the parking garage two blocks from the Americana Inn. 

He sat heavily in his car, focused on regulating his breathing and his galloping heart. “I think I’m clear,” he declared at last. “Did Alexandra and her team look for me?”

“Mr. Sparrow is at the front desk to lodge a complaint about Ms. Trese’s neighbor as we speak,” Finch informed.

Reese sucked in a breath. “And?”

“The front desk told him that there wasn’t anyone checked in to the room next to hers.”

“You deleted my reservation?” Reese couldn’t help the awe in his voice. “The front desk would have remembered me.”

“Of course, Madeleine from the morning shift would. Which is why she asked Francis here to cover the rest of her shift today.”

“How did you–”

“--Perhaps putting more distance between yourself and our number would be wise, don’t you think?”

Reese let his breath out slowly with a faintly amused grin. Finch has a tendency to ramble when he explains his methods when the mood fancies him. Reese chalked it up to nerves from almost getting caught.

“We might have a bit of time putting together what we have on them before we move,” Reese said instead as he drove out of the car park. “So. We’re still not sure if Alexandra is the victim or perpetrator here. But it sounds like they’re going after a very dangerous person.“

“That seems to be the case. Does this mean the person they’re after will be a danger to Ms. Trese? Or is there another unknown party at play here?”

Reese thought back to the conversation. “There was something Jobert said. Something about this being the work of a man… something-or-other. Your analyzer didn’t translate it.”

“That’s because there’s no direct English equivalent for it.” A beat as Finch worked his magic. “I believe the word is… man-none-nang-gull?  A mythical creature popular in the Visayas region of the Philippines. It’s roughly comparable to a vampire… huh. This creature has the capability of severing its upper torso and sprout large, bat-like wings–”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Reese scoffed. “Are we looking at a group of monster hunters here?”

“Possibly? Conversely, language is a funny thing, every location and culture with their quirks in their expressions. It may simply be an idiom, describing Christina as some kind of figurative bloodsucker.”

“Doesn’t explain the mutilated bodies, though.”

But… could it be…?

Reese shook his head.They would have to be logical about this. “Okay, so Christina victimizes pregnant women. Jobert mentioned she and the boyfriend are casing a certain area close to the place they’re staying in. It’s highly probable they’re looking for pregnant women.”

“Way ahead of you. I’m running a search for pregnant females within their first to second trimester in that area. It should give us something within the next half hour.” 

“Any chance we can track Christina and intercept her before Alexandra’s group can?”

“I have a trojan working to infiltrate Jobert’s system to see if I can dig up further information on their quarry and our number. Shouldn’t be long now. Though for a young woman her age, I would have expected Miss Tresé to have a sizable digital footprint.”

“Something tells me that Alexandra Tresé is no ordinary number.”

“I’m now inclined to agree. The malware I sent to Jobert’s system just now finally cracked his security. Alexandra Tresé’s line of work… more or less aligns with our objective to help people.”

“Meaning?”

“I can say with 90% certainty that she consults for the police on special cases. Yet, what’s interesting is that neither she nor anyone in her group is ever mentioned in any police reports. Their hacker has bits of information that was part of evidence in police reports. That’s how I tracked down what our number does: through the evidence she was likely bringing Jobert to consult upon. And I’ve taken a glance at whatever reports that had digital copies, and… they’re mostly of a very violent but mysterious nature.”

Their number consulted with law enforcement… almost like they did. However, John still felt that shroud of mystery around the young woman. Not just her, but this whole case they were on. Reese considered himself still reasonably sound of mind, but there was no way his mind would play tricks on him. Twice. 

He knew Finch was trying his best, but their number was very elusive and private, like him.  So, why did it feel like whenever they answer one mystery about Alexandra Tresé, more questions spring up...

Who are you?

“Mr. Reese, we have possible leads on Christina’s targets,” Harold announced. “ I scoured medical records for the residents within the said radius, and found six households with pregnant women.”

Six? “Any way you can narrow that down? I can’t case them all. We gotta read Carter and Fusco in.”

“Agreed.” Finch was silent as he opened a line to reach the detectives.

Fusco picked up first. "You have the worst timing,  d'you know that?" 

"We're not interrupting anything important, are we, Lionel?" Reese asked mildly.

"Gee, thanks for askin'. I'm actually in the middle of a crime scene. But enough about me. What do you need, sweetheart?"

 "Yeah, now isn't a very good time when we're dealing with a multiple homicide," Carter joined the line.  

Finch cut in. "We need your help. We're tracking down a very dangerous individual, and we are rather under-staffed.” He briefed the detectives with the information that they currently had on Christina, pointedly leaving out Alexandra Tresé and her friends.

There was a heavy sigh. “All right,” Carter replied quietly. Reese felt a little bad that they were appealing to Carter’s compassionate nature, what with the targets being expectant mothers. “ Fusco and I’ll cover the further addresses.”

“Thank you, Detective Carter. And I strongly recommend exercising the utmost caution. We’ve yet to uncover how she operates, and she’s eluded the authorities here and in her homeland. We don’t even know if she is working with an accomplice.”

“For once, I wish you’d make it easy for us, eh?”

Reese couldn’t hide his grin. “But where’s the fun in that?”

They disconnected from Carter and Fusco, but not before Finch reminded them that they’ll be in touch once it was time to move.

“Are you sure you don’t want them to go with you when you go to their temporary residence?”

“You know how they feel about me doing reconnaissance.” 

Finch scoffed. “I’m not sure how I feel about your reconnoitering.”

Reese smirked to himself. Finch might bitch about his methods, but he never actively discouraged him. Not yet, anyway.

“Send me the GPS location for Alfaro’s residence.”

Queens Village looked to be a middle-class neighborhood about an hour east of Manhattan. Reese clenched his jaw. Recon in a residential area would be a bit of a challenge; had they had more prep time, Finch could have just thrown some money around and purchased a house close by. But they didn’t, so old-school skulking it was. 

“I’m coming up Alfaro’s street in about two minutes. Any eyes I should be concerned about?” 

“Yes, I have your location… I’ve already disabled all the video surveillance systems within the route I just sent to your GPS. Follow that route, and you should be clear, Mr. Reese.”

He drove a little slower as he came upon 110th Avenue. The Alfaro house was the second one from the corner, a two-storey house with a brick wall facade. There was simple shrubbery and a low fence lining its borders, with quite a handful of narrow windows at the front on both floors, and a few towards the back. There wasn’t a vehicle parked in front of it, nor the house to the right of it. While the interior lights were on in the houses beside it, the Alfaro house was dark and quiet. 

“Looks like nobody’s home, Finch,” Reese reported as he casually drove past. “I guess I’ll just let myself in.”

“The house was designed in the 1930s with minimal updates to the locks. It shouldn’t be a problem with your expertise. I’m sending you the code to disable the silent alarm. Keypad would be right inside the front door.”

He parked one street over and doubled back on foot until he came back to 110th Avenue, and, checking for people in the streets or standing by their window and finding none, Reese nonchalantly walked up to the Alfaro house’s front door. Keeping himself hidden in the shadows, he picked the lock with his bump key.

“I’m in.” He strode over to the keypad and entered the security code. Nothing. 

“The code didn’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

“It looks like  it didn’t turn off anything as if it was–”

“--as if it was already turned off,” Finch finished for him. “Odd. According to the security company’s logs, the security protocols were taken off a couple of days ago by Mr. Alfaro himself.”

“That coincides with Christina’s arrival to the US,” Reese murmured. “Can you trace Alfaro’s phone?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Reese cast a casual look around. In the low light from outside, Reese could make out the interior’s old fixtures interspersed with some more modern amenities. He stared up at the old chandelier hanging over the dining table, tips of his fingers resting on its wooden surface. He was sure the chandelier still used incandescent bulbs in it.

He frowned slightly and lifted his hand close to his face. They could do with a little dusting . He brushed his thumb over the light coating there. He swept through every room, looking for a computer or any tech that he could unleash Finch on. Other than the security system, the only other tech he found was a flat TV. No cellphones–functional ones, anyway, that were not relegated to the back of the drawer–no other devices they could exploit. Damn.

He was staring thoughtfully at the TV, then remembered his handy little thumb drive. “Any chance you can hack into the TV and access video recorded by the camera?”

“The cameras on smart TVs don’t store videos anywhere, unless some less-scrupulous parties deliberately made recordings, which would take me a considerable time to look. However…”

Reese kept silent for a few moments to let Finch sort it out. “Care to share with the rest of the class, Finch?”

“I’m trying to see if I can find devices that connected to its interface, used the same home network…” 

“... identify those devices, we can track Christina,” Reese finished this time.

“Precisely. This may take me more time considering these devices aren’t in the network…”

“Just work your magic, Finch,” Reese reminded gently. “You still have the phone trace goin’, right?”

“Still working on it. Perhaps you can spend your time getting to know our number’s target through other means?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Reese decided to save the rest of the first floor for later, and headed for the rooms upstairs.

The master bedroom definitely looked lived in by Alfaro, and consistent with the rooms he’d seen in that the owner kept most of its original designs, including the bed. The bed was made, a framed photo of Alfaro with a woman close to his age; his spouse, most likely. He ran a finger along the bedside table.

"Either Alfaro and his guests have no sense of tidiness, or nobody's been home for days."

“What did you find?”

“A thin layer of dust on the dining and bedside table, for starters.” Reese proceeded to check the other rooms. One of the other two bedrooms seemed to have been used very recently. He went through the luggage there, and found clothing that looked to belong to a slender woman about five feet or so of height. He took a picture of Christina's passport and a few identification documents and sent them to Finch.

Going through the closet yielded men’s clothing, also not of considerable height or bulk. She definitely had help, recalling Jobert’s description about the bodies. But how?

Finding nothing else of interest, he went downstairs.

He was standing in the middle of a humble kitchen, looking around. It felt too clean, too sanitary. 

Finch chimed in his ear. “I traced Alfaro’s phone. It’s moving 20 miles an hour just outside of Queen’s Village. I’ll have Detective Carter trail him as she’s closer.”

Reese strode to the fridge and opened it. His body went rigid.

“Finch…” he said slowly. “I found Alfaro.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” he answered. “Though I’m not sure where the rest of him is.” 

Chapter Text

“You guys just give me the best presents,” Fusco quipped when he picked up. “You just put an entire team off their dinner.”

“Come on now, Lionel,” Reese cajoled. “We’re just doing our due diligence as concerned citizens. Besides, you can keep tabs on the investigation for us.”

“And you didn’t think to call Carter instead?”

“What’s the matter? This your first time seeing human body parts?”

“Ugh. Speaking of. The coroner thinks some parts are missing.”

“Missing?” Finch spoke up for the first time.

“Yeah. Liver, heart, part of the right lung. Guess the perp has a thing against smokers.” 

Reese scoffed, carefully sipping his coffee. He was in a coffee shop two blocks from the Alfaro residence. He didn’t like breaking protocol when it came to stakeouts, but he felt like he needed something to quell the nausea. He wished he was drinking something much stronger.

“Could this be a case of organ harvesting?”

“Not unless you use teeth to take them out. Coroner found evidence of bite marks on the right lung.”

Reese took another scalding gulp, even as he heard a gasp on the line.

“I’ll have uniforms ask the neighbors if they’ve seen anyone suspicious, or if there’ve been reports of a wild animal prowling in the neighborhood.”

“You okay there, Finch?” Reese asked a few seconds after they disconnected with Fusco.

“I’m fine,” he answered a tad too quickly. “Any thoughts on what happened to Mr. Alfaro?”

“You sure you’re up to discussing it?”

“Seeing as we might have chased the perpetrator or perpetrators away, I don’t see a better opportunity than the present.”

“Table it for now,” Reese advised. “We have a killer on the loose. And it looks like she took Alfaro’s phone.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He stopped himself in time from visibly freezing. Alexandra Tresé just smoothly slipped into the booth across from him.

“Mr. Reese?” Finch’s tone was concerned.

“And don’t deny you know nothing,” she continued before he could open his mouth. She made herself comfortable before clasping her hands together on the table. “I know you were the one who was listening in on our conversation in my hotel room.”

“And what is it that I shouldn’t have done?” he asked calmly, draining the rest of his coffee.

“Calling the police would not help stopping them.”

“‘Them’?”

“This is a matter beyond what your law enforcement can handle.”

“But you can?”

She gazed at him unblinkingly. “This is your warning: stay away. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

Alexandra raised her brows at him.

“I have it on good authority that your life's in danger. You and your friends.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And how do you know that?”

“I have a source, and it’s never wrong.”

“So…. you want to protect me?” She leaned back, head tilted, and eyes lit with a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

“You’ll see I’m pretty good at it.”

One side of her lips ticked up in an almost-smile. “I’m sure you are, Mister…?”

“You can call me John.”

“ John . Thank you, but my friends and I can handle ourselves.”       

“Perhaps. But I’m sure you’re limited with your resources. If you let me, I can help you find Christina much sooner.”

She blinked a couple of times at the mention of the name, but the rest of her face remained unchanged. Not bad.

“Are you a cop?” 

I hate it when they assume that. “I didn’t say I was.”

“Then who are you?”

“Let’s just say I’m in the same business as you are.”

Her gaze was assessing. “Is that so? What’s in it for you?”

“I just don’t want people to get hurt in my city, that’s all.” He gave her a small grin.

“That’s very altruistic of you, John. Something I never thought I’d find in a city like this.”

John tilted his head at her, but did not say a word.

Alexandra gazed at him for several seconds then sighed. “I’ve said what I came here to say.” She moved to stand. “We’ll do what needs to be done. It’s best that you stay out of our way. Good night, John.”

He watched through the shop window as she met with the brothers across the street. Crispin looked back, sending a mock-salute his way as he walked away with his companions.

He should have brought extra trackers with him, but something told him it would be useless on her. Dammit.

His earpiece crackled. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reese. The cameras in your area are limited. None of them showed up at all.”

“It’s okay, Finch. By the way, I didn’t see Hank with them. Is he close?”

“He’s by the corner. Turning on the audio feed…”

They were treated to a male rendition of a Whitney Houston song. Reese barely caught Finch’s “Oh, dear” amidst the caterwauling. 

“Could’ve waited until the others arrived,” he groused, rubbing his right ear.

The music abruptly turned off just as a couple of car doors were opened.

[Nice ride, Hank,] one of the brothers noted. [Where’d you steal it?] 

[It’s better not to give him any more ideas,] Basilio chimed in. At least, Reese assumed it was him.

“Tse!”

[How did your chat go, Alex?] Hank inquired.

[He wasn’t sent by Perez, I can say that with some certainty. He knew about Christina.] 

[What?] It was one of the brothers again.

[That’s… impressive,] Hank remarked . [We could have used someone like him, track her down faster. Did he tell you how he knew?]

[No.] She paused. [Which reminds me…]

[B-but, I haven’t paid it in full yet!]

Reese frowned at the odd remark, until the city noise turned up, a clatter, then a loud vehicle coming up–

“Well, that lasted longer than I expected. ‘Guess stopping Christina is our only chance to save Alexandra. Is Carter still on her?”

“Yes, and before you ask, I asked her not to engage in any way as she’s trailing a very dangerous individual.”

“Good.” Reese dialed her number. “Hey, Carter. How’s your babysitting gig goin’?

“Boring. All they did was drive around. Got anything on them so I can cut to the chase and arrest them?”

“Not advisable. Where are you now?”

“About to come up to the Union Turnpike. Hold on… they’re slowing down. They just got off, heading into the Cunningham Park Southeast Preserve. I’m gonna lose them!”

“Carter, stand down. These people are very dangerous.”

The grunt eloquently expressed what she thought of his request, but she didn’t say another word.

Getting her location from Finch, Reese got in his car and gunned it. 

“I don’t understand, Mr. Reese. Wouldn’t you rather have Carter call it in for backup?”

“If what you told me about this thing is true…”

“That we’re after a half-bodied winged vampire?? Surely, you don’t think that?”  

“Think about it. What else can you find on this mang-gull –thing?”

“This is ridiculous…” Finch muttered, even as he typed away. “A creature that mostly targets pregnant women’s fetuses, and the occasional human viscera like the heart, lungs…”

“Tresé’s team talking about his thing, the autopsy report from the cruise ship, the nature of her work. It all adds up, Finch. Eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable…”

“Yes, yes, whatever Doyle wrote , what you’re suggesting is way beyond the realm of improbable!”

“‘Guess we’ll have to find out.” He spotted Carter’s cruiser and parked behind her. The detective was just coming around from the car parked some thirty feet away, and, seeing his car, jogged up to him.

“They ditched their ride. And this.” She held up a cellphone. ”Now what?”

“Finch? What else did you find?”

“It finds its full strength at night, it hunts then.” There was an audible snort. “And when it does, the upper torso separates from the lower body, and grows wings!” Finch added archly.

“You said it was vampire-like. How do we… how do we stop her?”

Carter gawked at him. “Vampire??”

“Mr. Reese…”

“Christina just ditched her phone, and we have no way of tracking her. Humor me.”

Carter was still incredulous. “Did you really just say vampire? Patch me in.”

“According to most of the texts I’ve found, they do abhor garlic. You can sprinkle garlic or holy water on the exposed innards of the lower body so that it will be unable to return to its body, and they perish come sunlight.”

“What the hell is Finch talking about?? Are either of you gonna read me in?”

“Long story short?” Reese offered. “We’re after a supernatural creature of Philippine folklore, and we’re gonna beat it with garlic and holy water. Got some in your trunk?”

“So help me, you two…”

“Why don’t you send her what our friends got, Finch?” He met Carter’s irate gaze. “Whatever you wanna believe, believe this: since coming to the country, Christina Perez has left bodies in her wake. And we need to stop her.”

Carter took out her phone when it chimed. Her eyes widened. “John…”

“Now,” Reese went on as Carter stared at the information on her phone. “She probably picked this place so she can ditch her other half discreetly. Finch. I need you to find any pregnant woman residing in the area.” He paused in thought. “Once she finds her target, what will she do? Swoop in and carry them off?”

“Not like birds of prey. They land on top of houses and… drop their long, proboscis-like tongue, latches on a woman’s belly and–” Finch swallowed “--suck the fetus.”

Carter raised her eyes at him and cocked a finely-arched brow.

“In that case, look for those women either living in isolated areas, or houses with some form of obstruction. Trees, signboards, whatever that can hide her approach. That might narrow it down.

“But you gotta hurry; she’s got a big head start.”

“Wouldn’t it be wise to call this in and report that you have a lead in the Alfaro case?”

Reese nodded. “Yeah, good idea. Call it in, Carter. You’ll likely find a female body severed in half somewhere around here.” A thought occurred to him. “Got a sniper rifle in your trunk, at least?”

“Sorry, that’s what’s missing in my little stash.”

“Dear lord, there’s two of them…”

Reese met Carter’s amused grin with his own. “We’ll need all the firepower we can get here, Finch. Call Fusco. Have him grab something of Christina’s from the Alfaro house and have their K–9s track her.”

“How about Bear?”

Of course… “No,” Reese said slowly. “He’ll help me track Christina’s other half.”

He didn’t want to leave Carter alone, so he hung around as she made the call and waited until the unis were about to arrive.

“Mr. Reese, I found about twenty locations with expectant mothers. I’ve narrowed it down based on the parameters you suggested to four. The closest one happens to be a residence in Flushing. I sent you the address.”

“Are you sure there aren’t any other hits close by?” he asked as he started his car. 

“The others don't provide as much cover as this location does, so there’s a high chance that’s where she’ll go.”

Reese idly wondered how a creature like that could track their prey. “Alright. Bring Bear and meet me at that location. And have Fusco take an article of clothing from Christina’s luggage.”

Chapter Text

Reese soon arrived at the location: another suburb with rows of large houses, occasionally flanked by large trees. The house in question was located in the corner: the very picture of a house with white picket fences. High privacy hedges lined one side, a small flower garden on the other. Best of all were the oak trees looming over it all, planted on each side that faced both streets, their branches and leaves fanning from it and obscuring the residence’s second floor. When Reese turned the corner and drove away, he caught a glimpse of a small back porch. 

“Finch, where are you?”

“Bear and I had to stop by the Alfaro residence to… borrow an item of Christina’s. We’re about twelve minutes out.”

Reese couldn’t help the grin at the “we”.

They agreed to meet at the fusion catering that he spotted along the Union Turnpike, then came back to the location using Finch’s vehicle.

Half an hour later found Finch and Reese in the car with Bear, parked in a darkened car port across their quarry. Finch made a passing remark about how he finally understood Reese’s reluctance in doing stakeouts in residential areas.

“The house belongs to Frederick and Elaine Garcia, recently married, no children, but Elaine is four months along with their first child,” Finch rattled off quietly as they sat in the dark. “He’s an architect, she’s a nurse at Queens Hospital Center.”

Reese’s jaw worked. They couldn’t let anything break this little family apart.

Finch took out a Ziploc bag labeled “Evidence” and handed it to Reese, who, in turn, put on his gloves before opening the bag and offering it to Bear to sniff. The dog’s ears immediately reared forward with a yelp, then a growl.

“Bear already doesn’t like her,” Reese observed, putting the evidence away. “Is the couple at home?” 

“The wife has been on forced bed rest for two weeks now. I intercepted a call from her husband telling her that he’s working late tonight.”

So, she’s all alone…

“Any idea on  how to approach this, Mr. Reese?”

“I could just go up there and introduce myself,” he mused, eyes roving at the nicely kept lawn and trimmed hedges delineating it from the neighboring house. Not enough to deter a thief, but would work very well to hide his approach.

“And say what, exactly? ‘Good evening, Mrs. Garcia. I have it on good authority that a serial killer targeting pregnant women is going around, and, oh, you’re next?’”

Reese had to chuckle at Finch’s approximation of his voice. “Sounds like a bad idea when you say it.”

“Because it is. Perhaps you should consider offering your services to Ms. Tresé and her friends again? Present a more united front?”

“I would, but she didn’t give me her number,” he sassed. “You’re out of ideas, aren’t you?”

Finch was silent for some time. “I’m just as in the dark and frustrated as you are, Mr. Reese,” came his quiet confession.

"It's not really a bad idea," John admitted. "I just… there's something about them I can't put a finger on. They're dangerous people, and we're still not sure if they're the victims or perpetrators."

They were quiet for a few minutes, John wracked his brains while keeping watch from his seat in the car. Finch had found a way into the Garcias’ security system and gained access to the cameras, so the backyard and the side of the house the farthest from John were already covered.

He hated waiting.

The street started to clear of vehicles and pedestrians as midnight passed. Even as the night seemed to quiet down, he couldn’t help the mounting feeling that something was going to happen, and it would be soon.

And in the dead silence, something did.

At first, there was nothing, then Bear, who had been resting his head on his paws in the backseat, perked up his head and gave a low growl.

Reese grabbed his partner’s arm. “Finch.” 

He didn’t know what to make of it. At first, he thought it was some large bird of prey that had somehow found its way in a suburban neighborhood. But, as it flew closer, he noted the wings were the wrong kind. It looked to be a very huge bat. A huge bat with the body of a human .

Finch was agape.

“What the hell ?”

Commanding that Finch and Bear stay in the car, Reese shot out of the car and booked it, leaping  over the low wooden fences, and ran towards the back porch. Jobert’s words came to the fore, and the images they painted only served to urge his legs to go faster. 

The creature landed on the back of the house, right on top where the Garcias’ bedroom would probably be. 

There’s no time .

It didn’t even occur to him to try engaging it; instincts told him to get to Elaine Garcia now and make sure she was safe.

“Finch, I need you to disable the—”

“Already done, Mr. Reese. Hurry!”

He grunted his thanks as he kicked down the door and took the stairs two at a time.

A scream erupted from the bed. Reese leaped halfway across the room just as Elaine Garcia was about to tip out of her bed but caught herself in time, scrambling to untangle herself from the sheets. She wasn’t paying the intruder any mind; her terrified gaze was glued to something hanging in the air just above her.

“ A-a–aswa– !”

Reese raised his gun arm and shot in three rapid successions at the ceiling.

An ungodly wail filled the air even as loud rustling, and something–claws?–scrambled for purchase. That’s when Reese noticed that there had been something dangling over the Garcias’ bed through whatever hole it came from. Before he could take a closer look, it pulled up and disappeared through the ceiling.

Gun arm still raised towards it, Reese strode over to a window and yanked the curtain aside. Nothing. He closed his eyes and worked on steadying his breathing, even as he concentrated on the sounds outside.

As the sounds he was tracking receded, he strode over to the woman still lying prone beside the bed. 

“Finch, did you track where it was headed?” Reese asked as he gave Elaine a once-over, probing respectfully for any injuries.

“I–it looks like it was headed back towards the park reserve,” Finch informed. “And Mrs. Garcia?”

“Doesn’t look to be hurt, but in her condition, she might need looking over.”

“There’s a police dispatch heading for that address, Mr. Reese. Better leave quickly. I’ll have paramedics dispatched as well.”

“Police and an ambulance are on their way,” Reese spoke gently as he helped Elaine to a nearby chair. The bed would’ve been more comfortable, but the way the woman eyed it and the ceiling above it, he doubted she would ever find comfort there. He snatched a pillow and the blanket from it, and proceeded to wrap her in a blanket, tucking the pillow behind her.

“Mrs. Garcia, can you tell me what happened? What did you see?”

Frantic eyes darted over to his. “I-i-i–it can’t be… impossible… b-b-but it’s h-here…” Her breath came in stuttering gasps, a hand pointing towards the ceiling.

“It’s gone, for now.” Reese took her wandering hand and placed it on her lap, squeezing. “I need you to take a deep breath now, slowly. Follow my lead.”

He walked Elaine through some breathing exercises for some minutes until she looked calmer.

“There you go… Now. Can you tell me what that was?”

Chapter Text

Reese’s fingers tightened on the wheel as he sped through the quiet suburbs. He had an eye out to the inky midnight sky while checking his GPS, making sure he didn’t miss the turns.

“We’ve chased her away,” Finch spoke for the first time. “Now what?”

Reese found small comfort in knowing Finch felt he shared culpability that their target escaped. Driving the creature–Christina–away was the best he could think of to keep Elaine Garcia safe.

“Well, if she’s flying back to her body, and finds cops crawling all over the place, she’d either hide…”

“... or find another victim.”

Reese’s hands clenched the steering wheel again. “Yeah… sorry that she got away.”

“John, you did the best you could under the circumstances,” Finch admonished gently. “Who could have fathomed that these creatures exist? We saved a life, and that counts for something.”

He shot a grateful glance Finch’s way. “We better check in with Carter. At least give her a heads up to check the skies for anything incoming.”

“Gotta hand it to you boys. You sure get the weirdest cases,” Carter spoke the minute she picked up.

“You found the body, then?” Reese was hopeful.

“Yep. The lower half of a woman’s body, from the waist down, standin’ straight up, in the denser parts of the reserve.”

Reese shared a look with Finch.

“When one of the officers, Officer Ramos, saw it, he freaked out, made the sign of the cross and kept on recitin’ the Lord’s Prayer. Hasn’t said anything else except to not leave the body alone and to keep the area bright and constantly surrounded with people.”

“That’s really good, Detective,” Finch interjected. “From what I’ve found, if these creatures do not return to the other half of their body, they will perish come sunrise.”

“Great. So now it’s a party here. Did you find her?”

“Yes, and no,” Reese chimed in a little hesitantly. “We stopped her from making her attack, but she got away.”

“Is that the call we got from Flushing?”

“Yeah.”

“So she’s in the wind. Literally. What’ll you boys do next?”

“I dunno…” Something caught Reese’s eye that, on some strong impulse, made him turn at the next corner and double back. Finch squawked at the sudden turn, holding on to the door and dashboard at his maneuver.

“Guess we’ll grab some coffee.”

He clicked off the connection before Carter could finish questioning his sanity.

“Where are we going, Mr. Reese?” Finch looked as skeptical as Carter had sounded.

“To check out a hunch,” he answered as they came up to the restaurant he met Finch in earlier. 

As soon as he, Finch and Bear came up to the outdoor dining area…

“Hello, John.” Alexandra was calmly sipping her ice tea from a straw, eyes boring into him.

“And you brought a friend! And you guys got a dog? ?”

Crispin made a beeline towards Finch, completely ignoring Reese’s rigid pose and sidestepped him in favor of stopping in front of Finch and Bear before asking, 

“Can I pet him??”

Reese turned, ready for anything. Finch looked uncertain, Bear even more so. The poor dog was sniffing the air around the newcomer, ears swiveling back slightly. 

He gave a mental shrug, and gave the Dutch command for Bear to settle and momentarily accept the stranger. It would be foolish of them to try something while out here in the open. 

With a tiny nod to Finch, he answered, “Yeah, go ahead. But let him smell your hand first.”

There was genuine glee in the man’s face as Crispin dropped to one knee and held out his hand to the dog, open and palm up. Bear gave a faint whine before giving the offered hand a few sniffs, glanced at Reese, then back down at the hand, looking as puzzled as any dog could be, finally nudging it with his snout. Crisipin petted him on the head and scratched behind Bear’s ears, whose tongue was lolling out.

Such a pushover…

Reese turned back to the rest of the group. “May we join you?” 

“Please.” Alexandra waved towards the seats Crispin, and then Basilio, just vacated. The brothers cooed at Bear as Finch took the seat and the twins settled at an adjacent table.

She regarded them silently for a few moments. “You work together.”

“Yes,” was Reese’s succinct reply. “How did you do that?”

She blinked at him. “Do what?”

“You were following us.” 

“Were we?” She looked to her team, then back at Reese. “We appreciate what you did for the woman, but this also meant that they got away. Now, do you see why we asked you not to intervene? You wouldn’t have known how to subdue them.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Tresé,” Finch smoothly cut in. “We found her target, and with the help of the authorities, Christina won’t be able to go back to her body any time soon.”

“But she escaped,” she countered blandly, neither accusing nor condescending. “What do you plan to do next? Look for her next victim and stop her again?”

“We don’t see you guys making any better progress than we have, or you would be out there chasing her.” Reese tilted his head. “Am I wrong?”

She didn’t respond, but her eyes hardened.

“Let us help you find her,” Finch entreated, “and we will be out of each other’s hair.”

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” Hank was sitting back, arms crossed and silent all this time, finally spoke.

“Not when we know there’s someone silently terrorizing people,” Reese replied without hesitation. “Not when we have the means to help you find her.”

“Alex?” Hank had his gaze towards her.

“Plus they have a cute dog, boss!” Crispin piped up. Bear was practically putty in his hands, the traitor.

“We don’t have much time before she finds her next victim,” Reese pushed. “And, as you pointed out, we don’t know how to stop her. If we work together, we have a better chance of finding her.”

Alex rolled her eyes and took in a long breath. She regarded them in silence.

“She's not alone,” she spoke at last.

“I suspected as much,” Finch was nodding. “The injuries sustained by the victims in the cruise ship aren't consistent with someone of her kind.”

Alex regarded Finch with undisguised admiration. Reese turned to his partner.

“Were you ever going to share that with me?” He kept his tone playful.

“I’m sorry, M-John. You understand how skeptical I was that beings like these even existed. I didn’t think any further information I found about them was relevant to our case.” Then he remembered himself. “My apologies, Ms. Tresé. Please continue.”

“Christina has a lover, not one of her kind, and especially not one approved by her family because of it,” Alex revealed. “We suspect Christina fled the country to escape her parents. Unfortunately, she can’t escape the nature of her kind, and her need to feed.”

“Are you saying that her boyfriend was behind these attacks? With what happened to Benjamin Alfaro?” Finch probed.

She gave a nod. “Most aswang are opportunists, but the savagery of the attacks, it’s more the work of a tiktik than a manananggal . The latter won’t press their attack when thwarted; the tiktik is rather more unpredictable.”

Reese spoke up. “Can you tell us this, Alexandra? What will you or your team do when you find them?”

“Like you and your friend, John, we don't want to see people hurt. We also do have a responsibility to their kind, to  come up with an agreeable resolution, before we take drastic measures.”

“Do you think they can be reasoned with?” Finch echoed Reese’s disbelief.

Alex didn’t seem at all offended. “We’ve lived with supernatural beings for so long without ordinary people realizing it. They know how to co-exist with us. The Perez clan didn’t reach their prominence living in the human world without knowing how to navigate it. Christina never went against her family’s wishes until her boyfriend came into her life.”

“So you wish to see Christina back safe with her family?” Alex nodded. “What do you know about her boyfriend?”

“Christina never formally introduced him to her family. We only know that his name is Patrick, and they met in one of her father’s restaurants.”

“That’s all you’ve got on him?”

“We try to give them their space if they stay out of people's business,” Hank explained. “The tiktik are a very elusive bunch - mostly keep to themselves. And their leader isn’t too keen on outsiders meddling in their affairs.”

“You might as well describe the rest of u–them,” Basilio quipped from the other table.

Reese made a mental note of that little slip. Could explain a few things…

“Is Patrick another supernatural creature?” Finch asked.

“Tik-tik are more unpredictable,” Hank went on. “And more dangerous, especially when provoked.”

“I can see where we can fill in the gaps of your intel,” Finch observed, laying his hands flat on top of each other on the table. “Not further information on Christina’s boyfriend, I’m afraid, but on their possible whereabouts. We’d like to ask again: will you let us help you?”

Alex’s lips thinned, eyes clouded over in thought. Even the twins stopped playing with Bear and sat expectantly.

Several moments passed before Alex announced, “All right.”

Together, Finch and Reese shared their findings on the possible addresses the couple will target. She nodded in approval at their thoroughness.

Hank stroked his cropped beard in thought. “Three addresses. That’ll be tricky to split up even among ourselves.”

“We know detectives we can trust that can take one of the addresses,” Finch offered. At Alex and Hank’s dubious looks, he added, “They help us in our cases. They’re very discreet, and one already handled the Alfaro case, and the other has cordoned off Christina’s lower body.”

Alex relented. “Okay,  but I'd rather keep their involvement to a minimum. The twins can take the last location. I'll take the second. Hank, you, John and…”

“I’d rather have my friend stay behind and coordinate for all of us, if you don’t mind,” Reese cut in.

“He can come with me, if you feel he’d be safer that way,” Alex suggested.

 “Appreciate the offer,” Reese gently interjected, “but I’d rather he stick with me.” He softened the rebuff with a grin.

“Very well, gentlemen,” Alex conceded. “Let’s go.”

Bear gave what sounded like the human equivalent of an annoyed groan. Reese turned. Bear's belly was exposed, and the brothers were happily scratching it, and the dog was clearly in heaven. Reese bit his lip before the smile could escape and called Bear over. It was the twins' turn to groan.

Chapter Text

Finch and Reese called the detectives on their way to their designated location.

“ Okay, back up. Let me get this straight . We’re on the lookout for a what now?” Carter’s tone took a near hysterical edge.

“A flying half-woman, and her vampirish ghoul of a boyfriend,” Reese explained patiently. Even he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“... Yeah, that’s what I thought you said. ”

“Listen, I know it sounds crazy–”

“ We finally agree on something. ”

Reese couldn’t help but grin a little at that, but sobered quickly. “These people are very dangerous. I need you and Fusco to be very careful.”

“ Of course we will, John, ” she replied with a somber sigh. “ You boys watch each other, too. ”

“She didn't hang up on you,” Hank observed as Carter clicked off.

“Guess you could say that she trusts us.”

Finch, Reese and Hank sat in Finch's car across from the house of the potential target. Reese found a secluded area where the shadows could hide them. He sat at the driver’s seat, eyes not leaving the house in front of them. The foliage surrounding the residence was thicker than the last one, and Reese wondered if Christina would have a harder time navigating through them. 

Finch sat in the passenger’s seat, quietly tapping away. At Reese’s request, he had Finch check in on the others. 

“Everyone is in position,” Finch reported in a low voice. “No suspicious activity that they could see.”

“Good.”

Hank, who was sitting in the back seat with Bear, spoke up. “I need to know: how did you find the possible places they would hit?”

“He’s pretty good with computers.” Reese cocked his head at Finch.

Hank nodded approvingly. “Very impressive, Mr. Finch. You’ve even anticipated the kind of environment they would pick.” He peered out the window towards the house. 

“That was John’s suggestion.”

“Is it?” Hank leaned forward. “Didn’t think the American army would train its soldiers to ah, think out of the bo x, as you say.”

Reese glanced at Hank from the rearview mirror with a smirk. “So, Hank. What can you tell us about Patrick’s… other persona?” he asked, ignoring Hank’s bald attempt to pry.

“All I can say is that they’re opportunists, and they’re vicious,” Hank replied. “Bullets can’t kill them, but it can slow them down. You don’t happen to have garlic or holy water on you, do you?”

At Reese’s blank stare, Hank sighed. “I should’ve known to pack more,” he grumbled. He twisted in his seat to rummage in his duffel. Bear made a curious sound. 

“Ah!” Hank held out a small bottle, almost right under Reese’s nose. “Holy water. The twins laughed at me when I tried packing garlic – those jerks – so I only have this. Oh! And I took some of these, too.” He produced small salt packets bearing the name of the restaurant they just left. Reese cocked a brow.

“Most aswang hate these,” Hank pointed out. “Just throw it at them.”

“Will they go up in smoke?” Finch asked dryly, eyeing the items with a hint of healthy skepticism.

“No, but it’ll give you time to run away. Natural sea salt would’ve been better, but these will do.”

It couldn’t hurt…  Reese took the bottle from Hank's hand, popped the lid and splashed some liquid onto himself. He handed it to Finch, awkwardly doing the same as he tried avoiding getting water on his keyboard.

“You hold on to that, while I take some of these.” Reese took a couple of salt packets, pushing the silly feeling down as he pocketed them. 

Finch looked like he drew the line at the holy water.

“These creatures are not to be trifled with, gentlemen,” Hank warned. 

Reese sighed, knowing Hank was right. “Finch.” He nodded at the remaining packets in Hank’s hand. Finch’s lips drew taut, then reached out to take them. 

“What should we look out for, here?” Reese asked. At Hank’s frown, he went on. “What would Patrick look like? Would he… change like Christina does?”

Hank looked thoughtful, stroking his beard. “I think the tiktik might resemble a bit like the Nosferatu in your old films,” he answered after a few moments. “Or maybe some of those orcs from those Lord of the Rings movies. The skinny ones.”

Both Reese and Finch’s faces must have betrayed their disbelief, because Hank went on to add, “Hey. Storytellers came up with these creatures from somewhere somehow, didn’t they?”

Reese shook his head. It doesn’t help them very much to identify Patrick on sight, but it helps that there wasn’t an abundance of ghouls and other monsters walking around in New York.

That they know of. 

That was not a comforting thought.

Silence came over inside the vehicle once again as they continued their vigil. The longer Reese continued to scan the shadows, the more he thought he saw movement among the leaves: a dark figure just out of his periphery, a glow of what could be watching eyes, there and gone in an instant. The distant rustle of leaves was starting to sound like the shuffling of a hundred feet.

And then…

If anyone asked him, much later, he wouldn’t be able to describe it. But it was as if the air just stood still, the utter lack of sound more palpable. Bear straightened up and started to growl.

Then he heard it, too. He almost swore it sounded like a bat, but it felt wrong; they don’t make tick-tick-tick sounds. How could it be so close so quickly?

Hank suddenly became alert. “Mr. Finch, call the others. Now!” he barked. “Lock the doors and windows!”

Reese glanced at Hank with a nod. The man had the branch/animal tail in one hand, a shotgun in another, and a .9 mm holstered at his hip. Hank nodded back before kicking the door open and letting Bear out.

With a quick check at their surroundings, they crouched low as they approached the house. Reese had given the command to Bear to stay close, but it was pretty clear he was mustering all his discipline not to defy him, if the low whining was any indication.

Reese strained his hearing. “Is it leaving?”

Hank shook his head, his eyes wide. “No. It’s close!”

“John!”

He froze on instinct, one hand stopping midway from reaching up to his earwig.

“The brothers have called!” Finch urgently informed. “They found Christina–”

The rest of Finch’s words were drowned out by an eerie shriek just behind him. 

John gave Bear the Dutch command to attack even as he swiveled around– 

He raised his gun, the suppressor muting otherwise two loud gunshots–

Fire shot through Reese’s extended arm as the creature lashed out, his weapon flying from his hand. He brought his other hand in front of him, grabbing at the body that pummeled him to the ground.

“ Pakialamero!” (Meddler!) The word in the midst of the shrieks sounded distorted, guttural.

Patrick was as Hank tried to describe through comparison: distorted, sickly grey. The skin looked paper-dry, rough. He was strong, and the hands that grabbed at Reese had razor-like claws that were digging into his arm. And that face… all contorted in unholy rage with otherworldly eyes full of hatred. 

Reese catalogued all these features in a few seconds even as he grappled at this creature that was Patrick. He pushed against the creature’s face, and got a full view of a mouth full of dripping fangs. The autopsy reports flashed in his mind. Need to keep away !

The creature got a hold of his arm, just as its other hand shot out and grabbed Reese by the neck. Its snarl grew wider as he clawed at the hand at his throat.

John’s right arm was getting slick warm, and the creature’s grip on his neck was unrelenting, so he let go, and shoved his left hand in his coat pocket. He frantically felt for the salt packet and tore into the paper packaging.

The claws on his neck have pierced skin…

Gritting his teeth, John drove his salt-covered thumb into one sickly yellow eye. It howled, wildly swiping at him, scoring John in the cheek and his chest. John howled in pain, too, reflexively kicking the creature

Bear! Good boy!

He saw the Malinois chomp down on the creature’s shoulder, making him rear back to try reaching for Bear.

“Don’t you touch him!” John ground out painfully, using the brief reprieve to reach for his spare weapon from his ankle holster and firing. He managed a bloody grin at hearing the pained scream, catching the creature in the torso. When Bear jumped away, John kept firing through the haze of red in front of his eyes.

‘Should slow him down…

Hank was yelling, running towards the creature slumped several yards from John. Its shrieks had gotten louder, twisting and writhing, clawing at its injured eye 

It sounded very angry. Hank would need help...

But John couldn’t move. He tried to push himself off the ground, but his torso couldn’t bear the strain. Pain exploded from his chest and spread everywhere . He suddenly felt so cold .

“John!”

Harold’s voice echoed through his skull, even as another voice called to Hank. Alexandra. About damn time…

A warm tongue swiped at his uninjured cheek. “Y’okay, pal?” He brought a hand up to pat weakly at any part he could reach, searching for injuries.

“Oh, John…” Harold actually sounded right by his head. He turned his head slowly, the movement simply excruciating.

John was struggling to make a visual sweep on his friend. There didn’t seem to be a mark on him. Good . “D’they– get ‘im?” 

“They’re subduing him.” Harold was removing his jacket, wadded it up and pressed it to John’s torso.

He couldn’t help the groan that escaped. “‘Exp’nsive…”

“Save your strength, please,” Finch insisted, a quiver in his voice.

John had a mind to tell him not to bother, not with someone like him. Not when he could feel his life bleeding away. Harold clearly did not appreciate being told what to do with his highly expensive suits.

“‘Kay.” He earned his reprieve. It’s okay, even if it would be his last…

Chapter Text

“Hello, John.”

Jess ?

That couldn’t be her. 

Could it?

He opened his eyes. Blinked a few times.

“I thought… you’d be a guy.”

Lips turned up to something of a smile. 

John returned it with a small smile. “I guess I lucked out, then.”

“You know who I am?”

“I kind of figured it out. Hard to miss with all those fellas behind you, but you’re better than all skull and bones.” He gestured towards the dark spirits hovering about her, their luminous gaze fixed on him. 

Her head tilted minutely. “You seem to be taking your situation well.”

“I’m sure you know the life I live–lived. ‘Had come to accept the fact that death happens sooner to someone like me.”

His eyes took in his surroundings. The spirits seemed to be crowded together, as if he’s sharing a subway ride with them, only he’s on the floor for some reason, and they're going through a never-ending tunnel, the view from the windows speeding past. “Where are we?”

“A junction between the living and the afterworld.” 

John sobered at his present reality. This is it, then. He’s coming to the final stop.

“So you’re here to take me, then?”

“I should be, yes.”

“Should be’?” John was frowning. He was pretty sure the creature hurt him pretty bad; he didn’t think anyone could come back from that.

“It seems that there are people pleading for your life, and would like you to return.”

“People can do that?”

She seemed to be studying him. John imagined there was a lovely face underneath the heavy dark veil. She was a picture of dark calm in gothic clothing, and she was definitely a huge improvement over the grim reaper look most people associated Death with.

“People have asked for a loved one’s life since man first felt loss. And you have people who feel your loss keenly.”

John frowned. He didn’t think he had any people left who would mourn him. Surely not…?

“Yes,” Lady Death  (as John called her in his head) went on, as if reading his mind. “Your partner is appealing that you do not cross over.”

John was baffled. He never thought Harold was a praying man.

“You’re saying that as if you talked to him.”

“I have.” With a wave of an arm, one of the floating specks of light expanded into a soft glowing orb, revealing that last night: he was lying there, half his face down to his torso drenched in blood, Harold pressing his very expensive jacket against it. Bear was lying on his stomach on his other side, snout touching his listless arm. His whine sounded more worried than he’d ever heard him. John felt something inside him break.

And, standing between them and the Lady Death in that vision was Alexandra Tresé.

Ignoring the other spirits, John inched closer to the tableau as it played out, hearing Harold’s pleas for John’s life– his life –to the being in the vision.

“You make it a point to listen to appeals in person?”

“Alexandra Tresé serves as a medium between the natural and supernatural, and requested that I reveal my presence to your friend.”

He couldn’t believe hearing Harold’s desperate and impassioned entreaties, and Alexandra’s quiet admission of what she perceived to be John’s integrity, in the very brief time they spoke with one another. 

“Why would he… why would they do that?” Alex wouldn’t have known what he’d done, what he was. But Harold Finch - who practically read every redacted file on him, who repurposed John’s deadly skills to help people - thought John was worth a risk talking to death’s emissary?

"If it isn't apparent to you by now, your friend thinks you deserve another chance. You give other people a chance to continue their existence. Take on the heavy burden from the innocents.”

“It’s..  it’s not right,” John insisted.

“How so?”

“There are other people, good people, who deserve a chance at life, more than I do, who are still g-gone.” Oh, Jess…  

“Are you refusing the chance to return to the living?” She seemed genuinely perplexed.

“No! W–I don’t know.” He deflated. Working with Finch, with Carter, and even with Fusco, he found a purpose. And with it, came the exuberance of being alive because he was actually doing some good this time. 

And yet, it gutted him a little that there were far more deserving people of this gift he was being given. 

He didn’t think it was possible, but he felt his eyes burn with tears as Finch eloquently appealed to the reaper.

"While I am quite moved by his reasons, I'd like to make sure that you would like to return."

John regarded Harold's pale, grief-stricken face. When he first approached Reese with his proposal to help people, he made it sound like he was the only candidate for the job, that he couldn't trust others with his Machine. John wondered how fast he could be replaced with a more competent asset.

More than that, Harold was the closest thing he could call a friend after a long, long time of deceit, betrayal and loneliness. For all the connections and aliases the man had, and as much as he would never admit it, Harold was sure to be as lonely as he was. He couldn’t just leave Harold alone.

After what felt like a long silence, John shrugged. "All right, I guess. Besides, Harold would have a hell of a time breaking in a new employee," he added with a smile.

Lady Death returned a more subdued one. “You live an interesting life, John. One that affects countless other lives in ways you could never imagine. I suggest you value it, or we might have another conversation like this sooner rather than much later.”

“I hate making promises I can’t keep, though I don’t want to sound ungrateful, either…” He took in a deep breath, letting it out in a big sigh. “I’ll do my best.”

🔆      🔆      🔆      🔆  

Warmth. It surrounded him, seeping into his skin. There was a touch to his cheek, over his heart, against his torn skin. The last time he remembered feeling such soothing warmth was when he lay in the middle of the meadows one summer day as a boy. 

He felt himself letting go of a sigh as he felt it flow through his aching body, a welcome balm to his wounds.

There was a murmur of voices, somewhere above his head. One he was intimately familiar with; the other was new, but he knew he should know her. That he needed to talk to her…

“You’re a good man, John. Don’t waste this chance.”

She doesn’t know what she’s saying , he thought. She did have a point, however; he just couldn’t take his (yet again) new lease in life for granted.

He would have answered her, but the delicious warmth was pulling him under again.

🔆      🔆      🔆      🔆  

He was floating too close to the sun.

At least, that’s what it felt like, even when the brightness that should accompany it was still absent.

His skin felt hot, the fabric of his clothes scratchy and stifling, even as the freezing air stabbed at exposed flesh. Minute tremors coursed through him. 

John huddled within himself on his couch, too drained to even think of standing up and grabbing another blanket. If only he trained Bear to fetch things for him. Yeah, that would be his little project if he weren’t so busy with the numbers.

But for now, suffering in misery it was.

" Hey… can you hear me?"

He slowly looked up, and frowned. He couldn’t muster the urgency he should feel to an intruder in his loft, even if it was a familiar one. How did Maddie… Dr. Enwright get in here?

She was dressed in white–white jacket and slacks–sans the lab coat, and practical low heels. She joined him on his U-shaped couch, sitting on the adjacent side in an apparent attempt to give him space. 

She flashed him a warm smile. "I never got to thank you, for keeping Amy safe. We'll never forget that.”

Maddie laid a hand on his outstretched left arm, feather-light.

"I know it might be hard right now, but I want you to get better, okay? People… people like me, who were in danger, and those who might be in danger? They need you."

John could only nod in acquiescence as the words wouldn’t come. It’s nice to be needed , he thought, as darkness pulled him under …

🔆      🔆      🔆      🔆  

"Hey, John…”

Carter was in his loft now, sitting by his high counter. Smartly dressed as always, hair half-bound. She was staring thoughtfully at him, her head resting on her fist.

“I hope you still with us. Harold’s… not really doing well wit’ you laid up like this. Not to mention the dog, too.”

Something tightened in his chest at those words. The last thing he wanted to do was leave people behind. Bear included.

“So you better wake up, or I’ll come an’ drag your sorry ass back from hell myself.”

John’s laugh came out as a quiet snort. Oh, he definitely believed her. But he wondered why she thought he’d be asleep or something…

🔆      🔆      🔆      🔆  

“... they said people in comas can hear what’s goin’ on around them. Not sure if it’s some kind of cold comfort or something.”

He frowned at Lionel, who was helping himself with the contents of his refrigerator, his backside the only thing visible as he stuck his head in to peruse its contents. John felt like he needed to get up to kick him out, but couldn’t muster the willpower to do so.

Lionel came around and sat at the coffee table. It creaked under his weight, making John wince.

“Look, Wonderboy. You are a pain in my ass, but it ain’t right you just quittin’ on everyone like this. ‘S not like you. Plus me an’ Carter are working double without you… and we’re kinda hamstrung with having to basically not break the law, so…” He made a vague ‘what can you do?’ gesture.

“Be a peach and come back, yeah? I kinda miss bitching about you to Carter and Glasses.” He paused; he seemed surprised at the admission. “There, I said it.”

John wanted to grin at the confession, if he could. A snarky comeback, even.

There will be time. I’m here to stay, anyway…

Chapter Text

There was something different to his drifting back to consciousness this time around, the warmth he could feel was from the insulation provided by the blanket covering him from chest to toes.

As he let his senses slowly wake up, he felt a pulsing weight on his left arm. There was panting, too. 

His brain was slowly catching up to his situation. He tried flexing his fingers on both hands. There was a mild burning on his right arm when he did so. Not too bad; at least, his fingers were moving. 

Very slowly, he shifted his left arm out of the comforting weight. It lifted with a surprised whine followed by a soft woof. He let his hand wander until it reached a familiar head of fur.

“H’ey. H-how long y…”

“Five days.”

John tensed in surprise, making him aware of the pull of bandages on his cheek, neck, and most of his torso. He didn’t feel any pain; not yet, anyway.

“H… Har’ld?”

There was rustling movement, then uneven steps as Harold presumably puttered about. Curious, John forced his eyes open, squinting against the light that greeted him.

“Here.” A saturated version of Harold was in front of him, shoving what seemed like a cup with a straw close to John’s lips. John complied. Never had tepid water felt so good and refreshing at that moment. His eyes closed as it soothed his dry throat, slowly rejuvenating his sluggish senses.

As Harold took his drink away, he turned his attention to the head under his hand. Bear was looking up at him with eyes of adoration, all teeth and tongue out. John couldn’t help but smile at what looked like a stupid grin on Bear’s face.

“He never left your side since we got you here,” Harold confessed. “I had a hard time dragging him away from you just to eat or walk.”

Oh, buddy… “Sorry… made y’worry.” He gave the dog a weak scratch behind the ears, making Bear lean harder into his hand before turning his head slowly back to Harold, who settled close by.

“You did,” Harold tried for an approximation of a smile but failed. He reached out and ran a hand along Bear’s back. “You sustained fatal wounds that we–we almost lost you.”

John paused from petting Bear and stared up at Harold. “We?”

“Miss Tresé.” He met John’s eyes before he turned his attention to their dog. “I’ve yet to comprehend how she accomplished it, but somehow, she pulled you out of the precipice of death twice.”

“What d’you mean, twice?”

Harold opened his mouth a few times, but the words wouldn’t come. 

Seeing Harold struggle, John asked quietly, “What happened, after I… blacked out?”

Having Harold report on the case seemed to have the effect John was aiming for as slowly, he recounted how Hank restrained  the creature with his whip-like stick, which somehow weakened its attacks. It was around that time when Alexandra arrived and helped Hank control it and tried communicating with it. But it was apparent to everyone there that Patrick was too far gone in his bloodlust. Reason could no longer reach him, and Alexandra had no choice but to execute him.

John was tempted to ask for more details on how they achieved that, but judging by the look on Harold’s face, he wasn’t too keen on reliving the scene, even for John’s benefit.

Harold went on. Basilio and Crispin had no trouble subduing Christina. They were instructed to tell Christina that her lower body was in the custody of the authorities, and will spare her and help get it back if she came with them peacefully. Christina wouldn’t have survived come daylight, so she very  reluctantly agreed. Alexandra, after introducing herself as Reese and Finch’s ally to Carter, asked to leave the lower body unguarded, and to let its owner escape. Carter only agreed after getting Alexandra to swear that Christina will never threaten New York again. The detective then created a diversion that left Christina’s lower body to be reunited with its owner.

John was mildly surprised. "Alexandra let her live?"

"Apparently, she had a standing agreement with Christina's family to bring her back safely, for the sake of peace between humans and their kind.

"When Christina learned that Patrick was dead, it was as if a spell was broken, and it was easier to reason with her."

“So, the operation's a success?”

Harold was fussing with the edge of John’s blanket. “It almost wasn’t. Not when Death actually came and tried to claim you.” He looked up at John with tired, haunted eyes.

John’s heart skipped a beat.

Harold’s gaze focused on his hands as it smoothed over the blanket’s fabric.

"I'm not a superstitious man, nor have I kept in the faith I was taught. But, this case has challenged my perceptions about our existence, that there is actually a world beyond our mortal realm. Seeing what I’ve seen recently, it fascinates and terrifies me.”

John understood his sentiment. Never in his life did he even consider that supernatural beings existed – thriving and mostly living quietly under mortals’ noses at that. He wondered, though, which encounter was Harold affected by the most: the one with the creatures they pursued, or that moment with the Lady that came to take John away.

Before he could ask, Harold spoke again.

“Worst of all, it showed me how I am genuinely not prepared in the event that you…” He turned away abruptly.

He didn’t finish his words, but John was warmed by it all the same. 

“‘You saying you’ll miss me?” John teased gently. A poor ploy, he’d realize later, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Harold was clearly shaken by their experience. John doubted Harold was inclined to talk about it. Not now, not ever.

“Who would help me not dry Bear?” Harold replied a beat later, and John caught the amused glitter in his eyes.

John couldn’t help but smile, even when his face hurt. “Thank you, Harold.” 

Harold made an inquiring noise.

For saying those things about me. For believing in me.

The words didn’t come, but John thought he saw understanding and fondness come and go in the other man’s eyes. It was good enough for him.

“Do you think they’re out there? People like Alexandra?” he wondered.

“Here in New York?”

John carefully shrugged. “Sure.”

“I hope so,” Harold replied fervently. “But, if not…”

“Then we better add garlic, holy water and silver bullets in our arsenal,” John said with a sigh, gingerly shifting to get comfortable and closing his eyes.

Chapter Text

Alex and their small group arrived at the abandoned warehouse that Harold suggested they could use for whatever purpose they had. She was surprised he didn’t pry; she supposed the man knew a thing or two about discretion. 

She was so exhausted from the last healing session with John that she finally gave in to the men’s suggestion to take a day before they travel back home. Which worked in their favor, and used the opportunity to talk to Christina before bringing her back home with them.

It was a revelation, with Christina now separated from her lover. She confessed to Alex that she didn’t really want to go to the States. Patrick convinced her that it was the best way to get away from her overbearing father. He guaranteed that he could help her disappear, and that her family would never find her. The promise of freedom was such an enticing offer, how could she say no?

Christina was very reluctant when Alex asked who killed the women in the cruise ship, but Alex coaxed a confession, confirming her suspicions: Christina consumed the fetuses, as Patrick consumed the mothers.

“It’s interesting that neither of you thought to dispose of the bodies, leaving it for the authorities to find,” Alex pointed out.

Christina was mortified. “He said… he said he’ll take care of it.”

“Sounds like he made a lot of promises he never intended to keep.”

The look of betrayal on Christina’s face almost made Alex regret her next words. Almost.

She then gave Christina a choice: they would hand her to the port authorities, or she would go back with them to her family. 

With the decision made, Alex, with Finch’s help, handed Christina over to his detective friends. Christina would rather die in prison than live under her family’s oppressive thumb for the rest of her life.

“Is it a good idea, putting her with humans?” Crispin had asked. “She’d need to feed and all…” 

“She won’t make trouble for herself,” Alex declared. “She’ll either find a way to survive among human inmates, or die. Besides, I heard that she will be put in a special facility, away from most inmates.” 

“What are we going to tell her family?” Count on Hank to think of the important things.

The Perez family was quite influential, but Alex doubted that reach extended to the American justice system. And should they decide that Christina was the Philippines’ problem…

“I’ll figure something out.” 

“Boss, you did say goodbye to their dog for us, right?” Crispin’s was ridiculously hopeful. 

Basilio’s face was just as disgustingly sappy. “We’ll visit them sometime, right?” 

Alex didn’t humor them with a response, but gave them the stink-eye instead. It wasn’t like there was a lack of strays the two had befriended back home.

“If only there’s a very good reason to travel here,” Hank pointed out. “Traveling here isn’t cheap, whether we’re traveling the regular way or using dragon’s blood.” He shuddered. “Not to wanna rush you, Alex, but the sooner we get this over with, the better.” 

She indulged him with a slight smile, taking out the vial of dragon’s blood from the inside pocket of her coat. She took a sip, then passed it to Hank, who also took a quick sip and then handed it to the twins.

As soon as the last person took a drink, light flashed from the ground, expanding to a whirlpool of light and colors, a view of their home swirling in its midst.

“Age first before beauty,” Crispin faced Hank with a bow, gesturing towards the portal with a flourish.

“Asshole,” Hank retorted with no real heat. “I hate this part.”

Basilio clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I got you. Just don’t puke on me when you get there.” He stepped to the edge of the swirling portal and jumped in.

“Oy! Wait for me!” Crispin dove in right after his brother.

Hank tugged at his collar, not taking any step. “Next time, can we take the plane?”

Alex took pity on him. “Only if you’re ready to pawn your house and spend all your savings for your travel expenses.” She gave her a light nudge. “Come on.”

He breathed deeply, then let it out in a rush. “Well. See you on the other side.”

She watched as Hank took the plunge, then cast a look around her. Her gaze landed on a surveillance camera perched on a light post several yards away. She regarded the red dot that she could make out on its camera face. It flashed once. She waited for it to flash again, but the little dot stayed on.

Alex wasn’t sure if their job will take them back here anytime soon. Her thoughts brought her back to Harold and John, who had yet to wake up when she left. In the ancient words her mother taught her, she murmured an old incantation of protection for them before jumping into the portal for home.