Here is the new chapter and yay! it's not the last:) What can I say, just when I thought about writing the end, I came up with this plot. But anyway, the end is closer than you might think. The question is: Will it be a good one?

It was a week later. The day was come. Harold could finally leave this place for good. The last two days had been boring. There had been nothing for him to do. He had still been too dizzy to read and too weak and tired to really concentrate anyway.

But before John could take him away from here to a safe house that was perfect for a handicapped man like himself, he had to do something.

Three days ago...

John was taking a shower. Finch was drifting in an out of pain. No painkillers could really ease the constant aching. Just when he had finally made himself as comfortable as possible, Reese' cell rang.

Harold ignored the ringing, or that's what he tried. His ears hurt and he was in no mood or shape to move at all. His second, more angry impulse was to yell for his younger partner to come and get his damn phone. Considering the beginning headache, it was tempting, but he knew it would be a useless and silly effort.

Whoever was calling was very persistent. Since his movement was limited in every way, he had to stretch his upper body, his stiff neck and his still not healed arm to an extent that caused excruciating pain. His fingers finally reached the smart phone and he answered the call. He was unable to say anything though. The agony left him out of breath.

It was Fusco and he babbled on before Finch had a chance to tell him that he wasn't talking to John. He was impatient with the cop at first, but he soon realized that the man had information about one of his attackers.

"What do you think John is going to with that, Detective?"

The talkative man on the other end of the line was suddenly very quiet.

"You know, Detective Fusco, you should tell me what's going on before I find out myself."

"Uh, well, Finch, I don't think your friend would be happy with me, if I did tell you anything. And he has some pretty convincing arguments, if you ask me." Lionel was nervous now. He tried to force the conversation in a different direction. "How are you doing?"

"As much as I appreciate your concern, Lionel, I'd prefer to hear more about the things that were going on while I was..." His hands were trembling. "While I was gone."

Lionel knew he was in trouble. Yeah, he knew he was screwed, when he told Harold all he could. Suits was so going to kneecap him.

"Thank you, Detective. Would you happen to know how I could contact Mr. Allison?"

"Listen Finch, do you have any idea what wonderboy is going to do with me, if you get in touch with this guy?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll find out myself." The call was ended before Fusco got another chance to protest.

Harold was scared to know that Mr. Allison was still out there. Sure, New York was a huge city, but the world was a small place. What, if he'd meet the man again? He couldn't defend himself the first time; what would his chances be now that he was in worse shape?

On the other hand, he didn't like violence. He understood what John had done and why, but the risk that the protective man would hurt this last attacker or possibly kill him in pure rage, worried Harold.

He felt panic rising, thought back to the terrifying night in the dark alley. He had never been so scared in his whole life. He knew the last guy was the one that had put this big knife in his body twice. The man had nearly killed him without giving it a second thought.

Tears were running down his cheeks. He knew, it would be impossible for him to live a life without fear as long as this man was around. Harold was no killer and he certainly wouldn't kill out of revenge, but the longer he thought about it, the more he knew he had to deal with this man. The attack had changed everything, had changed him. He had become a bitter person.

Harold was afraid that he could lose John, if the younger man would try to take care of Mr. Allison; either to the criminal that had proved his will to kill just for fun, or to the police that would send him straight into the custody of the FBI or CIA as soon as they'd lay hands on John.

He didn't want John to end up like this, especially not on his behalf. He wasn't worth it. Reese was a so much better person than he himself could ever be and he had to protect him in every possible way. Even if was the last thing he was going to do in his life.

John came out of the shower. "Ready to go, Harold?"

"No, John, I'd actually be very thankful, if you could get those things for me before we leave here." He gave his partner a long list.

"Harold, this will take two hours, at least. What if I call Carter of Fusco to get this stuff for you?"

"Mr. Reese, I'd really appreciate it, if you'd do this by yourself. I will be waiting here for you and be ready to leave as soon as you make it back. Please, leave the door unlocked. I'm waiting for Carl, my driver."

The ex-op sighed, he was quite annoyed about his task, but he'd do whatever Finch wanted. He wanted to make the man comfortable. Harold deserved to be happy and if he wanted those things, he sure as hell was going to get them.

Just a few minutes after John had left, Harold was shaking like a leaf. The pain in his body was intense. But it was too late now. His fingers grabbed the gun under his blanket. It had been hard to hide it from Reese since Carl had brought it to him two days ago with a few of his clothes. His hands were trembling. He would solve this problem himself, once and for all. His voice was shaky, when he called out loud: "Mr. Allison, please, come in."