A/N

This work is dedicated to a lot of people...

justayellowumbrella who helped me through all of my struggles; her positive feedback really got me writing again

scully1138 who made me remember that writing Rinch is a calling

Wuchel1 for her quiet (because this is not her cup of tea) support and friendship

KRyn as an inspiration for tender stories

madaboutdanny (I'm sure she loves that John cooks Italian. As do I.)


I don't know. I started this story in November 2015, frustrated with no news about POI S5 and finding not much happy and gentle stories either on AO3 or . So I decided to write again, a happy moment for our boys.

This is a Rinch story, at least an explicit one in later chapters. Don't like, don't read!

(For poi922: I'll tell you when to hide under the table with Bear again!)

Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from Person of Interest.


JOHN

The rainy day suited his mood. Nowhere else to be than in the precinct across from Fusco, working on his endless stack of documents – which, to his personal dismay, seemed never to vanish.

Where had the freedom of Mr. Reese gone?

After getting another cup of coffee to stop his inner turmoil he had woken up with, he found a folded paper on his desk.

A questioning look went to Fusco who was just getting seated.

"Who...?"

But Fusco shook his head. "Been somewhere else. Don't know who left it."

"Just came along from the fax machine. Thought you made a request, Riley, since your name is mentioned on top!" A voice from another police officer shouted through the hall.

"Thanks." was John's short answer, although he had no idea of doing so.

He took the folded fax in his hand and opened it. One single photo under his name – and staring at it, John was silent for a long moment.

Fusco had watched him and came around to take a look at it.

"Who's that?" he simply asked, already guessing that John knew the person.

But John only answered: "Somebody I haven't seen in a while."

He grabbed the fax and put it in his pocket.

Fusco, who knew better when not to ask questions, went back to his desk. However, from time to time, he shot one look over to his partner, who had concentrated again on the paperwork – or so it seemed.

But John's thoughts had wandered elsewhere – because it had been Tilda on the photo.

Tilda, for whom he had worked a little over half a year when they first went into hiding after Samaritan came online. Tilda, bringing him slowly back into normal life. Tilda, who had helped him along with Catherine and Henry finding Bear and Harold again after losing them.

And everything else that came after...

But who else could have sent the photo to him than the Machine? Harold would have simply called to tell him they had a new number, wouldn't he?

Although the terms of their relationship had utterly changed after they had to slip into new covers again – John from a barista in Tilda's coffeeshop to Detective Riley, and Harold from a senior employee in Catherine's Arts Gallery to Professor Whistler – they still had their ties of friendship. It took some time going back to the things that were before, getting Root and Shaw into the team and starting their important work of saving numbers again, but they managed.

He had often wondered why but Harold had seemed to accept the identity of Professor Whistler in almost the same quick manner as being an arts advisor in Catherine's gallery. However, to persuade him to work with the Machine anew had cost John a lot of patience. And with the girls onboard Harold returned to his private shell, always telling John that these second covers were their working covers now and protection of them all was the most important thing in their lives from now on. He insisted more than once upon not deviating from them.

John hadn't disagreed, knowing Harold too well to object when he had set his mind. And he had understood quite clearly the message behind it: Harold didn't want to continue their relationship. Maybe he had forced Harold into it, anyway. They had been both so long alone that the natural thing to do was to stick more closely together, wasn't it?

So neither one of them had mentioned again these short and happy moments of intimate togetherness.

They simply picked up where they had left off before Samaritan came online.

He was really confused. And distraught.

Tilda had been among one of the kindest persons he had come to known, so she could definitely not be neither perpetrator nor victim!

Who would want to hurt an owner of a well-known coffeeshop in Brooklyn? Had he overseen something while working almost seven months for her? There had never been an incident. She led a full-working, quiet life and no enemies he would know of.

So what did the fax mean? Should he protect her? Or should he ignore it?

What had the machine in mind sending him her photo? He could ask Root...better not.

That life he had led then, it was so full of emotions. That short time he had spent with Harold being happy, it seemed millions of miles away right now. Emotions had no place here anymore. He was back in his daily fight saving lives and trying to leave the world in a better place.

Finally he made up his mind and did a background check on her. But nothing to find in the police records or in the database than the things he already knew about her.

The best thing was to talk to her in person, he decided. So he grabbed his jacket and turned to Fusco.

"Running an errand. I'll be back in an hour."

Fusco lifted his eyebrows, but nodded. "Sure thing. Want me to start a rescue mission if you don't show up in time?"

"It's not in the woods, Lionel."

John smiled shortly and left, leaving Fusco behind with a bad feeling in his stomach.

The next moment Lionel picked up his cellphone and dialed a number.

"Hey, Glasses. What's that new case about John is working on the side?"

The bad feeling deepened as he heard Harold's cautious answer: "A new case, Detective? Do you care to explain?"

"John got a fax with a woman's photo. He told me she was someone he hadn't seen in a while. After that he stopped working and now he's gone." Fusco reported.

"A fax? From whom, Detective?"

Fusco had to smirk a little bit. "From our fax machine in the hall, Glasses. - But I can tell you John did definitely not expect it!"

"I see what I can do, Detective." Harold told him shortly. "Thank you for that information."

Fusco nodded. "I'm more worried about Wonderboy since he got shot in that cabin, you know?"

Another police officer came by to ask things so he ended the call and put the phone away, hoping that Glasses would inform him at once when something happened.