Author's Note: This story is a direct follow-up to "The Crossing" episode of Person of Interest. That episode was heartbreaking, and more than that, I couldn't believe it was how TPTB decided to end the incredible dynamic between CaReese. It was so much left unsaid. This story, Staying Alive, is my idea of how things could have been done differently.
Harold Finch watched John Reese, a man he'd seen single-handedly fight off half a dozen men, crumble in despair as he held on to the motionless body of Detective Jocelyn Carter, who had just taken a bullet and saved him from certain death. "Mr. Reese," Harold said, trying to wrench John's bloody hands away from the motionless Joss. "Mr. Reese! John, we have to go. Help is coming for her." Finch took a few steps down the street, hoping that John would follow as sirens grew closer. Joss was strong, a fighter, he had to believe she would be all right, regardless of how bad it looked.
"It's too late, Harold!" John shouted over his shoulder. "I'm too late." John kissed Joss's forehead. "I'm sorry I failed you, Joss, but I love you." He sobbed against her. "I love you."
Harold released a deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding after listening to John's heartfelt confession. He'd heard the two in the morgue talking, sharing, and kissing, and he had felt terrible having overheard. He had never doubted that John had feelings stronger than friendship for the detective, but he never knew how deep they actually were until this moment. Hobbling over to the decimated John, Harold grabbed his arm and found strength he didn't know he had to drag the injured man away. "John, Joss will be okay, but if you're found here you won't be. You've already been shot twice. Please, come with me."
"Do you really believe leaving will make me okay? That my life will actually mean something if law enforcement doesn't find me here? That all will be great if I manage to live?" John turned to look at Joss, tears streamed down his faces. "Harold, I'm never going to be okay again. And nothing you or I do or say will change that." John hung his head and walked away.
The week that followed, three things happened: John slipped out of the safe house where he had been receiving much-needed medical attention and disappeared to parts unknown, Harold attended the heartbreaking funeral of Detective Jocelyn Carter, and he received an unexpected telephone call from Dr. Farooq Madan, a former surgeon who had been working in the city morgue. After John had been shot by Agent Snow's sniper, Harold had rushed him to the doctor. Madan, unable to afford a license to practice medicine in the U.S., had worked on John when Harold provided him $150,000 and got the doctor's word that he would never tell a soul about what he was about to do.
Harold hadn't heard from the doctor since that night almost two years ago, so the call came as quite a surprise. He did however agree to meet with the doctor in the basement of Mount Sinai Hospital. The next afternoon, he arrived at the basement. Old desks and chairs littered the hall of what had to be the storage section, overwhelming the usual antiseptic hospital smell with a musty one. After making his way through the obstacles course of office furniture, he spotted the man standing outside a door.
"Mr. Harold?" said Dr. Madan, extending his hand.
"Yes, Doctor." Harold accepted his handshake. "Why is it you called me?"
"Actually, I had been looking for the gentleman that I 'stitched up' for you. John?"
Harold watched the man suspiciously. "Why are you looking for Mr. Reese?" he asked.
"About two weeks after I helped him, he came to see me. He asked a favor of me. Do you know how I might be able to contact him?"
If Harold knew the answer to that, it would help bring an end to his sleepless nights. He worried John was in some dark alley bleeding to death. He'd never see him so lost. Even when he first met the sad man John was, behind the misery in his eyes, he saw a spark. He only had to reach in to bring it out of the darkness it flickered behind. Somehow, he managed to do that, but he knew the beautiful Detective Carter had a big hand in getting John to walk in the light. Now, Joss was gone, and he knew wherever John was, even with a beating heart, he was dead, too.
"Mr. Reese is incommunicado right now," said Harold. "Maybe I can help with whatever this is."
The doctor nodded. "Maybe you can." Madan opened the door he stood before. "Come with me."
Upon entering the room, Harold realized it wasn't used for storage, but as a patient room. "Should I be here?"
"Yes, you should," the doctor answered without missing a step.
Harold followed the doctor as he approached a younger man standing inside the room. "Any changes?"
The younger man shook his head. "No, Doctor."
"Thank you."
The younger man left and Dr. Madan gave all of his attention to Harold. "As I said, John came to see me about two weeks after I'd helped him, and he wanted me to provide the same services to someone he thought might need to have private medical attention. A detective." The doctor reached into the pocket of his white lab coat and produced a wallet-size photo. "This is the person he wanted me to help," Madan said, extending the picture to Harold.
"Detective Carter," Harold said, staring at the photo of the detective in her rookie uniform.
"Eight days ago, this detective was brought to the hospital. She had been shot and her condition was dire. I was the surgeon on-call in the ER that evening, and when I saw her, I remembered what John had said. Hearing that she was shot by an officer who was still on the loose made me certain that I had to protect her and contact John."
"Protect her?"
The doctor nodded. "Yes," he said, moving the machines monitoring the patient a few feet to the side and made his way to the head of the bed.
Harold followed Dr. Madan and then stopped in his tracks, almost losing his balance. "Detective Carter?"
"She is comatose and we lost her three times during surgery, not to mention her being revived en route to the hospital twice, but she is still with us. I tried to call John, but he never answered, so I called you. Did I make the right decision?"
The thumping in his ears made it impossible for Harold to hear what the doctor had said. The heart monitor showed a squiggly line that meant Joss was alive. He went to her funeral. He felt her loss daily, but, yet, she was alive.
"Mr. Harold, did I make the right decision to tell you?" the doctor repeated.
"What?" A moment passed and Harold shook his head. "Yes, you did the right thing by telling me."
"I have done all I can for her, but sadly it has been of little use."
"She's alive. You did your job perfectly," Harold said to the man, coming forward and taking Joss's small hand in his. "You will be all right, Detective."
"I wish I could say your words were accurate, Mr. Harold."
"Please, just Harold."
"She has been in this coma from the moment she came out of surgery. She was down for several minutes, and we fear if she does manage to wake up, she will not be the same."
Tears filled Harold's eyes. "Are you saying she's brain damaged?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Joss.
"Possibly. She has brain wave function, but four minutes is a long time to deprive the brain of oxygen."
Harold did his best to ignore the doctor's words. He had billions of dollars, but he could count the friends he had on one hand. Joss was a friend. John was a friend. He had to help her. He had to help them. "I will have her transferred." Harold turned his attention to the doctor. "Are you and the other gentleman the only ones who know about her?"
Madan nodded. "Yes. He is an intern. My nephew. He can be trusted."
"Good. I will send a van for her. I need to know of whatever equipment she'll need, and I would appreciate it if you help her get settled once she is relocated."
"Of course, I'll be happy to help, but I cannot tell you how much good it will do. Her chest wound was extensive, but she is actually recovering nicely from that gunshot, which is a good sign, but everything else…"
Harold glared at the doctor. "Joss is alive. That's what matters."
"She is living, but she is not alive. I gleaned from John that she is important to him, I wanted him to be able to say good-bye."
"He's already done that," Harold whispered. "I will pay you handsomely for your time."
"You don't need to do that."
"Yes, I do. I would like to purchase your time and your skill for an additional week or two. You will need to be available to her on a twenty-four hour basis. I'm agreeable with you allowing your nephew to be of help. You know her case. I trust you to continue to give her the best care you can. In the meantime, I will do what I can to find a doctor who can help her get beyond this point. A doctor who can make her alive again. To make her Joss again."
"I wish you luck, Harold."
"Thank you," Harold said, limping to the door as fast as he could. He knew without a doubt he would need a lot of luck to make this happen. But happen it must.
After eleven days, Harold had managed to find the one doctor he felt could give Joss her life back, and by extension John back his heart. He didn't care what it cost or what he had to do to make it happen, which was quite a lot considering the doctor in question had been married a week before and was on a private island with his new bride. Harold had offered the owner of a helicopter who lived off the coast of a nearby island one hundred thousand dollars to fly to where the doctor and his bride were located, and then deliver a phone. At which time, Harold would convince the doctor and his bride to come to New York. Considering the unhappy reception the pilot received when he landed on the private island, a reaction Harold overheard via the cell being set to speaker, the doctor was none too pleased about the interruption.
"What are you doing here?" The doctor shouted. "This is a private island, the operative word being 'private'!"
"There call, sir," the pilot said in his broken English.
"It's not 'sir,' it's doctor. And I have a phone, one that will ring when a family member needs to reach my wife and myself."
"Doctor! Doctor, please, let me explain," Harold said from the phone. "Please."
"Who the hell is that?"
Harold wished he could see the pilot's reaction, but since he couldn't he decided to reply. "My name is Harold Finch, and I'm calling from New York City. I am sorry to interrupt your honeymoon, but I am calling with an emergency."
"I don't know you, so how can it be an emergency?"
"Let him talk," said a woman's voice.
"This is our honeymoon, *Angela."
"I know that, *David. But this man went through quite a lot to talk to you. The least you can do is hear him out."
"Fine," David answered. "What is it?"
"Dr. Hayward, I…"
"Technically, it's not doctor anymore. My wife is a doctor, but..."
"I know all about you and your license. I know all about Project Orpheus, and the miraculous things you've done for some of the people of Pine Valley, Pennsylvania, as well as for your wife when she lost her vision. I know that you've been devastated by the loss of children, but blessed by finding out about your son, Oliver, and falling in love with and marrying your bride. I know it all."
David remained silent for several minutes. "How do you know all of this?" he asked.
"I have my ways."
"Finch, what do you want from me?"
"What you've always done, Doctor. I want you to save a life. I promise to make it worth your while."
A/N: * David and Angie are Dr. David Hayward and Dr. Angela Hubbard from the defunct soap opera All My Children.
**Dr. Farooq Madan appeared in the episode entitled 'Super' from Season One of POI.