I do not own Person of Interest, or get any money for writing this. Please read and review thank you .

"John, you have to do it…it's going to be the only way." Her long dark hair fell across her face as she lowered her head into her hands. Shaking her head she straightened back up and looked across the room at him. He stood there like a statue, a mixture of trust, grief and devastation showing in his eyes.

"Cara, there has to be another way…we can retire." His soft, raspy voice was just above a whisper. John looked into her dark haunted eyes. He didn't show it, but it tore him up inside to see her this way. His green eyes stared at her intensely, his face was pinched looking.

She smiled at him. John, ever the idealist… "John, people in our line of work, like you and I don't retire…" She got off the bed, came to her feet and walked toward him. "We get retired; with a bullet…I'd sooner have it be yours than Mark's." She stopped in front of him, her left hand going to the side of his head, stroking his hair back in place. "All the signs are there. This last mission that was blown, it wasn't us…There was a leak and we almost didn't make it out. I think it was planned that way, us not making it. If it hadn't been for you at the last minute, unexplainably changing cars…it would have been us in that car that blew up." She wrapped her fingers behind his neck and leaned into his chest, leaving his right side free. "I don't want to die that way." She said it against his smooth skin. His shirt was half buttoned.

He leaned his head down and rested his chin on top of her head. She was almost too tall for him, but she had huddled against his chest. He could feel her warm breath on his skin. He felt her right hand go around his waist. "There has to be another way." He whispered it to the room, closing his eyes as his right hand reached around to his right hip, almost to the small of his back, and pulled his gun out.

"No John…this is the only way…I can't live like this anymore. You're the only one I trust…you have to do it."

John felt the tears form behind closed eyelids. "I don't want to." he spoke between clenched teeth.

"I know, but you will do it for me…" She hugged him tighter. "Do it John, for me...for me."

"Yes…for you…" He pulled the trigger.

It was the clap of loud thunder that brought him out of the nightmare. He sat bolt upright in bed, his gun clenched in his right hand. Sweat rolled off his face and bare chest. He instantly got to his socked feet as lightning streaked across the window in the distance and another loud clap of thunder shook the hotel room. He moved over to the bathroom, not turning on the light. He set the gun down on the edge of the sink and ran water until it was cool and then splashed it across his face and upper torso.

He braced his arms against the sink, looking at himself in the darkness of the mirror. His features flashed as another bolt of lightning lit up the outside. His green eyes were haunted. He lowered his head between his shoulders; blinking back the tears from the memory…It didn't happen that way. He looked back up at the reflection, throwing the punch before he realized what he was doing. His fist broke the mirror into a thousand pieces. "It didn't happen that way…!" He shouted it out into the dark room.

There was a pounding on the other side of the wall… "Great, now go back to bed you psychopath."

He straightened up; grabbing his gun with bloody knuckles, he walked back to the bed. He found his shirt and put it on found his shoes and stepped into them. Stepping to the chair, he took his holster and clipped it onto his pants on the right hip. Grabbing his jacket, he shouldered into it as he headed for the door. He opened the door and a blast of rain pelted him. He didn't care. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled the key to the door out and threw it into the middle of the room, locking the door as he stepped out into the night.

Reaching up he turned the collar of his jacket up and proceeded down the little walkway to the alley. He slipped into the deep darkness of the night. The rain kept coming down.

POI

Harold Finch hated the rain. It made his whole body hurt. He had taken his medications and tried to sleep, but the aches and pains wouldn't let him. So he went to the computer and sat in front of it. He started to run random checks, which is what he always did at three in the morning…When he couldn't sleep. He got the checks started stood up and headed into the kitchen area. Some tea might be nice. He had a mixed tea that he had gotten from a Chinese herbalist that was to help him sleep. He might try that.

He trudged down the hallway and made a left. His eyes were looking at the floor, not where he was going, and then he let a little yelp out and staggered back a couple steps.

His eyes took in the apparition that seemed to be suddenly standing in the middle of the hallway. There was water pooling around its feet. It was tall and wet and looked like a drowned rat. "My God, Mr. Reese!" He put a hand over his heart, anger in his voice. There was just enough light to see his face. "Mr. Reese, are you alright?" He took a step closer, concern replacing the sudden fright. He could see the dark circles under Reese's eyes, the haunted look that they carried. There was tightness to his drawn lips.

"Sorry Finch…Thought you would be asleep…" He gestured with his head toward the kitchen "I was going for the mop…" He took a squishy step toward the kitchen. "Are you all right?"

Finch's worried look carried to his voice. "Aches and pains from the weather Mr. Reese…" He moved forward, holding up his hand. "I'll get the mop. You go get into some dry clothes."

"No!" His normally soft voice was a little loud. He moved forward a little faster. "I'll clean it up." He moved in front of Finch and into the kitchen, going to the little closet that kept their supplies, vacuum, mop and bucket.

Finch followed him into the room and watched as he brought the mop and bucket out.

He saw the bloody right hand knuckles. Concern came to his face again "John, what happened to your hand?"

Reese, getting ready to push the mop and bucket to the hallway, stopped and looked over his hand at Finch…with a raise of his eyebrow. "Bad night…" With that he pushed the bucket and mop out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

Finch stood there for a long minute. "I am going to make some hot tea for the both of us…" He heard the mop moving on the floor. "When you've changed into dry clothing, it should be ready." He heard the mop hesitate.

"Thank you Harold…that would be good." Reese soft voice echoed down the hallway.