The Tin Man's Photograph
A/N: A year after the events of The Crossing, a chance encounter with a store clerk helps Reese begin to realize something precious about his relationship with Joss. Contains spoilers for the S3 episode Deus Ex Machina.
"What was her name?"
Reese knew he should pretend he didn't hear her, should just walk out the door, but he stopped and looked at the cashier.
He had looked at her before, of course. Even if he wanted to, Reese couldn't dismiss years of rigorous training and he had swiftly taken account of this small liquor store before he walked in. The place was on its last legs, getting its ass handed to it on a daily, if not hourly basis, by the blaringly bright Booze Hound superstore two streets over. Its few loyal patrons had better sense than to shop on this wintery November evening and it was just Reese and the woman behind the counter.
"It's not the weekend, you don't look like you're in a hurry, like you got someone waiting for you." She smoothed back a wisp of her hair, caught in a loose ponytail. "You stopped for just a sec, before you walked in, like this was a bad idea, like you kept thinking about it all day, like you waited until the last minute to come here, hoping we'd be closed, but then you said to yourself, 'fuck it' and came in, just as I was getting ready to close up."
He curved his lips into a semblance of a smile. "Was I that obvious?"
She shrugged. "Guy who looks like you, walks into a liquor store, last minute, in the middle of the week, yeah. Plus, I've been behind this counter a long time. You get good at knowing why people walk in here."
He nodded, acknowledging what she said without saying a word, turned to leave again.
"You wait a couple of minutes, I'll walk out with you. Maybe we can share that bottle."
Reese looked at her, really looked at her. She was tall and thin, older than he was, her skin the type that never tanned and already an early winter had made it red and pinched with the cold, fingers slightly gnarled with hard work and an early onslaught of arthritis. Her hair was a smooth iron gray and her lips were pink and Reese knew that someone young in her life had given her that lipstick, that she wore it today just to please them. Her eyes were pale blue and her gaze was frank and open.
He knew she wanted to share more than just a bottle with him.
Reese knew he shouldn't do it, knew It was stupid and dangerous, knew it wouldn't solve anything, knew it would probably make things worse, but it had been a year since that cold November evening, a year since his heart had stopped beating, the moment when hers did.
Finch and Fusco and even Shaw had tried to talk to him as the day approached, but thankfully they had all given up, let him have this evening, each in their own way giving him their blessing; Harold with a few well chosen words, Fusco with a clumsy pat on the shoulder, Shaw with a curt nod.
They were his teammates, his partners, his friends. They were there for him, if he needed them. They'd sit with him as long as he wanted, listen if he needed to talk.
He smiled at them all softly, as if he appreciated and valued what they were trying to say to him, but as Reese left their latest rendezvous point this evening, he breathed a sigh of relief.
They understood, but couldn't know; experienced, but couldn't feel; envisioned but couldn't see.
He couldn't wait to get away from them.
Root emerged from a crowd of people as he walked along, her mocking smile vanishing abruptly as they passed each other on the sidewalk. Reese knew there was something there, something Root knew about what happened a year ago that she wasn't telling him. He'd catch Root sometimes looking at him, but then her eyes would flicker towards Harold, and she'd walk away silently without her usual put downs or contemptuous remarks, the silence so rare that even Fusco noticed it.
One day he'd find out what Root knew, even if he had to beat it out of her, and Reese was ashamed at how much he looked forward to that encounter, but the bonds that held them all together were so fragile, and the danger around them was so close, so real, that he knew he couldn't. Not yet.
He looked at the cashier again. Her old fashioned nametag said that she was Mary Elizabeth, but a slash had been drawn through the name and the letters ME had been neatly printed over them. "So, how many other Mary Elizabeths were at your school?"
She laughed. "Not just school, my block, at church, everywhere. I went out with a guy who said he only dated girls named Mary Elizabeth because he'd never make the mistake of calling a girl the wrong name when they were together." She shook her head, chuckling at the memory. "And I was stupid enough to marry him anyway! I found out soon enough what he meant. But yeah," her pale blue eyes looked at him again, "I'm just ME."
"John."
The neighing and thundering hooves of Clydesdales on an old wall clock noted the hour.
"I live just a couple of blocks from here," Reese said.
He waited for her as she locked up and then they headed towards his apartment.
The November night was cold and raw with needle like sleet that threatened to coat everything with ice as the temperatures dropped. ME's hands were bare and Reese insisted that she wear his gloves, the memory searing him as he recalled smaller hands, delicate, elegant, yet incredibly strong hands wearing his gloves on more than one occasion, the fingers falling over comically as they bantered, fussed and argued with each other over some point, those and so many other conversations that he played over and over in his mind every night, cataloging not only what she said, but what she wore, how her hair was styled that day, if she'd had time to layer on her signature jasmine scent or had to settle for a quick spritz of perfume, the color of her lipstick, every detail, every moment relived, redrawn and etched in his mind over and over and over again, ensuring they would never be lost, even as he and the team lived new lives now, as though she never existed.
Reese knew it was an illusion but his gloves always seemed warmer for hours afterwards when she had worn them.
"What do you do?" ME asked.
Reese raised an eyebrow at her. "You mean besides get drunk in the middle of the week?"
She smiled. "Yeah, besides that."
"I teach at a karate studio." He didn't mention that today was his last day, that the studio was just another stop in the random shifting of locations and occupations, that several weeks ago Root had passed him a packet with a new job and he had dutifully given his notice, trained his replacement and accepted handshakes and kisses when they served a farewell cake at lunchtime.
"Like it?"
He shrugged. "Pays the bills."
Reese actually did like it, the kids' shining faces when they accomplished something, the working class parents thankful that their children had someplace to go, the women who felt powerful for the first time in their lives, the men who realized that true strength came from what you didn't do, the dedicated, hardworking teachers, most who had other jobs to support themselves, but whose shoulders cast off those boring tedious jobs the minute they walked in the door, the calm serenity of a place that let you pretend for a moment that bad things didn't happen to good people.
Even if Root hadn't reassigned him to another job, Reese would have left it anyway – he was starting to care about the people there and with the battle they were fighting, he couldn't afford to do that. Their identities might be gone, but Samaritan was still looking for them, still looking for patterns of behavior – a moment of weakness, of revealing something he shouldn't, could bring everything crashing down around them if he wasn't careful.
ME looked as if she didn't quite believe him, but nodded anyway. "I get it. Do what you gotta do."
"You?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Store's been in the family for five generations. Used to be the center of the neighborhood, with the grocer's next door and the bakery across the street. They'd come in, cash their paychecks and then get their booze, their food, their rolls or that special dessert, everything they needed. We kept running accounts for good customers, even made small interest free loans to people, folks who couldn't go to a bank and didn't want to be in hock to a loan shark, but just needed a few bucks until the next payday. They all paid back, too, every penny, my grampy used to tell me."
"The good old days."
"Knew your neighbors, knew who to avoid, who to rely on," she tilted her head at him, "knew you were going to get your ass beat, if any of the adults in the neighborhood caught you doing something wrong. Or at least that's what they kept telling us." She chuckled, "I wonder what we'll be saying thirty years from now?"
"Probably our own version of the good old days."
"Hmm. I asked my grampy once if he actually believed what he was telling me about how wonderful it was back then. He laughed and said, every time, little girl, every stinkin' time!"
They smiled at each other, then walked the rest of the way in silence.
Reese's apartment was a simple one bedroom third floor walk up.
ME nodded approvingly as she walked in. "Nice, simple, clean."
"I'm glad it meets with your approval," Reese said as he led her into the kitchen.
"You'd be surprised – the richest looking guys don't pay their bills, the neat freaks at work are slobs at home –" she paused as he grabbed two glasses, opened the bottle and poured them each a healthy portion.
The kitchen was silent as they drank, then when their glasses were empty, Reese poured them both another.
She took a sip, then placed her glass on the counter, her voice clear and steady. "Look, I've been married and divorced three times, I smoke two packs a day, drink too much and occasionally fuck random guys like you."
Reese put his glass down. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked softly.
"Because I don't want you to think that –" ME looked off in the distance, as if they were standing in some huge open space, instead of this small apartment, then met his eyes. "I don't want you to worry that I'll –"
"I won't." he touched her cheek. "I won't."
Several hours later, after Reese had first taken her hard and fast and then after he had run his hands slowly over her body and made love to her as though she was the most precious thing on earth, they lay in his dark bedroom, while she smoked, the bottle empty on the nightstand.
"Do I look like her?" she said teasingly, "maybe just a little?"
"A lit -," Reese stopped. He had already told her enough lies with his body in this bed, he wouldn't add this one to the list.
ME smiled at him at though she'd been waiting for this, waiting for the lie, the half-truth, the omission of certain things. "No I don't. She was beautiful. Girls like her, the ones that guys walk into the store in the middle of the week to forget, are always beautiful."
Reese didn't say anything, stroked her hair.
"What was her name?"
It had been so long since he'd said her name aloud, Reese's jaw felt stiff and rusty, as though his joints needed to be oiled. He opened his mouth, and slowly pushed the word out, watched as it left his lips and hung shimmering in the air, his fingers twitching as he reached out to touch it, but it disappeared.
"Joss." He took a deep breath, wanting to see the word shimmer in the air again. "Her name was Joss."
"I bet there weren't many Josses around," ME said softly.
"No," Reese said. "There was only one."
"Show me."
Reese didn't say anything, kissed her lips and ran his hand over her breasts , hoping to distract her and while she sighed and arched against his hand, she pushed him gently away. "Show me," she said again.
He had taken the photo from its hiding place this morning. Reese turned on the light, pulled open the nightstand drawer.
ME stubbed out her cigarette, her fingers steadying his arm as he showed the photo to her.
"Yep, I knew it. Beautiful. Perfect skin, lips, cheekbones, everything. Bet she had a body that wouldn't quit, too. But it's her eyes, her eyes that did it for you, didn't they? Told you all about her, told you what kind of person she was."
He nodded.
She squeezed his arm. "Tell me."
Slowly Reese began to talk about Joss, how she liked her coffee, her silver earrings, her jewel tone silk blouses, the incredible string of curses and insults she would hurl at umpires, refs, coaches and managers when she was watching her favorite teams.
He talked about how brilliant she was, how she had a glare that could reduce grown men into stuttering little boys, how it was amazing that such a big laugh could come out of such a petite body.
He talked about the day she got those stupid bangs and how both he and Fusco stood there, both wondering what to say to her, until she finally put them out of their misery and admitted they were a terrible mistake, and they were, but he liked how they fluttered in the breeze, and how once, when a blast of wind had twisted a section out of place, he had smoothed her hair down with his fingers, savoring how soft and silky it felt against his skin.
He talked about how dedicated she was, how she gave her all to everything, how she was gentle and stubborn and impatient and funny and kind and infuriating, how she'd go to the mat arguing about whether a 50 cents off coupon was still valid but then empty her wallet without question to help someone in need.
He talked about what a fantastic mother she was, how her son was a fine young man, how Reese checked on him often, even though Taylor didn't know he was still in the city, how even though her marriage to Paul had ended a long time ago, how they were still a family, how they went to the cemetery on Sundays and told her about everything that was going on with their lives.
He talked about how beautiful she was, how there were times he couldn't take his eyes off of her, how her skin was so soft, her lips softer still, that even when that bullet struck him as he drew HR away from her in the morgue, he didn't even feel it, because all he could feel was her.
He talked about how much she believed in him, even when she shouldn't have.
He talked about how he didn't want to live without her.
He talked about how he failed her, before and after she died, but how even if he had to count the minutes until one hour passed and then another and then another until he got through the day, he did it, because it was what she wanted.
He talked about how sometimes he hated her for that.
He talked about how much he missed her.
Reese watched ME's eyes flicker over him as he talked. He wondered if she thought he was crazy, that the ramblings about subway thugs and mobsters and crooked cops and kidnapped babies and jails and bomb vests and a leather dress and a kiss in a morgue simply couldn't be true, but she sat there and listened to every word he said, and when she finally pressed his hand to her breasts again, while the first time was physical need and the second time a fantasy, this time was simple and pure and so sweetly painful that he sobbed when he came inside her.
While she slept, Reese showered and dressed and then took a small box down from a shelf in the apartment's narrow coat closet. When they left the library, minutes before the police stormed in, Reese had taken the photograph of Joss from its place on Harold's glass wall and a pair of red women's gloves from a drawer where he kept his things.
They were exquisite, handmade of the finest Italian leather, beautifully crafted, something a woman would keep and treasure for a long time, holding a place of honor in her jewelry box, even when the stitches were broken and the leather was split and worn, even when she could no longer wear them.
Harold had said nothing when Reese bought them in Rome, but he nodded slightly when Reese slipped the photograph and the gloves in his pocket, before they fled the place they had worked in for almost three years, the place that Joss had never been inside, even though she had been a part of it, from the very beginning.
He'd be gone tomorrow; the apartment was already sublet and other than some clothes and a few other items, Reese had very little to pack as he moved to another apartment, another life. He laid the gloves next to a cup on the kitchen table, started coffee, then woke ME up.
She showered and dressed, then walked into the tiny kitchen, her eyes first lighting up when she saw the gloves, but then blinking in disbelief when she held them and felt how exquisite and incredibly expensive they were. "But these are –"
"Yours, ME. Please."
She stood there for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll take good care of them."
ME slipped on the gloves as they prepared to leave a while later. They were too tight and her wrists were exposed, but Reese knew that she would wear them, every day.
A dusting of snow had fallen overnight and the streets were empty as Reese walked her back to the liquor store. ME explained that she lived upstairs in one of the apartments in the building, indeed had never lived anywhere else her whole life, even during her three marriages.
They stood on the sidewalk as she fished her keys out of her jeans pocket, the bright red gloves shimmering against the standard issue black coat that marked her as a New Yorker. "Thank you."
"I didn't do anything, ME. I should be thanking you."
"No, you did. If I didn't work in a liquor store, I would have walked into one last night." She tilted her head at him. "Did Joss know how much you loved her?"
Reese shook his head. "I…never told her."
ME smiled. "Someone with eyes like that, she knew. Joss knew how much you loved her, John."
Her hands touched his chest, fingers crossed over his heart. "Do you know how much Joss loved you?"
He bowed his head, tears falling on the soft red leather.
She rapped her fingers, hard, against his chest. "You will. Someday you will, John."
He squeezed her hands, waited for her to enter her building and then walked off into the early morning darkness.
Later that morning, his few items packed in a plain black duffle bag, Reese sat on the bed and looked at Joss' photograph. He unbuttoned his shirt and as he pressed it against his chest and the photograph touched the skin over his heart, he felt something stir deep inside.
He wanted to sit there, wanted to hold the photograph against his skin and feel his heart beating, but it was time to move on again.
Reese slipped the photograph carefully in his jacket pocket, buttoned his shirt and a few minutes later walked out of the apartment.
A/N: This story was inspired by the sight of Joss' photograph, in a folder, falling to the floor when the police stormed and trashed the library in the S3 finale. I couldn't imagine that her photograph would be in a pile with other folks after her death, so in my head canon, it has a place of honor on Harold's glass wall, a talisman and a reminder of everything they have pledged their lives to do, as Reese said in the S1 episode Get Carter, "to keep bad things from happening to good people."