Sorry I've been away so long.
This is my take on what happened on the roof at the end of S2 E13, "Dead Reckoning". I hope you enjoy. - Papaya
oO0Oo
What Are You Going to Do? Shoot Me?
oO0Oo
"So I see I'm not too late…"
"I should have known you'd show up here. I told you to stay clear."
"Which is how I knew you'd put yourself in a situation like this, Mr. Reese."
"Stay where you are…"
Finch pauses…
"Here... Find out what's on that hard drive… and stop it."
"Will you just let me-"
Reese pulls his weapon and points it at Finch.
"What are you going to do? Shoot me?"
oO0Oo
oO0Oo
It was over.
John had come up here to die. He would not watch the clock count down, he wouldn't need to. It wouldn't take long and then that would be it. He would disappear. Being familiar with Kara's relentless efficiency, he doubted he would feel a thing. And oddly, he was okay with that.
He had felt a certain sense of peace when he had first stepped out onto the roof. It was quiet. He was finally alone. He'd put Snow and Kara firmly behind him. He'd told Finch that he needed him to stay away from the building. Fusco and Carter… his heart lurched at the memory of the pain in Carter's eyes as he'd turned away from her. But it had been the right thing to do. She would be better off without him.
His enemies were gone. His friends were firmly – safely – away from him. The sounds of the city were distant enough to be soothing. It was dark. It was cool. It was a relief. He really had nothing more to worry about.
'In the end, we're all alone. And no one is coming to save you.'
Here he was, where he had always expected to be: Alone at the end. No one was in danger at the moment… or in need of saving.
Except him.
He should have known it wouldn't be that simple.
He should have known that Finch wouldn't just let him go. That somehow his employer would end up on this roof too. He should have known it the moment he'd said the words, "I need you to stay clear of the building."
He should have realized that all Finch would hear was: "I need you."
But he'd been genuinely surprised - and dismayed - to hear Finch's voice.
"So I see I'm not too late…"
He blamed his surprise on the fact that he'd had a few other things on his mind the last few hours. He hadn't slept since… he actually wasn't sure just how long it had been. He hadn't slept last night or the night before unless you count a loss of consciousness...
Also distracting him were his aches and pains. He had more bruises than he cared to think about. He was getting really annoyed by the persistent ache in his side that signaled a cracked rib courtesy of the Aryans in Rikers. Had that beating really occurred less than forty-eight hours ago? Normally he just ignored these things, but tonight… tonight he was going to die. Such knowledge brought a certain clarity – a singular awareness.
He was tired. He was in pain. He was going to die. But he still should have expected Finch – and found a way to prevent his intervention.
"So, I see I'm not too late."
It made him a little angry, Finch's statement. Of course he was too late! The bomb vest was going to explode. John had made his peace with that. It would take a chunk of building with it, but the building had been evacuated. No one would be hurt (except him). And now Finch was here, ruining everything. His sense of peace had evaporated. Now someone was in danger. Now he had to save Finch. "I told you to stay clear!"
His frustration quickly fading, he realized there was one bright spot. At least Finch could take the hard drive. He was confident Finch could fix whatever it was that Kara had broken. "Here - find out what's on the hard drive… and stop it."
But of course Finch wouldn't listen. Why couldn't Finch do the logical thing? Take the hard drive and leave! Why would he approach?!
John did the only thing he could think of to keep Finch safe: he drew his weapon.
"What are you going to do? Shoot me?"
Simple answer? Yes!
It almost made John want to laugh to hear Finch's incredulity bordering on derision. Was he really in doubt? Did he really think John wouldn't shoot him if it was the only way to save his life?
Because, apparently, unbelievably, it was! He hoped merely the threat would be enough to force Harold to depart. But if Harold wouldn't listen, and wouldn't leave, then John would do what he had to do to save Harold's life: He would shoot him. A minor gunshot wound would be preferable to being blown up. He wouldn't do any real damage, or cause too much blood loss. He would simply immobilize the man. He'd gotten really good at that since he started working the Numbers. Then he'd have just enough time to carry him safely into the stairwell before retreating onto the furthest part of the roof. Perhaps he'd even jump at the last second so the bomb would blow in midair…
He tried to explain: "This is my past catching up with me. It doesn't concern you." (I'm alone in this. I'm supposed to be alone.)
Aiming carefully, his finger tightened on the trigger.
But then Finch began to speak. "But this moment does. I'm not leaving you here, John."
John froze at the words: 'I'm not leaving you.'
'In the end, we're all alone – and no one is coming to save you.'
"I'm not leaving you, John. So can we please stop wasting time?"
And suddenly he wasn't alone anymore.
He slowly lowered his weapon as a sense of unreality nearly overwhelmed him. Was he really not all alone? Was it possible? He had been so completely alone in the deepest, truest sense for so long, it had become part of his identity and he wore it like a shield. Was it possible he'd been wrong and someone would come to save him? The thought of not being alone should have comforted – and it did. But it also made him feel horribly vulnerable.
He watched Finch limp closer as if in a dream.
He felt Finch opening his shirt and almost chuckled. Of course Finch would carefully unbutton it instead of ripping it open. It was a very nice shirt, after all. With a good clean and press, and just the right amount of starch - it could be worn again...
It was this minute gesture that finally made John realize: it was just possible that they would not die tonight. Finch was unbuttoning the shirt because he believed it would be worn again.
Hope began to seep in. John refused to trust it.
"Have you ever defused a bomb vest before?" He asked.
"Can't say I have, but I believe I grasp the basic principles."
"Well, that's encouraging." He was feeling almost giddy and realized that he shouldn't be. Emotional upheaval, utter exhaustion, the pain of his injuries, and the threat of imminent death, not only for himself, but also for Finch, had thrown him entirely off balance. He was in the early stages of shock, he realized, and fought to lock it down.
Meanwhile, Finch was prattling on and on about just how, exactly, they were going to explode.
Somewhat distracted by the utter normalcy of Harold being Harold, he shook his head, "Finch- !"
"I'm sorry, this is my process," was the quiet apology, and with that, John simply watched as Finch worked frantically to save their lives.
Feeling slightly more clear of head, it occurred to John that at the very least - it wasn't too late to save Finch. If the bomb couldn't be defused, John could still bolt. If Finch couldn't do it, he would simply turn at the last second and leap off the building, leaving Finch where he was, safe and alive. But he had to know -
"Can you do it?"
"I have built some of the most complex computer systems in existence. I can certainly unlock a phone."
While John was glad to hear the confidence, he still wasn't convinced. There were less than two minutes left...
"All phones have a universal unlock code based on their model and the unique 'IMEI' number. For this phone, it's one of five combinations. The problem is: we only get three attempts before the phone permanently locks us out."
Three chances = five choices. Not good odds. But the sense of tranquility John had felt earlier was beginning to return. Peace was soaking in more successfully than hope, because either way – Finch would live.
No one else would die tonight.
Snow and Kara were no longer his problem. Fusco and Carter were safe. He was confident he could save Finch even if Finch couldn't save him. He realized that he really had no more problems. He felt a weight lift.
Finch's first attempt was unsuccessful. Two chances - four choices. Down to 50/50 odds. But now, John found he was okay with that. "Take it that one didn't do it?" He asked only to receive a glare in return. "Sorry."
But he wasn't, really.
Not sorry at all. Not for any of it. He didn't know if your life really flashed before your eyes in your last moments or not. But he found himself taking a long view of things. He thought about everything that had happened in his life to lead him right here – to this moment – standing on a roof in the middle of Manhattan in the middle of the night - with this man – with this friend.
Meanwhile, Finch made another attempt. It failed.
Once chance left – three choices. Their odds were dwindling rapidly.
He looked down at Finch – at the man to whom he owed so much.
Finch felt his gaze. "What?"
John smiled a little. "Something you said once – about how sooner or later we'd both probably end up dead…"
"I prefer later." Finch interrupted. "After all, I'm the one who got you into this in the first place."
'Got me into this…' John mused on the statement as he looked out at the lights of the city. They were pretty from up here. 'Saved me, is more like it.'
He told Finch, "I'm pretty sure I'd be dead already if you hadn't found me."
"It's hard to say," came Finch's distracted disagreement.
John's gaze returned to him- focused on him. Did Finch really not know where he had been headed the night they'd met? It was important to him that Finch understood just how much he was owed. He wanted Finch to know that not only had he saved John's life – Finch had given him a reason to live, and more than that – he'd given him the ability - and the desire to once again enjoy living.
oOo
"You're in a good mood, Mr. Reese," Finch had commented.
"I am," he had agreed, surprising Finch. "I woke up this morning and felt – it took me a while to put my finger on it – I felt happy... Must be this job..."
John had turned to look at him, and Finch had responded, sounding surprisingly gratified, "Well, I'm glad."
oOo
'It's hard to say…'
John simply corrected, "Not really." But he poured all of his gratitude into that quiet statement.
Finch paused in his critical work and looked up at John, the emotion in his own eyes clearly visible.
John returned the gaze and wanted desperately for this life to continue – for both of them. He didn't want to throw himself off a building, although he would if it was the only way to save Finch. He didn't want to die. He wanted to go on saving people. He wanted to live. With that intense desire in his voice, he spoke: "Pick a winner, Harold."
oO0Oo
TBC…
oO0Oo