We'll always have Paris
Dedicated to Yellowstone69 who was mad at me for hurting John (in Arrowed) and wanted a Reese/Zoe story to make up for it.
Please forgive any English mistake, this hasn't been beta'd yet.
O
Reese entered the library and was greeted by a bouncy Bear. He smiled scratching the malinois' ears.
"Hey Bear. I'm glad to see you too…"
He untangled himself from Bear's paws and entered Finch's working place. The genius was taking down the pictures and notes of their last case. He turned to his employee.
"Mr. Reese, I wasn't expecting to see you this afternoon. I believe you deserve the rest for the day, take an early start on your week-end. This last case was…" Finch found himself at a loss for words.
"Let's just be glad it's over and our number made it alive."
It had been a close call for both the number and John; that was one of the reasons he had come by the library. He knew Finch would be relieved to see him unscathed.
"Indeed."
Reese remained where he was, observing Finch as he closely examined the pictures before putting them away. Was he thinking, again, about all the numbers he hadn't been able to save in the past? Or merely reviewing the case in his head, filing away data that could prove useful in the future? He turned around to file the folder and seemed to realize that John was still standing in the same place.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Reese?"
"Actually yes, there is," the ex-agent answered. "Can I borrow the Falcon?"
Finch seemed surprised by the request, but actually happy to be of service. Reese never asked for anything.
"Why, yes of course. You do not need to ask."
"I can't just help myself to your private jet, Finch." Reese explained with a small smile.
"You are more than welcome to use it. Do you wish to fly it yourself or would you rather have a pilot?"
John mulled it for a second. "A pilot would be nice. I haven't flown in a long time; I would be sorry to crash it."
Finch stood more upright than usual, annoyed by the comment. "I would be sorry for you to be in that crash… Planes can be replaced."
Just as easily as a car, probably. How much money did Finch have to make so little difference between expenses that different?
"I'll let you arrange the flight plan and timing with Captain Smith then," Finch informed him.
"You're not asking me where I'm flying to?"
"You are entitled to a private life, Mr. Reese. What you do in your free time is none of my concern."
Meaning that he would be kind to do the same. Well, John was feeling in a sharing mood.
"I'm taking Zoe to dinner."
Finch was slightly startled by the confession.
"In a plane? I'll need to ask the caterer to make an extra effort. No matter what, it always seems to me that plane food is tasteless. Must be the air pressure."
"I'm flying her to Paris…" explained Reese.
"Oh."
"I felt I needed to thank her for the help she gave us with our last number."
"So you're taking her out for dinner to one of the most romantic cities in the world?"
"One of the most?"
"Grace loved Italy," Finch explained. Then opened his eyes wide as he realized what he had just said. Harold Finch revealing personal information to Reese.
"I know the perfect place."
"I don't doubt that for a second." Being an international spy certainly had its perks.
Finch finished putting away the notes. "Well Mr. Reese, I'm fairly certain you do not need any advice from me."
He moved back to his computer and launched a back-up program. After a few seconds, he realized Reese still hadn't moved an inch. He turned his chair around towards the tall man.
"Mr. Reese, is there a problem?"
John had a little wince and Finch realized he was embarrassed.
"John, did you already invite Zoe for dinner?"
John shook his head minutely.
"Then dial her number and do so. She has accepted to marry you. I'm certain she will accept a dinner invitation."
"This would not be work…" murmured Reese.
Finch let his shoulders drop realizing that the man was actually worried. Obviously the last person he had dated was Jessica. He probably felt like a teenager on his first prom date. He couldn't help a smile. Here was a man who would face armed enemies and rush into a fire without a single thought, but asking a woman out made him shy.
"MS Morgan is a very bright person, with a head as strong as yours, John. The worst that can happen is her saying no." Finch made a shooing motion with his hand sending his employee away.
"… Or yes," whispered Reese turning to leave.
Their last case had been strenuous to say the least, and John had called Zoe for help when he had needed information on some higher-ups in the city. While going over some files with her, he had realized that he really enjoyed the time he spent with her. She was bright, fun, always eager to help them. The fact that she was gorgeous was an added bonus. Who was he fooling? He had had a thing for Zoe from the moment he had seen her going up to her door barefooted that very first day.
But actually asking her out was entirely another story. He hadn't dated anyone since Jessica… a lifetime ago.
John had left the library and gone to his home, that wonderful place Finch had gotten him, with so much room that he never felt caged. Taking a deep breath, dialing the number before he could have second thoughts, he called Zoe.
"Hi John, miss me already?" Zoe said in that amused tone she couldn't seem to help where he was concerned.
"Hi Zoe. I wanted to thank you for your help on our last case."
"You're welcome. I guess everything turned out alright."
"Yes, perfectly. Thanks to you."
"Glad I could be of help."
There was a moment of silence, long enough for Zoe to think the line had gone dead.
"John?"
"I wanted to thank you..." John's voice trailed a bit.
"I believe you just did."
"By inviting you for dinner."
This time Zoe was the silent one. Well things were changing… Dare she allow herself to think finally? She almost had had to invite him for a drink.
"Zoe?" John murmured as if afraid of the answer.
"I would be delighted to have dinner with you John."
"Perfect. Can I pick you up at 6:00 tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. You know John, women don't like to be invited at the last minute. Makes them feel you assume they don't have a private life.
"6:00 am I mean…" John suddenly added.
Zoe processed the information for a second. "6:00 am… for dinner?"
"Well… it might involve some flying," John explained. Then added as an afterthought, "and don't forget your passport."
Zoe was definitely speechless. Her brilliant mind found itself against that wall of walking mystery that was John Reese. Dinner, a plane, her passport. She was having some trouble processing all the data. Talk about mystery.
"I'll provide breakfast," John hastily added realizing the timing was quite early.
"You do know you are making everything the wrong way, right?" Zoe asked.
John felt a heaviness settle over his heart. "Wrong way?" He repeated softly.
"Yes. Usually you start with dinner, then after dinner you propose breakfast giving the lady a chance to say no…"
Seen from that point of view, of course it made sense. But he couldn't change the rules of physics; Paris was 6 hours ahead of them in time and Finch's jet still needed 7 hours to get there. So if they wanted to be in Paris for dinner, they needed to leave early in the morning. There was no way around it.
Zoe could almost hear John brain rolling over this. She decided to give him a break.
"I'll be waiting tomorrow morning John. Can I know where you're taking me?"
"Not yet. I checked the weather though, you may want to take a coat, April can still be chilly."
That wasn't much help. April was mostly chilly all over the northern hemisphere. But 6 am implied both a distant time zone and quite a few hours of flying. There were not going down to Mexico, that much was obvious.
"Thank you for letting me know. Good evening, John."
"Good night, Zoe."
John disconnected the call and kept staring at the phone. Then he allowed his lips a smile. He had a date with Zoe Morgan…
As promised, John was in front of Zoe's home at 6:00 am the following morning, a small bouquet of red roses in his hand.
"Good morning, Zoe," he said giving her the flowers.
"I'm guessing we're taking a private plane."
John raised an eyebrow.
"Commercial lines won't let you travel with flowers." She approached them from her face. "They smell divine, thank you very much."
He proposed his elbow and took her down the stairs to the limousine waiting to take them to the airport.
"Flowers, limousine, private jet… I'm starting to feel spoiled, John."
John gave her one of his rare smiles. "You more than deserve it."
Traffic that early in the morning was light and they soon were at Teterboro airport, where Finch's jet was waiting for them. Customs and security were rushed through and soon they were flying over the ocean.
John released his safety belt and went to the plane's galley. He came back with a tray.
"I believe I promised breakfast."
"Yes, you did." She looked at the assorted pastries and porcelain coffee cups. "This looks nice."
John poured them both coffee and sat in front of Zoe. She sipped the coffee with pleasure and helped herself to a cake.
"So Finch lets you use his jet?"
He couldn't help smiling. This was one of the reasons why he loved her. She just knew how he had gotten the plane. Wait, had he just thought "love"?
"I'll have to admit my boss is quite the one."
"Quite a match for his employee," Zoe replied with a smile.
They ate in pleasurable silence, not needing to fill it with words. John thought back to the days they had spent in Far Rockaway. There had been a homey feeling that had been nice, even if they were both at a loss at what the suburban life was.
"So, are you going to tell me where we are going or should I just guess by trying to spot the landmarks through the window?"
"Paris."
Zoe's eyes opened wide in surprise and John looked worried.
"I booked us a table at the Jules Verne. I know you love rooftop restaurants. I thought you would like the view from the Eiffel Tower's second floor…" He stopped himself. He was blabbing. What was wrong with him?
Zoe seemed to take pity on him. "I love Paris, John. And I never had the chance to eat there. I'm sure it will be lovely."
John relaxed. They finished their coffee in companionable silence, then settled to watch some movies from the video system. They discovered they had similar tastes and the hours flew as fast as their plane.
Sometime during the third movie, Zoe had dozed off, and John missed most of the movie watching her sleep instead. You're starting to have it bad…
They landed at the Bourget airport, which was closer to the city than the international ones, allowing them to reach the Eiffel Tower in record time. Thanks to the generous salary Finch gave him, John had made arrangement to have a chauffeured limousine for their entire evening.
They took the private restaurant elevator to the second floor of the Eiffel Tower, where the Maître d' greeted them.
"Réservation pour deux, monsieur Reese," John informed him.
"Perfect French, of course…" Zoe murmured. They followed the waiter to their table by the window, and second later a bottle of champagne was delivered to the table. She waited for them to be alone, then carried on. "Although, I'll admit my surprise. I always thought spies were more into Russian… or Chinese."
"Spies?" John replied with an amused smile.
Zoe tilted her head with a slightly reproaching stare. "John, please. I know you, or most probably your boss, researched my past thoroughly; you can't expect me not to return the favor."
He nodded and made himself comfortable in his chair. This might prove interesting. What did Zoe find out about him? He sincerely doubted she could have access to any information about his past. He still didn't exactly know how Harold had managed that.
"And you just don't exist. I've seen you move and fight, so the military training is obvious. More than basic, so I'm guessing black ops, Delta force, some kind of undercover work not really sanctioned by the proper channels. So spy may be a short cut, but you get the idea."
John toasted her in silence and took a sip of the chilled champagne. It was just perfect, a very good year. A very, very good year. He wondered briefly if Finch had anything to do with it. He had had to call him asking for help on the reservation. The waiting list to get a table for dinner at this restaurant was generally three months long. He didn't put it past Finch to have ordered a special bottle of champagne for him. He seemed to think this "dating" thing was good for his employee and John had hastily cut the call when he had felt that Finch was about to lecture him on safe sex.
"Can you dance?" Zoe asked suddenly.
"Excuse me?" John asked surprised by the non-sequitour.
"Dance? Like tango, waltz…"
"Zoe, I think you have seen too many James Bond movies…" John teased her.
"Can you?" she insisted.
"I can bluff my way around in a diplomatic event if that is indeed the question."
It was Zoe's turn to have a smug smile and she toasted him back.
The chairs by the tables swiveled, allowing guests to enjoy the view around them without needing to twist their backs and necks. The night had fallen a while ago and the sky was clear. The lights over the main monuments and avenues lighted the city. The view was gorgeous. Zoe sighed in pleasure.
"Thank you for inviting me for dinner, John."
"Zoe, the evening has only started," he replied with a smile.
They had a succulent dinner over a friendly chat, laughing and enjoying themselves and the view. They left the restaurant, Zoe's hand hooked on John's elbow.
"Feel like walking?" John proposed.
"Certainly."
They took the steps down to the Seine and started walking on the shore. Protected from the street by the walls, the borders of the river where hushed. The boats sailed up and down, hordes of tourists enjoying the views. John and Zoe just walked, enjoying the crispy air of the night, admiring the soft glowing lights of the illuminations, crossing other couples taking an evening stroll in the most romantic city of the world.
Losing track of time and distance they found themselves on the Pont des Arts, the lovers' bridge. It was one of the very few pedestrian bridges and a few years back a tradition had started. Lovers pledged their love on the bridge, attached a padlock with their initials then threw the key in the river below.
The view from the bridge was a beauty. The water reflecting the lights from the monuments shimmered like a mirror. John looked at Zoe's face as she let herself drown in the magic of the moment.
Raising a tentative hand, John pushed a lock of hair away from her face, watching her eyes with longing. Zoe smiled back, giving her agreement to the mute request. He brushed her lips softly with a kiss full of tenderness. She kissed him back and he forced himself to keep it light. What he wanted was to devour her mouth, but this was their first date, their first kiss… One step at a time. With one last soft brush of the tip of his tongue, he let her lips go, keeping his face close to her. She had closed her eyes savoring the moment and seemed slightly disappointed that he had put an end to the kiss. She opened them and smiled. His eyes were dark with passion and longing, but he was being the perfect gentleman.
"Shall we go back?" he asked softly.
Zoe leaned against him with a sigh, watching once more the bridges over the river. It was late and they had a plane to catch, time to say good bye to the city of lights. They crossed the bridge towards the street and a few seconds later their limousine stopped in front of them. Zoe shot a surprised glance at John who couldn't help a little smug smile in answer.
The wonderful thing about private jets was that you didn't have to face any delay. And Zoe was glad, because right now her feet were killing her. She had dressed up for dinner, with a beautiful see-through blouse and pencil skirt that she knew favored her hips, and heels, not meant for a two hours walk on the cobblestones of Paris.
She sat on the wide armchair and fastened her seatbelt out of habit. She kicked her shoes off. She knew she shouldn't, she probably wouldn't be able to put them back on when they got to New York, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She would go bare feet, wouldn't be the first time. There was something about walking the streets of the city barefooted, a sense of danger, of breaking the rules, that was actually quite exhilarating. She rubbed her feet on the thick carpeting, enjoying its softness. Definitely better than commercial planes.
She must have dozed for a few seconds, and she jumped in surprise when she felt hands on her feet. She opened the eyes she hadn't realized where closed to see John sitting on the floor, one of her feet on his lap. He had removed his jacket, wearing only his trademark white shirt.
"Feet hurting?" he asked as he started to massage the foot.
Zoe moaned in relief, her whole body going slack with the pleasure.
"I'll tell you a secret John. I know you're good at keeping them." She said in a hushed voice. "Those shoes are not meant to walk on. Whoever designed them actually hated women…"
John let escape a small chuckle and concentrated on massaging the foot, ankle, toes, ball; he didn't miss a single spot, then lifted the other foot to his lap to give it the same treatment. Zoe let another sigh escape. If he kept doing that for the next six hours, then she could just die. Life couldn't get any better any way.
John's hands then moved up her calves and she whimpered slightly. She hadn't even realized that they were hurting too. Damn those shoes. She was definitely leaving the plane barefooted and forgetting them underneath the seat. She should ask John where he had learned this particular skill. He was working magic on her sore muscles.
Gradually the firm strokes of the massage turned into softer brushes, but she was so relaxed that it took a moment for her brain to register the difference, and catch up with what was going on. She opened her eyes suddenly, just in time to see John put his lips to the inside of her knee, his stubble deliciously scratching her skin. Her heart jumped to her mouth.
Of course, she had fantasized on John. The man was everything a woman could dream of. Gorgeous, mysterious, fun, caring… she could probably go on and on. And when he had invited her for dinner, a real dinner, not some sort of work related meeting, she had thought about what could happen next. The evening had been wonderful, and John had been the perfect gentleman. Even that soft kiss on the bridge had been a promise of future times. Except that apparently that future wasn't that far away after all.
He must have sensed her heart accelerating, because he raised his head to look at her. She felt like she was drowning in his eyes. She couldn't look away. His grey eyes had always fascinated her, but as she was caught in them she saw a depth she had never noticed. Those eyes had seen things human being weren't meant to see, yet there was a peace in them that moved her deeply. As if he had come to terms with the world and resigned himself about it. She wanted to make him laugh, to erase those worry lines, to make that sadness disappear.
Keeping his hands on her legs, John rose to his knees slowly. Then, he lifted one of his hands to cup her face. This time he didn't wait for her agreement and plunged for her mouth. There was only softness for a second; soon his mouth was hungry, ravishing her lips, his tongue asking for entrance. She moaned slightly and John used the moment to slip in his tongue. She met him halfway, answered eagerly, starting a dance as old as the world.
They separated out of breath, John leaving his forehead against Zoe's.
"Zoe," he whispered and started place soft kisses all over her face, tracing her eyebrows, the ridge of her nose, her temples, her chin, coming back to her mouth for a long duel of tongues.
His right hand had long left her calf to explore her body. Currently, he had slipped under her blouse, marveling at the softness of her skin. He wanted more, he wanted to explore her full body, remove her clothes and see that her skin was as beautiful as it felt.
Zoe was in a whirlpool of sensations. John's hands were pure magic. The foot massage had only been a slight peak of what they were capable of. The hand on her back was driving her crazy and she longed to feel it on other parts of her body.
Letting go of her mouth, he rose in a fluid movement and took her in his arms. The jet had a small bedroom; god bless Finch for customization. He'd need to find how to thank him for that. He opened the door with an elbow and shut it with a foot, as he kept putting soft kisses all over Zoe's head. He sat her on the bed, and kneeled on the ground by her side.
Zoe, lost in the messages her body was sending, protested at the separation. She looked at him at a loss. Knees on the floor, one hand holding him against the bed, he was tense, his eyes again on her, begging… for permission. Zoe almost sobbed. Despite being caught in the throes of passion, John was giving her a chance to stop what they had started on the arm chair. The fight against his body was obvious, but he would be the ultimate gentleman, letting her make the decision.
Zoe felt whatever reservations she might have had dissolve. She put a hand behind his head bringing him closer.
"John, make love to me, please," she whispered before grabbing his mouth in a forceful kiss.
Zoe swapped at the tickle on her nose, but it kept coming back. She opened her eyes in protest, to the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed.
John was seating on the bed, fully clothes, hair still slightly damp, wearing a black shirt over his usual dark pants. She choked on her own breath. God, she could get used to this man by her side in the morning.
"Hello, sleepy head," John greeted with a smile.
Zoe smiled back, sitting back against the bed head.
"Hey." She suddenly felt shy. What do you say to the man who gave you a night of love like you had never ever even imagined?
"We'll be landing in about one hour. I thought you might want to have a shower."
"You already did," she answered raising a hand to his greying temples.
He turned his face to place a soft kiss on her hand.
"I love your hair, it matches the color of your eyes."
"Are you saying I'm getting old?"
"No, silver definitely suits you. And I think you clearly proved you are not old last night…"
John had a smug smile, his male ego awakening at the praise. "On the other hand, you could skip the shower and I could show you I still feel young enough."
"Shower and breakfast sound nice."
"I'll make you breakfast next time."
Zoe raised a suspicious eyebrow.
"I can make mean pancakes," he assured her.
Zoe got up from the bed, wrapping her body in the sheet.
"Honey, I think you don't have anything to hide from me that I haven't seen, or touched, or kissed, or licked…"
"John!" Zoe exclaimed blushing.
He had gathered and folded her clothes which had been discarded rather hazardously the previous night. She blushed as she took her panties and bra and ran to the shower.
She turned the water on, wondering if she should choose to use only cold water. She groaned in frustration. The comment about the pancakes, followed by the sweet "honey", had just made her realize just how wrong this was. No, this wasn't wrong. Last night had been memorable, but it could only that. They weren't meant to be together, and the sooner this stopped, the better. Or they would both get hurt.
She washed quickly and got dressed. John had left the bedroom and she found him sitting in one of the armchairs, in front of a tray with coffee and French bakery. She melted again. This man couldn't be for real!
She sat and helped herself to coffee. Real coffee with cream, shaped into a heart… She sighed. She lifted the cup and raised her head to see John watching her intently. Her heart jumped against her ribcage. That was not the look he had had on his face a few minutes ago. He frowned slightly.
John had felt the difference the moment she had slipped the bed sheet around her body. He had thought it was only embarrassment from the memories of the wild love making they had shared, but there was something in her face that spoke volumes. What had happened?
"What's wrong, Zoe?" he asked softly, his voice even lower than usual.
Of course, he had noticed the change. God damn you, John Reese. Why can't you just be as insensitive as most men? She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts. She knew she was right. And if he really thought about it, he would agree with her. But she was pretty sure that for the moment, still basking on the sweet glow of their night together, he wouldn't understand.
She sipped the coffee, trying to find the right words.
"This…" she said, moving her hand in a gesture that encompassed the tray, the plane, but also the situation.
"Us?" John enquired.
"There is no us, John." She winced when she saw the hurt in his eyes.
"John, yesterday was wonderful, and I care for you..." A new flash of pain in his eyes as he noticed the word, but she went on. She couldn't stop now or she might never have the nerve to have this conversation. "We are not meant to be. The life we have, the life we chose… You know what it means. There cannot be… pancakes on Sunday morning reading the newspapers, or pizza watching a game on Saturday night. We are not that kind of people."
"You're dumping me…" John whispered aghast.
He couldn't believe his hears. She was dumping him after a single date, not even giving him a chance to ask for a second one, show her how deeply he cared. Had he scared her with the pancake comment? It was innocent enough. Hell, he had made pancakes for Maxine and he had slept on the couch!
"John, we haven't even started anything!" Unknowingly answering John's exact thoughts. "We cannot allow ourselves to think this could work, whatever this is. We had a wonderful time together, but we both know this is not real life."
She raised a hand showing their surroundings. "This is not real. Life is not… dinner over the rooftops of Paris and… cappuccinos in the clouds." She blinked against the tears she felt coming to her eyes. "I… I love you John, but it will hurt so much more later on. Let's keep this as magic as it is, let it just be a fantasy that we shared."
She jumped in surprise when she felt the jolt of the landing. She had been so caught up in her explanation that she hadn't noticed the signs for the seatbelts or the noise of the engines as they landed.
She rose from her seat and picked up her coat and purse. John was sitting still, his face devastated. She gave him a soft kiss.
"Thank you for dinner, John."
The flight attendant, that she hadn't even noticed so far, opened the door and took down the stairs. As she should have expected, John had it all planned: a car was waiting for her. She ran to it, barefoot as she had planned. She wanted to get home fast, before the tears started.
John remained seated on the arm chair trying to make sense of what had just happened. One second Zoe was in his arms, the next she was flying her feet naked down the stairs of the plane. He looked at the shoes next the opposite chair. Her scarf was on the back of another one.
Deep down a little voice was screaming that Zoe was right. That the life they had chosen didn't give them a chance, but he wasn't ready to hear it for now. He was sure he could make Zoe see things through. He couldn't let her leave now.
He was not letting time get in between them. Time had killed his love before. He rushed to the plane door to see Zoe's car disappear behind a building.
Zoe's phone buzzed. A text from John.
"Can we have more fantasies, then?"
She smiled through her coming tears, defeated. How could she expect an ex-delta to give up so easily? Her mind was made, about the long term, but fantasies were nice now and then. She slowly typed a reply.
John's phone buzzed a few seconds later, and he smiled at the answer.
"We'll always have Paris."
The end