Author's note: I am reviewing this story and correcting all the mistakes and improving some sections so I might not post any new chapters for a few days. Thank you for your patience whilst I do this.

I don't know whether this would happen or not, if it did it would go somewhere near the end of Season Two. The Third and Fourth Seasons haven't yet been aired in the UK (sadness) so my apologies if any facts are off.

Title: If People Had The Hearts Of Dogs

Characters: Harold Finch, Grace Hendricks, John Reese, Joss Carter, Bear and some invented characters.

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It was the beginning of spring, the snow just beginning to melt. Grace sat by the river's edge painting the white and grey scene before her. She use watercolour and focused on getting the correct shade of watery blue for the river. Too light, then too dark, some more light blue. This is what Grace loved doing. Painting, it was peaceful and allowed her to relax. She'd also met the love of her life through painting – he'd come up to her one January eating an ice-cream cone then asked if she wanted one. Who eats ice-cream in January? That thought always made her smile, such a funny little man. She missed him greatly; being an artist she never really met anyone. He'd been the love of her life, but he died and she needed to move on. Grace looked down to her left and saw a dog sat watching her - a rather large short haired dog similarly coloured to that of a German Sheppard. The dog's black eyes watched her every move.

'Hello, what's your name?' Grace asked him stroking his head and itching his ears. She reached down to his collar and saw a number on the tag. She looked around for his owner but no one appeared to be looking for him. The commuters hurried through the park, focusing on walking, not slipping and the occasional one sucking on a cigarette.

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Grace opened the front door to her home. She'd lived here for years, she came by a substantial amount of money a few years before and she brought it. It was a 19th century house with high ceilings and vast open rooms. To the left was a study and library and upstairs where 3 bedrooms and a bathroom. To the right was the living room and kitchen separated by a breakfast bar, the tops of tables and counters decorated with photos of her, her family and her late fiancée killed in a car bomb a few years before. In the living room stood an easel with a white and blue print drawing of some fish, her latest work.

Grace hung up her coat on the hooks and shook the snow off her boots and slipped them off. The dog sat on the door mat, as if not wanting to make a mess anywhere.

'You're very well behaved aren't you?' she ruffled his fur on his head. The dog pawed Grace's thigh and she smiled. If people had the heart of dogs she wondered. She shut that thought out before she cried. She missed him so much. 4 years was no time at all, she'd found her happiness and lost him in a blink of an eye. No, stop.

Grace sat on the sofa and curled her socked feet beneath her, hugging a cup of tea and the dog came and rested his head on her knee, those black eyes looking at her longingly. She put her tea on the table and pulled out the phone book. Flicking through it, she saw no number that matched. The tag looked new, the number had to be real. Picking up her tea, she walked back into the kitchen and picked up the phone. She dialled the number and look sips of her tea. A man answered.

'Hello?'

The mug smashed on the floor as all the colour drained from Grace's face. It couldn't be.

'Hello? Hello?'

'I have your dog.' She whispered.

'Oh thank you. I was wondering where he'd gone, he's always wondering off. Hasn't been any trouble has he?'

'No.' she said quietly. 'I'll bring him to the park, just by the river.'

'Oh thank you so much.'

The dial tone sounded. Grace slid down the side of the kitchen counter and sat on the floor. The dog came and sat beside her on the floor. She looked him the eye.

'Are you his?'

The dog whined at her. Maybe this dog had come to her for a reason, maybe he knew who she was. If he did belong to him, he was a very clever dog. But she was kidding herself, her Harold died. She pushed herself up off the floor and stumbled to her door, she dragged on her coat and shoes, the dog came to her at the sound of the door opening.