Regrets

A/N: After Episode 1.21 "Many Happy Returns"

This story is also posted as one chapter (9) in my "Assorted PoI Stories"; however, since it's a non-Rinch story (which is rare for me), I decided to post it separately here for the enjoyment of non-Rinchers.

Finch had many regrets in his life – too numerous to mention – but the latest one had left him gasping for breath. When Reese had disconnected his cell, shutting out Finch's pleas to allow law enforcement to handle Jennings, Finch had called his name several times, but in vain. The constriction in his chest then had nothing to do with the condition of his health and everything to do with the awful suspicion that Reese was done, finished – that he would not work with him on the Numbers again. When he had finally managed to calm himself enough to breathe properly, Finch reached out to Detective Carter in a last-ditch effort to stop Reese before he did something that they would all regret: make good on his threat to kill Jennings. As much as the wife-abuser deserved it, Finch did not want Reese to abase himself to that monster's level, for Finch wanted to believe that Reese was not a monster, regardless of how Reese might view himself.

When even Carter had not been able to persuade Reese, Finch had given up all hope. This was it, then – Reese would become the nightmare that the CIA had tried so hard to mold him into. Finch could not reach him. He would have to find someone else and start anew. The very thought was abhorrent, but he was left with no other choice. Reese had driven Jennings' car out of New York, taking Interstate 78 into Pennsylvania, driving non-stop at highway speeds...

And that was when Finch realized that Reese had not removed the SIM card from his cell, allowing Finch to track his movements even though Reese refused to pick up Finch's repeated calls. As Finch watched the dot indicating Reese's location, it sped through Virginia, making a brief stop at Roanoke, then continued into Tennessee, straight through Knoxville but stopping overnight in Chattanooga. It continued going south and west to Houston, where it made another stop or two, then headed towards the border with Mexico.

Finch knew Reese had worked for the Agency in Mexico before and was fluent in Spanish. Perhaps he had some connections there – even people he could blackmail – and was planning to disappear completely. But then, why would he allow Finch to track his whereabouts? Why not throw the SIM card out of the car window somewhere and cut ties with him altogether? The dot on the computer screen stopped once again in Monterrey, and in less than an hour it was making its way back along its original route, heading east and north. Finch finally realized what had happened – what Reese had chosen to do, rather than devolving into the killing machine which he had resisted becoming for so many years. Having heard him threaten Jennings, Finch had imagined the worst; however, he should have trusted Reese's own moral compass to hold true.

Under the circumstances, Finch did the only logical thing he could think of – he sent a text to Reese's cell, hoping that the other man would read it even if he didn't respond. The message was short and simple: "I'm sorry." Sorry not only for having deceived him – despite having promised to never lie to his operative – but also for not having trusted him. Finch hoped it would be enough, but he could not be certain. Reese had sounded angrier than he had ever heard him before. Even when Finch had awoken him to the sound of recorded screams, Reese's response had been merely reactionary. What Finch had heard in his voice just before he had hung up was cold fury. If the man never returned to work for him again, Finch could hardly blame him.

There were new Numbers that the Machine allowed him to download, new people who needed help in their dire circumstances, but Finch did not know how to help them anymore. He passed one or two numbers along to Carter, having hacked their personal information enough to give her a good idea what to look for, but his heart simply was not in it. He wandered through the library, picking up random books to read, only to realize that his eyes were skimming over the words without comprehending any of them. He returned often to his computer, following the dot of Reese's cell as it made its laborious way back (he hoped) to New York. When he could stand the uncertainty no longer, he would walk through the city. Often he sat on the bench under the bridge where he had first spoken to Reese, looking back over the months they had worked together. He came to one conclusion: that even if Reese wanted out, and they never worked on another case again, it had been worth it. Worth all of their disagreements and (at times) downright arguments, for the chance at being able to do something about the Numbers. To have made a difference, in at least a few people's lives. If Reese wanted to part ways, he would allow him to do so, with his blessing.

Another, minor regret that Finch had was having forgotten to give Reese the address of the apartment building. He had been so focused on getting Reese out of the library that morning – so concentrated on deceiving him – that he had forgotten to give him the information he needed. If Reese had had the address, he might have spent the day inspecting the apartment, perhaps even shopping for a few items to spruce up the place to his liking; instead, he had spent the morning in the park, the afternoon wandering around the city, then another lonely evening in the cramped, dilapidated apartment where he'd been staying. Finch would have kicked himself if it were anatomically possible. No wonder Reese had been in such a bad mood the next day when he'd accosted Finch on the street. No wonder he had been following Finch – out of sheer boredom if nothing else.

As much as Finch had been relieved to be rescued by Reese from Jennings' interrogation, he had felt as though the bottom of his stomach had fallen out when he'd seen Reese approaching, his brows like thunderclouds. The tense silence in the car as Reese had driven them back to the library had almost crackled with caustic electricity. Deciding that the best defense was a good offense, Finch had attempted to deflect some of Reese's anger by pointing out that the former agent had been following him, but his accusation had been weak and easily overridden. Reese was rightfully angry that Finch had been working a case without him – it had been a breach of trust, on top of the outright lie that Finch had told him. And Finch was honest enough to admit that Reese had probably only been following him to protect him, to make sure that he didn't get in over his head.

All things considered, he could not blame Reese at all if he never returned. Humbled, bereft, and feeling the chill of loneliness seeping into his bones once again, Finch continued to sit on the cold, wind-swept bench by the river. And he waited.