The elderly woman had been pushed onto the thin pond ice which had immediately broken under her weight, submerging both her and her dog in the icy water. Her instinctive flailing was only making the situation worse, and another scream escaped her lips before she sank beneath the water, pulling the struggling poodle with her.

John didn't hesitate; he removed his warm wool coat and carefully slid across the ice on his belly. The pond didn't appear too deep so he cautiously sunk his arms into the frigid water and reached for the still form of the old lady. The dog suddenly burst to the surface, struggling to free itself from the tangled leash, and in the chaos John never saw the shadowy figure who roughly shoved him into the frigid pond.

In the shock of the bitter-cold water he cursed his lack of concentration. When had he gotten so careless about his surroundings? Why was he so distracted, and when had this all become so difficult? But deep down he knew the reason: he was shaken to the core. He had been led to believe that he could change the world, that he could fight for his redemption by saving people. But he had failed. He had now failed amongst others the two most important women in his life.

And there was nothing - no one - left to help regain the sense of safety that he had lost. He had hoped that Harold would guide him back, but his friend had stopped talking to him - always changing the topic and giving him no chance to talk about his struggles. Perhaps Harold thought he was a failure too.

The possibility to end it all - to give up on his fight for life - was so close.

But the sudden image of a lonely Harold in the library with a lifeless body next to him made John change his mind. And this old woman certainly didn't deserve to die. He grabbed her and with his last bit of strength pulled them both back to the surface. The dark figure had vanished.

He carefully placed the woman on the ice and - after hoisting himself out of the cold water - dragged her safely back to solid ground.

John began to shiver. With chattering teeth he called 911 and reported an emergency at the exact location where he had laid the old woman down. He picked up his wool coat - grateful for this gift from Harold - and placed it around the old lady to keep her warm until help arrived. Her poodle had freed himself and returned to her side, barking into the frigid night.

There was nothing else he could do so he climbed to his feet and disappeared into the shadows as the sound of sirens and shouts approached the park. He was glad that help would soon arrive for the old woman, but he was too weary to go after her mysterious assailant. That's when the coughing started. Damn, he was cold. He managed a few more yards before an icy wind sent chills through his body and John realized that he couldn't stay on his feet any longer. Too weak to even break his fall, he collapsed head first into the fresh white snow.

He had lost his phone while rescuing the old woman so there was no chance that he would be found. But did he even want to be? He was freezing without his wool coat and tired to the bones. He felt worn out. But it was also strangely comfortable here. The sky with the stars above him, the silence around him - this must be what heaven was like. John began to come to terms with his fate. His battered body began to imagine that the snow felt warm and he closed his eyes, resting peacefully for the first time in weeks as he drifted away. Harold was the last thought on his mind.

"Mr. Reese?"

"Where's Wonderboy?"

Harold was startled to recognize Detective Fusco's voice on his partner's phone. Had something happened to John?

"What do you mean?"

"I was there at the emergency scene and it was obvious that he pulled the old lady out of the water. Normally I hear from him afterwards but he's nowhere around. And I found his phone in the snow near the pond."

"He's not here with me." Harold reacted instantly - overwhelmed by worry - and moved instinctively toward the door, grabbing his coat on the way.

"Any guesses, Detective?"

"Most likely he went in the water too, so he can't be far. I'll start looking for him."

"As will I, Detective. I'll see you in the park. And in the meantime, please hang on to that phone."

"Will do."

John still lay where he had fallen when his partner found him, and Harold was both relieved and shocked by his appearance. Never had he seen such peace on the face of John Reese. Kneeling beside him Harold found a pulse, though it was very weak. John's body was ice cold from the freezing clothes, and Harold could get no reaction from him. John was apparently already unconscious. He called Detective Fusco and implored him to hurry.

Harold laid down beside John and tried to warm him with his own body. He carefully opened John's wet shirt, and after unbuttoning his own clothes he crawled beneath the other man, placing himself between John and the frozen ground. He pulled his coat over both of them.

John was so cold that at first Harold began to shiver as well, but he continued to press himself against the other man's bare skin in order to warm him. After a moment of hesitation he put his arms around John to hold him steady.

He had not been this close to anyone since Grace, and suddenly he became aware of his deep loneliness as he clung to John. Harold felt a sudden longing to be held, to be taken care of, to be…claimed. He still loved Grace, though, so where was this coming from? A rush of feelings that he was no longer able to deny raced down his spine as he was nearly overwhelmed by desire and the passionate tremblings that shook his body. He rarely allowed his protective wall to come down, but in this moment it had shattered to pieces. He couldn't deny his body's reaction. All he wanted was to be close to John again, to protect John the same way that John protected him.

He closed his eyes as he felt John's heartbeat begin to race, and he was suddenly aware that his partner seemed aroused as well. Did John feel this closeness too?

He was startled by John softly calling his name, and Harold opened his eyes to discover steel blue eyes that were full of emotion looking directly into his own.

"Mr. Reese," he stammered, "I thought you were…were unconscious."

Flustered, he released his grip on John and tried not to look down to where his longing could so obviously be seen. He fought against the impulse to stand and leave at once.

But the small smile on John's face was very soft. "Thanks to you I'm back."

Harold found his voice again as well. "Help is on the way, Mr. Reese. I just thought I would keep you warm until then…"

He tried to pull his arms away but John caught him by the wrists.

"Don't," John whispered. "Please…stay where you are. It feels good…to be close." And then he added with deep desperation in his low husky voice, "…to be safe."

"You are always safe with me, John," Harold assured him, but then he paused.

"Have I done something to make you believe otherwise? Have I ever?"

With these words Harold tried to confess his pain, but to John's ears it sounded almost like an accusation.

John let go of their embrace. And before he could speak Detective Fusco called to them from the distance, and he watched as Harold scrambled to his feet.

The intimate moment was over - and so was all possibility of talking.