Giving Thanks – Chapter 2

Marissa, the young potter, poked her head in the studio door. "It's T-day down the hall, Grace! Come join us!"

Regina, an award winning textile designer, stood next to her. "It's one of the benefits of renting a space here – so many of us come from all over, and we all can't get home for the holiday, so we throw something together. It's nothing special," she smoothed back her gray hair, "we never know what anybody's going to bring," she and Marissa shared a smile, "but it's fun!"

Grace Hendricks smiled softly. "Thanks for the invitation, ladies, but I'm just going to finish up this last section and head home."

"Okay…" Marissa murmured, glancing at Regina.

"If you change your mind," Regina nodded.

Both women smiled at Grace and disappeared.

Turning back to her mural, Grace sighed as she heard the sounds of people gathering together. The holidays were always difficult for her. Her father had been an alcoholic and she had sad memories of wanting every holiday to be different, and for a while they always were – at first, her father was sober and charming, but then that 'one drink' turned into many, and the sober, charming man turned into a mean, nasty drunk and the day was ruined.

Being with Harold had made those sad days a distant memory, but her fiancé had been killed in a ferry explosion several years ago, and now all that Grace looked forward to was a quiet evening at home.

"Grace Hendricks?"

"Yes, that's me." She turned around as a tall uniformed man carrying a box stood at the entrance to her studio.

"Had some trouble finding you, but your neighbor said that you were working here." He eyed the huge waterfront scene she was painting. "Nice. That by Battery Park?"

"Yes," she beamed. "It's one of those new 'pocket gardens' they've been installing around the city. I have a commission to do murals of all of them for the 'Greening of New York' conference at the Javits Center next year."

He nodded approvingly as he walked into her space. "I just need you to sign for this and you can get back to your work."

Grace gazed at him as she handed back the signed form. As an artist, she studied faces, and the strikingly beautiful bone structure of this man's face reminded her of a police officer she met several years ago; he had been checking a possible disturbance in the neighborhood and they had talked briefly about her Harold. "You look familiar," she smiled. "Do you have a brother who works for the city?"

He adjusted his mirrored sunglasses. "Nope. Just think I have one of those faces, ma'am. Have a good holiday." Smiling at her, he turned around and walked out.

Grace opened the package. Inside was a sweet potato pie.

"Ohhhh…" she held it up to her nose. Whoever baked this knew what they were doing, she thought, as memories, happy memories, from her childhood in South Carolina, came back to her in a rush.

There was the sound of laughter as more people joined the celebration down the hall.

Just go, she told herself.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Grace hurried down the hall.

"Is it too late for me to join you?" she asked the group.

"Never too late," Regina smiled as she put her arm around her.

Marissa pulled out an empty chair, and Grace sat beside her. "One of my clients sent me a sweet potato pie!"

"I've always wanted to try that," Marty, the jewelry designer smiled at her.

"Not if I get to it first," Regina mock glared at him, then she took a picture of the group. "Let's eat!"

XXX

Reese handed him a thermos. "Sencha tea. You're going to get cold sitting out here."

"Thank you, Mr. Reese. I'm not planning on staying long," Finch lied.

A soft smile traced across his friend's lips and Finch knew that Reese didn't believe him.

He angled his body slightly to get a better view of the gathering through the artists' collective windows. "Grace is…well?" he asked softly.

Reese nodded. "She's good, Harold."

"Thank you, John. And please, give my best to Detective Carter."

"I will." Nodding again, Reese turned around and left.

Finch watched the artists enjoying their feast. He smiled as they pushed back the tables and danced, Grace's red hair shimmering under the soft lights as she whirled around. As he knew she would, Grace helped with the clean up, her nimble fingers quickly wrapping up leftovers for the others to take home.

The pie, a highlight of the meal, had been devoured hours ago.

As she walked out of the building, Marty, the jewelry designer, asked Grace if she wanted to get a cup of coffee.

Finch had researched the man thoroughly, when it had become clear that the widower was interested in her. He was a hard working, honest and extremely talented man, whose wife had died five years ago from cancer.

Time enough, Harold thought, to start thinking about moving on.

Harold knew that the other artists had schemed to have Grace sit next to him at the feast, and were thrilled when she joined them.

He watched her shining face hesitate for a moment, then Grace nodded.

With feelings of joy and sadness, Finch watched them walk away.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, grimacing at the pain. He knew he'd pay for it tomorrow, but as he heard Grace's soft laugh in the distance, he knew the hours he'd spent sitting here was worth it.

With a smile, he limped away.

A/N: Even though it's clear in this drabble that Grace still cares very deeply for Finch, I wanted to show her moving on in little ways, like renting the studio to complete her murals, so that she was engaging with other people. She had always been shown as somewhat solitary and being w/Finch would have exacerbated that, since he needed to stay hidden. Even if nothing romantic happens btw her and the jewelry designer, it was interesting to see her consciously make a choice to meet new people and hopefully develop new friendships. In this tale, Finch wants her to be happy, even if that means another man.