Part Four
Reese was disheartened by how easy it was to pick the lock on Carter's apartment. He'd expected better security for a cop who was also a single mother, for a woman who saw homicides day in and day out and knew how awful the world could be. Then again, he thought as he secured the door behind himself, there were few people who were as adroit as lock-picking as he was, and none of that handful would have any reason to sneak into Carter's place.
He took a moment to look around, to size up her personal space. The apartment was small, a decent size for Manhattan, carefully furnished. He knew her financial situation wasn't the best, but she did ok. She'd splurged on a brown leather sofa, scrimped on the pressboard tables. The shelves were crammed full of books, mostly classics, and movies. One section near the TV held a video game system and games, evidence of Taylor's youth.
He passed through to the kitchen, easily able to picture the pair moving around in the morning, Taylor packing his lunch while Carter made herself coffee. There were pictures and notes pinned on the fridge with magnets, reminders of good times and appointments to keep. Even empty, the room still looked busy, a cereal bowl in the sink, the coffee can sitting open on the counter. He wished he could be there, in a home like this, with a family getting ready for the day.
Then again, families only made you vulnerable. He knew that better than anyone.
As he was turning for the hall, his phone rang, Finch's voice in his ear.
"Where are you, Mr. Reese?"
His mouth curled into a smile. "Worried about me, Harold?"
"Of course not," his voice filled with so much vehemence he gave himself away. "I just wasn't expecting you to venture out so soon."
"I'll be fine, Dad." He kept his voice softer than usual, but he kept his eyes trained on the closed door at the end of the hall, unsure if an angry, armed Carter would appear at any moment.
"Mr. Reese, I asked where you are." This time his voice held a hint of a warning, like he was already well aware of the answer. He probably was, Reese knew, since Finch was undoubtedly tracking him the way he tracked everyone.
"I'm at Carter's apartment." He hoped honesty would win him some points.
"I don't think that's wise considering that the detective is there." He paused to verify. "At least her phone is."
"I know Carter's here, Finch. It would defeat the purpose if she wasn't."
"I must protest, Mr. Reese. I went to a lot of trouble to convince everyone that you're dead. I'd prefer you didn't jeopardize everything again so soon." Finch's voice was higher, his words rushed, his anxiety obvious.
"I think the detective learned her lesson, Finch." He knew she could be trusted now. Anyone else might be confused by the reasoning, but he knew better. She wouldn't do it again. That she'd made a bad call and experienced the regret made her less likely to repeat it.
"I'm unconvinced."
"I'm taking the night off, Finch. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Without waiting for the words that were coming, Reese disconnected the line, pulling the ear piece away and putting it in his jacket pocket. Finch's voice in his head was the last thing he needed.
Reese had been watching, listening, spying on the detective while Finch had been out. He'd heard her get the news of his death. He heard the way she took off work for no valid reason. He saw her going into the liquor store and coming out with a bottle too big for one person. He heard the sobs. That had been the last straw. He'd wanted to do something before, but when he realized she was crying herself to sleep over his death, he couldn't ignore it.
He honestly didn't care what the hell Finch had to say about it. Reese had to answer to himself and he had to be able to sleep at night. Even with all the things he'd done in his career, all the lives he'd taken, the thing that would haunt him most would be letting Carter suffer.
And so it was with utter determination, and not just a tiny amount of fear, that he turned the knob to let himself into Carter's bedroom.
He didn't have a plan. He never had much need for one. He was good at thinking on his feet, at flying by the seat of his pants. He was there to comfort her, to alleviate the guilt torturing her, but how he could go about that, well that was up in the air.
She'd been sobbing when he'd left Finch's library, but had passed out in the time since, her body curled into the fetal position, still fully dressed, the abandoned bottle of vodka spilling onto blanket beside her. He took the bottle from her lax hand, setting it on the table beside her weapon and shield. Even with only the street lamp illuminating the room, he could see the streaks on her face, the makeup smeared down her cheeks with her tears.
He could fight it out with Finch later, but there was no question of what he had to do.
He walked around to the far side of the bed, dropping his suit coat over a chair before he crawled in the bed with her. She was facing away from him, still curled tightly into herself, as he sidled up behind her. His arms moved carefully, not wanting to disturb her, reaching one of them under her head to act as a pillow while the other stretched around her waist and pulled her against him.
He waited, expecting that she would awaken and attack, but she didn't. Her body relaxed, unconsciously seeking the comfort she didn't dare ask for when she was awake. He relaxed as well as soon as he realized she was out cold, allowing his eyes to close as he reveled in the sort of chaste physical comfort he hadn't sought for years.
She began to stir in the wee hours of the morning, her body growing restless, her voice muttering softly to the demons in her nightmare. Reese shushed her, his lips moving close to her ear, assuring her that everything was ok. She quieted immediately, her hands gripping one of his arms until she slipped back to sleep.
He knew, when the first rays of light began to lighten the room, that his time was up. He couldn't risk staying any longer, lest she wake up and, with the hangover she was certain to suffer, be less than welcoming. As he withdrew his arms and began to slide away from her, she stirred, rolling toward him, her eyes peeking open for a brief moment.
Reese froze, thinking of Finch's warning, realizing that his boss might have been right. It could well have simply been wishful thinking that assured him Carter wouldn't turn him in a second time.
But as her eyes drifted closed, a soft smile lit her face.
He couldn't stop himself. He wasn't even sure what he was doing as he leaned forward, letting his lips brush gently across her cheek.
Her eyes opened again, remaining open a bit longer, meeting his. "John?"
He smiled back at her, unafraid of the affection that warmed his eyes. "Go back to sleep, Jos."
Her eyes slipped closed again and this time, rather than with tears, she fell asleep with a smile.
