A/N. And now, the end is near…

More of an epilogue, than a real chapter, actually.

I wanted to thank all of you for supporting and following us during this adventure. We're glad you enjoyed the ride.

Thank you for the comments. If you are a writer you know how it feels, if not, you wouldn't believe how great it is to open your mail box and find your messages. It just makes your day much brighter.

I didn't start to write to get reviews. I mean, I started writing when I was 8 and internet didn't even exist in science fiction stuff at that time. But then, when I published my first story on FF, I was amazed at the high you get when you receive messages.

I was watching Nashville the other day and Scarlett said something that really spoke to me. I don't remember the exact words, but the point was that she didn't want to be a singer on stage, but that since she had started, the energy given by the audience was so intense that she couldn't live without it anymore (or something along those lines). Anyway, it spoke to me. It's exactly that, you don't start to write to get review, but the feeling is just exhilarating. You actually get addicted to it.

So, thank you very much indeed. And enough rambling...

On now, I'll let you read the last chapter ;-)

Chapter 10 - Epilogue

Finch's library, Friday 5:00 pm

Finch was in front of the glass wall, removing the pictures and information.

Reese remembered some of Harold's research.

"By the way, did you find out anything about Mozzie?"

"I did," was Finch's short answer.

John waited for more information, but the genius didn't seem very forthcoming. If anyone could understand Mozzie's desire for anonymity, Finch was first in line, still the ex-agent couldn't help feeling curious.

"I deleted all traces of his past. He had already done a wonderful job…" Finch seemed to hesitate, then carried on. "I also found some information I'm sure he didn't have. I haven't been able to decide if I should give them to him or not."

"What did you do?" John asked. He could tell Finch wasn't telling him the whole story.

"I gave him an encrypted flash drive. If he manages to read it, he'll have information on his parents." Harold turned to John. "Mozzie told me that as a kid he had imagined his parents were spies and had left him for his own protection."

"Every orphan tries to find an explanation to the reason why their parents left. His passion for conspiracies comes from the same coping mechanism."

"Except that he wasn't totally wrong."

"You mean, his parents were actually spies? Did you find them?"

"Unfortunately, they are both dead in the line of duty. I didn't want to inflict that pain on Mozzie. Actually, I'm hoping he doesn't manage to read that drive," Finch concluded with a dark face, as if suddenly regretting giving Mozzie the drive.

What secret past did Finch hide that made him understand Mozzie so well? As time went on, John was starting to think that he would never know the truth about his employer. However, for now, the case was closed and he really wanted to go home and rest.

"Finch, I'm calling it a day. I think my body deserves some rest," John announced.

"Yes, of course. Don't come in tomorrow," Finch answered. He looked more closely at his employee. "You do look exhausted."

"Thanks. Call me if a number comes up," John said as he went to the door. He scratched Bear's ear. "I'll come get Bear for a walk tomorrow."

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

When he got back to the loft, John directly went under the shower. The hot water felt wonderful on his sore muscles. His back was still very painful; the glass shards had left cuts everywhere. He would need to ask Finch to have a look; in the mirror he could see that some cuts were bleeding again after the shower. Finch would take care of him, silently, his tight mouth expressing his displeasure but mostly reproaching John to put himself in danger. John didn't enjoy pain, but his past, first in the military then in the secret services, had put him in the front line many times. Apparently you got used to anything with time, including not feeling the pain any longer.

He checked his injuries left by the different encounters. The strangulation traces on his neck would soon be gone. The knife cut on his arm was shallow. It had already started healing nicely. He disinfected and bandaged the wound in a few minutes. The wound on his side was more serious, although he had been through worse. It would have needed some stitches, but it was too late now. He put new butterflies and covered the injury with a Hydrofoil to help healing.

Bare footed, dressed with an old jean and a black t-shirt, John went to the living-room, grabbing a beer in the fridge. He was suddenly conscious of the silence of his place.

These last days, he had been around people quite a lot. The vivid conversations between Neal and Mozzie, the love in agent Burke's eyes when he had kissed his wife, the real friendship among the colleagues and friends at the courthouse. As for Neal and Sara's relationship… They were meant to be together. John really hoped they would go on with their life together.

Nothing like it for him. He had had his chance with Jessica. Then September 11 and the CIA had destroyed all his hopes. Who would want of a man like him? He wasn't allowed to have a normal life. There were far too many bodies behind him, far too many shadows lurking. He couldn't put a woman he loved in danger. Not that he needed to worry too much about that. He wasn't immortal and since he had started working for Finch, he had faced death more than once. His luck would turn one day.

John, stop being so dark…

He started thinking on what to do with his evening. He was indeed tired, but it was still early. He could at least go out and have dinner. Although, sitting alone at a table would only bring back his solitary thoughts.

Suddenly a face came to his mind.

Zoe.

He hadn't even called her to thank her for her involvement on agent Burke's file. He was about to dial her number when he decided to drop by instead. She wouldn't be home probably. A woman like her was bound to have more invitations than she could accept. Well, at least, he would take a walk.

The fresh air of the evening was nice and after a few minutes of walk, he found a new bounce in his steps. As he was nearing Zoe's house, he noticed a licor store. He wouldn't be arriving empty handed. He chose a bottle of whiskey, which reminded him of their poker nights in the suburbs. He also purchased a bottle of good Burgundy, a wine he had discovered during one of his trips to France. The wine was actually the only good memory of that particular mission.

Once at the foot of the stairs leading to the door, he remembered his words to Finch after his first day with Zoe. Who wouldn't? That day he had already mused that dating a woman like Zoe was probably something he'd love to do.

He knocked on the door, not knowing how his visit would be greeted. He heard a swear word, then feet running to the door.

"About time, Mark! I thought…" Zoe stopped short when she saw John on her doorstep.

"John! What a surprise," Zoe exclaimed astonished by the unexpected visitor.

"Good or bad? You were apparently expecting somebody… Mark?" John answered slightly disappointed.

"Yes, Mark. He's just the neighbor. He was supposed to help me move some furniture. I needed his help. But, please, come in. Make yourself at home, I'll be right back."

Zoe closed the door and rushed to another room.

John entered the apartment and looked around him; no pictures, no personal object hinting at hobbies or close ones. It looked like his place. They were so alike in so many aspects.

Zoe came back a few minutes later. Her hair was hold with a hairgrip, but some strands were loose around her face.

"John…" She stopped wondering what to make of the visit.

John handed her the bag with the bottles.

"I wanted to thank you personnaly for the help on agent Burke's case."

"You're welcome. I saw he's been cleared of all charges." She hesitated a minute. "And… the other case you were on?" She didn't dare asking, she knew she would probably get no answer.

"Everything is fine," John summed up.

Zoe invited him toward the couch and put the bottles on the coffee table, raising a knowing eyebrow when she saw the labels.

"So, you're redecorating?" John asked.

"Not really. I just wanted to move the dresser in my bedroom and push that buffet closer to the wall," she said pointing to the furniture with her head.

"Can I replace Mark?"

"Well, yes. You certainly can," Zoe answered letting her eyes roam over the tall body.

With some efforts, John managed to move the furniture following Zoe's indications. He couldn't help a pained frown when his injuries complained about the unexpected exercice.

"Thank you so much, John. I realize you have many talents," she said with an amused smile.

She still couldn't figure why he had come to her place. Just to thank her? If the news she had gotten about agent Burke was right, the information she had given had been secondary. He could have just called, instead of coming over with two excellent bottles. She dared hope there was more to his visit. She'd try to keep him for a while. Spending some time alone with him was something she was looking forward to. Maybe too much, actually.

"John do you have time to grab a bite with me?" she asked hoping he would say yes.

"Yes, that would be nice," John answered with a gorgeous smile.

He followed her to the kitchen.

"John, as you probably figured, I'm not a great cook", Zoe commented opening her fridge. "What about a salad and some smoked salmon on toasts?"

"Perfect."

Zoe was astonished by how easily John made himself at home in the kitchen; toasting the bread, opening the cupboards to set the table. Who would believe he held a gun everyday?

Dinner was ready in minutes and they sat facing each other. John thanked her again for her help. Then the conversation went on, talking was always easy. Suddenly Zoe's face went taut.

"Zoe? Something wrong?" John asked, worried by the abrupt change.

"Would you care to explain why there is blood on your arm? Are you hurt? Show me," Zoe carried on, rising to come by his side.

"Nothing to worry about. I was injured during my last job. I guess pushing that furniture must have opened the wound," John explained calmly. "I you have some bandages, I'll fix that in a second."

"How do you explain your t-shirt is all stained… with blood!" Zoe exclaimed watching his back in horror. "John! Why didn't you say so when I asked for your help? You could have said no."

"Zoe, really, it's nothing," John waved the concern. "Forget about it."

"Oh no. That's not gonna happen! Get up. Take that corridor, straight to the bathroom. Last door on the left. Remove any clothes that would prevent me from treating your injuries. I'll be with you in a second," Zoe ordered in a voice that didn't allow for discussion.

While John was going to the bathroom, a bit confused at getting bossed around… and obeying without uttering a comment, Zoe took two minutes to go over her words. Apparently, she had just ordered a man she dreamed to get in her bed to drop his clothes for her. She felt she was heading in a dangerous direction, still she went to meet him.

She wasn't ready for the sight. John was waiting by the door, chest naked. She was drawn by two blue intense pupils, fixing her… with desire she liked to think. What was she doing?

Seing the injuries covered with bandages brought her back to the situation. Two wounds, one on the arm, one on his side. She could also see red marks on his neck.

"It really looks worse than it is, Zoe. Nothing serious," John explained again seing Zoe's face scrunching as she inspected the damage.

Actually, he didn't feel uncomfortable at all despite the stare. Maybe because it was Zoe.

"Turn around," Zoe whispered, moving her finger in a circle.

John turned slowly, giving Zoe all the time she needed to realize his back was covered in tiny cuts, some of which were probably bleeding again.

"Care to explain?" Zoe asked in a crisp voice, hiding her contradictory feelings in a dry tone.

She was half mad with anger against the person responsible for those wounds and half wanting to cuddle him in her arms to comfort him.

"Let's say a close encounter with a glass wall," John explained with a slight wince.

"Sure… more like going right through it."

John's slight shrug confirmed her assumption.

"I'm sorry to ask you, but you should remove your pants and get under the shower so I can clean the dried blood."

What are you doing, Zoe? First his t-shirt, now his pants….

To her surprise, John complied silently, and entered the shower without a glance.

Zoe removed her sweat pants ─her t-shirt covered her mid-tights─, and followed John into the shower. He had turned the water on. She was worried about the side injury but discovered it was covered by a film. She took a soft sponge, got it thoroughly wet and started cleaning each cut carefully.

John didn't move or utter a word. She could see the muscles move as she worked on his back, the skin shivering when she brushed a more sensitive wound.

He seemed quite unfazed, but she could feel her own body temperature rising. She imagined her fingers replace the sponge, lovingly brushing the rest of his body.

Zoe, get a grip!

She had finished cleaning his back. She was about to tell him she was done when an older scar caught her attention. Getting closer she discovered older wounds.

Suddenly, her hands took over her brain. She briefly registered the plop of the sponge on the tiles and her fingers went to the scars.

John flinched when he understood Zoe was now using her hands to go over his body. Keeping control had been hard but manageable so far; if she kept on, his self control wouldn't be able to take it.

Zoe knew she had gone too far, but she wasn't in control anymore. Her hand brushed a scar on his left shoulder softly.

To her surprise, John explained in a low voice. "Irak, sniper missed his target."

Her fingers, light as a feather, moved to the middle of his back, puffy lacerations on a small surface.

"Afghanistan, too close to a bomb."

Zoe stopped her finger on two scars further down his back, one up along his spine, the other crisscrossing from one hip to the other. She let her fingers slowly follow the stitches.

"Taliban jail; came home with a broken vertebra and a damaged pelvis. Took weeks of hospital and rehab."

Zoe didn't know what to think about it. She knew he took risks, but this was… Only an ex-military could wear that kind of wounds. He had sort of admitted it when he had mentioned the sniper. And she had only seen his back…

John hadn't stopped her so far. She assumed he must have enjoyed the attention. To hell with hesitations.

She got on her tiptoes and whispered in his hear.

"Turn around."

This time John didn't obey immediately, wondering if he had heard right.

Thinking she had misunderstood, Zoe started to turn back but a soft and strong hand stopped her; she had never been that close to those steel blue eyes that made her dream.

John's eyes watched her with a softness she had never seen in him. He looked at her as if she was one of the world wonders. She smiled back.

John's hand removed the hairgrip, and his fingers untangled the locks carefully. Then he approached his face, slowly, giving her time to change her mind. He cuped her face and their lips finally met. They kissed softly, tenderly, discovering each other.

John stepped back, a smile on his lips. Playfully, he turned her around under the water spray. In a few seconds they were both drenched.

With an impish smile, he said, "It's time to get things even."

In a fluid movement, he grabed the hem of Zoe's t-shirt and pulled it over her head.

He remained still, admiring the beautiful body … She was even more gorgeous than he had imagined. He wrapped his arms around her, bent his face toward her, smiling before kissing her lips. He didn't know what the future held, but he was going to enjoy every single minute of this evening.

The End

A/N. We'll let John and Neal go on with their lives...

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