John hadn't ever been the one with the words. He had the fists and the intent, but never the eloquence. It was supposed to be Harold telling him his mission, trying to get him back on the path when his resolve faltered. It wasn't supposed to be him, on a bench, trying to figure out what to say to make Harold understand that his mission wasn't over.
Harold was the true believer; he was the one who carried out the plans. But now there was a hollowness in the small man's eyes, and John realized just how much had changed, for the fire that had once burned in Finch now burned in him.
Then again, maybe it wasn't about the words. He hadn't come back because of Harold's speeches, as well-crafted as they were. He'd come back because out of everyone in the world, Harold Finch had offered him friendship, and he'd learned the value of what that meant.
Friendship wasn't about words. It was about the big things, like forgiveness, and the small things, like a dog leash. Mostly, it was about just being there.
John Reese had no idea what to say to bring Harold Finch's purpose back to life. All he knew was that he wasn't going anywhere.