Disclaimer: Credit to Jonathan Nolan, Greg Plageman, and the POI writing team for these lovely characters (though Elena is mine). Any bolded sections come straight from the episodes.
THE DETECTIVE AND MRS. RILEY
Friendsgiving
Timeline
• Queensbridge Park
• Elena Cassidy's Home for Retired Assassins (ch 3)
• Fusco Meets the Rileys (ch 4)
• Little Mistress Normal (ch 5)
• Drinks (ch 10)
• Detective Darkness and Little Miss Sunshine (ch 12)
• Bear's Collection (ch 2)
• Home Safe Home (ch 9)
• Hell in the Hamptons (ch 13-16)
• Risque Business (ch 20)
• Detective Cassidy (ch 21)
• Bets on Broadway (ch 11)
• Toast (ch 19)
• FRIENDSGIVING
• Nickname (ch 22)
• Swingers Cruise (ch 6)
• Knockout (ch 8)
• Ellie with the Pink Hair (ch 18)
• Queen E (ch 1)
• Toxic (ch 17)
• Get to the Chopper! (ch 7)
• Meat Me in St. Louis (ch 23)
• Queensbridge Park epilogue
Reese is planning their Thanksgiving menu.
"Mashed potatoes or sweet potatoes?"
"Yes," Shaw answers.
"Which one?"
"Both."
Elena smiles into her coffee cup. Deciding Shaw is being serious and could polish off both dishes, Reese adds both regular potatoes for mashing and sweet potatoes to his mental shopping list.
"Pumpkin pie or apple pie?"
"Bo—"
"Shaw."
"What? Thanksgiving's my favorite holiday."
Reese blinks. "Really?"
"Not the family and Pilgrims and colonization part. The all-you-can-eat part."
Elena grins at Sameen as John adds apples and pumpkin puree to his mental grocery list. "Don't tempt John. He likes a challenge. We'll be having leftovers for weeks if you don't eat all that."
"She'll have help. Fusco's joining us. Lee's staying with his mom for the holiday."
"Ah, that must be why you're planning to make enough to feed an army."
"What about you, El? Any special requests? Anything you used to have when you were a kid?"
"Oh, we never celebrated Thanksgiving."
That stops Reese and Shaw cold. If anyone grew up celebrating Thanksgiving Normal Rockwell-style, it had to be Elena Cassidy.
"What?" Reese asks, thinking they'd heard incorrectly.
"Hmm?" Elena looks up from her romance novel. "Oh, Dad always worked Thanksgiving. Grandma and I used to volunteer at her church, then go Black Friday shopping. And when I was with Ken, we went up to the Hamptons." She shrugs. "His parents' anniversary party looked like a playdate compared to what they did for Thanksgiving, so it wasn't cozy family time either."
And so Reese becomes determined to make this the best Thanksgiving ever.
The Machine, however, has other ideas.
"I'm so sorry, darling," Elena says as she hurries off to an emergency job for Thornhill Services on Thanksgiving morning. "You get started without me, and hopefully I'll be back before Sameen has polished off the entire turkey, all right?"
"All right," Reese agrees reluctantly, and if it had been anyone else, they would have been described as pouting.
She gives him a quick kiss. "Try not to burn off your eyebrows, hmm?" she suggests. "I do like your pretty face as it is."
Glaring at the Machine, daring it to give him a Number too, he sets out to cook the turkey — deep frying it, of course, since John Reese never takes the easy way out. He may be domesticated, but that didn't mean he didn't like a little danger when it came to making dinner. Shaw nods approvingly as he heads to the backyard with a propane tank and a pot full of oil.
He's got the oil up to a boil and is at the crucial point of dropping his perfectly brined turkey into the vat when Mrs. Kelly sticks her head out the window.
"What in the world are you doing?"
Luckily, decades of training and combat keep his hands steady. He efficiently lowers the bird into the oil, doesn't even spill a drop, and manages to keep his eyebrows.
"Thanksgiving dinner," he answers once the turkey is safely frying.
"But Ellie doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving."
"Thought we'd start a new tradition —"
"The Cassidys don't celebrate Thanksgiving because of what happened on Thanksgiving," Mrs. Kelly interrupts, speaking as if explaining something to someone who's particularly slow. "That's how it's always been. Until that rich fiance of hers began dragging her to the Hamptons, which she absolutely hated."
Reese feels a dead weight drop in his stomach. "What happened on Thanksgiving?"
Mrs. Kelly gives him an incredulous look. "Her mother died." She frowns. "Don't you know your wife at all, Detective?"
The question and use of his title is the knockout blow. He should have seen it, all the clues, Elena's disinterest in the holiday, the sudden Number that morning.
"Don't burn the turkey!" Shaw yells from the kitchen window.
He pulls it out in time, perfectly golden brown and beautiful. He barely takes note.
"Hey, Eeyore, where's the perky housewife?" Shaw asks as he comes in and dumps the turkey unceremoniously onto the platter.
Fusco, who's already snacking on the garnishes Reese had prepared for the turkey, takes in his partner's gloomy disposition. "Oh no, what did the old hag tell you?"
"That Elena doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving because her mother died on Thanksgiving, and apparently all of Queens knows except the two people who live with her."
"Wait, what?" Shaw interrupts.
"I was surprised Ellie agreed to it this year," Fusco admits. He narrows his eyes when Reese's shifts away. "Ellie agreed to this, right?"
Reese viciously spears his turkey with a carving fork.
Shaw considers Reese for a moment, decides that's a no-go, and turns to Fusco instead. "Spill, Lionel, or I'll spill more than the cranberry sauce you've already got on your shirt."
Fusco sighs, uncharacteristically serious. "Look, I wasn't around yet, this was before I was even on the force, but I pieced it together over the years. Thanksgiving Day, 1987. Ellie was two. Tom was working, so his wife took Ellie to visit some friends out in the sticks."
Reese's head jerks up. "Elena was with her when it happened?"
Fusco nods grimly. "It was cold, the roads were icy. The car slid off the road and into a tree. Her mom died upon impact. Ellie was in the car seat in the back. She was near frozen to death by the time the crews found them, but by some miracle she was alive. Barely. She was in the hospital for weeks."
Reese had wandered to the kitchen sink as Fusco told the story, looking for some sign of Elena's Prius coming down the street.
"That's why she hates the cold," he says, almost to himself.
And even though it was years before he ever met her, his chest aches at the thought of baby Elena's close call.
"The Cassidys never celebrated Thanksgiving after that. Tom always volunteered to work. Ellie and her grandma always found something else to do." He takes in the expressions of his companions. He's known them now long enough to know the stoic looks hide emotion. "Ellie never told you any of this?"
"I'm starting to think Cassidy never tells us anything," Shaw mutters.
"Guess I don't blame her. Thanksgiving's never been good to Ellie. The year her dad died, she overdosed that Thanksgiving weekend. Ken Parker died a few days before Thanksgiving."
"Year after that, she was in the hospital after being shot at the store," Shaw says. "Last year, she was in a coma."
"After being shot saving me from the rooftop," Reese adds bitterly. He looks at Shaw. "Store shooting wasn't your fault."
"Rooftop wasn't your fault either," she shoots back.
Fusco hides a small smile. Trust these two to comfort each other and argue while doing it.
"Guys, it's just bad coincidence, okay? I'm sure if Ellie was really bothered by your plans, she would've told you, not made up a Number to avoid dinner."
"I'm not so sure," Reese mutters. Perhaps she had expected him to pull his head out of his own ass long enough to connect the dots. Some detective he was. He pulls out his phone and dials her number. It goes straight to voicemail.
"I'm going out to find her," he decides, throwing down the towel he'd tucked into his waistband in lieu of an apron since Elena had burned his while making toast.
He's out on the porch when a McLaren thunders down the street, coming to a stop with a screech right in front of the little blue house.
Out of the flashy sports car pops its equally flashy driver: Logan Pierce.
Followed by his passenger: Harper Rose.
And squeezing herself out of the backseat: Janna Turner.
Reese thinks he's entered the twilight zone.
"Pierce, what are you doing here?"
"I heard you cooked Thanksgiving dinner, John."
"Heard from who?"
"Your much better half. Mrs. Riley invited us."
Right on cue, Elena's blue Prius sedately comes down the street and turns into the driveway. Pierce theatrically glances at his watch as she gets out.
"You're just in time for dessert, Lane."
"Not all of us drive sports cars and have a blatant disregard for traffic laws and others' safety," she sniffs.
"I can fix the first thing. This also comes in blue," he tantalizes, stroking the side of his car almost obscenely.
"Yes, because a temp secretary driving a McLaren won't be suspicious at all." She turns to Harper. "I thought he's supposed to be the brains."
"He's usually just the distraction."
"Hey!" Pierce objects. "I'm also the bank!"
Reese strides across the yard and straight to Elena's side. She looks up at him with a smile, albeit a slightly confused one at his urgent approach. Then he realizes he doesn't know what to say, and even if he did, he wouldn't in front of their audience.
"You're ... here," he states. Shaw snorts.
"Yes, and I brought guests! I'm sorry I couldn't let you know ahead of time. But I figured with the menu you were planning, there would be enough for all of us."
"All?"
The passenger in the Prius gets out and smirks at him. "John."
"Zoe," he greets guardedly.
The second passenger shuffles out of the backseat as well.
"Casey?"
"Er, yeah. Hi, John," Daniel Casey says awkwardly. He'd never quite gotten over the fact that Reese had once been an assassin sent to kill him.
"Let's go inside," Elena suggests, shepherding everyone toward the door. "Oh, John! We can finally use the extra leaves in the dining table!"
"I hope you have ice," Janna says, pulling several bottles out of ... somewhere. "These are a bit warm now, but this'll taste great on the rocks."
"Janna, where did you even —?"
Reese catches Elena's hand and holds her back in the entryway. Shaw rolls her eyes hard as she steps around them to investigate the drinks Janna had brought.
"You're here," he says again, voice soft.
"Of course I am," she says. "I told you I'd be back as soon as the Number was sorted."
"So there was a Number?"
"He was cyberbullying someone on Alchementary, of all things, which is why I had to call in Logan. And then while we were downtown, we ran into Zoe doing ... well, who knows what she's ever up to? But then I remembered Janna has a penthouse in the same building. And no one had any Thanksgiving plans, so I invited everyone over."
"So you weren't avoiding it?"
"What, dinner? Of course not! Why did you —? Oh, Mrs. Kelly," she answers her own question. "I'm guessing she told you all about the Cassidys' horrible Thanksgiving history?"
"Yeah. Fusco filled the blanks." He glances down at the hand he's still holding, her ring flashing up at him. "Wish I'd heard it from Miss Cassidy herself."
"That's Mrs. Riley to you," she corrects, popping up on her tiptoes to drop a kiss on his chin. "Yes, Thanksgiving has been horrible to me most of my life, but that was before I met you and realized I'd never have to cook."
She's trying to make light of the situation. He shakes his head.
"Not all of it happened before we met. Every Thanksgiving since we've known each other, something awful's happened to you. I should've realized."
"Maybe," she admits. "But I also realized maybe we could start a new tradition together. You know, one where we actually celebrate Thanksgiving without something horrible happening."
"Hey, Cassidy! You better try some of this before we drink it all."
She moves to answer Shaw's summons, but Reese pulls her close before she can leave. "I'm really glad you're here, El," he whispers into her hair.
And she knows he doesn't just mean here, in the little blue house in Queens, in time for Thanksgiving dinner. But here, on Earth, with him.
She wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes tightly. "I'm really glad you're here too, John."
When Reese had been planning Thanksgiving, he hadn't planned for this.
He hadn't planned for Shaw to go and invite Mrs. Kelly to join their table.
He hadn't planned for Logan Pierce, Harper Rose, Janna Turner, Zoe Morgan, or Daniel Casey to join either. Luckily he had prepared too much food, which ended up being just enough.
But when he stands to carve the turkey, with an expert flip of the knife that nearly causes Casey to wet his pants, all he sees is Elena beaming brightly at him from the other end of the table.
"Hey, Reese, can you stop mooning over Cassidy for a minute so we can have some turkey?"
Well, he also hadn't planned on carving the turkey in front of an audience. Without ado, he hands the carving knife and fork over to Shaw, who begins slicing up the bird in a way that causes apprehension (Fusco), awe (Casey), and approval (Mrs. Kelly). And he sits down and continues to moon over Elena from the other end of their fully extended dining table, thanking their lucky stars they had both survived enough Thanksgivings to make it to this one.
"Sameen?"
It's late. Their guests had departed a while ago. Shaw had gone to put Mrs. Kelly (who had had too much of Janna's special drink) to bed. But that had been nearly an hour ago. Curious, Elena had gone out to look for her and nearly tripped over her on the porch, where she was finishing the last of John's favorite whiskey.
"Everything okay?" Elena asks neutrally, taking a seat next to her.
"Sure."
Elena nods noncommittally as she looks up and down their quiet street, carefully avoiding looking directly at Shaw as she works up to saying whatever is bothering her.
"Did you have a good Thanksgiving, Cassidy?"
It's strange, hearing Shaw attempt small talk, but Elena plays along.
"Best I've ever had," she says honestly.
"Considering everyone you knew died around Thanksgiving, including nearly yourself a few times, bar's not very high, is it?"
Elena puts up a hand when she feels Reese, who had appeared silently behind them a moment ago, about to say something. "No, it's not," she agrees mildly. "I'd say today raised it pretty high, though."
Reese drapes a sweater across her shoulders to protect her from the November chill. She catches his hand before he can pull away, intertwining their fingers.
"You know, my dad died in a car crash," Shaw says, without preamble. "I was in the car too." [1]
Reese is glad he's standing behind them in the shadows, because even his famed poker face cracks with surprise at her revelation.
Elena goes very still except for a tightening of the hand holding his. And Reese knows she's restraining herself from giving Shaw a hug, because that might be the worst thing she could do in this moment.
"How old were you?" Elena finally asks.
"Ten. Car flipped. Burst into flames." [1]
"Oh, Sam."
Shaw pauses slightly at the nickname. Only one person had ever called her that in earnest. Root.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that."
Shaw shrugs and drains the rest of the whiskey before tossing the bottle into the flowerbed and making note to turn it into a booby trap in the morning.
"That's life, right? It's shit sometimes."
Elena nods. "It is. It's also great sometimes."
Shaw grunts noncommittally.
"Sameen?"
"What?"
"I'm really glad you're here," Elena says quietly, but firmly.
"That makes one of us."
"Two, actually," Reese says.
Shaw freezes, then gets to her feet. "Okay, that's enough bonding," she decrees, heading back into the house.
Elena jumps to her feet. "Wait, where are you going?"
"To sleep."
"You can't go to sleep!" Elena objects, as if Shaw had just said something unthinkable. "It's Black Friday! The stores are about to open!"
[1] We see how Shaw's dad died in flashbacks during Razgovor (s3e05).