Disclaimer: Credit to Jonathan Nolan, Greg Plageman, and the POI writing team. Bolded sections are straight from the episodes.


QUEENSBRIDGE PARK

Chapter 34: beginning & end of Nautilus


As he calls to cancel his diner date with Finch, Reese also sets him on their latest Number.

"I don't know why a college student needs a firearm, but I think Professor Whistler can figure it out."

"The fact that I am a professor is exactly why I should not intervene," Finch stresses. "How many times do I have to remind you our covers come first?"

"Well, at least your cover doesn't come with a partner," Reese mutters as Fusco slams a tall stack of files on his desk.

"All the open homicides in our docket," Fusco announces. "Captain wants you brought up to speed by morning. Welcome aboard, Detective Riley."

Fusco chuckles to himself as he walks back to his own desk, not seeing the daggers Reese is glaring at the back of his head.

There's no way he's getting through that stack of files by morning. It's already past 10 p.m.

Off work yet? he texts underneath his desk, where Fusco can't see.

Yea, on the train.

Hungry?

Starving.

Dinner's on me if you can get me out of work.

How do I do that?

Reese smiles as he slips his phone back into his pocket.

"Hey, Lionel," he calls across their desks. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Did you not hear anything I said, partner? Up to speed. All open homicides. By morning."

"All right, I'll tell Elena we're busy."

That catches Fusco's attention. "Elena?" he repeats. "Elena Cassidy?"

"She's back from Italy and just moved into my building. Didn't you know?" he asks innocently.

"What?" Fusco throws down his pen. "When were you going to tell me?" He sits back in his chair with a hurt look on his face. "When was she going to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Reese suggests. "She should be getting home," he glances theatrically at his watch. "Just about now."


Arriving back at her apartment building after working late at the store, and still puzzling over John's characteristically cryptic text, Elena stops by the small mailroom and finds a pile of packages waiting for her.

"Need some help?" asks a young man with brown hair and shifty eyes.

"Oh, no, that's all right, I can manage," she says. "Thank you, though!"

"It's no trouble at all, you look like you could use a hand," the man says, reaching for the ones she's already holding.

An arm reaches out and blocks him from coming any closer. "And you look like you could lose one, Kyle. The lady said no. Just like that other woman said no last week when you made the same offer."

"D-Detective Riley," Kyle stutters, backing up and nearly falling over. "I was just trying to be neighborly!"

"Then be a good neighbor and mind your own business." Reese takes a threatening step toward him, but Kyle's already scrambling through the doorway and is halfway up the stairs before Reese can take another step.

"Unnecessarily intimidating, but thank you, John,"

He holds his hand out for the heavy box she's holding until she surrenders it to him.

"These all yours?" he asks, nodding at the other packages.

"Yeah, I kinda went crazy on Amazon a few days ago," she says. She looks him up and down approvingly. "Back in the suit, I see."

"Got promoted, and got a new partner," he explains. He reaches over to grab another box, revealing —

"Lionel!" Elena exclaims. "What are you —?"

"New partner," Reese repeats.

Her eyes shift from one to the other as realization dawns. "Oh, no, really?" she says in ill-disguised glee.

Fusco gives her an unamused look. "What, you don't call, you don't text to tell me you're back? I have to hear it from Wonderboy here?"

"I'm so sorry, Lionel," Elena says, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Everything happened so quickly, I can't believe it myself. I swear I'm still jet-lagged."

"Come on, partner," Reese tells Lionel, nodding to the remaining pile of packages. "Make yourself useful."

"You make yourself useful, pretty boy," Fusco mutters, though he looks less grumbly. Elena quickly grabs the rest of the smaller boxes and hurries to open the door for them.

"What is all this, anyway?" Fusco demands as he struggles with the largest box.

Elena goes quite pink. "Er, art supplies."

"You getting into that again?"

"Grace helped and, you know, being in Italy in general."

"Art supplies?" Reese repeats in interest.

"Ellie was quite the painter until she gave it up," Fusco informs Reese proudly.

"I was not," Elena protests, going pinker and avoiding their gaze as they stand in the elevator. "And I never gave it up, just took a break for a while. I'm mediocre at best. Italy didn't change that."

"Hey, you're talking to two detectives now. Don't lie."

Elena rolls her eyes as they exit the elevator on her and Reese's floor. "How can I forget when John uses every opportunity to flash his badge and scare the neighbors?"

"Just the ones that lie in wait for women by the mailboxes and in the laundry room."

Fusco frowns. "Kyle got handsy in the laundry room?"

"No, that was Matt," Reese answers.

"Hey, Elena," greets 4A as they pass him in the hall.

"Hey, Robbie."

"Going to meet some friends at the bar down the street. You wanna come?"

"I've got company. Maybe next time!"

"Is there any guy not making a move on her in this building?" Fusco demands as they turn the corner of the hallway.

"Mister Rogers in 2A," Reese answers.

"That's not —"

"You're right. I thought he was checking you out the other day when you picked up his paper for him."

"I was going to say," Elena says with a glare at Reese, "that's not his actual name. People just call him that because he looks like Mister Rogers."

Fusco looks at Reese over Elena's head. "So, everyone."

"Yep."

"Well, I'm not so sure about the guy in 4C," she says as they stop in front of her apartment, 4D.

"Why, what's wrong with him?" Fusco asks.

Elena's eyes twinkle as she unlocks her door. "You tell me. He's your partner."

Fusco and Reese exchange appraising glances as they follow her inside.

"I'm just teasing, John," she says as she drops the boxes on top of the other boxes she has yet to unpack and gestures for them to do the same. "I know I'm not your type."

"What's my type then?" he challenges.

"Er ... Zoe Morgan?"

He begins to peruse the contents of her fridge, apparently something that requires his whole attention because he doesn't answer.

"I thought you said dinner was on you," Elena reminds him. "I don't have anything in there."

"I noticed," he deadpans. "I have what we need. You allergic to anything?"

"Strawberries," she and Lionel in unison.

Reese blinks. "Really?"

"Like, deathly," Fusco elaborates.

"Don't worry, I have an epipen," Elena assures him. Lionel gives her an unimpressed look. "It should give you enough time to get me to a hospital, at least."

"Point taken, no strawberries," Reese notes.

Then he swings himself out her window, because why would John Reese use the front door when he could use the fire escape?

"Wait, John, are you cooking us dinner?" Elena calls after him.

"'Course I am."

Elena turns to Lionel. "Can he cook?"

"I think we're about to find out. But, as annoying as it sounds, there's not much Wonderboy there can't do."

"Wow, you sweet on your partner already?" she teases, beginning to poke around her boxes for cookware and extra plates.

"Ellie."

When she looks up, Lionel has an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.

"Are we okay? Last we talked, we fought like hell. When I heard you were back, I thought ... maybe you didn't want me to know."

"Oh, Lionel. You're my oldest friend in the world. A little pushing and shoving isn't going to change that, I hope."

"I deserved more than pushing and shoving for what I said that day."

"You did," she agrees. "But I know you said it because you were worried about me."

"I still can't believe you did that, Ellie. Don't get messed up in anything like that again. I swear, your old man will come back to haunt me."

Reese re-enters via her window. She doesn't know how he accomplishes it while holding a bottle of olive oil, a box of pasta, two jars of sauce, a collection of seasonings, and a pot — and still manage to do it gracefully — but she supposes she shouldn't be surprised anymore with anything when it comes to John.

"No promises, Lionel." She grins. "Just think about the kind of trouble I could get in with your new partner."

"Yeah, I don't want to think about that," Fusco says with a warning look at Reese.

Reese glances at her as he sets up shop at her stove. "What are you proposing, Elena?"

She's looking at him in alarm and faint horror. She glances at Lionel to see if he's caught the emphasis John had put on the word.

"A divorce," she mutters as she sticks her head in the fridge to look for something to drink.

"But we swore until death do us part," he reminds her in a low voice.

"Tell Lionel. He might speed up the process."

"Hey, Lionel," he calls over his shoulder, and her eyes widen in sheer panic. "Alfredo or marinara? Speak now or forever hold your peace."

Elena can't decide if she wants to laugh or launch the jar of marinara at John's head.

"How's Lee?" she asks Lionel, changing the subject. "Still crazy about hockey?"

"Yep. He's good, keeping out of trouble. Unlike this one," he adds, jerking his head toward Reese.

"You know me and trouble, just can't seem to shake it. It's like I'm married to it or something," Reese quips.

"Funny, I feel the same way," Elena says dryly.

It's a dangerous game, whatever it is they're doing, but there's just something about the teasing, challenging look he's giving her that makes her want to play.

"Ha! You married, Wonderboy? I already feel sorry for your wife," Fusco snarks.

A short laugh escapes Elena. "Same," she manages to say, fighting the mad urge to giggle.

"Now, Ellie, you on the other hand, I'm surprised you didn't come back married to an Italian prince or something."

"Oh, it wasn't for lack of trying," she says airily. "If you think Matt is handsy, he's nothing compared to the men in Italy."

There's the sound of something breaking, and Elena looks over just in time to see John toss out the suddenly cracked wooden spoon he'd been stirring the pasta with.

Fusco frowns. "Hey, you better keep keeping an eye on this one," he tells Reese.

"Oh, I plan to," he glowers at her as she hands him another spoon with an innocent look.

A few minutes later, they're seated around her small dining table eating pasta that really shouldn't taste this good considering John had whipped it up in about 10 minutes.

Reese freezes as a nearly obscene moan escapes Elena. Luckily, Fusco is too busy enjoying the food himself to notice either of their reactions.

"I take it back, John. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

John gives her a rather rakish grin. Lionel snorts.

"It takes more than a home-cooked meal once in a while to make a marriage work," Lionel says sagely.

Elena snorts this time. "Of the three people here, only one of us is divorced, and he probably shouldn't be the one giving out marriage advice."

Fusco puts up his hands in surrender. "All right, talk to me in a few years when you've found your Prince Charming, Queen E."

"Oh, someday my prince will come," she hums. "Who knows? He could be sitting in this apartment building right now."

"I knew Mister Rogers caught your eye," Reese deadpans. "He is sitting. He's in a wheelchair."

"I always did have a thing for older men," she muses. "The grey hair, you know?"

She has no idea how their outrageous game of chicken — and John's increasingly pink cheeks — is still escaping Lionel's notice. God bless his cluelessness.

"Better Mister Rogers than Handsy Matt or Shifty Kyle," Reese points out.

"Nah, that kid's not her type," Fusco dismisses.

"What's my type then?" Elena demands.

"Pretty boys who use too much hair gel," Fusco answers automatically, thinking of Parker and some of the other boyfriends Elena had.

He pauses with a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth as he realizes what he'd just said ... and who else exactly fits that description.

John isn't so lucky as he chokes on the pasta he'd just started to swallow. Trying to suppress a smile, Elena thumps him on the back as she goes to the fridge to get some water.

"Don't worry, John," she says as she hands him a bottle of water. "You may be pretty, but I don't think you use too much hair gel."


The next day, Professor Whistler is walking Bear along a promenade that runs along the river. His calendar alert tells him he has a meeting in two minutes, and the location is about 300 yards from where he is standing.

He reaches the last bend in the walk and stops short in shock. There's a woman standing at the railing of the promenade, standing contemplatively in front of an easel and a blank canvas.

Logic returns almost as quickly. The woman is younger, has long brown, wavy hair, and is a little taller than Grace. But she's standing almost in the same exact place where he had met Grace all those years ago.

He doesn't need Bear straining at his leash to recognize Elena Cassidy. Somehow, he's able to keep the Belgian Malinois walking at his pace until they're standing nearly next to her.

"Oh, hello!" Elena greets as Bear goes up on his hind legs to give Pretty Lady some Kisses.

"Bear! Afliggen," Harold scolds.

The dog immediately drops to the ground, chastised.

Elena looks at Harold. "He's so well trained!" she exclaims. "Was that ... German?"

"If he were really well trained, he wouldn't go around tackling poor, innocent women."

They lock eyes as they continue to recite the very first conversation they ever had, when they'd first met in Queensbridge Park.

"I'm Harold," he introduces himself, holding out his hand for her to shake. "And you've already met Bear."

"Elena," she supplies, shaking his hand.

They hold hands perhaps longer than new acquaintances would. There's so much to say, but too many people around to risk saying it.

"You're an artist?" he asks, gesturing toward her easel.

"Theoretically," she says with a rueful glance at the still blank canvas.

"The first move can be terrifying," he muses. "It's the furthest point from the end of the game. There's a virtually infinite sea of possibilities between you and the other side. But it also means that if you make a mistake there's a nearly infinite amount of ways to fix it."

Elena smiles. "I've never thought of it that way. That takes the pressure off a little bit. Grace — my professor — she says I overthink things, that art can't be planned out and organized, no matter how much I want it to be."

Finch feels his heart beat a little quicker, as it always does with anything concerning Grace.

"Your professor sounds wise," he manages to say.

"She is. She's also very kind and very lovely," Elena says, wishing she could say so much more. "She ... recommended this spot to me. She said she'd found lots of inspiration here over the years."

Finch nods as he looks out over the water, taking a moment to compose himself.

"I'm a professor myself," he divulges. "Not as interesting as art, though. Computer science. I teach at the local college." He pulls out his business card and hands it to her.

"Professor Whistler," she reads.

"Do you go to school here?"

"No, a university in Italy, actually."

"Italy! What on earth are you doing here? I can't imagine that New York City could offer you anything that Italy could not."

"I have a fellowship at the Guggenheim this semester. And ..." her eyes land on something behind him. "And I'm finding that New York still has something to offer that Italy can't."

And Finch doesn't need to see the look in her eyes or feel Bear straining at his leash to know that Detective John Riley is about to join them.

Finch lets Bear pull his leash from his hand. "Oh dear!" he exclaims, turning to see where the dog had run off to. "Bear —"

"Don't worry, Professor!" Elena says brightly. "Look, my neighbor John's caught him and is bringing him over."

John and Bear walking together make a rather imposing pair, and either deliberately or unconsciously, the people standing nearby move away as they approach. Elena rolls her eyes at the light glinting off the badge clipped to his belt and wonders if that's deliberate as well.

"I believe this dog belongs to you, sir?" Reese asks.

"Why, are you going to slap the cuffs on me again, Detective?" Finch says dryly.

The corner of Reese's mouth twitches upward. "Only if you like that sort of thing."

"The good detective here got me out of a sticky situation the other day by arresting me," Finch explains to Elena, since her eyes are alight with curiosity.

"Ah, well, he's threatened to arrest me, too," Elena says. "So maybe he's the one that likes that sort of thing."

Finch is certainly not as clueless as Fusco, so he catches the flirtatious subtext as clear as day. He glances at Reese, who's trying (and failing) to look perfectly innocent.

So, Miss Cassidy and Mr. Reese were neighbors? He'd have to ask Ms. Groves if the Machine had played any role in that coincidence.

"Well, I have a stack of papers to grade," Finch announces. Actually, he has to go put the finishing touches on the abandoned subway platform the Machine had found for John and Sameen to continue their work with the Numbers. And possibly him as well. He hasn't made up his mind yet.

"And I don't think this canvas is going to paint itself," Elena sighs, beginning to dismantle her easel.

"Here, please allow me to help," Finch says when she struggles with the lock. He'd helped Grace set up and take down her easel dozens of times.

"Grace still misses you, Harold," Elena says quietly as they lean their heads together over the contraption. "But she's really, really happy in Italy. She's been painting nonstop, and she truly is a wonderful professor. All her students love her."

Finch swallows hard. He briefly places his hand on top of hers. "Thank you, Miss Cassidy."

Elena smiles brilliantly as she places the folded easel into Reese's outstretched hand. She has a beautiful smile, Finch observes objectively. Quite a counter to the stoic Mr. Reese, but he catches the slight softening of John's expression when in her presence.

"It was nice meeting you, Professor Whistler."

"You as well, Elena. Good luck with the painting."

She gives him a final wave before she and John head off down the promenade. Finch lets himself watch them for a moment, John shortening his long strides to accommodate Elena's shorter ones, John stepping slightly in front of Elena to shield her from an oncoming pack of cyclists as they pass.

And luckily, no one takes notice of the Belgian Malinois who seems perfectly content to switch owners after a chance meeting at the park.


A/N: Finch's advice to Elena is from If-Then-Else (s4e11), in a flashback when he's teaching the Machine to play chess.