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


QUEENSBRIDGE PARK

Chapter 42: mid The Cold War


Elena tries to push herself up farther on her hospital bed and hastily gives up. "Oooh, is this how you feel every time you get shot, John?"

The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he pulls her up and settles her comfortably against her pillows. "Not quite," he admits. "Harold never lets me have any morphine."

She smiles at the ridiculously tasteful bouquet of flowers from Professor Whistler that's sitting on her bedside table. "Not that I mind you being here, but don't you have something else to do? Like, your job, Detective?" she reminds, when he looks at her blankly.

Reese shrugs. "Lionel says there are no homicides."

Elena stares at him. "None. In the entire city?"

"Not a one."

She frowns at the IV still in her arm. "I know I'm probably high on this stuff, but that's not normal, right?"

"You're becoming cynical, El."

"That couldn't possibly be from hanging out with you so much, could it, Detective Sunshine?"

He hopes not, because he doesn't like the idea that he could darken Elena's brightness. He gives her a sidelong glance. "Maybe it's Maybelline?"

He's a little too pleased at making her laugh, even if it's more in surprise that he knows the makeup brand's tagline than the actual joke.

"How is Sameen doing?"

"She's doing fine," Reese lies.

"How's she really doing?" Elena asks seriously. "She must be climbing the walls at her ... she has a place, right? Where she sleeps?"

"We think so."

Elena tries to keep a straight face, but the corner of her mouth twitches upward. "I'm thinking secret underground lair?" she muses.

Considering an abandoned subway platform is their base of operations and Shaw's current prison, she's not far off the mark.

"Hanging upside down from the ceiling?" he adds.

They grin at each other in perfect accord.

"She's sorry you got shot."

"Please tell her it's not her fault. Honestly, I always thought her career at the store would end in a shootout. I just never thought she would be the target instead of our manager."

"Or that you would be caught in the crossfire."

There's something in his tone that she can't quite decipher. She reaches out to him. "It's not your fault either."

He looks down at her hand on top of his, small and pale and smooth compared to his.

"I'm fine, John."

He gives her an incredulous look. She's the one lying in a hospital bed after getting shot and losing enough blood to stop her heart twice ... and she's comforting him?

She would never stop amazing him.

He turns his hand over so he's now holding hers.

"How are you really doing?" he asks seriously.

"Perfectly fine," she insists with a bright smile.

Her eyes widen as his fingers trace up her arm, raising goosebumps along the way. They come to rest gently over a new pair of bandaids, which aren't big enough to hide the bruising underneath them.

"Because these look like you got not one but two transfusions since I saw you this morning, and that," he tilts his head toward the monitor beside her, "tells me your blood pressure is still too low."

"Great work, Detective."

He leans forward. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, El," he says confidentially, "but lying isn't your strong suit."

"Well, that makes two of us."

Actually, he's been told his poker face is damn near perfect. It just never seems to work on Elena.

A soft knock interrupts their staring contest.

Nurse Harrison smiles apologetically from the doorway. "I'm sorry, Detective, visiting hours are over."

"Oh, is it that time already?" Reese says innocently as he stands and stretches and smiles at the nurse, and Elena struggles not to roll her eyes. "I'll be out in a minute."

Her eyes widen when he leans over her and places a kiss at her temple.

"It is our cover, El," he whispers in her ear. "We're dating, remember?"

"I suppose the truth wouldn't have worked?"

She gazes up at him with what she hopes are mooning, lovesick eyes. The problem is she's succeeding quite a bit, and Reese finds he's having a hard time looking away, much less leaving her side, even if it's just to go sit in his car (which he'd parked with a clear view of her room) for the rest of the night.

"Yeah, husband would have worked, too," he admits.

She gives him a bemused look. "You and I have very different definitions of what 'truth' is, John."

"We are married. It's our anniversary this week."

She stares. "Our what?"

"It's paper for the first year, right?"

"John!"

"Don't tell me you forgot, El."

"Don't tell me you remembered," she counters.

He merely smiles as he starts to walk away. "See you tomorrow, sweetheart," he calls over his shoulder.

"Bye, babe!" she answers, and is gratified to see the slightest hitch in his usually even stride at the term of endearment.


Fifteen hours later, the peace and calm of the previous day seems like just a dream. After making everything run smoothly for 24 hours, Samaritan had turned the city on its head and thrown it into utter chaos.

As Team Machine crisscrosses the city trying to save at least one of the dozen or so Numbers they've gotten, Fusco calls Reese, who's cutting through a park as he tries to navigate around the gridlocked streets.

"You still busy?"

"What can I do for you, Lionel?"

"Hey, I could really use some backup, partner."

"Wish I could, but I'm still working something else."

"Yeah, that something else have to do with all hell breaking loose today?"

"Why? What happened?" Reese demands

"More like what didn't happen. Three shootings, a half-dozen violent domestic disturbances. To top it all off, some geek in his mom's basement hacked the U.S. Marshals database. The guy stole the entire witness protection list and then posted it on Pastebin. I'm heading to pick up one of the WITSEC victims now, get her to safety."

"Are you going alone?"

"Hell, no. The feds are helping out on this one."

Reese shakes his head as he flips through the names in his notebook. "I'd love to help, Lionel, but I'm still trying to help a few people of my own."

"You mean these aren't isolated incidents?"

"Unfortunately not."

"I knew yesterday was too good to be true. Today's a mess. It's almost like someone planned this."

Reese doesn't answer.

"Wait, did someone plan this?" Fusco asks. "What's this all about?"

"Someone's trying to make a point," Reese says.

After hanging up on Fusco, he calls Elena, even though she should be relatively safe at the hospital.

"John! I was just about to call you."

She really is an awful liar.

"What is it?" he demands.

There's a slight hesitation on the other end of the line as she contemplates lying again.

"El," he nearly growls.

"I'm being discharged," she says reluctantly.

"What?" he asks sharply. She is in no state to leave the hospital yet.

"The hospital's filling up. They're trying to get as many patients out as possible. Basically anyone who can walk."

"You can't walk, Elena," he points out tersely.

Reese looks around the gridlocked streets. He has five Numbers he's trying track down, but he also can't let Elena venture out into this. Everyone else will have to wait.

"Elena. I'm coming to get you," he says. "Wait for me."

It doesn't even occur to him that he said the same exact thing to Jessica the last time he ever spoke to her.


When Reese gets to the hospital, the ER is overflowing, patients are being treated in the hallways, and the visitors waiting room had been converted into a triage area.

He finds Elena standing outside her room, balancing on one foot and crutches, and holding a small bag of supplies Nurse Harrison had thrown together for her.

"I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be standing just yet," Reese mutters as he reaches her side, steadying her as she wobbles.

"What is going on? Was there some sort of accident? An attack?"

"Something like that." He doesn't like how pale she looks. "Come on." He lifts her into his arms, trying his best not to jostle her injured leg. "Let's get out of here."

He also doesn't like how light she feels, but it makes for easy going as he navigates them through the chaos. Already dizzy and slightly nauseous, Elena closes her eyes and presses her forehead against the side of his neck when things start to remind her of the department store during the shooting. He feels her start to shake.

"It's all right, just breathe," he says in a low voice as he maneuvers them through the packed hospital entryway. "We're almost out of here."

She concentrates on the sound of his voice, the weave of his suit under her fingertips, the feeling of safety that always surrounds her whenever John is near.

"Elena."

She realizes they're standing next to his car ... which he can't open because she's got a death grip around his neck.

"Sorry!" she squeaks, loosening her hold.

He gives her an understanding smile. "Don't be. Mind getting the door?"

He bends enough so she can reach the handle and then slides her onto the seat.

"All right?" he asks as he buckles her in, since her hands are trembling too much. He frowns at the blood spotting her bandage. "I'll check on that when we get to the apartment."

"Don't you need to be out there saving people?" she asks as they pull out of the parking lot and pass a string of three police cars, lights flashing as they speed in the opposite direction.

"I am."

"I mean important people."

"Answer doesn't change, El," he says as he squeezes the car through traffic.

She shakes her head. "I'm not more important than everyone else, John."

He keeps his gaze steadily focused out the windshield, but his voice is steady, too, as he answers.

"You are to me."


They finally make it back to their apartment building. Reese rewraps her leg, turns the heat up in her apartment, and adds every blanket they own to her bed. He wishes he'd thought to bring Bear so he could keep her company.

He props her crutches on the wall next to her bed, and sets a glass of water, some snacks, and the handgun Carter had given her on the bedside table.

"Need one of these?" he asks, holding up the orange prescription bottle of painkillers that had been in her goody bag. The morphine would be wearing off soon.

An odd look flits across her face. "No, that's ... I don't ... hydrocodone, right?" she says disjointedly.

It only takes him a moment to figure it out. She'd told him she'd overdosed on painkillers when she was a teen, but hadn't specified which kind. He places the bottle in her medicine cabinet, on the highest shelf.

"Sorry, Elena, I have to go," he says, giving the room a last once-over to make sure everything she might need is within reach.

She supposes it's the morphine and the blood loss that convinces her it's a good idea to pull John toward her and kiss him. Since she can't force him to budge an inch on a good day, he must come quite willingly.

Their lips find each other's, and this time it isn't a mistake or to keep a cover or an attempt to say goodbye. It's sweet and hopeful and thankful and please be careful, all rolled into one.

"Go save the world, John Reese," she tells him when they finally part.

And despite the chaos all around them, worry about the Numbers hanging over them, and Samaritan closing in on them, Reese can't help the grin that comes his lips, still tingling slightly from the feel of hers.

"Yes, ma'am."


A/N:

How's Shaw doing?

Finch: How's Miss Shaw faring?

Root: Great.

Finch: How's she really faring?

—The Day the World Went Away (s5e10)

Jessica and Reese's last conversation

Voicemail: It's me, Jessica. I mean, I don't even know if you check this number. Um ... I need to talk.

[Reese dials number, Jessica answers]

Reese: Jessica. I got your message.

Jessica: I didn't know if you'd call me back. We haven't talked in, what? Four years?

Reese: What's wrong? Is everything okay with Peter?

Jessica: Yeah, he's fine. We're both fine. I just needed a friend that I could talk to.

Reese: Something's wrong. Talk to me.

Jessica: You know, you were right. In the airport, the last time I saw you, you said that in the end we're all alone. I should go.

Reese: Jess.

Jessica: Bye, John

Reese: I'm coming to get you. I'll be there in 24 hours. Wait for me.

Jessica: I'll wait.

Matsya Nyaya (s1e20)