Disclaimer: Credit to Jonathan Nolan, Greg Plageman, and the POI writing team. Bolded sections are straight from the episodes.
QUEENSBRIDGE PARK
Chapter 47: beginning of Q&A
"Sorry for the precautions, Professor," the receptionist at tech firm Fetch & Retrieve tells Professor Whistler as a security guard passes a metal detector over him. "You're getting a tour from the founders, and you wouldn't believe the freaks that try to get in here. What's the word, Riley?"
"No weapons," the security guard confirms. "Mild to moderate freakiness," he adds.
The receptionist giggles as she takes the professor's coat.
"Enjoyed that, did you?" Professor Whistler, also known as Harold Finch, mutters to security guard Riley, also known as John Reese.
"Incoming!"
Reese easily catches the ball that comes sailing overhead from one of the cubicles.
"Welcome to nerd nirvana," Reese announces to Finch.
"Fetch & Retrieve is one of the hottest internet companies in the world, John. They know how to attract appropriate talent. Why else would they hire a moonlighting NYPD detective for their security team?"
"To protect all the limited edition action figures?" Reese suggests, picking up a toy from the top of a nearby cubicle and tossing it to Finch, who thankfully catches it.
"And some of the most valuable search algorithms in the industry," Finch adds, returning the toy to its proper place.
So that explains why Fetch & Retrieve would hire a moonlighting NYPD detective, but why would an NYPD detective moonlight at a tech company in the first place?
Well, firstly, because their latest Number is an employee there.
Secondly, because that NYPD detective is avoiding his neighbor.
Avoiding is not the same as ignoring, at least not in John Reese's book.
There's the whole bluejacking/eavesdropping thing, of course. As he walks up to his apartment later that night, he checks (not for the first time that day) and sees Elena is safely inside her apartment.
He knows that she hasn't gone back to work yet, at the store or at the museum. She's sort of working on her thesis. As in, the document is always open on her laptop, but she's written only about two new sentences in as many weeks and deleted many more.
He knows her sleep schedule is completely off. She'd always been a morning person, but she's been staying up all night, watching mindless TV shows until the sun comes up. He guesses she sleeps during the day. At least, he hopes so.
He knows that 4A helps bring up her laundry and mail. Shifty Kyle and Handsy Matt had tried, too, but he'd happened to be passing by both times, and they'd scurried away.
He knows that she's subsisting mostly on delivery and microwave dinners, but at least she's eating.
He knows that she's fallen exactly three times ... that he's heard. And he wonders how many times she's fallen when he's not around.
He wonders if she's changing and wrapping her leg properly, if the wound is healing properly. Maybe he could get Finch to hack into the hospital records to get her chart after her next doctor's visit.
Entering his apartment, he removes his suit jacket, and he's about to (finally!) take off the tie that's part of his Fetch & Retrieve uniform when a scream shatters the silence.
"Please! Somebody, help!"
It was so cold. Why was she sitting out on a bench in a park by the East River in the middle of winter?
Elena looks for Bailey near her feet, but her faithful golden retriever is not there. Instead it's Ken lying at her feet, his blood soaking into the grass.
He reaches out a blood-stained hand toward her and grabs the hem of her dress.
"Lenie ..."
"Ken! ... oh my God ..."
"Why did you do it, Ells?"
"I'm so sorry! I never meant ... oh, Ken ... Please! Somebody, help!"
"Is this her, Parker?" A shadow falls over her. She looks up and sees Simmons standing above her. "The bitch who killed you?"
"Elena ..."
Simmons raises a gun and points it right at her.
"No, please don't!"
And fires.
She wakes up with a violent jerk and a choking gasp.
"Elena! El!"
Someone is shaking her. No, she's shaking, uncontrollably.
Someone is holding her, two arms around her, holding her tight.
Holding her together.
A shirtfront slowly comes into focus. Her hands are twisted in the fabric, holding onto it in a death grip.
"J-John?" she gasps.
"I'm here," he assures her, his hands pushing her hair back from her face. "You're all right, you're fine. It was just a nightmare."
He sounds like he's trying to convince himself. Her eyes drift over his shoulder to her bedroom door and sees the frame cracked around her lock, which he'd broken through to get in. She must have screamed to send him running in there like that.
She's still holding onto his shirt. She looks at the strip of silk hanging down between her hands, trying to figure out what it is.
"Y-you're wearing a tie," she says blankly. "Why are you wearing a tie?"
Despite the adrenaline still pumping through him, Reese feels the corner of his mouth twitch upward. His heart, which had been pounding at a rapid pace since he'd heard her scream, begins to slow.
"Someone once said I might have to wear one someday. It's someday."
The memory of that lazy afternoon at a tailor's shop in Rome comes back like a dream. So much has changed since that day, and yet ...
So little.
She remembers the setting sun coming in through the shop windows, the satin of the bowtie she'd tied for him, the silk of the neckties she'd picked out for him, including the one he's wearing now. He'd been unshaven that day. Which had been odd. Not bad, just different from his usual look.
Elena blinks. Her hand had moved unconsciously to his relatively smooth cheek, and his eyes close for a moment at her touch.
She snatches back her hand, and forces the fingers on her other hand to unclench from his shirt and release him. Trying to put as much space between them as possible, she scoots back until she's resting against the wall she shares with his unit.
He lets her go.
Wincing, she looks down at her leg. The bandage is lightly spotted with blood. She must have reopened the wound when she was thrashing in her sleep.
"Let me take a look at that," he says, disappearing before she can object.
She holds her hand out for the fresh bandage when he returns, but he sits on the edge of her bed and taps his knee, indicating she should prop her leg up on it so he can unwrap the old bandage.
She doesn't move.
"So this is us staying away from each other, is it?" she asks.
What she can see of his face in profile remains carefully expressionless, but something like a shudder seems to run through his entire frame.
"I heard you screaming for help, El," he says quietly, not looking at her. "I had to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," she insists, reaching out for the bandage again.
His hand tightens around the roll of gauze. "Please," he says, and there's such intense, suppressed emotion in that one word that she does as he asks.
"Thank you," he says in that same quiet tone as he begins to unwrap the old bandage, and she looks at him incredulously. She thinks John Reese might be the only person in the world who would thank someone when he's the one helping them.
"This should be better healed by now," he says, brow furrowing as he looks at the angry-looking wound.
"I know, I'm sorry."
He looks up sharply, though the expression in his eyes is softer. "It's not your fault, Elena."
She sighs. "It's no one's fault, really. I'm ... what's the term? Collateral damage."
He concentrates on rewrapping her leg so she can't see his face. Because he knows she's talking about more than just getting shot.
Because if Shaw hadn't been taken, and if he hadn't been reminded in the worst possible way of just how high the stakes are in this war with Samaritan, he would have been in her apartment already when she'd had her nightmare. He wouldn't have had to throw himself out onto the fire escape and break down her bedroom door to get to her. He might have been right next to her in this bed, already holding her, instead of just sitting on the edge of it as a half unwelcome guest.
And something in his chest aches at the thought of what could have been and how close they were to it. But he knows that the alternative is so much worse.
He can't lose her like they lost Shaw. There's some sliver of hope that Shaw is still alive, because she would be valuable to Samaritan. But Elena would be discarded without even a thought, and he can't let that happen.
He tucks the ends of the bandage neatly in, and then gently sets her leg on the bed as he stands.
He finally faces her. He should just walk away now, turn and not look back. But for all his superhero tendencies, John Reese is still human.
He reaches out, pushes aside a lock of her hair, and rests his hand on the side of her neck.
"Take care of yourself, El," he says, before placing a kiss on her forehead.
Elena feels tears well up in her eyes, because out of all the times she's tried to say goodbye to him, this one feels the most real.
"John ..."
She just manages to catch his hand as he turns to leave. He stops instantly at her light touch, but doesn't turn around.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that, holding hands but not looking at each other.
"Take care of yourself, too, okay?" she finally manages to say in a voice choked with tears. "Please. For me."
He nods once, stiffly, before he takes a step away, and her hand falls from his. And he keeps putting one foot in front of the other, marching like the good soldier he is, until he's back in his apartment.
