Disclaimer: Credit to Jonathan Nolan, Greg Plageman, and the POI writing team. Bolded sections are straight from the episodes.
QUEENSBRIDGE PARK
Chapter 50: mid, end of Skip
"Do you wanna go? Really?" bounty hunter Frankie Wells (their current Number) says as she confronts con artist Harper Rose (a former Number) in the ladies bathroom of a nightclub. Harper had helped Frankie's mark get away from them earlier that day, and so Reese had helped Frankie track her down.
"Stop," Reese says, inserting himself between them. "We're leaving. Say goodnight, Frankie."
"What the hell?" Frankie demands as Reese takes her elbow.
"Trust me," he mutters as he leads her out of the bathroom.
He nearly runs headfirst into Elena Cassidy. Well, she literally runs headfirst into him, since she's busy looking at her phone.
"Oh!"
His hand shoots out to steady her as she nearly topples backward in ridiculously high heels that bring her nearly tall enough that she can see over his shoulder.
She sees Frankie.
Her eyes shift from John to Frankie to the sign above them that says 'ladies'.
"Oh," she says again, in a very different tone.
"Elena," he begins.
She hitches on a bright smile. "You two are done in there, right?" she asks, before breezing past them.
Reese closes his eyes in frustration, cursing the coincidence.
"Who's the brunette?" Frankie asks. Just like she'd asked 'Who's the redhead?' earlier, when she'd seen a similarly awkward interaction between himself and Iris at the police station, after Iris had dumped Reese as her patient.
"Nobody," he says. "Come on."
Standing just inside the bathroom, Elena blinks back the sudden tears the spring into her eyes at his dismissal of her. Once she's got them under control, she gives her reflection a critical look.
She'd never had any complaints about how she looks. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Average height. Average build. People said she was pretty. Never beautiful or gorgeous or ravishing. But pretty.
Not stunning like Dr. Campbell.
Not striking like Zoe Morgan.
Not bombshell-esque like the blonde John had just left with.
Pretty. Pretty average.
"Hey, you were at Boost a couple of weeks ago, weren't you? The night a fight broke out on the dance floor?"
Elena tuns to look at the tall, curly-haired woman standing a few sinks down. She thought the bathroom had been empty.
"Um, yeah. How did you -?"
"I think you know a friend of mine. Detective Riley?"
Elena's eyes widen. Had John been in here with two women?
"My opinion? You're well shot of him. He's way too serious. A girl needs someone she can drink and dance and have fun with." Harper smiles as she holds out a hand. "I'm Fiona."
"Elena."
"Well, Elena, I know a dozen hedge funders out there who just ordered bottle service, and my friend Isabel couldn't make it. You want to have some fun tonight?"
Elena glances down at her phone to see if Adam has responded to any of her texts, but nothing. Then she remembers John coming out of the bathroom with that blonde.
"Sure, why not?"
Harper's smile widens. "Good! We'll just tell them you're Isabel."
Elena's leg is aching and her head is starting to as well. Fiona was a lot of fun, but Adam had stood her up, which she doesn't understand at all, since she thought they'd had a lovely time at the botanic garden last weekend. And turns out, a dozen hedge funders were not that different from a dozen frat boys, just balder and with more money to spend.
She thinks she might be getting too old for this.
She limps outside, barefoot and freezing since she'd not wanted to haul a coat around all night. The line at the taxi stand is as long as the line still waiting to get into the club. Just her luck. She starts walking down the block in the hopes of snagging a cab there.
Parked around the corner with the club entrance in sight, Reese and Frankie lie in wait for Harper.
"Hey, isn't that your friend?" Frankie asks.
Reese is already watching Elena walk away from the club alone. His jaw tightens as he watches her shiver in a tight blue dress that's showing more skin than it's covering. His eyes narrow as she leaves the busy part of the block and heads for a lonelier stretch of road.
Elena cringes as a gust of wind sends her hair flying into her face. As she pushes the strands back, her hands brush against something wet. Oh, she's crying. Great. The perfect end to a perfectly shitty night.
Reese's hand flies to the handle of the car when he sees the tears running down Elena's face. He's halfway out the car when a black sports coupe comes speeding down the street and pulls up right next to her.
Adam Saunders comes running out, hurrying around his car to her.
"Ellie, Ellie! I'm so sorry," he apologizes. "There was a fire in my uncle's diner. My phone got wrecked, and I couldn't remember your number. I'm so — what's wrong?"
"Nothing, I'm just ... really tired," Elena says, unable to stop the tears from continuing to roll down her cheeks.
She really is a terrible liar. Something aches in the vicinity of Reese's chest.
"Come on, let's get you home."
Saunders is already taking off his coat and wrapping it around her as he helps her to his car. Reese settles back into his seat as the coupe zips away.
"So who is she, Crockett?" Frankie asks as she slides into the backseat to change outfits. "Doesn't look like 'nobody' to me."
"She is nobody to you," Reese answers.
"But someone to you."
The next day
"You tell 'em, Crockett," Frankie quips at the 8th Precinct, after Reese announces that their bad guy had just been picked up by the police.
Fusco grins at her. "I'm gonna miss you."
"So, John, you gonna lock me up too?" Frankie asks, an uncharacteristically vulnerable expression on the tough girl's face.
Reese shrugs. "Maybe next time."
"'Cause, you know, I got handcuffs."
But the teasing look fades from her face as she hugs Reese, a hug he finds himself returning.
"Call me when you're a free man," she adds, grabbing her jacket on her way out.
A bemused look crosses Reese's face as he watches her walk away. She crosses paths with Dr. Iris Campbell, who is making a beeline for him. Which is strange, because the psychiatrist has made every effort to avoid him lately.
"My office?" she prompts.
Iris leads the way. He follows at a slower pace, trying to figure out what this is all about.
"Detective ..." she starts as he steps into her office. She starts over. "John."
He closes the door behind him.
"You were right. I should have been honest with you about why I had to stop our sessions," she continues. "I told myself it was for your protection, but really I was just being a coward."
"So just ... tell me," he says.
"John, hear me." Iris takes a few steps toward him. "It's not because of anything in your past. There's nothing you could tell me in a session that would make me run," she assures him.
Well, that would make one less person in the world.
He remembers the look of terror that had crossed Elena's face the night he and Root had gone looking for Shaw, when she thought he was about to strike her ...
"So you're not afraid of me?" he clarifies, taking a few steps toward Iris.
"Oh, I am." She retreats as he continues to move forward. "Very."
He gives her a confused look. There's something she's not telling him.
"I have feelings for you, John."
"Oh." His mind blanks.
"Which is inappropriate, wrong, completely unethical. I can't have a relationship with even an ex-patient. It's so wrong, it's like a cop dating a fireman, it's that bad."
"Okay." His mind is starting to process words again, trying to keep up with the deluge she's throwing at him.
"And I've tried to stop it. For weeks. I could lose my job, for God's sake. The job I love. And I tried, but I kept finding that every time I'm with you, I just feel ... I .. oh, the hell with it."
And then she's kissing him.
Admittedly, John Reese has kissed a lot of women in his lifetime. But he can count on one hand the few he's kissed honestly, not for a job or to create a distraction.
Molly West. He'd kissed her on the playground when they were five years old.
Jessica. Those six months they'd dated were the happiest, most blissful of his life.
Joss. The night they brought the head of HR in, seeing her goodness and conviction in action, even when facing hopeless odds, he had felt such a connection with her that had gone beyond friendship.
Elena. Nearly every time he'd kissed her, the timing or the reason had been wrong. Except the last time. When he'd taken her home after she'd been shot. He'd kissed her because she was alive, because he had almost lost her, because he hadn't wanted to lose her.
And then he'd lost her anyway.
And now ...
He catches Iris by the wrist as she turns away.
"Actually ..."
He pulls her close, and he kisses her this time. Kissing Iris is different from all the rest. There's the promise of so much good ahead without the weight of the past dragging him down.
"I'm pretty good at keeping secrets," he points out, before drawing her close once more.
