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


QUEENSBRIDGE PARK

Chapter 52: after Terra Incognita


Even as a gang war heats up and threatens to tear New York City apart, there's no rest for Team Machine.

"And we've just received a new number unrelated to Dominic or Elias," Finch informs Reese. "Chase Patterson, 25. His family slain in 2008. Chase was the prime suspect at the time."

"Was he ever convicted?" Reese asks.

"No. Before he could be charged or arrested, Mr. Patterson fled the country. He's just returned to New York City after seven years in Paris."

"You and Fusco stay on Dominic and Elias," Reese decides. "I can handle one murderer on my own."

"Alleged murderer," Finch reminds.

"Maybe Chase's case file can help clear that up. I'll go down to Evidence and take a look."


As Reese waits in the evidence locker, he thinks maybe he's starting to get a hang of this detective thing after all.

The officer totes out an evidence box.

"Must be some mistake," Reese frowns. "I just wanted the Patterson case file."

"It wasn't in its proper place," the officer explains. "Found it in the primary detective's effects."

"Effects?" Reese repeats in confusion.

"Detective's things are evidence now."

"Evidence? Why?"

"She was murdered."

And then Reese sees the name on written on the box's label.

Joss Carter.

He reverently begins sifting through the miscellaneous items Carter had on her desk when she died. A pencil holder. A framed photo of her with baby Taylor that brings a smile to the stoic Detective Riley's face. The Patterson case file. A notebook and -

Out falls an envelope from between the pages of her notebook.

It's labeled 'For John'.

And from the envelope, he pulls out a photo. A photo he'd forgotten existed. Of him and Jessica, drinking some fruity pink drink in Mexico in September 2001.


"What does the Man in the Suit got planned after he hangs up the suit?" Carter asks as they sit in a car on a cold winter's night.

"Haven't given it much thought."

"Don't play with me, John. I just cleaned my service weapon. Now, spill."

"There is no after for people like us. No beach for you, no retirement for me. We don't do fairytales. That's how we're built."

"You don't really believe that."


"I'll get where I'm going soon enough."

"And what does that mean?"


"What did you mean, John?"

"I just meant things tend to work out the way they're supposed to."

"All right. Whatever you like."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means there are two kinds of friends: ones you talk about the game with and ones you share your life with, the real stories. Up to you which one you want me to be. But you need to decide, because for a spy, lying isn't your strong suit."


"... Her name was Jessica, although I think you already know that. She liked the rain, sleeping in. She told really bad jokes, and called me out when I pretended

to enjoy them. And her laugh ... God, I loved her laugh."

"You can't blame yourself for what happened to her, John."

"It's not a question of blame, it's a fact. She needed me and I left her behind."

"Can I ask why?"

"I thought I wasn't gonna make it back alive. She deserved a better life than waiting to become a widow. She deserved happiness. Not quite how it worked out, though."

"I'm sorry, John. ... But I'm not buying it."


"Why does it matter now?"

"It matters because I'm afraid you're gonna use this poor woman to shut everybody out, right until the bitter end. Whatever it is you're not telling me, that's the real reason why you're alone. And ... because time is running out."

"Time? Hell, we got all the time in the world. Benny is asleep, it'll be hours before Finch brings us breakfast."

"No, listen to me, John. Your time is running out. You're dying, John."

"... What? I don't understand."

"You got him, John. The monster that killed Chase's family. And he got you pretty good, too. You managed to get to Chase's car. You need to get help. And if you don't, you're going to die. And so is Chase."

Reese looks down at his side. "I lost some blood, but I don't think I'll bleed out before they get here."

"Before who gets here?"

"Fusco. F-Finch. Maybe Root?"

"You forgetting? You didn't tell anyone you were coming up here. True to form, you didn't reach out. So I'm afraid, John, it's just me and you. But you're right, you probably won't bleed to death. It's the cold that'll kill you first."


"No one's coming."


"Maybe this is the path you've been on all along. The path that led you right here. Don't reach out to anyone. Shut everybody out."

"Not everyone."

"What?"

"I didn't shut you out. We had a connection. I could talk with you. About Important Things. The things that really mattered."

"But, John ... you never did."


"Here, this picture. Remember? You kept this. Then you gave it to me when we talked about her that night."

"I kept the photo, but I never gave it to you. You were talking about a path you were on. I asked if you wanted to talk about it and you didn't."

"I did."

"No. You cracked a couple jokes and then you turned the radio up. And that was it, we never got to Jessica. I kept that photo to give to you at the right moment. When you were willing to share that part of yourself with me. But you never were, John."


"There's another reason why I kept that photo. It was a side of you I hadn't seen. Happy. Hopeful. In love. You can feel that way again, John. You just gotta hold on. There are people who care about you, who could love you. You just gotta let them in. It's like what you told me before: Whether I like it or not, I wasn't alone. Neither are you."

"Will you stay with me, just for a little bit?" he requests, sounding almost like a lost little boy.

"Yes, of course," Carter assures him. "Just hold on, John."


"Hold on, John!" Elena's frantic eyes catch Lionel's in the rearview mirror as he maneuvers his cruiser as best as he can in the barely plowed street, aiming for the nearest hospital. "Lionel, he's freezing cold. And he's lost so much blood."

"I've got the heat up as high as it'll go. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to."

"John, John, come on, wake up," Elena coaxes, tapping him on the cheek with increasing force while the other hand keeps pressure on his wound. Wincing, she presses down harder, hoping the pain will bring him back to consciousness while also stemming the bleeding.

"Pat him down," Fusco orders.

"What?!"

"Make sure he isn't carrying anything that will be hard to explain at the hospital."

"Right." Elena doesn't know how Lionel is going to explain the dead body they left out in the snow in front of the cabin where they'd found John, or the semi-conscious young man they strapped into the front passenger seat, all on top of a bleeding and hypothermic New York City detective in the middle of the Catskills, but she does what he asks.

There's a knife and three extra magazines hidden among his clothes, and ... a photo, in his pocket. It's a little wrinkled but somehow hasn't been stained by John's blood or ruined from the snow.

It's of John. But younger. He's wearing a uniform and sitting at a table with a woman. They look ... happy.

Like she's never seen him before.

"Hey, Wonderboy. You hear me? You're not allowed to die on us, okay?"

Fusco's voice brings her back to the situation at hand. Lionel reaches over to shake the young man in the passenger seat a little bit to keep him semi-awake, but the naloxone in his glove compartment has already saved the young man's life.

"Body heat, Ellie," Fusco urges. He's driving as fast as he dares on the snowy roads, but it still feels too slow.

In any other situation, Elena think Lionel is messing with her. Mindful of John's wound, she moves as close to him as she possibly can in the hopes of transferring some of her own body heat to him.

"Come on, John, I know you can hear me," she says. "This is not how it's going to end, okay?"

She rests her forehead against the side of his head. He feels so cold, and it feels so wrong. John is never the cold one. It's always been her leeching heat from him. He'd literally given her the clothes off his back whenever she'd gotten cold, and when that hadn't been enough, an arm around her shoulder or a hand around both of hers. He'd always been like a furnace to her, a source of warmth and light and —

"El?"

Her head jerks up at the barest whisper of her name. She wraps her arm tighter around him.

"I'm here, John. I'm here," she assures him.

"Will you stay with me? Just for a little bit," he rasps.

She can't stop the tears that spring to her eyes at his request. They drip onto his cheek, warm trails against the cold.

"Yes, of course," she promises, voice cracking. "Always."