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


QUEENSBRIDGE PARK

Chapter 55: between B.S.O.D. & SNAFU


Six weeks later

They'd saved the Machine by compressing it into a briefcase but taking it offline. So as Finch and Root work around the clock to get the Machine up and running again, Detective Riley gets back to work. But even that doesn't take up as much time as it used to, since homicides are down across the city. Which means he has enough time to see what Fusco's up to.

"Hello, Lionel."

Fusco jumps about a foot in the air as he exits the lobby of a shiny new Manhattan high-rise. "Jesus Christ, you're going to give a guy a heart attack one of these days."

"The hot dogs you had for lunch might do that without my help."

"How do you know what I —? You know what? Never mind. What are you doing here? You so bored you're following me around now?" He looks speculatively from Reese to the building he had just exited. "Oh, not me," he realizes. "You held out longer than I thought you would. You made it, what? Six weeks?"

"Since you clearly don't need me to have this conversation, I'll leave you to it," Reese says, turning away.

Fusco catches him by the shoulder and finds himself shoved up against the wall the next second. It's just a reflex, and Reese quickly releases him without doing (much) bodily harm.

"Someone's wound up tight," Fusco mutters, rubbing his chest. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Is Elena ... doing fine?" Reese asks reluctantly.

Fusco puts a little bit more space between them. "You know Ellie." Fusco shrugs. "She's always all right."'

"No one's always all right, Lionel. If they are, then they're lying."

Fusco frowns. "She said that to me once." He shakes his head. "If I didn't know you better, I'd be setting up a restraining order for her."

"I've been keeping my distance."

Fusco gives him an unimpressed look. "Yeah, skulking around outside her building means keeping your — hey!"

He yelps as Reese suddenly pulls him into an alley just as a black coupe zips into the 'no parking' space right in front of Elena's building and lets out a series of beeps. A moment later, Elena hurries out the door, each step punctuated by another beep.

"Okay, okay, I'm here!" she exclaims with a laugh, yanking the car's door open. "Geez, Adam, I've only been here a month! Let me make it two months at least before I get written up for a noise complaint."

"We've got dinner reservations across town in twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?! I thought you said 7:30! We'll never make it."

"Is that a challenge, Cassidy?"

Elena grins. "You better step on it, Saunders."

"She always did have a thing for pretty boys who use too much hair gel," Fusco observes as he and Reese emerge from the alley as the coupe zips away.

If looks could kill ...

"That kid's going to get her killed," Fusco mutters, as they watch the coupe nearly run a red light.

Reese glowers at the brake lights and honking horns Saunders leaves in his wake.

"I know you had a heavy lunch, but ... you want to grab dinner, Lionel?" he offers.

Fusco looks at him suspiciously. "Where?"

"Across town?" Reese suggests innocently.

"Oh no. I'm not going to be accessory to stalking." He frowns, suddenly serious. "Wait, are you following her for a reason? Is Ellie in trouble? Is that kid —?"

"Nothing like that. Saunders is a good guy, even if he doesn't know how to follow traffic signals."

"You run a background check on him or something?"

"Or something," Reese agrees vaguely.

"So you just miss her then?"

"Good night, Lionel," Reese says, walking away.

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know," Fusco says seriously. "But you gotta decide if you're coming or going. It's not fair to her otherwise."

Reese stops short before he slowly turns around. Instead of the irritated, angry, murderous look Fusco usually sees on his face, there's a small smile playing on his lips ... which might be more terrifying, all things considered.

"Look," Reese gestures vaguely toward Elena's building. "She found it. That normal life we keep talking about."

"Yeah? Then tell me this: Why doesn't she look the least bit happy?"

"She looked pretty happy to me just now."

"Next time you're stalking her, look harder, Detective," Fusco advises.

Reese plays his trump card. "Why didn't you tell me Elena was with you when you found me in the Catskills?"

Fusco toys with the idea of trying to deny it, but decides against it. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Nothing like a little bit of torture to jog your memory."

Fusco shrugs. "I don't know. Never came up, I guess."

"I have another guess. I think you want her to have that normal life, too."

Fusco pauses just for a second too long. "Shouldn't that be up to her to decide?"

"She did. She walked away."

"And what? You're going to hold that against her? She thought you were dying! She'd never been in a situation like that before, it scared her!" Fusco takes in Reese's expressionless expression and makes a noise of disbelief. "You gotta be kidding me! You're the one who never gave Ellie the time of day. And last I checked, you and Dr. Red were getting really cozy during your 'therapy sessions', so don't give me this noble, self-sacrificing crap."

"She deserves this life, Lionel, the kind you and I, and Harold and Root don't get to have."

"You know what? Forget what I said." He pokes Reese hard in the chest. "She is better off without you."

And on that parting shot, the detective walks away without a backward glance.


Reese watches as the lights go on in Elena's apartment. He makes a mental note to tell her to get shades or blinds for her windows, before he remembers he isn't talking to her and isn't supposed to know where she lives.

He watches her shadow move across the apartment until she comes into view. She goes straight to the bar cart and mixes something there before she wanders toward the floor-to-ceiling windows with a glass in her hand. Something with gin, he's sure. If it's not that fruity beer she likes, it's gin.

Her black dress showcases her figure to perfection, but the color reminds him too much of the broken girl he'd sat with in the pouring rain after her best friend's funeral.

He always thinks of her in blue.

She steps out onto her balcony. It's a proper one, not a fire escape, and she doesn't share it with anyone.

It's the middle of summer, but as far up as her apartment is, it has to be several degrees colder than it is at street level. Even across the street and from a few floors up, he can see her shiver. But she doesn't go back inside.

She never seems to realize when she's cold. He'd always been the one to notice, to give her his coat, his hat, his gloves.

Her hair is shorter, much shorter than when he last saw her. It had reached the middle of her back before, but now her brown waves end just past her shoulders.

He doesn't know how long she stands there, or how long he stands there watching her. She's finished her drink, she's holding the glass loosely in one hand.

Look harder, Detective.

She's staring blankly in the distance. There's a faraway look in her eyes that he doesn't like, especially when she's standing so close to the edge like that.

The glass falls from distracted fingers. Elena flinches at the sound of it breaking, her body jerking as if she'd been shot.

Something is wrong. Reese knows it as surely as if he were standing right next to her instead of half a block away. She's frozen for a moment before her legs give out completely, and she falls dangerously close to the shards of broken glass. She's in distress. She's having trouble breathing. Poison? Allergic reaction?

He has to get to her. He has to help. He has to —

The door to the balcony swings open, and Saunders comes hurrying out. He seems concerned, but not overly so.

Like this has happened before.

A panic attack.

Saunders helps her to her feet and brings her inside.

Reese finally lets out a breath. His hand is aching. He looks down and sees he's gripping the railing in front of him so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

As he forces himself to relax, he tells himself that no life is perfect, but hers is a normal one. And a much safer one.

She is better off without him.

If only he could say the same about himself.