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


QUEENSBRIDGE PARK

Chapter 56: after SNAFU


"I'll have the Machine up soon," Finch promises Reese as they wait outside a warehouse to steal some hardware the Machine needs. "I'm aware that everyday without it means more bodies for you."

"Actually, things are real quiet at work," Reese says. "I've got too much free time."

"Is that why you've been so restless?" Finch realizes. "Make friends. You deserve a social life. What about Dr. Campbell?"

Reese shrugs. "A few dates."

"Have you told Iris anything?"

"Just enough to keep her safe."


Later that night

"Hey, Lionel," one of the unis greets as Detectives Riley and Fusco work late at the precinct, sorting out the deluge of Numbers the now-running Machine had just given them.

"Hey!" Fusco greets, getting up and giving the officer a hearty handshake and backslap.

"We going to see the Fusconator tonight?"

"I don't know." Fusco glances at his partner. "I've got some idiots working me around the clock."

Reese glares.

"Next time," Fusco promises.

"You got it, buddy." The officer glances over in Riley's direction.

"Hey," Reese greets.

The officer quickly looks away and heads out. Fusco looks over at Reese just in time to catch an odd expression on his face.

"That look." Fusco bursts out looking. "You're jealous!" he realizes.

"What?"

"You're jealous 'cause he didn't say 'Hey, how's it going?' to you. Tell me something, what's his name?"

"I'm not jealous," Reese objects, avoiding answering the question.

"Don't you think you should learn basic information about your co-workers? You know, like a normal person?"

"Did Finch say something to you?" Reese demands.

"I don't need a genius to tell me that you're lonely," Fusco says seriously. "Hey, look, I joined the NYPD bowling league. It's good for a few laughs. You should come."

"No offense, Fusco, but I'd rather bash my own head in with a bowling ball."


The next day

With the Machine up and running, and the kinks (mostly) sorted out, the team decides to have a celebratory picnic. Finch and Root, who is incognito as a Girl Scout troop leader, bring the blanket and the picnic basket.

"Detective," Finch greets as sets down the basket near the bench where Fusco is sitting.

Fusco jumps to his feet and shows them the newspaper he's holding. "You see? Official sources say I'm a hero." He points to the article describing how he'd saved one of their latest Numbers from the Lithuanian mafia. "I could get used to this."

"Well-deserved," Finch commends as he helps Root lay out the picnic blanket. "Where's John?"

"He's trying on some new threads," Fusco explains. "Got him to join our league."

Reese walks over at that moment, sporting a bright yellow bowling shirt instead of his usual suit.

"My goodness," Finch chuckles. Fusco is outright laughing.

"Yeah. I'm not doing this," Reese says as Root giggles.

"You kidding?" Fusco says. "You'll be the social chair of the department by the end of the month."

"How about I stuff this polyester down your throat?" Reese suggests instead.

Fusco continues to laugh and Reese continues to exercise what he thinks is a great deal of self-control not carrying out his threat.

"No one knows we're a world at war," Root observes to Finch, surveying their fellow parkgoers. "Poor, ignorant, blissful fools." She begins distributing plates. "Think we can trust our champion now?"

"I think so," Finch says. "The Machine seems sane again." He shakes his head, remembering how the Machine had labeled them as threats and tried to eliminate them before he got through to it. "Thank goodness that's over."

They all look up as a shadow falls across the blanket.

"Lovely day for a picnic."

"Elena."

It's Reese who speaks first, not bothering to hide the surprise in his voice. He regrets it almost immediately as her eyes land on him, and she raises her eyebrows. Of course he had to be wearing a bright yellow bowling shirt today of all days. Damn Fusco and his bright ideas.

"Miss Cassidy, what are you doing here?" Finch asks.

"You know, it's funny," she says, dropping down onto the picnic blanket without further ado, arranging the skirt of her dress — which has a decidedly high fashion, un-Target look to it — modestly around her legs. "You wanted me to go back to that Little Miss Normal life. So I did. Got on all the apps, the neighborhood email lists. Mixers, meetups, you know? Went on a few dates, joined a few rec leagues. And somehow I still ended up here."

She holds up her phone, the screen displaying an email for a meetup in the park to buy Girl Scout cookies.

"Do you have Tagalongs?" she asks Root. "Those are my favorite."

Reese looks in askance at Finch, who in turn looks at Root, who raises her eyes to the nearest surveillance camera.

"Why do you want her here?" Root wonders.

"How have you been, Miss Cassidy?" Finch asks hurriedly, drawing her attention away from Root.

Elena smiles, though it might have something to do with Fusco mouthing, 'Cuckoo' behind Root. "Great!"

"Are you still pursuing your art history degree?" he asks politely.

She suspects he already knows she isn't, but she goes along with it. "My thesis and degree are kind of on hiatus right now. I found a new job. No more beauty counter, and much better pay and benefits." She fishes into her purse and pulls out a business card.

Despite being the one farthest away from her, Reese is the first to reach for the card. He stares at in disbelief for a moment before he shows it to Finch and Root.

They exchange looks that range from menacing to questioning to panicked.

Elena Cassidy

Secretary and

personal assistant

for temporary hire

Thornhill Services

Completely unaware of the sudden tension, Elena reaches into her bag once more and pulls out a bottle of wine. "Now, which cookie pairs best with rosé?"


One bottle of wine, three boxes of cookies and a hamper of sandwiches later, the sun is setting and the afternoon of leisure for Team Machine is coming to an end.

"I'll walk you home," Reese says to Elena in a tone that brooks no argument ... and with a glare at the others that just dares them to comment on his offer.

"But you don't know where I ..."

He gives her a Look.

She sighs. "Oh, fine. Need to walk off those Girl Scout cookies anyway."

They fall into easy step with each other, as Reese shortens his stride to accommodate hers.

With the sun down and a slight breeze picking up, Elena shivers. And Reese would have been able to offer her his jacket, if not for Fusco's brilliant idea to make him join the bowling league.

"You don't need to walk anything off, El," he says. "Anyone who thinks differently doesn't deserve another thought. Or like. Or however you meet people these days."

She laughs. "Swipe. Then awkward first date. Usually coffee, just to make sure they aren't a creep or giving off serial killer vibes."

"You run into any trouble like that?" He's trying to sound casual, but she can practically hear him preparing a hit list.

"Not really. I've ... been seeing Adam pretty exclusively." If she notices the slight hitch in his usually even stride, she doesn't say anything. "Are you still seeing Dr. Campbell?" she asks brightly.

The expression freezes on Reese's face. "We've ... been on a few dates. I'm ... supposed to meet her parents next week."

She looks across the street, away from him, so he doesn't see the smile that slips despite her best efforts. "That's really good, John," she says, and she really does mean it. "You seemed better once you started opening up to her."

"Better?"

Elena considers. "Lighter. Not so ... weighed down by ..." she shrugs, "... things."

He wishes he could say the same for her.

"Are you all right, Elena?"

She takes a moment to answer, to make sure her voice is steady enough. "I'm always all right, John," she says brightly.

She keeps up a steady stream of perfectly harmless chatter all the way back to her building. They talk about Bear's latest tricks. And Fusco's.

"Well, this is me," she says as they stop in front of her building. "Thanks so much for walking me home, John. Good night."

"Elena."

He catches her arm as she passes him to enter her building, and as he turns her to face him again, the bright facade shatters.

"I can't," she whispers, almost to herself, shoulders slumping. "I can't keep doing this, John."

"Doing what?" he asks, mind jumping to a dozen possibilities ranging from coercion to kidnapping to Saunders mistreating her.

"This," she says, gesturing vaguely at the space between them. "Whatever this is." She shakes her head. "I don't even know how to describe it."

"Elena —"

"It was fun for a while. But we've got to go one way or the other, and I think we both know which way this is going to go. You've got Dr. Campbell, I've got Adam. Life seems to be treating us both okay, so let's not draw this out anymore. Goodbye, John."

"Elena, will you wait?" he says in frustration, stepping in front of her again.

"No! I was waiting. I was right there! I was next door! I was on the fire escape nearly every night with you! But then you weren't there. And like an idiot I was still waiting."

Zoe's words from months ago come back to him as clearly as if the fixer were standing right next to him.

She's not going to hang around forever.

Elena takes a breath to calm herself. If this is how it's going to end, it's not going to end with her yelling at John on the sidewalk like a crazy woman.

"Look, if I've learned anything from ... all this," she waves her phone at him, "it's that we decide so little in our lives these days, right? Who we hang out with. What we do. Where we live. Where we work. It's all practically planned out for us. But there's one thing we still control. Who we love." She pauses before adding, "And who we don't love."

He stares at her for a long moment. He's been here before, only it was in an airport terminal, not on a city sidewalk. He had stepped aside to let Jessica find a better life, and it had ended in disaster for all involved. Surely history wouldn't repeat itself so cruelly.

"John."

Her voice pulls him back from the past. He locks eyes with her, and he knows if she asks, he'll break. He'll break all the rules he's made for himself. He'll risk her safety just to be with her. He won't let her live that normal life.

John Reese, the man who famously didn't break under 16 hours of torture when all they wanted to know was his name, will be broken by a pretty secretary with no combat training whose head hardly reaches his shoulder.

"John, will you please let me go?"

He blinks. It takes a moment for his mind to translate her words into meaning.

And just like that, the daydream ends.

He steps aside and lets her go.


Reese: I was, uh, bagged by an insurgent patrol when I was in Kandahar. They used electricity on me. Sixteen hours All they wanted was my name.

—From Foe (s1e08)