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


QUEENSBRIDGE PARK

Chapter 59: during 6,741 (Part 2)


"Mr. Reese?" Finch calls out when he hears the grill of the subway slide open early the next morning.

"What is it, Finch?" Reese grumbles as he enters dressed just in his shirtsleeves. He's hoping he has an extra jacket there, seeing as his last one was the victim of a paintball. He'd gone through dozens of suits in the earlier years of his and Finch's partnership, but his detective's salary isn't going to hold up to the same abuse. "I'm due at work —"

"I'm afraid the Machine has just given us Miss Cassidy's Number again."

Reese tenses, but fights the urge to jump right into action.

"Are you sure it's working properly?" he asks with forced calm.

"I really don't know," Finch admits helplessly. "Miss Groves and I stayed up all night running additional context scenarios, and there didn't seem to be any problem. But now we've gotten Miss Cassidy's Number two times in a row. If yesterday's call was legitimate and we didn't thwart the real threat against her last night, the original threat must still exist. But then why would it call us again? It's never reminded us about a Number."

"We've gotten the same Number twice before," Reese points out.

"Only because the same person faced a new threat, separate from the former one. I find it really hard to believe two people want Miss Cassidy dead. It must be a bug in the Machine," Finch frets. He meets Reese's eye. "But I don't think either of us wants to risk Miss Cassidy's safety over that possibility."

Reese nods. "I'm going back to her apartment."

Finch doesn't even blink at the indication that Reese had been there all night. "Miss Groves is already on her way."

Reese gives him a questioning look.

"I believe she's taking the Machine's interest in Miss Cassidy rather ... personally."


"Hello, Cheerios," Root greets.

"What ...? Oh!"

Elena backs up as Root strolls into her apartment without waiting for an invitation. She looks appreciatively at Elena, who's wearing a men's button-down shirt that just barely covers the essentials.

"Good morning to you too," she smirks.

"Hey, Ellie, bacon's nearly done and the pancake batter's ready to go, but I gotta run. My uncle just texted saying there's an emergency at the diner ..."

Adam trails off at the sight of Root.

"What's going on?" he asks in confusion. "Wait, you're that detective from last night."

"She's not a detective," Elena sighs.

"How many fake detectives do you know?"

"I think he'd better take his breakfast to go," Root advises Elena. "Or the Big Lug might carry him out, if you catch my drift."

"John's on his way here?" Elena asks incredulously.

"He's on his way up," Root clarifies from near the window, where she'd just caught sight of Reese crossing the street toward the building.

"What?" Adam says in disbelief. "Hang on, I'm not leaving —"

"Your uncle has an emergency," Elena reminds. "I can deal with John."

"I thought you weren't talking to him anymore."

"I don't ... always have a choice in the matter," Elena says honestly.

"If it were anyone else, I'd say you need to call the police," Adam says.

"He is the police," she points out.

Adam opens his mouth to argue, but his phone beeps again. He sighs and gives her a quick kiss on his way out the door. "Fine, call me later?"

"Will do."

Elena lets out a sigh of relief as she closes the door behind Adam and locks eyes with Root.

"Thanks for the warning."

"He's cute," Root observes. "So are you." She gestures in Elena's general direction.

Elena looks down and realizes she's just wearing Adam's shirt and not really much else. "Crap!"

She takes two steps toward her bedroom before the front door opens again and John lets himself in.

Elena's head drops in defeat for a moment before she turns around to greet him with as much dignity as she can muster. "Good morning, John. Please come right in," she says sarcastically.

He gives her a clinical once-over to ensure she's well before moving on to check the rest of her apartment is secure. A hint of color in his cheeks is the only thing that betrays he'd noticed what she was wearing — or not wearing, as it were.

"Saunders said to remind you to take the bacon off the stove," Reese mentions off-handedly.

Elena shakes her head, trying to quell the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. "Do you guys want pancakes?" she offers, moving the bacon off the skillet right before it begins to burn.

"You haven't told her yet?" Reese asks Root.

"Of course not!" Elena answers as she attempts to take up where Adam had left off with the pancakes. "Why would anyone tell me anything?"

Reese's hand closes over hers and the spatula she's wildly gesticulating with.

"Let me, Elena," he insists. She resists for a moment longer. He gives her a look. "You know what happened the last time you tried to make pancakes."

She surrenders the spatula to him and walks to the cabinet on his other side. Root notes with some amusement that Reese's attention is diverted from the stove as Elena reaches up to fetch a third glass and plate. He quickly gets them down for her, ending her rather distracting and revealing stretch.

"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Elena asks as she slides a glass of orange juice across the counter to Root.

Flipping a pancake, Reese glances at Root, who conveniently stuffs a strip of bacon in her mouth at that moment, leaving him to explain.

"Our ... source has told us you're in trouble again."

Elena doesn't react the way he wants her to. She rolls her eyes.

"Still not going to tell me who your source is and where they get their information?"

"It's for your safety," he insists, when she gives him an unimpressed look.

"If I'm already in trouble, what does that matter?"

He gives her a Look.

"Okay, fine," she sighs. "But ... there's no way I'm interesting enough to be the target of a deadly, violent crime a second time, John. I promise, I haven't been helping anyone take down a criminal organization."

"We're in agreement there, sister," Root says. "But," she adds after a glare from Reese, "our source of information is never wrong. Mostly," she hedges, remembering all the bugs she and Harold had just finished ironing out.

"Which means, until we figure out what the threat is, you've got yourself a couple of bodyguards."

"You mean jailers."

"This isn't a joke, Elena."

"I know he's rarely anything but, but John's being deadly serious right now," Root says. "And you should take this seriously, too."

Elena looks from Reese to Root and back to Reese. "All right. What do I need to do?"

"First, have breakfast," Reese says, dividing the short stack of pancakes he'd made between the three of them.

"It is the most important meal of the day," Root chimes in, digging into her share. "So, what did happen the last time you tried to make pancakes?"


"Sure, we can hang out all weekend, but what happens when I go to work on Monday?" Elena asks, trying to get over the weirdness of sitting in her apartment with Root and John.

Well, Root is sitting. John is ... patrolling, she supposes. Walking the length of the room and peering out her window every few minutes.

"You could call in sick," he suggests.

"Yeah, okay, Detective Absentee," she scoffs.

"Wh at exactly do you do for Thornhill Services?" Root asks.

"It can range from being a receptionist to personal assistant to a mix of everything in between, depending on what the client's needs are. Sometimes I get placed at small companies that just need help putting together a better filing system or a bit of organization."

"And sometimes it's a Fortune 500 company with a corporate structure that facilitates sexual harassment?" Root suggests.

"Like yesterday's job?" Reese adds.

Elena sighs. "Why am I not surprised you know about that?"

Reese gives her a stern look. "Executives of Fortune 500 companies have a lot of money and power at stake. Didn't you think that could put you in danger?"

"I get a heads-up if it's going to be that kind of placement and take certain precautions."

She reaches over to her purse and pulls out her fake glasses and a business card. The card is identical to the one she'd shown them at the park a week ago, except for a different last name.

Elena Clark

secretary and

personal assistant

for temporary hire

Thornhill Services

Reese looks gives her a look that could freeze water. "This is not a comic book, Elena," he snaps. "You don't just put on a pair of glasses and suddenly you're invisible."

"You haven't read any comic books, have you? That's not how it works."

"She's right," Root admits.

Before Reese can say anything, however, Elena's phone rings, and Adam's name flashes across the screen. She steps into the kitchen for a semblance of privacy.

"Hey, is your uncle okay?"

"More than okay, Ellie. The 'emergency' was that my cousin just got engaged, and Bob wants to whisk everyone away for a pre-bachelor party in Atlantic City."

"Oh, tell Charlie congratulations!"

"Did you sort that thing out with Rooney?"

"Riley," Elena corrects automatically.

"Right."

She glances at Reese and Root, who aren't even pretending they're not listening.

"Yeah, it's all sorted," she lies. Well, technically it's not a lie. It has been sorted, just without her input. "Go and have fun!"

Elena has to pull the phone away from her ear as the shouting in the background grows louder. "I'll call you!"

"No, you won't," Elena laughs. "Just don't ... get arrested or end up kidnapping Mike Tyson's pet tiger or something."

"No promises!"

Reese isn't looking at Root, but he can feel her gaze on him.

"What?" he bites out.

"You better hope we find the threat to her soon," Root says.

"Why's that?"

"Because you may not have broken under 16 hours of electrical torture, John, but I'm not sure how you'll hold up under a whole weekend alone with Little Miss Normal."


On the whole, Reese thinks he's holding up pretty well.

He cooks, she makes coffee. They take Bear for walks in the park. They sit on her balcony sipping beers, including the fruity one she loves but he hates.

Instead of just grabbing necessities at the nearest bodega, they go shopping at a supermarket and they browse the aisles, wasting time. He doesn't think he's ever done that.

It's both reassuring and unsettling how easily he falls into her life.

And how natural it feels.

And how content he feels.

She doesn't ask about Iris. He doesn't ask about Saunders. Partly because he listens in on their phone conversations, but that's beside the point.

Right now, he's stocking her medicine cabinet with first aid supplies. It's just the latest improvement he's making to her apartment. He's already added a series of stronger locks to her front door, installed shades over her window (and then curtains because she thought the shades looked too plain), and fixed her leaky showerhead. He's considering rehanging the mirror in her bedroom that Fusco had helped put up. He's not quite sure Lionel had found the stud.

"Iron supplements?" he asks, holding up a half empty bottle from her medicine cabinet.

"Turns out getting shot in the leg and losing a shit-ton of blood can leave you a bit anemic."

"That's why you're always cold," Reese realizes.

She gives him a bemused look. "You always notice that, sometimes before I even realize it."

His hand brushes against an orange prescription bottle hiding in the back. The hydrocodone from when she'd been in the hospital. He shakes it subtly. It's still full.

"I keep forgetting to ask, how have you been getting out of work?" Elena asks. "Lionel been covering for you?"

"Been using vacation time."

She frowns. "You shouldn't burn all your vacation on me, John. What if you need time off later to help someone else? Or if you get hurt and need some time off? Or —?"

"Elena, you worry too much."

That startles a laugh from her. "Says the man who's spent the weekend sleeping on my couch on the slim chance someone wants to kill me."

"It's more than a slim chance," he says. "Our information —"

"Oh yes, this mysterious source of information that we cannot discuss."

"Our information is never wrong. Sometimes it isn't clear right away what the threat is. Sometimes we've been too late. But it's never wrong." He turns to face her fully. "I won't be too late for you."

Her eyes are wide but soft as she meets his gaze. "I know, John. And thank you, truly."

Almost without thinking, he reaches over and cups her cheek. His thumb strokes her cheek, the skin smooth and cool compared to his, and he sees a momentary glimpse of panic in her eyes.

"Steak," he blurts out as his hand drops down. "It will help with anemia."

"You think any steakhouse will let us in after?" she asks.

"After what?"

She grins. "After paintball. KC texted me earlier. We're on for tonight, and I need a partner."


The battleground is the top floors of a Midtown parking garage. Instead of two teams, they're divided into five pairs, each assigned a different color.

John and Elena are blue.

"Looks like KC finally solved our sniper problem," Mac says, observing the low ceilings of the parking garage. "No way for you to go high here, LE."

"Guess I'll just have to go low then," she says just before KC's voice crackles over the radio, telling them to get ready.

"I suppose it would be useless to remind you that you are NYPD Detective John Riley and not a former international spy turned super secret vigilante?" Elena mutters as they walk up a ramp.

"You know, Detective Riley isn't such a pushover," Reese points out.

"Right, the Knight of Kneecaps. Well, just remember these are my friends."

"Are you telling me to play nice, El?"

She scoffs. "No, I always play to win. Just don't kill anyone, Junior." She grins at his questioning look. "John Riley. JR. If you're going to roll with the Police Academy Rejects, you gotta have a stupid nickname, too."

Elena learns one thing very quickly: John Reese makes a great partner. Lionel may say Detective Riley isn't worth the paperwork, but he would also be the first to admit that in a tough spot, there's no one better.

John's quick, efficient, takes the lead, and yet still has your back. And surprisingly, he doesn't expect you to just sit on the sidelines either but adjusts his fighting style to enhance your own.

A small part of Elena wishes she could just sit on the sidelines for a minute to watch him. Apart from that one time in the club, she's never really seen John in action, and oh, what a sight it is.

As for Elena, Reese has to admit that Lionel had taught her very well. She had undersold herself when she'd said she was a fairly good shot. But more importantly, she's a wonderful partner.

He and Stanton had developed an efficient rhythm over their years together. He and Shaw had butted heads more often than worked in sync. Root tended to work on her own (or the Machine's) wavelength. He and Fusco are two bulls in a china shop getting by on brute force and dumb luck.

He and Elena, however, work together in a way that just works. She follows his lead, but it's almost effortless, as if she already knows which way he's going to move. He thinks it has something to do with the way they've always been attuned to each other, almost from the very beginning of their acquaintance.

He supposes it should bother him, but he's enjoying it too much.

In fact, he misses a few shots on purpose just to draw it out a bit more.

"I thought we weren't playing nice!" she calls him out on it as they race up a ramp with at least two other pairs in hot pursuit.

"I thought you wanted to have a little bit of fun — down!"

She drops to the ground, and he opens fire over her, hitting the four pursuing them in quick succession. He hears groans behind him, too, and sees blue splotches of paint on the other two teams that had been lying in wait, including Mac, who she'd managed to get on a rather delicate part of his anatomy.

He looks down at Elena, who'd fired from the ground between his legs.

"Told you I'd go low, Mac," she crows as he pulls her to her feet.

KC, who was playing referee, blows his whistle. When LE had shown up tonight with Reese, he'd known exactly how tonight's game was going to end and had been happy to sit this one out.

"I don't think we've ever instituted a slaughter rule but," he gestures at the other teams, who are riddled with blue paint while Reese and Elena are more or less untouched. "I think it's pretty clear Indigo wins."

John Reese can honestly say he's never been hugged upon completing a mission. But as Elena Cassidy throws her arms around him and does a little dance, he can't say he doesn't like it.

"We won! We won!" she celebrates.

"Hey, LE," Mac calls out. "We're the Police Academy Rejects. We always go low."

Elena shrieks as everyone opens fire, bombarding her and John with their remaining paintballs. Reese crouches over her, taking the brunt of the attack, but by the time it's over, they're both dripping with paint of every color.

"Foul! Game was over!" KC tries to intervene, and only earns his share of the attack.

"Shall I kill them all for you now?" Reese asks in a low voice after they've stashed their gear in the trunks of the others' cars and wiped off as much excess paint as possible before getting into his car.

She thinks maybe he's half serious. "Nah, we'll get them next time." Her smile dims slightly at the realization that next time with John is unlikely, so she quickly changes the subject. "Please don't tell Dr. Campbell I've enabled your penchant for shooting people," she quips.

The joke is out before she realizes she'd crossed their imaginary line of avoiding discussing their significant others.

"Sorry!" she says. "I didn't mean —"

"I wasn't planning on telling Iris," Reese says evenly. "We're not ... seeing each other anymore."

Elena blinks. "Oh. I'm ... so sorry. I didn't know. I thought ..." The look of consternation intensifies on her face. "I hope it wasn't ... because of me. I mean, because you were looking out for me instead of ..."

God, shut up already, Cassidy.

Why does the voice in her head always sound like Sameen?

"No, it ... just wasn't working out. I think we want different things."

She just nods, because she doesn't trust herself to speak. She thinks she and Dr. Campbell want the same thing, which is something they both can't have:

John Reese.


Back at her apartment, Elena takes her time towel-drying her hair in her bedroom.

John had showered and changed in five minutes flat, and was now making dinner. Usually she'd join him — not to help (because she truly was hopeless in the kitchen) but just to watch.

But her slip-up on the ride home and the revelation that he'd broken up with Iris had changed something.

And she doesn't trust herself to go out just yet.

Come on, Cassidy. Stop being a little girl.

She really misses Sameen, Elena realizes. Blunt, bold Sameen who always told her she was too nice and then proceeded to solve her problems for her, like bullying their boss into changing their shifts at the store or intimidating pushy customers.

She slams her dresser drawer closed hard enough that it hits the wall and brings down the mirror Lionel had helped her hang. She reaches out to try and stop it, only making matters worse as the glass shatters and sharp bits of mirror rain down around her arms.

It's not the sound of the gunfire that she remembers most from the day of the store shooting. Her doctors had warned her that anything sounding like gunfire might transport her back to that moment. But she'd made it through the Fourth of July without incident, and Adam's beloved car liked to backfire once in a while and it never phased her.

No, it was the sound of glass breaking that did it. The first time it happened, she and Adam were at a restaurant and someone had upset a tray of glasses. She doesn't even remember leaving the restaurant, just that Adam had somehow gotten her to his car before she had a full-blown panic attack.

"Elena. Elena! You're fine. You're all right. Just try to breathe."

She finds herself staring into a pair of intensely concerned eyes. She realizes John is next to her, where she's splayed out on the floor amid shards of glass, glittering pieces scattered across her carpet. He'll cut himself, kneeling on the glass like that -

Warm fingers on her cheek guide her eyes back to his. "Breathe, Elena," he insists. His other hand takes hers and places it on his chest so she can feel the exaggerated but measured breaths he's taking to get her to match.

Oh. That rapid gasping sound was coming from her, she realizes. Her head feels swimmy. Her eyes drift down to her hand on his chest to concentrate better. It's not sweat on her hand, which makes sense because she always gets cold when this happens. No, it's blood. The glass must have cut her hand, and now she's getting it all over his immaculate shirt.

"Breathe, El," he says when he feels her starting to spiral again. "In and out."

"Y-your sh-shirt ..."

He gives her a look of exasperation. "It's fine. You're not."

His bedside manner could use some work. She's about to say something to that effect when the last remaining shard in the frame of the mirror breaks free and shatters on the floor. She flinches at the sound and feels his arms tighten around her before the swirling darkness at the edges of her vision finally close in.


When she comes to, she's no longer on the floor but lying on her bed. She blinks a couple of times as her room comes into focus. There's a doorknob-sized dent in the wall behind her bedroom door from when John had burst in to get to her.

Reese is cleaning and bandaging the cut on her hand. He'd taken off the shirt she'd bled all over and is just in his undershirt. He gives her a small smile when he notices she's awake.

"Welcome back," he says, tying the bandage.

"Sorry I went away," she manages to say, beginning to push herself up.

He stops her. "Just lie still, El."

"Going to start shivering in a minute," she warns him. "It'll look worse than it is."

The crease between his brows deepens. "How often does this happen?"

"Just ... whenever glass breaks and I'm not expecting it," she says, wrapping her arms around herself to try to control the shaking as it starts.

"Has this always happened?" he frowns.

"N-no," she admits. He's giving her a Look, so she elaborates. "It ... it s-started after the store sh-shooting."

Adam had taken it pretty well the first time it had happened, though he'd been a little shaken himself after the crisis had passed. And while John Reese is the definition of calm and capable, somehow she's more worried about how he'll react to seeing her like this.

Because she knows he'll somehow blame himself.

A few minutes later, he has her underneath two comforters and a quilt, and she's still shivering uncontrollably. He distracts himself for a few minutes with cleaning up the broken glass, but he's efficient, as usual, and finishes the task quickly. She can feel him watching her in concern as he paces helplessly by her bedside.

"I'll be f-f-fine," she says. "R-really. It'll pass."

"You don't look fine, Elena," he says shortly.

She would scold him about his bedside manner, but her teeth are too busy chattering and then —

He's too busy getting into bed with her.

He lays down next to her, but ever the gentleman remains on top of the covers. His arm wraps around her shivering form, the weight of it warmer and more comforting than all the blankets combined. She can feel his solid form along her back. And her shivers start to subside.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and he's so close she can feel his voice vibrate in his chest.

"More than okay," she confirms, settling against him.

And she feels herself relax for the first time in months.

She slips her hand into his. Despite the bulky bandage, his hand still manages to cover hers completely.

"Will you stay with me?" she whispers.

She feels him go utterly still. It's the same thing she'd asked him when she'd drunk dialed him from Rome, and then after she'd been high on morphine after she'd gotten shot.

It's the same thing he'd asked her that night in the Catskills. He'd been hallucinating and hypothermic, yes, but he'd meant it all the same.

The arm around her tightens, pulling her closer to him.

"Always."

She feels a burst of warmth in the vicinity of her chest. And she doesn't know if her heart is full to bursting or about to break.

And then they both sleep better than they have in months.


"Mr. Reese, you've been following Miss Cassidy all weekend and haven't found any threat," Finch is saying in Reese's ear the next morning. "It seems she is living a perfectly normal, unthreatened life."

"What are you getting at, Harold?" Reese mutters, as he finishes washing their breakfast dishes, keeping his voice low as Elena gets ready in her bedroom.

"We must entertain the possibility that the Machine gave us her Number for another reason."

"Because it's on the fritz again? Yeah, the paint on my suit could have told you that."

"Not exactly." Finch pauses, trying to decide how to explain it. "When I ... first unleashed the Machine's capabilities, the Machine continually brought Grace to my attention. Not because Grace was in any danger or doing anything that could be constituted as a threat. I believe the Machine had ... identified certain compatibilities between myself and Grace, and —"

"Your Machine was matchmaking?" Reese puts it bluntly.

"Not surprising considering the plethora of apps out there that do just that," Finch points out. "It's possible that the Machine is doing the same now, but for someone else. Someone it considers a primary asset, and his rather lovely former neighbor —"

Reese's expression goes blank. "No, Finch."

"Think about it, John. It would explain why the Machine has engineered so many ways for your path to cross with Miss Cassidy's. Her apartment right next to yours? Thornhill Services? The timing of when we first received her Number, the moment you broke things off with Dr. Campbell? If she's not in danger, then why would —"

"We don't know that she's not in danger. We just haven't figured out the problem yet," Reese insists, and he wishes he didn't sound like he's trying to convince himself.

"Mr. Reese." There's profound compassion in his friend's voice. "Your spending time with Miss Cassidy isn't contingent on her being in need of our help. I know you've distanced yourself from her to keep her safe. But by taking proper precautions, much like with Dr. Campbell, you could enjoy a relationship with —"

"Finch, this is not up for discussion."

"Morning, Harold!" Elena calls out as she exits her bedroom.

Finch sighs in Reese's ear. "All right, Mr. Reese. We have a new Number, but Detective Fusco and Miss Groves can handle it. I'll meet you and Miss Cassidy at the park in half an hour."

"Harold says hi," Reese says, hanging up the call.

"That's all? Seemed like a longer conversation than that."

"I think he's jealous. Bear likes you better."

"Oh please, no one else in the room exists for Bear when Harold is around."

As Reese finishes his coffee — Elena might not be able to cook, but she makes the best damn cup of coffee he's ever had — he watches in amusement as she struggles with the additional locks he'd installed on her door. Taking pity on her, he crosses the room and reaches up to undo the vertical deadbolt. He hadn't really considered her height when he'd installed it. He'd have to rethink —

"John?"

Elena turns to face him. In flats, she's so much shorter than him. She has to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He slowly lowers his hand from above her but doesn't step back.

"The last few days have been ... really nice," she says softly. She gives him a rueful smile. "I mean, probably too normal and boring for you, but ..."

"It has been really nice, El," he agrees. "Best few days I've had in a long time."

"I bet you say that to all the damsels you're trying to save from distress," she says with a small laugh.

The laugh quickly trails off when he rests his hand on the curve of her cheek, and her big brown eyes grow impossibly wide.

"No. Just the one," he murmurs, leaning close.


John Reese used to be able count on one hand how many times he's kissed Elena Cassidy.

A stolen kiss on a park bench.

A ceremonial kiss after they'd gotten married.

A desperate, mistaken kiss later that night.

A goodbye kiss in Italy.

A hopeful kiss in her apartment. Right before everything went wrong.

But then —

There's now.

His lips touch hers, and it's like taking a breath of air after being deprived of oxygen for so long. He tries to give her a chance to breathe, but she wraps her arms around his neck and doesn't let him pull away.

One of his arms snakes around her waist to hold her to him, pulling her up to nearly his height. His other hand is lost in her hair, cushioning her head so it doesn't hit the door as he presses her against it and continues to kiss her with no intention of ever stopping.

A movement on the other side of the door is like a douse of cold water. Reese whirls Elena away, setting her directly behind him while his gun jumps to his hand and he turns to face the threat head on.

"Rooney!" Adam Saunders exclaims in surprise as he finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

His hands automatically go up in a show of surrender. His eyes go from Reese to what he can see of Elena behind him, and a look of realization crosses his face.

Reese turns to look at Elena. The color is still high on her cheeks, her hair is completely disheveled and her lips are swollen. No doubt he looks in a similar state, leaving Saunders with no doubt as to what they had been doing just seconds before.

"Right," Saunders says in bitter resignation, before turning on his heel and leaving.

"Adam," Elena whispers, a guilt-stricken look on her face as she pushes past Reese, running after him. "Adam, wait, please," she begs as she tries to reach him before the elevator door closes. "Listen, please, let me explain ..."

Reese pulls her back just in time to keep the elevator door from sliding shut on her. She stares at their distorted reflection for a long moment, still not quite comprehending how everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

"Elena, come on," he coaxes gently, turning her back in the direction of her apartment.

He's looking at her worriedly, as if he's afraid she's going to dissolve back into that shivering wreck of a woman he'd had to hold all of last night.

And she wonders if that's what draws him to her. A constant damsel in distress to satisfy his hero complex.

"I'm sorry, El —"

"I think you should go," she hears herself saying.

"El ..."

"Please go, John," she says firmly.

"Elena, you're still in danger. I won't —"

She finally meets his eyes. "What danger?" she asks. "You've been here all week, and it's like you've always said: The biggest danger to me is you."

She turns and walks back into her apartment, shutting the door behind her and leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway.


A/N:

Reese: I was 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)