Disclaimer: Credit to Jonathan Nolan, Greg Plageman, and the POI writing team. Bolded sections are straight from the episodes.
QUEENSBRIDGE PARK
Chapter 61: before, after ShotSeeker
John Reese has always been a morning person, and Elena Cassidy is, too. Yet they find ways to stay in bed as late as possible.
This morning, Reese's fingers are running over her thigh. But it's not his usual teasing touch. He's tracing over the scar there, from the store shooting.
Another hand reaches down to still his movements. He turns to see Elena's brown eyes watching him.
"I know it isn't pretty," she says lightly, "but I barely remember it's there most days."
"It's beautiful. Because it's part of you. And because you're here despite it."
She gives him a sad smile as her fingers trace over the bullet scars at his shoulder, his side, about a half dozen other scars that she can see.
"And I suppose all these mean you're utterly gorgeous," she muses. "You always are the overachiever."
She places a kiss on the scar on his shoulder, then moves down to place one at his side, then lower ...
His phone rings.
"Yeah, Finch?" Reese answers and tries to sound his usual stoic self while Elena does her best to distract him.
"We've got a new Number, Mr. Reese. I'm sending you his details. Conveniently, he works for the NYPD's Real Time Crime Center, so Detective Riley should have no trouble getting close to him."
"Got it."
He ends the call and stops Elena before she can venture any further. "Gotta get to work," he says apologetically.
She smiles ruefully as she lays back against the pillows. "No rest for the Man in the Suit?"
"Speaking of which ..." He tugs at the hem of his button-down shirt that she's wearing. "Gonna need my shirt back."
She gives him a look. "You have other shirts, John."
"But this one's my favorite," he says, beginning to relieve her of it.
"You're going to be late," she warns.
"You know, they say I'm fast —"
"Okay, that's not always a good thing." She frowns. "Who's 'they'?"
"Highly efficient. Skilled. Creative," he lists with each button he undoes.
"John. Don't you know that it's better to show than tell?"
He flicks the last buttons open and slides the shirt from her shoulders. Needless to say, he is going to be late for work that morning.
Elena knocks on the bathroom door. "Come on, John. Your hair looks fine. I'm going to be late."
The door jerks open. "Late for what?"
Elena refuses to let herself be distracted by the sight of him just in a towel.
"Work," she says, darting into the shower.
Reese stares at the curtain she'd just shut in his face.
"Elena," he says in a warning tone. "What do you mean 'work'?"
"What it usually means: going to my latest placement and doing my job —"
"No."
In the shower, Elena freezes. "What do you mean 'no'?" There's a warning in her voice, too.
"You can't put yourself in danger like that."
"Relax, it's not an 'Elena Clark' placement. It looks like a small startup that probably just needs a good organization system."
"Elena, you almost died a few weeks ago. Take some more time off."
"And you almost died, what, yesterday? You take some time off," she retorts.
"That's different."
She opens the shower curtain. "Really? Please tell me how."
He refuses to be distracted. "I'm a cop."
"Oh, you're going to pull the cop card? Because that's up for debate."
"Elena."
"John."
He hears his phone beep from the bedroom. Probably Finch checking in. He closes his eyes.
"Go to work, John. I have to get to work, too."
Reese shakes his head. He'd have to trust Elena can handle wherever the Machine is sending her.
But that doesn't stop him from slamming the bathroom door behind him, even though he'd just fixed the lock on it the other day.
"Hey," Elena says from the bathroom doorway a few minutes later, as he finishes dressing. "I like my job. I like helping people. You, of all people, should understand that."
He gives her a Look as he inserts his earwig and tucks his gun in the waistband of his pants.
"And you, of all people, should understand why I worry," he says as he puts on his suit jacket and fixes the lapels with a harsh jerk.
It's clear no one's winning this argument today.
She sighs. "Let's just both try not to die, okay?"
"Yeah, I love you, too."
And he's gone before she fully processes what he'd just said.
14 hours later
Had it only been this morning he and Elena were arguing about her going to work?
Reese had spent the day helping their Number, whose investigation of a missing person had put himself in Samaritan's crosshairs.
And on top of that, Elias's friend Bruce Moran had kidnapped Reese to get more information about Elias's 'death', forcing him to reveal that the old mob boss is in fact alive, hidden in their safehouse as he recovers a Samaritan assassination attempt.
And on top of that, Fusco had started looking into their Number's missing person, and his partner is probably going to put himself in Samaritan's crosshairs too, if Reese can't convince him to drop it.
Overall, a very long day.
"Off so soon, John?" Elias speaks up before Reese can leave the safehouse. "Give my best to Elena Cassidy."
He watches in satisfaction as Reese stiffens at the mention of Elena. He's surprised John doesn't pull a muscle.
"Elias," he says, injecting every syllable with warning as he turns back to stare down the mob boss. He knows Elias is toying with him, but his patience has run out for the night. "Why do you that name?"
Elias smiles, relishing the reveal. "She's my niece."
Reese takes a half step forward in surprise.
"Well, not by blood, though blood means so little when it comes to family, as you know. Her mother was one of my foster sisters. Bridget was the prettiest girl in the neighborhood. My foster mom was always chasing the boys away. Big brown eyes. Bright smile that could light up the room. Her daughter inherited all those traits. Isn't that right, John?"
Reese's face is determinedly expressionless.
"Bridget always did have a thing for cops, even married one," Elias continues. "It seems her daughter's inherited that trait too."
"Does Elena know?" Reese finally asks.
"Oh, she met her Uncle Carl a couple of times when she was growing up, but I wasn't invited over often. Her father didn't like me much. Her neighbor Mrs. Kelly always had a soft spot for me, though."
"Elias. If you hurt her in any way -"
"I'm not threatening her, John." Elias gestures at the hospital bed he's laying in. "A threat would be empty words anyway. I suppose ... I'm getting sentimental in my old age. It's nice knowing someone — someone as capable as you — will be looking out for little Ellie Marie Cassidy even when I'm gone. One word of caution, though?"
Reese doesn't respond, but he waits.
"Bridget was stubborn and loyal to a fault, to her own detriment." He meets Reese's eyes. "It's a family trait."
After leaving the safehouse, still reeling from the revelation, Reese goes straight to Elena's apartment. When he arrives, he can read tension in every line of her body.
"Elena —"
She turns so quickly her elbow accidentally hits the glass she'd set on the counter, sending it shattering to the floor. She flinches and falls back against the kitchen island, but she manages to stay on her feet this time instead of crumpling into a hyperventilating ball of panic.
Oh no, it's because John's holding her up. Literally. He's crossed the room and lifted her up onto the counter to protect her bare feet from the broken glass.
"El, you still with me?" he asks.
She throws her arms around his neck. "I'm s-so glad ... you're okay."
So she had heard about his kidnapping. "Damn Lionel," he mutters, holding her and trying to get her shaking to subside. "I'm here," he assures her. "Safe and sound and with hardly a scratch."
That brings a small smile to her lips. "Better than usual then." She clenches her fists in frustration as her body continues to shake. "God! I need to stop doing this every time something breaks!"
"It's fine, El. You're fine."
John's hands wrap around her fists and force them to relax, intertwining their fingers. His touch is gentle, his gaze warm.
"I wanted to save you from worrying like this, El," he says sadly.
"But I would be worrying anyway, John. And you wouldn't be here with me," she adds, squeezing his hands. "So I'll take the good with the bad."
"For better or for worse?"
She gives a slight roll of her eyes. "Yeah, something like that."
He drops a kiss on her head before he begins to clean up the broken glass. He spots a scanner hidden in the bread box.
"You listen to the police bands?"
"You're a cop, Lionel's a cop. Of course I listen to the scanner. And freak out when I hear Detective Riley has gone missing."
"So you didn't hear it from Lionel?" He's a little hurt.
"We haven't exactly told him that we're ... whatever we are," she reminds him. "And from the way you were talking to Harold this morning, I take it you haven't told him either."
"Whatever we are?" he repeats confusedly.
"Whatever this is." She gives him an exasperated look when he continues to look at her expectantly. "Not that your ego needs more inflating, John Reese, but the term 'boyfriend' seems rather inadequate for you."
"Partner?"
"I think Lionel's claimed that title."
"Husband?"
Elena scoffs. "Yeah, okay."
Reese smiles to himself. He'd convince her one of these days.
Later that night, they lie in bed, asking random questions to learn more about each other. It's an evolution of their old poker games.
They never do things in the right order.
"What's my middle name?" John challenges.
Elena blinks. "You have a middle name?"
He raises an eyebrow.
"It's ... such a normal thing to have."
"I had a normal childhood, El." He'd told her about his adoptive parents a few days ago. "Any guesses?"
"Um, Christopher?"
"You think my name is John C. Riley?"
Elena rolls her eyes. "I know your last name's not really Riley. So not Christopher?"
"No."
"Edward?"
"No."
"Is it a common name I'll be able to guess?"
"Yes."
"Robert?"
"No."
"Adam?"
His eyes narrow. "No."
"John, there's no way I'm going to guess —"
"It starts with an H."
"Humphrey? Hubert? Hugo?"
He gives her a slightly alarmed look. "Glad you don't pick names for our covers."
"How does Harold pick — oh! Is it Harold?"
"No, El."
She sighs. "I give up."
"Henry."
"Jonathan Henry." She smiles. "I like it."
"I don't think anyone knows that," he muses, then reconsiders. "Well, Finch might."
She laughs. "You trying to make me jealous?"
"You know Finch. He knows everything."
"Does he know where you are right now?"
Reese shrugs. "He respects my privacy."
She gives him an incredulous look. "Do you really think he's not going to find out?"
"I don't need his permission, El. Besides, he likes you. If he liked you any more, I'd be jealous. Fusco, on the other hand ... he'll probably shoot me when he finds out."
"No, he'll shoot you because you don't do your share of the paperwork." She gives him a funny look. "I don't need his permission either. We don't need anyone's approval, John."
It's true, but a little sad, too.
"Do you think your parents would have approved of me?" she asks softly, a few moments later.
Reese allows himself to daydream for a moment, imagining a world where his parents were still alive and he could introduce Elena to them.
"They would have loved you," he says honestly. "But everyone loves you, El, so that shouldn't be too much of a surprise."
"Not Katie Tucker."
"Everyone needs a nemesis."
She snorts. "At least I only have one."
"What about me? Would I have passed muster with your family?"
"You won my grandmother over in about five minutes when you met her. I think my dad would have played hard to get at first, but you would've gotten his approval in the end."
"Really?" His eyes light up in interest. "Why?"
"Because you're as insanely, annoyingly, overbearingly overprotective as he was." It's not really a compliment, but from the smug look on his face, she knows he takes it as one.
"As for my mom ..." her expression grows pensive. "I have no idea who my mom was. Almost all my memories of her are based on photos, or what Grandma and Dad told me."
Ever the spy — or maybe he finally is becoming a cop — he picks out the key phrase. "Almost all?"
"I have this vague memory of her talking to me. I don't know what she's saying, but it's just ... the sound of her voice. And a feeling, of being safe and warm." His arm curls around her more tightly. "I don't even know if it's real, or just something I made up."
"It's real."
Her eyes fly to his. "How do you know?"
"It's real to you. Whether or not it really happened isn't the point. It happened for you, it means something to you." He gives her a rueful smile. "Root or Harold could explain it better."
She squeezes his hand. "No, I think you did just fine."
He has to ask. "What was your mom's name?"
"A very Irish one. Bridey."
So Elias had just been messing with him. He was probably bored out of his mind at the safehouse —
"Well, Bridget really. But everyone called her Bridey."
She settles back against his shoulder, and completely misses the look that crosses his face.
"Bridey Cassidy," he finally says. "Can't get more Irish than that."
"Try Ellie Marie Cassidy," Elena says with a laugh. "Can't beat the rhyme scheme, anyway."
"How about Ellie Marie Cassidy Riley?" he counters.
She rolls her eyes. "Sure, John."
She's brushed it off again. He hides a smile in her hair.
"Luck of the Irish. You found me. I found you."
She shakes her head. "No, I don't think that was luck," she muses.
"What would you call it then?"
"Fate?" she suggests with a yawn. "Some sort of cosmic influence making sure we'd keep finding together, despite all our efforts to run away?"
She feels him nod, and since silence isn't out of place when it comes to John, Elena doesn't think anything of it.
But as Elena drifts off, Reese looks down at the woman beside him and wonders about that cosmic influence.
He wonders about all the things orbiting around Elena Cassidy that intersect with the work he's done for the Machine — Fusco, Elias, Laskey and Carter, Saunders and Casey, Thornhill Services. There's too much for it to be merely coincidence.
Finch suspected as much. Before they'd figured out the threat against her was Katie Tucker, Finch had theorized the Machine had given them Elena's Number because it was matchmaking, engineering ways to get them together.
If it had done that, would it change the way he feels?
No, he decides, pulling her closer. It wouldn't change it one bit.
But he likes to think that even in a world without the Machine, Jonathan Henry would have found Elena Marie, someway, somehow.
