Disclaimer: Credit to Jonathan Nolan, Greg Plageman, and the POI writing team. Bolded sections are straight from the episodes.
QUEENSBRIDGE PARK
Chapter 66: before, after
The Day the World Went Away
"You're dressed," Reese observes as Elena emerges from the bathroom. And while her dress is perfectly tailored and shows her figure to her perfection, he doesn't think it's an improvement on her usual breakfast attire, namely one of his shirts and nothing else.
"Wow, good work, Detective," Elena teases, kneeling on the edge of the bed to give him a quick kiss. "Lionel's coming over for breakfast to celebrate your two-man band getting back together, remember?"
"Damn."
"You promised us homemade waffles, so on your feet, soldier!"
She smacks his face with a pillow as she darts out of the bedroom, but he manages to catch her before she's made it two steps down the hall.
"John!"
"Have I ever told you how I feel about being ordered around?" he asks, looming over her as he braces his arms against the wall on either side of her.
She looks up at him with excited trepidation. "Uh ... no?" she squeaks.
He leans in. "I've always liked following orders. I'm very good at it."
"Oh! Mmm ... well, that must have been a bit awkward when you were in the Army."
"Believe me, El, none of my COs ever got this kind of attention from me."
"It seems I should order you around a bit more often then —"
A loud knock sounds on the front door.
"Ignore him," he suggests, doing his best to distract her.
"John, we invited him over," Elena protests, trying to put some conviction in her voice.
"Then we can uninvite him."
"If you don't stop right now, I'm going to get angry," she warns.
He gives her a sly look. "Promise?"
Another knock on the door.
"Hey, Wonderboy, you better be in your suit — and not your birthday suit!"
Reese drops his head onto Elena's shoulder. "Lionel never could take a hint."
"He wouldn't be Lionel if he could," she points out, dropping a kiss on his cheek before ducking under his arm to open the door.
"Ah, jeez," Fusco groans, taking in Elena's flushed cheeks, and Reese's mussed hair and general state of undress. "Do I need to give you two a minute?"
"A minute?" Reese repeats, affronted.
"No, you come right in, Lionel," Elena says, taking the box of doughnuts from him and leading him into the apartment. She pushes Reese back toward the bedroom with a stern look. "John was just finished."
"Doesn't look like that to me," Fusco mutters.
"You got that right," Reese responds.
"Now, now, boys," Elena chides as she begins brewing some coffee and pulling out the ingredients she thinks John will need to make waffles.
He emerges a few minutes later, perfectly coiffed and fully dressed minus his suit jacket. After tying on an apron, he pulls out the actual ingredients he needs to make waffles and begins mixing them while Elena flits around him supervising the coffee and taking bites out of a doughnut.
Fusco watches them move about the kitchen with bemusement. It's picture perfect domesticity, except for a few things just out of place. Like the gun tucked in the back of Reese's pants, and the taser being charged on the kitchen counter. And Reese's lightning quick reflexes that save a pitcher of orange juice from ending up on the ground.
But Elliegirl and Wonderboy are as in sync with each other as they always have been. They're just not trying to hide it anymore.
And he can't help but wonder how long it can last.
"Look alive, Lionel," Reese calls out, and Fusco emerges from his musings just in time to catch a plate of fresh waffles sliding along the counter.
Elena sets a freshly brewed cup in front of Lionel. Having subsisted on the precinct's awful version of coffee for too long, Fusco practically inhales his first cup.
"Oh my God, Ellie, this is better than s-"
He catches Reese's eye. Reese dares him to finish his sentence.
"Better than, uh, Starbucks," he finishes lamely.
Elena grins. "I bet you say that to all the girls, Lionel."
After a second (and third for Lionel) helping of waffles, more coffee than can possibly be healthy, and a fight over the last doughnut with sprinkles — Reese wins, surprise — they leave Elena's apartment together. The precinct is within walking distance, and her current work placement is conveniently on the way.
"Well, this is me," Elena says, stopping in front of an office building with a steady stream of professionals power-walking through the revolving doors. "Try not to kneecap anyone today, darling."
"No promises," Reese says honestly before giving her a quick kiss. "Got your taser?"
"Fully charged," she says, patting her bag. She winks at Lionel. "Keep Wonderboy out of trouble for me, will you?"
After making sure Elena gets safely through security, Reese turns to his partner as they begin to walk toward the precinct. "What?"
"Yeah, I'm never getting used to that," Fusco says, shaking his head. "I think I liked it better when you were both pining after, not kissing each other."
A payphone rings as they pass.
Reese stops immediately. Fusco stops only when he notices his partner's no longer by his side.
They look at each other before Reese picks up the phone and listens.
"Sierra, tango, bravo, Lima, X-ray, Lima, November, golf, Charlie ..."
The Number ended up being Finch. Professor Whistler, to be precise. His cover identity was blown. Samaritan had found him.
Carl Elias had taken his friend under his protection, hiding him in the Double B's housing project where, coincidentally, he and John had hid once, when they'd first met.
Then Elias died trying to save Finch.
Team Machine had gone on the offensive. They'd actually managed to rescue Finch from Samaritan's clutches.
Then Root died trying to save Finch.
Finch had ended up in custody, linked at long last to a 1973 treason charge. And 15 homicide scenes from the last five years.
Then he'd broken free with the help of the Machine, which had decided to take Root's voice as Her own.
And now no one could find him.
It's early morning by the time Reese returns to Elena's apartment. He and Fusco had been scouring the city looking for Finch, but to no avail.
Shaw had disappeared.
Elena is still in her pajamas, curled up in her armchair by the window, sipping a cup of coffee. She's the picture of contentment and tranquility and normalcy.
He nearly turns on his heel and leaves rather than ruin it. Ruin her.
But she's already seen him, her ready smile vanishing when she takes in his expression.
"What happened?" she asks, eyes going wide in concern. "Are you all right? Are —?"
"Root's dead."
Her coffee cup falls from suddenly limp fingers. He catches it out of reflex.
"What?"
Still holding her cup, he goes to stand by the window, looking out at the New York City skyline with unseeing eyes. "Samaritan found Harold. We tried to save him. She tried to save him ... and got killed."
She stares up at him, trying to understand what he's saying.
"What do you mean 'tried to save him'?" she finally asks. "Where's Harold?" she whispers tremulously.
"Can't find him. Fusco and I have been looking all night." He shakes his head. "He's got to be alive, he must be flying under the radar, planning something. Otherwise ..."
"Otherwise?"
"Otherwise we'd all be dead already."
Elena's still reeling, so she clings to the practical. "What about Root? Where is she? Someone needs to make arrangements a-and —"
"We can't do that," he says grimly.
"Of course we can. I ... I can say she was my cousin or something," Elena flounders. "She deserves —"
Reese finally turns to face her. "She does," he acknowledges. "But that would connect her to you and put you in the grave next to her before they're even done digging hers."
She gives him a look of despair. "John ..."
"I know, El. But it's got to be this way."
"What will happen to her?"
"She'll be buried later this morning. No name. Just a number."
It's fitting, in a way.
"Can I ...?"
He shakes his head. "I don't think that'd be a good idea. Fusco and I'll go. I've texted Shaw but ..."
Elena nods as she turns back toward the window. "I didn't even really know her. I don't think she liked me. But she saved my life." She makes a hopeless gesture. "She deserves better."
"She saved your life, she saved mine, she saved Harold's," he says. "She deserved everything she ever wanted."
Her eyes meet his in the window's reflection. "And what was that?"
"To defeat Samaritan, give the Machine a fighting chance."
"And that's what Harold's doing?"
He nods. "I've got to find him."
Her phone beeps. She glances down at it as a reflex before quickly swiping the screen off.
"Thornhill?" Reese asks, managing to catch a glimpse.
"Work, a new placement today," she says, shaking her head. "It doesn't mat—"
"No, you should go," Reese says. If the Machine wanted Elena somewhere, that would be the safest place for her. "You need to go to work and pretend like everything is fine."
"What? No! How —?"
He grasps her by the shoulders. "Elena, Thornhill is the Machine. It's the name it uses when it needs to be someone in the real world." He grimaces. Finch or Root could explain it better. "I think it's been looking after you all this time. And if it wants you someplace, it wants you there for a reason. Understand?"
"Not at all," she says honestly.
"Just trust me then," he insists. "You need to go."
She searches his eyes for several moments before she finally nods. "Okay."
His own phone beeps. "Fusco'll be here soon."
He quickly shaves and showers, the routine grounding him after the last 24 hours have rocked their world.
Elena's sitting on the bed when he emerges from the bathroom. They lock eyes as he shrugs on his jacket, and she hands him an umbrella for the steady drizzle now falling outside.
He drops a kiss on her forehead before turning to leave.
"John."
He pauses.
"Sameen. We need to ..." She makes that hopeless gesture again. "She needs someone. ... She's not going to want to talk, but she can't be alone right now."
Despite everything, he feels a rush of tenderness. Oh, Elena. His Elena. Always so worried about others, always with the human, heartfelt reaction to all the crazy, awful things they've brought into her life.
He nods. "I'll find her, make sure she's okay. Be careful, El."
"You too, John."
