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Joss: It's like what you told me before: whether I liked it or not I wasn't alone…
Neither are you.

John: Will you stay with me?
Just for a little bit?

Joss: Yes
Of course
Just hold on, John...

There was really nothing left for him to hold on to. But because she asked, he would try...

...

Headlights in the distance.
He waited a moment to make certain that they were real and not just another hallucination.

John: Hey Joss
We made it

But she was no longer there…

An emotion that was equal parts loss and acceptance flowed through him as his eyes slid back toward the lights.

oO0Oo

Reflexively, in spite of the fact that his body was dying, a part of his mind examined the approaching vehicle for threats. It wouldn't be the first time an enemy had appeared when he so desperately needed a friend. He watched as the car, rather recklessly considering the ice and snow, pulled over, the passenger door open before the car had stopped moving. When it did, the figure that emerged moved with a very distinctive limp.

Finch.

With Fusco behind the wheel.

John's eyes slid closed in relief. He could rest - finally - just for a moment.

oO0Oo

"Mr. Reese? Mr. Reese!"

He heard Finch's voice as if from far away.

He felt a wave of cold air as the car door beside him opened. He found it vaguely interesting that he could barely detect the change when his own skin was so similar in temperature.

"John!"

He realized belatedly that he should really open his eyes. Finch was there to rescue him. He should at least have the courtesy to make eye contact, but he was just too tired.

"Is he dead?" Fusco's voice sounded like he was underwater.

"John?"

Finch was obviously trying to ignore Lionel's question. 'Good idea...' John thought. But the concern in Finch's voice worried him. He felt fingertips at his throat - checking for a pulse, he realized, and made the herculean effort to raise his eyelids. "Finch." He whispered.

He saw Finch's small, pained smile of relief. Heard Fusco exclaim something - but he wasn't sure quite what. Then the detective said something about Patterson and his voice moved farther away.

Finch was talking and he tried to pay attention. "I am sorry, Mr. Reese, that we didn't get here sooner."

"S'okay, Finch…" Talking took so much effort, he paused to rest after every few words. "Didn't tell… anybody…" Finch's hands were doing something with his coat and shirt, but he could barely feel it. "Joss said… no one's… coming."

The hands stilled.

"Joss? Detective Carter?" Finch asked in concern.

He smiled sleepily.

"John… Detective Carter is-"

"Gone… I know…" He continued to smile, sadly now. "But she was here… helped me… Wouldn't… have... made..." It was just too much trouble to finish the thought, wouldn't have made it without her, so he fell silent and the feeling of loss returned.

"Ah."

The brief response told John that Finch really had no idea what to make of his words- but it didn't matter.

In fact, at the moment, there seemed to be very little that did.

Then Fusco was back. "Looks like Patterson OD'd, but he's still breathing. You know who the popsicle over there is?" He gestured toward the body in the snow.

The question jolted John to a slightly higher level of alertness. The case mattered. That was why he was here in the first place - to close Carter's case. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and tried to explain since he wasn't sure he'd get another chance. "Brother… half-brother... Forced Chase to take the pills… Killed his family…" He raised his eyes to Finch's, hoping the man could make sense of his explanation.

Finch nodded, mostly to keep John from exerting himself further. "I understand, John. We'll take care of it. Now let's get you someplace warm." Finch was shivering after only a few minutes at this temperature. John had been here for hours - slowly losing heat - slowly freezing.

John frowned as 'someplace warm' didn't sound like a very good idea. "No... Too hot…"

Fusco had climbed into the car from the other side and had already tried the frozen ignition. But at John's words he shared a look with Finch. "That ain't good."

"No, it is not." Finch agreed. He hadn't thought the situation could become more urgent, but it had. "Put your arm around my shoulders, John. We'll get you to the car. You're going to be fine."

When there was no movement Finch leaned closer, "John?" he asked gently.

John's slight grimace was almost petulant, "Trying…" His arms simply would not respond to his commands no matter how hard he tried. Lifting his eyelids had taken a supreme effort. His arms were quite a bit heavier.

Finch sighed briefly, his worry growing by the moment. How cold could the human body become and still be able to recover? Take a significant amount of blood loss into account and how much of a chance did John actually have? But he wasn't anywhere near giving up. "Please, forget I asked. Detective Fusco and I will handle things. You only need to hold on, John. Just hold on."

Finch took his arm and pulled it over his shoulders as Fusco came around the front of the car and pulled his legs out onto the snow. 'This is going to hurt...' thought John. Anticipating the pull he would feel stretching his wound, he braced himself.

Between them, Finch and Fusco managed to get John out of the car. Then, an arm over each of their shoulders, they pulled him towards the still running - warm - car. Finch simply ignored the pain in his back and the knowledge that tomorrow's aches would be nearly unbearable. Losing John would be unbearable. He would endure any pain if it meant keeping his friend alive.

oO0Oo
TBC…
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