I'm really excited about posting this - I hope you like it.

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Being dragged didn't hurt as much as John had anticipated. 'Must be colder than I thought,' he mused absently. He thought about what first Carter and then Finch had told him, and he put all of his energy into just holding on. His surroundings began to fade in and out as he entered something that wasn't quite consciousness.

Finch was breathing hard by the time they reached the car's rear door. Fusco braced the taller man against the car and opened the door while instructing Finch to get in the other side.

Finch obeyed, but when he reached across the back seat to help guide John in, he was surprised to see Fusco peeling off John's warm woolen overcoat. "What are you doing, Detective?"

"You got heated seats back there, right?"

"Yes, of course." Finch interrupted, realizing the detective was correct - the coat would only serve to hold the chill in John's body at this point.

As gently as he could, Fusco lowered John into the back seat. Finch reached to grasp under his arms and together they slid him across until his head and shoulders rested in Finch's lap. Fusco tucked his long legs in after them, tossed in the overcoat, and shut the door.

"Detective! You must go after Patterson-" Finch called through the closed door.

"Already on it," was tossed over Fusco's shoulder as he headed through the cold back towards the house.

While he waited, Finch managed to remove John's suit coat as well and arranged both garments over him as makeshift blankets. Removing the outergarments brought the blood soaked shirt into stark relief in the dim light and Finch was forced to consider the fact that perhaps they were too late after all. Perhaps John had held on just long enough to see his rescuers, but not to be rescued.

Memories of the times John had been badly injured flooded his mind- It had been a close thing in those instances. It would be worse now, considering how far they had to go to reach help. At least they could begin to get him warm. But Finch paused in his efforts when it suddenly sank in that the cold was actually helping to keep John alive. As he warmed, the blood would pour from his wounds at an even faster rate. Finch reached across John and grabbed the first aid kit. He pulled out a package of Celox, opened it, and poured it liberally into John's wounds. Then he gathered up bandages to press into both the entry and exit wounds, just as the front car door opened with a wave of frigid air, and a limp Chase Patterson was deposited unceremoniously into the front seat.

Fusco didn't say a word about the man's condition. He didn't need to. Patterson's situation was much the same as John's. He was slowly dying. Either he would survive long enough to reach medical attention - or he wouldn't. And there wasn't anything to say about that.

John had been watching events unfold as if from a distance. The scene would fade in and out as if in a badly edited movie. He'd observed himself being pulled from one car and into another, and was feeling surprisingly little pain. But now, as warmth began to seep into his battered body, discomfort was beginning to return. It returned with a vengeance when Finch applied pressure to the bullet holes in his chest and back. It was all he could do to repress a moan.

Fusco was panting as he dropped into the driver's seat. "Guy's heavier than he looks!" he complained. He reached over and pulled the seat belt around Patterson, buckling him into place. When he had the unconscious man secured, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a water bottle which he tossed over the seat to Finch. "It's just water - but I popped it in the microwave so it's warm. Get him to drink it if you can." He put the car into gear rather forcefully. "Hey - you use that new blood clotting thing?"

Finch was surprised at the thoroughness - and thoughtfulness of the detective. "Well done, Detective. And yes, the Celox seems to be working as advertised." He commented, and looked down at John.

John had not moved nor made a sound since they had taken him from the frozen car and Finch looked down at the too pale face resting against his chest. The intimacy of their positions felt awkward and uncomfortable, but if his own warmth would help John, he would endure. This was no time for social propriety. John's eyes were sunken. His cheekbones stood out even more than usual and his lips no longer held any color save a tinge of blue. Needing to reassure himself once more, Finch rechecked John's pulse, while managing to keep pressure on his wounds - the clotting agent would not work without continued pressure.

"M'still here." John whispered, gasping. "Maybe... not quite... so hard?"

Finch cringed in sympathy. After everything John had been through the last thing he wanted to do was cause more pain. "I'm afraid I must stop the bleeding, John." He spoke firmly. But then, "I'm sorry." he finished in a whisper. He shifted slightly so the arm beneath John's shoulders would serve both to hold the bandage in place on the smaller entry wound, and to lift his head slightly. "Here, try to drink this." he murmured and held the bottle of warm water to John's lips.

John managed a small sip and then coughed painfully. Finch grimaced and looked away. It was then that he noticed they were already moving. Fusco was driving just as fast as he dared given the conditions.

Since Finch couldn't maintain pressure on the larger exit wound and hold the water bottle at the same time he did the more necessary of the two. He tucked the warm water bottle under the coats covering John's shivering torso and pressed down harder on the mass of gauze that was slowly becoming saturated.

John moaned. He was deciding that he actually preferred the cold at this point. The spreading warmth was revealing far too many aches and pains: His chest, of course, but also his extremities were starting to throb miserably as circulation returned. He was beginning to think it might be nice if he would just pass out. But he knew that if he did, he probably wouldn't wake up again.

To distract himself from his pain, he thought back to the warmth and kindness, the love that Carter had offered him. "Miss her." He whispered to Finch. "So… much…"

"Yes… So do I… We all do." Finch murmured to him. He now believed that the apparent hallucination brought on by the last stages of hypothermia had very probably saved John's life. John's own subconscious - which had known what to do in order to survive - had presented itself to John in a form that would be the most comforting - the most helpful. "But I know that you do…" Finch pursed his lips, recalling what he had witnessed in the moments immediately following Detective Carter's demise.

Before the night Carter was killed, Finch had seen his employee down, seen him hurting, seen him upset, angry, coldly furious... Even with Jessica - when Finch had seen John in the hospital, he'd seen a man in shock - a man tossed adrift on a sea of regret and betrayal, anger and pain. The awful night Joss died, he seen John utterly broken. Never had he seen the man lose control of his emotions so completely.

Finch had very much liked and respected Joss Carter, but he had not grasped precisely how much she meant to John until after she was gone. The two had been cut from different parts of the same cloth. Joss, in her own way, had been the only one truly capable of understanding the man John had become. Finch repeated himself in a whisper, "But I know that you do...much more."

"Finch?" Came the breathless inquiry.

"Yes, John?"

"How'd you find me?" He swallowed. "I didn't… I should've…"

"You have Detective Fusco to thank. He realized the... significance of the Patterson file… What it could potentially mean to you. He called with the location of the cabin, and we came."

'...and we came...' The sentiment echoed in John's mind. It was so simply stated as if it were self-evident.

"Fusco…" John whispered mostly to himself. Considering how they'd met it was really incredible what a dependable friend the man had become over the years. Then John asked "Why?" This time the whisper held just a touch of desperation.

"Why?" Finch repeated. He was puzzled and wondering if he'd heard correctly.

Then Finch slowly raised his head and stared, unseeing, out at the passing snowbanks. He was suddenly reminded of a conversation that had taken place not too long ago. He'd returned to the library following the conclusion of one of their cases only to find John packing away their first aid kit and cleaning up a mass of bloody gauze. Finch had frozen in surprise and concern as he had not known anyone had been injured.

John had looked a bit sheepish and had actually apologized. "Sorry, Finch. I haven't had a chance to replenish the supplies at my apartment, and I knew you'd be fully stocked… I'll replace what I've used."

Finch had found that explanation disturbing on several levels.

For one thing, the first aid supplies he'd originally stocked and then made arrangements to be periodically restocked in John's apartment were extensive. It bothered him that they were dwindling at such a rate.

It bothered him even more that he hadn't known there'd been a need. John had not revealed that information - intentionally or unintentionally. Finch could usually tell, simply by tone of voice, or certain involuntary grunts when John had been injured. This time he'd missed it - probably by John's design.

It was also troubling him because it was not the first time John had purposefully concealed his needs.

However, at the moment he'd been most concerned by the amount of blood on the gauze his friend was currently stuffing into a garbage bag. "Mr. Reese!" Finch had protested in concern. "Why didn't you tell me you'd been injured?" And Finch had caught a glimpse of honest surprise on John's face. It was gone less than a second later to be replaced by a frown as if to say, 'Why on earth would I do that?'

Finch's jaw had nearly dropped. In his mind there was so much wrong with that question he didn't know where to begin. But several things he'd suspected about his friend for some time now were solidified in his mind: John either saw himself as utterly self-sufficient -or… perhaps… utterly disposable?
They needed him desperately, but he was making it abundantly clear that he felt no need of them. Or - Finch realized with sinking heart - he wished to feel no need of them.

He'd been both hurt and disturbed by the revelation, as well as distressed for his friend, so he'd responded aloud to John's unspoken question: "Why on earth wouldn't you?"

John had given him an infinitesimal, one shouldered shrug and said simply, "No need."

Finch had opened his mouth and then shut it again. Then he had watched as John had nonchalantly finished cleaning the table, gathered up the bag of refuse and brushed past him on the way out.

"Goodnight, Finch." He'd spoken over his shoulder. "I'll be back in the morning unless we get a number before that." And he'd left for the night.

Finch had been left blinking then. He blinked now, and looked back down at John, whom he realized was still waiting for a response to his question.

"You know why." Finch protested. He realized rather suddenly that perhaps it wasn't only John's body that was hurting. John couldn't fully grasp why they had wondered about him, worried about him, and then come looking for him.

"'Cause you're my friend." John rasped.

Finch stared down at him. Interpreting John's various tones of voice had always been a challenge. The man was extremely reticent. Listening to him was a bit like tasting wine - hints of varying flavors were often present.

In this simple statement, Finch heard physical pain, definitely. Beneath that there was some confidence (at least their friendship was something of which John was certain).

But Finch also heard wonder - as if John couldn't - or wouldn't - accept the full reality of the their friendship - nor its accompanying and inherent - vulnerability; a vulnerability which was anathema to John.

Maybe now - that wall was finally beginning to crumble.

Analyzing the few words John had spoken since they'd reached him, Finch asked gently, "What else did Detective Carter 'talk' to you about?"

John's eyes drifted... unfocused. Talking with Finch was distracting and comforting. As he thought about the question he was glad to have a reason to ignore the fact that he was feeling weaker, detached - that his body was slowly fading. His lips curled into a bit of a smile again, this time, at his own expense. "Said... I should… do a better job of making friends…"

Finch frowned at that. After hours alone, bleeding in the frozen wilderness- Perhaps John was finally ready to listen.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "John... You have known friendship... and you have known love…" He chewed his lip. "They often lead to pain - I know." His voice faded a bit thinking of the losses they'd both experienced… but then he rallied. "But we are resilient, you and I." Grimacing he looked again out at the cold night before continuing. "You can feel those things again, John… There are those who sincerely care about you- not just your skills, your… contributions to our mission - but about you." He looked down at the eyes that were still watching him intently in spite of the fact that they were beginning to droop. "You only have to… You need to let them- to let us… in." Finch paused in thought for a moment, then continued to murmur. "You have always maintained a certain… distance... Perhaps it is time that changed." Finch frowned once more because John was losing consciousness and he wasn't finished. He added a bit more urgency to his tone. "John- you have to understand... that whether you like it or not… you are not alone."

The ice-pale blue eyes lost their fight and slid closed.

"John?" His first panicked thought as John seemingly lost consciousness was that he'd allowed himself to become distracted from his ministrations. That he'd eased up on the life-saving pressure he was putting on John's wounds.

He hadn't.

Physically, they were doing everything for John that they could under the circumstances. Whether it would be enough to save his life remained to be seen.

But Finch had realized that there was slightly more at stake here than he'd first realized. It was important to him that his friend accept this truth - especially if these were to be John's last moments. "Were you listening to me, Mr. Reese?" He demanded.

John's eyes had closed because he no longer had the strength to hold them open, but an infinitesimal smirk caught the corner of his mouth, and Finch could just barely make out the whispered "Always."

Sarcasm - not quite acceptance. Finch frowned, then sighed. This was something they would have to work on further - perhaps when John was not gravely wounded and half frozen in the backseat of a car too far from medical attention.

The smirk remained as John's breathing deepened slightly and became a bit more even. Finch checked his pulse once more and found it to be still weak - but marginally steadier. He felt John relax slightly - hopefully not in a loss of consciousness, but in sleep.

"Hey!" Fusco called over his shoulder. Concentrating on the treacherous roads, he'd been oblivious to the preceding conversation. "How we doin'? Wonderboy still with us? He gonna be okay?"

Finch looked out at the pink light seeping over the horizon signalling the dawn of a new day. He sighed as he thought of the miles they had left to go, and of the 'distance' yet to be travelled... "I hope so, Detective, I hope so."

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A/N I was uncomfortable writing this in the first place. "Terra Incognita" is the only 4th season episode I've seen.

As of this posting, I'm just over halfway through the 3rd season. For me, Carter's death is still fresh. The machine has only begun to 'speak.' There is still quite a bit of animosity between John and Ms. Groves... (will he ever forgive her for kidnapping Finch? - not that he should...)

Getting character voice right is extremely important to me so I was hesitant to write anything that would be beyond my knowledge, but I simply COULD NOT just leave that story to end like it did.

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On the other hand - I've decided to write an 'alternate ending to an alternate ending' if you can believe it.
If you, like me, prefer everything to stay in line with the show, quit here.
If you want to read more of this story - even if it becomes a little OOC or AU (due to my lack of knowledge). Read on. I will attempt to answer most if not all of the questions people have asked in the comments on this story. (with special thanks to Ravenhusker for the inspiration)

If you have questions, things you wish you'd seen in the episode - let me know and I'll try to address them.

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All that being said, I reserve the right to come back and write more when I've caught up to everyone else. :-)

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And, as always - please let me know what you thought, if you have a moment...