It was already six weeks since she was gone, but John still couldn't get over it. He felt guilty: Simmons had come after him, his number had been up, he was supposed to be the one, he was the target … if only he had had his gun he could have saved her, instead he had seen her die in his arms, without being able to do anything. Elias had taken care of that son of a bitch, and he was glad for it, not as much as he would have if it had been him to do it, though. He would have liked to take care of Quinn too, but after the assault of some tall, dark and deranged, FBI had moved the guy to a much safer place, somewhere no one could ever find him, not that John hadn't tried, but by the time he had woken up even the tiny tracks the Feds had left were gone. John had left Harold alone with the psycho and the loose canon that was Shaw, but there was no choice, he didn't feel like sacrificing his ass for strangers anymore. In almost three years he had saved so many people, even those who didn't deserve it, but now he needed time for himself, he needed to be alone for a while, not to think, that was the only one thing he should avoid, but simply because he didn't feel like going on with her memory still so vivid. At the beginning Finch had understood, was rarely talking to him but never let him alone, was it only because he feared an extreme act … and actually the bullet was still there, tempting as ever, waiting for its owner to make up his mind, but inside there was that voice that kept telling him "she wouldn't have wanted this". She wouldn't have wanted it, that was the only thing that kept him alive, if his was life … he was dragging himself through the city like a ghost, without any hope, without feeling anything other than despair and sorrow. His heart was still aching, he was bleeding inside, the physical wounds might have been cured, but inside he was dying. He believed everyone deserved a second chance, everybody except for him … his demons had never left him, except for when he was with Joss, and when Finch had told him his number was up, he had just looked at her, being glad she had called him, being happy he could spend his last moments with her.
- No one I'd rather be with at the end.
He had told her, she had smiled, probably not really reading between the lines of what he was saying. Then that son of a bitch had shown up, taking away the only thing that had allowed him to go past the darkness he had been through. That day at the precinct, when they first met, she had saved him without even knowing it, starting from then he had felt like there was still a reason to go on, she had made him believe that not all human beings are rotten to the core, that there are some people the world can't afford to lose, some people who made living on this corrupt planet a little better.
Finch had respected his will of being alone for a while after he had left the team, but John had soon started to see either Lionel or Shaw pop up, carelessly asking if he was ok once they were caught following him. Harold had called Zoe too for the purpose, but nothing could keep him away from his sorrow. His Joss was gone, there was nothing that could make him feel better. He did feel she would have wanted him to go on, but there was no way he could do that, not yet. After the shooting he had woken up, looking around, recognizing the safe house, he had looked for her too, thinking, no, hoping that the foreseeing Finch had saved Joss too, but then he had remembered seeing her close those beautiful eyes forever … sorrow hit him like a ton bricks, he felt like having his own heart ripped out, but anger had soon taken the place of pain, out of despair he had jumbled everything, without a care for the not yet totally healed wounds. Finch was out, only Bear was with him. The dog had barked out of happiness once he had seen him open his eyes, licking his hands, but he had soon understood his owner wasn't ok, and once he had seen him make that mess he had gone hiding, having never seen John act like that. Reese had put on his bloody clothes and gone out, looking for Simmons. Revenge wasn't the answer, he knew that, but hell, that son of a bitch deserved the most painful death he could give him. Nothing could have stopped him, he had ignored the physical pain, had left his phone in the safe house in order not to be disturbed: he needed to wake up the real monster, and he did. But at the exact moment he had been about to end Quinn, Finch had shown up, reminding him that she wouldn't have agreed.
- Mr. Reese … you know what Joss sacrificed to bring this man down on her terms … legal terms.
Oh, he knew it, he knew she had sacrificed everything to bring down Quinn and HR; she could have killed him, hell, one word from her and John would have gladly done it himself, but no, she wanted to do it legally, and that cost her life. So not even being once again reminded that she wouldn't have wanted that had stopped him, but the gun had misfired, like the ultimate sign Joss wouldn't have agreed. He had slept for the next three days, and that had been the last time he really had, actually, once he had woken up, insomnia had struck him, not allowing him to close his eyes for more than a couple of hours per night. He had stopped answering to Finch's calls, and when his friend had become insistent John had just thrown the phone in the Hudson. The only reasonable thing he was always doing was checking if Taylor was ok; the boy lived with his father now, so he was safe, but John kept guarding him, simply because he had made a promise to her.
He was in the park, sitting on a bench, looking at the sky, wondering if she was looking after him from heaven. He had heard someone approaching, but didn't care about it.
- For the thousandth time I shall remind you, Mr. Reese, that Joss wouldn't have wanted you to give up your life like this.
John looked up at Finch.
- And for the thousandth time I tell you leave me alone.
- I can't keep watching you go on like this, you must react!
Harold, despite Shaw and Fusco's warnings about Reese's possible violent reactions, came closer and sat next to him, looking at him in the eyes.
- Weeks have passed, I've given you time, but now I must insist …
- Like you never have, right, Finch?
- I'm doing this for your own good.
- You wanna do something good for me? Just leave me alone.
- You forget there are people who care about you, we're all worried.
John smirked. He couldn't imagine Shaw being concerned about him, or anybody.
- You don't have any number to take care of?
- Miss Shaw is doing it right now.
- Good, so you don't need me.
- It's not a matter of need, Mr. Reese, it's about you throwing away all you've achieved.
- And what have I achieved, Finch? What? I've been saving strangers for three years and was never able to do the same for my people, the ones I cared about.
- You couldn't have done anything for them, it's not your fault!
- I shouldn't have let Joss take the bullet for me, I should have died in her place!
- Yours is just survivor's guilt.
- And yours is useless talking. For the last time, Finch, leave me alone!
Harold felt his friend was beginning to lose his temper, and he knew how dangerous he could be when out of control, but didn't move.
- I just want to help you, John. You can't keep going on like this.
Reese didn't answer but just stood up.
- Keep yourself away from my sight, Harold, it's for your own good.
He said, then walked away, leaving a stunned Finch on the bench. Once he came back to the Library, Harold found Shaw playing with Bear.
- Any luck?
He shook his head, then asked about Mr. Longman, the number she had taken care of while he was talking to John.
- Everything in order. The guy was scared but got it.
Meanwhile John was once again losing himself in alcohol, trying to forget his pain, never succeeding, obviously. It was 3 in the morning when he fell asleep, dreaming of her again, waking up more aching … that had been his daily routine since weeks. Always the same dream: there was this gorgeous silhouette, he kept running trying to reach her, but always failing. Once again he woke up in a sweat, stood up and went at the window, looking at the empty street. Even New York, the city that never sleeps, was now being silent, commemorating the angel that had encountered a premature death. John felt his eyes filling with tears, but didn't try to stop them. Tried to go back sleeping, but ended up staring at the ceiling, as usual. When the sun rose he just stood up, put on the first clothes he found and went out. Like always, he approached the house of Paul Carter, seeing Taylor come out. Every time he saw the boy John couldn't help feeling a little smile come up to his mouth, thinking of how similar Taylor was to his mother, but then he remembered that she was gone and subsequently felt that familiar pang in the heart that reminded him how much he missed her. He followed Taylor from afar, and left only when he saw the boy entering school. He turned the corner and found a man waiting for him.
- Thought I found ya here.
- What do you want, Fusco?
- Glasses' s worried, says you're looking always worse.
- So he sent you?
- Nope, someone called cops … there's some suspicious tall guy in a suit sticking around the school.
- I made a promise.
- Yeah, but the boy's safe, HR's dead.
- Not all of 'em.
- Quinn's going to get what he deserves.
- Seriously, Lionel? You seriously think that son of a bitch won't make it this time too? He has too many friends.
- Carter's evidences are enough to put him in jail for the rest of his life.
John smirked. In his mind jail wasn't enough. Joss had suffered way too much because of that man, it wasn't revenge, it was justice, Quinn deserved death. He hadn't stopped trying to hunt him down, but Feds had done their job, no one knew where he was. However, there was someone that could find the answer … someone who had particularly taken advantage from all that mess. John didn't know about the special relationship Carter had with Elias, so when he came to know the mob boss had had Simmons killed, he just thought it was revenge for himself, for how he had been treated. The new Godfather, as Elias was now called, had regained the control of the city, and without HR and the Russians to worry about, nothing could stop him. John had seen him a couple of weeks before, having found one of his refuges. Elias' men, except for Scarface, had instantly taken out their guns once they'd seen him appear from nowhere, but with one gesture the boss had calmed them down.
- Had I known, I would have prepared something special.
He said, with his usual smile.
- To what do I owe the pleasure, John?
He continued. Reese looked around: there were three men in the room, plus Scarface and Elias, all of them, except for the boss, were carrying a gun and were looking at him sideways, but John wasn't scared, hell, he'd faced much worse than a couple of ominous minions.
- I need a favor.
He said. Elias nodded, and with a gesture sent his men away; before leaving, Scarface looked at John, telling him just with the eyes that he'd make him pay for it if he'd try anything against his boss, then he passed him, not before having slightly pushed him with his shoulder. John didn't react, he had no will of fighting, plus it would have been counterproductive.
- What can I do for you, John?
The boss asked.
- You know what I want. Quinn. Where can I find him?
Elias smiled.
- I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you.
- You can't or you don't want to?
The boss' smile became wider.
- You see, I could give you what you want in a couple of days, but then I'd lose my chess partner.
John smirked. It was so Finch … he had to think he would have contacted Elias to get Quinn. Reese left without saying anything else, knowing it would have been useless. He didn't stop looking, he called even Zoe for help, knowing she wouldn't have said no, and she didn't, but her acquaintances weren't enough, Quinn remained untraceable, so John just gave up. He spent the next weeks doing the same things every day: wake up, check Taylor, spend the rest of the day hanging around the park, checking Taylor again now and then. His routine was interrupted only by Finch visiting him only to repeat the same things over and over again. Six weeks and his pain hadn't relieved, not even a bit, he felt like it was yesterday that she had breathed her last breath in his arms. Fusco was still looking at him, lost in his grief.
- Look, we all miss her, but life goes on.
John knew he was right, but he just couldn't let her go, not yet. They had been walking while talking, and once they stopped, John found in front of him the diner where he and Joss had met a couple of times. He remembered the first meeting after he had been shot by Snow and his mate. Carter had betrayed him after he had saved her life, but he wasn't mad at her, he understood, she had been fooled by those CIA guys, he knew Snow was a very good liar. Remembering moments with her was way too painful for John, every time he simply heard her name or think about her or see something that reminded him of her, he felt his heart aching, like it was being squeezed, and the sight of that diner was no exception. Fusco saw him stop all of a sudden, looking in the diner, he looked at him, not understanding what he was doing.
- You've see something interesting?
He asked, receiving no answer. John was already lost in his memories. Meanwhile Finch was answering a phone call from the Machine: another number. Once he came back to the Library he found out whose number was, but when he did, he felt his knees trembling … Grace Hendrick's name had come up.