Near Death Experience – Chapter 13
Thank you for your patience. Many of you know that I lost someone close to me - I appreciated the kind words and thoughts. They were a source of comfort during a difficult time.
A/N: This chapter is from John's, Joss' and Harold's POV and we also spend some time with Bear.
"For some of us, human interaction is difficult." – Harold Finch, No Good Deed
Despite what his friends thought, Harold Finch rarely listened in on their private conversations. Oh, he liked to know where they were, what they were doing and if they were alright, of course, and he enjoyed teasing and tweaking them occasionally - especially Detective Carter, who always had a tart retort - but for the most part he left them alone.
It wasn't because of some sense of propriety or modesty – during his years developing the Machine, Harold had been witness to the full range of humanity, and while he was often shocked and saddened by what he saw and heard, very little surprised him anymore.
No, he chose not to listen in, because what they often had to say was incredibly dull.
Fusco nattering on about some ancient high school playoff loss, Carter dissecting the minutia of a recent court decision and Reese seeking his own Holy Grail – the perfect hair care product – would make anyone want to tear their own hair out in frustration.
What was fascinating was that they could actually find someone interested in listening to them, but there was always a fellow linesman, prosecutor or store clerk eager to join in, even though Finch suspected that the retailers were interested in John's eyes – or perhaps, his lips quirked, a customer for life.
Harold didn't spare himself from his harsh assessment – even Bear, who normally liked to listen to different voices, accents and sounds, would lower his ears, yawn and wander off to another part of the library when Finch periodically attended global webinars, posing as a Yale University Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library archivist.
Bear treated rare books like sausage – he liked to eat them, but had no interest in hearing how they were made, stored or preserved.
But now Finch would have gladly listened to a million dull conversations instead of the silence.
The silence.
It had started between Reese and Carter, but had ensnared them all in its icy grip, in the way that certain things were not said, in the way that they hid from each other, even if they were in the same room, in the way that they avoided working together face to face.
On the surface, nothing had changed: they were committed to the cause, they were executing their tasks, they were helping people.
But in reality, everything was different.
They weren't a team any more.
XXX
The sound jolted Harold out of a dead sleep.
He sat up, ignoring the shooting pains in his neck and shoulder. Ever since the Machine had been infected with the virus Kara Stanton had uploaded all those weeks ago, Finch had been working in the library almost around the clock, only dragging himself to one of the offices on the other side of the long hallway that had been converted into makeshift bedrooms when he could no longer keep his eyes open.
Fumbling for his glasses, Harold's exhausted mind struggled to understand what he was hearing.
It was crying. Someone was crying.
No, it was Bear.
Something was terribly wrong.
Lurching down the hall, Finch tried to prepare himself.
The alarms and deterrents that he and Reese had installed throughout the library were in place, so Harold knew that no one had breached the old building.
Perhaps Bear was hurt, but as Harold got closer, he realized it didn't sound as though the dog was in pain.
It was as if he was trying to comfort someone.
Bear was standing on his hind legs, with his front paws on Finch's work table, staring at the many blank screens. He turned his head to Finch, his eyes imploring him to come closer, then began that strange sad sound again as he turned back to the monitors.
John. There had to be something wrong with John.
Finch didn't question how Bear knew, how he could sense that something had happened. There are still so many things in this world that are unexplainable, and the bonds that we form, sometimes consciously, sometimes against our better judgment, are some of the deepest mysteries that could never be understood, and probably shouldn't be.
They simply are.
To Bear, Reese was the man who saved him, who literally spoke to him in a language that he could understand, after so many bad situations and so many bad people. Even though Bear spent almost all of his time with Finch, even though he was devoted to Finch, he would always have a special connection with John, would always be waiting patiently for him to return.
Rubbing the back of Bear's head, Finch tried reaching Reese via his earpiece and then his phone, but both were shut off. He sat down, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he accessed the tracking device in Reese's phone. Harold punched up a grid of the street where Reese was located, then brought up the feed from a camera.
Through the swirling snow, Finch saw John Reese on his knees, a look of complete and utter devastation on his face.
Quickly Harold accessed other cameras, scanning nearby streets. He saw a slash of red.
Jocelyn Carter, her head lowered, walking slowly away.
Finch could have rewound the footage, but he didn't have to – he knew that they had hurt each other in the way that only two people who truly loved each other could.
Harold shut down the transformers on the street, knocking out power for several minutes and then reset the electronic clocks of every camera back and then forward several hours, causing them to copy over any footage. If anyone did check the cameras, they would blame the missing data on the snow storm, which had interrupted power in several parts of the city.
He shut off his screens, removed his glasses and slumped in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Bear dropped back down to the floor, nudging Finch's leg. "Yes…yes…I know." he whispered.
Bear laid his head on Harold's knee and man and dog sat there, comforting each other.
XXX
Somehow Joss made it home. She retrieved her phone from her mailbox, checked it and was relieved to find that there were no emergency messages or call outs.
There was a text from the barista, asking if she was okay. Joss replied that she was alright; for a moment she wanted to say something else, to try to explain, but she knew that she had said and done all too much already, so she merely thanked him and told him to take care.
Besides, how could she explain what she didn't understand herself?
Quietly, she opened the door to her apartment. Taylor would be up soon and she didn't want to wake him, didn't want him to see her like this.
As Joss entered her place she was assaulted by the scent of the roses Beecher had sent her. Nauseated, she grabbed the two vases and took the bouquets to her neighbor, Mrs. Gillick, who lived down the hall, placing them in front of her apartment door.
Joss slipped back in her apartment and went to her bedroom, avoiding the dresser mirror as she stripped off her clothes.
But as she walked into her bathroom, Joss caught her image in the mirror over the sink.
She didn't look any different.
Joss stood there in disbelief as her eyes roved over her naked body.
Her hair was wild and her mouth was swollen, but hair could be fixed and her lips were well on their way to assuming their normal fullness.
She should look different, she thought.
There should be something there - a mark, a scratch, a bruise - something to show what she had done last night.
The barista, Beecher and John.
John.
She had screamed at him, punched him, slapped him.
She had taken him into her body in a way that she never had with any other man.
She could still feel him inside her.
Her nipples hardened as she touched the dried semen on her thigh.
Stop, she thought, stop.
She stepped into the shower, determined to wash it all away.
XXX
Reese sat in the store entryway, knees drawn up to his chest.
He didn't feel the cold, didn't feel that his clothes were soaked through, didn't feel the cuts and bumps and bruises.
He sat there, watching the snow fall.
XXX
Just call me Goldilocks.
Joss sighed as she looked at the two coats on her bed.
When had the camel coat become so heavy and the gray coat so skimpy?
She had yet to wear either one this winter.
Neither one of them was just right.
She opened her closet.
Even on a dank, dreary morning like this, it glowed.
Everything she'd worn last night was torn, scuffed, stained or gone – even her silver hoop earrings were missing - except this.
It was perfect.
Perfect.
As perfect as the day it appeared in her bedroom.
Joss pulled the red coat out of her closet.
It was as if the sun was shining in her room, on that first real spring day after a long winter.
Bright and clear and soft and warm, it made you stop what you were doing, stand still and close your eyes while it enveloped you, seeping into every pore.
You felt totally open, yet totally protected at the same time.
And when you finally, reluctantly, opened your eyes, everything around you seemed wan and washed out.
Joss quickly put the red coat on, then left her bedroom without looking in the dresser mirror.
XXX
The parrot had quickly become bored with him and fluttered over to one of his many perches in the display window, but the cat lingered, her large eyes soft and questioning. Reese knew that she was looking for Bear, even though it had been weeks since they'd been at the store, weeks, if he was being honest, since he had spent any significant time with the dog at all.
But of course, Mouse didn't know that. He was here, so Bear had to be nearby.
She tucked her front paws under her chest and settled down to wait.
XXX
It wasn't until mid-morning that Joss noticed the change.
She'd spent the first part of the day at the courthouse with the prosecutors reviewing her previous testimony and then stopped at a coffee wagon as she walked to the precinct.
Gone were the long gazes, the frank stares, the open appraisals from men.
Now there was awareness, acknowledgement, a quiet respectfulness.
They were looking at her as though she was taken.
As if they knew she belonged to someone.
XXX
Reese expected the slow, measured footsteps. The bakery had been open for hours and staffers had noticed him sitting in the main entrance when they entered the display window, spiriting Cat and Mouse away while their space was cleaned before the bookstore itself opened.
The older man who stood before him was a study in contrasts. A neatly trimmed Van Dyck beard highlighted the jagged scar running down his cheek. His t-shirt and apron were sweaty and covered with stains, indicating a morning of hard work, while his sharply creased dress pants and hand tooled leather boots spoke to other, more leisurely pursuits. Faded prison tattoos decorated his strong ropy arms, but his nails were manicured. He shifted back and forth as though his feet were aching, yet the movement was easy and graceful. No gun, but Reese could make out the outline of a truncheon at his waist through his apron and one of those beautiful boots concealed a thin blade in the tip of the toe.
The two men nodded at each other.
"Shorthanded today?" Reese asked.
The man shrugged. "Snow. They see a flake and they turn into flakes. They're all here now." He squatted down in front of Reese, inhaling deeply. "Scotch, sweat, blood and sex – you had quite the night it seems, but you look like shit."
Reese raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I?"
The man smiled softly. "Well, there's the 'I'm fucked, but I can't wait to do it again tomorrow' looking like shit and then there's your looking like shit. Less debauchery and excess…more pain…and loss. A cool tale for a scorching summer day, not now." He stood, tilting his head towards the bakery. "Coffee?"
Reese shook his head.
"I was going to give you ten minutes, but if you don't want coffee, you got five." His voice was calm, but firm. "I'm going to get back to my real job and you should get back to yours." His eyes flickered over Reese. "Sometimes that's all you've got left."
As Reese unfolded his long legs to stand up, he saw a gleaming circle of silver on the ground – one of Joss' earrings. He scooped it up, his eyes casting about for its mate. The older man scanned the sidewalk and gracefully picked up the other one, handing it to Reese. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, but then he stepped back from the entryway.
Reese was halfway down the street when the man called out, "If you come back, bring your friend."
Reese stopped, turned around.
"Mouse misses him." He nodded at Reese and headed back towards the bakery, his steps slow and measured.
XXX
The Homicide Task Force bullpen was quiet and hushed as murder took a snow day. There were deaths related to the storm – car accidents, heart attacks, falls – but no new murders.
Fusco looked up over his bifocals as Joss walked to her desk. "You okay, Carter?" he asked softly, as she took off her coat.
"I'm…just tired, Fusco." Joss tried to keep her hand steady as she picked up some case folders. "I'm going to…"
He nodded, turning his attention back to the work on his desk, but not for the first time, Joss wondered how much her partner had figured out what had happened between her and John.
Her legs were wobbly as she left the bullpen. Trailing one hand against the wall to steady herself, Joss made her way down the hall past the file room to the tiny women's lavatory. She laid the folders on the little shelf over the sinks and then entered one of the stalls, pressing her forehead against the scratched metal door.
She thought she was so smart, thought she had it all figured out, that it was just a simple matter of biology and stress, that if she read enough, worked enough, ran enough, cleaned enough –
Joss sat heavily down on the toilet.
Or found the right man to fuck, those looks would go away.
Nothing had worked.
Until last night.
All this time. How could she not have known?
The precinct's old pipes clanked and jangled, as though they were jeering at her.
No, that wasn't true, she finally admitted to herself. A part of her had always known – had wanted him, needed him, called for him, yearned for him. A part of her had always known he was near.
Every tactic, every plan, every solution that she thought would bring her forward, had just brought her back to the same place.
She was still standing in the middle of that narrow, cobblestoned street, watching him walk away.
Stunned, Joss put her face in her hands as she suddenly realized where they had ended up last night.
She sat there, unable to move, until the lavatory door opened.
"Shit!" It was Woodward from Robbery. Joss heard the sound of running water as her fellow detective continued to mutter and curse.
Joss exited the stall and the two women nodded to each other, while the other officer dabbed at a spreading stain on her shirt. "Know how to get rid of grape juice stains, Carter?"
Joss shook her head as she washed her hands and splashed water on her face. "Other than throwing your shirt out, no."
Woodward laughed, then clicked her fingers. "Hey, your partner was looking for you. Think you have a call out."
XXX
He should have been at the library hours ago.
Reese walked slowly through the streets as the city reclaimed its territory from last night's wintery invasion. The snow was already grimy and gray, splattered blue and red and green with all the concoctions that claimed to remove it with no fuss, when a five dollar plastic shovel would have been faster and much less expensive.
He had a toiletries kit and a change of clothes there. It wasn't a suit, but it was clean and with the Machine dispensing numbers irregularly, his Man in a Suit persona probably wasn't needed.
As he mounted the library stairs, Reese wasn't worried when he didn't hear claws scrabbling on the old wooden floors – Bear had stopped rushing to greet him some time ago.
The library was empty.
Finch and Bear had been there; there was an empty cup of Sencha Green Tea in the wastepaper basket and splotches of water on the floor around Bear's water bowl indicating that they had recently left, probably for a walk.
They had waited for him many times – he could wait for them. Reese headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up.
XXX
"You sure you're not sick, Carter? You were so long in the can, I thought you drowned in there." Fusco eyed her suspiciously as they walked down the street.
"I'm fine, Fusco."
After the Journal recently published an expose about how city vehicles regularly flouted parking regulations, especially during inclement weather, an edict had come down from the brass mandating that any non-patrol related vehicles be parked in city lots in advance of an impending storm, so the two detectives were trudging towards a lot a few blocks from the precinct.
Fusco snorted. "You don't look fine. If you're going to hurl, Shirl, just don't do it on my shoes, ok?"
Joss raised an eyebrow as she looked down at his feet. "They are ugly shoes, Fusco."
For a moment, they smirked at each other, with a hint of their old camaraderie.
"Yeah, well they almost bought it during yesterday's scholastic enrichment excursion. I'm telling you, Carter, the next time we're trying to sweat a hard case, we should just put him in a school bus with a bunch of kids – he'd crack in five minutes." Fusco filled her in on the field trip as they walked along.
Grateful for the distraction, Joss listened intently, pushing the events of last night and this morning's thoughts far away. She was so focused that her mind didn't register at first the silhouette in front of her, until she heard Bear's happy bark as the man and his dog stepped out from under an awning.
Her partner had dropped back and was no longer beside her.
The four of them stood in a strange tableau – Finch and Bear in front of her, Fusco behind her and herself in the middle.
As Joss whirled around to confront him, Fusco made a strange bobbing motion with his knees, then straightened his legs, blushing.
"I apologize for the deception, but I need a few moments of your time, Detective." Finch said.
She spun back to the two figures in front of her, barely keeping her anger under control. "Could of just asked. We talk almost every day, Finch."
"On the phone, yes, but it's been some time since we've spoken face to face –" his eyes flicked past her for a moment and Joss knew that her partner had slipped away, "- and I wasn't sure if you would meet me."
Joss looked away. He was right. While she would work readily with Finch over the phone or via her computer, she'd find any number of excuses to avoid meeting him, sending Fusco instead.
"Please, Detective, it's important."
Finally, she stepped forward.
They walked down the street and around the corner. Joss noted that Finch was dressed impeccably as always and that Bear was nattily outfitted as well, with a coat and matching booties to protect his paws from rock salt and the solutions used to melt snow and ice. The dog ambled easily between the two humans as if this was something that they did every day and Joss was reminded that the last time she'd seen Bear was on a warm fall afternoon when she had felt strong and sure and true.
When she knew who she was.
As they neared the end of the street, she saw that Finch was heading towards the historical society's private garden.
Joss hesitated as Finch moved towards the garden gate.
"It's perfectly alright. I'm a member here." He took an elaborate key shaped like a bird out of his coat pocket and unlocked the gate. "Bear could use the fresh air and we'll have some privacy."
They stepped inside. The paths had been neatly shoveled and the snow, sparkling and pristine, covered the grounds.
Finch pointed out several flowers poking through the snow. "These are hellebores* – they actually flower during the winter. I'm always fascinated by how some things bloom, even under the harshest conditions. An overeager volunteer pulled these up by mistake last summer and threw them in a refuse pile – scorching heat, no water – but they were replanted and look how they've come back – perhaps even a little stronger for the experience."
He extended an arm towards the covered bench, and after a moment, Joss sat beside him. Bear settled down in front of them and Joss raised her eyebrows but didn't move when the dog laid his head on her foot.
Finch looked off into the distance. "Would it surprise you to know that Mr. Reese and I had some difficulty collaborating at first?" He didn't wait for her to reply. "I'm sure it wouldn't. Both you and Detective Fusco could easily enumerate our failings and flaws. But over time, we began to focus on what brought us together. Most of it, of course, was our shared commitment. We both believe fervently in helping others and that belief made us strive to work past our differences. But a significant part of the change was you."
"Me?" Joss shifted in surprise. Bear lifted his head, making a protesting noise - Joss quickly stopped moving and the dog again laid his head on her foot.
Finch turned his body towards hers. "Yes, Detective, you. John would never admit it, but you came close to apprehending him several times. Your pursuit also forced us to see past our differences, to begin to trust each other. We had to, if we were going to avoid detection and possible capture." He paused. "In one way or another…you've been with us, from the very beginning."
Joss' eyes filled with tears, as she absorbed the irony of that statement. She blinked them away as Finch looked down at Bear, his face softening for a moment, then he met her eyes again. "When John was taken by Ms. Stanton, I told Bear that we'd get him back, but we didn't, not really. He looks like John, walks like John, talks like John, but he's not John. His ability to empathize, sometimes exasperatingly so, with those who need our assistance, is gone. For many of the people we help it's not a concern – their lives are in danger and they'll do whatever we ask to save themselves, but for others, they have to feel they can trust a complete stranger. Without that trust – I'm afraid that we'll lose someone."
"Say what you have to say, Finch." Joss whispered.
He nodded. "I need you to get John back for our work."
Joss shook her head. "I can't do that."
"You're the only one who can. John may have been the one in custody but you were both prisoners, Detective. You're the only one who understands."
"No." Joss wanted to jump up and leave, but she felt rooted to the spot, Bear's head like a lead weight on her foot.
"You were able to reach him, when he went to New Rochelle, you can reach him now."
"I knew who I was then, Finch. I don't know who I am anymore. I -" the words stuck in her throat, sharp and raw. "I've done things, I've hurt… people…I've hurt John."
Finch's voice was soft. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, Joss, but I do know that John hurt you very deeply. Sometimes it's the ones we truly care for that we inflict the most damage on. We think we're protecting them, but…" Joss saw something in Finch's eyes, something that hinted at his own past, but then she saw it snap shut as he leaned forward slightly. "You've been helping people your entire life, Detective. You recognize more than any of us the duty we have towards our fellow man. Does that stop now? Could you live with yourself if you didn't at least try?"
The gate opened and two staffers walked in, murmuring, "Good morning, Mr. Whistler**," as they passed by.
He stood up, drawing Bear to his feet. "Detective Fusco and I have cleared your schedule for the rest of the day. I hope you'll consider what we've discussed."
She stood up without answering him.
For the first time, Finch touched her, gently enclosing her hand in his. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me."
Joss nodded, unable to speak.
As she walked away, Finch told her, "It's a beautiful coat, Jocelyn. It suits you."
XXX
Finch sighed as he watched her leave.
He hadn't wanted to become her friend.
He hadn't wanted to be anyone's friend.
Losing his best friend and walking away from the woman he loved had brought home with a stunningly painful clarity the danger of forming any sort of attachments.
After Reese had been shot, Harold had had a very tense meeting with Detective Carter, where he could barely contain his rage at her. He knew that most of it was because Reese had almost died due to the detective divulging his whereabouts to Agent Snow, but he also knew that some of his fury was because he had been forced to admit to himself that John Reese was more than just muscle or an instrument of intervention – despite all of Finch's efforts, he had become a valued and trusted friend.
He raised an eyebrow at another one of those attachments, who gazed happily up at him. "I'm glad you think that went well."
They left the garden, carefully closing the gate behind them.
XXX
Reese finished cleaning himself up and changed his clothes. When he'd undressed, he'd laid Joss' earrings on top of the sink – he picked them up as he turned to go back into the main space.
Rummaging through Finch's jumbled collection of office supplies, Reese found a plain white envelope – he'd put the earrings in it and then slip the envelope in Joss' apartment mailbox – if he left now, he could go there and get back before Finch and Bear returned.
But when he opened the flap to drop the earrings inside, he hesitated.
Reese couldn't remember ever seeing Joss without these earrings – which he often teasingly told her should be called 'bore-rings' because they were so plain and simple – on.
Now they shimmered in his hand like precious jewels or a long lost talisman.
No, after everything else, the least he could do would be to return them to her, face to face.
Reese dropped the envelope, his palm gently curling around the small pieces of metal, as he sat down to wait for Finch and Bear.
XXX
Suck it up. Take one for the team. Do your part. Be a good sport. Do your duty. Hadn't she always done that?
I hope you'll consider what we've discussed.
What discussion? He talked, she just sat there.
She didn't want to consider anything, she just wanted to be – a surge of emotions flooded through Joss' body – emotions that she didn't want to think about, acknowledge or even identify.
She just wanted to be angry.
Joss stomped up the stairs of her apartment building.
She let them manipulate her, let them pull something on her that a toddler could have seen through. Fusco, Finch –
Bear. She let herself be held hostage by a dog.
Even the dog. Even the damn dog.
She stalked into her apartment, slamming the door shut so hard that the sound reverberated throughout her place, rattling items on a small curio shelf. Joss watched helplessly as a figurine toppled forward, breaking in half as it landed on the floor.
It was part of a collection that her mother-in-law had subscribed to when Joss was pregnant with Taylor. Every month they would receive a different crystal figurine which was supposed to depict the different stages of childhood.
They were terrible – lumpy, bumpy and dumpy, indifferently designed and indifferently made, the glass cloudy and speckled.
She hated them, her husband hated then, Taylor hated them and she sensed that her mother-in-law hated them too, but they kept coming. Every month Joss would dutifully put the new selection on the shelf, carefully packing away last month's in a container with all the others. Even after her mother-in-law passed away and the shipments stopped, Joss continued to display them, rotating them one at a time.
Joss picked up the broken figurine, slipping it in her coat pocket. She walked over to the storage closet, pulling down a large plastic container. She didn't open it – she knew that they were all there, quietly awaiting their next turn in the spotlight.
Grimacing at the weight, Joss carried the container out of her apartment.
XXX
Reese smiled softly at him. "You're kicking me out."
Bear had wisely gone to his bed, as Finch solemnly regarded his partner.
For once, Harold was glad there wasn't a number.
The man sitting in the library wouldn't have gotten the trust of even the most desperate person. His skin was dull, his lips were chapped and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He was gaunt and his clothes, while clean, didn't hang well on him. He looked like he should be receiving help instead of offering it.
"We don't have a number, Mr. Reese, but even if we did…you're not…fit for duty, John."
For a long moment, Reese gazed at him, then he nodded. "I'm not sure if I'm fit for anything, Harold."
"Go home, John. Rest, truly rest. We'll talk tomorrow."
As he stood, Finch noticed that Reese slipped something small in his pocket.
"Do you think we ever truly make amends, Harold?"
"For some things, no. But we have to try."
Finch watched as Reese walked over to Bear, knelt down and gently stroked one of his ears. Harold went over to one of his file cabinets, his back to the two of them. He heard Reese's soft voice murmuring to Bear, and after a while, he heard a slow, rhythmic beat as Bear's tail thrummed against the old wooden floors. He listened as the thrumming became louder and faster, continuing even after Reese was gone.
XXX
Despite the cold, Joss was sweating when she finally reached the cluster of recycling dumpsters in the parking lot of the apartment complex at the end of her block. The one for glass was in the back, and Joss could tell that it was rarely opened, in this day of paper, plastic and five cent bottle returns. She put her container on the ground and wrenched the sliding door of the dumpster open, the screeching sound making her nerves jangle like chalk on a blackboard.
Ripping the container's cover off, Joss picked up a figurine. She slung the first one inside, hearing it shatter against the back of the dumpster.
Over and over again, she threw the figurines in, listening to them smash as they hit the wall, smash as they fell to the bottom of the dumpster and then smash again as they tumbled and bounced against each other.
Smash, smash, smash.
Tears began to run down her cheeks. She could barely see, was fumbling for the next figurine, but she would grab it and hurl it in.
Smash, smash, smash.
Why?
Smash, smash, smash.
Why didn't you fight, Jocelyn?
Smash, smash, smash.
She had always been willing to fight for others. She'd fought for her family, her friends, her classmates, her comrades, her colleagues, her city, her country. She'd fought for fools and criminals, for people who hated her, for people who tried to kill her.
She'd fought for him.
Smash, smash, smash.
When had she ever fought for herself?
Smash, smash, smash.
Why did you let him go?
Smash, smash, smash.
Why didn't you grab him, hold on to him, tell him he wasn't leaving?
Smash, smash, smash.
Why didn't you tell him?
Smash, smash, smash.
He might have left anyway, but at least he would have known.
Smash, smash, smash.
At least he would have known.
She was sobbing now, raw wrenching sobs, as everything poured out of her.
Smash, smash, smash.
The things she said, the things she did.
Smash, smash, smash.
The people she hurt.
Smash, smash, smash.
The lies she told, most of all to herself.
Smash, smash, smash.
She loved him.
Smash, smash, smash.
She loved him.
Smash, smash, smash.
She loved him.
Smash, smash, smash.
Say it.
Smash, smash, smash.
Say it.
Smash, smash, smash.
I love you.
Smash, smash, smash.
I love you, John, I love you.
Joss felt in the container – it was empty.
As she reached in her coat pocket for the broken figurine, her fingers brushed up against a small box. Finch had pressed it into her hand when he thanked her for meeting with him. Intent on leaving before she fell apart in front of him, Joss had slipped it in her pocket without opening it.
There was a key and an address written on a card inside.
Joss put the box and the broken figurine back in her pocket.
Finch was right. She understood duty to others. She had done her duty for others. She would always do her duty for others.
But for once, she would honor the duty to herself.
As Joss closed the dumpster door, a woman walked into the space. "You need that container?" she asked, looking at it covetously.
Joss shook her head. "No, not anymore." And she walked away.
XXX
On his way out of the library, Reese stopped in the bathroom. He began gathering his dirty, wet, torn clothes, putting them in a trash bag. When he picked up his overcoat, he remembered the flask, still in the left hand pocket.
Reese stepped on it, crushing it and added it to the other items in the trash.
Finch was right. He needed to rest, truly rest – a rest not induced by alcohol, numbing exhaustion or giddy anticipation.
He needed to be fit for duty.
And he needed to be absolutely clear headed to have that one last conversation with her.
Perhaps then he could explain, not to ask for or get her forgiveness, but simply to let her know.
Reese fingered the earrings in his pocket as he left the old building.
XXX
It was beautiful.
Joss stood in John's loft, turning around slowly as she took in the high ceilings, the long windows, the exquisite furnishings, the soft muted colors.
She smiled softly when she saw the tree house.
It was like something out of a magazine.
It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
But there was an emptiness here, an emptiness apart from the soaring open spaciousness.
It was as if nobody lived here.
How could John have come back to this place, after he helped someone, after he returned them to their lives and to their loved ones?
How could he have come back here last night, after what they had done to each other?
Joss took off her coat, walked over to the couch. As she leaned forward to drape it over the back, a swatch of purple caught her eye.
Joss pushed the couch forward as she stepped around it. She picked up a soft, plush pillow, the color of eggplant.
Several boxes were neatly lined up behind the piece of furniture. Joss laid them on the couch.
There were pillows and throws and candles and vases, so many wonderful things, all beautifully designed and crafted, the rich, deep hues blazing against the couch's black leather as she spread them out.
She knew that he had bought all these things for her, all for the day she was supposed to come to his apartment.
Joss scattered the pillows on the couch, draped a throw over the arm. She laid the rug on the bathroom floor, put the soap and lotion on the sink. She took limes from the almost barren refrigerator and jelly beans from a bag in a kitchen drawer and put them in the vases that she arranged on the kitchen island. She found a home for everything, placing the candles on the dining table, the extra throws in a storage ottoman.
The last item was a small covered bowl. Joss took the lid off and read the small card that the artist had placed inside. The bowl had been made from the burl*** of a tree. She ran her fingers over the wood, smooth and warm to the touch, the grain swirling and twining in a hypnotic dance of light and dark, strong yet incredibly sensual.
Joss cradled the bowl against her chest, trying to decide where it should go. As she surveyed the loft, the sun suddenly streamed through those tall windows, highlighting something red just barely shimmering against the glass, on the desk.
She started walking over to the desk, when the door to the apartment opened.
XXX
Finch had chosen the word carefully when he had spoken to them.
Not love.
Not friendship.
But duty, yes.
Duty to others, duty to the team, duty to the mission.
And perhaps, hopefully, duty to each other, duty to see past the hurt and the pain, duty to find the friendship and the love they had for each other, the love that Finch knew they had had for each for a long time.
Bear sat beside him as Harold brought up the signals from the tracking devices.
Detective Carter didn't have her phone last night, so Finch had implanted a tracking device in the key he had given her this morning.
They were together.
He imagined that the conversation would be anything but dull.
Harold shut everything down, except for the line from the Machine in case there was a number.
He stood. "Come, Bear. I think you deserve a nice long walk."
XXX
She should have been dwarfed by the space, but she wasn't.
Framed by the tall windows, the oversized furniture, the bare open floors, Joss should have been swallowed up, reduced, somehow diminished by her surroundings, but she wasn't.
She had taken all those things that Reese had purchased, all the things that he had packed away after that morning, things that he couldn't bear to look at, but yet couldn't bear to get rid of, and artfully arranged them, the bright pops of color drawing you into the space, beckoning you to touch them.
She looked like she was at ease here, like she had always been here, like she knew the loft better than he did.
As though she was welcoming him home.
Reese closed the loft door, began walking slowly towards her. "Trying your hand at decorating, Carter?"
Joss shrugged. "Might need a fallback career. She placed the bowl on the coffee table. "You know, in case this cop – slash – 'whatever' thing doesn't work out." She held up her right index finger. "I did get you a housewarming gift." Joss walked over to the couch and fished out what looked like a glass figurine from her coat. She laid it next to the bowl.
Reese smiled softly. "It's broken, Carter."
Her lips quirked. "Trust me, it looks better this way."
Their smiles faded as they gazed at each other. Reese had watched Joss carefully as she gone over to the couch, looking for any sign that he had physically hurt her last night, but there was no hesitation or stiffness in her movements. Her hair was pulled back and she had on a white button down shirt and dark jeans, the shirt highlighting her face and neck, the jeans hugging her long thighs and a waist that was so small, Reese felt he could encompass it with his hands, with room to spare.
Reese reached into his pocket and handed Joss her earrings.
"Thank you. They were given to me a long time ago." Her face brightened as though she had just figured something out. She lifted the lid on the covered bowl, took out a small card and placed it on the table, putting the earrings in its place. "Did you know that this bowl is very rare?"
Reese shook his head. "No."
"The card says it was created from a burl. Burls can be formed when a tree is injured. On the outside they look bad, all gnarly and nasty and bumpy, but on the inside, they can become something special." Her eyes, always so expressive, were huge and even darker than normal. "They have to be handled carefully – they're hard and difficult to work with, and they can shatter easily." She stepped close to him. "But with time and the right touch, they can be beautiful, John. Really beautiful."
Reese sank to his knees. "I'm sorry, Joss."
"I'm not." Joss pulled him to his feet. "I love you, John."
She began to walk over to the couch, changed her mind and led him to the bed instead
She sat with her back against the headboard. Reese stretched out beside her, put his head in her lap. One arm went around her waist, the other curled around her knees as she pulled up her legs beside her. One of her hands lay on his back, while the other, slowly, hesitantly, fingered his hair.
They talked for a long time, without saying a word.
A/N: Next, conversations and in chapter 15, the FBI meets the fixer.
*Hellebores are tough, shade tolerant, winter blooming perennials that flower in a variety of colors. You may know them as Christmas or Lenten Roses.
** The adult male Golden Whistler is an Australian bird, bright yellow on the underside, olive-green on the back and wings, and black on the head with a bright yellow collar. The throat is white, separated from the yellow chest by a broad black band. The bill and legs are black.
*** A burl results from a tree undergoing some form of stress, for example from an injury. The usually look like a knotty, gnarly growth. As the burl grows, its grain will often twist and turn, resulting in fantastic patterns. Burls are prized for their beauty and rarity and are highly sought after by furniture makers, artists, and wood sculptors. In 2012, a man was arrested in Boston, Massachusetts for illegally harvesting and selling burls from trees in Harvard University's Arnold Arboretum and several Boston parks. It was estimated that the thefts yielded over $100,000 just for the raw wood.