Just War
Epilogue
He had taken a little walk around the desert wing, against doctor's orders - of course, taking advantage of Finch's first long absence in days.
He was sorer and more fatigued than he'd like to admit, then again, broken ribs were always a bitch and the combo with various holes and massive blood loss didn't certainly help. Then add up the classic evergreen infection to the mix, and your nightmarish attempt to recover is complete.
John almost sighed; he was feeling much better than 2 weeks before, so he guessed he could settle for that, for now. All in all, he wasn't bandaged like a mummy anymore, he was wearing regular, comfortable clothes, and hadn't needed the aid of the oxygen masks in days. After all he had been through he shouldn't really complain.
Resigned, he had just sat down on the edge of bed, ribs cradled protectively with his arm, needing a moment to catch his breath before maneuvering his full body back on it. John wasn't facing the door but he sensed it all the same.
"Bear is not here." He whispered hoarsely.
His neck wound was healing nicely but he still didn't feel too comfortable while speaking. He cleared his throat with a slight grimace before continuing. "He's just gotten back to the Library after a walk in the park."
Shaw crossed the threshold then, covering the distance between them and finally facing him.
"I know." She looked unconcerned, as usual, uninterested, maybe bored. John stayed where he was, he hated talking to people while he was lying down and he assumed he was going to have to postpone his nap.
"Thanks, then," He offered sincerely after a brief pause. And that elicited some sort of reaction because she looked at him quizzically. "For keeping an eye on them while I'm stuck here." John elaborated with a meaningful glance.
He had never restrained himself from showing gratitude, nor found it something to be ashamed of, like some particularly proud people did. There had been a long period in his life when he had almost forgotten the meaning of such feeling, because, frankly, he had nobody to thank and, at the same time, nobody never thanked him, no matter how hard he worked, no matter how many lives he was saving.
Then the "numbers" had come, reminding him that gratitude still existed. A word, a look, sometimes even a hug. And while each manifestation still caused him no little embarrassment, it had awakened his long forgotten habit. That's why John never missed the chance to thank Harold or whoever, willingly or not, did something for him, like Shaw in this case.
She didn't reply though, apparently equally embarrassed at being the object of gratitude as he usually was. Instead, Shaw started wandering around the room, which was bigger than those John used to rent before receiving his birthday present, he absently noted.
The female operative remained silent for a while and John had never been one for small talk, but apparently she needed a little nudge.
"So, now that we've established you're not looking for Bear, or Finch: to what do I owe the pleasure?" He knew she had been there before, more than once even, but each time John had been sedated or unconscious, and he suspected it hadn't been a coincidence.
"Do you know Bear is sleeping on one of your suits?" She still wasn't looking at him; now glancing through the window, as to make sure the location was safe. Obviously she hadn't grasped yet Finch's level of paranoia. And speaking of Finch…
"Harold should really stop doing that." John answered instead, almost embarrassed, not sure if he felt more amused or miserable about Bear's current accommodation.
"Then maybe you should stop intercepting bullets trajectories. Shouldn't you?" She shot back without missing a beat.
Shaw didn't know that the first time Harold had borrowed one of his suits to pacify Bear had been because he was in prison, but he didn't bother to correct her, because, to tell the truth, the point was just the same.
"Oh, I try, but succeeding is a different matter." He told her after a moment with a small grin.
"Well, try harder." She countered back. "The dog seems inexplicably attached to you and I don't like seeing him so upset."
And John loved that everyone loved Bear, even very eccentric people and sociopaths. He didn't quite understand Shaw's uncharacteristic display of consideration though, and he would have gladly avoided that situation himself, of course, but apparently she needed a clarification.
"I don't like it either," he admitted then "but Bear would have been much more inconsolable if Finch hadn't come home at all."
And John's expression darkened at the simple contemplation of not having been able to protect Harold from those ISA agents.
"I wouldn't mind having him here," he added more lightly after a second, because he had been, in the end, Finch was safe. "But it seems that not even the owner of the clinic is allowed to such exceptions."
"Well, maybe because the friend of the owner just recovered from an infection, among others things?"
Again, John didn't understand what all the fuss was about. He had already received that lecture, from Harold of course, and honestly he had even expected it because, although he'd take some bullets for him again without a second thought, they were friends and it was natural to care, and worry.
Also, he suspected Finch particularly enjoyed to lecture him, but that was another matter.
But with Shaw was different, he certainly couldn't consider her a friend, for instance. Yet there was something edgy in her voice, her snide remarks weren't light as usual and she sounded almost… bitter.
"Your point, Shaw?" He found himself enquiring while rubbing his forehead. He really wasn't up for beating around the bush, John was tired and aching, the stitches were painfully pulling his skin and he was starting to feel nauseous and lightheaded for staying up for too long.
"My point is that I don't like how things are degenerating, up there. The Government used to be more subtle than that, and sending a highly trained ISA squad - in plain daylight - over suppositions, is just war."
So that was it, and of course she was right, but it was no news for him, or Harold, for that matter. They had talked about consequences and strategies only a few days before, and even then, they had already been aware of their position just after finding out that the Machine "had escaped".
"Finch knew, I knew, the outcome of openly challenge them." He explained calmly. "We started a war the moment we left that empty room in the federal site. I seem to recall you chose a side yourself?"
He then looked at her pointedly, expecting a clear answer, because again, it really was war they were talking about and there wasn't time for games.
"So what's the plan, John?" She asked a bit defiantly after a moment.
He smiled a little then, that "answer" was clear enough and it just needed to be said out loud.
"The plan, Sam, is to fight it as best as we can." He explained almost patronizing, earning a dirty look from the female operative. "And take care of the irrelevants along the way, " he added after a second. "Good guys, remember?"
Shaw looked almost disgusted by the idea. "I've never been good in my life." She declared listlessly.
John should really admit that much, she was amusing sometimes. He almost chuckled, immediately regretting the involuntary movement, which had sent a sharp twinge through his entire neck.
"Oh, you'll get used to it."
And he couldn't ignore the irony of that particular sentence coming from no one but John Reese, because only a few years before he wouldn't have conceived any scenario that could have made him say such a thing.
Shaw shook her head lightly, seemingly incredulously amused at what she was agreeing to. "See you around, John."
She left the room after that, disappearing as stealthily as she had arrived.
And John, particularly pleased by the result of that conversation, finally allowed himself to lie down again and take a well-deserved nap.
His phone started vibrating on the nightstand beside the hospital bed, waking him from his light slumber. Still aching and nauseous, he didn't feel rested at all, but John was glad Harold was calling.
"Finch," was the simple answer. Even his throat was hurting again and he knew he shouldn't have pushed it so much, during his chat with Shaw.
"Mr. Reese, I've been told you've behaved uncharacteristically well today."
John couldn't tell if Harold was being sarcastic or not, had Shaw told him he had been out of bed, only a few hours before?! He decided to play along either way.
"What do you mean uncharacteristically? I'm offended, Finch." He couldn't control a light cough then, and John winced inwardly, preparing himself for the lecture that would surely ensue.
Or not.
"Of course you are, John." His friend dismissed the joke with his usual practical tone. "Anyway, I've decided to bring you a surprise, I'll be there shortly." Trust Harold to keep the conversation at minimum.
He grabbed the remote and reclined the bed till he was half sitting, preparing himself for the visit. And John couldn't help but notice the gap between the ex-marine and his friend, even in little gestures like leave his vocal cords heal undisturbed.
Moreover, Harold had really sounded mildly serious, so he hopefully wondered if the aforementioned surprise would involve coffee.
John was desperately craving a hot cup of the black liquid; he had spent more than a week on IV solutions first, then on tasteless fluids. Since he couldn't eat solid food yet because of his mended stomach, the least that Finch could do was bringing him a liquid he very much liked.
His reasoning did sound perfectly logic.
And he didn't have to wait long because after ten minutes he could hear Harold's uneven steps on the clinic corridor.
"Where's the coffee?" He asked expectantly as his friend crossed the door. However, Harold regarded him sternly, crushing every hope with one of his deadpan retorts.
"Never said the surprise involved coffee, Mr. Reese, you know you're not allowed to drink that."
John felt pretty disappointed then, after a couple of seconds though he heard the familiar sound of paws on tile floor and he smiled in anticipation.
"I thought dog visits weren't allowed either." He told Finch with a grin as Bear entered the room, tail waggling madly.
"Apparently you've fully recovered from that nasty infection and they can tolerate an exception. He's not staying on your bed though." His friend added hastily.
John was already petting his dog, tiredness and aches forgotten entirely. "Fair enough." He agreed with a broaden smile.
Bear was incredibly gentle. He settled placidly on the armchair at John's bedside, the one usually occupied by Harold and a book, or a laptop.
Still half sitting, John stretched his arm towards his dog, scratching his ears and muzzle affectionately. Then addressed his friend, who was taking his overcoat off, ready to stay a while.
"Thanks, Finch. I do feel pretty spoiled," he told Harold recalling his friend's words, mischievous but genuine at the same time.
His partner then feigned an exasperated look, but refrained himself from admonishing John's impishness once again. And he knew it was Harold's way to accept his gratitude, so John couldn't help but relish the newfound routine.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence John was dozing off again, while stroking Bear's soft fur.
"Any news on the Government?" he mumbled, forcing himself awake just for a little longer. Maybe the visit wasn't just about Bear, maybe they needed to discuss serious matters as well.
Overthrown, Harold had settled on the other armchair, opposite to the bed. He was smiling softly, enjoying the scene in front of him.
"Rest now, John, we can think about war tomorrow."
And John found himself reciprocating the smile then, because everyone he cared about was safe, and Finch and Bear were there with him.
So yes, he agreed, they could.
THE END
A/N: And I guess it's time for goodbyes. I really want to thank all of you, for your marvelous reviews, smart, funny and incredibly flattering. Thanks for following each chapter of this story and favoring and simply reading. I guess the lack of insults from your part is a good sign as well :D
This was the first long multi-chapter I managed to complete and I do feel like I've accomplished something, hence I'm even happier you enjoyed it. I hope you've enjoyed this final part as well, I deliberately left a tiny crack, who knows if my muse can strike again and make me write a sequel ;)
Much love for you and till the next time!
A/N 2 (Spoilers about Season 3 cast): Just a quick note about Shaw. I had to put her in my story because I'm not entirely happy about her becoming a regular character, and I thought I could exorcise the bad feeling with my writing. I guess it's quite obvious I love John and Harold's dynamics too much and I'd hate to see her in their intimate space. Then, of course, I had to mostly improvise with her, because we still don't know her character too well. I hope she didn't sound too OOC.