CHAPTER 4

Bowing her head over her knees, she let the tears slowly come as for the first time real emotions washed through her. Slowly Shaw came back from wherever she had been. Raising her head, she looked around the rooftop. She was alone. Rubbing her eyes she was surprised that her hands were wet. Frowning she held her hands out in front of her. Yes, her hands were definitely wet...from what? Touching her face gently she realized her face was wet. Had she been...crying? No way! She didn't cry. Ever. Glancing down to her knees that were draw up close to her chest, she saw that her jeans were wet also.

"Oh hell no!" Shaw muttered as she scrambled to her feet. The slight breeze made the dampness on her cheeks feel cool. Angrily wiping her face dry, she turned around and looked off into the distance. Her eyes were quickly drawn to the pillar of smoke still hanging in the air. Her ears picked out the sounds of sirens from down below as they became fainter and fainter.

Shaw quickly inhaled and closed her eyes...John. Shaking her head slowly side to side she worked to regain her control. Thinking of losing John made her think of losing Root and she had too damn much to do to go 'there'.

Walking to door down off of the roof, Shaw was fully back into her 'work mode'. She had a lot to do. Putting things into priority order was the first thing she had to do since it didn't seem like Finch was going to be able to do that any time soon.

Stopping by the nurses stations, she got the charge nurse to tell her the status of Harold and Lionel. Both had their injuries treated and were no longer in imminent danger of dying. But there were others that needed to know about them and about John. Finch had nobody except Grace and she already thought he was dead. Lionel had gotten in touch with his son so he was taken care of. But John had two people who cared very much for him and she was not looking forward to tell them that he was gone. She gulped and took a deep breath, tucking those stupid feelings in the back of her mind where they belonged. She was done with that shit. Time to move on.

Taking a deep breath, Shaw dialed Zoe's number. Her mind was now working in very cold precision as usual, checking off the things that needed to be done. This was one of those times she was glad that she was different. They always made such a big deal over the fact that she couldn't feel emotions well if at all. But as far as she was concerned, it actually made her better at what she did, not worse. It meant that she could compartmentalize things and deal with one thing at a time. With no emotion entering into the equation she felt competent to get things done fast. There would be time later for whatever. She didn't even have a name for it.

"Hello?" Zoe's sultry voice answered. Shaw immediately had a mental picture of Zoe relaxing at her penthouse high above NYC, with a glass of wine in hand.

"Hey Zoey, this is Shaw." She said quickly, brusquely.

"Sameen, how are you? This is a pleasant surprise..." There was a pause. "Or is it? Something's happened..."

Shaw was glad that Zoe was quick on her feet. Smart as a damn whip, there was no need for pretense.

"It's about Reese..." Shaw just let the name hang there.

A slight gasp was heard by Shaw,.so barely there she wasn't really sure she actually heard it.

"That explosion downtown today, did that have something to do with John?" Zoe asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Finch was shot, Fusco was stabbed. I got them both to the hospital and they'll be ok." She deliberately left out her concerns for Finch and his mental state.

"And John?" Zoe's voice was harder but her ears almost detected a faint quiver.

"Finch told me he was killed. By that bomb...or missile or whatever that thing was. It destroyed a whole building."

For a moment, Shaw was caught up in a memory of hearing John's deep, calm, whispery voice telling her not to worry.

"You're sure? Zoe asked, maintaining her signature calm demeanor.

"Yeah, Finch seemed pretty sure Reese was dead. I've never seen the man so shook up about something."

"Thank you for letting me know, Sameen. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you or Harold."

"No worries. I'll stay in touch." and Shaw hung up the phone.

As the line went dead, Zoe looked at the phone in her hand. So much had changed since she answered that phone.

John was relaxing on the sand with Jessica in his arms. Warm sun, light breeze...

A sudden, jarring pain erased the warmth of the the sun with the warmth of fresh blood on his chest and he saw a flashback in black and white of men coming toward him with guns.

The warmth of the ocean on the Mexican coast as he dove under the waves to come up next to Jessica, grabbing her tightly in his arms just to hear her laughter...he loves to hear it...he would do anything to hear that laughter and joy...anything.

Wet, sticky liquid streamed down his face, a coppery taste fills his mouth. The sounds of walls crashing, explosions ...

Why did the laughter stop? Where is Jessica? There she is! She's running down the beach, calling his name...he takes off after her. His long legs eating up the ground til he catches her. Her laughter turns to giggles as he swings her around envelopes her in a bear hug.

Pain, pain in both legs. He can't stand anymore. Slowly sliding down to the ground? Floor? Where is he? The images never shows enough, only the physical sensations seem real...

He struggles to find Jessica, frowning with concentration... and then he's back at that moment. Holding Jessica's sun warmed body close, her blonde hair tickling his face...as she gives him a smile meant only for him...he captures her mouth with his own and is transported to bliss..

Bumps and dips, pain here, pain there...but he refuses to give into the hurt...no sound escapes his lips....and he once again escapes back to the woman in his arms.

Finally, the rough, uneven sensation stops. He feels his broken body being moved without his volition. Cool hands begin to tend to the many hurts...too painful to endure...

NO! They are pulling him away from Jessica! Jessica will save him...Jessica will make the pain go away. She will save him...

Putting the phone down Zoe got up and walked over to the bar in her living room. Putting down her glass of wine, she found herself the bottle of 15 year old scotch that she kept for Reese when he visited. Pouring herself a glass, she slowly shook her head. He'd never be back to finish it.

Taking the bottle and the glass out onto her balcony she walked to the edge and stared off in the distance at the smoke still hanging lazily around one of the the industrial areas in Queens. Placing the bottle on the ledge she leaned on the wall.

She and Reese had had such a great relationship. A perfect one. They complimented each other so well. They made no demands on each other. No claim of ownership. They enjoyed each other's company...at a play, a bar, her penthouse, in bed. They had an easy and comfortable relationship. They respected each other greatly. He always treated her as an equal and sought her opinion many times. She had always looked forward to their time together. She was going to miss that. Their friendship was deep and comfortable. There was no romance to make things complicated. They just...were.

She raised her glass of scotch and saluted the man she knew and what he'd brought into her life. As her lips touched the liquor and the taste flowed through her mouth, she was caught off guard by the tears that sprang into her eyes. The taste of the liquor reminded her of kissing him. The warmth of his lips, the strength of his arms around her, the 'safe' feeling he gave her just by being himself. All the memories of what they had shared came flowing into her mind at one time. She became overwhelmed with a feeling of loss that she was not expecting.

Backing away from the ledge, she felt around til she could find a seat to sit down. Her breathing was coming in gasps. Tears fell down her cheeks as she choked back a sob. Carefully placing the glass on the table in front of her she covered her face with her hands and gave into the raw emotions welling up inside of her. Emotions that were that much stronger than she usually felt, made more so by their unexpectedness. The pain in her heart was a physical thing.

John was gone. She was never going to see him again. Never hear that voice that she'd come to love. Discussing politics or teasing her about her job. Never feel that scruff around his mouth when he kissed her. Never feel that beautiful, strong hand holding hers as they sat in front of the fireplace. So many memories began crowding up in her mind, overlapping moments with him...and she would never to have them again.

Lowering her head to her folded arms, she allowed herself to accept how much he had meant to her and how much she cared for him. She cried for the lost opportunities, the lost moments they would never share. She cried for all the times he made her laugh, especially at herself. She cried for the little things he did for her so unexpectedly...bringing a takeout dinner over from her favorite restaurant, tickets to a play she had been wanting to see, waking up to him cooking breakfast for her...so many things that made their relationship work so well. And now it was gone, it was over...and all she had of him was memories.

Sitting beside John in the exam room, Joan soaked in every detail as she was reminded of that day she'd known he was someone special. Someone who couldn't help himself from caring for others. That first time she'd seen him and thought that he didn't care for much other than the booze he had in his hands, she knew now she'd been mistaken. It wasn't that he didn't feel anything for others, it was that he felt too much. A fact that even the dirt and his unkempt appearance couldn't hide.

He'd been wounded and unconscious then too. She didn't know who he was then, and frankly wasn't all that sure she knew who he was now. He'd never been good about talking about himself but she'd been the only one he'd opened up to. Shaking her head side to side she remembered how they had 'met'...he had been sprawled out on the floor of the deserted building she and her friends lived in when it was cold.

She'd just come into the abandoned warehouse after having been out all day scavenging for things to trade or sell and most important of all...something to eat. That day the pickings had been slim. She was tired and hungry and not ready to deal with any disruptions from her normal routine. But as was always the case, events didn't order themselves to meet her wishes.

There was a fight going on just inside the door to the warehouse. Three of the rougher inhabitants were mercilessly beating up someone. She hoped it was a man because they were a vicious group and they were using their hands and feet. If it was a woman, she was probably dead by now.

Keeping a wary eye on them, she pushed her grocery cart, with all her worldly belongings on it, around the fight. Glancing over she realized the one receiving the beating was indeed a man. He was either unconscious ...or he wasn't fighting back. He wasn't even trying to defend himself.

Suddenly one of the people administering the beating stopped and yelled "I got it!" while holding up a bottle of liquor. Turning away he'd taken a big swallow of the liquor. The other two immediately followed him trying to get the bottle away...leaving the previous owner of the bottle motionless on the warehouse floor.

As things quieted down, Joan began her nighttime ritual of tidying up and tying down her few possessions. She had to sleep sometime and even though she didn't have much, what she did have was hers and she meant to keep it.

She kept glancing over that the still form by the door while she worked. The man hadn't moved since his tormentors took off with his bottle. She wasn't even sure he was actually still alive. Death was not a rare occurrence here. It was an unspoken sanctuary for those whom society had forgotten...or ignored.

Curiosity finally got the better of her. If the man was still alive she would try to help him. If not, well, she would try to find something on him that would tell her who he was and who she could notify about his death. Life on the street was hard but it had not beaten her down completely. Somewhere, someone may have been missing him.

She rooted around in her buggy and found some cloths and brought water from a nearby rain barrel to clean him up.

As she had wiped the blood and dirt from his face she had been amazed at how good looking he was. But she had been dismayed when she'd seen how thin he was. It had been obvious that he had not been eating much, if anything for quite a while. Sometimes that was the way with some of them. They forgot to eat and were more worried about finding the next bottle of oblivion.

She'd worked her way up to the bad cut on his head when he'd begun to stir. She'd started talking softly to him and making soothing noises. Surprisingly, that had seemed to calm him down. She'd continued her ministrations until she'd cleaned the wound and his face and neck.

When she'd put away her things she'd felt his eyes on her. She'd turned around and was struck by the deep blue eyes that were staring at her out of the gaunt face. He'd made no sound, no movement...was just watching her. The pain she'd seen in those eyes has reached something deep within her. She'd reached out and placed her palm on the side of his face. He'd jerked away but she persisted. His skin felt hot and feverish to the touch. The closer she looked, the more she had realized that the pain in those eyes was also mixed with the brightness of fever. He was sick, very, very sick.

There had been something about John, as she'd finally gotten him to give his name, that reached out to her. He had seemed big and strong but something in his life had almost destroyed him: something that had left deep, life-long scars. She'd felt the desire...and the need to take care of this man. There had been something about him worth saving but she'd had the distinct impression that he did would not agree. He'd obviously been slowly and methodically trying to kill himself for quite some time. Slowly, over the next few months she would get a small detail from him here and there about what brought him to the streets. But it was an unwritten rule out here on the streets, you never asked about the "before".

Coming back to the present, she wondered which "John" would be the one to wake up this time. He'd been coming to visit her about once a month over the last couple of years. Bringing food and money and spreading it around Joan's group of street people. He had been dressed well, seemed healthy, although there had been a few times he had seemed to be nursing a recent injury. But he'd never told her about his life away from her. To explain the money, he spoke of his 'job', a dangerous one it seemed, although he didn't say so. Most of the time he would have a bright smile for her but there were a few times when she saw the haunted look return to his eyes.

He'd introduced her to Meg Tilman, which had been a Godsend. But every time she'd tried to find out who he worked for or where he lived, he'd changed the subject and become quiet until she'd changed the conversation. As a consequence, she had no idea of who she should notify about his injury. No idea of where he'd go when he was able to leave Meg's clinic. Either way, she resolved to take care of him again if need be. He hadn't forgotten her when he clawed his way up out of the hole he was in and moved on and she wouldn't forget him either.