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Jul. 26th, 2016 10:10 pm"I just wish we had more time."
John is dying, Carter is right about that. He can feel it happening now, although he couldn't before, too caught up in the lie of seeing her, too confused by the heat, her voice, the music. The car is cold, too cold to keep him alive until morning, and no one is coming for him. He's going to die here.
"Yeah, well." She sounds sad as she shakes her head. "That's something we never get enough of."
"You're right." She always is. He's known that for a very long time and he thinks this is the first time he's said it, but it's possible he just doesn't remember. There's so much he wishes he'd said to her, so many things she'll never hear because he couldn't tell her. "I don't let people in. It's not why I didn't tell anyone about the case. I wanted to close this one myself. Just me."
"Why?"
"It was a chance to be close to you again. I didn't... wanna share that with anyone else." Everything is cold except for his face. His face is warm, tears cutting through the chill against his skin and he wishes he could lift his hand, wipe his cheek, but his hands are too cold and his shoulder hurts too much. He misses her.
"There's another reason why I kept that photo," she says, then smiles. "It was a side of you I hadn't seen. Happy. Hopeful. In love. You can feel that way again, John, you just gotta hold on. There are people who care about you. Who could love you. Just gotta let them in. Just like you told me before. Whether I liked it or not, I wasn't alone. Neither are you."
She's right. But he's alone now.
It's his own doing, she's right about that, too. Carter always did see through him better than almost anyone. With Finch it's different. Finch does his research, finds the files no one else can find, cracks them open and reads every last sentence. Finch knows him, of course he does, he's the best friend John has ever had, and he huffs out a soft laugh as he realizes the absurdity of that truth. Harold Finch is the best friend he's ever had and John doesn't even know his real name.
But while Finch knows him, Carter can see through him. She doesn't bother with files or hacking computers, all she's ever had to do is look at him and she can see everything.
Could see everything. She's dead now.
But she's beside him here in the car and John twists his head, wincing at the pain that races down his arms, and looks at her. God, how he misses her. She's looking right back at him, her face soft, worried, and a shudder goes through him as he realizes she has every right to be angry with him, but she isn't. She's only sad. He'd cared about her so much, wanted to do right by her, make her proud of him, he'd wanted to protect her even in the moments when he knew she didn't need protecting, he'd wanted to stand by her and watch her climb the ranks and feel the pride he had known he would feel as she conquered every obstacle in her way and he hadn't said a damn word about it.
Whether or not it had been love, John has never let himself examine for fear of what the answer might be, but he does know he hasn't felt what he'd felt for Joss Carter in a very long time. Not since Jessica.
It doesn't matter now. She had died in his arms and now he'll die alone, trapped here in this freezing car, bleeding sluggishly from the gunshot wound he'd sustained because he'd had to go this alone. Because he had needed so desperately to be close to her one last time.
"Will you stay with me? Just for a little bit?" he asks.
"Yes, of course. Just hold on, John."
If he closes his eyes, maybe she'll take pity on him. Maybe she'll put a hand on the back of his neck and let him feel some of her warmth as he goes, so he leans forward against the steering wheel, puts his good arm up against it to support his head and finds suddenly there's nothing to lean against. He goes tumbling forward off the seat of the car, rolling at the last second and still landing painfully on his shoulder, only just barely protecting the gunshot wound. The car is gone and he grits his teeth against the pain, the prickling in his limbs, and lies still for a moment, willing himself the strength to move.
As he turns, his cheek scrapes against a rock and he opens his eyes, squinting up at the terribly bright sun, a shiver of pain and cold wracking his body as he suddenly realizes the weather is warm. Somehow, in the middle of winter, the weather is warm. There's sand under his cheek and somewhere not far from here is the sound of crashing waves and he would swear he can hear Jessica's voice. John closes his eyes again and waits for the punchline, because men like him don't die and get heaven. They don't get to go back to their happiest memory, they don't ease back into the hotel room with the love of their life, the sound of waves pounding on the beach.
They just stop. They wink out of existence and the world gets a little bit better for their loss.
So he keeps his eyes closed and he waits for it to end, because he'd meant every word he'd said to Carter in the car earlier. He missed her and he'd wanted to let her in and he regrets every single day that he hadn't, but he was always going to end up here. Dying alone, no one there to hold him at the end of it all.
A child laughs and John thinks, as hallucinations go, that's not the worst one he could die hearing. He would rather it be Carter. He would rather it be Jessica, but there are worse things to see and hear at the end than a happy child.
John is dying, Carter is right about that. He can feel it happening now, although he couldn't before, too caught up in the lie of seeing her, too confused by the heat, her voice, the music. The car is cold, too cold to keep him alive until morning, and no one is coming for him. He's going to die here.
"Yeah, well." She sounds sad as she shakes her head. "That's something we never get enough of."
"You're right." She always is. He's known that for a very long time and he thinks this is the first time he's said it, but it's possible he just doesn't remember. There's so much he wishes he'd said to her, so many things she'll never hear because he couldn't tell her. "I don't let people in. It's not why I didn't tell anyone about the case. I wanted to close this one myself. Just me."
"Why?"
"It was a chance to be close to you again. I didn't... wanna share that with anyone else." Everything is cold except for his face. His face is warm, tears cutting through the chill against his skin and he wishes he could lift his hand, wipe his cheek, but his hands are too cold and his shoulder hurts too much. He misses her.
"There's another reason why I kept that photo," she says, then smiles. "It was a side of you I hadn't seen. Happy. Hopeful. In love. You can feel that way again, John, you just gotta hold on. There are people who care about you. Who could love you. Just gotta let them in. Just like you told me before. Whether I liked it or not, I wasn't alone. Neither are you."
She's right. But he's alone now.
It's his own doing, she's right about that, too. Carter always did see through him better than almost anyone. With Finch it's different. Finch does his research, finds the files no one else can find, cracks them open and reads every last sentence. Finch knows him, of course he does, he's the best friend John has ever had, and he huffs out a soft laugh as he realizes the absurdity of that truth. Harold Finch is the best friend he's ever had and John doesn't even know his real name.
But while Finch knows him, Carter can see through him. She doesn't bother with files or hacking computers, all she's ever had to do is look at him and she can see everything.
Could see everything. She's dead now.
But she's beside him here in the car and John twists his head, wincing at the pain that races down his arms, and looks at her. God, how he misses her. She's looking right back at him, her face soft, worried, and a shudder goes through him as he realizes she has every right to be angry with him, but she isn't. She's only sad. He'd cared about her so much, wanted to do right by her, make her proud of him, he'd wanted to protect her even in the moments when he knew she didn't need protecting, he'd wanted to stand by her and watch her climb the ranks and feel the pride he had known he would feel as she conquered every obstacle in her way and he hadn't said a damn word about it.
Whether or not it had been love, John has never let himself examine for fear of what the answer might be, but he does know he hasn't felt what he'd felt for Joss Carter in a very long time. Not since Jessica.
It doesn't matter now. She had died in his arms and now he'll die alone, trapped here in this freezing car, bleeding sluggishly from the gunshot wound he'd sustained because he'd had to go this alone. Because he had needed so desperately to be close to her one last time.
"Will you stay with me? Just for a little bit?" he asks.
"Yes, of course. Just hold on, John."
If he closes his eyes, maybe she'll take pity on him. Maybe she'll put a hand on the back of his neck and let him feel some of her warmth as he goes, so he leans forward against the steering wheel, puts his good arm up against it to support his head and finds suddenly there's nothing to lean against. He goes tumbling forward off the seat of the car, rolling at the last second and still landing painfully on his shoulder, only just barely protecting the gunshot wound. The car is gone and he grits his teeth against the pain, the prickling in his limbs, and lies still for a moment, willing himself the strength to move.
As he turns, his cheek scrapes against a rock and he opens his eyes, squinting up at the terribly bright sun, a shiver of pain and cold wracking his body as he suddenly realizes the weather is warm. Somehow, in the middle of winter, the weather is warm. There's sand under his cheek and somewhere not far from here is the sound of crashing waves and he would swear he can hear Jessica's voice. John closes his eyes again and waits for the punchline, because men like him don't die and get heaven. They don't get to go back to their happiest memory, they don't ease back into the hotel room with the love of their life, the sound of waves pounding on the beach.
They just stop. They wink out of existence and the world gets a little bit better for their loss.
So he keeps his eyes closed and he waits for it to end, because he'd meant every word he'd said to Carter in the car earlier. He missed her and he'd wanted to let her in and he regrets every single day that he hadn't, but he was always going to end up here. Dying alone, no one there to hold him at the end of it all.
A child laughs and John thinks, as hallucinations go, that's not the worst one he could die hearing. He would rather it be Carter. He would rather it be Jessica, but there are worse things to see and hear at the end than a happy child.
