primary_asset | (no subject)

He probably shouldn't have gone through the breach, but after the newspaper article Karen had found on him, he hadn't been able to help himself. It was a risk, but it was one he was willing to take just to find out what was on the other side, to see the world another John Reese had lived and died in, the man who had never been found by Finch, who had never been saved.

It hadn't seemed all that much different than this one. He hadn't felt the need for a disguise, expecting anyone who had known this world's John Reese would have known him at the man he'd died as. Homeless, bearded, his hair long and unwashed. No one would recognize him as he was now. He'd wandered through, observed the people who lived here, stopped in at the library to find himself a copy of the newspaper Karen had shown him, then headed out to pick up a coffee before returning to the Darrow where he'd found himself months ago.

Carrying the newspaper with him is perhaps a little dangerous, but there's a part of him that wants to show it to Finch. Everything he'd told Karen about Finch's role in his life had been the entire truth, but he knows he's never been particularly good at expressing his appreciation right to Finch's face, and he thinks the article might encompass everything he doesn't know he has the right words to say.

Without Finch he would be dead. He's long since thought so, but now he has all the evidence he'll ever need.

He's back in the Darrow he's been living in these past few months, reluctant it to call it his Darrow or the regular Darrow as he's heard others refer to it as. John wouldn't call himself settled, he'd been disappointed to find he wasn't able to orchestrate a way for him and Harold to head home through the breach, but he's more comfortable here. This is a city he's investigated, one he's searched, it's a city he's come to know. There's comfort in that.

John might be reluctant to say he's made friends, having never been very good at friendship before Finch, but at the sight of a familiar face ahead, he smiles and lifts one hand in a wave.

"Afternoon," he says when he's close. "How are you?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

New York has a way about it other cities don't, there's no denying it, but it's really only understood by people who have lived there. John remembers the community of the streets, the way he'd felt every night, knowing he had somewhere to go, somewhere people would miss him if one day he stopped showing up. At the time the plan had been exactly that, eventually he would disappear.

But he'd had people to take care of him. People with no reason to, people who had nothing themselves, people who would perhaps have been angry, but they'd never done anything but show him warmth and kindness, and at the time he had desperately needed both.

"And people care," he says. "New York has a reputation for being cold, but I think that's false. People... they care."

There isn't much more he can say about it, but it's the truth. There are cops like Carter and even Fusco. Men like Harold Finch. Women like Shaw and Root. They care, they work to make things better, even if only for a moment. Every gesture matters, even the smallest.

"Yeah," Karen agrees, a little softer, thoughtful, though still warm. "Yeah, they do. Even if sometimes you have to look for it, and sometimes it's where you least expect it." There have been times, sure, that everything has felt hopeless. The night she showed up here, hearing that gunshot echo through the woods, she'd been certain that there was nothing left, all the people who mattered to her gone in some way or another, making it so that she wasn't leaving anything behind when she showed up here. More often than not, though, no matter how awful things have gotten, no matter how much shit she's had to see and put up with, there's always something to balance it out, worth holding onto. She can't imagine she would have stayed if that weren't the case.

It's everywhere, though, no matter how hard it is to see, from the two lawyers who saved her life and turned everything upside down, to a mass murderer who somehow became one of her closest friends, to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen himself. Under everything is the fact that they cared. And she — well, maybe she's always cared a little too much. There are worse things than that.

"I haven't really found that here, not in the same way. I mean, I think people who aren't from here tend to kind of band together, but... It's not really the same."

At least John has Finch. In that regard he knows he's lucky. He had a friend here, someone who knows him better than nearly anyone else ever has, although he knows most people wouldn't call Finch particularly warm. He can be, in his own way, people just need to give him a shot and understand where the warmth comes from and how it's manifested.

Not everyone in Darrow has something like that. There are plenty who are without a friend from home and that can be lonely. He'd spent the first month in the same boat and hadn't particularly liked it much.

"It isn't," he agrees. "But it's something. And I hope you know you can trust me... count on me for... whatever you might need." Finch, too, he's no doubt of that. If he says he trusts Karen, Finch will trust that.

"I know," Karen says, something almost fond in her expression as she looks across the table at him, the menu in front of her temporarily all but forgotten. "And I do. I trust you." It's a simple enough statement, but for her, it's saying a lot, too. There haven't been many people of late she's been able to say that about. Even with the things he left out when they met, the false name he gave her, the things she suspects she still doesn't know, though, she thinks she trusts him maybe more than anyone else she's met here. It isn't like she doesn't have secrets of her own, after all. She won't begrudge him his, nor will they stop her from thinking that he would be the first person she'd go to if she needed someone.

That there's more to it than just trust, that she cares about him more than she ever could have expected when she found him that day on the beach, she doesn't think she needs to say. Chances are, it's apparent enough, anyway.

She laughs quietly, a way of deflecting a little, of not getting too serious. "Though you might regret saying that one day. I've been told that I... tend to attract trouble. Or the other way around."

"Or trouble attracts you?" he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting into another small smile. Somehow he feels like that might be the more likely option and it isn't as if he can hold it against her. John isn't exactly well known for keeping a low profile and he's sure Finch would be inclined to say the same thing about him. It isn't that trouble is attracted to him, it's that he goes looking for it more often than not.

It hadn't been that way before. While he was living on the streets of New York, he had done everything in his power to simply disappear, but things have changed since then. Since he started working for Finch, for the Machine, he'd learned something about himself and he knows he can't simply stand by when someone needs help. So perhaps he goes looking for trouble, but not without good reason.

"Even so, I don't think I'll regret it," he says honestly. "That just means you might need me more often than you think."

Edited 2016-10-26 18:40 (UTC)

"Yeah?" Karen asks, brow raising, and she can’t entirely tell how much they are or aren’t teasing anymore, but she can’t help playing along with it anyway. "And who says I need you?" She’d be fine, of course, if she had never met him. This place would be as weird as ever, but she wouldn’t have known the difference, because he would never have been here, their paths would never have crossed. The more time they spend together, though, the more he comes to mean to her. Need might be a strong word, but he’s unquestionably the closest friend she has here, the person she trusts the most, and that goes a long way in itself. She would be fine without him, but she’s much better off for the fact that she isn’t, that she has someone she can turn to.

She shrugs absently. "Just don’t say I didn’t warn you."