EARLIER THAT DAY:

Reese turns up his collar, then cups his gloved hands over his ears to warm them temporarily.

After watching that unsettling coroner's scene earlier, he'd been walking, idly wandering up one street and then the next, the cold settling into his bones. He stops and looks around, a bit surprised that his aimless meandering has somehow taken him to Washington Square and the row of elegant condos nearby.

Evidently his subconscious made some decisions without tuning in the rest of his gray matter. Scary.

The stately buildings wear a hazy shroud now, the golden glow from one particular window a warm beacon calling to him to come inside, out of the wintery dusk. He stands, momentarily watching the misting rain creating a halo around that window. A shadow passes by behind the filmy curtains, evidence that someone is home.

The curtains don't quite meet in the middle…but he won't be so rude as to peer inside. It's enough to know she is there, probably working on her latest art project. No doubt a commission that Finch arranged to be sent her way.

I'll grow old with her, Mr. Reese, just from afar…

The sad words ring in his mind, and again he wishes that was something he could do, or say, that would make a difference. But Finch, with his brilliant mind would likely have already gone through every option, every alternative route possible.

And in the end, there had been but one choice: Harold and his loved one will travel through their lives on parallel but separate tracks. It was a choice he as a CIA agent too had made, but for different reasons…and with a very different outcome.

That lonely path his boss treads? It's much more difficult than the one he currently walks himself, because unlike his own lost love Grace is still very much alive, safe, secure, and as much as the reclusive billionaire is able to provide…cared for.

And Finch lives with that knowledge every second, of every day.

He moves away silently, and finding a taxi stand, flags down one of the few cabbies still patrolling the wet streets.

…

It's a fairly long ride to this residential area, to an address he keeps in a special memory file along with several others. The cab ride has warmed him somewhat, allowing him step out into the cold now without feeling its effect so much. He asks the cabbie to wait on him.

The houses here are typical suburbia, with one much the same as the other. There's a certain steadfastness in this commonality, a sense of security - probably overrated - but comforting. He walks slowly up the path and rings the bell knowing that the inhabitants will recognize him instantly.

They see him infrequently, but it's enough to not fear his sudden presence on their doorstep.

He won't linger long. He never does. This older couple has always accommodated his visits and while they certainly appreciate his continuing concern and support, he doesn't want to usurp their primary position in this child's life, their grandchild's life. Just a few minutes, and he'll be on his way.

But it's more than a few minutes, twenty actually, before he steps back outside, assured that Leila is still safe, secure, and in the hands of people who love her.

It'd be nice to have a child…children. Think that will ever happen..?

The meter has been running the whole time, much to the cabbies delight, and the ex-agent sighs, though feeling lighter already as he gives the driver the next address.

…

Reese glances at his watch. He's been standing across the street from the brownstone building for almost thirty minutes now. The cold and wet seeping into his very bones is becoming uncomfortable…but there, finally!

So…obviously no practice tonight; the weather is too chilly, too wet.

The ex-agent watches as the teenager races up the steps with the enviable energy of a healthy young male, a book bag bouncing on his back. The door opens, offering a glimpse of Detective Carter as she welcomes her son home, and then it closes, and he's left alone in the misty gloom.

Good to know you keep your word!

I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to your son!

He thinks briefly about knocking on that door, of being invited in, but the Detective works long hours and he knows time with her son is limited, precious. He won't intrude on that. And besides, everything is all right now; both are home. Safe.

Having already sent the cab on its way, Reese turns up his collar once more and points his feet west. It's not a long walk, less than ten blocks to a Precinct he knows well.

The exercise will do him good…and maybe warm up his insides.

…

Not twenty minutes later he's peering through the side of a large window, misting rain condensing and running off the glass in rivulets as the wind gusts around the corner. The bowling alley is noisy and crowded, more so than usual…no doubt a result of the inclement weather. No one wants to be out in this weather unless absolutely necessary.

The mill of people, young and old, creates a living tapestry inside the hazy room but it doesn't take him long to spot his quarry. There, widely gesturing after just taking his turn on the alley is his pet detective.

The expansive arm movements and body language are inevitably ignored by the rolling ball as it seeks the gutter and leaves all pins safely standing tall. The portly cop returns to his seat, his expression one of exaggerated sorrow, much to his son's delight. The boy laughs and grabs a ball for his turn as the detective looks on fondly.

If HR gives you any trouble, Lionel, I've got your back…

Reese shakes his head, his thoughts taking him over the evolution of the complicated relationship he has with this portly policeman. How did it all get to this?

The at-first-reluctant asset has gradually morphed into an ally of sorts, enough so that he feels a responsibility now to keep an eye on the one time gofer for HR…just to make sure the detective doesn't fall back into his old ways, obviously. But also to maintain a valuable contact within the precinct. And perhaps because the man has a son to raise…

At the moment of course, the only danger facing the chubby cop is pulled muscle!

He turns his head upward to the sky. What had started out as a misting rain is now shape-shifting into something else. Large, wet flakes swirl around him now, dancing to the whistling tune of a gusting wind. It's time head back...

He hails his cab, thankful to have the opportunity to warm up again.

…

Exiting on Worth Street, he pays the cabbie, adding a tip generous enough to earn him a genuine smile from the cities' normally taciturn drivers. Strolling the length of Columbus Park, he angles toward one of the tables at its perimeter.

Tomorrow is his scheduled game with Han, and they will sit here, chatting and attempting to best each other at Chinese Chess. And if this snow continues into the next day? Well…they'll simple move to the covered pavilion.

How come you're not working today?

My boss gave me the day off…it's my birthday.

Shēngrì kuàilè...!

He thinks of the old man, now undoubtedly in the cozy apartment he shares with his daughter and her family, surrounded by his clan, grandchildren clamoring for his attention.

Reese runs his hand lightly across the wet table top. He shifts his shoulders, relaxing cold muscles, and as he heads for his own apartment with a contented sigh, his phone rings.

"Hello, Zoe…"

…

PRESENT:

Finch absently rubs Bear's ears. This evening hadn't turned out at all like he had expected, had hoped for. Perhaps it had not been the wisest plan after all, but John walking off after that depressing scene in the rain… He couldn't just stand by and do nothing, knowing the mental anguish the ex-agent was probably going through. Putting himself through.

He thinks back on the events of the last several days, the Numbers the machine had presented them, all the foot work they had both done in order to defuse an impending threat to a woman with an abusive soon-to-be ex-husband. It seemed to be a classic case, almost a cliché.

And when she purchased the gun they had both assumed it was for self-defense.

But the existences of the two people whom they were to protect, a mother and young child, winked out in the time it took a bullet to travel the distance from barrel through human flesh…as she turned the gun first on her child, then herself.

Murder-suicide, the coroner would determine. A classic case.

We have limited information, John. We knew when we began this that we might make mistakes…

But John really does expect to save everyone. And the fact that one of these victims was a young child makes it all the harder for him to bear. For them both to bear.

With a heavy heart Finch gives the dog one last pat and walks to the case board where he strips off the photograph. He stands and stares at this image frozen in time, captured by someone's camera. A picture of an earlier occasion, when mother and child were seemingly happy.

With a sigh he limps to the far corner of the chamber and carefully places the photo on his wall. One more among so many others.

But he reminds himself that he hasn't added to the wall for some time…testimony to all their successes. And while they may not be able to save all lives, the ones they do? In those lives they make a huge difference!

"Did you get something to eat yet, Harold?"

Finch startles at the sound. He'd wrapped his introspective mood around himself like a blanket and never heard the gate open, never even saw Bear leave his side to greet the ex-agent.

"N..no... That is…"

"Good. Because I brought you a doggy bag. Great food at that place, but the portions are really way too big for one person."

Reese places the sack on the table, and Finch's stomach rumbles as his nose takes in the mouth-watering aromas. Though hungry as he is, he stares at his employee critically, looking for signs of stress, tension. But there aren't any, at least none that he can detect. His employee…partner…friend…looks calm and relaxed.

He proceeds to unpack the various containers, while Bear looks on hopefully.

"How was your own dinner, Mr. Reese?" he asks, feigning indifference, not daring to meet the ex-agent's eyes. John can be scarily perceptive.

"It was fine, Finch. But let me arrange my own date next time, ok?"

At that Finch does glance up. The tall man is smiling gently, seemingly in good spirits. As the reclusive geek bites into a tender piece of steak, savoring the explosion of flavors, he wonders if Ms. Morgan is responsible for this aura of peace he senses in his employee.

But he won't pry. After all, everyone deals with the aftermath of failure in their own way…

"And Finch, just so you know…Leon may be a great forensic accountant, but he's a really lousy spy."

End.