Prompt: subway

rated: t

setting: post series

relationship status: pre

warnings: none

Sidenote: everyone survives and heavy on the angst

Also, I nearly face-planted when I realized how long since the last time I updated this. And thank you Elaine for proofing this so quickly.


"…John, please don't do this. I can help you!"

"I'm sorry, Joss."

"Listen to me, we can send Samaritan straight to hell together."

"No. If anything happened to you…"

"It won't. I promise."

"Because you're not coming with me. Joss, you changed me but you can't save me."

Then metal clinking against metal sounded. "Yes, I can, if you'd just let me. Uncuff me, please…"

He turned away. As he strode to the door, the tears he refused to cry trickled down his cheeks but his feet did not falter. This was his fate. It was how it had to be. "I love you, Joss," he whispered, to himself so she'd never hear, but was out there for the universe to know. John opened the door to the interrogation room, leaving the woman he loved shouting his name in desperation as the door slammed closed.

John jerked at the sound of the door closing, only to realize it was a residual sound as he replayed the last moments he saw Joss Carter in his mind. He nodded off, or passed out, one of the two or both, who could say. It didn't matter. John rested his head against the back of his seat, feeling physically and mentally drained. Someplace high above or down far below was having quite the laugh at his expense, and with the things he's done in his life it had to be the devil himself. How else could you explain the fact that he survived the takedown of Samaritan?

He sat on the subway J train headed for Brooklyn. Coming back to where it all started seemed right, because this was where his life changed irrevocably. Back then he was done; haunted by the blood on his hands, exhausted by life, and broken from the grief of losing the only one that seemed to connect him to the world. But then he had gotten into a fight with some punks and a breath of life seemed to flow through him again. That breath came from none other than Joss Carter.

Meeting her changed everything. Her humanity drew him in, like a moth to a flame. The fact that there was someone like her that existed was almost unfathomable to him then, to him now. Joss had been tough but compassionate. Something John didn't believe he deserved. It still was something he wrestled with even now, now that his life had changed course yet again. He wasn't the man-in-the-suit any longer. Everyone believed he was dead, which wasn't so different from before, except now it wasn't just people who wanted him dead that thought it but so did his friends. So did Joss.

John sat quietly, licking his dry and cracked lips. He shifted and stiffened, as any movement brought forth a wave of excruciating pain, and felt cold sweat bead above his upper lip. Also sweat dripped from his temples and he tried to control the urge to grasp at his side. Healing gunshot wounds were the worst. John should be resting but he didn't want to put out Madeleine Enright and her wife any more than he needed to, so the moment he could walk alone was the moment he was out their door.

A ragged and broken breath escaped him as he fought off the searing pain ravishing his body. Once it subsided, he moved just his eyes to peer at his surroundings, and noted that the J train was practically empty. It mirrored the night he nearly ended his life, the night he met Joss; except he wasn't drunk. If only. Instead, John was only a week from almost dying from multiple gunshot wounds and was weak as a kitten. Hell, he'd put money on the kitten having more strength than he did currently. But he was a stubborn bastard, didn't know when to die.

John risked movement by glancing down and moving his shabby suit blazer. He winced inwardly. Maybe, he could admit, that he might have left Enright's place a bit premature because there was a small crimson stain forming on the gray tee that Enright's wife, Amy, got him. His blood soaked through the bandage and shirt. He pulled the blazer together again to hide it from any prying eyes and his own, because out of sight was out of mind, right?

His eyes drooped close. Exhaustion overwhelmed him. All he had nowadays was pain and exhaustion. Finch left for Italy to be with Grace. Shaw was most likely working a new number with the machine and Root, while treating Bear like a king. His disgruntled partner, Fusco, by now should have someone new to be his actual Homicide Task force partner, and not planted there at the behest of the machine. John personally hoped it was Dani Silva. Kid had a good head on her shoulders and could liven up Fusco's life now that he wouldn't be in it. Carter, who had been promoted to Captain of the 8th precinct, to make room for him as Fusco's partner, most certainly was still Captain and maybe even get to become that FBI agent she was wrongfully denied of through no fault of her own.

Joss.

Now she'd be the one he'd be willing to come back from the dead for. But John Reese was better off dead to his friends and that included Joss Carter.

You're a liar, an inner voice scoffed and it sounded awfully like Joss Carter. She did tend to like to call him out on his bullshit.

But it wasn't entirely bullshit. Everyone's life was going the way it needed to. And John had something too. He found peace. John felt peace over Jessica's death, over things he did in his past, his choice of pulling the switch on Finch to be the one on the rooftop to stop Samaritan, and leaving Joss behind to protect her.

However, the outcome wasn't expected. John had fully expected to die up there and yet here he was, alive and kicking, left with a life to live that he wasn't sure what the hell to do with. Maybe he would go retire to a cabin in the woods as Mark once suggested.

Or you could stay in New York. You could tell Joss the truth.

He shuddered and shook his head at the thought, because it sounded like Finch's voice trying to gently guide him. No, he should let Carter believe he was dead, like everyone else. She was better off.

No she's not. You're just scared she hates you, rightfully so…

That same voice in his head now spoke in such a patronizing way, almost as if Shaw was doing it. "What would you know?—you're as broken as me!" he growled as his eyes opened.

Sitting across from him was a small older woman that was watching him with wary eyes. Great, now he had Granny thinking he was some drugged up hobo having a fight with his hallucination. Instead, she was just baring witness to a man, who was struggling with his conscience. It didn't take long for her to stand and find a new place to sit. The J train wasn't exactly crowded.

John gritted his teeth as he shifted and pulled out the cellphone, which he pick-pocketed from a man getting off the subway as he was boarding, from his blazer pocket. Calling her would be a mistake. He left things a mess because he was a selfish bastard.

What's really selfish, wonder boy?—calling her or not? We both know the right answer and we don't need Coco Krispies consulting the ultimate Intel Pentium to figure it out.

Great, he didn't die but apparently he was losing his sanity with hearing the voices of his friends' in his mind. But before he could question it, he slowly dialed Carter's cellphone number, and then put the phone to his ear as it rang. He should hang up, before she answered. But that thought faded because the ringing stopped and then he heard her voice. His eyes closed, feelings tears leak out and streak down his cheeks. Just hearing her voice again…

"Hello?" Joss said again, this time sharply. "Who's there?"

John swallowed the thick lump that lodged in his throat, feeling raw and exposed. Like this phone call had torn him wide open. This was the time to hang up. She would never know it was him. But he wanted her to know the truth so she'd never have to wonder. He wanted to say goodbye properly. There was so much he done wrong in life, made so many mistakes, but this wouldn't be another one.

"Joss…" he whispered, feeling choked.

There was a soft but strangled sound, almost a sob. He heard a rustling sound before he finally heard her speak again, "John!" her voice was breathless, shook, and sounded relieved. "I knew it." She stopped and he heard another rough sound. "I knew you didn't die on that rooftop."

"I should of," John still wasn't sure how he made it out. Everything was a bit of a blur. Somehow he managed to get off the rooftop just before the missile hit. Getting out of the building before it crumbled to the ground had been all adrenaline pushing him forward and out the doors to a waiting Madeleine Enright. At the time it hadn't made sense but now it did. The machine had sent the surgeon in hopes he would survive and need medical assistance.

"Where are you?" she asked, hushed.

He closed his eyes. If only she knew. "Joss, I called to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" she repeated, like it didn't compute.

"No one needs me any longer, Joss. New York doesn't need the man in the suit. It has you and Fusco. The machine doesn't need me because it has Shaw and Root. Shaw has Root and Root has Shaw. Finch doesn't need me because he has Grace. And Fusco doesn't need me breathing down his neck any longer, he's reformed."

"What about me?—don't I need you?"

God, did he wish. "You never needed me, I always needed you."

"So you don't anymore?" she asked, quietly.

He laughed faintly. "I need you more than ever."

"Then tell me where you are and I'll be there," she replied, her voice soft and beckoning.

"Where it began," he replied, low, and regretted it the moment it was out of his mouth. But then he groaned as he shifted and his body throbbed with pain.

"What?—what's wrong?" concern palpable from Joss.

"Gunshot wounds hurt like a bitch," and so did cracked ribs, a sprained ankle and wrist, and painful lacerations that littered his body in large amounts with dark nasty bruises over top.

"How many are there?" she questioned, agonized.

John knew she was prolonging the inevitable but he'd let her because he loved her, loved hearing her voice. "Five," he answered, honestly.

"Five! John, where are you? Tell me, please…"

He shook his head. "I shouldn't have called. I just…just had to."

It was quiet on the other end. He wondered if she hung up on him. But then he heard a door slam shut. John felt a smile push the corners of his lips up. His detective was mad. Joss was always beautiful even when angry. She was like sunshine; shined bright, and made your day better, and when she was gone everything was dark and cold.

"Can you explain to me, why?"

It was such an ambiguous question. It could be about so many things. Why did he choose to go to the precinct to see her before heading to the Federal Reserve Building? Why did he cuff her to the interrogation room table after she insisted to come with him, leaving her to shout for him to come back? Why hadn't he gotten word to her sooner that he was alive?—instead, letting her and everyone else believe he was dead. All those whys but none were what she was asking him.

"Don't you hate me, Joss?" he asked of her.

"That's why!" her voice rose an octave, anger pushing it higher. "You're saying goodbye to me because you think I hate you!"

"You should…."

"I don't," she spat. The fact that she didn't, managed to soothe what was left of his soul. "You said you loved me," her voice had gone soft and hopeful. John froze. She heard him? "Is that true?"

"Yes," he breathed. "…with all my heart."

"Then why are you running away?" she demanded. Because he didn't believe that she could forgive him and because she didn't say she loved him. But how could Joss Carter love him?—when he wasn't even sure there was anything left of him. "John…"

He blinked, unsure if he spoke aloud. "Goodbye, Joss…" and hung up before she could say anything more.

Silence echoed through the J train as he lowered the phone. John sat there for a while just staring blankly at the phone, wishing for a do over in life. He didn't quite know just how long he sat staring at the phone. It could have been minutes or hours. Time worked different now that he said goodbye to Joss Carter. Even breathing seemed to not work the same. It felt like something sharp and painful was stabbing his chest with each breath in. Or it was the broken rib reminding him of its painful existence. Either way, the pain was bruising and deserved. He didn't pocket the phone but rather removed the SIM card, pocketing it to trash later, and left the phone on the subway, but chose to wipe his prints off.

Finally John managed to get off the subway, unlike the night he met Joss, without incident. His movements were a big sluggish as pain radiated everywhere, and his strength was bottoming out.

Then he stopped before colliding into someone that stepped in his way. That someone had dainty feet encased in heels that were connected to a pair of killer legs.

"Guess you really did go back to where it all began."

John lifted his gaze off the shapely legs, up a curvy body encased in a summery yellow dress, stopping only briefly on her nice breasts, and then continued on until he came face to face with Joss Carter.

Her eyes were puffy and watery from crying. "If you can, I can." she muttered and he furrowed his brows as he looked at her. "I'm Joss Carter," then a beat later, "you got a name?"

He stared deeply into her soulful eyes. The last two times they played this game everything changed. First time, she saved him; the second time, he saved her. His eyes drifted to her chest where Simmons shot her then back up to her eyes.

"Seems like the only time now that you need a name is when you're in trouble. Am I in trouble?" going along with it once more.

She stepped close, drawing his blazer aside to peer at his chest and stomach. He didn't stop her, letting her see the blood stain on his shirt, and bulges from bandages on his wounds that his shirt could not hide.

Her eyes lifted. "Lots," she breathed as she eased up and brushed her lips against his so soft and tender. He sucked in a ragged breath and grabbed her arms, ignoring the wave of pain that washed over him with the movement. John kissed her back before she eased away. "Come home with me, John," their game over already. "Let me take care of you."

"Joss…"

"I need you. Always did, always will." she whispered. Her words wrapped around him, filling all the hollow holes inside him up. "There's nothing to forgive, John."

"I left you,"

"It was done out of love." her voice soft, like a caress over his aching body.

"I let you believe I was dead."

"Seems to me like you had more pressing issues like surviving." her serious gaze wandered over him and then met his gaze. "I feel like one strong breeze will knock you over, which is strange to see because you're like this immovable and impenetrable force to be reckoned with."

Why was she making this easy? Why wouldn't she just give up on him? All he did was bring her pain. The questions he had must have showed in his expression because slowly she stepped back. "I'll never give up on you, John." Once again he was struck by her. Not for her ability to read him. Joss Carter always could. No, the depth of her compassion and generosity touched him. "I love you." her whispered declaration cut through him like a knife, leaving him to feel as though his heart was beating outside his chest.

His gaze sharpened on her and saw nothing but honesty and truth in her expressive dark eyes. She loved him in return? Then she held out her hand and John looked down it then back up to her eyes. "You chose to leave me to protect me because you loved me. How about this time you choose to stay with me to love me and let me love you?"

He stared at Joss. Maybe, he did know what he was going to do with the rest of his life and it wasn't living in a cabin in the woods. John never broke eye contact as he slowly took her hand. Joss smiled bright with tears forming in his eyes making them shiny. She moved close and sidled up to him, urging his arm over her shoulders, and they walked slowly out, together.


AN: I'm going to try to update this more often than every year and a half. *fingers crossed*

Thank you for reading!