A/N Thanks to fellow fic writer Carolinagirl919 for the prompt. Story is 3 chapters long and was written earlier in the year. Hope you enjoy. :) The story is also unbeta'd so forgive the errors.

I do not own Person of Interest or any of the characters.

Two days off from work and a mini vacation out of the city to celebrate the New Year was all Carter could think about. The last few weeks had been filled with nothing but case after case compounded by mountains of paperwork that seemed to have no end. Thankfully three out of the four homicides she and Fusco had been investigating had been closed. One remained; a triple homicide with two cold leads, but she was glad she had a small reprieve from trying to figure out who was behind it. It could wait until January 2nd.

She was headed to Atlantic City with Cal; their first trip together as a couple. What had started out pretty casual had become somewhat serious after Rikers. The absence of John, Donnelly's death, and an indescribable emptiness that seemed to plague her had all thrust her back into his orbit. They spent more and more time together after work, had coffee, drinks, then dinners. Sleepovers came eventually, and the first night she spent over at his place, he'd gone out of his way to prove what a good and attentive lover he could be. It seemed he was going above and beyond in an attempt to impress her.

Carter couldn't complain. For almost three years, she'd been practically at the beck and call of two vigilantes who worked outside of the law while getting nothing in return. She was overdue for some reciprocity. Capturing criminals with their assistance always felt good. Protecting innocent victims felt better, but Rikers had taken a lot out of her, more than she cared to admit to herself or anyone else for that matter, and it left her with feelings of apathy towards both John and Finch at the end of it. It was high time someone catered to her needs and wants, and Cal had simply been in the right place at the right time. He sweet talked her, wined and dined her, pampered her, and soon his presence chipped away a huge chunk of the emptiness she felt. She cared about him, she truly did, and maybe as time went by, she could grow to love him. Maybe this trip was the first step in that direction. Maybe this trip was the right thing to do.

"Louis Mitchell, sixty eight years old…best card sharp in Atlantic City."

Reese sipped on his near cold coffee and grimaced while Finch gave him the run down on their latest number. Apparently the old guy had run amok of gangsters when he was younger, quit, and then scammed a casino owner to fund his wife's stem cell treatment when she got sick.

It was noble of him, Reese reasoned inwardly. Romantic maybe, but stupid. Now he was being forced to launder drug money at the casino by its corrupt owner, and a high stakes game was set for New Year's Eve. Tonight.

"Things could go very badly for Mr. Mitchell if he loses any of that money," Finch said.

"How much are the stakes tonight, Finch?" Reese asked as he joined Harold at the board.

"Five million. We have to remove Mr. Mitchell from this situation. And fast, Mr. Reese"

"I'm guessing we have to go to Atlantic City."

It was a rhetorical question, and while he had no plans for New Year's Eve, the last thing he wanted to do was spend it in a hotel babysitting a geriatric who hadn't had the good sense to 'know when to run'. He sighed. He was in a foul mood; had been for a very long time. In fact he felt as if he'd been walking around on autopilot ever since Rikers.

He was blindly following Finch's orders and working numbers as usual, but he felt detached and disconnected from everyone in a way he couldn't explain. He wasn't sure that he even wanted to. Rikers hadn't been any different than other interrogations he'd had to endure when he'd been captured in the past, but somehow it had felt different. Before when he'd gotten out, he'd seamlessly slipped back into his life of espionage as if nothing had happened. This time it wasn't so easy. He couldn't slip into the shadows and withdraw into himself and away from others, he had to protect innocent people, work with Finch. He had to pretend he didn't need to see Carter and that the comfort of her presence alone hadn't kept him going while he was locked in his cell.

It had been well over a month since he'd gotten out, yet something compelled him to stay away from her even though everything inside him was screaming for him to do the opposite. He'd started drinking as a way of escape. Never on the job, but when he dragged himself back to his loft at the end of the day or night, he spent much of his time in search of the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.

Something had to give soon.

"Not we, Mr. Reese. Just you. Something of a…" Finch paused as he walked back to his desk. He hesitated as he sat down heavily. "…personal nature has come up. I need to attend to it."

Reese blinked and turned his attention towards the board. He stared at the photo taped to the board, but his mind was already thinking about the personal matter Finch was referring to. It could be Will, something to do with Grace, or his company IFT. He waited, giving Finch time to be more forthcoming with any other information he might want to share, but other than a slightly pained expression on his face, he wouldn't say more.

"You can take Detective Fusco with you for back up," Finch suggested.

Reese scoffed. "Fusco? No thanks."

"It would be good if you didn't go alone. Men like that casino owner is bound to have people watching Mitchell's every move in addition to a top notch security team of his own. I figured since you and Carter weren't -"

"Since me and Carter weren't what?" He hadn't meant to snap at him, but his curt tone when he answered Finch practically turned his question into a snarl.

"Since you and Detective Carter seemed to have stopped communication…for some time now."

There usually wasn't much that Finch didn't know, Reese thought. He guessed he shouldn't be surprised that Finch had realized how things had deteriorated between him and Carter. He'd hoped though that even if Finch had picked up on it, he wouldn't mention it. It was the type of pain that Reese preferred to hold close to the vest and carry alone. He didn't want to share it with anyone. Not even Finch.

"I can handle it on my own." He stalked towards the door and tossed the Styrofoam cup into the trash. "I'll let you know when I get there."

"As you wish, Mr. Reese."

"What are you wearing?" Carter asked and stared in disbelief at Cal. His smile was wide, eyes twinkling, but she felt confused. "Why do you have swim trunks on, Cal?"

"For the polar bear plunge, Joss."

He walked over and put his arms around her waist. She licked her bottom lip before her mouth set into a grim line.

"Are you gonna tell me what that is?"

"Well," he said, softly kissing her neck. "It's an annual charity event for multiple sclerosis. And hundreds of people participate in it."

"Participate how?" she asked, her annoyance dissipating as his lips lowered to her shoulder.

"Well there's the monetary donation." He softly kissed her mouth. "Then there's the plunge - literal plunge - into the Atlantic. Swimsuits…" he brushed her lips again. "…swim trunks…" another kiss. "…and nothing else."

"It sounds like a good cause, but it's below thirty outside. It's supposed to start snowing later tonight. How safe is it? And what if you get sick?"

"I won't."

She ran her hands over his bare back and let them move lower to his butt. A few short seconds later and she could feel his manhood pushing against her tummy.

"You sure you wanna plunge into the Atlantic?" she asked as she nipped at his lower lip. "You sure you don't wanna take a plunge into something else?"

Her question elicited a soft groan from him and she put her arms around his neck while she kissed him hard. "What time does this thing start?" she could feel her nipples pucker against her sweater.

"Ten minutes, he answered. "So take off your clothes. I signed you up for it, too."

"What?"

"Mr. Reese, have you made contact with Mr. Mitchell?"

Reese pulled the handle of the slot machine looking at the two apples and bunch of grapes that appeared. He was running out of coins.

"I have. But Lou's been uncooperative for the most part." As he spoke Lou was filing into a room along with four other affluent and well attired men, and they all took seats at a table. The croupier acknowledged all the players, gave a brief obligatory explanation of the game and stakes and started to deal the cards.

From his vantage point, Reese could clearly see into the room, and after cloning Lou's cell phone, he was able to listen in and follow everything that was going on. It was going to be a long night. Every man at the table had deep pockets and histories of betting big. They played the long game, and they played to win.

Reese recalled his conversation with the old man earlier when he'd first arrived. Initially he'd been surprised, then skeptical that Reese had somehow received prior knowledge about him being in trouble. Even if he was in danger, Lou reckoned that he'd already lived a life that had been full and blessed. He'd met and married the woman of his dreams and had been lucky enough to have spent thirty good years with her before she died. If it was his time to go, then he'd go out with a bang. He had nothing left to lose.

And contrary to Reese or Finch's opinion on the matter, Lou didn't think that he would, in fact, lose. He knew who he'd be playing tonight, and he knew that he could beat them. And when he did, he planned on taking all of the winnings including the casino owner's money and leaving the country for good. Italy seemed a good place to retire. He'd settle there and live out the rest of his days.

Reese looked at him, knew he was crazy, but he knew nothing short of kidnapping Lou would stop him. So he decided to stick around and watch over him instead. If he did win as he predicted, he'd need help leaving the casino with all the cash. Reese figured he'd at least give him a clear exit.

"What do you mean, uncooperative?"

"I mean he still intends to play."

"And you didn't try to talk him out of it?"

Reese shrugged as he loaded the slot machine with his last two coins and let it roll. "What can I say Finch? The man feels lucky, and I couldn't stop him. Don't worry though; I'll stick around till the game is done. I won't let him out of my sight."

A bunch of grapes. A banana. One peach.

Pathetic, Reese thought. He hoped that Lou at least had some luck tonight.

The smile on the old man's face indicated that fortune was somewhat on his side so far and he gathered the chips that were slid in his direction. Reese's attention moved to his left suddenly. With no explanation, he felt a subtle shift in the room. The hairs on his arms stood up and he felt aware of someone nearby.

His gaze fell on a woman with brown skin, dark black hair that hung down her back, and a laugh that sounded very familiar. He squinted, focusing on her profile, and when she turned, he realized it was Joss.

He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, but it did nothing to ease the tightening in his chest. He was transported back to that dark room with the one light that illuminated it and the camera that was pointed right at him. He was sitting across from her once more, staring into her big brown eyes and silently accepting her nonverbal promise that she'd help him get out.

He was in Donnelly's SUV again, handcuffed and feeling unworthy of the praise she heaped on him when she called him good. He was in the hallway of the DOD memorizing the lines of her face, the sound of her voice and every good thing about her before he walked off to die alone.

He realized that he'd stayed away from her for reasons that suddenly felt stupid. The compulsion to go to her right now was far stronger than what had initially caused him to run away. Lou was forgotten, and Reese was already on his feet. He was about to make a beeline for her when he saw Cal Beecher put his arm around her shoulder and plant a kiss to her cheek.

"Cal," he murmured. She was with Cal.

Of course they were together. They'd dated earlier in the year and had seemed to get along with each other. It made sense that they'd continue seeing each other now. He wondered if it was serious. He wondered if she loved him.

She couldn't have. Not that quickly. Carter wasn't the type of woman who'd fall easily. But the smile on her face was deceiving. The teasing laugh she gave him hinted at something deeper.

Had he lost her? Like he'd lost Jessica? Was she really happy with Cal?

The question replayed in his mind as they both disappeared out the entrance of the lobby.

He didn't care. He needed her. He wanted her. That was all that mattered. Cal didn't.

Finch shuffled through the front doors of New York Presbyterian Lower Manhattan and took the elevator to the fifth floor. He tried to quell the panic that was rising as he approached the nurses' station and spoke with one of them on duty. Grace had been involved in an accident. The taxi she was in had been hit from behind and she had unfortunately hit her head. She'd been cataleptic at the scene when the ambulance had arrived and had yet to regain consciousness.

All he kept thinking about were the years they'd spent apart because he wanted to protect her. Years he'd yearned to be by her side but had stayed away, and now it was possible he was going to lose her to a car accident instead of by the government's hands.

"Good night. I'm here to see Grace Hendricks." His hands shook a little as he rested them on the countertop.

"And you are?" A young brunette looked up from her monitor to glance at him. Her name tag said A. Peterson.

"Her fiancé, Harold Wren."

Hospital security had already checked his ID, and a visitor's pass was pinned to the lapel of his coat. A few strokes of his keyboard back at the library earlier had updated all of Grace's information; her address, next of kin, and the name of her fiancé that was still alive. He knew it would be a risk if she woke up, but he had to see her, if only for a moment.

"I'll take you to see her, Mr. Wren." The nurse's face softened as she got up, and led him a few doors down to Room 504. Her head was bandaged, as was her right hand; she had two broken fingers. Her heart monitor beeped loudly in the room, and her bedsheets were drawn up just over her chest. She looked so peaceful, as if she was simply deep in a restful slumber.

Finch let out a sigh that was so heavily laden with emotion; he couldn't believe the sound came from his own mouth. The nurse gave him a report of how she was doing. Contrary to what he'd first found when he'd hacked the hospital's records online, she had regained consciousness for a while; a good sign, according to Nurse Peterson. She'd been given a sedative and something for pain. The neurologist would see her as soon as she woke up.

"Thank you, nurse."

She nodded and left the room. Years of suppressed emotion came out in a floodgate of silent tears that slid down Finch's face. He couldn't stop them even as he pulled the armchair in her room closer to her bed and sat down. She looked so small, so fragile, and for the first time in years he felt like he had no control. Over anything.

"Grace," he quietly cried as he held her hand. "Grace…"

Carter looked at Cal's near lifeless body under the covers and shook her head. The polar bear plunge had been completed since before ten in the morning, and now at shortly after 7pm he had congestion and a fever. She walked over to the closet to get a spare blanket and piled it on top of him. He'd have to sweat the fever out, the more blankets the better. After forcing him to swallow some chicken broth and giving him some cold and flu meds, he was out like a light.

If only he'd listened to her, she thought, they'd be getting ready to have dinner in one of the restaurants downstairs and then taken in a casino show before they did a little gambling at the slots. This was not how she wanted to spend New Year's Eve. This was not how she wanted to spend her hard earned days off from work.

She picked up her cell and called Taylor. He was out with a few friends and gave her a quick rundown of where they were headed for the rest of the evening before he hung up. She flipped through a few channels on the flat screen, but nothing caught her attention. A few more minutes of Beecher's snoring was enough to convince her to get out of the hotel suite.

She took a shower, got dressed and finally headed downstairs. She felt a little guilty as she hit the ground floor, but shook it off. Beecher was sick, he was dead to the world; there was no good reason she absolutely had to stay in the hotel room with him. Besides, the amber lights just inside Elaine's entrance were beckoning to her, and she walked in that direction. Just as she was greeted by the maître'd, she saw movement to her left and turned around just in time to see John.

A plethora of emotions bubbled to the surface. She couldn't decide whether or not she was angry, sad, or relieved to finally see him. It felt like it had been ages since they had spoken, and the unresolved feelings about Rikers and what they'd both gone through hit her all at once. She didn't have time to process any of them however; John appeared to be outnumbered, and he along with a much older gentlemen seemed to be led against their will down a long walkway.

She kissed her teeth in annoyance. The universe seemed to be conspiring against her desire for a nice, quiet start to the New Year. It just didn't seem to be in the cards. She looked at the maître'd and politely excused herself. Slowly she headed towards the walkway and followed John.

Whatever he was up to, he was going to need her help.