Absence

A/N: After Episode 1.23 "Firewall." In celebration of Jim Caviezel's birthday and the Season 2 Premiere.

As a general rule, Reese never swore to do anything, accomplish anything, anymore. He had failed far too many times to trust even himself as a sure bet, although he knew that he was one of the best at what he did. Sometimes, despite all of his planning and determination, circumstances beyond his control simply broke in to prevent him from achieving his goals. Call it Fate, if you will, but John Reese was keenly aware that even the best laid plans of mice and men go often astray.

However, when he arrived at the rendezvous point to find no sign of Finch or Turing but rather the dead body of a former NSA agent, he did vow one thing: to get Finch back or die trying. After everything the reclusive, paranoid genius had done for him, he would stop at nothing less. Since Reese had endured torture countless times, he could imagine very vividly what sort of agony Finch was going through. He could not help but remember the kind of pain the human body could withstand while still continuing to survive, its existence no longer a blessing but a curse.

He would get him back. He owed him that much. If he died in the effort, well, he had already been as good as dead when Finch had found him. And if he could not rescue Finch and bring him back to safety, then, as a last resort, he was prepared to kill him — quickly, painlessly, so that he would not have to endure any more misery — and follow him into that good night. It wasn't that he wouldn't do his job (or the Machine's job, depending on how you looked at it) without his friend; he simply couldn't. Without Finch giving him directions and hacking into databases and buzzing in his ear, Reese realized, he had no incentive to keep going. Not even the smiles and heartfelt thanks from the Numbers he had saved thus far could motivate him to continue. He needed Finch, like a fish needed water.

He also vowed, as he lay awake at night staring at the light patterns on his ceiling from the street below, trying in vain to get some sleep or at least some rest so he could function better in his search for his partner, that if he were successful in rescuing Finch, he would do all the things that he had wanted to do but had hesitated — not out of professional decorum, as he had told himself at the time, but out of fear of rejection, as he was now willing to acknowledge — to Finch, consequences be damned. He was going to grab Finch's hand as they walked side by side in the park and not let go. He was going to rub Finch's shoulders, even if the other man protested, until that sore neck finally eased up; hell, he would massage them every day! And he would kiss Finch, over and over, on his forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips — God, how he wished he had kissed him already! — until the stubborn old man either relented or returned the gesture. He was not going to hold back; he would woo the one he loved with all of his heart, using every last trick he knew and charm he possessed; and if Finch ultimately did reject him, at least it was better than wondering what might have happened if he'd only tried. It would be better than wondering if he would never see Finch again, having never done a single one of those things — never knowing whether the other man might have, just possibly, reciprocated.

And so Reese clenched his teeth in frustration as he spent fruitless hours trying to rest, when his soul could not possibly find repose with its other half still missing.