Author’s Note: Written for michele659 for the wegetcarter comm’s mini gift exchange. Title taken from “Music of the Night”.
“Taylor.”
John’s arm around her waist tightens almost imperceptibly. Not like he expected her to say anything else. Ever since they started playing this crazy game of reciting to each other the things they miss most about their old lives, Taylor has always been at the top of her list.
John swears that Taylor’s all right, that he’s not a threat to the Machine so he’s safe as long as they stay far away from him, but the distance still feels like a physical wound. Every day she goes without seeing her son, without being able to witness the man he’s becoming, it’s like a little part of her bleeds away.
They’re both weighted down by the people they left behind, though knowing John, he’d never admit it. Not out loud, anyway.
Finch isn’t with them, and John hasn’t quite forgiven either Finch or himself for that. But then, Harold was never gonna chose them over his precious Machine. Joss gets that in a way that she doesn’t think John ever will. Maybe because she’s a mom. That scary ass Big Brother piece of technology is the closest thing Harold Finch has to a child. He was never not gonna protect it.
And then there’s Fusco. It still hurts just thinking about him. Not the way it hurts to think about Taylor, but the kind of pain that comes from regret. No matter what was in his past, in the end he was a good man, a good friend, and a good partner. She only wishes she’d realized that before he jumped in front of an HR bullet meant for her.
Sometimes she hates John a little for giving the man back his conscience and then putting him in the crosshairs. Sometimes she hates herself for wasting so much time doubting him.
They’ve been off the grid for 369 days, she and John. It’s not easy to mark the passage of time out here in the middle of nowhere, but she’s managed without resorting to red Xs on a calendar or chalk hash marks on a wall. Like, day one: Fusco died. Day two was the last time she saw Taylor. It took until day twenty nine for Joss to finally fall into bed with John. Little reminders so the days don’t run together.
369 days moving from small town to small town. Hiding out in the woods. No cell phones, no TV, no internet. Dodging even traffic cameras, and never staying in one place long enough to be memorable. It’s no wonder they turned to each other, in the absence of any other human being.
There’s a part of her that would still very much like to believe that’s all it is: just two people seeking solace in each other because they’ve got nobody else. Because if that was it, if she hadn’t been fascinated by this man since long before she knew just how good he cleaned up, even before he saved her life, she could believe it wasn’t her own damned fault that she was here now. But she let those blue eyes draw her in like a carrot on a stick. And all those times she tried to turn back before it was too late never stuck because she never really wanted them too.
It helps a little to remind herself that if she hadn’t–if her life had never intersected with his–she’d likely be dead by now. That Taylor wouldn’t even have the letters and postcards–always sent with a different postmark–to reassure him she’s all right.
She doesn’t regret being with John. She doesn’t regret falling in love with him. It’s just the price she paid for doing so that is sometimes unbearable.
It occurs to her suddenly that she’s been brooding in silence for a good long time, and John hasn’t made any attempt to fill it, to continue the list that has become a mantra. Rolling over, she asks, “You okay?”
It takes another minute, but finally his voice washes over her, low with regret. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For what it’s worth.”
In 369 days, he’s never said that before, which says a lot about how hard it was for him. Joss swallows hard, as if that could stop the tears now stinging at her eyes. She can’t tell him it isn’t his fault, because it is. Him, her, Finch, Nathan Ingram, the CIA, the whole damned Federal government. She can’t absolve him, but maybe, just maybe, she can try to forgive.
“Just promise me I’ll see my son again,” she asks, her voice breaking a little.
He doesn’t answer her, not in words. But he doesn’t have to. She can feel that promise in every touch, taste it in his kiss. And she knows he’ll keep it even at the cost of his own life.