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It begins with a bullet.
Not that John hasn't been shot in the line of duty before, because he has. He's even been shot since he hooked up with Finch. It just took being incapacitated by Mark's men for him to realize how much someone cares now. The older man fought to get him help, to keep him safe, to heal him, which is more than he ever got in the military or the C.I.A. combined.
The injuries almost destroyed him but Finch didn't, wouldn't let him die. He called him back from Death's door with a voice that cut through all the pain. (And what does it say about him that, until the genius found him, pain was the only thing that proved he was still human?) Finch had even held his hand during the worst of it despite his discomfort.
This is what John thinks about these days. When he's watching their newest Number, following the oblivious woman around like a shadow, he remembers holding that small, deceptively strong hand in his. It's his only anchor anymore. That and the brilliant, broken billionaire it belongs to. But it's enough to ground him, to make him want to stay. He doesn't need anything else.
A bullet may take him out tomorrow. He knows this. Today, though, there's a man waiting for him to come home. He smiles as an unfamiliar yet welcome warmth settles beneath his skin and goes.