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Harold and Grace walk through the newest exhibit to open in Rome. The theme is American landscapes, which is perfect for the happy yet occasionally homesick couple. Grace gasps softly at the landscape of a mountain range.
"Look at this, Harold!" she says, tugging him toward it. "The technique is ..."
For once, Harold isn't listening to her. Something else has caught his attention at the other end of the gallery where there's a painting of a park, nestled underneath the Queensboro Bridge with the New York City skyline in the background.
But it isn't the painting Finch is looking at. It's the couple standing in front of it, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a woman of average height with wavy, chocolate brown hair. There's truly nothing remarkable about them. He's wearing a suit, and she's wearing a blue dress. They're perhaps better-looking than the average couple, especially when they stand together and look at each other like that, but that isn't enough to explain why Harold is absolutely arrested by the sight of them.
They turn, and Harold feels something squeeze in his chest as he hastily takes a seat. A little girl, about a year old, with curly wisps of dark hair, sits comfortably in the crook of the man's arm. The woman is round with child, and the man puts his hand at the small of her back as they make their way through the crowd. He seems to possess a unique ability to surround her as they move so that no one can jostle her.
"And that is a lovely depiction of post-modernism," John explains to the baby in his arms.
"No, it's not," Elena says, glancing at the Impressionist-inspired piece. "Stop teaching her wrong art things, John."
"I'm not the one with a master's degree in art."
"Art history," she corrects. "And I never did finish my master's— Wait," she says suddenly. "Where's —?"
A young boy pops up between John's legs. Harold supposes the ability to approach silently could be hereditary.
"What did we say about sneaking away?" John chides.
The boy maneuvers himself to Elena's other side. She ruffles his dark, cropped curls while exchanging a look with her husband.
"One day he'll be too tall to hide behind you," John points out.
"Doesn't stop you from doing the same when you feel threatened by Sameen," Elena retorts.
"I never feel threatened by —"
"Aunt Samee!"
The little girl in John's arms beats her pudgy little fists against his shoulder with surprising force. Elena tries and fails not to smile.
"Yes, we'll see Auntie Samee soon. But you just keep beating him up in her place, okay, sweetie?"
"El, we shouldn't encourage violent behavior in the children."
"Tell that to Jay here," Elena says, wincing as she puts a hand to her stomach. "I swear I'm black and blue on the inside."
"Why didn't you say? Here, let's sit for a minute," John says, leading her to a bench just on the other side of where Harold is sitting.
Elena sighs in relief as she shifts around, trying to find a more comfortable position.
"Better?" John asks after a few moments, reaching out and snagging the slippery toddler before he can make another escape.
"Much." She gives him a sidelong glance. "You like 'Jay'?"
"I assume it's short for John Jr."
"Egotist," she teases. "It could be short for Jocelyn."
John is silent for a long moment. "Or Jocelyn," he agrees.
"Just imagine: Detective Jocelyn Riley. New York won't know what hit it."
"Already have their careers all picked out, El?"
"Like you don't know Robin is already a little artist."
"And Ava here?" John asks, wincing slightly as the baby grabs at the short strands of hair that always stick up near his temple.
"Doctor, of course."
"Well, I think the future Dr. Riley here needs a change. Are you feeling better, sweetheart?"
"Yeah," Elena sighs. She blinks up at him. "Help your old lady up, babe?"
Somehow, even though he's holding the baby in one arm and keeping an eye on Robin, John lifts Elena from the bench, stealing a quick kiss before releasing her once she's steady on her feet.
"I only see a beautiful, glowing artist whose work is being featured in a gallery in Rome." He leans in close. "El, call yourself an old lady again and I'm going to get angry," he warns.
"Promise?" she asks slyly.
"That's what got you in this state in the first place."
"Don't I know it."
On the other side of the bench, as he hears their voices fade away, Harold feels as if his heart is fit to burst. He can barely catch his breath at the peek into this little window of pure happiness he's been afforded.
"Harold? Are you all right?" Grace asks in concern a while later as she returns to his side after making a few circuits of the gallery.
He smiles at her as he stands. "I'm wonderful. Shall we go for lunch at that cafe we passed down the street?"
"The one with all the gelato?" She's still looking at him curiously, but she knows better than to push right now, so she just takes his arm as he leads the way out.
Alternate Ending 2
"Do you think he bought it?" Shaw's voice says in their ears.
Elena and Reese watch from behind a large pillar as Harold and Grace exit the museum.
"I don't think he's the only one who bought it," Elena replies. They'd returned the children they'd borrowed back to their grandmother Maria, the owner of the restaurant that makes the best cacio e pepe in the world.
Elena chances a look up at John. He is looking at her with an odd, soft expression on his face, the kind that brings a blush to her cheeks and makes her feel blissfully happy yet a little sad at the same time. Oh, the lives they could have led.
"Can you guys flirt later?" Shaw sighs. "Cassidy, I think it's time you gave birth to some big guns."
"Thank God," Elena sighs as she reaches into her dress and pulls out the semiautomatic rifle, four handguns, and half a dozen smoke grenades they'd stashed in the fake belly. "My back's starting to kill me."
"Three coming down the main stairwell, four more coming in from the courtyard."
Reese takes one of the handguns and tucks it into the waistband of his pants. He stuffs the smoke grenades into his pockets before taking the rifle and hiding it within the folds of his jacket. Elena reties the belt of her dress tighter and tucks two guns in the back while keeping the remaining one in hand.
"I am in position," Shaw says.
Reese nods at Elena. "On me?"
"Always," she answers.
"You flirt at the most awkward times," Shaw mutters.
"One, two ..."
John glances at Elena one last time.
"Three," they say together, before they run out from behind the pillar and open fire.
Alternate Ending 3
"Are you all right?" Grace asks for the third time. "You seem ... preoccupied."
"Oh, yes, I'm fine," Finch assures her. He frowns at his hardly touched, melting gelato. "There was a painting at the gallery that caught my eye. The one of the Queensboro Bridge?"
"That one was lovely," Grace agrees. "An interesting choice for a subject. It's not the prettiest of the bridges, but there was just ... something about it." She ponders, trying to put it into words. "It wasn't trying to romanticize the skyline, even though it took up most of the space. That wasn't the point. It was that little park in the foreground, that bench sitting in the shadow of the bridge."
Finch sets down his spoon decidedly. "I wonder if the artist would consider selling."
He's already getting to his feet, hardly waiting for her to follow suit before he begins limping back toward the museum.
"It's a museum, Harold, they don't just sell paintings, especially not to college professors," Grace reminds him.
The crack of gunfire suddenly sounds through the air, then screams and panicked yells as people begin to stream out of the museum.
Finch stops short in the middle of the street.
Grace tugs on his arm. "Oh my God, Harold, we need to -"
Then his phone rings.
"Can you hear me?"
Alternate Ending 4
They'd somehow gotten separated. Elena's not sure how, since John sticks to her like glue whether they're grocery shopping or saving a world-famous curator from a team of professional hit men.
Elena grimaces as she looks down at the growing patch of red at her side. Sameen always says she's shit at dodging bullets. Honestly, she thought she'd gotten better over the years. Crap, John is going to kill her if this doesn't.
"Please, allow me to help you."
She blinks at the figure standing in front of her. She must have lost more blood than she realized.
"H-Harold?"
"Can you stand, Miss Cassidy?"
She nods, too shocked to correct her name, but the hands that help her to her feet seem real enough.
He doesn't seem in the least bit disconcerted that she isn't pregnant anymore. Instead of taking her to the exit of the alley, he guides them through a back entrance farther down.
"We have to walk about 500 yards through this warehouse," he tells her. "Do you think you can manage, Miss Cassidy?"
"Yes. And it's Mrs. Riley now," she manages to say.
Finch gives her a skeptical look. "Is it? And what about little Robin and Ava and John Jr. or Jocelyn on the way?"
"All still on the way."
He looks at her stomach in dismay. "Are you —?"
"Oh no. I meant hypothetically, theoretically. In the future, maybe, someday ... oh ..."
"Miss Cassidy!"
The room tilts for a moment before a strong arm wraps around her.
"El."
Reese hands his rifle to Harold as he takes Elena into his arms.
"It's just a scratch," she grits out, knowing how much he hates the cliche.
"Playing damsel in distress again, Pixie?" Shaw says, giving her wound a quick look over. "She's right, it's just a scratch," she assures Reese.
"You and I have very different definitions of 'a scratch', Shaw," Reese glowers. He turns to his former boss. A more sentimental reunion would have to wait. "Is there a way out of here?"
Looking rather resigned at having to hold the rifle, Finch nods. "This way."
But instead of emerging on the other side of the block, he leads them through several stairways and small alleyways. He finally brings them into a modest yet stylish residence. Bookshelves and artwork line the walls. Grace already has various medical supplies laid out on the coffeetable.
"Harold ..." Reese starts, but trails off, not knowing what to say.
Finch gestures for him to lay Elena down on the sofa, and Shaw begins rummaging through the medical supplies.
"Oh, Elena," Grace laments, eyes going wide at the sight of blood. "Shouldn't we call a doctor?"
"Too much of a risk," Finch explains. "Not to worry, Miss Shaw is more than capable."
"Gotten a lot of practice the last few years," Shaw says, getting to work. "This one's shit at dodging bullets."
Finch raises his eyebrows in Mr. Reese's direction. He can't believe John would let Elena take an active role in the enterprise. He glances at Shaw and Elena, who are quietly bickering about Elena's bullet-dodging abilities. Well, maybe he'd had little choice in the matter.
"Wait, aren't you a detective?" Grace asks Shaw.
Elena snorts, and is rewarded with a sharp poke from Shaw.
"Doctor, detective ... I'm whatever I need to be."
Finch sighs and gives Grace an apologetic look. "This is Miss Shaw."
"Oh," Grace says, nodding in understanding. She turns to Reese. "And you are a detective, but Detective Riley, not Stills?"
"Was," he corrects. He gives her a genuine smile. "Please, call me John."
"We heard about the incident in New York," Finch says, a shadow crossing his face. "I had hoped ..."
"The reports of our deaths were greatly exaggerated," Elena says.
"Not that exaggerated," Reese reminds darkly. "Came pretty close."
"Which is why we took this ... extended vacation," Elena explains.
"Some vacation," Shaw points out, waving a bloody piece of gauze.
"Somehow I can't see you kicking back on a beach, Shaw," Reese snarks.
"Hey, I wasn't complaining. I'm not ready to see you in a speedo, Reese."
"Speak for yourself, Sameen," Elena says with a saucy look in Reese's direction, though she's rewarded with another sharp poke as Shaw bandages her wound.
Finch observes their easy rhythm in a sort of daze. What an unlikely trio. And yet ... There's a lightness to Mr. Reese that only exists in Miss Cassidy's presence. Miss Shaw seems more ... human with her. And Miss Cassidy has acquired a quiet confidence of her own.
Knowing Mr. Reese's ability to get out of tricky situations, he had hoped against hope that the reports were wrong, that they'd escaped, retreated to some cabin in the woods. Montana, maybe.
But he supposes running around Europe saving Numbers works, too.
"Grace and I own this building. It should work well as a temporary base of operations during your extended vacation."
"Does this temporary base come with a temporary boss?" Shaw asks pointedly.
"A permanent one, if you'll have him."
Everyone turns to stare, except Grace, who gives him an encouraging smile.
"What about all this?" Reese asks, gesturing vaguely around their home. "Your life here, yours and Grace's. You can't give that up."
"I'm not. Perhaps I'm too old to be realizing this just now, but it seems you need family as well as friends to be truly content. Besides," he adds practically, "the world has changed, the Machine has changed in the past few years. I believe it can keep us all safe. And," He looks from Reese to Elena. "If you two can make it work ..."
"Man's got a point," Shaw says, finishing up on Elena.
Reese helps Elena sit up. He's wearing that intensely concerned look that she wishes she didn't cause so frequently. "All right?"
She smiles. "Always."
"It's like this every damn day, Harold," Shaw complains as she wipes her hands clean. "I don't know why I stick around."
"For the dog," she and Reese answer in unison.
Shaw rolls her eyes. "See what I mean?"
"Where is Bear?" Finch demands.
"Being spoiled by two kids formerly known as Robin and Ava, and their grandmother," Reese explains. "He's retired from active duty now."
"He's the smart one, it seems," Finch muses. "Robin did look a tad old to be your son."
"His name's Roberto," Reese admits. "Thought we could pass him off as tall for his age."
"And the baby?"
"His sister, Alessandra. Their grandmother knew we were borrowing them," he adds at the skeptical look Finch is giving him. "Kidnapping babies is your forte, Finch."
"Okay, you're going to have to tell us the story behind that one," Shaw says.
"As soon as you explain how exactly Miss Cassidy convinced you and John to let her take part in all of this, Miss Shaw."
"Yeah, you'll have to explain it to me, too," Reese mutters.
Finch gives him an amused look as he takes a seat at Grace's work table and unearths a laptop beneath a half-finished sketch.
It's a far cry from the setup they'd had at the Library and the subway, but there's just something about seeing Finch sitting there, face lit up by the computer screen, that feels like coming home for Reese. And because she always knows, Elena slips her hand into John's and squeezes.
"So how did you find Pixie?" Shaw asks, pointedly ignoring their cutseyness.
"The Machine," Finch answers simply.
"The Machine talks directly to you now?" she asks.
"No, She doesn't."
He meets Shaw's eyes, and something unspoken passes between them as he calls the Machine 'She'.
"The Machine continues to be very ... selective about whom She speaks to. She didn't talk to me until She saw you were in trouble."
He's no longer looking at Shaw but at Elena.
"Well, with you back on the team, Harold, I guess that means I'm out of a job?" Elena asks brightly, a bit desperately. Reese's eyes narrow.
"On the contrary, Miss Cassidy. You're the most important person in this room."
That startles a strained laugh out of her. Shaw picks up on it now, and she frowns as she looks from Cassidy to Finch.
"Harold, I know the blood and guns make me look badass, but I'm still Little Miss Normal."
"Funny you should use that nickname. You've always been terribly interesting to the Machine — that was Miss Groves' problem with you. I'm not sure how she would have felt about the Machine choosing you to be her successor."
"Her what?" Reese starts forward.
"A new analog interface," Shaw murmurs in realization. "Look at you, Cassidy. Finally all grown up."
"I'm ... what? No," Elena shakes her head. "I can't be ..."
"How long has the Machine been speaking to you, Miss Cassidy?" he asks gently.
Elena doesn't even think about denying it. If she's shit at dodging bullets, she's shittier at lying.
"On and off since I fake-died."
"Elena." Reese is incredulous. "Why didn't you say?"
"I thought it was a glitch! I'm not special."
Shaw snorts. Finch looks torn between smiling and rolling his eyes. "Why don't you ask Her, Miss Cassidy?"
Elena looks from Harold to John to Sameen and back to John, trying to get some sort of sign of what she should do. She's never hated John's poker face more.
Slowly she touches her earpiece.
"Hello?" she says tentatively.
"Can you hear me?" the Machine asks in Root's voice. It mimics her teasing tone perfectly.
"Er ... yes?"
"Oh, you can do better than that, Little Miss Normal," says Root's voice. "Sam and the Big Lug may be super spies, and Harry may be super smart, but you've got your own superpower."
"I do?"
"Me, of course. A direct line to an artificial superintelligence."
Elena can't wrap her mind around it. So she asks the question she always seems to be asking.
"Why me?"
The Machine sounds amused. "In the words of your nemesis, Katie Tucker, 'That's so classic Ellie Cassidy. You don't even know why.' Well, let me show you."
The speaker on Finch's laptop crackles to life, and audio clips begin playing from it.
Harold, right after the first time they'd met in Queensbridge Park: "It may be difficult for you to grasp, Mr. Reese, but there are a few people in the world who don't have any deep, dark secrets, who don't harbor any ill will toward anyone else. A very few. Miss Cassidy appears to be one of them."
Lionel, as he was arresting Katie Tucker. "You, you're something else, Elliegirl."
The customer she'd saved during the store shooting: "I was in the beauty department, and a sales lady pulled me behind the counter, and then told me to run when the shooting stopped. She saved my life!"
Root. "You know, Little Miss Normal is really starting to grow on me."
Sameen. "You are the most interesting boring person I know, Cassidy."
And finally, John. "I deal with people every day who are driven by anger, revenge, grief. Driven to do terrible things. But you ... you've lost so much, been through so much, and you've never let yourself think that way. ... You're better than most people, El. And there's nothing ordinary about that. ... The world doesn't need another Michelangelo. But it sure could use more niceness. Goodness. You."
In the silence that follows, Elena doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry, or maybe really play the damsel in distress card and just faint.
Then she feels John's hand tighten around hers. Her eyes fly to his, and his gaze steadies her, as it always does.
"You know, I asked Harold the same question when I started working for him. 'Why me?' But you see, El? We all see why. All the time."
"You really think I can do this?" Elena asks.
"Come on, Pixie. Stop fishing for compliments."
"I don't pick my interfaces lightly," the Machine assures her.
"I have found, Miss Cassidy, that the Machine sometimes knows us better than we know ourselves."
"I know you can do it, El. But what do you want?"
Elena takes a deep breath as she looks at her companions. She tightens her grip on John's hand.
"This is what I want. All of this. With all of you."
Shaw makes a disgusted noise. "Ugh, sentiment."
"Good to hear," the Machine replies in Root's slightly amused voice. "So, Little Miss, are you ready to have some fun?"
Elena smiles.
"Absolutely."
Alternate Ending 5
Detective and Mrs. Riley series
The ongoing adventures of Reese, Elena, Shaw, and Bear. Happily ever after is never boring when you live with two former international assassins and a military working dog. Well, damsels in distress gotta grow up sometime ... and start doing some saving of their own. Aka: Fluff, snark, and drama in the Riley household.