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The wheels of the car slipped on the snow covered road with every turn they took. Harold held on as best as he could, jostling in the passenger’s seat. The headlights of Fusco’s car flickered in the rear-view mirror, as the two cars sped through the woods.
Harold’s teeth clattered when Root took a sharp turn off the main road. Her hands were gripping the wheel tightly and her face was a grim, pale mask. Despite her previous taunting that Harold worried too much, he could see her grow more and more distressed with every glance at the falling temperature on the thermometer. If John was out there, if he wasn’t at the Pattersons’ cabin…
‘There!’ Harold shouted as the dark silhouette of the Patterson’s cabin came into view. His heart was hammering against his ribs and for the first time since they left the metro station in a hurry, the possibility that they were too late suddenly became very real. Cold despair washed over him, seeping heavily into his bones. There was no smoke coming from the chimney, no lights visible behind the windows. The only sign of life was a car that was haphazardly parked at the end of the lawn.
‘I don’t see anyone,’ Root remarked in a tight voice.
With a final slipping motion, the car came to a halt. Harold was out before Root had killed the engine. With a shock, he noticed the deep tracks in the snow and the dark figure lying a short distance from the car. Car doors slammed, but the sounds were dulled by the blood rushing in Harold’s ears.
‘John!’ Harold moved as fast as the resisting snow and his limp allowed him, hoping that by some miracle they weren’t too late.
‘It’s not him.’ Root caught up with him and pointed at the body, gun in her hand. ‘But he’s definitely dead.’
Desperate, Harold turned around, searching for a sign, anything, that might indicate that John was somewhere around here, that he was alive. Suddenly he saw movement, barely perceptible. It could have been a play of the light, a reflection, were it not that the windows of the car were streaked with a cobweb of cracks.
‘He’s in the car,’ Harold realized. ‘Oh god, he’s in the car.’
‘What are you waiting for?’
Fusco passed him, gun out, taking position to cover them both if needed. Root ran to the car and tugged frantically at the door, but it was frozen shut.
‘Don’t. You. Dare,’ she grunted.
Harold grabbed the handle over her hands and pulled. Their combined force was enough to force the door open. In a reflex that sent a sharp pain through his neck, Harold managed to grab John’s shoulder before he collapsed sideways to the ground. Root lowered herself and with quick hands examined John’s injuries.
‘Glasses, is he breathing?’ Fusco demanded.
‘Barely,’ Root answered. ‘He’s been shot. He’s lost a lot of blood.’
Harold put a hand to John’s cheek. ‘He’s stone cold.’
John’s eyelids fluttered.
‘John?’
John breathed out with a soft noise that could have been a word if his lips had moved.
Harold gave his cheek a sharp pat. ‘John, open your eyes. You gotta stay with us.’
John’s eyes opened a fraction and the relief Harold felt about gaining a reaction disappeared when John glanced, feverishly and unfocused, at a point in the distance.
‘We’ve got you,’ Harold rambled, trying to press down on his panic and focus on what needed to be done to rescue his friend. ‘We’re gonna get you out of here.’
John’s blue lips moved, forming words, but his voice was barely distinguishable.
‘I made it,’ Harold thought he heard, followed by a single breath that made his heart stop. ‘Joss…’
‘Harold, we need to move.’ Root tugged on his arm urgently, but Harold had frozen.
‘What’d you say?’
‘Harold! We don’t have time!’
John’s hand fisted loosely in Harold’s coat. It must be taking all his strength to attempt weakly to pull Harold closer. Harold had no idea what image his hypothermic brain had conjured, but he recognized the haunted look in John’s eyes all too well and he leaned in. John’s ice cold forehead pressed against his own.
‘I’m sorry,’ John mumbled.
Then, before Harold had time to process what was happening, John’s frozen lips, clumsily pressed against his mouth.
‘Oh, for god’s sake, now is really not the time,’ Root groaned. She roughly pulled Harold back. ‘Lionel, I need a hand, he’s too heavy for me to lift.’
Harold stood aside, feeling a little lost, while Root and Fusco extricated John from the vehicle with surprisingly coordinated movements.
‘You better stay awake, Wonder Boy,’ Fusco grunted as he lifted John over his shoulder. ‘I’m not ready to lose another partner.’
‘Harold, grab the first aid kit,’ Root ordered. ‘You can panic later.’
‘What are you-’
‘Gonna check the cabin.’
Harold nodded and hurried back to the car to grab the first aid kit from the trunk. Adrenaline was coursing through him, his whole body switching to survival mode. Fusco carefully lowered John on the back seat of the still lukewarm car. He snatched the metallic sheet from Harold’s trembling fingers and proceeded to wrap John up in the reflective foil.
‘Get in with him, make sure he stays awake. Don’t turn on the heat just yet. He shouldn’t warm up too quickly-’
‘Or he’ll lose consciousness,’ Harold finished for him. He was already clambering into the car. ‘Go help Ms. Groves, we’ll be fine.’
Fusco closed the door and hurried towards the cabin.
John’s eyes were closed, but he grunted softly when Harold pushed his slumped form upright and adjusted the foil to better cover his frame.
‘No,’ John mumbled. ‘We talked.’
He must still be hallucinating, Harold realized. In the dim light coming from the window, he could see a thin layer of sweat forming on John’s brow.
‘No, I did…’ John pleaded, turning his head away from Harold. He was more articulate, but his state of mind terrified Harold.
‘John, snap out of it!’ Harold lightly slapped his cheek again.
John blinked at him blearily. His eyes glistened in the dark. ‘I’m cold,’ he murmured and immediately he started shivering. ‘I’m so tired…’
‘You gotta hold on a little longer, then you can sleep,’ Harold told him, not daring to feel relieved just yet. He reached out and put the back of his hand to John’s forehead. Maybe he was imagining it, but the skin seemed a little warmer than before. John leaned into the warmth of the touch. As Harold took his hand away, John shifted.
‘Finch,’ he rasped, sounding panicked. ‘Don’t go. I'm sorry…’
John closed his eyes and his shivers appeared more vehement as he curled in on himself. The phantom feeling of ice cold lips tingled on Harold’s mouth.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Reese,' he promised softly.
The door on the driver’s side opened and Root slid in. ‘We were too late,’ she announced flatly. ‘Patterson’s dead.’
Harold blinked at her stupidly. In his worry for John, he had forgotten that John had come here to work a case.
‘We’re going back,’ Root said, already starting the car. ‘Lionel will take care of this one in the morning.’
The red glow of the tail lights of the other car reflected off the foil around John’s shoulders. In the soft light, he looked much smaller than he was.
‘How’s he doing?’
‘Warming up,’ Harold answered cautiously. ‘He’s no longer hallucinating, but he’s not very responsive either.’
With brisk motions, Root turned the car and followed the path back to the main road with a speed that was only a little slower than on the way here.
Harold sat next to John, unsure what to do except keeping him from toppling over. In half an hour they would be home and he could tend to John’s wounds. Then he could get something warm in him, put him in bed and watch his lips and cheeks regain their normal color. But right now the metro station seemed very far away and John was still drifting.
‘Harold, would you do something for me?’ Root asked suddenly.
Their eyes locked briefly in the rear-view mirror and Harold could see his own worry reflected in her expression. He nodded.
‘Put your arm around John. He needs it.’
Root sounded so sure, even without the Machine whispering in her ear, but Harold was still hesitant to move.
‘Stop doubting yourself, Harry. It’s not like you.‘
Slowly, Harold draped his arm over John’s shoulder, careful not to jostle the reflective foil. John let out a shivering sigh and slumped against his shoulder. The position hurt his spine a little, but when John turned his head into his neck, Harold pulled him even closer. John’s breathing was ragged and after a moment, Harold realized he was crying soundlessly. He twisted his arm and softly carded his fingers through John’s hair.
‘It’s okay, John,’ he murmured, voice catching as his own emotions finally spilled over and he realized that he was crying too. ‘We’ve got you.’
Shortly after, John sunk into a restless sleep and Harold held him while Root drove them through the cold and dark night, taking them both home.