Chapter Text
The summer flies by; glorious in one life, miserable in the other. John makes a few changes in John Stracey's life: he joins a gym, starts running. Or at least walking. He can't believe he let himself get this out of shape. Not here, where he has something to live for, stay healthy for. The kids go back to school and he moans and groans about the cost of new uniforms, shoes, notebooks, and such but everyone knows he doesn't mean it. Emily wants a computer of her own and there is much discussion about laptop vs. tablet, the subject tabled until homework requirements make themselves known.
In John Reese's life nothing changes until one night, when riding on the subway, almost at the point of passing out, a group of punks come in to his car and their leader grabs his bottle of whiskey. Moments later they are all on the ground and Transit Authority cops are holding him for the NYPD. He can't be bothered to resist. He doesn't give a name, but he knows, when Carter takes the cup with his prints on it, that it will only be a matter of time before the CIA sends someone looking for him. Probably Mark. He will no doubt take it personally when he learns the plan to eliminate both Kara and him failed. The thought is almost enough to make him smile. He wonders, when Mark kills him, will he go to the other life permanently? That thought does make him smile, at least a little, until he sees the lawyer walk in and point to him. It's too soon to be anyone federal, so he's curious as to who is footing the bill. Curious enough to get in the car, anyway, and at least listen to Mr. Finch's proposal. Not curious enough to take him up on it, though. He takes the guards out with ease and as little effort as possible, just to make a point, and walks away, thinking that rich people can develop strange hobbies.
The police will almost certainly be looking for him once they run his prints, and maybe Anton and his friends, so it's time to change up his appearance. He doesn't want to spend whatever time he has left in jail, on trial, whatever. Sure enough, they run a sketch of him with beard and long hair while he finishes cleaning up. He changes the channel, settles down with the bottle. It isn't long before he's out.
John has gotten used to the whiplash of waking up next to Jessica. Helping to get the kids fed and off to school. Kissing her goodbye. He goes to his office, where papers go to multiply and emails stack up in his inbox like magic every day. He's good at his job but he can't quite believe he does it. When he's here, he remembers the decision to go back to school, finish his bachelor's, get his MBA. He knows he wanted something that would be as far from combat as he could get, he remembers all the jobs he had on the way here, and yet there's a disconnect: how the hell did he end up sitting at a desk, at a computer, all day? Taking clients to lunch, playing golf? The benefits of this life far outweigh the downside of a boring job so he'll take it, take it day after day after day. He thinks about looking for a new job, but has no idea what else he might be able to do that can support his family as comfortably as this job does. In the end, he stares out the window until it's time to go home.
The whiplash back is worse than usual. He's still a little drunk and well on his way to hungover and someone is screaming. Also, he's tied to the bed. In a different room than the one he passed out in. It's very disorienting. Still, that's what training is for, so you know what to do even when you're not thinking, and he breaks the mirror and cuts himself loose and breaks through the connecting door and finds... Mr. Finch. And a recording. Here, in this life, the other is hazy, fuzzy. Here, Jess's death is an open wound, still bleeding after four months. Here, he may be losing condition due to his lifestyle but he's plenty fast enough and strong enough to pin this guy to the wall for daring to mention her name. But oddly, Finch is not as scared as he should be, and hits the nail exactly on the head. All he wanted to do, originally, was protect people. Well, that and get the judge off his back, but he chose the Army not just because of his father, but because he thought he would be able to see the difference that he made. Instead his service had led him down a very dark path, with the lure of protecting his country dangling in front of him. Finch's lure is a little more concrete - to get there in time - and he decides that maybe this man is serious. Maybe John will be able to save some lives. Protect some people. At least for a while. Finch is convinced that this job will kill them both and John decides that it will probably be faster than drinking himself to death, and far more useful. At least until Mark shows up.