Person of Interest

I read that it works this way.

That the therapist waits until the silence becomes so unbearable

that the patient is forced to speak.

It can work any way you want, Mr. Wren.

Is there something particular you'd like to talk about?

- Grief. I'd like to talk about grief. - Of course.

I want to know how it works, if it has a purpose.

That's a big question.

It might be best if we talk about your specific circumstances.

Have you lost someone?

My closest friend. There was an accident. I was with him.

I'm very sorry, Mr. Wren.

Do you have someone to comfort you during this time?

I was in a relationship, but that's over now.

The emotional fallout from these types of traumas

can be extensive.

Which brings us to your question, grief.

Whether it has a purpose.

An evolutionary purpose.

I mean, I find myself reevaluating choices that I've made.

Things that I should have done differently or better.

As if in losing everything, I finally understand.

But then it occurs to me that...

It occurs to you that this feeling might be temporary.

There's a false sense of lucidity that often accompanies grieving.

I've been thinking about doing something radical...

...as a tribute to his memory.

I would caution against that, Mr. Wren.

I see this so often.

I've been working with the survivors

of the ferry bombing earlier this year.

Their trauma is similar to yours.

More extreme, of course.

Many of them experience a sense of responsibility for what happened.

Survivor's guilt, I'm familiar.

Well, then you're also familiar with what I'm about to say next.

That you think your friend's death was your fault.

Otherwise, you'd have to face a very painful truth.

- Which is what? - That you are not God.

You don't control who lives or dies.

That powerlessness also means

that your friend's death is not your fault.

I assure you, Mr. Wren...

...in time, the guilt you feel will pass.

Let me ask you a question then.

Does survivor's guilt pass

when everything that has happened actually is, in fact, your fault?

You look tired, Harold.

Please talk to me.

I have nothing to say, Ms. Groves.

I offered before.

Let me help you.

It's a little too late for that, don't you think?

Not for John.

He's in trouble. I can tell by the look on your face.

And I don't want to sound unsympathetic, Harold,

but we have much bigger problems at hand.

Whatever your machine was trying to prepare me for...

...it's coming.

Yes, Detective? We got a big problem.

Break it down into a 50-footer. You can roll it up.

You heard him, Eddie?

I heard the call on the radio.

Someone t-boned him then interrogated him while their car burned.

Guys in the front might make it.

Guy in the back might make a good bag of charcoal.

Witnesses put our pal,

the psychopathic vigilante, at the scene.

Which one?

You mean both your stray dogs are off the leash?

This was the handiwork of tall, dark, and deranged.

And I shudder to think what the other one's up to.

I have reason to believe that one or both of them

are looking to track down and kill Simmons.

We all want Simmons.

Piece of crap killed my partner, then went after my kid.

But the scorched earth campaign is only going to make

Simmons harder to find, not easier.

Who were they?

Dirtbags of the highest order.

Run drugs, underage hookers.

And a lot of paper.

- Paper? - Yeah, counterfeit bills.

IDs, passports, for a forger named Yorke.

We'd better find Mr. Yorke then.

Hey, get me down.

Come on.

Take me down, you bitch! I told you everything I know.

And somehow, I just don't believe you.

Hey! Hey, hey. Hey, guys, call the cops!

You want to take a crack at him? My gun hand's cramping.

Guy's not looking so good.

- Did you break his legs? - Nope. Reese did.

Got to him before I did.

Dropped him off the roof of the building.

I found his sorry ass in the parking lot yelling for help.

Still got his arms, though.

Did you see Reese?

Gone by the time I got here.

- We have to stop him. - Why?

One less dirty cop-killing cop sounds good to me.

Setting aside your somewhat binary moral compass, Ms. Shaw,

you should know that Mr. Reese's injuries are life-threatening.

All right, Harold.

We'll play it your way.

But if Reese doesn't want to be found,

our only way of tracking him is by finding Simmons ourselves.

Guy give you anything?

Speak up!

The only one who knows Simmons' exit strategy is his boss, Quinn.

And if you're looking for him, get in line.

Everybody wants him dead.

Can I go to the hospital now, please?

You got an inside track to the feds?

We got to get to Quinn before Reese does.

Are you kidding? Quinn ran a bunch of corrupt cops.

Feds aren't talking to me.

I know one man who will know Quinn's location.

After his arrest, Quinn retained Jimmy Ransone,

high-dollar criminal defense attorney with a questionable reputation.

And even suspects in protection are allowed to see their lawyer.

Wait a minute, come on, guys! Get me down!

Aw, come on, get me the hell out of here!

I'd say our boy's come and gone.

Finch?

We got a problem.

You couldn't find Mr. Ransone?

We found what's left of him.

Someone used him as an ashtray before putting a bullet in his head.

Reese has really gone off the reservation this time.

No. Reese doesn't even smoke.

He would have just used a lighter.

This is theatrical. Amateur hour.

Well, at least we know he's still alive.

How badly is he injured, Ms. Shaw?

He doesn't look so good. We don't have much time.

Reese leaves, and five minutes later,

these jokers show up.

Russians.

It figures.

Quinn turned state evidence against them.

So now both Mr. Reese and the Russians

know where to find Alonzo Quinn, and we still don't.

Ransone is the only one that can tell us where Reese is going.

Not the only one.

Who?

Harold knows who I'm talking about.

We're out of options.

We need Root.

We need to discuss the Loftin case.

Caucasian male, 83, presented with acute pneumonia.

I know the case, Dr. Shaw.

I also know about your interaction with the Loftin family.

You walked into the waiting room eating an energy bar

and proceeded to tell the Loftin family that their father was dead.

Because he was.

And, presumably, you were hungry.

You managed to revive Mr. Loftin four times.

You went to truly heroic measures to save their father,

and yet, all the Loftin family will remember

is the doctor who gave them the worst possible news

while she was eating a candy bar.

Let me ask you this.

Do you care if your patients live or die?

Of course.

But does it hurt you?

I've been watching you for some time,

and it doesn't seem to bother you.

This place is filled

with doctors who don't care if their patients live or die.

No, this place is filled with doctors who pretend they don't care.

But you're different. Aren't you?

Your attendings all say the same thing about you,

technically brilliant.

Remarkably calm.

They can't spot what you really are.

And what's that?

You know the DSM backwards and forwards, Doctor.

You probably diagnosed yourself in your first year.

A diagnosis which meant that you

never should have been accepted into this program.

I watch the others. I watch the fear creep into them.

I watch them make mistakes,

and you think these feelings that I'm lacking make them better?

You'd really rather have one of them working on you instead of me?

Yes. Because if...

If the only thing motivating you is technical mastery,

when one of your patients needs you the most,

then this job just might start to bore you.

That's the difference between fixing and healing.

You have a brilliant mind, Sameen.

And you're very gifted.

But you'll never be a doctor.

Time's up, Harold.

This is not something we should go about lightly.

It's the only way.

There will be larger consequences if we make this decision.

We need to be ready for that.

John isn't going to make it if he winds up in a crossfire

between a bunch of feds and organized criminals in his current state.