"Fiiinnnch…!"
Reese closes the gate and strides through the main hallway, staring in horror as Bear bounds toward him. The canine offers him a wagging tail, a doggie smile, and then quickly proceeds through the proper greeting protocols before commencing on the traditional sniff scan of his pack leader's clothes.
But it isn't Bear's customary scent review that has triggered Reese's reaction. Rather, it's the strange contraption perched behind the dog's ears that has him atypically raising his voice.
"What is going on, Harold? And what are those?"
"Antlers, Mr. Reese. You know, as in reindeer…?" Finch limps toward the pair, hands full of what appears to be a string of shredded red plastic. "Though I must admit, not a very realistic facsimile. Red felt – with embedded lights?" He grimaces at the idea that such a contrivance can even come close to emulating the real thing.
"Riiight…" The word is stretched for emphasis. "And why is the dog wearing antlers, Harold?"
But the question drifts into the atmosphere, the intended recipient already retreating into the bowels of the library, leaving the ex-op no choice but to follow…and in the process, interrupting Bear's scent exam.
The dog follows Reese closely, still intent on discovering the who, what, and where of the human's outing.
Bear resumes his critical inspection as Reese enters the main chamber and halts, his attention drawn to the auxiliary table normally reserved for weapons cleaning – and where on display is now a plastic tree.
A well worn, slightly faded, green plastic tree…
He recognizes of course the significance of the item, but wonders vaguely why Finch would house such a scraggly icon of the season. It looks like an item even Charlie Brown would reject - and given Finch's financial situation he knows the reclusive geek could easily afford a 14 carat gold specimen, adorned with sterling silver ornaments and festooned with diamond chains!
Instead, he's looking at a four foot artificial facsimile of a diseased pine, decorated with Dollar Store Special curios and aged lights…several of which seem to have given up any effort to illuminate. The shredded red plastic string his employer had been cradling has apparently been assigned the role of garland and is now draped haphazardly on the tree's anorexic branches.
"So what do you think?" Finch asks, glasses reflecting the sparkling lights in the sad little tree - at least those lights still functioning. "There's still another box to unpack…"
His employer has donned a red Santa hat, its ball tassel tossed to the side giving it the appearance of a rooster comb. It's a comparison the ex-op keeps to himself knowing it would not likely be appreciated by the fashion conscious geek. In any case, Reese's focus is not on the tree - nor the hat - but on the expression on the older man's face.
It's been a long time since he's seen Harold Finch this relaxed, perhaps the first time since his benefactor pulled a burned out, alcoholic ex-agent out of the city's gutters. And while this might be just a small interlude of tranquility in their on-going war against death and destruction, it's a most welcome respite.
The ex-op allows a rare smile, enjoying the sight of his employer appearing almost….happy.
"It's missing something…" Finch muses, staring at the tree and tapping his chin before abruptly lurching to the back of the chamber. Reese watches his boss disappear behind the book stacks, and ponders whether to follow him.
"You should go help him, you know…"
"Shaw…! Reese stills, then slowly turns around. "Didn't know you were here..."
Shaw snorts. "Well now, that's just embarrassing! Since when does a CIA spook not check out a room before entering? Or did you skip that class?"
Reese simply stares at his co-worker. He's in too good a mood to allow himself to be dragged into another squabbling session with the black garbed female. And besides, he knows their bickering upsets Finch, who had already voiced reservations about the assassin's addition to their team.
"Your clothes are black; you're sitting in the shadows, all but invisible. But neither Harold - and more importantly, Bear - have raised any alarm. So no, I didn't think there was any danger when I entered."
And why was he explaining anything to her anyway? The woman just seems to take pleasure in goading him!
"Where is Finch's alter ego?" He peers into the dimly lit corner, expecting to see another one of their little band lurking in the shadows.
Shaw rises from the chair. "Root? Who knows?' she answers irritably. "She took off the minute Finch started going into this weird festive mode. I think it made her antsy."
She brushes past him, forcing him to step aside as she trades the smaller straight backed chair for the more comfortable one at the computer station. "Should have gone with her. This all is just…stupid!"
Reese clamps down on words that instantly form in his head. No, he won't get into it with her. This is Finch's bash; he won't ruin it. He focuses instead on the sound of boxes being shoved around at the back of the chamber and wonders if he should help or if that would be interpreted as an unwelcome concession to the older man's disabilities.
But having delayed this long to respond, wouldn't it be better to wait for a request for assistance?
Reese turns to Bear, the canine now having moved his scent analysis from shoes to suit.
"Enough…" he says softly, reaching down to scratch the dog's ears and careful not to dislodge the antler headgear. "Yes, I was in the bodega earlier, and yes, I saw your girl friend. Now…niet meer!"
Bear glances at the Alpha, confirms the cease and desist order in his Leader's expression, and with a final sniff trots toward his bespeckled companion now returning with a dusty box clutched to his chest.
Shaw watches the dog move away and lifts her feet to the desk in one sinuous movement, much to Reese's disapproval. A black cat stretching out for comfort…
"What does that dog see in you?" she snipes.
"Maybe he just likes me?"
Shaw snorts her opinion just as the older man enters the main chamber with a large cardboard box. Reese observes attentively, ready to assist if necessary. But the reclusive geek seems to have everything under control, carefully placing the battered and stained container on the desk.
The ex-op tries not to think about all the unwelcome critters that may have inhabited that carton over the years. After all, it wasn't so long ago they'd employed an assassin in the library to dispose of the resident rats and mice! The feline had done an admirable job of dispatching the rodents during its short tenure…but who knows if the pests had come back?
"What's this all about, Harold?"
"Well, John…." Finch replies with exaggerated patience, as he flips back the dusty cardboard flaps. "It's December. There's this thing that happens this time of year…." The geek reaches in the box and pulls out a wad of yellowed newspaper as Reese watches closely. At least it's not a rat's nest.
"You may have noticed it's snowing." Finch continues. "The stores are all decorated - and there are fake Santa's everywhere..."
Shaw attempts to stifle a laugh, succeeding only in creating a sniffle. That she's deriving a great deal of enjoyment at his expense is only too obvious and an only too familiar situation. Obvious too is that Finch is totally ignoring their junior team member while digging various items out of the filthy box.
Reese acknowledges his boss' sarcasm with a raised eyebrow, an expression wholly lost on his employer who is now busily attaching a rather ragged looking angel to the top of the tree. Lacking the necessary support on the tree's anemic top branch, the poor seraph leans drunkenly to the left and no amount of adjustment seems to convince this particular fallen angel to straighten up.
Probably just weary of symbolizing love, hope and peace in today's world, thinks Reese. Something with which he can identify...
He glances at Shaw, but the ex-agent hasn't moved from her lazing position at the desk. Her face is as always a blank slate and he wonders again if she had ever, even as a young child, shown any emotions. What were the holidays like for her as a youngster? And where is her family?
Finch glares at them both, apparently reading in their expressions a lack of proper respect for his efforts to celebrate the season. But then stepping back to view his handiwork, the geek's frown is replaced with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, and a genuine smile.
"Come now, Mr. Reese, Ms Shaw. Get in the spirit! 'Tis the season to be jolly…and we're going to a party!" The latter pronouncement is definitely un-Finch like…almost bubbly.
"A party..." Shaw stares at the reclusive geek as though he'd suddenly grown real antlers. And this time its Reese's turn to struggle against a smirk. It's so seldom the ex-assassin is taken by surprise!
"Yes. Precinct 8 is having their annual Christmas party and since we…well, it's not like we can just waltz in there… We're going to be virtual attendees!"
With a flourish he turns the larger of the monitors around to reveal the interior of the precinct's bullpen, crowded with NYPD's finest…where the ex-op notes with amusement that every attending beat cop and detective is wearing either a Santa hat or fake antlers of a sort!
Reese recognizes several of the officers, all fully engaged in party mode even though it's still early afternoon. Even Fusco, who with a hat askew on his curly locks, is sporting such a silly grin that Reese wonders if the detective has been sampling the no doubt spiked punch. In fact, he reflects on just how much spike has been added to that beverage, given the party is just this side of boisterous!
It's a lively group of happy people…
But it's hard to ignore there are also a lot of missing faces: Simmons, Turney, Laskey. Beecher and Carter… Vacancies the result of the brutal war they'd fought with HR not long ago. The memory of those last violent days of their struggle still brings on that old familiar pain of failure, of guilt, remorse. And though he'd fought the battle to control those dark sentiments so many, many times in his former career, it just never seems to get easier.
He reminds himself again there is a reason the past is past. Time is a very misleading concept, because all there is ever, is the 'now'. It's being here, in the now that's important… He glances at Finch and with a herculean effort shakes off that familiar depression threatening to dampen the celebratory mood his boss is trying so hard to create.
Finch lurches toward the old card catalog cabinet, pointing at the monitor screen as he goes by. "It's our toy cop cam. I had Fusco to put it on his file cabinet yesterday so we'd get a broader view of the festivities. And their rule is... you don't get in unless wearing the proper headgear."
With that pronouncement, he pulls a festive shopping bag out of the file drawer and presents Reese with two items.
"The Santa hat…or antlers?"
"You're kidding me, Finch!"
"Not at all. Or did you have other plans for tonight?" Finch asks innocently, while apparently doing a mental assessment of which headgear will look best on his employee. "I think the Santa hat. And Ms. Shaw can have the antlers, since she and Bear are so…simpatico."
Handing Reese the hat, he tosses Shaw the antlers. She snags the contraption out of the air, her expression even more foreboding than usual. There is no way, thinks Reese as he watches his boss sink awkwardly down on one knee with an exasperated sigh and re-adjust the head gear on Bear.
The ex-op grins at the expression on the dogs face. Anthropomorphically speaking, Bear's demeanor can only be defined as 'painful embarrassment'.
Shaw's expression however, can be easily described as 'murderous'…!
"No way, Harold!" she grinds out, abruptly swinging her feet off the desk as she echoes Reese's earlier thought. "Hell will freeze over first…!"
Laboriously getting back on his feet, Finch ignores the slim woman and watches resignedly as Bear does head twists in an effort to dislodge the offensive antlers.
With another sigh he turns to the ever black garbed assassin. "That's up to you, Ms. Shaw," he responds, his calm words clearly indicating his expectation she'd refuse, and apparently not intending to waste any more effort on the subject.
His other employee however, is a different matter. He turns to Reese with a determined look.
"Put on the hat, Mr. Reese. Red goes sooo well with a dark suit."
"I really don't think…"
"Shouldn't be a problem, Mr. Reese. One size fits all…" Finch ignores Reese's pained expression, and waves a hand toward the desk. "I also made some eggnog. Very tasty. But of course…fattening."
"Oh, yes, John. Do put on the hat. It can only be an improvement." Shaw mocks. "And I'd just looove a glass of fat!"
The whole holiday scene seems to be making ex-Control agent even more prickly than usual and Reese fully expects her to bail at any moment. That would probably be best anyway; he really doesn't want Finch to lose this good mood and Shaw is clearly ready to conger up a black cloud to rain on Harold's parade.
Given the mood she's in now, the woman will turn a holiday wassail into vinegar!
Reese gazes again at the tree as the sounds of the raucous party well lubricated with what is probably supposed to be an alcohol free punch, fills the chamber. Apparently the precinct party goers are unconcerned their antics may violate some of the rules and restrictions to which City employees and officials are subject.
But then, when the supervisors who are tasked with the responsibility to enforce those rules are all part of said festivities…well…
Hopefully no one will notice the toy cop cam. As for Fusco, the ex-op is not concerned. Lionel seems to be enjoying the camaraderie and will likely not even remember the existence of the surveillance camera, much less moving it to a more advantageous position on orders from Harold. And if he does, well, the chubby cop knows better than to give away any information. Or touch the camera…
"So where did you get the tree, Finch?" Reese finally asks, desperately searching for a way to take his boss's mind off the issue of the hat. "Looks...mm...pre-owned." He disregards Shaw's derisive snort, attempting to ignore her presence altogether.
"I found it in a closet in the back. Must have been left over from when this building was a working library." Finch replies, frowning at Shaw's scorn and what he obviously perceives as a negative review of his tree.
Reese feels an instant pang of regret for making the off-the-cuff remark. His boss likely hasn't been this content for a very long time and if this party is giving Harold joy, then he's not going to be the wet blanket that dampens the older man's spirits. Nor will he allow Shaw to do that!
He smiles lightly, hoping to convey his comment was merely a joke.
"Well, its got character…" And he slowly places the liberally trimmed fake-fur cap on his head. Finch nods his approval, reaching up to reposition the hat as the ex-op lowers his head to allow the geek to fuss over him. Reese sighs.
An ex-CIA assassin in a Santa hat. It defines an alternate universe.
But what makes it doubly agonizing is the fact that he can almost feel Shaw's smirk, as she repositions her feet on the desk. Finch's desk...on which he is not allowed to place his feet…!
Having made adjustments to his satisfaction, Finch once more scrutinizes the tree, this time with an expression that the ex-op has learned to recognize as Finch in his 'professor mode'.
A Lecture Will Soon Commence… and he's not wrong.
"Did you know this tree tradition probably evolved from pagan rituals celebrating the winter solstice? The Druids, the Egyptians, the Romans...all had versions of year-end celebrations involving evergreens and mistletoe and palms during the Winter Solstice," explains the reclusive billionaire. "The greenery was considered the symbol of life, of growth, and it was really much later before those icons merged with the beginnings of Christian beliefs."
Finch fine tunes the placement of a light string in the tree, frowning as several of them blink on and off, surely indicative of an electrical short. Reese grimaces. It isn't like this library has a working sprinkler system! Even Shaw moves her feet from desk to floor again, though whether to help or flee, he's not sure. But as his boss fiddles with the ancient colored bulbs, the lecture is resumed.
"It wasn't until the 1500's that most of Germany adopted the custom of bringing an evergreen indoors and placing candles on it for decoration."
"A real fire hazard" Reese offers, not just referring to candles in this case. He notes Shaw is now scrutinizing the library ceiling for evidence of a fire suppression system. Why she hasn't left yet is still a mystery. Perhaps he should suggest she take the dog for a walk...
The ex-op exchanges glances with Bear, suddenly aware the animal has been steadfastly attempting eye contact with him for the last several minutes. The dog's expression clearly communicates displeasure at sporting the antler headgear, and Reese knows exactly how the canine feels - not far removed from his own opinion about wearing a Santa hat.
But he tries sending a mental message: Sorry, Bear…we need to do this." The dog continues to stare at him as he focuses his attention back on Finch.
"I can only assume those households had buckets of water handy to douse any potential fires," Finch remarks drily, then turns at the sudden sound of scratching - just in time to see Bear finally manage to stretch a paw upward and dislodge the antlers. The dog runs back to his bed, the headpiece firmly clamped between his teeth.
"Bear…!"
And Shaw erupts in a howl of laughter.
"Now that dog has the right idea," she finishes with a chuckle, twirling around in her hands the headgear Finch had given her. "It's just undignified, Finch." She glances at Reese. "Of course for some, dignity is already a lost cause."
The older man frowns, and as though to compensate for the dog's transgression, reaches up to Reese and tugs the ex-op's hat more firmly in place. Or maybe it's just a physical reminder to his employee to ignore the black-garbed assassin and her barbed remarks.
"You're a fount of information, Finch." Reese says calmly, pleased enough to see his boss in such a good mood that no amount of provocation was going to get him to respond to his coworker.
He hopes he'd hid his concern, but the reclusive geek had been becoming more and more anxious, eating little, sleeping even less, and Reese had become desperate to distract his boss from worrying about Root, the irrelevant Numbers, and the somber reality of the Machine's evolving functions.
But who knew it would take a scraggly tree, a couple of Santa hats and a virtual party to dispel all those dark shadows? At least for a little while…
"It's a library, Mr. Reese. All this information can be found by simply opening the appropriate books." the geek responds.
Reese grins. "Sure. But I've always been more of an auditory learner. So please…continue." He watches Shaw as she resumes her former position. Why is she still here? And why is she allowed to put her feet on the desk while Finch continually chastises him for that action?
He scowls at her, a look that is quickly mirrored.
Finch goes on, oblivious to the strain between his two ex-assassins…or simply ignoring them as a parent ignores squabbling siblings. He carefully places several more ornaments on the lower branches as he carries on with his story.
"The Europeans brought the tree tradition with them to America. Even the Roman Catholic Church eventually accepted the practice in the 1800's. Of course by that time many countries had already adopted the custom," he explains, carefully re-adjusting the red plastic garland on a branch.
He adds another ornament, this time a Christmas ball, which once having been a vibrant red, had now faded to an unseasonal orange. But Finch seems not to notice as he resumes his lecture.
"Except Russia. It banned all Christmas trees shortly after their October Revolution and the Communists, to whom any expression of religion is an anathema, didn't allow its appearance again until the tree was only recognized as a fully secular, non-religious icon of the New Year holiday."
Reese folds his arms and leans back against the desk, deliberately forcing Shaw to move her feet. She gives an audible huff which he ignores.
"So...a long history, Finch. Over two thousand years," he observes. "Amazing it's lasted this long…"
Bear, having successfully disposed of the hateful headgear by removing all the LED lights and shredding the rest into small pieces, trots back into the main chamber. With another puzzled glance at the plastic construct that seems to hold the older human's interest and correctly reading that his Alpha's sole attention is now on Glasses man, the dog settles near Shaw.
He will allow her to caress the itchy spot behind his ears while observing this strange human behavior. In his estimation, that peculiar looking tree-but-not-a-tree is really good for only one thing…
Meantime Reese stares at the pitiful scrap of plastic twinkling in the gloomy chamber, and continues to wonder at the resiliency of such an ancient custom - though he supposes it really isn't that hard to comprehend.
He knows traditions are forwarded through family, each generation passing societal rituals on to the next. And whether the end of the year is celebrated as Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Chinese New Year, Eid Al Adha, or a secular Winter Break…all those celebrations are rooted in the same bedrock: social connections.
No matter what the custom, what the belief, the holidays are shared with family and friends.
Reese watches Finch unpack another dusty ornament and reminisces on all the seasons that passed without his giving any consideration to traditions or year-end celebrations. Most of those years he'd spent the holidays in some black hole in some God forsaken country around the world, under conditions that frankly made a mockery of love, joy and "peace on earth".
So many times he hadn't even known what day it was. And he's pretty sure that Shaw could report the same experiences, should she ever actually confide in him.
She served time in the Marines - he'd seen the tattoo – so she'd also been involved in action overseas. And later, as an assassin reporting to Control? Well, that job didn't observe holidays any more than had his.
So now he checks the monitor, watching the party goers taking advantage of the jovial atmosphere, allowing them to forget for a little while at least, all the ugliness that tags them in their professions.
He observes Fusco, who has become a friend - of sorts - in spite of some skillfully applied coercion by the Man in a Suit. Their relationship is rocky, "complicated"…but it's there. If not a real let's-get-a-drink-together friendship, at least the chubby cop is not an enemy. He will admit to no more than that, and suspects the portly policeman feels the same ambiguity.
Then looking at Shaw, he recognizes the embodiment of a past which he's been fighting so hard to redeem. As a fellow assassin she is the one person with whom he has the most in common, but so far Shaw is also one with whom he has the least connection.
Still, she's here - even if she may agree with Root about Harold's "weird festive mode"!
He glances at Finch, the employer to whom he owes his very life. Because though the older man had suspected as much – "I know you spent the last couple of months trying to drink yourself to death. I know you're contemplating more efficient ways to do it " - only the ex-op knows the meticulous plans he'd already made to end his life before Harold Finch approached him with a job.
"I'm pretty sure I'd be dead already if you hadn't found me." he'd admitted months later, while the geek disarmed a bomb vest that threatened to send them both to their Maker. Which made twice the times Harold Finch saved his life…
Then there is Bear, graciously allowing Shaw to scratch his ears while observing these strange human proceedings. The canine he'd rescued from an uncertain fate is now totally devoted to him and this reclusive individual currently attempting to beautify that pathetic tree.
As Reese watches Finch carefully unpack the cheap ornaments, the scene suddenly supplies him with an epiphany: he has a family now…of sorts. Not perfect, but after all those years alone and in the dark, he has these all important social connections with whom to share a holiday ritual.
And the time has come to acknowledge the traditions of the season - because who knows how many more seasons they will have together…if any?
He reaches for an ornament, just as Shaw attempts to do the same. They share a knowing glance over the tattered box and then in unison:
"Let me help you with that, Finch..."
End.