Book 2: Pointillist
Introduction
Author's preface:
The culmination of the search for Greer in the hospital, Part 2.
A note about this installment. I thought I was going to get through 2016 and a little bit into 2017 with Pointillist. Boy, was I wrong! I've been having so much fun writing this story that I only got to December of 2014. So, if you can bear with me, rather than creating a huge, unwieldy, scary-long Pointillist book, I've decided to end it today, and begin right where we're leaving off, in a new book, P2, for Pointillist 2. I love these characters, and I hope you enjoy reading about the adventures they get into together. A lot has gone on already, but there is so much more to face, together. Let's keep going...
May 29, 2018
Original author's preface:
In Book 2: Pointillist, Team Machine has returned from Washington D.C. after rescuing Grace from two months of captivity and brainwashing at the hands of Greer. Harold Finch knows all too well the soul-stealing capabilities of Greer's methods and suffers the pain of Grace's physical and emotional trauma. Just as he was about to reveal to her that he was still alive, and had not perished in the ferry boat explosion, he finds that Grace has been manipulated by Greer. The image of Grace was used as a way to mislead and induce cooperation from Harold during his captivity; and in a crushing blow to Harold, he finds that Greer then attacked Grace using Harold's image – and now she can no longer bear to see his face.
The Team has planted Leon Tao, a former member of their D.C. Team, inside Samaritan's organization with the hope of gaining key intelligence on Greer's plans and vulnerabilities. But how far can he really be trusted? What is Greer planning? Can Samaritan be stopped without a bloodbath?
Book 2 takes up the events following Carter's death at the end of 2013, and advances the story line of Team Machine into early 2017. Each character moves through time on his own path, illuminated and advanced in small vignettes. Like paint arranged on the canvas as small dots when seen at close range, Pointillist allows the final image to fully emerge only when viewed from a distance.
As in Book 1, Saving the Saviors, some of the familiar characters from past shows have been brought back in their new roles. New characters introduced in Book 1 re-appear briefly in Book 2. But, mostly, we are treated to more about the characters we loved from Person of Interest. We share their losses, their triumphs, their humanity...
In continuing deep love and appreciation for the ground-breaking work of the original show, and for all of those who made it so unique. Let's keep going.
October, 2017
Table of Contents
Part 1:
Chapter 1: Reset; Bittersweet; Follow Orders
Chapter 2: Always; Million Reasons
Chapter 3: Moroccan; Good Cop; Good People
Chapter 4: The Right Thing; Shaolin
Part 2:
Chapter 5: Not what she expected(rated T for violence)
Chapter 6: Intention
Chapter 7: The Picture
Chapter 8: Golden Vision; "I've got this"
Chapter 9: Crates; Famiglia; Time For Ourselves
Chapter 10: Enough; Losing Ground; Long Way To New York
Chapter 11: Half the perfect world; "She's good, Root"; A flight away; Sketch(rated T)
Chapter 12: Closer to madness; So many possibilities
Part 3:
Chapter 13: Turning point; Unconditional love
Chapter 14: Gelila
Chapter 15: Beautiful work
Chapter 16: No footprint; whipped cream on top; Nerd Convention
Chapter 17: Opening salvo; worth the wait
Chapter 18: Wouldn't see them coming; Genes work
Chapter 19: Rattled; Big family; Why?(rated T)
Chapter 20: tapping was louder (rated T); 'til morning (rated T); his say-so; wrong man
Chapter 21: "Let's go."; good advice
Chapter 22: the toll; blindspot; the road unchosen
Part 4:
Chapter 23: something for pain(rated T); Hired guns
Chapter 24: Someone she would fight for; wisdom and restraint
Chapter 25: blue blue
Chapter 26: the internet of things attack
Chapter 27: trouble; white tea
Chapter 28: just the cat; worthy adversary
Chapter 29: a life worth keeping; a long shot
Chapter 30: a debt; blue lights flashing; bagged and tagged
Chapter 31: iron hands; back on track; look to the left
Chapter 32: He was not alone
Chapter 33: out in a hurry (rated T)
Chapter 34: taser; "Don't bother"; "Stay"
Chapter 35: "Trust me." (rated T)
Chapter 36: solace (rated T); safest hiding place (rated T)
Part 5:
Chapter 37: scrape (rated T); world without oil (rated T); need u (rated T)
Chapter 38: "no one saw this coming"; You are blessed today; "they're in trouble"
Chapter 39: "just in case"; special place inside; "does it look familiar?"
Chapter 40: breathless (rated T); critical situation; a little first aid (rated T); here, for Marco
Chapter 41: ready?; say it first
Chapter 42: like a club (rated T); it wasn't there
Chapter 43: no Martine; working...(rated T); Not good. (rated T)
Chapter 44: "You, and what army?" (rated T); test out a theory; an agenda; "Do it!" (rated T)
Chapter 45: before tonight (rated T); sparks from the ceiling (rated T)
Chapter 46: "I'll never leave you"; "let's not trash the place -"
Works cited
If you wish to know more about the music cited in this story, for your own journey, please enjoy:
Chapter 1: In Reset: Try listening to this piece while you start reading this new story. One of my favorite guitarists, from Canada:
Cook, Jesse. "Cancion Triste (With Ofra Harnoy)." Icon, Universal Music Canada, 2015.
Chapter 2: In Always: Harold is walking and hears this piece playing while he recalls a special memory from his past. Wonderful piece:
Cook, Jesse. "Ne Me Quitte Pas." The Blue Guitar Sessions, Coach House Music, 2012.
Chapter 4: In Shaolin: A figure appears - from the rural, windswept steppes of China:
Evenson, Dean and Li Xiangting. "Morning Mist." Tao of Healing, Soundings of the Planet, 2000.
Chapter 6: In Intention: Jules meets again with Harold, who is deeply wounded. She helps him understand Healing Intention. This music was created by musicians who hold a healing intention as they perform. On this Christmas Eve, may you find peace and healing...
Evenson, Dean. Healing Sanctuary, Soundings of the Planet, 2002.
Chapter 7: In The Picture: Wait until you get down to the part that starts with Reese hearing music, and then please listen to this beautiful, haunting piece from Jesse Cook (again). Now, after writing this Chapter to this music, I can't listen to it without thinking of Reese and Carter like this. Rated "T" for Tissues. You might need them, too, as you listen to:
Cook, Jesse. "Rain." Frontiers, Coach House Music, 2008.
Chapter 9: In Famiglia: Shaw is swept up in a new case with international proportions. Her new POI learns that she saved his life tonight and he is - thankful:
Dion, Celine. "J'Attendais." The French Album, Sony, 1995. Followed by a second beautiful piece:
Bocelli, Andrea. "The Prayer." Vivere, with Celine Dion, Sugar Music, 2007.
Chapter 11: In Half the perfect world: Shaw and Marco have taken the next step and the song by the same name couldn't be more perfect:
Peyroux, Madeleine. "Half the Perfect World." Half the Perfect World, Rounder/Universal, 2006.
Chapter 11: In A flight away: Grace is on the move. Listen to the sound of this song to watch her go:
Cook, Jesse. "El Cri." Frontiers, Coach House Music, 2008.
Chapter 11: In Sketch: Reese remembers a harrowing scene from his past. This song reminds us that "nothing comes from violence, and nothing ever will" :
Cook, Jesse. "Fragile." Icon, with Holy Cole, Universal Music Canada, 2015.
Chapter 12: In Closer to madness, Reese and Finch are on a mission in Italy. The pace is changing.
Cook, Jesse."Closer to Madness," Icon, Universal Music Canada, 2015.
Chapter 22: In the toll: Shaw reflects on her experiences with her two partners in crime, and sees the inevitability of love lost.
Cook, Jesse."The Toll," Beyond Borders, eOne Music Canada, 2017.
Chapter 22: in the road unchosen: Reese tastes the sweetness, and the pain, of the road unchosen. You might need tissues handy for this one. So beautiful...
Cook, Jesse. "Unchosen," Beyond Borders, eOne Music Canada, 2017.
Chapter 24: in Someone she would fight for: Root puts her cards on the table, with Shaw. Enjoy the incredible voice of this gifted singer as you read.
Wilson, Cassandra. "Until," New Moon Daughter, Blue Note, 1995.
Chapter 28: in just the cat: Grace watches little Ali, victim of war in his homeland of Syria, making progress after so much heartache. Listen to the sounds he remembers, in this haunting piece.
Cook, Jesse. "Wisdom Of A Thousand Years," Beyond Borders, eOne music Canada, 2017.
Chapter 35: in "Trust me" Reese finds something he was not expecting. And the trust to let it begin... Please listen to this voice you won't forget, starting where the door is closing behind them.
Wilson, Cassandra. "Love is Blindness," New Moon Daughter, Blue Note, 1995.
Chapter 36: in safest hiding place, Reese finds a moment of peace. Hear it in this beautiful piece:
Sade. "The Safest Place," Soldier of Love, Sony Records, 2010.
Chapter 41: in ready?: Shaw has the opportunity to imagine how things could be. This beautiful piece is the perfect music behind it. I love listening to it. So beautiful. Look for the line across the page to queue the music.
Arie, India. "Ready for Love," Acoustic Soul, Universal Motown Records, 2001.
Chapter 41: in say it first: Root has her chance to make her wishes known. Listen to the soulful sounds of someone who's been there, too. Almost a little heartbreaking. Look for the line across the page to queue the music.
Smith, Sam. "Say it First," The Thrill of It All, Capitol Records, 2017.
Chapter 45: For this piece I am indebted to French reader and friend, Edith Boudin, who recommended this beautiful song. If you look on You-tube, especially at the Frenchrescue upload version (French and English subtitles), you will find this much-loved song. Leave it to the French to have such a lovely sentiment. Once you've heard it, you'll be humming it all day. Merci, Edith...
Dassin, Joe. "Et si tu n'existais pas" ("And if you did not exist").
Chapter 46: in this last chapter, please listen to this great rendition by Sting. Just about sums it all up, I think. Thanks for reading and listening!
Sting. "The Book Of My Life (with Anoushka Shankar)," Sacred Love, A&M, 2003.
Part 1
Chapter 1: Reset; Bittersweet; Follow Orders
Manhattan, October, 2014
Three o'clock in the morning. Dark. Wet on the streets. Their black SUV splashed through puddles left behind from rain chasing them north all night. They had driven in and out of the fringes of it as it swept in from the west, but then it had passed over them and washed through Manhattan ahead of them, leaving everything glistening and dripping in their headlights.
After the rain, dense fog had rolled in, thick like a cloak around them, snarling traffic up ahead on the bridges. They could see flashing lights through the fog, and then dented cars and broken glass scattered across two lanes. The underside of an SUV, flipped over on its side on the bridge, faced into long lines of on-coming traffic, forcing them down to one lane squeezing by.
Burly men in wet yellow slickers moved through the fog, pushing debris off to one side, while stern-faced policemen interviewed the shaken drivers on the bridge, jotting notes, glancing up at traffic crawling by. Reese kept his eyes ahead - nothing to draw attention to them or their car. And once they passed the wreck, the lanes opened up again, traffic sped up, and they made good time the rest of the way in.
Reese turned off the highway and wound through back streets lined with shuttered businesses. At this hour, no one was about. He turned into a narrow street just wide enough for two cars to pass, with low, wet, darkened buildings on both sides. Lines of old warehouses with weak lights hanging off the fronts, and blacked-out windows wet with fog, crowded together at the curbs. It was almost claustrophobic in there, and everyone still awake in the car sat forward, silent, more vigilant, wary now as they rolled down the fogged-in, narrow street.
In the rear view mirror, he could see Shaw, blank-faced, watching out through the windows just like him. Some bruising from the punch she took for him at the hide-out had spread across her eye onto her cheek, and he could see a little bit of the white shining as her eyes tracked side to side. Next to her, Root was still asleep, her head tipped down onto Shaw's shoulder and her face marred, too, by bruising from the gash above her eye. Harold was silent in the passenger seat, leaning forward. It was so quiet in the car, eerie, rolling soundlessly in the fog, like a ship.
For Reese, it reminded him of driving through deserted streets at night with his men back in Afghanistan. He caught himself scanning the roof-lines, obscured in the fog, for snipers, and for anything at street level that could hide an IED. He shook his head – thirteen years and he still had flashbacks from those days in the Rangers. Certain times of day, when the light was just right, or the setting was a certain way, it made his mind jump back there as if he were there, for real, in Afghanistan with them.
Life on the edge like that, drawn out for months at a time, had left its marks. Thirteen years and he was still uneasy in certain places, haunted by things he had seen there, things he had done there; and with more - much worse - to come, later, in black ops for the CIA.
It never really leaves you, he said to himself. You can't just walk away, just let it go. He thought it would fade with time if he left it alone, didn't think about it. But, memories like those cling to you – like acrid smoke; in your hair, in your eyes and nose, on your skin, and in your clothes. Leave him? No, not for Reese. They were part of that wound that wouldn't heal.
He looked forward, eyes on the road again. A hundred meters further up it would widen a bit. Ahead was a clean, well-lit warehouse just hidden from view. That one was theirs. Reese brightened for a moment, but then something inside him jumped up, just like in the old days, said not to drop his guard, now that they were so close. Don't get sloppy, it said. He looked up at the roof-lines once again, and then down on street level again, but nothing seemed out of place. Even so, the knot in his shoulders was still there. He'd be happy when they were done here, and back in one of the safe-houses where they could finally relax, and catch some sleep. They'd just be a few minutes unloading the weapons into the warehouse, and then they'd be on their way. It was too risky, driving around Manhattan with boxes of guns and ammo in the back. If they were stopped...
Reese thought about how Fusco had driven the boxes down to them in Bethesda where the rest of the Team had already flown in. It was just a few days back, when they were all preparing to breach the ranch in Virginia where they'd tracked Greer. Rescuing Grace had been the first priority, but the Team had no idea where Greer was holding her; if they didn't get her out before they attacked Greer, they'd risk losing the chance to find her. But things had gone sideways at the hotel, and they'd had to improvise. Reese frowned at the thought of all their plans for Greer, thwarted for now.
At the hotel where the two teams had come together to share intel and settle details, one of them was missing. Reese, Shaw and Root were there from the New York Team, with three of them from the D.C. Team: Logan Pierce, Harper Rose, and Joey Durbin; but Leon was missing. Reese knew something was wrong - he could feel it. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. But before he could act, Leon showed up at the door. Reese could see he wasn't right. Leon had walked in, like everything was fine, gave no warning to them at all. It was Root who'd picked up on something Leon said, off-handed, when he got there. He back-peddled, tried to throw her off, minimize his error, but she was like a pitbull, threatening him like he was one of Greer's men. Maybe the Machine had whispered something in her ear, too. Whatever it was, she had sensed right away that they were under attack. Root had been the one to keep them alive.
Three teams of Samaritan's soldiers were working their way up to them inside the hotel, tipped off by Leon. Harold had seen them, too, from another room in the hotel, where he'd tapped into the hotel cameras. With the same cameras, he'd guided them through corridors and down empty stairwells, past the soldiers, to safety. But Harold was trapped, left behind in the hotel. Reese had gone in to find him, once the rest were clear, to hold off Samaritan's men until the Team could go back for them.
In the fight, they'd taken two of Greer's soldiers alive and brought them back to their hide-out with them. Leon's story was that Greer's men had caught him when he was on his way to the hotel, and forced him to give up the Team's location. They weren't convinced; they put Leon in with the two soldiers to see what they'd do. And Shaw had gone in, too, to get what she could from them, by whatever means necessary, until Harold stopped her. No more bloodshed, he said.
For two days the Team hid in the empty building a few miles from the hotel. And that was when they found Grace. They were surveilling a few buildings where they knew Greer had surfaced in the last two months. They were looking for any sign that would show them where Greer was keeping her. And then Harold and Logan saw an SUV roll out in a hurry from one of the buildings. The Team took the chance; it looked like Greer might be moving her to a new location, ahead of the Team. They went after it and got her out, but it was messy. Greer's people holding Grace - all dead - in the shoot-out on the highway. Repercussions from Greer would be swift, they thought, and raced back to the hideout. Grace was in a bad way. Drugged by Greer's soldiers for the transport, she was out of it for hours. And then, as she was starting to respond, it was clear to Harold and the rest of the Team what Greer had done. He had turned her, in two grueling months of tactical re-programming, had turned her away from the one person she had cared about the most. Grace wouldn't look at Harold's face.
Reese bent forward, twisting one fist into the palm of his other hand. He was remembering the two of them in the darkened room, Grace pulling away from Harold, who was tending to her as she woke. He had decided to face her, tell her the truth - that he was still alive after the ferry boat bombing. He had let her believe that he was killed so he could protect her. But it hadn't kept her safe from Greer. He had found her, found a way to use her, like a guided-missile, straight into Harold. It was hard to see them like that, together. Harold was crushed, wrecked at the sight of her covered in bloodstains, rope scars on her wrists, turning away from him when he tried to ease her pain. It was just what Greer had planned - a coup, from an adversary who had no boundaries. Reese closed his eyes, recalling Harold's face with his eyes on Grace. The memory of that look had burned into Reese that night.
There was a tension building inside him, and a heat in his chest. There would be nothing that could keep Reese from doing what he did best, when they found Greer.
The Team had had to decide quickly what they were going to do. It was Reese's idea to use Leon. Leon was claiming that he was the victim here, that he was still one of them. Reese would put him to the test - by sending him inside Greer's organization, their own guided-missile. Reese would expect him to gather intel for them - and maybe deliver a blow from inside, to take down Greer and Samaritan itself. They would find out if Leon was one of them or not. But, either way, he had already made himself expendable. No one was going to shed any tears for him, if he didn't make it out.
They made it look like Leon had been targeted for betraying them. Just like Greer's soldiers, Leon would have nothing to lose. Escape was the only option. Reese told Leon what he expected him to do, if he wanted to stay alive: Leon was supposed to make a break for it, free the soldiers, and head back with them to Greer's location. It would be the best option, but the most dangerous for the Team. Shaw had been right. It was a risky thing to do, to trust Leon with a gun like that. They were all sure that he could handle the deception part just fine. Every time they had run into him in the past, there was always some kind of a scam, some deception going on. But guns, no. No one had ever seen him handle one. Leon was a thief, a tech-y. Leon ran from fights.
But, there he was, a gun in his hand, pointed at Reese. He had fired at point-blank range. Reese went down, face-down on the floor, the bullet stopped by his vest. It was like a hammer-blow to his chest when it hit, and Reese felt, and heard, the rib break under the round. It took his breath away. On the ground, he hadn't even noticed that Leon stepped over him and was pointing the gun down at his head.
That hadn't been part of the plan. Leon was off-script, and no one knew exactly what he was going to do next. So, Shaw had jumped in, had knocked the gun away, thinking Leon was going to shoot Reese again. She clipped Leon with a clean left hook, before one of Greer's soldiers blindsided her. Shaw went down, too, on the floor next to Reese. Leon freed the men, and the three escaped from the hide-out, heading to Virginia.
With Grace in bad shape, and everyone on Reese's team hurting, they decided to head back to New York. It was time to lay low in one of the safe-houses while they patched themselves up and made a new plan. Reese would keep up the pressure on Leon. Fusco would team up with Harper Rose from the D.C. Team as though she were his partner in the NYPD. They would work with Grace together, debriefing her, letting her believe she was a witness, and a victim, of the crime they were working. They would move Grace to another safe-house there, in New York. And, in time, the two would start spinning the story that would help Grace understand what had happened to her in Italy, in Bethesda - and why. It was important to Harold. He owed her that, and more...
Reese and his Team climbed back into the SUV, the weapons boxes safely stowed inside the warehouse. All had gone well so far on the trip back from Bethesda. Now, off to the safe-house for some rest. Time to reset.
Manhattan, October, 2014
"Miss Grace, Miss Harper, please. I'll take you there myself. You can walk around if you like, and then I can bring you back, whenever you're ready."
Harper was grateful for Winston, their driver. He had been such a steady force since their return from Bethesda. Something about his gentle way had put Grace at ease. She enjoyed hearing his stories about home, back in St. Lucia; about his travel and time spent in England and France; and then his move to the U.S. He had grown children of his own now, and six grandchildren. Pictures of them were never far from view.
Winston had made himself available to drive them whenever and wherever they wanted to go. He seemed to know that Grace was in a fragile state, and he treated her with something approaching tenderness. Such a contradiction. Winston looked like a prize-fighter – big, thick neck, arms that barely fit into his black suit coat, and solid legs that carried his frame swiftly on the soccer field with his grand kids. He sang in his choir at church, and so, frequently, they could hear him humming those tunes as he drove them through the streets of Manhattan.
Grace listened to Winston humming one now in the front seat of the Town Car. She and Harper had decided to go walk past the apartment Grace had lived in before she moved overseas to Italy. They were taking a little break from the questioning. It was hard work for her to try and answer all their questions about her time in captivity in Bethesda. Harper and her partner, Detective Lionel Fusco, from the NYPD, were trying to track down an international crime ring, and they had told her that she had become one of the ring's victims, had been abducted from Rome where she lived until two months ago. She was trying her best to help them. Grace was still stunned about it all. Why would anyone want to kidnap her? She taught art to kids who had come to Italy on rafts, in over-crowded boats, on anything that floated, to escape war in their own countries. She missed them. She missed her life there. How could this have happened? And why?
As she thought back to Rome with the refugee children, some of their faces came to mind. It stopped her, made her thoughts freeze. She put her hand up toward her chest, over her heart. There was a sudden gripping sensation there, and a sense of sadness like a giant wave breaking on the shore. When she looked up, she saw Winston's eyes in the rear-view mirror, watching her in her moment of pain. She looked away, through the glass, as though at the passing view. She noticed he stopped humming his tune, his face more serious now when she peeked at him again in the mirror. She felt a sting of guilt – she hadn't wanted anyone to feel pain on her account.
"Here we are, Ladies," Winston said a moment later, pulling slowly over to the curb. He stepped out and went around to their door, curb-side, and opened it for them. Reaching out, he held Harper's hand as she swung herself up from the seat, tall, leggy, and graceful, like a dancer; and then he reached for Grace's, when she slid herself over to the open door. Her hand looked so small on his forearm as he offered it. She was still a little wobbly from her time in captivity. Winston felt it, and gently lifted her from the seat. Such a good man, Grace thought with a small smile.
And then she caught sight of the front facade of her old apartment. Her breath caught, and she felt suddenly hollow in her stomach. The steps up from the sidewalk, the door, the front windows overlooking the boulevard – it all looked the same. But it was hard to see it this way. Her hand came up to her mouth, the back of it pressing against her lips.
"Miss Grace?" Winston said, putting his free hand over the top of her hand on his forearm. She didn't say anything at first. Winston could see the look in her eyes. Memories were flooding her and he could see the slight closing of her eyes as her thoughts took her back.
Manhattan, 2001
It was moving day, and she was excited to finally get back into the apartment after such a long wait. The case had been tied up in court for so long, even though everything seemed crystal clear to her. The apartment and the bulk of the estate from her only living relatives had been left to her. Her Aunt Cora and Uncle Max, childless for all of their married lives, had taken her in like their own child, providing a life for her that she could never have imagined. Grace had grown up in Ohio, daughter of two schoolteachers who had given her a carefree childhood, filled with the attention and love that any child could wish for. But it was all cut too short. Her parents had died in a horrific traffic accident when she was only ten. Their car had crushed in around the three of them, collapsing the space where her parents had been seated just moments before. Her own seat had saved her from the impact, unscathed except from flying glass. She was mute for months, shut down and unable to face the world without her parents, until her Aunt and Uncle brought her to live with them in Manhattan.
Their apartment looked out on a boulevard where life never stopped. There was always something happening out there, and little by little, it began to catch her, pull her into it, until one day she spoke again. It just happened. It didn't seem momentous to her. She had seen a girl out there on the boulevard, like always, and just said out loud, "I wonder what her name is."
And that had been the beginning. It all began to tumble out after that. Max and Cora had tears in their eyes, and smiles, as Grace told them that she would like to go outside and play with that girl on the boulevard. The girls were inseparable after that, like twins. The people in the neighborhood thought they were sisters, and Grace learned to be happy again. The two best friends loved all the same things – reading, listening to music, going to the beach where they would fly a paper kite high up in the on-shore breeze, or bury her willing Uncle Max up to his neck in a pile of sand, before he wiggled himself out of it and chased them into the surf, giggling that way when life just can't be any better. Best of all, the two girls both loved to paint, and they spent hours drawing and painting together on the long summer days.
They graduated from high school together, went to the same college together, competed against each other (but not too hard) in the department's art competitions each year. At the end of college, they both had portfolios bulging with their work and went off to find jobs. Reality check. An art degree didn't get you very far in those days. They commiserated. They buoyed each other up after yet another rejection letter. They schemed and planned. And then, in the middle of everything, her biggest fan, her steadiest rock, her funniest, sweetest, most admirable loving uncle, Max, left them. One day he was there, and then he was not. He was taken from them on a cold February day. On his way to work, he had stopped to sit down on a bench at a bus stop. The cold air had stung him in his lungs and made his chest hurt. It was suddenly hard to catch his breath and he sat down on the bench to rest.
Winston could see the small changes in Grace's expression as she recalled this memory. Bittersweet memories. He patted her hand on his arm, and she shook herself out of it, looking into his comforting eyes. She stepped forward, with determination, and looked around her for Harper. Winston launched her gently toward Harper, and watched the two walk on together on the sidewalk with the boulevard on one side and the apartment on the other. He watched their heads turn toward the apartment door, and he saw Grace pointing to something and Harper shaking her head. They stopped for a moment, arm in arm, facing the front of the apartment for a few moments, and then they turned away and walked on, with the boulevard at their side.
Manhattan, October, 2014
Dishes were clattering at a nearby table, as a young, dark-haired man in a white short-sleeved shirt and black pants slid the remains of a large group's lunch dishes into grey plastic dishpans. Plates and silverware, coffee cups and saucers, glasses still full of ice water, and bread baskets tumbled against one another off the edge of the table, and down into pan after pan. Miraculously, nothing shattered, but the sound was deafening at his own table nearby. Reese closed his eyes and shook his head silently. The noise was hard to take. He was more cranky today than usual. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, and it must have started to show; he'd been getting looks from the rest of them on the team when he failed to hide his irritation. Maybe tonight he'd try to get to sleep earlier.
He looked at his watch again. Leon was late, again. Reese was meeting him to see what Leon had been able to learn in the weeks since he had "escaped" from them, in Bethesda. The plan had worked well enough to convince Greer's soldiers that Leon had sold the Team out, had run for it. Leon had gone with Greer's soldiers back to the ranch in Virginia, but that's all that Reese knew so far. He wanted to keep up the pressure on Leon, make him remember that he was on a short leash, that the Team expected actionable intel about Greer, about Samaritan. If he didn't come through today with something of value, Reese was going to lean on him harder. It would be easy to let himself get some payback. He reached inside his suit jacket to the spot where Leon's bullet had broken his rib when he had fired at Reese's chest, into the vest. They had planned it that way, so the soldiers would see Leon shoot Reese. And Leon had even ad lib-ed some other things, things they weren't expecting, to make the soldiers believe he was running. Leon was still alive, so it looked like Greer had believed the story, so far.
Reese held his head in his hand as the busboy at the next table cleared another place setting into another gray dishpan, and the dishes clattered together yet again. Reese was sorely tempted to stand up and grab the kid, kick him in the seat of his pants, and down the aisle away from him. Better that than to pull his gun and threaten him right in front of everyone in the place – although that would feel infinitely more satisfying for sure. Wow, he definitely needed a good night's sleep. He was getting a little too aggressive, even for New York.
When he opened his eyes again, Leon was just sliding into the booth across from him. He looked anxious and sweaty. Reese was pleased. He wanted Leon to think that something could happen to him at any moment if he didn't come with something of value to them.
"You're late, Leon," Reese said in his whisper voice. Leon cringed. That voice. He hated that voice. He was certain Reese was doing that on purpose just to make him nervous.
"They're watching every move I make. I have to be careful," Leon said in a low pressured voice, his eyes lowered from Reese's steady gaze.
"I need to know what Greer is planning, where he's going next, and I need to know if you planted the device." Reese was side-tracked for a moment with a voice in his ear.
"Mr. Reese, I am testing for signal from the device, and it has not been fully activated. If he tells you yes, he is lying," Harold said to him in his earpiece.
"I brought some schematics. I'm not sure what they're for yet. Greer plays it close to the vest, but he has mentioned power grids a few times. Maybe something to do with that." Leon reached over, lifting Reese's water glass, and dropped a thumb drive from his palm onto the table in front of Reese. He nodded his head down toward the drive, and Reese picked it up. Leon emptied the glass and put it back down on the table.
"And the rest?" Reese said in his whisper voice.
"I haven't placed the device yet – I have the feeling we're moving soon, but Greer hasn't said where yet. The ranch is just a minor hub in their system. I would wait until we get to a bigger one."
"That's not for you to decide, Leon. Follow orders." Reese stared into Leon's eyes. For a second, that steely look Reese had seen in the hide-out, before Leon shot him, was there; but then it was gone, and Leon lowered his eyes.
There was something not quite right. He couldn't put his finger on it. He thought about Carter – wish you were here, Carter; you're better at this than I am. He'd be grovelling by now if you were here. Reese was really good at intimidation. But the fancy stuff, like Carter used to do as an interrogator back in Iraq – not in his tool bag.
He looked up at Leon and leaned back in the booth. Leon was slippery. He had to keep his eyes on him and question everything he did or said. But, Leon was going to help them, or die trying, Reese said to himself.
"Anything more you came to tell me, Leon?" Reese held his gaze steady on him, and kept his voice a whisper. Leon shook his head, no. He was trying to hide his hands, which were shaking a little, Reese noticed.
"We'll meet again next week. I'll let you know when, and where." Leon slid quickly away from him, to the end of the bench, and got up to leave.
"We want to know, as soon as you do, where Greer is headed," Reese said softly. Leon looked down at Reese and said, with a little smile, "Tell Sam to watch for the white tea. She'll know what I mean."
Reese sat there for a little longer, watching Leon melt into the crowd and disappear. Something wasn't right. He could feel it. Then, the young man with the white shirt and black pants was there at his table, sliding the dishes and coffee cup and water glass toward the edge of the table. Reese reached out and grabbed the kid's wrist with his hand, and the young man swung his eyes up to Reese, who had stood up in one motion, regretting it instantly when his broken rib jumped forward with the effort. The kid looked at him bend forward, grimacing, holding his chest. And then Reese gave up, turning away before he did something he might regret even more. The kid was saying something in Greek, but Reese was already gone.