Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them, and I'm definitely not gaining any profit by doing so.
Author's notes: This story takes place in late season two. It's canon up to episode 2x16 - Relevance and goes AU from there.
Acknowledgements:
Huge thanks to scully1138 for patiently fixing all the typos, the grammar mistakes (three words: The Tense Thing -.-) and taming the wild-roaming commas. I still feel bad about all the work I caused you.
Also a HUGE Thank You! to RadioShack84 for volunteering her insights into medical procedure and lending an additional set of eyes in the proof-reading process. You rule!
All the mistakes that still remain are all my own.
And last but not least, a shout-out for ShaolinQueen, who once again listened to my whining. Thanks for talking sense into me to not abandon this story.
Chapter 1
Harold Finch stared at the black and white pieces on top of the checkered board. His mind however wasn't calculating the proper moves in anticipation of the various probable scenarios that could be playing themselves out. Instead his mind was a total blank.
He was exhausted, drained of all energy and emotion, after having worked himself into the ground over the last couple of weeks. The only reason he had come here today was because – months ago – he had made a deal, and Harold Finch was a man of his word.
He had contemplated turning to the man across from him for help a few times over the last few weeks, but he'd been reluctant to move himself into a position where he would owe Carl Elias any favors. Now, he wasn't so sure that his help would make any difference anymore.
Harold could feel Elias's eyes on him. He knew the man was extremely intelligent and highly perceptive, and Harold had no doubt that in Elias's chosen line of work he had to be. Being able to read between the lines and pick up on the telltale signs of fear, insecurity and deception could very well mean the difference between success and failure – life and death.
This actually wasn't that much different from what was required of him to assure that his little venture kept running smoothly. Yet, Harold Finch had missed something, a clue to a threat, which had cost him dearly. And so far he hadn't been able to find out when exactly it all had gone wrong - which was ridiculous in his mind - considering that he had created the most powerful surveillance tool the world had ever seen.
Yes, playing a game of chess for the entertainment of one of New York's most formidable crime bosses was definitely the last thing on Finch's mind. And he knew he had blown his pretense of "nothing being wrong" by missing the very obvious danger to his rook by one of Elias's pawns during his last move.
Now - as he sat on the more than uncomfortable, cold metal bench in the austere visitor's room at Rikers - he kept his eyes fixed on the board, trying hard to concentrate on his next move. Harold heard the shift in Elias's posture as the man lifted his chin off its perch on his clasped hands, tilted his head to the side and pierced Harold with an inquisitive gaze.
"You seem distracted today, Harold. Is everything alright?" Elias's smooth voice cut through the silence, causing Finch to lift his eyes to meet the other man's gaze. There was no malice on Elias's face, at least none that Harold could detect, and his question had indeed sounded sincere.
Curling his lips into a small, apologetic smile Harold inclined his head in an acquiescent nod. "I apologize. I've had a lot on my mind lately."
He re-directed his attention back to the board, finally having made up his mind about his next move.
Elias watched as Harold moved his chess piece to the spot he'd been anticipating. He leaned forward with his elbows propped on the table, and took in the man in front of him.
The first time Elias had laid eyes on Harold Crane he had not known what to make of the man. Crane had sat at precisely the same table they were sitting at now, looking like it was the last place he had wanted to be. With his hands palms down on the table and his fingers touching like he needed the contact for encouragement, Crane had worn a look of insecurity, his eyes wide behind the thick glass of his spectacles. A man Elias would have not given a second glance if they had passed each other on the street.
Crane's composure had changed as soon as the guards had left them alone, piquing Elias's interest. As Crane had revealed to him who he was Elias hadn't been able to keep a satisfied smile from spreading across his face. The boss.
Elias had been wondering what sort of man or organization had managed to make a man like John Reese - who had clearly been subjected to military and covert training - pledge his unwavering allegiance, ever since he had met him. He had been extremely impressed by the abilities – the calm and confident efficiency, coupled with a quick and sharp-as-a-knife mind – John had displayed during their time running from the Russian hit-squad. He hadn't been lying when he told John how grateful he was to him for having saved his life. He had also been dead serious when he asked Reese to come work for him, but hadn't been surprised when his offer had been declined – repeatedly and without a thought.
Incorruptible and loyal. A combination Elias highly valued in his men and also in his adversaries. It made for clear lines without gray areas.
Crane's and his conversation had lasted only a few minutes, but it had been enough time for Elias to recognize the incredible intellect that hid behind the thick glasses and the unimposing exterior of Harold Crane. A man, Elias had realized, whose calculating mind at least matched - if not surpassed - his own.
Coercing Crane into playing chess with him on a regular basis was just partly based on the thought of keeping his enemies close. It was mainly an act of self-indulgence. Elias liked to keep his mind sharp, to hone his ability for thinking five steps ahead of his opponents and figuring out their strategies. Until he had met Crane no one had come close to engaging him in a battle of minds on such a level as Harold had been doing over the last couple of months.
Playing chess with Crane had proven to be a welcome challenge, stimulating Carl's mind and forcing him to be at the top of his game if he wanted to keep up with the ever changing strategies deployed by the other man.
They never talked much during their sessions except for the occasional discussion of 'hypothetical and highly unlikely illegal' scenarios. Over the months of this arrangement Elias had studied the man, trying to learn his tells, trying to figure out what made the man tick. Still, after months Harold Crane was as much a mystery as he had been on their first meeting. Elias research and inquiries into Crane's background had yielded little to no results.
As far as Elias knew he'd been playing chess with a man that did not exist - a detail which by all means intrigued him, but didn't stop him from enjoying their regular encounters.
But something had started to feel off. Elias had noted subtle changes in the man over the last couple of weeks, cluing him in to the fact that something had been bothering and distracting the man, even though Crane did his best trying to hide his unrest.
As Elias had taken his seat across from the man today Crane had looked like he always did. His face – while polite – a careful and unreadable mask and his clothes as expensive and impeccable as always.
The devil was in the details, though. Taking a closer look at Harold Crane Elias noted that the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, and the evidence of deep worry and concern had etched itself into the skin of Crane's forehead. He looked tired, exhausted even, managing to slump his shoulders despite his limited range of motion.
Elias leaned back again, having noticed that Crane had not really answered his question. He nonchalantly reached for one of his black chess pieces, carefully executing his next move. Crane followed the move with his eyes, keeping them fixed on the board between them.
Sighing, Elias steepled his hands. "You know," he began evenly, "being locked up in Rikers doesn't mean I don't hear things."
Crane looked up, his eyes peering unblinkingly through his lenses, but remained quiet. A small smile twitched at Elias's lips - after all this time Harold Crane still kept his cards close to his chest. It almost insulted him that Crane had so far refused to ask for his help.
"Haven't heard a lot about John lately." Elias said casually, pausing to watch Harold stiffen at the mention of his partner in vigilantism's name. "How is he these days?"
It was an innocent enough question, yet the brief and rapid blinking of Crane's eyes it had caused was like the equivalent of an emotional earthquake on the man's face. Harold continued to just look at Elias for at least another ten seconds, trying to make up his mind on how to answer that question - only to come to the realization that Carl Elias probably already knew.
Losing the battle for control over his carefully crafted and usually inscrutable blank expression, Harold's facial features turned grave and with an undercurrent of loss and desperation in his voice that he couldn't suppress any longer he admitted, "I don't know."
To be continued ...
