The Greatest Reward
Reese pulled back the gate in the hallway of the library. A moment later Bear came running toward him, greeting with happy barks and a wagging tail. The happy yips bounced off the walls and echoed down the empty chambers.
"Good morning, Bear. It's good to see you, too." Reese gave a quick hug and a pat on the head. "Zit!" he commanded, and the dog obeyed. Although his tail swished from side to side with anticipation at a sweet reward that could be his.
From a small pink box, Reese pulled out a donut and held it up. "Is this what you want?" he asked rhetorically. Bear barked twice. "Here you go." In an instant, the tasty treat was devoured. Bear looked up with admiration and anticipation of more treats in his brown eyes. "That's all, boy. Where's Finch?"
Barking eagerly, Bear quickly trotted to lead the way down the long hallways. His nails made a click-clack on the marble floor.
"Good morning, Mr. Reese," Harold Finch greeted from his usual place behind the computer. Dressed impeccably in his three-piece suit and tie, he looked every bit the banker or successful Wall Street CEO, instead of the tortured billionaire on a mission to save irrelevant lives.
"Good morning, Finch. I brought breakfast," Reese greeted back and placed the items on the table. "Croquillants are in this box," he pointed at the medium sized pink box. "And here is your Sencha tea."
Finch took the take-away cup and sipped carefully. "Thank you. I take it Detective Carter is settled in?"
"Yes." Reese didn't elaborate, instead he took a donut out of the second box and bit into it. He hoped Finch would take the hint. The expensive pastry tasted like sawdust in his mouth, but it was better than talking.
"Are you sure this arrangement is a good idea?" Finch wondered a loud. There was a certain amount of underlying doubt in his voice. And in his eyes.
Reese stopped in mid-bite to throw a flummoxed look at his mentor. "What do you mean, Harold?"
"Well, you do have a decorated NYPD detective living in your loft," Finch pointed out matter of factly. He deliberately let the fact hang in the air as bait.
"I've taken care of things to insure she isn't compromised," Reese deflected without so much as a blink of an eye.
"I'm sure you have, Mr. Reese."
"But...?"
Finch lifted the lid on the small box and took out a pastry. He placed it on a little plate. "But nothing. I just want to make sure you are aware of the consequences." Okay, Finch thought to himself, it was time for another approach.
"I'm prepared."
"I'm sure you are," Finch murmured, but he wasn't convinced by his friend's assurance. There was still a little part of him that would never fully trust another human.
"What is on the agenda today?" Reese mercifully changed the subject.
"Nothing much." Finch moved over to the computer and sat down.
"Nothing much?" Reese repeated. "That's not like the Machine. Is it running okay? Maybe you should give it a tune up," he teased. It was a running joke between them, since all the maintenance Harold did from morning to night insured that the system was always in near perfect working order.
"I can assure you that the Machine is running perfectly well," Harold replied with just a touch of annoyance. He reached for a pastry, placed it on a china plate, but he didn't eat it.
"Are you saying that there aren't any numbers?"
"No. There were two. Ms. Shaw is taking care of them."
"Shaw is... Why didn't you call me?" Reese was hurt by the slight. And it flickered for a moment in his blue eyes.
Finch shrugged. "I felt that you have enough going on, what with Detective Carter moving in; you might need a day off."
"I thought you said the numbers never stop coming?" Reese countered.
"They always come, Mr. Reese; however, I'm sure that Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco can take care of the ones we receive," Finch replied confidently.
Reese was confused. What was going on? And why was Harold acting cool as a cucumber despite numbers coming in? He tried to read the older man's face for any clues but came up empty.
"What's wrong, John?" Finch broke into Reese's thoughts.
"I'm a little confused. I thought you hired me to do a job."
"I did," Finch concurred. "I just think you need a vacation."
"Vacation?" A bit of panic filled him as he mulled the word over. Vacation?! Had he ever really taken a vacation? Was he even capable of taking a vacation? he wondered to himself.
"I was going over the records, and I realized that you have been working three straight years without any time off."
Reese blinked in astonishment. "Records? You keep records–?"
"Even though the numbers keep coming in," Finch interrupted, "you have performed your job in an exemplary manner. However..."
"However?" Reese prompted and braced himself for what could come next.
"You have rarely taken any time off for yourself–"
"I haven't complained." Was that defiance in Reese's tone?
"And what kind of boss would I be if I didn't let you have a few days to yourself?" Finch continued as though Reese hadn't spoken.
"Days?"
"More like weeks." Finch walked over to the file cabinet and pulled open a drawer. Ruffling thru the manila folders he pulled out the one marked "JOHN REESE" on the tab. "Three weeks at..." He mentally calculated the hours his employee/friend usually worked in an average week. "Times that by..." He scribbled down a number. "Just as I thought."
"Finch, you're scaring me."
"Here." The bespectacled man thrust an envelope at Reese. "This should cover your time off. If you need anything else, the card inside should take care of it."
Reese opened the envelope and pulled out the cash. "Harold..." he protested. Cash? Vacation? Shaw was taking over his duties? What was going on? He felt his head begin spin—and this time alcohol had nothing to do with it. He was confused by it all.
"I believe that is a sufficient amount, Mr. Reese."
"Harold..."
Finch glanced down at the watch around his left wrist. "Your vacation started five minutes ago, Mr. Reese," he proffered
Reese sighed. "I am going to guess that I don't have any say in this?"
"You have a guest, and you have vacation days; take the time and enjoy both. Now go." Finch dismissed Reese with a nod and a wave of his hand. Bear barked to add his two cents.
Reese looked helpless. "What should I do?"
"Relax. Go to the beach. Read a book. Enjoy life." Finch turned his attention to the computer monitor. He appeared to be engrossed by the image on the screen so he didn't see Reese turn around and walk away. As the footsteps grew faint, then fade to silence, he stopped typing and leaned back in his office chair.
"Good luck, Mr. Reese," he said softly with a smile.
Bear barked in agreement.
********
Joss walked into the bullpen of the 8th precinct and set her brown bag down on the desk. The folders in the IN box were still there from three days ago, and they were begging for attention. Now that her personal life was finally straightening out, she needed to get back to work.
"Good morning, Captain," Joss greeted as she slipped her coat off and hung it on the back of her chair.
The willowy brunette with her nose buried in a file, suddenly stopped and did a double take. "Carter?"
"Yes, ma'am." Joss found herself falling into officer mode and straightened her stature as she came to attention.
The captain closed the file. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Joss looked surprised and bewildered by the question. "Wh-what am I doing here? I don't know what you mean."
"You're on leave. I called and left you a message."
"Uh, no," Joss contradicted. The captain narrowed her eyes. "I-I meant to say that I'm not on leave, ma'am. At least not to my knowledge." Joss fumbled to open her phone. Immediately MISSED CALL flashed on the screen; underneath was the captain's name.
Oh, boy, Joss thought to herself. If ever she had been in a pickle, now was the moment. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for a dressing down.
"Well, the paperwork came across my desk first thing this morning and I signed it. You've officially been on leave since 8am this morning. Three weeks," the captain informed in a no nonsense tone that left no room for argument.
"My cases...my paperwork..." Joss argued weakly. Her mind began to spin. Leave? Vacation? Three weeks? What was she supposed to do with three weeks of leave?!
The captain appeared nonplussed. "Your partner can take care of it. If not, I'm sure the sub filling your shoes will be able to tackle it."
"But I –"
The captain stared unblinking at her subordinate. "But what, detective?" she challenged.
"I didn't know I had the time on the books," Joss made her case – albeit, a weak case.
"Obviously you do. Apparently you haven't take a day off in nearly five years—save for the undercover work out of town, and a sick day or two."
Joss looked at her desk, then at Fusco's. Where was her partner when she needed him? Why, oh, why had she decided to come in early?
"Look, Carter, I have a stack of paperwork on my desk a mile high, a meeting at noon with the Commish, a dental visit at three, and a ballet recital for my niece at six. And to top it off, I fell off the wagon with my nicotine patch," the captain listed in a precise and authoritative tone all the reasons she didn't want to stand around arguing over an asinine subject called leave. "I would suggest that if you want to get a good mark on your upcoming eval that you will gather your stuff and go home."
Joss opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. "Yes, ma'am."
"I heard you've had a bit of a pest problem."
Joss felt her cheeks burn hot. "It's under control."
"Bed bugs are serious, detective. Take the time and make sure that everything has been fumigated before you come back. I have enough going on without having to lose more personnel over insects, okay?" The captain's voice was kind but firm.
"Yes, ma'am," Joss tried not to sound defeated.
"Your son, Taylor, is vacationing in Europe for the summer?"
"Yes, he is," Joss nodded, surprised that the captain would familiarize herself with the police officers under her command.
"Take this time to yourself and relax. Crime will still be happening when you come back. I don't want to see you when I return. Understand?" With a smile, the captain walked out of the bullpen.
"I guess that's all I need to know," Joss muttered under her breath. She picked up the brown bag and coffee, walked over to Fusco's desk and set them down. "Someone may as well enjoy these." Then she hurried over to her desk to gather her coat and purse.
Turning on her heel, she started out of the room, then stopped and turned around. She hurried back and grabbed the styrofoam cup.
"Nah. You don't get my coffee."