Chapter Six (Conjecture and Coffee...)
Harold tensed involuntarily even though he knew the identity of the new arrival outside his current dwelling.
He gave Bear a scolding glance on his way to the front area. The dog lay happily content on its soft bed, the big brown eyes watching as Harold passed but once the door was opened, having recognized the intruder into its domain, arose swiftly, padding excitedly forward.
Root took the time to smile and pat the animal's head affectionately before turning her attention to its owner.
"No trouble this time, Harold." She straightened, her fingers still fluffing Bear's huge head. "What's the next target destination and why couldn't you have given it to me over the phone?"
"Miss Groves.." the man hesitated, an awkwardness overtaking his usual self-assured coolness. "We have established several inroads to Primary Power Sources. You have been on the go now for over twenty-two hours."
He ushered her in to the spacious foyer, assisting with her coat which he hung in the provided closet off to the right of the wide wooden staircase which centered this particular residence.
The woman was watching him, an odd expression on her pretty face. He could see the dark circles under the usually bright, animated eyes.
"..Perhaps, it would be advantageous for you to..rest up a bit?" he hastened to explain his presumptuous statement, guiding her into the ultramodern living area with its sleek furniture and design. "Mr. Reese has taken a few hours. Surely it would benefit all concerned if we were to take a break in our activities. To regroup and revitalize?"
Samantha Groves shook the long tresses. "I would rather give HER every opportunity possible before.."
"I assure you." The man halted her intended edict. "No plan will be implemented without your express approval or cooperation."
"..Neither of which you require." Root reminded, knowing full well just whom SHE would defer to if push came to shove. "What's going on here, Harold? Why suddenly so magnanimous?"
"Suddenly?" he corrected. "The truth is, you have proven over time, that we are primarily, on the same side for the time being. I admit to certain doubts early on, of course."
"Whatever for?" it was quipped. Root sat in the wing back chair he had indicated. "Simply because I kidnapped and tortured you over a period of several days." She smiled sweetly up at the man. "All of which, I remember fondly. But why let such trivial matters mar the beginning of a beautiful friendship, right?"
"I would not say 'torture', per se." His mouth had pulled into a slight rebuke. "You attempted civility. I was simply..a bit arbitrary, I suppose. But I could not trust your motives then."
"And it still bothers you." Samantha sat demurely, hands on the knees of her tan slacks. "That Alicia Corwin thing?"
She wriggled her nose in open distaste because he hadn't bothered to show any emotion whatsoever. "I have to wonder, Harold. Just how many times that woman sanctified some unsuspecting person's death." She lifted knowledgeable brows. "Not that I endorse or approve anyone's demise." She blinked her lashes almost coquettishly. "Not since having made your acquaintance, that is."
Finch could not tell these days, when the amusement at his expense stopped or started.
"So now..you trust me?"
"No." he answered bluntly. "I do believe, however, that you will protect the Machine at all costs and that will suffice." He turned introspective for a beat. "Perhaps the choices Ms. Corwin made in her life lead her to that fateful meeting with you, Miss Groves. I am ambiguous on the matter. It did..bother me greatly before, however."
The quietness in the man's manner troubled the woman's conscience somewhat. She shook the emotion, arising, irritated suddenly but not having the vaguest notion as to the 'why' of it all.
She crossed to the window, looking out on a dreary, grey day. Storm clouds gathered above the two-storied house with its Gothic gables.
The silence of the room upset her.
Bear nuzzled her thigh, whimpering slightly. She massaged him absently.
Harold studied his traitorous dog and the young woman's profile diligently, wondering at Samantha Groves' quietness.
She usually had quick, succinct 'come-backs' to any and all conversation he and John Reese undertook but today, she had been silent.
He actually bothered to check on her from time to time for the fact.
Perhaps she was simply exhausted. He knew he was verging on that state.
"..It was raining the day my mother died." Root watched the downpour hit the streets, pooling into huge puddles, running down to the nearest drainage area.
Finch could find no articulate reply, although he searched desperately for one.
The totally unexpected remark had thrown the man slightly. Samantha Groves never shared personal data..ever.
"..It was raining the day they laid the gravestone for Hanna." The dark eyes continued to peruse the gathering clouds, mesmerized by the beauty of the dark, frothy formations.
Harold had wanted to attend the ceremony but they were busy with a new Number. It had troubled him the entire day, that he could not be there for the young girl.
"I don't like the rain."
"..I'm so sorry, Miss Groves, for your great losses." Finch knew the words rang empty. "..I do know what it means to lose someone close..a loved one."
"I know you do." She turned her head, uncrossing her arms from her chest area, forcing a smile. "We are both getting maudlin." She sighed lightly. "..Perhaps I will go back to the hotel for a while."
Harold started to speak, halted himself then..forged bravely ahead. "It is such a drive and the weather appears to be taking a turn for the worse." He stated his reasoning before the actual crux of the proclamation he was about to make. He licked his lips for his mouth was suddenly dry. "..I'm not quite certain how to say this without sounding disturbingly.. forward." he crooked his head slightly.
He scowled for his predicament. "This house has four bedrooms. Forgive me for saying this but..you really do appear as if you have pushed your body to its limits. Believe me, if anyone knows the signs of such a disorder, it is I."
He shrugged minutely. "I could order you a taxi.." he left it hanging.
"Which could lead them back to this house if I am somehow compromised." Root's customary smirk was back for a brief second, the pretty eyes sparking impishly. "I know you don't have any designs on me, Harold." The thought seemed to amuse her further.
She gently pushed Bear's head off her lap, for she had returned to her former seat while Finch spoke. The dog had gingerly trotted over for a massage.
"Despite that fact.." she threw the man a chastising glance as she passed. "I will take you up on your kind offer of a room for the night."
She halted by the archway of the foyer. "Where are his treats?"
Harold nodded to the appropriate hiding place.
Root dutifully gave over a few of the morsels which Bear gobbled up hungrily, as if he hadn't been fed in days.
"Any of the rooms upstairs are prepared for occupancy." Harold watched her cross the marbled floor. "Whichever takes you fancy."
He pointed her in the general direction with a slight lift of a hand.
She halted her steps slowly, turning about. "Does that include yours, Harold?"
"My rooms occupy the bottom floor, Ms. Groves."
"I always prefer to be on top.." she felt the sting, offering one of her own before continuing her trek.
He watched her retreat, regretting his impulsive barb. Hoping to rise above the constant pettiness, pretending not to have heard her risqué remark.
"I am pleased by your sensible attitude, Miss Groves." He called after her retreating figure. "Please rest well."
"Bear." He scolded when the dog would have followed up the stairs.
"He's fine." Root patted her thigh and Bear lifted mournful eyes to its Master, waiting patiently for Harold's decree.
Finch sighed heavily, motioning the dog 'onward', feeling the brunt of the insult. "Turncoat." He muttered once turning aside.
If the dog heard, which it undoubtedly did, it did not bother to return to its rightful place.
"Please do not be alarmed, Miss Groves."
The soft voice came out of the darkness of the room, calming the woman's frayed nerves.
Root had gasped, her subconscious recognizing Harold Finch for which she was truly grateful because her honed instincts had raised the weapon she kept under her covers, always by her side, automatically prepared for any and all threats.
She hastily lifted the sights up and away, her heart thudding loudly in her chest cavity, the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
"What are you doing, Harold?" her voice was more censored than she had meant, a sharpness to the usual musical quality.
"I am well accustomed to awaking John Reese." The man stood quietly silhouetted against the bright light of the outer hallway fixture. "He reacts in a similar fashion."
Samantha pushed her hair back out of her face, her fingers trembling visibly. She scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, the shadows of the room flickering in the frequent lightening outside the domain.
Her mind was still filled with dread for what could have happened.
"You called out." Harold explained his presence. "I was concerned. Are you alright, Miss Groves? Is there anything you require?"
Samantha Groves had been in a very bad place moments before. Sometimes they came..to remind her. To visit.
"Thank you for checking on me." She offered the mundane. "I'm sorry if I disturbed your sleep."
"The storm is worsening. We may lose power but I have a backup generator in which case." The information was given over. "Bear was restless. He awoke me, not you, Miss Groves."
The woman straightened slightly, her attention instant and riveted.
"Nothing is wrong." It was quickly assured. "Please return to your sleep, if you are able."
The last thing she wanted was to 'return to her sleep'. "I don't suppose you have any coffee in house?"
"..Of course." The man remembered his manners. "I will prepar.."
Root threw the covers of the duvet aside, wiggling from the warmth of the bed. "I can do it." She grabbed the large white robe he had supplied before her shower hours ago, padding barefoot to his position. "There is a few hours left before daybreak." She left the long robe open, revealing the pajama top she had found lying on her bed when she had exited the bath. "You and Bear try to catch a few more winks."
She stood now, arms hugging her body against the chill of the house, the large brown eyes wide and fully awake. "I'm quite self-sufficient. I make a mean espresso if I do say so myself."
"Then..let us see if you can prove your boast." He gracefully gestured, arm wide, his head slightly inclined.
"Go to bed, Harold." She insisted, feeling bad for having awaken the man. "I'm not going to take the silverware although.." she feigned a sudden interest. "That big screen T.V. in the front room did catch my wandering attention, I give fair warning."
She was shocked to see his eyes soften, a quick smile pull at the corners of his mouth. "You couldn't lift it..best to stick to the contents of the safe, I think."
"..You have a safe?" she blinked an all too innocent inquiry.
"Of course I do." He guided her, stepping slightly to allow her precede him. "Now, all you have to do is ..figure out where it is located."
He was teasing her in his own fashion, even though the placid eyes would never have betrayed as much.
"I would rather just hack your accounts." She dodged Bear's huge paws as the dog took the lead, running the stairs swiftly, waiting at the bottom for his much slower Master's arrival, prancing playfully about, it's nails clicking merrily on the granite floor.
"You haven't already attempted the feat?" he appeared a trifle insulted.
"Actually, your's is one of the few I have not checked out..well, in that fashion." She admitted, having matched her steps to his navigating the stairs.
They entered the kitchen, Finch throwing light on the immaculate area by the pressing of a switch. "Should I be honored…or concerned." He glanced back over his shoulder, crossing to search out the cupboards.
"Both." She held her smile.
The man smiled back, sitting the creamer and two cups down on the counter.
Root had taken a black stool which complimented the sleek bar area.
"Mr. Reese says I make the worse coffee this side of the Pecos." Finch scowled ruefully. "I'm not even sure where that is..or if it still exists."
Root's mouth pulled into an endearing grin.
"That's woman's work anyway." She pushed herself erect, seeking out the coffee-maker.
"I haven't updated the appliances." He watched to see if she would be disappointed with what was available. "No lattes tonight, I fear."
"Ohhh." She pouted for all of a second. "Well, then one must improvise..adapt..overcome."
"An excellent motto." He took her previous seat watching her move comfortably about the space, preparing the beverage.
"Yeah, I think it belongs to the Marines..or the Boy Scouts." She measured the coffee haphazardly pouring it into appropriate slot on the coffee-maker. "Maybe the Shriners?"
Harold interlaced his fingers, his hands placed on the cool granite surface of the bar. Harold offered a throaty chuckle, which thrilled Samantha. She loved she could elicit any sort of response from the man, let alone one so delightful.
"You're staring, Harold." She could feel his eyes. "Which is rather disconcerting." Brown eyes met blue.
"I'm sorry." He broke the contact, shaking his head. "The truth is. I find you a very interesting study in contrasts, Miss Groves." The fact seemed to trouble the man greatly.
"It's all very Freudian, isn't it." She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I would imagine, I would make quite a 'case-study'."
"How so?" he was curious, encouraging her to continue.
The woman stopped her busy work, staring at him with a cooled expression. "Do you feel a deep seeded need to get me on your couch, Harold?"
The moment was broken and Finch felt a distinct regret. "..Why do you do that?"
"Flirt with you?" she asked quietly. "You are smart enough to figure that one out, Harry."
He shifted slightly, his expression taking on a quizzical air. "You and I both know, Miss Groves. That your behavior conceals a much more complex problem."
She took the pot from the maker, crossing to pour the steaming liquid into the waiting containers, then adding cream and sugar to her own mug.
"Or a very simplistic one you are refusing to acknowledge." She baited.
"To what ends?" he was mystified, admitting as much. "What is it you hope to accomplish? What is it, you think will materialize between us, exactly?"
Root waited because she knew he wasn't finished.
"I have stated my reasons, why such an ill-conceived alliance would never..ever work!" He had. "All sound, common sense 'whys and wherefores'. Ones you have as yet to refute, and still you continue these infantile, unhealthy attempts to..what?" he demanded. "What is your goal?"
"Sometimes 'theory' proves itself false when applied practically." She reached slowly, her warm fingers curving to his thicker ones, the pressure singularly alarming for Harold Finch.
The man started visibly and now sat, ram-rod straight, staring at the contact, wondering how to sever it while still maintaining the current civility he had worked so hard to achieve.
Why had he done such a thing? He reminded himself of the old adage: 'keep your enemies closer'.. but he knew it was more.
He looked into those liquid eyes, his thoughts chaotic and muddled.
At times, she was like a lost waif, needing guidance and reassurance.. then she was, the other. Cold, calculating.. taciturn, shrewd, conniving.. cunning.
What she was capable of chilled him and yet..
"You haven't pulled away." The soft tone washed over him raising goose flesh.
It was, in fact, she who broke the contact…