An hour - by his watch. That was how long it actually taken to make the short distance back to the cabin, but it felt much, much longer. The nightmarish ordeal had Finch at the end of a frazzling rope.
Edward had all but shut down, after the lose of his son, becoming unresponsive to normal prompting. It took a great deal of verbal force, much of the time bordering on implied threats, to motivate the man into helping with a barely conscious Mr. Reese.
The decision to return to the destroyed cabin had been a difficult one, chosen simply on the basis of its shorter distance, despite the other having a vehicle and equipment. But Mr. Reese was in no condition to tolerate any added exposure or exertion.
As it was, there were many times along the way Finch questioned whether they'd make it even that far. Between Edward's questionable assistance and his limited support, Mr. Reese was still left to do too much himself, and by the time they'd reached the living room, he'd quit altogether. Mr. Reese collapsed to the floor in expended surrender.
Finch was terrified. Of course there were all his previous injuries to worry about, but now hypothermia had to be considered. He quickly pulled the couch cushions and did his best to gently work them under his friend, concentrating on his upper body.
"Mr. Wright? I'd appreciate if you could help with a fire?" Finch panted. No response. Edward no longer seemed to acknowledge Harold's existence, he'd simply melted into a distant window and stood staring in a catatonic stupor.
With exacerbated frustration, Finch saturated a few smaller logs with starter fluid, wasting no time to achieve a roaring fire in hopes of warming the dangerously cold ex-op.
Earlier, they'd simply pulled Eleanor just inside the cabin, far enough to prevent her from freezing, while Harold duct taped her hands and feet. Later, he'd see about getting her closer to the fire, yet far enough from Edward's immediate sight to prevent an incident he didn't have the time, or energy, to deal with.
Right now however, Reese was his priority. He was truly panicked by the sounds of his labored breathing, now far worse than before, and despite shaking hands, unzipped the jacket and skillfully unbound the drain tube, praying for even the slightest improvement.
Reese's last words struck his again. The sadness, the sacrifice, the longing... The thought that Carter would feel the same for John. It only made him more determined to save his friend.
Mr. Reese was running out of time, and their only hope was getting his SUV and back to the city for real help. But could he leave Reese with Mr. Wright?
The man had progressively grown more unstable, now incoherently muttering and gesturing to himself. Certainly he'd had no love for Mr. Reese prior to the death of his son, Finch was sure he'd gladly see him dead now. Not something Finch would risk. He'd have to take Edward along and just hope John could hold on.
Finch laid a hand on Reese's shivering shoulder, "I'm going to get the truck Mr. Reese. Just hang on. I'll be back." Finch softly muttered and moved to stand just as a pair of shoes stepped into view. Finch looked up in question. "Mr. Wright?"
He expected to see Edward's broken and lost stare, instead met the focused eyes of pure hate and determined intent staring from behind the barrel of a gun.
"You're not going anywhere."
"Please Mr. Wright, you must see this won't help you."
"You give me the key and code - see how much that helps. That bitch tried to kill me, turned my son against me, and Flint here.., he... he killed him. I'm not going to prison, so only one getting out of here is me."
Any ambitious ideas to disarm the revenge-driven man failed to come as Finch sat on the floor and let his shoulders slump with the unconscionable turn of events. Reese was right to not even try understanding such a man. "Edward.., I'm too tired and concerned about my friend to care about seeing you goto prison. No one needs know about your past." He lied, "and you must see... that John tried with everything he had to save you and your son."
"If there's one thing I've learned working with Flint... is that he's a true-blue diehard for justice, no matter who gets in the way. You're his partner, so no way you'll leave this alone." He gripped the gun with both hands.
Finch had no idea how he'd gotten the gun from his pocket, or how many rounds where left? One? Maybe two..? But at this range it would be a fatal gamble. "You'll be killing us all. I won't give you the code."
"You will if I..." Mid-sentence, Edward suddenly yelped, dropping the gun to flail his arms above his head as his feet where swept from under him.
Finch stared with dumbstruck awe, as their would-be killer smacked against the hardwood floor with a bouncing crack. "They never... just say... thank you..."
Finch scrambled to his friend. "Not often enough I'm afraid. I however won't miss the opportunity. Thank you Mr. Reese! How are you feeling?"
The response was slow. "Been... better... Duct tape...him."
"Indeed. I think at this point I'll have to consider buying stock in the company. Try to rest Mr. Reese, I'm..."
Reese's weak smile darkened to an adrenaline fueled snarl when he came to his knees with a singular fluidity that shouldn't have been possible, and shoved Harold clear of his gun, now firmly aimed at the two armed shadows moving into his clouded view.