Chapter 6: find Finch; "Get used to it"

Manhattan, late December, 2014

A sound. And then again.

Soft. Buzzing – it was his phone buzzing on the table next to him. Leon rolled over in bed and glanced at the clock on the table next to the buzzing rectangle.

What time was it?

He pushed himself upright in the darkness, and grabbed the phone. Strange foreign number on the screen. Who was calling him at this hour?

The party didn't wait for him to say hello; as soon as he'd made the connection, she started talking.

"There's a job for you, Leon," she said. "And there's something in it for you if you get it done fast."

Leon was shaking his head, not fully awake yet; this sounded like gibberish to his struggling brain.

But best to be careful with this one, and not let her hear his irritation. Kara Stanton was not one he should trifle with.

"What's going on? Where are you?" he said, buying time for his brain to come up to speed.

"Never mind that. There's a job for you. That's all you need to know."

Now, more awake with the sound of her tone in his ear; softly, "I'm listening."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up a little straighter. A small white pad of paper sat on the table next to the bed, but the pen wasn't there. Damn – where?

He pulled the drawer open in the table, but no pen. Then he scanned around the surfaces in his bedroom. Ah, there on the bureau, his pen.

While he went to get it, Kara was already way ahead of him on the phone. Softly, as if he were trying not to wake someone next to him in bed, "hold on. I want to write this down," and he could hear her breathing on the other end, like she was annoyed.

"Ready?" she said an instant later.

He let her go on – even though he wasn't ready. Not good to keep her waiting, and for all he knew, Greer could be sitting at her side, listening in.

"Boss wants you to focus on one thing until he gets back. And he's offering you a reward if you can do it fast." Leon had the pen in hand and sat down on the side of the bed with the pad on the table next to him.

She was saying, " there's a certain individual Boss wants to meet with – in person. He wants to arrange a little surprise in the guy's office. You need to find it in Manhattan for the Boss. Are you getting this?" she said. Not a shred of patience in her voice.

Leon thought for just a moment.

Harold Finch.

Greer would desperately like to have Harold Finch in front of him, especially since the debacle with Samaritan. And then the injury to Greer himself, and the shoot-out in the hospital. There were all kinds of rumors flying since then: that Greer was dead; that he was on life-support and someone else was running the show; that he had fled overseas and wasn't coming back.

"Leon?!"

His head snapped up with the sound of her voice.

"Ah, yes, yes. Bad connection. Couldn't tell if you were still talking. I heard you say that Mr. Gr – Boss wants me to – obtain – certain information for him. And he considers this very valuable information." He was almost salivating when he heard himself say that last part out loud.

"That's right, Leon. It's gonna be a big payday for you if you come through." Then there was no sound from Kara. He suddenly realized she was waiting for him.

"Uh-yes. Yes, of course. I'm on it," he blurted, and two heartbeats later the connection went dead. She'd hung up. No fanfare. No chummy team chit-chat.

But, on the bright side, she wasn't pissed off enough yet to shoot him dead, either, the next time she laid eyes on him.

He couldn't dare fail them. Whatever it took, he wasn't going to fail.

He was awake, now, fully awake, and his brain was tingling all over. This could be his big break. He wandered out to the kitchen in his bare feet. The tile was chilly underneath them, but Leon barely noticed and went straight for the fridge. The white light inside glared, nearly blinding him in the darkness, and cold air drifted down to his feet. He stared at the shelves, browsing for a long minute – only half-aware as he re-played the phone call in his head.

When Leon turned back, he had a bottle of water from the fridge, and a handful of grapes from a bowl inside. He popped a few into his mouth and twisted the cap off the water. The cap went skidding off the rim of the garbage can five feet away, when he launched it from his hand.

He used to be so much better with his aim. With lots of things.

He thought about it – all those useful important skills he'd had back in college – fading now. He was soft; he'd let himself go.

Maybe there was still time. Once he'd made his fortune, there'd be more time. He'd get himself back into shape, have a little pride in himself again.

Once he'd made his fortune.

Nodding to himself, he went back to his bedroom to consider this new development. The white pad was still sitting on the table next to his bed, and he started jotting some notes to himself.

This might actually work out for him. He had an edge that no one on Greer's team knew about.

A while back, he'd been in a little trouble with a certain group of clients who'd caught him stealing – and wanted to kill him. But, The Man in the Suit had shown up out of nowhere, and grabbed him out of the situation. Lucky for him – things could have gone badly if Reese hadn't shown.

Reese seemed preoccupied with something else going on at the time, and finally, he'd resorted to blindfolding him and stashing him in an office somewhere in Manhattan. Reese had left him there, alone, with a giant, scary dog to guard him, while Reese went off on some other chase. He'd left him in a very particular office – in what looked like an old public library building somewhere in Manhattan.

Harold Finch's office.

So, as it turned out, he'd already been to Finch's office. He just didn't know where it was, exactly. But how many old public library buildings could there be in Manhattan?

Here was something he never guessed would come his way. They were willing to pay him for information he already had – almost.

Leon thought about it – they must be desperate. Or, maybe just so ticked off with everything that had happened to Greer and Samaritan that they'd resort to paying him to find Finch. He wondered how much.

How much would it be worth for Greer to have him? Six figures? It had to be at least six figures. For Finch? Maybe more. A big payday. This could be good, very good. He'd get started as soon as the sun came up this morning. He jotted a few more notes to himself, and then headed for the shower.

With the unexpected phone call waking him out of sleep, and the sound of Kara Stanton's voice on the other end, and then the promise of money – lots of money – he couldn't go back to sleep. There was work to do.

Now – how to find Finch.

Manhattan, late December, 2014

She unlocked the door, quietly, and went back inside with Bear. He shook himself noisily at the door, and then followed behind her into the kitchen, ears forward, eyes alert. Luckily, she'd thought to bring dog food home with her from the office last night – just in case. She could hear him lapping water from the bowl on the floor behind her.

Gelila poured the dry food into a soup bowl from her cupboard, and sat it down next to the other one with the fresh water in it, then stepped back. She gave him the command to go and he jumped up to go to the food.

These dishes were meant for table use, not dog bowls, so the food bowl spun around and slid on the bare floor as Bear chased after it. Poor Bear. She slid it into a corner for him with her foot, and that stopped it from sliding while he finished his meal.

When he looked up again, he had that little smile on his muzzle. He took a long drink from the water bowl, then walked over to her and rubbed his head against her legs. Gelila sat down on her kitchen floor with him, smiling, hugging his head and neck. Such a great dog. She ran her hands all over his head, his neck and back in a good strong rub, rewarded by him wagging his whole body next to her, nuzzling and rubbing her neck with his wet muzzle. She giggled out loud, nuzzling him back with her cheek.

She missed having a dog of her own. Back home she'd always had dogs, cats, birds. They were like family. She couldn't remember a time without them, growing up.

Bear wanted to play, but she didn't want him to make too much noise in the apartment, and she'd just brought him back from running in the park just now. So maybe she could get him to settle in for a little nap after eating.

Speaking of naps, her plan was to let Reese sleep in for as long as he could this morning. In fact, she was a little bleary-eyed herself, from staying up so late with him last night. Maybe she'd get to crawl back in with him and sleep a little longer, too. Group nap.

She smiled to herself, thinking about Reese last night. For all of his mysterious and stoic demeanor, she had still found a way to reach him. Tending to him – that simple act of uncovering him little by little, finding all the wounds, gently tending to them. He'd allowed it. In the quiet of the night, with the lights low, and with him braced against her in her bed, he'd allowed it, and she found that she could sense things about him, eavesdrop a little bit while she was taking care of him.

She could feel the strength in him, like sinew pulled taut. It was always there, and yet the closer you got to him, the more elusive it got. It submerged out of sight, somehow. You would almost miss it, if you hadn't already sensed that it was there.

And under that, deeper down, more disturbing, was a raw-ness that he covered over with this more polished exterior of his. But she could feel it. Inside him, deeper down, beneath the polish – something less civilized. That was the word that popped into her head, anyway. It made her think of someone living at the edge, lawless, with his own rules, living outside the boundaries of normal people.

For her, that raw-ness, that strength, that less-civilized feeling was something rare, precious. It drew her to him like the best scent, filled her up with this delicious ache inside, an ache to hold on to it, to breathe it into herself. Intoxicating.

She could feel her pulse quicken, and the heat starting to rise inside as she thought of it. Reese was like a fine, wild stallion on the hill, off in the distance, always surveying, watching over his herd, restless, always moving on. It left her a little breathless.

How crazy was this? This strange man who had dropped into her life in the middle of the night one night. He'd brought in Bear – in trouble. And she'd done her best to save him. And Reese had seemed so genuinely thankful, so concerned about Bear's welfare. But then he was gone. Almost like he'd abandoned Bear. And another had come in his place.

Then back again, with Bear. So concerned – even though Reese was hurt himself. He'd put Bear before himself.

She was confused. What was going on? What was happening to them? How did they get themselves so injured like that? No answers.

She didn't want to let him get away again. So, she'd reached out, tentatively at first, looking for a sign. And she'd found it, in his eyes, in his touch. He'd let her see in a little bit; inside, where the real man lived. But, just a glimpse.

At her door, inside her Call Room that night, she'd pushed him. He'd come there of his own free will. He'd given her the opening. And with that first press of her lips against his in the darkness, she could feel the strength, stretched taut inside him, held back, but straining. It excited her to feel it, and the more she pressed, the more she could sense the rest.

Reese had a sense of violence around him, and it should have made her wary at the feeling of it. But it didn't. It wasn't wanton, indiscriminant-type violence – but something that felt more controlled. Like a soldier's.

She wasn't afraid of him.

She wasn't sure what she felt.

This was crazy. How could one person turn her world upside down like this?

She was too tired to think about it any more. She looked up at Bear. His eyes were bright, and he smiled back with his muzzle.

"I wish you could talk, Bear," she said, rubbing his neck, and scratching the base of his ears. He started to prance, thinking she was ready to play, but she shushed him. They went together into the living room, still dim in the morning light. It was going to be cloudy and cold all day. A perfect day to spend in bed.

They made their way through the living room, to the bedroom, and Gelila gave Bear the command to stay, on the rug next to the side of her bed. She pulled off her sweats, and her cotton tee, quietly. She could hear Reese breathing. She lifted the blankets, and slid in, under the sheet. He stirred, but she reached around him with her arm, whispering, "go back to sleep – it's early yet."

A smile came over his face. Her British accent. It always made him smile.

"You're cold," he said.

"I took Bear out for a run. It's cold outside, and cloudy. Like London in the winter." She smiled.

"Is it time for me to go?" he asked, hoping she'd say no.

"No, no, no," she said softly, "I'm not done with you yet." She leaned closer against him, so warm under the blankets. She heard him gasp a little when she slid herself next to him, skin to skin.

She giggled, and he groaned.

"I'm sure this qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment," he said, smiling, and groaning, and trying to pull away as she pressed even harder into him.

"Get used to it," she said, her arm around him, pulling him closer.