Chapter Seventeen (Old Wounds Heal Slowly…)
Cordelia Fellows drifted in a most pleasurable place. Between waking and dreaming, she felt warm flesh against her body and a slight pressure along the spine of her back, a heavy weight across her naked thigh.
She lay on her side, her left hand resting on her stomach, her right scrunched up under her chin. Her long hair was in her face, strands obscuring her vision. She had tried to open her eyes but was just too restful to try very hard.
The green orbs closed sleepily and she sighed gently, snuggling to the solid presence beside her, squirming slightly closer to the delicious heat provided.
She could smell his scent. An expensive cologne drifted up between her body and..his. A clean, masculine soapy aroma mixed with the after effects of their love-making but even that was titillating and..strange. But oh, so..nice.
Memories flooded her placid brain which brought a soft smile to her flushed face.
She could hear Harold Finch's steady, rhythmic breathing, feel the slight weight of his chin on the top of her head.
She had never felt so ..protected and safe.
Not in her entire life.
A part of her wanted to somehow awaken the man. To see if she could convince him to..do what he had done before. She had written many times about..such occurrences between a man and a woman but in all her imaginings, there was nothing to compare with the reality of such a moment.
But she was so comfortable and so..warm and safe and..sated. Her eyes closed and she listened to the continual husky breathing behind her, lulled into a light sleep herself after only a minute or two.
But then..Cordelia's mind began to function clearly. Flashes of lucidity streaked into her subconscious 'Id'. Visions of places..people..events. Some as crystal clear as if she were walking through the scenes set up by her psyche.
A man..older, with unmanageable gray hair, a wide grin and troubled, deep set eyes that touched her heart. Trees covered by snow, park benches frozen over with icy remnants of a cold night's Winter storm.
Sunny days spent under semi-blue skys, laughter from rowdy children..the sound of water sprinklers splashing on concrete asphalt.
Cordelia..sprung up, gasping for breath and..desperate to awaken.
She was suddenly aware of someone beside her, her head jerking over, her gaze trying to adjust to the darkened room.
Slowly, her senses returned and she..recognized her surroundings. She stared transfixed to the man sleeping so peacefully beside her.
She..eased from his embrace, careful not to disturb him, lifting his arm slowly..cautiously, sliding over just enough to extract herself from the bed.
Harold Finch slept.
Cordelia studied the man. He seemed so much younger than he did when those eyes were trained on a person, studying them right back, like an insect under a microscope.
His upper body was naked but she could see, although his slacks were still unfastened, slightly opened from..their former activities. He had put his instrument away, it lay dormant and hidden inside the visible silk of his underwear.
He really did have a very nice physique, surprisingly so. Those impeccable suits hid a multitude of muscled arms and tapered hips..flat, firm stomach, covered by a smattering of light colored hair which covered his chest area, beginning just at his throat, spreading outward and downward..disappearing with more dark feathering firmness into the band of his under shorts.
Momentarily, Cordelia wondered..what his entire body would look like. She blushed slightly, turning her eyes away guiltily.
She found his shirt, for she was chilled suddenly. The woman's mind was full. So many thoughts..so many..revelations.
She walked slightly to the window seat, unaware of any predetermined destination, sitting. She stared outside the darkened night, not really seeing what was there. Other visions took priority.
John Reese was not complaining about his lot in life these days. He stood, leaning back against the tiled wall of a steaming shower, his eyes closed, his body..tense and coiled.
The hot spray pelted his skin and it felt good but..not half as good as what was taking place just below his belt line, not that he was wearing a belt at this exact moment. For the record, he wasn't wearing anything at all.
His hand filtered into the tangled mess of Taylor Davidivitch's wet hair, as he guided her, his deep, guttural grunts and moans..encouraging the activity she now performed for him.
Reese opened his eyes, glancing downward, his finger lovingly tracing the full, sensual lips which serviced him, even now. "Like that, baby." His tone was self- indulgent, low..tense. "..yeah..." He moaned piteously, his head falling back to it's former position against the wall. "G-God..that feels.." a primitive grunt escaped the man's throat. "I like that!" Reese proclaimed commandingly.
Davidivitch liked it too, her tongue flicking playfully back and forth over the slit of Reese's penis, suckling the thickness of his glans leisurely. She enjoyed the raspy catch in his throat when she found a particularly sensitive spot to tease.
Her long nails raked the underside of his scrotum gently, her fingers kneading softly, exploring his weaknesses.
She took him deep into her mouth, her tongue coarse against the tender flesh of his organ, causing Reese to thicken and lengthen even more so for her efforts.
Harold Finch stirred, slightly cold and stiff. He kinked his back, his muscles groaning from over-use. He grimaced, sitting up, surveying his surroundings with bleary eyes.
He wondered how long he had slept. His first thought.. John. He should be..at his post helping..John.
The man looked around haplessly, suddenly aware of another's presence in the room.
Cordelia sat, in her customary position, in the window seat across the way, silently staring out the large double window panes.
"…I know where I saw you first." Her voice filtered softly across the area. "..I remember."
Finch rubbed his eyes, running his hand around his nape before swinging his legs off the side of the small bed. "What?" he tried to shake the cobwebs from his head.
"At the park." Cordelia turned her head to seek him out. She could make out his feet, on the carpet for the moonlight had moved farther into the room at this late hour, almost touching the bed with it's silvery rays. Finch's face was hidden in shadow, however. "You used to watch the house..the one where the lady with the red hair lived."
Finch..stiffened slightly, the hairs on the back of his head standing up a bit.
"Sometimes, you played chess with one of those men who go there but mostly.." The soft tone continued. "You just..sat there and..watched her."
Harold remained silent..sorting..filing..arranging data and facts.
"She's very lovely." Cordelia's voice was profoundly moving to the man for some odd reason. "Is she ..your 'Grace'?"
Finch allowed her to talk, unsure if he even needed to respond as yet but then, she fell silent. He was revising his tactics after a long moment for the silence was becoming rather brittle.
He watched her profile, wondering at the thoughts behind her carefully presented façade.
She appeared so small, sitting there like that..so childlike somehow. He knew instinctively, that the wall she had erected for protection was solidly in place yet again.
Only this time..it probably was stronger, higher..perhaps impregnable.
"Millie said it was a dangerous subject to bandy about but..he thinks red jelly beans are chocked full of mind-altering drugs." Cordelia had gone back to her musings. "He was right about the system.." she turned her head and her small face was framed by an ethereal light as the moon beams danced off the fluff of blonde hair abounding about her lithe body. "wasn't he."
She hugged her knees tightly, her body almost pulled into a fetal position. She was staring at him, Finch knew even though her face was obscured in shadow.
"..This.. 'person' of whom you speak." Harold moved warily. "This..'Millie'." he glanced longingly to his computer station in the other room. God, how he wished he could reach the controls.. "..Do I know him? Have you..mentioned him before?"
"I pulled him up on the Net." Cordelia said. "Everyone thinks he's crazy but..he's not." She seemed pretty damned certain of her facts. "He said..he knew you. He recognized you. That you were..the head man."
Finch sat quietly, analyzing all said before taking any sort of definitive action.
"I didn't put any store in it, of course." Cordelia shrugged the slender shoulders. "I didn't pay any attention to that part. I thought you were part of his delusional state. It comes and goes."
A full moon shone through the stark limbs of the trees behind the woman's silhouette, lighting the darkened corners of the East wall and the night sky. Small wisps of clouds streaked by at a higher altitude, the Northern wind blowing the stars around outside the suddenly claustrophobic dwelling.
"Are you, Mr. Finch?" she asked shakily. "the 'head' man?"
Finch remained silent, searching his memory for any person that might conceivably be the one to which she now referred, coming up..empty.
"I thought it was just a good storyline." Cordelia laughed hollowly. "Davy said..it was '1984' revisited. But..it's why people are trying to ..hurt us, isn't it. It's real. It..exists. It's George Orwell's worst nightmare but..it's here, right now. Millie wasn't making any of it up."
She shook her head sadly.
"Because I dared to 'think'.." she hit her temple with her fingers. "to..'imagine' a..possibility. Someone wants me dead for that concept?"
Finch lowered his eyes, his conscience bothering him tremendously.
Cordelia's heart hurt and her mind was fried..too many realities with which to deal. The foremost being? She had truly liked this man. Perhaps she had even loved him. Fool that she was.
"Are you..part of the whole, Mr. Finch?" that was the only logical conclusion, after all. It had come to her about an hour past. Her world was turned upside down, yet again..it was tumbling out of control. "If you're the 'Head Guy'..then everything that has gone down must be..by your decree, yes?"
She hoped he could not see her body tremble, her heart beat against her chest hard and her blood rushed through her veins at break neck speed.
"You and Mr. Reese.." she found the concept ludicrous. "you're not protecting us. Me and Davy. You're..keeping us around so..what?" that part was unclear.
"To see what we really know? To make sure we aren't..a liability to your.." how did one refer to what was coming down? " 'World Utopia?'" she scoffed at such a stupid term. "How DO you, exactly, refer to..what it is you've created?"
She had thought back over each and every conversation she and Millie had this past year and a half. Painstakingly dissecting, examining theories..deciphering motives.
"None if this makes any sense to me but.." she accepted her faults. "I'm not smart enough to figure any of it out. But, if your Mr. Reese has hurt Taylor. I swear before God..somehow. ..I will.."
"Stop being ridiculous!" Finch arose swiftly, his anger justified in his world. "Mr. Reese has risked his life for you and Ms. Davidivitch several times over. He has even arranged an..understanding with those that would harm you both. And this is the thanks he receives?"
"Then why haven't you let me speak to Davy?" Was her friend really alright? She hadn't heard from Davy in, what seemed like days.
"I told you." Harold was fast losing patience. "Cell transmissions can be traced."
Cordelia had heard it all before. She no longer trusted..anyone.
Her eyes were empty..cold, returning Finch's heated stare.
"Get packed." He made his decision. "We are going back to the city."
He turned, exiting the room, his limp more pronounced, his body rigid with pent up fury. He stopped abruptly at the door facing, his back still to the outside corridor, however. "..It was not a lie." He lifted his head, staring morosely forward. "Not ever. Especially.." he motioned curtly behind him, to the vicinity of the bed they had shared. "What happened between us. At least..not on my part."
He continued on but was pulled up yet again by her outburst.
"I saw your face." Cordelia had. "You love her. You will always love her. What does that make me, in which case..Mr. Finch?"
The man considered the accusation, turning back slowly. He still could not make out her lovely face and she sat where she had..in the window seat.
"..Perhaps..in the beginning it was something..less." he would not lie now, either. "But somewhere along the line, Cordelia..something changed." He seemed as surprised by the fact as she probably was.
"Everything.." the girl had to totally agree. "has..changed."
Finch went to his room, dressing quickly, feeling the mistrust and tension between them permeate the entire house. It would be impossible to rationalize his reasons for his Creation to an idealistic young woman like Cordelia who had not seen the things he had seen in the world.
Finch sat at his computer desk, his fingers working the keyboard rapidly. He read the incoming data, trying hard to concentrate..focus on the existing problem.
He had a starting point. 'Millie'..in Union Park.' He started at the police data base. The Homeless. Vagrancy arrests. Three possibilities came up: Mildred Laughlin, 38..white female, arrested for intoxication and public nudity..
Abigail Millar..62. black female. Drug possession and paraphernalia.
And lastly, Edward Miller, 67..white male, Loitering.
Finch typed rapidly, pulling up hundreds of 'Edward Millers'. But only six were of any real interest. The fourth one down on the list sparked something inside Finch's brain and he pursued his instincts.
He read the screens, scowling darkly.
'Edward Miller: Electrical Engineer, AS-204 Mission, Apollo/Saturn Space Vehicle 1964-1967.
Finch read on.
'Edward Miller, top electrical engineer with Nasa's Gemini Program in the early 60's. The man literally was present from the ground up in constructing and maintaining the equipment, systems and design used during that time period.
The tragic fire in which three original astronauts, Lt. Col Virgil I. Grissom, Lt. Col Edward H. White and Lt. Commander, Roger B. Chaffee lost their lives, Jan 27, 1967..was under the total supervision of..Edward L. Miller.
Who literally fell off the grid after the accident, leaving no digital finger print what-so-ever. There were two rather substantial accounts still active under his name in the First Cape Canaveral Bank. The funds had not been touched in decades.
This guy had resurfaced forty years later as one of the faceless thousands who frequented the unsympathetic streets of New York City, ..or, Finch hoped as much, at any rate.
Nasa was recruiting the best and brightest for the American Space Program in the 60's. Miller certainly qualified for that class of young, eager, patriotic men of that era.
A graduate of Finch's own M.I.T., the top of his class, Miller was destined for great things in life.
Finch wondered at the events which altered such a promising future.
'There', he thought.'.but for the Grace of God, go I.'
Cordelia had been quiet for the past hour or so. He understood her change of attitude, mentally. Physically, he resented the hell out of the fact, she could believe him capable of such unconscionable acts.
He was capable, the Machine proved as much but his anger stemmed from the fact..he had let her in, to an extent, into his life and it hurt to realize..he could somehow be aligned with the type of people he and John were fighting so hard to neutralize.
He consoled himself in that, any male would have reacted to the stimuli presented in the same fashion as he had. He was one of the Specie, after all..subject to the same frailties and weaknesses.
Tonight had proven as much.
He shook that line of thinking. It was unproductive. John Reese would need all the data Finch could supply in an hour or so.
The sun was just beginning to peek over the low lying hills of this rolling mountainous terrain.
Soon, it would be time to go. He wanted everything set and ready when the time came.