Three weeks. It had been three weeks since he had been buried. A full month since he died. It had been three restless weeks of searching for a new employee without having the reason why I was searching in my mind.
The numbers only made things worse. When I had enough information, I'd send an anonymous tip to either Carter or Fusco and be forced to leave it to them. I could do nothing on my own. I hadn't spoken to either detective since I'd been released, and while I suppose neither had a reason to try and arrest me I still didn't want to risk it.
No Reese meant no action in saving the numbers. Without him there was nothing for them to arrest me over. It was a bitter-sweet situation that left me moving between gratitude and frustration.
"Hey, boss. Got a new number today?"
Of course this changed with a new employee.
"As I've said, they don't stop coming, Miss Wallace."
I looked over to the woman I had chosen to employ. Her file was not a clean one; having been trained in multiple arts (including assassination and spy-work) from her family at a young age. Put frankly, she was a free-work killer who at least had a few standards.
She never took a hit she didn't know the reason behind, and she stayed away from killing kids. Clients tolerated these rules because her results were astounding, and not once had anyone connected her clients to the hits. Even the government had employed her at one point, though there were no physical records kept of the event.
Miss Wallace was not a likable woman. Perhaps she was to regular people, people she knew how to manipulate, but I have never been accused of being like regular people. I treated and regarded her solely as an employee, and she treated me like I was to her: her boss, payday, some stranger needing her skills.
"Then I guess it's time I got to work. What do I need to do, boss?" She stood there, waiting for the information I'd found on the number, dressed in a woman's pinstripe suit. Things were different with the numbers now. More of the numbers that came in were the criminals, less were victims. I'm not sure if that was good or not, since I was well aware of Miss Wallace's body count. Of anything, I was sure she had no qualms with killing those she faced.
"Mister Dale Hault, a hotel manager..."
~skip time~
"Hey boss... Who's John?" At Miss Wallace's question over the phone I froze in my chair, hand mid type. I swallowed thickly before replying coldly.
"I fail to see the relevance of that question, Miss Wallace. Who are you talking about?" I hadn't told her anything about John, or all the people he had interacted with: Miss Morgan, Detective Fusco, or even Elias. She discovered Carter on her own because the detective was given her case, even though they had no evidence what-so-ever on the woman. Apparently, since Carter had been in charge of John's cases, after he was taken out, it gave the detective some points in the department.
"When I came in one morning, I don't think you'd heard me yet, I heard you talking. At first I thought it was to me, but then you said John." Her voice came over as mildly interested but not intruding. It didn't fool me. Though this was actually the first time she asked for any type of personal information since I'd hired her two weeks prior.
John was the closest thing to a friend I'd had in a long time. John was a broken and lost man who saved my life in many ways. John was my partner. John was the first to connect with my heart in years. John was a good man. John was the man I killed.
I could have said any one of those things. I could have said them all. I said none of them. "John... John was my previous employee."
There was a pause at her end before, "Was?"
"Yes, was. Have you found the number's house?" I didn't want to discuss it further and made that clear in my tone. She seemed to have gotten the message.
"Yeah, breaking into their place now. I'll call you when I learn more." She hung up and I was left alone with my thoughts. Which were currently raging about in my head, all the things I had locked away since his death rising to the surface.
I had to push the chair away from the desk and take off my glasses. I rubbed my hands on my face, taking a shuddering breath.
I hadn't let myself breakdown since that night I held his cold body in my arms. I felt that if I did break down, I would never be able to get up again, the pain would be too great. Now, after so much time had passed, I couldn't hold it back.
I let out a strangled sob, giving myself ten minutes. In ten minutes Miss Wallace would undoubtedly call to check in. I gave myself eight to letting out everything, two for regaining my composure for the call.
While tears slid down my face, blocked in their path only by my hands, thoughts flew into my head.
No more smug looks. No more bringing in Sencha tea. No more exercise advice, no more "I'm very uncomfortable having you here". No more dry humor. No more teasing "Finch"'s, no more concerned "Harold?"'s, no more understanding looks. No more awkward reassurance, no more soft whispers. No more honest "thank you"'s. No more John.
With all this screaming in my head turning into sobs, I didn't know if I was still letting it out or if it was only in my head. Either way, I was too distracted to keep to my set time. The tears hadn't stopped before the phone call from Miss Wallace came.
I let it ring twice before I let myself even consider trying to sound fine while answering. Even when I did, I think she could tell what I had just been doing.
"Got a good idea about the number. I'm going to check it out now. Call me if you find something odd in his file."
I took a slow breath and told her I would. She hung up after that with a short "talk to ya later, boss" and I'd never been more relieved that she was not one to pry. I swallowed down the rest of my raging emotions, bringing in the reins into professional composure once more. Work went on.
But my heart would not.
This grief would not go away, but I would keep a strong hold on it, and let it out only when I could afford the time. I wondered idly if it would always be like this as I returned to my monitors and started my research.
AC: This is at the very end because it includes my OC Miss Wallace, and I really wasn't even sure if I should have posted it. But I wanted Finch-y angst, and well I just had to get it out there. If you want to ignore it from the rest of the "Grief" chapters, go ahead, this is just here as a little treat.