CHAPTER 10
The days had settled into a routine, a pattern, that seemed to work for everyone. Each was able to heal and deal at their own pace. But they could and did reach out to each other with just a phone call.
Sameen and Lionel had formed an unusual working partnership. For the moment, she was the legs and he was the brain in handling numbers. Lionel tried to talk to Harold at least every other day. At first, he could barely get Harold to respond to him but Lionel was anything if not persistent and slowly wore down the wall that Harold had built around himself. The calls themselves were not so much substantive as they were a gesture of friendship and concern that finally seemed to get through to Harold.
Sameen was with Harold every morning and evening at Root's place, where they were both were staying. The first couple of days he was out of the hospital, Sameen stayed close, making sure he took it easy, and changing the dressing on the gunshot wound all while trying to get Harold to do his rehab. Unfortunately, Sameen's kind of "motivation" pep talks demonstrated her lack of a bedside manner and why she'd never became a doctor. Add that to the fact that they needed to solve the problem of feeding them both and tempers were deteriorating quickly. For someone who loved to eat, Sameen didn't do "hangry" very well nor was she a very good cook.
That was where Zoe came in. She was a surprisingly GOOD cook. She came by every other day and cooked up something good to last a couple days. If she wasn't able to drop by, she'd have food delivered. She found that surprisingly, considering her career choice, she enjoyed visiting with both of them.
Every morning, Iris would drop by to check on Harold before going to the precinct. And then again on her way home in the evening. She was enjoying getting to know Harold. His wide range of interests was a pleasant surprise. Slowly but surely, with gentle coaxing, Iris was getting Harold to relax around her. At first he'd been withdrawn and difficult to reach. During every visit, there was a small mention of John…..sharing a moment she'd had with John or getting Harold to 'correct' something she said about John and it would get the conversation going. Each time it seemed a little bit easier for Harold to talk about John. Getting him to talk about what his loss meant to him, was proving to be a little bit tricker. He tended to shut down again when he was pressed.
Lionel was still at his ex-wife's place recovering but he figured he was about ready to go home. He missed his old bed. And he and his ex were just about to start getting on each other's nerves. He enjoyed the 'home' feeling of waking up and smelling breakfast cooking. The times he spent with Lee in the evenings were the best. But he was ready to go home.
Harold was slowly beginning to look forward to the visits from Iris. They had settled into a warm, comfortable acquaintanceship that was fast turning into a friendship. Respecting his strong need for privacy, Iris would get him talking about things that he enjoyed. Their mutual love of books had been the best surprise of all. Both had eclectic taste in literature. Fiction or non-fiction, they would discuss it at length. Iris believed that getting someone's impression of a book provided a good insight into that person themselves. What a person focused on in a book told a lot about that person's previous experiences and their thought patterns. More and more, Iris looked forward to her visits almost as much as Harold did.
One particular visit was quite eye-opening and showed progress in Harold's ability to open up and relate to someone…...in this case, Iris. Harold had mentioned a few times about growing up with his father, but seldom mentioned his mother. But while discussing one particular book Harold offered a glimpse of the woman he seldom spoke of.
Iris was pleasantly surprised to find out that Harold's mother had been a librarian. There had been only the one small library in the town where he'd grown up. He'd spent many an afternoon, as a young boy, in the library after school with his mother. He was often on his own in the afternoons, waiting for her to close up so they could drive the 15 miles to their farm outside of town. With very little to do in the small town, the library, with all its stories and worlds between the covers of the books, became a haven for Harold. He devoured books of all genres. Some his mother suggested to him…..about art and music, and others, he discovered on his own but regardless, they opened up worlds that growing up in the a very small town like they had, he never would have experienced. From those new worlds he branched out into history and other related areas. The daily drive home with his mother was always full of discussions about what he had read that day and what he had learned. His mother's love for books was deeply ingrained in him at an early age. She was a woman who dreamed of traveling the world but had stayed with the man she loved, who was happy in his little corner of the world.
When Iris asked about where his parents were now, she was concerned when she saw that sadness return to his eyes. It had been slowly receding these last couple of days but the shadow of depression was still there. Taking a few moments to gather his thoughts, Harold let his mind flow back into the past that was poignant to him even today.
"When I was 10 years old, my mother was killed in a car wreck coming home from the library. I should have been in the car with her, since I spent my afternoons in the library. But I had been sick and had stayed home from school that day. She died alone. It had been a hit and run. No witnesses. They said she lived for awhile before succumbing to her injuries. Nobody knew to look for her until my father came in from the fields that evening and wondered where she was."
Harold closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Iris could see the pain etched on his face as he remembered that day. "My father called the police and then went looking for her himself. He was the one that found her. He was never the same after that. It was just the two of us. I did everything I could to help take care of the both of us. But I was only 10 years old."
Iris stayed quiet, letting Harold decide how much more he had to say. Learning about his mother added another layer of complexity to an already complex man. Sameen had warned her that Harold was a very private individual and was very selective of what information about himself he was willing to share and with whom he shared it. Iris knew this revelation was a major step for him.
Once again Harold fell silent. He hadn't thought about that day in a very long time. His father never wanted to speak about it. It had been buried deep inside. That 10 year old boy had died that same day as his mother. He'd needed to talk to someone about her death, but there had been no one. So he took comfort in the only place he could…..the library. He began researching and reading anything he could about death and how to deal with it. He suffered his own depression while his father suffered his. They could have helped each other but neither knew how to reach out to the other. And Harold finally found a name for what he was feeling and what he was dealing with. Giving it a name helped him handle her loss but it came at an extreme cost.
Turning to look at Iris, he was comforted by the calm and open look on her face. There was a trace of pity but nothing like he feared. One of the reasons he'd always had trouble speaking about the loss of his mother was the look of pity on people's faces. That had only made him even more leery of trying to discuss it. So he had decided long ago to stop speaking of his mother and what her loss meant to him and his father.
"You know the internet is just an outgrowth of a library. There is something about doing your own hands-on research, searching through books, finding information that would lead you in another direction …..that typing words into a search engine just can't touch."
That made Iris smile. Here she was talking to one of the most brilliant minds in computer science and he was talking about his love of books. Shaking her head side to side, she met Harold's eyes. Tilting her head slightly to one side, she invited him to continue.
"My research for the help I needed gave me something to do. Help for myself but most of all help for my father." Harold continued quietly.
"For me, finding the name for what I was experiencing gave way to a whole other world but no real cure. I don't think there actually is one….."
"What did you find Harold?" Iris felt that this was going to be the key to unlocking Harold's depression and most of all his guilt. Holding her breath, she tried to stay relaxed but wanted to grab him by the shoulders and say "Tell me! Tell me what I need to know so I can help you! " because she also knew that helping Harold deal with his grief was helping her deal with her own grief over John's death.
Looking away from Iris, Harold stared out the window. Gathering his thoughts once more, he finally put into words that aching feeling that he'd experienced before. This was the third time and he was no closer to dealing with it now as he had been in the past.
"Survivor's Guilt" The pain he felt just saying those words let him know that he was still trapped inside that blackness..
Those two words were not really a surprise to Iris. She'd felt from that first day in the hospital that was what was causing his withdrawal from everyone around him. She knew he felt guilty over John's death. But connecting all the way back to a 10 year old boy surviving his mother's death, let her know why it had such a strong pull on Harold in the here and now.
Iris was being careful with the questions she asked Harold. She kept them open ended, and made sure to ask questions that need more than just a 'yes or no' answer. Slowly a clearer picture was forming about the hidden depths of what drove a man like Harold. The true surprise came during another moment of survivor's guilt. Harold began telling her about his former college friend, colleague and business partner Nathan Ingram. And once again, Iris could recognize the lashes left behind from scourge that was his survivor's guilt.
Iris felt that Harold had told her more than he'd told any other person. They'd already touched on the dementia that his father had gone through. The fact that he'd lost his father long ago, long before he had actually died. Their last connection was through watching birds together on the farm. When his father lost the ability to safely work the farm, Harold had told her about evenings sitting on their porch watching the different birds migrating north to south and back again months later. It became a game to see who could identify a particular species first. When his father even lost even that ability, when his thoughts would stutter and restart while trying to name a bird, that was when Harold knew his father was gone from him, despite the fact that he was sitting next to him on the porch. It had been interesting that he'd had his father with him much longer than he'd had his mother, but his father's slow mental decline had allowed him to be with his father til the predictable end…..even though he had to watch him from a distance. Harold never explained why he couldn't be with his father in person. Iris felt that was something to discuss another time. But it did explain his use of different bird names for his last name. Sameen had mentioned that he used different aliases and that they always were bird names. But she apparently did not know why. Now Iris did. The bird names connected him to his father, like his love of books connected him to his mother.
"Harold, survivor's guilt is real. There is no easy fix. It affects different people differently, in many different forms. The best treatment so far has been to recognize what it is, and then try to talk it out. Explain why you feel that way." Iris paused for a moment. She knew the next couple of words would have a strong impact on Harold's mental health, so she chose them carefully.
"Actually 'talking' to the people you lost, explaining to them how you feel, how much you miss them….apologizing to them…. seems to be the best approach to dealing with something you can't change….that YOU did survive".
Harold turned to look at Iris. He felt like she was giving him the answer that he had been looking for since he lost his mother.
"Apologies have a way of freeing you, either for your actions, your words or even your inaction, for when you'd stayed quiet when you should have spoken up. Putting into words what you have been feeling seems to shed light into a very dark place you have been hiding inside."
Knowing that Harold was an intelligent man who didn't need things spelt out for him, Iris decided that now was a good time to leave Harold alone with his thoughts. She felt she'd pointed him in the right direction. It was now up to him what path he would follow.
Standing up, she gathered her things to leave, and for the first time, she walked over to Harold, leaned down and gave him a light kiss on his cheek. Smiling down at him she said she'd see him that afternoon after work.
After Iris left that morning, Harold made himself a cup of Sencha green tea. Smiling to himself as he took his first sip, he was thankful every time for Ms. Morgan bringing some for him. He didn't remember ever telling her about the tea, so it must have been John. Once again, an unexpected memory of John, bringing him his tea in the library brought on the deep sadness he had been fighting. But Iris seemed to have given him hope in eventually being able to handle his part in the death of so many dear friends….
For this first time since coming to stay at Root's home, he decided it was time to go outside. He found a thermos and made more tea. Taking the thermos in hand and working his way carefully down to the ground floor and out into the small garden patio was more tiring that he thought it would be. He sat down at a small table in the sun. The warmth of the sun and the soothing taste of his favorite tea relaxed him greatly.
Thinking back to the discussion he'd had with Iris, he realized that maybe she was right. Maybe he did need to 'ask for forgiveness' for surviving. He'd been so guilt ridden all he had ever done was hate himself for living when someone he loved died. Maybe he did need to ask, to put into words all those feelings that he'd kept buried all those years.
Talking about his parents to Iris had been difficult but she was such a good listener. She invited him to speak from the heart without judging him. That was her greatest gift…...she was totally non-judgemental over the things he'd told her about his past. That was what John had told him when they'd discussed Iris, and he was right. Nothing seemed to shock her. She seemed to take the things he'd shared as just parts for what made him the man he was today.
Sipping his tea. he began an internal conversation with his mother. Telling her how much he missed her, how much he'd enjoyed his days in the library with her and especially the rides home. That immediately brought up the feelings of guilt when she had been alone in the accident that had killed her.
He found himself whispering to her, telling her how sorry he was for not being there with her that fateful day. That if he HAD been with her maybe he could have gone and gotten help for her in time. Tears slowly ran down his cheeks. The more he talked to her, apologizing again for not being there in her hour of need, the better he felt. The heaviness in his chest, that he had carried for years seem to ease with every word he spoke. A very different Harold Finch limped back into the building than the one who had entered the garden.
Lionel made it back to work after a week. But only for half days. He still tired easily and had been restricted to desk duty. Everyone seemed glad to have him back, many stopping by his desk to welcome him back. Seated across from Reese's old desk, which had been Carter's before that, had been difficult until he saw the new detective sitting across from him. It was a woman. She had immediately introduced herself as Maria Vasquez. After an exchange of pleasantries she sat down and began the never ending paperwork that was half the job of being a detective. Seeing her hard at work on the paperwork had made Fusco smile. John did everything he could to avoid paperwork, he hated being behind a desk. His smile was tinged with sadness. Everytime he saw something or did something that made him think of his former partner it was a sharp pain of remembered loss. Iris had told him that the more he talked about John the easier it would be. Turned out she was right, it was easier but still a surprise. Maybe it was the fact that he never really got to say goodbye…...or to say thank you.
He was surprised to find out just how much he missed Reese. The man he'd once called the bane of his existence. They had had such a tumultuous relationship these past 5 years. Reese had seen him at his worst, when he was a hired hand for HR, hiding behind loyalty as reason to do the things he had done. But even then, John had seen something in him worth saving. After all he had done, he still didn't know how John had been willing to give him a chance…given him a chance to save himself. In the end, John had made him look in the mirror and decide for himself if he was worth it.
The time he had spent recovering at his ex-wife's place had opened his eyes to the young man his son was becoming. Thanks to Reese he would be there to watch him grow into a man. A man who could be proud of his father.
Being back at work also gave him access to information to help Shaw work the numbers. With Harold out of commission, he was the one getting the background and intel that he and Shaw needed. Working with her helped him feel that he was making a difference and helping fill part of the gap left by Reese's loss. There had been moments when he and Shaw both realized they were thinking about how John would have handled a situation and were glad they had each other to 'understand' those moments without having to put them into words. Neither of them were very good at explaining themselves to others.
Shaw's days and nights were filled with working the numbers. The week she had spent going back and forth between Harold and Lionel when they were both in the hospital had almost driven her mad. She needed the physical activity to keep herself busy. She admitted to herself that being able to hear Root's voice was a big part of her continued willingness to work the numbers. She knew it was not Root, but The Machine had seemed to have taken on a lot of Root's personality in the way it talked to her. There were times she swore it even teased her. Those moments always caught her unaware and drew her up short. But as time wore on, those moments made her smile instead of making her throat tighten up …..
She was glad Lionel was back at work. It was good to call him for information instead of having to go back to Root's place and collect info on her laptop. Things were working out smoothly. They made an unlikely partnership that seemed to work very well. It helped that she could give him a look and he knew what she was thinking instead of her having to explain it. Words were not her strong suit….at least not when emotions were involved.
Having Harold stay with her had been a little harder to handle. She liked her privacy. She had liked having Root's place and Root's things all to herself. But she cared about Harold and she liked being able keep tabs on him during his recovery. Zoe and Iris had been a God's send for the emotional support he needed while she took care of the physical part of making sure the gunshot wound was healing correctly. Life had settled into a routine that seemed to be working for all of them in the aftermath of the sacrifice of John Reese.