Death of Innocence

Day 18

In the trees, across the street, same evening

His face fell. The back of his hand came up over his lips. Had to bend then - 'cause his gut wanted to clench.

"No." Couldn't really be. Some mistake. Had to be a mistake…

Reese stared across the street. Dark now. Too dark to see the ground. Needed to see it, for himself. Stand there, look down, and see it for himself.

But, the cameras – Finch'll be watching. Reese scanned where they were with his eyes.

Still, wanted to see it for himself...


Reese grabbed a breath and stepped out of the shadows; stopped at the corner and looked both ways – just like anybody else. Nothing coming. Stepped out, crossed the street, and stopped again to look at his watch, just like anybody else might do. His eyes searched the ground under his wrist, instead.

Two stains – like rust stains – merging into one. Upstream, a larger one, like a whole pool of rust. Splatters of rust all around.

He realized he was standing in the middle of - hallowed ground.

Full of rust.

Stopped to raise his eyes then, high, to the heavens.


He'd been wrong before. The evidence was all right here. The hurt started in his chest. It had to be, then…

Moved on, like anybody else. Kept going. Just a quick stop to check the time and then the skies overhead for the weather, and moving on. Maybe no one'd notice. It's dark. Maybe no one'd notice…

Reese kept walking. Once, he'd turned back to see the Precinct over his shoulder. The Third. Where he and Carter had met that first night. Hurried on as best he could. The hurt in his heart only rising. Then down to the subways. Uptown. Took the train to Midtown. One more stop.

He kept his collar up and his hat down low over his eyes. Would have hunched his shoulders even more - but that entry wound on the left and all that real estate torn up across his chest? And the rib that hurt every time he breathed or reached? Broken man. Things didn't work the same anymore.

Keep walking, long as you can.


Hmm. There's that feeling again.

The hairs on the back of his neck, prickling.

He glanced around. People walking. Nobody looking his way. Crossed the street in the middle of the block. Nobody followed. Nobody looking his way.

Felt eyes on him, still. Even blindfolded, he'd know.

Damn...


When his Towne car pulled up, mist from the Bay was already rolling in, engulfing the wharf in gray. Finch only half-remembered the place. His associates – the men he'd hired to escort Mr. Reese that first time? – they'd been the ones to track him, down here. Pretty certain this was the place, though.

Miss Shaw got out first. He noticed her reaching for her back.

"Miss Shaw, I'm sure that won't be necessary, yes?"

She frowned. It was her job to be prepared. Even protect him if he needed it. Couldn't help it – automatic reflex for her.

She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, then. Comfort, he guessed, with her weapon in her hand. Well, these were human beings, down on their luck, perhaps, but still human beings. He limped forward into the mist.

Their footsteps echoed on the dock. It'd seen better days. Years ago. And now, just falling to ruin. They could see a few of the burn barrels inside, the light from their flames dancing on the glass. And an old, rusty door, propped with some wood. Just a little, so the wind didn't catch it and make it bang all night.

Couldn't see inside until they were in.

The place was a giant warehouse inside. Empty, except for a hundred or so people milling about. Barrels, burning feebly here and there, but no other lights overhead, or heat, or source of warmth inside. Finch shivered a bit in the cold. That mist felt raw and cold, even in here.

Eyes came up from all around.

Not exactly friendly, welcoming. Miss Shaw reached, then stopped herself again, glancing up to Finch. He nodded back. Good. We don't need to start anything here. Just want to take a look around.


They waded in. Slowly, so as not to alarm anyone. Held up their phones, with the picture of Reese on the screen. Anyone see him? Has he been around? We're trying to help him. There's money, for any information.

It went like that.

No takers. Lots of eyes, but no takers.


Standing outside in the mist, again.

"What do you think, Miss Shaw?"

"Hard to know, Finch. He mighta come here. They're not gonna tell us, though."

Standing there, Shaw felt the hair on the back of her neck start to prickle her skin. Reached for her back and came out with her weapon in her hand this time.

"Miss Shaw?"

"Someone's here, Finch. Get in the car! Now!" Curt, not scared. Shaw started to push him toward the car, eyes swinging through an arc around them. Gun in her hand, half-hidden in the mist.

"Hello?" A pause then.

And then a woman stepped their way, out of the mist. Shy, almost. No threat that they could see. Shaw dropped her hand into the shadows, turned, put herself between Finch and the woman.

"Yes?" A little harsh with her voice. In command of the situation. The woman looked beyond her, to Finch.

"Are you friends of his?"

Now, Finch spoke up. Kinder with his voice.

"He works for me." Then, seeing how her eyes responded, "we're worried about him. If you can help?" He left it hanging like that.

She nodded and stepped closer.

Finch stepped around Shaw then, and forward, toward the woman. Not fast, but certain of his plan. He wanted to show her his phone again. A picture there – to show her he knew Reese – they were friends. Maybe she'd tell him what she knew then. Shaw was at his side watching the woman's hands and scanning the mist for anyone else. Dark eyes, cold like the mist. They'd need to get through her to get to Finch.

He swiped on his screen, and then found the one he wanted. Turned his phone to her.

"He works for me. But before, he lived here for a while. Had some trouble before, and he lived here for a while, I believe." She studied the picture. Her friend, John, thin and pale, but shaved-up nice, and some nice clean clothes. And the eyes. Blue. Piercing, like always, except when he was being kind. They went softer then.

And next to him in the picture, this feller. Maybe not exactly friends in the picture, yet. Not then. But Joan could see the worry in his eyes now. She felt it, too.

"He was here," she said, looking up to Finch, in his eyes. "In a bad way for a while. Helped him, best we could. Left a couple of hours ago now." She nodded her head at Finch.

"Did he say where he was headed, Ma'am?" It was that feller who'd called her ma'am. The other one didn't look too friendly, and Joan kept her eyes off her.

She thought for a moment. Ran through their conversation. Man of few words, just natural, she recalled. Didn't remember him saying where he was going; just that he needed to go.

"No, friend. Never said." She saw his eyes change: more worried. Kinda frantic? Maybe that's too strong a word for it. More worried though, for sure. Wished she could help more.

"Thank you, ma'am." And then, Finch started to reach in his coat. Came out with his wallet. Joan stepped back.

"No need," she said. Saw him look up, surprised. He glanced up and down at her, then back to the warehouse behind her. Saw it in his eyes. Pity.

"No need," she said, a little harder, and whirled around, disappearing back into the mist.

"Oh dear," he said, glancing at Shaw. "I think I hurt her feelings. Thought I could help." Shaw turned to him, noticed that the prickling sensation was gone now on her neck.


"Let's go, Finch. No time to get chummy with the riff-raff." He closed his eyes for a moment. Miss Shaw and her concrete, black-and-white world. What must it have been like for her? Growing up. How harsh, or kind, or - blank, devoid of any emotion?

"I tend to deflect when I'm feeling threatened - or worried, Miss Shaw. How about you?" She frowned, like she didn't follow what he was asking.

"Worried, Finch?"

"No, Miss Shaw – threatened, like with real emotion, real feelings. I don't believe for a minute what you said." Her eyes stayed the same. Calm dark pools. Never changed. What was she thinking, behind them? He couldn't know. Neither could anyone else.

"We coulda hit 'em a little harder, Finch. Maybe pressured one of 'em a little more, for information," she said, softly – as if somehow, after what he'd just said, he'd go along with the idea.

"Miss Shaw?" She looked up at him, expectant. "Get in the car!" Finch seldom raised his voice with the Team. But this time, he felt it was needed.

Miss Shaw looked confused, but headed for the car.