Death of Innocence
Day 31
Library Office, December 2013
Footsteps in the hallway. So quiet. Other than the sound of his steps.
He looked down through, to where the monitor cluster sat. Colors flashing. Looked like the Machine was busy with something. The camera mounted high in the hallway watched him, red eye blinking, slowly.
No one there inside when he made it to Finch's desk. The Machine kept working. Didn't acknowledge him standing there.
Must know already. Finch said the Machine would always keep learning new things. Something like human. But not.
He took a breath.
Glanced around at the space. A lot of time spent here. The window wall, where Finch posted their pictures as they came in. Perpetrators, Victims. Posted on the glass up there where they could all see them.
Over there, the spot where Shaw had set up the hospital bed. Everything gone now, and all the furniture moved back in like it was before. Reese moved his hand down to his side. Where the wound was still healing. That scar looked pretty mean.
And over there, the low cabinet next to the conference table where they took a meal every once in a while. And down in that bottom drawer, that's where Finch kept his liquor supply. Remembered sampling a few times.
And back the other way, the lines of bookshelves, one after another, stretching as far as you could see. This floor and the rest of them up to the top of the building. Finch's books. He wondered how many of them he'd already read.
There was that cart over there – with all those special books. The priceless ones that Finch liked so much. Never heard of that before. Priceless. Huh. Bear hadn't been impressed. Ate one of them right after he'd moved in with Finch. Some of that was his fault. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on him while Finch was away. Bad case of indigestion for Bear.
Took a look around again.
Finch was standing there, watching him.
"Sorry, Mr. Reese. I didn't mean to startle you." His eyes studied Reese.
He shifted, uncomfortably, under the gaze.
"Coffee, Mr. Reese?" Almost said yes, out of habit.
This time he shook his head, no.
"On my way, Finch. Just stopped for a minute." Finch kept his eyes on Reese.
"You never said why you came back, Mr. Reese." His voice had gone soft, and there was a question in it.
Reese didn't answer right away. Seemed to be struggling with the answer. Reese rarely spoke about himself, his own feelings. Maybe something they taught you in the Rangers, or the CIA, he thought.
Finally: "The only reason I came back? You're too good a friend to lose, Finch."
They stood there, looking one another in the eyes. Finch made a bird-like movement of his head.
"Thank you for that, Mr. Reese. I wasn't so sure you still felt that way. When we began – "
Finch stopped. Reese had backed away and turned, his eyes anywhere else but on his. Too much. This was too much for him. He spared Reese the rest.
"Thought I was getting better when I joined you, Finch. Leaving everything behind." His fists clenched and his back straightened, standing there. "Wasn't any better, really, just different. Same death, same everything. Just different faces. Still – empty inside." He kept his eyes away.
"I don't wanna do this anymore."
Finch stepped forward, as if to argue the point. No. This was a time to listen, not argue. Can't argue with feelings.
"Why don't you take it easy for a while," he said. "Take some time. Don't make any decisions until you've had some time away." Reese didn't respond. He turned around and faced him again. Finch didn't want it to end this way.
"I understand, John. It's hard to decide right now. You have to get back to you, whatever it takes."
Reese raised his eyes to Finch. The blue had changed again. Distant. Already gone.
"Don't follow me, Finch."
And then he walked away.