End of Innocence
Chapter 12
La Maison de la Sérénité, Quebec, December 2013
"How is he doing, Mademoiselle?"
Finch watched her eyes, and they told him the story, even without her words. Large, dark eyes and a delicate face framed in long dark hair that she gathered in a braid down her back. He remembered seeing her feeding a spoonful of plums to Arthur on a video. He'd enjoyed the taste, Finch recalled.
"He never complains, Monsieur Finch. He enjoys the view of the River and the birds, from his window. Less talking now. Hard for him to do, yes? And not so much with the eating now." She bowed her head and her long dark lashes swept over her eyes. A look of serenity, he thought. Grace, in the face of lives surrendering to their time. He thanked her and moved down the hall to Arthur's room.
Full of light. And overlooking the River in back – a gray band meandering through the snowy expanse. A snow-capped birdhouse rested high on a metal pole just outside, empty now in winter. Inside, they had a giant fir tree decorated for Christmas in the main room. Family would gather soon for a celebration of the season.
Arthur rested on crisp white sheets, and someone had spread a colorful quilt over the top of his bed. He'd lost weight, Finch noticed, and one eye was taped to keep it closed. The face sagged on that side. When he walked up to the side of his bed, Arthur didn't see him. Finch walked to the end of the bed then to catch his attention. A little upturn of his lip on one side, and the deepening of the lines next to the eye on that same side. Arthur nodded his head in acknowledgement.
"Hello, my friend," Finch said, softly.
Only a brief exhale from Arthur. No words. His fingers flared on the one side.
Finch seated himself and took up Arthur's hand. Cool to the touch. He smiled at Arthur and in his soft voice, Finch said:
"Nearly Christmas, Arthur. The tree is up and all the decorations, too, down the hall." Arthur stared with his one good eye. Finch couldn't tell if he'd understood.
"Remember when you and Nathan decided to steal that cow from the front of the steakhouse and lift it to the top of the Dome?" Finch smiled and watched to see if Arthur remembered the prank from their first year at MIT. His eye closed. And then a smile crept across half his face. The tiniest of nods followed.
It went on like that, Finch reminding him of some of their exploits at college, and Arthur smiling and nodding when he remembered them, too.
Mindful of how much this might be taking from Arthur's limited supply of energy, Finch began to ask yes/no questions about Arthur's work at the NSA.
Did he remember working there? Yes.
How about that special project, code-named Samaritan? Yes.
Does Samaritan's design report the information gathered? Yes.
Does Samaritan's design allow it to act on the information gathered? Yes.
Does the design allow it to act independently, without human interaction? There was a long pause while Arthur considered the question. Finch hoped he hadn't fallen asleep from all the effort thus far. This was a key question, perhaps the most important of them all.
Arthur's eye swung open and he focused on Finch's face. He looked suddenly at peace, and a smile spread over his lips. Yes…
Finch frowned. There were so many other questions he'd wished to ask. Technical things about the parameters of action allowed for Samaritan, deployment capabilities, hierarchy of command and control decisions, on and on. He'd learned much too late about the failure to destroy the copy of Arthur's code.
What had been Arthur's strategy in his design phase? Could it be altered now by some bad actor – like John Greer? Or were there safeguards built into the code to reject such alterations?
Finch feared the answers to these questions would soon be lost as Arthur succumbed to his illness.
There might still be some hope if Arthur had indeed created a file for him, as he'd said. Impossible to know now what could be included in the file. It must be safe-guarded from the likes of John Greer, who'd stop at nothing to prevent Finch and his Team from recovering the file.
Finch lifted his eyes to Arthur.
He'd fallen asleep over there, his face like a peaceful mask. Finch held his hand in his, while Arthur slept.
Cabin, Cimarron, evening of same day
Shaw looked over at Reese, stretched on the heavy layer of bedding underneath him, and covered with another quilt from one of the cupboards. He seemed restless tonight. Mumbling in his sleep, and turning one way, then another.
She was ready to run in another dose of antibiotics. Tomorrow, she'd have to take the IV out and put in a new one in a different location. Best way to avoid infection at the skin site of the IV.
Shaw was well-aware that Reese might balk at the idea of another one. It was annoying to have it there, no doubt about it. It liked to snag on the sheets, the pillows, just about anything around him. But the longer she could use it the more confident she was that the meds were actually doing some good.
The nasty infection inside him had walled itself off from the rest of him, so it was going to take some effort for the drugs to penetrate through all that mess and kill the infection. She'd had to break through the walls of the abscess with her fingers that first night - like breaking a cluster of grapes filled with goo.
She shook her head at him. It was time to torture him again. He was gonna hate it, but it wasn't her fault. If he hadn't been so damn stubborn, the infection wouldn't have gotten so bad.
She took a breath and let it out before she stood up.
Reese didn't stir when she checked on him – until she took his blood pressure and inflated the cuff around an arm. Then he turned around and stared at her.
Took a minute…Then he knew who she was. He looked down at her hands and saw the cuff… Starting to remember… Crap.
His head shook back and forth a bit, as it was all starting to come back. He'd pulled the quilt up higher and shuddered with a chill. Probably starting to spike a temp, Shaw thought.
"Let's see how your temperature's doing." She stuck the probe under his tongue and when the machine beeped, it read 102. Most of the day it'd been low-grade fever, but typically fever goes up in the evening and here it was. More evidence that it was too soon to stop the IV antibiotics.
She turned the thermometer around so Reese could see it. Heard him groan. It gave her an idea. She gave him a dose of pain meds and made him think he was getting something for fever. Let that work for a while before she tackled the wound again.
"It's time for another dose of medication," she said, and he drew back. "Through the IV, Reese. This is the second antibiotic. The one that tastes like metal." He grimaced and closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillow.
She didn't really want to telegraph what was going to happen over the next 24 hours. Maybe he'd start to get testy with her, like this was all some kind of torture chamber and she'd trapped him in it. He needed to get himself out of it.
Not sure she'd handle it any better herself, if she were the patient, so she'd cut him some slack.
Reese watched her wash up and then come back to get the dose of antibiotic ready. She'd push it through one of the ports on the IV line. It ran in slowly and he watched her empty the syringe into the tubing. Maybe seeing that temp had made him a little more reasonable. Wondered if that was going to extend to the next bad thing she had to do to him.
Her eyes didn't give it away. She just looked at him with her cool, dark eyes. Nothing in her expression that he'd be able to read, because Shaw didn't feel any regret or empathy about it. Just something she needed to do, so better get started. Nothing more. So, Reese didn't see it coming.
At least he was awake enough to cooperate this time. The last time, it'd taken Chase and her to keep Reese under control. He was going to have to behave himself tonight.
Shaw gathered her supplies on the table next to the couch. He watched her do it. She was a little more subtle about setting up her sterile field this time, hoping to delay the moment when Reese guessed what she was doing. She even turned her back to block his view.
When she was set, she turned to Reese, who'd figured out she was going to do something, and he probably wasn't going to like it. He closed his eyes and took a breath, while Shaw drew up a healthy dose of lidocaine into a syringe.
"Those pills weren't for fever, were they?" he asked in his whisper-voice.
"Nope."
"Thought it was against the rules to lie to your patient," he said. She looked him in the eyes with no hint of remorse.
"Are they starting to kick in yet?"
"Might need more time," he whispered. His eyes looked heavier to her, though, like the pills were starting to work. No hurry, really. She could afford to wait longer.
Maybe he'd fall into a deep enough sleep that he wouldn't feel the lidocaine burn. The wound would be so sensitive from all the damage that she'd need to get some good degree of pain control for him to handle it. No use having him suffer.
They'd both been through things like this before. It was always bad before it got any better. That's just how things were. Had to accept it.
Shaw went back to the kitchen to get some coffee. Thought she might have another go at some of the breakfast Chase had brought in once she was done with this. With any luck, Reese should sleep most of the way through the night, and maybe he'd start to feel better by morning. It'd be good to get him up and around a little more.
She leaned back against the sink and sipped the brew until it was gone. Then she rinsed the cup and put it to one side while she washed up and headed back to the couch. Reese looked like he'd gone to sleep in the meantime.
"Can you hear me, Reese?"
He didn't answer.
She gloved-up and took the dressing down off the wound. A better shade of red than it had been before. Good.
She paused for a moment before she pushed the needle in.
Just get it done, she said to herself, and then went ahead with it. Only a little reaction with the needlestick.
Then she pushed some of the lidocaine in and Reese grimaced, but nothing more than that.
Didn't try to punch her lights out, so that was good.
Turned out to be the easiest wound care she'd done on him. Ever.