End of Innocence
Chapter 20
Cabin, Cimarron, late that night
Reese waited for the beep to sound on the thermometer. When it came, he'd been watching her eyes for a verdict – no frown – she turned the meter around for him to see.
"Good," she said. "We'll run this last dose in, and then I think we're done here. Let's get the IV outta there tonight."
His eyebrows lifted. Wasn't expecting that. For the first time in days he'd be free of his tether.
Didn't make much sense having Reese push the last of the IV antibiotics in. He'd be switching to orals by morning – so, Shaw set up the syringe this time. Reese noticed it took a lot longer to run in than the other one.
"This one stronger or something?"
She shook her head. "In the hospital, they'd dilute it in a bag and hang it on a pump. We don't have a pump, but we can still dilute it in the syringe and push it in at the same rate." He nodded and went quiet for a time. Then he looked up at her – curious about something they'd never discussed.
"What made you wanna become a doctor?"
Her eyes crinkled, but she didn't smile. "My brain. Everyone told me I had the right kinda brain for it," she said.
"You like it?"
She thought about it for a minute. "Yeah. Liked the intensity, liked all the skills we had to learn – got really good at those. And the knowledge – knowing what to do, I guess." Reese took it in. Didn't surprise him. He'd seen her in action.
In his whisper-voice: "So, what made you leave, then?"
Her eyes crinkled again, like she was remembering something – unpleasant.
"Didn't exactly fit in, Reese," she said, dryly. Their eyes met for a moment. Hers didn't give anything away if she felt bad about it. "Not really a people-person. Found out I was better at takin' lives than savin' 'em."
He didn't agree – at least for himself.
"Not that I noticed," he said. "Seems like you're made for both." The blue of his eyes changed. Far away, now, like seeing her from a different view. Hers were calm, dark pools – emotionless, like always.
He remembered times when he'd looked up to find them staring down at him like that – when all he knew was the clamor of sirens going off in his head, and that deep restless feeling of needing to run, even when he couldn't. No matter what he'd done or what'd been done to him, he knew he could trust her to have his back.
Hard to describe the relief he'd felt – looking up at those eyes hovering over him. Didn't think he could find the words to tell her, though.
Shaw turned away. She checked the time. "Almost done here. Once it's in, the IV's comin' out. So don't do anything stupid – like spike a fever tonight, right?" She glared at him.
Reese lifted his hands, like she'd drawn her weapon on him, and then he smiled. "Wouldn't dare."
After the last bit had gone in, Shaw pulled the syringe out of the port, the thick silver needle on the end glistening. She laid it down on a fold of towel. And next, she lifted the end of the roller bandage wrapped around his forearm. Quick work to unwind the length of it and expose what was underneath.
She'd taped three loops of the tubing down to his forearm – like O-rings – fail-safes to keep Reese from pulling the end of the tubing out of the catheter in his sleep. Once she'd released them, she lifted the "V" of tape from the end of the catheter. It was loose then, and Shaw could pull it. She pressed down with a thick square of gauze over the top and backed it out of his vein. He winced a bit at the feel of it sliding out, but then it was done and he was free.
Just the pressure of her pushing down hard on the hole left behind – big enough that it'd bleed without the pressure. He'd proved that to himself the other night – leaving a long trail of blood on the floor behind him – all the way down the hall to the bathroom. Looked like a massacre there in the cabin.
When Shaw woke to find all the blood, she thought she'd be walking in on a death scene. Typical, not much of a reaction from her when she'd found him. She'd seen worse – done worse – herself. They both had. But maybe that was one of the differences between them. Shaw'd never been bothered by her memories. He'd run out of places to bury them.
Shaw wrapped a length of roller bandage over the gauze on his arm, pulled it tight and taped it down.
"This'll keep pressure over the hole in your vein – we don't need a repeat of the other night," she said. Then she looked up at him.
"Look over here," she said.
When he swung his eyes over to meet hers, she reached up and pulled an eyelid down with the tip of her thumb, like she was checking for something.
"You're anemic. When the inside of your lid is pale, it means you're blood count is low. You lost a lot of blood after that night you were shot – before we found you with Quinn."
Reese thought back to that time. A lot of it was still hazy in his mind. He'd had so many fever-dreams, after. Wasn't sure what had really happened and what'd been part of a dream.
"Think I remember you gave me some blood?"
"Two units. Got 'em outta the blood bank at one of the hospitals downtown."
She'd walked in late at night, like one of the doctors on staff. When no one was there at the front, she'd browsed along the wall of glass-fronted refrigerators. Inside them were shelves full of units of blood arranged in long lines. She'd searched for the ones matching Reese's blood type, and then she'd helped herself – a unit in each pocket of her lab coat. Back at the library office that night, she'd given him the first unit, and the second one went in on the second day.
"I can tell by the color of your skin and the inside of your eyelid – that blood you got is gone now. Blood from a transfusion doesn't last as long as the blood you make yourself. You're gonna need to replace it on your own now."
He nodded. Made sense to him.
"Until your count comes up to where it needs to be for the mountains, you'll feel weak and tired, short of breath, too. It needs to be higher than what you'd need in New York," she told him. "You can rush it along by taking some iron. I'll leave the dose for you."
Reese stared for a moment. He'd gotten kind of used to having her around. Knew she'd be leaving – but wasn't quite ready for it yet. She'd probably had enough of him, though.
When he thought about it, it still surprised him that she'd come all this way to find him. Not sure why. Didn't think he'd get a straight answer out of her, even if he asked.
Sometimes, he just couldn't figure her out.
Reese held his arms out in front of him. Free. No more tether to deal with anymore. He looked up at her.
"How about celebrating with a drink?"
"Have to take a raincheck on that, remember? You're still on that med that makes you sick if you drink. Just a few more days. You can make it," she said. "When you run out of pills in the bottles I gave you, wait a day, and then give it a try."
Reese scowled. "OK, raincheck," he said in his whisper-voice. "Name the time and the place. I'll be there."
Shaw stared at him. What was he talking about? She was leaving and, as far as she knew, he was staying behind. They weren't gonna be seeing each other again, after this. Maybe he was just trying to humor her.
Sometimes, she just couldn't figure him out.
Reese leaned forward, wincing. A hand went to the spot on his right side.
"Look, why don't you take the room tonight – sleep on a real bed? I'll sleep on the couch out here. Can't get into too much trouble, now," he said, raising his forearms at her.
"Just when I was getting used to the crick in my neck," she said, smirking.
He chucked a throw pillow at her.
Mid-town Manhattan, 2 a.m., December, 2013
Harold hadn't been able to sleep that night, and neither had Bear. They'd headed out for a walk on the street, instead.
Seemed to Harold like weeks had passed since Mr. Reese had left him in the library office. Less, of course. And even Bear had noticed the loss. He'd kept raising his head toward the door each morning, as if he were waiting for Mr. Reese to walk in, too. But, no happy ending for either of them.
With Miss Shaw gone, and Mr. Reese as well, the Team would have struggled had the Numbers gone to Harold. They hadn't exactly ceased – but strangely, the Machine had directed these latest ones to Miss Groves, instead. Each day, it seemed clearer and clearer that she'd accepted a role on the Team: some project to better hide them from scrutiny by a future AI. And these recent numbers had each been a part of her project.
Truth be told, he'd rather have her working on that than pressuring him about his imposed boundaries on the Machine. She'd always believed that the Machine should be freed – fully autonomous – released from the constraints that he'd placed to safeguard the public.
His new concern was that if Miss Groves couldn't go through him, she'd go around him – to further her goals. And, with this new device implanted, she'd divulged to him that she now shared instant communication with the Machine. He'd never foreseen something like this. At first, he'd regretted ever providing the implant to her.
For a time, it felt like she'd stolen the Machine's attention away – and he'd reacted with a flare of anger. And, perhaps, a hint of jealousy, too.
When cooler thoughts had prevailed, he'd realized their good fortune – if this worked, then it could revolutionize the safety of his Team. And for that, he'd be willing to give up his exclusive access to the Machine. It's just that, over the years, he'd become accustomed to their routines, their time together.
Now, he'd need to learn how to share the Machine's thoughts with someone else.
Bear walked on his right side, attentive to those around them. In The City That Never Sleeps there were always people out on the streets.
Harold looked up at the lights in front of him. He'd found himself standing with Bear in front of the holiday displays in one of his favorite storefronts. And now, he realized why.
They reminded him of Grace. And her favorite time of year, this. The two of them used to venture out into the night, hand-in-hand, bundled against the cold. Ogling the windows, just like children.
She had an artist's eye. Some unexpected delight found hidden in the scene and pointed out to him. They'd smile together and watch the eyes of the children there. Even late like this, they'd still come out to see the magic behind the glass.
He pictured her there at home tonight. Perhaps she'd be reading by the fire, a cup of tea at her side.
Would she be thinking of him, too?
This time of year; their time of year? A tightness pulled at his chest.
Finch closed his eyes. How still the night. How silent.
He was aware of the changes riding in on the air. The way that things would never be the same after this. Learning of Samaritan's existence had punched a hole in their plans.
A different future had appeared – one he'd never imagined.
Too late to stop it now.
Whatever Greer and Samaritan brought, they'd face it.
Harold found himself hoping a little of that holiday magic might come their way.