End of Innocence
Chapter 11
Cabin, Cimarron, next morning
By the following morning, Reese had been able to sit upright on his own, and even walk around a bit with just a steadying arm from Shaw, instead of having to lean most of his weight on her shoulders.
Chase stopped in to check on the two of them. He'd brought some supplies and hot food along with him. Got busy with carting enough wood in from the deck to run the woodstove all day and all night. He stacked it close to the stove where Shaw could get to it.
He even walked Reese over to the shower, and then back again to the couch, while Shaw changed out the blankets and bedding for fresh ones. Reese was still shaky on his feet but having the shower and the clean bedding underneath him seemed to make a difference. His fever had dropped lower than the day before, and the sweating had slowed for the moment. Maybe it'd just flare at night now.
Chase had offered to haul all the bedding to town and have it laundered for them, since the cabin didn't have a washer. Seemed like he didn't mind going out of his way to help. He'd driven Shaw's rental back, from the spot in front of the bar where she'd left it. And he'd left his truck parked at the cabin in case they'd needed a way to get around.
Chase mentioned how it was all over town about a break-in at the surgical clinic outside of Montrose – just down the road. Someone had rifled through a few of the rooms. Took a load of cheap supplies, but left the money untouched, and hadn't even taken some of the most valuable equipment, to sell later on.
Sounded like a dumb prank to most people. Kids these days…
Chase gave her one of his crinkly, appley smiles, and Shaw returned one of her cool, dark-eyed stares.
When he asked her about Reese, she told him he'd made some good progress, but this wasn't the time to back off yet. He could easily fall back into the grip of the infection again. Shaw turned and glared, pointedly, at Reese. Reese grumbled at the two of them, in his whisper-voice.
While Shaw wandered into the kitchen to check the bags of hot food, Chase stayed in the living room with Reese. The scents wafting in had reminded her that she'd missed a couple of meals with all the goings-on and all of a sudden, she felt ravenous.
Shaw grabbed a plate from one of the cupboards and loaded it up with eggs, home fries, a couple of biscuits, and some ham. Walked it over to the kitchen table and plunked herself down in front of her plate. Chase watched her and shook his head. For a little person, she could sure pile in a lot of food.
"She always that way?" he asked, grinning over to Reese.
Reese shifted his eyes over to her, and then nodded.
"Don't wanna get in her way when she's hungry," he said, and Chase chuckled. After a minute, his eyes changed, and Chase had a serious look in them. He turned back to Reese.
"Shoulda seen what she did, Man. Thought you were a goner when we got here that night. What were ya thinkin', walkin' around like that?"
Reese didn't respond. Chase had the same feeling he'd had with Shaw that night: they couldn't, or wouldn't, talk about it. He frowned. After all the things they'd been through back in Afghanistan, seemed strange he couldn't say what'd happened to him.
They'd both steered him away from the story. He knew he wouldn't get a straight answer from either one of them. Best not to keep tryin'. He stood up and walked over to Reese.
"Well, gotta get goin' – good to see ya up on your feet. Should eat something, get yer strength back. I'll check in on ya later this week. When yer back on your feet, me and the wife want ya to come over fer dinner. Think she wants to fix ya up with one of her women-friends. Better watch out," he said, with a grin.
Reese didn't show the sinking feeling he had. Instead, he reached out with a hand to shake.
"I owe you, Chase," was all he said.
They'd been through enough together that Chase'd understand.
There were certain things that had to stay unsaid. A soldier's life. Couldn't always know the reasons – you just had to act and get it done.
Chase called over to Shaw, who waved a fork at him as he was leaving. She'd plowed through half of the food on her plate and got up for some coffee to wash it down. She glanced over to Reese.
Seemed quiet, even for him.
"You want some of this food, while it's still hot?"
Library Office, Manhattan, same day
Finch had risen with the sun, as was often his pattern to do. He and the Machine had spent the early hours together, browsing the stack of updates on the programs and projects he followed. Some time later, he'd heard the jingle of Bear's tags hanging from his collar. He'd stretched and shaken himself next to his bed at the other end of the hall.
Finch leaned and sighted down the hall at him. Bear turned to amble his way. They usually met in the middle, and the two of them headed for the kitchen first, where Finch filled his kettle with water, and plugged it in. Then they'd go for Bear's morning walk outside. Cold out there, with a brisk wind in their faces.
On their return, Finch was ready for his morning tea, while Bear gulped his meal and then stretched out under the table while Finch read the morning papers. Later, on the way to the Office, Finch stopped to pick up his own breakfast, and then the two of them settled into the routine of the day.
The Machine had painted a greeting over the monitor cluster above his desk, and Finch smiled. He sat down and lifted his tea and the tin of hot food out of the bag. The blue and white cup reminded him of the times Mr. Reese had walked down the hall with the same kind of cup in his hand. Sencha tea. He'd discovered that it was his favorite. And not so easy to find. But he'd shown up with the tea in a blue and white cup just like this.
Mr. Reese – not so easy to find, himself. Not that Finch had tried. He'd gotten the message: don't follow me.
It'd been his practice not to surveil his own Team members on their time off. Didn't always work: sometimes it was hard to know when they were really "off."
In their line of work, no such thing as regular hours. No whistle-blow at the end of the day. Finch was well-aware of the toll it took to work like this, and so he'd made it a point to offer each one of his Team little perks to keep them going.
Miss Shaw liked to sleep in late, and he'd never tried to micro-manage her time. Her needs were few: she needed her work – and her time to sleep. What she did on her own time was up to her, and Finch had only a few inklings of her distractions from the job.
Detective Fusco had a son, like Detective Carter. And he'd stated that he wanted to be a better father to him than his own father had been to him. So, Finch had started a college fund in Lee's name to help him do that. The fund kept growing – with contributions from Detective Fusco, and some generous donations from Finch.
Miss Groves had teetered on the edge of joining their Team. Sometimes he thought she was one of them, and other times she'd disappeared for weeks on end, and he couldn't be sure. Like recently. She'd asked him to build a device for her, and when he'd complied, she'd accepted it and then had disappeared without a word.
Her rush to unleash the full powers of the Machine had strained things between them. But at least she'd learned that she could argue her point without resorting to kidnapping him again and forcing her demands on him. It proved to him that even a sociopath could learn about boundaries and change.
Mr. Reese, like Miss Shaw, seemed to have few needs: a place to live, a little cash in his pocket, and a job that gave him a purpose. It'd seemed simple at first. He'd thought they'd both had what the other one needed. Only Finch hadn't known how lost and empty Reese had felt inside. To see him walk away like that was crushing.
And, of course, there'd been Detective Carter.
In the end, she'd given everything. And asked so little in return.
There would be a time for him to intervene with her son. Not now, when the loss was still so fresh for all of them. But later.
Joss would never have to worry that her son was well-cared for. It was a pledge he'd made to her, on the hill, as he and Miss Shaw had watched her burial. That moment had burned into his mind. Watching her son sit there, torn from the one stable force in his life at such a young age. Finch knew something about that.
He turned away and directed the Machine to look for John Greer.
This was a man who appeared to pop up on his radar and then disappeared again.
What was he planning to do with Arthur's code? A second AI Machine out there could have devastating effects, and not only for Finch and his Team, but for the rest of Humanity.
He'd need to speak with Arthur in more detail about his design decisions – before it was too late, and Arthur could no longer communicate.
Perhaps another trip to see him in person...quickly.