Author's Note: The idea just wouldn't leave me alone. I really don't like thinking of character deaths, but I often think of ways in which they would die, how dramatic it would be, how the others would react... I hope you enjoy (as much as you can) and review.
Finch
It was just a regular number. A tricky one, numbers involving drug cartels with guns always were, but Reese could handle it. He’d handled plenty of people like them without any problems. I had zero doubt that he would wrap up the number and return to the Library. We had our connection on, so I could hear everything, even if there were no security cameras for me to use. It was going well, I heard the tell-tale signs of Reese and his habit of shooting people in the knees.
Then I heard the shots stop. I didn’t question it, thinking he was done. A child cried. And suddenly things didn’t seem as okay as they looked. Reese doesn’t have any weakness, he wasn’t allowed to in the CIA. But after the judge’s case, with his son’s kidnapping, I knew that hit a nerve with Reese.
“Mister Reese? Everything alright?”
My voice held a tint of worry; he wasn’t talking, and neither was anyone else near his mic. I waited nervously for his low whisper voice to reassure me that he had everything taken care of. Instead, I got a huge sound and then static. I became increasingly worried.
After five minutes and no response or contact, I decided to find him. A storm had started, rain was not far off. Even so, when I looked up the building from the GPS, what was a little red dot had turned into a giant red mass of flames. The building the number had run to, the place I had sent Reese alone, was blocked by the blazing flames.
Time after that got blurry. My memory seemed to have frozen, and my body acted on it’s own. The next thing I knew, I was standing outside the burning building, looking for Reese. My calls were frantic, and I was worried about the amount of time I had before the police noticed the destruction and arrived. The wind was starting to pick up, and I could feel the occasional drop of water, so it would rain very soon.
Then, out of the smog and blinding heat, a tall figure appeared. They limped and made horrible coughing sounds. It wasn’t until they got closer that I saw it was in fact Reese. My relief swelled up, he was standing. His body wasn’t a charred crisp in the building, he was still alive.
Just as I was about to reach him, call out to him, he swayed and then collapsed onto his chest. My steps became even more hurried, and once I reached him I turned him over so he could see me.
“Reese! Reese can you hear me?” I knelt down and shook his shoulders slightly. He coughed violently, and opened his eyes slightly. They seemed out of focus, and a look of confusion passed across his features.
“Finch? Is that you?”
My blood racing, I gave him a hollow smirk in confirmation. He gave me an earnest smile in return.
“You... you came for me... Finch, you came to get me..”
I was stunned at him, did he think I would just leave him in that building? Of course I came to get him, we had lost contact in what appeared to be a dangerous situation. My first instinct was to lightly chide him for his foolishness, but something in his voice... it was much quieter than normal.
“Reese, are you hurt too bad anywhere?”
The look responding to my question put a lump in my throat. His breathing was ragged, and now that I took the time to look, his clothes were horribly burnt, and his left arm was bleeding heavily. Glancing down at his chest, I noticed the tears in fabric and raging red marks that marred his otherwise tone torso. Shrapnel.
His ragged breath turned into a violent cough again, this time blood pooling behind his teeth and sliding down his jaw. The sight sent a cold chill down my spine that wasn’t due to the cold weather. My grip on him tightened slightly, though whether it was to comfort him or myself I don’t know.
“John! You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be fine John.” I ignored the crack in my voice, and the starting rain. It wasn’t raining hard enough though. Not to hide it. He gave me the softest of smiles, and actually let out a sound that might have meant to be a laugh.
“I thought... you said, you wouldn’t lie to me, Finch. And....” He slowly lifted up his right arm, and a gentle but calloused hand touched my now wet cheek. “You said my name.” I felt the rain increase in power, but somehow I couldn’t care if I got soaked. Couldn’t care if my joints would ache more than normal due to being drenched.
“I’m not lying John. I can’t to you. We have a job to do John, so you’re going to be okay.” Even as I said these words, a sinking feeling in my stomach caused my voice to falter. I wanted to believe what I said, because I didn’t...
“You’ll... find someone. You found me. Someone... can do my job... just as-good.” He voice was wavering, his breaths pausing every few moments, the blood pooling behind his lip made his battered face pale in comparison. Maybe a few months ago, I might have believed him. Might have been able to find someone with the same qualifications, the same will to protect.
But not now. No one was like John Reese. The more I worked with him, the more dangerous situations we went through, the more this thought solidified. No one was more qualified than John. No one could replace him, ability wise, and... emotionally as well.
I moved one of my hands to grip the one still on my cheek, my face betraying my expression. His ghost blue gaze softened more than ever before. I’d never seen such... adoration and complete trust on anyone else before.
“Harold. Thank you... for saving me.” That one sentence tore me apart. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the breath that escaped his mouth for the last time, it wasn’t his gentle and experienced hand loosing tension, it wasn’t his ghost blue eyes closing never to open again that undid me. It was that one sentence that had taken the last of his life.
I continued to stare at his face, muttering “John... John...?” kneeling beside him in the now pouring rain. By the time the police sirens registered in my brain, I didn’t even have the strength to get up. The building blaze wasn’t completely out yet, but the heavy rain had stopped the fire from spreading too far. It provided a very faint orange glow in the darkening evening.
I knew before any words were spoken which officer approached me first. I may not have had the skills John had, but I could tell the difference between a woman’s shoe and a man’s at the least. I made no effort to face her.
“Detective Carter.” My voice was hollow, emotionless. I could hear her quick intake of breath as she saw who exactly was before me. I heard her put away her gun and the clink of metal as she took out handcuffs. I almost laughed.
“Don’t bother, Detective. There is no point in those.” Now I found the energy to move, and shifted so I could look at her above my glasses. “I... am willing to turn myself in. If you do me something.”
She hesitated for so long, I thought she wasn’t even going to hear me out. But I suppose even detectives with strong morals get curious. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Mr. Burdett. What are you asking for that you’ll turn yourself in? And how are you connected to Mister Suit?”
“John.”
“Pardon?”
“His name. His name is-was. John.” Shifting to past tense hurt more than anything. I had to swallow thickly to keep my composure in front of the detective that had dedicated most of her time in hunting us. She went silent after that. There was a long and heavy pause between us, with only the pounding rain as sound. Other officers bustled about, checking the building, finding the bodies of those inside.
I’m not sure how, but I ended up in a room at the precinct. Detective Carter and Fusco were both there, ready to start asking questions. I was on auto pilot, looking at this like … an unconcerned third party. Ironic.
It was Detective Fusco who asked the first question. I caught a confused glint in his eye, but he hid it well. He wasn’t there at the building, he had been on a different case, and was just brought in to question me. He was most likely shocked at seeing his “friend of a friend” in for questioning.
“So, what is it you’re asking for?”
“A favor.”
Detective Carter jumped in here, taking hold of the conversation. “What kind of favor?”
I paused and took a slow breath. I pushed all emotion, all things that were irrelevant right now down into a deep part of me so I could answer as composed as possible. I think I only half succeeded. “A proper burial. Because of... what we did as a job, it was essential that we didn’t “exist” in the normal sense of the word.”
“And what exactly was it you did, as a job?” Detective Carter had that determined look on her face, wanting to get her questions answered first. I wasn’t about to let that happen. So I settled for something safe to answer with before continuing.
“Save people. I want you to make sure that John Reese gets a proper burial and grave. That is all I ask.” I managed to hide how much I was pleading more than asking from my face, but by the look Carter gave me, I assume I failed in hiding anything from showing my eyes.
“Will you answer my questions if I make sure that happens?”
I glanced from her to Fusco, succeeding in not showing recognition. I let out a soft exhale and made my choice. “I will answer the questions I feel you need to know.” But I wouldn’t tell her about the machine. I wouldn’t reveal the things that she didn’t need to know. But I would tell her enough to keep her from stopping me with going through with my barely laid out plan.
Bail was something I could achieve easily. They had no evidence I was involved in any of the cases other than the robbery on the evidence locker. It irritated Detective Carter, but she couldn’t do anything about it. After that, I went back to the library. It felt much larger and empty than before. Now, like it, I was in a state of limbo.
I had a duty. To the numbers. I would carry on with my work. With saving the irrelevants. But not yet. Not only because I could no longer act... but because I couldn’t find the will to try.
Carter fulfilled our deal a weak later. It was small, which was inevitable, but it was nice. I noticed Fusco, as well as Zoey Morgan showed up. How Miss Morgan even found out about it I remain clueless. I suppose like she told John, she had her people. I nodded to both of them, and while Miss Morgan had never met me face to face, she was smart enough to figure out I was John’s “imaginary friend”.
My attention then turned to the simply yet beautifully crafted coffin. On another occasion I might have been able to appreciate the skill involved in making it. At the moment however, it was just a box. Containing the man who had broken through my barriers and reached my heart. The man I had sent to his death. For the past week it wouldn’t leave my mind. If I had done more research, if I had planned it just a step more, he may not have been caught in that situation, and thus may not have died.
I looked at the situation a hundred different ways, and it all lead down to my error. My error that killed John. I owed a lot of things to him. Things I never got to repay. Things I never said. One of the things in that category that was foremost in my mind was “thank you”. Thank you for accepting my job offer. Thank you for helping me repent for my sin. Thank you for saving my life.
Because I didn’t save John Reese’s life. He saved mine in more ways than one. I owed it to him to keep living it. I owed it to him, to make sure that my next coworker, because I’d never have another partner, would not follow the same path I had foolishly lead John down.
I owed him more than I could ever possibly dream of repaying.
 |
| Harold Finch (left) & John Reese (right) |
No comments:
Post a Comment