New POI fic
I wrote a little story set just after the action of "Firewall" and before its tag. "Firewall" is the last ep of Person of Interest of last season. The first new episode airs tomorrow night and will start seconds after the last one ends.
Reese's POV. About 1100 words. Crossposted to pofinterest_fic.
A Man Lost
by April Valentine
Reese stood in the empty library. It was quiet, dark, the monitors all off. No sound, no visuals emanated from the usually busy screens. Finch was gone.
She had done it all to get to him. Turing wasn't who they thought she was. She had planned meticulously and made herself look exactly as she'd wanted them to perceive her. She had contracted with HR herself so her number would come up. All so she could take Finch. She had to be Root, the hacker who had contacted Finch.
Reese felt himself shaking inside as the events of the last hours ran through his head. How could he have been so gullible, so trusting? He'd let himself be manipulated and instead of saving a woman in danger, he'd allowed Finch, his employer, his handler, his friend to be taken.
He sank into Finch's chair and held his head in his hands.
Turing hadn't seemed dangerous. She'd asked when she should panic, recoiled from the sounds of violence and gunfire. She had a pretty face that didn't look like that of a killer. But she had killed Alicia Corwin.
Would she harm Finch physically? Would she make him give up information about the Machine -- and would that harm him more than anything physical she could do to him?
Reese wanted to kick himself for the mistakes he'd made. This wasn't the first time he'd thought a woman wouldn't be a perpetrator. He should have learned his lesson about female gender bias back when he met Cara Stanton, but obviously he hadn't. From Assistant D.A. Hanson to Tony's girlfriend and partner Ashley, he'd seen time and again since starting working the numbers with Finch that anyone could be a perpetrator, men, women, old, young -- well not as young as Leila, thank goodness.
Nevertheless, Reese knew he was really going to have to work on that issue of his about women. If he ever got another chance to help someone, he thought as he leaned back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
He sat forward, reaching for the computer mouse and clicking it. The monitor woke up, the screen showing what Finch had been working on before he'd left the library for the last time. Reese started working, trying to see if there was any information on Turning he'd overlooked or any way to find where she might have taken Finch.
Hours went by before Reese had to admit defeat. Not only was he certain that she wouldn't take Finch anywhere that she had already lived or used, she was obviously a clever enough programmer that staying off the grid with her captive would be easy for her. Reese didn't have the kind of expertise Finch did so he was at a loss.
His eyes were burning when he finally gave up. His stomach was in knots and his chest felt constricted. Finch had given him so much: a job, a purpose, hope. Without him, Reese felt the pieces of himself that he'd so laboriously started to put back together begin to drift apart again.
It had been months since he'd wanted to get drunk, but right now Reese craved the oblivion whiskey could provide. Yet he knew he couldn't let himself fall off the wagon now. He was sure if he dropped his guard and allowed himself to collapse, he would miss an important clue and lose Finch forever.
He thought about what Finch must have felt when Mark Snow's partner had shot him, when Finch had desperately driven to that parking garage despite the danger to save him. How he'd stayed by Reese's side while he drifted in and out of consciousness, how he'd worried when Reese's condition had for a brief period been touch and go. Reese now knew the feeling of utter helplessness, of desperate longing, of hope overshadowed by despair. He could hardly even name the emotions washing over him, the soul deep need for his missing partner.
He didn't know what to call his feelings for Finch. He'd felt confusion, exasperation and suspicion at first, which had soon grown into admiration, compassion and intense curiosity and finally trust. He still didn't know everything he wanted to about Finch, but that only mattered now because his lack of information would hinder his search. He knew the important things though. Finch was brilliant, brave and self-sacrificing. Finch's voice in his ear could calm Reese when he was angry, soothe him when he was hurting, enlighten him when he sought information. Though he didn't always do things the way Finch wanted, he knew Finch respected him and that had done more for Reese than almost anything else. It had been a long time since anyone had shown that kind of respect toward him. Reese hadn't even respected himself when Finch found him.
He spent nearly all his time working the numbers with Finch and when they weren't working, he'd begun staying at the library with him, just enjoying his quiet companionship. Reese's heart ached at the thought, something inside him feeling like it was about to break. Reese didn't know what he was going to do without Finch. He was worried Finch might be hurt, in pain, desperate. Reese had helped so many in the last year; now the only person he wanted to help was Finch.
He closed his eyes and Finch's face drifted into his mind, the funny little smiles he could get, the spikey hair, the awkward movements, the tailored suits, all making him the unique person Reese had come to value so much. His entire body trembled with loss and sorrow while his mind seethed with anger toward the woman who'd taken him. He simultaneously wanted to destroy her and cradle Finch in his arms.
And then he knew what it was he felt for Finch. It was love. Simple as that. Complicated as that. Reese had a name for it now, but he didn't think beyond that to specifics. He wouldn't allow himself to think any further about it, not while Finch was gone. He didn't know if he'd ever get to tell him or show him his feelings. But if it took the rest of his life, he'd spend every waking moment trying to find him. Then he'd figure out the rest.
Exhausted, he leaned forward, folding his arms to rest his head on the table. "Harold," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I should have known she wasn't what she seemed. I should have protected you." His voice shook as he drew a breath. "I'll get you back. I promise."
The silence of the library was his only answer.
Reese's POV. About 1100 words. Crossposted to pofinterest_fic.
A Man Lost
by April Valentine
Reese stood in the empty library. It was quiet, dark, the monitors all off. No sound, no visuals emanated from the usually busy screens. Finch was gone.
She had done it all to get to him. Turing wasn't who they thought she was. She had planned meticulously and made herself look exactly as she'd wanted them to perceive her. She had contracted with HR herself so her number would come up. All so she could take Finch. She had to be Root, the hacker who had contacted Finch.
Reese felt himself shaking inside as the events of the last hours ran through his head. How could he have been so gullible, so trusting? He'd let himself be manipulated and instead of saving a woman in danger, he'd allowed Finch, his employer, his handler, his friend to be taken.
He sank into Finch's chair and held his head in his hands.
Turing hadn't seemed dangerous. She'd asked when she should panic, recoiled from the sounds of violence and gunfire. She had a pretty face that didn't look like that of a killer. But she had killed Alicia Corwin.
Would she harm Finch physically? Would she make him give up information about the Machine -- and would that harm him more than anything physical she could do to him?
Reese wanted to kick himself for the mistakes he'd made. This wasn't the first time he'd thought a woman wouldn't be a perpetrator. He should have learned his lesson about female gender bias back when he met Cara Stanton, but obviously he hadn't. From Assistant D.A. Hanson to Tony's girlfriend and partner Ashley, he'd seen time and again since starting working the numbers with Finch that anyone could be a perpetrator, men, women, old, young -- well not as young as Leila, thank goodness.
Nevertheless, Reese knew he was really going to have to work on that issue of his about women. If he ever got another chance to help someone, he thought as he leaned back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face.
He sat forward, reaching for the computer mouse and clicking it. The monitor woke up, the screen showing what Finch had been working on before he'd left the library for the last time. Reese started working, trying to see if there was any information on Turning he'd overlooked or any way to find where she might have taken Finch.
Hours went by before Reese had to admit defeat. Not only was he certain that she wouldn't take Finch anywhere that she had already lived or used, she was obviously a clever enough programmer that staying off the grid with her captive would be easy for her. Reese didn't have the kind of expertise Finch did so he was at a loss.
His eyes were burning when he finally gave up. His stomach was in knots and his chest felt constricted. Finch had given him so much: a job, a purpose, hope. Without him, Reese felt the pieces of himself that he'd so laboriously started to put back together begin to drift apart again.
It had been months since he'd wanted to get drunk, but right now Reese craved the oblivion whiskey could provide. Yet he knew he couldn't let himself fall off the wagon now. He was sure if he dropped his guard and allowed himself to collapse, he would miss an important clue and lose Finch forever.
He thought about what Finch must have felt when Mark Snow's partner had shot him, when Finch had desperately driven to that parking garage despite the danger to save him. How he'd stayed by Reese's side while he drifted in and out of consciousness, how he'd worried when Reese's condition had for a brief period been touch and go. Reese now knew the feeling of utter helplessness, of desperate longing, of hope overshadowed by despair. He could hardly even name the emotions washing over him, the soul deep need for his missing partner.
He didn't know what to call his feelings for Finch. He'd felt confusion, exasperation and suspicion at first, which had soon grown into admiration, compassion and intense curiosity and finally trust. He still didn't know everything he wanted to about Finch, but that only mattered now because his lack of information would hinder his search. He knew the important things though. Finch was brilliant, brave and self-sacrificing. Finch's voice in his ear could calm Reese when he was angry, soothe him when he was hurting, enlighten him when he sought information. Though he didn't always do things the way Finch wanted, he knew Finch respected him and that had done more for Reese than almost anything else. It had been a long time since anyone had shown that kind of respect toward him. Reese hadn't even respected himself when Finch found him.
He spent nearly all his time working the numbers with Finch and when they weren't working, he'd begun staying at the library with him, just enjoying his quiet companionship. Reese's heart ached at the thought, something inside him feeling like it was about to break. Reese didn't know what he was going to do without Finch. He was worried Finch might be hurt, in pain, desperate. Reese had helped so many in the last year; now the only person he wanted to help was Finch.
He closed his eyes and Finch's face drifted into his mind, the funny little smiles he could get, the spikey hair, the awkward movements, the tailored suits, all making him the unique person Reese had come to value so much. His entire body trembled with loss and sorrow while his mind seethed with anger toward the woman who'd taken him. He simultaneously wanted to destroy her and cradle Finch in his arms.
And then he knew what it was he felt for Finch. It was love. Simple as that. Complicated as that. Reese had a name for it now, but he didn't think beyond that to specifics. He wouldn't allow himself to think any further about it, not while Finch was gone. He didn't know if he'd ever get to tell him or show him his feelings. But if it took the rest of his life, he'd spend every waking moment trying to find him. Then he'd figure out the rest.
Exhausted, he leaned forward, folding his arms to rest his head on the table. "Harold," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I should have known she wasn't what she seemed. I should have protected you." His voice shook as he drew a breath. "I'll get you back. I promise."
The silence of the library was his only answer.