124Chapter One Lost And Found
YOU ARE LONELY
The dark haired woman almost started from her reverie, not yet accustomed to the 'Voice In Her Head' constantly intruding upon her private moments.
There was, at once, a disturbing quality about her new found friend and yet there was also a soothing reassurance which accompanied the uneasy acceptance Samantha Groves displayed these days.
Her world had definitely changed over the past few months.
The young woman quickly recovered her senses, having been lost in thought, her pretty but indistinctive face having a rather pensive look, the dark brown eyes allowing a certain sadness, which now was replaced by the more guarded, sardonic humor Samantha often presented to the world.
"I learned early on.." 'Root' smiled wistfully. "It is far better to be on one's own than to be forced to associate with those of my own kind." She turned from the magnificent view afforded her, in truth, barely having noted it.
HUMANS NEED COMPANIONSHIP
Samantha smiled wryly. "If you say so." She crossed to the bed housed in the luxurious suite of rooms, continuing with her packing. "Where to from here?"
The week in Paris had been a productive one, at least, according to her newly appointed 'Advisor'.
Root was secretly beginning to question the validity of the assignments passed down by the 'All-Knowing, Omnipotent Being' which whispered in her ear from time to time.
An uneasiness had settled in her soul..what was left of it these days.
Samantha self-consciously touched her ear, her fingers running about the small crevices, her mind troubled. Things had gone South fast. She found herself wondering how she had gotten to this point.
Her Mother had told her often, that 'God' works in His own time and His own way.
That 'God' was inscrutable.
'Root's God would never act in such a haphazard manner.
She had, from an early age, felt an inexplicable affinity with the precise, logical systems introduced to each child at any educational facility. Data processing appealed to her analytical, orderly mind.
Over time, computers had proven much more reliable companions than her peers.
She had always been the out sider in school. Never finding any real interest in the mundane topics her age-group seemed deem so very important.
Clothes, boys..shoes, the latest Movie Heart-throb, boys..make-up..boys.
Not that she had not tried to assimilate at first..she had.
Children could be so cruel..that axiom had been driven home with skilled excellence.
She had learned how to fight back though..to survive, and over a very short interval of time, to prevail over those less intelligent..less focused.
Samantha found solitude comforting and it gave her time to cultivate valuable skills that would eventually become of great importance to her.
YOU VALUE THE NOVEL
Root blinked, glancing at the book she had just placed gently into it's usual slot inside her travel case.
"It's your life story." She quipped. "in a sense."
Her fingers trailed along the slightly raised lettering.
I DO NOT KNOW THIS WORK
"Something of which you have no knowledge?" Root doubted such a dubious statement but realized, it was the Machine's way of asking a question. "The premise is rather simplistic in nature." The woman smiled gently. "It's about a computer system that helps Mankind put a halt to famine, disease and Wars."
DEFINITELY A WORK OF FICTION
Samantha chuckled. "Absolutely." The Machine's insight into human frailties often produced such amusing comments. At first, it had been disconcerting..that a 'machine' might possess a sense of humor. Root was becoming more relaxed with such a concept, however. "Of course, the Humans fought such enlightenment tooth and nail, rebelling like petulant children being told they must eat their veggies because it was 'good for them'."
HUMANS MUST HAVE FREEDOM OF CHOICE
"Trouble is, with that." Root shrugged aimlessly. "We always choose poorly."
Was she any different, Root had to question herself of late.
When had it started to change?
When had the doubt, the confusion begin to set in?
It had all been so perfectly clear before.
Samantha Groves had no close friends, preferring it that way after what had happened to Hanna .
Hanna Frey had been her only friend back in the day. Samantha felt as if she had found the sister she had always wanted..needed in her life. Hanna became a confidant, a mentor of sorts. An older girl who didn't look down on her , who didn't seem to find her weird or unacceptable.
But that security was soon taken from Samantha and the fact that she avenged Hanna's death in her own unique way, because certainly, the adults, including the Authorities in that small Texas town, had not bothered to do so..it did not take away the pain or hatred she felt for those that had failed Hanna so heineously.
Which included herself. She carried the guilt to this day.
If only she had done this or that.. or done more, perhaps. If only she had not been so intimidated by that stupid fat cow of a Librarian.
Root had worked diligently for years on the problem and in the end, it had been so very simplistic to solve. A rather gratifying outcome for all that although, deep down, something had never 'clicked' in Samantha's head until John Reese had found Hanna, giving her friend a proper resting place.
Root owed the man for that.
She hadn't forgotten.
After she had settled the score for Hanna, Samantha had moved on, never looking back until..Harold Finch had entered her life.
Samantha's thoughts wondered yet again, her hands stilled over the laid-out array of clothing and travel articles laying on the expensive coverlet.
Why had she told him? Why confide such a thing?
Had she needed to see the revulsion mirrored in her own soul in those shocked, critically accusing eyes?
But Harold Finch had fooled her and in the end, it was she who ended up shocked and critical of such an individual.
His face registered empathy and forgiveness, after a long beat..and a definite sadness.
Root remembered being furious with him for the fact. Still, he had not offered sympathy which she would have loathed.
Being responsible for the deaths of those people in that office all because someone had wanted fifteen million dollars..money.
Odd, she hadn't considered that anyone might die because of her actions..not that it would have bothered her much, she didn't think. She didn't put much value on human commodities back then.
Did she do so now? Had she changed?
Samantha didn't think so, but Harold's reaction had shaken her a bit. He was clearly a man who realized, bad things and worse people lived out there in the Cosmos.
No, he genuinely could put aside personal feelings, for he must have felt repulsed by her confession. He was such a gentle soul, after all.
He hadn't judged or condemned her. He had actually offered support of sorts and assistance. She wondered what would have happened had not Fusco interrupted that night.
It was probably best that the large detective had, of course.
Did she resent Harold for his kindness? In the days which followed, she found herself unreasonably moody and out of sorts. She chalked it up to it being her time of the month but deep down, she knew it was more.
She actually had felt remorse over those people's deaths. An entirely new emotion for the woman who rarely gave any credence to others, truth told.
She had hardened her heart, built carefully constructed walls more impregnable than any firewall or security system she had ever encountered.
This man..this Harold Finch! He had brought her to honest, heart-felt tears. Which she had deployed not to mention, she had displayed a weakness before him! An unforgivable breech in Root's book of ideology!
The realization disturbed her so very much that she was second-guessing her involvement with the Machine. With her God!
It was a safer, more secure world, mentally and physically she had left, to come to this New World Order.
She longed for the days when everything was rather black and white. Decisions were so easily come by minus all this stupid emotional baggage Harold insisted she adopt in order to be acceptable in HIS world.
Root didn't need his world. She was quite self-sufficient on her own.
His world complicated her's.
HE NEEDS YOU
Samantha pulled herself back from a long way away, shaking her doldrums, not pretending to misunderstand the cryptic remark. "D.E.C.I.M.A.?"
NO. HE IS PROTECTED
"Harold is quite self-sufficient in all other things." Root continued her packing mechanically. The plane left in less than two hours and the traffic was heavy this afternoon. "Don't you agree? Why would he need us, in which case?"
YOU MUST GO TO HIM
Normally, Root never questioned HER instructions but today, she found herself more than reluctant to involve herself with Harold Finch again for some obscure reason she simply did not wish to analyze.
"Shouldn't we be concentrating on putting Samaritan out of business?" the young woman grasped at straws. "There won't be any need for any of us to concern ourselves with the commonplace if we don't find a way to.."
YOU MUST GO TO HIM
Root sighed heavily, having a decision to make. One she dreaded.
She understood that, to survive now, however..she must concern herself with two objectives. One: depleting the resources of the opposition and more importantly, finding a weakness in the System the enemy had created.
Slowly, painstakingly, under the supervision of the Machine, Root had established a workable Network of others, like herself..savvy in the language spoken by the existing Systems. Creative thinkers who were not limited by laws, ideologies or convention of thought.
An 'Underground' Resistance made up of the most innovative, 'out-of-the-box' thinkers around, who instinctively rebelled against, not only the Establishment and it's antiquated rules and methods..but any and all supposed 'Authority Figures'.
These fellow workers possessed an inbred contempt for the 'Powers That Be'. Young, disillusioned dissidents who were searching for another more progressive, enlightened 'Way'.
Not only 'Computer Geeks' like herself, but SHE had gathered the most brilliant minds from all aspects of society, amassing knowledge and skills.
All with one objective in mind.
What that objective was, Root could only speculate at this time.
And even though many unanswered questions remained in her mind, she had to ask the inevitable.
What was the alternative?
Root had finally put her faith in someone..some thing, other than herself.
She was struggling now, with her present role in the drama being played out.
She had become entangled with Harold Finch and his Worker Monkey some months back entirely by accident.
Fate had enmeshed her life with the Creator of this phenomenal 'Entity'.
Root had grown to reluctantly admire and respect Harold, much against her will and good judgment.
He was so unlike any other man she had encountered.
Through his eyes, she finally saw what she had become and surprisingly, she had not liked the portrait painted.
Imagine her surprise.
While one part of her realized the necessity of retaining much of the qualities that had allowed her to survive all these years in such a harsh, unforgiving environment, another greater part..now felt regret and guilt over all she had done to others when it seemed a perfectly 'right and proper' way of life..before.
Something deep inside was touched by the naiveté of Harold's genuine, empathic, honest and honorable- to- a- fault way of thinking.
Root had never come across another like him. Indeed, just the opposite. Humans were flawed..Bad Code.
At first, she had been intrigued by the intellect behind the glasses, playing a dangerous 'cat and mouse' game to lure him out into the open, even as far as risking her own life just on the off-chance, he might make an appearance.
Her ploy had worked brilliantly.
She had captured her prey! The Creator himself.
Those few short days of forced confinement had been interesting indeed.
Samantha had struggled so hard against the alien emotions churning inside her brain and heart.
Sadly, she had watched..and learned from the man. In spite of her determination not to allow any emotional involvement.
Harold Finch 's calm demeanor hardly ever altered even under the most trying of circumstances. She had tried to draw the man out but his mind was too orderly..too disciplined.
Even when she had impetuously and with malice of forethought, viciously sliced the man's palm wide open with a razor blade, just to get some sort of reaction from the guy..those odd, captivating eyes had only allowed a tiny measure of surprise and shock before quickly settling into quiet acceptance of what 'was'.
The slight intake of breath the man had offered had pleased the woman for she had desperately wanted to break the unshakable resolve Harold kept about himself throughout the ordeal she had set in motion.
But, something in those wide-set blue eyes had robbed her of any satisfaction the cruel act brought.
It was as if a bucket of cold ice water had been dashed over the perverse pleasure of the moment by whatever it was she had read in those damnable deep blue orbs that stared back at her so sedately composed.
She knew instinctively, from that moment on, that Harold Finch had known great pain in his life that he could so easily filter it away. Such a minor incident as having his palm sliced open by a slightly deranged antagonist was a mere trifle compared to all else he had suffered, apparently.
The incident was dismissed as easily as he would brush a fly from his face.
Harold Finch had suffered so much worse.
Root had read it in the craggily, expressionless face.
In that split second of 'contact', so much had passed between them.
Harold had such expressive eyes.
While his face remained inscrutably stoic, his manner reserved and quiet..those eyes gave each and every emotion away, if one knew how to read him.
Root had taken the time and effort to study and educate herself on the subject of Harold Finch.
Even in his weakened state, for he had refused her offer of food and any small, creature comfort she could think to supply..he had not, for one second, lost his composure or his inane sense of 'self'.
The man was honorable, conscientious and courageous. A completely gentle soul caught up in the mangled, nightmarish web of deceit and corruption that had become Samantha Grove's world.
Root understood the depths of depravity to which humans could sink. She wondered if Harold truly did.
That she excelled among such cretins did not speak well for her, she supposed.
Harold had stupid theories concerning his brethren. Misguided, totally illogical hypotheses in Root's humble opinion.
'Most people were good and decent, just hard working, 'nose-to-the-grindstone' sorts just going about their lives as best they could.'
Root rolled her eyes just thinking of his words as they came back to haunt her.
'Anyone could fall on hard times.' 'We all need a helping hand up from time to time…'
Such stupidity had turned her stomach. That such a brilliant mind could be so absolutely corrupted..defiled by such complete nonsense.
The world was not the idyllic place Harold wished it to be.
That he had instilled such a perverse ethic into his Creation sickened her to the core.
And yet..here she was! Battling impossible odds right along with the Helper Monkey and Robot Girl.
Sometimes Samantha envied Shaw's inability to feel emotions.
Root could feel them, she merely had learned how to channel..to delegate the less important ones..the less productive.
"Is it wise, Miss Groves?" Harold Finch had not even bothered to check before opening his door wide, his hand having dropped away, inviting any trespasser into his new domain without any caution or predisposition on his part. "For us to be so openly gregarious?"
Samantha closed her mouth, her jaw having slackened a bit upon first sight of the man. She couldn't quite form an articulate reply to such a discordant s statement because she was too stunned by the change in the man, all of which she was attempting to assimilate in the brief moment of 'welcome' he had offered.
"I thought it was better to have as little contact as possible for a while." Finch clarified his remark, mistaking the woman's hesitation for incoherency. "To what do I owe this rather dubious pleasure?"
Root's brown eyes swept the man's disheveled appearance in something akin to awe. No vest..no impeccably pressed slacks, no tie..not even a stylishly tailored jacket.
She offered a slight gasp of shock. The man was barefoot.
His toes appeared out from under his rumbled grey pants. An equally questionable blue pin-striped shirt appeared as if it had not been changed in days and a slight hint of some sort of liquor clung to it's fabric.
The woman checked the empty hallway, her innate sense of survival always first and foremost. "Harold..may I come in?"
The man lifted a careless arm, motioning accordingly, turning slowly, making his way back into the darkened interior of the room.
Root noted his usual lop-sided gait was more pronounced and it looked as if he were having difficulty navigating the small area.
She shut the door, securing both latch and bolt, allowing her eyes to adjust to the cooler, darker atmosphere.
The odor of liquor was more prevailing once inside the room, her nose crinkling slightly. The brown eyes widened with alarm as they swept her new surroundings. The condition of the hotel room was appalling.
"..I thought you were at the house in Martha's Vineyard." SHE had provided a wonderful retreat for the man. Perhaps as a gift of sorts. A place of refuge and quiet, that Harold could refuel..rest and recoup from the harrowing times they had all just lived through.
"Well." The man sat heavily on the small black and white checked loveseat, his hands resting primly on his knees. He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the hideous painting on the opposite wall. An artist's futuristic portrayal of what appeared, to Root..to be a gigantic lava lamp gone awry. "..I'm not."
Samantha took in his surroundings once again, standing carefully in the middle of the carnage, her hand clutching tightly to her Gucci purse.
The small table by the closed draped window housed a multitude of take- out containers, newspapers and empty whiskey bottles.
The woman stepped slowly across the ugly print of the worn carpet, searching for a place to sit.
The television's soft glare shed some light in the otherwise dark room.
A blonde female reporter was regaling Kim Kardashian's upcoming nuptials. The sound was off the set but the closed caption was on.
"Thanks, Harold." Root quipped to lighten her own mood if not the man's. "I will have a seat." She took the one with the less clothes draped over the back, settling her slight frame into the hard wood carefully.
"I love these accommodations." She smiled prettily, her eyes bright and lively. "There is such a 'homey' feel to the place'. I totally approve."
Harold glanced around the room just as she had done. "Well, I've not had time to decorate."
"..So." she let his lack of manners slide, observing the man in what she hoped was a cheerful enough mode. "What's new with you?"
Those blue eyes shifted to her and he actually smiled back. "Not much..you?"
The easy exchange somehow chilled the woman.
"Oh, you know.." she carried on in the same vein however, keeping up appearances. "Running for my life from diabolically maniacal men who would like nothing better than to plant me six feet under." She straightened the arch of her back, drawing in a cleansing breath. "Got my hair done today..do you like it?"
She felt silly with such an odd give-and-take but he was responsive to a degree.
Harold glanced at the long, chestnut fluff that lay on her shoulders in soft, sultry waves. "I always have."
Root blinked her shock at the easily stated quip.
"I would offer you something but.." he picked up an empty bottle on the coffee table before him, shaking it slightly. "I seem to be all out."
"It's ok, I stole some of those tiny bottles off the plane." She quipped right back, still in shock, truth known. "We could go for some coffee if you like." She quickly took the chance offered. "I saw what might pass for a diner on the corner down the way."
"First and foremost.." Harold checked to confirm his theory. "I am not dressed for such an auspicious outing and secondly..I thought the Machine advised we were to make ourselves as inconspicuous as humanly possible for as long as it takes."
He arose slowly, wobbly..in search of something amid the debris which constituted his opened suitcase which sat on the small fold-out provided for such things. "Which could be a very, very…very long time, I am assuming."
"You underestimate HER, Harold." Root watched the man demolish the interior belongings of the suitcase even moreso than he already had.
To see such disorder in such an ordered life was more than alarming but Root felt an instant affinity with the man finally where before, she had always held him in something akin to reverence.
"Can I help?" she offered politely.
"..Oh." Harold stopped rummaging, his hands full of underwear and soxes. "..I had a pack in here." He motioned. "Perhaps I've misplaced them."
The man continued his quest.
"Do you smoke, Harold?" Root was finding out new revelations, thrilled to see another side of the man.
She studied his unshaven face, the sunken eyes..the unsteady shake of his hands.
"I used to." The man's brows lifted in mild surprise as he raised. "Nasty habit but rather..soothing for all that." He went back to his aimless search, if only half-heartedly now. "I have recently rediscovered."
He left the suitcase for greener territory, broadening the mission to the dresser drawers upon which the television set was housed.
Root discretely placed the opened pack of Marlboros she had found under a pizza box into her purse. "I could tidy up." She offered surveying the room in open disdain. "Maybe we could locate them if some of 'Ground Zero' was cleared."
Finch pulled up short, mid-step, taking the time to survey his domain.
"Oh dear." He mumbled disheartened, finally seeing a little of what 'was'. His eyes swept his person mechanically, his expression taking on a rather alarmed astonishment. "..I..am in a rather dilapidated state, Miss Groves." His tone was sincere. "I do apologize."
Root sensed his confusion more than witnessed it, the man appearing lost and directionless.
Harold stood, silent and brooding, misplaced in a realm of his own making.
"..I don't suppose you have heard anything of.." the blue eyes sought her out, filled with wistful hope. "The others?"
Root read the vulnerability within, touched by it.
"Is there any..news?"
Samantha seized on his weakness. "There is and I have." She arose, briskly sitting her purse in the now empty seat. She discarded the light weight grey jacket with it's tailored waist and stylishly fashioned lapels, dusting the sides of the matching slacks with opened palms..she hung the jacket over the back of the already burdened chair.
"Suppose you go shower." She nodded minutely in the direction of the slightly ajar bathroom door. "We will go have breakfast at that quaint little café down the way, because I, for one..am famished! And then we'll discuss Worker Monkey and Bionic Woman.." she flashed an infectious smile. "Does that sound like a plan, Harold?"
The man hesitated, his manner still a little 'off'. "..Yes, Miss Groves." He nodded sedately, clearing his throat gently. "I..I think that will work, actually."
Root smiled happily, having folded her hands primly before her, awaiting his decision.
"Thank you."
"For what?" she was curious.
"..I'm not certain." He admitted vacantly. "..I'll only be a moment."
Root shrugged the concern away. "Take your time." She sized up the job before her, wondering where to start.
Harold disappeared into the bathroom closing the door quietly behind him. He had gathered a few articles of clothing before his exit.
The woman sighed heavily, sought the nearest trash container and got down to business.