[ Carver doesn't respond immediately, just holds very still and calculates. Taking the information that's given to him, wondering where the test is. There's always a test, he knows, and he swallows back the anxiety twisting through his core at the thought. These people have different rules.
It would take exceptional circumstances, Harold Finch says, for either of us to refuse us.
This is not a comfort. This is a promise. You better not fuck this up, son, Pope's voice hisses in his ear. Don't fail me again.
His fingers twitch. ]
You don't need me to trust you. You just need me to do my job.
[ The water heater quietly beeps, giving Harold a convenient excuse to turn away and fix them tea while he considers his response.
It's an interesting statement, suggestive of the kind of arrangement Carver is used to. It's not at all how Harold prefers to operate, not now that he's gotten used to the alternative, but he'd certainly tried it himself at one point with Mr. Dillinger. He understands the draw in keeping everything simple, maintaining an arm's length distance. Yet the fact remains that his personal mission isn't trying to achieve anything but his own personal mission, and he needs his 'employees' to have fundamental buy-in to his vision for it to work at all.
He carries three mugs of steaming tea, two in one hand and one in the other, back to the table and places them down. All three have lapsang souchong satchets dangling tags off the side, a strong smokey black tea that will take whiskey well should someone add it. ]
The truth is, I'm at a loss here, [ he finally says, merciless and blunt. ] I'm used to having considerably more resources. I feel quite... handicapped. [ Harold gives a rueful, self-aware twist of his mouth that settles into a grimace. ]
What I'm saying is I'm not in a position to offer you much. What is it you're looking for?
[ He could go on further, but he doesn't want to lead him to what he thinks Harold might want to hear. He has no idea why Carver has suddenly decided acceptance here is important to him, but ultimately it doesn't matter. Harold has never used people and he won't start now. If Carver genuinely gets something from this, he can be persuaded to try it out, cautiously. ]
[ The test begins to take shape before him. Carver holds himself very still, hands loose at his sides. Eyes ahead, son, the commander murmurs in his ear. Don't fucking move.
Sometimes, Carver's thoughts race so fast and so sharp through his mind that it feels like he's going to die if he can't move to escape them. Sometimes, he paces for hours in tighter and tighter circles so he won't lose himself to the spiral. If he can move, he won't get mired down by his ghosts. Pope always hated that, though.
He lifts his chin. This the test. The pitch. If he's worthy, then Harold Finch will make use of him and Shaw both. If not -
[ Harold had told him before that he doesn't engage in tests and he wouldn't consider this a test, either. It's a negotiation, or it should be. And if it is a negotiation he has to take Carver's answer seriously, has to credit him with the capability to know and express his own needs.
Being called sir still rubs him the wrong way somehow, so Harold puts his own snide comment in, raising his eyebrows. ] And safety in numbers, I suspect? [ He doesn't get lonely easily but even he will eventually get lonely, and he can empathize with the fact that Carver must be feeling very adrift indeed if what John's passed along about him is true.
But he doesn't expect an answer; he takes a seat and recovers his mug of tea to fiddle with it. ] We can try it, at least. [ It seems needlessly cruel to refuse him when he's asking outright and is left alone in these harrowing circumstances. ] I only ask that you let me know if you'd like to cancel the arrangement, and we'll part on good terms.
[ In other words, as long as he doesn't outright betray them, Harold won't hold any hard feelings if it doesn't work out. ]
[ The last time he was alone, really alone, didn't go well. Carver holds himself very still and doesn't say that. He forces his hands to keep still and he watches Harold and he watches Shaw in turn, turning the words over in his mind. Searching for the trap, the hidden test. There would've been one, with Pope. There always was, one way or another. A conversation was never just a conversation. You had to pay attention. You had to prove yourself in every moment. ]
Nobody survives alone, [ he replies softly. Sometimes, Carver thinks he goes a little crazy if he's alone for too long. ] I can work with that.
[ He hopes, at least. If the commander marks these people, they'll have to die. ]
[ That sounds very similar to everyone dies alone. Harold couldn't disagree with the sentiment in principle, but he finds it... incomplete. It sounds like a complete sentence, but it isn't. There's more to the story in every case, for every person.
Not that he's about to get into it. Harold never talks about his deep personal sentiments if he can help it. ]
We do have a few rules about how we operate. [ If they're doing this then they're doing this seriously; Harold doesn't do things by halves. ] The most important one being that we don't, under almost any circumstances, kill someone.
How did you put it, Ms. Shaw -- I get annoyed?
[ Because of course he was listening to her over the radio that day. And this is a deliberate move to invite her back into the conversation. If Shaw thinks Carver is suitable to work with them then she can help with any necessary moral coaching, in Harold's opinion. ]
[Shaw has been still and quiet to this point, but she's not zoned out: she studies them both carefully as they speak, giving Carter a nod (quick, businesslike, and without an accompanying smile, but still meant to be encouraging) when he looks over at her. As far as she's concerned, this is a meeting between the two guys, so she doesn't speak up until she's addressed - but when she is, she doesn't hesitate to chime in.]
Annoyed at best. One time, one of us argued for killing someone a little too hard, and Harold revolted.
[That "someone" had been the Machine, and she's alluding to the time it had suggested that they kill a senator, but Shaw will keep those particular details on lockdown for now.]
[ Carver frowns at that. It’s an alien sentiment, has been for years. If the commander marked someone, then they were due to die. The few times they showed mercy almost always ended poorly. But then again, the rules here are different. These people are different. Shaw seems more reasonable. A practical soul and a practical soldier. Harold, he’s not sure.
Time will tell, maybe. Harold lent him Don Quixote. ]
I’m not going to die preaching non-violence, [ Carver replies slowly. ] But I’ll follow orders.
We're on a first-name basis in the future? [ he asks Shaw in outright disbelief, startled. Clearly he needs to reevaluate some assumptions he's made. Team indeed.
There's a small bowl left out on the table that Harold uses for tea bags, and he strains his around a spoon before leaving it in the bowl. He's too polite to make tea only for himself when someone next to him just came out of a river, but he won't press them to drink theirs, either.
And if Sameen wants to find the whiskey in the cabinet under the sink, she can do so herself, he's sure. ]
Self-defense is a different matter. And, unfortunately, I can hardly say we're non-violent. [ He so wishes they could be, but that's entirely unrealistic. ] But here especially it makes little sense to kill anyone, practically speaking. Death is impermanent. It's likely to make an enemy rather than solve a problem.
[ Harold thinks people should do things for ethical motives, but if he needs to lay out the rational reasons, too, he can do that. ]
[Shaw just rolls her eyes at his question - sorry, Finch, she's a brat in the future. She'll also curl her hands around her mug and take a few small sips, though, and she won't roll her eyes at his 'unfortunately', so. Small mercies.]
[ He glances between the both of them, noting Shaw's lack of response compared to Harold's visible confusion. Information to consider for later, he decides. It doesn't point to outright dissent in the ranks, but there's a gap there. Perhaps an important one.
After a moment, he takes a mug and holds it loosely in his hand. He doesn't drink, but he allows himself to feel the warmth seeping into his joints. It's pleasant. ]
[ Shaw rolling her eyes and ignoring him makes Harold feel like he's been adopted by a semi-feral stray cat. A process which he had no part in. Or maybe he did, in the future...? But she hasn't acted like she's expecting different behavior from him, which seems telling in its own right.
In any case, there can't be dissent in the ranks, because Harold would resent that there are ranks in the first place. They're a tiny, tight-knit group of legally dead individuals trying to do one good thing before they die. He's still dubious why Carver wants in, but if it brings him some kind of solace, it's at least a worthwhile use of his time and energy while he's stuck here. ]
Good enough to be going on with, I suppose. I'll inform Mr. Reese.
[ He reaches up to tap his earpiece and initiate the text message program, asking simultaneously, ] Have you been staying at the apartments?
[ He's half-expecting to get the kind of non-answer he got from John when they first arrived, with how paranoid Carver is, but he has to ask. Harold doesn't have much to offer but he has more than nothing. He feels compelled to check on Carver's living situation if they'll be working together. Meanwhile, he types out a message to John with subtle flicks of eye movement. It's not his preferred way to type but he has to admit he's getting used to it, and it is convenient. ]
[ For a given value of staying. He has an apartment that he's claimed for his own and has fortified against intruders, but Carver avoids it when he can. It's a place to store and hide supplies, and little else.
If the weather were better, he'd sleep outside. That's not practical now, though. ]
I'm not there often, [ he adds, in case they try to come looking for him there. ]
[ Considering Harold's exact concern is that Carver has been either sleeping outside in the cold woods somewhere or not sleeping at all, he narrows his eyes suspiciously at him, reaching up to tap off his messaging program again. ]
I hope you're sleeping somewhere, [ he says pointedly. ] But I did find it rather unnerving to stay there myself. I dislike how predictable it is.
We'll have to get you alternate arrangements.
[ Harold says this unthinking and automatic. He might've needed some persuading to take him on, but Harold takes his so-called employees' well-being extremely seriously, and he can at least try to address the lower levels of Maslow's hierarchy. Not that he's about to offer accommodations at the library like he had with Shaw -- they're far from that level of trust -- but they can figure something out. Staying somewhere it's easy to be found is abominable. ]
[ He doesn't have the right gear to sleep in the woods, not with this weather, not without sacrificing some extremities to frostbite, but he keeps himself awake patrolling most nights. Mapping out the city, all the places an ambush could be set. ]
I'll manage, sir.
[ Debts have to be paid, and he hasn't yet proven himself useful to these people. It always comes at a cost. ]
Let's put the needless self-sacrificial hardships aside where we can, shall we?
[ Harold sounds dry in the extreme. He's a person who appreciates comforts and finer things, and sees no reason why anyone he cares about or is responsible for should do without. For his part, he doesn't care about debts; he sees anything he does here as an investment, one he hopes will pay dividends.
Any rich person knows you can't make money without spending money, and the same is true with human capital, in his experience. ]
If you aren't saving your points for something, you should request more suitable accommodations. If you want an underground bunker, I don't care, but you need to sleep.
And if you are saving your points, then we'll assist you. [ He's counting you in that, Shaw. Put your points-money where your mouth is. ]
[ He holds himself very still. Watching Harold and Shaw in turn, before he checks himself and fixes his gaze on the horizon line. It's a sin to make eye contact during a debrief. ]
[ Harold sips his tea and then raises an eyebrow at Shaw. ]
Well? I did just use mine to get you an apartment. I have limited resources here.
[ You going to pay it forward, Shaw? Either with guns or a safe place to live?
Harold has a sharp sense of propriety and normally wouldn't think to ask someone to share their personal assets, but in this specific circumstance, all bets are off. They really are better off banding together and pooling resources. And, well, he needs to reserve some to get John a sailboat. That's imperative for his mental well-being. ]
[At Finch's initial insistence, Shaw rolls her eyes good-naturedly; it's not that she doesn't see where he's coming from, but really, the guy just said he's managing the basics fine. Not everyone needs penthouse suites and designer suits, Harold.
But when he looks to her, she shrugs, readily saying--]
I still don't get how the points work - I don't know how to earn them or what my balance is. But sure. Like he said, we'll assist you.
[ For a moment, Carver just holds very still. Gaze fixed upon a distant horizon line because it's a sin to fidget when being tested and this has to be a test, just in a form he's never seen before, with strange rules. Everything is so goddamn strange and he's tired, deep in his soul, of everyone else looking at him funny for trying to make it all align to the old rules.
Stand up straight, Pope's voice hisses in his ear. I made you better than this.
The commander would have demanded something for this. A proof of devotion, of loyalty written into body and blood on the goddamn ground. He doesn't know what Harold and this Shaw want and that's the part that gets him: the not-knowing.
He could fail this test without realizing. ]
I haven't earned that, [ he replies softly. Eyes ahead, son. ] It's a sin to be greedy.
[ Harold is annoyed by this response in regards to what it says about Carver's typical situation, but the annoyance is covering immense compassion. ]
Fortunately, I don't care at all about what is a sin or isn't, [ he says bluntly. ] If it makes you feel better, I see you as an investment. Maybe it will pan out, maybe it won't. But I won't get anywhere by being a cheapskate.
[ He glances over at Shaw again. ] No one knows how the points work, but if you'd confer with Mr. Carver and determine a suitable living situation for him where he can actually sleep, I'd appreciate it.
[ He won't insist on knowing the details; privacy obviously matters to Harold tremendously. He just needs to know it's being taken care of, and he's trusting Shaw with taking care of it. It's not an uncalculated kind of trust; it's a test in its own right, feeling out the parameters of their future first-name basis, as it were. ]
[Shaw knows that she, too, was (is) an investment - and while someone else might rankle at the idea, might see it as too close to being an object or a tool to be manipulated, she isn't bothered at all by it. She's her own person, fully and completely; she suffers from no crises of identity. But she's also a soldier, and she's been used for far worse causes than Harold's.]
[ Like before, Carver holds very still. Eyes on the horizon line. It's a sin to be greedy but it's a sin to contradict the commander just the same. Harold doesn't count as that, no, but there are parallel lines in this moment. Shaw's on board, too.
He lifts his chin. Accepts it. Decides he'll do his best not to fuck it up. ]
[ Harold will say whatever he needs to in order to make them both accept help and better living conditions. There's a fine line past which he knows deceit won't be tolerated, but skimming the edge of the truth is fine, even palatable. They are both an investment; it's just that Shaw realizes by now, he's sure, that Harold doesn't abandon investments.
He's not at all callous enough to simply drop someone he's decided to put time into. Even to the very end, he'd tried to convince Mr. Dillinger to believe him... ]
Excellent, [ he pronounces. ] Let's start there. Payment or not, no one in my employ is going to be treated poorly.
[ People he's decided he's responsible for, he means, but Harold again realizes there's a more palatable way to put it. Make it seem like his own pride instead of charity. That's fine. Whatever gets him to the outcome he desires. ]
[Shaw waffles briefly, torn between responding seriously, brushing it off with a joke, or saying nothing at all. It might not always seem like it, as brash as she is, but to a certain extent Shaw does tailor her responses to people. Harold is most likely to get silence (because she knows that he'll understand and accept it) or seriousness (because she knows that sometimes he needs it). Carver's done okay with a mix of all three so far, but this is also a new situation for him, and clearly an awkward one. And she'd rather not inadvertently give off the impression that she's either apathetic towards or disbelieving of Harold's words, so--]
He means it.
[She pulls her hands out of her pockets, crossing her arms over her chest.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It would take exceptional circumstances, Harold Finch says, for either of us to refuse us.
This is not a comfort. This is a promise. You better not fuck this up, son, Pope's voice hisses in his ear. Don't fail me again.
His fingers twitch. ]
You don't need me to trust you. You just need me to do my job.
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It's an interesting statement, suggestive of the kind of arrangement Carver is used to. It's not at all how Harold prefers to operate, not now that he's gotten used to the alternative, but he'd certainly tried it himself at one point with Mr. Dillinger. He understands the draw in keeping everything simple, maintaining an arm's length distance. Yet the fact remains that his personal mission isn't trying to achieve anything but his own personal mission, and he needs his 'employees' to have fundamental buy-in to his vision for it to work at all.
He carries three mugs of steaming tea, two in one hand and one in the other, back to the table and places them down. All three have lapsang souchong satchets dangling tags off the side, a strong smokey black tea that will take whiskey well should someone add it. ]
The truth is, I'm at a loss here, [ he finally says, merciless and blunt. ] I'm used to having considerably more resources. I feel quite... handicapped. [ Harold gives a rueful, self-aware twist of his mouth that settles into a grimace. ]
What I'm saying is I'm not in a position to offer you much. What is it you're looking for?
[ He could go on further, but he doesn't want to lead him to what he thinks Harold might want to hear. He has no idea why Carver has suddenly decided acceptance here is important to him, but ultimately it doesn't matter. Harold has never used people and he won't start now. If Carver genuinely gets something from this, he can be persuaded to try it out, cautiously. ]
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Sometimes, Carver's thoughts race so fast and so sharp through his mind that it feels like he's going to die if he can't move to escape them. Sometimes, he paces for hours in tighter and tighter circles so he won't lose himself to the spiral. If he can move, he won't get mired down by his ghosts. Pope always hated that, though.
He lifts his chin. This the test. The pitch. If he's worthy, then Harold Finch will make use of him and Shaw both. If not -
Failure cannot be fathomed. God's watching now. ]
Clarity, sir, [ he replies simply. ]
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Being called sir still rubs him the wrong way somehow, so Harold puts his own snide comment in, raising his eyebrows. ] And safety in numbers, I suspect? [ He doesn't get lonely easily but even he will eventually get lonely, and he can empathize with the fact that Carver must be feeling very adrift indeed if what John's passed along about him is true.
But he doesn't expect an answer; he takes a seat and recovers his mug of tea to fiddle with it. ] We can try it, at least. [ It seems needlessly cruel to refuse him when he's asking outright and is left alone in these harrowing circumstances. ] I only ask that you let me know if you'd like to cancel the arrangement, and we'll part on good terms.
[ In other words, as long as he doesn't outright betray them, Harold won't hold any hard feelings if it doesn't work out. ]
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Nobody survives alone, [ he replies softly. Sometimes, Carver thinks he goes a little crazy if he's alone for too long. ] I can work with that.
[ He hopes, at least. If the commander marks these people, they'll have to die. ]
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Not that he's about to get into it. Harold never talks about his deep personal sentiments if he can help it. ]
We do have a few rules about how we operate. [ If they're doing this then they're doing this seriously; Harold doesn't do things by halves. ] The most important one being that we don't, under almost any circumstances, kill someone.
How did you put it, Ms. Shaw -- I get annoyed?
[ Because of course he was listening to her over the radio that day. And this is a deliberate move to invite her back into the conversation. If Shaw thinks Carver is suitable to work with them then she can help with any necessary moral coaching, in Harold's opinion. ]
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Annoyed at best. One time, one of us argued for killing someone a little too hard, and Harold revolted.
[That "someone" had been the Machine, and she's alluding to the time it had suggested that they kill a senator, but Shaw will keep those particular details on lockdown for now.]
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Time will tell, maybe. Harold lent him Don Quixote. ]
I’m not going to die preaching non-violence, [ Carver replies slowly. ] But I’ll follow orders.
[ For now, at least. ]
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There's a small bowl left out on the table that Harold uses for tea bags, and he strains his around a spoon before leaving it in the bowl. He's too polite to make tea only for himself when someone next to him just came out of a river, but he won't press them to drink theirs, either.
And if Sameen wants to find the whiskey in the cabinet under the sink, she can do so herself, he's sure. ]
Self-defense is a different matter. And, unfortunately, I can hardly say we're non-violent. [ He so wishes they could be, but that's entirely unrealistic. ] But here especially it makes little sense to kill anyone, practically speaking. Death is impermanent. It's likely to make an enemy rather than solve a problem.
[ Harold thinks people should do things for ethical motives, but if he needs to lay out the rational reasons, too, he can do that. ]
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After a moment, he takes a mug and holds it loosely in his hand. He doesn't drink, but he allows himself to feel the warmth seeping into his joints. It's pleasant. ]
I can be practical.
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In any case, there can't be dissent in the ranks, because Harold would resent that there are ranks in the first place. They're a tiny, tight-knit group of legally dead individuals trying to do one good thing before they die. He's still dubious why Carver wants in, but if it brings him some kind of solace, it's at least a worthwhile use of his time and energy while he's stuck here. ]
Good enough to be going on with, I suppose. I'll inform Mr. Reese.
[ He reaches up to tap his earpiece and initiate the text message program, asking simultaneously, ] Have you been staying at the apartments?
[ He's half-expecting to get the kind of non-answer he got from John when they first arrived, with how paranoid Carver is, but he has to ask. Harold doesn't have much to offer but he has more than nothing. He feels compelled to check on Carver's living situation if they'll be working together. Meanwhile, he types out a message to John with subtle flicks of eye movement. It's not his preferred way to type but he has to admit he's getting used to it, and it is convenient. ]
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[ For a given value of staying. He has an apartment that he's claimed for his own and has fortified against intruders, but Carver avoids it when he can. It's a place to store and hide supplies, and little else.
If the weather were better, he'd sleep outside. That's not practical now, though. ]
I'm not there often, [ he adds, in case they try to come looking for him there. ]
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I hope you're sleeping somewhere, [ he says pointedly. ] But I did find it rather unnerving to stay there myself. I dislike how predictable it is.
We'll have to get you alternate arrangements.
[ Harold says this unthinking and automatic. He might've needed some persuading to take him on, but Harold takes his so-called employees' well-being extremely seriously, and he can at least try to address the lower levels of Maslow's hierarchy. Not that he's about to offer accommodations at the library like he had with Shaw -- they're far from that level of trust -- but they can figure something out. Staying somewhere it's easy to be found is abominable. ]
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I don't need much sleep.
[ He doesn't have the right gear to sleep in the woods, not with this weather, not without sacrificing some extremities to frostbite, but he keeps himself awake patrolling most nights. Mapping out the city, all the places an ambush could be set. ]
I'll manage, sir.
[ Debts have to be paid, and he hasn't yet proven himself useful to these people. It always comes at a cost. ]
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[ Harold sounds dry in the extreme. He's a person who appreciates comforts and finer things, and sees no reason why anyone he cares about or is responsible for should do without. For his part, he doesn't care about debts; he sees anything he does here as an investment, one he hopes will pay dividends.
Any rich person knows you can't make money without spending money, and the same is true with human capital, in his experience. ]
If you aren't saving your points for something, you should request more suitable accommodations. If you want an underground bunker, I don't care, but you need to sleep.
And if you are saving your points, then we'll assist you. [ He's counting you in that, Shaw. Put your points-money where your mouth is. ]
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[ He holds himself very still. Watching Harold and Shaw in turn, before he checks himself and fixes his gaze on the horizon line. It's a sin to make eye contact during a debrief. ]
Guns, [ he clarifies. ] And body armor.
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Well? I did just use mine to get you an apartment. I have limited resources here.
[ You going to pay it forward, Shaw? Either with guns or a safe place to live?
Harold has a sharp sense of propriety and normally wouldn't think to ask someone to share their personal assets, but in this specific circumstance, all bets are off. They really are better off banding together and pooling resources. And, well, he needs to reserve some to get John a sailboat. That's imperative for his mental well-being. ]
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But when he looks to her, she shrugs, readily saying--]
I still don't get how the points work - I don't know how to earn them or what my balance is. But sure. Like he said, we'll assist you.
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Stand up straight, Pope's voice hisses in his ear. I made you better than this.
The commander would have demanded something for this. A proof of devotion, of loyalty written into body and blood on the goddamn ground. He doesn't know what Harold and this Shaw want and that's the part that gets him: the not-knowing.
He could fail this test without realizing. ]
I haven't earned that, [ he replies softly. Eyes ahead, son. ] It's a sin to be greedy.
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Fortunately, I don't care at all about what is a sin or isn't, [ he says bluntly. ] If it makes you feel better, I see you as an investment. Maybe it will pan out, maybe it won't. But I won't get anywhere by being a cheapskate.
[ He glances over at Shaw again. ] No one knows how the points work, but if you'd confer with Mr. Carver and determine a suitable living situation for him where he can actually sleep, I'd appreciate it.
[ He won't insist on knowing the details; privacy obviously matters to Harold tremendously. He just needs to know it's being taken care of, and he's trusting Shaw with taking care of it. It's not an uncalculated kind of trust; it's a test in its own right, feeling out the parameters of their future first-name basis, as it were. ]
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Aye-aye, Finch. I got this.
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He lifts his chin. Accepts it. Decides he'll do his best not to fuck it up. ]
Okay.
wrapping up soon?
He's not at all callous enough to simply drop someone he's decided to put time into. Even to the very end, he'd tried to convince Mr. Dillinger to believe him... ]
Excellent, [ he pronounces. ] Let's start there. Payment or not, no one in my employ is going to be treated poorly.
[ People he's decided he's responsible for, he means, but Harold again realizes there's a more palatable way to put it. Make it seem like his own pride instead of charity. That's fine. Whatever gets him to the outcome he desires. ]
o7 (and also sorry i missed this notif)
He means it.
[She pulls her hands out of her pockets, crossing her arms over her chest.]
I've never had a better employer than Harold.