"This isn't funny," Reese said. He yanked at the cuffs holding his wrist to the bed. Unfortunately the headboard was solid cast iron, something he would commend if he weren't the one cuffed to it, and anything remotely able to be turned into a lockpick was far out of reach of his free arm.
"I'm not joking," said Finch. He continued packing the briefcase with money, having already hidden the tracker and recording device inside.
"I can make the drop," Reese insisted. "You don't have to risk it alone."
"I'll have Carter and Fusco for backup," Finch said. "And I think the fact that I could get those handcuffs on you at all is ample proof that you're in no condition to do it." He closed the case with a snap and locked it. "We can't afford to wait until the drugs are out of your system."
"They are out. I'm fine now."
"Then it shouldn't take more than half an hour for you to escape those cuffs and join us. Though by then everything should be wrapped up satisfactorially, so it would be a better use of your time to rest and recover." Finch picked up the case in one hand and his cane in the other, and turned to the door.
"Dammit, Harold, I can't just lie here doing nothing, not knowing what's happening to you!"
Perhaps Finch was right about the drugs still affecting him; that had been rather more honest than he'd intended. Reese was probably imagining the flinch in his steps, as well, before he turned, scooped Reese's phone off the desk, and tossed it onto the bed. "That will have to do until I can replace your broken earpiece."
Reese's mouth twisted in a vague approximation of a smile. "You don't have a spare?"
"That was the spare," Finch retorted. His face softened, just a bit, and he added, "I'll be fine, John. I promise."
Reese swallowed and nodded curtly, and Finch left, locking the door behind him.
As soon as Reese heard his footsteps fade in the distance, he grabbed the phone and hit it against the cast iron rails until the screen cracked into shards, and used the best one to pick the lock. Thirty minutes was a gross overestimation.
Cuffed, Reese & Finch, Reese in handcuffs, General, No Warnings
"I'm not joking," said Finch. He continued packing the briefcase with money, having already hidden the tracker and recording device inside.
"I can make the drop," Reese insisted. "You don't have to risk it alone."
"I'll have Carter and Fusco for backup," Finch said. "And I think the fact that I could get those handcuffs on you at all is ample proof that you're in no condition to do it." He closed the case with a snap and locked it. "We can't afford to wait until the drugs are out of your system."
"They are out. I'm fine now."
"Then it shouldn't take more than half an hour for you to escape those cuffs and join us. Though by then everything should be wrapped up satisfactorially, so it would be a better use of your time to rest and recover." Finch picked up the case in one hand and his cane in the other, and turned to the door.
"Dammit, Harold, I can't just lie here doing nothing, not knowing what's happening to you!"
Perhaps Finch was right about the drugs still affecting him; that had been rather more honest than he'd intended. Reese was probably imagining the flinch in his steps, as well, before he turned, scooped Reese's phone off the desk, and tossed it onto the bed. "That will have to do until I can replace your broken earpiece."
Reese's mouth twisted in a vague approximation of a smile. "You don't have a spare?"
"That was the spare," Finch retorted. His face softened, just a bit, and he added, "I'll be fine, John. I promise."
Reese swallowed and nodded curtly, and Finch left, locking the door behind him.
As soon as Reese heard his footsteps fade in the distance, he grabbed the phone and hit it against the cast iron rails until the screen cracked into shards, and used the best one to pick the lock. Thirty minutes was a gross overestimation.