Finch inhales. He's better braced for it this time, at least. Rather than raw shock, his mind jumps tracks to start with the wondering instead: how does this man know these things?
Just because he's been abducted to a- to a-- an alien space-ship, apparently, with mind-altering blank walls-- is no reason to start succumbing to irrational explanations, so he's not going to entertain the immediate paranoid response of wondering if this is the stuff of which Twilight Zone episodes are made: the young man is not a psychic, for instance. (No, he is not going to entertain it.)
It's obvious that Finch, himself, is injured, of course. To his own eye, he can't guess what possible clues there would be that would lead someone to guess not a car accident, let alone to correctly guess bomb blast, but-- if the-as-yet-nameless young man does have past experience of bomb blast victims, then perhaps there is some sort of tell that Finch himself is unaware of. It's not impossible. It's more probable than psychics. (Isn't it?) The conclusion that he's not military doesn't faze him as much: Harold knows he has zero bearing of the military man, no hint of physical capability in that regard. That's Mr. Reese's sphere.
The blanket is in position. Finch lets it go. Bear is plastered to his leg, not quite growling at the lanky young man but with his hackles up, because Bear can pick up on his emotional distress, animals are perceptive in a way humans are not.
Excepting, perhaps, the human in front of him. Finch bends down enough to collect Bear's leash, taking some solace from the soft zip of the smooth leather cord through his fingers until he reaches the end of it. He has a highly-trained violent canine literally within arms' reach; he is not defenseless, in the instance of a physical attack.
"If we're playing a game of unsolicited, unwelcome, and intrusive questions, very well: You don't have many friends, do you?" Finch's voice is several degrees cooler and sharper than it was for his mild initial statements.
no subject
Just because he's been abducted to a- to a-- an alien space-ship, apparently, with mind-altering blank walls-- is no reason to start succumbing to irrational explanations, so he's not going to entertain the immediate paranoid response of wondering if this is the stuff of which Twilight Zone episodes are made: the young man is not a psychic, for instance. (No, he is not going to entertain it.)
It's obvious that Finch, himself, is injured, of course. To his own eye, he can't guess what possible clues there would be that would lead someone to guess not a car accident, let alone to correctly guess bomb blast, but-- if the-as-yet-nameless young man does have past experience of bomb blast victims, then perhaps there is some sort of tell that Finch himself is unaware of. It's not impossible. It's more probable than psychics. (Isn't it?) The conclusion that he's not military doesn't faze him as much: Harold knows he has zero bearing of the military man, no hint of physical capability in that regard. That's Mr. Reese's sphere.
The blanket is in position. Finch lets it go. Bear is plastered to his leg, not quite growling at the lanky young man but with his hackles up, because Bear can pick up on his emotional distress, animals are perceptive in a way humans are not.
Excepting, perhaps, the human in front of him. Finch bends down enough to collect Bear's leash, taking some solace from the soft zip of the smooth leather cord through his fingers until he reaches the end of it. He has a highly-trained violent canine literally within arms' reach; he is not defenseless, in the instance of a physical attack.
"If we're playing a game of unsolicited, unwelcome, and intrusive questions, very well: You don't have many friends, do you?" Finch's voice is several degrees cooler and sharper than it was for his mild initial statements.