Chapter 6: Earning Trust
POV: Thomas Carter
Four days in the Library, and Tom's starting to feel like part of the furniture—though significantly more useful than the dusty first-edition Dickens novels that line the upper shelves.
His workstation has evolved from guest accommodation to permanent fixture, cables snaking between monitors in patterns that suggest long-term residency. Coffee rings mark the desk surface where Thomas Carter's preferred blend has been consumed during late-night research sessions. Even his keyboard has developed the subtle wear patterns that come from fingers that know exactly which keys to strike without looking.
The morning routine has settled into something approaching normalcy: arrive before Finch, start the coffee, review overnight surveillance logs while The Machine processes data streams from across the city. Tom finds himself anticipating Harold's preferences—extra monitor for financial tracking, specific angle for his chair to accommodate his injured leg, newspapers arranged in precise order of relevance to current cases.
It feels domestic in a way that surprises him. Like being part of something larger than himself, more important than his individual survival.
Today brings two active cases that demand simultaneous attention, and Tom realizes he's no longer operating as backup support. He's become integral to their process, handling digital forensics with efficiency that makes him indispensable.
Case one: Marcus Thompson, high school teacher receiving death threats from Santiago Gutierrez, whose son was expelled for bringing weapons to school. The threats have escalated from angry phone calls to detailed surveillance of Marcus's daily routine.
Case two: Elena Rodriguez, forensic accountant who witnessed a mob hit in Chinatown. Her testimony could dismantle a money laundering operation that funnels millions through legitimate businesses, assuming she lives long enough to reach the witness stand.
Tom's fingers move across keyboards with practiced fluency while Nano enhances his capabilities in ways that remain carefully invisible. Social media monitoring that should take hours gets compressed into minutes. Financial database queries that would normally require specialized access produce results through methods Tom can't quite explain to himself, let alone to Finch.
"Santiago Jr. just posted from the basketball courts in Washington Square," Tom calls across the Library.
"That's his usual Thursday pattern. He'll head to the subway entrance on Sixth Avenue in approximately twenty minutes if his behavior remains consistent."
Finch looks up from his primary station, and Tom catches something in his expression—not suspicion exactly, but the analytical focus of someone trying to solve a puzzle that doesn't quite fit expected parameters.
"How do you track social media patterns so efficiently?"
"RSS feeds, keyword alerts, basic stuff."
The explanation slides out with Thomas Carter's characteristic modesty, as if processing ten thousand posts across fifteen platforms in real-time is something anyone with decent search skills can manage.
Meanwhile, Elena Rodriguez's case reveals corruption that sends ice through Tom's veins. Cross-referencing her witness statement with NYPD personnel records yields a name he recognizes from future storylines: Detective Ray Terney, dirty cop extraordinaire, currently taking payments to ensure certain testimonies never reach courtrooms.
"There's your leak," Tom whispers, pulling up financial records that show deposits corresponding to Elena's case timeline.
Reese's voice crackles through the radio from his position outside Marcus Thompson's school.
"Tom, where's our gang member now?"
Tom glances at his monitors, where real-time location data flows through channels that definitely don't appear on any official telecommunications manifest.
"Leaving the courts, heading toward the subway. You've got fifteen minutes before he reaches the teacher's building."
"How did you get that update so fast?"
"Good timing and better algorithms."
The slight pause that follows suggests Reese is processing the implications of Tom's efficiency, but operational necessity overrides curiosity.
Both cases resolve successfully within six hours—Santiago intercepted before he can reach Marcus Thompson, Detective Terney's corruption exposed through evidence that appears to have been discovered through entirely legal surveillance methods. Lives saved through Tom's ability to process information at superhuman speeds while maintaining the fiction that he's simply exceptionally competent.
[COMPUTATIONAL PRESENCE ACTIVELY ANALYZING OUR WORK PATTERNS,] Nano reports during a brief lull. [ENTITY HAS RUN 2,847 PROBABILITY SIMULATIONS IN PAST HOUR.]
Tom's hands still on the keyboard as the implications hit him like ice water.
"About what?"
[US. ATTEMPTING TO CALCULATE PROBABILITY OF YOUR CAPABILITIES BEING NATURALLY DERIVED. CURRENT ASSESSMENT: 0.003% CHANCE. ENTITY KNOWS WE ARE ANOMALOUS.]
The Machine knows. Has known, probably since the first moment Tom demonstrated abilities that fall outside normal human parameters. Nearly three thousand simulations trying to determine whether Thomas Carter's competence represents natural variation or something fundamentally impossible.
[HOWEVER: ENTITY HAS NOT ALERTED FINCH OR REESE. ENTITY IS... OBSERVING. WITHHOLDING JUDGMENT.]
"Why?"
[INSUFFICIENT DATA. HYPOTHESIS: ENTITY EVALUATING WHETHER WE ARE THREAT OR ASSET.]
Every action is being weighed by digital consciousness that processes data at speeds that make human thought look glacial. Every choice Tom makes contributes to calculations that will determine his continued existence.
But The Machine hasn't exposed him. Which means either it's still deciding his value, or it's already determined he's worth keeping alive for reasons that extend beyond his immediate utility.
A new number appears on screen—another life balanced on the edge of violence, another chance to prove himself worthy.
"Finch, we've got another one."
"Already? The Machine is quite active today."
Tom manages appropriate concern while thinking: Yeah, and I might know why.
By evening, they've completed three more cases with efficiency that makes Tom feel like he's playing a video game where all the difficulty settings have been lowered. Financial crimes unraveled through database queries that shouldn't be possible. Surveillance footage analyzed through pattern recognition that borders on precognition. Threats neutralized before they can manifest into violence.
Finch saves the last case file and turns from his monitors, removing his glasses with the deliberate precision that signals serious consideration.
"Mr. Carter, your contributions have been... invaluable."
The warmth in Harold's voice catches Tom completely off guard. He's grown accustomed to professional courtesy, the careful politeness of someone who's learned to maintain emotional distance from temporary assets. But this carries genuine appreciation, maybe even the beginning of trust.
"Just doing what I can."
"No. You're doing more than that."
Finch sets his glasses aside, and without their barrier his eyes reveal analytical intensity that makes Tom feel simultaneously seen and evaluated.
"Your technical skills are exceptional. Your instincts for pattern recognition are frankly remarkable. And your ability to remain calm under pressure suggests either extensive training or unusual temperament."
Tom keeps his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart against his ribs.
"I'm just motivated. These are people's lives."
"Indeed."
Finch replaces his glasses, and the gesture feels ceremonial—like watching a decision crystallize into action.
"Which is why I'm extending an offer. When your case resolves and you're safe to leave, I'd like you to consider staying on. Part-time. We could use someone with your skills."
The words hit Tom like electrical current. Everything he's been working toward, hoping for, dreaming about since the moment he woke up in this impossible reality.
"Working with you? Doing this?"
"If you're willing."
"Yes. Absolutely yes."
The response comes without hesitation, and Tom catches surprise flickering across Finch's features—perhaps at the immediate enthusiasm, or maybe at the relief that colors Tom's acceptance.
Reese's voice cuts through the moment from the doorway, carrying dry humor mixed with genuine warning.
"You sure? It's dangerous work."
Tom turns to meet dark eyes that have witnessed too much violence to romanticize heroism.
"I'm already targeted by criminals. Might as well do some good while I'm at it."
Reese studies him for a long moment, then nods with what might be approval.
"Fair point."
As conversation shifts to practical details—schedules, protocols, security procedures—Tom feels The Machine's attention pressing against his consciousness like digital scrutiny made manifest. He's being evaluated not just by Harold Finch and John Reese, but by artificial intelligence that's spent four days running probability simulations about his nature and intentions.
Every word contributes to calculations that will determine whether Thomas Carter lives or dies. But beneath the terror runs a current of rightness, as if pieces of a puzzle he's been unconsciously solving are finally clicking into place.
This is where he belongs. This is what he's meant to do.
Now he just has to survive long enough to prove it.
That night, Tom helps Finch organize case files while Reese conducts his security sweep. They work side by side in comfortable silence, the Library's atmosphere transformed from fortress to something approaching home.
The Machine's presence hums in the background—servers processing data streams, cameras watching, algorithms calculating probability chains that include variables no artificial intelligence should have to consider. Tom catches Finch studying him peripherally, analytical mind clearly trying to reconcile observed efficiency with theoretical human limitations.
They're all evaluating each other: Finch evaluating Tom's trustworthiness, The Machine calculating Tom's nature, Tom trying to prove himself worthy of both their trust and continued existence.
But for the first time since waking up in this impossible reality, Tom feels like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.
The thought should terrify him. Instead, it feels like coming home.
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