Finch's breath quickens as the shadows press around him, the tunnel narrowing into the outside of a casket, the cool, humid air of the cave stilling into an absence light and movement. In front of him, his vision narrows until his eyes can land only on either Vesper's face, languid and dangerously neutral, or the pooling darkness of the cave moving in on him. It's worse, he things, that the shadows aren't actually touching him, leaving enough of a breadth of freedom that the absence of it comes to mind even more starkly.
Vesper's accusation stings, a tight slash in the shape of his scar, but not for the reasons the man may expect; it is, all things considered, rather normal for those of Vesper's occupation and alignment not to trust Finch. The collar around his neck tight against his jugular for a reason. However, aside from the babysitters and parade of Jack's men with him on jobs to ensure he stays in line, Finch works alone. The only friend he ever worked with, as Vesper put it, rolled on him, and the reminder of absence stings sharper than the accusation does. He's one-half of something, doomed to continue without it. His eyes flicker to the cache, it sitting rotting and empty between him and Vesper.
"No," He says honestly, tone dropping into something between honest and defeated, eyes flicking back into Vesper's cool glare. He does not look at his fingers, at the twisting of the rings, at the imposition of the shadows breathing down his neck. "I didn't." Vesper's face in unreadable and in the darkening of the shadows Finch cannot see the reflection of his own trustworthiness, does not know if his words find purchase. His reputation proceeds him enough to know Vesper should not be inclined to believe him, but he stands anyway, chin half-cocked and shoulders back, ready to die on his feet. And then, because if it's the end of the tunnel for him, he might as well go out swinging, "If you wanted me immobile, all you had to do was ask." His accompanying grin is sharp, the grimace of an animal chewing its leg off in a trap.
Vesper's accusation stings, a tight slash in the shape of his scar, but not for the reasons the man may expect; it is, all things considered, rather normal for those of Vesper's occupation and alignment not to trust Finch. The collar around his neck tight against his jugular for a reason. However, aside from the babysitters and parade of Jack's men with him on jobs to ensure he stays in line, Finch works alone. The only friend he ever worked with, as Vesper put it, rolled on him, and the reminder of absence stings sharper than the accusation does. He's one-half of something, doomed to continue without it. His eyes flicker to the cache, it sitting rotting and empty between him and Vesper.
"No," He says honestly, tone dropping into something between honest and defeated, eyes flicking back into Vesper's cool glare. He does not look at his fingers, at the twisting of the rings, at the imposition of the shadows breathing down his neck. "I didn't." Vesper's face in unreadable and in the darkening of the shadows Finch cannot see the reflection of his own trustworthiness, does not know if his words find purchase. His reputation proceeds him enough to know Vesper should not be inclined to believe him, but he stands anyway, chin half-cocked and shoulders back, ready to die on his feet. And then, because if it's the end of the tunnel for him, he might as well go out swinging, "If you wanted me immobile, all you had to do was ask." His accompanying grin is sharp, the grimace of an animal chewing its leg off in a trap.
