Strings

(Disclaimer: Not my characters.)

No time to worry about the sudden loss of Mr. Reese's signal—there's too much else to do. Push one button and there's Carter demanding instructions; push another and it's Fusco, begging for assistance.

This was a lot easier when it was just Mr. Reese, Finch thinks a bit grimly, toggling between the two. It's almost like being a parent to a bunch of kids constantly running off in all directions.

Or a puppetmaster, it occurs to him, with too many strings to work.

Something about that thought hits him the wrong way. Perhaps it simply sounds too much like something Mr. Reese would say in that quietly sarcastic tone of his. Finch brushes it aside, concentrates on guiding Fusco through the file room—wait, another voice? What—oh, no. They've caught Fusco.

Finch sits back in his chair as abruptly as though hit across the face with a shovel, his mouth falling open slightly.

What's a puppetmaster to do when the puppets can't stop getting into trouble?