Sometimes, there weren’t numbers. Sometimes Finch gave him the day off with one phone call that never lasted longer than 15 seconds. Those were the days when John followed Finch, when he dug into every alias until he knew them and he had sorted out how close each was to the truth. So far he had found three Harolds, none of which had ever been to a posh red brick hotel.
Finch himself had walked into the hotel an hour before and John had stationed himself in the coffee shop across the street to watch the door. It obviously wasn’t Harold’s home, he hadn’t even bothered to try to lose John the way he did every night and it was still the middle of the afternoon. It was obvious though that Harold knew the place well and the doormen knew him on sight.
Now that same doorman opened the door for Harold to walk out. John saw the exact moment that Harold saw him; he stepped into a waiting car a second later.
John answered his phone as the car pulled away from the curb. “You went dark on me there, Finch,” John said before Harold could say a thing.
“I hardly think an hour with no missed calls and no number qualifies as going dark, Mr. Reese,” Finch shot back.
John stepped out onto the street and started his walk back to the Library just to see if that was where Harold was going. “Tell me, Harold, what were you doing in a hotel for an hour in the middle of the day?” He let every bit of suggestion drip into his voice.
“If your intention is to try and embarrass me you will find that very difficult,” Finch said, his voice as relaxed as it ever got. It grated against John’s nerves. “Was there something you needed?”
John hung up. He turned the corner away from the Library and kept walking.
John didn’t sleep that night. In the big bed that Finch had bought for him he couldn’t stop thinking.
He had never been attracted to Finch but there was something in the idea of someone other than John touching Harold that made his skin crawl and scratched at his mind until he couldn’t even shut his eyes without seeing a hand touching Finch’s bare skin. So John did what he did with all things that were likely to kill him and ran with it. He let his mind think that it was his hand touching Finch’s skin, even just his hand. Within minutes he was asleep.
When he walked into the Library the next morning with Harold’s pastries he didn’t say anything. He still wanted to touch, run his own hands down the arms of the only man who knew he was alive and maybe erase the touch of whomever had touched before him. A hug would work better for that. He had to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine at the thought.
Harold noticed, but didn’t say anything, just arched a brow and started in on his spiel about the new number.
After that it was an obsession of his, watching Harold and imagining his arms wrapped around John’s waist and his head under his chin. Sometimes he imagined wrapping his arms around Finch from behind while he explained the number. On bad nights he imagined an impossible world where he could rest his head on Finch’s chest while they slept. It was a nice fantasy that he kept tucked close to his heart until the Machine came in and messed it all up with an escort’s number.
Though, it wasn’t really the Machine’s fault that Reese didn’t keep his stupid mouth shut. Stakeout boredom could only take so much of the blame either. “Why escorts, Harold?”
“What do you mean, Mr. Reese? Mr. Solomon’s number coming up has very little to do with his profession and more to do with his brother’s habit of taking what’s not his,” Finch said, quick and sharp as always. ”Or were you referring to my employment of the occasional companion?”
“You just don’t seem like the casual sex type.” John was seriously starting to wonder exactly what kind of masochism had taken over him.
“Don’t misunderstand me, this is still hardly any of your business, but the sex is not the only thing that attracts me to the professionals,” Finch said. The sound of his typing sped up in John’s ear.
John smiled. “You just sit and chat?” A part of him wished something would happen simply so he didn’t have to hear about someone touching Finch.
He was prepared for a scoff or, if he were unlucky, silence, or if he were lucky, a laugh. He wasn’t prepared for Finch’s voice to soften into something patronizing and gleeful when he said, “Oh, Mr. Reese, I still very much enjoy the sex.”
He also wasn’t prepared for how hard he had to work to keep his voice even. “So what else is there?”
Finch sighed and the typing resumed haltingly this time, he was almost through the firewall then. “Humans, much to my chagrin, require not only human interaction but also contact. Sex is a simple way to receive that contact.”
“You don’t get enough human contact living in New York?” He hated himself for continuing to pry. Any second Finch was going to cut off contact and leave. The conversation, the Library, maybe the city, but definitely John’s life and John wasn’t sure he’d make it. He needed something to happen. The door he was watching stayed stubbornly closed.
The typing had stopped but Finch’s voice was distracted when he said, “In the last month I have been touched exactly seven times. Five were handshakes. And the other two I paid for. Now if you’re quite done with this line of questioning I believe your assistance is needed in Mr. Solomon’s home. His brother just came in through the back.”
John was across the street and forcing the door before Finch finished speaking. “I don’t know, Finch, you were just starting to open up to me.”
“Really? What do you know about me now that you didn’t know yesterday?”
John was too busy disarming the number to answer that he had learned something dangerous and precious.
It didn’t take him long to use his new intel about his boss. Three hours to be precise. He walked into the Library and instead of waiting for Harold to acknowledge him, he held the drink carrier and placed his hand on Finch’s shoulder. He tensed under the light touch and turned around to look at John with a carefully arched brow. John just smiled back and set down the drinks.
“We don’t have a new number yet. You’re free to take the rest of the day off.”
John took his coffee and finally removed his hand from Finch’s shoulder and tried not to be too light headed.
“I think I will. Call me if something comes up.”
“Of course.”
John didn’t stop touching. Harold never touched back but that was okay. It was settling in a way he hadn’t expected, like being able to confirm that his new life wasn’t just some whiskey soaked dream.
Then Root came in and fucked it all up.
His near rampage came to an end when he pulled Finch back out of the Library after picking up Bear. “You can’t stay in the Library, Finch,” he said short and tight enough that Bear whined in the back seat.
“I have no intention of staying there, Mr. Reese, but there is work to be done,” Finch argued.
“That work will still be there tomorrow, Finch, now where to?”
“You don’t seriously think that after all your work I’ll just hand over my address?”
“If you don’t give me an address you’re going to end up at my place.”
Finch huffed a sigh like he didn’t know if he should take Reese’s threat seriously. He still didn’t say anything more on the drive to Reese’s loft. When they pulled up Bear got out of the car happily and Finch stood next to the underground parking spot firmly. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
The usually endearing stubbornness of Harold’s was starting to loose its charm on Reese as they stood off against each other. “You said yourself that she injected you with something.”
“Which has obviously worn off.”
“We don’t know that yet.” He let his voice drop as he took a step closer to Finch and all but loomed over him. “I’ve injected people with a lot of things that seemed to wear off after a few hours. You’re not going to be alone until I’m sure.”
Finch just seemed irritated with the reminder of John’s past and attempt at intimidation. Somehow that settled John just a little. “If you must, Mr. Reese.”
Once they were in the loft John pointed Harold to the shower and went to go find the sweatpants he had accidentally bought too small and a threadbare sweatshirt he liked to wear when the nights got cold enough. He left them just inside the bathroom door and went to go search the kitchen for something to feed Harold.
When Finch came out swimming in the sweatshirt John was almost done with a pile of scrambled eggs and toast. He set them down in front of Harold at the table. “Thank you,” he muttered before taking a bite of the toast. John did his sixth perimeter check since they had walked into the loft half an hour before.
“John, sit down and eat,” Finch said with a snap.
He went quietly and picked at his eggs but he still couldn’t bring himself to settle. Finch was back safe and sound, sitting and eating with Bear at his feet. He was fine. Everything was fine.
“We should get some rest,” Finch said. “If you really are going to make me stay.”
“I am. I’ll take the couch,” John said, jumping up and grabbing the plates.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I am not kicking you out of your own bed.”
“You bought it. It’s more yours,” John said with a strained smile.
“Mr. Reese, this is your home, not my safe house.” He was standing close to Reese, close enough that John wanted to reach out and touch. He stayed put and smirked at Harold instead. That moment felt too loaded for touching.
“It was a joke, Finch,” John said.
The look on Harold’s face made it clear that he didn’t believe him. John was getting good at disappointing him.
“I’m going to change,” John mumbled and escaped to the bathroom after grabbing a pair of sweats. Slowly, the way he had been trained to, he emptied his mind until he didn’t flush at the idea of sharing a bed with Harold.
Outside the bathroom Finch had piled the pillows to support his back and hip as he lay on his side, facing the empty side of the bed; the side where Reese would sleep. “I hope you don’t mind. I usually sleep on the right.”
“No problem here,” Reese managed. He crawled into the bed slowly and faced the door and away from Finch.
He listened and waited until the breathing next to him evened out, or at least slowed so that he could relax and sleep. He was too ready to fight for Finch, he needed the genius to sleep so that he could know it was time to relax. The breathing never did slow.
After half an hour of nothing but Harold’s breathing and John trying to stay as silent as possible, Finch spoke. “John, are you still awake?”
He considered not answering. His need to give Finch whatever he could won out. “What do you need?” he asked as he turned over to face Harold.
That was a mistake. The sight was something John knew he would hold on to too tightly for too long. Honestly, though, who could blame him? Harold’s face was pressed into John’s favorite pillow, his eyes large without his glasses, and John could still make out the top of his own sweatshirt under the blanket. “It seems extremely rude to ask this of you given the circumstances.”
“Spit it out, Harold. There’s not a lot I deny people already in my bed,” John said and even he could hear the smile in his voice.
Harold being Harold, though, the joke made him hesitate a beat. “You are under no obligation to humor me, but would you mind terribly hugging me for a moment? Touch starved as I may be, her touching and leading by the arm seems to have gotten under my skin in a less than pleasant way.”
John didn’t wait for Harold to finish his justification, he just moved closer until they were all but nose to nose and slung his arm around his waist and resisted the urge to pull him closer, careful of the pillow arrangement. “Better?” John whispered.
“You tell me, are you quite sure I’m alive now?” Harold asked, the smile in his own voice now.
Yes, John was sure now. He could feel it settle into his bones that Harold was safe under his arms and alive with every breath that broke over John’s cheek. “You did this for me to feel better?” he asked, the warm feeling of knowing Harold was safe was being replaced by something bitter as quick as it had come. Harold didn’t want John touching; he just let John do it to feel better.
“Not entirely. I wasn’t lying about still feeling her on me, maybe there is something to your theory about the drugs, but it’s not something I wouldn’t have been able to cope with. You on the other hand, I could hear you thinking from across the bed, I thought a physical reminder might help,” Harold said it all matter of fact and like it was just a math problem to be solved.
John started to move away only to be stopped by Harold placing a hand on his hip then quickly moving up to John’s waist.
“You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Reese. Maybe I should be more clear. Are you more comfortable like this or as we were before?”
John considered lying; after all he had made no promise to tell the truth but then Harold would actually let him move away and it was so much better to be close. “This is good.”
“Good. Then sleep, John. I’m perfectly happy to stay like this.”
John did as he was told. It was beside the point that he slept better that night than he had in all the weeks before. And who would know that when he woke he stayed perfectly still for an hour watching Finch sleep.
They still didn’t hug after that. It was almost like the night had never happened at all except for the brief over-before-they-started moments, when Finch let himself lean into John’s touch.
Then it was John’s turn to get taken and it was Finch’s turn to fret in the aftermath. He let John take care of the bomb vest while he fluttered around close by, again they had taken refuge in John’s loft and Finch made two pots of tea and dug around the kitchen until he found a frozen pizza at the bottom of the freezer under an unreasonable amount of icepacks and peas. Harold turned on the oven and unwrapped the pizza but turned to John as soon as he was done with it and arched a brow. “We live in New York and you’re eating Digornio?”
John had been more relieved to hear Harold nagging a few times (after the parking garage with Snow, after Root) but that didn’t stop him from gasping like he hadn’t been able to breathe for days.
“Sometimes I like to eat pizza without having to leave the house.”
“I suppose delivery isn’t much of an answer to that either?” Harold said, even though he must have known the answer.
“What can I say? I don’t exactly ask people into my home often.” John tried to smile and wasn’t surprised when it fell short.
Harold’s own smile dropped with it. “Of course. I’m sure you’ve missed your privacy,” Finch said in one rushed breath, not looking at John as he went to gather his coat.
“Harold, I wasn’t asking you to leave,” John said and now Harold was just one step away, his hand on his jacket and it was so easy to step back into his personal space like it was where he belonged. “Stay.”
“Okay.” Finch released his coat but didn’t move away or even manage to look at John. Somewhere in John’s broken heart and aching brain it seemed to be his only chance to say what he needed.
“Harold, if you ever put yourself in danger like that again I…”
“What, John?” Harold asked, amusement clear despite the innocent look in his eyes.
“I don’t know if I’ll recover,” John said honestly. He backed away before Harold found out how serious he was. He should have known he would never be that fast.
Harold reached out and grabbed John’s hand, grip firm and anger flashing in his eyes. “Do you think I would have recovered if you had died alone on that roof? I will not lose another person I love, John.”
Something cracked in John and he wanted to tell Harold not to say love. It made him too hopeful. “It’s my job to be in danger, Harold.” He tried to slip out of Harold’s grip. Instead of releasing him Harold grabbed his other hand too.
“It is your job to save the numbers. The danger you face is only that which I cannot help. If I thought I could get you to walk round in a Kevlar vest I would,” Finch said, looking at John like he had lost his mind for thinking anything else.
“I don’t believe that. It’d mess with the line of my suits,” John said. He never had dealt very well with people actually caring for him. He had a tendency to run to the other side of the globe.
“As much as I love the lines of your suit, and I do, I much prefer knowing you’re safe.” Finch frowned and squeezed his hands before letting go again.
John wasn’t ready to let go yet. Finch was giving him the world again and passing it off like it was nothing. Like it was nothing that Finch cared so much about John Reese that he all but wanted to wrap him in bubble wrap to keep him safe. So John didn’t let go. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Harold and just held. He started to count down from five so he could remember to force himself to let go. But before he could reach three Harold’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist, then tighter after another second.
He got to negative twenty-three before he forced himself to pull back and Finch stepped away.
“I always thought you’d be good at hugs,” Finch said in that matter-of-fact way of his that made it sound like it was something Finch had actually taken time to consider.
Something in that made John dizzy. “You can hug me anytime you like, Harold.”
Finch nodded and went around to the kitchen again, the notion of leaving disregarded. “I didn’t set a timer but it looks about done.”
Finch pulled it out of the oven and watched Reese eat, though he did frown and eat his own slice. Even after he had eaten what Reese had considered a reasonable amount Finch pushed over two more. When he was done Finch steered him into the bathroom with instructions to shower.
It reminded him of the night he brought Harold home and the idea that Harold might have cared half as much as Reese had been frazzled that night made him compliant.
The hot shower did him the harsh favor of allowing his mind to clear. Sure he needed to deal with the past week and then some but he was trained to compartmentalize and his biggest worry as he scrubbed at his hair was that Harold had probably left.
He went back into the living room and found Harold typing on his phone and sitting on the end of his couch. John’s relief could have been felt in the apartment next door. “How are you feeling, John?” Harold asked, standing up.
“Better,” John said. “Will you stay?”
“Of course. I can do some work on my phone while you get some rest,” Harold started.
“No,” was all John managed.
“Do you have a laptop?” Finch asked slightly appalled, probably because John hadn’t bought it in for inspection.
“No, just…” For one long second, words failed him. “Sleep next to me.”
“Like the last time? Making a habit are we?”
John nodded and gave his best shit-eating grin.
“In that case do you have a pair of pajamas I can borrow?”
John opened the drawer and pulled out a t-shirt and pants that he had bought after Finch had stayed last time. They were in Finch’s size and the pants had little birds on them. When Harold looked at them he smiled then seemed to flush. Both reactions were better than the arched brow Reese had expected. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the top drawer.”
While Harold was changing in the bathroom John hurried around the loft, plugging in a phone charger next to the right side of the bed, poured a glass of water, and put it next to it before arranging the pillows on the right in his best memory of how Finch had arranged himself. He climbed into bed just as Finch was opening the door.
He didn’t say anything as he crossed the room, just adjusted the pillows and tucked himself in. “I can’t very well cuddle you if you’re so far way, unless…” Harold didn’t get to finish his sentence before John was pressed up against him, closer than last time. Harold’s response was to just melt into John. “Sleep well, Mr. Reese.”
“Goodnight, Harold.”
For a brief second John allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to be able to feel this at peace every night. It must be a certain kind of wonderful.
Two days later, John the emotional masochist Reese ruined his own morning. He walked into the Library with a box full of pastries, a tea, and a coffee. He set down the tea next to Harold’s mouse, just in reach for when the man paused long enough to register John’s arrival.
“New number?”
“Yes, Alyssa Lovett. Forty-seven, married once, divorced six years ago, no children. She’s a compliance manager for a local mortgage brokerage.” A picture printed out behind him and Reese went to get it and tape it to the board. “She has also regularly been employing escorts, rather one escort, twice a month.”
John hummed to himself. An ex-husband, an escort, an escort company, and any number of people who liked their money more than laws; she certainly was popular.
“Do you still go to the Beekman?” One day John was going to learn not to ask questions he didn’t want the answer to.
Finch stopped and turned to face John to watch for a long time. “Occasionally yes. I thought we had already dealt with this?”
John gave a half shrug. “I’m going to Lovett’s office.”
It wasn’t a long case, or even a particularly messy one which was all for the better because John couldn’t focus on a thing. Not the plot to kill her for reporting a coworker. Not the concerned ex. Not even the number’s own habit of running away from him. He took care of it all with his brain all but silent, just turning over why he cared so much that Finch had a good time outside of him.
A part of him knew why he cared that someone was touching Harold but he also knew that that wasn’t good enough. Being head over heels for his boss didn’t give him the right to get possessive in the way that he felt in his bones. It wasn’t Harold’s responsibility to never have sex because John couldn’t get his mind wrapped around his own bullshit. It was like he was back at square one after he had seen Harold at the Beekman.
Once he had the president of Lovett’s company handcuffed to a parking meter John made himself go back to the Library. It had been two days since he had seen Harold after making efforts to avoid the Library while working the case. Any longer and Harold would realize that something was up.
Apparently he had already worked that out because after John finished greeting an excited Bear Harold was watching him with an expectant look on his face. “So you did decide to come back.” The tone in his voice could have frozen the Hudson.
John decided to try for flippant. “Why wouldn’t I come back, Harold?”
“You’ve been avoiding us for two days, though it’s obviously me you’re attempting to evade given your rather enthusiastic reunion with Bear.” Harold paused and stood up from his desk to stand in front of John. “Is this going to be a problem?”
John should have known better than to think he could hide anything from Harold. “No. I’ll get it under control.” He looked over Harold’s shoulder and fixed his stare at a spot on the wall.
Harold sighed heavily. “John…Mr. Reese, if it bothers you this much we can work out a…”
John cut him off.
“Harold. It’s fine. I think I can manage to keep my hands to myself.”
The look on Harold’s face was mildly irritated and extremely confused. “What do your hands have to do with escorts?”
John almost smiled. Harold didn’t know, though from the way he was staring at John he was figuring it out fast. “Nothing, forget I said anything.”
“John, have you been asking about my employment of escorts because you’re…jealous?”
John had imagined this moment a lot since he had woken up in Harold’s arms the first time. The moment when Harold said what John was dreaming of and hiding. It had never been a particularly happy situation, always downright miserable. Somehow John had underestimated the sinking feeling in his gut and the knot in his throat.
“You are aware that if you choose to, I would never go anywhere near their notes on you (And they would be secure, I designed their firewalls) but I don’t see why you would want to pay. You wouldn’t need to work hard to find sexual gratification from someone you didn’t pay to be there.” Finch sounded genuinely baffled.
“Maybe not from the person I want?”
“Did you meet Robert at some point? I’m not his only client, you could…” Harold trailed off, suddenly red in the face and frowning just a little.
“I don’t know or care who Robert is,” John said.
Harold was silent a long time and just watched John, seemingly at a loss. Then slowly as if he knew how easily John would spook away from all this he said “John, if it’s me you’re interested in, I’m going to need you to be very explicit about it.”
John had never considered himself a coward, though he had never thought he was a hero either but in that moment he considered embracing the small cowardly side of himself and running from the question and the Library. Instead he forced himself to be as brave as Harold and take a step forward. If Harold wanted to ask the question he had to be prepared for John to answer. “I want you Harold. I know I’m not what you want and that’s okay. I’ll stop asking about what you do. I’m not asking for what you can’t give me just let me keep working the numbers. Please.” His voice cracked at the last word as he braced for Harold to tell him that he was compromised and that he would be receiving a very nice generous severance package.
“What if I do want you?”
“Don’t try to be kind,” John all but spit the last word.
Harold took one more step forward and wrapped his arms around John’s waist and rested his head against his chest. John couldn’t breathe around the hope that was in his throat and the fear of it being the last time in Harold’s arms. “Please don’t think I’m being kind, John. I am being extraordinarily selfish. I want you and everything you’ll give me. I already take up so much of your life and now I’m asking for more. Don’t think I’m kind.”
John pulled back just enough to kiss the corner of Harold’s mouth; just enough that he could claim to have been aiming for his cheek. Harold responded by wrapping one hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a full kiss.
John didn’t know how long they stood in the middle of the Library kissing over and over, running their hands over arms and backs. It was long enough for Bear to come over and start pawing at John’s leg because he wasn’t getting enough of the attention. Harold pulled back and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Yes, yes, I love you too.”