Still Here
"Mr. Reese, what was that? John? John!"
Reese wondered why Finch was yelling at him as the overhead light blinded him for a moment when he opened his eyes. He winced, felt pain in his arm, and gritted his teeth. Oh, right – bullets hurt and made Finch nervous.
"John?" He should probably say something. The little recluse sounded rather distressed.
"I'm still here Finch, calm down." The words were rougher than normal but he could hear the relief flood his employer's voice as he sighed and asked again what happened. "Ms. Fields doesn't seem to need our help after all."
"Are you sure? Did you take care of the boyfriend?"
Reese sighed and carefully massaged his temple as he scanned the empty room. His head was killing him and his ears were ringing. "No, but if she keeps hitting people upside the head with her gun she should be able to handle him just fine. She's a bad shot though," he murmured as he inspected the hole in his sleeve where the bullet had grazed him.
"Are you alright?" Finch was back to worrying again. It really bothered him when he didn't have eyes on a situation.
"I'm fine, just a few scratches. Have Carter be ready for Ms. Fields. She's paranoid and aware she's being stalked. Her first stop will be the station." Reese picked his gun up off the floor (the woman had been so quick to flee she hadn't kicked it away or taken it with her), tucked it into his waist band, and made his way into the little living room. He was already in the house so he might as well take a look around.
Finch was lecturing him on how he shouldn't scare their numbers as he looked for hidden cameras. Apparently it's easier to do their jobs when they have the number's trust. Go figure. "Look Finch, she attacked me as soon as she saw me. I didn't have time to show her the badge," Reese said and bit back a sigh. He found the young woman's computer and sat down with it to do what his boss did best.
"Who the hell are you?" The voice was strange and held a hint of hysteria behind an angry tone. John turned his head to see one angry boyfriend pointing a gun at him.
"Who was that, Mr. Reese?"
"I asked you a question! What are you doing in here?" The man jabbed the gun at him, his arm shaking slightly.
"Mr. Reese?"
God, if they would just give him a chance to talk.
"Easy, why not set the gun down?" Reese soothed. He stood slowly and turned to face his attacker. He reached for his gun as the man continued to yell. Finch had fallen silent, surly holding his breath as he waited for whatever was to happen.
Mr. Overprotective, way-too-jumpy boyfriend shuffled forward, tilted the gun to the side and raised his chin as he gathered his nerve. "I don't know what you think you're doing in here, but—"
Rin—Bang—g. Bang. Ring. Ring.
"Mr. Reese?" Honestly, Finch should sound less sheepish when checking to see if he was alive. "John, are you there?"
Well, while the borderline hysteria was cute, it was a tad much.
"I'm here Harold, I'm here," Reese reassured the other man with a gentle tone because he knew his next statement was going to piss him off. "I still need work on missing the knee caps. . . "
(a decent number of) Notes:
1. So, the phone scared the poor guy. Eh.
2. I don't know why I keep aiming for John's arms. . . or let him get hit over the head. It works, he's a trooper.
3. John kinda turned out grumpy in this, and when I tried to write him otherwise he became very disagreeable. Apparently he gets grumpy now and then. He insisted I leave him to his moods.
4. PJTL156 is the wonderful person who deals with being my beta. She told me I might consider putting a few more parts to this. Thoughts? I'm still working on Domestic. Dx
5. That being said, I do not have plot bunnies. I've tried housing them, offering them much love and nurture, but they always commit suicide when I look away. Instead, I have wild plot bunnies living in the woods near my house and at times they pass by long enough to savagely bite my ankle before scampering away. If anyone knows how to capture these sturdier bunnies, I'm all ears! Or if you just have some sort of idea that you wouldn't mind throwing my way—I'm rather agreeable. :D
