Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them with no intention of gaining any profit.
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Acknowledgements: Thank you, BullDemon for the beta. I don't think I'd still be writing if it weren't for your encouragements!
All mistakes left are all my own.
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Author's notes: This is just something short and silly that popped into my head while pursuing my latest hobby. Enjoy!
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Maybe you should find yourself a hobby, he said. Something to keep you busy. Finch remembered saying this with a smirk and being more than a little amused at John's annoyed expression. But back then Harold had only half-joked. John's desire to work the Numbers even though they had to be careful not to draw Samaritan's attention on them worried Harold. They'd just barely escaped Samaritan's goons only a few weeks prior, and although Root assured them their new identities were safe from detection, Harold thought it imperative to be even more careful than before. He certainly had reason to fear that Mr. Reese's eagerness to work the Numbers - as admirable as it was - was only going to ruin them all. So, maybe he hadn't been joking at all when he told his antsy ex-employee to go find a hobby.
If anything Harold expected John to take up a very active, highly energtic hobby. Maybe something where he would get a chance to beat the crap out of someone as knee-capping was out of the question at the moment. However he really didn't expect this... whatever this exactly was..
"For me?" he asked, silently hoping that he had interpreted the situation wrongly as he stared at the brightly colored, quite unidentifiable woolen object in Mr. Reese's outstretched hand. Eventually Harold reached across the stone chess table to accept his gift, noting that the ex-op seemed to be rather pleased with himself. He immediately recognized the feeling of real sheep's wool - not the cheap cotton stuff. As he lifted the object off John's hand, it unfolded, revealing all the bright colors of the rainbow. "A scarf?" he asked, mentally wincing at the prospect of his sensitive neck being irritated by the scratchy wool.
"I crocheted it myself." John beamed. The man was clearly proud of himself, however Harold couldn't be sure if it was because of his handicraft, or for having figured out a way to make the hacker regret his offhand suggestion.
Finch knew that he was staring somewhat bewilderedly at the ex-op, but he couldn't help it. Although he tried, he couldn't quite picture his friend - who usually preferred wearing a gun over a tie - battling a superior number of balls of wool with a tiny crocheting hook in his hands. The idea sounded absolutely absurd, even to his own ears. Nevertheless he eventually managed to regard the yard-long woolen thing with fake appreciation. It was clearly the work of a novice - the uneven stitches making it curl up in itself, and Harold was pretty sure he had never owned anything so brightly colored before. "It's ... very nice," he lied. This thing is going to clash with everything I own..
John smirked at him, "I figured, why not find a hobby that actually creates something useful. It is rather cold outside at the moment."
Harold looked up and stared at Mr. Reese's innocent looking face for a beat. If he wasn't sure before he was now. This was indeed very deliberate. Everything. From the scratchy wool, to the bright colors, to the knowledge that Finch would be polite enough to actually wear the gift. Faking a smile he thanked John, although he was already planning on "losing" the scarf the next time they were on the run. And judging from past experiences he probably wouldn't have to wait long. He got up and started wrapping the thing around his neck.
John's smirk grew into a grin. "I think I might crochet Bear a scarf too," he said, getting up as well and handing the dog's leash to his friend. He paused for a moment and creased his eyebrows, looking as though he was having a surprise revelation. "It was rather relaxing."
Bear looked first to John at hearing his name and then at Finch, who swore the dog looked most definitely aghast at the prospect of having to wear something similar to Finch's scarf.
"I think I still have enough wool left to make one for Fusco as well," John said, leading the way towards the park, sounding pleased and almost eagerly excited at the idea. "Or maybe a cap."
Finch stopped in his tracks, staring at the ex-op's back. He was well aware that once John Reese had set his mind on something, even bullets had a hard time stopping him. An unbidden picture of Bear and him wearing matching hand-crocheted scratchy and very colorful scarves and bobble caps flashed in front of his mind's eye.
Good Lord, he thought - disturbed by the image, what have I created?
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The End
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