When Finch gets back to the library he's surprised to see Reese there, dead asleep in a chair beside the desk. While it isn't odd for Reese to stick around after a number, he was usually a bit more alert. Judging by his awkward slouch and rumpled clothes he didn't even have time to clean up first. His face has bruising down the left side, and there are specks of blood on his sleeves that he decides not to examine too closely. He must have come straight here after wrapping things up with Ms. Kellerman. Reese looks whole for the most part, if exhausted. Finch takes a moment to admire the tilted slump of Reese's neck, an angle impossible for him now, he thinks wistfully, before he gets to work.
As soon as he presses the first key, Reese wakes up.
"I thought I told you to get some rest," says Finch.
Reese groans low as Finch hears him shifting behind him. "Couldn't sleep," he says.
"You know, an adrenaline rush can often lead to an adrenaline crash," says Finch.
Reese makes a 'hnn' noise and moves his chair forward. Finch automatically makes room for him and continues typing away.
"What are you doing?" John asks.
Finch tells him about the new number and background checks and the really appalling state of security on most corporate networks. John doesn't seem to want to talk, but he smiles and nods in the right places so Finch keeps going anyway. He can only see Reese out of the corner of his eye, but Finch can tell something isn't right. He's leaning forward with his chin in his hands and his long legs carelessly spread out in front of him. He looks like he's listening, but he's far too quiet. Finch can tell he's watching him, but his blue-green eyes are focused on nothing. He can't tell what John's thinking right now. That's nothing new, but he has a feeling it's important this time and he can't figure out why.
He stops talking when he runs out of steam and waits for John to do something, but John just sits there like he's waiting for something to happen. He keeps typing, but it's mostly to keep himself busy while Reese figures out whatever it is he's figuring out. After a while, the familiar pain of his right leg starts to throb. Finch winces as he gets up and leans against the table to stretch. John still watches him.
"Harold," John says.
"Mr. Reese," he retorts.
After all this time he still favors his right side. It's next to impossible for anyone to overwrite decades of instinct. Even through the years of pain and physical therapy he still forgets to give himself a break. But he's paying for it now.
"I forgot this year," says John.
Finch stops. "...What?"
"Jessica. Last week was her," John waves his hand in the air in front of him instead of finishing.
Oh. It takes him a second but he remembers. She died four years ago last week, but Reese didn't know that at the time.
"Oh," Finch says stupidly. Nothing ever changes for him when the day Ingram died rolls around. Most of the time he's too engrossed in the work, and it passes by unnoticed. But then again, he's never needed an excuse to torture himself over it. He'd probably get a new bookmark if he did, he thinks. It always hits him when he least expects it. But Jessica's death is different for John. She's been dead for half a decade, but for him it's only been a year. What do you call a death anniversary?
John gets up. He's walking and restless now, but his face is carefully blank. He wanders over and leans next to Finch, close enough to feel their shoulders touch and past Finch's personal space bubble yet still closed off somehow. Sometimes he notices a faint sharp burnt smell that hangs off of John. He thinks it must be the smell of gunfire. It mixes with the heavier scent of dried sweat and Reese and its unmistakable when they're this close. Finch wonders what he should say next, but his brain isn't cooperating right now. He feels out of his depth, and his fingers twitch where his hands rest against the desk.
"We were- we were busy with the Hasford family last week," Finch says all at once.
"Yeah. We were," John says it so quietly that he almost doesn't hear it. John seems to relax a little and gives a small smile. With that Finch doesn't feel quite so useless, even if he knows it wasn't the right thing to say. He can't say he's sorry, not yet. Not when John doesn't know everything.
Then Reese is gently cupping his face and he's not thinking at all anymore. He can tell John is giving him enough time to break contact and pull back, but Finch grabs him by his collar and pulls him forward. Reese makes a surprised noise against his mouth (and really, private doesn't mean repressed) and stumbles forward, pressing them against the desk. Finch sucks on his lower lip and John moves a hand to Finch's hip as he pulls them closer together. John's hand slides underneath Finch's vest, and he makes a frustrated sound as he un-tucks the back of the shirt to get closer.
His pain is down from a three to a two, and he thinks vaguely about endorphins as John- fuck, kisses him back. There's no finesse in the easy friction of John's tongue and the warmth of his hands, but he's careful enough not to jar his neck. Finch can tell John isn't used to this. Finch has his hands on Reese's shoulder and jaw and he can feel the urgency and desperation in the way John moves. Finch smoothes his hands on John's exposed skin to soothe him and slow him down but it only works in fractions. John presses a hand up and down Finch's warm back, feeling the way his skin moves as they push against each other. Finch can feel more than hear him making small needy noises as John slips his hand beneath Finch's waistband and grabs his ass. John's hard against him and Finch can't say he was ever quite expecting this.
When John pulls back he's wide-eyed and dazed but he doesn't let go. The last thing Finch wants is to startle him, so he gives him a moment to calm down and steady himself. For a few moments they both just breathe. He looks John over and thinks sweaty and flushed looks good on him when no one is trying to kill them. He gives John a slight smile and wonders if he looks the same. John closes his eyes and asks, "Did you know she was a number?"
He freezes, but John doesn't retreat.
Finch watches as John (or Agent Reese?) licks his lips and swallows before asking again. "Did you know she was a number?" Reese asks again. His voice shakes a little this time.
Reese really isn't being fair here, not when he's looking at him like that and still has his hand down his- "If you're asking then you already know," he says slowly.
"Say it. Please. I need-"
"I knew."
John takes a shuddering breath and leans his forehead against Finch's shoulder. It puts too much of a strain on his neck and they end up sliding down to the floor. He's only loosely cradling Finch's waist now but he's not letting go. Finch has no idea why John hasn't left yet. He wants to ask why he's still here, why he isn't angrier, how he found out about Jessica so soon and so much more, but it's not what John needs right now. He doesn't know what John needs, and it scares him to think about. He tries to think of what to say, anything to say to make John feel human again, but nothing comes to mind. Grief has never been his forte, and he's left grasping for anything at all.
"She was the first person, the first number I met," he says. He's speaking in starts and stops now and it irritates him. He's never liked it when his voice won't cooperate. To calm himself he takes a deep breath, in and out.
"I didn't tell her about the machine. Or anything; we only talked for a moment," he says.
"What did you talk about?" John asks.
His mouth goes dry all of a sudden. "I ran into her in a coffee shop," he pauses. "The machine was- I had to see if they really existed," he says forcefully.
I watched her die, he doesn't say. He runs his fingertips up and down John's back before moving into his hairline. "It didn't seem real, at the time."He can still see the blood coming out all at once, before she was still. It's so clear in his mind sometimes. He had never seen anyone die before that. He pushes the memory of her away, but there are so many insignificant details he can't forget.
Reese shifts his weight and pulls himself closer. Finch never thought he'd ever end his day cuddling on the floor with Agent John Reese. John's breathing slows and his eyes are only half open now. He knows better than to assume Reese is off his guard, but he lets himself relax anyway as he continues to scratch his scalp. John reminds him of a cat right now. Finch smiles wryly. The metaphor is strangely apt.
"She mentioned you," he says. Reese laughs a little at that. He remembers she kept twisting her wedding ring.
"What are you doing here, John?" he finally asks.
Reese sighs and slowly untangles himself. For the first time, Finch notices how cold the floor is. He misses John instantly.
"I thought I'd care more. I thought if I heard you say it, I wouldn't still want to be here. That I wouldn't still..." he trails off. He's never heard Reese sound so exhausted and unsure. Jessica isn't the only thing he's upset about.
"Harold, do you remember when we met, what you told me in the hotel? You said I couldn't save her."
"John, back then I wouldn't have let you-" he starts.
"You can keep your secrets, but you can't lie to me anymore, Harold," he looks right at him as he says it and Finch's stomach drops.
"John," Finch states calmly but John isn't listening. He's getting up now, or most likely running away again. Finch grabs his wrist and doesn't let him leave. Reese could easily break his hold, but he doesn't. He actually looks torn, but Finch is through going easy on him.
"John, what are you really running away from?" he says.
"I need some time," John says. He glances over at the doorway indecisively.
"So you're leaving," says Finch. It's not a question.
"No, I'm-" John cuts himself off. He changes the hold Finch has on his wrist into something more intimate.
"I'll be here," John says. Finch is surprised. He decides to let John pull him to his feet. He's scrutinizing John's eyes and the lines of worry in his face but John is staring down at their hands. He's turning Finch's over absent-mindedly and carefully rubbing his thumb along his wrist and palm.
"I'll always be here, Finch," John says. He finally looks up. "But I need some time. I don't want to mess this up," he says.
"You don't," Finch says. But John seems to be doing whatever he can to get as far away from him as possible. "Are you talking about me or the machine?" He almost wants to laugh.
"Please," John pleads. As John squeezes his hand and looks at him he realizes he never had a chance of saying no.
"Alright," Finch says quietly. His voice cracks and he knows he's completely fucked. How did this happen without him noticing? When exactly did he fall in love with John?