A/N: I've had this on my phone since the end of season three or so. It's brief. Rinch is more than implied.
Harold wakes in the night, his fingers fisting the cool sheets beside him. He lets his mind go from startled to settled before moving.
Right after his accident he would jolt awake, his limbs throbbing at the sudden action. In time he learned to wait, to settle and anchor himself before assessing his surroundings.
He breathes deeply and moves. He is not used to this. He's used to the warm body that used to comfort him. He sits by the bed longing for more than just his usual morning tea. He gave up tea in his new life, afraid to resume a pattern so easily related to Harold Finch. Still, he aches for a cup, the heat sinking through the ceramic and into his fingertips.
He aches for his old new life. Harold grimaced at that. He'd been through half a dozen personas, had changed lives at the drop of a dime in the past, but it's the last one-the one with Mr. Reese, Ms. Shaw and the detectives which he misses. He thinks he might even miss Ms. Groves and he knows he has it bad then.
He stretches slowly, reaches for the cane by his bedside and moves around in the apartment. The place is so unassuming and unlike him that he still blinks, six months later, at his surroundings. Even through his other persona changes he'd kept a certain austere image, but a low key life has been necessary this time.
He puts the coffee maker on and sighs. Coffee has been his go to as of late, but he hates it. Even the extra he pays for an excellent blend doesn't compare to his tea, the dried leaves stored in neat, stacked containers waiting to be steeped into hot water.
He wonders what Ms. Shaw is doing, if she's managed to stay out of sight. He knows she has the skills, had come to their group in stealth mode, but just like Mr. Reese, she'd gotten used to being out on the open, hiding in plain sight.
He's most surprised at Mr. Reese. He checks the paper every evening expecting to see the familiar man in the suit. John didn't have to look for trouble, it latched onto him with extended claws and a firm grip.
Most of his thoughts drift to John Reese these days. They'd been on the cusp of something when the group dispersed. He thinks back to the trials they'd faced since Mr. Reese came on board. It had been a rocky road. Still, they'd formed a bond that withstood a lot of triumph and tragedy. Harold doesn't romanticize life, he's been practical ever since childhood so he knows the feelings he has are more than the stirrings of a love sick fool.
It wasn't until his encounter and following friendship with John that he realized that he was open to something more in life than mourning Nathan's death and the blunt trauma of his relationship with Grace.
He steps into the shower, clutches the metal handle bolted into the side and lets the spray blast him.
When he steps out, the ache of being out of sorts intensifies. He shrugs into his suit, adjusts his tie and grabs his briefcase.
There's a moment when he looks backward into his apartment and he knows. He knows this is the day Mr. Reese will contact him, that his exile is over. A shudder races through him and Bear muzzles his hand.
What will happen? Harold doesn't know and the dual jolt of fear and thrill make him pause.