John is sitting at Harold's bedside, holding his hand. It won't be long now, time is short. Harold is slipping away from him. They have been together for more than 20 years. They retired from saving the numbers after John's narrow escape when they defeated Samaritan. Harold had decided that it was getting too hard for him to send John out on missions knowing that he might never return. And so, as soon as they could they left New York and the numbers in the capable hands of Shaw and Fusco.
He smiled, remembering the talk that he and Harold had had all those years ago, before Samaritan had come on the scene, when it was just the two of them. Actually he thought, Harold did all the talking to start with and he'd done the listening. It had been an illuminating talk, Harold had revealed so much about himself, his likes, wants and desires. He'd talked about his friends, his past relationships and his sexuality. But most of all he'd talked about his feelings for John.
John had been grateful to Harold in the beginning, he'd saved him from drinking himself into an early grave, had given him a purpose and a reason to get out of bed in the morning. He had soon developed feelings for Harold which he'd tried (unsuccessfully he found out that day) to keep in check. Harold wasn't a genius for nothing and he'd figured out that John wanted him, wanted his body.
Harold had talked at some length and even though John had wanted to speak up, to agree or disagree with what he was saying he'd kept silent. Harold had got to the point of it all eventually. And even though Harold had tried to say they were incompatible, he'd run out of reasons for there not to be a relationship between them that went beyond the employer / employee one.
Then it had been his turn to speak.
"Are you finished?" he'd asked.
Harold had looked at him, a faint flush on his cheeks. When Harold had hesitated at his invitation to come and sit with him, to touch him or not as he wanted, John had stood and moved across the room and holding out his hand, he waited patiently for him to make his decision; he hadn't wanted to push the man into doing anything he wasn't ready for.
Gazing at Harold now, he gave the sleeping man's hand a squeeze, "Do you remember Harold?" his voice was low and raspy almost a whisper, "Do you remember that first time, you stood and came to me and I took you in my arms that day?" tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he remembered other firsts. The first time Harold had taken him to his home, his real home, the first time they'd kissed with passion and the first time they'd eventually made love.
Harold had told him over and over in the intervening years that he was forever grateful that John had allowed him the time and space to do things, yes even some of the kinky things, at his own pace. Their love had grown and flourished over the years.
Even now when he thought of all of those moments, it brought a lump to his throat, and a tingle to his groin. He was so glad that they had taken a chance on a relationship; they both had had things to offer each other.
Now though the end was near, Harold's life is ebbing away. John loves this man so much he could hardly imagine his life without him, he'd been saved by him all those years ago and now he would be on his own again.
Harold's breathing was slowing down. He was at least deeply asleep; John hoped he was pain free as well. Harold hadn't had any time free of it since the day in 2010 when he'd been injured. Harold had told him about it one day years later, he sighed there was still so much he didn't know about Harold but it was too late now.
Harold's hand was warm in his, he holds on hoping to infuse some energy into the man lying in front of him. John stood up to ease the ache in his back and knees. These days he had his own share of pain, left over from too many beatings, too many broken and re broken bones.
He looked at Harold's peaceful face, his brow was smooth, and the worry lines of the past were gone now. He loved the way Harold's eyes would change colour with desire, now he would never see that again. Gently he stroked Harold's cheek, the skin was soft, cool, and he smoothed Harold's hair into place and then sat down to continue his lonely vigil.
He knows the end is very close, the breathes Harold takes are shallow and then as he watches, Harold's chest rises for the last time, he feels a small squeeze on his hand and then there is nothing, Harold is gone.
John lays his head on Harold's body, the tears flow freely, as he sobs a final goodbye to his lover.