Disclaimer :: Person of Interest does not belong to me, which is a good thing, because if it did, I would probably screw it up horribly. :DD
Pairing :: N/A for now; possible Rinch preslash in future, but that's not a certainty.
A/N :: So, basically, I was sitting in the Irrelevants Chatroom the other day and thought to myself, you know what the POI fandom needs? Some HS AUs. And now, here I am. With a HS AU. I apologize deeply for this. Really. Er. But I hope you like it anyways.
Was it really too much to ask to be left alone for his first few days at this school? Getting dragged into a fight by a handful of self-important idiots this early on did not bode well for the future. In fact, it didn't really bode well for the present, wherein he was being watched and mildly interrogated by the School Resource Officer and waiting for the powers that be to decide whether to suspend him or outright expel him or whatever else they could possibly do to wash their hands of him.
In retrospect, John supposed he could have just ignored the guys who had confronted him, in which case the fight wouldn't have had the chance to happen and he wouldn't be in his current position. But, someone had to knock these assholes down a peg or six, before some kid – one who couldn't defend himself quite as thoroughly as John could – happened to be targeted instead. He didn't regret having done it. He just didn't want to deal with 'Officer Carter' and her sympathetic chiding. He'd much prefer if they would just go ahead and punish him already.
There was a knock at the door. The officer moved to open it, but she needn't have bothered. The knocker poked his head around the door before she got there.
"They sent me to fetch the new kid," the guy said, in a tone full of vacant purpose, like someone who knew exactly what he needed to do, while having no idea why it had to be done. John briefly wondered why the school's administration would have a student running errands for them in the middle of the school day. He had not been here long enough to know how things worked around here, but that didn't seem quite right.
"Need me to come with?" Carter asked, interrupting his train of thought.
"No, it's fine. They said you should go talk to the other guys. They're in the nurse's office." The errand-boy turned his attention away from the officer and toward John. "Are you coming or what?"
John stood up slowly and crossed the room, passing by Officer Carter on his way to the door.
"Stay out of trouble, alright?" she murmured. He didn't respond.
He felt her eyes on his back until he and his temporary keeper turned a corner down the hall.
A moment after they were out of sight, walking alone through empty hallways, the other boy began speaking aloud, briskly. "You're not in any trouble with the school. That's all been taken care of. My employer just wants to have a word with you."
John didn't know where to begin dissecting that statement. A teenager referring to someone as their 'employer' was pretty weird, but things getting mysteriously 'taken care of' was downright suspicious. He kept silent, waiting for an explanation that did not seem likely to come.
They reached a part of the school which John had not yet seen. It looked disused enough that he thought it probable most other students hadn't seen it either, even after spending four years of their lives sequestered within the concrete walls of George Orwell High School. The rooms they passed were empty, the chairs stacked and the tables cleared away.
His guide stopped abruptly when they reached another room in the same vein. Nothing really distinguished it from any other one in that hallway, as far as John knew. It was the third door on the left, but not the last one, and none of these rooms had been numbered, for some reason. The other teen motioned him toward the door expectantly, then got impatient after a few seconds and opened it himself, ushering John inside.
There was someone else waiting there, standing in the back corner of the room and staring out of the somewhat grimy window. All John could tell from behind was that he had his thin, brown hair spiked up and he was wearing an expensive suit, tailored to fit his small, fragile-looking frame. After a moment, he turned his body in John's direction and peered at him speculatively through rounded glasses. He had that sort of mousy face that always made people look older than they actually were. The suit didn't really help with that effect. John guessed he was probably some junior or senior with enough money to pull off trying to look like a CEO, though, in reality, he only barely managed to look like some pre-law student.
Clearing his throat, John broke the pervading silence. "You wanted a word with me?" He tried to keep his tone light, his suspicions bottled in.
"Ah, Mr. Reese," the stranger carefully addressed him. His voice had an odd, wavery lilt to it, which forced John to pay close attention lest he miss something. "I've heard so much about you."
John bristled, just a bit. Being referred to as 'Mr. Reese' rather than 'John' seemed oddly condescending, coming from the smaller boy. "You don't know anything about me," he replied, evenly.
"I know exactly everything about you, Mr. Reese." As he spoke to John, he kept turning away to look back through the window. John couldn't see anything out there worth that much attention – just grass and shrubs and litter. "I know about every school you've ever attended. I know about your expulsions from those schools. I know that your parents try to ignore that you exist."
John took several steps forward, advancing on the smaller teen. He wasn't entirely sure if it was to shut him up or to hear him better, and maybe it was a little of both, but he stopped in his tracks when the boy made a quick, abortive hand gesture in his general direction. Glancing over his shoulder, John saw that the guy who'd led him here had approached as well, probably to prevent any imminent threat to his 'employer.' John had no doubt that, had John been absolutely set on harming the bespectacled young man, his bodyguard would not have been ultimately successful in that endeavor. Still, he was glad that the attack dog had been called off, ensuring he was not put in that situation.
The boy in the suit continued speaking to John – about John, really – in that ethereal, yet matter-of-fact manner. "I know you've spent the last few months living on your own. I know that lately you've been getting into fistfights with nigh on everyone, though rarely on school property. I know you've gotten less and less careful about that particular clause. So, you see, knowledge is not my problem. Doing something with that knowledge…" His voice tapered off as he fixed his gaze on John. "That's where you'd come in."
John stared back, eyes narrowed. He didn't know what to think of this strange young man with his bespoke suit and his information and his oblique proposal.
"You can call me Mr. Finch."
He was surprised to note that the reedy boy walked with a marked limp and a stiff back. As John mused about possible injuries, he was led back into the well-traveled parts of the building, bodyguard trailing along behind them. They arrived in an area John recognized as where his math class was located, just as the bell announcing the beginning of fourth block rang. As students filtered into the halls, the so-called Mr. Finch – and calling someone who couldn't be more than a year or two older than him 'Mr.' was really grating on his nerves – spun John a story about the crime rates in today's high schools, speaking of violence and drug trafficking and of stopping these crimes before they happened. Before they had the chance to hurt innocent students.
Mr. Finch pointed out a lively girl with dirty blonde hair, an armful of books, and a charming smile as she passed them by on her way to her next class. 'Diane Hanson,' he called her, as he laid out his scheme to get John to investigate her and find out what crime she was supposedly about to become victim to or else commit herself.
Then came the ultimate question.
"So, what do you think?"
John Reese pinned Finch with his most impassive stare. The boy stared back up at him with what looked somewhat like hope, though a bit more like anxiety. It almost made John feel marginally guilty about what he was about to say next. Almost and marginally being the operative words there.
"I think you're a bored, rich kid. I think that girl probably rejected your offer to go to prom or happened to sit in front of you in English one semester, and, either way, I think I'm done." John watched his face fall minutely, though he hid it well; the guy was probably expecting to be shot down the whole time, or at least he wasn't wholly counting on a positive response. But, really, why would anyone think John was willing to stalk some girl for the kicks of some mysterious stranger on the basis of some unknown source of information?
John turned on his heel, ready to leave this whole confusing situation behind him and get on with facing the inevitable consequences of single-handedly beating the crap out of four guys on school property. Or maybe he'd just skip out until things settled. He hadn't the time to pick which option he would prefer, though, before Mr. Finch's hired help moved to stop him, attempting to block his path.
That was the guy's first mistake. The second was to try grabbing his arm. John didn't give him a chance to make a third.
The sound of a skull hitting the metal door of a locker rattled through the hallway. The handful of students who were still loitering around looked up too late to see any of the action and had to settle for the aftermath. One guy was nursing the back of his head, one was striding away purposefully, and the third… Well, the third was just standing there, watching.
John didn't plan on ever seeing this Mr. Finch ever again. He'd go to some other school soon enough and this whole thing would become a long-forgotten memory. But, as everyone knows, the best-laid plans – particularly those that aren't laid out very well at all – often go awry.
He didn't expect to be jarred awake the next morning to the sound of a phone ringing, bound to a bed in an unfamiliar room. He didn't expect the sound of screaming on the other side of the door or the flood of anger and disbelief as he realized it was all a recording. He didn't expect to believe Finch when he claimed that he would never lie to John, even as he was being pinned with unnecessary force against the wall.
He didn't expect to want to help – or to ever agree to help – with this apparently all-knowing Mr. Finch's insane cause.
He didn't expect any of it, but all of it happened nonetheless.
One minute, he was John Reese, rebellious and essentially-emancipated teenager with a penchant for violence. The next, he was Mr. Reese, stalker and protector extraordinaire on one Mr. Finch's payroll. It wasn't really the sort of thing that happened to the average high-schooler, and John held onto the suspicion that this was some elaborate prank, just in case. But, now, he had a purpose to keep him centered and a 'concerned third party' to keep him in check, and he couldn't help but be thankful for that.
A/N :: To be continued post haste. I've got lots of ideas and devious plans on where to go from here. I am a rather slow writer, however, so don't hold your breath. I will not be held accountable for any injuries sustained through oxygen deprivation. In the meantime... drop me a review and tell me what you think? :D