It was close to five p.m., that gloomy January day almost over. The metro station was crowded with people speaking and frowning, counting minutes to be finally home. There was one man who appeared considerably quiet compared to others. He was sitting on the bench waiting, his eyes shifting over the anonymous people. There was little interest in his look, rather a bit of annoyance. The train arrived and the man got on it, walking through the car, trying to avoid being smashed by the pushing crowd. He eventually found a free seat though and sat down, doing his best to maintain some space from other passengers. He looked around when he caught a sight of another man, who was sitting in the corner in front of him, head hidden in the collar of his coat. His hair was messy and his coat dirty but obviously expensive. Someone of the upper class maybe, but what he was doing here was a mystery. And then he realized the man was crying. His shoulders were shaking and he could hear his muffled sobs. He lifted his head revealing his face, an image of utter misery and sorrow. The man closed his eyes filled with tears and hid his face in his hands as the train was speeding on the dark tunnel.
John ran up the stairs, shaking snow off his hair. When he unlocked the cage door, he immediately got ambushed by Bear, who was licking his face in delight.
"Whoa, take it easy, boy…" John said while Bear sniffed the paper bag in his hand.
"That's not for you, I'm afraid… Hey, don't give me that look… OK, but just one piece."
He gave him the strawberry donut – which was his favorite – and headed to the computer station. Ever since Bear had been a part of the team, John was calmer. He never liked the thought of Finch being on his own, as he was aware of his boss' rather poor defense skills. As John walked in, Finch looked up from the desk.
"I thought I made myself clear, Mr. Reese," he said. "There is no need for your help yet, the machine hasn't given any number so far. So I believe there certainly is something more useful for you to do than sitting on the couch here waiting."
John smirked. He didn't expect such a cold shower.
"Nice to see you too, Finch, and yes, I'm doing fine. I brought breakfast."
"I'm not hungry, thank you. Now if you haven't taken up a delivery boy job, you can excuse yourself."
John raised an eyebrow, already getting pretty suspicious.
"That's fine…" he said lightly. "I can stay… Of course if there isn't a special reason I shouldn't be here."
"Nothing like that I assure you," Finch answered maybe too quickly. John nodded.
"Perfect," he said and leaned against the wall beside the window, not taking his eyes of him. Finch looked at him for a brief moment then went back to typing. Silence spread in the room, even Bear was lying quietly. The steamed windows let inside little daylight, making everything shadowy and grey. John remained silent for a couple more minutes, watching Finch and thinking. Was he sitting even stiffer than usual?
"Are you alright?" he asked him then.
"Of course I am, why I wouldn't be?" Finch muttered. John tilted his head on side.
"What if you told me, Harold. Or do you think you can stop me from asking questions?"
Harold paused, obviously planning to brush him off but he changed his mind eventually.
"My back," he said. "It's killing me."
Only when Finch said that did John see the veins pulsing on his temples and the sweat on his forehead.
"Did you take some painkillers?" John asked, concerned.
"A number could come anytime, Mr. Reese," Finch said, his voice giving away only a glimpse of the pain beneath. "I can't allow my mind to be clouded by pills."
John walked over to his boss, looking down at him.
"I'm sorry but this sounds like nonsense to me. If a number comes, we will manage. Just take the pills."
Finch was giving him the look of disapproval but he gave in, sighing heavily. He raised, wincing and closing his eyes. John caught his arm.
"Easy," he muttered. Finch managed to put on an unconvincing smile.
"Seems to me the pain's got a bit worse…" he said, obviously trying to sound casual. But John didn't find anything casual about that at all. He helped him walk to the remote couch and Finch slowly sat down while John brought him the pills and a glass of water. Bear approached, putting his head under Finch's hand.
"I will be fine, really," Finch said and at first John couldn't tell if he was speaking to him or the dog. "I don't need a babysitter."
"Bear is your babysitter," John said and sat down next to him. "I'm just hanging around…"
"Oh, well…" Finch said, closing his eyes and laying his head on the headrest. John looked up at the ceiling.
"It's the first day of the New Year, Finch," John said. "Any resolutions?"
"I haven't really had time to think about this," Finch said. "I never liked New Years."
"That's a surprise," John said but he wasn't excited about them either. People giving pointless resolutions, all the explosives and accidents – just an excuse to make a mess.
"I remember one New Year, though," Finch said, taking a sip of the tea John brought him.
"I was forced to use the metro," Finch gave John a look," which I actually hate. And there were quite a lot of people travelling. I took a seat in front of a young man. He seemed to be fairly wealthy, handsome maybe, and he was crying the whole time. You could see in his face the terrible sorrow and could only imagine what could happen to him so bad. And people just pretended they didn't see him…"
Finch shook his head.
"And I thought about the sadness that is in the world and how people are blind to it. I think it was the first time I really felt the weight of the injustice and pain and despair and I saw it as irredeemable. I couldn't understand how anyone can live with this awareness and pretend like it doesn't exist. And it was all brought up by the unknown crying man. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I believe that moment led me all the way until I ended in this place. But although I know we are doing our best, it's still just a drop in the ocean."
John was listening to him in silence, surprised by Finch's sudden opening up. He could tell by his tone Finch wasn't really complaining or anything, he just seemed really down on this day.
"Sometimes a drop is enough," John said. "Unless you want to ride a giant dragon, wearing a shiny armor and slain all the evil in the world with your flaming sword."
Finch gave him a look and then a smirk appeared on his face and he laughed.
"That is very unlike you, Mr. Reese. You seem unusually joyful to me."
Reese also smiled, shaking his head.
"I have my moments."
"You do indeed," Finch noted, amused.
"I'm only saying you should stick to the drop," Reese said. "You are very good at it."
"And so are you," Finch replied and John gave him a nod of appreciation.
"Now, do you have some TV shows on this thing or all we can watch are random numbers?"
"Why would you think I would have a use for – "
"Come on, Finch," John gave him a stare.
"Channel six," Finch said. "That is quite watchable."
Reese found it, raising and eyebrow.
"Bird documentary? Why am I not surprised?"
"Be quite, please," Finch said, already watching it with interest. "The quetzal is my favorite."