A bird by any other name
English is not my first language, so I actually didn't realize immediately that "Finch" was also a bird name (I had noticed the other aliases). I wanted to have some fun with that, put my mind to it and as usual my fingers took a life of their own on the keyboard... and came up with this.
Please forgive any English error; doing my best here, but still a foreign language. This hasn't been beta'd for English. Let me know if something doesn't make sense, I'll edit.
My apologies to M. Shakespeare for borrowing and changing his verse… The bird legend is borrowed to C. McCullough.
May 2016: some typos corrected and very slight editing. Story originaly posted in 2013, so way back...
PoI - PoI - PoI
John entered the library holding two cups, his coffee and Finch's Sencha green tea. The donut shop he liked was closed that morning and he didn't want to chance trying another place. He still remembered the weird taste of that donut a few weeks back.
He was surprised by the unexpected silence; he couldn't hear the usual clicking of the keyboard. Harold must have stepped out of his desk. But Bear not coming to greet him told a different story. From the end of the hallway, he got the answer to his question. Finch was, once again, asleep at this desk. Bear had raised its head looking expectantly at Reese but not moving; keeping his silent vigil over the genius as he had been instructed by his master.
Reese put the cups on the desk and rubbed Bear's ears fondly.
"Hey, Bear. Did Finch spend the whole night here again?"
He shook his head in disapproval and put a soft hand to Finch's shoulder.
"Finch, wake up."
Harold jerked awake with a groan that turned into a moan when he realized he couldn't move. His muscles had contracted and wouldn't obey the order to straighten. He tried again and whimpered at the pain.
"Easy, Finch," Reese soothed realizing the problem. "You really shouldn't spend the night here, you know."
Finch grunted something that might have been an approval or maybe just swearing at the comment. Reese frowned. It wasn't the first time he had found his employer asleep at his desk, but he had never seen him unable to move before. Shaking his head at Finch's hitched breathing he went towards their break area.
"Don't move Finch," he said unnecessarily.
He sprinkled a few drops of water on a towel and popped it in the microwave then went to hang his jacket. He couldn't do much about Finch's back problems, but he could at least help with the current pain. He came back with a pair of scissors, glad Finch couldn't see him or the man would probably have jumped in fear.
"Finch, I hope you are not overly fond of this suit." Not waiting for an answer he roughly cut through the material of the jacket and vest.
Finch gasped in surprise when John opened the jacket in the back, then sighed in pleasure when he felt the hot towel on his back. The warmth felt wonderful and immediately soothed away some of the pain. Then Reese's hands were on his shoulders and he tensed again.
"Relax, Finch. I'm just going to massage your back and try to get rid of those muscle spasms you're experiencing."
Finch didn't know which information to process first, the part about the massage or the fact that Reese seemed to know exactly what hailed him. But for the moment the hands of the ex-agent were doing magic on his body. He let a satisfied sigh escape. John couldn't help a grin. Coming from Finch it was as much as a compliment or admittance as he was going to get.
John frowned in sympathy as his hands moved on the body and he realized that the muscles were as hard as the table Finch was resting on. No wonder he couldn't move. The pain was probably unbearable. He worked the muscles, deepening the massage progressively, soothing the pain he was inevitably causing as he pressed particularly sensitive spots.
"Mr. Reese, you have magic hands…" Finch whispered after a few minutes. Then feeling slightly self-conscious at the admittance he added, "I always thought they were only tools of death." Reese couldn't help raising an eyebrow at the comment; Finch seemed to sense the gesture. "Snapping necks in a single motion… But I'll have to admit my curiosity. Where did you get this particular skill? Your yoga class?"
"International espionage can lead to the most surprising situations."
Although this wasn't true. Reese had learned to give massages way before that time. But he wasn't about to admit to Finch that as a youngster it had been a good way to earn money… and touch girls.
Reese could feel the tension slowly leaving the body. Finch was starting to relax, but the relief was also making him sleepy. Letting him fall asleep now wasn't a good idea. John knew how to keep him awake. He bit a grin, knowing in advance how Finch would react to the question.
"So Finch, why the birds' names?"
"Sorry?"
"Your aliases… I know Finch isn't your real name either," Reese admitted.
"You've been researching my past again, Mr. Reese?"
"No, I didn't," John replied, then amended, "I had some help."
"The resourceful detective Fusco I gather. I understand your wish to keep him as an asset."
John couldn't help a smile. Of course, Finch had noticed he was being followed.
"It's just a question Finch, not an interrogation."
"I wouldn't know… With your hands so close to my neck…"
"Never thought of using my massage technique to question people actually. Although, now that you mention it… it could have proved useful."
Finch couldn't help thinking that indeed if John kept relieving him from the pain at that pace he would end up talking more than he should. But the relief felt so wonderful, he couldn't help thinking he should at least give something back.
"Why would you need to know my real name?" Asked Finch admitting it was indeed a cover identity.
"Well, you do know mine…"
"I do..."
The silence fell back in the room. Bear had come closer to Finch and had put his head softly on Harold's left foot, his eyes looking at the man, offering some comfort in his own way.
"Birds are quite extraordinary animals." The genius moved slightly getting more comfortable despite his awkward position. "They have always appealed to human beings; they are present in the legends of every culture… Must be the wings, the wish to be free like they are."
John kept silent, his hands working on a new pattern.
"You know birds descend from dinosaurs, making them a very old species on earth. Cultures are full of mythical birds. The phoenix, garuda, fenghuang… Even today, still telling kids the storks bring the babies. There is beautiful legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in his heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain... Or so says the legend."
John mused at the legend and its significance. He could understand why Finch liked it. That he had shared this with him was quite unusual, proving that the man had let drop some of his protective walls.
"Finches are not particularly known for their song."
"Nor any of the other names I use…"
Reese had a small amused smile. Finch had just deflected the question in his usual perfect style. He wasn't going to give more personal information today…
"I kind of have made a hypothesis on your aliases. Wren are rather inconspicuous animals, which suits perfectly your insurance company. The black color of the crow makes sense for a detective. Cranes are opportunistic feeders; swifts almost don't stand on their feet –which I find slightly disturbing that you would relate to. Actually the only one that stands out is partridge. I don't think I ever heard anyone mentioning them except in the Christmas carol."
"Have you been doing research on birds, Mr. Reese?"
"Well, this is a library after all."
Finch couldn't help a small smile. He knew from the beginning that John would try to gather information on his past, try to find out who he really was. It was almost a game, but one he knew he had the upper hand on. Reese would never find the real truth. He had made sure he didn't exist for the world. Time to remind him who was the boss.
"And how did you choose Reese, John?"
The hands stopped moving for a briefing second, before resuming the soft massage.
"Are you admitting there is something about me you don't know?" John asked in a soft secretive tone.
"I know the timing of its appearance, not the circumstances…"
"Stanton." The answer was short, clipped, and Finch understood John wouldn't say any more about it.
Kara Stanton, Reese's nemesis. It was interesting that he chose to keep using that particular name. As if he kept punishing himself for that part of his life, needing to feel the guilt, reminding himself every waking hour of what he was, what he thought he still was, despite all the things that had changed. What did they say about redemption?
John stopped the massage and left a hand on Harold's shoulder.
"Don't move yet," he instructed.
He moved and came back with a blanket. He removed the towel and softly put the blanket over Harold's body, holding it in place with his hands over the shoulders.
"Okay, try rising now. Take it easy."
Finch straightened, sighing in relief when he realized his body wasn't hurting anymore.
The cups of coffee and tea had long gone cold, but Reese miraculously produced a new cup of tea for Finch. The short man took the cup and sipped the hot drink closing his eyes in pleasure.
"Thank you, Mr. Reese."
"You're welcome." He disappeared in the break room again and slightly raised his voice to be heard. "You should drink a bit more than usual. That massage I gave you was quite deep. Your body needs to clear the toxins."
"And to think I thought you only knew about weapons."
Reese reappeared holding a cup of coffee. "It's all about making sure things keep running smoothly."
Trust Reese to compare a gun jamming to muscle spasms…
"Mr. Reese, I really don't know how to thank you."
"You could let me drive you to your place..."
"I─"
"Yes, I know. You would rather take a cab. But you'll have to promise me to have it drop you at your doorstep, not two blocks away."
"Is there anything you don't know…?" Finch murmured slightly defeated.
"I still don't know why the birds' names…" Reese teased.
"I thought I just told you," Finch answered with a frown.
"No. You told me why you find birds to be extraordinary animals, not why you chose one as your favorite alias." Reese replied, letting him know that he hadn't been fooled.
Harold stood upright and took a tentative step. Reese made a step toward him.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Mr. Reese I appreciate your concern, but now you're close to hovering…"
John winced. He hated it when Finch did it. And he actually had had more than one occasion to be on the receiving end…
"Learned from the best, Finch." Reese whispered hinting at payback.
Finch had a slightly exasperated sigh.
"Mr. Reese when you come back to this library with a bullet hole in your shoulder, you can hardly expect me to keep typing away at my computer."
"Your point being?"
"I was just stupid enough to fall asleep at my desk knowing fully well what the outcome generally is."
Reese clenched his teeth in disapproval. So this wasn't the first time Finch got actually "stuck" to his desk.
"Then maybe you should learn from your mistakes…"
"Mr. Reese, are you lecturing me?"
"Merely pointing out the obvious."
Harold turned to John, who was again holding the blanket in place with one hand, and, in all senses of the term, hovering. He dropped his shoulders with a sigh. The dark covert-ops ex-agent, the man the CIA was afraid of, was worried about him. Harold was used to a lonesome life. Grace had been a blessing, but she had never known the real truth about him. This hardened man, capable of killing people with a single snap of fingers, wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to his well-being.
Finch shook his head softly. He did need to get a few hours of sleep, lying down in a bed; indulging John wasn't actually much of an effort.
"You can drive me to my place, Mr. Reese," he accepted.
"And I won't assume it is your home, only a safe-house where you can rest," John answered, showing he would forget about the "spying" for the moment.
"Thank you."
Finch went to the hanger to retrieve his coat.
"Sorry about your suit Finch."
"Its loss is well worth the relief, do not worry about it."
Finch discarded the pieces of his jacket and put his coat on. John put the blanket over his shoulders again.
"You need to keep warm," explained Reese.
"Mr. Reese, I hope you don't expect a raise in salary for these new skills you had kept hidden."
Reese smiled. Harold was teasing him again, that was good. In a few hours, they would go back to their numbers. Finch would be focused on his computers, and he would go back to protecting, chasing, doing what he did best. Protecting people came as a second nature, but when it concerned Finch it was difficult to hold his feelings at bay. He owed the man his life; he had turned a nightmarish scotch filled trail to death into a life of hope and happiness.
"Consider it a down payment for the next time you have to patch me up."
"If you put it that way, I would gladly consider the salary raise…"
"You should consider adding 'mother hen' to your list of aliases, Finch."
Reese smiled as the closed the gate behind them, following his employer down the stairs. Yes, Finch had given him a new life, and some day he might find out why the birds…
PoI - PoI
The end
Please, let me know what you think of this.