A/N: This is a crack oneshot (little angst in the beginning). That's your warning. Also, don't own POI. Also, I'm assuming from that brief glimpse in the sneak peak that Harold is masquerading as a teacher/professor of some kind

Harold Whistler, what an unusual name. It didn't quite work but he had settled for less. A name was just a name yet this one almost felt foreign to man that had become accustomed to being Finch.

He adapted though, like the Darwinian finches. He changed his clothes, his habits, and adjusted to this new life.

What else can we do other than just survive?

Even if he barely saw the others he still saw them as a team. A currently dysfunctional team that barely had any chance of making it in this modern day nightmare. Their only option at the moment was just to survive. No fighting, no contact, just go about life in almost robotic fashion. No matter how many times the phones rang on the street, no matter how many faces and questions he faced every day, he couldn't fight.

He was in the center of a hurricane that was hidden behind cameras and computer code. He could see the storm beginning to encircle him tighter and tighter like a snake squeezing the life of a petrified animal. His paranoia reached a new level and it was almost sickening how he embraced the dark thoughts that slithered around in his mind. How many people would become an irrelevant number because he couldn't fight for them.

An impenetrable cloud of depression hung over his shoulders and hugged his body like a stalker. However, no one truly noticed. Those that would were just too busy fending for themselves. He was just another person in an empty world of numbers.

It was late by the time Harold was finished with work. The classes may end around 4pm yet the preparation, grading, and work that needed to be completed afterward took hours to complete.

Along with his normal companions in pain, there was a new sense of pain that accompanied him quite frequently now in the area of his left shoulder. It never stayed quite in the same spot and when it overcame his tolerance level he was close to tears by the sheer amount of indescribable pain he felt.

However, he was distracted for a brief moment as he heard something. He was unwillingly glued to his chair, a prisoner in his own office, as he heard someone sneaking around.

"Who's there?" He may deal with psychopaths, and murderers on an occasional basis but Harold sometimes forgot to think things through.

The lights flickered off, giving Harold the feeling he was in some sort of cheap horror movie. The effect was working as he was becoming more nervous by the second, as irrational thoughts of what could possibly happen next bounced around in his brain, eager to unnerve him further.

"3.14159265..." He began reciting as quietly as possible under his breath, lower than a whisper. It was his version of meditation, as he focused on the desk and paper in front of him. Zoning in on something as simple and well-known as the digits of pi relaxed him, brought him away from reality.

He was almost completely under control when suddenly the world went completely dark as a cloth was wrapped around his eyes. Flinching in shock as warm unfamiliar arms confidently wrapped themselves around him, Harold was further befuddled as soft hands began massaging his pain away.

"Who?" It was all he could manage to get out, as he forced himself to remain tight against the unknown source.

"Relax, Finch."

Oh, he hadn't realized how much he needed to hear those words come from that mouth. But now was not the time for that.

"Mr. Reese, this is a most indecorous-" He was cut off by a warm hand pressing itself gently against his lips.

"Not now, Finch." The never ending pain was slowly fading away, and the hand soon returned to work on Harold's back instead of shushing his lips. Harold sank into a moment of bliss before stubbornly swimming back to reality.

"Mr. Reese, as much as you are welcomed, there is the issue of Samaritan! We cannot simply break cover, even to help one another."

"Samaritan can go," the words following the rest of that sentence turned Harold's ears bright pink.

Finch could finally manage to turn around in his seat, to try to make his point. Even if he was blind to the world he could still calculate where exactly Mr. Reese was.

"In this case, John, it really is us against the world. I don't know what it's going to take for you to leave-"

"Do you want me to go, Finch? It's not 'us' if I leave." There was a pregnant pause.

"Mr. Reese, what I want is merely impossible at this point-"

"Oh, is it now?" With that Harold received the most pleasing surprise of the year: John Reese's wonderful lips gently touching his, asking for permission to do something he had only dreamed about. Harold nodded by cracking his mouth up a little, and the next few moments almost made up for all lonely years.

He felt human once more and his heart broke a little when he needed to breath and temporarily give up John. He was almost afraid to take off the blindfold and wake up from this dream because it was clearly a dream there was obviously no way on earth-

"Does the finch protest too much?"

"It's doth not does." With such an invitation, who could resist dreams like that?

If the students were surprised to see machine-like Mr. Whistler full of energy next day, and almost humming with delight at every correct answer, they didn't comment on it.

As Harold walked down a shortcut to his current place of residence, another blindfold fell over him. He almost chuckled in surprise, not expecting another visit so soon.

"Quite an unusual place to meet, Mr. Reese." A knife poked the back of his neck, taking him by complete surprise as he suddenly smelled a hint of coppery blood.

"Hand over the money." With no Bear or John to defend him, Harold froze. A dirty impatient hand dug into his pockets, grabbing the worn down wallet and phone before he was shoved to the ground as footsteps ran off in an unknown direction. He fumbled around and struggled as his glasses were tightly pressed against his face. Harold felt pain vibrating from his body from being slammed into the unforgiving ground while his hands tried to undo the painfully tight blindfold. He could feel himself shaking, but tried to shake it off. He could easily hunt down his wallet, purchase another phone, etc. There was no reason to feel weak.

Yet he felt idiotic. How could he have been so stupid to presume that John would actually blindfold him in public. Of course John wasn't truly interested in him, that wonderful dream in the office was undoubtedly only because Mr. Reese couldn't find other company that night. Besides, in public Mr. Reese would have been more subtle about the whole matter.

Footsteps approached him.

"If you're here to rob me, you have horrid timing." Yes, he was bitter. Did anyone really care?

To suddenly be picked up from the ground and carried bridal style was a shocker, to say the least.

Apparently, someone did care.

"Mr. Reese, there is no rational reason to pick me up in such a fashion." He may not particularly care for how John was treating him, but he was inordinately pleased to see him.

Again.

"Mr. Reese, I demand-"

"John. It's John." Another exasperated pause.

"Mr. Reese, why on earth is this door locked?"

When Harold had woken up from being carried, he was in an unfamiliar room, lying in someone's bed, and the door was locked.

Never a good sign in his opinion.

"Harold, no matter what your last name is you seem to always become injured,get kidnapped, be drugged, or become unconscious."

"Mr. Reese-

"Do you like cold or warm weather, Harold?" An odd question, but didn't seem too far fetched for the present scene. Harold was beginning to give up on reasoning with John at this point and simply succumbing to whatever his plans were.

"Well if you must know I have an appreciation for cold weather, but I don't prefer either warm or cold. While warm is more consistent-"

"Warm it is." There seemed to be sounds of a computer typing but Harold's groggy mind couldn't catch more than that.

"Mr. Reese, may I ask precisely what you are doing?" He didn't really want to argue with the other man, but he was confused on what was going on. Talking through a door was only so informative and he felt rather childish for communicating in such a fashion.

"Are you going to behave?" He scowled ever so slightly at the question.

"If you expect me to bark and play fetch I'm afraid not, Mr. Reese, as I am not a dog." This only got a snort and Harold almost retreated back into the bed to capitulate when the door unlocked.

He immediately open the door, feeling cold tiles and a draft waking him up. John had a computer with travel information on the screen.

"We're leaving? Mr. Reese, we can't-"

"Roots taking care of everything, Finch, and Shaw's keeping her company to make sure everything goes to our plan. We're sitting ducks in New York and to leave is the only way to escape the situation for the time being." While the reasoning seemed logical on a superficial level, Harold was sure there had to be some flaw in the thinking. Unfortunately, he could barely process much at the moment and John was using that to his advantage.

Damn him.

Wonderful arms cautiously wrapped themselves once more around Harold but he had to shake it off. He let out a mirthless chuckle.

"Are you sure it's me you really want Mr. Reese? Because if this is some sort of sick joke to get-"

"Harold, it's John." This fervent kiss was nothing like the one Harold had received before and this time, he was thoroughly convinced. Once they broke away though, Harold did have one final question.

"Where exactly are we going, John?"

Fin

A/N: Alright, so this is something definitely transformed into something else while I was going through it. I'm not quite sure if this is what I really wanted it to be, but at least it's something? Ooh and I made a reference to one of my favorite fanfics in here (if you caught it then kudos to you :D)

I beta'd this, so any mistakes I didn't catch are logically mine. Favorites are more my cup of tea than reviews, oddly enough xD.