Title: Finding Beauty
Author: wildwordwomyn
Word Count: 533
Fandom/Pairing: Person of Interest slash starring John Reese/Harold Finch, Root, Jessica Ardnt
Rating: PG-13 for mention of guns
Author's Notes: What can I say? I was in the mood for romance...
Disclaimers/Warnings: General spoilers for the series and episode spoilers for season three's "Mors Praematura".
Summary: John makes a promise to Finch that he's more than capable of keeping.
"If she hurts you again I will kill her."
John is sitting at a card table cleaning his small cache of weapons when it slips out. He doesn't mean for it to sound so final in the middle of this silence, or so possessive. He doesn't know why he says it at all really. They'd just finished up a number. One of th easier ones. After returning to the library Harold had checked in on Root and given her some dinner while John taped up the split skin above his right eye, maddened by the older man's gentle care of the creature in the cage. When he sat down in front of his computers minutes later his features were worn, tempting John to soothe them with calloused fingertips.
Harold's fingers freeze over the keyboard, shocked. John isn't surprised by the reaction. He means what he said with every fiber of his being. Only now Harold can no longer pretend it isn't true. "I know," he replies finally in resignation, acknowledging John's terrible, wonderful gift for what it is.
He thinks about walking over to his friend, leaning down to whisper into his ear, You have the courage of a lion, the strength of a lamb and the heart of a good man. How can you be a genius, yet never consider the possibility that I could love you? Want you? Need you? He imagines seducing him with the kind of words he'd never used on targets in the past, on women he's bed and run away from. No, Harold deserves better. He deserves to hear what John couldn't, or wouldn't, say to Jessica and more.
Some day, if he asks for it, John will give Harold his body. It's all he has left, but he will offer it gladly. Of course, waiting on Harold is like waiting for astronauts to grow plants on Mars... "Harold," he says softly, opting impatiently to start the conversation tonight, "would you have dinner with me?"
He deliberately finishes cleaning and oiling the last gun a second early and wipes off his hands. He attempts to appear calm on the outside so that Harold won't notice the raging storm of anticipation, of fear, battering his insides. When the other man turns to face him fully his chair squeaks slightly as it rolls. John makes a silent promise to himself to oil the hinges and wheels later, ignoring the instinct to drop his gaze, to not let the man see.
"We can order in-." Harold says, the barest hint of hesitation coloring the words.
"No," John interrupts softly. "At the loft. I'll cook." Let me feed you, he doesn't mention, though it's on the tip of his tongue. Harold understands what he's asking anyway. "Please," he adds.
Another gift. One Harold obviously doesn't know how to refuse. Whether John is a stand-in for the one he wants but lost along the way is irrelevant. Or maybe John just doesn't care. At this moment Harold is looking at him, at another creature in a cage, and somehow still finds beauty.
Harold smiles suddenly, tenderly, as he answers, "Yes," and with one sweet, simple syllable sets John free.
The End