Person of Interest: Mr. & Mr. Rinch: Part 1 (John Reese): Chapter 1

A/N: This is set late season three with the construct of an early episode that features John and Harold.

Hope warred with the sinking feeling in John's heart as he walked up the stairs of the library, inhaling the familiar scent of musty books. As he rounded the corner, he should have heard Finch typing on his keyboard. He hadn't realized the sound was so comforting until it had been awhile since he'd heard it. But as had been the case for some time, everything was quiet.

The sinking feeling won out, then gave over to worry. Again. His stomach twisted into knots too tight to unravel. Where was Finch? Why couldn't he answer John's simple questions the last time they'd talked on the phone?

The gate was open. Hope returned full force, trying to explode in John's chest. Was he...? Yes, there was Finch, standing beside the table, studying something small in the palm of his hand.

"Where the hell have you been, Finch? I've been worried about you."

Finch jumped, then relaxed. "Where do you think I've been? I haven't left the library."

"I've been here multiple times in the last two weeks, but you haven't been. Your phone calls have been very brief. And you won't talk to me. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine. I'm sorry I worried you."

Finch was the most frustrating man John had ever known. They were supposed to trust each other with their lives, and yet he knew Finch was lying to him. But all he could do was take it in stride. Finch was the one who had given him the job, after all. What right did he have to complain? Finch must have his reasons, whatever they were. Maybe he would tell John what was wrong if he could give him enough space and time. Maybe.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding toward Finch's hand, hoping to get them back on firmer ground.

"Rings, Mr. Reese."

"They look an awful lot like..."

"Wedding rings. I know."

"You know someone getting married, Finch?"

"I hope you don't mind... but... you are. And I couldn't find anyone else to sit in as your better half so..."

"So... what?"

"I'll be the one going as your better half this time."

A bright smile cracked across John's face. "Oh, Finch," he put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You look nervous." He planted a kiss on Finch's sweaty temple.

Finch jumped again and looked up at him, his eyes wide in shock. "I just wasn't sure you'd be okay with the arrangement."

Why on earth was Finch so jumpy?

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"You might not agree once I tell you where we're going."

"I'm an ex-CIA agent. I can handle anything."

"What about getting in touch with your feelings? And getting romantically reacquainted with your husband of two seconds?"

"Right. Maybe someone else should go and I can be... I don't know... a bellhop... or something. Where are the others anyway?"

"How should I know? Ms. Groves came in and whisked Ms. Shaw away earlier this afternoon and wouldn't say what they were up to."

"Figures."

"Here, put this on." Finch smirked and handed him one of the gold and silver striped bands.

"I think you just asked me to marry you. Shouldn't you be doing the honors?"

Finch turned away, as he slid the other onto his own left ring finger.

"These are not just wedding rings. They are equipped with GPS that can be tracked via our phones. The itinerary for the weekend-"

"Wait, we're going to be together for the whole weekend?"

"It's a couple's retreat, so yes. It's a four day weekend. The itinerary involves a lot of outdoor hiking and other things and I didn't want us to get separated without being able to find each other again. We'll be in a group of twelve couples, all trying to get back together with their spouses. This could be heaven..."

"Or it could be hell."

Finch sat down at his computer and started typing something. "Well, that's that."

Four days to figure out what was going on with Finch. John could handle that. Right?

"What's our cover story? Who are we supposed to be?"

"Mr. and Mr. Rinch." Finch pointed him toward fresh drivers licences.

"Mr. and Mr. Rinch?"

"What? I thought it was cute."

John snorted.

"You are an accountant and I'm a librarian for an obscure research library. We met at work."

"No surprise there. We sound boring."

"Which was the point, Mr. Reese. We also have a dog named Bear, and a lake house in New Hampshire."

"We do? Wait, why am I surprised? My husband's loaded."

Finch gave him a brief smile. "We don't have kids so we have a small bit of savings that let's us splurge on occasion."

"Only a small bit?"

"Librarian, remember? Just because I may have a Master's degree doesn't mean I make a lot of money. Nor do you, as an accountant, for that matter."

"Do you? Have a Master's degree?"

"I can't tell you that and you know it."

"I thought married couples told each other everything."

"Not always. Which might be the reason we're going to this retreat in the first place."

"But we at least know we're keeping secrets from each other, so why do we need to air them in public?"

"We don't. But Lucy Pressfield, our latest number, probably does. She'll be attending with her husband, Shawn. I'll tell you what I know about them along the way, though it isn't much yet." Finch gestured toward a couple of duffle bags while he shut down his computer. "I took the liberty of buying you appropriate clothes. You may want to change before we go."

"Great. Where is Bear, anyway?"

"Detective Fusco has him for the weekend."

Arriving at the hotel, a perky woman in a slinky red dress met them in the lobby. She was blonde and her smile was huge, showing off her pearl white teeth.

"And you must be John and Harold Rinch! Welcome!"

"Um, yes, hi. And you are?" Finch asked.

"Oh, silly me! I'm Chris Hartwicke. Don, my husband, is my co-leader."

"Oh, yes, nice to meet you. I've read so much about you!"

While Finch became extra friendly, John kept quiet, nodded, shook her hand, and kept an eye on their surroundings.

In the far corner there was a couple having a heated argument in whispers. She was wearing a blue dress with purple heels and her hair had been blown out as if she were still in the 80's. He wore a pair of grey slacks and a pale blue dress shirt. Were they trying to match?

"Well, let's get you checked in. The sooner you're unpacked, the sooner you can join everyone for drinks at the bar before dinner tonight."

John tuned back in as the woman, Chris, eyed him up and down. "I do hope you brought more comfortable clothing, Mr. Rinch. You're going to be doing a lot of activities this weekend I doubt you'll want to be doing in a suit!"

John choked at her words. Finch blushed a deep red. He nodded again. "Of course."

He just hadn't wanted to change out of his suit until it was necessary. He'd figured this would make it look even more like he was a boring workaholic forced on this trip by his husband after a long day at the office.

Finch had already changed into a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. The look was somehow creepy on him. Already John missed the wool suits.

"Did you see our number?" Finch asked when they were alone in the elevator.

John shook his head. "No. But there was another couple in the corner arguing. You sure you got the right number?"

"I'm sure. She should be in the room next to ours for easier surveillance."

"I love it when you know my needs before I even have to tell you. You're getting better at this, Finch."

"Check the bottom of your bag, you should find all your surveillance equipment there as well."

"I was right. You are getting better at this."

When they arrived for drinks at the bar, the place was crowded, yet everyone was quiet, radiating an awkward vibe.

"I think we missed something," Finch muttered under his breath.

"You think? That's our number over there and she's glaring daggers at the guy across from her."

Lucy was sitting beside her husband, Shawn, who's eyes were wide with shock. She kept her arms crossed and her body rigid. Across from her, another man glared back at her, his mouth set in a firm, straight, line. John recognized him as the man in the pale blue shirt arguing with his wife when he and Finch had first arrived.

Together, he and Finch found two remaining seats with another couple who introduced themselves as Drew and Selina Copek.

"What happened?" Finch asked, pointing toward the glaring duo.

Selina leaned in, ready to dish the gossip. "You wouldn't believe the row! The best we've been able to figure out, the guy she's looking at, that's Mike Townsend, her ex husband. He brought his new wife, Barbara. No one's happy about this."

"I can't imagine they would be. Where's Barbara now?"

"Out for a walk. She's pissed."

Chris bustled over then. "Harold, John, do you mind if I seat you with the Pressfields for dinner? They shouldn't be sitting with the Townsends tonight."

"Oh sure, No problem."

Finch might have been awkward at times, but he was a lot better at making idle conversation than John, which allowed John to survey the room and its occupants. Most of the couples were sitting far apart from each other. A foot, at least. Or it read in their body language, as wives faced away from their husbands, hands clasped in their laps. And it wasn't that they were talking to someone else. No one was saying anything.

"Okay everyone, time for dinner! This way!" Chris ushered them from the hotel bar into a smaller room, where several round tables had been set up for dinner.

With nine other couples present, John wonder where the final two were. Hadn't Finch said there were supposed to be twelve total, not counting Chris and Don Hartwicke?

Barbara Townsend joined them ten minutes later, a deep frown burning a hole in her face.

A pale faced man dressed to blend in with the beige wall behind him, stepped up to the podium. " Hello everyone, my name is Don Hartwicke, and I'll be your co-leader on this venture!" he said with mustered enthusiasm. "Before we begin, I just wanted to let you know there are two more couples joining us. Alexis and Genevieve Winters-Brown and Robyn and Marjorie Borich, are traveling together and had some car trouble along the way. They will be arriving later tonight. You'll get a chance to meet them at breakfast tomorrow morning. And without further ado, here's my wife, Chris!"

Chris began the official welcoming speech. "Don and I have been where you all are right now," she said. "And we climbed up out of the darkness together and lived to tell the tale. But it wasn't just one thing that saved us and our marriage. It was many things. This weekend, we will help you accomplish those things together with your spouse, to rekindle your love for each other, to help you become better teammates for each other..."

John tuned her out again and concentrated on blue jacking Lucy Pressfield's cell phone, then watching everyone else interact. But they were all glued to Chris's opening speech.

When she was done and they were allowed to eat, the introductions at their table began. They were joined by Lucy and Shawn Pressfield, a graphic designer and software developer, and the Copeks from the bar. Drew was a car salesman specializing in sports cars and Selina was a professional home decorator. The conversation was boring.

John was grateful no one asked him about his job once the word "accountant" left his lips. Finch used a few large words pertaining to the supposed research the library specialized in, and everyone else's sudden interest in his job fell away like old, peeling wallpaper.

When Finch ventured to ask why they were at the retreat, he was met with stares.

"Oh, well, I'm sure you'll find out in our group therapy tomorrow morning. Let's talk of other, more fun, things tonight," Selina suggested.

Group therapy? Shit. John would be so screwed if he had to sit through that. Even if it meant gathering good intel about Lucy. Would they make him say something? What would he say?

Finch grasped his hand under the table and gave it a squeeze, startling John. "You'll be fine," he whispered.

Oh God, had he been that obvious?

Drew laughed then. "Glad I'm not the only one."

Selina gave him a light punch to the arm. "You, shut up. You agreed to come, so you don't get to complain."

John hadn't remembered how good it felt to have someone else's hand in his, until Finch pulled away. He almost reached over to take Finch's hand back, but managed to stop himself in time. What had he been thinking? Or hadn't he? But... why?

"I wasn't complaining. I was just saying-"

"No. You were complaining..."

Right then, John wished he were anywhere but there.

"Say, John, what do you know about the latest Dodge Viper?"

"Uh, I can't say..."

"And you call yourself a sports car sales man," Shawn accused. "Don't you know anything? The Ford Mustang's where it's at."

"I'm not discrediting the Mustang."

"You're ignoring me now," Selina said to her husband's shoulder, as he turned away from her to face John. "Cute. I really appreciate it."

"We're going to have to blend in a little more," Finch whispered on their way through the lobby later that night.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"See? That's what I mean." Finch turned to John, raising his voice as he did so. "You still don't think this is a good idea."

"I... what?"

"This retreat. It's just one weekend. A few days of our lives. How bad can it be?"

The lightbulb going off in John's head, he replied, "That's just it! It's one weekend. How can a few days be long enough to repair a broken relationship?"

"You're not even willing to give it a chance? Is it that broken?"

And now they had the attention of the entire lobby. Just one more unhappy couple trying to work things out.

"What do you think I'm doing here? Humoring you?" John hissed, taking a step closer to Finch. Now Finch had to crane his neck to look up at him.

"I understand where you're coming from. I do."

"You do? You have a funny way of showing it."

"No. It's a step in the right direction. How many times have I told you, you know we can't fix everything in the space of a few days. But this is a start. And we have to start somewhere."

John snorted in Finch's face, stepped around him, and headed toward the elevator.