Chapter 02
"John?" Harold mumbled sleepily, still disoriented by the darkness in his room. The artificial lamp outside the window helped only so much with his vision. All hospitals had their own distinctive stench of disinfectants. After Harold's spinal fusion it was that specific smell that stayed with him the most. He didn't have to be fully awake to know where he would find himself.
Just as much Harold didn't need to be sharp and freshly conscious to be aware of John's gaze on him. The room was silent. Harold patted his blanket for his glasses, they were thankfully still there where he left them. Once he was bespectacled again, Harold sat up and a shadow in a corner moved.
"John?" Harold whispered, squinting his eyes. "Are you alright?"
"I asked the nurse if I could stay with you. I'm pretty sure I'm currently winning the favorite person contest on this floor." John replied with amusement.
Harold smiled softly. "It doesn't surprise me. You're a likeable person." He thought the easy banter would open a conversation between them, but John didn't say a word afterwards. Harold couldn't stand the silence. Even though he knew he was only playing into John's hand, that John was consciously waiting him out, wanting to know what Harold would reveal; Harold still asked "Is everything alright, John?"
"I dreamed about you. I was in the dark. Everything hurt. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move either, but I heard your voice. I knew you were there. I knew-"
Harold held his breath.
"I knew that if you're there, it would be alright. Is it a memory?"
"Could be." Harold said cautiously. He didn't want to raise John's or his own hopes up. "Or it could be your subconscious telling you I am worthy of your trust." Harold flinched when John suddenly moved to his bed and switched on the lamp above his head. He blinked several times to adjust his eyes to the light.
John sat on his bed, thankfully an appropriate distance this time, but he was still looking at Harold intensely. "Who are you? You're lying to me and I still trust you."
"A dear friend, I hope," Harold murmured softly.
John shook his head in confusion. "It's like I have the word on the tip of my tongue but I can't grasp it. I'm looking at people and classifying them - threat or a friend. That woman, Shaw; I know she can be lethal. She's definitely a threat to me, to you as well, but you're acting like you're not concerned about her at all. Even when she's pulling a gun on you."
Harold didn't want anything more than to at least alleviate John's concern just a little. "It was Sameen's way of shocking you. She's another former CIA operative, but I can assure you she's not a danger to you or me. You two are friends as well."
"That detective, Fusco," John continued.
Harold wanted to know what else he missed when he had fallen asleep. Apparently sometime today John had a chat with Detective Fusco as well. "You're on a first name basis. His name is Lionel." Harold said smiling a bit. He was privy to John's teasing tone when he wanted to aggravate the poor detective.
"He's my partner? He told me I work with him at the precinct?" John questioned.
"Yes." Harold didn't hesitate at all, even though his thoughts were a bit muddled and he couldn't remember if John Rooney's identity really was a detective or not. Shame on him to not being more informed and prepared for John's questions.
"I can believe that," John nodded. "I can picture myself working with him. It sits well."
Thank God. Harold couldn't imagine what it had to be like for John to suddenly have every facet of information about his life erased from his memory. John's last identity was NYPD Homicide Detective John Riley. Maybe that was comfortable enough for John to still remember subconsciously.
"And then there's you again with friends like two detectives from the homicide task force and a former CIA agent. They both listen to you like you're their employer," John surmised.
"And a friend as well," Harold added, looking into John's eyes which were almost black in the golden light of the lamp. He stilled because they were back to the question John had asked several times that day. Harold always avoided the answer because he had no idea what to say.
"So tell me, Harold. Why are you so special to me? I don't remember you and I would still die for you without any thought."
How would he answer that? Harold swallowed, his throat dry.
"Am I so kind hearted and suicidal that I would willingly die with you under the rubble?"
Harold froze. That was one thing he had never considered. In the chaos on the rooftop when Harold along with John left the suitcase, they tried to get down as fast as possible. John maneuvered Harold to the elevator knowing they may not have enough time to get down.
The building started to shake when they exited the elevator. God, Harold was terrified for John, but the former CIA operative just stopped in his tracks and looked above. He made the math just as well as Harold. They were too far from the main door. Definitely too far for Harold, but if John would run he still had a chance to make it out unharmed.
"John-"
"Back," John pushed him into the elevator. "Get on the ground, Harold."
"John-" Harold did as he was told and the next second John was above him covering him like a blanket. "You should have run yourself," he whispered shakily, but Harold's trembling body had nothing on the building around them.
"Maybe," John drawled calmly. "You can tell me off if we survive, what do you say?"
Harold clenched his eyes shut. He grabbed John's suit jacket in his fists when the world crumbled.
"Harold? Harold?!" John repeated with a patient tone.
"I apologize." Harold blinked several times and tried to shake off the effect of the memory. They were both alive. There was no logical reason for Harold to be scared out of his mind.
"You have PTSD," John informed him warily.
"Yes. It would appear so." Harold felt annoyed. They didn't have time to delve into his mental state. They needed to figure out how to help John remember. He wouldn't be in a familiar place, thanks to their use of the safe house — a place John would not know because of his amnesia. Sameen was preparing it for their arrival tomorrow. They couldn't tell John the whole truth. It would overwhelm him. "It's only a mild inconvenience. I will be fine, I assure you."
"I noticed you're hurt."
Harold looked at his bandaged hand. "It's nothing. I will just get around it like with everything else. You don't have to worry about me, John."
John gave him a small smile. "That's the thing. I don't have to care about a stranger, but I can't help it. Doesn't make sense to me." He shrugged his shoulders.
"I am sorry, John." Harold whispered guiltily. They never talked about feelings. Harold was a private person. John always avoided talking about anything too personal which suited Harold best.
"I wish I could give you a reasonable answer, but I can't. I was your employer when we met. We slowly worked on our relationship to the point I would safely say the term friends suited us the most."
But if Harold was being honest with himself and if the situation was reversed, he wouldn't leave without John either. He would never abandon John to certain death under a concrete hell.
John studied him for a long time, then finally opened his mouth. "Were we ever together?"
Harold was confused for a second. He blinked several times. "As in-" The slight hesitation on his part surprised Harold the most. That, and the heavy heart when he forced himself to continue, "as in romantically?" Harold needed to be sure he understood John's question.
John nodded.
"No, John." Harold tried to make his tone even. It never occurred to him they would ever have a chance to be together as a couple. Sure, people had sometimes mistaken them for one and neither Harold nor John ever corrected their assumption. What was one more lie between so many? They wouldn't make an issue out of something so unimportant.
Only when John mentioned the possibility now, Harold felt like he almost yearned for it.
"I was in love with you." John stated calmly with a note of understanding.
"Absolutely not," Harold protested vehemently. He wasn't opposed to the idea of being with John in a romantic fashion, but he felt like he had to correct John's thoughts. Harold didn't want this - person, who wasn't John - to assume things about the real John.
"You sound pretty sure. Did we ever talk about that?" John still watched him with interest.
"No, we never talked about personal things."
John nodded again, his tone completely matter-of-fact like it hadn't been significant at all. "So I could have been in love with you. That's the reason why I trust you unconditionally even though you're lying to my face. Makes sense."
Harold watch the satisfaction marking John's features. As if he finally had the answer to what was previously eluding him. What of it if Harold's world was upside down and his heart galloped frantically in his chest? Could it be true? Could it be possible that John did carry romantic feelings for him?
Harold cleared his throat, fighting his instinct to state his own opinion. "Unfortunately, I can't confirm your inference but you are free to draw your own conclusions. Maybe something will help you remember."
Harold lay back on a pillow with his gaze firmly on the wall behind John's shoulders. He was sure sleep would elude him for the rest of the night. His thoughts went back to John's words.
"So I could have been in love with you. That's the reason why I trust you unconditionally."
"Sorry, I woke you up." John said after a long pause.
"That's alright," Harold reassured him without thought and with a flat voice. It was not alright at all.
Harold limped towards the car Ms. Shaw conveniently parked at the hospital entrance. He tried not to observe their surroundings, but he felt too vulnerable without scanning the parking lot or road. John, Detective Fusco and Sameen did the same. They had been hunted too long to forget the basic survival instincts. Although John had no idea about their past, he still relied on his training without even knowing why they needed to be wary.
"Are you sure you're well enough to leave?" John drawled lowly.
Harold didn't protest when John opened the rear door and helped him inside without missing a beat. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like John had remembered doing the same thing a million times before. "Yes. I'm sure they wouldn't release me otherwise."
Harold tried to get comfortable, but his hip protested. He stiffened his posture a bit more, but didn't let anything show on his face.
"You're hurt." John said quietly. Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco carried on a conversation in the front seat. "You're barely walking."
"It's an old injury," Harold explained. John had hinted the same thing yesterday when he visited Harold in the middle of the night, but Harold only thought John was talking about his hand. It didn't even occur to him John would be concerned about Harold's old wounds.
"How old?"
Harold had to hide his amusement with that question. Somehow John stopped being so cautious around him. John was still tense with Ms. Shaw, a bit weary of Detective Fusco, but he didn't hesitate to ask Harold questions out of curiosity.
"Five years, John." Harold replied sincerely. He didn't want to deny John information that he already knew.
"What happened if you don't mind my asking?"
Harold hesitated. He didn't know how exactly to answer because every explanation was too close to the truth. He didn't want John to know about the Machine yet. Just as he was on the verge of replying John looked out of the window and visibly shut down. Again, Harold had waited for too long to give his answer.
"It's not as if I want to cause you distress, John. Unfortunately, some answers are too complicated. I was hurt in an act of domestic assassination sanctioned by the U.S. Government, but this execution was later classified as a terrorist attack and presented to the media as such."
"So, how can you work with me?" John asked thoughtfully. "You said I was a CIA operative."
"Yes, but you had nothing to do with it. We met a year later and I hired you as a-" Harold hesitated. How could he sum up John's job? "-private investigator." Which was the truth. John investigated the Irrelevant Numbers.
Harold smiled when Ms. Shaw opened the door to their safe house and Bear barked enthusiastically. He gave the canine an affectionate pat on his back. "Look who's here, Bear." Harold's smile stretched over his face, when he saw how cautiously John looked at the dog. "He's-"
"Belgian Malinois, I know."
Harold's heart leapt at the matter of fact tone John used. He hoped John remembered, but at the same time knew it could be just one of the informational facts John's memory stored. "He's yours, John," Harold continued in his previous sentence.
"I thought we agreed we're not going to lie to him," Sameen hissed before she turned to John. "You gave Bear to him as a guard dog. On that note, I'm taking the dog for tonight and I'm off. Bear!" Sameen patted her thigh.
"I'm off as well," Detective Fusco shrugged. "I can't wait to be home with Lee. Glasses, I'll be in touch."
Harold stiffened when the detective patted him lightly on his shoulder. A quick look to the side confirmed that John watched the display.
"Take care of Mr. Clean Slate, but rest as well, ok? He's not the only one hurt."
"Certainly, Detective," Harold replied firmly. In a matter of seconds he was again left alone with John. He wasn't used to feeling nervous around John. In the past Harold most definitely preferred John's company to anyone else. Now, he just didn't know how to act around him. John's long questioning stare didn't help in that matter.
"Yes?" Harold looked at him patiently.
"The dog's mine?" John asked probably for clarification of Ms. Shaw's words. Harold needed to have some time alone with Sameen to discuss their approach of John's mental state.
"On one of your investigations you found Bear and decided to adopt him," he explained to John.
"And then I gave him to you?"
"Yes." John didn't have to know about the circumstances. Oh God. There it was again, John's amused disbelieving smile.
"How blind can you possibly be, Harold?"
"Beg your pardon?" Often times in the last few days Harold had a suspicion he was the one suffering from a concussion, because he was completely at loss with this John's words.
"I gave you my dog for protection. I guarded your life even if it wasn't my job. I decided to die with you under a collapsing building. Wake up, Harold!"
Harold didn't like this John very much. Every sentence uttered in this John's exasperated tone grated on his nerves and Harold fought his instinct to protect John even from the person who had John's face.
"I was in love with you." John concluded his speech.
"That is hardly relevant in your situation," Harold straightened his back and held John's gaze firmly. "Are you trying to say that by me admitting to have previously undiscovered feelings towards John your memory will miraculously come back? I certainly doubt that would happen." Wouldn't it be wonderful if that was true.
John watched him impassively.
"You're drawing conclusions about a man you don't know at all," Harold's voice broke down in distress. A second later he hung down his head as much as his fused spine allowed him to do. He had let himself be trapped in John's scheme. This person, who didn't know them at all made assumptions only on the facts as he determined them to be.
Harold's feelings were too raw. Every word about his old John from this new person got under Harold's skin. A few minutes of easy banter under a collapsed building changed so much for him and John. Harold never felt so much gratitude towards someone and at the same time so much fear for the safety of that person. If the time could be-
"You love him too."
"Mr. Reese!" Harold exclaimed angrily and halted. He closed his eyes with his heart beating madly and tried to suppress the angry tears that threatened to spill from them. He could feel his hands shaking.
"So John… Reese." John said and Harold didn't even have to open his eyes to see the satisfaction and happiness that he heard in that voice.
Harold turned around and went to the kitchen. He focused his entire being on preparing tea with one hand. It gave him enough time to calm down. He couldn't decide who he was more angry with. Himself or this new John?
Harold needed to draw a line between himself and John.
"I'm sorry." John whispered from the doorway.
"You don't have to be," Harold replied without any inflection. It was his own fault he was constantly forgetting how treacherous John's CIA training made him. His John had at least tried to hide it by some modicum of civility.
"Can I help you with that?" John asked. "You can sit down and rest a bit."
"No, thank you," Harold measured his words carefully.
"I didn't mean to offend you."
Harold turned around. "Yes, you did. And you succeeded spectacularly. You got what you wanted. You finally know your name." One look at that face that had been so dear to him all those years before and now Harold wanted nothing more than to run and hide somewhere. That feeling was absolutely ridiculous. Maybe he lost his spine after all those years.
When Harold first met John he had expected this kind of behavior from a former CIA operative. He was prepared for it. They had created a game of cat and mouse. John's subtle inquiries left him amused most of the time. Harold purposely arranged several false clues for John just to keep him occupied. He was never under this kind of constant vicious questioning. His John was much more subtle.
"Do you want me to give you a tour around the apartment?" Harold asked coldly and turned back to his tea.
"I can manage on my own."
Harold felt partly guilty that John's departure made him more calm than the act of preparing tea. After a while he put his teacup on the table, sat down and watched the rising steam. His left hand throbbed in pain again, but he ignored it.
Harold lifted his glasses, careful not to leave any smears on them and rubbed his eyes. Every person had their lowest point. Harold was afraid he was slowly reaching his own.
"I really am sorry, Harold." John sat down on the other side of the table.
The silence between them became oppressive, but Harold didn't want to interrupt it.
"You didn't offer me tea," John remarked with a small lift of his mouth.
"You don't drink tea, Mr. Reese," Harold replied flatly. Even the old name didn't feel right. He couldn't address John that way.
Harold scanned the book on the shelf with intent. He was so preoccupied he didn't hear John entering the library until he drawled –
"Sencha green tea, one sugar."
Harold huffed. He put the book down, took his beverage, opened the lid and sipped. It was prepared exactly how he liked it. Why didn't it surprise him? "You've been paying attention." He limped slowly to his computer station.
"Relax, Finch, it's just tea. I haven't guessed your favorite color yet."
Harold pretended he hadn't heard the amusement in John's voice. He took another sip just to hide his own smile. They had a mission. They needed to focus on Irrelevant Numbers. They weren't there to start some budding bromance. They didn't have time for that. Irrelevant Numbers were more important than their working relationship.
Harold hastily stood up. "I'm afraid I need to lay down."
Harold woke up again in the middle of the night. Something was keeping from sleeping. He tried to enlist his other senses. Not something, someone. He squinted his eyes in the dark without moving. "John?" he asked with disbelief.
"Sorry."
Harold didn't have to be a genius to hear the remorse in John's voice. "What is it? Did you have a bad dream?"
"I can't sleep. I'm lying in bed and my brain just won't shut up. It's practically screaming at me to be near you. It's irrational. I don't know why, but I feel like something bad is going to happen if I don't have you in my sight."
Harold heaved a sigh. How could he explain a perfectly reasonable instinct to a man who didn't remember going through the dangerous situations they had been exposed to the last couple of years.
"I'm sorry I offended you, Harold."
Harold watched the dejected line of John's shoulders. Maybe his behavior changed, but John's body language remained the same. John meant what he said.
"Forgive me. It won't happen again." John looked at him intently. "I have so many questions and no idea why I just don't ask them. I don't know why it's easier for me to trick the answers out of you."
"It's your training." Harold stated the obvious.
"I can't stand the idea of you being hurt by anyone else, or by me. I'm trying to figure things out and remember, but it's useless. The more I try to remember the more my head hurts. I hate this nagging feeling in my head."
Harold didn't say a word. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to have all the information about the people surrounding him suddenly gone. He would never hesitate to offer his John any help. Even if the solution was only companionship, but he was getting surprisingly weary of this man. The more he knew this John, the more he distrusted him.
"You should rest, John. The doctor said it's crucial to your recovery." The last talk Harold had with John's doctor before they were released from a hospital the medical professional informed him that John's brain wasn't healed just yet. The swelling was still in there. Not at the same level as before, but obviously still causing John's amnesia.
"Would you mind if I stay here?"
"No, I wouldn't." That surprised Harold even more. As much as he felt distrust and weariness in John's presence, he didn't want to cause him any additional stress because deep down this person was still his John. All the protective instincts this man felt for Harold belonged to his John. An uneasiness this John felt whenever they weren't in a same room belonged to his John as well.
Somewhere under that thick layer of a severe concussion there was still his John.