Good morning!

This chapter is for Impvme for being the only person to actually ask for me to speed up the time table.

As usual, I'd like to give a shout out to my great betas, Wuchel1 and Dlldarkwolf, for their help with a particularly hard chapter.

So, as requested, Harold's response ...


Chapter 3

He was alive.

She had known it before, but it had been more of a hope or a dream. This was no dream. Harold was alive.

The thought brought tears to her eyes as she sat, curled up in one of his chairs in his library with his coat wrapped around her shoulders. She had found it in the coat closet in the entry way, farther proof that she was right. It smelled like him. She had almost forgotten the scent of his clothes, but that one jacket brought it all back.

It was like the smell of old books, comforting and familiar, mixed with the fresh warmth of a spring day. There was no other way to describe it; it was just … Harold.

Sipping a cup of bitter tea helped make everything more real. It was his tea, sencha green with one sugar, just as he liked it.

This wasn't the way Grace normally took her tea, since she preferred honey to sugar, but under the circumstances she couldn't have it any other way. It was all his, as was she, and Grace was not leaving that spot until he came home.

*P*O*I*

She was there.

Harold could only stare at the screen in front of him, trying to get himself to really believe what he was seeing. Grace was in his house, drinking his tea in his library, and wearing one of his jackets. It was too big, but that didn't make it any less endearing. She looked so beautiful, but so sad. It pained him to see her tears, especially considering he was responsible for them. Not only had he allowed her to believe he was dead, but it was his ill-timed sentimentality that had brought her back to New York in the first place. He was usually so careful. Why was it that she was always able to get him to lower his defenses? She made him feel so …

"You there Finch?"

"Always, Mr. Reese," he replied, eyes still on Grace.

"You think you will be coming home anytime soon?"

Although the question was both justified and rather obvious, it still sent Harold's mind spinning. Grace was at home. Grace was safest where he was not. He couldn't go home … but he wanted to. He wanted to hold her again more than anything, but it was safer for her if he stayed away.

"I think I will stay here for the night," he replied, trying not to sound disappointed.

"You sure?"

"Yes, it's quite … comfortable."

Even as he said it, the sight of the couch made his back ache. Still, it was for the best. It was for her. He could take a few nights of discomfort if that was what it took to keep her safe.

"Well, then I hope that chair is comfortable."

"We do keep a couch down here, Mr. Reese."

"I know, I was actually talking about Grace. She said she wasn't going to leave that chair until you came home."

His eyes moved back to the screen, to the woman curled up in his jacket. He had sat in that very chair often enough to know its comfort level, which was quite high, but also knew it was not the best for sleeping.

"Do you think you could persuade her to at least move to the settee?"

"Assuming I knew what a settee was-"

"The small couch under the window."

"I doubt she'll move. She's very … determined. But I'm sure the chair won't hurt her back too much. Who knows, she may not even sleep at all."

"This is blackmail, Mr. Reese."

"Well, that's a harsh word."

Harsh or not, he knew it was true, Harold could hear it in his tone. It was a low and dirty trick, but it was working. He rose from his desk and headed to where he had left his coat. As if sensing it was time to go, Bear jumped up from his bed and trotted over to him.

"I'll be there shortly," he called out, before cutting communications.

Bear waited patiently while Harold took his time gathering his things. He probably should hurry as it was likely Grace would not go to bed until he did, but he couldn't shake the uncertainty that had set in the minute he put on his coat.

What was she going to say when she saw him? What was he going to say to her? What could he say to her? After everything he had put her through, she must hate him. She should hate him; he didn't deserve anything else. But why didn't she hate him?

"Finch?"

"I said I was on my way, Mr. Reese."

"Do you need me to pick you up?"

"I don't know why you would think that was necessary."

"Well, you've been on your way for the last hour."

Startled, Harold looked at his watch. Had it really been that long? It seemed time flies when you are terrified. But why should he be terrified? Grace crossed an ocean to see him. She must want to see him … but how could he face her?

"Finch?"

"I'll be leaving shortly."

"Don't bother, I'm on my way."

He thought about objecting, but there was really no point. John's stubbornness reminded him of Nathan. An act of congress couldn't have swayed him once he had set his mind on something. Then there was Grace, as well as Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw, not to mention the detectives he had worked with. What was it with him befriending stubborn people?

He had ten minutes to dwell on that thought before John showed up to escort him home. It was probably childish for Harold to feel better facing Grace with his friend beside him, not that he would ever admit it. Lord only knew how long it would take for him to live it down if any member of his team found out. He may trust each of them with his life, but that did not mean they were always helpful when it came to his sanity.

"Harold? We're here."

Startled out of his thoughts, he noticed that the car had stopped. There was no more time, no more delay. He was home … and so was Grace.


Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger, not to mention a shorter chapter, but that happens sometimes.

Let me know what you think and the next art will go up within the next 24 hours.