MEETING
"I guess there is something you want to tell me, Detective Riley?"
Harold welcomed John after crossing the street.
John could only nod, not sure where to begin.
"I might suggest a short visit to the park nearby. Certainly we can find a bench there." Harold noted.
John nodded again, silently.
"It's not far away." Harold added.
The fell together in a slow trot, John as always adapting to Harold's handicapped movements.
"You hacked the fax, that's why you're here." John's remark was not a question but simply stating a fact.
"Detective Fusco called me. - After that, I was wondering..."
John sighed. "He did, didn't he?" Then he shook his head. "He seems constantly worrying."
"Yes, he is." was Harold's laconic answer. He hesitated. "He left me wondering if there is a particular reason...?"
It was as close to a question as only Harold could ask.
He knew he jumped in at the deep end, well aware that neither of them had a heart-to-heart-talk lately with each other. John still knew next to nothing about his encounter with Beth and Root. And Harold could only guess about the shoot-out at the cabin, when John was found shot and hypothermic in a car by Detective Fusco.
John gave no answer to that hint, but they finally reached the bench and sat down.
Fearing that he would get no answer, Harold thought about raising a more open topic.
"What did you find out by asking Tilda?"
"Nothing." This time John did not hide his disappointment. "She didn't take me seriously."
Then he continued, not looking at Harold: "The only thing she was serious about was seeing me in action."
"In action?" Harold repeated, slightly perplexed.
"You told her of my cooking skills. So she told me I should cook for her tomorrow, along with you, Professor."
"Along with me? Why? She thinks I am a boring adept, that's all."
"Maybe she wants you to be a reliable witness to our talk...I don't know. I didn't get far in our interview."
Harold raised his eyebrows. "And you are willing to weather through such an evening?"
John sighed.
"I didn't really have a choice in that matter. The only way to ask her more questions with even the slightest chance of getting answers out of her was to acquiesce to her dinner demand..."
Here John was interrupted.
"Really, Detective Riley." Harold answered dryly. "Do you think your entertainment skills will hold out that long?"
"I didn't know that I'm not good enough at entertaining, Professor."
"We can't afford to get anyone suspicious about who we are."
"I'm aware of that."
"Well, for example, how will you explain your new job?"
"I already did. And besides, you will have to be there, too, Harold."
"I am certainly not going to be of any use, Mr. Riley. This is a dinner between friends as you so nicely pointed out."
"Remember that she thinks I am with you, Professor Whistler?" John said with an eyebrow lifted.
"I could be...somewhere else that evening..." Harold clearly wanted to avoid the situation.
"You leaving me alone with this?" John asked. "Just so you know, it would be even more interesting for Tilda if I told her that Catherine would come along, too,..." John started.
"Are you then prepared for the questions we will have to answer?" Harold cut him off, evidently uncomfortable.
"...and the ladies will not only concentrate on us but have a lot to chat about themselves." John completed his sentence. After throwing him one short glance, he added:
"Do you have a better idea, Professor? Retreat is no option."
Harold gave him a look, lips tightly pressed together, but he eventually admitted: "No. Although I still don't see the point of me being there."
"I think it's easier to cook for four. And you said yourself that entertaining is highly requested - so as a master of that I obviously need your help." John mentioned ironically.
For the first time there was a tiny smile around John's lips. A smile, so rare in these last months, that it made Harold give in.
"Dinner it is, then." He sighed. "When do you want dinner to start tomorrow?"
"I thought around 7 pm?"
"I'll be there half an hour earlier."
"I may need your help with shopping, Professor. And spending more time together makes us a little bit better...acquainted again with each other and our former covers. I'll pick you up around 3 pm at the college."
"Do I have a choice in that?" Harold asked now ironically, too. But he nodded slowly.
"Let's hope that your plan works."
"Do you mean the dinner or the entertainment?"
He earned another dismayed look from Harold. "If you are fishing for compliments, don't look at me, Detective. And I refrain from saying anything more." Harold stood, turned around and made his way slowly back to the street.
"Good to have you by my side, then." John couldn't resist to shout after him.
He was really looking forward to tomorrow – having a little bit of time to spend with Harold for once not only in the service of the Machine. And then...?
Maybethere was more hope in this evening than he had ever let himself believe in the long run.
