Person of Interest and all character names therein are owned by Warner Brothers, Bad Robot, and Kilter Films. All characters are fictional and resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chance Meetings
by Sailor Chronos

Chapter 6: Respite

Although Harold had assured her that the place was absolutely safe, after the events of the past day she had trouble believing it. This whole situation was so screwed up. All she had wanted was to help a wounded man believe that there existed people who were trustworthy. But now they were on the run from her ex-husband, being aided by a highly trained fighter, and hiding in a secret apartment: just like those spy novels that her mother liked to read, only this was far too real.

With trembling hands she opened her purse and withdrew an orange-sized stress ball and began to squeeze it. It was either that or pace repeatedly across the room and potentially damaging the hardwood floor.

Harold returned from the kitchen with two glasses of water, placing his feet carefully so that his awkward gait wouldn't cause the water to spill. "Now I understand why you have such a firm hand, Ms. Ashby," he said.

She allowed herself a slight smile as she put the ball away and accepted a glass. The formality was back. Even in the short time that she had known him she had figured out that it was his way of compartmentalizing his emotions. What he had endured in the past had left him aloof and slow to trust, like a feral cat that would only come out of hiding when it was safe to do so. However it was clear that he completely trusted Mr. Reese's abilities to protect them; why else would he have accompanied her here?

"One has to for the job," she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking, but failed. She cleared her throat, took a sip of water and tried again. "I just needed to do something with my hands or else I'd go crazy." She sighed. "I knew Alan was obsessed with me, which was one of the reasons why I left home. I never thought he'd go this far. Maybe I should have done what he asked, instead of endangering you and your colleague."

He placed his glass on the table and took two uneven steps toward her so he could hold her shoulders in a firm grip. "Had you done that, it was very likely that he would have harmed you," he asserted. "The information that I have is never wrong."

She jerked back against his hold, and he released her. This had gotten way over her head, and she'd had enough. "No matter where your info comes from, how can I trust you any more?" she asked angrily. "One moment we're having a conversation, and the next I'm running for my life. You told me your name was Wren, but on today's appointment book you had a different name. And then Mr. Reese called you Finch. You supposedly work at an insurance company, but when I called to confirm appointments, I always got a voicemail. How many other lies have you told me?"

"Ms. Ashby," he began, but she put her glass down and strode away from him. "Irene." At the sound of her given name she stopped, but didn't turn around. "I never wished to mislead you."

"Omitting the truth amounts to the same thing!"

"Given what you have learned about me through the therapy sessions, you must understand why I'm so careful about trusting people," he said. "Just as you had your reasons for coming to New York, I have my reasons for being anonymous."

She whirled to face him. "Do you expect me to believe that? What, you're hiding from the government or something?"

It was his eyes that told her. He hadn't moved, and his facial expression didn't change. But his eyes... She had dealt with many people throughout her life and had picked up the ability to catch someone in the lie through observation of their subtle body language. Harold was a master of hiding his true self, but his eyes had never lied. Her anger dissipated. If he was truly in such danger, she couldn't blame him for not being completely honest with her.

"My troubles shouldn't concern you," he said firmly. "I suggest that you be mindful of your own."

She was not going to let him avoid the subject any longer. "You're right, Mr. Finch," she said, emphasizing the name to sound almost like an insult. "However you once told me that we have free will and need to accept the burdens that come with it."

He frowned before looking squarely at her, his face stern. "The real reason that I left Grace was that the work that I had done was deemed so... sensitive... that anyone who had a mere inkling of its existence was assassinated. Including my best friend." His voice shook. "Please don't ask me anything further, because it will put you in immeasurably more danger than you already are."

Horrified, Irene fell silent. His behaviour now made sense. Harold Wren/Finch/whatever his name was a dead man walking, trying to atone for his past by enabling others to have a future, at the cost of his own. She nodded, unable to speak for a moment, and then cleared her throat. "If we're stuck here for a while, would you mind if I completed your session? After all, we were rather rudely interrupted."

"Really?" he exclaimed, incredulous. "I'm surprised that you can even think of that."

"Well, it'll be good to work off the tension somehow, unless you'd prefer that I rip my stress ball to pieces." She found a stool nearby, set it in front of him and indicated that he should sit. Reluctantly he yielded; sitting and beginning to remove the layers of clothing from his torso while she went to close the heavy drapes on the windows. Outside, the sky was glowing shades of blue in the bright afternoon.

It took her a few minutes to get into a rhythm, and the stresses of the day translated into her probing being a bit harder than it should have been; it was only when Harold grunted in discomfort that she realized her error and eased up. "Sorry."

"That's quite all right. I must say that your therapy has improved my condition a great deal. I know the physical pain will never be completely absent, but it's more tolerable now."

"I'm glad to hear that, Harold." She finished working on his back without another word, and then she picked up his undershirt that lay folded neatly on the table. He stood as she handed it to him, and the sudden thought struck her that he was beautiful. She had seen his unclothed torso many times, but now it felt... different. Certainly he was pale and scarred. But he was also intellectually devastating and hauntingly beautiful. Hoping that he wouldn't recoil from her violation of his personal space, she stepped close to him and put her hands on his bare chest. The warmth of his body and scent of his cologne stirred something in her that she hadn't felt for a long time.

He hesitated before gently removing her hands from him; his undershirt dropped to the floor. "Ms. Ashby... I can't." He squeezed her hands in apology, his eyes downcast. "I appreciate the gesture, but I can't."

"Because of Grace?" He nodded. "I understand, really. True love only happens once in your life. But I believe that you can't relate to what's in your present if you continually dwell in the past or if you're afraid of losing someone else. Let go of what you can't change and hold fast to what you can."

He regarded her with surprise, as if he had never thought in those terms. Abruptly he grimaced and his eyes focused elsewhere. "I don't recall asking for such advice, Mr. Reese," he said firmly.

Irene couldn't help but snicker. She had almost forgotten that there was still an open phone connection to Harold's earpiece, and Reese couldn't resist commenting.

"Attend to your business, Mr. Reese," Harold instructed in a droll tone, "and I shall attend to mine." He clicked off the earpiece and removed it, placing it on the table.

Gently she stroked his cheek; it was rough from his whiskers that were starting to grow out. Then she stepped back. "I shan't ask again because I respect you. If you ever change your mind, the offer still stands."

He actually smiled ever so slightly. "Haven't you said that you didn't do 'those' types of sessions?"

"That's correct. Anything else would be on my own time, and because I wanted to. Keeping someone like you in my heart would be a blessing, even if once is all we have. We're both broken in our own ways, and I'd like to think that we could help each other heal."

The change in Harold's stance was noticeable when at last he let down his carefully orchestrated personal barriers. Tentatively he moved forward and brushed his lips on hers, inviting her response, and she accepted whole-heartedly. Their kiss deepened, and the embers that had kindled inside her leapt into flames. She could sense the same from him.

When they broke the kiss he murmured, "Have we lost all judgment?"

"I would attribute it to panic."

He chuckled.

Ever fastidious, as they retired to the bedroom he insisted that their discarded clothing was neatly hung over chairs. Then there was no need for further decorum as she helped him ease himself down to the mattress. She moved with him, answered his desires, and ensured that he was as comfortable as possible within the whirlwind of their ardor.

When he whispered Grace's name during an intense moment and tears of remorse flowed, she soothed him. Most people would be completely repulsed if they heard their partner mention a previous lover in the midst of intimacy, but not her, not this time: because she understood. She lovingly smoothed the moisture away and held him, sharing his pain and letting it out through herself. His eyes silently pleaded for her forgiveness and she gave it in the form of kisses and caresses that served to reconnect him with the present once again.

Finally when they were united and striving to reach that exquisite release, both knew that each of them was on the path to healing, and each possessed a piece of the other's heart forever.