Chapter 7 - John's POV
John knew it wasn't fair to bother Finch. Not when Harold was in a severe pain. Bad weather was making his injuries worse and his temper as well. John doesn't need CIA training to notice. Harold's upper body was always stiff as a board. Throw a rainy day to the mix and he radiated pain, discomfort and misery to one mile radius. He deserved to suffer in privacy of his apartment. Without John there.
The most important talk of their partnership could wait a day or two. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like John was hiding from him. Maybe a little. Pretending to be Harold's sweetheart wasn't an easy task. It was surprisingly unnerving. He was used to faking feelings and acting like someone's plus one. But pretending to be Harold's soon-to-be lover, that was a different game altogether.
John valued friendship with Harold too much. They have a barrier between them from the first moment. Well, second or maybe third moment... He almost snapped Harold's neck in a hotel room in the beginning. But after... it was something else. He was very aware of their differences. John was a deadly trained ex-assassin, who could accidently kill him in two seconds. Harold was fragile. Shockingly efficient with computer, bossy and stubborn, resourceful, but still too fragile for John's liking. They both felt better if the distance between them was at least half the room.
If John could choose one person on the entire planet with absolute certainty the person will never be near him by his free will faking this charade, it would be Harold. He scared him enough times over and over again when they argued about Marshal Jennings's case. When Joss died. When he succumbed to his revenge for Simmons and the head of HR. And finally when John was ready to kill congressman McCourt like the Machine wanted them to.
John felt like a simple solution - faking a relationship - was the easiest thing. They both pretended so many times in everyday occurrence. It was not supposed to be a big deal. But he was wrong. John forgot government took Harold's Machine, killed his best friend, he was forced to leave Grace and go to hiding with broken body and broken heart. They betrayed Harold again by letting Samaritan online, destroyed the sanctuary he loved - the library. They took Harold's only chance to atone for all the bad - his access to Irrelevant list. He lost everything. And after one teeny tiny kiss on the cheek, John didn't want to continue. Harold's reaction was crystal clear. John was forcing himself to Harold's space. The only thing Harold had left - his personal space and dignity. It just wasn't right.
When the phone started ringing, John knew it was Harold. No one else would bother him. "Miss me already, Henry?" If he tried to sound amused, maybe Finch will think all was alright in their world of chaos.
"What if I say yes?"
"Can I help you?" John missed the earpiece. He wasn't very fond of phone in his hand. It meant he couldn't use both in combat.
"Am I bothering you at work?"
"No."
"No, I am not bothering you or no, you are not at work?"
John's shoulders sagged with sadness. After all these years he remembered Finch's exact words: They lied to you. I never will. Harold kept the promise. He may have hide some things from him, but never blatantly lied. And John didn't want to start doing it himself. "I'm at home."
"Why?"
"You looked tired and in pain. I didn't want to bother you. It must be difficult time and the kiss in front of your friends... I embarrassed you. It was the last thing I wanted." For a moment John held his breath and waited.
"I could use some company, if you have time."
It was so low, John almost didn't hear it clearly. "Alright. Do you want me to bring anything?"
"No. Thank you."
"I will be there in twenty minutes." John put his cell down and didn't move for a few minutes. Obviously they will have their talk today. The idea was a bit unsettling.
The tension in Finch's living room could be cut with a knife. There were some pleasantries at the beginning: How you doing, Finch? Do you need me to take Bear for a walk? I can find bottled water in your fridge alone, Finch. I don't need directions or assistance. You can sit and relax. My work is mainly done online. I left phone at home again. No one will bother me or suspect anything. You don't have to worry. And on Finch's part: I'm alright. Thank you for asking. No, Bear is alright. Help yourself then.
With all these things out of picture, they both sat at their respective sides of one couch in silence. Bear was nervous just from their presence. Where to begin? John was at loss for words. He knew very well it was his time to start. Not an easy task to do. And with every minute he felt bigger remorse.
"Harold?" John saw Finch looking at him with quiet, calm expression so many time, it was funny how undeserving it was making him feel now. "You should probably memorize this for a long time." With a wince and deep breath he revealed the most important part. "I made a mistake."
"And what would that be, Mr. Reese? Working for CIA? Leaving the woman you loved? Working for me? Obeying me and not killing McCourt?"
Harold looked at all of these as mistakes? "I didn't think clearly."
"When you opened the door half naked?"
They weren't on a same page yet. Funny. That was the only detail that bothered Finch?
"No. Meeting you in a bar was the fastest and easiest option. But I didn't think it through. You know that. Today was a good example of how wrong and screw up our situation is. You can't stand me near you. And I don't feel comfortable having you in my personal space. I opened the door half asleep. You touched me-" Deep breath. John needed to stop thinking about the unbearable heat of Harold's hand on his skin. "Touching me half asleep is the surest way of ending your life, Harold. I still have muscle memory ingrained in me. It's a miracle I didn't kill you on a spot in front of your new best friend."
"Excuse me if I over stepped the boundaries, Mr. Reese. But you were not capable of reaction. When I'm asking you, how you doing, your answer is always fine. You weren't fine. I assessed the situation. You didn't talk to Andrew, so I tried to bring his attention to me."
John was on his feet in a second. Angry as hell. It wasn't safe to be in Harold's proximity like this. "That's just it! You are not suppose to be near me no matter what!"
"Stop being ridiculous!"
Awesome. They were now yelling at each other. Day couldn't be better. "Ridiculous?!"
"Yes!"
John stood straight as a surf board, when Harold was in his space, few inches from him, daring him to move with determination on his face.
"Go on, John. Make me move! Put your hands on my shoulders and push me away!"
Why the hell didn't Harold move? It wasn't the wisest thing to do. It would be deadly for anyone else. But this was Harold. Of course he didn't back down. And John finally understood what Harold wanted him to. He would never cross this line.
Finch gave him his lop sided smile. "This is ingrained in your core, John. Not killing people. Protecting. It was the reason I chose you. You would never put a hand on me in anger, haze or sleepiness. We are not talking about me being scared of you. Yes. Sometimes, I am terrified of your actions and what you are capable of doing. But I am never scared of you as a person."
They still weren't on the same page. John's heart was beating panicky in his chest. Maybe the problem wasn't in Finch. Maybe the problem was him. The idea of having someone near was almost nauseating. And it was the reason John's pulse increased anxiously. Because every time someone was in his space, it meant danger, torture and manipulation.
Harold never took a step back. John couldn't remember one time when Harold would do it. It was always him. He was trying to be out of Harold's proximity. Protect himself. Protect Finch from him. Soft voice for Finch's benefit, to assure him he wasn't angry. Light tone of their banter, to show his good mood. Staying half the room away in strategic positions, being prepared to put himself in front of Harold in case of danger. And at the same time telling himself no one could put a knife in John's back or shoot him. They both had trust issues longer than Hudson river. But Harold overcame his own. John? Not so much as it appeared.
"Can we now sit back and talk about the true problem?" Harold asked calmly, sitting himself back on the couch awaiting for John's reply.
"Which is?" John was almost afraid to know.
"We have two problems, Mr. Reese. First one is your guilt. I'm not the best person to talked to you. But you have to know something very important. I never blamed you for my kidnappings. You never failed me. They weren't your fault. Just as much as it isn't your fault opening my door without weapon. We have our covers, Mr. Reese. You are not CIA agent anymore. You are Jack Frost. Henry Dellany's friend. You don't have weapons! You don't need them! It's pointless to even discuss your blame. It shouldn't be an issue here. You were asleep. Every human being needs sleep, John. Or we could turn the tables. Do you blame me for making your situation worse, when you need to rescue me? I'm not helping you enough. I am not capable of running with my body. Do you blame me for it?"
John averted his eyes. All the things Harold said were true. "Of course not." They needed to focus on important things, his state of mind really wasn't important. "What's our second problem?" Harold's sad sigh caught his attention.
"Relationship status, Mr. Reese."
