Chapter 11
Harold carefully sat down on the sofa with a hand still pressed to his abdomen. He was embarrassed and bewildered by his own behavior. He hoped John wouldn't mention his slip of tongue. Honestly it still confused him how he could use a sentence as: as you wish. Things like that didn't happen to him. Harold always took pride in being an honest and direct man.
Harold leaned against the sofa's back with a tired sigh. The past few days he had worked almost constantly taking little or no rest at all because he wanted a secure location for them. Harold was sure if John finally had a safe place to sleep without interruption, he would finally allow himself to relax.
The next thing Harold heard were the distinct sounds of John preparing tea in their new kitchen. He must have fallen asleep. "I am awake," he announced groggily.
"The second floor looks... nice."
"Yes. I saw the pictures," Harold yawned. "What time is it?"
"You weren't asleep long." John came into his line of vision and handed him a steaming cup and his painkillers. "The bedrooms are... spacey. The elevator is a nice touch."
Harold gave him a small smile. He sipped his tea and washed down the pills. It wasn't in his nature to feel smug, but in that moment he was very proud of himself. The house had looked perfect in the pictures. Every newly discovered detail in close inspection convinced him the house is absolutely perfect for their purpose. "Yes, I know all of that. It's a reason why I purchased it."
"I saw a dog bed for Bear and toys. You thought of everything."
Harold didn't know how to answer that. John certainly wasn't the type to usually pay people compliments directly. He knew the ex-agent. John was now unusually quiet. "Is something wrong, John?"
Harold held his breath and waited for the complaints. Of course John would have something to say. It was inevitable. Harold had seized control of their situation without consulting his partner in crime and assumed John would be alright with them sharing a house.
After several heartbeats and John's long searching gaze, Harold saw John's shoulders ease and the tension leave his body. The small smirk would probably be Harold's only answer, if he didn't insist. "John?"
"Nothing's wrong. I have a bedroom across the hall from yours."
Bedroom? Harold blinked in confusion. He hadn't thought about their sleeping arrangements so far. "I didn't choose a bedroom for myself yet," he mumbled.
"Yours is the first one on the right with with quickest access to stairs and elevator in case of emergency. You're welcome."
Harold acknowledged the information with a tilt of his head. Of course John would think about his safety first.
"Until you're healed, I'm sleeping on the floor in your room."
Harold blinked in confusion. John's tone didn't invite any arguments against his wishes, but he certainly had to hear wrong. Why would John… "Beg your pardon?"
"We're not discussing it, Harold," John sounded perfectly clear. "You're hurt. Until you're healed, you're not leaving my sight."
"As..." This time Harold stopped himself before he could finish his answer. As you wish? His brain couldn't come up with nothing more original? He blinked as other words left his brain. As you wish was a very appropriate answer in this case. In both meanings. Harold didn't want to complain, he was happy with John's suggestion. And he certainly wanted John to know he was very dear to him. "Alright."
"Good. Now what do we do with the Number?"
"I already contacted Ms. Shaw. She's handling this alone with her unknown associates from the CIA or other domestic government acronyms." Harold didn't choose his words wisely. He knew from the look of John's tension in his shoulders. Helping with the Numbers was John's job. He took his occupation seriously. John was not supposed to stay home and play Harold's nurse. Stay home.
Harold's mind rebelled against that thought. "I am..." He didn't know how to finish his words. Tired of being scared for John's life? Petrified, that the moment he doesn't have John in his line of sight, something will happen to him? Horrified, if he thought about his life without John in it.
"Harold?"
Harold shook his head, confused with the situation and his own thoughts. "I am sorry. I am..." He had forgotten the effects of strong medications on his body. Why did he take those pills? He should have waited until they had discussed their new situation.
"Harold?" John made a few steps towards him.
"I am alright," Harold assured John and tried to focus his eyes on the man kneeling in front of him. "Just tired. No, not tired. Confused is a better word."
"Lay down," John helped him raise his legs up on the sofa. Harold could finally breathe easily, because John's fingers squeezed his palm and didn't let go.
"Don't go after her, John," he whispered with a broken rasp of his voice.
"I'm not going anywhere."
But even in his state, Harold could hear the word John didn't say out loud. Yet. He wouldn't go after Sameen this time. Probably because Harold asked him to stay or because Harold was too vulnerable in this state and needed someone to look after him. And that thought hurt. Harold didn't want to be a burden for anyone.
"You don't have to stay, John," he squeezed his eyes and tried to stay focused. Didn't he ask John to not go after Sameen a minute ago? "I will be alright. You don't have to worry about me."
"Sleep it off, Harold."
Harold felt John's hand carefully pulling off his glasses.
"And Harold?"
He opened his eyes with a squint, prepared to have John's features blurred. Harold held his breath for a moment instead, because John was very close–mere inches from his face–and perfectly clear in Harold's line of vision.
"I'll be here. Your job is to be here as well."
"Always, Mr. Reese," Harold whispered breathlessly.
"No more dying for me. No more playing God with your Machine. You and me helping Numbers, that's the end game. Imperative on you and me."
"Agreed," he said softly.
"Alright. Now go to sleep."
And Harold did. Not before he felt John rearranging himself on the floor near the couch with John's hand still on Harold's.
