A/N: Fair warning, we've got a little OOCness coming your way.
...
The unusual humidity clung to him, desperate to make its presence known. Yet, he didn't mind it all that much. Just reminded him that he was alive.
As John made his way down to their familiar hideaway, he held onto a brief smile. Not that any witnesses would be able to call it as such, but for the ex-assassin a minute twitch of the lips would be classified as a smile.
It's just that, he could imagine it all clearly: the weather dipping into the high 90s, humidity sweeping through the city, and Finch would still be tucked away in the library in one of his three-piece suits.
Not only that, but Finch would also still be content to raise an inquisitive eyebrow if Reese were to ask for the day off on one of those days.
"Why on Earth would you need a day off, Mr. Reese? It's only 102 degrees outside."
That little moment of imagination kept him going through the steps scattered with dusty books. It kept him from indulging in a slight dizziness as the temperature seemed to rise with every step into their headquarters.
And it had him cracking up into peals of laughter when he finally arrived at his destination. Finch only looked up questioningly from his station as Bear pelted forward in lieu of a serene greeting.
Mr. Reese was a cold vigilante, one who wouldn't hesitate to kneecap someone if necessary. He's gone through hours of what others would call torture, he can pin down any person of any size… and he was currently unable to stop himself from laughing.
"Mr. Reese, are you quite alright?" Harold got up, cringing at the fact that he could see sweat around his station.
"You're- you're" is all the man could get out.
"Oh dear." It seems we might need a day off and much sooner than I anticipated.
"Mr. Reese, we have a new number," But the numbers would have to wait a few more minutes.
After a good couple of moments had passed, it seemed that John was getting himself under control. But then, he looked up and a few unexpected chuckles escaped.
"I'm sorry, Finch." He coughed and managed to retain his composure. "It's just that-"
"I'm sure you can be trusted on to take today's number quite seriously, Mr. Reese." Finch was not having it today.
But having been reduced to an unbutton long-sleeved shirt, a shirt that was rolled up rather precariously moreover, with no handkerchief or embellishment… it had been quite understandable as to why Finch just "was not having it today".
Furthermore, with hair as unusually messy and glasses askew whilst they hung from his shirt, it was particularly difficult for John not to bust up laughing. He really didn't mean to offend, but Harold resembled a bird so much, he almost expected the man to be flying to the nearest telephone booth to retrieve their next number.
…
A/N: Ladies, gentlemen, and individuals of other identifications, I'm back. Please check back on chapter 11 - the old author note has been replaced. Can you believe it's been three years? Neither can I!
