Slight Trigger Warning for Past Child Abuse and Past Child Torture. None of this is about our main characters.

XXXX

About a month had sailed by since Harold had purchased the Coronet Hotel and put Miss Brozi to work as the floor manager. She'd really taken to her new profession and Harold couldn't fault her hard work, she'd done wonders for its social calendar already.

He'd not slept very well the previous night, on a good day his pain lingered around a three but last night it had been way up at seven, that was how he'd ended up at the diner eating Eggs Benedict and re-reading The Island of Doctor Moreau as a way of grounding his mind. Thankfully it seemed to be working because his pain level had dropped back down to a steady and manageable three.

As the suit clad man turned a page he spotted someone in his peripheral vision, for a second he assumed it to be the waitress wanting to know if he needed anything else but when he finally looked up there was Cassandra and all his memories of the hotel flooded back. The raven-haired beauty had dressed down from the last time he'd seen her, now in denim shorts, a long white cardigan and an oversized shirt with Rammstein scrawled across it. Those heels of hers were still present though and her legs remained on display, and they were very lovely legs.

With a beaming smile she slipped into the booth opposite him and thanked a waitress when a cup of steaming black coffee was set before her. Finch froze with a fork of eggs half way to his open mouth and watched her with a raised eyebrow. It took him a moment but he soon managed to set the fork down and get his brain to function again.

"You're following me now?" He accused with no real anger. "I usually notice people following me."

Harold had glanced at the heels Cassandra wore and seriously doubted she'd be prepared for it. She just shrugged and lifted her coffee cup to her bold red lips.

"It must be fate." Sip. "Mind if I sit here?" She asked despite already being in the booth.

Finch wanted to decline but when he glanced around the diner he saw just how busy the place was. As far as he could tell there were only three available spots to sit; one at the counter between two men who looked like they'd kill a woman for daring to breathe the same air as them, over by an old man who was clearly already drunk at – Harold glanced at his watch – eight in the morning and the last was by a young boy who seemed to care more about kicking all the chairs near him whether they had someone sat in them or not. Upon reflection, the bespectacled man wouldn't have wanted to sit in any of those places either so he didn't blame Cassandra for not wanting to and reluctantly accepted her presence.

"Please tell me this isn't the first time you're reading that." She said as she nodded to the book.

"Of course not, everyone should have read this." Harold firmly believed that. "It's a tale of moral responsibility, the philosophical themes and imagery, not to mention its portrayal of human identity. It teaches that just because one can does not mean one should, Miss Cassandra."

She flashed him a smile over her cup, clearly pleased he understood the story's – sometimes obvious – messages.

"The Puma-woman, that horrified me. I can't imagine leaving someone in that much pain."

Harold flashed back to the previous night and being unable to sleep because of the pain in his spine, frankly he could understand far better than Cassandra could.

As their talk went on Harold discovered that the pair of them actually shared a vast enjoyment of literature and – surprisingly – he concluded he liked this girl. She was knowledgeable and opinionated but not rudely so, Cassandra latched on to life lessons in novels and was able to discuss them at length when with another like-minded person and seemed willing to learn and take in other's opinions. After a while though she got sick of Harold referring to her as 'Miss Cassandra."

"Well, I don't know your name so it will have to do." He replied not expecting to know her real name unless he Bluejacked her phone.

"... It's Harbor." She said softly. "Harbor Caldwell."

Harold raised an eyebrow. "What sort of a name is 'Harbor'?"

The raven-haired beauty, who was on her third cup of coffee, didn't seem impressed. "At least it's a real one."

That got a soft smile out of him. "You have me there."

"I'm an escort, I'll have you anywhere."

It had become glaringly obvious very quickly that Cassandra – or Harbor as it turned out – didn't seem to be able to turn her teasing dial down. Harold wasn't offended but he had made note of it. His face betrayed him though because Finch's face flushed red and Harbor thought it utterly adorable from a man his age.

Soon the conversation turned to poetry and Harold became fascinated when she corrected him on a misquoted Macbeth saying 'lead' instead of 'lay'. It wasn't that Harold had assumed that Harbor's chosen occupation meant she was stupid, not at all, but he'd not expected her to have such a varied knowledge and be able to recite so easily.

"How can you know that?" He asked as he leant in a little; his plate had been taken away long ago now only his closed book sat between them.

Harbor looked away then and her happy smile faded to one of caution as she debated how to answer. He'd not seen this from her in any of their three meetings and Harold instantly recognized he's touched a nerve. When she finally spoke it was dismissive and shrugged off.

"... My brain, its wired weirdly."

Well that was a comment that required further inquiry if ever he'd heard one.

"Em, 'wired weirdly'? Care to elaborate?" Harold kept his voice soft and gentle as he didn't know how she'd react.

"I don't want to show off." She waved him off with a loose gesture and finished the last of her coffee. Much to Harold's pleasure she didn't seem offended or irritated. "I have a photographic memory, but while most people with one can remember things, images, books, weeks or even months later … I'm quite rare. I can still remember kids books from kindergarten word for word and I'm now twenty-two. Once it's in there, it's in there."

That certainly explained a lot in regards to her ability to correct his misquote so easily and had all that literature information on hand. Finch had already concluded that Harbor was highly intelligent but now he thought her remarkable, he also wondered why a woman with a brain like that worked as an escort.

They talked a little longer and Harold had to admit he'd not been this mentally stretched by another person since his MIT days. He opened his mouth to speak but paused when his phone vibrated and he quickly took it out from his breast pocket. Reese, and it didn't seem good.

"As interesting as our conversation has been, Miss Caldwell, I'm afraid I must leave." He grabbed his book, shoved his phone away and stood. "Good day."

"Hope we run into each other again some time."

"Unlikely."

Then he was gone off to aid Mister Reese and get the next name off the Irrelevant list. It had been a pure coincidence that he'd met Miss Caldwell again, the diner was popular after all, but she was just one girl and Harold was unlikely to come across her again.

~X~

Around a week and a half later Harold returned to the diner dressed in a navy suit and a burgundy tie; suits were his weakness. He'd planned to take Bear for a walk but Reese had beaten him to it so Harold was left flying solo as he'd headed for something to eat. He glanced over at the booths as soon as he was through the door and annoyingly found them all full of patrons, the counter it is then. He limped over only to stop dead, sat looking sipping her coffee was Harbor. He'd figured it so unlikely for them to ever stumble across one another again, but if she ate at the diner semi-regularly as he did then unlikely became very likely indeed. She'd not seen him, Finch could have left and found somewhere else to eat but no, he wanted that plate of Eggs Benedict he'd promised himself.

He'd not intended to Bluejack her phone originally, however, their beyond interesting conversation had changed matters and he'd not been able to stop himself as he'd left. She'd not lied, Harbor Caldwell was indeed her real name. She'd been born in Wichita, Kansas, some fifteen-hundred miles away. Her father had been a Marine by the name of Sebastian Caldwell and her mother, Deanna, had died due to complications in childbirth. She'd spent some time in The System as well though it appeared she'd run away not long after. Harbor hadn't lied about her age either, twenty-two years old as of November last year. A young woman basically alone in the world.

Before he knew his feet had moved Harold had limped to the stool beside her. A quick flash down took in her outfit which – once again – showed off those lovely legs and damn as she beautiful. Short red circle skirt and long-sleeved, stripped top, bold and yet somehow simple; the heels though, Harold had to wonder how she walked in those things.

Harold noticed a man a few seats along the counter as he glanced between Harbor and Harold himself only to hive him 'that look' the one that said he didn't have a chance with a girl as stunning as Harbor. However, when she finally spotted him her head snapped up and a beaming grin spread across her berry colored lips. Quickly the silent man's expression changed to another look one that muttered 'ah, you're her sugar daddy'. Harold didn't care what he or anyone else assumed about him, it wasn't any of their business any way.

Finch sat himself down beside her and the two slipped into conversation as though more than a week hadn't occurred since their last chat. Harold hadn't meant for it to happen, he always tried to be so unpredictable but he and Harbor had breakfast at the diner most mornings after that; Machine and Numbers permitting of course. He liked this girl, he could actually have an interesting conversation with her and she reminded him why he and Reese did what they did, to help people who didn't have anyone to rely on but themselves. She didn't pity him or treat him like he was made of glass because of his injuries either. Harold knew this was stupid and dangerous for him to become a creature of habit but he truly enjoyed the raven-haired beauty's company. Harold Finch didn't make friends – under any name – save for dear Mister Reese whose friendship he'd already come to cherish, and yet this girl – because she was little more than a girl – had wormed her way in without really meaning to. Had he not gone through her history with a fine-tooth comb he'd have though Harbor an agent of some sort just waiting to pounce.

Fifteen days after they'd started this little routine Harold found himself sat at the counter – facing the door due to his intense paranoia – waiting for the young woman to show up, she was usually there before him but on the odd occasion she'd come in to find him sat with a cup of coffee waiting for her. Harold hadn't want to admit it to himself at the start but her company truly did sooth him and let him forget, just for a short while, that the weight of the world was on his and Mister Reese's shoulders.

Harbor slipped into the seat beside him and crossed her legs in a very ladylike manner and took up the cup for a – rather large – gulp of coffee.

"Thank you, I really needed that. Have you already ordered?"

Finch nodded. "Yes, I hope you don't object but I took the liberty of ordering you pancakes."

"Am I that predictable?"

"Perhaps I am just very observant."

She seemed pleased with that answer because she flashed him a grin. Instantly he knew why she'd been late, Harbor wasn't wearing one of her bold lipsticks and that meant one thing; she'd been with a client. Harbor never wore lipstick when working, or perfume, she'd instead wear a shimmering lip-gloss, still pretty but it wouldn't leave any hint that a man had been with a whore. Wonderful for men with wives or girlfriends. While Harold didn't judge her in the least for her chosen profession he did occasionally feel bad for said wives and girlfriends.

Their plates were set before them then by a lovely young waitress who was always at the diner with a smile. When Harbor started to rummage though her bag for some cash Harold quickly stopped her.

"Already paid."

She flashed him a look, one that he suspected meant no one ever did something like that for her unless they intended to fuck her within the next hour.

"You don't have to." She replied softly.

"My treat." He insisted; Harold had billions, he could buy a young woman breakfast.

The suspicious look on her stunning face faded then into a genuine smile and she set her bag back down.

"Thank you. And I really could do with a treat right now." She sighed as she took up her cutlery. "I have a new client and he's … well he's a dick really. Once you get him out his head he's alright but until you have he's all puffed up chest."

She didn't seem overly concerned about this man just a touch irritated, then again Finch knew that if she had been concerned Harbor never would have let him onto her list.

"Tell me his name and I'll run a check."

Shit! That slipped out without him wanting it to. Since their meetings had begun he'd not told her anything about what he did and Harbor hadn't asked; amazingly. When he peered back up at her over the top of his thick-rimmed glasses she was chuckling quietly to herself; adorable.

"Aww, you want to keep me safe." The escort teased. "How protective of you, Hank."

Harold instantly latched onto the nickname and questioned it. "Hank?"

Harbor shrugged. "Well, I'm not expecting you to tell me your real name like … ever, but I do believe you when you say your name is Harold. I don't like the lie lingering around us so I'm going to call you Hank from now on, it's a name I've given you so it's not a lie and sort of cancels out the fact you're lying to me." Those polished emeralds fixed on him. "You have secrets and I don't mind, everybody has secrets."

While slightly convoluted he couldn't argue with her logic, it also meant she wasn't after information which was refreshing to say the least. He took a moment and a bite of eggs before he finally spoke.

"Isn't Hank usually a diminutive of Henry rather hand Harold?"

The raven-haired beauty shrugged. " Now days they're interchangeable, I think."

Finch usually just preferred Harold but he had to admit in the back of his mind he liked this nickname, most of the ones he got were from Detective Fusco and were normally just insults like 'Mister Vocabulary' or 'Glasses'.

Harold didn't have long to start over-thinking though as Harbor noticed his blank-ish expression and started talking again. In a way he was thankful for that, all too often Harold couldn't stop thinking.

"Hank, it's very rare for a whore to have a friend who knows she's a whore and isn't one themselves."

Finch found himself genuinely taken aback. "We're friends?"

Somewhere inside his mind a little voice had hoped but Finch hadn't allowed himself to confirm or deny it.

Those dazzling green-eyes sparkled at him and beautiful didn't do them justice; radiant maybe. Harold highly suspected a man could get lost in those impossibly green orbs.

"We could be."

"And why would I want to be your friend?" He teased back with a friendly expression.

Harold asked more for a test than anything else and Harbor paused a moment as if to ponder her answer; he busied himself with his breakfast.

"You don't have a lot of friends and nor do I." The escort told him as if it were simple. "We can be beneficial to each other in that regard. You want anonymity and I have no issue in respecting that. You're highly secretive and fairly paranoid, you don't like becoming a creature of habit and yet here you are sitting with me again so clearly you share a liking for our budding friendship."

Gods her mind amazed him. Most people shuffled through life only noticing the bare minimum but Harbor picked up on such little hidden things with ease.

"How do you do that?" He asked with a small, disbelieving shake of his head.

She flashed him a played down expression. "I'm not your low-level, found her on a street corner, whore, Harold. The men I have sex with I see regularly, I learn who they are, what their tells are. After long enough of doing that – spotting everything – you learn how to do it with people you've never met."

Impressed he watched her as she continued to sip her coffee and eat her pancakes and fruit; dainty would have been the best word to describe it. Someone dropped a plate behind him but Harold didn't turn his head, didn't care about the loud smash or the waitress' gasp nor any of the sighing and grumbling that came after, he was much to focused on the mystery that was Harbor Caldwell's brain.

"While you are certainly correct and I'd rather not become a creature of habit, I don't think we would have to cease being friends in order for me to do that." I have two friends, one is a highly trained ex-agent and the other is a prostitute with a photographic memory. Where do I find these people? "How about dinner tomorrow instead of breakfast? Change things up as it were. Do you like Korean food?"

She tilted her head at him coyly and a beaming grin spread across her face. He hoped she spoke soon otherwise he'd lose his confidence and back out. Were he attempting a romantic relationship with this woman then … well, he wouldn't have bothered at all, Harbor was so far out of his league he couldn't even see it. Finch didn't think himself ugly, he knew he wasn't on John Reese level but he wasn't ugly either, just sort of average; mundanely average. Harbor rejecting him probably would have been comical. No, friendship was all he'd get from this girl and Harold was happy with that. That and Harbor was much, much, too young for him; thirty-three years too young to be exact.

"Is this a date, Mister Dove?" She teased boldly. "And I love Korean food, most Asian food actually, especially when it's spicy."

Harold overlooked the date tease, didn't want to get back in his head about that.

"Alright, meet me at Jungsik at seven-thirty."

One of Harbor's eyebrows shot up. "You know how pricey that place is, right?" He nodded fully aware she'd got no idea of his wealth except for his suits. "And how can you get a table at such an upscale place at such short notice?"

It was Harold's turn to play coy. "I got into the Coronet Hotel with nothing more than two basic background identities and a few smiles."

She let out a little snicker. "Ahh, magic smiling is your secret, good to know. And smart is the new sexy."

Harold flushed at that but she still thought it cute. With her plate finished she grabbed her bag, rose to her feet and kissed Harold's cheek.

"Sorry to run out but I have to go to work. I'll see you later, Hank. Thanks for breakfast."

Then Harbor Caldwell was gone back to the busy streets to wherever her next client resided or had booked a hotel room. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face as her heels click-clacked on the sidewalk; she was happy. Harbor liked having Harold as a friend, the man was utterly facinating and new, unlike anyone else she'd ever met.

She took a cab to Yorkville and just stared out the window the entire way there. Her client earlier that morning flew in and out of the country a lot so she usually worked around his schedule as best she could. Annoyingly it had meant she'd had only about forty-five minutes to get back to her apartment, shower and change before she'd gone to meet Harold at the diner, now here she was rushing to Yorkville to see her next client. She didn't like booking them all so close together but she'd not really had a choice today.

Harbor paid the cab driver then headed up to the door of Richard Van Dune's home where she knocked and waited. When he opened the door she fluttered her eyes at him and let Richard guide her into the kitchen where he poured them each a glass of wine.

"You're home really is lovely, Richard." She said after thanking him for the wine. It was the first time she'd met with him since she'd vetted him a week previous but he didn't seem nervous as many of her clients did on their first time. "Rare for me to actually see a guys home instead of a hotel room, I feel honored."

Van Dune slipped around the large kitchen island and snaked his arms around her waist, only once he was so close did Harbor realize just how tall the man really was; six-foot-four or five maybe. He'd probably be getting labelled as 'Friendly Giant' in her phone soon.

"Well, I just couldn't be bothered to leave the house, Cassie." He looked her up and down hungrily. "You sure I can't kiss you on the lips?"

"Very sure."

That was one of her main rules, when she was working the clients didn't kiss her on the mouth, anywhere else was fair game but Harbor didn't let them actually kiss her.

The pair fooled around for a while, she let him touch her as he pleased and then, suddenly, he had her up on the island with her dress hiked up and her underwear cast aside to some unknown location. The marble was cold on her but she didn't care and after a while Harbor stopped noticing. Richard's shoulders were broad and he was remarkably well toned for a man on the wrong side of fifty. She'd never put much faith in the long fabled idea that a man's height or shoe size indicated the size of his manhood, as a prostitute she'd discovered it had no baring whatsoever, but when it came to Richard Van Dune she may have had to re-think. His arms were strong and his thrusts powerful and to anyone else they'd have wondered why a handsome man such as him would have felt the need to hire an escort. Those people didn't know what Harbor knew. It took her a while but she eventually managed to get him to take his shirt off, she didn't do it 'because that's what happened' she did it to try and build up some confidence in him. If he got some then he may be able to meet someone and not need her any more. The crisp white shirt fell to the ground and his stilled a moment as he fought the urge to cover up his torso. Harbor wasn't having any of that though.

"It's okay." She assured as she slipped a condom packet into his hands. "It's all okay."

With a gentle smile she leant in and pressed a kiss to the scar directly in the middle of his chest. She'd wanted to throw up when they'd met for the first time and he'd told her about why he wanted an escort. How anyone could not just beat their son but cut and brand words into them was beyond her. Whoever Richard's father had been she hoped the man was rotting in Hell. She looked over his chest subtly as he got used to the idea of being shirtless, there were cigarette burns and what looked like belt scars but the thick branding covered lightly by greying hair and words cut in had her taking a breath. Richard hadn't just been abused as a child he'd been tortured. 'Repent' and 'Sinner' appeared multiple times just that she could see and it didn't take a genius to work out there had been some sort of religious angle going on.

Harbor let out a little hum of pleasure when he kissed at her neck, there was that confidence she'd wanted him to have. When she didn't show any signs of discuss he relaxed and thrust deep, his hands on her waist.

Afterwards she was paid, an envelope containing her wage in cash. Normally she got paid up front but she'd made an exception for Richard, wanted it to feel as natural and unlike a transaction as possible for him. She smiled seeing the envelope had 'Cassandra' written neatly on the front; that was new. The raven-haired beauty rocked up onto her hip toes and kissed his cheek then thanked him before she left. Richard may have become her new favourite.