Several days went by before Reese had just plain had enough of it all. He and Harold were at the Library talking about a new Number – a young journalist who wanted to play cop and ended up in the middle of a gun running operation; a usual Monday for them – but Harold had seemed more distant than usual for days now. The man actually seemed depressed. He was distracted and irritant which was normal and not normal all at the same time. The ex-agent had known Finch long enough to figure out that whatever this mood of his was it leant more to the 'not normal' side of his personality. John had to ask, he couldn't have Harold like this while they tried to do their jobs.

"Finch, what's going on?" He questioned as Finch took down the photographs from the board and set them aside.

"Nothing is wrong, Mister Reese."

Yeah, John didn't buy that for a moment. For the last month or so Harold had seemed happier and yet he'd walked in one day miserable and had been ever since. It wasn't normal on the Finch scale of weird. The elder man sat himself down at his desk and turned his attention as best he could to the mass of screens.

John sighed. "Look, Finch, I know you're a really private person and all but clearly something is bothering you and it's going to effect our work."

"I'm fine," Harold insisted "nothing is wrong."

With that he tried to further ignore Reese's concern by tickling Bear who lounged in his bed but never let it be said John Reese gave up easily. He shifted himself to stand between Finch and Bear so Harold was forced to retract his hand unless he wanted to pet John's knee instead. Reese bent down and spun Harold's chair to better face him and leant on either arm so the secretive billionaire had no escape; he looked the elder man up and down for a moment and then smirked dirtily to himself.

"It's a woman, isn't it? You sly dog, Harold."

"It is non of your concern, Mister Reese. Now, If I could return to work-" Finch tried to move his chair back but Reese didn't let it shift an inch.

"No. Tell me. You got yourself a girl and yet here you are sulking. What is it? She not return your affections?" He teased in his best 'Harold' voice.

"Mister Reese, I-"

"Tell me, Finch." This time John's voice was deeper and more authoritative.

Harold sighed knowing he'd really not get out of this with his usual 'I'm private' comments and that Reese could be like a dog with a bone when he wanted information; part of the reason Harold had hired him.

"Yes, I met a young woman … but I think I destroyed it." He had the timidity to look ashamed of himself. "I... I think I made her cry."

Reese's expression became unreadable as he straightened up and folded his arms across his chest.

"Explain."

Suddenly Harold felt like he was a child again and in trouble with a teacher. He paused a few moments as he tried to figure out what to say to his friend.

"Do you remember our time at The Coronet Hotel?" Said Finch slowly and John nodded curtly. "While I was working the desk I was approached by a young woman who had seemed to figure out that I did not belong, that I was lying about who I am." That got a raised eyebrow from the taller man and the expression got words just falling out of Finch's mouth. "She is an escort who was working for Fowler. After I took over the hotel I met her in the bar purely accidentally and we became friendly, she has quite the unique mind, Mister Reese and I enjoyed her company. She didn't know I owned the hotel or who I am and even though she knew I lied about my name she made no attempt to figure out who I really am."

"So you've been flirting with a hooker. Get to the point, Finch."

Harold sighed deeply, perhaps he wasn't explaining this very well.

"Oh, she is far more than a common hooker, Mister Reese. She is very intelligent and has a very unique mind." He halted for a second the next bit was going to make him sound like an asshole. "Well, last night I took her to dinner, purely platonically , I assure you."

That trademark John Reese smug grin settled on his lips. "But it didn't last that way long, did it?"

Finch shook his head. "No, it did not." Another sigh, that was becoming all too common an occurrence today. "She invited me up to her apartment after I took her home and we were talking about her collection of literature when we ended up … you know."

"And?" He asked expectantly. "You said you made a whore cry so I know there's more to this story."

"Please do not refer to Harbor as a whore, Mister Reese." He bit out before realizing he'd basically said the same thing to her that night. "Afterwards she slipped up, she knew I am very wealthy and clearly had been working an easy target for as much money as she could."

"If it's a game then how did you make her cry? What did she say exactly, Harold?"

"Buy a girl dinner and get her to put out, I see how it is. I wasn't even on the clock, good job your loaded, Mister fancy restaurant."

Reese rolled his eyes and rested his head in his palm. "Finch," he began exasperatedly, "I think your girl was making a joke.

"Yes, I now realize that myself. At the time I was in my own thoughts and thought I might have been compromised. My insecurities manifested in anger."

"Finch, it sounds to me like the girl may be a hooker, but she wasn't with you."

Finch fixed his blue orbs back on the ground as he nodded sorrowfully to himself. It was just Harbor was so perfect that he felt himself severely unworthy of her. He had game when he wanted to but surely not with that goddess of a woman. That stunning, that smart, that good-hearted and genuinely attracted to Harold? He couldn't quite believe it.

"I know. I think she hates me now though and I wouldn't blame her."

"Nah, a girl who has sex with you won't be scared off quite so quickly by you being a dick. Go talk to your girl, Harbor was it?"

Since when had John been so supportive? Always, his mind answered.

"I doubt she'll want anything to do with me now, Mister Reese. Now, shall we return to the task at hand?"

Reese shrugged and reached down to tickle Bear's ears.

"Women will surprise you, Finch. You left Grace, I don't blame you, I know why, but you don't have to be alone forever."

Harold didn't want to talk more about it after John said Grace's name, he'd get lost in his head again and he'd already proven that was a terrible idea.

They went back to work but Harold's mind kept bringing the subject back to him and he hated that John was right. He should just vanish, to send flowers with an apology and never go near her again. Safer for both of them. But he didn't want to, Harbor deserved face to face.

After the day's second Number had been dealt with, saved and provided with a new identity, Finch took a trip to the florist. The hour was late and he knew how hard they worked with so little gratitude or thanks, that they just wanted to close and go home to their families but he needed that arrangement. In the end he'd been so apologetic and understanding that these things took time and cost money that that they'd forgiven him. Probably helped that he'd paid double what he'd thought necessary for an apology.

That was how he found himself riding the elevator up to Harbor's apartment after the sun had gone down with a five-hundred dollar vase arrangement. The florists had managed to put something together in cool colors, all whites and purples that Harold thought would appeal to Harbor. Large sprigs of Pussy Willow and Lisianthus created a point at the top of the front facing arrangement while Limonium and Eucalyptus broke up the white roses and Gerbera, the Hydrangea really was a focal point and the lilac Carnations added a touch of old world elegance. Then there were the orchids, the whole thing was just full of orchids.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached her door, his limp and the weight of the vase had almost become too much to bear. Harold knocked, the flower obscuring his view of her door, but no answer came. He knocked again, louder than before but still no answer came.

"Harbor?" He called. "Harbor, it's Harold! I wanted to say sorry!"

Still no response came and then an elder woman from the apartment opposite yanked open her door and stuck her head out with such violent force that Harold jumped and nearly dropped the arrangement as he spun to face her.

"Shut up." She growled, for a woman in what had to be her seventies she was bloody terrifying. "That slut isn't here."

Obviously this woman wasn't a fan of Harbor and had no issue making the fact known. Harold ignored it.

"I don't suppose you know where Harbor is, do you, Madam?" He asked politely as he longed to put the flowers down.

"I have no idea and I don't care. Go pay for another strumpet or better yet, go home to your wife."

'Strumpet'? That wasn't a word he'd heard in a very long time. The woman slammed her door shut again leaving Finch alone in the hallway. He sighed, deep and exasperated, then carefully so as not to put any more strain on his leg and hip Harold set the vase down n the floor. However, when he glanced up again he noticed an envelope with his name neatly written on it duct taped to her white door. Harold's brow furrowed deeply as he unstuck it. His heart dropped when he saw what had been left inside, all the money he'd dumped on her coffee table; every single dollar of it. Harold couldn't have hated himself anymore than he did in that moment.

He stood there a time blankly staring at the money and then, knowing he could do no more if she wasn't there, Harold left.

~X~

The next morning when Reese arrived at the Library with Bear hot on his heels he found Harold at his desk, which was to be expected, and set a cup of his favourite Sencha green tea before him. As soon as Finch greeted him though Reese could tell things with this Harbor girl hadn't gone well; still he asked anyway.

"So, Finch, how did it go with your girl?"

He saw his boss tense while Bear sniffed at his bed before collapsing in it happily. Harold sipped at his tea a time, Reese wasn't stupid he recognized it as stalling quite easily; finally Finch had no choice but to answer.

"I tried yesterday to apologize. I... took flowers but she wasn't at her apartment."

Amazingly Reese grabbed a chair and sat down beside Harold with a concerned expression, Finch watched him out the corner of his eye; he tickled Bear absent-mindedly.

"How you feeling, Harold?" The concern was evident in his voice.

"I don't need you to check up on me, Mister Reese. I thank you for your concern but it really isn't needed."

Reese rolled his eyes, there went the ever solitary Harold Finch.

"Just checking on a friend, Finch." The taller man shrugged. "Besides, it's not everyday your reclusive boss meets a woman."

Harold flashed him a look, unimpressed. "You don't have to act like Harbor and I are talking about settling down."

Reese smirked at that, his shoulders wobbled up and down as he tried to picture Harold settling down after all that had happened. He doubted Finch even knew how to have a normal life, maybe he had done once but not any longer.

"Of course not, Finch."

Knowing he'd get not get anything else out of the bespectacled man John let Harold fill him in on their latest Number and the two men got to work quickly.

Later while Reese was hunting down a lead and Shaw was off doing whatever it was Shaw did when dumped the phones he'd given her, Harold found himself forced to get out in the field and follow a mark through the park. The man had proven surprisingly easy to follow which was refreshing for the billionaire, his limp didn't often make things easy. However, as he distractedly followed the man he all but walked into the woman who approached him.

"Hi, Hank."

Harbor. Finch found his eyes flicking between his mark and the escort who looked wonderful in her yellow dress.

"Hello, Harbor."

There meeting was a little awkward but both supposed that was to be expected considering their last parting. His eyes continued to flit back and forth but fortunately for Finch the man he was following – Conrad Kenda – had sat down to eat his lunch.

"I got your flowers." She began once the silence had stretched on too long. "They're beautiful, thank you."

Finch cleared his throat as people passed around them. "I needed to do something to apologize. While I know something so simple can't make up for my actions I-"

She cut him off before he got too into a speech.

"It's okay, Hank." Harold's eyes widened at that. "After you left and I was done being angry with you I realized what I said did kind of sound like I wanted money. I think we were both idiots."

Was she apologizing to him? After what he'd said to Harbor he'd expected her to throw something at him not say she was sorry. He wasn't used to this, trying to go through social norms, wasn't even entirely sure if he knew what was considered a social norm.

"You might be right." He said as he surreptitiously stole a look at Mister Kenda. "Will you forgive me?"

She smiled at him softly; those dazzling green-eyes twinkled.

"I already have." Harold felt himself relax, he didn't feel like he deserved that. "I'd have called but well, you're-"

"Paranoid?"

Harbor chuckled and tucked her hands into the pockets in the skirt of her dress; he couldn't help but notice the way her dark-brown lipstick stood out against her smooth, pale skin.

" I was going to say 'you' but yes." The way he kept glancing at the man across the way sat on a bench and eating a sandwich from a plastic lunch box; it got her to raise a questioning eyebrow. "What are you up to, Hank? Is this something to do with your secret job?"

Secret job? Is that what she calls it? Mister Reese would do doubt find that amusing.

"Em, yes it is, Harbor."

Then something happened that he'd not expected, she didn't want questions galore answered, didn't want his secrets.

"Can I help?" She asked brightly.

Finch laughed out a sigh. "Only if you can get a keycard off a man who seems more paranoid than myself. It's clipped to his belt but he keeps his hand on it when moving around. Right now he's eating and still has a hand on it."

Sure enough when Harbor lowered her eyes from the man's face there was his hand rested on his keycard; odd but everyone was a little odd about something.

"So you need it swapping with that one?" Harbor asked as she gestured to where Harold had his hand in his pocket holding something.

Instead of questioning how she'd noticed that small little detail Harold simply nodded. Before he could say a single word Harbor had reached into his pocket, grabbed the replacement keycard and strutted over to the bench to sit beside Mister Kenda. Harold just stood there his mind lost in the scent of her light perfume; lipstick and perfume, yeah, Harbor wasn't working.

Finch had no choice but to watch as Harbor crossed her legs in such a way that it showed off her legs and upper thigh, she pushed her shoulders back a bit to put her chest on display and then struck up conversation with Conrad Kenda; who looked mightily surprised to suddenly have the angelic beauty known as Harbor Caldwell talking to him. Harold couldn't help but smirk as she leant in when Conrad made an attempt at flirting; she really could put a man at ease.

The keycard was what had Harold's attention though, just a small sliver of plastic but he needed to be able to copy it and he couldn't do that if the man never let go of the bloody thing. Blue orbs saw Kenda's hand finally, finally, release it so he could turn fully to face the escort. Harbor shuffled in closer and at one point slightly pressed against him as if whispering something. Then she was back on her feet and strode towards Finch, he could hear the clacking of her heels and still found himself wondering how she could walk in those things. Kenda just sat with a half eaten sandwich in one hand and a perplexed expression on his slightly chubby face. He accepted the keycard that she quickly slipped into his hand and then looped their arms together so they could leave before the man became suspicious about the switch.

"Thank you, Harbor, you have been most helpful."

She shrugged as she walked along at his pace, her ponytail swished with the motion.

"I'm full of uses." Harbor chuckled. "And I am sorry."

Harold shook his head. "No, no, you have nothing to be sorry about, I was not only rude but cruel and highly out of character."

"We're both dumb." Harbor surmised before taking a calming breath which seemed to dismiss the whole situation as water under the bridge. "Do you want to get coffee, well I've never seen you drink coffee."

"I prefer Sencha green tea, which I would very much like a cup of."

Harbor pulled a face as they walked, all scrunched up. "I hate that stuff, it's vile. Coffee all the way for me."

Finch had wanted to sit down and talk with Harbor after they'd gotten their drinks but then Mister Reese had texted him demanding to know why his earpiece was off and how things had gone with Conrad Kenda. No rest for the wicked it seemed. Reluctantly he had to excuse himself.

Harbor smirked. "Off to see your mystery man, hmm, Hank? Sure you're not gay?"

Finch wouldn't admit – even to himself – how happy he'd been to hear that nickname again. He possessed precious few friends and very much wanted to keep Harbor as one even if they never had sex again.

"I'm quite certain, yes." Although there was that one time back at MIT when Nathan and I got very drunk. "Thank you for the tea, Harbor. I just have to go help a friend."

"Speaking of which, are we friends again?"

Was Harold reading too much into it or did Harbor's eyes sparkle with hope? He nodded, well did that slow head wobble of his that meant he was nodding.

"I'd like that, Harbor." When she smiled and responded with a sweet 'me too' his heart soared. "I really must go. Bye."

Finch would be lying if he said he didn't glance back at her sat there drinking her coffee as he left for the Library.

Miss Caldwell remained sat on the bench as she drank her coffee, black as night and sweet as sin, the whole time grinning to herself; to anyone else she most likely appeared insane. Green-eyes watched people as they went this way and that doing their own thing and living their lives. Birds chirped high up in trees and dogs barked somewhere behind her but she didn't care. Harold Dove – Hank – had been the first person to actually care about her since her father had died when she was sixteen, she'd not wanted to loose the suit clad man … and she hadn't.

Once she was finished she tossed her empty cup in the nearest trash can and checked her phone for the time, best to head back to her little apartment for a shower and then her long list of shit she had to do to make herself presentable; she did have a client that evening after all.

XXXX

Can you tell I'm a florist? Sorry for the tirade.