This chapter is set directly after the end of S03E09 - The Crossing and through into episodes S03E11 - Lethe and S03E12 - Aletheia

XXXX

Harbor had finished up in Cobble Hill shortly after ten o'clock, night had fallen and clouds had settled in hiding the stars more than the light pollution already did. She'd not wasted a single second, just gone straight home to her apartment with only a short stop off for an unreasonable amount of Chinese food. Harbor had three main vices in her life; books and heels were the other two.

The dark-haired escort didn't usually see clients after eight o'clock if she could help it but Timothy Myers was utterly adorable. She'd been seeing him since Fowler had picked her up and set her to work as one of his prostitutes at the Coronet Hotel years earlier. Timothy didn't play himself off as something he wasn't, didn't splash his cash or show off, he was simply a down to earth, good person; as a result he wasn't like anyone else on her phone – except for Richard Van Dune – and it had earned him the nickname 'The Honest One'.

By the time the clock threatened to strike eleven Harbor had locked herself away inside her apartment and kicked off her heels. It still felt strange to call the massive place her apartment since Finch owned it and it was twice the size of any place she'd been able to afford before. Still, she tried not to think about it or Harold 'Hank' Finch.

Harbor hadn't seen or heard from the elder man since almost a week before when she'd left him stood on the sidewalk after their lunch together. She'd not called him, it wasn't like she'd ever had his number. Her lungs breathed out a deep sigh, she didn't want to think about him … it hurt and would only upset her again.

The bag of take-out found itself dumped on the kitchen island while she went to get changed into her pyjamas – her usual top and shorts combo though this time her gothic ones with 'Lazy Bones' on the top and cute little skulls on the white shorts. As soon as her make up was off and she'd combed her hair Harbor felt relaxed and like the world had faded away for a while.

Her ass had just hit the couch in front of the television when a series of rapid thumps sounded at her door, loud and violent. The hour was late, gone eleven, and no one knew who she was or that she was there. Harbor had hardly seen her neighbor since she'd moved in and there wasn't any reason for anyone to annoy her two seconds before she started cramming squid into her mouth like a glutton.

With caution she carefully set her bowl and chopsticks down then padded over on bare feet to the door where she hesitantly peeked through the peep-hole. Instantly she relaxed seeing Harold before worry took over again; he looked horrified. Quickly she yanked open her door to let him in. Finch shook violently and didn't seem capable of fixing his eyes on any one thing for more than a split second; it didn't take a genius to work out the man was in shock … and had been crying.

Harold didn't say a single word, just fell into Harbor's arms as tears and emotion poured out of him like a boat careening over a waterfall. Harbor kicked the door shut behind him and tried to coax him over to the sofa but he ended up just collapsing by her coffee table and Harbor went down with him. She'd never seen Harold like this before and frankly it scared her. She forced his leg out straight so he didn't hurt it any more than it already had been and just held onto him while he worked through whatever this was. She wanted to ask, of course Harbor wanted to ask, but she refrained. His sobs continued and a moment later she managed to get his glasses off and petted his hair comfortingly.

"Shush, it's okay. You're alright, I'm here." She muttered, the words tumbled from her lips without her really realizing.

"... Carter is … she's dead." He stuttered and Harbor's heart plummeted.

She'd heard the name Carter mentioned before, she was one of the detectives they were 'friends' with, the one they'd handed Craig Weatherly over to. Suddenly she understood Harold's sorrow. The man's breathing came in short, rapid bursts that bordered on hyperventilating. She clung to Finch tighter.

"John's been shot." He bewailed and it made her heart clench. "I don't know if … oh God, I don't know-"

Harbor cut him off as tears started to prick in her eyes, he clung to her for dear life so she just sat there with her arms wrapped around him tightly. So much had happened to this man and now it had finally gotten too much. The twenty-two year old knew he needed to get it out, knew she was probably the only person he could go to who wouldn't question him. Who he could vaguely tell without there being too many consequences; he was in shock, didn't mean he was any less paranoid.

The emerald eyed whore continued to shush him as she shuffled to ensure his neck remained as straight as possible. She doubted he could feel the agony in his neck in that moment but he certainly would when the adrenaline wore off. Ever so gently Harold found himself rocked in loving arms and soothed with little kisses to the top of his head.

"It's okay, Hank."

Empty words they both knew that, Detective Carter was dead, it wasn't okay, but Harold needed comfort and that was exactly what she'd give him. Harbor comforted him as best she could, stroked the fluffy hair she loved so much and just let him cry, let him get the panic and fear and shock out. Harbor didn't think him any less of a man, didn't think him weak or anything like that. She cuddled him close and tried to fill him with all the safety and care she could.

Neither of them knew how long they sat there on the floor half between her sofa and coffee table and frankly it didn't matter, a minute could have been an hour, an hour could have been a minute. He continued to blather and mutter in between ragged breaths, some of it made sense but most Harbor didn't understand, the headline was clear though, Detective Carter had been gunned down and Reese lay in critical condition. What hurt Harbor the most was that she could tell Harold blamed himself, she'd hardly dipped her toe into his and John's world of secrets but she knew enough to realize Harold would have done everything he could have possible thought of to protect his allies. Maybe Finch had been responded for it all or maybe it had just been a series of events he had no real control over. None of that was for Harbor Caldwell to decide, in that moment her only job was to hold this mystery of a man and fill him full of comfort until he had no more tears to shed. So that was what Harbor did, she sat there on the floor in her pyjamas holding the suit clad man as he tried to process the horrors of whatever had happened.

"You're okay, Harold. It's going to be okay." She whispered against his ear.

It didn't matter than she'd left him on the street a week ago after she'd learnt about Grace, didn't matter that Hank probably wouldn't ever tell her why these things had happened. In the end all that mattered was that she cared about him and that he'd come to her.

~X~

When Harold's eyes fluttered open they hurt, felt red and raw as he rubbed at them. For a moment he had no idea where he was and couldn't see through his blurry vision and sleep. He glanced to his right to see a black blob that he assumed was a coffee table and started to pat around for shi glasses which he found rather quickly. He slipped them on and then he remembered where he was, what had happened. This was Harbor's apartment. The suit clad man remembered why he was there, that Carter was dead and John lay in a hospital bed with a hole in him. Terror started to rise in his stomach but Harold refused to let it take him over again, with a calming breath he forced it back down to the depths.

He was sat on the floor with his back propped up against the couch arm which had been fortunate because otherwise his neck would have been screaming at him even more than usual. However, he felt something behind his lower back and when Harold reached he found legs. Blue-eyes darted back to his right and now that he had spectacles on and had been welcomed back to the world of lines and details he could see Harbor asleep in one of the most unnatural positions he'd ever seen. She lay mostly on her right side slightly between the coffee table and the black leather sofa, her pyjama shorts had been hiked up her thigh even higher than they'd been to begin with and her arms had been folded under her as a makeshift pillow. It couldn't have been comfortable. Harbor's left leg was behind his lower back for the most part, sandwiched between himself and the sofa arm, while her right had been bent painfully with her foot against his knee. Clearly she'd been sat so her chest had been to his back at some point but she'd eventually fallen asleep and keeled over sideways.

Fallen asleep? Harold hadn't known where to go after … after everything and had somehow ended up at Harbor's door. He'd cried like a baby, the tears wanted to return but there wasn't anything left to roll down his lightly tanned cheeks.

He couldn't stay, needed to see John, needed to watch for new Numbers from The Machine, needed to check on Fusco and Carter's family – on Taylor – needed to feed Bear; though Miss Shaw had probably got that one covered.

With his mask of control firmly back in place Harold carefully stood up so as not to hurt his hip, back or any other ouchy bit he'd forgotten about. Fortunately he managed to move into a kneeling position, his leg protested but Finch didn't care, because of him Harbor had been forced to sleep on the cold, wooden floor all night with him half sat on her. Sure enough when he touched her thigh the skin was cold, not deathly so but cold nevertheless. The bespectacled man hadn't picked anyone – woman or otherwise – up in a very long time, not good for his back, his leg or any of the rest of him but he forced himself to lift a sleeping Harbor into his arms bridal style. It hurt – fuck did it hurt – but Harold was used to pain and he was rewarded by her snuggling into his three-piece suit in search of warmth and his comforting scent.

Awkwardly he carried the much younger woman over the short distance into her bedroom where he set her down on the bed and tugged her covers up over her as suns hone in through the window. Harold peered down at his watch while he sat on the side of her bed to steady himself; ten-forty-three. Finch hadn't got a clue how long he'd been asleep but it wasn't a question that needed answering, not when he had to check on John, he needed to see his friend. All that blood. Carter and Reese had been shot by Simmons and he'd just stood there staring. He'd done nothing, what could he have done? Harold needed to see John if nothing else.

With a deep, steadying sigh he cleared his mind as best he could and got back to his feet. He limped through to the coffee table where he thankfully found a pen and a stack of bright blue sticky notes resting haphazardly. Didn't take him more than two seconds to write a quick note. 'Thank You' that was all it said and with that he left Harbor to sleep.

~X~

The young escort stood by the bed as she slipped her blouse back on after her 'meeting' with Thomas Martinez at their usual hotel. Her Client was a nice enough guy even if he did have one of the most severe cases of Mommy Issues she'd ever seen. She'd just buttoned up her blouse, all lost in her thoughts when Thomas spoke with an air of genuine concern in his deep baratone.

"You alright, Cassie?" He enquired as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "You seem a little off today like something is bothering you."

"I'm fine." She assured and he kissed her shoulder.

Thomas just chuckled completely unaware of the things that went on inside her brain.

"You're not thinking about another guy, are you, Cassie." He teased. "I'd be offended. This is my masculine prowess we're talking about here."

Harbor steeled her mask, she couldn't be Harbor Caldwell right now, she needed to be Cassandra the escort. She plastered a convincing smile across her face and spun around in his arms, the man towered over her even in her heels and grinned when his dark-brown eyes met her green ones. She rocked up onto her tip-toes so she could kiss his cheek – he'd have loved a real kiss but Harbor never kissed on the lips when she was working – and made sure to press her cleavage into his chest.

"As if anyone could ever match you and your prowess. Trust me, you're the only man on my mind right now."

Thomas seemed happy to accept that because he smiled wickedly at her with that devilish twinkle in his eyes.

"Good." He kissed her forehead. "Can I see you next week? I've got a conformance on Thursday and I know I'm gonna need a certain someone to sooth the tension out of me."

Harbor let out a little hum as she leant into his broad chest, he was a manly man, thick hair on his chest tall and dark with large hands; the sort of man any woman would want, Harbor included.

"Shouldn't be a problem. Text me what time, I'm free Thursday, always for you."

With that he let her finish getting dressed while he searched around for wherever his cuff links had gotten to. Once she'd tucked her blouse back into her skirt and pressed another kiss to his stubble coated cheek Harbor left the room and headed to the elevators.

Thomas had been right, she was distracted, Hank had been the only thing she'd thought about since she'd woken up alone to a note that just said 'Thank you'. She worried about him and about his friend, John. The newspapers had been making a huge fuss over HR and the detective who had been shot dead, about the manhunt for Simmons and Harbor had sailed passed 'beyond worried about Harold and Reese' shortly after reading the headlines. John Reese was Harold's best friend whether he admitted it or not, it was plain to see, and Harbor didn't know what it would do to Harold if he lost him. She'd entertained the idea of going to The Library again or maybe that safehouse but she didn't know if she was supposed to. Hank's people probably had a lot of guns and she didn't know how many of them were there and if – after the death of Detective Carter – they'd just shoot first and ask questions later; Harbor rather liked her face arranged the way it was, she didn't need a ventilation unit fitting.

She stayed in her head the entire journey back to her apartment. The taxi driver tried to strike up a conversation but he didn't get too far, Harold was the only man on her mind, he had her full attention.

When she got back to her building she'd firmly decided she would shower, change and the curl up in bed with a good book and a glass of wine; worrying over the walking enigma code had left her in that sort of a mood. However as she headed towards the front door she heard a woman call out her name, it wasn't a voice she recognized. Harbor raised an eyebrow at the strange brunette, there was something oh so horror movie head case about her. She was older than Harbor by more than a decade with dark hair and a look Harbor just didn't trust. She wanted to back away but then she spotted something – or more correctly someone at her feet – Bear! Harold, this woman had something to do with Harold if she had Bear with her.

"You are Harbor Caldwell, aren't you?" She questioned again a little louder than before and Harbor nodded.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

The woman let out some vaguely creepy chuckle.

"Oh, you can call me Root." What the fuck sort of name is that? Shit, I can't say anything, look at my name. "I need you to take care of Bear a while."

Harbor's eyes shot down to the dog, who had a squeaky toy in his mouth, as an eyebrow raised. She opened her mouth to speak but Root got there first.

"You see Harry, Shaw and I are going to be gone a short time and someone needs to keep an eye on the puppy here. It wouldn't have been necessary but Shaw and Harry went ahead without me, so naughty." Yep, you've got a screw loose, haven't you lady. "I have it on good authority that Bear likes you so you get him for a while."

Bear's leash was thrust out towards her then and Harbor took it simply by instinct. The toy squeaked as he padded to sit beside her instead of Root. When she glanced back up the elder woman seemed to be looking her over.

"You really are beautiful." That wasn't a sentence she was unused to – not that Harbor was bragging - but it normally came from men who'd paid for her time. "Hmm, truly." Root's eyes flicked up and down once more. "What on Earth did Harry do to get you into his bed I wonder."

Root paused then clearly listening to something which Harbor assumed to be an earpiece and nodded curtly.

"Okay." Said the strange woman but not to Harbor. As if realizing she was still being stared at Root took out a neat stack of bound bills and shoved them into Harbor's hand. "Bear will need feeding and treats."

"Where is Harold?" She half demanded as yet another wave of concern for the man washed over her. "Is he okay?"

Root breathed out a half-hearted laugh. "I'm going to go check."

The elder woman just turned and walked away then without so much as a goodbye, she did however mutter 'there, I did it, are you happy now?' but once again it was directed to whoever was talking in her ear; because it certainly wasn't Harold.

Alone she peered down to Bear once the pair were alone then sighed and crouched down after she'd tucked the – frankly ridiculous amount of – money into her bag. She tickled his face which he seemed pleased with if the nuzzling into her hand was anything to go by.

"Hey, Teddy Bear. What new trouble have your Dads got themselves into, huh?" She wondered.

Of course the dog didn't answer and Harbor really hoped Bear being with her didn't become determinant. She loved dogs but Bear belonged with said Dads; Harold and Reese.

"How about I go get changed and then we go play in the park? I'll get you some food afterwards." She exulted, clearly happy to see Bear; damn she loved those fluffy ears.

Just because Harold nor Reese were there didn't mean their dog wouldn't get the very best care Harbor could provide. She'd always wanted a dog when she was little, desperately begged her father for a Rottweiler – she liked that they had eyebrows – but he'd been allergic so no dog, no cat, no rabbit or anything else. Sebastian had caved somewhat when she'd turned eight and gotten her a goldfish who she'd named Cathulu and adored until the poor thing had gone belly up.

Harbor tickled Bear's ears again then rose to her feet and, as promised, she promptly changed, put some jeans and a sweater as well as some rarely worn flats, then headed back out with the darling dog.

The prostitute didn't have any idea who this Root person was but she did hope Root would help Harold wherever he was. Months on end she'd known Harold, and though he'd saved her Harbor still didn't know exactly what it was he and Reese did. In the end she supposed she didn't care, Harbor would settle for knowing he was safe.