It was two days later when the news reports of Boucheron's arrest had aired. The crimes were listed; child trafficking, operation of a child sex ring, child cruelty and endangerment amongst other more heinous offences. Harbor had just been channel surfing while she ate her breakfast and had stumbled across the news coverage. From what she'd been able to gather there had been a public outcry at the list of charges, and rightly so, Boucheron's father Henri Boucheron – CEO of Société de développement Boucheron – had disowned his eldest son, but the damage had been done he company's stock values were falling rapidly and the situation appeared grim. Harbor actually felt sorry for Luc's younger brother, Gaspard Boucheron, when the showed a clip of him trying to get through the company's front door, people yelling and screaming at him when he really wasn't responsible for his brother's crimes.
Still, Harbor hadn't been able to stop the large grin that burst forth on her lips. Luc had got his comeuppance and the sun could finally shine again for those poor little souls he'd tried to destroy. Harold really did move quick and she hoped Luc Boucheron got everything the fucker deserved. Who the fuck did that to kids? What went on inside their heads? How Sameen and Reese had resisted killing the French asshole she'd never know.
Pride welled up in her heart, a small bubble that popped and warmed her very soul. She'd helped put a stop to this. It wasn't like Harbor would suddenly go around claiming to be a hero or anything even remotely similar but she could indulge in a little pride every now and again.
After the news report had come to an end and she'd finished her breakfast – a yogurt and granola bowl with blueberries, raspberries and an unnecessary amount of strawberries, but they were her favorite – she headed into her bedroom to get dress. She'd got a fairly early meeting with Thomas Martinez scheduled that morning at their usual hotel. Easily she brushed her hair and styled it into a resilient half-updo then dusted her eyes in neutral bronzes and browns to give herself that sun-kissed look he loved so much. It had taken her a little longer than expected to locate the dress she wanted, a wine colored halter neck, since she didn't wear it all that often but once she'd found it the dress was slipped on and her feet quickly found her shoes. Harbor stood a moment to look at herself in the mirror, she looked nice enough but a bit too business-y for her liking; then again Martinez had a serious case of Mommy Issues and clothes that lingered towards business attire seemed to go down well with him; odd then that he'd picked an escort a good twenty-five years younger than him.
Her entire way to the hotel Harbor just stared out the taxi window at the city blocks as they rolled by, she couldn't quite get her mind off Luc Boucheron and what had happened no matter how hard she tried. True, she'd never be running around New York armed to the teeth like John or Shaw, and truer still she'd never be hacking into every device in existence like Harold. Harbor had seduced a man to distraction and committed thirty-three pages to memory in under a minute, it wasn't what people would expect but she'd managed it. The raven-haired beauty wasn't an assassin, a soldier, a cop or a tech genius billionaire, she was a whore with an oddly wired brain. Didn't mean she wasn't proud of herself even if it might have sounded a little selfish or self-occupied.
She easily thanked the driver and casually entered the hotel, went straight to the elevators and headed up to the eighth floor. Harbor glanced down to her watch pleased to find she was on time and went to step out when the doors rolled open only to bounce directly off a much taller figure. Green eyes peered upwards with an apology on her lips but it stuttered to a stop when she found John Reese before her in his usual suit. He seemed just as surprised to see her as she was him.
The apology re-formed into a smirk. "You saving someone again, Smiles?"
Reese nodded. "Trying to."
The two performed a strange little dance around each other so Harbor could step off the elevator and Reese could step on.
"We really are going to have to stop meeting in elevators or people will talk." She chuckled. "I might even have to start charging you." That got one of those nasally breathed out laughs from the elder man. "Say hi to Hank for me, would you?"
Reese nodded. "Sure thing."
He smashed the lobby button then and the doors rolled shut, the last thing he saw from Harbor was a little wave as she headed off down the hallway. He smiled a moment at the sweet girl before Harold's voice sounded through his earpiece.
"Who are you talking to, Mister Reese?" He asked conversationally.
Reese's eyes darkened with mirth. "Oh, just your girlfriend. She says hi by the way."
"Harbor is there?" Finch asked a little too quickly and Reese could practically hear the elder man raise a questioning eyebrow.
"Uh-huh, and I see you've accepted she's your girlfriend."
The ex-agent didn't need to be stood in The Library to tell Harold wasn't happy about the comment, John didn't care though, the sooner Finch accepted it the better in his book.
"Mister Reese, Harbor is not my girlfriend and I'd kindly thank you to stop insinuating." The bespectacled man grumbled.
Reese rolled his eyes. "Harold, we've been through this, that girl loves you."
"If you'll recall we have a Number to track down."
Ah, distraction, a desperate man's last attempt to make it all disappear, muttered John's mind as he straightened his collar. It was obvious to just about everyone that Harold wanted the subject changed but The Man in the Suit wasn't having it. If he had to knock Finch's head against his desk to get him to see what was right in front of him he would.
"Relax, I got us a lead and you're watching every camera on E 84th Street. I take it she's still there?"
John stepped off the elevator and made his way out onto the street and easily vanished into the endless streams of people going this way and that.
"Yes, hasn't moved an inch since I started monitoring the camera, however, we're not the only one's watching. Miss Pascal has three men watching her from across the street and they're most certainly armed."
"I'm almost there, don't worry." He said as he rounded a corner and dodged a few people on the chaotic street. "And don't think I didn't notice you change the subject. What would be so bad about admitting you like Harbor?"
"I have no quarrel with admitting I am fond of her." Finch tried to sound nonchalant but it came across more like a twelve year old girl denying she had a crush on the teacher.
"But you won't say you love her or that she could love you. Harold, don't mistake being lonely for being content. This is coming from me. Doing the work we do, we aren't going to go out good, Finch, don't die and leave that girl thinking you didn't love her."
Later, much later, John would question himself about why he cared so much, Finch and Harbor were grown adults and could do as they pleased. Maybe he cared because Finch was his best friend or because Harbor was one of the very few women who could ever love Harold secrets and all. Yet when he really thought about it he'd wonder if it was because he'd walked away from Jessica, he'd seen the hurt in her eyes even though he'd told himself repeatedly he hadn't. Reese didn't want Harbor to feel that as well. It was unfair even if Finch did deny it to keep the girl safe.
When the elder man spoke again his tone was highly exasperated. "Mister Reese, Harbor is a twenty-three year old woman who was essentially abused as a young teenager by her foster parents, raised herself and works as an escort-"
"So?" Reese interrupted quickly.
"So, she would have little interest beyond whatever friendship she's formed with me. Quite frankly, if she sees me as anything it is a father figure."
Good God, Harold really was grasping at straws to come up with reasons to deny that a girl way out of his league adored him.
Reese snorted as he rounded another corner and leant against the wall so he could heep Miss Pascal in sight. He took out his phone to make it look as though he had a reason to loiter in the street. Finch had been right the men across the street who watched Miss Pascal, as she ate lunch in a café with her sister, were indeed armed. They certainly screamed Mexican drug cartel, probably Sinaloa Cartel. What has she gotten herself into?
"Harold, you've had sex with her, I think you might want to adjust your view of how she sees you. You know, unless Daddy Kink is your thing."
Miss Pascal hugged her little sister as the two said their goodbyes then headed for the subway station up on 86. Sure enough the men followed their Number down into the subway with Reese close behind.
Meanwhile Finch clicked off his earpiece for a moment and leant back in his chair at The Library with a deep sigh. Blue eyes cast down to Bear who watched him from his dog bed; still with that bloody elephant Harbor had bought him.
"Do you think she loves me, Bear?" Harold asked half-heartedly. Bear barked. "Well, what would you know, you're a dog."
~X~
The weather had turned, gotten colder and snow had started to fall a few days previous. To children it was probably pretty and bordering on winter wonderland but to Harbor it was just annoying. She didn't hate the winter by any means but she couldn't wear her short dresses and other clothing without freezing her ass off; she'd always been more comfortable in them that jeans. However, winter had rolled around and so the thick garbs had come out to play regardless of Harbor's feelings on the matter.
The cold season always made her work a little harder but in the end she didn't stay dressed long so it wasn't too much of an issue. Truthfully, Harbor was more concerned with Harold that her forced wardrobe changes.
When she'd written down all those files in her head he'd had dark rings around his eyes and though putting on a good show she'd known he'd not been sleeping all that much. She'd tried texting him after that night but he hadn't answered or had taken ages to come back with a response which had remained short and to the point. That had gone of for nearly two weeks. Harbor knew he had more important things to do than talk to her, saving people for one, but she couldn't help feeling as though he was distancing himself from her. The green-eyed girl had always known Harold would eventful get bored of her, after all he was a hero, a white knight, and she was a whore in the end when all things were said and done.
She'd hoped that maybe someone or something had kept him otherwise occupied but deep down she knew a man getting rid of her when she saw one. Harbor was okay with that, she didn't like it, had enjoyed being with Harold, treasured his friendship or whatever they were, but the things he did were more important than herself and she knew it. Things were better this way.
After about twelve days she'd stopped texting him, didn't want to waste his time and clearly Harold had made his decision. She'd not seen nor spoken to him again until the snow had grown thick and she'd had to go to see Malcolm Olsen again at his office. She'd cast her eyes over at the door sorrowfully as Olsen had guided her into his own office with those large paws of his, wondered if the man was inside playing 'Mister Fake Name' as she had called it.
Her time with Malcolm didn't take long, never did, and soon he was zipping up his pants while Harbor tugged her dress back down and straightened herself before she rose from his leather couch. She grabbed her envelope of cash, slipped it inside her purse and flashed the underwriter a bold smile before making her exit. Olsen never paid her much attention once he had finished, got sleepy and wanted her to just go away; so that's what Harbor did.
The door swung shut behind her but Harbor hadn't moved, just stood there between the two offices staring at Harold Wren's door with a sense of foreboding. He probably wasn't even there, could have been in The Library, could have been playing one of the many other alias she didn't know the names of. Still, somehow Harbor found her heels click-clacked as she approached his assistant sat at her desk. She could ask, right?