Fears

A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited this story so far. If you can find the time and energy, I'd love to hear from you. – This chapter is a missing scene and coda to 1x15 "Blue Code", so definitely spoilers for that. Enjoy!

Hannah answered the burner phone that had lived in her pocket ever since the CIA incident on the second ring. "What's he gone and done to himself today?" she asked without preamble.

"Good evening to you too, Dr Silverstein," Harold replied jovially. "And to answer your question: it appears he walked into an inconveniently placed crowbar, proceeded to awkwardly cross the trajectory of a nine-millimetre-bullet, and ended up having to free himself from the boot of a burning car. Unfortunately, he is being quite stubborn about needing medical attention."

Hannah smirked into the phone. "Gimme," she said and waited for a beat before she heard John huffing on the other end of the line. "Shut up!" she ordered before he could even say a word.

"I didn't ..."

"And I said to shut up. – Are we doing this the easy or the hard way?"

"Hannah, I ..."

"Uh-uh. Put me on speaker."

"Hannie ..." Oh great, now he was whining.

"Don't Hannie me. Am I on speaker?"

"Yes, Dr Silverstein, you are."

Since Harold was sounding borderline amused, things at least weren't life-threatening. Not anymore, she added in her mind, because the combination of "crowbar" and "bullet" and "burning car" – or either one of these, really – was most certainly potentially lethal. So the next logical question was ...

"Where should I meet you and what should I bring?"

"I'll text you the address. And you might want to pick up a leash on the way."

"Hysterical, Harold," Hannah heard John grumbling in the background.

She smiled in relief while checking the text message from Finch. "Be there in twenty. And John ...?"

"What now?"

"Try not to walk into anything on the way."

*POI*POI*POI*POI*POI*

Since Harold had badgered John into having his injuries properly treated by Hannah the evening before, the ex-CIA agent had been sullen and even more monosyllabic than usual. Although he had seemed compliant enough while the doctor was around, he had completely shut down afterwards. Harold was baffled – and clueless. He had an inkling that it had something to do with the case, but for the life of him couldn't figure out what had upset his employee so much.

Something started to dawn on him when John said: "I'll keep an eye on him, make sure he stays safe and sound." Considering that they were currently watching Detective Tully take his labouring wife to the car, and to the hospital, Harold surmised the clue might be family.

He made some light-hearted remark about the Detective hardly being able to stay "sound" with a crying baby in the house, but it fell sort of flat.

When John returned to the library later on, Harold decided to take the proverbial elephant in the room by the tusks. He didn't want to risk taking a wrong turn with his interference in John's life, so he needed to know the lay of the land. "Mr Reese, I'm under the impression that you resent my calling in Dr Silverstein to treat your injuries. I am sorry if I crossed some line there, but I was honestly worried about your health," he began carefully.

John dropped in a chair across the room and seemed to deflate a little. "I know," he replied quietly, though he didn't offer anything more.

"Please, Mr Reese. I feel I made some mistake here, and I am sorry for that, but I'm afraid you'll need to help me out here. Where did I go wrong?"

Slightly rubbing his forehead against the ache that had taken permanent residence there in the past twelve hours, John closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, Harold, I realise you didn't sign up for this when you hired me," he started to explain slowly, softly. "You were working under the assumption that I was completely unattached in this world. I never did anything to deny that, and you couldn't have known about Hannah, so it's not your fault."

"But you'd rather I keep her out of our ... operations?" Harold asked.

John sighed again. "Yes. No. I don't know. I guess that ship sailed the night Hannah watched me being gunned down by my former employers."

Finch's eyes widened slightly at this new piece of information. "I am sorry. I didn't realise–"

"What I'm trying to say is that this is a dilemma I have no idea how to solve. I can't deliberately cut myself out of Hannah's life again now that she knows I'm alive. She's been traumatised more than enough; I won't do that to her. She is well aware that I have a dangerous job in which every day could be my last, but that's a different matter. For better or worse, we're in each other's lives, and I won't change anything about that if I can help it. But if anything was to happen to her because of her attachment to me, I would never forgive myself."

For a moment the two men stared at each other, both taken aback by this uncharacteristic show of raw honesty and emotion. "Also," John added, almost as an afterthought, "if anything were to happen to Hannah, I would definitely lose my best friend in the process. Both are risks I am not willing to take."

Harold regarded him with an unreadable expression. He knew an ultimatum when faced with one. "So how do you suggest we proceed?" he finally asked.

John let out a long breath. "I have no idea. As I said, it's kind of an unsolvable dilemma."

"Why? You could just walk away from this job and never look back. I assure you, I am completely sympathetic to your situation, and there would be no hard feelings on my part whatsoever."

At Finch's words, John's eyebrows shot up and it was all he could do not to let out a snort. "Oh, please, Harold," he said instead with only a minimal amount of sarcasm. "Both you and I know that the only way I'm gonna leave this job is in a body bag."

"I am sorry you feel this way, John," the billionaire replied quietly.

The younger man was startled to hear the trace of hurt in his employer's voice and realised his mistake. "No, I am sorry, Harold. That is not what I meant. What I was trying to say is that I honestly can't imagine doing anything else with my life. I think what we're doing is a good thing. And I think both Hannah and Ben have proven their willingness to help, no questions asked. I don't know how to feel about that, but I am grateful. I just want them to be as safe as possible. They've both been through a lot. I don't want to cause them any more heartache."

A soft expression crossed Harold's face. "All right then. We'll work something out."

John nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Finch."

The other man smiled in return. "No. Thank you, Mr. Reese."