It was just after 1am, Finch and Kat sitting across from one another at the kitchen table of the expansive brownstone. Bear sat at Kat's feet, knowing full well that Finch would discourage her from giving him bits of cheese, while simultaneously dropping some under the table himself. Kat was relishing her pizza in silence, while Finch picked uncertainly at the messy wedge of cheese and sauce piled in front of him.
"I should tell Mallory where I am, at least." Kat said finally. "She worries."
"I'm sorry, but she can't know where you are."
"Can I be ambiguous then? I'll tell her I went home with some guy."
She watched Harold's ears turn pink as he struggled to contain his horror.
"I'm not exactly sure I'd have put it that way, but…"
"Well, it's vague, and it's true." She pressed. His ears progressed through pink to a rather awful mauve. He could feel them burning.
"I suppose, if you feel you have to." He finally relented.
She pulled out her phone, typing frantically for a moment. In a flash it was buzzing against the tabletop.
"She says 'UGH. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU.' All caps. No punctuation. I'm going to get a lecture in the morning."
"Who says you're going home in the morning?" Finch looked up again, still trying to figure out a way to make his soggy pile of pizza-like-substance disappear.
"Well, I do have to work."
"So do I. All night. Trying to figure out how to make whatever is threatening you go away, so you can go away." He wasn't irritated, but he was trying his hardest to pretend he might be.
"I suppose I should leave you to it then." Kat said, suddenly suppressing a large yawn. "Dance and pizza and unexpected adventure, and I'm beat."
"You should be thankful we didn't end up in the same situation as last time." Finch muttered.
"I'd have felt better if Mr. Reese was here."
Finch hesitated. Of course she felt that way. They always felt that way. He supposed he wasn't exactly sorry to hear it, either. Kat picked up on his hesitation.
"I didn't mean…" she began.
"Yes you did. And it's true. I couldn't have done anything for you on my own, that's why Mr. Reese works for me."
Kat was silent for a moment, then, yawning again, stood and pulled her bag off the table.
"So… do I get the couch, or..?"
Harold nodded toward the stairs.
"I believe you will find everything you require at the top of that staircase."
What Kat found at the top of the staircase was a bathroom with the largest tub she had ever seen, and an expansive bedroom, with an equally expansive bed, crisp sheets turned down and waiting for her. She had expected to fall asleep, makeup still on, in her baggy jeans and hoodie, but she found that they had even gone through the trouble of finding her suitable pajamas. Which was, honestly, just slightly creepy, when she thought about it, but she elected to resolutely believe it was just so nice of them to do such a thing.
She wasn't exactly sure it was "them" either, and not just Harold, but somehow keeping the ambiguity was comforting to her. After another longing glance at the massive tub (she'd make excuses to have a long, hot bath tomorrow morning), she dressed for bed, and clambered in. Downstairs, she could hear the gentle, uneven creak of floorboards as Harold puttered around the kitchen before heading off to God knows where.
He was certainly an interesting character. He was much less forthcoming than Reese, and cut a much slighter figure. Her first impression of him, that he was just as much a little bird as his name implied he might be, still rang true. But there was something happening, some clockwork or other turning and whirring and clicking behind his maddeningly blue eyes. Kat could sense it. He was so much more hesitant in dealing with her, and yet so deeply invested. And she still remembered the fact that he was willing to stand with her at what could have been her very end. She could remember, somewhere in the etched terror of the moment, though she was certainly squeezing the life out of his hand, he still managed to counter, reassuringly.
She was curious about him. She was curious about anyone who could go through this much trouble for a person, and not only expect nothing in return, but expect to disappear entirely once the job was done.
And, maybe she was too tired, or overstimulated from the day's activity, or perhaps she had just had too much to drink, (impossible, she hadn't been drinking.) but she found herself intrigued by him in other ways as well. She was sure, as she usually was until proven otherwise, that he would not see eye to eye with her in this matter, but now that she was alone in the shadowed silence, she realized that perhaps it had been he that she had missed, even moreso than Reese.
It was a hard thought to admit to entertaining, the fact that she found herself more attracted to Harold than she did to Reese. It wasn't the fact that he was so much older than she was, that had never bothered her in the slightest. (Though she often assumed it would bother any object of such attraction without question.) It was the fact that, in comparison to Reese, Harold seemed so… uninteresting. She felt the eyes of the world silently judging her, as if she were obligated to find the most interesting man in the room and ignore all else.
But, of course, it was all a ridiculous notion. The fantasy of an exhausted mind. She was formulating savior complexes, and it was time to put that garbage away and go to bed. Willing her mind to a blank, she reached for the light, and slipped her glasses onto the night stand.
As he was left to his own devices, Harold peered around the kitchen, sweeping plates into the sink, quietly feeding his so-called-pizza to the dog. It wasn't exactly the Library, but he could keep this up as a base of operations for a few days. He glanced at the staircase. Kat had fallen silent upstairs. He had half expected to hear the running of the taps in the tub. No one could resist soaking in that thing. Even he had made a point of it, once he had discovered its existence. But she was silent, and so he retreated to, of all things, the library, (Of course he chose an apartment with a library. Of course he did.) pulled open his laptop, and began ticking away. He expected it to be a very long night.
He paused, mouse cursor hovering over the single image saved to his desktop. He thought about it for a while, before reminding himself yet again that this was not about him, or his endless internal turmoil, and set to work poring over the files Carter had sent him.
It was true, what she had said. The case was riddled with inconsistencies; entire paragraphs of testimony were blacked out, segments of interrogation spliced from official records. Digging deeper, Finch found that the man charged in the murder of the three boys in Cicero had testified in court to have been a member of a local Chicago gang. Gang members had, predictably, denied this. However, after a particularly brutal fight on the yard in prison, the same man claimed, in an attempt at an appeal, that he was posing as a member of the gang, and made references to the fact that the victims were not, as believed, simply rival gang members, but rather that they were singled out for other reasons.
Finch was intrigued. He was poised to search for some sort of additional connection between the three murder victims, when he heard the door to Kat's bedroom close with a slam.
He swiveled, listening, nerves suddenly jangling. He had been so intent on gathering as much information as he could, in as little time as he could, that he realized he had been paying utterly no attention to the happenings in the rest of the building for close to two hours. He rose, crossing the floor as silently as he could.
"Mr. Reese, are you occupied at the moment?" he inquired. The sound of breaking glass invaded his left ear.
"I guess that's my answer." He amended. "I trust you have everything under control?"
"Always." The link terminated with another crash. Finch roused Bear and began quietly ascending the stairs.
Katherine awoke, sitting up and surveying the room once more. She felt suddenly uneasy, as if she was being watched. Granted, nowadays she was being watched. Constantly. But this feeling was different. They were coming for her. She felt it. She looked out the window, at the bright pools of light beneath the street lamps. There was no sign of the lawn care truck, nor of the nondescript black sedan from her earlier brush with danger, though she noticed an uncharacteristically shabby brown, 80's-era Volvo hatchback parked in the pool of light directly below the window. She assumed this was probably strange for the neighborhood. Then she heard it. Down the hall, at the fire escape, she heard the almost imperceptible sound of the window sliding slowly open. She peered down the hall. Was it longer than she had remembered? She couldn't clearly see into the darkness. She pushed her glasses up on her nose, only to be surprised by a pair of hands seizing her by the shoulders, slapping a hand over her mouth. She struggled. She kicked. As she was pulled from the room, she hooked her foot around the door, causing it to slam.
Moments later, Bear was charging up the stairwell, barking, growling. In a flash, the hands disappeared. She was left in peculiar silence. From somewhere in the vicinity of the staircase, she heard Harold, shouting a command she couldn't quite understand. At this, the dog retreated, suddenly wiggly and friendly again. She approached the stairs, descended.
"I don't know how to thank you." She found herself saying. She wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but she was so relieved, anything felt like a good idea.
"I wouldn't be doing my job properly if I wasn't looking out for you." He was suddenly very close to her. She couldn't explain what was happening next, but she found herself circling him to a lower stair. Gently pushing him to sit. She watched his expression pass through confusion, relief, mingled with something else. And then she threw herself at him, knees coming to rest on the stairs on either side of his hips, pushing him back, kissing him.
And then she woke up, drenched in sweat and already groping for her glasses.
When Finch got to the top of the stairs, Bear was already at the top, standing in the bathroom doorway, smiling his dog-smile and waving his tail enthusiastically back and forth. Kat was standing at the sink, glasses discarded to one side, splashing handfuls of icy water on her face.
"Katherine, are you alright?" He asked, gently.
She stood bolt upright, water still coursing down her face and dripping from tendrils of her hair.
"I'm fine!" She replied, too loudly, staring straight ahead into the vanity mirror.
"Did something startle you?" He asked, still distantly suspicious.
"No… No. I had a…" She seized a towel and began patting water off her face. When she looked up again, he had taken a step toward her, and she stumbled backward, reaching for her glasses.
"I had a nightmare." She said. It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. And it certainly wasn't what had driven her to dunking her head under icy water in the sink at three in the morning.
"Shall I leave Bear with you?" He asked. "I know what it's like, waking up alone in a strange place. I'm sure he'll be happy to keep you company."
"You don't mind?" She asked. Bear was already leaning against her right leg, gazing at her with something akin to adoration.
"He likes you." Harold replied.
"Well… Thanks." Kat murmured, trying to figure out how to get back to her room without passing within five feet of Harold. Sensing her continued unease, he began to retreat to the stairs, and she practically flew to the bedroom, Bear on her heels, closing the door behind her and turning to tilt her forehead against the cool wood, eyes squeezed shut. She could still see the expression on his dream-face. She hesitated, hand on the knob for a long moment. When she pulled the door open again, Harold was still on the stairs, slowly, unevenly descending.
"Um…"
She was so quiet, he wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it, but he swiveled to see her, barely peeking out of the doorway over the banister.
"Yes, Katherine?"
"I was… I was wondering…" She was 100% certain she would regret this, come sunrise.
"I was wondering if maybe you could sit with me for a while." It came out in a rush and she exhaled sharply. Yes, it sounded just as stupid coming out of her mouth as it had coming out of her brain. The confusion on Finch's face mirrored his dream-self.
"I don't see why not." He said carefully. She disappeared from view as he turned to ascend once more, and he was suddenly quite concerned about what she might be doing now that he couldn't see her. But, reaching the top of the stairs yet again, he found her simply standing in the window, illuminated dimly in the wash of street lamps, gazing down at the street.
Mercifully, there was no brown 80's hatchback Volvo below, Kat thought quietly.
"It's funny." She said, half to herself, as Finch entered the room. "I've been so alone since I came here. I've been afraid to go out with anyone, because I keep hoping I might get to go home and fall back into my old life. But then, you have one little dream…" she hesitated.
"One little nightmare," she corrected herself, "and all you want is to have someone you're close enough to, to sit up with you, and stroke your hair, and tell you you'll be fine. I was so independent. I am. So independent that you don't think things like that will bother you. Funny things like strange dreams. You stare down the barrel of your nightmares when you're awake, what can a dream do to you? But here I am, and I don't want to be alone."
"You aren't alone, Katherine." It took a long time for him to muster an answer, watching her drift out of the soft golden glow of the window.
"I've been pushing all sorts of people away from me, potential friends, men, everything, because I keep thinking I've just got to hold on a few more days, hours, minutes, and I'll get that call that I can come home and be me again. It's been almost a year, and this is the first time it occurs to me that maybe there isn't an old me to go back to. Maybe this is it, and I'm stuck on this side of life now, and I just have to make the best of the decisions I've made."
"Would that be so bad?" He knew the answer, at least as it applied to himself, but the question flowed out of him anyway. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling blankets in a sea around her feet, leaving one side of the mattress bare to the fitted sheet. He was afraid of making things strangely uncomfortable if he joined her, but she was silent, expectantly watching, so, with a tug at the knees of his trousers, he perched as far away from her as possible, on the other side of the bed.
"I used to think it would be a nightmare. Investing anything in this temporary existence. Now I think that conceptualizing it as a temporary existence to begin with was naïve. Maybe this part is the nightmare. The growing pains. How do you do it?" She slid beneath the covers, turned away from him, looking at the baseboards still visible in the shadows.
"How do I do what?" He was very still, uncomfortable with his own presence in her life, in this room.
"How do you exist on this side of the rift, how are you so blasé about accepting this as your fate?"
"I used to be like you." He said quietly. "I used to hope that someday everything would go back to the way it was somehow, and I'd be able to go home and everything would pick up, just where I left off."
"And now?" she opened her eyes again, looking up at him.
"Now I'm not sure what I hope for." He was finally pulling off his shoes, drawing his feet up onto the bed. She was curled in a tight ball, trying to give him enough space, afraid of making him any more uncomfortable than he already might be, but he tilted his head back, gingerly, against the headboard and relaxed visibly. "Goodnight, Katherine."
"Goodnight, Harold." She yawned again, finally, and began drifting off to sleep.
Finch waited in the silence for a long time. Long enough to sense her breathing changing from the rhythm of consciousness to the heavy slowness of sleep. Long enough that the tight, tension-filled ball she had started as began to relax, her feet beneath the covers now brushing against his ankles. His instinct was to slip away, to return to his work, but he found he was mortally afraid of waking her again, or worse, of her waking now in this room in the darkness, alone again. Her words were tumbling over and over in his mind, and finally, he found himself reaching out, very gingerly, to push her hair behind her ear, stroking it ever-so-gently.
"You will be fine, Katherine. Everything will be fine. I promise." It was barely a whisper in the dark, but at this, she stirred and he withdrew from her quickly.
"Why did you stop?" She mumbled, still half-asleep. He wasn't exactly sure she knew who she was speaking to, so he remained silent.
"Don't stop." She yawned, shifting and drifting off again. After a moment's indecision, he resumed.
A/N: I've been sitting on this chapter for MONTHS, thinking I had already published it. Oops. As a bonus, you get a fun fact: The dream Kat has about Harold is... based on a similar dream I had about Ben Linus (which involved an 80's hatchback Volvo and some questionable actions on my part, in relation to Ben), and said dream is the entire reason I started paying enough attention to Michael Emerson to want to write stories about his characters. Woo!