Disclaimer: I do not own Person of Interest
I looked at Harold out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't spoken to me in three days. The day he brought me back to life, he hadn't said a word. I had tried to spark conversation, even though I know neither of us is very proficient at it but he would just stare at me. Like he was afraid if he spoke I'd go back to being dead. Like he'd break me, or wake up and it would all be a dream. "It's my own fault I got shot Harold." I try, having decided it will be my last attempt to make conversation.
"I was the one that put you out there John." Harold retorted.
"So I'm being punished?" I snort disdainfully.
"Punished?" Harold asked incredulously. I remain silent. What can I say? I don't know what he's thinking. I don't know what he's going to do. If he'd talk to me I'd know what I'm arguing for...or against? I don't even know what we're talking about but he just sighs and sits back once more. He's been resigned, slumped in a chair the whole time, silent. Is he punishing himself? Knowing Harold he probably is.
"Harold?" I ask after a long time. Silence. "Do you love me?" I ask. It sounds self conscious and vain but his eyes lose their gloss and focus on me and for once, he's no longer just a shell, hollowed out by a bullet that never even touched him.
"Yes Mr. Reese." He replies in his usual formal tone. There is a long silence in which I spend debating whether or not to continue this.
"Say it." I say at last. I want to hear it. From him, rolling off his tongue, not in a frantic way, not in a worried or concerned way, not because I'm about to die. I just want to hear him say the words.
"Why Mr. Reese?" He asks frowning at me. Am I a Neanderthal to him, just muscle to back up his words?
"Please Harold?" I press. Harold's eyes glaze over and his shoulders slump slightly and he gets that despondent, far-away, resigned stare.
"I love you John." He mumbles. I must admit, I am very disappointed. I mean, public displays of affection have never really been my thing, but guys have never really been my thing either. Until Harold. How I became like this, wanting to hear him say it, sing it, shout it, declare it, is beyond me.
"Are you okay?" I continue. He looks at me, as if through a fog of his muddle thoughts.
"I lost you John." Harold says. "Please refrain from further detriment to your person." He says as he stands. I want to say something, want to cry, and want him to hold me. I feel like such a girl, such an insecure little school girl about to throw a temper tantrum. As he reaches the door, he looks over his shoulder at me. "Please." He mutters as he leaves. Am I crying? No. Am I screaming? No. Am I alive? Yes. I am injured but I pulled through so what is wrong with me? I feel like my chest is caving in. Is this what a broken heart feels like? Why do I remember this feeling? I don't like it. My sweetheart from a long time ago. A different life, a different man. I was not this back then, with her. And then she was gone and now I'm here going through it all over again. Wondering where I went wrong? I always go wrong. Is it me? Is it my fault? Should I just not try anymore? To connect to people? To be a part of society? I am its protector, his protector, but that doesn't make me one of them and that doesn't make him mine. But I want to be one of them and I want him to be mine. Should I have said that? Declared my love? Told him about my feelings? No. Feelings are weakness. I am being weak. Snap out of it John. It can never be. We can never be. It will never, can never, be. I will not be his, and he will not be mine. I am not one of them, and they will never understand me. So why do I try? Why do I live? I live for them, for him. So yes, I came back to life, and yes, I will keep living until he doesn't need me anymore. Until he doesn't want me anymore. I don't know how long I'll last, but all I need is a little more time. To make him love me. Really love me. Not just when I'm dead or dying. I can do it. Just a little more time...