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“There, there, Bear,” Harold murmurs. “It’s alright. I’m alright.”
Harold wishes he knows how to say it in Dutch as he strokes Bear’s head, who has his chin propped on Harold’s knee. He flattens his ears and looks up at Harold imploringly, whining.
“Something the matter, Finch?” John says as he approaches from the stairs, head tilted to one side curiously.
Harold looks up with a wry smile at his other guard dog. “When you first brought Bear here, Mr. Reese, you said that if anyone messed with me, he would eat them.” He looks down at the Belgian Malinois, whose canine grin reveals sharp teeth still stained with blood. “I didn’t realise you meant it literally.”
John has suddenly gone very still, all mirth gone from his face. “Did something happen this morning before I came in?”
Harold hesitates. Bear looks meaningfully over his shoulder at John.
“Finch.”
“I got caught in the middle of a mugging,” Harold says quickly; he figures he might as well get it over it, like ripping off a band-aid. He very carefully does not meet John’s eyes. “I was careless. And, well, stupid.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” There is steel in John’s tone now.
Harold’s mind zooms through a list of reasons he can give, then lets his shoulders slump as he settles for the truth. He has promised he won’t ever lie to John.
Bear nudges Harold’s thigh, seemingly sensing his distress and offering comfort. It prompts a shaky smile from him as he scratches Bear’s neck. “I was… embarrassed,” Harold admits, feeling his face flush with shame.
“… Embarrassed,” John repeats in disbelief. Harold hears him heave a deep sigh and sees, out of the corner his eye, the way John runs a hand over his face. “Well, what did Bear do?”
Bear perks up at the sound of his name and trots over to John’s side. He sits on his haunches as John looks down at him with raised eyebrows.
“I had no idea he would aim for the mugger’s jugular,” Harold says wearily.
John looks surprised. “He usually doesn’t.” His eyes narrow. “Unless…”
He has been hoping he doesn’t have to say it, but Harold knows John’s clever enough to eventually figure it out for himself, anyway. After all, the man has trained Bear. “The mugger had a gun pointed at my head,” Harold says, before carefully adding, “and Bear stopped him just in time when he pulled the trigger.”
“Finch—”
“I’m fine, Mr. Reese,” Harold says quickly, holding up both hands to placate John, who is alarmingly looking, well, murderous. “The bullet missed.”
“And the mugger?”
“… I’m quite certain Bear has permanently damaged his vocal chords.”
John looks at Bear. “Good boy,” he murmurs. Bear thumps his tail against the floor happily.
Harold sighs. “Please don’t encourage him, Mr. Reese.”
“He was just protecting his master, Finch,” John says, then looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Who should have been more careful.”
Harold looks away. “I know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
He hears Bear whine again, and he’s startled when Bear bounces over to him and places both front paws on his lap to brace himself as he licks Harold’s face. He chuckles and wraps his arms around the dog, suppressing the inexplicable urge to cry.
He sees John’s meticulously polished leather shoes in his peripheral vision and looks up to see him watching with a gentle expression as he joins them.
“I think you’re forgiven,” John says softly, and Harold nods gratefully, knowing that John isn’t just talking about the dog.
Bear seems to agree with an enthusiastic bark, making both men smile in unison.
“I never realised before today how dangerous he is,” Harold observes as he watches John pull open the catalog drawer where they keep Bear’s treats. John takes out several, and Harold shakes his head fondly when Bear wolfs it all down from John’s hand.
“Does it scare you?” John asks, and Harold’s brows furrow at the way John won’t look at him.
“No,” Harold says slowly, “but rather, it humbles me.”
He stands and walks over to them carefully, trying not to make it too obvious that he’s limping more than usual; he isn’t willing to reveal the other reasons why Bear had been worked up into a violent frenzy after the other things the mugger subjected him to before trying to shoot him.
“He disobeyed you, didn’t he,” John says suddenly.
Harold looks at him, surprised. “How did you know?”
“You would never tell him to attack, and he would have never allowed you to be hurt like that, unless you specifically told him to stay back.” John holds his gaze meaningfully. “Until he couldn’t, anymore.”
Harold concedes meekly with a nod. “I regret that he had to resort to such measures.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” John muses as Bear looks at him hopefully. His mouth quirks when Bear whimpers as he shuts the drawer. “It’s what he’s trained to do.”
Disappointed that he won’t be getting any more treats from that end, Bear now turns to his other master, and noses at Harold’s hand. His reward is a scratch under his chin instead, which he seems happy to accept as a compromise as he sits by Harold’s feet.
“He amazes me,” Harold murmurs. “All that power packed into such a compact body and yet he chooses to protect a useless old cripple like me.”
“Harold,” John says quietly, “if you continue to insult the best man I know, you and I are going to have words.”
Harold feels the breath knocked out of him in a similar fashion as when the mugger slammed him onto the wall in the alley, except the way his heart rate accelerates this time is not out of fear.
“You and Bear appear to be quite biased, Mr. Reese,” Harold breathes as John slowly approaches them.
“Of course we are,” John drawls as Bear leaps up and begins weaving enthusiastically between their legs. “That comes with the territory when we love someone. Don’t we, Bear?” John asks brightly, to which Bear agrees with an eager bark.
“I see,” Harold says dazedly. “Does that mean you would have aimed for the jugular too?”
“It wouldn’t have been the first time.” John slants a look at him. “Does it scare you?”
“No,” Harold answers softly. “It humbles me.”