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Reese hadn't expected to find Finch so easily so he was surprised when he entered the small yet exquisitely furnished apartment and found Finch sitting at the kitchen table asleep with his head pillowed in his arms. His glasses were askew on his face, as if he had been too tired to even think of removing them before dropping his head.
After the last few harrowing days, Reese considered that a strong possibility.
He eyed him closely, seeing the lines of pain that even sleep could not erase, and wondered if the sleep was deep enough that he could pick up the smaller man and put him to bed. Perhaps he would have risked it had there been any signs of alcohol but he knew Finch was a careful drinker and a light sleeper. Still he debated at least removing the glasses that had to be digging into Finch's face, pinching the skin.
With an almost silent sigh, he stepped away and checked out the kitchen; carefully opening cupboards and the refrigerator to assess the contents of each, and pulling out items that looked as if they could make a decent sandwich. He worked slowly, quietly, until the sandwiches were finished before adding water to a kettle and setting it on.
Tea.
Reese smiled softly because he had learned to enjoy tea over the years, and most especially since meeting Finch. He saw Finch stir at the sound of boiling water but not awaken. Reese warmed and filled the pot the way he knew Finch liked it and left the black tea to steep. He warmed through the fine bone China mugs and when he had counted down the five minutes, he poured the tea through the strainer and added a little milk. It was almost ritualistic and, strangely, it calmed his own jangled nerves.
By now Finch's nose was twitching and his eyelashes fluttering when Reese placed Finch's tea on the table in front of them and sat down opposite. He gently pulled the glasses free just as Finch opened his eyes. Startled, Finch sat up a little too quickly, one hand immediately reaching for his glasses and taking them out of Reese's hand. His lips pursed tight with irritation but smoothed as the aroma of freshly brewed tea reached him. Still a little stiff, and not just from whatever injuries he had sustained in the past, Finch frowned but reached for the mug, eyes closing as he savored the taste. Reese nudged the sandwich towards him.
"I'm quite capable of preparing my own food."
"I know."
"I won't ask how you managed to find me," he stated, finishing with a dry twist of his lips.
Reese smiled and picked up his sandwich, taking a bite. After a moment's hesitation, Finch did the same and they ate in a silence that became less strained and more companionable. Between bites, they sipped at the tea, and Reese had to admit once more that Finch had good taste in tea. Finally, he pushed his plate aside.
"More tea?" Reese asked but Finch glanced towards the pot with disdain.
"I'll make a fresh pot," Finch stated, and Reese could not resist a twitch of a smile.
He waited until Finch was busy by the kettle before speaking softly. "You weren't to know, Harold."
Finch froze for a moment but then the tension seemed to leach out of him. "I know. The numbers alone cannot tell me if it is a victim or the perpetrator of a crime. I have to believe that most are victims as that is the way I programmed the machine... but there is always a margin for error."
Reese nodded even though Finch's back was towards him so Finch could not see the gesture. He thought back on their most recent case with a mixture of anger and sadness. The machine had given them the number of a young woman and every indication placed her and her six month old baby in danger from the child's father--a drug addict. When Reese found him dead from an overdose in the back of an abandoned warehouse earlier that day, they both thought she was safe. They almost figured out too late that it was not her but the child that had needed protection... from its own mother.
Reese suppressed the shudder that rippled through him in remembrance of the screaming baby covered in bruises and cigarette burns that showed systematic abuse over its short life--a child he had pulled from a watery grave when the mother tossed the child off the pier inside a suitcase once the father wasn't around to offer even minimal protection. He recalled the shock and horror in Finch's eyes, the way he seemed frozen to the cold, damp ground beneath the pier until Reese shoved the freezing, wet baby into his arms. The worst of the shock subsided and Finch opened his thick coat, bundling the child inside against his own body for warmth while Reese pulled off freezing wet clothes, herded them up the bank and pushed Finch and the now sobbing baby into the back of Finch's sedan. He found a blanket in the back and wrapped it around himself, mentally commanding his body to stop the violent shakes as he drove to the closest E.R. as fast as possible.
"I checked on the baby," Finch stated softly as if he had been reliving the last few hours with Reese. "He's out of danger. I..." Finch turned awkwardly to face Reese. "I've made arrangements for him to be adopted by a good family."
"He wasn't in the system. That's why his number didn't come up... only hers."
Finch blinked as if the thought had not occurred to him, but there had to be plenty of children out there who had never been registered by their parents for one reason or another. "I thought we were saving her, John."
Reese moved quickly until he was standing in front of Finch, pulling the smaller man against him and breathing in the stagnant scent of river water from his suit.
"Come on," he whispered, and drew Finch along the hallway to the bathroom.
He gained the expected resistance when he tried to strip the damp and muddy clothes from Finch's body and smiled as he was ordered out of the bathroom. Instead, he lounged on the large bed for a moment before discarding his own clothing. By the time the shower stopped, Reese was waiting under the covers, and he threw them back in invitation when Finch stopped on the threshold, waiting to see which way Finch would go. He knew he had won when Finch sighed and dropped the towel, sliding naked between the sheets and into Reese's arms.
They made love slowly, carefully, not wanting to aggravate old injuries and recent wounds; wanting only pleasure and comfort to ease away the horror of this day. Afterwards, Reese lay quietly with Finch in his arms, ignoring the tickling sensation as fingers drifted over the bullet scar from his recent brush with death.
"We can't save them all," he murmured, thinking of the young mother who had seemed so sweet and vulnerable until he heard the muffled wail coming from inside the suitcase. At least they had saved the child. Finch tightened his hold on him, burying his face against Reese's throat. He felt the press of lips against the pulse point.
"As long as I can always save you."
Recalling a parking garage and the burn of a bullet in his gut and leg, Reese knew their luck would run out again one day but, for now, it was enough.
END