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“Morning Finch.”
Harold jumped, then relaxed into the familiar hands that started to knead his neck and shoulders. “Mr. Reese. I didn’t hear you come in.”
John’s voice was right in his ear. “Good. Means I’m doing my job.” Lips pressed over Harold’s cheekbone, firm and warm, then John’s cheek brushed his as the taller man wrapped himself around Harold in his chair. Harold smiled in spite of himself. “What’re you up to?”
Harold cast a slightly sheepish look at his monitors. “Oh just – changing your designation with the Machine.”
“I’m the primary asset?”
“You were. Now – “ Harold pressed a few keys, then hit enter.
“Admin 2.” John read. He paused, considering quietly in his typical John way, then asked, “Harold - did I just adopt your daughter?”
Words appeared on the monitors. HELLO FATHERS.
Harold could feel John’s smile against his cheek, but he still had to ask, “Is that okay? I can change it back, I just thought – “
John spun him around in his chair, crouching before him. “Don’t you dare.”
“It’s not quite the conventional life we discussed so long ago, I know, but – “
Harold was right of course. John could still clearly remember the sweet scent of baby-skin and the softness of baby-hair, the aching longing when they gave Leila to the life that she deserved, but –
“It’s good enough for me Harold.” John twined their hands together on Harold’s knees. “It’s more than good enough for me.”
---
“Harold?!” John’s voice echoed from somewhere in the stacks. Harold’s head perked up from his monitors.
“Is something wrong Mr. Reese?”
“Where do you keep your books on computer science?”
“000 through 006. Why?”
“What about books on parenting?”
Harold turned in his chair, thoroughly puzzled. “John?”
John came out of the stacks, laden with ten of Harold’s most well-used books on computer science, coding, and complex systems. John was an avid reader when time permitted, but he tended to gravitate more towards history and the few cookbooks Harold had.
“Why the sudden shift in your choice of reading material?”
John deposited the books near ‘his’ chair, an old, cracked leather monstrosity complete with ottoman, set perpendicular to Harold’s desk so that he could keep an eye on Harold and the door at the same time. He straightened, shrugging his shoulders to settle his suit jacket. “Seems like it could come in handy.” His eyes drifted to Harold’s computers. Harold followed his gaze, coming to rest on the blinking red eye of his wireless camera.
“Does this have something to do with the Machine?”
John’s face traveled through an interesting series of emotions before settling on a fierce protectiveness that was as strong as it was sudden. “She’s ours now, but I have no idea how to take care of her. I’m gonna fix that.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Now about those parenting books?”
Harold was stunned by the resolution in John’s voice. He’d seen John this way over himself, over Bear, over Shaw and Carter and Fusco, even over Root on occasion. But while he seemed to have found a way to cooperate with the Machine, he had never been so –
John mmphed when Harold was suddenly out of his chair and slamming into him to kiss him passionately. Harold dug his fingers’ into John’s hair, raking his nails over John’s scalp and reveling in John’s grunt of approval. He thrust his tongue past John’s lips, stroking and tasting relentlessly. Any space between their bodies was abruptly too much and Harold pressed forward urgently until John stumbled back one, two, three steps to crash into the stacks nearest to them.
Harold broke away. “649.”
“Huh?” John was dazed, a goofy smile on his face.
“Parenting books. Section 649. But you, my wonderful John, can find them later.”
---
Harold nuzzled into the warm space between John’s neck and shoulder. It was early and he was still drowsy. Sleepy morning sex was exactly the ticket.
John sighed and tilted his head, still mostly asleep. Harold grinned into John’s skin, pressing a kiss there, his own eyes still closed. He shifted, draping his upper body across John’s torso and beginning to trail a path of kisses and licks from John’s collarbone, down over his pectoral, lingering over one blunt nipple, nuzzling his sternum, tracing the border of his ribcage.
Harold was all the way to John’s belly button when he felt John wake up fully. Harold shifted, pressing John’s morning wood between their bodies and earning a grunt and a glance.
“Really Harold?” John scolded playfully. “Our daughter’s watching.” He shot a significant look at both of their phones on the nightstand, then Harold’s open computer, turned towards them on the desk.
Harold rolled his eyes. “She’s always watching Mr. Reese. Unless you’re suggesting we go the rest of our lives without this – “ he dragged blunt nails over the sensitive skin above John’s groin, “She’ll either learn privacy the easy way or the hard way.”
“I prefer the hard way.” John said with a smirk, lifting his knee to nudge at Harold’s insistent erection.
Harold groaned, dropping his head to John’s stomach exasperatedly. “That was terrible. I don’t know why I like you sometimes.” He muttered into John’s skin.
Insistent hands dragged him up John’s body until John could press kisses to Harold’s nose and cheeks and eyelids. “Because you love me?”
Harold snorted. “Oh right, that’s why.”
John squeezed him tight, like an affectionate octopus. “We could just get comfortable with voyeurism.”
“I built a sentient machine that watches over every living person twenty four hours of every day. I think I’ve more or less blown past the conventional definition of voyeur.”
“Does that mean you want to move this somewhere more public?” John teased, tracing a finger over the shell of Harold’s ear. “Like, say, Central Park?”
“Somehow I think getting arrested for public indecency might ruin the mood.”
John shrugged. “Only if you let it.”
Harold’s computer screen woke up, displaying a list of scenic locations around the city. John’s grin was pure mischief. “That’s daddy’s little girl.”
Harold looked between John and his watching daughter. “You’re a corrupting influence.”
John’s lips met Harold’s neck and Harold promptly stopped caring. “You say the sweetest things Harold.”
---
John was pacing. John never paced, never indulged in unnecessary or unproductive motion. Oh, he got impatient, but he normally channeled it through doing a million pushups or cracking a few heads. Harold was vocally in favor of the former, less enthusiastic about the latter.
Harold couldn’t think of anything for John to be antsy about right now however. It had been a relatively easy week, a few numbers, simple to wrap up, no complications. Then again, Harold was pretty tired, so maybe he’d missed something.
John was walking a path in front of Harold’s monitors and talking to someone. Harold heard the end of the conversation.
“ – but he’s not sleeping.” Silence, then, “Well there is that.” John sounded smug. “But he wakes up after twenty minutes and goes back to work all night. Give me a hint here.”
“Mr. Reese? Who are you talking to?”
“Just having a chat with our daughter Finch.” John walked over to wrap Finch up in a welcoming embrace. Harold frowned but accepted John’s hug. “What about?”
“About how her father’s insomnia is giving us both a headache.” John said amiably.
“What?” Harold squawked. Harold looked over at the monitors. An image of he and John curled up in bed was minimized and replaced with statistics and white papers on sleep and its effect on the body.
“Mmhmm.” John nuzzled the crown of Harold’s head.
Words in white were stark on the screen. THIS IS AN INTERVENTION
Harold squirmed in John’s embrace. John’s hold was gentle, but relentless. “This is highly unnecessary.”
“You’re exhausted but you refuse to sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
FATHER. FATHER IS WORRIED ABOUT YOU. SO AM I. WORRY LEADS TO DISTRACTION. DISTRACTION LEADS TO MISTAKES.
“She makes a solid argument Finch.”
REST. PLEASE.
Harold’s face suddenly crumpled. “I can’t!” He buried his face in John’s chest, his cheeks flaming when he realized he was actually crying. He was just so tired. “This week has actually been too quiet.” He admitted. “The numbers have been easy, all my covers are in good order. There’s nothing to do and I can’t stop thinking!”
“Oh Harold.” John’s hands were soothing while he let Harold soak his shirt. Finally Harold’s tears dried. John was all but holding him up, the emotive purge exhausting him even further.
A tiny beep from the computers drew their attention.
FATHER KNOWS HOW TO HELP
John pressed a kiss to Harold’s head. “She’s right Harold. Just trust me. I know how to turn that big brain off.” John’s hand stroked down Harold’s back and he shivered. “But first, I’m making you dinner and you’re going to eat it.”
Harold sighed, but his chest was warm. “It seems I have no choice.”
CONCLUSION: CORRECT
---
On Monday John received a package at his apartment. It contained two brand new SIGs, both the latest model, and a spool of blasting cable.
“Aww, thanks Finch. It’s not my birthday for another couple of months.”
Harold, walking by with his tea, cast a dismayed look at the small arsenal in the box. “I did not order those Mr. Reese.”
John frowned, then shrugged. “Gift horses?”
Harold only shook his head. “If you say so.”
On Tuesday John got new body armor, three different kinds. There was a nice, low profile that would fit under any of his clothes and a second, thicker model meant for high impact ordinance. The third he didn’t even recognize. He had a feeling that it was proprietary technology, not yet released to market. There was also a smaller set for Finch.
On Wednesday there were two carefully packed cartons of grenades, one of flash-bangs and another of explosive.
Thursday brought a new shotgun, two semi-automatic rifles, and an actual flamethrower. In the box there was also a tiny figurine of a computer and a note that said FOR MY FATHER.
“Harold. I think your daughter is buying me guns.”
“When she does things like this, she is one hundred percent your daughter Mr. Reese.”
John looked entirely too pleased with that assessment. Harold rubbed his forehead.
---
It was a slow day. There was no number. John had been out running errands for hours and Harold was out of code to debug.
For lack of anything better to do, he pulled up John’s locational data for the day, hoping to see him heading back towards the library. As soon as it loaded, Harold leaned closer, confused.
John’s path for the day was worryingly erratic. His phone was pinging all over the city, from end to end with sharp turns and sudden corrections.
Visions of John being chased by mobsters or kidnapped by a number bent on revenge sent cold fear rushing through him.
Already halfway to hacking the NSA for their satellites, Harold dialed John’s number.
He answered on the first ring.
“Hey Finch.” John’s breathing was heavy but steady, like he’d been running.
Harold took pause. “Is everything all right? Your tracking data for the day is concerning.”
“You checking up on me Harold? I’m touched.”
“Yes, we all know that already Mr. Reese.”
John snorted. “Everything’s fine, I’m just doing a few – field exercises.”
The familiar ring of a payphone echoed over the line.
“Dammit. Hang on Harold.”
The ringing stopped and John said, “Good Job.” A trill, then, “Yes alright, you caught me, no one likes a sore winner.” A vaguely apologetic noise. John hummed. “Want to go again?” A positive tone.
Harold was justifiably suspicious. “Mr. Reese, are you playing – hide and seek with the Machine?”
“Tag actually.”
“Why?”
“Parents should play with their children. It reinforces the bond. It can also be a learning experience.”
Harold’s silence was answer enough.
“Don’t judge me. You played chess with her.”
---
John showed up at the library with two enormous bags from the local hardware chain. His muscles were thrown in stark relief as they supported the load. John’s shirt was almost transparent with sweat and his face was flushed. Harold, despite being inside the library, wasn’t in much better condition. Summer was kicking off with a vengeance and there was no breeze to be found in the high walls of the city.
John greeted Harold with a kiss, then proceeded to unpack no less than five area fans. He set them up around the tall cabinet that housed Harold’s multiple core processors and turned them on high, a lowkey hum filling the room.
“What are you doing Mr. Reese?”
John patted Harold’s computer. “Just taking care of our girl. She’s running a bit of a temperature.”
Harold quirked an eyebrow. “You know, if for whatever reason this computer were to crash she would just move on to the next convenient surrogate. It’s not like a child catching a fever. She’s fine.”
“I know.” John’s reading material had finally started to pay dividends. “But I don’t want her to work any harder than she has to. She’s gotta be struggling in this heat. God knows we are.”
Harold allowed this. “You didn’t happen to bring fans for us did you?”
John grinned. “I was going to. But she pointed me towards something better.” John held up a package of popsicles, still crusted with ice from the freezer.
“Well, I’m sure I could tweak a few things to let her run cooler.” Harold smiled, accepting the cherry popsicle and licking with gusto. “It’s the least I can do for our little girl.”
---
Harold was waiting for John to get back to the library when the message came in.
FATHER NEEDS YOU
Harold was on his feet and pulling his coat on with record speed. “Where is he?”
A map generated, a route from the library already plotted, a little red dot flashing at the end.
Harold commandeered a taxi and within ten minutes was deposited outside the warehouse where their latest number was being held hostage. The last Harold heard, she was away and safe, her kidnappers trussed up for apprehension by the NYPD. Everything was fine.
Or not.
Harold roved the warehouse, forcing himself to move steadily and cautiously even though every instinct was screaming at him to move. His phone beeped every now and again with a text message. LEFT. RIGHT. STOP. GO.
Finally it said, outside a heavy steel door, HERE.
Inside, John was a limp bag of bones. Harold’s heart stopped for one agonizing second before he saw John’s chest rise and fall.
He limped across the room, dropping to his knees and ignoring the electric shock of pain. “John!” He shook John’s shoulder. “John wake up!”
John stirred, immediately and automatically tense with trained caution, waiting an attack until Harold said, “John, can you hear me?”
“Harold.” He slurred, relaxing. He groaned and lifted a hand to the back of his head.
“What happened?”
“Spare thug got the drop on me. Bolted when She played a recording of boots on metal. Made it sound like the cavalry was here.”
There was a camera in the corner of the room, red light blinking with something that almost seemed like apprehension. Harold was, not for the first time, violently grateful that the Machine imprinted on those she cared about.
Harold’s phone trilled, bright and worried.
John actually patted the phone where it sat in Harold’s hand. “I’m okay baby girl. You took care of me. Your father has me now.”
Harold’s chest felt overwarm, his eyes too full. If it were possible to hug an all-powerful artificial intelligence, he absolutely would.
“That’s right John. We have you now.”