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Reese frowned to himself when he looked in the mirror, his dark reflection- the bruise above his left eye, the bags under both, the frown on his face that felt strange- staring back at him, ugly. Monster . His eyes darkened at that thought and he clutched tightly to the marble countertops, the sharp edges cutting into his hands and causing them to bleed, but it went unnoticed- no, not unnoticed. Never unnoticed.
He just didn’t care.
Finch would throw a fit though.
Sighing softly at that thought, Reese turned away from the mirror and looked down at his hands, flexing them carefully after taking in the damage. Nothing some water and a few bandages couldn’t fix, surely. So, he ran his hands under the water, wrapped his hands, cleaned up the counter of his blood, and then left the bathroom.
Staring at his bed, he frowned at it, unsure why he was being so hesitant. He was exhausted- he should want to sleep. He needed to sleep. He was given the orders by Finch himself and there wasn’t an order in the world John didn’t follow from the older man. Not without good reason anyway, so with careful movements, he readied for bed.
To his surprise, the second his head hit the pillows, he was out like a light.
-0-
Donnelly found them out. Carter gave them away. She cared too much. But maybe that was John’s own fault instead. It was always his fault.
Monster. Donnelly called him a monster. It was true. He’s killed too many people. They were orders, always orders, but he chose to follow them. Always his fault. Monster. He’s a monster. Carter didn’t think so. Finch… Finch doesn’t think so either. But it’s the truth.
Kara killed Donnelly and almost killed Carter. That was his fault too. She wanted him. Always him. Mark was there too. John didn’t care about him. Mark tried to kill him. But why wouldn’t he? He was trying to rid the world of a monster. A monster he created. But a monster regardless.
Monster…
She made his wear a bomb vest. He tried to play hero. It would have gotten several innocent lives killed. Finch saved him.
Again.
Oh God, Harold … he shouldn’t have been there, but he was.
Was… Monster… Bomb… Finch is dead. Selfish monster.
Dead because of him …
Monster…!
Finch is dead!
-0-
John shot out of bed, white knuckles clenching tightly to the sheets, eyes wide open, heart beating a mile a minute. The nightmare was at the front of his mind- the smell of smoke, the sounds of screams, the explosion. “Finch…” he choked out, trying to figure things out. Remember what happened.
He was still here though, which means Finch wasn’t killed by him.
His mind was still racing, however, and his heart was pounding, threatening to beat right out of his chest. He itched.
He threw the covers off of him, staggered from the bed, grabbed his gun- because even with how fuzzy his mind was, he had enough sense to at least do that- and left the apartment, barefooted and without his jacket. He only cared about one thing: Harold Finch. He had to see, feel, smell him… to know he was still alive.
After everything that had just happened, he felt he deserved at least that much- even if he didn’t actually deserve anything.
It takes twenty minutes by car to reach Harold’s safe house. It took John an hour and a half, walking barefoot through the dark streets of New York, to reach it tonight. He was shivering- the cold biting his bare skin- but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t feel the rocks that dug into his feet, he didn’t feel the cold, he didn’t feel the pain. He only felt the ache in his chest.
When he reached the door, he hesitated, swaying before slumping against the door, pressing his forehead against it and his eyes closed tightly. He slowed his breathing, listening for anything, inside the apartment- but it was silent. He panicked and began wriggling the doorknob, his breathing picking up again. When he finally got inside, he nearly fell over his own two feet- something that never happened when he was in his own right mind.
He didn’t care.
He had to find Harold.
Panicked blue eyes darted around the hall for any sight and he staggered through the silent building. He made it all the way to the living room before his own knees threatened to give out on him and he breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw Harold sitting in one of the recliner chairs, a single side table lamp on and a book in his lap. He wasn’t reading it though, if the deer in the headlight look he was giving Reese right now was any hint to that.
“Mr. Reese- I… what in the world are you-?” Finch started to stand up, putting his book on the table beside the chair, under the lamp, but when John deflated and slumped against the wall beside him- in the archway connecting the hallway and the living room- he slowly sat back down, realization- and then understanding- dawning his normally so guarded expression. “John… it’s okay.” he said, putting one hand on one leg and then he held out the other. “Come here.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. Something Reese could follow, could do- without thought. And he did it, moving forward one unsteady step at a time, exhausted, but unwilling to do anything other than listen to Harold.
“Yes, that’s it. It’s okay.” Finch smiled at him, his eyes kind, and Reese sighed in utter relief, falling to his knees and he bowed his head to the older man. To his master- the reason he lives in this world. He’d be nothing without Harold. Nothing . “John,” his name was said affectionately, as it always is, but it came with a warning too, and John shivered before falling forward, resting right cheek against Finch’s left leg. He relaxed at this and closed his eyes, letting Finch’s warmth and his scent wash over him. It was comforting- telling him things that even sight couldn’t register in his mind. “Good.” Harold murmured and brought the hand on his leg to Reese’s head, brushing careful fingers through his hair. “You’re okay now. I promise. You’re safe.”
John huffed at this and shook his head, but didn’t move and didn’t open his eyes. “Don’t care.” he muttered and Harold made a noise in confusion.
“Oh? Tell me then,” he said, “what it is that you do care about.” Another order. John didn’t hesitate.
“You.”
“I see…” Harold murmured, the frown tangible in his voice and John clenched his hands tightly against his own legs, his head moving so he could press his forehead against Finch’s leg inside of just his cheek.
“You died…” John trembled and Harold’s ministrations faltered a second, before continuing- as if nothing happened.
“I assure you Mr. Reese,” John tensed up and Harold corrected himself, “ John , I am very much alive.” For several moments, though, John was silent as he shook his head furiously, disbelieving even now, until he spoke again.
“I killed you…” he choked out. “Didn’t protect you. Failed to keep you away. You care too much about me… Don’t know why.” he whispered, ignoring Harold’s snort of incredulousness- or maybe he just didn’t hear it. Likely, Harold thought, with how the younger man was acting right now.
“And why wouldn’t I care about you, John?” Harold asked in a questioning tone, but it was sharp- Reese could hear it. Finch was upset about the implicit accusation against his feelings for him. John didn’t blame him.
“Selfish… and I’m a monster.” John said and Harold stopped petting him, removing his hand from his hair, something that had John tensing up again and he reached one of his own hands out to clutch at Harold’s uninjured knee. “Don’t…!” he pleaded, still without opening his eyes, desperate.
“John Dorian Reese,” Harold snapped at him and Reese opened his eyes, terrified as he looked up at Harold, reluctant to move his head away. “How dare you place those accusations against yourself. You are far from selfish, I assure you. Or have you already forgotten the thousands of innocent lives you’ve saved, risking your own- including my own.”
John shook his head and bowed it, gritting his teeth, “Couldn’t… couldn’t send you away. I-I didn’t want to die alone…”
“And you won’t,” Harold said, sharply, prompting John to raise his head to meet his eyes again. “Let me repeat, John, that you aren’t selfish. You are the least selfish person I know, far less so than myself, I’m afraid. Do you want to know why?” John hesitated before shaking his head and Harold sighed, shaking his own. “Because I couldn’t bare the thought of losing you. So I stayed, despite your warnings to save myself. I stayed and I helped you, knowing that the chance of both of us dying were far greater than the chance of us surviving something of that caliber.”
John deflated again and rested his head back against Harold’s leg, closing his eyes and he clenched his fists again as words rang in his head, “Still a monster.”
“Never, John, never call yourself that word again. You are not a monster,” Harold’s voice was dark, but John didn’t move because the hand was back, and he relaxed again. “Who called you that?”
“Donnelly…” John whispered. “The people I’ve killed. Carter- when she discovered I existed.”
“Donnelly didn’t know you. Know what kind of a man you truly are. And it was his loss in the end.” Harold said, sighing softly and John inhaled the older man’s scent, relaxing even further as he listened to him talk. “The good detective knows better now, as well, and you should never think that she thinks you’re a monster. Not ever again.”
“I still-” John tried to look up at Harold, but the older man kept his head down with a silent order and a firm grip, so he stayed, obedient. He let his breathing settle and finally felt his heartbeat return to its normal steady rhythm.
“Quiet. I wasn’t finished, Mr. Reese,” a warning and a threat. One John understood, refusing to give up the calm Harold brought to him like this. Selfish, despite Finch’s words. “And furthermore, John, none of those deaths were your fault. You were a misguided soul following the orders of corrupt people because you had no one to tell you better.”
“After…” John started but Harold shushed him.
“The only things you need to think about is what has happened since I found you. The lives you’ve saved, the people you’ve helped, and those you put away for their crimes. This world- even myself, John- everyone… is so much better since.” he said and John frowned, silent for several moments more. “Do you understand me, John?” Reese nodded, hesitant, but Harold wasn’t having any of it and he paused in the petting. “Tell me you understand me. I won’t have you thinking those awful things again.”
“Okay…” Reese whispered, pressing further against Finch, hiding his face. “I believe you…” he added and Harold sighed in relief above him before finally removing his hand and John panicked again.
“Oh hush, I’m not leaving. I’ll never leave.” Harold told him and John relaxed, nodding slowly before pulling away, clutching his hands tightly in his lap with his head still bowed. “You must be exhausted, yes?” Harold asked and John started to shake his head, but Harold stopped him. “The truth, Mr. Reese, I won’t accept anything other than that. You know this.” John nodded his head this time, gritting his teeth and Harold smiled, standing up and he used two fingers to lift John’s chin so that their eyes met and John could see that soft, loving smile. “Then let’s get you cleaned up, dressed properly for sleep, and into bed. How does that sound?”
John hesitated before nodding again, standing up when Finch motioned for him to do so and he finally registered the pain in his feet, wincing slightly- though he refused to show it. Somehow Harold saw it anyway and the older man looked disapprovingly at him.
“None of that now, okay?” he scolded, reaching up to press a hand against Reese’s cheek, stroking his skin with his thumb. “Never do this again.” he started and John opened his mouth to protest, but a finger to his lips and a stern look from the shorter man stopped him. “Promise me, the next time you need me, you’ll call me. I’ll always answer and I’ll never say no. You know this.”
Ducking his head sheepishly, John finally allowed a smile to cross his tired lips and he nodded, “I-I know…” he whispered and Harold nodded.
“Good, now come along,” Harold started to turn, but Reese stopped him for a second. The ex-operative froze, eyes wide just a for a second when Finch looked back at him, curious and confused. “John?”
“I-I’m sorry…” John let go of the older man and trembled slightly, cursing himself- now that his mind was clearing- for his foolishness.
“No, stop that. Tell me.” Harold said, forcing John to meet his eyes and though he refused to talk for several agonizing seconds, John finally closed his eyes and threw himself forward, hugging Harold tightly.
“I can’t lose you either,” he mumbled, the closest to an ‘I love you’ as he could get. He only hoped that Harold understood this and judging by the soft chuckle he earned and the gentle kiss afterwards, he did. He more than understood.
“I’m glad,” Harold said in return, and though he could say the words, he figured those held far greater meaning instead.