Work Text:
One hand in his coat pocket and bear’s leash in the other hand, John matched his stride with Harold’s stilted one. The morning air was stinging his cheeks a bit with a bite of cold, but the warmth from the walk, and company was permeating past that. Harold was wearing a thick coat and a scarf, all bundled up genius in bespoke clothes. Most days, they had coffee and tea in the library, while figuring out how to approach the new number, but when Reese had arrived today, Finch had announced there was no number yet.
It usually led to one of the two things: either John left, saying to call when they get one, or he invited Harold to accompany Bear and him on the morning walks. Harold never said no. John didn’t ask every time because he did not want to come across as too needy, but he always preferred this to the alternative.
So they walked, slowly on the pavement, with very little speech interrupting their quiet. It was one of the few times when John felt at peace. They stopped by their usual vendor, a middle aged woman who gave them a bright smile.
“Sencha green.” Harold said, unnecessarily, because she knew their orders. She nodded and added, “And a black coffee for your partner. Coming right up. How are you Harold? It’s been a while.”
“Sorry. It’s been a busy few days.” As they made small talk, John wondered if Harold even realized she had called John his partner, or caught that eyebrow raise. With how brilliant Finch was, John was sure he couldn’t have missed it. It’s just that, by now, they were used to it.
The morning sun and the heat of the coffee thawed the rest of the cold away from his limbs, and John reveled in the fact that he could have this. Contentment, that’s what it was.
“I think you would like to know that Miss Auburn has started teaching again.” Harold breaks the quiet of their stroll, with something that just occurred to him.
“Oh.” Miss Auburn was a high school mathematics teacher, whose number they had received two weeks ago. She had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and the hostel warden did not appreciate her knowing about how he had been using the kids in the secret drug trade, and had paid a group of Russian assassins to get rid of the problem. A sniper had tried to kill her while she was in class, and she had told John that she was scared of ever standing in front of class again.
“Yes. She sent an email to the alias I had used, thanking me and my partner. She said she would never forget it.”
“I am glad she is teaching again. World could do with more people like her.”
“Yes. Inspiring children to like mathematics is a rare power.”
“I bet you would make an excellent mathematics professor Harold.” John couldn’t keep his small grin off his face when he thought of Harold standing in front of rows of seats, talking about the wonderful beauty of the number zero.
“Quite on the contrary Mr. Reese.” Harold passed a side glance at him, raising his eyebrows in a way that John found adorable. “I would be an atrocious teacher.”
“Why do you think that?” There was genuine surprise in that question.
“I am afraid I will get so lost in talking about theories and symmetry and the way numbers are both precise and vague, the way they can contain all the information in the world if you only care to unravel it, that the point of the lesson would be lost.”
John couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
“Are you laughing at me Mr. Reese?” He said indignantly, and John let him see the smirk building up on the edges of his lips.
“It’s not a crime to be passionate about something Harold.”
Harold huffed, “Even so. Tutoring is not exactly my vocation.”
“I still think you would make an excellent teacher, in my opinion.” John said genuinely. He could not understand why anyone would ever not want to listen to Harold talk about maths like it create the universe, with that sparkle in his eyes and the rush of joy in his tone. “I would like to listen to you.” He added, quietly.
Harold did not say anything in response, but John knew he heard him. They walked silently till they reached the spot in the Queensbridge Park they frequented, Bear tugging at his leash to be free. Harold bent down and unbuckled it, letting the dog be free. Trained as he was, bear waited till Finch made a shooing gesture, then ran off.
Harold slowly straightened up, smile brightening up his face. John wasn’t paying attention to that. Instead he was noticing how the couple jogging past them gave them looks like people gave adorable kittens. It wasn’t the first time.
They both stood there, beaming at Bear meeting up with the other dogs, the routine even though not regular, but familiar. Then as one, the sat down on the bench at the side, relaxing back and extending their legs. The rest of the day was sure to be hectic, but beginnings like this made it worth it.
John noticed Harold was clenching and relaxing the fingers of his right hand unconsciously, and when he noticed Reese watching, he shook it once and then rested it on his thigh, sheepish. John raised his eyebrows, the question on his face.
“It’s stiff. Typing cramp. Overused it, for the numbers and for maintaining our aliases.”
“Oh.” John nods, and then gestured vaguely, “May I?” glancing towards it.
“No, no. It’s quite alright Mr. Reese. Pain is not something I am not accustomed to.” He shook his head self-deprecatingly.
John’s coffee was finished, so he put it aside, and tentatively reached out to hold Harold’s hand in his own. He waited for him to flinch, to snatch it back, or to get up and walk away. When he did none of those things, just looked at John in confusion, a smile stretched on his lips.
“No need to suffer, when a simple massage would do the job.”
“If you insist.” Finch hedged.
“I do.”
“Alright then.” A shrug, and then Harold went back to casually sipping his tea, his gaze focused on his own hand resting in John, as John purposefully dug his thumbs into the palm, rubbing expertly.
Finch relaxed back into the bench with a little sigh, and Reese took inordinate amount of pleasure from the fact that he was the one bringing the genius this little amount of comfort. After spending a good five minutes on the left hand, he nudged Harold to give him the other. Harold took one last sip from the cup in his hand, placing it on the ground, and turned slightly so his other hand rested in John’s.
Starting the rhythmic motions of his fingers, he looked up and noticed a girl who had stopped jogging, resting with her back to a tree, just a few yards away from them. She was looking at both of them fondly. When their eyes met, she gave him a thumbs up, took a swig from her water bottle, and started running again.
John smiled ruefully, meaning to ignore it like always, but something about this moment, with Harold’s small warm hand in his own, the trust and intimacy of the moment lowered his ever present guard.
“Harold?”
“Hmm?” Finch answered, sitting languidly with eyes closed.
“Do you notice that people often mistake us for a couple?” Instantly, he regretted it. The hand in his tensed for a second before Harold deliberately relaxed it, but he could feel Harold’s need to withdraw it. When no answer came, John dug his fingers into the palm one more time and let it go.
The way Harold tucked it into his pocket was telling.
“The first time I noticed was with Leila. When we went out with her.” John confessed, unable to stop now. “And then I couldn’t help noticing. Everywhere we go, people instantly assume we are together. More so now with Bear.”
Harold’s lips twitched, and he opened his eyes to look at John with wary amusement.
“I am afraid you were a little slow on the uptake Mr. Reese.”
“What?” John’s heart thudded.
“I noticed long before you. Some CIA agent you are.” He teased.
Harold deciding to make light was good, or so he tried to convince himself. “Is that so?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah. The first time for me was when you came to harass me at the IFT plaza, blowing my cover.” He sounded both amused and exasperated at the memory. “A coworker of mine wanted to know all the details of how we met, and when we were going to get married.”
“But… But that was our second number.” John stated, baffled.
“Obviously. But according to her, you were making ‘heart eyes’ at me.” Harold scoffed when he said the words, but John froze. He could very well believe that. His eyes always turned soft when he looked at Harold, but he had learned to hide it. When he had first met Harold, his affection had taken him by surprise so he wouldn’t even have known the expressions he was carrying on his face back then.
“Anyway. It’s nature of people to speculate.” Harold shrugged, relaxing back, effectively ending the topic.
“It doesn’t bother you?” Reese refused to look at Finch’s face as he said that, staring straight ahead in the distance.
“Why should it? People assume all sorts of things. For example, they think I am dead. But their belief won’t make me so.” He sounded genuinely baffled at the idea, and John clenched his fingers tightly, and pursed his lips, willing them to not voice what he wanted to say.
“Oh.” Was all he said.
“Does it bother you?” He could hear Harold shuffling, no doubt turned around and facing him, gazing intently at his face.
Damn it.
CIA had taught him to lie through his teeth, but they had a pact. Harold and John did not lie to one another. They sometimes told half-truths, but never outright falsehood. There really wasn’t a choice.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Finch sounded hurt, and John snapped his head, catching his gaze and seeing his expression flutter shut. “I apologize. I never thought it could be causing you distress. I will try to be careful.”
And what? What was that even supposed to mean.
“It doesn’t cause me distress.” He mused, unsure how to word it.
“What then?” Cautious tone from Harold twisted something inside him, so he amended.
“Or maybe it does. But not in the way you are implying.”
“I do wish you wouldn’t talk in riddles Mr. Reese.” Annoyed was better. Annoyed was familiar.
“As you said, its people’s nature to speculate, and yearn.”
“What?” Finch looked taken aback, but it was too late to back out now.
“Yeah.” Reese looked away from the shocked face, a rueful smile appearing on his face. “It bothers me because it’s not real. No matter how much I might wish it was.”
“Mr. Reese, I…”
“It’s just a cruel reminder is all.” John shrugged, trying to make himself small and invisible.
Harold did not speak, and John felt compelled to make amends. “I am sorry. That was uncalled for. I should never have touched this topic.”
“Mr. Reese, I do wish-.”
“I did promise never to lie Harold. I am sorry if the truth is inconvenient.”
“That’s not what I mean, just-.”
“It won’t be a problem. You don’t have to worry about it. We will pretend…”
“John.” Harold cut in sharply, grasping John by his shoulder. When Harold reached out and put his hand, fingers icy cold, on his cheek, and turned his face towards himself, John did not resist.
“Me too.” Harold said, looking into his eyes, blue irises bleeding sincerity.
“Excuse me?” John could not understand what it meant, dazed by the touch on his cheek and the raw emotions on Harold’s face.
“Me too. I have longed for it to be true as well. I am sorry I wasn’t as brave as you, and lied. But me too John. For ages.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.” Harold smiled shakily, and John just sagged where he was sitting, all the tension and adrenaline washing away from his body.
“You really could’ve said so before.” John complained mildly, as the hand on his cheek fell away. Before he could miss it, Harold shuffled closer, eliminating the distance between them, their bodies pressed from shoulder to hips.
“It was hardly appropriate, considering I am your employer. And for that matter, so could you have.” Harold pointed out, and John could not find anything to argue back with.
“But I did.” He stated eventually.
“Yes you did.” The awe in Harold’s voice made his cheek blush, and then he felt like his ears were on fire, when he felt Harold push up a bit and peck his cheek. Cold lips brushed his cheek for hardly a second, and he felt the electricity caused by it to the very tips of his fingers. Somebody wolf whistled, and John’s eyes swiped the area to notice it was a couple of teenagers who were looking at them and grinning. John couldn’t help grinning back, his skin warm and flushed despite the cold weather.
Harold settled back, and they did not speak for a while, reeling with this change and its implication, and yet marveling at how familiar it felt. After a while, Harold got up, stretched his spine, and then extended his hand towards John.
“You coming Mr. Reese?” He asked, tentative but gentle.
In reply, he grasped the offered hand, squeezing it lightly, and then entwined their fingers. He could see how Finch’s ears reddened at that, but he ignored it in favor of walking towards where Bear was playing with another dog, her owner lying in grass and laughing at their antics.
“Bear. Come on. Let’s go.” Harold said as he neared.
Bear stopped running, alert all of a sudden and obediently came to stand near Harold, who took out the leash from his pocket, and bent down to attach it to the dog’s collar- singlehandedly, because he wasn’t willing to let go on John’s hand. The other dog owner observed them keenly. When Harold straightened up again, and nodded at her, saying good day and beginning to turn, she called out.
“I am sorry if it’s an inappropriate thing to say, but you three are a beautiful family.” She said, embarrassed and looking at the grass.
Harold looked at her and gaped, saying, “I beg your pardon?”
“I am sorry. It’s just, I have been seeing you two around for a while now, and Bear of course,” while she couldn’t look at them, here she beamed at Bear and John had to give her points for that, “and I always think to myself, ‘they make such a lovely little family’ and I never know if it’s alright to say it. But I…”
John felt like she needed to rescue her, so he interrupted, “It’s quite alright madam.”
“Ah.” She scratched her neck, sheepish.
“Yes.” Harold added, and then looked at John, making him finally understand what heart-eyes meant. He had been the focus of them for quite a while, he just had not known. “And thank you. It’s very kind of you to say so.”
She finally managed to make eye contact with them, pleased and cheery. “Well. I hope you have a good day.”
“You too.” Reese couldn’t have made himself stop smiling even if he was trying.
As they walked back, hand in hand, for once, John deliberately sought out the knowing glances, the rare glares of disgust, and the abundance of implications in people’s eyes about them. He welcomed it, without a hint of bitterness. They could speculate all they want; the truth was even sweeter than all of that.
Soon, a telephone booth would ring, and they would go back to saving people. This moment though, it would forever be theirs.