Work Text:
Harold felt John toss and turn several times beside him. He waited to see if he was having a nightmare or had woken up before reacting.
Finally, Harold felt John sit up on the edge of the bed with a deep sigh.
He sat up and asked softly, "John? Can’t you sleep?"
"It's mostly because I can't find a comfortable position." John sighed and continued, reluctantly, "Because of the pain."
Harold knew how difficult it must have been for John to admit that he was in pain, and that it must really be intense.
Even now, when they were closer than ever, it was a real struggle to get John to open up about his sufferings. His lover was so used to relying only on himself and being strong that he took on everything alone. But Harold was there now.
He asked gently, "May I take a look?"
During their last case, John had been hit by a metal pipe while chasing the culprit. Despite his exceptional pain tolerance, he still felt the impact afterward.
John lowered his head and said sharply, "What?" What do you want to see? That I’m not as strong as I claim to be? That I can’t take a hit without feeling pain?"
But Harold wasn’t at all unsettled by John’s defiant tone. He knew it was easier for John to attack than to show his weaknesses, better than feeling like a burden to others. Because that was what John feared most. Harold kept his composure and said in a calm, firm voice, "Show me, John, please."
They stood like that for a few moments. Harold remained impassive in the face of the dark glances John shot him, staring back until John gave in with a sigh of defeat.
He reluctantly lifted his T-shirt, and Harold gasped at the extent of the bruise. No wonder John had trouble sleeping. It stretched from the top of his shoulder down to his ribs and curved back, a mix of blue and purple.
If John wasn’t going to take care of himself, Harold would do it for him.
He turned on his bedside lamp, got up, walked around the bed, stood in front of John, leaned down, and kissed him gently on the forehead. Still in that same gentle tone that brooked no argument, he said, "Stay like that. I’ll be right back."
He went into John’s bathroom. John heard him rummage through the drawers until he returned with a tube of cream that John recognized as a pain reliever.
"I didn’t know I had that here."
Harold chuckled softly. "It’s part of the starter pack in all my safe houses since I've known you, so it had to be in your apartment too."
John shook his head and laughed, but he immediately winced in pain.
Harold quickly examined the bruise, trying to figure out how to relieve John’s pain, and then said, "Lie on your stomach. I’ll put some cream on it."
John sighed and said, "Harold, there's no need. It'll go away. Don’t worry."
"I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I care about you so much, more than I can say. You can’t ask me not to worry about you. Just deal with it."
He placed both hands on his lover’s shoulders, gently urging him to lie down. "Let me take care of you," he said kindly. "I know it’s not easy. I know you don’t like feeling vulnerable. But here with me, you don’t have to be strong. There are no expectations. It's just you and your lover taking care of you after a difficult mission. So try to let go, and I’ll take care of the rest, okay?"
"Okay."
John complied. He could never resist Harold, especially when he used that tone and handled him so gently. John’s bravado was his last line of defense against letting go, and they both knew it.
Once John was lying on his stomach, Harold sat down beside him. He opened the tube of cream, squeezed out a small amount, warmed it between his hands, and began applying it to John’s skin.
John flinched slightly.
Harold stopped immediately and asked, "Am I hurting you?"
"No, on the contrary," John murmured, his voice choked up. He placed his arms at his sides, his shoulders completely relaxed.
Reassured, Harold continued applying the cream, massaging John’s back and loosening his tense muscles while keeping his touch light so as not to cause more pain.
Suddenly, John said in a slightly hoarse voice, "Harold, actually, it wasn't just the pain keeping me awake."
"Hm? What else?"
Harold had expected this, so he simply listened.
"I'm trained. I'm not afraid to fight when I have to, but sometimes I..."
John paused, as if he didn’t dare finish his sentence or was struggling to express his feelings.
Harold hummed to himself, continued the massage, and waited.
"Sometimes I’m afraid of becoming that monster the CIA turned me into again. In the heat of the moment, I was so caught up in the fight and the adrenaline that, despite the impact, I kept running as if the pain didn’t exist, like a machine. I don’t want to go back to being who I was."
Harold lay down next to John, turned him toward him, and embraced him carefully, being careful not to press on his bruise.
He began whispering into John's hair, "No, John, you won't go back to being that person. Because I know you never really were. If Kara called you a 'boyscout,' it's because deep down, that's who you are. You’re a good guy, John. You have a heart that will ultimately guide your decisions. You’re clearheaded, sometimes even too much so. You see yourself in a much darker light than you really are. Would you let yourself get carried away to the point of forgetting your humanity? No, John. I’m certain of that. You chose not to kill someone even though it was an ordered, not just once, but several times, because your heart and instinct told you it wasn’t right, even though you were fully aware of the consequences those decisions would have on you. That was you, and that’s still you. You’re human, John. That’s why I chose you."
Harold gave John some time to process what he’d said, hoping he would accept it.
After a moment, sensing him relax against him, he kissed him tenderly on the lips, then whispered softly, "So now, you’re going to get some sleep. We’ll enjoy the rest of the night, and I promise you that you’ll see things differently tomorrow."
John snuggled closer to Harold’s chest and said softly, "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"We'll never know because I have no intention of leaving."
As Harold wrapped his arms around John and pressed a long kiss into his hair, John’s fears and doubts gradually faded, and he fell into a restful sleep.
Harold didn't let himself drift off to sleep until he sensed John’s breathing become steady and deep.
Tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow, they would prepare together for a new day and perhaps one or more new cases.
Tomorrow, at the end of the day, it might be Harold who would need John.
Tomorrow and forever, one truth would remain unchanged.
They were each other’s safe place.