Work Text:
"It's time we went for that beer."
John had suggested it before, but Harold had refused immediately, thinking it was nothing but pity or a way to comfort him. Harold didn’t want to think about those traumatic moments. He wanted to move on.
However, the rest of the day had shown him that it was far from easy, and that his time with Root had left deep scars within him.
John, for his part, had been the most supportive partner.
He had provided unwavering, silent support.
He hadn’t pressured Harold or taken offense at his rebuffs.
He thought back on all the times since John saved him at the train station. All those moments when John responded with nothing but kindness and understanding.
Harold walked into the library and looked around, unable to believe he was back there again. Home. In his sanctuary.
However, he didn’t have time to dwell on it because a dog approached him, sitting down in front of him with a book in its mouth.
John, who had joined him, said kindly, "Harold, meet Bear. Unfortunately, my apartment has a strict policy regarding dogs."
Without missing a beat, Harold replied, "I have a strict policy regarding rare first editions. Namely, don't eat them."
John said in a firm yet gentle tone, "Bear, laat vallen."
The dog immediately dropped the book while bravely remaining seated.
John crouched down and remarked, "Asimov. He has expensive taste." He looked at Bear and continued, "I'm sure we'll get along."
John walked toward the center of the room, and Harold called after him, "John. I owe you a debt."
John was about to reply when his phone rang.
As soon as he picked it up, Harold knew who it was from a single glance.
While Root spoke, Harold watched John’s jaw and expression harden until he turned around and replied in an icy voice, "Come near us again, and you will be sorry."
Even though Harold was still shaken by his time with the younger woman, John’s mere presence, like a shield between her and Harold, was enough to restore Harold's sense of security a little.
Harold was surprised to see Bear lying in a dog bed when he walked into the library. At his desk was John, who seemed focused on the screen in front of him.
"Harold."
As soon as John heard Harold coming, he stood up and looked at him in silence.
Harold asked, "Is there something you'd like to say to me, Mr. Reese?"
John began, "Just in case you ever want—"
Harold cut him off, certain of what he was about to say. "No, I don't need to talk about it."
John nodded slightly and replied, "I was just going to say that if you ever want to grab a beer, let me know."
Oh.
Of course, John, who had faced this kind of situation many times himself, knew that being pressured to talk about it caused the most anxiety.
Harold had decided to face his fears by going out with Bear to meet John. However, once he was in the middle of the street, the various noises, the car horns, sirens, and open space, triggered such intense anxiety that he practically ran back to the safety of the library.
His breathing hadn’t even calmed down yet when he called John: "Mr. Reese, I seem to be having a bit of a complication." He couldn't hide the tremor in his voice as he continued, "I'm afraid I won't be able to meet you."
John replied in an understanding tone: "No problem, Harold. I’ll call Fusco. I’m sure he’s got nothing better to do."
Nothing else.
No judgment or forceful encouragement.
Just pure understanding.
Harold sat down at his desk, still gasping for breath, and realized that the call was still open.
He heard John comforting the Brazilian diplomat’s daughter.
The young woman seemed on the verge of tears. "I’ve been lost for so long. I thought that if I kept looking, I might find a place that made me happy. I never thought anyone would get hurt."
John replied gently, "I've spent some time feeling lost."
Harold could hear his partner’s voice clearly in his ear and felt a lump in his throat when he heard the sadness in it.
The young woman asked, "What changed?"
John replied, "Someone found me and told me I needed a purpose."
Harold looked up and felt tears welling up as the young woman replied, "Sounds like a good friend."
"He is."
John’s voice was so sincere that it finally allowed Harold to calm down completely, and he felt his breathing return to normal.
It was the end of the day.
Harold had decided that it was time to face reality.
He devoted an entire section of his board to Root. It was time to do what he did best, investigate.
As he pinned up another clue, John walked into the library and said, in his calm, gentle voice, "It's time we went for that beer."
Harold didn’t turn around right away. He stood his ground, his hands trembling slightly. "I need to wrap things up here," he replied, his voice a bit tense.
But this time, John didn’t let it go. His tone was firm, laced with an authority that left no room for negotiation. "Things here can wait, Harold."
Harold slowly turned toward John, fearing he would see annoyance on his face. Instead, Harold saw only a small, indulgent smile. He felt his last defenses crumble instantly as he realized he no longer wanted to fight. He was exhausted by the forced solitude he’d imposed on himself since his return.
A little while later, they were walking down the street. The cool evening air seemed to clear the dark corners of Harold’s mind. Bear trotted along on one side, and John walked on the other, creating a safe space for Harold.
After a while, Harold stopped and turned to John.
"Does it have to be beer?" he asked.
John smiled gently and waited a few moments before saying, "It can be whatever you want, Harold."
Without giving himself time to think, Harold blurted out, "How about a whiskey at your place?"
He looked at John’s face. He saw obvious surprise there, almost touching. Which he understood very well. The awkwardness that had settled between them since Harold’s return, made up of unspoken words and forced distance, had been hard on John as well.
Once the initial surprise passed, John nodded, his gaze softening even more. Harold saw sincere joy light up John’s features, and that simple reaction warmed his heart.
When they arrived at John’s apartment, Bear walked in without hesitation and headed straight for the kitchenette to drink from a bowl of water. He was clearly familiar with the place. Harold watched the scene, one eyebrow raised and a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"John, I notice Bear is right at home here. The doorman didn't mention anything about you not being allowed to have a dog here when he saw us. So admit it, it wasn’t because of the building policy that you left Bear with me."
John immediately looked sheepish as he replied in a lower voice, "I figured Bear might help you..." He paused, then whispered, "Better than I could."
Harold opened his mouth to protest, to tell John just how wrong he was and how much his presence had helped him. But John stopped him, saying softly, "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get the glasses."
Harold sat down on the leather sofa. A few moments later, John returned with two glasses filled with amber-colored liquid. He placed the glasses on the coffee table and sat down next to Harold. Bear came over and stretched out on the plush rug, snoring softly at their feet almost immediately.
Harold took a sip of whiskey, savoring the familiar burn as it traveled down his throat. Then, after setting his glass down and turning toward John, he murmured, "I’m sorry. I realize I haven’t been easy to deal with since I got back."
John cut him off, placing a gentle hand on his knee.
"You don't have to apologize, Harold. I know better than anyone how hard it is to find a sense of normalcy again after the kind of ordeal you’ve been through. I think you’re doing pretty well. But..."
"But?" Harold waited breathlessly, afraid that John might say he’d reached the end of his patience.
"May I hold you in my arms, Harold?"
John looked so vulnerable when he asked that question that Harold was disarmed.
He was about to refuse on impulse, saying, "I don't need it. I..."
"Maybe you don't, but I do," John interrupted, clearly overcome with emotion. "You have no idea how scared I was while you were gone. When you fell to the ground after the gunshot, I really thought that, just like with Jessica, I’d arrived too late. So, I know this might be selfish, but..."
Harold didn’t let him finish. He put his hands on John’s shoulders and pulled him toward him. The moment John’s arms closed around him in response, Harold realized how wrong he’d been. He did need it. He desperately needed John's embrace. He’d denied himself that need out of fear that if John held him, he wouldn’t be able to let him go.
Harold pressed himself against his partner’s strong chest and felt the steady beat of his heart against his cheek. He wrapped his arms around John’s waist and buried himself in that space of absolute safety.
For the first time since his return, anxiety was not his dominant emotion. Everything faded away in the face of John's tangible embrace and the feel of his breath in his hair.
"Thank you for finding me," Harold whispered against his lover’s chest, his voice choked with emotion.
John hummed softly against his hair and tightened his embrace gently, as if afraid Harold might shatter. He let himself slide back onto the couch, pulling Harold with him without ever loosening his hold.
They remained there, entwined and silent, savoring the simple elation of being reunited: Harold, finally safe in John’s arms, and John, relieved to have his lover safe and sound in his arms.