Chapter Text
The world was passing by in flashes now. Pulses of light and shadow and the sound of his own laboured breathing. Finch could hear rumbling in the distance and pulled on the ropes at his wrist. If the building was coming down; the best thing he could do would be to roll himself under the strong iron table bolted to the floor in front of him. His chair creaked but did not move. Harold relaxed and the distant rumbling ceased. His muscles ached and he closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again when he heard muffled popping behind the roar of blood in his ears. His face was damp and his eyes stung with sweat. He closed them again and felt the oncoming white out, leaning to the left slightly in preparation. It would be easier on his aching injuries that way.
When he rose from the darkness again he could hear voices. He tried to open his eyes but the lights were too bright. Finch caught only glimpses of the door off of its hinges, two fuzzy bodies approaching and the scent of explosives, smoke, and fire.
“Tell me right now. Are you capable of completing this mission?”
The woman received no response and Harold could feel the strength of arms around his waist and shoulders, lifting him and dragging him. His shoes squeaked against a linoleum floor.
“We don’t have time-“
“Listen to me John. Are you or are you not compromised?”
Harold felt cold cement walls against his back, bleeding through his thin shirt and vest. His injuries ached and his head spun. He had no energy left. He could only concentrate on breathing deeply. Gunshot close to his ears made him wince sluggishly.
John still had not replied and Harold wondered if he was still there. His answer came as the familiar scent of the aftershave he had bought for his partner filled his senses and those strong arms circled him again. Lifting him first to his chest and then sharing his weight with the woman Finch was now sure was Shaw.
“Because your actions back there not only announced our arrival to the whole damn base but could have killed us both.”
“I can do my job.”
“Can you? That was reckless, even for you John.”
“Look, we can stand around chatting about my feelings or we can get Harold out of here.”
“I can’t work a case effectively if you keep throwing yourself on the pyre for your partner because you l-“
“Well it’s a good thing that not every case involves Harold then, isn’t it.”
Shaw let out a frustrated grunt but didn’t push any further. Finch could feel cool air on his damp skin and the shock of the temperature change from the stuffy heat of the base and the breezeless outside was enough to allow him to open his eyes. Reece and Shaw were carrying him in tandem, arms looped under his armpits, guns outstretched in each free hand. They were fast approaching a chain link fence where Shaw let him go for John to hold as she pulled back what was clearly their entry point.
“John?”
The agent glanced at him and Harold was surprised to see what could almost be considered desperation on his partners face before the exhaustion set in again and he let the darkness take over.
When he opened his eyes this time he was sat on the floor of a white tiled room in the dark. Nimble fingers were working on his wrist and Harold rolled his eyes in his head, trying to gain enough control to focus on his surroundings. It was then he realised he didn’t have his glasses. Shaw tapped his wrist and peered at him. “Mr Finch?”
He licked his lips. His mouth was numb and his tongue felt swollen, heavy and useless. He hummed in response and she nodded getting to her feet. Harold could see the gun still in her hand as she glanced around the room. “Wh- whe-“
“Do you know where we are?”
Harold shook his head as much as he was able with his spinal injury and Shaw returned to his side. Her hands were cool on his neck as she felt his pulse. “We are in a veterinary surgery in Mexico. You have been drugged. That IV should make sure you don’t pass out again.” Harold frowned and opened his mouth. Shaw seemed to understand even without him speaking. She sniffed and checked the perimeter again. “The number is being...dealt with.” Harold raised an eyebrow. Her perfectly even tone made his heart leap. John was prone to escalation when the people he cared about were threatened. Despite his capture and torture by the number his stomach still clenched, he did not envy the man in Johns clutches right now.
Harold tried to sit up straighter and Shaw instantly leap to help, she was strong and was easily able to lift Harold to his feet, keeping her hands under his arms for a moment to make sure he wouldn’t topple over. Harold clung to the IV stand for support and smiled tightly at his companion. She peered at him closely. “You need to drink something.”
The cool liquid froze an ice trail inside Harold and he shivered. He was still dressed in a thin vest but his dress shirt had been discarded as had his tie and his brogues. He mourned their loss for only a moment, wriggling his toes in the cheap soft pumps his captors had given him. Shaw sighed and paced back and forth. Something was wrong.
“How long?”
He managed to squeeze out two words and Shaw avoided his eyes. “3 hours.”
John could certainly do a lot of damage in 3 hours. Harold tried to take a step towards the door and Shaw reached out to stop him, unfortunately Harold’s injuries got there first and he groaned as the sudden pulse of pain winded him completely. It was at this moment as Harold clung desperately to the only port in his storm of pain during which John finally returned, sliding into the door. He was as immaculate as ever, his face a careful mask and Harold instinctively relaxed closing his eyes. The cool glass of water Shaw had gotten him was being pressed against his hand and Harold panted tightening his grasp on the stand.
“Harold, here...”
Rough fingers against his lips and Harold opened his eyes as two dry bitter pills were pushed onto his tongue. John was holding the water up to his lips and Harold took a sip letting the pills slip down his throat. John nodded in the same way Shaw had and leaving a hand resting on his bosses arm turned to Shaw.
“I found us a car. We need to move. Now.”
Harold focussed on his breathing as the muggy cloud of pain subsided slowly and he peered around at his employees. “I-“
John shook his head and slipped a hand around his waist, the other pointing his gun at the door. Shaw heaved a backpack onto her shoulders and led the way out of the door. John didn’t speak but his hand tensed on Harold’s waist as he let out a soft moan. Walking was difficult, his hip stiff and his leg wooden, a dead weight. It took him almost five minutes to limp the distance from the backdoor of the surgery down the alleyway to the car John had parked in the street. Shaw was already inside glancing around with her gun still drawn. John was patient, not once hurrying him and voicing what must have been frustration at his employers pace.
He was careful when helping Harold into the back seat, his hands hovering around but never touching unless obviously needed and he was careful not to tug on the IV as he hung it up inside the car. Harold leant back against the seat, wrinkling his nose at the wet dog smell emanating from the fabric. He dozed in and out as the cars meagre engine rumbled beneath him. The ex-agents were both silent, Shaw occasionally glancing across to John who in turn checked the rear view mirror, his eyes meeting Harold’s where he would hold the stare for a moment before looking away. Finch had questions, how did they find him? What did John do with the number? Why did he feel like he was missing something?
“Bear?”
John instantly made eye contact with him again and for the first time since Harold’s escape his eyes were softened. “Keeping an eye on Lionel for me.”
Harold blinked. “Does he know-“
“Harold, I wouldn’t leave Bear with someone I don’t trust to look after him. Lionel has his medication and his ear drops and I left strict instructions about his diet. He is fine.”
Harold smiled. “Thank you...How long have I been...been-“
“They took you 54 hours ago. That’s enough questions, we are approaching the border and I need you to stay quiet. “
Harold relaxed against the seat and closed his eyes.
He woke some time later. It was dark outside and he let the flicker of the city lights run over his face. Shaw was gone, John was driving in silence. He glanced up and noticed Harold staring. His eyes softened again and he looked back to the road. “I’m going to have to take you back to my place... Your suite at the Hilton and the uptown apartment have been compromised...”
Harold sighed. He had liked that apartment.
His head swam and he felt the heaviness in the front of his mind pushing his eyes closed again, dragging him back into a semi-asleep state. When they reached Johns apartment his personal doctor was waiting for him, taking on the role of support for Harold as John led them upstairs. The doctor seemed concerned and sat him on the edge of the bed. Harold glanced around the flat as his IV was removed and the doctor moved around him. John had disappeared from view and so Harold was free to take in what he could.
There were almost no distinguishing features; in fact the apartment looked almost identical to the day he had given it to John. The only major addition was a simple glass bookshelf near the window. It contained three novels and a small statuette of an owl made of terracotta. The doctor finished checking him up and Harold shivered as he hurriedly packed his bag and headed for the door. John was stood on the other side on the phone and nodded to the doctor before glancing Harold’s way as the door closed.
He stayed seated but rubbed a hand over his face. His first instinct was to push his fingers under the rim of his glasses to rub his eyes and blinked in surprise when he realised he wasn’t wearing them. Moments later John walked back into the flat a plastic bag clasped tightly in his hand. He seemed to hesitate before he approached the bed sitting down next to his employer. Harold rubbed the plaster the doctor had placed over his IV point. John sighed. He opened the bag and handed Harold a glasses case. They shared a look, John looked like he was holding back on something and Harold leant a little closer so he could see his face more clearly. His eyes roamed Johns face from the tiny frown to the tightness at the corners of his eyes to the thin line of his lips.
He decided not to comment and instead opened the case. The glasses inside were simple black frame and when he put them on he let out a low chuckle. They were his prescription. He turned back to John only to find he wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring out of the window instead. “Thank you, Mr. Reese.”
“Don’t mention it.” John got up and headed for the kitchen. He poured himself a whiskey and drank it in silence. “You should stay here tonight. Until I can make sure it’s safe. The doctor said that whatever they gave should be out of your system within 24 hours and that you just need some rest.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
John raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about me. Get some sleep Harold.”
Harold sighed. John was not going to be sleeping tonight then. There was no use arguing with him when he was in one of those moods. Harold toed off the hideous pumps and crawled up the bed until his head rested on the sheets. He was a little cold but couldn’t bring up enough energy to climb under the sheets. He removed his new glasses and placed them on the bedside table, acutely aware that his partner’s eyes were tracking his every move.
He woke sometime early the next morning. The sun had only just begun to rise and the flat was lit in cold blue light. Harold shivered; his arms were cold as he rubbed them. It was uncomfortable as he began the daily struggle to find his glasses made all the more difficult by his unfamiliar surroundings. Eventually his fingers bumped the new glasses off the side and onto the floor. Harold sighed and reached over, freezing halfway when he heard an insistent beeping noise. When nothing happened he grabbed the glasses and slipped off of the bed.
His aching feet were soothed by the cold wooden floors as he padded from the bed area into the larger living room space. The beeping started again and Harold was surprised to find it was coming from a sleeping John. He had changed into a light grey t-shirt and a pair of dark blue boxers. His hair was fluffy and sticking up at odd angles and he was lying with his face turned away from his employer, mouth hanging open as his chest rose softly. Harold stared at the image for a few minutes in silence. His usually focussed mind wandered over the length of John’s eyelashes against his cheek and the thin strip of his stomach where his t-shirt had ridden up.
His reverie was broken by the beeping sound and Harold limped over to John spotting the offending phone resting just behind Johns back against the sofa cushions. He hesitated, his first instinct was to stop the beeping so his hard working employee could continue to sleep and yet he knew that John would have wanted to be woken. It was during the point when he had finally decided to stop the beeping and had leant in his face close to Johns, one hand resting on the back of the sofa behind Johns head; the other gently attempting to slip the phone from behind the other man, that John’s eyes cracked open.
He blinked.
John raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Good morning Harold.”