Work Text:
Prologue
Harold Finch was floating. He was floating in that no man’s land between sleep and wakefulness, his mind disconnected from his body. But even as he drifted aimlessly in a cloud of haze, awful, terrifying awareness was stalking him. He couldn’t hide from it forever and, once it found him, there would be no escape from the horror and pain.
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Chapter 1
“We have a new number, Mr Reese.” John Reese smiled at the familiar words from his friend and partner, Harold Finch.
“Michael Snape, 28. He works as an assistant in the Clerk’s office at the courthouse. Let’s see what else we can find out.” Finch expounded as he taped a photograph of a handsome, blond-haired man onto the glass screen in the operations room of the library.
Reese leaned causally against one wall and watched as Finch weaved his magic, using his extensive computer skills to delve into the life of Michael Snape. As he watched, he contemplated his evolving relationship with the eccentric billionaire. When John had first met Finch, he’d thought of him merely as a rich guy with a God complex. Even so, Finch had intrigued him and, the more they worked together, the more John was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He wasn’t sure what it was about Finch that made him want to know more, to know everything. Certainly, he could see Harold’s inherent decency and kind nature. Harold was constantly saving people, not just literally but financially, emotionally and morally too. Just like he rescued me, John thought to himself.
Reese had been at rock bottom when Finch had recruited him to help save the numbers. Disillusioned with his work as a CIA operative, after his employer had tried to kill him, and devastated by the loss of his former lover, Jessica, John had sought solace at the bottom of a bottle. Harold had given John a purpose, recognising John’s need to protect others and giving him the means and the opportunity to so do. But Harold had given him much more than merely a purpose; he’d given him his friendship. Harold was the best friend John had ever known – he was caring, thoughtful, loyal and courageous.
Finch had surprised John with his low-key bravery and willingness to put his own life on the line to save others. He’d also saved John’s life more times than he cared to remember. Reese knew Harold got scared, especially since he’d been kidnapped by Root, but he still put himself in dangerous situations, backing John up and going undercover when he needed to.
If John was honest with himself, it was getting harder and harder to watch Finch put himself in danger. He hated it, in fact. If he had his way, Finch would stay closeted in the library all the time, preferably with John or his guard dog, Bear, keeping watch. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen, so he made it his primary mission to protect Harold at all costs. Everything else was secondary to that. Of course, he’d never admit that to Harold. John smiled, thinking of what Harold would say if he knew. He could almost hear Finch’s disapproval, expressed in that dry tone of his.
That was another thing that attracted John. When someone first met Harold, they might imagine him to be rather a serious, humourless man. But John knew better. Harold had a dry, quick wit that John enjoyed teasing out of him and John loved the easy banter they exchanged.
John glanced over at Finch, deep in concentration extracting information on their latest number. John knew Finch wasn’t a traditionally handsome man; certainly, their latest number would be deemed much more attractive than Finch. But, to John, he was beautiful. He watched Finch work, elegant fingers flying over the keyboards which such precision and grace. He imagined how those fingers would feel dancing over his skin. Would Finch’s touch be soft, barely discernible, creating goose-bumps in its wake? Or would his touch be more firm, certain and masterful, playing John like a maestro?
Finch’s eloquent voice broke Reese from his reverie. “Mr Snape lives alone in an apartment in Brooklyn. He’s never been married and has no children, at least that he knows of,” he said with a cheeky smile. “No debts other than a small credit card balance and no criminal record. There is nothing to suggest the reason as to why the machine would have given us his number. The most notable thing I can find about Mr Snape is that he seems to have taken rather a lot of sick days in the last few months. Indeed, it would appear that he’s absent from work again today.”
“OK, I’ll go to his home and see if he’s there. See what I can find out, jack his phone, the usual.” Reese said, slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to watch Finch work for a little bit longer.
“And I’ll go down to the courthouse and see if I can get any information from his co-workers. I’ll tell them that my insurance company underwrites his medical cover.” Finch said, referring to his ‘Mr Wren’ persona.
“OK Finch but keep in touch.” John couldn’t keep a hint of worry out of his voice as he collected his coat and left the warmth of the library for the chilly January streets of New York.
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Finch spoke with Michael Snape’s supervisor, Mrs Daniels, at the courthouse. She was helpful but wasn’t able to provide Finch with many insights into their latest number. Until a few months ago, he’d been a reliable and hard-working employee who had never had a day off sick. In the last few months, he’d started to take more and more time off. He’d told Mrs Daniels that he was having personal problems but she didn’t know what those problems were. As far as she was aware, Mr Snape was not in a committed relationship and he was known in the office to be a bit of a lady’s man.
“You’ve been most helpful Mrs Daniels” Finch thanked her as she showed him out of her office and into the open plan workspace. “If it isn’t too much bother, would you mind if I used one of your vacant desks to make a few telephone calls before I leave?” he enquired.
“Of course not, Mr Wren, please feel free.” Mrs Daniels simpered, charmed by Harold’s smile and perfect manners. She led him over to a desk before returning to her office with a small backwards glance at the polite insurance underwriter.
Harold carefully installed a discreet wireless camera to the desk so that he could view the office remotely. He then tapped his earpiece to open the phone line which connected him to John Reese.
“Are you there Mr Reese?” he enquired.
“How’s it going Harold?” Reese responded in the soft, melodic tone he liked to use with Finch.
“I haven’t had much luck here I’m afraid. Have you been able to locate our absentee number?” Harold asked hopefully.
“He wasn’t home when I got here but he came back about ten minutes ago. He certainly doesn’t look sick, but he does look nervous. I’m up on his phone but no activity so far. Where are you Finch?”
“I’m still at the courthouse. I’ve managed to install a camera and I’m going to head back to the library to see if I can obtain any further information about our Mr Snape. In the meantime, I’ll ask Detective Carter to run a background check on him.”
“Nice work Finch.” John responded approvingly before Finch disconnected the line.
Finch immediately called Detective Joss Carter, one of their two allies in the police department. She promised to see what she could find out. She was an excellent detective, Finch mused, and he was confident that, if there was something to find, she would find it.
Finch hung up and glanced around the Clerk’s office. It appeared to be a normal, busy office in the middle of a work day. No one was paying Harold much attention and all the staff appeared to be busy with their regular tasks. Whatever the threat, it may have nothing to do with Michael Snape’s place of employment.
Harold hoped that Reese would be able to determine where the threat was coming from before it was too late. He had no doubt that, if anyone could find out, it was John. The operative had demonstrated time and again how sharp and resourceful he was, and Harold silently congratulated himself on his choice of partner. Not to mention his other obvious attributes, Harold thought wryly. Finch was a man with impeccable taste, a man who had always appreciated beauty. To him, Reese was the epitome of beauty, with his high cheekbones, classical nose and thick lashed eyes, the colour of a stormy sea. Harold chuckled to himself at his colourful imagery – you are becoming a tragic case Harold, he admonished.
Finch had always been attracted to men. Whilst he appreciated women - especially a woman like his former fiancé Grace, who had a warm, inner beauty - it was a gentle sort of appreciation, like that felt for a work of art. He’d only ever felt real passion, the type of insane, forget-who-you-are, rip-their-clothes-off passion, with a man. So, it wasn’t a surprise to Finch that he was attracted to his partner. He couldn’t help but occasionally wonder what it would be like to take their relationship to the next level, but that was just a fantasy. John would never be interested in someone like him. He could have anyone he wanted, so why would he want a middle-aged, half-blind cripple? Pull yourself together and get on with the job at hand. Harold pushed his less than professional thoughts of John to the back of his mind and exited the Clerk’s office to head back to the library…he never got there.
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Reese sat in the town car outside of Michael Snape’s ground floor apartment in Brooklyn, watching through his binoculars. He’d been watching Snape for the past few hours and, so far, nothing untoward had happened. But Snape appeared agitated, pacing around his apartment. He was definitely scared of something, or someone.
They still hadn’t found anything to suggest where the threat was coming from, but that wasn’t unusual. Each time the machine kicked out another number, they never knew why the person had been singled out. All they knew was that the person would be involved in a violent crime. They didn’t even know whether the number was a potential victim or a potential perpetrator. And they’d been fooled before.
Snape seemed to be boringly average in every way, but John had learned over the years that things weren’t always what they seemed. Snape’s average lifestyle may be a cover for something far more interesting and far more dangerous.
Suddenly, a movement in the corner of his vision caught Reese’s attention. He refocused his binoculars and saw the shadow of a man stealthily make his way down the side of Snape’s building. Reese scanned the vicinity, looking for anything else out of place. Although he couldn’t see anyone else, that didn’t mean there weren’t others waiting in the shadows and John knew to be prepared for all eventualities.
Reese silently exited his vehicle and headed towards Snape’s apartment, carefully watching the man and checking for accomplices as he went. It was time for some answers.
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Finch was in trouble.
He’d been leaving the courthouse when he’d bumped into Officer Patrick Simmons, the senior member of the corrupt group of police known as HR. Finch recalled the last encounter he’d had with the officer. He’d had the displeasure of persuading Simmons to withdraw their support of the mobster Carl Elias, after Elias had kidnapped Detective Carter’s son. Something which Finch knew Simmons and his HR buddies now regretted.
He saw the moment of recognition pass over Simmons’s face and his heart sank. “Well, well, well. Look at who it is.” Simmons sneered. “It’s the man who thought he could blackmail HR.”
“On the contrary, Officer Simmons, I merely pointed out that it might not be in HR’s best interests to align themselves with Elias. I don’t believe I extorted or coerced you in any way.” Finch tried to maintain his composure as he slipped his hand into his coat pocket, searching for his cell phone and his connection to Reese.
“I don’t really care what you call it, you don’t threaten HR and get away with it.” Simmons stepped into Finch’s personal space and grasped one upper arm, pincer tight. “You’re coming with me. If you call out or bring any attention to us, I’ll merely explain that you’re a wanted criminal who’s resisting arrest. I can add in some police brutality if it helps? ” he said, looking like he wanted nothing more.
“That’s quite alright, officer” Harold responded wryly.
“I presume you’re unarmed?” Simmons asked as he frisked Finch less than gently. “I think I’d better take this.” Finch’s heart sank as Simmons found his cell phone, promptly removed the battery and slipped both phone and battery into his own coat pocket.
Before Harold could regroup, Simmons spun him around and pulled his arms behind his back, slipping a set of handcuffs around his wrists and locking them tightly into place.
As Simmons escorted Finch to his car, Finch’s mind raced through his options. He wasn’t sure where Simmons was taking him or what he was planning to do once they got there. Harold had to come up with a plan. If he didn’t check in with Reese in the next few hours, John would be worried, but with no signal from his phone, Reese would have no way of tracking him. If he could get hold of another phone or a computer terminal, it would be relatively simple to get a message out or set up a locator beacon for Reese to follow.
Simmons pushed Finch into the back of his cruiser and shut the door with a resounding thud. Finch watched through the window as Simmons took out his own phone and made a call. He strained to hear what Simmons was saying but could only make out the odd word “…Elias …15th … extract some information...”
So it sounded like Simmons was taking him to the 15th Precinct. It’s a shame Detectives Carter and Fusco aren’t based at the 15th, Harold thought to himself. If they were, Harold might have been able to attract their attention.
As Simmons drove in silence, Harold briefly contemplated trying to engage him in conversation. After Harold’s experience with Root, Reese had started to coach him in what to do in various scenarios, including kidnapping and being held hostage. He was supposed to build rapport, humanise himself so as to make it harder for the kidnapper to hurt him. But Harold didn’t think that would work with Simmons. Simmons was corrupt through-and-through, and hadn’t ever shown any indication that he cared for anyone other than himself, and maybe his family. So Harold kept quiet and used the time to consider his options.
When they arrived at the 15th Precinct, Simmons escorted Harold straight past the booking desk and down to the holding cells in the basement. ‘This is not good’ Harold murmured.
“Aren’t you going to book me Officer Simmons?” he asked.
“All in good time.” Simmons responded with a smile which made Harold shudder. “We’re going to have a little chat first.”
“I believe that’s a breach of my constitutional rights, officer.” Finch objected, stalling for time. When Simmons didn’t answer, Finch realised he was in more trouble than he first thought. “Of course, you don’t really care about my constitutional rights, do you?” Finch didn’t expect a response.
Simmons pushed Finch into an empty holding cell, his hands still cuffed behind his back. As Harold turned around to face his adversary, Simmons slammed the door closed and Finch heard the locks engage. He breathed a sigh of relief at the reprieve, no matter how brief it may be.
He glanced around his cell. It was a pretty standard jail cell, maybe ten feet square. There was a small cot bed against one wall and a barred window high up on an adjacent wall. The door to the cell was solid steel. There was a small barred window cut-out in the door presumably so that officers could see inside without opening the door. There was nothing within the cell that might help Harold escape or get a message out and, with his hands still handcuffed, he was limited in what he could do anyway.
He had no doubt that, whatever Simmons was planning, it wasn’t going to be good. He didn’t think Simmons was going to kills him. If that was his intention, he wouldn’t have brought Finch here. That thought wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. There were some things which were worse than death.
Harold fought to keep down the panic which was threatening to bubble up within him. Take calm, deep breaths, he told himself as he sat down on the lumpy cot bed. His mind flashed back to the time he’d been kidnapped by Root. Apart from slicing his hand open, she hadn’t actually hurt him. Nevertheless, the experience had been terrifying. Listening to her insane rants and watching her torture Denton Weeks had been dreadful, his inability to reason with her agonising. He closed his eyes, willing away the memories of that painful time. He tried to think about more pleasant things, walking Bear in the park on a crisp winter’s day, or spending a pleasurable afternoon in the library with Reese.
Reese. Harold’s stomach flipped when he thought about him. He knew John would be upset when he realised Harold was gone. Detective Carter had told him how desperate Reese had been when Harold had been taken by Root. His heart felt heavy at the thought that he would be the one to cause Reese more sorrow. You’ve already had so much pain in your life, John. Harold thought despondently as he sat on the lonely cot in his cell and awaited his fate.
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Chapter 2
“I need your help, Carter - I’ve lost contact with Finch.”
Detective Joss Carter sighed as she heard the soft, strained tones of John Reese at the other end of the phone. She knew how important the bookish, well-spoken man was to Reese and recalled how desperately Reese had searched for Harold Finch when he was kidnapped a few months ago. At first glance, Reese and Finch seemed like and odd pair. John Reese, a tough, former CIA operative and army ranger and Harold Finch, a computer-savvy tech-genius with a love of fine tailoring. But Carter had to admit that they were a hell of a team. She didn’t know how they got their information but she’d lost count of the number of crimes they’d prevented or solved since she’d been helping them.
“Calm down John and tell me what’s happened.” Carter asked sympathetically.
“Finch was chasing up a lead at the courthouse while I was babysitting Michael Snape. He was supposed to have checked in hours ago but didn’t and there’s no sign of him.”
“I presume you’ve tried to call him?” Carter asked.
“His phone’s off or the battery’s been removed. I can’t track it.”
“I know you won’t want me to put out an APB or missing persons alert. What do you want me to do?”
“Can you go down to the courthouse and see if there’s any indication of what might have happened to him? I’ll check out possible leads at my end.”
“Okay John, I’ll see what I can do.” Carter hung up and heaved a huge sigh. This was not good. Reese would be a man on a mission until he found Finch and heaven help anyone who got in his way. She would have to do all she could to find Finch before John caused too much collateral damage.
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John was getting desperate. After Finch hadn’t checked in, he’d gone back to the library, but there was no sign of the billionaire, just Bear looking restless after a morning left alone. John had tried Harold on all the numbers they used, to no avail. He’d also contacted their emergency number to see if Finch had left a message, but there was nothing. After John had asked Carter to go to the courthouse, he visited every safe-house they’d ever used, but still no Harold.
This was worse than when Root kidnapped him, John thought. At least then John had known what had happened, he’d had some leads to follow. This time, Harold had vanished without a trace, with no indication as to why.
John didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to his friend. He wasn’t sure when Harold had become necessary to his own survival, but he had. John had realised it when Root had taken him. He hadn’t cared about anything but getting Finch back. Everything else, even the numbers, hadn’t mattered.
If someone had taken Finch again….well, they’d be sorry. John would make them pay. And if they’d hurt Harold, there would be no place on earth they could hide. John would find them and, when he did, there would be no mercy. He certainly wouldn’t be aiming at kneecaps.
John knew Finch wouldn’t approve of the direction of his thoughts but, at this point, he didn’t care. Finch was a kind-hearted man who disliked violence and wanted to save everyone. But some people didn’t deserve saving and, as far as John was concerned, anyone who hurt Finch fell into that category. Sometimes Finch had to be protected from his own benevolence.
Time for some reinforcements, thought John, as he placed a call.
“Hello Leon” he said when his call was answered. “I need your help to hack into some security cameras.” His tone brooked no argument.
“John, is that you? Why are you asking me for help with cameras – I’m sure that’s something Finchy could do in his sleep.” Leon responded.
“He’s the reason why I need you to hack into the cameras. I’ve lost him again. Don’t say a word, just be outside New York Public Library in twenty and I’ll come get you.”
“Geez, you’d think I worked for you or something.” Leon whined but John knew he’d be there. The former accountant-turned-embezzler liked Harold, even if he would never admit it.
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Okay, what would John do? Harold asked himself. He was running out of ideas. Handcuffed and locked in a cell, with no phone and no computer, his options were limited. If he was John Reese, he was sure he’d be able to affect an escape but, as it was, he didn’t have any of Reese’s considerable skills.
He considered what Simmons had planned for him. Finch knew that Simmons wanted information. Information about who Harold was. Information which might help HR get back into Elias’s good graces. Whatever happened, Finch couldn’t give anything away. Was he strong enough to be able to resist? He had to be. Anything that he said would put others in danger, and he had already put too many people in danger. He wasn’t going to allow anyone else to get hurt because of him.
Finch’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard the locks to his cell disengage and the door open. He watched Simmons enter with two other uniformed officers. Simmons smiled menacingly at Harold, “Now we’re all here, it’s time to get to know each other a bit better.”
Harold stood up and faced the three men, his back ramrod straight and his resolve equally strong. The cell door closed with a resounding clunk.
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Lionel Fusco was having a bad day. His car had broken down on the way to work, he’d spilled coffee on his favourite tie and now his nemesis, Pat Simmons was calling. It didn’t matter what Simmons wanted, Lionel would have no choice but to comply. There were too many skeletons in his closet and Simmons knew about most of them.
“What do you want Simmons?” Lionel snapped as he answered the phone.
“Now Lionel, is that any way to greet a fellow officer?” Simmons sneered. “I need you to come down to the 15th – there’s someone here I want you to meet.”
“Can’t it wait? I do have a proper job you know?” Lionel protested.
“Working for HR is part of that job, Lionel, you know that. Or would you prefer me to have a chat with your Chief…”
Lionel gritted his teeth. “All right, all right, keep your panties on. I’ll come down there now.”
“That’s a good boy, Lionel.” Simmons chuckled.
Forty five minutes later, Fusco parked his cruiser in the parking lot of the 15th Precinct and headed inside. Simmons was waiting for him.
“We’re going down to lock up.” Simmons informed Lionel as he led the way down the stairs to the holding cells in the basement. “I picked up someone this morning who I think you might know. He’s not being very cooperative I’m afraid, even though we’ve been very persuasive.” Simmons smirked and Lionel shuddered at his tone. He hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant but, knowing Simmons, his hope would prove to be misguided.
“Why do you think I might know who he is?” Lionel asked, curious but not particularly looking forward to the answer.
“Let’s just say I have my reasons. He’s caused HR a lot of problems and I want to know why. And I want to know who he’s working for. I think you might know him because he helped your partner out of a personal situation some time ago.”
Lionel was worried. As they entered the holding area, they were met by two cops who looked familiar to Lionel, although he didn’t know their names. All he knew was they that worked for HR, dirty cops who weren’t afraid of dirty work.
Lionel tentatively stepped forward towards the cells and, as he reached the first holding cell, he heard laboured breathing coming from someone in obvious distress. He clenched his jaw tightly and slowly pushed at the door. As it swung open, he froze in horror.
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Carter hadn’t been able to find anything at the courthouse. She was considering what she should do next when her cell-phone started vibrating urgently in her pocket. The caller ID indicated that it was her partner, Lionel Fusco, on the other end. Carter briefly considered letting the call go to voicemail but something told her she should answer.
“Lionel, what is it – I’m in the middle of something - .”
“Carter, you need to get down here right now.” Lionel interrupted her greeting, sounding more panicked than she’d ever heard him before. , “It’s about Mr Glasses. He’s in trouble. I’m not going to be the one to tell Wonder Boy…”
“Lionel” Carter interjected “slow down. What do you mean Finch is in trouble? I’ve been trying to find him.” Carter asked, her heart in her mouth at Lionel’s words.
“Simmons and his HR buddies have him. Simmons saw him at the courthouse and recognised him from that time when we were protecting those mob bosses. Decided he was going to find out who Finch is and who he’s working with. He said he’s going to make Finch pay for them losing Elias’s support.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Simmons called me, asked me to come down to the 15th to see if I could identify Finch. I’ve just got here. Simmons’s goons have worked him over, Carter. He’s a mess. I’ve told Simmons that Finch is one of your CIs and that you’ll be pissed if they mess him up. I’m gonna try and get him out of here but I could do with some back up. You need to get down here, Carter.”
“I’m on my way Lionel. Try and hold them off a bit longer.” Carter insisted as she snatched up her service weapon and coat.
As Carter sped through rush hour traffic with lights and sirens blaring, she debated with herself whether to call John. If she told John now, she wouldn’t be able to stop him from going down to the 15th and wreaking havoc. He would do anything to get Harold back. That would expose Reese and put him in danger, not to mention the danger everyone else would be in. Perhaps it would be better if she could get Finch before John found out. Carter swallowed down her guilt. There was no reason to think that John could get there any faster than she could anyway, she reasoned with herself, pushing her foot down harder on the accelerator pedal.
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Carter struggled to keep her fury in check as she watched a barely conscious Harold being loaded onto a gurney by the paramedics. He’d lost his jacket, tie and glasses and his face was a mass of bruises and contusions, one eye starting to swell shut. He was cradling his left hand carefully and it looked as though some of his fingers were broken. She wondered what other injuries lay beneath his rumpled clothes.
Simmons and his men had gone by the time Carter had arrived, obviously warned by Fusco that she was on her way. It was a good job. If she’d seen them… well, she didn’t think she could be held responsible for what she would have done.
As the gurney was being wheeled out of the cell, Carter heard Finch’s soft voice. “Thank you, Detective.” It sounded like a goodbye, as though her job was done. He doesn’t expect anyone to be there for him, to support him, she realised desolately.
Finch was an intensely private person. He never gave away personal information and rarely let his emotions show. He wouldn’t want her to see him like this, broken and vulnerable. But Harold had always treated Carter with respect and she’d grown to like and admire him. He wasn’t overtly brave or physically capable like John, and no one would mistake him for an action hero. But he had an understated courage that impressed her. She’d seen him put his life on the line numerous times. She’d also seen how much he cared about Reese. Heaven help anyone who messed with Reese. Carter suspected that, in some ways, Finch was far more dangerous than John…the things he was capable of.
The upshot was, she’d grown to care about the paranoid, quiet man. So, she wasn’t going to abandon him now.
“I’ll follow you down to the hospital,” she told him.
She stood in the empty cell, overwhelmed for a moment. She closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. What was she going to do about John? She’d have to tell him sooner or later but dreaded what John’s reaction would be. John was hyper-protective of his partner at the best of times and Carter had no doubt that John would want retribution for what had been done to Harold. The question was, would Carter be able to stop him? Should she stop him? She knew vigilante justice was never the answer but, when faced with such a force of corruption as HR, maybe it was a solution to be considered. They certainly wouldn’t be able to seek justice through legal channels. As John had told her all those months ago, Harold had gone off the grid for a reason.
As she opened her eyes, she noticed a streak of congealing blood on the cell floor. Harold’s blood, she thought grimly.
“Mr Glasses been taken to hospital?”
Carter spun round to see Lionel standing at the door to the cell.
“Yeah, I’m on my way down there now. Could you do something about the blood in here – we don’t want some smart ass deciding to run a DNA sample. Although I’m not sure what they’d find.” She asked Lionel.
“Sure Carter, no problem.” Fusco looked as sad as Carter felt. She knew he cared a lot more about their secretive friends than he let on. She was also gladder than ever that Lionel was working undercover with HR. If he hadn’t had the call from Simmons, there’s no telling what would have happened to Finch.
“Thanks Lionel. See you later.” With one final glance back into the cell where Harold had been beaten bruised and bloody, Carter left the 15th Precinct.
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Chapter 3
John and Leon hadn’t been able to find anything on the courthouse CCTV footage. There were too many black spots where someone could come and go without being picked up by the cameras.
John was regrouping back at the library, planning his next steps, when his phone started ringing. He glanced down at the caller ID as he answered.
“Carter, do you have any news?” he urged.
“John, I have him –"
“Where is he?” John interrupted insistently. “Is he okay? Tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m with Finch…he’s been hurt but–"
“What do you mean hurt?” John’s voice cut in once again, even more urgently than before.
“If you stop interrupting, John, I’ll fill you in!” Carter snapped, frayed nerves getting the better of her.
“He’s been roughed up. I’m at the hospital with him but he’s going be fine, John, no major injuries. He’s got a couple of cracked ribs and two broken fingers but, other than that, it’s mostly cuts and bruises. They want to keep him in overnight for observation but he’s insistent that he leaves, says he doesn’t like hospitals.”
Harold’s hurt. That was all John could take in. Harold’s been hurt and is in the hospital. Harold’s been hurt and you weren’t there to protect him. John couldn’t get his brain to engage properly. He couldn’t think. He needed to speak to Harold. He needed to see Harold – see for himself how badly hurt he was.
“Can I speak to him,” John’s voice cracked as he asked the question.
“They’re just patching him up. I’ve stepped out to call you.” Carter sounded apologetic.
“Okay, okay...” Reese took some deep breaths, trying to pull himself together. “I’m coming to get him. Where are you?”
Carter hung up after speaking with John. She rested her head in her hands for a moment as she sat in a chair outside of Finch’s treatment room. She couldn’t get the sound of John’s voice out of her head when he’d asked to speak to Harold. He’d sounded fraught, broken. She knew he would be blaming himself for Harold getting hurt, even though there was nothing he could’ve done about it.
Fifteen minutes later, Harold limped slowly out of the treatment room. “Sit down Harold.” Carter told him. “John is on his way.”
“You’ve spoken to him?” Harold sounded strangely hopeful and disapproving at the same time. It was clear to her that Finch desperately wanted to see John but was embarrassed to admit it.
“It’s okay to want John to be here Harold,” Carter said kindly, “he’s your friend.”
“I…I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself Detective Carter.” Harold defended. “It’s just that…” he paused to gather himself. “It would appear that I’m not handling this as well as I would have liked.”
“After what you’ve been through, it’s perfectly natural to be shaken up. You’ve had a terrible experience, locked up and brutally beaten, not knowing if they were going to kill you. Not knowing if you would be rescued. I’d be surprised if you weren’t feeling vulnerable and scared Harold.”
“I must admit…I do feel scared. Please don’t think that I have no confidence in your abilities Detective, it’s just that John…” Harold paused, unusually at a loss of words.
“John makes you feel safe.” Carter finished for him.
“Yes.” Harold whispered.
At that moment, John came charging into the emergency room as if the hounds of hell themselves were on his heels. He skidded to a halt as he saw Harold, distress written all over his face. Harold looked better than he had an hour ago but the swollen, black eye, the cuts and bruises on his face, his splinted, bandaged fingers, and the lack of glasses still painted a shocking picture.
John walked slowly up to Finch and knelt before him, almost in supplication. He rested his hands on Harold’s knees.
“Harold…” he said softly, apparently unable to formulate the right words; to formulate any words.
“I’m okay, John.” Harold reassured with a small, crooked, smile. “At least I will be.”
John reached up with one hand and ran his fingers gently over Harold’s face, tracing the numerous marks and contusions, as though he could heal them with his touch alone. He gazed deep into Harold’s eyes, his expression one of sheer turmoil as they exchanged unspoken words. Carter wanted to look away, embarrassed to be party to such a private moment, but she was captivated by the gentleness emanating from such a dangerous man. This was a side of John that she’d never seen. She’d witnessed moments of caring from John. She’d even been on the receiving end of his care. But nothing like this. He was looking at Harold, touching him, like Harold was a priceless treasure. Reverence was the word that came to mind.
Suddenly, Reese dropped his hand and turned his gaze to Carter, his demeanour changing instantly. Carter found herself staring into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.
“Who did this?” Reese demanded, his voice brittle ice. Carter shuddered at the tone.
“What are you going to do John?” she asked tentatively.
“I won’t ask you again, Carter…” John warned darkly. Carter sighed. She knew John would find out eventually. “Simmons, and a couple of his guys.” She explained.
John nodded grimly and leaned over to help Harold up. As he started to guide Finch out of the emergency room, Harold stopped and turned back to Carter.
“Thank you, Joss,” he emphasised her first name, “for everything.” He gave her a small, bittersweet smile.
“You’re welcome Harold. Take care of yourself.”
Carter watched as the two men slowly exited the building, Harold leaning heavily into John’s side and John’s arm clasped firmly around his waist.
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“What happened with Michael Snape? Is he safe?” Finch asked John on the way to John’s apartment.
“Don’t worry about him Finch. The threat’s been neutralised. It turns out he’d discovered a pattern of evidence tampering at the courthouse and had started to investigate it himself. He inadvertently raised a red flag with the wrong people who were determined to shut him up before he could tell anyone.” Reese explained, although he could no longer care less about Michael Snape.
“What happened?” Finch was curious.
“I caught two nasty looking guys trying to break into Snape’s house and had a chat with them. They told me everything, including who they were working for. They won’t be causing Snape any more problems.”
“What did you do?” asked Finch with a hint of suspicion.
“Don’t worry Finch, I handed them over to the police…only a little damaged.”
“Yes, well…as long as the matter is resolved I suppose…”
“It is. Now I want you to tell me what happened. I want everything Finch.” Reese’s voice made it clear that expected Finch to comply.
“I will tell you everything, John. Just…not yet, okay? I just need some time.”
John nodded, clearly unhappy but willing to wait for the moment.
Once they were safely inside John’s apartment, he deposited Harold on the sofa whilst he conducted a perimeter check. Satisfied that everything was secure, he re-joined Harold.
“Shall we get you cleaned up?” he offered gently.
Harold didn’t know how to respond. He really wanted to get clean, to wash away the dried blood and grime. Maybe wash away some of the memories as well. But he was ashamed and embarrassed to let John help. He didn’t want to appear weak or dependent in any way. He’d always protected his independence fiercely, determined not to become reliant on anyone. Who are you kidding, he chided himself, you’re already reliant on John. Yes, he relied on John to help him save the numbers, but he also relied on him to be his friend.
He was also embarrassed to let John see him without the protective camouflage of his three piece suit. He’d have to take his clothes off in front of John. He didn’t have the best physique, with a cushion of softness around his middle, skinny arms and legs, and pale skin, not to mention numerous scars. What would John think? Would he be disgusted?
Harold was debating what to do when Reese cut in. “I want to help you Harold. I need to help you. Please let me take care of you” he implored.
“Very well, Mr Reese.” Harold agreed, his formal words another form of self-protection.
John left Harold on the sofa while he went to draw a bath. A few minutes later, he was back. He gently helped Finch up from the sofa and together they slowly shuffled to the bathroom. Once there, John had Finch sit on the closed toilet seat and knelt in front of him for the second time that day. He helped Harold off with his shoes and socks before reaching up to unbutton his shirt. Harold kept his eyes lowered, looking at the floor, unwilling to see John’s expression as his shirt was removed, followed swiftly by his undershirt. “It’s ok Harold.” John calmed the billionaire, sensing his discomfort. He pulled Harold into a standing position before pulling down his trousers and helping an unsteady Finch step out of them. Finally, Harold was standing before John in nothing more than his boxer shorts, awkward and self-conscious, eyes still downcast.
He was startled out of his embarrassment by the strangled groan which escaped John’s lips, and he lifted his gaze to John’s face. John’s eyes were roving over Harold’s body, not in disgust as Harold had feared, but in compassion mixed with anger as he took in the battered and bruised body.
“I’m so sorry…” John stammered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, John. You are not responsible for my injuries.”
John stood and looked deeply into Harold’s eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better…that I wasn’t there for you.” His fingers gently caressed a particularly nasty looking bruise on Harold’s upper arm. Before Finch could say anything more, John dipped his head and ran his lips tenderly over the bruise. A shiver ran down Harold’s spine at the soft feel of John’s lips. “Oh…” Harold breathed. John obviously took that as encouragement and moved to seek out other marks, worshipping Harold’s skin with his hands and lips, trying to take the hurt away with his kisses and strokes.
John’s touch was soft but it left Harold’s nerve endings twitching in its wake. It was electric, as though his body was awakening after months of hibernation. For the first time in years, he truly felt alive. The aches and pains of his injuries faded into the background - maybe John really did have a healing touch.
“Is this okay, Harold?” John asked softly, glancing up at him without removing his mouth from its current location on Finch’s chest.
“Yes…John…”
John’s mouth moved slowly up Finch’s chest and neck. He nuzzled below Harold’s ear and down his jaw before brushing Harold’s lips in a tender kiss. John’s lips were butterfly soft against Harold’s. It was more than Harold could ever hope for.
But he wanted more. With a stifled moan, he grabbed John’s lapels and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He opened his mouth in invitation and it was John’s turn to moan as he slipped his tongue between Harold’s parted lips. Harold sucked on John’s invading tongue as John’s arms slipped behind his back, one hand coming up to cradle his stiff neck, the other pulling Harold towards him until he was flush against his body. Harold felt a rush of hot arousal. His cock twitched and started to fill as he pressed against John’s hard body, John’s own arousal nudging at his hip.
The events of the day were catching up with Finch, however, and he could feel his legs start to shake with the exertion of holding himself upright. With another moan, John pulled back and gently placed a finger over Finch’s lips. “As much as I want to take this further, you’re in no fit state for this at the moment.” John smiled.
Harold felt a rush of disappointment. John was right – he was not in any condition for bedroom athletics – but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop. It was too delicious. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of and he didn’t want to dream to end. What if he’d misread the situation? He was the one who had taken the kiss to the next level. Maybe that wasn’t what John wanted but had gone along with it rather than hurt his feelings. What if John had only kissed him out of sympathy or some sort of misplaced guilt? What if, in the cold light of day, John realised he didn’t really want Finch. Harold would have missed his opportunity.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can rest.” John interrupted his thoughts.
Without giving him the opportunity to become self-conscious again, John swiftly removed Finch’s boxer shorts and led him to the bath before supporting him as he stepped in. John then soaped up a washcloth and ran it gently over Harold’s torso, careful of the bruises, cuts and contusions. Harold leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the pampering despite himself.
*******************************************************************************************************************************
After Harold’s bath, John helped him into a pair of fleecy pyjamas and left him reclined on the large sofa whilst he made them both something to eat.
As he mixed together the ingredients for a cheese omelette, he thought about what had happened in the bathroom. He hadn’t meant to kiss Harold but, when he’d seen the damage Harold’s body had sustained, he’d wanted to offer comfort. And, truthfully, he’d needed the physical contact to reassure himself that Harold was still with him, that he would be okay.
He’d been surprised when Harold had responded so passionately, deepening his light kiss until it became something more than comfort and reassurance; until it became desire and craving and promises of things to come. At least John hoped it was a promise of things to come. Harold wasn’t the sort of person to toy with someone’s emotions. He wouldn’t lead John on, only to change his mind. But he’d been through a traumatic experience and that could make a person act out of character. Was Harold merely seeking solace in the arms of another because he was hurt and scared? Would he realise his mistake in the cold light of day?
When the omelette was ready he loaded up two plates and brought them over to the sofa. He seated himself beside Harold and began to tuck in. Harold picked at his food, eating only a little, his face creased with worry.
“What’s wrong Harold?” John asked, concerned.
“Ah..about what happened before, Mr Reese. I’m sorry for talking advantage of the situation.” Harold looked down at his plate, refusing to meet John’s eyes.
“I don’t know where you got the idea that you took advantage, Harold. That would imply that you made me do something I didn’t want to do.”
Harold looked up sharply, examining Reese’s face for signs that he was making fun of him, or that he was lying. “You did want to do it?” he asked hopefully.
“Of course. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a very long time now. I just didn’t think you’d want the same thing.”
“The why did you stop me earlier?” Harold asked with a mixture of confusion and frustration.
“Oh Harold,” he said fondly, “when I said that I wanted to take it further, I meant it. Believe me, I have every intention of doing so. I just want you to be able to see it through to conclusion because, the next time we get into it, we won’t be stopping.”
“Oh…” Harold was obviously at a loss for words.
“I take it that you want the same thing?” It was John’s turn to sound uncertain.
“Yes, I do,” confirmed Harold, “but I think there’s something you should know, John.”
John’s stomach lurched with fear, “What is it?” he asked, not sure whether he wanted to hear the answer.
“This isn’t just about sex…it’s more than that, at least for me. I love you…I think I have for quite some time. I understand that it’s probably not the same for you, but I thought you should know. If that changes anything for you then I’ll respect that –"
“Harold, stop.” Reese interrupted, a huge smile splitting his beautiful face. “I feel the same way! I love you too.” His eyes twinkled as he leaned over and gave Finch a quick peck on the nose. “I’m glad we’ve got that sorted.” he laughed, joyously.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” John urged.
John helped Harold into the huge bed and then went to wash up himself. When he came back from the bathroom, Harold was lying awkwardly on his back, his eyes open.
“What’s wrong?” John asked gently.
“I’m afraid to go to sleep.” Harold admitted. “Every time I close my eyes I’m back in that cell…”
John climbed into bed beside his partner. “Shh, it’s ok, Harold,” he comforted, reaching over to gather Harold to him. “Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you.” Reese whispered tenderly into Harold’s ear.
As he felt Harold start to relax and drift off into a deep sleep, John gave a sigh of contentment and pulled him even closer. Harold was finally where he was supposed to be, in his arms where John could watch over and protect him. John closed his eyes, finally at peace.
********************************************************************************************************************************
Epilogue
Officer Patrick Simmons came to with a start, an uncomfortable crick in his neck. He tried to lift his hand to work free the kinks but his arms wouldn’t move. His mind was sluggish and it took him a few moments to realise his arms and legs were tied securely to a metal chair. What was going on? Where was he?
He cast his mind back to the last thing he remembered. He’d been leaving the precinct after a long shift. He’d been walking to his car and then…nothing. He must have been ambushed, but by who? He’d made a lot of enemies over the years, anyone could be targeting him now. But most people knew about his association with HR and they knew not to mess with him. So that reduced the number of possible suspects down to only a few people who would be insane enough to take the risk.
He glanced around, trying to get a clue as to where he was and formulate an escape plan. He was alone at the moment but there was no telling how long he would stay that way. He was in what looked like an underground bunker, maybe twenty feet by ten feet. The only exit was a strong steel door in one of the stone walls. Apart from the chair he was sitting in, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a second chair.
As Simmons took in his surroundings, he started to feel more and more alarmed. If he could just get free…but his bindings were distressingly secure, tied by someone who knew what they were doing.
At that moment, the door opened and a vaguely familiar man walked in. The ‘Man in a Suit’, Simmons realised, recalling how the man had stopped HR from killing that Turing woman. The man stared at Simmons, his face expressionless, his eyes cold. Simmons started to sweat under the weight of the impassive gaze.
“Hello Simmons.” The man said in a calm, quiet, but strangely menacing tone.
“What do you want? You’re going to regret this – kidnapping a police officer…” Simmons blustered.
“We’re just going to have a little chat.” The man pulled out a large hunting knife from his waistband, pulled over the second chair to face Simmons, and sat down. He leaned back casually in the chair, brushing one finger lightly up and down the blade of the knife while he continued to stare straight at him.
“I’m going to tell you a little story about a damaged soldier and the man who saved him...”