Someone wrote in [community profile] meme_of_interest 2013-06-28 06:19 am (UTC)

FILL: all the things we don't talk about, Reese/Finch, 17/?

In the morning, Finch waited for a number to come in, but nothing happened, and he instead spent most of the early morning staring at the library bedroom "door" in defeat.

He'd meant to go back in there. He really had. He'd gotten some breathing room for six whole days, he'd taken a step back and assessed the situation; he was in control. He'd planned to go back in there, change the sheets and tidy the room, and finally get some sleep in what was, for all intents and purposes, his real bedroom.

But then... Then he'd seen John, and John had been real, and familiar, and he made Finch feel self-conscious, and it had been all Finch could do just to plough through the speech he'd prepared. He'd given John the account number; John had taken it (without comment); it had all gone reasonably well. But he'd felt exhausted, afterwards. So, instead of the bedroom, he'd headed to The Coronet.

And now he was staring at the bookcase. The bookcase that hid a door to his bedroom. Fleetingly, he wondered if Reese had been in there since that night. Probably not. Reese would have told him, Finch was sure of it. He would have - he would have said something about finding the linen closet, or something of that kind.

Finch sighed. Reese. He'd left so quickly, the day before.

Suddenly, Finch heard the unmistakeable sound of Reese and Bear coming through the library hallway. He looked up, and there was Reese, juggling two paper cups, a pastry box, and Bear's leash.

Finch rushed forward to help him. He managed to grab one of the cups before it tipped over, and a spill was avoided. Meanwhile, Bear circled them, and effectively tied them up with his leash.

"Ah." Finch said, flustered.

Reese quickly dropped his end of the leash, but not before they'd brushed up against each other. Not before Finch had felt Reese's warm muscles through the fabric of his suit.

Reese coughed.

Once they'd settled down at the table, and Bear had settled down in his doggie bed, Finch took a sip of his tea. "Thank you for the tea, Mr. Reese," he said.

Reese bit into a danish, and looked at Finch expectantly.

Finch raised an eyebrow in response.

"What's our new number, Finch?" Reese asked.

Bwuh? "We haven't gotten a new number today, Mr. Reese."

Reese cocked his head in that way he did when something wasn't right. "I got a call this morning. Phone rang, couldn't make out the words, but sounded just like the The Machine."

"So you came here."


"I see. Well... we don't have a new number."

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