Reese left a handful of pastries, and most of the doggie treats, in the library's refrigerator. Then he took Bear back to the loft.
The loft was quiet and huge, the high ceiling and vast expanse of bare floor seeming higher and vaster even than usual. Being here, alone or with Bear, was usually a relief; a time to breathe. A moment for opening up the weapon closet for maintenance without Finch "tssk"-ing nearby. Or a moment to check up on his own projects.
But, like the saying went, too much of a good thing... Quiet and privacy were nice enough, but Reese had had enough of them now, and he wanted Finch back.
Reese filled Bear's bowl with kibble, and headed into the shower. He mentally reviewed his projects (mostly they just involved keeping tabs on his former bosses, though he did run regular surveillance on Logan Pierce. There was something about that guy...) With a shock, Reese realized he could now terminate his two-year-old project of finding out where Finch went at night.
Wrapped in a towel, he sat down on his armchair (the armchair Finch had bought for him) with his laptop (the laptop Finch had picked out for him) and looked over the file notes (project "RAVEN"). He added the appropriate comment, and shut the laptop.
Marking a project "complete" should have cheered him up a bit, but it only made him feel worse.
Reese had spent so much time alone, before Finch. But he didn't remember it hurting like this. Being aimless and lonely like this. I need to get a grip. Then again - he supposed that he'd never really felt loneliness before. If anything, back then, he'd been happy to run away from his coworkers. Even when Jessica died... he hadn't felt loneliness. He'd only felt guilt and regret.
Regret. That was one thing he wasn't feeling now, that was for sure. He didn't regret that night with Finch - he was feeling worried for Finch, sure, and he felt protective of him. Finch hadn't been an agent. He didn't... Finch didn't see his body as a tool. The CIA had taught Reese to dissociate himself from his body, and Kara had taken away any romantic notions he might've had about workplace sexual relations. But Finch... It was a good thing that he was taking some time off now. Some time away. He just needed some breathing room.
This is a good thing, John told himself as he fished some leftover takeout from the fridge. He needs to work things out. He's not... He's fine. He's used to stepping back and solving problems at a distance. This is his way of working things out.
Reese heard himself sigh loudly, and told himself - again - to get a grip. He's fine.
Later, however, just as he was drifting off to sleep, Reese distantly wondered: am I fine?
FILL: all the things we don't talk about, Reese/Finch, 14/?
The loft was quiet and huge, the high ceiling and vast expanse of bare floor seeming higher and vaster even than usual. Being here, alone or with Bear, was usually a relief; a time to breathe. A moment for opening up the weapon closet for maintenance without Finch "tssk"-ing nearby. Or a moment to check up on his own projects.
But, like the saying went, too much of a good thing... Quiet and privacy were nice enough, but Reese had had enough of them now, and he wanted Finch back.
Reese filled Bear's bowl with kibble, and headed into the shower. He mentally reviewed his projects (mostly they just involved keeping tabs on his former bosses, though he did run regular surveillance on Logan Pierce. There was something about that guy...) With a shock, Reese realized he could now terminate his two-year-old project of finding out where Finch went at night.
Wrapped in a towel, he sat down on his armchair (the armchair Finch had bought for him) with his laptop (the laptop Finch had picked out for him) and looked over the file notes (project "RAVEN"). He added the appropriate comment, and shut the laptop.
Marking a project "complete" should have cheered him up a bit, but it only made him feel worse.
Reese had spent so much time alone, before Finch. But he didn't remember it hurting like this. Being aimless and lonely like this. I need to get a grip. Then again - he supposed that he'd never really felt loneliness before. If anything, back then, he'd been happy to run away from his coworkers. Even when Jessica died... he hadn't felt loneliness. He'd only felt guilt and regret.
Regret. That was one thing he wasn't feeling now, that was for sure. He didn't regret that night with Finch - he was feeling worried for Finch, sure, and he felt protective of him. Finch hadn't been an agent. He didn't... Finch didn't see his body as a tool. The CIA had taught Reese to dissociate himself from his body, and Kara had taken away any romantic notions he might've had about workplace sexual relations. But Finch... It was a good thing that he was taking some time off now. Some time away. He just needed some breathing room.
This is a good thing, John told himself as he fished some leftover takeout from the fridge. He needs to work things out. He's not... He's fine. He's used to stepping back and solving problems at a distance. This is his way of working things out.
Reese heard himself sigh loudly, and told himself - again - to get a grip. He's fine.
Later, however, just as he was drifting off to sleep, Reese distantly wondered: am I fine?