the_machine_mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_machine_mod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm
the_machine_mod) wrote in meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt Post 01
Prompt Post 01 is open!
Please read the FAQ before posting prompts.
Quick Links: FAQ / Participation Guidelines / Prompt Post 01 & Prompt Post 01 in flat view / Filled Prompts Post / Chatter Post & Chatter Post in flat view / Mod Contact Post
ANNOUNCEMENT: Pinboard, Tumblr, AO3 Collection and Tags
Pinboard: Fills are bookmarked at
Tumblr: Fills are also collected in a weekly roundup on Tumblr , which you can follow at
AO3 Collection: For those of you who link or later post your fills at the AO3, we have an open Collection: Meme_of_Interest, so please feel free to add your fill.
AO3 Tags: AO3 have also made the tag Community: Meme of Interest canonical, with Meme of Interest and Meme-of-Interest as synonyms, if you would like to use them.
As always, if you have any other questions or concerns, please direct them to the Mod Contact Post.
FILL: all the things we don't talk about, Reese/Finch, 2/?
(Anonymous) 2013-05-13 03:11 am (UTC)(link)First I just want to apologize for badness of the prose in part one above; I will definitely rework it before posting to AO3. Sorry about that.
But more importantly, an alcohol-related note: as you know, the show hasn't really brought up Reese's alcohol problem from 1x01. Like, is it a problem problem? We don't really know. For the purposes of this fic, Reese is not an alcoholic. Therefore offering him a glass of wine isn't totally insensitive and irresponsible.
*
Sighing, Finch got up from his chair. He bit down on his lower lip, as though considering something. He breathed in, hesitated, and then spoke:
"Would you care for a glass of wine, Mr Reese?"
"Sure, Finch, but...?" Reese gestured towards the window, as though to say everything's shut down for the storm. "Where are we going to get wine?"
But Finch, reaching behind a row of books, retrieved a (slightly dusty) bottle, which he set on the table. He then went into the kitchen space, and came back with something that looked like a metallic attaché case, except that it turned out to contain two delicate-looking wine glasses.
"Gee, Finch, to what do I owe this?"
"Well, Mr Reese, it's not every day you get shot at with a speargun again."
Reese replied only with an odd sound, like a stifled giggle. Finch poured a small amount of wine in one glass, held it up to his nose, and drank it. Then he served them both.
"Thank you, Harold." Reese held up his glass.
Finch nodded. "Cheers."
The downpour continued, and they chatted aimlessly, while Bear napped at Reese's feet. There wasn't anything to suggest that something was odd, or different, about this evening. Unless one considered Finch's impromptu drink suggestion odd.
The conversation was unremarkable, until Finch asked Reese if he'd ever met a serial killer before the fake Fahey.
"Not that I knew of." he said. "Though if you want my opinion, most of the agents I worked with probably had a lot in common with serial killers." Reese said it as though there was nothing special about the statement, as though he hadn't just said that he'd worked with a bunch of sociopaths.
"That can hardly have been pleasant, John." Finch said Reese's first name - his official assumed name, anyway - softly.
Reese finished his glass and poured another, and something came over him. He flushed, and looked at Finch. "Harold, there's something you should know."
And Reese, for the first time since their meeting, and for seemingly no reason at all, confided in Finch. He told him about how, in the CIA, he'd sometimes understood his targets, he'd sometimes even identified with them. He'd occasionally even felt like their roles - his targets as villains, himself and his partner as heroes, were arbitrary.
"You know, Finch, when I chased you and Root all the way to Union Station, if I'd thought it would help me find you, I would have... The only thing that would have stopped me hurting innocent people would have been that you wouldn't have wanted me to. I'm not sure I... Sometimes I'm not sure that I have a moral code, like normal people." Reese closed his eyes, as though bracing himself for bad news.
Finch had reached out, halfway through Reese's speech, to clutch Reese's hands in his. His head bobbed a bit as he slurred "John, there is no such thing as a normal person. And if you really didn't have a moral code, you wouldn't be so worried about my reaction to what you've just said."
"Harold, you're so... reasonable." Reese stood up, and started to walk around the table.
Finch took off his glasses. "I'm not reasonable, I - John!" Finch cried as Reese stumbled, and nearly fell on top of him. Reese overcompensated, while Finch reached out to steady him, and lost his balance completely. He fell flat on his back, dragging Finch along with him.
They landed awkwardly, Reese breaking Finch's fall, and Bear trotting up to see what had happened. Reese nuzzled the top of Finch's head. "Are you ok?"
"Are you ok, John?" Finch breathed in Reese's scent, and threaded their fingers together.
"I feel... odd." Reese slipped his fingers underneath Finch's collar, to feel the skin there, then ran his hand down Finch's back, and squeezed Finch's body against his own.
"Oh." Finch said.
They lay there, holding each other, running their hands over each other, until they heard a crack of thunder outside, and turned to find Bear looking at them curiously.
"John," Finch slurred. "John, we should..."
Reese interrupted him. "Yes, I know." He got to his feet, swaying only a little. His hands at his sides, his face resigned.
But when Finch stood up, precariously, he had no intention of making Reese stop... Whatever it was they were doing... He meant to show Reese something. Something about one of the bookshelves.
Finch reached for Reese's hand. "Come here."
Holding hands, dizzy with something far stronger than wine, the two went up to the books, and Finch reached back, behind one of the books, and pressed down. Just to their right, an entire bookshelf swung open, revealing a small bedroom.
"Oh." Reese said. He turned to Finch and kissed him.