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meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm
the_machine_mod) wrote in meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm
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Prompt Post 01
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Re: Fill: Breadcrumbs, Adult, offscreen non/con and D/s (3/3)
The next time he was reasonably aware of what was going on around him, he was lying flat on the couch at the library, the woollen blanket from the rest room draped across him.
John was sitting in the muted light of the desk lamp, reading a book. His gun was on the desk by his side.
“Welcome back,” he said, without looking up. “I suppose you were going to mention at some point that you fainted at the sight of blood.”
“Most likely the result of adrenalin,” Harold corrected. “I take it the situation in the office has been resolved?”
John looked up from the book; his finger marked his place. “I phoned the NYPD from the car, but I left the photos in the office, in plain sight. Fusco’ll take it from there. Finch – is there anything else I need to know?”
Harold sat up carefully, testing his ability to be upright and conscious at the same time. It seemed possible, so he focused as well as he could on the man sitting across from him.
“Are you keeping my glasses as incentive for co-operation?”
Reese gave him a half-grin and came over with a spectacle case in his hand. Harold put on his glasses, blinked a few times, and looked up at the former CIA agent.
“There are probably many things you’d like to know, Mr. Reese. But no, nothing else you actually need to. Apologies if that disappoints.”
But John didn’t look disappointed. More...annoyed, than anything else. Finch had the feeling he’d wounded him a little, but at the moment he was irritable and tired, and had the beginnings of a terrible headache.
“If you want, I’ve got some tea for you.”
Harold did, and sat nursing the cup for a while. John had retreated to the desk and returned his attention to the book.
“Thank you for not letting me fall,” he managed, after a while, because he owed Reese that at least.
“It’s fine.” Reese didn’t look up.
“Are you...are you sulking?” It sounded ridiculous even to his ears, but his headache was worse, and there had been a traumatic experience very recently. He felt somewhat distant still from everything.
John looked up with a frown. He put down the book and came over. “You’ve got meds here, right? Where do you keep them?”
Harold waved at the filing cabinet next to the stacks. John opened it and took out the orange pill bottles. He looked at each one in turn. He kept one out, put the rest back, and returned to where Finch sat.
“Here, take these.”
Finch recognised them and used the tea to wash them down. “Of course you aren’t sulking,” he said. “I apologise.”
Reese shrugged. “You fainted. You’ll be a little off for a while, irritable, stubborn. A little hostile. Well, kind of like you usually are.”
“I am not hostile.” Although, he supposed he could see why Reese might think that. But if it kept him from trying to slink further inside Harold’s boundaries then it was worth letting Reese have that impression.
“Right. You should sleep, you’ll feel better.”
Harold started to stand, but Reese put a hand on his shoulder. “Here, Finch. Where I can keep an eye on you. Unless you want to tell me where you stay and I’ll drive you home.” He smiled innocently.
Finch glared at him but that just made his head hurt worse. “Here is fine. Where will you sleep?”
“At home,” John said. “Tomorrow, when you’re better, presuming we don’t get another number inbetween.”
Reese was willing to spend the night sitting up in a chair to watch him. Of course, his motivation and reasons had to be considered suspect. Harold might talk in his sleep. It might be an opportunity to sneak around the library and see if there was anything revealing to be found.
Or perhaps it was simply that he was genuinely concerned about the man upon whom his security depended. After all, as far as Reese knew, he would be back where he started if anything happened to him.
It wasn’t entirely true – he’d arranged a contingency for John in the event that he himself was killed or forced to leave. He wasn’t so cruel as to recover John from his life of deprivation only to have him thrown back into it because of a lack of foresight.
He just hadn’t told John yet because it was hard to find the right moment or the right way.
Of course, there was always the chance it was simply genuine concern. He knew enough about Reese to accept that as a possibility at least.
“I won’t die on the couch if you go home,” Finch tried. “You should rest between numbers, while there’s an opportunity to do so.”
“Why did you come looking for me at the restaurant?”
The question was sudden, unexpected, and it caught him off guard. “Well....”
He considered turning it back on Reese, refusing to let him change the subject. But it seemed unfair to dodge awkward topics – he hadn’t allowed Reese that luxury in the hotel room after he’d burst through the door. He had many weaknesses but hypocrisy wasn’t one of them.
“I suppose I was concerned for you,” he finished. “Which reminds me about our unfinished conversation.”
“So let me be concerned for you tonight,” Reese interrupted him. “You’re on strong medication, you ended up in a fight tonight-”
“Kicking a chair hardly counts as being in a fight.”
“And then you fainted. So you will sleep there, Finch, and I will sit here and you can buy me breakfast in the morning if you feel any need to make it up to me. I can’t do this alone.”
Harold took off his glasses, and put them away. His headache was lifting, or else just being blanketed by the pleasant haziness as his painkillers took effect. It didn’t blind him to the fact that he was being ‘handled’ but oddly, he couldn’t seem to mind.
“I can’t either,” he told Reese. “So please remember that when you go courting avoidable danger. And please try not to get knifed quite so much.”
He remembered the wound, then, and that drove the drowsiness back a bit. He pointed at John’s arm.
“It’s fine,” John said. “No stitches required, just some cleaning and a dressing.”
“Tomorrow,” Harold insisted. “Tomorrow I am taking you to get it looked at properly.”
John was standing over him suddenly, holding up the blanket. Harold didn’t remember when he’d come over.
“Not necessary, Finch, but if it makes you feel better.”
Harold might have accused Reese of humouring him or might just have been thinking it, but he lay down and Reese covered him up again.
“So...in the morning then. Doctor’s. Then breakfast.”
He heard Reese laugh, low, gentle. “Good night, Harold.”
“Good night, Mr. Reese. Until the morning.”
Harold fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.
Re: Fill: Breadcrumbs, Adult, offscreen non/con and D/s (3/3)
(Anonymous) 2013-10-27 09:55 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Breadcrumbs, Adult, offscreen non/con and D/s (3/3)