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the_machine_mod ([personal profile] the_machine_mod) wrote in [community profile] meme_of_interest2013-03-28 06:03 pm

Prompt Post 01

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Elias/Reese, leading to Finch/Reese, AU, hurt/comfort

(Anonymous) 2013-09-07 09:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch is probably one of the richest men on the planet. But he has to have something to do with his time, and it should be something he enjoys. So he moonlights as a tailor - he owns the business in fact, though none of the employees know he's their boss.

And that's how he meets John Reese, clearly the kept man of Carl Elias whom rumour has it is a rather unsavoury character. Finch is excellent at reading people but anyone could see Reese is traumatised and not very happy with his situation.

When Elias has Reese come for several fittings for a new wardrobe of suits, Finch gets to know him and formulates a plan to rescue Reese from Elias.

Finch/Reese/Machine, dub-con, D/s

(Anonymous) 2013-09-09 07:57 pm (UTC)(link)
The Machine doesn't miss anything. It knows what John needs even if he doesn't, sees how he watches Harold. And so it tells Harold what to do to John, where to touch him, what to say, and how to reassure John when he really isn't sure about this.

I just want the Machine and Finch topping the hell out of an unconvinced Reese, but he needs the reassurance all the same of being so looked after.

And the Machine knows this will just further bind John to Harold, to both of them.

Re: Fill: Booked Solid - Carter & Reese, huddling for warmth - General - No Warnings

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-09 08:32 pm (UTC)(link)
I love wee fics like this, where it's sweet and funny, and kind of like your favourite warm comfy sweater - just so nice. This is definitely going to be one I come back to when I need cheering up.

Finch, Reese, John forced to beg

(Anonymous) 2013-09-10 04:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Whatever the situation or circumstances, John is put in a position where he has to beg Harold to stop. Maybe he has a temperature and Finch has to put him in an ice bath, or maybe it's something darker. Up to writer!nonny.

Fill: Breadcrumbs, Adult, offscreen non/con and D/s (1/3)

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-11 05:05 am (UTC)(link)
“I assure you, I asked for lemon. Lemon. This is not lemon.”

“...and I don’t know why you even asked me here, if you just wanted to tell me that....”

“If I say yes, have the cheesecake, and you can’t get into that dress on Friday, somehow it’ll be my fault.”

It was all background noise, and Finch treated it as such. Tuned it out mostly, though he retained an attentiveness for anything that might be a cause for concern, and let his eyes wander the restaurant while making it look like innocent curiosity.

A diversion for a man eating alone.

“Are you ready to order, sir?”

He didn’t jump, and was rather pleased with himself over it. He did look up at John, and frowned at the impertinent smirk he received in return.

“What would you recommend?” he asked, waspishly. Only three weeks into their working relationship and he’d already seen that Reese was a pusher of boundaries.

“The duck’s good.”

“The duck-” Harold closed his eyes briefly. Another thing he’d observed was that his new employee was very good at inducing migraines. “There isn’t duck on the menu, Mr. Reese.”

“No? I’ll have a word with the management.”

Harold closed his menu with a snap. “Salad.”

“Would sir like anything to drink?”

Harold stared at him until John tucked the order pad back into his apron. “I hope you don’t expect a tip.”

He watched John head to the kitchen. A little more time to organise a more suitable cover would have been preferable, but since their latest number – the restaurant owner/manager – virtually lived out of the establishment the odds of him getting into trouble anywhere else were minimal.

But the restaurant’s high staff turnover had been an opportunity – and possibly a clue – that couldn’t be ignored. So it really had been the best possible way of infiltrating their number’s daily routine and investigating that peculiarity.

All the same, other than his deliberate misbehaviour at his table, Finch had to admit John made sure he looked and acted the part with every customer. If he wasn’t careful, the restaurant manager might offer John a permanent job here – provided he wasn’t a perpetrator rather than a victim. If that proved to be the case, the man’s opinion on Mr. Reese might go sharply downhill.

Still, Harold was sure his benefits package could easily surpass anything Elliot Baxter could offer John.

Baxter himself appeared then from the kitchen. He did a walkthrough of the restaurant, engaging briefly with this diner or that one, appearing every inch the affable boss. It was off somehow, though – perhaps in the way his eyes lingered too long on some tables and the way he ignored some staff but put his hands on others to instruct them out of his way.

He passed Harold’s table, and Harold took the opportunity to force pair their phones.

The tactic didn’t yield much in the way of pertinent information, just several texts sent over the course of the past week to someone called Peter L.

Peter L it appeared wasn’t interested in responding. Finch pondered on that and started a reverse directory search on the mobile number. In the meantime, he skimmed through the sent messages and saw why they had gone unanswered.

Also, that Baxter did not like to be ignored.

And of course, he recalled that there had been one Peter Lindstrom among the list of Baxter’s recent ex-employees.

The salad was suddenly set in front of him, and Finch wondered if John had managed to find out anything from eavesdropping among the other staff.

“I don’t suppose,” he started, and trailed off as a young woman with red hair smiled down at him.

“Is there something else you’d like?” she asked.

“Well, you’re not the man who took my order,” he managed. What was Reese up to?

“I’m sorry, he had to speak to the manager. If there’s anything else you need, I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

Finch declined, and felt a surge of frustration as she went to serve at another table. Really, he was in the same establishment as Reese, and he knew less about what the ex-operative was doing than if he was in the library and Reese only connected to him by an open channel.

It didn’t help that he was suddenly concerned. Summoned alone to speak to their number could mean he’d picked up that Reese was perhaps not as experienced at waiting tables as he’d let on. It could be that Reese had spotted something indicative of the threat they were here to resolve and decided to act.

It could be that the manager was the threat in which case Reese might already be in a difficult situation.

Finch picked at the salad, telling himself that Reese was more than capable of defending himself against any peril. It wasn’t as if he could go striding into the staff only section and start opening doors until he found his employee.

And if he stumbled into a physical confrontation between Reese and the manager – well, it would be short lived, for one – he would not be of any real use to the former soldier. More likely he would simply be in the way or prove a distraction for John, having to worry about his safety as well as winning the fight.

All the same, when John didn’t appear again in the next few minutes, Harold found himself quite unsettled. Decided, he got up and walked between the tables and straight through the employees’ only door. He was fortunate that it was a busy night and no one seemed to notice his intrusion.

He found himself in a long corridor with only two doors. The one at the end had an illuminated ‘fire escape’ sign above it. The other was simply a door, and Finch had his fingers wrapped around the handle, ‘I’m sorry, I thought this was the bathroom,’ already on his lips.

Harold shoved the door open and, when he saw who was inside, entered and quickly closed it behind him.

Re: Fill: Breadcrumbs, Adult, offscreen non/con and D/s (2/3) Injury in this part

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-11 05:06 am (UTC)(link)
“That was fast work, Mr. Reese?” he offered, unsure whether Baxter unconscious in his chair and John busily rifling the contents of his desk meant their case had reached an abrupt conclusion.

Still, if Baxter was up to no good and John was uninjured, it would also be a satisfactory one.

“I’d like to think at least some of them will be this easy,” John said. He came around the desk, held out a handful of glossy photos. “We need to talk about you staying out of the line of fire.”

Harold took the pictures, glancing briefly at the unconscious man. “I’m sure the only one with a gun here is you, Mr. Reese.”

He didn’t need to be watching Reese to know the look he was getting could have stripped paint. “You step into a situation, Finch, you become the weapon.”

The pictures showed a shirtless man being held down on the desk John had been going through. There were three other men crowded around him, Baxter being one, and the attention they were bestowing did not appear welcome or appreciated. Harold glanced over the first six or seven images, like a slow motion flicker show. The story they told was not a pleasant one, and Baxter featured on every page as a man who clearly thrived on power. And its abuse.

Finch could not miss the similarity between the dark haired male in the photos and Reese. He turned a caustic look at Baxter.

“A talk?”

Reese shrugged. “I guess we were lucky he has a type. There’s a name on the back of the photos.”

“Yes, I will celebrate our good fortune later that you attracted the attentions of this....” He trailed off, turning over the first picture. ‘Peter’ was written in neat block lettering.

That explained the unanswered and increasingly angry texts.

“The only thing we need to know now,” John said, “is who was taking the photos.”

“Yes,” Harold said, because of course Baxter’s hands were busy. There was always the possibility he had used a timer, but some of the shots captured too well the height of emotion in the scenes. Lindstrom’s vulnerability. The thrill of power in every taut muscle as Baxter pressed on his abdomen to hold him down. “And have a discussion about you not keeping me advised when you are venturing into the lair of a sadist.”

John bristled. “You hired me to do a job, Harold. This is me doing my job.”

Of course, he knew Reese was right. But it was one thing to have predicted for John their prospects of survival when he was trying to recruit him and quite another to contemplate Baxter’s plans when he had summoned John to the office. To begin to groom him.

“You doing your job isn’t the problem,” he said. “It’s how you keep me informed when are you doing it.”

But he supposed he was going to have to get used it. This wasn’t the type of work they could do at a safe distance and there would be occasions when John wouldn’t have time to brief him before acting.

Without warning, John leapt at him.

Harold startled, wondering in a brief second if he’d seriously misjudged Reese; perhaps it was PTSD, perhaps he was simply a psychopath, and the price for that misjudgement would be grievously high.

Then Reese’s hand closed on the back of Harold’s neck and he moved him – spun him aside.

Harold had time to be astonished that Reese had done it without hurting him before a hiss of pain snapped his attention back to the operative.

Reese stepped back, keeping himself between Harold and the red haired waitress who’d served the salad. She had a kitchen knife in her hand, and was waving it at John in huge scything arcs.

“I always knew he’d push too far one day, attract the wrong kind of attention. You cops?”

Reese was moving - always keeping himself between the woman and Harold. “You need to put down the knife.”

The woman laughed. “Of course, not a problem. Fuck, this is all his fault. I just...all I did was nudge people at him and then take the pictures.” She waved the weapon at Baxter before pointing it at Reese again. “I can’t walk away and leave any of you standing.”

She lunged forward suddenly, and Harold had to act. The chair was right there, and even though it cost him his balance, he was able to put his foot against it and kick it at her.

She tumbled over it, and John took the opportunity to kick the knife from her hand. He slammed a punch into her face, sending her unconscious to the floor, where she landed a few feet from Finch.

Harold pushed himself awkwardly upright. His back hadn’t hurt this much since a certain person had slammed him against a wall, but to be fair John had woken to find himself ostensibly kidnapped and half tied to a bed so Harold knew allowances there were appropriate.

Getting to his feet, on the other hand, would require assistance.

John was at his side before Harold even knew he’d approached. “This is why we need to talk about you stepping into things,” he said.

Harold held out his hands and Reese took them. “We need to get me on my feet, first. Yes, I think perhaps now. And if there’s to be any remonstrating, Mr. Reese....”

The pain twisted around his spine then, and any desire to discuss it further was swallowed up by the desire to keep breathing.

“Okay, hang on.” John’s grip was strong, his support sure. He didn’t try to pull Harold up, had the sense enough to just be something secure for him to hang on to as he inched his way to his feet. After all, Harold knew himself best, knew which way his body would work now and which way it certainly wouldn’t.

He was finally standing up when he felt something slick beneath his fingers. He looked down, saw the dark smudge across the back of John’s hand, and followed it up until it vanished beneath his cuff, until he saw the source – a gaping slice in the white sleeve at his elbow and a gash of at least four inches.

“Harold,” John said, voice tight.

“I think perhaps I should sit down again,” Harold gasped. His hold on John, on consciousness, became frail and almost too much of an effort to fight for. The room sloped away from him, and he fell against something strong and firm; whatever it was it didn’t yield.

And apparently it had arms because they were wrapped around him now, holding him up.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you,” John said. “It’s ok.”

I’m sure, Harold wanted to say, but then he remembered that John’s arm was hurt and there was blood, and that was enough to push him under all the way.

Re: Fill: Breadcrumbs, Adult, offscreen non/con and D/s (3/3)

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-11 05:07 am (UTC)(link)
He flirted briefly with consciousness an undetermined time later – waking at one point stretched out across the back seat of his car – but neither of them seemed particularly well suited to the other, and so went their separate ways.

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.

“ 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: All Work (Kara/John) [Explicit] [Non-con/dub-con]

(Anonymous) 2013-09-11 12:02 pm (UTC)(link)
Sick and beautiful. Poor John, trying so hard to be a killer when all he wants is to be brought into the light.

Great job, thank you for sharing this.
aprilvalentine: (Finch worried Reese)

Re: Reese/Finch - Reese gives Finch a massage

[personal profile] aprilvalentine 2013-09-12 05:41 am (UTC)(link)

FILL: Misconceptions, Finch/Reese, Teen [pre slash] [some minor violence&violent references] 1/2

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-12 09:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Carter took her card out of her wallet and slid it across the counter to the store owner.

“Anything you can remember, please, call me. My office and cell numbers are both on this card.”

The man took it, but Carter already knew the card would be tossed as soon as she walked out of the store. She had a feel for when she could expect people to co-operate, and this guy was too scared to think about it. That suggested he had gotten a good look at her suspect, the bastard who’d beaten an elderly couple to death across the street when they’d been a little slow handing over their valuables.

Maybe the suspect had gotten a good look at him. If he thought his silence would buy his safety, he was probably wrong.

She guessed for the next few days, she’d be driving past his store as often as she could.

Surrendering, she left the store and started for where she’d parked the car. Next stop was back to the precinct to finish her paperwork from that morning and then a meeting with the lieutenant bemoaning the cost of her CIs. Pointing out her case clearance rate – due in no small part to those same CIs – would probably not help.

Her boss didn’t like it when she did unreasonable things like introduce facts into an argument.

As she reached the car, the honk of a horn drew her attention. Somebody was taking too long to get out of a parking space, and getting some grief over it. Joss watched for a few moments, until the offending car pulled away, in case it spilled over into something else. People lost their temper too easily these days, over things that were just not worth it.

But it was because of that display of angry impatience that she saw the two men.

Fusco held the door open for Finch, letting him leave the restaurant first. They paused on the sidewalk, Finch saying something, Fusco leaning in close to hear it. His hand was on Finch’s elbow and it tightened a little as Finch spoke into his ear.

Carter frowned. No John in sight – what could those two be up to? Had she blundered across them working a case? She still marvelled a little that all this time Fusco had been working for them behind the scenes, how artfully she and her partner had been ‘managed’ to prevent them finding out about each other.

It still rankled, just a bit, but she supposed for someone with John’s trust issues it made sense to keep everything compartmentalised.

It had also almost gotten him killed, that little spat in the bathroom when she’d found Fusco on the phone in a cubicle being a delay John couldn’t afford.

Still, they’d got there in time – to save John at least – but Finch had been okay and so everything had turned out alright.

Which was just as well. Because she was sure that if they hadn’t got him back, John would have either gone postal and went on a suicide mission or just disappeared back into the life he’d been living when she’d first met him.

She wondered if Finch knew just how much he meant to John.

When she saw his lips impart a brief kiss to Fusco’s cheek, she almost keeled over.

Guess not, she thought. Guess not.

She didn’t see Fusco again until the back of four, by which time her paperwork had doubled and she’d received four calls from cases her partner was handling.

She wondered if his absence was because he was currently handling something else.

After seeing the kiss, she’d stood there – indecisive, a little too stunned to do anything even if she knew what. Not like her at all, but then given she’d just seen the two most unlikely people in a moment of physical affection she was going to cut herself some slack.

By the time she decided to cross the street, the pedestrian and vehicular traffic had served as cover and both men were gone. Lost among the crowds.

Whether together or whether they’d gone their own separate ways, she had no idea.

“I was about to put an APB out on you,” she said, as Fusco sat down.

“Didn’t know you had two kids,” Fusco retorted, but there was no heat in it. Why would there be? He didn’t know she’d seen his little PDA of earlier. “Much going on?”

“Enough.” She lifted a heap of folders and waved them at him. Fusco held out a hand and Carter took the top ten and passed them over. “So, where you been?”

Fusco grimaced. “I made the mistake of giving my card to this old lady who got burgled last month. Now every time her floor boards creak or her radiators get a touch of gas she thinks it’s a home invasion.”

“You’re too sweet, Fusco,” Joss said, and it was too late to keep the acid out of her voice.

Fusco stared at her, a little non-plussed. “Yeah, if you say so. Something going on, Carter?”

“Just work,” she said, and ignored him until the shift was over at five.


She spent the rest of the night doing mom things – helping her son with his homework, then sorting the laundry and finishing painting the ceiling in the kitchen. It wasn’t going to do itself, and putting it off was only increasing her reluctance to get it done.

In between she checked the clean phone John had given her, wishing he’d call or text so she had some pretence to speak to him.

If she got in touch first, he’d know something was up. He’d think it was something with her or Taylor and then he’d be at her door.

He’d probably help her finish the kitchen, and Taylor wouldn’t mind seeing him again, but she hated dangling family in front of him. It just seemed so cruel.

And anyway, what would she say to him either on the phone or in person?

How are you, John? Everything ok? Please tell me you’re not even platonically in love with Finch because then I might have to shoot my partner. And maybe yours.

It was not a conversation she could imagine having with him, no matter what happened.

And if she couldn’t have it with him, that left only one alternative.


Off duty, she took to following Fusco. Not all the time, just as often as she could. Despite what was apparently going on, she had a life. Taylor needed picking up from school, and he needed fed, and often she had to take work home.

And sometimes she was sharing tailing duties with John, or threatening people at gunpoint on his behalf when he overestimated his ability to control a fight. That didn’t happen very often but she wondered who had stepped in for him before she’d come on the scene.

Fusco? She doubted it. Probably too busy making goo goo eyes at John’s boss.

She watched Fusco come out of a bar and followed him down the street at a discreet distance. You need to reign this in, Joss, she told herself. Angry equalled stupid, and stupid equalled making mistakes.

She was going to make Fusco and Finch see this mistake for what it was when she finally caught up them both at the same time. If what she’d seen outside the restaurant had been the real deal, then she would sooner or later.

FILL: Misconceptions, Finch/Reese, Teen [pre slash] [some minor violence&violent references] 2/2

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-12 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)
It was sooner, as it happened. She watched as Fusco slammed his gun into the back of some guy’s head and then cuffed him as he lay stunned on the ground. Finch was standing there, breathing hard, with that perpetually stunned look on his face.

Carter advanced, holstering her weapon, at a slower pace now she knew the threat had been dealt with.

Pity her temper hadn’t.

“No victory embrace?” she snapped. They both jumped at her voice. “Don’t you know, Fusco, hero always gets the girl.”

Finch gave her a puzzled look. “Detective Carter, have you been following me?”

“No, I was following him, and after seeing your little cutesy kiss outside of the restaurant I figured sooner or later I’d catch you together again.”

“Wait, together? What?” Fusco glared at her. “You even know what you’re saying?”

“I know,” she said. She grabbed Fusco by the lapels of his jacket. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t have eyes? And you! I know you’re not stupid so you have to be the coldest SOB I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Joss pointed furiously at Finch. Fusco took her distraction as an opportunity to free himself. He stepped back, eyes hard.

“You taking your cues from The Suit?” he demanded. “He’d know better than this, though.”

Finch was suddenly between them. “Much as I think all of us calming down is the best way forward, here, I have to agree with Detective Fusco. You do seem to have come to an erroneous conclusion, Detective Carter. I take it you’re referring to the kiss outside of Camero’s.”

“There’s been others?” She hated the way her voice starting pitching up into levels of hysteria but it seemed wrong for him to be so calmly stating the case. Not when this was going to stomp all over John.

“No, one was sufficient.”

“Hey,” Fusco protested, and then coloured. “Yeah, I mean. Just. Oh, fuck it. You two sort this out.”

He hauled the cuffed man to his feet, and Carter saw him clearly for the first time. Quite a bruiser, all muscle straining at the seams of his fancy suit. Fusco dragged him to his squad car and took off.

“It would appear you’re now my ride,” Fusco said.

“Gentleman would have seen his date home,” Carter retorted, because it was too good an opening to pass up. “I don’t think he’s a keeper, Finch.”

Finch stared at her – damn it, he was rolling his eyes without actually doing it.

“The gentleman Fusco just took into custody is called Marco Salierli,” Finch said. Carter started to speak but he didn’t give her the chance to interrupt. “When his number came up, I thought it was because of his criminal record – several allegations of aggravated assault, molestation and harassment. He appeared to be targeting a certain section of society.”

It was dawning, slowly. “Right.”

But Finch’s face took on a pinched look. “Not exactly. He might have harboured that predilection, hence our display for his benefit outside Camero’s, but a little further investigation showed him to be in the employ of our mutual nemesis, Carl Elias.”

“Man’s got a long reach. All the way from Riker’s.”

“Bars do not a prison make, apparently,” Finch said. “If you have the resources Elias has, and can command the same amount of loyalty. Or inspire the same amount of fear.”

“Ok, so that explains you laying one on Fusco.”

“It was hardly that.”

Carter made a carry on gesture with her hand, which earned her a disapproving look. She wondered how often John got that look from him. Probably quite a lot.

“Elias appears to be trying to locate John, for reasons unknown. With recent events, he’s rather had his hands full, and I was concerned he might not be as observant as usual. And this man gave me cause for concern. He’s clearly unstable, not the type of person I would have thought Elias would have employed to reach out to John.”

Carter didn’t know she’d been holding her breath. She let it out, slowly, trying to ignore the creeping cold moving through her. “And you were worried he might do more than reach out – especially if John told him where to go.”

“Well, as you’ve seen he is large enough to be formidable.”

“Which explains why you sidelined John on this one. Does he know? Because last time you shut him out of a case, it didn’t go down so well.”

“We often have more than one number at a time, Detective. And I’m very good at multi-tasking. I’d prefer John not to have to fight someone like that, especially recovering from a dislocated shoulder and being half smothered.”

Carter winced. She could have done without that particular memory, thank you very much. “Ok, so, sorry. Look, Finch-”

He had started to turn in the direction she’d come from, and then turned back around. “Yes, detective?”

John’s probably a little bit in love with you, she wanted to say. And for a smart guy, you’re pretty dumb.

“Where can I drop you?”

Finch gave her an address, and Carter drove him there all the while wondering when she’d turned into such a coward.

:: ::

It was after eleven when Harold finally made it back to the library. He’d taken a cab from the safe-house address he’d given to Carter and had it drop him a block away, choosing to walk the remaining distance as an extra precaution.

He wasn’t surprised to find John sitting up waiting for him, Bear snoozing at his feet. John might never fully admit it, but Harold knew he’d chosen to acquire Bear and keep him as an extra precaution for him. But at the moment, Bear quite rightly knew which of them needed guarding the most.

“I thought you might have gone home,” he chided, lightly. “I take it Mrs Wells is safely on her way to Ohio?”

“As of six p.m., complete with new identity and a bankroll to get her started.”

Finch sighed. “Then you really should have gone home, John. Or do you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Sleepover, Finch?” John grinned. “A little old for that, aren’t we?”

Finch decided one of them acting like a child was enough and ignored the comment. He studied John, noted the absence of an ice pack and the fact that although tired he was otherwise alert.

“You haven’t taken your pain killers,” he said. “Honestly, John. Bear was here with you. You would have been perfectly safe.”

“And if something happened, if you needed me? Fusco going to have your back while you were off working your little case together?”

“Ah,” he said, wondering if Carter had informed on them or if John had simply seen straight through him. “I don’t suppose it would matter if I said that I had my reasons?”

“Salieri? I know your reasons, Finch. I guess Elias doesn’t do the same level of background checks as he used to.”

“Apparently not,” Finch said. He relaxed a little. John looked a little put out, but showed no signs of getting up, walking out and never speaking to Finch again. “I’m aware his soft spot for you occasionally shows itself in peculiar fashion, but I doubt he would send someone to find you who would be both a threat and have a propensity for poor judgement.”

“Which is why I called him.”

Finch took a moment to find his voice and keep it steady before he could speak. “You called him.”

“I don’t plan to spend the next few days looking after my shoulder, or worrying somebody starts sniffing around you because you’re with me.”

Finch wondered at that curious turn of phrase. With me. “And what did he say?”

Reese shook his head, as if not quite sure he was hearing himself right. “He wanted, believe it or not, to find out if I was ok. He’ll review his staff better next time. And apparently, at some point this week, the police are going to receive a tip off about the bodies of two men in the old cinema on Burman and Seventh.”

“I take it we’ll be familiar with these men.”

Reese rubbed absently at his shoulder. “Unfortunately.”

Finch went to the fridge freezer he kept in the small equipment room just off the stacks. He took out an ice pack, and picked up a bottle of water before returning to where John sat. “He seems to have approved of you helping Monsignor Delli drive those drug dealers out of his parish. And strongly disapproved of them trying to murder you in his church.”

“And next week, he’ll probably take over their operation – just keeping it away from St. Clare’s.”

Finch held out the water, and picked up the orange pill bottle. “These are not for decoration,” he said, and glared at John until he took two and swallowed them down. Then Harold arranged the ice pack over John’s shoulder. He sat down next to him.

“Do you know, and I think that Lionel may never recover from it, that Detective Carter actually thought we were...well, I suppose, going out is the best way to put it.”

He didn’t look at John, just kept going, blundering on ahead. “You see, it had been necessary...for Salieri, before we realised he was more this time than your standard predatory bully... to appear to be more than we were, and of course we didn’t know then that he was actually after you on behalf of Elias.

“But Detective Carter was very angry on your behalf since she clearly thought I was ‘stepping out’ on you. It was all sweet, I suppose, perhaps cringe worthy, but seeing Detective Fusco’s reaction – well, I almost wish you’d been there, because you would have found it amusing – hilarious, probably, and-”

John’s hand closed suddenly on his, stopping him. “You should probably take a breath, Harold. That brain of yours needs oxygen to function. And I don’t think it’s so hilarious. Or cringe worthy.”

Harold drew in a slow, deep breath. All the things he had planned, the things he had done – great, terrible, necessary – not a one had been easy or without risk, but he had pushed forward and used the need for them to balance out the fear. After all, it was an equation in the most basic sense, is what I’m doing worth the chance I’m about to take or what I’m about to give up?

In each case the answer was yes, and that had helped him continue.

He wasn’t sure the answer was yes, this time, because what he wanted here was great and it was terrible and it was necessary, but the chance... He didn’t dare to believe he could have John. But he didn’t dare to let himself believe that John wouldn’t react badly to such an approach, and disappear again for good this time.

Harold wasn’t going to tell himself he worried about the effect on their work, how he would feel when John went to intervene in a situation or was out of contact for a while. He already felt that way, all the cost it seemed without the reward.

Harold,” John said, insistent. He reached over and turned Harold to face him. “Stop. Thinking.”

Harold started to speak, and John gave him a frustrated grin.

“Ok, then,” he said, and kissed him.

It wasn’t how he’d imagined it would be – sometimes he’d thought he would encourage John to take a weekend vacation with him, heaven knew they needed one, and maybe after something to eat, he’d suggest a walk. And he’d be a little brave, maybe take John’s arm, and if that worked, just take it from there.

Sometimes he thought about just exploding against John, too much held back for too long. Concealed by the shadows among the stacks, he’d touch John everywhere.

He settled for the almost chaste kiss, John letting him own it a little. Like he knew Harold was skittish, wanting this but almost too scared to just take it. Harold reached up, hands ghosting up John’s arms before settling on his shoulders, pulling John in.

John yelped into his mouth and Harold let him go instantly.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped. He grabbed the ice pack from where it had fallen to the floor, and quickly put it back on John’s shoulder.

“It’s ok,” John said, and laughed. “Actually, Harold, it is ok. Really.”

Harold sat back with a sigh. “We mentioned cringe worthy.”

“You’d rather it was Fusco?”

Harold turned enough to stare aghast at him. “I’ll put that comment down to the strength of your pain killers, Mr. Reese.”

John winced. “Maybe not call me that just after you kissed me? So maybe we try it again, just a little differently?” He yawned suddenly. “Sorry.”

“I think the only thing I should be trying is to get you to go to sleep.” He encouraged John to his feet, and into the rest room. He kept a bed there; sometimes it was too late to go home, or he or John had been hurt or exhausted and it just made sense.

For the first time he actually noticed it was a very large bed for just one person.

Apparently, John noticed too. He tugged Harold towards it.

“John,” Harold protested.

“I know, I know. Just.... You must be tired too. Come on.”

John didn’t bother to change. He just got under the covers. He patted the bed next to him but Harold could see he was almost already asleep.

He waited a moment, then took off his jacket, shoes, waistcoat and tie. He considered changing, but....

Oh, why not?

He lay down next to John, on top of the covers, turning over to look at him. Carefully, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Good night, John,” he said quietly.

John murmured something but it was sleep talk, too low to make out. He did slide his fingers between Harold’s, and his face softened as if there was some reassurance in having Harold so close.

Harold closed his eyes, trying to just focus on the warmth of the man next to him.

Yes, it was a huge chance he was taking, but it seemed he wasn’t taking it alone.

John suspects Harold is pimping him out to Zoe

(Anonymous) 2013-09-16 09:58 am (UTC)(link)
Several times, when Harold turns to Ms. Morgan for assistance, time spent with John seems to be part of her payment. At first he doesn't notice - it seems normal that Zoe would ask him out to dinner when they haven't seen each other in a while, but it becomes an every-time thing. She asks him out or Harold pushes tickets to something or other on them or offers the penthouse suite again. It's all fun and games until he tries to say no.

Humor preferred, crack welcomed, go angsty if that's your jam.

Re: Finch/Reese/Machine, dub-con, D/s

(Anonymous) 2013-09-16 10:04 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, please, somebody write this!

Re: Finch/Nathan, eventual Finch/Nathan/Reese, POI AU, Nathan doesn't die, bottom!Reese

(Anonymous) 2013-09-16 10:24 am (UTC)(link)
I would pay money for this.

Re: FILL: Misconceptions, Finch/Reese, Teen [pre slash] [some minor violence&violent references] 2/2

(Anonymous) 2013-09-19 10:28 am (UTC)(link)

Thanks for filling my prompt. It has some really nice details in it and I particularly liked

“But Detective Carter was very angry on your behalf since she clearly thought I was ‘stepping out’ on you. It was all sweet, I suppose, perhaps cringe worthy, but seeing Detective Fusco’s reaction – well, I almost wish you’d been there, because you would have found it amusing – hilarious, probably, and-”

John’s hand closed suddenly on his, stopping him. “You should probably take a breath, Harold. That brain of yours needs oxygen to function. And I don’t think it’s so hilarious. Or cringe worthy.”

Harold/John: Drinking and Talking

(Anonymous) 2013-09-20 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
I have to admit that I got the idea from esteefee's story Details on AO3 (

I would like to see Harold and John having some drinks together and talking more openly than they usually do. Revealing things they wouldn't tell the other sober, just generally talking candidly with each other.

Maybe the talking turns into something more, and the next morning there's one-sided regret or denial...

I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort so if you could work some sad stuff in that would be much appreciated. But if it doesn't fit that's cool, too.

Re: FILL: Misconceptions, Finch/Reese, Teen [pre slash] [some minor violence&violent references] 2/2

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-20 07:04 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm happy you liked it. Joss should probably have hit them with the clue stick much earlier. :)

Re: FILL (Sort of) Reese/OMC + Elias, attempted non-con, drugged!Reese, eventually explicit? 2/?

(Anonymous) 2013-09-21 09:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Ahhhhh, this is awesome--are you still writing this? It's so perfect!

FILL: In The Middle Of The Night (Finch/Reese, Teen/up, Violence)

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-21 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
Filled for you over on AO3, switched it from Reese's apartment to a few safehouses and I'm afraid it got kind of long, but I hope you like.

In The Middle Of The Night (10640 words) by Huggle
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: Person of Interest (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Characters: Harold Finch, John Reese, Logan Pierce, Joss Carter, Lionel Fusco, Bear (Person of Interest)
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, protective Finch, Sleepwalking, Community: Meme of Interest, Attempted Kidnapping

Logan Pierce continues to try and acquire Reese, but more forcefully this time. While John works out how to deal with that, he also discovers that Finch sleepwalks sometimes and apparently has issues he won't own to when he's awake.

Any/Reese, con or dub con, Reese didn't know he needed it

(Anonymous) 2013-09-21 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Reese needs this but didn't know it. So Any has to work at persuading him while he works Reese over, takes him right to the edge and then takes him apart, leaving him a sweaty, wrecked mess.

Bonus for aftercare, with Any just holding Reese as he comes back from it.

FILL: When You Least Expect It (graphic violence, teen/up)

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-22 09:59 am (UTC)(link)
Filled it for you here - not much tearing the city apart, and it's mostly Reese who rides the rescue, but I hope you like.

When You Least Expect It (3051 words) by Huggle
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Person of Interest (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Lionel Fusco & John Reese
Characters: Harold Finch, John Reese, Lionel Fusco, Joss Carter
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Original Character Death(s)

Fusco ends up in a bad situation. He's on his own, right? He knows that. No one is going to come for him.

FILL: Middle Distance (Finch, graphic violence, teen & up)

[personal profile] huggle 2013-09-22 06:18 pm (UTC)(link)
There's maybe not enough comfort in here I'm afraid, but I hope you still like it.

Middle Distance (2514 words) by Huggle
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Person of Interest (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Harold Finch & John Reese
Characters: Harold Finch, John Reese, Lionel Fusco
Additional Tags: Murder, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Threats of Violence

John goes missing during a case. Desperately searching for him, Harold runs into the person most likely responsible. Now if he wants to save John, he has to save himself first.

Finch, non-con, Protective!Reese

(Anonymous) 2013-09-22 07:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Finch is a victim of non-con. Reese is there to deal with the aftermath. I will love you forever if there's loads of hurt/comfort and a tender/protective!Reese.
Reese, Finch, or Reese/Finch, either is equally wonderful.

Re: Finch, Fusco - working a case without John, hurt!John has to rescue them anyway

(Anonymous) 2013-09-23 09:44 pm (UTC)(link)
OP here! So excited *bounces*

Reese/OMC, non-con/groping, protective comforting!Finch

(Anonymous) 2013-09-24 05:45 am (UTC)(link)
A number becomes personal for Finch. He doesn't share the details with John, but John figures out it's something to do with Nathan. Finch should know that where his needs are concerned, especially for something this vital, John's notions of boundaries become skewed.

So he shouldn't be surprised that, in order to stay on the inside, John is letting the wealthy older man behave in a creepy, inappropriate manner towards him.

When he finds out, he immediately goes and recovers John from the number, and totally destroys his world - more for what he did to John than what happened to Nathan (he tells himself it's justice he wants but when he realises what what was happening to John, he knows it was actually revenge and he doesn't mind).

Then he takes John to the library to look after him and tells John sternly that he no longer works for the CIA and he, Harold, will not expect John to prostitute himself for him EVER. If he has one thing he does expect from John it's to try and keep himself safe.

(Because he's Harold's world, now, you know).