POI Fic: Get Well Soon(For The Love of God) for radioshack84
Title: Get Well Soon (For The Love of God)
Author: BlazeorFade
Rating: PG
Characters: Reese, Finch and Bear
Disclaimer: No ownership here.
Summary: Written for radioshack84 for the Winter fic exchange. The prompt was: "A hurt/comfort story with Finch and Bear taking care of a sick/injured Reese following a case. Friendship only please. Bonus points for library setting and exhausted!Reese.” I hope you like it. It might come of as a bit pre-slashy but I wrote it with friendship in mind. Happy Holidays!
“I’m fine.” Reese insisted, struggling to sit upright on a couch in The Library. A wave of vertigo hit and he paled, but stubbornly kept upright by clutching the back of the couch.
“You are not fine, you’re burning up.” Finch retorted trying in vain to get a thermometer near Reese’s mouth. The Op clamped his lips shut and leaned back as far as he dared, doing a wonderful impression of a four year old refusing to take it’s medicine.
“There is more than one way to take a temperature, Mr. Reese.” Finch told him in a tone that Reese had never heard from him before. He glared at Finch. Finch glared back.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Reese challenged. Finch smiled sadistically and Reese suddenly thought he knew what several scumbag perpetrators from the business world saw last before their world collapsed in a heap of key strokes and the ruthlessness of Harold Finch.
“Bear.” Finch said evenly and the dog looked up eagerly from his tennis ball. Finch said a few Dutch commands that Reese had definitely not taught him and before he knew it, he was being pushed down onto the couch by a heavy mound of eager dog.
“Oof- you bastard.” Reese groaned. Finch took the opportunity to shove the thermometer into his mouth. Reese’s teeth clamped down on instinct and he glared daggers at his employer.
“I’ll blame that outburst on the fever talking.” Finch said serenely. Evil man.
“Oooouldn’t.” Reese mumbled around a mouthful of plastic.
“Couldn’t quite catch that Mr. Reese.” Finch replied. “Now you just relax and I’ll bring you some soup.”
Reese decided it would be undignified to spit the thermometer at the back of Finch’s head, but it was a tempting thing. He’d always been told he was a difficult patient. Why change that now?
A sudden shiver wracked his body and Reese found himself shifting closer into Bear’s heat. The dog was only too happy to oblige his Master, laying his heavy head onto Reese’s shoulder.
“You’ve really brought this on yourself, you know.” Finch said bringing a try with soup and a hot steaming cup of something. Reese was having a hard time smelling at the moment though and couldn’t tell what it was.
“Was jumping into the Hudson in December really your only option for cover, Mr. Reese?” Finch groused, taking the thermometer from his employee’s mouth.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Reese grated, eyeing the tray. His stomach heaved at the thought of food, but his throat felt like it was on fire and liquid sounded like heaven to him right now.
“Oh dear, 101.7. You never do things half way do you?” Finch said absently, frowning at the device.
“I’m special that way. Giving it my all…” Reese trailed off as another full body shiver hit him. He wrapped an arm around Bear.
“Hmm.” Finch said before hustling off into a side room and returning shortly with a blanket.
“Aw, were you a Boy Scout Finch?” Reese teased as Finch draped the blanket over him carefully.
“A bit outdoorsy for my taste, however, I do appreciate their motto.” Finch retorted. He fussed about with the blanket, trying to cover his charge without dislodging the dog, which seemed to have made it his own mission to play nursemaid to Reese. Reese had to smile at Finch’s mother henning. Of course, he’d never call it that. If he did Finch might do something drastic, like take the soup away. Speaking of soup…..
“Uh, Finch, how exactly am I supposed to eat that?” Reese asked nodding in the direction of his steaming meal.
“I thought by mouth would be best, did you have another method in mind?” Finch snarked.
“I’m wrapped up and covered by 200 pounds of dog, Finch.” Reese indicated, “How am I supposed to feed myself?”
“Well, I suppose you might sit quietly and let us both get through the indignity of me spoon feeding you with as little fuss as possible, but I don’t hold out much hope.” Finch replied giving him an unimpressed look. Any other time Reese would be enjoying the dry sarcasm of a thoroughly put upon Finch, but right now all he could think about was getting something down his raw, parched throat, so rather than continue to ruffle Finch’s feathers (heh, feathers, like an angry bird and wow the fever was making him feel a bit loopy now), he opened his mouth obediently.
Finch smirked, filled the spoon with hot soup and brought it carefully to Reese’s mouth, trying not to be reminded of feeding Leila in a similar fashion. Reese swallowed down the soup with a pained expression.
“Have some tea, it’s an old Chinese cold recipe and I added honey.” Finch murmured adding a straw to the cup for extra ease.
“No coffee?” Reese asked, sounding petulant and put upon, but there was a mischievous glint in his fever bright eyes.
“Not until you can walk without falling over.”
“I’ve worked through worse before.” Reese scoffed.
“Be that as it may, I’d rather you rested and got well, if only for poor Bear’s piece of mind.” Finch said primly.
“Oh, we wouldn’t want Bear in distress.” Reese agreed swallowing down more tea. The warm liquid soothed his aching throat and he was beginning to be able to smell the strong scents of eucalyptus, mint and some other herb he couldn’t name.
“More soup.” Finch ordered, taking the cup away from him and replacing it with another spoon full of broth. “And you’ll need something to bring the fever down and help you sleep.”
“Nothing that makes me drowsy.” Reese said firmly. “I don’t want to be out of it, in case anything happens.”
“While I understand your concerns, it’s better you sleep easily than collapse from exhaustion due to illness.” Finch countered moving a napkin that had carefully concealed fever reducers and some strong antihistamines. At Reese’s look of disdain, Finch sighed. Of course it was too good to be true that he had cooperated this far.
“Bear might be keeping me still, but I doubt you have a command that makes him force feed me pills.” Reese told him, but his head was lolling a little to one side and while the shivers had tapered off, he was starting to sweat.
“Look at it this way,” Finch said with a sigh. “The longer you are ill, the longer the Numbers are in the hands of our detectives and while they are good at their jobs, I hardly think either is a sufficient replacement for ‘The Man in The Suit’.”
“I don’t know about that. In the dark Fusco might-“
“No, John, just don’t.” Finch said with a theatrical shudder. Reese’s answering laugh turned into a cough and he had to sit up as much as he could, with Bear’s weight across his chest. Finch gave the command for the dog to stand down and helped Reese forward.
When the coughing abated, the Op looked even worse than before, practically falling back into the cushions.
“Take the medicine John, I promise nothing catastrophic will happen while you rest.” Finch said beseechingly. Reese looked at him for a long moment, torn between not wanting to be unaware for any period of time and the knowledge that he needed to get back on his feet, not only for the Numbers but to keep Finch safe as well. It was his job after all, and no one had ever accused John Reese of half-assing anything in his life.
“Fine.” He huffed in displeasure. Finch gave him an approving nod and a pleased smile and Reese half expected a pat on the head for being a good boy. His lips twitched at the mental image.
“Open.” Finch said lifting the small container of pills to Reese’s lips.
“No pretty please?” Reese asked, but obliged his friend. A larger gulp of tea kept the scrape of the medicine against his throat to a minimum and he lay back once more, waiting unhappily for the pills to take effect.
Finch rose awkwardly, stretching his neck as much as he could and Reese suddenly felt bad for being a difficult patient.
“How do you know?” He asked softly as Finch picked up the tray to dispose of it.
“Pardon me?” Finch replied confused.
“How do you know something catastrophic will happen while I’m out?” Reese clarified, then smiled sleepily, “Your Machine tell the future now too?”
“No, Mr. Reese, you told me.” Finch informed him with a slight lift of his lips, “When Bear came to stay, you said if anyone messes with me, he’ll eat them. A bit like you in that respect.”
Reese chuckled and looked at the dog, who was wagging his tail happily, seemingly content that his owners were in a better way than before.
“Thanks, for taking care of me Harold.” Reese said softly before he began to drift of to sleep. He thought he heard a soft “Anytime, John”, but he could be mistaken.
-The End
Author: BlazeorFade
Rating: PG
Characters: Reese, Finch and Bear
Disclaimer: No ownership here.
Summary: Written for radioshack84 for the Winter fic exchange. The prompt was: "A hurt/comfort story with Finch and Bear taking care of a sick/injured Reese following a case. Friendship only please. Bonus points for library setting and exhausted!Reese.” I hope you like it. It might come of as a bit pre-slashy but I wrote it with friendship in mind. Happy Holidays!
“I’m fine.” Reese insisted, struggling to sit upright on a couch in The Library. A wave of vertigo hit and he paled, but stubbornly kept upright by clutching the back of the couch.
“You are not fine, you’re burning up.” Finch retorted trying in vain to get a thermometer near Reese’s mouth. The Op clamped his lips shut and leaned back as far as he dared, doing a wonderful impression of a four year old refusing to take it’s medicine.
“There is more than one way to take a temperature, Mr. Reese.” Finch told him in a tone that Reese had never heard from him before. He glared at Finch. Finch glared back.
“You wouldn’t dare.” Reese challenged. Finch smiled sadistically and Reese suddenly thought he knew what several scumbag perpetrators from the business world saw last before their world collapsed in a heap of key strokes and the ruthlessness of Harold Finch.
“Bear.” Finch said evenly and the dog looked up eagerly from his tennis ball. Finch said a few Dutch commands that Reese had definitely not taught him and before he knew it, he was being pushed down onto the couch by a heavy mound of eager dog.
“Oof- you bastard.” Reese groaned. Finch took the opportunity to shove the thermometer into his mouth. Reese’s teeth clamped down on instinct and he glared daggers at his employer.
“I’ll blame that outburst on the fever talking.” Finch said serenely. Evil man.
“Oooouldn’t.” Reese mumbled around a mouthful of plastic.
“Couldn’t quite catch that Mr. Reese.” Finch replied. “Now you just relax and I’ll bring you some soup.”
Reese decided it would be undignified to spit the thermometer at the back of Finch’s head, but it was a tempting thing. He’d always been told he was a difficult patient. Why change that now?
A sudden shiver wracked his body and Reese found himself shifting closer into Bear’s heat. The dog was only too happy to oblige his Master, laying his heavy head onto Reese’s shoulder.
“You’ve really brought this on yourself, you know.” Finch said bringing a try with soup and a hot steaming cup of something. Reese was having a hard time smelling at the moment though and couldn’t tell what it was.
“Was jumping into the Hudson in December really your only option for cover, Mr. Reese?” Finch groused, taking the thermometer from his employee’s mouth.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Reese grated, eyeing the tray. His stomach heaved at the thought of food, but his throat felt like it was on fire and liquid sounded like heaven to him right now.
“Oh dear, 101.7. You never do things half way do you?” Finch said absently, frowning at the device.
“I’m special that way. Giving it my all…” Reese trailed off as another full body shiver hit him. He wrapped an arm around Bear.
“Hmm.” Finch said before hustling off into a side room and returning shortly with a blanket.
“Aw, were you a Boy Scout Finch?” Reese teased as Finch draped the blanket over him carefully.
“A bit outdoorsy for my taste, however, I do appreciate their motto.” Finch retorted. He fussed about with the blanket, trying to cover his charge without dislodging the dog, which seemed to have made it his own mission to play nursemaid to Reese. Reese had to smile at Finch’s mother henning. Of course, he’d never call it that. If he did Finch might do something drastic, like take the soup away. Speaking of soup…..
“Uh, Finch, how exactly am I supposed to eat that?” Reese asked nodding in the direction of his steaming meal.
“I thought by mouth would be best, did you have another method in mind?” Finch snarked.
“I’m wrapped up and covered by 200 pounds of dog, Finch.” Reese indicated, “How am I supposed to feed myself?”
“Well, I suppose you might sit quietly and let us both get through the indignity of me spoon feeding you with as little fuss as possible, but I don’t hold out much hope.” Finch replied giving him an unimpressed look. Any other time Reese would be enjoying the dry sarcasm of a thoroughly put upon Finch, but right now all he could think about was getting something down his raw, parched throat, so rather than continue to ruffle Finch’s feathers (heh, feathers, like an angry bird and wow the fever was making him feel a bit loopy now), he opened his mouth obediently.
Finch smirked, filled the spoon with hot soup and brought it carefully to Reese’s mouth, trying not to be reminded of feeding Leila in a similar fashion. Reese swallowed down the soup with a pained expression.
“Have some tea, it’s an old Chinese cold recipe and I added honey.” Finch murmured adding a straw to the cup for extra ease.
“No coffee?” Reese asked, sounding petulant and put upon, but there was a mischievous glint in his fever bright eyes.
“Not until you can walk without falling over.”
“I’ve worked through worse before.” Reese scoffed.
“Be that as it may, I’d rather you rested and got well, if only for poor Bear’s piece of mind.” Finch said primly.
“Oh, we wouldn’t want Bear in distress.” Reese agreed swallowing down more tea. The warm liquid soothed his aching throat and he was beginning to be able to smell the strong scents of eucalyptus, mint and some other herb he couldn’t name.
“More soup.” Finch ordered, taking the cup away from him and replacing it with another spoon full of broth. “And you’ll need something to bring the fever down and help you sleep.”
“Nothing that makes me drowsy.” Reese said firmly. “I don’t want to be out of it, in case anything happens.”
“While I understand your concerns, it’s better you sleep easily than collapse from exhaustion due to illness.” Finch countered moving a napkin that had carefully concealed fever reducers and some strong antihistamines. At Reese’s look of disdain, Finch sighed. Of course it was too good to be true that he had cooperated this far.
“Bear might be keeping me still, but I doubt you have a command that makes him force feed me pills.” Reese told him, but his head was lolling a little to one side and while the shivers had tapered off, he was starting to sweat.
“Look at it this way,” Finch said with a sigh. “The longer you are ill, the longer the Numbers are in the hands of our detectives and while they are good at their jobs, I hardly think either is a sufficient replacement for ‘The Man in The Suit’.”
“I don’t know about that. In the dark Fusco might-“
“No, John, just don’t.” Finch said with a theatrical shudder. Reese’s answering laugh turned into a cough and he had to sit up as much as he could, with Bear’s weight across his chest. Finch gave the command for the dog to stand down and helped Reese forward.
When the coughing abated, the Op looked even worse than before, practically falling back into the cushions.
“Take the medicine John, I promise nothing catastrophic will happen while you rest.” Finch said beseechingly. Reese looked at him for a long moment, torn between not wanting to be unaware for any period of time and the knowledge that he needed to get back on his feet, not only for the Numbers but to keep Finch safe as well. It was his job after all, and no one had ever accused John Reese of half-assing anything in his life.
“Fine.” He huffed in displeasure. Finch gave him an approving nod and a pleased smile and Reese half expected a pat on the head for being a good boy. His lips twitched at the mental image.
“Open.” Finch said lifting the small container of pills to Reese’s lips.
“No pretty please?” Reese asked, but obliged his friend. A larger gulp of tea kept the scrape of the medicine against his throat to a minimum and he lay back once more, waiting unhappily for the pills to take effect.
Finch rose awkwardly, stretching his neck as much as he could and Reese suddenly felt bad for being a difficult patient.
“How do you know?” He asked softly as Finch picked up the tray to dispose of it.
“Pardon me?” Finch replied confused.
“How do you know something catastrophic will happen while I’m out?” Reese clarified, then smiled sleepily, “Your Machine tell the future now too?”
“No, Mr. Reese, you told me.” Finch informed him with a slight lift of his lips, “When Bear came to stay, you said if anyone messes with me, he’ll eat them. A bit like you in that respect.”
Reese chuckled and looked at the dog, who was wagging his tail happily, seemingly content that his owners were in a better way than before.
“Thanks, for taking care of me Harold.” Reese said softly before he began to drift of to sleep. He thought he heard a soft “Anytime, John”, but he could be mistaken.
-The End