POI FanFic: "For His Private Viewing Only..."
Author: Chimera_12
Character: Harold Finch, John Reese, Bear
Rating: MATURE!
Summary: (Written in PAST TENSE)
“Reese was more than surprised, he was dumbfounded! Was this the formal, reserved man he’d come to know over the last couple of years? The man who had made privacy an art form, who kept himself apart from all, eschewing any overt signs of emotion..." This is a Rinch fic. (S4; John Reese, Harold Finch, Bear; POV Reese)
------------------------------
Finally! A little down time!
It had been a long, hectic week with a rash of activity born out of the Machine’s numbers…sandwiched in between the precincts two new murder cases. He was exhausted, had been damn near sleep walking through the precinct the last several hours. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d had to respond to another summons from his shrink!
Given that he’d just left one of those sessions, he could unequivocally state her persistent hammering to get him to define his emotional valence - whatever that meant - had drained him more than all the other activities put together! He’d already attempted to give her what he thought she wanted to hear, and if he had to sit through one more lecture on the importance of processing feelings he’d simply start wearing ear plugs…since his Captain wouldn’t let him skip those meetings, and offing the doc was not an option!
“Ah, well, Finch will be here soon,” he informed Bear, as he absently reached out to caress the dog’s ears. “Then we can discuss something other than me!” The canine agreed, as always, and was quick to accommodate the Alpha, turning his head one way then the other to take advantage of the human’s talented fingers.
Meanwhile, the subway car still has at least one bench left intact...
Reese removed his jacket and folding it into a makeshift pillow, stretched out his long length as Bear lay down next to the bench. When the Leader naps, so does the pack… But as he felt himself drifting off, the sudden rattle of the outside gate had the ex-op fully alert and up into a sitting position.
“Finch…?”
And Harold Finch it was indeed, standing at the entrance of the car and looking worse for wear. Gone was the spiffy, stylish professor, in his place a somewhat familiar individual but with glasses perched crookedly on his nose, a tie almost undone, and whose whole demeanor was one of slovenly nonchalance. Definitely un-Finch like!
“Harold! Are you alright?”
Reese was up and moving…as Finch laboriously straightened his glass frames while emitting what sounded suspiciously like a giggle. The effort to adjust his glasses caused the smaller man to weave in the doorway, seemingly ready to faceplant before ex-op caught him by the elbows and steered him to the bench.
Satisfied his charge was no longer in danger of falling, Reese knelt down in front of the geek and did a careful inspection of his part-time employer. No scratches, no cuts, no bruises. No torn or dirty clothing. But there was definitely a problem here as Finch seemed to exhibit all the signs of being inebriated. Or was it maybe meds related?
“Harold, did you have a mix up in your pills? You seem a little…unsteady.”
“Oh… You have such blue eyes…!”
“Finch! Answer me!” Reese snapped, more than a little unsettled by the response and bleary stare.
“What…? Oh, pills. No pills. Just a little drinky-drinky!” Finch touched the ex-agent on the nose. “D’ya know…handsome is simply a matter of symmetry? ‘N you’ve a beautiful symmetrical face…”
Reese blinked at the unexpected comment, then focusing on the problem at hand said, “Where did you go Harold? What kind of drink?”
“A bubbly drink. Just a little one…” Finch responded, giving a visual image with thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward and in a conspiratorial whisper continued, “Nice young lady brought it to me.”
A hiccup, then another giggle. “She had red hair. An’ likes d’Chiri…(hic)…de Chirico paintings…”
“A student, Finch? Some girl took you to a bar to go drinking?” Reese felt his anger begin to rise.
“No…no! ‘course not!” replied Finch, pulling up straight, his affront evident. “Students are much too young…” He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “An’ I don’t go to bars! T’was an art event...”
This was getting him nowhere. Finch was obviously in no shape to have a lucid conversation, and he had no intention of dragging information out of the man a word at a time. What he could conclude now was that some red head had gotten under Harold’s radar by appealing to his love of art - then had offered the older man a drink. With the powerful pain killers he knew Finch to have been prescribed, it wouldn’t take much alcohol to achieve this effect.
Or…maybe that “lady” conveniently slipped something into his glass!
But whatever, however, it had been administered, Finch’s mental functioning was definitely impaired! He’d be willing to bet that if he were to check the older man’s pockets he would probably find his wallet missing…Reese glanced at Finch’s bare wrist…along with his expensive watch.
Well, he’d pursue the perps for that later! What Finch needed now was a lot of water and to sleep off…whatever this was. With that decision made, Reese assisted the recluse into a standing position and with one arm around the smaller man’s shoulders pulled him into his more substantial frame and started moving him toward the second car, snagging a couple of bottles of water on the way.
In this car, all the benches had been removed to make room for the several cabinets that housed first aid supplies, computer paraphernalia, and their weapons stash. And at the rear of the car, a cot large enough to hold even his tall frame. He steered Finch to the bed and thrust a bottle into the older man’s hands as he did so.
“All right. Here’s the water…yes, the whole thing,” he ordered, pushing the plastic bottle back into the geek’s hands when it was returned after only a couple of sips. “Now sit down and take off the tie...”
“Can’t. Drinkin’ water.” Finch tipped back his head and took another swallow, which immediately caused him to sway on his feet once more. Reese sighed and stepped in behind his boss to brace him by the shoulders while Finch finished the last of the water.
“There…” Harold declared proudly, tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder and turning to face his employee. “All gone. Now y’can do the tie.”
There’s this thing about people impaired by liquor or drugs, Reese thinks. There’s really no point in arguing with them as that logical part of the brain temporarily takes a hiatus. So the ex-agent shook his head in resignation, thankful that at least Finch wasn’t going to fight him concerning the need to sleep, and proceeded to undo the half fastened tie as the genius-geek hung onto his suit lapels for balance.
But as Reese removed the strip of cloth from his boss’s neck, Finch slipped his hands inside the ex-op’s jacket, plastering his full length against the taller man’s body.
“Harold…?”
“You’re so…so…tall!” Finch slurred, his hands drawing lazy circles on his employee’s back.
Well, this was unexpected! And for several seconds Reese stood in motionless confusion before he gently removed his boss’s arms from around his middle. Finch didn’t resist but immediately replaced his hands on the ex-op’s arms for balance while he huddled once more against the ex-agents chest.
“Uh…Harold? I really think you need to lie down,” said Reese, as he gently grasped the older man’s wrists to remove that tight grip from his suit. He took a step back and proceeded to pull Finch in the direction of the cot.
“ ‘Kay..” And with that pronouncement the older man suddenly leaned forward, catching Reese off balance and followed the taller man down to the bed.
Reese was more than surprised, he was dumbfounded! Was this the formal, reserved man he had come to know over the last couple of years? The man who kept himself apart from all, who eschewed any overt signs of emotion - well, other than where Grace was concerned.
That same man who normally avoided any physical contact was now curled comfortably against him…and beginning to snore lightly, if he wasn’t mistaken in the sound emitting from those slack lips.
Reese was baffled and turned on his side in preparation to crawl over the sleeping form and remove himself from the cot. His intentions were of the purest…but he got no further. . For some inexplicable reason his muscles had stopped responding to orders from Operation Central!
He should get up, even if it meant waking Harold. He really should. The reclusive geek would be totally embarrassed if he were sober. Or if, when he sobered up, remembered any of…of this. But Harold was apparently asleep already. And it was comfortable, with that pleasant weight pressed snugly against his chest, his stomach. Groin.
With a start he realized his body was reacting to their intimate position. He needed to move, needed to push Finch away from him - needed to put space between them!
But instead of responding to that logical command from brain central, his arm instead draped around the slighter body, pulling it closer into an even more comfortable position, as he rested his chin on the short hair. So what was wrong with this anyway? He was relaxed, Harold was relaxed - and if he was reacting in a...intimate…way to another male? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.
His past employers had made full use of every weapon at their disposal, and Reese and Kara had been effective weapons in every sense of the word - not just in the use of various hardware. If gathering intel, or simply getting close to their prey had meant having to use their sexual appeal, then that’s what had happened. It mattered little if the target had preferred males or females; that had only determined which of the pair had been chosen for the task.
Both he and Kara had been utilized in such a manner, to the point where the expected arousal response had become simply a matter of applied mental control, learned behavior. Both had become experts at it…and hadn’t that just made them a successful pair of porn stars..!
Only one problem with that rationalization: he wasn’t currently in control of this…this reaction!
He let that realization sink in for several minutes, acknowledging its significance while taking pleasure in its existence. This could present a considerable and unique problem for him, because it was not a situation he could put to any empirical testing. Or want to. Take advantage of a friend who was impaired by drink or drugs...no. That was not going to happen. But then, what should be his path going forward?
“Mr. Reese?”
The support was suddenly removed from under his arm, and to the sound of an audible huff, disappeared entirely. Reese rolled on his back. He turned his head, confused, and blearily made out the form of his part-time employer standing over him, Bear at his side.
Slowly the brain fog dissipated and as he continued to stare at Finch, his gray matter resumed its functioning. So when did Harold get dressed? The geek was wearing a tie now, and in his perfectly styled, perfectly pressed conservative suit, looked every bit the professor he was.
“You asked that I wake you after 2 hours, John. And we’ve got a new Number.”
Reese nodded absently, running a hand over his face as he attempted to wipe the remaining cobwebs from his brain. He rose to a sitting position, pulling the coat out from under his head as he did so and positioned it nonchalantly - or so he fervently hoped - to cover his hips. Raking his fingers through his hair, he wrestled for physical control.
What would his shrink make of all this? Likely she wouldn’t be shocked, he answered himself, but she’d want him to talk it about it, define his “emotional valence” once more and explore the “nuances of his suppressed feelings”!
But this little episode, this memory, would remain his own, to be retrieved for his private viewing only…
Harold stood waiting on him.
“And Mr. Reese, I really wish you wouldn’t let Bear sleep on this cot with you!”
End
(This fic is also available in Present Tense: "For His Private Viewing Only..."
Character: Harold Finch, John Reese, Bear
Rating: MATURE!
Summary: (Written in PAST TENSE)
“Reese was more than surprised, he was dumbfounded! Was this the formal, reserved man he’d come to know over the last couple of years? The man who had made privacy an art form, who kept himself apart from all, eschewing any overt signs of emotion..." This is a Rinch fic. (S4; John Reese, Harold Finch, Bear; POV Reese)
------------------------------
Finally! A little down time!
It had been a long, hectic week with a rash of activity born out of the Machine’s numbers…sandwiched in between the precincts two new murder cases. He was exhausted, had been damn near sleep walking through the precinct the last several hours. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d had to respond to another summons from his shrink!
Given that he’d just left one of those sessions, he could unequivocally state her persistent hammering to get him to define his emotional valence - whatever that meant - had drained him more than all the other activities put together! He’d already attempted to give her what he thought she wanted to hear, and if he had to sit through one more lecture on the importance of processing feelings he’d simply start wearing ear plugs…since his Captain wouldn’t let him skip those meetings, and offing the doc was not an option!
“Ah, well, Finch will be here soon,” he informed Bear, as he absently reached out to caress the dog’s ears. “Then we can discuss something other than me!” The canine agreed, as always, and was quick to accommodate the Alpha, turning his head one way then the other to take advantage of the human’s talented fingers.
Meanwhile, the subway car still has at least one bench left intact...
Reese removed his jacket and folding it into a makeshift pillow, stretched out his long length as Bear lay down next to the bench. When the Leader naps, so does the pack… But as he felt himself drifting off, the sudden rattle of the outside gate had the ex-op fully alert and up into a sitting position.
“Finch…?”
And Harold Finch it was indeed, standing at the entrance of the car and looking worse for wear. Gone was the spiffy, stylish professor, in his place a somewhat familiar individual but with glasses perched crookedly on his nose, a tie almost undone, and whose whole demeanor was one of slovenly nonchalance. Definitely un-Finch like!
“Harold! Are you alright?”
Reese was up and moving…as Finch laboriously straightened his glass frames while emitting what sounded suspiciously like a giggle. The effort to adjust his glasses caused the smaller man to weave in the doorway, seemingly ready to faceplant before ex-op caught him by the elbows and steered him to the bench.
Satisfied his charge was no longer in danger of falling, Reese knelt down in front of the geek and did a careful inspection of his part-time employer. No scratches, no cuts, no bruises. No torn or dirty clothing. But there was definitely a problem here as Finch seemed to exhibit all the signs of being inebriated. Or was it maybe meds related?
“Harold, did you have a mix up in your pills? You seem a little…unsteady.”
“Oh… You have such blue eyes…!”
“Finch! Answer me!” Reese snapped, more than a little unsettled by the response and bleary stare.
“What…? Oh, pills. No pills. Just a little drinky-drinky!” Finch touched the ex-agent on the nose. “D’ya know…handsome is simply a matter of symmetry? ‘N you’ve a beautiful symmetrical face…”
Reese blinked at the unexpected comment, then focusing on the problem at hand said, “Where did you go Harold? What kind of drink?”
“A bubbly drink. Just a little one…” Finch responded, giving a visual image with thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward and in a conspiratorial whisper continued, “Nice young lady brought it to me.”
A hiccup, then another giggle. “She had red hair. An’ likes d’Chiri…(hic)…de Chirico paintings…”
“A student, Finch? Some girl took you to a bar to go drinking?” Reese felt his anger begin to rise.
“No…no! ‘course not!” replied Finch, pulling up straight, his affront evident. “Students are much too young…” He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “An’ I don’t go to bars! T’was an art event...”
This was getting him nowhere. Finch was obviously in no shape to have a lucid conversation, and he had no intention of dragging information out of the man a word at a time. What he could conclude now was that some red head had gotten under Harold’s radar by appealing to his love of art - then had offered the older man a drink. With the powerful pain killers he knew Finch to have been prescribed, it wouldn’t take much alcohol to achieve this effect.
Or…maybe that “lady” conveniently slipped something into his glass!
But whatever, however, it had been administered, Finch’s mental functioning was definitely impaired! He’d be willing to bet that if he were to check the older man’s pockets he would probably find his wallet missing…Reese glanced at Finch’s bare wrist…along with his expensive watch.
Well, he’d pursue the perps for that later! What Finch needed now was a lot of water and to sleep off…whatever this was. With that decision made, Reese assisted the recluse into a standing position and with one arm around the smaller man’s shoulders pulled him into his more substantial frame and started moving him toward the second car, snagging a couple of bottles of water on the way.
In this car, all the benches had been removed to make room for the several cabinets that housed first aid supplies, computer paraphernalia, and their weapons stash. And at the rear of the car, a cot large enough to hold even his tall frame. He steered Finch to the bed and thrust a bottle into the older man’s hands as he did so.
“All right. Here’s the water…yes, the whole thing,” he ordered, pushing the plastic bottle back into the geek’s hands when it was returned after only a couple of sips. “Now sit down and take off the tie...”
“Can’t. Drinkin’ water.” Finch tipped back his head and took another swallow, which immediately caused him to sway on his feet once more. Reese sighed and stepped in behind his boss to brace him by the shoulders while Finch finished the last of the water.
“There…” Harold declared proudly, tossing the empty bottle over his shoulder and turning to face his employee. “All gone. Now y’can do the tie.”
There’s this thing about people impaired by liquor or drugs, Reese thinks. There’s really no point in arguing with them as that logical part of the brain temporarily takes a hiatus. So the ex-agent shook his head in resignation, thankful that at least Finch wasn’t going to fight him concerning the need to sleep, and proceeded to undo the half fastened tie as the genius-geek hung onto his suit lapels for balance.
But as Reese removed the strip of cloth from his boss’s neck, Finch slipped his hands inside the ex-op’s jacket, plastering his full length against the taller man’s body.
“Harold…?”
“You’re so…so…tall!” Finch slurred, his hands drawing lazy circles on his employee’s back.
Well, this was unexpected! And for several seconds Reese stood in motionless confusion before he gently removed his boss’s arms from around his middle. Finch didn’t resist but immediately replaced his hands on the ex-op’s arms for balance while he huddled once more against the ex-agents chest.
“Uh…Harold? I really think you need to lie down,” said Reese, as he gently grasped the older man’s wrists to remove that tight grip from his suit. He took a step back and proceeded to pull Finch in the direction of the cot.
“ ‘Kay..” And with that pronouncement the older man suddenly leaned forward, catching Reese off balance and followed the taller man down to the bed.
Reese was more than surprised, he was dumbfounded! Was this the formal, reserved man he had come to know over the last couple of years? The man who kept himself apart from all, who eschewed any overt signs of emotion - well, other than where Grace was concerned.
That same man who normally avoided any physical contact was now curled comfortably against him…and beginning to snore lightly, if he wasn’t mistaken in the sound emitting from those slack lips.
Reese was baffled and turned on his side in preparation to crawl over the sleeping form and remove himself from the cot. His intentions were of the purest…but he got no further. . For some inexplicable reason his muscles had stopped responding to orders from Operation Central!
He should get up, even if it meant waking Harold. He really should. The reclusive geek would be totally embarrassed if he were sober. Or if, when he sobered up, remembered any of…of this. But Harold was apparently asleep already. And it was comfortable, with that pleasant weight pressed snugly against his chest, his stomach. Groin.
With a start he realized his body was reacting to their intimate position. He needed to move, needed to push Finch away from him - needed to put space between them!
But instead of responding to that logical command from brain central, his arm instead draped around the slighter body, pulling it closer into an even more comfortable position, as he rested his chin on the short hair. So what was wrong with this anyway? He was relaxed, Harold was relaxed - and if he was reacting in a...intimate…way to another male? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.
His past employers had made full use of every weapon at their disposal, and Reese and Kara had been effective weapons in every sense of the word - not just in the use of various hardware. If gathering intel, or simply getting close to their prey had meant having to use their sexual appeal, then that’s what had happened. It mattered little if the target had preferred males or females; that had only determined which of the pair had been chosen for the task.
Both he and Kara had been utilized in such a manner, to the point where the expected arousal response had become simply a matter of applied mental control, learned behavior. Both had become experts at it…and hadn’t that just made them a successful pair of porn stars..!
Only one problem with that rationalization: he wasn’t currently in control of this…this reaction!
He let that realization sink in for several minutes, acknowledging its significance while taking pleasure in its existence. This could present a considerable and unique problem for him, because it was not a situation he could put to any empirical testing. Or want to. Take advantage of a friend who was impaired by drink or drugs...no. That was not going to happen. But then, what should be his path going forward?
“Mr. Reese?”
The support was suddenly removed from under his arm, and to the sound of an audible huff, disappeared entirely. Reese rolled on his back. He turned his head, confused, and blearily made out the form of his part-time employer standing over him, Bear at his side.
Slowly the brain fog dissipated and as he continued to stare at Finch, his gray matter resumed its functioning. So when did Harold get dressed? The geek was wearing a tie now, and in his perfectly styled, perfectly pressed conservative suit, looked every bit the professor he was.
“You asked that I wake you after 2 hours, John. And we’ve got a new Number.”
Reese nodded absently, running a hand over his face as he attempted to wipe the remaining cobwebs from his brain. He rose to a sitting position, pulling the coat out from under his head as he did so and positioned it nonchalantly - or so he fervently hoped - to cover his hips. Raking his fingers through his hair, he wrestled for physical control.
What would his shrink make of all this? Likely she wouldn’t be shocked, he answered himself, but she’d want him to talk it about it, define his “emotional valence” once more and explore the “nuances of his suppressed feelings”!
But this little episode, this memory, would remain his own, to be retrieved for his private viewing only…
Harold stood waiting on him.
“And Mr. Reese, I really wish you wouldn’t let Bear sleep on this cot with you!”
End
(This fic is also available in Present Tense: "For His Private Viewing Only..."