PoI: Loyal
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: "If anyone ever messes with you, he'll eat 'em." Or why no one should ever attempt to rob Mr. Finch.
Pairing: Could be seen as pre-slash Reese/Finch
Warnings: written at 2 am?
A/N: Ok, I've been trying for the past two weeks to write anything! Finally I forced this out of my damn writer-blocked skull. And it is probably full of mistakes. I apologize.
.
“Doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist.”
“Oh he’s not, but if anyone ever messes with you, he’ll eat ‘em.”
.
Finch was well aware that Reese had lied to him; his apartment had no such policy regarding pets. Finch had planned for every eventuality and getting a pet certainly wasn’t implausible. But he allowed Reese this one discrepancy; he knew it was either this distraction or Reese’s subtle version “over-protective” monitoring which he could do without. He sees the way Reese’s eyes soften around him, the way he lingers at the edges of his periphery, just watching, guarding. It should bother him.
It doesn’t.
.
Bear, he admits, isn’t too bad; chewed books, shedding fur and wet, enthusiastic kisses notwithstanding (although he didn’t really mind that last one). Not that he’d ever tell Reese that. He almost found it hard to believe that Bear could attack anyone; the dog had certainly never been aggressive with him, only offering him sloppy smiles and affectionate, unwavering loyalty.
It was a week after their second number since his return that Bear proved just how dangerous-how protective he could truly become.
.
It was still hard for Finch to leave the safety of his library, but his panic attacks had slowly diminished until only small remnants of his terror remained creeping up on him from time to time. He had only gotten three blocks away when he saw a younger man; barely out of high school approach him, his clothes dark and unassuming, his face dark with greed and anger.
Finch stopped dead, the cold dead weight of terror making his limbs feel heavier than they are, not that he could outrun the would-be thief regardless.
“Hey old man,” the thief raised his voice, an obvious attempt to intimidate. “Your wallet, now!”
Swallowing thickly Finch reached for his wallet, its not like he couldn’t afford to be robbed; the thief stepped closer, seemingly blind to the dog at Finch’s side when Bear suddenly leapt forward with a snarl, pulling the leash out from his hands and tackled the younger man to the ground.
Finch could only watch in some odd detachment that this was Bear, the sweet dog that begged to play catch when he was in between searches, the dog that would rest his head on his bad leg to soothe the aching cold away from the damaged muscle. That same dog now had a good grip on the thief’s arm, Bear’s sharp teeth tearing through clothing and skin.
The terrified scream of thief brought Finch sharply out of his thoughts. “Hey man, I’m sorry-I’m sorry,” a sharp yelp of pain interrupted his panic monologue as he tried to form half pleading apologies.
Finch took a deep breath, realizing that nothing was going to happen to him. He wasn’t going to be robbed or beaten and for the first time since he’d been rescued from Root, without Reese nearby, he felt safe.
He sighed, all right; time to get Bear off the poor boy before he lost his arm.
“Bear,” he said sternly, “lass lof.”
Without a seconds delay the dog released the would-be thief, coming to sit obediently at his feet, the dog’s same sloppy smile there to greet him as if nothing unusual had happened at all. The hard, rigid aggression had gone away with the simple command; Bear’s body now soft and inviting.
He glanced over at the thief, feeling slightly sick at the sight of the mangled arm, but made no move to assist the thief who was still crying and writhing in pain. Pulling out his phone, he supposed the boy deserved the help of the paramedics and then be arrested for the attempted mugging.
“Come on,” he said, turning back to Bear, who had now the leash in his jaws. As he took the offered leash he saw the traces of the man’s blood on the dog’s jagged teeth, but couldn’t muster up the feeling of terror or disgust as he looked into Bear’s loyal, adoring eyes. He was only protecting me. Reaching down, he stroked Bear’s soft head. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Bear just licked his hand and followed.
Please review.
Summary: "If anyone ever messes with you, he'll eat 'em." Or why no one should ever attempt to rob Mr. Finch.
Pairing: Could be seen as pre-slash Reese/Finch
Warnings: written at 2 am?
A/N: Ok, I've been trying for the past two weeks to write anything! Finally I forced this out of my damn writer-blocked skull. And it is probably full of mistakes. I apologize.
.
“Doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist.”
“Oh he’s not, but if anyone ever messes with you, he’ll eat ‘em.”
.
Finch was well aware that Reese had lied to him; his apartment had no such policy regarding pets. Finch had planned for every eventuality and getting a pet certainly wasn’t implausible. But he allowed Reese this one discrepancy; he knew it was either this distraction or Reese’s subtle version “over-protective” monitoring which he could do without. He sees the way Reese’s eyes soften around him, the way he lingers at the edges of his periphery, just watching, guarding. It should bother him.
It doesn’t.
.
Bear, he admits, isn’t too bad; chewed books, shedding fur and wet, enthusiastic kisses notwithstanding (although he didn’t really mind that last one). Not that he’d ever tell Reese that. He almost found it hard to believe that Bear could attack anyone; the dog had certainly never been aggressive with him, only offering him sloppy smiles and affectionate, unwavering loyalty.
It was a week after their second number since his return that Bear proved just how dangerous-how protective he could truly become.
.
It was still hard for Finch to leave the safety of his library, but his panic attacks had slowly diminished until only small remnants of his terror remained creeping up on him from time to time. He had only gotten three blocks away when he saw a younger man; barely out of high school approach him, his clothes dark and unassuming, his face dark with greed and anger.
Finch stopped dead, the cold dead weight of terror making his limbs feel heavier than they are, not that he could outrun the would-be thief regardless.
“Hey old man,” the thief raised his voice, an obvious attempt to intimidate. “Your wallet, now!”
Swallowing thickly Finch reached for his wallet, its not like he couldn’t afford to be robbed; the thief stepped closer, seemingly blind to the dog at Finch’s side when Bear suddenly leapt forward with a snarl, pulling the leash out from his hands and tackled the younger man to the ground.
Finch could only watch in some odd detachment that this was Bear, the sweet dog that begged to play catch when he was in between searches, the dog that would rest his head on his bad leg to soothe the aching cold away from the damaged muscle. That same dog now had a good grip on the thief’s arm, Bear’s sharp teeth tearing through clothing and skin.
The terrified scream of thief brought Finch sharply out of his thoughts. “Hey man, I’m sorry-I’m sorry,” a sharp yelp of pain interrupted his panic monologue as he tried to form half pleading apologies.
Finch took a deep breath, realizing that nothing was going to happen to him. He wasn’t going to be robbed or beaten and for the first time since he’d been rescued from Root, without Reese nearby, he felt safe.
He sighed, all right; time to get Bear off the poor boy before he lost his arm.
“Bear,” he said sternly, “lass lof.”
Without a seconds delay the dog released the would-be thief, coming to sit obediently at his feet, the dog’s same sloppy smile there to greet him as if nothing unusual had happened at all. The hard, rigid aggression had gone away with the simple command; Bear’s body now soft and inviting.
He glanced over at the thief, feeling slightly sick at the sight of the mangled arm, but made no move to assist the thief who was still crying and writhing in pain. Pulling out his phone, he supposed the boy deserved the help of the paramedics and then be arrested for the attempted mugging.
“Come on,” he said, turning back to Bear, who had now the leash in his jaws. As he took the offered leash he saw the traces of the man’s blood on the dog’s jagged teeth, but couldn’t muster up the feeling of terror or disgust as he looked into Bear’s loyal, adoring eyes. He was only protecting me. Reaching down, he stroked Bear’s soft head. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Bear just licked his hand and followed.
Please review.