Coma Boy
TItle: Coma Boy
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: FInch/Reese
Rated R for references to violence/child abuse!
Was posted on tumblr with a different title - a response to a request for prompts!
John paced the room in the private clinic, the one that Finch had built and staffed, no longer willing to rely on morgue workers, however talented, to attend to their health. Numbly, he glanced at the figure in the bed, so small and insignificant compared to the bristling, brilliant personality John relied upon.
It had been a normal case, normal except that he had needed Finch out in the field as he and Carter and Fusco tried to contain a potential lethal combination of a strung-out dealer, his careworn wife and baby, a meth lab and a rival gang. It was only when things had been taken care of and Fusco and Carter had back up take away the living and an ambulance take away the injured and dead, that John realize that Finch hadn’t arrived. It was a car accident, a simple, everyday accident and it was two weeks and Finch had yet to return to him.
He’s there, asleep with head resting next to Finch’s side when a hand grabs his hair, pulling hard.
“Jonathan! Thank God you came back!” whimpers Finch, his eyes unfocused and full of tears. “Henry is sick and Mama hit him and kicked him down the cellar stairs. Hurry and help me find the key before she wakes up again!”
John grabbed the flailing hands, holding them with down with his right hand while stroking Finch’s head with the other. “Harold, shhh… Harold, I’m here!” he said, as soothingly as he could.
“Who is Harold, Jonathan? I’m Danny! You need to help Henry - Mama hates it when he coughs so much and now I can’t even hear him down there,” Finch cried. “Don’t you ever run away again! We need you!” Finch cried and cried until he finally quieted - in sleep, John thought, not back into the coma. It was only then that he dared call the nurses and Dr. Tillman.
She checked Finch’s vital signs, opened his eyes-pupils now reacting normally to the light. “Things like this happen,” Meg said, trying to reassure him. “It might be a while before Harold is back to normal. He might drift like this for a while - he seems to think you are someone he used to know, his brother, maybe. With any luck, it will be temporary - just go along with it,” she advised John.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
When Finch woke up again, the next morning, he smiled when John addressed him as ‘Danny’.
“I knew you’d still be back, Jonathan. Did the Army let you go on leave?”
John smiled, nodding, tightening his grip on the pale hand he held.
“It’s so good that you send us money, Jonathan, even though Mama drinks it up. I take what I can from her wallet after she passes out. Henry, oh, I think Henry is using again. I found another stash down in the cellar - his needle kit and a baggy. He isn’t going to class and I had to sneak into the school at night to change his grades on the computer. I’m really good at it - they’ll never find out! He’s got to graduate, Jonathan!”
John didn’t flinch a bit when Harold buried his face against his shoulder, his tears and running nose dampening his shirt. “You’re doing fine, Danny. I knew you would be great with computers - you’re so smart,” he whispered, kissing the top of Harold’s head. “I’m here now and I’ll help Henry get clean.”
“Will you drive us to the clinic?” Finch asked. “I don’t even have my permit yet, even though Mama makes me drive her to the bar.”
“I will,” John answered, holding on until Harold fell back asleep.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He called Fusco, giving him the news and checking in to make sure that Bear was behaving, managing a smile when realized that the laughter in the background was Mickey playing tug with him. “Dr. Tillman thinks he’s coming around but he’s still not back yet.”
Finch did make progress, gradually sitting up more, staying awake in a half-hearted way. Another week went by and he was able to stand and walk again, using the restroom with no problems but talking only occasionally and only about the most general of things. John went and bought a collection of old Warner Brothers cartoons and they spent the afternoon, after lunch and naptime, watching and laughing.
John brought Bear in to visit.
“Sultan!” Harold yelled, grabbing and kissing Bear, allowing the happy dog to climb onto the bed for hugs. “But, but Jonathan, Sultan died, remember? Mama got mad one night and took a knife…” Harold collapsed against Bear, holding him and sobbing.
“Hey, Danny! Look! Sultan’s fine! He was just pretending and the neighbors brought him to the vets and he got better.”
“But, Jonathan - the blood! There was so much. I couldn’t stop her - she stabbed me, first and I couldn’t move,” gasped Finch, cradling his side, looking for the wound that was now just a silvery scar. John reached for the drawer to pull out a sedative with which to inject the despondent man but Finch was already falling asleep, curled next to Bear.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
John continued to sleep on the couch next to Finch’s bed, leaving only to shower when Meg gave up hinting and told him that he stank. He always waited until Finch was asleep.
There was enough light from the room’s equipment and the moon outside so that John, with only a towel around his waist, returned to the room. His back was turned and he only knew that Harold had woken when he heard a startled gasp from the bed.
“Jonathan! What happened to your back?”
John kicked himself for not re-dressing in the bathroom. His scars, damn it, so many of them were visible even in the relative dark of the room.
“Danny, I got hurt. But it’s all right. I’m all healed up - see?” He sat down on the bed, twisting so that he could show Harold the scars - some tangled knots of raised tissue, others sad divots of formerly proud flesh. Harold traced his fingers up and down them, crying.
“But, Jonathan - they came - the officers. They said that you’d been killed in basic training - an accident…” he whispered. “Then Mama and Henry fought and she’s been digging a hole down in the cellar. I need to run - I can change my name and run where she can’t find me.”
“You do that Danny,” choked John. “I’ll do what I can to help - just run.”
“Ok,” Finch agreed. “Don’t look for Danny - my new name is Harold. Don’t forget, promise?”
“I promise. And Harold - that’s a really great name. I won’t forget,” swore John.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
His t-shirt sleeve was being tugged and John turned over on the uncomfortable couch, batting away whatever it was that was messing with him. The tugging turned into a light tapping on his cheeks and his eyes opened to Finch, hovering over him with a gentle smile.
“Wake up, John,” he said. “I’m sure we’ve overslept and there might be a number.”
“Danny?”
Finch stepped back, staggering, John only just catching him in time, pulling him safely onto his lap.
“Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time…a long time,” said Finch, faintly.
“You were in an accident, Harold - a coma. You’re better now but for a while you were Danny.”
“And you were Jonathan. My oldest brother,” gasped Finch. “So, I must have told you…everything.”
“You told me enough,” said John, his voice muffled as he held Harold closer. “You were very brave, Harold.”
“Not like you, John,” argued Harold.
“No - more so,” John replied. “You are the bravest person I know, Harold Finch. And if I had been braver, I wouldn’t have waited until now to tell you how much I love you.”
“Why, I love you, John,” sighed Harold, leaning in for a kiss.
Author: kmmerc
Pairing: FInch/Reese
Rated R for references to violence/child abuse!
Was posted on tumblr with a different title - a response to a request for prompts!
John paced the room in the private clinic, the one that Finch had built and staffed, no longer willing to rely on morgue workers, however talented, to attend to their health. Numbly, he glanced at the figure in the bed, so small and insignificant compared to the bristling, brilliant personality John relied upon.
It had been a normal case, normal except that he had needed Finch out in the field as he and Carter and Fusco tried to contain a potential lethal combination of a strung-out dealer, his careworn wife and baby, a meth lab and a rival gang. It was only when things had been taken care of and Fusco and Carter had back up take away the living and an ambulance take away the injured and dead, that John realize that Finch hadn’t arrived. It was a car accident, a simple, everyday accident and it was two weeks and Finch had yet to return to him.
He’s there, asleep with head resting next to Finch’s side when a hand grabs his hair, pulling hard.
“Jonathan! Thank God you came back!” whimpers Finch, his eyes unfocused and full of tears. “Henry is sick and Mama hit him and kicked him down the cellar stairs. Hurry and help me find the key before she wakes up again!”
John grabbed the flailing hands, holding them with down with his right hand while stroking Finch’s head with the other. “Harold, shhh… Harold, I’m here!” he said, as soothingly as he could.
“Who is Harold, Jonathan? I’m Danny! You need to help Henry - Mama hates it when he coughs so much and now I can’t even hear him down there,” Finch cried. “Don’t you ever run away again! We need you!” Finch cried and cried until he finally quieted - in sleep, John thought, not back into the coma. It was only then that he dared call the nurses and Dr. Tillman.
She checked Finch’s vital signs, opened his eyes-pupils now reacting normally to the light. “Things like this happen,” Meg said, trying to reassure him. “It might be a while before Harold is back to normal. He might drift like this for a while - he seems to think you are someone he used to know, his brother, maybe. With any luck, it will be temporary - just go along with it,” she advised John.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
When Finch woke up again, the next morning, he smiled when John addressed him as ‘Danny’.
“I knew you’d still be back, Jonathan. Did the Army let you go on leave?”
John smiled, nodding, tightening his grip on the pale hand he held.
“It’s so good that you send us money, Jonathan, even though Mama drinks it up. I take what I can from her wallet after she passes out. Henry, oh, I think Henry is using again. I found another stash down in the cellar - his needle kit and a baggy. He isn’t going to class and I had to sneak into the school at night to change his grades on the computer. I’m really good at it - they’ll never find out! He’s got to graduate, Jonathan!”
John didn’t flinch a bit when Harold buried his face against his shoulder, his tears and running nose dampening his shirt. “You’re doing fine, Danny. I knew you would be great with computers - you’re so smart,” he whispered, kissing the top of Harold’s head. “I’m here now and I’ll help Henry get clean.”
“Will you drive us to the clinic?” Finch asked. “I don’t even have my permit yet, even though Mama makes me drive her to the bar.”
“I will,” John answered, holding on until Harold fell back asleep.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He called Fusco, giving him the news and checking in to make sure that Bear was behaving, managing a smile when realized that the laughter in the background was Mickey playing tug with him. “Dr. Tillman thinks he’s coming around but he’s still not back yet.”
Finch did make progress, gradually sitting up more, staying awake in a half-hearted way. Another week went by and he was able to stand and walk again, using the restroom with no problems but talking only occasionally and only about the most general of things. John went and bought a collection of old Warner Brothers cartoons and they spent the afternoon, after lunch and naptime, watching and laughing.
John brought Bear in to visit.
“Sultan!” Harold yelled, grabbing and kissing Bear, allowing the happy dog to climb onto the bed for hugs. “But, but Jonathan, Sultan died, remember? Mama got mad one night and took a knife…” Harold collapsed against Bear, holding him and sobbing.
“Hey, Danny! Look! Sultan’s fine! He was just pretending and the neighbors brought him to the vets and he got better.”
“But, Jonathan - the blood! There was so much. I couldn’t stop her - she stabbed me, first and I couldn’t move,” gasped Finch, cradling his side, looking for the wound that was now just a silvery scar. John reached for the drawer to pull out a sedative with which to inject the despondent man but Finch was already falling asleep, curled next to Bear.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
John continued to sleep on the couch next to Finch’s bed, leaving only to shower when Meg gave up hinting and told him that he stank. He always waited until Finch was asleep.
There was enough light from the room’s equipment and the moon outside so that John, with only a towel around his waist, returned to the room. His back was turned and he only knew that Harold had woken when he heard a startled gasp from the bed.
“Jonathan! What happened to your back?”
John kicked himself for not re-dressing in the bathroom. His scars, damn it, so many of them were visible even in the relative dark of the room.
“Danny, I got hurt. But it’s all right. I’m all healed up - see?” He sat down on the bed, twisting so that he could show Harold the scars - some tangled knots of raised tissue, others sad divots of formerly proud flesh. Harold traced his fingers up and down them, crying.
“But, Jonathan - they came - the officers. They said that you’d been killed in basic training - an accident…” he whispered. “Then Mama and Henry fought and she’s been digging a hole down in the cellar. I need to run - I can change my name and run where she can’t find me.”
“You do that Danny,” choked John. “I’ll do what I can to help - just run.”
“Ok,” Finch agreed. “Don’t look for Danny - my new name is Harold. Don’t forget, promise?”
“I promise. And Harold - that’s a really great name. I won’t forget,” swore John.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
His t-shirt sleeve was being tugged and John turned over on the uncomfortable couch, batting away whatever it was that was messing with him. The tugging turned into a light tapping on his cheeks and his eyes opened to Finch, hovering over him with a gentle smile.
“Wake up, John,” he said. “I’m sure we’ve overslept and there might be a number.”
“Danny?”
Finch stepped back, staggering, John only just catching him in time, pulling him safely onto his lap.
“Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time…a long time,” said Finch, faintly.
“You were in an accident, Harold - a coma. You’re better now but for a while you were Danny.”
“And you were Jonathan. My oldest brother,” gasped Finch. “So, I must have told you…everything.”
“You told me enough,” said John, his voice muffled as he held Harold closer. “You were very brave, Harold.”
“Not like you, John,” argued Harold.
“No - more so,” John replied. “You are the bravest person I know, Harold Finch. And if I had been braver, I wouldn’t have waited until now to tell you how much I love you.”
“Why, I love you, John,” sighed Harold, leaning in for a kiss.