(no subject)
Title: Recoil
Author: spatz
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: G
Summary: John didn't flinch.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 400 (quad drabble!)
AO3
John didn't flinch.
He'd been praised by his hand-to-hand instructor for it, back in basic training. Sometimes you had to take a hit to win a fight, and John never hesitated. He wasn't afraid of pain - hadn't been for years - and after he joined the Rangers, he knew anyone who touched him to cause pain wouldn't get a second chance.
People got into his personal space a lot: in bars, in fights, on public transport. Once he got to New York, it had only multiplied - at least, after Finch found him. No one had wanted to touch him when he was homeless, and he'd deserved that. But now there was Finch, Carter, Fusco, and Zoe; some of the numbers even hugged him - some enjoyable, like Andrea Gutierrez, and some less so, like Mr. Souda from Waste Management.
Then one day, John was leaning over Harold's shoulder, watching him solder a bug to some weird art knick-knack for John to plant at their number's work. Harold shifted around like he was going to ask John a question, and pressed a kiss to the corner of John's mouth. His lips were warm and a little dry.
And John flinched.
John didn't flinch.
Harold had seen him take bullets without breaking stride, not blink during a game of Russian roulette, and frankly discuss the process of dissolving bodies. He didn't make the mistake anymore of thinking such things didn't affect John, but his responses were always measured, locked down, filtered into action. He wondered if Kara had taught John that skill, or if he'd learned much earlier.
In any case, when John jerked away from his impulsive kiss like he'd been electrocuted, Harold figured that was pretty definitively the end of it. He turned away, swallowing his regret, and said, “I apologize, Mr. Reese. It seems I misunderstood. I'll be done with this in a moment.” He picked up the soldering gun and stared blindly at the paperweight he was bugging, identical to the one in the number's office.
He managed not to startle when John's hand swung his chair back around.
John was impossible to read, even if Harold hadn't been avoiding his gaze, so it took him a moment to parse when John said, “Just warn a guy next time, okay?”
Their eyes met.
“I'll see what I can do, Mr. Reese,” Harold said, and when he smiled, John smiled back.
Author: spatz
Pairing/Characters: Finch/Reese
Rating: G
Summary: John didn't flinch.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 400 (quad drabble!)
AO3
John didn't flinch.
He'd been praised by his hand-to-hand instructor for it, back in basic training. Sometimes you had to take a hit to win a fight, and John never hesitated. He wasn't afraid of pain - hadn't been for years - and after he joined the Rangers, he knew anyone who touched him to cause pain wouldn't get a second chance.
People got into his personal space a lot: in bars, in fights, on public transport. Once he got to New York, it had only multiplied - at least, after Finch found him. No one had wanted to touch him when he was homeless, and he'd deserved that. But now there was Finch, Carter, Fusco, and Zoe; some of the numbers even hugged him - some enjoyable, like Andrea Gutierrez, and some less so, like Mr. Souda from Waste Management.
Then one day, John was leaning over Harold's shoulder, watching him solder a bug to some weird art knick-knack for John to plant at their number's work. Harold shifted around like he was going to ask John a question, and pressed a kiss to the corner of John's mouth. His lips were warm and a little dry.
And John flinched.
John didn't flinch.
Harold had seen him take bullets without breaking stride, not blink during a game of Russian roulette, and frankly discuss the process of dissolving bodies. He didn't make the mistake anymore of thinking such things didn't affect John, but his responses were always measured, locked down, filtered into action. He wondered if Kara had taught John that skill, or if he'd learned much earlier.
In any case, when John jerked away from his impulsive kiss like he'd been electrocuted, Harold figured that was pretty definitively the end of it. He turned away, swallowing his regret, and said, “I apologize, Mr. Reese. It seems I misunderstood. I'll be done with this in a moment.” He picked up the soldering gun and stared blindly at the paperweight he was bugging, identical to the one in the number's office.
He managed not to startle when John's hand swung his chair back around.
John was impossible to read, even if Harold hadn't been avoiding his gaze, so it took him a moment to parse when John said, “Just warn a guy next time, okay?”
Their eyes met.
“I'll see what I can do, Mr. Reese,” Harold said, and when he smiled, John smiled back.