The Chauffeur Chapter 6
John sat down on the bed after he heard the faint clicking of the door’s latch as Shaw closed the door behind her. “Well, Harold, I need to get you out of these clothes. You don’t want to ruin your suit,” John suggested to his unconscious friend.
Reese thought it best to strip Harold down to t-shirt and boxers. He managed to remove Finch’s jacket, vest, and dress shirt easily considering Harold was dead weight and blacked out. John had already removed Harold’s belt and was starting to undo the fly when a shaky hand closed over one of his.
“John...? What are you doing?” Finch blinked twice trying to focus on Reese. “How did we get here?” Harold asked looking around still dazed. “I never told you about this place.”
“John now is it,” Reese frowned. He used the towel to wipe Harold’s sweat covered face. “Finch you were kidnapped, remember?” Harold’s eyes filled with fear as it all came rushing back. Reese hurried to reassure him. “It’s okay now. Shaw and I came for you. You're safe.” John ran the back of his fingers across Harold’s cheek calming him. “They drugged you with Ambien.”
“I took some Lortabs, John.” Harold choked out.
John nodded. “We figured you might have and worried about possible side effects. We had to get you somewhere safe, someplace close to the warehouse. We knew you wouldn’t want us to take you to a hospital. ” Reese continued seeing that Finch understood. “I tried asking you to tell us if you had a safe house nearby but you were already hallucinating. You thought I was Ingram and pointed out his old apartment, so we brought you here.”
“And my clothes?” Harold was caressing John’s other hand, the one still holding on to the waistband of Finch’s suit pants. John blushed slightly at the touch, “I didn't want you to ruin them.”
“Of course, the drugs.” Finch murmured as he closed his eyes and let go of Reese’s hand. ”I can’t be myself and have you wanting to get me out of my clothes.” It pained John to hear Finch sound so sad and rejected. “You are so wrong Harold; I want you more than I've wanted anyone. I was afraid you didn't want me….John Reese.” John groaned in frustration when he realized he was admitting his feelings to a senseless man.
“Harold…” John whispered softly, removing Finch’s glasses before he gently wiped the other man’s face once more. Reese then kissed him on the forehead before standing up. “Let’s finish getting these off,” John huffed out as he resumed tugging Harold’s suit pants off. He then covered the nearly nude man with the coverlet that had been folded at the foot of the bed.
While hoping the worst was over, that the hallucinations were the only adverse effect to happen to Finch, John knew better and started stripping himself until all he wore were the uniform pants.
John watched Finch for a short time before deciding it would be safe to slip into the bath and grab another towel to wet with cold water. John was only in there a few minutes before returning to the bedroom and finding Finch sitting straight up in bed with his hands clutching his stomach.
“Nathan….” Harold groaned, “I think I’m going to be sick!”
Reese didn't spare a second’s thought that he was Nathan again, he just shoved the pillows aside and slid in behind Finch on the bed positioning Harold between his outstretched legs. John had barely grabbed the dishpan, sitting it in Finch’s lap with one hand and wrapping his free arm around Harold’s waist before Harold vomited. The first spasms were so violent Reese shed sympathetic tears along with Harold at their painful intensity.
Harold leaned back on John’s shoulder panting when the spasms eased up. “Nathan, you don’t need to do this.”
“Of course I do. You are always there for me,” John assured the trembling man before he kissed the top of Finch’s head and held him tight to his chest.
The second bout of vomiting started ten minutes later. It wasn't as severe or lasted as long as the first but not by much. Reese cleaned Harold’s face with the wet towel then offered him a few sips of water that Finch drank thirstily. John took the water away, “Careful, not too much!”, setting the glass back on the stand. John leaned back against the headboard pulling Finch back to rest against his own chest.
John was rubbing his hand over Harold’s stomach soothingly when Finch reached over and grabbed John’s hand. Harold sobbed, “I've missed you Nathan. I’m so sorry. It was all my fault.” Finch sniffed and swallowed, “I’m helping them now Nathan, the Numbers, but I couldn't do it alone. I found someone, a partner. His name is John Reese. You’d like him.”
“I’m sure I would,” Reese agreed when Harold paused, seemingly waiting for a response.
“Nathan, I’m in love with him,” Harold confided to his illusion, “but I don’t know if he loves me.” Harold admitted sadly, “You never loved me. Grace loved a facsimile not the real me. I want John to want me, not some alias. I want him to love me.” Harold was choking back tears, “It’s like with you and with Grace all over again. John doesn't want the real me. You never loved or wanted the real Harold,” Finch sniffed, “Not like I wanted you to.”
Harold fell silent. Reese thought he’d blacked out again and was going to move off the bed to lay Finch on his back when Harold breathed in deeply and sighed, waving off his next words sadly, “Then there was Grace. I pretended to be someone I’m not. She loved that Harold not me. And like Grace, John seems to only want the fictional version of me.” Finch dropped his hand back in his lap and groaned, “What’s wrong with me?”
“Harold!” John protested.
Finch whimpered, “What’s so wrong with me Nathan?” and looked up at John with wide, sad, questioning eyes.
Reese would rather have strangled Ingram right then, not pretend to be him, but tried to answer anyway, “There’s nothing wrong with you. You have always sold yourself short. You always think no one wants you, that you have to give them a version of you they want. Maybe I’m to blame for that. But you are wrong. Grace loved the real you that shone through and John loves you more than his own life.”
“If only I could be sure. Nathan….” Another round of vomiting started before Finch could finish his sentence. Thankfully the spasms were mild this time and lasted only a few seconds before Finch leaned back into John’s chest breathing heavily again.
Reese offered him several more sips of water before taking the glass away and poured cold water from the pitcher onto the towel.
As John used the wet towel to cool Finch’s forehead, he continued their interrupted conversation as if nothing had happened. “Harold, can any of us really be sure? All we can do is look for clues.”
“Oh God! Nathan!” Finch’s muscles were beginning to seize. Just a slight twitching, nothing severe. Nonetheless, it terrified the drugged man. John closed his eyes praying it wouldn't get worse.
Reese moved the sick-pan to the floor then cradled Finch to him and sat back. “Shh. It’s okay I've got you,” John whispered kissing the now sweat soaked hair on Finch’s head. Then hoping to distract Harold asked aloud, “Does John seek your company?”
“What?” Finch gritted through his teeth.
“Does John seek your company?” Reese repeated calmly.
Harold tilted his head to look with glassy eyes up at John. “Yes,” Finch admitted raggedly. “I was rude, terribly rude to him when we first met.” Finch closed his eyes and smiled slightly remembering, “He’d still bring me donuts and tea, my Sencha Green, and sit with me even when we had no Numbers.” Harold's eyes flew back open and he groaned grabbing at his thigh muscles.
“Relax Harold. It’s going to be okay.” John whispered soothingly. “Tell me more about your John,” Reese coaxed.
Harold drew in a shaky breath then continued, “I was short with him, even when I tried not to be. You know how I am when I’m working.”
John chuckled, “Yeah I remember.”
“Nathan,” Finch scolded fondly and sighed exasperatedly.
“But John never got upset; he would just try to get me to take a break and go out for a meal or a beer with him. I’d turn him down, even though it’s what I wanted to do. I would assume John had gone on without me.” Harold frowned, “I’d be disappointed that he’d left and mad at myself for being so stubborn.”
The fondness returned in Finch’s voice when he said, “Then there he would be, hauling up a bag full of weapons from his arsenal stash.” Harold snickered, “Which I haven’t found by the way. Don’t tell him!"
"I’d pretend to be mad when he would start cleaning them at the table. I would ask him, Must you do that here? But John would smile that smile of his and tell me, No, I could stay downstairs but I would rather have the company.”
Harold fell silent for a few moments. Reese hoped sleep had claimed him. Then Harold shifted and gasped, he whispered as if amazed at his realization, “John wants to be around me---rude, stubborn and insufferable me.”
~*~
The Chauffeur
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Reese thought it best to strip Harold down to t-shirt and boxers. He managed to remove Finch’s jacket, vest, and dress shirt easily considering Harold was dead weight and blacked out. John had already removed Harold’s belt and was starting to undo the fly when a shaky hand closed over one of his.
“John...? What are you doing?” Finch blinked twice trying to focus on Reese. “How did we get here?” Harold asked looking around still dazed. “I never told you about this place.”
“John now is it,” Reese frowned. He used the towel to wipe Harold’s sweat covered face. “Finch you were kidnapped, remember?” Harold’s eyes filled with fear as it all came rushing back. Reese hurried to reassure him. “It’s okay now. Shaw and I came for you. You're safe.” John ran the back of his fingers across Harold’s cheek calming him. “They drugged you with Ambien.”
“I took some Lortabs, John.” Harold choked out.
John nodded. “We figured you might have and worried about possible side effects. We had to get you somewhere safe, someplace close to the warehouse. We knew you wouldn’t want us to take you to a hospital. ” Reese continued seeing that Finch understood. “I tried asking you to tell us if you had a safe house nearby but you were already hallucinating. You thought I was Ingram and pointed out his old apartment, so we brought you here.”
“And my clothes?” Harold was caressing John’s other hand, the one still holding on to the waistband of Finch’s suit pants. John blushed slightly at the touch, “I didn't want you to ruin them.”
“Of course, the drugs.” Finch murmured as he closed his eyes and let go of Reese’s hand. ”I can’t be myself and have you wanting to get me out of my clothes.” It pained John to hear Finch sound so sad and rejected. “You are so wrong Harold; I want you more than I've wanted anyone. I was afraid you didn't want me….John Reese.” John groaned in frustration when he realized he was admitting his feelings to a senseless man.
“Harold…” John whispered softly, removing Finch’s glasses before he gently wiped the other man’s face once more. Reese then kissed him on the forehead before standing up. “Let’s finish getting these off,” John huffed out as he resumed tugging Harold’s suit pants off. He then covered the nearly nude man with the coverlet that had been folded at the foot of the bed.
While hoping the worst was over, that the hallucinations were the only adverse effect to happen to Finch, John knew better and started stripping himself until all he wore were the uniform pants.
John watched Finch for a short time before deciding it would be safe to slip into the bath and grab another towel to wet with cold water. John was only in there a few minutes before returning to the bedroom and finding Finch sitting straight up in bed with his hands clutching his stomach.
“Nathan….” Harold groaned, “I think I’m going to be sick!”
Reese didn't spare a second’s thought that he was Nathan again, he just shoved the pillows aside and slid in behind Finch on the bed positioning Harold between his outstretched legs. John had barely grabbed the dishpan, sitting it in Finch’s lap with one hand and wrapping his free arm around Harold’s waist before Harold vomited. The first spasms were so violent Reese shed sympathetic tears along with Harold at their painful intensity.
Harold leaned back on John’s shoulder panting when the spasms eased up. “Nathan, you don’t need to do this.”
“Of course I do. You are always there for me,” John assured the trembling man before he kissed the top of Finch’s head and held him tight to his chest.
The second bout of vomiting started ten minutes later. It wasn't as severe or lasted as long as the first but not by much. Reese cleaned Harold’s face with the wet towel then offered him a few sips of water that Finch drank thirstily. John took the water away, “Careful, not too much!”, setting the glass back on the stand. John leaned back against the headboard pulling Finch back to rest against his own chest.
John was rubbing his hand over Harold’s stomach soothingly when Finch reached over and grabbed John’s hand. Harold sobbed, “I've missed you Nathan. I’m so sorry. It was all my fault.” Finch sniffed and swallowed, “I’m helping them now Nathan, the Numbers, but I couldn't do it alone. I found someone, a partner. His name is John Reese. You’d like him.”
“I’m sure I would,” Reese agreed when Harold paused, seemingly waiting for a response.
“Nathan, I’m in love with him,” Harold confided to his illusion, “but I don’t know if he loves me.” Harold admitted sadly, “You never loved me. Grace loved a facsimile not the real me. I want John to want me, not some alias. I want him to love me.” Harold was choking back tears, “It’s like with you and with Grace all over again. John doesn't want the real me. You never loved or wanted the real Harold,” Finch sniffed, “Not like I wanted you to.”
Harold fell silent. Reese thought he’d blacked out again and was going to move off the bed to lay Finch on his back when Harold breathed in deeply and sighed, waving off his next words sadly, “Then there was Grace. I pretended to be someone I’m not. She loved that Harold not me. And like Grace, John seems to only want the fictional version of me.” Finch dropped his hand back in his lap and groaned, “What’s wrong with me?”
“Harold!” John protested.
Finch whimpered, “What’s so wrong with me Nathan?” and looked up at John with wide, sad, questioning eyes.
Reese would rather have strangled Ingram right then, not pretend to be him, but tried to answer anyway, “There’s nothing wrong with you. You have always sold yourself short. You always think no one wants you, that you have to give them a version of you they want. Maybe I’m to blame for that. But you are wrong. Grace loved the real you that shone through and John loves you more than his own life.”
“If only I could be sure. Nathan….” Another round of vomiting started before Finch could finish his sentence. Thankfully the spasms were mild this time and lasted only a few seconds before Finch leaned back into John’s chest breathing heavily again.
Reese offered him several more sips of water before taking the glass away and poured cold water from the pitcher onto the towel.
As John used the wet towel to cool Finch’s forehead, he continued their interrupted conversation as if nothing had happened. “Harold, can any of us really be sure? All we can do is look for clues.”
“Oh God! Nathan!” Finch’s muscles were beginning to seize. Just a slight twitching, nothing severe. Nonetheless, it terrified the drugged man. John closed his eyes praying it wouldn't get worse.
Reese moved the sick-pan to the floor then cradled Finch to him and sat back. “Shh. It’s okay I've got you,” John whispered kissing the now sweat soaked hair on Finch’s head. Then hoping to distract Harold asked aloud, “Does John seek your company?”
“What?” Finch gritted through his teeth.
“Does John seek your company?” Reese repeated calmly.
Harold tilted his head to look with glassy eyes up at John. “Yes,” Finch admitted raggedly. “I was rude, terribly rude to him when we first met.” Finch closed his eyes and smiled slightly remembering, “He’d still bring me donuts and tea, my Sencha Green, and sit with me even when we had no Numbers.” Harold's eyes flew back open and he groaned grabbing at his thigh muscles.
“Relax Harold. It’s going to be okay.” John whispered soothingly. “Tell me more about your John,” Reese coaxed.
Harold drew in a shaky breath then continued, “I was short with him, even when I tried not to be. You know how I am when I’m working.”
John chuckled, “Yeah I remember.”
“Nathan,” Finch scolded fondly and sighed exasperatedly.
“But John never got upset; he would just try to get me to take a break and go out for a meal or a beer with him. I’d turn him down, even though it’s what I wanted to do. I would assume John had gone on without me.” Harold frowned, “I’d be disappointed that he’d left and mad at myself for being so stubborn.”
The fondness returned in Finch’s voice when he said, “Then there he would be, hauling up a bag full of weapons from his arsenal stash.” Harold snickered, “Which I haven’t found by the way. Don’t tell him!"
"I’d pretend to be mad when he would start cleaning them at the table. I would ask him, Must you do that here? But John would smile that smile of his and tell me, No, I could stay downstairs but I would rather have the company.”
Harold fell silent for a few moments. Reese hoped sleep had claimed him. Then Harold shifted and gasped, he whispered as if amazed at his realization, “John wants to be around me---rude, stubborn and insufferable me.”
~*~
The Chauffeur
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue