Wait and Hope: Chapter Five
Liquid Courage
John moved a few steps further into the room, trying to give himself a moment to avoid responding to Finch’s furious demand with an equally heated response. Reese hadn’t come here to argue, just to find out why Harold had done another one-eighty.
The first time Harold had bolted from Rafe’s truck, John had worried that after their initial first meeting in months Finch had fled towards the diner afraid of what danger their being seen together might put them in or even that Finch might not want to be near him anymore. Except Harry had given in and accepted Rafe’s help, Harry Furnham sitting with his rescuer, Harold spending precious minutes listening to John, being with him again or so Reese had believed.
Also, there in the diner Harold had been jealous at the mention of the girlfriend and that Rafe had been given the night off to ‘patch’ things up. John might be Rafe now, but his instincts were still that of an ex-operative’s, he hadn’t missed Harry almost knocking over the glass he had been stirring and the pasty smile he’d given Rafe.
When Rissole had helped the exhausted Furnham out to his truck, holding the disabled man close to his side, Harold had clung just as tightly to John, hadn’t resisted Reese’s disguised caresses. Any doubts Harold still wanted Reese almost erased.
There was no denying the desperation each of them were feeling that their time together again might be short lived. How could they, not with the threat still out there, watching? Regardless, it remained unspoken between them that however brief that reunion might be, Harold was taking John to and into Furnham’s home.
Until Rafe had hopped out of the truck to meet with the tow instead of Furnham and the wrecker driver had pointed out to Mr. Rissole the car’s damaged radiator hoses. When he had jumped back into the pickup Furnham was frosty politeness only speaking to give Rafe directions to his brownstone. Furnham’s thank you and final goodbye, with the annotation on Mr. Rissole going to make up with his girlfriend had shocked and hurt John.
And for the second time that night, their reunion was over. This time, Reese had waited and watched from the truck as Finch walked away, willing Harold to turn back, one eyebrow raised as if to say, “Are you just going to sit there, Mr. Reese?” Except Harrington Furnham had just limped stiffly up the walkway, only Jack looking forlornly at John then heeling at his master's side, Rafe had gunned the engine and drove off.
John Reese was done with Harold Finch and all the man’s eccentricities. He was Gianni Rissole now and had some cleanup to do in Rafe’s relationships. He’d never set eyes on Harrington Furnham, the third, ever again and good riddance. John made it three blocks. He pulled the truck over before beating on the steering wheel and cursing at himself for giving up on the one person in the world who’d never given up on him...until now.
“Damn it! You are not getting rid of me that easily Finch!” John swore and made a U-turn with the truck in the middle of the block.
John drove to the old hotel Rafe’s single room was in and called Sherry from the payphone in the so called lobby. She was still upset but didn’t give Rafe much of an argument when he’d firmly told her he would see her the next day. Reese changed into some of Rafe’s dark clothes. To avoid being seen, Reese opened the window, soundlessly descended the fire escape to sneak from the room and the building. Avoiding cameras by taking dark alleys and side streets John was back at Furnham’s brownstone in an hour. Reese had no problems jimmying the latch on the brownstone’s entry door and silently climbing the stairs to Furnham’s apartment.
And now here he was, trying to gather himself before answering Harold when Bear came flying from a back room somewhere and started dancing around John, happy to see his Alpha once more. John knelt to greet the canine, rubbing the dog’s head, “It’s okay Bear, it’s okay now. I’m here.”
“His name is Jack, his name is Jack now.” Harold stuttered brokenly. He lurched forward mumbling, “How did you get in here?”
As John stood back up he took a quick look around the room. Finch had kicked his shoes off and left them where each had landed. The blazer he was wearing earlier tossed at a chair and missed, landing on the floor, tie discarded on the coffee table.
Next to the tie were a half full tumbler of scotch and a nearly empty fifth of Johnny Walker.
John turned to answer but was shocked when he actually took in Harold’s appearance. The man was disheveled, shirt unbuttoned, fly half open, bare footed. Finch’s glasses were gone, his eyes gaunt, his face hollowed in. Looking at Harold now reminded Reese of looking in the mirror all those years ago before Finch saved him. It was the reflection of a man who had felt hopeless and had no reason to continue.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me in so I let myself in. I came back to find out what the hell happened earlier. Why did you just shut me out?” John's voice shook, “You think I would just go back to my new life, forget about you?
Finch stumbled forward, nearly falling into Reese, catching his balance by grabbing John’s shirt and then tried to shove him towards the door. Harold pleaded as his anger from before now deflated, “John, please just go. Forget about me. Go live your life. Be happy! You are free, free from me being the cause of your pain ever again.”
There wasn't much force behind the drunken man's push to get Reese to leave, the overwhelming realization how far Finch had fallen having stunned John enough that Harold was able to move him at all, still he grasped the other man's shoulders to hold them both steady.
“You really think that? That I'm happy? John clenched the shoulders tighter, “Look at me Finch! Do I look happy to you? Does it look like I want to be free from you?” Harold did with grim eyes in a wasted face. Reese was so overcome with guilt that he was responsible, not the other man for both their misery the past year, it crushed any fight John had left in him to save what they had once had.
Reese dropped his hands then, looking around the room and at the bottle on the table, “You’re right. I should go now. Only you are the one who needs to be free Harold, from all the pain I have caused you.” He reached up and slid his hand inside Finch’s open shirt and over the healed scar on the shoulder wounded all those months ago. “I nearly got you killed.”
John made to push Finch away, to leave Harold find some kind of peace without him, yet the hands still grasping at his own shirt only tightened. “John...”
Harold pulled John in rising up trying to kiss him, slobbery, wet, tasting of scotch, refuting Reese's claim, “You saved me.”
Reese tried to resist, Finch wasn't clear headed right now, but his body couldn't. All good sense abandoning him, John kissed back, his hands assisting Harold's fumbling ones pulling the shirt up over his head.
Somehow in between the desperate kisses and shedding of clothes barring boxers, they had made it to the small bedroom. Harold fell onto the bed pulling John along with him. They groped and kissed hotly. Soon the frantic nature of their embrace slowed. Within moments John realized Harold had passed out. His sanity returning, John lay there speaking softly to the apparently unconscious man, “'I’ll always love you.” After kissing Harold sweetly on the lips, probably for the last time, Reese slipped off the bed.
“John, don't go. I need you.” His eyes weren't open, but Finch sensed Reese was going. Leaving would be the wise thing to do, but John hadn't been choosing the right thing to do in months-John pulled the sheet over them both. He kissed Harold on the forehead this time and crooned low, “Sleep, just sleep Finch. I'm not going anywhere.” Head on the other man’s chest, for the first time in months John Reese dozed off just seconds after closing his eyes. “It's going to be okay, John,” a thumb brushed his bearded chin.
~~~~~
Reese tried to reach out to silence the annoying bleep-bleep but instead of an alarm clock button his hand smacked into solid wall.
What the hell?
John lifted his head, blinking several times trying to clear sleep filled eyes while taking in the unfamiliar room.
Harold?
The hand that had smacked the wall when he groggily tried to find his alarm was now splayed on a hair covered chest, rising and falling with each breath of the soundly sleeping man it belonged to took.They were in Harold's bed. Actually hearing where the alarm sounds were coming from, John reached behind with that hand and killed the alarm then placed it over the scar on Finch's right shoulder.
“I should have left. I didn't; you needed me to stay.” John sighed, “Will you feel the same when you wake up?”
Reese had been in Finch's state more than once, well all the time after Jessica and a whole day he couldn’t remember drinking in the weeks after Carter had been killed; enough to know that what Finch needed the most right now was sleep.
Without jostling the bed and disturbing its slumbering occupant, Reese crawled out from under the sheet and made for the bathroom to empty his bladder. He grabbed his pants up off the floor and left the tiny bedroom to raid the apartment's kitchen. Finch would need to drink something, non-alcoholic, and plenty of it. Also, Harold needed to eat even if he didn't have an appetite or wanted food.
There were the makings for a steak and cheese omelet in the freezer and fridge. Rafe the cook was making one of his specialties, when he heard something shattering and Finch's frantic, “J-John? John? No...No! John?” Reese wasn't armed anymore so he grabbed the knife he had been using and rushed back to the bedroom, his need to protect Harold triggered.
Finch was alone and the noise? The bedside lamp lay broken on the wooden floor, the clock and phone-set knocked off the night table to land among the fragments. Harold was sitting up, reaching around blindly trying to find his missing glasses and continuing his panicked cries for John.
Reese left the knife on the bureau. Avoiding the broken glass from the lamp, he scrambled on his knees from the foot of the bed in an attempt to soothe the fear stricken man. He had to avoid Harold's flailing arms but eventually John was able to get through, using his hands to get Finch to look at him, “I'm here, Finch...Harold! Look at me; I’m here.”
“John?” Harold's voice trembled as his terror filled eyes focused on Reese's blue ones, “It is you!” Finch collapsed against John throwing his arms around the solid and real body of the man next to him. Reese's arms circled the cold, sweat-drenched, and frightened man in return.
“I was trying to hold on to you, John, to keep you with me, but no matter how I tried, they took you away from me again,” Harold sobbed against Reese’s shoulder. John made shushing noises, spoke in a gentle tone and rubbed his hands over Finch's body attempting to warm the shaking man. “Shhh, it was just a dream. No one is going to take me from you.”
John eased Harold back on the bed, pulled off the sweat sodden sheet and covered Finch's still quivering body with his own warm one. By kissing each brow in turn, the prominent nose, tentatively on the lips, John reassured the other man of his presence, “Feel me here with you?”
Hands that had trembled with fear moments earlier fluttered up John's back before pulling his head closer to return the tentative kiss with a more passionate one of Harold's own. Moaning against each other's mouths and opening them to taste the other, their tongues tangled, giving and taking.
The frenzied groping and kissing like the night before soon had both men hot and hard. John moved over on his side to ask breathlessly, as he palmed the outline of Harold's cock in his briefs, “Is this okay?” Finch's eyes were glazed over with passion only as he nodded yes. John quickly shucked off his pants and his boxers, pulled Harold's down below the hips, before he covered Harold again chest to chest.
Like in his dream John rutted against the body below him, his forehead nestled under a bristled jaw, fingers being carded through his hair. Yet unlike the dream, using his hand to reach between them he stroked them both to completion, their ejaculations mixing together between their stomachs.
John moved off on his side again, spooning next to Harold's left. They lay there minutes, hours maybe, before Harold asked, “What are we going to do now John?”
~~*~~
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Epilogue