Part Five

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After a day and a half of sitting through awkward visits from co-workers and "friends" whose names Reese mostly didn't even remember, he had been sure that he had to get out of the hospital - and fast. Although reluctant at first, the young doctor agreed to let him out of his clutches the next day, under the condition that he would take it easy and refrain from working for the next couple of weeks. John - with his most trustworthy expression - promised he would, although he never - not for a second - entertained the idea of keeping that promise. He just didn't do idle well.

He'd taken a cab home. The one hour ride turned into two, thanks to the still icy roads and the regular mad New York traffic. His shoulder had started to ache after an hour, but he chose to ignore the bottle of pain meds in his coat pocket that the doctor had insisted on prescribing. As pain went, John knew from experience that he could endure much worse. He also didn't like the fact that they made him feel drowsy, and unfocused.

John hadn't been back to his apartment more than ten minutes - just enough time to do his habitual perimeter sweep and to get rid of the sling the doctor also had insisted on - when his door bell rang.

Puzzled, John picked up his spare gun out of habit and walked toward his apartment's door. He hadn't told anyone that he was back in town, and he doubted that it was one of his neighbors, since the unspoken rule of his apartment complex apparently was Mind your own business.

His eyebrows climbed his forehead as he looked at his visitor through the spyhole. But then, in a way he wasn't really that surprised. He stuffed his gun inside his waistband and opened the door.

Finch looked at him in silence for a few seconds with a happily tail-wagging Bear beside him, before he said, "May we come in?"

John nodded, pushing the door farther open to allow for Bear and Harold to enter. "You didn't have to come all the way out here, Finch," he said, closing the door behind him. "I was about to go to the subway anyway."

"Bear wanted to make sure you were alright," Harold said, the dog greeting his master with undisguised exuberance as the hacker looked John over. With his unusually untamed hair and pale - too pale - complexion, his partner didn't look like he should be going anywhere now or in the near future. Finch raised an eyebrow. He'd hacked into the hospital's medical files. Usually he respected his partner's privacy, but since only a few days prior John had demonstrated that volunteering information wasn't on his mind lately - or never when it came to his injuries, Harold had felt surprisingly little scruple when he broke through the hospital's laughable firewalls.

He honestly had come to just check on John, having felt guilty for not visiting at the hospital. With the police presence there he hadn't wanted to risk attracting unwanted attention. He'd wanted to save the conversation he had promised to have with his partner for a later time - when John had a chance to rest some more. However seeing him now, brushing off his close encounter with death as usual, he knew that he shouldn't put it off. "Besides, aren't your doctor's orders to take it easy and rest?"

Reese took his eyes off Bear and looked at Harold. The hacker had kept his tone light - nonchalant even - but looked both worried and displeased at the same time.

He'd had time to think the night before, as he lay there in his hospital bed finally alone after what seemed like half of the precinct had stopped by. Having too much time and nothing to do but think was another reason he had wanted to get out and back into action as fast as possible - to keep the thinking from turning into brooding.

He'd thought some more about what Carter said. If he had ever wondered if Harold Finch only viewed him as a disposable henchman or actually cared about his well-being, he just needed to recall the night the other man had driven into that parking garage and right into the CIA's trap, risking his own life to save his "henchman". He'd warned Finch back then that caring too much would mean getting himself killed. However their vocation would likely kill them all eventually anyway. And all he would have to show for his life were a multitude of bad decisions followed by actions he wasn't at all proud of.

And then he clearly remembered something Harold had said to him once. "I know absolutely everything about you, Mr. Reese."

They hadn't known each other long, and back then John had been sure that this weirdo was full of shit. He was so deep into black operations back during his CIA days that he didn't even know everything about himself. Like why he had done the things he'd done under the excuse of following orders. But now, after having seen what Harold Finch was capable of, he didn't doubt for a second that Harold knew.

And that was the difference between Harold and the others he had tentatively started to see as real friends. Joss could only have had an inkling of an idea of what he had done during his time with the CIA. She'd seen the war they were fighting and caught glimpses of the evil on both sides of the trenches. But he doubted that her mind would have been able to conjure up scenarios dark enough that they could match with what he had witnessed and participated in himself. At least he hoped that she couldn't have - for her sake.

Fusco had the smarts to know that Reese was dangerous and a person not to mess with. But he seemed to live by the credo of ignorance is bliss - not wanting to know what was wearing on John's conscience. And Iris? Hell, she'd probably run away screaming if she had any idea what he was capable of.

But Harold knew. Knew what he had done. Knew what he was.

Yet despite that Finch had still offered him a job, and later his trust. And when John had finally allowed himself to think about it, he'd realized that despite his efforts of keeping a professional distance, this partnership between Harold and he was one of the truest friendships he'd ever had. And he was treating it like crap.

John looked at Harold. Finch's eyes were daring him to deliver his usual brush-off - that he was fine and/or that he'd had worse. The sentences actually lay on the tip of his tongue. It was a reflex by now and he had to consciously swallow them down. Besides it being obvious that Harold already knew what his doctor's orders were, he deserved the truth. Always had, the ex-op conceded with a grimace.

"Yes, they are," he said, and his lips briefly pulled into a small smirk at the look of puzzled surprise on his partner's face. "I will try to take it easy" - to some extent, he mentally added - "as long as our situation allows it. But I wanted to talk to you. In person. And no, it could not wait."

Finch raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Well, I guess it's good that I stopped by then."

"Yes." John nodded and smiled. Well, he tried to, but a sudden bout of nervousness at Finch's still disapproving expression had surely turned it into a grimace. There had only been a few people in his life he actually cared what they thought about him. Finch was right there at the top of that very short list, and he had every right to be both angry and wary of him.

They stood in silence - John still by the door with Bear, whose head was swivelling back and forth between his two favorite humans, still at his side.

Finch's second eyebrow joined his first and he cocked his head to the side as far as his stiff neck allowed. This was an interesting development. One he certainly had not expected. He'd expected that he would do - as usual - all the talking, while John would let his words bounce off that thick skull of his. And yet, he wondered if he should actually be worried. For a brief moment John had looked nervous, and as the awkward silence continued, Harold couldn't help but wonder if coming here was such a good idea after all.

Realizing that they were still standing in the tiny, cramped hallway of his apartment, John jerked a hand forward, indicating for Harold to go ahead to the living room. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked, remembering his manners. Finch half turned and Reese could tell by the look on his friend's face that he was about to decline his offer. He remembered then that he'd purchased a box of Sencha Green Tea the very first time he'd gone grocery shopping as Detective John Riley. He hadn't been entirely sure why he bought it, and he would never admit that he might have given in to sentimental reasons. He didn't drink tea, and the odds that Professor Whistler would ever stop by the Detective's apartment were slim to none back then. The box had been sitting right beside his stash of coffee the entire time though, apparently just waiting for this moment. This time the smile on his face was real when he said, "I've got tea."

Again Harold raised an eyebrow. This time in surprise. He knew that Mr. Reese preferred coffee. He couldn't even remember seeing him drink tea once, and the significance of its presence in his apartment wasn't lost on Finch. "Sencha?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

John nodded, and Finch replied that, yes he would like a cup very much.

Harold took off his coat and looked around John's apartment while the ex-op and Bear were in the small kitchen, preparing his cup of tea. It wasn't as grand and luxurious as the loft had been. But then again, an NYPD detective could have never afforded the loft or anything similar to it. However, knowing John's background, Harold was sure that the former soldier was just as satisfied with this two-room-kitchen-bathroom apartment as he had been with the loft. Maybe even more so. The living room was meticulously clean. It was also missing any sorts of decoration and completely lacking any personal touch.

Taking a seat at the small table at what he took as the dining area of the living room, Harold briefly wondered where John was hiding his stash of guns these days. Barring any secret compartments, the apartment didn't seem big enough to have a walk-in closet for Reese to convert. John - with Bear on his heels - returned from the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "One sugar," he said, placing the cup in front of his guest and sitting down on the only other chair opposite of Harold.

"Thank you," Finch said and smiled politely. He took a sip of his tea. It was good. Apparently John had even bought his favorite brand, although he couldn't remember when he'd told the ex-op which his favorite was. There would have been a time when all sorts of alarm bells would have gone off at that revelation, as he would have regarded the ex-op's obvious snooping as a breech of his privacy. Now he was actually flattered that John had picked up on and remembered that small, yet for him very important detail.

However he hadn't come to drink tea. Putting down his cup, he interweaved his fingers and placed his hands like a protective wall in front of him on the table. Harold was both dying to know and apprehensive about what Mr. Reese had wanted to talk to him about that was so important that it couldn't wait. He expected the ex-op to start talking any second now, However John's focus was on Bear, who had sat down beside him and put his head on his alpha's thigh. Apparently I'm not the only one who's still reeling from the events from two nights ago, Harold thought as he watched his partner petting the dog. Bear's eyes were glued on John, and Finch didn't even want to begin to imagine how the dog would have reacted if they had been too late that night.

"He was worried about you." Harold hadn't meant to say these words. They had slipped out at the sight in front of him, but now that they were out there he felt they weren't enough. "He wasn't the only one, you know?"

John stopped scratching Bear behind his ears, and his eyes became unfocused. Harold recognized that body-language. It was classic John-Reese-stonewalling, and at that moment it was just infuriating. Harold's fingers tightened around themselves and he took a breath. Whatever Mr. Reese had wanted to talk about could wait. Harold had also come to talk to his frustratingly stubborn partner, and he had no intention of letting himself be discouraged this time. But before he could launch into the speech he'd been preparing for the last day, John pre-empted his attempts.

"I know," Reese said, and whatever Harold had been about to say died on his lips. He stared at the man opposite him completely dumbfounded. John looked at him then and Harold was even more taken aback at the open and earnest expression on the usually closed-off face. "I should have let you know where I was going. But the case..." He looked down at his hands and swallowed before looking up again. "It was Carter's."

"You don't have to explain." Harold already knew this and had already figured out what the ex-op's intentions had been. He also knew that talking about the late detective was difficult for John. For both of them.

"Yes, I do have to explain," John countered, again surprising Harold. "I wanted to work this case on my own. To close it on my own. I wanted to do this for her."

Harold nodded. "I understand." He truly did. His reason to work the Numbers wasn't that much different after all.

"But not telling anyone where I was going was stupid and reckless and I apologize. I'm sorry for causing you worry and I promise it won't happen again." The ache in John's shoulder was slowly reaching more intolerable pain-levels, and the thought of taking one or two of those pills in his coat pocket became more and more appealing. But he hadn't said everything he wanted to say yet. And he wanted his mind to be clear. "I also wanted to thank you for saving my life and for having my back. I know that lately it may not have seemed like it, but I'm still grateful you offered me this job."

Harold's eyes dropped to the table top. He had to admit that he had been wondering about John's motivation recently, and hadn't been sure if he was just sticking around because the Machine had foiled his attempt at leaving or because he just didn't have any other options. It certainly couldn't have been because of all the "fun" they had had. "The last couple of years have been difficult," he said - a subtle concession that he would have understood if Mr. Reese had changed his mind about his motivations.

John leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table and clasping his hands together. "They have been difficult for all of us."

Harold looked back up at him and for a second everything - the losses they had suffered, the guilt, the sacrifices, the pain - was clearly projected on the hacker's features as he nodded. It was funny. He wanted to have this conversation with his partner for a while now, but the time had never seemed right, or he just hadn't know how to begin. And now, when they were actually having that conversation he couldn't trust his voice.

Straightening and leaning into his chair's backrest, John smiled a mirthless smile. "The way the things look, that won't change anytime soon." He paused, wishing that he'd poured himself something stronger as he tried to figure out how to phrase what was on his mind. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so absolutely open and truthful about his feelings to anyone. Even when speaking with his therapist he'd omitted most of what was really going on in his mind. The last time was probably with Jess. As usual thinking of Jessica sent pangs of regret through his mind. He'd been wrong to push her away, he knew that now. No, he'd always known, but he was ready to admit it now. And it had taken slowly freezing to death for him to allow himself to realize that he was making the same mistakes again.

"It's taken me a while," he eventually continued, his gaze on the glass of water he was absentmindedly rotating it in front of him, "but I've finally come to the conclusion that in this line of work no matter what I - we - do to try to prevent it, loss is still inevitable. And I don't know about you, but I don't want to have any more regrets." He looked up at Finch, again wishing that he'd poured himself something stronger than water, yet he decided to just go for it and raised his glass. "To friendship?"

Finch's eyes widened and for a second John actually feared that he had gone too far, forcing the recluse into something he wasn't ready to commit. But then - to John's relief - the look of shocked astonishment fled from Harold's face. He nodded and a tentative grin started to spread across his face as he picked up his cup of tea and mirrored John's gesture.

"To friendship."

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The End.

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Thank your all for reading. I hope you enjoyed this little add-on, and feel free to let me know ;)