Goodnight, Harold

Finch groaned as he awoke, feeling his body protest in even more ways than usual. He found his face pressed against something rather hard – in fact, his whole body was on top of something hard and warm, which was odd. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to swallow, his mouth seeming to be completely dry, and his head pounded with a splitting headache. Squinting against the shafts of sunlight coming in from a window somewhere, he tried to get his bearings, but the world started spinning and he had to lie back down on his strange mattress.

"Good morning, Finch."

Reese's voice startled him, making him jerk and thereby sending shock waves of pain up and down his spine. What made it even worse was the realization that the voice had come from beneath him, followed by the next realization (a split second later) that the object on which he was resting was Reese.

"J—John!" Finch spluttered, trying to back away, only to find something solid behind him as well. "What's going on? Where are we? And where are my glasses?"

"Easy, Finch," Reese soothed, rubbing the smaller man's back with a firm but gentle hand. "You've had quite a rough night. Just try to relax for a moment. You're safe now – we're in the library. In fact, we're inside a fort... I can't imagine a safer place to be."

Still panicked and confused, Finch missed the note of humor in Reese's last words, but at least his heart rate started to slow down from the assurance that they were in the secure building. The rhythmic strokes of Reese's hands on his back had the desired effect of calming him, too.

"Rough night... how do you mean?" Finch asked, a few thoughts beginning to coagulate out of the morass in his mind.

"Do you remember our last case? Jordan Hester?"

"Yes... only... there were two of them..."

"That's right. You were following the woman, and talked to her in the book store..."

"Oh!" Finch cried with a start. "She... She wanted to get her things, but she put something in my drink!"

"Extasy. You've been... trippin'." Reese paused to let his words sink in. "How are you feeling now?"

Finch considered this for a moment. "Dehydrated. Exhausted. And I ache all over. I don't think I'm in any danger of becoming an addict."

A low rumble moved through Reese's body and into Finch's. Despite the aches that he had just complained about, he didn't mind getting jostled this way. In fact, he had to admit (though only to himself, of course) that it was surprisingly comfortable to have one side of his face resting on Reese's chest, with the taller man's arms wrapped around him protectively.

"The other Jordan Hester – the real Jordan Hester – helped me set things straight. Fusco figured out the imposter's name and she's been arrested," Reese reported, knowing that Finch would be curious about the conclusion of the case. "Now we just need to make sure that you've got all the Ex out of your system. Do you think you can roll over to this side, or would it be better if I slip out from under you?"

"Why can't I roll back this way?" Finch said, although he had felt something behind him earlier.

"Bookshelf. Let me scoot over so you have more room."

As Reese began to put his words into action, moving in small increments, Finch reluctantly lifted his tired head from Reese's chest and remarked, "Do I dare ask why we are in such a... strange configuration?"

"I had to keep an eye on you, Finch – you were still pretty out of it," Reese countered as he extricated himself. "In fact, I had a hard time getting you to go to sleep. I had to resort to desperate measures." He managed to slip out from under Finch completely and sat up. "I came back expecting you to be asleep, but found you building this." Remembering that Finch couldn't see what he meant, he reached over the other man to grab his glasses from the bookshelf behind him. "Here, see for yourself – it's a great fort, big enough for two."

Finch put on his glasses and felt some relief at having the world come into focus, but stopped and stared when he saw the number of books piled up around them.

"I did this?" he asked, incredulous.

Reese nodded. "Hyperactivity is one of the effects of Extasy. You didn't want to sleep on the cot, either, so I brought the mattress over here. It's really quite cozy. If we got a couple of sleeping bags to make a softer mattress, I wouldn't mind camping out here on a regular basis. Maybe even make it a... permanent arrangement."

This time, Finch did not miss the smirk pulling up the corners of the younger man's face.

"You're welcome to do so, Mr. Reese, but even with the extra padding, I don't think my body could put up with such punishment." With a completely authentic groan, he removed his glasses and lay back down, face-first, on the thin mattress. "Ow... I feel like I've been dragged by a horse over a gravel road..."

"Where does it hurt? Specifically."

"Everywhere... but my back is sore – sorer than it usually is – and my stomach... I think I need some Pepto-Bismol or something..."

"Let me rub your back, Finch," Reese urged gently. "I'll be very careful, and you can tell me if I'm doing more harm than good."

"At this point, I suppose anything would be an improvement," Finch sighed. He tensed only slightly when he felt Reese straddling his waist, then sighed again – this time in relief – as strong fingers began kneading and massaging down either side of his spine. "Ugh... Oh... Yes, that does feel better," he murmured.

Reese kept it up for a while, smiling at the grateful moans his hands elicited from Finch, then patted him affectionately before standing up.

"Try to get some sleep. You've still got two bottles of water here. I'll go get some breakfast and a bottle of Pepto. Need anything else?"

"Aspirin. There's some in the desk," Finch replied, his face still half-buried in the pillow. Reese returned a moment later with the pills and helped Finch sit up so he could take them with water.

"I'll be right back," Reese assured him after easing him back down and tucking both blankets around him. "Don't wander off anywhere."

"I won't. I can't," Finch said with a self-deprecating snort.

"At least you have plenty of reading material," Reese smiled, then disappeared beyond the wall of books.

###

Finch didn't have any appetite for breakfast, since his stomach felt like a dozen ulcers had sprung up overnight, but Reese insisted that he eat at least part of a muffin to go with the chalky pink medicine he had chugged down. The aspirin began to kick in and, although he was still exhausted, he felt more able to face the new day. However, he insisted that Reese shower first, since he was rather woozy and unsteady on his feet. Knowing that the former soldier would be out of the bathroom in no time, Finch hastily pulled up the internal surveillance footage of the library from the night before.

"Oh, dear God," he gasped as he heard himself, flying higher than a kite, offer to answer anything Reese might want to know. He was relieved and extremely grateful that his partner/employee had chosen the gentleman's route, not taking advantage of his vulnerable state, but he buried his aching head in his hands at his own stupidity. Moments later, hearing his dead friend's name slip out from his lips, Finch froze for a whole minute.

I called John "Nathan"... he thought, his eyes growing wide open. I got him confused with... Well, of course, I was high and confused and out of my blasted mind! Just a simple mistake...

Fast forwarding through his own toils in building the book fort, he resumed playing it at the normal speed when Reese returned, and was humbled by how patiently the other man had cared for him, even taking him to the bathroom and (Finch's face burned in horrified embarrassment) reading him a child's bedtime story. But the soft cadence of his voice was undeniably suited to the task, and Finch's eyelids began drooping again even now as he replayed it.

"The shower's open, unless you'd rather go to bed again," Reese teased him from behind, making him jump. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I thought you had sensors that told you where I was, twenty-four seven."

"Perhaps a cowbell would work better," Finch said in some irritation (for his back was aching again from the shock) as he paused the footage and logged out of his computer.

"That's a good book," Reese continued, unfazed. "I like books with pictures in them."

"It's a classic," Finch grudgingly agreed. He struggled a bit to stand up, straightened himself, and hobbled towards the bathroom. "If you'll excuse me, I need to shower and change into some fresh clothes for the second time in twenty-four hours..."

"Careful, Finch," Reese called out to him. "If you dawdle in there, I might have to come take a peek."

With an inward groan at having his own words thrown back at him, Finch made his way down the hall, remembering with mild humiliation how he had asked Reese to escort him the previous night because he'd been afraid of the dark – not to mention unable to figure out how to turn on the lights.

Never again, he vowed to himself with firm resolve as he peeled off his clothes. Apparently, he had sweated through them in his drug-induced mania; his own body odor was enough to kill his appetite. But John slept with me, as smelly as I was... He must have been really worried about my condition... and no wonder! I was so utterly and thoroughly out of it...

The warm jets of water pounding into his skin threatened to resurrect his headache, but the joy of being clean eclipsed any discomfort and he simply stood in the shower, reveling in the sensation, for as long as he dared. He didn't put it past Reese to actually check in on him, so he was glad to make it out of the bathroom fully dressed before his partner made good on his threat.

"John?" he called as he limped into the office, seeing that the chair by the desk was empty.

"In here," came Reese's voice from a room further down the hallway, and Finch found him sitting inside the book fort – his head and shoulders visible above the fortifications – reading another one of the children's books, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" by Eric Carle.

"I'm glad to see that you're enriching your mind," Finch said dryly as he approached.

"Reading is a great way to learn new things," Reese responded, equally deadpan. "You should try it sometime."

Finch snickered at the irony, but found his eyes held captive by the searching expression in Reese's.

"How are you feeling?" Reese asked.

"Much better, thank you. It's amazing what soap and warm water can do." After a slightly awkward pause, Finch added, "I see that you've made yourself at home in this... 'fort.'"

Reese smiled as he patted the two folded blankets stacked on the floor next to him.

"Would you care to join me? There's plenty of books here, and the Machine hasn't given us a new number, has it?"

"Not the last time I checked," Finch answered, then hesitated for a second before lowering himself onto the makeshift seat. He felt Reese place one arm behind his back, ready to catch him if need be, and pursed his lips at the emotions that the simple gesture evoked. Even after he was settled onto the blankets, Reese did not remove his arm, resting it nonchalantly on the empty bookshelf. Finch stared at the wall of books in front of them while he chose his next words.

"I have to admit, I'm rather surprised and... impressed, that you didn't interrogate me last night, when I was so... vulnerable."

"I couldn't, Harold... not when you were practically volunteering information," Reese replied. "Where would be the challenge in that? It was a matter of... professional pride."

"Ah. Well, I just wanted to thank you for your restraint, as well as for going above and beyond the call of duty to... make sure I was all right."

"Don't mention it, Harold. Besides, I just wanted you to still respect me in the morning."

The teasing note in Reese's voice managed to bring a blush to Finch's cheeks.

"I believe I can safely assure you... I will always respect you, Mr. Reese."

Finch was startled but somehow not surprised when he felt Reese's arm curling around his shoulders.

"Well, if that's the case," Reese's voice whispered in his ear, tickling the sensitive hairs, "I didn't need to hold back so much, did I?"

Finch swallowed hard as Reese nuzzled the side of his face, letting the tip of his nose slide up and down his sideburns.

"J—John..." Finch stammered, not sure what he wanted to say.

"Mmm... You smell good, Harold. Much better than last night," Reese told him, a devilish twinkle in his eyes – though Finch could not see it, staring as he was at the stacked books.

"I'm sure I do," Finch responded faintly.

Something soft and slightly wet brushed against his cheek, and Finch realized that Reese was kissing him – kissing him repeatedly, shifting in a trail that led down to his mouth. He wanted to say something, but his mind had gone blank, and soon his parted lips were claimed by Reese's without so much as a whimper of resistance. He did gasp in shock, though, when Reese's tongue entered into his mouth and made its presence known, so Reese drew back to let him breathe.

"I should have warned you, Harold... I'm a very hungry caterpillar," he grinned, looking deep into Finch's astonished eyes with tenderness and love.

"Yes... Yes, of course," Finch murmured, then closed his eyes and leaned towards his partner, who seemed to have no qualms whatsoever in taking advantage of Finch when he was practically volunteering his lips to him.

A/N: The only place I can go after this is smut – like wild, tumbling-in-the-books sort of smut. But I have other, more well-thought-out stories waiting to be written, so this story will probably end here.