Returning the Favor

Harold really was having a lousy week, Reese reflected, listening to the dragging footsteps in the hall. First drenched, then drugged. It was pretty impressive that he was up at all.

"Good morning, Harold," he greeted the rumpled, seedy-looking version of his employer that slowly emerged into view.

"If you say so," Finch mumbled.

Reese couldn't help a grin at the echo of his own words from a couple of days ago. "How do you feel?"

Finch sank into a chair with a shuddering sigh. "I've been better." He leaned his face on his hand, and blinked blearily at his associate. "Do people really take that stuff on purpose?"

"So I'm told."

Finch closed his eyes. "Astounding."

"You should drink some more." Reese held out a glass of orange juice that he had poured earlier. Finch opened his eyes, recoiled at the sight of it, and hastily shut them again.

"All right, some more water. Come on, now, you need to stay hydrated." Reese shoved a plastic bottle across the desk. "Did you drink what I gave you last night?"

"Not without intense effort. I wasn't in much of a state to deal with those plastic caps."

Reese bit his lip to hide another grin. "Oh—sorry. I hadn't thought of that. . . . How much do you remember of last night?"

"Not much more than that." Finch sipped his water gingerly. His next words strove for a light tone that they did not quite achieve. "I hope my conversation wasn't too . . . lurid."

"Well, Harold . . ." Reese paused theatrically, until he caught a flash of anxiety in the pale blue eyes behind the glasses. "Your conversation was the dullest I ever heard."

The set shoulders relaxed. "Glad to hear it." Finch leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps we should have exchanged Hesters," he mused aloud, ruefully. "You never would have drunk that wine."

"Oh, I don't know," Reese teased. "When offered by a beautiful blonde with excellent taste in literature . . ."

He stopped himself, seeing Harold's pale face flush as he set the water bottle carefully down on the desk.

"Actually," John went on quickly, in a different tone, "you'd be surprised how many men would have fallen for it. Beauty and brains—that's a potent combination."

Harold sighed again, so quietly this time that no one but his sharp-eared associate would have caught it. "Especially when added to a knowledge of chemistry," he added, regaining a measure of his usual dryness.

John laughed, and got up. "If you don't need me anymore, I think I'll go home and get some sleep."

"Yes, go ahead. I think I'll be fine now." Harold twisted in his chair to look up. "John?"

The other man stopped and looked back.

"Thank you for—for looking after me."

John smiled as he opened the door. "No problem, Harold. Just returning the favor."