Title:…Again

Author: NiennaTru

Summary: "Taking a deep breath, Harold glanced again at John. What damage had been done?"

Spoilers: 2x12 "Prisoner's Dilemma"

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, nor do I make any profit.

Author's Note: This was written at 2 A.M., because I couldn't sleep after watching 2x12 "Prisoner's Dilemma." As I told someone yesterday in a PM, I am so emotionally invested in this show, it is embarrassing.

The two men slowly made their way up the library steps—Harold, because his heavy limp prevented a quick and agile ascent, and John, because his time spent in Stanton's clutches had left its mark.

The slow progress allowed Harold to watch John and try to gauge how bad the physical damage might be. John would shrug off even the worst injuries as inconsequential, and so Harold's attempts at discovering John's physical condition had been met with the usual frustrating non-committal answers. Harold hadn't believed for a moment that John was "fine," as he claimed, but chose not to push the other man. The physical wounds—whatever they might be—would eventually heal.

What worried Harold far more was the psychological trauma that had been undoubtedly suffered. He had once told John that he knew exactly everything about the ex-operative, and while that was certainly a mild exaggeration, Harold did now everything there was to know that was on file about John's time in the C.I.A. Included in those files was a wealth of information regarding the woman with whom John had been partnered.

What Harold had read there had shaken him. Kara Stanton's files and what they revealed of her psychological makeup were the stuff of nightmares. The C.I.A. certainly encouraged moral flexibility in its agents, but Stanton displayed tendencies that could only be described as sociopathic. An operative adept at enhanced interrogation techniques, Stanton also took great pride in breaking her victims (for there was no other way that Harold could think of those who came across her path) using her favorite instrument of torture: words as deadly and destructive as any material weapon—and far more gleefully utilized. The operative seemed happy to kill, wound, and otherwise cause mayhem and destruction wherever and whenever possible. Harold could think of serial killers who displayed more empathy for their fellow human beings.

And John had spent days with this woman, once again trapped in a situation he could not control.

Harold thought he would be relieved when John was rescued, but if anything, his anxiety actually increased upon his employee's return. The relentless silence John maintained, the stillness of movement, the hollowness of expression—all reminded Harold of the terrifying man John had briefly become when one of the numbers brought up agonizing memories of his past. The quiet, deadly look John had leveled at him when ordering him from the car so that he could pursue Marshall Jennings alone had been deeply unsettling. He had been relieved—far more than he would ever admit—when John had returned, subdued and still troubled by the events that had taken place, but no longer driven by the demons that had led him to take such extreme action.

Taking a deep breath, Harold glanced at John. Had his time with Stanton reawakened those demons? What damage had been done?

Harold tried to push the troubling thoughts aside as they approached the innermost part of the library. Unlocking the gate, he heard the unmistakable sound of paws scraping and clawing across the library floor as Bear ran to meet them. Quickly stepping aside, Harold watched as Beard bounded toward John, tail wagging, and tongue lolling from his mouth.

"Hello, Bear," John greeted quietly, kneeling down to better accommodate the dog in his attempts to thoroughly welcome John by sniffing his face and licking his hands.

Harold smiled at the sight. "I think it's safe to say he's glad you're home. He missed you."

John continued to pet Bear, stroking his ears and scratching his back. "I missed you, too, Bear," John whispered, his voice cracking on the last word. The past days had been a terrible reminder of the darkest and very worst time in his life, the unwelcome reunion with his ex-partner reawakening memories he had desperately tried to keep buried. The brief feeling of happiness he had felt on the morning everything had collapsed around him was now obscured and tainted by the reappearance of everything he hated about himself. He felt sick.

Realizing that something was very wrong, Bear stilled. John was hurt and needed him. Bear nuzzled closer and sat patiently. When John's arms encircled him, Bear allowed himself to be held, content to help his beloved owner heal, and happy to be reunited after the long separation.

Leaning his head against Bear, John breathed in the dog's familiar and welcome scent. His throat tightened, and eyes began to sting. Taking a faltering breath, John allowed the tears to fall unchecked. He was surprised to find that with the tears came a feeling of relief, as if a poison was being leeched out of him. The well-known surroundings of the library, the love and loyalty of Bear, and Harold's steady and unwavering faith in him all acted like a balm, soothing the old wounds scraped raw by his recent experience.

Watching John and Bear, Harold felt something within him relax marginally, and with some difficulty, he knelt down beside the two. Gently laying a hand on the other man's shoulder he said, "I'm glad you're home, too, John."

John nodded his head and breathed out the words he doubted he could ever stop saying.

"Thank you, Harold."