Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Title: Full Circle
Chapter I
Rating: Strong M (violence, verbal/emotional abuse and non-consensual sexual situations)
Pairing: Harold/Grace
Stand Alone of 2 or 3 chapters
Notes: I admit, I'm not happy with the direction the writers' took 'No Good Deed' in. Then I thought, what if? The results of this train of thought came from the same source as my earlier one-shot 'Failure Is Not An Option'. This is a very dark fic, that deals with the supposition that the fiancé Finch left behind was not all that she seemed. It is what it is, you have been warned. After all, is not the purpose of fanfiction to explore alternate scenarios?
If anyone is interested in a breakdown of why I felt the episode didn't work, I'll post it in my profile.
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Harold slid back into consciousness with a gasp, wincing as pain lanced through the back of his head and arced down his spine. He forced his eyes open and blinked several times to clear them.
Concrete walls, empty room, roughly five by ten meters. Industrial fluorescent tube light fixture.
He attempted to stand up, only to find that his wrists and ankles had been cuffed to the metal office chair he sat on. A matching chair faced him. Apparently that meant he would be interrogated at some point in the future.
The billionaire strained his ears but not even the sound of traffic reached him. Wherever he was, it was deep within the bowels of an office or warehouse. He knew without even being able to check his pockets that his phone would have been taken from him. Even if it hadn't, no signal would be able to penetrate the walls.
He took a deep breath, thinking back to where he had been before waking up in this nightmare.....corner table at a 'cyber cafe'. Running information for Reese and channeling it to his phone. A server had brought his tea and he'd thanked the man absently, taking a sip on autopilot as he continued to relay statistics and addresses to his partner.
Five minutes later, he'd finished the cup and yawned. He remembered thinking it odd that he was sleepy, as it was the middle of the day. The billionaire had leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for just a moment; then....nothing.....
Finch heard the door being unlocked and his eyes snapped open to focus on the metal barrier. It opened and the sound of quiet sobs floated through the doorway.
"Shut up and get inside!" A male voice growled from the corridor and a woman, blindfolded and wearing handcuffs was shoved into the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
The recluse's eyes widened as he recognized the terrified woman on her knees.
"Grace?!"
Her head jerked up, hands extended out in front of her. "Who's there? How do you know my name?"
Finch winced at the fear in her voice. "Grace....take off your blindfold."
She lifted her bound wrists to her forehead, pushing off the fabric band and blinked, shading her eyes against the bright light. They widened as she recognized the man in front of her.
"Harold? What, how?"
The billionaire jerked against his restraints, trying in vain to free himself.
"No...." Grace moved over to kneel in front of Finch, her hands reaching out to touch his face; the steel of the handcuffs cold against his skin. "Oh God...it is you! How Harold...where have you been all this time?"
"I can't explain now, I don't know where we are or who has us. I just....I want you to know I'm sorry, Grace. I'm so sorry that I had to leave you." He turned his head to press his lips against her palm.
"Harold...a man came by my house to ask for directions. I stepped out to show him which street to take and someone else grabbed me...put a hood over me and pulled me into a car." She stopped, forcing herself to take deep breaths to calm down.
"Next thing I know I'm cuffed, blindfolded...and you're here. What's going on, Harold?" Her fists balled up, clutching at his jacket lapels.
Finch’s heart contracted as he realized why she’d been brought to him. Their captors were planning on using her for leverage to get information from him about the Machine. The very nightmare he’d faked his death to avoid was now coming true.
“Listen to me Grace....whatever happens...whatever they do...remember I love you. I never stopped loving you.”
The woman dropped her head and her shoulders started shaking.
“Please, dearest....don’t cry.”
Grace pushed herself up off the ground, the sound of her laughter growing in volume as she lifted her face to Finch’s. “I’d forgotten how gallant you can be, Harold Wren.”
The recluse’s jaw fell open as he saw her expression harden. She slipped a key from the pocket of her skirt and released her cuffs, letting them clatter to the floor. “Or should I say ‘Finch’?”
“G-Grace? What?”
“Oh Harold....even after all this time I still find your naiveté charmingly refreshing.” The woman smiled down at him, her green eyes devoid of emotion.
The billionaire closed his teeth with an audible click. His own eyes grew guarded.
“What is this about? Who‘s behind it?”
She walked around to stand behind him, dropping a casually possessive hand on his shoulder.
“There exists an organization in the federal government that instigates and carries out black ops so skillfully it makes the covert activities of the CIA look like a gang of nine-year olds playing secret agent.”
“Your little pet operative has no inkling of it. It was so amusing to play the grieving ‘almost widow’ for him when he showed up at my door looking for you.”
The well-manicured fingers squeezed the recluse’s collarbone, forcing a yelp of pain from him as she pinched sensitive nerves.
“The President or someone else?” he gasped, his shoulder cramping.
“Oh please!” She dug a nail into the juncture of his neck, pulling another exclamation of pain out of him. “You don’t honestly think that kind of knowledge could be entrusted to an elected puppet do you?” Her tone dripped with scorn.
“When our so-called ’Commander in Chief’ is replaced every eight years at most, it creates a constant instability in world politics. It makes our country vulnerable; open to exploitation, attack, corruption. The leaders of the Continental Congress knew this and took steps from the very beginning to secure our then fledgling nation. Those measures are in still in place and serving all U.S. citizens very well even now.”
She returned to stand in front of her captive. “Better than ever, I would say. The advances in technology, weaponry and surveillance have been invaluable to us.”
“Us?” Finch whispered, cold realization freezing his insides.
“Yes, my very dear Harold...us.” The woman he knew as Grace sat down opposite him, crossing her slender legs and smiling to see that he at last was figuring things out.
“Only three people know the full extent of what it is. When one of those three outlives their usefulness, they are eliminated and their successor is brought into the triad; after decades of careful observation and grooming. Nothing is left to chance you see.”
“I was recruited by the triad from a very early age, not that I knew it at the time of course. Every step of my career was planned out for me, my natural abilities and inclinations augmented by training that was provided for me without my knowing its ultimate purpose. My predecessor noticed how strongly I believed in a secure America, a protected America and felt that, in time, I would be a great asset to the organization.”
The billionaire’s heart began to race as the implications of her words penetrated his brain. Then I was....
“My first task, so to speak. Yes, Harold you are." The woman smiled, divining his train of thought easily. "Being in control of your creation would be of tremendous use to us in our work. Not that we knew you had built it at first, of course.” She winked at him.
“Much time and effort was spent on Mr. Ingram, as Alicia could surely tell you. What she didn’t know was that others had already suspected that your good friend Nathan couldn’t possibly have created the Machine. When a mousy-haired, unassuming little man kept showing up with him on our surveillance reports, it was decided that he should be investigated.”
‘Grace’ laughed. “You didn’t start seeing me in the park by chance, Harold. And an ice cream cone in January...really?”
********
He’d noticed her by the lake three times now, sometimes sketching the landscape, sometimes the few passersby that braved the cold. Today she had an easel set up and was working on a watercolor painting of a group of ducks taking refuge in the shallows.
Harold had wanted to speak with her on the first day but his natural reticence prevented him. This time on a whim, he’d stopped by a sweet shop on Park Avenue that he’d visited before. The counter person looked at him as if he’d lost his mind when he asked for a scoop of pistachio in a sugar cone but dispensed the out of season treat nonetheless. He’d hurried across the street, blessing the fact that the winter cold kept the ice cream from melting and slowed to an ambling stroll as he approached the artist.
She didn’t notice him watching her at first, being absorbed in the creation of her work. When she turned to rinse her brush, her eyes had met his. He smiled in reflex at the beauty of them; the green of her irises was like a touch of spring compared to the surrounding grays and browns of the park.
His heart thumped when she smiled back, a sideways quirk of the lips that was at once kind and amused. He saw her gaze dart to the ice cream and then back up to his face, her look questioning.
“Would you like one?” He indicated the cone he carried. The woman’s smile grew wider and she laughed in delight.
********
Finch felt his face heat up as she methodically dissected each of his subsequent encounters with her; shredding the cherished memories he associated with all of them until he saw them for the lies they were.
She stepped up and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “How could you possibly think anyone would love you? Such a pity that someone so brilliant is so inept in dealing with people.” Her voice dripped with scorn.
“In the nearly four years we had sex, your fumbling attempts at intimacy never brought me to orgasm even once. I’d have left you within the first year if my field assistant hadn’t given me what you couldn’t.”
‘Grace’ pulled back and shook her head. “And yet, after all that, I still can’t hate you Harold. It would be like hating a jellyfish simply because it wasn’t a cheetah.”
“Especially after you so nobly faked your own death to keep all those bad people from coming after me.” Her voice slipped back into the warm, breathy tone that he knew so well and the recluse closed his eyes against the pain that welled up inside.
“I knew fully well that you were still alive and I’ve been watching you watch me for the past two years. I thank you for that Harold, it has actually made things easier since I don’t have to put up with you in the same house anymore.”
She grasped the lapels of his jacket and pushed it back off his shoulders so that it dangled over his cuffed wrists. Finch’s eyes flew open when he felt her hands unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve decided to give you a little ‘going away’ present, Harold. You have guarded your secrets very closely but I know now about the library. I don‘t need you any longer.” ‘Grace’ pushed the vest over his arms and made quick work of his dress shirt as well.
“But before I dispose of you, I’ll give you something to remember me by.”
“In the four years we were together, I also learned what made you tick.”
Finch tried to fight his way loose when she reached down and unbuckled his belt, hissing in pain as his already stressed injuries protested.
“Stop it!”
He felt his pants and briefs being pulled over his hips, the heavy tweed fabric pooling at his knees. “NO!”
“This room is sound-proofed Harold; shouting isn’t going to help you and it certainly isn’t going to make me stop.” ‘Grace’ slid her hands beneath his undershirt.
“In fact, there isn‘t any way you can stop me.”
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Chapter 2: Closing The Gap
Chapter Text
Title: Full Circle
Chapter II
Rating: Strong M (violence, verbal/emotional abuse and non-consensual sexual contact)
Pairing: Finch/Grace
Characters: Finch, Grace, Reese
NOTES: Again, my muse has led me in this direction. If dark stories aren't for you then please don't hate on them...just go read something else.
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“In the four years we were together, I also learned what made you tick.”
Finch tried to fight his way loose when she reached down and unbuckled his belt, hissing in pain as his already stressed injuries protested.
“Stop it!”
He felt his pants and briefs being pulled over his hips, the heavy tweed fabric pooling at his knees. “NO!”
“This room is sound-proofed Harold; shouting isn’t going to help you and it certainly isn’t going to make me stop.” ‘Grace’ slid her hands beneath his undershirt.
“In fact, there isn‘t any way you can stop me.”
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The woman ran her fingers over Finch's stomach and she laughed as he flinched in reaction. She prodded the softness of his lower abdomen. "Still the thinker rather than the athlete, I see. Well, given your limited mobility since the 'accident', it's to be expected."
Powerless to physically stop her, the recluse fought back the only way he could. He shut his eyes and retreated inside his head; mentally building lines of computer code.
#include
#include
#include // Required by strcpy()
‘Grace’ slid her hands up his torso, working her fingertips through his chest hair until she found his nipples.
#include // Required by malloc()
using namespace std;
main()
{
“Do you remember the first time we slept together, Harold? You’d never been touched like this before...at least that’s what you told me.”
Unbidden, images flooded his memory breaking his concentration as she teased his aureoles.
They both had enjoyed the play...a silly, off-off-Broadway comedy that would never win any awards but was very funny. Grace rested her hand first on his arm and later his thigh for most of the performance; breaking contact only to applaud and then returning to touch him again.
Her actions had emboldened him enough that by the second act he rested his arm across the back of her seat. His partner had responded by leaning into him. Harold could smell the light floral scent of her perfume...just enough to make its presence known but not enough to aggravate his sinuses.
-string SS; // C++ STL string
-char CC[17]; // C character string (25 characters + NULL termination)
-// Storage pre-allocated
-char *CC2; // C character string. No storage allocated.
They had wound up back at her apartment....she invited him in for a drink, which turned into two and led to making out in front of her fireplace. When she suggested that he spend the night, Harold agreed.
Grace slowly undressed him, taking the lead as he was unsure...and when she removed his shirt, she’d taken his nipples in her fingers and....
The billionaire gasped as she squeezed the sensitive buds, rolling them between her fingertips. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as a spike of unwanted pleasure arced down his spine.
“That’s right...you do remember....” She leaned in and raked her teeth over one of the tight knots, drawing a strangled whimper from her captive.
clear_reset
-char CC[17]; // C character string (25 characters + NULL termination)
-// Storage pre-allocated
-char *CC2; // C character string. No storage allocated.
Grace on top of him, mouth on his chest...working him with her teeth...
-// Storage pre-alloca slipping a hand down over his belly to his crotch....wrapping her fingers around him ted
-char *CC2; // C character string. No pumping him.... No slowly, slowly, then getting faster.... No storage allocated.
-SS = "help me, help me, help me";
-strcpy(CC,"help me, help me, help me");
-CC2 = (char *) malloc(17); // Allocate memory for storage of string.
Finch felt his face burning as the woman’s hand echoed his memory, her thumb brushing across the head of his penis. He jerked his head and his neck muscles ached with the effort. The pain helped focus him a bit but it couldn’t override the instincts of his body.
‘Grace’ bit down on his nipple as she pumped him faster, smearing a bead of pre-cum over his already sensitized glans.
-strcpy(CC2,"help me, help me, help me");
-cout -- SS -- endl;
-cout -- SS -- endl;
-cout -- SS -- endl;
“Come for me, Harold...please.”
She cupped his scrotum, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to....
“Come for me, Harold....now!”
results:
help me, help me, help me
Finch felt his testicles draw up and tried to deny the inevitable.
help me, help me, help me
“No...God, please!"
help me, help me, help me
His hips bucked as he ejaculated, wet heat spurting onto his stomach and thighs. Loathing roiled in his gut as the reaction spent itself. He clenched his jaw, fighting to keep silent in the face of ’Grace’s’ violation of him.
Finch’s tormentor laughed again; this time the sultry, uninhibited sound he once loved so to hear only augmented the humiliation that bathed him. She stroked his face, smearing semen over his cheek as she patted him.
“Good boy, Harold.”
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The recluse kept his eyes screwed shut, sucking in deep breaths through his nose. He couldn't help wincing when she wiped her hands clean on his suit coat. Reaching behind her back, the woman drew an LC9 from the waistband of her skirt.
The metallic clack of a round being chambered snapped Finch back to his surroundings and he opened his eyes to see 'Grace' standing in front of him, the lightweight pistol held nonchalantly in her hand.
“Now that you’re feeling more relaxed, Harold it’s time for us to say our goodbyes.”
The billionaire stared up at her, his bloodshot eyes as hard as steel. “You’ll never get what you’re hoping for.” He rasped; still struggling to regain his equilibrium.
The green eyes reflected his coldness as she gazed at him. “I have your laptop, Harold...we have access to your computers in the library. Very soon your precious Mr. Reese will be erased by one of my own operatives. It’s over.”
She shook her head at him. “Oh, Owly...you’re still so optimistic, even now.”
The use of her nickname for him was like cold water to his face, shocking him back to the day ’Grace’ had coined it.
Harold was sitting cross-legged on their living room floor, a stack of picture books at his elbow and reading ‘The Cinder-Eyed Cats’ by Eric Rohmann.
“Having fun?” Grace asked as she entered from the kitchen, wiping her hands dry on a tea-towel.
He looked up, his smile warm as he held out a hand and drew her down beside him. “I’d forgotten how beautiful picture books are.”
He showed her the warmly rich paintings of large felines and flying fish. “I’ve never even heard of this illustrator before.”
She ran her hand over the page, smiling at the pile of sleeping cats. “That’s why I collect them. Each one is like a portable gallery....thirty-two pages of incredible artwork and my favorites are the ones, like this, that have almost no words. Those that let the art tell the story.”
Grace showed him ‘Tuesday’ and they both laughed over the antics of frogs zooming around on lily pads, until dawn robbed them of their power of flight.
She reached back up on the shelf and pulled down a small, paper-bound volume who’s pages contained black and white drawings, so different from the ones Harold had been looking at.
“A comic book?” Harold’s voice was incredulous.
“Read it....” She said with a smile.
Shrugging, he took the comic from her and found himself immersed in the story of a little owl who saved a worm from drowning and helped him find his way home again. Although none of the characters spoke, the clean black lines conveyed their emotion so well Harold was surprised to find himself touched by it. He looked up at Grace.
“Wow...”
“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed, placing a hand on his arm. “You remind me of him you know.” she pointed to the title character.
“Sort of shy but with a huge heart; kind, funny and very sweet. Someone who’s a bit lonely too.”
Harold put down the book and took her hand in his. He lifted his other to her cheek, stroking it. “Not anymore.” His eyes were full of emotion.
“Not anymore...” Grace smiled back, leaning into his touch. “Still...I think that’s what I’ll call you.”
“Owly?” he laughed.
“Owly.”
Her tone was decisive and she poked him in the ribs; finding his ticklish spots and causing him to fall over, toppling the stack of books. They rolled around on the floor, laughing as they both tried to get the upper hand.
Finch winced as he recalled the playful tussle had ended in a very tender round of love-making....a lie just like their entire relationship had turned out to be. He felt the blunt muzzle of the Ruger press up under his jaw.
“I’d say I was sorry that it had to be this way Harold but I’m not going to lie to you now that I don’t have too.” She gave him a pitying smile.
“The truth is, I despised you from the first. Such an amazing intellect, you could have had the world at your fingertips...anything you wanted...but you were broken even then. So brilliant with computers, facts, figures but so incompetent with your own kind that you had to get someone else to be your face and voice.”
She shook her head. “I feel like I’m doing you a favor...putting you out of your misery, so to speak.”
Finch met her gaze, his own expression neutral as he refused to look away when she killed him. “Who are you?”
‘Grace’ stepped in close, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “I’m Root of course...”
The billionaire’s eyes widened in horror as she stepped back; her smile cold and mocking.
It was all over. She would access the Machine...all she needed was time. He himself had shown her the way when he’d fallen for her honey-trap.
“Goodbye Harold.” she started to squeeze the trigger.
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The door blew off its hinges and slammed into the far wall; the concussion wave knocking ‘Grace’ off balance and she staggered to one side.
She recovered at once, wheeling around to point the pistol at Finch’s head and jerked twice. Twin holes appeared in her chest and forehead. She looked confused for a split second before crumpling to the floor like a broken puppet, blood pooling out of what used to be the back of her head.
John Reese was at his employer‘s side in an instant, throwing his coat over the recluse and picking the cuffs that bound Finch to his chair.
“Got to get you out of here...Carter will come storming in with reinforcements any minute.” He released the last restraint and looked into his partner’s face.
“Can you walk?”
“I don’t think I can stand...”
Reese lifted him up, pulling the smaller man close against his chest and headed back out the maze of corridors at a fast clip. Finch managed to catch a glimpse of bodies sprawled unmoving as they passed.
The billionaire would have liked to feel remorse but his relief at being alive consumed his emotional capacity for the moment.
“We can’t go back to the library...”
“I know.” Reese’s voice was flat as he concentrated on getting them free of the building. “I’ve taken care of that. Just trust me.”
They emerged through a back fire door and the recluse felt himself being placed in the backseat of a car, John’s coat still covering him. He was grateful for the attempt to preserve what modesty he had left as he re-dressed himself.
“I’ll take care of everything...alright?” Reese’s eyes were focused on him in the rear-view mirror even as he turned the car out onto the street and sped off into the darkness. Finch nodded, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. He needed to process what had happened before he could assess their current situation.
“Trust me...trust me...trust me.....”
John’s words ran through his brain like a litany. This tormented, fragmented soldier was the only person on earth Harold could trust. The only one who had never let him down...never hurt him.
He sighed.
“Finch...you okay?” his partner’s voice was full of quiet concern.
“I‘ll survive, Mr. Reese.”
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To be concluded in Chapter III. Books referenced in this chapter: ‘The Cinder-Eyed Cats’ (author given); ‘Tuesday’ by David Wiesner and ‘Owly’ by Andy Runton.
Chapter 3: Circumference
Chapter Text
Title: Full Circle
Chapter III: Circumference
Rating: M (violence, verbal/emotional abuse)
Characters: Finch, Reese, Root
NOTES: The final chapter in this stand-alone. If dark stories aren't for you then please don't hate on this...just go read something else.
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Reese found them a cash only motel that wasn't too seedy. By the time the car pulled into the parking lot, Finch was able to stand and limp to their room. He was peripherally aware of his partner pulling items from the trunk but didn't wait; wanting to get out of sight as soon as possible. The ex-agent was hard on his heels
"I have some clothes of yours. I grabbed what I could lay hands on quickly." The op hung a garment bag on the back of the bathroom door and stepped back into the main room.
"Thank you Mr. Reese."
Without another word, Finch disappeared inside the bathroom. The sounds of his employer moving around made John wonder.
He didn't know for a certainty what had taken place in the room before he'd blown the door but finding his partner so exposed; the crust of bodily fluids on his face and thighs and the haggard look in his eyes, all spoke volumes. John's rage had boiled over when he saw the woman he knew as Finch's fiancée aim her pistol at the recluse. He'd double-tapped her without flinching, feeling no guilt whatsoever.
Reese brought his duffle bag and a sack of groceries in from the car and then locked the door behind him; putting on the chain as well as the deadbolt. As he unpacked food and started water heating, he heard the shower start up and sighed in relief. At least the other man wasn't sitting on the toilet, staring at the wall.
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Harold Finch stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection without moving. Crusty streaks of semen still decorated his cheek and lapels, shedding cloudy flakes of silver as they dried. The recluse removed his glasses with care; laying them on the back of the sink.
He reached up and scratched reflexively at the itch on his face before realizing the source of the irritation. Cursing under his breath, Finch made as quick work of shucking his clothing as he was capable; stuffing every article including shoes, socks and underwear into the trash bin. He wanted everything destroyed. By God he'd have Reese burn them if he had too. Dismissing the reflection of his pallid body, the billionaire turned on the shower and stepped inside; cranking the water up as hot as it would go.
He let the spray flow over him, the pain of the hot liquid pelting his skin echoing the ache that blossomed in his soul. He rested his forearms against the cracked tiled wall and at last, allowed himself to grieve. Memories cascaded through his brain in a chaotic jumble of moments big and small.
Grace with three lorikeets perched on her, vying for the seed sticks she'd bought to feed them; laughing as one of the birds started to unbutton her blouse before she could coax it back to her hand.
Surprising her with breakfast in bed on her birthday and himself with the fact that his cooking turned out properly.
Grace sighing as he slid inside her, hugging his body close, wrapping her legs around him...feeling her warm tightness embrace him, spilling himself in her.
The look on her face when he'd given her the engagement ring.
The humiliation he'd felt as she'd so casually stripped him and then torn him to shreds with her verbal attack; destroying the happiest memories he'd had in twenty years. The pounding of the water in the bathtub covered the sound of the sobs that wracked the older man's slight frame.
He had no recollection of sliding down the wall to wind up on his knees in the tub; didn't notice when the last of the hot water was used up, nor the stinging needles of cold that now penetrated his skin.
"Finch?"
The sound of the bathroom door opening was dim in his ears, his body now shuddering from chills rather than emotional release. The recluse's teeth were chattering but still he made no move to rise.
"FINCH!"
The op leaned over him, turning off the taps and reaching down to touch his shoulders. Shit, he's freezing!
"Come on Harold, you've got to get up now."
Finch made no attempt to stop Reese but he didn't help either. It was like wrangling a man-sized fish. John managed to maneuver the older man over to the door and rest Finch's hands against it. Snagging a towel, Reese tossed it over his partner's head and began rubbing him down briskly.
He'd worked his way down Finch's arms and torso before the recluse seemed to come back to himself and pulled the towel out of John's hands.
"Thank you, I can handle things from here."
"Are you sure?"
"Please leave, Mr. Reese."
John nodded, his eyes understanding and stepped out of the bathroom.
Finch wrapped the towel around his hips and moved back over to the mirror. Although it was clear, his reflection was fuzzy and ill-defined. He blinked at himself for a moment then pulled his glasses back on.
His face snapped back into clarity and although he was now clean, his features were still stark and haunted. He examined the place inside him where he'd compartmentalized his trauma...it's sharp edges pricking him. It hurt yes, but the man who'd become Harold Finch was old friends with pain. He pushed it down, burying the worst of it...at least for now.
The billionaire took a deep breath and finished drying off. Pulling clean clothes from the garment bag Reese had brought, Finch dressed and summoning up his courage, stepped back into the hotel room.
His partner was pouring water from a hot pot into a mug, steam wafting up towards the ceiling. Finch picked up the scent of coffee and just as he was resigning himself to drinking it, Reese turned to him; holding out another mug.
Harold took it in reflex, lifting it to his nose and inhaling the scent of green tea laced with honey.
Reese started to say something then stopped, hearing a noise in the parking lot. He stepped in front of Finch, shielding the other with his own body; gun drawn and pointing at the door.
Harold sipped his tea, noting the strength of the brew and the amount of sweetness added by the honey. He vaguely registered that he should be afraid of something further happening to him but he just could not muster the energy to care.
The op relaxed as another set of travelers clattered past the door to reach their own room. Tucking the gun into the waistband of his trousers, he turned back to the recluse. Reese regarded his employer for a long moment, thinking the polo shirt and khaki slacks looked awkward on the man, then motioned for him to take a seat on the bed.
Finch did so, wincing as his injuries protested the movement after being bound for a long time, then subjected to the stress of cold water.
Reese sat down opposite him on the rickety chair that matched the shaky table.
"Finch..." he began but was silenced by the recluse holding a hand up.
"Thank you for your opportune intervention, Mr. Reese. I really didn't want to die, not in that situation."
"Look, what happened in there was..."
"Unfortunate, although as I said, I owe you my life. I was surely going to be murdered before you took care of the problem."
"I killed your fiancée, Finch..."
"Who was about to shoot me in the head."
The op watched as various emotions flickered across his partner's face. Wisely, he kept silent while Finch sorted them out. When the recluse spoke again, his gaze had steadied.
"Things weren't as we thought, Mr. Reese. The woman I knew and...and loved as Grace was in fact 'Root'."
John's eyes widened as Finch related with cold detachment all that the clandestine operative had revealed before her aborted attempt to kill him. The ex-CIA man read between the lines however, taking note of the billionaire's posture and slightly shaking hands. When Finch finished at last, Reese leaned forward and laid a hand on the recluse's arm.
"Harold...I'm sorry. I'm sorry they got to you, that she did all that to you. I just wish-"
"John..." and Finch was surprised to find himself comforted by the other man's reaction. "I didn't know you then. There's nothing you could have done and blaming yourself for my blindness is pointless."
Reese's head snapped up, his eyes dark. "So is beating yourself up for it. There's no way you could have known. I know...how it feels to have someone you care for; someone you trust, turn on you."
Finch nodded, his gaze fixed on the far wall. "Knowing it was all designed to get close to the Machine makes it worse. I keep remembering how happy we...I was then."
"It won't ever leave you..." The op's voice radiated empathy, "but in time..." He sighed in frustration, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
Reese looked at his partner again. "I know you value your privacy but you are my friend, Harold. Even if that is one-sided on my part, I'm not going anywhere. I...I'm here, for whatever you need."
Finch took another few sips from his tea to settle his emotions. He heard what the younger man didn't say: you're my only friend...you're all I have. Don't disappear. Harold realized in a moment of stark clarity that the same was true for himself.
There is no-one else on earth that understands my situation...our situation. I may live in the heart of a very populated city but for all intents and purposes, I am alone. Except for John Reese.
"My privacy is rather moot at this point, though I do appreciate your sentiments." He looked down at his cup. "Thank you."
Taking a deep breath, he met his partner's eyes. "She felt confident enough that I would die at her hands to reveal her agenda. At least we are now forewarned as to what we're up against. We have to concentrate now on re-establishing our connection to the Machine and figuring out where to move our base of operations. We have to consider the library as still being under surveillance. Root's death has bought us some time though; her team's ability to crack the Machine's encryption is severely compromised."
Reese nodded, encouraged by Finch's assessment of their situation and the fact that he was thinking ahead. The man who'd become the centre of his world was stable for the moment and the op was determined not to fail him.
"You need some sleep first. I'll keep watch."
Harold eased back into the pillows, placing his glasses and mug on the nightstand and felt the last of his reserves drain away. Reese was right...he needed rest. The room was plunged into darkness and Finch heard the quiet creak of metal and plastic from the op's chair. He could just make out the blurred edges of John's silhouette against the muted glow of street lamps bleeding through the curtains.
The recluse felt himself relax a bit. It was reassuring to him to see Reese take up a place opposite the window, in clear view of the bed and close enough if he was needed. Harold sighed, letting his eyes fall shut. He waited with infinite patience for the racing turbulence of his thoughts to slow enough for him to be able to sleep.
The rest of Finch's world might have been destroyed but the one constant he had left, in the shape of this ex-military man's unwavering loyalty, was just enough to keep him sane.
poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi
NOTES: If this ending was not what you were expecting; then I hope it is at least satisfying on some level. As for myself, I worked through some issues with 'No Good Deed' in the writing of this short fic. I took a path that was one of the few plausible scenarios in my mind regarding the character of Finch's former love and what the outcome of discovering her existence might be...and that is what fanfiction is for.
It is my belief that stories shouldn't always have a happy ending. The heroes don't always win, good doesn't triumph over evil and opportunities to love are lost. If I read something that makes me fidget while I do, then I appreciate the author taking me out of my comfort zone. Sometimes it is necessary to explore the darkness; if only to prove that it is possible to do so without becoming trapped there.
My sincere thanks to everyone who gave this fic a chance and didn't dismiss it out of hand. I appreciate your sticking with it to the end.
Kusonem;
A.K. Mars