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Beds were often the last thing that bothered John. Anything can be a bed as long as he can sleep in it. Broken mattresses, carpets, couches, bathtubs, backseats, scavenged blankets and cardboards, he had slept in them all. And he had always slept by himself, never had the luxury - or misery - of sharing a bed with someone else.
Lying half conscious on the queen sized hotel bed, it’s not the sniper’s gunshots nor the sight of Harold dumping a bag of cash at the morgue that occupied his mind, but the fact that he had not slept in such a large, comfortable bed for a long time.
Not accustomed to the vast empty sheets around him, John wondered where Harold had gone, only to find the man dozing off in an armchair beside the bed. For a brief moment his heart tugged, a mixture of confusion and gratitude at the lengths Harold went to save his life, and then he drifted off again under the anaesthesia.
***
The second time they came across having only one bed, Harold was high on ecstasy and had retreated to the little room in the library where he often slept.
John had taken the couch down the hallway, but after several sleepless hours he decided to get up and check on Harold. There, curled up in the tiny double bed cramped against the bookshelves, Harold stirred as John dragged a blanket over his shoulders. Don’t go, he mumbled, clumsy hands trying to grab at the figure before him.
John let Harold hold his hand and sat on the bedside floor. He’d catch some sleep after Harold had sobered up. He thought about how often did Harold sleep in the library and how long had he been sleeping alone. He thought about the double bed in his own tiny run-down studio and how similar it is to the room he’s in right now.
As Harold’s breathing evened out and his hand went slack, John closed his eyes to rest.
***
On the third occasion, it was too late and exhausting to drive back to Manhattan after solving a case in the suburbs, so they stayed overnight in the motel room they used for stake out. There was only one bed.
Harold asked if he should book an additional room, but John refused and took the bathtub instead. Harold had offered the other side of the bed, but he would respect John’s choice of maintaining distance between them in a less comfortable sleeping spot.
Harold didn't mind sharing a bed, really. After working together for quite some time, he already knew enough about the ex-agent to trust him sleeping beside himself. He might even feel safer that way, after going through Root’s abduction.
Dozing off on cold porcelain, John didn't mind sharing a bed, either. He'd actually prefer to stay close to Harold after the kidnapping. He could get to know Harold more intimately from sharing a bed, seeing the more mundane side of him, dressed down to sleeping clothes and feel his weight shift on the mattress… But no, he would respect Harold's need for privacy.
John woke up as Harold knocked on the door the next morning and got up to make the bathroom available to him.
***
The fourth time happened after they got the bomb vest off John’s chest in one of the safe houses.
Harold had insisted for John to take the bed given his disheveled condition, but he knew better than to further argue against his stubbornness. John opted for the couch, and Harold let him. John had already allowed Harold to come near and peek into the abyss in his heart, Harold was not going to push any further, at least not tonight.
John jolted awake on the couch in the middle of the night with haunting images in his mind. He turned and saw Harold sleeping soundly in the bed not far away. John picked up his blanket, walked over and curled up on the floor beside Harold, finding comfort in his company and the sound of his breathing.
John returned to the couch early in the morning, unaware of the gaze on his back that followed his tracks.
***
The Machine had started stepping into their lives by the next time they had to share a bed.
Its calculations showed the importance of Admin and Primary Asset to each other. Neither of them performed well when they were separated and distressed. Sending John on a hijacked airplane guaranteed him contacting Harold, and by teaming up they greatly increased the mission’s success rate. Plus, they made up nicely afterwards.
By the time John and Harold checked in for the night in Rome, Harold noticed the hotel system was altered as their room had only one bed instead of two, and the hotel ran out of extra beds.
“It was you, wasn’t it,” Harold whispered at a surveillance camera, glaring at its red flash like an unimpressed parent.
John contemplated it in the shower. If Harold was going to offer to share the bed, he would take it. He knew he’s not in a position to reject anything right now.
He’d be happy to sleep with Harold, in fact, but only if he was allowed to. They had not spend time together for a while and Harold might still be upset with him. Although John was reluctant to admit, he had missed Harold’s presence. And after the whole ordeal on the plane, he just wanted to be with his partner again.
John came out of the bathroom to the same setting, but with an open door connecting to an adjacent hotel room.
Just booked the other room in case you’d prefer some space, Harold said, still treading lightly in the aftermath of John’s raging emotions, careful not to startle him with his overjoyed sentiments of having John back.
John took the other room. At least they were still connected to each other.
***
John had stopped counting the times they had a chance to get closer and resigned to be happy enough just staying by Harold’s side.
They were sent to a bird sanctuary on the outskirts for a mission, where the number worked as a clerk at the accommodation situated in the nature reserve. They checked in for one night as a pair of bird enthusiasts, only to find out the sleeping arrangements were being altered.
Harold sighed at the king-sized bed in the middle of the cabin. “Guess that’s The Machine’s doing again.”
They toured the facility and pretended to bird watch while surveying the number. Harold was especially enthusiastic about the birds and marveled at the vast species found in the area. Much to his surprise, John knew a good deal about them, naming each species as they spotted a bird.
They solved the case in the middle of the night with little trouble; a hitman was sent to kill the number for jeopardizing an illegal trade of endangered bird species, and the person behind it was arrested in his apartment miles away.
“I’m surprised at your knowledge of birds, Mr. Reese,” Harold said as they returned to the cabin.
John hung his jacket beside Harold’s and dangled his phone. “Got a text that pointed me to an encyclopedia about local birds. Gave it a read, thought it might come in handy.”
“And how did that work for you?”
“Didn’t help much with the mission, but it made you happy,” John chose his words carefully.
Harold huffed in amusement and patted the sheets beside him on the bed. “It seems The Machine has been putting extra effort into interfering with our lives.”
There were no chairs in the room, so John walked over and sat beside Harold.
“I quite liked it, actually.” Said John.
In hindsight, maybe The Machine put him on the flight to Rome not just to rescue a bunch of people. Acquiring more knowledge about birds didn't serve much purpose in solving the case, nor did having only one bed. John wondered if The Machine was trying to communicate something to them, like they should become… closer?
They sat on the bed side by side and looked at the vast forest outside the wide window.
“I don’t think there are any birds out there at this hour,” said John after a stretch of comfortable silence.
“There are, we just can’t see them.” Harold said lightly.
“Finch… What is it about birds that you like so much?”
Harold turned to glance at John, whose gaze, soft, is still upon the darkness outside. He knew John had stopped prying into his privacy when they grew trusting of each other, and he had given John pieces of himself here and there, all willing and voluntary. John was not prying into his bird aliases. Here, John’s interest was genuine.
“I think - ” Harold started, “I think it’s the freedom. Of doing things, being in places humans aren’t capable of.”
A smile crept to his face. “And resilience, too. They are found all over the world, on every terrain, in extreme environments. They fly in the rain, in the wind and in the snow. Even gravity can’t hold them down.”
“Like you.”
Harold paused to look at John, at his half-lidded eyes and gentle smile. There was affection in his voice, the magic that soothed countless people and helped them come to terms with their inner turmoil. Maybe - maybe tonight, he could indulge John and give him one more piece of himself.
“-Cranes.” Harold said, ignoring how abrupt it sounded.
“Beautiful creatures, nearly all species monogamous, meaning that they mate for life. Their dance is highly complex and intricate.”
“One of your aliases,” John added. Then quietly, “…What happens when one from the pair is left alone?”
“If one lost its partner - due to death or whatever reason,” Harold breathed, then continued, “it will mourn for a year or two, then it will begin to look for a new mate.”
“…Like you?” John let it slip out, voice softer than before.
“No,” Harold said, lightly. “…Like us.”
He leaned slightly onto John’s shoulder, his weight conveying a message. An invitation.
John, who was always good at reading between the lines, shifted a little, then leaned back against Harold's shoulder with the same amount of weight.
It was a subtle exchange of consent. No words, no looks, not even any movement visible to the eye.
And then, slowly, John extended his arm behind them like a bird's wingspan and let it land on Harold’s side, hand resting against his forearm. Harold, completely unstartled, leaned further and let his body rest comfortably against John's.
“Like us.” John echoed, looking ahead.
Outside the window the dawn broke on the horizon, the sky turning a faint glow of red and birds started chirping in the trees. Time felt frozen in the quiet tranquility.
They lay on the bed snuggled against each other, watching the world slowly came to life, drinking in the view and a new found feeling. John kissed Harold softly on the head and Harold's hand tightened a little against John's waist, silently wishing this moment to continue forever.