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“What are you in it for?”
The words were still stuck at the back of John’s mind. Even now, as he sat in Harold’s private jet, waiting to take off back to New York, he held an increment of hesitation. It hadn’t been easy to make up his mind to leave in the first place, and he would have undoubtedly re-entered his mission to drink himself to death if it hadn’t been for the Machine.If it hadn’t been for Harold.
“You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Reese.”
Humble, smart, always throwing himself under the bus. John could understand that. But as often as Harold was right, he was more often dead wrong. And John wanted to strangle him sometimes for his— everything. The uptight nature. The obstinate, stiff, uncompromising way he ran their operation. The little crease between his glasses frames when he was upset, or uncomfortable, or confused. His mildly affronted surprise at anything dangerous the team did. How he refused to let anyone help him, especially when he refused to let John help him.The quiet way he sat now, looking at John as though his stare would go unnoticed. Sometimes he really did forget John had been an international spy. After a few more moments, Harold rose unsteadily from his chair and made his way toward the cockpit. John watched him go with a surge of panic that he wouldn’t be coming back, and he chided himself for the sentiment. This must be how Harold had felt watching him leave.
“You can’t go.”
The tremor in his voice. After countless times saving his life, taking extra measures to make sure he was okay, if not happy (when Finch would let him), John was unprepared ever to be the cause of that pain. But Carter was still dead and he was still angry with Harold and he’d wanted him to feel hurt. And now, more than anything, John wished he could take it all back.Because the truth was that he owed Harold everything. And he was starting to realize what that meant, deep in his chest.“We’re about to take off.”John broke gently from his thoughts to see Harold limping back towards him. He gave a nod of understanding. As Harold eased himself back into his seat, John considered how he would approach the subject.The jet rumbling to a start cut him off and he gripped his armrests accordingly. Once they were in the air, the two men sighed at the same time, drawing each other’s attention. When their eyes met, John saw his opportunity.“Harold—”The other man looked away, resigned. “Perhaps not now, Mr. Reese.”John frowned. What was Harold’s goal? To wait until they were back saving numbers, caught in the thick of it, where they both knew they would never bring this up? John was tired of lying.“You know me better than that, Harold.”Finch didn’t do much more than quirk an eyebrow, that painfully morose expression still coating his face. “I suppose I do.”They sat quietly, Harold staring out the window and John reading his every tick, searching to determine what Harold was so afraid of. He could guess it was the same thing he himself feared— and on some level, he knew it was. They were so alike. Two lonely men trying to redeem themselves, saving one life at a time.“I’m not going anywhere,” John told him with as much tenderness as he could muster. “I’m not leaving you again.”Harold was quick to reply. “I understand your motivations for doing so.” Softer, he said, “And it didn’t seem too difficult for you in the first place.”John probably deserved that. But he could tell Harold wasn’t just looking to hurt him. There was an insecurity there that John was all too familiar with; Harold’s fear, that he was meant to be alone. John had felt that way before all this. Now he couldn’t remember what that was like. Not with Harold still alive and well, sitting five feet away from him, centering him, like an anchor.He’d thought Jessica was that person for him, but he’d been so wrong. He’d loved her, yes, but no one else in the world had ever mattered as much to him as Harold Finch.“It wasn’t easy,” John said finally. He shifted forward, drawing Harold’s gaze. “I knew you had Shaw, Fusco, Root…” He swallowed. “I just wasn’t sure you needed me.”Harold scoffed distractedly, his eyes roaming John’s face. “Of course I need you. Do you know how many partners I went through before I found you? Ms. Shaw and Detective Fusco are functional, yes, and Ms. Groves, while unstable, would do anything to protect the Machine. But you, John…”He paused and John was afraid the man’s fear would consume him with the way his expression fractured. “You’re… perhaps the only person in this world that I trust.” It was eating at him, John could see. “And I can’t—”His voice broke there and John reached forward, taking Harold’s hand in his. The contact sent nervous pulses through John’s bloodstream, the same way it did every time Harold attended to his injuries, handed him Bear’s leash, adjusted his shirt collar. Harold managed to keep his composure, though his breathing was noticeably shaky.“You don’t have to say it,” John soothed. “I understand.”He leaned in with the purpose Harold had given him and kissed his forehead, one hand hovering over the other man’s hair. When he drew back, Harold was looking at him with that crease between his eyebrows, his glasses slid down on his nose. “John…?”John gave a small smile. “It’s alright, Harold. I won’t kiss you for real unless you want me to.”Harold’s eyes widened for a few seconds, during which John amused himself by watching the gears in his head spin and click into place. Then, Harold reached forward, fisted his hands in John’s newly-fitted suit jacket, and pulled him into his lips.The glasses nudged awkwardly at John’s cheek, but he didn’t mind. His own confused delight was overwhelming him. Harold was kissing him; finally, expertly, chasing away years of unresolved tension and starting a new burning in John’s core.It was surreal, John thought, as Harold’s mouth moved against his. He had undoubtedly never pictured them ending up here, not even moments before. But here he was, and here Harold was, choosing him back.When they separated, Harold was breathing rather heavily. “Why didn’t you say something before?”“Why didn’t you?” John echoed, newfound happiness allowing him to smirk.Harold fixed him with an annoyed look that John found immensely pleasurable rather than aggravating (for teasing purposes). “Be serious, Mr. Reese. A man of your attractiveness and frankly very heterosexual tendencies was unlikely to ever cross my mind as a potential partner.”“But we are partners,” John said.Harold rolled his eyes. “I should expect meaningless puns from every member of the team but you if we are to enter into a relationship.”John put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Harold. I thought you liked my sense of humor.”He watched Finch wrestle with another eye roll, a quip, or ignoring him altogether. “It still leaves something to be desired.” Quip it was, then.John took his hand again, locking their fingers together. “I’ll work on it.”The crease reappeared above Harold’s glasses as he studied John’s face. “As long as you work on staying alive, I don’t care.”John couldn’t guarantee that. Especially after what had just happened. It was nearly impossible in their line of work. But he knew what Finch needed to hear. He needed an effort, a promise.John pressed a kiss to their joined hands. “I told you,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”