Sooner or Later
Title: Sooner or Later
Author: zootsuitzappy
Pairing/Characters: John Reese, Harold Finch (pre-slash if you want to see it)
Rating: G
Summery: Finch is left in the rain, wondering if "sooner or later" is now.
Word count: 781
Author's note: Inspired by "The xx - Intro" and listening to rain sounds on "rainymood.com".
The rain was soaking his jacket. It felt like every single drop echoed into his ears. It made the absence of sound from his earpiece all the more chilling. He knew it was worthless to worry over the operative, but at times he couldn’t stop the thought before it plagued him. What if “sooner or later” is now?
Instead of trying to dissect this thought like he usually did, he tucked his chilled hands into his pockets and waited in the rain. A storm had just started, it was sure to get worse the longer he stood there, and it certainly wasn't doing his back any favors, but he felt he had to.
He was standing in the spot where Reese said to meet up an hour ago. Reese was supposed to be on his way with the number, escaping a particularly nasty group of gun smugglers. Their number was a lawyer (it seems lawyers had a habit of becoming a number among the Irrelevant list, this was the eighth person who involved the court system yet) who had been blackmailed into working for the smugglers. Pulling strings to get their shipments out without much interruption.
Then the man had fallen in love. That seemed to be the stem of most problems these days. Things were fine and dandy the way they were, when this emotion would root itself so deep that it became devastating if lost. Which is what happened as well. The smugglers saw the woman as a possible leverage, since the lawyer had started to become belligerent and argumentative after he’d met her.
Since they didn’t get her number, Finch felt that her death had honestly not been planned for. Nonetheless, it had made a Mister Dale Ernest bent on revenge. Even if that vengeance was suicidal. So when Reese had found all this out, he’d gone to prevent Mr. Ernest from getting himself shot. This involved getting to him before the smugglers, and the last contact Finch had had with his partner told him that he’d barely done just that. Dale needed to get out of town, fast, and Finch was to meet them at the dock.
So here Finch stood, sopping wet and skin becoming numb and flushed from the growing storm. He supposed he could have waited in the car, but to be safe he’d parked it three streets back which was too far to keep an eye out for Reese. He really wasn’t good at this, keeping an eye out, at least not in person. Back in the Library he’d have had no difficulty using various cameras to watch every square inch of the place. In person, he could barely look over his shoulder.
Raindrops were blurring his glasses beyond sightability when he managed to make out two figures making their way towards him. Finch felt his heart race as he realized one was heavily leaning on the other. Swiftly and deftly taking off his glasses to clean them so he could get a better look, he saw the dripping forms of Reese and Ernest. For a brief moment, Finch was compelled to tell his partner of his dangerous thought that he had tried to ignore. From the way Reese returned his gaze, he didn’t need to.
Standing to his full height once more, Reese shoved Ernest in the direction of the ship that was to take him out of New York. A small nod between them was all the thanks Ernest offered for saving his life. Finch waited until the man had boarded the ship before giving his full attention the heavily wounded man beside him.
“Honestly, Mister Reese. I’ve been standing here an hour now. You at least could have called.” His voice had that dry and impatient tone to it, just as he’d practiced when he wanted to stop himself from saying something else. Reese quirked a smile and pulled something out of his pocket. Revealing a broken cell phone. “Well. What is this, your eleventh or twelfth?”
Grin widening, Reese replied in his smooth and low murmur, effectively hiding the obvious pain he must be in. “Actually, I think it’s my fifteenth.” His efforts however are ruined when he tries to take a step and a sharp inhale of breath is the result.
The worry that Finch had previously felt comes rushing back, and reflexively he steadies the man by putting a hand to his arm. “You need a doctor.” Is the calm and even command that he forces himself to make. Reese glances at him, his chilling blue eyes that can freeze the darkest and cruelest of hearts, analyzing him with a warmth he’s rarely seen.
“Later.”
Right. Later.
Author: zootsuitzappy
Pairing/Characters: John Reese, Harold Finch (pre-slash if you want to see it)
Rating: G
Summery: Finch is left in the rain, wondering if "sooner or later" is now.
Word count: 781
Author's note: Inspired by "The xx - Intro" and listening to rain sounds on "rainymood.com".
The rain was soaking his jacket. It felt like every single drop echoed into his ears. It made the absence of sound from his earpiece all the more chilling. He knew it was worthless to worry over the operative, but at times he couldn’t stop the thought before it plagued him. What if “sooner or later” is now?
Instead of trying to dissect this thought like he usually did, he tucked his chilled hands into his pockets and waited in the rain. A storm had just started, it was sure to get worse the longer he stood there, and it certainly wasn't doing his back any favors, but he felt he had to.
He was standing in the spot where Reese said to meet up an hour ago. Reese was supposed to be on his way with the number, escaping a particularly nasty group of gun smugglers. Their number was a lawyer (it seems lawyers had a habit of becoming a number among the Irrelevant list, this was the eighth person who involved the court system yet) who had been blackmailed into working for the smugglers. Pulling strings to get their shipments out without much interruption.
Then the man had fallen in love. That seemed to be the stem of most problems these days. Things were fine and dandy the way they were, when this emotion would root itself so deep that it became devastating if lost. Which is what happened as well. The smugglers saw the woman as a possible leverage, since the lawyer had started to become belligerent and argumentative after he’d met her.
Since they didn’t get her number, Finch felt that her death had honestly not been planned for. Nonetheless, it had made a Mister Dale Ernest bent on revenge. Even if that vengeance was suicidal. So when Reese had found all this out, he’d gone to prevent Mr. Ernest from getting himself shot. This involved getting to him before the smugglers, and the last contact Finch had had with his partner told him that he’d barely done just that. Dale needed to get out of town, fast, and Finch was to meet them at the dock.
So here Finch stood, sopping wet and skin becoming numb and flushed from the growing storm. He supposed he could have waited in the car, but to be safe he’d parked it three streets back which was too far to keep an eye out for Reese. He really wasn’t good at this, keeping an eye out, at least not in person. Back in the Library he’d have had no difficulty using various cameras to watch every square inch of the place. In person, he could barely look over his shoulder.
Raindrops were blurring his glasses beyond sightability when he managed to make out two figures making their way towards him. Finch felt his heart race as he realized one was heavily leaning on the other. Swiftly and deftly taking off his glasses to clean them so he could get a better look, he saw the dripping forms of Reese and Ernest. For a brief moment, Finch was compelled to tell his partner of his dangerous thought that he had tried to ignore. From the way Reese returned his gaze, he didn’t need to.
Standing to his full height once more, Reese shoved Ernest in the direction of the ship that was to take him out of New York. A small nod between them was all the thanks Ernest offered for saving his life. Finch waited until the man had boarded the ship before giving his full attention the heavily wounded man beside him.
“Honestly, Mister Reese. I’ve been standing here an hour now. You at least could have called.” His voice had that dry and impatient tone to it, just as he’d practiced when he wanted to stop himself from saying something else. Reese quirked a smile and pulled something out of his pocket. Revealing a broken cell phone. “Well. What is this, your eleventh or twelfth?”
Grin widening, Reese replied in his smooth and low murmur, effectively hiding the obvious pain he must be in. “Actually, I think it’s my fifteenth.” His efforts however are ruined when he tries to take a step and a sharp inhale of breath is the result.
The worry that Finch had previously felt comes rushing back, and reflexively he steadies the man by putting a hand to his arm. “You need a doctor.” Is the calm and even command that he forces himself to make. Reese glances at him, his chilling blue eyes that can freeze the darkest and cruelest of hearts, analyzing him with a warmth he’s rarely seen.
“Later.”
Right. Later.