#harold/john

[capfalcon]

"You moved the bed," Harold observes, hanging his coat by the door. He'd insisted that John get a coat rack, had it delivered himself. John doesn't use it, but he likes to indulge Harold sometimes, when he can.

John shrugs a shoulder. "It's better this way."

Harold raises an eyebrow at him as John meanders to the kitchen, pulling out a pan. He's hungry, and there's food in the fridge, enough for the two of them.

"Can I inquire as to why?"

"It's safer," John says, offering no explanation. Harold is still looking at him, John can tell, but it's easy to avoid eye contact. The real explanation is far more damning than John cares to admit, even to Harold himself.

"It's safer..." Harold says, trailing off. "Turned around? With the headboard facing out?"

John sighs as he turns on the stove, waiting for it to click and ignite. "Yes."

"Let me get this straight, Mr. Reese-"

"-John," he interrupts. "We're at my place, Harold. John." It's a new rule, but one John feels strongly about. Their...relationship evolving hadn't exactly taken him by surprise, but there have been some changes that John has insisted on. It's small, but he doesn't like when Harold calls him anything else in his apartment, that Harold bought for him. They aren't Mr. Reese and Mr. Finch here, they're...John and Harold. It's sentimental, the kind of thing Kara would have eviscerated him for, but Harold isn't Kara, and John allows himself these things, now.

"John," Harold repeats. "You turned the bed around."

"I'm aware, Harold."

"May I ask why you believe it to be safer?"

John sighs mentally before deciding that this is a battle that isn't worth spending too much time on. If they're going to continue like this, working and eating together and coming home together, this isn't worth being secretive about.

"You sleep on the left side of the bed." John eventually says, pushing the leftover food around in the pan, warming it up. He turns around just in time to see Harold's look of confusion, his eyebrows scrunching together. Privately, in the security of his own head, John finds it sort of endearing. When that look fails to clear, John sighs out loud this time and turns the stove to low, walking over to Harold.

It still takes a bit of courage to reach out and place his hand over Harold's, a tentative touch. It's been a couple weeks and he still can't faintly believe that he's allowed this, this simple, unrestrained pleasure.

"If someone came in the door, you'd be vulnerable on the left side. I didn't want to ask you to move, so I...moved the bed."

The slow smile that takes over Harold's face is a joy to watch, the way his eyes brighten, crinkling around the corners. "You turned your bed around so I wouldn't have to change which side I sleep on?"

John shrugs in response. "Essentially."

Harold's smile continues to grow, until he's beaming. "John, have I ever told you how you are one of the most fascinating people I've ever met?"

John allows himself to smile, to grin back at Harold, so filled up with brightness it feels like he could float. "I don't think you have."

"A grievous mistake on my part," Harold says, sliding a hand up to take hold of John's suit lapel. He pulls John towards him, slow, asking. It's been so long since John's done this, flirted, been flirted with, with genuine sincerity and affection.

"Should we test it out then?" John asks, raising an eyebrow as Harold presses a kiss to his stubble, his neck.

Harold hums against his skin in question.

"Your side of the bed. To make sure it's safe."

Harold laughs, resting his head against John's shoulder. It's a great sound, echoing slightly in the large space. "Gladly, John."

The food burns, but only a little, and they're both hungry enough that it doesn't really matter. They eat it in bed, facing the wall, and they both have small, private smiles on their faces as they turn to watch the city they protect go on beside them.

[qotu33]

POI: Break Me

(My Dark 3am musings. Read the tags first. Hankie required.)

JOHN?!" Harold reaches up to him, his eyes big and round without his glasses, shimmering with unshed tears. "Will you go? Please?"

"No."

"Please, John," Harold gasps, "save yourself!"

"No!"

John wants to reach back, to pick him up off the grey pavement and into his arms, but the spreading pool of blood beneath Harold's body and the self-satisfied smirk on Greer's face as he looks on, make his anger boil over. John will not walk away, to leave Harold to this fate, alone. He will not let this go unpunished. He will not just lay down and die for Samaritan.

"I assure you, Mr. Reese, we are not interested in you," Greer states. "Only your employer, as it were. Though, should you be in need of a job after this, we can always use more men with your skills."

John's own blood is already dripping from his sleeve. He watches it arc through the air as he brings his arm out in a karate chop straight to Greer's open throat with all the force he has left within him. Greer gags and coughs, surprise etched into his face. John smashes his knee into the cartilage of his nose for good measure. Someone rushes to Greer's aid but it's too late, he's already choking to death. Blood spits out of his mouth as his goons open fire on John.

Harold's voice is high pitched with fear, "JOHN!"

John's rage keeps him upright. He grabs a gun. The hot barrel burns the skin of his palm as he shoves the grip into a man's forehead. He switches hands to fire at the others, pulling the trigger until the magazine is empty.

Head shots.

He has no heart left for kneecaps.

No time for center mass.

They fall like dominoes.

Every.

Single.

One.

He's on his knees in the pool of Harold's blood, his own now rushing down his torso, to mix with Harold's as he drops the gun from nerveless fingers.

"John?" Harold's voice is faint. "My dear John..." His unshed tears spill down his cheeks and he blurs in front of John.

He reaches out again and John grips his hand, their fingers intertwining with ease.

"Harold," his own voice is rough. "I'm here. Everything's... going to be okay." He cups Harold's cheek in his free hand, runs a thumb under his eye to catch the tears. "Stay with me."

"I don't think... I can... John..."

John's own breathing is coming in awkward gasps now, his lungs refusing to fill with precious air. His brain tells him something is wrong but he's losing focus.

"Harold, I-" his mouth forms the words, but there's no sound anymore.

He finds Harold's cold lips with his own, presses a bloody kiss to them.

His head's heavy.

He rests it on Harold's chest.

Their fingers are still intertwined.

He won't ever let go.

Not even as Harold's grip loosens and his heart beat stutters to a stop.

In the distance, John hears a familiar voice, and closes his eyes.

"Wonderboy? Glasses? I got your call. Are you here? What the hell?!"

. . . . . . .

Fusco answers his phone on the second ring, his nerves strung tight, "Fusco." "Can. You. Hear. Me?" "Who the hell is this?" "I apologize, Detective Fusco," and now the voice sounds a lot like his recently dead friend still laying on the cold concrete of the sidewalk only two feet away. "I an artificial construct. My father is… was… the man you know as Harold Finch. I am in need of your help. More specifically, Ms. Shaw and Ms. Groves are in need of your help."

[selfieignite]

With the actors and writers strike in the U.S., I'm reminded of this tweet from John Cho who got zero payment from a residual check.

[x]

[diioonysus]

insects in art: butterflies

[thekingofspin]

At least If we voted saxon he'd try and help the NHS

[incorrectquotesconaisseur]

for me, harold saxon and the master are very different flavours of babygirl and wildly different shades of homosexual. harold saxon is gay and homophobic. the master would call you slurs for fun but still call you by the right pronouns. they're not the same.

[io-lu-art]

Your concerned 3rd party...

...is watching you.

[linusbenjamin]

Person of Interest + music ♫ (@danesdehaan)

[tsukihasnolife]

"YOU ARE BEING WASHED, THE GOVERNMENT HAS A SECRET S-"

[truemoondust]

Person of Interest (2011-2016) || “can you hear me?” + the Machine || 2x22 - God Mode, 3x17 - Root Path (/), 4x22 - YHWH, 5x10 - The Day the World Went Away, 5x13 - return 0

[timethehobo]

Finally got a copy of the series after looking for years. Damn region restrictions and censors. Had to scribble.

[crimeshowsource]

Person of Interest 3.17

[oldvintageglamour]

John Hazel, a 21-year-old boxer, Harold Wilmot, 32, & John Richards, a 22-year-old carpenter, arriving at Tilbury docks on board the ex-troopship ‘Empire Windrush’, smartly dressed in zoot suits & trilby hats, 1948 🖤👔🖤👔🖤

📸: Douglas Miller

[vhbutter]

With the election coming up and the hopeful annihilation of sunak, it would only be sensible to draw the only Prime Minister that Britain needs

[diioonysus]

it's all in the eyes

[meyerlansky]

#hboww2rewatch timestamp roulette: MASTERS OF THE AIR, PART ONE ↳ you've been up. two missions. you didn't tell me it was like that.