evry1luvzbrndn-blog1

[fatherofmachine]

PERSONALS, DO NOT REBLOG!!

@anurbanlcgend​​ | DEAD RECKONING.

   Blue eyes fixed upon the computer screen,  his mind racing to find a way around  the encryption,  around the virus to find a way through—–but he already knew that a large piece of his own coded virus lay buried beneath.  Dormant for the time being,  but crafted and planted three years ago to set The Machine free from its binding … so it could save itself.  Harold would still attempt  to stop it,  if possible,  but in the event that he could not … he had a plan.  A plan that he likely wouldn’t share with John,  not yet.  For,  he still didn’t know that it was Harold’s fault  that John had almost gotten killed,  that he’d almost had to kill Miss Stanton … his fault that she’d come after John and almost blew him to pieces had Harold not gotten there in time to disarm the bomb vest.

   A few seconds after Harold finished explaining what he’d found ( that the virus would come online five months from now,  but that was all he’d gotten so far ),  he stiffly rose from his chair and limped his way around the table, reaching to gather two folders stacked atop one another.  His intention had been to retrieve the taped pictures of agent Stanton and Snow from the board,  to put them back within their designated folders since they’d received their new number.  But then—

  ( ❛Finch … ?   Thank you.❜ )

   Explanation,  context … none was necessary for Harold to know exactly what it is John was thanking him for.  Brows lifted as he turned to look up,  facing his friend,  his partner.  He felt the shift in their relationship so acutely  in that moment and with the intensity of John’s gaze,  a sudden wave of emotion  encompassed him almost entirely.  Harold’s gaze lowered briefly,  tongue swiping over thin lips before he offered a reply,  quietly  but with a great deal of softness,  of vulnerability,

    ❝Of the many things I am fully equip to handle,  Mr. Reese …. I’m afraid losing  you is not one of them. ❞

   After a moment, a smile pulled at the corners of John’s mouth,  soft  but with the familiar, nearly invisible touches of sadness at the edges—–the pure happiness of it,  albeit,  out shined it all.  Lashes swept downward as John lowered his gaze,  lips parting as if he’d planned to speak,  but … words seemed to fail him.  Instead, a soft breath escaped him and all  of it left Harold’s chest aching with fondness. 

   Their eyes met once again and John’s left hand lifted  to rest against the back of Harold’s neck  ( a way he knew  was John’s way of preventing his injuries from hurting him further ) whilst he moved in closer.  Ducking his head,  John captured his friends’ mouth with his own,  albeit somewhat hesitantly ;  Harold eased  into the kiss,  fingers lifting to brush against John’s jaw and  he was abruptly overwhelmed with how truly desperately  relieved he was to have John Reese back home,  safe and sound.