Double Harolds - PoI Fanfic

Title: Double Harolds
Characters: Reese & Finch, Harold (OC) & John (OC)
Rating: G
Summery: When Reese sees double, things get interesting
AC: This is a gift for Jinni, whose birthday was yesterday... I'm sorry I'm late! I had around half of it written, but then other things happened and I didn't get it done in time. I hope you like it and had a good birthday. ^w^


He was just walking in the crowd, just another in a sea of faces. Occasionally, he'd look at a camera, and thus the Machine, which of course meant Finch. He was stuck between being comforted and paranoid with the thought that Finch could see him. Be there without being there.

Or maybe he was. Just twenty feet ahead of him, he saw the familiar hairstyle. Along with a quick check of wardrobe; an odd colored waistcoat, wacky colored tie, and glasses, all check. The glasses were a new pair, but he'd already worn two, who's to say he didn't have more?

He stealthily sneaked past him then turned around in the crowd to surprise him from behind. A playful smirk played on his lips as he softly asked, "Harold, what are you doing here?"

The man jumped slightly, turning around to look at him, "Yes, I- w-who are y-you?" At this close of range, he realized with a start that this wasn't Finch. Similar, but now he could pinpoint all the obvious differences. He smiled apologetically, taking a step back and out of the stranger's personal bubble.

"Terribly sorry sir, thought you were someone else."

"Oh... t-that's a-alright..." the stranger still seemed confused, probably wondering what kind of person looked like him. He melded into the crowd as he retreated from the stranger, but before he got too far, Finch's voice appeared in his ear.

"I fear you are loosing your touch, Mr. Reese. Do you need glasses as well?"

Reese chuckled lightly. Of course he had been watching just when Reese thought he was being sneaky. "Haha. Who is he? You know him?"

There was a pause, with only the sound of a keyboard on the other end. Next, Finch was talking in his business tone. There wasn't much of a difference between his playful and professional, but Reese had learned how to tell the difference.

"Doctor Crane, lives in San Francisco, California. Here on business, a meet of psychiatrists. It seems his number is rather high on the list, but not enough to warrant our intervention."

He certainly didn't look like he was in danger, Reese was a safe distance away, and for some reason his interest had been perked. This Finch-look-a-like seemed almost as interesting as Finch himself.

"He answered to Harold." Reese smiled at the pause Finch took before replying, a testament to him understanding the dual meaning.

"That would be because it is his name, Reese. Dr. Harold Crane."

Reese allowed himself to laugh at that. "What are the odds? Double Harolds."

~

Harold stared after the handsome stranger who had somehow known his name. Wait, not his name, because the stranger said he was looking for someone else. But... then was this other person also named Harold? The chances that there was someone else out there who looked, dressed, like him and had the same first name... they were very small. Then again, it was a large world.

He eventually lost the stranger in the sea of faces that made up New York City, but was still unconsciously looking when a hand on his shoulder brought him back. He swiftly swiveled around to face who had grabbed him, only to relax when he recognized the face.

"John! There you are. Where have you been?"

The man smiled, his copper eyes softening. "Oh you know. Flying around. Getting a sense of the area. I need to make sure I know the three blocks around your convention."

Harold sighed and shook his head, adjusting his zig-zag tie. Honestly, this man was unstoppable. "You don't have to worry about me John. It's just a meeting of psychologists and psychiatrists. Not psychopaths. Sometimes I fear you don't know the difference."

The tall man smiled disarmingly, running a hand through his short slick black hair. His dark grey suit and light grey dress shirt complemented his hair and brought out his odd colored eyes. Then his care-free attitude was wiped away to be replaced with calm seriousness.

"You were stuttering. Who talked to you?"

The question caught Harold off guard, "What? How did you know I was talking to anyone?"

John tilted his head to the side like that was a stupid question. "Please, Harold. You only stutter around people you aren't comfortable with. And I can hear that adorable stutter of yours miles away." John smirked at the end of his reasoning, but his tone stayed serious, wanting an answer. He didn't like it when strangers talked to Harold. He would liked to have said his Harold, but the smaller, younger, shy, and intelligent man was forever oblivious to his feelings. Sometimes that was good. Other times, it infuriated the dark haired man to be so blunt about it and not being recognized.

"Oh... well yes, a stranger confused me with someone else. I think he went off that way..." Harold turned his head to look in the direction the handsome man had disappeared to. He couldn't keep a wistful look from flowing across his face. That stranger had such a soothing voice, soft yet powerful.

John looked where Harold was looking, a twinge of jealousy rising. He squashed it and focused on picking out anyone odd in the crowd. After a minute, he spotted a tall man in a nice suit not far off. He seemed to be talking on a phone, but John could see the attempted hidden glances their way.

"Harold, why don't you go to the meeting. I'll meet up with you at lunch."

Harold turned his face to look at John curiously, his pale blue eyes innocent behind his amber glasses. His short dark brown hair blown into an odd shape with the New York wind. It caused John to smile. "You sure? Where are you going?"

"Oh, no where. Just gonna wonder around. Take in New York and all. I'll swing around to get you in a couple hours."

"Well... okay..." Harold began to walk away, tucking his hands into his pants pockets, his shoulder hunched slightly to brace himself against the chilling wind. John almost gave him his suit coat, but stopped himself. They were close friends, but that might be too intimate. Instead, he waited until he was sure Harold was a good distance away, before turning and starting towards this "stranger" that had approached Harold.

~

"There are many people named 'Harold', Mister Reese. As I'm sure there are countless more named 'John'."

Reese smirked and was about to answer when something caught his eye. Another man approached the "Finch-look-a-like" and began conversing with him. Reese felt himself wish he could hear what they were saying for a moment before checking himself. This man wasn't a number, it shouldn't matter right now. Even if he did have an uncanny resemblance to Finch, it didn't mean he was obligated to watch out for him.

So instead of walking back over there, he replied to Finch. "People need to get more original with names. Be creative. Why do we have so many 'John's and 'Bob's but not more names like 'Sherlock'?"

"Because people bully those who are different." Finch's statement was sadly very true, and it struck Reese as though he were speaking from experience. He wondered idly if Finch were ever bullied in high school, and thought made him irrationally angry.

He was brought out from his trail of thought with a man suddenly appearing before him. That was irrational, he probably walked right up to him, but Reese had been so engulfed in his thoughts that he'd failed to have noticed. Maybe he did need glasses. Or he was getting old. Either was a scary thought.

"You talked to Harold."

No question, no hello, just a statement to a total stranger. Reese couldn't help but be curious how this man knew that. "Who? Oh, you mean the guy I mistook for someone else, as I said to him, terribly sorry. Now, who are you?"

"Why did you talk to Harold?" This guy was starting to get annoying. Completely ignoring his question like that and instead asking one of his own. Then again, if the roles were reversed, he might have done that as well.

"I believe I just answered that." His voice remained calm and friendly, no need to start something that didn't happen. But this guy was just looking for a fight.

"Stay away from Dr. Harold," the man narrowed his odd color eyes, must be wearing contacts, people from San Francisco were so odd. He then seemed to look Reese over, before locking eyes with him again, "You have a dangerous aura about you. Like you're always just a step away from trouble. I don't want Harold getting hurt."

Reese smiled at him, "I don't want my Harold getting hurt either. So I understand." This seemed to pacify the guarded stranger. And both men regarded each other with a nod. He then turned on his heel and escaped into the crowd, the man's dark grey suit being lost in the bodies of other people.

"Care to explain that, Mister Reese?"

"Weren't you paying attention, Finch?"

"I was, which is why I asked."

Reese smirked, today was turning out to be very entertaining. "Just an exchange between two guys who share something. Did you get his number while he was talking? I have a feeling he's the reason why intervention isn't necessary for Dr. Crane."

"Just a moment Mr. Reese. Ah here, his name is-... ha."

"Finch?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, well, you're going to find this rather funny."

"Not if you don't tell me Finch."

"His name is John."

Cuddling - PoI Fanfic

Pairing/Characters: Soft Reese/Finch
Rating: Uhhhh, PG I guess? There's nothing horrid in here, just implications I guess.
Summery: Exhaustion and a stubborn additude can get you nearly everywhere. In Finch's POV finally
Word Count: 363
Author's Note: Well, here's finally a fanfic in Finch's POV... inspired by a dream I had last night, which caused me to attempt a fail doodle at the top of my psychology notebook... if you really want to see it it is on my tumblr: zappyzpace.tumblr.com I think this is rather cute, and maaaaaaybe possible for them? I tried my best to keep them in character....

“Mister Reese. What are you doing.”


Silence.


“Reese.”

A breath against my neck.

“Come now, Reese, that used to be enough.”


A quick escape of breath tickled my neck.


“Oh fine. John.”


I heard a deep and soothing chuckle, and strained against the impulse to shiver.


“Thank you Finch. Now, what was it you were saying?”


“I was asking what are you doing.” 


“Oh Finch, I thought it was obvious. I’m cuddling.”


“I know that! I was asking why are you cuddling me.”


“Well, it was rather cold in here, and it was very late so I decided to stay. Plus, you need to be cuddled.” He pressed his forehead against the nape of my neck. I could feel the smile he had on.


“I don’t need to be cuddled, Mr. Reese,” I told him irritably. He knew very well that I am not a very touchy person, and the longer this lasted the more uncomfortable it was getting. Unfortunately, he apparently decided that he wouldn’t answer or acknowledge anything I said unless I said his name. “John.”


“Yes, Finch?” His voice seemed to be sleepy, maybe he was just too tired to move. The numbers had come back to back lately, and he’d been getting less and less sleep. Still, no matter how tired he was, it was no excuse to invade my personal boundaries on the flimsy excuse of me “needing to be cuddled.” It wasn’t even cold, on the contrary, it was getting rather warm...


I sighed loudly and decided I would let this slide once. I told myself it was because he’s no good if he’s half asleep when the next number comes up. He needs his reflexes and a sharp mind, as do I, so there was no use arguing it further. Maybe some where deep inside me, I actually felt comforted by his presence. 


“You’re insufferable, John.”


A gentle yet powerful arm pulled my torso closer, his knees fitting nearly perfectly in the space of my bent ones. Now I could surely feel the soft grin against my skin. His voice purred just behind my ear, muttering a happy and content, 


“Good night to you too, Harold.”

Just a Weapon (1/?) PoI fanfic

Pairing/Characters: Reese/Finch
Rating: G (for now)
Summery: “I’m just a weapon, Finch. Weapons don’t need downtime or hobbies. Sure I have side-projects, but they all lead down to this job.”
Word Count: 883
Author's Note: Actually the first idea for a PoI fanfic I had, but was put off since I didn’t have much at the time. In Finch’s point of view.


It didn’t happen right away. The signs came before anything, but the actual action wasn’t until much later. At first, I had chalked up the signs to his training, his paranoia that was similar to my own. I was constantly on the defensive around him, unless a number came up and then a third of my guards were down because I was more focused on the work than being cautious around John. He was professional enough to not take advantage of that... often.


There was one time that I’ll not be soon forgetting. He was out observing our latest number, and it was during a time where nearly nothing was happening. I was busy researching the number, but had our line open in case something happened. After not having it open and loosing contact for an excessive amount of time, we recently decided to leave it open just in case. It had been quiet for around an hour, and apparently John got bored.


“So Finch. Where is it you sleep?”


I was shocked more by the sudden desire to start a conversation more than the question. Though the question itself was also shocking. Due to both of these things, it took me a moment to find my voice. When I did, I couldn’t keep the affronted tone out of it.


“Pardon?”


I could hear a soft chuckle from his end, before he repeated the question seriously. When I realized that this wasn’t a joke, and he was probing for clues again, I let a sharp undertone of irritation seep into my voice. This was hardly the time.


“I don’t see any reason this is relevant, Mr. Reese. The location I sleep is hardly your concern nor will it help close the gap in information.”


He stopped asking for the rest of the duration of this particular number. I had thought maybe he had either given up or forgotten about it when the next day rolled around. We seemed to have developed a routine, he would walk into the library with two coffee cups, one filled with his morning beverage, the other with my sencha green tea. I never asked him to, he just did it all on his own. I wasn’t about to complain, since complaining would only waste time that could have been more practically spent.


That morning however, as he was handing over my tea, he asked the same question. This time I could see his smirk and curious glint in his gray blue eyes. When I didn’t give him an immediate answer, he started telling me his ideas.


“I’ve been wondering about this since that morning I first brought you coffee. You were asleep at the desk, which either means you worked so hard you passed out, or you stay in the library.”
I thought about just staying silent. I promised him I wouldn’t lie to him, and I wasn’t about to, but I never said anything about giving him answers. It’s not lying if I keep quiet. Somehow, that seemed almost like cheating. I took a sip of my tea and slowly walked around him.


I was fairly positive he would follow me, so it came as no surprise when I heard the soft tap of his shoes just a pace behind me. I’ll give him credit that he has mastered keeping up with me without showing he was holding back for my pace. It’s irritating when people obviously slow down just so my sad excuse of walking can keep up.


I lead him to a hallway just barely hidden by a tall bookshelf. It wasn’t too far from where my computers and the numbers were set up. The hallway had a few doors, and I opened the first two. I stepped out of the way so he could observe both of them.


“As a precaution I’ve outfitted two suitable rooms to use as sleeping chambers should it be an emergency. To your question to if I sleep here, yes on occasion. Do I try and make a habit of it, no.”
He seemed slightly impressed for a moment, before that amused smile possessed his face again. His voice was like velvet when he replied with a low rumble. 


“Emergency huh? Like working yourself to exhaustion every night?”


I gave him a slightly irritated look before starting back to the main room. I could feel his satisfied smile burning the back of my head, though thankfully he didn’t say more. He returned with me to look at the new number, and things seemed to go back to normal. His curiosity was sated for now, but I was sure it wouldn’t be for long.

Tell Me a Secret...

"...You have a secret..."

The sudden voice startled me. I frantically looked around for whoever was there, no one was supposed to be here!

"Tell it to me..."

I saw no one, but suddenly, things became very dark, and I turned to look over my shoulder, trying to see the lamp, only to find that my shadow had taken an odd form. Fear swelled up inside me, I couldn't control my breathing. Then glowing eyes, eyes that blazed like the setting sun opened on my shadow, and I couldn't look away.

"Tell me your secret... and I can promise you."

"Promise me what?" I seemed to reply without thinking, while my mind was blank I guess my instincts went onto auto-pilot. The eyes narrowed slightly, and suddenly, my shadow was a physical form, and a long slender and lethal looking hand grabbed my chin and the eyes were closer now. Burning into my mind. While the grip was forcefully, somewhere I knew that if I moved even the slightest bit, I could get free.

"Tell me something no one else knows, and I can promise you my services."

I was getting even more and more confused. What was this thing? What was it talking about? Why was it here, and what kind of services? Appearently I spoke the last one out loud, or it could read my mind since it replied.

"I am a collector of sorts... I like knowing things no one else does. If you give me your secret, I can lend you my power."

I was slowly losing myself in those blazing eyes. And its offer of power... I could use power right now. I had no idea what it was... but it seemed to me that it was powerful enough to get done what I had wanted.

"Does that mean you'll take my secret? I won't remember it?"

It seemed to laugh, but the sound only echoed in my mind. I wondered where it was exactly, since all I could see were the eyes, and I only felt the grip on my jaw.

"No. I collect, I don't steal. You will still have your secret... as long as it stays yours and mine. You must understand something... no one, absolutely no one, must learn of the secret you give me."

"What if someone learns of my secret?" I don't know when, but somewhere in this strange conversation, I stopped wondering what it was, and my fear seemed to have vanished.

"If someone should learn of it... then you will no longer have my services. I warn you child... I don't take kindly to the secrets I've collected being told."

Meaning that it would probably kill me. That usually was the outcome of deals like this. Death. Oddly... that didn't scare me as much as it should have.

"You have a deal... You just want one secret right? Something that no one knows about me."

There was that echoing sound in my head again, the scorching eyes became bigger, and I could tell from looking that it was smiling, even if I couldn't see the smile. The grip on my chin seemed to loosen, and the hand moved to cup my cheek.

"Yes.... now tell me.... Tell me your secret... and I will grant you my services while it stays in my collection...."

Mogwai - I Know You Are, But What Am I?

This is so beautiful... I found it after watching "Person of Interest", and I'm so thankful for it.

Night's Haven - Prologue

    The beat of pounding feet and thumping bass to the music drowned out nearly every sound around the dance club. A gun shot could go off and no one would hear it, not even if it fired just outside the back door. This was rather convenient for the figure in the hooded sweatshirt, who was holding a smoking gun aimed at the only other figure in the back alleyway. The darkness that comes with being past eleven at night shrouded the figure who had just been shot. The only light that could even possibly let anyone differentiate between two shadows and the ground, was the brilliant half moon that shone above. Stars speckling the sky sparsely were hardly any help at all.

    The glint of the metal on the gun flashed briefly as it fell down to the concrete earth, causing a clang no one could hear. Now it rested beside the tipped over metal trash cans, among the scattered trash on the Graffiti marked alleyway, as its owner made a mad dash through the brick maze. After a particularly sharp turn, the music now only in the background and no longer deafening though the silence was cut by his heavy breathing, he fell to his knees at the feet of a shadowed figure. Mouth open in a scream that never quite made it past his throat, his eyes wide and reflecting the dim light of the moon, facing what seemed to be death itself looming before him.
    The run had caused his hood to fly off his head, revealing a black Mohawk ruffled from both wind and fabric. His dark grey fur could barely be made out in the gloom, but his pale wormy tail was a clear giveaway that he was a rat. Time seemed invalid in this moment, as it took him who knows how long before he could finally make the act of speech.
    “Please… don’t hurt me… I beg you! I have a son! He needs me!” his voice cracked by the end of his plea, but it seemed to fall upon deaf ears, as if their sense of hearing was still back at the night club. A lone stray cloud blotched out the little light the moon gave, which seemed to only intensify the ominous silence. Then, like a striking cobra, a hand shot out through the darkness, clutching the rat’s throat between its clawed grip.
    “You’ve threatened my club,” the figure spoke, its voice lowly threatening and unnatural, “you shot me straight in the heart. Were I mortal… you’d have committed murder. What,pray tell, does you son need of this?”
    At this dismissal of the rat’s only reasons to plead for his life, he scrambled to try to get away, to pry the vice-grip of a hand at his throat and breath in the much needed oxygen. Words attempted to bubble to the surface, but only succeeded in making him looking like a child. The figure grinned widely in the dark, their glowing eyes the only thing visible in the shadows.
    “What’s the matter rat? The gang not train you for this? For what you all do to “survive”, it’s a wonder why any child looks up to you.” The figure’s voice darkened at the last sentence, seemingly to hold more meaning in those words. But the rat couldn’t ponder on this for long, for in one swift moment, the figure’s jaws were around his sensitive throat, the hand now gripping his shoulder painfully. Were he able, he’d have screamed his lungs out, but he could not, therefore his eyes showed all the horror.
    Blood welled up to meet the figure’s sharp fangs, which they gladly licked up. His gasps were the only break between the sickening sound of his blood being devoured. People danced in the club, the music roared, the bartenders grinned, the customers shouted their fun, and no one noticed the death of a gang member in the back alley.

~~~~

AC: This is the beginning of my original story: Night's Haven staring Night the Black Cat. Truthfully this is the second time I've written this, but the first draft I felt needed improvement, so this is the improved version. I'll add the other chapters as they are written, but if you care to learn more about the characters and where they live, then I suggest visiting my tumblr created specifically for this: Night's Haven