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The hotel Harold had booked them in was overly grand, as to be expected from the billionaire. Reese had already scoped out the surrounding area and found that there were many fancy restaurants within a few blocks.
Finch was currently out “Running some simple errands, Mr. Reese,” and would be gone for quite some time, by the sounds of it.
John took this opportunity to scope out the rest of the hotel. There was a large pool that was currently unoccupied and a workout room in the same area.
He eyed the pool, but decided to wait until later to try it out. He didn’t think swimming would be quite enough to take care of his problem. He also didn’t think he’d have to time change and be back in their room before Finch got back. He didn’t want the billionaire looking for him when he was like this.
John quietly closed the gym door behind him and took in the equipment before him. The hotel had a generous supply of work-out tools, from simple weights to multiple ellipticals set up along the wall. There was even a spray bottle and rags to clean off the machines before the next use.
He eyed the punching bag in the far corner, and slowly walked over to it, cracking his knuckles as he went. He didn’t have gloves or any sort of protection for his hands, but the need to burn off some of his frustration was strong.
He removed his button-up shirt and tossed it on a nearby machine, leaving his black undershirt on.
Reese moved his body into an attacking stance and gave a few practice punches with his left hand, and then did the same with his right.
It hurt, extremely so, without any protective gear and he could see his hands were already starting to bleed. He continued punching it anyway, tuning out the pain and focusing instead on his anger at everything.
The Machine.
Carter.
Finch.
No, he shouldn’t be angry at Finch. It wasn’t Harold’s fault that they’d loss Joss, no matter how he looked at it. He really shouldn’t be blaming himself either, but, well, self-blame was one of the things Reese excelled at.
It wasn’t Carter’s fault that she had died either, obviously. Still, it was difficult to accept that The Machine, Harold’s Machine, hadn’t been able to stop it from happening.
His thoughts drifted back to Finch. Something had changed between them over the past few months and he wasn’t sure if they had gotten closer, or if he had wedged them further apart.
Reese also thought of their hotel room, and how there was only one bed. Harold had taken care of the booking and all of the other details. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, either.
He added a few kicks into the mix and alternated between that and furious punches until both of his hands were raw. The punching bag quickly became streaked with blood and each time he struck it, flecks of red bounded off onto the mat around him.
Reese only stopped when a tentative hand was placed on his shoulder.
“That’s enough, John,” Finch said quietly.
Reese felt his body sag with fatigue and something else at the billionaire’s words. He felt –it took him a moment to put his finger on it- felt ashamed of Finch finding him this way.
He must have been beating on the bag for longer than he realized.
He sat down on the bench of the nearest machine and watched with dismay as Harold grabbed a spray bottle and began wiping the blood off the punching bag and the mat around it.
Reese simply hung his head and could only think that Harold would probably ruin his beautiful three-piece suit with John’s blood. Again.
Finch placed the bottle back where it was and pocketed the cloth and grabbed the discarded shirt before limping to Reese’s side. “Let’s return to our room and get you patched up.”
John merely nodded and got up to follow him. He shamefully put his hands in his pockets to hide the damage, the rough material scraping his already sore knuckles.
He could feel his anger was finally, finally gone.
“Are you quite done punishing yourself now?” Finch asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him with the first aid kit.
John raised a shoulder in a half shrug as he checked out his injuries. “It looks that way.”
The billionaire gave a small nod and got to work on Reese’s hands. “You don’t…plan on leaving again?” He asked, the apprehension he always tried to hide clear in his voice.
Harold dabbed at the recently dried blood around the knuckles, his discontentment at dealing with the injuries clearly written across his face. Reese felt bad at Finch having to yet again tend to his wounds, but didn’t want to tell Finch that he could easily have taped them up himself.
He really did enjoy the feel of Harold’s hands.
John shook his head at the question and winced as Harold applied the bandages on his raw knuckles. “No, I’ll stay. But,” he reached up with a free hand and thoughtfully scratched his jaw, “I have conditions.”
Finch warily regarded him over his glasses. “Understandable. What did you have in mind?”
Reese brought his legs up, as though to sit in a cross-legged position, but only kept his left leg on the bed and allowed his right to dangle next to him. He turned his upper body to better face his companion. “Well, for starters, Shaw needs to stop hogging Bear so much. I got him for you, not her.”
Harold rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upward ever-so slightly. “Oh yes, I see these are very serious conditions, Mr. Reese.”
John placed a hand on Harold’s, which was currently resting beside him on the bed. “Alright, we’ll move onto the next condition, then. We need to stop ignoring whatever this-,” he gestured between them with his free hand, “this is.”
Finch’s mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Mr. Reese…I don’t…Whatever do you mean?”
The taller man leaned forward slightly. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” He placed his hand on Harold’s arm. “I couldn’t help but notice that there’s only one bed here, Harold.”
Finch visibly gulped. “That’s…,” he cleared his throat, “That is, since we’re in Rome, a new cover identity was required and this seemed to be the most feasible…In no way do we need to stick with these identities for the duration of this trip, Mr. Reese.”
Reese attempted to hide a grin. He loved getting Finch flustered. How could he have even considered leaving this all behind?
Still, he really was serious about these conditions and didn’t want Finch to think he was merely teasing him.
“Relax, Finch. I get it. “When in Rome’, you know,” he smirked, running his hand up the other man’s arm. He watched as Harold looked down and followed the hand with his eyes. “But, I’m guessing it must have crossed your mind….right?”
Harold closed his eyes as Reese lightly touched his chin with the hand that had previously rested on Finch’s arm. John slowly leaned forward again until their noses were touching. “Right, Harold?”
“Yes,” Finch breathed, his lips barely moving. “Though I think this could potentially compromise everything we’ve worked toward.”
John’s fingers ghosted over the billionaire’s ear. “True, but I think we already crossed that line a long time ago. The parking garage with Snow…The rooftop and the bomb…” He trailed his fingers back to Finch’s chin. “Do I need to continue?”
“Miss Shaw-,” Finch murmured in protest, his hand that was still on the bed twitching under John’s.
“Hmm, last time I checked, she already thinks we’re a couple. Can’t really blame her,” Reese interjected.
He didn’t give a damn what Shaw thought about their relationship.
Quite frankly, he was surprised more people didn’t bring up the fact that they were obviously more than co-workers.
Harold tilted his head slightly for their lips to brush against one another. “John…” He reached up to clutch Reese’s hand that was still resting on his face, carefully arranging his fingers to not aggravate the bandages.
“When I said I needed to get back to work, I also meant that I needed to be back with you,” John murmured, placing a light kiss on Harold’s mouth. “Can’t have one without the other…” He kissed Finch again and again. “You know, that thing with the plane earlier…It was very, oh….I don’t know, sexy…”
Harold snorted, but kept his retort to himself.
Reese chuckled. “It reminded me of why I need to get back to all of this…”
“Hmm,” Finch began, pulling back slightly so only their noses were touching again, “That reminds me, your new suit is ready. That’s what I originally came to tell you when I found you…taking out your aggression, so to speak.”
Reese kissed him again, for longer this time. “Can it wait? Little busy right now…,” he trailed off.
“Of course, John,” Finch responded, pulling him down.