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John knew Finch thought he was being stealthy, that John hadn't seen. He'd slipped the photo oh-so-casually under the Drakes' file when John came into the room. Of course John looked. Curiosity was in his nature, and curiosity about Finch was at the forefront.
It was a photo of Grace Hendricks and Finch – or whoever Finch had been when he was with Grace – in front of a painting. In it, Grace looked adoringly up at Finch, as though he'd just given her the moon.
Something twisted strangely in John's chest as he gazed at the photo. He quickly slid it back where he'd found it, not wanting to be caught with it, even though Finch had taken Bear and left for the night. As he left, Finch had said something about second chances with loved ones. No wonder he'd been thinking of Grace.
The feeling in John's chest writhed again, strong enough this time that he recognized it as envy. There was no reason in the world for him to ever think that he could mean as much to Finch as Grace did, but he was envious of Finch's love for her all the same, at least some nasty, greedy part of him was.
John sat in Finch's chair and toyed with the mouse on the desk. Finch's computers were shut down, of course, but he pushed the mouse around idly while he thought about the photo still sitting there under the file. He didn't want to look at it anymore, but his fingers itched to pull it out anyway. There was something about the way Grace looked at Finch, something pure and wholesome. He wished fleetingly that he'd lived a life that allowed for that kind of sweetness.
But of course he hadn't. He wasn't like Grace. And he certainly didn't deserve the affection of someone like Finch.
He pushed away from the desk and stood. Time to go back to the loft. The big, spacious, empty loft that Finch had given him that matched the hollow where his heart should be.