Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

POI Forever

———

Till death do us part has different meaning in a world that has immortality.

He was immortal. The thought made John’s blood feel a little fizzy, and made him lightheaded. More exciting was that Harold was also immortal. 

They were both immortal, having died defeating Samaritan, and abruptly coming to awareness. John was naked. Harold, on the other hand, was dressed in his usual clothes, but they’re now soaked through. They were both floating, disoriented in the East River.

Luckily, it seemed that they weren’t entirely alone in this. Apparently Dr. Henry Morgan, who had also appeared in the river alongside the both of them, and was naked like John, had had this happen to him before— a lot.

Henry recognized Harold. They had the same tailor when Finch was still Wren; small world. Henry scrambled to a pay phone and called for help.

He’d explained to whoever was on the other end of the line that “Yes, two sets of my spare scrubs and one set in your size—it’s a long story— Yes, bring that all by in the morgue van, thank you Lucas.”

Henry crouched back in the bushes once he hung up the phone, “It is a long story, that can wait until we’re in a safer location. I will say I’m envious of you, Mr. Wren, I’ve never been able to keep the clothes I’ve died in before. I’ve always returned naked these past 200 years.”

Harold blanched, “I am excessively glad I’m not naked, no offense— but I am a very private person.”

After a few moments of John stoically keeping his worried eyes on his employer, Harold sighed, “I’m alright John.”

Harold was shivering from being covered in soaking wet clothing, at least his suit was wool, so it lessened the threat of hypothermia. Maybe it was his imagination, but John could almost swear that Harold was moving more easily. Hard to tell though, as John understandably had a lot running through his mind.

“You died. You were supposed to get to safety. I was the only one of us that was supposed to die.”

Harold huffed saying sarcastically, “Well, I do beg your pardon for managing to die from a festering bullet wound, much to your protestations.”

“I’m sorry Harold,” John said, voice cracking with grief, finally looking Harold in the eye, “I- I just… the world can get by without me, but it’s better with you in it.”

Harold blanched, “John.”

Henry placed his head in his hands, “Oh goodness, just what I needed, more crazy immortal people. Don’t tell me you both were a part of that building exploding.”

John gave an unconvincing innocent look, “Okay, we won’t tell you.”

Harold flustered, “We weren’t the ones to blow up the building— the people after us were.”

Henry frowned, “That’s hardly better.”

“Oh my goodness.” Harold said suddenly, “I can only blame the shock, but I only just realized— I’m not in any pain. At all.”

Henry nodded, “The way it’s worked for me is that the only scar or injury I have when I resurrect is from the bullet that killed me.”

“I…don’t have that scar,” Harold said as he patted the damaged area on the clothes, “just the ones from th— that day, a long time ago.” Harold said mystified, “Could it be I died then and just didn’t realize it from the shock? I do remember waking up in the water then too, but I had attributed that to me being knocked into the water by the… incident.”

Henry shrugged his shoulders, “It’s very possible.”

“That doesn’t explain how I had chronic pain and injuries after that incident, but not now.”

“I’m only an expert in what’s happened to me,” Henry admitted, “My best guess is that you died initially in that event, and then got further injuries after resurrecting the first time. The shock of the event that killed you is probably why you didn’t realize that you had died.”

Just then, a morgue van rolled up and a gangly tall man passed them the scrubs as they all piled into the back of the van.

Henry introduced us, “This is my assistant Lucas Wahl, Lucas this is Harold Wren and John Reese.”

“Nice to meet you; sorry if my spare scrubs are a bit short on you John, but I’m the tallest person back at our morgue.”

The scrub shirt was just a bit snug, but not enough to be uncomfortable. Considering how skinny Lucas was, it seemed like he wore his scrubs purposely loose, lucky break for John. If Lucas had scrubs that fit to form, John would have to ride in the morgue van shirtless. 

John wasn’t body-conscious or anything, but he didn’t want to be shirtless and have his scars on display in front of strangers if he could help it.

Lucas’ scrub pants had drawstrings, and so were easily adjusted. The hems fell a bit above John’s ankles. John couldn’t help but briefly flashback to the time that Harold had spent a good while tailoring John’s pants so that they would shiver over his shoes. 

For some reason, the memory of Harold on his knees, vulnerable and trusting, made John shiver. Luckily, he could easily blame that on the dip in the cold East River.

“They’ll do fine.” John said briskly, “Thanks.”

Henry quickly dressed. John noted with interest that Lucas had brought Henry spare underwear as well…hmmm. After he was dressed Henry went to sit in the passenger seat of the van, “The antique shop if you please Lucas.”

“You got it Doc.” With that, Lucas started driving the van away from pier 40.

Harold scrunched his nose at Henry’s spare set of scrubs, “Must I change in the back of this van?”

Henry shook his head, “No, of course not. I’ve got perfectly suitable private rooms at the antique shop. I just thought I’d give you the option.”

“I’d really rather change into my own clothes…only, I’ve no idea of anywhere I’ve placed clothes that could even be considered tenable right now.”

John grimaced, “Plus all our communication devices are probably kaput. I’m completely missing my earbud.”

Oh right, they could maybe contact Shaw and Fusco to let them know that they’re alive…though probably not go into exactly how over the phone.

Lucas hummed, “I’ve got my cell phone you could use if you’d like?”

Harold ran over the various risks and figured that there wasn’t really any chance that what might be left of Samaritan would be monitoring an assistant ME’s phone; hopefully he was right in his assessment.

“Thank you Mr. Wahl, I would appreciate the use of your phone please.”

Lucas smiled, Henry reached into Lucas’ pocket without a word and passed the phone back. Interesting.

Harold gratefully took the phone and quickly shot off a text to Shaw that simply read: Two concerned dog owners are looking for their dog, Bear.

The phone was ringing within the minute, Harold set it to the speaker function.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Good to hear from you too Ms. Shaw.”

“How many lives do you even have, Finch?” Shaw asked, tone sounding annoyed, but the relief was still clear underneath. Harold smiled at the irony of the question given recent events, “You had us worried. Bear especially. Is John—”

“I’m okay too Shaw.”

“Wow, how on earth did you get off that roof alive? I would have sworn to whatever deity you care to believe in, that there was no way you got off that in time.”

Harold sighed, “I’m afraid I’m hesitant to say over the phone. I trust you’ll pass on the good news of our survival to Detective Fusco?”

“Yeah sure.” Shaw agreed, “I’m sure the big galut will be happy to hear your alright.”

“And if it’s not too much trouble, might I task you with securing ‘Go Bags’ for John and I?”

“I’ll see what I can scare up.” Shaw said, her grin evident in her voice. “Is this line good for continued contact?”

Harold glanced up and Henry nodded.

“Yes, we’ll have access until a suitable alternative can be secured. Hopefully later today.”

“I’ll add some burners to your go bags if I can manage. Where should we rendezvous?”

Soundlessly, Henry passed Harold a business card for a place called ‘Abe’s Antiques’. So Harold gave Shaw the details on the proffered card.

Chapter Text

When they finally get to the antique store, Harold was still busy doing something with Lucas’ phone to try and ferret out whether or not The Machine had survived. He had sequestered himself behind the counter so that he could sit as he tapped away at the small screen.

Henry went upstairs to change into his preferred clothes, leaving John standing like a loose end in the currently closed antique store's sales floor, across from Lucas who was evaluating him in turn.

It must be odd, John thought, to be stood across from a stranger who’s wearing your clothes. It certainly felt odd from John’s perspective.

John decides he’ll just drill straight to the point, “So, what’s your deal?”

“My…deal?” Lucas said with a curious tilt to his head, “Like what am I all about, or my and Henry's relationship?”

“Both actually.” John said, “I mean, I have a feeling that we’re going to have… a lot of time to get to know each other in future.” John shrugged, “I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m immortal, I guess, and I’ve a feeling that’s not going to sink in today.”

“I get you.” Lucas nodded, “I’m pretty new to this myself. Henry is the guy more experienced with the immortality thing. I’m not quite sure where to start the story quite frankly. I’m sure Henry will want to be able to dictate what you guys know about him—no offense or anything.”

“None taken, it’s the same with me and Harold. I’ll tell you about me, but other than letting you know Harold’s a genius? Harold’s a very private person.”

Lucas nods, “Same with Henry.” He said, relieved to have been understood, “At any rate, there’s some things that are public knowledge. Henry and I work at the OCME, it’s a morgue. Henry is the lead Doctor and I’m his assistant and technician.”

“There’s more to it than that. I saw how you both interacted in the car.”

Lucas blushed, and fished out a box with two gold rings from a hiding spot on a high shelf, “Yeah, we’re husbands too. Can’t wear the rings because Doc’s afraid he or I will lose them upon death, and I get that. So the rings live in this box.”

“Okay.” John said, “That’s practical. And again, I’m not quite sure how much detail I can really get into until we know you guys better, but I’m comfortable in saying I belong to Harold.”

Lucas smiles, “What are the odds that we two sets of immortals would meet on this very day? Almost seems like fate… I’m going to put a pin in that thought, it certainly seems important, somehow.”

Lucas started tapping his chin and said, “You’re an interesting parallel to us, actually.” Lucas said thoughtfully, “Harold is like Henry. And not just because their names both start with an H either, I mean that they have deep wells of knowledge of which you and I can only really skim the surface.”

“Uh huh.” John said, “Harold and Henry are both geniuses in their own way, I’ll give you that. But what’s our parallel? No offense or anything, but I don’t think we have much in common.”

“Not on the surface, and no offense taken.” Lucas said agreeably, gesturing between himself and John, “I mean, you’re a one man army… and I’m pretty much a human scarecrow, but I mean the partnerships are parallel. We’re the buffer and balance that keeps the genius from locking themselves away in their metaphorical ivory tower running experiments or whatever. We’re the anchor to keep them grounded day-to-day.”

Lucas spun his hand around in a ‘and so on’ type of motion, “I mean, don’t get me wrong they can take care of themselves. Quite frankly, just based on what little I can tell off Harold—they both have way more refined tastes than us in food and clothing —I mean they shared a tailor even— But, they have their blind spots and I guess that’s what we’re for.”

“Blind spots?” John said incredulously, “I don’t know about that, I’ve yet to find anything Harold doesn’t either already know something about or can learn so fast it makes my head spin.”

“Except for technology, that’s the same for me here.” Lucas nodded, “I’m not saying our two pairs have exact 1 to 1 parallels. Plus, you can’t argue that you help Harold deal with tasks that involve your specialties— such as physical.”

“So you’re saying I’m the brawn to his brain?” John said thoughtfully, “What’s that make you?”

“That’s a little less clear cut I’ll admit… I encourage him to interact with the world and not lock himself away, like I said, but it’s more than that. We compliment each other in a way…I’m having trouble enunciating exactly how we work, but I know it when I feel it.”

John nodded, saying, “Yeah, I saw it, in the way Henry can just casually rely on you when I have the feeling that he’s not had that with anybody else— or at least not for a long while.”

Lucas nodded sadly, saying, “Yeah, I’m glad to be someone he can count on— and to be along with him in our immortality, because he’s lost —so much.”

“200 years, Henry said. I can only imagine.”

They get interrupted by the landline phone in the shop ringing. Lucas goes to answer it, but John stops him. John picks up the phone instead and is relieved to hear the Machine on the other end, with her giving an ‘all clear’ signal. He smiles as he turns to where Harold has stationed himself, saying, “She says ‘all clear’, she’s okay Harold.”

Harold slumped a bit with relief, “Oh thank heavens, I was beginning to worry.”

Before Lucas can ask any of the questions that he now clearly has, there’s a sound of a bell ringing as the door swings open. John turns to look, expecting Sameen— but no, it’s an elderly gentleman who is carrying a bag of groceries, he seems surprised to see John and stops in his tracks. 

Lucas steps in front of John, “It’s alright Abe, he’s cool. This is John Reese. John, this is Abraham Morgan.”

John mulled that over for a moment before saying, “Morgan?” And Lucas nodded, “Henry’s son.”

Abe sputtered in protest as he set down his grocery bag, “Oh woah, hey! Lucas, I know you know better than to just—”

“He’s immortal too. Not like Adam, don’t worry.”

… ‘Not like Adam’ hmmm. So there were other immortals, and based on context, and what Henry had said earlier— there was at least one other that was known about… a ‘crazy’ one.

Henry came down, dressed a lot like what Harold usually wore, which just brought John to thinking about how Harold was still in his soaked clothes. Henry brightened upon seeing Abe and said, “Ah, Abraham, my apologies. I should have called to warn you about our guests, but I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“It’s 5:30, I said I’d be back by 5:00— and let me guess, you’ve taken another dip in the East River and lost all your clothes again.”

“This time it was very much not my doing.” Henry protested, “Rather someone who was after our guests here.”

It takes a while to give a bare bones explanation of Samaritan, and clearly Lucas is having an easier time following than either Henry or Abraham. Then at some point Sameen shows up with their clothes so John and Harold break off to get changed.

Sameen evaluates Henry and Lucas with a curious gaze. She looks at Henry and says, “So… nice suit, you dress like Harold does.” She’s clearly trying to ascertain what their relationship is with her associates, which is to be expected as she has no real context of who they are.

Henry nods, “Mr. Wren and I shared a tailor once… though I suppose he’s not actually called Mr. Wren anymore? John called him Finch.”

“He does love the bird names.” Sameen agreed, “You sound like you know something about having to change your name?”

“…that’s rather perspective of you Ms. Shaw, and it is also a rather long story.”

Abraham huffed out a laugh, and shook his head, “He’ll say that a lot, best to get used to it.”

Sameen shrugged, “As long as Harold says you're cool then you’re all good with me. I don’t need your life story if you don’t want to share— though I should warn you that Harold probably hacked all your information the moment he met you—” she turned to look at Lucas, “Using your phone. So, what’s your deal?”

It’s so much like how John asked him, that Lucas let out a surprised chuckle, “Your colleague asked me the same thing, exactly the same way pretty much. I’m an Assistant ME— I work with Henry at the OMCE.”

She narrows her eyes, “Just ‘work with’?”

Henry balked, “What is it that you're seeing? At least John had an entire drive riding in our morgue van to see us interact.”

“It’s how you guys stand, angled at each other. I didn’t know 100% for sure, but your reaction sure as hell cinched it. Don’t feel too exposed, I’m a trained operative like John, we see things that people are trying to hide.” she glances about the room significantly, “I know there’s something more to you all, some big underlying thread. But, whatever it is, as long as you're on Harold’s good side it doesn’t really matter to me what you're up to… nice store by the way, I wouldn’t even be able to tell if this store was a front or not.”

She’s fishing again, but not with much determination, as she does also actually seem intrigued by the antiques on display.

Abe takes the opportunity to talk her ear off about the antique desk she’s evaluating, and she nods with convincing enough interest.

Harold and John return, and Henry takes a moment to evaluate John’s clothes as they’re tailored perfectly to him, but he doesn’t seem the sort to go for tailoring… so probably Harold’s doing.

Sameen pulls Harold and John aside and they have a hushed conversation that has Sameen looking very relieved by the end of it— perhaps she had also been worried about whoever it was that had called the antique store?

But then clearly, they came to exactly how John survived the building explosion and they paused, clearly unsure how much they should say.

Henry could certainly sympathize, it was a lot of information to process— let alone know who to trust it with. He turns to Lucas, and says, “Lucas, be a dear and text Jo and Mike to let them know that they ought to join us for breakfast to ‘catch up’, it's best if they’re kept in the loop.”

“On it Doc.”

Chapter Text

Once Lucas got his phone back from Harold he shot off two texts to their detective friends. He also noticed that his phone's apps had been rearranged. It befuddled him for a moment, so he asked Harold, “Did you mess with my phone?”

“My apologies,” said Harold, “I went into its code to rearrange the apps to work better with my flow state purely out of habit— I can absolutely set them back to rights with a quick reset.”

“Uh, no I can rearrange them back, that's fine.” Lucas cut a bewildered look at John, who just shrugged.

Sameen dug through another bag she had brought, “Here Harold, I acquired you a laptop.”

Harold scrutinized the laptop, and nodded, “An acceptable model, might I enquire where you obtained said laptop?”

“Root got it for you—” Sameen’s code for ‘the Machine’ as Root was no longer with them, “not sure how or where, but she set it up herself. She says ‘glad you're okay Harry’ by the way.”

“I see.” Setting aside the conversation about The Machine’s latest evolution till later, “Do pass on my thanks to Ms. Groves.” Harold opened up the laptop and booted it up, saying, “Dr. Morgan, I must ask— who else knows your secret?”

Dr. Morgan sighs, “More than is safe—”

Lucas made a noise of admonishment, “Oh come on, Jo and Mike aren’t going to tell anyone.”

“I was referring to Adam.”

“Right… yeah. Him.”

John leaned forward, “What did this Adam guy do?”

Henry shook his head, “Many things, only some of which were perpetuated on myself.”

Lucas began ticking off things on his fingers as he listed them, “Stalking, phone threats, impersonating a therapist—”

“He did actually get the qualifications, just under a false name which is not much different from what I do.”

“He did it specifically to mess with you, I’m counting it.” Lucas continued listing and counting, “Tricked Henry into killing a mentally unstable person who he twisted and warped against Henry— during his therapy no less, stole an antique gun and shot Henry with it when he thought that using that particular weapon would kill him permanently… he’s actually killed Henry a few times actually—and that’s just the stuff I know about.”

Sameen glanced at Harold, “Wait. This guy,” she says pointing at Henry, “is saying he’s immortal? And we just believe him?”

Harold frowned slightly, “Yes Ms. Shaw, and do lower your voice, there’s no reason to shout.” He turned to look at Lucas, “Where is this Adam now?”

“In a hospital bed, suffering from an induced ‘locked in’ syndrome.” Lucas explained, “It was the only way Doctor Morgan could think of to stop him for any length of time.”

Henry nodded, “He’s listed in the hospital under his therapist alias, Dr. Gorman Farber. We do not know his real name, but he told me to just call him Adam and that he’s over 2,000 years old.”

Sameen leaned forward, “I’m sorry, did you say 2,000 years old?” She turns to John, “Have I slipped into an alternate dimension where this isn't a crazy thing? What is even happening?”

John shook his head, “As it turns out, immortality is a thing. Witnessed it ourselves. I didn’t survive the building explosion. Woke up naked in the East River.”

Sameen stared John down, taking a notable step back before saying, “Uh— huh. Right.”

“Ms. Shaw I can assure you that we’ve not lost our mental faculties, I went through the same trip to the East River as John, albeit I kept my clothes. If you wish you may examine my neck and see that it is no longer pinned in place.”

“What?” Sameen rushed over and tentatively prodded Harold’s neck, before her eyes went wide, “Holy shit, you’re not joking— or insane. So you died, woke up in the river, and all your injuries got reset?”

“That is the long and short of it— I haven’t quite processed it all myself.” Harold paused his typing, “You’ll be happy to know, Dr. Morgan, that I have further backstopped your identity— the previous hacker who touched it up did an admirable job, but I figured I may as well— given that we do rather owe you for rescuing us from the East River.”

Henry shook his head, “Sheer luck and happenstance found us in the river at the same time, that’s all. Not that I don’t appreciate any help you could proffer with technology. In fact, I gladly welcome it.”

Sameen evaluated Henry, and she asked, “How old are you— I mean if this Adam guy has been around for 2,000 years…”

“235 years, and as you might imagine technology has rather eclipsed my ability to keep up in that time.”

“What about you Lucas?”

“Uh, well I’m 38, but only 5 years of that has been as an immortal; which up until just now made me the person with the least time spent immortal— that we knew of at any rate.”

“What causes it? Is there a medical reason— a commonality?”

Henry sighed, “Well, not that I’ve been able to find— I’ve spent quite a bit of time experimenting on myself, but with a sample size of one up until 5 years ago— there hadn’t been anyone I knew of to compare to…that would cooperate, as Adam had rather gone ‘round the bend by the time he made contact with me.”

Lucas nodded, “It was pretty bad, for a while— and Henry’s solution isn’t going to be a permanent one.”

Harold looked up from his computer, “Well we can certainly prolong it. By ‘transferring’ him to a different hospital every five years or so, altering a few medical records, and falsifying his identity we can keep his extensive stay frozen in time from being spotted as medically unusual.”

Sameen frowned slightly, “I don’t know if I like the idea of keeping a guy in what amounts to an awake coma for years on end— that sounds worse than death— the permanent kind.”

Henry gave a sad look of agreement, “If you have a better and more humane solution to hold a psychopathic immortal who whenever he dies, respawns in the nearest large body of water— I am all ears.”

“…I’ll think about it and get back to you.” Sameen offered after a beat of contemplation.

Harold finally stood up from his laptop, “Alright, I’ve set up enough to make it so that I’ve re-established some of our cover identities, some tweaks to backstop them, nothing major. But even with that, I think it’ll take a few days to properly set up an appropriate safe house.”

Lucas made a sound full of awe, “Man, you work fast. Is there any way you could teach me?”

“I am unsure—in my own aptitude as a teacher mostly. I have tried teaching a few people this before and it didn’t seem to take.”

John smiled, “Oh come on Mr. Swift, I think you do an excellent job as a teacher.”

Harold wrinkled his nose and shook his head, “That was an exceptionally adept student who was already well on his way and just needed encouragement. Either way— I hate to impress upon your continued hospitality Dr. Morgan and Dr. Wahl, but may we base ourselves here for a few days until I can more properly set up more secure lodgings?”

Henry looked at Abe, “Well, technically the hospitality is that of my son Abraham, as we live above this antique shop, and it is his.”

Abe looked up from where he had been sitting, “Oh well, we’ve got one guest room? And there’s a couch over in the back room that isn’t an antique, so we have some room if two people don’t mind sharing.”

John nodded, “Oh I’ll feel better if I can sleep in the same room as Harold, better to guard him— no offense but I’m not familiar with your security setup.”

Sameen shrugged, “I can take the couch— or just squirrel myself away into my last bolt hole, I don’t need to say here.”

Harold hummed in thought, “Best for now to remain close, just in case.”

Chapter Text

With that settled, Sameen pulls her go-bag into the back room, and John moves his and Harold’s bags up to the guest room that Henry showed him, Abe went up to his own rooms to settle down for the night.

This leaves Lucas and Harold alone in the main part of the antique store, so Lucas takes the opportunity to ask, “So, wait— I’m not entirely sure I understand your and John’s whole thing, what is it exactly that you guys do?”

“I believe I shall wait until the morning to explain, once your detective friends get here, we’re also calling in our own detective associate to join us in the morning so we’ll hopefully be able to explain the situation as it stands, all at once.”

“Fair enough. I do have one question though, do you have a last name that you prefer, because I’ve heard at least three by this point.”

“Finch. At least when I’m not portraying one of my various aliases.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you have more identities than even Henry has had over 200 years of having to move and change his name every 10 years or so.”

“It is entirely necessary for John and I to have many, just to do our line of…work. Which I very much hope that Dr. Morgan and yourself will want to aid us, once we have more of a chance to explain what precisely we do and what we hope to achieve.”

Lucas shrugged, “Well, whatever Henry thinks is best, I’ll probably go with— I’ve got to say, you’re handling the immortality thing a lot better than I did.”

“I suspect that is entirely due to shock.” Harold said matter-of-factly, “I still don’t quite believe it myself. If I didn’t have the evidence of my own senses telling me that I’ve been healed of all my old injuries I would have thought— well, that doesn’t matter.”

Harold got up and stretched, “It is late, I hope you don’t mind if I turn in for the night?”

“Oh not at all, best to get some rest. I suspect tomorrow is going to be a long day, what with all the explaining we’re going to have to do. Hopefully you have a good night's sleep.”

“Thank you, and again my gratitude for all your help Dr. Wahl.”

Lucas grinned, even people at his job messed up and called him ‘Mr. Wahl’, even though to be an Assistant M.E at the O.C.M.E you needed a medical doctorate or a PhD in forensic anthropology. And even when he first started working with Henry, he would call him Mr. Wahl whenever he was annoyed for the first few years. But this guy was precise, and didn’t miss a trick— sharp. Probably hacked all his information from his phone too, he just now realized— And Harold was very formal, even seemingly more so than Henry— who had eventually come around to calling people by their first names.

It probably wasn’t worth the energy to insist on informality, so Lucas just nodded and said, “Good night Mr. Finch.”

Harold gave a slight smile and nod at that, before making his way to go up to the living quarters of the building, taking a clear delight on how fast he can climb the stairs. And Lucas has to wonder— Harold said he had neck pins once, and he knew that a neck injury so severe to cause that would result in nerve damage at the least. Just how injured had he been? And for how long?

Lucas pushed the thought aside for now, he didn’t think Harold, John or their … Agents? Colleagues? Friends? Well, regardless of who Ms. Shaw, Ms.Groves, and ‘Detective Fusco’ are— they won’t tell him anything.

Certainly John wouldn’t— ‘Harold’s a very private person.’ Well, fair enough. But in nearly the same breath he had said, ‘I belong to Harold’ not with Harold, but to which… was definitely deliberate wording.

He decides to join Henry in their room, maybe he had seen something that Lucas had missed. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

The morning arrives soon enough, and John is relieved to see Fusco arrive with Bear at his side, and Fusco and Bear are both equally glad to see him.

John stooped down to pet Bear, and said, “It’s an all clear Fusco, she’s still alive and Samaritan has been defeated.”

“Good, thank goodness that nightmare is over, one omnipotent AI is plenty.” Fusco said, “I honestly thought you were a goner by the way— when that building you were on exploded. How in the hell did you manage to make it off of that building in one piece?”

“I’ll explain once everyone is gathered— Well, Sameen already got a lot of it, but there’s going to be some other people involved.”

“More recruits by Glasses?” Said Fusco, “Because it’s about time we beefed up the team a bit, we’ve been barely able to manage as it is.”

“Well they’ll hopefully prove to be allies— given the circumstances. They’re detectives. Jo Martinez and Mike Hanson. Harold says they check out.”

“I think I’ve heard of Detective Mike Hanson— all good things, but I’m not sure if it’s the same guy. Both Mike and Hanson are pretty common names; does he have three kids, all boys?”

“Yes, how well do you know him?”

“Just by reputation only, not being in the same precinct as the guy. I think I remember his partner, named Martinez, heard a bit about her. Apparently she’s recruited some genius M.E who helps them solve cases.”

“Dr. Henry Morgan. Yeah, and he’s got an assistant M.E, Dr. Lucas Wahl. They’re here too— got pulled in as a part of what all happened with Samaritan. They helped Harold and I out of a pretty unusual situation. Which I will explain, but I’ll wait until I have backup because I will warn you that the story gets pretty crazy.”

“Of course it does.” Said Fusco, shaking his head, “Can’t ever be simple or straightforward with you guys.”

Detectives Martinez and Hanson had a guarded look about them that spoke of being very cautious of this new development, probably trying to figure out what exactly is up with the three strangers now in their friends’ antiques store.

John certainly doesn’t blame them— after all he’s evaluating them in turn. Well, they clearly already had some time to accept the ‘immortality is real’ thing, so an omnipotent AI who could figure out when a murder is about to happen shouldn’t be too much of a stretch to accept.

But first, Abe insists they all eat breakfast as they discuss business, which does sound sensible. Lessen the chance someone would spit-take or choke during a surprise or shocking reveal. Plus, he didn’t know when the last time Harold ate— and from what little time John has experienced this new paradigm of theirs, he has definitely determined that immortality didn’t eliminate the need to drink or eat, so that was good to know.

Fusco furrowed his brow when the talk of the East River came up. Clearly struggling to believe them, but not wanting to outright accuse them all of lying.

He cut a glance to Sameen, who just nodded and said, “Yeah, I know. I didn’t believe them at first either, but I was a doctor— I know what I saw when I examined Harold— before and after it’s impossible to explain outside of a miraculous spontaneous recovery of some description. Of which, resurrecting from the dead in a large body of water, fully healed, would definitely fit the bill. Plus she backed them up, so there’s that.”

Fusco nodded hesitantly, “Okay? I guess— well I guess I can accept that, and here I thought my life couldn’t get any crazier.” He reached down to pet Bear, who had started sniffing at his legs when he had sensed Fusco’s distress, and Fusco smiled as Bear licked his hand. “Good boy, Bear, very good.”

Chapter Text

Henry doesn’t know what to make of a computer artificial intelligence that can predict when a murder is about to occur—the idea does appeal, especially on the level of using the information provided to prevent said murders. As a medical doctor, it had been his responsibility to try to prevent deaths. It had obviously appealed to Ms. Shaw (certainly it should be Dr. Shaw? But then, he wasn’t sure exactly what had caused her to say she was a former doctor— perhaps she had lost her license due to some circumstance?) 

Regardless of the reason, she clearly still had the skills in that regard if Mr. W— Finch, he corrected himself— even with all his time operating under different aliases he had himself, it still seemed to throw him that a man he had once known through their shared tailor had also been operating under an alias. Henry wondered briefly if he would ever know the man’s actual name, but if not he wouldn’t take offense—lest he become a hypocrite.

Regardless, If Mr. Finch and Mr. Reese trusted her to examine them, he would be willing to attribute that to her competence—as Mr. Finch and Mr. Reese both seemed like very guarded individuals. Again, not that Henry could throw stones in that particular area.

He did wonder about the mention of neck pins, and Lucas had mentioned something about how Mr. Finch seemed to forget that he was no longer injured— moving like a man who had been used to medical restriction for a significant amount of time.

Mike and Detective Fusco both seemed familiar with each other, if only by reputation, and exchanged pleasantries in much the fashion of what Henry had seen with colleagues in the bullpen back at the precinct. Apparently Fusco had a son who had been saved from the now gone threat of Samaritan who had been attacking their group in order to try and stymie the group’s efforts, and to bring about the superiority of their own artificial intelligence.

Here, Henry would need to defer to Lucas for his knowledge; as technology still evaded his understanding, regardless of his attempts to catch up. It seemed he was doomed to be left behind by the near exponential pace by which technology evolves.

It does help that Jo and Hanson also seem to follow along with all the talk of learning algorithms fairly well, as it assures him that Lucas isn’t the only one of his trusted circle that grasps at least more of what is being explained than what he, or indeed Abraham understood.

Technology was his most glaring point of weakness, but as ever his observational skills remained sharp as ever. There was *something* with Mr. Finch and Mr. Reese, though it was difficult to get a read on them. Something about the way they talked to one another… were they together and hiding it because they were wary of people’s reactions? That didn’t make sense as the reason, especially not with John spotting his and Lucas’ relationship in the drive from the East River.

Maybe it was a general security thing? Luckily Jo made it so he didn’t need to be the one to ask. Because she turned to Mr. Finch and Mr. Reese and she asked, “So, how long have you two been married?”

Mr. Reese began to say something that seemed to be the negative when Mr. Finch answered, “Well that entirely depends on which alias you're asking about. Because it varies based on what makes the most sense.”

Mr. Reese turned to Mr. Finch, clearly stunned, “Wait, what? Since when?”

“It’s a recent measure I did retroactively, to make each other our next of kin and to help backstop the identities. For example, Ms. Shaw has a few aliases that have one of ours as a cousin, and vise-versa of course. Same with Detective Fusco.”

Mr. Reese slowly nodded, though he still looked befuddled, and if Henry didn’t miss his guess, he also looked a bit awed when he asked, “Okay… uh. What’s the longest we’ve been… married?”

“I believe seven years is the longest, though it’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to look so I may be wrong and it’s actually longer. I do hope I haven’t overstepped?”

“No!” Mr. Reese says, just a touch too loud, and quickly, “Not at all! I just… didn’t know.” He trails off awkwardly, “Uh. I’m going to go check that the perimeter is secure, again.” 

Jo goes to follow him, saying, “I’ll help.” And they both exit the store.

Abraham hums, “I have a security system?” He turns to Mr. Finch, “You probably already know that, and how secure it is or isn’t. Is there something I should be worried about?”

Mr. Finch looks perplexed, and he says, “Not that I can see. The system is indeed intact— I did take the liberty of beefing up your firewalls, as a precaution, but John does this often, when he is unsettled. I wonder if I’ve upset him somehow?” He frowns at the thought, “Marrying our various aliases was perhaps a tad much, but it was the easiest way to establish next of kin.”

Lucas makes a noise, before turning to Mike, saying, “You’re seeing it too right?”

Detective Fusco interjects with a snort, “It’s been like this for a while. But I’ve been explicitly banned from intervening by very stabby parties that I won’t name.” He cut his eyes significantly to Sameen.

Mr. Finch looks annoyed, “What are you all on about?”

Ms. Shaw shook her head, “Nothing Finch, don’t worry about it. I’m sure John has everything well in hand, he’s probably just worried about the large street facing windows where just anyone can look in and see. That’s all.”

Lucas pulled him far aside to the far back room to whisper, “Is it bad that I want to meddle? Because how is he not seeing the massive heart eyes John has for him?”

“Well, if Ms. Shaw was to stab you for interfering, it would probably hurt a lot before you died of blood loss.”

“It’s… it’s just that I feel bad, y’know? Because if becoming immortal together isn’t enough to make him realize what’s up, what is?”

“You’re assuming that Mr. Finch would necessarily reciprocate Mr. Reese’s feelings if he were made aware of them.” Henry remonstrated, “Wasn’t it you who not too long ago went on a long ramble about the spectrum of LGBTQ+ and levels of attraction?”

Lucas deflated “Yeah okay, maybe I’m projecting, but Jo is the one who asked when they got married— not me.”

“Indeed, and it was rather a faux pas on her part. I do wonder what possessed her to do that, as she could have asked how long they had known each other and let them pontificate on the nature of their relationship.”

“She probably sees what I do. You do see it too right, I’m not just projecting super hard? I see a lot of parallels between them and us… and well, until I accidentally died, and became immortal I wasn’t brave enough to let on to my feelings for you.”

Henry had been in fact the first person Lucas had called for help using the pay phone, having put together very quickly that winding up naked in the East River was something that Henry also did and thus must also know what had happened to him, and how to help.

“I do see it too. And hopefully Jo can talk Mr. Reese out of whatever crisis spiral he might be working himself into.”

Speaking of Jo, she was currently trying to talk John down, “I’m sorry John, I thought you guys were like my resident immortals, that’s my bad.”

“No— it’s my fault, I was too shaken by everything that happened yesterday to keep up my CIA training in body language and emotional control.”

“CIA training?” Said Jo, clearly impressed, “No kidding?”

“A while ago now. Obviously I’ve let myself get a bit rusty. If you could read me so well.”

“It’s not just you. I wouldn’t ask that sort of question if it was just based on just one sides’ actions.”

John shook his head, “I know that Harold is fond of me, but he’s never given me any indication that… he feels the same as I do.”

“I think marrying your various aliases didn’t just come entirely out of practicality, and have you given Harold any indication that you feel the way you do?”

“It’s… it had always been too fraught before. I don’t know what would happen to me if I didn’t have the work saving the numbers. And, I wouldn’t have it without Harold building the Machine and recruiting me. I can’t lose it just because I scared Harold away with inconvenient— or even unwanted—feelings, that would k… well, I was about to say kill me, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Jo said, voice full of sympathy, “I know what you mean. Sometimes the only reason I get up in the morning is the thought that I could maybe solve a case and bring justice— to actually be able to prevent crime though? That’s like something out of a fantasy.”

“I think you’d make an ideal recruit, help to fill out our team. Mike too. I’m sure Harold would agree.”

Jo nods, “Well… I’ll talk to Mike and see what he thinks about all this, though I can’t see him turning down the opportunity.”

“It is dangerous to not just yourself. Our enemies have targeted our families before, just ask Fusco. Sure Sameen got to his son in time to rescue him, but it was a very near thing.”

“Hmmm.” Jo hummed, “Your enemies are actually more reason to join. Anyone who would target innocent kids? That’s someone I want to fight against.”

John nodded, “Fair.” He took in a breath before saying, “Perimeter is good. Ideal camera coverage for the Machine, means Harold can monitor the antique store too. That’s good. Let’s go back inside.”

Chapter Text

There had been two numbers called in on the antique stores landline in the time that Detective Martinez and John had been outside. Some people were in danger, or were about to become dangers.

Dr. Morgan was baffled when he explained to him that they didn’t know which it would be until they investigated, with Dr. Morgan saying, “Pardon my ignorance, but if your research algorithm can determine a murder is about to happen— certainly it can discern between victims and perpetrators? Why would it not differentiate between them for you, and then give you two numbers at a time so that you may guard the potential victim while tailing the potential murder?”

Harold wrinkled his nose, “The system was never designed to determine anything more than ‘threats’ and that would generate two lists. One of the ‘relevant’ people, the politicians and influential people mainly— that one got forwarded to various agencies like the FBI, CIA, IRA, or Interpol. And then the other list would be the ‘irrelevant’ people, which was usually of regular citizens. That one just got discarded by the end of day. The Machine has developed quite significantly since I created the Machine, but I purposely made the code to protect itself from outside changes to prevent corruption. This means I cannot alter what data we are given— it is up to us to determine.” 

He took a deep breath, “And even if we had been told who was to be the murderer and who would be the victim, our very interference could alter the plans if we went in guns blazing without our own research.”

Harold quickly looked through the book catalog saved on the computer to decode the numbers, before he paused and frowned slightly, “I recognize this one, Mr. Reese, it seems like Mr. Tao is in need of yet another rescue.”

“Another one?” John said, sounding bemused, “This is the fourth time now that he’s been a number— he should have gotten a punch card from us at this point. Where is he this time?”

“I’ve sent your phone the address.”

Detective Martinez walked over to John, “I want to tag along, see how you operate in person.”

John was about to protest that he could handle it, and he didn’t know her well enough to work with her, and that Sameen would be enough of a backup when Harold interjected, “I would suggest that you accept the backup, it seems Mr. Tao has fallen afoul of an entire gang. Sameen, Detective Hanson, if you would be so kind as to accompany them?”

Sameen nodded, saying, “Sure yeah, I’ll take along Bear, as he’s also fond of Leon. He’ll be glad to lick his face once we rescue him— again.”

Detective Hanson cut a look at his detective partner before sighing, “Well if Jo’s going I guess I have to watch her back, if nothing else.”

They follow John out the door, and lead him toward their unmarked police vehicle in order to give him a ride.

Lucas watched them go, turned and asked, “What about the other number?”

“Still trying to decipher the number from the code, give me a moment, Detective Fusco I do hope you’re up for helping a number?”

“Yeah, locked and loaded Glasses.”

Harold gave a slight smile at the very corner of his lip, and continued with, “And I hope that perhaps if Detective Fusco needs backup, that I could possibly recruit help from you Dr. Morgan, and perhaps your husband Dr. Wahl?”

Lucas squawked in surprise, saying, “Us? We’re not trained operatives. I mean maybe we could provide medical skills— but outside of that?”

Henry gave a wry smile, “I believe we’re competent enough to be able to follow the lead of Detective Fusco. All the same, perhaps if we did help, I would rather have Abraham stationed at pier 40–just in case.”

“Really dad? Pick up at the pier duty? Couldn’t you just— oh I don’t know, try to not die?”

Harold cleared his throat, “Indeed, if nothing else, there’s very little I can do to control human witnesses to bodies just disappearing— footage I can scrub easily enough, but rerouting people involves a lot more very delicate manipulations, and depending on the tech level of the area, I may not be able to achieve them.”

Fusco hummed in thought, “So what happens to all the ancillary evidence when you die? Your blood for example, does it disappear as well— like your clothes?”

Henry gave a so-so gesture, “If the blood or other such bodily substance has been outside of the body or otherwise separated by some distance for a significant amount of time, such as in an evidence vial for example, it won’t disappear. I have, as of yet, not determined the lower limits of this peculiarity. Also, even though all my clothes that I’m wearing at the time have disappeared upon death, this excludes my pocket watch. And I do not know why.

   “Speaking of clothing,” he said, pivoting to face Harold, “how ever was it that you managed to keep all of yours, do you think? Because I sincerely wish to know what you did differently.”

“I haven’t the foggiest, I’m afraid. I certainly would tell you if I did; because if nothing else, losing all your clothes upon regenerating must be terribly inconvenient.” Harold said with some note of empathy, “I did see in your records that you have been arrested—quite a few times— for ‘skinny dipping’, as it were.”

Henry grimaced slightly, “Yes, indeed.”

“I’ve got the second number decoded, and based on what I’m seeing Detective Fusco ought to be able to handle it by himself. Though of course I would appreciate it if either of you would be ‘on call’ as to potential medical backup. As we have been rather overly reliant on Ms. Shaw and Dr. Tillman for that avenue.”

“Well, if it should prove necessary, I would be willing to step in.” Henry turned to Lucas, “Lucas darling, I know you’ve yet to treat the living— at least when it comes to humans, but I know you to be capable of the skill and empathy necessary to do so. I still think fondly of when you spent all night performing obstructive bowel surgery on a rat.”

Lucas shrugged bashfully, “I’ll do my best to help, I think I’m best in the assistant role, as you’ve got the experience in keeping people alive.”

“Fair enough.”

Harold nodded, “Ideally, we won’t need to rely on medical intervention outside of some mild stitches, or something similar. But it is wise to have a fallback plan in place. As it stands I shall need to use this antique shop as a base for at least another day until I can get more of our old assets set back up— now that Samaritan has been defeated we have some more breathing room in that respect.”

He typed something in a quick flurry and nodded at Fusco, “There, I’ve sent the details of the number to your phone Detective Fusco.”

Fusco brought out his phone and skimmed it over, nodding absently, before saying, “Alright, well. No rest for the wicked it would seem.” And he turned and left the storefront. The bell above the door sounding his exit.

Henry and Lucas head to their morgue, because as much as their erstwhile associates might try to prevent people dying, the fact remains that people still did.

They both tried to focus on their work, but their conversation inevitably drifted to the events of the previous day and this morning.

Lucas looked especially troubled when he said, “Y’know, this would seem to suggest that the… affliction is more common than we thought previously.”

He didn’t need to clarify what affliction he meant.

Henry nodded, saying, “It’s either that, or the occurrences are accelerating, perhaps both could be true. There’s not enough data to determine either way— and even if incidents were accelerating it’s not necessarily to the extreme of two arrivals at a time—because as much as it appears that Mr. Finch and Mr. Reese arrived together, as it were. Mr. Finch was actually afflicted at least some years before, unknowingly.”

“Crazy to think about, but if the event itself that happened to Harold, whatever that may be— I noticed he was very cagey about specifics— if it happened near enough to water for it to make sense for him to wake up there— and the whole clothing thing— majorly looking forward to see if we can replicate that by the way— I guess it makes sense that he might not realize what had happened to him.”

They keep working, with Lucas checking his phone periodically, and providing updates. With the announcement two hours after their lunch break, “They saved Leon Tao. He’s minor injuries, but otherwise fine they say Shaw can handle it. John and the others are on another number.”

“I am curious just what it is about this Mr. Tao that so often has so many disparate groups of people planning to murder him?” Henry wondered wryly, “Seems it would be more effective to try to keep him out of the sorts of trouble that causes him to become a number— rather than rescuing him from the aftermath.”

“Said like you weren’t a danger magnet yourself Dr. Morgan,” being purposely formal to tease his husband, “What’s your count at again?”

“Well yes, but that is over 200 years of time. Mr. Tao has apparently accomplished four near misses— that we know of—in just a handful of years.”

“I sort of want to meet this guy, get his story.”

Henry hums noncommittally, “Perhaps we will, but for now, we ought to get back to work.”

They do just that, settling into an easy silence.

Chapter Text

They’re on their way back to the antique store, walking along the bustling streets, having exited the subway just after rush hour had begun to subside. 

Henry was eagerly espousing some small detail in one of the autopsy cases that had to wait for evaluation by a mass spectrometer before they could figure out just what they just found.

“Perhaps we can ask if there’s some way that Mr. Finch’s invention can aid our investigative process, if not by rushing tests for us— then by going through surveillance to see if it could determine what struck our Mr. Arnold Longshire.”

“Hmmm.” Lucas hummed, noncommittally.

“Lucas darling, I’m surprised at you, ordinarily a discovery of such a magnitude of a thinking computer would have you excitedly telling me all about a graphic novel with a similar plot.”

“Henry.” Lucas said, voice suddenly sad, which makes Henry snap his gaze to his suddenly contemplative husband.

“What is it dear?”

Lucas shrugged, saying, “It just now occurred to me just all what this means, what with at least two other additional immortals that we now know about. And what that all means…” Lucas trails off, seemingly reluctant to finish his thought.

“Are you worried they might bring trouble that we can’t handle? Because I will admit, the thought has occurred to me as well.”

“Well, there’s that too. It’s just… some part of me worries that the only reason you married me was that I was just the first not crazy immortal you knew— and you’d been alone in your immortality for so long— and—”

“Lucas, darling no!” Henry rushed to reassure, taking up his husband’s hands in his, “Whatever did I do or say to make you believe that? Please tell me so that I may more properly reassure you!”

“Nothing!” Lucas said hurriedly, “You didn’t say or do anything— it’s just I’ve been thinking that the whole thing about Adam being alone. Then I wondered if there was actually an immortal out there that he somehow missed meeting, big world after all. But then, I realized even if there was, what would be the odds that they would even get along, let alone like the other for 2,000 years?

And then I wondered what the odds were of us meeting, and then getting along so well on top of that— the odds are astronomical Henry. I was beyond lucky that I met you. However, in the three years we worked together before the Adam incident uncovering the secret to Jo, you were ready to go splits-ville on all of New York; if not the entire country, and don an entirely new identity at any possible threat to your secret… 

   “Henry, I could have lost you then, and I would have had zero idea about it at the time as to why. And then I realized; that I didn’t really have any claim to you, even after three years… you were keeping yourself emotionally distant to prevent hurt, I realize that, but I also realize that is still three years of you purposefully ignoring my feelings because they would have been inconvenient— up until they suddenly weren’t.”

Henry swallowed roughly around the lump in his throat, saying, “Lucas, I didn’t realize how deeply you felt about me back then, not before you said— honestly. I held myself apart Please, let’s go home and we can talk more about this.”

Lucas gave a small smile at that, “You called it home. Henry, you’ve been calling it ‘the shop’ or ‘Abraham’s store’ for years… did I make it home?”

“You made me realize, all over again, that home is where the heart is, and just how reluctant I have been to admit where I had placed my heart— just because I feared impermanence. I promise you I shall strive to do better, to make up for how long I have tried to hold myself aloof.”

They get home, and Henry notices out of the corner of his eye that it looks like Mr. Finch had been crying just recently, but he was very much trying to pretend that he hadn’t just been. So, hopefully whatever was wrong wasn’t too terrible.

Mr. Finch cut his gaze towards them and cleared his throat, “Apologies, I had hacked Dr. Wahl’s phone to be able to keep an ear out for any potential trouble you might come across. I didn’t, however, intend to intrude on such an intimate moment.”

Lucas blushed, and hurriedly rushed to shut off his phone, “Uhhhh… that’s— you heard all of that?”

Henry interjected, “Is everything alright Mr. Finch? You seem upset. No one on the team came to more harm I should hope?”

Mr. Flinch blinks, before cutting his gaze away, sitting the way he was, the laptop was like a barrier of safety between them and himself, he very softly replied, “No. No one was hurt. It’s not that— please, don’t let me disturb you two, please. I shall be fine.”

Lucas tugs on Henry’s sleeve, leading him away, saying as soon as they get up to their shared room, “I think what we were talking about hit close to home— heh, home— anyway I think it is probably my fault, what with all I was talking about earlier.”

“His fault for listening.” Henry corrected, “And besides, I would not have anything keeping you from expressing your feelings.”

Downstairs, Harold was indeed having a moment of reflection. About how his life would go now, and how fortunate it was that he would not face the gulf of forever alone. He would have John… but something Dr. Wahl had said shook him; ‘You were keeping yourself emotionally distant to prevent hurt.’ And hearing that was like a bolt of truth aimed right at his soul. Dr. Wahl hadn’t meant those words for him, but they resonated all the same.

He had been doing the same— holding people at large emotional distance because he was afraid of how it would feel if he lost them, or trying to prevent any hurt they might feel by losing him. But there are other ways to lose people beyond death. And now? Death wasn’t a factor. But he could still lose John— and no matter what, it would hurt like the worst wound he had ever suffered.

How do you lose a person? The saying goes, You forget to cherish them.

Harold clamped down the upswell of sadness, lest he begin to cry again. It was bad enough that John would probably be able to tell he was upset if he didn’t center himself quickly, he didn’t wish to concern John unduly. It wasn’t his fault that had caused Harold to be so guarded with his tender feelings towards him.

He loved John. Dearly. 

And he had been pushing that away, not wanting to face what it meant, merely to try and prevent what was happening anyway.

Hurt.

He was hurting John, by pushing him away— and himself as well. Needlessly— not just now that they’re immortal, but also when they thought they had finite time together. Why ever did he spend what little time he thought they had in stoic misery? When he could have been actually married to John beyond their forged records?

John can tell that Harold has something to say when he arrives back at the antique shop with the detectives in tow, and he hesitates. Harold seems nervous, and happy in equal measure— so it’s potentially good news at least? Drs. Morgan and Wahl had ordered some food for them all. Very generous of them. John made a mental note to check if Harold’s funds have been reestablished or not, to see if they can repay them later. 

Since there isn’t a table in the antique store that could comfortably seat all of them, different groups formed. The detectives formed their own clique, with the addition of Sameen, with Bear sat between her and Fusco.

That leaves Harold and himself to sit with the doctors— or as John realized as he sat down, the table had all of the immortals sitting at it— plus Abe, Henry’s son, the groupings don’t seem so happenstantial as they had when he first saw the two groups beginning to form up.

So they do talk about it— how could they not? It’s one of the biggest elephants in the room that John thinks he’s ever stumbled across, and it is going to take some time to get all the details.

Heh, luckily that’s one thing John now has in spades… time. And lots of it.

He keeps glancing over at Harold, wondering what happened while he was gone— Harold seems lighter… perhaps just relieved that the numbers are still available to them— that they still have their mission. That they have more help. 

Whatever the reason, John is just glad to see Harold happier. And he’s glad to be here to see it.

“John?” Says Harold, and that voice saying his name is enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

“Yes Finch?”

“Mr. Reese, Are you well? I mean to say, all of dinner you seemed distracted.”

“A lot to think about, that’s all. I don’t think it’s all hit me yet— dunno if it ever will. Should probably ask Dr. Morgan how long it took him for it all to sink in for him— presumably it does at some point.”

“One would hope.” Harold agrees, “Let’s retire up to the room for the night, no need to sit around loitering in the shop space.”

“Yeah— okay.” Said John, getting up to stretch. He follows Harold to their shared room. Watching closely as it seems like Harold is gearing up to say something else, but isn’t quite sure how to start.

They settle into the room. An uneasy silence seems to emanate from Harold, he makes a few different motions like he’s about to open his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Are you there Finch?” John says after a moment, hoping to break the silence with a familiar phrase.

“Always Mr. Reese.” Harold says on instinct, “And I do apologize, I went over how to say this in so many different ways in just the past few hours— and I realized there’s no perfect way to communicate everything I’ve come to realize. Except to say; My name— my birth name—is Harold Vinke. I was born and raised in Iowa—”

And that’s all that Harold can get out as John has silenced him, very ingeniously covering his mouth with a kiss.

The kiss breaks with a broad smile from John, “Harold— I love you too. I was afraid to tell you— worried that you wouldn’t feel the same, that you would leave me behind with no way to find you… one way or another.”

“I worried about losing you too.” Harold said, voice trembling, “Strange isn’t it? In our mutual fear of losing one another we’d denied ourselves a potential shared joy.”

Chapter Text

When they come down for breakfast in the morning, they both get a significant look from Dr. Morgan, with a small nod, and a question about how they would like their eggs.

Dr. Wahl is helping prepare another part of breakfast, at another station in the little kitchenette where he’s manning a skillet with bacon sizzling inside.

It’s a picturesque domestic scene, for all that there isn’t a single word exchanged. Harold cannot help

But feel a touch self conscious, watching them in this setting— for all that they saw what he and John could be together, if they were to just get out of their own way.

John broke their silence by speaking in an undertone to him, “Are we getting out of the hair of our erstwhile hosts today?”

Harold checked his phone, and saw that one of his nearest safe houses to the antique shop was the first one set up, ready to go. More meddling by the Machine, no doubt. But he couldn’t say he minded.

He addressed the room, saying, “You’ll be glad to know that we’ll be out of your hair today.” Harold borrows John’s phrasing easily, it’s a good expression— rather a funny visual as well. He continues, “We’ll be based close by, for now. So I feel I should only offer to play host as a small way to repay you for…everything.”

Dr. Wahl chuckled, “Hey, no debts between friends, right? It all evens out in the end I think.”

It’s a very lovely notion, to be able to call them friends after knowing them for what amounts to less than three days so far. And a good foot to start off with— best to start as they mean to go on.

And so he nods and says, “I believe you are correct in your assertion Dr. Wahl… or should I call you Lucas at this juncture?”

“Whatever works for you,” Dr. Wahl says with a shrug, “I’ll be entirely honest in saying it’s nice to be recognized as having earned a doctorate.”

Dr. Morgan gave Dr. Wahl a wry look, “I did apologize thoroughly for that, Lucas— amongst my many truspasses against you, I wouldn’t have thought that it would be the one that still aggravates you.”

“Oh! It’s not you Doc, it’s fine if it’s you. You call me Mr. Wahl out of fondness. Other people at work I mean. They hear ‘assistant M.E’ and think I don’t need or have a doctorate… if they think much of me at all, that is.”

They banter back and forth, deftly changing the subject to the different names that Dr. Morgan has taken on throughout his many years.

Harold smiles slightly as he shares with their hosts that he ordinarily used bird names as his own, because he loves to keep to a theme. It is a lovely conversation. No reason to hide, no part he needs to play. He is actually amongst friends, those who can understand secrecy on a level to which Harold had never believed possible before.

A number is called in, and then two others in quick succession, breaking up their easy breakfast. 

Time to get back to work.

When they finally get the time between numbers to go set up in the safe house, there’s a surprise visitor there.

Caleb Phipps greets him with a happy, “Mr. Swift. I’m glad you're alright, I was worried— last I saw you… well, the talk about needing to save the world had me worried you were in danger… are you still in danger? The brief I got to set up this old library has really strong security.”

“I am alright Caleb, and please— feel free to call me Harold, after everything we’ve been through together I think you’ve earned it.” He gestured over at John, who seemed to be playing at the role of his bodyguard, “This is John. He’s my husband.”

The smile that plays across John’s face at hearing John introduce him as husband is a beautifully incandescent expression that brings a warm joy to Harold’s chest. With John saying, “It’s nice to meet you Caleb. I’ve heard good things.”

He explains what happened with Samaritan, why they had needed Caleb’s compression algorithm and all those memory chips. And Caleb nods along seriously, taking everything in.

With Caleb saying at one point, “They blew up a whole building trying to kill you? That’s— they had to know they would hurt people they weren’t even targeting. Just awful, how did you manage to escape?”

“That is a story all of its own, and not entirely ours to share I’m afraid. Perhaps sometime in the future we can explain more, but for now— that is the end of the Samaritan’s story at least.”

Caleb nods with understanding, “Well I’m glad you’re okay Mr. S— Harold, you as well John.”

John nodded, “I feel I can say that we were inordinately lucky, with what ended up happening. And we have good friends to help us— that includes you, helping to set this library up.”

And so it goes, with their team growing. There’s a core group that knows where the numbers come from, and they know where the main bases are. And there are some who just help with their areas of expertise where they can— not everyone is cut out to be a full time field agent, nor should everyone need to be. That is what Team Machine is for after all.

There are still the crimes that the Machine cannot prevent or predict— but can help to find justice for, and that is majorly the role of their medical examiner friends, and their associates. When they’re not needed for more immediate medical backup that is, as there are still injuries that are hard to explain to a hospital. 

With the future sprawling out in front of them, for once, Harold sets forward plans that aren’t just contingencies. He finally tells Will what happened to his dad, the truth about the irrelevant numbers— and they have another doctor added to the team.

So it makes him think about the possibility of bringing in Lee Fusco, and perhaps Detective Hanson’s boys? But that was a while off yet, the kids were still in school after all. Best not to distract them from their studies. 

And he has John. As John has him. While they still fear they will lose people, as loss is inevitable for so many yet— they will fight to keep them; safe, healthy, and happy. And if indeed they have forever—they will at least have it together, as long as they both fight for it.

Who knows? Maybe they’ll be able to talk Adam around to joining their cause— turn his considerable intellect to saving lives… under probation of course. Because keeping him trapped forever just doesn’t seem just or feasible, given all that he has gone through, alone for 2,000 years. 

Epilogue:

There’s some discussion as to how much longer they can feasibly stay in New York, without running the risk of people realizing that they haven’t aged. Whether they could all avoid that conflict with the aid of the Machine. But according to Dr. Morgan they all have a few more years, with the application of some grey hair dye as a stop-gap measure, before that becomes a more pressing issue— and he is the one of the two experts in such matters.

Harold thinks through his options, having asked John where he would want to go, if relocation became needful. Saying, “There are of course many considerations— I don’t want to be based near any active fault lines, and perhaps it would be nice to go somewhere that's a bit warmer in the winters. Though not Florida, far too humid for me. Have you any thoughts on the matter John? Where do you think you would like to go?”

“Wherever you want to go Harold.”

“A lovely sentiment dearest, but I would appreciate it if you forwarded some other sort parameter of preference.”

 “Well…” Said John after some consideration, “I can think of one place I’d like to go.”

“Yes?” Prompted Harold, do tell.”

“To bed; with you.” 

“Mr. Reese!” Harold said, slipping unintentionally into formality, half in shock, half in admonishment—as his ears burned red, “I am on passive comms with most of the team, right now.”

Some chuckles can be heard breaking over the comms, but none malicious or mocking— all full of fondness (though John can just make out Sameen’s voice, presumably from somewhere in the library, yelling for them to ‘get a room you two!’)

John smiled brightly, probably looking like a real love struck dope, in the middle of the streets of New York. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He looked up into the nearest surveillance camera and gave it a big, obvious, wink. And then turned towards their new library lair— time to go home.

THE END