Effects of Insomnia - PoI

I don’t have insomnia. Maybe I did once, back when I was a shell, filled with pain, with loss. I’d drink myself to sleep, it was the only way I found how, but even then the sleep was never good. When I slept, I’d hear their screams, their voices, see their faces… feel the blood on my hands that would never wash away, enough to drown me dozens of times.

Now I can’t get enough sleep. No matter how many hours I get, it just isn’t enough. I don’t let it show, not even to him, but I feel so tired. It’s why I fall asleep even when I try to wait until he does. Being with him makes me so relaxed, so at peace… Makes me think that maybe, just maybe, some of the layers of blood have washed off.

Maybe a voice that once screamed in my head, goes quiet. It’s so amazing, believeing that, even for a moment. Feeling that if I’m with him, maybe I’m forgiven. That if I can protect this man, make him happy, safe, that all the things that have haunted me will stop. Even if they didn’t, and I can’t be sure they will, I’ll do my all for him.

Which is why it hurts. Hurts when I open my eyes and don’t find him. Find that I’m alone again. Maybe it’s foolish to keep doing it, but I can’t help but wonder if it was a dream. If all the peace, all the pleasure, all the affection, was just a dream and I’m back to reality. Where my hands are stained with blood and I’m nothing but a weapon.

It’s just a second in the morning, but a second that keeps happening. No matter how amazing the night before was, no matter how much he shows how caring he is, that second eats at me. Because in that second, every doubt, every fear that I have that it’s not real, that I didn’t deserve it in the first place, that the only thing that matters to me anymore is gone.

It only lasts in a second, but my mind races with all of this. Then I hear the tip-tapping of a keyboard, and I know he hasn’t slept. Know that he’s working still. I know the job is important, vital even, and I know I can never ask him to not work all the time. I only wish for that second to vanish. Just a second.

But I’ll never ask him to do something he doesn’t want to. If he wants to work himself to the bone, well I’ll be there to help him. I’ll make him tea, relax him, get him to at least sleep a bit. Do the legwork, track the numbers, save the irrelevant, punish the criminals. All for him.

Because he saves me. Makes me think maybe I’m not so haunted that I can at least care for him. And if he can’t sleep because of insomnia, because of the guilt he carries, because of the pain. Then I’ll sleep for us both, I’ll take some of the guilt off his shoulders, ease his pain. Even if I hear their voices, see their faces, feel the blood on my hands more often because of it. Well, it’s worth it. It’s just another effect of insomnia.

(AC: Inspired by a roleplay I have on tumblr as John Reese from Person of Interest. This isn't the same John Reese as the rest of the fanfics for PoI I've made... there's my writing Reese, and then there's this guy, my rp Reese. Please enjoy~)

John Reese and the things that haunt him - drawn by myself

Now What?

Like the dream, it ends as abruptly as it starts. The question is always there, always hauntingly close. Now what? What plan is next, what calculated risk is there to take? How can I get through this as safely as possible?

Now what.

The answer is just as simple. You write. Write until the day you can no longer even ask "Now what?" because there is no plan. There never was a plan, greatness doesn't have a plan. It just happens.

You want to know what happens next? What happens next is you. Move forward, reach out and grab the world with your hands and decide what happens. You're the only one who can decide for you. Your world as been shaken, tilted off balance.

We've been tilted back by guidence, now what are we going to do with ourselves? Now what?

Put that pencil to paper, that pen to page, that finger to keyboard, and write your soul. Put your soul into words and continue to do so until you just can't take it, just can't speak any louder. Until you can catch your breath, slow your heart, calm your mind. And say,

"That's what."

Deck the Halls~ Grell style

Deck the halls with bloody red,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
I'm gonna get Sebby in bed,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

~

Don we now our Gay apparel,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Break the bone down to the marrow,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

~

See the playing life before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Strike the soul to make a chorus.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

~

Follow me in bloody pleasure,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
While I take your greatest treasure,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

~

Fast away the soul passes,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Out to get all the dead lasses,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

~

Collect all the souls together,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Mindless of the pain and weather,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
_________________________________________
AC: A rewritten version of Deck the Halls, with Grell in mind.


http://www.zerochan.net/836052



Picking Locks

Finch was a locked up person. Both physically and emotionally. He never let anyone in, never opened his emotional doors to anyone. Even his home was always locked, and he’d only open it to either enter or leave.

He never intended on giving anyone the key. Ever.

It was too painful, giving someone that much power over him. And in his “non-existance” that kind of power could be fatal. To this day, not once had he given someone the key to his heart. It was secure and safe tied up in all the chains he’d built over the years.

Reese was good at picking locks. With a paperclip even. It’d take more than a paperclip to pick Finch’s lock though. But that’s okay. Reese was really good at picking locks.



Mr. Finch (top photo) & Mr. Reese (bottom photo)



Holiday - PoI Fanfic (part1)

It was getting cold. Even in the library I could see my breath. Consequence for not being able to have a large heating bill. I thought it'd be somewhat avoidable because heat rises, and everything important was on the second floor.

Guess Jack Frost wasn't having it. Thankfully it wasn't cold enough to harm the computers, it was however cold enough to warrant a blanket.

So that was how Reese found me. Sitting at the desk, two blankets overlapping on both my shoulders and lap. Earlier in the morning I had made myself tea, but it had been forgotten and was now freezing and unenjoyable at the moment.

His amused chuckled brought me out of my research, and I looked at him, about to make a snide remark about sneaking up on me. Then I saw what he was holding. A tiny potted tree.

Finch & Reese in the library

The tiny tree Reese brings in

Matching - PoI Fanfic drabble

This is meant to be dialogue and the "-emotion-" at the end of each line are how they sound when saying it.
___________________________________________________________
"Ya know Finch, there's been something nagging the back of my mind." -thoughtful-

"And what would that be, Mister Reese?" -curious-

"Your paisley kerchief, what does it match?" -honest-

"And what makes you think it needs to match anything?" -avoiding-

"Because you're Finch." -blunt-

"... Fine. Yes it matches...

... My socks." -hesitant-

"Your socks? You have paisley socks?" -disbelief

"Is there a problem Mister Reese?"-huffy-

"Nope. Not at all." -smirk-

~awkward pause~

"Though, you might want to pick a better lie. I can see your socks peeking under your pants right now. They aren't paisley." -smug-

"I didn't say I was wearing them right now, Reese." -annoyed-

"Then what's the point in them matching at all?" -confused-

"Get back to work Mister Reese. Don't you have guns to clean?" -exasperated-

"Yes I do. I'll get you tea later, Finch. See you at lunch." -devious-

"That's not necessary, Mister Reese!" -hastey-

~He was already gone~

Paisley Tie 1

Paisley Tie 2

An Octopus without a Hug

O, woe is he! He who has many a limbs to use, but none willing to take! The loneliness of goliath solitude, without a friend to make!

A simple hug, tis all he craved, but left was he, the others think he depraved.

A tear fallen, hiding in the eternal sea. Their flow never ending until a ship comes toward he.

"Is it so? A wooden ship sails near with people to hug in tow?!" A lengthy limb wiped his eye, no longer feeling the need to cry.

His multi-colored arms, just begging for something to embrace, climb to the surface where the ships race.

His hold is firm, for he is over joyed, however his new friend is very annoyed. Within a moment, the bliss ends, when the wooden ship bends!

With a 'crack!' it is gone, the hug no more. The humans scream in fear of what is in store.

Back to loneliness, something he will never miss.

O, woe is he, the giant octopus of the sea. Eight limbs to use, but none to greet. So give this troubled soul a hug should you meet.

Grief (Part 1 of 2) - Finch

Series: Person of Interest
Author's Note: The idea just wouldn't leave me alone. I really don't like thinking of character deaths, but I often think of ways in which they would die, how dramatic it would be, how the others would react... I hope you enjoy (as much as you can) and review.


Finch

It was just a regular number. A tricky one, numbers involving drug cartels with guns always were, but Reese could handle it. He’d handled plenty of people like them without any problems. I had zero doubt that he would wrap up the number and return to the Library. We had our connection on, so I could hear everything, even if there were no security cameras for me to use. It was going well, I heard the tell-tale signs of Reese and his habit of shooting people in the knees.


Then I heard the shots stop. I didn’t question it, thinking he was done. A child cried. And suddenly things didn’t seem as okay as they looked. Reese doesn’t have any weakness, he wasn’t allowed to in the CIA. But after the judge’s case, with his son’s kidnapping, I knew that hit a nerve with Reese. 
“Mister Reese? Everything alright?”


My voice held a tint of worry; he wasn’t talking, and neither was anyone else near his mic. I waited nervously for his low whisper voice to reassure me that he had everything taken care of. Instead, I got a huge sound and then static. I became increasingly worried.


After five minutes and no response or contact, I decided to find him. A storm had started, rain was not far off. Even so, when I looked up the building from the GPS, what was a little red dot had turned into a giant red mass of flames. The building the number had run to, the place I had sent Reese alone, was blocked by the blazing flames.


Time after that got blurry. My memory seemed to have frozen, and my body acted on it’s own. The next thing I knew, I was standing outside the burning building, looking for Reese. My calls were frantic, and I was worried about the amount of time I had before the police noticed the destruction and arrived. The wind was starting to pick up, and I could feel the occasional drop of water, so it would rain very soon.


Then, out of the smog and blinding heat, a tall figure appeared. They limped and made horrible coughing sounds. It wasn’t until they got closer that I saw it was in fact Reese. My relief swelled up, he was standing. His body wasn’t a charred crisp in the building, he was still alive.


Just as I was about to reach him, call out to him, he swayed and then collapsed onto his chest. My steps became even more hurried, and once I reached him I turned him over so he could see me. 


“Reese! Reese can you hear me?” I knelt down and shook his shoulders slightly. He coughed violently, and opened his eyes slightly. They seemed out of focus, and a look of confusion passed across his features.


“Finch? Is that you?”


My blood racing, I gave him a hollow smirk in confirmation. He gave me an earnest smile in return.


“You... you came for me... Finch, you came to get me..”


I was stunned at him, did he think I would just leave him in that building? Of course I came to get him, we had lost contact in what appeared to be a dangerous situation. My first instinct was to lightly chide him for his foolishness, but something in his voice... it was much quieter than normal.


“Reese, are you hurt too bad anywhere?” 


The look responding to my question put a lump in my throat. His breathing was ragged, and now that I took the time to look, his clothes were horribly burnt, and his left arm was bleeding heavily. Glancing down at his chest, I noticed the tears in fabric and raging red marks that marred his otherwise tone torso. Shrapnel.  


His ragged breath turned into a violent cough again, this time blood pooling behind his teeth and sliding down his jaw. The sight sent a cold chill down my spine that wasn’t due to the cold weather. My grip on him tightened slightly, though whether it was to comfort him or myself I don’t know.


“John! You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be fine John.” I ignored the crack in my voice, and the starting rain. It wasn’t raining hard enough though. Not to hide it. He gave me the softest of smiles, and actually let out a sound that might have meant to be a laugh.


“I thought... you said, you wouldn’t lie to me, Finch. And....” He slowly lifted up his right arm, and a gentle but calloused hand touched my now wet cheek. “You said my name.” I felt the rain increase in power, but somehow I couldn’t care if I got soaked. Couldn’t care if my joints would ache more than normal due to being drenched.


“I’m not lying John. I can’t to you. We have a job to do John, so you’re going to be okay.” Even as I said these words, a sinking feeling in my stomach caused my voice to falter. I wanted to believe what I said, because I didn’t...


“You’ll... find someone. You found me. Someone... can do my job... just as-good.” He voice was wavering, his breaths pausing every few moments, the blood pooling behind his lip made his battered face pale in comparison. Maybe a few months ago, I might have believed him. Might have been able to find someone with the same qualifications, the same will to protect.


But not now. No one was like John Reese. The more I worked with him, the more dangerous situations we went through, the more this thought solidified. No one was more qualified than John. No one could replace him, ability wise, and... emotionally as well.


I moved one of my hands to grip the one still on my cheek, my face betraying my expression. His ghost blue gaze softened more than ever before. I’d never seen such... adoration and complete trust on anyone else before.


“Harold. Thank you... for saving me.” That one sentence tore me apart. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the breath that escaped his mouth for the last time, it wasn’t his gentle and experienced hand loosing tension, it wasn’t his ghost blue eyes closing never to open again that undid me. It was that one sentence that had taken the last of his life. 


I continued to stare at his face, muttering “John... John...?” kneeling beside him in the now pouring rain. By the time the police sirens registered in my brain, I didn’t even have the strength to get up. The building blaze wasn’t completely out yet, but the heavy rain had stopped the fire from spreading too far. It provided a very faint orange glow in the darkening evening. 


I knew before any words were spoken which officer approached me first. I may not have had the skills John had, but I could tell the difference between a woman’s shoe and a man’s at the least. I made no effort to face her.


“Detective Carter.” My voice was hollow, emotionless. I could hear her quick intake of breath as she saw who exactly was before me. I heard her put away her gun and the clink of metal as she took out handcuffs. I almost laughed.


“Don’t bother, Detective. There is no point in those.” Now I found the energy to move, and shifted so I could look at her above my glasses. “I... am willing to turn myself in. If you do me something.”


She hesitated for so long, I thought she wasn’t even going to hear me out. But I suppose even detectives with strong morals get curious. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Mr. Burdett. What are you asking for that you’ll turn yourself in? And how are you connected to Mister Suit?”


“John.”


“Pardon?”


“His name. His name is-was. John.” Shifting to past tense hurt more than anything. I had to swallow thickly to keep my composure in front of the detective that had dedicated most of her time in hunting us. She went silent after that. There was a long and heavy pause between us, with only the pounding rain as sound. Other officers bustled about, checking the building, finding the bodies of those inside.


I’m not sure how, but I ended up in a room at the precinct. Detective Carter and Fusco were both there, ready to start asking questions. I was on auto pilot, looking at this like … an unconcerned third party. Ironic.

It was Detective Fusco who asked the first question. I caught a confused glint in his eye, but he hid it well. He wasn’t there at the building, he had been on a different case, and was just brought in to question me. He was most likely shocked at seeing his “friend of a friend” in for questioning.


“So, what is it you’re asking for?”


“A favor.”


Detective Carter jumped in here, taking hold of the conversation. “What kind of favor?”


I paused and took a slow breath. I pushed all emotion, all things that were irrelevant right now down into a deep part of me so I could answer as composed as possible. I think I only half succeeded. “A proper burial. Because of... what we did as a job, it was essential that we didn’t “exist” in the normal sense of the word.”


“And what exactly was it you did, as a job?” Detective Carter had that determined look on her face, wanting to get her questions answered first. I wasn’t about to let that happen. So I settled for something safe to answer with before continuing. 


“Save people. I want you to make sure that John Reese gets a proper burial and grave. That is all I ask.” I managed to hide how much I was pleading more than asking from my face, but by the look Carter gave me, I assume I failed in hiding anything from showing my eyes.


“Will you answer my questions if I make sure that happens?”


I glanced from her to Fusco, succeeding in not showing recognition. I let out a soft exhale and made my choice. “I will answer the questions I feel you need to know.” But I wouldn’t tell her about the machine. I wouldn’t reveal the things that she didn’t need to know. But I would tell her enough to keep her from stopping me with going through with my barely laid out plan.


Bail was something I could achieve easily. They had no evidence I was involved in any of the cases other than the robbery on the evidence locker. It irritated Detective Carter, but she couldn’t do anything about it. After that, I went back to the library. It felt much larger and empty than before. Now, like it, I was in a state of limbo. 


I had a duty. To the numbers. I would carry on with my work. With saving the irrelevants. But not yet. Not only because I could no longer act... but because I couldn’t find the will to try. 


Carter fulfilled our deal a weak later. It was small, which was inevitable, but it was nice. I noticed Fusco, as well as Zoey Morgan showed up. How Miss Morgan even found out about it I remain clueless. I suppose like she told John, she had her people. I nodded to both of them, and while Miss Morgan had never met me face to face, she was smart enough to figure out I was John’s “imaginary friend”.

My attention then turned to the simply yet beautifully crafted coffin. On another occasion I might have been able to appreciate the skill involved in making it. At the moment however, it was just a box. Containing the man who had broken through my barriers and reached my heart. The man I had sent to his death. For the past week it wouldn’t leave my mind. If I had done more research, if I had planned it just a step more, he may not have been caught in that situation, and thus may not have died.


I looked at the situation a hundred different ways, and it all lead down to my error. My error that killed John. I owed a lot of things to him. Things I never got to repay. Things I never said. One of the things in that category that was foremost in my mind was “thank you”. Thank you for accepting my job offer. Thank you for helping me repent for my sin. Thank you for saving my life. 


Because I didn’t save John Reese’s life. He saved mine in more ways than one. I owed it to him to keep living it. I owed it to him, to make sure that my next coworker, because I’d never have another partner, would not follow the same path I had foolishly lead John down.
I owed him more than I could ever possibly dream of repaying.

Harold Finch (left) & John Reese (right)