67Chapter 11 is actually the one I added, so look at that if you got a chapter update.
From this height, the cars passing below looked like toys, the sound of their horns made mute by distance. The familiar bustle of New York was a welcome distraction. Finch folded his hands in front of his mouth as he watched crowds of people force past each other from his private penthouse suite. Only four people in the world knew he was here, and that was probably four too many. He sat in front of the large windows that made up the outside wall. He really ought to have the windows tinted. One could never be too careful these days.
"Harold?" He didn't move a muscle even though Grace's voice had startled him. The penthouse doors were far too well maintained. It was impossible to hear them open. "Harold, you have to come out sometime. You can't hide in here forever."
Grace tried so hard to be patient, but Finch could tell she was becoming frustrated with him. "I know, dear," he said placatingly. He refused to say anything else. She sighed and Finch strained to hear the door click shut. Only then did he spin his wheelchair around. He hadn't used one since Miss Groves had kidnapped him, which was a very unpleasant memory, and the need for one now burned him. It might have been bearable if it was just to help him recover, but it had been months since he'd been shot. Finch almost wished they hadn't told him. Maybe he could've willed himself to walk again. He had tried, to be sure, but as the weeks dragged on it became clear that he wouldn't be improving. It was disheartening, to say the least.
Finch wheeled himself to his desk where his computer was waiting. Why was he so angry? He'd been through this before. If he was honest, it was far less painful this time around. Even his old injuries were giving him less trouble these days. He often found himself longing for the familiar aches, though. Hell, even fresh waves of pain would be welcome. Anything but the cold numbness in his lower half.
A knock jolted Finch out of his thoughts. Without waiting for an answer, the door slid open silently to allow John in. The ex-assassin had been almost as quiet as Finch these past few weeks but he had no idea why. "Finch, we need your help. The number's phone is coded and it's got the location we need. Please."
This was the first time they'd brought him a number. It was strange. At first, he'd practically begged to be let back in the loop, even just as tech support. It had been a long time since he'd stayed behind his desk all day. When had he started going out in the field so often? But his friends had convinced him to take time to heal. They could cover the few numbers that came through. And they had. After a few weeks, however, once he'd healed as much as he was going to, he had little desire to help again. It was disheartening to see how well they coped without him. He wondered if he was redundant, just the financial support for their operations. Finch guessed it was time to get back to work, though. After all, who knew how long it'd be before they needed his help again? Finch nodded at John before starting his computer. "Of course, John. The phone, if you please?"
He could almost feel John's concern radiating off of him. "Finch, I..." but he didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say. Finch was paralyzed and no words could change that. No amount of encouragement could convince his body to pull itself together.
"It's fine, John," Finch said softly. "If I had a second chance, I would've done the same thing, even knowing what would happen to me. Grace is worth far more than my ability to walk."
John touched his shoulder gently. "You're the strongest man I've ever met, Finch. I hope you know that." He set down the phone and left as quietly as he had entered, leaving Finch with his thoughts and the numbers.
Reese shut the door softly. It hurt to see Finch in that stupid chair. He had never let his handicaps hinder him before, even when they caused him pain. He pushed through it every time but he couldn't push through this.
"How is he?" Grace asked. She had been waiting just outside the room.
"Better, I think. You know he doesn't regret anything. He says it all the time, and it's obvious he means it."
Grace shook her head. "That's because he has to. Can you imagine how your partner would feel if you said you regretted saving them? It should be me in that chair, and Harold knows it." She covered her mouth with her hand, too upset to continue.
"Grace," Reese said firmly. "Finch loves you more than his own life, but I know him. He would've done the same thing for anyone. The fact that it was you just made him more willing to do it. Neither of you belongs in that wheelchair."
After a short silence, Grace admitted he had a point and wiped away a tear that had managed to sneak out. "When are you going to tell him?" She asked.
Reese didn't have to ask what she meant. When was he going to tell Finch that he'd killed Terney in retaliation? It didn't matter that it was an accident. Reese looked at the door that separated Finch from the rest of the world. "Not for a long time," he said. "Not until life's calmed down and he won't blame himself for it." He turned back to Grace. "Maybe never." Finch might never forgive him for killing in his name.
Grace watched John walk aimlessly through the suite. He was a mess, had been since Terney killed himself. That's what happened, no matter what John thought about the incident. The poor man thought he was to blame and was afraid Harold would blame himself if he found out what happened. Grace's concern was that Harold would hear about it from someone else and she wouldn't be there to explain the truth. She decided to ignore John for the moment and focus on the one of the sulking pair whom she loved. Harold had shut himself up in that room long enough. She decided that he'd had long enough to sulk.
Harold barely glanced at her when she entered. "Hello, dear." He sounded distant.
Grace raised an eyebrow and turned his wheelchair around. "Is that all I get, a 'hello'? Are you trying to make me feel ignored?"
Harold sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Grace, truly I am. I've just had a lot on my mind and-"
"No, you haven't," Grace interrupted mercilessly. "You've barely left this room in weeks. John and I are the only people who come in because Shaw is always off on some mission and you won't tell those two cops where we are. The only other person who knows you're here is that nurse who treats you. Who I don't even like. And John hasn't asked you to help with the numbers until today, so all you've been thinking about is your legs. Since you're obviously so preoccupied with them, let's talk about it."
Harold stared at her. She could tell he wasn't expecting to be called out. That was her fault for letting this go on for so long. "I-I... that is..."
Grace knelt in front of him and took his hands in hers. He tried to avoid her gaze but she was not backing down, not this time. "Harold. I know this sucks. It does but there's nothing we can do about it. None of us pity you. We don't see you any differently, and I wish you could see yourself as we do. I thank God every day that you're here."
"It's not that I can't walk anymore," Harold said timidly. He looked down at their linked hands. "I could live with any injury if I knew it would save you."
"Then why all this, Harold?"
"Because I can't walk with you. I wasted three years of your life pretending to be dead and now you'll have to spend the rest of it taking care of a handicapped old man. No more walks in the park or exploring the city or birthday scavenger hunts..." he trailed off and glanced up at her.
Grace was shocked that he could even think like that. "Harold," Grace kissed his forehead. "For a genius, you're not very bright."
He looked askance. "What?"
"I will never 'have to' take care of you. I will do it because I want to and I'd be overjoyed if you wanted me to stay with you. So, we can't do everything we used to. We'll find new things to do. Together."
Harold looked at her with gleaming eyes. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?" He asked.
"Hmm," she hummed. "Once or twice." She kissed him again.
"Maybe… Maybe later we could walk through the park."
Keep your eyes open. Never know.