Cliche phrases such as "If you're a bird, I'm a bird" came to mind. But stories of feathered friends and flocking together covered but the brief outline of their feelings. Hard-headed when he needed to be, but only ever when he thought it was for the best; a good trait which could, and had before, gone bad. But in the end, he only ever meant to help, including in being something of a nesting bird.
Perhaps it was best that the temper Elliot himself wished to forget remained hidden. Usually even-tempered, calm and reasonable, there were but few things which could draw out his anger and it never produced anything good in return. From Maria to the bullies, he had regretted his actions, snapping and yelling, a fire burning inside he wished to douse as soon as possible.
Finch's arrest had sparked that same fire, yes, but it had also drenched it with worry, a softer emotion by far. This was not to say, however, that that spark hadn't grown each time he was denied a visit. Frustration, it seemed, was not his friend as he was tempted more and more with each rejection to simply stress his point by yelling it at the stubborn officer who had flat-out refused.
Fingers running through Finch's hair, down his neck and across his shoulders, as though trying to make sure that this was definitely happening and Elliot hadn't gotten knocked on the head during the chaos, Elliot whispered his words, afraid of shattering the moment, "If I can do anything else to help, anything at all, you only have but to name it and I shall. I promise."
"Rupert," Elliot choked out, "I did try to visit, more than once, mind you. I did try but...I was denied each time by a surly police officer." One hand slowly raising to cradle Finch's head against him, he continued, "I do not, nor have I ever hated you, Rupert. Not even close."
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