I do not own the characters from Person of Intrest, CBS, I receive no money from this. Please leave a review.

He blended, it was his job, to notice and not be noticed. Slowly he moved from the edge of the corner of the building in Manhattan and continued to follow 'the new number' His movements were fluid and precise, he was always aware of his surroundings, he had to, to stay alive. His subject stopped and looked at something in a shop window and he stopped also. He turned slightly as if looking into a display window where he stood. His eyes focused from his subject to his own reflection in the window looking back at him. It had taken some time for him to actually look at his own reflection in a mirror and not see a monster.

His current name was Jonathan Reese, biologically he was thirty eight years old, physically he was much older, with the damage that had been done to his body over the years he some times felt as if he were ninety. He remember a saying he had heard once, "its not the years, it's the mileage" and he had a lot of mileage. What he saw reflecting back in the window was a tall, thin, muscular man with dark hair, a touch of grey here and there, cut short on the sides and a little long on top. Thin angular face with a straight nose, and thin lips that rarely smiled. His eyes were green and carried a depth of sadness of an old soul who had seen too much of a world of darkness. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his subject move and he followed.

His subject, David Taylor, the 'new number' was a young art dealer, he was in his late twenties and had made quite a name for himself, he had opened an art gallery just off 5th Ave three years ago and had done very well; but, his 'number' had come up and that meant that he was about to get into or create some kind of problem. He or someone he had dealings with was about to die, and it was Reese's job to try and prevent it.

David Taylor turned into the coffee shop as he did every morning, heading to the counter.

Reese moved to the edge of the street and stood looking at a news stand box as if interested in what the front page of the paper said in the dirty window it sat in. He was turned strategically so he could keep and eye inside the coffee shop.

There was a beep in his right ear. He reached up and touched the small ear bud receiver. A voice spoke…

"Mr. Reese, do you have him in sight?"

There was just the slightest up turn of the corner of his mouth. "Yes Mr. Finch." His voice was low, soft, and slightly raspy.

"I have some very disturbing data on David Taylor."

Reese waited.

"I think you need to come in and review what I have found…" The voice hesitated, and Reese could picture the smallish man on the other end of the conversation adjusting his thick rimmed glasses and looking pensive at the multitude of computer screens in front of him. "This is something you need to look at, something more in your line then mine."

Reese cocked his head slightly and sighed, keeping his subject in sight as he walked out of the coffee shop with a tall cup and a bag of special made sweets he purchased every morning. "All right, let me tail him to the gallery and then I will come in." He didn't like coming in to the computer.

"John this is really disturbing." Finch using Reese's first name showed how worried the computer genius was.

"I'm on my way…be there in ten…" Reese followed Taylor to his gallery and waited as the man unlocked the cage in front of the place and unlocked the door and went in. If he followed the routine of the last four days he would stay there until five pm and then he would lock up and head out to a club for a drink and meetings.

Reese's cast a glance up and down the street; nothing seemed abnormal, things felt right. He turned and walked back the way he had come; going into a garage where earlier he had parked his motorcycle. He looked around the sparsely occupied floor and when satisfied he was alone for the moment, he open the side luggage compartment. He removed his jacket to reveal a gun on the right side of his hip/back. He pulled a black leather jacket out and put it on, instantly hiding the gun, then he folded his dress jacket and pulling his helmet out he laid the jacket in the compartment and closed the lid on the compartment. Stabbing the key in the ignition, he straddled the bike, turned the fuel on and hit the starter, the bike roared to life. He drove out of the garage, back toward Taylor's gallery and past the huge front windows. Glancing in seeing Taylor sitting at his desk on the upper mezzanine and with a twist of the throttle he roared out of sight.

It was a non-descript building down in the warehouse district, old red brick. The security cameras around the building were well placed and very well hid. The whole building was owned by a small corporation that was owned by a larger corporation that was that was handled by a private firm.

Reese hit the button on the bike that would open the garage door at the back of the building and drove in, parking next to a dark car. He saw that Harold Finch had gotten another new car, he changed cars like Reese changed identities. He kicked the stand down on the bike, turned the motor off, hearing the garage door shut he slid off the bike and pulled the helmet off and exchanged his leather jacket for the dress coat he had been wearing. He walked over to the elevator, seeing that it had been sent down for his arrival and lifted the cage and slid the door sideways slightly, just enough to step in, he grabbed above his head, closed the cage and then the door and pressed the fifth floor button. It smoothly went up to the fifth floor. He opened the door and then the cage, leaving it all in the open position.

Walking down a short hall way he passed a couple of rooms, both held beds, each with their own bathrooms. Next there was a very well equipped kitchen and then he stepped from the hallway and into the heart of the fifth floor. Thousands of books lined the walls; several large tables were place around the room. In the center of the room was a massive bundle of cables running from the top of the ceiling to massive computer and screens in a semi circle, a control console.

Reese sundered into the room and located Harold Finch; he had once referred to Finch as 'tech support', but he considered him more then that, he had very few friends, but he counted Finch as one, which meant he would die to protect the strange little man.

Finch had picked him up out of the gutter. He was dirty, unkempt, with long hair and a full bushy beard. At the time he didn't care about anything other then where to get the next bottle of booze and being left alone. There had been another street person, a woman who had watched after him when he came around her building, but he wandered, restless, demons haunting even his alcohol fogged mind. He'd been riding the subway, staying out of the rain and cold and had a group of young tuffs decide to hassle him. Unfortunately, his survival mode had kicked in and he had basically wiped the floor with them all, and he had been caught on video.

He was brought in for questioning, he remained sullen and silent. The detective, a woman had talked about the video, asked him all the questions he would not answer. The detective had offered him a drink of water and then had promptly taken the cup and had it finger printed.

But before anything could happen a lawyer had rescued Reese, he was approached by Finch and had walked away. But he found out Finch was relentless like a terrier with a rat and he wound up waking up bathed, clean shaven, and sleeping in a clean bed and except for the fact he had been hand cuffed, he had been mildly surprised. But he had listened; Mr. Finch explained what he wanted, explained about "the Machine" and what it did. They talked, or Harold talked, Reese listened and Harold gave Reese something he thought he would never have again, a 'second chance'. Finch knew who and what Reese had been and what had happened to him, he offered him a job, a job that he had been excellent at.

"Well Mr. Finch…what did your machine find?" He watched as Finch stood up stiffly, moving awkwardly with a severe limp. He took a couple steps and turned back to the monitor that he had been sitting in front of. Reese still didn't know how Finch had been injured, an accident was all he would say, he was as tight lipped about his past as Reese was. Although Mr. Finch knew a whole lot more about him then Reese knew about Finch, but Reese was slowly making head way on that….Reese saw Finch adjust his glasses with his right hand and make a stiff gesture moving his whole upper body, pointing to the monitor.

His slender body was dressed in a brown suit and dark colored tie, grayish shirt His face was narrow, straight nose and wore thick dark framed glasses that gave him a bit of an owlish look to his eyes. His hair was dark, and stood on end on top of his head he also had long sideburns

Reese took the seat Finch had occupied and looked at the screen for several quiet minutes.

Finch fidgeted.

Frown lines crease Reese's brow, he drew a breath. "These are cargo manifests, once a month Taylor Gallery gets a shipment from Singapore." He glanced at Finch, seeing him nod. Reese studied the manifests; Finch had a dozen of them on the screen. Without looking at Finch, "They very in weight… they say they are paintings, art décor, furniture." He looked at Finch. "and none of them go through customs legally, these are all false inspection stamps, I know who did the stamp and this is his work." Reese pushed back from the console and stood up. "According to the manifests our Mr. Taylor gets deliveries the third week of the month, varying by a day or two, this is the third week." Reese moved away from the computer and toward the exit.

"Mr. Reese what are your plans?" A worried look came to Finch's face

"I'll be working late for the next few days Harold, keep the tea brewing.."