A/N: Okay, so... here I am publishing a fanfic for the first time. This isn't the first fanfic I've written (or even the first POI fanfic I've ever written), but if I get good reception, I'll definitely post more.

Tag to episode 1x10 "Number Crunch" and 1x11 "Super". Story title taken from the song "When Things Explode" by Unkle, which played at the end of "Number Crunch". I originally wrote the story was sometime in the summer hiatus between season 2 and season 3. I originally had the song lyrics interspersed throughout, but I'm under the impression from reading the TOS that I can't do that here.

No beta except for my own frequent re-reads, so any mistakes are all mine...

The only conscious, fully-formed thought that was going through his head was, this can't be happening. This can't be happening.

There were other thoughts, too, that were reeling through Finch's mind. That he'd never driven this fast since he was considerably younger and considerably more reckless. That his current navigation set-up – he'd hacked into NYPD's database to reveal the location of all nearby squad cars, so he could speed through the dark streets while avoiding being pulled over – reminded him of playing Pac-Man. That he could only hope that his contingency would actually do some good.

That the unthinkable had happened... that the CIA had found Reese... that they'd nearly killed him... that, ultimately, all of this was his fault...

Reese hadn't said much since Finch had sped away from the parking garage. A quick check in the rearview mirror reassured him that his gravely injured associate was – for the moment, anyway – still with him.

His mind flickered through a hundred different images, cataloging every event in the past couple of days that had brought them to this moment.

A quick check at the navigation screen showed a patrol car headed in his direction. A couple of rapid turns had Finch on a parallel street, well away from any radar guns. From the backseat came a soft groan.

"Just hang in there, John," Finch pleaded quietly. "We're almost there..."

Reese didn't answer, instead sinking lower into the seat, his eyes drifting closed once more. Finch gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcing himself to stay focused on the road. Now was not the time for his emotions – normally kept safely locked away deep down inside – to start surfacing.

The past several months had been nothing like what Finch had been expecting. Ever since... that day (he couldn't bear to think of it in terms of anything other than a pronoun, even after being caught in another explosion had forced him to deal with the memories again), he'd never wanted – and refused to allow himself – to get close to anyone else. Reese was supposed to have been an employee, nothing more, just somebody to do what he was physically (and, he had to admit, mentally and emotionally) unable to accomplish himself.

When had that changed? When had he reached the point that the thought of losing Reese filled him with such a sense of dread?

He fought back a sudden rush of tears. Speeding down the streets of New York City well above the speed limit with an ex-assassin bleeding out in the backseat was not the time for him to be getting emotional. Reese's life was depending on him; he had to be strong.

Finch was scared to think of what would become of him if Reese died...

Once they reached the morgue – Finch trying desperately not to think of the correlations – Reese came around briefly. "Harold?" he whispered weakly as Finch tried to help him onto the gurney.

"It's okay, John. You're going to be okay."

"Why... are you doing this?"

Finch paused, briefly bewildered at the other man's question. "What are you talking about?"

Reese reached up and gripped Finch's arm. "Remember... you told me... we'd wind up dead... and I didn't argue, didn't question it. I... prepared for it. So why... are you risking yourself for me now?"

Reese started unflinchingly into his eyes, and for a moment, Finch saw the same broken man who'd passed him in the hospital, unaware of how their lives were already so closely intertwined. The Machine... Ordos... Jessica... Reese didn't yet know that the reason they were in this situation right now could be traced directly back to actions Finch had taken a year ago.

Why am I risking myself for you? Because I destroyed your life so many times. My Machine sent you on all those missions that kept you away from Jessica. In trying to protect the Machine, my actions resulted in the CIA trying to kill you. And my own stubbornness about the Irrelevant List cost you the one person you loved the most.

Obviously, now wasn't the time to tell him that.

Because I lost everyone close to me... and despite my best efforts to keep you at arm's length... you're all I've got left and I can't bear to lose you, too.

Now wasn't the time to tell him that, either.

Reese's eyes slowly lost their focus, and his grip on Finch's arm slackened, leaving a bloody handprint on his sleeve. Blinking away tears, he quickly grabbed a nearby lab jacket and pushed Reese through the dimly lit hallways.

Once the terms were agreed to – stitch him up, no questions asked – Finch stood back to give the former doctor room to work. For a moment, his surroundings blurred, and instead of Reese, he saw Nathan lying motionless on the cold metal table. His breath caught in his throat.

And then Reese turned toward him. Their eyes met, and for the briefest instant, Finch could see a flicker of fear in his expression, one he knew was mirrored on his own face.

Be okay, Reese mouthed. Finch wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement, or even which of the two of them he was referring to. He nodded anyway, and forced a smile that he knew probably looked fake. But it seemed to reassure Reese; slowly his features relaxed, and within a few minutes he was unconscious as the anesthetics started taking effect.

"Will he be okay?" The question took Finch by surprise, even given the fact that it came out of his own mouth.

"I thought you said no questions," came the wry response. When Finch, staring at the back of the man who now held Reese's life in his hands, didn't dignify this with a response, he continued, "I can sew him up, but he's lost a lot of blood. I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee anything afterward. He really should be in a hospital."

"Just do what you can," Finch said, closing his eyes. He couldn't take Reese to the hospital, not with both the NYPD and the CIA operative on their trail. This was their only option, a contingency he'd hoped he wouldn't have to use, much like the duffel bag full of money.

I can't do this on my own... I need you, John... please don't leave me...

Days later, hidden away in a hotel room in the Upper East Side, Finch was changing the bandages on Reese's stitched-up wounds when the question came up again. "Why did you do it, Finch?"

"Do what, Mr. Reese?" Finch didn't even waver in his current task as he answered.

"Don't play dumb with me, Harold. You know what I mean. Come running to my rescue, finding someone to sew me up. Why?"

"Why wouldn't I? Did you really expect me to simply leave you to the proverbial wolves?"

Reese was quiet until Finch had finished applying the bandages. "I always had a feeling that my past with the CIA would come back to bite me. And you told me yourself when we started out that we'd both probably wind up dead."

"Yes, I remember that conversation," Finch said, pointedly looking away. He couldn't let Reese see how much that particular statement bothered him.

"And then there's this," Reese added. In his peripheral vision, Finch saw him wave his hand in a broad gesture, indicating the hotel room and the stacks of medical supplies. "You mean to tell me you don't have another duffel bag full of money to pay for a nurse?"

"You'd be surprised how difficult it is to find good in-home nursing care that only accepts cash."

He turned back around in time to see Reese narrow his eyes. "Yeah, right. Anyone who can find an unknown doctor working in a morgue could easily find a CNA with a similar story. No, you wanted to make sure I was okay yourself. Why?"

Finch shot him an exasperated look.

"Let me guess – you 'have your reasons'. So are you ever going to tell me those reasons?"

"Eventually," Finch replied, surprising himself. A glance at Reese's upraised eyebrows showed that he too was taken aback. Finch quickly looked away, glancing out the window at the street far below them. For a moment, he imagined that he was observing the cars and the pedestrians in the same way as the Machine.

"When you were in the Army, Mr. Reese, were you not trained to never leave a fellow soldier behind?" Without waiting for an answer, Finch continued. "We're in this together, John. I won't leave you behind – no matter what."

When Finch turned back around, Reese was watching him with an indecipherable look on his face. It took him a moment to identify it as gratitude.

"Even if it all goes to hell again?" Reese asked him, a teasing grin on his face.

"Even if," Finch replied, smiling softly in return.

I'm not sure when I started considering him a friend... but I'm glad I did.

A/N 2: Okay, there it is! Please R&R, and let me know how I did... I love this fandom, and I'm excited to be a part of it!