Epilogue

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"Morning, Finch."

Harold looked up from his monitors and watched John Reese, bearing a box of donuts and two steaming take-away cups, walk into the inner sanctum of the library. He still looked like he had gone ten rounds with a Mixed Martial Arts champion and there was an unevenness to his long gait, but it wasn't as pronounced as the evening before. All in all, sleep seemed to have done him a world of good.

"How's the head?" John asked as he placed the donuts and the cup of Sencha on Harold's desk.

"Better. How are you feeling?"

"I've had worse," the ex-op replied - not surprising Finch with his verbal shrug-off of the beating his body obviously had taken during their last mission. Having had time to reflect on the events of the last two days after he'd dropped John off at his apartment, Harold had truly realized just how lucky they had been. The car crash alone could have easily killed his friend, and yet here he was, asking for the next case.

Smiling Harold shook his head. "No new Numbers yet." He took the lid off his cup of tea and inhaled the steaming fumes before taking a tentative sip. The tea was at the perfect drinking temperature. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched John fiddle with a book lying on his desk. As much as he appreciated the calm after the case they just had, Harold knew that John didn't. "I'm sure Bear would appreciate being taken for a walk," he suggested.

Bear's head shot up at hearing his name and the word "walk" in one sentence.

"Well," John said, smiling at the hopeful look on the Malinois' face. But whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by Harold's cell phone ringing. Bear's head dropped back onto his front legs in disappointment.

"Good morning, Detective," Harold said, answering the call.

"Yeah, what a fine morning it is." Fusco sounded grumpy - well, grumpier than usual.

"How's the head?" John asked with a smirk.

"Like you care."

Reese frowned. "I'll take that as a 'fine'."

"Whatever."

"What can we help you with, Detective?" Finch asked.

"They just pulled your guy from the Hudson. Looks like he went through the wringer before he was dumped, but I guess you two wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

John and Harold shared a look. They hadn't shared the information about Giardino's past with Mr. Sheffield with the detective the day before. Should they tell him now?

Reese shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," Finch said.

"Yeah, thought so," Fusco grumbled, not even trying to hide his disbelief. "And once again I'm the one stuck with your mess. Seriously -" Harold hung up.

He looked at Mr. Reese. "I guess now we know what happened to Mr. Giardino. In case we were wondering."

John held Harold's gaze for a few seconds. Neither of them were really surprised about their latest Number's fate. In a way he was glad that the old man had finally gotten his revenge. And he definitely wasn't going to lose any sleep over it.

"I'm going to go take Bear for his walk now," John said and Bear immediately perked up again. Favoring his ribs, Reese got stiffly down onto one knee in order to clip Bear's leash on his collar. The Malinois' tail was wagging madly with excitement as he tried to shower his alpha with wet doggy kisses and almost threw him off balance. Harold watched the scene in front of him with a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. He grew sober when once more the unbidden thought of how very close their last case had come to going disastrously wrong pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. And there's absolutely no guarantee that the next case won't be our last...

"You know what?" Finch said, realizing that he hadn't planned on doing anything that was so important that it couldn't wait. "I think I'll join you."

Shrugging into his jacket, Harold picked up his hat and - pleased to have his boss's company - John handed him the leash. "We could stop by Ecklert's Deli, if nothing comes up. Get some real food?"

"I would like that." Harold actually beamed at the thought and they began descending the stairs. "Have I ever mentioned that it's my favorite deli?"

John blinked and just barely managed to hide his surprise at Finch's voluntary revelation of private information. "No," he said with a grin. "I don't think it has ever come up."

"Oh, their pastrami on rye is to die for. Did you know that "deli" is actually an abbreviation of the German word Delikatessen, which means "fine foods" or "delicacies"? Until the nineteenth century pretty much all delicatessens in New York were run by Germans and Alsatians and they did not characteristically sell take-out food like they do today, but ..."

Holding the door open for a happily chatting Finch in History-mode, John still smiled as he stepped out onto the sidewalk and fell in step with his partner. With the memories of the last two days already fading, they set out to enjoy the peaceful moment while it lasted.

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The End

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It's been over 1.5 years since I first started plotting and researching this story ... I think I'm actually going to miss it.

I was trying to write a story that feels like a Number-based episode of the earlier seasons and I hope that I have achieved that (at least a little). I had also noticed that pretty much in all of my longer stories, Reese never makes it out of trouble on his own two feet, and I figured I owed him at least one story where he gets out more or less in one piece. So, sorry if you were hoping for more whump.

Thank you all for reading. And special thanks to all of you who reviewed!

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Read for your pleasure - review for my delight ;)