Reese teepeed his fingers beneath his chin. "The ex-boyfriend?"

Finch nodded, eyes glued to his laptop. "I think it's a start, Mr. Reese."

Carter sat next to Reese in the booth, spoon in hand as she ate her slice of pecan pie a la mode, quietly listening to the two men discuss their case.

"He was involved in that case as a teenager, though. It's probably something more recent."

"I agree. But, we'd be remiss not to check it out in any case, Mr. Reese."

Reese nodded and glanced at Carter as she took another bite of her dessert. He turned back to Finch. "Where is he now?"

"Probably heading home from work like most of the city."

"I'll check him out. Send me the address."

Carter swallowed the food in her mouth and dropped her spoon, knowing that was her cue to get up and let him out of the booth. She slid out and stood. He followed and stepped close to her, resting his hand on her hip briefly.

He lowered his voice and spoke into her ear. "I'll call you."

She watched him go for a short moment, slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't his usual peck on the cheek or lips, but it was still something. In front of Finch. This new relationship of theirs was only a couple of weeks old, and she wondered if Finch knew. No, scratch that. She wondered if John had said anything to Finch about it. Of course he knew. The question was what did he think about it. Hell, she didn't even know what to think about it. She'd gone from just barely admitting her attraction to John to sex in one of their safe houses two days later to this…whatever it was now.

She sat back down, noting Finch was making no moves to head to his headquarters. She picked up her spoon again and waited for him to say something. They hadn't asked her here for anything; she was nearby on the way home from work, and John had sent her a text to join them.

"If you wouldn't mind, Detective, it might be beneficial for us to take a look at her file. Particularly if she has a juvenile record." He started typing again.

"Okay. Tomorrow." Even though she felt some residual bristling at the illegal request, she knew she was going to do it anyway.

Silence, save for Finch's incessant typing, gripped their table, and the moderate awkwardness reminded her that they had never spent much time together. Truthfully, she'd always thought of him as John's friend, her associate. If John was a mystery to her, Harold was a black hole. He was beyond intelligent, wealthy, well-dressed, always proper, and probably almost as selfless as John was, considering the business he was in. He seemed introverted, observant, and it almost made her uneasy wondering what that brilliant mind of his had observed and deduced about her, about John. About everything.

Not looking up from his computer screen, Finch posed a question, trying to be sociable while he had Detective Carter's company. "Is young Taylor excited about spring break?"

"Do you think we're making a mistake?"

Harold's head jerked up from his screen at her response.

She surprised herself. She hadn't planned on asking that question, hadn't planned on speaking it aloud to anyone, much less Harold Finch. It had been rattling around in her head for two weeks now, only she was always asking herself.

She always had to have it all together for everyone else. Pressure she'd put on herself, she knew. Joss the mom, wife, soldier, friend, cop, partner, and daughter went through shit, but always had it together, always had the answers and knew what to do. Right here, right now with Finch, however, she didn't feel like she needed to be all together. They just weren't close enough for that. He didn't expect perfection from her and she didn't feel the need to be perfect for him. And she knew he knew more about her, about John, than he ever spoke aloud. He was logical, analytical, and would be able to look at things objectively. Everything she needed.

Finch ceased his typing and fixed his gaze on the complex woman across from him. Surprised at her question—that she was asking him. Not in the least bit surprised that it was a question on her mind. He was but a bystander, on the outskirts of the potent thing between the detective and Mr. Reese. She was in the thick of it, and it had to be quite exhausting.

He had known they were together. Romantically. Sexually. Seriously. Since it was what he did, he could pinpoint exactly when it happened. When their verbal exchanges changed. When their looks and body language toward one another while discussing work became more familiar. He hadn't been listening to any of their feeds when their relationship took the turn, and he felt slightly perverted thinking about going back through them just to verify the date he suspected, but he knew. He didn't know how he felt about it. Or if he had a right to feel anything. It was just an adjustment that needed to be made. A recalibration of the group dynamic. However, it was easier said than done. For him anyway.

Their personal business, separately, had always been his. It kept them safe. Safer. But now he felt odd about it. Listening in on them. Unintentionally invading on intimate moments when it hadn't been much of an issue before. When John met up with Ms. Morgan outside of a case, Finch quickly gave them their privacy and went about his business. Detective Carter, for her part, only had the occasional date and he would eventually do the same. However, every exchange between the detective and Reese was a private moment he felt he was encroaching upon, whether they were alone together laughing about how John had taken a tumble down a flight of stairs that day and should probably give up his vigilante card, or they were simply discussing a case with him.

There was something thick, tangible, and stifling there that made him feel like an exasperated third wheel when they were together now, something that was never there when he and John worked with the fixer. A sexual tension that had only magnified in the past two weeks when human nature dictated that it should have abated. It had been there, just now, while the three of them sat in the booth before John left.

"Do you, Detective?" he asked softly. She either wanted validation that it wasn't a mistake, or someone to give her a reason to leave. Both ideas held merit, considering the perilous voyage they were all on, and he wondered which one she was leaning toward.

She sat back in the booth and placed her hands in her lap. "My head says it is. If that string gets pulled, it'll all unravel. Everything'll just…." She shook her head. It was a lot easier hiding what they used to be than what they were now. What they used to be was theirs and theirs alone; she would have to share what they were now with the important people in her life. "I can't make a mistake. Not one like this. It's not just me." She sighed and looked down at the small remainder of pie and melted vanilla ice cream on her plate. "But, then, if I was thinking about my son, I wouldn't have gotten involved with you guys in the first place, right?"

"You've helped save a lot of lives, Detective. As you know, we do what the police can't."

She nodded. "I know. I know we're doing good. John especially. But sleeping with him isn't saving lives."

Finch shifted in his seat from her bluntness.

She looked at him, almost helplessly. "All of us are playing with fire everyday, but he and I….it's like we're dousing ourselves with gasoline before we walk out the door."

Unsure of what to say because she had a valid point, Harold's eyes drifted to his laptop screen. He spoke slowly while he found the words. "I don't think...it needs to be justified, Detective." He looked up at her as he clarified. "Your personal relationship."

She considered his words, only for a time. "But it does. In my mind it does. It's too much of a risk for me not to."

This issue, her confusion, wasn't something he'd wanted nor expected to get involved in, but he felt singularly obligated in John's absence. His friend always protected him, and part of him wanted to protect John's unequivocal happiness. "Matters of the heart…..can't always be justified. Professionally, yes, you and John are saving lives by doing something potentially or outright illegal. We justified that lives were greater than the rule of law. It's defensible, logical. Personal matters, feelings, however, are not. I believe you're asking a question that simply has no answer."

He made sense. She'd even told herself something similar before. But she wasn't ready to let herself off the hook yet. "But we can decide whether we act on those feelings or not."

"Well, yes. But it is very difficult for an addict to stay away from his vice." If she wanted him to be frank, he would. "If you think you should let your personal relationship with John go, then let it go, Detective." He watched her carefully. The prickling panic in her blinking eyes, the deep breath she inhaled. "I suppose you'll have some peace of mind, a little less uncertainty." As he continued to study her, how overwhelmed she looked in that moment, he knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't do it if she tried.

Time seemed to slow as she was finally confronted with what she thought she needed to hear. The tough love that would knock some sense into her, get her hormones and emotions under control. However, everything in her rebelled against the idea as soon as it was verbalized. The reaction was sudden and swift, and it surprised her. The idea of living without him in that way, of losing what their friendship was—her soul outright rejected it. How had she gotten so deep so soon? She turned away from Finch's discerning gaze and looked out the window. Several silent seconds ticked by. She wanted to deflect, to blame John for her reaction. "John is... you know how he is, Finch. Everything is to the power of ten with him. The way he fights, the way he feels….the way he looks at you." How am I supposed to combat that? she wanted to ask. Instead, "You know, back when Snow resurfaced wearing that bomb vest and wanted me to give him a message, he sat right here at this table and told me I shouldn't ask any more questions. I should keep my life the way it was and not get in any deeper." She turned back to Finch. "Now look at us."

Finch winced as he recalled. She had backed off, and still ended up on the brink of losing everything when Agent Donnelly caught them, and bruised and battered after being T-boned by a semi immediately after. All of that without being in a relationship with John. No wonder she was afraid. Then again, all of that did happen when she wasn't romantically involved with him. So did the difference—a romance—matter in the end? "John's protective of the ones he cares about, and he's always been protective of you, Detective. He just didn't want you involved in matters related to his past with the CIA, more than you already were, in any case."

"I know. Figured that was why I didn't hear from him much after all that went down."

"He needed time I suppose."

She nodded. She'd needed time, too. She'd almost lost everything, and the only reason she didn't was because a federal agent who had been right about her lies got murdered.

Getting to his point, Harold continued. "When Agent Donnelly arrested him, you did more than any of us to get him extricated, with more to lose I might add. Would you have done any more or less now than you did back then?"

She thought about that. She thought about how she had tried to get him to let her help when the bomb vest he was wearing was set to detonate. She must have already loved him back then, because outside of her mother and her child, she wasn't so sure she would have done that for anyone else. "No." She sighed and forced a weak smile as it clicked. "I get it, Finch."

He smiled and decided at that moment he would share something with her. "John has talked to me about this, about you, briefly." He watched as her eyes immediately shot back to his and he continued to smile encouragingly before looking off to the side in remembrance. "He was leaving one evening, just last week, and I had already suspected things had changed between you." Finch smiled again, this time to himself. "I asked him if he was going home. He stood there, and I could tell he was thinking about something peculiar, and he smiled to himself and he said that, yes, he was." Finch turned back to Carter. "You see, John knows I usually check his phone signal as a precaution before I leave. I do the same for all of you, to make sure you're where you're supposed to be." He paused for effect. "I followed his signal all the way to your apartment, Detective." He let it sink in, watched her face soften, before continuing. "I guess it was his way of telling me. That things were different."

Carter wasn't surprised but it still made her heart clench. John feeling like he belonged somewhere after so long. That he had a home. One with her. And that he'd told Finch. She belonged with him, too. She felt somehow braver, smarter, tougher with him by her side. He enhanced her better qualities, even the ones she was so used to suppressing in her male dominated lines of work. Femininity, vulnerability, the desire to feel safe and protected. She had been looking at this all wrong. Everything had changed but, really, nothing had changed.

Finch's phone buzzed in his jacket pocket and he took it out and looked at it. "Excuse me, Detective, but I have to get going."

Joss smiled and nodded as he put his phone back in his pocket and closed his laptop. She was a little sad to see him go. For the first time, she felt like their relationship outside of John had room to grow, that maybe she could get him to open up a bit down the line. He had lost someone very important to him, she could tell. One day, perhaps, he would feel comfortable enough to tell her about her.

After packing up his laptop, Harold sat and studied his companion once more. "Thank you, Joss."

She looked at him in surprise. "Me? I should be thanking you, Harold."

He smiled almost bashfully for a brief moment. "Thank you for... sharing with me."

Joss smiled warmly, touched by his sentiment. She knew he must lead a lonely existence doing what he did to help people. It wasn't often he got to feel that human connection, got to feel that his contribution, his thoughts and opinions and sacrifices mattered to someone. Since he wasn't often in the field, spent most of his time with computers, she imagined he probably didn't get thanked much by the people he helped save either. Had she ever thanked him for saving her and her son all those months back? John hadn't done it alone. "Thank you for letting me. And thank you for everything else. Truly."

With one final smile, he stiffly rose from the booth and quietly left the diner.

"Hey." Joss sat on the edge of her bed in her pajamas and answered her cell phone later that night. John had called like he said he would.

"Are you in?"

"Yeah."

"Taylor?"

"Yeah, we're home."

A pause. "Are you feeling okay?"

She knew she sounded melancholy to her own ears. "Mmhmm. How'd it go?"

He sighed. "Nothing. Finch and I'll work something out in the morning. I still think we're barking up the wrong tree."

"Are you on your way home?"

"Yeah." He sighed softly. "Long night. I'm tired," he confessed.

"Sleep over here tonight?" There was another pause. It was a weeknight, Taylor was home, and she knew he was probably confused because she'd been against his staying at her place when her son was home. Everything was still so new and unclear. Or at least it had been.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you're not too close to your place yet are you?"

"No." There was a beat before he continued. "Do I sleep in one of your nightgowns?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice. "No. Unless you want to."

His voice softened. "You'll keep me warm if I don't?"

"Mmhmm."

"Twenty minutes."

"Okay." She hung up, got up from the bed, and headed down the stairs to wait for him, certain that Taylor was holed up in his room and probably asleep for the night.

When she heard his car, she got up from the couch and opened the front door to let him in. He looked at her, and she could see the tiredness and mild concern in his face. He didn't say anything, though, and she stood there while he wrapped her in his arms. God, it was the best feeling, being in those arms. She could try to describe it, but she'd never quite capture how it felt. It was greater than words or pictures could convey, something she wished she could bottle and use for her own personal high whenever he wasn't around, even though she was thoroughly embarrassed by the dependent mess it reduced her to. She thought back to her earlier conversation with Finch.

Even the way John held her was to the power of ten.

Feeling like she was close to falling asleep standing up, she tried to keep herself from melting any further into him. "Are you hungry? Want something to drink?" Her body felt languid and her voice was drowsy as she lazily rubbed his back.

His voice matched hers as he shook his head. "Just you and sleep." He shifted her and held her to his side.

Leaving the dimmed foyer light on, together they slowly climbed the stairs.

"Thank you."

He turned to look down at the top of her head. "For what?"

"For coming over." She wanted to say for being patient with her while she figured things out. For the way he fights and the way he feels. For the way he looks at her and holds her. But he was exhausted, so it wasn't the night. She felt him squeeze her tighter as they reached the top of the stairs and wanted to reassure him. "I'm really okay. I just... wanted you here with me."

He stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked at her, the only illumination in the narrow space coming from her bedroom. She lifted her head to meet his eyes.

He said nothing. Just smiled that gentle smile before continuing toward her bedroom.

Once they got there, the door closed, shutting them off from the rest of the world, and the light went out seconds later.

A/N: We never got enough Carter/Finch. Nolan can kick rocks for so many reasons. Anyway, thank you for reading. :)