Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them with no intention of gaining any profit.

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Author's note: This story is a companion piece to Lost in Translation, Not Just Another Walk In The Park, Truth And Consequences, Chilly Returns And Warm Welcomes, A Night At The Coronet and The Best Laid Plans. I suggest reading those first.

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Acknowledgements: Thanks to BullDemon for the beta and the constructive criticism!

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This one is for Redzik. How could I not give Bernadette another try after you asked so nicely? ;)

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Fusco walked into the precinct, contently slurping the last couple of swallows of his soda. Kamal really did offer the best Falafel in town at his little corner store, and even though the drive to and fro took up almost all of Fusco's lunch hour, it was totally worth it. Reese definitely didn't know what he was missing, but so far he'd always declined to accompany Lionel on his weekly run, as Wednesday had become Falafel-Day. At least something to look forward to, Fusco thought.

He threw his cup in a trash can on his way to his desk and looked at his watch. 1:13 p.m. Hopefully his partner had finally shown up by now, because Lionel was slowly but surely running out of plausible excuses to cover Mr. Tall, Dark and Absent. Normally he would be annoyed at once more having been kept out of the loop of whatever Reese and the Professor were up to these days, but he would have missed Falafel-Day if they had asked him to come along. There was this tiny little thing called 'priorities', and when it came to food, Lionel Fusco definitely had his straight.

He only had to finish a couple of reports and if nothing else came up he might even entertain the idea of calling it quits early today. He raised his fist to cover a burp, already mentally planning out his extra long afternoon, when suddenly something bright pink caught his eye. He froze, and with wide eyes he stood motionless like a statue as precious seconds ticked by before his brain's frantic commands to move finally reached his limbs. Just as the figure in pink's head started to turn in his direction, Lionel - with one giant leap - managed to take refuge in the small broom-closet-like space the precinct used to house the copier and fax machine. Hugging the wall, he carefully tried to peer from behind the doorframe, sending a prayer to whoever was listening that his presence had remained undetected. However before he was able to spy into the bull pen, the hair on his neck started to rise and he stopped moving. Someone else was there with him.

Slowly he turned around, coming face to face with, "John?"

Reese was wedged in between the wall and the copy machine, trying his best to blend in with the office appliances. If Lionel didn't already know that nothing could ruffle the former CIA-agent, then he'd actually say the man looked sheepish. "Lionel," John rasped softly.

"What are you doing here?"

John blinked. "Uhm." His eyes darted to the left, then back to Fusco. "Copying."

Lionel stared at his partner for a second, then bent to the right to take a look at the silent and obviously idle copier. There were no papers in the trays as well. His eyes drew into slits. "You are hiding from Bernadette, aren't you?"

"I'm not hiding from ... wait. You know Bernadette?" At first Reese had looked and sounded like someone who found the idea that he was hiding absurd. However when Fusco's words had finally sunk in his voice had involuntarily risen in shocked surprise.

"And I wish I didn't," Lionel replied with a humph. "The last time you hung me out to dry and let me deal with Bernadette I learned things about you and the Professor I never ever wanted to know."

"Oh God." Groaning, John pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd hoped that with their new identities his involuntary and incredibly awkward run-ins with the self-proclaimed protector of Harold's faux love life had finally come to an end. Yet at the moment he wasn't sure what was worse - that he had still not gotten rid of that nosy woman, or that Fusco seemed to have intimate knowledge of what Bernadette thought was Harold's and his relationship. He shook his head, and decided that he didn't even want to know what Bernadette had told Fusco. Changing the subject, he said, "Well, she's sitting at your desk." He waved a hand in a shooing motion in the general direction of their workspaces. "Waiting for you, I'd say."

"For me? Why not for you? She's your friend."

"She's not -," John began irritably, but stopped himself. Now was not the time - or ever - to argue over the finer points of his acquaintance with Bernadette. "She doesn't know that I work here, and-"

"So?" Fusco interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. The memories of his last encounter with Bernadette were still very vivid. "She's still your problem. I'm not going to talk to her."

John sighed, regarding Lionel with a look that didn't hide how dense he thought the other man was. "And if we don't want her to drop by even more often, it had better stay that way."

"Oh. Right." Lionel shuddered at the thought of having to deal with the walking eye-cancer on a nearly daily basis. "How long has she been here?" he asked, hoping that maybe she'd get tired of waiting soon.

"I don't know. A half an hour at least."

"Okay," Fusco said absentmindedly as he moved closer to the door frame to dare take a peek. Maybe she was gone already? "Wait," he said, turning to his partner as his brain had finally processed what John had said. "Is that how long you've been hiding out in here?"

Reese glowered at him, apparently still unaware that his intimidating tactics had long ago stopped working on the portly detective. Fusco shook his head in amused disbelief. John Reese was probably the deadliest man he'd ever met. Yet here he was, hiding from a woman who wouldn't even reach up to his arm pits if she stood on tip toes. And he, Lionel Fusco, was hiding right along with him.

"Can't we just leave? And come back later?"

"She's got a clear line of sight towards the exit. I wouldn't risk it. You were lucky coming in."

Grimacing, Fusco carefully peeked around the doorframe and cursed under his breath, "Damn."

"She still there?"

"I don't know. That damn file cabinet is blocking my sight."

"Let me," Reese said, whose taller frame gave him a clear advantage and a better line of sight. Fusco turned around, and not knowing where to go within the tight confines pressed his back against the wall, hoping to eventually scoot over towards the cramped space Reese had formerly inhabited besides the copier. To Fusco's dismay there wasn't enough room for his slightly bulkier form and John - after a few awkward sidestepping dance movements of them both - ended up standing in front of him, propping himself against the wall with his hands on each side of Fusco.

John leaned closer in order to take a look and Fusco did his best to melt into the wall. "Do you think you had enough onions on your Falafel, Lionel?" Reese asked, shooting the uncomfortable detective a reproachful look.

"Yeah, well. I wasn't expecting to get within smooching distance with anyone today."

Reese's look turned scathing, but Fusco just gazed evenly back at him. Not really my problem, buddy.

Sighing, John leaned even closer, grossly invading Fusco's personal space. He surveyed the bull pen, his eyes searching for the bright signal colors Bernadette was partial of wearing.

"Yep. She's still sitting at your desk."

Fusco merely grunted in reply. He was starting to feel claustrophobic. And Reese got even closer as he tried to look unobtrusively around the door frame, stretching to stand on his toes to have a better point of view. He was close enough for Fusco to count the hairs of the man's seemingly perpetual stubble. "Hey, what's that cologne you're wearing?" Lionel asked. His dad's birthday was coming up and as every year he was clueless what he could get him as a gift. Bending his head slightly forward, he sniffed in the surprisingly pleasant scent. "Smells pretty good."

John shot Lionel an irritated look. If there ever was a bad time to discuss his - or anyone's - choice of aftershave, this was it.

"Ahem." Someone behind them from outside the copier cubicle cleared their throat and both men froze, their faces only mere inches apart.

Fusco peeked over his partner's rigid shoulder, although he just barely managed to do that. "Oh, hi there...Captain," he added wearily.

John closed his eyes, exhaled and fought the urge to bash his head against the wall. God knew how long the Captain had been standing there, having stumbled upon them in what must have certainly looked like a rather compromising position. He pushed himself off the wall and away from Fusco, pivoted and stood automatically at attention. "Ma'am."

Captain Moreno regarded her two detectives with raised eyebrows and a slightly confused yet amused expression. Her fingers thrummed out an irregular rhythm on the folder she was clutching in her hands. She wasn't entirely sure what exactly she had stumbled upon. However, considering that one of her detectives was fidgeting around, trying to look innocent while the other looked like he was about to spout rank and badge number, something definitely was up. Was Riley actually blushing? "Riley. Fusco. Is there something I should know about?" she asked lightly.

Fusco's mouth opened and closed a few times, while Riley apparently thought that if he turned into a statue she'd lose interest eventually.

"It wasn't what it looked like," Fusco stammered, gesturing between the two of them. John's eyes cut to his partner, silently begging him to shut up. "We would never ... I would ... I'm not ...," he trailed off. Then, chuckling nervously, he pointed a thumb at Reese and said, "I mean, he's already got a boyfriend."

John's head whipped around. He shot Lionel a look of betrayal that slowly morphed into a glare, promising a slow and painful death. Belatedly realizing what had just passed his lips, Fusco swallowed. "Excuse me," he said hoarsely. Figuring that his chances of survival were more promising facing Bernadette, he squeezed past John and his speechless Captain. "I think someone's waiting for me at my desk."

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later that day

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Harold checked his computer screen for the upteenth time, but the bar that indicated the progress of his system diagnostic program showed it was nowhere near done. He sighed. He didn't really want to read and grade his students' latest foray into what he had come to label collective dimwittedness, but he couldn't possibly put it off any longer. He was running out of excuses, and the results of his diagnostic tool had been his only hope at a further reprieve. Taking the stack of stapled papers out of his bag, he reminded himself that there were at least two or three of his students that did show some promise. They only needed nudging in the right direction.

He was halfway through his third paper - the progress bar had crept past the halfway point - when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Judging by the way Bear's head shot up from his front paws and his madly whacking tail, Harold pretty much knew it was John making the descent.

Harold kept his attention on the paper he was reading until Bear was done greeting his Alpha and John dropped down on one of the remaining seats in the modified subway car with an audible grunt. Swivelling his chair around Finch regarded his friend, who was slumped in the seat, rubbing his forehead.

"Tough day at the office?"

"The worst."

Harold's left eyebrow arched at the defeated tone. In all the time he'd known John Reese, he'd never heard him complain about his work or known him to give up on anything. And John's job could have hardly been described as nine-to-five. Something serious must have happened then and Harold couldn't help but feel apprehensive.

John was still rubbing his aching forehead when he said, "Bernadette dropped by the precinct today."

"Did she?" Harold asked, his previous apprehension chased away by shocked surprise. Seeing that Bernadette couldn't have possibly known about John's alter ego Detective Riley, she had likely gone in to speak with Detective Fusco. Probably to report John and he as missing, seeing as he hadn't been to the park with Bear ever since they had given up the Library and assumed new identities. That she and the detective had met was a fact Harold had wilfully neglected to mention. He turned his back to John, feigning nonchalance while silently praying that his voice wouldn't betray his deceit. "Why would she possibly do that?"

"I don't know." John shrugged. He grimaced at the memory of hiding out in the cramped copy room for almost an hour. "I managed to evade her." And he didn't necessarily care for the reasons of her presence either. There was only one thing he had difficulty wrapping his head around. "Did you know that Fusco knew Bernadette?"

Harold who had started to type on one of his keyboards, paused for a second. "I don't think she's ever mentioned that," he replied after clearing his suddenly dry throat. Technically it wasn't a lie.

John stretched his legs, slumping even deeper into the hard backrest. "Well, he does," he said, slowly nodding to himself. He sounded resigned to the fact that apparently everybody knew about Bernadette and their "cover story". Dropping his head back, John gazed at the silver ceiling. "He knows everything."

Swivelling around slowly, Harold clasped his hands together and rested them on his lap. "That is very unfortunate. I'm sorry," he eventually said. And he truly was sorry. He'd never anticipated the scope of the impact of what he assumed to be a tiny white lie to get Bernadette off his back would have on them all. Although it was definitely John that had suffered the most embarrassing moments.

"Yeah, well," John said, lifting his head off the backrest. His blue eyes shone tiredly and a small, ironic smile pulled at his lips. "On the bright side, you are invited to the precinct's family picnic."

Harold looked confused. "Why would I be invited to a family event?"

"The Captain said something about being supportive of diverse lifestyles." John stood and headed out of the car. "Got anything to eat around here?"

"There's some take out left in the fridge if you're interested," the hacker called after him as he turned back to his computer. Diverse lifestyles...whatever that means...

Harold's eyes went wide as the implication suddenly became very clear. Oh dear...

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The End

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