Title: You Can't Always Get What You Want

Author: November9Noir

Rating: PG-13, T+

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from 'Person of Interest', nor am I profiting from this work in any way.

Author's Notes: What happened after Ep. 1.4 'Cura Te Ipsum.' Mostly Finch, internal dialog.

Reese's phone shut off about 8:30 p.m. The GPS function placed him at a notorious singles' bar at a small upscale hotel in Chelsea. The history showed that usually he'd stay an hour or two, then leave, doubtless with a belt or two (or more) of Scotch in him. Finch wasn't particularly concerned, it was quite clear that Reese could handle himself in any situation calling for physical self-defense. But this time, he hadn't left after several hours (or at least his phone hadn't), and the possibility of some... other extra-curricular activity that could be on Reese's mind did give him some cause to worry.

During the stakeout for Benton, who turned out to be a serial sexual predator, Finch had heard the women trying to pick Reese up. Reese's focus had been admirable, and he'd blown the women off easily enough, but now that it was over Finch felt it was almost inevitable that the other man's attention would turn to other, more basic needs.

Oh, well. Reese was a grown man, and could certainly take care of himself. A warrior and a man of action. Unlike Finch himself, stuck inside, behind the scenes, the brains of the outfit, the scholar, trapped in a creaky body that was increasingly unwilling to do what his mind wanted.

No matter how many times Finch scolded himself that such jealousy was beneath him, it still cropped up in him. He had presented himself to the world as dead, and was now effectively married to the machine. Reese could present himself as a former soldier, and doubtless women would fall all over themselves to see his battle scars…

Didn't I suffer, too? Didn't I sacrifice as much as he did? Don't I have scars? Three fused vertebrae in my neck and four in my thoracic spine? I don't have a day without pain! Finch just wanted to shout at the world sometimes.

But, inevitably, his quiet dignity would reassert itself, and Finch would pull himself together. Just to see if Reese would respond, he sent a text. Nothing.

The next morning, movement. Reese was leaving the hotel at almost 11 a.m. Finch's phone rang a few minutes later, Reese doubtless checking on the message from last night. In what he had to admit was a fit of pique, Finch decided not to answer.

Almost an hour later, Reese strolled in, hurrying but trying not to seem like he was hurrying. He carried a take-out box from a food van and some sodas.

"I'm sure you've been here all night, so I brought you some lunch," Reese offered. "I had a taste for Afghan street food."

"Lamb kebabs, naan bread, and boulanee," Finch poked at it, and wrinkled his nose. "I don't think I can stomach that much garlic and leeks right now."

Reese shrugged. "Fine. More for me." He took his own portion and Finch's, too, washing it down with Coke.

"Worked up an appetite last night, did you, Mr. Reese?" asked Finch, mildly enough, but with an undercurrent of something John couldn't quite define.

John wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back. "Is there a problem, Finch? Did I miss something?"

Finch just looked at him, letting one of his famous long silences draw out. "No, nothing new from the machine," he finally said. "What you do on your own time when you're not on mission is your own concern. I'll not ask questions."

"You don't need to ask questions," Reese pointed out. "You have the machine."

"Hopefully it won't come to that, Mr. Reese." He seemed willing to let it go at that, so John dropped it.

"What did you do with Benton, anyway?" Finch finally decided to ask. Reese had been more closed-mouthed than usual about the conclusion of this particular case.

Reese's expression became troubled. "I just can't get my mind around it. Benton was successful, good-looking, but an everyman, so…ordinary. And he was a sexual predator. He could have been anyone, even me. When those women tried to pick me up, it crossed my mind how easy it would be to do whatever I wanted. Yes, I took care of him, but I'm still not sure I did the right thing."

Doubt. Something new to John Reese. Finch filed that tidbit away in his mental memory bank about this man. "It's a nice day, Mr. Reese. Go out and enjoy it. I'll call you when we get something."

Just before Reese left, Finch leaned back and called out to him. "One piece of advice, John, times being what they are. Safety first."

"Safety first," Reese agreed.

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