A Man Alone

(Disclaimer: Not my characters.)

Finch had never thought of Mr. Reese as a friend.

This was a deliberate decision, made well in advance. Friendship was little help in an operation like theirs, and could be a hindrance. (The sting of losing his own old friend did not seem to be diminishing over time.)

Therefore, he had chosen Mr. Reese as his associate, after careful surveillance, for more than one reason. The ex-agent's skill with weapons and warfare of all kinds, and his cavalier attitude about them, made him an effective operative—almost a human weapon himself. They also helped Finch, with his aversion to all such things, to maintain the professional distance he desired. There was small chance of being tempted to kick back and have a couple of beers with a man whose idea of law enforcement techniques made Finch want to hide under the desk.

As for Mr. Reese's attempts to invade his privacy, they were little more than amusing. It could be fun to throw him a bone now and then (try the eggs Benedict, Mr. Reese), but Finch knew himself to be secure in the fortress of privacy he had spent so much time and effort constructing. He gave his new associate full credit for satisfactory results in their work (however alarmingly achieved). But apart from the teamwork necessary to achieve those results, each of them, for all practical purposes, was a man alone.

And it had worked very well.

Until the moment he limped quickly from the car and caught hold of his staggering, bleeding friend.