Disclaimer: As Sexy as John Reese is and as adorable as Harold Finch is, I do not own Person of Interest. I applauded the creators for coming up with such a great crime drama show. That honor is CBS and co.

A.N: My second POI fanfic. This just came to me in spurts this morning after watching the new episode last night. Hope you enjoy.

Summary: Tag to 1x21: Many Happy Returns. Continues directly after the eppie. Reese tries to settle into his new apartment/loft.

Reese stood and watched the people below play chess. He didn't know how long he stood there until he pulled away from the window, the smile still lingering on his face. He kept walking around the massive place.

His new apartment, which was more a loft really.

A really high-class loft.

It seemed surreal.

He didn't know the last time he had a place he could call home.

He didn't remember.

It was probably when he was living at home with his parents, before the days leading up to the CIA.

A trill stopped his musing around and he fished out his phone. Looking at the caller ID he gave a small huff of amusement.

He should have known.

He pressed to receive the call.

"How do you like your new loft, Mr. Reese?" came the familiar voice getting straight to the point as was his wont.

"How did you know I was here already?" Reese couldn't help but counter, running his hand over his, (was it marble?), countertop in the kitchen. He remembered that Finch didn't know what he did in between the numbers, or so he said, but then again, Finch could be vague when he wanted to be.

"Where else would you go after I gave you the address? It is called common sense, Mr. Reese."

John unexpectedly found him voice a little tight. His voice never got tight. Only a few times in his life, it probably got tight. He really should stop focusing on how hard it was for him to speak at the moment and just do it, "You…..really didn't have to do this, you know?"

Even though Finch couldn't see it, Reese looked around the room as he said it. "I was fine in the hotel room." He added.

There was a brief pause, "The amount of money for the hotel room repeated is the same as if I just got you an apartment and be done with it. Actually, it cost much less. Hotel rooms per night is expensive, you know."

Reese walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.

Typical Finch, it was already fully stock, "So basically this was to help your pocketbook." He closed the door back and walked away, surveying further.

"My pocketbook is just fine either way, Mr. Reese."

Did John detect some annoyance in his employer's voice?

And he knew.

He knew that it wasn't about the money. Finch was a multibillionaire for crying out loud but he still wanted to know, "Then why?"

The silence was so long that Reese pulled the phone away from his ear enough to see if Finch was still on the other end, so it claimed. The timer was still going so he put it back to his ear in time to hear the soft response, "You really do not know?"

Reese held the phone away to clear his throat before putting it back to his ear. "Yea, I know."

The brisk Finch was back, "I'm glad that we have settled this matter then. I'll contact you when we get a new number."

"Finch."

A beat. "Yes?"

"Thank you, Harold."

Reese could practically see the corner's of Finch's mouth turning up in a smile but it took a moment for him to respond, "You are welcome..." Then a beat he added, "...John." Another beat. "You deserve it."

With that the connection was severed before Reese could process enough to respond. Knowing Finch, he didn't want him to respond and probably took every ounce he had to get that out.

Reese gave a small chuckle at the thought, before going to put his phone in his pocket. He stopped abruptly and looking up, a nearby table catching his eye.

When he was in the hotel room he always kept his phone and other personal items in his coat pocket for easy access. And if he had to book very quickly everything would be there. The ex-CIA paused before slowly reaching out and laying the phone almost reverently on the table. Then he stared at it some more trying to get used to, what for most people was a simple act.

After about five minutes be managed to tear his gaze away from the table. John stood rooted in his spot awkwardly. He slowly shrugged out of his coat and held it, looking around for where he wanted to put it up. Usually in the hotel room, because everything was so close together he'd just throw it on the bed or a nearby table, not really caring only that he knew it was close by.

However, this loft had considerable space between everything. It was different to have so much space between everything but he was determined that Finch's gift would not go to waste. Plus he wouldn't want to offend the reclusive if he didn't try to settle in and use what was given to him. John knew that Finch did not give things lightly and when he did, it was a gift to cherish.

With an absent nod at his thoughts, he spotted a coat rack, he missed coming in and walked over to it. His senses honed from many years warred with him, telling him he need to keep his things together, not within feet of each other.

It was an odd feeling to try to break that habit.

An odder feeling that he knew he didn't have to have that habit so here.

He slowly lifted his coat and put it on the hook. He let got but his hands stayed around it like a mother making sure her child didn't fall when first starting to walk. He guess he half expected the coat itself to have that sense and fall from the rack.

But it didn't.

So he took a step back and another.

And another.

It was a strange sensation to him, one he had to take baby steps to. He never had a place that was non-threatening.

He stopped abruptly.

For the most part, this place was safe.

That is what got to him.

Being able to be reasonable safe was something he had forgotten about. Sure he had the CIA and the FBI looking for him, but still to walk into a place, a place that was his own space and feel safe….

That was something he had long since forgotten.

He snapped back to himself and looked around the loft again, wondering what he wanted to do. Ordinarily he'd be watching TV seeing what was happening. So he wandered over to the TV and picked up the remote turning it on.

It was a weird feeling for him to be doing this in this kind of setting.

He had been a nomad for so long, having a settled place left him in awe.

He stood staring at the TV for a bit before looking around keen eyes taking in everything for the hundredth time.

It would take some time to get used to this, though he knew what would help him right now.

He walked, for the first time in this place briskly, to the window and opened it, allowing the park noise to filter up to him.

Then he smiled.

FIN.