Their little vacation from their work was a very personal time. Going to the movie, the theater, walking Bear. Or Finch sitting in Central Park to enjoy a particularly sunny afternoon as Reese jogged his rounds. Finch always felt a pang of loss when he saw the other man move so smoothly, long legs eating up the distance easily. He had lost that ability, was crippled, forced into the role of the watcher.

From Reese's expression, he knew what Harold felt. He never said anything, just walked home with him, sweaty and regaining his breath as they slowly made their way down the footpath. It was never one of their topics because they both knew of the pain and the loss.

It was almost a life too surreal. Normal. Not them and still so very much needed at the moment.

While the hellhound sought closeness, wanted his partner always around, Finch found he had never been this open with anyone. Reese still had the access code to whatever he wanted to know, but he had yet to use it.

Finch had checked several times.

John had never so much as tried it.

It wasn't because the man didn't have questions. He had tried to discover who Harold Finch was right in the beginning of their unusual partnership. Finch had pushed him away, keeping him at a distance, Reese a mere means to an end in his need to help the irrelevant numbers. The man had shadowed him, had employed Fusco, had trailed Finch to his cover identities' work places. He had been persistent.

Dog with a bone. Almost literally.

And now, that he did have permission and a carte blanche, he no longer wanted the answers.

They were together in those days, sleeping in the same bed, even if they weren't sleeping together. Reese couldn't stand to be alone in his loft, leaving the cipher out of sight. He tried to tame his instincts, to push them down, but he was too open, too involved at the moment. There was no distance and it would be hard to force the issue.

Finch didn't argue. He enjoyed the warm body with him in bed, enjoyed the caresses, the touches, the kisses. And he clearly enjoyed his partner's attention when it came to more arousing games. John was a considerate lover and he knew how far Finch could go, how far he could push him, and blowjobs were clearly one of their favorite activities.

And Harold was reluctant to admit to himself that the thrill of having John shift hadn't abated. If anything, he was looking forward to it, to feel the power and the strength, see the silver eyes, know he did this to him.

It was a new feeling and it wasn't going away.

"Since the numbers have stopped, it isn't right that you should go on paying me as generously as you are."

Finch was drawn out of the very pleasant memories of this morning by the low rasp and shot the hellhound a look. Reese met the expression and held it. There was slight amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, his mouth pulling up faintly as if he was suppressing a smile.

Dressed in his habitual black suit, the white shirt without a tie, a coat over the ensemble, Reese looked his smooth self. Deadly grace, fluid movements, invisibly armed, always at Harold's side as they made their way down the street at a slow pace, Finch's pace. Finch had Bear on a leash, the dog looking alert and close to him on the other side.

It was… reassuring. Calming. Normal.

"Since you give away ninety percent of what I give you," the cipher said, side-stepping a woman on a phone who hadn't been looking where she went. "I see no reason why I shouldn't continue."

Their eyes met and Harold gave him a tiny smile. Reese eyes darkened and the lop-sided smirk he got in return was tell-tale. It also had something deep inside him respond, something that had only slowly crawled out of the heavily secured vault his soul had become. It was a response that was very far from purely sexual; it was an echo of what they were, what they shared, what connected them.

Finch's control never wavered. Not even for a second.

At least not in the eyes of those passing them by.

Reese knew.

And the smile grew a little more. That rise of one corner of his mouth, not really a smirk, not at all without humor.

"Do you think the numbers will start up again?" John switched topics.

"Who knows? I set The Machine free for a reason. It decides now. There is no control anymore."

Reese let his eyes wander to the view before them, the towering skyscrapers of New York City.

"There is you," he said.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, not touching, but they were close nevertheless. Closer than ever before.

"John…"

He glanced at the older man. "I know what Q told you."

He refused to answer, pushing away thoughts of what exactly Q had told him on another topic. They had talked a very long time and not all had been in relation to his abilities.

"And I know you could do it."

"Where do you take your information from, Mr. Reese?"

The former agent looked faintly amused. "Two years of knowing you, Mr. Finch."

"Your belief in my abilities honors you, but I'm not even close. Q is a technopath, the strongest preternatural variation out there. I'm a lesser model."

"Q didn't create this program. You did, Harold."

"There is a difference between programming and actively logging into this creation with my mind."

Reese regarded him steadily. "It wouldn't harm you."

"Maybe not on purpose. I also locked all doors for a reason."

They walked silently for a few minutes.

"You locked the doors so no one can get in. You never kept it from leaving, from opening the door from its side."

"No," Finch said, voice almost thoughtful. "I didn't."

"It might knock on your door one day. Maybe you should take the first step. It already knocked on Q's – and walked straight through a supposedly locked door."

That drew an almost frightened look from the cipher.

"I have taken a few risks in my life, Mr. Reese. This one I will not. Not lightly anyway."

"You know I'll be there."

He refused to look at his partner. Of course John was there, would be there if he asked him to, if he needed him. And he was more than Nathan had ever been. Nathan Ingram had given Harold the stability he had needed, had been his cover and his protection. He had run interference, had been the public figure. When the program had been completed, Finch had been so elated, had been so happy, and he hadn't had any use for a balancing influence any more.

Now… now he was working with the program again and the program had become more than he had ever hoped it could be.

But he was terrified of actually going deeper. Q had told him that he could do it, that The Machine would accept him unconditionally.

"I know," Finch said softly.

Reese was his anchor. Not like Bond was Q's. Finch wasn't a technopath and didn't need a constant lifeline. But Reese could be that for him should he decide to actively seek out the AI program he had created.

But Harold shied away from that. He couldn't. He wouldn't. It terrified him more than Root, actually.

"What if there won't be any more numbers?"

Finch looked slightly disturbed by the thought. "The list will still be generated," he answered. Like clockwork. And the irrelevant list will still be deleted each night at midnight."

Reese was silent.

"I once told you that before I found you, before I started this, that the numbers would haunt me," Finch went on, voice slightly distant. "That I felt so helpless. That I had no way of… of changing anything. I don't know what I'd do if… if it all stopped."

"We'll find a way."

Harold stopped and glanced at him, then continued on his way. They walked silently until they were suddenly in front of Reese's loft.

Finch didn't hesitate to follow his partner inside. It had become their residence for the moment and some of Finch's suits had found a new home in the large wardrobe. He had a lot of places around New York, apartments, houses, whole companies, and he could easily switch from one to another, but this was truly home. Bear even had his own doggy bed and was always happy to be around them. He loved Reese and Reese was truly a dog person.

Harold made himself some tea as he watched Reese pet Bear, then send him to his doggy bed. The Belgian Malinois plopped down easily and curled up, ready for a nap.

"Do you want more?"

The blue eyes were instantly alert, fixed only on him, and Finch kept his expression neutral.

"More of what, Harold?"

"More of us."

Understanding rose, clearly visible, and there was a fine smile on those familiar lips.

"A relationship is not solely based on the physical aspect," Reese said in that low, soft voice that could be menacing, flirty or downright sexy. "There is a lot more to it."

"Do you want more?" Finch repeated, face carefully schooled, ready for just about everything.

"What I want is you. What I want is what you are willing to give."

"That's not an answer," Finch snapped.

Reese raised his brows just a fraction of an inch. "We are physical," he finally said. "We have sex, if this is what you are getting at."

Finch stared at him, biting back his rising emotions. Some of them were anger, some frustration. He wanted this dealt with and it was a topic he really didn't want to openly talk about, too.

"You know what I mean," he said with gritted teeth.

"Yes, I believe so, but as I told you already, we are more than that, Harold. I want you as you are. I'm following your lead. Don't tell me I'm not occasionally pushing because I am, and you respond when you are ready."

"And I'm not ready for more?"

"Are you?"

Finch froze for a brief second. He was aware that Reese had noticed and the empathy in those blue eyes was almost his undoing. The man was a cold-blooded killer, a trained assassin and he was so incredibly gentle and empathetic, connected to the people they helped, that it hurt sometimes.

"I would give it a try."

The hellhound was suddenly there, right in his personal space. There was no touch, but the intensity of what was between them was almost physical.

"This isn't about sex, Harold. And sex doesn't follow a defined pattern. There is no 'must', only like and dislike. I like what we do a lot."

"Jerking off and blowjobs?"

It sounded crude to Finch's ears.

"It is pleasurable." Reese leaned forward, one hand suddenly resting on Finch's hip, sliding slowly over the waistcoat to rest over his back. "Very. I like it very much. I'm not a wild animal that wants to mate its partner at all cost, Harold," he murmured into his ear. "And I'm very content with the degree of intimacy we share. I have no heats, no pheromone-induced lust, no loss of inhibition around a potential mate. I'm letting you know what I want and you're letting me know what you're willing to try, to give."

"I never said…"

"Harold."

That voice. Smooth and silky, dark and deep. The faint rasp, those emotions.

He exhaled sharply and closed his eyes as lips brushed over his ear, his temple, then found his lips for a brief, close-mouthed contact.

"Your speed," John repeated what he had said before. "If you feel comfortable, if you want it, I will be there. This… us.. isn't about fucking you," he said, voice rougher.

Harold shivered involuntarily at the words. He knew he had been moving very slow sometimes. He had been uneasy with having anyone touch him since the accident, who wasn't a doctor. He wasn't shy of his body and he wasn't meek or blushing with embarrassment, but the explosion had changed him in many ways, not all of them physical. Having Reese touch bare skin had been… it had been like he had stepped out of his armor. Naked skin was vulnerability, giving up control, removing shields.

The hellhound had understood and he had moved with Finch. Slow. Careful. Glacial.

Now being naked wasn't that frightening any more. Giving himself up completely was. It was all about control, or lack thereof.

Reese looked into Finch's eyes. "Have you even slept with a man?"

Indignation rose inside the cipher and Reese laughed, low and throaty and very amused.

"Just checking."

Strong fingers that had killed or crippled stroked over his neck. John had once said that he could feel the metal underneath the scars. He could map it, would follow invisible lines along the neck vertebrae that had been fused together with wires and screws and plates.

"This isn't a handicap for us, Harold. I never saw it as one. You are quite limber out in the field. You wouldn't silently endure pain just because. I'm not holding back because I doubt you could keep up. I'm not coddling you. I believe I never did."

Finch gave him a narrow-eyed, warning look.

Reese chuckled softly, just under his breath. "No, I never did. I treat you as an equal, don't I? If you ever had the notion I'm not, then I apologize."

"You have nothing to apologize for," the cipher immediately said.

"Good. Because you are my equal. You have been out in the field and you were useful, Harold. Very useful. I need you there as much as I need you as my tech support." The teasing light in the blue eyes was bright and unrepentant. "But there is also the fact that some partnerships never go beyond what we have."

"But would you want to?" Finch insisted.

Reese's lips curled into that slow smile, that knowing smile, that exasperatingly smug smile. Harold's eyes narrowed in warning again and the hellhound chuckled, secretly amused by something.

"We'll figure something out," was the whispered reply, those lips back brushing against his ear.

The moment Reese was about to draw back, Finch curled strong fingers into the white shirt and kept him in place. He raised an eyebrow at the mildly challenging look from his partner. He could counter a challenge easily.

"We'll figure something out," Finch finally said calmly.

Reese's smile grew, warm and tender. Finch uncurled his fingers and the taller man stepped back, all sinewy grace and death. He left the library without another word and Finch smoothed down his waistcoat.

Yes, they would figure something out.

For both of them.

When the time came.

x X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx xx X XX xx X XX xxx x

Finding Shaw in the library was not that much of a surprise. Finch limped into his office space and tapped a key to start the computer.

"Ms. Shaw," he greeted her. "What a pleasant surprise. Please do not move the books."

She pushed the book she had been studying back into the shelf, glancing around. "It's a system."

Finch settled in his chair and gave her an expectant look.

"Where's Reese?"

"How can I help you, Ms. Shaw?"

She moved like a predator, like John, but she wasn't a supernatural. Finch had double checked, though usually the files he unearthed from intelligence agencies were quite detailed on operatives. And Finch always got to the real files, not the flimsy covers used for everyday access.

Samantha Shaw was completely human, but her heritage was there and her training, too. She might be one of the few humans with wolf traits who wasn't a wolf.

"What happens now?" she asked, prowling around the room.

Finch followed her with his eyes as he typed in a few commands and the screens came to life. He had come here to run a system check, not because he had a new number.

"Nothing," he replied calmly.

She stopped at the other side of the table, dark eyes staring at him. "This was your plan all along?"

"No. There was never a plan, only the contingency. What happened was actually more than I could ever hope to achieve."

"Freeing an AI?"

He gave her a little smile. "Would you have wanted it in the hands of a group like Decima? Or Root?"

She snorted. "Hardly."

He gave a little shrug. "So it's for the best."

"What do you want from me?" Shaw asked.

Finch raised his eyebrows. "Did I ask something of you?"

Her smirk was very Reese-like, but she couldn't completely pull it off. Finch didn't have to ask why the two former agents worked so well together. They were very much alike, with enough differences to make it interesting.

"You once offered me a job."

"I seem to remember your refusal."

"And still I seem to be working for you. Without pay."

Finch regarded her with mild interest displayed on his features. "The offer still stands."

Shaw looked around the room again, the tension still in her body, so very much like John in the beginning, it was almost eerie. She would be a useful asset and she had already proven herself. Reese could work with her, trusted her to have his back, and Shaw was a quick thinker.

"As your asset," she finally said.

"I don't think in those terms, Ms. Shaw. Like Mr. Reese you have skills I can employ, that are needed for what we do."

She smirked.

"You came here for a reason."

Shaw shrugged. "I got bored."

Yes, very much like Reese.

"Should the numbers come back I believe there is an acceptable way to deal with the boredom."

She chuckled. "I know why he likes you, Finch."

Finch refused to be baited, just gave her a quizzical look. Shaw smirked again.

The cipher opened a drawer and pulled out a smartphone; untraceable, with his very own software installed. He placed it on the table.

"Should the numbers come back, I'll call you. Let me know then what you have decided upon."

Shaw walked around the table and picked up the phone, studying the gleaming black device.

"I already made my decision," she then said. "When you call, do it with a case. I could do with a little exercise."

She slipped the phone into her pocket and walked away. Finch watched her, feeling a smile grow.

x X XX

Two days later, while Finch and Reese were walking past a row of public phones, one finally rang.