I wish I would've discovered this series from the very beginning. Better late than never I guess. Anyway, I own no one in this show. Rights/material belong to CBS. Enjoy!

"Are you alright, Mr. Reese?"

Came a timorous inquiry from Finch outside the bathroom door. The younger man wasn't at liberty to respond at that moment as he was hit with yet another merciless wave of nausea. Finch grimaced at the sound, of all things that made him most uncomfortable. The auditory Hell of vomiting probably ranked highest.

The agent finally emerges. Albeit a bit slower, and spares a glance towards Finch. Harold's expression obviously unsettled. He trudges over to fetch a bottled water and takes a seat opposite the cracked pane of glass they had function as a victim/suspect board.

"Just bad seafood, Finch. Nothin' to worry about"

He almost seemed annoyed as his focus shifted back to the water bottle.

"Odd. I had the same as you and I'm fine. Anyway, the Machine spit out another number. You sure you're up for the task?"

He takes a sip, eyes traveling down to the dust-covered wooden floor. Mentally running through his best course of action. It was only a matter of time til Finch asked him what the issue was. He'd rather dodge it, but the fact remained. They worked together, there had to be trust along the way. He figured hiding the fact he was pregnant from his friend, would only result in unfavorable consequence. He sighs.

"There's gonna be fighting and bullets involved, right?"

He asks with a bit of a wry smile and shimmer in his eye. Finch gives a nervous chuckle and adjusts his glasses before returning to tapping away at the keyboard.

"Well, you of all people should know, Mr. Reese. That, that's usually the case. If you're not up for the assignment, I guess we co..."

"No, it's fine. Who is it?"

John interjects. He hears Finch suddenly clear his throat and tap a few more keys.

"Her name is Mila Altenholf, 38. A nurse at the Mount Sinai West hospital. Her family immigrated to the States from Germany when she was 12. Aside from a minor parking violation, she seems on the straight and narrow"

"And your Machine thought she was a priority because..?"

His smart-ass undertone seeping through. There were times Harold could deal with that side of him and bite his tongue, which was almost daily. Rare moments, however, he would let John know where he stood.

"As I've mentioned before. The Machine wouldn't give us her number unless it was a case of urgency. Either she's the antagonist or target, and in this case I'm leaning towards the latter"

Reese arches a brow somewhat inquisitively.

"'An what makes you say that?"

"Her grandfather founded a highly clandestine society after the Nuremberg Trials. A sort've safe haven for the Totenkopfverbände, Waffen-SS, you get the picture. Naturally, its members grew old and started dying, however, there was a former agreement to ensure its future. Meaning, they recruited their offspring as next in line.."

"Okay..so how does a group of old, sheltered Nazis help us in protecting Mila?"

He could almost swear he saw Finch roll his eyes at that moment. As if he was an idiot for questioning him.

"It helps us, Mr. Reese, because..they're after her. They murdered her father, Stefan for what they called "treason", and they aren't afraid to reunite father and daughter"

The ex-military tried getting to his feet, it was then he was blindsided by another vicious flurry of sickness. He holds an index finger up towards the reclusive billionaire. That same hand flying up to cover his mouth, making a desperate, mad dash for the bathroom once again.

Finch looks on and sighs, shaking his head. There was certainly no way he was sending his asset out in the condition he was in. Whatever that may be. John returns for a second time. Only, now appearing much more fatigued and agitated. Finch sighs once more

"Mr. Reese, I'm afraid I'm gonna have you sit this one out. We'll get Lionel and Car.."

"No, dammit!.. I told you, it's fine"

The agent snapped. Finch was quick to riposte.

"Obviously it isn't. If so, you wouldn't be repeatedly violating my toilet". (Turning his attention back to the computer screen).. "bad seafood, my ass" he groused.

"What was that?"

Reese asked with a slightly roguish nuance. The socially inept hermit's eyes went wide as he realized his mumbling was actually audible.

"Oh, nothing"

John groaned and ran a rough hand over his face. He had to tell Finch, and it had to be now. They could work out assigning his proxy for the next 7 months, later. It wasn't going to be easy, and the time away staggeringly long. But they managed to fix seemingly impossible situations before. They could do it again.

"I.. It's time I came clean to ya, Finch. I'm...pregnant"

"Keine scheiße"

The agent stared at the small, crippled man confoundedly. Finch's' eyes unwavering from the screen.

"What the Hell did you just say to me?"

"Not important. I've already tracked her IP, you can still be an asset and gather intel. I'll leave the muscle to your proxy, obviously"

Unbelievably enough. This, unusual sentiment, made a smile slowly creep onto the agent's face. This was what made working with Finch an almost perfect arrangement. He didn't ask too many questions (unless it pertained to the assignment, of course). And in a matter of seconds, could shift from rare comedic to stone-cold staid. Focused on whatever was at hand. Reese chuckles lightly.

"Knew I could count on you, Finch"