Reese opened one eye. Something didn't feel right. He opened the other eye and methodically surveyed his apartment. It was cloudy again, but it still seemed a bit brighter than usual for 6 AM. He slowly stretched his 6'2" frame then looked at the clock. 8 AM.

"What the hell? I haven't slept this late since…" he had to think about that for a moment… since Carter walked me into CIA sniper cross-hairs… he thought while rubbing the scar on his left side.

Move it, Mister! Reese had come to rely on his inner drill sergeant, but today he wished he'd shut up. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned. He hurt all over and felt like he could've slept for another 3-4 hours.

"Those guys must've landed more punches last night than I thought," he muttered.

He turned on the water for his shower and made it as hot as he could stand it. He stood there letting the hot water caress his aching body. He couldn't be sure, but it was so soothing he thought he actually fell asleep for a moment. He suddenly started coughing so he lathered up and rinsed off quickly. He stepped out of the shower, quickly toweled off, secured the towel around his waist and headed to his dressing room. It was actually just his closet, but it was so much larger than anything he'd had before, he considered it a room of its own. He returned to the bathroom to shave and, with the steam gone from the mirror, assess the damage from the previous night's smack down. There were only a few minor bruises and scratches. While pondering why he felt like he'd been hit by a bus, he finished his morning routine. By the time he'd pulled on his second boot, he was less concerned with how he felt because he was confident that his opponents felt like they'd been hit by a train.

Reese sauntered into the library a few hours later than usual and braced himself for a snarky comment or two about his tardiness. He then realized he was going to get quite an earful, because, not only was he late, he was without pastries.

"Yoga class run long today, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked without looking away from his monitors.

"Yes," Reese replied, sounding much gruffer than usual.

"Mr. Reese, you sound terrible," Finch said as he swiveled to face him. His eyes grew wide as he studied Reese head to toe. His shirt was slightly rumpled and his hair was sticking out in more directions than usual; but, most frightening of all, he looked as pale as a corpse. "You don't look so hot either," he uttered to himself - or so he thought.

"Didn't sleep much," was Reese's brusque reply. "Tell me about our new number." He said it quickly in hopes of moving the conversation to the task at hand and away from any thought of missing pastries.

Finch rose from his chair, walked over to the board, taped the picture of an unattractive and overweight woman to it, and gave Reese the 411 on their latest number.

"Rachel Ezhno is a contract underwriter for a large mortgage company. No family – at least none that I've been able to find yet. Since the housing market crashed 4 years ago, she's been doing contract jobs, er contract work assignments, all over the country." Finch knew he didn't need to correct himself when describing her employment situation, but given Reese's former line of work, he did it anyway.

"She works regular banking hours so you still have plenty of time to search her place, plant our surveillance, and maybe take a nap before she leaves work."

Reese, annoyed by the suggestion he take a nap, started to ask why he would need to plant surveillance, but his question seemed to catch in his throat, causing him to cough. Finch, in full mind-reader mode, began explaining the upgrades currently being made to her building that were leaving it without security cameras or alarms for the next couple of weeks.

"You'll need to get cameras into the two elevators and throughout the hallways. Once in her apartment, you may chose the location of the additional surveillance. I should have more information on our new number by the time you finish."

"I do know how to set up surveillance, Finch," Reese said as he spun on his heel and headed to the elevator. He was nearly there when Finch called out to him.

"Mr. Reese, where are the pastries?"

"I'll pick them up after my nap, Finch," Reese growled through clinched teeth.