Series List:

1. High Voltage

2. Live Wire

3. Sometimes the Words are Hidden

4. Seasonal Currents

5. Redeemed

6. Not All the Facts

7. Under Pressure

8. Circuit Breaker

9. That Which Is Home

10. Lunatic

11. Mostly Business As Usual

12. Phoenix Rising

13. All the Way from the Dark

14. Shadow Dancing

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There was a grunt, followed by a loud crashing noise.

Something splintered.

Another grunt, then a gasp.

A low growl rumbled through the ear piece and Harold Finch interrupted his work, listening more closely. His fingers stilled on the keyboard, the code suddenly no longer important.

There had been a trace of supernatural in that growl.

"Mr. Reese?"

"Not now, Finch," came the hissed reply.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a shot had him even more attentive to the noises coming in over the ear piece of his operative.

"Are you quite all right, Mr. Reese?"

The scream had Finch wince and he hoped he was correct in his interpretation of the voice. It couldn't have been John. He knew his partner's voice and Reese also didn't have a penchant for screaming. Finch had seen the man get stabbed, shot and beat up and he had rarely uttered a true scream. Usually it was the unlucky thugs who got in his way that uttered quite a lot of noise.

There was another shot and for a long second or two absolute silence reigned. Finch held his breath, aware of his rising blood pressure, adrenaline coursing through his system.

He should be used to it by now. The disturbing amount of painfilled noises and evidence of violence, but he really couldn't. This was violence against his partner and he had seen the result of that too often up close and personal. John Reese might be able to take a lot of punishment, but he was still mortal, flesh and bone, and injuries were painful.

"John?" he queried into the silence.

"I'm fine, Harold," came the breathless reply.

Thank god, Finch thought.

"Can't say the same about Manore's goons."

"Ah."

"Don't worry, Finch, they are still breathing."

"Laudable, Mr. Reese. I hope it was a necessary altercation."

That got him a little laugh, more of a snort of amusement. "Isn't it always?"

"I can't be sure, regarding some of the methods you use."

"It's a bit late to critique my methods, Finch," Reese replied amiably, like they were talking about the weather or the opening of a new restaurant around the corner. "I have the name of her employer. I think I'll head over to his address and… talk… some more."

Finch shook his head, fond exasperation bleeding into his voice. "You do that. Please try not to upset Detective Carter with what you leave behind."

Reese chuckled, then switched off the comm. device.

Finch returned to his coding, the smile around his lips still present.

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It had been strange to receive numbers again as if nothing had ever happened. They came through the same channels – the public pay phones – delivered by the disjointed voice The Machine always used, and it was business as usual.

Finch went to work on discovering who their new number was, if they were victim or perpetrator, what electronic traces they had left, what relationships they had, and so on. And Reese did the footwork.

Yes, business as usual.

Their personal relationship had eased up from the almost possessive need the hellhound had shown to be close to Harold. Reese had slept wherever Finch was for the past two weeks. He would come in at night, silent, like a dark shadow that wasn't even real, and slide into bed with him.

Sometimes Finch didn't even notice until the bed dipped marginally as his partner moved. It should be disconcerting, but it was… normal; expected; actually, yes, wanted.

Harold had always been a very private person, paranoid about who knew what about him, and even Nathan had never known his real name. He had accused him of not knowing himself anymore. Maybe that had even been the truth for a while.

He was so many people. They all had a background, a life he had never really lived, and they had a job. It was a job he worked at sometimes, though he had had to let a few of them 'die' in the past two years. It had been simple necessity, fueled by paranoia, and he didn't really mourn those aliases.

He had so many more to choose from.

But now, since the events of two weeks ago, matters had taken a sharp turn into a direction he had never truly pondered, nor dared to. So much had changed and still so much was still changing; small things, big things, everything.

Like John.

Their connection had intensified without being stifling. The supernatural was closer now, but no longer possessive. He was around as much as before. Always close, just like before. Always gentle and careful, just like before. Finch had simply gained a new understanding and it eased his mind. The fear that he had shackled and crippled the hellhound, had tied him to the handicapped cripple he was, had disappeared.

Because he understood.

He understood where John was coming from, what drove him, what this connection truly meant, and that there was nothing he could have done to stop this man in the first place.

And he seemed… happier. More at ease. Even Carter had remarked on it with a raised eyebrow when they had met over a number.

"Whatever you did, you did good," she told the slightly startled cipher. "Gotta hand it to you." And her smile had been genuine.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Detective."

"Oh, I know you do. Doesn't concern me." She had smoothly switched to what had come up with the latest case and Finch had been slightly off-kilter.

He had no idea whether Carter knew that Reese was a supernatural. If she did, she had neither cared nor remarked on it. Finch knew she was human, had done his research on her the moment the detective had started to hunt for the elusive Man in the Suit. Whatever she apparently saw, it gave her ideas.

Harold sighed.

Ideas were never good and anything that had other people assume they were closer than they wanted to appear in public had Finch on guard. He knew he was a weak spot, that he could be used to put pressure on Reese, and vice versa. He would make sure that nothing of what they were to each other would ever leak.

Paranoia, protectiveness and something that was exclusively linked to John Reese. Yes, Finch would make sure no one caught onto them any more than they already did when anyone found out that Reese wasn't working alone, that someone was guiding him, pulling the strings, protecting him.

Like Elias.

Finch had already gone beyond his own safety zones to help his partner and by now he was ready to do everything in his considerable power to keep him alive and safe.

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Talking to Q was a nice distraction from coding a new program or taking apart a server to make it better, faster, upgrade the memory and improve security. It was routine work, though at the edge of his mind there was this slight nag, this itch, to do what he had done so many years ago: trust someone completely and let himself go.

Reese had offered.

Silently.

Once or twice with words.

But Harold wasn't ready to take that last step and maybe he might never be. He had created The Machine while unconsciously tapping into his full potential, and when he had realized what he had done it had frightened him in a way he had never thought possible.

He was a cipher, had always been a cipher, and his preternatural ability had already landed him in a world of trouble when he was just a teenage boy with a home computer and too much time on his hands. He had hacked into places no human being should be able to, had done things that had made it impossible to be who he had been born as, and he had been running ever since.

Back then he had had no connector, no anchor line. There had been only himself.

Look where it had gotten him.

Nathan had been the unknowing connector at the time of the creation of a machine that had been Finch's solution to protecting his country, and the world. He had done everything in his power to make it safe for him, and he had failed again.

To risk this a third time, to rely on his partner so completely, was a foolish idea in his opinion. He couldn't and wouldn't code like that ever again; he would play it safe. Not always by the book and not always legal – mostly not legal – but he wouldn't create again.

John understood. He let him be. He simply watched; ready, protective, guarding. He let his nature guide him and Finch had come to rely on that strength more than he wanted to admit.

"How are you doing, Mr. Whittmore?" Finch asked as he made himself some tea, shoving the ideas running around his mind back into the drawer, locking it firmly.

Bear sat at his side, hoping for a treat, and Finch finally gave in and took out a Doggy Danish from the cardboard box Reese had left here yesterday. Bear looked absolutely happy and munched on the Danish, then trotted back to his bed.

"Busy, as usual," Q replied amiably. "Mr. Bond is currently rather busy taking apart half of St. Petersburg."

"Ah, troubling."

"Very. He also keeps losing his comm. devices." Q sighed, sounding put-upon. "My gear ends up somewhere unfathomable. If he brings it back, it's in worse shape than one might imagine. And his Christmas wish list for new tech is getting more and more outrageous. I have no idea why he insists on things that can explode."

Finch chuckled. "I know the feeling, though Mr. Reese is rather more straight-forward. His weapons storage in the library is impressive."

"So how have you and Mr. Reese been?" Q asked, sounding amused and curious in one.

Which is how Finch found himself talking about recent developments, about the numbers returning, about Shaw's deeper involvement. It was easy to talk to the technopath. Despite the age difference, the two men were very much alike.

"You have another operative now," the quartermaster teased when Finch mentioned Samantha Shaw.

"Well, in a way. Ms. Shaw has a very strong streak of independence – for someone who used to be an agent who followed orders without question."

"But you like her."

"I like her," he confessed.

He had also set her up with an apartment and a paycheck that equaled Reese's. She had simply cocked an eyebrow and had then gone over her new, very large loft apartment with a fine-toothed comb, looking for any kind of surveillance.

Finch had never gotten a thank-you, but he knew how to take such reactions. Reese hadn't been so different in the beginning, though their relationship had started out quite differently, under more dire circumstances for John Reese.

"She might prove to be a valuable asset."

"She already has been."

Finch took the steeped tea over to his work place and settled down again. Bear seemed to be sleeping.

Everything was quiet on the Reese front. His partner was currently following a number and there hadn't been a peep for the past thirty minutes. Surveillance was tiring and usually meant sitting in one place, taking photos, listening in on conversations until Reese caught something of interest.

"There is something concerning recent events," Q said slowly, "that I haven't told you about, Mr. Finch."

Finch blinked, pulling his attention away from the stream of data on one of his screens. "Recent events," he echoed without making it a question.

"My… meeting with… your creation."

"I know what you meant with recent events in the first place," he said, more sharply than intended. "My apologies," Finch added, feeling a mild tremor of stress creep up on him.

"Of course. No offense taken," Q replied, his British accent more pronounced.

"So, what didn't you tell me?"

Because Finch thought he already knew everything. Q had been part of The Machine and The Machine had been part of him. It had been almost like a meeting of minds, though his program had more or less breeched all of Q's defenses, had taken over, and had hidden underneath his humanity until the hard reset and the limited admin access had run their course.

"The Machine communicates in a way that is unlike what it needs to talk to you," the technopath said slowly. "You hear disjointed voices, it has to call you, but when we were this close… it talked almost normally."

Harold frowned, but he filed that piece of information away.

"It also gave me an update on some matters concerning, well, you and Mr. Reese."

"An… update?"

"If it sounds like a download, it's because that is what it was, Harold," Q said softly. "A download into my brain. About you. Your file. Your past. And Mr. Reese. And… more."

Finch felt like he had been sucker-punched. His mind blanked and panic threaded through every cell of his being.

The Machine had… downloaded information like a file… into Q's brain? The logical part of his mind told him that it should only be normal for a technopath. That this was to be expected of a technopath. That a technopath had been born for this.

But the panic overtook the logic and he closed his eyes, trying to even out his breathing.

"Harold?"

The voice penetrated the panic and when a wet nose pushed against his hand he smiled shakily down at Bear. He petted the dog and he settled his head on Finch's lap, looking almost worriedly at him.

"I'm fine," he murmured, talking to both Q and Bear.

The dog looked unconvinced.

Q sounded doubtful.

"I wanted you to know what happened," he said. "You would never have known, but this is bloody big. It gave me your files and I want you to understand that the knowledge is safe with me."

Finch fought back another wave of panic. "I know that, Kian. I am very much aware of it. It just… caught me slightly off guard."

Understatement of the year.

Q laughed, sounding as strained as Harold felt.

"So, it dumped a file onto your hard drive?" Finch finally asked, trying to understand what had happened, how so much information, about his life, their lives, had been left in a human brain.

"More or less. I'm a technopath. My bloody brain seems to function that way. It wasn't painful, just a lot to digest; literally. I seem to be able to access the information like I would a computer file, and it's not overwhelming. No headache or migraine or any kind of discomfort. It's like those are real memories."

Harold's panic made way for natural curiosity and the analytic part of his mind wondered about how this could really have worked. An organic brain was not made for such a data dump. Memories were made as humans lived. But Q was a preternatural and one who was as rare as they came. Especially the fact that he was stable and sane – and anchored to a phoenix, of all preternaturals.

He calmed himself, breathing deeply. He knew that if he could trust someone, aside from John, it would be Q. They had already shared more private information, though Harold's complete past, including everything The Machine 'knew' about him, was bigger.

"I was thinking of returning the favor," Q said, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"In what way, if I might ask?"

"I would give you my file, Mr. Finch."

"You are a MI6 employee, Mr. Whittmore. Information on you is secret." He smiled thinly. "Also, I could hack your servers and access your files."

"True, though getting past my guards might prove to be quite impossible."

"Is that a challenge, Q?"

"It is, though I would appreciate you not taking me up on that. It's highly bothersome to set everything straight again."

Harold chuckled. "I won't. I appreciate the offer for more information, Kian, but I know why The Machine did it, that it trusted you."

"It was an honest offer."

Finch knew that. He was quite aware of how much trust existed between them and considering who Q was, who Bond was, it meant more than just a few facts about the two men. They were as connected as Finch and Reese, though their psychic link stabilized them in a way that would wreak havoc with either side of the bond if the other ever perished.

There was a soft click and then Reese's voice was there.

"Finch? You there?"

"Always, Mr. Reese. Anything new to report?"

It got him a slightly breathless chuckle. "I did some digging. It seems Mrs. Cordier is in a lot more trouble than a few late taxes and unpaid parking bills. I just had a little… talk with some unfriendly elements."

Finch quirked an eyebrow. "Did you get anything of interest from those unfriendly elements?"

"A name. Edward Rose."

Finch's fingers flew over the keyboard, calling up everyone by that name, trying to link anyone to their recent number.

"Mr. Whittmore?" he addressed the man waiting on the other line. "I have to call you back."

"Good luck on your number," Q simply said. Then he was gone.

Finch went back to work, pushing what he had heard from Q from his mind for now. They had a new case to handle and everything else was secondary.

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They got to Rose by the evening, solved the number's problem, and Reese was back at his loft, a bit bruised but very pleased, by four in the morning. Light from the street lamps below still filtered through the enormous windows since he hadn't lowered the blinds. He hit a switch and they automatically did.

There was an almost wolfish smile playing around his lips as he hung up his coat and slipped out of his jacket, the light in his eyes speaking of satisfaction, coupled with the fading rush of a confrontation that had left him breathless but uninjured and positively exhilarated.

But the adrenaline was wearing down and it showed. There was a slightly ragged edge to his movements, the lines around his eyes, the weariness of his movements. Only someone who had known this man as long as Finch already had could tell. Someone who had seen John Reese at his best and at his worst.

"Good work, Mr. Reese," Harold sounded in his ear, his voice reflecting the same exhaustion John felt.

Reese unbuttoned the white shirt, stripped it off, and the white t-shirt underneath followed.

"You should get some rest, Finch."

"So should you."

"I'm touched by your concern." He toed off the shoes and undid the pants.

"Your sense for self-preservation leads me to the assumption that you haven't slept at all either."

"Which tells me you were awake for it all, too."

Finch smiled. "Good night, Mr. Reese."

More like an early morning, but he didn't care. If there was a new number in the next few hours, Finch would call. Until then, he would get the rest he needed.

Naked, completely unconcerned by who might catch a glimpse of him, Reese walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower. Then simply crashed.

The bed felt more empty than it should. The whole loft felt like something was missing, and so did the cerberus inside him. The instinctual part wanted something that he couldn't have right now, so Reese pushed the instinct away.

He knew he could sleep anywhere, any time. It was something he had been trained to do and it was something that served him well now.

He was dead to the world within minutes.

tbc...