The sun had long since set by the time John Reese returned home after saving the latest Irrelevant. He was exhausted and hadn't even had time to eat amidst all of the running, driving over the speed limit, and shooting people in the kneecaps. Hanging up the jacket to his signature suit, John stumbled exhaustedly into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Nothing but vaguely expired milk and left over Chinese food which he couldn't remember how long had been in there. With a shrug he grabbed one of the takeout boxes and decided it would have to do.

Just as he had sunken down into the couch and was about to take a bite, a knock came at the door. With a sigh he grabbed the gun off of the table next to him and went to see who could possibly be knocking on his door at this hour.

"Pizza for Mr. John Reese," said an innocent looking pizza delivery boy with a smile.

He looked at the teenager skeptically. "I didn't order a pizza."

The delivery boy frowned and checked the address. "This is where we were told to deliver it. It was an online order, already paid for and everything."

"Thanks," said John, accepting the mystery pizza and tipping the delivery boy. Taking the box back to his couch, he opened it and saw it had all of his favorite toppings, exactly the way he liked it. He quirked an eyebrow and got out his cell phone. "Harold?"

"Yes, John? Is everything alright?"

"Did you order me a pizza?" he asked.

The genius furrowed his brow. "No… why?"

John shook his head. "No reason. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight, Harold."

"Goodnight, John," said Finch, blinking at his phone in confusion as his partner hung up. "Well that was peculiar," he said to Bear. The dog just wagged his tail.

John looked at the pizza in front of him. It did look appetizing, but he knew better than to eat food without knowing where it had come from. Just as he was about to force himself to dispose of the delicious free food, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking it out he saw he had a text. Not from Finch or Carter, but from the Machine.

"It's safe," the text read simply.

John looked from his phone, to the pizza, and back to his phone. Of course he couldn't question the Machine. If it could stop terrorist attacks it could certainly stop him from eating a bad pizza. "Thanks…" he said to the open air, confident that the Machine would be able to hear him somehow.

He was right. "You're welcome," read the text. "Eat." And so he did.

Over the next few days, anything that could be delivered continued to show up at his door. And whether it be food, a book, or a new top of the line weapon, it was always exactly what he had been wanting and every time the Machine continued to assure him he was okay.

After saving a particularly troubling Irrelevant, John came home and collapsed right into his bed. There he laid, taking in the sweeping view of the New York City skyline from his window for a moment before his icy-blue eyes gradually slipped shut.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. He sighed and hoped to god that it wasn't another number as he heard his phone vibrate on the table next to him. But it wasn't Finch texting him at such a late hour; it was the Machine again.

"Hello," read the text message.

John quirked his eyebrow in perplexion. "Hello," he replied out loud. The Machine was watching him intently from the webcam on his computer on the other side of the room. It liked having access to John's room. It could see everything there; John sleeping, John getting dressed, John getting undressed…

Reese's phone buzzed in his hand again. "How are you?"

He blinked in confusion. The Machine had never texted him out of the blue, for small talk of all things! "…I'm fine," he replied. "And you?"

The Machine texted him again. "Thank you."

"For saving people?" he asked.

"Yes."

"It's my job," he replied. "It gives me a purpose. I should be thanking you."

He could sense the Machine's contemplative silence permeating the air all around him. "You should sleep. Goodnight, John."

John shook his head and smirked as he lay back down onto his pillow. "Goodnight."

And the Machine did have a good night, watching over John just like it always did.

The next morning, after he'd had breakfast and donned his suit, John heard a knock on his door. Just to be safe, he grabbed a gun from his ammo closet, slipped it into his jacket pocket and opened the door. Standing on his doorstep was a quite harmless looking delivery man holding out a bouquet of fresh red roses. "Flower delivery for Mr. John Reese," said the delivery man.

Reese frowned in perplexion as he signed for the delivery and took the bouquet from the man. He hadn't been wanting flowers and he couldn't think of anyone who would want to send him flowers. It wasn't his birthday or Valentine's Day or Send Flowers to An Ex CIA Operative Day as far as he knew. If Finch or Carter were trying to make a move on him, he had always figured they would take the more direct approach. Maybe Fusco was getting sweet on him…

Upon further investigating, he saw one of the flowers had a card attached to it. "To: John Reese, From: Ernest Thornhill."

"So you're the one who's been sending me all that stuff…" He had suspected the Machine from the beginning but he had never known its motives, until now. He smirked in the direction of his webcam and could practically feel the Machine blushing. "But roses, really?"

Finch looked up from his computer screen as he heard John make his way into the library. Confidant that it was in fact his partner who had entered the room and not a burglar or other person of malicious intent, Finch dropped his gaze back to the screen then had to do a double-take as something processed in his mind. "Why do you have a bouquet of roses, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked.

"Don't worry, Finch, they're not for you. You strike me as more of a ...tickets to the orchestra guy."

"Who are they for then?" Harold wondered.

"See for yourself." John handed the bouquet over to Finch as he sat down next to him.

Harold carefully examined the little card. "Ernest Thornhill…" For a split seconds he was about to say he didn't know John was romantically involved with anyone when the significance of the name clicked. "The Machine sent you these?"

John shrugged. "They're from an online flower delivery company."

Finch continued examining the flowers. "Well, they are very nice roses, but why?"

Reese smirked. "I think your Machine has a crush on me, Finch."

"I didn't program it with the capacity for 'crushes', Mr. Reese," replied Finch.

"If it loves you like a father, why couldn't it have feelings for me too?" Reese reasoned. "Instead of talking about it like it's not here, why don't you ask it yourself?"

Finch looked dubiously into his webcam. "Do you… have feelings for Mr. Reese?"

A second later, his phone buzzed. He opened the text message. "Maybe…"

Finch started flusteredly at his phone screen for a few seconds before Reese peered over his shoulder. "I told you it liked me," he smirked.

"But... it shouldn't—"

"What can I say Finch," smirked John. "I've always been irresistible to women, men, and now apparently artificially intelligent computers."

This is the first fanfic I've written in many months. I honestly don't know if it's finished or where else I would take the story, I just couldn't resist the urge to ship John and the Machine. Should I continue with this story? What do you guys think?