Notes: This is my first PoI fic, so, here's hoping! It's officially been seen by my shiny new beta: PJTL156. All mistakes are still mine, and I'm sorry for them. Two lines of dialogue are from the song Therapy by Reliant K. Possible Rinch if you turn your head to the side and squint.

Disclaimer: I do not own Person of Interest or Reliant K.

Therapy

It was cold out as New York often was this time of year and Reese was at a loss, a place he rarely found himself. The Agency did well to instill patience and a general lack of emotion into their agents. While John had been a dazzling model back in the day, he was now dealing with both cabin fever and grief.

A number. A girl. He had been too late, and his hotel room was just too. . . Suffocating.

Reese wandered the streets with no real destination ahead of him. Well, that was only partly true. He honestly didn't know where he was going. There were only two possibilities as to where he would eventually end up though. After fifteen minutes of not being able to feel his ears he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. No new messages. Two days and not a number or any contact from Finch. It would seem the bar wasn't winning out this time. But then that was becoming more common place, wasn't it?

He entered in silence out of habit. He knew he wasn't going to sneak up on his employer. The coffee in his hand would give him away as soon as he was on the same floor as the mysterious Harold Finch. The hot tea in his other hand would win him the argument of staying much faster than he would on his own, Reese knew when to bring bribes. He realized he would have won without much of a fight either way and decided perhaps he was just being nice.

"Mr. Reese, I didn't call." The detachment met him before he even got to the doorway. It made Reese smile. For one so sophisticated as Finch he could be surprisingly childish. Reese knew the other man didn't truly blame him for the loss. Their loss. But Finch had trouble handling those they didn't save, and Reese understood his anger.

"I know." His tone was easy, playful. "I thought you might be missing me."

"Mr. Reese-"

"Calm down, Finch. I was just checking in," he pacified and moved towards the other man to set the cup of tea on the desk. Finch looked away from his busy labors at the computers for the first time, but he didn't offer a thanks. John wasn't forgiven yet. This was how the older man grieved, and Reese didn't take it personally.

"You could have called."

"I could have."

When it was clear Reese wouldn't be leaving on his own accord Finch swiveled his chair around to stare at his partner. That was what they were, wasn't it? Partners.

"I'm busy, Mr. Reese. Perhaps next time you will simply call."

"Jesus, Harold." Reese sighed, sunk into the leather sofa, and rolled his head back to look at the ceiling. "Maybe I thought you were getting lonely."

Finch turned back to his desk, mildly irritated by the way Reese so casually called him Harold but quickly forgot the annoyance as he sipped his tea, and sighed. "Loneliness and solitude are two things not to get confused, Mr. Reese," He said simply. When Reese only hummed in reply he closed his eyes and counted to four. "Did you come here seeking a fix to your own loneliness?" The dullness stole from the snarky quality he had hoped his voice would hold, but Finch didn't feel up to it today. Not now. At least he no longer had to count all the way to seven. That was a good sign, or at least Finch hoped it was.

"Hardly." Reese chuckled that airy chuckle from deep in his throat and Finch turned his chair to look at him for an explanation. "More so, I spend my solitude with you." Finch didn't argue and Reese was thankful. Finch turned back to his computer, to his tea, to his work. A peaceful silence settled over the library. Reese sipped his coffee, tasted the bitterness, and closed his eyes.

This, this, was his therapy.