Harold was sitting at a coffee terrace. Against all expectations, he was savoring an expresso. He still preferred green tea, but he had to admit that Italian coffee was really delicious.

Grace was giving a painting class and would be out in half an hour. He hadn't told her that he would be waiting for her. Still, from his position he couldn't miss her when she left the school. Almost a year now since he had found her, and still he loved surprising her with little signs of affection. Waiting for her after her work, waking her up with breakfast in bed and a rose. Nothing would ever repair all the wrong he had done to her, but he could still try.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He frowned. Very few people had his number.

When he had left the United States, after the death on his only friend, he hadn't kept in touch. Shaw was the only one to know he had made it out alive from their last battle; she would die with the secret. He missed Bear…

Unidentified caller. He was going to ignore the call, then accepted it. He was in a pleasant mood. He wondered what the telemarketer would try to sell him this time.

"Hello Finch." said a voice like velvet.

Harold froze, almost dropping his phone in the process. The voice belonged to a dead man. He opened his mouth to answer but he realized he had lost his voice. He swallowed and tried again. The craziest thoughts went through his brain. Once in the past, a dead woman had called him… or rather the voice of a dead woman.

"John?" he asked tentatively. He couldn't begin to fathom why the Machine would use the ex-agent's voice to call him.

"Yes."

Probably for the first time in his life, he was left speechless. What were you supposed to say when your best friend, who had died in front of you, called you on your phone?

"How…"

John laughed silently. "It's a long story."

"I don't doubt that for a second."

"I'll have to admit though, it's worth rising up from the dead to see you drink coffee. That's a bet I would have never taken."

Finch shot up from his chair. John could see him? The sudden gesture had him stagger while the chair fell to the ground. A hand caught his elbow with care and helped him find his balance back. Harold swivelled around.

John was in front of him, a hesitant smile on his lips. Harold didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry; he ended up doing something he never did. He hugged John fiercely, not bothering to hide the tears that came to his eyes.

Slightly embarrassed by the show of affection, John returned the hug briefly but kept a friendly hand on the back of his friend. After a moment, Finch stepped back and stared at John, still dumbfounded by his reappearance.

"I always knew you were one of a kind, John. I'm really glad I had you kidnapped that night…"

That night… Over six years ago, when Finch had decided, that John would, willingly or not, help him take care of the irrelevant numbers.

"I'm very glad too Harold..." John answered giving him one of his rare blinding smiles.

Finch had kept a hand on John's arm. He was now checking him thoroughly.

"You seem to be doing well."

"I was very lucky and also helped by quite a unique medical team."

"Probably the understatement of the year." Harold breathed out deeply. "John, I was really convinced you were dead. How did you survive the explosion?"

"As I said, it's a long story."

"Well then, it's a good thing I'm a retired teacher. I have plenty of time."

"Grace?" John asked almost hesitantly.

Finch checked his watch. Grace was about to come out of the school. Anyway, an Italian terrace was probably not the best place to tell what was bound to be a very strange story.

"I told Grace everything when I found her."

"Everything?" John repeated, slightly surprised.

"It was the least I could do."

John nodded in agreement.

"Grace is giving painting classes at the school. She's be out shortly. We'll go home, it will be quieter. I hope you haven't booked a hotel room. Grace will never allow you to sleep anyplace that isn't our guest room."

Harold watched the ground, checking for an improbable duffel bag. "I don't see any luggage, but I do know you travel light…"

John had left a bag at the lockers of the train station. He did travel "light" as Harold put it, but he still had some medicine he needed to take, so travelling with no luggage was not possible anymore. The Machine had helped him locate Finch in Italy, but he hadn't checked in any hotel yet.

"I'll be glad to stay at your place."

Finch nodded in satisfaction and sat back down happy that the point had been settled. John sat in front of him.

"You don't drink tea anymore?" he asked pointing to the cup.

"Yes I do, I'm a tea lover at heart. But I do appreciate an expresso now and then." He motioned the waiter. "You should taste it; you'll see for yourself, it's a real pleasure."

John raised an eyebrow in wonder.

"Oh, of course." Finch realized. "This is not your first trip to Italy."

"But I've seldom had the time to enjoy myself sipping expressos on a terrace." He ordered a coffee and watched Finch in silence. "You look… happy," he said finally deciding what description applied the best.

"Not so much happy, as…." Finch seemed to look for the right word, "at peace. The weight of some secrets is a heavy load to carry."

John acquiesced. He knew the feeling.

"But of course, you know exactly what I mean," Finch added.

A few moments later, John didn't need to turn around to know that Grace had come out of the school. Finch's face blossomed. Instead of the raging pain that covered his face every time he saw her in New York, John could see all the happiness of a man who had found his true love.

Harold rose and waved to Grace who answered with a smile and came to the table. She frowned when she recognized John.

"Detective…" She stopped and looked at her companion. "Harold, should I expect new revelations?" She sounded more curious than worried.

When Finch had left New York, he had abandoned everything. He hadn't kept any documents, no pictures. He had talked about John to Grace, of course, but had never shown her a photograph. She hadn't realized that she had met him, under a different name, a very long time ago when John checked her up, while spying on his employer.

"Nothing serious, don't worry." Finch cast an eye to John. "Quite the contrary as a matter of fact."

The three of them had spent a good part of the evening talking. They had picked up John's bag from the locker, then the couple had settled him in the guest room, almost ordering him to rest. John had to admit that the long shower had felt wonderful. The transatlantic redeye flight, even in business class, had been tiring.

Grace prepared a delicious light dinner, and John had answered truthfully to the questions the woman had about some shady areas of Finch's tale. When he had apologized about his silence on some topics, Grace had stopped him, arguing that John's secrets were his own, not Harold's to reveal.

John couldn't help feeling a deep sorrow watching the exchange between the two lovers. Finch had lost so many years of happiness…

The following morning Grace had vanished right after breakfast, explaining she had a museum to visit.

"She seemed quite eager to see that exhibition," John noticed.

"Indeed." Finch answered with an amused smile. "So, to what do we owe your visit John?"

John raised an innocent eyebrow.

"Grace isn't that gullible, neither am I. We have worked too closely for a long time."

A light smile graced John's lips.

"I assume you know the Machine is still working?"

"I thought She probably was." Seeing John's surprise, he explained. "When I saw Miss Shaw, for the last time, at your funeral, She hadn't contacted anyone yet."

Yet, thought John, she had acted immediately after her victory against Samaritan in order to save his life. She had also called him during his time at the Tower. Apparently, she had noted that Finch didn't want to hear about her anymore. However, she had given John the data to find Harold in Italy when asked.

"She seems to have accepted the fact that you do not wish her to contact you anymore."

"Although She told you how to find me."

"You're her creator, Harold."

"She keeps giving you numbers," Finch guessed.

"She does. And it's the reason for my visit. For the past weeks, she's been giving us an increasing amount of numbers… that we already had in the past."

"I doubt they are all in danger. Unless of course, if Mr. Tao is in the lot."

"Leon has come up. Shaw spent two days cursing him. I took care of Miss Morgan's number personally." he added with a knowing smile.

"So Mr. Tao still thinks you're dead, but you are visiting Miss Morgan again. Is that wise?" Finch teased him.

"And one of our last numbers was Grace's…"

"Hence your visit?" Finch guessed. "I doubt she is in any real danger though," he added with a frown.

"What's wrong with your baby Harold?"

"No idea," the genius mumbled.

"We can't keep up, Finch. I already asked Matt to help us, but we cannot watch all the numbers. And we might miss a real number because we're trying to cover too much ground at the same time."

"Matt? Mr. Murdock?"

"Daredevil to be more precise."

"Maybe it's time for you to tell me exactly how you made it alive from that rooftop?"

The evening before they had had enough topics of discussion for John to be able to redirect and not comment on his mysterious recovery. Finch hadn't insisted, and Grace had probably read between the lines understanding that discussion wasn't on the table.

"I was wondering when you would finally ask."

"Now, apparently," Finch answered.

The tale of his ten months at the tower took a greater part of the morning. When it was finished Finch rose.

"Let's go out for a walk. You need to exercise your body." Finch talked from experience and John followed him gracefully.

They walked in silence, just enjoying each other's company. Finch stopped on a bridge, admiring the view.

"You want me to go to New York to check what's wrong with the Machine?" he said, not looking at John.

"Please."

"I will go but only to work out and fix the problem if I can. As I told you yesterday John, I'm retired."

"I'd never ask you to leave Grace, Harold."

"It's going to feel so cold…." Finch grumbled, shivering in anticipation.

The flight back was uneventful. Finch had gotten rid of his different safe houses to delete his existence, and John naturally invited him to stay at his place.

Harold had entered the loft, then stood, unmoving, in the middle of the room.

"Harold?" John worried by his side.

Finch shook his head. "I'm fine. This is just on the borderline of surreal. I never thought I would see this place again."

"Honestly, me neither…. Matt took care of the paperwork while I was still recovering at the Tower."

"It seems you've become quite close to Mr. Murdock."

"He has been the only friendly face during some very long months, Harold."

"Yes, of course." Finch waved away the misunderstanding and gave him a smile. "I'm glad you weren't alone while recovering. »

They allowed themselves some time to freshen up after the long flight, then went to the new HQ.

"The location will be familiar." John warned him as they approached.

When Finch recognized the bank, he paled visibly. "Indeed," he whispered.

"Your Machine has a weird sense of humor, Finch." Shaw greeted him as she came up to meet them.

Neither being good at expressing feelings, the arrival of an overexcited Bear put an end to the uncomfortable silence.

"He missed you," Shaw explained.

"I missed him too," Finch answered, scratching a spot behind an ear that he knew the dog favored.

The genius looked around the room with a frown. This place reminded him of a dark time during his collaboration with John. Of course, the personal feelings of Her creator had not been taken into account when the Machine had looked for a new place for Her team. Finch went toward the keyboard and Shaw ran to remove some candy bars wrappings. She quickly cleaned the place with an embarrassed face. Finch had not been around, but the Machine was still his, even though she had been the one in charge for almost a year.

Harold stroke a few lines, then straightened.

"Do you recognize me?" he asked.

"Hello Harold," Root's voice answered. "It's been a long time."

"It has."

"I duly noted you did not want me to contact you."

Finch opened his mouth to answer, then thought better. His reasons were his own. He didn't have to justify himself to a computer, no matter how powerful or smart.

"You have been giving numbers that have already come up in the past, and it appears that they are not relevant at this time. Why?"

The Machine kept silent. Raising a surprised eyebrow Finch typed a few lines on the keyboard. Behind him, John and Shaw watched in silence. Harold turned around with a questioning face.

Shaw was the first to react.

"I'll go check the last repeat number," she said in a rush. "Just in case."

John watched her dash away as if guilty with an amused smile. He went toward the door at a slower pace.

"Thank you, John." Harold said softly.

John turned around and nodded. He understood the full meaning behind the simple words. That he was leaving Finch to work in peace didn't have anything to do with it. Thank you for saving my life, thank you for sacrificing yourself to save my creation, thank you for being alive, thank you for keeping my dream alive, thank you for giving me the opportunity to see it going on once more… All the words that neither would be able to express.

"My pleasure, Harold." John said simply.

He whistled to call Bear, but the Malinois just watched him before he settled at Finch's feet. John was his master but ensuring Finch's protection had always been his first duty.

"So, what is wrong with you?" Harold mumbled to the computer.

When John came back a few hours later, Finch hadn't moved from his chair.

"Harold, I didn't go all the way to Italy to see you slave away at your computer."

Finch raised his head and winced. John rushed forward.

"I'm fine," Harold said with a wave of his hand. "It's just been a long time since I spent so much time sitting in front of a keyboard. My back is just reminding me that it doesn't enjoy it."

"Let's go then. You must be exhausted. Between the flight and jetlag, I'm surprised you didn't fall asleep in your chair."

"Nothing like a good IT issue to keep you awake."

"She driving you crazy?"

"To say the least."

"She's still not explaining why She is giving repeat numbers?"

"Everything seems to work just fine. She sends the numbers because something triggers them; she actually has no reason not to give them to us."

"But you agree with us that such an amount is not normal."

"Definitely." Finch turned toward the keyboard and John bent over to switch a dial.

"John!" Harold complained watching the dark screen.

"Tomorrow, Harold," John explained softly. "We're going out for dinner now. I asked someone to join us."

The "mysterious" guest was Matt Murdock. When John had reached out to him in the afternoon to let him know that Finch was in New York, Matt hadn't needed his gifts to know how glad John was. He had accepted the dinner invitation immediately. Now that he "knew", the conversation with both men was probably going to be interesting, and certainly much easier than in the past when there were huge areas of mystery covering their lives.

The evening was pleasant, and they enjoyed each other's presence. Finch had cut most ties with New York so Matt's stories proved to him that nothing had changed in the city. He was glad Team Machine wasn't the only one protecting the citizens.

Matt listened with undisguised curiosity how Finch had gone back to Grace. That the painter could accept him back in her life after years of lies gave Matt hope for his relationship with Karen.

They were enjoying a last drink, when Finch turned to John.

"I realize I never asked how Ironman happened to be close to you. It sounds like a huge stroke of luck."

"Nothing to do with luck," Matt answered with a small laugh.

"Your Machine contacted Tony Stark's one and..."

"Jarvis?" Harold interrupted.

"John, I believe the word you're looking for is "hacked"," Matt chimed in.

John watched both men for a second a smile threatening to cross his lips. The three of them would make a hell of team if they ever happened to work together…

"Once she destroyed Samaritan, she entered Stark's computer system and directed Ironman, who was testing a new function in his armor, toward the building. Stark then complained to me about the breach in the security system… and congratulated your Machine on the feat. He was half mad and half impressed that anyone could get through his security protocol."

"We can only be glad that his system is on the good guys side. It seems his is almost as good as yours right?" Matt asked.

"Not exactly. We're not talking about the same kind of system here..."

And Finch launched on an explanation of how his AI worked much to the surprise of John who had never seem him that willing to talk about his creation.

The following morning, John got up early as usual, only to find that Finch had beat him and was deep in thought by the window.

"Jet lag bothering you Finch?" After all, it wasn't that early for Harold whose body was still on European time.

"I was wondering if Jarvis was not the reason for the repeat numbers."

"How so?"

"If someone had breached through my security walls and been able to feed information, I would definitely return the favor and check on the hacker." He said the word with distaste. Considering his machine as a hacker was not a pretty thought.

"And?" John prompted softly.

"I need a computer," Finch answered getting up, answering his own thoughts rather than John's question.

"What about breakfast?" John offered.

"I'm sure Miss Shaw has a well-furnished stock of edibles."

"Let me grab some shoes."

Finch had rushed to the computer barely taking the time to remove his coat. John shook his head and went to prepare a warm drink and find something to eat. Finch was right. Shaw had a pantry stocked with all sort of easy to eat food. Coffee and tea were easy. Some wrapped muffins would do.

Deep in his typing, Finch didn't even see John put a plate by his side, but John knew better than to interrupt him.

"Mr. Stark really lives up to his reputation," Finch announced after two hours. "Did you know?" he asked.

John was about to answer before he realized the question wasn't for him. Shaw had just arrived and tried to understand.

"What's going on?"

"I believe our Machine and Jarvis have been communicating."

"It's going to get interesting if they decide to have babies."

John dropped his head to watch her, raising an eyebrow. Shaw wasn't usually this cheery.

Then he frowned, suddenly understanding the probable reason for this unusual display, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that Finch wasn't staying with them.

"Finch?" John prompted approaching the genius.

"I have found the answer to your problem," Finch explained straightening. He picked up the mug by his keyboard and made a face when the found out the tea had long gone cold.

"I never doubted you Harold."

"When you told me that Jarvis was behind your perfectly timed rescue, I suspected he might be the root of the problem. It was quite natural that he tried to find out who had been able to hack him. Our system being what it is, Jarvis couldn't manage to find answers. He turned then to what seemed the common denominator of our action: the numbers. Which actually triggered our system to a potential threat against individuals."

"There wasn't anything wrong with the Machine. She detected unusual activity around the numbers and therefore communicated them to us," Shaw concluded.

"Exactly."

"Do you have a way to stop it? John enquired.

"Already taken care of."

"You contacted Stark?"

"No, I asked the Machine to contact Jarvis. They can use their own language and reach an agreement much faster."

"Told you, babies," Shaw repeated to John. Then took the mug and went toward their mini-kitchen corner to prepare a new tea for Finch.

Harold turned a questioning face to John.

"She's glad you're back," John explained.

"I'm not back, John."

"I know," John clarified.

"I'm going to miss when she spied on me… " Explaining to Shaw that he was going back to Italy was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

"I used to spy on you too, Harold."

"Root kidnaped me the first time we met."

"Shaw shot me."

"Lionel tried to kill you too…" Finch added with a smile, amused by the turn the conversation had taken.

"I've been shot at a lot," John dismissed with a shrug. The way their relationships had evolved could fill up quite a few books. He wasn't sure he wanted to dig too deeply.

"Will you be staying for a few days or do you want me to drive you to the airport?" He asked more seriously.

"Since I'm here, I'll take care of a few loose ends before I leave." He watched Shaw coming back to them with a cup. "And I believe it's the first time Ms Shaw has prepared tea for me. I might as well indulge myself."

John and Matt were on a rooftop. Neither would be able to say why or when it had started exactly, but it had become a habit to meet up high.

"So Finch is on his way back to Italy?" Matt asked.

It wasn't really a question; he knew John had dropped his friend at the airport earlier in the day. He also knew, that against all odds, John had probably held a little sliver of hope that Finch would change his mind.

"He found the true meaning of life for him. He's not going to let it escape again."

Grace, thought Matt. He had felt how Finch brightened when talking about her at dinner. Love was the answer. It was what his religion said. But finding it was another story. He had no idea how his relationship with Karen was going to evolve. As for John…

"Didn't find yours yet, John?" he asked. After all he seemed quite fond of Zoe.

John gave a small grunt. He knew exactly what Matt was talking about. And as for where that story was headed? He liked Zoe. A lot. He wasn't sure there was a future for them though. And he certainly didn't want to discuss it.

"Ah," sighed Matt. "We're back to our beginnings," he said as if relieved by going back to the times when conversations were full of secrecy.

"Talking about new beginnings…" John put an envelope in Matt's hand.

Matt opened it and frowned. John wasn't the kind of people to make a bad joke and slip him an envelope full of papers. Anyway bills had a special smell.

"Something Finch said, made me realize you are part of the team now."

"John, I'm not doing this for the money," Matt answered, giving him back the envelope.

"Neither am I." John pushed Matt's hand back. "But money comes handy for medical expenses, ruined clothes... And you can always give what you don't need to those who do need it." John shrugged a bit. "I do."

Matt considered in silence. The idea of getting paid to ensure some vigilante justice didn't sit well with him, but if it could help those in need maybe he could find an agreement with his conscience.

He nodded his thanks and slipped the envelope in a pocket. He turned his head suddenly.

"Duty calls," John guessed. "Go, I know how to reach you."

Matt waved a hand and ran from the roof toward the street where he had heard a scream.

John remained on the roof watching the city. The wind caught his jacket flapping it against his back.

He had often used rooftops to spy on people. But actually watching from above was different. A bit apart from it, but on the right place to intervene. He had to give it to Matt, he had found the perfect location. As for him, their new HQ wasn't bad. He'd always miss the library, but the bank was an old building, it had history and had a nice feel to it despite his first experience.

New beginnings indeed. Certainly not what he had expected his life would turn out to be. The lights of a plane crossed the sky.

"Thank you Finch," he whispered and turned to go back down to the street.

The end

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