Disclaimer: Not mine, just whiling away the time until September.

Zeitgeber

Ki no Yoshimochi, Wakan Roeishu 1:

They follow the breeze and secretly bud,
not waiting for the time of fragrant flowers;
welcoming spring, they suddenly transform,
hoping for the grace of rain and dew.

It was a fresh Thursday morning, shortly after seven. With a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of green tea in the other, Reese slipped into the library.

"Harold?" he called.

When he didn't find his employer at his usual spot, Reese picked a book from a nearby shelf and took Finch's seat at the computers. He read and drank his coffee and waited.

Almost half an hour had passed before his phone beeped. He answered it.

"You seem restless today, Mr. Reese," Finch observed.

"I thought I'd avoided your alarm systems," Reese replied.

"All of the ones that you know about. I thought I'd informed you there are no new numbers today."

"Do I need a reason to stop by?"

"No, but you always have one. You get nervous when things are quiet. I understand that. Try to enjoy your day off, Mr. Reese."

"What are you up to?"

"I'm out of town on business."

"I thought you tried to avoid business meetings."

"When I can. This one couldn't be delegated."

"Where are you?"

"Canada."

"What name are you going by?"

"Mr. Reese, a man as wanted by the C.I.A. as you are should not be considering a clandestine trip across international borders, even Canada's."

"I was just curious," Reese assured him teasingly. "What happens if a number comes up while you're gone?"

"I would get an alert about it and return to New York within hours, gather what details I could, and contact you. Do you imagine I sit at my desk all day waiting for a number to come up?"

"To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised."

Finch sounded amused. "Make sure not to spill on my computer. I'll be returning to the city tomorrow."

Finch closed his cell phone and walked unsteadily across the deck of the yacht. A steady breeze blew in across Lake Ontario. The boat swayed with the waves.

"Who was that?" Jolyon Blaser inquired.

"My assistant."

"Sound like someone who doesn't know a day off when he gets one." Jolyon took a sip of his blanc de blancs. "It can be challenging working with that kind of person. They're useful, but you always have to keep an eye on them."

"I'll keep that in mind. Where were we?"

"You were saying why you don't think I should be worried about Sabine Haddad."

"Yes. There's nothing she gets up to that would create any kind of scandal in this day and age. And her parents do have a general idea of what she does for fun. They don't approve, but it's not the sort of thing that would cause any kind of family disruption. Your employee is in no danger of being blackmailed over his sister's behavior. As for Mr. Price, his record is as unblemished as they come. His juvenile record is nothing serious, some shoplifting and an incident with reckless driving in a borrowed car, all of which he now looks back on with embarrassment. You have no need to worry yourself in that quarter. I do have some concerns about Ms. Norfolk."

"I didn't ask you to look into Miss Norfolk," Blaser pointed out.

"Consider it a bonus. You must be careful when dealing with this sort of person."

"You're one to talk, considering the policy you've asked me for."

"I am careful. Besides, there's a difference between someone who killed people because he was told they were enemies of his country and someone who killed people for money, no matter how reprehensible those people were."

"There's no proof she killed anyone. A jury of her peers found her not guilty."

"You and I are not naïve, Mr. Blaser. I trust your judgment, but you should keep in mind the character of the people you hire, no matter how useful they may be."

"Are you speaking from experience now, Mr. Peacock?"

Finch didn't answer, instead moving on to the next on the list of the employees Mr. Blaser had asked him to look into.

Reese didn't know where to go after leaving the library. He didn't want to return home. Finch was right, he was nervous. And restless. He considered going to a movie or museum, but he didn't feel the inclination.

With nothing better to do, he spent a few hours volunteering at a soup kitchen. He saw some people he used to know, but none of them recognized him.

During his time with Special Forces and the C.I.A., he'd learned the importance of understanding his own feelings and reactions. If you don't know why you respond emotionally the way you do, you won't know how you'll act when faced with an unexpected situation. That could easily get deadly. That was why Reese was trying to figure out why he was bothered by Finch's call. Of course he knew Finch didn't just sit at the library waiting for a number to come up. Finch was a busy man; he had businesses to run, he had other names, other lives, other friends. A whole other world, one that Reese couldn't be a part of.

Was he jealous of his boss? No. It didn't feel like jealousy. There was a time when he might have envied the wealthy, but that was a very long time ago.

After the soup kitchen, he tracked down his friend Joan, bringing her a coffee and deli sandwich.

"You seem distracted," she noted after a few minutes of eating in silence.

"Do I? I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I know you're usually quiet. I'm used to that. But you seem like something's troubling you."

"I'd think you'd be used to that, too," Reese said with a gentle smile.

"But I haven't seen you like this for a while." she said between bites of her panini. "Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"

He shook his head. "There's just something I'm trying to figure out."

"What is it?"

"I found out this morning that my boss went on a business trip to Canada. He hadn't told me he would be away, and I'm not sure why."

"Why do you think he didn't tell you?"

"Maybe he's worried I would have tried to follow him. He knows me too well to trust me," he joked.

"If he doesn't trust you, I'd say he doesn't know you well enough."

Reese didn't respond, thinking about exactly how well Finch knew him.

"If your boss doesn't appreciate you, and you're feeling dissatisfied, maybe it's time to look for a new job."

"I could never leave this job."

"Oh, I'm sure you will. One day you'll get the feeling it's time to move on. It's like being in love, you just know."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

They fell silent for a few minutes while Joan left him to his thoughts.

"Your boss," she asked quietly, "he's the one you were talking about when you said you had someone new looking after you?"

"Yes," he confided. He knew Joan wouldn't gossip about him, and she wouldn't try to get more information than he was willing to give. "I know he trusts me, and I know he appreciates me. It would be nice if he'd say so more often, but I know it. He gave a sense of purpose back to my life, which is what I needed. But I think I'm starting to want there to be more in my life than just a purpose. I think what's bothering me is the idea that to my boss I'm just an asset, just someone who's useful, and he's all I have."

"That's not true," Joan assured him. "You have us. And we'll always be here for you, no matter what happens with your job."

He nodded, and his smile returned as he accepted she was right. "Thank you."

After a day on the lake, Finch went to Blaser's office in Toronto. He personally swept the room for any surveillance devices before discussing business over drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

"And in the case he is arrested, we have a short list of third-world countries where he's wanted for murder. We would see to it that one of them demands his extradition for trial. The U.S. Government would be compelled to hand him over or risk an international incident. It's not an ideal solution, but it's workable. On the top of the list are countries with no death penalty and prison security that leaves something to be desired," Blaser said.

"Thank you," said Finch. "That covers the scenarios I've thought of. I'm sure you'd be able to come up with more."

"I'll change the details and hand the file over to my top actuaries as a theoretical exercise. They get a lot of those."

"Let me stress again the absolute discretion with which I would like this policy handled."

"Don't worry. If you didn't know with absolute certainty that you could trust me with this, you never would have brought it to me. One thing, do you think Will Ingram would cause problems if he found out he was no longer your primary beneficiary?"

"Will has his father's legacy. And with his gambling, not to mention his youth and inexperience, there are certain matters of my estate I wouldn't feel comfortable entrusting to him."

"And this Mr. Reese is someone you both care for deeply and trust implicitly?" At Finch's questioning glance, Mr. Blaser explained, "You wouldn't be going through so much trouble about his policy if you didn't have personal feelings for him."

"I owe him. And if anything happens to me, I want him to be taken care of."

"You should really consider taking out a policy on him. Especially if these mysterious errands he runs for you put him at risk with any frequency."

"It would do me no good. I certainly don't need the money, and if I lost this particular assistant my special project would need to be discontinued. He is simply irreplaceable."

After talking to Joan, Reese still didn't want to go back to his flat. He decided to take a long walk to clear his head.

Finch didn't entirely trust him. That was the only explanation for why he continued to hide so much of his life from him, including his real name. It was understandable, and Reese couldn't blame him: if he lost faith in the mission and left, or was captured and tortured into revealing what he knew, Harold Finch may have to die and disappear so completely not even Reese could find him, every part of his life that Reese knew about would have to be destroyed.

From what he did know of Harold Finch, the man compartmentalized. He didn't mix his professional life and personal life. If he had a personal life.

He wasn't the kind of person who would make friends with his employees. And that's what Reese was to him: an employee, someone he paid to do a service, even if that service was saving the lives of strangers.

That's all Reese was to him.

But then there was that time when he was shot. He'd told Finch not to come for him, not to risk getting caught just to save him. Without him, Finch could find someone else to chase after the numbers. Maybe not someone as qualified as him, but someone adequate. But if anything happened to Finch, that was it. No one else could do what he did. No one else could access the Machine.

He wasn't worth it. His life was not worth Finch's. Not even close.

But Finch had ignored him, rushed to him, would have gotten caught if Detective Carter hadn't decided to let them go.

He'd meant to talk to him about that, but hadn't thought of a good way to bring it up; criticizing someone for risking their life to save yours was hard to do without sounding ungrateful.

He couldn't forget the desperation in Finch's voice and eyes when he rushed to his side. That was not just the concern of an employer for a valuable employee.

The truth was, he admired Finch. He admired and respected him more than anyone else he'd ever known. Finch had the money and brains to do whatever he wanted. After being severely injured, he could have retired in luxury, or his injuries could have driven him to bitterness, or to drown his pain in opiates, as Reese once had in alcohol. But Finch was stronger than he would ever be, and instead he had, at great personal sacrifice, devoted his life and his resources to protecting and saving other people.

Like he'd saved him. Without Finch, Reese would still be a useless wreck of a man. Or already dead. The feelings of gratitude, devotion, and loyalty he felt toward Finch were overwhelming. He would do anything for him.

He pondered that, thinking over what exactly he would do for Finch. He'd die for him, that was a given. Not just to save his life: if Finch were to send him on an obvious suicide mission, he would go without question, trusting that Finch believed it was the only option. He would kill for him; in the past he'd killed on the orders of people he'd trusted far less. He'd steal for him, lie for him. He'd have sex with someone he didn't want to if it would help save a number. He'd done things like that a few times during the course of his career in the C.I.A., having been trained as the kind of operative known as a raven in the espionage community—a man who seduced women or other men to accomplish the mission. He'd put aside his natural inclinations because he'd been asked to in what he'd thought of as serving his country. And he'd do it for Finch.

He grinned in amusement at the thought. He'd even seduce Finch if he asked him to.

To his surprise, he found that idea wasn't disagreeable. Apparently, his willingness to do anything for his employer completely overrode his own natural inclinations.

With Finch's injuries, he'd have to do most of the work, of course. Not that he'd mind. He'd start out slow and gentle, his fingertips lightly trailing over the other man's skin...

He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the thought. There was no point making plans for hypothetical situations that would never happen. Finch was far too decent a person to ask something like that from an employee. Besides, there was no reason to believe Finch had any interest in men, and he was obviously still in love with Grace.

Reese continued on his way, determined to put it from his mind.

Twenty minutes later he found himself in a bar staring into an untouched gin and tonic.

Of course he would have strong feelings for Finch. The man had saved him, given him a life and a purpose, and he was all he had. He loved him as a friend, a best friend. That was all. And he wanted Finch to feel the same way about him. That was why he'd been upset after his call, and why he wished Finch would tell him the truth about himself and his life.

That was all.

He swallowed his drink and stared out the window. He thought about Jessica. It had been over a year since she died. Since he'd failed to save her. Maybe it would have been easier if he'd been with her at the end, if he had some memory of her not being alive so that he could accept it and let her go. He didn't know how to mourn for her.

He'd dated since breaking it off with Jessica, mostly flings that barely registered emotionally. Since her death he had not been in any romantic relationship. It wasn't that he hadn't had the opportunity, or that he was determined to be faithful to the woman he'd loved in death as he hadn't been in life, he simply hadn't been interested. He hadn't even been interested in living.

But he did want to live now. He intended to live until his job killed him. Maybe he could fall in love again, when he was ready. Though he didn't know how he could tell when he was ready.

He couldn't help but wonder who had it harder, him or Finch. He'd lost Jessica, he'd left her with the idea in his head that he was protecting her from the life he'd chosen, and she was dead because of it. Finch had left Grace, letting her think he was dead, because he was legitimately putting her in danger just by being associated with her. He could, however, go back to her at any time. If he told her the truth, she might well forgive him for letting her think he was dead and accept the risks of being with him. That was a temptation Finch must deal with every day.

That thought brought a strange tightness to Reese's chest. He didn't want Finch to go back to Grace. It was a selfish and jealous thought, and Reese immediately hated himself for thinking it, but he wanted Finch to stay with him. He hated the idea of losing Finch. But realistically, what was keeping Finch from just deciding to give up on the Numbers, taking Grace and a few billion dollars and living in luxury on a private island somewhere? Or, more appropriate for Finch, some old European manor with a large library.

And then what would happen to him? Reese couldn't work with the Machine on his own. He didn't know what he would do without Finch. And he had to accept that if Finch ever did decide he was done with the Numbers, he would also be done with him.

He started walking home through the rain, hypothetical situations drifting through his head.

Finch returned to his hotel with a folder of signed and notarized documents. Creating an insurance policy for someone who was supposed to already be dead was a complicated matter, and he was fortunate to have both the money and the connections to work it out. His old friend Jolyon Blaser, the president and C.E.O. of a company that specialized in unusual insurance policies, had been entirely correct in his observation that John Reese meant far more to him than an employee.

When he first brought Mr. Reese on to help with the Numbers, he told him the project was likely to get them both killed. He was no longer completely satisfied with that arrangement. If Reese died in the line of duty, Finch would continue with the mission until it killed him too. However, if he died and Reese survived, the Machine would no longer be accessible. Finch wanted to make sure that Reese would have the resources to continue working to make the world a better place in whatever way he saw fit, or at least to retire comfortably, if he so chose. Not that that was likely.

The best case scenario in the event of his death was that Mr. Reese and the existence of the Numbers remained unknown. In that case, Reese would come into the possession of all the documents necessary to establish a new identity, an identity who would inherit a significant proportion of Finch's properties and companies. If Reese or the Machine and the Numbers were revealed, likely in the same course of events that would include Finch's demise, there were several avenues in place for Reese to disappear, including an emergency international private jet ready to whisk him to a well-provisioned remote cabin, of which Finch owned several spread out over five continents. He'd entrusted Mr. Blaser to deal with any unforeseen circumstances that might arise as he saw fit.

His concern for Reese was not merely a sense of responsibility, or even indebtedness, though both were factors. It was that he cared about him too much to leave his future to chance. It wasn't just about their professional relationship anymore.

He didn't intend Mr. Reese to find out that he was the beneficiary of his life insurance policy, but it wasn't, as Mr. Blaser supposed, because he was worried about what an assassin might do if he found out his employer's death would make him a very wealthy man. Rather it was because he didn't want him to figure out just how much he meant to him.

It was midnight, Reese somehow knew.

The more he tried not to think about his earlier realization, the more he couldn't get it out of his mind. It wasn't true that Finch was the only person in his life, or even his only option for employment. It was true that Finch was the most important person in his life, and that this job was the only thing he wanted to do.

He knew deep down that he wasn't delusional, or so desperately lonely that he would completely misinterpret his own emotional reaction. Which left him with two conclusions:

He was in love with his boss.

And Finch could never, ever find out.