“How’s it going?”

“Good.  Why the call?”

“Just want to check on…checking in.”  The voice said hesitantly.

“Thanks, Fusco.  It’s quiet here.  You enjoy the day with your son.”

“Yeah.  Well…tomorrow.”

“Another day…same place.”

The watcher placed his empty mug on the computer table, among the other items.   He picked up a pen and scribbled for several moments in the journal partly covered by a keyboard.  When he was finished Harold Finch glanced back at the monitor studying the figure moving about on its screen.   Detective Joss Carter sat at her desk in the 8th Precinct half a city away from him and as close as phone call.   Detective Fusco’s call was the third one she had received that morning, the first and second calls from her son Taylor and her precinct captain.   Finch watched her pulled a cell phone from her jacket pocket flip it open, stare at it for several seconds, flip it close with a snap and shove it back into her pocket.   

Follow the little voice, detective.  Call him.  He’ll appreciate it more than you think.  He watched the second hand of his watch, waiting for her phone to ring.  At the first tone he noted the time that had elapsed and made a mental note not to gloat as watched her pull the phone from her jacket pocket, glanced around the room then flip it open.  He knew that both would be distressed to know how predicable they were becoming.

“Carter.”

“Reese.”

Finch’s lips twitched in amusement at the pause, betting himself on which would break first.

“What law do you want me to circumvent now?”  The detective said softly with a hint of annoyed acceptance.

“How’s Taylor?”

“Sorry for carping.”

“You’re due.”

“He’s…coping.  Curious about you and the man with glasses.”

“The man with glasses.”  Reese repeated with an amused grunt.  “I’ll let him know Taylor inquired about him.”

“You do that.  So, who are you and your silent partner trying to save today?”

“No kicking down doors and rescuing today.”

“Really.  So Mr. Reese what do you do when you’re not saving humanity?”

Finch moved closer to the screen noting the look of interest transforming the detective’s features.  Interesting. 

“Having a conversation.”  

He watched the detective move the phone away from her ear and stare at it.

“Stares and grunts do not make a conversation.”  Carter responded.

“You want actual sentences?”

Finch could not see Reese’s face but he heard the smile in his voice.

“I’ll work on it.  Take care, Carter.”

“You too.”

The soft smile on her lips and the fingers playing with her earring told Finch that on some important levels Detective Carter and Mr. Reese had found common ground but exactly how much he’d not known until now. 

For the remainder of her shift he continued to watch the detective through the mini cam built into the bobbing police doll on Fusco’s desk.  He occasionally made notes in the journal, writing down the hard questions.  The ones he would need answers to if he was to protect his warriors.  He knew that Reese felt his doubt about Carter unnecessary after their last few encounters but he still had a knowledge vacuum that he needed to fill.  He remembered a college instructor had once posed to the class he was in that it was not knowledge in itself that was powerful but that power was gained by truly understanding ones opponent, ally or friend.  That knowledge allowed a person to control his and others circumstances.  Finch knew he hadn’t truly understood the detective, and because of that Reese had been seriously injured.  Today he had begun to rectify that error.

He had come to think of their group as a clan and the new addition had many of the same characteristics as the oldest member.  She, like Reese has learned to control her aggressive nature.  Molding it into the shield needed to survive in violent and constantly changing environments.  The difference between them was that Detective Carter had added additional thickness that enabled her to become a successful mother and woman in a male dominated world.    And even though Reese was impressed with her moral strength and the evidence that her need for justice matched their own, he knew she would let them distort her viewpoint of right and wrong only so much before kicking them to the curb again, maybe permanently this time.

Finch walked carefully down the hallway glancing at the collection of books on one side of him and the stained windows on the other.  He stopped just inside his one of many eyes-on-the-numbers headquarters thinking maybe he should turn on some light as the room was beginning to darken at the loss of sunlight.  He decided instead to check-in on the detective again before she left the precinct for home.    For some reason he was intrigue in what she would say if he called her too.  He watched her as she answered the cell phone.

“Reese?”

“No, Detective Carter.”

“Mr. Burdett?”

He hesitated wondering about the consequences of giving her an identifier that would put her on the same footing as Reese.  It’s about knowing, he repeated the words he had written earlier in the journal.

“Finch…Harold Finch, detective.”

He watched her waiting.  Their previous interactions had taught him that she was curious, that secrets annoyed her. So would she call her fellow officers to check it out?  Would she give it to the new FBI taskforce?  Add it to the file on “the man in the suit.” What are you going to do with a name, detective?

“Are you in trouble?  Has something happened to John?”

“No, detective.”

“Is this a test?”

“Test?”

“Yes,” she hissed.  “Do you want to know if I’ll make the same mistake, twice?”

“No, detective.  I…think we all know each other enough to tear down some of the wall.”

He watched her stare into the distance, her expressions one of disbelieve then a hint of a smile formed on her lips.

“Harold Finch, huh.”

“Yes, detective.”

“John calls you Harold with a straight face?”

“At times, detective.”

“Huh, huh.” 

Finch watched Carter actually smile.  Then her expression sobered.

“Will I ever know who you two, truly are?”

Finch stared back at the detective whose glance was now directed at the doll and for a moment all he could see was his own face blended onto hers.  

“Mr. Finch?”

“We’ll be there when you need us, detective,” was Finch’s goodbye.  It was what he needed her to know.  What he needed them both to believe.