Work Text:
Finch returns to their safehouse nest, their tiny bubble of four (five, if you count Bear), pale, fretful and needy. "Mr. Reese, my legs are so tired. Could you please help me to my bedroom?" he asks, holding out his hands like a child.
Fusco elbows Shaw in the gut, preventing her from lines such as "You should try it without help so your legs get some exercise" or worse, "Why not let Fusco do it?" As the pair disappears down the hall, they roll their eyes. "Who do they think they're fooling?"
A blow by blow rehash of Finch and Reese's dirty little secrets is put on hold when sobs emerge from the bedroom.
Reese is still wearing sweatpants, only they're on backwards now, stroking Finch's back as he moans, "I can't smell you, John. I can't even taste you!"