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Baby, You Can Drive My Car

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Finch likes luxury: shiny laptops, John's suit, the Bentley John's driving.

Finch would rather be behind the wheel: whenever John dances on the clutch and spins the car, Finch grimaces and holds the laptop steady. He can't drive and interfere with traffic signals, so John's got the car and all the silk-smooth acceleration.

Finch isn't precious; he thrusts his computer in front of John's face. The windshield shatters, the laptop takes three bullets and Finch throws it on the back seat.

"I'm afraid it's just us and our wits, Mr Reese."

Finch takes to teamwork like a duck to water.