Fic: An Unconventional Partnership, Ch.4. POI/WC Crossover
Cross-posted at AO3 and FFN.
An Unconventional Partnership
Person of Interest/White Collar Crossover. Can be read as POI standalone casefic though.
Pairings: Reese/Finch, Peter/Neal.
Summary: Neal's number come up.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3
Chapter Summary: In which Finch cooks Reese breakfast, Peter couldn't focus on work, and Neal receives junk mail. I may have to come back to this chapter to edit plot details but this is where it's headed.
Finch woke with a start. For a few moments he simply laid in his bed, frozen, listening for abnormal sounds and movement, but there were none. Then he realised there was a dip on the other side of the bed, and someone was sleeping with him.
It took Finch three seconds to remember that he had offered Reese to come over to stakeout on the house opposite the street, and another three for him to realise that Reese actually did take up on his offer and climbed into his bed.
Slowly and very deliberately, Finch turned around in his bed, expecting to see the other man still asleep, while quickly formulating a plan to get off the bed without waking him. Instead, he found a pair of blue-grey eyes staring back at him.
"Mr. Reese!"
He nearly jumped up, and various parts of his body ached in protest. In a feeble attempt to recollect himself, Finch licked his lips.
"I thought you were asleep."
Reese stared at him for another moment, then, like a languid cat, stretched. "Good morning, Finch," he smiled lazily.
Finch looked vaguely annoyed. "Don't you have some tailing to do?"
"It's customary to offer your house guest breakfast upon waking first, Finch," Reese replied sarcastically.
Finch pointedly ignored him. "Anything happen to our friends last night?"
"Nothing happened to them or among them," said Reese.
"Eggs benedict alright, Mr. Reese?"
Reese looked up from doing his buttons, a touch warily. "Beg pardon?"
Finch half-turned on his way to the kitchen. "Eggs benedict. For breakfast." Seeing the other man's expression, he added a touch mockingly, "For my reputation as a gentleman."
"How thoughtful of you, Harold." Reese tilted his head sideways, just a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Eggs benedict sounds just fine."
Finch walked over to the table, picked up the earpiece and fitted it into his ear again. He listened intently for a few minutes. "It seems our friends are having breakfast also." Another few seconds and Finch frowned. "Who's Satchmo?"
"Their dog," Reese replied, "I saw a family picture last night. Wife took the dog on a family visit, I gather."
"Ah." Finch moved around in the kitchen, finding plates, pots, pans, and turned the kettle on. "Are you going to check up on our new friend over at Detective Carter's?"
"I trust Carter can take care of Bear for a couple of days," Reese said, with a touch of amusement in his voice. "I think she may even have squealed when I asked her to look after Bear while we are out."
"Mmm." Finch made a noncommittal noise, getting ready to poach the eggs. "I can't decide whether I should miss our new friend, or be relieved that my rare books collection have survived another day."
Reese flashed him a grin as he serviced his guns lazily. "Smells good, Finch."
Finch flipped the contents of the grill onto the plate and pushed it towards him, expression deadpan. "Don't get used to it, Mr. Reese."
*
"This arrived for me in Peter's house this morning, Mozzie, in Peter's house!"
It was noon when Neal finally had a chance to meet with his friend from his shadier past, Mozzie, a short man with funny glasses, currently in a city worker's outfit. As soon as they met, Neal stuffed an envelope into Mozzie's hands, almost fuming.
"I told Peter the message the other night was a taunt. It wasn't. THIS is a taunt."
Mozzie gave him an apprehensive look, before opening the letter and reading it. "Dear Mr. Caffery: You are expected on your payment of auction number 30069719x. The deadline for payment is Thursday next week, number and address to follow. Overdue payments will be transferred onto your chosen guarantor, Mr. Peter Burke, business associate. Attached... an early painting by Francis Bacon." He looked up. "Apart from the bit about the multi-million dollar painting, this reads like scam junk mail."
"Except junk mail isn't delivered to someone else's door in your name," said Neal. "If they think they can hold Peter hostage to be used against me, of all people - "
"Well, they could, seeing how the Suit will likely oppose to our plans," said Mozzie sharply. "Speaking of which, what exactly are our plans?"
Neal pondered for a few minutes, turning the letter over and over. "I thought they'd at least want to meet before hand. But this? It seems they just want me to steal the painting, and wait around for their instructions."
"Being kept in the dark is never a good start to any partnership," said Mozzie, ominous.
Neal sighed. "Peter wants to keep me close for the next few days, so it's going to be extra difficult for us to conceive a plan. I will double back and make sure I have the afternoon off, and get myself on some fieldwork assignments after that, but... in the mean time, can you hack the Museum's database and check their staff rotations, security cameras, the usual? I'd like to know what we are dealing with."
*
Reese had a smirk on his face as he took a sip of his coffee and shook out his paper. "Do I sense a challenge, Finch?"
"From whom, our new friend?" Finch was tapping away in his ear, a constant, familiar, and by now welcome noise. "I'm not feeling particularly challenged, Mr. Reese. Even you can hack into the museum's database, I should think."
Reese's lips twitched. "I'm going to take that as an insult just to be safe, Finch."
He could practically hear the other man smile. "Pair his phone, Mr. Reese. I am intrigued to see what our new friend can get up to."
*
"Where are we going to do research, if we can't meet in the penthouse?" Neal asked. "The park or the cafe?"
"Oh goodness no," The shorter man replied. "The park is a good place to have secret conversation. It's not a good place to do secretive research."
"Oh? I thought you could encrypt your wifi connection pretty easily."
"I can. But there are countless cameras in the public." Mozzie waved his fingers around in a circle, pointedly ignoring the exasperated 'here-we-go-again' look on Neal's face. "The government probably has a secret system, a machine that watches you every hour of every day. You may think it's a conspiracy theory!" He said defiantly, squaring his chest. "But the day will come when I am right."
*
"I have to give this Mozzie character some credit, Finch." Reese took a few shots of the scenery before surreptitiously turning the camera onto the two men. "For a conspiracy theorist, he is incredibly accurate."
He heard Finch tap twice on the keyboard, and snort softly. "A simple google search will tell you that over a million people are talking about the concept of the Machine, Mr. Reese. No more than ten people know it actually exists."
"Do you think he could hack into the museum security feeds, Finch?"
"I don't know. Why don't you come back to the library and have a try, and then we may have our answer."
Reese almost laughed. "The Agency did give me extensive IT training, you know."
"And I have no doubt that in order to be considered an asset to someone as impressive as Mr. Caffery, his skills cannot be below par an ex-CIA agent."
"So it's OK for you to pull a comparison between me and him, but not between him and yourself?"
Finch's was beginning to sound vaguely annoyed. "It's hardly objective if I consider myself a variable, Mr. Reese."
"True." Reese raised his camera again, his expression softening for the fraction of a second. "You are one of a kind, Finch."
Back in the library, Finch paused from his constant tapping. The man looked bewildered for a brief moment, and despite himself, lifted the corners of his lips into a tiny smile.
*
Peter sat at his desk, eyes unfocused over the pile of documents in front of him, scratching his chin absently. Neal was out on a lunch break, probably meeting Mozzie as he declined on Peter's offer to have lunch together, but Peter let the man go anyway, because Peter did not want to coddle him. He checked Neal's anklet data (a park outside the FBI building, no doubt hiding in plain sight) just to be safe, then closed the laptop with a sigh.
He wanted to do work, (and he did have a lot of work on his hands), but all his brain really wanted to do was to process information of last night, and this morning. Last night was strange, but this morning stranger. He made Neal breakfast, and Neal offered to pick up the mail, but out of the corner of his eye he was sure he saw Neal stuff an envelope hastily into Neal's own pockets, before handing the rest to him. Why was Neal stealing his mail?
Peter tried to analyse the matter further, but his brain kept jumping back to specific moments of the morning, like how he woke up to the younger man's bright smiles, how they sat down and bantered over breakfast like a couple, how Neal made a joke about his morning hair, and how he was tempted to wipe a bit of food off the younger man's lips with his thumb.
And last night... well, last night he bid Neal good night, and he just laid here, listening to other man breathe, long and slow and even, until he was sure that Neal had been asleep. Then Neal rolled over, and nudged a foot over Peter's, making body contact that was not quite intimate, but not quite casual either. His heart had skipped a beat...
A knock on the door interrupted Peter's reverie. He snapped back into the present, quickly rearranging the papers on his desk (though he didn't know why), and cleared his throat.
"Yes?"
Jones' head poked in. "I found something on that Man in a Suit you were describing this morning, boss."
Peter arched a brow. "Really? I didn't think such a vague description would return any results."
"Actually, you will be surprised by how many people were asking questions by that same vague description," Jones handed him some files, which Peter opened and saw nothing but 'redacted'. "I hear the go-to person to talk to on this is one Detective Joss Carter, in the NYPD."
"NYPD..." Peter mulled over the files, contemplative. Redacted files strongly suggested a military background, as he had guessed, maybe even service in the Intelligence Agency. Add NYPD to that mix, he could be looking at a very difficult fight over jurisdiction, which was the last thing he needed.
"This mystery guy." Peter said finally, "Is he generally wanted for information, or as a suspect?"
Jones shrugged his shoulder. "There are lot of different versions for his story. Maybe you er, want to talk to Detective Carter about this. I didn't have much luck, as she said, quote unquote, 'Guy in a Suit won't be interested in White Collar crimes'." He pressed his lips into a disapproving line, which made Peter laugh.
"Alright, I'll try to show her how important white collar crimes can be sometimes. Thanks Jones."
Watching his agent leave the room, Peter drummed his fingers on the desk, hesitated for a moment, then picked up his phone.
*
"I think he made me," Reese told Finch in a hurried voice. "Caffery's associates are living up to Caffery's name. I've only been following him for fifteen minutes, at best."
"Don't worry, Mr. Reese," Finch replied, sounding like he was focusing on something intently, "Mr. Mozzie - "
"I really don't think a name like Mozzie ought to have a Mr. in front of it," said Reese, quickly crossing a street and never taking the eyes off the shorter man.
"Point taken. Mozzie doesn't know we were able to pair this phone, and I can see him texting. To warn Mr. Caffery, no doubt. Let's hope he reveals a location."
Reese's phone beeped three seconds later.
"May have tail. Going in Friday's." Reese read out loud, though he knew Finch would no doubt see it on his monitor too. "Why, Finch? Who realises they are being followed and goes into a restaurant to grab some steak?"
"Our friend could be hungry. Or it could be a code."
The phone beeped again, and this time Reese saw an incoming text for a 'Mr. Havisham'.
"Friday is far. No other days available?" Reese made a brief frown. "It's Thursday today. I'm guessing they aren't referring to actual dates." He looked up to see the shorter man cross the street again, swerve a U-turn, and trotting down the direction where he came from. "Hmmm. I admit, I'll be surprised if our conspiracy theorist doesn't have a few safe houses of his own."
The line was silent for a few minutes.
"Mr. Havisham..." Finch said finally in Reese's ear, his voice uncertain, and Reese could almost see the man furrowing his brows in intense concentration. "Havisham..." There were some rapid tapping on the keyboard, some paper being ruffled, and then, just as a new outgoing text with an address titled 'Tuesday' came to Reese's phone, Finch let out a noise of surprise.
"I thought the name sounded familiar, Mr. Reese." Finch sounded extremely bemused, "Mr. Havisham is one of my tenants."
TBC
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has left comments, love you all! <3 In a fumble towards a plot, some bugs may appear, but it will make sense in the end, I think. Many thanks for your support, it means a lot! :D
An Unconventional Partnership
Person of Interest/White Collar Crossover. Can be read as POI standalone casefic though.
Pairings: Reese/Finch, Peter/Neal.
Summary: Neal's number come up.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3
Chapter Summary: In which Finch cooks Reese breakfast, Peter couldn't focus on work, and Neal receives junk mail. I may have to come back to this chapter to edit plot details but this is where it's headed.
Finch woke with a start. For a few moments he simply laid in his bed, frozen, listening for abnormal sounds and movement, but there were none. Then he realised there was a dip on the other side of the bed, and someone was sleeping with him.
It took Finch three seconds to remember that he had offered Reese to come over to stakeout on the house opposite the street, and another three for him to realise that Reese actually did take up on his offer and climbed into his bed.
Slowly and very deliberately, Finch turned around in his bed, expecting to see the other man still asleep, while quickly formulating a plan to get off the bed without waking him. Instead, he found a pair of blue-grey eyes staring back at him.
"Mr. Reese!"
He nearly jumped up, and various parts of his body ached in protest. In a feeble attempt to recollect himself, Finch licked his lips.
"I thought you were asleep."
Reese stared at him for another moment, then, like a languid cat, stretched. "Good morning, Finch," he smiled lazily.
Finch looked vaguely annoyed. "Don't you have some tailing to do?"
"It's customary to offer your house guest breakfast upon waking first, Finch," Reese replied sarcastically.
Finch pointedly ignored him. "Anything happen to our friends last night?"
"Nothing happened to them or among them," said Reese.
"Eggs benedict alright, Mr. Reese?"
Reese looked up from doing his buttons, a touch warily. "Beg pardon?"
Finch half-turned on his way to the kitchen. "Eggs benedict. For breakfast." Seeing the other man's expression, he added a touch mockingly, "For my reputation as a gentleman."
"How thoughtful of you, Harold." Reese tilted his head sideways, just a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Eggs benedict sounds just fine."
Finch walked over to the table, picked up the earpiece and fitted it into his ear again. He listened intently for a few minutes. "It seems our friends are having breakfast also." Another few seconds and Finch frowned. "Who's Satchmo?"
"Their dog," Reese replied, "I saw a family picture last night. Wife took the dog on a family visit, I gather."
"Ah." Finch moved around in the kitchen, finding plates, pots, pans, and turned the kettle on. "Are you going to check up on our new friend over at Detective Carter's?"
"I trust Carter can take care of Bear for a couple of days," Reese said, with a touch of amusement in his voice. "I think she may even have squealed when I asked her to look after Bear while we are out."
"Mmm." Finch made a noncommittal noise, getting ready to poach the eggs. "I can't decide whether I should miss our new friend, or be relieved that my rare books collection have survived another day."
Reese flashed him a grin as he serviced his guns lazily. "Smells good, Finch."
Finch flipped the contents of the grill onto the plate and pushed it towards him, expression deadpan. "Don't get used to it, Mr. Reese."
*
"This arrived for me in Peter's house this morning, Mozzie, in Peter's house!"
It was noon when Neal finally had a chance to meet with his friend from his shadier past, Mozzie, a short man with funny glasses, currently in a city worker's outfit. As soon as they met, Neal stuffed an envelope into Mozzie's hands, almost fuming.
"I told Peter the message the other night was a taunt. It wasn't. THIS is a taunt."
Mozzie gave him an apprehensive look, before opening the letter and reading it. "Dear Mr. Caffery: You are expected on your payment of auction number 30069719x. The deadline for payment is Thursday next week, number and address to follow. Overdue payments will be transferred onto your chosen guarantor, Mr. Peter Burke, business associate. Attached... an early painting by Francis Bacon." He looked up. "Apart from the bit about the multi-million dollar painting, this reads like scam junk mail."
"Except junk mail isn't delivered to someone else's door in your name," said Neal. "If they think they can hold Peter hostage to be used against me, of all people - "
"Well, they could, seeing how the Suit will likely oppose to our plans," said Mozzie sharply. "Speaking of which, what exactly are our plans?"
Neal pondered for a few minutes, turning the letter over and over. "I thought they'd at least want to meet before hand. But this? It seems they just want me to steal the painting, and wait around for their instructions."
"Being kept in the dark is never a good start to any partnership," said Mozzie, ominous.
Neal sighed. "Peter wants to keep me close for the next few days, so it's going to be extra difficult for us to conceive a plan. I will double back and make sure I have the afternoon off, and get myself on some fieldwork assignments after that, but... in the mean time, can you hack the Museum's database and check their staff rotations, security cameras, the usual? I'd like to know what we are dealing with."
*
Reese had a smirk on his face as he took a sip of his coffee and shook out his paper. "Do I sense a challenge, Finch?"
"From whom, our new friend?" Finch was tapping away in his ear, a constant, familiar, and by now welcome noise. "I'm not feeling particularly challenged, Mr. Reese. Even you can hack into the museum's database, I should think."
Reese's lips twitched. "I'm going to take that as an insult just to be safe, Finch."
He could practically hear the other man smile. "Pair his phone, Mr. Reese. I am intrigued to see what our new friend can get up to."
*
"Where are we going to do research, if we can't meet in the penthouse?" Neal asked. "The park or the cafe?"
"Oh goodness no," The shorter man replied. "The park is a good place to have secret conversation. It's not a good place to do secretive research."
"Oh? I thought you could encrypt your wifi connection pretty easily."
"I can. But there are countless cameras in the public." Mozzie waved his fingers around in a circle, pointedly ignoring the exasperated 'here-we-go-again' look on Neal's face. "The government probably has a secret system, a machine that watches you every hour of every day. You may think it's a conspiracy theory!" He said defiantly, squaring his chest. "But the day will come when I am right."
*
"I have to give this Mozzie character some credit, Finch." Reese took a few shots of the scenery before surreptitiously turning the camera onto the two men. "For a conspiracy theorist, he is incredibly accurate."
He heard Finch tap twice on the keyboard, and snort softly. "A simple google search will tell you that over a million people are talking about the concept of the Machine, Mr. Reese. No more than ten people know it actually exists."
"Do you think he could hack into the museum security feeds, Finch?"
"I don't know. Why don't you come back to the library and have a try, and then we may have our answer."
Reese almost laughed. "The Agency did give me extensive IT training, you know."
"And I have no doubt that in order to be considered an asset to someone as impressive as Mr. Caffery, his skills cannot be below par an ex-CIA agent."
"So it's OK for you to pull a comparison between me and him, but not between him and yourself?"
Finch's was beginning to sound vaguely annoyed. "It's hardly objective if I consider myself a variable, Mr. Reese."
"True." Reese raised his camera again, his expression softening for the fraction of a second. "You are one of a kind, Finch."
Back in the library, Finch paused from his constant tapping. The man looked bewildered for a brief moment, and despite himself, lifted the corners of his lips into a tiny smile.
*
Peter sat at his desk, eyes unfocused over the pile of documents in front of him, scratching his chin absently. Neal was out on a lunch break, probably meeting Mozzie as he declined on Peter's offer to have lunch together, but Peter let the man go anyway, because Peter did not want to coddle him. He checked Neal's anklet data (a park outside the FBI building, no doubt hiding in plain sight) just to be safe, then closed the laptop with a sigh.
He wanted to do work, (and he did have a lot of work on his hands), but all his brain really wanted to do was to process information of last night, and this morning. Last night was strange, but this morning stranger. He made Neal breakfast, and Neal offered to pick up the mail, but out of the corner of his eye he was sure he saw Neal stuff an envelope hastily into Neal's own pockets, before handing the rest to him. Why was Neal stealing his mail?
Peter tried to analyse the matter further, but his brain kept jumping back to specific moments of the morning, like how he woke up to the younger man's bright smiles, how they sat down and bantered over breakfast like a couple, how Neal made a joke about his morning hair, and how he was tempted to wipe a bit of food off the younger man's lips with his thumb.
And last night... well, last night he bid Neal good night, and he just laid here, listening to other man breathe, long and slow and even, until he was sure that Neal had been asleep. Then Neal rolled over, and nudged a foot over Peter's, making body contact that was not quite intimate, but not quite casual either. His heart had skipped a beat...
A knock on the door interrupted Peter's reverie. He snapped back into the present, quickly rearranging the papers on his desk (though he didn't know why), and cleared his throat.
"Yes?"
Jones' head poked in. "I found something on that Man in a Suit you were describing this morning, boss."
Peter arched a brow. "Really? I didn't think such a vague description would return any results."
"Actually, you will be surprised by how many people were asking questions by that same vague description," Jones handed him some files, which Peter opened and saw nothing but 'redacted'. "I hear the go-to person to talk to on this is one Detective Joss Carter, in the NYPD."
"NYPD..." Peter mulled over the files, contemplative. Redacted files strongly suggested a military background, as he had guessed, maybe even service in the Intelligence Agency. Add NYPD to that mix, he could be looking at a very difficult fight over jurisdiction, which was the last thing he needed.
"This mystery guy." Peter said finally, "Is he generally wanted for information, or as a suspect?"
Jones shrugged his shoulder. "There are lot of different versions for his story. Maybe you er, want to talk to Detective Carter about this. I didn't have much luck, as she said, quote unquote, 'Guy in a Suit won't be interested in White Collar crimes'." He pressed his lips into a disapproving line, which made Peter laugh.
"Alright, I'll try to show her how important white collar crimes can be sometimes. Thanks Jones."
Watching his agent leave the room, Peter drummed his fingers on the desk, hesitated for a moment, then picked up his phone.
*
"I think he made me," Reese told Finch in a hurried voice. "Caffery's associates are living up to Caffery's name. I've only been following him for fifteen minutes, at best."
"Don't worry, Mr. Reese," Finch replied, sounding like he was focusing on something intently, "Mr. Mozzie - "
"I really don't think a name like Mozzie ought to have a Mr. in front of it," said Reese, quickly crossing a street and never taking the eyes off the shorter man.
"Point taken. Mozzie doesn't know we were able to pair this phone, and I can see him texting. To warn Mr. Caffery, no doubt. Let's hope he reveals a location."
Reese's phone beeped three seconds later.
"May have tail. Going in Friday's." Reese read out loud, though he knew Finch would no doubt see it on his monitor too. "Why, Finch? Who realises they are being followed and goes into a restaurant to grab some steak?"
"Our friend could be hungry. Or it could be a code."
The phone beeped again, and this time Reese saw an incoming text for a 'Mr. Havisham'.
"Friday is far. No other days available?" Reese made a brief frown. "It's Thursday today. I'm guessing they aren't referring to actual dates." He looked up to see the shorter man cross the street again, swerve a U-turn, and trotting down the direction where he came from. "Hmmm. I admit, I'll be surprised if our conspiracy theorist doesn't have a few safe houses of his own."
The line was silent for a few minutes.
"Mr. Havisham..." Finch said finally in Reese's ear, his voice uncertain, and Reese could almost see the man furrowing his brows in intense concentration. "Havisham..." There were some rapid tapping on the keyboard, some paper being ruffled, and then, just as a new outgoing text with an address titled 'Tuesday' came to Reese's phone, Finch let out a noise of surprise.
"I thought the name sounded familiar, Mr. Reese." Finch sounded extremely bemused, "Mr. Havisham is one of my tenants."
TBC
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has left comments, love you all! <3 In a fumble towards a plot, some bugs may appear, but it will make sense in the end, I think. Many thanks for your support, it means a lot! :D