Fic: An Unconventional Partnership, Ch.2, POI/WC Crossover
Many thanks to everyone who left their warm support and encouragement. Yay!
Cross-posted at AO3 (Many thanks to April for the invite <3) 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 Here
Chapter Summary: In which Finch invites Reese over for dinner, Peter babysits Neal, and the Irish mob tinkles glasses. Summary is crack, I know. Read on!
"You are right," said Peter quietly, sitting down again. "I don't like this at all."
"You find out anything?"
"No, not really." Peter fixed his gaze on a mirror opposite them, staring at the couple in their reflection. "It's a gut feeling. And like you, I don't think it's a good feeling." He pondered for a moment. "Anyone in your past that made a surface recently?"
Neal frowned. "Not that I can think of. But then again, I have made a lot of enemies without my knowledge in the past."
*
Back in the library, Finch tried frantically to pull up all the said 'enemies' in Neal's past.
"There sure are a few," said Finch, more alarmed now. "And they seem to have no problem in getting their hands dirty or wet, unlike our friend."
"How Mr. Caffery survived to this day, I'll never know," Reese muttered under his breath.
"I guess he owes it to Agent Burke," Finch said, still tapping away. "It's just that much difficult to hurt a man when he is close to an FBI agent almost everyday."
"Hang on..." Reese pulled off a piece of paper from the glass wall and studied it carefully, "It says here that our friend Caffery has an ankle monitor. Can you hack into the database?"
"I'm offended as to you need to ask," was the reply.
Analysing the data was quicker than they thought it would be. Ten minutes later, a picture began to emerge from the convoluted routes that appeared on the map.
"So, a two mile radius." Reese mused, "Can't say I envy him much."
Finch snorted. "Still want to complain about the employment benefits I give you, Mr. Reese?"
Reese grinned. "I don't think the FBI bought him a loft, either."
The tips of Finch's ear grow red, though the man's voice remained steady. "Our friend does live in a nice penthouse, however. Way beyond his pay."
"Possible source of trouble?"
"No, judging by the data Agent Burke knows about his living arrangements, and does not seem to have a problem with that."
"And we all know if the FBI has no problem with something, you must be a good law abiding citizen," Reese chimed.
"He frequents three places: the FBI building, his own penthouse, and - " Finch pulled up the third address and sounded mildly surprised, "Agent Burke's house. Hmm. Their relationship is probably closer than we thought."
"See Harold?" Reese took a sip from his coffee, "Every good employer should invite his employee around for dinner sometime. You should really follow his example."
Finch glanced at him sideways, thought not in good humour. "I suspect Mrs. Burke cooks for them. Who will cook for us?"
"Takeout is just that much tastier if I can have them in your house, Harold."
"If we are to have dinner in my house, it will not be takeout," said Finch, somewhat inconsequentially. "Tonight, however, I suggest a stakeout."
Reese raised an eyebrow. "Any idea which house Caffery would be in for the night?"
Finch looked mildly surprised. "Why should he be in Burke's house?"
"Oh I don't know, Finch," said Reese lightly, smirking. "Their relationship could be more than what we think."
*
"Come on Peter. I'm not in any imminent danger and I definitely don't need babysitting."
"Who says you need babysitting? Elizabeth is out of town again, I'm just saying I need some company. Someone to watch the games with."
Neal looked at Peter exasperatedly. "You've never, and I stress never, invited me for a boy's night in, and pardon me if I find it odd about now."
"There's a first for everything," Peter said, looking just as uncomfortable. After making sure that no one was looking, he shifted closer. "Look. I didn't want to worry you earlier, but when I went over to the couple, I saw one of them quickly shaking their sleeve down to hide something on their arm. It was a picture of a clover, with fangs. Now I did a bit of digging when I got back to the office -"
"The Irish mob?" Neal sounded startled, "They are the ones after me?"
"You know what the clover and the fang means?" Peter frowned, "you never told me."
"Well, yeah, I may or may not have, allegedly, stole a historical artefact with Irish origin a couple of years back. I may also have had a hypothetical run in with their leader."
Peter glanced up to the ceiling and let out another puff of sigh. "Oh Neal. You and your youthful years."
Neal made a half-hearted attempt at an apologetic smile. "At least I'm warming up to the idea of a boy's night in now."
"Good." Peter eyed him. "You get the beer."
"No, Peter," Neal said in a slow, patient, but slightly patronising voice, "I will get the wine, and some noir films."
"What? Hey, I'm the one who invited you over..."
*
Finch removed his gaze from the monitor, looking up at Reese. "Any idea what this Irish mob is?"
"A few," Reese said grimly. "Depending on what artefact he took, our friend may be in some serious trouble indeed."
"I wonder if he's going to spend the night in Burke's house..." Finch mumbled quietly, as if pondering an previously unheard of idea.
"Sometimes," Reese said in a deliberately patronising voice, "Friends spend the night in friend's house."
"My my, Mr. Reese." Finch seemed to snap out of his reverie and eyed his employee with renewed interest. "First dinner, now asking to sleep over. Aren't we moving a bit fast?"
Reese chuckled. "Watch out Harold, or I could move in this time next week."
He noticed that the tips of Finch's ear burned red again, yet no other emotion was betrayed on the man's face.
"Stakeout it is then," said Finch suddenly, getting up. "An ex-CIA agent, staking out in front of a current FBI agent's house. Oh this should be interesting, Mr. Reese."
Reese only tilted his head and grinned. "I won't let you down, Finch." He watched the other man gather his coat, keys, and various other items, and mused, "Don't forget the empty water bottle, Finch."
Finch turned around to look at him, suddenly sheepish.
"Actually, I wasn't planning to stakeout in the car."
"Really?" Reese raised an eyebrow. "Where else would you suggest?"
The other man peered at him, a tiny smile upon his lips.
"How would you like to come over for dinner, Mr. Reese?"
*
"My house, my rules." Peter stopped Neal at the door, a touch of warning in his voice. "First of all, no -"
"Relax, Peter, it's not like I haven't been here," said Neal easily, sliding into the door under Peter's arm. "I'll make myself comfortable."
Peter rolled his eyes and followed. "I don't know why I put up with you, really. You are nothing but trouble."
Neal flashed a bright smile and set down the wine at the table. Turning to find glasses in the cabinet, he said softly, "Trouble lover."
Behind him, Peter blushed imperceptibly, and pretended he did not hear him.
*
In the bright and spacious house right opposite, Finch and Reese stared at each other.
"I heard that." Finch said finally, setting down his fork finally. "It seems you are right, there is more to their relationship than we thought."
Reese had his hand in mid air too, about to take a spoonful of soup. He pondered for a moment. "I don't know, Finch, could just be their dynamic and style of banter."
"Right. Because a little flirting never goes a miss in an office setting."
Reese smirked. "I don't know, Finch. Are you a trouble lover?"
Finch poked at his steak, not looking up. "We are equal parts trouble, Mr. Reese."
Reese smiled against his drink. "Oh, I think I can be a trouble lover, Mr. Finch."
Finch gave a tiny, almost invisible twitch in his chair. "This is making me uncomfortable, Mr. Reese."
"And here I thought I was making significant progress in being invited over for dinner." Reese did not pursue the subject further, but instead glanced around the house. "Do you have a house on every street of New York, Finch? It is very convenient. Way better than the car."
"Contrary to your belief, Mr. Reese, I don't own the whole of New York," said Finch dryly, then adding as an afterthought, "At least not yet."
Reese laughed. They both had an earpiece on, listening to every movement and conversation that went on in the Burke house. As their targets were also dining, the atmosphere seemed relaxed, amiable, almost like a family gathering.
Not that either Finch or Reese remembered these much.
In the earpiece, it seemed Neal had moved on from talking about fine arts to fine literature, and Reese had a funny feeling it was to get under the FBI agent's skin. From the surveillance, it looked as if the agent was pained, and struggled to keep feigning interest. Reese stole a glance at the man sitting opposite him; Finch, of course, was highly interested in what Neal had to say, and was nodding and 'mmm'ing and smiling at his every word. Reese resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"I am taking a liking to this Mr. Caffery," declared Finch, after their main course. "His knowledge on eighteenth century art and literature are unique and profound."
Reese tried to look interested, but decided that he was not as polite as the FBI agent. "I'm sure you two will get on famously, after we save him from the Irish mob," he said sarcastically. "I can't imagine what he'd quote as his thanks."
Finch smiled. "There's quite no need to feel - inadequate, shall we say, Mr. Reese."
Reese blinked. "Inadequate in what?"
Finch kept his smile but did not answer. "Knowledge of literature and art will not save me in any situation. You, however, could."
For a brief moment Reese was bewildered. Was Finch trying to placate him? Offering him a compliment? Or god forbid, be nice?
The sound of broken glass made him immediately alert again. Peering at the surveillance footage, he saw both man standing up to check the source of the noise, which came from the back door.
"Mr. Reese," Finch had made his way to the windows somehow during this time and sounded alarmed, "I think I just saw two people going into their backyard."
"Stay here."
Reese heard a safety being pulled back in his earpiece, and did the same. He pushed the window up and slid effortlessly onto the grass outside, padding across.
*
"Stay here," Peter hissed.
Pulling out his gun, he flipped the lights shut, moved to his backdoor, listening for noises, holding his breath. Neal pressed himself against the wall, and glanced around in alarm.
"Two men just went to the back," he said quietly, "Wait - there's a third coming to the front."
Peter hesitated for only a moment before retreating to the centre of the living room. "It's too dangerous to confront them on either side," he said in a low voice, "We'll have to wait until they make a move."
In the darkness, he felt Neal firmly nod once.
"It's too bad you don't like firearms," said Peter, in an attempt to lightening the mood a little. "I used to think that was a positive thing about you. Not so sure anymore."
Neal chuckled silently.
*
Outside, Reese picked at the front door lock.
"Listen to that, Finch. He doesn't like firearms either. Maybe you two are lost brothers."
He could almost hear the other man's lips being pressed into a thin and disapproving line. "The task at hand, Mr. Reese."
Reese chuckled silently, and the lock slid open with a quiet click.
*
Peter snapped up his head at the sound of lock being picked open. Keeping his voice as low as possible, he asked:
"How long does it take for you to pick my lock, Neal?"
Neal didn't bother defending with 'allegedly' or the 'hypothetical's, and answered, "Ten to fifteen seconds, maybe."
"Hmm. I need an upgrade." Peter let out a quiet breath, starting to move towards the direction of the front door. "This guy picked it in twelve seconds. I say we are looking at a pro."
He saw a dark figure crouching near the door, and raised his gun cautiously. "Don't move, F-"
Before he could finish, however, the figure lounged forward and there was a muffled gasp, and Peter whirled around to find Neal being held hostage. Blood suddenly running cold in his veins, he began to advance quickly -
"I'm not with the Irish mob and I mean no harm," said the man in a low, husky voice. "I will explain later, but both of you are in danger right now."
"You don't say?" Peter said sarcastically, "Let go of my partner. Or I put a bullet in your knee."
"My my, Mr. Reese, it seems you have found your lost brother too."
"Shut up, Finch," Reese hissed. "Do you have eyes on the men in the backyard?"
"Who are you talking to?" Opposite him, Peter strengthened his grip on the gun. "Do you have an accomplice somewhere? What do the men out there want?"
"Answers later, get to safety now." Reese pushed Neal towards Peter and tucked away his gun. "Agent Burke, I trust you know a fellow man of the trade when you see one."
"You are an agent too?" Peter sounded stunned, all the while making sure that Neal was okay. Then Neal's head perked up.
"You," he said breathlessly, "You were the one who spilled coffee on me and tried to take my phone."
"I'm a man of many talents," Reese shrugged.
Another sound of glass being shattered, and all of them fell silent at once.
"For an Irish mob, their way of drawing out their target is quite rudimentary," Reese said, mostly for Finch's benefit.
There was some rapid tapping on the other end of the line, and then Finch's voice came, relieved. "They are gone, Mr. Reese."
Reese decided to relay that information later, and instead moved cautiously to the back door. He made a specific gesture with his hand, and after only a split second of hesitation, Peter pointed his gun away from him and onto the back door too.
"Seems like you've gained Agent Burke's trust," Finch quipped in his ear. "I think they left something. I can't quite see what from the footage, you'll have to find out yourself."
They both pull the door open at the same time. The backyard was, of course, empty as Finch had told Reese, but there was something in the middle of it.
"What is that?" Peter breathed, kneeling down. Reese glanced back at the younger man, who followed them out, and saw immediately that there were horror in the man's eyes.
"You should really ask your partner."
"Neal?" Peter looked back up, half startled, half alarmed.
All three of them watch as Neal's face whitened, swallowed, and finally said,
"It's a message."
TBC
A/N: There is a plot. I swear. But I keep details of the plot vague (I know nothing about Irish mobs or Irish historical artefacts, so please ignore me if you are well educated in that area) and try to keep the conversation going. But there is a plot. (If only to push the characters along). Erm. So don't go too hard on me at the plot holes - all will be explained in good time (satisfactorily, I hope).
Cross-posted at AO3 (Many thanks to April for the invite <3) 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 Here
Chapter Summary: In which Finch invites Reese over for dinner, Peter babysits Neal, and the Irish mob tinkles glasses. Summary is crack, I know. Read on!
"You are right," said Peter quietly, sitting down again. "I don't like this at all."
"You find out anything?"
"No, not really." Peter fixed his gaze on a mirror opposite them, staring at the couple in their reflection. "It's a gut feeling. And like you, I don't think it's a good feeling." He pondered for a moment. "Anyone in your past that made a surface recently?"
Neal frowned. "Not that I can think of. But then again, I have made a lot of enemies without my knowledge in the past."
*
Back in the library, Finch tried frantically to pull up all the said 'enemies' in Neal's past.
"There sure are a few," said Finch, more alarmed now. "And they seem to have no problem in getting their hands dirty or wet, unlike our friend."
"How Mr. Caffery survived to this day, I'll never know," Reese muttered under his breath.
"I guess he owes it to Agent Burke," Finch said, still tapping away. "It's just that much difficult to hurt a man when he is close to an FBI agent almost everyday."
"Hang on..." Reese pulled off a piece of paper from the glass wall and studied it carefully, "It says here that our friend Caffery has an ankle monitor. Can you hack into the database?"
"I'm offended as to you need to ask," was the reply.
Analysing the data was quicker than they thought it would be. Ten minutes later, a picture began to emerge from the convoluted routes that appeared on the map.
"So, a two mile radius." Reese mused, "Can't say I envy him much."
Finch snorted. "Still want to complain about the employment benefits I give you, Mr. Reese?"
Reese grinned. "I don't think the FBI bought him a loft, either."
The tips of Finch's ear grow red, though the man's voice remained steady. "Our friend does live in a nice penthouse, however. Way beyond his pay."
"Possible source of trouble?"
"No, judging by the data Agent Burke knows about his living arrangements, and does not seem to have a problem with that."
"And we all know if the FBI has no problem with something, you must be a good law abiding citizen," Reese chimed.
"He frequents three places: the FBI building, his own penthouse, and - " Finch pulled up the third address and sounded mildly surprised, "Agent Burke's house. Hmm. Their relationship is probably closer than we thought."
"See Harold?" Reese took a sip from his coffee, "Every good employer should invite his employee around for dinner sometime. You should really follow his example."
Finch glanced at him sideways, thought not in good humour. "I suspect Mrs. Burke cooks for them. Who will cook for us?"
"Takeout is just that much tastier if I can have them in your house, Harold."
"If we are to have dinner in my house, it will not be takeout," said Finch, somewhat inconsequentially. "Tonight, however, I suggest a stakeout."
Reese raised an eyebrow. "Any idea which house Caffery would be in for the night?"
Finch looked mildly surprised. "Why should he be in Burke's house?"
"Oh I don't know, Finch," said Reese lightly, smirking. "Their relationship could be more than what we think."
*
"Come on Peter. I'm not in any imminent danger and I definitely don't need babysitting."
"Who says you need babysitting? Elizabeth is out of town again, I'm just saying I need some company. Someone to watch the games with."
Neal looked at Peter exasperatedly. "You've never, and I stress never, invited me for a boy's night in, and pardon me if I find it odd about now."
"There's a first for everything," Peter said, looking just as uncomfortable. After making sure that no one was looking, he shifted closer. "Look. I didn't want to worry you earlier, but when I went over to the couple, I saw one of them quickly shaking their sleeve down to hide something on their arm. It was a picture of a clover, with fangs. Now I did a bit of digging when I got back to the office -"
"The Irish mob?" Neal sounded startled, "They are the ones after me?"
"You know what the clover and the fang means?" Peter frowned, "you never told me."
"Well, yeah, I may or may not have, allegedly, stole a historical artefact with Irish origin a couple of years back. I may also have had a hypothetical run in with their leader."
Peter glanced up to the ceiling and let out another puff of sigh. "Oh Neal. You and your youthful years."
Neal made a half-hearted attempt at an apologetic smile. "At least I'm warming up to the idea of a boy's night in now."
"Good." Peter eyed him. "You get the beer."
"No, Peter," Neal said in a slow, patient, but slightly patronising voice, "I will get the wine, and some noir films."
"What? Hey, I'm the one who invited you over..."
*
Finch removed his gaze from the monitor, looking up at Reese. "Any idea what this Irish mob is?"
"A few," Reese said grimly. "Depending on what artefact he took, our friend may be in some serious trouble indeed."
"I wonder if he's going to spend the night in Burke's house..." Finch mumbled quietly, as if pondering an previously unheard of idea.
"Sometimes," Reese said in a deliberately patronising voice, "Friends spend the night in friend's house."
"My my, Mr. Reese." Finch seemed to snap out of his reverie and eyed his employee with renewed interest. "First dinner, now asking to sleep over. Aren't we moving a bit fast?"
Reese chuckled. "Watch out Harold, or I could move in this time next week."
He noticed that the tips of Finch's ear burned red again, yet no other emotion was betrayed on the man's face.
"Stakeout it is then," said Finch suddenly, getting up. "An ex-CIA agent, staking out in front of a current FBI agent's house. Oh this should be interesting, Mr. Reese."
Reese only tilted his head and grinned. "I won't let you down, Finch." He watched the other man gather his coat, keys, and various other items, and mused, "Don't forget the empty water bottle, Finch."
Finch turned around to look at him, suddenly sheepish.
"Actually, I wasn't planning to stakeout in the car."
"Really?" Reese raised an eyebrow. "Where else would you suggest?"
The other man peered at him, a tiny smile upon his lips.
"How would you like to come over for dinner, Mr. Reese?"
*
"My house, my rules." Peter stopped Neal at the door, a touch of warning in his voice. "First of all, no -"
"Relax, Peter, it's not like I haven't been here," said Neal easily, sliding into the door under Peter's arm. "I'll make myself comfortable."
Peter rolled his eyes and followed. "I don't know why I put up with you, really. You are nothing but trouble."
Neal flashed a bright smile and set down the wine at the table. Turning to find glasses in the cabinet, he said softly, "Trouble lover."
Behind him, Peter blushed imperceptibly, and pretended he did not hear him.
*
In the bright and spacious house right opposite, Finch and Reese stared at each other.
"I heard that." Finch said finally, setting down his fork finally. "It seems you are right, there is more to their relationship than we thought."
Reese had his hand in mid air too, about to take a spoonful of soup. He pondered for a moment. "I don't know, Finch, could just be their dynamic and style of banter."
"Right. Because a little flirting never goes a miss in an office setting."
Reese smirked. "I don't know, Finch. Are you a trouble lover?"
Finch poked at his steak, not looking up. "We are equal parts trouble, Mr. Reese."
Reese smiled against his drink. "Oh, I think I can be a trouble lover, Mr. Finch."
Finch gave a tiny, almost invisible twitch in his chair. "This is making me uncomfortable, Mr. Reese."
"And here I thought I was making significant progress in being invited over for dinner." Reese did not pursue the subject further, but instead glanced around the house. "Do you have a house on every street of New York, Finch? It is very convenient. Way better than the car."
"Contrary to your belief, Mr. Reese, I don't own the whole of New York," said Finch dryly, then adding as an afterthought, "At least not yet."
Reese laughed. They both had an earpiece on, listening to every movement and conversation that went on in the Burke house. As their targets were also dining, the atmosphere seemed relaxed, amiable, almost like a family gathering.
Not that either Finch or Reese remembered these much.
In the earpiece, it seemed Neal had moved on from talking about fine arts to fine literature, and Reese had a funny feeling it was to get under the FBI agent's skin. From the surveillance, it looked as if the agent was pained, and struggled to keep feigning interest. Reese stole a glance at the man sitting opposite him; Finch, of course, was highly interested in what Neal had to say, and was nodding and 'mmm'ing and smiling at his every word. Reese resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"I am taking a liking to this Mr. Caffery," declared Finch, after their main course. "His knowledge on eighteenth century art and literature are unique and profound."
Reese tried to look interested, but decided that he was not as polite as the FBI agent. "I'm sure you two will get on famously, after we save him from the Irish mob," he said sarcastically. "I can't imagine what he'd quote as his thanks."
Finch smiled. "There's quite no need to feel - inadequate, shall we say, Mr. Reese."
Reese blinked. "Inadequate in what?"
Finch kept his smile but did not answer. "Knowledge of literature and art will not save me in any situation. You, however, could."
For a brief moment Reese was bewildered. Was Finch trying to placate him? Offering him a compliment? Or god forbid, be nice?
The sound of broken glass made him immediately alert again. Peering at the surveillance footage, he saw both man standing up to check the source of the noise, which came from the back door.
"Mr. Reese," Finch had made his way to the windows somehow during this time and sounded alarmed, "I think I just saw two people going into their backyard."
"Stay here."
Reese heard a safety being pulled back in his earpiece, and did the same. He pushed the window up and slid effortlessly onto the grass outside, padding across.
*
"Stay here," Peter hissed.
Pulling out his gun, he flipped the lights shut, moved to his backdoor, listening for noises, holding his breath. Neal pressed himself against the wall, and glanced around in alarm.
"Two men just went to the back," he said quietly, "Wait - there's a third coming to the front."
Peter hesitated for only a moment before retreating to the centre of the living room. "It's too dangerous to confront them on either side," he said in a low voice, "We'll have to wait until they make a move."
In the darkness, he felt Neal firmly nod once.
"It's too bad you don't like firearms," said Peter, in an attempt to lightening the mood a little. "I used to think that was a positive thing about you. Not so sure anymore."
Neal chuckled silently.
*
Outside, Reese picked at the front door lock.
"Listen to that, Finch. He doesn't like firearms either. Maybe you two are lost brothers."
He could almost hear the other man's lips being pressed into a thin and disapproving line. "The task at hand, Mr. Reese."
Reese chuckled silently, and the lock slid open with a quiet click.
*
Peter snapped up his head at the sound of lock being picked open. Keeping his voice as low as possible, he asked:
"How long does it take for you to pick my lock, Neal?"
Neal didn't bother defending with 'allegedly' or the 'hypothetical's, and answered, "Ten to fifteen seconds, maybe."
"Hmm. I need an upgrade." Peter let out a quiet breath, starting to move towards the direction of the front door. "This guy picked it in twelve seconds. I say we are looking at a pro."
He saw a dark figure crouching near the door, and raised his gun cautiously. "Don't move, F-"
Before he could finish, however, the figure lounged forward and there was a muffled gasp, and Peter whirled around to find Neal being held hostage. Blood suddenly running cold in his veins, he began to advance quickly -
"I'm not with the Irish mob and I mean no harm," said the man in a low, husky voice. "I will explain later, but both of you are in danger right now."
"You don't say?" Peter said sarcastically, "Let go of my partner. Or I put a bullet in your knee."
"My my, Mr. Reese, it seems you have found your lost brother too."
"Shut up, Finch," Reese hissed. "Do you have eyes on the men in the backyard?"
"Who are you talking to?" Opposite him, Peter strengthened his grip on the gun. "Do you have an accomplice somewhere? What do the men out there want?"
"Answers later, get to safety now." Reese pushed Neal towards Peter and tucked away his gun. "Agent Burke, I trust you know a fellow man of the trade when you see one."
"You are an agent too?" Peter sounded stunned, all the while making sure that Neal was okay. Then Neal's head perked up.
"You," he said breathlessly, "You were the one who spilled coffee on me and tried to take my phone."
"I'm a man of many talents," Reese shrugged.
Another sound of glass being shattered, and all of them fell silent at once.
"For an Irish mob, their way of drawing out their target is quite rudimentary," Reese said, mostly for Finch's benefit.
There was some rapid tapping on the other end of the line, and then Finch's voice came, relieved. "They are gone, Mr. Reese."
Reese decided to relay that information later, and instead moved cautiously to the back door. He made a specific gesture with his hand, and after only a split second of hesitation, Peter pointed his gun away from him and onto the back door too.
"Seems like you've gained Agent Burke's trust," Finch quipped in his ear. "I think they left something. I can't quite see what from the footage, you'll have to find out yourself."
They both pull the door open at the same time. The backyard was, of course, empty as Finch had told Reese, but there was something in the middle of it.
"What is that?" Peter breathed, kneeling down. Reese glanced back at the younger man, who followed them out, and saw immediately that there were horror in the man's eyes.
"You should really ask your partner."
"Neal?" Peter looked back up, half startled, half alarmed.
All three of them watch as Neal's face whitened, swallowed, and finally said,
"It's a message."
TBC
A/N: There is a plot. I swear. But I keep details of the plot vague (I know nothing about Irish mobs or Irish historical artefacts, so please ignore me if you are well educated in that area) and try to keep the conversation going. But there is a plot. (If only to push the characters along). Erm. So don't go too hard on me at the plot holes - all will be explained in good time (satisfactorily, I hope).